by Saki
THE YARKAND MANNER
Sir Lulworth Quayne was making a leisurely progress through theZoological Society’s Gardens in company with his nephew, recentlyreturned from Mexico. The latter was interested in comparing andcontrasting allied types of animals occurring in the North American andOld World fauna.
“One of the most remarkable things in the wanderings of species,” heobserved, “is the sudden impulse to trek and migrate that breaks out nowand again, for no apparent reason, in communities of hithertostay-at-home animals.”
“In human affairs the same phenomenon is occasionally noticeable,” saidSir Lulworth; “perhaps the most striking instance of it occurred in thiscountry while you were away in the wilds of Mexico. I mean the wanderfever which suddenly displayed itself in the managing and editorialstaffs of certain London newspapers. It began with the stampede of theentire staff of one of our most brilliant and enterprising weeklies tothe banks of the Seine and the heights of Montmartre. The migration wasa brief one, but it heralded an era of restlessness in the Press worldwhich lent quite a new meaning to the phrase ‘newspaper circulation.’Other editorial staffs were not slow to imitate the example that had beenset them. Paris soon dropped out of fashion as being too near home;Nürnberg, Seville, and Salonica became more favoured as planting-outgrounds for the personnel of not only weekly but daily papers as well.The localities were perhaps not always well chosen; the fact of a leadingorgan of Evangelical thought being edited for two successive fortnightsfrom Trouville and Monte Carlo was generally admitted to have been amistake. And even when enterprising and adventurous editors tookthemselves and their staffs further afield there were some unavoidableclashings. For instance, the _Scrutator_, _Sporting Bluff_, and _TheDamsels’ Own Paper_ all pitched on Khartoum for the same week. It was,perhaps, a desire to out-distance all possible competition thatinfluenced the management of the _Daily Intelligencer_, one of the mostsolid and respected organs of Liberal opinion, in its decision totransfer its offices for three or four weeks from Fleet Street to EasternTurkestan, allowing, of course, a necessary margin of time for thejourney there and back. This was, in many respects, the most remarkableof all the Press stampedes that were experienced at this time. There wasno make-believe about the undertaking; proprietor, manager, editor,sub-editors, leader-writers, principal reporters, and so forth, all tookpart in what was popularly alluded to as the _Drang nach Osten_; anintelligent and efficient office-boy was all that was left in thedeserted hive of editorial industry.”
“That was doing things rather thoroughly, wasn’t it?” said the nephew.
“Well, you see,” said Sir Lulworth, “the migration idea was fallingsomewhat into disrepute from the half-hearted manner in which it wasoccasionally carried out. You were not impressed by the information thatsuch and such a paper was being edited and brought out at Lisbon orInnsbruck if you chanced to see the principal leader-writer or the arteditor lunching as usual at their accustomed restaurants. The _DailyIntelligencer_ was determined to give no loophole for cavil at thegenuineness of its pilgrimage, and it must be admitted that to a certainextent the arrangements made for transmitting copy and carrying on theusual features of the paper during the long outward journey workedsmoothly and well. The series of articles which commenced at Baku on‘What Cobdenism might do for the camel industry’ ranks among the best ofthe recent contributions to Free Trade literature, while the views onforeign policy enunciated ‘from a roof in Yarkand’ showed at least asmuch grasp of the international situation as those that had germinatedwithin half a mile of Downing Street. Quite in keeping, too, with theolder and better traditions of British journalism was the manner of thehome-coming; no bombast, no personal advertisement, no flamboyantinterviews. Even a complimentary luncheon at the Voyagers’ Club wascourteously declined. Indeed, it began to be felt that theself-effacement of the returned pressmen was being carried to a pedanticlength. Foreman compositors, advertisement clerks, and other members ofthe non-editorial staff, who had, of course, taken no part in the greattrek, found it as impossible to get into direct communication with theeditor and his satellites now that they had returned as when they hadbeen excusably inaccessible in Central Asia. The sulky, overworkedoffice-boy, who was the one connecting link between the editorial brainand the business departments of the paper, sardonically explained the newaloofness as the ‘Yarkand manner.’ Most of the reporters and sub-editorsseemed to have been dismissed in autocratic fashion since their returnand new ones engaged by letter; to these the editor and his immediateassociates remained an unseen presence, issuing its instructions solelythrough the medium of curt typewritten notes. Something mystic andTibetan and forbidden had replaced the human bustle and democraticsimplicity of pre-migration days, and the same experience was encounteredby those who made social overtures to the returned wanderers. The mostbrilliant hostess of Twentieth Century London flung the pearl of herhospitality into the unresponsive trough of the editorial letter-box; itseemed as if nothing short of a Royal command would drag thehermit-souled _revenants_ from their self-imposed seclusion. Peoplebegan to talk unkindly of the effect of high altitudes and Easternatmosphere on minds and temperaments unused to such luxuries. TheYarkand manner was not popular.”
