Hector Graeme

Chapter V

The weeks passed, Christmas came and went, but still the monotonous peace reigning over Fort Hussein and its environs remained undisturbed. All around, sometimes even within hearing of the garrison, mountain and pass echoed to the thunder of guns and rattle of rifle-fire, but for them there was nothing; listless and inactive they remained, apparently forgotten, in the surrounding tumult. The 1st Lancers were a good regiment, not fashionable, possibly, but efficient and keen; further, they were “happy,” and knew nothing of those internal dissensions which destroy the harmony of less fortunate corps. Here, however, shut up in a dreary frontier fort, with nothing to occupy or distract their minds, the tone of the regiment insensibly changed. Tempers, always uncertain in India, wore dangerously thin; quarrels blazed forth on little or no provocation; and soon cliques, constantly shifting, began to form.

On one subject, however, these various factions were in absolute agreement, that one being the cordial dislike they all felt for Captain Hector Graeme. For a time, following on his exploit in recovering Private Mortlock’s body, his brother officers had been inclined to make much of him, and to show him, the juniors especially, that they considered the Colonel had been both hard and unjust; but these feelings on their part had long since died away, and their former sentiments regarding him again prevailed.

This, it must be owned, was largely due to Graeme’s incapacity to respond to their well-meant overtures, but their latent aversion was fanned by the assiduous slanders of Captain O’Hagan—who had a peculiar unreasoning hatred for Hector—till now they had come to regard the Mortlock episode as one highly discreditable to all concerned in it, and of which the less said the better. The word “bolt” had been freely used by that person, and, though Royle and one or two others had at first checked him, he had persisted, even to the extent of uttering his calumnies outside the regiment, with the result that Graeme, save by the men and one other officer, found himself regarded more or less as a pariah. A recent decision of his, moreover, had given colour to O’Hagan’s insinuations, for, thanks to some unknown influence, Hector had been offered, and refused, a billet as transport officer to a column fighting in Tirah, a chance at which any other officer of the regiment would have jumped.

On receiving this application for his junior officer’s services, the sole proviso being his own recommendation, Colonel Schofield had for some time hesitated. Against his own convictions—and they were strong ones—he had been impressed by what Colonel Quentin had said concerning Graeme, and, being a conscientious man and one who theoretically had no likes or dislikes among his subordinates, he had begun to ask himself whether it were not possible he had made a mistake about this junior. With this idea in his mind, he had laid himself out to find the hidden pearl in the oyster, even unbending so far as to ask Graeme to accompany him, in place of his adjutant, on one of his early morning rides, the result being that on that occasion he rode alone, Hector having unfortunately overslept himself. Stifling his annoyance, he tried again, but, though this time successful in securing his junior’s company, the invitation was never renewed, Graeme’s conversation, alternately silly and boastful, having tried the Colonel beyond endurance.

Major Rawson, privately spoken to on the subject, did not feel hopeful of ultimate improvement in his captain; he grew worse, he declared, instead of better, his squadron accounts were always in a muddle, while to give Graeme a duty to perform was for that duty to be scamped or, more likely, shirked altogether. True, in an emergency, such as the fire in the squadron store, he seemed to wake up—indeed, he extinguished the flames before the arrival of the engine; also the men liked him; but, for his part, he had no belief in these fly-away fellows, who only worked by fits and starts; give him the methodical straight-going officer, who was always the same and followed the rules laid down. And the Colonel, agreeing, had thereupon commenced his perusal of the morning’s mail, amongst the letters being the above-mentioned application. For a day and a night Schofield wrestled with his doubts, and then, though with considerable misgiving, sent for Hector and informed him of his willingness to recommend him for the post.

“Only promise me, Graeme,” he concluded, “that you really will put your back into this. Remember, it’s not only yourself you have to think about, but also the credit of the regiment.”

The concession—and to Colonel Schofield it was a great one—had been made in vain, for Hector then and there declined the chance offered him, giving no reason. Incredulous at first, his Chief soon lost his temper, for it was one thing, he felt, for him to hesitate to recommend a subordinate, but quite another for the latter, when so favoured, to refuse the offer. It would be far better now, he realised, for Graeme to go, even though he proved himself a failure, for, after all, he had been applied for by name, thus throwing responsibility on the shoulders of the applier; whereas his refusal to go would assuredly give rise to caustic remarks from authority, anent lack of keenness in his command, inability to influence his officers, etc.

With these harassing thoughts in his mind, he stifled his anger and proceeded to reason with Graeme, urging upon him the greatness of the opportunity offered, and pointing out the folly of refusal. In vain; Hector remained unmoved; he had made up his mind, and with him, that done, the matter was finished. The interview also afforded him a very real gratification. Well he knew—with that uncanny intuition of his—what was passing in his Colonel’s mind, and was more than ever determined to thwart him. It was his turn now; he would make the most of it, and repay his Chief for the humiliation he had heaped upon him before a stranger, in this very room, three months before. Hector never forgot an injury, or a kindness for that matter, and the remembrance of that interview had been smouldering in his heart ever since. One word of praise then, or afterwards some acknowledgment of what he had done, might have been the making of Graeme; but this was not Colonel Schofield’s way. Praise from him, if earned, was to be understood, blame to be expressed, and so he had seized upon what was wrong in his subordinate’s conduct, ignoring the rest.

