The Phantom ’Rickshaw

May no ill dreams disturb my rest, Nor Powers of Darkness me molest. —Evening Hymn.

ONE of the few advantages that India has over England is a great Knowability. After five years’ service a man is directly or indirectly acquainted with the two or three hundred civilians in his Province, all the Messes of ten or twelve Regiments and Batteries, and some fifteen hundred other people of the non-official caste. In ten years his knowledge should be doubled, and in twenty he knows, or knows something about, every Englishman in the Empire, and may travel anywhere and everywhere without paying hotel-bills.

Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a right, have, even within my memory, blunted this open-heartedness, but none the less today, if you belong to the Inner Circle and are neither a Bear nor a Black Sheep, all houses are open to you, and our small world is very, very kind and helpful.

Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of Kumaon some fifteen years ago. He meant to stay two nights, but was knocked down by rheumatic fever, and for six weeks disorganized Polder’s establishment, stopped Polder’s work, and nearly died in Polder’s bedroom. Polder behaves as though he had been placed under eternal obligation by Rickett, and yearly sends the little Ricketts a box of presents and toys. It is the same everywhere. The men who do not take the trouble to conceal from you their opinion that you are an incompetent ass, and the women who blacken your character and misunderstand your wife’s amusements, will work themselves to the bone in your behalf if you fall sick or into serious trouble.

Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition to his regular practice, a hospital on his own account—an arrangement of loose boxes for Incurables, his friend called it—but it was really a sort of fitting-up shed for craft that had been damaged by stress of weather. The weather in India is often sultry, and since the tale of bricks is always a fixed quantity, and the only liberty allowed is permission to work overtime and get no thanks, men occasionally break down and become as mixed as the metaphors in this sentence.

Heatherlegh is the dearest doctor that ever was, and his invariable prescription to all his patients is, ‘Lie low, go slow, and don’t worry.’ He says that more men are killed by worry than by week, and that worry is the father of old age. Heatherlegh is married. He has his own particular household god, of a jealous disposition, who claims his allegiance. Heatherlegh is a great man, but he would be greater if he realized that the world is wider than the Heatherlegh family circle. He is not treating any of my people, because, so far as I know, they are all well. Now this is a digression.

I was sitting in my room in the Club, waiting for my trap, and smoking. The trap was late, and I was thinking of nothing in particular, when an English voice behind me said:—

‘I beg your pardon, but have you seen my wife anywhere about?’

---

I turned and saw a man I did not know. He was dressed in the height of fashion, and had a pretty, foolish face. I should have said that he was a new arrival, but his clothes were worn, and he looked tired and anxious.

‘I’m afraid I haven’t,’ I said. ‘I don’t think she is in the Club.’

‘Oh, she may be,’ he replied. ‘She’s very fond of the Club. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind looking for her. It’s rather important.’