“And the contents of the paper,” said the nephew, “did they show theinfluence of the new style?”
“Ah!” said Sir Lulworth, “that was the exciting thing. In home affairs,social questions, and the ordinary events of the day not much change wasnoticeable. A certain Oriental carelessness seemed to have crept intothe editorial department, and perhaps a note of lassitude not unnaturalin the work of men who had returned from what had been a fairly arduousjourney. The aforetime standard of excellence was scarcely maintained,but at any rate the general lines of policy and outlook were not departedfrom. It was in the realm of foreign affairs that a startling changetook place. Blunt, forcible, outspoken articles appeared, couched inlanguage which nearly turned the autumn manœuvres of six important Powersinto mobilisations. Whatever else the _Daily Intelligencer_ had learnedin the East, it had not acquired the art of diplomatic ambiguity. Theman in the street enjoyed the articles and bought the paper as he hadnever bought it before; the men in Downing Street took a different view.The Foreign Secretary, hitherto accounted a rather reticent man, becamepositively garrulous in the course of perpetually disavowing thesentiments expressed in the _Daily Intelligencer’s_ leaders; and then oneday the Government came to the conclusion that something definite anddrastic must be done. A deputation, consisting of the Prime Minister,the Foreign Secretary, four leading financiers, and a well-knownNonconformist divine, made its way to the offices of the paper. At thedoor leading to the editorial department the way was barred by a nervousbut defiant office-boy.
“‘You can’t see the editor nor any of the staff,’ he announced.
“‘We insist on seeing the editor or some responsible person,’ said thePrime Minister, and the deputation forced its way in. The boy had spokentruly; there was no one to be seen. In the whole suite of rooms therewas no sign of human life.
“‘Where is the editor?’ ‘Or the foreign editor?’ ‘Or the chiefleader-writer? Or anybody?’
“In answer to the shower of questions the boy unlocked a drawer andproduced a strange-looking envelope, which bore a Khokand postmark, and adate of some seven or eight months back. It contained a scrap of paperon which was written the following message:
“‘Entire party captured by brigand tribe on homeward journey. Quarter of million demanded as ransom, but would probably take less. Inform Government, relations, and friends.’
“There followed the signatures of the principal members of the party andinstructions as to how and where the money was to be paid.
“The letter had been directed to the office-boy-in-charge, who hadquietly suppressed it. No one is a hero to one’s own office-boy, and heevidently considered that a quarter of a million was an unwarrantableoutlay for such a doubtfully advantageous obj
ect as the repatriation ofan errant newspaper staff. So he drew the editorial and other salaries,forged what signatures were necessary, engaged new reporters, did whatsub-editing he could, and made as much use as possible of the largeaccumulation of special articles that was held in reserve foremergencies. The articles on foreign affairs were entirely his owncomposition.
“Of course the whole thing had to be kept as quiet as possible; aninterim staff, pledged to secrecy, was appointed to keep the paper goingtill the pining captives could be sought out, ransomed, and brought home,in twos and threes to escape notice, and gradually things were put backon their old footing. The articles on foreign affairs reverted to thewonted traditions of the paper.”
“But,” interposed the nephew, “how on earth did the boy account to therelatives all those months for the non-appearance—”
“That,” said Sir Lulworth, “was the most brilliant stroke of all. To thewife or nearest relative of each of the missing men he forwarded aletter, copying the handwriting of the supposed writer as well as hecould, and making excuses about vile pens and ink; in each letter he toldthe same story, varying only the locality, to the effect that the writer,alone of the whole party, was unable to tear himself away from the wildliberty and allurements of Eastern life, and was going to spend severalmonths roaming in some selected region. Many of the wives started offimmediately in pursuit of their errant husbands, and it took theGovernment a considerable time and much trouble to reclaim them fromtheir fruitless quests along the banks of the Oxus, the Gobi Desert, theOrenburg steppe, and other outlandish places. One of them, I believe, isstill lost somewhere in the Tigris Valley.”
“And the boy?”
“Is still in journalism.”