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1 2 3

UNDER THE DEODARS
THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

ft!

Under the Deodars
The Phantom Rick-
shaw Wee Willie

Winkie

By Rudyard Kipling

Author of "The Day's Work,"
"The Seven Seas,"
"The Jungle Books," etc.

TORONTO
GEORGE N. MORANG & COMPANY, Limited

New York

DOrJBLEDAY & McCLURE CO.
1899

1.788

r^9f

Entered accordiner to Act of Parliament of Canada,
in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine,
by RuDYARO Kipling, in the office of the Minister of
Agriculture.

CONTENTS

The Education op Otis Yeerb .... '*"!

At the Pit's Mouth .

A Wayside Comedy . . «-

The Pit that they Digged

•••... 52

The Hill op Illusion . _«

A Second-rate Woman

Only a Subaltern ...

The Phantom 'Rickshaw . .

114

My Own True Ghost Story .

* • . . . 144

The Track op a Lie . .

• • . 155

The Strange Ride op Morrowbie Jukes . . . .159
The Man who would be King

* " • • • XOff

Wee Willie Winkib

237

Baa Baa, Black Sheep . _,,

* • • • . 251

His Majesty the Kino

The Drums op the Fore and Apt oqo

fiiile

into

The

bein<

ten 1

everj

Simlj

evil c

a bill

stuml

reguL

peopl

in th

issue,

we h{

reheai

the N

propel

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEEUE

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 lis-
ten 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 Providence ; since all good
people know that a woman is the only infall'.ble thing
in this world, except Government Paper of the '79
issue, bearing interest 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 unhinge-

UNDER THE DEODARS

ment of spirits which, again, might have led to eccen-
tricities.

Mrs. Hauks])ee came to *The Foundry' to tiffin with
Mrs. MaUowe, her one bosom friend, for she was in no
sense ' a woman's woman.' And it was a woman's tiffin,
tlio door shut to all the world ; and they both talked
chiffonn^ whicli is French for Mysteries.

' I've enjoyed an interval of sanity,' Mrs. Ilauksbee
announced, after tiffin was over and the two were com-
fortably settled in the little writing-room that opened
out of Mrs. Mallowe's bedroom.

' My dear girl, what has he done ? ' said Mrs. MaUowe
sweetly. It is noticeable that ladies of a certain age
call each other 'dear girl,' just as commissioners 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 imag-
inary 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. That lady 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 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. Mal-
lowe. ' Did he, oh did he, begin his wooing ? '

' By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained

his

eccen-

(Tin with
[18 in no
ti's tillin,
li talked

faiiksbcc
J I'D foin-
t opened

Mallowe
•tain age
oners of
lis in the

an imag-
Am I an

\f drying

o was in
s, to call

ght told

One of

came —

)uddings

a attend

rs. Mal-

xplained

>f the Empire. I didn't

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

his importance as a l*illar o
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. Alallowe
pensively, scratching her fox-terrier's ears.

' I was properly impressed. Most properly. I
yawned openly. "Strict supervision, and play them
otY one against the other," said The Mussuck, shovel-
ling down his ice by tureenfuls^ I assure you. " That^
Mrs. Ilauksbee, is the secret of our (Government." '

Mrs. MalU/we 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 with you."
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 him-
self a man of the world.'

' As he is of the other two things. I like The Mus-
suck, 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. '

UNDER THE DEODARS

* Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome
would be your fate.'

' Only exchanging half a dozen attachSa 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 any-
thing — 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.*

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

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

t Rome

red for
Id come,
)U, dear,

Ye-es,

3nes," as
life/

a Power

for any-

it at her
'. me like
an. Tell

scinating
anything

al Power
a salon.*

id rested
readier,

make a

f,st, never

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 I Not one. They are all
bespoke by the Government. Take my 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 conversation — 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 Gov-
ernment. 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.'

' 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 knowledge 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 ? 1
never studied the breed deeply.'

' Don't make tun 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

UNDER THE DEODARS

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. You would have
scores of them in your salon."*

' I would not ! ' said Mrs. Hauksbee fiercely. * I
would tell the bearer to darwaza hand 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 %alon would be-
come a glorified Peliti's — a "Scandal Point" by lamp-
light.'

'There's a certain amount of wisdom in that view.'

' 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 hhud 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. Hauks-
bee wickedly.

'And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and
women alike, have no influence. Come into the veranda
and look at the Mall I '

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

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 ? ^^ook !
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 Haugh-
ton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of Departments,
and all powerful.'

' And all my fervent admirers,' said Mrs. Hauksbee
piously. ' Sir Henry Haughton raves about me. But
go on.'

' One by one, these men are worth something. Col-
lectively, 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 admin-
istrative "shop" in a crowd — your salon — because
they are so afraid of the men in the lower ranks over-
hearing it. They have forgotten what of Literature
and Art they ever knew, and the women '

' Can't talk about anything except the last Gym-
khana, or the sins of their last nurse. I was 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 admirably, if you respected
the religious prejudices of the country and provided
plenty of kala juggahs.^

' Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea I
Kala juggahs in a salon ! But who made you so awfully
clever?*

UNDER THE DEODARS

* 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 thank
you. These vermin ' — Mrs. Hauksbee waved her hand
from the veranda 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 8alon. It did seem so
tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must do
something.'

' Why? Are not Abana and Pharphar '

* Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself I I
want to, of course. I'm tired of everything and every-
body, from a moonlight picnic at Seepee to the bland-
ishments of The Mussuck.'

* Yes — that comes, too, sooner or later. Have you
nerve enough to make your bow yet ? '

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 senti-
ments in passable speech; no more parading of The
Mussuck while Mrs. Tarkass calls all round Simla,
spreading horrible stories about me I No more of any-
thing 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,

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

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 ballroom ; and nice, large, sensible
shoes for all the couples to stumble over as they go
into the veranda ! Then at supper. Can't you imag-
ine the scene ? The greedy mob gone away. Reluc-
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' you 'nt' supper?" 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 con-
tinued with vigorous dramatic gesture —

* Listen ! I see it all — down, down even to the
stays I Such stays ! Six-eight a pair, Polly, with red
flannel — or list is it? — that they put into the tops

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 I 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 Mussuck,
How badly he rides. There I '

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 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 I '

* Never again,' said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affecta-
tion of indignation, ' shall you tiffin here I " Lucindy,
your behaviour is scand'lus." '

' All your fault,' retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, * for sug-
gesting such a thing as my abdication. No ! Jamais-
nevaire I I will act, dance, ride, frivol, talk scandal,
dine out, and appropriate the legitimate 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 I'

She swept into the drawing-room. Mrs. Mallowe
followed and put an arm round her waist.

'I'm not!^ said Mrs. Hauksbee defiantly, rummag-
ing for her handkerchief. 'I've been dining out the

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

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. Ilauksbee 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.

*Good gracious, child, you didn't join the Theoso-
phists 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 I — for 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 absolutely
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 ? '

UNDER THE DEODARS

Another nod.

* And told him of Sir Dugald Delaue's private memo
about him ? *

A third nod.
'Why?'

* What a question to ask a woman I Because it
amused me at first. I am proud of my property now.
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.'

* 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 amuse-
ment.'

'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 in-
teresting 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 unfathom-
able smile. 'But be sure he understands.'

e memo

Bribble-dribble — trickle-trickle —

Wiiat a lot of raw dust !
My dollie*s had an accident

And out came 1 the sawdust t

Nursery Bhyme.

So Mrs. Hauksbee, in *The Foundry' which over-
looks 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 hex' 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, '-Fll 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 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.

UNDER THE DEODARS

*rve caught him!' said Mrs. llauksbee; her eyes
were dancing with merriment.

'Who is it, mad woman? I'm sorry I ever 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 Yeerel Of all the imi)robable and impossible
people I I don't believe you.'

'Ilsh! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murdering
Milton Wellings; and I'll tell you all about it. S-s-as!
That woman's voice always reminds me of an Under-
ground 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 Delane's hurra-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 'nV^sAawz-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
yre you going to do with him, assuming that you've
got him ? '

'Assuming, indeed! Does a woman — do I — ever
make a mistake in that sort of thing? First' — Mrs.
Hauksbee ticked off the items ostentatiously on her
little gloved fingers — ' First, my dear, I shall dress
him properly. At present his raiment is a disgrace,
and he wears a dress-shirt like a crumpled sheet of
the Pioneer. Secondly, after I have made him present-
able, I shall form his manners — his morals are above
reproach.'

con

ma
her
witl
the

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

* You seem to have discovered a great deal about him
considering the sliortness of your acquaintance.'

'Surely you ought to know that the first proof a
man gives of his interest in a woman is by talking to
lier about his own sweet self. If the woman listens
without yawning, he begins to like her. If she flatters
the animal's vanity, he ends by adoring her.'

'In some cases.'

' Never mind the exceptions. I know which one
you are thinking of. Thirdly, and lastly, after he is
polished and made pretty, I shall, as you said, be his
guide, philosopher, and friend, and he shall become a
success — as great a success as your friend. I always
wondered how that man got on. Did The Mussuck
come to you with the Civil List and, dropping on one
knee — no, two knees, d la Gibbon — hand it to you
and say, " Adorable angel, choose your friend's appoint-
ment " ? '

' Lucy, your long experiences of the Military Depart-
ment huve demoralised you. One doesn't do that sort
of thing on the Civil Side.'

'No disrespect meant to Jack's Service, my dear.
I only asked for information. Give me three months,
and see what changes I shall work in my prey.'

' 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. Tar-
kass's last, long-drawn war-Avhoop.

Her bitterest enemies — and she had many — could
hardly accuse Mrs. Hauksbee of wasting her time.
Otis Yeere was one of those wandering ' dumb ' charac-

UNDER THE DEODARS

ters, foredoomed through life to be nobody's property.
Ten years in Her Majesty's Jicngal Civil Service, spent,
for the most part, in undesirable Districts, had given
him little to bo proud of, and nothing to bring confi-
dence. 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 upon the 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 Yeere 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 manual power in the
working of the Empire, there must always be this per-
centage — 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 sigh. 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.

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERB

Out of this life Otis Yecre had fled for a few months;
dri fling, in the hope of a little masculine society, into
Simla. When his leave was over ho 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-
kcnipt City, and the undisguised insolence of the
Municipality that babbled away the lives of men. Life
was cheap, however. The soil spawned hunumity, 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 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 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 man-
ner of life he had purposed to lead and what dreams he

UNDER THE DEODARS

had dreamed in the year of grace '77, before the reality
had knocked the heart out of hiro. Very pleasant are
the shady bridle paths round Prospect Hill for the tell-
ing 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
hy Mef

Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false modesty as one
of her failings.

'Always with Mrs. Hauksbee!' murmured Mrs. Mal-
lowe, with her sweetest smile, to Otis. ' 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 down-hill, having satisfied her-
self, 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 spitefully, ' Well, for
a debilitated Ditcher, Yeere, you are going it. Hasn't
any kind f Mend told you that she's the most dangerous
woman in Simla ? '

Yeere chuckled and passed out. When, oh when,

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THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

langerous

would his new clothes be ready ? He descended into
tlie Mall to inquire ; and Mrs. Hauksbee, coming over
the Church Ridge in her Wickahaw^ looked down upon
him approvingly. 'He's learning to carry himself as
if he were a man, instead of a piece of furniture, — and,'
slie screwed up her eyes to see the better through the
sunlight — 'he is a man when he holds himself like that.
Oh blessed Conceit, what should we be without you ? '

With the new clothes came a new stock of self-confi-
dence. Otis Yeere discovered that he could enter a
room without breaking into a gentle 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 con-
tented 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 INIember of
Council, lately? You carry the side of half a dozen
of 'em.'

' I — 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

UNDER THE DEODARS

that beastly affectation knocked out of you with fever I
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." Never! It's a man's busi-
ness to be insolent and overbearing until he meets with
a stronger. Now, you bad boy, listen to me.'

Simply and straightforwardly, as the Wichshaw 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 argu-
ment, ' you'll apologise next for being iny attache? '

* 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 Jeshu-
run, 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 herself.
' He'd ha v^e been hiding in the Club till the last day of
his leave, if 1 hadn't discovered him.' And aloud —

* Why shouldn't you be? You have every right to.'
*II Why?'

*0h, hundreds of things. I'm not going to waste
this lovely afternoon by explaining ; but I know you
have. What was that heap of manuscript you showed

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

me about the grammar of the aboriginal — what's their
names?'

' GullaU. A piece of nonsense. I've far too much
work to do to bother over Gullah 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-embank-
ment and the snakes sticking out, and, in the summer,
green flies and green squash. The people would die of
fear if you shook a dog whip 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 I '

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 I 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. He asked for what he wanted, and he got it.
See, down by the Convent I 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 T care to think about. Do you suppose
men are chosen for appointments because of their spe-
cial 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 altogether to the

UNDER THE DEODARS

bad, you can all work hard. Asking does the resi.
Call it cheek, call it insolence, 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 ! Bo something I 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 un-
gloved paw that rested on the turned-backed Wickshaw
hood, and, looking the man full in the face, said ten-
derly, almost too tenderly, 'J believe in you if you
mistrust yourself. Is that enough, my friend ? *

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

■I

* 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 Gym-
khana, that Otis Yeere, the man with the newly-lit
light of self-confidence in his eyes, had 'done some-
thing decent' in the wilds whence he came. He had
brought an erring Municipality to reason, appropriated
the funds on his own responsibility, and saved the lives
of hundreds. He knew more about the Gullals than
any living man. Had a vast knowledge of the aborig-
inal tribes ; was, in spite of his juniority, the greatest
authority on the aboriginal CrullaU. No one quite
knew who or what the Qullah 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 Sik-
kim, whose friendship even the Great Indian Empire
would find it worth her while to secure. Now we
know that Otis Yeere had showed Mrs. Hauksbee his
MS. notes of six years' standing on these same CrullaU,
He had told her, too, how, sick and shaken with the
fever their negligence had bred, 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 ;

J Ml

UNDER THE DEODARS

but in the anecdote as amended for Northern consump-
tion we find no record of this. Hence we are forced
to conclude that Mrs. Hauksbee edited his reminis-
cences before sowing them in idle ears, ready, as she
well knew, to exaggerate good or evil. And Otis
Yeere bore himself as befitted the hero of many
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 Provi-
dence, 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 him-
self 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 bp good. He
would fight for his own hand, and intended that this
second struggle should lead 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 state-
ment 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.'

but
to

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

1 consump-
are forced

is reminis-

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And Otis

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fall into a
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Ae to sayc
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lift

I
3

Otis Yeere * stopped dead,' as Mrs. Hauksbee put it
in discussing the relapse with Mrs. Mallowe.

' He has behaved,' she said angrily, * just like Cap-
tain 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 dis-
appoint 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 — 0, 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 I oh I oh I The man's an idiot I A raving,
positive idiot I I'm sorry I ever saw him ! '

Mrs. Hauksbee burst into Mrs. Mallowe's house, at
midnight, almost in tears.

* What in the world has happened?' said Mrs. Mal-
lowe, 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.

UNDER THE DEODARS

But you know what I mean I said. Then it was a
square, and I sat it out with him and wanted an ex-
planation, and he said — Oh I I liaven't patience with
such idiots I 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 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
everything to me? And to reward me, just when
everything was nicely arranged, by this lunacy that
spoilt everything ! '

* Very few men understand your devotion thor-
oughly.'

* Oh, Polly, donH 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 I
can't help laughing at it now, though I felt nearly

THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE

ready to cry with rage. He raved and I stormed —
I'm afraid we must have made an awful noise in our
kala juygah. Protect my character, dear, if it's all
over Simla by to-morrow — and then he bobbed forward
in the middle of this insanity — 1 firmly believe the
man's demented — and kissed me ! '

* Morals above reproach,' purred Mrs. Mallowe.

* So they were — so they are I 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 furi-
ously 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 that I couldn't be very angry. Then
I came away straight to you.'

' Was this before or after supper ? *

* Oh I before — oceans before. Isn't it perfectly dis-
gusting ? '

' 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 I Poetry ! Is it
his own, do you think? Oh, that I ever built my
hopes on such a maudlin idiot ! '

UNDER THE DEODARS

'No. It*s a quotation from Mrs. Browning, and,
in view of the facts of the case, as Jack says, uncom-
monly well chosen. Listen —

Sweet thou hast trod on a heart,
Pass I 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. Hauks-
bee angrily, her eyes filling with tears; 'there was no
malice at all. Oh, it's too vexatious I '

'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 flit. Like swans
singing before they die, you know.'

'Polly, you take my sorrows in a most unfeeling
way.'

' 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 never can tell about a man I ' said Mrs.
Hauksbee.

-M

AT THE PIT'S MOUTH

Men say it was a stolen tide —

Tlie Lord tliat sent it lie knows all,
But in mine ear will 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 un-
wisest. 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 possi-
bly 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 down-hill
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.

The Tertium Quid flew down-hill on horseback, but
it was to meet the Man's Wife ; and when he flew up-
hill 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 lux-

1 < :J

UNDER THE DEODARS

iiricH of that kind. IIo worked very luird, und sent
her a letter or a post-card daily. She also wrote to
him daily, ami 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-ollico together.

Now, Simla is a strange place and its customs are
peculiar ; nor is any nuin who has not spent at least
ten seasons there qualified to pass judgment on circum-
stantial evidence, which is the most untrustworthy 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 rela-
tions 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 kit-
tenish 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 particular, and the
least particular men are always the most exacting.

Simla is eccentric in its fashioi. f treating friend-
ships. Certain attachments which have set and crys-
tallised through half a dozen seasons acquire almost
the sanctity of the marriage bond, and are revered as
such. Again, certain attachments equally old, and,
to all appearance, equally venerable, never seem 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 in-

AT THE PIT'S MOUTH

finito toleration, and othei'H have not. The Man's
Wife had not. If she looked over the garden wall,
for instance, womt'n taxed her with stealing their hus-
biinds. She complained pathetically that she was not
allowed to choose her own friends. When she put up
lier 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 has slie been so per-
mitted. 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,
tlien under Jutogh, and lastly up and down the Cart
lioad 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 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 hus-
band 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 is said
that, perhaps, she had not thought of the unwisdom of

'-''t

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 considerably. He and She
laughed over it, so that you, fifty yards away, could see
their shoulders shaking 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
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 procession
passes under the wet, dank dip beneath the Rockcliffe
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 acquaint-
ances who are far too busy amusing themselves up the
hill to attend to old partners. The idaa 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 differ-

AT THE PIT'S MOUTH

$1 ii-ia

idth the
child to
that he,
nterfere
3sts, but
rertium
le letter
nes, and
and She
ould see
ed along

g. The
le Man's
lad both
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swings
Dressing
ocession
ockcliffe
the hill
they go

m India
id of the
cquaint-
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using a
line one.
le talk,
differ-

ently, especially if she be such a woman as the Man's
Wife. She and the Tertium Qu d enjoyed each other's
society among the graves of men and women wl^om 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 Cctnetery 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
man's size is more in request ; these arrangements vary-
ing with the climate and population.

One day when the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid
had just arrived in the Cemetery, they saw some coolies
breaking ground. They had marked out a full-size
grave, and the Tertium Quid asked them whether any
Sahib was sick. They said that they did not know ; but
it was an order that they should dig a iSahib^s grave.

* Work away,' said the Tertium Quid, ' and let's see
how it's done.'

The coolies worked away, and the Man's Wife and
the Tertium Quid watched and talked for a couple of
hours while the grave was being deepened. Then a
coolie, taking the earth in baskets as it was thrown up,
jumped over the grave.

'That's queer,' said the Tertium Quid. 'Where's
my ulster?*

■■■i I

I'h

;. J s

UNDER THE DEODARS

* What's queer ? ' said the Man's Wife.

* I have got a chill down my back — just as if a goose
had walked over my grave.'

'Why do you look at the thing, then?' said the
Man's Wife. ' Let us go.'

The Tertium Quid stood at the head of the grave,
and stared without answering for a space. Then he
said, dropping a pebble down, ' It is nasty — and cold:
horribly cold. I don't think I shall come to the Ceme-
tery any more. I don't think grave-digging is cheerful.'

The two talked and agreed that the Cemetery was
depressing. They also arranged for a ride next day
out from the Cemetery through the Mashobra Tunnel
up to Fagoo and back, because 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 up-hill, 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 Ceme-
tery, after allowing all the Mashobra people time to
pass into Simla. That night it rained heavily, and,
next day, when the TerJum Quid came to the try sting-
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 siiu shining divinely.

A.T THE PIT'S MOUTH

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 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 ner-
vous 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. Ho grinned ner-
vously 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 wa,.^ glued to the saddle —
his face blue and white — and he looked into the Man's

'■•■ 'Hi

I ' f I

t '■■,: ^

\ ri

■ri

l\r <i

:'■'■/

UNDER THE DEODARS

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
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 not answer.
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 ex-
plain herself. This wasted twenty minutes, and then
she was sent home in a lady's ^rickshaw, still with her
mcuth 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.

ed at the
ead of the
rent down
, and the

of little
y, and the
n. Then
k to leave
t answer,
eet below,

jal Lodge
mporarily

swinging
►uth open,

She was
taken out
ink to ex-
and then 1

with her |
ig-glcv^es.
ree days,
e funeral \

eighteen ^i
h he had ■

A WAYSIDE COMEDY

Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore the
misery of man is great upon him. — Ecclea. 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 Govern-
ment 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
piih cover the place hs with water, and in Winter the
frosts nip everything young and tender to earth-level.
Tiiere is but one view in Kashima — a stretch of per-
fectly 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 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 inten-

"^^jl

■\4
■■*..,

t?- ^3

9* > "I

UNDER THE DEODARS

tioii to do harm ; but all Kashima knows that she, and
she alone, brought about their pam.

Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain Kur-
rell know this. They are the Engli'h population of
Kashima, if we except Major Vansuythen, who is of
no importance whatever, and Mrs. Vansuythen, who
is the most important of all.

You must remember, though you will not under-
stand, that all laws weaken in a small and hidden com-
munity 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 population 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. Vansuy-
then 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 upon. The eyes dazzled him. Her own sex said
that she was ' not bad looking, but spoilt by pretending
to be so grave.' And yet her gravity was nrtural. 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.

A WAYSIDE COMEDY

She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has
done to Kashima ; but Major Vansuythen cannot under-
stand 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 ' aere is society and
amusement, Kurrell had discoverer 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 dis-
tant as Narkarra or the railway that ran down to the
sea. But the Government sent 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 wel-
come. 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 Ltation, its rights and
privileges. When the Vansuythens were settled down,

f 5 .

■?•♦ ■

UNDER THE DEODARS

they gave a tiny house-warming to all Kashima ; and
that made Ka.shima 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 towards
his wife changed and became demonstratively affec-
tionate. They had been married twelve yeara, lid 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 — for
she called him Ted in the old days when Boulte was
out of earshot — was slipping the links of the alle-
giance.

*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-vehement
blandishments of Ted. Sorrow in Kashima is as fort-
unate 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.

A WAYSIDE COMEDY

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 min-
utes, very distinctly, that there might be no misunder-
standing her meaning. When Samson broke the pillars
of Gaza, he did a little thing, and one not to be com-
pared to the deliberate pulling down of a woman's
homestead about her own ears. There was no wise
female friend to advise Mrs. Boulte, the singularly
I 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
I alone through the Rains. There was no plan or pur-
pose 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 break-
ing out into tears, he laughed and stared straight in
Ifront of him at the Dosehri hills.

' Is that all ? ' he said. ' Thanks, I only wanted to
[know, you know.'

i ■,;

1.5

'/I

'>
.;,-'•

■' t'. f:>

UNDER THE DEODARS

I I

* What are you going to do ? ' said the woman, be-
tween her sobs.

*DoI Nothing. What should I do? Kill Kurrell
or send you Home, or apply for leave to get a divorce?
It's two days* ddk 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 uj) 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 understand 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 gone mad and told everything. My husband
says that I am free to elope with you. Get a ddk for |
Thursday, and we will fly after dinner.' There was aj
cold-bloodedness about that procedure which did not
appeal to her. So she sat still in her own house am!|
thought.

At dinner-time Boulte came back from his walkj
white and worn and haggard, and the woman was!
touched at his distress. As the evening wore on, slie j
muttered some expression of sorrow, something apj
proaching to contrition. Boulte came out of a brow:|
study and said, ' Oh, that ! I wasn't thinking aboui j
that. By the way, what does Kurrell say to tliej
elopement ? '

* I haven't seen him,' said Mrs. Boulte. * Good God!|
is that all?'

A WAYSIDE COMEDY

But Boulte was not listening, and her sentence ended
ill a p^ulp.

The next day brouglit no comfort to Mrs. Boulte, for
Kurrell did not appear, and the new life that she, in
the live 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 Arab
pony fed in the veranda, and went out. The morning
wore through, and at midday the tension became unen-
durable. 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, perliaps
there might be some comfort to be found in her com-
pany. She was the only other woman in the Station.

In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours.
Every one can drop in upon c ery one else at pleasure.
Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, and walked across
to the Vansuythen's 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 hus-
band'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 yuu then if Vansuy-
tlien 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 an hysterical

< ;»'

'1^

• !!l

UNDER THE DEODAHS

i"\

little laugh. *KiirrelI! Oli, it can't bel You two
inuHt liave made some horrible mistake. Perhaps you
— you lost your temper, or misunderstood, 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.

*lt can't be Captain Kurrelll He told me that he
had never taken the least — the least interest in your
wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh, do listen! He said 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 with ti
gasp.

*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 ordina-
rily 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.'

A WAYSIDE COMEDY

♦ You said ho swore he had not cared for me. Was
hat true?'

' Ves,' Huid Mrs. Vansuythcn very softly.

Mrs. Houlte wavered for an instant where slie stood,
and then fell forward fainting.

'What did I tell you?' said Boulte, as though the
conversation luid been unbroken. * You can see for
yourself. She cares for him.' The light began to
break into his dull mind, and he went on — 'And he —
wiiat was he saying to you ? '

lint Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explana-
tions or impassioned protestations, was kneeling over
Mrs. Boulte.

'Oh, you brute I' she cried. *Aro 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? 1 hate you, and 1 hate
Captain Kurrell. Lift her up carefully and now —
|ifo! Go away! '

Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuythen's bed-
room and departed before the storm of that lady's
wrath and disgust, impenitent and burning with jeal-
ousy. Kurrell had been making love to Mrs. Vansuy-
then — would do Vansuythen as great a wrong as he had
done Boulte, who caught himself considering whether
Mrs. Vansuythen would faint if she discovered that the
man slie loved had foresworn 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, you

tI< :

'i :>,.

Vfi

'h^

UNDER THE DEODARS

liar ! ' Kurrell's face changed. * What's that ? ' he
asked quickly.

'Nothing much,' said Boulte. 'Has mj wife told
you that 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 ? '

Kurrell groaned, and tried to frame some sort of
idiotic sentence about being willing to give 'satisfac-
tion.' 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 kill-
ing you, and I'm pretty sure you'd get none from
killing me.'

Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously disproportioned
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. Vansuythen's just now;
and it seems you'd been telling Mrs. Vansuythen that
you'd never cared for Emma. I suppose you 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.'

A WAYSroE COMEDY

lation was

Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and
replied by another question: 'Go on. "What hap-
pened ? '

' Emma fainted,' said Boulte simply. * But, look here,
what had you been saying to Mrs. Vanduythen ? '

Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with unbridled
tongue, made havoc of his plans ; and he could at least
retaliate by hurting the man in whose eyes he was
humiliated and shown dishonourable.

' 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 him-
self than Kurrell. ' Emma told me she hated me. She
has no right in me.'

' No ! I suppose not. You're only her husband,
y'know. And what did Mrs. Vansuythen 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 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, rock-
ing in his saddle. It was an unpleasant 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
[population mad. The laughter endcv abruptly, and
Kurrell was the first to speak.

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UNDER THE DEODARS

* Well, what are you going to do ? *

Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills. * Noth-
ing,' said he quietly; * what's the use ? Tt's too ghastly
for anything. We must let the old lifa go on. 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 /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 nf 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 explanation.
The man's eyes were fixed, not upon Mrs. Boulte, but
her coiipunion. Mrs. Boulte saw the look.

' Speak CO him I ' she pleaded, tui'ning to the woman
at her side. ' Oh, speak to him I Tell him what you
told me just now. Tell him you hate him. Tell him
you hate him I '

A WAYSIDE COMEDY

She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais,
impassive, went forward to hold the horse. Mrs. Van-
suythen 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 ; bui;
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 mnc,' went
on Mrs. Vansuythen.

' Well I ' said Kurrell brutally. ' It seems to me that
Mrs. Boulte had better be iond of her own husband
first.'

' Stop ! ' said Mrs. Vansujrthen. * Hear me first. I
don't care — I don't want to know anything about you
and Mrs. Boulte ; but I want you to know that I hate
you, that I think you are a cur, and thai 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 the road,
shamed, and Ijoiling with wrath against Mrs. Boulte.

He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to
her own house, and, she being freed from the embarrass-
ment of Mrs. Boulte's presence, learned for the second
time her opinion of himself and his actions.

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UNDER THE DEODARS

In the evenings, it was the wont of all Kashima to
meet at the platform on the Narkarra Road, to drink tea,
and discuss the trivialities of the day. Major Vansuy-
then and his wife found themselves alone at the gather-
ing-place for almost the first time in their remembrance;
and the cheery Major, in the teeth of his wife's remark-
ably reasonable suggestion that the rest of the Station
might be sick, insisted upon driving round to the two
bungalows and unearthing the population.

