Chapter XXI

Within a fortnight, the promised information arrived by special coolie. On this occasion, Mallender's destination was one hundred and fifty miles from Madras, and described as Wellunga, an old cantonment, twice decimated by cholera, and long abandoned. "Here," announced the letter, "you will meet your Uncle, who now goes by the name of Beamish, and is a benevolent gentleman, of wealth and caprice."

Two days later, found the adventurer and his suite once more _en route_. The first eighty miles of the journey were accomplished by rail, the latter part by dâk, in a tonga behind lean and ill-tempered ponies, who were changed amid sensational scenes every ten miles. This was by no means a comfortable expedition, but Mallender's resources were nearly exhausted, and he was obliged to study economy. Researches in Mysore, Coorg, and Travancore,--though planned with the most rigid prudence,--had proved unexpectedly expensive. Fascinated by the allurement of pursuit, Mallender had parted with his guns, and watch, and thanks to Anthony's exertions, obtained a fair price. This transaction had brought home to Anthony the painful fact that his master was short of money; and he was now keener than ever in quest of his fortunes. Mallender had applied to his family lawyers in London questioning the stoppage of his income; but their answer had not been satisfactory; in formal terms, they reminded him that his father had agreed to certain stipulations, and by these he was bound to abide; unless he preferred to embark on a costly law-suit, and compel his Uncle to come forward, and establish his identity.

"We believe that he is alive," added the firm, "and if you continue to press, and harass him, he may possibly close on the park and house,--which are legally his property. The outlay on repairs, which is to be met by your mother's fortune, is, as we advised at the time, a serious and costly mistake. The alterations proceed very slowly, and it will be six months before the workmen are out.

"We remain, dear Sir,
Yours faithfully,
SCRIVEN, SWAN AND CO."

This letter was in his pocket, its contents in his head, as Mallender in a crazy old tonga was being jolted over a country, hopelessly empty, monotonous and level. Late in the afternoon as he approached Wellunga, gradually there came into view the gaunt outline of ruined barracks and bungalows, thrown into sharp relief by a splendid sunset. The general effect was such a flaming blaze of red and gold, that it looked as if molten fire were endeavouring to burn up the river, and a great straggling bazaar, which lay between the cantonment and the water--probably the cause of the cholera, which had twice emptied the station.

The whole place was set in sterile surroundings of brick-coloured soil, rocks, and scrubby jungle, presenting a depressing appearance of forlornness and solitude.

Approaching their journey's end, the wayfarers were rattled past the remains of a once imposing, but now roofless mess-house; the bare rafters of its verandahs stuck out on all sides like rows of grinning teeth. Near by, stood at intervals, various dilapidated dwellings surrounded by jungle, from which emerged here and there, a sturdy mango, a pomegranate tree, or even a half-strangled acacia,--the hardy survivors of a garden. One of these old bungalows, rescued from the hand of Time, proved to be the official Rest House, here the tonga and its smoking ponies came to a halt, and the stranger was welcomed by a cheery old man, wearing a clean white turban and a faded red tunic,--once the property of some regimental officer.

His reception was so effusive, that it was evident guests were an agreeable novelty. The venerable butler bustled about, and presently the new arrival was experiencing the benefits of a hot bath, and an appetising meal.

Subsequently, when he strolled into the little verandah to smoke, he found that the moon had risen, and by its cold white light he surveyed Wellunga; noticed the solid masonry of the dead cantonment, its air of utter isolation and desolation, made still more evident by the pitiless full-faced moon. The young man was impressed by the remarkable coincidence that once more his search had brought him amidst ruins, and solitude; but naturally people who abandon the world, take refuge in the waste places of the earth.

"No one living here?" he enquired, addressing the hovering attendant,--who had been a sepoy of the 15th Madras Native Infantry, and was inclined to be communicative.

"No, saar, only some half-castes, and road officials. Once long ago, this plenty big place, many soldiers in barrack, then cholera coming, and all the houses empty, and tumble-down. One officer only here still."

"Who is he?"

"General Beamish, saar, very old, living in General's quarters."

"Been here long?"

"Twenty-four years, never going away, never seeing friends, twice every day, drive same road, same time."

