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WEE WILLIE WINKIE
AND OTHER STORIES


記
​Rudyard tipling


WEE WILLIE WINKIE
UNDER THE DEODARS
THE PHANTOM RICKSHAW
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
RUDYARD KIPLING
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
1899
All rights reserved
LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
DAVIS


First published by Macmillan and Co., Limited, March
1895; Reprinted 1896, 1898; Edition de Luxe 1898;
Uniform Edition 1899


CONTENTS
UNDER THE DEODARS
PAGE
The Education of Otis Yeere
3
At the Pit's Mouth
34
43
60
A Wayside Comedy
The Hill of Illusion
A Second-Rate Woman
Only a Subaltern
.
74
IOI
THE PHANTOM RICKSHAW
My own true Ghost Story.
The Strange Ride of Morrowbie Jukes
The Man who would be King
123
156
168
200
255
271
Wee Willie WINKIE
Baa, Baa, Black Sheep
His Majesty the King
The Drums of the Fore and Aft .
311
327
E
B





UNDER THE DEODARS
And since he cannot spend nor use aright
The little time here given him in trust,
But wasteth it in weary undelight
Of foolish toil and trouble, strife and lust,
He naturally clamours to inherit
The Everlasting Future that his merit
May have full scope-as surely is most just.
The City of Dreadful Night.
1





The Education of Otis Yeere
I
In the pleasant orchard-closes
“God bless all our gains,' say we;
But ‘May God bless all our losses,'
Better suits with our degree.
The Lost Bower.
This is the history of a failure ; but the woman
who failed said that it might be an instructive tale
to put into print for the benefit of the younger
generation. The younger generation does not
want instruction, being perfectly willing to instruct
if any one will listen to it. None the less, here
begins the story where every right-minded story
should begin, that is to say at Simla, where all
things begin and many come to an evil end.
The mistake was due to a very clever woman
making a blunder and not retrieving it. Men are
licensed to stumble, but a clever woman's mistake
is outside the regular course of Nature and Pro-
vidence ; since all good people know that a woman
is the only infallible thing in this world, except
Government Paper of the '79 issue, bearing interest


4
THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
at four and a half per cent. Yet, we have to
remember that six consecutive days of rehearsing
the leading part of The Fallen Angel
, at the New
Gaiety Theatre where the plaster is not yet properly
dry, might have brought about an unhingement of
spirits which, again, might have led to eccentricities.
Mrs. Hauksbee came to “The Foundry' to
tiffin with Mrs. Mallowe, her one bosom friend,
for she was in no sense a woman's woman.' And
it was a woman's tiffin, the door shut to all the
world; and they both talked chiffons, which is
French for Mysteries.
"I've enjoyed an interval of sanity,' Mrs. Hauks-
bee announced, after tiffin was over and the two
were comfortably settled in the little writing-room
that opened out of Mrs. Mallowe's bedroom.
My dear girl, what has he done ?' said Mrs.
Mallowe sweetly. It is noticeable that ladies of a
certain age call each other dear girl," just as com-
missioners of twenty-eight years' standing address
their equals in the Civil List as “my boy.
"There's no he in the case. Who am I that an
imaginary man should be always credited to me?
Am I an Apache?'
• No, dear, but somebody's scalp is generally
drying at your wigwam-door. Soaking rather.'
This was an allusion to the Hawley Boy, who
was in the habit of riding all across Simla in the
Rains, to call on Mrs. Hauksbee.
laughed.
* For my sins, the Aide at Tyrconnel last night
told me off to The Mussuck. Hsh! Don't laugh.
One of my most devoted admirers. When the
That lady


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
5
duff came—some one really ought to teach them
to make puddings at Tyrconnel—The Mussuck
was at liberty to attend to me.'
‘Sweet soul! I know his appetite,' said Mrs.
Mallowe. “Did he, oh did he, begin his wooing ?'
By a special mercy of Providence, no. He
explained his importance as a Pillar of the Empire.
I didn't laugh.'
'Lucy, I don't believe you.'
· Ask Captain Sangar; he was on the other side.
Well, as I was saying, The Mussuck dilated.'
'I think I can see him doing it,' said Mrs.
Mallowe pensively, scratching her fox-terrier’s
ears.
'I was properly impressed. Most properly. I
yawned openly. “Strict supervision, and play
them off one against the other,” said The Mussuck,
shovelling down his ice by tureenfuls, I assure
you. “ That, Mrs. Hauksbee, is the secret of our
Government.
Mrs. Mallowe laughed long and merrily. And
what did you say?
Did you ever know me at loss for an answer
yet? I said : “So I have observed in my dealings
The Mussuck swelled with pride.
He is coming to call on me to-morrow.
The
Hawley Boy is coming too.'
"Strict supervision and play them off one
against the other. That, Mrs. Hauksbee, is the
secret of our Government." And I daresay if we
could get to The Mussuck's heart, we should find
that he considers himself a man of the world.'
* As he is of the other two things. I like The
with you.
6


6
THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
Mussuck, and I won't have you call him names.
He amuses me.'
"He has reformed you, too, by what appears.
Explain the interval of sanity, and hit Tim on the
nose with the paper-cutter, please. That dog is
too fond of sugar. Do you take milk in yours?'
No, thanks. Polly, I'm wearied of this life.
It's hollow.'
• Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome
would be
your
fate.'
Only exchanging half-a-dozen attachés in red
for one in black, and if I fasted, the wrinkles
would come, and never, never go. Has it ever
struck you, dear, that I'm getting old ?'
• Thanks for your courtesy.
I'll return it.
Ye-es, we are both not exactly—how shall I put it?'
“What we have been. “I feel it in my bones,”
as Mrs. Crossley says. Polly, i've wasted my life.'
“As how?'
Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a
Power before I die.'
“Be a Power then. You've wits enough for
anything—and beauty !
Mrs. Hauksbee pointed a teaspoon straight at
her hostess. “Polly, if you heap compliments on
me like this, I shall cease to believe that you're a
woman. Tell me how I am to be a Power.'
• Inform The Mussuck that he is the most
fascinating and slimmest man in Asia, and he'll
tell you anything and everything you please.'
Bother The Mussuck! I mean an intellectual
Power—not a gas- power. Polly, I'm going to
start a salon.
9


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
7
Mrs. Mallowe turned lazily on the sofa and
rested her head on her hand. •Hear the words
of the Preacher, the son of Baruch,' she said.
'Will you talk sensibly? '
'I will, dear, for I see that you are going to
make a mistake.'
'I never made a mistake in my life—at least,
never one that I couldn't explain away afterwards.'
‘Going to make a mistake,' went on Mrs.
Mallowe composedly. ' It is impossible to start
a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more to
the point.'
Perhaps, but why? It seems so easy.'
• Just what makes it so difficult. How many
clever women are there in Simla ?'
Myself and yourself,' said Mrs. Hauksbee,
without a moment's hesitation.
Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank
you
for that. And how many clever men ?'
Oh-er-hundreds,' said Mrs. Hauksbee
vaguely.
What a fatal blunder! Not one. They are
all bespoke by the Government.
husband, for instance. Jack was a clever man,
though I say so who shouldn't. Government has
eaten him up. All his ideas and powers of con-
versation - he really used to be a good talker,
even to his wife in the old days—are taken from
him by this this kitchen-sink of a Government.
That's the case with every man up here who is at
work. I don't suppose a Russian convict under
the knout is able to amuse the rest of his gang;
and all our men-folk here are gilded convicts.
Take my


8
THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
· But there are scores-
'I know what you're going to say. Scores of
idle men up on leave. I admit it, but they are
all of two objectionable sets. The Civilian who'd
be delightful if he had the military man's know-
ledge of the world and style, and the military man
who'd be adorable if he had the Civilian's culture.'
Detestable word ! Have Civilians culchaw?
I never studied the breed deeply.'
*Don't make fun of Jack's Service.
Yes.
They're like the teapoys in the Lakka Bazar-
good material but not polished. They can't help
themselves, poor dears. A Civilian only begins
to be tolerable after he has knocked about the
world for fifteen years.'
And a military man??
When he has had the same amount of service.
The young of both species are horrible.
would have scores of them in your salon.'
'I would not !' said Mrs. Hauksbee fiercely.
I would tell the bearer to darwaza band them.
I'd put their own colonels and commissioners at
the door to turn them away. I'd give them to
the Topsham Girl to play with.'
• The Topsham Girl would be grateful for the
gift. But to go back to the salon. . Allowing
that you had gathered all your men and women
together, what would you do with them? Make
them talk? They would all with one accord
begin to flirt. Your salon would become a glori-
fied Peliti's--a “Scandal Point” by lamplight.'
“There's a certain amount of wisdom in that
view.'
You


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
9
<
"There's all the wisdom in the world in it.
Surely, twelve Simla seasons ought to have taught
you that you can't focus anything in India ; and a
salon, to be any good at all, must be permanent.
In two seasons your roomful would be scattered all
over Asia.
We are only little bits of dirt on the
hillsides—here one day and blown down the khud
the next. We have lost the art of talking-at
least our men have. We have no cohesion-
"George Eliot in the flesh,' interpolated Mrs.
Hauksbee wickedly.
*And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men
and women alike, have no influence. Come into
the verandah and look at the Mall !'
The two looked down on the now rapidly
filling road, for all Simla was abroad to steal a
stroll between a shower and a fog.
'How do you propose to fix that river?
Look! There's The Mussuck-head of goodness
knows what. He is a power in the land, though
he does eat like a costermonger. There's Colonel
Blone, and General Grucher, and Sir Dugald Delane,
and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. Jellalatty.
All Heads of Departments, and all powerful.'
‘And all my fervent admirers,' said Mrs.
Hauksbee piously. “Sir Henry Haughton raves
But go on.
'
One by one, these men are worth something.
Collectively, they're just a mob of Anglo-Indians.
Who cares for 'what Anglo-Indians say? Your
salon won't weld the Departments together and
make you mistress of India, dear. And these
creatures won't talk administrative “shop” in a
6
about me.


10 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
I was
crowd—your salon—because they are so afraid of
the men in the lower ranks overhearing it. They
have forgotten what of Literature and Art they
ever knew, and the women
“Can't talk about anything except the last
Gymkhana, or the sins of their last nurse.
calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.'
You admit that? They can talk to the
subalterns though, and the subalterns can talk to
them. Your salon would suit their views admir-
ably, if you respected the religious prejudices of
the country and provided plenty of kala juggahs.
‘Plenty of kala juggaħs. Oh my poor little
idea! Kala juggahs in a salon! But who made
you so awfully clever ?
• Perhaps I've tried myself; or perhaps I know
a woman who has. I have preached and expounded
the whole matter and the conclusion thereof-
"You needn't go on. “ Is Vanity.” Polly, I
These vermin'- Mrs. Hauksbee
waved her hand from the verandah to two men in
the crowd below who had raised their hats to her
—'these vermin shall not rejoice in a new Scandal
Point or an extra Peliti's. I will abandon the
notion of a salon. It did seem so tempting, though.
But what shall I do? I must do something.'
"Why? Are not Abana and Pharpar-
• Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself !
I want to, of course. I'm tired of everything and
everybody, from a moonlight picnic at Seepee to
the blandishments of The Mussuck.'
“Yes—that comes, too, sooner or later. Have
you nerve enough to make your bow yet?'
thank you.


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE II
>
Mrs. Hauksbee's mouth shut grimly. Then
she laughed. “I think I see myself doing it. Big
pink placards on the Mall : “ Mrs. Hauksbee !
Positively her last appearance on any stage! This
is to give notice! No more dances ; no more
rides; no more luncheons; no more theatricals
with supper to follow; no more sparring with
one's dearest, dearest friend ; no more fencing
with an inconvenient man who hasn't wit enough
to clothe what he's pleased to call his sentiments
in passable speech; no more parading of The
Mussuck while Mrs. Tarkass calls all round Simla,
spreading horrible stories about me! No more of
anything that is thoroughly wearying, abominable,
and detestable, but, all the same, makes life worth
the having. Yes! I see it all! Don't interrupt,
Polly, I'm inspired. A mauve and white striped
“cloud” round my excellent shoulders, a seat in
the fifth row of the Gaiety, and both horses sold.
Delightful vision ! A comfortable arm-chair,
situated in three different draughts, at every ball-
room; and nice, large, sensible shoes for all the
couples to stumble over as they go into the
verandah! Then at supper. Can't you imagine
the scene? The greedy mob gone away.
tant subaltern, pink all over like a newly-powdered
baby,—they really ought to tan subalterns before
they are exported, Polly,—sent back by the hostess
to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the
room, tugging at a glove two sizes too large for
him, I hate a man who wears gloves like overcoats
—and trying to look as if he'd thought of it from
the first. “May I ah-have the pleasure 'f takin'
gone away. Reluc-


12 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
you ’nt' supper?
supper?” Then I
Then I get up with a hungry
smile. Just like this.'
*Lucy, how can you be so absurd ? '
‘And sweep out on his arm. So! After supper
I shall go away early, you know, because I shall be
afraid of catching cold. No one will look for my
'rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand,
always with that mauve and white “cloud” over
my head, while the wet soaks into my dear, old,
venerable feet, and Tom swears and shouts for the
mem-sahib's gharri. Then home to bed at half-
past eleven! Truly excellent life—helped out by
the visits of the Padri, just fresh from burying
somebody down below there. She pointed through
the pines toward the Cemetery, and continued
with vigorous dramatic gesture-
* Listen! I see it all-down, down even to the
stays! Such stays ! Six-eight a pair, Polly, with
red Aannel—or list, is it?—that they put into the
tops of those fearful things. I can draw you a
picture of them.'
* Lucy, for Heaven's sake, don't go waving
your arms about in that idiotic manner! Recollect
every one can see you from the Mall.'
• Let them see! They'll think I am rehearsing
for The Fallen Angel. Look! There's the Mus-
suck. How badly he rides. There !'
She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian adminis-
trator with infinite grace.
Now,' she continued, he'll be chaffed about
that at the Club in the delicate manner those brutes
of men affect, and the Hawley Boy will tell me
all about it—softening the details for fear of


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 13
shocking me. That boy is too good to live, Polly.
I've serious thoughts of recommending him to
throw up his commission and go into the Church.
In his present frame of mind he would obey me.
Happy, happy child !'
*Never again,' said Mrs. Mallowe, with an
affectation of indignation, shall you tiffin here!
“Lucindy your behaviour is scand’lus.”
‘All your fault, retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, 'for
suggesting such a thing as my abdication. No!
jamais ! nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, frivol,
talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legiti-
mate captives of any woman I choose, until I
d-r-r-rop, or a better woman than I puts me to
shame before all Simla,—and it's dust and ashes in
my mouth while I'm doing it !'
She swept into the drawing-room. Mrs. Mal-
lowe followed and put an arm round her waist.
• I'm not !' said Mrs. Hauksbee defiantly, rum-
maging for her handkerchief.
• I've been dining
out the last ten nights, and rehearsing in the
afternoon. You'd be tired yourself. It's only
because I'm tired.'
Mrs. Mallowe did not offer Mrs. Hauksbee
any pity or ask her to lie down, but gave her
another cup of tea, and went on with the talk.
* I've been through that too, dear,' she said.
'I remember,' said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of
fun on her face. “In '84, wasn't it? You went
out a great deal less next season.'
Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinx-
like fashion.
• I became an Influence,' said she.


14 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
"Good gracious, child, you didn't join the
Theosophists and kiss Buddha's big toe, did you?
I tried to get into their set once, but they cast me
out for a sceptic—without a chance of improving
my poor little mind, too.'
No, I didn't Theosophilander. Jack says-
• Never mind Jack. What a husband says is
known before. What did
you
do?'
"I made a lasting impression.'
So have Ifor four months. But that didn't
console me in the least. I hated the man. Will
you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and tell
me what you mean?'
Mrs. Mallowe told.
.
· And—you—mean-to-say that it is abso-
lutely Platonic on both sides ?'
Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up.
* And his last promotion was due to you?' '
Mrs. Mallowe nodded.
· And you warned him against the Topsham
Girl?'
Another nod.
* And told him of Sir Dugald Delane's private
memo about him?'
A third nod.
'Why?'
• What a question to ask a woman! Because it
amused me at first. I am proud of my property
If I live, he shall continue to be successful.
Yes, I will put him upon the straight road to
Knighthood, and everything else that a man values.
The rest depends upon himself.'
now.


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 15
)
>
· Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman.'
Not in the least. I'm concentrated, that's all.
You diffuse yourself, dear; and though all Simla
knows your skill in managing a team-
'Can't you choose a prettier word ? '
· Team, of half-a-dozen, from The Mussuck to
the Hawley Boy, you gain nothing by it. Not
even amusement.
· And you?'
"Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy,
mind, but an almost mature, unattached man, and
be his guide, philosopher, and friend. You'll find
it the most interesting occupation that you ever
embarked on. It can be done—you needn't look
like that–because I've done it.'
"There's an element of risk about it that makes
the notion attractive. I'll get such a man and say
to him, “Now, understand that there must be no
flirtation. Do exactly what I tell you, profit by
my instruction and counsels, and all will yet be
well.” Is that the idea ?'
• More or less,' said Mrs. Mallowe, with an
unfathomable smile. But be sure he understands,'
с


II
Dribble-dribble-trickle-trickle-
What a lot of raw dust!
My dollie's had an accident
And out came all the sawdust!
Nursery Rhyme.
So Mrs. Hauksbee, in “The Foundry' which
overlooks Simla Mall, sat at the feet of Mrs.
Mallowe and gathered wisdom. The end of the
Conference was the Great Idea upon which Mrs.
Hauksbee so plumed herself.
"I warn you,' said Mrs. Mallowe, beginning to
repent of her suggestion, that the matter is not
half so easy as it looks. Any woman—even the
Topsham Girl-can catch a man, but very, very
few know how to manage him when caught.
My child,' was the answer, 'I've been a female
St. Simon Stylites looking down upon men for
these — these years past.
Ask The Mussuck
whether I can manage them.'
Mrs. Hauksbee departed humming, "I'll go
to him and say to him in manner most ironical.'
Mrs. Mallowe laughed to herself. Then she
grew suddenly sober.
"I wonder whether I've


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 17
I'm sorry
I ever
done well in advising that amusement ? Lucy's
a clever woman, but a thought too careless.'
A week later the two met at a Monday Pop.
Well ? ' said Mrs. Mallowe.
'I've caught him !' said Mrs. Hauksbee : her
eyes were dancing with merriment.
“Who is it, mad woman?
spoke to you about it.'
'Look between the pillars. In the third row ;
fourth from the end. You can see his face now.
Look !'
'Otis Yeere! Of all the improbable and im-
possible people! I don't believe you.'
Hsh! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murder-
ing Milton Wellings; and I'll tell you all about
it. S-s-ss! That woman's voice always reminds
me of an Underground train coming into Earl's
Court with the brakes on. Now listen. It is
really Otis Yeere.'
'So I see, but does it follow that he is
your
property!'
He is! By right of trove.
I found him,
lonely and unbefriended, the very next night after
our talk, at the Dugald Delanes' burra-khana. I
liked his eyes, and I talked to him. Next day he
called. Next day we went for a ride together,
and to-day he's tied to my 'rickshaw-wheels hand
and foot. You'll see when the concert's over.
He doesn't know I'm here yet.'
“Thank goodness you haven't chosen a boy.
What are you going to do with him, assuming
that you've got him ?
'Assuming, indeed! Does a woman-do I


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 19
dear. I only asked for information. Give me
three months, and see what changes I shall work
in my prey.
'1
2)
W
21
1
'Go your own way since you must. But I'm
sorry that I was weak enough to suggest the
amusement.'
"" I am all discretion, and may be trusted to an
in-fin-ite extent,
quoted Mrs. Hauksbee from
The Fallen Angel; and the conversation ceased
with Mrs. Tarkass's last, long-drawn war-whoop.
Her bitterest enemies--and she had many-
could hardly accuse Mrs. Hauksbee of wasting her
time. Otis Yeere was one of those wandering
'dumb' characters, foredoomed through life to be
nobody's property:
Ten years in Her Majesty's
Bengal Civil Service, spent, for the most part, in
undesirable Districts, had given him little to be
proud of, and nothing to bring confidence. Old
enough to have lost the first fine careless
rapture that showers on the immature 'Stunt
imaginary Commissionerships and Stars, and sends
him into the collar with coltish earnestness and
abandon ; too young to be yet able to look back
progress he had made, and thank
Providence that under the conditions of the day he
had come even so far, he stood upon the dead-
centre of his career. And when a man stands
still he feels the slightest impulse from without.
Fortune had ruled that Otis Ỹeere should be, for
the first part of his service, one of the rank and
file who are ground up in the wheels of the
Administration ; losing heart and soul, and mind
and strength, in the process. Until steam replaces
upon the


20 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
manual
power in the working of the Empire, there
must always be this percentage-must always be
the men who are used up, expended, in the mere
mechanical routine. For these promotion is far
off and the mill-grind of every day very instant.
The Secretariats know them only by name; they
are not the picked men of the Districts with
Divisions and Collectorates awaiting them. They
are simply the rank and file—the food for fever_
sharing with the ryot and the plough-bullock the
honour of being the plinth on which the State
rests. The older ones have lost their aspirations;
the younger are putting theirs aside with a
Both learn to endure patiently until the end of the
day. Twelve years in the rank and file, men say,
will sap the hearts of the bravest and dull the wits
of the most keen.
Out of this life Otis Yeere had fled for a few
months ; drifting, in the hope of a little masculine
society, into Simla. When his leave was over he
would return to his swampy, sour-green, under-
manned Bengal district; to the native Assistant,
the native Doctor, the native Magistrate, the
steaming, sweltering Station, the ill - kempt City,
and the undisguised insolence of the Municipality
that babbled away the lives of men.
cheap, however. The soil spawned humanity, as
it bred frogs in the Rains, and the gap of the
sickness of one season was filled to overflowing by
the fecundity of the next. Otis was unfeignedly
thankful to lay down his work for a little while
and escape from the seething, whining, weakly
hive, impotent to help itself, but strong in its
Life was


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 21
power to cripple, thwart, and annoy the sunken-
eyed man who, by official irony, was said to be “in
charge' of it.
“I knew there were women-dowdies in Bengal.
They come up here sometimes. But I didn't
know that there were men-dowds, too.'
Then, for the first time, it occurred to Otis
Yeere that his clothes wore rather the mark of the
ages. It will be seen that his friendship with Mrs.
Hauksbee had made great strides.
As that lady truthfully says, a man is never so
happy as when he is talking about himself. From
Otis Yeere's lips Mrs. Hauksbee, before long,
learned everything that she wished to know about
the subject of her experiment: learned what
manner of life he had led in what she vaguely
called those awful cholera districts'; learned, too,
but this knowledge came later, what manner of
life he had purposed to lead and what dreams he
had dreamed in the year of grace '77, before the
reality had knocked the heart out of him. Very
pleasant are the shady bridle-paths round Prospect
Hill for the telling of such confidences.
Not yet,' said Mrs. Hauksbee to Mrs.
Mallowe. Not yet. I must wait until the man is
properly dressed, at least. Great heavens, is it
possible that he doesn't know what an honour it is
to be taken up by Me!'
Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false modesty
as one of her failings.
Always with Mrs. Hauksbee !' murmured
Mrs. Mallowe, with her sweetest smile, to Otis.


22 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
Oh you men, you men! Here are our Punjabis
growling because you've monopolised the nicest
woman in Simla. They'll tear you to pieces on
the Mall, some day, Mr. Yeere.'
Mrs. Mallowe rattled downhill, having satisfied
herself, by a glance through the fringe of her
sunshade, of the effect of her words.
The shot went home. Of a surety Otis Yeere
was somebody in this bewildering whirl of Simla—
had monopolised the nicest woman in it, and the
Punjabis were growling. The notion justified a
mild glow of vanity. He had never looked upon
his acquaintance with Mrs. Hauksbee as a matter
for general interest.
The knowledge of envy was a pleasant feeling
to the man of no account. It was intensified later
in the day when a luncher at the Club said spite-
fully, 'Well, for a debilitated Ditcher, Yeere, you
are going it. Hasn't any kind friend told you
that she's the most dangerous woman in Simla?'
Yeere chuckled and passed out. When, oh,
when would his new clothes be ready? He
descended into the Mall to inquire ; and Mrs.
Hauksbee, coming over the Church Ridge in her
’rickshaw, looked down upon him approvingly.
.He's learning to carry himself as if he were a man,
instead of a piece of furniture,—and,' she screwed
up her eyes to see the better through the sunlight-
he is a man when he holds himself like that. 0
blessed Conceit, what should we be without
you?'
With the new clothes came a new stock of self-
confidence. Otis Yeere discovered that he could
enter a room without breaking into a gentle


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 23
perspiration—could cross one, even to talk to
Mrs. Hauksbee, as though rooms were meant to
be crossed. He was for the first time in nine
years proud of himself, and contented with his life,
satisfied with his new clothes, and rejoicing in the
friendship of Mrs. Hauksbee.
•Conceit is what the poor fellow wants,' she
said in confidence to Mrs. Mallowe. I believe
they must use Civilians to plough the fields with
in Lower Bengal. You see I have to begin from
the very beginning—haven't I? But you'll admit,
won't you, dear, that he is immensely improved
since I took him in hand. Only give me a little
more time and he won't know himself.'
Indeed, Yeere was rapidly beginning to forget
what he had been. One of his own rank and file
put the matter brutally when he asked Yeere, in
reference to nothing, “And who has been making
you a Member of Council, lately? You carry the
side of half-a-dozen of 'em.'
•1—I'm awf’ly sorry. I didn't mean it, you
know,' said Yeere apologetically.
*There'll be no holding you,' continued the old
stager grimly. “Climb down, Otis-climb down,
and
get all that beastly affectation knocked out of
you with fever! Three thousand a month wouldn't
support it.'
Yeere repeated the incident to Mrs. Hauksbee.
He had come to look upon her as his Mother
Confessor.
‘And you apologised !' she said. “Oh, shame!
I hate a man who apologises. Never apologise for
what your friend called “side.”
friend called “ side.” Never! It's a


24 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
man's business to be insolent and overbearing until
he meets with a stronger. Now, you bad boy,
listen to me.'
Simply and straightforwardly, as the 'rickshaw
loitered round Jakko, Mrs. Hauksbee preached to
Otis Yeere the Great Gospel of Conceit, illustrating
it with living pictures encountered during their
Sunday afternoon stroll.
'Good gracious !' she ended with the personal
argument, 'you'll apologise next for being my
attaché !'
Never !' said Otis Yeere. That's another
thing altogether. I shall always be
'What's coming ?' thought Mrs. Hauksbee.
• Proud of that,' said Otis.
Safe for the present,” she said to herself.
"But I'm afraid I have grown conceited. Like
Jeshurun, you know. When he waxed fat, then
he kicked. It's the having no worry on one's
mind and the Hill air, I suppose.'
•Hill air, indeed!' said Mrs. Hauksbee to her-
self. 'He'd have been hiding in the Club till the
last day of his leave, if I hadn't discovered him.'
And aloud-
Why shouldn't
you
be ?
right to
*I! Why?'
Oh, hundreds of things. I'm not going to
waste this lovely afternoon by explaining ; but I
know you have. What was that heap of manu-
script you showed me about the grammar of the
aboriginal—what's their names?'
*Gullals. A piece of nonsense.
I've far too
You have every


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 25
much work to do to bother over Gullals now.
You should see my District. Come down with
your husband some day and I'll show you round.
Such a lovely place in the Rains ! A sheet of
water with the railway-embankment and the snakes
sticking out, and, in the summer, green flies and
green squash. The people would die of fear if
you shook a dogwhip at 'em. But they know
you're forbidden to do that, so they conspire to
make your life a burden to you. My District's
worked by some man at Darjiling, on the strength
of a native pleader's false reports. Oh, it's a
heavenly place !'
Otis Yeere laughed bitterly.
• There's not the least necessity that you
should
stay in it. Why do you?'
Because I must. How'm I to get out of it?
· How! In a hundred and fifty ways. If there
weren't so many people on the road I'd like to
box your ears. Ask, my dear boy, ask! Look !
There is
young Hexarly with six years' service and
half your talents.
talents. He asked for what he wanted,
and he got it. See, down by the Convent !
There's McArthurson, who has come to his present
position by asking-sheer, downright asking-
after he had pushed himself out of the rank and
file. One man is as good as another in your
service — believe me. I've seen Simla for more
seasons than I care to think about.
suppose men are chosen for appointments because
of their special fitness beforehand? You have all
passed a high test—what do you call it?-in the
beginning, and, except for the few who have gone
Do you


26 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
altogether to the bad, you can all work hard.
Asking does the rest. Call it cheek, call it inso-
lence, call it anything you like, but ask! Men
argue--yes, I know what men say—that a man,
by the mere audacity of his request, must have
some good in him. A weak man doesn't say:
“Give me this and that." He whines : “Why
haven't I been given this and that?” If
you were
in the Army, I should say learn to spin plates or
play a tambourine with your toes. As it is ask!
You belong to a Service that ought to be able to
command the Channel Fleet, or set a leg at twenty
minutes' notice, and yet you hesitate over asking
to escape from a squashy green district where you
admit you are not master. Drop the Bengal
Government altogether. Even Darjiling is a little
out-of-the-way hole. I was there once, and the
rents were extortionate. Assert yourself. Get
the Government of India to take you over. Try
to get on the Frontier, where every man has a
grand chance if he can trust himself.
Go some-
where! Do something! You have twice the wits
and three times the presence of the men up here,
and, and'—Mrs. Hauksbee paused for breath;
then continued— and in any way you look at it,
you ought to. You who could go so far!
I don't know,' said Yeere, rather taken aback
by the unexpected eloquence. I haven't such a
good opinion of myself.'
It was not strictly Platonic, but it was Policy.
Mrs. Hauksbee laid her hand lightly upon the
ungloved paw that rested on the turned-back ’rick-
shaw hood, and, looking the man full in the face,


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 27
said tenderly, almost too tenderly, 'I believe in
you
if you mistrust yourself. Is that enough, my
friend?'
• It is enough,' answered Otis very solemnly.
He was silent for a long time, redreaming the
dreams that he had dreamed eight years ago, but
through them all ran, as sheet-lightning through
golden cloud, the light of Mrs. Hauksbee's violet
eyes.
Curious and impenetrable are the mazes of Simla
life—the only existence in this desolate land worth
the living. Gradually it went abroad among men
and women, in the pauses between dance, play, and
Gymkhana, that Otis Yeere, the man with the
nevily-lit light of self-confidence in his eyes, had
done something decent’ in the wilds whence he
He had brought an erring Municipality to
reason, appropriated the funds on his own responsi-
bility, and saved the lives of hundreds. He knew
more about the Gullals than any living man. Had
a vast knowledge of the aboriginal tribes; was, in
spite of his juniority, the greatest authority on the
aboriginal Gullals. No one quite knew who or
what the Gullals were till The Mussuck, who had
been calling on Mrs. Hauksbee, and prided himself
upon picking people's brains, explained they were a
tribe of ferocious hillmen, somewhere near Sikkim,
whose friendship even the Great Indian Empire
would find it worth her while to secure.
know that Otis Yeere had showed Mrs. Hauksbee
his MS. notes of six years' standing on these same
Gullals. He had told her, too, how, sick and
shaken with the fever their negligence had bred,
came.
Now we


28 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
hero of many
crippled by the loss of his pet clerk, and savagely
angry at the desolation in his charge, he had once
damned the collective eyes of his intelligent local
board' for a set of haramzadas. Which act of
• brutal and tyrannous oppression' won him a
Reprimand Royal from the Bengal Government;
but in the anecdote as amended for Northern
consumption we find no record of this. Hence we
are forced to conclude that Mrs. Hauksbee edited
his reminiscences before sowing them in idle ears,
ready, as she well knew, to exaggerate good or
evil. And Otis Yeere bore himself as befitted the
tales.
*You can talk to me when you don't fall into a
brown study. Talk now, and talk your brightest
and best,' said Mrs. Hauksbee.
Otis needed no spur. Look to a man who has
the counsel of a woman of or above the world to
back him. So long as he keeps his head, he can
meet both sexes on equal ground—an advantage
never intended by Providence, who fashioned Man
on one day and Woman on another, in sign that
neither should know more than a very little of the
other's life. Such a man goes far, or, the counsel
being withdrawn, collapses suddenly while his world
seeks the reason.
Generalled by Mrs. Hauksbee, who, again, had
all Mrs. Mallowe's wisdom at her disposal, proud
of himself and, in the end, believing in himself
because he was believed in, Otis Yeere stood ready
for any fortune that might befall, certain that it
would be good. He would fight for his own hand,
and intended that this second struggle should lead


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 29
to better issue than the first helpless surrender of
the bewildered 'Stunt.
What might have happened it is impossible to
say. This lamentable thing befell, bred directly
by a statement of Mrs. Hauksbee that she would
spend the next season in Darjiling,
· Are you certain of that?' said Otis Yeere.
Quite. We're writing about a house now.'
Otis Yeere stopped dead,' as Mrs. Hauksbee
put it in discussing the relapse with Mrs. Mallowe.
*He has behaved,' she said angrily, just like
Captain Kerrington's pony-only Otis is a donkey
—at the last Gymkhana. Planted his forefeet and
refused to go on another step. Polly, my man's
going to disappoint me. What shall I do?
As a rule, Mrs. Mallowe does not approve of
staring, but on this occasion she opened her eyes
to the utmost.
You have managed cleverly so far,' she said.
'Speak to him, and ask him what he means.'
'I will—at to-night's dance.'
No-o, not at a dance,' said Mrs. Mallowe
cautiously. •Men are never themselves quite at
dances. Better wait till to-morrow morning.
* Nonsense. If he's going to 'vert in this insane
way there isn't a day to lose. Are you going ?
No? Then sit up for me, there's a dear. I shan't
stay longer than supper under any circumstances. '
Mrs. Mallowe waited through the evening,
looking long and earnestly into the fire, and
sometimes smiling to herself.
"Oh! oh! oh!
The man's an idiot!
A
S


30 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
I'm sorry
ever saw
raving, positive idiot!
I
him !
Mrs. Hauksbee burst into Mrs. Mallowe's
house, at midnight, almost in tears.
• What in the world has happened ? ' said Mrs.
Mallowe, but her eyes showed that she had
guessed an answer.
‘Happened! Everything has happened! He
was there.
I went to him and said, “Now, what
does this nonsense mean?" Don't laugh, dear, I
can't bear it. But you know what I mean I said.
Then it was a square, and I sat it out with him
and wanted an explanation, and he said—Oh! I
haven't patience with such idiots ! You know
what I said about going to Darjiling next year?
It doesn't matter to me where I go. I'd have
changed the Station and lost the rent to have
saved this. He said, in so many words, that he
wasn't going to try to work up any more, because
- because he would be shifted into a province
away from Darjiling, and his own District, where
these creatures are, is within a day's journey-
* Ah-hh !' said Mrs. Mallowe, in a tone of
one who has successfully tracked an obscure word
through a large dictionary.
*Did you ever hear of anything so mad—so
absurd? And he had the ball at his feet. He
had only to kick it! I would have made him
anything! Anything in the wide world. He
could have gone to the world's end. I would
have helped him. I made him, didn't I, Polly?
Didn't I create that man?
Doesn't he owe every-
thing to me?
And to reward me, just when


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 31
1
everything was nicely arranged, by this lunacy that
spoilt everything!'
"Very few men understand
your
devotion
thoroughly.'
“Oh, Polly, don't laugh at me! I give men up
from this hour. I could have killed him then and
there. What right had this man—this Thing I
had picked out of his filthy paddy-fields--to
make love to me?'
'He did that, did he?'
He did. I don't remember half he said, I was
so angry. Oh, but such a funny thing happened !
I can't help laughing at it now, though
I felt nearly
ready to cry with rage. He raved and I stormed
-I'm afraid we must have made an awful noise
in our kala juggah. Protect my character, dear,
if it's all over Simla by to-morrow—and then he
bobbed forward in the middle of this insanity
-I firmly believe the man's demented—and
kissed me.'
'Morals above reproach,' purred Mrs. Mallowe.
So they were—so they are ! It was the most
absurd kiss. I don't believe he'd ever kissed a
woman in his life before. I threw my head back,
and it was a sort of slidy, pecking dab, just on the
end of the chin-here. Mrs. Hauksbee tapped
her masculine little chin with her fan. Then, of
course, I was furiously angry, and told him that
he was no gentleman, and I was sorry I'd ever
met him, and so on. He was crushed so easily
then I couldn't be very angry.
Then I came
away straight to you.'
Was this before or after supper?'
D


32 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
*Oh! before—oceans before. Isn't it perfectly
disgusting?
· Let me think. I withhold judgment till to-
morrow. Morning brings counsel.
But morning brought only a servant with a
dainty bouquet of Annandale roses for Mrs.
Hauksbee to wear at the dance at Viceregal Lodge
that night.
He doesn't seem to be very penitent,' said
Mrs. Mallowe. • What's the billet-doux in the
centre?
Mrs. Hauksbee opened the neatly-folded note,
-another accomplishment that she had taught
Otis,—read it, and groaned tragically.
Last wreck of a feeble intellect! Poetry !
Is it his own, do you think? Oh, that I ever
built my hopes on such a maudlin idiot!'
• No. It's a quotation from Mrs. Browning,
and in view of the facts of the case, as Jack says,
uncommonly well chosen. Listen-
Sweet, thou hast trod on a heart,
Pass! There's a world full of men ;
And women as fair as thou art
Must do such things now and then.
Thou only hast stepped unaware-
Malice not one can impute ;
And why should a heart have been there,
In the way of a fair woman's foot ?
"I didn't-I didn't I didn't!'-said Mrs.
Hauksbee angrily, her eyes filling with tears ;
“ there was no malice at all. Oh, it's too vexa-
tious!'


THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE
33
You've misunderstood the compliment,' said
Mrs. Mallowe. “He clears you completely and-
ahem—I should think by this, that he has cleared
completely too. My experience of men is that
when they begin to quote poetry they are going to
Ait. Like swans singing before they die, you
know.'
Polly, you take my sorrows in a most un-
"Do I? Is it so terrible?
If he's hurt your
vanity, I should say that you've done a certain
amount of damage to his heart.”
Oh, you can never tell about a man!' said
Mrs. Hauksbee.
feeling way.


2
At the Pit's Mouth
say
Men it was a stolen tide-
The Lord that sent it He knows all,
But mine ear wil
aye
abide
The message that the bells let fall,
And awesome bells they were to me,
That in the dark rang, ‘Enderby.'
Jean Ingelow.
Once upon a time there was a Man and his Wife
and a Tertium Quid.
All three were unwise, but the Wife was the
unwisest. The Man should have looked after his
Wife, who should have avoided the Tertium Quid,
who, again, should have married a wife of his own,
after clean and open flirtations, to which nobody
can possibly object, round Jakko or Observatory
Hill. When you see a young man with his pony
in a white lather and his hat on the back of his
head, flying downhill at fifteen miles an hour to
meet a girl who will be properly surprised to meet
him, you naturally approve of that young man,
and wish him Staff appointments, and take an
interest in his welfare, and, as the proper time
comes, give them sugar-tongs or side-saddles
according to your means and generosity.


AT THE PIT'S MOUTH
35
The Tertium Quid flew downhill on horseback,
but it was to meet the Man's Wife ; and when he
flew uphill it was for the same end. The Man
was in the Plains, earning money for his Wife to
spend on dresses and four-hundred-rupee bracelets,
and inexpensive luxuries of that kind. He worked
very hard, and sent her a letter or a post-card
daily. She also wrote to him daily, and said that
she was longing for him to come up to Simla. The
Tertium Quid used to lean over her shoulder and
laugh as she wrote the notes. Then the two
would ride to the Post-office together.
Now, Simla is a strange place and its customs
are peculiar ; nor is any man who has not spent at
least ten seasons there qualified to pass judgment
on circumstantial evidence, which is the most un-
trustworthy in the Courts.
For these reasons,
and for others which need not appear, I decline
to state positively whether there was anything
irretrievably wrong in the relations between the
Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid. If there was,
and hereon you must form your own opinion, it
was the Man's Wife's fault. She was kittenish in
her manners, wearing generally an air of soft and
fluffy innocence. But she was deadlily learned
and evil-instructed ; and, now and again, when
the mask dropped, men saw this, shuddered and
almost drew back. Men are occasionally par-
ticular, and the least particular men are always the
most exacting.
Simla is eccentric in its fashion of treating
friendships. Certain attachments which have set
and crystallised through half-a-dozen seasons


36
AT THE PIT'S MOUTH
seem
acquire almost the sanctity of the marriage bond,
and are revered as such. Again, certain attach-
ments equally old, and, to all appearance, equally
venerable, never to win any recognised
official status ; while a chance-sprung acquaintance,
not two months born, steps into the place which
by right belongs to the senior. There is no law
reducible to print which regulates these affairs.
Some people have a gift which secures them
infinite toleration, and others have not.
The
Man's Wife had not. If she looked over the
garden wall, for instance, women taxed her with
stealing their husbands. She complained pathetic-
ally that she was not allowed to choose her own
friends. When she put up her big white muff to
her lips, and gazed over it and under her eyebrows
at you as she said this thing, you felt that she had
been infamously misjudged, and that all the other
women's instincts were all wrong; which was
absurd. She was not allowed to own the Tertium
Quid in peace; and was so strangely constructed
that she would not have enjoyed peace had she
been so permitted. She preferred some semblance
of intrigue to cloak even her most commonplace
actions.
After two months of riding, first round Jakko,
then Elysium, then Summer Hill, then Observatory
Hill, then under Jutogh, and lastly up and down
the Cart Road as far as the Tara Devi gap in the
dusk, she said to the Tertium Quid, “Frank, people
say we are too much together, and people are so
horrid.'
The Tertium Quid pulled his moustache, and


AT THE PIT'S MOUTH
37
replied that horrid people were unworthy of the
consideration of nice people.
But they have done more than talk—they have
written—written to my hubby—I'm sure of it,'
said the Man's Wife, and she pulled a letter from
her husband out of her saddle-pocket and gave it
to the Tertium Quid.
It was an honest letter, written by an honest
man, then stewing in the Plains on two hundred
rupees a month (for he allowed his wife eight
hundred and fifty), and in a silk banian and cotton
trousers. It said that, perhaps, she had not thought
of the unwisdom of allowing her name to be so
generally coupled with the Tertium Quid's; that
she was too much of a child to understand the
dangers of that sort of thing; that he, her husband,
was the last man in the world to interfere jealously
with her little amusements and interests, but that
it would be better were she to drop the Tertium
Quid quietly and for her husband's sake. The
letter was sweetened with many pretty little pet
names, and it amused the Tertium Quid consider-
ably. He and She laughed over it, so that you,
fifty yards away, could see their shoulders shak-
ing while the horses slouched along side by
side.
Their conversation was not worth reporting.
The upshot of it was that, next day, no one saw
the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid together.
They had both gone down to the Cemetery, which,
as a rule, is only visited officially by the inhabitants
of Simla.
A Simla funeral with the clergyman riding, the


38
AT THE PIT'S MOUTH
mourners riding, and the coffin creaking as it swings
between the bearers, is one of the most depressing
things on this earth, particularly when the proces-
sion passes under the wet, dank dip beneath the
Rock cliffe Hotel, where the sun is shut out, and
all the hill streams are wailing and weeping together
as they go down the valleys.
Occasionally folk tend the graves, but we in
India shift and are transferred so often that, at the
end of the second year, the Dead have no friends
-only acquaintances who are far too busy amusing
themselves up the hill to attend to old partners.
The idea of using a Cemetery as a rendezvous is
distinctly a feminine one. A man would have said
simply, 'Let people talk. We'll go down the
Mall.' A woman is made differently, especially if
she be such a woman as the Man's Wife. She and
the Tertium Quid enjoyed each other's society
among
the
graves of men and women whom they
had known and danced with aforetime.
They used to take a big horse-blanket and sit
on the grass a little to the left of the lower end,
where there is a dip in the ground, and where the
occupied graves stop short and the ready-made
ones are not ready. Each well-regulated Indian
Cemetery keeps half-a-dozen graves permanently
open for contingencies and incidental wear and tear.
In the Hills these are more usually baby's size,
because children who come up weakened and sick
from the Plains often succumb to the effects of the
Rains in the Hills or get pneumonia from their
ayahs taking them through damp pine-woods after
the sun has set. In Cantonments, of course, the


40
AT THE PIT'S MOUTH
all the world was going to a garden-party at
Viceregal Lodge, and all the people of Mashobra
would go too.
Coming up the Cemetery road, the Tertium
Quid's horse tried to bolt uphill
, being tired with
standing so long, and managed to strain a back
sinew.
• I shall have to take the mare to-morrow,' said
the Tertium Quid, “and she will stand nothing
heavier than a snaffle.'
They made their arrangements to meet in the
Cemetery, after allowing all the Mashobra people
time to pass into Simla. That night it rained
heavily, and, next day, when the Tertium Quid
came to the trysting-place, he saw that the new
grave had a foot of water in it, the ground being a
tough and sour clay.
'Jove! That looks beastly,' said the Tertium
Quid. “Fancy being boarded up and dropped into
that well !'
They then started off to Fagoo, the mare playing
with the snaffle and picking her way as though she
were shod with satin, and the sun shining divinely.
The road below Mashobra to Fagoo is officially
styled the Himalayan-Thibet road, but in spite of
its name it is not much more than six feet wide in
most places, and the drop into the valley below
may be anything between one and two thousand
feet.
· Now we're going to Thibet,' said the Man's
Wife merrily, as the horses drew near to Fagoo.
She was riding on the cliff-side.
* Into Thibet,' said the Tertium Quid, 'ever so


AT THE PIT'S MOUTH
41
far from people who say horrid things, and hubbies
who write stupid letters. With you—to the end
of the world!
A coolie carrying a log of wood came round a
corner, and the mare went wide to avoid him-
forefeet in and haunches out, as a sensible mare
should go.
"To the world's end,' said the Man's Wife, and
looked unspeakable things over her near shoulder
at the Tertium Quid.
He was smiling, but, while she looked, the
smile froze stiff as it were on his face, and changed
to a nervous grin—the sort of grin men wear when
they are not quite easy in their saddles. The mare
seemed to be sinking by the stern, and her nostrils
cracked while she was trying to realise what was
happening. The rain of the night before had
rotted the drop-side of the Himalayan-Thibet Road,
and it was giving way under her. What are you
doing ?' said the Man's Wife. The Tertium Quid
gave no answer. He grinned nervously and set
his spurs into the mare, who rapped with her
forefeet on the road, and the struggle began. The
Man's Wife screamed, 'Oh, Frank, get off!'
But the Tertium Quid was glued to the saddle-
his face blue and white--and he looked into the
Man's Wife's eyes. Then the Man's Wife clutched
at the mare's head and caught her by the nose
instead of the bridle. The brute threw
up
her
head and went down with a scream, the Tertium
Quid upon her, and the nervous grin still set on
his face.
The Man's Wife heard the tinkle-tinkle of little


42
AT THE PIT'S MOUTH
not answer.
stones and loose earth falling off the roadway, and
the sliding roar of the man and horse going down.
Then everything was quiet, and she called on Frank
to leave his mare and walk up. But Frank did
He was underneath the mare, nine
hundred feet below, spoiling a patch of Indian corn.
As the revellers came back from Viceregal
Lodge in the mists of the evening, they met a
temporarily insane woman, on a temporarily mad
horse, swinging round the corners, with her eyes
and her mouth open, and her head like the head of
a Medusa. She was stopped by a man at the risk
of his life, and taken out of the saddle, a limp
heap, and put on the bank to explain herself. This
wasted twenty minutes, and then she was sent home
in a lady's 'rickshaw, still with her mouth open and
her hands picking at her riding-gloves.
She was in bed through the following three days,
which were rainy ; so she missed attending the
funeral of the Tertium Quid, who was lowered into
eighteen inches of water, instead of the twelve to
which he had first objected.