'Sitting in the twilight!' said he, with great indig-
nation, to the Boultes. 'That'll never do! Hang it
all, we're one family here! You must come out, and
so must Kurrell. I'll make him bring his banjo.'

So great is the power of honest simplicity and a good
digestion over guilty consciences that all Kashima did
turn out, even down to the banjo ; and the Major em-
braced the company in one expansive grin. As he
grinned, Mrs. Vansuythen raised her eyes for an instant
and looked at all Kashima. Her meaning was clear.
Major Vansuythen would never know anything. He
was to be the outsider in that happy family whose cage
was the Dosehri hills.

'You're singing villainously out of tune, 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 burdensome genial-
ity, she has been compelled to break her vow of not

A WAYSIDE COMEDY

speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which must of
necessity preserve the semblance of politeness and in-
terest, serves admirably to keep aligL^. 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 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 thac she prefers her husband's com-
pany to any in the world. From the way in which she
cHngs 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.'

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THE PIT THAT THEY DIGGED ^

Mr. Hawkins Mumrath, of Her Majesty's Bengal
Civil Service, lay down to die of enteric fever; and,
being a thorough-minded man, so nearly accomplished
his purpose that all his friends, two doctors, and the
Government he served gave him up for lost. Indeed,
upon a false rumour the night beliore he rallied, sev-
eral journals published very pleasant obituary notices,
which, three weeks later, Mr. Mumrath sat up in bed
and studied with interest. It is strange to read about
yourself in the past tense, and soothing to discover
that for ail your faults, your world * might have
spared a better man.' When a Bengal civilian is
tepid and harmless, newspapers always conclude their
notices with this reflection. It entirely failed to amuse
Mr. Mumrath.

The loving-kindness of the Government provides for
the use of its servants in the East luxuries undreamed
of by other civilizations. A State-paid doctor closed
Mumrath's eyes, — till Mumrath insisted upon opening
them again ; a subventionized undertaker bought Gov-
ernment timber for a Government coffin, and the great
cemetery of St. Golgotha-in-Partibus prepared, accord-
ing to regulation, a brick-lined grave, headed and
edged, with masonry rests for the coffin. The cost of
that grave was 175 rupees 14 annas, including the lease

^ Copyright, 1896, by Macmillan & Oo.

THE PIT THAT THEY DIGGED

of the land in perpetuity. Very minute are the instruc-
tions of the Government for the disposal, wharfage,
and demurrage of its dead ; but the actual arrange-
ments are not published in any appendix to pay and
pension rules, for the same reason that led a Prussian
officer not to leave his dead and wounded too long in
the sight of a battery under fire.

Mr. Mumrath recovered and went about his work,
to the disgust of his juniors who had hoped promotion
from his decease. The undertaker sold the coffin, at a
prolit, to a fat Armenian merchant in Calcutta, and the
State-paid doctor profited in practice by Mumrath's
resurrection from the dead. The Cemetery of St. Gol-
gotha-in-Partibus sat down by the head of the new-
made grave with the beautiful brick lining, and waited
for the corpse then signing despatches in an office three
miles away. The yearly accounts were made up ; and
there remained over, unpaid for, one grave, cost 175
rupees 14 annas. The vouchers for all the other graves
carried the name of a deceased servant of the Govern-
ment. Only one space was blank in the column.

Then Ahutosh Lai Deb, Sub-deputy Assistant in the
Accounts Department, being full of zeal for the State
and but newly appointed to his important post, wrote
officially to the Cemetery, desiring to know the inward-
ness of that grave, and * having the honour to be,' etc.
The Cemetery wrote officially that there was no inward-
ness at all, but a complete emptiness ; said grave hav-
ing been ordered for Mr. Hawkins Mumrath, and ' had
the honour to remain.' Ahutosh Lai Deb had the
honour to point out that, the grave being unused, the
Government could by no means pay for it. The Ceme-
terv wished to know if the account could be carried

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UNDER THE DEODARS

over to the next year, 'pending anticipated taking-up
of grave.'

Ahutosh Lai Deb said that he was not going to have
the accounts confused. Discrepancy was the soul of
badinage and defalcations. The Cemetery would be
good enough to adjust on the financial basis of that
year.

The Cemetery wished they might be buried if they
saw their way to doing it, and there really had been
more than two thousand burned bricks put into the
lining of the grave. Meantime, they complained, the
Govern nent Brickfield Audit was waiting until all mate-
rial should have been paid for.

Ahutosh Lai Deb wrote : ' liefer to Mr. Mumrath.'
The Cemetery referred semi-ofTicially. It struck them
as being rather », delicate matter, but orders are orders.

Hawkins Mumrath wrote back, saying that he had
the honour to be quite well, and not in the least in
need of a grave, brick -lined or otherwise. He recom-
mended the head of the Cemetery to get into that
grave and stay there. The Cemetery forwarded the
letter to Ahutosh Lai Deb, for reference and order.

Ahutosh Lai Deb forwarded it to the Provincial
Government, who filed it behind a mass of other files
and forgot all about it.

A fat she -cobra crawled into the neglected grave,
and laid her eggs among the bricks. The Rains fell,
and a little sprinkling of grass jewellet( the brick flour.

The Cemetery wrote to Ahutosh Tial Deb, advising
him that Mr. Mumrath had not paid for the grave, and
requesting that the sum might be stopped from his
monthly pay. Ahutosh Lai Deb sent the letter to
Hawkins Mumrath as a reminder.

THE PIT THAT THEY DIGGED

Hawkins Mumrath swore ; but when he had sworn,
he began to feel frightened. The enteric fever had
destroyed his nerve. He wrote to the Accounts Depart-
ment, protesting against the injustice of paying for a
grave beforehand. Deductions for pension or widow's
annuity were quite right, but this sort of deduction
was an imposition besides being sarcastic.

Ahutosh Lai Deb wrote that Mr. Mumrath's style
was not one usually employed in official correspon-
dence, and requested him to modulate it and pay for
the grave. Hawkins Mumrath tossed the letter into
the fire, and wrote to the Provincial Government.

The Provincial Government had the honour to point
out that the matter rested entirely between Mr. Haw-
kins Mumrath and the Accounts Department. They
saw no reason to interfere till the money was actually
deducted from the pay. In that eventuality, if Mr.
Hawkins Mumrath appealed through the proper chan-
nels, he might, if the matter were properly reported
upon, get a refund, less the cost of his last letter, which
was under-stamped. The Cemetery wrote to Ahutosh
Lai Deb, enclosing triplicate of grave-bill and demand-
ing some sort of settlement.

Ahutosh Lai Deb deducted 175 rupees 14 annas from
Mumrath's monthly pay. Mumrath appealed through
the proper channels. The Provincial Government
wrote that the expenses of all Government graves
solely concerned the Supreme Government, to whom
his letter had been forwarded.

Mumrath wrote to the Supreme Government. The
Supreme Government had the honour to explain that
tli(^ management of St. Golgotha-in-Partibus was under
direct control of the Provincial Government, to whom

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UNDER THE DEODARS

they had had the honour of forwarding his communica-
tion. Mumrath telegraphed to the Cemetery to this
effect.

The Cemetery telegraphed: * Fiscal and finance,
Supreme; management of internal affairs, Provincial
Government. Refer Revenue and Agricultural De-
partment for grave details.'

Mumrath referred to the Revenue and Agricultural
Department. That Department had the honour to
make clear that it was only concerned in the planta-
tion of trees round the Cemetery. The Forest Depart-
ment controlled the reboisement of the edges of the
paths.

Mumrath forwarded all the letters to Ahutosh Lai
Deb, with a request for an immediate refund under
*Rule 431 A, Supplementary Addenda, Bengal.' He
invented rule and reference pro re nata, having some
knowledge of the workings of the Babu mind.

The crest of the Revenue and Agricultural Depart-
ment frightened Ahutosh Lai Deb more than the
reference. He bewilderedly granted the refund, and
recouped the Government from the Cemetery Estab-
lishment allowance.

The Cemetery Establishment Executive Head wanted
to know what Ahutosh Lai Deb meant.

The Accountant-General wanted to know what Ahu-
tosh Lai Deb meant.

The Provincial Government wanted to know what
Ahutosh Lai Deb meant.

The Revenue and Agriculture, the Forest Depart-
ment, and the Government Harness Depot, which sup-
plies the leather slings for the biers, all wanted to
know what the deuce Ahutosh Lai Deb meant.

THE PIT THAT THEY DIGGED

Ahutosh Lai Deb referred them severally to Mr.
Hawkins Mumratli, who had driven out to chuckle
over his victory all alone at the head of the brick-lined
grave with the masonry foot rests.

The she-cobra was sunning herself by the edge of
the grave with her little ones about her, for the
eggs had hatched out beautifully. Hawkins Mumrath
stepped absently on the old lady*s tail, and she bit him
in the ankle.

Hawkins Mumrath drove home very quickly, and
died in five hours and three-quarters.

Then Ahutosh Lai Deb passed the entry to * regular
account,' and there was peace in India.

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THE HILL OF ILLUSION

.1 ,:

What rendered vain their deep desire ?
A God, a God their severance ruled,
And bade between thr^ir shores to be
The uuplumbed, salt, estranging sea.

Matthew Arnold.

He. Tell your jhampanis not to hurry so, dear.
They forget I'm fresh from the Plains.

She. Sure proof that / have not been going out
with any one. Yes, they are an untrained crew.
Where do we go ?

He. As usual — to the world's end. No, Jakko.

She. Have your pony led after you, then. It's u
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 tliiit
end since Autumn. What makes you speak as thougli
it had occurred to you for the first time ?

She. I ? Oh I I don't know. I've had long enough
to think, too.

He. And you've changed your mind ?

She. No. You ought to know that I am a miracle
of constancy. What are your — arrangements ?

He. Our 8^ Sweetheart, please.

She. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the
prickly heat has marked your forehead I Have you
ever tried sulphate of copper in water?

THE HILL OF ILLUSION

Hk. It'll go away in a day or two up here. The
urrangements are simple enough. Tonga in the early
morning — reach Kalka at twelve — Uniballa at seven
— down, straight by night train, to Hombay, and then
the steamer of the Slst for Home. That's my idea.
The Continent and Sweden — a ten-week honeymoon.

She. Ssh I Don't talk of it in that way. It makes
me afraid. Guy, how long have we two been insane ?

He. Seven montlis and fourteen days, 1 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 eve:"hhing 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.

Me. That was wrong of you. You haven't been
moping ?

She. Not very much. 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 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 !

Spie. And the fun of the situation comes in —
where, my Lancelot?

He. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of
something.

) ', 13

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CNDER THE DEODARS

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 uU the sam'* — in the mouths
of Simla — telegraphed over India, and talked of at the
dinners — and when He goes out they will stare at
Him CO 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 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 ?

She. a very ordinary woman I'm afraid, but, so far,
respectable. H ^w d'you do, Mrs. Middleditch ? Your
husband? I think he's riding down to Annandale
with Colonel Statters. Yes, isn't it divine after tlie

rain? Guy, how long am I to be allowed to bow

to M]'8. Middleditch ? Till the 17th?

He. Frowsy Scotchwoman! What is the use of
bringing her into the discussion ? You were saying ?

She. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged ?

He. Yes. Once.

She. What was it for ?

He. Murder, of course.

THE HILL OF ILLUSION

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 I You're shivering. Put
on your cape, dear.

She. I think I will. Oh ! Look at the mist com-
ing over Sanjaoli ; and I thought we should have sun-
shine on the Ladies' Mile ! Let's turn bajk.

He. What's the ^ood ? 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 I It is chilly.

She. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your
ulster. 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 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 ?

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UNDER THE DEODARS

He. Assuredly.

She. I wonder I

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 Sta-
tion go on still? That was ages and ages ago. It
must be crumbling to pieces. All except the Amir-
toUah kutcha road. I dou'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 I Let us get on
quickly.

He. 'Better walk a little. Stop yonr J hampania 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 Cap-
tain Congleton coming, I daresay he'll be willing to
escort me.

He. Goose I Between us, too ! Damn Captain
Congleton I

She. Chivalrous Knight. Is it your habit to swear
much in talking ? It jars a little, and you might swear
at me.

He. My anr 1 1 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 Cor.gleton. Going to the sing-
ing-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

THE HILL OF ILLUSION

mistake, I certainly don't intend to suffer for it. You
must alter your programme.

He. I thought you told me that you Jhad not been
going out much this season ?

She. Quite true, but when I do I dance with Cap'
tain Congleton. He dances very nicely.

He. And sit out with him I suppose?

She. 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 I Don't I Well now I'm up, you 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 say that I do exactly. I'm not in the
best of tempers.

She. So I see, — and feel. My true and faithful
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
I, — before I go away ; and you at once distrust and
insult me.

He. 1 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

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UNDER THE DEODARS

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 bo
unable to resent it. You want too much, my Lance-
lot, and, — you know too much.

Hs. How do you mean?

She. That is a part of the punishment. There
cannot be perfect trust between us.

He. In Heaven's name, why not?

She. Hush I The Other Place is quite enough.
Ask yourself.

He. I don't follow.

She. You trust me so implicitly that when I look

at another man Never mind. Guy. Have you

ever made love to a girl — a good girl?

He. Something of the sort. Centuries ago — in
the Dark Ages, before I ever met you, dear.

She. Tell me what you said to her.

He. What does a man say to a girl ? I've forgot-
ten.

She. /remember. He tells her that he trusts her
and worships the ground she walks on, and that he'll
love and honour and protect her till her dying day;
and so she marries in that belief. At least, I speak of
one girl who was not protected.

He. Well, and then ?

She. And then, Guy, and then, that girl needs ten
times the love and trust and honour — yes, honour —
that was enough wiien she was only a mere wife if —
if — the other life she chooses to lead is to be made
even bearable. Do you understand ?

He. Even bearable I It'll be Paradise.

THE HILL OF ILLUSION

She. Ah ! Can you give me all I've asked for —
not now, nor a few months later, but when you begin
to think of what you might have done if you had kept
your own appointment and your caste here — when
you begin to look upon me as a drag . nd a burden ? I
shall want it most, then, Guy, for there will be no one
in the wide world but you.

He. You're a little over-tired to-night. Sweetheart,
and you're taking a stage view of the situation. After
the necessary business in the Courts, the road is clear
to

She. *The holy state of matrimony I ' Ha I ha I
ha!

He. Ssh ! Don't laugh in that horrible way !

She. I — I c-c-c-can't help it I Isn't it too absurd I
Ah I 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 ex-
hibition 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 I Don't kill me^ though. You're stick-
ing it into my head ! Let me do it. You men are so
ckimsy.

He. Have you had many opportunities of compar-
ing us — in this sort of work ?

She. Guy, what is my name ?

'if ;i

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UNDER THE DEODARS

He. Eh I I don't follow.

She. Here's my card-case. Can you read ?

He. Yes. Well?

She. Well, that ans\yers your question. You know
the other man's name. Am I sufficiently humbled, or
would you like to ask me if there is any one else ?

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 I Swear I
don't I 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. ListenI

Pendant une anne' toute enti^re
Le regiment n'a pas r'paru.
Au Ministere de la Guerre
On le r'porta comme perdu.

On se r'noncait k r'trouver sa trace,
Quand un matin subitement,
On le vit r'paraitre sur la place,
L'Colonel toujours en avant.

That's the way she rolls her r's. Ami like her?

He. No, but I object when you go on like an actress
and sing stuff of that kind. Where in the world did

THE HILL OF ILLUSION

you pick up the Chanson du Colonel ? It isn't a draw-
ing-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 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 fin-
ished flashing through all your moods tell me, and I'll
try to understand the last one.

She. Moods, Guy I 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. 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 elope-
ment 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.

She (^slowly^. T don't see the necessity

He. Hah! What do you mean?

She. Shall I speak the truth ?

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'H .

UNDER THE DEODARS

He. Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be
as well.

She. Guy, I'm afraid.

He. I thought we'd settled all that. What of?

Sh& Of you.

He. Oh, damn it all I The old business I Thid i«
too bad!

She. Of you.

He. Ar**' vhrJ uov.-'''

She. What d o .< ; • ,. / I nk of me ?

He. Beside tlie q ustun altogether. What do you
intend to do?

She. I daren't risk it. I'm afraid. If I could only
cheat

He. a la Buzgagof 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 j^ou'll swear, and then you'll get jeal-
ous, and then you'll mistrust me — you do now — and
you yourself will be the best reason for doubting. And
I — what shall J do ? I shall be no better than Mrs.
Buzgago found out — no better than any one. And
you'll know that. Oh, Guy, can't you see ?

He. I see that you are desperately unreasonable,
little woman.

She. There I The moment I begin to object, you
get angry. What will you do when I am only ypur

TUB HILL OF ILLUSION

property — stolen property? It can't be, Guy. It can't
be 1 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 U: lerstand that?

She. There, can't you see? If you speak to me
like I lat row, you'll call me horrible names later,
if I ion't do everything as you like. And if you
were cruel to mo, Oruy, where should I go — where
should I go ? I can't trust you. Oh I I can't trust
you 1 , I

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.

He. It isn't exactly pleasant for me.

She. I can't help it. I wish I were dead ! I car 't
truat you, and I don't trust myself. Oh, Guy, let j
die away and be forgotten I

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 I The day after.
I get into my Wickshaw 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
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.
Listenl

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UNDER THE DEODARS

Mrs. Buzgago (in the Old Library^ con. molt, exp.").

See saw ! Margery Daw I

Sold her bed to lie upon straw.

Wasn't she a silly slut

To sell her bed and lie upon 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 I

{Three seconds later. Alone. ^ Hmm! I'd give
something to discover whether there's another man
at the back of all this.

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

EatfHga, volvUur 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.

Ma8ter Hugues of Saxe-Gotha.

* Dressed I Don't tell me that woman ever dressed in
her life. She stood in the middle of the room while her
ai/ah — 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
tlie bed. I know she did, as well as if I had assisted
at the orgie. Who is she?' said Mrs. Hauksbee.

* Don't! ' said Mrs. Mallowe feebly. 'You make
my head ache. I'm miserable to-day. Stay me with

fondants, comfort me with chocolates, for I am

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
lier, and she appeared to be going to sleep in their
midst.'

'Delville,' said Mrs. Mallowe, '"Shady" 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 v/ith Sliigramitish women? She

•'l'^- if

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I i

UNDER THE DEODARS

merely caught my attention for a minute, and I won-
dered jit 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 Lor 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 I '

* Perhaj)s they also expected *

* Polly, don't bo Rabelaisian I '

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. Hiiuksbee stepped into the veranda and looked
down upon the Mall, her forehead puckered with
thought.

' Hah I ' said Mrs. Hauksbee shortly. * Indeed I '

*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 cling
by nature, and I should imagine that this animal — how
terrible her bonnet looks from above I — 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.'

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

*0-ohI 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 I
Some men ouglit to be killed.'

* What happened then ? '

*Ho posed as the horror of horrors — a misunder-
stood man. Heaven knows the femme incomprise is
sad enough and bad enough — but the other tiling 1 '

' And so fat 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 profess
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, except '

' When they go mad and babble of the Unutterabili-
ties after a week's acquaintance. Really, if you 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 I These chocolates pall upon me, and I haven't
eaten more than a a )zen. I think I shall go to sleep.'

' Then you'll get fat, dear. If you took more exer-
cise and a more intelligent interest in your neighbours
you would •'

:ji

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'/ B-

UNDER THE DEODARS

*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 beingvS ?'

* Because in the absence of angels, who I am sure
would be horribly dull, men ana 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 re-
formed, and has passed his Higher Standard, or whatever
the authorities think lit 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.'

* 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, Dis-
penser 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 net be successful
after all. I tbink I shall begin by preventing you
from — what is it? — "sleeping on ale-house benches
and snoring in the sun.'"

^^;!i • <

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

i'*U, X

* 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 ^rickahaw-how,
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 nickname 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 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
. . . Pm so sorry . . . How very unfortunate ! ' . . .

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 preferred a walk with
The Dowd to tea with us ? Elective affinities, I sup-
pose — both grubby. Polly, I'd never forgive that
woman as long as the world rolls.'

' I forgive every woman everything,' said Mrs. Mal-
lowe. 'He will be a sufficient punishment for her.
What a c ^mmon voice she has ! '

MiS. Delville's voice was not pretty, her carriage
was even less lo\'^ely, and her raiment was strikingly

! .

I* li

UNDER THE DEODARS

neglected. All these things Mrs. Mallowe noticed
over the top of a magazine.

*Now what is there in her?' said Mrs. Hauksbee.
* 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 — OhI'

' What is it ? '

* She doesn't know how to use them I On my Honour,
she does not. Look I Oh look I Untidiness 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 think I
mean some one else. Now she's going out. What
a thoroughly objectionable couple she and The Dancing
Master make I Which reminds me. Do you suppose
they'll ever dance together?'

'Wait and see. I don't envy her the conversation
of The Dancing Master — loathly man I His wife
ought to be up here before long.'

* Do you know anything about him ? '

*Only what le 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 wh') 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 revolting
way. I hated him for it. He thought he was being
epigrammatic and brilliant.'

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

*That is a vice peculiar to men. I dislike him
because he is generally in the wake of some girl, disap-
pointing the Eligiblcs. He will persecute May Holt
no more, unless I am much mistaken.'

*No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his atten-
tion 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 ? *

' Not intimately, thank goodness ! As a general
rule, when a man begins to abuse his wife to me, I find
that the Lord gives me wherewith to answer liim
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-edu-
cated sense of Humour will save a woman wlien Relig-
ion, 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 supplSment under her left arm have any
notion of the fltness 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 svith The Dancing Master
— an hour later you met her here at the Library.'

■ i

I-

U'.;

UNDER THE DEODARS

* Still with The Djincing 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 objectionable in every way
and slie in every other. If I know the man sis you
have described him, he holds his wife in slavery at
present.'

*She is twenty years younger than he.*

* Poor wretch I 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: ^WJiat shall he have
who killed the Leer!'' She was a lady of unfettered
speech.

One montli later, she announced her intention of call-
ing upon Mrs. Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee and
Mrs. Mallowe were in morning wrappers, and there
was a great peace in the land.

'I shoidd go as I was,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'It
would be a delicate compliment to her style.'

Mrs. Hauksliee studied herself in tlie glass.

* Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened
these doors, I should put on this robe, after all tlie
others, to show her what a morning wrapper ought to
be. It might enliven her. As it is, J shall go in the
dove-coloured — sweet emblem of youth and innocence
— and shall put on my new gloves.'

•if yow 'eally are going, dirty tan would be too

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

rrood ; and you kno^ that dove-colour spots with tlie
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 I When did she do that ? '

* Yesterday — riding with ^^he Dancing Master. 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. J 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 face." 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 Danc-
ing 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 limjt to the ti oachery of youth ! I
ordered the Hawley Boy, as he valued my patrona :e,
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

.2^

.^'•'>,4^

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 and " really didn't know " — 'played with my
card-case and " supposed so." The Hawley Boy gig-
gled 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 man-
aged to convey the impression that she was suffering
from stomach-f^he, 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 I blind, Polly ? Laziness, sheer laziness, noth-
ing else — or her gaiments were only constructed for
sitting down in. I stayed for a quarter of an hour
trying to penetrate the gloom, to guess what her sur-
roundings were like, while she stuck out her tongue.'

* Lu — cy ! '

* W- i — 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

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

Church. But I resent being grunted at. Wouldn't
you? Do you suppose that she communicates her
views on life and love to The Dancing Master in a set
of modulated " Grmphs ? " '

'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 for-
give.'

' Listen to the voice of History. I am only describ-
ing what I saw. He entered, the heap on the sofa
revived slightly, and the Hav/ley 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 und
The Dancing Master alone. They never did you any
harm.'

' 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 Haw ley 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. Other-

. i

UNDER THE DEODARS

wise I may go abroad and disturb Simla with a few
original reflections. Excepting always your own sweet
self, there isn't a single woman in the land who under-
stands me when I am — what's the word ? '

* Tite-fSlSe,^ suggested Mrs. Mallowe.

* Exactly I And now let us have tiffin. The de-
mands of Society are exhausting, and as Mrs. Delvillo

says ' Here Mrs. Ilauksbee, to the horror of the

khitmatyars^ lapsed into a series of grunts, while Mrs.
Mallowe stared in lazy surprise.

* " God gie us a gude conceit of oorselves," ' said Mrs.
Hauksbee piously, returning to her natural speech.

* Now, in any other woman that would have been vul-
gar. I am consumed with curiosity to see Mrs. Bent.
I expect complications.'

'Woman of one idea,' said Mrs. Mallowe shortly;

* all complications are as old as the hills I 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 p'.it my head in your lap, you dear, big sceptic,
you will k\ ,rn 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 ctilmly.

* 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 ungrati-
fied, 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.

' Behold ! ' said Mrs. Hauksbee, thoughtfully rubbing

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

her nose. 'Thcat is the last link of the chain, if wo
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. Ilauks-
bee 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 whatever 1 look, I
never talk — as the Wfiddy will. Let us hoT>e that
The Dancing Master's greasy smile and manner cf
the pedagogue will soften the heai't of that cow, liis
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 himself is
a reason. How does it go? "H in his life some
trivial errors fall. Look in his face and 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 '

UNDER THE DEODARS

* That she, too, is capable of every iniquity ? T
always prefer to believe the best of everybody. It
saves so luiieh trouble.'

* Very good. I prefer to believe the worst. It saves
useless expenditure of sympatliy. And you may be
quite certain that the Waddy believes with me.'

Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer.

Tlie conversation was holden after dinner while Mrs.
Hauksbee was dressing for a dance.

*I am too tired to go,' pleaded Mrs. Mallowe, and
Mrs. llauksbee left her in i)eace till two in the morn-
ing, when she was aware of emphatic knocking at her
door.

'Don't be very angry, dear,' said IMrs. Hauksbee.
*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.

''Can't help it. I'm a lone, lorn grass-widow, dear,
but I will not sleep in my stays. And such news tool
Oh, do unlace me, there's a darling! The Dowd — The
Dancing Master — I and the Hawley Boy — You know
the North veranda?'

* 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 the aid
of your eyes. Do you know you've lovely eyes, dear?
Well, to begin with, I took the Havdey Boy to a kaU
juggah.'

' Did he want much taking? '

'Twots! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in
kanatSf and she was in the next one talking to Am.'

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

'Which? TIow? Explain.'

*You know what I mean — Tlie 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 I Now turn round.
Wliat happened?'

'One moment. Ah — hi Rlesscd relief. I've heen
looking forward to taking them off for the last half-
hour — which is ominous at my time of life. Hut, 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 Dimcing
Master owned it was so in language that nearly made
me ill. The Dowd reflected for a while. Then we
lieard her say, "Look he-ere. Mister Bent, why are
you such an aw-f ul liar ? " I nearly exploded while
Tiie 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 min-
utes, reproaching him with his perfidy and grew quite
motherly. "Now you've got a nice little 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 ex-

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WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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UNDER THE DEODARS

traordinary 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, re-
proof, jocularity, and the style of the Lord High War-
den, and I had almost to pinch the Hawley Boy to make
him keep quiet. She grunted at the end of each sen-
tence and, in the end, he went away swearing to himself,
quite like a man in a novel. He looked more objec-
tionable 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

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

away limp and disconcerted 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 under-
stand 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 conversation were so great that
he needed constant surveillance. And he received it,
till he repented 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 !

' Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria ? '
'Of nothing in the world except smallpox. Diph-
theria kills, but it doesn't disfigure. Why do you ask ? '
'Because the Bsnt baby has got it, and the whole

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UNDER THE DEODARS

hotel is upside down in consequence. The Waddy has
" set her five young on the rail " and fled. The Danc-
ing Master fears for his precious throat, and that miser-
able little woman, his wife, has no notion of what ought
to be done. She wanted to put it into a mustard batli
— for croup I '

' 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. Would
you seriously object to my bringing the child over here,
with its mother? '

* On the most strict understanding that we see noth-
ing 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, Fm 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

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

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 undisguisedly thank-
ful, 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.

' We can give you good milk,' said Mrs. Hauksbee 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 plap^ue 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 ayaKs 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 atten-
tion through the day and the night. The Doctor

IJIM %

,.*». '

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 considered 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 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 pos-
sibly can,' said the Doctor ; ' I'd turn her out of tlie
sick-room, but that I honestly believe she'd die of anx-
iety. 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 education has
been horribly neglected ; and I have only this foolish
mother- woman to fall back upon.'

The night wore through slowly, and Mrs. Hauksbee

H.\ 1

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

iuU

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 I Do you
mean io let her die ? '

Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent over the
bed. The child was fighting for breath, while the
mother wrung her hands despairing.

' 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 room. Mrs.
Hauksbee, her hands to her ears, and her face buried
iu 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 I '

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.

,|J: ,

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,^*;f%

UNDER THE DEODARS

* 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
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 ai/aha 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 gen-
eral 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, realis-
ing for the first time who was the Goddess from the
Machine, stared also.

Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, putting on ii
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 early,
an' your door was open, an' I — I — lost my boy this

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

way six months ago, an' I've been tryin' to forget it
ever since, an' I — I — I am very sorry for intrudin*
an' any thin' 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
liimself 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 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 ? '

«4 ' T^.

