The Red Year: A Story of the Indian Mutiny

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XIV

  WHY MALCOLM DID NOT WRITE

  It was the saddest hour in Havelock's life when he decided that hisInvincibles must retreat. Yet, after another week's fighting, thatcourse was forced on him.

  On July 25 he plunged fearlessly into Oudh, leaving a wide and rapidriver in his rear, with other rivers, canals, and fortified towns andvillages in front, on three sides swarms of determined enemies gatheredunder the standards of Nana Sahib and the Oudh Taluqdars, and everywherea hostile if not actually mutinous peasantry.

  With his usual daring, trusting to the unsurpassed elan of his troops,he fought battles at Onao and Busseerutgunge. Then when the thunder ofthe fighting was faintly heard by listeners in the Residency, Havelocktook thought and regretted that he had ventured to leave Cawnpore.

  His force numbered about half the men who marched out of Allahabad onthe 7th. Cholera had broken out; stores were scanty; there was not asingle litter for another wounded man; and, worst of all, ammunition wasfailing. To advance farther meant the total destruction of his littlearmy, the sure and instant fall of the Residency, and the disappearanceof the British flag from an enormous territory.

  Yet he hesitated before he gave the final order. He fell back a coupleof marches and wrote to Neill on the 31st that he could "do nothing forthe relief of Lucknow," until he received a re-enforcement of a thousandmen and a new battery.

  Neill, who was holding Cawnpore with three hundred rifles, returned themost amazing reply that ever a subordinate officer addressed to hischief.

  "The natives don't believe you have won any real victories," he wrote,in effect. "Your retreat has destroyed the prestige of England. Whileyou are waiting for re-enforcements that cannot arrive Lucknow will belost. You must advance again and not halt until you have rescued thegarrison. Then return here sharp, as there is much to be done betweenthis and Agra and Delhi."

  Neill's zeal outran his discretion. Havelock told him in plain languagehis opinion of this curious epistle.

  "Your letter is the most extraordinary I have ever perused," he said...."Consideration of the obstruction which would arise in the publicservice alone prevents me from placing you under immediate arrest. Younow stand warned. Attempt no further dictation."

  Yet Neill's advice rankled and there were men on Havelock's staff whoagreed with the outspoken Irishman. Neill, however, coolly bottled hiswrath and sent on a company of the 84th and three guns.

  They brought despatches from Sir Patrick Grant, Commander-in-Chief atCalcutta, telling Havelock that the troops sent from the capital hadbeen turned aside to deal with mutineers in Behar.

  The gallant Crimean veteran therefore hardened his heart, set out oncemore for Lucknow and fought another most successful battle atBusseerutgunge. There could be no questioning either the victory or itscost. Another such success and his column would not number a halfbattalion.

  That night he watched the weary soldiers digging graves for their fallencomrades, and, while his brain was torn with conflicting problems, a spybrought news that the powerful Gwalior Contingent was marching to seizeCawnpore. He hesitated no longer. As a general he had no right to beswayed by emotion. He must protect Cawnpore as a base and trust to thefortune of war that Lucknow might keep the flag flying.

  Malcolm was with him when he formed this resolution. Outwardly cold, SirHenry seemed to his youthful observer, who now knew him better, toresemble a volcano coated with ice.

  "Major," he said, "the column will retreat at daybreak. But I will getmy other aides to make arrangements. Are you quite recovered from yourwound? Are you capable of undergoing somewhat severe exertion, I mean?"

  Frank answered modestly that he thought he had never been better inhealth or strength, though he wondered inwardly what sort of exertioncould be more "severe" than his experiences of the preceding threeweeks.

  But Havelock knew what he was talking about, as shall be seen.

  "I want you to make the best of your way to Delhi," he said in hisunbending way. "I leave details to you, except that I would like you tostart to-night if possible. Of course any kind of escort that isavailable would be fatal to your success, but, if I remember his recordrightly, that servant of yours may be useful. I do not propose to giveyou any despatches. If you get through tell the Commander-in-Chief inthe Punjab exactly how we are situated here. Tell him Lucknow will notbe relieved for nearly two months, but that I will hold Cawnpore tillthe last man falls. I hope and trust you may be spared to make thejourney in safety. If you succeed you will receive a gratuity and a stepin rank. Good-by!"

