CHAPTER THE EIGHTH
A Competition Wallah
Sherdil did not do things by halves. He was now as keen as Ahmed himselfthat the boy should become one of the Guides. During the next fortnighthe devoted every spare moment to coaching him in the shooting tests.Ahmed had never shot with a carbine, but only with the heavy jazail ofthe tribesmen. Sherdil sought out a secluded spot among the lower hillswhere practising could be carried on without attracting attention, andlent Ahmed his own carbine to practise with. And since it was impossibleto obtain ammunition belonging to the corps, he spent some of his savedpay in buying powder, shot, and percussion caps in Peshawar, andrefilled some old cartridge cases. He drew a rough target on the face ofa rock, and diligently played musketry instructor until he could declarethat Ahmed was as good a shot as any of the candidates was likely to beat various ranges.
About three weeks after Ahmed's arrival, Lumsden Sahib announced one daythat there was a vacancy in the cavalry. One of the men had overstoppedhis leave, and was summarily dismissed. It appeared later that thetrooper had employed his leave in hunting down a hill-man whose fatherhad spoken disrespectfully of his own grandmother, and until the slightwas avenged the man had no other object in life.
Sherdil lost no time in conveying the news to Ahmed. There was greatbustle among the candidates and their friends, and as the day appointedfor the competition drew near, the camp outside the walls of the fortbecame monstrously swollen with relatives of the competitors and peoplewho had come from Peshawar for the mere pleasure and excitement of theevent. Among them were representatives of every race of the borderland,speaking a variety of dialects, and keen partisans of the men of theirown blood among the competitors.
The men of the Guides were as much excited as the rest. The corps wasdivided into companies, each of which consisted of men of one race; andthough all were as loyal as any European soldiers could be, and had ashigh an ideal of soldierly duty and the honour of the corps, the men ofone company would, on slight provocation, have flown at the throats ofthose of another if they met when on leave. The vacancy being for acavalryman, the competitors were almost all exceptionally tall,strapping fellows, and the little Gurkhas among the candidates werevastly disappointed that the defaulting Guide had not been aninfantryman.
On a fine October morning, with a light cold wind blowing down from thehills--herald of the winter--the competitors marched to the rifle range,accompanied by three of the English officers--Lumsden himself, QuintinBattye, the second in command, and Kennedy, commandant of the cavalry.Behind them came a rabble of spectators, laughing and yelling withexcitement, and almost the whole of the corps. Arrived at the range, thecompetitors, twenty-five in all, were drawn up in line--Afridis andSikhs, Hazaras and Waziris, Afghans and Pathans of different clans--andanswered to their names as Lumsden Sahib called over the list. Ahmed'sname came last, and as he, like the rest, answered "Hazur! I am here,"he caught the eyes of all the officers fixed on him, and felt a strangenervousness under the scrutiny.
"Where is that rascal Sherdil?" cried Lumsden.
"Hazur! I am here," replied the man, saluting as he stepped out from thethrong, and looking very like a dog that expected a whipping.
"What does this trick mean? This Ahmed of yours is a mere boy; you saidhe was a little younger than yourself. You seem to be playing up for aflogging, my man."
"Heaven-born, is it a time to be unjust? Did I not answer truly? I saidI would not tell his age to a day, and the heaven-born would not havehad me say he is older than I. That would have been very foolish."
"But this is a boy: his beard is not grown; we have no place for such inthe corps."
"As for the beard, heaven-born, that will come. If I shave my beard andmoustache--which Allah forbid!--my face will be even as Ahmed's. Shoesare tested on the feet, sahib, and a man in a fight. Behold him; hisforehead is bright, since his sword-tip is red with blood. He has slainbeasts and men; did he not come with me and blow up Minghal's tower? Andthen, to be sure, he had a moustache and the shadow of a beard, and ifthe heaven-born pleases we can get the conjurer in Peshawar to furnishhim very quickly with the necessary hair. And he can shoot; if I do notoffend to say it, he can shoot as well as the heaven-born himself; andhe is a good shikari; and as for riding a horse--wah! let Kennedy Sahibjudge of that. Look at a man's deeds, heaven-born, not whether he istall or short. The thorn which is sharp is so from its youth, and----"
"Chup!" said Lumsden, who, with the other officers, had scarcely beenable to keep his countenance during this address. "You have a moisttongue. You quote your proverbs at me; I'll give you one: 'A closedmouth is better than talking nonsense.'"