UNDER THE DEODARS

* Kisses don't as a rule, do they ? Of course you
know what the result of The Dovvd's providential
arrival has been.'

'They ought to build her a statue — only no sculptor
dare copy those skirts.'

* Ah I ' said Mrs. Mallowe quietly. ' She has found
another reward. The Dancing Master has been smirk-
ing through Simla, giving every one to understand tliut
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
bedtime. 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 ! '
'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 diffi-
culties and privations inseparable from Military Service. — Bengal
Army liegulations.

They made Bobby Wick pass an examination at
Sandhurst. He was a gentleman before he was ga-
zetted, so, when the Empress announced that ' Gentle-
man-Cadet Robert Hanna Wick ' was posted as Second
Lieutenant to the Tyneside Tail Twisters at Krab
Bokhar, he became an officer a7id 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 achievement^.

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 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 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 pre-
pared, an interval of pure delight, during which Bobby

UNDER THE DEODARS

took brevet-rank as a *man' at the women-swamped
tennis-parties and tea-fi^lits of the village, and, 1 dare-
say, 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 come out to India to make their fci'tunes.

* India,' said Papa Wick, *is the place. I've had
thirty years of it and, begad, Vd like to go back again.
When you join the Tail Twisters you'll be among
friends, if every one hasn't forgotten Wick of Chota-
Buldaruu, and a lot of people will bo 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 valu-
able, did Papa Wick fortify Bobby ere that last awful
night at Portsmouth when the Officers' Quarters held
more inmates than were provided for by the Regula-
tions, 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 manoeuvre inship

ONLY A SUBALTERN

and tho comfort of fifty scornful foinalos to attend to,
liiid no time to feel homesick till tlie Mahihar reached
mid -Channel, when he doubled his emotions with u little
guard-visiting and a pjreat many other matters.

The Tail Twisters were a most particular Regiment.
Those who knew them least said that tliey were eaten
up with 'side.' Hut their reserve and tlieir internal
arrangements generally were merely protective diplo-
macy. Some live years before, tlie Colonel command-
ing had looked into tho fourteen fearless eyes of seven
})hnnp and juicy subalterns who had all applied to enter
the Staff Corps, and liad asked them why the threft
stars should he, a colonel of the Line, command a dashed
nursery for double-dashed bottle-suckers who put on
condemned tin spurs and rode qualified mokes fit tho
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 pub-
lic opinion] till the rumour went abroad that young
men who used the Tail Twisters as a crutch to tho
Staff 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 Regi-
ment within the compass of the Seven Seas. He was
taught the legends of the Mess Plate, from the great

'ilWIii*

•.li

.«.«.:•

UNDER THE DEODARS

''I

grinning Golden Gods that had come out of the Sum-
mer Palace in Pekin to the silver-mounted markhor-
horn snuff-mull presented by the last CO. [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 contact
with the Regimental colours, which looked like the lin-
ing of a bricklayer's hat en 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 were filling with awe and other more noble
sentiments.

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

ONLY A SUBALTERN

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.

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, 'tisn't the best drill,
though drill is nearly everything, that hauls a Regi-
ment 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

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100

UNDER THE DEODARS

i»ti

kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-thirds pure brute,
goes into a corner and growls.'

* How do you know ? ' said Bobby adniiringly.

* 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 badg-
ered 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.'

* No. The men would precious soon show him that
he was not wanted. You've got to '

Here the Colour-sergeant entered with some papers ;
Bobby reflected for a while as Revere looked through
the Company forms.

* Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant ? ' Bobby
asked with the air of one continuing an interrupted
conversation.

' No, sir. Does 'is dooty like a hortomato,' said the
Sergeant, who delighted in long words. * A dirty sol-
dier, and 'e's under full stoppages for new kit. It's
covered with scales, sir.'

* Scales ? What scales ? '

' Fish-scales, sir. 'E's always pokin' in the mud
by the river an' a-cleanin' them muchli/-^sh with 'is
thumbs.' Revere was still absorbed in the Company
papers, and the Sergeant, who was sternly fond of
Bobby, continued, — ' 'E generally goes down there
when 'e's got 'is skinful, beggin' your pardon, sir, an'

ONLY A SUBALTERN

101

they do say that the more lush — in-Ag-brJated 'e is, the
more fish 'e catches. They call 'im the Looney Fish-
monger in the Comp'ny, sir.'

Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant re-
treated.

' It's a filthy amusement,' sighed Bobby to himself.
Then aloud to Revere : ' Are you really worried about
Dormer ? '

' A little. You see he's never mad enough to send
to hospital, or drunk enough to run in, but at any min-
ute he may flare up, brooding and sulking as he does.
He resents any interest being shown in him, and the
only time I took him out shooting he all but shot me
by accident.'

'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 I ' 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 morn-
ing — 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,

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102

UNDER THE DEODARS

1 1

K. ■

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 thougli
the lumbering dhoni crept across the splendours 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 I ' said Private Dormer
in an awed whisper. *This 'ere is like a bloomin'
gallantry-show I * For the rest of the day he was
dumb, but achieved an ensanguined filthiness through
the cleaning of big fish.

The boat returned on Saturday evening. Dormer
had been struggling with speecii 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 accord-
ingly. 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 ani-
mal ! Have you ever seen him clean " them, muchly-
fish, with 'is thumbs " ? '

'Anyhow,' said Revere three weeks later, 'he's do-
ing 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 admir-
ing skipper.

ONLY A SUBALTERN

103

*The best of the batch,' said the Adjutant to the
Colonel. *Keep back that young skrimshanker Por-
kiss, sir, and let Revere make him sit up.'

So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with
ta 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, ri — ipping ! * said
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 Regi-
ment 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 Commandant.
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.' 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

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104

UNDER THE DEODARS

i ! -S i!

debts unpaid I 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 kiiows what Bobby had said 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 waltz-
ing in his brain.

* Good man ! ' shouted Deighton of the Horse Battery
through the mists. ' Whar you raise dat tonga? I'm
coming with you. Ow ! But I've a head and half. 1
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,
Leave the corpse uninterred,
Leave the bride at the altar !

*My faith I It'll be more bally corpse than bride,
though, this journey. Jump in, Bobby. Get on,
Ooachtvan! '

On the Umballa platform waited a detachment of
officers discussing the latest news from the stricken
cantonment, and it was here that Bobby learned tlie
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 with two hundred and
ten sick m carts. Two hundred and ten fever cases

^-1'

ONLY A SUBALTERN

105

only, and the balance looking like so many gliosta with
sore eyes. A Madras Regiment could have walked
through 'em.*

*But they were as fit as be-damned when I left them I '
said Bobby.

*Then you'd better make them as fit as be-damned
when you rejoin,' said the Major brutally.

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 ; whije 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

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106

UNDER THE DEODARS

'li!

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 best thing would be to
send the entire Regiment into hospital and 'let tlie
doctors look after them.' Porkiss was demoralised
with fear, nor was his peace of mind restored when
Revere said coldly : ' Oh I The sooner you go out the
better, if that's your way of thinking. Any public
school could send U3 fifty good men in yo^iv place, but
it takes time, time, Porkiss, and money, and a certain
amount of trouble, to make a Regiment. 'S'pose youWe
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 tne news was announced.

* There goes the worst of them,' he said. ' It'll take
the best, and then, please God, it'll stop.' The Ser-
geants 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 Com-
pany, rallying, rebuking, mildly, as is consistent with
the Regulations, chaffing the faint-hearted; haling 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

ONLY A SUBALTERN

107

soldiers, were always wandering into infected villages,
or drinking deeply from rain-flooded marshes ; com-
forting 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 t' e 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 sentiments 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 considerably more in request
in the hospital tents than the Reverend John Emery.

' The men seem fond of you. Are you in the hos-
pitals 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.

* A little, sir,' said Bobby.

* 'Shouldn't go there too often if I were you. They

108

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 satis-
factorily disposed of, sat down to answer it. For mi
hour the unhandy pen toiled over 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 I ' 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 bef ore'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 I That's brandy. Drink some ; you want it.
Hang on to my stirrup and tell me if I go too fast.

Strengthened by a four-finger ' nip ' which he swal-
lowed without a wink, the Hospital Orderly kept up
with the slipping, mud-stained, and very disgusted pony
as it shambled to the hospital tent.

Private Dormer was certainly ''orrid bad,' He

ONLY A SUBALTERN

109

had all but reached the stage of collapse and was not
pleasant to look upon.

* What's this, Dormer ? ' said Bobby, bending over
the man. * You're not going out this time. You've
got to come fishing with me once or twice more yet.'

The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a whisper
said, — ' Beg y' pardon, sir, disturbin' of you now, but
would you min' 'oldin' my 'and, sir ? '

Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy cold
hand closed on his own like a vice, forcing a lady's
ring which was on the little finger deep into the flesh.
Bobby set his lips and waited, the water dripping from
the hem of his trousers. An hour passed and the grasp
of the hand did not relax, nor did the expression of the
drawn face change. Bobby with infinite craft lit him-
self a cheroot with the left hand, his right arm was
numbed to the elbow, and resigned himself to a night
of pain.

Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sitting
on the side of a sick man's cot, and a Doctor in the
doorway using language unfit for publication.

* Have you been here all night, you young ass ? ' said
the Doctor.

' There or thereabouts,' said Bobby ruefully. * He's
frozen on to me.'

Dormer's mouth shut with a click. He turned 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

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110

UNDER THE DEODARS

my hand away. Kub my arm down, there's a good
chap. What a grip the brute has I I'm chilled to tliu
marrow ! ' lie passed out of the tent siiivering.

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
V liken to V spoken to 'im — so I should.'

Hut at that time Bobby was reading yet another let-
ter — 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 out-
side would be gone. He did not intend to say that the
cliill of a sick man's hand seemed to have struck into
the heart whoso capacities f(^r 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 head-
ache 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
work. You go on as if you were the whole Mess
rolled into one. Take it easy.'

' I will,' said Bobby. ' I'm feeling done up, some-
how.' Revere looked at him anxiously and said noth-
ing.

There was a flickering of lanterns about the camp
that night, and a rumour that brought men out of
their cots to the tent doors, a paddling of the naked
feet of doolie-bearers and the rush of a galloping horse.

' Wot's up ? ' asked twenty tents ; and through
twenty tents ran the answer — 'Wick, 'e's down.'

T'l

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ONLY A SUBALTERN

111

They brought the news to Revere and he groane<l.
' Any ore buv Bobby and I Hliouldn't have cared ! The
Sergeant Major was right.'

*Not going out this journey,' gasped Bobby, as he
was lifted from the doolie. * Not going out this jour-
ney.' Then with an air of supremo conviction — *I
ca?i'^ you see.'

* Not if I can do anything I ' said the Surgeon Major,
who had hastened over from the mess where he had
been dining.

He and the Regimental Surgeon fought together with
Death for the life of Bobby Wick. Their work was
interrupted by a hairy apparition in a blue-gray dress-
ing-gown who stared in horror at the bed and cried —
' Oh, my Gawd ! It can't be 'm .' ' until an indignant
Ilc^^pital Orderly whisked him away.

If care of man and desire to live could have done
aught, Bobby would have been saved. As it was, he
made a fight of three days, and the Surgeon-Major's
brow uncreased. ' We'll save him yet,' he said ; and
the Surgeon, who, though he ranked with the Captain,
had a very youthful hsart, went out upon the word and
pranced joyously in the mud.

' Not going out this journey,' whispered Bobby Wick
gallantly, at the end of the third day.

' Bravo I ' 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.'

'1st.

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112

UNDER THE DEODARS

I;.. ' ' '

i.i'

: I
' I

The desire for life had departed, and Bobby was con-
tent 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 kno — ow?
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.'

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-Com-
missioner 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.

^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ flp ^ff ^^ ^^

ONLY A SUBALTERN

113

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, ConkyI
Orf'cer? — bloomin' orf'cer? I'll learn you to mis-
name 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.

Wi''

^ !'■■ Ml

mi I

): '.

I'm

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

+ 1'

May no ill dreams disturb my rest,
Nor Powers of Darkness me molest.

Evening Hymn.

One of the few advantages that India has over Eng-
land 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 any-
where and everywhere without paying hotel-bills.

Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a right,
have, even within my memory, blunted this open-hea vt-
edness, 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 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 obligation by Rickett, and yearly sends the little
Ricketts a box of presents and toys. It is the same

114

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

116

everywhere. The men who do not take the trouble to
conceal from you their opinion that you are an incom-
petent 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 Incurables, 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 authorita-
tively, and 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. ' Pan-
say 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 IVIrs. Keith-
Wessington. My notion is that the work of the Kata-
bundi 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 Manner-

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116

UNDER THE DEODARS

I: r

ing, 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 afterwards he was reported fit
for duty, but, in spite of the fact that he was urgently
needed to help an undermanned Commission stagger
through a deficit, he preferred to die ; vowing at the
last that he was hag-ridden. I got his manuscript
before he died, and this is his version of the affair,
dated 1885, exactly as he wrote it : —

My doctor tells me that I need rest and change of
air. It is not improbable that I shall get both ere
long — rest that neither the red-coated messenger nor
the mid-day gun can break, and change of air far
beyond that which any homeward-bound steamer can
give me. In the meantime I am resolved to stay
where I am ; and, in flat defiance of my doctor's orders,
to take all the world into my confidence. You shall

"■lit'

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

117

learn for yourselves the precise nature of my malady,
and shall, too, judge for yourselves whether any man
born of woman on this weary earth was ever so tor-
mented as I.

Speaking now as a condemned criminal might speak
ere the drop-bolts are drawn, my story, wild and hide-
ously improbable as it may appear, demands at least
attention. That it will ever receive credence I utterly
disbelieve. Two months ago I should have scouted
as mad or drunk the man who had dared tell me the
like. Two months ago I was the happiest man in
India. To-day, from Peshawar to the sea, there is no
one more wretched. My doctor and I are the only
two who know this. His explanation is, that my brain,
digestion, and eyesight are all slightly affected ; giving
rise to my frequent and persistent 'delusions.' Delu-
sions, indeed ! I call him a fool ; but he attends me
still with the same unwearied smile, the same bland
professional manner, the same neatly-trimmed red
whiskers, till I begin to suspect that I am an ungrate-
ful, evil-tempered invalid. But you shall judge for
yourselves.

Three years ago it was my fortune — my great
misfortune — to sail from Gravesend to Bombay, on
return from long leave, with one Agnes Keith- Wes-
sington, wife of an officer on the Bombay side. It
does not in the least concern you to know what man-
ner of woman she was. Be content with the knowl-
edge that, ere the voyage had ended, both she and I
were desperately and unreasoningly in love with one
another. Heaven knows that I can make the admis-
sion now without one particle of vanity. In matters
of this sort there is always one who gives and another

1/ [H^

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I '

118

UNDER THE DEODARS

i.^i , 1

who accepts. From the first day of our ill-omened
attachment, I was conscious that Agnes's passion was
a stronger, a more dominant, and — if I may use the
expression — a purer sentiment than mine. Whether
she recognised the fact then, I do not know. After-
wards it was bitterly plain to both of us.

Arrived at Bombay in the spring of the year, we
went our respective ways, to meet no more for the
next three or four months, when my leave and her
love took us both to Simla. There we spent the season
together ; and there my fire of straw burnt itself out
to a pitiful end with the closing year. I attempt no
excuse. I make no apology. Mrs. Wessington had
given up much for my sake, and was prepared to give
up all. From 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 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. Wessing-
ton was the hundredth. On her neither my openly-
expressed aversion nor the cutting brutalities witli
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 knowledge
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

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

119

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 reconciliation,
and I with loathing of her in every fibre of my frame.
Several times I could not avoid meeting 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
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 continued 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 trem-
bling avowal of attachment ; her reply ; and now and

;

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UNDER THE DEODARS

again a vision of a white face flitting by in the 'rick-
shaw 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 sel-
dom, 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 * mag-pie ' Jhampanies at the back
of Jakko, and, 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, with-
out 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 I '

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 sup-
pose, of overtaking me.

The scene and its surroundings were photographed
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 background against which the black and white
liveries of the jhampanies^ the yellow-panelled 'rickshaw
and Mrs. Wessington's down-bowed golden head stood

■i--"4"'

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

121

out clearly. She was holding her liandkerchief 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 I ' This
may have been imagination. I never stopped to verify
it. Ten minutes later I came across Kitty on horse-
back ; and, in the delight of a long ride with her, forgot
all about the interview.

A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the inex-
pressible 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, therefore, 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 engagement 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

122

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 per-
fect health, enjoying a well-balanced mind and an abso-
lutely 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. The ring 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 veranda, — I was aware
that some one, apparently at a vast distance, was call-
ing 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 I,etween 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 com-
mitted such a solecism, and had eventually decided that
it must have been some singing in my ears. Immedi-
ately opposite Peliti's shop my eye was arrested by the
sight of four jhampanies in ' mag-pie ' livery, pulling a
yellow-panelled, cheap, bazar 'rickshaw. In a moment
my mind flew back to the previous season and Mrs.
Wessington with a sense of irritation 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

*-:.ri, -ik'

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

123

; had
cora-

that
medi-
)y the
ing a
Dment

Mrs.

Was
with,
ng to

them
rsonal

favour to change her jhampaniea' 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. Wessington's
jhampaniea 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 I don't
want all creation to know about it. There was lots of
space between the mule and the veranda ; and, if you
think I can't ride There I '

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 after-
wards 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 too, and now stood immediately facing me,
near the left railing of the Combermere Bridge.

'Jack! Jack, darling!' (There was no mistake

^ i

124

UNDER THE DEODARS

about the words this time : tlioy rang througli my
brain as if thuy had been shouted in my ear.) 'It's
some hideous mistake, I'm sure. Please forgive niu,
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 horriljlo
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 com-
forting to me just then than the consolations of religion
could have been. I plunged into the midst of the
conversation at once ; chatted, laughed, and jested witli
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, '•haritably
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 eternity to me, when I heard Kitty's clear
voice outside enquiring for me. In another minute
she had entered the shop, prepared to upbraid me for
failing so signally in my duties. Something in my
face stopped her.

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

126

* Why, Jack,' she cried, *wliat have you been doing?
What has happened? Are you ill ? ' Thus driven into
a direct lie, I said that the sun had been a little too
much for me. It was close upon five o'clock of a
cloudy April afternoon, and the sun had been hidden
all day. 1 saw my mistake as soon as the words were
out of my moutli : attempted to recover it ; blundered
liopelessly and followed Kitty, in a regal rage, out of
doors, amid the smiles of my acquaintiinccs. I made
some excuse (I have forgotten what) on the score of
my feeling faint ; and cantered away to my hotel, leav-
ing Kitty to finish the ride by herself.

In my room I sat down and tried calmly to reason
out the matter. Hero was I, Theobald Jack Pansay,
a well-educated Bengal Civilian in the year of grace
1885, presumably sane, certainly healthy, driven in
terror from my sweetheart's side by the apparition of
a woman who had been dead and buried eight months
ago. These were facts that I could not blink. Noth-
ing was further from my thought than any memory
of Mrs. Wessington when Kitty and I left Hamilton's
shop. Nothing was more utterly commonplace than the
stretch of wall opposite Peliti's. It was broad daylight.
The road was full of people ; and yet here, look you, in
defiance of every law of probability, in direct 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 marvellously like Mrs.
Wessington had hired the carriage and tlie 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

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126

UNDER THE DEODARS

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, im-
ploring her to overlook my strange conduct of the pre-
vious afternoon. My Divinity was still very wroth,
and a personal apology was necessary. I explained,
with a fluency born of night-long pondering over a
falsehood, tiiat I had been attacked with a sudden pal-
pitation 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 Observ-
atory Hill, Jutogh, the Boileaugunge 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, according 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 ap-
peared to fly, and my heart beat quicker and quicker
Al W3 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-

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

127

time walks and talks. The bowlders were full of it ;
the pines sang it aloud overhead ; the rain-fed tor-
rents 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 wjis 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 wr»man within — all a^)parently just
as I had left them eight months and one fortnight ago I
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 fell back a little. The 'rick-
shaw 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 mis-
take, 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

1 '•

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128

UNDER THE DEODARS

speak afterwards 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 com-
pletely all trace of it disappeared. You know my wife
was insanely fond of the woman (never could see any-
thing ii her myself), and wanted me to pick up her
old 'rickshaw and coolies if they were to be got for
love cr money. Morbid sort of fancy I call it ; but
I've got to do what the Memsahib 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 dead Memsahib'a '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 employments
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 laL^ question I saw the
infernal Thing blocking my path in the twilight. The
dead travel fast, and by short cuts unknown to ordinary
coclies. 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-evenirg.' Her

1 2- ft;;

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

129

answer was one I knew only too well. I listened to the
unci; 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 tlie 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 drunk. I thanked them
confusedly and cantered away to my hotel, there
-aanged, and ari'ved at the Manne rings' 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.

Tlie 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
further end of the table a short red-whiskered man was
dcs'^ribing, 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 profe^]siollal
story-tellers do, caught my eye, and straightway col-
lapsed. There was a moment's awkward silence, and
the red-whiskered man muttered something to the
effect that he had 'forgotten the rest,' thereby sucriiic-
ing a reputation as a good story-teller which he had

W'm 1

r-.

'ntpS

¥ ■

m ' I-

130

UNDER THE DEODARS

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. Heather-
legh 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 readi-
ness in the Mall, and, in what seemed devilish mockery
of our ways, with a lighted head-lamp. The red-
whiskered man went to the point at once, in a man-
ner that showed he had been thinking over it all
dinner-time.

* I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the matter witli
you this evening on the Elysium Road ? ' The sudden-
ness 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 whatever where you're
pointing, though you're sweating 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 wait-
ing for us kept about twenty yards ahead — and this,
too, whether we walked, trotted, or cantered. In the

I*'

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THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

131

course of that long night ride I had told my compan-
ion 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.

' 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 thor-
oughly 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. Heather-
legh rapped out pn oath.

' Now, if you think I'm going to spend a cold night
on the hillside for the sake of a Stomach-(?^*?7^Brain-
mm-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. The uprooted trees swayed

k^h

132

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 fall-
ing earth and stone had subsided, my companion mut-
tered : * 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 "... Coni*^ home,
Pansay, and thank God. I want a peg badly.'

We retraced our way over the Church Ridge, and I
arrived at Dr. Heatherlegh's house shortly after mid-
night.

His attempts towards my cure commenced almost im-
mediately, 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
pedv -jtrianism, Heatherlegh dismissed me as brusquely

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

133

as he had taken charge of lae. 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.'

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 blackguard. Nol' — check-
ing 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' draw-
ing-room with Kitty — drunk with the intoxication 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 pro-
posed 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 niy impatient
mind. Kitty was astonished at my boisterousness.

ill

1 1

lU^^^^Hi

■ i

^^^^^H

HH'

f .

^^m

J'\ V

^S. ■'- ' J

!'? I

-f ->■'■

134

UNDER THE DEODARS

* Why, Jack I ' she cried at last, * you are behaving like
a child. What are you doing ? *

We were just below the Convent, and from sheer
wantonness I was making my Waler plunge and curvet
across the road as I tickled it with the loop of 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.'

'. ■ l^ii'

My quotation was hardly out of my lips before we
had rounded the corner above the Convent ; and a few
yards further on could see across to Sanjowlie. In the
centre of the level road stood the black and white liv-
eries, 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 ' I gasped. Kitty only wept
more bitterly.

' Has what gone. Jack dear? what doep 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 im-

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

135

plored 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 Kitty only knows
liow 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 Ido.^

The syces, impassive as Orientals always are, had
come up \\ith 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 my life's
happiness and you'd better take me home.'

■1 ' !

' 1

I .11

136

UNDER THE DEODARS

I ' i

l!^ I

As I spoke the 'rickshaw was gone. Then I lost all
knowledge of what was passing. Tlie crest of Jakko
seemed to heave and roll 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 not 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 lib-
erty 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 must 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.

' Now you've got your choice, my friend. This en-
gagement 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

H. . I,
1 ^

*i^

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

137

insanity. Say the word and I'll tell 'em it's fits. All
Simla knows about that scene on the Ladies' Mile.
Cornel 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 ? '

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 farther pain.

Next day I could not leave my bed. Heatherlegh
told me in the morning that he had received an answer
from Mr. Mannering, and that, thanks to his (Heather-
legh's) friendly offices, the story of my affliction had

i^iii'

138

UNDER THE DEODARS

ll'^- !

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 con-
cluded pleasantly, *th(Migh 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 unreasonableness 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 other
men and women I knew were all ghosts ; and the great,
gray hills themselves but vain shadows devised to tor-
ture me. From mood to mood I tossed backwards and
forwards for seven weary days ; my body growing
daily stronger and stronger, until the bedroom look-
ing-glass told me that I had returned to every-day 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 per-
manent alteration — visible evidence of the disease that
was eating me away. I found nothing.

I' ■! I ! ,' . '

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

139

On the 15th of May I left Heatherlegh's house at
eleven o'clock in the morning ; and the instinct of the
biiehelor 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 nat-
ural 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 meeting Kitty. Close to the Band-stand the
black and white liveries joined me ; and I heard Mrs.
Wessington's old appeal at my side. I had been ex-
pecting this ever since I came out ; and was only sur-
prised 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 over-
took and passed us. For any sign she gave I might
have been a dog in the road. She did not 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
kave at Simla — at Simla! Every-day, 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 work-a-day Anglo-
Indian world I knew so well. 1 even repeated the

i 'm

I '

* ^.

140

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 prevented my hear-
ing Mrs. Wessington for a time.

Once more I wearily climbed the Convent slope and
altered 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. (A woman eight months dead
with a card' case !) I had to pin myself down to the
multiplication-table, and to set both hands on the stone
parapet 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. Wes-
sington 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,

!'■' k

: i ! -r

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

141

'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 ?

I met Kitty on the homeward road — a shadow among
shadows.

If I were to describe all the incidents of the next fort-
night 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 veranda, after a
long evening of whist ; at the Birthday Ball, waiting
patiently for my reappearance; and in broad daylight
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. Moro than once I
have walked down the Mall deep in coi. . crsation with

III

''.'■

142

UNDE1> THE DEODARS

! I

i ■ ih
J..

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 evev.
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 15ch of May ap to to-day.

The presence of the 'rickshaw filled me by turns with
horror, blind fear, a dim sort of plcjusure, and utter de-
spair. 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. Alternately 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 sen-
sation of dull, numbing wonder that the seen and the
Unseen should mingle so strangely or this earth to
hound one poor seal to its grave.

August 27. — Heathcrlegh 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

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

143

application to escape the company of a phantom I A
request that the Government would graciously permit
me to get rid of five ghosts and an airy *rickshaw by
going to England! Heatherlegh's proposition moved
me to almost hysterical laughter. I told him that I
should await the end quietly at Simla; and I am srre
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 oi my death.

Shall I die in my bed decently and as an English gen-
tleman should die ; or, in one last walk on the Mall, will
my soul be wrenched from me to take its place for ever
and ever by the side of that ghastly phantasm ? Shall
I return to my old lost allegiance in the next world, or
shall I meet Agnes loathing her and bound to her side
through all eternity ? Shall we two hover over the scene
of our lives till the end of Time ? As the day of my death
draws nearer, the intense horror that all living flesh
feels toward escaped spirits from beyond the grave
grows more and more powerful. It is an awful thing
to go down quick among the dead with scarcely one-
half of your life completed. It is a thousand times
more awful to wait as I do in your midst; for I know
not what unimaginable terror. Pity me, at least on
the score of my * delusion,' for I know you will never
believe what I have written here. Yet as surely as ever
a man was done to death by the Powers of Darkness,
I am that man. .

In justice, too, pity her. For as surely as ever
woman was killed by man, I killed Mrs. Wessington.
And the last portion of my punishment is even now
upon me.

1,1

MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY

t i

As I came through the Desert thus it was —
As I came through the Desert.

The City of Dreadful Night.

This story deals entirely with ghosts. There are,
in India, ghosts who take the form of fat, cold, pobby
corpses, and hide in trees near the roadside till a
traveller passes. Then they drop upon his neck and
remain. There are also terrible ghosts of women who
have died in childbed. These wander along the path-
ways at dusk, or hide in the crops near a village, and
call seductively. But to answer their call is death in
this world and the next. Their feet are turned back-
wards that all sober men may recognise them. There
are ghosts of little children who have been thrown into
wells. These haunt well-curbs and the fringes of
jungles, and wail under the stars, or catch women by
the wrist and beg to be taken up and carried. These
and the corpse-ghosts, however, are only vernacular
articles and do not attack Sahibs. No native ghost
has yet been authentically reported to have frightened
an Englishman ; but many English ghosts have scared
the life oui^ of both white and black.

Nearly every other Station owns a ghost. There are
said to be two at Simla, not counting the woman who
blows the bellows at Syree dak-bungalow on the Old
Road ; Mussoorie has a house haunted by a very lively

144

■^■m

r :'n

MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY

145

Thing ; a White Lady is supposed to do night-watch-
man 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 ; Peshawur 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 thorough-
fares.

Some of the d^k-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 Jbhe
Northwest. These bungalows are objectionable places
to put up in. They are generally very old, always
dirty, while the khanmmah is as ancient as the bunga-
low. He either chatters senilely, or falls mto 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 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 dak-bun-
galows. I never inhabited the same house for three

.>.?