A Wayside Comedy
Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore
the misery of man is great upon him.- Eccles. viii. 6.
Fate and the Government of India have turned
the Station of Kashima into a prison ; and, because
there is no help for the poor souls who are now
lying there in torment, I write this story, praying
that the Government of India may be moved to
scatter the European population to the four winds.
Kashima is bounded on all sides by the rock-
tipped circle of the Dosehri hills. In Spring, it is
ablaze with roses; in Summer, the roses die and the
hot winds blow from the hills; in Autumn, the
white mists from the jhils cover the place as with
water, and in Winter the frosts nip everything
young and tender to earth-level. There is but one
view in Kashima—a stretch of perfectly flat pasture
and plough-land, running up to the gray-blue
scrub of the Dosehri hills.
There are no amusements, except snipe and
tiger shooting ; but the tigers have been long since
hunted from their lairs in the rock-caves, and the
snipe only come once a year.
Narkarra—one
hundred and forty-three miles by road—is the


44
A WAYSIDE COMEDY
nearest station to Kashima. But Kashima never
goes to Narkarra, where there are at least twelve
English people. It stays within the circle of the
Dosehri hills.
All Kashima acquits Mrs. Vansuythen of any
intention to do harm; but all Kashima knows that
she, and she alone, brought about their pain.
Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain
Kurrell know this. They are the English popula-
tion of Kashima, if we except Major Vansuythen,
who is of no importance whatever, and Mrs. Van-
suythen, who is the most important of all.
You must remember, though you will not
understand, that all laws weaken in a small and
hidden community where there is no public opinion.
When a man is absolutely alone in a Station he
runs a certain risk of falling into evil ways. This
risk is multiplied by every addition to the popula-
tion up to twelve—the Jury-number. After that,
fear and consequent restraint begin, and human
action becomes less grotesquely jerky.
There was deep peace in Kashima till Mrs.
Vansuythen arrived. She was a charming woman,
every one said so everywhere ; and she charmed
every one.
In spite of this, or, perhaps, because of
this, since Fate is so perverse, she cared only for
one man, and he was Major Vansuythen. Had
she been plain or stupid, this matter would have
been intelligible to Kashima. But she was a fair
woman, with very still gray eyes, the colour of a
lake just before the light of the sun touches it.
No man who had seen those eyes could, later on,
explain what fashion of woman she was to look


A WAYSIDE COMEDY
45
upon. The eyes dazzled him. Her own sex said
that she was not bad-looking, but spoilt by pre-
tending to be so grave. And yet her gravity was
natural. It was not her habit to smile. She merely
went through life, looking at those who passed;
and the women objected while the men fell down
and worshipped.
She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she
has done to Kashima; but Major Vansuythen can-
not understand why Mrs. Boulte does not drop in
to afternoon tea at least three times a week.
· When there are only two women in one Station,
they ought to see a great deal of each other,' says
Major Vansuythen.
Long and long before ever Mrs. Vansuythen
came out of those far-away places where there is
society and amusement, Kurrell had discovered
that Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world
for him and—you dare not blame them. Kashima
was as out of the world as Heaven or the Other
Place, and the Dosehri hills kept their secret well.
Boulte had no concern in the matter. He was in
camp for a fortnight at a time. He was a hard,
heavy man, and neither Mrs. Boulte nor Kurrell
pitied him. They had all Kashima and each other
for their very, very own; and Kashima was the
Garden of Eden in those days. When Boulte
returned from his wanderings he would slap Kurrell
between the shoulders and call him old fellow,'
and the three would dine together. Kashima was
happy then when the judgment of God seemed
almost as distant as Narkarra or the railway that
ran down to the sea. But the Government sent


46
A WAYSIDE COMEDY
Major Vansuythen to Kashima, and with him came
his wife.
The etiquette of Kashima is much the same as
that of a desert island. When a stranger is cast
away there, all hands go down to the shore to
make him welcome. Kashima assembled at the
masonry platform close to the Narkarra Road, and
spread tea for the Vansuythens. That ceremony
was reckoned a formal call, and made them free
of the Station, its rights and privileges. When
the Vansuythens settled down they gave a tiny
house-warming to all Kashima ; and that made
Kashima free of their house, according to the
immemorial usage of the Station.
Then the Rains came, when no one could go
into camp, and the Narkarra Road was washed
away by the Kasun River, and in the cup-like
pastures of Kashima the cattle waded knee-deep.
The clouds dropped down from the Dosehri hills
and covered everything.
At the end of the Rains Boulte's manner to-
wards his wife changed and became demonstratively
affectionate. They had been married twelve years,
and the change startled Mrs. Boulte, who hated
her husband with the hate of a woman who has
met with nothing but kindness from her mate, and,
in the teeth of this kindness, has done him a great
wrong. Moreover, she had her own trouble to
fight with—her watch to keep over her own
property, Kurrell. For two months the Rains
had hidden the Dosehri hills and many other
things besides ; but, when they lifted, they showed
Mrs. Boulte that her man among men, her Ted-


A WAYSIDE COMEDY
47
for she called him Ted in the old days when Boulte
was out of earshot-was slipping the links of the
allegiance.
The Vansuythen Woman has taken him, Mrs.
Boulte said to herself; and when Boulte was away,
wept over her belief, in the face of the over-vehe-
ment blandishments of Ted. Sorrow in Kashima
is as fortunate as Love because there is nothing to
weaken it save the flight of Time. Mrs. Boulte
had never breathed her suspicion to Kurrell because
she was not certain ; and her nature led her to be
very certain before she took steps in any
direction.
That is why she behaved as she did.
Boulte came into the house one evening, and
leaned against the door-posts of the drawing-room,
chewing his moustache. Mrs. Boulte was putting
some flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of
civilisation even in Kashima.
• Little woman,' said Boulte quietly, ‘do you
care for me?'
'Immensely,' said she, with a laugh. Can you
ask it?'
‘But I'm serious,' said Boulte.
• Do you care
for me?'
Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned
round quickly. “Do you want an honest answer?'
Ye-es, I've asked for it.'
Mrs. Boulte spoke in a low, even voice for five
minutes, very distinctly, that there might be no
misunderstanding her meaning: When Samson
broke the pillars of Gaza, he did a little thing, and
one not to be compared to the deliberate pulling
down of a woman's homestead about her own ears.
6
E


48
A WAYSIDE COMEDY
There was no wise female friend to advise Mrs.
Boulte, the singularly cautious wife, to hold her
hand. She struck at Boulte's heart, because her
own was sick with suspicion of Kurrell, and worn
out with the long strain of watching alone through
the Rains. There was no plan or purpose in her
speaking. The sentences made themselves ; and
Boulte listened, leaning against the door-post with
his hands in his pockets. When all was over, and
Mrs. Boulte began to breathe through her nose
before breaking out into tears, he laughed and
stared straight in front of him at the Dosehri hills.
Is that all?' he said. ‘Thanks, I only wanted
to know, you know.'
• What are you going to do?' said the woman,
between her sobs.
'Do! Nothing. What should I do? Kill
Kurrell, or send you Home, or apply for leave to
get a divorce? It's two days' dak into Narkarra.'
He laughed again and went on : ‘I'll tell you what
you can do. You can ask Kurrell to dinner to-
morrow-no, on Thursday, that will allow you
time to pack—and you can bolt with him. I give
you my word I won't follow.'
He took up his helmet and went out of the
room, and Mrs. Boulte sat till the moonlight
streaked the floor, thinking and thinking and
thinking. She had done her best upon the spur
of the moment to pull the house down ; but it
would not fall. Moreover, she could not under-
stand her husband, and she was afraid. Then the
folly of her useless truthfulness struck her, and she
was ashamed to write to Kurrell, saying, 'I have


A WAYSIDE COMEDY
49
gone mad and told everything. My husband says
that I am free to elope with you. Get a dák for
Thursday, and we will fly after dinner. There
was a cold bloodedness about that procedure which
did not appeal to her. So she sat still in her own
house and thought.
At dinner-time Boulte came back from his walk,
white and worn and haggard, and the woman was
touched at his distress. As the evening wore on
she muttered some expression of sorrow, something
approaching to contrition. Boulte came out of a
brown study and said, 'Oh, that! I wasn't think-
ing about that. By the way, what does Kurrell
say to the elopement?'
I haven't seen him,' said Mrs. Boulte. Good
God, is that all?'
But Boulte was not listening and her sentence
ended in a gulp.
The next day brought no comfort to Mrs.
Boulte, for Kurrell did not appear, and the new
life that she, in the five minutes' madness of the
previous evening, had hoped to build out of the
ruins of the old, seemed to be no nearer.
Boulte ate his breakfast, advised her to see her
fed in the verandah, and went out. The
morning wore through, and at mid-day the tension
became unendurable. Mrs. Boulte could not cry.
She had finished her crying in the night, and now
she did not want to be left alone. Perhaps the
Vansuythen Woman would talk to her; and, since
talking opens the heart, perhaps there might be
some comfort to be found in her company.
She
was the only other woman in the Station.
Arab pony


50
A WAYSIDE COMEDY
In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours.
Every one can drop in upon every one else at
pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, and
walked across to the Vansuythens' house to borrow
last week's Queen. The two compounds touched,
and instead of going up the drive, she crossed
through the gap in the cactus-hedge, entering the
house from the back. As she passed through the
dining-room, she heard, behind the purdah that
cloaked the drawing-room door, her husband's
voice, saying,
• But on my Honour ! On
my
Soul and
Honour, I tell you she doesn't care for me. She
told me so last night. I would have told you
then if Vansuythen hadn't been with you. If
it is for her sake that you'll have nothing to
say to me, you can make your mind easy. It's
Kurrell
“What?' said Mrs. Vansuythen, with a hysterical
little laugh. Kurrell ! Oh, it can't be! You
two must have made some horrible mistake.
Perhaps you—you lost your temper, or misunder-
stood, or something. Things can't be as wrong
as you say.'
Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to
avoid the man's pleading, and was desperately
trying to keep him to a side-issue.
"There must be some mistake,' she insisted,
and it can be all put right again.'
Boulte laughed grimly.
It can't be Captain Kurrell! He told me that
he had never taken the least—the least interest in
your wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh, do listen! He said


A WAYSIDE COMEDY
51
with a gasp.
he had not. He swore he had not,' said Mrs.
Vansuythen.
The purdah rustled, and the speech was cut
short by the entry of a little thin woman, with big
rings round her eyes.
Mrs. Vansuythen stood up
"What was that you said ?' asked Mrs. Boulte.
Never mind that man. What did Ted say to
you? What did he say to you?
What did he
say to you?'
Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the
sofa, overborne by the trouble of her questioner.
•He said—I can't remember exactly what he
said—but I understood him to say—that is
But, really, Mrs. Boulte, isn't it rather a strange
question ?
'Will you tell me what he said ?' repeated
Mrs. Boulte. Even a tiger will fly before a bear
robbed of her whelps, and Mrs. Vansuythen was
only an ordinarily good woman. She began in a
sort of desperation : Well, he said that he never
cared for you at all, and, of course, there was not
the least reason why he should have, and-and-
that was all.'
"You said he swore he had not cared for me.
Was that true?
“Yes,' said Mrs. Vansuythen very softly.
Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she
stood, and then fell forward fainting.
"What did I tell you ?' said Boulte, as though
the conversation had been unbroken.
see for yourself. She cares for him.' The light
began to break into his dull mind, and he
"You can


52
A WAYSIDE COMEDY
went on—' And he — what was he saying to
you?'
But Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for ex-
planations or impassioned protestations, was kneel-
ing over Mrs. Boulte.
Oh, you brute!’ she cried. • Are all men like
this ? Help me to get her into my room—and
her face is cut against the table. Oh, will you be
quiet, and help me to carry her? I hate
you,
and
I hate Captain Kurrell. Lift her up carefully, and
now-go! Go
Go away!'
Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuythen's
bedroom, and departed before the storm of that
lady's wrath and disgust, impenitent and burning
with jealousy. Kurrell had been making love to
Mrs. Vansuythen—would do Vansuythen as great
a wrong as he had done Boulte, who caught him-
self considering whether Mrs. Vansuythen would
faint if she discovered that the man she loved had
forsworn her.
In the middle of these meditations, Kurrell
came cantering along the road and pulled up with a
cheery "Good - mornin'. 'Been mashing Mrs.
Vansuythen as usual, eh? Bad thing for a sober,
married man, that. What will Mrs. Boulte say?
Boulte raised his head and said slowly,—Oh,
Kurrell's face changed.
• What's
that?' he asked quickly.
Nothing much,' said Boulte. «Has my wife
told
you two are free to go off whenever
you please? She has been good enough to explain
the situation to me. You've been a true friend to
me, Kurrell-old man-haven't you?'
you liar!'
you that


A WAYSIDE COMEDY
53
Kurrell groaned, and tried to frame some sort
of idiotic sentence about being willing to give
satisfaction.' But his interest in the woman was
dead, had died out in the Rains, and, mentally, he
was abusing her for her amazing indiscretion. It
would have been so easy to have broken off the
thing gently and by degrees, and now he was
saddled with -Boulte's voice recalled him.
'I don't think I should get any satisfaction
from killing you, and I'm pretty sure you'd get
none from killing me.'
Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously dispro-
portioned to his wrongs, Boulte added-
''Seems rather a pity that you haven't the
decency to keep to the woman, now you've got
her. You've been a true friend to her too, haven't
you?'
Kurrell stared long and gravely. The situation
was getting beyond him.
'What do you mean?'' he said.
Boulte answered, more to himself than the
questioner : “My wife came over to Mrs. Van-
suythen's just now; and it seems you'd been tell-
ing Mrs. Vansuythen that you'd never cared for
Emma.
I suppose you lied, as usual.
lied, as usual. What had
Mrs. Vansuythen to do with you, or you with her?
Try to speak the truth for once in a way.
Kurrell took the double insult without wincing,
and replied by another question : ‘Go on. What
happened?'
*Emma fainted,' said Boulte simply. But,
look here, what had you been saying to Mrs. Van-
suythen ?


54
A WAYSIDE COMEDY
me.
Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with un-
bridled tongue, made havoc of his plans; and he
could at least retaliate by hurting the man in
whose eyes he was humiliated and shown dis-
honourable.
Said to her ? What does a man tell a lie like
that for?
I suppose I said pretty much what
you've said, unless I'm a good deal mistaken.'
'I spoke the truth,' said Boulte, again more to
himself than Kurrell. 'Emma told me she hated
She has no right in me.'
“No! I suppose not. You're only her
husband, y'know. And what did Mrs. Van-
suythen say after you had laid your disengaged
heart at her feet?'
Kurrell felt almost virtuous as he put the
question.
*I don't think that matters,' Boulte replied ;
• and it doesn't concern you.'
• But it does! I tell you it does '—began
Kurrell shamelessly.
The sentence was cut by a roar of laughter from
Boulte's lips. Kurrell was silent for an instant,
and then he, too, laughed — laughed long and
loudly, rocking in his saddle. It was an un-
pleasant sound—the mirthless mirth of these men
on the long white line of the Narkarra Road.
There were no strangers in Kashima, or they
might have thought that captivity within the
Dosehri hills had driven half the European popula-
tion mad. The laughter ended abruptly, and
Kurrell was the first to speak.
Well, what are you going to do ?'
6


A WAYSIDE COMEDY
55
go on.
Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills.
‘Nothing,' said he quietly ; 'what's the use ? It's
too ghastly for anything. We must let the old
life
I can only call you a hound and a
liar, and I can't go on calling you names for ever.
Besides which, I don't feel that I'm much better.
We can't get out of this place. What is there
to do?
Kurrell looked round the rat-pit of Kashima
and made no reply. The injured husband took
up the wondrous tale.
* Ride on, and speak to Emma if you want to.
God knows I don't care what you do.
He walked forward, and left Kurrell gazing
blankly after him. Kurrell did not ride on either
to see Mrs. Boulte or Mrs. Vansuythen. He sat
in his saddle and thought, while his pony grazed by
the roadside.
The whir of approaching wheels roused him.
Mrs. Vansuythen was driving home Mrs. Boulte,
white and wan, with a cut on
her forehead.
‘Stop, please,' said Mrs. Boulte, “I want to
speak to Ted.'
Mrs. Vansuythen obeyed, but as Mrs. Boulte
leaned forward, putting her hand upon the splash-
board of the dog-cart, Kurrell spoke.
• I've seen your husband, Mrs. Boulte.'
There was no necessity for any further explana-
tion. The man's eyes were fixed, not upon
Mrs.
Boulte, but her companion. Mrs. Boulte saw the
look.
"Speak to him!' she pleaded, turning to the
woman at her side. “Oh, speak to him! Tell


56
A WAYSIDE COMEDY
Tell him you
him what you told me just now. .
hate him. Tell him you hate him!'
She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the
sais, impassive, went forward to hold the horse.
Mrs. Vansuythen turned scarlet and dropped the
reins. She wished to be no party to such unholy
explanations.
* I've nothing to do with it,' she began coldly ;
but Mrs. Boulte's sobs overcame her, and she
addressed herself to the man. I don't know
what I am to say, Captain Kurrell. I don't know
what I can call you. I think you've—you've
behaved abominably, and she has cut her forehead
terribly against the table.'
'It' doesn't hurt. It isn't anything,' said Mrs.
Boulte feebly. "That doesn't matter. Tell him
what you told me. Say you don't care for him.
Oh, Ted, won't you believe her?'
Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you
were—that you were fond of her once upon a
time,' went on Mrs. Vansuythen.
*Well !' said Kurrell brutally. “It seems to
me that Mrs. Boulte had better be fond of her
own husband first.'
'Stop!' said Mrs. Vansuythen. 'Hear me
first. I don't care-I don't want to know any-
thing about you and Mrs. Boulte ; but I want you
to know that I hate you, that I think you are a
cur, and that I'll never, never speak to you again.
Oh, I don't dare to say what I think of you, you
man !!
'I want to speak to Ted,' moaned Mrs. Boulte,
but the dog-cart rattled on, and Kurrell was left on


58
A WAYSIDE COMEDY
Kurrell,' said the Major truthfully. •Pass me that
banjo.
And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars
came out and all Kashima went to dinner.
That was the beginning of the New Life of
Kashima—the life that Mrs. Boulte made when her
tongue was loosened in the twilight.
Mrs. Vansuythen has never told the Major ;
and since he insists upon keeping up a burden-
some geniality, she has been compelled to break
her vow of not speaking to Kurrell
. This speech,
which must of necessity preserve the semblance of
politeness and interest, serves admirably to keep
alight the flame of jealousy and dull hatred in
Boulte's bosom, as it awakens the same passions
in his wife's heart. Mrs. Boulte hates Mrs.
Vansuythen because she has taken Ted from her,
and, in some curious fashion, hates her because
Mrs. Vansuythen—and here the wife's eyes see far
more clearly than the husband's—detests Ted.
And Ted—that gallant captain and honourable
man—knows now that it is possible to hate a
woman once loved, to the verge of wishing to
silence her for ever with blows. Above all, is he
shocked that Mrs. Boulte cannot see the error of
her ways.
Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together
in all friendship. Boulte has put their relationship
on a most satisfactory footing.
*You're a blackguard,' he says to Kurrell, “and
I've lost any self-respect I may ever have had ; but
when you're with me, I can feel certain that
you


A WAYSIDE COMEDY
59
are not with Mrs. Vansuythen, or making Emma
miserable.'
Kurrell endures anything that Boulte may say
to him. Sometimes they are away for three days
together, and then the Major insists upon his wife
going over to sit with Mrs. Boulte ; although
Mrs. Vansuythen has repeatedly declared that she
prefers her husband's company to any in the
world. From the way in which she clings to
him, she would certainly seem to be speaking the
truth.
But of course, as the Major says, “in a little
Station we must all be friendly.'


The Hill of Illusion
What rendered vain their deep desire ?
A God, a God their severance ruled,
And bade between their shores to be
The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea.
Matthew Arnold.
crew.
HE. Tell your jhampanies not to hurry so, dear.
They forget I'm fresh from the Plains.
ShE. Sure proof that I have not been going
out with any one. Yes, they are an untrained
Where do we go?
He. As usual to the world's end.
No,
Jakko.
ShE. Have your pony led after you,
then.
It's a long round.
He. And for the last time, thank Heaven !
She. Do you mean that still? I didn't dare
to write to you about it-all these months.
He. !
Mean it! I've been shaping my affairs
to that end since Autumn.
What makes you
speak as though it had occurred to you for the
first time?
ShE. I? Oh! I don't know. I've had long
enough to think, too.


THE HILL OF ILLUSION
61
He. And you've changed your mind ?
SHE. No. You ought to know that I am a
miracle of constancy.
What are your-arrange-
ments ?
HE. Ours, Sweetheart, please.
ShE. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how
the prickly heat has marked your forehead! Have
you ever tried sulphate of copper in water?
He. It'll go away in a day or two up_here.
The arrangements are simple enough. Tonga
in the early morning —reach Kalka at twelve-
Umballa at seven-down, straight by night train,
to Bombay, and then the steamer of the 21st for
Rome. That's my idea. The Continent and
Sweden-a ten-week honeymoon.
ShE. Ssh! Don't talk of it in that way. It
makes me afraid. Guy, how long have we two
been insane?
He. Seven months and fourteen days, I forget
the odd hours exactly, but I'll think.
ShE. I only wanted to see if you remembered.
Who are those two on the Blessington Road?
HE. Eabrey and the Penner Woman. What
do they matter to us? Tell me everything that
you've been doing and saying and thinking.
ShE. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a
great deal. I've hardly been out at all.
HE.
That was wrong
of
you.
You haven't
been moping ?
She. Not very much.
much. Can
Can you wonder that
I'm disinclined for amusement?
HE. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty?
SHE. In this only. The more people I know


62
THE HILL OF ILLUSION
and the more I'm known here, the wider spread
will be the news of the crash when it comes. I
don't like that.
He. Nonsense. We shall be out of it.
ShE. You think so?
He. I'm sure of it, if there is any power in
steam or horse-flesh to carry us away. Ha! ha!
ShE. And the fun of the situation comes in-
where, my Lancelot?
He. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking
of something
She. They say men have a keener sense of
humour than women. Now I was thinking of the
scandal.
He. Don't think of anything so ugly. We
shall be beyond it.
SHE. It will be there all the same in the
mouths of Simla— telegraphed over India, and
talked of at the dinners—and when He goes out
they will stare at Him to see how he takes it.
And we shall be dead, Guy dear-dead and cast
into the outer darkness where there is
HE. Love at least. Isn't that enough?
ShE. I have said so.
He. And
And you think so still?
SHE. What do you think?
HE. What have I done? It means equal ruin
to me, as the world reckons it-outcasting, the
loss of my appointment, the breaking off my life's
work. I pay my price.
She. And are you so much above the world
that you can afford to pay it. Am I?
He. My Divinity—what else?


THE HILL OF ILLUSION
63
You were
ShE. A very ordinary woman, I'm afraid, but
so far, respectable. How d’you do, Mrs. Middle-
ditch? Your husband? I think he's riding down
to Annandale with Colonel Statters. Yes, isn't it
divine after the rain ?-Guy, how long am I to
be allowed to bow to Mrs. Middleditch? Till the
17th?
He. Frowsy Scotchwoman! What is the use
of bringing her into the discussion?
saying?
She. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man
hanged?
He. Yes. Once.
SHE. What was it for ?
HE. Murder, of course.
ShE. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all ?
I wonder how he felt before the drop fell.
He. I don't think he felt much. What a
gruesome little woman it is this evening! You're
shivering. Put on your cape, dear.
SHE. I think I will. Oh! Look at the mist
coming over Sanjaoli ; and I thought we should
have sunshine on the Ladies' Mile ! Let's turn
back.
He. What's the good? There's a cloud on
Elysium Hill, and that means it's foggy all down
the Mall.
We'll go on.
It'll blow away before
we get to the Convent, perhaps. 'Jove! It is
chilly.
She. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on
your ulster. What do
What do you think of my cape?
HE. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman's
dress when he is desperately and abjectly in love
#
F


64
THE HILL OF ILLUSION
with the wearer.
Let me look. Like everything
else of yours it's perfect. Where did you get it
from?
She. He gave it me, on Wednesday-our
wedding-day, you know.
HE. The Deuce He did!
He's growing
generous in his old age. D’you like all that frilly,
bunchy stuff at the throat? 'I don't.
She. Don't you?
Kind Sir,
o' your courtesy,
As you go by the town, Sir,
'Pray you
o'
your
love for me,
Buy me a russet gown, Sir.
He. I won't say : 'Keek into the draw-well,
Janet, Janet. Only wait a little, darling, and you
shall be stocked with russet gowns and everything
else.
SHE. And when the frocks wear out you'll
get me new ones—and everything else?
He. Assuredly.
She. I wonder !
He. Look here, Sweetheart, I didn't spend two
days and two nights in the train to hear you wonder.
I thought we'd settled all that at Shaifazehat.
She (dreamily). At Shaifazehat ? Does the
Station go on still? That was ages and ages ago.
It must be crumbling to pieces. All except the
Amirtollah kutcha road. I don't believe that could
crumble till the Day of Judgment.
He. You think so? What is the mood now?
SHE. I can't tell. How cold it is!
get on quickly.
Let us


THE HILL OF ILLUSION
65
HE. 'Better walk a little. Stop your jhampanies
and get out. What's the matter with you this
evening, dear!
She. Nothing. You must grow accustomed
to my ways. If I'm boring you I can go home.
Here's Captain Congleton coming, I daresay he'll
be willing to escort me.
He. Goose ! Between us, too! Damn
Captain Congleton.
ShE. Chivalrous Knight. Is it your habit to
swear much in talking ? It jars a little, and you
might swear at me.
He. My angel! I didn't know what I was
saying ; and you changed so quickly that I
couldn't follow. I'll apologise in dust and ashes.
She. There'll be enough of those later on-
Good-night, Captain Congleton. Going to the
singing-quadrilles already? What dances am I
giving you next week? No! You must have
written them down wrong. Five and Seven, I said.
If you've made a mistake, I certainly don't intend
to suffer for it. You must alter your programme.
He. I thought you told me that you had not
been going out much this season ?
She. Quite true, but when I do I dance with
Captain Congleton. He dances very nicely.
He. And sit out with him, I suppose ?
SHE. Yes.
Yes. Have you any objection? Shall
I stand under the chandelier in future?
HE. What does he talk to you about?
She. What do men talk about when they sit
out?
He. Ugh! Don't! Well, now I'm up, you


66
THE HILL OF ILLUSION
must dispense with the fascinating Congleton for a
while. I don't like him.
She (after a pause). Do you know what you
have said?
HE. 'Can't
'Can't say that I do exactly. I'm not in
the best of tempers.
SHE. So I see,—and feel. My true and faith-
ful lover, where is your eternal constancy,
"unalterable trust,' and 'reverent devotion'? I
remember those phrases; you seem to have
forgotten them.
I mention a man's name-
HE. A good deal more than that.
She. Well, speak to him about a dance-
perhaps the last dance that I shall ever dance in
my
life before 1,-before I go away; and you at
once distrust and insult me.
HE. I never said a word.
SHE. How much did you imply? Guy, is
this amount of confidence to be our stock to start
the new life on?
He. No, of course not. I didn't mean that.
On my word and honour, I didn't. Let it pass,
dear. Please let it
pass.
ShE. This once—yes—and a second time, and
again and again, all through the years when I shall
be unable to resent it. You want too much, my
Lancelot, and,—you know too much.
He. How do you mean?
ShE. That is a part of the punishment. There
cannot be perfect trust between us.
HE. În Heaven's name, why not?
SHE. Hush ! The Other Place is quite
enough. Ask yourself.


68
THE HILL OF ILLUSION
situation. After the necessary business in the
Courts, the road is clear to-
ShE. •The holy state of matrimony!' Ha !
ha! ha!
He. Ssh! Don't laugh in that horrible way !
SHE. 1-1-c-c-c-can't help it! Isn't it too
absurd! Ah! Ha! ha! ha! Guy, stop me
quick or I shall-1-1-laugh till we get to the
Church.
He. For goodness sake, stop! Don't make
an exhibition of yourself.
What is the matter
with you?
ShE. N-nothing. I'm better now.
He. That's all right. One moment, dear.
There's a little wisp of hair got loose from behind
your right ear and it's straggling over your cheek.
So!
She. Thank’oo. I'm 'fraid my hat's on one
side, too.
He. What do you wear these huge dagger
bonnet-skewers for? They're big enough to kill a
man with.
ShE. Oh! don't kill me, though. You're
sticking it into my head! Let me do it. You
men are so clumsy.
HE. Have you had many opportunities of
comparing us--in this sort of work?
She. Guy, what is my name?
HE. Eh! I don't follow.
ShE. Here's my card-case. Can you read ?
HE. Yes. Well?
ShE. Well, that answers your question. You
know the other's man's name. Am I sufficiently
A


THE HILL OF ILLUSION
69
any one else?
humbled, or would you like to ask me if there is
HE. I see now.
My darling, I never meant
that for an instant. I was only joking. There !
Lucky there's no one on the road. They'd be
scandalised.
ShE. They'll be more scandalised before the
end.
He. Do-on't! I don't like you to talk in
that way
ShE. Unreasonable man! Who asked me to
face the situation and accept it ?- Tell me, do I
look like Mrs. Penner? Do I look like a naughty
woman ! Swear I don't! Give me your word of
honour, my honourable friend, that I'm not like
Mrs. Buzgago. That's the way she stands, with
her hands clasped at the back of her head. D’you
like that?
HE. Don't be affected.
She. I'm not. I'm Mrs. Buzgago. Listen!
Pendant une anne' toute entière
Le régiment n'a pas r’paru.
Au Ministère de la Guerre
On le r’porta comme perdu.
On se r'noncait à r'trouver sa trace,
Quand un matin subitement,
On le vit r'paraître sur la place,
L'Colonel toujours en avant.
That's the way she rolls her r's. Am I like
her ?
HE. No, but I object when you go on like an
actress and sing stuff of that kind. Where in the


70
THE HILL OF ILLUSION
world did you pick up the Chanson du Colonel ?
It isn't a drawing-room song,
It isn't proper.
She. Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both
drawing-room and proper, and in another month
she'll shut her drawing-room to me, and, thank
God, she isn't as improper as I am. Oh, Guy,
Guy! I wish I was like some women and had no
scruples about—What is it Keene says? — Wearing
a corpse's hair and being false to the bread they
eat.'
He. I am only a man of limited intelligence,
and, just now, very bewildered. When you have
quite finished flashing through all your moods tell
me, and I'll try to understand the last one.
ShE. Moods, Guy!
I haven't any.
I'm
sixteen years old and you're just twenty, and
you've been waiting for two hours outside the
school in the cold. And now I've met you, and
now we're walking home together. Does that suit
you, My Imperial Majesty ?
HE. No.
No. We aren't children. Why can't
you be rational ?
She. He asks me that when I'm going to
commit suicide for his sake, and, and I don't
want to be French and rave about my mother, but
have I ever told you that I have a mother, and a
brother who was my pet before I married? He's
married now.
Can't you imagine the pleasure
that the news of the elopement will give him?
Have you any people at Home, Guy, to be pleased
with your performances ?
He. One or two. One can't make omelets
without breaking eggs.
a


THE HILL OF ILLUSION
71
She (slowly). I don't see the necessity-
He. Hah! What do you mean?
ShE. Shall I speak the truth?
HE. Under the circumstances, perhaps it
would be as well.
ShE. Guy, I'm afraid.
НЕ. I thought we'd settled all that. What
of?
SHE. Of
you.
HE. Oh, damn it all ! The old business!
This is too bad !
SHE. Of you.
He. And what now?
SHE. What do
What do you think of me?
He. Beside the question altogether. What
do
you
intend to do?
SHE. I daren't risk it. I'm afraid. If I could
only cheat--
HE. À la Buzgago? No, thanks. That's the
one point on which I have any notion of Honour.
I won't eat his salt and steal too.
I'll loot openly
or not at all.
She. I never meant anything else.
He. Then, why in the world do you pretend
not to be willing to come?
She. It's not pretence, Guy. I am afraid.
He. Please explain.
SHE. It can't last, Guy. It can't last. You'll
get angry, and then you'll swear, and then you'll
get jealous, and then you'll mistrust me—you do
now---and you yourself will be the best reason for
doubting. And I—what shall I do? I shall be
no better than Mrs. Buzgago found out—no better


72
THE HILL OF ILLUSION
than any one.
And you'll know that. Oh, Guy,
can't you see?
He. I see that you are desperately unreason-
able, little woman.
She. There! The moment I begin to object,
you get angry. What will you do when I am only
your property-stolen property? It can't be, Guy.
It can't be! I thought it could, but it can't.
You'll
get tired of me.
He. I tell you I shall not. Won't anything
make
you
understand that?
Shé. There, can't you see? If you speak to
me like that now, you'll call me horrible names
later, if I don't do everything as you like. And if
you were cruel to me, Guy, where should I go?-
where should I go? I can't trust you. Oh! I
can't trust you !
He. I suppose I ought to say that I can trust
you. I've ample reason.
SHE. Please don't, dear. It hurts as much as
if you hit me.
НЕ. It isn't exactly pleasant for me.
SHE. I can't help it. I wish I were dead! I
can't trust you, and I don't trust myself. Oh,
Guy, let it die away and be forgotten !
He. Too late now. I don't understand you-
I won't—and I can't trust myself to talk this
evening. May I call to-morrow?
She Yes. No! Oh, give me time! The
day after. I get into my 'rickshaw here and meet
Him at Peliti's. You ride.
HE. I'll go on to Peliti's too. I think I want
a drink.
My world's knocked about my ears and


THE HILL OF ILLUSION
73
the stars are falling. Who are those brutes howling
in the Old Library?
She. They're rehearsing the singing-quadrilles
for the Fancy Ball. Can't you hear Mrs. Buzgago's
voice? She has a solo. It's quite a new idea.
Listen!
Mrs. BUZGAGO (in the Old Library, con. molt.
exp.).
See-saw! Margery Daw !
Sold her bed to lie upon straw.
Wasn't she a silly slut
To sell her bed and lie dirt ?
Captain Congleton, I'm going to alter that to
flirt. It sounds better.
HE. No, I've changed my mind about the
drink. Good-night, little lady. I shall see you
to-morrow?
She. Ye-es. Good-night, Guy. Don't be
angry with me.
HE. Angry! You know I trust you absolutely.
Good-night and God bless you!
(Three seconds later. Alone.) Hmm! I'd give
something to discover whether there's another man
at the back of all this.
upon
&
.


A Second-Rate Woman
Est fugn, volvitur rota,
On we drift : where looms the dim port?
One Two Three Four Five contribute their quota :
Something is gained if one caught but the import,
Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha.
Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha.
DRESSED! Don't tell me that woman ever dressed
in her life. She stood in the middle of the room
while her ayah—no, her husband—it must have
been a man—threw her clothes at her. She then
did her hair with her fingers, and rubbed her
bonnet in the flue under the bed. I know she did,
as well as if I had assisted at the orgy. Who is
she?' said Mrs. Hauksbee.
‘Don't !' said Mrs. Mallowe feebly. “You
make my head ache.
head ache. I'm miserable to-day. Stay
me with fondants, comfort me with chocolates, for
-Did
you bring anything from Peliti's?'
Questions to begin with. You shall have the
sweets when you have answered them. Who and
what is the creature? There were at least half-a-
dozen men round her, and she appeared to be
going to sleep in their midst.'
*Delville,' said Mrs. Mallowe, Shady ”
I am


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
75
Delville, to distinguish her from Mrs. Jim of that
ilk. She dances as untidily as she dresses, I
believe, and her husband is somewhere in Madras.
Go and call, if you are so interested.'
"What have I to do with Shigramitish women ?
She merely caught my attention for a minute, and
I wondered at the attraction that a dowd has for a
certain
type
of
man. I expected to see her walk
out of her clothes—until I looked at her eyes.'
'Hooks and eyes, surely,' drawled Mrs.
Mallowe.
*Don't be clever, Polly. You make my head
ache. And round this hayrick stood a crowd of
men—a positive crowd!
‘Perhaps they also expected-
Polly, don't be Rabelaisian !'
Mrs. Mallowe curled herself up comfortably on
the sofa, and turned her attention to the sweets.
She and Mrs. Hauksbee shared the same house at
Simla ; and these things befell two seasons after
the matter of Otis Yeere, which has been already
recorded.
Mrs. Hauksbee stepped into the verandah and
looked down upon the Mall, her forehead puckered
with thought.
Hah!' said Mrs. Hauksbee shortly. Indeed!'
“What is it?' said Mrs. Mallowe sleepily.
•That dowd and The Dancing Master — to
whom I object.
•Why to The Dancing Master? He is a
middle-aged gentleman, of reprobate and romantic
tendencies, and tries to be a friend of mine.'
· Then make up your mind to lose him. Dowds


76 A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
cling by nature, and I should imagine that this
animal-how terrible her bonnet looks from above!
-is specially clingsome.'
'She is welcome to The Dancing Master so far
as I am concerned. I never could take an interest
in a monotonous liar. The frustrated aim of his
life is to persuade people that he is a bachelor.'
"O-oh! I think I've met that sort of man
before. And isn't he?'
No. He confided that to me a few days ago.
Ugh! Some men ought to be killed.'
What happened then?'
• He posed as the horror of horrors—a mis-
understood man. Heaven knows the femme incom-
prise is sad enough and bad enough—but the other
thing !'
* And so far too! I should have laughed in his
face. Men seldom confide in me. How is it they
come to you?'
· For the sake of impressing me with their
careers in the past. Protect me from men with
confidences !'
* And yet you encourage them ?'
• What can I do? They talk, I listen, and they
vow that I am sympathetic. I know I always pro-
fess astonishment even when the plot is of the
most old possible.'
“Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if
they are once allowed to talk, whereas women's
confidences are full of reservations and fibs, ex-
cept-
When they go mad and babble of the Unutter-
abilities after a week's acquaintance. Really, if you


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
77
more
2
come to consider, we know a great deal more of
men than of our own sex.'
And the extraordinary thing is that men will
never believe it. They say we are trying to hide
something.'
• They are generally doing that on their own
account. Alas! These chocolates pall upon me,
and I haven't eaten more than a dozen. I think I
shall
go to sleep.'
'Then you'll get fat, dear. If you
took
exercise and a more intelligent interest in your
neighbours you would-
•Be as much loved as Mrs. Hauksbee. You're
a darling in many ways, and I like you-you are
not a woman's woman—but why do you trouble
yourself about mere human beings ?'
“Because in the absence of angels, who I am
sure would be horribly dull, men and women are
the most fascinating things in the whole wide
world, lazy one. I am interested in The Dowd-
I am interested in The Dancing Master -I am
interested in the Hawley Boy-and I am interested
in you.'
•Why couple me with the Hawley Boy? He
is your property.'
“Yes, and in his own guileless speech, I'm
making a good thing out of him. When he is
slightly more reformed, and has passed his Higher
Standard, or whatever the authorities think fit to
exact from him, I shall select a pretty little girl,
the Holt girl, I think, and '—here she waved her
hands airily—““ whom Mrs. Hauksbee hath joined
together let no man put asunder." That's all.'


78
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
* And when you have yoked May Holt with
the most notorious detrimental in Simla, and
earned the undying hatred of Mamma Holt, what
will
you
do with me, Dispenser of the Destinies of
the Universe?'
Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in
front of the fire, and, chin in hand, gazed long
and steadfastly at Mrs. Mallowe.
*I do not know,' she said, shaking her head,
'what I shall do with you, dear. It's obviously
impossible to marry you to some one else—your
husband would object and the experiment might
not be successful after all. I think I shall begin
by preventing you from—what is it?_“
—“ sleeping
on ale-house benches and snoring in the sun.
· Don't! I don't like your quotations. They
are so rude. Go to the Library and bring me new
books.'
· While you sleep? No! If you don't come
with me I shall spread your newest frock on my
’rickshaw-bow, and when any one asks me what I
am doing, I shall say that I am going to Phelps's
to get it let out. I shall take care that Mrs.
MacNamara sees me. Put your things on, there's
a good girl.'
Mrs. Mallowe groaned and obeyed, and the
two went off to the Library, where they found
Mrs. Delville and the man who went by the nick-
name of The Dancing Master. By that time Mrs.
Mallowe was awake and eloquent.
- That is the Creature !' said Mrs. Hauksbee,
with the air of one pointing out a slug in the road.
- No,' said Mrs. Mallowe. • The man is the


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 79
1
.
Creature. Ugh! Good-evening, Mr. Bent. I
thought you were coming to tea this evening.'
•Surely it was for to-morrow, was it not?'
answered The Dancing Master. 'I understood ..
I fancied ... I'm so sorry
How very un-
fortunate!'
But Mrs. Mallowe had passed on.
· For the practised equivocator you said he
was,' murmured Mrs. Hauksbee, ‘he strikes me as
a failure.
Now wherefore should he have pre-
ferred a walk with The Dowd to tea with
us? Elective affinities, I suppose—both grubby.
Polly, I'd never forgive that woman as long as the
world rolls.'
'I forgive every woman everything,' said Mrs.
Mallowe. He will be a sufficient punishment for
her.
What a common voice she has !'
Mrs. Delville's voice was not pretty, her
carriage was even less lovely, and her raiment was
strikingly neglected. All these things Mrs.
Mallowe noticed over the top of a magazine.
Now what is there in her ?' said Mrs. Hauks-
bee. 'Do you see what I meant about the clothes
falling off
If I were a man I would perish
sooner than be seen with that rag-bag. And yet,
she has good eyes, but-Oh!'
• What is it?'
•She doesn't know how to use them! On my
honour, she does not. Look! Oh look! Un-
tidiness I can endure, but ignorance never ! The
woman's a fool.'
· Hsh! She'll hear you.'
· All the women in Simla are fools. She'll
G


80
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
think I mean some one else. Now she's going
out. What a thoroughly objectionable couple
she and The Dancing Master make! Which
reminds me.
Do you suppose they'll ever dance
together?'
Wait and see. I don't
envy
her the conversa-
tion of The Dancing Master—loathly man! His
wife ought to be up here before long? '
'Do you know anything about him?'
*Only what he told me. It may be all a
fiction. He married a girl bred in the country, I
think, and, being an honourable, chivalrous soul,
told me that he repented his bargain and sent her
to her mother as often as possible—a person who
has lived in the Doon since the memory of man
and goes to Mussoorie when other people go
Home. The wife is with her at present. So he
says.'
• Babies?'
One only, but he talks of his wife in a revolt-
ing way. I hated him for it. He thought he was
being epigrammatic and brilliant.'
. That is a vice peculiar to men. I dislike him
because he is generally in the wake of some girl,
disappointing the Eligibles. He will persecute
May Holt no more, unless I am much mistaken.'
No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his
attention for a while.'
• Do you suppose she knows that he is the head
of a family?'
· Not from his lips. He swore me to eternal
secrecy. Wherefore I tell you.
Don't you know
that type of man?'


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
81
а.
*Not intimately, thank goodness! As
general rule, when a man begins to abuse his wife
to me, I find that the Lord gives me wherewith to
answer him according to his folly; and we part
with a coolness between us. I laugh.
I'm different. I've no sense of humour.'
• Cultivate it, then. It has been my mainstay
for more years than I care to think about. A
well-educated sense of humour will save a woman
when Religion, Training, and Home influences
fail ; and we may all need salvation sometimes.'
Do you suppose that the Delville woman has
humour?'
· Her dress bewrays her. How can a Thing
who wears her supplément under her left arm have
any notion of the fitness of things much less their
folly? If she discards The Dancing Master after
having once seen him dance, I may respect her.
Otherwise-
• But are we not both assuming a great deal too
much, dear? You saw the woman at Peliti's
half an hour later you saw her walking with The
Dancing Master--an hour later you met her here
at the Library
‘Still with The Dancing Master, remember.'
“Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why
on the strength of that should you imagine-
'I imagine nothing. I have no imagination. I
am only convinced that The Dancing Master is
attracted to The Dowd because he is objection-
able in every way and she in every other. If I
know the man as you have described him, he holds
his wife in slavery at present.


82 A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
‘She is twenty years younger than he.'
* Poor wretch! And, in the end, after he has
posed and swaggered and lied—he has a mouth
under that ragged moustache simply made for lies
- he will be rewarded according to his merits.
'I wonder what those really are,' said Mrs.
Mallowe.
But Mrs. Hauksbee, her face close to the shelf
of the new books, was humming softly : What
shall he have who killed the Deer? She was a lady
of unfettered speech.
One month later she announced her intention
of calling upon Mrs. Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee
and Mrs. Mallowe were in morning wrappers, and
there was a great peace in the land.
I should go as I was,' said Mrs. Mallowe. It
would be a delicate compliment to her style.'
Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass.
Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened
these doors, I should put on this robe, after all the
others, to show her what a morning-wrapper ought
to be. It might enliven her.
As it is, I shall go
in the dove-coloured—sweet emblem of youth and
innocence—and shall put on my new gloves.'
If
you really are going, dirty tan would be too
good ; and you know that dove-colour spots with
the rain.'
I care not. I may make her envious. At least
I shall try, though one cannot expect very much
from a woman who puts a lace tucker into her
habit.'
Just Heavens ! When did she do that?!
· Yesterday-riding with The Dancing Master.


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
83
face.”
I met them at the back of Jakko, and the rain had
made the lace lie down. To complete the effect,
she was wearing an unclean terai with the elastic
under her chin. I felt almost too well content to
take the trouble to despise her.'
• The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What
did he think?'
Does a boy ever notice these things ? Should
I like him if he did ? He stared in the rudest
way,
and just when I thought he had seen the elastic, he
said, “ There's something very taking about that
I rebuked him on the spot. I don't
approve of boys being taken by faces.'
Other than your own.
I shouldn't be in the
least surprised if the Hawley Boy immediately went
to call.'
I forbade him. Let her be satisfied with The
Dancing Master, and his wife when she comes up.
I'm rather curious to see Mrs. Bent and the Delville
woman together.'
Mrs. Hauksbee departed and, at the end of an
hour, returned slightly flushed.
“There is no limit to the treachery of youth !
I ordered the Hawley Boy, as he valued my
patronage, not to call. The first person I stumble
over—literally stumble over—in her poky, dark
little drawing-room is, of course, the Hawley Boy.
She kept us waiting ten minutes, and then emerged
as though she had been tipped out of the dirty-
clothes-basket. You know my way, dear, when I
am at all put out. I was Superior, crrrrushingly
Superior ! 'Lifted my eyes to Heaven, and had
heard of nothing—'dropped my eyes on the carpet


84
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
>
and “really didn't know ”—'played with my
card-
case and “supposed so. The Hawley Boy giggled
like a girl, and I had to freeze him with scowls
between the sentences.'
· And she?'
"She sat in a heap on the edge of a couch, and
managed to convey the impression that she was
suffering from stomach-ache, at the
very
least. It
was all I could do not to ask after her symptoms.
When I rose, she grunted just like a buffalo in the
water-too lazy to move.
‘Are you certain ?
· Am blind, Polly? Laziness, sheer laziness,
nothing else—or her garments were only constructed
for sitting down in. I stayed for a quarter of an
hour trying to penetrate the gloom, to guess what
her surroundings were like, while she stuck out her
tongue.'
Lucy!'
· Well—I'll withdraw the tongue, though I'm
sure if she didn't do it when I was in the room, she
did the minute I was outside. At any rate, she
lay in a lump and grunted. Ask the Hawley Boy,
dear. I believe the grunts were meant for sentences,
but she spoke so indistinctly that I can't swear to it.
* You are incorrigible, simply.'
"I am not ! Treat me civilly, give me peace
with honour, don't put the only available seat facing
the window, and a child may eat jam in my lap
before Church. But I resent being grunted at.
? Do you suppose that she com-
municates her views on life and love to The Dancing
Master in a set of modulated “Grmphs”?'
>
Wouldn't you


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 85
*You attach too much importance to The
Dancing Master.
*He came as we went, and The Dowd grew
almost cordial at the sight of him. He smiled
greasily, and moved about that darkened dog-kennel
in a suspiciously familiar way.'
‘Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll
forgive.
Listen to the voice of History. I am only
describing what I saw. He entered, the heap on
the sofa revived slightly, and the Hawley Boy and
I came away together. He is disillusioned, but I
felt it my duty to lecture him severely for going
there. And that's all.'
Now for Pity's sake leave the wretched creature
and The Dancing Master alone. They never did
'
•No harm ? To dress as an example and a
stumbling-block for half Simla, and then to find
this Person who is dressed by the hand of God-
not that I wish to disparage Him for a moment,
but you know the tikka dhurzie way He attires
those lilies of the field-this Person draws the
eyes
of men—and some of them nice men ? It's
almost enough to make one discard clothing. I
told the Hawley Boy so.'
* And what did that sweet youth do?'
•Turned shell-pink and looked across the far
blue hills like a distressed cherub. Am I talking
wildly, Polly? Let me say my say, and I shall
be calm. Otherwise I may go abroad and disturb
Simla with a few original reflections. Excepting
always your own sweet self, there isn't a single
you any harm.'


