LIFE'S HANDICAP

Being Stories of Mine Own People

By Rudyard Kipling

1915

TOE. K. R. FROMR. K. 1887-89C. M. G. 

PREFACE

In Northern India stood a monastery called The Chubara of Dhunni Bhagat. No one remembered who or what Dhunni Bhagat had been. He had lived hislife, made a little money and spent it all, as every good Hindu shoulddo, on a work of piety--the Chubara. That was full of brick cells, gailypainted with the figures of Gods and kings and elephants, where worn-outpriests could sit and meditate on the latter end of things; the pathswere brick paved, and the naked feet of thousands had worn them intogutters. Clumps of mangoes sprouted from between the bricks; great pipaltrees overhung the well-windlass that whined all day; and hosts ofparrots tore through the trees. Crows and squirrels were tame in thatplace, for they knew that never a priest would touch them. 

The wandering mendicants, charm-sellers, and holy vagabonds for ahundred miles round used to make the Chubara their place of call andrest. Mahomedan, Sikh, and Hindu mixed equally under the trees. Theywere old men, and when man has come to the turnstiles of Night all thecreeds in the world seem to him wonderfully alike and colourless. 

Gobind the one-eyed told me this. He was a holy man who lived on anisland in the middle of a river and fed the fishes with little breadpellets twice a day. In flood-time, when swollen corpses strandedthemselves at the foot of the island, Gobind would cause them to bepiously burned, for the sake of the honour of mankind, and having regardto his own account with God hereafter. But when two-thirds of the islandwas torn away in a spate, Gobind came across the river to DhunniBhagat's Chubara, he and his brass drinking vessel with the well-cordround the neck, his short arm-rest crutch studded with brass nails, hisroll of bedding, his big pipe, his umbrella, and his tall sugar-loaf hatwith the nodding peacock feathers in it. He wrapped himself up in hispatched quilt made of every colour and material in the world, sat downin a sunny corner of the very quiet Chubara, and, resting his arm on hisshort-handled crutch, waited for death. The people brought him food andlittle clumps of marigold flowers, and he gave his blessing in return. He was nearly blind, and his face was seamed and lined and wrinkledbeyond belief, for he had lived in his time which was before the Englishcame within five hundred miles of Dhunni Bhagat's Chubara. 

When we grew to know each other well, Gobind would tell me tales in avoice most like the rumbling of heavy guns over a wooden bridge. Histales were true, but not one in twenty could be printed in an Englishbook, because the English do not think as natives do. They brood overmatters that a native would dismiss till a fitting occasion; and whatthey would not think twice about a native will brood over till a fittingoccasion: then native and English stare at each other hopelessly acrossgreat gulfs of miscomprehension. 

'And what, ' said Gobind one Sunday evening, 'is your honoured craft, andby what manner of means earn you your daily bread?'

'I am, ' said I, 'a kerani--one who writes with a pen upon paper, notbeing in the service of the Government. '

'Then what do you write?' said Gobind. 'Come nearer, for I cannot seeyour countenance, and the light fails. '

'I write of all matters that lie within my understanding, and of manythat do not. But chiefly I write of Life and Death, and men and women, and Love and Fate according to the measure of my ability, telling thetale through the mouths of one, two, or more people. Then by the favourof God the tales are sold and money accrues to me that I may keepalive. '

'Even so, ' said Gobind. 'That is the work of the bazar story-teller; buthe speaks straight to men and women and does not write anything at all. Only when the tale has aroused expectation, and calamities are about tobefall the virtuous, he stops suddenly and demands payment ere hecontinues the narration. Is it so in your craft, my son?'

'I have heard of such things when a tale is of great length, and is soldas a cucumber, in small pieces. '

'Ay, I was once a famed teller of stories when I was begging on the roadbetween Koshin and Etra; before the last pilgrimage that ever I took toOrissa. I told many tales and heard many more at the rest-houses in theevening when we were merry at the end of the march. It is in my heartthat grown men are but as little children in the matter of tales, andthe oldest tale is the most beloved. '

'With your people that is truth, ' said I. 'But in regard to our peoplethey desire new tales, and when all is written they rise up and declarethat the tale were better told in such and such a manner, and doubteither the truth or the invention thereof. '

'But what folly is theirs!' said Gobind, throwing out his knotted hand. 'A tale that is told is a true tale as long as the telling lasts. And oftheir talk upon it--you know how Bilas Khan, that was the prince oftale-tellers, said to one who mocked him in the great rest-house on theJhelum road: "Go on, my brother, and finish that I have begun, " and hewho mocked took up the tale, but having neither voice nor manner for thetask came to a standstill, and the pilgrims at supper made him eat abuseand stick half that night. '

'Nay, but with our people, money having passed, it is their right; as weshould turn against a shoeseller in regard to shoes if those wore out. If ever I make a book you shall see and judge. '

'And the parrot said to the falling tree, Wait, brother, till I fetch aprop!' said Gobind with a grim chuckle. 'God has given me eighty years, and it may be some over. I cannot look for more than day granted by dayand as a favour at this tide. Be swift. '

'In what manner is it best to set about the task. ' said I, 'O chiefestof those who string pearls with their tongue?'

'How do I know? Yet'--he thought for a little--'how should I not know?God has made very many heads, but there is only one heart in all theworld among your people or my people. They are children in the matter oftales. '

'But none are so terrible as the little ones, if a man misplace a word, or in a second telling vary events by so much as one small devil. '

'Ay, I also have told tales to the little ones, but do thou this--' Hisold eyes fell on the gaudy paintings of the wall, the blue and red dome, and the flames of the poinsettias beyond. 'Tell them first of thosethings that thou hast seen and they have seen together. Thus theirknowledge will piece out thy imperfections. Tell them of what thou alonehast seen, then what thou hast heard, and since they be children tellthem of battles and kings, horses, devils, elephants, and angels, butomit not to tell them of love and suchlike. All the earth is full oftales to him who listens and does not drive away the poor from his door. The poor are the best of tale-tellers; for they must lay their ear tothe ground every night. '

After this conversation the idea grew in my head, and Gobind waspressing in his inquiries as to the health of the book. 

Later, when we had been parted for months, it happened that I was to goaway and far off, and I came to bid Gobind good-bye. 

'It is farewell between us now, for I go a very long journey, ' I said. 

'And I also. A longer one than thou. But what of the book?' said he. 

'It will be born in due season if it is so ordained. '

'I would I could see it, ' said the old man, huddling beneath his quilt. 'But that will not be. I die three days hence, in the night, a littlebefore the dawn. The term of my years is accomplished. '

In nine cases out of ten a native makes no miscalculation as to the dayof his death. He has the foreknowledge of the beasts in this respect. 

'Then thou wilt depart in peace, and it is good talk, for thou hast saidthat life is no delight to thee. '

'But it is a pity that our book is not born. How shall I know that thereis any record of my name?'

'Because I promise, in the forepart of the book, preceding everythingelse, that it shall be written, Gobind, sadhu, of the island in theriver and awaiting God in Dhunni Bhagat's Chubara, first spoke of thebook, ' said I. 

'And gave counsel--an old man's counsel. Gobind, son of Gobind of theChumi village in the Karaon tehsil, in the district of Mooltan. Willthat be written also?'

'That will be written also. '

'And the book will go across the Black Water to the houses of yourpeople, and all the Sahibs will know of me who am eighty years old?'

'All who read the book shall know. I cannot promise for the rest. '

'That is good talk. Call aloud to all who are in the monastery, and Iwill tell them this thing. '

They trooped up, faquirs, sadhus, sunnyasis, byragis, nihangs, andmullahs, priests of all faiths and every degree of raggedness, andGobind, leaning upon his crutch, spoke so that they were visibly filledwith envy, and a white-haired senior bade Gobind think of his latter endinstead of transitory repute in the mouths of strangers. Then Gobindgave me his blessing and I came away. 

These tales have been collected from all places, and all sorts ofpeople, from priests in the Chubara, from Ala Yar the carver, JiwunSingh the carpenter, nameless men on steamers and trains round theworld, women spinning outside their cottages in the twilight, officersand gentlemen now dead and buried, and a few, but these are the verybest, my father gave me. The greater part of them have been published inmagazines and newspapers, to whose editors I am indebted; but some arenew on this side of the water, and some have not seen the light before. 

The most remarkable stories are, of course, those which do not appear--for obvious reasons. 

CONTENTS

THE LANG MEN O' LARUT

REINGELDER AND THE GERMAN FLAG

THE WANDERING JEW

THROUGH THE FIRE

THE FINANCES OF THE GODS

THE AMIR'S HOMILY

JEWS IN SHUSHAN

THE LIMITATIONS OF PAMBE SERANG

LITTLE TOBRAH

BUBBLING WELL ROAD

'THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT'

GEORGIE PORGIE

NABOTH

THE DREAM OF DUNCAN PARRENNESS

THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY

THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD

ON GREENHOW HILL

THE MAN WHO WAS

THE HEAD OF THE DISTRICT

WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY

AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE

THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS

THE MARK OF THE BEAST

THE RETURN OF IMRAY

NAMGAY DOOLA

BERTRAN AND BIMI

MOTI GUJ--MUTINEER

THE LANG MEN O' LARUT[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & CO. ]

The Chief Engineer's sleeping suit was of yellow striped with blue, andhis speech was the speech of Aberdeen. They sluiced the deck under him, and he hopped on to the ornamental capstan, a black pipe between histeeth, though the hour was not seven of the morn. 

'Did you ever hear o' the Lang Men o' Larut?' he asked when the Man fromOrizava had finished a story of an aboriginal giant discovered in thewilds of Brazil. There was never story yet passed the lips of teller, but the Man from Orizava could cap it. 

'No, we never did, ' we responded with one voice. The Man from Orizavawatched the Chief keenly, as a possible rival. 

'I'm not telling the story for the sake of talking merely, ' said theChief, 'but as a warning against betting, unless you bet on a perrfectcertainty. The Lang Men o' Larut were just a certainty. I have had talkwi' them. Now Larut, you will understand, is a dependency, or it may bean outlying possession, o' the island o' Penang, and there they will getyou tin and manganese, an' it mayhap mica, and all manner o' meenerals. Larut is a great place. '

'But what about the population?' said the Man from Orizava. 

'The population, ' said the Chief slowly, 'were few but enorrmous. Youmust understand that, exceptin' the tin-mines, there is no specialinducement to Europeans to reside in Larut. The climate is warm andremarkably like the climate o' Calcutta; and in regard to Calcutta, itcannot have escaped your obsairvation that--'

'Calcutta isn't Larut; and we've only just come from it, ' protested theMan from Orizava. 'There's a meteorological department in Calcutta, too. '

'Ay, but there's no meteorological department in Larut. Each man is alaw to himself. Some drink whisky, and some drink brandipanee, and somedrink cocktails--vara bad for the coats o' the stomach is a cocktail--and some drink sangaree, so I have been credibly informed; but one andall they sweat like the packing of piston-head on a fourrteen-days'voyage with the screw racing half her time. But, as I was saying, thepopulation o' Larut was five all told of English--that is to say, Scotch--an' I'm Scotch, ye know, ' said the Chief. 

The Man from Orizava lit another cigarette, and waited patiently. It washopeless to hurry the Chief Engineer. 

'I am not pretending to account for the population o' Larut being laiddown according to such fabulous dimensions. O' the five white menengaged upon the extraction o' tin ore and mercantile pursuits, therewere three o' the sons o' Anak. Wait while I remember. Lammitter was thefirst by two inches--a giant in the land, an' a terreefic man to crossin his ways. From heel to head he was six feet nine inches, andproportionately built across and through the thickness of his body. Sixgood feet nine inches--an overbearin' man. Next to him, and I haveforgotten his precise business, was Sandy Vowle. And he was six feetseven, but lean and lathy, and it was more in the elasteecity of hisneck that the height lay than in any honesty o' bone and sinew. Fivefeet and a few odd inches may have been his real height. The remaindercame out when he held up his head, and six feet seven he was upon thedoor-sills. I took his measure in chalk standin' on a chair. And next tohim, but a proportionately made man, ruddy and of a fair countenance, was Jock Coan--that they called the Fir Cone. He was but six feet five, and a child beside Lammitter and Vowle. When the three walked outtogether, they made a scunner run through the colony o' Larut. TheMalays ran round them as though they had been the giant trees in theYosemite Valley--these three Lang Men o' Larut. It was perfectlyridiculous--a lusus naturae--that one little place should have containedmaybe the three tallest ordinar' men upon the face o' the earth. 

'Obsairve now the order o' things. For it led to the finest big drink inLarut, and six sore heads the morn that endured for a week. I am againstimmoderate liquor, but the event to follow was a justification. You mustunderstand that many coasting steamers call at Larut wi' strangers o'the mercantile profession. In the spring time, when the young cocoanutswere ripening, and the trees o' the forests were putting forth theirleaves, there came an American man to Larut, and he was six foot three, or it may have been four, in his stockings. He came on business fromSacramento, but he stayed for pleasure wi' the Lang Men o' Larut. Lessthan, a half o' the population were ordinar' in their girth and stature, ye will understand--Howson and Nailor, merchants, five feet nine orthereabouts. He had business with those two, and he stood above themfrom the six feet threedom o' his height till they went to drink. In thecourse o' conversation he said, as tall men will, things about hisheight, and the trouble of it to him. That was his pride o' the flesh. 

'"As the longest man in the island--" he said, but there they took himup and asked if he were sure. 

'"I say I am the longest man in the island, " he said, "and on that I'llbet my substance. "

'They laid down the bed-plates of a big drink then and there, and put itaside while they called Jock Coan from his house, near by among thefireflies' winking. 

'"How's a' wi' you?" said Jock, and came in by the side o' theSacramento profligate, two inches, or it may have been one, taller thanhe. 

'"You're long, " said the man, opening his eyes. "But I am longer. " An'they sent a whistle through the night an' howkit out Sandy Vowle fromhis bit bungalow, and he came in an' stood by the side o' Jock, an' thepair just fillit the room to the ceiling-cloth. 

'The Sacramento man was a euchre-player and a most profane sweerer. "Youhold both Bowers, " he said, "but the Joker is with me. "

'"Fair an' softly, " says Nailor. "Jock, whaur's Lang Lammitter?"

'"Here, " says that man, putting his leg through the window and coming inlike an anaconda o' the desert furlong by furlong, one foot in Penangand one in Batavia, and a hand in North Borneo it may be. 

'"Are you suited?" said Nailor, when the hinder end o' Lang Lammitterwas slidden through the sill an' the head of Lammitter was lost in thesmoke away above. 

'The American man took out his card and put it on the table. "Esdras B. Longer is my name, America is my nation, 'Frisco is my resting-place, but this here beats Creation, " said he. "Boys, giants--side-show giants--I minded to slide out of my bet if I had been overtopped, on thestrength of the riddle on this paste-board. I would have done it if youhad topped me even by three inches, but when it comes to feet--yards--miles, I am not the man to shirk the biggest drink that ever made thetravellers'-joy palm blush with virginal indignation, or the orang-outang and the perambulating dyak howl with envy. Set them up andcontinue till the final conclusion. "

'O mon, I tell you 'twas an awful sight to see those four giantsthreshing about the house and the island, and tearin' down the pillarsthereof an' throwing palm-trees broadcast, and currling their long legsround the hills o' Larut. An awfu' sight! I was there. I did not mean totell you, but it's out now. I was not overcome, for I e'en sat me downunder the pieces o' the table at four the morn an' meditated upon thestrangeness of things. 

'Losh, yon's the breakfast-bell!'

REINGELDER AND THE GERMAN FLAG[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & CO. ]

Hans Breitmann paddled across the deck in his pink pyjamas, a cup of teain one hand and a cheroot in the other, when the steamer was swelteringdown the coast on her way to Singapur. He drank beer all day and allnight, and played a game called 'Scairt' with three compatriots. 

'I haf washed, ' said he in a voice of thunder, 'but dere is no usewashing on these hell-seas. Look at me--I am still all wet andschweatin'. It is der tea dot makes me so. Boy, bring me Bilsener onice. '

'You will die if you drink beer before breakfast, ' said one man. 'Beeris the worst thing in the world for--'

'Ya, I know--der liver. I haf no liver, und I shall not die. At least Iwill not die obon dese benny sdeamers dot haf no beer fit to trink. If Ishould haf died, I will haf don so a hoondert dimes before now--inShermany, in New York, in Japon, in Assam, und all over der inside bansof South Amerique. Also in Shamaica should I hat died or in Siam, but Iam here; und der are my orchits dot I have drafelled all the vorld roundto find. '

He pointed towards the wheel, where, in two rough wooden boxes, lay amass of shrivelled vegetation, supposed by all the ship to representAssam orchids of fabulous value. 

Now, orchids do not grow in the main streets of towns, and HansBreitmann had gone far to get his. There was nothing that he had notcollected that year, from king-crabs to white kangaroos. 

'Lisden now, ' said he, after he had been speaking for not much more thanten minutes without a pause; 'Lisden und I will dell you a sdory to showhow bad und worse it is to go gollectin' und belief vot anoder fool hafsaid. Dis was in Uraguay which was in Amerique--North or Sout' you wouldnot know--und I was hoontin' orchits und aferydings else dot I couldback in my kanasters--dot is drafelling sbecimen-gaces. Dere vas den mitme anoder man--Reingelder, dot vas his name--und he vas hoontin' alsobut only coral-snakes--joost Uraguay coral-snakes--aferykind you couldimagine. I dell you a coral-snake is a peauty--all red und white likecoral dot has been gestrung in bands upon der neck of a girl. Dere isone snake howefer dot we who gollect know ash der Sherman Flag, pecauseid is red und plack und white, joost like a sausage mit druffles. Reingelder he was naturalist--goot man--goot trinker--better as me! "ByGott, " said Reingelder, "I will get a Sherman Flag snake or I will die. "Und we toorned all Uraguay upside-behint all pecause of dot ShermanFlag. 

'Von day when we was in none knows where--shwingin' in our hummocksamong der woods, oop comes a natif woman mit a Sherman Flag in a bickle-bottle--my bickle-bottle--und we both fell from our hummocks flat ubonour pot--what you call stomach--mit shoy at dis thing. Now I wasgollectin' orchits also, und I knowed dot der idee of life to Reingeldervas dis Sherman Flag. Derefore I bicked myselfs oop und I said, "Reingelder, dot is YOUR find. "--"Heart's true friend, dou art a gootman, " said Reingelder, und mit dot he obens der bickle-bottle, und dernatif woman she shqueals: "Herr Gott! It will bite. " I said--pecause inUraguay a man must be careful of der insects--"Reingelder, shpifligateher in der alcohol und den she will be all right. "--"Nein, " saidReingelder, "I will der shnake alife examine. Dere is no fear. Dercoral-shnakes are mitout shting-apparatus brofided. " Boot I looked ather het, und she vas der het of a boison-shnake--der true viper cranium, narrow und contract. "It is not goot, " said I, "she may bite und den--weare tree hoondert mile from aferywheres. Broduce der alcohol und bicklehim alife. " Reingelder he had him in his hand--grawlin' und grawlin' asslow as a woorm und dwice as guiet. "Nonsense, " says Reingelder. "Yateshaf said dot not von of der coral-shnakes haf der sack of boison. " Yatesvas der crate authorite ubon der reptilia of Sout' Amerique. He hafwritten a book. You do not know, of course, but he vas a crateauthorite. 

'I gum my eye upon der Sherman Flag, grawlin' und grawlin' inReingelder's fist, und der het vas not der het of innocence. "MeinGott, " I said. "It is you dot will get der sack--der sack from dis lifehere pelow!"

'"Den you may haf der shnake, " says Reingelder, pattin' it ubon her het. "See now, I will show you vat Yates haf written!"

'Uud mit dot he went indo his dent, unt brung out his big book of Yates;der Sherman Flag grawlin' in his fist. "Yates haf said, " saidReingelder, und he throwed oben der book in der fork of his fist undread der passage, proofin' conglusivement dot nefer coral-shnake bitevas boison. Den he shut der book mit a bang, und dot shqueeze derSherman Flag, und she nip once und dwice. 

'"Der liddle fool he haf bit me, " says Reingelder. 

'Dese things was before we know apout der permanganat-potash injection. I was discomfordable. 

'"Die oop der arm, Reingelder, " said I, "und trink whisky ontil you canno more trink. "

'"Trink ten tousand tevils! I will go to dinner, " said Reingelder, undhe put her afay und it vas very red mit emotion. 

'We lifed upon soup, horse-flesh, und beans for dinner, but before wevas eaten der soup, Reingelder he haf hold of his arm und cry, "It isgenumben to der clavicle. I am a dead man; und Yates he haf lied inbrint!"

'I dell you it vas most sad, for der symbtoms dot came vas all dose ofstrychnine. He vas doubled into big knots, und den undoubled, und denredoubled mooch worse dan pefore, und he frothed. I vas mit him, saying, "Reingelder, dost dou know me?" but he himself, der inward gonsciousnesspart, was peyond knowledge, und so I know he vas not in bain. Den hewrop himself oop in von dremendous knot und den he died--all alone mitme in Uraguay. I was sorry, for I lofed Reingelder, und I puried him, und den I took der coral-shnake--dot Sherman Flag--so bad unddreacherous und I bickled him alife. 

'So I got him: und so I lost Reingelder. '

THE WANDERING JEW[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by Macmillan & Co. ]

'If you go once round the world in an easterly direction, you gain oneday, ' said the men of science to John Hay. In after years John Hay wenteast, west, north, and south, transacted business, made love, and begata family, as have done many men, and the scientific information aboverecorded lay neglected in the deeps of his mind with a thousand othermatters of equal importance. 

When a rich relative died, he found himself wealthy beyond anyreasonable expectation that he had entertained in his previous career, which had been a chequered and evil one. Indeed, long before the legacycame to him, there existed in the brain of John Hay a little cloud-amomentary obscuration of thought that came and went almost before hecould realize that there was any solution of continuity. So do the batsflit round the eaves of a house to show that the darkness is falling. Heentered upon great possessions, in money, land, and houses; but behindhis delight stood a ghost that cried out that his enjoyment of thesethings should not be of long duration. It was the ghost of the richrelative, who had been permitted to return to earth to torture hisnephew into the grave. Wherefore, under the spur of this constantreminder, John Hay, always preserving the air of heavy business-likestolidity that hid the shadow on his mind, turned investments, houses, and lands into sovereigns---rich, round, red, English sovereigns, eachone worth twenty shillings. Lands may become valueless, and houses flyheavenward on the wings of red flame, but till the Day of Judgment asovereign will always be a sovereign--that is to say, a king ofpleasures. 

Possessed of his sovereigns, John Hay would fain have spent them one byone on such coarse amusements as his soul loved; but he was haunted bythe instant fear of Death; for the ghost of his relative stood in thehall of his house close to the hat-rack, shouting up the stairway thatlife was short, that there was no hope of increase of days, and that theundertakers were already roughing out his nephew's coffin. John Hay wasgenerally alone in the house, and even when he had company, his friendscould not hear the clamorous uncle. The shadow inside his brain grewlarger and blacker. His fear of death was driving John Hay mad. 

Then, from the deeps of his mind, where he had stowed away all hisdiscarded information, rose to light the scientific fact of the Easterlyjourney. On the next occasion that his uncle shouted up the stairwayurging him to make haste and live, a shriller voice cried, 'Who goesround the world once easterly, gains one day. '

His growing diffidence and distrust of mankind made John Hay unwillingto give this precious message of hope to his friends. They might take itup and analyse it. He was sure it was true, but it would pain himacutely were rough hands to examine it too closely. To him alone of allthe toiling generations of mankind had the secret of immortality beenvouchsafed. It would be impious--against all the designs of the Creator--to set mankind hurrying eastward. Besides, this would crowd thesteamers inconveniently, and John Hay wished of all things to be alone. If he could get round the world in two months--some one of whom he hadread, he could not remember the name, had covered the passage in eightydays--he would gain a clear day; and by steadily continuing to do it forthirty years, would gain one hundred and eighty days, or nearly the halfof a year. It would not be much, but in course of time, as civilisationadvanced, and the Euphrates Valley Railway was opened, he could improvethe pace. 

Armed with many sovereigns, John Hay, in the thirty-fifth year of hisage, set forth on his travels, two voices bearing him company from Doveras he sailed to Calais. Fortune favoured him. The Euphrates ValleyRailway was newly opened, and he was the first man who took ticketdirect from Calais to Calcutta--thirteen days in the train. Thirteendays in the train are not good for the nerves; but he covered the worldand returned to Calais from America in twelve days over the two months, and started afresh with four and twenty hours of precious time to hiscredit. Three years passed, and John Hay religiously went round thisearth seeking for more time wherein to enjoy the remainder of hissovereigns. He became known on many lines as the man who wanted to goon; when people asked him what he was and what he did, he answered--

'I'm the person who intends to live, and I am trying to do it now. '

His days were divided between watching the white wake spinning behindthe stern of the swiftest steamers, or the brown earth flashing past thewindows of the fastest trains; and he noted in a pocket-book everyminute that he had railed or screwed out of remorseless eternity. 

'This is better than praying for long life, ' quoth John Hay as he turnedhis face eastward for his twentieth trip. The years had done more forhim than he dared to hope. 

By the extension of the Brahmaputra Valley line to meet the newly-developed China Midland, the Calais railway ticket held good via Karachiand Calcutta to Hongkong. The round trip could be managed in a fractionover forty-seven days, and, filled with fatal exultation, John Hay toldthe secret of his longevity to his only friend, the house-keeper of hisrooms in London. He spoke and passed; but the woman was one of resource, and immediately took counsel with the lawyers who had first informedJohn Hay of his golden legacy. Very many sovereigns still remained, andanother Hay longed to spend them on things more sensible than railwaytickets and steamer accommodation. 

The chase was long, for when a man is journeying literally for the dearlife, he does not tarry upon the road. Round the world Hay swept anew, and overtook the wearied Doctor, who had been sent out to look for him, in Madras. It was there that he found the reward of his toil and theassurance of a blessed immortality. In half an hour the Doctor, watchingalways the parched lips, the shaking hands, and the eye that turnedeternally to the east, won John Hay to rest in a little house close tothe Madras surf. All that Hay need do was to hang by ropes from the roofof the room and let the round earth swing free beneath him. This wasbetter than steamer or train, for he gained a day in a day, and was thusthe equal of the undying sun. The other Hay would pay his expensesthroughout eternity. 

 It is true that we cannot yet take tickets from Calais to Hongkong, though that will come about in fifteen years; but men say that if youwander along the southern coast of India you shall find in a neatlywhitewashed little bungalow, sitting in a chair swung from the roof, over a sheet of thin steel which he knows so well destroys theattraction of the earth, an old and worn man who for ever faces therising sun, a stop-watch in his hand, racing against eternity. He cannotdrink, he does not smoke, and his living expenses amount to perhapstwenty-five rupees a month, but he is John Hay, the Immortal. Without, he hears the thunder of the wheeling world with which he is careful toexplain he has no connection whatever; but if you say that it is onlythe noise of the surf, he will cry bitterly, for the shadow on his brainis passing away as the brain ceases to work, and he doubts sometimeswhether the doctor spoke the truth. 

'Why does not the sun always remain over my head?' asks John Hay. 

THROUGH THE FIRE[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & Co. ]

The Policeman rode through the Himalayan forest, under the moss-drapedoaks, and his orderly trotted after him. 

'It's an ugly business, Bhere Singh, ' said the Policeman. 'Where arethey?'

'It is a very ugly business, ' said Bhere Singh; 'and as for THEM, theyare, doubtless, now frying in a hotter fire than was ever made ofspruce-branches. '

'Let us hope not, ' said the Policeman, 'for, allowing for the differencebetween race and race, it's the story of Francesca da Rimini, BhereSingh. '

Bhere Singh knew nothing about Francesca da Rimini, so he held his peaceuntil they came to the charcoal-burners' clearing where the dying flamessaid 'whit, whit, whit' as they fluttered and whispered over the whiteashes. It must have been a great fire when at full height. Men had seenit at Donga Pa across the valley winking and blazing through the night, and said that the charcoal-burners of Kodru were getting drunk. But itwas only Suket Singh, Sepoy of the load Punjab Native Infantry, andAthira, a woman, burning--burning--burning. 

This was how things befell; and the Policeman's Diary will bear me out. 

Athira was the wife of Madu, who was a charcoal-burner, one-eyed and ofa malignant disposition. A week after their marriage, he beat Athirawith a heavy stick. A month later, Suket Singh, Sepoy, came that way tothe cool hills on leave from his regiment, and electrified the villagersof Kodru with tales of service and glory under the Government, and thehonour in which he, Suket Singh, was held by the Colonel Sahib Bahadur. And Desdemona listened to Othello as Desdemonas have done all the worldover, and, as she listened, she loved. 

'I've a wife of my own, ' said Suket Singh, 'though that is no matterwhen you come to think of it. I am also due to return to my regimentafter a time, and I cannot be a deserter--I who intend to be Havildar. 'There is no Himalayan version of 'I could not love thee, dear, as much, Loved I not Honour more;' but Suket Singh came near to making one. 

'Never mind, ' said Athira, 'stay with me, and, if Madu tries to beat me, you beat him. '

'Very good, ' said Suket Singh; and he beat Madu severely, to the delightof all the charcoal-burners of Kodru. 

'That is enough, ' said Suket Singh, as he rolled Madu down the hillside. 'Now we shall have peace. ' But Madu crawled up the grass slope again, and hovered round his hut with angry eyes. 

'He'll kill me dead, ' said Athira to Suket Singh. 'You must take meaway. '

'There'll be a trouble in the Lines. My wife will pull out my beard; butnever mind, ' said Suket Singh, 'I will take you. '

There was loud trouble in the Lines, and Suket Singh's beard was pulled, and Suket Singh's wife went to live with her mother and took away thechildren. 'That's all right, ' said Athira; and Suket Singh said, 'Yes, that's all right. '

So there was only Madu left in the hut that looks across the valley toDonga Pa; and, since the beginning of time, no one has had any sympathyfor husbands so unfortunate as Madu. 

He went to Juseen Daze, the wizard-man who keeps the Talking Monkey'sHead. 

'Get me back my wife, ' said Madu. 

'I can't, ' said Juseen Daze, 'until you have made the Sutlej in thevalley run up the Donga Pa. '

'No riddles, ' said Madu, and he shook his hatchet above Juseen Daze'swhite head. 

'Give all your money to the headmen of the village, ' said Juseen Daze;'and they will hold a communal Council, and the Council will send amessage that your wife must come back. '

So Madu gave up all his worldly wealth, amounting to twenty-sevenrupees, eight annas, three pice, and a silver chain, to the Council ofKodru. And it fell as Juseen Daze foretold. 

They sent Athira's brother down into Suket Singh's regiment to callAthira home. Suket Singh kicked him once round the Lines, and thenhanded him over to the Havildar, who beat him with a belt. 

'Come back, ' yelled Athira's brother. 

'Where to?' said Athira. 

'To Madu, ' said he. 

'Never, ' said she. 

'Then Juseen Daze will send a curse, and you will wither away like abarked tree in the springtime, ' said Athira's brother. Athira slept overthese things. 

Next morning she had rheumatism. 'I am beginning to wither away like abarked tree in the springtime, ' she said. 'That is the curse of JuseenDaze. '

And she really began to wither away because her heart was dried up withfear, and those who believe in curses die from curses. Suket Singh, too, was afraid because he loved Athira better than his very life. Two monthspassed, and Athira's brother stood outside the regimental Lines againand yelped, 'Aha! You are withering away. Come back. '

'I will come back, ' said Athira. 

'Say rather that WE will come back, ' said Suket Singh. 

'Ai; but when?' said Athira's brother. 

'Upon a day very early in the morning, ' said Suket Singh; and he trampedoff to apply to the Colonel Sahib Bahadur for one week's leave. 

'I am withering away like a barked tree in the spring, ' moaned Athira. 

'You will be better soon, ' said Suket Singh; and he told her what was inhis heart, and the two laughed together softly, for they loved eachother. But Athira grew better from that hour. 

They went away together, travelling third-class by train as theregulations provided, and then in a cart to the low hills, and on footto the high ones. Athira sniffed the scent of the pines of her ownhills, the wet Himalayan hills. 'It is good to be alive, ' said Athira. 

'Hah!' said Suket Singh. 'Where is the Kodru road and where is theForest Ranger's house?'. .. 

'It cost forty rupees twelve years ago, ' said the Forest Ranger, handingthe gun. 

'Here are twenty, ' said Suket Singh, 'and you must give me the bestbullets. '

'It is very good to be alive, ' said Athira wistfully, sniffing the scentof the pine-mould; and they waited till the night had fallen upon Kodruand the Donga Pa. Madu had stacked the dry wood for the next day'scharcoal-burning on the spur above his house. 'It is courteous in Maduto save us this trouble, ' said Suket Singh as he stumbled on the pile, which was twelve foot square and four high. 'We must wait till the moonrises. '

When the moon rose, Athira knelt upon the pile. 'If it were only aGovernment Snider, ' said Suket Singh ruefully, squinting down the wire-bound barrel of the Forest Ranger's gun. 

'Be quick, ' said Athira; and Suket Singh was quick; but Athira was quickno longer. Then he lit the pile at the four corners and climbed on toit, re-loading the gun. 

The little flames began to peer up between the big logs atop of thebrushwood. 'The Government should teach us to pull the triggers with ourtoes, ' said Suket Singh grimly to the moon. That was the last publicobservation of Sepoy Suket Singh. 

 Upon a day, early in the morning, Madu came to the pyre and shriekedvery grievously, and ran away to catch the Policeman who was on tour inthe district. 

'The base-born has ruined four rupees' worth of charcoal wood, ' Madugasped. 'He has also killed my wife, and he has left a letter which Icannot read, tied to a pine bough. '

In the stiff, formal hand taught in the regimental school, Sepoy SuketSingh had written--

'Let us be burned together, if anything remain over, for we have madethe necessary prayers. We have also cursed Madu, and Malak the brotherof Athira--both evil men. Send my service to the Colonel Sahib Bahadur. '

The Policeman looked long and curiously at the marriage bed of red andwhite ashes on which lay, dull black, the barrel of the Ranger's gun. Hedrove his spurred heel absently into a half-charred log, and thechattering sparks flew upwards. 'Most extraordinary people, ' said thePoliceman. 

'WHE-W, WHEW, OUIOU, ' said the little flames. 

The Policeman entered the dry bones of the case, for the PunjabGovernment does not approve of romancing, in his Diary. 

'But who will pay me those four rupees?' said Madu. 

THE FINANCES OF THE GODS[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & Co. ]

The evening meal was ended in Dhunni Bhagat's Chubara and the oldpriests were smoking or counting their beads. A little naked childpattered in, with its mouth wide open, a handful of marigold flowers inone hand, and a lump of conserved tobacco in the other. It tried tokneel and make obeisance to Gobind, but it was so fat that it fellforward on its shaven head, and rolled on its side, kicking and gasping, while the marigolds tumbled one way and the tobacco the other. Gobindlaughed, set it up again, and blessed the marigold flowers as hereceived the tobacco. 

'From my father, ' said the child. 'He has the fever, and cannot come. Wilt thou pray for him, father?'

'Surely, littlest; but the smoke is on the ground, and the night-chillis in the airs, and it is not good to go abroad naked in the autumn. '

'I have no clothes, ' said the child, 'and all to-day I have beencarrying cow-dung cakes to the bazar. It was very hot, and I am verytired. ' It shivered a little, for the twilight was cool. 

Gobind lifted an arm under his vast tattered quilt of many colours, andmade an inviting little nest by his side. The child crept in, and Gobindfilled his brass-studded leather waterpipe with the new tobacco. When Icame to the Chubara the shaven head with the tuft atop, and the beadyblack eyes looked out of the folds of the quilt as a squirrel looks outfrom his nest, and Gobind was smiling while the child played with hisbeard. 

I would have said something friendly, but remembered in time that if thechild fell ill afterwards I should be credited with the Evil Eye, andthat is a horrible possession. 

'Sit thou still, Thumbling, ' I said as it made to get up and run away. 'Where is thy slate, and why has the teacher let such an evil characterloose on the streets when there are no police to protect us weaklings?In which ward dost thou try to break thy neck with flying kites from thehouse-tops?'

'Nay, Sahib, nay, ' said the child, burrowing its face into Gobind'sbeard, and twisting uneasily. 'There was a holiday to-day among theschools, and I do not always fly kites. I play ker-li-kit like therest. '

Cricket is the national game among the schoolboys of the Punjab, fromthe naked hedge-school children, who use an old kerosene-tin for wicket, to the B. A. 's of the University, who compete for the Championship belt. 

'Thou play kerlikit! Thou art half the height of the bat!' I said. 

The child nodded resolutely. 'Yea, I DO play. PERLAYBALL OW-AT! RAN, RAN, RAN! I know it all. '

'But thou must not forget with all this to pray to the Gods according tocustom, ' said Gobind, who did not altogether approve of cricket andwestern innovations. 

'I do not forget, ' said the child in a hushed voice. 

'Also to give reverence to thy teacher, and'--Gobind's voice softened--'to abstain from pulling holy men by the beard, little badling. Eh, eh, eh?'

The child's face was altogether hidden in the great white beard, and itbegan to whimper till Gobind soothed it as children are soothed all theworld over, with the promise of a story. 

'I did not think to frighten thee, senseless little one. Look up! Am Iangry? Are, are, are! Shall I weep too, and of our tears make a greatpond and drown us both, and then thy father will never get well, lackingthee to pull his beard? Peace, peace, and I will tell thee of the Gods. Thou hast heard many tales?'

'Very many, father. '

'Now, this is a new one which thou hast not heard. Long and long agowhen the Gods walked with men as they do to-day, but that we have notfaith to see, Shiv, the greatest of Gods, and Parbati his wife, werewalking in the garden of a temple. '

'Which temple? That in the Nandgaon ward?' said the child. 

'Nay, very far away. Maybe at Trimbak or Hurdwar, whither thou must makepilgrimage when thou art a man. Now, there was sitting in the gardenunder the jujube trees, a mendicant that had worshipped Shiv for fortyyears, and he lived on the offerings of the pious, and meditatedholiness night and day. '

'Oh father, was it thou?' said the child, looking up with large eyes. 

'Nay, I have said it was long ago, and, moreover, this mendicant wasmarried. '

'Did they put him on a horse with flowers on his head, and forbid him togo to sleep all night long? Thus they did to me when they made mywedding, ' said the child, who had been married a few months before. 

'And what didst thou do?' said I. 

'I wept, and they called me evil names, and then I smote HER, and wewept together. '

'Thus did not the mendicant, ' said Gobind; 'for he was a holy man, andvery poor. Parbati perceived him sitting naked by the temple steps whereall went up and down, and she said to Shiv, "What shall men think of theGods when the Gods thus scorn their worshippers? For forty years yonderman has prayed to us, and yet there be only a few grains of rice andsome broken cowries before him after all. Men's hearts will be hardenedby this thing. " And Shiv said, "It shall be looked to, " and so he calledto the temple which was the temple of his son, Ganesh of the elephanthead, saying, "Son, there is a mendicant without who is very poor. Whatwilt thou do for him?" Then that great elephant-headed One awoke in thedark and answered, "In three days, if it be thy will, he shall have onelakh of rupees. " Then Shiv and Parbati went away. 

'But there was a money-lender in the garden hidden among the marigolds'--the child looked at the ball of crumpled blossoms in its hands--'ay, among the yellow marigolds, and he heard the Gods talking. He was acovetous man, and of a black heart, and he desired that lakh of rupeesfor himself. So he went to the mendicant and said, "O brother, how muchdo the pious give thee daily?" The mendicant said, "I cannot tell. Sometimes a little rice, sometimes a little pulse, and a few cowriesand, it has been, pickled mangoes, and dried fish. "'

'That is good, ' said the child, smacking its lips. 

'Then said the money-lender, "Because I have long watched thee, andlearned to love thee and thy patience, I will give thee now five rupeesfor all thy earnings of the three days to come. There is only a bond tosign on the matter. " But the mendicant said, "Thou art mad. In twomonths I do not receive the worth of five rupees, " and he told the thingto his wife that evening. She, being a woman, said, "When did money-lender ever make a bad bargain? The wolf runs through the corn for thesake of the fat deer. Our fate is in the hands of the Gods. Pledge itnot even for three days. "

'So the mendicant returned to the money-lender, and would not sell. Thenthat wicked man sat all day before him offering more and more for thosethree days' earnings. First, ten, fifty, and a hundred rupees; and then, for he did not know when the Gods would pour down their gifts, rupees bythe thousand, till he had offered half a lakh of rupees. Upon this sumthe mendicant's wife shifted her counsel, and the mendicant signed thebond, and the money was paid in silver; great white bullocks bringing itby the cartload. But saving only all that money, the mendicant receivednothing from the Gods at all, and the heart of the money-lender wasuneasy on account of expectation. Therefore at noon of the third day themoney-lender went into the temple to spy upon the councils of the Gods, and to learn in what manner that gift might arrive. Even as he wasmaking his prayers, a crack between the stones of the floor gaped, and, closing, caught him by the heel. Then he heard the Gods walking in thetemple in the darkness of the columns, and Shiv called to his sonGanesh, saying, "Son, what hast thou done in regard to the lakh ofrupees for the mendicant?" And Ganesh woke, for the money-lender heardthe dry rustle of his trunk uncoiling, and he answered, "Father, onehalf of the money has been paid, and the debtor for the other half Ihold here fast by the heel. "'

The child bubbled with laughter. 'And the moneylender paid themendicant?' it said. 

'Surely, for he whom the Gods hold by the heel must pay to theuttermost. The money was paid at evening, all silver, in great carts, and thus Ganesh did his work. '

'Nathu! Ohe Nathu!'

A woman was calling in the dusk by the door of the courtyard. 

The child began to wriggle. 'That is my mother, ' it said. 

'Go then, littlest, ' answered Gobind; 'but stay a moment. '

He ripped a generous yard from his patchwork-quilt, put it over thechild's shoulders, and the child ran away. 

THE AMIR'S HOMILY[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MacMillan & Co. ]

His Royal Highness Abdur Rahman, Amir of Afghanistan, G. C. S. I. , andtrusted ally of Her Imperial Majesty the Queen of England and Empress ofIndia, is a gentleman for whom all right-thinking people should have aprofound regard. Like most other rulers, he governs not as he would butas he can, and the mantle of his authority covers the most turbulentrace under the stars. To the Afghan neither life, property, law, norkingship are sacred when his own lusts prompt him to rebel. He is athief by instinct, a murderer by heredity and training, and frankly andbestially immoral by all three. None the less he has his own crookednotions of honour, and his character is fascinating to study. Onoccasion he will fight without reason given till he is hacked in pieces;on other occasions he will refuse to show fight till he is driven into acorner. Herein he is as unaccountable as the gray wolf, who is hisblood-brother. 

And these men His Highness rules by the only weapon that theyunderstand--the fear of death, which among some Orientals is thebeginning of wisdom. Some say that the Amir's authority reaches nofarther than a rifle bullet can range; but as none are quite certainwhen their king may be in their midst, and as he alone holds every oneof the threads of Government, his respect is increased among men. GholamHyder, the Commander-in-chief of the Afghan army, is feared reasonably, for he can impale; all Kabul city fears the Governor of Kabul, who haspower of life and death through all the wards; but the Amir ofAfghanistan, though outlying tribes pretend otherwise when his back isturned, is dreaded beyond chief and governor together. His word is redlaw; by the gust of his passion falls the leaf of man's life, and hisfavour is terrible. He has suffered many things, and been a huntedfugitive before he came to the throne, and he understands all theclasses of his people. By the custom of the East any man or woman havinga complaint to make, or an enemy against whom to be avenged, has theright of speaking face to face with the king at the daily publicaudience. This is personal government, as it was in the days of Harun alRaschid of blessed memory, whose times exist still and will exist longafter the English have passed away. 

The privilege of open speech is of course exercised at certain personalrisk. The king may be pleased, and raise the speaker to honour for thatvery bluntness of speech which three minutes later brings a tooimitative petitioner to the edge of the ever ready blade. And the peoplelove to have it so, for it is their right. 

It happened upon a day in Kabul that the Amir chose to do his day's workin the Baber Gardens, which lie a short distance from the city of Kabul. A light table stood before him, and round the table in the open air weregrouped generals and finance ministers according to their degree. TheCourt and the long tail of feudal chiefs--men of blood, fed and cowed byblood--stood in an irregular semicircle round the table, and the windfrom the Kabul orchards blew among them. All day long sweating couriersdashed in with letters from the outlying districts with rumours ofrebellion, intrigue, famine, failure of payments, or announcements oftreasure on the road; and all day long the Amir would read the dockets, and pass such of these as were less private to the officials whom theydirectly concerned, or call up a waiting chief for a word ofexplanation. It is well to speak clearly to the ruler of Afghanistan. Then the grim head, under the black astrachan cap with the diamond starin front, would nod gravely, and that chief would return to his fellows. Once that afternoon a woman clamoured for divorce against her husband, who was bald, and the Amir, hearing both sides of the case, bade herpour curds over the bare scalp, and lick them off, that the hair mightgrown again, and she be contented. Here the Court laughed, and the womanwithdrew, cursing her king under her breath. 

But when twilight was falling, and the order of the Court was a littlerelaxed, there came before the king, in custody, a trembling haggardwretch, sore with much buffeting, but of stout enough build, who hadstolen three rupees--of such small matters does His Highness takecognisance. 

'Why did you steal?' said he; and when the king asks questions they dothemselves service who answer directly. 

'I was poor, and no one gave. Hungry, and there was no food. '

'Why did you not work?'

'I could find no work, Protector of the Poor, and I was starving. '

'You lie. You stole for drink, for lust, for idleness, for anything buthunger, since any man who will may find work and daily bread. '

The prisoner dropped his eyes. He had attended the Court before, and heknew the ring of the death-tone. 

'Any man may get work. Who knows this so well as I do? for I too havebeen hungered--not like you, bastard scum, but as any honest man may be, by the turn of Fate and the will of God. '

Growing warm, the Amir turned to his nobles all arow and thrust the hiltof his sabre aside with his elbow. 

'You have heard this Son of Lies? Hear me tell a true tale. I also wasonce starved, and tightened my belt on the sharp belly-pinch. Nor was Ialone, for with me was another, who did not fail me in my evil days, when I was hunted, before ever I came to this throne. And wandering likea houseless dog by Kandahar, my money melted, melted, melted till--' Heflung out a bare palm before the audience. 'And day upon day, faint andsick, I went back to that one who waited, and God knows how we lived, till on a day I took our best lihaf--silk it was, fine work of Iran, such as no needle now works, warm, and a coverlet for two, and all thatwe had. I brought it to a money-lender in a bylane, and I asked forthree rupees upon it. He said to me, who am now the King, "You are athief. This is worth three hundred. " "I am no thief, " I answered, "but aprince of good blood, and I am hungry. "--"Prince of wandering beggars, "said that money-lender, "I have no money with me, but go to my housewith my clerk and he will give you two rupees eight annas, for that isall I will lend. " So I went with the clerk to the house, and we talkedon the way, and he gave me the money. We lived on it till it was spent, and we fared hard. And then that clerk said, being a young man of a goodheart, "Surely the money-lender will lend yet more on that lihaf, " andhe offered me two rupees. These I refused, saying, "Nay; but get me somework. " And he got me work, and I, even I, Abdur Rahman, Amir ofAfghanistan, wrought day by day as a coolie, bearing burdens, andlabouring of my hands, receiving four annas wage a day for my sweat andbackache. But he, this bastard son of naught, must steal! For a year andfour months I worked, and none dare say that I lie, for I have awitness, even that clerk who is now my friend. '

Then there rose in his place among the Sirdars and the nobles one cladin silk, who folded his hands and said, 'This is the truth of God, forI, who, by the favour of God and the Amir, am such as you know, was onceclerk to that money-lender. '

There was a pause, and the Amir cried hoarsely to the prisoner, throwingscorn upon him, till he ended with the dread 'Dar arid, ' which clinchesjustice. 

So they led the thief away, and the whole of him was seen no moretogether; and the Court rustled out of its silence, whispering, 'BeforeGod and the Prophet, but this is a man!'

JEWS IN SHUSHAN[Footnote: Copyright, 1981, by Macmillan & Co. ]

My newly purchased house furniture was, at the least, insecure; the legsparted from the chairs, and the tops from the tables, on the slightestprovocation. But such as it was, it was to be paid for, and Ephraim, agent and collector for the local auctioneer, waited in the verandahwith the receipt. He was announced by the Mahomedan servant as 'Ephraim, Yahudi'--Ephraim the Jew. He who believes in the Brotherhood of Manshould hear my Elahi Bukhsh grinding the second word through his whiteteeth with all the scorn he dare show before his master. Ephraim was, personally, meek in manner--so meek indeed that one could not understandhow he had fallen into the profession of bill-collecting. He resembledan over-fed sheep, and his voice suited his figure. There was a fixed, unvarying mask of childish wonder upon his face. If you paid him, he wasas one marvelling at your wealth; if you sent him away, he seemedpuzzled at your hard-heartedness. Never was Jew more unlike his dreadbreed. Ephraim wore list slippers and coats of duster-cloth, sopreposterously patterned that the most brazen of British subalternswould have shied from them in fear. Very slow and deliberate was hisspeech, and carefully guarded to give offence to no one. After manyweeks, Ephraim was induced to speak to me of his friends. 

'There be eight of us in Shushan, and we are waiting till there are ten. Then we shall apply for a synagogue, and get leave from Calcutta. To-daywe have no synagogue; and I, only I, am Priest and Butcher to ourpeople. I am of the tribe of Judah--I think, but I am not sure. Myfather was of the tribe of Judah, and we wish much to get our synagogue. I shall be a priest of that synagogue. '

Shushan is a big city in the North of India, counting its dwellers bythe ten thousand; and these eight of the Chosen People were shut up inits midst, waiting till time or chance sent them their fullcongregation. 

Miriam the wife of Ephraim, two little children, an orphan boy of theirpeople, Epraim's uncle Jackrael Israel, a white-haired old man, his wifeHester, a Jew from Cutch, one Hyem Benjamin, and Ephraim, Priest andButcher, made up the list of the Jews in Shushan. They lived in onehouse, on the outskirts of the great city, amid heaps of saltpetre, rotten bricks, herds of kine, and a fixed pillar of dust caused by theincessant passing of the beasts to the river to drink. In the eveningthe children of the City came to the waste place to fly their kites, andEphraim's sons held aloof, watching the sport from the roof, but neverdescending to take part in them. At the back of the house stood a smallbrick enclosure, in which Ephraim prepared the daily meat for his peopleafter the custom of the Jews. Once the rude door of the square wassuddenly smashed open by a struggle from inside, and showed the meekbill-collector at his work, nostrils dilated, lips drawn back over histeeth, and his hands upon a half-maddened sheep. He was attired instrange raiment, having no relation whatever to duster coats or listslippers, and a knife was in his mouth. As he struggled with the animalbetween the walls, the breath came from him in thick sobs, and thenature of the man seemed changed. When the ordained slaughter was ended, he saw that the door was open and shut it hastily, his hand leaving ared mark on the timber, while his children from the neighbouring house-top looked down awe-stricken and open-eyed. A glimpse of Ephraim busiedin one of his religious capacities was no thing to be desired twice. 

Summer came upon Shushan, turning the trodden waste-ground to iron, andbringing sickness to the city. 

'It will not touch us, ' said Ephraim confidently. 'Before the winter weshall have our synagogue. My brother and his wife and children arecoming up from Calcutta, and THEN I shall be the priest of thesynagogue. '

Jackrael Israel, the old man, would crawl out in the stifling eveningsto sit on the rubbish-heap and watch the corpses being borne down to theriver. 

'It will not come near us, ' said Jackrael Israel feebly, 'for we are thePeople of God, and my nephew will be priest of our synagogue. Let themdie. ' He crept back to his house again and barred the door to shuthimself off from the world of the Gentile. 

But Miriam, the wife of Ephraim, looked out of the window at the dead asthe biers passed and said that she was afraid. Ephraim comforted herwith hopes of the synagogue to be, and collected bills as was hiscustom. 

In one night, the two children died and were buried early in the morningby Ephraim. The deaths never appeared in the City returns. 'The sorrowis my sorrow, ' said Ephraim; and this to him seemed a sufficient reasonfor setting at naught the sanitary regulations of a large, flourishing, and remarkably well-governed Empire. 

The orphan boy, dependent on the charity of Ephraim and his wife, couldhave felt no gratitude, and must have been a ruffian. He begged forwhatever money his protectors would give him, and with that fled down-country for his life. A week after the death of her children Miriam lefther bed at night and wandered over the country to find them. She heardthem crying behind every bush, or drowning in every pool of water in thefields, and she begged the cartmen on the Grand Trunk Road not to stealher little ones from her. In the morning the sun rose and beat upon herbare head, and she turned into the cool wet crops to lie down and nevercame back; though Hyem Benjamin and Ephraim sought her for two nights. 

The look of patient wonder on Ephraim's face deepened, but he presentlyfound an explanation. 'There are so few of us here, and these people areso many, ' said he, 'that, it may be, our God has forgotten us. '

In the house on the outskirts of the city old Jackrael Israel and Hestergrumbled that there was no one to wait on them, and that Miriam had beenuntrue to her race. Ephraim went out and collected bills, and in theevenings smoked with Hyem Benjamin till, one dawning, Hyem Benjamindied, having first paid all his debts to Ephraim. Jackrael Israel andHester sat alone in the empty house all day, and, when Ephraim returned, wept the easy tears of age till they cried themselves asleep. 

A week later Ephraim, staggering under a huge bundle of clothes andcooking-pots, led the old man and woman to the railway station, wherethe bustle and confusion made them whimper. 

'We are going back to Calcutta, ' said Ephraim, to whose sleeve Hesterwas clinging. 'There are more of us there, and here my house is empty. '

He helped Hester into the carriage and, turning back, said to me, 'Ishould have been priest of the synagogue if there had been ten of us. Surely we must have been forgotten by our God. '

The remnant of the broken colony passed out of the station on theirjourney south; while a subaltern, turning over the books on thebookstall, was whistling to himself 'The Ten Little Nigger Boys. '

But the tune sounded as solemn as the Dead March. 

It was the dirge of the Jews in Shushan. 

THE LIMITATIONS OF PAMBE SERANG[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & Co. ]

If you consider the circumstances of the case, it was the only thingthat he could do. But Pambe Serang has been hanged by the neck till heis dead, and Nurkeed is dead also. 

Three years ago, when the Elsass-Lothringen steamer Saarbruck wascoaling at Aden and the weather was very hot indeed, Nurkeed, the bigfat Zanzibar stoker who fed the second right furnace thirty feet down inthe hold, got leave to go ashore. He departed a 'Seedee boy, ' as theycall the stokers; he returned the full-blooded Sultan of Zanzibar--HisHighness Sayyid Burgash, with a bottle in each hand. Then he sat on thefore-hatch grating, eating salt fish and onions, and singing the songsof a far country. The food belonged to Pambe, the Serang or head man ofthe lascar sailors. He had just cooked it for himself, turned to borrowsome salt, and when he came back Nurkeed's dirty black fingers werespading into the rice. 

A serang is a person of importance, far above a stoker, though thestoker draws better pay. He sets the chorus of 'Hya! Hulla! Hee-ah!Heh!' when the captain's gig is pulled up to the davits; he heaves thelead too; and sometimes, when all the ship is lazy, he puts on hiswhitest muslin and a big red sash, and plays with the passengers'children on the quarter-deck. Then the passengers give him money, and hesaves it all up for an orgie at Bombay or Calcutta, or Pulu Penang. 'Ho!you fat black barrel, you're eating my food!' said Pambe, in the OtherLingua Franca that begins where the Levant tongue stops, and runs fromPort Said eastward till east is west, and the sealing-brigs of theKurile Islands gossip with the strayed Hakodate junks. 

'Son of Eblis, monkey-face, dried shark's liver, pigman, I am the SultanSayyid Burgash, and the commander of all this ship. Take away yourgarbage;' and Nurkeed thrust the empty pewter rice-plate into Pambe'shand. 

Pambe beat it into a basin over Nurkeed's woolly head. Nurkeed drew HISsheath-knife and stabbed Pambe in the leg. Pambe drew his sheath-knife;but Nurkeed dropped down into the darkness of the hold and spat throughthe grating at Pambe, who was staining the clean fore-deck with hisblood. 

Only the white moon saw these things; for the officers were lookingafter the coaling, and the passengers were tossing in their closecabins. 'All right, ' said Pambe--and went forward to tie up his leg--'wewill settle the account later on. '

He was a Malay born in India: married once in Burma, where his wife hada cigar-shop on the Shwe Dagon road; once in Singapore, to a Chinesegirl; and once in Madras, to a Mahomedan woman who sold fowls. TheEnglish sailor cannot, owing to postal and telegraph facilities, marryas profusely as he used to do; but native sailors can, beinguninfluenced by the barbarous inventions of the Western savage. Pambewas a good husband when he happened to remember the existence of a wife;but he was also a very good Malay; and it is not wise to offend a Malay, because he does not forget anything. Moreover, in Pambe's case blood hadbeen drawn and food spoiled. 

Next morning Nurkeed rose with a blank mind. He was no longer Sultan ofZanzibar, but a very hot stoker. So he went on deck and opened hisjacket to the morning breeze, till a sheath-knife came like a flying-fish and stuck into the woodwork of the cook's galley half an inch fromhis right armpit. He ran down below before his time, trying to rememberwhat he could have said to the owner of the weapon. At noon, when allthe ship's lascars were feeding, Nurkeed advanced into their midst, and, being a placid man with a large regard for his own skin, he openednegotiations, saying, 'Men of the ship, last night I was drunk, and thismorning I know that I behaved unseemly to some one or another of you. Who was that man, that I may meet him face to face and say that I wasdrunk?'

Pambe measured the distance to Nurkeed's naked breast. If he sprang athim he might be tripped up, and a blind blow at the chest sometimes onlymeans a gash on the breast-bone. Ribs are difficult to thrust betweenunless the subject be asleep. So he said nothing; nor did the otherlascars. Their faces immediately dropped all expression, as is thecustom of the Oriental when there is killing on the carpet or any chanceof trouble. Nurkeed looked long at the white eyeballs. He was only anAfrican, and could not read characters. A big sigh--almost a groan--broke from him, and he went back to the furnaces. The lascars took upthe conversation where he had interrupted it. They talked of the bestmethods of cooking rice. 

Nurkeed suffered considerably from lack of fresh air during the run toBombay. He only came on deck to breathe when all the world was about;and even then a heavy block once dropped from a derrick within a foot ofhis head, and an apparently firm-lashed grating on which he set hisfoot, began to turn over with the intention of dropping him on the casedcargo fifteen feet below; and one insupportable night the sheath-knifedropped from the fo'c's'le, and this time it drew blood. So Nurkeed madecomplaint; and, when the Saarbruck reached Bombay, fled and buriedhimself among eight hundred thousand people, and did not sign articlestill the ship had been a month gone from the port. Pambe waited too; buthis Bombay wife grew clamorous, and he was forced to sign in theSpicheren to Hongkong, because he realised that all play and no workgives Jack a ragged shirt. In the foggy China seas he thought a greatdeal of Nurkeed, and, when Elsass-Lothringen steamers lay in port withthe Spicheren, inquired after him and found he had gone to England viathe Cape, on the Gravelotte. Pambe came to England on the Worth. TheSpicheren met her by the Nore Light. Nurkeed was going out with theSpicheren to the Calicut coast. 

'Want to find a friend, my trap-mouthed coal-scuttle?' said a gentlemanin the mercantile service. 'Nothing easier. Wait at the Nyanza Dockstill he comes. Every one comes to the Nyanza Docks. Wait, you poorheathen. ' The gentleman spoke truth. There are three great doors in theworld where, if you stand long enough, you shall meet any one you wish. The head of the Suez Canal is one, but there Death comes also; CharingCross Station is the second--for inland work; and the Nyanza Docks isthe third. At each of these places are men and women looking eternallyfor those who will surely come. So Pambe waited at the docks. Time wasno object to him; and the wives could wait, as he did from day to day, week to week, and month to month, by the Blue Diamond funnels, the RedDot smoke-stacks, the Yellow Streaks, and the nameless dingy gypsies ofthe sea that loaded and unloaded, jostled, whistled, and roared in theeverlasting fog. When money failed, a kind gentleman told Pambe tobecome a Christian; and Pambe became one with great speed, getting hisreligious teachings between ship and ship's arrival, and six or sevenshillings a week for distributing tracts to mariners. What the faith wasPambe did not in the least care; but he knew if he said 'Native Ki-lis-ti-an, Sar' to men with long black coats he might get a few coppers; andthe tracts were vendible at a little public-house that sold shag by the'dottel, ' which is even smaller weight than the 'half-screw, ' which isless than the half-ounce, and a most profitable retail trade. 

But after eight months Pambe fell sick with pneumonia, contracted fromlong standing still in slush; and much against his will he was forced tolie down in his two-and-sixpenny room raging against Fate. 

The kind gentleman sat by his bedside, and grieved to find that Pambetalked in strange tongues, instead of listening to good books, andalmost seemed to become a benighted heathen again--till one day he wasroused from semi-stupor by a voice in the street by the dock-head. 'Myfriend--he, ' whispered Pambe. 'Call now--call Nurkeed. Quick! God hassent him!'

'He wanted one of his own race, ' said the kind gentleman; and, goingout, he called 'Nurkeed!' at the top of his voice. An excessivelycoloured man in a rasping white shirt and brand-new slops, a shininghat, and a breastpin, turned round. Many voyages had taught Nurkeed howto spend his money and made him a citizen of the world. 

'Hi! Yes!' said he, when the situation was explained. 'Command him--black nigger--when I was in the Saarbruck. Ole Pambe, good ole Pambe. Dam lascar. Show him up, Sar;' and he followed into the room. One glancetold the stoker what the kind gentleman had overlooked. Pambe wasdesperately poor. Nurkeed drove his hands deep into his pockets, thenadvanced with clenched fists on the sick, shouting, 'Hya, Pambe. Hya!Hee-ah! Hulla! Heh! Takilo! Takilo! Make fast aft, Pambe. You know, Pambe. You know me. Dekho, jee! Look! Dam big fat lazy lascar!'

Pambe beckoned with his left hand. His right was under his pillow. Nurkeed removed his gorgeous hat and stooped over Pambe till he couldcatch a faint whisper. 'How beautiful!' said the kind gentleman. 'Howthese Orientals love like children!'

'Spit him out, ' said Nurkeed, leaning over Pambe yet more closely. 

'Touching the matter of that fish and onions--' said Pambe--and sent theknife home under the edge of the rib-bone upwards and forwards. 

There was a thick sick cough, and the body of the African slid slowlyfrom the bed, his clutching hands letting fall a shower of silver piecesthat ran across the room. 

'Now I can die!' said Pambe. 

But he did not die. He was nursed back to life with all the skill thatmoney could buy, for the Law wanted him; and in the end he grewsufficiently healthy to be hanged in due and proper form. 

Pambe did not care particularly; but it was a sad blow to the kindgentleman. 

LITTLE TOBRAH[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & Co. ]

'Prisoner's head did not reach to the top of the dock, ' as the Englishnewspapers say. This case, however, was not reported because nobodycared by so much as a hempen rope for the life or death of LittleTobrah. The assessors in the red court-house sat upon him all throughthe long hot afternoon, and whenever they asked him a question hesalaamed and whined. Their verdict was that the evidence wasinconclusive, and the Judge concurred. It was true that the dead body ofLittle Tobrah's sister had been found at the bottom of the well, andLittle Tobrah was the only human being within a half mile radius at thetime; but the child might have fallen in by accident. Therefore LittleTobrah was acquitted, and told to go where he pleased. This permissionwas not so generous as it sounds, for he had nowhere to go to, nothingin particular to eat, and nothing whatever to wear. 

