The Days Work, vol 1 | Page 4

he comes upon the quarter-deck and touches with
his finger, and says: 'This is not clean! Dam jibboonwallah!'"
"But the Lord Sahib does not call me a dam jibboonwallah, Peroo."
"No, Sahib; but he does not come on deck till the work is all finished.
Even the Burra Malum of the Nerbudda said once at Tuticorin -"
"Bah! Go! I am busy."
"I, also!" said Peroo, with an unshaken countenance. "May I take the
light dinghy now and row along the spurs?"
"To hold them with thy hands? They are, I think, sufficiently heavy."
"Nay, Sahib. It is thus. At sea, on the Black Water, we have room to be
blown up and down without care. Here we have no room at all. Look
you, we have put the river into a dock, and run her between stone sills."

Findlayson smiled at the " we."
"We have bitted and bridled her. She is not like the sea, that can beat
against a soft beach. She is Mother Gunga - in irons." His voice fell a
little.
"Peroo, thou hast been up and down the world more even than I. Speak
true talk, now. How much dolt thou in thy heart believe of Mother
Gunga?"
"All that our priest says. London is London, Sahib. Sydney is Sydney,
and Port Darwin is Port Darwin. Also Mother Gunga is Mother Gunga,
and when I come back to her banks I know this and worship. In London
I did poojah to the big temple by the river for the sake of the God
within . . . . Yes, I will not take the cushions in the dinghy."
Findlayson mounted his horse and trotted to the shed of a bungalow
that he shared with his assistant. The place had become home to him in
the last three years. He had grilled in the heat, sweated in the rains, and
shivered with fever under the rude thatch roof; the lime-wash beside the
door was covered with rough drawings and formulae, and the
sentry-path trodden in the matting of the verandah showed where he
had walked alone. There is no eight-hour limit to an engineer's work,
and the evening meal with Hitchcock was eaten booted and spurred:
over their cigars they listened to the hum of the village as the gangs
came up from the river-bed and the lights began to twinkle.
"Peroo has gone up the spurs in your dinghy. He's taken a couple of
nephews with him, and he's lolling in the stern like a commodore," said
Hitchcock.
"That's all right. He's got something on his mind. You'd think that ten
years in the British India boats would have knocked most of his
religion out of him."
"So it has," said Hitchcock, chuckling. "I overheard him the other day
in the middle of a most atheistical talk with that fat old guru of theirs.
Peroo denied the efficacy of prayer; and wanted the guru to go to sea

and watch a gale out with him, and see if he could stop a monsoon."
"All the same, if you carried off his gurus he'd leave us like a shot. He
was yarning away to me about praying to the dome of St. Paul's when
he was in London."
"He told me that the first time he went into the engine-room of a
steamer, when he was a boy, he prayed to the low-pressure cylinder."
"Not half a bad thing to pray to, either. He's propitiating his own Gods
now, and he wants to know what Mother Gunga will think of a bridge
being run across her. Who's there?" A shadow darkened the doorway,
and a telegram was put into Hitchcock's hand.
"She ought to be pretty well used to it by this time. Only a tar. It ought
to be Ralli's answer about the new rivets . . . . Great Heavens!"
Hitchcock jumped to his feet.
"What is it?" said the senior, and took the form. "That's what Mother
Gunga thinks, is it," he said, reading. "Keep cool, young'un. We've got
all our work cut out for us. Let's see. Muir wired half an hour ago:
'Floods on the Ramgunga. Look out.' Well, that gives us - one, two -
nine and a half for the flood to reach Melipur Ghaut and seven's sixteen
and a half to Lataoli - say fifteen hours before it comes down to us."
"Curse that hill-fed sewer of a Ramgunga! Findlayson, this is two
months before anything could have been expected, and the left bank is
littered up with stuff still. Two full months before the time!"
" That's why it comes. I've only known Indian rivers for
five-and-twenty years, and I don't pretend to understand. Here comes
another tar." Findlayson opened the telegram. "Cockran, this time, from
the Ganges