‘They are there in the rukh; even within gunshot of the house. Come softly with me.’
‘But what is it? What is the trouble, Abdul?’
‘Mowgli, and his devils. Also my own daughter,’ said Abdul Gafur. Gisborne whistled and followed his guide. Not for nothing, he knew, had Abdul Gafur beaten his daughter of nights, and not for nothing had Mowgli helped in the housework a man whom his own powers, whatever those were, had convicted of theft. Also, a forest wooing goes quickly.
There was the breathing of a flute in the rukh, as it might have been the song of some wandering wood-god, and, as they came nearer, a murmur of voices. The path ended in a little semicircular glade walled partly by high grass and partly by trees. In the centre, upon a fallen trunk, his back to the watchers and his arm round the neck of Abdul Gafur’s daughter, sat Mowgli, newly crowned with flowers, playing upon a rude bamboo flute, to whose music four huge wolves danced solemnly on their hind legs.
‘Those are his devils,’ Abdul Gafur whispered. He held a bunch of cartridges in his hand. The beasts dropped to a longdrawn quavering note and lay still with steady green eyes, glaring at the girl.
‘Behold,’ said Mowgli, laying aside the flute. ‘Is there anything of fear in that? I told thee, little Stout-heart, that there was not, and thou didst believe. Thy father said — and oh, if thou couldst have seen thy father being driven by the road of the nilghai! — thy father said that they were devils; and by Allah, who is thy God, I do not wonder that he so believed.’
The girl laughed a little rippling laugh, and Gisborne heard Abdul grind his few remaining teeth. This was not at all the girl that Gisborne had seen with a half-eye slinking about the compound veiled and silent, but another — a woman full blown in a night as the orchid puts out in an hour’s moist heat.
‘But they are my playmates and my brothers, children of that mother that gave me suck, as I told thee behind the cookhouse,’ Mowgli went on. ‘Children of the father that lay between me and the cold at the mouth of the cave when I was a little naked child. Look’ — a wolf raised his gray jowl, slavering at Mowgli’s knee — ’my brother knows that I speak of them. Yes, when I was a little child he was a cub rolling with me on the clay.’
‘But thou hast said that thou art human-born,’ cooed the girl, nestling closer to the shoulder. ‘Thou art human-born?’
‘Said! Nay, I know that I am human born, because my heart is in thy hold, little one.’ Her head dropped under Mowgli’s chin. Gisborne put up a warning hand to restrain Abdul Gafur, who was not in the least impressed by the wonder of the sight.
‘But I was a wolf among wolves none the less till a time came when Those of the jungle bade me go because I was a man.’
‘Who bade thee go? That is not like a true man’s talk.’
‘The very beasts themselves. Little one, thou wouldst never believe that telling, but so it was. The beasts of the jungle bade me go, but these four followed me because I was their brother. Then was I a herder of cattle among men, having learned their language. Ho! ho! The herds paid toll to my brothers, till a woman, an old woman, beloved, saw me playing by night with my brethren in the crops. They said that I was possessed of devils, and drove me from that village with sticks and stones, and the four came with me by stealth and not openly. That was when I had learned to eat cooked meat and to talk boldly. From village to village I went, heart of my heart, a herder of cattle, a tender of buffaloes, a tracker of game, but there was no man that dared lift a finger against me twice.’ He stooped down and patted one of the heads. ‘Do thou also like this. There is neither hurt nor magic in them. See, they know thee.’
‘The woods are full of all manner of devils,’ said the girl with a shudder.
‘A lie. A child’s lie,’ Mowgli returned confidently. ‘I have lain out in the dew under the stars and in the dark night, and I know. The jungle is my house. Shall a man fear his own roof-beams or a woman her man’s hearth? Stoop down and pat them.’
‘They are dogs and unclean,’ she murmured, bending forward with averted head.
‘Having eaten the fruit, now we remember the Law!’ said Abdul Gafur bitterly. ‘What is the need of this waiting, Sahib? Kill!’
‘H’sh, thou. Let us learn what has happened,’ said Gisborne.
‘That is well done,’ said Mowgli, slipping his arm round the girl again. ‘Dogs or no dogs, they were with me through a thousand villages.’