He trotted into the court-compound, and sat upon the well-kerb, wondering whether an unsuccessful dive into the black water below wouldend in a forced voyage across the other Black Water. A groom put down anemptied nose-bag on the bricks, and Little Tobrah, being hungry, sethimself to scrape out what wet grain the horse had overlooked. 

'O Thief--and but newly set free from the terror of the Law! Comealong!' said the groom, and Little Tobrah was led by the ear to a largeand fat Englishman, who heard the tale of the theft. 

'Hah!' said the Englishman three times (only he said a stronger word). 'Put him into the net and take him home. ' So Little Tobrah was throwninto the net of the cart, and, nothing doubting that he should be stucklike a pig, was driven to the Englishman's house. 'Hah!' said theEnglishman as before. 'Wet grain, by Jove! Feed the little beggar, someof you, and we'll make a riding-boy of him! See? Wet grain, good Lord!'

'Give an account of yourself, ' said the Head of the Grooms, to LittleTobrah after the meal had been eaten, and the servants lay at ease intheir quarters behind the house. 'You are not of the groom caste, unlessit be for the stomach's sake. How came you into the court, and why?Answer, little devil's spawn!'

'There was not enough to eat, ' said Little Tobrah calmly. 'This is agood place. '

'Talk straight talk, ' said the Head Groom, 'or I will make you clean outthe stable of that large red stallion who bites like a camel. '

'We be Telis, oil-pressers, ' said Little Tobrah, scratching his toes inthe dust. 'We were Telis--my father, my mother, my brother, the elder byfour years, myself, and the sister. '

'She who was found dead in the well?' said one who had heard somethingof the trial. 

'Even so, ' said Little Tobrah gravely. 'She who was found dead in thewell. It befel upon a time, which is not in my memory, that the sicknesscame to the village where our oil-press stood, and first my sister wassmitten as to her eyes, and went without sight, for it was mata--thesmallpox. Thereafter, my father and my mother died of that samesickness, so we were alone--my brother who had twelve years, I who hadeight, and the sister who could not see. Yet were there the bullock andthe oil-press remaining, and we made shift to press the oil as before. But Surjun Dass, the grain-seller, cheated us in his dealings; and itwas always a stubborn bullock to drive. We put marigold flowers for theGods upon the neck of the bullock, and upon the great grinding-beam thatrose through the roof; but we gained nothing thereby, and Surjun Dasswas a hard man. '

'Bapri-bap, ' muttered the grooms' wives, 'to cheat a child so! But WEknow what the bunnia-folk are, sisters. '

'The press was an old press, and we were not strong men--my brother andI; nor could we fix the neck of the beam firmly in the shackle. '

'Nay, indeed, ' said the gorgeously-clad wife of the Head Groom, joiningthe circle. 'That is a strong man's work. When I was a maid in myfather's house----'

'Peace, woman, ' said the Head Groom. 'Go on, boy. '

'It is nothing, ' said Little Tobrah. 'The big beam tore down the roofupon a day which is not in my memory, and with the roof fell much of thehinder wall, and both together upon our bullock, whose back was broken. Thus we had neither home, nor press, nor bullock--my brother, myself, and the sister who was blind. We went crying away from that place, hand-in-hand, across the fields; and our money was seven annas and six pie. There was a famine in the land. I do not know the name of the land. So, on a night when we were sleeping, my brother took the five annas thatremained to us and ran away. I do not know whither he went. The curse ofmy father be upon him. But I and the sister begged food in the villages, and there was none to give. Only all men said--"Go to the Englishmen andthey will give. " I did not know what the Englishmen were; but they saidthat they were white, living in tents. I went forward; but I cannot saywhither I went, and there was no more food for myself or the sister. Andupon a hot night, she weeping and calling for food, we came to a well, and I bade her sit upon the kerb, and thrust her in, for, in truth, shecould not see; and it is better to die than to starve. '

'Ai! Ahi!' wailed the grooms' wives in chorus; 'he thrust her in, for itis better to die than to starve!'

'I would have thrown myself in also, but that she was not dead andcalled to me from the bottom of the well, and I was afraid and ran. Andone came out of the crops saying that I had killed her and defiled thewell, and they took me before an Englishman, white and terrible, livingin a tent, and me he sent here. But there were no witnesses, and it isbetter to die than to starve. She, furthermore, could not see with hereyes, and was but a little child. '

'Was but a little child, ' echoed the Head Groom's wife. 'But who artthou, weak as a fowl and small as a day-old colt, what art THOU?'

'I who was empty am now full, ' said Little Tobrah, stretching himselfupon the dust. 'And I would sleep. '

The groom's wife spread a cloth over him while Little Tobrah slept thesleep of the just. 

BUBBLING WELL ROAD[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & Co. ]

Look out on a large scale map the place where the Chenab river fallsinto the Indus fifteen miles or so above the hamlet of Chachuran. Fivemiles west of Chachuran lies Bubbling Well Road, and the house of thegosain or priest of Arti-goth. It was the priest who showed me the road, but it is no thanks to him that I am able to tell this story. 

Five miles west of Chachuran is a patch of the plumed jungle-grass, thatturns over in silver when the wind blows, from ten to twenty feet highand from three to four miles square. In the heart of the patch hides thegosain of Bubbling Well Road. The villagers stone him when he peers intothe daylight, although he is a priest, and he runs back again as astrayed wolf turns into tall crops. He is a one-eyed man and carries, burnt between his brows, the impress of two copper coins. Some say thathe was tortured by a native prince in the old days; for he is so oldthat he must have been capable of mischief in the days of Runjit Singh. His most pressing need at present is a halter, and the care of theBritish Government. 

These things happened when the jungle-grass was tall; and the villagersof Chachuran told me that a sounder of pig had gone into the Arti-gothpatch. To enter jungle-grass is always an unwise proceeding, but I went, partly because I knew nothing of pig-hunting, and partly because thevillagers said that the big boar of the sounder owned foot long tushes. Therefore I wished to shoot him, in order to produce the tushes in afteryears, and say that I had ridden him down in fair chase. I took a gunand went into the hot, close patch, believing that it would be an easything to unearth one pig in ten square miles of jungle. Mr. Wardle, theterrier, went with me because he believed that I was incapable ofexisting for an hour without his advice and countenance. He managed toslip in and out between the grass clumps, but I had to force my way, andin twenty minutes was as completely lost as though I had been in theheart of Central Africa. I did not notice this at first till I had grownwearied of stumbling and pushing through the grass, and Mr. Wardle wasbeginning to sit down very often and hang out his tongue very far. Therewas nothing but grass everywhere, and it was impossible to see two yardsin any direction. The grass-stems held the heat exactly as boiler-tubesdo. 

In half-an-hour, when I was devoutly wishing that I had left the bigboar alone, I came to a narrow path which seemed to be a compromisebetween a native foot-path and a pig-run. It was barely six inches wide, but I could sidle along it in comfort. The grass was extremely thickhere, and where the path was ill defined it was necessary to crush intothe tussocks either with both hands before the face, or to back into it, leaving both hands free to manage the rifle. None the less it was apath, and valuable because it might lead to a place. 

At the end of nearly fifty yards of fair way, just when I was preparingto back into an unusually stiff tussock, I missed Mr. Wardle, who forhis girth is an unusually frivolous dog and never keeps to heel. Icalled him three times and said aloud, 'Where has the little beast goneto?' Then I stepped backwards several paces, for almost under my feet adeep voice repeated, 'Where has the little beast gone?' To appreciate anunseen voice thoroughly you should hear it when you are lost in stiflingjungle-grass. I called Mr. Wardle again and the underground echoassisted me. At that I ceased calling and listened very attentively, because I thought I heard a man laughing in a peculiarly offensivemanner. The heat made me sweat, but the laughter made me shake. There isno earthly need for laughter in high grass. It is indecent, as well asimpolite. The chuckling stopped, and I took courage and continued tocall till I thought that I had located the echo somewhere behind andbelow the tussock into which I was preparing to back just before I lostMr. Wardle. I drove my rifle up to the triggers, between the grass-stemsin a downward and forward direction. Then I waggled it to and fro, butit did not seem to touch ground on the far side of the tussock as itshould have done. Every time that I grunted with the exertion of drivinga heavy rifle through thick grass, the grunt was faithfully repeatedfrom below, and when I stopped to wipe my face the sound of low laughterwas distinct beyond doubting. 

I went into the tussock, face first, an inch at a time, my mouth openand my eyes fine, full, and prominent. When I had overcome theresistance of the grass I found that I was looking straight across ablack gap in the ground--that I was actually lying on my chest leaningover the mouth of a well so deep I could scarcely see the water in it. 

There were things in the water, --black things, --and the water was asblack as pitch with blue scum atop. The laughing sound came from thenoise of a little spring, spouting half-way down one side of the well. Sometimes as the black things circled round, the trickle from the springfell upon their tightly-stretched skins, and then the laughter changedinto a sputter of mirth. One thing turned over on its back, as Iwatched, and drifted round and round the circle of the mossy brickworkwith a hand and half an arm held clear of the water in a stiff andhorrible flourish, as though it were a very wearied guide paid toexhibit the beauties of the place. 

I did not spend more than half-an-hour in creeping round that well andfinding the path on the other side. The remainder of the journey Iaccomplished by feeling every foot of ground in front of me, andcrawling like a snail through every tussock. I carried Mr. Wardle in myarms and he licked my nose. He was not frightened in the least, nor wasI, but we wished to reach open ground in order to enjoy the view. Myknees were loose, and the apple in my throat refused to slide up anddown. The path on the far side of the well was a very good one, thoughboxed in on all sides by grass, and it led me in time to a priest's hutin the centre of a little clearing. When that priest saw my very whiteface coming through the grass he howled with terror and embraced myboots; but when I reached the bedstead set outside his door I sat downquickly and Mr. Wardle mounted guard over me. I was not in a conditionto take care of myself. 

When I awoke I told the priest to lead me into the open, out of theArti-goth patch, and to walk slowly in front of me. Mr. Wardle hatesnatives, and the priest was more afraid of Mr. Wardle than of me, thoughwe were both angry. He walked very slowly down a narrow little path fromhis hut. That path crossed three paths, such as the one I had come by inthe first instance, and every one of the three headed towards theBubbling Well. Once when we stopped to draw breath, I heard the Welllaughing to itself alone in the thick grass, and only my need for hisservices prevented my firing both barrels into the priest's back. 

When we came to the open the priest crashed back into cover, and I wentto the village of Arti-goth for a drink. It was pleasant to be able tosee the horizon all round, as well as the ground underfoot. 

The villagers told me that the patch of grass was full of devils andghosts, all in the service of the priest, and that men and women andchildren had entered it and had never returned. They said the priestused their livers for purposes of witchcraft. When I asked why they hadnot told me of this at the outset, they said that they were afraid theywould lose their reward for bringing news of the pig. 

Before I left I did my best to set the patch alight, but the grass wastoo green. Some fine summer day, however, if the wind is favourable, afile of old newspapers and a box of matches will make clear the mysteryof Bubbling Well Road. 

'THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT'[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & Co. ]

The dense wet heat that hung over the face of land, like a blanket, prevented all hope of sleep in the first instance. The cicalas helpedthe heat; and the yelling jackals the cicalas. It was impossible to sitstill in the dark, empty, echoing house and watch the punkah beat thedead air. So, at ten o'clock of the night, I set my walking-stick on endin the middle of the garden, and waited to see how it would fall. Itpointed directly down the moonlit road that leads to the City ofDreadful Night. The sound of its fall disturbed a hare. She limped fromher form and ran across to a disused Mahomedan burial-ground, where thejawless skulls and rough-butted shank-bones, heartlessly exposed by theJuly rains, glimmered like mother o' pearl on the rain-channelled soil. The heated air and the heavy earth had driven the very dead upward forcoolness' sake. The hare limped on; snuffed curiously at a fragment of asmoke-stained lamp-shard, and died out, in the shadow of a clump oftamarisk trees. 

The mat-weaver's hut under the lee of the Hindu temple was full ofsleeping men who lay like sheeted corpses. Overhead blazed the unwinkingeye of the Moon. Darkness gives at least a false impression of coolness. It was hard not to believe that the flood of light from above was warm. Not so hot as the Sun, but still sickly warm, and heating the heavy airbeyond what was our due. Straight as a bar of polished steel ran theroad to the City of Dreadful Night; and on either side of the road laycorpses disposed on beds in fantastic attitudes--one hundred and seventybodies of men. Some shrouded all in white with bound-up mouths; somenaked and black as ebony in the strong light; and one--that lay faceupwards with dropped jaw, far away from the others--silvery white andashen gray. 

'A leper asleep; and the remainder wearied coolies, servants, smallshopkeepers, and drivers from the hackstand hard by. The scene--a mainapproach to Lahore city, and the night a warm one in August. ' This wasall that there was to be seen; but by no means all that one could see. The witchery of the moonlight was everywhere; and the world was horriblychanged. The long line of the naked dead, flanked by the rigid silverstatue, was not pleasant to look upon. It was made up of men alone. Werethe womenkind, then, forced to sleep in the shelter of the stifling mud-huts as best they might? The fretful wail of a child from a low mud-roofanswered the question. Where the children are the mothers must be alsoto look after them. They need care on these sweltering nights. A blacklittle bullet-head peeped over the coping, and a thin--a painfully thin--brown leg was slid over on to the gutter pipe. There was a sharp clinkof glass bracelets; a woman's arm showed for an instant above theparapet, twined itself round the lean little neck, and the child wasdragged back, protesting, to the shelter of the bedstead. His thin, high-pitched shriek died out in the thick air almost as soon as it wasraised; for even the children of the soil found it too hot to weep. 

More corpses; more stretches of moonlit, white road, a string ofsleeping camels at rest by the wayside; a vision of scudding jackals;ekka-ponies asleep--the harness still on their backs, and the brass-studded country carts, winking in the moonlight--and again more corpses. Wherever a grain cart atilt, a tree trunk, a sawn log, a couple ofbamboos and a few handfuls of thatch cast a shadow, the ground iscovered with them. They lie--some face downwards, arms folded, in thedust; some with clasped hands flung up above their heads; some curled updog-wise; some thrown like limp gunny-bags over the side of the graincarts; and some bowed with their brows on their knees in the full glareof the Moon. It would be a comfort if they were only given to snoring;but they are not, and the likeness to corpses is unbroken in allrespects save one. The lean dogs snuff at them and turn away. Here andthere a tiny child lies on his father's bedstead, and a protecting armis thrown round it in every instance. But, for the most part, thechildren sleep with their mothers on the house-tops. Yellow-skinnedwhite-toothed pariahs are not to be trusted within reach of brownbodies. 

A stifling hot blast from the mouth of the Delhi Gate nearly ends myresolution of entering the City of Dreadful Night at this hour. It is acompound of all evil savours, animal and vegetable, that a walled citycan brew in a day and a night. The temperature within the motionlessgroves of plantain and orange-trees outside the city walls seems chillyby comparison. Heaven help all sick persons and young children withinthe city to-night! The high house-walls are still radiating heatsavagely, and from obscure side gullies fetid breezes eddy that ought topoison a buffalo. But the buffaloes do not heed. A drove of them areparading the vacant main street; stopping now and then to lay theirponderous muzzles against the closed shutters of a grain-dealer's shopsand to blow thereon like grampuses. 

Then silence follows--the silence that is full of the night noises of agreat city. A stringed instrument of some kind is just, and only just, audible. High overhead some one throws open a window, and the rattle ofthe wood-work echoes down the empty street. On one of the roofs, ahookah is in full blast; and the men are talking softly as the pipegutters. A little farther on, the noise of conversation is moredistinct. A slit of light shows itself between the sliding shutters of ashop. Inside, a stubble-bearded, weary-eyed trader is balancing hisaccount-books among the bales of cotton prints that surround him. Threesheeted figures bear him company, and throw in a remark from time totime. First he makes an entry, then a remark; then passes the back ofhis hand across his streaming forehead. The heat in the built-in streetis fearful. Inside the shops it must be almost unendurable. But the workgoes on steadily; entry, guttural growl, and uplifted hand-strokesucceeding each other with the precision of clock-work. 

A policeman--turbanless and fast asleep--lies across the road on the wayto the Mosque of Wazir Khan. A bar of moonlight falls across theforehead and eyes of the sleeper, but he never stirs. It is close uponmidnight, and the heat seems to be increasing. The open square in frontof the Mosque is crowded with corpses; and a man must pick his waycarefully for fear of treading on them. The moonlight stripes theMosque's high front of coloured enamel work in broad diagonal bands; andeach separate dreaming pigeon in the niches and corners of the masonrythrows a squab little shadow. Sheeted ghosts rise up wearily from theirpallets, and flit into the dark depths of the building. Is it possibleto climb to the top of the great Minars, and thence to look down on thecity? At all events the attempt is worth making, and the chances arethat the door of the staircase will be unlocked. Unlocked it is; but adeeply sleeping janitor lies across the threshold, face turned to theMoon. A rat dashes out of his turban at the sound of approachingfootsteps. The man grunts, opens his eyes for a minute, turns round, andgoes to sleep again. All the heat of a decade of fierce Indian summersis stored in the pitch-black, polished walls of the corkscrew staircase. Half-way up, there is something alive, warm, and feathery; and itsnores. Driven from step to step as it catches the sound of my advance, it flutters to the top and reveals itself as a yellow-eyed, angry kite. Dozens of kites are asleep on this and the other Minars, and on thedomes below. There is the shadow of a cool, or at least a less sultrybreeze at this height; and, refreshed thereby, turn to look on the Cityof Dreadful Night. 

Dore might have drawn it! Zola could describe it--this spectacle ofsleeping thousands in the moonlight and in the shadow of the Moon. Theroof-tops are crammed with men, women, and children; and the air is fullof undistinguishable noises. They are restless in the City of DreadfulNight; and small wonder. The marvel is that they can even breathe. Ifyou gaze intently at the multitude, you can see that they are almost asuneasy as a daylight crowd; but the tumult is subdued. Everywhere, inthe strong light, you can watch the sleepers turning to and fro;shifting their beds and again resettling them. In the pit-like court-yards of the houses there is the same movement. 

The pitiless Moon shows it all. Shows, too, the plains outside the city, and here and there a hand's-breadth of the Ravee without the walls. Shows lastly, a splash of glittering silver on a house-top almostdirectly below the mosque Minar. Some poor soul has risen to throw a jarof water over his fevered body; the tinkle of the falling water strikesfaintly on the ear. Two or three other men, in far-off corners of theCity of Dreadful Night, follow his example, and the water flashes likeheliographic signals. A small cloud passes over the face of the Moon, and the city and its inhabitants--clear drawn in black and white before--fade into masses of black and deeper black. Still the unrestful noisecontinues, the sigh of a great city overwhelmed with the heat, and of apeople seeking in vain for rest. It is only the lower-class women whosleep on the house-tops. What must the torment be in the latticedzenanas, where a few lamps are still twinkling? There are footfalls inthe court below. It is the Muezzin--faithful minister; but he ought tohave been here an hour ago to tell the Faithful that prayer is betterthan sleep--the sleep that will not come to the city. 

The Muezzin fumbles for a moment with the door of one of the Minars, disappears awhile, and a bull-like roar--a magnificent bass thunder--tells that he has reached the top of the Minar. They must hear the cryto the banks of the shrunken Ravee itself! Even across the courtyard itis almost overpowering. The cloud drifts by and shows him outlined inblack against the sky, hands laid upon his ears, and broad chest heavingwith the play of his lungs--'Allah ho Akbar'; then a pause while anotherMuezzin somewhere in the direction of the Golden Temple takes up thecall--'Allah ho Akbar. ' Again and again; four times in all; and from thebedsteads a dozen men have risen up already. --'I bear witness that thereis no God but God. ' What a splendid cry it is, the proclamation of thecreed that brings men out of their beds by scores at midnight! Onceagain he thunders through the same phrase, shaking with the vehemence ofhis own voice; and then, far and near, the night air rings with 'Mahomedis the Prophet of God. ' It is as though he were flinging his defiance tothe far-off horizon, where the summer lightning plays and leaps like abared sword. Every Muezzin in the city is in full cry, and some men onthe roof-tops are beginning to kneel. A long pause precedes the lastcry, 'La ilaha Illallah, ' and the silence closes up on it, as the ram onthe head of a cotton-bale. 

The Muezzin stumbles down the dark stairway grumbling in his beard. Hepasses the arch of the entrance and disappears. Then the stiflingsilence settles down over the City of Dreadful Night. The kites on theMinar sleep again, snoring more loudly, the hot breeze comes up in puffsand lazy eddies, and the Moon slides down towards the horizon. Seatedwith both elbows on the parapet of the tower, one can watch and wonderover that heat-tortured hive till the dawn. 'How do they live downthere? What do they think of? When will they awake?' More tinkling ofsluiced water-pots; faint jarring of wooden bedsteads moved into or outof the shadows; uncouth music of stringed instruments softened bydistance into a plaintive wail, and one low grumble of far-off thunder. In the courtyard of the mosque the janitor, who lay across the thresholdof the Minar when I came up, starts wildly in his sleep, throws hishands above his head, mutters something, and falls back again. Lulled bythe snoring of the kites--they snore like over-gorged humans--I drop offinto an uneasy doze, conscious that three o'clock has struck, and thatthere is a slight--a very slight--coolness in the atmosphere. The cityis absolutely quiet now, but for some vagrant dog's love-song. Nothingsave dead heavy sleep. 

Several weeks of darkness pass after this. For the Moon has gone out. The very dogs are still, and I watch for the first light of the dawnbefore making my way homeward. Again the noise of shuffling feet. Themorning call is about to begin, and my night watch is over. 'Allah hoAkbar! Allah ho Akbar!' The east grows gray, and presently saffron; thedawn wind comes up as though the Muezzin had summoned it; and, as oneman, the City of Dreadful Night rises from its bed and turns its facetowards the dawning day. With return of life comes return of sound. First a low whisper, then a deep bass hum; for it must be rememberedthat the entire city is on the house-tops. My eyelids weighed down withthe arrears of long deferred sleep, I escape from the Minar through thecourtyard and out into the square beyond, where the sleepers have risen, stowed away the bedsteads, and are discussing the morning hookah. Theminute's freshness of the air has gone, and it is as hot as at first. 

'Will the Sahib, out of his kindness, make room?' What is it? Somethingborne on men's shoulders comes by in the half-light, and I stand back. Awoman's corpse going down to the burning-ghat, and a bystander says, 'She died at midnight from the heat. ' So the city was of Death as wellas Night after all. 

GEORGIE PORGIE[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & Co. ]

 Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, Kissed the girls and made them cry. When the girls came out to play Georgie Porgie ran away. 

If you will admit that a man has no right to enter his drawing-roomearly in the morning, when the housemaid is setting things right andclearing away the dust, you will concede that civilised people who eatout of china and own card-cases have no right to apply their standard ofright and wrong to an unsettled land. When the place is made fit fortheir reception, by those men who are told off to the work, they cancome up, bringing in their trunks their own society and the Decalogue, and all the other apparatus. Where the Queen's Law does not carry, it isirrational to expect an observance of other and weaker rules. The menwho run ahead of the cars of Decency and Propriety, and make the jungleways straight, cannot be judged in the same manner as the stay-at-homefolk of the ranks of the regular Tchin. 

Not many months ago the Queen's Law stopped a few miles north ofThayetmyo on the Irrawaddy. There was no very strong Public Opinion upto that limit, but it existed to keep men in order. When the Governmentsaid that the Queen's Law must carry up to Bhamo and the Chinese borderthe order was given, and some men whose desire was to be ever a littlein advance of the rush of Respectability flocked forward with thetroops. These were the men who could never pass examinations, and wouldhave been too pronounced in their ideas for the administration ofbureau-worked Provinces. The Supreme Government stepped in as soon asmight be, with codes and regulations, and all but reduced New Burma tothe dead Indian level; but there was a short time during which strongmen were necessary and ploughed a field for themselves. 

Among the fore-runners of Civilisation was Georgie Porgie, reckoned byall who knew him a strong man. He held an appointment in Lower Burmawhen the order came to break the Frontier, and his friends called himGeorgie Porgie because of the singularly Burmese-like manner in which hesang a song whose first line is something like the words 'GeorgiePorgie. ' Most men who have been in Burma will know the song. It means:'Puff, puff, puff, puff, great steamboat!' Georgie sang it to his banjo, and his friends shouted with delight, so that you could hear them faraway in the teak-forest. 

When he went to Upper Burma he had no special regard for God or Man, buthe knew how to make himself respected, and to carry out the mixedMilitary-Civil duties that fell to most men's share in those months. Hedid his office work and entertained, now and again, the detachments offever-shaken soldiers who blundered through his part of the world insearch of a flying party of dacoits. Sometimes he turned out and dresseddown dacoits on his own account; for the country was still smoulderingand would blaze when least expected. He enjoyed these charivaris, butthe dacoits were not so amused. All the officials who came in contactwith him departed with the idea that Georgie Porgie was a valuableperson, well able to take care of himself, and, on that belief, he wasleft to his own devices. 

At the end of a few months he wearied of his solitude, and cast aboutfor company and refinement. The Queen's Law had hardly begun to be feltin the country, and Public Opinion, which is more powerful than theQueen's Law, had yet to come. Also, there was a custom in the countrywhich allowed a white man to take to himself a wife of the Daughters ofHeth upon due payment. The marriage was not quite so binding as is thenikkah ceremony among Mahomedans, but the wife was very pleasant. 

When all our troops are back from Burma there will be a proverb in theirmouths, 'As thrifty as a Burmese wife, ' and pretty English ladies willwonder what in the world it means. 

The headman of the village next to Georgie Porgie's post had a fairdaughter who had seen Georgie Porgie and loved him from afar. When newswent abroad that the Englishman with the heavy hand who lived in thestockade was looking for a housekeeper, the headman came in andexplained that, for five hundred rupees down, he would entrust hisdaughter to Georgie Porgie's keeping, to be maintained in all honour, respect, and comfort, with pretty dresses, according to the custom ofthe country. This thing was done, and Georgie Porgie never repented it. 

He found his rough-and-tumble house put straight and made comfortable, his hitherto unchecked expenses cut down by one half, and himself pettedand made much of by his new acquisition, who sat at the head of histable and sang songs to him and ordered his Madrassee servants about, and was in every way as sweet and merry and honest and winning a littlewoman as the most exacting of bachelors could have desired. No race, mensay who know, produces such good wives and heads of households as theBurmese. When the next detachment tramped by on the war-path theSubaltern in Command found at Georgie Porgie's table a hostess to bedeferential to, a woman to be treated in every way as one occupying anassured position. When he gathered his men together next dawn andreplunged into the jungle he thought regretfully of the nice littledinner and the pretty face, and envied Georgie Porgie from the bottom ofhis heart. Yet HE was engaged to a girl at Home, and that is how somemen are constructed. 

The Burmese girl's name was not a pretty one; but as she was promptlychristened Georgina by Georgie Porgie, the blemish did not matter. Georgie Porgie thought well of the petting and the general comfort, andvowed that he had never spent five hundred rupees to a better end. 

After three months of domestic life, a great idea struck him. Matrimony--English matrimony--could not be such a bad thing after all. If he wereso thoroughly comfortable at the Back of Beyond with this Burmese girlwho smoked cheroots, how much more comfortable would he be with a sweetEnglish maiden who would not smoke cheroots, and would play upon a pianoinstead of a banjo? Also he had a desire to return to his kind, to heara Band once more, and to feel how it felt to wear a dress-suit again. Decidedly, Matrimony would be a very good thing. He thought the matterout at length of evenings, while Georgina sang to him, or asked him whyhe was so silent, and whether she had done anything to offend him. As hethought, he smoked, and as he smoked he looked at Georgina, and in hisfancy turned her into a fair, thrifty, amusing, merry, little Englishgirl, with hair coming low down on her forehead, and perhaps a cigarettebetween her lips. Certainly, not a big, thick, Burma cheroot, of thebrand that Georgina smoked. He would wed a girl with Georgina's eyes andmost of her ways. But not all. She could be improved upon. Then he blewthick smoke-wreaths through his nostrils and stretched himself. He wouldtaste marriage. Georgina had helped him to save money, and there weresix months' leave due to him. 

'See here, little woman, ' he said, 'we must put by more money for thesenext three months. I want it. ' That was a direct slur on Georgina'shousekeeping; for she prided herself on her thrift; but since her Godwanted money she would do her best. 

'You want money?' she said with a little laugh. 'I HAVE money. Look!'She ran to her own room and fetched out a small bag of rupees. 'Of allthat you give me, I keep back some. See! One hundred and seven rupees. Can you want more money than that? Take it. It is my pleasure if you useit. ' She spread out the money on the table and pushed it towards him, with her quick, little, pale yellow fingers. 

Georgie Porgie never referred to economy in the household again. 

Three months later, after the dispatch and receipt of several mysteriousletters which Georgina could not understand, and hated for that reason, Georgie Porgie said that he was going away and she must return to herfather's house and stay there. 

Georgina wept. She would go with her God from the world's end to theworld's end. Why should she leave him? She loved him. 

'I am only going to Rangoon, ' said Georgie Porgie. 'I shall be back in amonth, but it is safer to stay with your father. I will leave you twohundred rupees. '

'If you go for a month, what need of two hundred? Fifty are more thanenough. There is some evil here. Do not go, or at least let me go withyou. '

Georgie Porgie does not like to remember that scene even at this date. In the end he got rid of Georgina by a compromise of seventy-fiverupees. She would not take more. Then he went by steamer and rail toRangoon. 

The mysterious letters had granted him six months' leave. The actualflight and an idea that he might have been treacherous hurt severely atthe time, but as soon as the big steamer was well out into the blue, things were easier, and Georgina's face, and the queer little stockadedhouse, and the memory of the rushes of shouting dacoits by night, thecry and struggle of the first man that he had ever killed with his ownhand, and a hundred other more intimate things, faded and faded out ofGeorgie Porgie's heart, and the vision of approaching England took itsplace. The steamer was full of men on leave, all rampantly jovial soulswho had shaken off the dust and sweat of Upper Burma and were as merryas schoolboys. They helped Georgie Porgie to forget. 

Then came England with its luxuries and decencies and comforts, andGeorgie Porgie walked in a pleasant dream upon pavements of which he hadnearly forgotten the ring, wondering why men in their senses ever leftTown. He accepted his keen delight in his furlough as the reward of hisservices. Providence further arranged for him another and greaterdelight--all the pleasures of a quiet English wooing, quite differentfrom the brazen businesses of the East, when half the community standback and bet on the result, and the other half wonder what Mrs. So-and-So will say to it. 

It was a pleasant girl and a perfect summer, and a big country-housenear Petworth where there are acres and acres of purple heather andhigh-grassed water-meadows to wander through. Georgie Porgie felt thathe had at last found something worth the living for, and naturallyassumed that the next thing to do was to ask the girl to share his lifein India. She, in her ignorance, was willing to go. On this occasionthere was no bartering with a village headman. There was a fine middle-class wedding in the country, with a stout Papa and a weeping Mamma, anda best-man in purple and fine linen, and six snub-nosed girls from theSunday School to throw roses on the path between the tombstones up tothe Church door. The local paper described the affair at great length, even down to giving the hymns in full. But that was because theDirection were starving for want of material. 

Then came a honeymoon at Arundel, and the Mamma wept copiously beforeshe allowed her one daughter to sail away to India under the care ofGeorgie Porgie the Bridegroom. Beyond any question, Georgie Porgie wasimmensely fond of his wife, and she was devoted to him as the best andgreatest man in the world. When he reported himself at Bombay he feltjustified in demanding a good station for his wife's sake; and, becausehe had made a little mark in Burma and was beginning to be appreciated, they allowed him nearly all that he asked for, and posted him to astation which we will call Sutrain. It stood upon several hills, and wasstyled officially a 'Sanitarium, ' for the good reason that the drainagewas utterly neglected. Here Georgie Porgie settled down, and foundmarried life come very naturally to him. He did not rave, as do manybridegrooms, over the strangeness and delight of seeing his own truelove sitting down to breakfast with him every morning 'as though it werethe most natural thing in the world. '

'He had been there before, ' as the Americans say, and, checking themerits of his own present Grace by those of Georgina, he was more andmore inclined to think that he had done well. 

But there was no peace or comfort across the Bay of Bengal, under theteak-trees where Georgina lived with her father, waiting for GeorgiePorgie to return. The headman was old, and remembered the war of '51. Hehad been to Rangoon, and knew something of the ways of the Kullahs. Sitting in front of his door in the evenings, he taught Georgina a dryphilosophy which did not console her in the least. 

The trouble was that she loved Georgie Porgie just as much as the Frenchgirl in the English History books loved the priest whose head was brokenby the king's bullies. One day she disappeared from the village with allthe rupees that Georgie Porgie had given her, and a very smallsmattering of English--also gained from Georgie Porgie. 

The headman was angry at first, but lit a fresh cheroot and saidsomething uncomplimentary about the sex in general. Georgina had startedon a search for Georgie Porgie, who might be in Rangoon, or across theBlack Water, or dead, for aught that she knew. Chance favoured her. Anold Sikh policeman told her that Georgie Porgie had crossed the BlackWater. She took a steerage-passage from Rangoon and went to Calcutta;keeping the secret of her search to herself. 

In India every trace of her was lost for six weeks, and no one knowswhat trouble of heart she must have undergone. 

She reappeared, four hundred miles north of Calcutta, steadily headingnorthwards, very worn and haggard, but very fixed in her determinationto find Georgie Porgie. She could not understand the language of thepeople; but India is infinitely charitable, and the women-folk along theGrand Trunk gave her food. Something made her believe that GeorgiePorgie was to be found at the end of that pitiless road. She may haveseen a sepoy who knew him in Burma, but of this no one can be certain. At last, she found a regiment on the line of march, and met there one ofthe many subalterns whom Georgie Porgie had invited to dinner in thefar-off, old days of the dacoit-hunting. There was a certain amount ofamusement among the tents when Georgina threw herself at the man's feetand began to cry. There was no amusement when her story was told; but acollection was made, and that was more to the point. One of thesubalterns knew of Georgie Porgie's whereabouts, but not of hismarriage. So he told Georgina and she went her way joyfully to thenorth, in a railway carriage where there was rest for tired feet andshade for a dusty little head. The marches from the train through thehills into Sutrain were trying, but Georgina had money, and familiesjourneying in bullock-carts gave her help. It was an almost miraculousjourney, and Georgina felt sure that the good spirits of Burma werelooking after her. The hill-road to Sutrain is a chilly stretch, andGeorgina caught a bad cold. Still there was Georgie Porgie at the end ofall the trouble to take her up in his arms and pet her, as he used to doin the old days when the stockade was shut for the night and he hadapproved of the evening meal. Georgina went forward as fast as shecould; and her good spirits did her one last favour. 

An Englishman stopped her, in the twilight, just at the turn of the roadinto Sutrain, saying, 'Good Heavens! What are you doing here?'

He was Gillis, the man who had been Georgie Porgie's assistant in UpperBurma, and who occupied the next post to Georgie Porgie's in the jungle. Georgie Porgie had applied to have him to work with at Sutrain becausehe liked him. 

'I have come, ' said Georgina simply. 'It was such a long way, and I havebeen months in coming. Where is his house?'

Gillis gasped. He had seen enough of Georgina in the old times to knowthat explanations would be useless. You cannot explain things to theOriental. You must show. 

'I'll take you there, ' said Gillis, and he led Georgina off the road, upthe cliff, by a little pathway, to the back of a house set on a platformcut into the hillside. 

The lamps were just lit, but the curtains were not drawn. 'Now look, 'said Gillis, stopping in front of the drawing-room window. Georginalooked and saw Georgie Porgie and the Bride. 

She put her hand up to her hair, which had come out of its top-knot andwas straggling about her face. She tried to set her ragged dress inorder, but the dress was past pulling straight, and she coughed a queerlittle cough, for she really had taken a very bad cold. Gillis looked, too, but while Georgina only looked at the Bride once, turning her eyesalways on Georgie Porgie, Gillis looked at the Bride all the time. 

'What are you going to do?' said Gillis, who held Georgina by the wrist, in case of any unexpected rush into the lamplight. 'Will you go in andtell that English woman that you lived with her husband?'

'No, ' said Georgina faintly. 'Let me go. I am going away. I swear that Iam going away. ' She twisted herself free and ran off into the dark. 

'Poor little beast!' said Gillis, dropping on to the main road. 'I'd ha'given her something to get back to Burma with. What a narrow shavethough! And that angel would never have forgiven it. '

This seems to prove that the devotion of Gillis was not entirely due tohis affection for Georgie Porgie. 

The Bride and the Bridegroom came out into the verandah after dinner, inorder that the smoke of Georgie Porgie's cheroots might not hang in thenew drawing-room curtains. 

'What is that noise down there?' said the Bride. Both listened. 

'Oh, ' said Georgie Porgie, 'I suppose some brute of a hillman has beenbeating his wife. '

'Beating--his--wife! How ghastly!' said the Bride. 'Fancy YOUR beatingME!' She slipped an arm round her husband's waist, and, leaning her headagainst his shoulder, looked out across the cloud-filled valley in deepcontent and security. 

But it was Georgina crying, all by herself, down the hillside, among thestones of the water-course where the washermen wash the clothes. 

NABOTH[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & Co. ]

This was how it happened; and the truth is also an allegory of Empire. 

I met him at the corner of my garden, an empty basket on his head, andan unclean cloth round his loins. That was all the property to whichNaboth had the shadow of a claim when I first saw him. He opened ouracquaintance by begging. He was very thin and showed nearly as many ribsas his basket; and he told me a long story about fever and a lawsuit, and an iron cauldron that had been seized by the court in execution of adecree. I put my hand into my pocket to help Naboth, as kings of theEast have helped alien adventurers to the loss of their kingdoms. Arupee had hidden in my waistcoat lining. I never knew it was there, andgave the trove to Naboth as a direct gift from Heaven. He replied that Iwas the only legitimate Protector of the Poor he had ever known. 

Next morning he reappeared, a little fatter in the round, and curledhimself into knots in the front verandah. He said I was his father andhis mother, and the direct descendant of all the gods in his Pantheon, besides controlling the destinies of the universe. He himself was but asweetmeat-seller, and much less important than the dirt under my feet. Ihad heard this sort of thing before, so I asked him what he wanted. Myrupee, quoth Naboth, had raised him to the ever-lasting heavens, and hewished to prefer a request. He wished to establish a sweetmeat-pitchnear the house of his benefactor, to gaze on my revered countenance as Iwent to and fro illumining the world. I was graciously pleased to givepermission, and he went away with his head between his knees. 

Now at the far end of my garden, the ground slopes toward the publicroad, and the slope is crowned with a thick shrubbery. There is a shortcarriage-road from the house to the Mall, which passes close to theshrubbery. Next afternoon I saw that Naboth had seated himself at thebottom of the slope, down in the dust of the public road, and in thefull glare of the sun, with a starved basket of greasy sweets in frontof him. He had gone into trade once more on the strength of mymunificent donation, and the ground was as Paradise by my honouredfavour. Remember, there was only Naboth, his basket, the sunshine, andthe gray dust when the sap of my Empire first began. 

Next day he had moved himself up the slope nearer to my shrubbery, andwaved a palm-leaf fan to keep the flies off the sweets. So I judged thathe must have done a fair trade. 

Four days later I noticed that he had backed himself and his basketunder the shadow of the shrubbery, and had tied an Isabella-coloured ragbetween two branches in order to make more shade. There were plenty ofsweets in his basket. I thought that trade must certainly be looking up. 

Seven weeks later the Government took up a plot of ground for a ChiefCourt close to the end of my compound, and employed nearly four hundredcoolies on the foundations. Naboth bought a blue and white stripedblanket, a brass lamp-stand, and a small boy, to cope with the rush oftrade, which was tremendous. 

Five days later he bought a huge, fat, red-backed account-book, and aglass inkstand. Thus I saw that the coolies had been getting into hisdebt, and that commerce was increasing on legitimate lines of credit. Also I saw that the one basket had grown into three, and that Naboth hadbacked and hacked into the shrubbery, and made himself a nice littleclearing for the proper display of the basket, the blanket, the books, and the boy. 

One week and five days later he had built a mud fire-place in theclearing, and the fat account-book was overflowing. He said that Godcreated few Englishmen of my kind, and that I was the incarnation of allhuman virtues. He offered me some of his sweets as tribute, and byaccepting these I acknowledged him as my feudatory under the skirt of myprotection. 

Three weeks later I noticed that the boy was in the habit of cookingNaboth's mid-day meal for him, and Naboth was beginning to grow astomach. He had hacked away more of my shrubbery and owned another and afatter account-book. 

Eleven weeks later Naboth had eaten his way nearly through thatshrubbery, and there was a reed hut with a bedstead outside it, standingin the little glade that he had eroded. Two dogs and a baby slept on thebedstead. So I fancied Naboth had taken a wife. He said that he had, bymy favour, done this thing, and that I was several times finer thanKrishna. Six weeks and two days later a mud wall had grown up at theback of the hut. There were fowls in front and it smelt a little. TheMunicipal Secretary said that a cess-pool was forming in the public roadfrom the drainage of my compound, and that I must take steps to clear itaway. I spoke to Naboth. He said I was Lord Paramount of his earthlyconcerns, and the garden was all my own property, and sent me some moresweets in a second-hand duster. 

Two months later a coolie bricklayer was killed in a scuffle that tookplace opposite Naboth's Vineyard. The Inspector of Police said it was aserious case; went into my servants' quarters; insulted my butler'swife, and wanted to arrest my butler. The curious thing about the murderwas that most of the coolies were drunk at the time. Naboth pointed outthat my name was a strong shield between him and his enemies, and heexpected that another baby would be born to him shortly. 

Four months later the hut was ALL mud walls, very solidly built, andNaboth had used most of my shrubbery for his five goats. A silver watchand an aluminium chain shone upon his very round stomach. My servantswere alarmingly drunk several times, and used to waste the day withNaboth when they got the chance. I spoke to Naboth. He said, by myfavour and the glory of my countenance, he would make all his women-folkladies, and that if any one hinted that he was running an illicit stillunder the shadow of the tamarisks, why, I, his Suzerain, was toprosecute. 

A week later he hired a man to make several dozen square yards oftrellis-work to put around the back of his hut, that his women-folkmight be screened from the public gaze. The man went away in theevening, and left his day's work to pave the short cut from the publicroad to my house. I was driving home in the dusk, and turned the cornerby Naboth's Vineyard quickly. The next thing I knew was that the horsesof the phaeton were stamping and plunging in the strongest sort ofbamboo net-work. Both beasts came down. One rose with nothing more thanchipped knees. The other was so badly kicked that I was forced to shoothim. 

Naboth is gone now, and his hut is ploughed into its native mud withsweetmeats instead of salt for a sign that the place is accursed. I havebuilt a summer-house to overlook the end of the garden, and it is as afort on my frontier whence I guard my Empire. 

I know exactly how Ahab felt. He has been shamefully misrepresented inthe Scriptures. 

THE DREAM OF DUNCAN PARRENNESS[Footnote: Copyright, 1891, by MACMILLAN & Co. ]

Like Mr. Bunyan of old, I, Duncan Parrenness, Writer to the MostHonourable the East India Company, in this God-forgotten city ofCalcutta, have dreamed a dream, and never since that Kitty my mare felllame have I been so troubled. Therefore, lest I should forget my dream, I have made shift to set it down here. Though Heaven knows how unhandythe pen is to me who was always readier with sword than ink-horn when Ileft London two long years since. 

When the Governor-General's great dance (that he gives yearly at thelatter end of November) was finisht, I had gone to mine own room whichlooks over that sullen, un-English stream, the Hoogly, scarce so soberas I might have been. Now, roaring drunk in the West is but fuddled inthe East, and I was drunk Nor'-Nor' Easterly as Mr. Shakespeare mighthave said. Yet, in spite of my liquor, the cool night winds (though Ihave heard that they breed chills and fluxes innumerable) sobered mesomewhat; and I remembered that I had been but a little wrung and wastedby all the sicknesses of the past four months, whereas those youngbloods that came eastward with me in the same ship had been all, a monthback, planted to Eternity in the foul soil north of Writers' Buildings. So then, I thanked God mistily (though, to my shame, I never kneeleddown to do so) for license to live, at least till March should be uponus again. 

Indeed, we that were alive (and our number was less by far than thosewho had gone to their last account in the hot weather late past) hadmade very merry that evening, by the ramparts of the Fort, over thiskindness of Providence; though our jests were neither witty nor such asI should have liked my Mother to hear. 

When I had lain down (or rather thrown me on my bed) and the fumes of mydrink had a little cleared away, I found that I could get no sleep forthinking of a thousand things that were better left alone. First, and itwas a long time since I had thought of her, the sweet face of KittySomerset, drifted, as it might have been drawn in a picture, across thefoot of my bed, so plainly, that I almost thought she had been presentin the body. Then I remembered how she drove me to this accursed countryto get rich, that I might the more quickly marry her, our parents onboth sides giving their consent; and then how she thought better (orworse may be) of her troth, and wed Tom Sanderson but a short threemonths after I had sailed. From Kitty I fell a-musing on Mrs. Vansuythen, a tall pale woman with violet eyes that had come to Calcuttafrom the Dutch Factory at Chinsura, and had set all our young men, andnot a few of the factors, by the ears. Some of our ladies, it is true, said that she had never a husband or marriage-lines at all; but women, and specially those who have led only indifferent good lives themselves, are cruel hard one on another. Besides, Mrs. Vansuythen was far prettierthan them all. She had been most gracious to me at the Governor-General's rout, and indeed I was looked upon by all as her preuxchevalier--which is French for a much worse word. Now, whether I caredso much as the scratch of a pin for this same Mrs. Vansuythen (albeit Ihad vowed eternal love three days after we met) I knew not then nor didtill later on; but mine own pride, and a skill in the small sword thatno man in Calcutta could equal, kept me in her affections. So that Ibelieved I worshipt her. 

When I had dismist her violet eyes from my thoughts, my reason reproachtme for ever having followed her at all; and I saw how the one year thatI had lived in this land had so burnt and seared my mind with the flamesof a thousand bad passions and desires, that I had aged ten months foreach one in the Devil's school. Whereat I thought of my Mother for awhile, and was very penitent: making in my sinful tipsy mood a thousandvows of reformation--all since broken, I fear me, again and again. To-morrow, says I to myself, I will live cleanly for ever. And I smileddizzily (the liquor being still strong in me) to think of the dangers Ihad escaped; and built all manner of fine Castles in Spain, whereof ashadowy Kitty Somerset that had the violet eyes and the sweet slowspeech of Mrs. Vansuythen, was always Queen. 

Lastly, a very fine and magnificent courage (that doubtless had itsbirth in Mr. Hastings' Madeira) grew upon me, till it seemed that Icould become Governor-General, Nawab, Prince, ay, even the Great Mogulhimself, by the mere wishing of it. Wherefore, taking my first steps, random and unstable enough, towards my new kingdom, I kickt my servantssleeping without till they howled and ran from me, and called Heaven andEarth to witness that I, Duncan Parrenness, was a Writer in the serviceof the Company and afraid of no man. Then, seeing that neither the Moonnor the Great Bear were minded to accept my challenge, I lay down againand must have fallen asleep. 

I was waked presently by my last words repeated two or three times, andI saw that there had come into the room a drunken man, as I thought, from Mr. Hastings' rout. He sate down at the foot of my bed in all theworld as it belonged to him, and I took note, as well as I could, thathis face was somewhat like mine own grown older, save when it changed tothe face of the Governor-General or my father, dead these six months. But this seemed to me only natural, and the due result of too much wine;and I was so angered at his entry all unannounced, that I told him, notover civilly, to go. To all my words he made no answer whatever, onlysaying slowly, as though it were some sweet morsel: 'Writer in theCompany's service and afraid of no man. ' Then he stops short, andturning round sharp upon me, says that one of my kidney need fearneither man nor devil; that I was a brave young man, and like enough, should I live so long, to be Governor-General. But for all these things(and I suppose that he meant thereby the changes and chances of ourshifty life in these parts) I must pay my price. By this time I hadsobered somewhat, and being well waked out of my first sleep, wasdisposed to look upon the matter as a tipsy man's jest. So, says Imerrily: 'And what price shall I pay for this palace of mine, which isbut twelve feet square, and my five poor pagodas a month? The Devil takeyou and your jesting: I have paid my price twice over in sickness. ' Atthat moment my man turns full towards me: so that by the moonlight Icould see every line and wrinkle of his face. Then my drunken mirth diedout of me, as I have seen the waters of our great rivers die away in onenight; and I, Duncan Parrenness, who was afraid of no man, was takenwith a more deadly terror than I hold it has ever been the lot of mortalman to know. For I saw that his face was my very own, but marked andlined and scarred with the furrows of disease and much evil living--as Ionce, when I was (Lord help me) very drunk indeed, have seen mine ownface, all white and drawn and grown old, in a mirror. I take it that anyman would have been even more greatly feared than I. For I am in no waywanting in courage. 

After I had lain still for a little, sweating in my agony and waitinguntil I should awake from this terrible dream (for dream I knew it tobe) he says again, that I must pay my price, and a little after, asthough it were to be given in pagodas and sicca rupees: 'What price willyou pay?' Says I, very softly: 'For God's sake let me be, whoever youare, and I will mend my ways from to-night. ' Says he, laughing a littleat my words, but otherwise making no motion of having heard them: 'Nay, I would only rid so brave a young ruffler as yourself of much that willbe a great hindrance to you on your way through life in the Indies; forbelieve me, ' and here he looks full on me once more, 'there is noreturn. ' At all this rigmarole, which I could not then understand, I wasa good deal put aback and waited for what should come next. Says he verycalmly, 'Give me your trust in man. ' At that I saw how heavy would be myprice, for I never doubted but that he could take from me all that heasked, and my head was, through terror and wakefulness, altogethercleared of the wine I had drunk. So I takes him up very short, cryingthat I was not so wholly bad as he would make believe, and that Itrusted my fellows to the full as much as they were worthy of it. 'Itwas none of my fault, ' says I, 'if one half of them were liars and theother half deserved to be burnt in the hand, and I would once more askhim to have done with his questions. ' Then I stopped, a little afraid, it is true, to have let my tongue so run away with me, but he took nonotice of this, and only laid his hand lightly on my left breast and Ifelt very cold there for a while. Then he says, laughing more: 'Give meyour faith in women. ' At that I started in my bed as though I had beenstung, for I thought of my sweet mother in England, and for a whilefancied that my faith in God's best creatures could neither be shakennor stolen from me. But later, Myself's hard eyes being upon me, I fellto thinking, for the second time that night, of Kitty (she that jiltedme and married Tom Sanderson) and of Mistress Vansuythen, whom only mydevilish pride made me follow, and how she was even worse than Kitty, and I worst of them all--seeing that with my life's work to be done, Imust needs go dancing down the Devil's swept and garnished causeway, because, forsooth, there was a light woman's smile at the end of it. AndI thought that all women in the world were either like Kitty or MistressVansuythen (as indeed they have ever since been to me) and this put meto such an extremity of rage and sorrow, that I was beyond word gladwhen Myself's hand fell again on my left breast, and I was no moretroubled by these follies. 

After this he was silent for a little, and I made sure that he must goor I awake ere long: but presently he speaks again (and very softly)that I was a fool to care for such follies as those he had taken fromme, and that ere he went he would only ask me for a few other triflessuch as no man, or for matter of that boy either, would keep about himin this country. And so it happened that he took from out of my veryheart as it were, looking all the time into my face with my own eyes, asmuch as remained to me of my boy's soul and conscience. This was to me afar more terrible loss than the two that I had suffered before. Forthough, Lord help me, I had travelled far enough from all paths ofdecent or godly living, yet there was in me, though I myself write it, acertain goodness of heart which, when I was sober (or sick) made me verysorry of all that I had done before the fit came on me. And this I lostwholly: having in place thereof another deadly coldness at the heart. Iam not, as I have before said, ready with my pen, so I fear that what Ihave just written may not be readily understood. Yet there be certaintimes in a young man's life, when, through great sorrow or sin, all theboy in him is burnt and seared away so that he passes at one step to themore sorrowful state of manhood: as our staring Indian day changes intonight with never so much as the gray of twilight to temper the twoextremes. This shall perhaps make my state more clear, if it beremembered that my torment was ten times as great as comes in thenatural course of nature to any man. At that time I dared not think ofthe change that had come over me, and all in one night: though I haveoften thought of it since. 'I have paid the price, ' says I, my teethchattering, for I was deadly cold, 'and what is my return?' At this timeit was nearly dawn, and Myself had begun to grow pale and thin againstthe white light in the east, as my mother used to tell me is the customof ghosts and devils and the like. He made as if he would go, but mywords stopt him and he laughed--as I remember that I laughed when I ranAngus Macalister through the sword-arm last August, because he said thatMrs. Vansuythen was no better than she should be. 'What return?'--sayshe, catching up my last words--'Why, strength to live as long as God orthe Devil pleases, and so long as you live my young master, my gift. 'With that he puts something into my hand, though it was still too darkto see what it was, and when next I lookt up he was gone. 

When the light came I made shift to behold his gift, and saw that it wasa little piece of dry bread. 

THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY

 Wohl auf, my bully cavaliers, We ride to church to-day, The man that hasn't got a horse Must steal one straight away. 

 Be reverent, men, remember This is a Gottes haus. Du, Conrad, cut along der aisle And schenck der whiskey aus. HANS BREITMANN'S RIDE TO CHURCH. 

Once upon a time, very far from England, there lived three men who lovedeach other so greatly that neither man nor woman could come betweenthem. They were in no sense refined, nor to be admitted to the outer-door mats of decent folk, because they happened to be private soldiersin Her Majesty's Army; and private soldiers of our service have smalltime for self-culture. Their duty is to keep themselves and theiraccoutrements specklessly clean, to refrain from getting drunk moreoften than is necessary, to obey their superiors, and to pray for a war. All these things my friends accomplished; and of their own motion threwin some fighting-work for which the Army Regulations did not call. Theirfate sent them to serve in India, which is not a golden country, thoughpoets have sung otherwise. There men die with great swiftness, and thosewho live suffer many and curious things. I do not think that my friendsconcerned themselves much with the social or political aspects of theEast. They attended a not unimportant war on the northern frontier, another one on our western boundary, and a third in Upper Burma. Thentheir regiment sat still to recruit, and the boundless monotony ofcantonment life was their portion. They were drilled morning and eveningon the same dusty parade-ground. They wandered up and down the samestretch of dusty white road, attended the same church and the same grog-shop, and slept in the same lime-washed barn of a barrack for two longyears. There was Mulvaney, the father in the craft, who had served withvarious regiments from Bermuda to Halifax, old in war, scarred, reckless, resourceful, and in his pious hours an unequalled soldier. Tohim turned for help and comfort six and a half feet of slow-moving, heavy-footed Yorkshireman, born on the wolds, bred in the dales, andeducated chiefly among the carriers' carts at the back of York railway-station. His name was Learoyd, and his chief virtue an unmitigatedpatience which helped him to win fights. How Ortheris, a fox-terrier ofa Cockney, ever came to be one of the trio, is a mystery which even to-day I cannot explain. 'There was always three av us, ' Mulvaney used tosay. 'An' by the grace av God, so long as our service lasts, three av usthey'll always be. 'Tis betther so. '

They desired no companionship beyond their own, and it was evil for anyman of the regiment who attempted dispute with them. Physical argumentwas out of the question as regarded Mulvaney and the Yorkshireman; andassault on Ortheris meant a combined attack from these twain--a businesswhich no five men were anxious to have on their hands. Therefore theyflourished, sharing their drinks, their tobacco, and their money; goodluck and evil; battle and the chances of death; life and the chances ofhappiness from Calicut in southern, to Peshawur in northern India. 

Through no merit of my own it was my good fortune to be in a measureadmitted to their friendship--frankly by Mulvaney from the beginning, sullenly and with reluctance by Learoyd, and suspiciously by Ortheris, who held to it that no man not in the Army could fraternise with a red-coat. 'Like to like, ' said he. 'I'm a bloomin' sodger--he's a bloomin'civilian. 'Tain't natural--that's all. '

But that was not all. They thawed progressively, and in the thawing toldme more of their lives and adventures than I am ever likely to write. 

Omitting all else, this tale begins with the Lamentable Thirst that wasat the beginning of First Causes. Never was such a thirst--Mulvaney toldme so. They kicked against their compulsory virtue, but the attempt wasonly successful in the case of Ortheris. He, whose talents were many, went forth into the highways and stole a dog from a 'civilian'--videlicet, some one, he knew not who, not in the Army. Now that civilianwas but newly connected by marriage with the colonel of the regiment, and outcry was made from quarters least anticipated by Ortheris, and, inthe end, he was forced, lest a worse thing should happen, to dispose atridiculously unremunerative rates of as promising a small terrier asever graced one end of a leading string. The purchase-money was barelysufficient for one small outbreak which led him to the guard-room. Heescaped, however, with nothing worse than a severe reprimand, and a fewhours of punishment drill. Not for nothing had he acquired thereputation of being 'the best soldier of his inches' in the regiment. Mulvaney had taught personal cleanliness and efficiency as the firstarticles of his companions' creed. 'A dhirty man, ' he was used to say, in the speech of his kind, 'goes to Clink for a weakness in the knees, an' is coort-martialled for a pair av socks missin'; but a clane man, such as is an ornament to his service--a man whose buttons are gold, whose coat is wax upon him, an' whose 'coutrements are widout a speck--THAT man may, spakin' in reason, do fwhat he likes an' dhrink from dayto divil. That's the pride av bein' dacint. '

We sat together, upon a day, in the shade of a ravine far from thebarracks, where a watercourse used to run in rainy weather. Behind uswas the scrub jungle, in which jackals, peacocks, the gray wolves of theNorth-Western Provinces, and occasionally a tiger estrayed from CentralIndia, were supposed to dwell. In front lay the cantonment, glaringwhite under a glaring sun; and on either side ran the broad road thatled to Delhi. 

It was the scrub that suggested to my mind the wisdom of Mulvaney takinga day's leave and going upon a shooting-tour. The peacock is a holy birdthroughout India, and he who slays one is in danger of being mobbed bythe nearest villagers; but on the last occasion that Mulvaney had goneforth, he had contrived, without in the least offending local religioussusceptibilities, to return with six beautiful peacock skins which hesold to profit. It seemed just possible then--

'But fwhat manner av use is ut to me goin' out widout a dhrink? Theground's powdher-dhry underfoot, an' ut gets unto the throat fit tokill, ' wailed Mulvaney, looking at me reproachfully. 'An' a peacock isnot a bird you can catch the tail av onless ye run. Can a man run onwather--an' jungle-wather too?'

Ortheris had considered the question in all its bearings. He spoke, chewing his pipe-stem meditatively the while:

'Go forth, return in glory, To Clusium's royal 'ome: An' round these bloomin' temples 'ang The bloomin' shields o' Rome. 

You better go. You ain't like to shoot yourself--not while there's achanst of liquor. Me an' Learoyd'll stay at 'ome an' keep shop--'case o'anythin' turnin' up. But you go out with a gas-pipe gun an' ketch thelittle peacockses or somethin'. You kin get one day's leave easy aswinkin'. Go along an' get it, an' get peacockses or somethin'. '

'Jock, ' said Mulvaney, turning to Learoyd, who was half asleep under theshadow of the bank. He roused slowly. 

'Sitha, Mulvaaney, go, ' said he. 

And Mulvaney went; cursing his allies with Irish fluency and barrack-room point. 

'Take note, ' said he, when he had won his holiday, and appeared dressedin his roughest clothes with the only other regimental fowling-piece inhis hand. 'Take note, Jock, an' you Orth'ris, I am goin' in the face avmy own will--all for to please you. I misdoubt anythin' will come avpermiscuous huntin' afther peacockses in a desolit lan'; an' I know thatI will lie down an' die wid thirrrst. Me catch peacockses for you, yelazy scutts--an' be sacrificed by the peasanthry--Ugh!'

He waved a huge paw and went away. 

At twilight, long before the appointed hour, he returned empty-handed, much begrimed with dirt. 

'Peacockses?' queried Ortheris from the safe rest of a barrack-roomtable whereon he was smoking cross-legged, Learoyd fast asleep on abench. 

'Jock, ' said Mulvaney without answering, as he stirred up the sleeper. 'Jock, can ye fight? Will ye fight?'

Very slowly the meaning of the words communicated itself to the half-roused man. He understood--and again--what might these things mean?Mulvaney was shaking him savagely. Meantime the men in the room howledwith delight. There was war in the confederacy at last--war and thebreaking of bonds. 

Barrack-room etiquette is stringent. On the direct challenge must followthe direct reply. This is more binding than the ties of triedfriendship. Once again Mulvaney repeated the question. Learoyd answeredby the only means in his power, and so swiftly that the Irishman hadbarely time to avoid the blow. The laughter around increased. Learoydlooked bewilderedly at his friend--himself as greatly bewildered. Ortheris dropped from the table because his world was falling. 

'Come outside, ' said Mulvaney, and as the occupants of the barrack-roomprepared joyously to follow, he turned and said furiously, 'There willbe no fight this night--onless any wan av you is wishful to assist. Theman that does, follows on. '

No man moved. The three passed out into the moonlight, Learoyd fumblingwith the buttons of his coat. The parade-ground was deserted except forthe scurrying jackals. Mulvaney's impetuous rush carried his companionsfar into the open ere Learoyd attempted to turn round and continue thediscussion. 

'Be still now. 'Twas my fault for beginnin' things in the middle av anend, Jock. I should ha' comminst wid an explanation; but Jock, dear, onyour sowl are ye fit, think you, for the finest fight that iver was--betther than fightin' me? Considher before ye answer. '

More than ever puzzled, Learoyd turned round two or three times, felt anarm, kicked tentatively, and answered, 'Ah'm fit. ' He was accustomed tofight blindly at the bidding of the superior mind. 

They sat them down, the men looking on from afar, and Mulvaney untangledhimself in mighty words. 

'Followin' your fools' scheme I wint out into the thrackless desertbeyond the barricks. An' there I met a pious Hindu dhriving a bullock-kyart. I tuk ut for granted he wud be delighted for to convoy me apiece, an' I jumped in--'

'You long, lazy, black-haired swine, ' drawled Ortheris, who would havedone the same thing under similar circumstances. 

