<h2 class="roman"><SPAN name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></SPAN>XXIV</h2>
<p class="chaphead">Mr Jabberjee relates his experiences upon the Moors.</p>
<p class="clearpara"><span class="smcap">I am</span> now an acclimatised denizen of Caledonia stern and wild; which,
however, turns out to be milder and tamer than depicted by the jaundiced
hand of national jealousy.</p>
<p>For, since my arrival at this hamlet of Kilpaitrick, N.B., I have not
once beheld any species of savage hill-man; moreover, the adult
inhabitants are clothed with irreproachable decency, and, if the
juveniles run about with denuded feet and heads, where is the shocking
scandal?</p>
<p>Mr <span class="smcap">Allbutt-Innett</span>, sen., did me the honour to appear in person upon the
Kilpaitrick platform, and welcome me with outspread arms to his
temporary hearth and home, but I shall have the candour of confessing my
disappointment with the size and appearance of the same. It appears that
a "Manse" is not at all a palatial edifice, furnished with a plethora of
marble halls and vassals and serfs, &c., but simply the very so-so and
two-storied abode of some local priest!</p>
<p>My gracious hostess was to tender profuse apologies for its homeliness,
on the plea that it is refreshing at times to lay aside ceremonial
magnificence and unbend in rural simplicity,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></SPAN></span> though it is not humanly
possible to unbend oneself upon the thorny bosoms of chairs and couches
severely upholstered with the prickling hairs of an extinct horse.</p>
<p>Still, as I assured Miss <span class="smcap">Wee-Wee</span>, she is the happy owner of a magical
knack to transform, by her sheer apparition, the humblest hovel into the
first-class family residence with every modern improvement.</p>
<p>With the said Miss I continue on terms of hand and gloveship, with
mutual harmless jokes, which would perhaps be as caviare on toast to a
general, though I shall venture to recount some examples.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"><SPAN name='p191'></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/p191.jpg" width-obs="371" height-obs="700" alt="Of incredible bashfulness and bucolical appearance."> <p class="center"> <span class="caption">"OF INCREDIBLE BASHFULNESS AND BUCOLICAL APPEARANCE."</span></p> </div>
<p>A certain local young laird, of incredible bashfulness and bucolical
appearance, is a frequent visitor at the manse, and the fervent admirer
of Miss <span class="smcap">Wee-Wee</span>, who cannot endure the tedium of his society, and is
constantly endeavouring to escape therefrom.</p>
<p>Now his name is Mr <span class="smcap">Crum</span>, and I have frequently entertained her in
private by play upon the word, alluding to him as "Mister <span class="smcap">Crust</span>,"
"Mister <span class="smcap">Oatcake</span>," or "the Scotch Bun," and the like; but he informed me
that he preferred to be addressed as "Balbannock," and upon my inquiring
his reasons for selecting such an alias, he answered that it was because
he inhabited a house of that name.</p>
<p>Whereupon I facetiously requested that he would address myself in future as "Mister
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></SPAN></span> Seventy-nine, Hereford
Road, Bayswater," which stroke of wit
occasioned inextinguishable merriment from Miss <span class="smcap">Wee-Wee</span>, though it did
not excite from the aforesaid laird so much as the smallest simper!</p>
<p>From an ingrained love of teasing, and also the natural desire to
stimulate her appreciation of my superior fertility in small talk and
<i>l'art de plaire</i>, I do often slyly contrive to inflict his sole society
upon her—to the huge entertainment of her father and mother, who carry
on the joke by assisting my manœuvrings; but, although it affords me
a flattering gratification to be plaintively upbraided by Miss <span class="smcap">Wee-Wee</span>
for my cruel desertion, I am resolved not to persist in such heartless
pranks beyond her natural endurance.</p>
<p>Shortly after my arrival I heard from my host that he was the recipient of an invitation
from a Mister <span class="smcap">Bagshot</span>, Q.C., that he and his son <span class="smcap">Howard</span>
would accompany him to a shooting expedition upon some adjacent moors,
and that, being now immoderately plump, and past his prime as a potshot,
he had requested leave to nominate myself as his <i>budli</i> or substitute,
explaining that I was a young Indian prince of great prowess at every
kind of big games.</p>
<p>Accordingly, to my great delight, it was arranged that I should take his
place.</p>
<p>My young friend <span class="smcap">Howard</span>, beholding me appear at the breakfast-table arrayed in my