‘Ahi, and where was thy heart then? Through a thousand villages. Thou hast seen a thousand maids. I — that am — that am a maid no more, have I thy heart?’
‘What shall I swear by? By Allah, of whom thou speakest?’
‘Nay, by the life that is in thee, and I am well content. Where was thy heart in those days?’
Mowgli laughed a little. ‘In my belly, because I was young and always hungry. So I learned to track and to hunt, sending and calling my brothers back and forth as a king calls his armies. Therefore I drove the nilghai for the foolish young Sahib, and the big fat mare for the big fat Sahib, when they questioned my power. It were as easy to have driven the men themselves. Even now,’ his voice lifted a little — ’even now I know that behind me stand thy father and Gisborne Sahib. Nay, do not run, for no ten men dare move a pace forward. Remembering that thy father beat thee more than once, shall I give the word and drive him again in rings through the rukh?’ A wolf stood up with bared teeth.
Gisborne felt Abdul Gafur tremble at his side. Next, his place was empty, and the fat man was skimming down the glade.
‘Remains only Gisborne Sahib,’ said Mowgli, still without turning; ‘but I have eaten Gisborne Sahib’s bread, and presently I shall be in his service, and my brothers will be his servants to drive game and carry the news. Hide thou in the grass.’
The girl fled, the tall grass closed behind her and the guardian wolf that followed, and Mowgli turning with his three retainers faced Gisborne as the Forest Officer came forward.
‘That is all the magic,’ he said, pointing to the three. ‘The fat Sahib knew that we who are bred among wolves run on our elbows and our knees for a season. Feeling my arms and legs, he felt the truth which thou didst not know. Is it so wonderful, Sahib?’
‘Indeed it is all more wonderful than magic. These then drove the nilghai?’
‘Ay, as they would drive Eblis if I gave the order. They are my eyes and feet to me.’
‘Look to it, then, that Eblis does not carry a double rifle. They have yet something to learn, thy devils, for they stand one behind the other, so that two shots would kill the three.’
‘Ah, but they know they will be thy servants as soon as I am a forest- guard.’
‘Guard or no guard, Mowgli, thou hast done a great shame to Abdul Gafur. Thou hast dishonoured his house and blackened his face.’
‘For that, it was blackened when he took thy money, and made blacker still when he whispered in thy ear a little while since to kill a naked man. I myself will talk to Abdul Gafur, for I am a man of the Government service, with a pension. He shall make the marriage by whatsoever rite he will, or he shall run once more. I will speak to him in the dawn. For the rest, the Sahib has his house and this is mine. It is time to sleep again, Sahib.’
Mowgli turned on his heel and disappeared into the grass, leaving Gisborne alone. The hint of the wood-god was not to be mistaken; and Gisborne went back to the bungalow, where Abdul Gafur, torn by rage and fear, was raving in the verandah.
‘Peace, peace,’ said Gisborne, shaking him, for he looked as though he were going to have a fit. ‘Muller Sahib has made the man a forest- guard, and as thou knowest there is a pension at the end of that business, and it is Government service.’
‘He is an outcaste — a mlech — a dog among dogs; an eater of carrion! What pension can pay for that?’
‘Allah knows; and thou hast heard that the mischief is done. Wouldst thou blaze it to all the other servants? Make the shadi swiftly, and the girl will make him a Mussulman. He is very comely. Canst thou wo
nder that after thy beatings she went to him?’
‘Did he say that he would chase me with his beasts?’
‘So it seemed to me. If he be a wizard, he is at least a very strong one.’
Abdul Gafur thought awhile, and then broke down and howled, forgetting that he was a Mussulman: —
‘Thou art a Brahmin. I am thy cow. Make thou the matter plain, and save my honour if it can be saved!’
A second time then Gisborne plunged into the rukh and called Mowgli. The answer came from high overhead, and in no submissive tones.
‘Speak softly,’ said Gisborne, looking up. ‘There is yet time to strip thee of thy place and hunt thee with thy wolves. The girl must go back to her father’s house tonight. To-morrow there will be the shadi, by the Mussulman law, and then thou canst take her away. Bring her to Abdul Gafur.’
‘I hear.’ There was a murmur of two voices conferring among the leaves. ‘Also, we will obey — for the last time.’
