The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3(6)

‘Well, I’m going to look at my letters,’ said the General, and went out followed by his wife.

Left alone with her brother, Dinny hardened her heart, and said:

‘Something must be done, Hubert.’

‘Don’t worry, old girl; it’s rotten, but there’s nothing one can do.’

‘Why don’t you write your own account of what happened, from your diary? I could type it, and Michael will find you a publisher, he knows all those sort of people. We simply can’t sit down under this.’

‘I loathe the idea of trotting my private feelings into the open; and it means that or nothing.’

Dinny wrinkled her brows.

‘I loathe letting that Yank put his failure on to you. You owe it to the British Army, Hubert.’

‘Bad as that? I went as a civilian.’

‘Why not publish your diary as it is?’

‘That’d be worse. You haven’t seen it.’

‘We could expurgate, and embroider, and all that. You see, the Dad feels this.’

‘Perhaps you’d better read the thing. It’s full of “miserable Starkey”. When one’s alone like that, one lets oneself go.’

‘You can cut out what you like.’

‘It’s no end good of you, Dinny.’

Dinny stroked his sleeve.

‘What sort of man is this Hallorsen?’

‘To be just, he has lots of qualities: hard as nails, plenty of pluck, and no nerves; but it’s Hallorsen first with him all the time. It’s not in him to fail, and when he does, someone else has to stand the racket. According to him, he failed for want of transport: and I was his transport officer. But if he’d left the Angel Gabriel as he left me, he’d have done no better. He just miscalculated, and won’t admit it. You’ll find it all in my diary.’

‘Have you seen this?’ She held up a newspaper cutting, and read:

‘ “We understand that action will be taken by Captain Charwell, D.S.O., to vindicate his honour in face of the statements made in Professor Hallorsen’s book on his Bolivian Expedition, the failure of which he attributed to Captain Charwell’s failure to support him at the critical moment.” Someone’s trying to get a dog-fight out of it, you see.’

‘Where was that?’

‘In the Evening Sun.’

‘Steps!’ said Hubert bitterly; ‘what steps? I’ve nothing but my word, he took care of that when he left me alone with all those dagoes.’

‘It’s the diary then, or nothing.’

‘I’ll get you the damned thing.…’

That night Dinny sat at her window reading ‘the damned thing’. A full moon rode between the elm trees and there was silence as of the grave. Just one sheep-bell tinkled from a fold on the rise; just one magnolia flower bloomed close to her window. All seemed unearthly, and now and then she stopped reading to gaze at the unreality. So had some ten thousand full moons ridden since her forebears received this patch of ground; the changeless security of so old a home heightened the lonely discomfort, the tribulation in the pages she was reading. Stark notes about stark things – one white man among a crew of half-caste savages, one animal-lover among half-starved animals and such men as knew not compassion. And with that cold and settled loveliness out there to look upon, she read and grew hot and miserable.

‘That lousy brute Castro has been digging his infernal knife into the mules again. The poor brutes are thin as rails, and haven’t half their strength. Warned him for the last time. If he does it again, he’ll get the lash…. Had fever.’

‘Castro got it good and strong this morning – a dozen; we’ll see if that will stop him. Can’t get on with these brutes; they don’t seem human. Oh! for a day on a horse at Condaford and forget these swamps and poor ghastly skeletons of mules…’

‘Had to flog another of these brutes – their treatment of the mules is simply devilish, blast them!… Fever again…’

‘Hell and Tommy to pay – had mutiny this morning. They laid for me. Luckily Manuel had warned me – he’s a good boy. As it was, Castro nearly had his knife through my gizzard. Got my left arm badly. Shot him with my own hand. Now perhaps they’ll toe the mark. Nothing from Hallorsen. How much longer does he expect me to hold on in this dump of hell? My arm is giving me proper gee-up….’

‘The lid is on at last, those devils stampeded the mules in the dark while I was asleep, and cleared out. Manuel and two other boys are all that’s left. We trailed them a long way – came on the carcasses of two mules, that’s all; the beggars have dispersed and you might as well look for a star in the Milky Way. Got back to camp dead beat.… Whether we shall ever get out of this alive, goodness knows. My arm very painful, hope it doesn’t mean blood-poisoning…’