''Twas the height av policy. That naygur-man dhruv miles an' miles--asfar as the new railway line they're buildin' now back av the Tavi river. "'Tis a kyart for dhirt only, " says he now an' again timoreously, to getme out av ut. "Dhirt I am, " sez I, "an' the dhryest that you iverkyarted. Dhrive on, me son, an glory be wid you. " At that I wint toslape, an' took no heed till he pulled up on the embankmint av the linewhere the coolies were pilin' mud. There was a matther av two thousandcoolies on that line--you remimber that. Prisintly a bell rang, an' theythroops off to a big pay-shed. "Where's the white man in charge?" sez Ito my kyart-dhriver. "In the shed, " sez he, "engaged on a riffle. "--"Afwhat?" sez I. "Riffle, " sez he. "You take ticket. He take money. Youget nothin'. "--

"Oho!" sez I, "that's fwhat the shuperior an' cultivated man calls araffle, me misbeguided child av darkness an' sin. Lead on to thatraffle, though fwhat the mischief 'tis doin' so far away from uts home--which is the charity-bazaar at Christmas, an' the colonel's wifegrinnin' behind the tea-table--is more than I know. " Wid that I wint tothe shed an' found 'twas pay-day among the coolies. Their wages was on atable forninst a big, fine, red buck av a man--sivun fut high, four futwide, an' three fut thick, wid a fist on him like a corn-sack. He waspayin' the coolies fair an' easy, but he wud ask each man if he wudraffle that month, an' each man sez? "Yes, " av course. Thin he wuddeduct from their wages accordin'. Whin all was paid, he filled an ouldcigar-box full av gun-wads an' scatthered ut among the coolies. They didnot take much joy av that performince, an' small wondher. A man close tome picks up a black gun-wad an' sings out, "I have ut. "--"Good may ut doyou, " sez I. The coolie wint forward to this big, fine, red man, whothrew a cloth off av the most sumpshus, jooled, enamelled an' variouslybedivilled sedan-chair I iver saw. '

'Sedan-chair! Put your 'ead in a bag. That was a palanquin. Don't yerknow a palanquin when you see it?' said Ortheris with great scorn. 

'I chuse to call ut sedan-chair, an' chair ut shall be, little man, 'continued the Irishman. ''Twas a most amazin' chair--all lined wid pinksilk an' fitted wid red silk curtains. "Here ut is, " sez the red man. "Here ut is, " sez the coolie, an' he grinned weakly-ways. "Is ut any useto you?" sez the red man. "No, " sez the coolie; "I'd like to make apresint av ut to you. "--"I am graciously pleased to accept that same, "sez the red man; an' at that all the coolies cried aloud in fwhat wasmint for cheerful notes, an' wint back to their diggin', lavin' me alonein the shed. The red man saw me, an' his face grew blue on his big, fatneck. "Fwhat d'you want here?" sez he. "Standin'-room an' no more, " sezI, "onless it may be fwhat ye niver had, an' that's manners, ye rafflin'ruffian, " for I was not goin' to have the Service throd upon. "Out ofthis, " sez he. "I'm in charge av this section av construction. "--"I'm incharge av mesilf, " sez I, "an' it's like I will stay a while. D'yeraffle much in these parts?"--"Fwhat's that to you?" sez he. "Nothin', "sez I, "but a great dale to you, for begad I'm thinkin' you get the fullhalf av your revenue from that sedan-chair. Is ut always raffled so?" Isez, an' wid that I wint to a coolie to ask questions. Bhoys, that man'sname is Dearsley, an' he's been rafflin' that ould sedan-chair monthlythis matther av nine months. Ivry coolie on the section takes a ticket--or he gives 'em the go--wanst a month on pay-day. Ivry coolie that winsut gives ut back to him, for 'tis too big to carry away, an' he'd sackthe man that thried to sell ut. That Dearsley has been makin' therowlin' wealth av Roshus by nefarious rafflin'. Think av the burnin'shame to the sufferin' coolie-man that the army in Injia are bound toprotect an' nourish in their bosoms! Two thousand coolies defraudedwanst a month!'

'Dom t' coolies. Has't gotten t' cheer, man?' said Learoyd. 

'Hould on. Havin' onearthed this amazin' an' stupenjus fraud committedby the man Dearsley, I hild a council av war; he thryin' all the time tosejuce me into a fight with opprobrious language. That sedan-chair niverbelonged by right to any foreman av coolies. 'Tis a king's chair or aquane's. There's gold on ut an' silk an' all manner av trapesemints. Bhoys, 'tis not for me to countenance any sort av wrong-doin'--me bein'the ould man--but--anyway he has had ut nine months, an' he dare notmake throuble av ut was taken from him. Five miles away, or ut may besix--'

There was a long pause, and the jackals howled merrily. Learoyd baredone arm, and contemplated it in the moonlight. Then he nodded partly tohimself and partly to his friends. Ortheris wriggled with suppressedemotion. 

'I thought ye wud see the reasonableness av ut, ' said Mulvaney. 'I madebould to say as much to the man before. He was for a direct frontattack--fut, horse, an' guns--an' all for nothin', seein' that I had nothransport to convey the machine away. "I will not argue wid you, " sezI, "this day, but subsequently, Mister Dearsley, me rafflin' jool, wetalk ut out lengthways. 'Tis no good policy to swindle the naygur av hishard-earned emolumints, an' by presint informashin'"--'twas the kyartman that tould me--"ye've been perpethrating that same for nine months. But I'm a just man, " sez I, "an' overlookin' the presumpshin thatyondher settee wid the gilt top was not come by honust"--at that heturned sky-green, so I knew things was more thrue than tellable--"notcome by honust, I'm willin' to compound the felony for this month'swinnin's. "'

'Ah! Ho!' from Learoyd and Ortheris. 

'That man Dearsley's rushin' on his fate, ' continued Mulvaney, solemnlywagging his head. 'All Hell had no name bad enough for me that tide. Faith, he called me a robber! Me! that was savin' him from continuin' inhis evil ways widout a remonstrince--an' to a man av conscience aremonstrince may change the chune av his life. "'Tis not for me toargue, " sez I, "fwhatever ye are, Mister Dearsley, but, by my hand, I'lltake away the temptation for you that lies in that sedan-chair. "--"Youwill have to fight me for ut, " sez he, "for well I know you will neverdare make report to any one. "--"Fight I will, " sez I, "but not this day, for I'm rejuced for want av nourishment. "--"Ye're an ould bould hand, "sez he, sizin' me up an' down; "an' a jool av a fight we will have. Eatnow an' dhrink, an' go your way. " Wid that he gave me some hump an'whisky--good whisky--an' we talked av this an' that the while. "It goeshard on me now, " sez I, wipin' my mouth, "to confiscate that piece avfurniture, but justice is justice. "--"Ye've not got ut yet, " sez he;"there's the fight between. "--"There is, " sez I, "an' a good fight. Yeshall have the pick av the best quality in my rigimint for the dinneryou have given this day. " Thin I came hot-foot to you two. Hould yourtongue, the both. 'Tis this way. To-morrow we three will go there an' heshall have his pick betune me an' Jock. Jock's a deceivin' fighter, forhe is all fat to the eye, an' he moves slow. Now, I'm all beef to thelook, an' I move quick. By my reckonin' the Dearsley man won't take me;so me an' Orth'ris 'll see fair play. Jock, I tell you, 'twill be bigfightin'--whipped, wid the cream above the jam. Afther the business'twill take a good three av us--Jock 'll be very hurt--to haul away thatsedan-chair. '

'Palanquin. ' This from Ortheris. 

'Fwhatever ut is, we must have ut. 'Tis the only sellin' piece avproperty widin reach that we can get so cheap. An' fwhat's a fightafther all? He has robbed the naygur-man, dishonust. We rob him honustfor the sake av the whisky he gave me. '

'But wot'll we do with the bloomin' article when we've got it? Thempalanquins are as big as 'ouses, an' uncommon 'ard to sell, as McClearysaid when ye stole the sentry-box from the Curragh. '

'Who's goin' to do t' fightin'?' said Learoyd, and Ortheris subsided. The three returned to barracks without a word. Mulvaney's last argumentclinched the matter. This palanquin was property, vendible, and to beattained in the simplest and least embarrassing fashion. It wouldeventually become beer. Great was Mulvaney. 

Next afternoon a procession of three formed itself and disappeared intothe scrub in the direction of the new railway line. Learoyd alone waswithout care, for Mulvaney dived darkly into the future, and littleOrtheris feared the unknown. What befell at that interview in the lonelypay-shed by the side of the half-built embankment, only a few hundredcoolies know, and their tale is confusing one, running thus--

'We were at work. Three men in red coats came. They saw the Sahib--Dearsley Sahib. They made oration; and noticeably the small man amongthe red-coats. Dearsley Sahib also made oration, and used many verystrong words. Upon this talk they departed together to an open space, and there the fat man in the red coat fought with Dearsley Sahib afterthe custom of white men--with his hands, making no noise, and never atall pulling Dearsley Sahib's hair. Such of us as were not afraid beheldthese things for just so long a time as a man needs to cook the mid-daymeal. The small man in the red coat had possessed himself of DearsleySahib's watch. No, he did not steal that watch. He held it in his hand, and at certain seasons made outcry, and the twain ceased their combat, which was like the combat of young bulls in spring. Both men were soonall red, but Dearsley Sahib was much more red than the other. Seeingthis, and fearing for his life--because we greatly loved him--some fiftyof us made shift to rush upon the red-coats. But a certain man--veryblack as to the hair, and in no way to be confused with the small man, or the fat man who fought--that man, we affirm, ran upon us, and of ushe embraced some ten or fifty in both arms, and beat our heads together, so that our livers turned to water, and we ran away. It is not good tointerfere in the fightings of white men. After that Dearsley Sahib felland did not rise, these men jumped upon his stomach and despoiled him ofall his money, and attempted to fire the pay-shed, and departed. Is ittrue that Dearsley Sahib makes no complaint of these latter thingshaving been done? We were senseless with fear, and do not at allremember. There was no palanquin near the pay-shed. What do we knowabout palanquins? Is it true that Dearsley Sahib does not return to thisplace, on account of his sickness, for ten days? This is the fault ofthose bad men in the red coats, who should be severely punished; forDearsley Sahib is both our father and mother, and we love him much. Yet, if Dearsley Sahib does not return to this place at all, we will speakthe truth. There was a palanquin, for the up-keep of which we wereforced to pay nine-tenths of our monthly wage. On such mulctingsDearsley Sahib allowed us to make obeisance to him before the palanquin. What could we do? We were poor men. He took a full half of our wages. Will the Government repay us those moneys? Those three men in red coatsbore the palanquin upon their shoulders and departed. All the money thatDearsley Sahib had taken from us was in the cushions of that palanquin. Therefore they stole it. Thousands of rupees were there--all our money. It was our bank-box, to fill which we cheerfully contributed to DearsleySahib three-sevenths of our monthly wage. Why does the white man lookupon us with the eye of disfavour? Before God, there was a palanquin, and now there is no palanquin; and if they send the police here to makeinquisition, we can only say that there never has been any palanquin. Why should a palanquin be near these works? We are poor men, and we knownothing. '

Such is the simplest version of the simplest story connected with thedescent upon Dearsley. From the lips of the coolies I received it. Dearsley himself was in no condition to say anything, and Mulvaneypreserved a massive silence, broken only by the occasional licking ofthe lips. He had seen a fight so gorgeous that even his power of speechwas taken from him. I respected that reserve until, three days after theaffair, I discovered in a disused stable in my quarters a palanquin ofunchastened splendour--evidently in past days the litter of a queen. Thepole whereby it swung between the shoulders of the bearers was rich withthe painted papier-mache of Cashmere. The shoulder-pads were of yellowsilk. The panels of the litter itself were ablaze with the loves of allthe gods and goddesses of the Hindu Pantheon--lacquer on cedar. Thecedar sliding doors were fitted with hasps of translucent Jaipur enameland ran in grooves shod with silver. The cushions were of brocaded Delhisilk, and the curtains which once hid any glimpse of the beauty of theking's palace were stiff with gold. Closer investigation showed that theentire fabric was everywhere rubbed and discoloured by time and wear;but even thus it was sufficiently gorgeous to deserve housing on thethreshold of a royal zenana. I found no fault with it, except that itwas in my stable. Then, trying to lift it by the silver-shod shoulder-pole, I laughed. The road from Dearsley's pay-shed to the cantonment wasa narrow and uneven one, and, traversed by three very inexperiencedpalanquin-bearers, one of whom was sorely battered about the head, musthave been a path of torment. Still I did not quite recognise the rightof the three musketeers to turn me into a 'fence' for stolen property. 

'I'm askin' you to warehouse ut, ' said Mulvaney when he was brought toconsider the question. 'There's no steal in ut. Dearsley tould us we cudhave ut if we fought. Jock fought--an', oh, sorr, when the throuble wasat uts finest an' Jock was bleedin' like a stuck pig, an' littleOrth'ris was shquealin' on one leg chewin' big bites out av Dearsley'swatch, I wud ha' given my place at the fight to have had you see wanround. He tuk Jock, as I suspicioned he would, an' Jock was deceptive. Nine roun's they were even matched, an' at the tenth--About thatpalanquin now. There's not the least throuble in the world, or we wudnot ha' brought ut here. You will ondherstand that the Queen--God blessher!--does not reckon for a privit soldier to kape elephints an'palanquins an' sich in barricks. Afther we had dhragged ut down fromDearsley's through that cruel scrub that near broke Orth'ris's heart, weset ut in the ravine for a night; an' a thief av a porcupine an' acivet-cat av a jackal roosted in ut, as well we knew in the mornin'. Iput ut to you, sorr, is an elegint palanquin, fit for the princess, thenatural abidin' place av all the vermin in cantonmints? We brought ut toyou, afther dhark, and put ut in your shtable. Do not let yourconscience prick. Think av the rejoicin' men in the pay-shed yonder--lookin' at Dearsley wid his head tied up in a towel--an' well knowin'that they can dhraw their pay ivry month widout stoppages for riffles. Indirectly, sorr, you have rescued from an onprincipled son av a night-hawk the peasanthry av a numerous village. An' besides, will I let thatsedan-chair rot on our hands? Not I. 'Tis not every day a piece av purejoolry comes into the market. There's not a king widin these fortymiles'--he waved his hand round the dusty horizon--'not a king wud notbe glad to buy ut. Some day meself, whin I have leisure, I'll take ut upalong the road an' dishpose av ut. '

'How?' said I, for I knew the man was capable of anything. 

'Get into ut, av coorse, and keep wan eye open through the curtains. Whin I see a likely man av the native persuasion, I will descindblushin' from my canopy and say, "Buy a palanquin, ye black scutt?" Iwill have to hire four men to carry me first, though; and that'simpossible till next pay-day. '

Curiously enough, Learoyd, who had fought for the prize, and in thewinning secured the highest pleasure life had to offer him, wasaltogether disposed to undervalue it, while Ortheris openly said itwould be better to break the thing up. Dearsley, he argued, might be amany-sided man, capable, despite his magnificent fighting qualities, ofsetting in motion the machinery of the civil law--a thing much abhorredby the soldier. Under any circumstances their fun had come and passed;the next pay-day was close at hand, when there would be beer for all. Wherefore longer conserve the painted palanquin?

'A first-class rifle-shot an' a good little man av your inches you are, 'said Mulvaney. 'But you niver had a head worth a soft-boiled egg. 'Tisme has to lie awake av nights schamin' an' plottin' for the three av us. Orth'ris, me son, 'tis no matther av a few gallons av beer--no, nortwenty gallons--but tubs an' vats an' firkins in that sedan-chair. Whout was, an' what ut was, an' how ut got there, we do not know; but Iknow in my bones that you an' me an' Jock wid his sprained thumb willget a fortune thereby. Lave me alone, an' let me think. '

Meantime the palanquin stayed in my stall, the key of which was inMulvaney's hands. 

Pay-day came, and with it beer. It was not in experience to hope thatMulvaney, dried by four weeks' drought, would avoid excess. Next morninghe and the palanquin had disappeared. He had taken the precaution ofgetting three days' leave 'to see a friend on the railway, ' and thecolonel, well knowing that the seasonal outburst was near, and hoping itwould spend its force beyond the limits of his jurisdiction, cheerfullygave him all he demanded. At this point Mulvaney's history, as recordedin the mess-room, stopped. 

Ortheris carried it not much further. 'No, 'e wasn't drunk, ' said thelittle man loyally, 'the liquor was no more than feelin' its way roundinside of 'im; but 'e went an' filled that 'ole bloomin' palanquin withbottles 'fore 'e went off. 'E's gone an' 'ired six men to carry 'im, an'I 'ad to 'elp 'im into 'is nupshal couch, 'cause 'e wouldn't 'earreason. 'E's gone off in 'is shirt an' trousies, swearin' tremenjus--gone down the road in the palanquin, wavin' 'is legs out o' windy. '

'Yes, ' said I, 'but where?'

'Now you arx me a question. 'E said 'e was goin' to sell that palanquin, but from observations what happened when I was stuffin' 'im through thedoor, I fancy 'e's gone to the new embankment to mock at Dearsley. 'Soonas Jock's off duty I'm goin' there to see if 'e's safe--not Mulvaney, but t'other man. My saints, but I pity 'im as 'elps Terence out o' thepalanquin when 'e's once fair drunk!'

'He'll come back without harm, ' I said. 

''Corse 'e will. On'y question is, what 'll 'e be doin' on the road?Killing Dearsley, like as not. 'E shouldn't 'a gone without Jock or me. '

Reinforced by Learoyd, Ortheris sought the foreman of the coolie-gang. Dearsley's head was still embellished with towels. Mulvaney, drunk orsober, would have struck no man in that condition, and Dearsleyindignantly denied that he would have taken advantage of the intoxicatedbrave. 

'I had my pick o' you two, ' he explained to Learoyd, 'and you got mypalanquin--not before I'd made my profit on it. Why'd I do harm wheneverything's settled? Your man DID come here--drunk as Davy's sow on afrosty night--came a-purpose to mock me--stuck his head out of the dooran' called me a crucified hodman. I made him drunker, an' sent himalong. But I never touched him. '

To these things, Learoyd, slow to perceive the evidences of sincerity, answered only, 'If owt comes to Mulvaaney 'long o' you, I'll grippleyou, clouts or no clouts on your ugly head, an' I'll draw t' throattwistyways, man. See there now. '

The embassy removed itself, and Dearsley, the battered, laughed aloneover his supper that evening. 

Three days passed--a fourth and a fifth. The week drew to a close andMulvaney did not return. He, his royal palanquin, and his sixattendants, had vanished into air. A very large and very tipsy soldier, his feet sticking out of the litter of a reigning princess, is not athing to travel along the ways without comment. Yet no man of all thecountry round had seen any such wonder. He was, and he was not; andLearoyd suggested the immediate smashment of Dearsley as a sacrifice tohis ghost. Ortheris insisted that all was well, and in the light of pastexperience his hopes seemed reasonable. 

'When Mulvaney goes up the road, ' said he, ''e's like to go a very longways up, specially when 'e's so blue drunk as 'e is now. But what gitsme is 'is not bein' 'eard of pullin' wool off the niggers somewheresabout. That don't look good. The drink must ha' died out in 'im by this, unless 'e's broke a bank, an' then--Why don't 'e come back? 'E didn'tought to ha' gone off without us. '

Even Ortheris's heart sank at the end of the seventh day, for half theregiment were out scouring the country-side, and Learoyd had been forcedto fight two men who hinted openly that Mulvaney had deserted. To do himjustice, the colonel laughed at the notion, even when it was put forwardby his much-trusted adjutant. 

'Mulvaney would as soon think of deserting as you would, ' said he. 'No;he's either fallen into a mischief among the villagers--and yet thatisn't likely, for he'd blarney himself out of the Pit; or else he isengaged on urgent private affairs--some stupendous devilment that weshall hear of at mess after it has been the round of the barrack-rooms. The worst of it is that I shall have to give him twenty-eight days'confinement at least for being absent without leave, just when I mostwant him to lick the new batch of recruits into shape. I never knew aman who could put a polish on young soldiers as quickly as Mulvaney can. How does he do it?'

'With blarney and the buckle-end of a belt, sir, ' said the adjutant. 'Heis worth a couple of non-commissioned officers when we are dealing withan Irish draft, and the London lads seem to adore him. The worst of itis that if he goes to the cells the other two are neither to hold nor tobind till he comes out again. I believe Ortheris preaches mutiny onthose occasions, and I know that the mere presence of Learoyd mourningfor Mulvaney kills all the cheerfulness of his room. The sergeants tellme that he allows no man to laugh when he feels unhappy. They are aqueer gang. '

'For all that, I wish we had a few more of them. I like a well-conductedregiment, but these pasty-faced, shifty-eyed, mealy-mouthed youngslouchers from the depot worry me sometimes with their offensive virtue. They don't seem to have backbone enough to do anything but play cardsand prowl round the married quarters. I believe I'd forgive that oldvillain on the spot if he turned up with any sort of explanation that Icould in decency accept. '

'Not likely to be much difficulty about that, sir, ' said the adjutant. 'Mulvaney's explanations are only one degree less wonderful than hisperformances. They say that when he was in the Black Tyrone, before hecame to us, he was discovered on the banks of the Liffey trying to sellhis colonel's charger to a Donegal dealer as a perfect lady's hack. Shackbolt commanded the Tyrone then. '

'Shackbolt must have had apoplexy at the thought of his ramping war-horses answering to that description. He used to buy unbacked devils, and tame them on some pet theory of starvation. What did Mulvaney say?'

'That he was a member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty toAnimals, anxious to "sell the poor baste where he would get something tofill out his dimples. " Shackbolt laughed, but I fancy that was whyMulvaney exchanged to ours. '

'I wish he were back, ' said the colonel; 'for I like him and believe helikes me. '

That evening, to cheer our souls, Learoyd, Ortheris, and I went into thewaste to smoke out a porcupine. All the dogs attended, but even theirclamour--and they began to discuss the shortcomings of porcupines beforethey left cantonments--could not take us out of ourselves. A large, lowmoon turned the tops of the plume-grass to silver, and the stuntedcamelthorn bushes and sour tamarisks into the likenesses of troopingdevils. The smell of the sun had not left the earth, and little aimlesswinds blowing across the rose-gardens to the southward brought the scentof dried roses and water. Our fire once started, and the dogs craftilydisposed to wait the dash of the porcupine, we climbed to the top of arain-scarred hillock of earth, and looked across the scrub seamed withcattle paths, white with the long grass, and dotted with spots of levelpond-bottom, where the snipe would gather in winter. 

'This, ' said Ortheris, with a sigh, as he took in the unkempt desolationof it all, 'this is sanguinary. This is unusually sanguinary. Sort o'mad country. Like a grate when the fire's put out by the sun. ' He shadedhis eyes against the moonlight. 'An' there's a loony dancin' in themiddle of it all. Quite right. I'd dance too if I wasn't so downheart. '

There pranced a Portent in the face of the moon--a huge and raggedspirit of the waste, that flapped its wings from afar. It had risen outof the earth; it was coming towards us, and its outline was never twicethe same. The toga, table-cloth, or dressing-gown, whatever the creaturewore, took a hundred shapes. Once it stopped on a neighbouring mound andflung all its legs and arms to the winds. 

'My, but that scarecrow 'as got 'em bad!' said Ortheris. 'Seems like if'e comes any furder we'll 'ave to argify with 'im. '

Learoyd raised himself from the dirt as a bull clears his flanks of thewallow. And as a bull bellows, so he, after a short minute at gaze, gavetongue to the stars. 

'MULVAANEY! MULVAANEY! A-hoo!'

Oh then it was that we yelled, and the figure dipped into the hollow, till, with a crash of rending grass, the lost one strode up to the lightof the fire and disappeared to the waist in a wave of joyous dogs! ThenLearoyd and Ortheris gave greeting, bass and falsetto together, bothswallowing a lump in the throat. 

'You damned fool!' said they, and severally pounded him with theirfists. 

'Go easy!' he answered; wrapping a huge arm round each. 'I would haveyou to know that I am a god, to be treated as such--tho', by my faith, Ifancy I've got to go to the guard-room just like a privit soldier. '

The latter part of the sentence destroyed the suspicions raised by theformer. Any one would have been justified in regarding Mulvaney as mad. He was hatless and shoeless, and his shirt and trousers were droppingoff him. But he wore one wondrous garment--a gigantic cloak that fellfrom collar-bone to heel--of pale pink silk, wrought all over incunningest needlework of hands long since dead, with the loves of theHindu gods. The monstrous figures leaped in and out of the light of thefire as he settled the folds round him. 

Ortheris handled the stuff respectfully for a moment while I was tryingto remember where I had seen it before. Then he screamed, 'What 'AVE youdone with the palanquin? You're wearin' the linin'. '

'I am, ' said the Irishman, 'an' by the same token the 'broidery isscrapin' my hide off. I've lived in this sumpshus counterpane for fourdays. Me son, I begin to ondherstand why the naygur is no use. Widout meboots, an' me trousies like an openwork stocking on a gyurl's leg at adance, I begin to feel like a naygur-man--all fearful an' timoreous. Give me a pipe an' I'll tell on. '

He lit a pipe, resumed his grip of his two friends, and rocked to andfro in a gale of laughter. 

'Mulvaney, ' said Ortheris sternly, ''tain't no time for laughin'. You'vegiven Jock an' me more trouble than you're worth. You 'ave been absentwithout leave an' you'll go into cells for that; an' you 'ave come backdisgustin'ly dressed an' most improper in the linin' o' that bloomin'palanquin. Instid of which you laugh. An' WE thought you was dead allthe time. '

'Bhoys, ' said the culprit, still shaking gently, 'whin I've done my taleyou may cry if you like, an' little Orth'ris here can thrample my insideout. Ha' done an' listen. My performances have been stupenjus: my luckhas been the blessed luck av the British Army--an' there's no bettherthan that. I went out dhrunk an' dhrinkin' in the palanquin, and I havecome back a pink god. Did any of you go to Dearsley afther my time wasup? He was at the bottom of ut all. '

'Ah said so, ' murmured Learoyd. 'To-morrow ah'll smash t' face in uponhis heead. '

'Ye will not. Dearsley's a jool av a man. Afther Ortheris had put meinto the palanquin an' the six bearer-men were gruntin' down the road, Ituk thought to mock Dearsley for that fight. So I tould thim, "Go to theembankmint, " and there, bein' most amazin' full, I shtuck my head out avthe concern an' passed compliments wid Dearsley. I must ha' miscalledhim outrageous, for whin I am that way the power av the tongue comes onme. I can bare remimber tellin' him that his mouth opened endways likethe mouth av a skate, which was thrue afther Learoyd had handled ut; an'I clear remimber his takin' no manner nor matter av offence, but givin'me a big dhrink of beer. 'Twas the beer did the thrick, for I crawledback into the palanquin, steppin' on me right ear wid me left foot, an'thin I slept like the dead. Wanst I half-roused, an' begad the noise inmy head was tremenjus--roarin' and rattlin' an' poundin' such as wasquite new to me. "Mother av Mercy, " thinks I, "phwat a concertina I willhave on my shoulders whin I wake!" An' wid that I curls mysilf up tosleep before ut should get hould on me. Bhoys, that noise was notdhrink, 'twas the rattle av a thrain!'

There followed an impressive pause. 

'Yes, he had put me on a thrain--put me, palanquin an' all, an' sixblack assassins av his own coolies that was in his nefarious confidence, on the flat av a ballast-thruck, and we were rowlin' an' bowlin' alongto Benares. Glory be that I did not wake up thin an' introjuce mysilf tothe coolies. As I was sayin', I slept for the betther part av a day an'a night. But remimber you, that that man Dearsley had packed me off onwan av his material-thrains to Benares, all for to make me overstay myleave an' get me into the cells. '

The explanation was an eminently rational one. Benares lay at least tenhours by rail from the cantonments, and nothing in the world could havesaved Mulvaney from arrest as a deserter had he appeared there in theapparel of his orgies. Dearsley had not forgotten to take revenge. Learoyd, drawing back a little, began to place soft blows over selectedportions of Mulvaney's body. His thoughts were away on the embankment, and they meditated evil for Dearsley. Mulvaney continued--

'Whin I was full awake the palanquin was set down in a street, Isuspicioned, for I cud hear people passin' an' talkin'. But I knew wellI was far from home. There is a queer smell upon our cantonments--asmell av dried earth and brick-kilns wid whiffs av cavalry stable-litter. This place smelt marigold flowers an' bad water, an' wanstsomethin' alive came an' blew heavy with his muzzle at the chink av theshutter. "It's in a village I am, " thinks I to mysilf, "an' theparochial buffalo is investigatin' the palanquin. " But anyways I had nodesire to move. Only lie still whin you're in foreign parts an' thestandin' luck av the British Army will carry ye through. That is anepigram. I made ut. 

'Thin a lot av whishperin' divils surrounded the palanquin. "Take utup, " sez wan man. "But who'll pay us?" sez another. "The Maharanee'sminister, av coorse, " sez the man. "Oho!" sez I to mysilf, "I'm a quanein me own right, wid a minister to pay me expenses. I'll be an emperorif I lie still long enough; but this is no village I've found. " I layquiet, but I gummed me right eye to a crack av the shutters, an' I sawthat the whole street was crammed wid palanquins an' horses, an' asprinklin' av naked priests all yellow powder an' tigers' tails. But Imay tell you, Orth'ris, an' you, Learoyd, that av all the palanquinsours was the most imperial an' magnificent. Now a palanquin means anative lady all the world over, except whin a soldier av the Quanehappens to be takin' a ride. "Women an' priests!" sez I. "Your father'sson is in the right pew this time, Terence. There will be proceedin's. "Six black divils in pink muslin tuk up the palanquin, an' oh! but therowlin' an' the rockin' made me sick. Thin we got fair jammed among thepalanquins--not more than fifty av them--an' we grated an' bumped likeQueenstown potato-smacks in a runnin' tide. I cud hear the womengigglin' and squirkin' in their palanquins, but mine was the royalequipage. They made way for ut, an', begad, the pink muslin men o' minewere howlin', "Room for the Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun. " Do you knowaught av the lady, sorr?'

'Yes, ' said I. 'She is a very estimable old queen of the Central IndianStates, and they say she is fat. How on earth could she go to Benareswithout all the city knowing her palanquin?'

''Twas the eternal foolishness av the naygur-man. They saw the palanquinlying loneful an' forlornsome, an' the beauty av ut, after Dearsley'smen had dhropped ut and gone away, an' they gave ut the best name thatoccurred to thim. Quite right too. For aught we know the ould lady wasthravellin' incog--like me. I'm glad to hear she's fat. I was no lightweight mysilf, an' my men were mortial anxious to dhrop me under a greatbig archway promiscuously ornamented wid the most improper carvin's an'cuttin's I iver saw. Begad! they made me blush--like a--like aMaharanee. '

'The temple of Prithi-Devi, ' I murmured, remembering the monstroushorrors of that sculptured archway at Benares. 

'Pretty Devilskins, savin' your presence, sorr! There was nothin' prettyabout ut, except me. 'Twas all half dhark, an' whin the coolies leftthey shut a big black gate behind av us, an' half a company av fatyellow priests began pully-haulin' the palanquins into a dharker placeyet--a big stone hall full av pillars, an' gods, an' incense, an' allmanner av similar thruck. The gate disconcerted me, for I perceived Iwud have to go forward to get out, my retreat bein' cut off. By the sametoken a good priest makes a bad palanquin-coolie. Begad! they nearlyturned me inside out draggin' the palanquin to the temple. Now thedisposishin av the forces inside was this way. The Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun--that was me--lay by the favour av Providence on the far leftflank behind the dhark av a pillar carved with elephints' heads. Theremainder av the palanquins was in a big half circle facing in to thebiggest, fattest, an' most amazin' she-god that iver I dreamed av. Herhead ran up into the black above us, an' her feet stuck out in the lightav a little fire av melted butter that a priest was feedin' out av abutter-dish. Thin a man began to sing an' play on somethin' back in thedhark, an 'twas a queer song. Ut made my hair lift on the back av myneck. Thin the doors av all the palanquins slid back, an' the womenbundled out. I saw what I'll niver see again. 'Twas more glorious thanthransformations at a pantomime, for they was in pink an' blue an'silver an' red an' grass green, wid di'monds an' im'ralds an' great redrubies all over thim. But that was the least part av the glory. O bhoys, they were more lovely than the like av any loveliness in hiven; ay, their little bare feet were betther than the white hands av a lord'slady, an' their mouths were like puckered roses, an' their eyes werebigger an' dharker than the eyes av any livin' women I've seen. Ye maylaugh, but I'm speakin' truth. I niver saw the like, an' niver I willagain. '

'Seeing that in all probability you were watching the wives anddaughters of most of the Kings of India, the chances are that youwon't, ' I said, for it was dawning on me that Mulvaney had stumbled upona big Queens' Praying at Benares. 

'I niver will, ' he said mournfully. 'That sight doesn't come twist toany man. It made me ashamed to watch. A fat priest knocked at my door. Ididn't think he'd have the insolince to disturb the Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun, so I lay still. "The old cow's asleep, " sez he to another. "Let her be, " sez that. "'Twill be long before she has a calf!" I mightha' known before he spoke that all a woman prays for in Injia--an' formatter o' that in England too--is childher. That made me more sorry I'dcome, me bein', as you well know, a childless man. '

He was silent for a moment, thinking of his little son, dead many yearsago. 

'They prayed, an' the butter-fires blazed up an' the incense turnedeverything blue, an' between that an' the fires the women looked as tho'they were all ablaze an' twinklin'. They took hold av the she-god'sknees, they cried out an' they threw themselves about, an' that world-without-end-amen music was dhrivin' thim mad. Mother av Hiven! how theycried, an' the ould she-god grinnin' above thim all so scornful! Thedhrink was dyin' out in me fast, an' I was thinkin' harder than thethoughts wud go through my head--thinkin' how to get out, an' all mannerof nonsense as well. The women were rockin' in rows, their di'mond beltsclickin', an' the tears runnin' out betune their hands, an' the lightswere goin' lower an' dharker. Thin there was a blaze like lightnin' fromthe roof, an' that showed me the inside av the palanquin, an' at the endwhere my foot was, stood the livin' spit an' image o' mysilf worked onthe linin'. This man here, ut was. '

He hunted in the folds of his pink cloak, ran a hand under one, andthrust into the firelight a foot-long embroidered presentment of thegreat god Krishna, playing on a flute. The heavy jowl, the staring eye, and the blue-black moustache of the god made up a far-off resemblance toMulvaney. 

'The blaze was gone in a wink, but the whole schame came to me thin. Ibelieve I was mad too. I slid the off-shutter open an' rowled out intothe dhark behind the elephint-head pillar, tucked up my trousies to myknees, slipped off my boots an' tuk a general hould av all the pinklinin' av the palanquin. Glory be, ut ripped out like a woman's dhrisswhin you tread on ut at a sergeants' ball, an' a bottle came with ut. Ituk the bottle an' the next minut I was out av the dhark av the pillar, the pink linin' wrapped round me most graceful, the music thunderin'like kettledrums, an' a could draft blowin' round my bare legs. By thishand that did ut, I was Khrishna tootlin' on the flute--the god that therig'mental chaplain talks about. A sweet sight I must ha' looked. I knewmy eyes were big, and my face was wax-white, an' at the worst I must ha'looked like a ghost. But they took me for the livin' god. The musicstopped, and the women were dead dumb an' I crooked my legs like ashepherd on a china basin, an' I did the ghost-waggle with my feet as Ihad done ut at the rig'mental theatre many times, an' I slid acrost thewidth av that temple in front av the she-god tootlin' on the beerbottle. '

'Wot did you toot?' demanded Ortheris the practical. 

'Me? Oh!' Mulvaney sprang up, suiting the action to the word, andsliding gravely in front of us, a dilapidated but imposing deity in thehalf light. 'I sang--

 'Only say You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan. Don't say nay, Charmin' Judy Callaghan. 

I didn't know me own voice when I sang. An' oh! 'twas pitiful to see thewomen. The darlin's were down on their faces. Whin I passed the last wanI cud see her poor little fingers workin' one in another as if shewanted to touch my feet. So I dhrew the tail av this pink overcoat overher head for the greater honour, an' I slid into the dhark on the otherside av the temple, and fetched up in the arms av a big fat priest. AllI wanted was to get away clear. So I tuk him by his greasy throat an'shut the speech out av him. "Out!" sez I. "Which way, ye fat heathen?"--"Oh!" sez he. "Man, " sez I. "White man, soldier man, common soldier man. Where in the name av confusion is the back door?" The women in thetemple were still on their faces, an' a young priest was holdin' out hisarms above their heads. 

'"This way, " sez my fat friend, duckin' behind a big bull-god an' divin'into a passage. Thin I remimbered that I must ha' made the miraculousreputation av that temple for the next fifty years. "Not so fast, " Isez, an' I held out both my hands wid a wink. That ould thief smiledlike a father. I tuk him by the back av the neck in case he should bewishful to put a knife into me unbeknownst, an' I ran him up an' downthe passage twice to collect his sensibilities! "Be quiet, " sez he, inEnglish. "Now you talk sense, " I sez. "Fwhat 'll you give me for the useav that most iligant palanquin I have no time to take away?"--"Don'ttell, " sez he. "Is ut like?" sez I. "But ye might give me my railwayfare. I'm far from my home an' I've done you a service. " Bhoys, 'tis agood thing to be a priest. The ould man niver throubled himself to dhrawfrom a bank. As I will prove to you subsequint, he philandered all roundthe slack av his clothes an' began dribblin' ten-rupee notes, old goldmohurs, and rupees into my hand till I could hould no more. '

'You lie!' said Ortheris. 'You're mad or sunstrook. A native don't givecoin unless you cut it out o' 'im. 'Tain't nature. '

'Then my lie an' my sunstroke is concealed under that lump av sodyonder, ' retorted Mulvaney unruffled, nodding across the scrub. 'An'there's a dale more in nature than your squidgy little legs have ivertaken you to, Orth'ris, me son. Four hundred an' thirty-four rupees bymy reckonin', AN' a big fat gold necklace that I took from him as aremimbrancer, was our share in that business. '

'An' 'e give it you for love?' said Ortheris. 

'We were alone in that passage. Maybe I was a trifle too pressin', butconsidher fwhat I had done for the good av the temple and theiverlastin' joy av those women. 'Twas cheap at the price. I wud ha'taken more if I cud ha' found ut. I turned the ould man upside down atthe last, but he was milked dhry. Thin he opened a door in anotherpassage an' I found mysilf up to my knees in Benares river-water, an'bad smellin' ut is. More by token I had come out on the river-line closeto the burnin' ghat and contagious to a cracklin' corpse. This was inthe heart av the night, for I had been four hours in the temple. Therewas a crowd av boats tied up, so I tuk wan an' wint across the river. Thin I came home acrost country, lyin' up by day. '

'How on earth did you manage?' I said. 

'How did Sir Frederick Roberts get from Cabul to Candahar? He marchedan' he niver tould how near he was to breakin' down. That's why he isfwhat he is. An' now--' Mulvaney yawned portentously. 'Now I will go an'give myself up for absince widout leave. It's eight an' twenty days an'the rough end of the colonel's tongue in orderly room, any way you lookat ut. But 'tis cheap at the price. '

'Mulvaney, ' said I softly. 'If there happens to be any sort of excusethat the colonel can in any way accept, I have a notion that you'll getnothing more than the dressing-gown. The new recruits are in, and--'

'Not a word more, sorr. Is ut excuses the old man wants? 'Tis not myway, but he shall have thim. I'll tell him I was engaged in financialoperations connected wid a church, ' and he flapped his way tocantonments and the cells, singing lustily--

 'So they sent a corp'ril's file, And they put me in the gyard-room For conduck unbecomin' of a soldier. '

And when he was lost in the midst of the moonlight we could hear therefrain--

 Bang upon the big drum, bash upon the cymbals, As we go marchin' along, boys, oh! For although in this campaign There's no whisky nor champagne, We'll keep our spirits goin' with a song, boys!'

Therewith he surrendered himself to the joyful and almost weeping guard, and was made much of by his fellows. But to the colonel he said that hehad been smitten with sunstroke and had lain insensible on a villager'scot for untold hours; and between laughter and goodwill the affair wassmoothed over, so that he could, next day, teach the new recruits how to'Fear God, Honour the Queen, Shoot Straight, and Keep Clean. '

THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD

 What did the colonel's lady think? Nobody never knew. Somebody asked the sergeant's wife An' she told 'em true. When you git to a man in the case They're like a row o' pins, For the colonel's lady an' Judy O'Grady Are sisters under their skins. BARRACK-ROOM BALLAD. 

Al day I had followed at the heels of a pursuing army engaged on one ofthe finest battles that ever camp of exercise beheld. Thirty thousandtroops had by the wisdom of the Government of India been turned looseover a few thousand square miles of country to practise in peace whatthey would never attempt in war. Consequently cavalry charged unshakeninfantry at the trot. Infantry captured artillery by frontal attacksdelivered in line of quarter columns, and mounted infantry skirmished upto the wheels of an armoured train which carried nothing more deadlythan a twenty-five pounder Armstrong, two Nordenfeldts, and a few scorevolunteers all cased in three-eighths-inch boiler-plate. Yet it was avery lifelike camp. Operations did not cease at sundown; nobody knew thecountry and nobody spared man or horse. There was unending cavalryscouting and almost unending forced work over broken ground. The Army ofthe South had finally pierced the centre of the Army of the North, andwas pouring through the gap hot-foot to capture a city of strategicimportance. Its front extended fanwise, the sticks being represented byregiments strung out along the line of route backwards to the divisionaltransport columns and all the lumber that trails behind an army on themove. On its right the broken left of the Army of the North was flyingin mass, chased by the Southern horse and hammered by the Southern gunstill these had been pushed far beyond the limits of their last support. Then the flying sat down to rest, while the elated commandant of thepursuing force telegraphed that he held all in check and observation. 

Unluckily he did not observe that three miles to his right flank aflying column of Northern horse with a detachment of Ghoorkhas andBritish troops had been pushed round, as fast as the failing lightallowed, to cut across the entire rear of the Southern Army, to break, as it were, all the ribs of the fan where they converged by striking atthe transport, reserve ammunition, and artillery supplies. Theirinstructions were to go in, avoiding the few scouts who might not havebeen drawn off by the pursuit, and create sufficient excitement toimpress the Southern Army with the wisdom of guarding their own flankand rear before they captured cities. It was a pretty manoeuvre, neatlycarried out. 

Speaking for the second division of the Southern Army, our firstintimation of the attack was at twilight, when the artillery werelabouring in deep sand, most of the escort were trying to help them out, and the main body of the infantry had gone on. A Noah's Ark ofelephants, camels, and the mixed menagerie of an Indian transport-trainbubbled and squealed behind the guns when there appeared from nowhere inparticular British infantry to the extent of three companies, who sprangto the heads of the gun-horses and brought all to a standstill amidoaths and cheers. 

'How's that, umpire?' said the major commanding the attack, and with onevoice the drivers and limber gunners answered 'Hout!' while the colonelof artillery sputtered. 

'All your scouts are charging our main body, ' said the major. 'Yourflanks are unprotected for two miles. I think we've broken the back ofthis division. And listen, --there go the Ghoorkhas!'

A weak fire broke from the rear-guard more than a mile away, and wasanswered by cheerful howlings. The Ghoorkhas, who should have swungclear of the second division, had stepped on its tail in the dark, butdrawing off hastened to reach the next line of attack, which lay almostparallel to us five or six miles away. 

Our column swayed and surged irresolutely, --three batteries, thedivisional ammunition reserve, the baggage, and a section of thehospital and bearer corps. The commandant ruefully promised to reporthimself 'cut up' to the nearest umpire, and commending his cavalry andall other cavalry to the special care of Eblis, toiled on to resumetouch with the rest of the division. 

'We'll bivouac here to-night, ' said the major, 'I have a notion that theGhoorkhas will get caught. They may want us to re-form on. Stand easytill the transport gets away. '

A hand caught my beast's bridle and led him out of the choking dust; alarger hand deftly canted me out of the saddle; and two of the hugesthands in the world received me sliding. Pleasant is the lot of thespecial correspondent who falls into such hands as those of PrivatesMulvaney, Ortheris, and Learoyd. 

'An' that's all right, ' said the Irishman calmly. 'We thought we'd findyou somewheres here by. Is there anything av yours in the transport?Orth'ris 'll fetch ut out. '

Ortheris did 'fetch ut out, ' from under the trunk of an elephant, in theshape of a servant and an animal both laden with medical comforts. Thelittle man's eyes sparkled. 

'If the brutil an' licentious soldiery av these parts gets sight av thethruck, ' said Mulvaney, making practised investigations, 'they'll lootev'rything. They're bein' fed on iron-filin's an' dog-biscuit thesedays, but glory's no compensation for a belly-ache. Praise be, we'rehere to protect you, sorr. Beer, sausage, bread (soft an' that's acur'osity), soup in a tin, whisky by the smell av ut, an' fowls! Motherav Moses, but ye take the field like a confectioner! 'Tis scand'lus. '

'Ere's a orficer, ' said Ortheris significantly. 'When the sergent's donelushin' the privit may clean the pot. '

I bundled several things into Mulvaney's haversack before the major'shand fell on my shoulder and he said tenderly, 'Requisitioned for theQueen's service. Wolseley was quite wrong about special correspondents:they are the soldier's best friends. Come and take pot-luck with us to-night. '

And so it happened amid laughter and shoutings that my well-consideredcommissariat melted away to reappear later at the mess-table, which wasa waterproof sheet spread on the ground. The flying column had takenthree days' rations with it, and there be few things nastier thangovernment rations--especially when government is experimenting withGerman toys. Erbsenwurst, tinned beef of surpassing tinniness, compressed vegetables, and meat-biscuits may be nourishing, but whatThomas Atkins needs is bulk in his inside. The major, assisted by hisbrother officers, purchased goats for the camp and so made theexperiment of no effect. Long before the fatigue-party sent to collectbrushwood had returned, the men were settled down by their valises, kettles and pots had appeared from the surrounding country and weredangling over fires as the kid and the compressed vegetable bubbledtogether; there rose a cheerful clinking of mess-tins; outrageousdemands for 'a little more stuffin' with that there liver-wing;' andgust on gust of chaff as pointed as a bayonet and as delicate as a gun-butt. 

'The boys are in a good temper, ' said the major. 'They'll be singingpresently. Well, a night like this is enough to keep them happy. '

Over our heads burned the wonderful Indian stars, which are not allpricked in on one plane, but, preserving an orderly perspective, drawthe eye through the velvet darkness of the void up to the barred doorsof heaven itself. The earth was a gray shadow more unreal than the sky. We could hear her breathing lightly in the pauses between the howling ofthe jackals, the movement of the wind in the tamarisks, and the fitfulmutter of musketry-fire leagues away to the left. A native woman fromsome unseen hut began to sing, the mail-train thundered past on its wayto Delhi, and a roosting crow cawed drowsily. Then there was a belt-loosening silence about the fires, and the even breathing of the crowdedearth took up the story. 

The men, full fed, turned to tobacco and song, --their officers withthem. The subaltern is happy who can win the approval of the musicalcritics in his regiment, and is honoured among the more intricate step-dancers. By him, as by him who plays cricket cleverly, Thomas Atkinswill stand in time of need, when he will let a better officer go onalone. The ruined tombs of forgotten Mussulman saints heard the balladof Agra Town, The Buffalo Battery, Marching to Kabul, The long, longIndian Day, The Place where the Punkah-coolie died, and that crashingchorus which announces, Youth's daring spirit, manhood's fire, Firm hand and eagle eye, Must he acquire who would aspire To see the gray boar die. 

To-day, of all those jovial thieves who appropriated my commissariat andlay and laughed round that water-proof sheet, not one remains. They wentto camps that were not of exercise and battles without umpires. Burmah, the Soudan, and the frontier, --fever and fight, --took them in theirtime. 

I drifted across to the men's fires in search of Mulvaney, whom I foundstrategically greasing his feet by the blaze. There is nothingparticularly lovely in the sight of a private thus engaged after a longday's march, but when you reflect on the exact proportion of the 'might, majesty, dominion, and power' of the British Empire which stands onthose feet you take an interest in the proceedings. 

'There's a blister, bad luck to ut, on the heel, ' said Mulvaney. 'Ican't touch ut. Prick ut out, little man. '

Ortheris took out his house-wife, eased the trouble with a needle, stabbed Mulvaney in the calf with the same weapon, and was swiftlykicked into the fire. 

'I've bruk the best av my toes over you, ye grinnin' child avdisruption, ' said Mulvaney, sitting cross-legged and nursing his feet;then seeing me, 'Oh, ut's you, sorr! Be welkim, an' take that maraudin'scutt's place. Jock, hold him down on the cindhers for a bit. '

But Ortheris escaped and went elsewhere, as I took possession of thehollow he had scraped for himself and lined with his greatcoat. Learoydon the other side of the fire grinned affably and in a minute fell fastasleep. 

'There's the height av politeness for you, ' said Mulvaney, lighting hispipe with a flaming branch. 'But Jock's eaten half a box av yoursardines at wan gulp, an' I think the tin too. What's the best wid you, sorr, an' how did you happen to be on the losin' side this day whin wecaptured you?'

'The Army of the South is winning all along the line, ' I said. 

'Then that line's the hangman's rope, savin' your presence. You'll learnto-morrow how we rethreated to dhraw thim on before we made thimtrouble, an' that's what a woman does. By the same tokin, we'll beattacked before the dawnin' an' ut would be betther not to slip yourboots. How do I know that? By the light av pure reason. Here are threecompanies av us ever so far inside av the enemy's flank an' a crowd avroarin', tarin', squealin' cavalry gone on just to turn out the wholehornet's nest av them. Av course the enemy will pursue, by brigades likeas not, an' thin we'll have to run for ut. Mark my words. I am av theopinion av Polonius whin he said, "Don't fight wid ivry scutt for thepure joy av fightin', but if you do, knock the nose av him first an'frequint. " We ought to ha' gone on an' helped the Ghoorkhas. '

'But what do you know about Polonius?' I demanded. This was a new sideof Mulvaney's character. 

'All that Shakespeare iver wrote an' a dale more that the galleryshouted, ' said the man of war, carefully lacing his boots. 'Did I nottell you av Silver's theatre in Dublin, whin I was younger than I am nowan' a patron av the drama? Ould Silver wud never pay actor-man or womantheir just dues, an' by consequince his comp'nies was collapsible at thelast minut. Thin the bhoys wud clamour to take a part, an' oft as notould Silver made them pay for the fun. Faith, I've seen Hamlut playedwid a new black eye an' the queen as full as a cornucopia. I remimberwanst Hogin that 'listed in the Black Tyrone an' was shot in SouthAfrica, he sejuced ould Silver into givin' him Hamlut's part instid avme that had a fine fancy for rhetoric in those days. Av course I wintinto the gallery an' began to fill the pit wid other people's hats, an'I passed the time av day to Hogin walkin' through Denmark like ahamstrung mule wid a pall on his back. "Hamlut, " sez I, "there's a holein your heel. Pull up your shtockin's, Hamlut, " sez I, "Hamlut, Hamlut, for the love av decincy dhrop that skull an' pull up your shtockin's. "The whole house begun to tell him that. He stopped his soliloquishmsmid-between. "My shtockin's may be comin' down or they may not, " sez he, screwin' his eye into the gallery, for well he knew who I was. "Butafther this performince is over me an' the Ghost 'll trample the tripesout av you, Terence, wid your ass's bray!" An' that's how I come to knowabout Hamlut. Eyah! Those days, those days! Did you iver have onendin'devilmint an' nothin' to pay for it in your life, sorr?'

'Never, without having to pay, ' I said. 

'That's thrue! 'Tis mane whin you considher on ut; but ut's the same widhorse or fut. A headache if you dhrink, an' a belly-ache if you eat toomuch, an' a heart-ache to kape all down. Faith, the beast only gets thecolic, an' he's the lucky man. '

He dropped his head and stared into the fire, fingering his moustachethe while. From the far side of the bivouac the voice of Corbet-Nolan, senior subaltern of B company, uplifted itself in an ancient and muchappreciated song of sentiment, the men moaning melodiously behind him. 

 The north wind blew coldly, she drooped from that hour, My own little Kathleen, my sweet little Kathleen, Kathleen, my Kathleen, Kathleen O'Moore!

With forty-five O's in the last word: even at that distance you mighthave cut the soft South Irish accent with a shovel. 

'For all we take we must pay, but the price is cruel high, ' murmuredMulvaney when the chorus had ceased. 

'What's the trouble?' I said gently, for I knew that he was a man of aninextinguishable sorrow. 

'Hear now, ' said he. 'Ye know what I am now. _I_ know what I mint to beat the beginnin' av my service. I've tould you time an' again, an' whatI have not Dinah Shadd has. An' what am I? Oh, Mary Mother av Hiven, anould dhrunken, untrustable baste av a privit that has seen the reg'mentchange out from colonel to drummer-boy, not wanst or twice, but scoresav times! Ay, scores! An' me not so near gettin' promotion as in thefirst! An' me livin' on an' kapin' clear av clink, not by my own goodconduck, but the kindness av some orf'cer-bhoy young enough to be son tome! Do I not know ut? Can I not tell whin I'm passed over at p'rade, tho' I'm rockin' full av liquor an' ready to fall all in wan piece, suchas even a suckin' child might see, bekaze, "Oh, 'tis only ouldMulvaney!" An' whin I'm let off in ord'ly-room through some thrick ofthe tongue an' a ready answer an' the ould man's mercy, is ut smilin' Ifeel whin I fall away an' go back to Dinah Shadd, thryin' to carry utall off as a joke? Not I! 'Tis hell to me, dumb hell through ut all; an'next time whin the fit comes I will be as bad again. Good cause thereg'ment has to know me for the best soldier in ut. Better cause have Ito know mesilf for the worst man. I'm only fit to tache the new draftswhat I'll niver learn mesilf; an' I am sure, as tho' I heard ut, thatthe minut wan av these pink-eyed recruities gets away from my "Mind yenow, " an' "Listen to this, Jim, bhoy, "--sure I am that the serginthoulds me up to him for a warnin'. So I tache, as they say at musketry-instruction, by direct and ricochet fire. Lord be good to me, for I havestud some throuble!'

'Lie down and go to sleep, ' said I, not being able to comfort or advise. 'You're the best man in the regiment, and, next to Ortheris, the biggestfool. Lie down and wait till we're attacked. What force will they turnout? Guns, think you?'

'Try that wid your lorrds an' ladies, twistin' an' turnin' the talk, tho' you mint ut well. Ye cud say nothin' to help me, an' yet ye niverknew what cause I had to be what I am. '

'Begin at the beginning and go on to the end, ' I said royally. 'But rakeup the fire a bit first. '

I passed Ortheris's bayonet for a poker. 

'That shows how little we know what we do, ' said Mulvaney, putting itaside. 'Fire takes all the heart out av the steel, an' the next time, may be, that our little man is fighting for his life his bradawl 'llbreak, an' so you'll ha' killed him, manin' no more than to kapeyourself warm. 'Tis a recruity's thrick that. Pass the clanin'-rod, sorr. '

I snuggled down abased; and after an interval the voice of Mulvaneybegan. 

'Did I iver tell you how Dinah Shadd came to be wife av mine?'

I dissembled a burning anxiety that I had felt for some months--eversince Dinah Shadd, the strong, the patient, and the infinitely tender, had of her own good love and free will washed a shirt for me, moving ina barren land where washing was not. 

'I can't remember, ' I said casually. 'Was it before or after you madelove to Annie Bragin, and got no satisfaction?'

The story of Annie Bragin is written in another place. It is one of themany less respectable episodes in Mulvaney's chequered career. 

'Before--before--long before, was that business av Annie Bragin an' thecorp'ril's ghost. Niver woman was the worse for me whin I had marriedDinah. There's a time for all things, an' I know how to kape all thingsin place--barrin' the dhrink, that kapes me in my place wid no hope avcomin' to be aught else. '

'Begin at the beginning, ' I insisted. 'Mrs. Mulvaney told me that youmarried her when you were quartered in Krab Bokhar barracks. '

'An' the same is a cess-pit, ' said Mulvaney piously. 'She spoke thrue, did Dinah. 'Twas this way. Talkin' av that, have ye iver fallen in love, sorr?'

I preserved the silence of the damned. Mulvaney continued--

'Thin I will assume that ye have not. _I_ did. In the days av my youth, as I have more than wanst tould you, I was a man that filled the eye an'delighted the sowl av women. Niver man was hated as I have bin. Niverman was loved as I--no, not within half a day's march av ut! For thefirst five years av my service, whin I was what I wud give my sowl to benow, I tuk whatever was within my reach an' digested ut--an that's morethan most men can say. Dhrink I tuk, an' ut did me no harm. By theHollow av Hiven, I cud play wid four women at wanst, an' kape them fromfindin' out anythin' about the other three, an' smile like a full-blownmarigold through ut all. Dick Coulhan, av the battery we'll have down onus to-night, could drive his team no betther than I mine, an' I hild theworser cattle! An' so I lived, an' so I was happy till afther thatbusiness wid Annie Bragin--she that turned me off as cool as a meat-safe, an' taught me where I stud in the mind av an honest woman. 'Twasno sweet dose to swallow. 

'Afther that I sickened awhile an' tuk thought to my reg'mental work;conceiting mesilf I wud study an' be a sergint, an' a major-gineraltwinty minutes afther that. But on top av my ambitiousness there was anempty place in my sowl, an' me own opinion av mesilf cud not fill ut. Sez I to mesilf, "Terence, you're a great man an' the best set-up in thereg'mint. Go on an' get promotion. " Sez mesilf to me, "What for?" Sez Ito mesilf, "For the glory av ut!" Sez mesilf to me, "Will that fillthese two strong arrums av yours, Terence?" "Go to the devil, " sez I tomesilf. "Go to the married lines, " sez mesilf to me. "'Tis the samething, " sez I to mesilf. "Av you're the same man, ut is, " said mesilf tome; an' wid that I considhered on ut a long while. Did you iver feelthat way, sorr?'

I snored gently, knowing that if Mulvaney were uninterrupted he would goon. The clamour from the bivouac fires beat up to the stars, as therival singers of the companies were pitted against each other. 

'So I felt that way an' a bad time ut was. Wanst, bein' a fool, I wintinto the married lines more for the sake av spakin' to our ould colour-sergint Shadd than for any thruck wid women-folk. I was a corp'ril then--rejuced aftherwards, but a corp'ril then. I've got a photograft avmesilf to prove ut. "You'll take a cup av tay wid us?" sez Shadd. "Iwill that, " I sez, "tho' tay is not my divarsion. "

'"'Twud be better for you if ut were, " sez ould Mother Shadd, an' shehad ought to know, for Shadd, in the ind av his service, dhrank bung-full each night. 

'Wid that I tuk off my gloves--there was pipe-clay in thim, so that theystud alone--an' pulled up my chair, lookin' round at the china ornamentsan' bits av things in the Shadds' quarters. They were things thatbelonged to a man, an' no camp-kit, here to-day an' dishipated next. "You're comfortable in this place, sergint, " sez I. "'Tis the wife thatdid ut, boy, " sez he, pointin' the stem av his pipe to ould MotherShadd, an' she smacked the top av his bald head apon the compliment. "That manes you want money, " sez she. 

'An' thin--an' thin whin the kettle was to be filled, Dinah came in--myDinah--her sleeves rowled up to the elbow an' her hair in a winkin'glory over her forehead, the big blue eyes beneath twinklin' like starson a frosty night, an' the tread av her two feet lighter than waste-paper from the colonel's basket in ord'ly-room whin ut's emptied. Bein'but a shlip av a girl she went pink at seein' me, an' I twisted memoustache an' looked at a picture forninst the wall. Niver show a womanthat ye care the snap av a finger for her, an' begad she'll comebleatin' to your boot-heels!'

'I suppose that's why you followed Annie Bragin till everybody in themarried quarters laughed at you, ' said I, remembering that unhallowedwooing and casting off the disguise of drowsiness. 

'I'm layin' down the gin'ral theory av the attack, ' said Mulvaney, driving his boot into the dying fire. 'If you read the Soldier's PocketBook, which niver any soldier reads, you'll see that there areexceptions. Whin Dinah was out av the door (an' 'twas as tho' thesunlight had shut too)--"Mother av Hiven, sergint, " sez I, "but is thatyour daughter?"--"I've believed that way these eighteen years, " sez ouldShadd, his eyes twinklin'; "but Mrs. Shadd has her own opinion, likeiv'ry woman, "--"'Tis wid yours this time, for a mericle, " sez MotherShadd. "Thin why in the name av fortune did I niver see her before?" sezI. "Bekaze you've been thrapesin' round wid the married women thesethree years past. She was a bit av a child till last year, an' she shotup wid the spring, " sez ould Mother Shadd. "I'll thrapese no more, " sezI. "D'you mane that?" sez ould Mother Shadd, lookin' at me side-wayslike a hen looks at a hawk whin the chickens are runnin' free. "Try me, an' tell, " sez I. Wid that I pulled on my gloves, dhrank off the tay, an' went out av the house as stiff as at gin'ral p'rade, for well I knewthat Dinah Shadd's eyes were in the small av my back out av the scullerywindow. Faith! that was the only time I mourned I was not a cav'lry-manfor the pride av the spurs to jingle. 

'I wint out to think, an' I did a powerful lot av thinkin', but ut allcame round to that shlip av a girl in the dotted blue dhress, wid theblue eyes an' the sparkil in them. Thin I kept off canteen, an' I keptto the married quarthers, or near by, on the chanst av meetin' Dinah. Did I meet her? Oh, my time past, did I not; wid a lump in my throat asbig as my valise an' my heart goin' like a farrier's forge on a Saturdaymorning? 'Twas "Good day to ye, Miss Dinah, " an' "Good day t'you, corp'ril, " for a week or two, and divil a bit further could I get bekazeav the respect I had to that girl that I cud ha' broken betune fingeran' thumb. '

Here I giggled as I recalled the gigantic figure of Dinah Shadd when shehanded me my shirt. 

'Ye may laugh, ' grunted Mulvaney. 'But I'm speakin' the trut', an 'tisyou that are in fault. Dinah was a girl that wud ha' taken theimperiousness out av the Duchess av Clonmel in those days. Flower hand, foot av shod air, an' the eyes av the livin' mornin' she had that is mywife to-day--ould Dinah, and niver aught else than Dinah Shadd to me. 

''Twas after three weeks standin' off an' on, an' niver makin' headwayexcipt through the eyes, that a little drummer-boy grinned in me facewhin I had admonished him wid the buckle av my belt for riotin' all overthe place. "An' I'm not the only wan that doesn't kape to barricks, " sezhe. I tuk him by the scruff av his neck, --my heart was hung on a hair-thrigger those days, you will onderstand--an' "Out wid ut, " sez I, "orI'll lave no bone av you unbreakable. "--"Speak to Dempsey, " sez hehowlin'. "Dempsey which?" sez I, "ye unwashed limb av Satan. "--"Av theBob-tailed Dhragoons, " sez he. "He's seen her home from her aunt's housein the civil lines four times this fortnight. "--"Child!" sez I, dhroppin' him, "your tongue's stronger than your body. Go to yourquarters. I'm sorry I dhressed you down. "

'At that I went four ways to wanst huntin' Dempsey. I was mad to thinkthat wid all my airs among women I shud ha' been chated by a basin-facedfool av a cav'lry-man not fit to trust on a trunk. Presintly I found himin our lines--the Bobtails was quartered next us--an' a tallowy, topheavy son av a she-mule he was wid his big brass spurs an' hisplastrons on his epigastrons an' all. But he niver flinched a hair. 

'"A word wid you, Dempsey, " sez I. "You've walked wid Dinah Shadd fourtimes this fortnight gone. "

'"What's that to you?" sez he. "I'll walk forty times more, an' forty ontop av that, ye shovel-futted clod-breakin' infantry lance-corp'ril. "

'Before I cud gyard he had his gloved fist home on my cheek an' down Iwent full-sprawl. "Will that content you?" sez he, blowin' on hisknuckles for all the world like a Scots Greys orf'cer. "Content!" sez I. "For your own sake, man, take off your spurs, peel your jackut, an'onglove. 'Tis the beginnin' av the overture; stand up!"

