A Ruler of Ind

Front matter

A EULER OF IATD DIGBY'S POPULAR NOVEL SERIES Crown Svo, handsome cloth, price zs 6d per Vol. Each Book contains 320 pp., and is printed on superior paper from new type. Those marked * may be had in Picture Boards at 2s. THE BEAUTIFUL SOUL. By FLORENCE MARRYAT. Author of ' A Fatal Silence,' etc. Just published. THE OTHER BOND. By DORA RUSSELL. Author of 1 A Hidden Chain,' e c. Just published _ A LIFE FOR A LOVE. By L. T. MEADE. Author of ' The Medicine Lady,' etc. Just published. FALSE PRETENCES. By ANNIE THOMAS (Mrs Pender Cldlip). Author of 'A Girl's Folly,' 'A Lover of the Day,' etc. Just published. HER LOVING SLAVE. By HUME NISBET. Author of ' The Jolly Roger,' ' Bail Up,' etc., etc. With Illustrations by the Author. Just published. DR JANET OF HARLEY STREET. By ARABELLA KENEALY. Author of 'Some Men are such Gentlemen,' * The Honourable Mrs Spoor.' seventh Edition * THE MYSTERY OF CLEMENT DUNRAVEN.

By JEAN MIDDLEMASS. Author of 'A Girl in a Thousand.' ' Hush Money,' etc. Third Edition. • A HIDDEN CHAIN. By DORA RUSSELL. Author of ' The Other Bond,' 'Footprints in the Snow,' etc. Third Edition. * THE JOLLY ROGER. By HUME NISBET. Author of 'Her Loving Slave,' 'Bail Up,' eto. With Illustrations by the Author. Fifth Edition. '.' Other Works in the same Series in due course DIGBY, LONG & CO., LONDON A RULER OF IND BY F. THOROLD DICKSON and MARY L. PECHELL LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C.

Part I

1 Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter ; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on ; Not to the sensual ear, but more endeared Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone : Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal — yet, do not grieve ; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair.' Ode on a Grecian Urn. — KEATS.

Chapter I

'I call this delightful,' said the globe-trotting M.P., putting down his book and looking round him with an air of placid content. ' Perfect weather, the sea smooth as glass, and these magnificent masses of rock and stretches of yellow sand ; no wind, rain, or snow, no fogs or storms. Consider what sort of a day this may be in the channel. Probably blowing half a gale there.' It was certainly delightful, the stillness of the air, the swishing of the water, and the bright December sunshine pouring down upon the awning as the Indian marine ship made her way slowly along the coast. Everything wore a peaceful air of dolce far niente. ' A real relaxation after the noise and trouble of political life,' continued the M.P. ' Nothing to do, nothing to think of. I have done nothing, ab solutely nothing the whole day but jot down some notes for my book.' ' You'll cive rather a one-sided view of these latitudes, if you only describe them as they are in winter,' said the Bagdad merchant, to whom these remarks were addressed. 'You ask the skipper what comfort there is in doing this run in July.

I've been on deck with the thermometer 120°, under double awnings, no ice to be had either ; I should say the lower regions weren't in it with a journey up the Persian Gulf in hot weather.' ' I shall certainly mention the differences of climate in my work,' replied the M.P. ' My book, " The East as it is," is designed to give information on all points. I intend to treat of all matters in it, with strict impartiality, whether they concern the climate or phases of native life. I investigate everything personally, and give "no credence to the tales generally foisted upon travellers.' ' One does come across some curious things out here though,' said the Bagdad merchant, 'and I've seen one or two things since I've been in these parts that I should never have believed had I been told them.' The M.P. smiled an innocent, childlike smile, and prepared to disbelieve any further statements the Bagdad merchant should make. 'There's an island we shall pass,' continued the merchant, ' where the water is all brackish and undrinkable, and the only water fit to drink is pro cured from the bottom of the sea.' The M.P. smiled yet more. ' That's a very good story,' he said, ' and I suppose there are people who believe it.' The merchant's sun-burnt face grew red 'You don't believe my word,' he said, 'ask the captain or any one who knows Bahrein.