Graeme had shown gallantry, it was true, but it was not necessary to praise him for it; the sense of having done his duty, he considered, ought always to be sufficient reward for a soldier. It was not sufficient for Hector, however, to whom applause was as essential as the modicum of opium is to the well-being of a Chinaman, and the consequence of his Colonel’s refusal to gratify this craving was to fill him with a bitter sense of grievance and determination to annoy his superiors in every possible way. They wanted him now, did they? he thought. Very well, they shouldn’t have him, he was not going to risk his life a second time; he had done it once, and got nothing for it save abuse, and it would be the same again, for they were all alike; he would see them damned before he went. Schofield therefore was but wasting his breath, and, realising this at last, he abandoned the effort and dismissed Graeme from his presence, concluding the interview by remarking that an officer who refused the chance of active service was, in his opinion, best out of the regiment he commanded.

“You may think what you please,” muttered Hector, on his way back to his quarters, “but I’m hanged if I will resign. I meant to once we returned to Riwala, but now I won’t, just because you want me to.”

Thenceforth Hector went his solitary way, shunning, and shunned by, his brother officers, and doing just sufficient regimental work to enable him to avoid a second interview with his Colonel, who was now, he knew, only waiting the opportunity to fall upon him.

To most men, his would have been an impossible existence, but Graeme had been at variance with his fellows since his childhood, and his ever-present feeling of grievance, coupled with the sense of battle against odds, served but to stimulate and harden him in his course. Indeed, had it not been for one thing, he would rather have enjoyed his present life, but that thing was a big one to him, intolerable even, namely, his total inability to cope with the slanders of Captain Robert O’Hagan, whose enmity he returned with a concentrated bitterness of hate, such as, had he been aware of it, would have possibly made that cautious person pause. Many times he had sought to bring his traducer to task, but always without success, for O’Hagan was cunning, popular too amongst his fellows, while Graeme was the reverse, and blank looks or even flat refusal was the sole response he met with in his frequent endeavours to elicit definite proof of calumny from the mouths of his brother officers.

Of wordy controversies in public—and only in the presence of others would O’Hagan condescend to address Graeme—there had been many, and violent ones, but invariably the result had been humiliating to Hector, for O’Hagan possessed the ready tongue of a cheap-jack, and easily reduced Graeme to impotent silence, the latter’s feeble, though rude, rejoinders only awakening delighted titters from all present. One day, he sought out O’Hagan and threatened personal violence, to which menace his enemy, who was no hero save in public, where he was safe, replied by calling up a passing junior and requesting Hector to repeat his recent observations. This, Graeme, too angry or too careless to consider consequences, promptly did, whereupon O’Hagan at once reported him to the Colonel, producing his witness, and the Chief, glad of the chance, let himself go for a full ten minutes. Hector subsequently departed to his quarters, where he flung himself down on the bed, gritting his teeth, and tearing at the counterpane.

Thus engaged, he was suddenly brought to himself by a knock at the door, and Captain Carson, his one and only friend in the regiment, entered.

“Hullo,” said the latter, looking at him, “what’s the trouble? You seem put out.”

“I’m busy, Peter, what do you want?” was the answer.

“Nothing much,” said Carson, unruffled by his greeting. “I’ll go if you want me to. Got some news for you, that’s all.”

“What is it?”

“Regiment’s going back to Riwala, thought I’d tell you so that you could wire to your missus. She’s back from Kashmir, isn’t she?”

“Likely she’d stay up there in the snow, isn’t it? What the devil are we moving for? I hate a move, the whole place upset and everybody fussing like blazes. Lord, how Rawson will fidget, shan’t have a moment’s peace now, I suppose.”

“What an extraordinary fellow you are, Graeme. Don’t you want to go back?”

“Of course I do, no one but a fool would wish to stay here. It’s the moving I hate. Gad, but I’ll be glad enough, I know, to have my own house again, and be quit of the cursed Mess and my brother officers for a while.”

Carson frowned.

“Why do you always sneer at the fellows, Graeme? It’s no wonder they dislike you.”

“I hope they do, but I don’t wish to talk about them. When are we off?”

“Three days from now, Ferrers says, just in time for the races.”

Graeme’s face darkened.

“Blast the races!” he said.

“In heaven’s name, what for? You’re hard to please this morning.”

“O’Hagan’s benefit, that’s what Riwala racing means, Carson. O’Hagan——”

“Oh, shut up, you’ve got O’Hagan on the brain. ‘Pon my soul, Graeme, I can’t understand this hatred for the fellow. I don’t like him much, I own, nor I believe do the others really, but I don’t hate him. Why are you so infernally immoderate in everything, why not take things quietly, as I do? You’d find life much easier. After all, he’s not a bad-hearted fellow.”

“He’s a low, cowardly blackguard, not one redeeming point about him.”

