‘The Fair Toxophilites’ by John Leech (1817–1864). Kipling says that his story took place ‘in an almost pre-historic era in the history of British India’, not (he indicates) the 1840s when archery enjoyed a renaissance in Britain, but some sixty years earlier. Such was the vogue, that when the Toxophilite Society was founded in London in 1781, George, the Prince of Wales, agreed to act as Patron, and archery was one of the few sports that society allowed women of gentle birth to indulge in.
Part 1 of 2
I WISH I could describe the scene that followed. It was out of the ordinary and most improper. Miss Kitty fitted her arrows with immense deliberation, so that every one might see what she was doing. She was a perfect shot; and her 46-pound bow suited her to a nicety. She pinned the wooden legs of the target with great care four successive times. She pinned the wooden top of the target once, and all the ladies looked at each other. Then she began some fancy shooting at the white, which, if you hit it, counts exactly one point. She put five arrows into the white. It was wonderful archery; but, seeing that her business was to make “golds” and win the bracelet, Barr-Saggott turned a delicate green like young water-grass. Next, she shot over the target twice, then wide to the left twice — always with the same deliberation — while a chilly hush fell over the company, and Mrs Beighton took out her handkerchief.
Part Two
A view of the countryside around Shimla in Himachal Pradesh, at the very northern tip of India. The town, which in Kipling’s day was the summer capital of British India, is perched on a hillside among mountains; but down in the valleys are wide areas suitable for golf and other sports, and at the luxurious Woodville Palace Hotel, formerly the residence of the Raja Rana of Jubbal (a kingdom of the Simla Hill States during the Raj), you can even practise your archery.
THEN Kitty shot at the ground in front of the target, and split several arrows. Then she made a red — or seven points — just to show what she could do if she liked, and finished up her amazing performance with some more fancy shooting at the target-supports. Barr-Saggott looked as if the last few arrowheads had been driven into his legs instead of the target’s, and the deep stillness was broken by a little snubby, mottled, half-grown girl saying in a shrill voice of triumph: “Then I’ve won!”
Mrs Beighton did her best to bear up; but she wept in the presence of the people. No training could help her through such a disappointment. Kitty unstrung her bow with a vicious jerk, and went back to her place, while Barr-Saggott was trying to pretend that he enjoyed snapping the bracelet on the snubby girl’s raw, red wrist. It was an awkward scene — most awkward. Every one tried to depart in a body and leave Kitty to the mercy of her Mamma.
But Cubbon took her away instead, and — the rest isn’t worth printing.
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