We shall stop there to discharge cargo, and you can see and taste the water for yourself.' James Bagnall, M.P., Member for Haresfield, was a portly, affable, well-informed person, slightly on the shady side of fifty, possessed of a well meaning idea that he had a mission to set people right when they erred through ignorance. He therefore devoted his time out of session to travelling and collecting useful information to set before them, for which knowledge people were not always as grateful as they might have been. A little group of three were sitting on the deck of the steamer, the third being Captain Holt, Bombay Staff Corps, now proceeding to Bushire to relieve the assistant resident. He had listened with some amusement to the conversation between the merchant and the M.P. 'What sort of place is Bushire?' he asked the former, 'I've got to put in eighteen months there.

Any sport to be had ? ' 'Well, you won't think it much of a place if you've come from a big Indian station. Very few Europeans, and the sport isn't up to much either ; you can get better at Buzreh, plenty of birds, and if you want big game there's pig.' ' Pig ? don't you stick them ? ' 'No, it's impossible to ride. They live in the swampy undergrowth on the banks of the river. It's not bad sport, though ; plenty of danger about it,' said the merchant, whose only experience of sport, previous to coming to the east, was the shooting gallery of the aquarium. ' Good, I shall get up to Buzreh pretty often. Anything to help pass the time away.' Here the M.P. made a mental note to be brought into the chapter on ' Our Indian Officials,' respecting the large amount of leisure enjoyed by said officials.

The sun set behind masses of purple rock, high and volcanic, of the Arabian coast, its glow beautified everything, and the sea, still, and seem ingly colourless, looked like a mirror. ' Can anything in Egypt beat this ? ' inquired the M.P. ' What an opportunity for an artist. How Hilda would enjoy this.' 'We shall reach Muscat in halfan -hour,' said the third officer, joining the group ; ' curious look ing place if you haven't seen it before.' The M.P. consulted his guide book. 'Muscat is the capital of Oman,' he read. ' It is governed by a sultan — ' ' Who is resident here now ? ' inquired Holt of the third officer. ' Reid of " ours " came here a couple of years ago, but he died of heat-apoplexy before he had been a month in the place.' ' There isn't anyone here just now,' replied the officer. ' Major Fitton went on leave last mail ; the doctor is acting for him.' The frowning rocks and watch-towers of Muscat came in sight, and in the narrow cutting in the rocks which forms the harbour, the ship anchored for the night.

The M.P. came on deck early next morning, and looked around him approvingly. 'A curious place, a most interesting place,' he said. ' All this must be of volcanic formation. See those masses of rock thrown down as if by some Titan hand,' then his eye caught sight of the letters painted large and white in which the names of the various gunboats and dates of their visits are written. His expression changed. ' A shame,' he said, ' a disgraceful proceeding to disfigure the handiwork of Nature thus. I thought that here at least we should have left behind the spirit that advertises its favourite wares on trees and rocks. I shall report this to the Society.' The M.P. having recently joined the ' Society for protecting Nature ' was one of its most active members. ' That old tub over there is the sultan's yacht,' said the skipper, coming up and pointing out a brilliantly painted steamer, ' and that white build ing where the flag is, is his palace.

It's a wonder ful looking place, isn't it ? The Arabs say that when Allah finished creating the world, he chucked all the surplus rubbish down here.' ' They say the same thing of Aden, I am told,' said the M.P. ' It is interesting to trace all these legends to their common origin.' 'Behold, are they not written in the guide books ? ' murmured Holt to himself. ' A most able and interesting speech of Lord Swinton's,' remarked the M.P. as they sat smoking in the deck-house after dinner. He could never rest long without trying to find out the political opinions of everyone he met, and if their views differed from his, trying to convert them. In politics Mr Bagnall himself was a Liberal Unionist. He had followed Gladstone in all things, till that great leader had erred into the wrong path over Home Rule, and then renouncing his allegiance more in grief than anger he threw in his lot with the opposing party. 'The speech at the Liberal Union meeting in Monmouth.

