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THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 BEQUEST OF 
 
 Alice K. Hilgard 
 
.£. 
 
 ^2^7:A^ 
 
MINE OWN PEOPLE 
 
 BY 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 Author of " Plain Tales from the Hills," " Soldiers Three." *' The 
 Phantom 'Rickshaw," " The Light that Failed," Etc, 
 
 with a critical introduction by 
 HENRY JAMES 
 
 A UTHORIZED EDITION 
 
 NEW YORK: 46 East Fourteenth Street 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON : 100 Purchase Street 
 
Copyright, 1891, 
 
 BV 
 
 UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY. 
 
 GIFT 
 
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 Cc^.^^k.ir^'x^^ J t<^^^^ '<>^ i^~V^i C,rz^c,.i..€e^ 
 
 
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 M8*r8994 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction by Henry James . • . . vii 
 
 BiMI .....••. IT 
 
 Namgay Doola .... . . 
 
 ^/The Recrudescence of Imray .... 
 
 /x" MoTi Guj — Mutineer ...... 53 
 
 The Mutiny of the Mavericks .... 65 
 
 ^^ K-Y the end of the Passage ..... 89 
 
 The Incarnation of Krishna Mulvaney . . 115 
 The Courting of Dinah Shadd . . . .147 
 
 /^The Man Who Was ..... 177 
 
 A Conference of the Powers .... 197 
 
 On Greenhovv Hill ..... 217 
 
 ^ Without Benefit of Clergy . . « • 241 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 It would be difficult to answer the general 
 question whether the books of the world grow, 
 as they multiply, as much better as one might 
 suppose they ought, with such a lesson of 
 wasteful experiment spread perpetually behind 
 them. There is no doubt, however, that in one 
 direction we profit largely by this education : 
 whether or no we have become wiser to fashion, 
 we have certainly become keener to enjoy. We 
 have acquired the sense of a particular quality 
 which is precious beyond all others — so precious 
 as to make us wonder where, at such a rate, our 
 posterity will look for it, and how they will pay 
 for it. After tasting many essences we find 
 freshness the sweetest of all. We yearn for it, 
 we watch for it and lie in wait for it, and when 
 we catch it on the wing (it flits by so fast), we 
 celebrate our capture with extravagance. We 
 
 h 
 
viii INTRODUCTION, 
 
 feel that after so much has come and gone it is 
 more and more of a feat and a tour de force to be 
 fresh. The tormenting part of the phenomenon is 
 that, in any particular key, it can happen but once 
 — by a sad failure of the law that inculcates the 
 repetition of goodness. It is terribly a matter of 
 accident ; emulation and imitation have a fatal effect 
 upon it. It is easy to see, therefore, what impor- 
 tance the epicure may attach to the brief moment 
 of its bloom. While that lasts we all are epicures. 
 This helps to explain, I think, the unmis- 
 takable intensity of the general relish for Mr. 
 Rudyard Kipling. His bloom lasts, from month 
 to month, almost surprisingly — by which I mean 
 that he has not worn out even by active exercise 
 the particular property that made us all, more 
 than a year ago, so precipitately drop everything 
 else to attend to him. He has many others 
 which he will doubtless always keep ; but a part 
 of the potency attaching to his freshness, what 
 makes it as exciting as a drawing of lots, is our 
 instinctive conviction that he cannot, in the nature 
 of things, keep that ; so that our enjoyment of 
 him, so long as the miracle is still wrought, has 
 both the charm of confidence and the charm of 
 
INTRODUCTION. \x 
 
 suspense. And then there is the further charm, 
 with Mn Kipling, that this same freshness is such 
 a very strange affair of its kind — so mixed and 
 various and cynical, and, in certain lights, so con- 
 tradictory of itself. The extreme recentness ot 
 his inspiration is as enviable as the tale is startling 
 that his productions tell of his being at home, 
 domesticated and initiated, in this wicked and 
 weary world. At times he strikes us as shock- 
 ingly precocious, at others as serenely wise. On 
 the whole, he presents himself as a strangely 
 clever youth who has stolen the formidable mask 
 of maturity and rushes about making people jump 
 with the deep sounds, the sportive exaggerations 
 of tone, that issue from its painted lips. He has 
 this mark of a real vocation, that different specta- 
 tors may like him — must like him, I should almost 
 say — for different things ; and this refinement ot 
 attraction, that to those who reflect even upon 
 their pleasures he has as much to say as to those 
 who never reflect upon anything. Indeed there 
 is a certain amount of room for surprise in the 
 fact that, beinpf so much the sort of fienre that 
 the hardened critic likes to meet, he should also 
 be the sort of figure that inspires the multitude 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 with confidence — for a complicated air is, in 
 general, the last thing that does this. 
 
 By the critic who likes to meet such a bristling 
 adventurer as Mr. Kipling I mean of course the 
 critic for whom the happy accident of character, 
 whatever form it may take, is more of a bribe 
 to interest than the promise of some character 
 cherished in theory — the appearance of justifying 
 some foreofone conclusion as to what a writer or a 
 book "ought," in the Ruskinian sense, to be ; the 
 critic, in a word, who has, a priori^ no rule for a 
 literary production but that it shall have genuine 
 life. Such a critic (he gets much more out of his 
 opportunities, I think, than the other sort,) likes a 
 writer exactly In proportion as he Is a challenge, 
 an appeal to interpretation, intelligence, ingenuity, 
 to what Is elastic in the critical mind — in propor- 
 tion indeed as he may be a negation of things 
 familiar and taken for orranted. He feels in this 
 case how much more play and sensation there is 
 for himself. 
 
 Mr. Kipling, then, has the character that fur- 
 nishes plenty of play and of vicarious experience 
 — that makes any perceptive reader foresee a 
 rare luxury. He has the great merit of being 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 a compact and convenient illustration of the 
 surest source of interest in any painter of life — 
 that of having an identity as marked as a window- 
 frame. He is one of the illustrations, taken near 
 at hand, that help to clear up the vexed question, 
 in the novel or the tale, of kinds, camps, schools, 
 distinctions, the right way and the wrong way ; 
 so very positively does he contribute to the 
 showing that there are just as many kinds, as 
 many ways, as many forms and degrees of the 
 ** right," as there are personal points of view. It 
 is the blessing of the art he practises that it is 
 made up of experience conditioned, infinitely, in 
 this personal way — the sum of the feeling of life 
 as reproduced by innumerable natures ; natures 
 that feel through all their differences, testify 
 through their diversities. These differences, 
 which make the identity, are of the individual ; 
 they form the channel by which life flows through 
 him, and how much he is able to give us of life — 
 in other words, how much he appeals to us — 
 depends on whether they form it solidly. 
 
 This hardness of the conduit, cemented with a 
 rare assurance, is perhaps the most striking idio- 
 syncrasy of Mr. Kipling ; and what makes it more 
 
xu INTRODUCTION. 
 
 remarkable is that accident of his extreme youth 
 which, if we talk about him at all, we cannot 
 affect to ignore. I cannot pretend to give a bio- 
 graphy or a chronology of the author of " Soldiers 
 Three," but I cannot overlook the general, the 
 importunate fact that, confidently as he has caught 
 the trick and habit of this sophisticated world, he 
 has not been long of it. His extreme youth is 
 indeed what I may call his window-bar — the 
 support on which he somewhat rowdily leans 
 while he looks down at the human scene with 
 his pipe in his teeth : just as his other conditions 
 (to mention only some of them,) are his prodigious 
 facility, which is only less remarkable than his 
 stiff selection ; his unabashed temperament, his 
 flexible talent, his smoking-room manner, his 
 familiar friendship with India — established so 
 rapidly, and so completely under his control ; his 
 delight in battle, his " cheek " about women — and 
 indeed about men and about everything ; his 
 determination not to be duped, his "imperial" 
 fibre, his love of the inside view, the private 
 soldier and the primitive man. I must add 
 further to this list of attractions the remarkable 
 way in which he makes us aware that he has 
 
INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 been put up to the whole thinor directly by life 
 (miraculously, in his teens), and not by the com- 
 munications of others. These elements, and 
 many more, constitute a singularly robust little 
 literary character (our use of the diminutive is 
 altogether a note of endearment and enjoyment), 
 which, if it has the rattle of high spirits and is 
 in no degree apologetic or shrinking, yet offers 
 a very liberal pledge in the way of good faith 
 and immediate performance. ]Mr. Kipling's per- 
 formance comes off before the more circumspect 
 have time to decide whether they like him or 
 not, and if you have seen it once you will be sure 
 to return to the show. He makes us prick up 
 our ears to the good news that in the smoking- 
 room too there may be artists ; and indeed to 
 an intimation still more refined — that the latest 
 development of the modern also may be, most 
 successfully, for the canny artist to put his victim 
 off the guard by imitating the amateur (super- 
 ficially of course,) to the life. 
 
 These, then, are some of the reasons why Mr. 
 Kipling may be dear to the analyst as well as, M. 
 Renan says, to the simple. The simple may like 
 him because he is wonderful about India, and 
 
»▼ INTRODUCTION. 
 
 India has not been *' done " ; while there is plenty 
 left for the morbid reader in the surprises of his 
 skill and the fioriture of his form, which are so 
 oddly independent of any distinctively literary 
 note in him, any bookish association. It is as 
 one of the morbid that the writer of these remarks 
 (which doubtless only too shamefully betray his 
 character) exposes himself as most consentingly 
 under the spell. The freshness arising from a 
 subject that — by a good fortune I do not mean to 
 under-estimate — has never been " done," is after 
 all less of an affair to build upon than the fresh- 
 ness residing in the temper of the artist. Happy 
 indeed is Mr. Kipling, who can command so 
 much of both kinds. It is still as one of the 
 morbid, no doubt — that is, as one of those who 
 are capable of sitting up all night for a new 
 impression of talent, of scouring the trodden field 
 for one little spot of green — that I find our young 
 author qu.te most curious in his air, and not only 
 in his air but in his evidently very real sense, of 
 knowing his way about life Curious in the 
 highest degree and well worth attention is such 
 an idiosyncrasy as this in a young Anglo-Saxon. 
 We meet it with familiar frequency in the budding 
 
INTRODUCTION, xv 
 
 talents of France, and it startles and haunts us 
 for an hour. After an hour, however, the mystery- 
 is apt to fade, for we find that the wondrous ini- 
 tiation is not in the least general, is only exceed- 
 ingly special, and is, even with this limitation, very 
 often rather conventional. In a word, it is with 
 the ladies that the young Frenchmm takes his 
 ease, and more particularly with ladies selected 
 expressly to make this attitude convincing. When 
 tkey have let him off, the dimnesses too often 
 encompass him. But for Mr. Kipling there are 
 no dimnesses anywhere, and if the ladies are 
 indeed violently distinct they are only strong 
 notes in a universal loudness. This loudness 
 fills the ears of Mr. Kipling's admirers (it lacks 
 sweetness, no doubt, for those who are not of the 
 number), and there is really only one strain that is 
 absent from it — the voice, as it were, of the 
 civilised man ; in whom I of course also include 
 the civilised woman. But this is an element that 
 for the present one does not miss — every other 
 note is so articulate and direct. 
 
 It is a part of the satisfaction the author 
 gives us that he can make us speculate as to 
 whether he will be able to complete his picture 
 
xvf INTRODUCTION. 
 
 altogether (this is as far as we presume to go in 
 meddling with the question of his future,) without 
 bringing in the complicated soul. On the day he 
 does so, if he handles it with anything like the 
 cleverness he has already shown, the expectation 
 of his friends will take a great bound. Meanwhile, 
 at any rate, we have Mulvaney, and Mulvaney is 
 after all tolerably complicated. He is only a six- 
 foot saturated Irish private, but he is a consider- 
 able pledge of more to come. Hasn't he, for that 
 matter, the tongue of a hoarse syren, and hasn't he 
 also mysteries and infinitudes almost Carlylese ? 
 Since I am speaking of him I may as well say 
 that, as an evocation, he has probably led captive 
 those of Mr. Kipling's readers who have most 
 given up resistance. He is a piece of portrai- 
 ture of the largest, vividest kind, growing and 
 growing on the painter's hands without ever out- 
 growing them. I can't help regarding him, in a 
 certain sense, as Mr. Kipling's tutelary deity 
 — a landmark in the direction in which it is 
 open to him to look furthest. If the author 
 will only go as far in this direction as Mulvaney 
 is capable of taking him (and the inimitable Irish- 
 man is, like Voltaire's Habakkuk, capable de tout)^ 
 
INTRODUCTION, xvii 
 
 he may still discover a treasure and find a reward 
 for the services he has rendered the winner of 
 Dinah Shadd. I hasten to add that the truly 
 appreciative reader should surely have no quarrel 
 with the primitive element In Mr. Kipling's 
 subject-matter, or with what, for want of a better 
 name, I may call his love of low life. What Is 
 that but essentially a part of his freshness } And 
 for what part of his freshness are we exactly 
 more thankful than for just this smart jostle that 
 he gives the old stupid superstition that the 
 amiability of a storyteller is the amiability of the 
 people he represents — that their vulgarity, or 
 depravity, or gentility, or fatuity are tantamount to 
 the same qualities In the painter itself? A blow 
 from which, apparently, it will not easily recove* 
 is dealt this infantine philosophy by Mr. Howells 
 when, with the most distinguished dexterity and 
 all the detachment of a master, he handles some of 
 the clumsiest, crudest, most human things in life 
 — answering surely thereby the playgoers in the 
 si A penny gallery who howl at the representative 
 of the villain when he comes before the curtain. 
 
 Nothing is more refreshing than this active, 
 disinterested sense of thr real ; it is doubtless 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION, 
 
 the quality for the want of more of which our 
 English and American fiction has turned so 
 wofully stale. We are ridden by the old con- 
 ventionaliries of type and small proprieties of 
 observance — by the foolish baby-formula (to put it 
 sketchily) of the picture and the subject. Mr. 
 Kipling lias all the air of being disposed to life 
 the whole business off the nursery carpet, ^nd of 
 being perhaps even more able than he is disposed. 
 One must hasten of course to parenthesise that 
 there is not, intrinsically, a bit more luminosity 
 in treating of low life and of primitive man than 
 of those whom civilisation has kneaded to a finer 
 paste : the only luminosity in either case is in the 
 intelligence with which the thing is done. But 
 it so happens that, among ourselves, the frank, 
 capable outlook, when turned upon the vulgar 
 majority, the coarse, receding edges of the social 
 perspective, borrows a charm from being new ; 
 such a charm as, for instance, repetition has 
 already despoiled it ot among the French — the 
 hapless French who pay the penalty as well as 
 enjoy the glow of living intellectually so much 
 faster than we. It is the most inexorable part of 
 our fate that we grow tired of everything, and of 
 
INTRODUCTION, xix 
 
 course in due time we may grow tired even of 
 w^hat explorers shall come back to tell us about 
 the great grimy condition, or, with unprecedented 
 items and details, about the grey middle state which 
 darkens into it. But the explorers, bless them ! 
 may have a long day before that ; it is early to 
 trouble about reactions, so that we must gi^e 
 them the benefit of every presumption. We are 
 thank:ul for any boldness and any sharp curiosity, 
 and that is why w^e are thankful for Mr. KipHng's 
 general spirit and for most of his excursions. 
 
 Many of th^se, certiinly, are into a region not 
 to be desii^nated as superficially dim, though 
 indeed the author always reminds us that India 
 is above all the land of mystery. A large part of 
 his high spirits, and of ours, comes doubtless 
 from the amusement of such vivid, heterogeneous 
 material, from the irresistible magic of scorching 
 suns, subject empires, uncanny religions, uneasy 
 garrisons and smothered-up women — from heat 
 and colour and danger and dust. India is a 
 portentous image, and we are duly awed by the 
 familiarities it undergoes at I\Ir. Kipling's hands 
 and by tiie fine impunity, the sort of fortune that 
 favours the brave, of his want of awe. An abject 
 
« INTRODUCTION, 
 
 humility is not his strong point, but he gives us 
 something instead of it — vividness and drollery, 
 the vision and the thrill of many things, the 
 misery and strangeness of most, the personal 
 sense of a hundred queer contacts and risks. And 
 then in the absence of respect he has plenty of 
 knowledge, and if knowledge should fail him he 
 would have plenty of invention. Moreover, if in- 
 vention should ever fail him, he would still have 
 the lyric string and the patriotic chord, on which 
 he plays admirably ; so that it may be said he is 
 a man of resources. What he gives us, above 
 all, is the feeling of the English manner and the 
 English blood in conditions they have made at 
 once so much and so little their own ; with mani- 
 festations grotesque enough in some of his satiric 
 sketches and deeply impressive in some of his 
 anecdotes of individual responsibility. 
 
 His Indian impressions divide them^selves into 
 three groups, one of which, I think, very much 
 outshines the others. First to be mentioned are 
 the tales of native life, curious glimpses of custom 
 and superstition, dusky matters not beholden of 
 the many, for which the author has a remarkable 
 fiair. Then comes the social, the Anglo-Indian 
 
INTR OD UC TION. xxi 
 
 episode, the study of administrative and military 
 types and of the wonderful rattling, riding ladies 
 who, at Simla and more desperate stations, look 
 out for husbands and lovers ; often, it would seem, 
 the husbands and lovers of others. The most 
 brilliant group is devoted wholly to the common 
 soldier, and of this series it appears to me that 
 too much good is hardly to be said. Here Mr. 
 Kipling, with all his offhand ness, is a master ; for 
 we are held not so much by the greater or less 
 oddity of the particular yarn — sometimes it is 
 scarcely a yarn at all, but something much less 
 artificial — as by the robust attitude of the narrator, 
 who never arranges or glosses or falsifies, but 
 makes straight for the common and the character- 
 istic. I have mentioned the great esteem in which 
 I hold iMulvaney — surely a charming man and 
 one qualified to adorn a higher sphere. Mulvaney 
 is a creation to be proud of, and his two comrades 
 stand as firm on their legs. In spite of Mulvaney's 
 social possibilities they are all three finished 
 brutes; but it is precisely in the finish that we 
 delight. Whatever Mr. Kipling may relate about 
 them for ever will encounter readers equally fasci- 
 nated and unable fully to justify their faith. 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION, 
 
 Are not those literary pleasures after all the 
 most intense which are the most perverse and 
 whimsical, and even indefensible ? There is a 
 logic in them somewhere, but it often lies below 
 the plummet of criticism. The spell may be 
 weak in a writer who has every reasonable and 
 regular claim, and it may be irresistible in one 
 who presents himself with a style corresponding 
 to a bad hat. A good hat is better than a bad 
 one, but a conjurer may wear either. Many a 
 reader will never be able to say what secret 
 human force lays its hand upon him when Private 
 Ortheris, having sworn '* quietly into the blue 
 sky," goes mad with home-sickness by the yellow- 
 river and raves for the basest sights and sounds 
 of London. I can scarcely tell why I think '' The 
 Courting of Dinah Shadd " a masterpiece (though, 
 indeed, I can make a shrewd guess at one of the 
 reasons), nor would it be worth while perhaps to 
 attempt to defend the same pretension in regard 
 to " On Greenhow Hill " — much less to trouble the 
 tolerant reader of these remarks with a statement 
 of how many more performances in the nature of 
 *' The End of the Passage " (quite admitting even 
 that they might not represent Mr. Kipling at his 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxiii 
 
 best,) I am conscious of a latent relish for. One 
 might as well admit while one is about it that one 
 has wept profusely over " The Drums of the Fore 
 and Aft," the history of the "Dutch courage'' of 
 two dreadful dirty little boys, who, in the face of 
 Afghans scarcely more dreadful, saved the repu- 
 tation of their regiment and perished, the least 
 mawkishly in the world, in a squalor of battle in- 
 comparably expressed. People who know how 
 peaceful they are themselves and have no blood- 
 shed to reproach themselves with needn't scruple 
 to mention the glamour that Mr. Kipling's intense 
 militarism has for them and how astonishing and 
 contagious they find it, in spite of the uii romantic 
 complexion of it — the way It bristles with all sorts 
 of uglinesses and technicalities. Perhaps that is 
 why I go all the way even with " The Gadsbys " 
 — the Gadsbys were so connected (uncomfortably 
 it is true) with the Army. There is fearful fighting 
 — or a fearful danger of it — in '• The Man who 
 would be King": is that the reason we are deeply 
 affected by this extraordinary tale .'^ It Is one 
 of them, doubtless, for Mr. Kipling has many 
 reasons, after all, on his side, though they don't 
 equally call aloud to be uttered. 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 One more of them, at any rate, I must add 
 to these unsystematised remarks — it Is the one 
 I spoke of a shrewd guess at In alluding to '' The 
 Courting of Dinah Shadd." The talent that 
 produces such a tale is a talent eminently in 
 harmony with the short story, and the short 
 story is, on our side of the Channel and of the 
 Atlantic, a mine which will take a great deal of 
 working. Admirable is the clearness with which 
 Mr. Kipling perceives this — perceives what in- 
 numerable chances it gives, chances of touching 
 life in a thousand different places, taking it up 
 in innumerable pieces, each a specimen and an 
 illustration. In a word, he appreciates the episode, 
 and there are signs to show that this shrewdness 
 will, in general, have long innings. It will find 
 the detachable, compressible *' case " an admir- 
 able, flexible form ; the cultivation of which may 
 well add to the mistrust already entertained by 
 Mr. Kipling, if his manner does not betray him, 
 for what is clumsy and tasteless In the time- 
 honoured practice of the ''plot." It will fortify 
 him in the conviction that the vivid picture has a 
 greater communicative value than the Chinese 
 puzzle. There is little enough '' plot " in such 
 
INTR OD UC TION. xx v 
 
 a perfect little piece of hard representation as 
 " The End of the Passage," to cite again only 
 the most salient of twenty examples. 
 
 But I am speaking of our author's future, which 
 is the luxury that I meant to forbid myself — 
 precisely because the subject is so tempting. 
 There is nothing in the world (for the prophet) 
 so charming as to prophesy, and as there is 
 nothing so inconclusive the tendency should be 
 repressed in proportion as the opportunity is 
 good. There is a certain want of courtesy to a 
 peculiarly contemporaneous present even in spe- 
 culating, with a dozen deferential precautions, 
 on the question of what will become in the later 
 hours of the day of a talent that has got up so 
 early. Mr. Kipling's actual performance is like 
 a tremendous walk before breakfast, making one 
 welcome the idea of the meal, but consider with 
 some alarm the hours still to be traversed. Yet 
 if his breakfast is all to come the indications are 
 that he will be more active than ever after he 
 has had it. Amonor these indications are the 
 unflagging character of his pace and the excellent 
 form, as they say in athletic circles, in which he 
 oets over the o;round. We don't detect him 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Stumbling ; on the contrary, he steps out quite 
 as briskly as at first and still more firmly. There 
 is something zealous and craftsman-like in him 
 which shows that he feels both joy and respon- 
 sibility. A whimsical, wanton reader, haunted by 
 a recollection of all the good things he has seen 
 spoiled ; by a sense of the miserable, or, at any 
 rate, the inferior, in so many continuations and 
 endings, is almost capable of perverting poetic 
 justice to the idea that it would be even positively 
 well for so surprising a producer to remain simply 
 the fortunate, suggestive, unconfirmed and un- 
 qualified representative of what he has actually 
 done. We can always refer to that. 
 
 Henry James. 
 
BIM,l 
 
BIMI. 
 
 The orang-outang in the big iron cage lashed to the 
 sheep-pen began the discussion. The night was stiflingly 
 hot, and as Hans Breitmann and I passed him, dragging our 
 bedding to the fore-peak of the steamer, he roused himself 
 and chattered obscenely. He had been caught somewhere 
 in the Malayan Archipelago, and was going to England to 
 be exhibited at a shilling a head. For four days he had 
 struggled, yelled, and wrenched at the heavy bars of his prison 
 without ceasing, and had nearly slain a Lascar incautious 
 enough to come within reach of the great hairy paw. 
 
 " It would be well for you, mine friend, if you was a liddle 
 seasick," said Hans Breitmann, pausing by the cage. " You 
 haf too much Ego in your Cosmos." 
 
 The orang-outang's arm slid out negligently from between 
 the bars. No one would have believed that it would make 
 a sudden snakelike rush at the German's breast. The thin 
 silk of the sleeping-suit tore out: Hans stepped back uncon- 
 cernedly, to pluck a banana from a bunch hanging close to 
 one of the boats. 
 
 "Too much Ego," said he, peeling the fruit and offering 
 it to the caged devil, who was rending the silk to tatters. 
 
 Then we laid out our bedding in the bows among the 
 sleeping Lascars, to catch any breeze that the pace of the 
 ship might give us. The sea was like smoky oil, except 
 where it turned to fire under our forefoot and whirled back 
 
1 2 BIMI. 
 
 into the dark in smears of dull flame. There was a thunder- 
 storm some miles away: we could see the glimmer of the 
 lightning. The ship's cow, distressed by the heat and the 
 smell of the ape-beast in the cage, lowed unhappily from 
 time to time in exactly the same key as the lookout man at 
 the bows answered the hourly call from the bridge. The 
 trampling tune of the engines was very distinct, and the jar- 
 ring of the ash-lift, as it was tipped into the sea, hurt the 
 procession of hushed noise. Hans lay down by my side 
 and lighted a good-night cigar. This was naturally the be- 
 ginning of conversation. He owned a voice as soothing as 
 the wash of the sea, and stores of experiences as vast as the 
 sea itself; for his business in life was to wander up and down 
 the world, collecting orchids and wild beasts and ethnologi- 
 cal specimens for German and American dealers. I watched 
 the glowing end of his cigar wax and wane in the gloom, as 
 the sentences rose and fell, till I was nearly asleep. The 
 orang-outang, troubled by some dream of the forests of his 
 freedom, began to yell like a soul in purgatory, and to 
 wrench madly at the bars of the cage. 
 
 "If he was out now dere would not be much of us left 
 hereabouts," said Hans lazily. ** He screams good. See, 
 now, how I shall tame him when he stops himself." 
 
 There was a pause in the outcry, and from Hans' mouth 
 came an imitation of a snake's hiss, so perfect that I almost 
 sprang to my feet. The sustained murderous sound ran 
 along the deck, and the wrenching at the bars ceased. The 
 orang-outang was quaking in an ecstasy of pure terror. 
 
 " Dot stopped him," said Hans. " I learned dot trick in 
 Mogoung Tanjong when I was collecting liddle monkeys for 
 some peoples in Berlin. Efery one in der world is afraid of 
 der monkeys — except der snake. So I blay snake against 
 monkey, and he keep quite still. Dere was too much Ego 
 in his Cosmos. Dot is der soul-custom of monkeys. Are 
 
BIMT. 13 
 
 vou asleep, or will )-oii listen, and I will tell a dale dot you 
 shall not pelief ? " 
 
 " There's no tale in the wide world that I can't believe," 
 I said. 
 
 " If you have learned pelief you haf learned somedings. 
 Now I shall try your pelief. Good! When I was collecting 
 dose liddle monkeys — it was in '79 or '80, und I was in der 
 islands of der Archipelago — over dere in der dark" — he 
 pointed southward to New Guinea generally — " Mein Gott! 
 I would sooner collect life red devils than liddle monkeys. 
 When dey do not bite off your thumbs (ley are always dying 
 from nostalgia — home-sick — for dey haf der imperfect soul, 
 which is midway arrested in defelopment — und too much 
 Ego. I was dere for nearly a year, und dere I found a man 
 dot was called Bertran. He was a Frenchman, und he was 
 goot man — naturalist to his bone. Dey said he was an es- 
 caped convict, but he was a naturalist, und dot was enough 
 for me. He would call all der life beasts from der forest, 
 und dey would come. I said he was St. Francis of Assizi in 
 a new dransmigration produced, und he laughed und said he 
 haf never preach to der fishes. He sold dem for tripang^* 
 beche-de-mer 
 
 " Und dot man, who was king of beasts-tamer men, he had 
 in der house shust such anoder as dot devil-animal in der 
 cage — a great orang-outang dot thought he was a man. He 
 haf found him when he was a child — der orang-outang — und 
 he was child and brother and opera comique all round to 
 Bertran. He had his room in dot house — not a cage, but 
 a room — mit a bed and sheets, and he would got to bed and 
 get up in der morning and smoke his cigar und eat his din- 
 ner mit Bertran, und walk mit him hand-in-hand, which was 
 most horrible. Herr Gott I I haf seen dot beast throw him- 
 self back in his chair and laugh when Bertran haf made fun 
 of me. He was not ^i beast; he was a man, and he talked 
 
14 BIMI. 
 
 to Bertran, und Bertran comprehend, for I have seen dem. 
 Und he was always politeful to me except when I talk too 
 long to Bertran und say nodings at all to him. Den he 
 would pull me away — dis great, dark devil, mit his enormous 
 paws — shust as if I was a child. He was not a beast: he 
 was a man. Dis I saw pefore I know him three months, und 
 Bertran he haf saw the same ; and Bimi, der orang-outang, 
 haf understood us both, mit his cigar between his big-dog 
 teeth und der blue gum. 
 
 " I was dere a year, dere und at dere oder islands — some- 
 dimes for monkeys and sometimes for butterflies und orchits. 
 One time Bertran says to me dot he will be married, because 
 he haf found a girl dot was goot, and he inquire if this mar- 
 rying-idea was right. I would not say, pecause it was not 
 me dot was going to be married. Den he go off courting 
 der girl — she was a half-caste French girl — very pretty. Haf 
 you got a new light for my cigar? Ouf ! Very pretty. Only 
 I say, ' Haf you thought of Bimi? If he pulls me away when 
 I talk to you, what will he do to your wife? He will pull her 
 in pieces. If I was you, Bertran, I would gif my wife for 
 wedding present der stuff figure of Bimi.' By dot time I 
 had leamed somedings about der monkey peoples. 'Shoot 
 hnn?' says Bertran. 'He is your beast,' I said; 'if he was 
 mine he would be shot now! ' 
 
 " Den I felt at der back of my neck der fingers of Bimi. 
 Mein Gott! I tell you dot he talked through dose fingers. 
 It was der deaf-and-dumb alphabet all gomplete. He slide 
 his hairy arm round my neck, and he tilt up my chin und 
 look into my face, shust to see if I understood his talk so 
 well as he understood mine. 
 
 " ' See now dere ! ' says Bertran, ' und you would shoot 
 him while he is cuddling you? Dot is der Teuton ingrate! ' 
 
 " But I knew dot I had made Bimi a life's enemy, pecause 
 his fingers haf talk murder through the back of my neck. 
 
BIMI. 15 
 
 Next dime I see Binii dere was a pistol in my belt, und he 
 touch it once, and I .open der breech to show him it was 
 loaded. He haf seen der liddle monkeys killed in der woods, 
 and he understood. 
 
 "So Bertran he was married, and he forgot clean about 
 Bimi dot was skippin' alone on der beach mit der half of a 
 human soul in his belly. I was see him skip, und he took a 
 big bough und thrash der sand till he haf made a great hole 
 like a grave. So I says to Bertran, ' For any sakes, kill Bimi. 
 He is mad mit der jealousy.' 
 
 " Bertran haf said, ' He is not mad at all. He haf obey 
 and love my wife, und if she speak he will get her slippers,' 
 und he looked at his wife across der room. She was a very 
 pretty girl. 
 
 " Den I said to him, * Dost dou pretend to know monkeys 
 und dis beast dot is lashing himself mad upon der sands, 
 pecause you do not talk to him? Shoot him when he comes 
 to der house, for he haf der light in his eye dot means killing 
 — und killing.' Bimi come to der house, but dere was no 
 light in his eye. It was all put away, cunning — so cunning 
 — und he fetch der girl her slippers, und Bertran turn to me 
 and say, ' Dost thou know him in nine months more dan I 
 haf known him in twelve years? Shall a child stab his fader? 
 I have fed him, und he was my child. Do not speak this 
 nonsense to my wife or to me any more.' 
 
 " Dot next day Bertran came to my house to help me 
 make some wood cases for der specimens, und he tell me dot 
 he haf left his wife a liddle while mit Bimi in der garden. 
 Den I finish my cases quick, und I say, ' Let us go to your 
 house und get a trink.' He laugh und say, ' Come along, dry 
 mans.' 
 
 " His wife was not in der garden, und Bimi did not come 
 when Bertran called. Und his wife did not come when he 
 called, und he knocked at her bedroom door und dot was 
 
1 6 BIMJ. 
 
 shut tight — locked. Den he look at me, und his face was 
 white. I broke down der door mit my shoulder, und der 
 thatch of der roof was torn into a great hole, und der sun 
 came in upon der floor. Haf you ever seen paper in der 
 waste-basket, or cards at whist on der table scattered? Dere 
 was no wife dot could be seen. 1 tell you dere was nodings 
 in dot room dot might be a woman. Dere was stuff on der 
 floor und dot was all. I looked at dese things und I was 
 very sick; but Bertran looked a liddle longer at what was 
 upon the floor und der walls, und der hole in der thatch. 
 Den he pegan to laugh, soft and low, und I knew und thank 
 Got dot he was mad. He nefer cried, he nefer prayed. He 
 stood all still in der doorway und laugh to himself. Den he 
 said, ^ She haf locked herself in dis room, and he haf torn up 
 der thatch. Fi done. Dot is so. We will mend der thatch 
 und wait for Bimi. He will surely come.' 
 
 " I tell you we waited ten days in dot house, after der 
 room was made into a room again, and once or twice we saw 
 Bimi comin' a liddle way from der woods. He was afraid 
 pecause he half done wrong. Bertran called him when he 
 was come to look on the tenth day, und Bimi come skipping 
 along der beach und making noises, mit a long piece of black 
 hair in his hands. Den Bertran laugh and say, ' Fi done! ' 
 shust as if it was a glass broken upon der table ; und Bimi 
 come nearer, und Bertran was honey-sweet in his voice and 
 laughed to himself. For three days he made love to Bimi, 
 pecause Bimi would not let himself be touched. Den Bimi 
 come to dinner at der same table mit us, und der hair on his 
 hands was all black und thick mit — mit what had dried on 
 der hands. Bertran gave him sangaree till Bimi was drunk 
 and stupid, und den " 
 
 Hans paused to puff at his cigar. 
 
 "And then?" said I. 
 
 " Und den Bertran he kill him mit his hands, und I go for 
 
BIMI. 17 
 
 a walk upon der beach. It was Bertran's own pizines3. 
 When I come back der ape he was dead, und Bertran he was 
 dying abofe him ; but still he laughed Uddle und low and he 
 was quite content. Now you know der formula of der 
 strength of der orang-outang — it is more as seven to one in 
 relation to man. But Bertran, he haf killed Bimi mit sooch 
 dings as Gott gif him. Dot was der mericle." 
 
 The infernal clamor in the cage recommenced. "Aha! 
 Dot friend of ours haf still too much Ego in his Cosmos. 
 Be quiet, thou!" 
 
 Hans hissed long and venomously. We could hear the 
 great beast quaking in his cage. 
 
 " But why in the world didn't you help Bertran instead of 
 letting h-'m be killed?" I asked. 
 
 " My friend," said Hans, composedly stretching himself to 
 slumber, " it was not nice even to mineself dot I should lif 
 after I had seen dot room mit der hole in aer thatch. Und 
 Bertran, he was her husband, Goot-night, und sleep well" 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA, 
 
 Once jpon a time there was a king who lived on the road 
 to Thibet, very many miles in the Himalaya Mountains. 
 His kingdom was ii,ooo feet above the sea and exactly four 
 miles square, but most of the miles stood on end owing to 
 the nature of the country. His revenues were rather less 
 than ;£"4oo yearly, and they were expended on the mainte- 
 nance of one elephant and a standing army of five men. 
 He was tributary to the Indian government, who allowed 
 him certain sums for keeping a section of the Himalaya- 
 Thibet road in repair. He further increased his revenues 
 by selling timber to the railway companies, for he would cut 
 the great deodar trees in his own forest and they fell thun- 
 dering into the Sutlej River and were swept down to the 
 Plains, 300 miles away, and became railway ties. Now and 
 again this king, whose name does not matter, would mount a 
 ring-streaked horse and ride scores of miles to Simlatown to 
 confer ^vith the lieutenant-governor on matters of state, or 
 to assure the viceroy that his sword was at the service of the 
 queen-empress. Then the viceroy would cause a ruffle of 
 drums to be sounded and the ring-streaked horse and the 
 cavalry of the state — two men in tatters — and the herald who 
 bore the Silver Stick before the king would trot back to their 
 own place, which was between the tail of a heaven-cHmbing 
 glacier and a dark birch forest. 
 
 Now from such a king, always remembering that he pos- 
 
22 NAMGA Y DOOLA. 
 
 sessed one veritable elephant and could count his descent 
 for 1,200 years, I expected, when it was my fate to wander 
 through his dominions, no more than mere license to live. 
 
 The night had closed in rain and rolling clouds blotted 
 out the lights of the villages in the valley. Forty miles away, 
 untouched by cloud or storm, the white shoulder of Donga 
 Pa— the Mountain of the Council of the Gods — upheld the 
 evening star. The monkeys sang sorrowfully to each other 
 as they hunted for dry roots in the fern-draped trees, and the 
 last puff of the day-wind brought from the unseen villages 
 the scent of damp wood smoke, hot cakes, dripping under- 
 growth, and rotting pine-cones. That smell is the true smell 
 of the Himalayas, and if it once gets into the blood of a man 
 he will, at the last, forgetting everything else, return to the 
 Hills to die. The clouds closed and the smell went away, 
 and there remained nothing in all the world except chiUing 
 white mists and the boom of the Sutlej River. 
 
 A fat-tailed sheep, who did not want to die, bleated lament- 
 ably at my tent-door. He was scuffling with the prime min- 
 ister and the director-general of public education and he 
 was a royal gift to me and my camp servants. I expressed 
 my thanks suitably and inquired if I might have audience 
 of the king. The prime minister readjusted his turban — 
 it had fallen off in the struggle — and assured me that the 
 king would be very pleased to see me. Therefore I dis- 
 patched two bottles as a foretaste, and when the sheep had 
 entered upon another incarnation, climbed up to the king's 
 palace through the wet. He had sent his army to escort me, 
 but it stayed to talk with my cook. Soldiers are very much 
 alike all the world over. 
 
 The palace was a four-roomed, white-washed mud-and- 
 timber house, the finest in all the Hills for a day's journey. 
 The king was dressed in a purple velvet jacket, white muslin 
 trousers, and a saffron-yellow turban of price. He gave me 
 
NAMGA V no OLA. 2$ 
 
 audience in a little carpeted room opening off the palace 
 court-yard, which was occupied by the elephant of state. 
 The great beast was sheeted and anchored from trunk to 
 tail, and the curve of his back stood out against the sky 
 line. 
 
 The prime minister and the director-general of public 
 instruction were present to introduce me; but all the court 
 had been dismissed lest the two bottles aforesaid should cor- 
 rupt their morals. The king cast a wreath of heavy, scented 
 flowers round my neck as I bowed, and inquired how my 
 honored presence had the felicity to be. I said that through 
 seeing his auspicious countenance the mists of the night had 
 turned into sunshine, and that by reason of his beneficent 
 sheep his good deeds would be remembered by the gods. 
 He said that since I had set my magnificent foot in his king- 
 dom the crops would probably yield 70 per cent more than 
 the average. I said that the fame of the king had reached 
 to the four corners of the earth, and that the nations gnashed 
 their teeth when they heard daily of the glories of his realm 
 and the wisdom of his moon-like prime minister and lotus- 
 eyed director-general of public education. 
 
 Then we sat down on clean white cushions and I was at 
 the king's right hand. Three minutes later he was teUing 
 me that the condition of the maize crop was something dis- 
 graceful, and that the railway companies would not pay him 
 enough for his timber. The talk shifted to and fro with the 
 bottles. We discussed very many quaint things, and the king 
 became confidential on the subject of government generally. 
 Most of all he dwelt on the shortcomings of one of his sub- 
 jects, who, from what I could gather, had been paralyzing 
 the executive. 
 
 " In the old days," said the king, '' I could have ordered 
 the elephant yonder to trample him to death. Now I must 
 e'en send him seventy miles across the hills to be tried, and 
 
24 JVAMGA V no OLA. 
 
 his keep for that time would be upon the state. And the 
 elephant eats everything." 
 
 "What be the man's crimes, Rajah Sahib?" said I. 
 
 " Firstly, he is an ' outlander,' and no man of mine own 
 people. Secondly, since of my favor I gave him land upon 
 his coming, he refuses to pay revenue. Am I not the lord 
 of the earth, above and below — entitled by right and custom 
 to one-eighth of the crop? Yet this devil, establishing him- 
 self, refuses to pay a single tax . . . and he brings a poison- 
 ous spawn of babes." 
 