'He stud all he know, but he niver peeled his jackut, an' his shouldershad no fair play. I was fightin' for Dinah Shadd an' that cut on mycheek. What hope had he forninst me? "Stand up, " sez I, time an' againwhin he was beginnin' to quarter the ground an' gyard high an' go large. "This isn't ridin'-school, " I sez. "O man, stand up an' let me get in atye. " But whin I saw he wud be runnin' about, I grup his shtock in myleft an' his waist-belt in my right an' swung him clear to my rightfront, head undher, he hammerin' my nose till the wind was knocked outav him on the bare ground. "Stand up, " sez I, "or I'll kick your headinto your chest!" and I wud ha' done ut too, so ragin' mad I was. 

'"My collar-bone's bruk, " sez he. "Help me back to lines. I'll walk widher no more. " So I helped him back. '

'And was his collar-bone broken?' I asked, for I fancied that onlyLearoyd could neatly accomplish that terrible throw. 

'He pitched on his left shoulder-point. Ut was. Next day the news was inboth barricks, an' whin I met Dinah Shadd wid a cheek on me like all thereg'mintal tailor's samples there was no "Good mornin', corp'ril, " oraught else. "An' what have I done, Miss Shadd, " sez I, very bould, plantin' mesilf forninst her, "that ye should not pass the time of day?"

'"Ye've half-killed rough-rider Dempsey, " sez she, her dear blue eyesfillin' up. 

'"May be, " sez I. "Was he a friend av yours that saw ye home four timesin the fortnight?"

'"Yes, " sez she, but her mouth was down at the corners. "An'--an' what'sthat to you?" she sez. 

'"Ask Dempsey, " sez I, purtendin' to go away. 

'"Did you fight for me then, ye silly man?" she sez, tho' she knew utall along. 

'"Who else?" sez I, an' I tuk wan pace to the front. 

'"I wasn't worth ut, " sez she, fingerin' in her apron, '"That's for me to say, " sez I. "Shall I say ut?"

'"Yes, " sez she in a saint's whisper, an' at that I explained mesilf;and she tould me what ivry man that is a man, an' many that is a woman, hears wanst in his life. 

'"But what made ye cry at startin', Dinah, darlin'?'" sez I. 

'"Your--your bloody cheek, " sez she, duckin' her little head down on mysash (I was on duty for the day) an' whimperin' like a sorrowful angil. 

'Now a man cud take that two ways. I tuk ut as pleased me best an' myfirst kiss wid ut. Mother av Innocence! but I kissed her on the tip avthe nose an' undher the eye; an' a girl that let's a kiss come tumble-ways like that has never been kissed before. Take note av that, sorr. Thin we wint hand in hand to ould Mother Shadd like two little childher, an' she said 'twas no bad thing, an' ould Shadd nodded behind his pipe, an' Dinah ran away to her own room. That day I throd on rollin' clouds. All earth was too small to hould me. Begad, I cud ha' hiked the sun outav the sky for a live coal to my pipe, so magnificent I was. But I tukrecruities at squad-drill instid, an' began wid general battalionadvance whin I shud ha' been balance-steppin' them. Eyah! that day! thatday!'

A very long pause. 'Well?' said I. 

''Twas all wrong, ' said Mulvaney, with an enormous sigh. 'An' I knowthat ev'ry bit av ut was my own foolishness. That night I tuk maybe thehalf av three pints--not enough to turn the hair of a man in his naturalsenses. But I was more than half drunk wid pure joy, an' that canteenbeer was so much whisky to me. I can't tell how it came about, butBEKAZE I had no thought for anywan except Dinah, BEKAZE I hadn't slippedher little white arms from my neck five minuts, BEKAZE the breath of herkiss was not gone from my mouth, I must go through the married lines onmy way to quarters an' I must stay talkin' to a red-headed Mullingarheifer av a girl, Judy Sheehy, that was daughter to Mother Sheehy, thewife of Nick Sheehy, the canteen-sergint--the Black Curse av Shielygh beon the whole brood that are above groun' this day!

"'An' what are ye houldin' your head that high for, corp'ril?" sez Judy. "Come in an' thry a cup av tay, " she sez, standin' in the doorway. Bein'an ontrustable fool, an' thinkin' av anything but tay, I wint. 

'"Mother's at canteen, " sez Judy, smoothin' the hair av hers that waslike red snakes, an' lookin' at me cornerways out av her green cats'eyes. "Ye will not mind, corp'ril?"

'"I can endure, " sez I; ould Mother Sheehy bein' no divarsion av mine, nor her daughter too. Judy fetched the tea things an' put thim on thetable, leanin' over me very close to get thim square. I dhrew back, thinkin' av Dinah. 

'"Is ut afraid you are av a girl alone?" sez Judy. 

'"No, " sez I. "Why should I be?"

'"That rests wid the girl, " sez Judy, dhrawin' her chair next to mine. 

'"Thin there let ut rest, " sez I; an' thinkin' I'd been a trifleonpolite, I sez, "The tay's not quite sweet enough for my taste. Putyour little finger in the cup, Judy. 'Twill make ut necthar. "

'"What's necthar?" sez she. 

"'Somethin' very sweet, " sez I; an' for the sinful life av me I cud nothelp lookin' at her out av the corner av my eye, as I was used to lookat a woman. 

'"Go on wid ye, corp'ril, " sez she. "You're a flirrt. "

'"On me sowl I'm not, " sez I. 

'"Then you're a cruel handsome man, an' that's worse, " sez she, heavingbig sighs an' lookin' crossways. 

'"You know your own mind, " sez I. 

'"'Twud be better for me if I did not, " she sez. 

'"There's a dale to be said on both sides av that, " sez I, unthinkin'. 

'"Say your own part av ut, then, Terence, darlin', " sez she; "for begadI'm thinkin' I've said too much or too little for an honest girl, " an'wid that she put her arms round my neck an' kissed me. 

'"There's no more to be said afther that, " sez I, kissin' her backagain--Oh the mane scutt that I was, my head ringin' wid Dinah Shadd!How does ut come about, sorr, that when a man has put the comether onwan woman, he's sure bound to put it on another? 'Tis the same thing atmusketry. Wan day ivry shot goes wide or into the bank, an' the next, lay high lay low, sight or snap, ye can't get off the bull's-eye for tenshots runnin'. '

'That only happens to a man who has had a good deal of experience. Hedoes it without thinking, ' I replied. 

'Thankin' you for the complimint, sorr, ut may be so. But I'm doubtfulwhether you mint ut for a complimint. Hear now; I sat there wid Judy onmy knee tellin' me all manner av nonsinse an' only sayin' "yes" an'"no, " when I'd much better ha' kept tongue betune teeth. An' that wasnot an hour afther I had left Dinah! What I was thinkin' av I cannotsay. Presintly, quiet as a cat, ould Mother Sheehy came in velvet-dhrunk. She had her daughter's red hair, but 'twas bald in patches, an'I cud see in her wicked ould face, clear as lightnin', what Judy wud betwenty years to come. I was for jumpin' up, but Judy niver moved. 

'"Terence has promust, mother, " sez she, an' the could sweat bruk outall over me. Ould Mother Sheehy sat down of a heap an' began playin' widthe cups. "Thin you're a well-matched pair, " she sez very thick. "Forhe's the biggest rogue that iver spoiled the queen's shoe-leather" an'--

'"I'm off, Judy, " sez I. "Ye should not talk nonsinse to your mother. Get her to bed, girl. "

'"Nonsinse!" sez the ould woman, prickin' up her ears like a cat an'grippin' the table-edge. "'Twill be the most nonsinsical nonsinse foryou, ye grinnin' badger, if nonsinse 'tis. Git clear, you. I'm goin' tobed. "

'I ran out into the dhark, my head in a stew an' my heart sick, but Ihad sinse enough to see that I'd brought ut all on mysilf. "It's this topass the time av day to a panjandhrum av hell-cats, " sez I. "What I'vesaid, an' what I've not said do not matther. Judy an' her dam will houldme for a promust man, an' Dinah will give me the go, an' I desarve ut. Iwill go an' get dhrunk, " sez I, "an' forget about ut, for 'tis plain I'mnot a marrin' man. "

'On my way to canteen I ran against Lascelles, colour-sergint that wasav E Comp'ny, a hard, hard man, wid a torment av a wife. "You've thehead av a drowned man on your shoulders, " sez he; "an' you're goin'where you'll get a worse wan. Come back, " sez he. "Let me go, " sez I. "I've thrown my luck over the wall wid my own hand!"--"Then that's notthe way to get ut back again, " sez he. "Have out wid your throuble, yefool-bhoy. " An' I tould him how the matther was. 

'He sucked in his lower lip. "You've been thrapped, " sez he. "Ju Sheehywud be the betther for a man's name to hers as soon as can. An' wethought ye'd put the comether on her, --that's the natural vanity of thebaste, Terence, you're a big born fool, but you're not bad enough tomarry into that comp'ny. If you said anythin', an' for all yourprotestations I'm sure ye did--or did not, which is worse, --eat ut all--lie like the father of all lies, but come out av ut free av Judy. Do Inot know what ut is to marry a woman that was the very spit an' image avJudy whin she was young? I'm gettin' old an' I've larnt patience, butyou, Terence, you'd raise hand on Judy an' kill her in a year. Nevermind if Dinah gives you the go, you've desarved ut; never mind if thewhole reg'mint laughs you all day. Get shut av Judy an' her mother. Theycan't dhrag you to church, but if they do, they'll dhrag you to hell. Goback to your quarters and lie down, " sez he. Thin over his shoulder, "You MUST ha' done with thim. "

'Next day I wint to see Dinah, but there was no tucker in me as Iwalked. I knew the throuble wud come soon enough widout any handlin' avmine, an' I dreaded ut sore. 

'I heard Judy callin' me, but I hild straight on to the Shadds'quarthers, an' Dinah wud ha' kissed me but I put her back. 

'"Whin all's said, darlin', " sez I, "you can give ut me if ye will, tho'I misdoubt 'twill be so easy to come by then. "

'I had scarce begun to put the explanation into shape before Judy an'her mother came to the door. I think there was a verandah, but I'mforgettin'. 

'"Will ye not step in?" sez Dinah, pretty and polite, though the Shaddshad no dealin's with the Sheehys. Ould Mother Shadd looked up quick, an'she was the fust to see the throuble; for Dinah was her daughter. 

'"I'm pressed for time to-day, " sez Judy as bould as brass; "an' I'veonly come for Terence, --my promust man. 'Tis strange to find him herethe day afther the day. "

'Dinah looked at me as though I had hit her, an' I answered straight. 

'"There was some nonsinse last night at the Sheehys' quarthers, an'Judy's carryin' on the joke, darlin', " sez I. 

'"At the Sheehys' quarthers?" sez Dinah very slow, an' Judy cut in wid:"He was there from nine till ten, Dinah Shadd, an' the betther half avthat time I was sittin' on his knee, Dinah Shadd. Ye may look and ye maylook an' ye may look me up an' down, but ye won't look away that Terenceis my promust man. Terence, darlin', 'tis time for us to be comin'home. "

'Dinah Shadd niver said word to Judy. "Ye left me at half-past eight, "she sez to me, "an I niver thought that ye'd leave me for Judy, --promises or no promises. Go back wid her, you that have to be fetched bya girl! I'm done with you, " sez she, and she ran into her own room, hermother followin'. So I was alone wid those two women and at liberty tospake my sentiments. 

'"Judy Sheehy, " sez I, "if you made a fool av me betune the lights youshall not do ut in the day. I niver promised you words or lines. "

'"You lie, " sez ould Mother Sheehy, "an' may ut choke you where youstand!" She was far gone in dhrink. 

'"An' tho' ut choked me where I stud I'd not change, " sez I. "Go home, Judy. I take shame for a decent girl like you dhraggin' your mother outbare-headed on this errand. Hear now, and have ut for an answer. I gavemy word to Dinah Shadd yesterday, an', more blame to me, I was wid youlast night talkin' nonsinse but nothin' more. You've chosen to thry tohould me on ut. I will not be held thereby for anythin' in the world. Isthat enough?"

'Judy wint pink all over. "An' I wish you joy av the perjury, " sez she, duckin' a curtsey. "You've lost a woman that would ha' wore her hand tothe bone for your pleasure; an' 'deed, Terence, ye were not thrapped. .. "Lascelles must ha' spoken plain to her. "I am such as Dinah is--'deed Iam! Ye've lost a fool av a girl that'll niver look at you again, an'ye've lost what he niver had, --your common honesty. If you manage yourmen as you manage your love-makin', small wondher they call you theworst corp'ril in the comp'ny. Come away, mother, " sez she. 

'But divil a fut would the ould woman budge! "D'you hould by that?" sezshe, peerin' up under her thick gray eyebrows. 

'"Ay, an' wud, " sez I, "tho' Dinah give me the go twinty times. I'llhave no thruck with you or yours, " sez I. "Take your child away, yeshameless woman. "

"'An' am I shameless?" sez she, bringin' her hands up above her head. "Thin what are you, ye lyin', schamin', weak-kneed, dhirty-souled son ava sutler? Am _I_ shameless? Who put the open shame on me an' my childthat we shud go beggin' through the lines in the broad daylight for thebroken word of a man? Double portion of my shame be on you, TerenceMulvaney, that think yourself so strong! By Mary and the saints, byblood and water an' by ivry sorrow that came into the world since thebeginnin', the black blight fall on you and yours, so that you may niverbe free from pain for another when ut's not your own! May your heartbleed in your breast drop by drop wid all your friends laughin' at thebleedin'! Strong you think yourself? May your strength be a curse to youto dhrive you into the divil's hands against your own will! Clear-eyedyou are? May your eyes see clear ivry step av the dark path you taketill the hot cindhers av hell put thim out! May the ragin' dry thirst inmy own ould bones go to you that you shall niver pass bottle full norglass empty. God preserve the light av your onderstandin' to you, myjewel av a bhoy, that ye may niver forget what you mint to be an' do, whin you're wallowin' in the muck! May ye see the betther and follow theworse as long as there's breath in your body; an' may ye die quick in astrange land, watchin' your death before ut takes you, an' enable tostir hand or foot!"

'I heard a scufflin' in the room behind, and thin Dinah Shadd's handdhropped into mine like a rose-leaf into a muddy road. 

'"The half av that I'll take, " sez she, "an' more too if I can. Go home, ye silly talkin' woman, --go home an' confess. "

'"Come away! Come away!" sez Judy, pullin' her mother by the shawl. "'Twas none av Terence's fault. For the love av Mary stop the talkin'!"

"'An' you!" said ould Mother Sheehy, spinnin' round forninst Dinah. "Will ye take the half av that man's load? Stand off from him, DinahShadd, before he takes you down too--you that look to be a quarther-master-sergeant's wife in five years. You look too high, child. Youshall WASH for the quarther-master-sergeant, whin he plases to give youthe job out av charity; but a privit's wife you shall be to the end, an'ivry sorrow of a privit's wife you shall know and niver a joy but wan, that shall go from you like the running tide from a rock. The pain avbearin' you shall know but niver the pleasure av giving the breast; an'you shall put away a man-child into the common ground wid niver a priestto say a prayer over him, an' on that man-child ye shall think ivry dayav your life. Think long, Dinah Shadd, for you'll niver have anothertho' you pray till your knees are bleedin'. The mothers av childhershall mock you behind your back when you're wringing over the wash-tub. You shall know what ut is to help a dhrunken husband home an' see him goto the gyard-room. Will that plase you, Dinah Shadd, that won't be seentalkin' to my daughter? You shall talk to worse than Judy before all'sover. The sergints' wives shall look down on you contemptuous, daughterav a sergint, an' you shall cover ut all up wid a smiling face when yourheart's burstin'. Stand off av him, Dinah Shadd, for I've put the BlackCurse of Shielygh upon him an' his own mouth shall make ut good. "

'She pitched forward on her head an' began foamin' at the mouth. DinahShadd ran out wid water, an' Judy dhragged the ould woman into theverandah till she sat up. 

'"I'm old an' forlore, " she sez, thremblin' an' cryin', "and 'tis like Isay a dale more than I mane. "

'"When you're able to walk, --go, " says ould Mother Shadd. "This househas no place for the likes av you that have cursed my daughter. "

'"Eyah!" said the ould woman. "Hard words break no bones, an' DinahShadd'll kape the love av her husband till my bones are green corn. Judydarlin', I misremember what I came here for. Can you lend us the bottomav a taycup av tay, Mrs. Shadd?"

'But Judy dhragged her off cryin' as tho' her heart wud break. An' DinahShadd an' I, in ten minutes we had forgot ut all. '

'Then why do you remember it now?' said I. 

'Is ut like I'd forget? Ivry word that wicked ould woman spoke fellthrue in my life aftherwards, an' I cud ha' stud ut all--stud ut all--excipt when my little Shadd was born. That was on the line av marchthree months afther the regiment was taken with cholera. We were betuneUmballa an' Kalka thin, an' I was on picket. Whin I came off duty thewomen showed me the child, an' ut turned on uts side an' died as Ilooked. We buried him by the road, an' Father Victor was a day's marchbehind wid the heavy baggage, so the comp'ny captain read a prayer. An'since then I've been a childless man, an' all else that ould MotherSheehy put upon me an' Dinah Shadd. What do you think, sorr?'

I thought a good deal, but it seemed better then to reach out forMulvaney's hand. The demonstration nearly cost me the use of threefingers. Whatever he knows of his weaknesses, Mulvaney is entirelyignorant of his strength. 

'But what do you think?' he repeated, as I was straightening out thecrushed fingers. 

My reply was drowned in yells and outcries from the next fire, where tenmen were shouting for 'Orth'ris, ' 'Privit Orth'ris, ' 'Mistah Or--ther--ris!' 'Deah boy, ' 'Cap'n Orth'ris, ' 'Field-Marshal Orth'ris, ' 'Stanley, you pen'north o' pop, come 'ere to your own comp'ny!' And the cockney, who had been delighting another audience with recondite and Rabelaisianyarns, was shot down among his admirers by the major force. 

'You've crumpled my dress-shirt 'orrid, ' said he, 'an' I shan't sing nomore to this 'ere bloomin' drawin'-room. '

Learoyd, roused by the confusion, uncoiled himself, crept behindOrtheris, and slung him aloft on his shoulders. 

'Sing, ye bloomin' hummin' bird!' said he, and Ortheris, beating time onLearoyd's skull, delivered himself, in the raucous voice of theRatcliffe Highway, of this song:--

 My girl she give me the go onst, When I was a London lad, An' I went on the drink for a fortnight, An' then I went to the bad. The Queen she give me a shillin' To fight for 'er over the seas; But Guv'ment built me a fever-trap, An' Injia give me disease. 

Chorus. 

 Ho! don't you 'eed what a girl says, An' don't you go for the beer; But I was an ass when I was at grass, An' that is why I'm 'ere. 

 I fired a shot at a Afghan, The beggar 'e fired again, An' I lay on my bed with a 'ole in my 'ed; An' missed the next campaign! I up with my gun at a Burman Who carried a bloomin' dah, But the cartridge stuck and the bay'nit bruk, An' all I got was the scar. 

Chorus. 

 Ho! don't you aim at a Afghan When you stand on the sky-line clear; An' don't you go for a Burman If none o' your friends is near. 

 I served my time for a corp'ral, An' wetted my stripes with pop, For I went on the bend with a intimate friend, An' finished the night in the 'shop. ' I served my time for a sergeant; The colonel 'e sez 'No! The most you'll see is a full C. B. '[Footnote: Confined to barracks. ] An'. .. Very next night 'twas so. 

Chorus. 

 Ho! don't you go for a corp'ral Unless your 'ed is clear; But I was an ass when I was at grass, An' that is why I'm 'ere. 

 I've tasted the luck o' the army In barrack an' camp an' clink, An' I lost my tip through the bloomin' trip Along o' the women an' drink. I'm down at the heel o' my service An' when I am laid on the shelf, My very wust friend from beginning to end By the blood of a mouse was myself!

Chorus. 

 Ho! don't you 'eed what a girl says, An' don't you go for the beer; But I was an ass when I was at grass, An' that is why I'm 'ere. 

'Ay, listen to our little man now, singin' an' shoutin' as tho' troublehad niver touched him. D'you remember when he went mad with the home-sickness?' said Mulvaney, recalling a never-to-be-forgotten season whenOrtheris waded through the deep waters of affliction and behavedabominably. 'But he's talkin' bitter truth, though. Eyah!

 'My very worst frind from beginnin' to ind By the blood av a mouse was mesilf!'

When I woke I saw Mulvaney, the night-dew gemming his moustache, leaningon his rifle at picket, lonely as Prometheus on his rock, with I knownot what vultures tearing his liver. 

ON GREENHOW HILL

 To Love's low voice she lent a careless ear; Her hand within his rosy fingers lay, A chilling weight. She would not turn or hear; But with averted face went on her way. But when pale Death, all featureless and grim, Lifted his bony hand, and beckoning Held out his cypress-wreath, she followed him, And Love was left forlorn and wondering, That she who for his bidding would not stay, At Death's first whisper rose and went away. RIVALS. 

'Ohe, Ahmed Din! Shafiz Ullah ahoo! Bahadur Khan, where are you? Comeout of the tents, as I have done, and fight against the English. Don'tkill your own kin! Come out to me!'

The deserter from a native corps was crawling round the outskirts of thecamp, firing at intervals, and shouting invitations to his old comrades. Misled by the rain and the darkness, he came to the English wing of thecamp, and with his yelping and rifle-practice disturbed the men. Theyhad been making roads all day, and were tired. 

Ortheris was sleeping at Learoyd's feet. 'Wot's all that?' he saidthickly. Learoyd snored, and a Snider bullet ripped its way through thetent wall. The men swore. 'It's that bloomin' deserter from theAurangabadis, ' said Ortheris. 'Git up, some one, an' tell 'im 'e's cometo the wrong shop. '

'Go to sleep, little man, ' said Mulvaney, who was steaming nearest thedoor. 'I can't arise an' expaytiate with him. 'Tis rainin' entrenchin'tools outside. '

''Tain't because you bloomin' can't. It's 'cause you bloomin' won't, yelong, limp, lousy, lazy beggar, you. 'Ark to'im 'owlin'!'

'Wot's the good of argifying? Put a bullet into the swine! 'E's keepin'us awake!' said another voice. 

A subaltern shouted angrily, and a dripping sentry whined from thedarkness--

''Tain't no good, sir. I can't see 'im. 'E's 'idin' somewhere down'ill. '

Ortheris tumbled out of his blanket. 'Shall I try to get 'im, sir?' saidhe. 

'No, ' was the answer. 'Lie down. I won't have the whole camp shootingall round the clock. Tell him to go and pot his friends. '

Ortheris considered for a moment. Then, putting his head under the tentwall, he called, as a 'bus conductor calls in a block, ''Igher up, there! 'Igher up!'

The men laughed, and the laughter was carried down wind to the deserter, who, hearing that he had made a mistake, went off to worry his ownregiment half a mile away. He was received with shots; the Aurangabadiswere very angry with him for disgracing their colours. 

'An' that's all right, ' said Ortheris, withdrawing his head as he heardthe hiccough of the Sniders in the distance. 'S'elp me Gawd, tho', thatman's not fit to live--messin' with my beauty-sleep this way. '

'Go out and shoot him in the morning, then, ' said the subalternincautiously. 'Silence in the tents now. Get your rest, men. '

Ortheris lay down with a happy little sigh, and in two minutes there wasno sound except the rain on the canvas and the all-embracing andelemental snoring of Learoyd. 

The camp lay on a bare ridge of the Himalayas, and for a week had beenwaiting for a flying column to make connection. The nightly rounds ofthe deserter and his friends had become a nuisance. 

In the morning the men dried themselves in hot sunshine and cleanedtheir grimy accoutrements. The native regiment was to take its turn ofroad-making that day while the Old Regiment loafed. 

'I'm goin' to lay for a shot at that man, ' said Ortheris, when he hadfinished washing out his rifle. ''E comes up the watercourse everyevenin' about five o'clock. If we go and lie out on the north 'ill a bitthis afternoon we'll get 'im. '

'You're a bloodthirsty little mosquito, ' said Mulvaney, blowing blueclouds into the air. 'But I suppose I will have to come wid you. Fwhere's Jock?'

'Gone out with the Mixed Pickles, 'cause 'e thinks 'isself a bloomin'marksman, ' said Ortheris with scorn. 

The 'Mixed Pickles' were a detachment of picked shots, generallyemployed in clearing spurs of hills when the enemy were too impertinent. This taught the young officers how to handle men, and did not do theenemy much harm. Mulvaney and Ortheris strolled out of camp, and passedthe Aurangabadis going to their road-making. 

'You've got to sweat to-day, ' said Ortheris genially. 'We're going toget your man. You didn't knock 'im out last night by any chance, any ofyou?'

'No. The pig went away mocking us. I had one shot at him, ' said aprivate. 'He's my cousin, and _I_ ought to have cleared our dishonour. But good luck to you. '

They went cautiously to the north hill, Ortheris leading, because, as heexplained, 'this is a long-range show, an' I've got to do it. ' His was analmost passionate devotion to his rifle, which, by barrack-room report, he was supposed to kiss every night before turning in. Charges andscuffles he held in contempt, and, when they were inevitable, slippedbetween Mulvaney and Learoyd, bidding them to fight for his skin as wellas their own. They never failed him. He trotted along, questing like ahound on a broken trail, through the wood of the north hill. At last hewas satisfied, and threw himself down on the soft pine-needled slopethat commanded a clear view of the watercourse and a brown, barehillside beyond it. The trees made a scented darkness in which an armycorps could have hidden from the sun-glare without. 

''Ere's the tail o' the wood, ' said Ortheris. ''E's got to come up thewatercourse, 'cause it gives 'im cover. We'll lay 'ere. 'Tain't not arfso bloomin' dusty neither. '

He buried his nose in a clump of scentless white violets. No one hadcome to tell the flowers that the season of their strength was longpast, and they had bloomed merrily in the twilight of the pines. 

'This is something like, ' he said luxuriously. 'Wot a 'evinly clear dropfor a bullet acrost! How much d'you make it, Mulvaney?'

'Seven hunder. Maybe a trifle less, bekaze the air's so thin. '

WOP! WOP! WOP! went a volley of musketry on the rear face of the northhill. 

'Curse them Mixed Pickles firin' at nothin'! They'll scare arf thecountry. '

'Thry a sightin' shot in the middle of the row, ' said Mulvaney, the manof many wiles. 'There's a red rock yonder he'll be sure to pass. Quick!'

Ortheris ran his sight up to six hundred yards and fired. The bulletthrew up a feather of dust by a clump of gentians at the base of therock. 

'Good enough!' said Ortheris, snapping the scale down. 'You snick yoursights to mine or a little lower. You're always firin' high. Butremember, first shot to me. O Lordy! but it's a lovely afternoon. '

The noise of the firing grew louder, and there was a tramping of men inthe wood. The two lay very quiet, for they knew that the British soldieris desperately prone to fire at anything that moves or calls. ThenLearoyd appeared, his tunic ripped across the breast by a bullet, looking ashamed of himself. He flung down on the pine-needles, breathingin snorts. 

'One o' them damned gardeners o' th' Pickles, ' said he, fingering therent. 'Firin' to th' right flank, when he knowed I was there. If I knewwho he was I'd 'a' rippen the hide offan him. Look at ma tunic!'

'That's the spishil trustability av a marksman. Train him to hit a flywid a stiddy rest at seven hunder, an' he loose on anythin' he sees orhears up to th' mile. You're well out av that fancy-firin' gang, Jock. Stay here. '

'Bin firin' at the bloomin' wind in the bloomin' tree-tops, ' saidOrtheris with a chuckle. 'I'll show you some firin' later on. '

They wallowed in the pine-needles, and the sun warmed them where theylay. The Mixed Pickles ceased firing, and returned to camp, and left thewood to a few scared apes. The watercourse lifted up its voice in thesilence, and talked foolishly to the rocks. Now and again the dull thumpof a blasting charge three miles away told that the Aurangabadis were indifficulties with their road-making. The men smiled as they listened andlay still, soaking in the warm leisure. Presently Learoyd, between thewhiffs of his pipe--

'Seems queer--about 'im yonder--desertin' at all. '

''E'll be a bloomin' side queerer when I've done with 'im, ' saidOrtheris. They were talking in whispers, for the stillness of the woodand the desire of slaughter lay heavy upon them. 

'I make no doubt he had his reasons for desertin'; but, my faith! I makeless doubt ivry man has good reason for killin' him, ' said Mulvaney. 

'Happen there was a lass tewed up wi' it. Men do more than more for th'sake of a lass. '

'They make most av us 'list. They've no manner av right to make usdesert. '

'Ah; they make us 'list, or their fathers do, ' said Learoyd softly, hishelmet over his eyes. Ortheris's brows contracted savagely. He waswatching the valley. 'If it's a girl I'll shoot the beggar twice over, an' second time for bein' a fool. You're blasted sentimental all of asudden. Thinkin' o' your last near shave?'

'Nay, lad; ah was but thinkin' o' what had happened. '

'An' fwhat has happened, ye lumberin' child av calamity, that you'relowing like a cow-calf at the back av the pasture, an' suggestin'invidious excuses for the man Stanley's goin' to kill. Ye'll have towait another hour yet, little man. Spit it out, Jock, an' bellow melojusto the moon. It takes an earthquake or a bullet graze to fetch aught outav you. Discourse, Don Juan! The a-moors av Lotharius Learoyd! Stanley, kape a rowlin' rig'mental eye on the valley. '

'It's along o' yon hill there, ' said Learoyd, watching the bare sub-Himalayan spur that reminded him of his Yorkshire moors. He was speakingmore to himself than his fellows. 'Ay, ' said he, 'Rumbolds Moor standsup ower Skipton town, an' Greenhow Hill stands up ower Pately Brig. Ireckon you've never heeard tell o' Greenhow Hill, but yon bit o' barestuff if there was nobbut a white road windin' is like ut; strangelylike. Moors an' moors an' moors, wi' never a tree for shelter, an' grayhouses wi' flagstone rooves, and pewits cryin', an' a windhover goin' toand fro just like these kites. And cold! A wind that cuts you like aknife. You could tell Greenhow Hill folk by the red-apple colour o'their cheeks an' nose tips, and their blue eyes, driven into pinpointsby the wind. Miners mostly, burrowin' for lead i' th' hillsides, followin' the trail of th' ore vein same as a field-rat. It was theroughest minin' I ever seen. Yo'd come on a bit o' creakin' woodwindlass like a well-head, an' you was let down i' th' bight of a rope, fendin' yoursen off the side wi' one hand, carryin' a candle stuck in alump o' clay with t'other, an' clickin' hold of a rope with t'otherhand. '

'An' that's three of them, ' said Mulvaney. 'Must be a good climate inthose parts. '

Learoyd took no heed. 

'An' then yo' came to a level, where you crept on your hands and kneesthrough a mile o' windin' drift, an' you come out into a cave-place asbig as Leeds Townhall, with a engine pumpin' water from workin's 'atwent deeper still. It's a queer country, let alone minin', for the hillis full of those natural caves, an' the rivers an' the becks drops intowhat they call pot-holes, an' come out again miles away. '

'Wot was you doin' there?' said Ortheris. 

'I was a young chap then, an' mostly went wi' 'osses, leadin' coal andlead ore; but at th' time I'm tellin' on I was drivin' the waggon-teami' th' big sumph. I didn't belong to that country-side by rights. I wentthere because of a little difference at home, an' at fust I took up wi'a rough lot. One night we'd been drinkin', an' I must ha' hed more thanI could stand, or happen th' ale was none so good. Though i' them days, By for God, I never seed bad ale. ' He flung his arms over his head, andgripped a vast handful of white violets. 'Nah, ' said he, 'I never seedthe ale I could not drink, the bacca I could not smoke, nor the lass Icould not kiss. Well, we mun have a race home, the lot on us. I lost allth' others, an' when I was climbin' ower one of them walls built o'loose stones, I comes down into the ditch, stones and all, an' broke myarm. Not as I knawed much about it, for I fell on th' back of my head, an' was knocked stupid like. An' when I come to mysen it were mornin', an' I were lyin' on the settle i' Jesse Roantree's houseplace, an' 'LizaRoantree was settin' sewin', I ached all ovver, and my mouth were like alime-kiln. She gave me a drink out of a china mug wi' gold letters--"APresent from Leeds"--as I looked at many and many a time at after. "Yo're to lie still while Dr. Warbottom comes, because your arm'sbroken, and father has sent a lad to fetch him. He found yo' when he wasgoin' to work, an' carried you here on his back, " sez she. "Oa!" sez I;an' I shet my eyes, for I felt ashamed o' mysen. "Father's gone to hiswork these three hours, an' he said he'd tell 'em to get somebody todrive the tram. " The clock ticked, an' a bee comed in the house, an'they rung i' my head like mill-wheels. An' she give me another drink an'settled the pillow. "Eh, but yo're young to be getten drunk an' suchlike, but yo' won't do it again, will yo'?"--"Noa, " sez I, "I wouldn'tif she'd not but stop they mill-wheels clatterin'. "'

'Faith, it's a good thing to be nursed by a woman when you're sick!'said Mulvaney. 'Dir' cheap at the price av twenty broken heads. '

Ortheris turned to frown across the valley. He had not been nursed bymany women in his life. 

'An' then Dr. Warbottom comes ridin' up, an' Jesse Roantree along with'im. He was a high-larned doctor, but he talked wi' poor folk same astheirsens. "What's ta big agaate on naa?" he sings out. "Brekkin' thathick head?" An' he felt me all ovver. "That's none broken. Tha' nobbutknocked a bit sillier than ordinary, an' that's daaft eneaf. " An' soa hewent on, callin' me all the names he could think on, but settin' my arm, wi' Jesse's help, as careful as could be. "Yo' mun let the big oaf bidehere a bit, Jesse, " he says, when he hed strapped me up an' given me adose o' physic; "an' you an' Liza will tend him, though he's scarcelinsworth the trouble. An' tha'll lose tha work, " sez he, "an' tha'll beupon th' Sick Club for a couple o' months an' more. Doesn't tha thinktha's a fool?"'

'But whin was a young man, high or low, the other av a fool, I'd like toknow?' said Mulvaney. 'Sure, folly's the only safe way to wisdom, forI've thried it. '

'Wisdom!' grinned Ortheris, scanning his comrades with uplifted chin. 'You're bloomin' Solomons, you two, ain't you?'

Learoyd went calmly on, with a steady eye like an ox chewing the cud. 

'And that was how I come to know 'Liza Roantree. There's some tunes asshe used to sing--aw, she were always singin'--that fetches GreenhowHill before my eyes as fair as yon brow across there. And she wouldlearn me to sing bass, an' I was to go to th' chapel wi' 'em where Jesseand she led the singin', th' old man playin' the fiddle. He was astrange chap, old Jesse, fair mad wi' music, an' he made me promise tolearn the big fiddle when my arm was better. It belonged to him, and itstood up in a big case alongside o' th' eight-day clock, but WillieSatterthwaite, as played it in the chapel, had getten deaf as a door-post, and it vexed Jesse, as he had to rap him ower his head wi' th'fiddle-stick to make him give ower sawin' at th' right time. 

'But there was a black drop in it all, an' it was a man in a black coatthat brought it. When th' Primitive Methodist preacher came to Greenhow, he would always stop wi' Jesse Roantree, an' he laid hold of me from th'beginning. It seemed I wor a soul to be saved, and he meaned to do it. At th' same time I jealoused 'at he were keen o' savin' 'Liza Roantree'ssoul as well, and I could ha' killed him many a time. An' this went ontill one day I broke out, an' borrowed th' brass for a drink from 'Liza. After fower days I come back, wi' my tail between my legs, just to see'Liza again. But Jesse were at home an' th' preacher--th' Reverend AmosBarraclough. 'Liza said naught, but a bit o' red come into her face aswere white of a regular thing. Says Jesse, tryin' his best to be civil, "Nay, lad, it's like this. You've getten to choose which way it's goin'to be. I'll ha' nobody across ma doorstep as goes a-drinkin', an'borrows my lass's money to spend i' their drink. Ho'd tha tongue, 'Liza, " sez he, when she wanted to put in a word 'at I were welcome toth' brass, and she were none afraid that I wouldn't pay it back. Thenthe Reverend cuts in, seein' as Jesse were losin' his temper, an' theyfair beat me among them. But it were 'Liza, as looked an' said naught, as did more than either o' their tongues, an' soa I concluded to getconverted. '

'Fwhat?' shouted Mulvaney. Then, checking himself, he said softly, 'Letbe! Let be! Sure the Blessed Virgin is the mother of all religion an'most women; an' there's a dale av piety in a girl if the men would onlylet ut stay there. I'd ha' been converted myself under thecircumstances. '

'Nay, but, ' pursued Learoyd with a blush, 'I meaned it. '

Ortheris laughed as loudly as he dared, having regard to his business atthe time. 

'Ay, Ortheris, you may laugh, but you didn't know yon preacherBarraclough--a little white-faced chap, wi' a voice as 'ud wile a birdoff an a bush, and a way o' layin' hold of folks as made them thinkthey'd never had a live man for a friend before. You never saw him, an'--an'--you never seed 'Liza Roantree--never seed 'Liza Roantree. .. . Happen it was as much 'Liza as th' preacher and her father, but anywaysthey all meaned it, an' I was fair shamed o' mysen, an' so I become whatthey call a changed character. And when I think on, it's hard to believeas yon chap going to prayer-meetin's, chapel, and class-meetin's wereme. But I never had naught to say for mysen, though there was a deal o'shoutin', and old Sammy Strother, as were almost clemmed to death anddoubled up with the rheumatics, would sing out, "Joyful! Joyful!" and'at it were better to go up to heaven in a coal-basket than down to helli' a coach an' six. And he would put his poor old claw on my shoulder, sayin', "Doesn't tha feel it, tha great lump? Doesn't tha feel it?" An'sometimes I thought I did, and then again I thought I didn't, an' howwas that?'

'The iverlastin' nature av mankind, ' said Mulvaney. 'An', furthermore, Imisdoubt you were built for the Primitive Methodians. They're a newcorps anyways. I hold by the Ould Church, for she's the mother of themall--ay, an' the father, too. I like her bekaze she's most remarkableregimental in her fittings. I may die in Honolulu, Nova Zambra, or CapeCayenne, but wherever I die, me bein' fwhat I am, an' a priest handy, Igo under the same orders an' the same words an' the same unction as tho'the Pope himself come down from the roof av St. Peter's to see me off. There's neither high nor low, nor broad nor deep, nor betwixt norbetween wid her, an' that's what I like. But mark you, she's no mannerav Church for a wake man, bekaze she takes the body and the soul av him, onless he has his proper work to do. I remember when my father died thatwas three months comin' to his grave; begad he'd ha' sold the shebeenabove our heads for ten minutes' quittance of purgathory. An' he did allhe could. That's why I say ut takes a strong man to deal with the OuldChurch, an' for that reason you'll find so many women go there. An' thatsame's a conundrum. '

'Wot's the use o' worritin' 'bout these things?' said Ortheris. 'You'rebound to find all out quicker nor you want to, any'ow. ' He jerked thecartridge out of the breech-block into the palm of his hand. ''Ere's mychaplain, ' he said, and made the venomous black-headed bullet bow like amarionette. ''E's goin' to teach a man all about which is which, an'wot's true, after all, before sundown. But wot 'appened after that, Jock?'

'There was one thing they boggled at, and almost shut th' gate i' myface for, and that were my dog Blast, th' only one saved out o' a littero' pups as was blowed up when a keg o' minin' powder loosed off in th'store-keeper's hut. They liked his name no better than his business, which were fightin' every dog he comed across; a rare good dog, wi'spots o' black and pink on his face, one ear gone, and lame o' one sidewi' being driven in a basket through an iron roof, a matter of half amile. 

'They said I mun give him up 'cause he were worldly and low; and would Ilet mysen be shut out of heaven for the sake on a dog? "Nay, " says I, "if th' door isn't wide enough for th' pair on us, we'll stop outside, for we'll none be parted. " And th' preacher spoke up for Blast, as had alikin' for him from th' first--I reckon that was why I come to like th'preacher--and wouldn't hear o' changin' his name to Bless, as some o'them wanted. So th' pair on us became reg'lar chapel-members. But it'shard for a young chap o' my build to cut traces from the world, th'flesh, an' the devil all uv a heap. Yet I stuck to it for a long time, while th' lads as used to stand about th' town-end an' lean ower th'bridge, spittin' into th' beck o' a Sunday, would call after me, "Sitha, Learoyd, when's ta bean to preach, 'cause we're comin' to hear tha. "--"Ho'd tha jaw. He hasn't getten th' white choaker on ta morn, " anotherlad would say, and I had to double my fists hard i' th' bottom of mySunday coat, and say to mysen, "If 'twere Monday and I warn't a membero' the Primitive Methodists, I'd leather all th' lot of yond'. " That wasth' hardest of all--to know that I could fight and I mustn't fight. '

Sympathetic grunts from Mulvaney. 

'So what wi' singin', practising and class-meetin's, and th' big fiddle, as he made me take between my knees, I spent a deal o' time i' JesseRoantree's house-place. But often as I was there, th' preacher fared tome to go oftener, and both th' old man an' th' young woman were pleasedto have him. He lived i' Pately Brig, as were a goodish step off, but hecome. He come all the same. I liked him as well or better as any man I'dever seen i' one way, and yet I hated him wi' all my heart i' t'other, and we watched each other like cat and mouse, but civil as you please, for I was on my best behaviour, and he was that fair and open that I wasbound to be fair with him. Rare good company he was, if I hadn't wantedto wring his cliver little neck half of the time. Often and often whenhe was goin' from Jesse's I'd set him a bit on the road. '

'See 'im 'ome, you mean?' said Ortheris. 

'Ay. It's a way we have i' Yorkshire o' seein' friends off. You was afriend as I didn't want to come back, and he didn't want me to come backneither, and so we'd walk together towards Pately, and then he'd set meback again, and there we'd be wal two o'clock i' the mornin' settin'each other to an' fro like a blasted pair o' pendulums twixt hill andvalley, long after th' light had gone out i' 'Liza's window, as both onus had been looking at, pretending to watch the moon. '

'Ah!' broke in Mulvaney, 'ye'd no chanst against the maraudin' psalm-singer. They'll take the airs an' the graces instid av the man ninetimes out av ten, an' they only find the blunder later--the wimmen. '

'That's just where yo're wrong, ' said Learoyd, reddening under thefreckled tan of his cheeks. 'I was th' first wi' 'Liza, an' yo'd thinkthat were enough. But th' parson were a steady-gaited sort o' chap, andJesse were strong o' his side, and all th' women i' the congregationdinned it to 'Liza 'at she were fair fond to take up wi' a wastrelne'er-do-weel like me, as was scarcelins respectable an' a fighting dogat his heels. It was all very well for her to be doing me good andsaving my soul, but she must mind as she didn't do herself harm. Theytalk o' rich folk bein' stuck up an' genteel, but for cast-iron pride o'respectability there's naught like poor chapel folk. It's as cold as th'wind o' Greenhow Hill--ay, and colder, for 'twill never change. And nowI come to think on it, one at strangest things I know is 'at theycouldn't abide th' thought o' soldiering. There's a vast o' fightin' i'th' Bible, and there's a deal of Methodists i' th' army; but to hearchapel folk talk yo'd think that soldierin' were next door, an' t'otherside, to hangin'. I' their meetin's all their talk is o' fightin'. WhenSammy Strother were stuck for summat to say in his prayers, he'd singout, "Th' sword o' th' Lord and o' Gideon. " They were allus at it aboutputtin' on th' whole armour o' righteousness, an' fightin' the goodfight o' faith. And then, atop o' 't all, they held a prayer-meetin'ower a young chap as wanted to 'list, and nearly deafened him, till hepicked up his hat and fair ran away. And they'd tell tales in th'Sunday-school o' bad lads as had been thumped and brayed for bird-nesting o' Sundays and playin' truant o' week-days, and how they took towrestlin', dog-fightin', rabbit-runnin', and drinkin', till at last, asif 'twere a hepitaph on a gravestone, they damned him across th' moorswi', "an' then he went and 'listed for a soldier, " an' they'd all fetcha deep breath, and throw up their eyes like a hen drinkin'. '

'Fwhy is ut?' said Mulvaney, bringing down his hand on his thigh with acrack. ' In the name av God, fwhy is ut? I've seen ut, tu. They cheat an'they swindle an' they lie an' they slander, an' fifty things fifty timesworse; but the last an' the worst by their reckonin' is to serve theWiddy honest. It's like the talk av childher--seein' things all round. '

'Plucky lot of fightin' good fights of whatsername they'd do if wedidn't see they had a quiet place to fight in. And such fightin' astheirs is! Cats on the tiles. T'other callin' to which to come on. I'dgive a month's pay to get some o' them broad-backed beggars in Londonsweatin' through a day's road-makin' an' a night's rain. They'd carry ona deal afterwards--same as we're supposed to carry on. I've bin turnedout of a measly arf-license pub down Lambeth way, full o' greasy kebmen, 'fore now, ' said Ortheris with an oath. 

'Maybe you were dhrunk, ' said Mulvaney soothingly. 

'Worse nor that. The Forders were drunk. _I_ was wearin' the Queen'suniform. '

'I'd no particular thought to be a soldier i' them days, ' said Learoyd, still keeping his eye on the bare hill opposite, 'but this sort o' talkput it i' my head. They was so good, th' chapel folk, that they tumbledower t'other side. But I stuck to it for 'Liza's sake, specially as shewas learning me to sing the bass part in a horotorio as Jesse weregettin' up. She sung like a throstle hersen, and we had practisin'snight after night for a matter of three months. '

'I know what a horotorio is, ' said Ortheris pertly. 'It's a sort ofchaplain's sing-song--words all out of the Bible, and hullabaloojahchoruses. '

'Most Greenhow Hill folks played some instrument or t'other, an' theyall sung so you might have heard them miles away, and they were sopleased wi' the noise they made they didn't fair to want anybody tolisten. The preacher sung high seconds when he wasn't playin' the flute, an' they set me, as hadn't got far with big fiddle, again WillieSatterthwaite, to jog his elbow when he had to get a' gate playin'. OldJesse was happy if ever a man was, for he were th' conductor an' th'first fiddle an' th' leadin' singer, beatin' time wi' his fiddle-stick, till at times he'd rap with it on the table, and cry out, "Now, you munall stop; it's my turn. " And he'd face round to his front, fair sweatingwi' pride, to sing th' tenor solos. But he were grandest i' th'choruses, waggin' his head, flinging his arms round like a windmill, andsingin' hisself black in the face. A rare singer were Jesse. 

'Yo' see, I was not o' much account wi' 'em all exceptin' to 'LizaRoantree, and I had a deal o' time settin' quiet at meetings andhorotorio practises to hearken their talk, and if it were strange to meat beginnin', it got stranger still at after, when I was shut on it, andcould study what it meaned. 

'Just after th' horotorios come off, 'Liza, as had allus been weaklylike, was took very bad. I walked Dr. Warbottom's horse up and down adeal of times while he were inside, where they wouldn't let me go, though I fair ached to see her. 

'"She'll be better i' noo, lad--better i' noo, " he used to say. "Tha munha' patience. " Then they said if I was quiet I might go in, and th'Reverend Amos Barraclough used to read to her lyin' propped up among th'pillows. Then she began to mend a bit, and they let me carry her on toth' settle, and when it got warm again she went about same as afore. Th'preacher and me and Blast was a deal together i' them days, and i' oneway we was rare good comrades. But I could ha' stretched him time andagain with a good will. I mind one day he said he would like to go downinto th' bowels o' th' earth, and see how th' Lord had builded th'framework o' th' everlastin' hills. He were one of them chaps as had agift o' sayin' things. They rolled off the tip of his clever tongue, same as Mulvaney here, as would ha' made a rare good preacher if he hadnobbut given his mind to it. I lent him a suit o' miner's kit as almostburied th' little man, and his white face down i' th' coat-collar andhat-flap looked like the face of a boggart, and he cowered down i' th'bottom o' the waggon. I was drivin' a tram as led up a bit of an inclineup to th' cave where the engine was pumpin', and where th' ore wasbrought up and put into th' waggons as went down o' themselves, meputtin' th' brake on and th' horses a-trottin' after. Long as it wasdaylight we were good friends, but when we got fair into th' dark, andcould nobbut see th' day shinin' at the hole like a lamp at a street-end, I feeled downright wicked. Ma religion dropped all away from mewhen I looked back at him as were always comin' between me and 'Liza. The talk was 'at they were to be wed when she got better, an' I couldn'tget her to say yes or nay to it. He began to sing a hymn in his thinvoice, and I came out wi' a chorus that was all cussin' an' swearin' atmy horses, an' I began to know how I hated him. He were such a littlechap, too. I could drop him wi' one hand down Garstang's Copper-hole--aplace where th' beck slithered ower th' edge on a rock, and fell wi' abit of a whisper into a pit as no rope i' Greenhow could plump. '

Again Learoyd rooted up the innocent violets. 'Ay, he should see th'bowels o' th' earth an' never naught else. I could take him a mile ortwo along th' drift, and leave him wi' his candle doused to cryhallelujah, wi' none to hear him and say amen. I was to lead him downth' ladder-way to th' drift where Jesse Roantree was workin', and whyshouldn't he slip on th' ladder, wi' my feet on his fingers till theyloosed grip, and I put him down wi' my heel? If I went fust down th'ladder I could click hold on him and chuck him over my head, so as heshould go squshin' down the shaft, breakin' his bones at ev'ry timberin'as Bill Appleton did when he was fresh, and hadn't a bone left when hewrought to th' bottom. Niver a blasted leg to walk from Pately. Niver anarm to put round 'Liza Roantree's waist. Niver no more--niver no more. '

The thick lips curled back over the yellow teeth, and that flushed facewas not pretty to look upon. Mulvaney nodded sympathy, and Ortheris, moved by his comrade's passion, brought up the rifle to his shoulder, and searched the hillside for his quarry, muttering ribaldry about asparrow, a spout, and a thunder-storm. The voice of the watercoursesupplied the necessary small talk till Learoyd picked up his story. 

'But it's none so easy to kill a man like yon. When I'd given up myhorses to th' lad as took my place and I was showin' th' preacher th'workin's, shoutin' into his ear across th' clang o' th' pumpin' engines, I saw he were afraid o' naught; and when the lamplight showed his blackeyes, I could feel as he was masterin' me again. I were no better norBlast chained up short and growlin' i' the depths of him while a strangedog went safe past. 

'"Th'art a coward and a fool, " I said to mysen; an' I wrestled i' mymind again' him till, when we come to Garstang's Copper-hole, I laidhold o' the preacher and lifted him up over my head and held him intothe darkest on it. "Now, lad, " I says "it's to be one or t'other on us--thee or me--for 'Liza Roantree. Why, isn't thee afraid for thysen?" Isays, for he were still i' my arms as a sack. "Nay; I'm but afraid forthee, my poor lad, as knows naught, " says he. I set him down on th'edge, an' th' beck run stiller, an' there was no more buzzin' in my headlike when th' bee come through th' window o' Jesse's house. "What dosttha mean?" says I. 

'"I've often thought as thou ought to know, " says he, "but 'twas hard totell thee. 'Liza Roantree's for neither on us, nor for nobody o' thisearth. Dr. Warbottom says--and he knows her, and her mother before her--that she is in a decline, and she cannot live six months longer. He'sknown it for many a day. Steady, John! Steady!" says he. And that weaklittle man pulled me further back and set me again' him, and talked itall over quiet and still, me turnin' a bunch o' candles in my hand, andcounting them ower and ower again as I listened. A deal on it were th'regular preachin' talk, but there were a vast lot as made me begin tothink as he were more of a man than I'd ever given him credit for, tillI were cut as deep for him as I were for mysen. 

'Six candles we had, and we crawled and climbed all that day while theylasted, and I said to mysen, "'Liza Roantree hasn't six months to live. "And when we came into th' daylight again we were like dead men to lookat, an' Blast come behind us without so much as waggin' his tail. When Isaw 'Liza again she looked at me a minute and says, "Who's telled tha?For I see tha knows. " And she tried to smile as she kissed me, and Ifair broke down. 

'Yo' see, I was a young chap i' them days, and had seen naught o' life, let alone death, as is allus a-waitin'. She telled me as Dr. Warbottomsaid as Greenhow air was too keen, and they were goin' to Bradford, toJesse's brother David, as worked i' a mill, and I mun hold up like a manand a Christian, and she'd pray for me. Well, and they went away, andthe preacher that same back end o' th' year were appointed to anothercircuit, as they call it, and I were left alone on Greenhow Hill. 

'I tried, and I tried hard, to stick to th' chapel, but 'tweren't th'same thing at after. I hadn't 'Liza's voice to follow i' th' singin', nor her eyes a-shinin' acrost their heads. And i' th' class-meetingsthey said as I mun have some experiences to tell, and I hadn't a word tosay for mysen. 

'Blast and me moped a good deal, and happen we didn't behave ourselvesover well, for they dropped us and wondered however they'd come to takeus up. I can't tell how we got through th' time, while i' th' winter Igave up my job and went to Bradford. Old Jesse were at th' door o' th'house, in a long street o' little houses. He'd been sendin' th' children'way as were clatterin' their clogs in th' causeway, for she wereasleep. 

'"Is it thee?" he says; "but you're not to see her. I'll none have herwakened for a nowt like thee. She's goin' fast, and she mun go in peace. Thou'lt never be good for naught i' th' world, and as long as thou livesthou'll never play the big fiddle. Get away, lad, get away!" So he shutthe door softly i' my face. 

'Nobody never made Jesse my master, but it seemed to me he was aboutright, and I went away into the town and knocked up against a recruitingsergeant. The old tales o' th' chapel folk came buzzin' into my head. Iwas to get away, and this were th' regular road for the likes o' me. I'listed there and then, took th' Widow's shillin', and had a bunch o'ribbons pinned i' my hat. 

'But next day I found my way to David Roantree's door, and Jesse came toopen it. Says he, "Thou's come back again wi' th' devil's coloursflyin'--thy true colours, as I always telled thee. "

'But I begged and prayed of him to let me see her nobbut to say good-bye, till a woman calls down th' stairway, "She says John Learoyd's tocome up. " Th' old man shifts aside in a flash, and lays his hand on myarm, quite gentle like. "But thou'lt be quiet, John, " says he, "forshe's rare and weak. Thou was allus a good lad. "

'Her eyes were all alive wi' light, and her hair was thick on the pillowround her, but her cheeks were thin--thin to frighten a man that'sstrong. "Nay, father, yo mayn't say th' devil's colours. Them ribbons ispretty. " An' she held out her hands for th' hat, an' she put allstraight as a woman will wi' ribbons. "Nay, but what they're pretty, "she says. "Eh, but I'd ha' liked to see thee i' thy red coat, John, forthou was allus my own lad--my very own lad, and none else. "

'She lifted up her arms, and they come round my neck i' a gentle grip, and they slacked away, and she seemed fainting. "Now yo' mun get away, lad, " says Jesse, and I picked up my hat and I came downstairs. 

'Th' recruiting sergeant were waitin' for me at th' corner public-house. "Yo've seen your sweetheart?" says he. "Yes, I've seen her, " says I. "Well, we'll have a quart now, and you'll do your best to forget her, "says he, bein' one o' them smart, bustlin' chaps. "Ay, sergeant, " saysI. "Forget her. " And I've been forgettin' her ever since. '

He threw away the wilted clump of white violets as he spoke. Ortherissuddenly rose to his knees, his rifle at his shoulder, and peered acrossthe valley in the clear afternoon light. His chin cuddled the stock, andthere was a twitching of the muscles of the right cheek as he sighted;Private Stanley Ortheris was engaged on his business. A speck of whitecrawled up the watercourse. 

'See that beggar? . . . Got 'im. '

Seven hundred yards away, and a full two hundred down the hillside, thedeserter of the Aurangabadis pitched forward, rolled down a red rock, and lay very still, with his face in a clump of blue gentians, while abig raven flapped out of the pine wood to make investigation. 

'That's a clean shot, little man, ' said Mulvaney. 

Learoyd thoughtfully watched the smoke clear away. 

'Happen there was a lass tewed up wi' him, too, ' said he. 

Ortheris did not reply. He was staring across the valley, with the smileof the artist who looks on the completed work. 

THE MAN WHO WAS

 The Earth gave up her dead that tide, Into our camp he came, And said his say, and went his way, And left our hearts aflame. 

 Keep tally--on the gun-butt score The vengeance we must take, When God shall bring full reckoning, For our dead comrade's sake. BALLAD. 

Let it be clearly understood that the Russian is a delightful persontill he tucks in his shirt. As an Oriental he is charming. It is onlywhen he insists upon being treated as the most easterly of westernpeoples instead of the most westerly of easterns that he becomes aracial anomaly extremely difficult to handle. The host never knows whichside of his nature is going to turn up next. 

Dirkovitch was a Russian--a Russian of the Russians--who appeared to gethis bread by serving the Czar as an officer in a Cossack regiment, andcorresponding for a Russian newspaper with a name that was never twicealike. He was a handsome young Oriental, fond of wandering throughunexplored portions of the earth, and he arrived in India from nowherein particular. At least no living man could ascertain whether it was byway of Balkh, Badakshan, Chitral, Beluchistan, or Nepaul, or anywhereelse. The Indian Government, being in an unusually affable mood, gaveorders that he was to be civilly treated and shown everything that wasto be seen. So he drifted, talking bad English and worse French, fromone city to another, till he foregathered with Her Majesty's WhiteHussars in the city of Peshawur, which stands at the mouth of thatnarrow swordcut in the hills that men call the Khyber Pass. He wasundoubtedly an officer, and he was decorated after the manner of theRussians with little enamelled crosses, and he could talk, and (thoughthis has nothing to do with his merits) he had been given up as ahopeless task, or cask, by the Black Tyrone, who individually andcollectively, with hot whisky and honey, mulled brandy, and mixedspirits of every kind, had striven in all hospitality to make him drunk. And when the Black Tyrone, who are exclusively Irish, fail to disturbthe peace of head of a foreigner--that foreigner is certain to be asuperior man. 

The White Hussars were as conscientious in choosing their wine as incharging the enemy. All that they possessed, including some wondrousbrandy, was placed at the absolute disposition of Dirkovitch, and heenjoyed himself hugely--even more than among the Black Tyrones. 

But he remained distressingly European through it all. The White Hussarswere 'My dear true friends, ' 'Fellow-soldiers glorious, ' and 'Brothersinseparable. ' He would unburden himself by the hour on the gloriousfuture that awaited the combined arms of England and Russia when theirhearts and their territories should run side by side and the greatmission of civilising Asia should begin. That was unsatisfactory, because Asia is not going to be civilised after the methods of the West. There is too much Asia and she is too old. You cannot reform a lady ofmany lovers, and Asia has been insatiable in her flirtations aforetime. She will never attend Sunday-school or learn to vote save with swordsfor tickets. 

Dirkovitch knew this as well as any one else, but it suited him to talkspecial-correspondently and to make himself as genial as he could. Nowand then he volunteered a little, a very little, information about hisown sotnia of Cossacks, left apparently to look after themselvessomewhere at the back of beyond. He had done rough work in Central Asia, and had seen rather more help-yourself fighting than most men of hisyears. But he was careful never to betray his superiority, and more thancareful to praise on all occasions the appearance, drill, uniform, andorganisation of Her Majesty's White Hussars. And indeed they were aregiment to be admired. When Lady Durgan, widow of the late Sir JohnDurgan, arrived in their station, and after a short time had beenproposed to by every single man at mess, she put the public sentimentvery neatly when she explained that they were all so nice that unlessshe could marry them all, including the colonel and some majors alreadymarried, she was not going to content herself with one hussar. Whereforeshe wedded a little man in a rifle regiment, being by naturecontradictious; and the White Hussars were going to wear crape on theirarms, but compromised by attending the wedding in full force, and liningthe aisle with unutterable reproach. She had jilted them all--fromBasset-Holmer the senior captain to little Mildred the junior subaltern, who could have given her four thousand a year and a title. 

The only persons who did not share the general regard for the WhiteHussars were a few thousand gentlemen of Jewish extraction who livedacross the border, and answered to the name of Pathan. They had once metthe regiment officially and for something less than twenty minutes, butthe interview, which was complicated with many casualties, had filledthem with prejudice. They even called the White Hussars children of thedevil and sons of persons whom it would be perfectly impossible to meetin decent society. Yet they were not above making their aversion filltheir money-belts. The regiment possessed carbines--beautiful Martini-Henri carbines that would lob a bullet into an enemy's camp at onethousand yards, and were even handier than the long rifle. Thereforethey were coveted all along the border, and since demand inevitablybreeds supply, they were supplied at the risk of life and limb forexactly their weight in coined silver--seven and one-half pounds weightof rupees, or sixteen pounds sterling reckoning the rupee at par. Theywere stolen at night by snaky-haired thieves who crawled on theirstomachs under the nose of the sentries; they disappeared mysteriouslyfrom locked arm-racks, and in the hot weather, when all the barrackdoors and windows were open, they vanished like puffs of their ownsmoke. The border people desired them for family vendettas andcontingencies. But in the long cold nights of the northern Indian winterthey were stolen most extensively. The traffic of murder was liveliestamong the hills at that season, and prices ruled high. The regimentalguards were first doubled and then trebled. A trooper does not much careif he loses a weapon--Government must make it good--but he deeplyresents the loss of his sleep. The regiment grew very angry, and onerifle-thief bears the visible marks of their anger upon him to thishour. That incident stopped the burglaries for a time, and the guardswere reduced accordingly, and the regiment devoted itself to polo withunexpected results; for it beat by two goals to one that very terriblepolo corps the Lushkar Light Horse, though the latter had four poniesapiece for a short hour's fight, as well as a native officer who playedlike a lambent flame across the ground. 

They gave a dinner to celebrate the event. The Lushkar team came, andDirkovitch came, in the fullest full uniform of a Cossack officer, whichis as full as a dressing-gown, and was introduced to the Lushkars, andopened his eyes as he regarded. They were lighter men than the Hussars, and they carried themselves with the swing that is the peculiar right ofthe Punjab Frontier Force and all Irregular Horse. Like everything elsein the Service it has to be learnt, but, unlike many things, it is neverforgotten, and remains on the body till death. 

The great beam-roofed mess-room of the White Hussars was a sight to beremembered. All the mess plate was out on the long table--the same tablethat had served up the bodies of five officers after a forgotten fightlong and long ago--the dingy, battered standards faced the door ofentrance, clumps of winter-roses lay between the silver candlesticks, and the portraits of eminent officers deceased looked down on theirsuccessors from between the heads of sambhur, nilghai, markhor, and, pride of all the mess, two grinning snow-leopards that had cost Basset-Holmer four months' leave that he might have spent in England, insteadof on the road to Thibet and the daily risk of his life by ledge, snow-slide, and grassy slope. 

The servants in spotless white muslin and the crest of their regimentson the brow of their turbans waited behind their masters, who were cladin the scarlet and gold of the White Hussars, and the cream and silverof the Lushkar Light Horse. Dirkovitch's dull green uniform was the onlydark spot at the board, but his big onyx eyes made up for it. He wasfraternising effusively with the captain of the Lushkar team, who waswondering how many of Dirkovitch's Cossacks his own dark wiry down-countrymen could account for in a fair charge. But one does not speak ofthese things openly. 