Yes, it was good. But I see there were a lot of women speaking. I can't stand women interfering in politics,' said the ship's captain who was not up to date. ' 1 should never allow my wife to speak from a platform. A woman's proper place is at home.' ' They help us a great deal, nevertheless,' replied the M.P. ' Woman's influence in politics is most valuable. I consider it entirely owing to them that our candidate won the bye-election for Stanton. I don't, however, approve of extending the suffrage to them. The thin end of the wedge you know. They would never be content with voting, they would want to sit in the House. I've a niece who is awfully keen about it though ; her speech is reported in that paper. It's a rather amusing one too ; as a rule women's speeches are wofully devoid of humour.' ' Before that ridiculous Primrose League was started, women never took any part in politics, said the captain. ' Excuse me, I cannot agree with you there,' answered the M.P., ' we read of the Duchess of Devonshire letting tradespeople kiss guineas from her lips in return for their votes.

We have got a little beyond that sort of thing nowadays, thank goodness.' ' Don't you think canvassing and all that sort of thing overdone now?' asked Holt. 'At any rate, we haven't any women in India who want to vote, they've plenty of other things to occupy their minds. Advanced women appear to me to be those ' (Holt's ideas of " advanced women " were gathered from Mrs Linn Linton's writings and the comic papers), ' who, having given up all hopes of matrimony and having nothing else to do, make one's life a burden by interfering with everything. Did you ever know a woman of advanced ideas who wasn't on the wrong side of forty and who didn't wear short hair and spectacles?' It will be seen from this that Holt's ideas were crude in the extreme, but then he had not set foot in his native land for six years, and in India one soon gets out of touch with the latest movements. ' You should see my niece,' said the M.P. ' She's not a bit like the style of woman you describe, although she goes in for politics and advanced ideas.

She did a lot of good too at our last election,' which being interpreted meant that she had materially helped the return of her uncle for Haresfield. ' I've a photo of her somewhere,' continued the M.P. ' Ah, here it is,' and he fished a cabinet portrait out of his bulky pocket-book, and handed it to Holt. The beautiful girlish face with masses of wavy hair piled artistically on her head, the shapely neck and shoulders rising from the white evening dress, did not convey to Holt's mind his idea of a modern woman. ' She is very handsome,' he said, returning the photo. ' I wonder she is not married instead of trying to reform things.' It being this benighted young man's idea that matrimony was the one end and object of every well-regulated girl's life. ' There are two or three men I know,' said the M.P. proudly, ' who would give all they possess for Hilda toj take them in hand and reform them, but she says she is perfectly happy as she is, and much too busy to think of any thing so frivolous as matrimony.'

Chapter II

A3USHERE, ' the Father of Cities,' like many of his eastern brethren looks best from the sea. Rising white above the shallow waters with its quaint towers and flat-roofed houses, the background of snow-capped mountains glistening in the bright winter sunshine, the town makes a very charming picture ; while the brilliant lights, and deep ultra marine shadows would delight the heart of an artist. A steam launch was waiting when the ship anchored to convey the passengers ashore. On landing, the town was wofully disappointing ; from the outside a gorgeous whited sepulchre, its interior was full of dead men's bones. The filth, squalor, and crowds of diseased beggars could have given points to Constantinople. As the party landed, an aged man, bent and battered, on whose garments vermin were holding high revel, pushed his way through the crowd, and clutching Holt's arm, made a horrible inarticulate noise ; then opening his mouth as wide as it would go, pointed at it.

Holt recoiled with horror, for the poor wretch was tongueless. 'A specimen of Persian justice,' remarked the Bagdad merchant, throwing the beggar a coin. ' Removing the tongue was not an unfrequent punishment a few years since.' ' Is it possible that we allow such atrocities to exist,' said the M.P., greatly shocked. ' Persia not belonging to us, there are no county councils to set all things right in heaven above, and on the earth beneath,' answered the Bagdad merchant. ' But surely in the name of common humanity — 'You'll find it takes a pretty considerable time to instil humanity, common or otherwise, into a Persian,' replied the merchant dryly. ' I shall make a point of mentioning it in the House,' said the M.P. delivering his ultimatum. A week later, Captain Holt, B.S.C., found him self monarch of all he surveyed in Bushire, for the President had taken a few weeks' leave, and the globe trotting M.P., in company with the merchant. had gone to Bagdad ; from thence to inspect the B ruins of Babylon, and inscribe his impressions thereof in his great work.