  He held out his hand, and his calm eyes kindled for a moment. Then Frankfound himself walking to his tent and reviewing all that this meant toWinifred and himself. He was none the less a brave man if his lipstrembled somewhat and there came a tightening of the throat thatsuspiciously resembled a sob.

  Two months! Could a delicate girl live so long in another such Infernoat Lucknow as he had seen in Wheeler's abandoned entrenchment atCawnpore?

  "God help us both!" he murmured bitterly, passing a hand involuntarilyover his misty eyes. With the action he brushed away doubt and fears. Hewas a soldier again, one to whom hearing and obedience were identical.

  "Chumru," he said, when he found his domestic scratching mud off a coatwith his nails for lack of a clothes-brush, "we set out for Delhito-night, you and I."

  "All right, sahib," was the unexpected parry to this astounding thrust,and Chumru kept on with his task.

  "It is a true thing," said Malcolm, who knew full well that theMohammedan understood the extraordinary difficulty of such a mission."It is the General-sahib's order, and he wishes you to go with me. Willyou come?"

  "Huzoor, have you ever gone anywhere without me since you came to my hutthat night when I was stricken with smallpox--"

  "Only once, you rascal, and then you came after me to my great goodfortune. Very well, then; that is settled. Stop raising dust and listen.We ride to-night. Let us discuss the manner of our traveling, for 'tis along road and full of mischief."

  Chumru laid aside the garment and tickled his wiry hair underneath histurban.

  "By the Kaaba," he growled, "such roads lead to Jehannum more easilythan to Delhi. Do you go to the Princess Roshinara, sahib?"

  Malcolm's overwrought feelings found vent in a hearty laugh.

  "What fiend tempted thee to think of her, owl?" he cried.

  "Nay, sahib, no fiend other than a woman. What else would bring yourhonor to Delhi? Is there not occupation here in plenty?"

  "I tell thee, image, that the General-sahib hath ordered it. And I ammaking for the British camp on the Ridge, not for the city."

  Chumru dismissed the point. He was a fatalist and he probably reservedhis opinion. Malcolm had beguiled the long night after they left RaiBareilly with the story of his strange meetings with the King'sdaughter. To the Eastern mind there was Kismet in such happenings.

  "I would you had not lost Bahadur Shah's pass, huzoor," he said. "Thatwould be worth a bagful of gold mohurs on the north road now. But, asmatters stand, we must fall back on walnut juice. You have blue eyes andfair hair, alack, yet must we--"

  "What! Wouldst thou make me a brother of thine?" demanded Malcolm,understanding that the walnut juice was intended to darken his skin.

  "There is no other way, huzoor. This is no ride of a night. We shall beseven days, let us go at the best, and meeting budmashes at every mile.If you did not talk Urdu like one of us, sahib, I should bid you diehere in peace rather than fall in the first village. Still, we may haveluck, and you can bandage your hair and forehead and swear that thosecursed Feringhis nearly cut your scalp off. But you must be rubbed allover, sahib, until you are the color of brown leather, for we can haveno patches of white skin showing where, perchance, your garments arerent."

  Malcolm saw the wisdom of the suggestion and fell in with it. WhileChumru went to compound walnut juice in the nearest bazaar, he, inpursuance of the plan they had concocted together, got a native writerto compile a l
etter which purported to emanate from Nana Sahib, and wasaddressed to Bahadur Shah. It was a very convincing document. Malcolmcontributed a garbled history of recent events, and one of the Brahmin'sseals, which came into Havelock's possession when Cawnpore was occupied,lent verisimilitude to the script.

  Then the Englishman covered himself with an oily compound that Chumruassured him would darken his skin effectually before morning, though thepresent effect was more obvious to the nose than to the eye. Chumrudonned his rissaldar Brahmin's uniform and Malcolm secured a similaroutfit from a native officer on the staff. Well-armed and well-mountedthe pair crossed the Ganges north of Bithoor, gained the Grand TrunkRoad and were far from the British column when they drew rein for theirfirst halt of more than an hour's duration.

  They had adventures galore on the road to Delhi, but Chumru's repertoryof oaths anent the Nazarenes, and Malcolm's dignified hauteur as amessenger of the man who ranked higher in the native world than theoctogenarian king, carried them through without grave risk. True, theyhad a close shave or two.