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></SPAN></span> short kilt and superincumbent
belly-purse with tassels, did entreat me to change myself into ordinary knickerbockers, lest I
should catch death with a cold.</p>
<p>But I declined, disdaining such dangers, and assuring him that I did not
at all dislike the excessive ventilation of my knees.</p>
<p>We drove to Mr <span class="smcap">Bagshot's</span> residence, Rowans Castle, in a hired machine,
and found the gentlemen-shooters gathered outside the portico. Amongst
the party I was pleased to observe Hon'ble Justice <span class="smcap">Cummerbund</span>, who, when
we were all ascended into the waggonette-break, did rally me very
good-humouredly upon some mixed bag of elephants and tigers he had heard
(or so he said) I had accomplished in some up-country jungle.</p>
<p>At first, knowing that this was the utter impossibility, I perspired
with terror that he was making me the fool, but apparently he was
himself under a misunderstanding, for when we had left the vehicle and
were preparing to advance, he paid me the distinguished compliment of
entreating that I might be awarded the command of one extremity of the
line, while he himself was to preside over the opposite end!</p>
<p>And thus we commenced to climb a steep hill, thickly covered with a very
pricklesome heather, and black slimy bogs, wherein the varnish of my
patent-leather shoes did soon
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></SPAN></span> become totally dimmed. So, being gravely
incommoded by the shortness of my wind, I entrusted my musket to an
under-keeper, begging him to inform me of the early approach of any stag
or deer.</p>
<p>However, we saw nothing to shoot at except various sorts of wild
poultry, and when some of these flew up immediately in front of me, I
was too late, owing to the carriage of my gun by an underling, to do
more than fire off a couple of barrels as a declaration of hostility.</p>
<p>But profiting by this lesson in being <i>semper paratus</i>, I refused to
part again with my deadly instrument, and stumbled manfully onwards with
finger upon the triggers, letting them fly instantaneously at the first
appearance of any animals <i>feræ naturæ</i>.</p>
<p>It is not customary, I was assured, to slay the wild sheep in these
districts, though horned, and of an excessively ferocious appearance,
and even when firing my bullets at birds, I was subjected to continual
reproofs from some officious keeper or other.</p>
<p>For example, I was not to shoot into a flock of partridges, for the
superstitious reason, forsooth! that it was still the month of August,
which is supposed to be unlucky!</p>
<p>Again, I was rebuked for burning powder at a grey hen, because it is the
wife of a black-cock, which may be shot with impunity. Although a highly
chivalrous chap in questions
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></SPAN></span> of the fairer sex, I am yet to see why it
is allowable to render the female bird a bereaved widow, but totally
forbidden to make the male a widower! Or why it is permissible to slay a
minute bird such as a snipe, while a titlark is on no account to be
touched.</p>
<p>Being eventually exasperated by these unreasonable faultfindings, seeing
that I had merely emptied my gun-barrels without actually destroying any
of these sacred volatiles, I addressed the keeper in the withering tones
of a sarcasm: "Mister Keeper," I said, "as I am not the ornithologist or
soothsayer to distinguish infallibly every species of bird by instinct
when flying with incredible velocity, would it not be better that I
should discharge no shots in future?"</p>
<p>To which, abashed by my severity, he replied that he could not just say
that it would make any considerable difference whether I fired at all or
none.</p>
<p>My fellow-shooters, however, could not refrain from shouting with
irrepressible admiration at the intrepidity with which, forestalling the
fleetest dogs, I did rush forward to pick up the fallen grouse-birds,
and repeatedly exhorted me to take greater care for my own safety.</p>
<p>I cannot say that they exhibited equivalent courageousness, seeing that,
so often as I raised my gun to fire, they flung themselves upon their
stomachs in the heather until I had finished,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></SPAN></span> upon which I rallied them
mercilessly upon their timidity, assuring them repeatedly that they had
nothing to fear.</p>
<p>Yet English and Scotch alike accuse us Bengalees of being subject to
excessive funkiness. What about the Pot and the Kettle, Misters?</p>
<p>I am to reserve the conclusion of my shooting experiences until a future
occasion.</p>
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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</SPAN></span>
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