Time hung heavily on Holt's hands, and he thought regretfully of the pigsticking and other delights he had left behind in India. There were few people in the place, and the gunboat was away. He bought two horses, pure Arabs from Yezd, the dealer said, such horses as rarely came into the market. Not liking to trust wholly to his own judgment where such a long price was concerned, he sent for the acknowledged authority on horse flesh, old Muckerditch, the Armenian storekeeper, sometime head groom to His Majesty the Shah. The old man, a veritable patriarch, with his flowing white beard and ruddy cheeks, leant upon his staff, and declared he had never seen such specimens of the equine race. He examined them closely, and remarked that no place but Yezd could have bred such pearls of animals, pure Arabs, with out spot or blemish.

The Sahib was indeed a lucky man to obtain such horses at the price asked. In Bombay they would fetch double that amount. Holt, who had examined the horses carefully, thought he could detect signs of age in the white mare. Were not her teeth rather long, and the hollows over her eyes somewhat deep ? The Armenian smiled a smile of superior knowledge. Did not the Sahib kuow that these char acteristics belonged to the pure bred Arab ? Age ! the Sahib had only to look at her teeth marks, they were clear and distinct as daylight. Seven years and not a day more. Accordingly Holt, rejoicing that he had for once in his life made a bargain, paid the money down, and sent the horses to his stables. That afternoon he proudly exhibited his pur chases to Dr Wells the civil surgeon, who inspected them critically. ' I seem to have seen the mare somewhere,' he said thoughtfully. ' Abduulah,' he called to his syce, who held his pony a little way off, ' dc you know that horse . ' The syce looked at it for a moment, and then replied, 'surely Sahib, it is tho old mare of Hamid, brother to the wife of Muckerditch.

She was very aged, but last week they put new marks into her teeth.' Wells burst out laughing, 'I'm afraid you've been sold, Holt. This animal has been bishoped. Muckerditch is pretty reliable generally, but he couldn't resist the temptation to benefit his family a little. Self-interest all the world over, you know. And Holt felt a sadder and wiser man. ' Who is that ? ' asked Holt the next evening, as he and Wells were riding together. A carriage had just passed them, driven by a brilliantly attired lady, who, as she returned Wells' salutation, dis played the whitest of teeth, and largest of lan guishing black eyes. ' Oh, haven't you called ! That is Mrs Moline, commonly known as the "Persian Gulf beauty." Moline is away just now, he belongs to Metz and Co.'s, and his wife divides her time between this and Buzreh.

She keeps things alive too, I can tell you, and we miss her when she leaves. She dances splendidly, but if you haven't paid your respects to her you'd better do so at once ; she'll never forgive you if you don't.' 'I remember now, I called on her a couple of days ago,' said Holt, 'but she was invisible. Magnificent eyes ! ' ' Yes, they say she has a touch of the tar brush about her; just two or three annas to the rupee. Her people live in India ; planters or something of that sort.' On his return home, Holt found a small square note with a huge red and gold crest emblazoned upon it, requesting his presence at dinner in three days' time with Mr and Mrs Moline. He went and found Mrs Moline as the doctor had described her; lively and fascinating, beautiful, certainly, but hardly in the best style, he said to himself, for Holt was critical as regarded the fair sex.