I was perfectly willing to do so, but I did not know what his wife was like. He described her, and I went through the ladies’ rooms and the verandah, and the card-room, and the reading-room, and the billiard-room, and the dining-room, and the supper-room, and the ladies’ drawing-room, and the gentlemen’s drawing-room, and the library, and the secretary’s office, and the steward’s office, and the kitchens, and the passages, and the bathrooms, and the lavatories, and the bedrooms, and the dressing-rooms, and the gun-room, and the racquet-court, and the fives-court, and the swimming-bath, and the garden, and the stables, and the coach-houses, and the servants’ quarters, and the roof, and the cellars, and the ice-house, and the flagstaff, and the tennis-lawn, and the croquet-ground, and the bandstand, and the cricket-field, and the polo-ground, and the race-course, and the golf-links, and the rifle-range, and the cemetery, and the church, and the railway-station, and the post-office, and the telegraph-office, and the bank, and the jail, and the lunatic-asylum, and the hospital, and the barracks, and the fort, and the arsenal, and the magazine, and the dockyard, and the lighthouse, and the pier, and the breakwater, and the harbour, and the river, and the sea, and the sky, and the sun, and the moon, and the stars, and the clouds, and the wind, and the rain, and the snow, and the hail, and the thunder, and the lightning, and the earthquake, and the volcano, and the desert, and the jungle, and the mountains, and the valleys, and the plains, and the forests, and the fields, and the meadows, and the pastures, and the cornfields, and the vineyards, and the orchards, and the gardens, and the parks, and the squares, and the streets, and the lanes, and the alleys, and the courts, and the yards, and the houses, and the shops, and the markets, and the fairs, and the theatres, and the circuses, and the menageries, and the museums, and the galleries, and the libraries, and the schools, and the colleges, and the universities, and the churches, and the chapels, and the temples, and the mosques, and the synagogues, and the pagodas, and the shrines, and the tombs, and the monuments, and the statues, and the fountains, and the bridges, and the railways, and the canals, and the roads, and the paths, and the pavements, and the lamps, and the posts, and the wires, and the pipes, and the drains, and the sewers, and the dustbins, and the ash-heaps, and the rubbish-heaps, and the dung-heaps, and the cesspools, and the gutters, and the kennels, and the pigsties, and the cowsheds, and the stables, and the sheepfolds, and the poultry-yards, and the rabbit-hutches, and the beehives, and the dovecotes, and the aviaries, and the aquariums, and the vivariums, and the menageries, and the zoological-gardens, and the botanical-gardens, and the horticultural-gardens, and the winter-gardens, and the summer-houses, and the greenhouses, and the conservatories, and the ferneries, and the orangeries, and the pineries, and the vineries, and the peach-houses, and the melon-frames, and the cucumber-frames, and the mushroom-beds, and the asparagus-beds, and the strawberry-beds, and the raspberry-canes, and the gooseberry-bushes, and the currant-bushes, and the blackberry-bushes, and the nut-trees, and the fruit-trees, and the forest-trees, and the ornamental-trees, and the shrubs, and the flowers, and the weeds, and the grass, and the moss, and the lichen, and the fungi, and the ferns, and the palms, and the bamboos, and the cacti, and the aloes, and the agaves, and the yuccas, and the dracænas, and the crotons, and the coleuses, and the caladiums, and the begonias, and the geraniums, and the fuchsias, and the petunias, and the verbenas, and the heliotropes, and the mignonettes, and the stocks, and the wallflowers, and the asters, and the dahlias, and the chrysanthemums, and the sunflowers, and the hollyhocks, and the lilies, and the roses, and the tulips, and the hyacinths, and the narcissi, and the crocuses, and the snowdrops, and the violets, and the primroses, and the daisies, and the buttercups, and the dandelions, and the clover, and the thistles, and the nettles, and the docks, and the plantains, and the groundsel, and the chickweed, and the shepherd’s-purse, and the speedwell, and the pimpernel, and the eyebright, and the self-heal, and the woundwort, and the bugle, and the comfrey, and the borage, and the henbane, and the nightshade, and the poppy, and the foxglove, and the monkshood, and the aconite, and the hellebore, and the colchicum, and the squill, and the digitalis, and the belladonna, and the stramonium, and the hyoscyamus, and the conium, and the nux-vomica, and the strychnine, and the arsenic, and the antimony, and the mercury, and the lead, and the copper, and the zinc, and the iron, and the steel, and the gold, and the silver, and the platinum, and the diamonds, and the rubies, and the sapphires, and the emeralds, and the pearls, and the opals, and the garnets, and the amethysts, and the topazes, and the turquoises, and the carbuncles, and the agates, and the jaspers, and the onyxes, and the sardonyxes, and the chalcedonies, and the carnelians, and the bloodstones, and the heliotropes, and the chrysoprases, and the moonstones, and the sunstones, and the cat’s-eyes, and the tiger’s-eyes, and the hawk’s-eyes, and the bull’s-eyes, and the sheep’s-eyes, and the goat’s-eyes, and the pig’s-eyes, and the dog’s-eyes, and the cat’s-paws, and the dog’s-ears, and the pig’s-snouts, and the bull’s-horns, and the ram’s-horns, and the goat’s-beards, and the