  Once a suspicious sepoy who knew every native officer in the 7thCavalry, to which corps "Rissaldar Ali Khan" was supposed to belong, hadto be quietly choked to death within earshot of a score of his owncomrades who were marching to the Mogul capital. On another occasion, amoulvie, or Mohammedan priest, was nearly the cause of their undoing.Malcolm was not sufficiently expert in the ritual of the Reka and thisshortcoming aroused the devotee's ire, but he was calmed by Chumru'sassurance that his excellent friend, Laiq Ahmed, was still sufferingfrom the wound inflicted by the condemned Giaours, and the storm blewover.

  These incidents simply served to enliven a tedious journey. Its mainfeatures were climatic discomfort and positive starvation. Rain storms,hot winds, sweltering intervals of intolerable heat--these were vagariesof nature and might be endured. But the absence of food was a moreserious matter. The passage to and fro of rebel detachments hadconverted the Grand Trunk Road into a wilderness. The sepoys paid fornothing and looted Mohammedans and Hindus alike. After two months ofconstant pilfering the unhappy ryots had little left. For the most partthey deserted their hovels, gathered such few valuables as had escapedthe human locusts who devoured their substance, and either retreated toremote villages or boldly sought a living in some other province.Indeed, it may be said in all candor that the Mutiny caused far moremisery to the great mass of the people than to the foreign rulersagainst whom it was supposed to be directed. The sufferings of theEnglish residents in India were terrible and the treatment meted out tothem was unspeakably vile, but for one English life sacrificed duringthe country's red year there were five hundred natives killed by thevery men who professed to defend their interests.

  Malcolm and Chumru were given proof in plenty of this fact as they rodealong. Generations of local feuds had taught the villagers to constructtheir rude shanties in such wise that any place of fairly largepopulation formed a strong fort. Where the ryots were collected insufficient numbers to render such a proceeding possible, they armedthemselves not only against the British but against all the world.

  Many times the travelers were fired at by men who took them for sepoys,and they often found active hostilities in progress between a party ofdesperate rebels who wanted food and a horde of sturdy villagers whorefused to treat with men in any sort of uniform.

  Still, they managed to live. In the fields they found ripening grain andan abundance of that small millet or pulse-pea known as gram, which isthe staple food of horses in India. Occasionally Malcolm shot a peacock,but shooting birds with a revolver is a difficult sport and wasteful ofammunition. Where hares were plentiful Chumru seldom failed to snare oneduring the night. These were feast days. At other times they chewedmillet and were thankful for small mercies.

  The journey occupied nearly twice the time of their original estimate.Nejdi, good horse as he was, wanted a rest; Chumru's steed was liable tobreak down any hour; and it was a sheer impossibility to obtain aremount in that wasted tract.

  All things considered it was a wonderful achievement when, on theevening of the eleventh day, they began their last march.

  They planned matters so that the Jumna lay between them and their goal.When they left the tope of trees in which they had slept away the hothours their ostensible aim was the bridge of boats which carried theMeerut road across the river into the imperial city.

  That was their story if they fell in with company. In reality they meantto leave the dangerous locality with the best speed their horses werecapable of. There could be no doubt that Delhi was the stronghold of themutineers. Even discounting by ninety per cent the grandiloquent storiesthey heard, it was evident that the British still held the ridge, butwere rather besieged than besiegers. For the rest, the natives wereassured that the foreign rule had passed forever. Their version of theposition was that "great fighting took place daily and the Nazareneswere being slaughtered in hundreds."

  The one statement nullified the other. Malcolm reasoned, correctlyas it happened, that the British force was able to hold its own, butnot strong enough to take the city; that the Punjab was quiet andthat the general in command on the ridge was biding his time untilre-enforcements arrived. Therefore if Chumru and he could strike theleft bank of the Jumna, a few miles above Delhi, there should be nodifficulty in crossing the stream and reaching the British camp.

  For once, a well-laid scheme did not reveal unforeseen pitfalls. He hadthe good fortune to fall in with a corps of irregular horse scouting fora half-expected flank attack by the rebels, in the gray dawn of themorning of August 11. Chumru and he were nearly shot by mistake, butthat is ever the risk of those who wear an enemy's uniform, and by thistime, John Company's livery was quite discredited in the land which he,in his corporate capacity, had opened up to Europeans.

