S. Sidney
A Galahad of the Creeks; The Widow Lamport
A GALAHAD OF THE CREEKS
CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF THE WOON
The good ship steered toward the East,
To the East, o'er the salt sea foam;
And years rolled by, and time grew old,
But she nevermore came home.
When a man has taken a first-class degree, when he has won his blue, and has passed high into the Indian Civil Service without the wet-nursing of a crammer, it might be hazarded that he is worth something. One might go further and picture out his future career-how he would be a prop of Israel; how, step by step, he would rise until the Honourable Council enshrouded him; and how, after a life of useful work, he would, like Oliver, desire more, and drop into being the bore of "the House," or into the warmest corner of the "Oriental," and dream over the fire of the time when he was his Honour the Lieutenant Governor; but the lion is very old now-let him doze.
Peregrine Jackson had taken the first steps to qualify for this part in the tragedy of life, for this forging of the links of that mysterious chain of which we know not the beginning and may never know the end until, as to Longinus, the gates of immortality are opened unto us. But the tall, straight, broad-shouldered young Englishman was thinking of none of these things at present. He had elected to serve in Burma, and he was now posted as assistant commissioner, practically Governor of Pazobin, which is in lower Burma, and lies near the sea on a slimy creek of the Irawadi. He leaned over the gunwale of the river steamer that was bearing him to his destination, and the skipper, the sleeves of his gray-flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, stood beside him and pointed out Pazobin, which lay about two miles off, clinging like a limpet to the river bank. Now, a Burman river steamer can walk, and at twelve knots an hour two miles would not take long to cover-in fact, the Woon had already whistled shrilly to announce her coming-a whistle that found a hundred echoes in the forest which fringed the banks, until it died away in fitful cadences in some unknown swamp. And let it be remembered that this is the country of the creeks. Here the Irawadi, whose source no man knoweth, comes down from its cradle of snow, past the tremendous defiles of Bhamo, through the whole length of that strange land from which the veil has only just been lifted, past cities and temples, until at last the mystery of waters spread out with a hundred thirsty throats toward the sea, and puddles its blue field with a muddy yellow far out, even to where the breakers hiss around Cape Negrais. Between the wide necks that stretch out to the sea the water has made for itself countless cuttings, through which it ebbs and flows sluggishly beneath the shadows of a primeval forest. The whistle of the steamer was answered by the dull boom of a signal gun, and the broad bosom of the creek was almost immediately dotted over with a vast number of small craft making their way toward the incoming mail boat. "There's the pagoda," and the Mudlark, as captains of Burman river steamers are irreverently called, pointed to the gilded cupola which rose high above the feathers of the bamboos that surrounded it. "There's the jetty," he added, "and there's the courthouse. You'll know more about that presently. Wonder how you'll like sitting there ten hours a day? And, by George, there's the nga-pe!" "The what?" But as Jackson spoke, a puff of wind brought a decomposed odour to the steamer. It was overpowering, an all-pervading essence, and for a moment Peregrine forgot everything in a vain effort to beat off the evil with his pocket-handkerchief. "It's all right when you're used to it," mocked the captain, "and you mustn't turn up your nose at it, for that delicate condiment is the main source of revenue of your district. Wait till I take you up some day with a shipload on board! And now, your humble, I must be off."
He vanished to attend to his duties, which to the non-professional onlooker appeared to consist principally of swinging his arms round like the sails of a windmill and using frightful language toward a person whom he called the serang. The fitful wind, changing at this time, relieved Jackson from the terrible odour, and allowed him to look with a somewhat despairing curiosity at his new home. Before him lay a fleet of small fishing craft and a single row of bathing machines on stilts. The latter were the houses of the inhabitants, and they were all built on piles. They were of the roughest possible description, but here and there a plutocrat had got some corrugated iron to make a roof with and to excite thereby the envy, malice, and hatred of his fellows. There was but one street, from the end of which the jetty projected into the river. Beyond this rose some larger buildings, the largest of which had been pointed out by the skipper as the courthouse. A little way inland towered the gilded spire of the pagoda, with its umbrella crest that swung slowly round in the breeze. The one street of the township was thoroughly alive. It seemed as if a swarm of butterflies was on the move in the bright sunshine. Everywhere there was the sheen of brilliant colour-red, yellow, electric blue, and that strange tint which is known to milliners as sang de bœuf. The small boats surrounded the steamer, and, regardless of the danger of being swamped, recklessly jammed up against her. With few exceptions their occupants were either women or Chinamen. These latter exchanged joyous greetings with their compatriots on board, and, swarming up the ship's side, set vigorously to work preparing to land their consignments as soon as ever the steamer drifted alongside the jetty. The ladies followed almost as rapidly, and their agility and the skill which they displayed in preventing the too great exposure of shapely limbs was beyond all praise. The women had brought with them their peddling wares, and a brisk market was opened-sharks' teeth, an invaluable love philter, silks and fruits, and the nameless little wants of semicivilized life. One held high above her head a row of mutton chops impaled upon a bamboo skewer. "Excellent they are," she cried; "they have come from the fat sheep the mail brought for me all the way from Calcutta."
Everybody was smoking, except the Chinamen and the man at the wheel, who were too busy. The Burman man was, however, so absorbed in the contemplation of his own dignity that he did nothing but smoke; the Burman woman, on the other hand, simply coaled herself with each whiff of the long green cheroot she sucked, and every puff inspired her with fresh energy for the driving of a bargain. Through all the maze of business, however, madam remained a very woman, and many an astute deal was lost as the joints of her armour were pierced by Ah-Sin's oily tongue or the open admiration in Loo-ga-lay's little eyes. They were now so close to the shore that Jackson could distinctly see the faces of the people and the medals on the breasts of the half company of Sikh police that were formed up on the jetty-a tribute of honour to him, as he found out subsequently. Two Europeans stood amid the crowd; in one, dressed in a police uniform, Peregrine recognised Hawkshawe, the district police officer, who, while nominally his second in command, was really to be Jackson's dry nurse in controlling his charge until he was fit to fly alone. This period of probation would be, of course, just as long or as short as Peregrine chose to make it, for a member of the Indian Civil Service is ordinarily hatched full-fledged-a diplomat, a magistrate, anything you will. In the other, who stood beside the police officer, Jackson, although new to the country, recognised the missionary. His unkempt beard and hair, his long clerical coat of raw silk, and the dejected appearance of his lean face, hall-marked him as such distinctly.
The steamer had now come almost opposite the jetty. A light line, one end of which was attached to the hawser, was cleverly thrown out and as cleverly caught by a blue-bloused Lascar. The hawser was dragged to the shore to the accompaniment of a "hillee-haulee" chorus, and it surged through the water like an unwilling water boa being pulled to land. At length the end of the huge rope touched the bank, somebody jumped into the ooze and lifted it with both arms, somebody else twisted it deftly round a short stumpy pillar, and then, with a drumming of the donkey engine and an insistent hiss-hiss of the paddles, the steamer sidled slowly alongside the jetty until she almost touched it. In an instant the bridge was placed in position and a crowd that seemed all elbows met an invading army bent upon forcing its way on board, and there was a little trouble. With the aid of a fierce-looking sergeant, who used his cane freely, Hawkshawe made his way on deck, and after a brief greeting with the skipper came up to Peregrine.
"You're Jackson, I suppose? I'm Hawkshawe."
The