 "Cast him into jail," I said. 
 
 "Sahib," the king answered, shifting a little on the cush^ 
 ions, " once and only once in these forty years sickness came 
 upon me so that I was not able to go abroad. In that hour I 
 made a vow to my God that I would never again cut man or 
 woman from the light of the sun and the air of God, for I 
 perceived the nature of the punishment. How can I break 
 my vow? Were it only the lopping off of a hand or a foot 
 I should not delay. But even that is impossible now that 
 the Enghsh have rule. One or another of my people " — he 
 looked obliquely at the director-general of public educa- 
 tion — " would at once write a letter to the viceroy and per- 
 haps I should be deprived of that ruffle of drums." 
 
 He unscrewed the mouthpiece of his silver water-pipe, 
 fitted a plain amber one, and passed the pipe to me. " Not 
 content with refusing revenue," he continued, "this outlander 
 refuses also the beegar" (this is the corvee or forced labor 
 on the roads), " and stirs my people up to the like treason. 
 Yet he is, if he so wills, an expert log-snatcher. There is 
 none better or bolder among my people to clear a block of 
 the river when the logs stick fast." 
 
 " But he worships strange gods," said the prime minister, 
 deferentially. 
 
 " For that I have no concern," said the king, who was as 
 
NAMGA Y DO OLA. 25 
 
 tolerant as Akbar in matters of belief. " To each man his 
 own god, and the fire or Mother Earth for us all at the last. 
 It is the rebeUion that offends me." 
 
 " The king has an army," I suggested. " Has not the 
 king burned the man's house and left him naked to the 
 night dews? " 
 
 "Nay. A hut is a hut, and it holds the life of a man. 
 But once I sent my army against him when his excuses be- 
 came wearisome. Of their heads he brake three across the 
 top with a stick. The other two men ran away. Also the 
 guns would not shoot." 
 
 I had seen the equipment of the infantry. One-third of it 
 was an old muzzle-loading fowHng-piece with ragged rust 
 holes where the nipples should have been; one-third a wire- 
 bound matchlock with a worm-eaten stock, and one-third a 
 four-bore flint duck-gun, without a flint. 
 
 " But it is to be remembered," said the king, reaching out 
 for the bottle, " that he is a very expert log-snatcher and a 
 man of a merry face. What shall I do to him, Sahib? " 
 
 This was interesting. The timid hill-folk would as soon 
 have refused taxes to their king as ofiferings to their gods. 
 The rebel must be a man of character. 
 
 *' If it be the king's permission," I said, " I will not strike 
 my tents till the third day and I will see this man. The 
 mercy of the king is godlike, and rebellion is like unto the 
 sin of witchcraft. Moreover, both the bottles, and another, 
 be empty." 
 
 " You have my leave to go," said the king. 
 
 Next morning a crier went through the state proclaiming 
 that there was a log-jam on the river an(' that it behooved 
 all loyal subjects to clear it. The people poured down from 
 their villages to the moist, warm valley of poppy fields, and 
 the king and I went with them. 
 
 Hundreds of dressed deodar lotis had caught on a snag of 
 
26 NAMGA V DOOLA. 
 
 rock, and the river was bringing down more logs every min- 
 ute to complete the blockade. The water snarled and 
 wrenched and worried at the timber, while the population 
 of the state prodded at the nearest logs with poles in the 
 hope of easing the pressure. Then there went up a shout 
 of "Namgay Doola! Namgay Doola! " and a large, red- 
 haired villager hurried up, stripping off his clothes as he ran. 
 
 "That is he. That is the rebel," said the king. "Now 
 will the dam be cleared." 
 
 " But why has he red hair? " I asked, since red hair among 
 hill-folk is as uncommon as blue or green. 
 
 "He is an outlander," said the king. "Well done! Oh, 
 well done ! ' 
 
 Namgay Doola had scrambled on the jam and was claw- 
 ing out the butt of a log with a rude sort of a boat hook. It 
 slid forward slowly, as an aligator moves, and three or four 
 others followed it The green water spou-ted through the 
 gaps. Then the villagers howled and shouted and leaped 
 among the logs, pulling and pushing the obstinate timber, 
 and the red head of Namgay Doola was chief among them 
 all. The logs swayed and chafed and groaned as fresh 
 consignments from up stream battered the now weakening 
 dam. It gave way at last in a smother of foam, racing buttSj 
 bobbing black heads, and confusion indescribable, as the 
 river tossed everything before it. I saw the red head go 
 down with the last remnants of the jam and disappear be- 
 tween the great grinding tree trunks. It rose close to the 
 bank, and blowing like a grampus, Namgay Doola wiped the 
 water out of his eyes and made obeisance to the king. 
 
 I had time to observe the man closely. The virulent red- 
 ness of his shock head and beard was most startling, and in 
 the thicket of hair twinkled above high cheek-bones two 
 very merry blue eyes. He was indeed an outlander, but yet 
 a Thibetan in language, habit, and attire. He spoke the 
 
NAMGA Y DO OLA. 27 
 
 Lepcha dialect with an indescribable softening of the gut- 
 turals. It was not so much a lisp as an accent. 
 
 "Whence comest thou?" I asked, wondering. 
 
 " From Thibet." He pointed across the hills and grinned. 
 That grin went straight to my heart. Mechanically I held 
 out my hand, and Namgay Doola took it. No pure Thibetan 
 would have understood the meaning of the gesture. He 
 went away to look for his clothes, and as he climbed back to 
 his village I heard a joyous yell that seemed unaccountably 
 famiUar. It was the whooping of Namgay Doola. 
 
 " You see now," said the king, " why I would not kill him. 
 He is a bold man among my logs, but," and he shook his 
 head like a schoolmaster, " I know that before long there 
 will be complaints of him in the court. Let us return to 
 the palace and do justice." 
 
 It was that king's custom to judge his subjects every day 
 between 11 and 3 o'clock. I heard him do justice equitably 
 on weighty matters of trespass, slander, and a little wife-steal- 
 ing. Then his brow clouded and he summoned me. 
 
 "Again it is Namgay Doola," he said despairingly. " Not 
 content with refusing revenue on his own part, he has bound 
 half his village by an oath to the like treason. Never before 
 has such a thing befallen me! Nor are my taxes heavy." 
 
 A rabbit-faced villager, with a blush-rose stuck behind his 
 ear, advanced trembling. He had been in Namgay Doola's 
 conspiracy, but had told everything and hoped for the king's 
 favor. 
 
 " O King! " said I. " If it be the king's will, let this mat- 
 ter stand over till the morning. Only the gods can do right 
 in a hurry, and it may be that yonder villager has lied." 
 
 " Nay, for I know the nature of Namgay Doola ; but since 
 a guest asks, let the matter remain. Wilt thou, for my sake, 
 speak harshly to this red-headed outlander. He may listen 
 to thee." 
 
28 NAMGA Y DOOLA. 
 
 I made an attempt that very evening, but for the life of 
 me I could not keep my countenance. Namgay Doola 
 grinned so persuasively and began to tell me about a big 
 brown bear in a poppy field by the river. Would I care 
 to shoot that bear? I spoke austerely on the sin of de- 
 tected conspiracy and the certainty of punishment. Nam- 
 gay Doola's face clouded for a moment. Shortly afterward 
 he withdrew from my tent, and I heard him singing softly 
 among the pines. The words were unintelligible to me, but 
 the tune, Hke his Hquid, insinuating speech, seemed the 
 ghost of something strangely familiar. 
 
 Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir 
 
 To weeree ala gee, 
 
 crooned Namgay Doola again and again, and I racked my 
 brain for that lost tune. It was not till after dinner that I 
 discovered some one had cut a square foot of velvet from 
 the centre of my best camera-cloth. This made me so 
 angry that I wandered down the valley in the hope of meet- 
 ing the big brown bear. I could hear him grunting like a 
 discontented pig in the poppy field as I waited shoulder deep 
 in the dew-dripping Indian corn to catch him after his meal. 
 The moon was at full and drew out the scent of the tasselled 
 crop. Then I heard the anguished bellow of a Himalayan 
 cow — one of the little black crummies no bigger than New- 
 foundland dogs. Two shadows that looked like a bear and 
 her cub hurried past me. I was in the act of firing when I 
 saw that each bore a brilliant red head. The lesser animal 
 was trailing something rope-like that left a dark track on the 
 path. They were within six feet of me and the shadow of 
 the moonlight lay velvet-black on their faces. Velvet-black 
 was exactly the word, for by all the powers of moonHght they 
 were masked in the velvet of my camera-cloth. I marvelled 
 and went to bed. 
 
 Next morning the kingdom was in uproar. Namgay Doola, 
 
xVAMGA V xJUULA. 29 
 
 men said, had gone forth in the night and with a sharp knife 
 had cut off the tail of a cow belonging to the rabbit-faced 
 villager who had betrayed him. It was sacrilege unspeak- 
 able against the holy cow! The state desired his blood, 
 but he had retreated into his hut, barricaded the doors and 
 windows with big stones, and defied the world. 
 
 The king and I and the populace approached the hut cau- 
 tiously. There was no hope of capturing our man without 
 loss of life, for from a hole in the wall projected the muzzle 
 of an extremely well-cared-for gun — the only gun in the 
 state that could shoot. Namgay Doola had narrowly missed 
 a villager just before we came up. 
 
 The standing army stood. 
 
 It could do no more, for when it advanced pieces of sharp 
 shale flew from the windows. To these were added from 
 time to time showers of scalding water. We saw red heads 
 bobbing up and down within. The family of Namgay Noola 
 were aiding their sire. Blood-curdling yells of defiance were 
 the only answer to our prayers. 
 
 " Never," said the king, puffing, " has such a thing befallen 
 my state. Next year I will certainly buy a little cannon." 
 He looked at me imploringly. 
 
 " Is there any priest in the kingdom to whom he will 
 listen? " said I, for a light was beginning to break upon me. 
 
 " He worships his own God," said the prime minister. 
 " We can but starve him out." 
 
 " Let the white man approach," said Namgay Doola from 
 within. "All others I will kill. Send me the white man." 
 
 The door was thrown open and I entered the smoky in- 
 terior of a Thibetan hut crammed with children. And every 
 child had flaming red hair. A fresh-gathered cow's tail lay 
 on the floor, and by its side two pieces of black velvet — my 
 black velvet— rudely hacked into the semblance of masks. 
 
 "And what is this shame, Namgay Doola?" I asked. 
 
30 NAMGA Y DO OLA. 
 
 He grinned more charmingly than ever. " There is no 
 shame," said he. " I did but cut off the tail of that man's 
 cow. He betrayed me. I was minded to shoot him, Sahib, 
 but not to death. Indeed, not to death ; only in the legs." 
 
 " And why at all, since it is the custom to pay revenue to 
 the king? Why at all?" 
 
 " By the God of my father, I cannot tell," said Namgay 
 Doola. 
 
 " And who was thy father? " 
 
 " The same that had this gun." He showed me his weapon, 
 a Tower musket bearing date 1832 and the stamp of the 
 Honorable East India Company. 
 
 "And thy father's name?" said I. 
 
 " Timlay Doola," said he. " At the first, I being then a 
 little child, it is in my mind that he wore a red coat." 
 
 "Of that I have no doubt; but repeat the name of thy 
 father twice or thrice." 
 
 He obeyed, and I understood whence the puzzling accent 
 in his speech came. "Thimla Dhula!" said he excitedly, 
 " To this hour I worship his God." 
 
 "May I see that God?" 
 
 " In a little while— at twilight time." 
 
 "Rememberest thou aught of thy father's speech?" 
 
 " It is long ago. But there was one word which he said 
 often. Thus, "Shun!' Then I and my brethren stood 
 upon our feet, our hands to our sides, thus." 
 
 " Even so. And what was thy mother? " 
 
 "A woman of the hills. We be Lepchas of Darjiling, but 
 me they call an outlander because my hair is as thou seest." 
 
 The Thibetan woman, his wife, touched him on the arm 
 gently. The long parley outside the fort had lasted far into 
 the day. It was now close upon twilight — the hour of the 
 Angelus. Very solemnly the red-headed brats rose from the 
 floor and formed a semicircle. Namgay Doola laid his gun 
 
KAMCA V DOOLA. 3 1 
 
 asice, l^ghtc.i a little oil-lamp, and set it before a recess in 
 the wall. Pulling back a wisp of dirty cloth, he revealed a 
 worn brass crucifix leaning against the helmet badge of a 
 long-forgotten East India Company's regiment. " Thus did 
 my father," he said, crossing himself clumsily. The wife 
 and children followed suit. Then, all together, they struck 
 up the wailing chant that I heard on the hillside: 
 
 Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir 
 
 To weeree al a gee. 
 
 I was puzzled no longer. Again and again they sang, as 
 if their hearts would break, their version of the chorus of 
 " The Wearing of the Green: " 
 
 They're hanging men and women, too, 
 For the wearing of the green. 
 
 A diabolical inspiration came to me. One of the brats, 
 a boy about eight years old — could he have been in the fields 
 last night? — was watching me as he sang. I pulled out a 
 rupee, held the coin between finger and thumb, and looked 
 — only looked — at the gun leaning against the wall. A grin 
 of brilliant and perfect comprehension overspread his por- 
 ringer-like face. Never for an instant stopping the song, he 
 held out his hand for the money and then slid the gun to 
 my hand. I might have shot Namgay Doola dead as he 
 chanted, but I was satisfied. The inevitable blood-instinct 
 held true. Namgay Doola drew the curtain across the re- 
 cess. Angelus was over. 
 
 " Thus my father sang. There was much more, but I have 
 forgotten, and I do not know the purport of even these words, 
 but it may be that the god will understand. I am not of 
 this people and I will not pay revenue." 
 
 •'And why?" 
 
 Again that soul-compelling grin. " What occupation 
 would be to me between crop and crop? It is better than 
 scaring bears. But these people do not understand." 
 
32 NAMGAY DOOLA. 
 
 He picked the masks off the floor and looked in my face 
 as simply as a child. 
 
 " By what road didst thou attain knowledge to make those 
 deviltries?" I said, pointing. 
 
 " I cannot tell. I am but a Lepcha of DarjiHng, and yet 
 the stuff " 
 
 " Which thou hast stolen," said I. 
 
 "Nay, surely. Did I steal? I desired it so. The stuff — 
 the stuff. What else should I have done with the stuff? " 
 He twisted the velvet between his fingers. 
 
 " But the sin of maiming the cow — consider that." 
 
 "O Sahib, the man betrayed me; the heifer's tail waved in 
 the moonlight, and I had my knife. What else should I 
 have done? The tail came off ere I was aware. Sahib, 
 thou knowest more than I." 
 
 " That is true," said I. " Stay within the door. I go to 
 speak to the king." The population of the state were ranged 
 on the hillside. I went forth and spoke. 
 
 " O King," said I, " touching this man there be two courses 
 open to thy wisdom. Thou canst either hang him from a 
 tree — he and his brood — till there remains no hair that is red 
 within thy land." 
 
 " Nay," said the king. " Why should I hurt the little chil- 
 dren?" 
 
 They had poured out of the hut and were making plump 
 obeisances to everybody. Namgay Doola waited at the door 
 with his gun across his arm. 
 
 " Or thou canst, discarding their impiety of the cow-maim- 
 ing, raise him to honor in thy army. He comes of a race 
 that will not pay revenue: A red flame is in his blood which 
 comes out at the top of his head in that glowing hair. Make 
 him chief of thy army. Give him honor as may befall and 
 full allowance of work, but look to it, O King, that neither 
 he nor his hold a foot of earth from thee henceforward. 
 
NAMGA Y DOOLa. t,t, 
 
 Feed him with words and favor and also Hquor from certain 
 bottles that thou knowest of, and he will be a bulwark of de- 
 fence. But deny him even a tuftlet of grass for his own 
 This is the nature that God has given him. Moreover he 
 has brethren " 
 
 The state groaned unanimously. 
 
 " But if his brethren come they will surely fight with each 
 other till they die; or else the one will always give informa- 
 tion concerning the other. Shall he be of thy army, O King? 
 Choose." 
 
 The king bowed his head, and I said: "Come forth, 
 Namgay Doola, and command the king's army. Thy name 
 shall no more be Namgay in the mouths of men, but Patsay 
 Doola, for, as thou hast truly said, I know." 
 
 Then Namgay Doola, new-christened Patsay Doola, son 
 of Timlay Doola — which is Tim Doolan — clasped the king's 
 feet, cuffed the standing army, and hurried in an agony of 
 contrition from temple to temple making offerings for the 
 sin of the cattle-maiming. 
 
 And the king was so pleased with my perspicacity that he 
 offered to sell me a village for ;£'2o sterling. But I buy no 
 villages in the Himalayas so long as one red head flares 
 between the tail of the heaven-climbing glacier and the dark 
 birch forest. 
 
 I know that breed. 
 3 
 
THE RECRUDESCENCE OF 
 IMRAY. 
 
THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY. 
 
 Imray had achieved the impossible. Without warning, foi 
 no conceivable motive, in his youth and at the threshold of his 
 career he had chosen to disappear from the world — which is 
 to say, the little Indian station where he lived. Upon a day 
 he was alive, well, happy, and in great evidence at his club, 
 among the billiard tables. Upon a morning he was not, and 
 no manner of search could make sure where he might be. 
 He had stepped out of his place; he had not appeared at 
 his office at the proper time, and his dog-cart was not upon 
 the public roads. For these reasons and because he was 
 hampering in a microscopical degree the administration of 
 the Indian Empire, the Indian Empire paused for one mi- 
 croscopical moment to make inquiry into the fate of Imray, 
 Ponds were dragged, wells were plumbed, telegrams were 
 dispatched down the lines of railways and to the nearest sea- 
 port town — 1,200 miles away — but Imray was not at the end 
 of the drag-ropes nor the telegrams. He was gone, and his 
 place knew him no more. Then the work of the great 
 Indian Empire swept forward, because it could not be de- 
 layed, and Imray, from being a man, became a mystery — such 
 a thing as men talk over at their tables in the club for a 
 month and then forget utterly. His guns, horses, and carts 
 were sold to the highest bidder. His superior officer wrote 
 an absurd letter to his mother, saying that Imray had unac- 
 countably disappeared and his bungalow stood empty on the 
 road. 
 
3S THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY. 
 
 After three or four months of the scorching hot weather 
 had gone by, my friend Strickland, of the police force, saw fit 
 to rent the bungalow from the native landlord. This was 
 before he was engaged to Miss Youghai — an affair which has 
 been described in another place — and while he was pursuing 
 his investigations into native life. His own hfe was suffi- 
 ciently peculiar and men complained of his manners and 
 customs. There was always food in his house, but there 
 were no regular times for meals. He ate, standing up and 
 walking about, whatever he might find in the sideboard, and 
 this is not good for the insides of human beings. His 
 domestic equipment was limited to six rifles, three shot-guns, 
 five saddles, and a collection of stiff-jointed masheer rods, 
 bigger and stronger than the largest salmon rods. These 
 things occupied one-half of his bungalow, and the other half 
 was given up to Strickland and his dog Tietjens — an enor- 
 mous Rampur slut, who sang when she was ordered and de- 
 voured daily the rations of two men. She spoke to Strick- 
 land in a language of her own, and whenever in her walks 
 abroad she saw things calculated to destroy the peace of Her 
 Majesty the Queen Empress, she returned to her master and 
 gave him information. Strickland would take steps at once, 
 and the end of his labors was trouble and fine and imprison- 
 ment for other people. The natives believed that Tietjens 
 was a familiar spirit, and treated her with the great reverence 
 that is born of hate and fear. One room in the bungalow 
 was set apart for her special use. She owned a bedstead, a 
 blanket, and a drinking-trough, and if any one came into 
 Strickland's room at night, her custom was to knock down 
 the invader and give tongue till some one came with a light. 
 Strickland owes his life to her. When he was on the frontier 
 in search of the local murderer who came in the gray dawn 
 to send Strickland much further than the Andaman Islands, 
 Tietjens caught him as he was crawHng into Strickland's tent 
 
THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY. 39 
 
 with a dagger between his teeth, and after his record of in- 
 iquity was estabhshed in the eyes of the law he was hanged. 
 From that date Tietjens wore a collar of rough silver and 
 employed a monogram on her night blanket, and the blanket 
 was of double-woven Kashmir cloth, for she was a delicate 
 dog. 
 
 Under no circumstances would she be separated from 
 Strickland, and when he was ill with fever she made great 
 trouble for the doctors because she did not know how to 
 help her master and would not allow another creature to 
 attempt aid. Macarnaght, of the Indian Medical Service, 
 beat her over the head with a gun, before she could under- 
 stand that she must give room for those who could give 
 quinine. 
 
 A short time after Strickland had taken Imray's bungalow, 
 my business took me through that station, and naturally, the 
 club quarters being full, I quartered myself upon Strickland. 
 It was a desirable bungalow, eight-roomed and heavily 
 thatched against any chance of leakage from rain. Under 
 the pitch of the roof ran a ceiling cloth, which looked just as 
 nice as a whitewashed ceihng. The landlord had repainted 
 it when Strickland took the bungalow, and unless you knew 
 how Indian bungalows were built you would never have sus- 
 pected that above the cloth lay the dark, three-cornered 
 cavern of the roof, where the beams and the under side of 
 the thatch harbored all manner of rats, bats, ants, and other 
 things. 
 
 Tietjens met me in the veranda with a bay like the boom 
 of the bells of St. Paul's, and put her paws on my shoulder 
 and said she was glad to see me. Strickland had contrived 
 to put together that sort of meal which he called lunch, and 
 immediately after it was finished went out about his business. 
 I was left alone with Tietjens and my own affairs. The heat 
 of the summer had broken up and given place to the warm 
 
40 THE RECRUDESCENCE OF J MR A Y, 
 
 damp of the rains. There was no motion in the heated air, 
 but the rain fell like bayonet rods on the earth, and flung up 
 a blue mist where it splashed back again. The bamboos 
 and the custard apples, the poinsettias and the mango trees 
 in the garden stood still while the warm water lashed through 
 them, and the frogs began to sing among the aloe hedges. 
 A httle before the light failed, and when the rain was at its 
 worst, I sat in the back veranda and heard the water roar 
 from the eaves, and scratched myself because I was covered 
 with the thing they called prickly heat. Tietjens came out 
 with me and put her head in my lap and was very sorrowful, 
 so I gave her biscuits when tea was ready, and I took tea in 
 the back veranda on account of the little coolness T found 
 there. The rooms of the house were dark behind me. I 
 could smell Strickland's saddlery and the oil on his guns, and 
 I did not the least desire to sit among these things. My own 
 servant came to me in the twilight, the muslin of his clothes 
 clinging tightly to his drenched body, and told me that a 
 gentleman had called and wished to see some one. Very 
 much against my will and because of the darkness of the 
 rooms, I went into the naked drawing-room, telling my man 
 to bring the hghts. There might or might not have been a 
 caller in the room — it seems to me that I saw a figure by 
 one of the windows, but when the hghts came there was 
 nothing sav^j the spikes of the rain without and the smell 
 of the drinking earth in my nostrils. I explained to my man 
 that he was no wiser than he ought to be and went back to 
 the veranda to talk to Tietjens. She had gone out into the 
 wet and I could hardly coax her back to me — even with bis- 
 cuits with sugar on top. Strickland rode back, dripping wet, 
 just before dinner, and the first thing he said was : 
 
 " Has any one called? " 
 
 I explained, with apologies, that my servant had called 
 me into the drawing-room on a false alarm ; or that some 
 
THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMKAY. 41 
 
 loafer had tried to call on Strickland, and, thinking better of 
 it, had fled after giving his name. Strickland ordered dinner 
 without comment, and since it was a real dinner, with a white 
 table-cloth attached, we sat down. 
 
 At 9 o'clock Strickland wanted to go to bed and I was 
 tired, too. Tietjens, who had been lying underneath the 
 table, rose up and went into the least-exposed veranda as 
 soon as her master moved to his own room, which was next 
 to the stately chamber set apart for Tietjens. If a mere 
 wife had wished to sleep out of doors in that pelting rain it 
 would not have mattered, but Tietjens was a dog and there- 
 fore the better animal. I looked at Strickland, expecting to 
 see him flog her with a whip. He smiled queerly, as a man 
 would smile after telling some hideous domestic tragedy. 
 " She has done this ever since I moved in here." 
 
 The dog was Strickland's dog, so I said nothing, but I felt 
 all that Strickland felt in being made light of. Tietjens en- 
 camped outside my bedroom window, and storm after storm 
 came up, thundered on the thatch, and died away. The 
 lightning spattered the sky as a thrown egg spatters a barn 
 door, but the light was pale blue, not yellow, and looking 
 through my slit bamboo blinds I could see the great dog 
 standing, not sleeping, in the veranda, the hackles alift on 
 her back and her feet planted as tensely as the drawn wire 
 rope of a suspension bridge. In the very short pauses of the 
 thunder I tried to sleep, but it seemed that some one wanted 
 me very badly. He, whoever he was, was trying to call me by 
 name, but his voice was no more than a husky whisper. 
 Then the thunder ceased and Tietjens went into the garden 
 and howled at the low moon. Somebody tried to open my 
 door, and walked about and through the house and stood 
 breathing heavily in the verandas, and just when I was falling 
 asleep I fancied that I heard a wild hammering and clamor- 
 ing above my head or on the door. 
 
42 THE RECRUDESCENCE OF I MR AY, 
 
 I ran into Strickland's room and asked him whether he 
 was ill and had been calling for me. He was lying on the 
 bed half-dressed with a pipe in his mouth. " I thought you'd 
 come," he said. " Have I been walking around the house 
 at all?" 
 
 I explained that he had been in the dining-room and the 
 smoking-room and two or three other places ; and he laughed 
 and told me to go back to bed. I went back to bed and 
 slept till the morning, but in all my dreams I was sure I was 
 doing some one an injustice in not attending to his wants. 
 What those wants were I could not tell, but a fluttering, 
 whispering, bolt-fumbling, luring, loitering some one was 
 reproaching me for my slackness, and through all the dreams 
 I heard the howling of Tietjens in the garden and the thrash- 
 ing of the rain. 
 
 I was in that house for two days and Strickland went to his 
 office daily, leaving me alone for eight or ten hours a day 
 with Tietjens for my only companion. As long as the full 
 light lasted I was comfortable and so was Tietjens, but in 
 the twilight she and I moved into the back veranda and 
 cuddled each other for company. We were alone in the 
 house, but for all that it was too fully occupied by a tenant 
 with whom I had no desire to interfere. I never saw him, 
 but I could see the curtains between the rooms quivering 
 where he had just passed through; I could hear the chairs 
 creaking as the bamboos sprung under a weight that had 
 just quitted it ; and I could feel when I went to get a book 
 from the dining-room that somebody was waiting in the 
 shadows of the front veranda till I should have gone away. 
 Tietjens made the twilight more interesting by glaring into 
 the darkened rooms with every hair erect, and following the 
 motions of something that I could not see. She never en- 
 tered the rooms, but her eyes moved, and that was quite 
 sufficient. Only when my servant came to trim the lamps 
 
THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY. 43 
 
 and make all light and habitable she would come in with me 
 and spend her time sitting on her haunches watching an in- 
 visible extra man as he moved about behind my shoulder. 
 Dogs are cheerful companions. 
 
 I explained to Strickland, gently as might be, that I would 
 go over to the club and find for myself quarters there. I 
 admired his hospitaUty, was pleased with his guns and rods, 
 but I did not much care for his house and its atmosphere. 
 He heard me out to the end, and then smiled very wearily, 
 but without contempt, for he is a man who understands 
 things. " Stay on," he said, " and see what this thing means. 
 All you have talked about I have known since I took the 
 bungalow. Stay on and wait. Tietjens has left me. Are 
 you going too? " 
 
 I had seen him through one little affair connected with an 
 idol that had brought me to the doors of a lunatic asylum, 
 and I had no desire to help him through further experiences. 
 He was a man to whom unpleasantnesses arrived as do din- 
 ners to ordinary people. 
 
 Therefore I explained more clearly than ever that I liked 
 him immensely and would be happy to see him in the day- 
 time ; but that I didn't care to sleep under his roof. This 
 was after dinner, when Tietjens had gone out to lie in the 
 veranda. 
 
 "Ton my soul, I don't wonder," said Strickland, with his 
 eyes on the ceiling cloth. " Look at that! " 
 
 The tails of two snakes were hanging between the cloth 
 and the cornice of the wall. They threw long shadows in 
 
 the lamplight. " If you are afraid of snakes, of course " 
 
 said Strickland. " I hate and fear snakes, because if you 
 look into tlie eyes of any snake you will see that it knows all 
 and more of man's fall, and that it feels all the contempt that 
 the devil felt when Adam was evicted from Eden. Besides 
 which its bite is generally fatal, and it bursts up trouser legs." 
 
44 '^HE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRA Y, 
 
 "You ought to get your thatch overhauled," I said 
 " Give me a masheer rod and we'll poke 'em down." 
 
 "They'll hide among the roof beams," said Strickland. 
 " I can't stand snakes overhead. I'm going up. If I shake 
 'em down, stand by with a cleaning rod and break their 
 backs." 
 
 I was not anxious to assist Strickland in his work, but I 
 took the loading rod and waited in the dining-room, while 
 Strickland brought a gardener's ladder from the veranda and 
 set ii; against the side of the room. The snake tails drew 
 themselves up and disappeared. We could hear the dry 
 rushing scuttle of long bodies running over the baggy cloth. 
 Strickland took a lamp with him, while I tried to make clear 
 the danger of hunting roof snakes between a ceiling cloth 
 and a thatch, apart from the deterioration of property caused 
 by ripping out ceiling cloths. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Strickland. ' They're sure to hide near 
 the walls by the cloth. The bricks are too cold for 'em, 
 and the heat of the room is just what they like." He put 
 his hand to the corner of the cloth and ripped the rotten 
 stuff from the cornice. It gave a great sound of tearing, and 
 Strickland put his head through the opening into the dark of 
 the angle of the roof beams. I set my teeth and lifted the 
 loading rod, for I had not the least knowledge of what might 
 descend. 
 
 " H'm," said Strickland, and his voice rolled and rumbled 
 in the roof. "There's room for another set of rooms up 
 here, and, by Jove! some one is occupying 'em." 
 
 " Snakes? " I said down below. 
 
 "No. It's a buffalo. Hand me up the two first joints of 
 a masheer rod and I'll prod it. It's lying on the main 
 beam." 
 
 I handed up the rod. 
 
 " What a nest for owls and serpents. No wonder the 
 
THE RECRUDESCENCE OF I MR AY. 45 
 
 snakes live here," said Strickland, climbing further into the 
 roof. I could see his elbow thrustincj with the rod. "Come 
 out of that, whoever you are! Look out! Heads below 
 there! It's tottering." 
 
 I saw the ceiling cloth nearly in the centre of the room 
 bag with a shape that was pressing it downward and down- 
 ward toward the lighted lamps on the table. I snatched a 
 lamp out of danger and stood back. Then the cloth ripped 
 out from the walls, tore, split, swayed, and shot down upon 
 the table something that I dared not look at till Strickland 
 had slid down the ladder and was standing by my side. 
 
 He did not say much, being a man of few words, but he 
 picked up the loose end of the table cloth and threw it over 
 the thing on the table. 
 
 "It strikes me," said he, pulling down the lamp, "our 
 friend Imray has come back. Oh! you would, would 
 you?" 
 
 There was a movement under the cloth, and a little snake 
 wriggled out, to be back-broken by the butt of the masheer 
 rod. I was sufficiently sick to make no remarks worth re- 
 cording. 
 
 Strickland meditated and helped himself to drinks liberally. 
 The thing under the cloth made no more signs of life. 
 
 "Is it Imray?" I said. 
 
 Strickland turned back the cloth for a moment and looked. 
 
 " It is Imray," he said, " and his throat is cut from ear to 
 ear." 
 
 Then we spoke both together and to ourselves, " That's 
 why he whispered about the house." 
 
 Tietjens in the garden began to bay furiously. A little 
 later her great nose heaved open the dining-room door. 
 
 She snuffed and was still. The broken and tattered ceil- 
 ing cloth hung down almost to the level of the table, and 
 there was hardlv room to move away from the discovery 
 
4^ THE RECRUDESCENCE OF I MR A V. 
 
 Then Tietjens came in and sat down; her teeth bared 
 and her forepaws planted. She looked at Strickland. 
 
 " It's a bad business, old lady," said he. *' Men don't go 
 up into the roofs of their bungalows to die, and they don't 
 fasten up the ceiling cloth behind 'em. Let's think it out." 
 
 "Let's think it out somewhere else," I said. 
 
 "Excellent idea! Turn the lamps out. We'll get into 
 my room." 
 
 I did not tui-n the lamps out. I went into Strickland's 
 room first and allowed him to make the darkness. Then he 
 followed me and we lit tobacco and thought. Strickland did 
 the thinking. I smoked furiously because I was afraid. 
 
 " Imray is back," said Strickland. " The question is, who 
 killed Imray? Don't talk — I have a notion of my own. 
 When I took this bungalow I took most of Imray's servants. 
 Imray was guileless and inoffensive, wasn't he? " 
 
 I agreed, though the heap under the cloth looked neither 
 one thing nor the other. 
 
 " If I call all the servants they will stand fast in a crowd 
 and lie like Aryans. What do you suggest? " 
 
 " Call 'em in one by one," I said. 
 
 " They'll run away and give the news to all their fellows," 
 said Strickland. 
 
 "We must segregate 'em. Do you suppose your servant 
 knows anything about it? " 
 
 " He may, for aught I know, but I don't think it's Hkely. 
 He has only been here two or three days." 
 
 "What's your notion? " I asked. 
 
 " I can't quite tell. How the dickens did the man get the 
 wrong side of the ceiling cloth? " 
 
 There was a heavy coughing outside Strickland's bedroom 
 door. This showed that Bahadur Khan, his body servant, 
 had waked from sleep and wished to put Strickland to 
 bed. 
 
THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY. 47 
 
 " Come in," said Strickland. " It is a very warm night, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 Bahadur Khan, a great green-turbaned, six-foot Moham- 
 medan, said that it was a very warm night, but that there 
 was more rain pending, which by his honor's favor would 
 bring relief to the country. 
 
 " It will be so, if God pleases," said Strickland, tugging 
 off his boots. " It is in my mind, Bahadur Khan, that I have 
 worked thee remorselessly for many days — ever since that 
 time when thou first camest into my service. What time 
 was that? " 
 
 "Has the heaven-born forgotten? It was when Imray 
 Sahib went secretly to Europe without warning given, and I 
 — even I — came into the honored service of the protector of 
 the poor." 
 
 "And Imray Sahib went to Europe? " 
 
 " It is so said among the servants." 
 
 "And thou wilt take service with him when he returns?" 
 
 "Assuredly, Sahib. He was a good master and cherished 
 his dependents." 
 
 " That is true. I am very tired, but I can go buck-shoot- 
 ing to-morrow. Give me the little rifle that I use for black 
 buck; it is in the case yonder." 
 
 The man stooped over the case, handed barrels, stock, and 
 fore-end to Strickland, who fitted them together. Yawning 
 dolefully, then he reached down to the gun-case, took a solid 
 drawn cartridge, and slipped it into the breech of the .360 
 express. 
 
 "And Imray Sahib has gone to Europe secretly? That is 
 very strange, Bahadur Khan, is it not? " 
 
 " What do I know of the ways of the white man, heaven- 
 born?" 
 
 " Very little, truly. But thou shalt know more. It has 
 reached me that Imray Sahib has returned from his so long 
 
48 THE RECRUDESCENCE OF JMRAY. 
 
 journeyings, and that even now he lies in the next room, 
 waiting his servant." 
 
 "Sahib!" 
 
 The lampHght slid along the barrels of the rifle as they 
 levelled themselves against Bahadur Khan's broad breast. 
 
 "Go, then, and look!" said Strickland. "Take a lamp. 
 Thy master is tired and he waits. Go! " 
 
 The man picked up a lamp and went into the dining room, 
 Strickland following and almost pushing him with the 
 muzzle of the rifle. He looked for a moment at the black 
 depths behind the ceiling cloth, at the carcass of the man- 
 gled snake under foot, and last, a gray glaze setting on hi^ 
 face, at the thing under the table-cloth. 
 
 "Hast thou seen?" said Strickland after a pause. 
 
 " I have seen. I am clay in the white man's hands. 
 What does the presence do? " 
 
 "Hang thee within the month! What else?" 
 
 " Fot kilHng him? Nay, Sahib, consider. Walking among 
 lis, his servants, he cast his eyes upon my child, who was 
 four years old. Him he bewitched, and in ten days he died 
 of the fever. My child!" 
 
 "What said Imray Sahib?" 
 
 " He said he was a handsome child, and patted him on 
 the head; wherefore my child died. Wherefore I killed 
 Imray Sahib in the twilight, when he came back from office 
 and was sleeping. The heaven-born knows all things. I 
 am the servant of the heaven-born." 
 
 Strickland looked at me above the rifle and said, in the 
 vernacular, " Thou art witness to this saying. He has killed." 
 
 Bahadur Khan stood ashen gray in the light of the one 
 lamp. The need for justification came upon him very 
 swiftly. " I am trapped," he said, " but the offence was that 
 man's. He cast an evil eye upon my child, and I killed and 
 hid him. Only such as are served by devils," he glared at 
 
THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRA V. 49 
 
 Tietjens, couched stolidly before him, "only such couic 
 know what I did/' 
 
 " It was clever. But thou shouldst have lashed him to the 
 beam with a rope. Now, thou thyself wilt hang by a rope. 
 Orderly!" 
 
 A drowsy policeman answered Strickland's call. He was 
 followed by another, and Tietjens sat still. 
 
 " Take him to the station," said Strickland. " There is 
 a case toward." 
 
 "Do I hang, then?" said Bahadur Khan, making no at- 
 tempt to escape and keeping his eyes on the ground. 
 
 " If the sun shines or the water runs thou wilt hang," said 
 Strickland. Bahadur Khan stepped back one pace, quivered, 
 and stood still. The two policemen waited further orders. 
 
 "Go!" said Strickland. 
 
 "Nay; but I go very swiftly," said Bahadur Khan. 
 " Look! I am even now a dead man." 
 
 He lifted his foot, and to the little to? there clung the 
 head of the half-killed snake, firm fixed in the agony of death 
 
 " I come of land-holding stock," said Bahadur Khan, rock- 
 ing where he stood. " It were a disgrace for me to go to the 
 public scaffold, therefore I take this way. Be it remembered 
 that the sahib's shirts are correctly enumerated, and that 
 there is an extra piece of soap in his wash-basin. My child 
 was bewitched, and I slew the wizard. Why should you 
 seek to slay me? My honor is saved, and — and — I die." 
 
 At the end of an hour he died as they die who are bitten 
 by the little kariat, and the policemen bore him and the 
 thing under the table-cloth to their appointed places. They 
 were needed to make clear the disappearance of Imray. 
 
 "This," said Strickland, very calmly, as he climbed into 
 bed, " is called the nineteenth century. Did you hear what 
 that man said? " 
 
 "I heard," I answered. "Imray made a mistake." 
 4 
 
5C THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY. 
 
 ** *^imply and solely through not knowing the nature and 
 the coincidence of a little seasonal fever. Bahadur Khan 
 has been with him for four years." 
 
 I shuddered. My own servant had been with me for ex- 
 actly that length of time. When I went over to my own 
 room I found him waiting, impassive as the copper head on 
 a penny, to pull off my boots. 
 
 "What has befallen Bahadur Khan?" said I. 
 
 " He was bitten by a snake and died ; the rest the Sahib 
 knows," was the answer. 
 
 "And how much of the matter hast thou known? " 
 
 "As much as might be gathered from one coming in the 
 twilight to seek satisfaction. Gently, Sahib. Let me pull 
 off those boots." 
 
 I had just settled to the sleep of exhaustion when I heard 
 Strickland shouting from his side of the house: 
 
 "Tietjens has come back to her room! " 
 
 And so she had. The great deerhound was couched on 
 her own bedstead, on her own blanket, and in the next room 
 the idle, empty ceiling cloth wagged light-heartedly as it 
 flailed on the table.*- 
 
MOTI GUJ-MUTINEER, 
 
MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER. 
 