"True, sahib," said Sherdil quickly, "and there is yet another: 'If youare not a good judge of beasts, choose a young one.'"
At this, and Sherdil's sententious look, as of one who says "That's aclincher," Lumsden laughed outright.
"'The child is father of the man,'" said Battye, with whom quoting was ahabit. "Give the boy a trial; we'll soon see whether this man's talk isall froth."
And so Ahmed was admitted to the competition. The spectators had beengrowing restless and restive during the colloquy, but now that the firstman took post opposite the target, and lay flat on the ground, theyhushed their noise and awaited the issue breathlessly. The range wasthree hundred yards; the marksman was a tall, grave-looking Sikh, and ashis musket flashed and the marker signalled a bull's-eye, a great shoutarose from his compatriots.
"Shahbash! Bravo! That's a fine shot. Thou'lt surely win, Faiz."
And then the partisans of the other men tried to shout the Sikh'sfriends down.
"Bah! what is that? A bull's-eye, you say. But it was an accident; thewind carried the bullet. Allah willing, he will miss next time. Courage,Sula; look not at the cock on his dunghill."
Similar cries, varying as the result of the shots, greeted the Sikh'ssucceeding attempts. Then came Sula's turn.
"Hai! Now he shoots!" cried his friends. "What is the marker about? Amiss? Truly the jins are spiteful, the musket is bewitched. Do not loseheart, O Sula, the sahib will give thee another musket, and then wiltthou show thyself more than a match for that son of a pig."
And Sula, having taken another musket, fired off his six shots andretired.
The next came along, an Afghan, with features of a markedly Semiticcast, and with him a flock of his partisans. The same scene was enacted,the same yells of delight and howls of derision, the same words offlattery and of abuse--all kept within certain bounds, however, by thepresence of the sahibs.
At last it came to Ahmed's turn. The colloquy between Lumsden Sahib andSherdil had drawn particular attention to him, and the Pathans of theGuides, who outnumbered men of other races in the corps, were speciallyinterested in the doings of this young candidate. For ten days pastSherdil had boasted of his pupil's ability, and Sherdil having a moisttongue, as Lumsden Sahib had put it, and being something of a favourite,the Pathans were prepared to open their lungs in vociferous plaudits.Ahmed fired and missed. A growl of dismay broke from the Pathans' lips;the other men, who resented the cocksureness of Sherdil and his friends,leapt about with shrieks of delight. Sherdil himself looked a littleblue; and as for Ahmed, he was quivering with excitement andnervousness, as the Englishmen perceived.
"Chup! you sons of dogs!" cried Kennedy Sahib. "Let the boy have fairplay. This din of cats would spoil any man's eye. Chup! The boy has fivemore shots."
And Ahmed, pulling himself together, took careful aim amid a breathlessstillness, drew the trigger--and the marker signalled a bull's-eye.
"Shahbash! Shahbash!" cried Sherdil, pirouetting like a mad fakir,brandishing his sword, hurling abuse at the friends of the othercandidates. "Wah! did I not say he could shoot? How should he not, whenI am his teacher? Of a truth, he is the man for the Guides."
When Ahmed had finished his round, he was equal with four others. Amidthe din of altercation which ensued, Lumsden Sahib's voice was heardcalling for order. The competitors had still t
o shoot at the longerranges of five hundred and seven hundred yards. The excitement grew tofever heat as the number gradually thinned, until the choice clearlyrested between Ahmed and a Rajput named Wahid. They were to have sixshots at seven hundred yards to finish the match. Ahmed had now lost hisfirst nervousness, and waited quietly with Sherdil and a group of hisfriends while Wahid fired his round. The spectators watched in deadsilence as the man took aim. The first shot was a bull's-eye. "Wahidwill win! Wahid will win!" roared a hundred throats. The second was aninner, the third an outer, and now Sherdil's party were hilarious,crying that Wahid's eye was crooked, his arm was as weak as a woman's;what was he good for, except to play the fiddle at a Hindu wedding? Buttheir jubilation was checked when with his last three shots he scoredthree bull's-eyes.
"Wah! where is the Pathan now?" shouted the Rajput's partisans. "Sherdileats greens and breathes pulao. A great sound and an empty pot. Come,let us see what the smooth-faced boy can do."