86
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
6
as
woman in the land who understands me when I
am-what's the word?'
* Tête-fêlée,' suggested Mrs. Mallowe.
Exactly! And now let us have tiffin. The
demands of Society are exhausting, and
Mrs. Delville says,
Here Mrs. Hauksbee,
to the horror of the khitmatgars, lapsed into a
series of grunts, while Mrs. Mallowe stared in
lazy surprise.
(“God gie us a. guid conceit of oorselves,
said Mrs. Hauksbee piously, returning to her
natural speech. Now,
* Now, in any other woman that
would have been vulgar. I am consumed with
curiosity to see Mrs. Bent. I expect compli-
cations.'
· Woman of one idea,' said Mrs. Mallowe
shortly ; all complications are as old as the hills !
I have lived through or near all—all—ALL!'
* And yet do not understand that men and
women never behave twice alike. I am old who
was young—if ever I put my head in your lap,
you dear, big sceptic, you will learn that my
parting is gauze—but never, no never, have I lost
my interest in men and women. Polly, I shall see
this business out to the bitter end.'
I am going to sleep,' said Mrs. Mallowe
calmly. I never interfere with men or women
unless I am compelled,' and she retired with
dignity to her own room.
Mrs. Hauksbee's curiosity was not long left
ungratified, for Mrs. Bent came up to Simla a
few days after the conversation faithfully reported
above, and pervaded the Mall by her husband's side.


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
87
1
• Behold!' said Mrs. Hauksbee, thoughtfully
rubbing her nose. That is the last link of the
chain, if we omit the husband of the Delville,
whoever he may be. Let me consider. The
Bents and the Delvilles inhabit the same hotel ;
and the Delville is detested by the Waddy-do
you know the Waddy?—who is almost as big a
dowd. The Waddy also abominates the male
Bent, for which, if her other sins do not weigh too
heavily, she will eventually go to Heaven.'
*Don't be irreverent,' said Mrs. Mallowe, “I
like Mrs. Bent's face.'
'I am discussing the Waddy,' returned Mrs.
Hauksbee loftily. • The Waddy will take the
female Bent apart, after having borrowed-yes ! -
everything that she can, from hairpins to babies'
bottles. Such, my dear, is life in a hotel. The
Waddy will tell the female Bent facts and fictions
about The Dancing Master and The Dowd.'
* Lucy, I should like you better if you were
not always looking into people's back-bedrooms.'
Anybody can look into their front drawing-
rooms; and remember whatever I do, and what-
ever I look, I never talk—as the Waddy will.
Let us hope that The Dancing Master's greasy
smile and manner of the pedagogue will soften the
heart of that cow, his wife. If mouths speak
truth, I should think that little Mrs. Bent could
get very angry on occasion.'
• But what reason has she for being angry?'
«What reason ! The Dancing Master in him-
self is a reason. How does it go? “ If in his
life some trivial errors fall, Look in his face and


88
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
you'll believe them all.” I am prepared to credit
any evil of The Dancing Master, because I hate
him so. And The Dowd is so disgustingly badly
dressed'
* That she, too, is capable of every iniquity ?
I always prefer to believe the best of everybody.
It saves so much trouble.'
• Very good. I prefer to believe the worst.
It saves useless expenditure of sympathy. And
you may be quite certain that the Waddy believes
with me.'
Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer.
The conversation was holden after dinner while
Mrs. Hauksbee was dressing for a dance.
'I am too tired to go,' pleaded Mrs. Mallowe,
and Mrs. Hauksbee left her in peace till two in
the morning, when she was aware of emphatic
knocking at her door.
*Don't be very angry, dear,' said Mrs. Hauks-
bee. My idiot of an ayah has gone home, and,
as I hope to sleep to-night, there isn't a soul in
the place to unlace me.'
Oh, this is too bad !' said Mrs. Mallowe
sulkily.
''Čant help it. I'm a lone, lorn grass-widow,
dear, but I will not sleep in my stays.
And such
news too! Oh, do unlace me, there's a darling!
The Dowd-The Dancing Master-I and the
Hawley Boy-You know the North verandah?”
*How can I do anything if you spin round like
this ? ' protested Mrs. Mallowe, fumbling with the
knot of the laces.
"Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale without


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 89
the aid of your eyes. Do you know you've lovely
eyes, dear? Well, to begin with, I took the
Hawley Boy to a kala juggah.'
· Did he want much taking ? '
*Lots! There was an arrangement of loose-
boxes in kanats, and she was in the next one
talking to him.'
" Which? How? Explain.'
You know what I mean—The Dowd and
The Dancing Master. We could hear every
word, and we listened shamelessly—’specially the
Hawley Boy. Polly, I quite love that woman!'
• This is interesting. There! Now turn round.
What happened?'
One moment. Ah-h! Blessed relief. I've
been looking forward to taking them off for the
last half-hour—which is ominous at my time of
life. But, as I was saying, we listened and heard
The Dowd drawl worse than ever. She drops her
final g's like a barmaid or a blue-blooded Aide-de-
Camp. “Look he-ere, you're gettin' too fond o’
me,” she said, and The Dancing Master owned it
was so in language that nearly made me ill. The
Dowd reflected for a while. Then we heard her
say, “Look he-ere, Mister Bent, why are you
such an aw-ful liar?” I nearly exploded while
The Dancing Master denied the charge. It seems
that he never told her he was a married man.'
I said he wouldn't.'
· And she had taken this to heart, on personal
grounds, I suppose. She drawled along for five
minutes, reproaching him with his perfidy, and grew
quite motherly. "Now you've got a nice little


90 A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
wife of your own—you have,” she said. “She's
ten times too good for a fat old man like you, and,
look he-ere, you never told me a word about her,
and I've been thinkin' about it a good deal, and I
think you're a liar.” Wasn't that delicious ? The
Dancing Master maundered and raved till the
Hawley Boy suggested that he should burst in and
beat him. His voice runs up into an impassioned
squeak when he is afraid. The Dowd must be an
extraordinary woman. She explained that had he
been a bachelor she might not have objected to his
devotion ; but since he was a married man and the
father of a very nice baby, she considered him a
hypocrite, and this she repeated twice. She wound
up her drawl with : “An' I'm tellin'
you
this
because your wife is angry with me, an' I hate
quarrellin' with any other woman, an' I like your
wife. You know how you have behaved for the
last six weeks. You shouldn't have done it, indeed
you shouldn't. You're too old an' too fat.”
Can't
you imagine how The Dancing Master would
wince at that! “Now go away,” she said. "I
don't want to tell you what I think of you,
because
I think you are not nice. I'll stay he-ere till the
next dance begins.”. Did you think that the
creature had so much in her?
* I never studied her as closely as you did. It
sounds unnatural. What happened?
• The Dancing Master attempted blandishment,
reproof, jocularity, and the style of the Lord High
Warden, and I had almost to pinch the Hawley
Boy to make him keep quiet. She grunted at the
end of each sentence and, in the end, he went away


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
91
swearing to himself, quite like a man in a novel.
He looked more objectionable than ever. I
laughed. I love that woman-in spite of her
clothes. And now I'm going to bed. What do
you think of it?'
· I shan't begin to think till the morning,' said
Mrs. Mallowe, yawning. Perhaps she spoke the
truth. They do fly into it by accident sometimes.'
Mrs. Hauksbee's account of her eavesdropping
was an ornate one, but truthful in the main. For
reasons best known to herself, Mrs. “Shady'
Delville had turned upon Mr. Bent and rent him
limb from limb, casting him away limp and discon-
certed ere she withdrew the light of her eyes from
him permanently. Being a man of resource, and
anything but pleased in that he had been called
both old and fat, he gave Mrs. Bent to understand
that he had, during her absence in the Doon, been
the victim of unceasing persecution at the hands of
Mrs. Delville, and he told the tale so often and
with such eloquence that he ended in believing it,
while his wife marvelled at the manners and
customs of some women.' When the situation
showed signs of languishing, Mrs. Waddy was
always on hand to wake the smouldering fires of
suspicion in Mrs. Bent's bosom and to contribute
generally to the peace and comfort of the hotel.
Mr. Bent's life was not a happy one, for if Mrs.
Waddy's story were true, he was, argued his wife,
untrustworthy to the last degree. If his own
statement was true, his charms of manner and con-
versation were so great that he needed constant
surveillance. And he received it, till he repented


92
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
genuinely of his marriage and neglected his
personal appearance.
Mrs. Delville alone in the
hotel was unchanged. She removed her chair some
six paces towards the head of the table, and
occasionally in the twilight ventured on timid
overtures of friendship to Mrs. Bent, which were
repulsed.
'She does it for my sake, hinted the virtuous
Bent.
'A dangerous and designing woman,' purred
Mrs. Waddy.
Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was
full !
C
Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria ? '
Of nothing in the world except small-pox,
Diphtheria kills, but it doesn't disfigure. Why do
you ask?'
Because the Bent baby has got it, and the
whole hotel is upside down in consequence. The
Waddy has “set her five young on the rail” and
fied. The Dancing Master fears for his precious
throat, and that miserable little woman, his wife,
has no notion of what ought to be done. She
wanted to put it into a mustard bath - for
croup!'
" Where did you learn all this ? '
Just now, on the Mall. Dr. Howlen told me.
The manager of the hotel is abusing the Bents, and
the Bents are abusing the manager. They are a
feckless couple.'
"Well. What's on your mind?'
• This; and I know it's a grave thing to ask.


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
93
Would you seriously object to my bringing the
child over here, with its mother?
On the most strict understanding that we see
nothing of The Dancing Master.'
“He will be only too glad to stay away. Polly,
you're an angel. The woman really is at her wits'
end.'
* And you know nothing about her, careless,
and would hold her up to public scorn if it gave
you a minute's amusement. Therefore you risk
your life for the sake of her brat. No, Loo, I'm
not the angel. I shall keep to my rooms and avoid
her. But do as you please-only tell me why you
do it.'
Mrs. Hauksbee's eyes softened ; she looked out
of the window and back into Mrs. Mallowe's face.
'I don't know,' said Mrs. Hauksbee simply.
"You dear!'
* Polly !-and for aught you knew you might
have taken my fringe off. Never do that again
without warning. Now we'll get the rooms ready.
I don't suppose I shall be allowed to circulate in
society for a month.'
· And I also. Thank goodness I shall at last
get all the sleep I want.'
Much to Mrs. Bent's surprise she and the baby
were brought over to the house almost before she
knew where she was. Bent was devoutly and un-
disguisedly thankful, for he was afraid of the
infection, and also hoped that a few weeks in
the hotel alone with Mrs. Delville might lead to
explanations. Mrs. Bent had thrown her jealousy
to the winds in her fear for her child's life.


94
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
'We can give you good milk,' said Mrs. Hauks-
bee to her, and our house is much nearer to the
Doctor's than the hotel, and you won't feel as
though you were living in a hostile camp. Where
is the dear Mrs. Waddy? She seemed to be a
particular friend of yours.'
• They've all left me,' said Mrs. Bent bitterly.
· Mrs. Waddy went first. She said I ought to
be ashamed of myself for introducing diseases
there, and I am sure it wasn't my fault that little
Dora'
• How nice!' cooed Mrs. Hauksbee. «The
Waddy is an infectious disease herself more
quickly caught than the plague and the taker runs
presently mad.” I lived next door to her at the
Elysium, three years ago. Now see, you won't
give us the least trouble, and I've ornamented all
the house with sheets soaked in carbolic. It smells
comforting, doesn't it? Remember I'm always in
call, and my ayah's at your service when yours
goes to her meals, and—and—if you cry I'll never
forgive you.'
Dora Bent occupied her mother's unprofitable
attention through the day and the night. The
Doctor called thrice in the twenty-four hours, and
the house reeked with the smell of the Condy's
Fluid, chlorine-water, and carbolic acid washes.
Mrs. Mallowe kept to her own rooms—she con-
sidered that she had made sufficient concessions in
the cause of humanity—and Mrs. Hauksbee was
more esteemed by the Doctor as a help in the sick-
room than the half-distraught mother.
'I know nothing of illness,' said Mrs. Hauksbee


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
95
to the Doctor. "Only tell me what to do, and
I'll do it.'
"Keep that crazy woman from kissing the child,
and let her have as little to do with the nursing as
you possibly can,' said the Doctor ; 'I'd turn her
out of the sick-room, but that I honestly believe
she'd die of anxiety. She is less than no good,
and I depend on you and the ayahs, remember.'
Mrs. Hauksbee accepted the responsibility,
though it painted olive hollows under her eyes
and forced her to her oldest dresses. Mrs. Bent
clung to her with more than childlike faith.
• I know you'll make Dora well, won't you?
she said at least twenty times a day; and twenty
times a day Mrs. Hauksbee answered valiantly,
"Of course I will.'
But Dora did not improve, and the Doctor
seemed to be always in the house.
“There's some danger of the thing taking a bad
turn,' he said ; • I'll come over between three and
four in the morning to-morrow.'
'Good gracious !' said Mrs. Hauksbee. He
never told me what the turn would be! My educa-
tion has been horribly neglected; and I have only
this foolish mother-woman to fall back upon.'
The night wore through slowly, and Mrs.
Hauksbee dozed in a chair by the fire. There
was a dance at the Viceregal Lodge, and she
dreamed of it till she was aware of Mrs. Bent's
anxious eyes staring into her own.
Wake up! Wake up! Do something !' cried
Mrs. Bent piteously. "Dora's choking to death!
Do
you mean to let her die?'
H


96
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent
over the bed. The child was fighting for breath,
while the mother wrung her hands despairingly.
"Oh, what can I do? What can you do? She
won't stay still! I can't hold her. Why didn't
the Doctor say this was coming ?' screamed Mrs.
Bent. Won't you help me? She's dying !'
I—I've never seen a child die before!'
stammered Mrs. Hauksbee feebly, and then-let
none blame her weakness after the strain of long
watching—she broke down, and covered her face
with her hands. The ayahs on the threshold snored
peacefully.
There was a rattle of 'rickshaw wheels below,
the clash of an opening door, a heavy step on the
stairs, and Mrs. Delville entered to find Mrs. Bent
screaming for the Doctor as she ran round the
Mrs. Hauksbee, her hands to her ears,
and her face buried in the chintz of a chair, was
quivering with pain at each cry from the bed, and
murmuring, “Thank God, I never bore a child !
Oh! thank God, I never bore a child !'
Mrs. Delville looked at the bed for an instant,
took Mrs. Bent by the shoulders, and said quietly,
Get me some caustic.
Be quick.
The mother obeyed mechanically. Mrs. Delville
had thrown herself down by the side of the child
and was opening its mouth.
"Oh, you're killing her !' cried Mrs. Bent.
"Where's the Doctor? Leave her alone!'
Mrs. Delville made no reply for a minute, but
busied herself with the child.
* Now the caustic, and hold a lamp behind my
room.


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
97
shoulder. Will
you do as you are told? The
acid-bottle, if you don't know what I mean,' she
said.
A second time Mrs. Delville bent over the
child. Mrs. Hauksbee, her face still hidden,
sobbed and shivered. One of the ayahs staggered
sleepily into the room, yawning : Doctor Sahib
come.
Mrs. Delville turned her head.
You're only just in time,' she said. “It was
chokin' her when I came, an' I've burnt it.'
• There was no sign of the membrane getting
to the air-passages after the last steaming. It was
the general weakness I feared,' said the Doctor
half to himself, and he whispered as he looked,
"You've done what I should have been afraid to do
without consultation.'
'She was dyin',' said Mrs. Delville, under her
breath. *Can you do anythin'? What a mercy
it was I went to the dance !'
Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head.
• Is it all over?' she gasped. "I'm useless
I'm worse than useless !
What are you doing
here?'
She stared at Mrs. Delville, and Mrs. Bent,
realising for the first time who was the Goddess
from the Machine, stared also.
Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, putting
on a dirty long glove and smoothing a crumpled
and ill-fitting ball-dress.
I was at the dance, an' the Doctor was tellin'
me about your baby bein' so ill. So I came away
your door was open, an' I-I—lost my
early, an'


98
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
boy this way six months ago, an' I've been tryin'
to forget it ever since, an' 1–1-I am very sorry
for intrudin' an'anythin' that has happened.'
Mrs. Bent was putting out the Doctor's eye
with a lamp as he stooped over Dora.
• Take it away,' said the Doctor. “I think the
child will do, thanks to you, Mrs. Delville. I
should have come too late, but, I assure you'-he
was addressing himself to Mrs. Delville — I had
not the faintest reason to expect this. The
membrane must have grown like a mushroom.
Will one of you help me, please ?
?'
He had reason for the last sentence. Mrs.
Hauksbee had thrown herself into Mrs. Delville's
arms, where she was weeping bitterly, and Mrs.
Bent was unpicturesquely mixed up with both,
while from the tangle came the sound of many
sobs and much promiscuous kissing.
“Good gracious! I've spoilt all your beautiful
roses !' said Mrs. Hauksbee, lifting her head from
the lump of crushed gum and calico atrocities on
Mrs. Delville's shoulder and hurrying to the
Doctor.
Mrs. Delville picked up her shawl, and slouched
out of the room, mopping her eyes with the glove
that she had not put on.
• I always said she was more than a woman,'
sobbed Mrs. Hauksbee hysterically, and that
proves it !'
Six weeks later Mrs. Bent and Dora had
returned to the hotel. Mrs. Hauksbee had come
out of the Valley of Humiliation, had ceased to


A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
99
reproach herself for her collapse in an hour of need,
and was even beginning to direct the affairs of the
world as before.
"So nobody died, and everything went off as it
should, and I kissed The Dowd, Polly. I feel so
old. Does it show in my face?'
Kisses don't as a rule, do they? Of course
you know what the result of The Dowd's provi-
dential arrival has been.'
They ought to build her a statue-only no
sculptor dare copy those skirts.'
Ah!' said Mrs. Mallowe quietly. She has
found another reward. The Dancing Master has
been smirking through Simla, giving every one to
understand that she came because of her undying
love for him—for him—to save his child, and all
Simla naturally believes this.'
But Mrs. Bent-'
•Mrs. Bent believes it more than any one else.
She won't speak to The Dowd now. Isn't The
Dancing Master an angel ?'
Mrs. Hauksbee lifted up her voice and raged
till bed-time. The doors of the two rooms stood
open.
*Polly,' said a voice from the darkness, what
did that American-heiress-globe-trotter girl say last
season when she was tipped out of her 'rickshaw
turning a corner ? Some absurd adjective that
made the man who picked her up explode.
«« Paltry,
said Mrs. Mallowe.
• Through
her nose—like this—“Ha-ow pahltry!”
Exactly,' said the voice. Ha-ow pahltry it
all is!'
>>
))


100
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
" Which?'
‘Everything. Babies, Diphtheria, Mrs. Bent and
The Dancing Master, I whooping in a chair, and
The Dowd dropping in from the clouds. I wonder
what the motive was all the motives.'
Um!'
• What do you think?'
· Don't ask me.
Go to sleep:


Only a Subaltern
. . Not only to enforce by command, but to encourage
by example the energetic discharge of duty and the steady
endurance of the difficulties and privations inseparable from
Military Service.-Bengal Army Regulations.
They made Bobby Wick pass an examination at
Sandhurst. He was a gentleman before he was
gazetted, so, when the Empress announced that
Gentleman-Cadet Robert Hanna Wick' was
posted as Second Lieutenant to the Tyneside Tail
Twisters at Krab Bokhar, he became an officer and
a gentleman, which is an enviable thing; and
there was joy in the house of Wick where Mamma
Wick and all the little Wicks fell
upon
their
knees and offered incense to Bobby by virtue of
his achievements.
Papa Wick had been a Commissioner in his
day, holding authority over three millions of men
in the Chota-Buldana Division, building great
works for the good of the land, and doing his
best to make two blades of
of grass grow where
there was but one before.
Of course, nobody
knew anything about this in the little English
village where he was just ‘old Mr. Wick,' and had


102
ONLY A SUBALTERN
come
forgotten that he was a Companion of the Order
of the Star of India.
He patted Bobby on the shoulder and said :
· Well done, my boy!'
There followed, while the uniform was being
prepared, an interval of pure delight, during which
Bobby took brevet-rank as a 'man' at the women-
swamped tennis-parties and tea-fights of the village,
and, I daresay, had his joining-time been extended,
would have fallen in love with several girls at once.
Little country villages at Home are very full
of nice girls, because all the young men
out to India to make their fortunes.
· India,' said Papa Wick, “is the place. I've
had thirty years of it and, begad, I'd like to go
When you join the Tail Twisters
you'll be among friends, if every one hasn't forgotten
Wick of Chota-Buldana, and a lot of people will
be kind to you for our sakes. The mother will
tell
you more about outfit than I can ; but
remember this. Stick to your Regiment, Bobby-
stick to your Regiment. You'll see men all round
you going into the Staff Corps, and doing every
possible sort of duty but regimental, and you
may be tempted to follow suit.
Now so long
as you keep within your allowance, and I haven't
stinted you there, stick to the Line, the whole
Line, and nothing but the Line. Be careful how
you back another young fool's bill, and if you fall
in love with a woman twenty years older than
yourself, don't tell me about it, that's all.'
With these counsels, and many others equally
valuable, did Papa Wick fortify Bobby ere that
back again.


ONLY A SUBALTERN
103
last awful night at Portsmouth when the Officers'
Quarters held more inmates than were provided
for by the Regulations, and the liberty-men of the
ships fell foul of the drafts for India, and the
battle raged from the Dockyard Gates even to the
slums of Longport, while the drabs of Fratton
came down and scratched the faces of the Queen's
Officers.
Bobby Wick, with an ugly bruise on his freckled
nose, a sick and shaky detachment to mancuvre
inship, and the comfort of fifty scornful females to
attend to, had no time to feel home-sick till the
Malabar reached mid-Channel, when he doubled his
emotions with a little guard-visiting and a great
many other matters.
The Tail Twisters were a most particular
Regiment. Those who knew them least said that
they were eaten up with side.' But their reserve
and their internal arrangements generally were
merely protective diplomacy.
Some five years
before, the Colonel commanding had looked into
the fourteen fearless eyes of seven plump and
juicy subalterns who had all applied to enter the
Staff Corps, and had asked them why the three
stars should he, a colonel of the Line, command a
dashed nursery for double-dashed bottle-suckers
who put on condemned tin
condemned tin spurs and rode
qualified mokes at the hiatused heads of forsaken
Black Regiments.
He was a rude man and a
terrible. Wherefore the remnant took measures
(with the half-butt as an engine of public opinion]
till the rumour went abroad that young men who
used the Tail Twisters as a crutch to the Staff


104
ONLY A SUBALTERN
Corps had many and varied trials to endure.
However, a regiment had just as much right to its
own secrets as a woman.
When Bobby came up from Deolali and took
his place among the Tail Twisters, it was gently
but firmly borne in upon him that the Regiment
was his father and his mother and his indissolubly
wedded wife, and that there was no crime under
the canopy of heaven blacker than that of bringing
shame on the Regiment, which was the best-
shooting, best-drilled, best-set-up, bravest, most
illustrious, and in all respects most desirable
Regiment within the compass of the Seven Seas.
He was taught the legends of the Mess Plate, from
the great grinning Golden Gods that had come out
of the Summer Palace in Pekin to the silver-
mounted markhor-horn snuff-mull presented by
the last c. O. [he who spake to the seven
subalterns]. And every one of those legends told
him of battles fought at long odds, without fear
as without support; of hospitality catholic as an
Arab's; of friendships deep as the sea and steady
as the fighting-line; of honour won by hard roads
for honour's sake; and of instant and unquestioning
devotion to the Regiment—the Regiment that
claims the lives of all and lives for ever.
More than once, too, he came officially into con-
tact with the Regimental colours, which looked like
the lining of a bricklayer's hat on the end of a
chewed stick. Bobby did not kneel and worship
them, because British subalterns are not constructed
in that manner. Indeed, he condemned them for
their weight at the very moment that they


ONLY A SUBALTERN
105
6
were filling with awe and other more noble senti-
ments.
But best of all was the occasion when he moved
with the Tail Twisters in review order at the
breaking of a November day. Allowing for duty-
men and sick, the Regiment was one thousand and
eighty strong, and Bobby belonged to them ; for
was he not a Subaltern of the Line—the whole
Line, and nothing but the Line—as the tramp of
two thousand one hundred and sixty sturdy
ammunition boots attested ? He would not have
changed places with Deighton of the Horse Battery,
whirling by in a pillar of cloud to a chorus of
Strong right! Strong left !' or Hogan-Yale of
the White Hussars, leading his squadron for all it
was worth, with the price of horseshoes thrown in ;
or “Tick’ Boileau, trying to live up to his fierce
blue and gold turban while the wasps of the Bengal
Cavalry stretched to a gallop in the wake of the
long, lollopping Walers of the White Hussars.
They fought through the clear cool day, and
Bobby felt a little thrill run down his spine when
he heard the tinkle-tinkle-tinkle of the empty
cartridge-cases hopping from the breech-blocks
after the roar of the volleys ; for he knew that he
should live to hear that sound in action. The
review ended in a glorious chase across the plain-
batteries thundering after cavalry, to the huge
disgust of the White Hussars, and the Tyneside
Tail Twisters hunting a Sikh Regiment, till the
lean lathy Singhs panted with exhaustion. Bobby
was dusty and dripping long before noon, but his
enthusiasm was merely focused—not diminished.


106
ONLY A SUBALTERN
He returned to sit at the feet of Revere, his
skipper,' that is to say, the Captain of his Company,
and to be instructed in the dark art and mystery of
managing men, which is a very large part of the
Profession of Arms.
• If you haven't a taste that way,' said Revere
between his puffs of his cheroot, you'll never be
able to get the hang of it, but remember, Bobby, 't
isn't the best drill, though drill is nearly everything,
that hauls a Regiment through Hell and out on the
other side. It's the man who knows how to handle
men-goat-men, swine-men, dog-men, and so on.'
‘Dormer, for instance,' said Bobby, 'I think he
comes under the head of fool-men. He mopes
like a sick owl.'
« That's where you make your mistake, my son.
Dormer isn't a fool yet, but he's a dashed dirty
soldier, and his room corporal makes fun of his
socks before kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-
thirds pure brute, goes
into a corner and growls.'
• How do you know?' said Bobby admiringly.
• Because a Company commander has to know
these things—because, if he does not know, he may
have crime—ay, murder—brewing under his very
nose and yet not see that it's there. Dormer is
being badgered out of his mind—big as he is—and
he hasn't intellect enough to resent it.
He's taken
to quiet boozing, and, Bobby, when the butt of a
room goes on the drink, or takes to moping by
himself, measures are necessary to pull him out of
himself.'
What measures? 'Man can't run round
coddling his men for ever.'


108
ONLY A SUBALTERN
'I fish,' said Bobby with a wry face.
I hire a
country-boat and
go
down the river from Thursday
to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer goes with me
—if you can spare us both.' '
• You blazing young fool !' said Revere, but his
heart was full of much more pleasant words.
Bobby, the Captain of a dhoni, with Private
Dormer for mate, dropped down the river on
Thursday morning—the Private at the bow, the
Subaltern at the helm. The Private glared uneasily
at the Subaltern, who respected the reserve of the
Private.
After six hours, Dormer paced to the stern,
saluted, and said —Beg y' pardon, sir, but was you
ever on the Durh’m Canal ?
No,' said Bobby Wick. • Come and have
some tiffin.'
They ate in silence. As the evening fell, Private
Dormer broke forth, speaking to himself-
· Hi was on the Durh’m Canal, jes' such a night,
come next week twelve month, a-trailin' of my toes
in the water. He smoked and said no more till
bedtime.
The witchery of the dawn turned the gray river-
reaches to purple, gold, and opal ; and it was as
though the lumbering dhoni crept across the splen-
dours of a new heaven.
Private Dormer popped his head out of his
blanket and gazed at the glory below and
around.
· Well—damn—my eyes !' said Private Dormer
in an awed whisper. (This 'ere is like a bloomin'
gallantry-show !" For the rest of the day he


ONLY A SUBALTERN
109
was dumb, but achieved an ensanguined filthiness
through the cleaning of big fish.
The boat returned on Saturday evening. Dormer
had been struggling with speech since noon. As
the lines and luggage were being disembarked, he
found tongue.
Beg y' pardon, sir," he said, but would you—
would
you
min' shakin' 'ands with me, sir ?'
“Of course not,' said Bobby, and he shook
accordingly. Dormer returned to barracks and
Bobby to mess.
He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I
think,' said Bobby. My aunt, but he's a filthy
sort of animal! Have you ever seen him clean
“them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs”?'
'Anyhow,' said Revere three weeks later, he's
doing his best to keep his things clean.'
When the spring died, Bobby joined in the
general scramble for Hill leave, and to his surprise
and delight secured three months.
· As good a boy as I want,' said Revere the
admiring skipper.
· The best of the batch,' said the Adjutant to
the Colonel. • Keep back that young skrim-
shanker Porkiss, sir, and let Revere make him sit
up.'
So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with
a tin box of gorgeous raiment.
« 'Son of Wick-old Wick of Chota-Buldana ?
Ask him to dinner, dear,' said the aged men.
"What a nice boy!' said the matrons and the
maids.
· First-class place, Simla. Oh, riipping !' said


IIO
ONLY A SUBALTERN
Bobby Wick, and ordered new white cord breeches
on the strength of it.
• We're in a bad way,' wrote Revere to Bobby
at the end of two months. “Since you left, the
Regiment has taken to fever and is fairly rotten
with it—two hundred in hospital, about a hundred
in cells—drinking to keep off fever-and the
Companies on parade fifteen file strong at the
outside. There's rather more sickness in the out-
villages than I care for, but then I'm so blistered
with prickly-heat that I'm ready to hang myself.
What's the yarn about your mashing a Miss
Haverley up there? Not serious, I hope? You're
over-young to hang millstones round your neck,
and the Colonel will turf you out of that in double-
quick time if you attempt it.'
It was not the Colonel that brought Bobby out
of Simla, but a much-more-to-be-respected Com-
mandant. The sickness in the out-villages spread,
the Bazar was put out of bounds, and then came
the news that the Tail Twisters must go into camp.
The message flashed to the Hill stations. Cholera
-Leave stopped-Officers recalled.'
-Officers recalled.' Alas for the
white gloves in the neatly-soldered boxes, the rides
and the dances and picnics that were to be, the loves
half spoken, and the debts unpaid ! Without
demur and without question, fast as tonga could
fly or pony gallop, back to their Regiments and
their Batteries, as though they were hastening to
their weddings, fled the subalterns.
Bobby received his orders on returning from a
dance at Viceregal Lodge where he had But
only the Haverley girl knows what Bobby had said,


ONLY A SUBALTERN
III
Leave the
or how many waltzes he had claimed for the next
ball. Six in the morning saw Bobby at the Tonga
Office in the drenching rain, the whirl of the last
waltz still in his ears, and an intoxication due
neither to wine nor waltzing in his brain.
'Good man !' shouted Deighton of the Horse
Battery through the mist. Whar you raise dat
tonga ? I'm coming with you. Ow! But I've
a head and a half. I didn't sit out all night.
They say the Battery's awful bad,' and he hummed
dolorously-
Leave the what at the what's-its-name,
Leave the flock without shelter,
corpse
uninterred,
Leave the bride at the altar !
*My faith! It'll be more bally corpse than bride,
though, this journey. Jump in, Bobby. Get on,
Coachwan!'
On the Umballa platform waited a detachment
of officers discussing the latest news from the
stricken cantonment, and it was here that Bobby
learned the real condition of the Tail Twisters.
«They went into camp,' said an elderly Major
recalled from the whist-tables at Mussoorie to a
sickly Native Regiment, they went into camp
two hundred and ten sick in carts. Two hundred
and ten fever cases only, and the balance looking
like so many ghosts with sore eyes. A Madras
Regiment could have walked through 'em.'
• But they were as fit as be-damned when I left
them!' said Bobby.
· Then you'd better make them as fit as be-
damned when you rejoin,' said the Major brutally.
camp with
I


I I2
ONLY A SUBALTERN
Bobby pressed his forehead against the rain-
splashed window-pane as the train lumbered across
the sodden Doab, and prayed for the health of the
Tyneside Tail Twisters. Naini Tal had sent down
her contingent with all speed ; the lathering ponies
of the Dalhousie Road staggered into Pathankot,
taxed to the full stretch of their strength; while
from cloudy Darjiling the Calcutta Mail whirled
up the last straggler of the little army that was
to fight a fight in which was neither medal nor
honour for the winning, against an enemy none
other than the sickness that destroyeth in the
noonday.'
And as each man reported himself, he said :
• This is a bad business, and went about his own
forthwith, for every Regiment and Battery in the
cantonment was under canvas, the sickness bearing
them company
Bobby fought his way through the rain to the
Tail Twisters' temporary mess, and Revere could
have fallen on the boy's neck for the joy of seeing
that ugly, wholesome phiz once more.
• Keep 'em amused and interested,' said Revere.
• They went on the drink, poor fools, after the
first two cases, and there was no improvement.
Oh, it's good to have you back, Bobby! Porkiss
is a-never mind.'
Deighton came over from the Artillery camp
to attend a dreary mess dinner, and contributed to
the general gloom by nearly weeping over the
condition of his beloved Battery. Porkiss so far
forgot himself as to insinuate that the presence of
the officers could do no earthly good, and that the


ONLY A SUBALTERN
113
best thing would be to send the entire Regiment
into hospital and let the doctors look after them.'
Porkiss was demoralised with fear, nor was his peace
of mind restored when Revere said coldly : Oh!
The sooner you go out the better, if that's
your
way of thinking. Any public school could send
us fifty good men in your place, but it takes time,
time, Porkiss, and money, and a certain amount of
trouble, to make a Regiment. 'S'pose you're the
person we go into camp for, eh? '
Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great
and chilly fear which a drenching in the rain did
not allay, and, two days later, quitted this world for
another where, men do fondly hope, allowances
are made for the weaknesses of the flesh. The
Regimental Sergeant-Major looked wearily across
the Sergeants’ Mess tent when the news was an-
nounced.
* There goes the worst of them,' he said. It'll
take the best, and then, please God, it'll stop.
The Sergeants were silent till one said: "It
couldn't be him!' and all knew of whom Travis
was thinking
Bobby Wick stormed through the tents of his
Company, rallying, rebuking, mildly, as is consistent
with the Regulations, chaffing the faint-hearted ;
hailing the sound into the watery sunlight when
there was a break in the weather, and bidding them
be of good cheer for their trouble was nearly at an
end ; scuttling on his dun pony round the outskirts
of the camp, and heading back men who, with the
innate perversity of British soldiers, were always
wandering into infected villages, or drinking deeply


114
ONLY A SUBALTERN
from rain-flooded marshes; comforting the panic-
stricken with rude speech, and more than once
tending the dying who had no friends—the men
without 'townies”; organising, with banjos and
burnt cork, Sing-songs which should allow the talent
of the Regiment full play ; and generally, as he
explained, playing the giddy garden-goat all
round.'
• You're worth half-a-dozen of us, Bobby,' said
Revere in a moment of enthusiasm. • How the
devil do you keep it up ?'
Bobby made no answer, but had Revere looked
into the breast-pocket of his coat he might have
seen there a sheaf of badly-written letters which
perhaps accounted for the power that possessed the
boy. . A letter came to Bobby every other day.
The spelling was not above reproach, but the senti-
ments must have been most satisfactory, for on
receipt Bobby's eyes softened marvellously, and he
was wont to fall into a tender abstraction for a
while ere, shaking his cropped head, he charged
into his work.
By what power he drew after him the hearts of
the roughest, and the Tail Twisters counted in
their ranks some rough diamonds indeed, was a
mystery to both skipper and C. O., who learned
from the regimental chaplain that Bobby was con-
siderably more in request in the hospital tents than
the Reverend John Emery.
• The men seem fond of you. Are you in the
hospitals much ?' said the Colonel, who did his
daily round and ordered the men to get well with
a hardness that did not cover his bitter grief.


ONLY A SUBALTERN
115
over
· A little, sir,' said Bobby.
• 'Shouldn't go there too often if I were you.
They say it's not contagious, but there's no use in
running unnecessary risks. We can't afford to
have you down, y'know. '
Six days later, it was with the utmost difficulty
that the post-runner plashed his way out to the
camp with the mail-bags, for the rain was falling in
torrents. Bobby received a letter, bore it off to
his tent, and, the programme for the next week's
Sing-song being satisfactorily disposed of, sat down
to answer it. For an hour the unhandy pen toiled
ver the paper, and where sentiment rose to more
than normal tide-level, Bobby Wick stuck out his
tongue and breathed heavily. He was not used to
letter-writing
Beg y pardon, sir,' said a voice at the tent
door ; but Dormer's 'orrid bad, sir, an' they've
taken him orf, sir.'
Damn Private Dormer and you too !' said
Bobby Wick, running the blotter over the half-
finished letter. “Tell him I'll come in the morning.
• 'E's awful bad, sir,' said the voice hesitatingly.
There was an undecided squelching of heavy boots.
Well?' said Bobby impatiently,
· Excusin' 'imself before'and for takin' the
liberty, 'e says it would be a comfort for to assist
’im, sir,
if
“ Tattoo lao! Get my pony! Here, come in
out of the rain till I'm ready. What blasted
nuisances you are ! That's brandy. Drink some ;
you want it. Hang on to my stirrup and tell me
if I go too fast.'


ONLY A SUBALTERN
117
his head and sighed. The clinging hand opened,
and Bobby's arm fell useless at his side.
· He'll do,' said the Doctor quietly. “It must
have been a toss-up all through the night. 'Think
you're to be congratulated on this case.
*Oh, bosh !' said Bobby. 'I thought the man
had gone out long ago-only-only I didn't care
to take my hand away. Rub my arm down, there's
a good chap: What a grip the brute has ! I'm
chilled to the marrow ! He passed out of the
tent shivering.
Private Dormer was allowed to celebrate his
repulse of Death by strong waters. Four days
later he sat on the side of his cot and said to the
patients mildly : “I'd 'a' liken to 'a' spoken to 'im
so I should
But at that time Bobby was reading yet another
letter-he had the most persistent correspondent of
any man in camp—and was even then about to
write that the sickness had abated, and in another
week at the outside would be gone. He did not
intend to say that the chill of a sick man's hand
seemed to have struck into the heart whose
capacities for affection he dwelt on at such length.
He did intend to enclose the illustrated programme
of the forthcoming Sing-song whereof he was not
a little proud. He also intended to write on many
other matters which do not concern us, and doubt-
less would have done so but for the slight feverish
headache which made him dull and unresponsive at
mess.
• You are overdoing it, Bobby,' said his skipper.
''Might give the rest of us credit of doing a little


ONLY A SUBALTERN 119
he ranked with the Captain, had a very youthful
heart, went out upon the word and pranced joy-
ously in the mud.
*Not going out this journey,' whispered Bobby
Wick gallantly, at the end of the third day.
· Bravo!' said the Surgeon-Major. That's
the way to look at it, Bobby.'
As evening fell a gray shade gathered round
Bobby's mouth, and he turned his face to the tent
wall wearily. The Surgeon-Major frowned.
• I'm awfully tired,' said Bobby, very faintly.
What's the use of bothering me with medicine ?
I-don't-want-it. Let me alone.'
The desire for life had departed, and Bobby
was content to drift away on the easy tide of Death.
• It's no good,' said the Surgeon-Major. He
doesn't want to live. He's meeting it, poor
child. And he blew his nose.
Half a mile away the regimental band was
playing the overture to the Sing-song, for the men
had been told that Bobby was out of danger. The
clash of the brass and the wail of the horns reached
Bobby's ears.
Is there a single joy or pain,
That I should never knomow?
You do not love me, 'tis in vain,
Bid me good-bye and go !
An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the
boy's face, and he tried to shake his head.
The Surgeon-Major bent down— What is it,
Bobby?'
-Not that waltz,' muttered Bobby.
That's our own-our very ownest own.
Mummy dear.
<


I 20
ONLY A SUBALTERN
With this he sank into the stupor that gave
place to death early next morning.
Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose
very white, went into Bobby's tent to write a letter
to Papa Wick which should bow the white head of
the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana in the
keenest sorrow of his life. Bobby's little store of
papers lay in confusion on the table, and among
them a half-finished letter. The last sentence ran:
“So you see, darling, there is really no fear, because
as long as I know you care for me and I care for
you, nothing can touch me.'
Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When
he came out his eyes were redder than ever.
Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket,
and listened to a not unfamiliar tune. Private
Conklin was a convalescent and should have been
tenderly treated.
Ho!' said Private Conklin. “There's another
bloomin' orf'cer da—ed.'
The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes
filled with a smithyful of sparks. A tall man in a
blue-gray bedgown was regarding him with deep
disfavour.
*You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky!
Orf'cer? - Bloomin' orf'cer? I'll learn you to
misname the likes of 'im. Hangel ! Bloomin'
Hangel! That's wot 'e is!'
And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with
the justice of the punishment that he did not even
order Private Dormer back to his cot.