 Once upon a time there was a coffee planter in India who 
 wished to clear some forest land for coffee-planting. When 
 he had cut down all the trees and burned the underwood, 
 the stumps still remained. Dynamite is expensive and slow 
 fire slow. The happy medium for stump-clearing is the lord 
 of all beasts, who is the elephant. He will either push the 
 stump out of the ground with his tusks, if he has any, or 
 drag it out with ropes. The planter, therefore, hired ele- 
 phants by ones and twos and threes, and fell to work. The 
 very best of all the elephants belonged to the very worst of 
 all the drivers or mahouts; and the superior beast's name 
 was Moti Guj. He was the absolute property of his mahout, 
 which would never have been the case under native rule: 
 for Moti Guj was a creature to be desired by kings, and his 
 name, being translated, meant the Pearl Elephant. Because 
 the British government was in the land, Deesa, the mahout, 
 enjoyed his property undisturbed. He was dissipated. 
 When he had made much money through the strength cf his 
 elephant, he would get extremely drunk and give Moti Guj 
 a beating with a tent-peg over the tender nails of the fore- 
 feet. Moti Guj never trampled the life out of Deesa on 
 these occasions, for he knew that after the beating was over, 
 Deesa would embrace his trunk and weep and call him his 
 love and his life and the liver of his soul, and give him some 
 Hquor. Moti Guj was very fond of liquor — arrack for choice, 
 though he would drink palm-tree toddy if nothing better 
 
54 MOT I GUJ— MUTINEER. 
 
 offered. Then Deesa would go to sleep between Moti Guj's 
 forefeet, and as Deesa generally chose the middle of the 
 public road, and as Moti Guj mounted guard over him, and 
 would not permit horse, foot, or cart to pass by, traffic was 
 congested till Deesa saw fit to wake up. 
 
 There was no sleeping in the day-time on the planter's 
 clearing: the wages were too high to risk. Deesa sat on 
 Moti Guj's neck and gave him orders, while Moti Guj rooted 
 up the stumps — for he owned a magnificent pair of tusks; or 
 pulled at the end of a rope — for he had a magnificent pair 
 of shoulders — while Deesa kicked him behind the ears and 
 said he was the king of elephants. At evening time Moti 
 Guj would wash down his three hundred pounds' weight of 
 green food with a quart of arrack, and Deesa would take a 
 share, and sing songs between Moti Guj's legs till it was 
 time to go to bed. Once a week Deesa led Moti Guj down 
 to the river, and Moti Guj lay on his side luxuriously in the 
 shallows, while Deesa went over him with a coir swab and a 
 brick. Moti Guj never mistook the pounding blow of the 
 latter for the smack of the former that warned him to get up 
 and turn over on the other side. Then Deesa would look at 
 his feet and examine his eyes and turn up the fringes of his 
 mighty ears in case of sores or budding ophthalmia. After 
 inspection the two would " come up with a song from the 
 sea," Moti Guj, all black and shining, waving a torn tree 
 branch twelve feet long in his trunk, and Deesa knotting up 
 his own long, wet hair. 
 
 It was a peaceful, well-paid life till Deesa felt the return 
 of the desire to drink deep. He wished for an orgie. The 
 little draughts that led nowhere were taking the manhood 
 out of him. 
 
 He went to the planter, and " My mother's dead," said he, 
 weeping. 
 
 " She died on the last plantation two months ago, and she 
 
MOT I GUJ— MUTINEER. 55 
 
 died once before that when you were working for me last 
 year," said the planter, who knew something of the ways of 
 nativedom. 
 
 "Then it's my aunt, and slie was just the same as a 
 mother to me," said Deesa, weeping more than ever. ^'She 
 has left eighteen small children entirely without bread, and 
 it is I who must fill their little stomachs," said Deesa, beat- 
 ing his head on the floor. 
 
 "Who brought you the news? " said the planter. 
 
 "The post," said Deesa. 
 
 " There hasn't been a post here for the past week. Get 
 back to your lines! " 
 
 "A devastating sickness has fallen on my village, and all 
 my wives are dying," yelled Deesa, really in tears this 
 time. 
 
 " Call Chihun, who comes from Deesa's village," said the 
 planter. "Chihun, has this man got a wife?" 
 
 " He! " said Chihun. " No. Not a woman of our village 
 would look at him. They'd sooner marry the elephant." 
 
 Chihun snorted. Deesa wept and bellowed. 
 
 " You will get into a difficulty in a minute," said the 
 planter. " Go back to your work ! " 
 
 " Now I will speak heaven's truth,'' gulped Deesa, with 
 an inspiration. " I haven't been drunk for two months. I 
 desire to depart in order to get properly drunk afar off and 
 distant from this heavenly plantation. Thus I shall cause 
 no trouble." 
 
 A flickering smile crossed the planter's face. " Deesa," 
 said he, "you've spoken the truth, and I'd give you leave on 
 the spot if anything could be done with Moti Guj while 
 you're awa,y. You know that he will only obey your orders." 
 
 " May the light of the heavens live forty thousand years. 
 I shall be absent but ten little days. After that, upon my 
 faith and honor and soul, I return. As to the inconsiderable 
 
56 MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER. 
 
 interval, have I the gracious permission of the heaven-born 
 to call up Moti Guj ? " 
 
 Permission was granted, and in answer to Deesa's shrill 
 yell, the mighty tusker swung out of the shade of a clump of 
 trees where he had been squirting dust over himself till his 
 master should return. 
 
 " Light of my heart, protector of the drunken, mountain 
 of might, give ear," said Deesa, standing in front of him. 
 
 Moti Guj gave ear, and saluted with his trunk. " I am 
 going away," said Deesa. 
 
 Moti Guj's eyes twinkled. He liked jaunts as well as his 
 master. One could snatch all manner of nice things from 
 the roadside then. 
 
 " But you, you fussy old pig, must stay behind and work." 
 
 The twinkle died out as Moti Guj tried to look dehghted. 
 He hated stump-hauling on the plantation. It hurt his 
 teeth. 
 
 " I shall be gone for ten days, O delectable one. Hold 
 up your near fore-foot and I'll impress the fact upon it, warty 
 toad of a dried mud-puddle." Deesa took a tent-peg and 
 banged Moti Guj ten times on the nails. Moti Guj grunted 
 and shuffled from foot to foot. 
 
 " Ten days," said Deesa, " you will work and haul and root 
 trees as Chihun here shall order you. Take up Chihun and 
 set him on your neck!" Moti Guj curled the tip of his 
 trunk, Chihun put his foot there and was swung on to the 
 neck. Deesa handed Chihun the heavy ankiis — the iron ele- 
 phant goad. 
 
 Chihun thumped Moti Guj's bald head as a pavior 
 thumps a curbstone. 
 
 Moti Guj trumpeted. 
 
 "Be still, hog of the backwoods. Chihun's your mahout 
 for ten days. And now bid me good-by, beast after mine 
 own heart. O my lord, my king. Jewel of all created ele- 
 
MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER. 57 
 
 phants, lily of the herd, preserve your honored health ; be 
 virtuous. Adieu!" 
 
 IMoti Guj lapped his trunk round Deesa and swung him 
 into the air twice. That was his way of bidding him good- 
 by. 
 
 " He'll work now," said Deesa to the planter. " Have 
 I leave to go? " 
 
 The planter nodded, and Deesa dived into the woods. 
 Moti Guj went back to haul stumps. 
 
 Chihun w^ very kind to him, but he felt unhappy and for- 
 lorn for all that. Chihun gave him a ball of spices, and 
 tickled him under the chin, and Chihun's little baby cooed 
 to him after work was over, and Chihun's wife called him a 
 darling; but Moti Guj was a bachelor by instinct, as Deesa 
 was. He did not understand the domestic emotions. He 
 wanted the light of his universe back again — the drink and 
 the drunken slumber, the savage beatings and the savage 
 caresses. 
 
 None the less he worked well, and the planter wondered. 
 Deesa had wandered along the roads till he met a marriage 
 procession of his own caste, and, drinking, dancing, and tip- 
 pling, had drifted with it past all knowledge of the lapse of 
 time. 
 
 The morning of the eleventh day dawnea, ana there re- 
 turned no Deesa. Moti Guj was loosed from his ropes for 
 the daily stint. He swung clear, looked round, shrugged his 
 shoulders, and began to walk away, as one having business 
 elsewhere. 
 
 "Hi! ho! Come back, you," shouted Chihun. "Come 
 back and put me on your neck, misborn mountain. Return, 
 splendor of the hillsides. Adornment of all India, heave to, 
 or ril bang every toe off your fat forefoot! " 
 
 Moti Guj gurgled gently, but did not obey. Chihun ran 
 after him with a rope and caught him up. Moti Guj put his 
 
S^ MOTI GUI— MUTINEER, 
 
 ears forward, and Chihun knew what that meant, though he 
 tried to carry it off with high words. 
 
 " None of your nonsense with me," said he. " To your 
 pickets, devil-son." 
 
 "Hrrump!" said Moti Guj, and that was all — that and 
 the forebent ears. 
 
 Moti Guj put his hands in his pockets, chewed a branch 
 for a toothpick, and strolled about the clearing, making fun 
 of the other elephants who had just set to work. 
 
 Chihun reported the state of affairs to the planter, who 
 came out with a dog-whip and cracked it furiously. Moti 
 Guj paid the white man the compliment of charging him 
 nearly a quarter of a mile across the clearing and " Hrrumph- 
 ing" him into his veranda. Then he stood outside the 
 house chuckhng to himself and shaking all over with the fun 
 of it, as an elephant will. 
 
 " We'll thrash him," said the planter. " He shall have the 
 finest thrashing ever elephant received. Give Kala Nag 
 and Nazim twelve foot of chain apiece, and tell them to lay 
 on twenty." 
 
 Kala Nag — which means Black Snake — and Nazim were 
 two of the biggest elephants in the lines, and one of their 
 duties was to administer the graver punishment, since no 
 man can beat an elephant properly. 
 
 They took the whipping chains and rattled them in their 
 trunks as they sidled up to Moti Guj, meaning to hustle him 
 between them. Moti Guj had never, in all his life of thirty- 
 nine years, been whipped, and he did not intend to begin a 
 new experience. So he waited, waving his head from right 
 to left, and measuring the precise spot in Kala Nag's fat side 
 where a blunt tusk could sink deepest. Kala Nag had no 
 tusks; the chain was his badge of his authority; but for all 
 that, he swung wide of Moti Guj at the last minute, and tried 
 to appear as if he had brought the chain out for amusement. 
 
MOri GUJ—MUTIXEER. 59 
 
 Nazim turned round and went home early. He did not feel 
 fighting fit that morning, and so ]Moti Guj was left standing 
 alone with his ears cocked. 
 
 That decided the planter to argue no more, and Aloti Guj 
 rolled back to his amateur inspection of the clearing. A'n 
 elephant who will not work and is not tied up is about as 
 manageable as an eighty-one-ton gun loose in a heavy sea- 
 way. He slapped old friends on the back and asked them if 
 the stumps were coming away easily; he talked nonsense 
 concerning labor and the inalienable rights of elephants to a 
 long " nooning ; "' and, wandering to and fro, he thoroughly 
 demoralized the garden till sundown, when he returned to 
 his pickets for food. 
 
 " If you won t work you shan't eat," said Chihun angrily. 
 " You're a wild elephant, and no educated animal at all. 
 Go back to your jungle." 
 
 Chihun's little brown baby was roUing on the floor of the 
 hut, and stretching out its fat arms to the huge shadow in 
 the doorway. jNIoti Guj knew well that it was the dearest 
 thing on earth to Chihun. He swung out his trunk with a 
 fascinating crook at the end, and the brown baby threw itself 
 shouting upon it. jMoti Guj made fast and pulled up till the 
 brown baby was crowing in the air twelve feet above his 
 father's head. 
 
 "Great Lord! " said Chihun. "Flour cakes of the best, 
 twelve in number, two feet across and soaked in rum, shall 
 be yours on the instant, and two hundred pounds' weight of 
 fresh-cut young sugar-cane therewith. Deign only to put 
 down safely that insignificant brat who is my heart and my 
 life to me." 
 
 Moti Guj tucked the brown baby comfortably between his 
 forefeet, that could have knocked into toothpicks all Chihun's 
 hut, and waited for his food. He ate it, and the brown baby 
 crawled away. Moti Guj dozed and thought of Decsa. One 
 
6o MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER. 
 
 of many mysteries connected with the elephant is that his 
 huge body needs less sleep than anything else that lives. 
 Four or five hours in the night suffice — two just before mid- 
 night, lying down on one side; two just after one o'clock, 
 lying down on the other. The rest of the silent hours are 
 filled with eating and fidgeting, and long grumbling solilo- 
 quies. 
 
 At midnight, therefore, Moti Guj strode out of his pickets, 
 for a thought had come to him that Deesa might be lying 
 drunk somewhere in the dark forest with none to look after 
 him. So all that night he chased through the undergrowth, 
 blowing and trumpeting and shaking his ears. He went 
 down to the river and blared across the shallows where Deesa 
 used to wash him, but there was no answer. He could not 
 find Deesa, but he disturbed all the other elephants in the 
 lines, and nearly frightened to death some gypsies in the 
 woods. 
 
 At dawn Deesa returned to the plantation. He had been 
 very drunk indeed, and he expected to get into trouble for 
 outstaying his leave. He drew a long breath when he saw 
 that the bungalow and the plantation were still uninjured, 
 for he knew something of Moti Guj's temper, and reported 
 himself with many lies and salaams. Moti Guj had gone to 
 his pickets for breakfast. The night exercise had made him 
 hungry. 
 
 " Call up your beast," said the planter, and Deesa shouted 
 in the mysterious elephant language that some mahouts be- 
 lieve came from China at the birth of the world, when ele- 
 phants and not men were masters. Moti Guj heard and 
 came. Elephants do not gallop. They move from places 
 at varying rates of speed. If an elephant wished to catch 
 an express train he could not gallop, but he could catch the 
 train. So Moti Guj was at the planter's door almost before 
 Chihun noticed that he had left his pickets. He fell into 
 
MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER. 6 1 
 
 Deesa's arms trumpeting with joy, and the man and beast 
 wept and slobbered over each other, and handled each other 
 from head to heel to see that no harm had befallen. 
 
 " Now we will get to work," said Deesa. " Lift me up, 
 my son and my joy." 
 
 Moti Guj swung him up and the two went to the coffee 
 clearing to look for difficult stumps. 
 
 The planter was too astonished to be very angry. 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE 
 MAVERICKS. 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 When three obscure gentlemen in San Francisco argued 
 on insufficient premises they condemned a fellow-creature to 
 a most unpleasant death in a far country, which had nothing 
 whatever to do with the United States. They foregathered 
 at the top of a tenement-house in Tehama Street, an un- 
 savory quarter of the city, and there calling for certain 
 drinks, they conspired because they were conspirators by 
 trade, officially known as the Third Three of the I. A. A. — an 
 institution for the propagation of pure light, not to be con- 
 founded with any others, though it is affihated to many. The 
 Second Three live in Montreal and work among the poor 
 there ; the First Three have their home in New York, not 
 far from Castle Garden, and write regularly once a week to 
 a small house near one of the big hotels at Boulogne. What 
 happens after that, a particular section of Scotland Yard 
 knows too well and laughs at. A conspirator detests ridicule. 
 More men have* been stabbed with Lucrezia Borgia daggers 
 and dropped into the Thames for laughing at head centres 
 and triangles than for betraying secrets ; for this is human 
 nature. 
 
 The Third Three conspired over whiskey cocktails and a 
 clean sheet of note-paper against the British Empire and all 
 that lay therein. This work is very like what men without 
 discernment call politics before a general election. You pick 
 out and discuss in the company of congenial friends all the 
 weak points in your opponent's organization, and uncon- 
 5 
 
66 THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 sciously dwell upon and exaggerate all their mishaps, till it 
 seems to you a miracle that the party holds together for an 
 hour. 
 
 " Our principle is not so much active demonstration — that 
 we leave to others — as passive embarrassment to weaken and 
 unnerve," said the first man. " Wherever an organization is 
 crippled, wherever a confusion is thrown into any branch of 
 any department, we gain a step for those who take on the 
 work J we are but the forerunners." He was a German en- 
 thusiast, and editor of a newspaper, from whose leading arti- 
 cles he quoted frequently. 
 
 "That cursed Empire makes so many blunders of her own 
 that unless we doubled the year's average I guess it wouldn't 
 strike her anything special had occurred," said the second 
 man. "Are you prepared to say that all our resources are 
 equal to blowing off the muzzle of a hundred-ton gun or 
 spiking a ten -thousand-ton ship on a plain rock in clear day- 
 light? They can beat us at our own game. Better join 
 hands with the practical branches ; we're in funds now. Try 
 a direct scare in a crowded street. They value their greasy 
 hides." He was the drag upon the wheel, and an American- 
 ized Irishman of the second generation, despising his own 
 race and hating the other. He had learned caution. 
 
 The third man drank his cocktail and spoke no word. 
 He was the strategist, but unfortunately his knowledge of life 
 was limited. He picked a letter from his breast-pocket and 
 threw it across the table. That epistle to the heathen con- 
 tained some very concise directions from the First Three in 
 New York. It said: 
 
 " The boom in black iron has already affected the eastern 
 markets where our agents have been forcing down the Kng- 
 lish-held stock among the smaller buyers who watch the 
 turn of shares. Any immediate operations, such as western 
 bears, would increase their wiUingness to unload. This, how- 
 
THE MUTIXY OF THE MATE RICKS. 67 
 
 ever, cannot be expected till they see clearly that foreign 
 iron-masters are willing to co-operate. Mulcahy should be 
 dispatched to feel the pulse of the market, and act accord- 
 ingly. Mavericks are at present the best for our purpose. — 
 P. D. Q." 
 
 As a message referring to an iron crisis in Pennsylvania it 
 was interesting, if not lucid. As a new departure in organ- 
 ized attack on an outlying English dependency, it was more 
 than interesting. 
 
 The first man read it through and murmured: 
 
 "Already? Surely they are in too great hurry. All that 
 Dhulip Singh could do in India he has done, down to the 
 distribution of his photographs among the peasantry. Ho! 
 Ho! The Paris firm arranged that, and he has no substan- 
 tial money backing from the Other Power. Even our agents 
 in India know he hasn't. What is the use of our organization 
 wasting men on work that is already done? Of course, the 
 Irish regiments in India are half-mutinous as they stand." 
 
 This shows how near a lie may come to the truth. An 
 Irish regiment, for just so long as it stands still, is generally 
 a hard handful to control, being reckless and rough. When, 
 however, it is moved in the direction of musketry-firing, it 
 becomes strangely and unpatriotically content with its lot. 
 It has even been heard to cheer the queen with enthusiasm 
 on these occasions. 
 
 But the notion of tampering with the army was, from the 
 point of view of Tehama Street, an altogether sound one. 
 There is no shadow of stability in the policy of an English 
 government, and the most sacred oaths of England would, 
 even if embossed on vellum, find very few buyers among 
 colonies and dependencies that have suffered from vain be- 
 liefs. But there remains to England always her army. That 
 cannot change except in the matter of uniform and equip- 
 ment. The officers may write to the papers demanding the 
 
68 THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 heads of the Horse Guards in default of cleaner redress for 
 grievances; the men may break loose across a country town 
 and seriously startle the publicans, but neither officers nor 
 men have it in their composition to mutiny after the Conti- 
 nental manner. The English people, when they trouble to 
 think about the army at all, are, and with justice, absolutely 
 assured that it is absolutely trustworthy. Imagine for a mo- 
 ment their emotions on realizing that such and such a regi- 
 ment was in open revolt from causes directly due to Eng- 
 land's management of Ireland. They would probably send 
 the regiment to the polls forthwith and examine their own 
 consciences as to their duty to Erin, but they would never 
 be easy any more. And it was this vague, unhappy mistrust 
 that the I. A. A. was laboring to produce. 
 
 "Sheer waste of breath," said the second man after a pause 
 in the council. " I don't see the use of tampering with their 
 fool-army, but it has been tried before and we must try it 
 again. It looks well in the reports. If we send one man 
 from here, you may bet your life that other men are going 
 too. Order up Mulcahy." 
 
 They ordered him up — a slim, slight, dark -haired young 
 man, devoured with that bUnd rancorous hatred of England 
 that only reaches its full growth across the Atlantic. He 
 had sucked it from his mothers breast in the little cabin at 
 the back of the northern avenues of New York; he had been 
 taught his rights and hi» wrongs, in German and Irish, on the 
 canal fronts of Chicago; and San Francisco held men who 
 told him strange and awful things of the great blind power 
 over the seas. Once, when business took him across the 
 Atlantic, he had served in an English regiment, and being 
 insubordinate had suffered extremely. He drew all his ideas 
 of England that were not bred by the cheaper patriotic prints 
 from one iron-fisted colonel and an unbending adjutant. He 
 would go to the mines if need be to teach his gospel. And 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 69 
 
 he went as his instructions advised, p. d. q. — which means 
 "with speed" — to introduce embarrassment into an Irish 
 regiment, "already half-mutinous, quartered among Sikh 
 peasantry, all wearing miniatures of His Highness Dhulip 
 Singh, Maharaja of the Punjab, next their hearts, and all 
 eagerly expecting his arrival." Other information equally 
 valuable was given him by his masters. He was to be cau- 
 tious, but never to grudge expense in winning the hearts of 
 the men in the regiment. His mother in New York would 
 supply funds, and he was to write to her once a month. Life 
 is pleasant for a man who has a mother in New York to send 
 him ;£^2oo a year over and above his regimental pay. 
 
 In process of time, thanks to his intimate knowledge of 
 drill and musketry exercise, the excellent Mulcahy, wearing 
 the corporal's stripe, went out in a troop-ship and joined Her 
 Majesty's Royal Loyal Musketeers, commonly known as the 
 " Mavericks," because they were masterless and unbranded 
 cattle — sons of small farmers in County Clare, shoeless vaga- 
 bonds of Kerry, herders of Ballyvegan, much wanted " moon- 
 lighters " from the bare rainy headlands of the south coast, 
 officered by O'Mores, Bradys, Hills, Kilreas, and the like. 
 Never, to outward seeming, was there more promising material 
 to work on. The First Three had chosen their regiment well. 
 It feared nothing that moved or talked save the colonel and 
 the regimental Roman Catholic chaplain, the fat Father 
 Dennis, who held the keys of heaven and hell and glared 
 like an angry bull when he desired to be convincing. Him 
 also it loved because on occasions of stress he was wont to 
 tuck up his cassock and charge with the rest into the mer- 
 riest of the fray, where he always found, good man, that the 
 saints sent him a revolver when there was a fallen private to 
 be protected or — but this came as an after-thought — his own 
 gray head to be guarded. 
 
 Cautiously as he had been instructed, tenderly and with 
 
79 THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 much beer, Mulcahy opened his projects to such as he 
 deemed fittest to listen. And these were, one and all. of 
 that quaint, crooked, sweet, profoundly irresponsible, rnd 
 profoundly lovable race that fight like fiends, argue like chil- 
 dren, reason like women, obey like men, and jest like their 
 own gobhns of the rath through rebellion, loyalty, want, woe, 
 or war. The underground work of a conspiracy is always 
 dull and very much the same the world over. At the end of 
 six months — the seed always falling on good ground — Mul- 
 cahy spoke almost explicitly, hinting darkly in the approved 
 fashion at dread powers behind him, and advising nothing 
 more nor less than mutiny. Were they. not dogs, evilly 
 treated ; had they not all their own and the natural revenges 
 to satisfy? Who in these days could do aught to nine hun- 
 dred men in rebellion ; who, again, could stay them if they 
 broke for the sea, licking up on their way other regiments 
 only too anxious to join? And afterward . . . here fol- 
 lowed windy promises of gold and preferment, office and 
 honor, ever dear to a certain type of Irishman. 
 
 As he finished his speech, in the dusk of a twilight, to his 
 chosen associates, there was a sound of a rapidly-unslung 
 belt behind him. The arm of one Dan Grady flew out in 
 the gloom and arrested something. Then said Dan : 
 
 " Mulcahy, you're a great man, an' you do credit to who- 
 ever sent you. Walk about a bit while we think of it." 
 Mulcahy departed elate. He knew his words would sink 
 deep. 
 
 " Why the triple-dashed asterisks did ye not let me curl 
 the tripes out of him? " grunted a voice. 
 
 " Because I'm not a fat-headed fool. Boys, 'tis what he's 
 been driving at these six months — our superior corpril with 
 his education and his copies of the Irish papers and his ever- 
 lasting beer. He's been sent for the purpose and that's where 
 the money comes from. Can ye not see? That man's a 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 7 1 
 
 crxDld-mine, which Horse Egan here would have destroyed 
 s^ith a belt-buckle. It would be throwing away the gifts of 
 Providence not to fall in with his little plans. Of course 
 we'll mutiny till all's dry. Shoot the colonel on the parade- 
 ground, massacre the company officers, ransack the arsenal, 
 and then — boys, did he tell you what next? He told 7}ie 
 the other night when he was beginning to talk wild. Then 
 we're to join with the niggers, and look for help from Dhulip 
 Singh and the Russians! " 
 
 "And spoil the best campaign that ever was this side of 
 hell! Danny, I'd have lost the beer to ha' given him the 
 belting he requires." 
 
 "Oh, let him go this awhile, man! He's got no— no con- 
 structiveness, but that's the egg-meat of his plan and you 
 must understand that I'm in with it, an' so are you. We'll 
 want oceans of beer to convince us — firmaments full. We'll 
 give him talk for his money, and one by one all the boys'U 
 come in, and he'll have a nest of nine hundred mutineers to 
 squat in an' give drink to." 
 
 " What makes me killing-mad is his wanting us to do what 
 the niggers did thirty years gone. That an' his pig's cheek 
 in saying that other regiments would come along," said a 
 Kerry man. 
 
 " That's not so bad as hintin' we should loose off at the 
 colonel." 
 
 "Colonel be sugared! I'd as soon as not put a shot 
 through his helmet to see him jump and clutch his old horse's 
 head. But Mulcahy talks o' shootin' our comp'ny orf'cers 
 accidental.'' 
 
 " He said that, did he? " said Horse Egan. 
 
 "Somethin' like that, anyways. Can't ye fancy ould Bar- 
 ber Brady wid a bullet in his lungs, coughin' like a sick mon- 
 key an' sayin' : ' Bhoys, I do not mind your gettin' dhrunk, 
 but you must hould your liquor like men. The man that 
 
7-« THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 shot mc is dhrunk. I'll suspend investigations for six hours, 
 while I get this bullet cut out, and then ' " 
 
 "An' then," continued Horse Egan, for the peppery 
 major's peculiarities of speech and manner were as well 
 known as his tanned face — " an' then, ye dissolute, half-baked, 
 putty-faced scum o' Connemara, if I find a man so much as 
 lookin' confused, bedad, I'll coort-martial the whole com- 
 pany. A man that can't get over his liquor in six hours is 
 not fit to belong to the Mavericks! " 
 
 A shout of laughter bore witness to the truth of the 
 sketch. 
 
 " It's pretty to think of," said the Kerry man slowly 
 " Mulcahy would have us do all the devilment, and get clear 
 himself, someways. He wudn't be takin' all this fools 
 throuble in shpoilin' the reputation of the regiment." 
 
 " Reputation of your grandmother's pig! " said Dan. 
 
 " Well, an' he had a good reputation tu ; so it's all right. 
 Mulcahy must see his way to clear out behind him, or he'd 
 not ha' come so far, talkin' powers of darkness." 
 
 "Did you hear anything of a regimental court-martial 
 among the Black Boneens, these days? Half a company of 
 'em took one of the new draft an' hanged him by his arms 
 with a tent rope from a third-story veranda. They gave 
 no reason for so doin', but he was half-dead. I'm thinking 
 that the Boneens are short-sighted. It was a friend of Mul- 
 cahy's, or a man in the same trade. They'd a deal better 
 ha' taken his beer," returned Dan reflectively. 
 
 " Better still ha' handed him up to the colonel," said Horse 
 
 Egan, " onless . But sure the news wud be all over the 
 
 counthry an' give the reg'ment a bad name." 
 
 "An' there'd be no reward for that man — but he went 
 about talkin'," said the Kerry man artlessly. 
 
 "You speak by your breed," said Dan, with a laugh. 
 "There was never a Kerry man yet that wudn't sell his 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 73 
 
 brother for a pipe o' tobacco an' a pat on the back from a 
 policeman.'" 
 
 "Thank God I'm not a bloomin' Orangeman," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " No, nor never will be,'' said Dan. " They breed men in 
 Ulster. Would you like to thry the taste of one? " 
 
 The Kerry man looked and longed, but forebore. The 
 odds of battle were too great. 
 
 " Then you'll not even give Mulcahy a — a strike for his 
 money," said the voice of Horse Egan, who regarded 
 what he called " trouble " of any kind as the pinnacle of 
 felicity. 
 
 Dan answered not at all, but crept on tiptoe, with large 
 strides, to the mess-room, the men following. The room 
 was empty. In a corner, cased like the King of Dahomey's 
 state umbrella, stood the regimental colors. Dan Hfted them 
 tenderly and unrolled in the light of the candles the record 
 of the Mavericks — tattered, worn, and hacked. The white 
 satin was darkened everywhere with big brown stains, the 
 gold threads on the crowned harp were frayed and dis- 
 colored, and the red bull, the totem of the Mavericks, was 
 coffee-hued. The stiff, embroidered folds, whose price is 
 human life, rustled down slowly. The Mavericks keep their 
 colors long and guard them very sacredly. 
 
 " Vittoria, Salamanca, Toulouse, Waterloo, Moodkee, 
 Ferozshah, and Sobraon — that was fought close next door 
 here, against the very beggars he wants as to join. Inker- 
 mann, the Alma, Sebastopol! What are those little busi- 
 nesses compared to the campaigns of General Mulcahy? 
 The mut'ny, think o' that; the mutn'y an' some dirty little 
 matters in Afghanistan, and for that an' these and those "-^ 
 Dan pointed to the names of glorious battles — " that Yankee 
 man with the partin' in his hair comes and says as easy as 
 'have a drink' . . . holy Moses! there's the captain!" 
 
74 THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 But it was the mess-sergeant who came in just as the men 
 clattered out, and found the colors uncased. 
 
 From that day dated the mutiny of the Mavericks, to the 
 joy of Mulcahy and the pride of his mother in New York — the 
 good lady who sent the money for the beer. Never, as far 
 as words went, was such a mutiny. The conspirators, led by 
 Dan Grady and Horse Egan, poured in daily. They were 
 sound men, men to be trusted, and they all wanted blood ; 
 but first they must have beer. They cursed the queen, they 
 mourned over Ireland, they suggested hideous plunder of the 
 Indian country side, and then, alas — some of the younger 
 men would go forth and wallow on the ground in spasms of 
 unholv laughter. The genius of the Irish for conspiracies 
 is remarkable. None the less they would swear no oaths 
 but those of their own making, which were rare and curious, 
 and they were always at pains to impress Mulcahy with the 
 risks they ran. Naturally the flood of beer wrought demoral- 
 ization. But Mulcahy confused the causes of things, and 
 when a pot-valiant Maverick smote a servant on the nose or 
 tailed his commanding officer a bald-headed old lard- bladder 
 and even worse names, he fancied that rebellion and not 
 liquor was at the bottom of the outbreak. Other gentlemen 
 who have concerned themselves in larger conspiracies have 
 made the same error. 
 
 The hot season, in which they protested no man could 
 rebel, came to an end, and Mulcahy suggested a visible re- 
 turn for his teachings. As to the actual upshot of the mutiny, 
 he cared nothing. It would be enough if the English, in- 
 fatuatedly trusting to the integrity of their army, should be 
 startled with news of an Irish regiment revolting from poUt- 
 ical considerations. His persistent demands would have 
 ended, at Dan's instigation, in a regimental belting which in 
 all probability would have killed him and cut off the supply 
 of beer, had not he been sent on special duty some fifty 
 
THE MUTIXY OF THE MAVERICKS. 75 
 
 miles away from the cantonment to cool his heels in a mud 
 fort and dismount obsolete artillery. Then the colonel of the 
 Mavericks, reading his newspaper diligently and scenting 
 frontier trouble from afar, posted to the army headquarters and 
 pleaded with the commander-in-chief for certain privileges, 
 to be granted under certain contingencies; which contingen- 
 cies came about only a week later when the annual little war 
 on the border developed itself and the colonel returned to 
 carry the good news to the Mavericks. He held the prom- 
 ise of the chief for active service, and the men must get 
 ready. 
 
 On the evening of the same day, Mulcahy, an unconsid- 
 ered corporal — yet great in conspiracy — returned to canton- 
 ments, and heard sounds of strife and howlings from afar 
 off. The mutiny had broken out and the barracks of the 
 Mavericks were one whitewashed pandemonium. A private 
 tearing through the barrack-square gasped in his ear, " Ser- 
 vice! Active service! It's a burnin' shame." Oh, joy, the 
 Mavericks had risen on the eve of battle ! They would not 
 — noble and loyal sons of Ireland — serve the queen longer. 
 The news would flash through the country side and over to 
 England, and he — Mulcahy — the trusted of the Third Three, 
 had brought about the crash. The private stood in the mid- 
 dle of the square and cursed colonel, regiment, officers, and 
 doctor, particularly the doctor, by his gods. An orderly of 
 the native cavalry regiment clattered through the mob of 
 soldiers. He was half-lifted, half-dragged from his horse, 
 beaten on the back with mighty hand-claps till his eyes 
 watered, and called all manner of endearing names. Yes, 
 the Mavericks had fraternized with the native troops. Who, 
 then, was the agent among the latter that had blindly wrought 
 with Mulcahy so well? 
 
 An officer slunk, almost ran, from the mess to a barrack. 
 He was mobbed by the infuriated soldiery, who closed round 
 
76 THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 but did not kill him, for he fought his way to shelter, flying for 
 the life. Mulcahy could have wept with pure joy and thank- 
 fulness. The very prisoners in the guard-room were shaking 
 the bars of their cells and howling like wild beasts, and from 
 every barrack poured the booming as of a big war-drum. 
 
 Mulcahy hastened to his own barrack. He could hardly 
 hear himself speak. Eighty men were pounding with fist 
 and heel the tables and trestles — eighty men flushed with 
 mutiny, stripped to their shirt-sleeves, their knapsacks half- 
 packed for the march to the sea, made the two-inch boards 
 thunder again as they chanted to a tune that Mulcahy knew 
 well, the Sacred War Song of the Mavericks : 
 
 " Listen in the north, my boys, there's trouble on the wind ; 
 Tramp o' Cossack hooves in front, gray great-coats behind. 
 Trouble on the frontier of a most amazin' kind, 
 Trouble on the water o' the Oxus ! " 
 
 Then as a table broke under the furious accompaniment: 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! it's north by west we go ; 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! the chance we wanted so ; 
 Let 'em hear the chorus from Umballa to Moscow, 
 As we go marching to the Kremling." 
 
 " Mother of all the saints in bliss and all the devils in 
 cinders, where's my fine new sock widout the heel? " howled 
 Horse Egan, ransacking everybody's knapsack but his own. 
 He was engaged in making up deficiencies of kit preparatory 
 to a campaign, and in that employ, he steals best who steals 
 last. "Ah, Mulcahy, you're in good time," he shouted. 
 "We've got the route, and we're off on Thursday for a pic- 
 nic wid the Lancers next door.'' 
 
 An ambulance orderly appeared with a huge basket full of 
 lint rolls, provided by the forethought of the queen, for such 
 as might need them later on. Horse Egan unrolled his 
 bandage and flicked it under Mulcahy's nose, chanting: 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 77 
 
 ** * Sheep's skin an' bees' wax, thunder, pitch, and plaster ; 
 The more you try to pull it off, the more it sticks the faster. 
 As I was goin* to New Orleans ' 
 
 " You know the rest of it, my Irish-American-Jew boy. 
 By gad, ye have to fight for the queen in the inside av 3 
 fortnight, my darhn'." 
 
 A roar of laughter interrupted. Mulcahy looked vacantly 
 down the room. Bid a boy defy his father when the pan- 
 tomime-cab is at the door, or a girl develop a will of her 
 ov/n when her mother is putting the last touches to the first 
 ball dress; but do not ask an Irish regiment to embark upon 
 mutiny on the eve of a campaign ; when it has fraternized 
 with the native regiment that accompanies it, and driven its 
 officers into retirement with ten thousand clamorous ques- 
 tions, and the prisoners dance for joy, and the sick men stand 
 in the open calling down all known diseases on the head of 
 the doctor who has certified that they are " medically unfit 
 for active service." At even the Mavericks might have been 
 mistaken for mutineers by one so unversed in their natures 
 as Mulcahy. At dawn a girls' school might have learned de- 
 portment from them. They knew that their colonel's hand had 
 closed, and that he who broke that iron discipline would not 
 go to the front. Nothing in the world will persuade one of 
 our soldiers when he is ordered to the north on the smallest 
 of affairs, that he is not immediately going gloriously to slay 
 Cossacks and cook his kettles in the palace of the czar. 
 A few of the younger men mourned for Mulcahy's beer, be- 
 cause the campaign was to be conducted on strict temper- 
 ance principles, but, as Dan and Horse Egan said sternly, 
 " We've got the beerman with us; he shall drink now on his 
 own hook." 
 
 Mulcahy had not taken into account the possibility of 
 being sent on active service. He had made up his mind that 
 he would not go under any circumstances, but fortune was 
 against him. 
 
78 THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 " Sick — you? " said the doctor, who had served an unholy 
 apprenticeship to his trade in Tralee poor-houses. " You're 
 only home-sick, and what you call varicose veins come from 
 overeating. A little gentle exercise will cure that." And 
 later: " Mulcahy, my man, everybody is allowed to apply 
 for a sick certificate once. If he tries it twice we call him by 
 an ugly name. Go back to your duty, and let's hear no 
 more of your diseases." 
 
 I am ashamed to say that Horse Egan enjoyed the study 
 of Mulcahy's soul in those days, and Dan took an equal in- 
 terest. Together they would communicate to their corporal 
 all the dark lore of death that is the portion of those who 
 have seen men die. Egan had the larger experience, but 
 Dan the finer imagination. Mulcahy shivered when the 
 former spoke of the knife as an intimate acquaintance, or 
 the latter dwelt with loving particularity on the fate of those 
 who, wounded and helpless, had been overlooked by the 
 ambulances, and had fallen into the hands of the Afghan 
 women-folk. 
 
 Mulcahy knew that the mutiny, for the present at least, 
 was dead. Knew, too, that a change had come over Dan's 
 usually respectful attitude toward him, and Horse Egan's 
 laughter and frequent allusions to abortive conspiracies em- 
 phasized all that the conspirator had guessed. The horrible 
 fascination of the death-stories, however, made him seek 
 their society. He learnt much more than he had bargained 
 for; and in this manner. It was on the last night before the 
 regiment entrained to the front. The barracks were stripped 
 of everything movable, and the men were too excited to 
 sleep. The bare walls gave out a heavy hospital smell of 
 chloride of lime — a stench that depresses the soul. 
 
 "And what," said Mulcahy in an awe-stricken whisper, 
 after some conversation on the eternal subject, "are you 
 going to do to me, Dan?" This might have been the lan- 
 guage of an able conspirator conciliating a weak spirit. 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 79 
 
 "You'll see," said Dan, grimly turning over in his cot, "or 
 I rather shud say you'll not see." 
 
 This was hardly the language of a weak spirit. Mulcahy 
 shook under the bedclothes. 
 
 " Be easy with him," put in Egan from the next cot. " He 
 has got his chanst o' goin' clean. Listen, Mulcahy: all we 
 want is for the good sake of the regiment that you take your 
 death standing up, as a man shud. There be heaps an' 
 heaps of enemy — plenshus heaps. Go there an' do all you 
 can and die decent. You'll die with a good name there, 
 'Tis not a hard thing considerin'." 
 
 Again Mulcahy shivered. 
 
 "And how could a man wish to die better than fightin'?" 
 added Dan consolingly. 
 
 "And if I won't? " said the corporal in a dry whisper. 
 
 "There'll be a dale of smoke," returned Dan, sitting up 
 and ticking off the situation on his fingers, " sure to be, an' 
 the noise of the firin' '11 be tremenjus, an' we'll be running 
 about up and down, the regiment will. But we. Horse and 
 I — we'll stay by you, Mulcahy, and never let you go. IVTay- 
 be there'll be an accident." 
 
 " It's playing it low on me. Let me go. For pity's sake 
 let me go. I never did you harm, and — and I stood you as 
 much beer as I could. Oh, don't be hard on me, Dan. You 
 are — you were in it, too. You won't kill me up there, will 
 you?" 
 
 " I'm not thinkin' of the treason ; though you shud be glad 
 any honest boys drank with you. It's for the regiment. We 
 can't have the shame o' you bringin' shame on us. You 
 went to the doctor quiet as a sick cat to get and stay behind 
 an' live with the women at the depot — you that wanted us 
 to run to the sea in wolf-packs like the rebels none of your 
 black blood dared to be! But we knew about your goin' 
 to the doctor, for he told it in mess, and it's all over the reg- 
 
^O THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 iment. Bein' as we are, your best friends, we didn't allow 
 any one to molest you yet. We will see to you ourselves. 
 Fight which you will — us or the enemy — you'll never lie in 
 that cot again, and there's more glory and maybe less kicks 
 from fighting the enemy. That's fair speakin'." 
 