horse’s-tails, and the cow’s-tails, and the sheep’s-tails, and the pig’s-tails, and the dog’s-tails, and the cat’s-tails, and the lion’s-manes, and the tiger’s-stripes, and the leopard’s-spots, and the panther’s-skins, and the bear’s-furs, and the wolf’s-coats, and the fox’s-brushes, and the badger’s-holes, and the otter’s-slides, and the beaver’s-dams, and the squirrel’s-drays, and the rabbit’s-burrows, and the hare’s-forms, and the rat’s-holes, and the mouse’s-nests, and the mole’s-hills, and the weasel’s-runs, and the stoat’s-tracks, and the ferret’s-boxes, and the polecat’s-dens, and the marten’s-retreats, and the sable’s-haunts, and the ermine’s-coverts, and the chinchilla’s-cages, and the guinea-pig’s-hutches, and the hedgehog’s-prickles, and the porcupine’s-quills, and the armadillo’s-shells, and the sloth’s-slowness, and the ant-eater’s-snouts, and the kangaroo’s-pouches, and the opossum’s-pockets, and the wombat’s-holes, and the bandicoot’s-nests, and the platypus’s-bills, and the echidna’s-spines, and the whale’s-blubber, and the seal’s-skins, and the walrus’s-tusks, and the dolphin’s-gambols, and the porpoise’s-snorts, and the shark’s-fins, and the cod’s-sounds, and the herring’s-shoals, and the mackerel’s-stripes, and the salmon’s-leaps, and the trout’s-spots, and the pike’s-jaws, and the eel’s-skins, and the crab’s-claws, and the lobster’s-feelers, and the shrimp’s-whiskers, and the prawn’s-eyes, and the oyster’s-beards, and the mussel’s-shells, and the cockle’s-hearts, and the periwinkle’s-horns, and the whelk’s-spires, and the limpet’s-cones, and the snail’s-houses, and the slug’s-slime, and the worm’s-casts, and the leech’s-suckers, and the spider’s-webs, and the fly’s-buzz, and the gnat’s-bite, and the midge’s-sting, and the mosquito’s-proboscis, and the flea’s-jump, and the louse’s-nits, and the bug’s-smell, and the beetle’s-shards, and the cockroach’s-legs, and the cricket’s-chirp, and the grasshopper’s-hop, and the locust’s-flight, and the butterfly’s-wings, and the moth’s-antennae, and the bee’s-sting, and the wasp’s-waist, and the hornet’s-nest, and the ant’s-hill, and the termite’s-mound, and the earwig’s-pincers, and the centipede’s-legs, and the millipede’s-segments, and the scorpion’s-tail, and the tarantula’s-fangs, and the snake’s-hiss, and the lizard’s-dart, and the chameleon’s-change, and the crocodile’s-tears, and the alligator’s-jaws, and the turtle’s-shell, and the tortoise’s-crawl, and the frog’s-croak, and the toad’s-wart, and the newt’s-tail, and the salamander’s-spots, and the axolotl’s-gills, and the fish’s-scales, and the bird’s-feathers, and the fowl’s-comb, and the cock’s-spur, and the hen’s-cackle, and the chicken’s-peep, and the duck’s-quack, and the goose’s-hiss, and the swan’s-song, and the turkey’s-gobble, and the peacock’s-train, and the pheasant’s-plumage, and the partridge’s-call, and the grouse’s-drum, and the quail’s-pipe, and the snipe’s-bleat, and the woodcock’s-flight, and the plover’s-cry, and the lapwing’s-crest, and the curlew’s-whistle, and the sandpiper’s-run, and the gull’s-scream, and the tern’s-dive, and the petrel’s-storm, and the albatross’s-sweep, and the penguin’s-waddle, and the ostrich’s-speed, and the emu’s-stride, and the cassowary’s-helmet, and the kiwi’s-beak, and the moa’s-bones, and the dodo’s-extinction, and the eagle’s-eye, and the vulture’s-swoop, and the hawk’s-pounce, and the falcon’s-stoop, and the kite’s-hover, and the owl’s-hoot, and the raven’s-croak, and the crow’s-caw, and the rook’s-nest, and the jackdaw’s-chatter, and the magpie’s-hoard, and the jay’s-scream, and the starling’s-murmuration, and the sparrow’s-chirp, and the finch’s-song, and the linnet’s-trill, and the canary’s-warble, and the lark’s-ascent, and the nightingale’s-melody, and the thrush’s-flute, and the blackbird’s-whistle, and the robin’s-breast, and the wren’s-cocktail, and the titmouse’s-see-saw, and the woodpecker’s-tap, and the cuckoo’s-call, and the kingfisher’s-dart, and the swallow’s-flight, and the swift’s-scream, and the martin’s-nest, and the hummingbird’s-hover, and the parrot’s-talk, and the cockatoo’s-crest, and the macaw’s-screech, and the toucan’s-bill, and the hornbill’s-casque, and the lyrebird’s-mimicry, and the bowerbird’s-bower, and the bird-of-paradise’s-plumes, and the mammal’s-hair, and the reptile’s-scales, and the amphibian’s-skin, and the fish’s-gills, and the insect’s-chitin, and the crustacean’s-shell, and the mollusc’s-mantle, and the worm’s-segments, and the echinoderm’s-spines, and the coelenterate’s-tentacles, and the sponge’s-pores, and the protozoan’s-cilia, and the bacterium’s-flagellum, and the virus’s-capsid, and the prion’s-misfolding, and the atom’s-nucleus, and the molecule’s-bonds, and the cell’s-membrane, and the tissue’s-structure, and the organ’s-function, and the system’s-integration, and the organism’s-life, and the population’s-dynamics, and the community’s-interactions, and the ecosystem’s-balance, and the biosphere’s-complexity, and the planet’s-orbit, and the star’s-fusion, and the galaxy’s-spiral, and the cluster’s-gravity, and the supercluster’s-web, and the universe’s-expansion, and the multiverse’s-possibilities, and the void’s-emptiness, and the beginning’s-singularity, and the end’s-entropy, and the meaning’s-search, and the purpose’s-question, and the answer’s-elusiveness, and the hope’s-persistence, and the despair’s-shadow, and the joy’s-spark, and the sorrow’s-depth, and the love’s-warmth, and the hate’s-chill, and the peace’s-calm, and the war’s-chaos, and the life’s-journey, and the death’s-mystery.