1
THE PHANTOM RICKSHAW
AND OTHER TALES


The Phantom 'Rickshaw
May no ill dreams disturb my rest,
Nor Powers of Darkness me molest.
Evening Hymn.
One of the few advantages that India has over
England is a great Knowability. After five years'
service a man is directly or indirectly acquainted
with the two or three hundred Civilians in his
Province, all the Messes of ten or twelve Regiments
and Batteries, and some fifteen hundred other
people of the non-official caste. In ten years his
knowledge should be doubled, and at the end of
twenty he knows, or knows something about,
every Englishman in the Empire, and may travel
anywhere and everywhere without paying hotel-
bills.
Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a
right, have, even within my memory, blunted this
open-heartedness, but none the less to-day, if you
belong to the Inner Circle and are neither a Bear
nor a Black Sheep, all houses are open to you, and
our small world is very, very kind and helpful.
Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of
Kumaon some fifteen years ago. He meant to


124
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
stay two nights, but was knocked down by
rheumatic fever, and for six weeks disorganised
Polder's establishment, stopped Polder's work, and
nearly died in Polder’s bedroom. Polder behaves
as though he had been placed under eternal obli-
gation by Rickett, and yearly sends the little
Ricketts a box of presents and toys. It is the
same everywhere. The men who do not take the
trouble to conceal from you their opinion that you
are an incompetent ass, and the women who
blacken your character and misunderstand your
wife's amusements, will work themselves to the
bone in your behalf if you fall sick or into serious
trouble.
Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition to
his regular practice, a hospital on his private
account-an arrangement of loose boxes for In-
curables, his friend called it, but it was really a
sort of fitting-up shed for craft that had been
damaged by stress of weather. The weather in
India is often sultry, and since the tale of bricks
is always a fixed quantity, and the only liberty
allowed is permission to work overtime and get no
thanks, men occasionally break down and become
as mixed as the metaphors in this sentence.
Heatherlegh is the dearest doctor that ever
was, and his invariable prescription to all his
patients is, 'Lie low, go slow, and keep cool.'
He says that more men are killed by overwork
than the importance of this world justifies. He
maintains that overwork slew Pansay, who died
under his hands about three years ago. He has,
of course, the right to speak authoritatively, and


THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW
125
he laughs at my theory that there was a crack in
Pansay's head and a little bit of the Dark World
came through and pressed him to death. “Pansay
went off the handle,' says Heatherlegh, after the
stimulus of long leave at Home. He may or he
may not have behaved like a blackguard to Mrs.
Keith-Wessington. My notion is that the work
of the Katabundi Settlement ran him off his legs,
and that he took to brooding and making much
of an ordinary P. & O. flirtation. He certainly
was engaged to Miss Mannering, and she certainly
broke off the engagement.
Then he took a
feverish chill and all that nonsense about ghosts
developed. Overwork started his illness, kept it
alight, and killed him, poor devil. Write him
off to the System that uses one man to do the
work of two and a half men.'
I do not believe this. I used to sit
up
with
Pansay sometimes when Heatherlegh was called
out to patients and I happened to be within claim.
The man would make me most unhappy by
describing, in a low, even voice, the procession
that was always passing at the bottom of his bed.
He had a sick man's command of language.
When he recovered I suggested that he should
write out the whole affair from beginning to end,
knowing that ink might assist him to ease his
mind.
He was in a high fever while he was writing,
and the blood-and-thunder Magazine diction he
adopted did not calm him. Two months after-
wards he was reported fit for duty, but, in spite of
the fact that he was urgently needed to help an


128
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
my own lips, in August 1882, she learnt that I
was sick of her presence, tired of her company,
and weary of the sound of her voice. Ninety-nine
women out of a hundred would have wearied of
me as I wearied of them ; seventy-five of that
number would have promptly avenged themselves
by active and obtrusive flirtation with other men.
Mrs. Wessington was the hundredth. On her
neither my openly - expressed aversion nor the
cutting brutalities with which I garnished our
interviews had the least effect.
Jack, darling!' was her one eternal cuckoo
cry: I'm sure it's all a mistake-a hideous
mistake ; and we'll be good friends again some
day. Please forgive me, Jack, dear.'
I was the offender, and I knew it. That know-
ledge transformed my pity into passive endurance,
and, eventually, into blind hate—the same instinct,
I
suppose, which
prompts a man to savagely stamp
on the spider he has but half killed. And with
this hate in my bosom the season of 1882 came to
an end.
Next year we met again at Simla—she with her
monotonous face and timid attempts at reconcilia-
tion, and I with loathing of her in every fibre of
my
frame. Several times I could not avoid meet-
ing her alone ; and on each occasion her words
were identically the same. Still the unreasoning
wail that it was all a 'mistake'; and still the hope
of eventually 'making friends.' I might have
seen, had I cared to look, that that hope only was
keeping her alive. She grew more wan and thin
month by month. You will agree with me, at


THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
129
least, that such conduct would have driven any
one to despair. It was uncalled for ; childish ;
unwomanly. I maintain that she was much to
blame. And again, sometimes, in the black, fever-
stricken night-watches, I have begun to think that
I might have been a little kinder to her. But
that really is a 'delusion.' I could not have con-
tinued pretending to love her when I didn't ;
could I? It would have been unfair to us both.
Last year we met again—on the same terms as
before. The same weary appeals, and the same
curt answers from my lips. At least I would
make her see how wholly wrong and hopeless were
her attempts at resuming the old relationship. As
the season wore on, we fell apart—that is to say,
she found it difficult to meet me, for I had other
and more absorbing interests to attend to.
When
I think it over quietly in my sick-room, the season
of 1884 seems a confused nightmare wherein light
and shade were fantastically intermingled: my
courtship of little Kitty Mannering; my hopes,
doubts, and fears; our long rides together; my
trembling avowal of attachment; her reply; and
now and again a vision of a white face fitting by
in the 'rickshaw with the black and white liveries I
once watched for so earnestly; the wave of Mrs.
Wessington's gloved hand; and, when she met me
alone, which was but seldom, the irksome monotony
of her appeal. I loved Kitty Mannering; honestly,
heartily loved her, and with my love for her grew
my hatred for Agnes. In August Kitty and I
were engaged. The next day I met those accursed
magpie' jhampanies at the back of Jakko, and,


130
THE PHANTOM PRICKSHAW
moved by some passing sentiment of pity, stopped
to tell Mrs. Wessington everything. She knew it
already
•So I hear you're engaged, Jack, dear.' Then,
without a moment's pause : · I'm sure it's all a
mistake-a hideous mistake. We shall be as good
friends some day, Jack, as we ever were.'
My answer might have made even a man
wince. It cut the dying woman before me like
the blow of a whip. Please forgive me, Jack ; I
didn't mean to make you angry ; but it's true, it's
true!'
And Mrs. Wessington broke down completely.
I turned away and left her to finish her journey in
peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, that
I had been an unutterably mean hound. I looked
back, and saw that she had turned her 'rickshaw
with the idea, I suppose, of overtaking me.
The scene and its surroundings were photo-
graphed on my memory.
The rain-swept sky
(we were at the end of the wet weather), the
sodden, dingy pines, the muddy road, and the
black powder-riven cliffs formed a gloomy back-
ground against which the black and white 'liveries
of the jhampanies, the yellow-panelled 'rickshaw,
and Mrs. Wessington's down-bowed golden head
stood out clearly. She was holding her handker-
chief in her left hand and was leaning back
exhausted against the 'rickshaw cushions. I turned
my
horse up a bypath near the Sanjowlie Reservoir
and literally ran away. Once I fancied I heard a
faint call of 'Jack!'. This may have been imagina-
tion. I never stopped to verify it. Ten minutes


THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
131
later I came across Kitty on horseback; and, in
the delight of a long ride with her, forgot all
about the interview.
A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the
inexpressible burden of her existence was removed
from
my
life. I went Plainsward perfectly happy.
Before three months were over I had forgotten all
about her, except that at times the discovery of
some of her old letters reminded me unpleasantly
of our bygone relationship. By January I had
disinterred what was left of our correspondence
from among my scattered belongings and had
burnt it. At the beginning of April of this year,
1885, I was at Simla-semi-deserted Simla--once
more, and was deep in lover's talks and walks with
Kitty. It was decided that we should be married
at the end of June. You will understand, there-
fore, that, loving Kitty as I did, I am not saying
too much when I pronounce myself to have been,
at that time, the happiest man in India.
Fourteen delightful days passed almost before
I noticed their flight. Then, aroused to the sense
of what was proper among mortals circumstanced
as we were, I pointed out to Kitty that an engage-
ment ring was the outward and visible sign of her
dignity as an engaged girl ; and that she must
forthwith come to Hamilton's to be measured for
one. Up to that moment, I give you my word,
we had completely forgotten so trivial a matter.
To Hamilton's we accordingly went on the 15th
of April 1885. Remember that—whatever my
doctor may say to the contrary—I was then in
perfect health, enjoying a well-balanced mind and


132
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
The ring
an absolutely tranquil spirit. Kitty and I entered
Hamilton's shop together, and there, regardless of
the order of affairs, I measured Kitty for the ring
in the presence of the amused assistant.
was a sapphire with two diamonds. We then rode
out down the slope that leads to the Combermere
Bridge and Peliti's shop.
While
my
Waler was cautiously feeling his way
over the loose shale, and Kitty was laughing and
chattering at my side,—while all Simla, that is to
say as much of it as had then come from the
Plains, was grouped round the Reading-room and
Peliti's verandah,—I was aware that some one,
apparently at a vast distance, was calling me by
my Christian name. It struck me that I had
heard the voice before, but when and where I
could not at once determine. In the short space
it took to cover the road between the path from
Hamilton's shop and the first plank of the
Combermere Bridge I had thought over half-a-
dozen people who might have committed such a
solecism, and had eventually decided that it must
have been some singing in my ears. Immediately
opposite Peliti's shop my eye was arrested by the
sight of four jhampanies in magpie' livery, pull-
ing a yellow-panelled, cheap, bazar ’rickshaw. In
a moment my mind flew back to the previous
season and Mrs. Wessington with a sense of irri-
tation and disgust. Was it not enough that the
woman was dead and done with, without her
black and white servitors reappearing to spoil the
day's happiness? Whoever employed them now
I thought I would call upon, and ask as a personal
1
1


THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
133
favour to change her jhampanies' livery. I would
hire the men myself, and, if necessary, buy their
coats from off their backs. It is impossible to
say here what a flood of undesirable memories
their
presence
evoked.
Kitty,' I cried, there are poor Mrs. Wessing-
ton's jhampanies turned up again! I wonder who
has them now?'
Kitty had known Mrs. Wessington slightly
last season, and had always been interested in the
sickly woman.
"What? Where?' she asked. "I can't see
them anywhere.'
Even as she spoke, her horse, swerving from a
laden mule, threw himself directly in front of the
advancing 'rickshaw. I had scarcely time to utter
a word of warning when, to my unutterable horror,
horse and rider passed through men and carriage
as if they had been thin air.
· What's the matter?' cried Kitty; "what made
you call out so foolishly, Jack ? If I am engaged
Í don't want all creation to know about it. There
was lots of space between the mule and the
verandah; and, if you think I can't ride
There!'
Whereupon wilful Kitty set off, her dainty little
head in the air, at a hand-gallop in the direction
of the Band-stand ; fully expecting, as she herself
afterwards told me, that I should follow her.
What was the matter? Nothing indeed. Either
that I was mad or drunk, or that Simla was
haunted with devils. I reined in my impatient
cob, and turned round. The 'rickshaw had turned


134
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
too, and now stood immediately facing me, near
the left railing of the Combermere Bridge.
* Jack! Jack, darling !' (There was no mistake
about the words this time : they rang through my
brain as if they had been shouted in my ear.) 'It's
some hideous mistake, I'm sure. Please forgive
me, Jack, and let's be friends again.'
The 'rickshaw-hood had fallen back, and inside,
as I hope and pray daily for the death I dread by
night, sat Mrs. Keith-Wessington, handkerchief in
hand, and golden head bowed on her breast.
How long I stared motionless I do not know.
Finally, I was aroused by my syce taking the
Waler's bridle and asking whether I was ill.
From the horrible to the commonplace is but a
step. I tumbled off my horse and dashed, half
fainting, into Peliti’s for a glass of cherry-brandy.
There two or three couples were gathered round
the coffee-tables discussing the gossip of the day.
Their trivialities were more comforting to me just
then than the consolations of religion could have
been. I plunged into the midst of the conversa-
tion at once ; chatted, laughed, and jested with a
face (when I caught a glimpse of it in a mirror)
as white and drawn as that of a corpse. Three
or four men noticed my condition ; and, evidently
setting it down to the results of over-many pegs,
charitably endeavoured to draw me apart from
the rest of the loungers. But I refused to be led
away. I wanted the company of my kind—as a
child rushes into the midst of the dinner-party
after a fright in the dark. I must have talked
for about ten minutes or so, though it seemed an


136 THE PHANTOM ʼRICKSHAW
outrage of Nature's ordinance, there had appeared
to me a face from the grave.
Kitty's Arab had gone through the 'rickshaw :
so that my first hope that some woman marvell-
ously like Mrs. Wessington had hired the carriage
and the coolies with their old livery was lost.
Again and again I went round this treadmill of
thought; and again and again gave up baffled and
in despair. The voice was as inexplicable as the
apparition. I had originally some wild notion of
confiding it all to Kitty; of begging her to marry
me at once, and in her arms defying the ghostly
occupant of the 'rickshaw. “After all,' I argued,
'the presence of the 'rickshaw is in itself enough
to prove the existence of a spectral illusion. One
may see ghosts of men and women, but surely
never coolies and carriages. The whole thing is
absurd. Fancy the ghost of a hillman!'
Next morning I sent a penitent note to Kitty,
imploring her to overlook my strange conduct of
the previous afternoon. My Divinity was still very
wroth, and a personal apology was necessary, I
explained, with a fuency born of night-long
pondering over a falsehood, that I had been
attacked with a sudden palpitation of the heart-
the result of indigestion. This eminently practical
solution had its effect; and Kitty and I rode out
that afternoon with the shadow of my first lie
dividing us.
Nothing would please her save a canter round
Jakko. With my nerves still unstrung from the
previous night I feebly protested against the notion,
suggesting Observatory Hill, Jutogh, the Boileau-


THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 137
gunge road—anything rather than the Jakko round.
Kitty was angry and a little hurt; so I yielded
from fear of provoking further misunderstanding,
and we set out together towards Chota Simla.
We walked a greater part of the way, and, accord-
ing to our custom, cantered from a mile or so
below the Convent to the stretch of level road
by the Sanjowlie Reservoir. The wretched horses
appeared to fly, and my heart beat quicker and
quicker as we neared the crest of the ascent. My
mind had been full of Mrs. Wessington all the
afternoon ; and every inch of the Jakko road bore
witness to our old-time walks and talks. The
boulders were full of it; the pines sang it aloud
overhead; the rain - fed torrents giggled and
chuckled unseen over the shameful story; and
the wind in my ears chanted the iniquity aloud.
As a fitting climax, in the middle of the level
men call the Ladies' Mile the Horror was awaiting
me. No other 'rickshaw was in sight--only the
four black and white jhampanies, the yellow-
panelled carriage, and the golden head of the
woman within — all apparently just as I had left
them eight months and one fortnight ago! For
an instant I fancied that Kitty must see what I
saw—we were so marvellously sympathetic in all
things. Her next words undeceived me-- Not
a soul in sight! Come along, Jack, and I'll race
you to the Reservoir buildings !' Her wiry little
Arab was off like a bird, my Waler following close
behind, and in this order we dashed under the
cliffs. Half a minute brought us within fifty
yards of the 'rickshaw. I pulled my Waler and


138
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
fell back a little. The 'rickshaw was directly in
the middle of the road ; and once more the Arab
passed through it, my horse following. “Jack!
Jack dear! Please forgive me,' rang with a wail
in my ears, and, after an interval : It's all a
mistake, a hideous mistake!'
I spurred my horse like a man possessed.
When I turned my head at the Reservoir works
the black and white liveries were still waiting-
patiently waiting—under the gray hillside, and the
wind brought me a mocking echo of the words I
had just heard. Kitty bantered me a good deal on
my silence throughout the remainder of the ride.
I had been talking up till then wildly and at
random. To save my life I could not speak after-
wards naturally, and from Sanjowlie to the Church
wisely held my tongue.
I was to dine with the Mannerings that night,
and had barely time to canter home to dress. On
the road to Elysium Hill I overheard two men
talking together in the dusk.—' It's a curious
thing,' said one, “how completely all trace of it
disappeared. You know my wife was insanely
fond of the woman ('never could see anything in
her myself), and wanted me to pick up her old
'rickshaw and coolies if they were to be got for
love or money.
Morbid sort of fancy I call it ;
but I've got to do what the Memsabib tells me.
Would you believe that the man she hired it from
tells me that all four of the men they were
brothers—died of cholera on the way to Hardwar,
poor devils ; and the 'rickshaw has been broken
up by the man himself. 'Told me he never used a


THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
139
dead Memsahib's 'rickshaw. 'Spoilt his luck.
Queer notion, wasn't it? Fancy poor little Mrs.
Wessington spoiling any one's luck except her
own !' I laughed aloud at this point; and my
laugh jarred on me as I uttered it.
So there were
ghosts of 'rickshaws after all, and ghostly employ-
ments in the other world! How much did Mrs.
Wessington give her men ? What were their
hours?
Where did they go
?
And for visible answer to my last question I
saw the infernal Thing blocking my path in the
twilight. The dead travel fast, and by short cuts
unknown to ordinary coolies. I laughed aloud a
second time and checked my laughter suddenly,
for I was afraid I was going mad. Mad to a
certain extent I must have been, for I recollect that
I reined in my horse at the head of the 'rickshaw,
and politely wished Mrs. Wessington 'Good-
evening. Her answer was one I knew only too
well. I listened to the end ; and replied that I
had heard it all before, but should be delighted if
she had anything further to say. Some malignant
devil stronger than I must have entered into me
that evening, for I have a dim recollection of
talking the commonplaces of the day for five
minutes to the Thing in front of me.
• Mad as a hatter, poor devil—or drunk. Max,
try and get him to come home.'
Surely that was not Mrs. Wessington's voice !
The two men had overheard me speaking to the
empty air, and had returned to look after me.
They were very kind and considerate, and from
their words evidently gathered that I was extremely


140
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
drunk. I thanked them confusedly and cantered
away to my hotel, there changed, and arrived at
the Mannerings' ten minutes late. I pleaded the
darkness of the night as an excuse ; was rebuked
by Kitty for my unlover-like tardiness; and sat
down.
The conversation had already become general ;
and, under cover of it, I was addressing some tender
small talk to my sweetheart when I was aware that
at the farther end of the table a short, red-
whiskered man was describing, with much broidery,
his encounter with a mad unknown that evening.
A few sentences convinced me that he was
repeating the incident of half an hour
ago.
In the
middle of the story he looked round for applause,
as professional story-tellers do, caught my eye, and
straightway collapsed. There was a moment's
awkward silence, and the red-whiskered man
muttered something to the effect that he had for-
gotten the rest,' thereby sacrificing a reputation as
a good story-teller which he had built up for six
seasons past. I blessed him from the bottom of
my heart, and—went on with my fish.
In the fulness of time that dinner came to an
end ; and with genuine regret I tore myself away
from Kitty—as certain as I was of my own
existence that It would be waiting for me outside
the door. The red-whiskered man, who had been
introduced to me as Dr. Heatherlegh of Simla,
volunteered to bear me company as far as our roads
lay together. I accepted his offer with gratitude.
My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in
readiness in the Mall, and, in what seemed devilish


THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
141
mockery of our ways, with a lighted head-lamp.
The red-whiskered man went to the point at once,
in a manner that showed he had been thinking over
it all dinner-time.
• I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the matter
with you this evening on the Elysium Road?
The suddenness of the question wrenched an
answer from me before I was aware.
• That !' said I, pointing to It.
• That may be either D. T. or Eyes for aught I
know. Now
you don't liquor. I saw as much at
dinner, so it can't be D. T. There's nothing what-
ever where you're pointing, though you're sweat-
ing and trembling with fright_like a scared pony.
Therefore, I conclude that it's Eyes. And I ought
to understand all about them. Come along home
with me.
I'm on the Blessington lower road.'
To my intense delight the 'rickshaw, instead of
waiting for us kept about twenty yards ahead—and
this, too, whether we walked, trotted, or cantered.
In the course of that long night ride I had told my
companion almost as much as I have told you
here.
*Well, you've spoilt one of the best tales I've
ever laid tongue to,' said he, but I'll forgive you
for the sake of what you've gone through. Now
come home and do what I tell you ; and when I've
cured you, young man, let this be a lesson to you
to steer clear of women and indigestible food till
the day of your death.'
The 'rickshaw kept steady in front; and my red-
whiskered friend seemed to derive great pleasure
from my account of its exact whereabouts.


142
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
Eyes, Pansay-all Eyes, Brain, and Stomach.
And the greatest of these three is Stomach. You've
too much conceited Brain, too little Stomach, and
thoroughly unhealthy Eyes. Get your Stomach
straight and the rest follows. And all that's
French for a liver pill. I'll take sole medical
charge of you from this hour! for you're too
interesting a phenomenon to be passed over.'
By this time we were deep in the shadow of the
Blessington lower road, and the 'rickshaw came to
a dead stop under a pine-clad, overhanging shale
cliff. Instinctively I halted too, giving my reason.
Heatherlegh rapped out an oath.
* Now, if you think I'm going to spend a cold
night on the hillside for the sake of a Stomach-
cum-Brain-cum-Eye illusion Lord, ha' mercy!
What's that?'
There was a muffled report, a blinding smother
of dust just in front of us, a crack, the noise of
rent boughs, and about ten yards of the cliff-side-
pines, undergrowth, and all-slid down into the
road below, completely blocking it up.
rooted trees swayed and tottered for a moment
like drunken giants in the gloom, and then fell
prone among their fellows with a thunderous crash.
Our two horses stood motionless and sweating with
fear. As soon as the rattle of falling earth and
stone had subsided, my companion muttered :
Man, if we'd gone forward we should have been
ten feet deep in our graves by now.
« There are
more things in heaven and earth ”. Come
home, Pansay, and thank God. I want a peg
badly.'
The up-


THE PHANTOM ʼRICKSHAW 143
We retraced our way over the Church Ridge,
and I arrived at Dr. Heatherlegh's house shortly
after midnight.
His attempts towards my cure commenced
almost immediately, and for a week I never left his
sight. Many a time in the course of that week
did I bless the good-fortune which had thrown me
in contact with Simla's best and kindest doctor.
Day by day my spirits grew lighter and more
equable. Day by day, too, I became more and
more inclined to fall in with Heatherlegh’s ‘spectral
illusion' theory, implicating eyes, brain, and
stomach. I wrote to Kitty, telling her that a
slight sprain caused by a fall from my horse kept
me indoors for a few days; and that I should be
recovered before she had time to regret my
absence.
Heatherlegh’s treatment was simple to a degree.
It consisted of liver pills, cold-water baths, and
strong exercise, taken in the dusk or at early dawn
-for, as he sagely observed : 'A man with a
sprained ankle doesn't walk a dozen miles a day,
and your young woman might be wondering if she
saw you.'
At the end of the week, after much examination
of pupil and pulse, and strict injunctions as to diet
and pedestrianism, Heatherlegh dismissed me as
brusquely as he had taken charge of me. Here is
his parting benediction : 'Man, I certify to your
mental cure, and that's as much as to say I've
cured most of your bodily ailments. Now, get
your traps out of this as soon as you can ; and be
off to make love to Miss Kitty.'
L


144
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
I was endeavouring to express my thanks for
his kindness. He cut me short.
*Don't think I did this because I like you. I
gather that you've behaved like a blackguard all
through. But, all the same, you're a phenomenon,
and as queer a phenomenon as you are a black-
guard. No!'-checking me a second time— not
a rupee, please. Go out and see if you can find
the eyes-brain-and-stomach business again. I'll
give you a lakh for each time you see it.
Half an hour later I was in the Mannerings'
drawing-room with Kitty—drunk with the intoxi-
cation of present happiness and the foreknowledge
that I should never more be troubled with Its
hideous presence. Strong in the sense of my new-
found security, I proposed a ride at once; and, by
preference, a canter round Jakko.
Never had I felt so well, so overladen with
vitality and mere animal spirits, as I did on the
afternoon of the 30th of April. Kitty was delighted
at the change in my appearance, and complimented
me on it in her delightfully frank and outspoken
manner. We left the Mannerings' house together,
laughing and talking, and cantered along the Chota
Simla road as of old.
I was in haste to reach the Sanjowlie Reservoir
and there make my assurance doubly sure. The
horses did their best, but seemed all too slow to
my impatient mind. Kitty was astonished at my
erousness. “Why, Jack !' she cried at last,
'you are behaving like a child. What are you
doing?
We were just below the Convent, and from


THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
145
loop of
6
sheer wantonness I was making my Waler plunge
and curvet across the road as I tickled it with the
my riding-whip.
Doing ?' I answered ; ‘nothing, dear. That's
just it. If you'd been doing nothing for a week
except lie up, you'd be as riotous as I.
Singing and murmuring in your feastful mirth,
Joying to feel yourself alive ;
Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible Earth,
Lord of the senses five.'
My quotation was hardly out of my lips before
we had rounded the corner above the Convent,
and a few yards farther on could see across to
Sanjowlie. In the centre of the level road stood
the black and white liveries, the yellow-panelled
'rickshaw, and Mrs. Keith-Wessington. I pulled
up, looked, rubbed my eyes, and, I believe, must
have said something. The next thing I knew was
that I was lying face downward on the road, with
Kitty kneeling above me in tears.
*Has it gone, child !' I gasped.
child !' I gasped. Kitty only
wept more bitterly.
*Has what gone, Jack dear? what does it all
mean? There must be a mistake somewhere, Jack.
A hideous mistake.' Her last words brought me
to my feet-mad—raving for the time being.
• Yes, there is a mistake somewhere,' I repeated,
(a hideous mistake. Come and look at It.'
I have an indistinct idea that I dragged Kitty
by the wrist along the road up to where It stood,
and implored her for pity's sake to speak to It; to
tell It that we were betrothed ; that neither Death
nor Hell could break the tie between us : and


146 THE PHANTOM ʼRICKSHAW
Kitty only knows how much more to the same
effect. Now and again I appealed passionately to
the Terror in the 'rickshaw to bear witness to all
I had said, and to release me from a torture that
was killing me. As I talked I suppose I must
have told Kitty of my old relations with Mrs.
Wessington, for I saw her listen intently with
white face and blazing eyes.
* Thank you, Mr. Pansay,' she said, that's
quite enough. Syce ghora láo.
The syces, impassive as Orientals always are,
had come up with the recaptured horses; and as
Kitty sprang into her saddle I caught hold of her
bridle, entreating her to hear me out and forgive.
My answer was the cut of her riding-whip across
my face from mouth to eye, and a word or two
of farewell that even now I cannot write down.
So I judged, and judged rightly, that Kitty knew
all ; and I staggered back to the side of the
’ 'rickshaw. My face was cut and bleeding, and the
blow of the riding-whip had raised a livid blue
wheal on it. I had no self-respect. Just then,
Heatherlegh, who must have been following
Kitty and me at a distance, cantered up.
Doctor,' I said, pointing to my face, 'here's
Miss Mannering's signature to my order of
dismissal and -I'll thank you for that lakh as
soon as convenient.'
Heatherlegh's face, even in my abject misery,
moved me to laughter.
• I'll stake my professional reputation—'he
began.
*Don't be a fool,' I whispered.
I've lost


THE PHANTOM ʼRICKSHAW
147
not
my life's happiness and you'd better take me
home.'
As I spoke the 'rickshaw was gone.
Then I
lost all knowledge of what was passing. The
crest of Jakko seemed to heave and rolſ like the
crest of a cloud and fall in upon me.
.
Seven days later (on the 7th of May, that is to
say) I was aware that I was lying in Heatherlegh’s
room as weak as a little child. Heatherlegh was
watching me intently from behind the papers on
his writing-table. His first words were
encouraging ; but I was too far spent to be much
moved by them.
Here's Miss Kitty has sent back your letters.
You corresponded a good deal, you young people.
Here's a packet that looks like a ring, and a
cheerful sort of a note from Mannering Papa,
which I've taken the liberty of reading and
burning. The old gentleman's not pleased with
you.'
*And Kitty?' I asked dully.
· Rather more drawn than her father from
what she says.
By the same token you
have been letting out any number of queer
reminiscences just before I met you. 'Says that a
man who would have behaved to a woman as you
did to Mrs. Wessington ought to kill himself out
of sheer pity for his kind. She's a hot-headed
little virago, your mash. 'Will have it too that
you were suffering from D. T. when that row on
the Jakko road turned up. 'Says she'll die before
she ever speaks to you again.”
I groaned and turned over on the other side.
must


148
THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW
• Now you've got your choice, my friend.
This engagement has to be broken off; and the
Mannerings don't want to be too hard on you.
Was it broken through D. T. or epileptic fits?
Sorry I can't offer you a better exchange unless
you'd prefer hereditary insanity. Say the word
and I'll tell 'em it's fits. All Simla knows about
that scene on the Ladies' Mile. Come! I'll give
you five minutes to think over it.'
During those five minutes I believe that I
explored thoroughly the lowest circles of the
Inferno which it is permitted man to tread on
earth. And at the same time I myself was
watching myself faltering through the dark
labyrinths of doubt, misery, and utter despair.
I wondered, as Heatherlegh in his chair might
have wondered, which dreadful alternative I
should adopt. Presently I heard myself answering
in a voice that I hardly recognised-
•They're confoundedly particular about morality
in these parts. Give 'em fits, Heatherlegh, and
my love. Now let me sleep a bit longer.'
Then my two selves joined, and it was only I
(half-crazed, devil-driven I) that tossed in my bed
tracing step by step the history of the past month.
• But I am in Simla,' I kept repeating to myself.
*I, Jack Pansay, am in Simla, and there are no
ghosts here. It's unreasonable of that woman
to pretend there are. Why couldn't Agnes have
left me alone? I never did her any harm. It
might just as well have been me as Agnes. Only
I'd never have come back on purpose to kill her.
Why can't I be left alone-left alone and happy?


THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
149
It was high noon when I first awoke ; and the
sun was low in the sky before I slept-slept as the
tortured criminal sleeps on his rack, too worn to
feel further pain.
Next day I could not leave my bed.
bed. Heather-
legh told me in the morning that he had received
an answer from Mr. Mannering, and that, thanks
to his
(Heatherlegh’s) friendly offices, the story of
my
affliction had travelled through the length and
breadth of Simla, where I was on all sides much
pitied.
• And that's rather more than you deserve,' he
concluded pleasantly, “though the Lord knows
you've been going through a pretty severe mill.
Never mind; we'll cure you yet, you perverse
phenomenon.
I declined firmly to be cured. "You've been
much too good to me already, old man,' said I;
.but I don't think I need trouble you further.'
In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh
could do would lighten the burden that had been
laid upon me.
With that knowledge came also a sense of
hopeless, impotent rebellion against the unreason-
ableness of it all. There were scores of men no
better than I whose punishments had at least been
reserved for another world ; and I felt that it was
bitterly, cruelly unfair that I alone should have
been singled out for so hideous a fate. This
mood would in time give place to another where
it seemed that the 'rickshaw and I were the only
realities in a world of shadows; that Kitty was a
ghost; that Mannering, Heatherlegh, and all the


150 THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW
other men and women I knew were all ghosts ;
and the great gray hills themselves but vain
shadows devised to torture me. From mood to
mood I tossed backwards and forwards for seven
weary days; my body growing daily stronger and
stronger, until the bedroom looking-glass told me
that I had returned to everyday life, and was
as other men once more. Curiously enough my
face showed no signs of the struggle I had gone
through. It was pale indeed, but as expressionless
and commonplace as ever. I had expected some
permanent alteration - visible evidence of the
disease that was eating me away. I found nothing.
On the 15th of May I left Heatherlegh's house
at eleven o'clock in the morning; and the instinct
of the bachelor drove me to the Club. There I
found that every man knew my story as told by
Heatherlegh, and was, in clumsy fashion, abnormally
kind and attentive. Nevertheless I recognised that
for the rest of my natural life I should be among
but not of my fellows; and I envied very bitterly
indeed the laughing coolies on the Mall below. I
lunched at the Club, and at four o'clock wandered
aimlessly down the Mall in the vague hope of meet-
ing Kitty. Close to the Band-stand the black and
white liveries joined me; and I heard Mrs. Wessing-
ton's old appeal at my side. I had been expecting
this ever since I came out, and was only surprised
at her delay. The phantom 'rickshaw and I went
side by side along the Chota Simla road in silence.
Close to the bazar, Kitty and a man on horseback
overtook and passed us. For any sign she gave
I might have been a dog in the road. She did not


THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW
ISI
even pay me the compliment of quickening her
pace, though the rainy afternoon had served for
an excuse.
So Kitty and her companion, and I and my
ghostly Light-o'-Love, crept round Jakko in
couples. The road was streaming with water ;
the pines dripped like roof-pipes on the rocks
below, and the air was full of fine driving rain.
Two or three times I found myself saying to myself
almost aloud : "I'm Jack Pansay on leave at Simla
-at Simla! Everyday, ordinary Simla. I mustn't
forget that I mustn't forget that.' Then I would
try to recollect some of the gossip I had heard at
the Club : the prices of So-and-So's horses—any-
thing, in fact, that related to the workaday Anglo-
Indian world I knew so well. I even repeated the
multiplication-table rapidly to myself, to make
quite sure that I was not taking leave of my senses.
It gave me much comfort, and must have pre-
vented my hearing Mrs. Wessington for a time.
Once more I wearily climbed the Convent slope
and entered the level road. Here Kitty and the
man started off at a canter, and I was left alone
with Mrs. Wessington. “Agnes,' said I, will you
put back your hood and tell me what it all means? ?'
The hood dropped noiselessly, and I was face to
face with my dead and buried mistress. She was
wearing the dress in which I had last seen her
alive ; carried the same tiny handkerchief in her
right hand, and the same card-case in her left.
(Ă woman eight months dead with a card-case !)
Ì had to pin myself down to the multiplication-
table, and to set both hands on the stone parapet


152
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
of the road, to assure myself that that at least was
real.
* Agnes,' I repeated, “for pity's sake tell me
what it all means.' Mrs. Wessington leaned
forward, with that odd, quick turn of the head I
used to know so well, and spoke.
If my story had not already so madly overleaped
the bounds of all human belief I should apologise
to you now.
As I know that no one-no, not
even Kitty, for whom it is written as some sort of
justification of my conduct—will believe me, I will
go on. Mrs. Wessington spoke, and I walked with
her from the Sanjowlie road to the turning below
the Commander-in-Chief's house as I might walk
by the side of any living woman's 'rickshaw, deep
in conversation. The second and most tormenting
of my moods of sickness had suddenly laid hold
upon me, and, like the Prince in Tennyson's poem,
• I seemed to move amid a world of ghosts. There
had been a garden-party at the Commander-in-
Chief's, and we two joined the crowd of homeward-
bound folk. As I saw them it seemed that they
were the shadows—impalpable fantastic shadows
that divided for Mrs. Wessington's ’rickshaw to
pass through. What we said during the course of
that weird interview I cannot-indeed, I dare not
-tell. Heatherlegh's comment would have been
a short laugh and a remark that I had been 'mashing
a brain-eye-and-stomach chimera.' It was a ghastly
and yet in some indefinable way a marvellously
dear experience. Could it be possible, I wondered,
that I was in this life to woo a second time the
woman I had killed by my own neglect and cruelty ?


THE PHANTOM ÄRICKSHAW
153
I met Kitty on the homeward road—a shadow
among shadows.
If I were to describe all the incidents of the next
fortnight in their order, my story would never
come to an end, and your patience would be
exhausted. Morning after morning and evening
after evening the ghostly ’rickshaw and I used to
wander through Simla together. Wherever I went
there the four black and white liveries followed me
and bore me company to and from my hotel. At
the Theatre I found them amid the crowd of yelling
jhampanies ; outside the Club verandah, after a long
evening of whist ; at the Birthday Ball, waiting
patiently for my reappearance ; and in broad day-
light when I went calling. Save that it cast no
shadow, the 'rickshaw was in every respect as real
to look upon as one of wood and iron. More than
once, indeed, I have had to check myself from
warning some hard-riding friend against cantering
over it. More than once I have walked down the
Mall deep in conversation with Mrs. Wessington,
to the unspeakable amazement of the passers-by.
Before I had been out and about a week I
learned that the 'fit' theory had been discarded in
favour of insanity. However, I made no change
in my mode of life. I called, rode, and dined out
as freely as ever. I had a passion for the society
of my kind which I had never felt before ; I
hungered to be among the realities of life ; and at
the same time I felt vaguely unhappy when I had
been separated too long from my ghostly companion.
It would be almost impossible to describe my
varying moods from the 15th of May up to to-day.


154
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW
The presence of the 'rickshaw filled me by turns
with horror, blind fear, a dim sort of pleasure, and
utter despair. I dared not leave Simla ; and I
knew that my stay there was killing me. I knew,
moreover, that it was my destiny to die slowly and
a little every day. My only anxiety was to get
the penance over as quietly as might be. Alter-
nately I hungered for a sight of Kitty, and watched
her outrageous flirtations with my successor—to
speak more accurately, my successors—with amused
interest. She was as much out of my life as I was
out of hers. By day I wandered with Mrs.
Wessington almost content. By night I implored
Heaven to let me return to the world as I used to
know it. Above all these varying moods lay the
sensation of dull, numbing wonder that the seen
and the Unseen should mingle so strangely on this
earth to hound one poor soul to its grave.
August 27.—Heatherlegh has been indefatigable
in his attendance on me; and only yesterday told
me that I ought to send in an application for sick
leave. An application to escape the company of a
phantom! A request that the Government would
graciously permit me to get rid of five ghosts and
an airy 'rickshaw by going to England! Heather-
legh's proposition moved me to almost hysterical
laughter. I told him that I should await the end
quietly at Simla ; and I am sure that the end is
not far off. Believe me that I dread its advent
more than any word can say; and I torture myself
nightly with a thousand speculations as to the
manner of my death.


MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY 157
are said to be two at Simla, not counting the woman
who blows the bellows at Syree dâk-bungalow on
the Old Road; Mussoorie has a house haunted by
a very lively Thing; a White Lady is supposed
to do night-watchman round a house in Lahore ;
Dalhousie says that one of her houses 'repeats' on
autumn evenings all the incidents of a horrible
horse-and-precipice accident ; Murree has a merry
ghost, and, now that she has been swept by cholera,
will have room for a sorrowful one; there are
Officers' Quarters in Mian Mir whose doors open
without reason, and whose furniture is guaranteed
to creak, not with the heat of June, but with the
weight of Invisibles who come to lounge in the
chairs ; Peshawar possesses houses that none will
willingly rent; and there is something—not fever
-wrong with a big bungalow in Allahabad. The
older Provinces simply bristle with haunted houses,
and march phantom armies along their main
thoroughfares.
Some of the dâk - bungalows on the Grand
Trunk Road have handy little cemeteries in their
compound—witnesses to the changes and chances
of this mortal life' in the days when men drove
from Calcutta to the North-West. These bunga-
lows are objectionable places to put up in. They
are generally very old, always dirty, while the
khansamah is as ancient as the bungalow. He
either chatters senilely, or falls into the long trances
of age. In both moods he is useless. If you get
angry with him, he refers to some Sahib dead and
buried these thirty years, and says that when he
was in that Sahib's service not a khansamah in the


158 MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY
Province could touch him. Then he jabbers and
mows and trembles and fidgets among the dishes,
and you repent of your irritation.
Not long ago it was my business to live in dâk-
bungalows. I never inhabited the same house for
three nights running, and grew to be learned in
the breed. I lived in Government-built ones with
red brick walls and rail ceilings, an inventory of
the furniture posted in every room, and an excited
cobra on the threshold to give welcome. I lived
in converted' ones—old houses officiating as dâk-
bungalows—where nothing was in its proper place
and there was not even a fowl for dinner. I lived
in second-hand palaces where the wind blew through
open-work marble tracery just as uncomfortably
as through a broken pane. I lived in dâk-bunga-
lows where the last entry in the visitors' book was
fifteen months old, and where they slashed off the
curry-kid's head with a sword. It was my good
luck to meet all sorts of men, from sober travel-
ling missionaries and deserters flying from British
Regiments, to drunken loafers who threw whisky
bottles at all who passed ; and my still greater good
fortune just to escape a maternity case. Seeing
that a fair proportion of the tragedy of our lives
in India acted itself in dâk-bungalows, I wondered
that I had met no ghosts. A ghost that would
voluntarily hang about a dâk-bungalow would be
mad, of course ; but so many men have died mad
in dâk-bungalows that there must be a fair per-
centage of lunatic ghosts.
In due time I found my ghost, or ghosts rather,
for there were two of them.
11
1


MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY 159
We will call the bungalow Katmal dâk-bunga-
low; but that was the smallest part of the horror.
A man with a sensitive hide has no right to sleep
in dâk-bungalows. He should marry. Katmal
dâk-bungalow was old and rotten and unrepaired.
The floor was of worn brick, the walls were filthy,
and the windows were nearly black with grime.
It stood on a bypath largely used by native Sub-
Deputy Assistants of all kinds, from Finance to
Forests; but real Sahibs were rare. The khansamah,
who was bent nearly double with old age, said so.
When I arrived, there was a fitful, undecided
rain on the face of the land, accompanied by a rest-
less wind, and every gust made a noise like the
rattling of dry bones in the stiff toddy-palms out-
side. The khansamah completely lost his head on
arrival. He had served a Sahib once. Did I
know that Sahib ? He gave me the name of a
well-known man who has been buried for more
than a quarter of a century, and showed me an
ancient daguerreotype of that man in his prehistoric
youth. I had seen a steel engraving of him at the
head of a double volume of Memoirs a month
before, and I felt ancient beyond telling.
The day shut in and the khansamah went to
get me food. He did not go through the pretence
of calling it khana,' — man's victuals. He said
‘ratub,' and that means, among other things, 'grub’
-dog's rations. There was no insult in his choice
of the term. He had forgotten the other word, I
suppose.
While he was cutting up the dead bodies of
animals, I settled myself down, after exploring the
M


160 MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY
dâk-bungalow. There were three rooms besides
my own, which was a corner kennel, each giving
into the other through dingy white doors fastened
with long iron bars. The bungalow was a very
solid one, but the partition-walls of the rooms were
almost jerry-built in their flimsiness. Every step
or bang of a trunk echoed from my room down
the other three, and every footfall came back
tremulously from the far walls. For this reason
I shut the door. There were no lamps — only
candles in long glass shades. An oil wick was set
in the bathroom.
For bleak, unadulterated misery that dâk-
bungalow was the worst of the many that I had
ever set foot in. There was no fireplace, and the
windows would not open ; so a brazier of char-
coal would have been useless. The rain and the
wind splashed and gurgled and moaned round the
house, and the toddy-palms rattled and roared.
Half-a-dozen jackals went through the compound
singing, and a hyena stood afar off and mocked
them. A hyena would convince a Sadducee of the
Resurrection of the Dead—the worst sort of Dead.
Then came the ratub—a curious meal, half native
and half English in composition — with the old
khansamah babbling behind my chair about dead-
and-gone English people, and the wind-blown
candles playing shadow-bo-peep with the bed and
the mosquito-curtains. It was just the sort of
dinner and evening to make a man think of every
single one of his past sins, and of all the others
that he intended to commit if he lived.
Sleep, for several hundred reasons, was not
1


MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY 161
easy. The lamp in the bathroom threw the most
absurd shadows into the room, and the wind was
beginning to talk nonsense.
Just when the reasons were drowsy with blood-
sucking I heard the regular —— Let-us-take-and-
heave-him-over' grunt of doolie-bearers in the
compound. First one doolie came in, then a
second, and then a third. I heard the doolies
dumped on the ground, and the shutter in front
of my door shook.
That's some one trying to come in,” I said.
But no one spoke, and I persuaded myself that it
was the gusty wind. The shutter of the room
next to mine was attacked, flung back, and the
inner door opened.
• That's some Sub-Deputy
Assistant,” I said, “and he has brought his friends
with him. Now they'll talk and spit and smoke
for an hour.'
But there were no voices and no footsteps. No
one was putting his luggage into the next room.
The door shut, and I thanked Providence that I
was to be left in peace. But I was curious to
know where the doolies had gone. I got out of
bed and looked into the darkness.
There was
never a sign of a doolie. Just as I was getting
into bed again, I heard, in the next room, the
sound that no man in his senses can possibly
mistake-the whir of a billiard ball down the
length of the slate when the striker is stringing for
break. No other sound is like it. A minute
afterwards there was another whir, and I got into
bed. I was not frightened — indeed I was not.
I was very curious to know what had become


MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY 163
-fear that makes you sweat on the palms of the
hands, and gulp in order to keep the uvula at
work? This is a fine Fear--a great cowardice,
and must be felt to be appreciated. The very
improbability of billiards in a dâk-bungalow proved
the reality of the thing. No man—drunk or sober
-could imagine a game at billiards, or invent the
spitting crack of a screw cannon.'
A severe course of dâk - bungalows has this
disadvantage—it breeds infinite credulity. If a
man said to a confirmed dâk-bungalow-haunter :
* There is a corpse in the next room, and there's
a mad girl in the next one, and the woman and
man on that camel have just eloped from a place
sixty miles away,' the hearer would not disbelieve,
because he would know that nothing is too wild,
grotesque, or horrible to happen in a dâk-bunga-
low.
This credulity, unfortunately, extends to ghosts.
A rational person fresh from his own house would
have turned on his side and slept. I did not. So
surely as I was given up for a dry carcase by the
scores of things in the bed, because the bulk of
my blood was in my heart, so surely did I hear
every stroke of a long game at billiards played in
the echoing room behind the iron-barred door.
My dominant fear was that the players might
want a marker. It was an absurd fear; because
creatures who could play in the dark would be
above such superfluities. I only know that that
was my terror; and it was real.
After a long, long while the game stopped, and
the door banged. I slept because I was dead tired.


164 MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY
Otherwise I should have preferred to have kept
awake. Not for everything in Asia would I have
dropped the door-bar and peered into the dark of
the next room.
When the morning came I considered that I
had done well and wisely, and inquired for the
means of departure.
By the way, khansamah,' I said, “what were
those three doolies doing in my compound in the
night?
“There were no doolies,' said the khansamah.
I went into the next room, and the daylight
streamed through the open door. I was immensely
brave. I would, at that hour, have played Black
Pool with the owner of the big Black Pool down
below.
· Has this place always been a dâk-bungalow ?'
I asked.
No,' said the khansamah.
• Ten or twenty
years ago, I have forgotten how long, it was a
billiard room.'
'A what !'
"A billiard room for the Sahibs who built the
Railway. I was khansamah then in the big house
where all the Railway-Sahibs lived, and I used to
come across with brandy-shrab. These three
rooms were all one, and they held a big table on
which the Sahibs played every evening. But the
Sahibs are all dead now, and the Railway runs, you
say, nearly to Kabul.'
'Do you remember anything about the Sahibs?'
'It is long ago, but I remember that one Sahib,
a fat man, and always angry, was playing here one


MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY 165
your favour.'
night, and he said to me : “Mangal Khan, brandy-
pani do," and I filled the glass, and he bent over
the table to strike, and his head fell lower and
lower till it hit the table, and his spectacles came
off, and when we—the Sahibs and I myself—ran
to lift him he was dead. I helped to carry him
out. Aha, he was a strong Sahib! But he is
dead, and I, old Mangal Khan, am still living, by
That was more than enough! I had my ghost
-a first-hand, authenticated article. I would write
to the Society for Psychical Research I would
paralyse the Empire with the news! But I would,
first of all, put eighty miles of assessed crop-land
between myself and that dâk - bungalow before
nightfall. The Society might send their regular
agent to investigate later on.
I went into my own room and prepared to
pack, after noting down the facts of the case. As
I smoked I heard the game begin again,— with
a miss in balk this time, for the whir was a short
one.
room,
The door was open, and I could see into the
Click-click! That was a cannon.
I
entered the room without fear, for there was
sunlight within and a fresh breeze without. The
unseen game was going on at a tremendous rate.
And well it might, when a restless little rat was
running to and fro inside the dingy ceiling-cloth,
and a piece of loose window-sash was making. fifty
breaks off the window-bolt as it shook in the
breeze!
Impossible to mistake the sound of billiard balls!


166 MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY
a
Impossible to mistake the whir of a ball over the
slate! I
But I was to be excused. Even when I
shut my enlightened eyes the sound was marvel-
lously like that of a fast
game.
Entered angrily the faithful
partner of
my
sorrows, Kadir Baksh.
* This bungalow is very bad and low-caste !
No wonder the Presence was disturbed and is
speckled. Three sets of doolie-bearers came to
the bungalow late last night when I was sleeping
outside, and said that it was their custom to rest
in the rooms set apart for the English people !
What honour has the khansamah? They tried
to enter, but I told them to go. No wonder, if
these Oorias have been here, that the Presence is
sorely spotted. It is shame, and the work of
dirty man!"
Kadir Baksh did not say that he had taken from
each gang two annas for rent in advance, and then,
beyond my earshot, had beaten them with the big
green umbrella whose use I could never before divine.
But Kadir Baksh has no notions of morality.
There was an interview with the khansamah, but
as he promptly lost his head, wrath gave place to
pity, and pity led to a long conversation, in the
course of which he put the fat Engineer-Sahib's
tragic death in three separate stations—two of them
fifty miles away.
The third shift was to Calcutta,
and there the Sahib died while driving a dog-cart.
I did not go away as soon as I intended. I
stayed for the night, while the wind and the rat and
the sash and the window-bolt played a ding-dong
hundred and fifty up.' Then the wind ran out and


MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY 167
the billiards stopped, and I felt that I had ruined
my one genuine ghost story.
Had I only ceased investigating at the proper
time I could have made anything out of it.
That was the bitterest thought of all.