 "And he told us by word of mouth to go and join with 
 the niggers — you've forgotten that, Dan," said Horse Egan, 
 to justify sentence. 
 
 "What's the use of plaguin' the man? One shot pays for 
 all. Sleep ye sound, Mulcahy. But you onderstand, do ye 
 not?" 
 
 Mulcahy for some weeks understood very little of anything 
 at all save that ever at his elbow, in camp, or at parade, 
 stood two big men with soft voices adjuring him to commit 
 hari-kari lest a worse thing should happen — to die for the 
 honor of the regiment in deceny among the nearest knives. 
 But Mulcahy dreaded death. He remembered certain 
 things that priests had said in his infancy, and his mother — 
 not the one at New York — starting from her sleep with 
 shrieks to pray for a husband's soul in torment. It is well 
 to be of a cultured intelligence, but in time of trouble the 
 weak human mind returns to the creed it sucked in at the 
 breast, and if that creed be not a pretty one trouble follows. 
 Also, the death he would have to face would be physically 
 painful. Most conspirators have large imaginations. Mul- 
 cahy could see himself, as he lay on the earth in the night, 
 dying by various causes. They were all horrible ; the mother 
 in New York was very far away, and the regiment, the en- 
 gine that, once you fall in its grip, moves you forward whether 
 you will or won't, was daily coming closer to the enemy ! 
 
 ****** k 
 
 They were brought to the field of Marzun-Katai, and with 
 the Black Boneens to aid, they fought a fight that has never 
 been set down in the newspapers. In response, many be- 
 
THE MUTIXY OF THE MA VESICA'S. 8i 
 
 lieve, to the fervent ])ravers of Father Dennis, the enemy 
 not only elected to fight in the open, but made a beautiful 
 fight, as many weeping Irish mothers knew later. They 
 gathered behind walls or flickered across the open in shout- 
 ing masses, and were pot-valiant in artillery. It was expedi- 
 ent to hold a large reserve and wait for the psychological 
 moment that was being prepared by the shrieking shrapnel. 
 Therefore the Mavericks lay down in open order on the 
 brow of a hill to watch the play till their call should come. 
 Father Dennis, whose place was in the rear, to smooth the 
 trouble of the wounded, had naturally managed to make his 
 way to the foremost of his boys, and lay, like a black por- 
 poise, at length on the grass. To him crawled Mulcahy, 
 ashen-gray, demanding absolution. 
 
 "Wait till you're shot," said Father Dennis sweetly. 
 "There's a time for everything." 
 
 Dan Grady chuckled as he blew for the fiftieth time into 
 the breech of his speckless rifle. Mulcahy groaned and 
 buried his head in his arms till a stray shot spoke like a 
 snipe immediately above his head, and a general heave and 
 tremor rippled the line. Other shots followed and a few 
 took effect, as a shriek or a grunt attested. The officers, 
 who had been lying down with the men, rose and began to 
 walk steadily up and down the front of tiieir companies. 
 
 This manoeuvre, executed not for publication, but as a 
 guarantee of good faith, to soothe men, demands nerve. You 
 must not hurry, you must not look nervous, though you know 
 that you are a mark for every rifle within extreme range; 
 and, above all, if you are smitten you must make as little 
 noise as possible and roll inward through the files. It is at 
 this hour, when the breeze brings the first salt whiff of the 
 powder to noses rather cold at the tips and the eye can 
 quietly take in the appearance of ench red casualty, that the 
 strain on the nerves is stronfjest. Scotch regiments can en- 
 6 
 
Bl THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 dure for half a day and abate no whit of their zeal at the 
 end; English regiments sometimes sulk under punishment, 
 while the Irish, like the French, are apt to run forward by ones 
 and twos, which is just as bad as running back. The truly 
 wise commandant of highly-strung troops allows them in 
 seasons of waiting to hear the sound of their own voices up- 
 lifted in song. There is a legend of an English regiment 
 that lay by its arms under fire chanting " Sam Hall," to the 
 horror of its newly-appointed and pious colonel. The Black 
 Boneens, who were suffering more than the Mavericks, on a 
 hill half a mile away, began presently to explain to all who 
 cared to hsten — 
 
 " We'll sound the jubilee, from the centre to the sea, 
 And Ireland shall be free, says the Shan-van Vogh." 
 
 " Sing, boys," said Father Dennis softly. " It looks as if 
 we cared for their Afghan peas." 
 
 Dan Grady raised himself to his knees and opened his 
 mouth in a song imparted to him, as to most of his comrades, 
 in the strictest confidence by Mulcahy — that Mulcahy then 
 lying limp and fainting on the grass, the chill fear of death 
 upon him. 
 
 Company after company caught up the words which, the 
 I. A. A. say, are to herald the general rising of Erin, and to 
 breathe which, except to those duly appointed to hear, is 
 death. Wherefore they are printed in this place. 
 
 *' The Saxon in heaven's just balance is weighed, 
 
 His doom, like Belshazzar's, in death has been cast, 
 And the hand of the 'venger shall never be stayed 
 
 Till his race, faith, and speech are a dream of the past." 
 
 They were heart-filling lines and they ran with a swirl; the 
 I. A. A. are better served by pens than their petards. Dan 
 clapped Mulcahy merrily on the back, asking him to sing up. 
 The officers lay down again. There was no need to walk 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 83 
 
 any more. Their men were soothing themselves thunder- 
 ously, thus: 
 
 " St. Mary in heaven has written the vow 
 
 That the land shall not rest till the heretic blood, 
 From the babe at the breast to the hand at the plough, 
 Has rolled to the ocean like Shannon in flood ! " 
 
 " rU speak to you after all's over," said Father Dennis 
 authoritatively in Dan's ear. " What's the use of confessing 
 to me when you do this foohshness? Dan, you've been 
 playing with fire! I'll lay you more penance in a week 
 than " 
 
 " Come along to purgatory with us, Father, dear. The 
 Boneens are on the move; they'll let us go now! " 
 
 The regiment rose to the blast of the bugle as one man ; 
 but one man there was who rose more swiftly than all the 
 others, for half an inch of bayonet was in the fleshy part of 
 his leg. 
 
 " You've got to do it," said Dan grimly. " Do it decent, 
 anyhow; " and the roar of the rush drowned his words as the 
 rear companies thrust forward the first, still singing as they 
 swung down the slope : 
 
 *' From the child at the breast to the hand at the plough 
 Shall roll to the ocean like Shannon in flood ! " 
 
 They should have sung it in the face of England, not of 
 the Afghans, whom it impressed as much as did the wild 
 Irish yell. 
 
 " They came down singing," said the unofficial report of 
 the enemy, borne from village to village next day. "They 
 continued to sing, and it was written that our men could not 
 abide when they came. It is believed that there was magic 
 in the aforesaid song." 
 
 Dan and Horse Egan kept tliemselvcs in the neighbor- 
 hood of Mulcahy. Twice the man would have bolted back 
 
84 THE MUTIXY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 in the confusion. Twice he was heaved Hke a half-drowned 
 kitten into the unpaintable inferno of a hotly-contested 
 charge. 
 
 At the end, the panic excess of his fear drove him into 
 madness beyond all human courage. His eyes staring at 
 nothing, his mouth open and frothing, and breathing as one 
 in a cold bath, he went forward demented, while Dan toiled 
 after him. The charge was checked at a high mud wall. It 
 was Mulcahy that scrambled up tooth and nail and heaved 
 down among the bayonets the amazed Afghan who barred 
 his way. It was Mulcahy, keeping to the straight line of the 
 rabid dog, led a collection of ardent souls at a newly un- 
 masked battery and flung himself on the muzzle of a gun as 
 his companions danced among the gunners. It was Mul- 
 cahy who ran wildly on from that battery into the open plain 
 where the enemy were retiring in sullen groups. His hands 
 were empty, he had lost helmet and belt, and he was bleed- 
 ing from a wound in the neck. Dan and Horse Egan, pant- 
 ing and distressed, had thrown themselves down on the 
 ground by the captured guns, when they noticed Mulcahy's 
 flight. 
 
 "Mad," said Horse Egan critically. "Mad with fear! 
 He's going straight to his death, an' shouting's no use." 
 
 " Let him go. Watch now! If we fire we'll hit him may- 
 be." 
 
 The last of a hurrying crowd of Afghans turned at the 
 noise of shod feet behind him, and shifted his knife ready 
 to hand. This, he saw, was no time to take prisoners. 
 Mulcahy ran on, sobbing, and the straight-held blade went 
 home through the defenceless breast, and the body pitched 
 forward almost before a shot from Dan's rifle brought down 
 the slayer and still further hurried the Afghan retreat. The 
 two Irishmen went out to bring in their dead. 
 
 " He was given the point and that was an easy death," said 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 85 
 
 Horse Egan, viewing the corpse. " But would you ha' shot 
 him, Danny, if he had Uved? " 
 
 " He didn't live, so there's no sayin'. But I doubt I wud 
 have bekase of the fun he gave us — let alone the beer. Hike 
 11]) his legs, Horse, and we'll bring him in. Perhaps 'tis bet- 
 ter this way." 
 
 They bore the poor limp body to the mass of the regiment, 
 lolling open-mouthed on their rifles; and there was a general 
 snigger when one of the younger subalterns said: "That 
 was a good man! " 
 
 " Phew! " said Horse Egan, when a burial party had taken 
 over the burden. " I'm powerful dhry, and this reminds me, 
 there'll be no more beer at all." 
 
 "Fwhynot?" said Dan, with a twinkle in his eye as he 
 stretched himself for rest. "Are we not conspirin' all we 
 can, an' while we conspire are we not entitled to free dhrinks? 
 Sure his ould mother in New York would not let her son's 
 comrades perish of drouth — if she can be reached at the end 
 of a letter." 
 
 " You're a janius," said Horse Egan. " O' coorse she will 
 not. I wish this crool war was over, an we'd get back to 
 canteen. Faith, the commander-in-chief ought to be hanged 
 in his own little sword-belt for makin' us work on wather." 
 
 The Mavericks were generally of Horse Egan's opinion. 
 So they made haste to get their work done as soon as possi- 
 ble, and their industry was rewarded by unexpected peace. 
 "We can fight the sons of Adam," said the tribesmen, "but 
 we cannot fight the sons of F^blis, and this regiment never 
 stays still in one place. Let us therefore come in." They 
 came in, and " this regiment " withdrew to conspire under the 
 leadership of Dan Grady. 
 
 Excellent as a subordiante, Dan failed altogether as a 
 chief-in-command — possibly because he was too much swayed 
 by the advice of the only man in the regiment who could 
 
86 THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS. 
 
 perpetrate more than one kind of handwriting. The same 
 mail that bore to Mulcahy's mother in New York a letter 
 from the colonel telling her how valiantly her son had fought 
 for the queen, and how assuredly he would have been rec- 
 ommended for the Victoria Cross had he survived, carried 
 a communication signed, I grieve to say, by that same col- 
 onel and all the officers of the regiment, explaining their 
 willingness to do " anything which is contrary to the regula- 
 tions and all kinds of revolutions " if only a little money 
 could be forwarded to cover incidental expenses, Daniel 
 Grady, Esquire, would receive funds, vice Mulcahy, who " was 
 unwell at this present time of writing." 
 
 Both letters were forwarded from New York to Tehama 
 Street, San Francisco, with marginal comments as brief as 
 they were bitter. The Third Three read and looked at each 
 other. Then the Second Conspirator — he who believed in 
 "joining hands with the practical branches" — began to 
 laugh, and on recovering his gravity said, " Gentlemen, I 
 consider this will be a lesson to us. We're left again. Those 
 cursed Irish have let us down. I knew they would, but " — 
 here he laughed afresh — " I'd give considerable to know what 
 was at the back of it all." 
 
 His curiosity would have been satisfied had he seen Dan 
 Grady, discredited regimental conspirator, trying to explain 
 to his thirsty comrades in India the non-arrival of funds from 
 New York. 
 
AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
 Four men, theoretically entitled to "life, liberty, and the 
 pursuit of happiness," sat at a table playing whist. The 
 thermometer marked — for them — one hundred and one de- 
 grees of heat. The room was darkened till it was only just 
 possible to distinguish the pips of the cards and the very 
 white faces of the players. A tattered, rotten punkah of 
 whitewashed calico was puddling the hot air and whining 
 dolefully at each stroke. Outside lay gloom of a November 
 day in London. There was neither sky, sun, nor horizon — 
 nothing but a brown-purple haze of heat. It was as though 
 the earth were dying of apoplexy. 
 
 From time to time clouds of tawny dust rose from the 
 ground without wind or warning, flung themselves table-cloth- 
 wise among the tops of the parched trees, and came down 
 again. Then a whirling dust-devil would scutter across the 
 plain for a couple of miles, break, and fall outward, though 
 there was nothing to check its flight save a long low line of 
 piled railway-sleepers white with the dust, a cluster of huts 
 made of mud, condemned rails, and canvas, and the one 
 squat four-roomed bungalow that belonged to the assistant 
 engineer in charge of a section of the Gandhari State line 
 then under construction. 
 
 The four men, stripped to the thinnest of sleeping-suit, 
 played whist crossly, with wranglings as to leads and returns. 
 It was not the best kind of whist, but they had taken some 
 
go AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
 trouble to arrive at it. Mottram, of the Indian Survey, had 
 ridden thirty and railed one hundred miles from his lonely 
 post in the desert since the previous night; Lowndes, of the 
 Civil Service, on special duty in the political department, had 
 come as far to escape for an instant the miserable intrigues 
 of an impoverished native state whose king alternately fawned 
 and blustered for more money from the pitiful revenues con- 
 tributed by hard-wrung peasants and despairing camel- 
 breeders ; Spurstow, the doctor of the Hne, had left a cholera- 
 stricken camp of coolies to look after itself for forty-eight 
 hours while he associated with white men once more. Hum- 
 mil, the assistant engineer, was the host. He stood fast and 
 received his friends thus every Sunday if they could come in. 
 AVhen one of them failed to appear, he would send a telegram 
 to his last address, in order that he might know whether the 
 defaulter was dead or alive. There be very many places in 
 the East where it is not good or kind to let your acquaint- 
 aiices drop out of sight even for one short week. 
 
 The players were not conscious of any special regard for 
 each other. They squabbled whenever they met; but they 
 ardently desired to meet, as men without water desire to 
 drink. They were lonely folk who understood the dread 
 meaning of loneliness. They were all under thirty years of 
 age — which is too soon for any man to possess that knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 " Pilsener," said Spurstow, after the second rubber, mop- 
 ping his forehead. 
 
 " Beer's out, I'm sorry to say, and there's hardly enough 
 soda-water for to-night," said Hummil. 
 
 "What filthy bad management! " snarled Spurstow. 
 
 " Can' t help it. I've written and wired ; but the trains 
 don't come through regularly yet. Last week the ice ran 
 out — as Lowndes knows." 
 
 " Glad I didn't come. I could ha' sent you some if I had 
 
AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 9 1 
 
 known, though. Phew! it's too hot to go on playing bum- 
 blepuppy." 
 
 This with a savage scowl at Lowndes, who only laughed. 
 He was a hardened offender. 
 
 Mottram rose from the table and looked out of a chink in 
 the shutters. 
 
 " What a sweet day! " said he. 
 
 The company yawned unanimously and betook themselves 
 to an aimless investigation of all Hummil's possessions — 
 guns, tattered novels, saddlery, spurs, and the like They 
 had fingered them score of times before, but there was 
 really nothing else to do. 
 
 "Got anything fresh?'' said Lowndes. 
 
 " Last week's Gazette of J7id'ia^ and a cutting from a home 
 paper. My father sent it out. It's rather amusing." 
 
 "One of those vestrymen that call 'emselves M.P.'s again, 
 is it?" said Spurstow, who read his newspapers when he 
 could get them. 
 
 " Yes. Listen to this. It's to your address, Lowndes. 
 The man was making a speech to his constituents, and he 
 piled it on. Here's a sample: 'And I assert unhesitatingly 
 that the Civil Service in India is the preserve — the pet pre- 
 serve — of the aristocracy of England. What does the democ- 
 racy — what do the masses — get from that country, which we 
 have step by step fraudulently annexed? I answer, noth- 
 ing whatever. It is farmed with a single eye to their own 
 interests by the scions of the aristocracy. They take good 
 care to maintain their lavish scale of incomes, to avoid or 
 stifle any inquiries into the nature and conduct of their ad- 
 ministration, while they themselves force the unhappy peas- 
 ant to pay with the sweat of his brow for all the luxuries in 
 which they are lapped.' " Humniil waved the cutting above 
 his head. "'Ear! 'ear! *' said his audience 
 
 Then Lowndes, meditatively: "I'd give — I'd give three 
 
92 AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
 months' pay to have that gentleman spend one month with 
 me and see how the free and independent native prince 
 works things. Old Timbersides " — this was his flippant title 
 for an honored and decorated prince— "has been wearing 
 my life out this week past for money. By Jove! his latest 
 performance was to send me one of his women as a bribe! " 
 
 "Good for you. Did you accept it? " said Mottram. 
 
 " No. I rather wish I had, now. She was a pretty little 
 person, and she yarned away to me about the horrible des- 
 titution among the king's women-folk. The darlings haven't 
 had any new clothes for nearly a month, and the old man 
 wants to buy a new drag from Calcutta — solid silver railings 
 and silver lamps, and trifles of that kind. I've tried to make 
 him understand that he has played the deuce with the rev- 
 enues for the last twenty years and must go slow. He can't 
 see it." 
 
 " But he has the ancestral treasure-vaults to draw on. 
 There must be three millions at least in jewels and coin 
 under his palace," said Hummil. 
 
 " Catch a native king disturbing the family treasure ! The 
 priests forbid it except as the last resort. Old Timbersides 
 has added something like a (quarter of a million to the de- 
 posit in his reign." 
 
 " Where the mischief does it all come from ? " said Mottram. 
 
 " The country. The state of the people is enough to 
 make you sick. I've known the tax-men wait by a milch- 
 camel till the foal was born and then hurry off the mother 
 for arrears. And what can I do? I can't get the court clerks 
 to give me any accounts; I can't raise anything more than 
 a fat smile from the commander-in-chief when I find out the 
 troops are three months in arrears; and old Timbersides be- 
 gins to weep when I speak to him. He has taken to the 
 king's peg heavily — liqueur brandy for whiskey and Heid- 
 sieck for soda-water." 
 
AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE 93 
 
 *' That's what the Rao of Jubela took to. Even a native 
 can't last long at that," said Spurstow. " He'll go out." 
 
 "And a good thinoj, too. Then I suppose we'll have a 
 council of regency, and a tutor for the young prince, and 
 hand him back his kingdom with ten years' accumula- 
 tions." 
 
 " Whereupon that young prince, having been taught all 
 the vices of the English, will play ducks and drakes with the 
 money and undo ten years' work in eighteen months. I've 
 seen that business before," said Spurstow. " I should tackle 
 the king with a light hand, if I were you, Lowndes. They'll 
 hate you quite enough under any circumstances." 
 
 •' That's all very well. The man who looks on can talk 
 about the light hand; but you can't clean a pig-sty with a 
 pen dipped in rosewater. 1 know my risks; but nothing has 
 happened yet. My servant's an old Pathan, and he cooks 
 for me. They are hardly likely to bribe him, and I don't 
 accept food from my true friends, as they call themselves. 
 Oh, but it's weary work! I'd sooner be with you, Spurstow. 
 There's shooting near your camp." 
 
 •''Would you? I don't think it. About fifteen deaths a 
 day don't incite a man to shoot anything but himself. And 
 .^he worst of it is that the poor devils look at you as though 
 you ought to save them. Lord knows, I've tried everything. 
 My last attempt was empirical, but it pulled an old man 
 through. He was brought to me apparently past hope, and 
 I gave him gin and Worcester sauce with cayenne. It cured 
 him ; but I don't recommend it." 
 
 " How do the cases run generally? " said Hummil. 
 
 " Very simply indeed. Chlorodyne, opium pill, chlorodyne, 
 collapse, nitre, bricks to the feet, and then — the burning-ghat. 
 The last seems to be the only thing that stops the trouble. 
 It's black cholera, you know. Poor devils I But, I will say, 
 little Bunsee Lai, my apothecary, works like a demon, "^'ve 
 
94 AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
 recommended him for promotion if he comes through it all 
 alive." 
 
 "And what are your chances, old man?" said Mottram. 
 
 "Don't know; don't care much; but I've sent the letter 
 in. What are you doing with yourself generally? " 
 
 " Sitting under a table in the tent and spitting on the sex- 
 tant to keep it cool," said the man of the survey. " Washing 
 my eyes to avoid ophthalmia which I shall certainly get, and 
 trying to make a sub surveyor understand that an error of 
 five degrees in an angle isn't quite so small as it looks. I'm 
 altogether alone, y' know, and shall be till the end of the hot 
 weather." 
 
 " Hummil's the lucky man," said Lowndes, flinging him- 
 self into a long chair. "He has an actual roof — torn as to 
 the ceiling-cloth, but still a roof — over his head. He sees 
 one train daily. He can get beer and soda-water and ice it 
 when God is good. He has books, pictures " — they were 
 torn from the Graphic — " and the society of the excellent 
 sub-contractor Jevins, besides the pleasure of receiving us 
 weekly." 
 
 Hummil smiled grimly. " Yes, I'm the lucky man, I sup- 
 pose. Jevins is luckier." 
 
 "How? Not " 
 
 " Yes. Went out. Last Monday." 
 
 ^^Ap seV^ said Spurstow quickly, hinting the suspicion 
 that was in everybody's mind. There was no cholera near 
 Hummil's section. Even fever gives a man at least a week's 
 grace, and sudden death generally implied self-slaughter. 
 
 " I judge no man this weather," said Hummil. " He had 
 a touch of the sun, I fancy; for last week, after you fellows 
 had left, he came into the veranda and told me that he was 
 going home to see his wife, in Market Street, Liverpool, that 
 evening. 
 
 " I got the apothecary in to look at him, and we tried to 
 
AT THE EXD OF THE PASSAGE. 95 
 
 make him lie down. After an hour or two he rubbed his eyes 
 and said he beHeved he had had a fit — hoped he hadn't said 
 anything rude. Jevins had a great idea of bettering himself 
 socially. He was very like Chucks in his language." 
 
 ''Well?" 
 
 " Then he went to his own bungalow and began cleaning a 
 rifle. He told the servant that he was going after buck in 
 the morning. Naturally he fumbled with the trigger, and 
 shot himself through the head accidentally. The apothecary 
 sent in a report to my chief, and Jevins is buried somewhere 
 out there. Td have wired to you, Spurstow, if you could 
 have done anything/' 
 
 "You're a queer chap," said Mottiam. "If yv •- : killed 
 the man yourself you couldn't have been more quu: about 
 the business." 
 
 "Good Lord! what does it matter? " said Humm.'l calmly. 
 "I've got to do a lot of his overseeing work in :;.ddition to 
 my own. I'm the only person that suffers. Jevins is out of 
 it — by pure accident, of course, but out of it. The apothe- 
 cary was going to write a long screed on suicide. Trust a 
 babu to drivel when he gets the chance." 
 
 "Why didn't you let it go in as suicide?" said Lowndes. 
 
 " No direct proof. A man hasn't many privileges in this 
 country, but he might at least be allowed to mishandle his 
 own rifle. Besides, some day I may need a man to smother 
 up an accident to myself. Live and let Hve. Die and let 
 die." 
 
 " You take a pill," said Spurstow, who had been watching 
 Hummil's white face narrowly. "Take a pill, and don't be 
 an ass. That sort of talk is skittles. Anyhow, suicide is 
 shirking your work. If I was Job ten times over, I should 
 be so interested in what was going to happen next that I'd 
 stay on and watch." 
 
 "Ah! I've lost that curiosit\- " said Hummil. 
 
96 AT THE EXD OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
 "Liver out of order?" said Lowndes feelingly. 
 
 " No. Can't sleep. That's worse/' 
 
 "By Jove, it is!" said Mottram. " Tm that way every now 
 and then, and the fit has to wear itself out. What do you 
 take for it?" 
 
 "Nothing. What's the use? I haven't had ten minutes' 
 sleep since Friday morning." 
 
 " Poor chap! Spurstow, you ought to attend to this," said 
 Mottram. " Now you mention it, your eyes.are rather gummy 
 and swollen." 
 
 Spurstow, still watching Hummil, laughed hghtly. " I'll 
 patch him up, later on. Is it too hot, do you think, to go 
 for a ride? " 
 
 " Where to?" said Lowndes wearily. "We shall have to 
 go away at eight, and there'll be riding enough for us then. 
 I hate a horse, when I have to use him as a necessity. Oh, 
 heavens! what is there to do?" 
 
 " Begin whist again, at chick points " (a " chick " is sup- 
 posed to be eight shillings) " and a gold mohur on the rub " 
 said Spurstow promptly. 
 
 " Poker. A month's pay all round for the pool — no limit 
 — and fifty-rupee raises. Somebody would be broken before 
 we got up," said Lowndes. 
 
 " Can't say that it would give me any pleasure to break 
 any man in this company," said Mottram. " There isn't 
 enough excitement in it, and it's foolish." He crossed over 
 to the worn and battered little camp-piano — wreckage of a 
 married household that had once held the bungalow — and 
 opened the case. 
 
 " It's used up long ago," said Hummil. " The servants 
 have pirked it to pieces." 
 
 The piano was indeed hopelessly out of order, but Mot- 
 tram managed to bring the rebellious notes into a sort of 
 agreement, and there rose from the ragged key-board some- 
 
AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 97 
 
 thing that might once have been the ghost of a popular music- 
 hall song. The men in the long chairs turned with evident 
 interest as Mottram banged the more lustily. 
 
 "That's good! " said Lowndes. "By Jove! the last time 
 I heard that song was in 79, or thereabouts, just before I 
 came out." 
 
 "Ah I" said Spurstow, wnth pride, " I w^as home in '80." 
 And he mentioned a song of the streets popular at that date. 
 
 Mottram executed it indifferent well. Lowndes criticised 
 and volunteered emendations. Mottram dashed into another 
 ditty, not of the music-hall character, and made as if to rise. 
 
 "Sit down," said Hummil. "I didn't know that you had 
 any music in your composition. Go on playing until you 
 can't think of anything more. I'll have that piano tuned up 
 before you come again. Play something festive." 
 
 Very simple indeed w^ere the tunes to which ^Tottram's 
 art and the limitations of the piano could give effect, but the 
 men listened with pleasure, and in the pauses talked all to- 
 gether of what they had seen or heard when they were last 
 at home. A dense dust-storm sprang up outside and swept 
 roaring over the house, enveloping it in the choking darkness 
 of midnight, but Mottram continued unheeding, and the crazy 
 tinkle reached the ears of the listeners above the flapping 
 of the tattered ceiling-cloth. 
 
 In the silence after the storm he glided from the more di- 
 rectly personal songs of Scotland, half-humming them as he 
 played, into the Evening Hymn. 
 
 "Sunday," said he. nodding his head. 
 
 " Go on. Don't apologize for it, ' said Spurstow. 
 
 Hummil laughed long and riotously. " Play it, by ah 
 means. You're full of surprises to-day. I didn't know you 
 had such a gift of finished sarcasm. How does that thing 
 go?" 
 
 Mottram took up the tune. 
 7 
 
98 AT THE END OE THE PASSAGE. 
 
 "Too slow by half. You miss the note of gratitude," said 
 Hummil. " It ought to go to the ' Grasshopper's Polka ' — 
 this way." And he chanted, prestissijno — 
 
 " ' Glory to thee, my God. this night. 
 For all the blessings of the light.' 
 
 That shows we really feel our blessings. How does it go 
 on? — 
 
 " ' If in the night I sleepless lie, 
 
 My soul with sacred thoughts supply ; 
 ^lay no ill dreams disturb my rest,' — 
 
 Quicker, Mottram! — 
 
 " ' Or powers of darkness me molest ! ' " 
 
 "Bah! what an old hypocrite you are." 
 
 "Don't be an ass," said Lowndes. "You are at full lib- 
 erty to make fun of anything else you like, but leave that 
 hymn alone. It's associated in my mind with the most sacred 
 recollections " 
 
 " Summer evenings in the country — stained-glass window 
 — light going out, and you and she jamming your heads to- 
 gether over one hymn-book," said Mottram. 
 
 " Yes, and a fat old cockchafer hitting you in the eye when 
 you walked home. Smell of hay, and a moon as big as a 
 band-box sitting on the top of a haycock ; bats — roses — milk 
 and midges," said Lowndes. 
 
 ''Also mothers. I can just recollect my mother singing me 
 to sleep with that when I was a little chap," said Spurstow. 
 
 The darkness had fallen on the room. They could hear 
 Hummil squirming in his chair. 
 
 "Consequently," said he testily, "you sing it when you 
 are seven fathom deep in hell! Its an insult to the intelli- 
 gence of the Deity to pretend we're anything but tortured 
 rebels." 
 
AT THE END OE THE PASSAGE. 99 
 
 "Take two pills," said Spurstow: "that's tortured liver." 
 
 "The usually placid Hummil is in a vile bad temper. I'm 
 sorry for his coolies to-morrow," said Lowndes, as the sei-- 
 vants brought in the lights and prepared the table for dinner. 
 
 As they were settling into their places about the miserable 
 goat-chops, the curried eggs, and the smoked tapioca pud- 
 ding, Spurstow took occasion to whisper to Mottram, " Well 
 done, David!" 
 
 " Look after Saul, then," was the reply. 
 
 "What are you two whispering about?" said Hummil 
 suspiciously. 
 
 " Only saying that you are a d poor host. This fowl 
 
 can't be cut," returned Spurstow, with a sweet smile. " Call 
 this a dinner? " 
 
 " I can't help it. You don't expect a banquet, do you? " 
 
 Throughout that meal Hummil contrived laboriously to 
 insult directly and pointedly all his guests in succession, and 
 at each insult Spurstow kicked the aggrieved persons under 
 the table; but he dared not exchange a glance of intelli- 
 gence with either of them. Hummil's face was white and 
 pinched, while his eyes were unnaturally large. No man 
 dreamed for a moment of resenting his savage personalities, 
 but as soon as the meal was over they made haste to get 
 away. 
 
 " Don't go. You're just getting amusing, you fellows. I 
 hope I haven't said anything that annoyed you. You're such 
 touchy devils." Then, changing the note into one of almost 
 abject entreaty, "I say, you surely aren't going? " 
 
 " Where I dines I sleeps, in the language of the blessed 
 Jorrocks," said Spurstow. " I want to have a look at your 
 coolies to-morrow, if you don't mind. You can give me a 
 place to lie down in, I suppose? " 
 
 The others pleaded the urgency of their several employs 
 next day, and, saddling up, departed together, Hummil beg- 
 
lOO A 7' THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
 ging them to come next Sunday. As they jogged off together 
 Lowndes unbosomed himself to Mottram: "... And I 
 never felt so like kicking a man at his own table in my Hfe. 
 Said I cheated at whist, and reminded me I was in debt! 
 Told you you were as good as a liar to your face ! You 
 aren't half indignant enough over it." 
 
 "Not I," said Mottram. "Poor devil! Did you ever 
 know old Hummy behave like that before? Did you ever 
 know him go within a hundred miles of it? " 
 
 " That's no excuse. Spurstow was hacking my shin all the 
 time, so I kept a hand on myself. Else I should have " 
 
 "No, you wouldn't. You'd have done as Hummy did 
 about Jevins: judge no man this weather. By Jove! the 
 buckle of my bridle is hot in my hand! Trot out a bit; and 
 mind the rat-holes." 
 
 Ten minutes' trotting jerked out of Lowndes one very 
 sage remark when he pulled up, sweating from every pore: 
 
 " Good thing Spurstow's with him to-night." 
 
 "Ye-es. Good man, Spurstow. Our roads turn here. 
 See you again next Sunday, if the sun doesn't bowl me over." 
 
 " S'pose so, unless old Timbersides' finance minister man- 
 ages to dress some of my food. Good-night, and — God bless 
 you ! " 
 
 " What's wrong now? " 
 
 "Oh, nothing." Lowndes gathered up his whip, and, as 
 he flicked Mottram's mare on the flank, added, "You're a 
 good little chap — that's all." And the mare bolted half a 
 mile across the sand, on the word. 
 
 In the assistant engineer's bungalow Spurstow and Hum- 
 mil smoked the pipe of silence together, each narrowly watch- 
 ing the other. The capacity of a bachelor's establishment 
 is as elastic as its arrangements are simple. A servant cleared 
 away the dining-room table, brought in a couple of rude na- 
 tive bedsteads made of tape strung on a light wood frame, 
 
AT THE EXD OF THE PASSAGE. loi 
 
 flung a square of cool Calcutta matting over each, set them 
 side by side, ]-)inned two towels to the punkah so that their 
 fringes should just sweep clear of each sleeper's nose and 
 mouth, and announced that the couches were ready. 
 
 The men flung themselves down, adjuring the punkah- 
 coolies by all the powers of Eblis to pull. Every door and 
 window was shut, for the outside air was that of an oven. 
 The atmosphere within was only 104°, as the thermometer 
 attested, and heavy with the foul smell of badly-trimmed 
 kerosene lamps; and this stench, combined with that of na- 
 tive tobacco, baked brick, and dried earth, sends the heart 
 of many a strong man down to his boots, for it is the smell 
 of the great Indian Empire when she turns herself for six 
 months into a house of torment. Spurstow packed his pillows 
 craftily so that he reclined rather than lay, his head at a safe 
 elevation above his feet. It is not good to sleep on a low 
 pillow in the hot weather if you happen to be of thick-necked 
 build, for you may pass with lively snores and gugglings from 
 natural sleep into the deep slumber of heat-apoplexy. 
 
 " Pack your pillows," said the doctor sharply, as he saw 
 Hummil preparing to lie down at full length. 
 
 The night-light was trimmed; the shadow of the punkah 
 wavered across the room, and the Jiick of the punkah-towel 
 and the soft whine of the rope through the wall-hole followed 
 it. Then the punkah flagged, almost ceased. The sweat 
 poured from Spurstow's brow. Should he go cut and ha- 
 rangue the coolie? It started forward again vvilh a savage 
 jerk, and a pin came out of the towels. When this was re- 
 placed, a tom-tom in the coolie lines began to beat with the 
 steady throb of a swollen artery inside some brain-fevered 
 skull. Sjjurstow turned on his side and swore gently. There 
 was no movement on HummiFs part. The man had com- 
 posed himself as rigidly as a corpse, his hands clinched at 
 his sides. The respiration was too hurried for any suspi- 
 
ro2 A 7^ 7 'HE END OE THE PASSAGE. 
 
 cion of sleep. Spurstow looked at the set face. The jaws 
 were clinched, and there was a pucker round the quivering 
 eyelids. 
 
 " He's holding himself as tightly as ever he can," thought 
 Spurstow. " What a sham it is! and what in the world is the 
 matter with him? — Hummil! " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Can't you get to sleep? 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Head hot? Throat feeling ouxgy? or how?" 
 
 "Neither, thanks. I don't sleep much, you know." 
 
 "Feel pretty bad?" 
 
 " Pretty bad, thanks. There is a tom-tom outside, isn't 
 there? I thought it was my head at first. O Spurstow, 
 for pity's sake give me something that will put me asleep 
 — sound asleep — if it's only for six hours! " He sprang up. 
 " I haven't been able to sleep naturally for days, and I can't 
 stand it.' — I can't stand it! " 
 
 "Poor old chap!" 
 
 " That's no use. Give me something to make me sleep. 
 I tell you I'm nearly mad. I don't know what I say half 
 my time. For three weeks I've had to think and spell out 
 every word that has come through my lips before I dared 
 say it. I had to get my sentences out down to the last 
 word, for fear of talking drivel if I didn't. Isn't that enough 
 to drive a man mad? I can't see things correctly now, and 
 I've lost my sense of touch. Make me sleep. O Spurstow, 
 for the love of God make me sleep sound. It isn't enough 
 merely to let me dream. Let me sleep! " 
 
 '•AH right, old man, all right. Go slow. You aren't half 
 as bad as you think." The flood-gates of reserve once 
 broken, Hummil was cHnging to him like a frightened child. 
 
 " You're pinching my arm to pieces." 
 
 " I'll break your neck if you don't do something for me 
 
AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 1 03 
 
 No, I didn't mean that. Don't be angry, old fellow." He 
 wiped the sweat off himself as he fought to regain compo- 
 sure. "As a matter of fact, Tm a bit restless and off my oats, 
 and perhaps you could recommend some sort of sleeping- 
 mixture — bromide of potassium." 
 
 "Bromide of skittles! Why didn't you tell me this be- 
 fore? Let go of my arm, and Til see if there's anything in 
 my cigarette-case to suit your complaint.'' He hunted 
 among his day-clothes, turned up the lamp, opened a little 
 silver cigarette-case, and advanced on the expectant Hummil 
 with the daintiest of fairy squirts. 
 
 "The last appeal of civilization,'' said he, "and a thing I 
 hate to use. Hold out }'our arm. Well, your sleeplessness 
 hasn't ruined your muscle; and what a thick hide it is! 
 Might as well inject a buffalo subcutaneously. Now in a 
 few minutes the morphia will begin working. Lie down and 
 wait." 
 
 A smile of unalloyed and idiotic delight began to creep 
 over Hummil's face. " I think," he whispered — " I think 
 Vm. going off now. Gad! it's positively heavenly! Spur- 
 stow, you must give me that case to keep; you " The 
 
 voice ceased as the head fell back. 
 
 " Not for a good deal,"' said Spurstow to the unconscious 
 form. "And now, my friend, sleeplessness of your kind be- 
 ing very apt to relax the moral fibre in little matters of life 
 and death, I'll just take the liberty of spiking your guns." 
 
 He paddled into Hummil's saddle-room in his bare feet 
 and uncased a twelve- bore, an express, and a revolver. Of 
 the first he unscrewed the nipples and hid them in the bot- 
 tom of a saddlery-case; of the second he abstracted the 
 lever, placing it behind a big wardrobe. The third he 
 merely opened, and knocked the doll-head bolt of the grip 
 up with the heel of a riding-boot. 
 
 " That's settled," he said, as he shook the sweat off his 
 
I04 AT THE EXD OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
 hands. "These Httle precautions will at least give you time 
 to turn. You have too much sympathy with gun-room ac- 
 cidents." 
 
 And as he rose from his knees, the thick muffled voice 
 of Hummil cried in the doorway, " You fool! " 
 
 Such tones they use who speak in the lucid intervals of 
 delirium to their friends a little before they die. 
 
 Spurstow jumped with sheer fright. Hummil stood in the 
 doorway, rocking with helpless laughter. 
 
 "That was awf'ly good of you, I'm sure," he said, very 
 slowly, feeling for his words. " I don't intend to go out by 
 my own hand at present. I say, Spurstow, that stuff won't 
 work. What shall I do? What shall I do?" And panic 
 terror stood in his eyes. 
 
 " Lie down and give it a chance. Lie down at once." 
 
 " I daren't. It will only take me half-way again, and I 
 shan't be able to get away this time. Do you know it was 
 all I could do to come out just now? Generally I am as 
 quick as lightning ; but you had clogged my feet. I was 
 nearly caught." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I understand. Go and lie down." 
 
 " No, it isn't delirium ; but it was an awfully mean trick to 
 play on me Do you know I might have died? " 
 
 As a sponge rubs a slate clean, so some power unknown 
 to Spurstow had wiped out of Hummil's face all that stamped 
 it for the face of a man, and he stood at the doorway in the 
 expression of his lost innocence. He had slept back into 
 terrified childhood. 
 
 "Is he going to die on the spot?" thought Spurstow. 
 Then, aloud, "All right, my son. Come back to bed, and 
 tell me all about it. You couldn't sleep; but what was all 
 the rest of the nonsense? " 
 
 "A place — a place down there," said Hummil, with sim- 
 ple sincerity. The drug was acting on him by waves, and 
 
AT 7 HE EXD OF THE PASSAGE. 105 
 
 he was flung from the fear of a strong man to the fright of 
 a child as his nerves gathered sense or were dulled. 
 
 " Good God! I've been afraid of it for months past, Spurs- 
 tow. It has made every night hell to me ; and yet I'm not 
 conscious of having done anything wrong." 
 
 " Be still, and I'll give you another dose. We'll stop your 
 nightmares, you unutterable idiot! " 
 
 " Yes, but you must give me so much that I can't get away. 
 You must make me quite sleepy — not just a little sleepy. 
 It's so hard to run then." 
 