“There’s no fellow like that, Graeme; anyway, he’s an officer of the regiment, and all our talking won’t alter that fact.”

“You’re right, Peter, talking won’t.”

“Well, what else can you do? Hullo, what the—— Good Lord!” for the door had been suddenly kicked open—O’Hagan never knocked save at a senior’s door—and the subject of their discussion stood on the threshold.

“You here, Carson?” he said, his eyebrows lifted in seeming surprise at the latter’s being in such company. “Come and play bridge.”

“Not now, thank you, O’Hagan; as you see, I’m talking to Graeme.”

“That won’t keep you. Graeme’s in for it again, cutting stables this time. Rawson wants you, Graeme, at once, going to wheel you up before the C.O., I believe.”

“All right, O’Hagan, thank you.”

Hearing the gentle answer instead of the outburst he expected, Peter Carson looked up in surprise, with a curious feeling of uneasiness. Surprised also was Captain O’Hagan, but pleasantly, for at last he thought he saw his enemy cowed and conscious of the futility of further resistance. His dark eyes gleamed and a bullying note came into his husky voice.

“It’s not all right, I can tell you,” he said. “Rawson says, of all the slack, useless——”

“Quite so, and now—get out.”

“Get out, who the devil are you talking to? Keep away, d’you hear? Carson, you’re the senior officer here, you’re witness——”

“Sit down, Graeme, and you, O’Hagan, be off. You’ve given your message, and I should say made the most of it. Clear out.”

“Oh, very well, though I must say it’s a nice way to treat a brother officer. The Colonel shall hear of this, I promise you, both of you.”

“If you stay another minute, I’ll throw you out myself, by God, I will,” said Peter, the Carson temper suddenly blazing up, and rising he advanced towards the other, who, however, did not await his approach, but fled hastily.

“Riling fellow that,” said Peter, resuming his seat and proceeding to relight his pipe, which had gone out. “Very near lost my temper. What the devil are you laughing at, Graeme, at me?”

“No, at him.”

“Him, what for?”

“To think what a fool he is, hammering away like that.”

“Hammering?”

“Yes, driving the nails in.”

“Don’t know what on earth you’re talking about, don’t suppose you do either. Well, I’m off, there’s a busy time ahead for all of us,” and Peter rose and went out, leaving Graeme deep in thought. For some minutes he sat there, and then walked across to the window, where he stood looking down on the squadron lines below, already permeated with the spirit of unrest, born of the news of the coming move.

Hurrying to and fro, pointing with his stick and explaining the obvious, Major Rawson could be seen, two harassed-looking subalterns and the Sergeant-Major in close attendance; while some distance away, grave-faced and dignified, Colonel Schofield was standing, issuing orders to the alert Ferrers, who was zealously taking down the same in a large note-book.

A feeling of angry contempt was aroused in Graeme as he looked. “Fussy fools,” he muttered, “the whole regiment turned upside down because of a move of a few hundred miles. God! there’s Rawson lifting a saddle and weighing it. Why don’t he take his coat off and groom the horses and pack the kits while he’s about it? And you’re worse,” he continued scornfully, apostrophising his unconscious C.O., “you’re a damned humbug, you are; for only the other day you agreed with Quentin when he told me that to make others work and not work yourself was the thing, and now you see the exact reverse going on you stand there and say nothing. Make me sick, the whole lot of you do. Wish to God I had the running of the show; I’d soon stop all that, and at the same time get them off with no bother at all.”

He turned from the window and threw himself down on the bed once more, where he lay evolving schemes of fussless removal, and then, his interest in the subject growing, he seized pencil and paper and committed his ideas to writing. And, as it happened, the idle occupation of a few minutes was not wasted, for Major Rawson, possibly from over-anxiety, was that same evening laid low by fever, and the command of the squadron consequently devolved upon Hector, who thereupon proceeded to put his newly-hatched plans into execution. Ignoring hourly messages and instructions from the sick-bed, he the next morning summoned his non-commissioned officers to his quarters, and after an hour’s conversation dismissed them, he himself departing for the day in quest of Cee Cee.11 Nor, except for half an hour daily, did he subsequently visit the lines, though in the other squadrons all the officers were in attendance throughout the day.

To the disappointment of his confrères, no hitch occurred in B Squadron arrangements; on the contrary, while all around fuss and confusion reigned, in Hector’s command there was clock-like precision, and to the minute on the day appointed for departure, their kits and tents packed away before daylight on bubbling camels, his men stood waiting beside their saddled horses, with quiet enjoyment on their faces as they viewed the agitated throng on either side. Nor did an extra-minute inspection by a cold-faced Colonel reveal the deficiencies he hoped in his heart to find, and a distinct feeling of injury was in the Chief’s heart as he found himself forced to order B Squadron to move off first—A, the leaders by right, not being yet ready. At the station, however, disaster at last arose, Williams and Rogers profiting by the occasion to slip away to the bazaar, where next day they were found by the garrison police very drunk. The consequence of this mishap was severe censure for Hector, Schofield remarking that such disgraces were to be expected in a squadron left to the care of non-commissioned officers.

Notes

11 A kind of rock partridge.