The Strange Ride of Morrowbie
Jukes
Alive or dead-there is no other way.--Native Proverb
There is no invention about this tale. Jukes by
accident stumbled upon a village that is well known
to exist, though he is the only Englishman who has
been there. A somewhat similar institution used
to flourish on the outskirts of Calcutta, and there is
a story that if you go into the heart of Bikanir, which
is in the heart of the Great Indian Desert, you shall
come across, not a village, but a town where the
Dead who did not die, but may not live, have estab-
lished their headquarters. And, since it is perfectly
true that in the same Desert is a wonderful city
where all the rich money-lenders retreat after they
have made their fortunes (fortunes so vast that the
owners cannot trust even the strong hand of the
Government to protect them, but take refuge in the
waterless sands), and drive sumptuous C-spring
barouches, and buy beautiful girls, and decorate
their palaces with gold and ivory and Minton tiles
and mother-o'-pearl, I do not see why Jukes's tale
should not be true. He is a Civil Engineer, with


THE STRANGE RIDE 169
a head for plans and distances and things of that
kind, and he certainly would not take the trouble
to invent imaginary traps. He could earn more
by doing his legitimate work. He never varies
the tale in the telling, and grows very hot and in-
dignant when he thinks of the disrespectful treat-
ment he received. He wrote this quite straight-
forwardly at first, but he has touched it up in places
and introduced Moral Reflections : thus:-
In the beginning it all arose from a slight attack
of fever. My work necessitated my being in camp
for some months between Pakpattan and Mubarak-
pur-a desolate sandy stretch of country as every
one who has had the misfortune to go there may
know. My coolies were neither more nor less
exasperating than other
, my
work
demanded sufficient attention to keep me from
moping, had I been inclined to so unmanly a
weakness.
On the 23rd December 1884 I felt a little
feverish. There was a full moon at the time, and,
in consequence, every dog near my tent was baying
it. The brutes assembled in twos and threes and
drove me frantic. A few days previously I had
shot one loud-mouthed singer and suspended his
carcase in terrorem about fifty yards from my tent-
door, but his friends fell upon, fought for, and
ultimately devoured the body; and, as it seemed
to me, sang their hymns of thanksgiving afterwards
with renewed energy.
The light-headedness which accompanies fever
acts differently on different men. My irritation
gave way, after a short time, to a fixed determination


170
THE STRANGE RIDE
to slaughter one huge black and white beast who
had been foremost in song and first in flight
throughout the evening. Thanks to a shaking
hand and a giddy head I had already missed him
twice with both barrels of my shot-gun, when it
struck me that my best plan would be to ride him
down in the open and finish him off with a hog-
spear. This, of course, was merely the semi-
delirious notion of a fever-patient; but I remember
that it struck me at the time as being eminently
practical and feasible.
I therefore ordered my groom to saddle Pornic
and bring him round quietly to the rear of my tent.
When the pony was ready, I stood at his head pre-
pared to mount and dash out as soon as the dog
should again lift up his voice. Pornic, by the way,
had not been out of his pickets for a couple of days ;
the night air was crisp and chilly; and I was armed
with a specially long and sharp pair of persuaders
with which I had been rousing a sluggish cob that
afternoon. You will easily believe, then, that when
he was let go he went quickly. In one moment,
for the brute bolted as straight as a die, the tent
was left far behind, and we were Aying over the
smooth sandy soil at racing speed. In another we
had passed the wretched dog, and I had almost
forgotten why it was that I had taken horse and
hog-spear.
The delirium of fever and the excitement of
rapid motion through the air must have taken away
the remnant of my senses. I have a faint recollection
of standing upright in my stirrups, and of brandish-
ing my hog-spear at the great white moon that


THE STRANGE RIDE
171
looked down so calmly on my mad gallop; and of
shouting challenges to the camelthorn bushes as
they whizzed past. Once or twice, I believe, I
swayed forward on Pornic's neck, and literally hung
on by my spurs—as the marks next morning
showed.
The wretched beast went forward like a thing
possessed, over what seemed to be a limitless expanse
of moonlit sand. Next, I remember, the ground
rose suddenly in front of us, and as we topped the
ascent I saw the waters of the Sutlej shining like a
silver bar below. Then Pornic blundered heavily on
his nose, and we rolled together down some unseen
slope.
I must have lost consciousness, for when I re-
covered I was lying on my stomach in a heap of soft
white sand, and the dawn was beginning to break
dimly over the edge of the slope down which I had
fallen. As the light grew stronger I saw I was at
the bottom of a horseshoe-shaped crater of sand,
opening on one side directly on to the shoals of the
Sutlej
. My fever had altogether left me, and, with
the exception of a slight dizziness in the head, I felt
no bad effects from the fall overnight.
Pornic, who was standing a few yards away, was
naturally a good deal exhausted, but had not hurt
himself in the least. His saddle, a favourite polo
one, was much knocked about, and had been twisted
under his belly. It took me some time to put him
to rights, and in the meantime I had ample oppor-
tunities of observing the spot into which I had so
foolishly dropped.
At the risk of being considered tedious, I must


172
THE STRANGE RIDE
describe it at length; inasmuch as an accurate
mental picture of its peculiarities will be of material
assistance in enabling the reader to understand what
follows.
Imagine then, as I have said before, a horseshoe-
shaped crater of sand with steeply-graded sand walls
about thirty-five feet high. (The slope, I fancy, must
have been about 65°.) This crater enclosed a level
piece of ground about fifty yards long by thirty at
its broadest part, with a rude well in the centre.
Round the bottom of the crater, about three feet
from the level of the ground proper, ran a series of
eighty-three semicircular, ovoid, square, and multi-
lateral holes, all about three feet at the mouth.
Each hole on inspection showed that it was carefully
shored internally with drift-wood and bamboos, and
ever the mouth a wooden drip-board projected, like
the peak of a jockey's cap, for two feet. No sign of
life was visible in these tunnels, but a most sickening
stench pervaded the entire amphitheatre—a stench
fouler than any which my wanderings in Indian
villages have introduced me to.
Having remounted Pornic, who was as anxious as
I to get back to camp, I rode round the base of the
horseshoe to find some place whence an exit would
be practicable. The inhabitants, whoever they might
be, had not thought fit to put in an appearance, so
I was left to my own devices. My first attempt to
‘rush' Pornic up the steep sand-banks showed me
that I had fallen into a trap exactly on the same
model as that which the ant-lion sets for its prey.
At each step the shifting sand poured down from
above in tons, and rattled on the drip-boards of the


THE STRANGE RIDE
173
holes like small shot. A couple of ineffectual
charges sent us both rolling down to the bottom,
half choked with the torrents of sand; and I was
constrained to turn my attention to the river-bank.
Here everything seemed easy enough. The
sand-hills ran down to the river edge, it is true, but
there were plenty of shoals and shallows across
which I could gallop Pornic, and find my way back
to terra firma by turning sharply to the right or
the left. As I led Pornic over the sands I was
startled by the faint pop of a rifle across the river ;
and at the same moment a bullet dropped with
a sharp 'whit' close to Pornic's head.
There was no mistaking the nature of the missile
—a regulation Martini-Henry picket.' About five
hundred yards away a country-boat was anchored in
mid-stream ; and a jet of smoke drifting away from
its bows in the still morning air showed me whence
the delicate attention had come.
Was ever a
respectable gentleman in such an impasse ? The
treacherous sand-slope allowed no escape from a
spot which I had visited most involuntarily, and a
promenade on the river frontage was the signal for a
bombardment from some insane native in a boat.
I'm afraid that I lost my temper very much indeed.
Another bullet reminded me that I had better
save my breath to cool my porridge ; and I retreated
hastily up the sands and back to the horseshoe,
where I saw that the noise of the rifle had drawn
sixty-five human beings from the badger-holes which
I had up till that point supposed to be untenanted.
I found myself in the midst of a crowd of spectators
-about forty men, twenty women, and one child


174
THE STRANGE RIDE
who could not have been more than five years old.
They were all scantily clothed in that salmon-
coloured cloth which one associates with Hindu
mendicants, and, at first sight, gave me the impression
of a band of loathsome fakirs. The filth and re-
pulsiveness of the assembly were beyond all descrip-
tion, and I shuddered to think what their life in the
badger-holes must be.
Even in these days, when local self-government
has destroyed the greater part of a native's respect for
a Sahib, I have been accustomed to a certain amount
of civility from my inferiors, and on approaching
the crowd naturally expected that there would be
some recognition of my presence.
my presence. As a matter of
fact there was, but it was by no means what I had
looked for.
The ragged crew actually laughed at me—such
laughter I hope I may never hear again. They
cackled, yelled, whistled, and howled as I walked
into their midst ; some of them literally throwing
themselves down on the ground in convulsions of
unholy mirth. In a moment I had let
go
Pornic's
head, and, irritated beyond expression at the
morning's adventure, commenced cuffing those
nearest to me with all the force I could. The
wretches dropped under my blows like ninepins, and
the laughter gave place to wails for mercy; while
those yet untouched clasped me round the knees,
imploring me in all sorts of uncouth tongues to spare
them.
In the tumult, and just when I was feeling very
much ashamed of myself for having thus easily given
way to my temper, a thin high voice murmured in


THE STRANGE RIDE
175
English from behind my shoulder : “Sahib ! Sahib!
Do you not know me? Sahib, it is Gunga Dass,
the telegraph-master.'
I spun round quickly and faced the speaker.
Gunga Dass (I have, of course, no hesitation in
mentioning the man's real name) I had known four
years before as a Deccanee Brahmin lent by the
Punjab Government to one of the Khalsia States.
He was in charge of a branch telegraph-office there,
and when I had last met him was a jovial, full-
stomached, portly Government servant with a
marvellous capacity for making bad puns in English
a peculiarity which made me remember him
long after I had forgotten his services to me in his
official capacity. It is seldom that a Hindu makes
English puns.
Now, however, the man was changed beyond
all recognition. Caste-mark, stomach, slate-
coloured continuations, and unctuous speech were
all
gone.
I looked at a withered skeleton,
turbanless and almost naked, with long matted
hair and deep-set codfish-eyes. But for a crescent-
shaped scar on the left cheek—the result of an
accident for which I was responsible—I should
never have known him. But it was indubitably
Gunga Dass, and for this I was thankful —an
English-speaking native who might at least tell me
the meaning of all that I had gone through that day.
The crowd retreated to some distance as I
turned towards the miserable figure, and ordered
him to show me some method of escaping from
the crater. He held a freshly-plucked crow in his
hand, and in reply to my question climbed slowly
Ņ


176
THE STRANGE RIDE
to a platform of sand which ran in front of the
holes, and commenced lighting a fire there in
silence. Dried bents, sand-poppies, and drift-
wood burn quickly; and I derived much consolation
from the fact that he lit them with an ordinary
sulphur match. When they were in a bright glow
and the crow was neatly spitted in front thereof,
Gunga Dass began without a word of preamble :-
•There are only two kinds of men, Sar—the
alive and the dead. When you are dead you are
dead, but when you are alive you live. (Here
the crow demanded his attention for an instant as
it twirled before the fire in danger of being burnt
to a cinder.) If you die at home and do not die
when you come to the ghât to be burnt you come
here.'
The nature of the reeking village was made
plain now, and all that I had known or read of the
grotesque and the horrible paled before the fact
just communicated by the ex-Brahmin. Sixteen
years ago, when I first landed in Bombay, I had
been told by a wandering Armenian of the
existence, somewhere in India, of a place to which
such Hindus as had the misfortune to recover
from trance or catalepsy were conveyed and kept,
and I recollect laughing heartily at what I was then
pleased to consider a traveller's tale. Sitting at
the bottom of the sand-trap, the memory of
Watson's Hotel, with its swinging punkahs, white-
robed servants, and the sallow-faced Armenian,
rose up in my mind as vividly as a photograph,
and I burst into a loud fit of laughter. The
contrast was too absurd !


THE STRANGE RIDE
177
When you
Gunga Dass, as he bent over the unclean bird,
watched me curiously. Hindus seldom laugh, and
his surroundings were not such as to move him
that way. He removed the crow solemnly from
the wooden spit and as solemnly devoured it.
Then he continued his story, which I give in his
own words :
' In epidemics of the cholera you are carried to
be burnt almost before you are dead.
come to the riverside the cold air, perhaps, makes
you alive, and then, if you are only little alive,
mud is put on your nose and mouth and
you
die
conclusively. If you are rather more alive, more
mud is put; but if you are too lively they
let you go and take you away. I was too lively,
and made protestation with anger against the
indignities that they endeavoured to press upon
In those days I was Brahmin and proud man.
Now I am dead man and eat'—here he eyed the
well-gnawed breast-bone with the first sign of
emotion that I had seen in him since we met-
crows, and—other things. They took me from
my sheets when they saw that I was too lively and
gave me medicines for one week, and I survived
successfully. Then they sent me by rail from my
place to Okara Station, with a man to take care of
me; and at Okara Station we met two other men,
and they conducted we three on camels, in the
night, from Okara Station to this place, and they
propelled me from the top to the bottom, and the
other two succeeded, and I have been here ever
since two and a half years. Once I was Brahmin
and proud man, and now I eat crows.'
me.


178
THE STRANGE RIDE
• There is no way of getting out?
• None of what kind at all. When I first came
I made experiments frequently, and all the others
also, but we have always succumbed to the sand
which is precipitated upon our heads.'
* But surely,' I broke in at this point, the
river-front is open, and it is worth while dodging
the bullets; while at night-
I had already matured a rough plan of escape
which a natural instinct of selfishness forbade me
sharing with Gunga Dass. He, however, divined
my unspoken thought almost as soon as it was
formed; and, to my intense astonishment, gave
vent to a long low chuckle of derision— the
laughter, be it understood, of a superior or at
least of an equal.
*You will not’-he had dropped the Sir after
his first sentence—make any escape that way.
But you can try. I have tried. Once only.'
The sensation of nameless terror which I had in
vain attempted to strive against overmastered me
completely. My long fast—it was now close upon
ten o'clock, and I had eaten nothing since tiffin on
the previous day --- combined with the violent
agitation of the ride had exhausted me, and I
verily believe that, for a few minutes, I acted as
one mad. I hurled myself against the sand-slope.
I ran round the base of the crater, blaspheming
and praying by turns.
I crawled out among the
sedges of the river-front, only to be driven back
each time in an agony of nervous dread by the
rifle-bullets which cut up the sand round me-for
I dared not face the death of a mad dog among


THE STRANGE RIDE
179
that hideous crowd—and so fell, spent and raving,
at the curb of the well. No one had taken the
slightest notice of an exhibition which makes me
blush hotly even when I think of it now.
Two or three men trod on my panting body
as they drew water, but they were evidently used
to this sort of thing, and had no time to waste
upon me. Gunga Dass, indeed, when he had
banked the embers of his fire with sand, was at
some pains to throw half a cupful of fetid water
over my head, an attention for which I could have
fallen on my knees and thanked him, but he was
laughing all the while in the same mirthless,
wheezy key that greeted me on my first attempt
to force the shoals. And so, in a half-fainting
state, I lay till noon. Then, being only a man after
all, I felt hungry, and said as much to Gunga
Dass, whom I had begun to regard as my natural
protector. Following the impulse of the outer
world when dealing with natives, I put my hand
into my pocket and drew out four annas. The
absurdity of the gift struck me at once, and I was
about to replace the money.
Gunga Dass, however, cried : ‘Give me the
money, all you have, or I will get help, and we
will kill you !'
A Briton's first impulse, I believe, is to guard
the contents of his pockets ; but a moment's
thought showed me the folly of differing with the
one man who had it in his power to make me
comfortable ; and with whose help it was possible
that I might eventually escape from the crater. I
gave him all the money in my possession, Rs.9-8-5
>
:


180
THE STRANGE RIDE
—nine rupees, eight annas, and five pie—for I
always keep small change as bakshish when I am
in camp. Gunga Dass clutched the coins, and hid
them at once in his ragged loin-cloth, looking
round to assure himself that no one had observed
us.
· Now I will give you something to eat,' said he.
What pleasure my money could have given him
I am unable to say ; but inasmuch as it did please
him I was not sorry that I had parted with it so
readily, for I had no doubt that he would have
had me killed if I had refused. One does not
protest against the doings of a den of wild beasts;
and my companions were lower than any beasts.
While I ate what Gunga Dass had provided, a
coarse chapatti and a cupful of the foul well-water,
the people showed not the faintest sign of curiosity
--that curiosity which is so rampant, as a rule, in
an Indian village.
I could even fancy that they despised me. At
all events they treated me with the most chilling
indifference, and Gunga Dass was nearly as bad.
I plied him with questions about the terrible
village, and received extremely unsatisfactory
So far as I could gather, it had been
in existence from time immemorial—whence I
concluded that it was at least a century old—and
during that time no one had ever been known to
escape from it. [I had to control myself here with
both hands, lest the blind terror should lay hold of
me a second time and drive me raving round the
crater.] Gunga Dass took a malicious pleasure in
emphasising this point and in watching me wince.
answers.


THE STRANGE RIDE
181
Nothing that I could do would induce him to tell
me who the mysterious · They' were.
• It is so ordered,' he would reply, “and I do
not yet know any one who has disobeyed the
orders.'
Only wait till my servants find that I am
missing,' I retorted, and I promise you that this
place shall be cleared off the face of the earth, and
I'll give you a lesson in civility, too, my friend.'
Your servants would be torn in pieces before
they came near this place ; and, besides, you are
dead, my dear friend. It is not your fault, of
course, but none the less you are dead and buried.'
At irregular intervals supplies of food, I was
told, were dropped down from the land side into
the amphitheatre, and the inhabitants fought for
them like wild beasts. When a man felt his death
coming on he retreated to his lair and died there.
The body was sometimes dragged out of the hole
and thrown on to the sand, or allowed to rot
where it lay.
The phrase "thrown on to the sand' caught
my attention, and I asked Gunga Dass whether
this sort of thing was not likely to breed a
pestilence.
• That,' said he, with another of his wheezy
chuckles, you may see for yourself subsequently.
You will have much time to make observations.'
Whereat, to his great delight, I winced once
more and hastily continued the conversation :
· And how do you live here from day to day?
What do you do?' The question elicited exactly
the same answer as before-coupled with the


182
THE STRANGE RIDE
information that this place is like your European
heaven; there is neither marrying nor giving in
marriage.'
Gunga Dass had been educated at a Mission
School, and, as he himself admitted, had he only
changed his religion 'like a wise man,' might have
avoided the living grave which was now his
portion. But as long as I was with him I fancy
he was happy.
Here was a Sahib, a representative of the
dominant race, helpless as a child and completely
at the mercy of his native neighbours. In a
deliberate lazy way he set himself to torture me
as a schoolboy would devote a rapturous half-
hour to watching the agonies of an impaled beetle,
or as a ferret in a blind burrow might glue himself
comfortably to the neck of a rabbit. The burden
of his conversation was that there was no escape
of no kind whatever,' and that I should stay
here till I died and was thrown on to the sand.'
If it were possible to forejudge the conversation
of the Damned on the advent of a new soul in
their abode, I should say that they would speak
as Gunga Dass did to me throughout that long
afternoon. I was powerless to protest or answer ;
all my energies being devoted to a struggle against
the inexplicable terror that threatened to over-
whelm me again and again. I can compare the
feeling to nothing except the struggles of a man
against the overpowering nausea of the Channel
passage-only my agony was of the spirit and
infinitely more terrible.
As the day wore on, the inhabitants began to


THE STRANGE RIDE 183
1
appear in full strength to catch the rays of the
afternoon sun, which were now sloping in at the
mouth of the crater. They assembled by little
knots, and talked among themselves without even
throwing a glance in my direction. About four
o'clock, so far as I could judge, Gunga Dass rose
and dived into his lair for a moment, emerging
with a live crow in his hands. The wretched
bird was in a most draggled and deplorable
condition, but seemed to be in no way afraid of
its master. Advancing cautiously to the river-
front, Gunga Dass stepped from tussock to
tussock until he had reached a smooth patch of
sand directly in the line of the boat's fire. The
occupants of the boat took no notice. Here he
stopped, and, with a couple of dexterous turns of
the wrist, pegged the bird on its back with out-
stretched wings. As was only natural, the crow
began to shriek at once and beat the air with its
claws. In a few seconds the clamour had attracted
the attention of a bevy of wild crows on a shoal a
few hundred yards away, where they were discuss-
ing something that looked like a corpse. Half-a-
dozen crows flew over at once to see what was
going on, and also, as it proved, to attack the
pinioned bird. Gunga Dass, who had lain down
on a tussock, motioned to me to be quiet, though
I fancy this was a needless precaution.
moment, and before I could see how it happened,
a wild crow, which had grappled with the shrieking
and helpless bird, was entangled in the latter's
claws, swiftly disengaged by Gunga Dass, and
pegged down beside its companion in adversity.
In a


184
THE STRANGE RIDE
Curiosity, it seemed, overpowered the rest of the
flock, and almost before Gunga Dass and I had
time to withdraw to the tussock, two more
captives were struggling in the upturned claws
of the decoys. So the chase—if I can give it
so dignified a name—continued until Gunga Dass
had captured seven crows.
Five of them he
throttled at once, reserving two for further opera-
tions another day. I was a good deal impressed
by this, to me, novel method of securing food,
and complimented Gunga Dass on his skill.
• It is nothing to do,' said he.
«To-morrow
you must do it for me. You are stronger than I
am.'
This calm assumption of superiority upset me
not a little, and I answered peremptorily: 'Indeed,
you old ruffian? What do you think I have given
you money for?'
* Very well,' was the unmoved reply. “Perhaps
not to-morrow, nor the day after, nor subsequently;
but in the end, and for many years, you will catch
crows and eat crows, and you will thank your
European God that you have crows to catch and
eat.'
I could have cheerfully strangled him for this,
but judged it best under the circumstances to
smother my resentment. An hour later I was
eating one of the crows; and, as Gunga Dass had
said, thanking my God that I had a crow to eat.
Never as long as I live shall I forget that evening
meal. The whole population were squatting on
the hard sand platform opposite their dens, huddled
over tiny fires of refuse and dried rushes. Death,


THE STRANGE RIDE
185
having once laid his hand upon these men and
forborne to strike, seemed to stand aloof from
them now; for most of our company were old
men, bent and worn and twisted with
years,
and
women aged to all appearance as the Fates them-
selves. They sat together in knots and talked-
God only knows what they found to discussin
low equable tones, curiously in contrast to the
strident babble with which natives are accustomed
to make day hideous. Now and then an access of
that sudden fury which had possessed me in the
morning would lay hold on a man or woman; and
with yells and imprecations the sufferer would
attack the steep slope until, baffled and bleeding,
he fell back on the platform incapable of moving a
limb. The others would never even raise their
eyes when this happened, as men too well aware of
the futility of their fellows' attempts and wearied
with their useless repetition. I saw four such out-
bursts in the course of that evening.
Gunga Dass took an eminently business-like
view of my situation, and while we were dining-I
can afford to laugh at the recollection now, but it
was painful enough at the time-propounded the
terms on which he would consent to do’ for me.
My nine rupees eight annas, he argued, at the rate
of three annas a day, would provide me with food
for fifty-one days, or about seven weeks; that is
to say, he would be willing to cater for me for that
length of time.
of time. At the end of it I was to look
after myself. For a further consideration—videlicet
my boots—he would be willing to allow me to
occupy the den next to his own, and would supply


186
THE STRANGE RIDE
me with as much dried grass for bedding as he
could spare.
• Very well, Gunga Dass,' I replied ; 'to the
first terms I cheerfully agree, but, as there is
nothing on earth to prevent my killing you as you
sit here and taking everything that you have' (I
thought of the two invaluable crows at the time),
I flatly refuse to give you my boots and shall take
whichever den I please.
The stroke was a bold one, and I was glad when
I saw that it had succeeded. Gunga Dass changed
his tone immediately, and disavowed all intention
of asking for my boots.
boots. At the time it did not
strike me as at all strange that I, a Civil Engineer,
a man of thirteen years' standing in the Service,
and, I trust, an average Englishman, should thus
calmly threaten murder and violence against the
man who had, for a consideration it is true, taken
me under his wing. I had left the world, it seemed,
for centuries. I was as certain then as I am now
of my own existence, that in the accursed settle-
ment there was no law save that of the strongest ;
that the living dead men had thrown behind them
every canon of the world which had cast them out;
and that I had to depend for my own life on my
strength and vigilance alone. The crew of the
ill-fated Mignonette are the only men who would
understand my frame of mind. At present,' I
argued to myself, 'I am strong and a match for
six of these wretches. It is imperatively necessary
that I should, for my own sake, keep both health
and strength until the hour of my release comes—
if it ever does.'


THE STRANGE RIDE
187
Fortified with these resolutions, I ate and drank
as much as I could, and made Gunga Dass under-
stand that I intended to be his master, and that
the least sign of insubordination on his part would
be visited with the only punishment I had it in
my power to inflict — sudden and violent death.
Shortly after this I went to bed. That is to say,
Gunga Dass gave me a double armful of dried
bents which I thrust down the mouth of the lair to
the right of his, and followed myself, feet foremost;
the hole running about nine feet into the sand with
a slight downward inclination, and being neatly
shored with timbers. From my den, which faced
the river-front, I was able to watch the waters of
the Sutlej flowing past under the light of a young
moon and compose myself to sleep as best I might.
The horrors of that night I shall never forget.
My den was nearly as narrow as a coffin, and the
sides had been worn smooth and greasy by the
contact of innumerable naked bodies, added to
which it smelt abominably. Sleep was altogether
out of the question to one in my excited frame of
mind. As the night wore on, it seemed that the
entire amphitheatre was filled with legions of un-
clean devils that, trooping up from the shoals
below, mocked the unfortunates in their lairs.
Personally I am not of an imaginative tempera-
ment—very few Engineers are—but on that
occasion I was
as completely prostrated with
nervous terror as any woman.
After half an hour
or so, however, I was able once more to calmly
review my chances of escape. Any exit by the
steep sand walls was, of course, impracticable. I


188
THE STRANGE RIDE
had been thoroughly convinced of this some time
before. It was possible, just possible, that I might,
in the uncertain moonlight, safely run the gauntlet
of the rifle shots. The place was so full of terror
for me that I was prepared to undergo any risk in
leaving it. Imagine my delight, then, when after
creeping stealthily to the river-front I found that
the infernal boat was not there. My freedom lay
before me in the next few steps !
By walking out to the first shallow pool that
lay at the foot of the projecting left horn of the
horseshoe, I could wade across, turn the flank of
the crater, and make my way inland. Without a
moment's hesitation I marched briskly past the
tussocks where Gunga Dass had snared the crows,
and out in the direction of the smooth white sand
beyond. My first step from the tufts of dried
grass showed me how utterly futile was any hope
of escape ; for, as I put my foot down, I felt an
indescribable drawing, sucking motion of the
sand below. Another moment and my leg was
swallowed up nearly to the knee. In the moonlight
the whole surface of the sand seemed to be shaken
with devilish delight at my disappointment. I
struggled clear, sweating with terror and exertion,
back to the tussocks behind me and fell on my
face.
My only means of escape from the semicircle
was protected by a quicksand !
How long I lay I have not the faintest idea ;
but I was roused at last by the malevolent chuckle
of Gunga Dass at my ear.
"I would advise you,
Protector of the Poor' (the ruffian was speaking
!


THE STRANGE RIDE 189
English) 'to return to your house. It is unhealthy
to lie down here. Moreover, when the boat
returns you will most certainly be rifled at.' He
stood over me in the dim light of the dawn,
chuckling and laughing to himself
. Suppressing
my first impulse to catch the man by the neck and
throw him on to the quicksand, I rose sullenly
and followed him to the platform below the
burrows.
Suddenly, and futilely as I thought while I
spoke, I asked : Gunga Dass, what is the good of
the boat if I can't get out anyhow ?' I recollect
that even in my deepest trouble I had been specu-
lating vaguely on the waste of ammunition in
guarding an already well-protected foreshore.
Gunga Dass laughed again and made answer :
They have the boat only in daytime. It is for
the reason that there is a way. I hope we shall
have the pleasure of your company for much longer
time. It is a pleasant spot when you have been
here some years and eaten roast crow long enough.'
I staggered, numbed and helpless, towards the
fetid burrow allotted to me, and fell asleep. An
hour or so later I was awakened by a piercing
scream—the shrill, high-pitched scream of a horse
in pain. Those who have once heard that will
never forget the sound. I found some little diffi-
culty in scrambling out of the burrow. When I
was in the open, I saw Pornic, my poor old
Pornic, lying dead, on the sandy soil. How they
had killed him I cannot guess.
Gunga Dass
explained that horse was better than crow, and
'greatest good of greatest number is political


190 THE STRANGE RIDE
maxim. We are now Republic, Mister Jukes, and
you are entitled to a fair share of the beast. If
you like, we will pass a vote of thanks. Shall I
propose ?'
Yes, we were a Republic indeed! A Republic
of wild beasts penned at the bottom of a pit, to
eat and fight and sleep till we died. I attempted
no protest of any kind, but sat down and stared at
the hideous sight in front of me. In less time
almost than it takes me to write this, Pornic's
body was divided, in some unclean way or other ;
the men and women had dragged the fragments on
to the platform and were preparing their morning
meal. Gunga Dass cooked mine. The almost
irresistible impulse to fly at the sand walls until I
was wearied laid hold of me afresh, and I had to
struggle against it with all my might. Gunga
Dass was offensively jocular till 'I told him that if
he addressed another remark of any kind whatever
to me I should strangle him where he sat. This
silenced him till the silence became insupportable,
and I bade him say something.
*You will live here till you die like the other
Feringhi,' he said coolly, watching me over the
fragment of gristle that he was gnawing.
What other Sahib, you swine? Speak at once,
and don't stop to tell me a lie.'
· He is over there,' answered Gunga Dass, point-
ing to a burrow-mouth about four doors to the
left of my own. *You can see for yourself. He
died in the burrow as you will die, and I will die,
and as all these men and women and the one child
will also die.'


THE STRANGE RIDE
191
He was
For pity's sake tell me all you know about
him. Who was he? When did he come, and
when did he die?
This appeal was a weak step on my part.
Gunga Dass only leered and replied : ‘I will not
-unless you give me something first.'
Then I recollected where I was, and struck
the man between the eyes, partially stunning
him. He stepped down from the platform at
once, and, cringing and fawning and weeping and
attempting to embrace my feet, led me round to
the burrow which he had indicated.
'I know nothing whatever about the gentleman.
Your God be my witness that I do not.
as anxious to escape as you were, and he was shot
from the boat, though we all did all things to
prevent him from attempting. He was shot
here.' Gunga Dass laid his hand on his lean
stomach and bowed to the earth.
Well, and what then? Go on!'
"And then -- and then, Your Honour, we
carried him into his house and gave him water,
and put wet cloths on the wound, and he laid
down in his house and gave up the ghost.'
* In how long? In how long?'
About half an hour after he received his
wound. I call Vishnu to witness,' yelled the
wretched man, that I did everything for him.
Everything which was possible, that I did !'
He threw himself down on the ground and
clasped my ankles. But I had my doubts about
Gunga Dass's benevolence, and kicked him off as
he lay protesting
O


192
THE STRANGE RIDE
How long
“I believe you robbed him of everything he had.
But I can find out in a minute or two.
was the Sahib here?'
Nearly a year and a half. I think he must
have gone mad. But hear me swear, Protector of
the Poor! Won't Your Honour hear me swear
that I never touched an article that belonged to
him? What is Your Worship going to do?'
I had taken Gunga Dass by the waist and had
hauled him on to the platform opposite the deserted
burrow. As I did so I thought of my wretched
fellow-prisoner's unspeakable misery among all
these horrors for eighteen months, and the final
agony of dying like a rat in a hole, with a bullet-
wound in the stomach. Gunga Dass fancied I was
going to kill him and howled pitifully. The rest
of the population, in the plethora that follows a
full flesh meal, watched us without stirring.
'Go inside, Gunga Dass,' said I, “and fetch it
out.'
I was feeling sick and faint with horror now.
Gunga Dass nearly rolled off the platform and
howled aloud.
But I am Brahmin, Sahib-a high-caste
Brahmin. By your soul, by your father's soul, do
not make me do this thing !
• Brahmin or no Brahmin, by my soul and my
father's soul, in you go!' I said, and, seizing him
by the shoulders, I crammed his head into the
mouth of the burrow, kicked the rest of him in, and,
sitting down, covered my face with my hands.
At the end of a few minutes I heard a rustle
and a creak; then Gunga Dass in a sobbing, chok-
i


THE STRANGE RIDE
193
ing whisper speaking to himself; then a soft thud
-and I uncovered my eyes.
The dry sand had turned the corpse entrusted
to its keeping into a yellow-brown mummy.
I
told Gunga Dass to stand off while I examined it.
The body-clad in an olive-green hunting-suit
much stained and worn, with leather pads on the
shoulders—was that of a man between thirty and
forty, above middle height, with light sandy hair,
long moustache, and a rough unkempt beard.
The left canine of the upper jaw was missing, and
a portion of the lobe of the right ear was gone.
On the second finger of the left hand was a ring-
a shield-shaped bloodstone set in gold, with a
monogram that might have been either B. K.' or
*B. L. On the third finger of the right hand was
a silver ring in the shape of a coiled cobra, much
worn and tarnished. Gunga Dass deposited a
handful of trifles he had picked out of the burrow
at my feet, and, covering the face of the body with
my handkerchief, I turned to examine these. I
give the full list in the hope that it may lead to
the identification of the unfortunate man :-
1. Bowl of a briarwood pipe, serrated at the
edge; much worn and blackened ; bound with
string at the screw.
2. Two patent-lever keys; wards of both
broken.
3. Tortoise-shell-handled penknife, silver or
nickel, name-plate marked with monogram ‘B. K.'
4. Envelope, postmark undecipherable, bearing
a Victorian stamp, addressed to Miss Mon-
(rest illegible)— ham'— nt.'


194
THE STRANGE RIDE
a
5. Imitation crocodile-skin notebook with
pencil. First forty-five pages blank; four and a
half illegible ; fifteen others filled with private
memoranda relating chiefly to three persons-
Mrs. L. Singleton, abbreviated several times to‘Lot
Single,’ ‘Mrs. S. May,' and “Garmison,' referred
to in places as 'Jerry' or 'Jack.'
6. Handle of small-sized hunting-knife. Blade
snapped short. Buck's horn, diamond-cut, with
swivel and ring on the butt; fragment of cotton
cord attached,
It must not be supposed that I inventoried all
these things on the spot as fully as I have here
written them down. The notebook first attracted
my attention, and I put it in my pocket with a
view to studying it later on.
The rest of the
articles I conveyed to my burrow for safety's sake,
and there, being a methodical man, I inventoried
them. I then returned to the corpse and ordered
Gunga Dass to help me to carry it out to the
river-front. While we were engaged in this, the
exploded shell of an old brown cartridge dropped
out of one of the pockets and rolled at my feet.
Gunga Dass had not seen it; and I fell to thinking
that a man does not carry exploded cartridge-cases,
especially browns,' which will not bear loading
twice, about with him when shooting. In other
words, that cartridge-case had been fired inside the
crater. Consequently there must be a gun some-
where. I was on the verge of asking Gunga Dass,
but checked myself, knowing that he would lie.
We laid the body down on the edge of the quick-
sand by the tussocks. It was my intention to push


THE STRANGE RIDE
195
it out and let it be swallowed up—the only possible
mode of burial that I could think of. I ordered
Gunga Dass to go away.
Then I gingerly put the corpse out on the
quicksand. In doing so—it was lying face down-
ward—I tore the frail and rotten khaki shooting-
coat open, disclosing a hideous cavity in the back.
I have already told you that the dry sand had, as
it were, mummified the body. A moment's glance
showed that the gaping hole had been caused by a
gunshot wound, the gun must have been fired
with the muzzle almost touching the back. The
shooting-coat, being intact, had been drawn over
the body after death, which must have been
instantaneous. The secret of the poor wretch's
death was plain to me in a flash. Some one of the
crater, presumably Gunga Dass, must have shot
him with his own gun—the gun that fitted the
brown cartridges. He had never attempted to
escape in the face of the rifle-fire from the boat.
I pushed the corpse out hastily, and saw it sink
from sight literally in a few seconds. I shuddered
as I watched. In a dazed, half-conscious way I
turned to peruse the notebook. A stained and
discoloured slip of paper had been inserted between
the binding and the back, and dropped out as I
opened the pages. This is what it contained :
· Four out from crow-clump; three left; nine out;
two right; three back; two left; fourteen out; two
left; seven out; one left; nine back; two right;
six back; four right; seven back.' The
been burnt and charred at the edges. What it
meant I could not understand. I sat down on the
paper had


196 THE STRANGE RIDE
"Will you
1
dried bents turning it over and over between my
fingers, until I was aware of Gunga Dass standing
immediately behind me with glowing eyes and
outstretched hands.
· Have you got it?'' he panted.
not let me look at it also ? I swear that I will
return it.'
Got what? Return what?' I asked.
“That which you have in your hands. It will
help us both.' He stretched out his long bird-like
talons, trembling with eagerness.
'I could never find it,' he continued. "He had
secreted it about his person. Therefore I shot him,
but nevertheless I was unable to obtain it.'
Gunga Dass had quite forgotten his little fiction
about the rifle-bullet." I heard him calmly. Morality
is blunted by consorting with the Dead who are
alive.
•What on earth are you raving about? What
is it you want me to give you?'
“The piece of paper in the notebook. It will
help us both. Oh, you fool! You fool! Can
you not see what it will do for us? We shall
escape!'
His voice rose almost to a scream, and he danced
with excitement before me. I I
was moved
at the chance of getting away.
*Do you mean to say that this slip of paper
will
help us ? What does it mean?'
* Read it aloud! Read it aloud! I beg and I
pray to you to read it aloud.'
Í did so. Gunga Dass listened delightedly, and
drew an irregular line in the sand with his fingers.
1
1
1
own


198
THE STRANGE RIDE
P
1
1
In my frenzy of delight at the possibilities of
escape I recollect shaking
hands wildly with Gunga
Dass, after we had decided that we were to make an
attempt to get away that very night. It was weary
work waiting throughout the afternoon.
About ten o'clock, as far as I could judge, when
the moon had just risen above the lip of the crater,
Gunga Dass made a move for his burrow to bring
out the gun-barrels whereby to measure our path.
All the other wretched inhabitants had retired to
their lairs long ago. The guardian boat drifted
down-stream some hours before, and we were
utterly alone by the crow-clump. Gunga Dass,
while carrying the gun-barrels, let slip the piece of
paper which was to be our guide. I stooped down
hastily to recover it, and, as I did so, I was aware
that the creature was aiming a violent blow at the
back of my head with the gun-barrels. It was too
late to turn round. I must have received the blow
somewhere on the nape of my neck, for I fell
senseless at the edge of the quicksand.
When I recovered consciousness the moon was
going down, and I was sensible of intolerable pain
in the back of my head. Gunga Dass had dis-
appeared and my mouth was full of blood. I lay
down again and prayed that I might die without
more ado. Then the unreasoning fury which I
have before mentioned laid hold upon me, and I
staggered inland towards the walls of the crater.
It seemed that some one was calling to me in a
whisper— Sahib! Sahib! Sahib!' exactly as my
bearer used to call me in the mornings. I fancied
that I was delirious until a handful of sand fell at
1


THE STRANGE RIDE
199
my feet.
Then I looked up and saw a head peering
down into the amphitheatre—the head of Dunnoo,
my dog-boy, who attended to my collies. As soon
as he had attracted my attention, he held up
his
hand and showed a rope. I motioned, staggering
to and fro the while, that he should throw it down.
It was a couple of leather punkah-ropes knotted
together, with a loop at one end. I slipped the
loop over my head and under my arms; heard
Dunnoo urge something forward ; was conscious
that I was being dragged, face downward, up the
steep sand-slope, and the next instant found myself
choked and half-fainting on the sand-hills over-
looking the crater. Dunnoo, with his face ashy
gray in the moonlight, implored me not to stay,
but to get back to my tent at once.
It seems that he had tracked Pornic's footprints
fourteen miles across the sands to the crater; had
returned and told my servants, who flatly refused
to meddle with any one, white or black, once fallen
into the hideous Village of the Dead ; whereupon
Dunnoo had taken one of my ponies and a couple
of punkah ropes, returned to the crater, and hauled
me out as I have described.


The Man who would be King
Brother to a Prince and fellow to a beggar if he be found
worthy
The Law, as quoted, lays down a fair conduct of
life, and one not easy to follow. I have been fellow
to a beggar again and again under circumstances
which prevented either of us finding out whether
the other was worthy. I have still to be brother
to a Prince, though I once came near to kinship
with what might have been a veritable King, and
was promised the reversion of a Kingdom-army,
law-courts, revenue, and policy all complete. But,
to-day, I greatly fear that my King is dead, and if
I want a crown I must go hunt it for myself.
The beginning of everything was in a railway
train
upon the road to Mhow from Ajmir. There
had been a Deficit in the Budget, which necessitated
travelling, not Second-class, which is only half as
dear as First-class, but by Intermediate, which is
very awful indeed. There are no cushions in the
Intermediate class, and the population are either
Intermediate, which is Eurasian, or native, which
for a long night journey is nasty, or Loafer, which
is amusing though intoxicated. Intermediates do


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
201
not buy from refreshment-rooms. They carry their
food in bundles and pots, and buy sweets from the
native sweetmeat-sellers, and drink the road-side
water. That is why in the hot weather Intermediates
are taken out of the carriages dead, and in all
weathers are most properly looked down upon.
My particular Intermediate happened to be
empty till I reached Nasirabad, when a big black-
browed gentleman in shirt-sleeves entered, and,
following the custom of Intermediates, passed the
time of day. He was a wanderer and a vagabond
like myself, but with an educated taste for whisky.
He told tales of things he had seen and done, of
out-of-the-way corners of the Empire into which
he had penetrated, and of adventures in which he
risked his life for a few days' food.
If India was filled with men like you and me,
not knowing more than the crows where they'd get
their next day's rations, it isn't seventy millions
of revenue the land would be paying—it's seven
hundred millions,' said he ; and as I looked at his
mouth and chin I was disposed to agree with him.
We talked politics—the politics of Loaferdom,
that sees things from the underside where the lath
and plaster is not smoothed off—and we talked
postal arrangements because my friend wanted to
send a telegram back from the next station to
Ajmir, the turning-off place from the Bombay to
the Mhow line as you travel westward.
had no money beyond eight annas, which he wanted
for dinner, and I had no money at all, owing to the
hitch in the Budget before mentioned. Further, I
was going into a wilderness where, though I should
My friend


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 203
where to go.
my friend here. I must give him a word o' mouth
to tell him what's come to me or else he won't know
I would take it more than kind of you
if
you was to come out of Central India in time to
catch him at Marwar Junction, and say to him :
“ He has gone South for the week.” He'll know
what that means. He's a big man with a red beard,
and a great swell he is. You'll find him sleeping
like a gentleman with all his luggage round him in
a Second-class compartment.
But don't you be
afraid. Slip down the window, and say: "He has
gone South for the week,” and he'll tumble. It's
only cutting your time of stay in those parts by two
days. I ask you as a stranger-going to the West,'
he said with emphasis.
•Where have you come from?' said I.
• From the East,' said he. ' and I am hoping that
you will give him the message on the Square—for
the sake of my Mother as well as your own.' '
Englishmen are not usually softened by appeals
to the memory of their mothers, but for certain
reasons, which will be fully apparent, I saw fit to
agree.
It's more than a little matter,' said he, and
that's why I asked you to do it—and now I know
that I can depend on you doing it. A Second-class
carriage at Marwar Junction, and a red-haired man
asleep in it. You'll be sure to remember. I get
out at the next station, and I must hold on there till
he comes or sends me what I want.'
* I'll give the message if I catch him,' I said,
' and for the sake of your Mother as well as mine
I'll give you a word of advice. Don't try to run the


204 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
Central India States just now as the correspondent
of the Backwoodsman. There's a real one knocking
about here, and it might lead to trouble.'
• Thank you,' said he simply, “and when will the
swine be gone? I can't starve because he's ruining
my work. I wanted to get hold of the Degumber
Rajah down here about his father's widow, and
give him a jump.'
• What did he do to his father's widow, then?'
*Filled her up with red pepper and slippered
her to death as she hung from a beam. I found
that out myself, and I'm the only man that would
dare going into the State to get hush-money for it.
They'll try to poison me, same as they did in
Chortumna when I went on the loot there. But
you'll give the man at Marwar Junction my
message?'
He got out at a little roadside station, and I
reflected. I had heard, more than once, of men
personating correspondents of newspapers and
bleeding small Native States with threats of ex-
posure, but I had never met any of the caste before.
They led a hard life, and generally die with great
suddenness. The Native States have a wholesome
horror of English newspapers which may throw
light on their peculiar methods of government, and
do their best to choke correspondents with cham-
pagne, or drive them out of their mind with four-
in-hand barouches. They do not understand that
nobody cares a straw for the internal administration
of Native States so long as oppression and crime
are kept within decent limits, and the ruler is not
drugged, drunk, or diseased from one end of the


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 205
year to the other. They are the dark places of
the earth, full of unimaginable cruelty, touching the
Railway and the Telegraph on one side, and, on
the other, the days of Harun-al-Raschid. When I
left the train I did business with divers Kings, and
in eight days passed through many changes of life.
Sometimes I wore dress-clothes and consorted with
Princes and Politicals, drinking from crystal and
eating from silver. Sometimes I lay out upon the
ground and devoured what I could get, from a
plate made of leaves, and drank the running water,
and slept under the same rug as my servant.
It
was all in the day's work.
Then I headed for the Great Indian Desert
upon
the proper date, as I had promised, and the night
Mail set me down at Marwar Junction, where a
funny, little, happy-go-lucky, native-managed rail-
way runs to Jodhpore. The Bombay Mail from
Delhi makes a short halt at Marwar. She arrived
as I got in, and I had just time to hurry to her
platform and go down the carriages. There was
only one Second-class on the train. I slipped the
window and looked down upon a flaming red beard,
half covered by a railway rug. That was my man,
fast asleep, and I dug him gently in the ribs. He
woke with a grunt, and I saw his face in the light
of the lamps. It was a great and shining face.
• Tickets again? ' said he.
'No,' said I. "I am to tell
you
that he is
gone
South for the week. He has gone South for the
week!'
The train had begun to move out. The red
man rubbed his eyes. *He has gone South for


206 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
the week,' he repeated. Now that's just like his
impidence. Did he say that I was to give you
anything? 'Cause I won't.'
• He didn't,' I said, and dropped away, and
watched the red lights die out in the dark. It
was horribly cold because the wind was blowing
off the sands. I climbed into my own train—not
an Intermediate Carriage this time—and went to
sleep.
If the man with the beard had given me a
rupee
I should have kept it as a memento of a
rather curious affair. But the consciousness of
having done my duty was my only reward.
Later on I reflected that two gentlemen like
my friends could not do any good if they for-
gathered and personated correspondents of news-
papers, and might, if they black-mailed one of the
little rat-trap states of Central India or Southern
Rajputana, get themselves into serious difficulties.
I therefore took some trouble to describe them as
accurately as I could remember to people who
would be interested in deporting them; and suc-
ceeded, so I was later informed, in having them
headed back from the Degumber borders.
Then I became respectable, and returned to an
Office where there were no Kings and no incidents
outside the daily manufacture of a newspaper. A
newspaper office seems to attract every conceivable
sort of person, to the prejudice of discipline.
Zenana-mission ladies arrive, and beg that the
Editor will instantly abandon all his duties to
describe a Christian prize-giving in a back-slum
of a perfectly inaccessible village ; Colonels who


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 207
have been overpassed for command sit down and
sketch the outline of a series of ten, twelve, or
twenty-four leading articles on Seniority versus
Selection ; Missionaries wish to know why they
have not been permitted to escape from their
regular vehicles of abuse and swear at a brother-
missionary under special patronage of the editorial
We; stranded theatrical companies troop up to
explain that they cannot pay for their advertise-
ments, but on their return from New Zealand or
Tahiti will do so with interest; inventors of patent
punkah-pulling machines, carriage couplings, and
unbreakable swords and axle-trees, call with speci-
fications in their pockets and hours at their dis-
posal ; tea-companies enter and elaborate their
prospectuses with the office pens; secretaries of
ball-committees clamour to have the glories of
their last dance more fully described ; strange
ladies rustle in and say, 'I want a hundred lady's
cards printed at once, please,' which is manifestly
part of an Editor's duty; and every dissolute
ruffian that ever tramped the Grand Trunk Road
makes it his business to ask for employment as a
proof-reader. And, all the time, the telephone-
bell is ringing madly, and Kings are being killed
on the Continent, and Empires are saying, “You're
another, and Mister Gladstone is calling down
brimstone upon the British Dominions, and the
little black copy-boys are whining, kaa-pi chay-
ha-yeh' (copy wanted) like tired bees, and most
of the paper is as blank as Modred's shield.
But that is the amusing part of the year.
There are six other months when none ever comes
P


208 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
to call, and the thermometer walks inch by inch
up to the top of the glass, and the office is
darkened to just above reading-light, and the
press-machines are red-hot of touch, and nobody
writes anything but accounts of amusements in
the Hill-stations or obituary notices. Then the
telephone becomes a tinkling terror, because it
tells
you
of the sudden deaths of men and women
that you knew intimately, and the prickly-heat
covers you with a garment, and you sit down and
write: 'A slight increase of sickness is reported
from the Khuda Janta Khan District. The out-
break is purely sporadic in its nature, and, thanks
to the energetic efforts of the District authorities,
is now almost at an end. It is, however, with
deep regret we record the death, etc.'
Then the sickness really breaks out, and the
less recording and reporting the better for the
peace of the subscribers. But the Empires and
the Kings continue to divert themselves as selfishly
as before, and the Foreman thinks that a daily
paper really ought to come out once in twenty-
four hours, and all the people at the Hill-stations
in the middle of their amusements say: ‘Good
gracious! Why can't the paper be sparkling?
I'm sure there's plenty going on up here.
That is the dark half of the moon, and, as the
advertisements say, “must be experienced to be
appreciated.
It was in that season, and a remarkably evil
season, that the paper began running the last issue
of the week on Saturday night, which is to say
Sunday morning, after the custom of a London


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 209
paper. This was a great convenience, for imme-
diately after the paper was put to bed, the dawn
would lower the thermometer from 96° to almost
84° for half an hour, and in that chill-you have
no idea how cold is 84º on the grass until you
begin to pray for it-a very tired man could get
off to sleep ere the heat roused him.
One Saturday night it was my pleasant duty to
put the paper to bed alone. A King'or courtier
or a courtesan or a Community was going to die
or get a new Constitution, or do something that
was important on the other side of the world, and
the paper was to be held open till the latest
possible minute in order to catch the telegram.
It was a pitchy black night, as stifling as a June
night can be, and the loo, the red-hot wind from
the westward, was booming among the tinder-dry
trees and pretending that the rain was on its heels.
Now and again a spot of almost boiling water
would 'fall on the dust with the flop of a frog, but
all our weary world knew that was only pretence.
It was a shade cooler in the press-room than the
office, so I sat there, while the type ticked and
clicked, and the night-jars hooted at the windows,
and the all but naked compositors wiped the sweat
from their foreheads, and called for water. The
thing that was keeping us back, whatever it was,
would not come off, though the loo dropped and
the last type was set, and the whole round earth
stood still in the choking heat, with its finger
on its lip, to wait the event. I drowsed, and
wondered whether the telegraph was a blessing,
and whether this dying man, or struggling people,


210 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
might be aware of the inconvenience the delay was
causing. There was no special reason beyond the
heat and worry to make tension, but, as the
clock-hands crept up to three o'clock, and the
machines spun their fly-wheels two or three times
to see that all was in order before I said the word
that would set them off, I could have shrieked
aloud.
Then the roar and rattle of the wheels shivered
the quiet into little bits. I rose to go away,
but
two men in white clothes stood in front of me.
The first one said : It's him!' The second said:
"So it is!' And they both laughed almost as
loudly as the machinery roared, and mopped their
foreheads. "We seed there was a light burning
across the road, and we were sleeping in that ditch
there for coolness, and I said to my friend here,
The office is open. Let's come along and speak
to him as turned us back from the Degumber
State,' said the smaller of the two. He was the
man I had met in the Mhow train, and his fellow
was the red-bearded man of Marwar Junction.
There was no mistaking the eyebrows of the one
or the beard of the other.
I was not pleased, because I wished to go to
sleep, not to squabble with loafers. What do you
want?' I asked.
"Half an hour's talk with you, cool and
comfortable, in the office,' said the red-bearded
• We'd like some drink -- the Contrack
doesn't begin yet, Peachey, so you needn't look-
but what we really want is advice. We don't
want money.
We ask you as a favour, because
man.