 "I know it; I know it. I've felt it myself. The symp- 
 toms are exactly as you describe." 
 
 "Oh, don't laugh at me, confound you! Before this awful 
 sleeplessness came to me I've tried to rest on my elbow and 
 put a spur in the bed to sting me when I fell back. Look! " 
 
 "By Jove! the man has been rowelled like a horse! Rid- 
 den by the nightmare with a vengeance ! And we all thought 
 him sensible enough. Heaven send us understanding! You 
 hke to talk, don't you, old man? " 
 
 " Yes, sometimes. Not when Tm frightened. Then I 
 want to run. Don't you? " 
 
 "Always. Before I give you your second dose, try to tell 
 me exactly what your trouble is." 
 
 Hummil spoke in broken whispers for nearly ten minutes, 
 while Spurstow looked into the pupils of his eyes and passed 
 his hand before them once or twice. 
 
 At the end of the narrative the silver cigarette-case was 
 produced, and the last words that Hummil said as he fell 
 back for the second time were, ''Put me quite to sleep; for 
 if I'm caught I die — I die! " 
 
 "Yes, ycs; we all do that sooner or later, thank heaven 
 who has set a term to our miseries," said Spurstow, settling 
 the cushions under the head. " It occurs to me that unle?^. 
 I drink something I shall go out before my time. I've stopped 
 
io6 AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
 sweating, and I wear a sevenceen-inch collar." And he 
 brewed himself scalding hot tea, which is an excellent remedy 
 against h^at-apoplexy if you take three or four cups of it in 
 time. Then he watched the sleeper. 
 
 "A bhnd face that cries and can't wipe its eyes. H'm! 
 Decidedly, Hummil ought to go on leave as soon as possi- 
 ble ; and, sane or otherwise, he undoubtedly did rowel him- 
 self most cruelly. Well, heaven send us understanding! " 
 
 At mid-day Hummil rose, with an evil taste in his mouth, 
 but an unclouded eye and a joyful heart. 
 
 " I was pretty bad last night, vrasn't I?" said he. 
 
 *' I have seen healthier men. You must have had a touch 
 of the sun. Look here: if I write you a swingeing medical 
 certificate, will you apply for leave on the spot?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Why not? You want it." 
 
 "Yes, but I can hold on till the weather's a little cooler." 
 
 " Why should you, if you can get relieved on the spot? " 
 
 "Burkett is the only man who could be sent; and he's a 
 born fool." 
 
 " Oh, never mind about the line. You aren't so import- 
 ant as all that. Wire for leave, if necessary." 
 
 Hummil looked very uncomfortable. 
 
 •' I can hold on till the rains," he said evasively. 
 
 "You can't. Wire to headquarters for Burkett." 
 
 " I won't. If you want to know why, particularly, Burkett 
 is married, and his wife's just had a kid, and she's up at 
 Simla, in the cool, and Burkett has a very nice billet that 
 takes him into Simla from Saturday to Monday. That little 
 woman isn't at all well. If Burkett was transferred she'd try 
 to follow him. If she left the baby behind she'd fret herself 
 to death. If she came — and Burkett's one of those selfish 
 little beasts who are always talking about a wife's place be- 
 ing with her husband — she'd die. It's murder to bring a 
 
AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 107 
 
 woman here just now. Burkett has got the physique of a 
 rat. If he came here he'd go out; and I know she hasn't 
 any money, and I'm pretty sure she'd go out too. I'm salted 
 in a sort of way, and I'm not married. Wait till the rains, 
 and then Burkett can get thin down here It'll do him heaps 
 of good." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you intend to face — what you 
 have faced, for the next fifty-six nights? " 
 
 " Oh, it won't be so bad, now you've shown me a way out 
 of it. I can always wire to you. Besides, now I've once got 
 into the way of sleeping, it'll be all right. Anyhow, I shan't 
 put in for leave. That's the long and the short of it.'' 
 
 "My great Scott! I thought all that sort of thing was 
 dead and done with." 
 
 "Bosh I You'd do the same yourself. I feel a new man, 
 thanks to that cigarette-case. You're going over to camp 
 now, aren't you? " 
 
 "Yes; but I'll try to look you up every other day, if I 
 can." 
 
 " I'm not bad enough for that. I don't want you to bother. 
 Give the coolies gin and ketchup." 
 
 "Then you feel all right? " 
 
 " Fit to fight for my life,, but not to stand out in the sun 
 talking to you. Go along, old man, and bless you! " 
 
 Hummil turned on his heel to face the echoing desolation 
 of his bungalow, and the first thing he saw standing in the 
 veranda was the figure of himself. He had met a similar 
 apparition once before, when he was suffering from overwork 
 and the strain of the hot weather. 
 
 " This is bad — already," he said, rubbing his eyes. " If 
 the thing slides away from me all in one piece, like a ghost, 
 I shall know it is only my eyes and stomach that are out of 
 order. If it walks, I shall know that my head is going." 
 
 He walked to the figure, which naturally kept at an un- 
 
Io8 AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
 varying distance from him, as is the use of all spectres that 
 are born of overwork. It slid through the house and dis- 
 solved into swimming specks within the eyeball as soon as 
 it reached the burning light of the garden. Hummil went 
 about his business till even. When he came in to dinner he 
 found himself sitting at the table. The thing rose and walked 
 out hastily. 
 
 No living man knows what that week held for Hummil. 
 An increase of the epidemic kept Spurstow in camp among 
 the coolies, and all he could do was to telegraph to Mot- 
 tram, bidding him go to the bungalow and sleep there. But 
 Mottram was forty miles away from the nearest telegraph, 
 and knew nothing of anything save the needs of the survey 
 till he met early on Sunday morning Lowndes and Spurstow 
 heading toward Hummil's for the weekly gathering. 
 
 " Hope the poor chap's in a better temper," said the former, 
 swinging himself off his horse at the door. " I suppose he 
 isn't up yet." 
 
 " I'll just have a look at him," said the doctor. " If he's 
 asleep there's no need to wake him." 
 
 And an instant later, by the tone of Spurstow's voice 
 calHng upon them to enter, the men knew what had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 The punkah was still being pulled over the bed, but Hum- 
 mil had departed this life at least three hours before. 
 
 The body lay on its back, hands clinched by the side, as 
 Spurstow had seen it lying seven nights previously. In the 
 staring eyes was written terror beyond the expression of 
 any pen. 
 
 Mottram, who had entered behind Lowndes, bent over 
 the dead and touched the forehead lightly with his lips, 
 " Oh, you lucky, lucky devil ! " he whispered. 
 
 But Lowndes had seen the eyes, and had withdrawn shud- 
 dering to the other side of the room. 
 
AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 109 
 
 "Poor chap! poor old chap! And the last time I met 
 
 n I was angry. Spurstow, we should have watched him. 
 Has he " 
 
 Deftly Spurstow continued his investigations, ending by a 
 search round the room. 
 
 " No, he hasn't," he snapped. " There's no trace of any- 
 thing. Call in the servants." 
 
 They came, eight or ten of them, whispering and peering 
 over each other's shoulders. 
 
 "When did your Sahib go to bed? " said Spurstow. 
 
 "At eleven or ten, we think," said Hummil's personal 
 servant. 
 
 " He was well then? But how should you know? " 
 
 "He was not ill, as far as our comprehension extended. 
 But he had slept very little for three nights. This I know, 
 because I saw him walking much, and specially in the heart 
 of the night." 
 
 As Spurstow was arranging the sheet, a big straight-necked 
 hunting-spur tumbled on the ground. The doctor groaned. 
 The personal servant peeped at the body. 
 
 "What do you think, Chuma?" said Spurstow, catching 
 the look on the dark face. 
 
 " Heaven-born, in my poor opinion, this that was my mas- 
 ter has descended into the Dark Places, and there has been 
 caught because he was not able to escape with sufficient 
 speed. We have the spur for evidence that he fought with 
 Fear. Thus have I seen men of my race do with thorns 
 when a spell was laid upon them to overtake them in their 
 sleeping hours and they dared not sleep." 
 
 "Chuma, you're a mud-head. Go out and prepare seals 
 to be set on the Sahib's property." 
 
 "God has made the heaven-born. God has made me. 
 Who are we, to inquire into the disjiens.itions of God? I 
 will bid the other servants hold aloof while you are reckon- 
 
no AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE. 
 
 ing the tale of the Sahib's property. They are all thieves, 
 and would steal." 
 
 "As far as I can make out, he died from — oh, anything: 
 stoppage of the heart's action, heat-apoplexy, or some other 
 visitation," said Spurstow to his companions. " We must 
 make an inventory of his effects, and so on." 
 
 " He was scared to death," insisted Lowndes. " Look at 
 those eyes! For pity's sake don't let him be buried with 
 them open I " 
 
 " Whatever it was, he's out of all the trouble now," said 
 Mottram softly. 
 
 Spurstow was peering into the open eyes. 
 
 "Come here," said he. "Can you see anything there?" 
 
 "I can't face it! " whimpered Lowndes. "Cover up the 
 face ! Is there any fear on earth that can turn a man into 
 that likeness? It's ghastly. O Spurstow, cover him up! '" 
 
 " No fear — on earth," said Spurstow. Mottram leaned 
 over his shoulder and looked intently. 
 
 " I see nothing except some gray blurs in the pupil. There 
 can be nothing there, you know." 
 
 "Even so. Well, let's think. It'll take half a day to 
 knock up any sort of coffin; and he must have died at mid- 
 night. Lowndes, old man, go out and tell the coolies to 
 break ground next to Jevins' grave. Mottram, go round the 
 house with Chuma and see that the seals are put on things. 
 Send a couple of men to me here, and I'll arrange." 
 
 The strong-armed servants when they returned to their 
 own kind told a strange story of the doctor Sahib vainly 
 trying to call their master back to life by magic arts — to wit, 
 the holding of a little green box opposite each of the dead 
 man's eyes, of a frequent clicking of the same, and of a be- 
 wildered muttering on the part of the doctor Sahib, who 
 subsequently took the little green box away with him. 
 
 The resonant hammering of a coffin- lid is no pleasant 
 
A T THE RXD OF THE PA SSA GE. 1 1 1 
 
 thing to liear, but those who have experience maintain that 
 much more terrible is the soft swish of tiie bed-Hnen, the 
 reeving and unreeving of the bed-tapes, wl en he who has 
 fallen by the roadside is apparelled for burial, sinking grad- 
 ually as the tapes are tied over, till the swaddled shape 
 touches the floor and there is no protest against the indig- 
 nity of hasty disposal. 
 
 At the last moment Lowndes was seized with scruples of 
 conscience. " Ought you to read the service — from begin- 
 ning to end?" said he. 
 
 " I intend to. You're my senior as a civilian. You can 
 take it, if you like." 
 
 " 1 didn't mean that for a moment. I only thought if we 
 could get a chaplain from somewhere-— I'm willing to ride 
 anywhere — and give poor Hummil a better chance. That's 
 all." 
 
 "Bosh!" said Spurstow, as he framed his lips to the tre- 
 mendous words that stand at the head of the burial service. 
 
 After breakfast they smoked a pipe in silence to the mem- 
 ory of the dead. Then said Spurstow, absently — 
 
 " 'Tisn't in medical science." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Things in a dead man's eye." 
 
 "For goodness' sake leave that horror alone!" said 
 Lowndes. " I've seen a native die of fright when a tiger 
 chivied him. I know what killed Hummil." 
 
 "The deuce you do! I'm going to try to see." And the 
 doctor retreated into the bath-room with a Kodak camera, 
 splashing and grunting for ten minutes. Then there was the 
 sound of something being hammered to pieces, and Spurs- 
 tow emerged, very white indeed. 
 
 "*^iave you got a picture?" said Mottram. "What does 
 the thing look like?" 
 
112 AT THE EXD OF THE PASSAGE, 
 
 " Nothing there. It was impossible, of course. You 
 needn't look, Mottram. I've torn up the films. There was 
 nothing there. It was impossible." 
 
 " That," said Lowndes, very distinctly, watching the shak- 
 ing hand striving to relight the pipe, "is a damned lie." 
 
 There was no further speech for a long time. The hot 
 wind whistled without, and the dry trees sobbed. Presently 
 the daily train, winking brass, burnished steel, and spouting 
 steam, pulled up panting in the intense glare. " We'd bet- 
 ter go on on that," said Spurstow. " Go back to work. I've 
 written my certificate. We can't do any more good here. 
 Come on." 
 
 No one moved. It is not pleasant to face railway journeys 
 at mid-day in June. Spurstow gathered up his hat and whip, 
 and, turning in the doorway, said 
 
 " There may be heaven, — there must be hell. 
 Meantime, there is our life heie. \Ve-ell ? " 
 
 But neither Mottram nor Lowndes had any answer to the 
 question. 
 
THE 
 
 INCARNATION OF KRISHNA 
 MULVANEY. 
 
THE 
 
 INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY. 
 
 Once upon a time, and very far from this land, lived three 
 men who loved each other so greatly that neither man nor 
 woman could come between them. They were in no sense 
 refined, nor to be admitted to the outer door-mats of decent 
 folk, because they happened to be private soldiers in Her 
 Majesty's army; and private soldiers of that employ have 
 small time for self-culture. Their duty is to keep themselves 
 and their accoutrements specklessly clean, to refrain from 
 getting drunk more often than is necessary, to obey their 
 superiors, and to pray for a war. All these things my 
 friends accompHshed ; and of their own motion threw in some 
 fighting-work for which the Army Regulations did not call. 
 Their fate sent them to serve in India, which is not a golden 
 country, though poets have sung otherwise. There men die 
 with great swiftness, and those who live suffer many and curi- 
 ous things. I do not think that my friends concerned them- 
 selves much with the social or political aspects of the East. 
 They attended a not unimportant war on the northern fron- 
 tier, another one on our western boundary, and a third in 
 Upper Burma. Then their regiment sat still to recruit, and 
 the boundless monotony of cantonment life was their por- 
 tion. They were drilled morning and evening on the same 
 dusty parade-ground. They wandered up and down the same 
 
1 1 6 INCARNA TION OF KRISHNA MUL VANE V. 
 
 Stretch of dusty white road, attended the same church and 
 the same grog-shop, and slept in the same h'me-washed barn 
 of a barrack for two long years. There was Mulvaney, the 
 father in the craft, who had served with various regiments 
 from Bermuda to Halifax, old in war, scarred, reckless, re- 
 sourceful, and in his pious hours an unequalled soldier. To 
 him turned for help and comfort six and a half feet of slow- 
 moving, heavy-footed Yorkshireman, born on the wolds, 
 bred in the dales, and educated chiefly among the carriers' 
 carts at the back of York railway -station. His name was 
 Learoyd, and his chief virtue an unmitigated patience which 
 helped him to win fights. How Ortheris, a fox-terrier of a 
 Cockney, ever came to be one of the trio, is a mystery which 
 even to-day I cannot explain. " There was always three av 
 us," Mulvaney used to say. " An' by the grace av God, so 
 long as our service lasts, three av us they'll always be. 'Tis 
 betther so." 
 
 They desired no companionship beyond their own, and 
 evil it was for any man of the regiment who attempted dis- 
 pute with them. Physical argument was out of the ques- 
 tion as regarded Mulvaney and the Yorkshireman ; and as- 
 sault on Ortheris meant a combined attack from these twain 
 — a business which no five men were anxious to have on 
 their hands. Therefore they flourished, sharing their drinks, 
 their tobacco, and their money; good luck and evil; battle 
 and the chances of death ; life and the chances of happiness 
 from Calicut in southern, to Peshawur in northern India. 
 Through no merit of my own it was my good-fortune to be 
 in a measure admitted to their friendship — frankly by Mul- 
 vaney from the beginning, sullenly and with reluctance by 
 Learoyd, and suspiciously by Ortheris, who held to it that no 
 man not in the army could fraternize with a red-coat. " Like 
 to like," said he. " I'm a bloomin' sodger — he's a bloomin' 
 civilian. 'Tain't natural — that's all." 
 
IXCARyA TIOX OF KRISHXA MUL VAXE V. 117 
 
 But that was not all. They thawed progressively, and in 
 the thawing told me more of their lives and adventures than 
 I am likely to find room for here. 
 
 Omitting all else, this tale begins with the lamentable 
 thirst that was at the beginning of First Causes. Never 
 was such a thirst — Mulvaney told me so. They kicked 
 against their compulsory virtue, but the attempt was only 
 successful in the case of Ortheris. He, whose talents were 
 many, went forth into the highways and stole a dog from a 
 "civilian " — videlicet, some one, he knew not who, not in the 
 army. Now that civilian was but newly connected by marriage 
 with the colonel of the regiment, and outcry was made from 
 quarters least anticipated by Ortheris, and, in the end, he was 
 forced, lest a worse thing should happen, to dispose at ridic- 
 ulously unremunerative rates of as promising a small terrier 
 as ever graced one end of a leading-string. The purchase- 
 money was barely sufficient for one small outbreak which 
 led him to the guard-room. He escaped, however, with 
 nothing worse than a severe reprimand and a few hours of 
 punishment drill. Not for nothing had he acquired the 
 reputation of being "the best soldier of his inches" in the 
 regiment. Mulvaney had taught personal cleanliness and 
 efficiency as the first articles of his companions' creed. " A 
 dherty man,'' he was used to say, in the speech of his kind, 
 " goes to clink for a weakness in the knees, an' is coort- 
 martialed for a pair av socks missin'; but a clane man, such 
 as is an ornament to his service — a man whose buttons are 
 gold, whose coat is wax upon him, an' whose 'coutrements are 
 widout a speck — that man may, spakin' in reason, do fwhat 
 he likes an' dhrink from day to divil. That's the pride av 
 bein' dacint." 
 
 We sat together, upon a day, in the shade of a ravine far 
 from the barracks, where a watercourse used to run in rainy 
 weather. Behind us was the scrub jungle, in which jackals, 
 
T 1 8 IXCARNA TION OF KRISHNA MUL VAN 
 
 peacocks, the gray wolves of the Northwestern Provinces, 
 and occasionally a tiger estrayed from Central India, were 
 supposed to dwell. In front lay the cantonment, glaring 
 white under a glaring sun, and on either side ran the broad 
 road that led to Delhi. 
 
 It was the scrub that suggested to my mind the wisdom of 
 Mulvaney taking a day's leave and going upon a shooting- 
 tour. The peacock is a holy bird throughout India, and 
 whoso slays one is in danger of being mobbed by the nearest 
 villagers; but on the last occasion that Mulvaney had gone 
 forth he had contrived, without in the least offending local 
 religious susceptibilities, to return with six beautiful peacock 
 skins which he sold to profit. It seemed just possible then — 
 
 " But fwhat manner av use is ut to me goin' out widout a 
 dhrink? The ground's powdher-dhry underfoot, an' ut gets 
 unto the throat fit to kill," wailed Mulvaney, looking at me 
 reproachfully. " An' a peacock is not a bird you can catch 
 the tail av onless ye run. Can a man run on wather — an' 
 jungle-wather too? " 
 
 Ortheris had considered the question in all its bearings. 
 He spoke, chewing his pipe-stem meditatively: 
 
 *' Go forth, return in glory, 
 To Clusium's royal 'ome; 
 An' round these bloomin' temples 'ang 
 The bloomin' shields o' Rome." 
 
 You better go. You ain't like to shoot yourself — not 
 while there's a chanst of Hquor. Me an' Learoyd '11 stay at 
 'ome an keep shop — case o' anythin' turnin' up. But you 
 go out with a gas-pipe gun an' ketch the little peacockses or 
 somethin'. You kin get one day's leave easy as winkin'. 
 Go along an' get it, an' get peacockses or somethin'." 
 
 " Jock," said Mulvaney, turning to Learoyd, who was half 
 asleep under the shadow of the bank. He roused slowly, 
 
 *' Sitha, Mulvaaney, go," said he. 
 
INCARNA TIOiV OF KRISHNA MUL VANE V. 119 
 
 And Mulvaney went; cursing his allies with Irish fluency 
 and barrack-room point. 
 
 " Take note," said he, when he had won his holiday, and 
 appeared dressed in his roughest clothes with the only other 
 regimental fowling-piece in his hand — " take note, Jock, an' 
 you, Orth'ris, I am goin' in the face av my own will — all for 
 to please you. I misdoubt anythin' will come av permiscuous 
 huntin' afther peacockses in a disolit Ian' ; an' I know that 
 I will He down an' die wid thirrrst. IMe catch peacockses for 
 you, ye lazy scutts — an' be sacrificed by the peasanthry." 
 
 He waved a huge paw and went away. 
 
 At twilight, long before the appointed hour, he returned 
 empty-handed, much begrimed with dirt. 
 
 "Peacockses?" queried Ortheris from the safe rest of a 
 barrack-room table, whereon he was smoking cross-legged, 
 Learoyd fast asleep on a bench. 
 
 " Jock," said Mulvaney as he stirred up the sleeper. " Jock, 
 can ye fight? Will ye fight?" 
 
 Very slowly the meaning of the words communicated itself 
 to the half-roused man. He understood — and again — what 
 might these things mean? Mulvaney was shaking him sav- 
 agely. Meantime the men in the room howled with delight. 
 There was war in the confederacy at last — war and the break- 
 ing of bonds. 
 
 Barrack-room etiquette is stringent. On the direct chal- 
 lenge must follow the direct reply. This is more binding 
 than the ties of tried friendship. Once again Mulvaney re- 
 peated the question. Learoyd answered by the only means 
 in his power and so swiftly that the Irishman had barely time 
 to avoid the blow. The laughter around increased. Lea- 
 royd looked bewilderedly at his friend— himself as greatly 
 bewildered. Ortheris dropped from the table. His world was 
 falling. 
 
 *' Come outside," said Mulvaney, and as the occupants of 
 
I 20 INCARNA riON OF KRISHXA MUL VANE Y. 
 
 the barrack-room prepared joyously to follow, he turned and 
 said furiously: " There will be no fight this night — onless any 
 wan av you is wishful to assist. The man that does, follows 
 on." 
 
 No man moved. The three passed out into the moon- 
 light, Learoyd fumbling with the buttons of hi-s coat. The 
 parade-ground was deserted except for the scurrying jackals. 
 Mulvaney's impetuous rush carried his companions far into 
 the open ere Learoyd attempted to turn round and continue 
 the discussion. 
 
 "Be still now. 'Twas my fault for beginnin' things in the 
 middle av an end, Jock. I should ha' comminst wid an ex- 
 planation ; but Jock, dear, on your sowl are ye fit, think you, 
 for the finest fight that iver was — betther than fightin' me? 
 Considher before ye answer." 
 
 More than ever puzzled, Learoyd turned round two or 
 three times, felt an arm, kicked tentatively, and answered, 
 "Ah'm fit." He was accustomed to fight blindly at the bid- 
 ding of the superior mind. 
 
 They sat them down, the men looking on from afar, and 
 Mulvaney untangled himself in mighty words. 
 
 " FoUowin' your fools' scheme, I wint out into the thrack- 
 less desert beyond the barricks. An' there I met a pious 
 Hindu dhriving a bullock-kyart. I tuk ut for granted he 
 wud be dehghted for to convoy me a piece, an' I jumped 
 
 "You long, lazy, black-haired swine," drawled Ortheris, 
 who would have done the same thing under similar circum- 
 stances. 
 
 "'Twas the height av policy. That naygur man dhruv 
 miles an' miles — as far as the new railway line they're buildin' 
 now back av the Tavi River. * 'Tis a kyart for dhirt only,' 
 says he now an' again timoreously, to get me out av ut. 
 ' Dhirt I am,' sez I, ' an' the dhryest that you iver kyarted. 
 
INCARNA TION OF KRISHNA MUL VANE Y. 121 
 
 Dhrive on, me son, an' glory be wid you.' At that I vvint to 
 slape, an' took no heed till he pulled up on the embankment 
 av the line where the coolies were pilin' mud. There was 
 a matther av two thousand coolies on that line — you re- 
 mimber that. Prisintly a bell rang, an' they throops off to a 
 big pay-shed. ^ Where's the white man in charge? ' sez I to 
 my kyart-driver. ' In the shed,' sez he, 'engaged on a riffle.' 
 'A fwhat?' sez I. * Riffle,' sez he. 'You take ticket. He 
 take money. You get nothin'.' ' Oho! ' sez I, 'that's fwhat 
 the shuperior an' cultivated man calls a raffle, me misbe- 
 guided child av darkness an' sin. Lead on to that raffle, 
 though fwhat the mischief 'tis doin' so far away from uts 
 home — which is the charity-bazaar at Christmas, an' the 
 colonel's wife grinnin' behind the tea-table — is more than I 
 know.' Wid that I wint to the shed an' found 'twas pay-day 
 among the coolies. Their wages was on a table forninst a 
 big, fine, red buck av a man— sivun fut high, four fut wide, 
 an' three fut thick, wid a fist on him like a corn-sack. He 
 was payin' the coolies fair an' easy, but he wud ask each 
 man if he wud raffle that month, an' each man sez, ' Yes,' av 
 course. Thin he wud deduct from their wages accordin'. 
 Whin all was paid, he filled an ould cigar-box full av gun- 
 wads an' scattered ut among the coolies. They did not 
 take much joy av that performince, an' small wondher. A 
 man close to me picks up a black gunwad an' sings out, ' I 
 have ut.' ' Good m.ay ut do you,' sez I. The coolie wint 
 forward to this big, fine red man, who threw a cloth off of 
 the most sumpshus, jooled, enamelled, an' variously bediv- 
 illed sedan-chair I iver saw." 
 
 " Sedan-chair! Put your 'ead in a bag. That was a palan- 
 quin. Don't yer know a palanquin when you see it?" said 
 Ortheris with great scorn. 
 
 " I chuse to call ut sedan-chair, an' chair ut shall be, little 
 man," continued the Irishman. "'Twas a most amazin' 
 
12 2 INCA RNA TION OF KRISHNA M UL VA NE Y. 
 
 chair — all lined wid pink silk an' fitted wid red silk curtains. 
 ' Here ut is,' sez the red man. ' Here ut is,' sez the coolie, 
 an' he grinned weakly ways. ' Is ut any use to you? ' sez the 
 red man. * No,' sez the coohe ; ' I'd like to make a presint 
 av ut to you.' *I am graciously pleased to accept that 
 same,' sez the red man; an' at that all the coolies cried 
 aloud in fwhat was mint for cheerful notes, an' wint back to 
 their diggin', lavin' me alone in the shed. The red man saw 
 me, an' his face grew blue on his big, fat neck. * Fwhat 
 d'you want here?' sez he. * Standin'-room an' no more,' sez 
 I, ' onless it may be fwhat ye niver had, an' that's manners, 
 ye rafflin' ruffian,' for I was not goin' to have the service 
 throd upon. ' Out of this,' sez he. * I'm in charge av this 
 section av construction.' * I'm in charge av mesilf,' sez I, 
 * an' it's like I will stay a while. D'ye raffle much in these 
 parts?' *Fwhat's that to you?' sez he. *Nothin',' sez I, 
 *but a great dale to you, for begad I'm thinkin' you get the 
 full half av your revenue from that sedan-chair. Is ut always 
 raffled so? ' I sez, an' wid that I wint to a coolie to ask ques- 
 tions. Bhoys, that man's name is Dearsley, an' he's been 
 rafflin' that ould sedan-chair monthly this matter av nine 
 months. Ivry coolie on the section takes a ticket — or he 
 gives 'em the go — wanst a month on pay-day. Ivry coolie 
 that wins ut gives ut back to him, for 'tis too big to carry 
 away, an' he'd sack the man that thried to sell ut. That 
 Dearsley has been makin' the rowlin' wealth av Roshus by 
 nefarious rafflin'. Two thousand coolies defrauded wanst a 
 month!" 
 
 " Dom t' coolies. Hast gotten t' cheer, man?" said 
 Learoyd. 
 
 " Hould on. Havin' onearthed this amazin' an' stupenjus 
 fraud committed by the man Dearsley, I hild a council av 
 war; he thryin' all the time to sejuce me into a fight wid 
 opprobrious language. That sedan-chair niver belonged by 
 
INCARNA TIOX OF KRISHXA MUL VANE V. 123 
 
 right to any foreman av coolies. 'Tis a king's chair or a 
 quane's. There's a gold on ut an' silk an' all manner av tra- 
 pesemints. Bhoys, 'tis not for me to countenance any sort 
 
 av wrong-doin' — me bein' the ould man — but anyway he 
 
 has had ut nine months, an' he dare not make throuble av ut 
 was taken from him. Five miles away, or ut may be six " 
 
 There was a long pause, and the jackals howled merrily. 
 Learoyd bared one arm and contemplated it in the moon- 
 hght. Then he nodded partly to himself and partly to his 
 friends. Ortheris wriggled with suppressed emotion. 
 
 " I thought ye vvud see the reasonableness av ut," said 
 Mulvaney. " I made bould to say as much to the man be- 
 fore. He was for a direct front attack — fut, horse, an' guns 
 an' all for nothin', seein' that I had no transport to con- 
 vey the machine away. * I will not argue wid you,' sez I, 
 ' this day, but subsequintly. Mister Dearsley, me rafflin' jool, 
 we talk ut out lengthways. 'Tis no good policy to swindle 
 the naygur av his hard-earned emolumints, an' by presint in- 
 formashin' — 'twas the kyart man that tould me — ' ye've been 
 perpethrating that same for nine months. But I'm a just 
 man,' sez I, 'an' overlookin' the presumpshin that yondher 
 settee wid the gilt top was not come by honust' — at that he 
 turned sky-green, so I knew things was more thrue than 
 tellable — * I'm wiUin' to compound the felony for this month's 
 winnin's.' " 
 
 " Ah! Ho! " from Learoyd and Ortheris. 
 
 "That man Dearsley's rushin' on his fate," continued ^lul- 
 vaney, solemnly wagging his head. "All hell had no name 
 bad enough for me that tide. Faith, he called me a robber! 
 Me! that was savin' him from continuin' in his evil ways 
 widout a remonstrince — an' to a man av conscience a re- 
 monstrince may change the chunc av his life. ' 'Tis not for 
 me to argue.' sez I, ' fwhatevcr ye are. Mister Dearsley, but 
 by my hand I'll take away the temptation for you that lies 
 
1 2 4 INC A RNA T/OiV OF KRISHNA M UL VA NE Y. 
 
 in that sedan-chair.' * You will have to fight me for ut,' sez 
 he, 'for well I know you will never dare make report to any- 
 one.' * Fight I will,' sez I, * but not this day, for I'm rejuced 
 for want av nourishment.' ' Ye're an ould bould hand,' sez 
 he, sizin' me up an' down; an' a jool av a fight we will 
 have. Eat now an' dhrink, an' go your way.' Wid that he 
 gave me some hump an' whiskey — good whiskey — an' we 
 talked av this an' that the while. * It goes hard on me now,' 
 sez I, wipin' my mouth, ' to confiscate that piece av furni- 
 ture, but justice is justice.' ' Ye've not get ut yet,' sez he; 
 'there's the fight between.' 'There is,' sez I, 'an' a good 
 fight. Ye shall have the pick av the best quality in my rigi- 
 mint for the dinner you have given this day.' Thin I came 
 hot-foot for you two. Hould your tongue, the both. 'Tis 
 this way. To-morrow we three will go there an' he shall 
 have his pick betune me an' Jock. Jock's a deceivin' fighter, 
 for he is all fat to the eye, an' he moves slow. Now I'm all 
 beef to the look, an' I move quick. By my reckonin' the 
 Dearsley man won't take me ; so me an' Orth'ris '11 see fair 
 play. Jock, I tell you, 'twill be big fightin' — whipped, wid 
 the cream above the jam. Afther the business 'twill take a 
 good three av us — Jock '11 be very hurt — to take away that 
 sedan-chair." 
 
 " Palanquin." This from Ortheris. 
 
 " Fwhatever ut is, we must have ut. 'Tis the only sellin^ 
 piece av property widin reach that we can get so cheap. 
 An' f what's a fight afther all? He has robbed the naygur- 
 man, dishonust. We rob him honust." 
 
 " But wot'll we do with the bloomin' harticle when we've 
 got it? Them palanquins are as big as 'ouses, an' uncom- 
 mon 'ard to sell, as McCleary said when ye stole the sentry- 
 box from the Curragh." 
 
 " Who's goin' to do t' fightin' ? " said Learoyd, and Ortheris 
 subsided. The three returned to barracks without a word. 
 
nVCARA'A TIOX OF KRISHXA MUL VANE V. 125 
 
 Mulvaney's last argument clinched the matter. This palan- 
 quin was property, vendible and to be attained in the least 
 embarrassing fashion. It would eventually become beer. 
 Great was Mulvaney. 
 
 Next afternoon a procession of three formed itself and dis- 
 appeared into the scrub in the direction of the new railway 
 line. Learoyd alone was without care, for Mulvaney dived 
 darkly into the future and little Ortheris feared the unknown. 
 
 What befell at that interview in the lonely pay-shed by the 
 side of the half-built embankment only a few hundred coolies 
 know, and their tale is a confusing one, running thus: 
 
 " We were at work. Three men in red coats came. They 
 saw the Sahib — Dearsley Sahib. They made oration, and 
 noticeably the small man among the red coats. Dearsley 
 Sahib also made oration, and used many very strong words. 
 Upon this talk they departed together to an open space, and 
 there the fat man in the red coat fought with Dearsley Sahib 
 after the custom of white men — with his hands, making no 
 noise, and never at all pulling Dearsley Sahib's hair. Such 
 of us as were not afraid beheld these things for just so long 
 a time as a man needs to cook the mid-day meal. The small 
 man in the red coat had possessed himself of Dearsley Sahib's 
 watch. No, he did not steal that watch. He held it in his 
 hands, and at certain seasons made outcry, and the twain 
 ceased their combat, which was like the combat of young 
 bulls in spring. Both men were soon all red, but Dearsley 
 Sahib was much more red than the other. Seeing this, and 
 fearingforhis life — because we greatly loved him — some fifty 
 of us made shift to rush upon the red-coats. But a certain 
 man — very black as to the hair, and in no way to be confused 
 with the small man, or the fat man who fought — that man, 
 we affirm, ran upon us, and of us he embraced some ten or 
 fifty in both arms, and beat our heads together, so that our 
 livers turned to water, and we ran away. It is not good to 
 
1 2 6 IXC A RNA TION OF KRISHNA M UL VA NE V. 
 
 interfere in the fightings of white men. After that Dearsley 
 Sahib fell and did not rise, these men jumped upon his stom- 
 ach and despoiled him of all his money, and attempted to fire 
 the pay-shed, and departed. Is it true that Dearsley Sahib 
 makes no complaint of these latter things having been done? 
 We were senseless with fear, and do not at all remember. 
 There was no palanquin near the pay-shed. What do we 
 know about palanquins? Is it true that Dearsley Sahib does 
 not return to this place, on account of his sickness, for ten 
 days? This is the fault of those bad men in the red coats, 
 who should be severely punished ; for Dearsley Sahib is both 
 our father and mother, and we love him much. Yet if Dears- 
 ley Sahib does not return to this place at all, we will speak 
 the truth. There was a palanquin, for the up-keep of which 
 we were forced to pay nine-tenths of our monthly wage. On 
 such mulctings Dearsley Sahib allowed us to make obeisance 
 to him before the palanquin. What could we do? We were 
 poor men. He took a full half of our wages. Will the gov- 
 ernment repay us those moneys? Those three men in red 
 coats bore the palanquin upon their shoulders and departed. 
 All the money that Dearsley Sahib had taken from us was in 
 the cushions of that palanquin. Therefore they stole it. 
 Thousands of rupees were there — all our money. It was our 
 bank-box, to fill which we cheerfully contributed to Dearsley 
 Sahib three-sevenths of our monthly wage. Why does the 
 white man look upon us with the eye of disfavor? Before 
 God, there was a palanquin, and now there is no palanquin-, 
 and if they send the police here to make inquisition, we can 
 only say that there never has been any palanquin. Why 
 should a palanquin be near these works? We are poor men, 
 and we know nothing." 
 
 Such is the simplest version of the simplest story connected 
 with the descent upon Dearsley. From the lips of the coo- 
 lies I received it. Dearsley himself was in no condition to 
 
INCARXATJO.y OF KRISHXA MULVANEY. 127 
 
 say anything, and Mulvaney preserved a massive silence, 
 broken only by the occasional licking of the lips. He had 
 seen a fight so gorgeous that even his power of speech was 
 taken from him. I respected that reserve until, three days 
 after the aCfair, I discovered in a disused stable in my quar- 
 ters a palanquin of unchastened splendor — evidently in past 
 days the litter of a queen. The pole whereby it swung be- 
 tween the shoulders of the bearers was rich with the paiQted 
 j>apier-mach^ oi Cashmere. The shoulder-pads were of yel- 
 low silk. The panels of the litter itself were ablaze with the 
 loves of all the gods and goddesses of the Hindoo Pantheon 
 • — lacquer on cedar. The cedar sliding doors were fitted with 
 hasps of translucent Jaipur enamel and ran in grooves shod 
 with silver. The cushions were of brocaded Delhi silk^ and 
 the curtains which once hid any glimpse of the beauty of the 
 king's palace were stiff with gold. Closer investigation 
 showed that the entire fabric was everywhere rubbed and 
 discolored by time and wear; but even thus it was suffi- 
 ciently gorgeous to deserve housing on the threshold of a 
 royal zenana. I found no fault with it, except that it was in 
 my stable. Then, trying to lift it by the silvershod shoulder 
 pole, I laughed. The road from Dearsleys pay-shed to the 
 cantonment was a narrow and uneven one, and traversed by 
 three very inexperienced palanquin-bearers, one of whom 
 was sorely battered about the head, must have been a path 
 of torment. Still I did not quite recognize the right of the 
 three musketeers to turn me into a "fence." 
 
 " I'm askin' you to warehouse ut," said INIulvaney, when 
 he was brought to consider the question. "There's no steal 
 in ut. Dearsley tould us we cud have ut if we fought. 
 Jock fought — an' O sorr, when the throuble was at uts finest 
 an' Jock was bleedin' like a stuck pig, an' little Orth'ris was 
 shquealin' on one leg cliewin' big bites out av Dearsley's 
 watch, I wud ha' given my plaoe at the fight to have had you 
 
128 INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY, 
 
 see wan round. He tuk Jock, as I suspicioned he would, 
 an' Jock was deceptive. Nine roun's they were even matched, 
 
 an' at the tenth About that palanquin now. There's not 
 
 the least trouble in the world, or we wud not ha' brought ut 
 here. You will ondherstand that the queen — God bless 
 her! — does not reckon for a privit soldier to kape elephints 
 an' palanquins an' sich in barricks. Afther we had dhragged 
 ut down from Dearsley's through that cruel scrub that n'r 
 broke Orth'ris' heart, we set ut in the ravine for a night; an' 
 a thief av a porcupine an' a civet-cat av a jackal roosted in 
 ut, as well we knew in the mornin". I put ut to you, sorr, is 
 an elegant palanquin, fit for the princess, the natural abidin' 
 place av all the vermin in cantonmints? We brought ut to 
 you, afther dhark, and put ut in your shtable. Do not let 
 your conscience prick. Think av the rejoicin' men in the 
 pay-shed yonder — lookin' at Dearsley wid his head tied up 
 in a towel — an' well knowin' that they can dhraw their pay 
 ivery month widout stoppages for rififles. Indirectly, sorr, 
 you have rescued from an onprincipled son av a night-hawk 
 the peasantry av a numerous village. An' besides, will I let 
 that sedan-chair rot on our hands? Not I. 'Tis not every 
 day a piece av pure joolry comes into the market. There's 
 not a king widin these forty miles " — he waved his hand 
 round the dusty horizon — "not a king wud not be glad to 
 buy ut. Some day meself, whin I have leisure, I'll take ut 
 up along the road an' dispose av ut." 
 
 "How?" said I. 
 
 " Get into ut, av course, an' keep wan eye open through 
 the curtain. Whin I see a likely man of the native persua- 
 sion, I will descend blushin' from my canopy and say: 'Buy 
 a palanquin, ye black scutt?' I will have to hire four men 
 to carry me first, though; and that's impossible till next pay- 
 day." 
 
 Curiously enough, Learoyd, who had fought for the prize, 
 
INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY. 129 
 
 and in the winning secured the highest pleasure life had to 
 offer him, was altogether disposed to undervalue it, while 
 Ortheris openly said it would be better to break the thing 
 up. Dearsley, he argued, might be a many-sided man, capa- 
 ble, despite his magnificent fighting qualities, of setting in 
 motion the machinery of the civil law, a thing much ab- 
 horred by the soldier. Under any circumstances their fun 
 had come and passed ; the next pay-day was close at hand, 
 when there would be beer for all. Wherefore longer con- 
 serve the painted palanquin? 
 
