British -- India -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
Early breakfast over, they set out upon a six hours' tonga drive to
Jhung; an isolated civil station fifty miles off the line of rail.
Tortured India was already awake and astir; and along an interminable
road of fine white dust, covered with straw, they sped at a hand-gallop
between converging lines of sheesham-trees, with clank and rattle and
incessant tooting of horns, scattering the unhurried traffic of the open
road:--a procession of five tongas loaded to the limit of allowance with
human beings, dogs, saddles, and battered boxes. In all directions the
unprofitable land rolled level to the sky-line. Every seven or eight
miles they stopped to change ponies. Every hour the heat and glare grew
fiercer; the clangour of wheels and tonga-bar more assertive, till it
seemed to beat on bared nerves; and the terrible thirst of the Frontier
took hold upon the dust-filled throats of dog and man alike.
It is possible to compress a good deal of discomfort into six hours: and
the Dak Bungalow, in its noonday quiet and comparative coolness, seemed
an Island of the Blest after the glare and riot of the road. Here the
Desmonds were cheered by a reassuring telegram; and here all rested till
after sundown, when the pitiless tongas claimed them again; and all night
long they fled across the open desert over a track of straw, through an
interminable darkness strewn with stars.
Now and again a handful of these, seemingly dropped to earth, heralded a
changing station, and a halt for fresh ponies. Here would be brief and
blessed respite; a moment to stretch cramped limbs: moving lights that
revealed shadowy shapes of men and horses: much apostrophising of the
Prophet, interspersed with questionable jokes and laughter: and the voice
of the pariah, roused from light sleep, or the absorbing pursuit of
fleas. Here also Colonel Buckley would wake up, and confound creation in
smothered expletives, mindful of Honor's presence; and on one occasion
Hodson was heard confiding to the Chicken his determination to 'get quit
of this blasted Frontier' on the first opportunity. Whereat Lenox lost
his apathy, and turned upon Desmond, who walked beside him.
"Listen to that now! By Jove, he shall get his opportunity sooner than
he thinks for. We can't have young skrimshankers of his kidney
patronising the finest service in India."
"Get Richardson to give him a taste of the swimming-bath, in his mess
kit, when the cold weather comes!" Desmond suggested with a laugh. "I've
known that knock the nonsense out of some of 'em."
Lenox nodded thoughtfully.
"I'm not over-partial to that form of argument," said he. "But in this
case, I believe I should rather enjoy it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account