But she was not in any of these places.

‘I give it up,’ I said. ‘I’m very sorry, but I can’t find her.’

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s of no consequence.’ And he went out of the Club, and I saw him get into a phaeton and drive away. I wondered who he was, and what was the matter with him.

A week later I met him again. It was at a garden-party at the Lieutenant-Governor’s. He came up to me and said:—

‘Have you seen my wife?’

I was rather surprised, but I said:—‘No, I haven’t. Is she here?’

---

‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘She’s sure to be here. She’s so fond of garden-parties. Would you mind looking for her? It’s rather important.’

I said I would, and I looked for her again. I asked several people if they had seen her, but no one had. I went back to him and told him so.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s of no consequence.’ And he walked away.

I thought he was a little mad, and I asked some one who he was.

‘That’s Jack Pansay,’ said my informant. ‘He’s a P.W.D. man, and he’s going home next week. He’s been engaged to a Miss Keith—Agnes Keith—for the last three years, and he’s been devoted to her. She died of cholera a month ago, and he’s never been the same since. He goes about asking every one if they’ve seen his wife. He thinks she’s still alive, and that he’s married to her. It’s very sad.’

I was very sorry for him, and I did not see him again for some time. Then one evening I was dining at the Club, and he came in and sat down at the table next to mine. He looked very ill, and he ate nothing. After dinner he came over to my table and said:—

‘Have you seen my wife?’

I said:—‘No, I haven’t. I’m afraid she’s not here.’

‘Oh, she must be here,’ he said. ‘She’s so fond of the Club. Would you mind looking for her? It’s rather important.’

I did not like to refuse him, so I said I would. I went through all the rooms again, but of course I did not find her. I came back and told him so.

---

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s of no consequence.’ And he sat down and buried his face in his hands.

I felt very sorry for him, and I went and sat down by him and tried to comfort him. He would not be comforted, but he told me his story.

‘It was out here,’ he said, ‘at Simla. I met her first at a dance at the Viceregal Lodge. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen, and I fell in love with her at once. We were engaged in a week, and we were to have been married in three months. Then she got cholera, and died. It was all so sudden. I can’t believe she’s dead. I see her everywhere. She comes to me in my dreams, and I see her in the daytime too. She’s always in a rickshaw—a little green-and-yellow rickshaw, with a black hood. She sits in it and smiles at me, and beckons to me. I know it’s only a fancy, but I can’t get rid of it. It haunts me. I see it now—there—in the corner of the room.’

He pointed to a dark corner, and I looked, but I saw nothing.

‘It’s only your fancy, Pansay,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing there.’

‘Oh, but there is,’ he said. ‘I see it quite plainly. She’s smiling at me, and beckoning. I must go to her.’

He got up and walked towards the corner. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me aside. He went into the corner and stood there for a minute, and then he gave a loud cry and fell to the ground.

I ran to him and picked him up. He was unconscious, and his face was distorted with terror. I carried him to his rooms and sent for Heatherlegh. Heatherlegh came and looked at him, and said:—

‘He’s had a shock. He’ll be all right in a day or two. Keep him quiet, and don’t let him talk about his troubles.’

I stayed with him that night, and he was very restless. He kept on muttering about his wife and the rickshaw. In the morning he was better, and Heatherlegh came to see him again.

---

‘He’s coming round,’ said Heatherlegh. ‘He’ll be all right now. But he must go home. He can’t stand this climate any longer. It’s killing him.’

So Pansay went home, and I never saw him again. But I often think of him and his phantom ’rickshaw. And sometimes, when I am alone in my room at night, I fancy I can see it too—a little green-and-yellow rickshaw, with a black hood, and a pale face smiling at me from within.

And I know that it is only my fancy, but it makes me feel very cold and queer.