 "A first-class rifle-shot an' a good little man av your mches 
 you are," said Mulvaney. "But youniver had a head worth 
 a soft-boiled egg. 'Tisme has to lie awake av nights scham- 
 in' an' plottin' for the three av us. Orth'ris, me son, 'tis no 
 matther av a few gallons av beer — no, nor twenty gallons — 
 but tubs an' vats an' firkins in that sedan-chair." 
 
 Meantime the palanquin stayed in my stall, the key of 
 which was in Mulvaney's hands. 
 
 Pay-day came, and with it beer. It was not in experience 
 to hope that Mulvaney, dried by four weeks' drought, would 
 avoid excess. Next morning he and the palanquin had dis- 
 appeared. He had taken the precaution of getting three 
 days' leave " to see a friend on the railway,'' and the colonel, 
 well knowing that the seasonal outburst was near, and hop- 
 ing it would spend its force beyond the limits of his jurisdic- 
 tion, cheerfully gave him all he demanded. At this point 
 his history, as recorded in the mess-room, stopped. 
 
 Ortheris carried it not much further. "No, 'e wasn't 
 drunk," said the little man loyally, " the liquor was no more 
 than feelin' its way round inside of 'im ; but 'e went an' filled 
 that 'ole bloomin' palanquin with bottles 'fore 'e went off. 
 He's gone an' 'ired six men to carry 'im, an' I 'ad to 'elp 
 'im into 'is nupshal couch, 'cause 'e wouldn't 'ear reason. 
 ' E's gone off in 'is shirt an' trousies, swearin' tremenjus — • 
 9 
 
1 3 o IXC A RNA TION OF KRISHNA M UL J \4 NE V. 
 
 gone down the road in the palanquin, wavin' 'is legs out o 
 windy." 
 
 "Yes," said I, "but where?" 
 
 " Now you arx me a question. 'E said 'e was going to sell 
 that palanquin, but from observations what happened when 
 I was stuffin' 'im through the door I fancy 'e's gone to the 
 new embankment to mock at Dearsley. Soon as Jock's off 
 duty I'm going there to see if 'e's safe — not Mulvaney, but 
 t'other man. My saints, but I pity 'im as 'elps Terence out 
 o' the palanquin when 'e's once fair drunk! " 
 
 " He'll come back," I said. 
 
 "'Corse 'e will. On'y question is, what'll 'e be doin' on 
 the road. Killing Dearsley, like as not. 'E shouldn't 'a gone 
 without Jock or me." 
 
 Reinforced by Learoyd, Ortheris sought the foreman of 
 the coolie-gang. Dearsley's head was still embellished with 
 towels. Mulvaney, drunk or sober, would have struck no 
 man in that condition, and Dearsley indignantly denied that 
 he would have taken advantage of the intoxicated brave. 
 
 " I had my pick o' you two," he explained to Learoyd, 
 "and you got my palanquin — not before I'd made my profit 
 on it. Why'd I do harm when everything's settled? Your 
 man £^id come here — drunk as Davy's sow on a frosty night 
 — came a-purpose to mock me — stuck his head out of the 
 door an' called me a crucified hodman. I made him drunker, 
 an' sent him along. But I never touched him." 
 
 To these things Learoyd, slow to perceive the evidences 
 of sincerity, answered only, " If owt comes to Mulvaney 'long 
 o' you, I'll gripple you, clouts or no clouts on your ugly head, 
 an' I'll draw t' throat twisty-ways, man. See there now." 
 
 The embassy removed itself, and Dearsley, the battered, 
 laughed alone over his supper that evening. 
 
 Three days passed— a fourth and a fifth. The week drew 
 to a close and Mulvaney did not return. He, his royal pal- 
 
INCA KXA r/O.V OF KRISHXA M UL VA XE Y. 1 3 I 
 
 anquin, and his six attendants had vanished into air. A very 
 large and very tipsy soldier, his feet sticking out of the litter 
 of a reigning princess, is not a thing to travel along the ways 
 M'ithout comment. Yet no man of all the country round had 
 seen any such wonder. He was, and he was not; and Learoyd 
 suggested the immediate smashment as a sacrifice to his 
 ghost. Ortheris insisted that all was well. 
 
 "When r^Iulvaney goes up the road," said he, " 'e's like 
 to go a very long ways up, especially when 'e's so blue drunk 
 as 'e is now. But what gits me is 'is not bein' 'eard of 
 pullin' wool of the niggers somewheres about. That don't 
 look good. The drink must ha' died out in 'im by this, un- 
 less 'e's broke a bank, an' then Why don't 'e come back? 
 
 'E didn't ought to ha' gone off without us." 
 
 Even Ortheris' heart sank at the end of the seventh day, 
 for half the regiment were out scouring the countryside, and 
 Learoyd had been forced to fight two men who hinted openly 
 that Mulvaney had deserted. To do him justice, the colonel 
 laughed at the notion, even when it was put forward by his 
 much-trusted adjutant. 
 
 " Mulvaney would as soon think of deserting as you would," 
 said he. "No; he's either fallen into a mischief among the 
 villagers — and yet that isn't likely, for he'd blarney himself 
 out of the pit: or else he is engaged on urgent private affairs 
 — some stupenduous devilment that we shall hear of at mess 
 after it has been the round of the barrack-rooms. The worst 
 of it is that I shall have to give him twenty-eight days' con- 
 finement at least for being absent without leave, just when I 
 most want him to lick the new batch of recruits into shape. 
 I never knew a man who could put a polish on young sol- 
 diers as quickly as Mulvaney can. How does he do it? " 
 
 " With blarney and the buckle-end of a belt, sir," said the 
 adjutant. " He is worth a con})le of non-commissioned 
 oflicers when we are dealing with an Irish draft, and the 
 
1 3 2 lA'CA RNA TION OF KRISHNA M UL VA NE Y. 
 
 London lads seem to adore him. The worst of it is that if 
 he goes to the cells the other two are neither to hold nor to 
 bind till he comes out again. I believe Ortheris preaches 
 mutiny on these occasions, and I know that the mere pres- 
 ence of Learoyd mourning for Mulvaney kills all the cheer- 
 fulness of his room. The sergeants tell me that he allows no 
 man to laugh when he feels unhappy. They are a queer 
 gang." 
 
 " For all that, I wish we had a few more of them. I like 
 a well-conducted regiment, but these pasty-faced, shifty-eyed, 
 mealy-mouthed young slouchers from the depot worry me 
 sometimes with their offensive virtue. They don't seem to 
 have backbone enough to do anything but play cards and 
 prowl round the married quarters. I believe I'd forgive that 
 old villain on the spot if he turned up with any sort of ex- 
 planation that I could in decency accept." 
 
 " Not likely to be much difficulty about that, sir," said the 
 adjutant, " Mulvaney's explanations are only one degree 
 less wonderful than his performances. They say that when 
 he was in the Black Tyrone, before he came to us, he was 
 discovered on the banks of the Liffey trying to sell his 
 colonel's charger to a Donegal dealer as a perfect lady's 
 hack. Shakbolt commanded the Tyrone then." 
 
 " Shakbolt must have had apoplexy at the thought of his 
 ramping war-horses answering to that description. He used 
 to buy unbacked devils and tame them by starvation. What 
 did Mulvaney say? " 
 
 " That he was a member of the Society for the Prevention 
 of Cruelty to Animals, anxious to ' sell the poor baste where 
 he would get something to fill out his dimples.' Shakbolt 
 laughed, but I fancy that was why Mulvaney exchanged to 
 ours." 
 
 "I wish he were back," said the colonel; "for I like him 
 and believe he likes mo." 
 
IXCARXA T/O.V OF A'R/S//XA M UL VANE Y. 133 
 
 That evening, to cheer our souls, Learoyd, Ortheris, and 
 I went into the waste to smoke out a porcupine. All the 
 dogs attended, but even their clamor — and they began to dis- 
 cuss the shortcomings of porcupines before they left canton- 
 ments — could not take us out of ourselves. A large, low 
 moon turned the tops of the plume grass to silver, and the 
 stunted camel-thorn bushes and sour tamarisks into the like- 
 ness of trooping devils. The smell of the sun had not left 
 the earth, and little aimless winds, blowing across the rose 
 gardens to the southward, brought the scent of dried roses 
 and water. Our fire once started, and the dogs craftily dis- 
 posed to wait the dash of the porcupine, we climbed to the 
 top of a rain-scarred hillock of earth, and looked across the 
 scrub, seamed with cattle paths, white with the long grass, 
 and dotted with spots of level pond-bottom, where the snipe 
 would gather in winter. 
 
 " This," said Ortheris, with a sigh, as he took in the un- 
 kempt desolation of it all, "this is sanguinary. This is unu- 
 sual sanguinary Sort o' mad country. Like a grate when 
 the fire's put out by the sun.'" He shaded his eyes against 
 the moonlight. "An' there's a loony dancin' in the middle 
 of it all. Quite right. I'd dance, too, if I wasn't so down- 
 heart." 
 
 There pranced a portent in the face of the' moon — a huge 
 and ragged spirit of the waste, that flapped its wings from 
 afar. It had risen out of the earth ; it was coming toward 
 us, and its outline was never twice the sar.ie. The toga, 
 table-cloth, or dressing-gown, whatever the creature wore, 
 took a hundred shapes. Once it sto])ped on a neighboring 
 mound and flung all its legs and arms to the winds. 
 
 "My, but that scarecrow 'as got 'em bad! " said Ortheris. 
 " Seems like if 'e comes any furder we'll 'ave to argify with 
 'im." 
 
 Learoyd raised himsc-lf from the d'rt as a bull clears his 
 
134 JNCARNA TION OF KRISHNA MUL VANE Y. 
 
 flanks of the wallow. And as a bull bellows, so he, after a 
 short minute at gaze, gave tongue to the stars. 
 
 " Mulvaney ! Mulvaney ! A hoo ! " 
 
 Then we yelled all together, and the figure dipped into the 
 hollow till, with a crash of rending grass, the lost one strode 
 up to the light of the fire, and disappeared to the waist in a 
 wave of joyous dogs. Then Learoyd and Ortheris gave 
 greeting bass and falsetto. 
 
 '•' You damned fool ! " said they and severally punched 
 him with their fists. 
 
 " Go easy ! " he answered, wrapping a huge arm around 
 each. " I would have you to know that I am a god, to be 
 treated as such — though, by my faith, I fancy I've got to go 
 to the guard-room just like a privit soldier." 
 
 The latter part of the sentence destroyed the suspicions 
 raised by the former. Any one would have been justified 
 in regarding Mulvaney as mad. He was hatlesss and shoe- 
 less, and his shirt and trousers were dropping off him. But 
 he wore one wondrous garment — a gigantic cloak that fell 
 from collar-bone to heels — of pale pink silk, wrought all 
 over, in cunningest needlework of hands long since dead, 
 with the loves of the Hindoo gods. The monstrous figures 
 leaped in and out of the light of the fire as he settled the 
 folds round him. 
 
 Ortheris handled the stuff respectfully for a moment while 
 I was trying to remember where I had seen it before. 
 
 Then he screamed: "What ^ave you done with the palan- 
 quin ? You're wearin' the linin'." 
 
 "I am," said the Irishman, "an' by the same token the 
 'broidery is scrapin' me hide off. I'veHved in thissumpshus 
 counterpane for four days. Me son, I begin to ondherstand 
 why the naygur is no use. Widout me boots, an' me trousers 
 like an open-work stocking on a gyurl's leg at a dance, I be- 
 gan to feel like a naygur — all timoreous. Give me a pipe 
 an' I'll tell on." 
 
IKCA RNA TION OF KRISHNA M UL VA NE V. 135 
 
 He lit a pipe, resumed his grip of his two friends, and 
 rocked to and fro in a gale of laughter. 
 
 " Mulvaney," said Ortheris sternly, "'tain't no time for 
 laughin'. You've given Jock an' me more trouble than you're 
 worth. You 'ave been absent without leave, and you'll go 
 into the cells for that ; an' you 'ave come back disgustingly 
 dressed an' most improper in the linin' o' that bloomin' pal- 
 anquin. Instid of which you laugh. An' we thought you 
 was dead all the time." 
 
 " Bhoys," said the culprit, still shaking gently, " whin I've 
 done my tale you may cry if you hke, an' little Orth'ris here 
 can thrample my insides out. Ha' done an' listen. My 
 performinces have been stupenjus ; my luck has been the 
 blessed luck of the British army — an' there's no better than 
 that. I went out drunk an' drinking in the palanquin, and 
 I have come back a pink god. Did any of you go to Dears- 
 ley afther my time was up ? He was at the bottom of ut all." 
 
 "Ah said so," murmured Learoyd. "To-morrow ah'U 
 smash t' face in upon his head." 
 
 " Ye will not. Dearsley's a jool av a man. After Orth'ris 
 had put me into the palanquin an' the six bearer-men were 
 gruntin' down the road, I tuk thought to mock Dearsley for 
 that fight. So I tould thim, 'Go to the embankment,' and 
 there, bein' most amazin' full, I shtuck my head out av the 
 concern an' passed compliments wid Dearsley. I must ha' 
 miscalled him outrageous, for whin I am that way the power 
 of the tongue comes on me. I can bare remimber tellin' 
 him that his mouth opened endways like the mouth of a 
 skate, which was thrue afther Learoyd had handled ut ; an' 
 I clear remimber his taking no manner nor matter of ofifence, 
 but givin' me a big dhrink of beer. ' Twas the beer that did 
 the thrick, for I crawled back into the palanquin, steppin' 
 on me right ear wid me left foot, an' thin I slept like the 
 dead. Wanst I half roused, an' begad the noise in my head 
 
1 3 6 INC A RNA TION OF KRISHNA M UL VA NE V. 
 
 was tremenjus — roarin' an' poundin' an' rattlin' such as was 
 quite new to me. ' Mother av Mercy,' thinks I, ' phwat a con- 
 certina I will have on my shoulders whin I wake ! An* 
 wid that I curls myself up to sleep before ut should get hould 
 on me. Bhoys, that noise was not dhrink, ^twas the rattle 
 av a train ! " 
 
 There followed an impressive pause. 
 
 "Yes, he had put me on a thrain — put me, palanquin an' 
 all, an' six black assassins av his own coolies that was in his 
 nefarious confidence, on the flat av a ballast-truck, and we 
 were rowlin' and bowlin' along to Benares. Glory be that I 
 did not wake up then an' introjuce myself to the coolies. 
 As I was sayin', I slept for the better part av a day an' a 
 night. But remimber you, that that man Dearsley had 
 packed me off on one av his material thrains to Benares, all 
 for to make me overstay my leave an' get me into the cells." 
 
 The explanation was an eminently rational one. Benares 
 was at least ten hours by rail from the cantonments, and noth- 
 ing in the world could have saved Mulvaney from arrest as 
 a deserter had he appeared there in the apparel of his orgies. 
 Dearsley had not forgotten to take revenge. Learoyd, 
 drawing back a little, began to place soft blows over selected 
 portions of IMulvaney's body. His thoughts were away on 
 the embankment, and they meditated evil for Dearsley. 
 Mulvaney continued : " Whin I was full awake the palanquin 
 was set down in a street, I suspicioned, for I could hear people 
 passin' and talkin'. But I knew well I was far from home. 
 There is a queer smell upon our cantonments — smell av dried 
 earth and brick-kilns wid wiffs av a cavalry stable-litter. 
 This place smelt marigold flowers an' bad water, an' wanst 
 somethin' ahve came an' blew heavy with his muzzle at the 
 chink of the shutter. ' It's in a village I am,' thinks I to 
 myself, 'an' the parochial buffalo is investigatin' the palan- 
 quin.' But anyways I had no desire to move. Onlv lie still 
 
INC A R.\ 'A TION OF KRISHNA M UL VA NE Y. 137 
 
 whin you're in foreign parts an' the standin' luck av the Brit- 
 ish army will carry ye through. That is an epigram. I made ut. 
 
 '' Thin a lot av whisperin' devils surrounded the palanquin. 
 *Take ut up,' says wan man. ' But who'll pay us ? ' says an- 
 other. 'The Maharanee's minister, av course,' sez the man. 
 * Oho ! ' sez I to myself ; * I'm a quane in me own right, wid 
 a minister to pay me expenses. ' I'll be an emperor if I lie 
 still long enough. But this is no village I've struck.' I lay 
 quiet, but I gummed me right eye to a crack av the shutters, 
 an' I saw that the whole street was crammed wid palanquins 
 an' horses an' a sprinklin' av naked priests, all yellow powder 
 an' tigers' tails. But I may tell you, OrthVis, an' you, Lea- 
 royd, that av all the palanquins ours was the most imperial 
 an' magnificent. Now a palanquin means a native lady all 
 the world over, except whin a soldier av the quane happens 
 to be takin' a ride. ' Women an' priest ! ' sez I. ' Your 
 father's son is in the right pew this time, Tere..ce. There 
 will be proceedings.' Six black devils in pink muslin tuk up 
 the palanquin' an' oh ! but the rowlin an' the rockin' made 
 me sick. Thin we got fair jammed among the palanquins 
 — not more than fifty av them — an' we grated an' bumped 
 like Queenstown potato-smacks in a runnin' tide. I cud 
 hear the women gigglin' and squirmin' in their palanquins, 
 but mine was the royal equipage. They made way for ut, 
 an', begad, the pink muslin men o' mine were howlin', * Room 
 for the Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun.' Do you know av 
 the lady, sorr ? " 
 
 "Yes," said I. "She is a very estimable old queen of the 
 Central India States, and they say she is fat. How on earth 
 could she go to Benares without all the city knowing her 
 palanquin ? '' 
 
 " 'Twas the eternal foolishness av the naygur-men. They 
 saw the palanquin lying loncfiil an' forlornsome, an' the 
 beauty of ut, after Dearsley's men had dhroppcd ut an gone 
 
138 INCARNA TION OF KRISHNA MUL VANE V. 
 
 away, an' they gave ut the best name that occurred to thim. 
 Quite right too. For aught we know the old lady was trav- 
 elling mcog. — like me. I'm glad to hear she's fat. I was no 
 light-weight myself, an' my men were mortial anxious to dhrop 
 me under a great big archway promiscuously ornamented wid 
 the most improper carvin's an' cuttin's I iver saw. Begad ! 
 they made me blush — Hke a maharanee." 
 
 " The temple of the Prithi-Devi," I murmured, remember- 
 ing the monstrous horrors of that sculptured archway at 
 Benares. 
 
 " Pretty Devilskins, savin' your presence, sorr. There was 
 nothin' pretty about ut, except me ! 'Twas all half dhark, 
 an' whin the cooHes left they shut a big black gate behind 
 av us, an' half a company av fat yellow priests began pully- 
 haulin' the palanquins into a dharker place yet — a big stone 
 hall full av pillars an' gods an' incense an' all manner av sim- 
 ilar thruck. The gate disconcerted me, for I perceived I wud 
 have to go forward to get out, my retreat bein' cut off. By 
 the same token a good priest makes a bad palanquin-coolie. 
 Begad! they nearly turned me inside out dragging the palan- 
 quin to the temple. Now the disposishin av the forces in- 
 side was this way. The Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun — that 
 was me — lay by the favor of Providence on the far left flank 
 behind the dhark av a pillar carved with elephants' heads. 
 The remainder av the palanquins was in a big half circle 
 facing into the biggest, fattest, and most amazin' she-god that 
 iver I dreamed av. Her head ran up into the black above 
 us, an' her feet stuck out in the light av a little fire av melted 
 butter that a priest was feedin' out av a butter-dish. Thin 
 a man began to sing an' play on somethin, back in the dhark, 
 an' 'twas a queer song. Ut made my hair lift on the back 
 av my neck. Thin the doors av all the palanquins slid back, 
 an' the women bundled out. I saw what I'll never see again, 
 'Twas more glorious than transformations at a pantomime. 
 
INCARNA TION OF KIIRISNA MULVANEY, 1 39 
 
 for they was in pink, an' blue, an' silver, an' red, an' grass- 
 green, wid diamonds, an' imralds, an' great red rubies. I 
 never saw the like, an' I never will again." 
 
 '' Seeing that in all probability you were watching the wives 
 and daughters of most of the kings of India, the chances are 
 that you won't," I said, for it was dawning upon me that Mul- 
 vaney had stumbled upon a big queens' praying at Benares. 
 
 " I niver will," he said mournfully. " That sight doesn't 
 come twist to any man. It made me ashamed to watch. A 
 fat priest knocked at my door. I didn't think he'd have the 
 insolince to disturb the Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun, so 
 I lay still. * The old cow's asleep,' sez he to another. * Let 
 her be, sez that. "Twill be long before she has a calf!' 
 I might ha' known before he spoke that all a woman prays 
 for in Injia — an' for matter o' that in England too — is childher. 
 That made me more sorry I'd come, me bein', as you well 
 know, a childless man. 
 
 " They prayed, an' the butter-fires blazed up an' the in- 
 cense turned everything blue, an' between that an' the fires 
 the women looked as tho' they were all ablaze an' twinklin'. 
 They took hold of the she-god's knees, they cried out an' 
 they threw themselves about, an' that world-without-end- 
 amen music was dhrivin' thim mad. Mother av Hiven! how 
 they cried, an' the ould she-god grinnin' above them all so 
 scornful! The dhrink was dyin' out in me fast, an^ I was 
 thinkin' harder than the thoughts wud go through my head 
 — thinkin' how to get out an' all manner of nonsense as well. 
 The women were rockin' in rows, their di'mond belts clickin', 
 an' the tears runnin' out betune their hands, an' the lights 
 were goin' lower and dharker. Thin there was a blaze like 
 lightnin' from the roof, an' that showed me the inside av the 
 palanquin, an' at the end where my foot was stood the livin' 
 spit an' image o' myself worked on the linin'. This man 
 here, it was." 
 
1 40 INCARNA TION OF KHRISNA M UL VANE V. 
 
 He hunted in the folds of his pink cloak, ran a hand un- 
 der one, and thrust into the fire-light a foot-long embroidered 
 presentment of the great god Krishna, playing on a flute. 
 The heavy jowl, the staring eye, and the blue-black mus- 
 tache of the god made up a far-off resemblance to Mulvaney. 
 
 " The blaze was gone in a wink, but the whole schame 
 came to me thin. I beUeve I was mad, too. I slid the off- 
 shutter open an' rowled out mto the dhark behind the ele- 
 phint-head pillar, tucked up my trowsies to my knee, sHpped 
 off my boots, and took a general hould av all the pink linin' av 
 the palanquin. Glory be, ut ripped out like a woman's driss 
 when you thread on ut at a sargents' ball, an' a bottle came 
 with ut. I tuk the bottle, an' the next minut I was out av 
 the dhark av the pillar, the pink linin' wrapped round me 
 most graceful, the music thunderin' like kettle-drums, an' a 
 could draft blowin' round my bare legs. By this hand that 
 did ut, I was Krishna tootlin' on the flute — the god that the 
 rig'mental chaplain talks about. A sweet sight I must ha' 
 looked. I knew my eyes were big and my face was wax- 
 white, an' at the worst I must ha' looked like a ghost. But 
 they took me for the livin' god. The music stopped, and 
 the women were dead dumb, an' I crooked my legs like a 
 shepherd on a china basin, an' I did the ghost-waggle with 
 my feet as I had done at the rig'mental theatre many times, 
 an' I slid across the temple in front av the she-god, tootlin' on 
 the beer bottle." 
 
 "Wot did you toot?" demanded Ortheris. 
 
 " Me? Oh! " Mulvaney sprang up, suiting the action to 
 the word, and sliding gravely in front of us, a dilapidated 
 deity in the half light. " I sang — 
 
 ** ' Only say 
 
 You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan. 
 
 Don't say nay, 
 
 Charmin' Juley Callaghan.' 
 
INCARNATION OF KHRI SNA MULVANEY. 141 
 
 I didn't know me own voice when I sang. An' oh! 'twas 
 pitiful to see the women. The dadin's were down on their 
 faces. Whin I passed the last wan I could see her poor 
 little fingers workin' one in another as if she wanted to touch 
 my feet. So I threw the tail of this pink overcoat over her 
 head for the greater honor an' slid into the dhark on the 
 other side of the temple, and fetched up in the arms av a 
 big fat priest. All I wanted was to get away clear. So I 
 tuk him by his greasy throat an' shut the speech out av him. 
 * Out ! ' sez I. ' Which way, ye fat heathen? ' ' Oh ! ' sez he. 
 *Man,' sez I. 'White man, soldier man, common soldier 
 man. Where is the back door?' 'This way,' sez my fat 
 friend, duckin' behind a big bull-god an' divin' into a pas- 
 sage. Thin I remimbered that I must ha' made the mir- 
 aculous reputation of that temple for the next fifty years. 
 'Not so fast,' I sez, an' I held out both my hands wid a 
 wink. That ould thief smiled like a father. I took him by 
 the back av the neck in case he should be wishful to put a 
 knife into me unbeknownst, an' I ran him up an' down the 
 passage twice to collect his sensibilities. 'Be quiet,' sez 
 he, in English! 'Now you talk sense,' I sez. ' Fwhat'll 
 you give me for the use of that most iligant palanquin 
 I have no time to take away? ' ' Don't tell,' sez he. ' Is ut 
 like? ' sez I. ' But ye might give me my railway fare. I'm 
 far from my home an' I've done you a service.' Bhoys, 'tis 
 a good thing to be a priest. The ould man niver throubled 
 himself to draw from a bank. As I will prove to you sub- 
 sequint, he philandered all round the slack av his clothes and 
 began dribl)lin' ten-rupee notes, old gold mohurs, and rupees 
 into my hand till I could hould no more." 
 
 "You lie!" said Ortheris. "You're mad or sunstrook. 
 A native don't give coin unless you cut it out av 'im. ' Tain't 
 nature." 
 
 "Then my lie an' my sunstroke is concealed under that 
 
1 42 INCARNA TION OF KRISHNA M UL VANE Y. 
 
 lump av sod yonder," retorted Mulvaney, unruffled, nodding 
 across the scrub. " An' there's a dale more in nature than 
 your squidgy Httle legs have iver taken you to, Orth'ris, me 
 son. Four hundred and thirty-four rupees by my reckonin', 
 a?t' a big fat gold necklace that I took from him as a remim- 
 brancer." 
 
 "An' 'e give it to you for love? " said Ortheris. 
 
 " We were alone in that passage. Maybe I was a trifle 
 too pressin', but considher fwat I had done for the good 
 av the temple and the iverlastin' joy av those women. 'Twas 
 cheap at the price. I would ha' taken more if I could ha' 
 found ut. I turned the ould man upside down at the last, 
 but he was milked dhry. Thin he opened a door in an- 
 other passage an' I found myself up to my knees in Benares 
 river-water, an' bad smellin' ut is. More by token I had 
 come out on the river line close to the burnin' ghat and con- 
 tagious to a cracklin' corpse. This was in the heart av the 
 night, for I had been four hours in the temple. There was 
 a crowd av boats tied up, so I tuk wan an' wint across the 
 river. Thin I came home, lyin' up by day." 
 
 " How on earth did you manage? " I said. 
 
 " How did Sir Frederick Roberts get from Cabul to 
 Candahar? He marched, an' he niver told how near he 
 was to breakin' down. That's why he is pwhat he is. An' 
 now " — Mulvaney yawned portentously — " now I will go and 
 give myself up for absince widout leave. Its eight-an'- 
 twenty days an' the rough end of the colonel's tongue in 
 orderly room, any way you look at ut. But 'tis cheap at the 
 price." 
 
 " Mulvaney," said I, softly, " if there happens to be any 
 sort of excuse that the colonel can in any way accept, I 
 have a notion that you'll get nothing more than the dressing 
 down. The new recruits are in, and " 
 
 " Not a word more, sorr. Is ut excuses the ould man 
 
IXCARNA TION OF A'A'/S//XA MUL VAXE V. 1 43 
 
 wants? 'Tis not my way, but he shall have thiin." And he 
 flapped his way to cantonments, sinj^ing lustily: 
 
 ' ' So they sent a corp'ril's file, 
 
 And they put me in the guyard-room 
 For conduck unbecomin' of a soldier." 
 
 Therewith he surrendered himself to the joyful and almost 
 weeping guard, and was made much of by his fellows. But 
 to the colonel he said that he had been smitten with sun- 
 stroke and had lain insensible on a villager's cot for untold 
 hours, and between laughter and good-will the affair was 
 smoothed over, so that he could next day teach the new re- 
 cruits how to " fear God, honor the queen, shoot straight, 
 and keep clean." 
 
THE 
 
 COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 lO 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 I. 
 
 All day I had followed at the heels of a pursuing army, 
 engaged on one of the finest battles that ever camp of exer- 
 cise beheld. Thirty thousand troops had by the wisdom of 
 the government of India been turned loose over a few thou- 
 sand square miles of country to practise in peace what they 
 would never attempt in war. The Army of the South had 
 finally pierced the centre of the Army of the North, and was 
 pouring through the gap, hot foot, to capture a city of strategic 
 importance. Its front extended fanwise, the sticks being re- 
 presented by regiments strung out along the line of route 
 backward to the divisional transport columns, and all the 
 lumber that trails behind an army on the move. On its 
 right the broken left of the Army of the North was flying 
 in mass, chased by the Southern horse and hammered by 
 the Southern guns, till these had been pushed far beyond the 
 limits of their last support. Then the flying Army of the 
 North sat down to rest, while the commandant of the pursuing 
 force telegraphed that he held it in check and observation. 
 
 Unluckily he did not observe that three miles to his right 
 Hank a flying column of Northern horse, with a detachment 
 of Gliuorkhas and British troops, had been pushed round, as 
 fast as the falling light allowed, to cut across the entire rear 
 of the Southern Army, to l)rcak, as it were, all the ribs of the 
 fan where they converged, by striking at the transport re- 
 
14S THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 serve, ammunition, and artillery supplies. Their instructions 
 were to go in, avoiding the few scouts who might not have 
 been drawn off by the pursuit, and create sufficient excite- 
 ment to impress the Southern Army with the wisdom of 
 guarding their own flank and rear before they captured cities. 
 It was a pretty manoeuvre, neatly carried out. 
 
 Speaking for the second division of the Southern Army, 
 our first intimation of it was at twilight, when the artillery 
 were laboring in deep sand, most of the escort were trying to 
 help them out, and the main body of the infantry had gone 
 on. A Noah's ark of elephants, camels, and the mixed me- 
 nagerie of an Indian transport train bubbled and squealed be- 
 hind the guns, when there rose up from nowhere in partic- 
 ular British infantry to the extent of three companies, who 
 sprang to the heads of the gun horses, and brought all to a 
 stand-still amid oaths and cheers. 
 
 "How's that, umpire?" said the major commanding the 
 attack, and with one voice the drivers and limber gunners 
 answered, "Hout! " while the colonel of artillery sputtered. 
 
 "All your scouts are charging our main body," said the 
 major. " Your flanks are unprotected for two miles. I think 
 we've broken the back of this division. And listen! there 
 go the Ghoorkhas! " 
 
 A weak fire broke from the rear-guard more than a mile 
 away, and was answered by cheerful bowlings. The Ghoor- 
 khas, who should have swung clear of the second division, had 
 stepped on its tail in the dark, but, drawing off, hastened to 
 reach the next line, which lay almost parallel to us, five or 
 six miles away. 
 
 Our column swayed and surged irresolutely — three batte- 
 ries, the divisional ammunition reserve, the baggage, and a 
 section of hospital and bearer corps. The commandant rue- 
 fully promised to report himself " cut up " to the nearest um- 
 pire; and commending his cavalry and all other cavalry to 
 
THE COURTIXG OF DIXAH SHADD. 149 
 
 the care of Eblis, toiled on to resume touch with the rest of 
 the division. 
 
 " Well bivouac here to-night," said the major. " I have a 
 notion that the Ghoorkhas will get caught. They may want 
 us to reform on. Stand easy till the transport gets away." 
 
 A hand caught my beast's bridle and led him out of the 
 choking dust; a larger hand deftly canted me out of the sad- 
 dle, and two of the hugest hands in the world received me 
 sliding. Pleasant is the lot of the special correspondent 
 who falls into such hands as those of Privates Mulvaney, 
 Ortheris, and Learoyd. 
 
 "An' that's all right," said the Irishman calmly. "We 
 thought we'd find you somewheres here by. Is there anything 
 of yours in the transport? OrthVis'U fetch ut out." 
 
 Ortheris did " fetch ut out " from under the trunk of an ele- 
 phant, in the shape of a servant and an animal, both laden 
 with medical comforts. The little man's eyes sparkled. 
 
 " If the brutil an' licentious soldiery av these parts gets 
 sight av the thruck,'' said Mulvaney, making practised in- 
 vestigation, "they'll loot ev'rything. They're bem' fed on 
 iron-filin's an' dog biscuit these days, but glory's no compen- 
 sation for a bellyache. Praise be, we're here to protect you, 
 sorr. Beer, sausage, bread (soft, an' that's a cur'osity), soup 
 in a tin; whiskey by the smell av ut, an' fowls. Mother av 
 Moses, but ye take the field like a confectioner! Tis scan- 
 d'lus." 
 
 "'Ere's a orficer," said Ortheris significantly. "AVhen the 
 sergent's done lushin', the privit may clean the pot." 
 
 I bundled several things into Mulvaney's haversack before 
 the major's hand fell on my shoulder, and he said, tenderly, 
 " Requisitioned for the queen's service. Wolseley was quite 
 wrong about special correspondents. They are the best 
 friends of the soldier. Come an' take pot-luck with us to- 
 night." 
 
150 THE COURTING OF DIXAH SHADD. 
 
 And so it happened amid laughter and shoutings that my 
 well-considered commissariat melted away to reappear on 
 the mess-table, which was a waterproof sheet spread on the 
 ground. The flying column had taken three days' rations 
 with it, and there be few things nastier than government ra- 
 tions — especially when government is experimenting with 
 German toys. Erbswurst, tinned beef, of surpassing tinni- 
 ness, compressed vegetables, and meat biscuits may be nour- 
 ishing, but what Thomas Atkins wants is bulk in his inside. 
 The major, assisted by his brother officers, purchased goats 
 for the camp, and so made the experiment of no effect. 
 Long before the fatigue-party sent to collect brushwood had 
 returned, the men were settled down by their valises, kettles 
 and pots had appeared from the surrounding country, and 
 were dangling over fires as the kid and the compressed veg- 
 etables bubbled together; there rose a cheerful clinking of 
 mess tins, outrageous demands for a " little more stuffin' 
 with that there liver wing," and gust on gust of chaff as 
 pointed as a bayonet and as delicate as a gun butt. 
 
 " The boys are in a good temper," said the major. " They'll 
 be singing presently. Well, a night like this is enough to 
 keep them happy." 
 
 Over our heads burned the wonderful Indian stars, which 
 are not all pricked in on one plane, but preserving an or- 
 derly perspective, draw the eye through the velvet darkness 
 of the void up to the barred doors of heaven itself. The 
 earth was a gray shadow more unreal than the sky. We could 
 hear her breathing lightly in the pauses between the howling 
 of the jackals, the movement of the wind in the tamarisks, 
 and the fitful mutter of musketry fire leagues away to the left. 
 A native woman in some unseen hut began to sing, the mail 
 train thundered past on its way to Delhi, and a roosting crow 
 cawed drowsily. Then there was a belt-loosening silence 
 about the fires, and the even breathing of the crowded earth 
 took up the story. 
 
THE COURTIXG OF DIXAH SHADD. 15 1 
 
 The men, full fed, turned to tobacco and song — their offi- 
 cers with them. Happy is the subaUern who can win the 
 approval of the musical critics in his regiment, and is hon- 
 ored among the more intricate step dancers. By him, as by 
 him who plays cricket craftily, will Thomas Atkins stand in 
 time of need when he will let a better officer go on alone. 
 The ruined tombs of forgotten Mussulman saints heard the 
 ballad of "Agra Town," "The Buffalo Battery," "Marching 
 to'Kabul,""The long, long Indian Day," "The Place where 
 the Punka Coolie Died," and that crashing chorus which an- 
 nounces 
 
 " Youth's daring spirit, manhood's fire, 
 Firm hand, and eagle eye 
 Must he acquire who would aspire 
 To see the gray boar die." 
 
 To-day, of all those jovial thieves who appropriated my 
 commissariat, and lay and laughed round that water-proof 
 sheet, not one remains. They went to camps that were not 
 of exercise and battles without umpires. Burmah, the Sou- 
 dan, and the frontier fever and fight took them in their time. 
 
 I drifted across to the men's fires in search of Mulvaney, 
 whom I found greasing his feet by the blaze. There is noth- 
 ing particularly lovely in the sight of a private thus engaged 
 after a long day's march, but when you reflect on the exact 
 proportion of the "might, majesty, dominion, and power" 
 of the British Emnire that stands on those feet, you take an 
 interest in the proceedings. 
 
 " There's a blister — bad luck to ut! — on the heel," said 
 Mulvaney. " I can't touch ut. Prick ut out, little man." 
 
 Ortheris produced his housewife, eased the trouble with a 
 needle, stabbed Mulvaney in the calf with the same weapon, 
 and was incontinently kicked into the fire. 
 
 " I've bruk the best av my toes over you, ye grinnin' child 
 
152 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 av disruption!" said Mulvaney, sitting cross-legged and 
 nursing his feet; then, seeing me: "Oh, ut's you, sorr! Be 
 welkim, an' take that maraudin' scutt's place. Jock, hold 
 him down on the cindhers for a bit." 
 
 But Ortheris escaped and went elsewhere as I took posses- 
 sion of the hollow he had scraped for himself and lined with 
 his great-coat. Learoyd, on the other side of the fire, grinned 
 affably, and in a minute fell fast asleep. 
 
 " There's the height av poHteness for you," said Mulvaney, 
 lighting his pipe with a flaming branch, "But Jock's eaten 
 half a box av your sardines at wan gulp, an' I think the tm 
 too. What's the bestwid you, sorr; an' how did you happen 
 to be on the losin' side this day when we captured you?" 
 
 " The Army of the South is winning all along the line," I 
 said. 
 
 " Thin that line's the hangman's rope, savin' your presence. 
 You'll learn to-morrow how we retreated to dhraw thim on 
 before we made thim trouble, an' that's what a woman does. 
 By the same token, we'll be attacked before the dawnin', an' 
 ut would be betther not to slip your boots. How do I know 
 that? By the light av pure reason. Here are three com- 
 panies av us ever so far inside av the enemy's flank, an' a 
 crowd av roarin', t'arin', an' squealin' cavalry gone on just to 
 turn out the whole nest av thim. Av course the enemy will 
 pursue by brigades like as not, an' then we'll have to run 
 for ut. Mark my words. I am av the opinion av Polonius 
 whin he said, * Don't fight wid ivry scutt for the pure joy av 
 fightin' ; but if you do, knock the nose av him first an' fre- 
 quint ! ' We ought to ha' gone on an' helped the Ghoor- 
 khas." 
 
 "But what do you know about Polonius?" I demanded. 
 This was a new side of Mulvaney's character. 
 
 " All that Shakespeare ever wrote, an' a dale more that 
 the gallery shouted," said the man of war, carefully lacing 
 
THE COURTIXG OF DINAH SHADD. 153 
 
 his boots. " Did I not tell you av Silver's Theatre in Dub- 
 lin whin I was younger than I am now an' a patron av the 
 drama? Ould Silver wud never pay actor, man or woman, 
 their just dues, an' by consequence his comp'nies was collap- 
 sible at the last minut'. Then the bhoys would clamor to 
 take a part, an' oft as not ould Silver made thim pay for the 
 fun. Faith, I've seen Hamlut played wid a new black eye, 
 an' the Queen as full as a cornucopia. I remember wanst 
 Hogin, that 'listed in the Black Tyrone an' was shot in South 
 Africa, he sejuced ould Silver into givin' him Hamlut's part 
 instid av me, that had a fine fancy for rhetoric in those days. 
 Av course I wint into the gallery an' began to fill the pit 
 wid other people's hats, an' I passed the time av day to 
 Hogin walkin' through Denmark like a hamstrung mule wid 
 a pall on his back. ' Hamlut,' sez I, ' there's a hole in your 
 heel. Pull up your shtockin's, Hamlut,' sez I. * Hamlut, 
 Hamlut, for the love av decincy dhrop that skull, an' pull 
 up your shtockin's.' The whole house begun to tell him that. 
 He stopped his scliloquishms mid between. * My shtockin's 
 may be comin' down or they may not,' sez he, screwin' his 
 eye into the gallery, for well he knew who I was ; * but afther 
 the performince is over, me an' the Ghost'll trample the 
 guts out av you, Terence, wid your ass' bray.' An' that's 
 how I come to know about Hamlut. Eyah! Those days, 
 those days! Did you iver have onendin' develmint an' 
 nothin' to pay for it in your life, sorr? " 
 
 " Never without having to pay," I said. 
 