Her eyes were certainly magnificent, and her complexion, whether owing to art or nature, the best Holt had ever seen. Mrs Moline on her part exerted all her powers to fascinate the new assistant Resident. Her life had been somewhat dull of late, and she looked with kindly eyes upon the new arrival, and made up her mind to afftcher him forthwith ; her latest attache' having been posted to the China squadron a week ago. Eric Holt was a man who generally took women's fancy, though not good-looking. He was tall and well-made, with an open face, and the grey eyes and fair hair of his Norse ancestry. Moreover, he had a very firm mouth and chin, which gave the key-note to his character, for everyone who knew him well agreed that when Holt made up his mind to do a thing, it was as good as done. Mr Moline, a silent and gloomy individual, with few ideas beyond his own particular branch of trade, served as an excellent foil to his lively wife.

He was one of those men who are always known as their wives' husbands. ' How do you like Bushire ? ' he asked Holt, having spent some time in evolving this original remark. 'Well I haven't seen much of it yet, but it's good enough in cold weather,' replied Holt. 'I've always wanted to come to Persia,' he added menda ciously. ' It's an interesting country, and I take some interest in antiquities,' which was true. ' So do I,' chimed in Mrs Moline, who knew nothing and cared less about the subject, but it was her principle to be all things to all men. ' It must be awfully interesting to dig up old coins and things thousands and thousands of years old. Mr and Mrs Denton were out here a month ago, to excavate and collect curiosities. I believe they found a great many^things in the old fort: you ought to look there.' ' But if they have been at work, there won't be much for me to discover,' said Holt smiling. ' I shall have to seek new pastures.' 'But they didn't excavate much there.

They hadn't time. Mr Denton said he believed it would well repay a thorough search, but before they could do that, they were obliged to leave Bushire. They said they would come back next year and take it up.' ' I shall steal a march upon them and begin operations to-morrow,' said Holt. 'Are you musical, Mrs Moline ? Don't you sing or play ? ' ' Well a little, just a very little,' returned the lady in a tone that implied she was extremely musical, ' but out here there is no inducement to keep up accomplishments of any kind.' There was obvious opening for a compliment, but Holt ignored it, so Mrs Moline walked languidly to the piano and sang ' Beauty's Eyes,' with a very fair voice and an amount of senti ment that made Holt bite his lips to prevent laughing. Yet music reminded him of byegone days, and in spite of the singer's affectation he found himself listening to song after song, and still asking for more.

And it was late into the night when he rose to take his leave. ' Don't go yet,' said Mrs Moline, ' it is quite early still and the night is the best part of the day in Bushire,' and she led the way into the verandah, where at rest in a long chair, Mr Moline slept the sleep of the hard-worked, and snored an accompani ment to his wife's music. ' Very good. Capital song that,' he said, under the impression that Holt had been singing. Now you'll take something, won't you ? Jolly out here, isn't it ? ' Then having fulfilled his duties as host, he subsided and was soon asleep again. Seated out there in the verandah, in the fragrant night air, Mrs Moline proceeded to interest Holt in herself. She told him of her early life in India, her education in England, (upon which she laid great stress) her pet ideals, and all her unsatisfied longings after the Infinite.

She could be very entertaining when she chose, and mingled truth and fiction so naturally as to make her story a fairly interesting one. And Holt listening through the smoke-wreath of an excellent cheroot, concluded that perhaps he would get through his time at Bushire better than he expected. He also decided that he would go to the old fort next day. Searching for antiquities would give him an object in life and help pass the time. He had, during a journey in Cashmere, discovered an ancient stone carved with undecipherable characters belonging, so the British Museum said, to an age when the most venerable Hindu sculptures were but a relic of pre-adamite civilisation. The stone may be seen in the museum to this day.

Chapter III

Holt lay lazily on the short green turf gazing up into the blue vault above him, watching the occasional birds that flitted across his view, and wonder ing at the intense silence so different from the jungle in India. Not even a locust cheeped. His thoughts wandered back, and back, over the long road of ' that which is past.' He saw himself a boy eager for football at Rugby, a youth at Sandhurst. He saw his commission just received. A brief space of time quartered in an English county town, then the order for foreign service and the arrival in the land falsely called ' one of regrets.' After that a woman's face blotted out all other visions, but for a short time only, and then a blank, a terrible blank, in which the foundations of everything seemed to have given way. His determination to leave his regiment and join the staff-corps, the expostulations of his brother officers who were loth to lose what they were pleased to call ' their best all round man.' These and many other things he meditated on, lying in the old fort, whither he had ridden shortly after tiffin in search of antiquities.