* * *
A year later Muller and Gisborne were riding through the rukh together, talking of their business. They came out among the rocks near the Kanye stream; Muller riding a little in advance. Under the shade of a thorn thicket sprawled a naked brown baby, and from the brake immediately behind him peered the head of a gray wolf. Gisborne had just time to strike up Muller’s rifle, and the bullet tore spattering through the branches above.
‘Are you mad?’ thundered Muller. ‘Look!’
‘I see,’ said Gisborne quietly. ‘The mother’s somewhere near. You’ll wake the whole pack, by Jove!’
The bushes parted once more, and a woman unveiled snatched up the child.
‘Who fired, Sahib?’ she cried to Gisborne.
‘This Sahib. He had not remembered thy man’s people.’
‘Not remembered? But indeed it may be so, for we who live with them forget that they are strangers at all. Mowgli is down the stream catching fish. Does the Sahib wish to see him? Come out, ye lacking manners. Come out of the bushes, and make your service to the Sahibs.’
Muller’s eyes grew rounder and rounder. He swung himself off the plunging mare and dismounted, while the jungle gave up four wolves who fawned round Gisborne. The mother stood nursing her child and spurning them aside as they brushed against her bare feet.
‘You were quite right about Mowgli,’ said Gisborne. ‘I meant to have told you, but I’ve got so used to these fellows in the last twelve months that it slipped my mind.’
‘Oh, don’t apologise,’ said Muller. ‘It’s nothing. Gott in Himmel! “Und I work miracles — und dey come off too!”‘
‘BRUGGLESMITH’
This day the ship went down, and all hands was drowned but me.
— CLARK RUSSELL.
THE first officer of the Breslau asked me to dinner on board, before the ship went round to Southampton to pick up her passengers. The Breslau was lying below London Bridge, her fore-hatches opened for cargo, and her deck littered with nuts and bolts, and screws and chains. The Black M’Phee had been putting some finishing touches to his adored engines, and M’Phee is the most tidy of chief engineers. If the leg of a cockroach gets into one of his slide-valves the whole ship knows it, and half the ship has to clean up the mess.
After dinner, which the first officer, M’Phee, and I ate in one little corner of the empty saloon, M’Phee returned to the engine-room to attend to some brass-fitters. The first officer and I smoked on the bridge and watched the lights of the crowded shipping till it was time for me to go home. It seemed, in the pauses of our conversation, that I could catch an echo of fearful bellowings from the engine-room, and the voice of M’Phee singing of home and the domestic affections.
‘M’Phee has a friend aboard to-night — a man who was a boiler-maker at Greenock when M’Phee was a ‘prentice,’ said the first officer. ‘I didn’t ask him to dine with us because — ’
‘I see — I mean I hear,’ I answered. We talked on for a few minutes longer, and M’Phee came up from the engine-room with his friend on his arm.
‘Let me present ye to this gentleman,’ said M’Phee. ‘He’s a great admirer o’ your wor-rks. He has just hearrd o’ them.’
M’Phee could never pay a compliment prettily. The friend sat down suddenly on a bollard, saying that M’Phee had understated the truth. Personally, he on the bollard considered that Shakespeare was trembling in the balance solely on my account, and if the first officer wished to dispute this he was prepared to fight the first officer then or later, ‘as per invoice.’ ‘Man, if ye only knew,’ said he, wagging his head, ‘the times I’ve lain in my lonely bunk reading Vanity Fair an’ sobbin’ — ay, weepin’ bitterly at the pure fascination of it.’
He shed a few tears for guarantee of good faith, and the first officer laughed. M’l’hee resettled the man’s hat, that had tilted over one eyebrow.
‘That’ll wear off in a little. It’s just the smell o’ the engine- room,’ said M’Phee.
‘I think I’ll wear off myself,’ I whispered to the first officer. ‘Is the dinghy ready?’
The dinghy was at the gangway, which was down, and the first officer went forward to find a man to row me to the bank. He returned with a very sleepy Lascar, who knew the river.
‘Are you going?’ said the man on the bollard. ‘Well, I’ll just see ye home. M’Phee, help me down the gangway. It has as many ends as a cato’-nine-tails, and — losh! — how innumerable are the dinghies!’