 "That's thrue. 'Tis mane, whin you considher on ut; 
 but ut's the same wid horse or fut. A headache if you 
 dhrink, an' a bellyache if you eat too much, an' a heartache 
 to kape all down. Faith, the beast only gets the colic, an' 
 he's the lucky man." 
 
 He dropped his head and stared into the fire, fingering his 
 mustache the while. From the far side of the bivouac the 
 
T54 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 voice of Corbet-Nolan, senior subaltern of B Company, up- 
 lifted itself in an ancient and much-appreciated song of sen- 
 timent, the men moaning melodiously behind him : 
 
 " The north wind blew coldly, she drooped from that hour. 
 My own little Kathleen, my sweet little Kathleen, 
 Kathleen, my Kathleen, Kathleen O'Moore !" 
 
 with forty-five ^V in the last word. Even at that distance 
 you might have cut the soft South Irish accent with a shovel. 
 
 "For all we take we must pay; but the price is cruel 
 high," murmured Mulvaney when the chorus had ceased. 
 
 "What's the trouble?" I said gently, for I knew that he 
 was a man of an inextinguishable sorrow. 
 
 " Hear now," said he. " Ye know what I am now. I 
 know what I mint to be at the beginnin' av my service. I've 
 tould you time an' again, an' what I have not, Dinah Shadd 
 has. An' what am I? Oh, Mary Mother av Hiven! an 
 ould dhrunken, untrustable baste av a privit that has seen the 
 regiment change out from colonel to drummer-boy, not wanst 
 or twicet, but scores av times! Ay, scores! An' me not so 
 near gettin' promotion as in the furst. An' me livin' on an' 
 kapin' clear o' Clink not by my own good conduck, but the 
 kindness av some orf'cer — bhoy young enough to be son to 
 me! Do I not know ut? Can I not tell whin I'm passed 
 over at p'rade, tho' I'm rockin' full av liquor an' ready to 
 fall all in wan piece, such as even a suckin' child might see, 
 bekaze, * Oh, 'tis only ould Mulvaney! ' An' whin I'm let 
 off in the ord'ly room, though some thrick av the tongue an' 
 a ready answer an' the ould man's mercy, is ut smilin' I feel 
 whin I fall away an' go back to Dinah Shadd, thryin' to 
 carry ut all off as a joke? Not I. 'Tis hell to me — dumb 
 hell through ut all; an' next time whin the fit comes I will 
 be as bad again. Good cause the reg'ment has to know me 
 for the best soldier in ut. Better cause have I to know me- 
 
THE COURTING OF DIXAH SI/ADD. 155 
 
 eilf for the worst man. I'm only fit to tache the new drafts 
 what I'll never learn myself; an' I am sure as tho' I heard 
 lit, that the minut wan av these pink-eyed recruities gets 
 away from my * Mind ye, now,' an' ' Listen to this, Jim, bhoy,' 
 sure I am that the sergint houlds me up to him for a warnin'. 
 So I tache, as they say at musketry instruction, by direct 
 an' ricochet fire. Lord be good to me! for I have stud some 
 trouble." 
 
 " Lie down and go to sleep," said I, not being able to 
 comfort or advise. " You're the best man in the regiment, 
 and, next to Ortheris, the biggest fool. Lie down, and wait 
 till we're attacked. What force will they turn out? Guns, 
 think you?" 
 
 "Thry that wid your lorrds an' ladies, twistin' an' turnin' 
 the talk, tho' you mint ut well. Ye cud say nothin' to help 
 me; an' yet ye never knew what cause I had to be what I 
 am." 
 
 " Begin at the beginning and go on to the end," I said 
 royally. " But rake up the fire a bit first." I passed Or- 
 theris' bayonet for a poker. 
 
 " That shows how little you know what to do," said Mul- 
 vaney, putting it aside. " Fire takes all the heart out av the 
 steel, an' the next time, maybe, that our little man is fightin' 
 for his life his brad-awl'll break, an' so you'll 'ave killed him, 
 manin' no more than to kape yourself warm. 'Tis a re- 
 cruitie's thrick that. Pass the cl'anin'-rod, sorr." 
 
 I snuggled down, abashed, and after an interval the low, 
 even voice of Mulvaney began. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Did I ever tell you how Dinah Shadd came to be wife 
 av mine? " 
 
 I dissembled a burning anxiety that I had felt for some 
 months — ever since Dinah Shadd, the strong, the patient, 
 
156 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 and the infinitely tender, had, of her own good love and free- 
 will, washed a shirt for me, moving in a barren land where 
 washing was not. 
 
 " I can't remember,^' I said casually. " Was it before or 
 after you made love to Annie Bragin, and got no satisfac- 
 tion?" 
 
 The story of Annie Bragin is written in another place. It 
 is one of the many episodes in Mulvaney's checkered career. 
 
 " Before — before — long before was that business av Annie 
 Bragin an^ the corp'ril's ghost. Never woman was the worse 
 for me whin I had married Dinah. There's a time for all 
 things, an' I know how to kape all things in place — barrin' 
 the dhrink, that kapes me in my place, wid no hope av com- 
 in' to be aught else." 
 
 " Begin at the beginning," I insisted. " Mrs. Mulvaney 
 told me that you married her when you were quartered in 
 Krab Bokhar barracks." 
 
 "An' the same is a cess-pit," said Mulvaney piously. 
 "She spoke thrue, did Dinah. 'Twas this way. Talkin' av 
 that, have ye iver fallen in love, sorr?" 
 
 I preserved the silence of the damned. Mulvaney con- 
 tinued: 
 
 "Thin I will assume that ye have not. /did. In the 
 days av my youth, as I have more than wanst tould you, I 
 was a man that filled the eye an' delighted the sowl av 
 women. Niver man was hated as I have been. Niver man 
 was loved as I — no, not within half a day's march av ut. For 
 the first five years av my service, whin I was what I wud 
 give my sowl to be now, I tuk whatever was widin my reach 
 an' digested ut, an' that's more than most men can say. 
 Dhrink I tuk, an' ut did me no harm. By the hollow av 
 hiven, I could play wid four women at wanst, an' kape thim 
 from findin' out anything about the other three, and smile 
 like a full-blown marigold through ut all. Dick Coulhan, of 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 157 
 
 the battery we'll have down on us to-night, could dhrive his 
 team no better than I mine ; an' I hild the worser cattle. 
 An' so I lived an' so I was happy, till afther that business 
 wid Annie Bragin — she that turned me off as cool as a meat- 
 safe, an' taught me where I stud in the mind av an honest 
 woman. 'Twas no sweet dose to take. 
 
 "Afther that I sickened awhile, an' tuk thought to my 
 reg'mental work, conceiting mesilf I wud study an' be a 
 sargint. an' a major-gineral twinty minutes afther that. But 
 on top o' my ambitiousness there was an empty place in my 
 sowl, an' me own opinion av mesilf cud not fill ut. Sez I to 
 mesilf: ' Terence, you're a great man an' the best set up in 
 the reg'ment. Go on an' get promotion.' Sez mesilf to me, 
 'What for?' Sez I to mesilf, 'For the glory av ut.' Sez 
 mesilf to me, ' Will that fill these two strong arrums av yours, 
 Terence?' 'Go to the devil,' sez I to mesilf. 'Go to the 
 married Hnes,' sez mesilf to me. ' "Tis the same thing,' sez 
 I to mesilf. ' Av you're the same man, ut is,' said mesilf to 
 me. An' wid that I considhered on ut a long while. Did 
 you iver feel that way, sorr?." 
 
 I snored gently, knowing that if Mulvaney wei^ uninter- 
 rupted he would go on. The clamor from the bivouac fires 
 beat up to the stars as the rival singers of the companies 
 were pitted against each other. 
 
 "So I felt that way, an' a bad time ut was. Wanst, bein' 
 a fool, I went into the married lines, more for the sake av 
 spakin' to our ould color-sergint Shadd than for any thruck 
 wid wimmen-folk. I was a corp'ril then — rejuced afther- 
 wards ; but a corp'ril then. I've got a photograft av mesilf 
 to prove ut. ' You'll take a cup av tay wid us? ' sez he. *I 
 will that,' I sez; ' tho' tay is not my divarsion.' "Twud be 
 better for you if ut were,' sez ould Mother Shadd. An' she 
 had ought to know, for Shadd, in the ind av his service, 
 dhrank bung-full each night. 
 
158 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD, 
 
 "Wid that I tuk off my gloves — there was pipe-clay in 
 thim so that they stud alone — an' pulled up my chair, look- 
 in' round at the china ornamints an' bits av things in the 
 Shadds' quarters. They were things that belonged to a 
 woman, an' no camp kit, here to-day an' dishipated next. 
 
 * You're comfortable in this place, sergint,' sez I. ' 'Tis the 
 wife that did ut, boy,' sez he, pointin' the stem av his pipe to 
 ould Mother Shadd, an' she smacked the top av his bald 
 head apon the compliment. That manes you want money,^ 
 sez she. 
 
 " An' thin — an' thin whin the kettle was to be filled, 
 Dinah came in — my Dinah — her sleeves rowled up to the 
 elbow, an' her hair in a gowlden glory over her forehead, the 
 big blue eyes beneath twinkHn' like stars on a frosty night, 
 an' the tread of her two feet lighter than waste paper from the 
 colonel's basket in ord'ly room when ut's emptied. Bein' 
 but a shlip av a girl, she went pink at seein' me, an' I 
 twisted me mustache an' looked at a picture forninst the 
 wall. Never show a woman that ye care the snap av a 
 finger for her, an' begad she'll come bleatin' to your boot 
 heels." 
 
 " I suppose that's why you followed Annie Bragin till 
 everybody in the married quarters laughed at you," said I, 
 remembering that unhallowed wooing, and casting off the 
 disguise of drowsiness. 
 
 " I'm layin' down the gineral theory av the attack," said 
 Mulvaney, driving his foot into the dying fire. " If you read 
 the * Soldier's Pocket-Book,' which never any soldier reads, 
 you'll see that there are exceptions. When Dinah was out 
 av the door (an' 'twas as tho' the sunHght had gone too), 
 
 * Mother av Hiven, sergint!' sez I, 'but is that you»* 
 daughter?' 'I've believed that way these eighteen years,' 
 sez ould Shadd, his eyes twinklin'. * But Mrs. Shadd has 
 her own opinion^ like ivry other woman.' ' 'Tis wid yours this 
 
THE COURTING OF DIXAH SJIADD.' 159 
 
 time, for a mericle,' sez Mother Shadd. 'Then wliy, in tlie 
 name av fortune, did I never see her before?' sez I. 
 'Bekaze you've been thraipsin ' round wid the married 
 women these three years past. She was a bit av a child till 
 last year, an' she shot up wid the spring,' sez ould Mother 
 Shadd. ' I'll thraipse no more,' sez I. * D'you mane tliat? ' 
 sez ould Mother Shadd, lookin' at me sideways, like a hen 
 looks at a hawk whin the chickens are runnin' free. ' Try 
 me, an' tell,' sez I. Wid that I pulled on my gloves, dhrank 
 off the tea, an' wint out av the house as stiff as at gineral 
 p'rade, for well I knew that Dinah Shadd's eyes were in the 
 small av my back out av the scullery window. Faith, that 
 was the only time I mourned I was not a cav'lryman, for the 
 sake av the spurs to jingle.'" 
 
 " I wint out to think, an' I did a powerful lot av thinkin', 
 but ut all came round to that shlip av a girl in the dotted 
 blue dhress, wid the blue eyes an' the sparkil in them. Thin 
 I kept off canteen, an' I kept to the married quarthers or near 
 by on the chanst av meetin' Dinah. Did I meet her? Oh, 
 my time past, did I not, wid a lump in my throat as big as 
 my valise, an' my heart goin' like a farrier's forge on a Satur- 
 day mornin'! 'Twas 'Good-day to ye, Miss Dinah,' an' 
 'Good-day t'you, corp'ril,' for a week or two, an' divil a bit 
 further could I get, bekase av the respict I hcd to that girl 
 that I cud ha' broken betune finger an' thumb." 
 
 Here I giggled as I recalled the gigantic figure of Dinah 
 Shadd when she handed me my shirt. 
 
 " Ye may laugh," grunted Mulvaney. "But I'm speakin' 
 the trut' an' 'tis you that are in fault. Dinah was a girl that 
 wud ha' taken the imperiousness out av the Duchess av 
 Clonmel in those days. Flower hand, foot av shod air, an' 
 the eyes av the mornin' she had. That is my wife to-day — 
 ould Dinah, an' never aught else than Dinah Shadd to me. 
 
 "'Twas after three weeks standin' off an' on, an' niver 
 
i6o THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 makin' headway excipt through the eyes, that a little drum- 
 mer-boy grinned in me face whin I had admonished him wid 
 the buckle av my belt for riotin' all over the place. * An' 
 I'm not the only wan that doesn't kape to barricks,' sez he. 
 I tuk him by the scruff av his neck — my heart was hung on 
 a hair-thrigger those days, you will understand — an' ' Out 
 wid ut,' sez I, * or I'll lave no bone av you unbruk.' ' Speak 
 to Dempsey,' sez he, howlin'. * Dempsey which? ' sez I, 'ye 
 unwashed limb av Satan.' * Of the Bobtailed Dhragoons,' 
 sez he. ' He's seen her home from her aunt's house in the 
 civil lines four times this fortnight.' ' Child,' sez I, dhroppin' 
 him, ' your tongue's stronger than your body. Go to your 
 quarters. I'm sorry I dhressed you down.' 
 
 "At that I went four ways to wanst huntin' Dempsey. I 
 was mad to think that wid all my airs among women I shud 
 ha' been ch'ated by a basin-faced fool av a cav'lryman not 
 fit to trust on a mule thrunk. Presintly I found him in our 
 lines — the Bobtails was quartered next us — an' a tallowy, 
 top-heavy son av a she-mule he was, wid his big brass spurs 
 an' his plastrons on his epigastons an' all. But he niver 
 flinched a hair. 
 
 "*A word wid you, Dempsey,' sez I. 'You've walked 
 wid Dinah Shadd four times this fortnight gone.' 
 
 " 'What's that to you?' sez he. 'I'll walk forty times 
 more, an' forty on top av that, ye shovel-futted, clod- 
 breakin' infantry lance-corp'ril.' " 
 
 " Before I cud gyard he had his gloved fist home on me 
 cheek, an' down I went full sprawl. ' Will that content 
 you?' sez he, blowin' on his knuckles for all the world like 
 a Scots Grays orf'cer. 'Content?' sez I. 'For your own 
 sake, man, take off your spurs, peel your jackut, and onglove. 
 'Tis the beginnin' av the overture. Stand up! ' 
 
 "He stud all he knew, but he niver peeled his jackut, an' 
 his shoulders had no fair play. I was fightin' for Dinah 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SIIADD. i6i 
 
 Shadd an' that cut on me cheek. What hope had he for- 
 ninst me? 'Stand up!' sez l,time an' again, when he was 
 beginnin' to quarter the ground an' gyard high an' go large. 
 'This isn't ridin'-school,' sez I. * Oh, man, stand up, an' let 
 me get at ye! ' But whin I saw he wud be runnin' about, I 
 grup his shtock in me left an' his waist-belt in me right an' 
 swung him clear to me right front, head undher, he ham- 
 merin' me nose till the wind was knocked out av him on the 
 bare ground. ' Stand up,' sez I, * or 111 kick your head into 
 your chest.' An' I wud ha' done ut, too, so ragin' mad I 
 was. 
 
 " ' Me collar-bone's bruk,' sez he, * Help me back to 
 lines. I'll walk wid her no more.' So I helped him back." 
 
 " And was his collar-bone broken? " I asked, for I fancied 
 that only Learoyd could neatly accomplish that terrible 
 throw. 
 
 " He pitched on his left shoulder-point. It was. Next 
 day the news was in both barracks; an' whin I met Dinah 
 Shadd wid a cheek like all the reg'mintal tailors' samples, 
 there was no ' Good-mornin', corp'ril,' or aught else. 'An' 
 what have I done. Miss Shadd,' sez I, very bould, plantin' 
 mesilf forninst her, ' that ye should not pass the time of day? ' 
 
 '• ' Ye've half killed rough-rider Dempsey,' sez she, her 
 dear blue eyes filHn' up. 
 
 "'Maybe,' sez I. 'Was he a friend av yours that saw ye 
 home four times in a fortnight? ' 
 
 "'Yes,' sez she, very bould; but her mouth was down at 
 the corners. ' An' — an' what's that to you? ' 
 
 "'Ask Dempsey,' sez I, purtendin' to go away. 
 
 "'Did you fight for me then, ye silly man?' she sez, tho' 
 she knew ut all along. 
 
 " ' Who else? ' sez I ; an' I tuk wan pace to tlie front. 
 
 " ' I wasn't worth ut,' sez she, fingerin' her apron. 
 
 " ' That's for me to say,' sez I. ' Shall I say ut? ' 
 
1 62 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 "'Yes,' sez she, in a saint's whisper; an' at that I ex- 
 plained mesilf; an' she tould me what ivry man that is a 
 man, an' many that is a woman, hears wanst in his Hfe. 
 
 *' * But what made ye cry at startin', Dinah darHn'? ' sez I. 
 
 "*Your — your bloody cheek,' sez she, duckin' her little 
 head down on my sash (I was duty for the day), an' whim- 
 perin' like a sorrowful angel. 
 
 " Now a man cud take that two ways. I tuk ut as pleased 
 me best, an' my first kiss wid ut. Mother av Innocence! 
 but I kissed her on the tip av the nose an' undher the eye, 
 an' a girl that lets a kiss come tumbleways like that has 
 never been kissed before. Take note av that, sorr. Thin 
 we wint, hand in hand, to ould Mother Shadd like two little 
 childher, an' she said it was no bad thing; an' ould Shadd 
 nodded behind his pipe, an' Dinah ran away to her own 
 room. That day I throd on rollin' clouds All earth was 
 too small to hould me. Begad, I cud ha' picked the sun out 
 av the sky for a live coal to me pipe, so magnificent I was. 
 But I tuk recruities at squad drill, an' began with general 
 battalion advance whin I shud ha' been balance-steppin' 'em. 
 Eyah ! that day ! that day ! " 
 
 A very long pause. " Well? " said I. 
 
 " It was all wrong,'' said Mulvaney, with an enormous 
 sigh. " An' sure I know that ev'ry bit av ut was me own 
 foolishness. That night I tuk maybe the half av three pints 
 — not enough to turn the hair of a man in his natural sinses. 
 But I was more than half dhrunk wid pure joy, an' that can- 
 teen beer was so much whiskey to me. I can't tell how ut 
 came about, but bekase I had no thought for any wan ex- 
 cept Dinah, bekase I hadn't slipped her little white arms 
 from me neck five minutes, bekase the breath av her kiss was 
 not gone from my mouth, I must go through the married 
 lines on me way to quarthers, an' I must stay talkin' to a red- 
 headed Mullengar heifer av a girl, Judy Sheehy, that was 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SIIADD. 163 
 
 daughter to Mother Sheehy, the wife av Nick Sheehy, the 
 canteen sergint — the black curse av Shielygh be on the whole 
 brood that are above groun' this day! 
 
 "'An' what are ye houldin' your head that high for, 
 corp'ril?' sez Judy. 'Come in an' thry a cup av tay,' she 
 sez, standin' in the doorway. 
 
 "Bein' an onbustable fool, an' thinkin' av anythin' but 
 tay, I wint. 
 
 " ' Mother's at canteen,' sez Judy, smoothin' the hair av 
 hers that was like red snakes, an' lookin' at me cornerways 
 out av her green cat's eyes. ' Ye will not mind, corp'ril? ' 
 
 " ' I can endure,' sez I. ' Ould Mother Sheehy bein' no 
 divarsion av mine, nor her daughter too.' Judy fetched the 
 tea-things an' put thim on the table, leanin' over me very 
 close to get them square. I dhrew back, thinkin' of Dinah. 
 
 " ' Is ut afraid you are av a girl alone? ' sez Judy. 
 
 " ' No; sez I. ' Why should I be? ' 
 
 " ' That rests wid the girl,' sez Judy, dhrawin' her chair 
 next to mine. 
 
 " * Thin there let ut rest,' sez I ; an' thinkin' I'd been a 
 trifle onpolite, I sez, ' The tay's not quite sweet enough for 
 me taste. Put your little finger in the cup, Judy; 'twill 
 make ut necthar.' 
 
 *' ' What's necthar? ' sez she. 
 
 " ' Somethin' very sweet,' sez I ; an' for the sinful life av 
 me I cud not help lookin' at her out av the corner av my 
 eye, as I was used to look at a woman. 
 
 " ' Go on wid ye, corp'ril,' sez she. * Youtc a flirrt.' 
 
 " ' On me sowl I'm not,' sez I. 
 
 " ' Then you're a cruel handsome man, an' that's worse,' 
 sez she, heavin' big sighs an' lookin' crossways. 
 
 " ' You know your own mind,' sez I. 
 
 ""Twud be better for me if I did not,' she sez. 
 
 " * There's a dale to be said on both sides av that,' sez I, 
 nuthinkin'. 
 
1 64 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 " ' Say your own part av ut, then, Terence darlin',' sez 
 she; 'for begad I'm thinkin' I've said too much or too little 
 for an honest girl; ' an' wid that she put her arms round me 
 neck an' kissed me. 
 
 "'There's no more to be said afther that,' sez I, kissin' 
 her back again. Oh, the mane scutt that I was, my head 
 ringin' wid Dinah Shadd! How does ut come about, sorr, 
 that whin a man has put the comether on wan woman he's 
 sure bound to put ut on another? 'Tis the same thing at 
 musketry. Wan day ev'ry shot goes wide or into the bank, 
 an' the next — lay high, lay low, sight or snap — ye can't get 
 off the bull's-eye for ten shots runnin'." 
 
 " That only happens to a man who has had a good deal of 
 experience; he does it without thinking," I replied. 
 
 "Thankin' you for the complimint, sorr, ut may be so; 
 but I'm doubtin' whether you mint ut for a complimint. 
 Hear, now. I sat there wid Judy on my knee, tellin' me all 
 manner av nonsinse, an' only sayin' 'yes' an' 'no,' when I'd 
 much better ha' kept tongue betune teeth. An' that was not 
 an hour afther I had left Dinah. What I was thinkin' av I 
 cannot say. 
 
 " Presently, quiet as a cat, ould Mother Sheehy came in 
 velvet-dhrunk. She had her daughter's red hair, but 'twas 
 bald in patches, an' I cud see in her wicked ould face, clear 
 as lightnin', what Judy wud be twenty year to come. I was 
 for jumpin' up, but Judy niver moved. 
 
 " * Terence has promust, mother,' sez she, an' the cowld 
 sweat bruk out all over me. 
 
 *' Ould Mother Sheehy sat down of a heap, an' began play- 
 in' wid the cups. * Thin you're a well-matched pair,' she 
 sez, very thick; 'for he's the biggest rogue that iver spoiled 
 the queen's shoe-leather, an ' 
 
 " ' I'm off, Judy,' sez I. ' Ye should not talk nonsinse to 
 your mother. Get her to bed, girl.' 
 
THE COURTIXG OF DIXAH SIIADD. 165 
 
 "'Nonsinse?' sez the ould woman, prickin' up her ears 
 ]ike a cat, an' grippin' the table-edge. "Twill be the most 
 nonsinsical nonsinse for you, ye grinnin' badger, if nonsinse 
 'tis. Git clear, you. I'm goin' to bed.' 
 
 " I ran out into the dhark, me head in a stew an' me heart 
 sick, but I had sinse enough to see that I'd brought ut all on 
 mesilf. *It's this to pass the time av day to a panjandhrum 
 of hell-cats,' sez I. ' What I've said an' what I've not said 
 do not matther. Judy an' her dam will hould me for a prom- 
 ust man, an' Dinah will give me the go, an' I desarve ut. 
 I will go an' get dhrunk,' sez I, ' an' forgit about ut, for 'tis 
 plain I'm not a marryin' man.' 
 
 " On me way to canteen I ran against Lascelles, color- 
 sergint that was, av E Comp'ny — a hard, hard man, wid a 
 tormint av a wife. ' You've the head av a drowned man on 
 your shoulders,' sez he, ' an' you're goin' where you'll get a 
 worse wan. Come back,' sez he. ' Let me go,' sez I. ' I've 
 thrown me luck over the wall wid me own hand.' * Then 
 that's not the way to get ut back,' sez he. ' Have out wid 
 your throuble, ye fool-bhoy.' An' I tould him how the mat- 
 ther was. 
 
 " He sucked in his lower lip. ' You've been thrapped,' sez 
 he. 'Ju Sheehy wud be the betther for a man's name to 
 hers as soon as she can. An' ye thought ye'd put the com- 
 ether on her. That's the naturil vanity av the baste. Ter- 
 ence, you're a big born fool, but you're not bad enough to 
 marry into that comp'ny. If you said anythin', an' for all 
 your protestations I'm sure you did — or did not, which is 
 worse — eat ut all. Lie like the father av all lies, but come 
 out av ut free av Judy. Do I not know what ut is to marry 
 a woman that was the very spit av Judy when she was 
 young? I'm gettin' ould, an' I've larnt i)atience; but you, 
 Terence, you'd raise hand on Judy an' kill her in a year. 
 Never mind if Dinah gives you the go; you've desarved ut. 
 
1 66 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 Never mind if the whole reg'mint laughs at you all day. 
 Get shut av Judy an' her mother. They can't dhrag you to 
 church, but if they do, they'll dhrag you to hell. Go back 
 to your quarthers an' lie down,' sez he. Thin, over his 
 shoulder, 'You mtisfhdJ done with thim.' 
 
 " Nixt day I wint to see Dinah; but there was no tucker 
 in me as I walked. I knew the throuble wud come soon 
 enough widout any handlin' av mine, an' I dreaded ut sore. 
 
 " I heard Judy callin' me, but I hild straight on to the 
 Shadd's quarthers, an' Dinah wud ha' kissed me, but I hild 
 her back. 
 
 " * Whin all's said, darlin',' sez I, * you can give ut me if 
 you will, tho' I misdoubt 'twill be so easy to come by thin.' 
 
 *' I had scarce begun to put the explanation into shape be- 
 fore Judy an' her mother came to the door. I think there 
 was a veranda, but I'm forgettin'. 
 
 " * AVill ye not step in?' sez Dinah, pretty and polite, 
 though the Shadds had no dealin's with the Sheehys. Quid 
 Mother Shadd looked up quick, an' she was the fust to see 
 the throuble, for Dinah was her daughter. 
 
 " ' I'm pressed for time to-day,' sez Judy, as bould as 
 brass; 'an' I've only come for Terence — my promust man. 
 'Tis strange to find him here the day afther the day.' 
 
 " Dinah looked at me as though I had hit her, an' I an- 
 swered straight. 
 
 " ' There was some nonsinse last night at the Sheehys' 
 quarthers, an' Judy's carryin' on the joke, darlin',' sez I. 
 
 '"At the Sheehys' quarthers?' sez Dinah, very slow; an' 
 Judy cut in wid, 
 
 " ' He was there from nine till tin, Dinah Shadd, an' the 
 betther half av that time I was sittin' on his knee, Dinah 
 Shadd. Ye may look an' ye may look an' ye may look me 
 up an' down, but ye won't look away that Terence is my 
 promust man. Terence, darlin', tis time for us to be comin' 
 home.' 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 167 
 
 " Dinah Shadd never said word to Judy. ' Ye left me at 
 half-past eight,' she sez to me, ' an' I never thought that ye'd 
 leave me for Judy, promises or no promises. Go back vvid 
 her, you that have to be fetched by a girl! I'm done with 
 you,' sez she; and she ran into her own room, her motlier 
 foUowin'. So I was alone with those two women, and at 
 liberty to spake me sintiments. 
 
 "'Judy Sheehy,' sez I, 'if you made a fool av me betune 
 the lights, you shall not do ut in the day. I never promised 
 you words or lines.' 
 
 ( "'You lie,' sez ould Mother Sheehy; 'an' may ut choke 
 you where you stand! ' She was far gone in dhrink. 
 
 " ' An' tho' ut choked me where I stud I'd not change,' 
 sez I. * Go home, Judy. I take shame for a decent girl like 
 you dhraggin' your mother out bare-headed on this errand. 
 Hear, now, and have ut for an answer. I gave me word to 
 Dinah Shadd yesterday, an' more blame to me I was with 
 you last night talkin' nonsinse, but nothin' more. You've 
 chosen to thry to hould me on ut. I will not be held there- 
 by for any thin' in the world. Is that enough? ' 
 
 " Judy wint pink all over. * An' I wish you joy av the per- 
 jury,' sez she. ' You've lost a woman that would ha' wore 
 her hand to the bone for your pleasure ; an' 'deed, Terence, 
 ye were not thrapped. . . . Lascelles must ha' spoken 
 plain to her. 'I am such as Dinah is — 'deed I am! Ye've 
 lost a fool av a girl that'll never look at you again, an' ye've 
 lost what ye niver had — your common honesty. If you man- 
 age your men as you manage your love-makin', small won- 
 dher they call you the worst corp'ril in the comp'ny. Come 
 away, mother,' sez she. 
 
 "But divil a fut would the ould woman budge! * D'you 
 hould by that?" sez she, peerin' up under her thick gray 
 eyebrows. 
 
 " ' Ay, an' wud,' said I, ' tho' Dinah gave me the go twintr 
 
1 68 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 times. I'll have no thruck with you or yours,' sez I. * Take 
 your child away, ye shameless woman.' 
 
 "'An' am I shameless?' sez she, bringin' her hands up 
 above her head. * Thin what are you, ye lyin', schamin', 
 weak-kneed, dhirty-souled son of a sutler? Am / shame- 
 less? Who put the open shame on me an' my child that we 
 shud go beggin' through the lines in daylight for the broken 
 word of a man? Double portion of my shame be on you, 
 Terence Mulvaney, that think yourself so strong! By Mary 
 and the saints, by blood and water, an' by ivry sorrow that 
 came into the world since the beginnin', the black blight fall 
 on you and yours, so that you may niver be free from pain 
 for another when ut's not your own ! May your heart bleed 
 in your breast drop by drop wid all your friends laughin' at 
 the bleedin'! Strong you think yourself? May your 
 strength be a curse to you to dhrive you into the divil's 
 hands against your own will! Clear-eyed you are? May 
 your eyes see clear ivry step av the dark path you take till 
 the hot cinders av hell put thim out! May the ragin' dry 
 thirst in my own ould bones go to you that you shall never 
 pass bottle full nor glass empty! God preserve the light av 
 your understandin' to you, my jewel av a bhoy, that ye may 
 niver forget what you mint to be an' do, when you're wal- 
 lowin' in the muck! May ye see the betther and follow the 
 worse as long as there's breath in your body! an' may ye die 
 quick in a strange land watchin' your death before ut takes 
 you an' enable to stir hand or fut! ' 
 
 " I neard a scufflin' in the room behind, and thin Dinah 
 Shadd's hand dhropped into mine like a roseleaf into a 
 muddy road. 
 
 " ' The half av that I'll take,' sez she, ' an' more too, if I 
 can. Go home, ye silly-talkin' woman — go home an' con- 
 fess.' 
 
 "'Come away I Come away!' sez Judy, pullin' her 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SIIADD. 169 
 
 mother by the shawl. * 'Twas none av Terence's fault. For 
 the love av Mary stop the talkin' ! ' 
 
 "'An' you!' said ould Mother Sheehy, spinnin' round 
 forninst Dinah. 'Will ye take the half av that man's load? 
 Stand off from him, Dinah Shadd, before he takes you down 
 too — you that look to be a quarthermaster-sergint's wife in 
 five years. Ye look too high, child. Ye shall wash for the 
 quarthermaster-sergint, whin he pl'ases to give you the job 
 out av charity; but a privit's wife ye shall be to the end, an' 
 ivry sorrow of a privit's wife ye shall know, an' niver a joy 
 but wan, that shall go from you Hke the tide from a rock. 
 The pain of bearin' ye shall know, but niver the pleasure of 
 givin' the breast; an' you shall put away a man-child into 
 the common ground wid niver a priest to say a prayer over 
 him, an' on that man-child ye shall think ivry day av your 
 life. Think long, Dinah Shadd, for you'll niver have an- 
 other tho' you pray till your knees are bleedin'. The moth- 
 ers av children shall mock you behind your back whin you're 
 wringin' over the wash-tub. You shall know what ut is to 
 take a dhrunken husband home an' see him go tc- the gyard- 
 room. Will that pl'ase you, Dinah Shadd, that won't be 
 seen talkin' to my daughter? You shall talk to worse than 
 Judy before all's over. The sergints' wives shall look down 
 on you, contemptuous daughter av a sergint, an' you shall 
 cover ut all up wid a smilin' face whin your heart's burstin'. 
 Stand off him, Dinah Shadd, for I've put the Black Curse 
 of Shielygh upon him, an' his own mouth shall make ut 
 good.' 
 
 " She pitched forward on her head an' began foamin' at 
 the mouth. Dinah Shadd ran out with water, an' Judy 
 dhragged the ould woman into the veranda till she sat up. 
 
 " ' Tm old an' forlore,' slie sez, trcmhlin' an' cryin', 'an' 
 'tis like I say a dale more than I mane.' 
 
 " ' When you're able to walk — go,' says ould Mother 
 
I70 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 Shadcl. ' This house has no place for the Hkes av you, that 
 have cursed my daughter.' 
 
 "'Eyah!' said the ould woman. ' Hard words break no 
 bones, an' Dinah Shadd'll kape the love av her husband till 
 my bones are green corn. Judy, darhn', I misremember 
 what I came here for. Can you lend us the bottom av a 
 taycup av tay, Mrs. Shadd ? ' 
 
 " But Judy dhragged her off, cryin' as tho' her heart wud 
 break. An' Dinah Shadd an' I, in ten minutes we had for- 
 got ut all." 
 
 " Then why do you remember it now? ' said I. 
 
 *' Is ut like I'd forgit? Ivry word that wicked ould woman 
 spoke fell thrue in my life aftherward ; an' I cud ha' stud ut 
 all — stud ut all, except fwhen little Shadd was born. That 
 was on the line av march three months afther the regiment 
 was taken wid cholera. We were betune Umballa an' 
 Kalka thin, an' I was on picket. When I came off, the 
 women showed me the child, an' ut turned on ut's side an' 
 died as I looked. We buried him by the road, an' Father 
 Victor was a day's march behind wid the heavy baggage, so 
 the com.p'ny captain read prayer. An' since then I've been 
 a childless man, an' all else that ould Mother Sheehy put 
 upon me an' Dinah Shadd. What do you think, sorr? "' 
 
 I thought a good deal, but it seemed better then to reach 
 out for Mulvaney's hand. This demonstration nearly cost 
 me the use of three fingers. Whatever he knows of his 
 weaknesses, Mulvaney is entirely ignorant of his strength. 
 
 " But what do you think? " he insisted, as I was straighten- 
 ing out the crushed member. 
 
 My reply was drowned in yells and outcries from the next 
 fire, where ten men were shouting for "Orth'ris! '' " Privit 
 Orth'ris! " " Mistah Or-ther-ris ! '^ " Deah boy! " " Cap'n 
 Orth'ris! " " Field-Marshal Orth'ris! " " Stanley, you pen- 
 n'orth o'pop, come 'ere to your own comp'ny!" And the 
 
THE COURTING OF DiNAII SHADD. 171 
 
 cockney, who had been dehghting another audience with 
 recondite and Rabelaisian yarns, was shot down among his 
 admirers by the major force. 
 
 "You've crumpled my dress-shirt 'orrid," said he; "an' 
 I shan't sing no more to this 'ere bloomin' drawin'-room." 
 
 Learoyd, roused by the confusion, uncoiled himself, crept 
 behind Ortheris, and raised him aloft on his shoulders. 
 
 " Sing, ye bloomin' hummin'-bird! " said he; and Ortheris, 
 beating time on Learoyd's skull, delivered himself, in the 
 raucous voice of the Ratchff Highway, of the following chaste 
 and touching ditty: 
 
 " My girl she give me the go oncet, 
 
 When I was a London lad, 
 An' I went en the drink for a fortnight, . 
 
 An' then I went to the bad. 
 The queen she gave me a shillin', 
 
 To fight for 'er over the seas ; 
 But guv'ment built me a fever-trap, 
 
 An' Injia gave me disease. 
 
 " Chorus. — Hoi don't you 'eed what a girl sa3'S, 
 An' don't you go for the beer; 
 But I was an ass when I was at grass, 
 An' that is why I'm 'ere. 
 
 " I fired a shot at an Afghan; 
 
 The beggar 'e fired again; 
 An' I lay on my bed with a 'ole in my 'ead, 
 
 An' missed the next campaign! 
 I up with my gun at a Burman 
 
 Who carried a bloomin* dah. 
 But the cartridge stuck an' the bay'nit bruk. 
 
 An' all I got was the scar. 
 
 ** Chorus — IIoI don't you aim at a Afghan 
 
 When you stand on the sky-line clear; 
 An' don't you go for a Burman 
 If none o' your friends is near. 
 
172 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD. 
 
 ** I served my time for a corp'ral, 
 
 An' wetted ray stripes with pop, 
 For I went on the bend with a intimate friend. 
 
 An' finished the night in the Shop. 
 I served my time for a sergeant; 
 
 The colonel 'e sez ' No! 
 The most you'll be is a full C. B. ; ' * 
 
 An' — very next night 'twas so. 
 
 " Chorus. — Ho! don't you go for a corp'ral, 
 Unless your 'ead is clear; 
 But I was an ass when I was at grass. 
 An' that is why I'm 'ere. 
 
 " I've tasted the luck o' the army 
 
 In barrack an' camp an' clink, 
 An' I lost my tip through the bloomin' trip 
 
 Along o' the women an' drink. 
 I'm down at the heel o' my service, 
 
 An' when I am laid on the shelf, 
 My very wust friend from beginning to end, 
 
 By the blood of a mouse, was myself. 
 
 *' Chorus. — Ho! don't you 'eed what a girl says. 
 An' don't you go for the beer; 
 But I was an ass when I was at grass, 
 Vn' that is why I'm 'ere." 
 
 " Ay, listen to our little man now, singin' an' shoutin' as 
 tho' trouble had never touched him! D'you remember when 
 he went mad with the homesickness?" said Mulvaney, re- 
 calling a never-to-be-forgotten season when Otheris waded 
 through the deep waters of affliction and behaved abomi- 
 nably. " But he's talkin' the bitter truth, tho'. Eyah ! 
 
 " ' My very worst friend from beginning to end, 
 By the blood of a mouse, was mesilf.' 
 
 Hark out!" he continued, jumping to his feet. "What 
 did I tell you, sorr? " 
 
 * Confined to barracks. 
 
THE COUR'IXG OF DIXAH SlIADD. 173 
 
 Fttl! spttl! whttl! went the rifles of the })icket in the 
 darkness, and we heard their feet rushing toward us as 
 Ortheris tumbled past me and into his great-coat. It is an 
 impressive thing, even in peace, to see an armed camp spring 
 to hfe with clatter of accoutrements, click of Martini levers, 
 and blood-curdling speculations as to the fate of missing 
 boots. " Pickets dhriven in," said Mulvaney, staring like a 
 buck at bay into the soft, clinging gloom. " Stand by an' 
 kape close to us. If 'tis cavUry, they may blundher into the 
 fires." 
 
 Tr — ra ra! ta — ra — la I sang the thrice-blessed bugle, 
 and the rush to form square began. There is much rest and 
 peace in the heart of a square if you arrive in time and are 
 not trodden upon too frequently. The smell of leather belts, 
 fatigue uniform, and packed humanity is comforting. 
 
 A dull grumble, that seemed to come from every point of 
 the compass at once, struck our listening ears, and little thrills 
 of excitement ran down the faces of the square. Those who 
 write so learnedly about judging distance by sound should 
 hear cavalry on the move at night. A high-pitched yell on 
 the left told us that the disturbers were friends — the cavalry 
 of the attack, who had missed their direction in the darkness, 
 and were feeling blindly for some sort of support and camp- 
 ing-ground. The difficulty explained, they jingled on. 
 
 " Double pickets out there ; by your arms lie down and 
 sleep the rest," said the major, and the square melted away 
 as the men scrambled for their places by the fires. 
 
 When I woke I saw Mulvaney, the night-dew gemming 
 his moustache, leaning on his rifle at picket, lonely as Prome- 
 tiieus on his rock, with I know not what vultures tearing his 
 liver. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS. 
 