Booty in the shape of a few earthy coins, which might or might not be antique, lay in his pocket, but beyond these he had found nothing of interest. His meditations were rudely broken by a voice at his elbow. 'Sahib,' it said, 'a spirit of evil possessed the white mare, she struck at me with her legs and would have killed me — ' ' You owl ! have you let her go ? ' exclaimed Holt, awaking to the present, and checking the native's flow of language, ' follow and find her immediately.' The syce, who had been asleep, was glad to escape further admonition, and delighted that his master believed his story, started off without delay. Time passed and he did not return, so Holt con cluded he would have to walk back to Bushire and started, in what he judged to be a bee line for that city. Soon after he left the fort he found himself in a grove of trees, orange, lime, and citron, and it occurred to him that he must be in some one's garden.

A little way ahead of him he saw a woman's figure moving among the dark green leaves. Her dress showed she was not a native for she did not wear a veil, and her thick, black hair hung down her back in two enormous plaits. Presently she turned, and Holt saw one of the most beautiful faces he had ever seen ; eyes like onyxes, black-fringed, and innocent of khol, and a complexion like a ripe apricot. 'I'm afraid I'm trespassing,' said Holt, in the Persian, not knowing in what language to address the girl. ' But I'm trying to find my way to the town.' ' Oh no ! I will show you the way through our garden, it is nearer than the road.' The words were in good English, but spoken with a peculiar accent. ' May I ask your name ?' inquired Holt, ' mine is Holt, Captain Holt, assistant resident.' ' I know,' replied the girl smiling, ' you are the new resident, who came in the place of Major Spender.

I am Meriem Melkum. My father was also at one time attached to the residency.' Then Holt remembered, the residency clerk was an Armenian, with an English sounding name, commonly pronounced Malcolm. Probably this girl was a relation of his. 'You speak English very well,' he said. 'I A RULER OR IND 28 suppose you associate with English people a good deal.' ' Oh no, we don't mix with them at all. We don't do the things that they do. Their ladiesplay for ever with balls over a net. But I like the English. My cousin married one of the clerks in the telegraph department, therefore I speak it pretty well. They live in the house next to ours, and I see a good deal of them.' ' What do you do with yourself all day ? ' asked Holt, who felt his interest in this beauty aroused. ' Don't you find it dull if you never go about.' ' Oh but I do, I go to the town to visit my friends, but I wish I knew more English.

I love reading, but cannot get many English books. My father died when I was quite a little girl, and I live here with my mother and aunt. They are both very old ; my sisters are all married and my brothers away in business.' They had reached the limits of the garden by this time, and the girl pointed over a low stone wall. ' That is the way to the town, Captain Holt,' she said. But Holt lingered ; he was a keen admirer of beauty, and the freshness of the Armenian girl attracted him, even the hideous costume of London, five years previously, did not spoil the outlines of her lithe figure. ' I will bring you some books if you care to read them,' he said, ' books that will tell you about England.' ' Thank you a great many times,' said Meriem smiling, and showing teeth whiter than blanched almonds. 'I should like some books to read.

Some day I am to stay with my brother in Bombay. Then I shall meet a great many English.' ' Certainly you will, and if you will come to this wall to-morrow, I will bring you the books. Good-night, Miss Melkum ! ' Holt was by nature impulsive, and belonged to that class of people who act first and think after wards, and on his way back to town he reflected on his words. Innocent enough in itself, his meeting with the little Armenian beauty would be open to misconstruction, and it would be contrary to all the rules of etiquette of the place for him to call upon her mother. If he met Meriem to supply her with English literature, it must be done secretly to avoid the gossip of the little coterie of English, who after the weekly mail news was exhausted were very hard up for topics of conversation. ' Who are the Melkums ? ' asked Holt that night, as he sat at dinner with the doctor. ' A large and thriving Armenian family ' replied the doctor, ' their name is legion.