' ■*■'

'1*1: I, I

146

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 dak-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
dak-bungalows 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 travelling
missionaries and deserters flying from British Regi-
ments, to drunken loafers who threw whiskey bottles
at all who passed; and my still greater good-fortune
jubt to escape a maternity case. Seeing that a fair pro-
portion of the tragedy of our lives in India acted itself
in dak-bungalows, I wondered that I had met no ghosts.
A ghost that would voluntarily hang about a dak-bun-
galow would be mad of course ; but so many men have
died mad in dak-bungalows that there must be a fair
percentage of lunatic ghosts.

In due time I found my ghost, or ghosts rather, for
there were two of them.

We will call the bungalow Katmal dak-bungalow;
but that was the smallest part of the horror. A man
with a sensitive hide has no right to sleep in dak-bun-
galows. He should marry. Katmal dak-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

* ■ «.,

breed.
t walls
posted
reshold
3 — old
lothing
. a fowl
ere the
just as
ived in
visitors'
slashed
ly good-
avelling
h Regi-
' bottles
L-fortune
fair pro-
ed itself
ghosts,
ak-bun-
^en have
le a fair

Ither, for

MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY

147

used by native Sub-Deputy Assistants of all kinds,
from Finance to Forests ; but real Sahibs were rare.
The khansamahf who was nearly bent double with old
age, said so.

When I arrived, there was a fitful, undecided rain
on the face of the land, accompanied by a restless wind,
and every gust made a noise like the rattling of dry
hones in the stiff toddy-palms outside. The khansamah
completely lost his head on my 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 dak-bunga-
low. There were three rooms, beside 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

!»ip''«

II H

148

UNDER THE DEODARS

in long glass shades. An oil wick was set in the
bathroom.

For bleak, unadulterated misery that dak-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 charcoal would have been use-
less. 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 ratuh — a curious meal, half
native and half English in composition — with the old
hhansamah babbling behind my chair about dead and
gone English people, and the wind-blown candles play-
ing 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
siub, and of all the others that he intended to commit
if he lived.

Sleep, for several hundred reasons, was not 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 — ' I^et-us-take-and-heave-
him-over' grunt of doolie-bearers in the c* impound.
First one doolie came in, then a second, and chen 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

MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY

149

in the

ngalow
foot in.
aid not
en use-
led and

rattled
igh the
off and
adducee

sort of
3al, half
L the old
Lead and
les play-
losquito-

evening

his past
I commit

ot easy.
; absurd
nning to

blood-
d-heave-
mpound.
I then a
ground,

Id. But

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 witli 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 an-
other whir, and I got into bed. I was not frightened

— indeed I was not. I was very curious to know what
had become of the doolies. I jumped into bed for that
reason.

Next minute I heard the double click of a cannon,
and my hair sat up. It is a mistake to say that hair
stands up. The skin of the head tightens and you
can feel a faint, prickly bristling all over the scalp.
That is the hair sitting up.

There was a whir and a click, and both sounds could
only have been made by one thing — a billiard ball.
I argued the matter out at great length with myself ;
and the more I argued the less probable it seemed that
one bed, one table, and two chairs — all the furniture
of the room next to mine — could so exactly duplicate
the sounds of a game of billiards. After another can-
non, a three-cushion one to judge by the whir, I argued

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160

UNDER THE DEODARS

no more. I had found my ghost and would have
given worlds to have escaped from that dak-bungalow.
1 listened, and with each listen thq game grew clearer.
There was whir on whir and click on click. Some-
times there was a double click and a whir and another
click. Beyond any sort of doubt, people were play-
ing billiards in the next room. And the next room
was not big enough to hold a billiard table I

Between the pauses of the wind I heard the game
go forward — stroke after stroke. I tried to believe
that I could not hear voices ; but that attempt was
a failure.

Do you know what fear is? Not ordinary fear of
insult, injury, or death, but abject, quivering dread of
something that you cannot see — fear that dries the inside
of the mouth and half of the throat — 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 dak-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 dak-bungalows has this disadvan-
tage — it breeds infinite credulity. If a man said to a
confirmed dak-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 dak-
bungalow.

This credulity, unfortunately, extends to ghosts. A

;<i

MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY

151

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 carcass 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
mijht 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
tenor ; and it was real.

After a long, long while, the game stopped, and the
door banged. I slept because I was dead tired. Other-
wisa 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 enquired 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 dak-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 Rail-
way. I was khansamah then in the big house where all

1 T-'f 1

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152

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 iut
man, and always angry, was playing here one nigit,
and he said to me : "Mangal Khan, brandy -j»an?! c??,"
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 Sal.ib!
But he is dead, and I^ old Mangal Khan, am still liviag,
by your favour.*

That was more than enough I I had my ghost —
a first-hand, authenticated article. I would write to
the Society for Psychical Research — I would paralysf
the Empire with the news I But I would, first of all.
put eighty miles of assessed crop-land between mysel;
and that dak-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 ]
heard the game begin again, — with a miss in balk thi.^
time, for the whir was a short one.

The door was open, and I could see into the room.
Click — click! That was a cannon. I entered tlie
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 nib was running to and fro inside the

■' 4.

MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY

153

across
ill one,

played
Dw, and

lb, a lilt
3 nigit,
mi c?),"
table to
t hit the
^e — tlie
lead. I
g Salib!
11 liviag,

ghost —

dingy ceiling-cloth, and a piece of loose window-sash
was making fifty breaks off the wmdow-bolt as it
shook in the breeze I

Impossible to mistako the sound of billiard balls !
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 marvellously like
that of a fast game.

Entered angrily the faithful partner of my sorrows,
Kadir Baksli.

* This bungalow is very bad and low-caste 1 No
wonder the Presence was disturbed and is speckled.
Tliree 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 I What honour has the
khansamah? Tliey tried to enter, but I told them to
go. No wonder, if these Ooriaa have been here, that
the Presence is sorely spotted. It is shame, and the
work of a dirty man I '

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' o tragic death in three
separate stations — two of them fifty miles away. Tlio
third shift was to Calcutta, and there the Sahib died
while driving a dog-cart.

I did not go awi;^ as soon as I intended. I stayed

• >■

I (I II i

i!!

I •

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154

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 the billiards
stopped, and I felt that I had ruined my one genuine
ghost at cry.

Had I only ceased investigating at the proper time,
I could have made anything out of it.

That was the bitterest thought of all I

THE TRACK OF A LIE^

♦Consequences of our acts eternal? Bosh I' said
Blawkins, at the Club. * That's what the I*adres say.
See, now I ' The smoking room was empty, except for
Blawkins and myself. *I'll tell you an idiotic little
superstition I picked up the other day,' said he. * The
natives say that Allah allows the tiger one rupee eight
annas a day for his food; and if you total up the
month's cattle bill of an average tiger, not a man-
eater, you'll find that it's exactly forty-five rupees 'per
menseTfi,*

^I know that,' said I. 'And it happens to be
true.'

* Very good,' said Blawkins. ' Do you mean to say
that anything is going to come of an idle sentence
like that? I say it. You hear it. Well?' Blawkins
swung out of the Club, leaving me vanquished.

But the statement rang in my head. There was
something catching about the words, * Allah allows
the tiger one rupee eight annas a day for his food.'
It was a quaint superstition, and one not generally
known. Would the local paper care for it? It fitted
a corner, empty for the moment; and one or two
readers said, * What a curious ideal '

That the tiny paragraph should have wandered to
Southern India was not very strange, though there was

*■ Copyright, 1895, by Macmillan dc Co.
166

! : ii

156

UNDER THE DEODARS

li-

no reason why it should not have trickled to the Bom-
bay side, instead of dropping straight as a plummet to
Madras. That it should have jumped Adam's Bridge,
and been copied in a Ceylon journal, was strange ; but
Blawkins had been transferred to the other end of the
Empire, just two days before the Ceylon papers told
their cinchona planters that 'Allah allows the tiger one
rupee eight annas a day,' etc.

Three weeks passed, and irom the eastern side of
the Bay of Bengal came in thi Burma mail. Boh
Ottima was dead, and the Field Force was hard
worked ; Mandalay was suffering from cholera, but at
the bottom of the last page the rest of the world
might read that 'Allah allows the tiger,' etc. Blaw-
kins w&s on duty in the Bolan, very sick with fever.
It was not worth while to follow him with a letter.

Week by week Europe grew to be a hornet-hive,
throbbing and humming angrily, as the messages
pulsed through the wires. Then Singapur reported
that ' Allah allows the tiger,' etc. Here, assuredly,
was the limit of my paragraph's wandering. It might
struggle into the Malayan Archipelago, but beyond that
scattered heap of islands it could not pass.

Germany called for more men; France answered
the call with fresh battalions on her side ; and the
strangely scented, s* aw-hued journals of Shanghai
and Yokohama made public to the Far East the news
that 'Allah allows the tiger,' etc. Blawkins, now at
Poona, was desperately in love with a Miss Blandyre.
What were paragraphs to a passionate lover? I never
sent him a line, though he bombarded me with a very
auctioneer's catalogue of Miss Blandyre's charms.
What would my paragraph do? It had reached the

THE TRACK OF A LIE

157

open Pacific now, and must surely drown in five thou-
sand miles of black water. After all, it had lived
long.

Yet, I had presentiments, and waited anxiously for
what might come. The flying keel stayed at the
Golden Gate, where the sea-lions romp and gurgle
and bask : Europe shook with the tread of armed
men, but — where was my paragraph ? In America —
for San Francisco wished to know, if ' Allah allowed
the tiger,' etc., how much a Los Angeles hotel-keeper
would be justified in charging a millionnaire with
delirium tremens ? Would Eastern America accept it ?
The paragraph touched Salt Lake City; and thence-
forward, straight as a homeward-bound bee, headed
New York-wards. They took it; they cut, chipped,
chopped, laughed ; were ribald, pious, profane, cynical,
and frankly foolish ovor it; but, as though it were
under a special and mysterious protection of Provi-
dence, it returned, always, to its original shape. It ran
southward into New Orleans, northward to Toronto;
and week after week the weather-beaten exchanges
recorded its eastward progress. Boston appreciated it
as something perfectly original ; and at last, as a lone
light dies on an extreme headland, Philadelphia sent
back th-^ news that the Emperor William was dead,
and ' Allah allows the tiger,' etc. But Blawkins had,
long ago, wedded Miss Blandyre. What was the use
of writing to him ? The main point of existence was,
whether the paragraph could come over the Atlantic
to the West Coast of England, where the country
papers ^ere lichened with the growth of local politics.

There was a long pause, and I feared that my para-
graph was dead. But I did it an injustice. Over the

\\ M

,.t'

'i t|

n \\

'■"i|

158

UNDER THE DEODARS

, t

■

f''

1
1

foaming surf of the local Government Bill, througn the
rapids of compensation to publicans, in the teeth of the
current of Mr. Gladstone's appeals to the free and enlight-
ened electors of Wales, came my paragraph — for
Birmingham found room for the announcement that

* Allah allows the tiger,' etc. Blawkins sent an an-
nouncement also. It cost him two rupees, was a purely
local matter, and ended up with the words *of a son.'
But the paragraph was Imperial — nay. Universal. I
felt safe, for there was one journal in London whom
nothing unusual, or alas, unclean, ever escaped. I
waited with confidence the arrival of the Yellow W'-'-rp.
per. When the mails came in, the Bombay papers had
already quoted and commended to the notice of the
Bombay Zoological Society the curious statement
hailing from England in the Yellow Wrapper that

* Allah allows the tiger,' etc. I The circuit was com-
plete; and ap the shears snipped out the announcement,
before putting it afresh into the very cradle in which it
had been born fifteen months and six days before, I
felt that I had shaken hands with the whole round
world. My paragraph had come home indeed !

^^ %i# ^^ ^k ^k ^k ^k ^k ^k

Tenderly as a mother shows the face of her sleeping
child, I led Blawkins through the paper-cuttings, and
step by step pointed out the path of the paragraph.
His lower jaw dropped. ' By Jove ! ' said he, * I was
wrong — it should have been a rupee — one rupee only
— not one eight.'

'Then, Blawkins,' said I, *you have swindled the
whole wide world of the sum of eight annas,' nominally
one shilling.

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 vv ho 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 established 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 a head for
plans and distances and things of that kind, and he cer-
tainly 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 indignant when he thinks of the

169

II I

160

UNDER THE DEODARS

I' >

if-

disrespectful treatment he received. He wrote this
quite straightforwardly at first, but he has touched
it up in places and introduce I Moral Reflections :
thus : —

In the beginning it all arose from a slight attack of
fever. My work necessitated my being in camp for
some month ' between Pakpattan and Mubarakpur — 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
gangs, and my work demanded sufficient attention to
keep me from moping, had I been inclined to so un-
manly 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 carcass 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
differe?:itly on different men. My irritation gave way,
after a short time, to a fixed determination to slaughter
one huge black and white beast who had been foremost
in song and first in flight throughout the evening.
Thanks to a f.haking hand and a giddy head I had
already missed him twice with both barrels of my shot-
gun, when it struck mc 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-delir-

1* li

■i-j>' •#'

THE STRANGE RmE

161

ious 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 prepared 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 flying 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 rem-
nant of my senses. I have a faint recollection of stand-
ing upright in my stirrups, and of brandishing my
hog-spear at the great white Moon that looked down
so calmly on my mad gallop ; and of shouting chal-
lenges 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 pos-
sessed, over what seemed to be a limitless expanse of
moonlit sand. Next, I remember, the ground rose sud-
denly in front of us, and as we topped the ascent I saw
the waters of the Sutlej shining like a silver bar below.

•1. '

162

UNDER THE DEODARS

Then Pornic blundered heavily on his nose, and we
rolled together down some unseen slope.

I must ha\e lost consciousness, for when I recovered
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 cater of tT-nd, opening on one oide
Jirectly on 1^ f^xe 4 ''a]> u t' e Sutlaj. My fever had
altogether left m<% umL vv'h the exception of a slip^ht
dizziness in the head, i leit r > bad effects from the full
over night.

Pornic, who was standing a few yards away, was
naturally a good deal exhausted, but had not hurt him-
self 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 opportunities of observing
the spot into which I had so foolishly dropped.

At the risk of being considered tedious, I must
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 multilateral holes, all
about three feet at the mouth. Each hole on inspection

I IP ■

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THE STRANGE RmE

163

showed that it was carefully shored internally with
drift-wood and bamboos, and over the mouth a wooden
drip-boa) 1 projected, like the peak of a jockey's cap,
for two eet. No sign of life was visible in these
tunnoh, )Ut a most sickening stencv pervaded the
entire a.» phitheatre — a stench fouler than any which
my wa?iaerings in Indian villages have introduced

AiG CO.

Having remounted Pornic, who was as anxious as
I to get back to camp, I rode round the base of the
liorseshoe 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 wLich 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 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 mo-
ment a bullet dropped with a sharp '•whiV close to
Pornic's head.

There was no mistaking the nature of the missile

r. t'

164

UNDER THE DEODARS

— a regulation Martini-Henry * picket.' About five
hundred yards away a country-boat was anchored in
midstream ; 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 respect-
able gentlemen in such an impasse? The treacherous
sand slope allowed no escape from a spot which I had
visited most involuntarily, and a promenade on tlie
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 mid-^t of a crowd of spectators — about forty men,
twenty women, and one child who could not have been
more than five years old. They were all scantily
clothed in that salmon coloured cloth which one asso-
ciates with Hindu mendicants, and, at first sight, gave
me the impression of a band of loathsome fakirs.
The filth and repulsiveness of the assembly were be-
yond all description, 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. As a matter of fact there
was; but it was by no means what I had looked for.

THE STRANGE RIDE

165

The ragged crew actually laughed at me — such
laughter I hope I may never hear again. They cac-
kled, 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, com-
menced cuffing those nearest to me with all the force
I could. The wretches dropped under my blows like
nine-pins, 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 v/hen I was feeding very much
ashamed of myself for having thus easily given way to
my temper, a thin, high voice murmured in English
from behind my shoulder: 'Sahib I 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 men-
tioning the man's real name) I had known four years
before as a Deccanee Brahmin lent by the Punjab Gov-
ernment 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 Govermnent
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 recog-
nition. Caste-mark, stomach, slate-coloured continua-

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166

UNDER THE DEODARS

tions, and unctuous speech were all gone. I looked at a
withered skeleton, turbanless and almost naked, with
long matted hair and deep-sei 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 on 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 tlie
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 de-
manded 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 ghat
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 communi-
cated by the ex-Brahmin. Sixteen years ago, when I
first landed in Bombay, I had been told by a wandering

THE STRANGE RIDE

167

Armenian of the existence, somewhere in India, of a
place to which such Hindus as liad 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 !

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. When you 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 me.
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 mt — '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

'-Iftf

168

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 pro-
pelled me from the top to the bottom, and the other
two succeeded, and I have bee»i here ever since two
and a half years. Once I was Brahmin and proud
man, and now I eat crows.'

* 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.'

' liut surely,' I broke in at this point, * the river-front
is open, and it is worth while dodging the bullets;
whilr- at night '

I had already matured a rough plan of escape whicli
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 chuckl.3
of derision — the laughter, be it understood, of a supe-
rior 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 com-
pletely. My long fast — it was now close upon ten
o'clock, and 1 had eaten nothing since tiffin on the pre-
vious day — combined with the violent agitation of the
ride had exhausted me, and I verily believe that, for a
few minutes, 1 acted as one mad. I hurled myself
aga'ust the sand-slope. I ran round the base of the

THE STRANGE RTOE

169

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 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 embeis 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, anc^. 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 na-
tives, 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 I *

A Briton's first impulse, I believe, is to guard the
contents of his pockets ; but a moment's thought
show ed me of 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 eventu-

V,H

< -r (

i '• I-' V I

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170

UNDER THE DEODARS

ally escape from the crater. I gave him all the money
in my possession, Rs. 9-8-5 — 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 eat 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 indiffer-
ence, and Gunga Dass was nearly as bad. I plied him
with questions about the terrible village, and received ex-
tremely unsatisfactory answers. 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. Nothing that I could do
would induce him to tell me who the mysterious 'They'
wore.

It.:

THE STRANGE RIDE

171

* It is so ordered,' he would reply, ' and I do not yet
know any one who has disobeyed the orders.'

* Only wait till my servant finds 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 amphi-
theatre, and the inhabitants fought for them like wild
beasts. When a man felt his death coming on he re-
treated to his lair and died there. The body was some-
times 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 atten-
tion, 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 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

ilj

172

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 im-
paled 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 feel-
ing 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 appear
in full strength to catch tlie rays of the afternoon sun,
which were now sloping in at the mouth of the crater.
They assembled by little knots, and talked among them-
selves 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 liv? crow in his hands. The wretched bird was in a
most ■a,^Br;|^'L.;d and deplorable condition, but seemed to
be in n; 'ay afraid of it*} master. Advancing cau-

THE STRANGE RIDE

173

tiously 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 oc-
cupants 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 wit> outstretched 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 discussing 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. In a moment, and
before I could see how it happened, a wild crow, who
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. 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
operations 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
fto it for me. You are stronger than I am.'

This calm assumption of superiority upset me not a

.*i.

174

UNDER THE DEODARS

!': i

'i,

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 r^unga 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, 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 themselves. They sat
together in knots and talked — God only knows what
they fouiid to discuss — in low equable tones, curi-
ously 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 pos-
sessed 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
Emb. The others would never even raise their eyes
when this happened, m men too well aware of tlie
futility of their fellows' attempts and wearied with

THE STRANGE RIDE

176

their useless repetition. I saw four such outbursts 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 of 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. At
the end of it I was to look after myself. For a further
consideration — videlicet my boots — he would be will-
ing to allow me to occupy the den next to liis own,
and would supply me with as much dried grass for
bedding as he could spare.

'Very well, Gunga Dass,' I replied; *to the ^lai
terms I cheerfully agree, but, as there is nothing >ii
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. At the tir iC 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 tru<;, taken me under his wing. I had left the
world, it seemed, for centuries. I waa as certain then

■Ami il

' 'it

176

UNDER THE DEODARS

-•fr

as I am now of my own existence, that in the accursed
settlement 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 under-
stand 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.*

Fortified with these resolutions, I ate and drank as
much as I could, and made Gunga Dass understand
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 — sud-
den 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 ; tht 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 innu-
merable naked bodies, added to which it smelt abomi-
nably. Sleep was altogether out of the question to one
in my excited frame of mind. As the night wore on,

i.'iii

THE STRANGE RIDE

177

it seemed that the entire amphitheatre was filled with
legions of unclean devils that, trooping up from the
shoals below, mocked the unfortunates in their lairs.

Personally I am not of an imaginative temperament
— 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, impractica-
ble. I had been thorouglily 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 I

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, sweat-
ing \vith terror and exertion, back to the tussocks behind
me and fell on my face.

1 V

■ 1
i '• ,,■

T.i;

178

UNDER THE DEODARS

I i

.,j

My only means of escape from the semicircle was
protected with a quicksand I

How long I lay I have not the faintest idea ; but I
was roused at the last by the malevolent chuckle of
Gunga Dass at my ear. *I would advise you, Pro-
tector of the Poor ' (the ruffian was speaking 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 f ' I recollect that even in my
deepest trouble I had been speculating vaguely on the
waste of ammunition in guarding an already well pro-
tected 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 pleas-
ant 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 piin. Those who
have once heard that will nover forget the sound. I
found some little difficulty 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

THE STRANGE RmE

179

had killed him I cannot guess. Gunga Dass explained
that horse was better than crow, and * greatest good
of greatest number is political maxim. We are now
Republic, Mister Jukes, and you are entitled to a fair
share of the beast. If you like, we will pq^s a vote of
thanks. Shall I propose ? '

Yes, we were a Republic indeed I 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 offen-
sively 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 silence
became insupportable, and I bade him say something.

'You will live here till you die like the other Fe-
ringhi,' 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, pointing
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.'

'For pity's sake teU me all you know about him.

« '111

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1^128

■ 50 '■^*

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WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

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180

UNDER THE DEODARS

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. He was 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 I '

*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 Vishn 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 benevolenpe, and kicked him off as he lay
protesting.

*I believe you robbed him of everything he had.

4. :.

THE STRANGE RIDE

181

But I can find out in a minute or two. How long
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 I 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 I '

'Brahmin or no Brahmin, by my soul and my
father's soul, in you go I ' 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, choking
whisper speaking to himself ; then a. soft thud — and
I uncovered my eyes.

182

UNDER THE DEODARS

I: I

' .: I '

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 blood-stone 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 unfor-
tunate 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 kej^s ; 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.'

6. 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 — a Mrs. L. Singleton, abbrevi*

=1, i

THE STRANGE RIDE

183

ated 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 ware 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
liad been fired inside the crater. Consequently there
must be a gun somewhere. I was on the verge of ask-
ing Gunga Dass, but checked myself, knowing that he
would ' ie. We laid the body down on the edge of the
quicksand by the tussocks. It was my intention to
push it out and let it be swallowed up — the only pos-
sible 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 downward, I tore the frail
and rotten khaki shooting-coat open, disclosing a hide-
ous cavity in the back. I have already told you that
the dry sand had, as it were, mummified the body. A

184

UNDER THE DEODARS

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. Thu
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 nie
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 iit-
tempted to escape in the face of the rifle-fire from tlie
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 hack ; two left ; fourteen
out ; two left ; seven out ; one left ; nine hack ; two right ;
six hack ; four right ; seven hack. ' The paper had been
burnt and charred at the edges. What it meant I could
not understand. I sat down on the 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. ' Will you 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 se-

1^:i

THE STRANGE RIDE

185

d been
e been
. The
ver the
aneons.
1 to nie
Gungii
the gun
;ver iit-
rom the

nk from
ed as I
irned to
ired slip
; and the

This is
p; three
fourteen
wo right ;
had been
it I couUl
s turning
/■as aware

me with

lot let me

; will help
ke talons,

e had se-

creted 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. Ilieard liim 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 I 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 own 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 I beg and I pray
to you to read it aloud.*

I did so. Gunga Dass listened delightedly, and drew
an irregular line in the sand with his fingers.

' See now ! It was the length of his gun-barrels with-
out the stock. I have those barrels. Four gun-barrels
out from the place where I caught crows. Straight out ;
do you mind me ? Then three left. Ah I Now well I
remember how that man worked it out night after
night. Then nine out, and so on. Out is always
straight before you across the quicksand to the North.
He told me so before I killed him.'

'But if you knew all this why didn't you get out
before ? '

'I did not know it. He told me that he was working
it out a year and a half ago, and how he was working
it out night after night when the boat had gone away,
and he could get out near the quicksand safely. Then

186

UNDER THE DEODARS

, ' I

! .

he said that wo would get away together. But I was
afraid that he would leave me behind one night when
he had worked it all out, and so I shot him. Besides,
it is not advisable that the men who once get in here
should escape. Only I, and /am a Brahmin.'

The hope of escape had brought Gunga Dass's caste
back to him. He stood up, walked about and gesticu-
lated violently. Eventually I managed to make him
talk soberly, and he told me how this Englishman had
spent six months night after night in exploring, inch
by inch, the passage across the quicksand ; how he had
declared it to be simplicity itself up to within about
twenty yards of the river bank after turning the flank
of the left horn of the horseshoe. This much he had
evidently not completed when Gunga Dass shot him
with his own gun.

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 DS,ss, 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

c .

THE STRANGE RIDE

187

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 ^li8 edge of the quicksand.

When I recovered consciousness, the Moon was going
clown, and I was sensible of intolerable pain in the back
of my head. Gunga Dass had disappeared and my
mouth was full of blood. I lay down again and prayed
that I might die without more ado. Then the unrea-
soning 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 I Sahib I Sahib 1 ' exactly as my
bearer used to call me in the mornings. I fancied that
I was delirious until a handful of sand fell at 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 at-
tracted 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 overlooking
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 four-
teen miles across the sands to the crater ; had returned

i«i

188

UNDER THE DEODAHS

and told my servants, who flatly refused to meddle with
any one, white or l)lack, once fallen into the hideous
Village of the Dead ; whereupon Dunnoo liad taken
one of my ponies and a couple of punkah ropes, re-
turned to the crater, and hauled me out ais I have
described.

V: ' "I

*n.-'i; v.-^tj.

iwni

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

Brother to a Frince and fellow to a beggar if he be found worthy.

The Law, as quoted, lays down a fair conduct of life,
find one not easy to follow. I have been fellow to a
beggar again and again under circumstances whicli pre-
vented 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
ii 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 journej'' is nasty, or
Loafer, which is amusing though intoxicated. Inter-
mediates do not buy from refreshment-rouins. 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 hot weather Intermediates

189

I'^frw

.2J

too

UNDER THE DEODARS

r i

are taken out of the carriages dead, and in all weathers
are moHt properly looked down upon.

My particular Intermediate happened to be empty till
I reached Nasirabad, when a big black-browed gentle-
man in shirt-sleeves entered, and, following the custom
of Intermediates, passed the time of day He was u
wanderer and a vagabond like myself, but witli an
educated taste for whiskey. He told tales of things
ho had seen and done, of out-of-the-way corners of
the Empire into which ho had penetrated, and of ad-
ventures in which he risked his life for a few days'
fooc*.

* 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. My friend 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 resume touch with
the Treasury, there were no telegraph offices. I was,
therefore, unable to help him in any way.

* We might threaten a Station-master, and make him
send a wire on tick,' said my friend, * but that'd mean

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KINO

191

enquiries for you and for me, and T\o got my hands
full these days. Did you say you were travelling back
along this line within any days?*

' Within ten,' I said.

♦Can't you make it eight?' said he. ♦ Mine is rather
urgent business.'

* I can send your telegram within ten days if that will
serve you,' I said.

* I couldn't trust the wire to fetch him now I think
of it. It's this way. lie leaves Delhi o!i the 23rd for
Hombay. That means he'll be running through Ajmir
about the night of the 23rd.'

' But I'm going into the Indian Desert,' I explained.

* Well and good,' said he. * You'll be changing at
Marwar Junction to get into Jodhpore territory — you
must do that — and he'll be coming through Marwar
Junction in the early morning of the 24th by the
Bombay Mail. Can you be at Marwar Junction on
that time ? 'T won't be inconveniencing you because I
know that there's precious few pickings to be got out
of these Central India States — even though you pre-
tend to be correspondent of the BacJcwoodaman.*

* Have you ever tried that trick ? ' I asked.

'Again and again, but the Residents find you out,
and then you get escorted to the Border before you've
time to get your knife into them. But about 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 where to go.
I would take it more than kind of you if you was to
come out of Central India in time to catch him at Mar-
war 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

192

UNDER THE DEODARS

|! :

,■ '-If'

,f"- ,

! i

find him sleeping like a gentleman with all his luggage
round him in a Second-class apartment. 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 tlie
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 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 ruiniiiir
my work. I wanted to get hold of the Deguml)or
Rajah down here about his father's widow, and give
him a jump.'

' What did he do to his father's widow, then ? *

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

193

. reasons,

* 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
tlie 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 ? '

ile got out at a little roadside station, and I reflected.
I liad lieard, more than once, of men personating corre-
spondents of newspapers and bleeding small Native
States with threats of exposure, but I had never met
any of the caste before. They lead 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 champagne, or drive them out of their mind with
four-in-hand barouches. They do not understand that
noljody 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 year to the
other. They are the dark places of the earth, full
of unimaginable cruelty, touching the Railway and
tlie Telegraph on one side, and, on the other, the
(lays of Harun-al-llaschid. When I left the train 1
(lid business with divers Kings, and in eight days
|)ass(Ml through many changes of life. Sometimes I
wore dress-clothes and consorted with Prinoes and
Politicals, drinking from crystal and eating from sil-
ver. Sometimes 1 lay out upon the ground and de-
voured what I could get, from a plate made of hnives,
and drank the running water, and slept under the

194

UNDER THE DEODARS

!'■ 1

same rug as my servant. It was all in the day's
work.

