Snake and Sword Part 7

THE SWORD AND THE SOUL.

One of the very earliest of all Dam's memories in after life--for in a few years he forgot India absolutely--was of _the Sword_ (that hung on the oak-panelled wall of the staircase by the portrait of a cavalier), and of a gentle, sad-eyed lady, Auntie Yvette, who used to say:--

"Yes, sonny darling, it is more than two-hundred-and-fifty years old.

It belonged to Sir Seymour Stukeley, who carried the King's Standard at Edgehill and died with that sword in his hand ... _You_ shall wear a sword some day."

(He did--with a difference.)

The sword grew into the boy's life and he would rather have owned it than the mechanical steamboat with real bra.s.s cannon for which he prayed to G.o.d so often, so earnestly, and with such faith. On his seventh birthday he preferred a curious request, which had curious consequences.

"Can I take the sword to bed with me to-night, Dearest, as it is my birthday?" he begged. "I won't hurt it."

And the sword was taken down from the oak-panelled wall, cleaned, and laid on the bed in his room.

"Promise you will not try to take it out of the sheath, sonny darling," said the gentle, sad-eyed lady as she kissed him "Good night".

"I promise, Dearest," replied the boy, and she knew that she need have no fear.

He fell asleep fondling and cuddling the sword that had pierced the hearts of many men and defended the honour of many ancestors, and dreamed, with far greater vividness and understanding, the dream he had so often dreamt before.

Frequently as he dreamed it during his chequered career, it was henceforth always most vivid and real. It never never varied in the slightest detail, and he generally dreamed it on the night before some eventful, dangerful day on which he risked his life or fought for it.

Of the early dreamings, of course, he understood little, but while he was still almost a boy he most fully understood the significance of every word, act, and detail of the marvellous, realistic dream.

It began with a view of a camp of curious little bell-tents about which strode remarkable, big-booted, long-haired, bedizened men--looking strangely effeminate and strangely fierce, with their feathered hats, curls, silk sashes, velvet coats, and with their long swords, cruel faces, and savage oaths.

Some wore steel breastplates, like that of the suit of armour in the hall, and steel helmets. The sight of the camp thrilled the boy in his dream, and yet he knew that he had seen it all before actually, and in real life--in some former life.

Beside one of a small cl.u.s.ter of tents that stood well apart from the rest sat a big man who instantly reminded the boy of his dread "Grandfather," whom he would have loved to have loved had he been given the chance.

The big man was even more strangely attired than those others who clumped and clattered about the lower part of the camp.

Fancy a great big strong man with long curls, a lace collar, and a velvet coat--like a kid going to a party!

The velvet coat had the strangest sleeves, too--made to b.u.t.ton to the elbow and full of slits that seemed to have been mended underneath with blue silk. There was a regular pattern of these silk-mended slits about the body of the coat, too, and funny silk-covered b.u.t.tons.

On his head the man had a great floppy felt hat with a huge feather--a hat very like one that Dearest wore, only bigger.

One of his long curls was tied with a bow of ribbon--like young Lucille wore--and the boy felt quite uncomfortable as he noted it. A grown man--the silly a.s.s! And, yes! he had actually got lace round the bottoms of his quaint baggy knickerbockers--as well as lace cuffs!

The boy could see it, where one of the great boots had sagged down below the knee.

Extraordinary boots they were, too. Nothing like "Grumper's"

riding-boots. They were yellowish in colour, and dull, not nicely polished, and although the square-toed, ugly foot part looked solid as a house, the legs were more like wrinkled leather stockings, and so long that the pulled-up one came nearly to the hip.

Spurs had made black marks on the yellow ankles, and saddle and stirrup-leather had rubbed the legs....

And a sas.h.!.+ Whoever heard of a grown-up wearing a sash? It was a great blue silk thing, wound round once or twice, and tied with a great bow, the ends of which hung down in front.

Of all the Pip-squeaks!

And yet the big man's face was not that of a Pip-squeak--far from it.

It was very like Grumper's in fact.

The boy liked the face. It was strong and fierce, thin and clean-cut--marred only, in his estimation, by the funny little tuft of hair on the lower lip. He liked the wavy, rough, up-turned moustache, but not that silly tuft. How nice he would look with his hair cut, his lower lip shaved, and his ridiculous silks, velvet, and lace exchanged for a tweed shooting-suit or cricketing-flannels! How Grumper, Father, Major Decies, and even Khodadad Khan and the sepoys would have laughed at the get-up. Nay, they would have blushed for the fellow--a Sahib, a gentleman--to tog himself up so!

The boy also liked the man's voice when he turned towards the tent and called:--

"Lubin, you drunken dog, come hither," a call which brought forth a servant-like person, who, by reason of his clean-shaven face and red nose, reminded the boy of Pattern the coachman.

He wore a dark cloth suit, cotton stockings, shoes that had neither laces nor b.u.t.tons, but fastened with a kind of strap and buckle, and, queer creature, a big Eton collar!

"Sword and horse, rascal," said the gentleman, "and warn Digby for duty. Bring me wine and a manchet of bread."

The man bowed and re-entered the tent, to emerge a moment later bearing _the Sword_.

How the cut-steel hilt sparkled and shone! How bright and red the leather scabbard--now black, dull, cracked and crumbling. But it was unmistakeably _the_ Sword.

It hung from a kind of broad cross-belt and was attached to it by several parallel buckled straps--not like Father's Sam Browne belt at all.

As the gentleman rose from his stool (he must have been over six feet in height) Lubin pa.s.sed the cross-belt over his head and raised left arm so that it rested on his right shoulder, and the Sword hung from hip to heel.

To the boy it had always seemed such a huge, unwieldy thing. At this big man's side it looked--just right.

Lubin then went off at a trot to where long lines of bay horses pawed the ground, swished their tails, tossed their heads, and fidgeted generally....

From a neighbouring tent came the sounds of a creaking camp-bed, two feet striking the ground with violence, and a prodigious, prolonged yawn.

A voice then announced that all parades should be held in h.e.l.l, and that it was better to be dead than d.a.m.ned. Why should gentlemen drill on a fine evening while the world held wine and women?

After a brief s.p.a.ce, occupied with another mighty yawn, it loudly and tunefully requested some person or persons unknown to superintend its owner's obsequies.

"Lay a garland on my hea.r.s.e Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; Say I died true.

My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth.

Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth...."

"May it do so soon," observed the tall gentleman distinctly.

"What ho, without there! That you, Seymour, lad?" continued the voice.

"Tarry a moment. Where's that cursed ..." and sounds of hasty search among jingling accoutrements were followed by a s.n.a.t.c.h of song of which the boy instantly recognized the words. He had often heard Dearest sing them.

"Drink to me only with thine eyes And I will pledge with mine: Or leave a kiss within the cup And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine."

Lubin appeared, bearing a funny, fat, black bottle, a black cup (both appeared to be of leather), and a kind of leaden plate on which was a small funnily-shaped loaf of bread.

"'Tis well you want none," observed the tall gentleman, "I had asked you to help me crush a flask else," and on the word the singer emerged from the tent.