The talk rose higher and higher, and the regimental band played betweenthe courses, as is the immemorial custom, till all tongues ceased for amoment with the removal of the dinner-slips and the first toast ofobligation, when an officer rising said, 'Mr. Vice, the Queen, ' andlittle Mildred from the bottom of the table answered, 'The Queen, Godbless her, ' and the big spurs clanked as the big men heaved themselvesup and drank the Queen upon whose pay they were falsely supposed tosettle their mess-bills. That Sacrament of the Mess never grows old, andnever ceases to bring a lump into the throat of the listener wherever hebe by sea or by land. Dirkovitch rose with his 'brothers glorious, ' buthe could not understand. No one but an officer can tell what the toastmeans; and the bulk have more sentiment than comprehension. Immediatelyafter the little silence that follows on the ceremony there entered thenative officer who had played for the Lushkar team. He could not, ofcourse, eat with the mess, but he came in at dessert, all six feet ofhim, with the blue and silver turban atop, and the big black bootsbelow. The mess rose joyously as he thrust forward the hilt of his sabrein token of fealty for the colonel of the White Hussars to touch, anddropped into a vacant chair amid shouts of: 'Rung ho, Hira Singh!'(which being translated means 'Go in and win'). 'Did I whack you overthe knee, old man?' 'Ressaidar Sahib, what the devil made you play thatkicking pig of a pony in the last ten minutes?' 'Shabash, RessaidarSahib!' Then the voice of the colonel, 'The health of Ressaidar HiraSingh!'

After the shouting had died away Hira Singh rose to reply, for he wasthe cadet of a royal house, the son of a king's son, and knew what wasdue on these occasions. Thus he spoke in the vernacular:--'Colonel Sahiband officers of this regiment. Much honour have you done me. This will Iremember. We came down from afar to play you. But we were beaten. ' ('Nofault of yours, Ressaidar Sahib. Played on our own ground y'know. Yourponies were cramped from the railway. Don't apologise!') 'Thereforeperhaps we will come again if it be so ordained. ' ('Hear! Hear! Hear, indeed! Bravo! Hsh!') 'Then we will play you afresh' ('Happy to meetyou. ') 'till there are left no feet upon our ponies. Thus far forsport. ' He dropped one hand on his sword-hilt and his eye wandered toDirkovitch lolling back in his chair. 'But if by the will of God therearises any other game which is not the polo game, then be assured, Colonel Sahib and officers, that we will play it out side by side, though THEY, ' again his eye sought Dirkovitch, 'though THEY I say havefifty ponies to our one horse. ' And with a deep-mouthed Rung ho! thatsounded like a musket-butt on flagstones he sat down amid leapingglasses. 

Dirkovitch, who had devoted himself steadily to the brandy--the terriblebrandy aforementioned--did not understand, nor did the expurgatedtranslations offered to him at all convey the point. Decidedly HiraSingh's was the speech of the evening, and the clamour might havecontinued to the dawn had it not been broken by the noise of a shotwithout that sent every man feeling at his defenceless left side. Thenthere was a scuffle and a yell of pain. 

'Carbine-stealing again!' said the adjutant, calmly sinking back in hischair. 'This comes of reducing the guards. I hope the sentries havekilled him. '

The feet of armed men pounded on the verandah flags, and it was asthough something was being dragged. 

'Why don't they put him in the cells till the morning?' said the coloneltestily. 'See if they've damaged him, sergeant. '

The mess sergeant fled out into the darkness and returned with twotroopers and a corporal, all very much perplexed. 

'Caught a man stealin' carbines, sir, ' said the corporal. 'Leastways 'ewas crawlin' towards the barricks, sir, past the main road sentries, an'the sentry 'e sez, sir--'

The limp heap of rags upheld by the three men groaned. Never was seen sodestitute and demoralised an Afghan. He was turbanless, shoeless, cakedwith dirt, and all but dead with rough handling. Hira Singh startedslightly at the sound of the man's pain. Dirkovitch took another glassof brandy. 

'WHAT does the sentry say?' said the colonel. 

'Sez 'e speaks English, sir, ' said the corporal. 

'So you brought him into mess instead of handing him over to thesergeant! If he spoke all the Tongues of the Pentecost you've nobusiness--'

Again the bundle groaned and muttered. Little Mildred had risen from hisplace to inspect. He jumped back as though he had been shot. 

'Perhaps it would be better, sir, to send the men away, ' said he to thecolonel, for he was a much privileged subaltern. He put his arms roundthe ragbound horror as he spoke, and dropped him into a chair. It maynot have been explained that the littleness of Mildred lay in his beingsix feet four and big in proportion. The corporal seeing that an officerwas disposed to look after the capture, and that the colonel's eye wasbeginning to blaze, promptly removed himself and his men. The mess wasleft alone with the carbine-thief, who laid his head on the table andwept bitterly, hopelessly, and inconsolably, as little children weep. 

Hira Singh leapt to his feet. 'Colonel Sahib, ' said he, 'that man is noAfghan, for they weep Ai! Ai! Nor is he of Hindustan, for they weep Oh!Ho! He weeps after the fashion of the white men, who say Ow! Ow!'

'Now where the dickens did you get that knowledge, Hira Singh?' said thecaptain of the Lushkar team. 

'Hear him!' said Hira Singh simply, pointing at the crumpled figure thatwept as though it would never cease. 

'He said, "My God!"' said little Mildred. 'I heard him say it. '

The colonel and the mess-room looked at the man in silence. It is ahorrible thing to hear a man cry. A woman can sob from the top of herpalate, or her lips, or anywhere else, but a man must cry from hisdiaphragm, and it rends him to pieces. 

'Poor devil!' said the colonel, coughing tremendously. 'We ought to sendhim to hospital. He's been man-handled. '

Now the adjutant loved his carbines. They were to him as hisgrandchildren, the men standing in the first place. He gruntedrebelliously: 'I can understand an Afghan stealing, because he's builtthat way. But I can't understand his crying. That makes it worse. '

The brandy must have affected Dirkovitch, for he lay back in his chairand stared at the ceiling. There was nothing special in the ceilingbeyond a shadow as of a huge black coffin. Owing to some peculiarity inthe construction of the mess-room this shadow was always thrown when thecandles were lighted. It never disturbed the digestion of the WhiteHussars. They were in fact rather proud of it. 

'Is he going to cry all night?' said the colonel, 'or are we supposed tosit up with little Mildred's guest until he feels better?'

The man in the chair threw up his head and stared at the mess. 'Oh, myGod!' he said, and every soul in the mess rose to his feet. Then theLushkar captain did a deed for which he ought to have been given theVictoria Cross--distinguished gallantry in a fight against overwhelmingcuriosity. He picked up his team with his eyes as the hostess picks upthe ladies at the opportune moment, and pausing only by the colonel'schair to say, 'This isn't OUR affair, you know, sir, ' led them into theverandah and the gardens. Hira Singh was the last to go, and he lookedat Dirkovitch. But Dirkovitch had departed into a brandy-paradise of hisown. His lips moved without sound and he was studying the coffin on theceiling. 

'White--white all over, ' said Basset-Holmer, the adjutant. 'What apernicious renegade he must be! I wonder where he came from?'

The colonel shook the man gently by the arm, and 'Who are you?' said he. 

There was no answer. The man stared round the mess-room and smiled inthe colonel's face. Little Mildred, who was always more of a woman thana man till 'Boot and saddle' was sounded, repeated the question in avoice that would have drawn confidences from a geyser. The man onlysmiled. Dirkovitch at the far end of the table slid gently from hischair to the floor. 

No son of Adam in this present imperfect world can mix the Hussars'champagne with the Hussars' brandy by five and eight glasses of eachwithout remembering the pit whence he was digged and descending thither. The band began to play the tune with which the White Hussars from thedate of their formation have concluded all their functions. They wouldsooner be disbanded than abandon that tune; it is a part of theirsystem. The man straightened himself in his chair and drummed on thetable with his fingers. 

'I don't see why we should entertain lunatics, ' said the colonel. 'Calla guard and send him off to the cells. We'll look into the business inthe morning. Give him a glass of wine first though. '

Little Mildred filled a sherry-glass with the brandy and thrust it overto the man. He drank, and the tune rose louder, and he straightenedhimself yet more. Then he put out his long-taloned hands to a piece ofplate opposite and fingered it lovingly. There was a mystery connectedwith that piece of plate, in the shape of a spring which converted whatwas a seven-branched candlestick, three springs on each side and one inthe middle, into a sort of wheel-spoke candelabrum. He found the spring, pressed it, and laughed weakly. He rose from his chair and inspected apicture on the wall, then moved on to another picture, the mess watchinghim without a word. When he came to the mantelpiece he shook his headand seemed distressed. A piece of plate representing a mounted hussar infull uniform caught his eye. He pointed to it, and then to themantelpiece with inquiry in his eyes. 

'What is it--Oh what is it?' said little Mildred. Then as a mother mightspeak to a child, 'That is a horse. Yes, a horse. '

Very slowly came the answer in a thick, passionless guttural--'Yes, I--have seen. But--where is THE horse?'

You could have heard the hearts of the mess beating as the men drew backto give the stranger full room in his wanderings. There was no questionof calling the guard. 

Again he spoke--very slowly, 'Where is OUR horse?'

There is but one horse in the White Hussars, and his portrait hangsoutside the door of the mess-room. He is the piebald drum-horse, theking of the regimental band, that served the regiment for seven-and-thirty years, and in the end was shot for old age. Half the mess torethe thing down from its place and thrust it into the man's hands. Heplaced it above the mantel-piece, it clattered on the ledge as his poorhands dropped it, and he staggered towards the bottom of the table, falling into Mildred's chair. Then all the men spoke to one anothersomething after this fashion, 'The drum-horse hasn't hung over themantelpiece since '67. ' 'How does he know?' 'Mildred, go and speak tohim again. ' 'Colonel, what are you going to do?' 'Oh, dry up, and givethe poor devil a chance to pull himself together. ' 'It isn't possibleanyhow. The man's a lunatic. '

Little Mildred stood at the colonel's side talking in his ear. 'Will yoube good enough to take your seats please, gentlemen!' he said, and themess dropped into the chairs. Only Dirkovitch's seat, next to littleMildred's, was blank, and little Mildred himself had found Hira Singh'splace. The wide-eyed mess-sergeant filled the glasses in deep silence. Once more the colonel rose, but his hand shook and the port spilled onthe table as he looked straight at the man in little Mildred's chair andsaid hoarsely, 'Mr. Vice, the Queen. ' There was a little pause, but theman sprung to his feet and answered without hesitation, 'The Queen, Godbless her!' and as he emptied the thin glass he snapped the shankbetween his fingers. 

Long and long ago, when the Empress of India was a young woman and therewere no unclean ideals in the land, it was the custom of a few messes todrink the Queen's toast in broken glass, to the vast delight of themess-contractors. The custom is now dead, because there is nothing tobreak anything for, except now and again the word of a Government, andthat has been broken already. 

'That settles it, ' said the colonel, with a gasp. 'He's not a sergeant. What in the world is he?'

The entire mess echoed the word, and the volley of questions would havescared any man. It was no wonder that the ragged, filthy invader couldonly smile and shake his head. 

From under the table, calm and smiling, rose Dirkovitch, who had beenroused from healthful slumber by feet upon his body. By the side of theman he rose, and the man shrieked and grovelled. It was a horrible sightcoming so swiftly upon the pride and glory of the toast that had broughtthe strayed wits together. 

Dirkovitch made no offer to raise him, but little Mildred heaved him upin an instant. It is not good that a gentleman who can answer to theQueen's toast should lie at the feet of a subaltern of Cossacks. 

The hasty action tore the wretch's upper clothing nearly to the waist, and his body was seamed with dry black scars. There is only one weaponin the world that cuts: in parallel lines, and it is neither the canenor the cat. Dirkovitch saw the marks, and the pupils of his eyesdilated. Also his face changed. He said something that sounded like Shtove takete, and the man fawning answered, Chetyre. 

'What's that?' said everybody together. 

'His number. That is number four, you know. ' Dirkovitch spoke verythickly. 

'What has a Queen's officer to do with a qualified number?' said theColonel, and an unpleasant growl ran round the table. 

'How can I tell?' said the affable Oriental with a sweet smile. 'He isa--how you have it?--escape--run-a-way, from over there. ' He noddedtowards the darkness of the night. 

'Speak to him if he'll answer you, and speak to him gently, ' said littleMildred, settling the man in a chair. It seemed most improper to allpresent that Dirkovitch should sip brandy as he talked in purring, spitting Russian to the creature who answered so feebly and with suchevident dread. But since Dirkovitch appeared to understand no one said aword. All breathed heavily, leaning forward, in the long gaps of theconversation. The next time that they have no engagements on hand theWhite Hussars intend to go to St. Petersburg in a body to learn Russian. 

'He does not know how many years ago, ' said Dirkovitch, facing the mess, 'but he says it was very long ago in a war. I think that there was anaccident. He says he was of this glorious and distinguished regiment inthe war. '

'The rolls! The rolls! Holmer, get the rolls!' said little Mildred, andthe adjutant dashed off bare-headed to the orderly-room, where themuster-rolls of the regiment were kept. He returned just in time to hearDirkovitch conclude, 'Therefore, my dear friends, I am most sorry to saythere was an accident which would have been reparable if he hadapologised to that our colonel, which he had insulted. '

Then followed another growl which the colonel tried to beat down. Themess was in no mood just then to weigh insults to Russian colonels. 

'He does not remember, but I think that there was an accident, and so hewas not exchanged among the prisoners, but he was sent to another place--how do you say?--the country. SO, he says, he came here. He does notknow how he came. Eh? He was at Chepany'--the man caught the word, nodded, and shivered--'at Zhigansk and Irkutsk. I cannot understand howhe escaped. He says, too, that he was in the forests for many years, buthow many years he has forgotten--that with many things. It was anaccident; done because he did not apologise to that our colonel. Ah!'

Instead of echoing Dirkovitch's sigh of regret, it is sad to record thatthe White Hussars livelily exhibited un-Christian delight and otheremotions, hardly restrained by their sense of hospitality. Holmer flungthe frayed and yellow regimental rolls on the table, and the men flungthemselves at these. 

'Steady! Fifty-six--fifty-five--fifty-four, ' said Holmer. 'Here we are. "Lieutenant Austin Limmason. MISSING. " That was before Sebastopol. Whatan infernal shame! Insulted one of their colonels, and was quietlyshipped off. Thirty years of his life wiped out. '

'But he never apologised. Said he'd see him damned first, ' chorused themess. 

'Poor chap! I suppose he never had the chance afterwards. How did hecome here?' said the colonel. 

The dingy heap in the chair could give no answer. 

'Do you know who you are?'

It laughed weakly. 

'Do you know that you are Limmason--Lieutenant Limmason of the WhiteHussars?'

Swiftly as a shot came the answer, in a slightly surprised tone, 'Yes, I'm Limmason, of course. ' The light died out in his eyes, and the mancollapsed, watching every motion of Dirkovitch with terror. A flightfrom Siberia may fix a few elementary facts in the mind, but it does notseem to lead to continuity of thought. The man could not explain how, like a homing pigeon, he had found his way to his own old mess again. Ofwhat he had suffered or seen he knew nothing. He cringed beforeDirkovitch as instinctively as he had pressed the spring of thecandlestick, sought the picture of the drum-horse, and answered to thetoast of the Queen. The rest was a blank that the dreaded Russian tonguecould only in part remove. His head bowed on his breast, and he giggledand cowered alternately. 

The devil that lived in the brandy prompted Dirkovitch at this extremelyinopportune moment to make a speech. He rose, swaying slightly, grippedthe table-edge, while his eyes glowed like opals, and began:

'Fellow-soldiers glorious--true friends and hospitables. It was anaccident, and deplorable--most deplorable. ' Here he smiled sweetly allround the mess. 'But you will think of this little, little thing. Solittle, is it not? The Czar! Posh! I slap my fingers--I snap my fingersat him. Do I believe in him? No! But in us Slav who has done nothing, HIM I believe. Seventy--how much--millions peoples that have donenothing--not one thing. Posh! Napoleon was an episode. ' He banged a handon the table. 'Hear you, old peoples, we have done nothing in the world--out here. All our work is to do; and it shall be done, old peoples. Geta-way!' He waved his hand imperiously, and pointed to the man. 'You seehim. He is not good to see. He was just one little--oh, so little--accident, that no one remembered. Now he is THAT! So will you be, brother-soldiers so brave--so will you be. But you will never come back. You will all go where he is gone, or'--he pointed to the great coffin-shadow on the ceiling, and muttering, 'Seventy millions--get a-way, youold peoples, ' fell asleep. 

'Sweet, and to the point, ' said little Mildred. 'What's the use ofgetting wroth? Let's make this poor devil comfortable. '

But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly taken from the loving handsof the White Hussars. The lieutenant had returned only to go away againthree days later, when the wail of the Dead March, and the tramp of thesquadrons, told the wondering Station, who saw no gap in the mess-table, that an officer of the regiment had resigned his new-found commission. 

And Dirkovitch, bland, supple, and always genial, went away too by anight train. Little Mildred and another man saw him off, for he was theguest of the mess, and even had he smitten the colonel with the openhand, the law of that mess allowed no relaxation of hospitality. 

'Good-bye, Dirkovitch, and a pleasant journey, ' said little Mildred. 

'Au revoir, ' said the Russian. 

'Indeed! But we thought you were going home?'

'Yes, but I will come again. My dear friends, is that road shut?' Hepointed to where the North Star burned over the Khyber Pass. 

'By Jove! I forgot. Of course. Happy to meet you, old man, any time youlike. Got everything you want? Cheroots, ice, bedding? That's all right. Well, au revoir, Dirkovitch. '

'Um, ' said the other man, as the tail-lights of the train grew small. 'Of--all--the--unmitigated--!'

Little Mildred answered nothing, but watched the North Star and hummed aselection from a recent Simla burlesque that had much delighted theWhite Hussars. It ran--

 I'm sorry for Mister Bluebeard, I'm sorry to cause him pain; But a terrible spree there's sure to be When he comes back again. 

THE HEAD OF THE DISTRICT

 There's a convict more in the Central Jail, Behind the old mud wall; There's a lifter less on the Border trail, And the Queen's Peace over all, Dear boys The Queen's Peace over all. 

 For we must bear our leader's blame, On us the shame will fall, If we lift our hand from a fettered land And the Queen's Peace over all, Dear boys, The Queen's Peace over all! THE RUNNING OF SHINDAND. 

I

The Indus had risen in flood without warning. Last night it was afordable shallow; to-night five miles of raving muddy water parted bankand caving bank, and the river was still rising under the moon. A litterborne by six bearded men, all unused to the work, stopped in the whitesand that bordered the whiter plain. 

'It's God's will, ' they said. 'We dare not cross to-night, even in aboat. Let us light a fire and cook food. We be tired men. '

They looked at the litter inquiringly. Within, the Deputy Commissionerof the Kot-Kumharsen district lay dying of fever. They had brought himacross country, six fighting-men of a frontier clan that he had won overto the paths of a moderate righteousness, when he had broken down at thefoot of their inhospitable hills. And Tallantire, his assistant, rodewith them, heavy-hearted as heavy-eyed with sorrow and lack of sleep. Hehad served under the sick man for three years, and had learned to lovehim as men associated in toil of the hardest learn to love--or hate. Dropping from his horse he parted the curtains of the litter and peeredinside. 

'Orde--Orde, old man, can you hear? We have to wait till the river goesdown, worse luck. '

'I hear, ' returned a dry whisper. 'Wait till the river goes down. Ithought we should reach camp before the dawn. Polly knows. She'll meetme. '

One of the litter-men stared across the river and caught a faint twinkleof light on the far side. He whispered to Tallantire, 'There are hiscamp-fires, and his wife. They will cross in the morning, for they havebetter boats. Can he live so long?'

Tallantire shook his head. Yardley-Orde was very near to death. Whatneed to vex his soul with hopes of a meeting that could not be? Theriver gulped at the banks, brought down a cliff of sand, and snarled themore hungrily. The litter-men sought for fuel in the waste-dried camel-thorn and refuse of the camps that had waited at the ford. Their sword-belts clinked as they moved softly in the haze of the moonlight, andTallantire's horse coughed to explain that he would like a blanket. 

'I'm cold too, ' said the voice from the litter. 'I fancy this is theend. Poor Polly!'

Tallantire rearranged the blankets. Khoda Dad Khan, seeing this, stripped off his own heavy-wadded sheepskin coat and added it to thepile. 'I shall be warm by the fire presently, ' said he. Tallantire tookthe wasted body of his chief into his arms and held it against hisbreast. Perhaps if they kept him very warm Orde might live to see hiswife once more. If only blind Providence would send a three-foot fall inthe river!

'That's better, ' said Orde faintly. 'Sorry to be a nuisance, but is--isthere anything to drink?'

They gave him milk and whisky, and Tallantire felt a little warmthagainst his own breast. Orde began to mutter. 

'It isn't that I mind dying, ' he said. 'It's leaving Polly and thedistrict. Thank God! we have no children. Dick, you know, I'm dipped--awfully dipped--debts in my first five years' service. It isn't much ofa pension, but enough for her. She has her mother at home. Getting thereis the difficulty. And--and--you see, not being a soldier's wife--'

'We'll arrange the passage home, of course, ' said Tallantire quietly. 

'It's not nice to think of sending round the hat; but, good Lord! howmany men I lie here and remember that had to do it! Morten's dead--hewas of my year. Shaughnessy is dead, and he had children; I remember heused to read us their school-letters; what a bore we thought him! Evansis dead--Kot-Kumharsen killed him! Ricketts of Myndonie is dead--and I'mgoing too. "Man that is born of a woman is small potatoes and few in thehill. " That reminds me, Dick; the four Khusru Kheyl villages in ourborder want a one-third remittance this spring. That's fair; their cropsare bad. See that they get it, and speak to Ferris about the canal. Ishould like to have lived till that was finished; it means so much forthe North-Indus villages--but Ferris is an idle beggar--wake him up. You'll have charge of the district till my successor comes. I wish theywould appoint you permanently; you know the folk. I suppose it will beBullows, though. 'Good man, but too weak for frontier work; and hedoesn't understand the priests. The blind priest at Jagai will bearwatching. You'll find it in my papers, --in the uniform-case, I think. Call the Khusru Kheyl men up; I'll hold my last public audience. KhodaDad Khan!'

The leader of the men sprang to the side of the litter, his companionsfollowing. 

'Men, I'm dying, ' said Orde quickly, in the vernacular; 'and soon therewill be no more Orde Sahib to twist your tails and prevent you fromraiding cattle. '

'God forbid this thing!' broke out the deep bass chorus. 'The Sahib isnot going to die. '

'Yes, he is; and then he will know whether Mahomed speaks truth, orMoses. But you must be good men, when I am not here. Such of you as livein our borders must pay your taxes quietly as before. I have spoken ofthe villages to be gently treated this year. Such of you as live in thehills must refrain from cattle-lifting, and burn no more thatch, andturn a deaf ear to the voice of the priests, who, not knowing thestrength of the Government, would lead you into foolish wars, whereinyou will surely die and your crops be eaten by strangers. And you mustnot sack any caravans, and must leave your arms at the police-post whenyou come in; as has been your custom, and my order. And Tallantire Sahibwill be with you, but I do not know who takes my place. I speak now truetalk, for I am as it were already dead, my children, --for though ye bestrong men, ye are children. '

'And thou art our father and our mother, ' broke in Khoda Dad Khan withan oath. 'What shall we do, now there is no one to speak for us, or toteach us to go wisely!'

'There remains Tallantire Sahib. Go to him; he knows your talk and yourheart. Keep the young men quiet, listen to the old men, and obey. KhodaDad Khan, take my ring. The watch and chain go to thy brother. Keepthose things for my sake, and I will speak to whatever God I mayencounter and tell him that the Khusru Kheyl are good men. Ye have myleave to go. '

Khoda Dad Khan, the ring upon his finger, choked audibly as he caughtthe well-known formula that closed an interview. His brother turned tolook across the river. The dawn was breaking, and a speck of whiteshowed on the dull silver of the stream. 'She comes, ' said the man underhis breath. 'Can he live for another two hours?' And he pulled thenewly-acquired watch out of his belt and looked uncomprehendingly at thedial, as he had seen Englishmen do. 

For two hours the bellying sail tacked and blundered up and down theriver, Tallantire still clasping Orde in his arms, and Khoda Dad Khanchafing his feet. He spoke now and again of the district and his wife, but, as the end neared, more frequently of the latter. They hoped he didnot know that she was even then risking her life in a crazy native boatto regain him. But the awful foreknowledge of the dying deceived them. Wrenching himself forward, Orde looked through the curtains and saw hownear was the sail. 'That's Polly, ' he said simply, though his mouth waswried with agony. 'Polly and--the grimmest practical joke ever played ona man. Dick--you'll--have--to--explain. '

And an hour later Tallantire met on the bank a woman in a ginghamriding-habit and a sun-hat who cried out to him for her husband--her boyand her darling--while Khoda Dad Khan threw himself face-down on thesand and covered his eyes. 

II

The very simplicity of the notion was its charm. What more easy to win areputation for far-seeing statesmanship, originality, and, above all, deference to the desires of the people, than by appointing a child ofthe country to the rule of that country? Two hundred millions of themost loving and grateful folk under Her Majesty's dominion would laudthe fact, and their praise would endure for ever. Yet he was indifferentto praise or blame, as befitted the Very Greatest of All the Viceroys. His administration was based upon principle, and the principle must beenforced in season and out of season. His pen and tongue had created theNew India, teeming with possibilities--loud-voiced, insistent, a nationamong nations--all his very own. Wherefore the Very Greatest of All theViceroys took another step in advance, and with it counsel of those whoshould have advised him on the appointment of a successor to Yardley-Orde. There was a gentleman and a member of the Bengal Civil Service whohad won his place and a university degree to boot in fair and opencompetition with the sons of the English. He was cultured, of the world, and, if report spoke truly, had wisely and, above all, sympatheticallyruled a crowded district in South-Eastern Bengal. He had been to Englandand charmed many drawing-rooms there. His name, if the Viceroyrecollected aright, was Mr. Grish Chunder De, M. A. In short, didanybody see any objection to the appointment, always on principle, of aman of the people to rule the people? The district in South-EasternBengal might with advantage, he apprehended, pass over to a youngercivilian of Mr. G. C. De's nationality (who had written a remarkablyclever pamphlet on the political value of sympathy in administration);and Mr. G. C. De could be transferred northward to Kot-Kumharsen. TheViceroy was averse, on principle, to interfering with appointments undercontrol of the Provincial Governments. He wished it to be understoodthat he merely recommended and advised in this instance. As regarded themere question of race, Mr. Grish Chunder De was more English than theEnglish, and yet possessed of that peculiar sympathy and insight whichthe best among the best Service in the world could only win to at theend of their service. 

The stern, black-bearded kings who sit about the Council-board of Indiadivided on the step, with the inevitable result of driving the VeryGreatest of All the Viceroys into the borders of hysteria, and abewildered obstinacy pathetic as that of a child. 

'The principle is sound enough, ' said the weary-eyed Head of the RedProvinces in which Kot-Kumharsen lay, for he too held theories. 'Theonly difficulty is--'

'Put the screw on the District officials; brigade De with a very strongDeputy Commissioner on each side of him; give him the best assistant inthe Province; rub the fear of God into the people beforehand; and ifanything goes wrong, say that his colleagues didn't back him up. Allthese lovely little experiments recoil on the District-Officer in theend, ' said the Knight of the Drawn Sword with a truthful brutality thatmade the Head of the Red Provinces shudder. And on a tacit understandingof this kind the transfer was accomplished, as quietly as might be formany reasons. 

It is sad to think that what goes for public opinion in India did notgenerally see the wisdom of the Viceroy's appointment. There were notlacking indeed hireling organs, notoriously in the pay of a tyrannousbureaucracy, who more than hinted that His Excellency was a fool, adreamer of dreams, a doctrinaire, and, worst of all, a trifler with thelives of men. 'The Viceroy's Excellence Gazette, ' published in Calcutta, was at pains to thank 'Our beloved Viceroy for once more and again thusgloriously vindicating the potentialities of the Bengali nations forextended executive and administrative duties in foreign parts beyond ourken. We do not at all doubt that our excellent fellow-townsman, Mr. Grish Chunder De, Esq. , M. A. , will uphold the prestige of the Bengali, notwithstanding what underhand intrigue and peshbundi may be set on footto insidiously nip his fame and blast his prospects among the proudcivilians, some of which will now have to serve under a despised nativeand take orders too. How will you like that, Misters? We entreat ourbeloved Viceroy still to substantiate himself superiorly to race-prejudice and colour-blindness, and to allow the flower of this now OURCivil Service all the full pays and allowances granted to his morefortunate brethren. '

III

'When does this man take over charge? I'm alone just now, and I gatherthat I'm to stand fast under him. '

'Would you have cared for a transfer?' said Bullows keenly. Then, layinghis hand on Tallantire's shoulder: 'We're all in the same boat; don'tdesert us. And yet, why the devil should you stay, if you can getanother charge?'

'It was Orde's, ' said Tallantire simply. 

'Well, it's De's now. He's a Bengali of the Bengalis, crammed with codeand case law; a beautiful man so far as routine and deskwork go, andpleasant to talk to. They naturally have always kept him in his own homedistrict, where all his sisters and his cousins and his aunts lived, somewhere south of Dacca. He did no more than turn the place into apleasant little family preserve, allowed his subordinates to do whatthey liked, and let everybody have a chance at the shekels. Consequentlyhe's immensely popular down there. '

'I've nothing to do with that. How on earth am I to explain to thedistrict that they are going to be governed by a Bengali? Do you--doesthe Government, I mean--suppose that the Khusru Kheyl will sit quietwhen they once know? What will the Mahomedan heads of villages say? Howwill the police--Muzbi Sikhs and Pathans--how will THEY work under him?We couldn't say anything if the Government appointed a sweeper; but mypeople will say a good deal, you know that. It's a piece of cruelfolly!'

'My dear boy, I know all that, and more. I've represented it, and havebeen told that I am exhibiting "culpable and puerile prejudice. " ByJove, if the Khusru Kheyl don't exhibit something worse than that Idon't know the Border! The chances are that you will have the districtalight on your hands, and I shall have to leave my work and help youpull through. I needn't ask you to stand by the Bengali man in everypossible way. You'll do that for your own sake. '

'For Orde's. I can't say that I care twopence personally. '

'Don't be an ass. It's grievous enough, God knows, and the Governmentwill know later on; but that's no reason for your sulking. YOU must tryto run the district, YOU must stand between him and as much insult aspossible; YOU must show him the ropes; YOU must pacify the Khusru Kheyl, and just warn Curbar of the Police to look out for trouble by the way. I'm always at the end of a telegraph-wire, and willing to peril myreputation to hold the district together. You'll lose yours, of course, If you keep things straight, and he isn't actually beaten with a stickwhen he's on tour, he'll get all the credit. If anything goes wrong, you'll be told that you didn't support him loyally. '

'I know what I've got to do, ' said Tallantire wearily, 'and I'm going todo it. But it's hard. '

'The work is with us, the event is with Allah, --as Orde used to say whenhe was more than usually in hot water. ' And Bullows rode away. 

That two gentlemen in Her Majesty's Bengal Civil Service should thusdiscuss a third, also in that service, and a cultured and affable manwithal, seems strange and saddening. Yet listen to the artless babble ofthe Blind Mullah of Jagai, the priest of the Khusru Kheyl, sitting upona rock overlooking the Border. Five years before, a chance-hurled shellfrom a screw-gun battery had dashed earth in the face of the Mullah, then urging a rush of Ghazis against half a dozen British bayonets. Sohe became blind, and hated the English none the less for the littleaccident. Yardley-Orde knew his failing, and had many times laughed athim therefor. 

'Dogs you are, ' said the Blind Mullah to the listening tribesmen roundthe fire. 'Whipped dogs! Because you listened to Orde Sahib and calledhim father and behaved as his children, the British Government haveproven how they regard you. Orde Sahib ye know is dead. '

'Ai! ai! ai!' said half a dozen voices. 

'He was a man. Comes now in his stead, whom think ye? A Bengali ofBengal--an eater of fish from the South. '

'A lie!' said Khoda Dad Khan. 'And but for the small matter of thypriesthood, I'd drive my gun butt-first down thy throat. '

'Oho, art thou there, lickspittle of the English? Go in to-morrow acrossthe Border to pay service to Orde Sahib's successor, and thou shalt slipthy shoes at the tent-door of a Bengali, as thou shalt hand thy offeringto a Bengali's black fist. This I know; and in my youth, when a youngman spoke evil to a Mullah holding the doors of Heaven and Hell, thegun-butt was not rammed down the Mullah's gullet. No!'

The Blind Mullah hated Khoda Dad Khan with Afghan hatred; both beingrivals for the headship of the tribe; but the latter was feared forbodily as the other for spiritual gifts. Khoda Dad Khan looked at Orde'sring and grunted, 'I go in to-morrow because I am not an old fool, preaching war against the English. If the Government, smitten withmadness, have done this, then. .. '

'Then, ' croaked the Mullah, 'thou wilt take out the young men and strikeat the four villages within the Border?'

'Or wring thy neck, black raven of Jehannum, for a bearer of ill-tidings. '

Khoda Dad Khan oiled his long locks with great care, put on his bestBokhara belt, a new turban-cap and fine green shoes, and accompanied bya few friends came down from the hills to pay a visit to the new DeputyCommissioner of Kot-Kumharsen. Also he bore tribute--four or fivepriceless gold mohurs of Akbar's time in a white handkerchief. These theDeputy Commissioner would touch and remit. The little ceremony used tobe a sign that, so far as Khoda Dad Khan's personal influence went, theKhusru Kheyl would be good boys, --till the next time; especially ifKhoda Dad Khan happened to like the new Deputy Commissioner. In Yardley-Orde's consulship his visit concluded with a sumptuous dinner andperhaps forbidden liquors; certainly with some wonderful tales and greatgood-fellowship. Then Khoda Dad Khan would swagger back to his hold, vowing that Orde Sahib was one prince and Tallantire Sahib another, andthat whosoever went a-raiding into British territory would be flayedalive. On this occasion he found the Deputy Commissioner's tents lookingmuch as usual. Regarding himself as privileged he strode through theopen door to confont a suave, portly Bengali in English costume writingat a table. Unversed in the elevating influence of education, and not inthe least caring for university degrees, Khoda Dad Khan promptly set theman down for a Babu--the native clerk of the Deputy Commissioner--ahated and despised animal. 

'Ugh!' said he cheerfully. 'Where's your master, Babujee?'

'I am the Deputy Commissioner, ' said the gentleman in English. Now heovervalued the effects of university degrees, and stared Khoda Dad Khanin the face. But if from your earliest infancy you have been accustomedto look on battle, murder, and sudden death, if spilt blood affects yournerves as much as red paint, and, above all, if you have faithfullybelieved that the Bengali was the servant of all Hindustan, and that allHindustan was vastly inferior to your own large, lustful self, you canendure, even though uneducated, a very large amount of looking over. Youcan even stare down a graduate of an Oxford college if the latter hasbeen born in a hothouse, of stock bred in a hothouse, and fearingphysical pain as some men fear sin; especially if your opponent's motherhas frightened him to sleep in his youth with horrible stories of devilsinhabiting Afghanistan, and dismal legends of the black North. The eyesbehind the gold spectacles sought the floor. Khoda Dad Khan chuckled, and swung out to find Tallantire hard by. 'Here, ' said he roughly, thrusting the coins before him, 'touch and remit. That answers for MYgood behaviour. But, O Sahib, has the Government gone mad to send ablack Bengali dog to us? And am I to pay service to such an one? And areyou to work under him? What does it mean?' 'It is an order, ' saidTallantire. He had expected something of this kind. 'He is a very cleverS-sahib. '

'He a Sahib! He's a kala admi--a black man--unfit to run at the tail ofa potter's donkey. All the peoples of the earth have harried Bengal. Itis written. Thou knowest when we of the North wanted women or plunderwhither went we? To Bengal--where else? What child's talk is this ofSahibdom--after Orde Sahib too! Of a truth the Blind Mullah was right. '

'What of him?' asked Tallantire uneasily. He mistrusted that old manwith his dead eyes and his deadly tongue. 

'Nay, now, because of the oath that I sware to Orde Sahib when wewatched him die by the river yonder, I will tell. In the first place, isit true that the English have set the heel of the Bengali on their ownneck, and that there is no more English rule in the land?'

'I am here, ' said Tallantire, 'and I serve the Maharanee of England. '

'The Mullah said otherwise, and further that because we loved Orde Sahibthe Government sent us a pig to show that we were dogs, who till nowhave been held by the strong hand. Also that they were taking away thewhite soldiers, that more Hindustanis might come, and that all waschanging. '

This is the worst of ill-considered handling of a very large country. What looks so feasible in Calcutta, so right in Bombay, so unassailablein Madras, is misunderstood by the North and entirely changes itscomplexion on the banks of the Indus. Khoda Dad Khan explained asclearly as he could that, though he himself intended to be good, hereally could not answer for the more reckless members of his tribe underthe leadership of the Blind Mullah. They might or they might not givetrouble, but they certainly had no intention whatever of obeying the newDeputy Commissioner. Was Tallantire perfectly sure that in the event ofany systematic border-raiding the force in the district could put itdown promptly?

'Tell the Mullah if he talks any more fool's talk, ' said Tallantirecurtly, 'that he takes his men on to certain death, and his tribe toblockade, trespass-fine, and blood-money. But why do I talk to one whono longer carries weight in the counsels of the tribe?'

Khoda Dad Khan pocketed that insult. He had learned something that hemuch wanted to know, and returned to his hills to be sarcasticallycomplimented by the Mullah, whose tongue raging round the camp-fires wasdeadlier flame than ever dung-cake fed. 

IV

Be pleased to consider here for a moment the unknown district of Kot-Kumharsen. It lay cut lengthways by the Indus under the line of theKhusru hills--ramparts of useless earth and tumbled stone. It wasseventy miles long by fifty broad, maintained a population of somethingless than two hundred thousand, and paid taxes to the extent of fortythousand pounds a year on an area that was by rather more than halfsheer, hopeless waste. The cultivators were not gentle people, theminers for salt were less gentle still, and the cattle-breeders leastgentle of all. A police-post in the top right-hand corner and a tiny mudfort in the top left-hand corner prevented as much salt-smuggling andcattle-lifting as the influence of the civilians could not put down; andin the bottom right-hand corner lay Jumala, the district headquarters--apitiful knot of lime-washed barns facetiously rented as houses, reekingwith frontier fever, leaking in the rain, and ovens in the summer. 

It was to this place that Grish Chunder De was travelling, thereformally to take over charge of the district. But the news of his cominghad gone before. Bengalis were as scarce as poodles among the simpleBorderers, who cut each other's heads open with their long spades andworshipped impartially at Hindu and Mahomedan shrines. They crowded tosee him, pointing at him, and diversely comparing him to a gravid milch-buffalo, or a broken-down horse, as their limited range of metaphorprompted. They laughed at his police-guard, and wished to know how longthe burly Sikhs were going to lead Bengali apes. They inquired whetherhe had brought his women with him, and advised him explicitly not totamper with theirs. It remained for a wrinkled hag by the roadside toslap her lean breasts as he passed, crying, 'I have suckled six thatcould have eaten six thousand of HIM. The Government shot them, and madethis That a king!' Whereat a blue-turbaned huge-boned plough-mendershouted, 'Have hope, mother o' mine! He may yet go the way of thywastrels. ' And the children, the little brown puff-balls, regardedcuriously. It was generally a good thing for infancy to stray into OrdeSahib's tent, where copper coins were to be won for the mere wishing, and tales of the most authentic, such as even their mothers knew but thefirst half of. No! This fat black man could never tell them how PirPrith hauled the eye-teeth out of ten devils; how the big stones came tolie all in a row on top of the Khusru hills, and what happened if youshouted through the village-gate to the gray wolf at even 'Badl Khas isdead. ' Meantime Grish Chunder De talked hastily and much to Tallantire, after the manner of those who are 'more English than the English, '--ofOxford and 'home, ' with much curious book-knowledge of bump-suppers, cricket-matches, hunting-runs, and other unholy sports of the alien. 'Wemust get these fellows in hand, ' he said once or twice uneasily; 'getthem well in hand, and drive them on a tight rein. No use, you know, being slack with your district. '

And a moment later Tallantire heard Debendra Nath De, who brotherliwisehad followed his kinsman's fortune and hoped for the shadow of hisprotection as a pleader, whisper in Bengali, 'Better are dried fish atDacca than drawn swords at Delhi. Brother of mine, these men are devils, as our mother said. And you will always have to ride upon a horse!'

That night there was a public audience in a broken-down little townthirty miles from Jumala, when the new Deputy Commissioner, in reply tothe greetings of the subordinate native officials, delivered a speech. It was a carefully thought-out speech, which would have been veryvaluable had not his third sentence begun with three innocent words, 'Hamara hookum hai--It is my order. ' Then there was a laugh, clear andbell-like, from the back of the big tent, where a few border landholderssat, and the laugh grew and scorn mingled with it, and the lean, keenface of Debendra Nath De paled, and Grish Chunder turning to Tallantirespake: 'YOU--you put up this arrangement. ' Upon that instant the noiseof hoofs rang without, and there entered Curbar, the DistrictSuperintendent of Police, sweating and dusty. The State had tossed himinto a corner of the province for seventeen weary years, there to checksmuggling of salt, and to hope for promotion that never came. He hadforgotten how to keep his white uniform clean, had screwed rusty spursinto patent-leather shoes, and clothed his head indifferently with ahelmet or a turban. Soured, old, worn with heat and cold, he waited tillhe should be entitled to sufficient pension to keep him from starving. 

'Tallantire, ' said he, disregarding Grish Chunder De, 'come outside. Iwant to speak to you. ' They withdrew. 'It's this, ' continued Curbar. 'The Khusru Kheyl have rushed and cut up half a dozen of the coolies onFerris's new canal-embankment; killed a couple of men and carried off awoman. I wouldn't trouble you about that--Ferris is after them andHugonin, my assistant, with ten mounted police. But that's only thebeginning, I fancy. Their fires are out on the Hassan Ardeb heights, andunless we're pretty quick there'll be a flare-up all along our Border. They are sure to raid the four Khusru villages on our side of the line;there's been bad blood between them for years; and you know the BlindMullah has been preaching a holy war since Orde went out. What's yournotion?'

'Damn!' said Tallantire thoughtfully. 'They've begun quick. Well, itseems to me I'd better ride off to Fort Ziar and get what men I canthere to picket among the lowland villages, if it's not too late. TommyDodd commands at Fort Ziar, I think. Ferris and Hugonin ought to teachthe canal-thieves a lesson, and--No, we can't have the Head of thePolice ostentatiously guarding the Treasury. You go back to the canal. I'll wire Bullows to come into Jumala with a strong police-guard, andsit on the Treasury. They won't touch the place, but it looks well. '

'I--I--I insist upon knowing what this means, ' said the voice of theDeputy Commissioner, who had followed the speakers. 

'Oh!' said Curbar, who being in the Police could not understand thatfifteen years of education must, on principle, change the Bengali into aBriton. 'There has been a fight on the Border, and heaps of men arekilled. There's going to be another fight, and heaps more will bekilled. '

'What for?'

'Because the teeming millions of this district don't exactly approve ofyou, and think that under your benign rule they are going to have a goodtime. It strikes me that you had better make arrangements. I act, as youknow, by your orders. What do you advise?'

'I--I take you all to witness that I have not yet assumed charge of thedistrict, ' stammered the Deputy Commissioner, not in the tones of the'more English. '

'Ah, I thought so. Well, as I was saying, Tallantire, your plan issound. Carry it out. Do you want an escort?'

'No; only a decent horse. But how about wiring to headquarters?'

'I fancy, from the colour of his cheeks, that your superior officer willsend some wonderful telegrams before the night's over. Let him do that, and we shall have half the troops of the province coming up to seewhat's the trouble. Well, run along, and take care of yourself--theKhusru Kheyl jab upwards from below, remember. Ho! Mir Khan, giveTallantire Sahib the best of the horses, and tell five men to ride toJumala with the Deputy Commissioner Sahib Bahadur. There is a hurrytoward. '

There was; and it was not in the least bettered by Debendra Nath Declinging to a policeman's bridle and demanding the shortest, the veryshortest way to Jumala. Now originality is fatal to the Bengali. Debendra Nath should have stayed with his brother, who rode steadfastlyfor Jumala on the railway-line, thanking gods entirely unknown to themost catholic of universities that he had not taken charge of thedistrict, and could still--happy resource of a fertile race!--fall sick. 

And I grieve to say that when he reached his goal two policemen, notdevoid of rude wit, who had been conferring together as they bumped intheir saddles, arranged an entertainment for his behoof. It consisted offirst one and then the other entering his room with prodigious detailsof war, the massing of bloodthirsty and devilish tribes, and the burningof towns. It was almost as good, said these scamps, as riding withCurbar after evasive Afghans. Each invention kept the hearer at work forhalf an hour on telegrams which the sack of Delhi would hardly havejustified. To every power that could move a bayonet or transfer aterrified man, Grish Chunder De appealed telegraphically. He was alone, his assistants had fled, and in truth he had not taken over charge ofthe district. Had the telegrams been despatched many things would haveoccurred; but since the only signaller in Jumala had gone to bed, andthe station-master, after one look at the tremendous pile of paper, discovered that railway regulations forbade the forwarding of imperialmessages, policemen Ram Singh and Nihal Singh were fain to turn thestuff into a pillow and slept on it very comfortably. 

Tallantire drove his spurs into a rampant skewbald stallion with china-blue eyes, and settled himself for the forty-mile ride to Fort Ziar. Knowing his district blindfold, he wasted no time hunting for shortcuts, but headed across the richer grazing-ground to the ford where Ordehad died and been buried. The dusty ground deadened the noise of hishorse's hoofs, the moon threw his shadow, a restless goblin, before him, and the heavy dew drenched him to the skin. Hillock, scrub that brushedagainst the horse's belly, unmetalled road where the whip-like foliageof the tamarisks lashed his forehead, illimitable levels of lowlandfurred with bent and speckled with drowsing cattle, waste, and hillockanew, dragged themselves past, and the skewbald was labouring in thedeep sand of the Indus-ford. Tallantire was conscious of no distinctthought till the nose of the dawdling ferry-boat grounded on the fartherside, and his horse shied snorting at the white headstone of Orde'sgrave. Then he uncovered, and shouted that the dead might hear, 'They'reout, old man! Wish me luck. ' In the chill of the dawn he was hammeringwith a stirrup-iron at the gate of Fort Ziar, where fifty sabres of thattattered regiment, the Belooch Beshaklis were supposed to guard HerMajesty's interests along a few hundred miles of Border. This particularfort was commanded by a subaltern, who, born of the ancient family ofthe Derouletts, naturally answered to the name of Tommy Dodd. HimTallantire found robed in a sheepskin coat, shaking with fever like anaspen, and trying to read the native apothecary's list of invalids. 

'So you've come, too, ' said he. 'Well, we're all sick here, and I don'tthink I can horse thirty men; but we're bub--bub--bub blessed willing. Stop, does this impress you as a trap or a lie?' He tossed a scrap ofpaper to Tallantire, on which was written painfully in crabbed Gurmukhi, 'We cannot hold young horses. They will feed after the moon goes down inthe four border villages issuing from the Jagai pass on the next night. 'Then in English round hand--'Your sincere friend. '

'Good man!' said Tallantire. 'That's Khoda Dad Khan's work, I know. It'sthe only piece of English he could ever keep in his head, and he isimmensely proud of it. He is playing against the Blind Mullah for hisown hand--the treacherous young ruffian!'

'Don't know the politics of the Khusru Kheyl, but if you're satisfied, Iam. That was pitched in over the gate-head last night, and I thought wemight pull ourselves together and see what was on. Oh, but we're sickwith fever here and no mistake! Is this going to be a big business, think you?' said Tommy Dodd. 

Tallantire gave him briefly the outlines of the case, and Tommy Doddwhistled and shook with fever alternately. That day he devoted tostrategy, the art of war, and the enlivenment of the invalids, till atdusk there stood ready forty-two troopers, lean, worn, and dishevelled, whom Tommy Dodd surveyed with pride, and addressed thus: 'O men! If youdie you will go to Hell. Therefore endeavour to keep alive. But if yougo to Hell that place cannot be hotter than this place, and we are nottold that we shall there suffer from fever. Consequently be not afraidof dying. File out there!' They grinned, and went. 

V

It will be long ere the Khusru Kheyl forget their night attack on thelowland villages. The Mullah had promised an easy victory and unlimitedplunder; but behold, armed troopers of the Queen had risen out of thevery earth, cutting, slashing, and riding down under the stars, so thatno man knew where to turn, and all feared that they had brought an armyabout their ears, and ran back to the hills. In the panic of that flightmore men were seen to drop from wounds inflicted by an Afghan knifejabbed upwards, and yet more from long-range carbine-fire. Then thererose a cry of treachery, and when they reached their own guardedheights, they had left, with some forty dead and sixty wounded, alltheir confidence in the Blind Mullah on the plains below. Theyclamoured, swore, and argued round the fires; the women wailing for thelost, and the Mullah shrieking curses on the returned. 

Then Khoda Dad Khan, eloquent and unbreathed, for he had taken no partin the fight, rose to improve the occasion. He pointed out that thetribe owed every item of its present misfortune to the Blind Mullah, whohad lied in every possible particular and talked them into a trap. Itwas undoubtedly an insult that a Bengali, the son of a Bengali, shouldpresume to administer the Border, but that fact did not, as the Mullahpretended, herald a general time of license and lifting; and theinexplicable madness of the English had not in the least impaired theirpower of guarding their marches. On the contrary, the baffled and out-generalled tribe would now, just when their food-stock was lowest, beblockaded from any trade with Hindustan until they had sent hostages forgood behaviour, paid compensation for disturbance, and blood-money atthe rate of thirty-six English pounds per head for every villager thatthey might have slain. 'And ye know that those lowland dogs will makeoath that we have slain scores. Will the Mullah pay the fines or must wesell our guns?' A low growl ran round the fires. 'Now, seeing that allthis is the Mullah's work, and that we have gained nothing but promisesof Paradise thereby, it is in my heart that we of the Khusru Kheyl lacka shrine whereat to pray. We are weakened, and henceforth how shall wedare to cross into the Madar Kheyl border, as has been our custom, tokneel to Pir Sajji's tomb? The Madar men will fall upon us, and rightly. But our Mullah is a holy man. He has helped two score of us intoParadise this night. Let him therefore accompany his flock, and we willbuild over his body a dome of the blue tiles of Mooltan, and burn lampsat his feet every Friday night. He shall be a saint: we shall have ashrine; and there our women shall pray for fresh seed to fill the gapsin our fighting-tale. How think you?'

A grim chuckle followed the suggestion, and the soft wheep, wheep ofunscabbarded knives followed the chuckle. It was an excellent notion, and met a long felt want of the tribe. The Mullah sprang to his feet, glaring with withered eyeballs at the drawn death he could not see, andcalling down the curses of God and Mahomed on the tribe. Then began agame of blind man's buff round and between the fires, whereof KhurukShah, the tribal poet, has sung in verse that will not die. 

They tickled him gently under the armpit with the knife-point. He leapedaside screaming, only to feel a cold blade drawn lightly over the backof his neck, or a rifle-muzzle rubbing his beard. He called on hisadherents to aid him, but most of these lay dead on the plains, forKhoda Dad Khan had been at some pains to arrange their decease. Mendescribed to him the glories of the shrine they would build, and thelittle children clapping their hands cried, 'Run, Mullah, run! There's aman behind you!' In the end, when the sport wearied, Khoda Dad Khan'sbrother sent a knife home between his ribs. 'Wherefore, ' said Khoda DadKhan with charming simplicity, 'I am now Chief of the Khusru Kheyl!' Noman gainsaid him; and they all went to sleep very stiff and sore. 

On the plain below Tommy Dodd was lecturing on the beauties of a cavalrycharge by night, and Tallantire, bowed on his saddle, was gaspinghysterically because there was a sword dangling from his wrist fleckedwith the blood of the Khusru Kheyl, the tribe that Orde had kept inleash so well. When a Rajpoot trooper pointed out that the skewbald'sright ear had been taken off at the root by some blind slash of itsunskilled rider, Tallantire broke down altogether, and laughed andsobbed till Tommy Dodd made him lie down and rest. 

'We must wait about till the morning, ' said he. 'I wired to the Coloneljust before we left, to send a wing of the Beshaklis after us. He'll befurious with me for monopolising the fun, though. Those beggars in thehills won't give us any more trouble. '

'Then tell the Beshaklis to go on and see what has happened to Curbar onthe canal. We must patrol the whole line of the Border. You're quitesure, Tommy, that--that stuff was--was only the skewbald's ear?'

'Oh, quite, ' said Tommy. 'You just missed cutting off his head. _I_ sawyou when we went into the mess. Sleep, old man. '

Noon brought two squadrons of Beshaklis and a knot of furious brotherofficers demanding the court-martial of Tommy Dodd for 'spoiling thepicnic, ' and a gallop across country to the canal-works where Ferris, Curbar, and Hugonin were haranguing the terror-stricken coolies on theenormity of abandoning good work and high pay, merely because half adozen of their fellows had been cut down. The sight of a troop of theBeshaklis restored wavering confidence, and the police-hunted section ofthe Khusru Kheyl had the joy of watching the canal-bank humming withlife as usual, while such of their men as had taken refuge in thewatercourses and ravines were being driven out by the troopers. Bysundown began the remorseless patrol of the Border by police andtrooper, most like the cow-boys' eternal ride round restless cattle. 

'Now, ' said Khoda Dad Khan to his fellows, pointing out a line oftwinkling fires below, 'ye may see how far the old order changes. Aftertheir horse will come the little devil-guns that they can drag up to thetops of the hills, and, for aught I know, to the clouds when we crownthe hills. If the tribe-council thinks good, I will go to TallantireSahib--who loves me--and see if I can stave off at least the blockade. Do I speak for the tribe?'

'Ay, speak for the tribe in God's name. How those accursed fires wink!Do the English send their troops on the wire--or is this the work of theBengali?'

As Khoda Dad Khan went down the hill he was delayed by an interview witha hard-pressed tribesman, which caused him to return hastily forsomething he had forgotten. Then, handing himself over to the twotroopers who had been chasing his friend, he claimed escort toTallantire Sahib, then with Bullows at Jumala. The Border was safe, andthe time for reasons in writing had begun. 

'Thank Heaven!' said Bullows, 'that the trouble came at once. Of coursewe can never put down the reason in black and white, but all India willunderstand. And it is better to have a sharp short outbreak than fiveyears of impotent administration inside the Border. It costs less. GrishChunder De has reported himself sick, and has been transferred to hisown province without any sort of reprimand. He was strong on not havingtaken over the district. '

'Of course, ' said Tallantire bitterly. 'Well, what am I supposed to havedone that was wrong?'

'Oh, you will be told that you exceeded all your powers, and should havereported, and written, and advised for three weeks until the KhusruKheyl could really come down in force. But I don't think the authoritieswill dare to make a fuss about it. They've had their lesson. Have youseen Curbar's version of the affair? He can't write a report, but he canspeak the truth. '

'What's the use of the truth? He'd much better tear up the report. I'msick and heartbroken over it all. It was so utterly unnecessary--exceptin that it rid us of that Babu. '

Entered unabashed Khoda Dad Khan, a stuffed forage-net in his hand, andthe troopers behind him. 

'May you never be tired!' said he cheerily. 'Well, Sahibs, that was agood fight, and Naim Shah's mother is in debt to you, Tallantire Sahib. A clean cut, they tell me, through jaw, wadded coat, and deep into thecollar-bone. Well done! But I speak for the tribe. There has been afault--a great fault. Thou knowest that I and mine, Tallantire Sahib, kept the oath we sware to Orde Sahib on the banks of the Indus. '

'As an Afghan keeps his knife--sharp on one side, blunt on the other, 'said Tallantire. 

'The better swing in the blow, then. But I speak God's truth. Only theBlind Mullah carried the young men on the tip of his tongue, and saidthat there was no more Border-law because a Bengali had been sent, andwe need not fear the English at all. So they came down to avenge thatinsult and get plunder. Ye know what befell, and how far I helped. Nowfive score of us are dead or wounded, and we are all shamed and sorry, and desire no further war. Moreover, that ye may better listen to us, wehave taken off the head of the Blind Mullah, whose evil counsels haveled us to folly. I bring it for proof, '--and he heaved on the floor thehead. 'He will give no more trouble, for I am chief now, and so I sit ina higher place at all audiences. Yet there is an offset to this head. That was another fault. One of the men found that black Bengali beast, through whom this trouble arose, wandering on horseback and weeping. Reflecting that he had caused loss of much good life, Alla Dad Khan, whom, if you choose, I will to-morrow shoot, whipped off this head, andI bring it to you to cover your shame, that ye may bury it. See, no mankept the spectacles, though they were of gold. '

Slowly rolled to Tallantire's feet the crop-haired head of a spectacledBengali gentleman, open-eyed, open-mouthed--the head of Terrorincarnate. Bullows bent down. 'Yet another blood-fine and a heavy one, Khoda Dad Khan, for this is the head of Debendra Nath, the man'sbrother. The Babu is safe long since. All but the fools of the KhusruKheyl know that. '

'Well, I care not for carrion. Quick meat for me. The thing was underour hills asking the road to Jumala and Alla Dad Khan showed him theroad to Jehannum, being, as thou sayest, but a fool. Remains now whatthe Government will do to us. As to the blockade--'

'Who art thou, seller of dog's flesh, ' thundered Tallantire, 'to speakof terms and treaties? Get hence to the hills--go, and wait therestarving, till it shall please the Government to call thy people out forpunishment--children and fools that ye be! Count your dead, and bestill. Best assured that the Government will send you a MAN!'

'Ay, ' returned Khoda Dad Khan, 'for we also be men. '

As he looked Tallantire between the eyes, he added, 'And by God, Sahib, may thou be that man!'

WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY

 Before my Spring I garnered Autumn's gain, Out of her time my field was white with grain, The year gave up her secrets to my woe. Forced and deflowered each sick season lay, In mystery of increase and decay; I saw the sunset ere men saw the day, Who am too wise in that I should not know. BITTER WATERS. 

I

'But if it be a girl?'

'Lord of my life, it cannot be. I have prayed for so many nights, andsent gifts to Sheikh Badl's shrine so often, that I know God will giveus a son--a man-child that shall grow into a man. Think of this and beglad. My mother shall be his mother till I can take him again, and themullah of the Pattan mosque shall cast his nativity--God send he be bornin an auspicious hour!--and then, and then thou wilt never weary of me, thy slave. '

'Since when hast thou been a slave, my queen?'

'Since the beginning--till this mercy came to me. How could I be sure ofthy love when I knew that I had been bought with silver?'

'Nay, that was the dowry. I paid it to thy mother. '

'And she has buried it, and sits upon it all day long like a hen. Whattalk is yours of dower! I was bought as though I had been a Lucknowdancing-girl instead of a child. '

'Art thou sorry for the sale?'

'I have sorrowed; but to-day I am glad. Thou wilt never cease to love menow?--answer, my king. '

'Never--never. No. '

'Not even though the mem-log--the white women of thy own blood--lovethee? And remember, I have watched them driving in the evening; they arevery fair. '

'I have seen fire-balloons by the hundred. I have seen the moon, and--then I saw no more fire-balloons. '

Ameera clapped her hands and laughed. 'Very good talk, ' she said. Thenwith an assumption of great stateliness, 'It is enough. Thou hast mypermission to depart, --if thou wilt. '

The man did not move. He was sitting on a low red-lacquered couch in aroom furnished only with a blue and white floor-cloth, some rugs, and avery complete collection of native cushions. At his feet sat a woman ofsixteen, and she was all but all the world in his eyes. By every ruleand law she should have been otherwise, for he was an Englishman, andshe a Mussulman's daughter bought two years before from her mother, who, being left without money, would have sold Ameera shrieking to the Princeof Darkness if the price had been sufficient. 

It was a contract entered into with a light heart; but even before thegirl had reached her bloom she came to fill the greater portion of JohnHolden's life. For her, and the withered hag her mother, he had taken alittle house overlooking the great red-walled city, and found, --when themarigolds had sprung up by the well in the courtyard and Ameera hadestablished herself according to her own ideas of comfort, and hermother had ceased grumbling at the inadequacy of the cooking-places, thedistance from the daily market, and at matters of house-keeping ingeneral, --that the house was to him his home. Any one could enter hisbachelor's bungalow by day or night, and the life that he led there wasan unlovely one. In the house in the city his feet only could passbeyond the outer courtyard to the women's rooms; and when the big woodengate was bolted behind him he was king in his own territory, with Ameerafor queen. And there was going to be added to this kingdom a thirdperson whose arrival Holden felt inclined to resent. It interfered withhis perfect happiness. It disarranged the orderly peace of the housethat was his own. But Ameera was wild with delight at the thought of it, and her mother not less so. The love of a man, and particularly a whiteman, was at the best an inconstant affair, but it might, both womenargued, be held fast by a baby's hands. 'And then, ' Ameera would alwayssay, 'then he will never care for the white mem-log. I hate them all--Ihate them all. '

'He will go back to his own people in time, ' said the mother; 'but bythe blessing of God that time is yet afar off. '

Holden sat silent on the couch thinking of the future, and his thoughtswere not pleasant. The drawbacks of a double life are manifold. TheGovernment, with singular care, had ordered him out of the station for afortnight on special duty in the place of a man who was watching by thebedside of a sick wife. The verbal notification of the transfer had beenedged by a cheerful remark that Holden ought to think himself lucky inbeing a bachelor and a free man. He came to break the news to Ameera. 

'It is not good, ' she said slowly, 'but it is not all bad. There is mymother here, and no harm will come to me--unless indeed I die of purejoy. Go thou to thy work and think no troublesome thoughts. When thedays are done I believe. .. Nay, I am sure. And--and then I shall lay HIMin thy arms, and thou wilt love me for ever. The train goes to-night, atmidnight is it not? Go now, and do not let thy heart be heavy by causeof me. But thou wilt not delay in returning? Thou wilt not stay on theroad to talk to the bold white mem-log. Come back to me swiftly, mylife. '

As he left the courtyard to reach his horse that was tethered to thegate-post, Holden spoke to the white-haired old watchman who guarded thehouse, and bade him under certain contingencies despatch the filled-uptelegraph-form that Holden gave him. It was all that could be done, andwith the sensations of a man who has attended his own funeral Holdenwent away by the night mail to his exile. Every hour of the day hedreaded the arrival of the telegram, and every hour of the night hepictured to himself the death of Ameera. In consequence his work for theState was not of first-rate quality, nor was his temper towards hiscolleagues of the most amiable. The fortnight ended without a sign fromhis home, and, torn to pieces by his anxieties, Holden returned to beswallowed up for two precious hours by a dinner at the club, wherein heheard, as a man hears in a swoon, voices telling him how execrably hehad performed the other man's duties, and how he had endeared himself toall his associates. Then he fled on horseback through the night with hisheart in his mouth. There was no answer at first to his blows on thegate, and he had just wheeled his horse round to kick it in when PirKhan appeared with a lantern and held his stirrup. 

'Has aught occurred?' said Holden. 

'The news does not come from my mouth, Protector of the Poor, but--' Heheld out his shaking hand as befitted the bearer of good news who isentitled to a reward. 

Holden hurried through the courtyard. A light burned in the upper room. His horse neighed in the gateway, and he heard a shrill little wail thatsent all the blood into the apple of his throat. It was a new voice, butit did not prove that Ameera was alive. 