Then I headed for the Greao Indian Desert upon
the proper date, as I had promised, and the niglit
Mail set me down at Marwar Junction, where a funny
little, happy-go-lucky, native-managed railway 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 carria^ges. 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 the week,'
he repeated. *Now that's just like his impidence.
Did he say thai 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 car-
riage 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,

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

195

,e day's

rt upon
le night
a funny
'ay runs
makes a
■j in, and
go down
-class on
ed down
a railway
dug him
and I saw
,s a great

one South
ek!'

red man
the week,'

mpidence.
'Cause

d watched
horrihly
sands. I
lediate car-

Later on I reflected that two gentlemen like my
friends could not do any good if they foregathered
and personated correspondents of newspapers, 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 de-
porting them : and succeeded, 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 have been overpassed for com-
mand 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 w^hy 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 advertisements, 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 specifications in their pockets and hours
at their disposal ; tea-companies enter and elaborate

196

UNDER THE DEODARS

■^:.l \

tlieir 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 come 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 tele-
phone 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 in-
crease of sickness is reported from the Khuda Janta
Khan District. The outbreak 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 tho sickness really breaks out, and the less
recording and reporting the better for the peace of the

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

197

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 spark-
ling? I'm sure there's plenty going on up here.'

That is the dark half of the moon, and, as the adver-
tisements 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 morn-
ing, after the custom of a London paper. This was a
great convenience, for immediately 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 84° 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

198

UNDER THE DEODARS

;:H

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 composi-
tors wiped the sweat from their foreheads, and called
for water. The thing that was keeping us back, what-
ever 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, 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 tliree
o'clock and the machines spun their fly-wheels two and
three times to see that all was in order, before I said
the word that would set them off, T 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 I * The second said : * So it is ! '
And they both laughed almost as loudly as the machin-
ery 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 Degum-
ber 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 Avas
no mistaking the eyebrows of the one or the beard of
the other.

■'If'

'> '• H

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

199

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 man. 'We'd like
some drink — the Contrack doesn't begin yet, Peachey,
80 you needn't look — but what we really want is
advice. We don't want money. We ask you as a
favour, because we found out you did us a bad turn
about Degumber State.'

1 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, com-
positor, 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 whiskey and soda.

'Well and good,' said Carnehan of the eyebrows,
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

200

UNDER THE DEODARS

1 1

beard seemed to fill half the room and Carnehan's
shoulders the other half, as they sat on the big table.
Carnehan contmued: 'The country isn't half worked
out because they that governs it won't let you touch
it. They spend all their blessed time in governing it,
and you can't lift a spade, nor chip a rock, nor look for
oil, nor anything like that without all the Government
saying — ''Leave it alone, and let us govern." There-
fore, such as it is, we will let it alone, and go away to
some other place where a man isn't crowded and can
come to his own. We are not little men, and there is
nothing that we are afraid of except Drink, and we
have signed a Contrack on that. Therefore, we are
going away to be Kings.'

' Kings in our own right,' muttered Dravot.

' Yes, of course,' I said. ' You've been tramping in
the sun, and it's a very warm night, and hadn't you
better sleep over the notion? Come to-morrow.'

'Neither drunk nor sunstruck,' said Dravot. 'We
have slept over the notion half a year, and require to
see Books and Atlases, and we have decided that there
is only one place now in the world that two strong men
can Sav-a-whack. They call it Kafiristan. By my reck-
oning it's the top right-hand corner of Afghanistan, not
more than three hundred miles from Peshawar. They
have two-and-thirty heathen idols there, and we'll be
the thirty-third and fourth. It's a mountaineous coun-
try, and the women of those parts are very beautiful.'

' But that is provided against in the Contrack,' said
Carnehan. 'Neither Woman nor Liqu-or, Daniel.'

' And that's all we know, except that no one has
gone there, and they fight, and in any place where they
fight a man who knows how to drill men can always

( ■ 1 1

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

201

be a King. We shall go to those parts and say to any
Kmg 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 sub-
vert 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. 'If you 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 book-cases.

' 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 Encyclopcedia Britannica, and
the men consulted them.

' See here I ' 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 Laghmann
territory. Then we get among the hills — fourteen

•!!"•;';

202

UNDER THE DEODARS

thousand feet — fifteen thousand — it will be cold work
there, but it don't look very far on the map.*

I handed him Wood on the Sources of the Oxm.
Carnehan was deep in the Encyclopoedia.

* They're a mixed lot,' said Dravot reflectively; 'and
it won't help us to know the names of their tribes.
The more tribes the more they'll fight, and the better
for us. From Jagdallak to Ashang. H'mml '

*But all the information about the country is as
sketchy and inaccurate as can be,' I protested. 'No
one knows anything about it really. Here'^ the file of
the United Services^ Institute. Read what Beilew says.'

* Blow Beilew ! ' said Carnehan. ' Dan, they're a
stinkin' lot of heathens, but this book here says they
think they're related to us English.'

I smoked while the men poured over Raverty^ Wood^
the maps, and the Encyclopaedia,

' There is no use your waiting,' said Dravot politely.
*It's about four o'clock now. We'll go before six
o'clock if you want to sleep, and we won't steal any
of the papers. Don't you sit up. We're two harmless
lunatics, and if you come to-morrow evening down to
the Serai we'll say good-bye to you.'

' You are two fools,' I answered. ' You'll be turned
back at the Frontier or cut up the minute you set foot
in Afghanistan. Do you want any money or a rec-
ommendation down -country ? I can help you to the
chance of work next week.'

'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.'

■■ ■•! ;

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KINO

203

* 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 ^-

Thi8 Contract between me and you persuing witnesseth
in the name of God — Amen and 80 forth.

(^One) That me and you will settle this matter to-
gether; i.e., to be Kings of Kafiristan.

(jrwo") That you and me will not^ while this matter
is being settled^ look at any Liquor^ nor
any Woman blacky white., or brown^ so as
to get mixed up with one or the other harm-
ful.

(^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 G-entlemen at Large,

* There was no need for the last article,* said Carne-
han, blushing modestly ; *but it looks regular. 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 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

204

UNDER THE DEODARS

Sil

I left them still porinj? over the maps and makinp^
notes on the back of the *Contra'jk.' * Ho sure to
come down to the Serai to-morrow,' were their parting
words.

The Kumharsen Serai is tlie great fou*r-square sink of
humanity where the strings of camels and horses from
the North load and unload. All the nationalities of
Central Asia may bo found there, and most of tlio
folk of India proper, lialkli and Bokhara there mcit
Bengal and Bombay, and try to draw eye-teeth. Yoii
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. Iii
the afternoon I 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 ra<,'^s
stalked up to me, gravely twisting a child's paper whirli-
gig. Behind him was his servant bending under the
load of a crate of mud toys. The two were loadint^
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 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,' stam-
mered 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

": 1 "

THE MAN WHO WOULD HE KINO

205

hcfn diverted into the hands of other robbers just
sicross the Border, and whose misfortunes were the
hiughinpf-stock of tlie bazar. * Ohe, priest, whence
come you and whither do you go?'

' From Uoum liave I come,' shouted the priest, wav-
inpf his wliirligig ; * from Uoum, blown by the breath
of a liundred devils across the seal O thieves, rob-
Ixjrs, liars, the blessing of Pir Khan on pigs, dogs, and
perjurers ! Who will take the Protected of (iod to the
North to sell charms that are never still to the Amir?
The camels shall not gall, the sons shall not fall sick,
iind 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 Uoos with a
golden slipper with a silver heel? The protection of
Pir Khan be upon his labours I ' 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, HuzruW said the Eusufzai trader.
' My camels go therewith. Do thou also go and bring
us good-luck.'

' I will go even now I ' shouted the priest. * I will
depart upon my winged camels, and be at Peshawar in a
day I Ho! Hazar Mir Khan,' he yelled to his servant,
' drive out the camels, but let me first mount my own.'

He leaped on the back of his beast as it knelt, and,
turning round to me, cried : ' Come tliou also, Sahib, a
little along the road, and I will sell thee a charm — an
amulet that shall make thee Kin'jf 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.

' IM*

206

UNDER THE DEODARS

■•i

*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 at Peshawar till we get to Jag-
dallak, 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 whirli-
gigs 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
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 wii' a regular cara-
van. Who'd touch a poor mad priest? '

'Have you got everything you v»ant?* I asked,
overcome with astonishment.

' Not yet, but we shall soon. Give us a memento of
your kindness. Brother. You did me a service, yester-
day, and that time in Marwar. Half my Kingdom shall
you have, as the saying is.' I slipped a small charm com-
pass 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 English-
man these many days. Shake hands with him, Carne-
han,' he cried, as the second camel passed me.

^1!

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

207

Carnehan leaned down and shook hands. Then the
camels pac^sed 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 — cer-
tain and awful death.

Ten days later a native correspondent giving me the
news of the day from Peshawar, wound up his letter
^Yith : * 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. the Amir of Bok-
hara. He passed through Peshawar and associated
himself to the Second Summer caravan 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.

*^ ^^ ^k ^k ^L ^k ^k ^fe .^L

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 telegraphed 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

208

UNDER THE DEODARS

■Mf i'i

.li

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 throuc^li
just such a scene as I have already described. 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 ad-
dressed 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, surmounted 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 whiskey.
' 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 '

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

209

I was more than a little astonished, and expressed
my feelings accordingly.

' It's true,' said Carnehan, with a dry cackle, nursing
his feet, which were wrapped in rags. * True as gos-
pel. 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 whiskey,' I said, 'and take your own
time. Tell me all you can recollect of everything
from beginning to end. You got across the border
oil 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 looking at me in
my eyes and don't say anything.'

I leaned forward and looked into his face as steadily
as 1 could. He dropped one hand upon the table and
I grasped it by the wrist. It was 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 — cook-
iiif^ their dinners, and . . . what did they do then?
They lit little fires with sparks that went into Dravot's
beard, and we all laughed — lit 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

210

UNDER THE DEODARS

i|!

said at a venture, 'after you had lit those fires. To
Jagdallak, where you turned off to try to get into
Kafir istan.'

* 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 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. So we 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 whiskey,' I said very slowly.
* What did you and Daniel Dravot do when the camels
could go no further 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
]ba'pence, those whirligigs, or I am much mistaken and

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

211

\''MM

woeful sore. . , . 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 all among the
mountains, not having anything in particular to eat,
but first they took off the boxes with the guns and the
ammunition, till two men came along driving four
mules. Dravot up and dances in front of them, sing-
ing — " Sell me four mules." Says the first man — " If
you are rich enough to buy, you are rich enough to
rob ; " but before ever he could put his hand to his
knife, Dravot breaks his neck over his knee, and tlie
other party runs away. So Carnehan loaded the mules
with the rifles that was taken off the camels, and to-
gether we starts forward into those bitter cold moun-
taineous parts, and never a road broader than the back
of your hand.'

He paused for a moment, while I asked him if he could
remember the nature of the country through which he
had journeyed.

' I am telling you as straight as I can, but my head
isn't as good as it might be. They drove nails through
it to make me hear better how Dravot died. The
country was mountaineous and the mules were most
contrary, and the inhabitants was dispersed and soli-
tary. They went up and up, and down and down, and
that other party, Carnehan, was imploring of Dravot
not to sing and whistle so loud, for fear of bringing
down the tremenjus avalanches. But Dravot says that
if a King couldn't sing it wasn't worth being King,
and whacked the mules over the rump, and never took
no heed for ten cold days. We came to a big level
valley all among the mountainSj and the mules were

♦»

212

UNDER THE DEODARS

HNi

near dead, so we killed them, not having anything in
special for them or us to eat. 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 salut-
ing 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 my
friends." Then he opens his mouth and points down

t#-i

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

213

it, and when the first man brings him food, he says —
" No ; " and when the second man brings him food he
says — " No ; " but when one of the old priests and the
boss of the village brings him food, he says — " Yes ; "
very haughty, and eats it slow. That was how he
came to our first village, without any trouble, just as
though we had tumbled from the skies. But we
tumbled from one of those damned rope-bridges, you
see and — you couldn't expect a man to laugh much
after that ? '

' Take some more whiskey and go on,' I said. 'That
was the first village you came into. How did you get
to be King ? '

' I wasn't King,' said Carnehan. ' Dravot he was the
King, and a handsome man he looked with the gold
crown on his head and all. Him and the other party
stayed in that village, and every morning Dravot sat
by the side of old Imbra, and the people came and wor-
shipped. That was Dravot's order. Then a lot of men
came into the valley, and Carnehan Dravot picks them
off with the rifles before they knew where they was,
and runs down into the valley and up again the other
side and finds another village, came as the first one,
and the people all falls down flat on their faces and
Dravot says — " Now what is the trouble between you
two villages ? " and the people points to a woman, as
fair as you or me, that was carried off, and Dravot
takes her back to the first village and counts up the
dead — eight there was. For each dead man Dravot
pours a little milk on the ground and waves his arms
like a whirligig and " That's all right," says he. Then
lie and Carnehan takes the big boss of each village by
the arm and walks them down into the valley, and

f ' .;-

■• 1^;:

214

UNDER THE DEODARS

•H

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 mul-
tiply," which they did, though they didn't understand.
Then we asks the names of things in their lingo —
bread and water and fii'e 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 tlie
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 Carne-
han 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
'em with a kid before letting 'em into the new King-
dom. That was to impress the people, and then they
settled down quiet, and Carnehan went back to Dravot
who had got into another valley, all snow and ice and
most mountaineous. There was no people there and
the Army got afraid, so Dravot shoots one of them,

: I

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

216

and goes on till he finds some people in a village, and
the Army explains that unless the people wants to
be killed they had better not shoot their little match-
locks i for they had matchlocks. We makes friends
with the priest and I stays there alone with two of the
Army, teaching the men how to drill, and a thundering
big Chief comes across the snow with kettle-drums and
horns twanging, because he heard there was a new
God kicking about. Carnehan sights for the brown
of the men half a mile across the snow and wings one
of them. Then he sends a message to the Chief that,
unless he wished to be killed, he must come and shake
hands with me and leave his arms behind. The Chief
comes alone first, and Carnehan shakes hands with him
and whirls his arms about, same as Dravot used, and
very much surprised that Chief was, and strokes my
eyebrows. Then Carnehan goes alone to the Chief,
and asks him in dumb show if he had an enemy he
hated. " I have," says the Chief. So Carnehan weeds
out the pick of his men, and sets the two of the Army
to show them drill and at the end of two weeks the
men can manoeuvre about as well as Volunteers. So
he marches with the Chief to a great big plain on the
top of a mountain, and the Chief's men rushes into
a village and takes it; 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 stand-
ing 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.'

216

UNDER THE DEODARS

1 ■!

At the risk of throwing the creature out of train
I interrupted — *How could you write a letter up
yonder ? *

*The letter? — Oh I— The letter I Keep looking
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 c. lied 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 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

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KINO

217

head. ** My Gord, Carnelian," says Daniel, " this is a
trc'inenjus 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 tool 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 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. Call up all the priests and, here, take
your crown."

' One of the men opens a black hair bag, and I slips
the cro^vn 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 fight
no more. The Craft's the trick so help me I " 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. "A 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 1

H ,

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UNDER THE DEODARS

:ii

'tjlif;

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 vil-
lages."

* " 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 enquire 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-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.

'It ii

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KINO

219

* At the leveo which was held that night on the hill-
side with big bonfires, Dnivot gives out that him and
mo were Gods and sons of Alexander, and Past (Jrand-
Musters 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 — Hilly Fish, Holly
Dihvorth, 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 continuous, 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
Hashkai. The minute Dravot puts on the Master's
apron that the girls had made for him, the priest
fetches a whoop and a howl, and tries to overturn
the stone that Dravot was sitting on. "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 priest 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

220

UNDER THE DEODARS

i I

understand 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 Kafiristaii
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 — liigli
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 biggest men, because we didn't want to make the
Degree common. And they was clamouring to be
raised.

* " In another six months," says Dravot, " we'll hold
another Communication, and see how you are work-
ing." Then he asks them about their villages, and
learns that they was fighting one against the other,
and were sick and tired of it. Andr when they wasn't
doing that they was fighting with the Mohammedans.
" You can fight those when they come into our coun-
try," says Dravot. " Tell off every tenth man of your
tribes for a Frontier guard, and send two hundred at
a time to this valley to be drilled. Nobody is going
to be shot or speared any more so long as he does well,
and I know that you won't cheat me, because you're
white people — sons of Alexander — and not like com-

'if

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

221

mon, black Mohammedans. You are my people, and by
God," says he, running off into Eiglish at the end —
" I'll make a damned fine Nation of you-, or I'll die in
the making ! "

' I can't tell all we did for the next six months, be-
cause Dravot did a lot I couldn't see the hang of, and
he learned their lingo in a way I never could. My
work Avas to help the people plough, and now and
again go out with some of the Army and see what the
otlier villages were doing, and make 'em throw rope-
bridges across the ravines which cut up the country
horrid. Dravot was very kind to me, but when he
walked up and down in the pine wood pulling that
bloody red beard of his with both fists I knew he was
thinking plans I could not advise about, and I just
waited for orders.

'But Dravot never showed me disrespect before
tlie people. They were afraid of me and the Army,
bat 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 together 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 Kafuzelum — 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 Bash-
kai, 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 'land-made
Martini rifles, that come out of the Amir's workshops

222

UNDER THE DEODARS

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at Kabul, from one of the Amir's Herati regiments that
v/ould have sold the very teeth out of their mouths
for turquoises.

* I stayed in Ghorband a month, and gave the Gov-
ernor 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 dis-
tributed '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, and we turned out five hundred men that
could drill, and two hundred that knew how to hold arms
pretty straight. Even those cork-screwed, hand-made
guns was a miracle to them. Dravot talked big about
powder-shops and factories, walking up and down in
the pine wood when the winter was coming on.

' " I won't make a Nation," says he. " I'll make an
Empire ! These men aren't niggers ; they're English !
Look at their eyes — look at their mouths. Look at
the way they stand up. They sit on chairs in their
own houses. They're the Lost Tribes, or something
like it, and they've grown ^o be English. I'll take a
census in the spring if the priests don't get frightened.
There must be a fair tAvo million of 'em in these hills.
The villages are full o' little children. Two million
people — two hundred and fifty thousand lighting men —
and all English ! They only want the rifles and a little
drilling. Two hundred and fifty thousand men, ready
to cut in on Russia's right flank when she tries for

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

223

India I Peachey, man," he says, chewing his beard in
great hunks, " we shall be Emperors — Emperors of the
Earth ! Rajah Brooke will be a suckling to us. I'll
treat with the Viceroy on equal terms. I'll ask him to
send me twelve picked English — twelve that I know
of» — to help us govern a bit. There's Mackray, Ser-
geant-pensioner at Segowli — many's the good dinner
he's given me, and his wife a pair of trousers. There's
Donkin, the Warder of Tounghoo Jail ; there's hun-
dreds that I could lay my hand on if I was in India.
The Viceroy shall do it for me, I'll send a man through
in the spring for those men, and I'll write for a dispen-
sation 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 Martir* They'll be worn smooth, but they'll do
for fighting in these hills. Twelve English, a hun-
dred 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 every-
thing 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
nuich to be done in every place — Bashkai, Khawak,
Shu, and everywhere 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 tlie snow."

' " It isn't that," says Daniel, putting his hand very
hard on my shoulder ; " and I don't wish to say any-
thing that's against you, for nO other living man would
have followed me and made me what I am as you have

224

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:,.f| |,ii;

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'M
t

done. You're a first-class Commander-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.

' " 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 tin-
ware 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,"

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

225

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."

'"Don't tempt me! " I says. "I will not have any
dealings with a woman not till we are a dam' side more
settled than we are now. I've been doing the work o'
two men, and you've been doing the work o' three.
Let's lie off a bit, and see if we can get some better
tobacco from Afghan country and run in some good
liquor ; but no women."

'"Who's talking o' women ?^^ says Dravot. "I said
wife — a Queen to breed a King's son for the King. A
Queen out of the strongest tribe, tliat'll make them
your blood-brothers, and that'll lie by your side and
tell you all the people thinks about you and their own
affairs. That's what I want."

' " Do you remembf " that Bengali woman I kept at
Mogul Serai when I was a plate-layer ? " says I. "A
fat lot o' good she was to me. She taught me the lingo
and one or two other things ; but what happened ?
She ran away with the Station Master's servant and
half my month's pay. Then she turned up at Dadur
Junction in tow of a half-caste, and had the impidence
to say I was her husband — all among the drivers in
the running-shed too! "

' " We've done with that," says Dravot, " these
women are whiter than you or me, and a Queen I
will have for the winter months."

' " For the last time o' asking, Dan, do wo^," I says.
"It'll only bring us harm. The Bible says that Kings

226

UNDER THE DEODARS

V I

■H

ain't to waste their strength on women, 'specially when
they've got a new raw Kingdom to work over."

' " For the last time of answering I will," said Dravot,
and he went away through the pine-trees looking like
a big red devil, the sun being on his crown and beard
and all.

* But getting a wife was not as easy as Dan thought.
He put it before the Council, and there was no answer
till Billy Fish said that he'd better ask the girls. Drii-
vot damned them all round. "What's wrong witli
me ? " he shouts, standing by the idol Imbra. " Am
I a dog or am I not enough of a man for your wenches ?
Haven't I put the shadow of my hand over this coun-
try? Who stopped the last Afghan raid?" It was
me really, but Dravot was too angry to remember.
" Who bought your guns ? Who repaired the bridges ?
Who's the Grand-Master of the sign cut in the stone ? "
says he, and he thumped his hand on the block that
he used to sit on in Lodge, and at Council, which
opened like Lodge always. Billy Fish said nothing
and no more did the others. "Keep your hair on,
Dan," said I ; " and ask the girls. That's how it's
done at Home, and these people are quite English."

' " The marriage of the King is a matter of State,"
says Dan, in a white-hot rage, for he could feel, I hope,
that he was going against his better mind. He walked
out of the Council-room, and the others sat still, look-
ing at the ground.

'"Billy Fish," says I to the Chief of Bashkai,
" what's the difficulty here ? A straight answer to a
true friend."

* " You know," says Billy Fish. " How should a
man tell you who knows everything? How can

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

227

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." — "Shell 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 pre-
pared 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 Avalking about more than half the night,
thinking of the wife that he was going to get in the
morning. I wasn't any means comfortable, for I knew

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UNDER THE DEODARS

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I
.11

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 to-
gether 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 ; " but if you 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. *' But sure, you 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." He sinks his head upon his great
fur cloak for a minute and thinks. " King," says lie,
" 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. We'll go to Bashkai until the storm blows over."

*A little snow had fallen in the night, and every-
thing 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.

' " For the last time, drop it, Dan," says I in a whis-
per, " Billy Fish here says that there will be a row."

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

229

* " 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
thore leaning on their guns and spears round the clear-
ing 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
Dravct, 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 me." 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 I " says he, clapping his hand
to his neck, and, sure enough, his hand was red with
blood. Billy Fish and two of his matchlock-men catches
hold of Dan by the shoulders and drags him into the
Bashkai lot, while the i)riests 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 mean-
ing o' this?"

' " Come back ! Come away I " says Billy Fish.

I I f

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1

" 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 matchlocks wasn't half as good as tlio
Kabul breech-loaders, and four of them dropped. Dun
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 I 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
temple blew again. "Come away — for Gord's sake
come away! " says Billy Fish. "They'll send runners
out to all the villages before ever we get to Bash-
kai. 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 walking back alone
and killing the priests with his bare hands ; which he

.1*..

I 1

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

231

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,
md you didn't know — you damned engine-driving,
jdate-laying, missionary's-pass-hunting hound!" He
sit upon a rock and called me every foul name he could
hry 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
wt'll make something out of it yet, when we've got to
Bashkai."

'"Let's get to Bashkai then," says Dan, "and, by
Goi, 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 Fish.
" Tie priests will have sent runners to the villages to
say that you are only men. Why didn't you stick on
as Gods till things was more settled? I'm a dead
man," says Billy Fish, and he throws himself down on
the snow and begins to pray to his Gods.

'Next morning we was in a cruel bad country — all
up and down, no level ground at all, and no food either.
Tlie six Bashkai men looked at Billy Fish hungry-
way as if they wanted to ask something, but they said
never a word. At noon we came to the top of a flat
mountain all covered with snow, and when we climbed

232

UNDER THE DEODARS

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' li.

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! P

■■ir

up into it, behold, there wiis an Army in position wait-
ing in the middle!

*"'rhe runners have been very quick," says Billy
Fish, with a little bit of a laugh. " They are waiting
for us."

* Three or four juen began to firo from the enemy's
side, and a clnuue shot took Daniel in the calf of the
leg. That brouglit him to his senses, lie lt)oks across
the snow at the Army, and sees the rifles that we hai
brought into the country.

' "- We're done for," says he. " They arc Englisl-
men, these people, — and it's my blasted nonsense tint
has brought you to this. Get back, Billy Fish, aid
take your men away; you've done what you could, aid
now cut for it. Carnehan," says he, " shake hards
with me and go along with Billy. Maybe they wai't
kill you. I'll go and meet 'em alone. It's me tiut
did it. Me, the King ! "

^ u

Go I " says I. " Go to Hell, Dan. I'm with

•ou

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 ii
lump of it there.'

The i)unkah-coolies had gone to sleep. Two kero-
sene lamps were blazing in the ofiice, and the perspira-
tion poured down my face and splashed on the blotter
as I leaned forward. Carnehan was shivering, and I

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KINO

233

feared that his miiid mi^lit go. I wiped my face, look
II fi'esh grip of the piteously mangled hands, and said :
• Wliat happened after that ? '

The momentary sliift of my eyes had broken tho
clear current.

' What was you pleased to say ? ' whined Carnehan.
' They took them without any sound. Not a little whis-
per all along the snow, not though the King knocked
down the lirst man that set hand on lam — not though old
Peachey fired his last cartridge into the brown of 'em.
Not a single solitary sound did those swines nuike. 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 I 'cachey, Peachey Talia-
ferro, 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-cutter. Sir. 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. You may have seen
such. They prodded him behind like an ox. " Damn
your eyes I " says the King. " D'you suppose I can't
die like a gentleman?" He turns to Peachey —
Peachey that was crying like a child. " Pve brought
you to this, Peachey," says he. "Brought you
out of your happy life to be killed in Kafiristan,
where you was late Commander-in-Chief of the Em-
peror's forces. Say you forgive me, Peachey." — "I
do," says Peachey. "Fully and freely do I forgive

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234

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 thoso
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
tlitre and screamed, and they took him down next
day, and said it was a miracle that he wasn't dead.
They took him down — poor old Peachey that hadn't
done thdm 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 tamed 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 canced at night, and
the mountains they tried io 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

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THE MAN WHO WOUID BE KING

236

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 embroidered
with silver thread ; and shook therefrom on to my
table — the dried, withered head of Daniel Dravot !
The morning sun that had lorg been paling the
lamps struck the red beard and blind sunken eyes ;
struck, too, a heavy circlet of gold studded with raw tur-
quoises, 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 manifold,
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
whiskey, and give me a little money,' he gasped. * I
was a King once. I'll go to the Deputy Commis-
sioner and ask to set in the 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, quaver-
ing dolorously after the fashion of street-singers at
Home. There was not a soul in -.ght, and he was

236

UNDER THE DEODARS

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out of all possible earshot of the houses. And ho
sang through his nose, tui'uing 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 mis-
sionary for eventual transfer to the Asylum. He re-
peated the hymn twice while he was with me whom he
did not in the least iiicognise, and I left him singing it
to the missionary.

Two days later I enquired after his welfare of the
Superintendent of the Asylum.

*He was admitted suffering from sun-stroke. He
died early yesterday morning,' said the Superintend-
ent. *Is it true that he was half an hour bare-
headed in the sun at midday ? '

' 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.

i 'H

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

• An oflficer 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- ^aJa, 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 de-
prived 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 strong in the posses-
sion of a good-conduct badge won for not chasing the
hens rouiid tlie compound. He regarded Brandis with
gravity for at least ten minutes, and then delivered
himself of his opinion.

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UNDER THE DEODARS

*I like you,' said he slowly, getting off his chair and
coming over to Brandio. ' 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
Winkle's peculiarities. He would look at a stranger
for some time, and then, without warning or explana-
tion, would give him a name. And the name stuck.
No regimental penalties could break Wee Willie Winkle
of this habit. He lost his good-conduct badge for
christening the Commissioner's wife ' Fobs ' ; but noth-
ing that the Colonel could do made the Station forego
the nickname, and Mrs. Collen remained ' Fobs ' 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 son' 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 Turn-
mil's,' said Wee Willie Winkie, and, his father abet-
ting, the sacrifice was accomplished.

Three weeks after the bestowal of his youthful af-
fections on Lieutenant Brandis — henceforward to be
called ' Coppy ' for the sake of brevity — Wee Willie
Winkie was destined to behold strange things and fur
beyond his comprehension.