‘You’d better let him come with you,’ said the first officer. ‘Muhammad Jan, put the drunk sahib ashore first. Take the sober sahib to the next stairs.’
I had my foot in the bow of the dinghy, the tide was making up-stream, when the man cannoned against me, pushed the Lascar back on the gangway, cast loose the painter, and the dinghy began to saw, stern- first, along the side of the Breslau.
‘We’ll have no exter-r-raneous races here,’ said the man. ‘I’ve known the Thames for thirty years — ’
There was no time for argument. We were drifting under the Breslau’s stern, and I knew that her propeller was half out of water, in the middle of an inky tangle of buoys, low-lying hawsers, and moored ships, with the tide ripping through them.
‘What shall I do?’ I shouted to the first officer.
‘Find the Police Boat as soon as you can, and for God’s sake get some way on the dinghy. Steer with the oar. The rudder’s unshipped and — ’
I could hear no more. The dinghy slid away, bumped on a mooring-buoy, swung round and jigged off irresponsibly as I hunted for the oar. The man sat in the bow, his chin on his hands, smiling.
‘Row, you ruffian,’ I said. ‘Get her out into the middle of the river — ’
‘It’s a preevilege to gaze on the face o’ genius. Let me go on thinking. There was “Little Barrnaby Dorrit” and “The Mystery o’ the Bleak Druid.” I sailed in a ship called the Druid once — badly found she was. It all comes back to me so sweet. It all comes back to me. Man, ye steer like a genius.’
We bumped round another mooring-buoy and drifted on to the bows of a Norwegian timber-ship — I could see the great square holes on either side of the cut-water. Then we dived into a string of barges and scraped through them by the paint on our planks. It was a consolation to think that the dinghy was being reduced in value at every bump, but the question before me was when she would begin to leak. The man looked ahead into the pitchy darkness and whistled.
‘Yon’s a Castle liner; her ties are black. She’s swinging across stream. Keep her port light on our starboard bow, and go large,’ he said.
‘How can I keep anything anywhere? You’re sitting on the oars. Row, man, if you don’t want to drown.’
He took the sculls, saying sweetly: ‘No harm comes to a drunken man. That’s why I wished to come wi’ you. Man, ye’re not fit to be alone in a boat.’
He flirted the dinghy round the big ship, and for the next ten minutes I enjoyed — positively enjoyed — an exhibition of first-class steering. We threaded in and o
ut of the mercantile marine of Great Britain as a ferret threads a rabbit-hole, and we, he that is to say, sang joyously to each ship till men looked over bulwarks and cursed us. When we came to some moderately clear water he gave the sculls to me, and said:
‘If ye could row as ye write, I’d respect you for all your vices. Yon’s London Bridge. Take her through.’
We shot under the dark ringing arch, and came out the other side, going up swiftly with the tide chanting songs of victory. Except that I wished to get home before morning, I was growing reconciled to the jaunt. There were one or two stars visible, and by keeping into the centre of the stream, we could not come to any very serious danger.
The man began to sing loudly:
‘The smartest clipper that you could find.
Yo ho! Oho!
Was the Marg’ret Evans of the Black X Line.
A hundred years ago!
Incorporate that in your next book, which is marvellous.’ Here he stood up in the bows and declaimed: —
‘Ye Towers o’ Julia, London’s lasting wrong. By mony a foul an’ midnight murder fed —
Sweet Thames run softly till I end my song — And yon’s the grave as little as my bed.
I’m a poet mysel’ an’ I can feel for others.’
‘Sit down,’ said I. ‘You’ll have the boat over.’
‘Ay, I’m settin’ — settin’ like a hen.’ He plumped down heavily, and added, shaking his forefinger at me: —
‘Lear-rn, prudent, cautious self-control
Is wisdom’s root.
How did a man o’ your parts come to be so drunk? Oh, it’s a sinfu’ thing, an’ ye may thank God on all fours that I’m with you. What’s yon boat?’
We had drifted far up the river, and a boat manned by four men, who rowed with a soothingly regular stroke, was overhauling us.
‘It’s the River Police,’ I said, at the top of my voice.
‘Oh ay! If your sin do not find you out on dry land, it will find you out in the deep waters. Is it like they’ll give us drink?’
Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) Page 256