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 211
C
we found out you did us a bad turn about De-
gumber State.
I led from the press-room to the stifling office
with the maps on the walls, and the red-haired
man rubbed his hands. “That's something like,'
said he. * This was the proper shop to come to.
Now, Sir, let me introduce to you Brother Peachey
Carnehan, that's him, and Brother Daniel Dravot,
that is me, and the less said about our professions
the better, for we have been most things in our
time. Soldier, sailor, compositor, photographer,
proof-reader, street-preacher, and correspondents
of the Backwoodsman when we thought the paper
wanted one.
Carnehan is sober, and so am I.
Look at us first, and see that's sure.
It will save
you cutting into my talk. We'll take one of
your cigars apiece, and you shall see us light up.'
I watched the test. The men were absolutely
sober, so I gave them each a tepid whisky and
soda.
Well and good,' said Carnehan of the eye-
brows, wiping the froth from his moustache.
· Let me talk now, Dan. We have been all over
India, mostly on foot. We have been boiler-
fitters, engine-drivers, petty contractors, and all
that, and we have decided that India isn't big
enough for such as us.'
They certainly were too big for the office.
Dravot's beard seemed to fill half the room and
Carnehan's shoulders the other half, as they sat on
the big table. Carnehan continued: “The country
isn't half worked out because they that governs it
won't let you touch it. They spend all their


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 213
If you
men can always be a King. We shall go to those
parts and say to any King we find—“D’you want
to vanquish your foes ?” and we will show him
how to drill men ; for that we know better than
anything else. Then we will subvert that King
and seize his Throne and establish a Dy-nasty.”
"You'll be cut to pieces before you're fifty miles
across the Border,' I said. You have to travel
through Afghanistan to get to that country. It's
one mass of mountains and peaks and glaciers, and
no Englishman has been through it. The people
are utter brutes, and even if you reached them
you couldn't do anything.'
“That's more like,' said Carnehan.
could think us a little more mad we would be
more pleased. We have come to you to know
about this country, to read a book about it, and to
be shown maps. We want you to tell us that we
are fools and to show us your books.' He turned
to the bookcases.
Are you at all in earnest?' I said.
A little,' said Dravot sweetly. “As big a map
as you have got, even if it's all blank where
Kafiristan is, and any books you've got. We can
read, though we aren't very educated.'
I uncased the big thirty-two-miles-to-the-inch
map of India, and two smaller Frontier maps,
hauled down volume INF-KAN of the Encyclo-
pædia Britannica, and the men consulted them.
See here !' said Dravot, his thumb on the map.
•Up to Jagdallak, Peachey and me know the
road. We was there with Roberts’ Army. We'll
have to turn off to the right at Jagdallak through


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 215
Next week we shall be hard at work ourselves,
thank you,' said Dravot. • It isn't so easy being a
King as it looks. When we've got our Kingdom
in going order we'll let you know, and you can
come up and help us to govern it.'
· Would two lunatics make a contrack like
that ?' said Carnehan, with subdued pride, showing
me a greasy half-sheet of notepaper on which was
written the following. I copied it, then and there,
as a curiosity-
This Contract between me and you persuing
witnesseth in the name of God-Amen and so forth.
(One) That me and you will settle this matter
together ; i.e. to be Kings of Kafiristan.
(Two) That you and me will not, while this
matter is being settled, look at any
Liquor, nor any Woman black, white, or
brown, so as to get mixed up with one
or the other harmful.
(Three) That we conduct ourselves with Dignity
and Discretion, and if one of us gets
into trouble the other will stay by him.
Signed by you and me this day.
Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan.
Daniel Dravot.
Both Gentlemen at Large.
“There was no need for the last article,' said
Carnehan, blushing modestly ; “but it looks
regu-
lar. Now you know the sort of men that loafers
are— we are loafers, Dan, until we get out of
India—and do you think that we would sign a


216 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
Be
Contrack like that unless we was in earnest ? We
have kept away from the two things that make
life worth having.'
*You won't enjoy your lives much longer if
you are going to try this idiotic adventure. Don't
set the office on fire,' I said, “and go away before
nine o'clock.'
I left them still poring over the maps and
making notes on the back of the “Contrack.
sure to come down to the Serai to-morrow,' were
their parting words.
The Kumharsen Serai is the great four-square
sink of humanity where the strings of camels and
horses from the North load and unload. All the
nationalities of Central Asia may be found there,
,
and most of the folk of India proper. Balkh and
Bokhara there meet Bengal and Bombay, and try
to draw eye-teeth. You can buy ponies, turquoises,
Persian pussy-cats, saddle-bags, fat-tailed sheep and
musk in the Kumharsen Serai, and get many
strange things for nothing. In the afternoon Í
went down to see whether my friends intended
to keep their word or were lying there drunk.
A priest attired in fragments of ribbons and
rags stalked up to me, gravely twisting a child's
paper whirligig. Behind him was his servant
bending under the load of a crate of mud toys.
The two were loading up two camels, and the
inhabitants of the Serai watched them with shrieks
of laughter.
• The priest is mad,' said a horse-dealer to me.
*He is going up to Kabul to sell toys to the
Amir. He will either be raised to honour or have


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 217
'
his head cut off. He came in here this morning
and has been behaving madly ever since.'
“The witless are under the protection of God,'
stammered a flat-cheeked Usbeg in broken Hindi.
"They foretell future events.'
“Would they could have foretold that my
caravan would have been cut up by the Shinwaris
almost within shadow of the Pass !' grunted the
Eusufzai agent of a Rajputana trading-house
whose goods had been diverted into the hands of
other robbers just across the Border, and whose
misfortunes were the laughing-stock of the bazar.
"Ohé, priest, whence come you and whither do you
go?
• From Roum have I come,' shouted the priest,
waving his whirligig ; 'from Roum, blown by the
breath of a hundred devils across the sea ! O
thieves, robbers, liars, the blessing of Pir Khan on
pigs, dogs, and perjurers ! Who will take the
Protected of God to the North to sell charms that
are never still to the Amir? The camels shall not
gall, the sons shall not fall sick, and the wives
shall remain faithful while they are away, of the
men who give me place in their caravan. Who
will assist me to slipper the King of the Roos with
a golden slipper with a silver heel?
tection of Pir Khan be upon his labours !' He
spread out the skirts of his gaberdine and pirouetted
between the lines of tethered horses.
"There starts a caravan from Peshawar to
Kabul in twenty days, Huzrut,' said the Eusufzai
trader. “My camels go
therewith. Do thou also
go and bring us good luck.'
The pro-


218 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
let me first mount my own.'
‘I will go even now !’ shouted the priest. “I
will depart upon my winged camels, and be at
Peshawar in a day! Ho! Hazar Mir Khan,'
he yelled to his servant, 'drive out the camels, but
>
at
He leaped on the back of his beast as it knelt,
and, turning round to me, cried : Come thou also,
Sahib, a little along the road, and I will sell thee a
charm-an amulet that shall make thee King of
Kafiristan.
Then the light broke upon me, and I followed
the two camels
out of the Serai till we reached open
road and the priest halted.
•What d'you think o' that ?' said he in English.
Carnehan can't talk their patter, so I've made
him my servant. He makes a handsome servant.
'Tisn't for nothing that I've been knocking about
the country for fourteen years. Didn't I do that
talk neat? We'll hitch on to a caravan
Peshawar till we get to Jagdallak, and then we'll
see if we can get donkeys for our camels, and
strike into Kafiristan. Whirligigs for the Amir, O
Lor! Put your hand under the camel-bags and
tell me what you feel. '
I felt the butt of a Martini, and another and
another.
“Twenty of 'em,' said Dravot placidly. "Twenty
of 'em and ammunition to correspond, under the
whirligigs and the mud dolls.'
Heaven help you if you are caught with those
things !' I said. A Martini is worth her weight
in silver among the Pathans.'
· Fifteen hundred rupees of capital—every rupee


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 219
we could beg, borrow, or steal—are invested on
these two camels,' said Dravot.
"We won't get
caught. We're going through the Khaiber with
a regular caravan. Who'd touch a poor mad
priest?'
Have you got everything you want? 'I asked,
overcome with astonishment.
· Not yet, but we shall soon. Give us a memento
of your kindness, Brother. You did me a service,
yesterday, and that time in Marwar. Half my
Kingdom shall you have, as the saying is.' I
slipped a small charm compass from my watch-
chain and handed it up to the priest.
'Good-bye,” said Dravot, giving me hand
cautiously. It's the last time we'll shake hands
with an Englishman these many days. Shake
hands with him, Carnehan,' he cried, as the second
camel passed me.
Carnehan leaned down and shook hands. Then
the camels passed away along the dusty road, and
I was left alone to wonder. My eye could detect
no failure in the disguises. The scene in the Serai
proved that they were complete to the native mind.
There was just the chance, therefore, that Carnehan
and Dravot would be able to wander through
Afghanistan without detection. But, beyond, they
would find death-certain and awful death.
Ten days later a native correspondent giving me
the news of the day from Peshawar, wound up his
letter with : “There has been much laughter here
on account of a certain mad priest who is going in
his estimation to sell petty gauds and insignificant
trinkets which he ascribes as great charms to H.H.


220 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
the Amir of Bokhara. He passed through Peshawar
and associated himself to the Second Summer cara-
van that goes to Kabul. The merchants are pleased
because through superstition they imagine that such
mad fellows bring good fortune.'
The two, then, were beyond the Border. I
would have prayed for them, but, that night, a real
King died in Europe, and demanded an obituary
notice.
The wheel of the world swings through the
same phases again and again. Summer passed and
winter thereafter, and came and passed again. The
daily paper continued and I with it, and upon the
third summer there fell a hot night, a night-issue,
and a strained waiting for something to be tele-
graphed from the other side of the world, exactly
as had happened before. A few great men had
died in the past two years, the machines worked
with more clatter, and some of the trees in the
office garden were a few feet taller. But that was
all the difference.
I passed over to the press-room, and went
through just such a scene as I have already de-
scribed. The nervous tension was stronger than it
had been two years before, and I felt the
heat more
acutely. At three o'clock I cried, “Print off,' and
turned to go, when there crept to my chair what
was left of a man. He was bent into a circle, his
head was sunk between his shoulders, and he
moved his feet one over the other like a bear. I
could hardly see whether he walked or crawled-
this rag-wrapped, whining cripple who addressed


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 221
me by name, crying that he was come back. Can
you give me a drink ?' he whimpered. For the
Lord's sake give me a drink!'
I went back to the office, the man following
with
groans
of pain, and I turned up the lamp.
*Don't you know me?' he gasped, dropping
into a chair, and he turned his drawn face, sur-
mounted by a shock of gray hair, to the light.
I looked at him intently. Once before had I
seen eyebrows that met over the nose in an inch-
broad black band, but for the life of me I could
not tell where.
I don't know you,' I said, handing him the
whisky. What can I do for
you
??
He took a gulp of the spirit raw, and shivered
in spite of the suffocating heat.
*I've come back,' he repeated ; ‘and I was the
King of Kafiristan-me and Dravot-crowned
Kings we was! In this office we settled it--you
setting there and giving us the books. I am
Peachey-Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan, and you've
been setting here ever since-O Lord !'
I was more than a little astonished, and ex-
pressed my feelings accordingly.
* It's true,' said Carnehan, with a dry cackle,
nursing his feet, which were wrapped in rags.
'True as gospel. Kings we were, with crowns
upon our heads—me and Dravot-poor Dan-oh,
poor, poor Dan, that would never take advice, not
though I begged of him!'
• Take the whisky,' I said, and take your own
time. Tell me all you can recollect of everything
from beginning to end. You got across the Border


222 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
It was
on your camels, Dravot dressed as a mad priest
and
you
his servant. Do you remember that? '
· I ain't mad-yet, but I shall be that way soon.
Of course I remember. Keep looking at me, or
maybe my words will go all to pieces. Keep look-
ing at me in my eyes and don't say anything.'
I leaned forward and looked into his face as
steadily as I could. He dropped one hand upon
the table and I grasped it by the wrist.
twisted like a bird's claw, and upon the back was a
ragged red diamond-shaped scar.
No, don't look there. Look at me,' said
Carnehan. That comes afterwards, but for the
Lord's sake don't distrack me. We left with that
caravan, me and Dravot playing all sorts of antics
to amuse the people we were with. Dravot used
to make us laugh in the evenings when all the
people was cooking their dinners
— cooking their
dinners, and what did they do then? They
lit little fires with sparks that went into Dravot's
beard, and we all laughed—fit to die. Little red
fires they was, going into Dravot's big red beard
--So funny.' His eyes left mine and he smiled
foolishly.
*You went as far as Jagdallak with that
caravan,' I said at a venture, after you had lit
those fires. To Jagdallak, where you turned off
to try to get into Kafiristan.'
No, we didn't neither. What are you talking
about? We turned off before Jagdallak, because
we heard the roads was good. But they wasn't
good enough for our two camels — mine and
Dravot's. When we left the caravan, Dravot
.


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 223
So we
took off all his clothes and mine too, and said
we would be heathen, because the Kafirs didn't
allow Mohammedans to talk to them.
dressed betwixt and between, and such a sight as
Daniel Dravot I never saw yet nor expect to see
again. He burned half his beard, and slung a
sheep-skin over his shoulder, and shaved his head
into patterns. He shaved mine, too, and made
me wear outrageous things to look like a heathen.
That was in a most mountaineous country, and
our camels couldn't go along any more because
of the mountains. They were tall and black, and
coming home I saw them fight like wild goats-
there are lots of goats in Kafiristan. And these
mountains, they never keep still, no more than the
goats. Always fighting they are, and don't let
you sleep at night.
“Take some more whisky,' I said very slowly.
•What did you and Daniel Dravot do when the
camels could go no farther because of the rough
roads that led into Kafiristan?'
• What did which do? There was a party
called Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan that was with
Dravot. Shall I tell you about him? He died
out there in the cold. Slap from the bridge fell
old Peachey, turning and twisting in the air like a
penny whirligig that you can sell to the Amir.-
No; they was two for three-ha'pence, those
whirligigs, or I am much mistaken and woful
And then these camels were no use,
and Peachey said to Dravot—“For the Lord's
sake let's get out of this before our heads are
chopped off,” and with that they killed the camels
Q
sore.


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 225
We sat upon the boxes, and played odd and even
with the cartridges that was jolted out.
Then ten men with bows and arrows ran
down that valley, chasing twenty men with bows
and arrows, and the row was tremenjus. They
was fair men—fairer than you or me—with yellow
hair and remarkable well built. Says Dravot,
unpacking the
guns—"
“ This is the beginning of
the business. We'll fight for the ten men,” and
with that he fires two rifles at the twenty men,
and drops one of them at two hundred yards from
the rock where he was sitting. The other men
began to run, but Carnehan and Dravot sits on
the boxes picking them off at all ranges, up
and down the valley. Then we goes up to the
ten men that had run across the snow too, and
they fires a footy little arrow at us. Dravot he
shoots above their heads and they all falls down
flat. Then he walks over them and kicks them,
and then he lifts them up and shakes hands all
round to make them friendly like. He calls them
and gives them the boxes to carry, and waves his
hand for all the world as though he was King
already. They takes the boxes and him across
the valley and up the hill into a pine wood on
the top, where there was half-a-dozen big stone
idols. Dravot he goes to the biggest—a fellow
they call Imbra—and lays a rifle and a cartridge
at his feet, rubbing his nose respectful with his
own nose, patting him on the head, and saluting
in front of it. He turns round to the men and
nods his head, and says—“That's all right. I'm
in the know too, and all these old jim-jams are


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 227
little milk on the ground and waves his arms like
a whirligig, and “That's all right,” says he. Then
he and Carnehan takes the big boss of each village
by the arm and walks them down into the valley,
and shows them how to scratch a line with a spear
right down the valley, and gives each a sod of turf
from both sides of the line. Then all the people
comes down and shouts like the devil and all, and
Dravot says “Go and dig the land, and be
fruitful and multiply,” which they did, though
they didn't understand. Then we asks the names
of things in their lingo—bread and water and fire
and idols and such, and Dravot leads the priest of
each village up to the idol, and says he must sit
there and judge the people, and if anything goes
wrong he is to be shot.
"Next week they was all turning up the land in
the valley as quiet as bees and much prettier, and
the priests heard all the complaints and told Dravot
in dumb show what it was about.
“ That's just
the beginning,” says Dravot. “They think we're
Gods. He and Carnehan picks out twenty good
men and shows them how to click off a rifle, and
form fours, and advance in line, and they was
very pleased to do so, and clever to see the hang
of it. Then he takes out his pipe and his baccy-
pouch and leaves one at one village, and one at the
other, and off we two goes to see what was to be
done in the next valley. That was all rock, and
there was a little village there, and Carnehan says-
“ Send 'em to the old valley to plant,” and takes
'em there, and gives 'em some land that wasn't took
before. They were a poor lot, and we blooded


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 229
we three Martinis firing into the brown of the
enemy. So we took that village too, and I gives
the Chief a rag from my coat and says, “Occupy
till I come ” ; which was scriptural. By way of a
reminder, when me and the Army was eighteen
hundred yards away, I drops a bullet near him
standing on the snow, and all the people falls flat
on their faces. Then I sends a letter to Dravot
wherever he be by land or by sea.'
At the risk of throwing the creature out of
train I interrupted— How could you write a letter
up yonder ?'
The letter ?-Oh!--The letter! Keep look-
ing at me between the eyes, please. It was a
string-talk letter, that we'd learned the way of it
from a blind beggar in the Punjab.'
I remember that there had once come to the
office a blind man with a knotted twig and a piece
of string which he wound round the twig according
to some cipher of his own. He could, after the
lapse of days or hours, repeat the sentence which
he had reeled up. He had reduced the alphabet to
eleven primitive sounds, and tried to teach me his
method, but I could not understand.
'I sent that letter to Dravot,' said Carnehan;
« and told him to come back because this Kingdom
was growing too big for me to handle, and then I
struck for the first valley, to see how the priests
were working. They called the village we took
along with the Chief, Bashkai, and the first village
we took, Er-Heb. The priests at Er-Heb was
doing all right, but they had a lot of pending cases
about land to show me, and some men from


230 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
another village had been firing arrows at night. I
went out and looked for that village, and fired four
rounds at it from a thousand yards. That used all
the cartridges I cared to spend, and I waited for
Dravot, who had been away two or three months,
and I kept my people quiet.
•One morning I heard the devil's own noise of
drums and horns, and Dan Dravot marches down
the hill with his Army and a tail of hundreds of
men, and, which was the most amazing, a great
gold crown on his head. “My Gord, Carnehan,"
says Daniel, “this is a tremenjus business, and
we've got the whole country as far as it's worth
having. I am the son of Alexander by Queen
Semiramis
, and you're my younger brother and a
God too! It's the biggest thing we've ever seen.
I've been marching and fighting for six weeks with
the Army, and every footy little village for fifty
miles has come in rejoiceful ; and more than that,
I've
got the key of the whole show, as you'll see,
and I've got a crown for you! I told 'em to
make two of 'em at a place called Shu, where the
gold lies in the rock like suet in mutton. Gold I've
seen, and turquoise I've kicked out of the cliffs, and
there's garnets in the sands of the river, and here's a
chunk of amber that a man brought me.
all the priests and, here, take your crown.”
*One of the men opens a black hair bag, and I
slips the crown on. It was too small and too
heavy, but I wore it for the glory. Hammered
gold' it was—five pound weight, like a hoop of a
barrel.
Peachey,” says Dravot, “we don't want to
Call up


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 231
« A
fight no more. The Craft's the trick, so help me!”
and he brings forward that same Chief that I left at
Bashkai — Billy Fish we called him afterwards,
because he was so like Billy Fish that drove the big
tank-engine at Mach on the Bolan in the old days.
“ Shake hands with him," says Dravot, and I shook
hands and nearly dropped, for Billy Fish gave me
the Grip. I said nothing, but tried him with the
Fellow Craft Grip. He answers all right, and I
tried the Master's Grip, but that was a slip.
Fellow Craft he is !” I says to Dan. “Does he
know the word ?"_“He does,” says Dan, “and all
the priests know. It's a miracle ! The Chiefs and
the priests can work a Fellow Craft Lodge in a way
that's very like ours, and they've cut the marks on
the rocks, but they don't know the Third Degree,
and they've come to find out. It's Gord's Truth.
I've known these long years that the Afghans knew
up to the Fellow Craft Degree, but this is a miracle.
A God and a Grand-Master of the Craft am I, and
a Lodge in the Third Degree I will open, and we'll
raise the head priests and the Chiefs of the villages.”
““ It's against all the law,” I says, “ holding a
Lodge without warrant from any one; and you
know we never held office in any Lodge.”
““ It's a master-stroke o' policy,” says Dravot.
“It means running the country as easy as a four-
wheeled bogie on a down grade. We can't stop to
inquire now, or they'll turn against us.
I've forty
Chiefs at my heel, and passed and raised according
to their merit they shall be. Billet these men on
the villages, and see that we run up a Lodge of some
kind. The temple of Imbra will do for the Lodge-


232 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
room. The women must make
aprons as you
show
them. I'll hold a levee of Chiefs to-night and Lodge
to-morrow."
'I was fair run off my legs, but I wasn't such a
fool as not to see what a pull this Craft business
gave us. I showed the priests' families how to make
aprons of the degrees, but for Dravot’s apron the
blue border and marks was made of turquoise lumps
on white hide, not cloth. We took a great square
stone in the temple for the Master's chair, and little
stones for the officers' chairs, and painted the black
pavement with white squares, and did what we could
to make things regular.
* At the levee which was held that night on the
hillside with big bonfires, Dravot gives out that him
and me were Gods and sons of Alexander, and Past
Grand-Masters in the Craft, and was come to make
Kafiristan a country where every man should eat in
peace and drink in quiet, and specially obey us.
Then the Chiefs come round to shake hands, and
they were so hairy and white and fair it was just
shaking hands with old friends. We gave them
names according as they was like men we had
known in India—Billy Fish, Holly Dilworth, Pikky
Kergan, that was Bazar-master when I was at
Mhow, and so on, and so on.
• The most amazing miracles was at Lodge next
night. One of the old priests was watching us con-
tinuous, and I felt uneasy, for I knew we'd have to
fudge the Ritual, and I didn't know what the men
knew. The old priest was a stranger come in from
beyond the village of Bashkai. The minute Dravot
puts on the Master's apron that the girls had made


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 233
on.
for him, the priest fetches a whoop and a howl, and
tries to overturn the stone that Dravot was sitting
“ It's all up now,” I says. “That comes of
meddling with the Craft without warrant!” Dravot
never winked an eye, not when ten priests took and
tilted over the Grand-Master's chair which was to
say the stone of Imbra. The priests begins rubbing
the bottom end of it to clear away the black dirt,
and presently he shows all the other priests the
Master's Mark, same as was on Dravot's apron, cut
into the stone. Not even the priests of the temple
of Imbra knew it was there. The old chap falls flat
on his face at Dravot's feet and kisses 'em. « Luck
again,” says Dravot, across the Lodge to me ; “they
say it's the missing Mark that no one could under-
stand the why of. We're more than safe now.”
Then he bangs the butt of his gun for a gavel and
says : “By virtue of the authority vested in me by
my own right hand and the help of Peachey, I
declare myself Grand-Master of all Freemasonry in
Kafiristan in this the Mother Lodge o' the country,
and King of Kafiristan equally with Peachey!” At
that he puts on his crown and I puts on mine—I
was doing Senior Warden—and we opens the Lodge
in most ample form. It was a amazing miracle !
The priests moved in Lodge through the first two
degrees almost without telling, as if the memory was
coming back to them. After that, Peachey and
Dravot raised such as was worthy_high priests and
Chiefs of far-off villages. Billy Fish was the first,
and I can tell you we scared the soul out of him.
It was not in any way according to Ritual, but it
served our turn. We didn't raise more than ten of


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 235
* But Dravot never showed me disrespect before
the people. They were afraid of me and the Army,
but they loved Dan. He was the best of friends
with the priests and the Chiefs ; but any one could
come across the hills with a complaint, and Dravot
would hear him out fair, and call four priests to-
gether and say what was to be done. He used to
call in Billy Fish from Bashkai, and Pikky Kergan
from Shu, and an old Chief we called Kafüzelum-
it was like enough to his real name--and hold
councils with 'em when there was any fighting to
be done in small villages. That was his Council
of War, and the four priests of Bashkai, Shu,
Khawak, and Madora was his Privy Council.
Between the lot of 'em they sent me, with forty
men and twenty rifles and sixty men carrying
turquoises, into the Ghorband country to buy
those hand-made Martini rifles, that come out of
the Amir's workshops at Kabul, from one of the
Amir's Herati regiments that would have sold the
very teeth out of their mouths for turquoises.
* I stayed in Ghorband a month, and gave the
Governor there the pick of my baskets for hush-
money, and bribed the Colonel of the regiment
some more, and, between the two and the tribes-
people, we got more than a hundred hand-made
Martinis, a hundred good Kohat Jezails that'll
throw to six hundred yards, and forty man-loads
of very bad ammunition for the rifles. I came
back with what I had, and distributed 'em among
the men that the Chiefs sent in to me to drill.
Dravot was too busy to attend to those things,
but the old Army that we first made helped me,


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 237
it for me.
I'll send a man through in the spring
for those men, and I'll write for a dispensation
from the Grand Lodge for what I've done as
Grand-Master. That and all the Sniders that'll
be thrown out when the native troops in India take
up the Martini. They'll be worn smooth, but
they'll do for fighting in these hills. Twelve
English, a hundred thousand Sniders run through
the Amir's country in driblets—I'd be content
with twenty thousand in one year—and we'd be
an Empire. When everything was shipshape, I'd
hand over the crown—this crown I'm wearing now
-to Queen Victoria on my knees, and she'd say :
‘Rise up, Sir Daniel Dravot.' Oh, it's big! It's
big, I tell you! But there's so much to be done
in every place—Bashkai, Khawak, Shu, and every-
where else.”
«“What is it?" I says. " There are no more
men coming in to be drilled this autumn. Look
at those fat, black clouds. They're bringing the
snow.”
« “ It isn't that,” says Daniel, putting his hand
very hard on my shoulder ; “and I don't wish to
say anything that's against you, for no other living
man would have followed me and made me what I
am as you have done. You're a first-class Com-
mander-in-Chief, and the people know you; but-
it's a big country, and somehow you can't help me,
Peachey, in the way I want to be helped.”
"“Go to your blasted priests, then!” I said,
and I was sorry when I made that remark, but it
did hurt me sore to find Daniel talking so superior
when I'd drilled all the men, and done all he told me.


238 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
"“Don't let's quarrel, Peachey,” says Daniel
without cursing. “ You're a King too, and the
half of this Kingdom is yours; but can't you see,
Peachey, we want cleverer men than us now—three
or four of 'em, that we can scatter about for our
Deputies. It's a hugeous great State, and I can't
always tell the right thing to do, and I haven't
time for all I want to do, and here's the winter
coming on and all.” He put half his beard into
his mouth, all red like the gold of his crown.
«« I'm sorry, Daniel,” says I. “ I've done all I
could. I've drilled the men and shown the people
how to stack their oats better; and I've brought
in those tinware rifles from Ghorband--but I
know what you're driving at. I take it Kings
always feel oppressed that way."
« « There's another thing too,” says Dravot,
walking up and down.
“The winter's coming
and these people won't be giving much trouble,
and if they do we can't move about. I want a wife.'
«« For Gord's sake leave the women alone!” I
says.
“We've both got all the work we can,
though I am a fool. Remember the Contrack,
and keep clear o' women.'
«« The Contrack only lasted till such time as
we was Kings; and Kings we have been these
months past,” says Dravot, weighing his crown in
his hand. “You go get a wife too, Peachey—a
nice, strappin', plump girl that'll keep you warm
in the winter. They're prettier than English girls,
and we can take the pick of 'em. Boil 'em once
or twice in hot water and they'll come out like
chicken and ham.”


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 241
daughters of men marry Gods or Devils ? It's not
proper.”
I remembered something like that in the Bible;
but if, after seeing us as long as they had, they
still believed we were Gods, it wasn't for me to
undeceive them.
«« A God can do anything,” says I.
« If the
King is fond of a girl he'll not let her die.'
“She'll have to,” said Billy Fish. « There are all
sorts of Gods and Devils in these mountains, and
now and again a girl marries one of them and isn't
seen any more. Besides, you two know the Mark
cut in the stone. Only the Gods know that. We
thought you were men till you showed the sign of
the Master."
• I wished then that we had explained about the
loss of the genuine secrets of a Master-Mason at
the first go-off; but I said nothing. All that night
there was a blowing of horns in a little dark temple
half-way down the hill, and I heard a girl crying
fit to die. One of the priests told us that she was
being prepared to marry the King.
<< I'll have no nonsense of that kind,” says
Dan. “ I don't want to interfere with your
customs, but I'll take my own wife.”—“ The girl's
a little bit afraid,” says the priest. “She thinks
she's going to die, and they are a-heartening of her
up down in the temple.”
"“ Hearten her very tender, then," says Dravot,
“ or I'll hearten you with the butt of a gun so you'll
never want to be heartened again." He licked his
lips, did Dan, and stayed up walking about more
than half the night, thinking of the wife that he


242 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
6 but if you
was going to get in the morning. I wasn't any
means comfortable, for I knew that dealings with a
woman in foreign parts, though you was a crowned
King twenty times over, could not but be risky. I
got up very early in the morning while Dravot was
asleep, and I saw the priests talking together in
whispers, and the Chiefs talking together too, and
they looked at me out of the corners of their eyes.
“ What is up, Fish?” I say to the Bashkai
man, who was wrapped up in his furs and looking
splendid to behold.
"“I can't rightly say,” says he ;
can make the King drop all this nonsense about
marriage, you'll be doing him and me and yourself
a great service.
«« That I do believe,” says I.
know, Billy, as well as me, having fought against
and for us, that the King and me are nothing more
than two of the finest men that God Almighty
ever made. Nothing more, I do assure you.
«« That may be,” says Billy Fish, “and yet I
should be sorry if it was.
if it was.” He sinks his head
upon
his
great
fur cloak for a minute and thinks.
King,” says he, “ be you man or God or Devil,
I'll stick by you to-day. I have twenty of my men
with me, and they will follow me.
Bashkai until the storm blows over.
• A little snow had fallen in the night, and
everything was white except the greasy fat clouds
that blew down and down from the north. Dravot
came out with his crown on his head, swinging his
arms and stamping his feet, and looking more
pleased than Punch.
But sure, you
We'll go to


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 243
«« For the last time, drop it, Dan,” says
whisper, “ Billy Fish here says that there will be a
I in a
row.
"“A row among my people !” says Dravot.
“Not much. Peachey, you're a fool not to get a
wife too. Where's the girl ? ” says he with a voice
as loud as the braying of a jackass. “ Call up all
the Chiefs and priests, and let the Emperor see if
his wife suits him."
• There was no need to call any one. They were
all there leaning on their guns
and spears round
the clearing in the centre of the pine wood. A lot
of priests went down to the little temple to bring
up the girl, and the horns blew fit to wake the
dead. Billy Fish saunters round and gets as close
to Daniel as he could, and behind him stood his
twenty men with matchlocks. Not a man of them
under six feet. I was next to Dravot, and behind
me was twenty men of the regular Army. Up
comes the girl, and a strapping wench she was,
covered with silver and turquoises, but white as
death, and looking back every minute at the
priests.
“She'll do,” said Dan, looking her over.
“What's to be afraid of, lass ? Come and kiss
He puts his arm round her. She shuts her
eyes, gives a bit of a squeak, and down goes her
face in the side of Dan's flaming red beard.
«« The slut’s bitten me!” says he, clapping his
hand to his neck, and, sure enough, his hand was
red with blood. Billy Fish and two of his match-
lock-men catches hold of Dan by the shoulders
and drags him into the Bashkai lot, while the
me.”


244 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
priests howls in their lingo“Neither God nor
Devil but a man!” I was all taken aback, for a
priest cut at me in front, and the Army behind
began firing into the Bashkai men.
“God A’mighty ! ” says Dan. « What is the
meaning o' this?"
«« Come back! Come
away
y!”
says Billy Fish.
“Ruin and Mutiny is the matter.
We'll break for
Bashkai if we can.
'I tried to give some sort of orders to my men
-the men o' the regular Army—but it was no
use, so I fired into the brown of 'em with an English
Martini and drilled three beggars in a line. The
valley was full of shouting, howling creatures, and
every soul was shrieking, “ Not a God nor a Devil
but only a man!” The Bashkai troops stuck to
Billy Fish all they were worth, but their match-
locks wasn't half as good as the Kabul breech-
loaders, and four of them dropped. Dan was
bellowing like a bull, for he was very wrathy ; and
Billy Fish had a hard job to prevent him running
out at the crowd.
«“We can't stand,” says Billy Fish. “ Make
a run for it down the valley ! The whole place is
against us.
The matchlock-men ran, and we went
down the valley in spite of Dravot. He was
swearing horrible and crying out he was a King.
The priests rolled great stones on us, and the
regular Army fired hard, and there wasn't more
than six men, not counting Dan, Billy Fish, and
Me, that came down to the bottom of the valley
alive.
• Then they stopped firing and the horns in


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 245
the temple blew again. “ Come away—for God's
sake come away!” says Billy Fish.
“ They'll
send runners out to all the villages before ever we
get to Bashkai. I can protect you there, but I
can't do anything now.
• My own notion is that Dan began to go
mad
in his head from that hour. He stared up and
down like a stuck pig. Then he was all for walk-
ing back alone and killing the priests with his bare
hands; which he could have done.
“ An Emperor
am I,” says Daniel, “and next year I shall be a
Knight of the Queen.'
-“ All right, Dan,” says I; “but come along
now while there's time.”
““ It's your fault,” says he, “ for not looking
after your Army better. There was mutiny in
the midst, and you didn't know—you damned
engine-driving, plate-laying, missionary’s-pass-
hunting hound!”
He sat upon a rock and called
me every foul name he could lay tongue to. I
was too heart-sick to care, though it was all his
foolishness that brought the smash.
““ I'm sorry, Dan,” says I, “but there's no
accounting for natives. This business is our Fifty-
Seven. Maybe we'll make something out of it
yet, when we've got to Bashkai.”
«« Let's get to Bashkai, then,” says Dan, “and,
by God, when I come back here again I'll sweep
the valley so there isn't a bug in a blanket left!
•We walked all that day, and all that night
Dan was stumping up and down on the snow,
chewing his beard and muttering to himself.
"“There's no hope o' getting clear,” said Billy
>


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 247
with you here. Billy Fish, you clear out, and we
two will meet those folk."
<« I'm a Chief,” says Billy Fish, quite quiet.
“I stay with you. My men can go.
« The Bashkai fellows didn't wait for a second
word, but ran off, and Dan and Me and Billy Fish
walked across to where the drums were drumming
and the horns were horning. It was cold-awful
cold. I've got that cold in the back of
my
head
now. There's a lump of it there.'
The punkah-coolies had gone to sleep. Two
kerosene lamps were blazing in the office, and the
perspiration poured down my face and splashed
on the blotter as I leaned forward. Carnehan was
shivering, and I feared that his mind might go. I
wiped my face, took a fresh grip of the piteously
mangled hands, and said : What happened after
that?
The momentary shift of my eyes had broken
the clear current.
· What was you pleased to say ?' whined
Carnehan. “They took them without any sound.
Not a little whisper all along the snow, not though
the King knocked down the first man that set
hand on him—not though old Peachey fired his
last cartridge into the brown of 'em. Not a single
solitary sound did those swines make. They just
closed up tight, and I tell you their furs stunk.
There was a man called Billy Fish, a good friend
of us all, and they cut his throat, Sir, then and
there, like a pig; and the King kicks up the
bloody snow and says: “We've had a dashed fine
run for our money. What's coming next ?” But


248 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
You may
an ox.
says the
the King;
says he.
Peachey, Peachey Taliaferro, I tell you, Sir, in
confidence as betwixt two friends, he lost his head,
Sir. No, he didn't neither. The King lost his
head, so he did, all along o' one of those cunning
rope-bridges. Kindly let me have the paper-
It tilted this way. They marched
him a mile across that snow to a rope-bridge over
a ravine with a river at the bottom.
have seen such. They prodded him behind like
“Damn your eyes!”
“D’you suppose I can't die like a gentleman ?
He turns to Peachey-Peachey that was crying
like a child. “ I've brought you to this, Peachey,
“ Brought you out of your happy life to
be killed in Kafiristan, where you was late
Commander-in-Chief of the Emperor's forces.
Say you forgive me, Peachey.”—“I do,” says
Peachey. Fully and freely do I forgive you,
Dan.”—“Shake hands, Peachey,” says he.
" I'm
going now.” Out he goes, looking neither right
nor left, and when he was plumb in the middle of
those dizzy dancing ropes-—"Cut, you beggars,"
he shouts; and they cut, and old Dan fell, turning
round and round and round, twenty thousand
miles, for he took half an hour to fall till he struck
the water, and I could see his body caught on a
rock with the gold crown close beside.
• But do you know what they did to Peachey
between two pine-trees? They crucified him, Sir,
as Peachey's hand will show. They used wooden
pegs for his hands and his feet; and he didn't die.
He hung there and screamed, and they took him
down next day, and said it was a miracle that he


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 249
wasn't dead. They took him down—poor old
Peachey that hadn't done them any harm—that
hadn't done them any
He rocked to and fro and wept bitterly,
wiping his eyes with the back of his scarred
hands and moaning like a child for some ten
minutes.
They was cruel enough to feed him up in the
temple, because they said he was more of a God
than old Daniel that was a man.
Then they
turned him out on the snow, and told him to go
home, and Peachey came home in about a year,
begging along the roads quite safe ; for Daniel
Dravot he walked before and said : “Come along,
Peachey. It's a big thing we're doing. The
mountains they danced at night, and the mountains
they tried to fall on Peachey's head, but Dan he
held up his hand, and Peachey came along bent
double. He never let go of Dan's hand, and he
never let go of Dan's head. They gave it to him
as a present in the temple, to remind him not to
come again, and though the crown was pure gold,
and Peachey was starving, never would Peachey
sell the same.
You knew Dravot, Sir! You knew
Right Worshipful Brother Dravot! Look at him
now!'
He fumbled in the mass of rags round his bent
waist; brought out a black horsehair bag em-
broidered with silver thread, and shook therefrom
on to my table—the dried, withered head of Daniel
Dravot! The morning sun that had long been
paling the lamps struck the red beard and blind
sunken eyes ; struck, too, a heavy circlet of gold


250 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
I'll go
studded with raw turquoises, that Carnehan placed
tenderly on the battered temples.
•You be’old now,' said Carnehan, 'the Emperor
in his 'abit as he lived—the King of Kafiristan with
his crown upon his head. Poor old Daniel that
was a monarch once!'
I shuddered, for, in spite of defacements mani-
fold, I recognised the head of the man of Marwar
Junction. Carnehan rose to go. I attempted to
stop him. He was not fit to walk abroad. Let
me take away the whisky, and give me a little
money,' he gasped. "I was a King once.
to the Deputy Commissioner and ask to set in tne
Poorhouse till I get my health. No, thank you, I
can't wait till you get a carriage for me. I've
urgent private affairs--in the south-at Marwar.'
He shambled out of the office and departed in
the direction of the Deputy Commissioner's house.
That day at noon I had occasion to go down the
blinding' hot Mall, and I saw a crooked man
crawling along the white dust of the roadside, his
hat in his hand, quavering dolorously after the
fashion of street-singers at Home. There was not
a soul in sight, and he was out of all possible ear-
shot of the houses. And he sang through his
nose, turning his head from right to left :-
• The Son of Man goes forth to war,
A golden crown to gain ;
His blood-red banner streams afar-
Who follows in his train ?'
I waited to hear no more, but put the poor
wretch into my carriage and drove him off to the
nearest missionary for eventual transfer to the


THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 251
Asylum. He repeated the hymn twice while he
was with me whom he did not in the least recognise,
and I left him singing it to the missionary.
Two days later I inquired after his welfare of
the Superintendent of the Asylum.
"He was admitted suffering from sunstroke.
He died early yesterday morning,' said the Superin-
tendent. Is it true that he was half an hour bare-
headed in the sun at mid-day?'
Yes,' said I, “but do you happen to know if he
had anything upon him by any chance when he
died?'
Not to my knowledge,' said the Superintendent.
And there the matter rests.


WEE WILLIE WINKIE
AND OTHER STORIES


I
4


Wee Willie Winkie
An officer and a gentleman
His full name was Percival William Williams, but
he picked up the other name in a nursery-book,
and that was the end of the christened titles. His
mother's ayah called him Willie-Baba, but as he
never paid the faintest attention to anything that
the ayah said, her wisdom did not help matters.
His father was the Colonel of the 195th, and
as soon as Wee Willie Winkie was old enough to
understand what Military Discipline meant, Colonel
Williams put him under it. There was no other
way of managing the child. When he was good
for a week, he drew good-conduct pay; and when
he was bad, he was deprived of his good-conduct
stripe. Generally he was bad, for India offers
many chances of going wrong to little six-year-olds.
Children resent familiarity from strangers, and
Wee Willie Winkie was a very particular child.
Once he accepted an acquaintance, he was graciously
pleased to thaw. He accepted Brandis, a subaltern
of the 195th, on sight. Brandis was having tea
at the Colonel's, and Wee Willie Winkie entered
S


256 WEE WILLIE WINKIE
strong in the possession of a good-conduct badge
won for not chasing the hens round the compound.
He regarded Brandis with gravity for at least ten
minutes, and then delivered himself of his opinion.
• I like you,' said he slowly, getting off his chair
and coming over to Brandis. I like
• I like you. I shall
call you Coppy, because of your hair. Do you
mind being called Coppy? It is because of ve hair,
you know.'
Here was one of the most embarrassing of Wee
Willie Winkie's peculiarities. He would look at a
stranger for some time, and then, without warning
or explanation, would give him a name. And
the name stuck. No regimental penalties could
break Wee Willie Winkie off this habit. He lost
his good-conduct badge for christening the Com-
missioner's wife Pobs'; but nothing that the
Colonel could do made the Station forego the nick-
name, and Mrs. Collen remained ·Pobs' till the
end of her stay. So Brandis was christened
'Coppy,' and rose, therefore, in the estimation of
the regiment.
If Wee Willie Winkie took an interest in
any
one, the fortunate man was envied alike by the
mess and the rank and file. And in their envy
lay no suspicion of self-interest. "The Colonel's
was idolised on his own merits entirely. Yet
Wee Willie Winkie was not lovely. His face was
permanently freckled, as his legs were permanently
scratched, and in spite of his mother's almost
tearful remonstrances he had insisted upon having
his long yellow locks cut short in the military
fashion. I want my hair like Sergeant Tummil's, '


WEE WILLIE WINKIE
257
said Wee Willie Winkie, and, his father abetting,
the sacrifice was accomplished.
Three weeks after the bestowal of his youthful
affections on Lieutenant Brandis—henceforward to
be called “Coppy' for the sake of brevity-Wee
Willie Winkie was destined to behold strange things
and far beyond his comprehension.
Coppy returned his liking with interest. Coppy
had let him wear for five rapturous minutes his own
big sword — just as tall as Wee Willie Winkie.
Coppy had promised him a terrier puppy; and
Coppy had permitted him to witness the miraculous
operation of shaving. Nay, more-Coppy had said
that even he, Wee Willie Winkie, would rise in
time to the ownership of a box of shiny knives,
a silver soap-box, and a silver-handled 'sputter-
brush,' as Wee Willie Winkie called it. Decidedly,
there was no one except his father, who could give
or take away good-conduct badges at pleasure,
half so wise, strong, and valiant as Coppy with
the Afghan and Egyptian medals on his breast.
Why, then, should Coppy be guilty of the un-
manly weakness of kissing-vehemently kissing-
a big girl,' Miss Allardyce to wit? In the course
of a morning ride Wee Willie Winkie had seen
Coppy so doing, and, like the gentleman he was,
had promptly wheeled round and cantered back to
his groom, lest the groom should also see.
Under ordinary circumstances he would have
spoken to his father, but he felt instinctively that
this was a matter on which Coppy ought first to be
consulted.
Coppy,' shouted Wee Willie Winkie, reining


258
WEE WILLIE WINKIE
up outside that subaltern's bungalow early one
morning—' I want to see you, Coppy!
• Come in, young ’un,' returned Coppy, who
was at early breakfast in the midst of his dogs.
“ What mischief have you been getting into now? '
Wee Willie Winkie had done nothing notori-
ously bad for three days, and so stood on a
pinnacle of virtue.
* I've been doing nothing bad,' said he, curling
himself into a long chair with a studious affectation
of the Colonel's languor after a hot parade. He
buried his freckled nose in a tea-cup and, with
eyes staring roundly over the rim, asked: “I say,
Coppy, is it pwoper to kiss big girls ?'
By Jove! You're beginning early. Who do
you want to kiss ? '
No one. My muvver's always kissing me if I
don't stop her. If it isn't
If it isn't pwoper, how was you
kissing Major Allardyce's big girl last morning,
by ve canal:
Coppy's brow wrinkled. He and Miss Allar-
dyce had with great craft managed to keep their
engagement secret for a fortnight. There were
urgent and imperative reasons why Major Allar-
dyce should not know how matters stood for at
least another month, and this small marplot had
discovered a great deal too much.
' I saw you,' said Wee Willie Winkie calmly.
· But ve sais didn't see. I said, “ Hut jao!
Oh, you had that much sense, you young.
Rip,' groaned poor Coppy, half amused and half
angry. “And how many people may you have
told about it?'
•


260
WEE WILLIE WINKIE
one.
*Fonder van you are of Bell or ve Butcha—or
me?'
* It's in a different way,' said Coppy. You
see, one of these days Miss Allardyce will belong
to me, but you'll grow up and command the
Regiment and --- all sorts of things. It's quite
different, you see.'
*Very well,' said Wee Willie Winkie, rising.
"If you're fond of ve big girl I won't tell any
I must go now.'
Coppy rose and escorted his small guest to the
door, adding – You're the best of little fellows,
Winkie. I tell
I tell you what. In thirty days from
now you can tell if you like—tell any one you
like.
Thus the secret of the Brandis-Allardyce en-
gagement was dependent on a little child's word.
Coppy, who knew Wee Willie Winkie's idea of
truth, was at ease, for he felt that he would not
break promises. Wee Willie Winkie betrayed a
special and unusual interest in Miss Allardyce,
and, slowly revolving round that embarrassed
young lady, was used to regard her gravely with
unwinking eye. He was trying to discover why
Coppy should have kissed her. She was not half
so nice as his own mother. On the other hand,
she was Coppy's property, and would in time
belong to him. Therefore it behoved him to
treat her with as much respect as Coppy's big
sword or shiny pistol.
The idea that he shared a great secret in
common with Coppy kept Wee Willie Winkie
unusually virtuous for three weeks. Then the


WEE WILLIE WINKIE
261
Old Adam broke out, and he made what he called
a camp-fire' at the bottom of the garden. How
could he have foreseen that the flying sparks would
have lighted the Colonel's little hay-rick and con-
sumed a week's store for the horses? Sudden and
swift was the punishment-deprivation of the good-
conduct badge and, most sorrowful of all, two
days' confinement to barracks-- the house and
verandah-coupled with the withdrawal of the light
of his father's countenance.
He took the sentence like the man he strove to
be, drew himself up with a quivering under-lip,
saluted, and, once clear of the room, ran to weep
bitterly in his nursery-called by him my quarters.'
Coppy came in the afternoon and attempted to con-
sole the culprit.
• I'm under awwest,' said Wee Willie Winkie
mournfully, “and I didn't ought to speak to you.'
Very early the next morning he climbed on to
the roof of the house that was not forbidden-
and beheld Miss Allardyce going for a ride.
•Where are you going?' cried Wee Willie
Winkie.
• Across the river,' she answered, and trotted
forward.
Now the cantonment in which the 195th lay
was bounded on the north by a river-dry in the
winter. From his earliest years, Wee Willie Winkie
had been forbidden to go across the river, and had
noted that even Coppy—the almost almighty Coppy
—had never set foot beyond it. Wee Willie
Winkie had once been read to, out of a big blue
book, the history of the Princess and the Goblins


262
WEE WILLIE WINKIE
-a most wonderful tale of a land where the
Goblins were always warring with the children of
men until they were defeated by one Curdie. Ever
since that date it seemed to him that the bare black
and purple hills across the river were inhabited by
Goblins, and, in truth, every one had said that
there lived the Bad Men. Even in his own house
the lower halves of the windows were covered with
green paper on account of the Bad Men who might,
if allowed clear view, fire into peaceful drawing-
rooms and comfortable bedrooms. Certainly,
beyond the river, which was the end of all the
Earth, lived the Bad Men. And here was Major
Allardyce's big girl, Coppy's property, preparing
to venture into their borders ! What would
Coppy say if anything happened to her? If the
Goblins ran off with her as they did with Curdie's
Princess ? She must at all hazards be turned back.
The house was still. Wee Willie Winkie re-
flected for a moment on the very terrible wrath of
his father; and then-broke his arrest!
crime unspeakable. The low sun threw his shadow,
very large and very black, on the trim garden-
paths, as he went down to the stables and ordered
his pony. It seemed to him in the hush of the
dawn that all the big world had been bidden to
stand still and look at Wee Willie Winkie guilty
of mutiny. The drowsy sais gave him his mount,
and, since the one great sin made all others in-
significant, Wee Willie Winkie said that he was
going to ride over to Coppy Sahib, and went out
at a foot-pace, stepping on the soft mould of the
flower-borders.
It was a


264 WEE WILLIE WINKIE
his pony.
,
ignoring the reproof. “Good gracious, child, what
are you doing here?
*You said you was going acwoss ve wiver,'
panted Wee Willie Winkie, throwing himself off
* And nobody—not even Coppy—must
go acwoss ve wiver, and I came after you ever so
hard, but you wouldn't stop, and now you've
hurted yourself, and Coppy will be angwy wiv me,
and—I've bwoken my awwest !
I've bwoken my
awwest!'
The future Colonel of the 195th sat down and
sobbed. In spite of the pain in her ankle the girl
was moved.
‘Have you ridden all the way from cantonments,
little man? What for?
* You belonged to Coppy. Coppy told me so !'
wailed Wee Willie Winkie disconsolately. “I saw
him kissing you, and he said he was fonder of
you
van Bell or ve Butcha or me. And so I came.
You must get up and come back. You didn't
ought to be here. Vis is a bad place, and I've
bwoken my awwest.'
• I can't move, Winkie,' said Miss Allardyce,
I've hurt
my
foot. What shall I
do?'
She showed a readiness to weep anew, which
steadied Wee Willie Winkie, who had been brought
up to believe that tears were the depth of unmanli-
Still, when one is as great a sinner as Wee
Willie Winkie, even a man may be permitted to
break down.
Winkie,' said Miss Allardyce, when you've
rested a little, ride back and tell them to send out
with a groan.
ness.