Mallender's heart sank. If Rochfort was too young, here was possibly the other extreme! but remembering Rochfort's opinion, he clung to hope. A native's idea of age was so vague; he would wait, and judge for himself.

The next morning, as he sat at _chotah-hazri_, attended by the assiduous butler, he questioned him further.

"This bungalow of yours is newly whitewashed and well kept, you have spoons, and good crockery. How is this--when I see that the last entry in your book of guests was five years ago?"

"It is the General's orders," was the prompt reply. "He likes any gentlemans stopping here, to be all right; therefore I getting spoons and sheets from his house, and sending over for your honour's dinner. Behold, he passes now!"

A large landau drawn by a pair of fine walers, came slowly into view; it was driven by a magnificent coachman, and preceded by running syces, waving silver-mounted yâk tails, or chowries. Propped high in the carriage, sat an aged bent man, with a long white beard. Beside him, was a stout elderly woman, her round, good-natured face half hidden by a hideous mushroom topee.

"It is his Honour the General, and Mrs. General Beamish," explained the butler. The announcement was the knell of Mallender's hopes. That venerable and decrepit figure was at least eighty years of age. Here was another failure! He had no luck, of what use to go on? He felt hopeless and despondent; in spite of all his effort and outlay, it seemed as if some tremendous, but fantastic force, was striving against him; luring him to out-of-the-way places, there to abandon him in perplexity and disappointment; and for the first time since he had begun his search, he was pricked by a suspicion of being purposely led astray! But before taking steps for immediate departure, he decided to have a look round the strangest environment in which he had yet found himself, and seizing his topee and stick,--in case of snakes,--he set out to explore.

As he gazed about dispiritedly, he distinguished the parade ground, the old horse lines, and a vast walled enclosure, which proved to be the cemetery. Is anything in the world more forsaken and forgotten, than an up-country burial-place in India, where rest unremembered and unknown, the unconscious builders of Empire? Here, the explorer aimlessly wandered, among flat gravestones, huge tombs of various forms, and sizes, pyramidal, bomb-shaped, or square, all of either stucco or red sandstone, and all gradually crumbling in the fierce tropical sun. Mallender was impressed by two facts; the dimensions of this well-peopled enclosure, in comparison to the size of the cantonment, and the perfect order in which it was maintained. The walks were weedless, the inscriptions legible and undefaced. Who, in this dead station, undertook "_Le culte des morts_?"

Another remarkable fact was the _youth_ of the departed! Scarcely one of these had seen thirty years. Many headstones bore no names; but a gigantic red tomb, recorded the intelligence that seventy-eight of the men, and non-commissioned officers of the Green Dragon Regiment, who died of cholera, were there interred.

The stranger paused, arrested by his own name, and read on a slab:

"Sacred to the memory of Geoffrey Hailes, of the 30th Regt. M.N.S. wantonly shot by a Sepoy of his company on the 5th Dec. 1831 aged twenty-seven years."

Near by lay "the mortal remains of Alidora Pegler, who died August the 9th 1785, aged twenty-one years." Underneath was this quaint information, "She was a young woman of most engaging manners."

Not far from Alidora, was the grave of "Dorothea Sumers, a dutiful daughter, a loving wife, and a happy mother, but departed this life, one day after the birth of her son, May 22nd 1796, aged nineteen years." The poor girl had not been granted much time to realise the happiness of motherhood.

From this grave, Mallender passed to that of "Richard Horsley of the Honourable Company's Service, cut off on the night of June 4th 1772, by the hand of an unknown assassin, aged twenty-three years."

Next, was a tall stone erected to the memory of six young officers "who were suddenly swept into eternity, by the plague of cholera."

An imposing obelisk, which towered over all the tombs, bore the name of:

"Mrs. Charlotte Travers, whose soul, perfect in all earthly ordained virtue, departed at the call of its guardian Author, for its next assigned function in the Eternal Kingdom."

Not far from this paragon, was a modest slab recording the fact, that "the officer who lay beneath it, was killed most suddenly in a duel on Christmas day 1802."

