The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection. George Fraser MacDonald
It’s been my experience that however strange or desperate the plight you may find yourself in, if there’s nothing else for it, you just get on with the business in hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world. By various quirks of fate I’ve landed up as an Indian butler, a Crown Prince, a cottonfield slave-driver, a gambling-hell proprietor, and G-d knows what besides – all occupations from which I’d have run a mile if I’d been able. But I couldn’t, so I made the best of ’em, and before I knew it I was fretting about silver polish or court precedent or how we were to get the crop in by November or whether the blackjack dealer was holding out, and almost forgetting that the real world to which I rightly belonged was still out there somewheres. Self-defence, I suppose – but it keeps you sane when by rights you ought to be sinking into madness and despair.
So when they gave me the army of Madagascar to drill and train, I simply shut my mind to the horrors of my situation and went at it like Frederick the Great with a wasp in his pants. I believe it saw me through one of the blackest periods of my life – a time so confused, when I look back, that I have difficulty in placing the events of those first few weeks in their proper order, or even making much sense of them. I knew so little then about the place, and that little was so strange and horrid that it left the mind numb. Only gradually did I come to have a clear picture of that savage, mock-civilized country, with its amazing people and customs, and understand my own peculiar station in it, and begin trying to scheme a way out. At first it was just a frightening turmoil, in which I could only do what I had to do, but I’ll describe it as best I can, so that you may learn about it as I did, and have the background to the astonishing events that followed.
I had the army, then, to reform and instruct, and if you think that an uncommon responsible job for the newest arrived foreign slave, remember that it was European-modelled, but that they hadn’t seen a white instructor in years. There was another good reason, too, for my appointment, but I didn’t find out about that until much later. Anyway, there it was, and I’m bound to say the work was as near to being a pleasure as anything could be in that place. For they were absolutely first-class, and as soon as I saw this, when I had the regiments reviewed on the great plain outside the city, I thought to myself, right, my boy, perfection is our ticket. They’re good, but there’s nothing easier than spending ten hours a day hounding their commanders to make ’em better. And that’s what I did.
Fankanonikaka had told me I had a free hand; he came down with me to that first review, when the five regiments stationed at Antan’, and the palace guard, marched past under my critical eye.
“Like changing guard, left right, boom-boom, mighty fine!” cries he. “Being best soldiers in world, not half, eh? Right turning, shouldering arms, altogether, ha-ha!” He beamed at the comic opera generals and colonels who were standing with us, puffed up with pride as they watched their battalions. “You liking greatly, Sergeant-General Flashman?”
I just grunted, had them halted, and plunged straight in among the ranks, looking for the first fault I could find. There was a black face badly shaven, so I stamped and swore and raved as though they’d just lost a battle, while the staff stared and shook, and little Fankanonikaka was ready to burst into tears.
“Soldiers?” I bellowed. “Look at that slovenly brute, tripping over his bl----d beard! Has he shaved today? Has he ever shaved? Stand still, you mangy b----rds, or I’ll flog every second man! Slouch in front of me, will you, with your chins like a monkey’s backside? I’ll show you, my pretties! Oh, yes, we’ll take note of this! Mr Fankanonikaka, I thought you spoke to me of an army – you weren’t referring to this mouldy rabble, I suppose?”
Of course, it put them into fits. There were generals gaping and protesting and falling over their sabres, while I strode about hazing right and left – dull buttons, unpolished leather, whatever I could find. But I wouldn’t let ’em touch the offending soldier – ah, no. I degraded his section commander on the spot, ordered his colonel into arrest, and scarified the staff; that’s the way to get ’em hopping. And when I’d done roaring, I had the whole outfit, officers and all, marched and wheeled and turned across that square for three solid hours, and then, when they were fit to drop, I made ’em stand for forty minutes stock-still, at the present, while I ranged among them, sniffing and growling, with Fankanonikaka and the staff trotting miserably at my heels. I was careful to snarl a word of praise here and there, and then I singled out the unshaven chap, slapped him, told him not to do it again, pinched his ear à la Napoleon, and said I had high hopes of him. (Talk about discipline; come to old Flash and I’ll learn you things they don’t teach at Sandhurst.)
After that it was plain sailing. They realized they were in the grip of a mad martinet, and went crazy perfecting their drill and turn-out, with their officers working ’em till they dropped, while Flashy strolled about glaring, or sat in his office yelling for lists and returns of everything under the sun. With my ready ear for languages, I picked up a little Malagassy, but for the most part transmitted my orders in French, which the better-educated officers understood. I built a fearsome reputation through stickling over trivialities, and set the seal on it by publicly flogging a colonel (because one of his men was late for roll-call) at the first of the great fortnightly reviews which the Queen and court attended. This shocked the officers, entertained the troops, and delighted her majesty, if the glitter in her eye was anything to go by. She sat like a brooding black idol most of the time, in her red sari and ceremonial gold crown under the striped brolly of state, but as soon as the lashing started I noticed her hand clenching at every stroke, and when the poor d---l began to squeal, she grunted with satisfaction. It’s a great gift, knowing the way to a woman’s heart.
I was careful, though, in my disciplinary methods. I soon got a notion of who the important and influential senior officers were, and toadied ’em sickening in my bluff, soldierly way, while oppressing their subordinates most d--nably, and keeping the troops in a state of terrified admiration. Given time I dare say I’d have ruined the morale of that army for good and all.
Since most of the leading aristocrats held high military rank, and took their duties seriously in a pathetically incompetent way (just like our own, really), I gradually became acquainted – not to say friendly – with the governing class, and began to see how the land lay in court, camp, city, and countryside. It was simple enough, for society was governed by a rigid caste system even stricter than that of India, although there was no religious element at all. There were eleven castes, starting at the bottom with the black Malagassy slaves; above them, in tenth place, were the white slaves, of whom there weren’t many apart from me, and I was special, as I’ll explain – but ain’t that interesting, that a black society held white superior to black, in the slave line? We were, of course, but it didn’t make much odds, since all of us were far below the ninth caste, which consisted of the general public, who had to work for a living, and included everyone from professional people and merchants right down to the free labourers and peasantry.
Then there were six castes of nobles, from the eighth to the third, and what the differences were I never found out, except that they mattered immensely. The Malagassy upper crust are fearful snobs, and put on immense airs with each other – a third-rank count or baron (these are the titles they give themselves) will be far more civil to a slave than to a sixth-rank nobleman, and the caste rules governing them are harsher even than for the lower orders. For example, a male noble can’t marry a woman of superior caste; he can marry beneath himself, but he mustn’t marry a slave – if he does, he’s sold into slavery himself and the woman is executed. Simple, says you, they just won’t marry slaves, then – but the silly b-----s do, quite often, because they’re crazy, like their infernal country.
The second caste consisted of the monarch’s family, poor souls, and at the top came the first caste, an exclusive group of one – the Queen, who was divine, although quite what that meant wasn’t clear, since they don’t have gods in Madagascar. What was certain, though, was that she was the most absolute of absolute tyrants, governing solely by her own whim and caprice, which, since she was stark mad and abominably cruel, made for