Ahmed took his place. Four times he scored a bull's-eye, and his friendsfairly shrieked with delight.
"Wah! he will eat up Wahid till not a little bit is left. Let Wahid tendasses, that is all that he is good for."
The fifth shot was an inner.
"Hai!" said Sherdil. "Some low-born Rajput is breathing, and his foulbreath blows the bullet away. But the next will be a bull's-eye; beready, brothers, for Ahmed will win."
But when the marker signalled an outer the uproar became deafening. Thescores of Wahid and Ahmed were equal. The partisans of each clamouredfor the choice to fall on their man. Wahid was the father of two boys:therefore he was the better candidate. Ahmed was not so fat: thereforehe would prove the better Guide. Wahid had stolen horses for twentyyears: who so fit to catch horse-thieves? Ahmed had blown up fifty menwith gunpowder (Sherdil did not stick at trifles): where would they finda Rajput who could say the same? Thus they bellowed against one another,urging more and more ridiculous reasons on behalf of their favourites,and then Lumsden cried for silence.
"There is only one place," he said, "and these two are equal as shots.For the life of me I don't know which of them to give it to. Come along,we'll try the riding test. Fetch out that unbroken colt; jaldi karo!"
The jabbering began afresh, while a sais went off to fetch the colt. Thewhole company repaired to a level stretch of about three hundred yards,where the men practised the game of nazebaze. A post stood at thefurther end. When the colt was brought up--a mettlesome beast with arabblood in it--Lumsden ordered the course to be cleared, and the excitedthrong having been pressed back on either side, told Ahmed to mount andride the animal bareback to the post and back. Ahmed sprang on to thequivering horse, which bucked and reared, making frantic efforts tothrow him. But the boy had been given his first lesson in riding in justthis way; Rahmut Khan had set him on horseback and bade him look afterhimself. So now, gripping the reins firmly and pressing his knees intothe animal's flanks, at the same time speaking soothing words that heused with his own horse Ruksh, he succeeded in turning its head towardsthe post, and in another moment was off like the wind. The shouts of thecrowd terrified the horse; it reared and plunged, and then made a dashfor the centre of the yelling mob on the right, which broke apart andscattered with shrieks of alarm. But Ahmed controlled his steed beforeit reached the edge of the course. He turned it once more into thestraight; it ran on past the post at a mad gallop, which was onlychecked by a hillock in front of it. Then, giving it a minute torecover, Ahmed patted it and coaxed it, wheeled round, and rode straightback to the starting-point.
Sherdil and the Guides roared with applause.
"By Jove!" said Lieutenant Battye, turning to Kennedy, "what a seat thefellow has got! Better make him your riding-master, old chap."
"Don't want one," was the answer. "All my fellows can ride. Let's seewhat the Rajput can do."
Wahid was about the same height as Ahmed, but broader and heavier. Heleapt on to the horse's back nimbly enough, and kept his seat, as itseemed, by sheer muscular force. The horse appeared to fear him, andstarted for the post with a docility that surprised everybody, and sentSherdil's hopes once more down to zero. Wahid reached the post; then,instead of galloping past, he pulled the horse up with a violent tug onthe reins, and wheeled it round to return. But the animal had a temper;this treatment did not please it at all; and when it had got half-wayback to the starting-point, and the crowd was already yelling that theprize was to Wahid, because he had shown the better management, suddenlythe horse stopped dead, planting his fore feet firmly in the sand; upflew its hind hoofs, and the Rajput went clean over its head, fallingwith a thwack just in front of its nose.
The roar that went up from the crowd might almost have been heard atPeshawar. The Guides to a man shouted Ahmed's name; the Pathans amongthe spectators danced a kind of war-dance, and some, losing their heads,fired off their jazails with imminent risk of blowing some one topieces. Sherdil, after a glance at his commander's face, in which heread the verdict, called to a comrade, and Ahmed was hoisted on to theirshoulders and carried in triumph back to the fort.
"Wah! Did I not say it?" cried Sherdil. "What a man seeketh happens tohim. I said 'I, Sherdil, will teach thee, Ahmed, the right way and makethee a Guide.' And now we will have a tamasha. Lumsden Sahib will giveus a sheep or a goat, and we will be very merry."
Thus Ahmed became a trooper of the Guides.
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