Coppy returned his liking with interest. Coppy had

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WEE WILLIE WINKIE

239

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 owner-
ship 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
unmanly 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 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 mis-
chief have you been getting into now ? '

Wee Willie Winkie had done nothing notoriously
bad for three days, and so stood on a pinnacle of
virtue.

' Pve been doing nothing bad,' said he, curling him-
self into a long chair with a studious affectation of the

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240

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 pwoper, how was you kissing
Major Allardyce's big girl last morning, by ve canal?'

Coppy's brow wrinkled. He and Miss Allardyce had
with great craft managed to keep their engagement
secret for a fortnight. There were urgent and impera-
tive reasons why Major Allardyce 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 8ai8 didn't see. I said, ^'•Sut iao!^^ '

'Oh, you had that much sense, you young Hip,'
groaned poor Coppy, half amused and half angry.
' And how many people may you have told about it ? '

' Only me myself. You didn't tell when I twied to
wide ve buffalo ven my pony was lame ; and I fought
you wouldn't like.'

'Winkie,' said Coppy enthusiastically, shaking the
small hand, 'you're the best of good fellows. Look
here, you can't understand all these things. One of
these days — hang it, how can I make you see it ! —
I'm going to marry Miss Allardyce, and then she'll be
Mrs. Coppy, as you say. If your young mind is so
scandalised at the idea of kissing big girls, go and tell
your father.'

'What will happen?* said Wee Willie Winkie,
who firmly believed that his father was omnipotent.

■I .

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

241

*I shall get into trouble,' said Coppy^ playing his
trump card with an appealing look at the holder of
the ace.

*Ven I won't,' said Wee Willie Winkie briefly.
'But my faver says it's un-man-ly to be always kiss-
ing, and I didn't fink you'd do vat, Coppy.'

' I'm not always kissing, old chap. It's only now
and then, and when you're bigger you'll do it too.
four father meant it's not good for little boys.'

' Ah ! ' said Wee Willie Winkie, now fully enlight-
ened. * It's like ve sputter-brush ? '

' Exactly,' said Coppy gravely.

' But I don't fink I'll ever want to kiss big girls, nor
no one, 'cept my muvver. And I must vat, you know.'

There was a long pause, broken by Wee Willie
Winkie.

' Are you fond of vis big girl, Coppy ? '

' Awfully I ' said Coppy.

* 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 one. 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 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 engagement
was dependent on a little child's word. Coppy, who

242

UNDER THE DEODARS

t !

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"'Lil

know Wee Willie Winkle'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 dis-
cover 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 behooved 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 virt-
uous for three weeks. Then the Old Adam broke out,
and he made wh.it 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 consumed 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
veranda — 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.' Co^py
came in the afternoon and attempted lo console the
culprit.

' I'm under awwfjst,' said Woe Willie Winkie mourn-
fully, ' and I didn't ought to speak to you.

Very early the next morning he climbed on to the

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

243

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 for-
wjird.

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 — 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 bor-
ders I 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 reflected
for a moment on the very terrible wrath of his father ;
and then — broke his arrest ! It was a crime unspeak-

244

UNDER THE DEODARS

i"!

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able. The low sun threw his shadow, very large and
very black, on the tiim 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 sate gave him his
mount, and, since the one great sin made all others
insignificant. Wee Willie Winkie said that he Wiis
going to ride over to Coppy Sahib, and went out at
a foot-pace, stepping on the soft mould of the flower-
borders.

The devastating track of the pony's feet was the List
misdeed that cut him off from all sympathy of Humuii-
ity. He turned into the road, leaned forward, and
rode as fast as the pony could put foot to the ground
in the direction of the river.

But the liveliest of twelve-two ponies can do little
against the long canter of a Waler. Miss Allardyee
was far ahead, had passed through the crops, beyond
the Police-posts, when all the guards were asleep, and
her mount was scattering the pebbles of the river-bed
as Wee Willie Winkie loft the cantonment and British
India behind him. Bowed forward and still flogging,
Wee Willie Winkie shot into Afghan territory, and
could just see Miss Allardyee a black speck, flickering
across the stony plain. The reason of her wandering
was simple enough. Coppy, in a tone of too-hastily-
assumed authority, had told her over night that she
must not ride out by the river. And she had gone to
prove her own spirit and teach Coppy a lesson.

Almost at the foot of the inhospitable hills, Wee
Willie Winkie saw the Waler blunder and come down
heavily. Miss Allai'dyce struggled clear, but her ankle

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

245

had been severely twisted, and she could not stand.
Having fully shown her spirit, she wept, and was sur-
prised by the apparition of a white, wide-eyed child
in khaki, on a nearly spent pony.

* Are you badly, badly hurted ? ' shouted Wee Willie
Winkie, as soon as he was within range. * You didn't
ought to be here.'

' I don't know,' said Miss AUardyce ruefully, ignor-
ing 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 his pony.
'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 I '

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
kiiising you, and he said lie 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 AUardyce, with a
groan. ' 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 be-
lieve that tears were the depth of unmanliness. Still,

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UNDER THE DEODARS

wlieii one is as great a sinner as Weo Willie Winkle,
oven a man nuiy be permitted to break down.

* Winkie,' said Miss Allardyce, * when you've rested
a little, ride back and tell them to send out something
to carry mo back in. It hurts fearfully.'

The child sat still for a little time and Miss AUardycu
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.

*0h, Winkie I 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 favor says a man must always look after a girl.
Jack will go home, and von vey'U 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 lieart of Woe
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 bowlders on which Miss AUar-
dyce's horse had blundered,

Then rose from the rock Wee Willie Winkie, child
of the Dominant Race, aged six and three-quarters^ and

If-

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WEE WILLIE WINKIB

247

said briefly and emphatically ^Jao!"" The pony had
croHsed the river-bed.

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 frightening 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 I '

'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 ransom.
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 Winkle'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, verv blanched and uncomfortable.

' r

248

UNDER THE DEODARS

1 1

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* 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 ^nm, but he went on
nrn>ly — ' And if you do carry us away, I tell you that
ail 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 fool-
ish 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
Avill 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, ror 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, stand-
ing over Miss Allardyce, waited the upshot. Surely
his 'wegiment,' his own 'wegiment,' would not desert
him if they knew of his extremity.

HI********

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WEE WILLIE WINKIE

249

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 bar-
racks, 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 couldnt 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 I Let's go over the
river.'

* There's sense in Mott yet,' said Devlin. *E Com-
pany, 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 canton-
ment was alive »vith the men of the 195th hunting for
Wee Willie Winkie, and the Colonel finally overtook E
Company, far too exhausted to swear, struggling in the
pebbles of the river-bed.

Up the hill under which Wee Willie Winkle's Bad
Men were discussing the wisdom of carrying 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 I Let us
not be seen with the boy ! '

The men waited for an instant, and then, as another

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shot was fired, withdrew into the hills, silently as they
had appeared.

* The wegimer.t is coming,* said Wee Willie Winkle
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 weeping 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 dis-
gust, 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
b"^ 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 v/ith a grimy fore-
finger. *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.'

* You're a hero, Winkie,' said Coppy — * a pukka
hero I '

*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 hiis manhood.

.-, ti

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

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Baa Baa, Black Sheep,

Have you any wool ?

Yes, Sir, yes, Sir, three bags full.

One for the Master, one for the Dame —

None for the Little Boy that cries down the lane.

Nursery Rhyme.

The First Bag

When I was in my father's house, I was in a better place.

They were putting Punch to bed — the ayah and the
hamal and Meeta, the big Surti boy, with the red and
gold turban. Judy, already tucked inside her mosquito-
curtains, was nearly asleep. Punch had been allowed
to stay up for dinner. Many privileges had been ac-
corded to Punch within the last ten days, and a greater
kindness from the people of his world had encompassed
his ways and works, which were mostly obstreperous.
He sat on the edge of his bed and swung his bare legs
defiantly.

'Punch-6a5a going to bye-lo?' said the ayah sug-
gestively.

'Nc/ said Punch. '•VwwQh-hdba wants the story
about the Ranee that was turned into a tiger. Meeta
must tell it, and the hamal shall hide behind the door
and make tiger-noises at the proper time,'

' But Judy-6a5a will wake up,' said the ayah.

* Judy-6a6a is waked,' piped a small voice from the

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mosquito-curtains. * There was a Ranee that lived at
Delhi. Go on, Meeta,' and she fell fast asleep again
while Meeta began the story.

Never had Punch secured the telling of that tale
with so little opposition. He reflected for a long time.
The hamal made the tiger-noises in twenty different
keys.

* 'Top ! ' said Punch authoritatively. * Why doesn't
Papa come in and say he is going to give me put-put ? '

^ Funch'baba is going away,' said the ayah. 'In
another week there will be no Punch-5a6a to pull my
hair any more.' She sighed softly, for tho loy of the
household was very dear to her heart.

' Up the Ghauts in a train ? ' said Punch, standing on
his bed. *A11 the way to Nassick where the Ranee-
Tiger lives ? '

*Not to Nassick this year, little Sahib,' said Meeta,
lifting him on his shoulder. * Down to the sea where
the cocoanuts are thrown, and across the sea in a big
ship. Will you take Meeta with you to Belait ? '

* You shall all come,' said Punch, from the height of
Meeta's strong arms. * Meeta and the ayah and the
hamal and Bhini-in-the-Garden, and the salaam-Cap-
tain-Sahib-snake-man. '

There was no mockery in Meeta's voice when he
replied — ' Great is the Sahib's fa 70ur,' and laid the
little man down in the bed, while the ayah^ sitting in
the moonlight at the doorway, lulled him to sleep witli
an interminable canticle such as they sing in the Roman
Catholic Church at Parel. Punch curled himself into
a ball and slept.

Next morning Judy shouted that there was a rat in
the nursery, and thus he forgot to tell her the wonder-

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

263

derful news. It did not much matter, for Judy was
only three and she would not have understood. But
Punch was five; and he knew that going to England
would be much nicer than a trip to Nassick.

m * ♦ ♦ * * * * *

Papa and Mamma sold the brougham and the piano,
and stripped the house, and curtailed the allowance of
crockery for the daily meals, and took long council
together over a bundle of letters bearing the Rockling-
ton postmark.

' The worst of it is that one can't be certain of any-
thing,' said Papa, pulling his mousl^che. 'The letters
in themselves are excellent, and the terms are moderate
enough.'

'The worst of it is that the children will grow up
away from me,' thought Mamma; but she did not say
it aloud.

' We are only one case among hundreds,' said Papa
bitterly. * You shall go Home again in five years,
dear.'

'Punch will be ten then — and Judy eight. Oh,
how long and long and long the time will be ! And we
have to leave them among strangers.'

' Punch is a cheery little chap. He's sure to make
friends wherever he goes.'

' 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 a^/ak saw her and jjut up a prayer
tliat the memsahih might never find the love of her chil-
dren taken away from her and given to a stranger.

Mamma's own prayer was a slightly illogical one.

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UNDER THE DEODARS

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 thjir confidence for ever aii.l
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 dis-
covered 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 at/ah had dried their tears.

* Come back, Punch-iafta,' 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).

A\> 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 merry breeze, and
Punch was very sick. *When I come back to Bom-
bay,' said Punch on his recovery, ' I will come by the
road — in a broom ^Aarn. This is a very naughty
ship.'

The Swedish boatswain consoled him, and he modified
his opinions as the voyage went on. There was so
much to see and to handle and ask questions about
that Punch nearly forgot the ayah and Meeta and the
hamal^ and with difficulty remembered a few words of
the Hindustani, once his second-speech.

But Judy was much worse. The day before the
steamer reached Southampton, Mamjua asked her if she

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

255

would not like to see the ayah again. Judy's blue eyes
turned to the stretch of sea that had swallowed all her
tiny past, and said: *'Ayah! What a^aAf

Mamma cried over her and Punch marvelled. It
was then that he heard for the first time Mamma's pas-
sionate appeal to him never to let Judy forget Mamma.
Seeing that Judy was young, ridiculously young, and
that Mamma, every evening for four weeks past, had
come into the cabin to sing her and Punch to sleep with a
mysterious rune that he called * Sonny, my soul,' Punch
could not understand what Mamma meant. But he
strove to do his duty ; for, the moment Mamma left the
cabin, he said to Judy: * Ju, you bemember Mamma?'

' 'Torse I do,' said Judy.

* Then always bemember Mamma, 'r else I won't give
you the paper ducks that the red-liaired Captain Sahib
cut out for me.'

So Judy promised always to * bemember Mamma.'

Many and many a time was Mamma's command 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.'

'Fll 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 * bemembering,'
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 tixey did if Judy
put her mouth for a kiss.

Through many days all four were vagabonds on the

1PIT !

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UNDER THE DEODARS

ill

111'

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 loathsome
contrivance on four wheels witli a mound of luggage
atop — ' where is our hroom-ffharri ? This thing talks
so much that I can't talk. Where is our own broom-
gharri? Wh*^n I WiS ^t Bandstand before we come'l
av^ay, T a jk'^u ''^r v r.tri' y Sahib why he was sitting in
it, and he sriti i^ w^? his own. And I said, "I will
give it you'' — i ^ike ^ iverarity Sahib — and I said,
" Can you put your legs through the puUy-wag loops
by the windows ? " And Inverarity Sahib said No, and
laughed. 1 can 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 dis-
favour. It stood on a sandy road, and a cold wind
tickled his knickeibockered 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

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

267

been accustomed to do in Bombay when callers came
and he happened to be playing in the veranda.

'How do you do?' said he. 'I am Punch.' But

jy were all looking at the laggage — all except the
i; xy man, who shook hands w'th Punch, and said he
^ IS *a smart little fellow.' There was much running
r out and banging of boxes, and Punch curled himself
up on the so^ in the dining-room and considered
thmgs.

' I don't like these people,' said Punch. * But never
mmd. We'll go away soon. We have always went
away soon from everywhere. I wish we was gone br -k
to Bombay soon.^

Tlie wish bore no fruit. For six days Mamma ut |«t
ut intervals, and showed the woman in black all Punc'^'s
clothes — a liberty which Punch resented. * l^ut p'raps
she's a new white ayah^^ he thought. 'I'm to cu ; -ler
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
heJird 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 between 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

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UNDER THE DEODARS

oilier when they met, and the gray man showed hmi a
little ship with rigging that took up and down.

*Slie is a model of the Brisk — the little Brisk tluit
was sore exposed that day at Navarino.' The gray nian
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 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.'

' Fve 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 fust
asleep, and there was the rattle of a cab below. Papa
and Mamma had gone away. Not to Nassick; that wiis
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. Inverarlty's
house in Marine Lines. Assuredly they would come
back again. So Punch fell asleep till the true morn-
ing, when the black-haired boy met him with the in-

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

269

formation that Papa and Mamma had p^one to Bombay,
and that he and Judy were to stay at Downe Lodge
'forever.* Antirosa, tearfully appealed to for a con-
tnidiction, said that Harry had spoken the truth, and
that it behooved Punch 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
kleas of the meaning of separation.

When a matured man discovers that ho has been
tU'serted by Providence, deprived of his (iod, and cast,
without help, comfort, or sympathy, upon a world
which is new and strange to Iiim, his despair, which
may find expressicm in evil-living, the writing of his
experiences, or the more satisfactory diversion of sui-
cide, is generally supposed to be impressive. A child,
uiuler 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
liead 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 lie 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
cliildren *have their cry out,' and the boy had gone to
scliool. Punch raised his head from the floor and
sniffed mournfully. Judy was nearly asleep. Three

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Hliort years hud not tauj^ht her how to bear sorrow with
full knowhjilge. Tliere was a distant, dull boom in tluj
air — a repeated heavy thud. Puneh knew tliat sound
in Bombay in the Monsoon. It was the sea — the sea that
must be traversed before any one could get to Bomba} .

* Quick, Ju I ' he cried, * we're close to the sea. 1 ciiii
Iiear it I l-<isten I Tliat's where they've went. P'raps
we can catcli tliem if we was in time. They diihi't
mean to go witliout us. They've only forgot.'

* Iss,' said Judy. * Th'iy've only forgotted. Less go
to the sea.'

The hall-door was open and so was the garden-gate.

* It's very, very big, this place,' he said, looking cau-
tiously down the road, *and we will get lost; but /will
find a man and order him to take me back to my house
— like I did in Jiombay.'

He took Judy by the hand, and the two ran hatless
in the direction of the sound of the sea. Downe Villii
was almost the last of a range of newly-built houses
running out, through a field of brick-mounds, to a hcatli
where gyr^iies occasionally camped and where the Gar-
rison xvrtillery of Hocklington practised. There ^\ ere
few people to be seen, and tlie children might have been
taken for those of the soldiery who ranged far. Iliilf
an hour the wearied little legd tramped across heaili,
potato-patch, and sand-dune.

'I'se so tired,' said Judy, 'and Mamma will be angry.'

* Mamma's never angry. I suppose she is waiting at
the sea now while Papa gets tickets. We'll find them
and go along with. Ju, you mustn't sit down. Only
a little more and we'll come to the sea. Ju, if you sit
down I'll thmack you ! ' said Punch.

They climbed another dune, and came upon the great

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

201

pfiiiy sea at low tide. IIunilredH of crabs were scullliiif^
about the beach, but there was no trace of Papa and
Mamma, not even of a nliip u[)on tlie waters — nothing
hut sand and mud for miles and miles.

And * Uncleharri ' found them by cliance — very
muddy and very forlorn — Punch dissolved in tears,
l)ut trying to divert Judy with an * ickle trab,' and
Judy wailing to the pitiless liorizon for ^Mannna,
Mammal ' — and again * Mammal '

J iij ■ I

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The Second Bag

; II

Ah, well-a-day, for wo are souls bereaved I
Of all the creatures under Heaven's wide scope
We are most hopeless, >vho had once most hope,
And most beliefless, who had most believed.

The City of Dreadful Night

All this time not a word about IMack Sheep. Ho
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 (jne
child, and Punch was the extra boy about the house.
There was no special place for liim or his little affairs,
and he was forbidden to sprawl on sofas and explain his
ideas about the manufacture of this world and his hopes
for his future. Sprawling was lazy and wore out sofas,
and little boys \n re not expected to talk. They wert;
talked to, and the talking to was intended for the bene-
fit of their morals. As the unquestioned despot of the
house at Bombay, Punch could not quite understand
how he came to be of no account m this his new life.

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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 montlis after
Mammit and Papa left, and he had forgotten to tell
Judy to 'bemember Mamma.'

This lapse was excusable, because in the intervjil
he had been introduced by Aunty Rosa to two very
impressive things — an abstraction called God, the inti-
mate friend and ally of Aunty Rosa, generally believed
to live behind the kitchen-range because it was liot
there — and a dirty brown book filled with unintelli-
gible dots and marks. Punch was always anxious to
oblige everybody. He therefore welded the story of
the Creation on to what he could recollect 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 whgre the iniquity came in, ])ut
was careful not to repeat the offence, because Aunty
Rosa told him that God had heard every word he liad
said and was very angry. If i is were true, why
didn't God come and say so, thought Punch, and dis-
missed the ii?atter from ills mind. Afterwards ho
learned to krow the Lord as the only thing in the
world more awful than Aunty Rosa — as a Creatnre
that stood in the background and counted the stroke.s
of the cane.

But the reading was, just then, a much more serious
matter than any creed. Aunty Rosa sat him upon a
table and told him that A B meant ^ib.

'Why?' said Punch. 'A is a and B is bee. Why
does A B mean ab?'

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BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

263

and

* Because I tell you it does,' said Aunty Rosa,
you've got to say it.'

Punch said it accordingly, and for a month, hugely
against his will, stumbled through ihe brown book, not
in the least comprehending what it meart But Uncle
Harry, who walked much and generally aiu.ie, was wont
to come into the nursery and suggest to Aunty Kosa
that Punch should walk witli him. He seldom spoke,
but he showed Punch all Rocklington, from the mud-
banks and the sand of the back-bay to the great har-
bours where ships lay at anchor, and the dockyards
where the hammers were never still, and the marine-
store shops, and the shiny brass counters in the Offices
where Uncle Harry vent once every three months with a
slip of blue paper and received sovereigns in exchange ;
for he held a wound-pension. Punch heard, too, from
his lips the story of the battle of Navarino, where the
sailors of the Fleet, for three days afterwards, were deaf
as posts and could onl} siign to each other. ' That was
because of the noise of the guns,' said Uncle Harry,
'and I have got the wadding of a bullet somewhere
inside me now.'

Pun* h regarded him with curiosity. He had not the
least idea what wadding was, and his notion of a bullet
was a dockyard cannon-ball bigger than his own head.
How could Uncle Harry keep a cannon-ball inside him ?
He was ashamed to ask, for fear Uncle Harry might be
angry.

Punch had never known what anger — real anger —
ir.f^ mt until one terrible day when Harry had taken
^iis paint-box to paint a boat with, and Punch had pro-
tested. Then Uncle Harry had appeared on the scene
and, muttering something about 'strangers' children,*

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1-;

had with a stick smitten the black -haired boy across
the shoulders till he wept and yelled, and Aunty Rosa
came in and abused Uncle Harry for cruelty to his own
flesh and blood, and Punch shuddered to the tips of his
shoes. ' It wasn't my fault,' he explained to the boy,
but both Harry and Aunty Rosa said that it was, and
that Punch had told tales, and for a week there were no
more walks with Uncle Harry.

But that week brought a great joy to Punch.

He had repeated till he was thrice weary the state-
ment that Hhe Cat lay on the Mat and the Rat came in.'

' Now I can truly read,' said Punch, * and now I will
never read anything in the world.'

He put the brown book in the cupboard where his
school-books lived and accidentally tumbled out a
venerable volume, without covers, labelled Sharpens
Magazine, There was the most portentous picture of a
griffin on the first page, with verses below. The griffin
carried off one sheep a day from a German village, till
a man came with a ' falchion ' and split the griffin open.
Goodness only knew what a falchion was, but there was
the Griffin, and his history was an improvement upon
the eternal Cat.

'This,' said Punch, 'means things, and now I will
know all about everything in all the world.' He read
till the light failed, not understanding a tithe of tlie
meaning, but tantalised by glimpses of new worlds
hereafter to be revealed.

' What is a " falchion " ? What is a " e-wee lamb " ?
What is a " base Mssurper " ? What is a " verdajit
me-ad '' ? ' he demanded with flushed cheeks, at bed-
time, of the astonished Aunty Rosa.

' Say your prayers and go to sleep,' she replied, and

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BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

266

that was all the help Punch tlen or afterwards found
at her hands in the new and delightful exercise of
reading.

* Aunty Rosa only knows about God and things like
that,' argued Punch. ' Uncle Harry will tell me."

The next walk proved that Uncle Harry could not
help either; but he allowed Punch to talk, and even
sat down on a bench to hear about the Griffin. Other
walks brought other stories as Punch ranged further
afield, for the house held large store of old books that
no one ever opened — from Frank Fairlegh in serial
numbers, and the earlier poems of Tennyson, con-
tributed anonymously to Sharpens Magazine^ to '62
Exhibition Catalogues, gay with colours and delight-
fully incomprehensible, and odd leaves of Qulliver's
Travels.

As soon as Punch could string a few pot-hooks
together, he wrote to Bombay, demanding by return of
post *all the books in all the world.' Papa could not
comply with this modest indent, but sent Grimm's Fairy
Tales and a Hans Andersen. That was enough. If he
were only left alone Punch could pass, at any hour he
chose, into a land of his own, beyond reach of Aunty
Rosa and her God, Harry and his teasements, and
Judy's claims to be j)layed with.

'Don't disturve me, I'm reading. Go and play in
the kitchen,' grunted Punch. * Aunty Rosa lets you go
there.' Judy was cutting her second teeth and wiis
fretful. She appealed to Aunty Rosa, who descended
on Punch.

'I was reading,' he explained, * reading a book. I
want to read.'

'You're only doing that to show off,' said Aunty

I-

266

UNDER THE DEODARS

Rosa. * But we'll see. Play with Judy now, aud don't
open a book for a week.'

Judy did not pass a very enjoyable playtime witli
Punch, who was consumed with indignation. Thero
was a pettiness at the bottom of the prohibition which
puzzled him.

*It's what I like to do,' he said, 'and she's found
out that and stopped me. Don't cry, Ju — it wasn't
your fault — please don't cry, or she'll say I made you. '

Ju loyally mopped up her tears, and the two played
in their nursery, a room in the basement and half
underground, to which they were regularly sent after
the midday dinner while Aunty Rosa slept. She d/ank
wine — that is to say, something from a bottle in ihe
cellaret — for her stomach's sake, but if she did not
fall asleep she would sometimes come into the nursery
to see that the children were really playing. Now
brick«, wooden hoops, ninepins, and chinaware cannot
amuse for ever, especially when all Fairyland is to be
won by the mere opening of a book, and, as often as
not, Punch would be discovered reading to Judy or
telling her interminable tales. That was an offence in
the eyes of tlie law, and Judy would be whisked off by
Aunty Rosa, whUe Punch was left to play alone, * and
be sure tluit I hear you doing it.'

It was not a cheering enploy, for he had to make a
playful noise. At last, with infinite craft, he devised
an arrangement whereby the table could be supported
as to three legs on toy l^ricks, leaving the fourth clear
to bring down on the floor. He could work tlie table
'v?!h one hand and liold a book with, the other. This
'^e diu till an evil day when Aunty Rosa pounced upon
liyn unj'Avares aivl told liini that he was 'acting a lie.'

i^ :

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

267

*If you're old enough to do that,' she said — lier
temper was always worst after dinner — 'you're old
enough to be beaten.'

' But — I'm — I'm not a animal! ' said Punch aghast.
He remembered Uncle Harry and the stick, and turned
white. Aunty liosa lia^^ hidden a light cane behind
her, and Punch was beaten then ai.d tliere over the
shoulders. It was a revelation to him. The room-door
was shut, and he was left to weep himself into repent-
ance and work out his own gospel of life.

Aunty Rosa, he argued, had the power to beat him
with many strij^es. It was unjust and cruel, and
Mamma and Papa would never have allowed it. Un-
less 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 uii er-
stand. Clearly it would not do to pretend to car or
Aunty Rosa.

At this point Harry entered and stood afar- off,
eying Punch, a dishevelled heap in the corner the
room, with disgust.

'You're a liar — a young liar,' said Harry, wuh 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

268

UNDER THE DEODARS

corrupt her. You're only fit to associate with the ser-
vant. Mother says so.'

Having reduced Punch to a second tigony of tears,
Harry departed upstairs with tlie 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,' said
Aunty Rosa, * but Pm afraid, Pm very much afraid, that
he is the Liack 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 sit-
ting at which all the blinding horrors of Hell were re-
vealed 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 V alley
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 question 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 Plarr)^ 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

.; h

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

269

delivered into his liiuids. lie would wjike him up in
the night to ask liini why he was sueh a liar.

* I don't know,' Puncli 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 all the
world, seen and unseen, lie 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 wasuH 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.
1 know I did, but Harry said I didn't,' and <> 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. ' Fm 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 differrat somehow, and Aunty R(»'«a doesn't believe
a word I say. Oh, Ju! don't t/ou 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

^^i

270

UNDER THE DEODARS

l!:'-

made-up bad like this — Mamma told Papa, and Papa
told mo ho knew, and that was all. Outside people
didn't know too — even Meeta didn't know.'

* I don't remember,' said Judy wistfully. ' I was all
little then. 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 lilack Slieep, 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, lilack 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 llosa says
you're Bad, and Harry says you're a little coward. He
says iiii t if I 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 FU 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 Pd 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 wefc\. Uncle Harry took him for walks, and

il.

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

271

consoled him witli rough tenderness, never calling him
Hlaek Sheep. * It's good for 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 read epitaphs, and then with a sigh would
stump home again.

* I shall lie there soon,' said he to lUack Sheep, one
whiter evening, when his face sliowed 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 m 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 Cometh
up as a Flower with deep and uncomprehending in-

1 1

I (

I I

272

UNDER THE DEODARS

torcst. IIo had been forbidden to open it on account
of ita 'sinfubiess,' but tbo bonds of the Universe were
crumbling, and Aunty Uosa was in great grief.

* I'm glad,' said lUaek Sheep. ' She's unhappy now.
It wasn't a lie, though. / knew, lie told mo not
to tell.'

That night IJlack Sheep woke witli a start. Harry
was not in tlie room, and there was a sound of sobbing
on the next iloor. Tiien tiie voice of Uncle llany,
singing the song of the Battle of Navarino, came
through the darkness : —

'Our vauship was the Asia —
Tho Albion and Genoa ! '

* He's getting well,' thought Black Sheep, who knew

the song through all its seventeen verses. But tlie

blood froze at his little heart as he thought. Tlie

voice leapt an octave, and rang shrill as a boatswain's

pipe : —

♦ And next came on the lovely Hose,
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 tlic
staircase: 'Hush! For God's sake hush, you little
devil. Uncle Harry is dead I *

!. *.

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

273

The Tiiiun lUo

Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
Every wise man'a son doth know.

*I WONDER what will luippoii to mo now,' thouglit
Itliick Sheep, wluni seini-pii^jin rites i)eeiiliiir to the
l)urial of the Dead in niiddle-chiss houses had been
lu'coniplislied, and Aunty Uosa, awful in hlaek erape,
liiid returned to this lil'e. * 1 don't think I've d(mo
anythinjif bad that she knows of. 1 suppose I will
soon. She will be very cross after Unele Harry's
(lying, and Harry will bo 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 attendeil.
Tliis 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 1
do, but I won't do anything,' said IJlack Sheep. Forti-
liL'd with this virtuous resolution, he went to school
only to find that Harry's version of his character had
preceded him, and that life was a burden in conse-
quence. 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 huhshi. I don't think tliis 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 construed into 'showing off,' and
that Harry would tell the boys.