WEE WILLIE WINKIE 265
something to carry me back in. It hurts fear-
fully.'
The child sat still for a little time and Miss
Allardyce closed her eyes; the pain was nearly
making her faint. She was roused by Wee Willie
Winkie tying up the reins on his pony's neck and
setting it free with
a vicious cut of his whip that
made it whicker. The little animal headed towards
the cantonments.
• Oh, Winkie, what are you doing?'
Hush !' said Wee Willie Winkie. Vere's a
man coming—one of ve Bad Men. I must stay wiv
you. My faver says a man must always look after a
girl. Jack will go home, and ven vey'll come and
look for us. Vat's why I let him go.'
Not one man but two or three had appeared
from behind the rocks of the hills, and the heart
of Wee Willie Winkie sank within him, for just
in this manner were the Goblins wont to steal out
and vex Curdie's soul. Thus had they played in
Curdie's garden - he had seen the picture—and
thus had they frightened the Princess's nurse. He
heard them talking to each other, and recognised
with joy the bastard Pushto that he had picked up
from one of his father's grooms lately dismissed.
People who spoke that tongue could not be the
Bad Men. They were only natives after all.
They came up to the boulders on which Miss
Allardyce's horse had blundered.
Then rose from the rock Wee Willie Winkie,
child of the Dominant Race, aged six and three-
quarters, and said briefly and emphatically · Jao!
The pony had crossed the river-bed.


266
WEE WILLIE WINKIE
The men laughed, and laughter from natives
was the one thing Wee Willie Winkie could not
tolerate. He asked them what they wanted and
why they did not depart. Other men with most
evil faces and crooked-stocked guns crept out of
the shadows of the hills, till, soon, Wee Willie
Winkie was face to face with an audience some
twenty strong. Miss Allardyce screamed.
• Who are you?' said one of the men.
*I am the Colonel Sahib's son, and my order is
that you go at once. You black men are frighten-
ing the Miss Sahib. One of you must run into
cantonments and take the news that the Miss
Sahib has hurt herself, and that the Colonel's son
is here with her.'
• Put our feet into the trap?' was the laughing
reply. •Hear this boy's speech!'
"Say that I sent you--I, the Colonel's son.
They will give you money.'
What is the use of this talk? Take up the
child and the girl, and we can at least ask for the
Ours are the villages on the heights,' said
a voice in the background.
These were the Bad Men-worse than Goblins
-and it needed all Wee Willie Winkie's training
to prevent him from bursting into tears.. But he
felt that to cry before a native, excepting only his
mother's ayah, would be an infamy greater than
any mutiny. Moreover, he, as future Colonel of
the 195th, had that grim regiment at his back,
• Are you going to carry us away?' said
Wee Willie Winkie, very blanched and uncom-
fortable.
ransom.


WEE WILLIE WINKIE 267
*Yes, my little Sahib Bahadur,' said the tallest
of the men, and eat you afterwards.'
• That is child's talk,' said Wee Willie Winkie.
«Men do not eat men.'
A yell of laughter interrupted him, but he went
on firmly—“And if
you
do
carry us away, I tell you
that all my regiment will come up in a day and
kill
you
all without leaving one.
Who will take
my message to the Colonel Sahib ?'
Speech in any vernacular -and Wee Willie
Winkie had a colloquial acquaintance with three-
was easy to the boy who could not yet manage
his
r's' and 'th's' aright.
Another man joined the conference, crying : 'O
foolish men! What this babe
says
is true.
He is
the heart's heart of those white troops. For the
sake of peace let them go both, for if he be taken,
the regiment will break loose and gut the valley.
Our villages are in the valley, and we shall not
escape. That regiment are devils. They broke
Khoda Yar's breastbone with kicks when he tried
to take the rifles; and if we touch this child
they will fire and rape and plunder for a month,
till nothing remains. Better to send a man
back to take the message and get a reward. I
say that this child is their God, and that they
will spare none of us, nor our women, if we
harm him.'
It was Din Mahommed, the dismissed groom
of the Colonel, who made the diversion, and an
angry
and heated discussion followed. Wee Willie
Winkie, standing over Miss Allardyce, waited the
upshot. Surely his 'wegiment,' his own 'wegi-


268
WEE WILLIE WINKIE
ment,' would not desert him if they knew of his
extremity.
The riderless pony brought the news to the
195th, though there had been consternation in the
Colonel's household for an hour before. The little
beast came in through the parade-ground in front
of the main barracks, where the men were settling
down to play Spoil-five till the afternoon. Devlin,
the Colour-Sergeant of E Company, glanced at
the empty saddle and tumbled through the barrack-
rooms, kicking up each Room Corporal as he
passed. Up, ye beggars ! There's something
happened to the Colonel's son,' he shouted.
*He couldn't fall off! S'elp me, 'e couldn't fall
off,' blubbered a drummer-boy. Go an' hunt
acrost the river. He's over there if he's anywhere,
an' maybe those Pathans have got ’im. For the
love o Gawd don't look for 'im in the nullahs!
Let's go over the river.'
* There's sense in Mott yet,' said Devlin. ‘E
Company, double out to the river—sharp!
So E Company, in its shirt-sleeves mainly,
doubled for the dear life, and in the rear toiled the
perspiring Sergeant, adjuring it to double yet
faster.
The cantonment was alive with the men of the
195th hunting for Wee Willie Winkie, and the
Colonel finally overtook E Company, far too ex-
hausted to swear, struggling in the pebbles of the
river-bed.
Up the hill under which Wee Willie Winkie's
Bad Men were discussing the wisdom of carrying


WEE WILLIE WINKIE
269
off the child and the girl, a look-out fired two
shots.
What have I said?' shouted Din Mahommed.
“There is the warning! The pulton are out already
and are coming across the plain! Get away! Let
us not be seen with the boy.'
The men waited for an instant, and then, as
another shot was fired, withdrew into the hills,
silently as they had appeared.
• The wegiment is coming,' said Wee Willie
Winkie confidently to Miss Allardyce, and it's all
wight.
Don't cwy!'
He needed the advice himself, for ten minutes
later, when his father came up, he was weep-
ing bitterly with his head in Miss Allardyce's
lap
And the men of the 195th carried him home
with shouts and rejoicings; and Coppy, who had
ridden a horse into a lather, met him, and, to his
intense disgust, kissed him openly in the presence
of the men.
But there was balm for his dignity. His father
assured him that not only would the breaking of
arrest be condoned, but that the good-conduct
badge would be restored as soon as his mother
could sew it on his blouse-sleeve. Miss Allardyce
had told the Colonel a story that made him proud
of his son.
‘She belonged to you, Coppy,' said Wee Willie
Winkie, indicating Miss Allardyce with a grimy
forefinger. “I knew she didn't ought to go acwoss
ve wiver, and I knew ve wegiment would come to
me if I sent Jack home.'


270
WEE WILLIE WINKIE
You're a hero, Winkie,' said Coppy-'a pukka
hero!'
* I don't know what vat means,' said Wee Willie
Winkie, but you mustn't call me Winkie any no
more. I'm Percival Will'am Will'ams.'
And in this manner did Wee Willie Winkie
enter into his manhood.


274
BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
one.
· And who could help loving my Ju?'
They were standing over the cots in the nursery
late at night, and I think that Mamma was crying
softly. After Papa had gone away, she knelt
down by the side of Judy's cot. The ayah saw
her and put up a prayer that the memsahib might
never find the love of her children taken away
from her and given to a stranger.
Mamma's own prayer was a slightly illogical
Summarised it ran : 'Let strangers love my
children and be as good to them as I should be,
but let me preserve their love and their con-
fidence for ever and ever. Amen.' Punch
scratched himself in his sleep, and Judy moaned
a little.
Next day they all went down to the sea, and
there was a scene at the Apollo Bunder when
Punch discovered that Meeta could not come too,
and Judy learned that the ayah must be left
behind. But Punch found a thousand fascinating
things in the rope, block, and steam-pipe line on
the big P. and O. Steamer long before Meeta and
the ayah had dried their tears.
Come back, Punch-baba,' said the ayah.
• Come back,' said Meeta, and be a Burra
Sahib' (a big man).
“Yes,' said Punch, lifted up in his father's arms
to wave good-bye. “Yes, I will come back, and
I will be a Burra Sahib Bahadur !' (a very big
man indeed).
At the end of the first day Punch demanded to
be set down in England, which he was certain
must be close at hand. Next day there was a


276 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
So Judy promised always to
always to "bemember
Mamma.'
Many `and many a time was Mamma's com-
mand laid upon Punch, and Papa would say the
same thing with an insistence that awed the
child.
*You must make haste and learn to write,
Punch,' said Papa, “and then you'll be able to
write letters to us in Bombay.'
"I'll come into your room,' said Punch, and
Papa choked.
Papa and Mamma were always choking in those
days. "If Punch took Judy to task for not · bemem-
bering,' they choked. If Punch sprawled on the
sofa in the Southampton lodging-house and
sketched his future in purple and gold, they
choked ; and so they did if Judy put up her
mouth for a kiss.
Through many days all four were vagabonds on
the face of the earth—Punch with no one to give
orders to, Judy too young for anything, and Papa
and Mamma grave, distracted, and choking.
Where,' demanded Punch, wearied of a loath-
some contrivance on four wheels with a mound of
luggage atop—where is our broom-gharri ? This
thing talks so much that I can't talk. Where is
our own broom-gharri ? When I was at Band-
stand before we comed away, I asked Inverarity
Sahib why he was sitting in it, and he said it was
his own. And I said, “I will give it you”-I like
Inverarity Sahib—and I said, “Can you put your
legs through the pully-wag loops by the windows ?”
And Inverarity Sahib said No, and laughed. I can
1


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
277
put my legs through the pully-wag loops. I can
put my legs through these pully-wag loops. Look!
Oh, Mamma's crying again! I didn't know I
wasn't not to do so.
Punch drew his legs out of the loops of the
four-wheeler : the door opened and he slid to the
earth, in a cascade of parcels, at the door of an
austere little villa whose gates bore the legend
* Downe Lodge.' Punch gathered himself together
and eyed the house with disfavour. It stood on a
sandy road, and a cold wind tickled his knicker-
bockered legs.
'Let us go away,' said Punch. “This is not a
pretty place.
But Mamma and Papa and Judy had left the
cab, and all the luggage was being taken into the
house. At the doorstep stood a woman in black,
and she smiled largely, with dry chapped lips.
Behind her was a man, big, bony, gray, and lame
as to one leg—behind him a boy of twelve, black-
haired and oily in appearance. Punch surveyed the
trio, and advanced without fear, as he had been
accustomed to do in Bombay when callers came and
he happened to be playing in the verandah.
*How do you do?' said he. “I am Punch.'
But they were all looking at the luggage—all
except the gray man, who shook hands with
Punch,
and said he was a smart little fellow. There was
much running about and banging of boxes, and
Punch curled himself up on the sofa in the dining-
room and considered things.
“I don't like these people,' said Punch. “But
never mind.
We'll go away soon.
We have


278 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
always went away soon from everywhere. I wish
we was gone back to Bombay soon.'
The wish bore no fruit. For six days Mamma
wept at intervals, and showed the woman in black
all Punch´s clothes—a liberty which Punch resented.
' But p'raps she's a new white ayah,' he thought.
• I'm to call her Antirosa, but she doesn't call me
Sahib. She says just Punch,' he confided to Judy.
"What is Antirosa?'
Judy didn't know. Neither she nor Punch had
heard anything of an animal called an aunt. Their
world had been Papa and Mamma, who knew every-
thing,
permitted everything, and loved everybody
even Punch when he used to go into the garden at
Bombay and fill his nails with mould after the
weekly nail-cutting, because, as he explained be-
tween two strokes of the slipper to his sorely-tried
Father, his fingers · felt so new at the ends.'
In an undefined way Punch judged it advisable to
keep both parents between himself and the woman
in black and the boy in black hair. He did not
approve of them. He liked the gray man, who had
expressed a wish to be called • Uncleharri.' They
nodded at each other when they met, and the gray
man showed him a little ship with rigging that took
up and down.
She is a model of the Brisk-the little Brisk
that was sore exposed that day at Navarino.' The
gray man hummed the last words and fell into a
reverie. “I'll tell you about Navarino, Punch, when
we go for walks together; and you mustn't touch
the ship, because she's the Brisk.'
Long before that walk, the first of many, was


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP 279
>
taken, they roused Punch and Judy in the chill
dawn of a February morning to say Good-bye ; and
of all people in the wide earth to Papa and Mamma
-both crying this time. Punch was very sleepy
and Judy was cross.
'Don't forget us, pleaded Mamma. "Oh, my
little son, don't forget us, and see that Judy
remembers too.'
• I've told Judy to bemember,' said Punch,
wriggling, for his father's beard tickled his neck,
• I've told Judy— ten—forty — 'leven thousand
times. But Ju's so young-quite a baby—isn't
she?'
• Yes,' said Papa, 'quite a baby, and you must
be good to Judy, and make haste to learn to write
and-and-and-
Punch was back in his bed again. Judy was
fast asleep, and there was the rattle of a cab below.
Papa and Mamma had gone away. Not to Nassick;
that was across the sea. To some place much
nearer, of course, and equally of course they would
return. They came back after dinner-parties, and
Papa had come back after he had been to a place
called "The Snows,' and Mamma with him, to
Punch and Judy at Mrs. Inverarity's house in
Marine Lines. Assuredly they would come back
again. So Punch fell asleep till the true morning,
when the black-haired boy met him with the
information that Papa and Mamma had gone to
Bombay, and that he and Judy were to stay at
Downe Lodge for ever.' Antirosa, tearfully
appealed to for a contradiction, said that Harry
had spoken the truth, and that it behoved Punch


280 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
to fold up his clothes neatly on going to bed.
Punch went out and wept bitterly with Judy, into
whose fair head he had driven some ideas of the
meaning of separation.
When a matured man discovers that he has been
deserted by Providence, deprived of his God, and
cast without help, comfort, or sympathy, upon a
world which is new and strange to him, his despair,
which may find expression in evil-living, the writing
of his experiences, or the more satisfactory diversion
of suicide, is generally supposed to be impressive.
A child, under exactly similar circumstances as far
as its knowledge goes, cannot very well curse God
and die. It howls till its nose is red, its eyes are
sore, and its head aches. Punch and Judy, through
no fault of their own, had lost all their world.
They sat in the hall and cried ; the black-haired
boy looking on from afar.
The model of the ship availed nothing, though
the gray man assured Punch that he might pull the
rigging up and down as much as he pleased ; and
Judy was promised free entry into the kitchen.
They wanted Papa and Mamma gone to Bombay
beyond the seas, and their grief while it lasted was
without remedy.
When the tears ceased the house was very still.
Antirosa had decided that it was better to let the
children have their cry out,' and the boy had gone
to school. Punch raised his head from the floor
and sniffed mournfully. Judy was nearly asleep.
Three short years had not taught her how to bear
sorrow with full knowledge. There was a distant,
dull boom in the air—a repeated heavy thud.


282 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
the sea. Ju, if you sit down I'll thmack you!' said
Punch.
They climbed another dune, and came upon the
great gray sea at low tide. Hundreds of crabs
were scuttling about the beach, but there was no
trace of Papa and Mamma, not even of a ship upon
the waters- nothing but sand and mud for miles
and miles.
And Uncleharri' found them by chance—very
muddy and
very
forlorn-Punch dissolved in tears,
but trying to divert Judy with an ‘ickle trab,' and
Judy wailing to the pitiless horizon for · Mamma,
Mamma !'—and again • Mamma!'
THE SECOND BAG
Ah, well-a-day, for we are souls bereaved !
Of all the creatures under Heaven's wide scope
We are most hopeless, who had once most hope,
And most beliefless, who had most believed.
The City of Dreadful Night.
All this time not a word about Black Sheep. He
came later, and Harry the black-haired boy was
mainly responsible for his coming.
Judy-who could help loving little Judy ?-
passed, by special permit, into the kitchen and
thence straight to Aunty Rosa's heart. Harry was
Aunty Rosa's one child, and Punch was the 'extra
boy about the house. There was no special place
for him or his little affairs, and he was forbidden
to sprawl on sofas and explain his ideas about the


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
283
manufacture of this world and his hopes for his
future. Sprawling was lazy and wore out sofas,
and little boys were not expected to talk. They
were talked to, and the talking to was intended for
the benefit of their morals. As the
As the unquestioned
despot of the house at Bombay, Punch could not
quite understand how he came to be of no account
in this his new life.
Harry might reach across the table and take
what he wanted ; Judy might point and get what
she wanted. Punch was forbidden to do either.
The gray man was his great hope and stand-by for
many
months after Mamma and Papa left, and he
had forgotten to tell Judy to bemember Mamma.'
This lapse was excusable, because in the interval
he had been introduced by Aunty Rosa to two very
impressive things—an abstraction called God, the
intimate friend and ally of Aunty Rosa, generally
believed to live behind the kitchen-range because it
was hot there—and a dirty brown book filled with
unintelligible dots and marks. Punch was always
anxious to oblige everybody. He therefore welded
the story of the Creation on to what he could recol-
lect of his Indian fairy tales, and scandalised - Aunty
Rosa by repeating the result to Judy. It was a
sin, a grievous sin, and Punch was talked to for a
quarter of an hour. He could not understand
where the iniquity came in, but was careful not to
repeat the offence, because Aunty Rosa told him
that God had heard every word he had said and
was very angry. If this were true why didn't God
come and say so, thought Punch, and dismissed
the matter from his mind. Afterwards he learned


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP 289
him with many stripes. It was unjust and cruel,
and Mamma and Papa would never have allowed
it. Unless perhaps, as Aunty Rosa seemed to
imply, they had sent secret orders.
In which case
he was abandoned indeed. It would be discreet in
the future to propitiate Aunty Rosa, but, then,
again, even in matters in which he was innocent,
he had been accused of wishing to show off.' He
had shown off' before visitors when he had
attacked a strange gentleman-Harry's uncle, not
his own—with requests for information about the
Griffin and the falchion, and the precise nature of
the Tilbury in which Frank Fairlegh rode—all
points of paramount interest which he was bursting
to understand. Clearly it would not do to pretend
to care for Aunty Rosa.
At this point Harry entered and stood afar off,
eyeing Punch, a dishevelled heap in the corner of
the room, with disgust.
*You're a liar-a young liar,' said Harry, with
great unction, "and you're to have tea down here
because you're not fit to speak to us. And you're
not to speak to Judy again till Mother gives you
leave. You'll corrupt her. You're only fit to
associate with the servant. Mother says so.'
Having reduced Punch to a second
agony
of
tears, Harry departed upstairs with the news that
Punch was still rebellious.
Uncle Harry sat uneasily in the dining-room.
· Damn it all, Rosa,' said he at last, 'can't you
leave the child alone? He's a good enough little
chap when I meet him.'
He puts on his best manners with you, Henry,'


290
BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
said Aunty Rosa, “but I'm afraid, I'm very much
afraid, that he is the Black Sheep of the family.'
Harry heard and stored up the name for future
use. Judy cried till she was bidden to stop, her
brother not being worth tears ; and the evening
concluded with the return of Punch to the upper
regions and a private sitting at which all the blind-
ing horrors of Hell were revealed to Punch with
such store of imagery as Aunty Rosa's narrow
mind possessed.
Most grievous of all was Judy's round-eyed
reproach, and Punch went to bed in the depths of
the Valley of Humiliation. He shared his room
with Harry and knew the torture in store. For
an hour and a half he had to answer that young
gentleman's questions as to his motives for telling
a lie, and a grievous lie, the precise quantity of
punishment inflicted by Aunty Rosa, and had also
to profess his deep gratitude for such religious
instruction as Harry thought fit to impart.
From that day began the downfall of Punch,
now Black Sheep.
Untrustworthy in one thing, untrustworthy in
all,' said Aunty Rosa, and Harry felt that Black
Sheep was delivered into his hands. He would
wake him up in the night to ask him why he was
such a liar.
*I don't know,' Punch would reply.
•Then don't you think you ought to get up and
pray to God for a new heart?'
-Y-yess.
'Get out and pray, then !' And Punch would
get out of bed with raging hate in his heart against


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP 291
all the world, seen and unseen. He was always
tumbling into trouble. Harry had a knack of
cross-examining him as to his day's doings, which
seldom failed to lead him, sleepy and savage, into
half-a-dozen contradictions—all duly reported to
Aunty Rosa next morning.
· But it wasn't a lie,' Punch would begin,
charging into a laboured explanation that landed
him more hopelessly in the mire. I said that I
didn't say my prayers twice over in the day, and
that was on Tuesday. Once I did. I know I did,
but Harry said I didn't, and so forth, till the
tension brought tears, and he was dismissed from
the table in disgrace.
•You usen't to be as bad as this,' said Judy,
awe-stricken at the catalogue of Black Sheep's
crimes. Why are you so bad now?'
* I don't know,' Black Sheep would reply. "I'm
not, if I only wasn't bothered upside down. I
knew what I did, and I want to say so; but Harry
always makes it out different somehow, and Aunty
Rosa doesn't believe a word I say. Oh, Ju! don't
you say I'm bad too.'
Aunty Rosa says you are,' said Judy. · She
told the Vicar so when he came yesterday.'
Why does she tell all the people outside the
house about me? It isn't fair,' said Black Sheep.
"When I was in Bombay, and was bad-doing bad,
not made-up bad like this—Mamma told Papa, and
Papa told me he knew, and that was all. Outside
people didn't know too -- even Meeta didn't
know.'
'I don't remember,' said Judy wistfully. I


292 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
was all little then. Mamma was
Mamma was just as fond of
you as she was of me, wasn't she?
«'Course she was. So was Papa. So was every-
body.'
Aunty Rosa likes me more than she does you.
She says that you are a Trial and a Black Sheep,
and I'm not to speak to you more than I can help.
* Always ? Not outside of the times when you
mustn't speak to me at all?'
Judy nodded her head mournfully. Black
Sheep turned away in despair, but Judy's arms
were round his neck.
• Never mind, Punch,' she whispered. "I will
speak to you just the same as ever and ever.
You're my own own brother though you are-
though Aunty Rosa says you're bad, and Harry
says you are a little coward. He says that if í
pulled your hair hard, you'd cry.'
Pull, then,' said Punch.
Judy pulled gingerly.
Pull harder—as hard as you can !
There ! I
don't mind how much you pull it now. If you'll
speak to me same as ever I'll let you pull it as
much as you like-pull it out if you like. But I
know if Harry came and stood by and made you
do it I'd cry
So the two children sealed the compact with a
kiss, and Black Sheep's heart was cheered within
him, and by extreme caution and careful avoidance
of Harry he acquired virtue, and was allowed to
read undisturbed for a week. Uncle Harry took
him for walks, and consoled him with rough tender-
ness, never calling him Black Sheep. 'It's good for


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
. 293
you,
I
suppose, Punch,' he used to say. Let us
sit down. I'm getting tired.' His steps led him
now not to the beach, but to the Cemetery of
Rocklington, amid the potato-fields. For hours
the gray man would sit on a tombstone, while
Black Sheep would read epitaphs, and then with a
sigh would stump home again.
'I shall lie there soon,' said he to Black Sheep,
one winter evening, when his face showed white as
a worn silver coin under the light of the lych-gate.
• You needn't tell Aunty Rosa.
A month later he turned sharp round, ere half
a morning walk was completed, and stumped back
to the house. Put me to bed, Rosa,' he muttered.
I've walked
my
last. The wadding has found me
out.'
They put him to bed, and for a fortnight the
shadow of his sickness lay upon the house, and
Black Sheep went to and fro unobserved. Papa
had sent him some new books, and he was told to
keep quiet. He retired into his own world, and
was perfectly happy. Even at night his felicity
was unbroken. He could lie in bed and string
himself tales of travel and adventure while Harry
was downstairs.
• Uncle Harry's going to die,' said Judy, who
now lived almost entirely with Aunty Rosa.
• I'm very sorry,' said Black Sheep soberly. He
told me that a long time ago.'
Aunty Rosa heard the conversation.
- Will
nothing check your wicked tongue ?' she said
angrily. There were blue circles round her eyes.
Black Sheep retreated to the nursery and read


294 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
now.
Cometh up as a Flower with deep and uncompre-
hending interest. He had been forbidden to open
it on account of its sinfulness,' but the bonds of
the Universe were crumbling, and Aunty Rosa was
in great grief.
* I'm glad,' said Black Sheep. “She's unhappy
It wasn't a lie, though. " I knew. He told
me not to tell.'
That night Black Sheep woke with a start.
Harry was not in the room, and there was a sound
of sobbing on the next floor. Then the voice of
Uncle Harry, singing the song of the Battle of
Navarino, came through the darkness :-
Our vanship was the Asia-
The Albion and Genoa !'
He's getting well,' thought Black Sheep, who
knew the song through all its seventeen verses.
But the blood froze at his little heart as he
thought. The voice leapt an octave, and rang
shrill as a boatswain's pipe :
• And next came on the lovely Rose,
The Philomel, her fire-ship, closed,
And the little Brisk was sore exposed
That day at Navarino.'
* That day at Navarino, Uncle Harry!' shouted
Black Sheep, half wild with excitement and fear of
he knew not what.
A door opened, and Aunty Rosa screamed up
the staircase : Hush! For God's sake hush, you
little devil. Uncle Harry is dead!'


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
295
THE THIRD BAG
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
• I WONDER what will happen to me now,' thought
Black Sheep, when semi-pagan rites peculiar to the
burial of the Dead in middle-class houses had been
accomplished, and Aunty Rosa, awful in black
crape,
had returned to this life. I don't think I've
done anything bad that she knows of. I suppose
I will soon.
She will be very cross after Uncle
Harry's dying, and Harry will be cross too. I'll
keep in the nursery.'
Unfortunately for Punch’s plans, it was decided
that he should be sent to a day-school which Harry
attended. This meant a morning walk with Harry,
and perhaps an evening one; but the prospect of
freedom in the interval was refreshing." "Harry'll
tell everything I do, but I won't do anything,' said
Black Sheep. Fortified with this virtuous resolu-
tion, he went to school only to find that Harry's
version of his character had preceded him, and that
life was a burden in consequence. He took stock
of his associates. Some of them were unclean,
some of them talked in dialect, many dropped
their h's, and there were two Jews and a negro,
or some one quite as dark, in the assembly.
• That's a hubshi,' said Black Sheep to himself.
· Even Meeta used to laugh at a hubshi. I don't
think this is a proper place. He was indignant
for at least an hour, till he reflected that any
expostulation on his part would be by Aunty Rosa


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP 297
to prepare his lessons for the next day, and every
night "came the dreaded cross-questionings at
Harry's hand. Of Judy he saw but little. She
was deeply religious—at six years of age Religion
is easy to come by—and sorely divided between
her natural love for Black Sheep and her love for
Aunty Rosa, who could do no wrong.
The lean woman returned that love with
interest, and Judy, when she dared, took advan-
tage of this for the remission of Black Sheep's
penalties. Failures in lessons at school were
punished at home by a week without reading other
than school-books, and Harry brought the news
of such a failure with glee. Further, Black Sheep
was then bound to repeat his lessons at bedtime to
Harry, who generally succeeded in making him
break down, and consoled him by gloomiest fore-
bodings for the morrow. Harry was at once
spy, practical joker, inquisitor, and Aunty Rosa's
deputy executioner. He filled his many posts to
admiration. From his actions, now that Uncle
Harry was dead, there was no appeal. Black
Sheep had not been permitted to keep any self-
respect at school: at home he was, of course, utterly
discredited, and grateful for any pity that the
servant girls—they changed frequently at Downe
Lodge because they, too, were liars—might show.
"You're just fit to row in the same boat with Black
Sheep,' was a sentiment that each new Jane or
Eliza might expect to hear, before a month was
over, from Aunty Rosa's lips; and Black Sheep
was used to ask new girls whether they had yet
been compared to him. Harry was Master


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP 299
some colleagues, and cuffed home tingling but
exultant. Aunty Rosa was out: pending her
arrival, Harry set himself to lecture Black Sheep
on the sin of murder—which he described as the
offence of Cain.
Why didn't you fight him fair? What did
you hit him when he was down for, you little
cur?'
Black Sheep looked up at Harry's throat and
then at a knife on the dinner-table.
I don't understand,' he said wearily. You
always set him on me and told me I was a coward
when I blubbed. Will
you
leave me alone until
Aunty Rosa comes in? She'll beat me if
you
tell
her I ought to be beaten; so it's all right.'
* It's all wrong,' said Harry magisterially.
* You nearly killed him, and I shouldn't wonder
if he dies.'
· Will he die?' said Black Sheep.
'I daresay,' said Harry, “and then you'll be
hanged, and go to Hell.'
* All right,' said Black Sheep, picking up the
table-knife. “Then I'll kill you now. You say
things and do things and—and I don't know how
things happen, and you never leave me alone-and
I don't care what happens !
He ran at the boy with the knife, and Harry
fled upstairs to his room, promising Black Sheep
the finest thrashing in the world when Aunty
Rosa returned. Black Sheep sat at the bottom of
the stairs, the table-knife in his hand, and wept
for that he had not killed Harry. The servant-
girl came up from the kitchen, took the knife


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
301
Harry's hands, even though addressed as · Young
Cain.
I've been beaten,' said he, “and I've done other
things. I don't care what I do. If you speak to
me to-night, Harry, I'll get out and try to kill
you. Now you can kill me if
you
like.'
Harry took his bed into the spare room, and
Black Sheep lay down to die.
It may be that the makers of Noah's Arks
know that their animals are likely to find their way
into young mouths, and paint them accordingly.
Certain it is that the common, weary next morning
broke through the windows and found Black Sheep
quite well and a good deal ashamed of himself,
but richer by the knowledge that he could, in
extremity, secure himself against Harry for the
future.
When he descended to breakfast on the first
day of the holidays, he was greeted with the news
that Harry, Aunty Rosa, and Judy were going
away to Brighton, while Black Sheep was to stay
in the house with the servant. His latest outbreak
suited Aunty Rosa's plans admirably. It gave her
good excuse for leaving the extra boy behind.
Papa in Bombay, who really seemed to know a
young sinner's wants to the hour, sent, that week,
a package of new books. And with these, and the
society of Jane on board-wages, Black Sheep was
left alone for a month.
The books lasted for ten days. They were
eaten too quickly in long gulps of twelve hours at
a time. Then came days of doing absolutely no-
thing, of dreaming dreams and marching imaginary


302 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
armies up and downstairs, of counting the number
of banisters, and of measuring the length and
breadth of every room in handspans—fifty down
the side, thirty across, and fifty back again. Jane
made many friends, and, after receiving Black
Sheep's assurance that he would not tell of her
absences, went out daily for long hours. Black
Sheep would follow the rays of the sinking sun
from the kitchen to the dining-room and thence
upward to his own bedroom until all was gray
dark, and he ran down to the kitchen fire and
read by its light. He was happy in that he was left
alone and could read as much as he pleased. But,
later, he grew afraid of the shadows of window-
curtains and the flapping of doors and the creaking
of shutters. He went out into the garden, and
the rustling of the laurel-bushes frightened him.
He was glad when they all returned-Aunty
Rosa, Harry, and Judy-full of news, and Judy
laden with gifts. Who could help loving loyal
little Judy? In return for all her merry babble-
ment, Black Sheep confided to her that the distance
from the hall-door to the top of the first landing
was exactly one hundred and eighty-four hand-
spans. He had found it out himself.
Then the old life recommenced; but with a
difference, and a new sin. To his other iniquities,
Black Sheep had now added a phenomenal clumsi-
-was as unfit to trust in action as he was in
word. He himself could not account for spilling
everything he touched, upsetting glasses as he put
his hand out, and bumping his head against doors
that were manifestly shut. There was a gray haze
ness-


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
303
upon all his world, and it narrowed month by
month, until at last it left Black Sheep almost alone
with the flapping curtains that were so like ghosts,
and the nameless terrors of broad daylight that
were only coats on pegs after all.
Holidays came and holidays went, and Black
Sheep was taken to see many people whose faces
were all exactly alike; was beaten when occasion
demanded, and tortured by Harry on all possible
occasions ; but defended by Judy through good
and evil report, though she hereby drew upon
herself the wrath of Aunty Rosa.
The weeks were interminable, and Papa and
Mamma were clean forgotten. Harry had left
school and was a clerk in a Banking-Office. Freed
from his presence, Black Sheep resolved that he
should no longer be deprived of his allowance of
pleasure-reading. Consequently when he failed at
school he reported that all was well, and conceived
a large contempt for Aunty Rosa as he saw how
easy it was to deceive her. She says I'm a little
liar when I don't tell lies, and now I do, she doesn't
know,' thought Black Sheep. Aunty Rosa had
credited him in the past with petty cunning and
stratagem that had never entered into his head.
By the light of the sordid knowledge that she had
revealed to him he paid her back full tale. In a
household where the most innocent of his motives,
his natural yearning for a little affection, had been
interpreted into a desire for more bread and jam,
or to ingratiate himself with strangers and so put
Harry into the background, his work was easy.
Aunty Rosa could penetrate certain kinds of hypo-
х


304
BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
crisy, but not all. He set his child's wits against
hers and was no more beaten. It grew monthly
more and more of a trouble to read the school-
books, and even the pages of the open-print story-
books danced and were dim. So Black Sheep
brooded in the shadows that fell about him and
cut him off from the world, inventing horrible
punishments for · dear Harry,' or plotting another
line of the tangled web of deception that he
wrapped round Aunty Rosa.
Then the crash came and the cobwebs were
broken. It was impossible to foresee everything.
Aunty Rosa made personal inquiries as to Black
Sheep's progress and received information that
startled her. Step by step, with a delight as keen
as when she convicted an underfed housemaid of
the theft of cold meats, she followed the trail of
Black Sheep's delinquencies. For weeks and weeks,
in order to escape banishment from the book-
shelves, he had made a fool of Aunty Rosa, of
Harry, of God, of all the world! Horrible, most
horrible, and evidence of an utterly depraved
mind.
Black Sheep counted the cost. • It will only be
one big beating and then she'll put a card with
“ Liar' on my back, same as she did before.
Harry will whack me and pray for me, and she
will pray for me at prayers and tell me I'm a Child
of the Devil and give me hymns to learn. But
I've done all my reading and she never knew.
She'll say she knew all along. She's an old liar
too,' said he.
For three days Black Sheep was shut in his


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
305
own bedroom — to prepare his heart. « That
means two beatings. One at school and one here.
That one will hurt most.' And it fell even as
he thought. He was thrashed at school before
the Jews and the hubshi for the heinous crime
of carrying home false reports
of
progress. He
was thrashed at home by Aunty Rosa on the
same count, and then the placard was produced.
Aunty Rosa stitched it between his shoulders and
bade him go for a walk with it upon him.
If
you
make me do that,' said Black Sheep
very quietly, 'I shall burn this house down, and
perhaps I'll kill you. I don't know whether I can
kill you—you're so bony—but I'll try.'
No punishment followed this blasphemy, though
Black Sheep held himself ready to work his way to
Aunty Rosa's withered throat, and grip there till
he was beaten off. Perhaps Aunty Rosa was
afraid, for Black Sheep, having reached the Nadir
of Sin, bore himself with a new recklessness.
In the midst of all the trouble there came a
visitor from over the seas to Downe Lodge, who
knew Papa and Mamma, and was commissioned to
see Punch and Judy. Black Sheep was sent to the
drawing-room and charged into a solid tea-table
laden with china.
Gently, gently, little man,' said the visitor,
turning Black Sheep's face to the light slowly.
What's that big bird on the palings?'
What bird ? asked Black Sheep.
The visitor looked deep down into Black
Sheep's eyes for half a minute, and then said sud-
denly: "Good God, the little chap's nearly blind !'


306
BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
He gave
It was a most business-like visitor.
orders, on his own responsibility, that Black Sheep
was not to go to school or open a book until
Mamma came home. She'll be here in three
weeks, as you know of course,' said he, and I'm
Inverarity Sahib. I ushered you into this wicked
world, young man, and a nice use you seem to
have made of your time. You must do nothing
whatever. Can you do that?'
“Yes,' said Punch in a dazed way. He had
known that Mamma was coming. There was a
chance, then, of another beating. Thank Heaven,
Papa wasn't coming too. Aunty Rosa had said of
late that he ought to be beaten by a man.
For the next three weeks Black Sheep was
strictly allowed to do nothing. He spent his time
in the old nursery looking at the broken toys, for
all of which account must be rendered to Mamma.
Aunty Rosa hit him over the hands if even a
wooden boat were broken. But that sin was of
small importance compared to the other revela-
tions, so darkly hinted at by Aunty Rosa. When
your Mother comes, and hears what I have to tell
her, she may appreciate you properly,' she said
grimly, and mounted guard over Judy lest that
small maiden should attempt to comfort her
brother, to the peril of her soul.
And Mamma came—in a four-wheeler-Auttered
with tender excitement. Such a Mamma! She
was young, frivolously young, and beautiful, with
delicately-flushed cheeks, eyes that shone like stars,
and a voice that needed no appeal of outstretched
arms to draw little ones to her heart. Judy ran


308
BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
1
It was my
and I'm not going to show off. Tell that woman
what I've done, and see what she says.'
Black Sheep climbed into bed feeling that he
had lost Heaven after a glimpse through the gates.
In half an hour that woman’ was bending over
him. Black Sheep flung up his right arm. It
wasn't fair to come and hit him in the dark.
Even Aunty Rosa never tried that. But no blow
followed.
• Are you showing off? I won't tell you any-
thing more than Aunty Rosa has, and she doesn't
know everything,' said Black Sheep as clearly as he
could for the arms round his neck.
Oh, my son—my little, little son !
fault-my fault, darling—and yet how could we
help it ? Forgive me, Punch. The voice died
out in a broken whisper, and two hot tears fell on
Black Sheep's forehead.
*Has she been making you cry too?' he asked.
*You should see Jane cry. But you're nice, and
Jane is a Born Liar-Aunty Rosa says so.'
Hush, Punch, hush! My boy, don't talk like
that. Try to love me a little bit—a little bit.
You don't know how I want it. Punch-baba,
come back to me! I am your Mother—your own
Mother-and never mind the rest.
I know, dear. It doesn't matter now. Punch,
won't
you
for me a little?'
It is astonishing how much petting a big boy of
ten can endure when he is quite sure that there is
no one to laugh at him. Black Sheep had never
been made much of before, and here was this
beautiful woman treating him-Black Sheep, the
I know-yes,
care


BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
309
· No.
Child of the Devil and the inheritor of undying
flame-as though he were a small God.
'I care for you a great deal, Mother dear,'
he whispered at last, and I'm glad you've come
back ; but are you sure Aunty Rosa told you
everything?
Everything. What does it matter? But
the voice broke with a sob that was also laughter
-Punch, my poor, dear, half-blind darling, don't
you
think it was a little foolish of you?'
It saved a lickin'.'
Mamma shuddered and slipped away in the
darkness to write a long letter to Papa. Here is
an extract :-
Judy is a dear, plump little prig who adores the
woman, and wears with as much gravity as her religious
opinions-only eight, Jack !-a venerable horse-hair atrocity
which she calls her Bustle ! I have just burnt it, and the
child is asleep in my bed as I write. She will come to me
Punch I cannot quite understand. He is well
nourished, but seems to have been worried into a system of
small deceptions which the woman magnifies into deadly sins.
Don't
you recollect our own upbringing, dear, when the Fear
of the Lord was so often the beginning of falsehood? I shall
win Punch to me before long. I am taking the children
away into the country to get them to know me, and, on the
whole, I am content, or shall be when you come home, dear
boy, and then, thank God, we shall be all under one roof
again at last!
Three months later, Punch, no longer Black
Sheep, has discovered that he is the veritable owner
of a real, live, lovely Mamma, who is also a sister,
comforter, and friend, and that he must protect
her till the Father comes home. Deception does
not suit the part of a protector, and, when one
at once.


His Majesty the King
Where the word of a King is, there is power : And who
may say unto him—What doest thou ?
Yeth! And Chimo to sleep at ve foot of ve
bed, and ve pink pikky-book, and ve bwead-
'cause I will be hungwy in ve night—and vat’s all,
Miss Biddums. And now give me one kiss and
I'll go to sleep.—So! Kite quiet. Ow! Ve pink
pikky-book has slidded under ve pillow and ve
bwead is cwumbling ! Miss Biddums! Miss
Bid-dums! I'm so uncomfy! Come and tuck
me up, Miss Biddums.'
His Majesty the King was going to bed ; and
poor, patient Miss Biddums, who had advertised
herself humbly as a “young person, European,
accustomed to the care of little children,
forced to wait upon his royal caprices. The going
to bed was always a lengthy process, because His
Majesty had a convenient knack of forgetting
which of his many friends, from the mehter's son
to the Commissioner's daughter, he had prayed
for, and, lest the Deity should take offence, was
used to toil through his little prayers, in all
reverence, five times in one evening. His Majesty
was


312 HIS MAJESTY THE KING
the King believed in the efficacy of prayer as de-
voutly as he believed in Chimo the patient spaniel,
or Miss Biddums, who could reach him down his
gun—'with cursuffun caps—reel ones '—from the
upper shelves of the big nursery cupboard.
At the door of the nursery his authority
stopped. Beyond lay the empire of his father and
mother-two very terrible people who had no time
to waste upon His Majesty the King. His voice
was lowered when he passed the frontier of his
own dominions, his actions were fettered, and his
soul was filled with awe because of the grim man
who lived among a wilderness of pigeon-holes and
the most fascinating pieces of red tape, and the
wonderful woman who was always getting into or
stepping out of the big carriage.
To the one belonged the mysteries of the
duftar-room,' to the other the great, reflected
wilderness of the Memsahib's room,' where the
shiny, scented dresses hung on pegs, miles and
miles up in the air, and the just-seen plateau of
the toilet-table revealed an acreage of speckly
combs, broidered ‘hanafitch-bags,' and 'white-
headed' brushes.
There was no room for His Majesty the King
either in official reserve or worldly gorgeousness.
He had discovered that, ages and ages ago
before even Chimo came to the house, or Miss
Biddums had ceased grizzling over a packet of
greasy letters which appeared to be her chief treasure
on earth. His Majesty the King, therefore, wisely
confined himself to his own territories, where only
Miss Biddums, and she feebly, disputed his sway.
!