'Who is there?' he called up the narrow brick staircase. 

There was a cry of delight from Ameera, and then the voice of themother, tremulous with old age and pride--'We be two women and--the--man--thy--son. '

On the threshold of the room Holden stepped on a naked dagger, that waslaid there to avert ill-luck, and it broke at the hilt under hisimpatient heel. 

'God is great!' cooed Ameera in the half-light. 'Thou hast taken hismisfortunes on thy head. '

'Ay, but how is it with thee, life of my life? Old woman, how is it withher?'

'She has forgotten her sufferings for joy that the child is born. Thereis no harm; but speak softly, ' said the mother. 

'It only needed thy presence to make me all well, ' said Ameera. 'Myking, thou hast been very long away. What gifts hast thou for me? Ah, ah! It is I that bring gifts this time. Look, my life, look. Was thereever such a babe? Nay, I am too weak even to clear my arm from him. '

'Rest then, and do not talk. I am here, bachari [little woman]. '

'Well said, for there is a bond and a heel-rope [peecharee] between usnow that nothing can break. Look--canst thou see in this light? He iswithout spot or blemish. Never was such a man-child. Ya illah! he shallbe a pundit--no, a trooper of the Queen. And, my life, dost thou love meas well as ever, though I am faint and sick and worn? Answer truly. '

'Yea. I love as I have loved, with all my soul. Lie still, pearl, andrest. '

'Then do not go. Sit by my side here--so. Mother, the lord of this houseneeds a cushion. Bring it. ' There was an almost imperceptible movementon the part of the new life that lay in the hollow of Ameera's arm. 'Aho!' she said, her voice breaking with love. 'The babe is a championfrom his birth. He is kicking me in the side with mighty kicks. Wasthere ever such a babe! And he is ours to us--thine and mine. Put thyhand on his head, but carefully, for he is very young, and men areunskilled in such matters. '

Very cautiously Holden touched with the tips of his fingers the downyhead. 

'He is of the faith, ' said Ameera; 'for lying here in the night-watchesI whispered the call to prayer and the profession of faith into hisears. And it is most marvellous that he was born upon a Friday, as I wasborn. Be careful of him, my life; but he can almost grip with hishands. '

Holden found one helpless little hand that closed feebly on his finger. And the clutch ran through his body till it settled about his heart. Till then his sole thought had been for Ameera. He began to realise thatthere was some one else in the world, but he could not feel that it wasa veritable son with a soul. He sat down to think, and Ameera dozedlightly. 

'Get hence, sahib, ' said her mother under her breath. 'It is not goodthat she should find you here on waking. She must be still. '

'I go, ' said Holden submissively. 'Here be rupees. See that my baba getsfat and finds all that he needs. '

The chink of the silver roused Ameera. 'I am his mother, and nohireling, ' she said weakly. 'Shall I look to him more or less for thesake of money? Mother, give it back. I have born my lord a son. '

The deep sleep of weakness came upon her almost before the sentence wascompleted. Holden went down to the courtyard very softly with his heartat ease. Pir Khan, the old watchman, was chuckling with delight. 'Thishouse is now complete, ' he said, and without further comment thrust intoHolden's hands the hilt of a sabre worn many years ago when he, PirKhan, served the Queen in the police. The bleat of a tethered goat camefrom the well-kerb. 

'There be two, ' said Pir Khan, 'two goats of the best. I bought them, and they cost much money; and since there is no birth-party assembledtheir flesh will be all mine. Strike craftily, sahib! 'Tis an ill-balanced sabre at the best. Wait till they raise their heads fromcropping the marigolds. '

'And why?' said Holden, bewildered. 

'For the birth-sacrifice. What else? Otherwise the child being unguardedfrom fate may die. The Protector of the Poor knows the fitting words tobe said. '

Holden had learned them once with little thought that he would everspeak them in earnest. The touch of the cold sabre-hilt in his palmturned suddenly to the clinging grip of the child upstairs--the childthat was his own son--and a dread of loss filled him. 

'Strike!' said Pir Khan. 'Never life came into the world but life waspaid for it. See, the goats have raised their heads. Now! With a drawingcut!'

Hardly knowing what he did Holden cut twice as he muttered the Mahomedanprayer that runs: 'Almighty! In place of this my son I offer life forlife, blood for blood, head for head, bone for bone, hair for hair, skinfor skin. ' The waiting horse snorted and bounded in his pickets at thesmell of the raw blood that spirted over Holden's riding-boots. 

'Well smitten!' said Pir Khan, wiping the sabre. 'A swordsman was lostin thee. Go with a light heart, Heaven-born. I am thy servant, and theservant of thy son. May the Presence live a thousand years and. .. Theflesh of the goats is all mine?' Pir Khan drew back richer by a month'spay. Holden swung himself into the saddle and rode off through the low-hanging wood-smoke of the evening. He was full of riotous exultation, alternating with a vast vague tenderness directed towards no particularobject, that made him choke as he bent over the neck of his uneasyhorse. 'I never felt like this in my life, ' he thought. 'I'll go to theclub and pull myself together. '

A game of pool was beginning, and the room was full of men. Holdenentered, eager to get to the light and the company of his fellows, singing at the top of his voice--

 In Baltimore a-walking, a lady I did meet!

'Did you?' said the club-secretary from his corner. 'Did she happen totell you that your boots were wringing wet? Great goodness, man, it'sblood!'

'Bosh!' said Holden, picking his cue from the rack. 'May I cut in? It'sdew. I've been riding through high crops. My faith! my boots are in amess though!

 'And if it be a girl she shall wear a wedding-ring, And if it be a boy he shall fight for his king, With his dirk, and his cap, and his little jacket blue, He shall walk the quarter-deck--'

'Yellow on blue--green next player, ' said the marker monotonously. 

'He shall walk the quarter-deck, --Am I green, marker? He shall walk thequarter-deck, --eh! that's a bad shot, --As his daddy used to do!'

'I don't see that you have anything to crow about, ' said a zealousjunior civilian acidly. 'The Government is not exactly pleased with yourwork when you relieved Sanders. '

'Does that mean a wigging from headquarters?' said Holden with anabstracted smile. 'I think I can stand it. '

The talk beat up round the ever-fresh subject of each man's work, andsteadied Holden till it was time to go to his dark empty bungalow, wherehis butler received him as one who knew all his affairs. Holden remainedawake for the greater part of the night, and his dreams were pleasantones. 

II

'How old is he now?'

'Ya illah! What a man's question! He is all but six weeks old; and onthis night I go up to the housetop with thee, my life, to count thestars. For that is auspicious. And he was born on a Friday under thesign of the Sun, and it has been told to me that he will outlive us bothand get wealth. Can we wish for aught better, beloved?'

'There is nothing better. Let us go up to the roof, and thou shalt countthe stars--but a few only, for the sky is heavy with cloud. '

'The winter rains are late, and maybe they come out of season. Come, before all the stars are hid. I have put on my richest jewels. '

'Thou hast forgotten the best of all. '

'Ai! Ours. He comes also. He has never yet seen the skies. '

Ameera climbed the narrow staircase that led to the flat roof. Thechild, placid and unwinking, lay in the hollow of her right arm, gorgeous in silver-fringed muslin with a small skull-cap on his head. Ameera wore all that she valued most. The diamond nose-stud that takesthe place of the Western patch in drawing attention to the curve of thenostril, the gold ornament in the centre of the forehead studded withtallow-drop emeralds and flawed rubies, the heavy circlet of beaten goldthat was fastened round her neck by the softness of the pure metal, andthe chinking curb-patterned silver anklets hanging low over the rosyankle-bone. She was dressed in jade-green muslin as befitted a daughterof the Faith, and from shoulder to elbow and elbow to wrist ranbracelets of silver tied with floss silk, frail glass bangles slippedover the wrist in proof of the slenderness of the hand, and certainheavy gold bracelets that had no part in her country's ornaments but, since they were Holden's gift and fastened with a cunning European snap, delighted her immensely. 

They sat down by the low white parapet of the roof, overlooking the cityand its lights. 

'They are happy down there, ' said Ameera. 'But I do not think that theyare as happy as we. Nor do I think the white mem-log are as happy. Andthou?'

'I know they are not. '

'How dost thou know?'

'They give their children over to the nurses. '

'I have never seen that, ' said Ameera with a sigh, 'nor do I wish tosee. Ahi!--she dropped her head on Holden's shoulder, --'I have countedforty stars, and I am tired. Look at the child, love of my life, he iscounting too. '

The baby was staring with round eyes at the dark of the heavens. Ameeraplaced him in Holden's arms, and he lay there without a cry. 

'What shall we call him among ourselves?' she said. 'Look! Art thou evertired of looking? He carries thy very eyes. But the mouth--'

'Is thine, most dear. Who should know better than I?'

''Tis such a feeble mouth. Oh, so small! And yet it holds my heartbetween its lips. Give him to me now. He has been too long away. '

'Nay, let him lie; he has not yet begun to cry. '

'When he cries thou wilt give him back--eh? What a man of mankind thouart! If he cried he were only the dearer to me. But, my life, whatlittle name shall we give him?'

The small body lay close to Holden's heart. It was utterly helpless andvery soft. He scarcely dared to breathe for fear of crushing it. Thecaged green parrot that is regarded as a sort of guardian-spirit in mostnative households moved on its perch and fluttered a drowsy wing. 

'There is the answer, ' said Holden. 'Mian Mittu has spoken. He shall bethe parrot. When he is ready he will talk mightily and run about. MianMittu is the parrot in thy--in the Mussulman tongue, is it not?'

'Why put me so far off?' said Ameera fretfully. 'Let it be like untosome English name--but not wholly. For he is mine. '

'Then call him Tota, for that is likest English. '

'Ay, Tota, and that is still the parrot. Forgive me, my lord, for aminute ago, but in truth he is too little to wear all the weight of MianMittu for name. He shall be Tota--our Tota to us. Hearest thou, O smallone? Littlest, thou art Tota. ' She touched the child's cheek, and hewaking wailed, and it was necessary to return him to his mother, whosoothed him with the wonderful rhyme of Are koko, Jare koko! which says:

 Oh crow! Go crow! Baby's sleeping sound, And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound. Only a penny a pound, baba, only a penny a pound. 

Reassured many times as to the price of those plums, Tota cuddledhimself down to sleep. The two sleek, white well-bullocks in thecourtyard were steadily chewing the cud of their evening meal; old PirKhan squatted at the head of Holden's horse, his police sabre across hisknees, pulling drowsily at a big water-pipe that croaked like a bull-frog in a pond. Ameera's mother sat spinning in the lower verandah, andthe wooden gate was shut and barred. The music of a marriage-processioncame to the roof above the gentle hum of the city, and a string offlying-foxes crossed the face of the low moon. 

'I have prayed, ' said Ameera after a long pause, 'I have prayed for twothings. First, that I may die in thy stead if thy death is demanded, andin the second that I may die in the place of the child. I have prayed tothe Prophet and to Beebee Miriam [the Virgin Mary]. Thinkest thou eitherwill hear?'

'From thy lips who would not hear the lightest word?'

'I asked for straight talk, and thou hast given me sweet talk. Will myprayers be heard?'

'How can I say? God is very good. '

'Of that I am not sure. Listen now. When I die, or the child dies, whatis thy fate? Living, thou wilt return to the bold white mem-log, forkind calls to kind. '

'Not always. '

'With a woman, no; with a man it is otherwise. Thou wilt in this life, later on, go back to thine own folk. That I could almost endure, for Ishould be dead. But in thy very death thou wilt be taken away to astrange place and a paradise that I do not know. '

'Will it be paradise?'

'Surely, for who would harm thee? But we two--I and the child--shall beelsewhere, and we cannot come to thee, nor canst thou come to us. In theold days, before the child was born, I did not think of these things;but now I think of them always. It is very hard talk. '

'It will fall as it will fall. To-morrow we do not know, but to-day andlove we know well. Surely we are happy now. '

'So happy that it were well to make our happiness assured. And thyBeebee Miriam should listen to me; for she is also a woman. But then shewould envy me! It is not seemly for men to worship a woman. '

Holden laughed aloud at Ameera's little spasm of jealousy. 

'Is it not seemly? Why didst thou not turn me from worship of thee, then?'

'Thou a worshipper! And of me? My king, for all thy sweet words, well Iknow that I am thy servant and thy slave, and the dust under thy feet. And I would not have it otherwise. See!'

Before Holden could prevent her she stooped forward and touched hisfeet; recovering herself with a little laugh she hugged Tota closer toher bosom. Then, almost savagely--

'Is it true that the bold white mem-log live for three times the lengthof my life? Is it true that they make their marriages not before theyare old women?'

'They marry as do others--when they are women. '

'That I know, but they wed when they are twenty-five. Is that true?'

'That is true. '

'Ya illah! At twenty-five! Who would of his own will take a wife even ofeighteen? She is a woman--aging every hour. Twenty-five! I shall be anold woman at that age, and--Those mem-log remain young for ever. How Ihate them!' 'What have they to do with us?'

'I cannot tell. I know only that there may now be alive on this earth awoman ten years older than I who may come to thee and take thy love tenyears after I am an old woman, gray-headed, and the nurse of Tota's son. That is unjust and evil. They should die too. '

'Now, for all thy years thou art a child, and shalt be picked up andcarried down the staircase. '

'Tota! Have a care for Tota, my lord! Thou at least art as foolish asany babe!' Ameera tucked Tota out of harm's way in the hollow of herneck, and was carried downstairs laughing in Holden's arms, while Totaopened his eyes and smiled after the manner of the lesser angels. 

He was a silent infant, and, almost before Holden could realise that hewas in the world, developed into a small gold-coloured little god andunquestioned despot of the house overlooking the city. Those were monthsof absolute happiness to Holden and Ameera--happiness withdrawn from theworld, shut in behind the wooden gate that Pir Khan guarded. By dayHolden did his work with an immense pity for such as were not sofortunate as himself, and a sympathy for small children that amazed andamused many mothers at the little station-gatherings. At nightfall hereturned to Ameera, --Ameera, full of the wondrous doings of Tota; how hehad been seen to clap his hands together and move his fingers withintention and purpose--which was manifestly a miracle--how later, he hadof his own initiative crawled out of his low bedstead on to the floorand swayed on both feet for the space of three breaths. 

'And they were long breaths, for my heart stood still with delight, 'said Ameera. 

Then Tota took the beasts into his councils--the well-bullocks, thelittle gray squirrels, the mongoose that lived in a hole near the well, and especially Mian Mittu, the parrot, whose tail he grievously pulled, and Mian Mittu screamed till Ameera and Holden arrived. 

'O villain! Child of strength! This to thy brother on the house-top!Tobah, tobah! Fie! Fie! But I know a charm to make him wise as Suleimanand Aflatoun [Solomon and Plato]. Now look, ' said Ameera. She drew froman embroidered bag a handful of almonds. 'See! we count seven. In thename of God!'

She placed Mian Mittu, very angry and rumpled, on the top of his cage, and seating herself between the babe and the bird she cracked and peeledan almond less white than her teeth. 'This is a true charm, my life, anddo not laugh. See! I give the parrot one half and Tota the other. ' MianMittu with careful beak took his share from between Ameera's lips, andshe kissed the other half into the mouth of the child, who ate it slowlywith wondering eyes. 'This I will do each day of seven, and withoutdoubt he who is ours will be a bold speaker and wise. Eh, Tota, whatwilt thou be when thou art a man and I am gray-headed?' Tota tucked hisfat legs into adorable creases. He could crawl, but he was not going towaste the spring of his youth in idle speech. He wanted Mian Mittu'stail to tweak. 

When he was advanced to the dignity of a silver belt--which, with amagic square engraved on silver and hung round his neck, made up thegreater part of his clothing--he staggered on a perilous journey downthe garden to Pir Khan and proffered him all his jewels in exchange forone little ride on Holden's horse, having seen his mother's motherchaffering with pedlars in the verandah. Pir Khan wept and set theuntried feet on his own gray head in sign of fealty, and brought thebold adventurer to his mother's arms, vowing that Tota would be a leaderof men ere his beard was grown. 

One hot evening, while he sat on the roof between his father and motherwatching the never-ending warfare of the kites that the city boys flew, he demanded a kite of his own with Pir Khan to fly it, because he had afear of dealing with anything larger than himself, and when Holdencalled him a 'spark, ' he rose to his feet and answered slowly in defenceof his new-found individuality, 'Hum'park nahin hai. Hum admi hai [I amno spark, but a man]. '

The protest made Holden choke and devote himself very seriously to aconsideration of Tota's future. He need hardly have taken the trouble. The delight of that life was too perfect to endure. Therefore it wastaken away as many things are taken away in India--suddenly and withoutwarning. The little lord of the house, as Pir Khan called him, grewsorrowful and complained of pains who had never known the meaning ofpain. Ameera, wild with terror, watched him through the night, and inthe dawning of the second day the life was shaken out of him by fever--the seasonal autumn fever. It seemed altogether impossible that he coulddie, and neither Ameera nor Holden at first believed the evidence of thelittle body on the bedstead. Then Ameera beat her head against the walland would have flung herself down the well in the garden had Holden notrestrained her by main force. 

One mercy only was granted to Holden. He rode to his office in broaddaylight and found waiting him an unusually heavy mail that demandedconcentrated attention and hard work. He was not, however, alive to thiskindness of the gods. 

III

The first shock of a bullet is no more than a brisk pinch. The wreckedbody does not send in its protest to the soul till ten or fifteenseconds later. Holden realised his pain slowly, exactly as he hadrealised his happiness, and with the same imperious necessity for hidingall trace of it. In the beginning he only felt that there had been aloss, and that Ameera needed comforting, where she sat with her head onher knees shivering as Mian Mittu from the house-top called, Tota! Tota!Tota! Later all his world and the daily life of it rose up to hurt him. It was an outrage that any one of the children at the band-stand in theevening should be alive and clamorous, when his own child lay dead. Itwas more than mere pain when one of them touched him, and stories toldby over-fond fathers of their children's latest performances cut him tothe quick. He could not declare his pain. He had neither help, comfort, nor sympathy; and Ameera at the end of each weary day would lead himthrough the hell of self-questioning reproach which is reserved forthose who have lost a child, and believe that with a little--just alittle--more care it might have been saved. 

'Perhaps, ' Ameera would say, 'I did not take sufficient heed. Did I, ordid I not? The sun on the roof that day when he played so long alone andI was--ahi! braiding my hair--it may be that the sun then bred thefever. If I had warned him from the sun he might have lived. But, oh mylife, say that I am guiltless! Thou knowest that I loved him as I lovethee. Say that there is no blame on me, or I shall die--I shall die!'

'There is no blame, --before God, none. It was written and how could wedo aught to save? What has been, has been. Let it go, beloved. '

'He was all my heart to me. How can I let the thought go when my armtells me every night that he is not here? Ahi! Ahi! O Tota, come back tome--come back again, and let us be all together as it was before!'

'Peace, peace! For thine own sake, and for mine also, if thou lovest me--rest. '

'By this I know thou dost not care; and how shouldst thou? The white menhave hearts of stone and souls of iron. Oh, that I had married a man ofmine own people--though he beat me--and had never eaten the bread of analien!'

'Am I an alien--mother of my son?'

'What else--Sahib?. .. Oh, forgive me--forgive! The death has driven memad. Thou art the life of my heart, and the light of my eyes, and thebreath of my life, and--and I have put thee from me, though it was butfor a moment. If thou goest away, to whom shall I look for help? Do notbe angry. Indeed, it was the pain that spoke and not thy slave. '

'I know, I know. We be two who were three. The greater need thereforethat we should be one. '

They were sitting on the roof as of custom. The night was a warm one inearly spring, and sheet-lightning was dancing on the horizon to a brokentune played by far-off thunder. Ameera settled herself in Holden's arms. 

'The dry earth is lowing like a cow for the rain, and I--I am afraid. Itwas not like this when we counted the stars. But thou lovest me as muchas before, though a bond is taken away? Answer!'

'I love more because a new bond has come out of the sorrow that we haveeaten together, and that thou knowest. '

'Yea, I knew, ' said Ameera in a very small whisper. 'But it is good tohear thee say so, my life, who art so strong to help. I will be a childno more, but a woman and an aid to thee. Listen! Give me my sitar and Iwill sing bravely. '

She took the light silver-studded sitar and began a song of the greathero Rajah Rasalu. The hand failed on the strings, the tune halted, checked, and at a low note turned off to the poor little nursery-rhymeabout the wicked crow--

 And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound. Only a penny a pound, baba--only . . . 

Then came the tears, and the piteous rebellion against fate till sheslept, moaning a little in her sleep, with the right arm thrown clear ofthe body as though it protected something that was not there. It wasafter this night that life became a little easier for Holden. The ever-present pain of loss drove him into his work, and the work repaid him byfilling up his mind for nine or ten hours a day. Ameera sat alone in thehouse and brooded, but grew happier when she understood that Holden wasmore at ease, according to the custom of women. They touched happinessagain, but this time with caution. 

'It was because we loved Tota that he died. The jealousy of God was uponus, ' said Ameera. 'I have hung up a large black jar before our window toturn the evil eye from us, and we must make no protestations of delight, but go softly underneath the stars, lest God find us out. Is that notgood talk, worthless one?'

She had shifted the accent on the word that means 'beloved, ' in proof ofthe sincerity of her purpose. But the kiss that followed the newchristening was a thing that any deity might have envied. They wentabout henceforward saying, 'It is naught, it is naught;' and hoping thatall the Powers heard. 

The Powers were busy on other things. They had allowed thirty millionpeople four years of plenty wherein men fed well and the crops werecertain, and the birth-rate rose year by year; the districts reported apurely agricultural population varying from nine hundred to two thousandto the square mile of the overburdened earth; and the Member for LowerTooting, wandering about India in pot-hat and frock-coat, talked largelyof the benefits of British rule and suggested as the one thing needfulthe establishment of a duly qualified electoral system and a generalbestowal of the franchise. His long-suffering hosts smiled and made himwelcome, and when he paused to admire, with pretty picked words, theblossom of the blood-red dhak-tree that had flowered untimely for a signof what was coming, they smiled more than ever. 

It was the Deputy Commissioner of Kot-Kumharsen, staying at the club fora day, who lightly told a tale that made Holden's blood run cold as heoverheard the end. 

'He won't bother any one any more. Never saw a man so astonished in mylife. By Jove, I thought he meant to ask a question in the House aboutit. Fellow-passenger in his ship--dined next him--bowled over by choleraand died in eighteen hours. You needn't laugh, you fellows. The Memberfor Lower Tooting is awfully angry about it; but he's more scared. Ithink he's going to take his enlightened self out of India. '

'I'd give a good deal if he were knocked over. It might keep a fewvestrymen of his kidney to their own parish. But what's this aboutcholera? It's full early for anything of that kind, ' said the warden ofan unprofitable salt-lick. 

'Don't know, ' said the Deputy Commissioner reflectively. 'We've gotlocusts with us. There's sporadic cholera all along the north--at leastwe're calling it sporadic for decency's sake. The spring crops are shortin five districts, and nobody seems to know where the rains are. It'snearly March now. I don't want to scare anybody, but it seems to me thatNature's going to audit her accounts with a big red pencil this summer. '

'Just when I wanted to take leave, too!' said a voice across the room. 

'There won't be much leave this year, but there ought to be a great dealof promotion. I've come in to persuade the Government to put my petcanal on the list of famine-relief works. It's an ill-wind that blows nogood. I shall get that canal finished at last. '

'Is it the old programme then, ' said Holden; 'famine, fever, andcholera?'

'Oh no. Only local scarcity and an unusual prevalence of seasonalsickness. You'll find it all in the reports if you live till next year. You're a lucky chap. YOU haven't got a wife to send out of harm's way. The hill-stations ought to be full of women this year. '

'I think you're inclined to exaggerate the talk in the bazars' said ayoung civilian in the Secretariat. 'Now I have observed--'

'I daresay you have, ' said the Deputy Commissioner, 'but you've a greatdeal more to observe, my son. In the meantime, I wish to observe to you--'and he drew him aside to discuss the construction of the canal thatwas so dear to his heart. Holden went to his bungalow and began tounderstand that he was not alone in the world, and also that he wasafraid for the sake of another, --which is the most soul-satisfying fearknown to man. 

Two months later, as the Deputy had foretold, Nature began to audit heraccounts with a red pencil. On the heels of the spring-reapings came acry for bread, and the Government, which had decreed that no man shoulddie of want, sent wheat. Then came the cholera from all four quarters ofthe compass. It struck a pilgrim-gathering of half a million at a sacredshrine. Many died at the feet of their god; the others broke and ranover the face of the land carrying the pestilence with them. It smote awalled city and killed two hundred a day. The people crowded the trains, hanging on to the footboards and squatting on the roofs of thecarriages, and the cholera followed them, for at each station theydragged out the dead and the dying. They died by the roadside, and thehorses of the Englishmen shied at the corpses in the grass. The rainsdid not come, and the earth turned to iron lest man should escape deathby hiding in her. The English sent their wives away to the hills andwent about their work, coming forward as they were bidden to fill thegaps in the fighting-line. Holden, sick with fear of losing his chiefesttreasure on earth, had done his best to persuade Ameera to go away withher mother to the Himalayas. 

'Why should I go?' said she one evening on the roof. 

'There is sickness, and people are dying, and all the white mem-log havegone. '

'All of them?'

'All--unless perhaps there remain some old scald-head who vexes herhusband's heart by running risk of death. '

'Nay; who stays is my sister, and thou must not abuse her, for I will bea scald-head too. I am glad all the bold mem-log are gone. '

'Do I speak to a woman or a babe? Go to the hills and I will see to itthat thou goest like a queen's daughter. Think, child. In a red-lacquered bullock-cart, veiled and curtained, with brass peacocks uponthe pole and red cloth hangings. I will send two orderlies for guard, and--'

'Peace! Thou art the babe in speaking thus. What use are those toys tome? HE would have patted the bullocks and played with the housings. Forhis sake, perhaps, --thou hast made me very English--I might have gone. Now, I will not. Let the mem-log run. '

'Their husbands are sending them, beloved. '

'Very good talk. Since when hast thou been my husband to tell me what todo? I have but borne thee a son. Thou art only all the desire of my soulto me. How shall I depart when I know that if evil befall thee by thebreadth of so much as my littlest finger-nail--is that not small?--Ishould be aware of it though I were in paradise. And here, this summerthou mayest die--ai, janee, die! and in dying they might call to tendthee a white woman, and she would rob me in the last of thy love!'

'But love is not born in a moment or on a death-bed!'

'What dost thou know of love, stoneheart? She would take thy thanks atleast and, by God and the Prophet and Beebee Miriam the mother of thyProphet, that I will never endure. My lord and my love, let there be nomore foolish talk of going away. Where thou art, I am. It is enough. 'She put an arm round his neck and a hand on his mouth. 

There are not many happinesses so complete as those that are snatchedunder the shadow of the sword. They sat together and laughed, callingeach other openly by every pet name that could move the wrath of thegods. The city below them was locked up in its own torments. Sulphurfires blazed in the streets; the conches in the Hindu temples screamedand bellowed, for the gods were inattentive in those days. There was aservice in the great Mahomedan shrine, and the call to prayer from theminarets was almost unceasing. They heard the wailing in the houses ofthe dead, and once the shriek of a mother who had lost a child and wascalling for its return. In the gray dawn they saw the dead borne outthrough the city gates, each litter with its own little knot ofmourners. Wherefore they kissed each other and shivered. 

It was a red and heavy audit, for the land was very sick and needed alittle breathing-space ere the torrent of cheap life should flood itanew. The children of immature fathers and undeveloped mothers made noresistance. They were cowed and sat still, waiting till the sword shouldbe sheathed in November if it were so willed. There were gaps among theEnglish, but the gaps were filled. The work of superintending famine-relief, cholera-sheds, medicine-distribution, and what little sanitationwas possible, went forward because it was so ordered. 

Holden had been told to keep himself in readiness to move to replace thenext man who should fall. There were twelve hours in each day when hecould not see Ameera, and she might die in three. He was consideringwhat his pain would be if he could not see her for three months, or ifshe died out of his sight. He was absolutely certain that her deathwould be demanded--so certain that when he looked up from the telegramand saw Pir Khan breathless in the doorway, he laughed aloud. 'And?'said he, --

'When there is a cry in the night and the spirit flutters into thethroat, who has a charm that will restore? Come swiftly, Heaven-born! Itis the black cholera. '

Holden galloped to his home. The sky was heavy with clouds, for thelong-deferred rains were near and the heat was stifling. Ameera's mothermet him in the courtyard, whimpering, 'She is dying. She is nursingherself into death. She is all but dead. What shall I do, sahib?'

Ameera was lying in the room in which Tota had been born. She made nosign when Holden entered, because the human soul is a very lonely thingand, when it is getting ready to go away, hides itself in a mistyborderland where the living may not follow. The black cholera does itswork quietly and without explanation. Ameera was being thrust out oflife as though the Angel of Death had himself put his hand upon her. Thequick breathing seemed to show that she was either afraid or in pain, but neither eyes nor mouth gave any answer to Holden's kisses. There wasnothing to be said or done. Holden could only wait and suffer. The firstdrops of the rain began to fall on the roof, and he could hear shouts ofjoy in the parched city. 

The soul came back a little and the lips moved. Holden bent down tolisten. 'Keep nothing of mine, ' said Ameera. 'Take no hair from my head. SHE would make thee burn it later on. That flame I should feel. Lower!Stoop lower! Remember only that I was thine and bore thee a son. Thoughthou wed a white woman to-morrow, the pleasure of receiving in thy armsthy first son is taken from thee for ever. Remember me when thy son isborn--the one that shall carry thy name before all men. His misfortunesbe on my head. I bear witness--I bear witness'--the lips were formingthe words on his ear--'that there is no God but--thee, beloved!'

Then she died. Holden sat still, and all thought was taken from him, --till he heard Ameera's mother lift the curtain. 

'Is she dead, sahib?'

'She is dead. '

'Then I will mourn, and afterwards take an inventory of the furniture inthis house. For that will be mine. The sahib does not mean to resume it?It is so little, so very little, sahib, and I am an old woman. I wouldlike to lie softly. '

'For the mercy of God be silent a while. Go out and mourn where I cannothear. '

'Sahib, she will be buried in four hours. '

'I know the custom. I shall go ere she is taken away. That matter is inthy hands. Look to it, that the bed on which--on which she lies--'

'Aha! That beautiful red-lacquered bed. I have long desired--'

'That the bed is left here untouched for my disposal. All else in thehouse is thine. Hire a cart, take everything, go hence, and beforesunrise let there be nothing in this house but that which I have orderedthee to respect. '

'I am an old woman. I would stay at least for the days of mourning, andthe rains have just broken. Whither shall I go?'

'What is that to me? My order is that there is a going. The house-gearis worth a thousand rupees and my orderly shall bring thee a hundredrupees to-night. '

'That is very little. Think of the cart-hire. '

'It shall be nothing unless thou goest, and with speed. O woman, gethence and leave me with my dead!'

The mother shuffled down the staircase, and in her anxiety to take stockof the house-fittings forgot to mourn. Holden stayed by Ameera's sideand the rain roared on the roof. He could not think connectedly byreason of the noise, though he made many attempts to do so. Then foursheeted ghosts glided dripping into the room and stared at him throughtheir veils. They were the washers of the dead. Holden left the room andwent out to his horse. He had come in a dead, stifling calm throughankle-deep dust. He found the courtyard a rain-lashed pond alive withfrogs; a torrent of yellow water ran under the gate, and a roaring winddrove the bolts of the rain like buckshot against the mud-walls. PirKhan was shivering in his little hut by the gate, and the horse wasstamping uneasily in the water. 

'I have been told the sahib's order, ' said Pir Khan. 'It is well. Thishouse is now desolate. I go also, for my monkey-face would be a reminderof that which has been. Concerning the bed, I will bring that to thyhouse yonder in the morning; but remember, sahib, it will be to thee aknife turning in a green wound. I go upon a pilgrimage, and I will takeno money. I have grown fat in the protection of the Presence whosesorrow is my sorrow. For the last time I hold his stirrup. '

He touched Holden's foot with both hands and the horse sprang out intothe road, where the creaking bamboos were whipping the sky and all thefrogs were chuckling. Holden could not see for the rain in his face. Heput his hands before his eyes and muttered--

'Oh you brute! You utter brute!'

The news of his trouble was already in his bungalow. He read theknowledge in his butler's eyes when Ahmed Khan brought in food, and forthe first and last time in his life laid a hand upon his master'sshoulder, saying, 'Eat, sahib, eat. Meat is good against sorrow. I alsohave known. Moreover the shadows come and go, sahib; the shadows comeand go. These be curried eggs. '

Holden could neither eat nor sleep. The heavens sent down eight inchesof rain in that night and washed the earth clean. The waters tore downwalls, broke roads, and scoured open the shallow graves on the Mahomedanburying-ground. All next day it rained, and Holden sat still in hishouse considering his sorrow. On the morning of the third day hereceived a telegram which said only, 'Ricketts, Myndonie. Dying. Holdenrelieve. Immediate. ' Then he thought that before he departed he wouldlook at the house wherein he had been master and lord. There was a breakin the weather, and the rank earth steamed with vapour. 

He found that the rains had torn down the mud pillars of the gateway, and the heavy wooden gate that had guarded his life hung lazily from onehinge. There was grass three inches high in the courtyard; Pir Khan'slodge was empty, and the sodden thatch sagged between the beams. A graysquirrel was in possession of the verandah, as if the house had beenuntenanted for thirty years instead of three days. Ameera's mother hadremoved everything except some mildewed matting. The tick-tick of thelittle scorpions as they hurried across the floor was the only sound inthe house. Ameera's room and the other one where Tota had lived wereheavy with mildew; and the narrow staircase leading to the roof wasstreaked and stained with rain-borne mud. Holden saw all these things, and came out again to meet in the road Durga Dass, his landlord, --portly, affable, clothed in white muslin, and driving a Cee-springbuggy. He was overlooking his property to see how the roofs stood thestress of the first rains. 

'I have heard, ' said he, 'you will not take this place any more, sahib?'

'What are you going to do with it?'

'Perhaps I shall let it again. '

'Then I will keep it on while I am away. '

Durga Dass was silent for some time. 'You shall not take it on, sahib, 'he said. 'When I was a young man I also--, but to-day I am a member ofthe Municipality. Ho! Ho! No. When the birds have gone what need to keepthe nest? I will have it pulled down--the timber will sell for somethingalways. It shall be pulled down, and the Municipality shall make a roadacross, as they desire, from the burning-ghat to the city wall, so thatno man may say where this house stood. '

AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE

 The sky is lead and our faces are red, And the gates of Hell are opened and riven, And the winds of Hell are loosened and driven, And the dust flies up in the face of Heaven, And the clouds come down in a fiery sheet, Heavy to raise and hard to be borne. And the soul of man is turned from his meat, Turned from the trifles for which he has striven Sick in his body, and heavy hearted, And his soul flies up like the dust in the sheet Breaks from his flesh and is gone and departed, As the blasts they blow on the cholera-horn. HIMALAYAN. 

Four men, each entitled to 'life, liberty, and the pursuit ofhappiness, ' sat at a table playing whist. The thermometer marked--forthem--one hundred and one degrees of heat. The room was darkened till itwas only just possible to distinguish the pips of the cards and the verywhite faces of the players. A tattered, rotten punkah of whitewashedcalico was puddling the hot air and whining dolefully at each stroke. Outside lay gloom of a November day in London. There was neither sky, sun, nor horizon, --nothing but a brown purple haze of heat. It was asthough the earth were dying of apoplexy. 

From time to time clouds of tawny dust rose from the ground without windor warning, flung themselves tablecloth-wise among the tops of theparched trees, and came down again. Then a whirling dust-devil wouldscutter across the plain for a couple of miles, break, and fall outward, though there was nothing to check its flight save a long low line ofpiled railway-sleepers white with the dust, a cluster of huts made ofmud, condemned rails, and canvas, and the one squat four-roomed bungalowthat belonged to the assistant engineer in charge of a section of theGaudhari State line then under construction. 

The four, stripped to the thinnest of sleeping-suits, played whistcrossly, with wranglings as to leads and returns. It was not the bestkind of whist, but they had taken some trouble to arrive at it. Mottramof the Indian Survey had ridden thirty and railed one hundred miles fromhis lonely post in the desert since the night before; Lowndes of theCivil Service, on special duty in the political department, had come asfar to escape for an instant the miserable intrigues of an impoverishednative State whose king alternately fawned and blustered for more moneyfrom the pitiful revenues contributed by hard-wrung peasants anddespairing camel-breeders; Spurstow, the doctor of the line, had left acholera-stricken camp of coolies to look after itself for forty-eighthours while he associated with white men once more. Hummil, theassistant engineer, was the host. He stood fast and received his friendsthus every Sunday if they could come in. When one of them failed toappear, he would send a telegram to his last address, in order that hemight know whether the defaulter were dead or alive. There are very manyplaces in the East where it is not good or kind to let youracquaintances drop out of sight even for one short week. 

The players were not conscious of any special regard for each other. They squabbled whenever they met; but they ardently desired to meet, asmen without water desire to drink. They were lonely folk who understoodthe dread meaning of loneliness. They were all under thirty years ofage, --which is too soon for any man to possess that knowledge. 

'Pilsener?' said Spurstow, after the second rubber, mopping hisforehead. 

'Beer's out, I'm sorry to say, and there's hardly enough soda-water forto-night, ' said Hummil. 

'What filthy bad management!' Spurstow snarled. 

'Can't help it. I've written and wired; but the trains don't comethrough regularly yet. Last week the ice ran out, --as Lowndes knows. '

'Glad I didn't come. I could ha' sent you some if I had known, though. Phew! it's too hot to go on playing bumblepuppy. ' This with a savagescowl at Lowndes, who only laughed. He was a hardened offender. 

Mottram rose from the table and looked out of a chink in the shutters. 

'What a sweet day!' said he. 

The company yawned all together and betook themselves to an aimlessinvestigation of all Hummil's possessions, --guns, tattered novels, saddlery, spurs, and the like. They had fingered them a score of timesbefore, but there was really nothing else to do. 

'Got anything fresh?' said Lowndes. 

'Last week's Gazette of India, and a cutting from a home paper. Myfather sent it out. It's rather amusing. '

'One of those vestrymen that call 'emselves M. P. 's again, is it?' saidSpurstow, who read his newspapers when he could get them. 

'Yes. Listen to this. It's to your address, Lowndes. The man was makinga speech to his constituents, and he piled it on. Here's a sample: "AndI assert unhesitatingly that the Civil Service in India is the preserve--the pet preserve--of the aristocracy of England. What does thedemocracy--what do the masses--get from that country, which we have stepby step fraudulently annexed? I answer, nothing whatever. It is farmedwith a single eye to their own interests by the scions of thearistocracy. They take good care to maintain their lavish scale ofincomes, to avoid or stifle any inquiries into the nature and conduct oftheir administration, while they themselves force the unhappy peasant topay with the sweat of his brow for all the luxuries in which they arelapped. "' Hummil waved the cutting above his head. ''Ear! 'ear!' saidhis audience. 

Then Lowndes, meditatively: 'I'd give--I'd give three months' pay tohave that gentleman spend one month with me and see how the free andindependent native prince works things. Old Timbersides'--this was hisflippant title for an honoured and decorated feudatory prince--'has beenwearing my life out this week past for money. By Jove, his latestperformance was to send me one of his women as a bribe!'

'Good for you! Did you accept it?' said Mottram. 

'No. I rather wish I had, now. She was a pretty little person, and sheyarned away to me about the horrible destitution among the king's women-folk. The darlings haven't had any new clothes for nearly a month, andthe old man wants to buy a new drag from Calcutta, --solid silverrailings and silver lamps, and trifles of that kind. I've tried to makehim understand that he has played the deuce with the revenues for thelast twenty years and must go slow. He can't see it. '

'But he has the ancestral treasure-vaults to draw on. There must bethree millions at least in jewels and coin under his palace, ' saidHummil. 

'Catch a native king disturbing the family treasure! The priests forbidit except as the last resort. Old Timbersides has added something like aquarter of a million to the deposit in his reign. '

'Where the mischief does it all come from?' said Mottram. 

'The country. The state of the people is enough to make you sick. I'veknown the tax-men wait by a milch-camel till the foal was born and thenhurry off the mother for arrears. And what can I do? I can't get thecourt clerks to give me any accounts; I can't raise anything more than afat smile from the commander-in-chief when I find out the troops arethree months in arrears; and old Timbersides begins to weep when I speakto him. He has taken to the King's Peg heavily, --liqueur brandy forwhisky, and Heidsieck for soda-water. '

'That's what the Rao of Jubela took to. Even a native can't last long atthat, ' said Spurstow. 'He'll go out. '

'And a good thing, too. Then I suppose we'll have a council of regency, and a tutor for the young prince, and hand him back his kingdom with tenyears' accumulations. '

'Whereupon that young prince, having been taught all the vices of theEnglish, will play ducks and drakes with the money and undo ten years'work in eighteen months. I've seen that business before, ' said Spurstow. 'I should tackle the king with a light hand, if I were you, Lowndes. They'll hate you quite enough under any circumstances. '

'That's all very well. The man who looks on can talk about the lighthand; but you can't clean a pig-stye with a pen dipped in rose-water. Iknow my risks; but nothing has happened yet. My servant's an old Pathan, and he cooks for me. They are hardly likely to bribe him, and I don'taccept food from my true friends, as they call themselves. Oh, but it'sweary work! I'd sooner be with you, Spurstow. There's shooting near yourcamp. '

'Would you? I don't think it. About fifteen deaths a day don't incite aman to shoot anything but himself. And the worst of it is that the poordevils look at you as though you ought to save them. Lord knows, I'vetried everything. My last attempt was empirical, but it pulled an oldman through. He was brought to me apparently past hope, and I gave himgin and Worcester sauce with cayenne. It cured him; but I don'trecommend it. '

'How do the cases run generally?' said Hummil. 

'Very simply indeed. Chlorodyne, opium pill, chlorodyne, collapse, nitre, bricks to the feet, and then--the burning-ghat. The last seems tobe the only thing that stops the trouble. It's black cholera, you know. Poor devils! But, I will say, little Bunsee Lal, my apothecary, workslike a demon. I've recommended him for promotion if he comes through itall alive. '

'And what are your chances, old man?' said Mottram. 

'Don't know; don't care much; but I've sent the letter in. What are youdoing with yourself generally?'

'Sitting under a table in the tent and spitting on the sextant to keepit cool, ' said the man of the survey. 'Washing my eyes to avoidophthalmia, which I shall certainly get, and trying to make a sub-surveyor understand that an error of five degrees in an angle isn'tquite so small as it looks. I'm altogether alone, y' know, and shall betill the end of the hot weather. '

'Hummil's the lucky man, ' said Lowndes, flinging himself into a longchair. 'He has an actual roof--torn as to the ceiling-cloth, but still aroof--over his head. He sees one train daily. He can get beer and soda-water and ice 'em when God is good. He has books, pictures, ---they weretorn from the Graphic, --'and the society of the excellent sub-contractorJevins, besides the pleasure of receiving us weekly. '

Hummil smiled grimly. 'Yes, I'm the lucky man, I suppose. Jevins isluckier. '

'How? Not----'

'Yes. Went out. Last Monday. '

'By his own hand?' said Spurstow quickly, hinting the suspicion that wasin everybody's mind. There was no cholera near Hummil's section. Evenfever gives a man at least a week's grace, and sudden death generallyimplied self-slaughter. 

'I judge no man this weather, ' said Hummil. 'He had a touch of the sun, I fancy; for last week, after you fellows had left, he came into theverandah and told me that he was going home to see his wife, in MarketStreet, Liverpool, that evening. 

'I got the apothecary in to look at him, and we tried to make him liedown. After an hour or two he rubbed his eyes and said he believed hehad had a fit, --hoped he hadn't said anything rude. Jevins had a greatidea of bettering himself socially. He was very like Chucks in hislanguage. '

'Well?'

'Then he went to his own bungalow and began cleaning a rifle. He toldthe servant that he was going to shoot buck in the morning. Naturally hefumbled with the trigger, and shot himself through the head--accidentally. The apothecary sent in a report to my chief, and Jevins isburied somewhere out there. I'd have wired to you, Spurstow, if youcould have done anything. '

'You're a queer chap, ' said Mottram. 'If you'd killed the man yourselfyou couldn't have been more quiet about the business. '

'Good Lord! what does it matter?' said Hummil calmly. 'I've got to do alot of his overseeing work in addition to my own. I'm the only personthat suffers. Jevins is out of it, --by pure accident, of course, but outof it. The apothecary was going to write a long screed on suicide. Trusta babu to drivel when he gets the chance. '

'Why didn't you let it go in as suicide?' said Lowndes. 

'No direct proof. A man hasn't many privileges in this country, but hemight at least be allowed to mishandle his own rifle. Besides, some dayI may need a man to smother up an accident to myself. Live and let live. Die and let die. '

'You take a pill, ' said Spurstow, who had been watching Hummil's whiteface narrowly. 'Take a pill, and don't be an ass. That sort of talk isskittles. Anyhow, suicide is shirking your work. If I were Job ten timesover, I should be so interested in what was going to happen next thatI'd stay on and watch. '

'Ah! I've lost that curiosity, ' said Hummil. 

'Liver out of order?' said Lowndes feelingly. 

'No. Can't sleep. That's worse. '

'By Jove, it is!' said Mottram. 'I'm that way every now and then, andthe fit has to wear itself out. What do you take for it?'

'Nothing. What's the use? I haven't had ten minutes' sleep since Fridaymorning. '

'Poor chap! Spurstow, you ought to attend to this, ' said Mottram. 'Nowyou mention it, your eyes are rather gummy and swollen. '

Spurstow, still watching Hummil, laughed lightly. 'I'll patch him up, later on. Is it too hot, do you think, to go for a ride?'

'Where to?' said Lowndes wearily. 'We shall have to go away at eight, and there'll be riding enough for us then. I hate a horse, when I haveto use him as a necessity. Oh, heavens! what is there to do?'

'Begin whist again, at chick points ['a chick' is supposed to be eightshillings] and a gold mohur on the rub, ' said Spurstow promptly. 

'Poker. A month's pay all round for the pool, --no limit, --and fifty-rupee raises. Somebody would be broken before we got up, ' said Lowndes. 

'Can't say that it would give me any pleasure to break any man in thiscompany, ' said Mottram. 'There isn't enough excitement in it, and it'sfoolish. ' He crossed over to the worn and battered little camp-piano, --wreckage of a married household that had once held the bungalow, --andopened the case. 

'It's used up long ago, ' said Hummil. 'The servants have picked it topieces. '

The piano was indeed hopelessly out of order, but Mottram managed tobring the rebellious notes into a sort of agreement, and there rose fromthe ragged keyboard something that might once have been the ghost of apopular music-hall song. The men in the long chairs turned with evidentinterest as Mottram banged the more lustily. 

'That's good!' said Lowndes. 'By Jove! the last time I heard that songwas in '79, or thereabouts, just before I came out. '

'Ah!' said Spurstow with pride, ' I was home in '80. ' And he mentioned asong of the streets popular at that date. 

Mottram executed it roughly. Lowndes criticised and volunteeredemendations. Mottram dashed into another ditty, not of the music-hallcharacter, and made as if to rise. 

'Sit down, ' said Hummil. 'I didn't know that you had any music in yourcomposition. Go on playing until you can't think of anything more. I'llhave that piano tuned up before you come again. Play something festive. '

Very simple indeed were the tunes to which Mottram's art and thelimitations of the piano could give effect, but the men listened withpleasure, and in the pauses talked all together of what they had seen orheard when they were last at home. A dense dust-storm sprung up outside, and swept roaring over the house, enveloping it in the choking darknessof midnight, but Mottram continued unheeding, and the crazy tinklereached the ears of the listeners above the flapping of the tatteredceiling-cloth. 

In the silence after the storm he glided from the more directly personalsongs of Scotland, half humming them as he played, into the EveningHymn. 

'Sunday, ' said he, nodding his head. 

'Go on. Don't apologise for it, ' said Spurstow. 

Hummil laughed long and riotously. 'Play it, by all means. You're fullof surprises to-day. I didn't know you had such a gift of finishedsarcasm. How does that thing go?'

Mottram took up the tune. 

'Too slow by half. You miss the note of gratitude, ' said Hummil. 'Itought to go to the "Grasshopper's Polka, "--this way. ' And he chanted, prestissimo, --

'Glory to thee, my God, this night. For all the blessings of the light. 

That shows we really feel our blessings. How does it go on?--

'If in the night I sleepless lie, My soul with sacred thoughts supply;May no ill dreams disturb my rest. '--

Quicker, Mottram!--

'Or powers of darkness me molest!'

'Bah! what an old hypocrite you are!'

'Don't be an ass, ' said Lowndes. 'You are at full liberty to make fun ofanything else you like, but leave that hymn alone. It's associated in mymind with the most sacred recollections----'

'Summer evenings in the country, --stained-glass window, --light goingout, and you and she jamming your heads together over one hymn-book, 'said Mottram. 

'Yes, and a fat old cockchafer hitting you in the eye when you walkedhome. Smell of hay, and a moon as big as a bandbox sitting on the top ofa haycock; bats, --roses, --milk and midges, ' said Lowndes. 

'Also mothers. I can just recollect my mother singing me to sleep withthat when I was a little chap, ' said Spurstow. 

The darkness had fallen on the room. They could hear Hummil squirming inhis chair. 

'Consequently, ' said he testily, 'you sing it when you are seven fathomdeep in Hell! It's an insult to the intelligence of the Deity to pretendwe're anything but tortured rebels. '

'Take TWO pills, ' said Spurstow; 'that's tortured liver. '

'The usually placid Hummil is in a vile bad temper. I'm sorry for hiscoolies to-morrow, ' said Lowndes, as the servants brought in the lightsand prepared the table for dinner. 

As they were settling into their places about the miserable goat-chops, and the smoked tapioca pudding, Spurstow took occasion to whisper toMottram, 'Well done, David!'

'Look after Saul, then, ' was the reply. 

'What are you two whispering about?' said Hummil suspiciously. 

'Only saying that you are a damned poor host. This fowl can't be cut, 'returned Spurstow with a sweet smile. 'Call this a dinner?'

'I can't help it. You don't expect a banquet, do you?'

Throughout that meal Hummil contrived laboriously to insult directly andpointedly all his guests in succession, and at each insult Spurstowkicked the aggrieved persons under the table; but he dared not exchangea glance of intelligence with either of them. Hummil's face was whiteand pinched, while his eyes were unnaturally large. No man dreamed for amoment of resenting his savage personalities, but as soon as the mealwas over they made haste to get away. 'Don't go. You're just gettingamusing, you fellows. I hope I haven't said anything that annoyed you. You're such touchy devils. ' Then, changing the note into one of almostabject entreaty, Hummil added, 'I say, you surely aren't going?'

'In the language of the blessed Jorrocks, where I dines I sleeps, ' saidSpurstow. 'I want to have a look at your coolies to-morrow, if you don'tmind. You can give me a place to lie down in, I suppose?'

The others pleaded the urgency of their several duties next day, and, saddling up, departed together, Hummil begging them to come next Sunday. As they jogged off, Lowndes unbosomed himself to Mottram--

'. .. And I never felt so like kicking a man at his own table in my life. He said I cheated at whist, and reminded me I was in debt! 'Told you youwere as good as a liar to your face! You aren't half indignant enoughover it. '

'Not I, ' said Mottram. 'Poor devil! Did you ever know old Hummy behavelike that before or within a hundred miles of it?'

'That's no excuse. Spurstow was hacking my shin all the time, so I kepta hand on myself. Else I should have--'

'No, you wouldn't. You'd have done as Hummy did about Jevins; judge noman this weather. By Jove! the buckle of my bridle is hot in my hand!Trot out a bit, and 'ware rat-holes. '

Ten minutes' trotting jerked out of Lowndes one very sage remark when hepulled up, sweating from every pore--

''Good thing Spurstow's with him to-night. '

'Ye-es. Good man, Spurstow. Our roads turn here. See you again nextSunday, if the sun doesn't bowl me over. '

'S'pose so, unless old Timbersides' finance minister manages to dresssome of my food. Good-night, and--God bless you!'

'What's wrong now?'

'Oh, nothing. ' Lowndes gathered up his whip, and, as he flickedMottram's mare on the flank, added, 'You're not a bad little chap, --that's all. ' And the mare bolted half a mile across the sand, on theword. 

In the assistant engineer's bungalow Spurstow and Hummil smoked the pipeof silence together, each narrowly watching the other. The capacity of abachelor's establishment is as elastic as its arrangements are simple. Aservant cleared away the dining-room table, brought in a couple of rudenative bedsteads made of tape strung on a light wood frame, flung asquare of cool Calcutta matting over each, set them side by side, pinnedtwo towels to the punkah so that their fringes should just sweep clearof the sleepers' nose and mouth, and announced that the couches wereready. 

The men flung themselves down, ordering the punkah-coolies by all thepowers of Hell to pull. Every door and window was shut, for the outsideair was that of an oven. The atmosphere within was only 104 degrees, as thethermometer bore witness, and heavy with the foul smell of badly-trimmedkerosene lamps; and this stench, combined with that of native tobacco, baked brick, and dried earth, sends the heart of many a strong man downto his boots, for it is the smell of the Great Indian Empire when sheturns herself for six months into a house of torment. Spurstow packedhis pillows craftily so that he reclined rather than lay, his head at asafe elevation above his feet. It is not good to sleep on a low pillowin the hot weather if you happen to be of thick-necked build, for youmay pass with lively snores and gugglings from natural sleep into thedeep slumber of heat-apoplexy. 

'Pack your pillows, ' said the doctor sharply, as he saw Hummil preparingto lie down at full length. 

The night-light was trimmed; the shadow of the punkah wavered across theroom, and the 'flick' of the punkah-towel and the soft whine of the ropethrough the wall-hole followed it. Then the punkah flagged, almostceased. The sweat poured from Spurstow's brow. Should he go out andharangue the coolie? It started forward again with a savage jerk, and apin came out of the towels. When this was replaced, a tomtom in thecoolie-lines began to beat with the steady throb of a swollen arteryinside some brain-fevered skull. Spurstow turned on his side and sworegently. There was no movement on Hummil's part. The man had composedhimself as rigidly as a corpse, his hands clinched at his sides. Therespiration was too hurried for any suspicion of sleep. Spurstow lookedat the set face. The jaws were clinched, and there was a pucker roundthe quivering eyelids. 

'He's holding himself as tightly as ever he can, ' thought Spurstow. 'What in the world is the matter with him?--Hummil!'

'Yes, ' in a thick constrained voice. 

'Can't you get to sleep?'

'No. '

'Head hot? 'Throat feeling bulgy? or how?'

'Neither, thanks. I don't sleep much, you know. '

'Feel pretty bad?'

'Pretty bad, thanks. There is a tomtom outside, isn't there? I thoughtit was my head at first. .. . Oh, Spurstow, for pity's sake give mesomething that will put me asleep, --sound asleep, --if it's only for sixhours!' He sprang up, trembling from head to foot. 'I haven't been ableto sleep naturally for days, and I can't stand it!--I can't stand it!'

'Poor old chap!'

'That's no use. Give me something to make me sleep. I tell you I'mnearly mad. I don't know what I say half my time. For three weeks I'vehad to think and spell out every word that has come through my lipsbefore I dared say it. Isn't that enough to drive a man mad? I can't seethings correctly now, and I've lost my sense of touch. My skin aches--myskin aches! Make me sleep. Oh, Spurstow, for the love of God make mesleep sound. It isn't enough merely to let me dream. Let me sleep!'

'All right, old man, all right. Go slow; you aren't half as bad as youthink. '

The flood-gates of reserve once broken, Hummil was clinging to him likea frightened child. 'You're pinching my arm to pieces. '

'I'll break your neck if you don't do something for me. No, I didn'tmean that. Don't be angry, old fellow. ' He wiped the sweat off himselfas he fought to regain composure. 'I'm a bit restless and off my oats, and perhaps you could recommend some sort of sleeping mixture, --bromideof potassium. '

'Bromide of skittles! Why didn't you tell me this before? Let go of myarm, and I'll see if there's anything in my cigarette-case to suit yourcomplaint. ' Spurstow hunted among his day-clothes, turned up the lamp, opened a little silver cigarette-case, and advanced on the expectantHummil with the daintiest of fairy squirts. 

'The last appeal of civilisation, ' said he, 'and a thing I hate to use. Hold out your arm. Well, your sleeplessness hasn't ruined your muscle;and what a thick hide it is! Might as well inject a buffalosubcutaneously. Now in a few minutes the morphia will begin working. Liedown and wait. '

A smile of unalloyed and idiotic delight began to creep over Hummil'sface. 'I think, ' he whispered, --'I think I'm going off now. Gad! it'spositively heavenly! Spurstow, you must give me that case to keep; you--'The voice ceased as the head fell back. 

'Not for a good deal, ' said Spurstow to the unconscious form. 'And now, my friend, sleeplessness of your kind being very apt to relax the moralfibre in little matters of life and death, I'll just take the liberty ofspiking your guns. '

He paddled into Hummil's saddle-room in his bare feet and uncased atwelve-bore rifle, an express, and a revolver. Of the first he unscrewedthe nipples and hid them in the bottom of a saddlery-case; of the secondhe abstracted the lever, kicking it behind a big wardrobe. The third hemerely opened, and knocked the doll-head bolt of the grip up with theheel of a riding-boot. 

'That's settled, ' he said, as he shook the sweat off his hands. 'Theselittle precautions will at least give you time to turn. You have toomuch sympathy with gun-room accidents. '

And as he rose from his knees, the thick muffled voice of Hummil criedin the doorway, 'You fool!'

Such tones they use who speak in the lucid intervals of delirium totheir friends a little before they die. 

Spurstow started, dropping the pistol. Hummil stood in the doorway, rocking with helpless laughter. 

'That was awf'ly good of you, I'm sure, ' he said, very slowly, feelingfor his words. 'I don't intend to go out by my own hand at present. Isay, Spurstow, that stuff won't work. What shall I do? What shall I do?'And panic terror stood in his eyes. 

'Lie down and give it a chance. Lie down at once. '

'I daren't. It will only take me half-way again, and I shan't be able toget away this time. Do you know it was all I could do to come out justnow? Generally I am as quick as lightning; but you had clogged my feet. I was nearly caught. '

'Oh yes, I understand. Go and lie down. '

'No, it isn't delirium; but it was an awfully mean trick to play on me. Do you know I might have died?'

As a sponge rubs a slate clean, so some power unknown to Spurstow hadwiped out of Hummil's face all that stamped it for the face of a man, and he stood at the doorway in the expression of his lost innocence. Hehad slept back into terrified childhood. 

'Is he going to die on the spot?' thought Spurstow. Then, aloud, 'Allright, my son. Come back to bed, and tell me all about it. You couldn'tsleep; but what was all the rest of the nonsense?'

'A place, --a place down there, ' said Hummil, with simple sincerity. Thedrug was acting on him by waves, and he was flung from the fear of astrong man to the fright of a child as his nerves gathered sense or weredulled. 

'Good God! I've been afraid of it for months past, Spurstow. It has madeevery night hell to me; and yet I'm not conscious of having doneanything wrong. '

'Be still, and I'll give you another dose. We'll stop your nightmares, you unutterable idiot!'

'Yes, but you must give me so much that I can't get away. You must makeme quite sleepy, --not just a little sleepy. It's so hard to run then. '

'I know it; I know it. I've felt it myself. The symptoms are exactly asyou describe. '

'Oh, don't laugh at me, confound you! Before this awful sleeplessnesscame to me I've tried to rest on my elbow and put a spur in the bed tosting me when I fell back. Look!'

'By Jove! the man has been rowelled like a horse! Ridden by thenightmare with a vengeance! And we all thought him sensible enough. Heaven send us understanding! You like to talk, don't you?'

'Yes, sometimes. Not when I'm frightened. THEN I want to run. Don'tyou?'

'Always. Before I give you your second dose try to tell me exactly whatyour trouble is. '

Hummil spoke in broken whispers for nearly ten minutes, whilst Spurstowlooked into the pupils of his eyes and passed his hand before them onceor twice. 

At the end of the narrative the silver cigarette-case was produced, andthe last words that Hummil said as he fell back for the second timewere, 'Put me quite to sleep; for if I'm caught I die, --I die!'

'Yes, yes; we all do that sooner or later, --thank Heaven who has set aterm to our miseries, ' said Spurstow, settling the cushions under thehead. 'It occurs to me that unless I drink something I shall go outbefore my time. I've stopped sweating, and--I wear a seventeen-inchcollar. ' He brewed himself scalding hot tea, which is an excellentremedy against heat-apoplexy if you take three or four cups of it intime. Then he watched the sleeper. 

'A blind face that cries and can't wipe its eyes, a blind face thatchases him down corridors! H'm! Decidedly, Hummil ought to go on leaveas soon as possible; and, sane or otherwise, he undoubtedly did rowelhimself most cruelly. Well, Heaven send us understanding!'

At mid-day Hummil rose, with an evil taste in his mouth, but anunclouded eye and a joyful heart. 

'I was pretty bad last night, wasn't I?' said he. 

'I have seen healthier men. You must have had a touch of the sun. Lookhere: if I write you a swingeing medical certificate, will you apply forleave on the spot?'

'No. '

'Why not? You want it. '

'Yes, but I can hold on till the weather's a little cooler. '

'Why should you, if you can get relieved on the spot?'

'Burkett is the only man who could be sent; and he's a born fool. '

'Oh, never mind about the line. You aren't so important as all that. Wire for leave, if necessary. '

Hummil looked very uncomfortable. 

'I can hold on till the Rains, ' he said evasively. 

'You can't. Wire to headquarters for Burkett. '

'I won't. If you want to know why, particularly, Burkett is married, andhis wife's just had a kid, and she's up at Simla, in the cool, andBurkett has a very nice billet that takes him into Simla from Saturdayto Monday. That little woman isn't at all well. If Burkett wastransferred she'd try to follow him. If she left the baby behind she'dfret herself to death. If she came, --and Burkett's one of those selfishlittle beasts who are always talking about a wife's place being with herhusband, --she'd die. It's murder to bring a woman here just now. Burketthasn't the physique of a rat. If he came here he'd go out; and I knowshe hasn't any money, and I'm pretty sure she'd go out too. I'm saltedin a sort of way, and I'm not married. Wait till the Rains, and thenBurkett can get thin down here. It'll do him heaps of good. '

'Do you mean to say that you intend to face--what you have faced, tillthe Rains break?'

'Oh, it won't be so bad, now you've shown me a way out of it. I canalways wire to you. Besides, now I've once got into the way of sleeping, it'll be all right. Anyhow, I shan't put in for leave. That's the longand the short of it. '

'My great Scott! I thought all that sort of thing was dead and donewith. '

'Bosh! You'd do the same yourself. I feel a new man, thanks to thatcigarette-case. You're going over to camp now, aren't you?'

'Yes; but I'll try to look you up every other day, if I can. '

'I'm not bad enough for that. I don't want you to bother. Give thecoolies gin and ketchup. '

'Then you feel all right?'

'Fit to fight for my life, but not to stand out in the sun talking toyou. Go along, old man, and bless you!'

Hummil turned on his heel to face the echoing desolation of hisbungalow, and the first thing he saw standing in the verandah was thefigure of himself. He had met a similar apparition once before, when hewas suffering from overwork and the strain of the hot weather. 