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274

UNDER THE DEODARS

'How do you like school?' said Aunty Rosa at the
end of the day.

' I think it is a very nice place,' said Punch quietly.

'I su2)pose you warned the boys of Black Sheep's
character ? ' said Aunty Rosa to Harry.

' Oh yes,' said the censor of Black Sheep's morals.
*They know all about him.'

' If I was with my father,' said Black Sheep, stung to
the quick, ' I shouldn't speak to those boys. He wouldn't
let me. They live in shops. I saw them go into shops
— where their fathers live and sell things.'

'You're too good for that school, are you?' said
Aunty Rosa, with a bitter smile. 'You ought to be
grateful, Black Sheep, that those boys speak to you at
all. It isn't every school that takes little liars.'

Harry did not fail to make much capital out of Black
Sheep's ill-considered remark; with the result that
several boys, including the huhshi, demonstrated to
Black Sheep the eternal equality of the human race by
smacking his head, and his consolation from Aunty
Rosa was that it 'served him right for being vain.'
He learned, however, to keep his opinions to himself,
and by propitiating Harry in carrying books and the
like to get a little peace. His existence was not too
joyful. From nine till twelve he was at school, and
from two to four, except on Saturdays. In the even-
ings he was sent down into the nursery 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.

P H

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

276

The lean woman returned that love with interest,
and Judy, when she dared, took advantage of this for
the remission of Black Sheep's jienalties. Failures in
lessons at school were i)unished at home by a week
without reading other than schoolbooks, 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 per-
mitted 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 Harry ' in their mouths ;
Judy was officially 'Miss Judy'; but Black Sheep was
never anything more than Black Sheep tout court.

As time went on and the memory of Papa and Mamma
became wholly overlaid by the unpleasant task of writ-
ing them letters, under Aunty Rosa's eye, each Sunday,
Black Sheep forgot what manner of life he had led
hi the beginning of things. Even Judy's appeals to
'try and remember about Bombay' failed to quicken
him.

■If

1 • 1 '1

y^i

^■!

276

UNDER THE DEODARS

'1 can't remember,' he said. 'I know I used to give
orders and Mamma kissed me.'

' Aunty Rosa will kiss you if you are good,' pleaded
Judy.

'Ugh! I don't want to be kissed by Aunty Rosa.
She'd say I was doing it to get something more to
eat. '

The weeks lengthened into montlis, and the holidays
camej but just before the holidays Black Sheep fell into
deadly sin.

Among the many boys whom Harry had incited to
* punch Black Sheep's head because he daren't hit back,'
was one more aggravating than the rest, who, in an un-
lucky moment, fell upon Black Sheep when Harry was
not near. The blows stung, and Black Sheep struck
back at random with all the power at his command.
The boy dropped and whimpered. Black Sheep was
astounded at his own act, but, feeling the unresisting
body under him, shook it with both his hands in blind
fury and then began to throttle his enemy; meaning
honestly to slay him. There was a scuffle, and Black
Sheep was torn off the body by Harry and some
colleagues, and cuffed home tingling but exultant.
Aunty Rosa was out : pending her arrival, Harry sent
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 bit
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 1
blubbed. Will you leave me alone until Aunty Rosa

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

277

jed to give

>d,' pleaded

unty Rosa,
ig more to

the holidays
leep fell into

,d incited to
n't hit back,'
ho, ill an un-
n Harry was
Sheep struck
lis command,
^k Sheep was
e unresisting
ands in blind
my; meaning
le, and Black
ry and some

jut exultant,
a, Harry sent

in of murder

lin.

at did you hit

at and then at

• You always
;oward when I
il Aunty llosa

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 dare say,' said Harry, ' and then you'll be lianged,
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 away, and consoled him. But Black
Sheep was beyond consolation. He would be badly
beaten by Aunty Rosa; then there would be another
beating at Harry's hands; then Judy would not be
allowed to speak to him ; then the tale would be told at
school ant . then

There was no one to help and no one to care, and
the best way out of the business was by death. A
knife would hurt, but Aunty Rosa had told him, a year
ago, that if he sucked paint he would die. He went
into the nursery, unearthed the now disused Noah's
Ark, and sucked the paint off as many animals as
remained. It tasted abominable, but he had licked
Noah's Dove clean by the time Aunty Rosa and Judy
returned. He went upstairs and greeted them with :

278

UNDER THE DEODARS

* Please, Aunty Rosa, I believe I've nearly killed a boy
at scbool, andl've tried to kill Harry, and wlien you'vo
done all about God and Hell, will you beat me and get
it over ? '

The tale of the assault as told by Harry could only
be explained on the ground of possession by the Devil.
Wherefore IJlack Sheep was not only most excellently
beaten, once by Aunty Rosa and once, when thoroughly
cowed down, by Harry, but he was further prayed for
at family prayers, together with Jane who had stolen a
cold rissole from the pantry and snuftled audibly iis
her sin was brought before the Throne of Grace. Black
Sheep was sore and stiff but triumphant. He would
die that very night and be rid of them all. No, lie
would ask for no forgiveness from Harry, and at bed-
time would stand no questioning at 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 throuf^h
the windows and found Black Sheep quite well and a
good deal ashamed of himself, but richer by the knowl-
edge 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,

«.^

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

279

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 nothing, of dreaming
dreams and marching imaginary armies up and down
stairs, 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 mode 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 babblement, 31ack Sheep con-
fided to her that the distance from the hall-door to the

280

UNDER THE DEODARS

top of the first laiidinjy was exactly one hundred and
eighty-four handspans. He had found it out himself.

Then the old life recommenced ; but with a differ-
ence, .and a new sin. To liis other iniquities Black
Sheep liad now added a phenomenal clumsiness — Wiis
as uniit to trust in action as ho was in word. He himself
could not account for si)illinj^ 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 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 Avas
a clerk in a Banking-Ofifice. Freed from his presence,
Black Sheep resolved that he should no longer be
deprived of his allowance of pleasure-reading. Con-
sequently 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 cun-
ning and stratagem that had never entered into his
head. By the light of the sordid knowledge that she

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

281

had revealed to him he paid her back full tale. In
a household where the most innocent of liis motives,
his natural yearning for a little affection, had been
interpreted into a desire for more bread and jam or
to ingratiate himself wit!i strangers and so put Harry
into the background, his work was easy. Aunty Rosa
could penetrate certain kinds of hypocrisy, 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 schoolbooks, and even the pages of the
open-print story-books danced and were dim. So
lilack 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 enquiries as to Black Sheep's progress
and received information that startled her. Step l)y
step, with a delight as keen as when she convicted an
underfed housemaid of the theft of cold meats, she fol-
lowed 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 horri-
ble, 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 liymns
to learn. But I've done all my reading and she never

282

UNDER THE DEODARS

fi-

: (

j! i I

know. She'll say she knew nil along. She's an old liar
too,' said he.

For three days Black Sheep was shut in his own hed-
room — to prepare his heart. *That means two beat-
ings. One at school and one here. That one will hurt
most.' And it fell even as he thought. He Avas
thrashed at school before the Jews and the hubshi^ for
the heinous crime of bringing 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 bailu
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

i I

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

283

for half a minute, Jiiul then naid suddenly: 'Good God,
the little chap's nearly hlind! '

It was a most husiness-like visitor. Ho j^avo orders,
on his own responsihility, that Black Sheep was not to
go to school or open a hook until Mamma came home.
'She'll he hero in three weeks, as you know of course,'
said he, ' and I'm Inverarity Sahih. 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 what-
ever. 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 heating. Thank Heaven, Papa wasn't com-
ing too. Aunty Kosa had said of late that he ought to
he heaten hy 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 hroken toys, for all of which ac-
count must he 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 revelations, 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 tho
peril of her soul.

And Mamma came — in a four-wheeler — fluttered
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 lit-
tle ones to her heart. Judy ran straight to her, but

; I

284

UNDER THE DEODARS

i I

m ^ $

Blji(!k Sheep liesitated. Could this wonder be 'show-
ing off'? She 'vould not put out her arms wlien slio
know of his crinieH. Meantime was it possible that
by fondling she wanted to get anything out of Black
Slieep? Only all his love and all his confidence; but
that Black Sheep did not know. Aunty ilosa with-
drew and left Mamma, kneeling between her children,
half laughing, half crying, in the very hall where
Punch and Judy had wept five years before.

* Well, chicks, do you remember mo ? '

*No,' said Judy frankly, ' but I said, " God bless Papa
and Mamma," ovVy night.*

* A little,' said Black Sheep. * Remember I wrote to
you every week, anyhow. That isn't to show off, but
'cause of what comes afterwards.'

* What comes after ? What should come after, my
darling boy?' And she drew him to her again. He
came awkwardly, with many angles. 'Not used to
petting,' said the quick Mother-soul. ' The girl is.'

' She's too little to hurt any one,' thought Black Sheep,
* and if I said Pd kill her, she'd be afraid. I wonder
whjit Aunty Rosa will tell.'

There was a constrained late dinner, at the end of
which Mamma picked up Judy and put her to bed with
endearments manifold. Faithless little Judy had shown
her defection from Aunty Rosa already. And that
lady resented it bitterly. Black Sheep rose to leave
the room.

' Come and say good-night,' said Aunty Rosa, offer-
ing a withered cheek.

* Huh I ' said Black Sheep. * I never kiss you, and
I'm not going to show off. Tell that woman what I've
done, and see what she says.'

DAA HAA, DLACK SHEEP

285

Black Sheep climbed into bed feeling that he had lost
Heaven afte»* a glimpse tliroii*-!! the pites. In lialf an
hour *that woman' was bendinj^' over liim. Black Slieep
t\mi^ up his right arm. It wasn't fair to come and liit
him in the dark. Even Aunty llosa never tried that.
Hut no blow followed.

*Are y(m showing off? 1 won't tell yon anything
more tlian Aunty l{osa lias, and «/«{ doesn't know every-
thing,' said lilack Sheep as clearly as he could for the
arms roiuid his neck.

'Oh, my son — my little, little son! It was my fault
— mi/ fault, darling — and yet how could we lielp it?
Forgive me. Punch.' The voice died out in a broken
whisper, and two hot tears fell on Black Sheep's fore-
head.

* Has she been making yen 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-iaJa, come back to me!
I am your Mother — your own Mother — and never
mind the rest. I know — yes, I know, dear. It doesn't
matter now. Punch, won't you care 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 Child of the Devil and the in-
heritor of undying flame — as though he were a small God.

' I care for you a great deal. Mother dear,' he whis-
pered at last, ' and I'm glad you've come back ; but are
you sure Aunty llosa told you everything ? '

ill:

■"■:ln,>

286

UNDER THE DEODARS

'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?'

'iVb. 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 at once. 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 can do anything without
question, where is the use of deception?

* Mother would be awfully cross if you walked
through that ditch,' says Judy, continuing a conver-
sation.

* Mother's never angry,' says Punch. * She'd just
say, "You're a little pagal;^^ and that's not nice, but
I'll show.'

Punch walks through the ditch and mires himself

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

287

to the knees. *Mother, dear,* he shouts, *I'm just as
dirty as I can pos-si6-ly be I '

*Then change your clothes as quickly as you pos-
sib-ly can I' Mother's clear voice rings out from the
house. *And don't be a little pagal! '

'There I 'Told you so, ' says Punch. *It's all differ-
ent now, and we are just as much Mother's as if she
had n 3ver gone. '

Not altogether, O Punch, for when young lips have
drunk deep of the bitter waters of Hate, Suspicion,
and Despair, all the Love in the world will not wholly
take away that knowledge ; though it may turn dark-
ened eyes for a while to the light, and teach Faith
where no Faith was.

. I

i- \

\ \

-'■ r

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 cwumblingi Miss
Biddums! Miss J5^(if-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,' was 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 rever-
ence, five times in one evening. His Majesty the
King believed in the efficacy of prayer as devoutly as
he believed in Chimo the patient spaniel, or Miss Bid-
dums, who could reach him down his gun — 'with cur-
suffun 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

288

*.-^-f

10 may say

f ve bed,
ise I will
Biddums.
!ep. — So!
\s slidded
iig! Miss
[y! Come

and poor,
ed herself
istomed to
wait upon
always a
convenient
ends, from
lughter, he
je offence,
11 all rever-
ajesty the
ievoutly as
Miss Bid-
Svith cur-
shelves of

by stopped.
)ther — two

HIS MAJESTY THE KING

289

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 tlie wonderful woman who was always get-
ting into or stepping out of the big carriage.

To the one belonged the mysteries of the ''duf tar-
room ; ' to the other the great, reflected wilderness of
the'Memsahib's room' where the shiny, scented cb'esses
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 griz-
zling 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.

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 trem-
bling soul of His Majesty the King that terrible time
in July when it rained continuously for seven days and

290

UNDER THE DEODARS

\'U

seven nights, and — there was no Ark ready and all
the ravens had flown away! She was the most power-
ful 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 desper-
ately jealous wife? How could he, despite his wis-
dom, 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 skele-
ton 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
Majesty the King. He only knew that his father was
daily absorbed in some mysterious work for a thing
called the Sirhar and that his mother was the victim
alternately of the Nautch and the Burrakhana. To
these entertainments she was escorted by a Captain-
Man for whom His Majesty the King had no '•egard.

*He doesnH laugh,' he argued with Miss Biddums,
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 j
King shook his head as one who knew the deceitf ulness j
of this world.

\ t

HIS MAJESTY THE KING

291

y and all
3st power-
contact —
jnt people

y that, six
s. Austell,
e upon the
3 had been
nd personal

overlooked
of a desper-
ite his wis-

make of it
rself and her
der to break
pd this skele-

a household
L about their

ince of His
is father was
: for a thing
as the victim
rakhana. To
yy a Captain-
. no regard.

iss Biddums,
ty. * He only

he wants to
IS Majesty the '

deceitfuluess!

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 amem-
ber. ' He never repeated the experiment.

Miss Biddums, it must be confessed, spoilt him as
much as his nature admitted, in some sort of recom-
pense 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 con-
tempt 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 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 employment 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

292

UNDER THE DEODARS

!■'■

H i.

!■ I

Majesty the King * Calcutta good.* When Miss Bid-
dums had crossed his royal will, he reversed the epithet
to vex that estimable lady, and all things evil were,
until the tears of repentance swept away spite, * Cal-
cutta bad. '

Now and again Miss Biddums begged for him the
rare pleasure of a day in the society of the Commis-
sioner'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 miglit
be done towards the blue sash. He tied a large knot
in his mosquito-curtains in order to remember to con-
sult 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 '11 bewy it,' said Patsie doubtfully, mindful 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 King
fell.

HIS MAJESTY THE KING

293

Miss Bid-
he epithet
evil were,
pite, *Cal-

31 him the
e Comniis-
atsie, who,
• the King,
he question
. who have
slusion that
ue sash and

mself. The
irer, his own
thing might
large knot
nber to con-
vas the only
the only one
ory and the

His Majesty

, mindful of

for me to

rear sa-ashes.

esty the King

* Who wants ribands ? Are you playing horses, chick-
abiddies ? ' said the Commissioner's wife, stepping into
the veranda.

*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 shamelessly wrenched
from him, and perhaps — most burning desecration of
all — laughed at.

*ril give you a cracker-cap,' said the Commissioner'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 Commissioner's wife had a
face that children instinctively trusted, and her
action, as she adjusted the toppling middle spike, was
tender.

'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

294

UNDER THE DEODARS

I '

! I

' '■iii

^i'^

'Ik tr

'""iiT .

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 I '

* Toby ! What do you mean ? '

'It's what he'd say. I know it is ! He said vat \v lien
vere was only a little, little eggy mess, on my 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 Papal 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-ttummy ! '

'What is it, Toby? There's something on your
mind. Tell me all about it, and perhaps I can help.'

'Isn't any fing,' 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

HIS MAJESTY THE KING

296

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 mah8eer-Tod. *Tum
along, Toby! Zere's a chu-chu lizard in ze chicks 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, climbing
down from the Commissioner's wife's knee after a hasty
kiss.

Two minutes later, the chu-chu lizard's tail was
wriggling on the matting of the veranda, and the chil-
dren were gravely poking it with splinters from the
chick^ to urge its exhausted vitality into *just one
wiggle more, 'cause it doesn't hurt chu-chu."*

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

296

UNDER THE DEODARS

111: II

■1

*'i t)

Wtar, 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 I As if that were all I I wonder what Tom would
say if I only "didn't ill-treat" Patsiel '

Thenceforward, His Majesty the King was an hon-
oured guest at the Commissioner's house, and the
chosen friend of Patsie, with whom he blundered into
as many scrapes as the compound and the servants'
quarters afforded. Patsie 's Mamma was always ready
to give counsel, help, and sympathy, and, if need were
and callers few, to enter into their games with an
abandon that would have shocked the sleek-haired sul)-
alterns who squirmed painfully in their chairs when
they came to call on her whom they profanely nick-
named 'Mother Bunch.'

Yet, in spite of Patsie and Patsie's Mamma, and the
love that these two lavished upon him, His Majesty the
King fell grievously from grace, and committed no less
a sin than that of theft — unknown, it is true, but bur-
densome.

There came a man to the door one day, when His
Majesty was playing in the hall and the bearer had
gone to dinner, with a packet for His Majesty's Mamma.
And he put it upon the hall-table, and said that there
was no answer, and departed.

Presently, the pattern of the dado ceased to interest
His Majesty, while the packet, a white, neatly wrapped
one of fascinating shape, interested him very much in-
deed. His Mamma was out, so was Miss Biddums,
and there was pink string round the packet. He greatly

HIS MAJESTY THE KINO

297

desired pink string. It would lielp him in many of his
little businesses — the liaulncfe across the floor of his
small cane-chair, the torturing of Chimo, who could
never understand harness — and so forth. If he took
the string it would be his own, and nobody would \)q
any the wiser. He certainly could not pluck up sufli-
cient courage to tisk Mamma for it. Wherefore, mount-
ing upon a chair, he carefully untied the string and,
behold, the stiff white paper spread out in four direc-
tions, and revealed a beautiful little leather box with
gold lines upon it I He tried to replace the string, but
that was a failure. So he opened the box to get full
satisfaction for his iniquity, and saw a most beautiful
Star that shone and winked, and was altogether lovely
and desirable.

*Vat,' said His Majesty meditatively, *i8 a 'p*'^!'^^!®
cwown, like what I will wear when I go to heaven. I
will wear it on my head — Miss Biddums says so. I
would like to wear it now. I would like to play wiv
it. I will take it away and play wiv it, very careful,
until Mamma asks for it. I fink it was bought for me
to play wiv — same as my cart. '

His Majesty the King was arguing against his con-
science, and he knew it, for he thought immediately
after: * Never mind, I will keep it to play wiv until
Mamma says where it is, and then I will say — "I tookt
it and I am sorry." I will not hurt it because it is a
'parkle cwown. But Miss Biddums will tell me to put
it back. I will not show it to Miss Biddums.'

If Mamma had come in at that moment all would
have gone well. She did not, and His Majesty the
King stuffed paper, case, and jewel into the breast of
his blouse and marched to the nursery.

298

UNDER THE DEODARS

*When Mamma asks I will tell,' was the salvo that
ho laid upon his conscience. Hut Mamma never asked
and for three whole days His Majesty the King gloiited
over his treasure. It was of no earthly use to him, but
it was splendid, and, for aught he knew, something
dropped from the heavens themselves. Still Manuiia
made no enquiries, 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 fetd
all bad in his inside ? Ho 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 impossible. 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 unenquired
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 re-
solve. The dread secret cul him off from Miss Bid-
dums, 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 in-
formed him, more than once, what was the ultimate
destiny of *fieves,' and when he passed the intermina-
ble mud flanks of the Central Jail, he shook in his
little strapped shoes.

ins MAJESTY THE KINO

299

But release came after an afternoon npent in playing
boats by the edge of the tank at the bottom of the
garden. His Majesty the King went to tea, 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 vevy 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 tlio
bearer had forgotten to leave the drinking-water.
*Miss Biddums I 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 I ' he cried, but his voice
was dried up in his throat. *I want a dwink I 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 slipjied 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 uncomfitivle, ' moaned
His Majesty the King, clinging to the portidre, 'and

300

UNDER THE DEODARS

li h

,AA^

' I

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 forehead.
The water came, and he drank deeply, his teeth chatter-
ing 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 Bid-
dums 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
the pwison. But I'll tell now. I tookt — I tookt ve
'parkle cwown when the 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 I '

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 a
man's hand touched the forehead of His Majesty the
King, who grasped the packet and spread it on the bed.

HIS MAJESTY THE KING

301

3n were a

*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
1 shall know what to expect. ' The date was three weeks
old.

A whisper followed, and the deeper voice returned :
'And you diifted 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 moral-
ise 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 the waste-paper basket under the table
'for always.'

^^ ^F ^^ ^F ^F ^^ ^^ ^^ ^p

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

i'^

302

UNDER THE DEODARS

insolence, fencing one corner of his mouth with his
hand. ' Vat's my Mamma's place — vere she kisses me. '
*OhI'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. *

I .

■a I'

1 1

!■'

fl »

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

fi 4

In the Army List they still stand as * The Fore and
Fit Princess HohenzoUern-Sigmaringen-Anspach's Mer-
ther-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 beaten, whipped,
dumb-cowed, shaking and afraid. The men know it 4
their officers know it ; the Horse Guards know it, and
when the next war comes the enemy will know it also.
There are two or three regiments of the Line that
have a black mark against their names which they will
then wipe out ; and it will be excessively inconvenient
for the troops upon whom they do their wiping.

The courage of the British soldier is officially sup-

303

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304

UNDER THE DEODARS

■lii

•I

III <

posed to be above proof, and, as a general rule, it is so.
The exceptions are decently shovelled out of sight, only
to be referre<l to in the freshest of unguarded talk that
occasionally swamps a Mess-table at midnight. Then
one hears strange and horrible stories of men not fol-
lowing their officers, of orders being given by those
who had no right to give them, and of disgrace that,
but for the standing luck of the British Army, might
have ended in brilliant disaster. These are unpleasant
stories to listen to, and the Messes tell them under
their breath, sitting by the big wood iires, and tlie
young officer bows his head and thinks to himself,
please God, his men shall never behave unhandily.

The British soldier is not altogether to be blamed
for occasional lapses; but this verdict he should not
know. A moderately intelligent General will waste
six months in mastering the craft of the particular war
that he may be waging; a Colonel may utterly mis-
understand the capacity of his regiment for three
months after it has taken the field ; and even a Com-
pany Commander may err and be deceived as to the
temper and temperament of his own handful : where-
fore the soldier, and the soldier of to-day more particu-
larly, should not be blamed for falling back. He
should be shot or hanged afterwards — to encourage
the others ; but he should not be vilified in news-
papers, for that is want of tact and waste of space.

He has, let us say, been in the service of the Empress
for, perhaps, four years. He will leave in another two
years. He has no inherited morals, and four years are
not sufficient to drive toughness into his fibre, or to
teach him how holy a thing is his Regiment. He wants
to drink, he wants to enjoy himself — in India he wants

h' ,♦

S'W

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

305

. in news-

to save money — and he does not in the least like get-
ting hurt. He has received just sufficient education to
make him understand half the purport of the orders he
receives, and to speculate on the nature of clean, incised,
and shattering wounds. Thus, if he is told to deploy
under fire preparatory to an attack, he knows that he
runs a very great risk of being killed while he is de-
i)loying, and suspects that lie is being thrown away to
gain ten minutes' time. He may either deploy with
desperate swiftness, or he may shuffle, or buncli, or
break, according to the discipline under which he has
lain for four years.

Armeil with imperfect knowledge, cursed with the
rudiments of an imagination, hampered by the intense
selfishness of the lower classes, and unsupported by any
regimental associations, this young man is suddenly in-
troduced to an enemy who in eastern lands is always
ugly, generally tall and hairy, and frequently noisy.
If he looks to the right and the left and sees old soldiers
— men of twelve years* service, who, he knows, know
what they are about — taking a charge, rush, or demon-
stration without embarrassment, he is consoled and
applies his shoulder to the butt of his rifle with a stout
heart. 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 sweating into their
sword-hilts and shouting : ' Front-rank, fix bayonets.

306

XJNDEH THE DEODARS

(.:

, 1;

Steady there — steady ! Sight for three hundred — no,
for five I Lie down, all! Steady I Front-rank kneel!'
and so forth, he becomes unhappy, 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 ox. If he can be moved about a little
and allowed to watch the effect of his own fire on tlie
enemy he feels merrier, and may be then worked up to
the blind passion of fighting, which is, contrary to gen-
eral 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 hears 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 thjui
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 they are
not pleasant men to meet ; because they will not break
twice.

About thirty years from this date, when we ^^.ve
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. Speak-
ing roughly, you must employ either blackguards 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,

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

307

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 Regi-
ment, officered by rank Presbyterians, is, perhaps, one
degree more terrible in action than a hard-bitten thou-
sand of irresponsible Irish ruffians led by most improper
young unbelievers. 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
upbringing 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 Regi-
mental 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. 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 back-
bone, 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.

ri'

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308

UNDER THE DEODARS

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 ^.ft.

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 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 aad 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 tlia
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

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

309

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 iJitted against other
boys ; and thus amassed money.

On this particular day there was dissension in the
camp. They had ju»t been convicted afresh of smok-
ing, 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, strong
in the knowledge that his own ancestry was unknown.

Now there is one word in the extended vocabulary
of barrack-room abuse that cannot pass without com-
ment. \ ou may call a man a thief and risk nothing.
You may even call him a coward without finding more
than a boot whiz past your ear, but you must not call a
man a bastard unless you are prepared to prove it on
his front teeth.

* You might ha' kep' that till I wasn't so sore,' said
Lew sorrowiully, dodging round Jakin's guard.

' I'll make you sorer,' said Jakin genially, and got
home on Lew's alabaster forehead. All would have
gone well and this story, as the books say, would never
have been written, had not his evil fate prompted the
Bazar-Sergeant's son, a long, employless man of five-
and-twenty, to put in an appearance after the first
round. He was eternally in need of money, and knew
that the boys had silver.

I 'El

310

UNDER THE DEODARS

i;-

■ )

' Fij^hting aj^rtin,' said he. * I'll report you to my
father, and he'll report you to the Colour-Sergeant.'

* What's that to you ? ' said Jakin with an unpleasant
dilation of the nostrils.

* Oh ! nothing to me. You'll get into trouble, and
you've been up too often to afford that.'

*What the Hell do you know about what we've
done ? ' asked Lew the Seraph. * You aren't in tliu
Army, you lousy, cadging civilian.'

He closed in on the man's left flank.

sTes' 'cause you find two gentlemen settlin' their
diff'rences with their fistes you stick in your ugly nose
where you aren't wanted. Run 'ome to your 'arf-caste
slut of a Ma^ — or we'll give you what-for,' said Jakiii.

The man attempted reprisals by knocking the boys'
heads together. The scheme would have succeeded
had not Jakin punched him vehemently in the stomacli,
or had Lew refrained from kicking his shins. They
fought together, bleeding and breathless, for half an
hour, and, after heavy punishment, triumphantly
pulled down their opponent as terriers pull down a
jackal.

' Now,' gasped Jakin, * I'll give you what-for.' lie
proceeded to pound the man's features while Lew
stamped on the outlying portions of his anatomy.
Chivalry is not a strong point in the composition of
the average drummer-boy. He fights, as do his betters,
to make his mark.

Ghastly was the ruin that escaped, and awful was the
wrath of the Bazar-Sergeant. Awful too was the scene
in Orderly-room when the two reprobates appeared to
answer the charge of half-murdering a 'civilian.' The
Bazar-Sergeant thirsted for a criminal action, and his

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

311

son lied. The boys stood to attention while the bhick
clouds of evidence uccumulated.

*You little devils are more trouble than the rest of
the Regiment put together,' said the Colonel angrily.
* One might as well admonish thistledown, and I can't
well put you in cells or under stoppages. You must be
birched again.*

' Beg y' pardon, Sir. Can't we say nothin' in our
own defence. Sir ? ' shrilled Jakin.

*HeyI What? Are you going to argue with me?^
said the Colonel.

* No, Sir,* said Lew. ' But if a man come to you. Sir,
and said he was going to report you. Sir, for 'aving a
bit of a turn-up with a friend, Sir, an' wanted to get
money out o' you^ Sir '

The Orderly-room exploded in a roar of laughter.
*Well?' said the Colonel.

' That was what that measly jarnwar there did, Sir,
and 'e'd 'a' done it. Sir, if we 'adn't prevented 'im. We
didn't 'it ' im much, Sir. 'E 'adn't no manner o' right
to interfere with us. Sir. I don't mind bein' birched by
the Drum-Major, Sir, nor yet reported by any Corp'ral,
but I'm — but I don't think it's fair. Sir, for a civilian
to come an' talk over a man in the Army.'

A second shout of laughter shook the Orderly-room,
but the Colonel was grave.

' What sort of characters have these boys ? ' he asked
of the Regimental Sergeant-Major.

'Accordin' to the Bandmaster, Sir,' returned that
revered official — the only soul in the Regiment whom
the boys feared — 'they do everything hut lie, Sir.'