HIS MAJESTY THE KING 313
From Miss Biddums he had picked up his
simple theology and welded it to the legends of
gods and devils that he had learned in the servants'
quarters.
To Miss Biddums he confided with equal trust
his tattered garments and his more serious griefs.
She would make everything whole. She knew
exactly how the Earth had been born, and had
reassured the trembling soul of His Majesty the
King that terrible time in July when it rained con-
tinuously for seven days and seven nights, and —
there was no Ark ready and all the ravens had
flown away! She was the most powerful person
with whom he was brought into contact—always
excepting the two remote and silent people beyond
the nursery door.
How was His Majesty the King to know that,
six years ago, in the summer of his birth, Mrs.
Austell, turning over her husband's papers, had
come upon the intemperate letter of a foolish woman
who had been carried away by the silent man's
strength and personal beauty? How could he tell
what evil the overlooked slip of notepaper had
wrought in the mind of a desperately jealous wife?
How could he, despite his wisdom, guess that his
mother had chosen to make of it excuse for a bar
and a division between herself and her husband,
that strengthened and grew harder to break with
each year ; that she, having unearthed this skeleton
in the cupboard, had trained it into a household
God which should be about their path and about
their bed, and poison all their ways?
These things were beyond the province of His


314 HIS MAJESTY THE KING
Majesty the King. He only knew that his father
was daily absorbed in some mysterious work for a
thing called the Sirkar, and that his mother was the
victim alternately of the Nautch and the Burrak-
hana. To these entertainments she was escorted
by a Captain-Man for whom His Majesty the King
had no regard.
*He doesn't laugh,' he argued with Miss Bid-
dums, who would fain have taught him charity.
• He only makes faces wiv his mouf, and when he
wants to o-muse me I am not o-mused.' And His
Majesty the King shook his head as one who knew
the deceitfulness of this world.
Morning and evening it was his duty to salute
his father and mother--the former with a grave
shake of the hand, and the latter with an equally
grave kiss. Once, indeed, he had put his arms
round his mother's neck, in the fashion he used
towards Miss Biddums. The openwork of his
sleeve-edge caught in an earring, and the last stage
of His Majesty's little overture was a suppressed
scream and summary dismissal to the nursery.
It is w’ong,' thought His Majesty the King, ‘to
hug Memsahibs wiv fings in veir ears. I will
amember. He never repeated the experiment.
Miss Biddums, it must be confessed, spoilt him
as much as his nature admitted, in some sort of
recompense for what she called 'the hard ways of
his Papa and Mamma.' She, like her charge, knew
nothing of the trouble between man and wife-the
savage contempt for a woman's stupidity on the
one side, or the dull, rankling anger on the other.
Miss Biddums had looked after
many
little children


HIS MAJESTY THE KING
315
in her time, and served in many establishments.
Being a discreet woman, she observed little and
said less, and, when her pupils went over the sea to
the Great Unknown, which she, with touching
confidence in her hearers, called “Home,' packed
up her slender belongings and sought for employ-
ment afresh, lavishing all her love on each successive
batch of ingrates. Only His Majesty the King
had repaid her affection with interest; and in his
uncomprehending ears she had told the tale of
nearly all her hopes, her aspirations, the hopes that
were dead, and the dazzling glories of her ancestral
home in · Calcutta, close to Wellington Square.'
Everything above the average was in the eyes
of His Majesty the King Calcutta good. When
Miss Biddums had crossed his royal will, he re-
versed the epithet to vex that estimable lady, and
all things evil were, until the tears of repentance
swept away spite, ‘Calcutta bad.'
Now and again Miss Biddums begged for him
the rare pleasure of a day in the society of the
Commissioner's child—the wilful four-year-old
Patsie, who, to the intense amazement of His
Majesty the King, was idolised by her parents.
On thinking the question out at length, by roads
unknown to those who have left childhood behind,
he came to the conclusion that Patsie was petted
because she wore a big blue sash and yellow hair.
This precious discovery he kept to himself.
The yellow hair was absolutely beyond his power,
his own tousled wig being potato-brown; but
something might be done towards the blue sash.
He tied a large knot in his mosquito-curtains in


316
HIS MAJESTY THE KING
King fell.
order to remember to consult Patsie on their next
meeting. She was the only child he had ever
spoken to, and almost the only one that he had ever
seen. The little memory and the very large and
ragged knot held good.
* Patsie, lend me your blue wiband,' said His
Majesty the King.
You'll bewy it,' said Patsie doubtfully, mind-
ful of certain atrocities committed on her doll.
“No, I won't—twoofanhonour. It's for me to
wear.'
*Pooh!' said Patsie. “Boys don't wear sa-ashes.
Zey's only for dirls.'
I didn't know. The face of His Majesty the
• Who wants ribands ? Are you playing horses,
chickabiddies ?' said the Commissioner's wife,
stepping into the verandah.
*Toby wanted my sash,' explained Patsie.
*I don't now,' said His Majesty the King
hastily, feeling that with one of these terrible
'grown-ups' his poor little secret would be shame-
lessly wrenched from him, and perhaps-most
burning desecration of all—laughed at.
• I'll give you a cracker-cap,' said the Commis-
sioner's wife. «Come along with me, Toby, and
we'll choose it.'
The cracker - cap was a stiff, three-pointed
vermilion-and-tinsel splendour. His Majesty the
King fitted it on his royal brow. The Commis-
sioner's wife had a face that children instinctively
trusted, and her action, as she adjusted the toppling
middle spike, was tender.
1


HIS MAJESTY THE KING 317
· Will it do as well ?' stammered His Majesty
the King
As what, little one?'
As ve wiban ?'
Oh, quite. Go and look at yourself in the
glass.
The words were spoken in all sincerity, and to
help forward any absurd dressing-up'amusement
that the children might take into their minds. But
the
young savage has a keen sense of the ludicrous.
His Majesty the King swung the great cheval-glass
down, and saw his head crowned with the staring
horror of a fool's cap—a thing which his father
would rend to pieces if it ever came into his office.
He plucked it off, and burst into tears.
•Toby,' said the Commissioner's wife gravely,
'you shouldn't give way to temper. I am very
sorry to see it. It's wrong.'
His Majesty the King sobbed inconsolably, and
the heart of Patsie's mother was touched. She
drew the child on to her knee. Clearly it was not
temper alone.
What is it, Toby? Won't you tell me?
Aren't you well ?'
The torrent of sobs and speech met, and fought
for a time, with chokings and gulpings and gasps.
Then, in a sudden rush, His Majesty the King was
delivered of a few inarticulate sounds, followed
by the words — Go a-way you-dirty-little
debbil!'
*Toby! What do
What do you mean?'
It's what he'd say. I know it is! He said vat
when vere was only a little, little eggy mess, on my


318
HIS MAJESTY THE KING
t-t-unic; and he'd say it again, and laugh, if I went
in wif vat on my head.'
· Who would say that?'
• M-m-my Papa! And I fought if I had ve
blue wiban, he'd let me play in ve waste-paper
basket under ve table.'
•What blue riband, childie?'
Ve same vat Patsie had—ve big blue wiban
W-W-wound my t-t-tummy!' '
• What is it, Toby? There's something on
your
mind. Tell me all about it, and perhaps I
can help.'
· Isn't anyfing,' sniffed His Majesty, mindful of
his manhood, and raising his head from the motherly
bosom upon which it was resting. “I only fought
vat you—you petted Patsie 'cause she had ve blue
wiban, and—and if I'd had ve blue wiban too,
m-my Papa w-would pet me.'
The secret was out, and His Majesty the King
sobbed bitterly in spite of the arms around him
and the murmur of comfort on his heated little
forehead.
Enter Patsie tumultuously, embarrassed by
several lengths of the Commissioner's pet mahseer-
rod. • Tum along, Toby ! Zere's a chu-chu
lizard in ze chick, and I've told Chimo to watch
him till we tum. If we poke him wiz zis his tail
will go wiggle-wiggle and fall off. Tum along!
I can't weach.'
• I'm comin',' said His Majesty the King, climb-
ing down from the Commissioner's wife's knee
after a hasty kiss.
Two minutes later, the chu-chu lizard's tail was


HIS MAJESTY THE KING 319
wriggling on the matting of the verandah, and the
children were gravely poking it with splinters from
the chick, to urge its exhausted vitality into “just
one wiggle more, 'cause it doesn't hurť chu-chů.'
The Commissioner's wife stood in the doorway
and watched_Poor little mite! A blue sash-
and my own precious Patsie! I wonder if the best
of us, or we who love them best, ever understood
what goes on in their topsy-turvy little heads.'
She went indoors to devise a tea for His Majesty
the King
• Their souls aren't in their tummies at that age
in this climate,' said the Commissioner's wife, but
they are not far off. I wonder if I could make
Mrs. Austell understand. Poor little fellow!'
With simple craft, the Commissioner's wife
called on Mrs. Austell and spoke long and lovingly
about children ; inquiring specially for His Majesty
the King.
• He's with his governess,' said Mrs. Austell,
and the tone showed that she was not interested.
The Commissioner's wife, unskilled in the art of
war, continued her questionings. I don't know,
said Mrs. Austell. These things are left to Miss
Biddums, and, of course, she does not ill-treat the
child.'
The Commissioner's wife left hastily. The last
sentence jarred upon her nerves. Doesn't ill-treat
the child! As if that were all! I wonder what
Tom would say if I only“ didn't ill-treat” Patsie!'
Thenceforward, His Majesty the King was an
honoured guest at the Commissioner's house, and
the chosen friend of Patsie, with whom he blundered
Y


322 HIS MAJESTY THE KING
heavens themselves. Still Mamma made no
inquiries, and it seemed to him, in his furtive
peeps, as though the shiny stones grew dim.
What was the use of a 'parkle cwown if it made
a little boy feel all bad in his inside? He had the
pink string as well as the other treasure, but greatly
he wished
that he had not gone beyond the string.
It was his first experience of iniquity, and it pained
him after the flush of possession and secret delight
in the ‘’parkle cwown' had died away.
Each day that he delayed rendered confession
to the people beyond the nursery doors more im-
possible. Now and again he determined to put
himself in the path of the beautifully-attired lady
as she was going out, and explain that he and no
one else was the possessor of a “'parkle cwown,'
most beautiful and quite uninquired for. But she
passed hurriedly to her carriage, and the opportunity
was gone before His Majesty the King could draw
the deep breath which clinches noble resolve. The
dread secret cut him off from Miss Biddums, Patsie,
and the Commissioner's wife, and — doubly hard
fate—when he brooded over it Patsie said, and told
her mother, that he was cross.
The days were very long to His Majesty the
King, and the nights longer still. Miss Biddums
had informed him, more than once, what was the
ultimate destiny of fieves,' and when he passed the
interminable mud flanks of the Central Jail, he
shook in his little strapped shoes.
But release came after an afternoon spent in
playing boats by the edge of the tank at the bottom
of the garden. His Majesty the King went to tea,


HIS MAJESTY THE KING 323
and, for the first time in his memory, the meal
revolted him. His nose was very cold, and his
cheeks were burning hot. There was a weight
about his feet, and he pressed his head several
times to make sure that it was not swelling as he
sat.
'I feel very funny,' said His Majesty the King,
rubbing his nose. Vere's a buzz-buzz in my
head.
He went to bed quietly. Miss Biddums was
out and the bearer undressed him.
The sin of the “ 'parkle cwown' was forgotten in
the acuteness of the discomfort to which he roused
after a leaden sleep of some hours. He was thirsty,
and the bearer had forgotten to leave the drinking-
water. Miss Biddums! Miss Biddums! I'm so
kirsty!'
No answer.
Miss Biddums had leave to attend
the wedding of a Calcutta schoolmate. His Majesty
the King had forgotten that.
* I want a dwink of water,' he cried, but his voice
was dried up in his throat. “I want a dwink!
Vere is ve glass ?'
He sat up in bed and looked round. There was
a murmur of voices from the other side of the
nursery door. It was better to face the terrible
unknown than to choke in the dark. He slipped
out of bed, but his feet were strangely wilful, and
he reeled once or twice. Then he pushed the door
open and staggered—a puffed and purple-faced little
figure—into the brilliant light of the dining-room
full of pretty ladies.
• I'm vevy hot! I'm vevy uncomfitiyle,' moaned


324 HIS MAJESTY THE KING
His Majesty the King, clinging to the portière, ‘and
vere's no water in ve glass, and I'm so kirsty. Give
me a dwink of water.
An apparition in black and white-His Majesty
the King could hardly see distinctly—lifted him up
to the level of the table, and felt his wrists and fore-
head. The water came, and he drank deeply, his
teeth chattering against the edge of the tumbler.
Then every one seemed to go away—every one
except the huge man in black and white, who
carried him back to his bed; the mother and father
following. And the sin of the ‘’parkle cwown
rushed back and took possession of the terrified
soul.
* I'm a fief!'he gasped. 'I want to tell Miss
Biddums vat I'm a fief. Vere is Miss Biddums?'
Miss Biddums had come and was bending over
him. •
* I'm a fief,' he whispered. “A fief—like ve
men in ve pwison. But I'll tell now. I tookt-I
tookt ve 'parkle cwown when ve man that came left
it in ve hall. I bwoke ve paper and ve little bwown
box, and it looked shiny, and I tookt it to play wif,
and I was afwaid. It's in ve dooly-box at ve
bottom. No one never asked for it, but I was
afwaid. Oh, go an' get ve dooly-box !'
Miss Biddums obediently stooped to the lowest
shelf of the almirah and unearthed the big paper
box in which His Majesty the King kept his
dearest possessions. Under the tin soldiers, and a
layer of mud pellets for a pellet-bow, winked and
blazed a diamond star, wrapped roughly in a half-
sheet of notepaper whereon were a few words.
Somebody was crying at the head of the bed, and


HIS MAJESTY THE KING 325
a man's hand touched the forehead of His Majesty
the King, who grasped the packet and spread it on
the bed.
· Vat is ve 'parkle cwown,' he said, and wept
bitterly; for now that he had made restitution he
would' fain have kept the shining splendour with
him.
It concerns you too,' said a voice at the head
of the bed. Read the note. This is not the time
to keep back anything.'
The note was curt, very much to the point, and
signed by a single initial. 'If you wear this to-
morrow night I shall know what to expect.' The
date was three weeks old.
A whisper followed, and the deeper voice
returned : And you drifted as far apart as that !
I think it makes us quits now, doesn't it? Oh,
can't we drop this folly once and for all? Is it
worth it, darling ?'
* Kiss me too,' said His Majesty the King
dreamily. "You isn't vevy angwy, is you?'
The fever burned itself out, and His Majesty
the King slept.
When he waked, it was in a new world-
peopled by his father and mother as well as Miss
Biddums; and there was much love in that world
and no morsel of fear, and more petting than was
good for several little boys. His Majesty the
King was too young to moralise on the uncertainty
of things human, or he would have been impressed
with the singular advantages of crime--ay, black
sin. Behold, he had stolen the 'parkle cwown,'
and his reward was Love, and the right to play in


326
HIS MAJESTY THE KING
the waste - paper basket under the table for
always.'
He trotted over to spend an afternoon with
Patsie, and the Commissioner's wife would have
kissed him. “No, not vere,' said His Majesty the
King, with superb insolence, fencing one corner of
his mouth with his hand. «Vat's
Vat's my Mamma's
place—vere she kisses me.'
*Oh!' said the Commissioner's wife briefly.
Then to herself: "Well, I suppose I ought to be
glad for his sake. Children are selfish little grubs
and—I've got my Patsie.'


The Drums of the Fore and Aft
In the Army List they still stand as “The Fore
and Fit
Fit Princess Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen-
Auspach's Merthyr-Tydfilshire Own Royal Loyal
Light Infantry, Regimental District 329A,' but
the Army through all its barracks and canteens
knows them now as the “Fore and Aft.' They
may in time do something that shall make their
new title honourable, but at present they are
bitterly ashamed, and the man who calls them
· Fore and Aft' does so at the risk of the head
which is on his shoulders.
Two words breathed into the stables of a certain
Cavalry Regiment will bring the men out into the
streets with belts and mops and bad language ; but
a whisper of 'Fore and Aft’ will bring out this
regiment with rifles.
Their one excuse is that they came again and
did their best to finish the job in style. But for a
time all their world knows that they were openly
aten, whipped, dumb-cowed, shaking, and afraid.
The men know it ; their officers know it ; the
Horse Guards know it, and when the next war
comes the enemy will know it also. There are


330 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
His peace is the greater if he hears a senior,
who has taught him his soldiering and broken
his head on occasion, whispering : They'll shout
and
carry on like this for five minutes. Then
they'll rush in, and then we've got 'em by the short
hairs !'
But, on the other hand, if he sees only men of
his own term of service turning white and playing
with their triggers, and saying: What the Hell's up
now?' while the Company Commanders are sweat-
ing into their sword-hilts and shouting : ‘Front-rank,
fix bayonets. Steady there—steady! Sight for
three hundred—no, for five! Lie down, all! Steady!
Front-rank kneel !' and so forth, he becomes un-
happy; and grows acutely miserable when he hears
a comrade turn over with the rattle of fire-irons
falling into the fender, and the grunt of a pole-axed
If he can be moved about a little and allowed
to watch the effect of his own fire on the enemy
he feels merrier, and may be then worked up to
the blind passion of fighting, which is, contrary to
general belief, controlled by a chilly Devil and
shakes men like ague. If he is not moved about,
and begins to feel cold at the pit of the stomach,
and in that crisis is badly mauled, and hear orders
that were never given, he will break, and he will
break badly; and of all things under the light of
the Sun there is nothing more terrible than a broken
British regiment. When the worst comes to the
worst and the panic is really epidemic, the men
must be e'en let go, and the Company Commanders
had better escape to the enemy and stay there for
safety's sake. If they can be made to come again
OX.


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 331
they are not pleasant men to meet ; because they
will not break twice.
About thirty years from this date, when we have
succeeded in half-educating everything that wears
trousers, our Army will be a beautifully unreliable
machine. It will know too much and it will do too
little. Later still, when all men are at the mental
level of the officer of to-day it will sweep the earth.
Speaking roughly, you must employ either black-
guards or gentlemen, or, best of all, blackguards
commanded by gentlemen, to do butcher's work with
efficiency and despatch. The ideal soldier should, of
course, think for himself—the Pocket-book says so.
Unfortunately, to attain this virtue he has to pass
through the phase of thinking of himself, and that is
misdirected genius. A blackguard may be slow to
think for himself, but he is genuinely anxious to kill,
and a little punishment teaches him how to guard
his own skin and perforate another's. A powerfully
prayerful Highland Regiment, officered by rank
Presbyterians, is, perhaps, one degree more terrible
in action than a hard-bitten thousand of irresponsible
Irish ruffians led by most improper young un-
believers. But these things prove the rule—which is
that the midway men are not to be trusted alone.
They have ideas about the value of life and an up-
bringing that has not taught them to go on and
take the chances. They are carefully unprovided with
a backing of comrades who have been shot over, and
until that backing is re-introduced, as a great many
Regimental Commanders intend it shall be, they are
more liable to disgrace themselves than the size of
the Empire or the dignity of the Army allows.


332 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
Their officers are as good as good can be, because
their training begins early, and God has arranged
that a clean-run youth of the British middle classes
shall, in the matter of backbone, brains, and bowels,
surpass all other youths. For this reason a child of
eighteen will stand up, doing nothing, with a tin
sword in his hand and joy in his heart until he is
dropped. If he dies, he dies like a gentleman. If
he lives, he writes Home that he has been 'potted,
sniped,' chipped,' or 'cut over,' and sits down to
besiege Government for a wound-gratuity until the
next little war breaks out, when he perjures himself
before a Medical Board, blarneys his Colonel, burns
incense round his Adjutant, and is allowed to go to
the Front once more.
Which homily brings me directly to a brace of
the most finished little fiends that ever banged drum
or tootled fife in the Band of a British Regiment.
They ended their sinful career by open and flagrant
mutiny and were shot for it. Their names were
Jakin and Lew—Piggy Lew—and they were bold,
bad drummer-boys, both of them frequently birched
by the Drum-Major of the Fore and Aft.
Jakin was a stunted child of fourteen, and Lew
was about the same age.
When not looked after,
they smoked and drank. They swore habitually
after the manner of the Barrack-room, which is cold-
swearing and comes from between clinched teeth;
and they fought religiously once a week. Jakin
had sprung from some London gutter and may or
may not have passed through Dr. Barnardo's hands
ere he arrived at the dignity of drummer-boy. Lew
could remember nothing except the regiment and


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 333
the delight of listening to the Band from his earliest
years. He hid somewhere in his grimy little soul
a genuine love for music, and was most mistakenly
furnished with the head of a cherub: insomuch that
beautiful ladies who watched the Regiment in church
were wont to speak of him as a darling. They
never heard his vitriolic comments on their manners
and morals, as he walked back to barracks with the
Band and matured fresh causes of offence against
Jakin.
The other drummer-boys hated both lads on
account of their illogical conduct. Jakin might be
pounding Lew, or Lew might be rubbing Jakin's
head in the dirt, but any attempt at aggression on
the
part of an outsider was met by the combined
forces of Lew and Jakin ; and the consequences were
painful. The boys were the Ishmaels of the corps,
but wealthy Ishmaels, for they sold battles in alternate
weeks for the sport of the barracks when they were
not pitted against other boys; and thus amassed
money.
On this particular day there was dissension in the
camp: They had just been convicted afresh of
smoking, which is bad for little boys who use plug-
tobacco, and Lew's contention was that Jakin had
stunk so 'orrid bad from keepin' the pipe in pocket,'
that he and he alone was responsible for the birching
they were both tingling under.
I tell you I 'id the pipe back o' barracks,' said
Jakin pacifically.
You're a bloomin' liar,' said Lew without
heat.
*You're a bloomin little barstard,' said Jakin,
C


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 337
much as a scratch on your two ugly little faces,'
thundered the Bandmaster, I'll tell the Drum-
Major to take the skin off your backs. Under-
stand that, you young devils.'
Then he repented of his speech for just the
length of time that Lew, looking like a Seraph in
red worsted embellishments, took the place of one
of the trumpets—in hospital —and rendered the
echo of a battle-piece. Lew certainly was a musician,
and had often in his more exalted moments ex-
pressed a yearning to master every instrument of
the Band.
* There's nothing to prevent your becoming a
Bandmaster, Lew,' said the Bandmaster, who had
composed waltzes of his own, and worked day and
night in the interests of the Band.
What did he say?' demanded Jakin after
practice.
• 'Said I might be a bloomin' Bandmaster, an'
be asked in to 'ave a glass o'sherry-wine on Mess-
nights.
'Ho! 'Said you might be a bloomin' non-
combatant, did 'e! That's just about wot 'e
When I've put in my boy's service
-it's a bloomin' shame that doesn't count for
pension—I'll take on as a privit. Then I'll be a
Lance in a year-knowin' what I know about the
ins an' outs o' things. In three years I'll be a
bloomin' Sergeant. I won't marry then, not I!
I'll 'old on and learn the orf'cers' ways an' apply
for exchange into a reg'ment that doesn't know
all about me.
Then I'll be a bloomin' orf' cer.
Then I'll ask you to ’ave a glass o'sherry-wine,
would say.


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 339
for many years.
The overwhelming mass of its
rank and file had from three to four years' service;
the non-commissioned officers were under thirty
years old ; and men and sergeants alike had for-
gotten to speak of the stories written in brief
upon
the Colours-the New Colours that had been
formally blessed by an Archbishop in England ere
the Regiment came away.
They wanted to go to the Front—they were
enthusiastically anxious to go—but they had no
knowledge of what war meant, and there was none
to tell them. They were an educated regiment, the
percentage of school-certificates in their ranks was
high, and most of the men could do more than
read and write. They had been recruited in loyal
observance of the territorial idea ; but they them-
selyes had no notion of that idea. They were
made up of drafts from an over-populated manu-
facturing district. The system had put flesh and
muscle upon their small bones, but it could not
put heart into the sons of those who for genera-
tions had done overmuch work for over-scanty
pay, had sweated in drying-rooms, stooped over
looms, coughed among white-lead, and shivered
on lime-barges. The men had found food and
rest in the Army, and now they were going to
fight niggers '— people who ran away if you
shook a stick at them. Wherefore they cheered
lustily when the rumour ran, and the shrewd,
clerkly non-commissioned officers speculated on
the chances of batta and of saving their pay. At
Headquarters men said : The Fore and Fit have
never been under fire within the last generation.


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 341
we don't
" 'Wish I was a bloomin' bugler,' said Jakin
sadly. “They'll take Tom Kidd along, that I can
plaster a wall with, an' like as not they won't
take us.'
Then let's go an' make Tom Kidd so bloomin'
sick 'e can't bugle no more.
You 'old 'is 'ands
an' i'll kick him,' said Lew, wriggling on the
branch.
'That ain't no good neither. We ain't the
sort o'characters to presoom on our rep'tations
they're bad. If they leave the Band at the Depot
go, and no error there. If they take the
Band we may get cast for medical unfitness. Are
you medical fit, Piggy?' said Jakin, digging Lew
in the ribs with force.
· Yus,' said Lew with an oath. « The Doctor
says your 'eart's weak through smokin' on an
empty stummick. Throw a chest an' I'll try yer. '
Jakin threw out his chest, which Lew smote
with all his might. Jakin turned very pale,
gasped, crowed, screwed up his eyes, and said,
That's all right.'
"You'll do,' said Lew. "I've 'eard o' men
dying when you 'it 'em fair on the breastbone.'
· Don't bring us no nearer goin', though,' said
Jakin. “Do you know where we're ordered? '
*Gawd knows, an' 'E won't split on a pal.
Somewheres up to the Front to kill Paythans—
hairy big beggars that turn you inside out if they
get 'old o’you. They say their women are good-
looking, too.
'Any loot?' asked the abandoned Jakin.
Not a bloomin' anna, they say, unless
you dig


342 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
up the ground an' see what the niggers ’ave 'id.
They're a poor lot.' Jakin stood upright on the
branch and gazed across the plain.
Lew,' said he, there's the Colonel coming.
'Colonel's a good old beggar. Let's go an' talk to
’im.'
Lew nearly fell out of the tree at the audacity
of the suggestion. Like Jakin he feared not God,
neither regarded he Man, but there are limits even
to the audacity of drummer-boy, and to speak to
a Colonel was
But Jakin had slid down the trunk and doubled
in the direction of the Colonel. That officer was
walking wrapped in thought and visions of a C.B.-
yes, even a K.C.B., for had he not at command
one of the best Regiments of the Line—the Fore
and Fit? And he was aware of two small boys
charging down upon him. Once before it had
been solemnly reported to him that the Drums
were in a state of mutiny,' Jakin and Lew being
the ringleaders. This looked like an organised
conspiracy
The boys halted at twenty yards, walked to the
regulation four paces, and saluted together, each as
well-set-up as a ramrod and little taller.
The Colonel was in a genial mood; the boys
appeared very forlorn and unprotected on the
desolate plain, and one of them was handsome.
*Well !' said the Colonel, recognising them.
· Are you going to pull me down in the open?
I'm sure I never interfere with you, even though
- he sniffed suspiciously — you have been
smoking.'


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 343
It was time to strike while the iron was hot.
Their hearts beat tumultuously.
Beg y' pardon, Sir,' began Jakin.
« The
Reg'ment's ordered on active service, Sir?'
So I believe,' said the Colonel courteously.
'Is the Band goin', Sir ?' said both together.
Then, without pause, 'We're goin', Sir, ain't we?'
"You !' said the Colonel, stepping back the
more fully to take in the two small figures. “You!
You'd die in the first march.'
· No, we wouldn't, Sir. We can march with the
Reg’ment anywheres—p'rade an'anywhere else,'
said Jakin.
• İf Tom Kidd goes 'e'll shut up like a clasp-
knife,' said Lew. Tom 'as very-close veins in
both 'is legs, Sir.'
Very how much? '
Very-close veins, Sir. That's why they swells
after long p'rade, Sir. If 'e can go, we can go,
Sir.'
Again the Colonel looked at them long and
intently.
“Yes, the Band is going,' he said as gravely as
though he had been addressing a brother officer.
· Have you any parents, either of you two ?'
No, Sir,' rejoicingly from Lew and Jakin.
* We're both orphans, Sir. There's no one to be
considered of on our account, Sir.'
"You poor little sprats, and you want to go up
to the front with the Regiment, do you? Why? '
• I've wore the Queen's Uniform for two years,
said Jakin. “It's very 'ard, Sir, that a man don't
get no recompense for doin' of 'is dooty, Sir.'
· An'—an’ if I don't go, Sir,' interrupted Lew,


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 345
He strolled forth and whistled in the clump of
trees at the back of the Married Quarters till Cris
came to him, and, the preliminary kisses being given
and taken, Lew began to explain the situation.
* I'm goin' to the Front with the Reg’ment,' he
said valiantly.
· Piggy, you're a little liar,' said Cris, but her
heart misgave her, for Lew was not in the habit of
lying.
Liar yourself, Cris,' said Lew, slipping an arm
round her. " I'm goin'. When the Reg’ment
marches out you'll see me with 'em, all galliant and
gay. Give us another kiss, Cris, on the strength
of it.'
*If you'd on’y, a-stayed at the Depot—where
you ought to ha' bin—you could get as many of
' em as—as you dam please,' whimpered Cris,
putting up her mouth.
'It's 'ard, Cris. I grant you it's 'ard. But
what's a man to do? If I'd a-stayed at the Depot,
you wouldn't think anything of me.'
Like as not, but I'd 'ave you with me, Piggy.
An' all the thinkin' in the world isn't like
kissin'.'
An' all the kissin' in the world isn't like 'avin'
a medal to wear on the front o' your coat.'
* You won't get no medal.'
Oh
yus,
I shall though.
Me an' Jakin are
the only acting-drummers that'll be took along.
All the rest is full men, an' we'll get our medals
with them.'
They might ha' taken anybody but you, Piggy.
You'll get killed—you're só venturesome. Stay


346 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
with me, Piggy darlin', down at the Depot, an' I'll
love you true, for ever.'
Ain't you goin' to do that now, Cris? You
said you was.'
• O'course I am, but th’ other's more comfort-
able. Wait till you've growed a bit, Piggy. You
aren't no taller than me now.'
• I've bin in the Army for two years an' I'm not
goin' to get out of a chanst o' seein' service, an'
don't you try to make me do so. I'll come back,
Cris, an’ when I take on as a man I'll marry you-
marry you when I'm a Lance.'
• Promise, Piggy?'
Lew reflected on the future as arranged by Jakin
a short time previously, but Cris's mouth was very
near to his own.
• I promise, s'elp me Gawd!' said he.
Cris slid an arm round his neck.
'I won't ’old you back no more, Piggy. Go
away an' get your medal, an' i'll make you a new
button-bag as nice as I know how,' she whispered.
• Put some o' your ’air into it, Cris, an' I'll keep
it in my pocket so long's I'm alive.'
Then Cris wept anew, and the interview ended.
Public feeling among the drummer-boys rose to
fever pitch and the lives of Jakin and Lew became
unenviable. Not only had they been permitted to
enlist two years before the regulation boy's age-
fourteen—but, by virtue, it seemed, of their extreme
youth, they were allowed to go to the Front-
which thing had not happened to acting-drummers
within the knowledge of boy. The Band which
was to accompany the Regiment had been cut down


348 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
So they went northward, ever northward, past
droves and droves of camels, armies of camp
followers, and legions of laden mules, the throng
thickening day by day, till with a shriek the train
pulled up at a hopelessly-congested junction where
six lines of temporary track accommodated six
forty-waggon trains ; where whistles blew, Babus
sweated, and Commissariat officers swore from
dawn till far into the night amid the wind-driven
chaff of the fodder - bales and the lowing of a
thousand steers.
· Hurry up—you're badly wanted at the Front,'
was the message that greeted the Fore and Aft,
and the occupants of the Red Cross carriages told
the same tale.
• 'Tisn't so much the bloomin' fightin',' gasped
a headbound trooper of Hussars to a knot of
admiring Fore and Afts. ('Tisn't so much the
bloomin' fightin', though there's enough o' that.
It's the bloomin' food an' the bloomin' climate.
Frost all night 'cept when it hails, and biling sun
all day, and the water stinks fit to knock you
down. I got my ’ead chipped like a egą; I've
got pneumonia too, an' my guts is all out o' order.
"Tain't no bloomin' picnic in those parts, I can tell
you.
• Wot are the niggers like?' demanded a private.
• There's some prisoners in that train yonder.
Go an' look
at 'em. They're the aristocracy o' the
country. The common folk are a dashed sight
uglier. If
you want to know what they fight with,
reach under my seat an' pull out the long knife
that's there.'


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
349
They dragged out and beheld for the first time
the grim, bone-handled, triangular Afghan knife.
It was almost as long as Lew.
• That's the thing to jint ye,' said the trooper
feebly It can take off a man's arm at the
shoulder as easy as slicing butter. I halved the
beggar that used that ’un,
but there's more of his
likes up above. They don't understand thrustin',
but they're devils to slice.'
The men strolled across the tracks to inspect
the Afghan prisoners. They were unlike any
niggers' that the Fore and Aft had ever met-
these huge, black-haired, scowling sons of the Beni-
Israel. As the men stared the Afghans spat freely
and muttered one to another with lowered
eyes.
My eyes! Wot awful swine !' said Jakin,
who was in the rear of the procession. “Say, old
man, how you got puckrowed, eh? Kiswasti you
wasn't hanged for your ugly face, hey ? '
The tallest of the company turned, his leg-irons
clanking at the movement, and stared at the boy.
See !' he cried to his fellows in Pushto. “They
send children against us. What a people, and
what fools!'
*Hya!' said Jakin, nodding his head cheerily.
*You go down-country. Khana get, peenikapanee
get-live like a bloomin' Raja ke marfik. That's
a better bandobust than baynit get it in your
innards. Good-bye, ole man.
Take care o'
your
beautiful figure-'ed, an' try to look kushy.'
The men laughed and fell in for their first
march, when they began to realise that a soldier's
life was not all beer and skittles. They were much


350 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
impressed with the size and bestial ferocity of the
niggers whom they had now learned to call
*Paythans,' and more with the exceeding discom-
fort of their own surroundings. Twenty old
soldiers in the corps would have taught them how
to make themselves moderately snug at night, but
they had no old soldiers, and, as the troops on the
line of march said, “they lived like pigs.' They
learned the heart-breaking cussedness of camp-
kitchens and camels and the depravity of an E. P.
tent and a wither - wrung mule. They studied
animalculæ in water, and developed a few cases of
dysentery in their study.
At the end of their third march they were dis-
agreeably surprised by the arrival in their
camp
of
a hammered iron slug which, fired from a steady
rest at seven hundred yards, flicked out the brains
of a private seated by the fire. This robbed them
of their peace for a night, and was the beginning of
a long-range fire carefully calculated to that end.
In the daytime they saw nothing except an un-
pleasant puff of smoke from a crag above the line
of march. At night there were distant spurts of
flame and occasional casualties, which set the whole
camp blazing into the gloom and, occasionally, into
opposite tents. Then they swore vehemently,
and vowed that this was magnificent but not
war.
Indeed it was not. The Regiment could not
halt for reprisals against the sharpshooters of the
countryside. Its duty was to go forward and
make connection with the Scotch and Gurkha
troops with which it was brigaded. The Afghans


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 351
knew this, and knew too, after their first tentative
shots, that they were dealing with a raw regiment.
Thereafter they devoted themselves to the task of
keeping the Fore and Aft on the strain. Not for
anything would they have taken equal liberties
with a seasoned corps—with the wicked little
Gurkhas, whose delight it was to lie out in the
open on a dark night and stalk their stalkers-
with the terrible, big men dressed in women's
clothes, who could be heard praying to their God
in the night-watches, and whose peace of mind no
amount of sniping' could shake—or with those
vile Sikhs, who marched so ostentatiously unpre-
pared, and who dealt out such grim reward to those
who tried to profit by that unpreparedness. This
white regiment was different-quite different It
slept like a hog, and, like a hog, charged in every
direction when it was roused. Its sentries walked
with a footfall that could be heard for a quarter of
a mile ; would fire at anything that moved—even
a driven donkey—and when they had once fired,
could be scientifically “rushed' and laid out a
horror and an offence against the morning sun.
Then there were camp-followers who straggled and
could be cut up without fear. Their shrieks would
disturb the white boys, and the loss of their services
would inconvenience them sorely.
Thus, at every march, the hidden
enemy
became
bolder and the regiment writhed and twisted under
attacks it could not avenge. The crowning triumph
was a sudden night-rush ending in the cutting of
many tent-ropes, the collapse of the sodden canvas,
and a glorious knifing of the men who struggled
2 A


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 353
Major. “They've been mauled, and they quite
don't understand it.'
They did not. All the hitting was on one
side, and it was cruelly hard hitting with accessories
that made them sick. There was also the real
sickness that laid hold of a strong man and dragged
him howling to the grave. Worst of all, their
officers knew just as little of the country as the
men themselves, and looked as if they did. The
Fore and Aft were in a thoroughly unsatisfactory
condition, but they believed that all would be well
if they could once get a fair go-in at the enemy.
Pot-shots up and down the valleys were unsatis-
factory, and the bayonet never seemed to get a
chance. Perhaps it was as well, for a long-limbed
Afghan with a knife had a reach of eight feet, and
could carry away lead that would disable three
Englishmen.
The Fore and Fit would like some rifle-practice
at the enemy-all seven hundred rifles blazing
together. That wish showed the mood of the
men.
The Gurkhas walked into their camp, and in
broken, barrack-room English strove to fraternise
with them; offered them pipes of tobacco and
stood them treat at the canteen. But the Fore
and Aft, not knowing much of the nature of the
Gurkhas, treated them as they would treat any
other niggers, and the little men in green trotted
back to their firm friends the Highlanders, and
with many grins confided to them: “That dam
white regiment no dam use. · Sulky—ugh! Dirty
-ugh! Hya, any tot for Johnny ? Whereat


354 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
the Highlanders smote the Gurkhas as to the
head, and told them not to vilify a British Regi-
ment, and the Gurkhas grinned cavernously, for
the Highlanders were their elder brothers and
entitled to the privileges of kinship. The common
soldier who touches a Gurkha is more than likely
to have his head sliced open.
Three days later the Brigadier arranged a battle
according to the rules of war and the peculiarity
of the Afghan temperament. The enemy were
massing in inconvenient strength among the hills,
and the moving of many green standards warned
him that the tribes were 'up'in aid of the Afghan
regular troops. A squadron and a half of Bengal
Lancers represented the available Cavalry, and two
screw-guns borrowed from a column thirty miles
away, the Artillery at the General's disposal.
If they stand, as I've a very strong notion that
they will, I fancy we shall see an infantry fight
that will be worth watching,' said the Brigadier.
We'll do it in style. Each regiment shall be
played into action by its Band, and we'll hold the
Cavalry in reserve.'
For all the reserve ?' somebody asked.
'For all the reserve; because we're going to
crumple them up,' said the Brigadier, who was an
extraordinary Brigadier, and did not believe in the
value of a reserve when dealing with Asiatics. In-
deed, when you come to think of it, had the British
Army consistently waited for reserves in all its little
affairs, the boundaries of Our Empire would have
stopped at Brighton beach.
That battle was to be a glorious battle.


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 355
The three regiments debouching from three
separate gorges, after duly crowning the heights
above, were to converge from the centre, left, and
right upon what we will call the Afghan army,
then stationed towards the lower extremity of a
flat-bottomed valley. Thus it will be seen that
three sides of the valley practically belonged to
the English, while the fourth was strictly Afghan
property. In the event of defeat the Afghans had
the rocky hills to fly to, where the fire from the
guerilla tribes in aid would cover their retreat. In
the event of victory these same tribes would rush
down and lend their weight to the rout of the
British.
The screw-guns were to shell the head of each
Afghan rush that was made in close formation, and
the Cavalry, held in reserve in the right valley,
were to gently stimulate the break-up which would
follow on the combined attack. The Brigadier,
sitting upon a rock overlooking the valley, would
watch the battle unrolled at his feet. The Fore
and Aft would debouch from the central gorge,
the Gurkhas from the left, and the Highlanders
from the right, for the reason that the left flank
of the enemy seemed as though it required the
most hammering. It was not every day that an
Afghan force would take ground in the open, and
the Brigadier was resolved to make the most of it.
'If we only had a few more men,” he said
plaintively, 'we could surround the creatures and
crumple 'em up thoroughly. As it is, I'm afraid
we can only cut them up as they run.
pity.'
It's a great


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 357
Even then there had been a mistake in time, and
the Fore and Aft came out into the valley ten
minutes before the proper hour. Their Band
wheeled to the right after reaching the open,
and
retired behind a little rocky knoll still playing
while the regiment went past.
It was not a pleasant sight that opened on the
uninstructed view, for the lower end of the valley
appeared to be filled by an army in position-real
and actual regiments attired in red coats, and of
this there was no doubt — firing Martini-Henry
bullets which cut up the ground a hundred yards
in front of the leading company.
Over that
pock-marked ground the regiment had to pass, and
it opened the ball with a general and profound
courtesy to the piping pickets ; ducking in perfect
time, as though it had been brazed on a rod.
Being half-capable of thinking for itself, it fired a
volley by the simple process of pitching its rifle
into its shoulder and pulling the trigger.
The
bullets may have accounted for some of the watchers
on the hillside, but they certainly did not affect
the mass of enemy in front, while the noise of the
rifles drowned any orders that might have been
given.
“Good God!' said the Brigadier, sitting on the
rock high above all. “That regiment has spoilt
the whole show. Hurry up the others, and let
the screw-guns get off.'
But the screw-guns,
in working round the
heights, had stumbled upon a wasp's nest of a small
mud fort which they incontinently shelled at eight
hundred yards, to the huge discomfort of the


362 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
mile away.
Gurkhas' ground sloped downward to the valley,
and they enjoyed a fair view of the proceedings.
They sat upon the boulders to watch, for their
officers were not going to waste their wind in
assisting to repulse a Ghazi rush more than half a
Let the white men look to their own
front.
•Hi! yi !' said the Subadar-Major, who was
sweating profusely. “Dam fools yonder, stand
close-order! This is no time for close order, it
is the time for volleys. Ugh!'
Horrified, amused, and indignant, the Gurkhas
beheld the retirement of the Fore and Aft with a
running chorus of oaths and commentaries.
They run!. The white men run! Colonel
Sahib, may we also do a little running ?' murmured
Runbir Thappa, the Senior Jemadar.
But the Colonel would have none of it. Let
the beggars be cut up a little,' said he wrathfully.
•'Serves 'em right. They'll be prodded into facing
round in a minute.' He looked through his field-
glasses, and caught the glint of an officer's sword.
Beating 'em with the flat-damned conscripts!
How the Ghazis are walking into them !' said he.
The Fore and Aft, heading back, bore with
them their officers. The narrowness of the pass
forced the mob into solid formation, and the rear-
rank delivered some sort of a wavering volley.
The Ghazis drew off, for they did not know what
reserves the gorge might hide. Moreover, it was
never wise to chase white men too far. They
returned as wolves return to cover, satisfied with
the slaughter that they had done, and only stopping
1


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 365
shone at the head of the valley, and behind them
were wavering bayonets. But between this shattered
line and the enemy, who with Afghan suspicion
feared that the hasty retreat meant an ambush, and
had not moved therefore, lay half a mile of level
ground dotted only by the wounded.
The tune settled into full swing and the boys
kept shoulder to shoulder, Jakin banging the drum
as one possessed. The one fife made a thin and
pitiful squeaking, but the tune carried far, even to
the Gurkhas.
Come on, you dogs !' muttered Jakin to him-
self. · Are we to play forhever?' Lew was staring
straight in front of him and marching more stiffly
than ever he had done on parade.
And in bitter mockery of the distant mob, the
old tune of the Old Line shrilled and rattled :-
Some talk of Alexander,
And some of Hercules ;
Of Hector and Lysander,
And such great names as these !
There was a far-off clapping of hands from the
Gurkhas, and a roar from the Highlanders in the
distance, but never a shot was fired by British or
Afghan. The two little red dots moved forward
in the open parallel to the enemy's front.
But of all the world's
great heroes
There's none that can compare,
With a tow-row-row-row-row-row,
To the British Grenadier !
The men of the Fore and Aft were gathering
thick at the entrance to the plain. The Brigadier
on the heights far above was speechless with rage.


366 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
Still no movement from the enemy. The day stayed
to watch the children.
Jakin halted and beat the long roll of the
Assembly, while the fife squealed despairingly.
•Right about face! Hold up, Lew, you're drunk, '
said Jakin. They wheeled and marched back :-
Those heroes of antiquity
Ne'er saw a cannon-ball,
Nor knew the force o' powder,
Here they come!' said Jakin. 'Go on, Lew':-
1
1
To scare their foes withal !
4
The Fore and Aft were pouring out of the valley.
What officers had said to men in that time of shame
and humiliation will never be known; for neither
officers nor men speak of it now.
•They are coming anew !' shouted a priest among
the Afghans. Do not kill the boys !
· Take them
alive, and they shall be of our faith.'
But the first volley had been fired, and Lew
dropped on his face. Jakin stood for a minute,
spun round and collapsed, as the Fore and Aft
came forward, the curses of their officers in their
ears, and in their hearts the shame of open shame.
Half the men had seen the drummers die, and
they made no sign. They did not even shout.
They doubled out straight across the plain in open
order, and they did not fire.
• This,' said the Colonel of Gurkhas, softly, ‘is
the real attack, as it should have been delivered.
Come on, my children.'
• Ulu-lu-lu-lu !' squealed the Gurkhas, and came
1
1
1


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 367
down with a joyful clicking of kukris—those vicious
Gurkha knives.
On the right there was no rush. The High-
landers, cannily commending their souls to God
(for it matters as much to a dead man whether he
has been shot in a Border scuffle or at Waterloo),
opened out and fired according to their custom,
that is to say, without heat and without intervals,
while the screw-guns, having disposed of the
impertinent mud fort aforementioned, dropped
shell after shell into the clusters round the flickering
green standards on the heights.
Charrging is an unfortunate necessity,' mur-
mured the Colour Sergeant of the right company
of the Highlanders. It makes the men sweer so,
but I am thinkin' that it will come to a charrge if
these black devils stand much longer. Stewarrt,
man, you're firing into the eye of the sun, and
he'll not take any harm for Government ammu-
neetion. A foot lower and a great deal slower !
What are the English doing? They're very quiet
there in the centre. Running again?'
The English were not running. They were
hacking and hewing and stabbing, for though one
white man is seldom physically a match for an
Afghan in a sheepskin or wadded coat, yet,
through the pressure of many white men behind,
and a certain thirst for revenge in his heart, he
becomes capable of doing much with both ends of
his rifle. The Fore and Aft held their fire till
one bullet could drive through five or six men,
and the front of the Afghan force gave on the
volley. They then selected their men, and slew
2 B


368 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
them with deep gasps and short hacking coughs,
and groanings of leather belts against strained
bodies, and realised for the first time that an
Afghan attacked is far less formidable than an
Afghan attacking: which fact old soldiers might
have told them.
But they had no old soldiers in their ranks.
The Gurkhas' stall at the bazar was the noisiest,
for the men were engaged—to a nasty noise as of
beef being cut on the block_with the kukri, which
they preferred to the bayonet; well knowing how
the Afghan hates the half-moon blade.
As the Afghans wavered, the green standards
on the mountain moved down to assist them in a
last rally. This was unwise. The Lancers chafing
in the right gorge had thrice despatched their only
subaltern as galloper to report on the progress of
affairs. On the third occasion he returned, with a
bullet-graze on his knee, swearing strange oaths in
Hindustani, and saying that all things were ready.
So that Squadron swung round the right of the
Highlanders with a wicked whistling of wind in
the pennons of its lances, and fell upon the
remnant just when, according to all the rules of
war, it should have waited for the foe to show
more signs of wavering.
But it was a dainty charge, deftly delivered,
and it ended by the Cavalry finding itself at the
head of the pass by which the Afghans intended to
retreat; and down the track that the lances had
made streamed two companies of the Highlanders,
which was never intended by the Brigadier. The
new development was successful. It detached the
1


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 369
enemy from his base as a sponge is torn from a
rock, and left him ringed about with fire in that
pitiless plain. And as a sponge is chased round
the bath-tub by the hand of the bather, so were
the Afghans chased till they broke into little
detachments much more difficult to dispose of
than large masses.
“See' quoth the Brigadier. ' 'Everything has
come as I arranged. We've cut their base, and
now we'll bucket 'em to pieces.'
A direct hammering was all that the Brigadier
had dared to hope for, considering the size of the
force at his disposal; but men who stand or fall by
the errors of their opponents may be forgiven for
turning Chance into Design. The bucketing went
forward merrily. The Afghan forces were upon
the run—the run of wearied wolves who snarl and
bite over their shoulders. The red lances dipped
by twos and threes, and, with a shriek, up rose the
lance-butt, like a spar on a stormy sea, as the
trooper cantering forward cleared his point. The
Lancers kept between their prey and the steep
hills, for all who could were trying to escape from
the valley of death. The Highlanders gave the
fugitives two hundred yards' law, and then brought
them down, gasping and choking, ere they could
reach the protection of the boulders above. The
Gurkhas followed suit; but the Fore and Aft were
killing on their own account, for they had penned
a mass of men between their bayonets and a wall
of rock, and the flash of the rifles was lighting the
wadded coats.
*We cannot hold them, Captain Sahib !' panted


DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 371
answered the youngster huskily, and, turning to
a Gurkha, said, 'Hya, Johnny! Drink water got
it?' The Gurkha grinned and passed his bottle.
The Fore and Aft said no word.
They went back to camp when the field of
strife had been a little mopped up and made
presentable, and the Brigadier, who saw himself
a Knight in three months, was the only soul who
was complimentary to them. The Colonel was
heart-broken, and the officers were savage and
sullen.
"Well,' said the Brigadier, they are young
troops of course, and it was not unnatural that
they should retire in disorder for a bit.'
Oh, my only Aunt Maria !' murmured a
junior Staff Officer. Retire in disorder! It was
a bally run!'
But they came again, as we all know,' cooed
the Brigadier, the Colonel's ashy-white face before
him, and they behaved as well as could possibly
be expected. Behaved beautifully, indeed. I was
watching them. It's not a matter to take to heart,
Colonel. As some German General said of his
men, they wanted to be shooted over a little, that
To himself he said —Now they're
blooded I can give 'em responsible work. It's as
well that they got what they did. 'Teach 'em
more than half-a-dozen rifle flirtations, that will-
later-run alone and bite. Poor old Colonel,
though.'
All that afternoon the heliograph winked and
flickered on the hills, striving to tell the good news
to a mountain forty miles away.
And in the even-
was all."


372 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
ing there arrived, dusty, sweating, and sore, a
misguided Correspondent who had gone out to
assist at a trumpery village-burning, and who had
read off the message from afar, cursing his luck
the while.
· Let's have the details somehow—as full as ever
you can, please. It's the first time I've ever been
left this campaign,' said the Correspondent to the
Brigadier, and the Brigadier, nothing loath, told
him how an Army of Communication had been
crumpled up, destroyed, and all but annihilated by
the craft, strategy, wisdom, and foresight of the
Brigadier.
But some say, and among these be the Gurkhas
who watched on the hillside, that that battle was
won by Jakin and Lew, whose little bodies were
borne up just in time to fit two gaps at the head
of the big ditch-grave for the dead under the
heights of Jagai.
THE END
Printed by R. & R. Clark, LIMITED, Edinburgh.


7
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