'This is bad, --already, ' he said, rubbing his eyes. 'If the thing slidesaway from me all in one piece, like a ghost, I shall know it is only myeyes and stomach that are out of order. If it walks--my head is going. '

He approached the figure, which naturally kept at an unvarying distancefrom him, as is the use of all spectres that are born of overwork. Itslid through the house and dissolved into swimming specks within theeyeball as soon as it reached the burning light of the garden. Hummilwent about his business till even. When he came in to dinner he foundhimself sitting at the table. The vision rose and walked out hastily. Except that it cast no shadow it was in all respects real. 

No living man knows what that week held for Hummil. An increase of theepidemic kept Spurstow in camp among the coolies, and all he could dowas to telegraph to Mottram, bidding him go to the bungalow and sleepthere. But Mottram was forty miles away from the nearest telegraph, andknew nothing of anything save the needs of the survey till he met, earlyon Sunday morning, Lowndes and Spurstow heading towards Hummil's for theweekly gathering. 

'Hope the poor chap's in a better temper, ' said the former, swinginghimself off his horse at the door. 'I suppose he isn't up yet. '

'I'll just have a look at him, ' said the doctor. 'If he's asleep there'sno need to wake him. '

And an instant later, by the tone of Spurstow's voice calling upon themto enter, the men knew what had happened. There was no need to wake him. 

The punkah was still being pulled over the bed, but Hummil had departedthis life at least three hours. 

The body lay on its back, hands clinched by the side, as Spurstow hadseen it lying seven nights previously. In the staring eyes was writtenterror beyond the expression of any pen. 

Mottram, who had entered behind Lowndes, bent over the dead and touchedthe forehead lightly with his lips. 'Oh, you lucky, lucky devil!' hewhispered. 

But Lowndes had seen the eyes, and withdrew shuddering to the other sideof the room. 

'Poor chap! poor old chap! And the last time I met him I was angry. Spurstow, we should have watched him. Has he--?'

Deftly Spurstow continued his investigations, ending by a search roundthe room. 

'No, he hasn't, ' he snapped. 'There's no trace of anything. Call theservants. '

They came, eight or ten of them, whispering and peering over eachother's shoulders. 

'When did your Sahib go to bed?' said Spurstow. 

'At eleven or ten, we think, ' said Hummil's personal servant. 

'He was well then? But how should you know?'

'He was not ill, as far as our comprehension extended. But he had sleptvery little for three nights. This I know, because I saw him walkingmuch, and specially in the heart of the night. '

As Spurstow was arranging the sheet, a big straight-necked hunting-spurtumbled on the ground. The doctor groaned. The personal servant peepedat the body. 

'What do you think, Chuma?' said Spurstow, catching the look on the darkface. 

'Heaven-born, in my poor opinion, this that was my master has descendedinto the Dark Places, and there has been caught because he was not ableto escape with sufficient speed. We have the spur for evidence that hefought with Fear. Thus have I seen men of my race do with thorns when aspell was laid upon them to overtake them in their sleeping hours andthey dared not sleep. '

'Chuma, you're a mud-head. Go out and prepare seals to be set on theSahib's property. '

'God has made the Heaven-born. God has made me. Who are we, to inquireinto the dispensations of God? I will bid the other servants hold aloofwhile you are reckoning the tale of the Sahib's property. They are allthieves, and would steal. '

'As far as I can make out, he died from--oh, anything; stoppage of theheart's action, heat-apoplexy, or some other visitation, ' said Spurstowto his companions. 'We must make an inventory of his effects, and soon. '

'He was scared to death, ' insisted Lowndes. 'Look at those eyes! Forpity's sake don't let him be buried with them open!'

'Whatever it was, he's clear of all the trouble now, ' said Mottramsoftly. 

Spurstow was peering into the open eyes. 

'Come here, ' said he. 'Can you see anything there?'

'I can't face it!' whimpered Lowndes. 'Cover up the face! Is there anyfear on earth that can turn a man into that likeness? It's ghastly. Oh, Spurstow, cover it up!'

'No fear--on earth, ' said Spurstow. Mottram leaned over his shoulder andlooked intently. 

'I see nothing except some gray blurs in the pupil. There can be nothingthere, you know. '

'Even so. Well, let's think. It'll take half a day to knock up any sortof coffin; and he must have died at midnight. Lowndes, old man, go outand tell the coolies to break ground next to Jevins's grave. Mottram, goround the house with Chuma and see that the seals are put on things. Send a couple of men to me here, and I'll arrange. '

The strong-armed servants when they returned to their own kind told astrange story of the doctor Sahib vainly trying to call their masterback to life by magic arts, --to wit, the holding of a little green boxthat clicked to each of the dead man's eyes, and of a bewilderedmuttering on the part of the doctor Sahib, who took the little green boxaway with him. 

The resonant hammering of a coffin-lid is no pleasant thing to hear, butthose who have experience maintain that much more terrible is the softswish of the bed-linen, the reeving and unreeving of the bed-tapes, whenhe who has fallen by the roadside is apparelled for burial, sinkinggradually as the tapes are tied over, till the swaddled shape touchesthe floor and there is no protest against the indignity of hastydisposal. 

At the last moment Lowndes was seized with scruples of conscience. 'Ought you to read the service, --from beginning to end?' said he toSpurstow. 

'I intend to. You're my senior as a civilian. You can take it if youlike. '

'I didn't mean that for a moment. I only thought if we could get achaplain from somewhere, --I'm willing to ride anywhere, --and give poorHummil a better chance. That's all. '

'Bosh!' said Spurstow, as he framed his lips to the tremendous wordsthat stand at the head of the burial service. 

After breakfast they smoked a pipe in silence to the memory of the dead. Then Spurstow said absently--

''Tisn't in medical science. '

'What?'

'Things in a dead man's eye. '

'For goodness' sake leave that horror alone!' said Lowndes. 'I've seen anative die of pure fright when a tiger chivied him. I know what killedHummil. '

'The deuce you do! I'm going to try to see. ' And the doctor retreatedinto the bath-room with a Kodak camera. After a few minutes there wasthe sound of something being hammered to pieces, and he emerged, verywhite indeed. 

'Have you got a picture?' said Mottram. 'What does the thing look like?'

'It was impossible, of course. You needn't look, Mottram. I've torn upthe films. There was nothing there. It was impossible. '

'That, ' said Lowndes, very distinctly, watching the shaking handstriving to relight the pipe, 'is a damned lie. '

Mottram laughed uneasily. 'Spurstow's right, ' he said. 'We're all insuch a state now that we'd believe anything. For pity's sake let's tryto be rational. '

There was no further speech for a long time. The hot wind whistledwithout, and the dry trees sobbed. Presently the daily train, winkingbrass, burnished steel, and spouting steam, pulled up panting in theintense glare. 'We'd better go on on that, ' said Spurstow. 'Go back towork. I've written my certificate. We can't do any more good here, andwork'll keep our wits together. Come on. '

No one moved. It is not pleasant to face railway journeys at mid-day inJune. Spurstow gathered up his hat and whip, and, turning in thedoorway, said--

'There may be Heaven, --there must be Hell. Meantime, there is our lifehere. We-ell?'

Neither Mottram nor Lowndes had any answer to the question. 

THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS

Sec. 7. { Cause } { in forces } Regular forces, (I) { Consipiring } { belonging } Reserve forces, { with other } a mutiny { to Her } Auxiliary forces. { persons to } sedition { Majesty's } Navy. { cause }

When three obscure gentlemen in San Francisco argued on insufficientpremises they condemned a fellow-creature to a most unpleasant death ina far country, which had nothing whatever to do with the United States. They foregathered at the top of a tenement-house in Tehama Street, anunsavoury quarter of the city, and, there calling for certain drinks, they conspired because they were conspirators by trade, officially knownas the Third Three of the I. A. A. --an institution for the propagation ofpure light, not to be confounded with any others, though it isaffiliated to many. The Second Three live in Montreal, and work amongthe poor there; the First Three have their home in New York, not farfrom Castle Garden, and write regularly once a week to a small housenear one of the big hotels at Boulogne. What happens after that, aparticular section of Scotland Yard knows too well, and laughs at. Aconspirator detests ridicule. More men have been stabbed with LucreziaBorgia daggers and dropped into the Thames for laughing at Head Centresand Triangles than for betraying secrets; for this is human nature. 

The Third Three conspired over whisky cocktails and a clean sheet ofnotepaper against the British Empire and all that lay therein. This workis very like what men without discernment call politics before a generalelection. You pick out and discuss, in the company of congenial friends, all the weak points in your opponents' organisation, and unconsciouslydwell upon and exaggerate all their mishaps, till it seems to you amiracle that the hated party holds together for an hour. 

'Our principle is not so much active demonstration--that we leave toothers--as passive embarrassment, to weaken and unnerve, ' said the firstman. 'Wherever an organisation is crippled, wherever a confusion isthrown into any branch of any department, we gain a step for those whotake on the work; we are but the forerunners. ' He was a Germanenthusiast, and editor of a newspaper, from whose leading articles hequoted frequently. 

'That cursed Empire makes so many blunders of her own that unless wedoubled the year's average I guess it wouldn't strike her anythingspecial had occurred, ' said the second man. 'Are you prepared to saythat all our resources are equal to blowing off the muzzle of a hundred-ton gun or spiking a ten-thousand-ton ship on a plain rock in cleardaylight? They can beat us at our own game. 'Better join hands with thepractical branches; we're in funds now. Try a direct scare in a crowdedstreet. They value their greasy hides. ' He was the drag upon the wheel, and an Americanised Irishman of the second generation, despising his ownrace and hating the other. He had learned caution. 

The third man drank his cocktail and spoke no word. He was thestrategist, but unfortunately his knowledge of life was limited. Hepicked a letter from his breast-pocket and threw it across the table. That epistle to the heathen contained some very concise directions fromthe First Three in New York. It said--

'The boom in black iron has already affected the eastern markets, whereour agents have been forcing down the English-held stock among thesmaller buyers who watch the turn of shares. Any immediate operations, such as western bears, would increase their willingness to unload. This, however, cannot be expected till they see clearly that foreign iron-masters are witting to co-operate. Mulcahy should be dispatched to feelthe pulse of the market, and act accordingly. Mavericks are at presentthe best for our purpose. --P. D. Q. '

As a message referring to an iron crisis in Pennsylvania, it wasinteresting, if not lucid. As a new departure in organised attack on anoutlying English dependency, it was more than interesting. 

The second man read it through and murmured--

'Already? Surely they are in too great a hurry. All that Dhulip Singhcould do in India he has done, down to the distribution of hisphotographs among the peasantry. Ho! Ho! The Paris firm arranged that, and he has no substantial money backing from the Other Power. Even ouragents in India know he hasn't. What is the use of our organisationwasting men on work that is already done? Of course the Irish regimentsin India are half mutinous as they stand. '

This shows how near a lie may come to the truth. An Irish regiment, forjust so long as it stands still, is generally a hard handful to control, being reckless and rough. When, however, it is moved in the direction ofmusketry-firing, it becomes strangely and unpatriotically content withits lot. It has even been heard to cheer the Queen with enthusiasm onthese occasions. 

But the notion of tampering with the army was, from the point of view ofTehama Street, an altogether sound one. There is no shadow of stabilityin the policy of an English Government, and the most sacred oaths ofEngland would, even if engrossed on vellum, find very few buyers amongcolonies and dependencies that have suffered from vain beliefs. Butthere remains to England always her army. That cannot change except inthe matter of uniform and equipment. The officers may write to thepapers demanding the heads of the Horse Guards in default of cleanerredress for grievances; the men may break loose across a country townand seriously startle the publicans; but neither officers nor men haveit in their composition to mutiny after the continental manner. TheEnglish people, when they trouble to think about the army at all, are, and with justice, absolutely assured that it is absolutely trustworthy. Imagine for a moment their emotions on realising that such and such aregiment was in open revolt from causes directly due to England'smanagement of Ireland. They would probably send the regiment to thepolls forthwith and examine their own consciences as to their duty toErin; but they would never be easy any more. And it was this vague, unhappy mistrust that the I. A. A. Were labouring to produce. 

'Sheer waste of breath, ' said the second man after a pause in thecouncil, 'I don't see the use of tampering with their fool-army, but ithas been tried before and we must try it again. It looks well in thereports. If we send one man from here you may bet your life that othermen are going too. Order up Mulcahy. '

They ordered him up--a slim, slight, dark-haired young man, devouredwith that blind rancorous hatred of England that only reaches its fullgrowth across the Atlantic. He had sucked it from his mother's breast inthe little cabin at the back of the northern avenues of New York; he hadbeen taught his rights and his wrongs, in German and Irish, on the canalfronts of Chicago; and San Francisco held men who told him strange andawful things of the great blind power over the seas. Once, when businesstook him across the Atlantic, he had served in an English regiment, andbeing insubordinate had suffered extremely. He drew all his ideas ofEngland that were not bred by the cheaper patriotic prints from oneiron-fisted colonel and an unbending adjutant. He would go to the minesif need be to teach his gospel. And he went as his instructions advisedp. D. Q. --which means 'with speed'--to introduce embarrassment into anIrish regiment, 'already half-mutinous, quartered among Sikh peasantry, all wearing miniatures of His Highness Dhulip Singh, Maharaja of thePunjab, next their hearts, and all eagerly expecting his arrival. ' Otherinformation equally valuable was given him by his masters. He was to becautious, but never to grudge expense in winning the hearts of the menin the regiment. His mother in New York would supply funds, and he wasto write to her once a month. Life is pleasant for a man who has amother in New York to send him two hundred pounds a year over and abovehis regimental pay. 

In process of time, thanks to his intimate knowledge of drill andmusketry exercise, the excellent Mulcahy, wearing the corporal's stripe, went out in a troopship and joined Her Majesty's Royal Loyal Musketeers, commonly known as the 'Mavericks, ' because they were masterless andunbranded cattle-sons of small farmers in County Clare, shoelessvagabonds of Kerry, herders of Bally-vegan, much wanted 'moonlighters'from the bare rainy headlands of the south coast, officered by O'Mores, Bradys, Hills, Kilreas, and the like. Never to outward seeming was theremore promising material to work on. The First Three had chosen theirregiment well. It feared nothing that moved or talked save the coloneland the regimental Roman Catholic chaplain, the fat Father Dennis, whoheld the keys of heaven and hell, and blared like an angry bull when hedesired to be convincing. Him also it loved because on occasions ofstress he was used to tuck up his cassock and charge with the rest intothe merriest of the fray, where he always found, good man, that thesaints sent him a revolver when there was a fallen private to beprotected, or--but this came as an afterthought--his own gray head to beguarded. 

Cautiously as he had been instructed, tenderly and with much beer, Mulcahy opened his projects to such as he deemed fittest to listen. Andthese were, one and all, of that quaint, crooked, sweet, profoundlyirresponsible and profoundly lovable race that fight like fiends, arguelike children, reason like women, obey like men, and jest like their owngoblins of the rath through rebellion, loyalty, want, woe, or war. Theunderground work of a conspiracy is always dull and very much the samethe world over. At the end of six months--the seed always falling ongood ground--Mulcahy spoke almost explicitly, hinting darkly in theapproved fashion at dread powers behind him, and advising nothing morenor less than mutiny. Were they not dogs, evilly treated? had they notall their own and their national revenges to satisfy? Who in these dayswould do aught to nine hundred men in rebellion? Who, again, could staythem if they broke for the sea, licking up on their way other regimentsonly too anxious to join? And afterwards. .. Here followed windy promisesof gold and preferment, office, and honour, ever dear to a certain typeof Irishman. 

As he finished his speech, in the dusk of a twilight, to his chosenassociates, there was a sound of a rapidly unslung belt behind him. Thearm of one Dan Grady flew out in the gloom and arrested something. Thensaid Dan---

'Mulcahy, you're a great man, an' you do credit to whoever sent you. Walk about a bit while we think of it. ' Mulcahy departed elate. He knewhis words would sink deep. 

'Why the triple-dashed asterisks did ye not let me belt him?' grunted avoice. 

'Because I'm not a fat-headed fool. Boys, 'tis what he's been driving atthese six months--our superior corpril with his education and his copiesof the Irish papers and his everlasting beer. He's been sent for thepurpose and that's where the money comes from. Can ye not see? Thatman's a gold-mine, which Horse Egan here would have destroyed with abelt-buckle. It would be throwing away the gifts of Providence not tofall in with his little plans. Of coorse we'll mut'ny till all's dry. Shoot the colonel on the parade-ground, massacree the company officers, ransack the arsenal, and then--Boys, did he tell you what next? He toldme the other night when he was beginning to talk wild. Then we're tojoin with the niggers, and look for help from Dhulip Singh and theRussians!'

'And spoil the best campaign that ever was this side of Hell! Danny, I'dhave lost the beer to ha' given him the belting he requires. '

'Oh, let him go this awhile, man! He's got no--no constructiveness, butthat's the egg-meat of his plan, and you must understand that I'm inwith it, an' so are you. We'll want oceans of beer to convince us--firmaments full. We'll give him talk for his money, and one by one allthe boys 'll come in and he'll have a nest of nine hundred mutineers tosquat in an' give drink to. '

'What makes me killing-mad is his wanting us to do what the niggers didthirty years gone. That an' his pig's cheek in saying that otherregiments would come along, ' said a Kerry man. 

'That's not so bad as hintin' we should loose off on the colonel. '

'Colonel be sugared! I'd as soon as not put a shot through his helmet tosee him jump and clutch his old horse's head. But Mulcahy talks o'shootin' our comp'ny orf'cers accidental. '

'He said that, did he?' said Horse Egan. 

'Somethin' like that, anyways. Can't ye fancy ould Barber Brady wid abullet in his lungs, coughin' like a sick monkey, an' sayin', "Bhoys, Ido not mind your gettin' dhrunk, but you must hould your liquor likemen. The man that shot me is dhrunk. I'll suspend investigations for sixhours, while I get this bullet cut out, an' then--"'

'An' then, ' continued Horse Egan, for the peppery Major's peculiaritiesof speech and manner were as well known as his tanned face; "'an' then, ye dissolute, half-baked, putty-faced scum o' Connemara, if I find a manso much as lookin' confused, begad, I'll coort-martial the wholecompany. A man that can't get over his liquor in six hours is not fit tobelong to the Mavericks!"'

A shout of laughter bore witness to the truth of the sketch. 

'It's pretty to think of, ' said the Kerry man slowly. 'Mulcahy wouldhave us do all the devilmint, and get clear himself, someways. He wudn'tbe takin' all this fool's throuble in shpoilin' the reputation of theregiment--'

'Reputation of your grandmother's pig!' said Dan. 

'Well, an' HE had a good reputation tu; so it's all right. Mulcahy mustsee his way to clear out behind him, or he'd not ha' come so far, talkin' powers of darkness. '

'Did you hear anything of a regimental court-martial among the BlackBoneens, these days? Half a company of 'em took one of the new draft an'hanged him by his arms with a tent-rope from a third story verandah. They gave no reason for so doin', but he was half dead. I'm thinkingthat the Boneens are short-sighted. It was a friend of Mulcahy's, or aman in the same trade. They'd a deal better ha' taken his beer, 'returned Dan reflectively. 

'Better still ha' handed him up to the Colonel, ' said Horse Egan, 'onless--but sure the news wud be all over the counthry an' give thereg'ment a bad name. '

'An' there'd be no reward for that man--he but went about talkin', ' saidthe Kerry man artlessly. 

'You speak by your breed, ' said Dan with a laugh. 'There was never aKerry man yet that wudn't sell his brother for a pipe o' tobacco an' apat on the back from a p'liceman. '

'Praise God I'm not a bloomin' Orangeman, ' was the answer. 

'No, nor never will be, ' said Dan. 'They breed MEN in Ulster. Would youlike to thry the taste of one?'

The Kerry man looked and longed, but forbore. The odds of battle weretoo great. 

'Then you'll not even give Mulcahy a--a strike for his money, ' said thevoice of Horse Egan, who regarded what he called 'trouble' of any kindas the pinnacle of felicity. 

Dan answered not at all, but crept on tip-toe, with large strides, tothe mess-room, the men following. The room was empty. In a corner, casedlike the King of Dahomey's state umbrella, stood the regimental Colours. Dan lifted them tenderly and unrolled in the light of the candles therecord of the Mavericks--tattered, worn, and hacked. The white satin wasdarkened everywhere with big brown stains, the gold threads on thecrowned harp were frayed and discoloured, and the Red Bull, the totem ofthe Mavericks, was coffee-hued. The stiff, embroidered folds, whoseprice is human life, rustled down slowly. The Mavericks keep theircolours long and guard them very sacredly. 

'Vittoria, Salamanca, Toulouse, Waterloo, Moodkee, Ferozshah, an'Sobraon--that was fought close next door here, against the very beggarshe wants us to join. Inkermann, The Alma, Sebastopol! What are thoselittle businesses compared to the campaigns of General Mulcahy? TheMut'ny, think o' that; the Mut'ny an' some dirty little matters inAfghanistan; an' for that an' these an' those'--Dan pointed to the namesof glorious battles--'that Yankee man with the partin' in his hair comesan' says as easy as "have a drink. ". .. Holy Moses, there's the captain!'

But it was the mess-sergeant who came in just as the men clattered out, and found the colours uncased. 

From that day dated the mutiny of the Mavericks, to the joy of Mulcahyand the pride of his mother in New York--the good lady who sent themoney for the beer. Never, so far as words went, was such a mutiny. Theconspirators, led by Dan Grady and Horse Egan, poured in daily. Theywere sound men, men to be trusted, and they all wanted blood; but firstthey must have beer. They cursed the Queen, they mourned over Ireland, they suggested hideous plunder of the Indian country side, and then, alas--some of the younger men would go forth and wallow on the ground inspasms of wicked laughter. 

The genius of the Irish for conspiracies is remarkable. None the lessthey would swear no oaths but those of their own making, which were rareand curious, and they were always at pains to impress Mulcahy with therisks they ran. Naturally the flood of beer wrought demoralisation. ButMulcahy confused the causes of things, and when a very muzzy Mavericksmote a sergeant on the nose or called his commanding officer a bald-headed old lard-bladder and even worse names, he fancied that rebellionand not liquor was at the bottom of the outbreak. Other gentlemen whohave concerned themselves in larger conspiracies have made the sameerror. 

The hot season, in which they protested no man could rebel, came to anend, and Mulcahy suggested a visible return for his teachings. As to theactual upshot of the mutiny he cared nothing. It would be enough if theEnglish, infatuatedly trusting to the integrity of their army, should bestartled with news of an Irish regiment revolting from politicalconsiderations. His persistent demands would have ended, at Dan'sinstigation, in a regimental belting which in all probability would havekilled him and cut off the supply of beer, had not he been sent onspecial duty some fifty miles away from the cantonment to cool his heelsin a mud fort and dismount obsolete artillery. Then the colonel of theMavericks, reading his newspaper diligently, and scenting Frontiertrouble from afar, posted to the army headquarters and pled with theCommander-in-chief for certain privileges, to be granted under certaincontingencies; which contingencies came about only a week later, whenthe annual little war on the border developed itself and the colonelreturned to carry the good news to the Mavericks. He held the promise ofthe Chief for active service, and the men must get ready. 

On the evening of the same day, Mulcahy, an unconsidered corporal--yetgreat in conspiracy--returned to cantonments, and heard sounds of strifeand howlings from afar off. The mutiny had broken out and the barracksof the Mavericks were one white-washed pandemonium. A private tearingthrough the barrack-square, gasped in his ear, 'Service! Active service. It's a burnin' shame. ' Oh joy, the Mavericks had risen on the eve ofbattle! They would not--noble and loyal sons of Ireland--serve the Queenlonger. The news would flash through the country side and over toEngland, and he--Mulcahy--the trusted of the Third Three, had broughtabout the crash. The private stood in the middle of the square andcursed colonel, regiment, officers, and doctor, particularly the doctor, by his gods. An orderly of the native cavalry regiment clattered throughthe mob of soldiers. He was half lifted, half dragged from his horse, beaten on the back with mighty hand-claps till his eyes watered, andcalled all manner of endearing names. Yes, the Mavericks had fraternisedwith the native troops. Who then was the agent among the latter that hadblindly wrought with Mulcahy so well?

An officer slunk, almost ran, from the mess to a barrack. He was mobbedby the infuriated soldiery, who closed round but did not kill him, forhe fought his way to shelter, flying for the life. Mulcahy could havewept with pure joy and thankfulness. The very prisoners in the guard-room were shaking the bars of their cells and howling like wild beasts, and from every barrack poured the booming as of a big war-drum. 

Mulcahy hastened to his own barrack. He could hardly hear himself speak. Eighty men were pounding with fist and heel the tables and trestles--eighty men, flushed with mutiny, stripped to their shirt sleeves, theirknapsacks half-packed for the march to the sea, made the two-inch boardsthunder again as they chanted to a tune that Mulcahy knew well, theSacred War Song of the Mavericks--

 Listen in the north, my boys, there's trouble on the wind; Tramp o' Cossack hooves in front, gray great-coats behind, Trouble on the Frontier of a most amazin' kind, Trouble on the waters o' the Oxus!

Then, as a table broke under the furious accompaniment--

 Hurrah! hurrah! it's north by west we go; Hurrah! hurrah! the chance we wanted so; Let 'em hear the chorus from Umballa to MosCOW, As we go marchin' to the Kremling. 

'Mother of all the saints in bliss and all the devils in cinders, where's my fine new sock widout the heel?' howled Horse Egan, ransackingeverybody's valise but his own. He was engaged in making up deficienciesof kit preparatory to a campaign, and in that work he steals best whosteals last. 'Ah, Mulcahy, you're in good time, ' he shouted. 'We've gotthe route, and we're off on Thursday for a pic-nic wid the Lancers nextdoor. '

An ambulance orderly appeared with a huge basket full of lint rolls, provided by the forethought of the Queen for such as might need themlater on. Horse Egan unrolled his bandage, and flicked it underMulcahy's nose, chanting--

 'Sheepskin an' bees' wax, thunder, pitch, and plaster, The more you try to pull it off, the more it sticks the faster. As I was goin' to New Orleans--

'You know the rest of it, my Irish American-Jew boy. By gad, ye have tofight for the Queen in the inside av a fortnight, my darlin'. '

A roar of laughter interrupted. Mulcahy looked vacantly down the room. Bid a boy defy his father when the pantomime-cab is at the door; or agirl develop a will of her own when her mother is putting the lasttouches to the first ball-dress; but do not ask an Irish regiment toembark upon mutiny on the eve of a campaign; when it has fraternisedwith the native regiment that accompanies it, and driven its officersinto retirement with ten thousand clamorous questions, and the prisonersdance for joy, and the sick men stand in the open, calling down allknown diseases on the head of the doctor, who has certified that theyare "medically unfit for active service. " At even the Mavericks mighthave been mistaken for mutineers by one so unversed in their natures asMulcahy. At dawn a girls' school might have learned deportment fromthem. They knew that their colonel's hand had closed, and that he whobroke that iron discipline would not go to the front: nothing in theworld will persuade one of our soldiers when he is ordered to the northon the smallest of affairs that he is not immediately going gloriouslyto slay Cossacks and cook his kettles in the palace of the Czar. A fewof the younger men mourned for Mulcahy's beer, because the campaign wasto be conducted on strict temperance principles, but as Dan and HorseEgan said sternly, 'We've got the beer-man with us. He shall drink nowon his own hook. '

Mulcahy had not taken into account the possibility of being sent onactive service. He had made up his mind that he would not go under anycircumstances, but fortune was against him. 

'Sick--you?' said the doctor, who had served an unholy apprenticeship tohis trade in Tralee poorhouses. 'You're only home-sick, and what youcall varicose veins come from over-eating. A little gentle exercise willcure that. ' And later, 'Mulcahy, my man, everybody is allowed to applyfor a sick-certificate ONCE. If he tries it twice we call him by an uglyname. Go back to your duty, and let's hear no more of your diseases. '

I am ashamed to say that Horse Egan enjoyed the study of Mulcahy's soulin those days, and Dan took an equal interest. Together they wouldcommunicate to their corporal all the dark lore of death which is theportion of those who have seen men die. Egan had the larger experience, but Dan the finer imagination. Mulcahy shivered when the former spoke ofthe knife as an intimate acquaintance, or the latter dwelt with lovingparticularity on the fate of those who, wounded and helpless, had beenoverlooked by the ambulances, and had fallen into the hands of theAfghan women-folk. 

Mulcahy knew that the mutiny, for the present at least, was dead; knew, too, that a change had come over Dan's usually respectful attitudetowards him, and Horse Egan's laughter and frequent allusions toabortive conspiracies emphasised all that the conspirator had guessed. The horrible fascination of the death-stories, however, made him seekthe men's society. He learnt much more than he had bargained for; and inthis manner: It was on the last night before the regiment entrained tothe front. The barracks were stripped of everything movable, and the menwere too excited to sleep. The bare walls gave out a heavy hospitalsmell of chloride of lime. 

'And what, ' said Mulcahy in an awe-stricken whisper, after someconversation on the eternal subject, 'are you going to do to me, Dan?'This might have been the language of an able conspirator conciliating aweak spirit. 

'You'll see, ' said Dan grimly, turning over in his cot, 'or I rathershud say you'll not see. '

This was hardly the language of a weak spirit. Mulcahy shook under thebed-clothes. 

'Be easy with him, ' put in Egan from the next cot. 'He has got hischanst o' goin' clean. Listen, Mulcahy; all we want is for the good sakeof the regiment that you take your death standing up, as a man shud. There be heaps an' heaps of enemy--plenshus heaps. Go there an' do allyou can and die decent. You'll die with a good name THERE. 'Tis not ahard thing considerin'. '

Again Mulcahy shivered. 

'An' how could a man wish to die better than fightin'?' added Danconsolingly. 

'And if I won't?' said the corporal in a dry whisper. 

'There'll be a dale of smoke, ' returned Dan, sitting up and ticking offthe situation on his fingers, 'sure to be, an' the noise of the firin''ll be tremenjus, an' we'll be running about up and down, the regimentwill. But WE, Horse and I--we'll stay by you, Mulcahy, and never let yougo. Maybe there'll be an accident. '

'It's playing it low on me. Let me go. For pity's sake let me go. Inever did you harm, and--and I stood you as much beer as I could. Oh, don't be hard on me, Dan! You are--you were in it too. You won't kill meup there, will you?'

'I'm not thinkin' of the treason; though you shud be glad any honestboys drank with you. It's for the regiment. We can't have the shame o'you bringin' shame on us. You went to the doctor quiet as a sick cat toget and stay behind an' live with the women at the depot--you thatwanted us to run to the sea in wolf-packs like the rebels none of yourblack blood dared to be! But WE knew about your goin' to the doctor, forhe told in mess, and it's all over the regiment. Bein', as we are, yourbest friends, we didn't allow any one to molest you YET. We will see toyou ourselves. Fight which you will--us or the enemy--you'll never liein that cot again, and there's more glory and maybe less kicks fromfightin' the enemy. That's fair speakin'. '

'And he told us by word of mouth to go and join with the niggers--you'veforgotten that, Dan, ' said Horse Egan, to justify sentence. 

'What's the use of plaguin' the man? One shot pays for all. Sleep yesound, Mulcahy. But you onderstand, do ye not?'

Mulcahy for some weeks understood very little of anything at all savethat ever at his elbow, in camp, or at parade, stood two big men withsoft voices adjuring him to commit hari-kari lest a worse thing shouldhappen--to die for the honour of the regiment in decency among thenearest knives. But Mulcahy dreaded death. He remembered certain thingsthat priests had said in his infancy, and his mother--not the one at NewYork--starting from her sleep with shrieks to pray for a husband's soulin torment. It is well to be of a cultured intelligence, but in time oftrouble the weak human mind returns to the creed it sucked in at thebreast, and if that creed be not a pretty one trouble follows. Also, thedeath he would have to face would be physically painful. Mostconspirators have large imaginations. Mulcahy could see himself, as helay on the earth in the night, dying by various causes. They were allhorrible; the mother in New York was very far away, and the Regiment, the engine that, once you fall in its grip, moves you forward whetheryou will or won't, was daily coming closer to the enemy!

They were brought to the field of Marzun-Katai, and with the BlackBoneens to aid, they fought a fight that has never been set down in thenewspapers. In response, many believe, to the fervent prayers of FatherDennis, the enemy not only elected to fight in the open, but made abeautiful fight, as many weeping Irish mothers knew later. They gatheredbehind walls or flickered across the open in shouting masses, and werepot-valiant in artillery. It was expedient to hold a large reserve andwait for the psychological moment that was being prepared by theshrieking shrapnel. Therefore the Mavericks lay down in open order onthe brow of a hill to watch the play till their call should come. FatherDennis, whose duty was in the rear, to smooth the trouble of thewounded, had naturally managed to make his way to the foremost of hisboys and lay like a black porpoise, at length on the grass. To himcrawled Mulcahy, ashen-gray, demanding absolution. 

'Wait till you're shot, ' said Father Dennis sweetly. 'There's a time foreverything. '

Dan Grady chuckled as he blew for the fiftieth time into the breech ofhis speckless rifle. Mulcahy groaned and buried his head in his armstill a stray shot spoke like a snipe immediately above his head, and ageneral heave and tremour rippled the line. Other shots followed and afew took effect, as a shriek or a grunt attested. The officers, who hadbeen lying down with the men, rose and began to walk steadily up anddown the front of their companies. 

This manoeuvre, executed, not for publication, but as a guarantee ofgood faith, to soothe men, demands nerve. You must not hurry, you mustnot look nervous, though you know that you are a mark for every riflewithin extreme range, and above all if you are smitten you must make aslittle noise as possible and roll inwards through the files. It is atthis hour, when the breeze brings the first salt whiff of the powder tonoses rather cold at the tip, and the eye can quietly take in theappearance of each red casualty, that the strain on the nerves isstrongest. Scotch regiments can endure for half a day and abate no whitof their zeal at the end; English regiments sometimes sulk underpunishment, while the Irish, like the French, are apt to run forward byones and twos, which is just as bad as running back. The truly wisecommandant of highly strung troops allows them, in seasons of waiting, to hear the sound of their own voices uplifted in song. There is alegend of an English regiment that lay by its arms under fire chaunting'Sam Hall, ' to the horror of its newly appointed and pious colonel. TheBlack Boneens, who were suffering more than the Mavericks, on a hillhalf a mile away, began presently to explain to all who cared to listen--

We'll sound the jubilee, from the centre to the sea, And Ireland shallbe free, says the Shan-van Vogh. 

'Sing, boys, ' said Father Dennis softly. 'It looks as if we cared fortheir Afghan peas. '

Dan Grady raised himself to his knees and opened his mouth in a songimparted to him, as to most of his comrades, in the strictest confidenceby Mulcahy---the Mulcahy then lying limp and fainting on the grass, thechill fear of death upon him. 

Company after company caught up the words which, the I. A. A. Say, areto herald the general rising of Erin, and to breathe which, except tothose duly appointed to hear, is death. Wherefore they are printed inthis place. 

 The Saxon in Heaven's just balance is weighed, His doom like Belshazzar's in death has been cast, And the hand of the venger shall never be stayed Till his race, faith, and speech are a dream of the past. 

They were heart-filling lines and they ran with a swirl; the I. A. A. Are better served by their pens than their petards. Dan clapped Mulcahymerrily on the back, asking him to sing up. The officers lay down again. There was no need to walk any more. Their men were soothing themselvesthunderously, thus--

 St. Mary in Heaven has written the vow That the land shall not rest till the heretic blood, From the babe at the breast to the hand at the plough, Has rolled to the ocean like Shannon in flood!

'I'll speak to you after all's over, ' said Father Dennis authoritativelyin Dan's ear. 'What's the use of confessing to me when you do thisfoolishness? Dan, you've been playing with fire! I'll lay you morepenance in a week than--'

'Come along to Purgatory with us, Father dear. The Boneens are on themove; they'll let us go now!'

The regiment rose to the blast of the bugle as one man; but one manthere was who rose more swiftly than all the others, for half an inch ofbayonet was in the fleshy part of his leg. 

'You've got to do it, ' said Dan grimly. 'Do it decent, anyhow;' and theroar of the rush drowned his words, for the rear companies thrustforward the first, still singing as they swung down the slope---

From the child at the breast to the hand at the plough Shall roll to theocean like Shannon in flood!

They should have sung it in the face of England, not of the Afghans, whom, it impressed as much as did the wild Irish yell. 

'They came down singing, ' said the unofficial report of the enemy, borne from village to village the next day. 'They continued to sing, andit was written that our men could not abide when they came. It isbelieved that there was magic in the aforesaid song. '

Dan and Horse Egan kept themselves in the neighbourhood of Mulcahy. Twice the man would have bolted back in the confusion. Twice he washeaved, kicked, and shouldered back again into the unpaintable infernoof a hotly contested charge. 

At the end, the panic excess of his fear drove him into madness beyondall human courage. His eyes staring at nothing, his mouth open andfrothing, and breathing as one in a cold bath, he went forward demented, while Dan toiled after him. The charge checked at a high mud wall. Itwas Mulcahy who scrambled up tooth and nail and hurled down among thebayonets the amazed Afghan who barred his way. It was Mulcahy, keepingto the straight line of the rabid dog, who led a collection of ardentsouls at a newly unmasked battery and flung himself on the muzzle of agun as his companions danced among the gunners. It was Mulcahy who ranwildly on from that battery into the open plain, where the enemy wereretiring in sullen groups. His hands were empty, he had lost helmet andbelt, and he was bleeding from a wound in the neck. Dan and Horse Egan, panting and distressed, had thrown themselves down on the ground by thecaptured guns, when they noticed Mulcahy's charge. 

'Mad, ' said Horse Egan critically. 'Mad with fear! He's going straightto his death, an' shouting's no use. '

'Let him go. Watch now! If we fire we'll hit him, maybe. '

The last of a hurrying crowd of Afghans turned at the noise of shod feetbehind him, and shifted his knife ready to hand. This, he saw, was notime to take prisoners. Mulcahy tore on, sobbing; the straight-heldblade went home through the defenceless breast, and the body pitchedforward almost before a shot from Dan's rifle brought down the slayerand still further hurried the Afghan retreat. The two Irishmen went outto bring in their dead. 

'He was given the point and that was an easy death, ' said Horse Egan, viewing the corpse. 'But would you ha' shot him, Danny, if he hadlived?'

'He didn't live, so there's no sayin'. But I doubt I wud have bekase ofthe fun he gave us--let alone the beer. Hike up his legs, Horse, andwe'll bring him in. Perhaps 'tis better this way. '

They bore the poor limp body to the mass of the regiment, lolling open-mouthed on their rifles; and there was a general snigger when one of theyounger subalterns said, 'That was a good man!'

'Phew, ' said Horse Egan, when a burial-party had taken over the burden. 'I'm powerful dhry, and this reminds me there'll be no more beer atall. '

'Fwhy not?' said Dan, with a twinkle in his eye as he stretched himselffor rest. 'Are we not conspirin' all we can, an' while we conspire arewe not entitled to free dhrinks? Sure his ould mother in New York wouldnot let her son's comrades perish of drouth--if she can be reached atthe end of a letter. '

'You're a janius, ' said Horse Egan. 'O' coorse she will not. I wish thiscrool war was over an' we'd get back to canteen. Faith, the Commander-in-Chief ought to be hanged in his own little sword-belt for makin' uswork on wather. '

The Mavericks were generally of Horse Egan's opinion. So they made hasteto get their work done as soon as possible, and their industry wasrewarded by unexpected peace. 'We can fight the sons of Adam, ' said thetribesmen, 'but we cannot fight the sons of Eblis, and this regimentnever stays still in one place. Let us therefore come in. ' They came inand 'this regiment' withdrew to conspire under the leadership of DanGrady. 

Excellent as a subordinate Dan failed altogether as a chief-in-command--possibly because he was too much swayed by the advice of the only man inthe regiment who could manufacture more than one kind of handwriting. The same mail that bore to Mulcahy's mother in New York a letter fromthe colonel telling her how valiantly her son had fought for the Queen, and how assuredly he would have been recommended for the Victoria Crosshad he survived, carried a communication signed, I grieve to say, bythat same colonel and all the officers of the regiment, explaining theirwillingness to do 'anything which is contrary to the regulations and allkinds of revolutions' if only a little money could be forwarded to coverincidental expenses. Daniel Grady, Esquire, would receive funds, viceMulcahy, who 'was unwell at this present time of writing. '

Both letters were forwarded from New York to Tehama Street, SanFrancisco, with marginal comments as brief as they were bitter. TheThird Three read and looked at each other. Then the Second Conspirator-he who believed in 'joining hands with the practical branches'---beganto laugh, and on recovering his gravity said, 'Gentlemen, I considerthis will be a lesson to us. We're left again. Those cursed Irish havelet us down. I knew they would, but'-here he laughed afresh-'I'd giveconsiderable to know what was at the back of it all. '

His curiosity would have been satisfied had he seen Dan Grady, discredited regimental conspirator, trying to explain to his thirstycomrades in India the non-arrival of funds from New York. 

THE MARK OF THE BEAST

Your Gods and my Gods-do you or I know which are the stronger? NativeProverb. 

EAST of Suez, some hold, the direct control of Providence ceases; Manbeing there handed over to the power of the Gods and Devils of Asia, andthe Church of England Providence only exercising an occasional andmodified supervision in the case of Englishmen. 

This theory accounts for some of the more unnecessary horrors of life inIndia: it may be stretched to explain my story. 

My friend Strickland of the Police, who knows as much of natives ofIndia as is good for any man, can bear witness to the facts of the case. Dumoise, our doctor, also saw what Strickland and I saw. The inferencewhich he drew from the evidence was entirely incorrect. He is dead now;he died, in a rather curious manner, which has been elsewhere described. 

When Fleete came to India he owned a little money and some land in theHimalayas, near a place called Dharmsala. Both properties had been lefthim by an uncle, and he came out to finance them. He was a big, heavy, genial, and inoffensive man. His knowledge of natives was, of course, limited, and he complained of the difficulties of the language. 

He rode in from his place in the hills to spend New Year in the station, and he stayed with Strickland. On New Year's Eve there was a big dinnerat the club, and the night was excusably wet. When men foregather fromthe uttermost ends of the Empire, they have a right to be riotous. TheFrontier had sent down a contingent o' Catch-'em-Alive-O's who had notseen twenty white faces for a year, and were used to ride fifteen milesto dinner at the next Fort at the risk of a Khyberee bullet where theirdrinks should lie. They profited by their new security, for they triedto play pool with a curled-up hedgehog found in the garden, and one ofthem carried the marker round the room in his teeth. Half a dozenplanters had come in from the south and were talking 'horse' to theBiggest Liar in Asia, who was trying to cap all their stories at once. Everybody was there, and there was a general closing up of ranks andtaking stock of our losses in dead or disabled that had fallen duringthe past year. It was a very wet night, and I remember that we sang'Auld Lang Syne' with our feet in the Polo Championship Cup, and ourheads among the stars, and swore that we were all dear friends. Thensome of us went away and annexed Burma, and some tried to open up theSoudan and were opened up by Fuzzies in that cruel scrub outside Suakim, and some found stars and medals, and some were married, which was bad, and some did other things which were worse, and the others of us stayedin our chains and strove to make money on insufficient experiences. 

Fleete began the night with sherry and bitters, drank champagne steadilyup to dessert, then raw, rasping Capri with all the strength of whisky, took Benedictine with his coffee, four or five whiskies and sodas toimprove his pool strokes, beer and bones at half-past two, winding upwith old brandy. Consequently, when he came out, at half-past three inthe morning, into fourteen degrees of frost, he was very angry with hishorse for coughing, and tried to leapfrog into the saddle. The horsebroke away and went to his stables; so Strickland and I formed a Guardof Dishonour to take Fleete home. 

Our road lay through the bazaar, close to a little temple of Hanuman, the Monkey-god, who is a leading divinity worthy of respect. All godshave good points, just as have all priests. Personally, I attach muchimportance to Hanuman, and am kind to his people--the great gray apes ofthe hills. One never knows when one may want a friend. 

There was a light in the temple, and as we passed, we could hear voicesof men chanting hymns. In a native temple, the priests rise at all hoursof the night to do honour to their god. Before we could stop him, Fleetedashed up the steps, patted two priests on the back, and was gravelygrinding the ashes of his cigar-butt into the forehead of the red stoneimage of Hanuman. Strickland tried to drag him out, but he sat down andsaid solemnly:

'Shee that? 'Mark of the B-beasht! _I_ made it. Ishn't it fine?'

In half a minute the temple was alive and noisy, and Strickland, whoknew what came of polluting gods, said that things might occur. He, byvirtue of his official position, long residence in the country, andweakness for going among the natives, was known to the priests and hefelt unhappy. Fleete sat on the ground and refused to move. He said that'good old Hanuman' made a very soft pillow. 

Then, without any warning, a Silver Man came out of a recess behind theimage of the god. He was perfectly naked in that bitter, bitter cold, and his body shone like frosted silver, for he was what the Bible calls'a leper as white as snow. ' Also he had no face, because he was a leperof some years' standing and his disease was heavy upon him. We twostooped to haul Fleete up, and the temple was filling and filling withfolk who seemed to spring from the earth, when the Silver Man ran inunder our arms, making a noise exactly like the mewing of an otter, caught Fleete round the body and dropped his head on Fleete's breastbefore we could wrench him away. Then he retired to a corner and satmewing while the crowd blocked all the doors. 

The priests were very angry until the Silver Man touched Fleete. Thatnuzzling seemed to sober them. 

At the end of a few minutes' silence one of the priests came toStrickland and said, in perfect English, 'Take your friend away. He hasdone with Hanuman, but Hanurnan has not done with him. ' The crowd gaveroom and we carried Fleete into the road. 

Strickland was very angry. He said that we might all three have beenknifed, and that Fleete should thank his stars that he had escapedwithout injury. 

Fleete thanked no one. He said that he wanted to go to bed. He wasgorgeously drunk. 

We moved on, Strickland silent and wrathful, until Fleete was taken withviolent shivering fits and sweating. He said that the smells of thebazaar were overpowering, and he wondered why slaughter-houses werepermitted so near English residences. 'Can't you smell the blood?' saidFleete. 

We put him to bed at last, just as the dawn was breaking, and Stricklandinvited me to have another whisky and soda. While we were drinking hetalked of the trouble in the temple, and admitted that it baffled himcompletely. Strickland hates being mystified by natives, because hisbusiness in life is to overmatch them with their own weapons. He has notyet succeeded in doing this, but in fifteen or twenty years he will havemade some small progress. 

'They should have mauled us, ' he said, 'instead of mewing at us. Iwonder what they meant. I don't like it one little bit. '

I said that the Managing Committee of the temple would in allprobability bring a criminal action against us for insulting theirreligion. There was a section of the Indian Penal Code which exactly metFleete's offence. Strickland said he only hoped and prayed that theywould do this. Before I left I looked into Fleete's room, and saw himlying on his right side, scratching his left breast. Then. I went to bedcold, depressed, and unhappy, at seven o'clock in the morning. 

At one o'clock I rode over to Strickland's house to inquire afterFleete's head. I imagined that it would be a sore one. Fleete wasbreakfasting and seemed unwell. His temper was gone, for he was abusingthe cook for not supplying him with an underdone chop. A man who can eatraw meat after a wet night is a curiosity. I told Fleete this and helaughed. 

'You breed queer mosquitoes in these parts, ' he said. 'I've been bittento pieces, but only in one place. '

'Let's have a look at the bite, ' said Strickland. 'It may have gone downsince this morning. '

While the chops were being cooked, Fleete opened his shirt and showedus, just over his left breast, a mark, the perfect double of the blackrosettes--the five or six irregular blotches arranged in a circle--ona leopard's hide. Strickland looked and said, 'It was only pink thismorning. It's grown black now. '

Fleete ran to a glass. 

'By Jove!' he said, ' this is nasty. What is it?'

We could not answer. Here the chops came in, all red and juicy, andFleete bolted three in a most offensive manner. He ate on his rightgrinders only, and threw his head over his right shoulder as he snappedthe meat. When he had finished, it struck him that he had been behavingstrangely, for he said apologetically, 'I don't think I ever felt sohungry in my life. I've bolted like an ostrich. '

After breakfast Strickland said to me, 'Don't go. Stay here, and stayfor the night. '

Seeing that my house was not three miles from Strickland's, this requestwas absurd. But Strickland insisted, and was going to say something whenFleete interrupted by declaring in a shamefaced way that he felt hungryagain. Strickland sent a man to my house to fetch over my bedding and ahorse, and we three went down to Strickland's stables to pass the hoursuntil it was time to go out for a ride. The man who has a weakness forhorses never wearies of inspecting them; and when two men are killingtime in this way they gather knowledge and lies the one from the other. 

There were five horses in the stables, and I shall never forget thescene as we tried to look them over. They seemed to have gone mad. Theyreared and screamed and nearly tore up their pickets; they sweated andshivered and lathered and were distraught with fear. Strickland's horsesused to know him as well as his dogs; which made the matter morecurious. We left the stable for fear of the brutes throwing themselvesin their panic. Then Strickland turned back and called me. The horseswere still frightened, but they let us 'gentle' and make much of them, and put their heads in our bosoms. 

'They aren't afraid of US, ' said Strickland. 'D'you know, I'd give threemonths' pay if OUTRAGE here could talk. '

But Outrage was dumb, and could only cuddle up to his master and blowout his nostrils, as is the custom of horses when they wish to explainthings but can't. Fleete came up when we were in the stalls, and as soonas the horses saw him, their fright broke out afresh. It was all that wecould do to escape from the place unkicked. Strickland said, 'They don'tseem to love you, Fleete. '

'Nonsense, ' said Fleete;'my mare will follow me like a dog. ' He went toher; she was in a loose-box; but as he slipped the bars she plunged, knocked him down, and broke away into the garden. I laughed, butStrickland was not amused. He took his moustache in both fists andpulled at it till it nearly came out. Fleete, instead of going off tochase his property, yawned, saying that he felt sleepy. He went to thehouse to lie down, which was a foolish way of spending New Year's Day. 

Strickland sat with me in the stables and asked if I had noticedanything peculiar in Fleete's manner. I said that he ate his food like abeast; but that this might have been the result of living alone in thehills out of the reach of society as refined and elevating as ours forinstance. Strickland was not amused. I do not think that he listened tome, for his next sentence referred to the mark on Fleete's breast, and Isaid that it might have been caused by blister-flies, or that it waspossibly a birth-mark newly born and now visible for the first time. Weboth agreed that it was unpleasant to look at, and Strickland foundoccasion to say that I was a fool. 

'I can't tell you what I think now, ' said he, 'because you would call mea madman; but you must stay with me for the next few days, if you can. Iwant you to watch Fleete, but don't tell me what you think till I havemade up my mind. '

'But I am dining out to-night, ' I said. 'So am I, ' said Strickland, 'andso is Fleete. At least if he doesn't change his mind. '

We walked about the garden smoking, but saying nothing--because we werefriends, and talking spoils good tobacco--till our pipes were out. Thenwe went to wake up Fleete. He was wide awake and fidgeting about hisroom. 

'I say, I want some more chops, ' he said. 'Can I get them?'

We laughed and said, 'Go and change. The ponies will be round in aminute. '

'All right, ' said Fleete. I'll go when I get the chops--underdone ones, mind. '

He seemed to be quite in earnest. It was four o'clock, and we had hadbreakfast at one; still, for a long time, he demanded those underdonechops. Then he changed into riding clothes and went out into theverandah. His pony--the mare had not been caught--would not let him comenear. All three horses were unmanageable---mad with fear---and finallyFleete said that he would stay at home and get something to eat. Strickland and I rode out wondering. As we passed the temple of Hanuman, the Silver Man came out and mewed at us. 

'He is not one of the regular priests of the temple, ' said Strickland. 'I think I should peculiarly like to lay my hands on him. '

There was no spring in our gallop on the racecourse that evening. Thehorses were stale, and moved as though they had been ridden out. 

'The fright after breakfast has been too much for them, ' saidStrickland. 

That was the only remark he made through the remainder of the ride. Onceor twice I think he swore to himself; but that did not count. 

We came back in the dark at seven o'clock, and saw that there were nolights in the bungalow. 'Careless ruffians my servants are!' saidStrickland. 

My horse reared at something on the carriage drive, and Fleete stood upunder its nose. 

'What are you doing, grovelling about the garden?' said Strickland. 

But both horses bolted and nearly threw us. We dismounted by the stablesand returned to Fleete, who was on his hands and knees under the orange-bushes. 

'What the devil's wrong with you?' said Strickland. 

'Nothing, nothing in the world, ' said Fleete, speaking very quickly andthickly. 'I've been gardening-botanising you know. The smell of theearth is delightful. I think I'm going for a walk-a long walk-allnight. '

Then I saw that there was something excessively out of order somewhere, and I said to Strickland, 'I am not dining out. '

'Bless you!' said Strickland. 'Here, Fleete, get up. You'll catch feverthere. Come in to dinner and let's have the lamps lit. We 'll all dineat home. '

Fleete stood up unwillingly, and said, 'No lamps-no lamps. It's muchnicer here. Let's dine outside and have some more chops-lots of 'em andunderdone--bloody ones with gristle. '

Now a December evening in Northern India is bitterly cold, and Fleete'ssuggestion was that of a maniac. 

'Come in, ' said Strickland sternly. 'Come in at once. '

Fleete came, and when the lamps were brought, we saw that he wasliterally plastered with dirt from head to foot. He must have beenrolling in the garden. He shrank from the light and went to his room. His eyes were horrible to look at. There was a green light behind them, not in them, if you understand, and the man's lower lip hung down. 

Strickland said, 'There is going to be trouble-big trouble-to-night. Don't you change your riding-things. '

We waited and waited for Fleete's reappearance, and ordered dinner inthe meantime. We could hear him moving about his own room, but there wasno light there. Presently from the room came the long-drawn howl of awolf. 

People write and talk lightly of blood running cold and hair standing upand things of that kind. Both sensations are too horrible to be trifledwith. My heart stopped as though a knife had been driven through it, andStrickland turned as white as the tablecloth. 

The howl was repeated, and was answered by another howl far across thefields. 

That set the gilded roof on the horror. Strickland dashed into Fleete'sroom. I followed, and we saw Fleete getting out of the window. He madebeast-noises in the back of his throat. He could not answer us when weshouted at him. He spat. 

I don't quite remember what followed, but I think that Strickland musthave stunned him with the long boot-jack or else I should never havebeen able to sit on his chest. Fleete could not speak, he could onlysnarl, and his snarls were those of a wolf, not of a man. The humanspirit must have been giving way all day and have died out with thetwilight. We were dealing with a beast that had once been Fleete. 

The affair was beyond any human and rational experience. I tried to say'Hydrophobia, ' but the word wouldn't come, because I knew that I waslying. 

We bound this beast with leather thongs of the punkah-rope, and tied itsthumbs and big toes together, and gagged it with a shoe-horn, whichmakes a very efficient gag if you know how to arrange it. Then wecarried it into the dining-room, and sent a man to Dumoise, the doctor, telling him to come over at once. After we had despatched the messengerand were drawing breath, Strickland said, 'It's no good. This isn't anydoctor's work. ' I, also, knew that he spoke the truth. 

The beast's head was free, and it threw it about from side to side. Anyone entering the room would have believed that we were curing a wolf'spelt. That was the most loathsome accessory of all. 

Strickland sat with his chin in the heel of his fist, watching the beastas it wriggled on the ground, but saying nothing. The shirt had beentorn open in the scuffle and showed the black rosette mark on the leftbreast. It stood out like a blister. 

In the silence of the watching we heard something without mewing like ashe-otter. We both rose to our feet, and, I answer for myself, notStrickland, felt sick--actually and physically sick. We told each other, as did the men in Pinafore, that it was the cat. 

Dumoise arrived, and I never saw a little man so unprofessionallyshocked. He said that it was a heart-rending case of hydrophobia, andthat nothing could be done. At least any palliative measures would onlyprolong the agony. The beast was foaming at the mouth. Fleete, as wetold Dumoise, had been bitten by dogs once or twice. Any man who keepshalf a dozen terriers must expect a nip now and again. Dumoise couldoffer no help. He could only certify that Fleete was dying ofhydrophobia. The beast was then howling, for it had managed to spit outthe shoe-horn. Dumoise said that he would be ready to certify to thecause of death, and that the end was certain. He was a good little man, and he offered to remain with us; but Strickland refused the kindness. He did not wish to poison Dumoise's New Year. He would only ask him notto give the real cause of Fleete's death to the public. 

So Dumoise left, deeply agitated; and as soon as the noise of the cart-wheels had died away, Strickland told me, in a whisper, his suspicions. They were so wildly improbable that he dared not say them out aloud; andI, who entertained all Strickland's beliefs, was so ashamed of owning tothem that I pretended to disbelieve. 

'Even if the Silver Man had bewtiched Fleete for polluting the image ofHanuman, the punishment could not have fallen so quickly. '

As I was whispering this the cry outside the house rose again, and thebeast fell into a fresh paroxysm of struggling till we were afraid thatthe thongs that held it would give way. 

'Watch!' said Strickland. 'If this happens six times I shall take thelaw into my own hands. I order you to help me. '

He went into his room and came out in a few minutes with the barrels ofan old shot-gun, a piece of fishing-line, some thick cord, and his heavywooden bedstead. I reported that the convulsions had followed the cry bytwo seconds in each case, and the beast seemed perceptibly weaker. 

Strickland muttered, 'But he can't take away the life! He can't takeaway the life!'

I said, though I knew that I was arguing against myself, 'It may be acat. It must be a cat. If the Silver Man is responsible, why does hedare to come here?'

Strickland arranged the wood on the hearth, put the gun-barrels into theglow of the fire, spread the twine on the table and broke a walkingstick in two. There was one yard of fishing line, gut, lapped with wire, such as is used for mahseer-fishing, and he tied the two ends togetherin a loop. 

Then he said, 'How can we catch him? He must be taken alive and unhurt. '

I said that we must trust in Providence, and go out softly with polo-sticks into the shrubbery at the front of the house. The man or animalthat made the cry was evidently moving round the house as regularly as anight-watchman. We could wait in the bushes till he came by andknock him over. 

Strickland accepted this suggestion, and we slipped out from a bath-roomwindow into the front verandah and then across the carriage drive intothe bushes. 

In the moonlight we could see the leper coming round the corner of thehouse. He was perfectly naked, and from time to time he mewed andstopped to dance with his shadow. It was an unattractive sight, andthinking of poor Fleete, brought to such degradation by so foul acreature, I put away all my doubts and resolved to help Strickland fromthe heated gun-barrels to the loop of twine-from the loins to the headand back again---with all tortures that might be needful. 

The leper halted in the front porch for a moment and we jumped out onhim with the sticks. He was wonderfully strong, and we were afraid thathe might escape or be fatally injured before we caught him. We had anidea that lepers were frail creatures, but this proved to be incorrect. Strickland knocked his legs from under him and I put my foot on hisneck. He mewed hideously, and even through my riding-boots I could feelthat his flesh was not the flesh of a clean man. 

He struck at us with his hand and feet-stumps. We looped the lash of adog-whip round him, under the armpits, and dragged him backwards intothe hall and so into the dining-room where the beast lay. There we tiedhim with trunk-straps. He made no attempt to escape, but mewed. 

When we confronted him with the beast the scene was beyond description. The beast doubled backwards into a bow as though he had been poisonedwith strychnine, and moaned in the most pitiable fashion. Several otherthings happened also, but they cannot be put down here. 

'I think I was right, ' said Strickland. 'Now we will ask him to curethis case. '

But the leper only mewed. Strickland wrapped a towel round his hand andtook the gun-barrels out of the fire. I put the half of the brokenwalking stick through the loop of fishing-line and buckled the lepercomfortably to Strickland's bedstead. I understood then how men andwomen and little children can endure to see a witch burnt alive; for thebeast was moaning on the floor, and though the Silver Man had no face, you could see horrible feelings passing through the slab that took itsplace, exactly as waves of heat play across red-hot iron--gun-barrelsfor instance. 

Strickland shaded his eyes with his hands for a moment and we got towork. This part is not to be printed. 

The dawn was beginning to break when the leper spoke. His mewings hadnot been satisfactory up to that point. The beast had fainted fromexhaustion and the house was very still. We unstrapped the leper andtold him to take away the evil spirit. He crawled to the beast and laidhis hand upon the left breast. That was all. Then he fell face down andwhined, drawing in his breath as he did so. 

We watched the face of the beast, and saw the soul of Fleete coming backinto the eyes. Then a sweat broke out on the forehead and the eyes-theywere human eyes---closed. We waited for an hour but Fleete still slept. We carried him to his room and bade the leper go, giving him thebedstead, and the sheet on the bedstead to cover his nakedness, thegloves and the towels with which we had touched him, and the whip thathad been hooked round his body. He put the sheet about him and went outinto the early morning without speaking or mewing. 

Strickland wiped his face and sat down. A night-gong, far away in thecity, made seven o'clock. 

'Exactly four-and-twenty hours!' said Strickland. 'And I've done enoughto ensure my dismissal from the service, besides permanent quarters in alunatic asylum. Do you believe that we are awake?'

The red-hot gun-barrel had fallen on the floor and was singeing thecarpet. The smell was entirely real. 

That morning at eleven we two together went to wake up Fleete. We lookedand saw that the black leopard-rosette on his chest had disappeared. Hewas very drowsy and tired, but as soon as he saw us, he said, 'Oh!Confound you fellows. Happy New Year to you. Never mix your liquors. I'mnearly dead. '

'Thanks for your kindness, but you're over time, ' said Strickland. 'To-day is the morning of the second. You've slept the clock round with avengeance. '

The door opened, and little Dumoise put his head in. He had come onfoot, and fancied that we were laving out Fleete. 

'I've brought a nurse, ' said Dumoise. 'I suppose that she can come infor. .. What is necessary. '

'By all means, ' said Fleete cheerily, sitting up in bed. 'Bring on yournurses. '

Dumoise was dumb. Strickland led him out and explained that there musthave been a mistake in the diagnosis. Dumoise remained dumb and left thehouse hastily. He considered that his professional reputation had beeninjured, and was inclined to make a personal matter of the recovery. Strickland went out too. When he came back, he said that he had been tocall on the Temple of Hanuman to offer redress for the pollution of thegod, and had been solemnly assured that no white man had ever touchedthe idol and that he was an incarnation of all the virtues labouringunder a delusion. 

'What do you think?' said Strickland. 

I said, '"There are more things . . . "'

But Strickland hates that quotation. He says that I have worn itthreadbare. 

One other curious thing happened which frightened me as much as anythingin all the night's work. When Fleete was dressed he came into thedining-room and sniffed. He had a quaint trick of moving his nose whenhe sniffed. 'Horrid doggy smell, here, ' said he. 'You should really keepthose terriers of yours in better order. Try sulphur, Strick. '

But Strickland did not answer. He caught hold of the back of a chair, and, without warning, went into an amazing fit of hysterics. It isterrible to see a strong man overtaken with hysteria. Then it struck methat we had fought for Fleete's soul with the Silver Man in that room, and had disgraced ourselves as Englishmen for ever, and I laughed andgasped and gurgled just as shamefully as Strickland, while Fleetethought that we had both gone mad. We never told him what we had done. 

Some years later, when Strickland had married and was a church-goingmember of society for his wife's sake, we reviewed the incidentdispassionately, and Strickland suggested that I should put it beforethe public. 

