I am so utterly mortified I do not know what to say or do. I threw myself on my camp cot and pulled the blanket over my head and wailed. No one will come in! I am a pariah! My family is terrified of me! They will leave me! And when Lawrence gets that insane letter he will finally and at last be able to do what he has always wanted! Fire me!
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No one will come into the tent. I keep staring at the words on the page of the journal. How could I have so utterly gone so utterly berserk! Everything I have done for damn near 20 years is destroyed! I wallop myself with my black ruler until blood comes because my antique knife and gun are missing. There is only one thing to do. The pig sticking officer and a gentleman course of action. I am going into Father’s side of the tent, his working digs, and grab a gun from the armory or else a razor from the toiletry box and kill myself.
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Everyone is outside staring at me. I had to exit around the tent flap to go into Father’s side of the tent. Everyone was there lined up. Everyone just stared at me. I ripped out the tent cord and let the cumbersome tent flap fall as I entered Father’ side of the tent. But I can’t find the key to the locked steel armory or my silver toiletry box to grab the razor. But now I can’t leave because the tent flap has fallen. Only I can ruin even my suicide! I am looking the right prat! I will have to grab the tent flag bodily up to crawl out. I am back in my side of the tent. No gun. No razor. Looking the prat. There is only one thing left!
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I grabbed the bulky tent flap which is normally held up by poles like a shade awning and shoved it aside awkwardly. Then, looking the right royal prat, I asked someone for a gun to ‘do the right thing’.
“I win the bet! Yes!” Freddy Roberts said as coins were dumped into his palm! I glare at everyone! How heartless! They are betting coins when I will do the right thing and kill myself!
I bawl “How can you bet when I will do the right thing?”
Edwardes smiles that sly smile he has when he is not being ravished by religious hysteria because he loves me. “We are betting how you will mess it up! Captain Grotesque! Magnificent!”
“I love the tent flap routine Johnny Sahib!” Mrs Singh laughed. “Especially the part where you crawled on your hands and knees under the fallen canvas!”
I bawl like a girl as everyone circles me. I grab everyone and bawl like a girl.
Mother and the rest of the busy Tribe of Nicholson arrive. I bawl like a girl as I kneel before my tiny Indian Mother and wrap my long bony arms around her tiny waist and bawl like a girl. “I am sorry! I am so sorry! There is no excuse! What can I say?”
Everyone holds me as I bawl. Mother strokes my wild hair. “Sahib Son. As the news spread everyone is going a little crazy. It is what they want. The fanatics want people to go crazy for the horror of the terror and go berserk. The whole of India will be going berserk. But dear Sahib Son! You realized you were going berserk. And we saved you from acting on it. Others will not be so lucky. Other British raving away! The Pathans raving away! Sikhs raving away! Bengalis raving away! Those blundering officers in Meerut. Living and dead. Even the murderous sowars butchering women and children. In a year and a day if they are still alive they will forced to confront the horror of their deeds — stripped of religious blessing. And dead, they will be facing their Divine Judge. And for them it will be too late. We stopped you. When we go berserk be there to stop us!”
I cried in her arms for a very long time.
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I have written apologies to everyone. I hand them out face to face. I hand an apology to the mutineer I tired to kill. “What is this?” he cries as he cowers in the cell. “You insane manic!”
“My written apology” I growl. “You will still be prosecuted for mutiny but you can ask for a warrant to be drawn up for assault by me. Rosh Sahib can draw one up. It is your lawful right.” I placed the written apology on the floor and leave the cell. I dutifully hand out written apologies to everyone. Guards. Sheriffs. Police. Everyone who was there. Then I hand one to Rosh Sahib and Rai Memsahib as they work busily preparing briefs. The Singhs come in. I gulp and hand written apologies to them. “Oh Johnny Sahib!” Mrs Singh laughs as she sports a black eye. “What is this?”
“My written apology” I said quietly and red faced.
“Where is the rose delight?” she laughed. “I thought your apologies always come with rose delight?”
“That is next” I said red faced. “I have to apologize to my Indian Family next before I can enter the kitchen!”
I dutifully hand out the apologies to Brother # 1, 2, 3, Khan Son # 1, Commander of Wah! In Exile, Son # 1, 2, Father, Uncle, Mother, and Sister.
Freddy Roberts is in the kitchen which is why I have not found him. I hand him his written apology. “My written apology Ensign Roberts” I said stiffly.
“Where is the rose delight?” he asked wide eye.
“Well I am in the kitchen. If Sister will forgive me then I can start cooking Rose Delight. Will you forgive me Sister?”
“Yes. Of course Sahib Brother. But you were very lucky!”
“Ok. Yes. Why?” I asked.
“I was running to wallop you into unconsciousness with this frying pan when you surrendered to the weight of public opinion!” She held up the hefty frying pan. I patted the back of my head.
“But I do have to say” Freddy Roberts laughed “that episode was one hell of an heroic example of Berserking! I mean who else in the entire Army could berserk on that scale! Rumors say you even gave a written apology to the mutineer!”
“Yes. He did not take it in the spirit as it was intended” I replied.
“The Police said he wet himself in terror and the written apology is still laying on the floor! He won’t go near it!” Freddy Roberts grinned and that grin was so infectious Sister and I joined in!
Later I delivered Rose Delight to my victims including the mutineer who glared at it as if it was poison. I then delivered my last written apology plus Rose Delight to my last victim: Edwardes. In his bungalow. I knocked and when the door opened shoved the stuff into his hand and turned to bolt.
“I do not consider this an apology!” Edwardes replied in that light lilting accent he had. “You really do have to atone to me Nicholson. You made a perfect prat of yourself! Fortunately, the dak did not deliver the letter to Lawrence and I got…… a whole night to enjoy you apologizing to me personally…..”
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John Nicholson and the Great Mutiny of 1857 