  Moreover, between dirt and walnut-stain Malcolm was like an animatedbronze statue, and it was good to see the incredulous expression on abrother officer's face when he rode up with the cheery cry:

  "By Jove, old fellow, I am glad to see you. I am Malcolm of the 3dCavalry, and I have brought news from General Havelock."

  The leader of the scouting party, a stalwart subaltern of dragoons,thought that it was a piece of impudence on the part of this "dark"stranger to address him so familiarly.

  "I happen to be acquainted with Mr. Malcolm--" he began.

  "Not so well as I know him, Saumarez," said Frank, laughing. He had notcounted on his disguise being so complete. But the laugh proved hisidentity, for there is more distinctive character in a man's mirth thanin any other inflection of the voice.

  Saumarez testified to an amazed recognition in the approved manner of adragoon.

  "Either you are Malcolm or I am bewitched," he cried. Then he looked atChumru.

  "This gentleman, no doubt, is at least a brigadier," he went on. "But,joking apart, have you really ridden from Allahabad?"

  The question showed the lack of information of events farther souththat obtained in the Punjab. By this time the sepoys had torn downthe telegraph posts and cut the wires in all directions. Even betweenCawnpore and Calcutta, whenever they crossed the Grand Trunk Road theydestroyed the telegraph. As one of them said, looking up at a damagedpole which was about to serve as his gallows:

  "Ah, you are able to hang me now because that cursed wire strangled allof us in our sleep."

  His metaphor was correct enough. There is no telling what might havebeen the course of history in India if the sepoys had stoppedtelegraphic communication from the North to Calcutta early in May.

  Malcolm gave Saumarez a summary of affairs in the Northwest Provincesas they rode on ahead of the troop.

  "And now," he said, "how do matters stand here?"

  "You have used the right word," said the other. "Stand! That is justwhat we are doing. We've had three commander-in-chiefs and each one ismore timid than his predecessor. Thank goodness Nicholson arrived fourdays ago. Things will begin to move now."

  "Is that the Peshawar Nicholson?" asked Frank, remem
bering that Hodsonhad spoken of a man of that name, a man who would "horse-whip into thesaddle" a general who feared to assume responsibility.

  "Yes. Haven't you seen him? By gad, he's a wonder. A giant of a fellowwith an eye like a hawk and a big black beard that seems, somehow, tosuggest a blacksmith. He turned up at our mess on the first evening hewas in camp. Everybody was laughing and joking as usual and he neversaid a word. I didn't understand it at the time, but I noticed thatNicholson just glowered at each man who told a funny story, and, bydegrees, we were all sitting like mutes at a funeral. Then he said, in adeep voice that made us jump: 'When some of you gentlemen can spare me amoment I shall be glad to hear what you have been doing here during thelast ten weeks.' There was no sneer in his words. We have had fightingenough, Heaven knows, but we felt that by 'doing' he meant 'attacking,'not 'defending.' Sure as death, he will create a stir. Indeed, theleaven is working already. He sent me out here this morning, as he hasgone to meet the movable column from Lahore, and there was a rumor of asortie from Delhi to cut it off."

  Malcolm fresh from association with Havelock realized that a grave andserious-minded soldier could ill brook the jests and idle talk thatdominated the average military mess of the period.

  "Nicholson sounds like the right man in the right place," he commented.

  The dragoon vouched for it emphatically.

  "He has put an end to pony-racing and quoits," said he, "and there is tobe no more fighting in our shirt sleeves. Bear in mind, we have had adeuce of a time. I've been in twenty-one fights myself, and that is notall. The sepoys usually swarm out hell-for-leather and we rush to meetthem. There is a scrimmage for an hour or so, we shove 'em back, Hodsongets in a bit of saber-work, we pick up the wounded, tell off a burialparty, and start a cricket match or a gymkhana. Of course the fightingis stiff while it lasts and my regiment has lost its two best bowlers, areally sound bat and a crack rider in the pony heats. Still if we don'tlose any ground we gain none, and I can't help agreeing with Nicholsonthat war isn't a picnic."

  Frank managed not to smile at the naivete of his companion. ThoughSaumarez was nearly his own age he felt that their difference in rankwas not nearly so great as the divergence in their conception of themagnitude of the task before Britain in India. Nevertheless Saumarez sawthat Nicholson was a force, and that was something.