I cannot myself see that this step is likely to clear up the mystery;because, in the first place, no one will believe a rather unpleasantstory, and, in the second, it is well known to every right-minded manthat the gods of the heathen are stone and brass, and any attempt todeal with them otherwise is justly condemned. 

THE RETURN OF IMRAY

 The doors were wide, the story saith, Out of the night came the patient wraith, He might not speak, and he could not stir A hair of the Baron's minniver--- Speechless and strengthless, a shadow thin, He roved the castle to seek his kin. And oh, 'twas a piteous thing to see The dumb ghost follow his enemy! THE BARON. 

Imray achieved the impossible. Without warning, for no conceivablemotive, in his youth, at the threshold of his career he chose todisappear from the world---which is to say, the little Indian stationwhere he lived. 

Upon a day he was alive, well, happy, and in great evidence among thebilliard-tables at his Club. Upon a morning, he was not, and no mannerof search could make sure where he might be. He had stepped out of hisplace; he had not appeared at his office at the proper time, and hisdogcart was not upon the public roads. For these reasons, and because hewas hampering, in a microscopical degree, the administration of theIndian Empire, that Empire paused for one microscopical moment to makeinquiry into the fate of Imray. Ponds were dragged, wells were plumbed, telegrams were despatched down the lines of railways and to the nearestseaport town-twelve hundred miles away; but Imray was not at the end ofthe drag-ropes nor the telegraph wires. He was gone, and his place knewhim no more. 

Then the work of the great Indian Empire swept forward, because it couldnot be delayed, and Imray from being a man became a mystery--such athing as men talk over at their tables in the Club for a month, and thenforget utterly. His guns, horses, and carts were sold to the highestbidder. His superior officer wrote an altogether absurd letter to hismother, saying that Imray had unaccountably disappeared, and hisbungalow stood empty. 

After three or four months of the scorching hot weather had gone by, myfriend Strickland, of the Police, saw fit to rent the bungalow from thenative landlord. This was before he was engaged to Miss Youghal--anaffair which has been described in another place--and while he waspursuing his investigations into native life. His own life wassufficiently peculiar, and men complained of his manners and customs. There was always food in his house, but there were no regular times formeals. He ate, standing up and walking about, whatever he might find atthe sideboard, and this is not good for human beings. His domesticequipment was limited to six rifles, three shot-guns, five saddles, anda collection of stiff-jointed mahseer-rods, bigger and stronger than thelargest salmon-rods. These occupied one-half of his bungalow, and theother half was given up to Strickland and his dog Tietjens--an enormousRampur slut who devoured daily the rations of two men. She spoke toStrickland in a language of her own; and whenever, walking abroad, shesaw things calculated to destroy the peace of Her Majesty the Queen-Empress, she returned to her master and laid information. Stricklandwould take steps at once, and the end of his labours was trouble andfine and imprisonment for other people. The natives believed thatTietjens was a familiar spirit, and treated her with the great reverencethat is born of hate and fear. One room in the bungalow was set apartfor her special use. She owned a bedstead, a blanket, and a drinking-trough, and if any one came into Strickland's room at night her customwas to knock down the invader and give tongue till some one came with alight. Strickland owed his life to her, when he was on the Frontier, insearch of a local murderer, who came in the gray dawn to send Stricklandmuch farther than the Andaman Islands. Tietjens caught the man as he wascrawling into Strickland's tent with a dagger between his teeth; andafter his record of iniquity was established in the eyes of the law hewas hanged. From that date Tietjens wore a collar of rough silver, andemployed a monogram on her night-blanket; and the blanket was of doublewoven Kashmir cloth, for she was a delicate dog. 

Under no circumstances would she be separated from Strickland; and once, when he was ill with fever, made great trouble for the doctors, becauseshe did not know how to help her master and would not allow anothercreature to attempt aid. Macarnaght, of the Indian Medical Service, beather over her head with a gun-butt before she could understand that shemust give room for those who could give quinine. 

A short time after Strickland had taken Imray's bungalow, my businesstook me through that Station, and naturally, the Club quarters beingfull, I quartered myself upon Strickland. It was a desirable bungalow, eight-roomed and heavily thatched against any chance of leakage fromrain. Under the pitch of the roof ran a ceiling-cloth which looked justas neat as a white-washed ceiling. The landlord had repainted it whenStrickland took the bungalow. Unless you knew how Indian bungalows werebuilt you would never have suspected that above the cloth lay the darkthree-cornered cavern of the roof, where the beams and the underside ofthe thatch harboured all manner of rats, bats, ants, and foul things. 

Tietjens met me in the verandah with a bay like the boom of the bell ofSt. Paul's, putting her paws on my shoulder to show she was glad to seeme. Strickland had contrived to claw together a sort of meal which hecalled lunch, and immediately after it was finished went out about hisbusiness. I was left alone with Tietjens and my own affairs. The heat ofthe summer had broken up and turned to the warm damp of the rains. Therewas no motion in the heated air, but the rain fell like ramrods on theearth, and flung up a blue mist when it splashed back. The bamboos, andthe custard-apples, the poinsettias, and the mango-trees in the gardenstood still while the warm water lashed through them, and the frogsbegan to sing among the aloe hedges. A little before the light failed, and when the rain was at its worst, I sat in the back verandah and heardthe water roar from the eaves, and scratched myself because I wascovered with the thing called prickly-heat. Tietjens came out with meand put her head in my lap and was very sorrowful; so I gave herbiscuits when tea was ready, and I took tea in the back verandah onaccount of the little coolness found there. The rooms of the house weredark behind me. I could smell Strickland's saddlery and the oil on hisguns, and I had no desire to sit among these things. My own servant cameto me in the twilight, the muslin of his clothes clinging tightly to hisdrenched body, and told me that a gentleman had called and wished to seesome one. Very much against my will, but only because of the darkness ofthe rooms, I went into the naked drawing-room, telling my man to bringthe lights. There might or might not have been a caller waiting---itseemed to me that I saw a figure by one of the windows---but when thelights came there was nothing save the spikes of the rain without, andthe smell of the drinking earth in my nostrils. I explained to myservant that he was no wiser than he ought to be, and went back to theverandah to talk to Tietjens. She had gone out into the wet, and I couldhardly coax her back to me; even with biscuits with sugar tops. Strickland came home, dripping wet, just before dinner, and the firstthing he said was. 

'Has any one called?'

I explained, with apologies, that my servant had summoned me into thedrawing-room on a false alarm; or that some loafer had tried to call onStrickland, and thinking better of it had fled after giving his name. Strickiand ordered dinner, without comment, and since it was a realdinner with a white tablecloth attached, we sat down. 

At nine o'clock Strickland wanted to go to bed, and I was tired too. Tietjens, who had been lying underneath the table, rose up, and swunginto the least exposed verandah as soon as her master moved to his ownroom, which was next to the stately chamber set apart for Tietjens. If amere wife had wished to sleep out of doors in that pelting rain it wouldnot have mattered; but Tietjens was a dog, and therefore the betteranimal. I looked at Strickland, expecting to see him flay her with awhip. He smiled queerly, as a man would smile after telling someunpleasant domestic tragedy. 'She has done this ever since I moved inhere, ' said he. 'Let her go. '

The dog was Strickland's dog, so I said nothing, but I felt all thatStrickland felt In being thus made light of. Tietjens encamped outsidemy bedroom window, and storm after storm came up, thundered on thethatch, and died away. The lightning spattered the sky as a thrown eggspatters a barn-door, but the light was pale blue, not yellow; and, looking through my split bamboo blinds, I could see the great dogstanding, not sleeping, in the verandah, the hackles alift on her backand her feet anchored as tensely as the drawn wire-rope of a suspensionbridge. In the very short pauses of the thunder I tried to sleep, but itseemed that some one wanted me very urgently. He, whoever he was, wastrying to call me by name, but his voice was no more than a huskywhisper. The thunder ceased, and Tietjens went into the garden andhowled at the low moon. Somebody tried to open my door, walked about andabout through the house and stood breathing heavily in the verandahs, and just when I was falling asleep I fancied that I heard a wildhammering and clamouring above my head or on the door. 

I ran into Strickland's room and asked him whether he was ill, and hadbeen calling for me. He was lying on his bed half dressed, a pipe in hismouth. 'I thought you'd come, ' he said. 'Have I been walking round thehouse recently?'

I explained that he had been tramping in the dining-room and thesmoking-room and two or three other places, and he laughed and told meto go back to bed. I went back to bed and slept till the morning, butthrough all my mixed dreams I was sure I was doing some one an injusticein not attending to his wants. What those wants were I could not tell;but a fluttering, whispering, bolt-fumbling, lurking, loitering Someonewas reproaching me for my slackness, and, half awake, I heard thehowling of Tietjens in the garden and the threshing of the rain. 

I lived in that house for two days. Strickland went to his office daily, leaving me alone for eight or ten hours with Tietjens for my onlycompanion. As long as the full light lasted I was comfortable, and sowas Tietjens; but in the twilight she and I moved into the back verandahand cuddled each other for company. We were alone in the house, but nonethe less it was much too fully occupied by a tenant with whom I did notwish to interfere. I never saw him, but I could see the curtains betweenthe rooms quivering where he had just passed through; I could hear thechairs creaking as the bamboos sprung under a weight that had justquitted them; and I could feel when I went to get a book from thedining-room that somebody was waiting in the shadows of the frontverandah till I should have gone away. Tietjens made the twilight moreinteresting by glaring into the darkened rooms with every hair erect, and following the motions of something that I could not see. She neverentered the rooms, but her eyes moved interestedly: that was quitesufficient. Only when my servant came to trim the lamps and make alllight and habitable she would come in with me and spend her time sittingon her haunches, watching an invisible extra man as he moved aboutbehind my shoulder. Dogs are cheerful companions. 

I explained to Strickland, gently as might be, that I would go over tothe Club and find for myself quarters there. I admired his hospitality, was pleased with his guns and rods, but I did not much care for hishouse and its atmosphere. He heard me out to the end, and then smiledvery wearily, but without contempt, for he is a man who understandsthings. 'Stay on, ' he said, 'and see what this thing means. All you havetalked about I have known since I took the bungalow. Stay on and wait. Tietjens has left me. Are you going too?'

I had seen him through one little affair, connected with a heathen idol, that had brought me to the doors of a lunatic asylum, and I had nodesire to help him through further experiences. He was a man to whomunpleasantnesses arrived as do dinners to ordinary people. 

Therefore I explained more clearly than ever that I liked him immensely, and would be happy to see him in the daytime; but that I did not care tosleep under his roof. This was after dinner, when Tietjens had gone outto lie in the verandah. 

''Pon my soul, I don't wonder, ' said Strickland, with his eyes on theceiling-cloth. 'Look at that!'

The tails of two brown snakes were hanging between the cloth and thecornice of the wall. They threw long shadows in the lamplight. 

'If you are afraid of snakes of course--' said Strickland. 

I hate and fear snakes, because if you look into the eyes of any snakeyou will see that it knows all and more of the mystery of man's fall, and that it feels all the contempt that the Devil felt when Adam wasevicted from Eden. Besides which its bite is generally fatal, and ittwists up trouser legs. 

'You ought to get your thatch overhauled, ' I said. 

'Give me a mahseer-rod, and we'll poke 'em down. '

'They'll hide among the roof-beams, ' said Strickland. 'I can't standsnakes overhead. I'm going up into the roof. If I shake 'em down, standby with a cleaning-rod and break their backs. '

I was not anxious to assist Strickland in his work, but I took thecleaning-rod and waited in the dining-room, while Strickland brought agardener's ladder from the verandah, and set it against the side of theroom. 

The snake-tails drew themselves up and disappeared. We could hear thedry rushing scuttle of long bodies running over the baggy ceiling-cloth. Strickland took a lamp with him, while I tried to make clear to him thedanger of hunting roof-snakes between a ceiling-cloth and a thatch, apart from the deterioration of property caused by ripping out ceiling-cloths. 

'Nonsense!' said Strickland. 'They're sure to hide near the walls by thecloth. The bricks are too cold for 'em, and the heat of the room is justwhat they like. ' He put his hand to the corner of the stuff and rippedit from the cornice. It gave with a great sound of tearing, andStrickland put his head through the opening into the dark of the angleof the roof-beams. I set my teeth and lifted the rod, for I had not theleast knowledge of what might descend. 

'H'm!' said Strickland, and his voice rolled and rumbled in the roof. 'There's room for another set of rooms up here, and, by Jove, some oneis occupying 'em!'

'Snakes?' I said from below. 

'No. It's a buffalo. Hand me up the two last joints of a mahseer-rod, and I'll prod it. It's lying on the main roof-beam. '

I handed up the rod. 

'What a nest for owls and serpents! No wonder the snakes live here, 'said Strickland, climbing farther into the roof. I could see his elbowthrusting with the rod. 'Come out of that, whoever you are! Heads belowthere! It's falling. '

I saw the ceiling-cloth nearly in the centre of the room bag with ashape that was pressing it downwards and downwards towards the lightedlamp on the table. I snatched the lamp out of danger and stood back. Then the cloth ripped out from the walls, tore, split, swayed, and shotdown upon the table something that I dared not look at, till Stricklandhad slid down the ladder and was standing by my side. 

He did not say much, being a man of few words; but he picked up theloose end of the tablecloth and threw it over the remnants on the table. 

'It strikes me, ' said he, putting down the lamp, 'our friend Imray hascome back. Oh! you would, would you?'

There was a movement under the cloth, and a little snake wriggled out, to be back-broken by the butt of the mahseer-rod. I was sufficientlysick to make no remarks worth recording. 

Strickland meditated, and helped himself to drinks. The arrangementunder the cloth made no more signs of life. 

'Is it Imray?' I said. 

Strickland turned back the cloth for a moment, and looked. 

'It is Imray, ' he said; 'and his throat is cut from ear to ear. '

Then we spoke, both together and to ourselves: 'That's why he whisperedabout the house. '

Tietjens, in the garden, began to bay furiously. A little later hergreat nose heaved open the dining-room door. 

She sniffed and was still. The tattered ceiling-cloth hung down almostto the level of the table, and there was hardly room to move away fromthe discovery. 

Tietjens came in and sat down; her teeth bared under her lip and herforepaws planted. She looked at Strickland. 

'It's a bad business, old lady, ' said he. 'Men don't climb up into theroofs of their bungalows to die, and they don't fasten up the ceilingcloth behind 'em. Let's think it out. '

'Let's think it out somewhere else, ' I said. 

'Excellent idea! Turn the lamps out. We'll get into my room. '

I did not turn the lamps out. I went into Strickland's room first, andallowed him to make the darkness. Then he followed me, and we littobacco and thought. Strickland thought. I smoked furiously, because Iwas afraid. 

'Imray is back, ' said Strickland. 'The question is---who killed Imray?Don't talk, I've a notion of my own. When I took this bungalow I tookover most of Imray's servants. Imray was guileless and inoffensive, wasn't he?'

I agreed; though the heap under the cloth had looked neither one thingnor the other. 

'If I call in all the servants they will stand fast in a crowd and lielike Aryans. What do you suggest?'

'Call 'em in one by one, ' I said. 

'They'll run away and give the news to all their fellows, ' saidStrickland. 'We must segregate 'em. Do you suppose your servant knowsanything about it?'

'He may, for aught I know; but I don't think it's likely. He has onlybeen here two or three days, ' I answered. 'What's your notion?'

'I can't quite tell. How the dickens did the man get the wrong side ofthe ceiling-cloth?'

There was a heavy coughing outside Strickland's bedroom door. Thisshowed that Bahadur Khan, his body-servant, had waked from sleep andwished to put Strickland to bed. 

'Come in, ' said Strickland. 'It's a very warm night, isn't it?'

Bahadur Khan, a great, green-turbaned, six-foot Mahomedan, said that itwas a very warm night; but that there was more rain pending, which, byhis Honour's favour, would bring relief to the country. 

'It will be so, if God pleases, ' said Strickland, tugging off his boots. 'It is in my mind, Bahadur Khan, that I have worked thee remorselesslyfor many days---ever since that time when thou first earnest into myservice. What time was that?'

'Has the Heaven-born forgotten? It was when Imray Sahib went secretly toEurope without warning given; and I-even I-came into the honouredservice of the protector of the poor. '

'And Imray Sahib went to Europe?'

'It is so said among those who were his servants. '

'And thou wilt take service with him when he returns?'

'Assuredly, Sahib. He was a good master, and cherished his dependants. '

'That is true. I am very tired, but I go buck-shooting to-morrow. Giveme the little sharp rifle that I use for black-buck; it is in the caseyonder. '

The man stooped over the case; handed barrels, stock, and fore-end toStrickland, who fitted all together, yawning dolefully. Then he reacheddown to the gun-case, took a solid-drawn cartridge, and slipped it intothe breech of the '360 Express. 

'And Imray Sahib has gone to Europe secretly! That is very strange, Bahadur Khan, is it not?'

'What do I know of the ways of the white man. Heaven-born?'

'Very little, truly. But thou shalt know more anon. It has reached methat Imray Sahib has returned from his so long journeyings, and thateven now he lies in the next room, waiting his servant. '

'Sahib!'

The lamplight slid along the barrels of the rifle as they levelledthemselves at Bahadur Khan's broad breast. 

'Go and look!'said Strickland. 'Take a lamp. Thy master is tired, and hewaits thee. Go!'

The man picked up a lamp, and went into the dining-room, Stricklandfollowing, and almost pushing him with the muzzle of the rifle. Helooked for a moment at the black depths behind the ceiling-cloth; at thewrithing snake under foot; and last, a gray glaze settling on his face, at the thing under the tablecloth. 

'Hast thou seen?' said Strickland after a pause. 

'I have seen. I am clay in the white man's hands. What does the Presencedo?'

'Hang thee within the month. What else?'

'For killing him? Nay, Sahib, consider. Walking among us, his servants, he cast his eyes upon my child, who was four years old. Him hebewitched, and in ten days he died of the fever--my child!'

'What said Imray Sahib?'

'He said he was a handsome child, and patted him on the head; whereforemy child died. Wherefore I killed Imray Sahib in the twilight, when hehad come back from office, and was sleeping. Wherefore I dragged him upinto the roof-beams and made all fast behind him. The Heaven-born knowsall things. I am the servant of the Heaven-born. '

Strickland looked at me above the rifle, and said, in the vernacular, 'Thou art witness to this saying? He has killed. '

Bahadur Khan stood ashen gray in the light of the one lamp. The need forjustification came upon him very swiftly. 'I am trapped, ' he said, 'butthe offence was that man's. He cast an evil eye upon my child, and Ikilled and hid him. Only such as are served by devils, ' he glared atTietjens, couched stolidly before him, 'only such could know what Idid. '

'It was clever. But thou shouldst have lashed him to the beam with arope. Now, thou thyself wilt hang by a rope. Orderly!'

A drowsy policeman answered Strickland's call. He was followed byanother, and Tietjens sat wondrous still. 

'Take him to the police-station, ' said Strickland. 'There is a casetoward. '

'Do I hang, then?' said Bahadur Khan, making no attempt to escape, andkeeping his eyes on the ground. 

'If the sun shines or the water runs--yes!' said Strickland. 

Bahadur Khan stepped back one long pace, quivered, and stood still. Thetwo policemen waited further orders. 

'Go!'said Strickland. 

'Nay; but I go very swiftly, ' said Bahadur Khan. 'Look! I am even now adead man. '

He lifted his foot, and to the little toe there clung the head of thehalf-killed snake, firm fixed in the agony of death. 

'I come of land-holding stock, ' said Bahadur Khan, rocking where hestood. 'It were a disgrace to me to go to the public scaffold: thereforeI take this way. Be it remembered that the Sahib's shirts are correctlyenumerated, and that there is an extra piece of soap in his washbasin. My child was bewitched, and I slew the wizard. Why should you seek toslay me with the rope? My honour is saved, and--and--I die. '

At the end of an hour he died, as they die who are bitten by the littlebrown karait, and the policemen bore him and the thing under thetablecloth to their appointed places. All were needed to make clear thedisappearance of Imray. 

'This, ' said Strickland, very calmly, as he climbed into bed, 'is calledthe nineteenth century. Did you hear what that man said?'

'I heard, ' I answered. 'Imray made a mistake. '

'Simply and solely through not knowing the nature of the Oriental, andthe coincidence of a little seasonal fever. Bahadur Khan had been withhim for four years. '

I shuddered. My own servant had been with me for exactly that length oftime. When I went over to my own room I found my man waiting, impassiveas the copper head on a penny, to pull off my boots. 

'What has befallen Bahadur Khan?' said I. 

'He was bitten by a snake and died. The rest the Sahib knows, ' was theanswer. 

'And how much of this matter hast thou known?'

'As much as might be gathered from One coming in in the twilight to seeksatisfaction. Gently, Sahib. Let me pull off those boots. '

I had just settled to the sleep of exhaustion when I heard Stricklandshouting from his side of the house--

'Tietjens has come back to her place!'

And so she had. The great deerhound was couched statelily on her ownbedstead on her own blanket, while, in the next room, the idle, empty, ceiling-cloth waggled as it trailed on the table. 

NAMGAY DOOLA

 There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, The dew on his wet robe hung heavy and chill; Ere the steamer that brought him had passed out of hearin', He was Alderman Mike inthrojuicin' a bill! AMERICAN SONG. 

Once upon a time there was a King who lived on the road to Thibet, verymany miles in the Himalayas. His Kingdom was eleven thousand feet abovethe sea and exactly four miles square; but most of the miles stood onend owing to the nature of the country. His revenues were rather lessthan four hundred pounds yearly, and they were expended in themaintenance of one elephant and a standing army of five men. He wastributary to the Indian Government, who allowed him certain sums forkeeping a section of the Himalaya-Thibet road in repair. He furtherincreased his revenues by selling timber to the railway-companies; forhe would cut the great deodar trees in his one forest, and they fellthundering into the Sutlej river and were swept down to the plains threehundred miles away and became railway-ties. Now and again this King, whose name does not matter, would mount a ringstraked horse and ridescores of miles to Simla-town to confer with the Lieutenant-Governor onmatters of state, or to assure the Viceroy that his sword was at theservice of the Queen-Empress. Then the Viceroy would cause a ruffle ofdrums to be sounded, and the ringstraked horse and the cavalry of theState---two men in tatters--and the herald who bore the silver stickbefore the King would trot back to their own place, which lay betweenthe tail of a heaven-climbing glacier and a dark birch-forest. 

Now, from such a King, always remembering that he possessed oneveritable elephant, and could count his descent for twelve hundredyears, I expected, when it was my fate to wander through his dominions, no more than mere license to live. 

The night had closed in rain, and rolling clouds blotted out the lightsof the villages in the valley. Forty miles away, untouched by cloud orstorm, the white shoulder of Donga Pa--the Mountain of the Council ofthe Gods--upheld the Evening Star. The monkeys sang sorrowfully to eachother as they hunted for dry roosts in the fern-wreathed trees, and thelast puff of the day-wind brought from the unseen villages the scent ofdamp wood-smoke, hot cakes, dripping undergrowth, and rotting pine-cones. That is the true smell of the Himalayas, and if once it creepsinto the blood of a man, that man will at the last, forgetting all else, return to the hills to die. The clouds closed and the smell went away, and there remained nothing in all the world except chilling white mistand the boom of the Sutlej river racing through the valley below. A fat-tailed sheep, who did not want to die, bleated piteously at my tentdoor. He was scuffling with the Prime Minister and the Director-Generalof Public Education, and he was a royal gift to me and my camp servants. I expressed my thanks suitably, and asked if I might have audience ofthe King. The Prime Minister readjusted his turban, which had fallen offin the struggle, and assured me that the King would be very pleased tosee me. Therefore I despatched two bottles as a foretaste, and when thesheep had entered upon another incarnation went to the King's Palacethrough the wet. He had sent his army to escort me, but the army stayedto talk with my cook. Soldiers are very much alike all the world over. 

The Palace was a four-roomed and whitewashed mud and timber house, thefinest in all the hills for a day's journey. The King was dressed in apurple velvet jacket, white muslin trousers, and a saffron-yellow turbanof price. He gave me audience in a little carpeted room opening off thepalace courtyard which was occupied by the Elephant of State. The greatbeast was sheeted and anchored from trunk to tail, and the curve of hisback stood out grandly against the mist. 

The Prime Minister and the Director-General of Public Education werepresent to introduce me, but all the court had been dismissed, lest thetwo bottles aforesaid should corrupt their morals. The King cast awreath of heavy-scented flowers round my neck as I bowed, and inquiredhow my honoured presence had the felicity to be. I said that throughseeing his auspicious countenance the mists of the night had turned intosunshine, and that by reason of his beneficent sheep his good deedswould be remembered by the Gods. He said that since I had set mymagnificent foot in his Kingdom the crops would probably yield seventyper cent more than the average. I said that the fame of the King hadreached to the four corners of the earth, and that the nations gnashedtheir teeth when they heard daily of the glories of his realm and thewisdom of his moon-like Prime Minister and lotus-like Director-Generalof Public Education. 

Then we sat down on clean white cushions, and I was at the King's righthand. Three minutes later he was telling me that the state of the maizecrop was something disgraceful, and that the railway-companies would notpay him enough for his timber. The talk shifted to and fro with thebottles, and we discussed very many stately things, and the King becameconfidential on the subject of Government generally. Most of all hedwelt on the shortcomings of one of his subjects, who, from all I couldgather, had been paralyzing the executive. 

'In the old days, ' said the King, 'I could have ordered the Elephantyonder to trample him to death. Now I must e'en send him seventy milesacross the hills to be tried, and his keep would be upon the State. TheElephant eats everything. '

'What be the man's crimes, Rajah Sahib?' said I. 

'Firstly, he is an outlander and no man of mine own people. Secondly, since of my favour I gave him land upon his first coming, he refuses topay revenue. Am I not the lord of the earth, above and below, entitledby right and custom to one-eighth of the crop? Yet this devil, establishing himself, refuses to pay a single tax; and he brings apoisonous spawn of babes. '

'Cast him into jail, ' I said. 

'Sahib, ' the King answered, shifting a little on the cushions, 'once andonly once in these forty years sickness came upon me so that I was notable to go abroad. In that hour I made a vow to my God that I wouldnever again cut man or woman from the light of the sun and the air ofGod; for I perceived the nature of the punishment. How can I break myvow? Were it only the lopping of a hand or a foot I should not delay. But even that is impossible now that the English have rule. One oranother of my people'--he looked obliquely at the Director-General ofPublic Education--'would at once write a letter to the Viceroy, andperhaps I should be deprived of my ruffle of drums. '

He unscrewed the mouthpiece of his silver water-pipe, fitted a plainamber mouthpiece, and passed his pipe to me. 'Not content with refusingrevenue, ' he continued, 'this outlander refuses also the begar' (this wasthe corvee or forced labour on the roads) 'and stirs my people up to thelike treason. Yet he is, when he wills, an expert log-snatcher. There isnone better or bolder among my people to clear a block of the river whenthe logs stick fast. '

'But he worships strange Gods, ' said the Prime Minister deferentially. 

'For that I have no concern, ' said the King, who was as tolerant asAkbar in matters of belief. 'To each man his own God and the fire orMother Earth for us all at last. It is the rebellion that offends me. '

'The King has an army, ' I suggested. 'Has not the King burned the man'shouse and left him naked to the night dews?'

'Nay, a hut is a hut, and it holds the life of a man. But once, I sentmy army against him when his excuses became wearisome: of their heads hebrake three across the top with a stick. The other two men ran away. Also the guns would not shoot. '

I had seen the equipment of the infantry. One-third of it was an oldmuzzle-loading fowling-piece, with a ragged rust-hole where the nipplesshould have been, one-third a wire-bound matchlock with a worm-eatenstock, and one-third a four-bore flint duck-gun without a flint. 

'But it is to be remembered, ' said the King, reaching out for thebottle, 'that he is a very expert log-snatcher and a man of a merryface. What shall I do to him, Sahib?'

This was interesting. The timid hill-folk would as soon have refusedtaxes to their king as revenues to their Gods. 

'If it be the King's permission, ' I said, 'I will not strike my tentstill the third day and I will see this man. The mercy of the King isGod-like, and rebellion is like unto the sin of witchcraft. Moreover, both the bottles and another be empty. '

'You have my leave to go, ' said the King. 

Next morning a crier went through the state proclaiming that there was alog-jam on the river and that it behoved all loyal subjects to removeit. The people poured down from their villages to the moist warm valleyof poppy-fields; and the King and I went with them. Hundreds of dresseddeodar-logs had caught on a snag of rock, and the river was bringingdown more logs every minute to complete the blockade. The water snarledand wrenched and worried at the timber, and the population of the statebegan prodding the nearest logs with a pole in the hope of starting ageneral movement. Then there went up a shout of 'Namgay Doola! NamgayDoola!' and a large red-haired villager hurried up, stripping off hisclothes as he ran. 

'That is he. That is the rebel, ' said the King. 'Now will the dam becleared. '

'But why has he red hair?' I asked, since red hair among hill-folks isas common as blue or green. 

'He is an outlander, ' said the King. 'Well done! Oh well done!'

Namgay Doola had scrambled out on the jam and was clawing out the buttof a log with a rude sort of boat-hook. It slid forward slowly as analligator moves, three or four others followed it, and the green waterspouted through the gaps they had made. Then the villagers howled andshouted and scrambled across the logs, pulling and pushing the obstinatetimber, and the red head of Namgay Doola was chief among them all. Thelogs swayed and chafed and groaned as fresh consignments from upstreambattered the now weakening dam. All gave way at last in a smother offoam, racing logs, bobbing black heads and confusion indescribable. Theriver tossed everything before it. I saw the red head go down with thelast remnants of the jam and disappear between the great grinding tree-trunks. It rose close to the bank and blowing like a grampus. NamgayDoola wrung the water out of his eyes and made obeisance to the King. Ihad time to observe him closely. The virulent redness of his shock headand beard was most startling; and in the thicket of hair wrinkled abovehigh cheek bones shone two very merry blue eyes. He was indeed anoutlander, but yet a Thibetan in language, habit, and attire. He spokethe Lepcha dialect with an indescribable softening of the gutturals. Itwas not so much a lisp as an accent. 

'Whence comest thou?' I asked. 

'From Thibet. ' He pointed across the hills and grinned. That grin wentstraight to my heart. Mechanically I held out my hand and Namgay Doolashook it. No pure Thibetan would have understood the meaning of thegesture. He went away to look for his clothes, and as he climbed back tohis village, I heard a joyous yell that seemed unaccountably familiar. It was the whooping of Namgay Doola. 

'You see now, ' said the King, 'why I would not kill him. He is a boldman among my logs, but, ' and he shook his head like a schoolmaster, 'Iknow that before long there will be complaints of him in the court. Letus return to the Palace and do justice. ' It was that King's custom tojudge his subjects every day between eleven and three o'clock. I saw himdecide equitably in weighty matters of trespass, slander, and a littlewife-stealing. Then his brow clouded and he summoned me. 

'Again it is Namgay Doola, ' he said despairingly. 'Not content withrefusing revenue on his own part, he has bound half his village by anoath to the like treason. Never before has such a thing befallen me! Norare my taxes heavy. '

A rabbit-faced villager, with a blush-rose stuck behind his ear, advanced trembling. He had been in the conspiracy, but had toldeverything and hoped for the King's favour. 

'O King, ' said I, 'if it be the King's will let this matter stand overtill the morning. Only the Gods can do right swiftly, and it may be thatyonder villager has lied. '

'Nay, for I know the nature of Namgay Doola; but since a guest asks letthe matter remain. Wilt thou speak harshly to this red-headed outlander?He may listen to thee. '

I made an attempt that very evening, but for the life of me I could notkeep my countenance. Namgay Doola grinned persuasively, and began totell me about a big brown bear in a poppy-field by the river. Would Icare to shoot it? I spoke austerely on the sin of conspiracy, and thecertainty of punishment. Namgay Doola's face clouded for a moment. Shortly afterwards he withdrew from my tent, and I heard him singing tohimself softly among the pines. The words were unintelligible to me, butthe tune, like his liquid insinuating speech, seemed the ghost ofsomething strangely familiar. 

'Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir To weeree ala gee. '

sang Namgay Doola again and again, and I racked my brain for that losttune. It was not till after dinner that I discovered some one had cut asquare foot of velvet from the centre of my best camera-cloth. This mademe so angry that I wandered down the valley in the hope of meeting thebig brown bear. I could hear him grunting like a discontented pig in thepoppy-field, and I waited shoulder deep in the dew-dripping Indian cornto catch him after his meal. The moon was at full and drew out the richscent of the tasselled crop. Then I heard the anguished bellow of aHimalayan cow, one of the little black crummies no bigger thanNewfoundland dogs. Two shadows that looked like a bear and her cubhurried past me. I was in act to fire when I saw that they had each abrilliant red head. The lesser animal was trailing some rope behind itthat left a dark track on the path. They passed within six feet of me, and the shadow of the moonlight lay velvet-black on their faces. Velvet-black was exactly the word, for by all the powers of moonlight they weremasked in the velvet of my camera-cloth! I marvelled and went to bed. 

Next morning the Kingdom was in uproar. Namgay Doola, men said, had goneforth in the night and with a sharp knife had cut off the tail of a cowbelonging to the rabbit-faced villager who had betrayed him. It wassacrilege unspeakable against the Holy Cow. The State desired his blood, but he had retreated into his hut, barricaded the doors and windows withbig stones, and defied the world. 

The King and I and the populace approached the hut cautiously. There wasno hope of capturing the man without loss of life, for from a hole inthe wall projected the muzzle of an extremely well-cared-for gun--theonly gun in the State that could shoot. Namgay Doola had narrowly misseda villager just before we came up. The Standing Army stood. It could dono more, for when it advanced pieces of sharp shale flew from thewindows. To these were added from time to time showers of scaldingwater. We saw red heads bobbing up and down in the hut. The family ofNamgay Doola were aiding their sire, and blood-curdling yells ofdefiance were the only answers to our prayers. 

'Never, ' said the King, puffing, 'has such a thing befallen my State. Next year I will certainly buy a little cannon. ' He looked at meimploringly. 

'Is there any priest in the Kingdom to whom he will listen?' said I, fora light was beginning to break upon me. 

'He worships his own God, ' said the Prime Minister. 'We can starve himout. '

'Let the white man approach, ' said Namgay Doola from within. 'All othersI will kill. Send me the white man. '

The door was thrown open and I entered the smoky interior of a Thibetanhut crammed with children. And every child had flaming red hair. A rawcow's-tail lay on the floor, and by its side two pieces of black velvet--my black velvet--rudely hacked into the semblance of masks. 

'And what is this shame, Namgay Doola?' said I. 

He grinned more winningly than ever. 'There is no shame, ' said he. 'Idid but cut off the tail of that man's cow. He betrayed me. I was mindedto shoot him, Sahib. But not to death. Indeed not to death. Only in thelegs. '

'And why at all, since it is the custom to pay revenue to the King? Whyat all?'

'By the God of my father I cannot tell, ' said Namgay Doola. 

'And who was thy father?'

'The same that had this gun. ' He showed me his weapon--a Tower musketbearing date 1832 and the stamp of the Honourable East India Company. 

'And thy father's name?' said I. 

'Timlay Doola, ' said he. 'At the first, I being then a little child, itis in my mind that he wore a red coat. '

'Of that I have no doubt. But repeat the name of thy father thrice orfour times. '

He obeyed, and I understood whence the puzzling accent in his speechcame. 'Thimla Dhula, ' said he excitedly. 'To this hour I worship hisGod. '

'May I see that God?'

'In a little while--at twilight time. '

'Rememberest thou aught of thy father's speech?'

'It is long ago. But there is one word which he said often. Thus "Shun. "Then I and my brethren stood upon our feet, our hands to our sides. Thus. '

'Even so. And what was thy mother?'

'A woman of the hills. We be Lepchas of Darjeeling, but me they call anoutlander because my hair is as thou seest. '

The Thibetan woman, his wife, touched him on the arm gently. The longparley outside the fort had lasted far into the day. It was now closeupon twilight--the hour of the Angelus. Very solemnly, the red-headedbrats rose from the floor and formed a semicircle. Namgay Doola laid hisgun against the wall, lighted a little oil lamp, and set it before arecess in the wall. Pulling aside a curtain of dirty cloth, he revealeda worn brass crucifix leaning against the helmet-badge of a longforgotten East India regiment. 'Thus did my father, ' he said, crossinghimself clumsily. The wife and children followed suit. Then all togetherthey struck up the wailing chant that I heard on the hillside--

 Dir bane mard-i-yemen dir To weeree ala gee. 

I was puzzled no longer. Again and again they crooned, as if theirhearts would break, their version of the chorus of the Wearing of theGreen--

They're hanging men and women too, For the wearing of the green. 

A diabolical inspiration came to me. One of the brats, a boy about eightyears old, was watching me as he sang. I pulled out a rupee, held thecoin between finger and thumb and looked--only looked--at the gunagainst the wall. A grin of brilliant and perfect comprehensionoverspread the face of the child. Never for an instant stopping thesong, he held out his hand for the money, and then slid the gun to myhand. I might have shot Namgay Doola as he chanted. But I was satisfied. The blood-instinct of the race held true. Namgay Doola drew the curtainacross the recess. Angelus was over. 

'Thus my father sang. There was much more, but I have forgotten, and Ido not know the purport of these words, but it may be that the God willunderstand. I am not of this people, and I will not pay revenue. '

'And why?'

Again that soul-compelling grin. 'What occupation would be to me betweencrop and crop? It is better than scaring bears. But these people do notunderstand. ' He picked the masks from the floor, and looked in my faceas simply as a child. 

'By what road didst thou attain knowledge to make these devilries?' Isaid, pointing. 

'I cannot tell. I am but a Lepcha of Darjeeling, and yet the stuff--'

'Which thou hast stolen. '

'Nay, surely. Did I steal? I desired it so. The stuff--the stuff--whatelse should I have done with the stuff?' He twisted the velvet betweenhis fingers. 

'But the sin of maiming the cow--consider that. '

'That is true; but oh, Sahib, that man betrayed me and I had no thought--but the heifer's tail waved in the moonlight and I had my knife. Whatelse should I have done? The tail came off ere I was aware. Sahib, thouknowest more than I. '

'That is true, ' said I. 'Stay within the door. I go to speak to theKing. '

The population of the State were ranged on the hillsides. I went forthand spoke to the King. 

'O King, ' said I. 'Touching this man there be two courses open to thywisdom. Thou canst either hang him from a tree, he and his brood, tillthere remains no hair that is red within the land. '

'Nay' said the King. 'Why should I hurt the little children?'

They had poured out of the hut door and were making plump obeisance toeverybody. Namgay Doola waited with his gun across his arm. 

'Or thou canst, discarding the impiety of the cow-maiming, raise him tohonour in thy Army. He comes of a race that will not pay revenue. A redflame is in his blood which comes out at the top of his head in thatglowing hair. Make him chief of the Army. Give him honour as may befall, and full allowance of work, but look to it, O King, that neither he norhis hold a foot of earth from thee henceforward. Feed him with words andfavour, and also liquor from certain bottles that thou knowest of, andhe will be a bulwark of defence. But deny him even a tuft of grass forhis own. This is the nature that God has given him. Moreover he hasbrethren--'

The State groaned unanimously. 

'But if his brethren come, they will surely fight with each other tillthey die; or else the one will always give information concerning theother. Shall he be of thy Army, O King? Choose. '

The King bowed his head, and I said, 'Come forth, Namgay Doola, andcommand the King's Army. Thy name shall no more be Namgay in the mouthsof men, but Patsay Doola, for as thou hast said, I know. '

Then Namgay Doola, new christened Patsay Doola, son of Timlay Doola, which is Tim Doolan gone very wrong indeed, clasped the King's feet, cuffed the Standing Army, and hurried in an agony of contrition fromtemple to temple, making offerings for the sin of cattle-maiming. 

And the King was so pleased with my perspicacity, that he offered tosell me a village for twenty pounds sterling. But I buy no villages inthe Himalayas so long as one red head flares between the tail of theheaven-climbing glacier and the dark birch-forest. 

I know that breed. 

BURTRAN AND BIMI

The orang-outang in the big iron cage lashed to the sheep-pen began thediscussion. The night was stiflingly hot, and as I and Hans Breitmann, the big-beamed German, passed him, dragging our bedding to the fore-peakof the steamer, he roused himself and chattered obscenely. He had beencaught somewhere in the Malayan Archipelago, and was going to England tobe exhibited at a shilling a head. For four days he had struggled, yelled, and wrenched at the heavy bars of his prison without ceasing, and had nearly slain a lascar, incautious enough to come within reach ofthe great hairy paw. 

'It would be well for you, mine friend, if you was a liddle seasick, 'said Hans Breitmann, pausing by the cage. ' You haf too much Ego in yourCosmos. '

The orang-outang's arm slid out negligently from between the bars. Noone would have believed that it would make a sudden snakelike rush atthe German's breast. The thin silk of the sleeping-suit tore out; Hansstepped back unconcernedly to pluck a banana from a bunch hanging closeto one of the boats. 

'Too much Ego, ' said he, peeling the fruit and offering it to the cageddevil, who was rending the silk to tatters. 

Then we laid out our bedding in the bows among the sleeping Lascars, tocatch any breeze that the pace of the ship might give us. The sea waslike smoky oil, except where it turned to fire under our forefoot andwhirled back into the dark in smears of dull flame. There was athunderstorm some miles away; we could see the glimmer of the lightning. The ship's cow, distressed by the heat and the smell of the ape-beast inthe cage, lowed unhappily from time to time in exactly the same key asthat in which the look-out man answered the hourly call from the bridge. The trampling tune of the engines was very distinct, and the jarring ofthe ash-lift, as it was tipped into the sea, hurt the procession ofhushed noise. Hans lay down by my side and lighted a good-night cigar. This was naturally the beginning of conversation. He owned a voice assoothing as the wash of the sea, and stores of experiences as vast asthe sea itself; for his business in life was to wander up and down theworld, collecting orchids and wild beasts and ethnological specimens forGerman and American dealers. I watched the glowing end of his cigar waxand wane in the gloom, as the sentences rose and fell, till I was nearlyasleep. The orang-outang, troubled by some dream of the forests of hisfreedom, began to yell like a soul in purgatory, and to pluck madly atthe bars of the cage. 

'If he was out now dere would not be much of us left hereabout, ' saidHans lazily. 'He screams goot. See, now, how I shall tame him when hestops himself. '

There was a pause in the outcry, and from Hans' mouth came an imitationof a snake's hiss, so perfect that I almost sprang to my feet. Thesustained murderous sound ran along the deck, and the wrenching at thebars ceased. The orang-outang was quaking in an ecstasy of pure terror. 

'Dot stopped him, ' said Hans. 'I learned dot trick in Mogoung Tanjongwhen I was collecting liddle monkeys for some peoples in Berlin. Eferyone in der world is afraid of der monkeys--except der snake. So I blaysnake against monkey, and he keep quite still. Dere was too much Ego inhis Cosmos. Dot is der soul-custom of monkeys. Are you asleep, or willyou listen, and I will tell a dale dot you shall not pelief?'

'There's no tale in the wide world that I can't believe, ' I said. 

'If you haf learned pelief you haf learned somedings. Now I shall tryyour pelief. Goot! When I was collecting dose liddle monkeys--it was in'79 or '80, und I was in der islands of der Archipelago--over dere inder dark'--he pointed southward to New Guinea generally--'Mein Gott! Iwould sooner collect life red devils than liddle monkeys. When dey donot bite off your thumbs dey are always dying from nostalgia--home-sick--for dey haf der imperfect soul, which is midway arrested indefelopment--und too much Ego. I was dere for nearly a year, und dere Ifound a man dot was called Bertran. He was a Frenchman, und he was gootman--naturalist to his bone. Dey said he was an escaped convict, but hewas naturalist, und dot was enough for me. He would call all der lifebeasts from der forest, und dey would come. I said he was St. Francis ofAssizi in a new dransmigration produced, und he laughed und said he hafnever preach to der fishes. He sold dem for tripang--beche-de-mer. 

'Und dot man, who was king of beasts-tamer men, he had in der houseshust such anoder as dot devil-animal in der cage--a great orang-outangdot thought he was a man. He haf found him when he was a child--derorang-outang--und he was child und brother und opera comique all roundto Betran. He had his room in dot house--not a cage, but a room--mit abed und sheets, und he would go to bed und get up in der morning undsmoke his cigar und eat his dinner mit Bertran, und walk mit him hand inhand, which was most horrible. Herr Gott! I haf seen dot beast throwhimself back in his chair und laugh when Bertran haf made fun of me. Hewas NOT a beast; he was a man, und he talked to Bertran, und Bertrancomprehend, for I have seen dem. Und he was always politeful to meexcept when I talk too long to Bertran und say nodings at all to him. Den he would pull me away--dis great, dark devil, mit his enormous paws--shust as if I was a child. He was not a beast; he was a man. Dis I sawpefore I know him three months, und Bertran he haf saw the same; andBimi, der orang-outang, haf understood us both, mit his cigar betweenhis big dog-teeth und der blue gum. 

'I was dere a year, dere und at dere oder islands--somedimes for monkeysund somedimes for butterflies und orchits. One time Bertran says to medot he will be married, because he haf found a girl dot was goot, und heenquire if this marrying idee was right. I would not say, pecause it wasnot me dot was going to be married. Den he go off courting der girl--shewas a half-caste French girl--very pretty. Haf you got a new light formy cigar? Ouf! Very pretty. Only I say, "Haf you thought of Bimi? If hepull me away when I talk to you, what will he do to your wife? He willpull her in pieces. If I was you, Bertran, I would gif my wife forwedding-present der stuff figure of Bimi. " By dot time I had learnedsome dings about der monkey peoples. "Shoot him?" says Bertran. "He isyour beast, " I said; "if he was mine he would be shot now!"

'Den I felt at der back of my neck der fingers of Bimi. Mein Gott! Itell you dot he talked through dose fingers. It was der deaf-and-dumbalphabet all gomplete. He slide his hairy arm round my neck, und he tiltup my chin und looked into my face, shust to see if I understood histalk so well as he understood mine. 

'"See now dere!" says Bertran, "und you would shoot him while he iscuddlin' you? Dot is der Teuton ingrate!"

'But I knew dot I had made Bimi a life's-enemy, pecause his fingers haftalk murder through the back of my neck. Next dime I see Bimi dere was apistol in my belt, und he touched it once, und I open der breech to showhim it was loaded. He haf seen der liddle monkeys killed in der woods:he understood. 

'So Bertran he was married, and he forgot clean about Bimi dot wasskippin' alone on der beach mit der half of a human soul in his belly. Iwas see him skip, und he took a big bough und thrash der sand till hehaf made a great hole like a grave. So I says to Bertran, "For anysakes, kill Bimi. He is mad mit der jealousy. "

'Bertran haf said "He is not mad at all. He haf obey und lofe my wife, und if she speak he will get her slippers, " und he looked at his wifeagross der room. She was a very pretty girl. 

'Den I said to him, "Dost dou pretend to know monkeys und dis beast dotis lashing himself mad upon der sands, pecause you do not talk to him?Shoot him when he comes to der house, for he haf der light in his eyedot means killing--und killing. " Bimi come to der house, but dere was nolight in his eye. It was all put away, cunning--so cunning--und he fetchder girl her slippers, und Bertran turn to me und say, "Dost dou knowhim in nine months more dan I haf known him in twelve years? Shall achild stab his fader? I haf fed him, und he was my child. Do not speakthis nonsense to my wife or to me any more. "

'Dot next day Bertran came to my house to help me make some wood casesfor der specimens, und he tell me dot he haf left his wife a liddlewhile mit Bimi in der garden. Den I finish my cases quick, und I say, "Let us go to your houses und get a trink. " He laugh and say, "Comealong, dry mans. "

'His wife was not in der garden, und Bimi did not come when Bertrancalled. Und his wife did not come when he called, und he knocked at herbedroom door und dot was shut tight--locked. Den he look at me, und hisface was white. I broke down der door mit my shoulder, und der thatch ofder roof was torn into a great hole, und der sun came in upon der floor. Haf you ever seen paper in der waste-basket, or cards at whist on dertable scattered? Dere was no wife dot could be seen. I tell you dere wasnodings in dot room dot might be a woman. Dere was stuff on der floorund dot was all. I looked at dese things und I was very sick; butBertran looked a liddle longer at what was upon the floor und der walls, und der hole in der thatch. Den he pegan to laugh, soft und low, und Iknew und thank Gott dot he was mad. He nefer cried, he nefer prayed. Hestood all still in der doorway und laugh to himself. Den he said, "Shehaf locked herself in dis room, and he haf torn up der thatch. Fi donc!Dot is so. We will mend der thatch und wait for Bimi. He will surelycome. "

'I tell you we waited ten days in dot house, after der room was madeinto a room again, und once or twice we saw Bimi comin' a liddle wayfrom der woods. He was afraid pecause he haf done wrong. Bertran calledhim when he was come to look on the tenth day, und Bimi come skippingalong der beach und making noises, mit a long piece of black hair in hishands. Den Bertran laugh and say, "Fi donc!" shust as if it was a glassbroken upon der table; und Bimi come nearer, und Bertran was honey-sweetin his voice und laughed to himself. For three days he made love toBimi, pecause Bimi would not let himself be touched. Den Bimi come todinner at der same table mit us, und the hair on his hands was all blackund thick mit-mit what had dried on der hands. Bertran gave him sangareetill Bimi was drunk and stupid, und den----'

Hans paused to puff at his cigar. 

'And then?' said I. 

'Und den Bertran he kill him mit his hands, und I go for a walk upon derbeach. It was Bertran's own piziness. When I come back der ape he wasdead, und Bertran he was dying abofe him; but still he laughed liddleund low und he was quite content. Now you know der formula of derstrength of der orang-outang--it is more as seven to one in relation toman. But Bertran, he haf killed Bimi mit sooch dings as Gott gif him. Dot was der miracle. '

The infernal clamour in the cage recommenced. 'Aha! Dot friend of ourshaf still too much Ego in his Cosmos. Be quiet, dou!'

Hans hissed long and venomously. We could hear the great beast quakingin his cage. 

'But why in the world didn't you help Bertran instead of letting him bekilled?' I asked. 

'My friend, ' said Hans, composedly stretching himself to slumber, 'itwas not nice even to mineself dot I should live after I haf seen dotroom mit der hole in der thatch. Und Bertran, he was her husband. Goot-night, und--sleep well. '

MOTI GUJ--MUTINEER

Once upon a time there was a coffee-planter in India who wished to clearsome forest land for coffee-planting. When he had cut down all the treesand burned the under-wood the stumps still remained. Dynamite isexpensive and slow-fire slow. The happy medium for stump-clearing is thelord of all beats, who is the elephant. He will either push the stumpout of the ground with his tusks, if he has any, or drag it out withropes. The planter, therefore, hired elephants by ones and twos andthrees, and fell to work. The very best of all the elephants belonged tothe very worst of all the drivers or mahouts; and the superior beast'sname was Moti Guj. He was the absolute property of his mahout, whichwould never have been the case under native rule, for Moti Guj was acreature to be desired by kings; and his name, being translated, meantthe Pearl Elephant. Because the British Government was in the land, Deesa, the mahout, enjoyed his property undisturbed. He was dissipated. When he had made much money through the strength of his elephant, hewould get extremely drunk and give Moti Guj a beating with a tent-pegover the tender nails of the forefeet. Moti Guj never trampled the lifeout of Deesa on these occasions, for he knew that after the beating wasover Deesa would embrace his trunk and weep and call him his love andhis life and the liver of his soul, and give him some liquor. Moti Gujwas very fond of liquor--arrack for choice, though he would drink palm-tree toddy if nothing better offered. Then Deesa would go to sleepbetween Moti Guj's forefeet, and as Deesa generally chose the middle ofthe public road, and as Moti Guj mounted guard over him and would notpermit horse, foot, or cart to pass by, traffic was congested till Deesasaw fit to wake up. 

There was no sleeping in the daytime on the planter's clearing: thewages were too high to risk. Deesa sat on Moti Guj's neck and gave himorders, while Moti Guj rooted up the stumps--for he owned a magnificentpair of tusks; or pulled at the end of a rope--for he had a magnificentpair of shoulders, while Deesa kicked him behind the ears and said hewas the king of elephants. At evening time Moti Guj would wash down histhree hundred pounds' weight of green food with a quart of arrack, andDeesa would take a share and sing songs between Moti Guj's legs till itwas time to go to bed. Once a week Deesa led Moti Guj down to the river, and Moti Guj lay on his side luxuriously in the shallows, while Deesawent over him with a coir-swab and a brick. Moti Guj never mistook thepounding blow of the latter for the smack of the former that warned himto get up and turn over on the other side. Then Deesa would look at hisfeet, and examine his eyes, and turn up the fringes of his mighty earsin case of sores or budding ophthalmia. After inspection, the two would'come up with a song from the sea, ' Moti Guj all black and shining, waving a torn tree branch twelve feet long in his trunk, and Deesaknotting up his own long wet hair. 

It was a peaceful, well-paid life till Deesa felt the return of thedesire to drink deep. He wished for an orgie. The little draughts thatled nowhere were taking the manhood out of him. 

He went to the planter, and 'My mother's dead, ' said he, weeping. 

'She died on the last plantation two months ago; and she died oncebefore that when you were working for me last year, ' said the planter, who knew something of the ways of nativedom. 

'Then it's my aunt, and she was just the same as a mother to me, ' saidDeesa, weeping more than ever. 'She has left eighteen small childrenentirely without bread, and it is I who must fill their littlestomachs, ' said Deesa, beating his head on the floor. 

'Who brought you the news?' said the planter. 

'The post' said Deesa. 

'There hasn't been a post here for the past week. Get back to yourlines!'

'A devastating sickness has fallen on my village, and all my wives aredying, ' yelled Deesa, really in tears this time. 

'Call Chihun, who comes from Deesa's village, ' said the planter. 'Chihun, has this man a wife?'

'He!' said Chihun. 'No. Not a woman of our village would look at him. They'd sooner marry the elephant. ' Chihun snorted. Deesa wept andbellowed. 

'You will get into a difficulty in a minute, ' said the planter. ' Go backto your work!'

'Now I will speak Heaven's truth' gulped Deesa, with an inspiration. 'Ihaven't been drunk for two months. I desire to depart in order to getproperly drunk afar off and distant from this heavenly plantation. ThusI shall cause no trouble. '

A flickering smile crossed the planter's face. 'Deesa, ' said he, 'you'vespoken the truth, and I'd give you leave on the spot if anything couldbe done with Moti Guj while you're away. You know that he will only obeyyour orders. '

'May the Light of the Heavens live forty thousand years. I shall beabsent but ten little days. After that, upon my faith and honour andsoul, I return. As to the inconsiderable interval, have I the graciouspermission of the Heaven-born to call up Moti Guj?'

Permission was granted, and, in answer to Deesa's shrill yell, thelordly tusker swung out of the shade of a clump of trees where he hadbeen squirting dust over himself till his master should return. 

'Light of my heart, Protector of the Drunken, Mountain of Might, giveear, ' said Deesa, standing in front of him. 

Moti Guj gave ear, and saluted with his trunk. 'I am going away, ' saidDeesa. 

Moti Guj's eyes twinkled. He liked jaunts as well as his master. Onecould snatch all manner of nice things from the roadside then. 

'But you, you fubsy old pig, must stay behind and work. '

The twinkle died out as Moti Guj tried to look delighted. He hatedstump-hauling on the plantation. It hurt his teeth. 

'I shall be gone for ten days, O Delectable One. Hold up your nearforefoot and I'll impress the fact upon it, warty toad of a dried mud-puddle. ' Deesa took a tent-peg and banged Moti Guj ten times on thenails. Moti Guj grunted and shuffled from foot to foot. 

'Ten days, ' said Deesa, 'you must work and haul and root trees as Chihunhere shall order you. Take up Chihun and set him on your neck!' Moti Gujcurled the tip of his trunk, Chihun put his foot there and was swung onto the neck. Deesa handed Chihun the heavy ankus, the iron elephant-goad. 

Chihun thumped Moti Guj's bald head as a paviour thumps a kerbstone. 

Moti Guj trumpeted. 

'Be still, hog of the backwoods. Chihun's your mahout for ten days. Andnow bid me good-bye, beast after mine own heart. Oh, my lord, my king!Jewel of all created elephants, lily of the herd, preserve your honouredhealth; be virtuous. Adieu!'

Moti Guj lapped his trunk round Deesa and swung him into the air twice. That was his way of bidding the man good-bye. 

'He'll work now, ' said Dessa to the planter. 'Have I leave to go?'

The planter nodded, and Deesa dived into the woods. Moti Guj went backto haul stumps. 

Chihun was very kind to him, but he felt unhappy and forlornnotwithstanding. Chihun gave him balls of spices, and tickled him underthe chin, and Chihun's little baby cooed to him after work was over, andChihun's wife called him a darling; but Moti Guj was a bachelor byinstinct, as Deesa was. He did not understand the domestic emotions. Hewanted the light of his universe back again--the drink and the drunkenslumber, the savage beatings and the savage caresses. 

None the less he worked well, and the planter wondered. Deesa hadvagabonded along the roads till he met a marriage procession of his owncaste and, drinking, dancing, and tippling, had drifted past allknowledge of the lapse of time. 

The morning of the eleventh day dawned, and there returned no Deesa. Moti Guj was loosed from his ropes for the daily stint. He swung clear, looked round, shrugged his shoulders, and began to walk away, as onehaving business elsewhere. 

'Hi! ho! Come back, you, ' shouted Chihun. 'Come back, and put me on yourneck, Misborn Mountain. Return, Splendour of the Hillsides. Adornment ofall India, heave to, or I'll bang every toe off your fat fore-foot!'

Moti Guj gurgled gently, but did not obey. Chihun ran after him with arope and caught him up. Moti Guj put his ears forward, and Chihun knewwhat that meant, though he tried to carry it off with high words. 

'None of your nonsense with me, ' said he. 'To your pickets, Devil-son. '

'Hrrump!' said Moti Guj, and that was all--that and the forebent ears. 

Moti Guj put his hands in his pockets, chewed a branch for a toothpick, and strolled about the clearing, making jest of the other elephants, whohad just set to work. 

Chihun reported the state of affairs to the planter, who came out with adog-whip and cracked it furiously. Moti Guj paid the white man thecompliment of charging him nearly a quarter of a mile across theclearing and 'Hrrumping' him into the verandah. Then he stood outsidethe house chuckling to himself, and shaking all over with the fun of it, as an elephant will. 

'We'll thrash him, ' said the planter. 'He shall have the finestthrashing that ever elephant received. Give Kala Nag and Nazim twelvefoot of chain apiece, and tell them to lay on twenty blows. '

Kala Nag--which means Black Snake--and Nazim were two of the biggestelephants in the lines, and one of their duties was to administer thegraver punishments, since no man can beat an elephant properly. 

They took the whipping-chains and rattled them in their trunks as theysidled up to Moti Guj, meaning to hustle him between them. Moti Guj hadnever, in all his life of thirty-nine years, been whipped, and he didnot intend to open new experiences. So he waited, weaving his head fromright to left, and measuring the precise spot in Kala Nag's fat sidewhere a blunt tusk would sink deepest. Kala Nag had no tusks; the chainwas his badge of authority; but he judged it good to swing wide of MotiGuj at the last minute, and seem to appear as if he had brought out thechain for amusement. Nazim turned round and went home early. He did notfeel fighting-fit that morning, and so Moti Guj was left standing alonewith his ears cocked. 

That decided the planter to argue no more, and Moti Guj rolled back tohis inspection of the clearing. An elephant who will not work, and isnot tied up, is not quite so manageable as an eighty-one ton gun loosein a heavy sea-way. He slapped old friends on the back and asked them ifthe stumps were coming away easily; he talked nonsense concerning labourand the inalienable rights of elephants to a long 'nooning'; and, wandering to and fro, thoroughly demoralized the garden till sundown, when he returned to his pickets for food. 

'If you won't work you shan't eat, ' said Chihun angrily. 'You're a wildelephant, and no educated animal at all. Go back to your jungle. '

Chihun's little brown baby, rolling on the floor of the hut, stretchedits fat arms to the huge shadow in the doorway. Moti Guj knew well thatit was the dearest thing on earth to Chihun. He swung out his trunk witha fascinating crook at the end, and the brown baby threw itself shoutingupon it. Moti Guj made fast and pulled up till the brown baby wascrowing in the air twelve feet above his father's head. 

'Great Chief!' said Chihun. 'Flour cakes of the best, twelve in number, two feet across, and soaked in rum shall be yours on the instant, andtwo hundred pounds' weight of fresh-cut young sugar-cane therewith. Deign only to put down safely that insignificant brat who is my heartand my life to me. '

Moti Guj tucked the brown baby comfortably between his forefeet, thatcould have knocked into toothpicks all Chihun's hut, and waited for hisfood. He ate it, and the brown baby crawled away. Moti Guj dozed, andthought of Deesa. One of many mysteries connected with the elephant isthat his huge body needs less sleep than anything else that lives. Fouror five hours in the night suffice--two just before midnight, lying downon one side; two just after one o'clock, lying down on the other. Therest of the silent hours are filled with eating and fidgeting and longgrumbling soliloquies. 

At midnight, therefore, Moti Guj strode out of his pickets, for athought had come to him that Deesa might be lying drunk somewhere in thedark forest with none to look after him. So all that night he chasedthrough the undergrowth, blowing and trumpeting and shaking his ears. Hewent down to the river and blared across the shallows where Deesa usedto wash him, but there was no answer. He could not find Deesa, but hedisturbed all the elephants in the lines, and nearly frightened to deathsome gypsies in the woods. 

At dawn Deesa returned to the plantation. He had been very drunk indeed, and he expected to fall into trouble for outstaying his leave. He drew along breath when he saw that the bungalow and the plantation were stilluninjured; for he knew something of Moti Guj's temper; and reportedhimself with many lies and salaams. Moti Guj had gone to his pickets forbreakfast. His night exercise had made him hungry. 

'Call up your beast, ' said the planter, and Deesa shouted in themysterious elephant-language, that some mahouts believe came from Chinaat the birth of the world, when elephants and not men were masters. MotiGuj heard and came. Elephants do not gallop. They move from spots atvarying rates of speed. If an elephant wished to catch an express trainhe could not gallop, but he could catch the train. Thus Moti Guj was atthe planter's door almost before Chihun noticed that he had left hispickets. He fell into Deesa's arms trumpeting with joy, and the man andbeast wept and slobbered over each other, and handled each other fromhead to heel to see that no harm had befallen. 

'Now we will get to work, ' said Deesa. 'Lift me up, my son and my joy. '

Moti Guj swung him up and the two went to the coffee-clearing to lookfor irksome stumps. 

The planter was too astonished to be very angry. 

L'ENVOI

My new-cut ashlar takes the light Where crimson-blank the windows flare;By my own work, before the night, Great Overseer, I make my prayer. 

If there be good in that I wrought, Thy hand compelled it, Master, Thine;Where I have failed to meet Thy thought I know, through Thee, the blame is mine. 

One instant's toil to Thee denied Stands all Eternity's offence, Of that I did with Thee to guide To Thee, through Thee, be excellence. 

Who, lest all thought of Eden fade, Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain, Godlike to muse o'er his own trade And Manlike stand with God again. 

The depth and dream of my desire, The bitter paths wherein I stray, Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire, Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay. 

One stone the more swings to her place In that dread Temple of Thy Worth--It is enough that through Thy grace I saw naught common on Thy earth. 

Take not that vision from my ken; Oh whatso'er may spoil or speed, Help me to need no aid from men That I may help such men as need!