timing is most unfortunate.'
'How so, General'' said Lucas.
'We are in the middle of a situation which could lead to a full-scale frontier war, Father,' General Blood said. ' I have just received a telegram from the adjutantgeneral in India, appointing me to the command of the Malakand Field Force and instructing me to proceed at once to the relief of the garrison at Chakdarra. They are hard pressed, very hard pressed indeed. The army here on the frontier is continually faced with one insurrection after another. We must hold the Khyber Pass because it is the most direct route into India, and so there is ceaseless fighting in that great rift. Now, word reaches me that some new mullah, an Afridi holy man named Sayyid Akbar, is preaching jehad and recruiting thousands of tribesmen into his Ghazi army to prepare for the Night of the Long Knives. We must also hold the Malakand Pass because we need to keep the road to Chitral open. We must keep the road to Chitral open because some dunderhead decided that holding Chitral was essential to our Forward Policy. And so it goes, one dustup after another, simply because politicians look at points upon a map and make their decisions in utter ignorance of the character of the land or of its people. Meaning no disrespect, Father, but I fear you may have made the same sort of mistake. I wonder if you are fully aware of what it is you plan to undertake. I wonder if you know anything of the country.
'The land we’re going to is a savage wilderness. The Himalayas are nearly four hundred miles in breadth and more than sixteen hundred in length. The westernmost ranges of these mountains, the Hindu Kush, are all that divide our Eastern empire from territory controlled by Russia. The land has been cracked by time and gouged by torrential rainfall. It has been ravaged by ice and snow and baked by a merciless sun. Rainfall has cut mammoth gutters called nullahs into the silt deposits of the valleys. Sometimes these are great dry cracks in the land which form gorges up to one hundred feet deep and several hundred yards wide. Often they have streams flowing through them-not the sort of streams you see in our English countryside, but devilishly cold, fastflowing mountain rapids which, with the slightest degree of additional rainfall or snowmelt, become roaring and torrential rivers which can sweep you off your feet and dash you to pieces on jagged rocks. The mountains above the valleys are steep and rockstrewn, difficult to climb even for a seasoned alpinist.
'The inhabitants of these regions are utter savages. Tribe wars upon tribe. Khan attacks khan. Bloodfeuds are as common as trollops in Piccadilly. You take the ferocity of the Zulu, add it to the craft of the American redskin and the marksmanship of the Boer, and you have your Pathan, a violent, murderous aborigine. Every man jack of them is a soldier. Each one goes about armed to the teeth. And they dearly love to fight. We have a sizable number of them in our own forces, a mixed blessing at best, for like as not they’ll desert us whenever the mood strikes them and turn the Martinis we issue them back on us. Yet we cannot afford to do without them. We require the manpower; we need their skills and knowledge of the terrain. So long as we feed them regularly and give them something of a better standard of living than they can expect to find with their own tribes, as well as provide them with a license to kill with impunity, chances are they’ll remain with us and fight well for us, even against their own people. Such is the character of those you hope to convert to Christianity. They are a murderous, ignorant, and superstitious people, easily roused and well-nigh impossible to pacify.
Yet we must pacify them. That is my duty, Father. I will not attempt to instruct you in yours, but I can at least see to it that your choice is an informed one.'
'Some of your men have told me much the same thing, — said Lucas. 'I can well appreciate the situation, General, but it changes nothing. I, too, have my duty, as you pointed out.'
Blood nodded curtly. 'Well-spoken, Father. All’s been said, then. See the quartermaster about drawing some supplies. We leave on a forced march first thing in the morning. And on your way out, see the clerk and leave the names of your next of kin.'
'You’re most kind, General,' said Lucas.
Blood grunted. 'Oh, and one more thing, before you leave. This is a military expedition, you understand. As such, I’m in no position to spare you any orderlies. I travel without one myself. However, seeing that you are traveling in company with a lady, may I suggest you retain one of the locals as a khawasin. He’ll have to double as a bhisti, carrying water for the troops when needed, but that’s expected. I would suggest you hire a Hindustani, they’re generally less trouble. Now you’ll excuse me, Father, I have a great many things to see to. The quartermaster will see to it that you and Miss Cross have a place to bed down for the night. Enjoy it, it’ll be the last decent night’s sleep you’re likely to get in a long time.'
After having seen to their supplies for the next day’s march, Lucas and Andre went to the barracks in search of Finn. He proved easy enough to find. All they had to do was follow the sound of raucous laughter and drinkfueled song. It was Mulvaney’s voice that carried the verse while the others joined in the chorus of a barrack-room ballad made popular by Kipling.
'I went into a public-ouse to get apint o’beer,
The publican ‘e up an’sez, ‘We serve no red-coats here. ‘
The girls Wind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an’to myself sez I:.
O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy go away’,
But it’s ‘Thank you, Mister Atkins,’ when the band begins to play.
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play.
O it’s ‘Thank you, Mister Atkins,’ when the band begins to play.'
Ortheris took up the next verse, howling like a stray dog.
'I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ‘adn’t none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music’alls,
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls!
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy, wait outside’,
But it’s ‘Special train for Atkins’ when the trooper’s on the tide.
O it’s ‘Special train for A tkins’ when the trooper’s on the tide.'
Learoyd’s turn came next and he sounded considerably more melodious than his cohorts.
'Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’they’re starvation cheap;
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit,
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy, ‘ow’syersoul'’
But it’s ‘Thin red line of ‘eroes’ when the drums begin to roll.
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it’s ‘Thin red line of ‘eroes’ when the drums begin to roll.'
Delaney picked up the honors for the next verse, laying into it with gusto, to the applause of the soldiers, who were unaccustomed to having their officers being so regular around them.
'Wearen’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too.
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
A n’if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints;
While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy, fall Wind’,
But it’s ‘Please to walk in front, sir,’ when there’s trouble in the wind.
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind.
O it’s ‘Please to walk in front, sir,’ when there’s trouble in the wind.'
The entire group was struck dumb with amazement when Andre chimed in with the final verse.