  "Is the Hodson you mention the same man who rode from Kurnaul to Meerutbefore the affair of Ghazi-ud-din-Nuggur?" he asked.

  "Yes, same chap. A regular firebrand and no mistake. He has gathered acrowd of dare-devils known as Hodson's Horse, and they go into actionwith a dash that I thought was only to be found in regular cavalry. Buthere we are at our ghat. That is a weedy-looking Arab you areriding--plenty of bone, though. Will he go aboard a budgerow without anyfuss?"

  "Oh, yes. He will do most things," was the quiet reply.

  Malcolm dismounted and fondled Nejdi's black muzzle. How little thelight-hearted dragoon guessed what those two had endured together! Nejdias a weed was a new role. For an instant Frank thought of making a matchwith his friend's best charger after Nejdi had had a week's rest.

  It was altogether a changed audience that Havelock's messenger securedthat evening when Nicholson rode to the ridge with the troops sent fromthe north by Sir John Lawrence, Edwardes, and Montgomery, while thegenerosity of Bartle Frere in sending from Scinde regiments he could illspare should be mentioned in the same breath.

  Saumarez's "giant of a fellow" was there, and Archdale Wilson, thecommander-in-chief, and Neville Chamberlain, and Baird-Smith, and HerveyGreathed. Inspired by the presence of such men Malcolm entered upon afull account of occurrences at Lucknow, Cawnpore and elsewhere duringthe preceding month. His hearers were aware of Henry Lawrence's deathand the beginning of the siege of Lucknow. They had heard of MassacreGhat, the Well, and Havelock's advance, but they were dependent onnative rumor and an occasional spy for their information, and Frank'sepic narrative was the first complete and true history that had beengiven them.

  He was seldom interrupted. Occasionally when he was tempted to slur oversome of the dangers he had overcome personally, a question from one orother of the five would force him to be more explicit.

  Naturally, he spoke freely of the magnificent exploits of Havelock'scolumn and he saw Nicholson ticking off each engagement, each tremendousmarch, each fine display of strategic genius on the part of the general,with an approving nod and shake of his great beard.

  "You have done well, young man," said General Wilson when Frank's longrecital came to an end. "What rank did you hold on General Havelock'sstaff?"

  "That of major, sir."

  "You are confirmed in the same rank here. I have no doubt your serviceswill be further recognized at the close of the campaign."

  "If Havelock had the second thousand men he asked for he would now bemarching here," growled Nicholson.

  No one spoke for a little while. The under meaning of the giant's wordswas plain. Havelock had moved while they stood still. The criticism wasa trifle unjust, perhaps, but men with Napoleonic ideas are impatientof the limitations that afflict their less powerful brethren. If Indiawere governed exclusively by Nicholsons, Lawrences, Havelocks, Hodsons,and Neills, there would never have been a mutiny. It was Britain's raregood fortune that they existed at all and came to the front when thefiery breath of war had scorched and shriveled the nonentities who heldpower and place at the outbreak of hostilities.

  Then some one passed a remark on Frank's appearance. He was bareheaded.The fair hair and blue eyes that had perplexed Chumru looked strangelyout of keeping with his brown skin.

  "How in the world did you manage to escape detection during your ridenorth?" he was asked.

  He explained Chumru's device, and they laughed. Like Havelock,Baird-Smith thought the Mohammedan would make a good soldier.

  "With all his pluck, sir, he is absolutely afraid of using a pistol,"said Frank. "He was offered the highest rank as a native officer, but herefused it."

  "Then, by gad, we must make him a zemindar. Tell him I said so and thatwe all agree on that point."

  When Frank gave the message to Chumru it was received with a demoniacgrin.

  "By the Holy Kaaba," came the gleeful cry, "I told the Moulvie ofFyzabad that I was in the way of earning a jaghir, and behold, it ispromised to me!"