' Is it like we'd go for that man for fun. Sir ? ' said
Lew, pointing to the plaintiff.

f''- m

312

UNDER THE DEODARS

11 1

i:-i

*01i, admonisluMl, — iidinonishodl ' Hiiid the Colonel
testily, and when tlio boys had gono ho read the Itazar-
Serj^eant's son a leuturo on the sin of unprofitahle med-
dling', and ^'ave orders that the Uandniaster shouUl keep
the Drums in better diseiplino.

' If either of you come to practice n^nm with so
much as a scsratch on your two ugly little faces,' thun-
dered the Bandmaster, * I'll tell the Druni-iVIajor to
take the skin off your backs. Understand that, you
young devils.*

Tlien lie rei)ented of his speecli for just the length of
time that Lew, looking like a seraph in red worstcil
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 oftcui
in his more exalted moments expressed a yearning to
master every instrument of the Band.

* There's nothing to prevent yoin* becoming a Band-
master, 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 IMess-nights.'

* Ho ! 'Said you might be a bloomin' non-combatant,
did 'e! That's just about wot 'e would say. 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 II I'll
*old on an<l learn the orf'cers' ways an' apply for
exchange into a reg'ment that doesn't know all about

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

313

me. Then I'll l)o a hloomiii' orfcor. Tlieii I'll ask
yon to 'avo a ^lass o' sliLTiy-wino, Mister Lew, an'
yon'll hlooniln' well 'ave to Htay in the hanty-rooni
while the Mess-Sergeant brings it to yov.r dirty 'ands.'

*'S'i)oso I'm going to be a IJaiulmaster ? Not I,
qnite. I'll be a orfcer too. There's nothin' like
takin' to a thing an' stickin' to it, the Sehoolmaster
says. The Heg'ment don't ^o 'ome for another seven
years. I'll be a Lance then or near to.'

Thns the boys discnssed their futnres, and conducted
themselves piously for a week. That is to say, Lew
started a flirtation with the Colour-Sergeant's daughter,
aged thirteen — * not,' as he explained to ./akin, ' with
any intention o' matrimony, l)ut by way o' keepin' my
'and in.' And the black-haired Cris Delighan enjoyed
that flirtation more than ju'cvious ones, and the other
drummer-boys raged furiously together, and .Takin
l)reached sermons on the dangers of 'bein' tangled
along o' petticoats.'

But neither love nor virtue would have held Lew
long in the paths of propriety had not the rumour gone
abroad that the Regiment was to be sent on active ser-
vice, to take part in a war which, for the sake of
brevity, we will call ' The War of the Lost Tribes.'

The barracks had the rumour almost before the
Mess-room, and of all the nine hundred men in bar-
racks, not ten had seen a shot fired in anger. The
Colonel had, twenty years ago, assisted at a Frontier
expedition ; one of the Majors had seen service at the
Cape ; a confirmed deserter in E Company had helped
to clear streets in Ireland ; but that was all. The
Regiment had been put by for many years. The over-
whelming mass of its rank and file had from three to

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314

UNDER THE DEODARS

i'i i

four years' service ; the non-commissioned officers were
under thirty years old ; and men and sergeants alike
had forgotten 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 enthu-
siastically anxious to go -^ but they had no knowledj^re
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 themselves had no notion of that idea.
They were made up of drafts from an over-populated
manufacturing 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 generations had
done overmuch work for overscanty pay, had sweated
in drying-rooms, stooped over looms, coughed among
white-lead, and shivered on lime-barges. The men hud
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 tlie
chances of batta and of saving their pay. At Head-
quarters, men said : ' The Fore and Fit have never
been under fire within the last generation. Let us,
iLerefore, break them in easily by setting them to
guard lines of communication.' And this would have
been done but for the fact that British Regiments were
rvanted — badly wanted — at the Front, and there

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

315

were doubtful Native Regiments that could fill the
minor duties. 'Brigade 'em with two strong Regi-
ments,' said Headquarters. 'They may be knocked
about a bit, but they'll learn their business before Uiey
come through. Nothing like a night-alarm and a little
cutting-up of stragglers to make a Regiment smart in
the field. Wait till they've had half a dozen sentries'
throats cut.'

The Colonel wrote with delight that the temper of
his men was excellent, that the Regiment was all that
could be wished, and as sound as a bell. The Majors
smiled with a sober joy, and the subalterns waltzeu in
pairs down the Mess-room after dinner, and nearly shot
themselves at revolver-practice. But there was con-
sternation in the hearts of Jakin and Lew. What was
to be done with the Drums? Would the Band go to
the Front ? How many of the Drums would accompany
the Regiment?

They took council together, sitting in a tree and
smoking.

'It's more than a bloomin' toss-up they'll leave us
be'ind at the Depot with the women. You'll like that,'
said Jakin sarcastically.

''Cause o' Cris, y' mean? Wot's a woman, or a 'ole
bloomin' depot o' women, 'longside o' the chanst of field-
service ? You know I'm as keen on goin' as you,' said
Lew.

''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 k> :k
him,' said Lew, wriggling on the branch.

316

UNDER THE DEODARS

'That ain't no good neither. We ain't the sort o'
characters to presoon on our rep'tations — they're bad.
If they have the Band at the Depot we don't go, and
no error there. If they take the Band we may get cast
for medical unfitness. Are you medical fit, Piggy?'
said Jr.kin, 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 stum-
micJ:. Throw a chest an' I'll tiy yer.'

Jakin threw out his chest, which Lew smote with all
h:s might. Jakin turned very pale, gasped, crowed,
scvewed up his eyes and said — * That's all right.'

* You'll do,' said Lew. 'I've 'eard o' men dying
v,'hen 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. Some-
wheres 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 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. 'Colo-
nel'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 a drummer-boy, and to speak to a Colo-
nel was

But Jakin had slid down the trunk and doubled in

||1

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

317

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 — *he 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 regu-
lation 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 ti^e 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.'

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 I 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.

* If Tom Kidd goes 'e'll shut up like a clasp-knife,*

;ii ;

i'l-

/-"N.

318

UNDER THE DEODARS

■I

!'(

■i I
I I

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, 'the
Bandmaster 'e says 'e'll catch an' make a bloo — a
blessed musician o' me, Sir. Before I've seen any
service. Sir.'

The Colonel made no answer for a long time. Then
he said quietly: 'If you're passed by the Doctor I dare
say you can go. I shouldn't smoke if I were you.'

The boys saluted and disappeared. The Colonel
walked home and told the story to his wife, who nearly
cried over it. The Colonel was well pleased. If that
was the temper of the children, what would not the
men do?

Jakin and Lew entered the boys' barrack-room with
great stateliness, and refused to hold any conversation
with their comrades for at least ten minutes. Then,
bursting with pride, Jakin drawled: 'I've bin inter-

I "t

;.!

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

319

vooin' the Colonel. Good old beggar is the Colonel.
Says I to 'im "Colonel," says I, "let me go to the
Front, along o' the Reg'ment." — "To the Front you
shall go," says 'e, "an' I only wish there was more like
you among the dirty little devils that bang the bloomin*
drums." Kidd, if you throw your 'courtrements at me
for tellin' you the truth to your own advantage, your
legs'll swell.'

None the less there was a Battle-Royal in the barrack-
room, for the boys were consumed with envy and hate,
and neither Jakin nor Lew behaved in conciliatory wise.

*I'm goin' out to say adoo to my girl,' said Lew, to
cap the climax. 'Don't none o' you touch my kit
because it's wanted for active service; me bein' spe-
cially invited to go by the Colonel. '

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 -'ath 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 DepQt — 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.'

' ''I
^1

; !j

ill

: I
"I

■••:.

Ill

li!':i

{„

320

UNDER THE DEODARS

*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.'

*0h 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 so venturesome. Stay witli
me. Piggy, darlin', down at the Dep6t, 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 comfortable.
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.'

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

321

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 unenvi-
able. 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 hap-
pened to acting-drummers within the knowledge of
boy. The Band which was to accompany the Regi-
ment had been cut down to the regulation twenty
men, the surplus returning to the ranks. Jakin and
Lew were attached to the Band as supernumeraries,
though they would much have preferred being company
buglers.

"Don't matter much,' said Jakin after the medical
inspection. *Be thankful that we're 'lowed to go at
all. The Doctor 'e said that if we could stand what we
took from the Bazar-Sergeant's son we'd stand pretty
nigh anything. '

'Which we will,' said Lew, looking tenderly at the
ragged and ill-made housewife that Cris had given him,
with a lock of her hair worked into a sprawling 'L '
upon the cover.

'It was the best I could,' she sobbed. 'I wouldn't
let mother nor the Sergeant's tailor 'elp me. Keep it
always. Piggy, an' remember I love you true.'

They marched to the railway station, nine hundred
and sixty strong, and every soul in cantonments turned
out to see them go. The drummers gnashed their teeth
at Jakin and Lew marching with the Band, the married
women wept upon the platform, and the Regiment
cheered its noble self black in the face.

'A nice level lot,' said the Colonel to the Second-in-

III

322

UNDER THE DEODARS

H! 'J

•\

yi ■ '

Command as they watched the first four companies
entraining.

' Fit to do anything,' said the Second-in-Command
enthusiastically. ' But it seems to me they're a thouglit
too young and tender for the work in hand. It's bitter
cold up at the Front now.'

'They're sound enough,' said the Colonel. *We
must take our chance of sick casualties.'

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 b}?
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 egg',
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 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

323

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.'

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-lsrael. 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 pucJcrowed, 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 Jce marjik. That's a better lan-
dohust 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

' H

h!.

324

UNDER THE DEODAHS

■, I

all beer and skittles. They were much impressed with
the size and bestial ferocity of the niggers whom they
had now learned to call 'Paythans,' and more with
the exceeding discomfort of their own surroundings.
Twenty old soldiers in the corps would have taught
them how to make themselves moderately snug at niglit,
but they had no old soldiers, and, as the troops on the
line of march said, Hhey lived like pigs. ' They learned
the heart-breaking cussedness of camp-kitchens and
camels and the depravity of an E.P. tent and a withei-
wrung mule. They studied animalculse in water, and
developed a few cases of dysentery in their study.

At the end of their third march they were disagreea-
bly surprised by the arrival in their camp of a hammered
iron slug which, fired from a steady rest at seven hun-
dred 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 noth-
ing except an unpleasant 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 country-side.
Its duty was to go forward and make connection with
the Scotch and Gurkha troops with which it was bri-
gaded. The Afghans 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.

TIIE DRUMS OF THE FOTIE AND AFT

325

Not for anything would they have taken equal liberties
with a seasoned cor^js — with tlie wicked little Gurkhas,
whose deliglit 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
unprepared 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 Avalked 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 morn-
ing sun. Then there were camp-followers who strag-
gled and could be cut up without fear. Their shrieks
would disturb the white boys, and the loss of their ser-
vices 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 antl kicked
below. It was a great deed, neatly carried out, and it
shook the already shaken nerves of the Fore and Aft.
All the courage that they had been required to exercise
up to this point was the 'two o'clock in the morning
courage' ; and, so far, they had only succeeded in shoot-
ing their comrades and losing their sleep.

In*

320

UNDER THE DEODATIS

Sullen, discontented, cold, savajife, sick, with their
uniforms dulled and unclean, the Fore and Aft joined
their Brigade.

*1 hear you had a tough time of it coming up,' said
the Brigadier. But when he saw the hospital-sheets
his face fell.

'This is bad,' said he to himself. 'They're as rotten
as sheep.' And aloud to the Colonel — 'I'm afraid we
can't spare you just yet. We want all we have, else
I should have given you ten days to recover in.'

The Colonel winced. 'On my honour, Sir,' he re-
turned, 'there is not the least necessity to think of
sparing us. My men have been rather mauled and
upset without a fair return. They only want to go in
somewhere where they can see what's before them. '

'Can't say I think much of the Fore and Fit,' said
the Brigadier in confidence to his Brigade-Major.
'They've lost all their soldiering, and, by the trim of
them, might have marched through the country from
the other side. A more fagged-out set of men I never
put eyes on.'

'Oh, they'll improve as the work goes on. The pa-
rade gloss has been rubbed off a little, but they'll put
on field polish before long,' said the Brigade-Major.
'TheyVe been mauled, and they quite don't under-
stand 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 un-

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

327

jn I never

satisfactory condition, but they believed that all would
be well ' I they could once get a fair go-in at the enemy.
Pot-shots up and down the valleys were unsatisfactory,
and the bayonet never seemed to get a chance. Per-
haps 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 Aft 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 frieiids the Highland-
ers, and with many grins confided to them: 'That dam
white regiment no dam use. Sulky — ugh! Dirty —
ugh! Hya, any tot for Johnny? ' Whereat the High-
landers smote the Gurkhas as to the head, and told
them not to vilify a British Regiment, 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

328

UNDER THE DEODARS

available Cavalry, and two screw-guns borrowed from
a column thirty miles away, the Artillery at the Gen-
eral'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 d^ictling with Asiatics. Indeed, when you corns
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.

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 be-
longed to the English, while the fourth was strictly
Afghan property. In the event of defeat the Afghnns
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

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

329

combined attack. The Brigadier, sitting upon a rock
overlooking the valley, would watch the battle Ui:rolled
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. It's a great pity. '

The Fore and Aft had enjoyed unbroken peace for
five days, and were beginning, in spite of dysentery,
to recover their nerve. But they were not happy, for
they did not know the work in hand, and had they
known, would not have known how to do it. Through-
out those five days in which old soldiers might have
taught them the craft of the game, they discussed to-
gether their misadventures in the past — how .such an
one was alive at dawn and dead ere the dusk, and with
what shrieks and struggles such another had given up
his soul under the Afghan knife. Death was a new
and horrible thing to the sons of mechanics who were
used to die decently of zymotic disease ; and their care-
ful conservation in barracks had done nothing to make
them look upon it with less dread.

Very early in the dawn the bugles began to blow,
and the Fore and Aft, filled with a misguided entliusi-
asm, turned out without waiting for a cup of coffee and
a biscuit ; and were rewarded by being kept under arms
in the cold while the other regiments leisu / prepared

'.. /

1^ *

330

UNDl : THE DEODARS

for the fray. All the world knows that it is ill taking
the breeks off a Highlander. It is much iller to try to
make him stir unless he is convinced of the necessity
for haste.

The Fore and Aft waited, leaning upon th' ir rifles
and listening to the protests of their empty stomachs.
The Colonel did his best to remedy the default of lin-
ing as soon as it was borne in upon him that the affair
would not begin at once, and so well did he succeed
that the coffee was just ready when — the men moved
off, their Band leading. Even then there had been a
mistake in time, and the Forti and Aft came out into
the valley ten minutes before the proper hour. Their
Band wheeled to the right after r':c«ching the open, and
retired behind a little rocky kjioll still playing while
the Regiment went past.

It was not a pleasant sight that opened on the unin-
structed view, for the lower end of the valley appeared
to be filled by an army iu position — real and actual
regiments attired in red coats, and — of this there was
no doubt — firing Martini-Henri 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 vol-
ley by the simple process of pitching its rifle into its
shoulder and pullizg the trigger. The bullets may
have accounted for son:e 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.

b< I

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

331

*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 i>sst of a small mud fort
which they incontinently shelled at eight hundred
yards, to the huge discomfort of the occupants, who
were unaccustomed to weapons of such devilish pre-
cision.

The Fore and Aft continued to go forward but with
shortened stride. Where were the other regiments, and
why did these niggers use Martinis ? They took open
order instinctively, lying down and firing at random,
rushing a few paces forward and lying down again,
according to the regulations. Once in this formation,
each man felt himself desperately alone, and oJ^^d in
towards his fellow for comfort's sake.

Then the crack of his neighbour's rifle at his ear led
him to fire as rapidly as he could — again for the sake
of the comfort of the noise. The reward was not long
delayed. Five volleys plunged the tiles in banked
smoke impenetrable to the eye, and the bullets began
to take ground twenty or thirty yards in front of the
firers, as the weight of the bayonet dragged down and
to the right arms wearied with holding the kick of the
leaping Martini. The Company Commanders peered
helplessly through the smoke, the more nervous me-
chanically trying to fan it away with their helmets.

*High and to the left! ' bawled a Captain till he was
hoarse. *No good! Cease firing, and let it drift away
a bit.'

Three and four times the bugles shrieked the order,

332

UNDER THE DEODARS

and when it was obeyed the Fore and Aft looked that
their foe should be lying before them in mown swatlis
of men. A light wind drove the smoke to leeward,
and showed the enemy still in position and apparently
unaffected. A quarter of a ton of lead had been buried
a furlong in front of them, as the ragged earth attested.

That was not demoralising to the Afghans, who have
not European nerves. They were waiting for the mad
riot to die down, and were firing quietly into the heart
of the smoke. A private of the Fore and Aft spun up
his company shrieking with agony, another was kick-
ing the earth and gasping, and a third, ripped through
the lower intestines by a jagged bullet, was calling
aloud on his comrades to put him out of his pain.
These were the casualties, and they were not soothing
to hear or see. The smoke cleared to a dull haze.

Then the foe began to shout with a great shouting
and a mass — a black mass — detached itself from the
main body, and rolled over the ground at horrid speed.
It was composed of, perhaps, three hundred men, who
would shout and fire and slash if the rush of their fifty
comrades who were determined to die carried home.
The fifty were Ghazis, half-maddened with drugs and
wholly mad with religious fanaticism. When they
rushed the British fire ceased, and in the lull the order
was given to close ranks and meet them with the
bayonet.

Any one who knew the business could have told the
Fore and Aft that the only way of dealing with a Ghazi
rush is by volleys at long ranges ; because a man who
means to die, who desires to die, who will gain heaven
by dying, must, in nine cases out of ten, kill a man
who has a lingering prejudice in favour of life. Where

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

333

they should have closed and gone forward, the Fore
and Aft opened out and skirmished, and where they
should have opened out and fired, they closed and
waited.

A man dragged from his blankets half awake and
unfed is never in a pleasant frame of mind. Nor does
his happiness increase when he watches the whites of
the eyes of three hundred six-foot fiends upon whose
beards the foam is lying, upon whose tongues is a roar
of wrath, and in whose hands are yard-long knives.

The Fore and Aft heard the Gurkha bugles bringing
that regiment forward at the double, while the neigh-
ing of the Highland pipes came from the left. They
strove to stay where they were, though the bayonets
wavered down the line like the oars of a ragged boat.
Then they felt body to body the amazing physical
strength of their foes ; a shriek of pain ended the rush,
and the knives fell amid scenes not to be told. The
men clubbed together and smote blindly — as often as
not at their own fellows. Their front crumpled like
paper, and the fifty Ghazis passed on; their backers,
now drunk with success, fighting as madly as they.

Then the rear-ranks were bidden to close up, and the
subalterns dashed into the stew — alone. For the rear-
ranks had heard the clamour in front, the yells and the
howls of pain, and had seen the dark stale blood that
makes afraid. They were not going to stay. It was
the rushing of the camps over again. Let their officers
go to Hell, if they chose ; they would get away from
the knives.

'Come on! ' shrieked the subalterns, and their men,
cursing them, drew back, each closing into his neigh-
bour and wheeling round.

1 1

334

UNDER THE DEODARS

Charteris and Devlin, subalterns of the last company,
faced their death alone in the belief that their men
would follow.

*You*ve killed me, you cowards,* sobbed Devlin and
dropped, cut from the shoulder-strap to the centre of
the chest, and a fresh detachment of his men retreating,
always retreating, trampled him under foot as they
made for the pass whence they had emerged.

I kissed her in the kitchen and I kissed her in the hall.

Child'un, child'un, follow me 1
Oh Golly, said the cook, is he {^mne to kiss us all ?

Halla — Ilalla — Halla — Hallelujah 1

The Gurkhas were pouring through the left gorge
and over the heights at the double to the in'/itation of
their Regimental Quick-step. The black rocks were
crowned with dark green spiders as the bugles gave
tongue jubilantly: —

In the morning ! In the morning by the bright light 1
When Gabriel blows his trumpet in the morning !

The Gurkha rear-companies tripped and blundered
over loose stones. The front-files halted for a moment
to take stock of the valley and to settle stray boot-laces.
Then a happy little sigh of contentment soughed down
the ranks, and it was as though the land smiled, for
behold there below was the enemy, and it was to meet
them that the Gurkhas had doubled so hastily. There
was much enemy. There would be amusement. The
little men hitched their kukris well to hand, and gaped
expectantly at their officers as terriers grin ere the stone
is cast for them to fetch. The Gurkhas' ground sloped
downward to the valley, and they enjoyed a fair view
of the proceedings. They sat upon the bowlders to
watch, for their officers were not going to waste their

Mil

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

336

wind in assisting to repulse a Ghazi rush more than half a
mile away. Let the white men look to their own front.

*HiI yi!* said the Subadar-Major, who was sweat-
ing profusely. 'Dam fools yonder, stand close-order I
This is no time for close order, it is the time for vol-
leys. Ughr

Horrified, amused, and indignant, the Gurkhas be-
held the retirement of the Fore and Aft with a running
choruo of oaths and commentaries.

*They run! The white men run! Colonel Sahib,
may ive 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 I ' 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-ranks delivered
some sort of a wavering volley. The Ghazis drew off,
for they did not know what reserve 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 to slash at the wounded on the ground.
A quarter of a mile had the Fore and Aft retreated,
and now, jammed in the pass, was quivering with pain,
shaken and demoralised with fear, while the officers,
maddened beyond control, smote the men with the hilts
and the flats of their swords.

336

UNDER THE DEODARS

11 .

*Get back I Get back, you cowards — you women I
Right about face — column of companies, form — you
hounds I ' shouted the Colonel, and the subalterns swore
aloud. But the Regiment wanted to go — to go any-
where out of the range of those merciless knives. It
swayed to and fro irresolutely with shouts and outcries,
while from the right the Gurkhas dropped volley after
volley of cripple-stopper Snider bullets at long range
into the mob of the Ghazis returning to their own troops.

The Fore and Aft Band, though protected from
direct fire by the rocky knol^ under which it had sat
down, fled at the first rush. Jakin and Lew would
have fled also, but their short legs left them fifty yards
in the rear, and by the time the Band had mixed with
the Regiment, they were painfully av:are that they would
have to close in alone and unsupported.

*Get back to that rock,' gasped Jakin. *They won't
see us there '

And they returned to the scattered instruments of the
Band • their hearts nearly bursting their ribs.

'Here's a nice show for w«,' said Jakin, throwing
himself full length on the ground. 'A bloomin' fine
show for British Infantry I Oh, the devils! They've
gone an' left us alone here I Wot'll we do? '

Lew took possession of a cast-off water bottle, which
naturally was full of canteen rum, and drank till he
coughed again.

* Drink,' said he shortly. 'They'll come back in a
minute or two — you see. '

Jakin drank, but there wao no sign of the Regiment's
return. They could hear a dull clamour from the head
of the valley of retreat, and saw the Ghazis slink back,
quickening their pace as the Gurkhas fired at them.

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

337

'We're all that's left of the Band, an' we'll be cut up
as sure as death/ said Jakin.

'I'll die game, then,' said Lew thickly, fumbling with
his tiny drummer's sword. The drink was working on
his brain as it was on Jakin's.

*'01d on! I know something better than fightin','
said Jakin, stung by the splendour of a sudden thought
due chiefly to rum. *Tip our bloomin' cowards yonder
the word to come back. The Paythan beggars are well
away. Come on, Lewi We won't get hurt. Take the
fife an' give me the drum. The Old Step for all your
bloomin' guts are worth! There's a few of our men
coming back now. Stand up, ye drunken little defaulter.
By your right — quick march! '

He slipped the drum-sling over his shoulder, thrust
the fife into Lew's hand, and the two boys marched out
of the cover of the rock into the open, making a hideous
hash of the first bars of the 'British Grenadiers.'

As Lew had said, a few of the Fore and Aft were
coming back sullenly and shamefacedly under the stimu-
lus of blows and abuse; their red coats 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 a 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 squeak-
ing, but the tune carried far, even to the Gurkhas.

'Come on, you dogs!' muttered Jakin to himself.
'Are we to play forhever?' Lew was staring straight

338

UNDER THE DEODARS

m .fi

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 i

There was a far-off clapping of hands from the Gur-
khas, and a roar from the Highlanders in the distance,
but never a shot was fired by British or Afghan. Tlie
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 1

The men of the Fore and Aft were gathering thick at
the entrance into the plain. The Brigadier on the
heights far above was speechless with rage. 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 ': —

To scare their foes withal!

The Fore and Aft were pouring out of the valley.

«i.

; 1'

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

330

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 I ' shouted a priest among the
Afghans. 'Do not kill the boys I 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-lul ' squealed the Gurkhas, and came down
with a joyful clicking of kukris — those vicious Gurkha
knives.

On the right there was no rush. The Highlanders,
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,' murmured
the Colour-Sergeant of the right company of the High-
landers. 'It makes the men sweer so, but I am thinkin'

ii' '

340

UNDER THE DEODARS

that it will come to a charrge if those 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
ammuneetion. A foot lower and a great deal slower I
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 them with deep gasps and
short hacking coughs, and groan ings 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 pre-
ferred 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 gal-
loper to report on the progress of affairs. On the third
occasion he returned, with a bullet-graze on his knee.

HI 'i

t! .

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

341

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 rem-
nant 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 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. * Everjrthing 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, uprose the lance-butt, like a spar on a stormy
sea, as the trooper cantering forward cleared his point.

342

UNDER THE DEODARS

I' '

The Lancers kept between their prey and the steep hills,
for all who could were trying to escape from the \ alley
of death. The Highlanders gave the fugitives two hun-
dred yards' law, and then brought them down, gasping
and choking ere they could reach the prote" ^^^ of the
bowlders 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 light-
ing the wadded coats.

'We cannot hold them. Captain Sahib!* panted a
Ressaidar of Lancers. *Let us try the carbine. The
lance is good, but it wastes time. '

They tried the carbine, and still the enemy melted
away — fled up the hills by hundreds when there were
only twenty bullets to stop them. On the heights the
screw-guns ceased firing — they had run out of ammuni-
tion — and the Brigadier groaned, for the musketry fire
could not sufficiently smash the retreat. Long before
the last volleys were fired, the doolies were out in force
looking for the wounded. The battle was over, and,
but for want of fresh troops, the Afghans would have
been wiped off the earth. As it was they counted their
dead bv hundreds, and nowhere were the dead thicker
than in the track of the Fore and Aft.

But the Regiment did not che^jr with the Highlanders,
nor did they dance uncouth dances with the Gurkhas
among the dea:l. They looked under their brows at the
Colonel as they leaned upon their rifles and panted.

'Get back to camp, you. Haven't you disgraced
yourself enough for one day! Go and look to the
wounded. It's all you're fit for,' said the Colonel.
Yet for the past hour the Fore and Aft had been doing

'. ii

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

343

all that mortal commander could expect. They had lost
heavily because they did not know how to set about
their business with proper skill, but they had borne
themselves gallantly, and this was their reward.

A young and sprightly Colour-Sergeant, who had
begun to imagine himself a hero, offered his water
bottle to a Highlander, whose tongue was black with
thirst. 'I drink with no cowards, ' answered the young-
ster huskily, and, turring to a Gurkha, said, 'Hj^a,
Johnny ! Drink water got it ? ' The Gurkaa 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 was all. ' 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 rifie flirtations, that will —
later — run alone and bite. Poor old Colonel, though.'

*'' i

344

UNDER THE DEODARS

All that afternoon the heliograph winked and flickered
on the hills, striving to tell the good news to a moun-
tain forty miles away. And in the evening there
arrived, dusty, sweating, and sore, a misguided Corre-
spondent 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 loth, 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 .^t two gaps at the head of the big ditch-grave
for the dead under the heights of Jagai.

ii(

THE EXD

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Lyrics of Lowly Life. By Paul Lawrence Dunbar.

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Folk5 from Dixie. By Paul Lawrence Dunbar,

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Rupert of Hentzau. By Anthony Hope, a Sequel to

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IWRENCE

A Duet
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Chorus

By A. CONAN DOYLE
AtOhor of "Uncle Bemac" "MeMoin of Sherlock Holmes," eic

Crown 8vo. Cloth, $1.50. Paper, 75c.

Press Notices :

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"A bright story. All the characters are well drawn."^
London Mail,

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The Amateur Cracksman

By E. W. HORNUNG.

( No. 7 of Moran^s Florin Scries. )

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ii^i

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The Music Lover's Library

In 5 Vols., each Illustrated, iismo, $1.^5

A series of popular volumes — historical, biographical, anec*
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NOW READY

The Orchestra
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By W. J. Henderson

Author of ''What is Good Music?" etc.
With 8 Portraits and Illustrations.

SUMMARY OF CONTENTS :

Part I. How the Orchestra is Constituted.
Part II. How the Orchestra §5 Used.
Part III. How the Orchestra is Directed.
Part IV. How the Orchestra Grew.
Part V. How Orchestral riusic Qrew.

Mr. Henderson's book is a guide to a perfect understand-
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IN PREPARATION

The Pianoforte and its Music

By H. e. Krehbiel

Author of '* How to Listen to Music,"
** Music and Manners in the Classical Period,'^ etc.

The Opera Past and Present

By W. F. Apthorp

Author 9f ** Musicians and Mttsic Lovers," etc.

Songs and Song Writers

By Henry T. FInck

Author of " Wagjier and His Works,"
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Choirs and Choral Singing

By Arthur Mees

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