As we worked, we argued out
whether it was right to say as much as we remembered of the Burial of
the Dead.
whether it was right to say as much as we remembered of the Burial of
the Dead.
Kipling - Poems
"
But there were reasons why we could not find a lock fit to send.
The Boy was black-haired, and so was the Major, luckily. I cut off a
piece of the Major's hair above the temple with a knife, and put it into
the packet we were making. The laughing-fit and the chokes got hold of
me again, and I had to stop. The Major was nearly as bad; and we both
knew that the worst part of the work was to come.
We sealed up the packet, photographs, locket, seals, ring, letter, and
lock of hair with The Boy's sealing-wax and The Boy's seal.
Then the Major said: "For God's sake let's get outside--away from the
room--and think! "
We went outside, and walked on the banks of the Canal for an hour,
eating and drinking what we had with us, until the moon rose. I know now
exactly how a murderer feels. Finally, we forced ourselves back to the
room with the lamp and the Other Thing in it, and began to take up
the next piece of work. I am not going to write about this. It was too
horrible. We burned the bedstead and dropped the ashes into the Canal;
we took up the matting of the room and treated that in the same way.
I went off to a village and borrowed two big hoes--I did not want the
villagers to help--while the Major arranged--the other matters. It took
us four hours' hard work to make the grave.
As we worked, we argued out
whether it was right to say as much as we remembered of the Burial of
the Dead.
We compromised things by saying the Lord's Prayer with a private
unofficial prayer for the peace of the soul of The Boy. Then we filled
in the grave and went into the verandah--not the house--to lie down to
sleep. We were dead-tired.
When we woke the Major said, wearily: "We can't go back till tomorrow.
We must give him a decent time to die in. He died early THIS morning,
remember. That seems more natural. " So the Major must have been lying
awake all the time, thinking.
I said: "Then why didn't we bring the body back to the cantonments? "
The Major thought for a minute:--"Because the people bolted when they
heard of the cholera. And the ekka has gone! "
That was strictly true. We had forgotten all about the ekka-pony, and he
had gone home.
So, we were left there alone, all that stifling day, in the Canal Rest
House, testing and re-testing our story of The Boy's death to see if it
was weak at any point. A native turned up in the afternoon, but we said
that a Sahib was dead of cholera, and he ran away.
But there were reasons why we could not find a lock fit to send.
The Boy was black-haired, and so was the Major, luckily. I cut off a
piece of the Major's hair above the temple with a knife, and put it into
the packet we were making. The laughing-fit and the chokes got hold of
me again, and I had to stop. The Major was nearly as bad; and we both
knew that the worst part of the work was to come.
We sealed up the packet, photographs, locket, seals, ring, letter, and
lock of hair with The Boy's sealing-wax and The Boy's seal.
Then the Major said: "For God's sake let's get outside--away from the
room--and think! "
We went outside, and walked on the banks of the Canal for an hour,
eating and drinking what we had with us, until the moon rose. I know now
exactly how a murderer feels. Finally, we forced ourselves back to the
room with the lamp and the Other Thing in it, and began to take up
the next piece of work. I am not going to write about this. It was too
horrible. We burned the bedstead and dropped the ashes into the Canal;
we took up the matting of the room and treated that in the same way.
I went off to a village and borrowed two big hoes--I did not want the
villagers to help--while the Major arranged--the other matters. It took
us four hours' hard work to make the grave.
As we worked, we argued out
whether it was right to say as much as we remembered of the Burial of
the Dead.
We compromised things by saying the Lord's Prayer with a private
unofficial prayer for the peace of the soul of The Boy. Then we filled
in the grave and went into the verandah--not the house--to lie down to
sleep. We were dead-tired.
When we woke the Major said, wearily: "We can't go back till tomorrow.
We must give him a decent time to die in. He died early THIS morning,
remember. That seems more natural. " So the Major must have been lying
awake all the time, thinking.
I said: "Then why didn't we bring the body back to the cantonments? "
The Major thought for a minute:--"Because the people bolted when they
heard of the cholera. And the ekka has gone! "
That was strictly true. We had forgotten all about the ekka-pony, and he
had gone home.
So, we were left there alone, all that stifling day, in the Canal Rest
House, testing and re-testing our story of The Boy's death to see if it
was weak at any point. A native turned up in the afternoon, but we said
that a Sahib was dead of cholera, and he ran away.