The spirit of the environment had taken hold of Mallender, and the oppressive silence, save for the twittering of a sparrow, the rustle of a lizard, weighed heavily upon his consciousness. Year after year a pitiless Eastern sun beat down on this forlorn enclosure, and it seemed to Mallender as if these dead folk,--his countrymen and women,--appealed to him from their graves, to at _least_ read their names, and the manner of their deaths. With a mind attuned to this melancholy inspection, he was turning the corner of a colossal tomb, when he all but collided with a girl carrying a large wreath! At a glance, he noticed that she was young and slim. He also received an impression that she was handsome.

"I--I beg your pardon," he stammered in his bewilderment.

She stared blankly at him for a moment, and then exclaimed, "Oh, oh--it's all right," and stepping back, motioned him to proceed. From a little distance, a male voice bellowed:

"Come on, come on, Tara--what the dickens is keeping you?" and he presently heard the swish of skirts, and light footsteps running away.

Now that "Tara" had departed, Mallender retraced his way, consumed with curiosity to know, where she had deposited the wreath? He discovered it on a flat stone, which bore the name,

"Robert Gordon, Surgeon. He was good to all. He died of Cholera July 1st 1839."

Over seventy years had elapsed, and this man was _still_ remembered! Wellunga was undoubtedly an outlandish, other world place!

As Mallender left the cemetery, he noticed the girl, and a square-shouldered young man, walking rapidly away in the direction of the native town.

Returning to the Dâk Bungalow, the guest found a good solid breakfast awaiting him: Dâl curry, eggs, home-made bread, fresh butter, coffee, and fruit. So in spite of himself, he still sponged!

"I suppose all this comes from the big house?" he enquired addressing the butler,--a despotic old person, who for some unexplained reason, would not suffer Anthony to wait, and had set Chinna-Sawmy to wash the kitchen dish-cloths!

"Yes, saar, that is the order--everything in Wellunga is as the General commands; this bungalow is kept ready and in good repair; the old places of course are ruins--but no one may touch one bit of wood, or one brick--though many wanting them for house, and cattle sheds; and plenty good dhoby stones, and curry stones, in _cemetery_--but once he goes--_all_ goes!"

"Including yourself?"

"Yes, your honour, I also depart to my own country--Quilon."

"I saw a young lady to-day, and a young man, who are they?"

"Miss Tara and Mr. Tom, the General's son and daughter."

Mallender put down his fork, and stared at the speaker in genuine surprise.

"Oh, yes. Miss Jessie, she is older; the General married two times, first family all gone Europe--he never going, too much liking this country, his people calling him always--all no use. His wife die, then he marry one English woman, not proper family; but taking great care of old man. He still getting big pension," he added with a significance that was entirely wasted on his listener. "The General, has all he wants; now he sits hours in big verandah looking at India, and always thinking, thinking, then he go for drive, then put to bed, same like child. He has his senses, he can walk, and see, only too old, and a little deaf."

"Why does he live at Wellunga?"

"That I cannot surely tell; but when young officer he was here with regiment. I have seen him get out of carriage at Mess House, and go in, and sit there, long, long, time. When he come out, he look shaking and plenty sorry, because all, all gone, everyone--and he only is left."

"And do his family remain always, in this dead place?"

"Oh, no, Master Tom has fine big coffee estate on Hills, and the Missies go there, when here it is too hot. The General is very rich, he shut eyes to Europe family--only liking Indian family."

"Perhaps he has forgotten the others?" suggested Mallender.

"Oh, no, memory good, not to-day, but for long ago; nothing he do not know, nothing he cannot tell, he got plenty medals and plenty fighting. The old gentleman keeps fine horses, and many syces and peons, same like as if _real_ General, and station full; but inside bungalow, is as the Missus pleases, and no show, no spending. Counting eggs, and gram, and charcoal, same like sergeant's wife!"

"Well, I believe I shall be leaving you to-morrow," said the visitor. "I suppose I can get hold of some sort of tonga in the bazaar. Tell my boy to bring my writing things."

When Anthony had placed these on the table, he coughed significantly, and said:

"_This_ place no use for master, and master soon, soon going,--but first must see the General. He is old, and knows much."

"Yes, but the General does not receive visitors," objected his employer, "and I cannot thrust myself upon him."

"That _I_ will arrange," replied Anthony with colossal assurance, then before Mallender could fitly reply, and rebuke, he had turned on his bare brown heel, and effected a swift departure.