  Next day Malcolm, somewhat lighter in tint after a hot bath, madehimself acquainted with the camp. Seldom has war brought together sucha motley assemblage of races as gathered on the Ridge during the siegeof Delhi. The far-off isles of the sea were represented by men fromevery shire, and Britain's mixed heritage in the East sent a bewilderingvariety of types. Small, compactly built Ghoorkahs hobnobbed withstalwart Highlanders; lively Irishmen made friends of gaunt, saturninePathans; bearded Sikhs extended grave courtesies to pert-nosed Cockneys;"gallant little Wales" might be seen tending the needs of woundedMohammedans from the Punjab. The language bar proved no obstacle to themen of the rank and file. A British private would sit and smoke insolemn and friendly silence with a hook-nosed Afghan, and the two wouldrise cheerfully after an hour passed in that fashion with nothing incommon between them save the memory of some deadly thrust averted whenthey fought one day in the hollow below Hindu Rao's house, or a draughtof water tendered when one or other lay gasping and almost done to deathin a struggle for the village of Subsee Mundee.

  The British soldier, who has fought and bled in so many lands, showedhis remarkable adaptability to circumstances by the way in which he madehimself at home on the reverse slope of the Ridge. A compact town hadsprung up there with its orderly lines of huts and tents, its long rowsof picketed horses, commissariat bullocks and elephants, its churches,hospitals, playgrounds, race-course and cemetery.

  Malcolm took in the general scheme of things while he walked along theRidge towards the most advanced picket at Hindu Rao's House. On the leftfront lay Delhi, beautiful as a dream in the brilliant sunshine. Theintervening valley was scarred and riven with water-courses, strewn
withrocks, covered with ruined mosques, temples, tombs, and houses, andsmothered in an overgrowth of trees, shrubs, and long grasses. Roadswere few, but tortuous paths ran everywhere, and it was easy to see howthe rebels could steal out unobserved during the night and creep closeup to the pickets before they revealed their whereabouts by a burst ofmusketry. Happily they never learnt to reserve their fire. Every manwould blaze away at the first alarm, and then, of course, in those daysof muzzle-loaders, the more resolute British troops could get to closequarters without serious loss. Still the men who held the Ridge had manycasualties, and until Nicholson came the rebel artillery was infinitelymore powerful than the British. Behind his movable column, however,marched a strong siege train. When that arrived the gunners could maketheir presence felt. Thus far not one of the enemy's guns had beendismounted.

  Frank had ocular proof of their strength in this arm before hereached Hindu Rao's house. The Guides, picturesque in their loose,gray-colored shirts and big turbans, sent one of their cavalry squadronsover the Ridge on some errand. They moved at a sharp canter, but theDelhi gunners had got the range and were ready, and half a dozeneighteen-pound balls crashed into the trees and rocks almost in theexact line of advance. A couple of guns on the British right took up thechallenge, and the duel went on long after the Guides were swallowed upin the green depths of the valley.

  At last Malcolm stood in the shelter-trench of the picket and gazed atthe city which was the hub of the Mutiny. Beyond the high, red-brickwalls he saw the graceful dome and minarets of the Jumma Musjid, whileto the left towered the frowning battlements of the King's palace. Tothe left again, and nearer, was the small dome of St. James's Churchwith its lead roof riddled then, as it remains to this day, with thebullets fired by the rebels in the effort to dislodge the ball and crosswhich surmounted it. For the rest his eyes wandered over a noble arrayof mosques and temples, flat-roofed houses of nobles of the court andresidences of the wealthy merchants who dwelt in the imperial city.

  The far-flung panorama behind the walls had a curiously peaceful aspect.Even the puffs of white smoke from the guns, curling upwards like tinyclouds in the lazy air, had no tremors until a heavy shot hurtledoverhead or struck a resounding blow at the already ruined walls of thebig house near the post.

  The 61st were on picket that day and one of the men, speaking with astrong Gloucestershire accent, said to Malcolm:

  "Well, zur, they zay we'll be a-lootin' there zoon."

  "I hope so," was the reply, but the phrase set him a-thinking.

  Within that shining palace most probably was a woman to whom he owed hislife. In another palace, many a hundred miles away, was another womanfor whom he would willingly risk that life if only he could save herfrom the fate that the private of the 61st was gloating over inanticipation.

  What a mad jumble of opposites was this useless and horrible war! At anyrate why could not women be kept out of it and let men adjust theirquarrel with the stern arbitrament of sword and gun!

  Then he recalled Chumru's words anent the Princess Roshinara, and thefancy seized him that if he were destined to enter Delhi with thebesiegers he would surely strive to repay the service she had renderedWinifred and Mayne and himself at Bithoor.

  That is the way man proposes and that is why the gods smile when theydispose of man's affairs.