 Let it be clearly understood that the Russian is a de- 
 lightful person till he tucks his shirt in. As an Oriental he 
 is charming. It is only when he insists upon being treated 
 as the most easterly of Western peoples, instead of the 
 most westerly of Easterns, that he becomes a racial anomaly 
 extremely difficult to handle. The host never knows which 
 side of his nature is going to turn up next. 
 
 Dirkovitch was a Russian — a Russian of the Russians, as 
 he said — who appeared to get his bread by serving the czar 
 as an officer in a Cossack regiment, and corresponding for a 
 Russian newspaper with a name that was never twice the 
 same. He was a handsome young Oriental, with a taste for 
 wandering through unexplored portions of the earth, and he 
 arrived in India from nowhere in particular. At least no 
 living man could ascertain whether it was by way of Balkh, 
 Budukhshan, Chitral, Beloochistan, Nepaul, or anywhere else. 
 The Indian government, being in an unusually affable mood, 
 gave orders that he was to be civilly treated, and shown every- 
 thing that was to be seen; so he drifted, talking bad English 
 and worse French, from one city to another till he forgathered 
 with her Majesty's White Hussars in the city of Peshawur, 
 which stands at the mouth of that narrow sword-cut in the 
 hills that men call the Khybcr Pass. He was undoubtedly 
 an officer, and he was decorated, after the manner of the 
 Russians, with little enamelled crosses, and he could talk, 
 
lyS Th'^ MAN WHO WAS. 
 
 and (though this has nothing to do with his merits) he had 
 been given up as a hopeless task or case by the Black Ty- 
 rones, who, individually and collectively, with hot whiskey 
 a,nd honey, mulled brandy and mixed spirits of all kinds, 
 had striven in all hospitality to make him drunk. And when 
 the Black Tyrones, who are exclusively Irish, fail to disturb 
 the peace of head of a foreigner, that foreigner is certain to 
 be a superior man. This was the argument of the Black 
 Tyrones, but they were ever an unruly and self-opinionated 
 regiment, and they allowed junior subalterns of four years' 
 service to choose their wines. The spirits were always pur- 
 chased by the colonel and a committee of majors. And a 
 regiment that would so behave may be respected but cannot 
 be loved. 
 
 The White Hussars were as conscientious in choosing their 
 wine as in charging the enemy. There was a brandy that 
 had been purchased by a cultured colonel a few years after 
 the battle of Waterloo. It has been maturing ever since, 
 and it was a marvellous brandy at the purchasing. The 
 memory of that liquor would cause men to weep as they lay 
 dying in the teak forests of upper Burmah or the slime of 
 the Irrawaddy. And there was a port which was notable; 
 and there was a champagne of an obscure brand, which al- 
 ways came to mess without any labels, because the White 
 Hussars wished none to know where the source of supply 
 might be found. The officer on whose head the champagne- 
 choosing lay was forbidden the use of tobacco for six weeks 
 previous to sampling. 
 
 This particularity of detail is necessary to emphasize the 
 fact that that champagne, that port, and, above all, that 
 brandy — the green and yellow and white liqueurs did not 
 count — was placed at the absolute disposition of Dirkovitch, 
 and he enjoyed himself hugely — even more than among the 
 Black Tyrones. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS. 179 
 
 But he remained distressingly European through it all. 
 Tiie White Hussars were—" My dear true friends," " Fellow- 
 soldiers glorious," and " Brothers inseparable." He would 
 unburden himself by the hour on the glorious future that 
 awaited the combined arms of England and Russia when 
 their hearts and their territories should run side by side, and 
 the great mission of civilizing Asia should begin. That 
 was unsatisfactory, because Asia is not going to be civilized 
 after the methods of the West. There is too much Asia, 
 and she is too old. You cannot reform a lady of many 
 lovers, and Asia has been insatiable in her flirtations afore- 
 time. She will never attend Sunday-school, or learn to vote 
 save with swords for tickets. 
 
 Dirkovitch knew this as well as any one else, but it suited 
 him to talk special-correspondently and to make himself as 
 genial as he could. Now and then he volunteered a little, 
 a very little, information about his own Sotnia of Cossacks, 
 left apparently to look after themselves somewhere at the 
 back of beyond. He had done rough work in Central Asia, 
 and had seen rather more help-yourself fighting than most 
 men of his years. But he was careful never to betray his 
 superiority, and more than careful to praise on all occasions 
 the appearance, drill, uniform, and organization of her Maj- 
 esty's White Hussars. And, indeed, they were a regiment 
 to be admired. When Mrs. Durgan, widow of the late Sir 
 John Durgan, arrived in their station, and after a short time 
 had been proposed to by every single man at mess, she put 
 the public sentiment very neatly when she explained that 
 they were all so nice that unless she could marry them all, 
 mcluding the colonel and some majors who were already 
 married, she was not going to content herself with one of 
 them. Wherefore she wedded a little man in a rifle regiment 
 — being by nature contradictious — and the White Hussars 
 were going to wear crape on their arms, but compromised by 
 
I So Tin: MAN WHO WAS. 
 
 attending the wedding in full force, and lining the aisle with 
 unutterable reproach. She had jilted them all — from Basset- 
 Holmer, the senior captain, to Little Mildred, the last subal- 
 tern, and he could have given her four thousand a year and 
 a title. He was a viscount, and on his arrival the mess had 
 said he had better go into the Guards, because they were all 
 sons of large grocers and small clothiers in the Hussars, but 
 Mildred begged very hard to be allowed to stay, and be- 
 haved so prettily that he was forgiven, and became a man, 
 which is much more important than being any sort of vis- 
 count. 
 
 The only persons who did not share the general regard for 
 the White Hussars were a few thousand gentlemen of Jewish 
 extraction who lived across the border, and answered to the 
 name of Pathan. They had only met the regiment official- 
 ly, and for something less than twenty minutes, but the in- 
 terview, which was complicated with many casualties, had 
 filled them with prejudice. They even called the White 
 Hussars "children of the devil," and sons of persons whom 
 it v/ould be perfectly impossible to meet in decent society. 
 Yet they were not above making their aversion fill their 
 money-belts. The regiment possessed carbines, beautiful 
 Martini-Henri carbines, that would cob a bullet into an 
 enemy's camp at one thousand yards, and were even handier 
 than the long rifle. Therefore they were coveted all along 
 the border, and, since demand inevitably breeds supply, they 
 were supphed at the risk of hfe and limb for exactly their 
 weight in coined silver — seven and one half pounds of 
 rupees, or sixteen pounds and a few shillings each, reckon- 
 ing the rupee at par. They were stolen at night by snaky- 
 haired thieves that crawled on their stomachs under the nose 
 of the sentries; they disappeared mysteriously from arm- 
 racks ; and in the hot weather, when all the doors and win- 
 dows were open, they vanished like puffs of their own smoke. 
 
THE MAX WHO WAS. 1 81 
 
 The border people desired them first for their own family 
 vendettas, and then for contingencies. But in the long cold 
 nights of the Northern Indian winter they were stolen most 
 extensively. The traffic of murder was liveliest among the 
 hills at that season, and prices ruled high. The regimental 
 guards were first doubled and then trebled. A trooper does 
 not much care if he loses a weapon — government must make 
 it good — but he deeply resents the loss of his sleep. The 
 regiment grew very angry, and one night-thief who managed 
 to limp away bears the visible marks of their anger upon him 
 to this hour. That incident stopped the burglaries for a 
 time, and the guards were reduced accordingly, and the regi- 
 ment devoted itself to polo with unexpected results, for it 
 beat by two goals to one that very terrible polo corps the 
 Lushkar Light Horse, though the latter had four ponies 
 apiece for a short hour's fight, as well as a native officer who 
 played Hke a lambent flame across the ground. 
 
 Then they gave a dinner to celebrate the event. The 
 Lushkar team came, and Dirkovitch came, in th-e fullest full 
 uniform of a Cossack officer, which is as full as a dressing- 
 gown, and was introduced to the Lushkars, and opened his 
 eyes as he regarded them. They were lighter men than the 
 Hussars, and they carried themselves with the swing that is 
 the peculiar right of the Punjab frontier force and all irreg- 
 ular horse. Like everything else in the service, it has to be 
 learned; but, unlike many things, it is never forgotten, and 
 remains on the body till death. 
 
 The great beam-roofed mess-room of the White Hussars 
 was a sight to be remembered. All the mess-plate was on 
 the long table — the same table that had served up the bodies 
 of five dead officers in a forgotten fight long and long ago-^ 
 the dingy, battered standards faced the door of entrance, 
 clumps of winter roses lay between the silver candlesticks, 
 the portraits of eminent officers deceased looked down on 
 
1 82 THE MAN WHO WAS. 
 
 their successors from between the heads of san:ibhur, nilghai, 
 maikhor, and, pride of all the mess, two grinning snow-leop- 
 ards that had cost Basset-Holmer four months' leave that he 
 might have spent in England instead of on the road to 
 Thibet, and the daily risk of his life on ledge, snow-slide, 
 and glassy grass-slope. 
 
 The servants, in spotless white muslin and the crest of 
 their regiments on the brow of their turbans, waited behind 
 their masters, who were clad in the scarlet and gold of the 
 White Hussars and the cream and silver of the Lushkar 
 Light Horse. Dirkovitch's dull green uniform was the only 
 dark spot at the board, but his big onyx eyes made up for 
 it. He was fraternizing effusively with the captain of the 
 Lushkar team, who was wondering how many of Dirkovitch's 
 Cossacks his own long, lathy down-countrymen could ac- 
 count for in a fair charge. But one does not speak of these 
 things openly. 
 
 The talk rose higher and higher, and the regimental band 
 played between the courses, as is the immemorial custom, 
 till all tongues ceased for a moment with the removal of the 
 dinner slips and the First Toast of Obligation, when the 
 colonel, rising, said, " Mr. Vice, the Queen," and Little Mil- 
 dred from the bottom of the table answered, " The Queen, 
 God bless her! " and the big spurs clanked as the big men 
 heaved themselves up and drank the Queen, upon whose pay 
 they were falsely supposed to pay their mess-bills. That 
 sacrament of the mess never grows old, and never ceases to 
 bring a lump into the throat of the Hstener wherever he be, 
 by land or by sea. Dirkovitch rose with his "brothers glori- 
 ous," but he could not understand. No one but an officer 
 can understand what the toast means; and the bulk have 
 more sentiment than comprehension. It all comes to the 
 same in the end, as the enemy said when he was wriggling 
 on a lance-point. Immediately after the little silence that 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS. 183 
 
 follows on tlie ceremony there entered the native officer who 
 had played for the Lushkar team. He could not of course 
 eat with the alien, but he came in at dessert, all six feet of 
 him, with the blue-and-silver turban atop and the big black 
 top-boots below. The mess rose joyously as he thrust for- 
 ward the hilt of his sabre, in token of fealty, for the colonel 
 of the White Hussars to touch, and dropped into a vacant 
 chair amid shouts of '' Rung ho I Hira Singh!" (which be- 
 ing translated means " Go in and win!"). "Did I whack 
 you over the knee, old man? " " Ressaidar Sahib, what the 
 devil made you play that kicking pig of a pony in the last 
 ten minutes?" " Shabash, Ressaidar Sahib!" Then the 
 voice of the colonel, " The health of Ressaidar Hira Singh ! " 
 
 After the shouting had died away Hira Singh rose to re- 
 ply, for he was the cadet of a royal house, the son of a king's 
 son, and knew what was due on these occasions. Thus he 
 spoke in the vernacular: 
 
 " Colonel Sahib and officers of this regiment, much honor 
 have you done me. This will I remember. We came down 
 from afar to play you; but we were beaten." ("No fault of 
 yours, Ressaidar Sahib. Played on our own ground, y' 
 know. Your ponies were cramped from the railway. Don't 
 apologize.") "Therefore perhaps we will come again if it 
 be so ordained." ("Hear! Hear, hear, indeed! Bravo! 
 Hsh! ") " Then we will play you afresh " (" Happy to meet 
 you"), "till there are left no feet upon our ponies. Thus far 
 for sport." He dropped one hand on his sword-hilt and his 
 eye wandered to Dirkovitch lolling back in his chair. " But if 
 by the will of God there arises any other game which is not the 
 polo game, then be assured. Colonel Sahib and officers, that 
 we shall play it out side by side, though they " — again his eye 
 sought Dirkovitch — "though the}\ I say, have fifty ponies to 
 our one horse." And with a deep-mouthed Rung ho I that 
 rang like a musket-butt on flagstones, he sat down amid 
 shoutings. 
 
i84 THE MAN WHO WAS. 
 
 Dirkovitch, who had devoted himself steadily to the brandy 
 — the terrible brandy aforementioned — did not understand, 
 nor did the expurgated translations offered to him at all con- 
 vey the point. Decidedly the native officer's was the speech 
 of the evening, and the clamor might have continued to the 
 dawn had it not been broken by the noise of a shot without 
 that sent every man feeling at his defenceless left side. It 
 is notable that Dirkovitch " reached back," after the Ameri- 
 can fashion — a gesture that set the captain of the Lushkar 
 team wondering how Cossack officers were armed at mess. 
 Then there was a scuffle and a yell of pain. 
 
 "Carbine stealing again! " said the adjutant, calmly sink- 
 ing back in his chair. " This comes of reducing the guards. 
 I hope the sentries have killed him." 
 
 The feet of armed men pounded on the veranda flags, 
 and it sounded as though something was being dragged. 
 
 "Why don't they put him in the cells till the morning?" 
 said the colonel testily. " See if they've damaged him, ser- 
 geant." 
 
 The mess-sergeant fled out into the darkness,' and re- 
 turned with two troopers and a corporal, all very much per- 
 plexed. 
 
 " Caught a man stealin' carbines, sir," said the corporal. 
 " Leastways 'e was crawlin' toward the barricks, sir, past the 
 main-road sentries; an' the sentry 'e says, sir " 
 
 The limp heap of rags upheld by the three men groaned. 
 Never was seen so destitute and demoralized an Afghan. 
 He was turbanless, shoeless, caked with dirt, and all but dead 
 with rough handling. Hira Singh started slightly at the 
 sound of the man's pain. Dirkovitch took another hqueur 
 glass of brandy. 
 
 " What does the sentry say? " said the colonel. 
 
 " Sez he speaks English, sir," said the corporal. 
 
 " So you brought him into mess instead of handing him 
 
THE J/A.V IVIIO IVAS. 1S5 
 
 over to the sergeant! Tf he spoke all the tongues of the 
 Pentecost you've no business " 
 
 Again the bundle groaned and muttered. Little Mildred 
 had risen from his place to inspect. He jumped back as 
 though he had been shot. 
 
 "Perhaps it would be better, sir, to send the men away," 
 said he to the colonel, for he was a much-privileged subal- 
 tern. He put his arms round the rag-bound horror as he 
 spoke and dropped him into a chair. It may not have been 
 explained that the littleness of Mildred lay in his being six 
 feet four, and big in proportion. The corporal, seeing that 
 an officer was disposed to look after the capture, and that 
 the colonel's eye was beginning to blaze, promptly removed 
 himself and his men. The mess was left alone with the car- 
 bine thief, who laid his head on the table and wept bitterly, 
 hopelessly, and inconsolably, as little children weep. 
 
 Hira Singh leaped to his feet with a long-drawn vernacular 
 oath. "Colonel Sahib," said he, "that man is no Afghan, 
 for they weep ^Ai / Aif Nor is he of Hindustan, for they 
 weep * Ok I Ho / ' He weeps after the fashion of the white 
 men, who say ' Ow ! Oivf''' 
 
 " Now where the dickens did you get that knowledge, Hira 
 Singh?" said the captain of the Lushkar team. 
 
 "Hear him!" said Hira Singh simply, pointing at the 
 crumpled figure, that wept as though it would never cease. 
 
 "He said, 'My God!'" said Little Mildred. "I heard 
 him say it." 
 
 The colonel and the mess-room looked at the man in si- 
 lence. It is a horrible thing to hear a man cry. A woman 
 can sob from the top of her palate, or her lips, or anywhere 
 else, but a man cries from his diaphragm, and it rends him 
 to pieces. Also, the exhibition causes the throat of the on- 
 looker to close at the top. 
 
 "Poor devil!" said the colonel, coughing tremendously. 
 
i86 THE MAN WHO WAS. 
 
 " We ought to send him to hospital. He's been man- 
 handled/' 
 
 Now the adjutant loved his rifles. They were to him as 
 his grandchildren — the men standing in the first place. He 
 grunted rebelliously: " I can understand an Afghan stealing, 
 because he's made that way. But I can't understand his 
 crying. That makes it worse." 
 
 The brandy must have affected Dirkovitch, for he lay 
 back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. There was noth- 
 ing special in the ceiling beyond a shadow as of a huge black 
 coffin. Owing to some pecuHarity in the construction of the 
 mess-room, this shadow was always thrown when the candles 
 were lighted. It never disturbed the digestion of the White 
 Hussars. They were, in fact, rather proud of it. 
 
 " Is he going to cry all night," said the colonel, " or are 
 we supposed to sit up with Little Mildred's guest until he 
 feels better? " 
 
 The man in the chair threw up his head and stared at the 
 mess. Outside, the wheels of the first of those bidden to the 
 festivities crunched the roadway. 
 
 "O my God! " said the man in the chair, and every soul 
 in the mess rose to his feet. Then the Lushkar captain did 
 a deed for which he ought to have been given the Victoria 
 Cross — distinguished gallantry in a fight against overwhelm- 
 ing curiosity. He picked up his team with his eyes as the 
 hostess picks up the ladies at the opportune moment, and 
 pausing only by the colonel's chair to say, "This isn't oitr 
 affair, you know, sir," led the team into the veranda and the 
 gardens. Hira Singh was the last, and he looked at Dir- 
 kovitch as he moved. But Dirkovitch had departed into a 
 brandy paradise of his own. His lips moved without sound, 
 and he was studying the cofiin on the ceiHng. 
 
 "White — white all over," said Basset-Holmer, the adju- 
 tant. "What a pernicious renegade he must be! I wonder 
 where he came from?" 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS. 187 
 
 The colonel shook the man gently by the arm, and " Who 
 are you? " said he. 
 
 There was no answer. The man stared round the mess- 
 room and smiled in the colonel's face. Little Mildred, who 
 was always more of a woman than a man till " Boot and sad- 
 dle" was sounded, repeated the question in a voice that 
 would have drawn confidences from a geyser. The man 
 only smiled. Dirkovitch, at the far end of the table, slid 
 gently from his chair to the floor. No son of Adam, in this 
 present imperfect world, can mix the Hussars" champagne 
 with the Hussars' brandy by five and eight glasses of each 
 without remembering the pit whence he has been digged and 
 descending thither. The band began to play the tune with 
 which the White Hussars, from the date of their formation, 
 preface all their functions. They would sooner be disbanded 
 than abandon that tune. It is a part of their system. The 
 man straightened himself in his chair and drummed on the 
 table with his fingers. 
 
 "I don't see why we should entertain lunatics," said the 
 colonel ; " call a guard and send him off to the cells. We'll 
 look into the business in the morning. Give him a glass of 
 wine first, though." 
 
 Little Mildred filled a sherry glass with the brandy and 
 thrust it over to the man. He drank, and the tune rose 
 xouder, and he straightened himself yet more. Then he put 
 out his long-taloned hands to a piece of plate opposite and 
 fingered it lovingly. There was a mystery connected with 
 that piece of plate in the shape of a spring, which converted 
 what was a seven-branched candlestick, three springs each 
 side and one in the middle, into a sort of wheel-spoke can- 
 delabrum. He found the spring, i)ressed it, and laughed 
 weakly. He rose from his chair and inspected a picture on 
 the wall, then moved on to another picture, the mess watch- 
 ing him without a word. When he came to the mantelpiece 
 
1 38 THE MAN WHO WAS. 
 
 he shook his head and seemed distressed. A piece of plate 
 representing a mounted hussar in full uniform caught his 
 eye. He pointed to it, and then to the mantelpiece, with in- 
 quiry in his eyes. 
 
 " What is it — oh, what is it? " said Little Mildred. Then, 
 as a mother might speak to a child, " That is a horse — yes, 
 a horse." 
 
 Very slowly came the answer, in a thick, passionless gut- 
 tural: "Yes, I — have seen. But — where is the horse?*' 
 
 You could have heard the hearts of the mess beating as 
 the men drew back to give the stranger full room in his wan- 
 derings. There was no question of calling the guard. 
 
 Again he spoke, very slowly, ''Where is ^//r horse?" 
 
 There is no saying what happened after that. There is 
 but one horse in the White Hussars, and his portrait hangs 
 outside the door of the mess-room. He is the piebald drum- 
 horse, the king of the regimental band, that served the regi- 
 ment for seven-and-thirty years, and in the end was shot for 
 old age. Half the mess tore the thing down from its place 
 and thrust it into the man's hands. He placed it above the 
 manteipiece; it clattered on the ledge, as his poor hands 
 dropped it, and he staggered toward the bottom of the table, 
 ^ailing into Mildred's chair. The band began to play the 
 " River of Years " waltz, and'the laughter from the gardens 
 came into the tobacco-scented mess-room. But nobody, 
 even the youngest, was thinking of waltzes. They all spoke 
 to one another something after this fashion: "The drum- 
 norse hasn't hung over the mantelpiece since '67." " How 
 does he know?" " Mildred, go and speak to him again." 
 'Colonel, what are you going to do?" "Oh, dry up, and 
 give the poor devil a chance to pull himself together! " " It 
 isn't possible, anyhow. The man's a lunatic." 
 
 Little Mildred stood at the coloners side talking into his 
 ear. " Will you be good enough to take your seats, please, 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS. 1 89 
 
 gentlemen?" he said, and the mess dropped into the 
 chairs. 
 
 Only Dirkovitch's seat, next to Little Mildred's, was blank, 
 and Little Mildred himself had found Hira Singh's place. 
 The wide-eyed mess-sergeant filled the glasses in dead si- 
 lence. Once more the colonel rose, but his hand shook and, 
 the port spilled on the table as he looked straight at the man 
 in Little Mildred's chair and said, hoarsely, " Mr. Vice, the 
 Queen." There was a little pause, but the man sprang to 
 his feet and answered, without hesitation, " The Queen, God 
 bless her! " and as he emptied the thin glass he snapped the 
 shank between his fingers. 
 
 Long and long ago, when the Empress of India was a 
 young woman, and there were no unclean ideals in the land, 
 it was the custom in a few messes to drink the Queen's toast 
 in broken glass, to the huge delight of the mess contractors. 
 The custom is now dead, because there is nothing to break 
 anything for, except now and again the word of a govern- 
 ment, and that has been broken already. 
 
 " That settles it," said the colonel, with a gasp. " He's 
 not a sergeant. What in the world is he? " 
 
 The entire mess echoed the word, and the volley of ques- 
 tions would have scared any man. Small wonder that the 
 ragged, filthy invader could only smile and shake his head. 
 
 From under the table, calm and smiling urbanely, rose 
 Dirkovitch, who had been roused from healthful slumber by 
 feet upon his body. By the side of the man he rose, and the 
 man shrieked and grovelled at his feet. It was a horrible 
 sight, coming so swiftly upon the pride and glory of the toast 
 that had brought the strayed wits together. 
 
 Dirkovitch made no offer to raise him, but Little Mildred 
 heaved him up in an instant. It is not good that a gentle- 
 man who can answer to the Queen's toast should lie at the 
 feet of a subaltern of Cossacks. 
 
190 Til Li. MAN WHO WAS. 
 
 The hasty action tore the wretch's upper clothing nearly 
 to the waist, and his body was seamed with dry black scars. 
 There is only one weapon in the world that cuts in parallel 
 lines, and it is neither the cane nor the cat. Dirkovitch saw 
 the marks, and the pupils of his eyes dilated — also, his face 
 changed. He said something that sounded like " Shto ve 
 takete;" and the man, fawning, answered " Chetyre." 
 
 "What's that?" said everybody together. 
 
 " yis number. That is number four, you know." Dir- 
 kovitch spoke very thickly. 
 
 "What has a Queen s officer to do with a qualified num- 
 ber?" said the colonel, and there rose an unpleasant growl 
 round the table. 
 
 " How can I tell? " said the affable Oriental, with a sweet 
 smile. " He is a — how you have it? — escape — runaway, from 
 over there." 
 
 He nodded toward the darkness of the night. 
 
 "Speak to him, if he'll answer you, and speak to him 
 gently," said Little Mildred, settling the man in a chair. It 
 seemed most improper to all present that Dirkovitch should 
 sip brandy as he talked in purring, spitting Russian to the 
 creature who answered so feebly and with such evident 
 dread. But since Dirkovitch appeared to understand, no 
 man said a word. They breathed heavily, leaning forward, 
 in the long gaps of the conversation. The next time that 
 they have no engagements on hand the White Hussars in- 
 tend to go to St. Petersburg and learn Russian. 
 
 " He does not know how many years ago," said Dirkovitch, 
 facing the mess, " but he says it was very long ago, in a war. 
 I think that there was an accident. He says he was of this 
 glorious and distinguished regiment in the war." 
 
 "The rolls! The rolls! Holmer, get the rolls!" said 
 Little Mildred, and the adjutant dashed off bareheaded to 
 the orderly-room where the rolls of the regiment were kept. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS. 191 
 
 He returned just in time to hear Dirkovitch conclude, 
 " Therefore I am most sorry to say there was an accident, 
 which would have been reparable if he had apologized to 
 that our colonel, which he had insulted." 
 
 Another growl, which the colonel tried to beat down. The 
 mess was in no mood to weigh insults to Russian colonels 
 just then. 
 
 " He does not remember, but I think that there was an 
 accident, and so he was not exchanged among the prisoners, 
 but he was sent to another place — how do you say? — the 
 country. So^ he says, he came here. He does not know 
 how he came. Eh? He was at Chepany" — the man 
 caught the word, nodded, and shivered — " at Zhigansk and 
 Irkutsk. I cannot understand how he escaped. He says, 
 too, that he was in the forests for many years, but how many 
 years he has forgotten — that with many things. It was an 
 accident; done because he did not apologize to that our 
 colonel. Ah!" 
 
 Instead of echoing Dirkovitch's sigh of regret, it is sad to 
 record that the White Hussars livelily exhibited unchristian 
 delight and other emotions, hardly restrained by their sense 
 of hospitality. Holmer flung the frayed and yellow regi- 
 mental rolls on the table, and the men flung themselves atop 
 of these. 
 
 "Steady! Fifty-six — fifty-five — fifty-four," said Holmer. 
 " Here we are. ' Lieutenant Austin Limmason — missing.' 
 That was before Sebastopol. What an infernal shame! In- 
 sulted one of their colonels, and was quietly shipped off. 
 Thirty years of his life wiped out.'' 
 
 " But he never apologized. Said he'd see him first," 
 
 chorused the mess. 
 
 " Poor devil! I suppose he never had the chance after- 
 ward. How did he come here? " said the colonel. 
 
 The dingy heap in the chair could give no answer. 
 
192 THE MAN WHO WAS, 
 
 *' Do you know who you are? " 
 
 It laughed weakly. 
 
 " Do you know that you are Limmason — Lieutenant Lim- 
 mason, of the White Hussars? " 
 
 Swift as a shot came the answer, in a slightly surprised 
 tone, "Yes, I'm Limmason, of course." The light died out 
 in his eyes, and he collapsed afresh, watching every motion 
 of Dirkovitch with terror. A flight from Siberia may fix a 
 few elementary facts in the mind, but it does not lead to 
 continuity of thought. The man could not explain how, 
 hke a homing pigeon, he had found his way to his own old 
 mess again. Of what he had suffered or seen he knew noth- 
 ing. He cringed before Dirkovitch as instinctively as he 
 had pressed the spring of the candlestick, sought the picture 
 of the drum-horse, and answered to the Queen's toast. The 
 rest was a blank that the dreaded Russian tongue could only 
 in part remove. His head bowed on his breast, and he 
 giggled and cowered alternately. 
 
 The devil that lived in the brandy prompted Dirkovitch at 
 this extremely inopportune moment to make a speech. He 
 rose, swaying slightly, gripped the table-edge, while his eyes 
 glowed like opals, and began : 
 
 " Fellow-soldiers glorious — true friends and hospitables. 
 It was an accident, and deplorable — most deplorable." 
 Here he smiled sweetly all round the mess. " But you will 
 think of this little, little thing. So little, is it not? The 
 czar! Posh! I slap my fingers — I snap my fingers at him. 
 Do I believe in him? No! But the Slav who has done 
 nothing, him I believe. Seventy — how much? — millions 
 that have done nothing — not one thing. Napoleon was an 
 episode." He banged a hand on the table. " Hear you, 
 old peoples, we have done nothing in the world — out here. 
 All our work is to do : and it shall be done, old peoples. 
 Get away!" He waved his hand imperiously, and pointed 
 
THE MAX WHO WAS. 193 
 
 to the man. "You see him. He is not good to see. He 
 \vas just one little — oh, so little — accident, that no one re- 
 membered. Now he is 77/^z/. So will you be, brother-soldiers 
 so brave — so will you be. But you will never come back. 
 You will all go where he is gone, or" — he pointed to the 
 great coffin shadow on the ceiUng, and muttering, " Seventy 
 millions — get away, you old people," fell asleep. 
 
 " Sweet, and to the point," said Little Mildred. " What's 
 the use of getting wrath? Let's make the poor devil com- 
 fortable." 
 
 But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly taken from the 
 loving hands of the White Hussars. The lieutenant had re- 
 turned only to go away again three days later, when the wail 
 of the " Dead March " and the tramp of the squadrons told 
 the wondering station, that saw no gap in the table, an officer 
 of the regiment had resigned his new-found commission. 
 
 And Dirkovitch — bland, supple, and always genial — went 
 away too by a night train. Little Mildred and another saw 
 him off, for he was the guest of the mess, and even had he 
 smitten the colonel with the open hand the law of the mess 
 allowed no relaxation of hospitality. 
 
 " Good-by, Dirkovitch, and a pleasant journey," said 
 Little Mildred. 
 
 '' Au revoir, my true friends," said the Russian. 
 
 "Indeed! But we thought you were going home?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I will come again. My friends, is that road 
 shut? " He pointed to where the north star burned over the 
 Khyber Pass. 
 
 "By Jove! I forgot. Of course. Happy to meet you, 
 old man, any time you like. Got everything you want — 
 cheroots, ice, bedding? That's all right. Well, au 7'rjoir^ 
 Dirkovitch." 
 
 " Um," said the other man, as the tail-lights of the train 
 
 grew small. " Of — all — the — unmitigated " 
 
 13 
 
194 THE MAN WHO WAS. 
 
 Little Mildred answered nothing, but watched the north 
 star, and hummed a selection from a recent burlesque that 
 had much delighted the White Hussars. It ran: 
 
 •* I'm sorry for Mr. Bluebeard, 
 I'm sorry to cause him pain; 
 But a terrible spree there's sure to be 
 When he comes back again.** 
 
A CONFERENCE OF THE 
 POWERS. 
 
A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 
 
 ** Life liveth best in life, and doth not roam 
 
 To other realms if all be well at home, 
 ' Solid as ocean foam,' quoth ocean foam." 
 
 The room was blue with the smoke of three pipes and a 
 cigar. The leave season had opened in India, and the first- 
 fruits on the Enghsh side of the water were " Tick " Boileau, 
 of the Forty-fifth Bengal Cavalry, who called on me after three 
 years' absence to discuss old things which had happened. 
 Fate, who always does her work handsomely, sent up the 
 same staircase within the same hour the Infant, fresh from 
 Upper Burma, and he and Boileau, looking out of my win- 
 dow, saw walking in the street one Nevin, late in a Gurkha 
 regiment and the Black Mountain expedition. They yelled 
 to him to come up, and the whole street was aware that they 
 desired him to come up; and he came up, and there fol- 
 lowed pandemonium, because we had forgathered from the 
 ends of the earth, and three of us were on a holiday, and 
 none of us were twenty-five, and all the delights of all Lon- 
 don lay waiting our pleasure. 
 
 Boileau took the only other chair; and the Infant, by right 
 of his bulk, the sofa; and Nevin, being a little man. sat 
 cross-legged on the top of the revolving book-case; and we 
 all said, " Who'd ha' thought it?" and "What 3iTe you doing 
 here?" till speculation was exhausted, and the talk went 
 over to inevitable "shop." Boileau was full of a great 
 
198 A CONFERENCE OF THE POIVERS. 
 
 scheme for securing military attacheship at St. Petersburg; 
 Nevin had hopes of the Staff College; and the Infant had 
 been moving heaven and earth and the Horse-guards for a 
 commission in the Egyptian army. 
 
 "What's the use o' that?" said Nevin, twirling round on 
 the book-case. 
 
 "Oh, heaps! 'Course if you get stuck with a Fellaheen 
 regiment you're sold, but if you are appointed to a Soudanese 
 lot you're in clover. They are first-class fighting men, and 
 just think of the eligible central position of Egyot in the next 
 row!" 
 
 This was putting the match to a magazine. We all began 
 to explain the Central-Asian question off-hand, flinging army 
 corps from the Helmund to Cashmir with more than Russian 
 recklessness. Each of the boys made for himself a war to 
 his own liking, and when we had settled all the details of 
 Armageddon, killed all our senior officers, handled a division 
 apiece, and nearly torn the atlas in two in attempts to ex- 
 plain our theories, Boileau needs must hft up his voice above 
 
 the clamor and cry, "Anyhow, it'll be the of a row! " 
 
 in tones that carried conviction far down the staircase. 
 
 Entered unperceived in the smoke William the Silent. 
 " Gen'elman to see you, sir," said he, and disappeared, leav- 
 ing in his stead none other than Mr. Eustace Cleever. Wil- 
 liam would have introduced the dragon of Wantley with 
 equal disregard of present company. 
 
 " I — I beg your pardon ! I didn't know that there was any- 
 body — with you. I " 
 
 But it was not seemly to allow Mr. Cleever to depart, for 
 he was a great man. The boys remained where they were, 
 because any movement would block the little room. Only 
 when they saw his gray hairs they stood up on their feet, and 
 when the Infant caught the name he said, " Are you — did 
 you write that book called 'As it was in the Beginning? ' " 
 
A COXFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 1 99 
 
 Mr, Cleever admitted that he had written the book. 
 
 " Then — then I don't know how to thank you, sir," said the 
 Infant, flushing pink. " I was brought up in the country you 
 wrote about. All my people live there, and I read the book 
 in camp out in Burma on the Hlinedatalone, and I knew 
 every stick and stone, and the dialect, too; and, by Jove! 
 it was just like being at home and hearing the country people 
 talk. Nevin, you know * As it was in the Beginning?' So 
 does Ti — Boileau." 
 
 Ivlr. Cleever has tasted as much praise, public and private, 
 as one man may safely swallow, but it seemed to me that 
 the outspoken admiration in the Infant's eyes and the little 
 stir in the little company came home to him very nearly in- 
 deed. 
 
 " Won't you take the sofa? " said the Infant. " Til sit on 
 
 Boileau's chair, and " Here he looked at me to spur me 
 
 to my duties as a host, but I was watching the novelist's 
 face. Cleever had not the least intention of going away, but 
 settled himself on the sofa. Following the first great law of 
 the Army, which says, " All property is common except 
 money, and you've only got to ask the next man for that,' ' 
 the Infant offered tobacco and drink. It was the least he 
 could do, but not four columns of the finest review in the 
 world held half as much appreciation and reverence as the 
 Infant's simple, " Say when, sir," above the long glass. 
 
 Cleever said "when," and more thereto, for he was a 
 golden talker, and he sat in the midst of hero-worship devoid 
 of all taint of self-interest. The boys asked him of the birth 
 of his book, and whether it was hard to write, and how his 
 notions came to him, and he answered with the same abso- 
 lute simplicity as he was questioned. His big eyes twinkled, 
 he dug his long, thin hands into his gray beard, and tugged 
 it as he grew animated and dropped little by little from the 
 peculiar pinching of the broader vowels — the indefinable 
 
200 A CONFEREXCE OF THE POWERS. 
 
 " euh " that runs through the speech of the pundit caste — 
 and the elaborate choice of words to freely mouthed ows and 
 ois, and for him, at least, unfettered colloquialisms. He 
 could not altogether understand the boys who hung upon his 
 words so reverently. The line of the chin-strap that still 
 showed white and untanned on cheek-bone and jaw, the 
 steadfast young eyes puckered at the corners of the lids with 
 much staring through red-hot sunshine, the deep, troubled 
 breathing, and the curious crisp, curt speech seemed to puzzle 
 him equally. He could create men and women, and send 
 them to the uttermost ends of the earth to help, delight, and 
 comfort ; he knew every mood of the fields and could inter- 
 pret them to the cities; and he knew the hearts of many in 
 the city and country; but he had hardly in forty years come 
 into contact with the thing which is called a Subaltern of the 
 Line. He told the boys this. 
 
 " Well, how should you? " said the Infant. " You — you're 
 quite different, y' see, sir." 
 
 The Infant expressed his ideas in his tone rather than his 
 words, and Cleever understood the compliments. 
 
 "We're only subs," said Nevin, "and we aren't exactly 
 the sort of men you'd meet much in your life, I s'pose." 
 
 " That's true," said Cleever, " I live chiefly among those 
 who write and paint and sculp and so forth. We have our 
 own talk and our own interests, and the outer world doesn't 
 trouble us much." 
 
 "That must be awf'ly jolly," said Boileau, at a venture. 
 " We have our own shop, too, but 'tisn't half as interesting 
 as yours, of course. You know all the men who've ever done 
 anything, and we only knock about from place to place, and 
 we do nothing." 
 
 " The army's a very lazy profession, if you choose to 
 make it so," said Nevin. " When there's nothing going on, 
 there is nothing going on, and you He up." 
 
A COXFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 201 
 
 " Or try to get a billet somewhere so as to be ready for 
 the next show," said the Infant, with a chuckle. 
 
 " To me," said Cleever softly, " the whole idea of war^ 
 fare seems so foreign and unnatural — so essentially vulgar, 
 if I may say so — that I can hardly appreciate your sensa- 
 tions. Of course, though, any change from idling in garri- 
 son towns must be a godsend to you." 
 
 Like not a few home-staying Englishmen, Cleever be- 
 lieved that the newspaper phrase he quoted covered the 
 whole dutv of the army Avhose toil enabled him to enjoy his 
 many-sided life in peace. The remark was not a happy one, 
 for Boileau had just come otf the Indian Frontier, the Infant 
 had been on the war-path for nearly eighteen months, and the 
 little red man, Nevin, tvv'o months before had been sleeping 
 under the stars at the peril of his life. But none of them 
 tried to explain till I ventured to point out that they had all 
 seen service, and were not used to idling. Cleever took in 
 the idea slowly. 
 
 "Seen service?" said he. Then, as a child might ask, 
 " Tell me — tell me everything about everything." 
 
 "How do you mean, sir?" said the Infant, delighted at 
 being directly appealed to by the great man. 
 
 " Good heavens! how am I to make you understand if you 
 can't see? In the first place, v,-hat is your age? " 
 
 "Twenty-three next July," said the Infant promptly. 
 
 Cleever questioned the others with his eyes. 
 
 " I'm twenty-four," said Nevin. 
 
 " I'm twenty-two," said Boileau. 
 
 "And you've all seen service?" 
 
 " We've all knocked about a little bit, sir, but the Infant's 
 the war-worn veteran. He's had two years' work in T^{)per 
 Burma," said Nevin. 
 
 "When you say work, what do you mean, you extraordi- 
 narv creatures? " 
 
202 A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 
 
 "Explain it, Infant," said Nevin. 
 
 " Oh, keeping things in order generally, and running about 
 after little dakus — that's Dacoits — and so on. There's noth- 
 ing to explain." 
 
 " Make that young leviathan speak," said Cleever impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "How can he speak?" said I. "He's done the work. 
 The two don't go together. But, Infant, you are requested 
 to bukhy 
 
 "What about? I'll try." 
 
 " Bukh about a daur. You've been on heaps of 'em," 
 isaid Nevin. 
 
 "What in the world does that mean? Has the army a 
 language of its own? " 
 
 The Infant turned very red. He was afraid he was being 
 laughed at, and he detested talking before outsiders; but 
 it was the author of "As it was in the Beginning" who 
 waited. 
 
 " It's all so new to me," pleaded Cleever. " And — and 
 you said you liked my book." 
 
 This was a direct appeal that the Infant could under- 
 stand. He began, rather flurriedly, with " Pull me up, sir, 
 if I say anything you don't follow. 'Bout six months before 
 I took my leave out of Burma I was on the Hlinedatalone 
 up near the Shan states with sixty Tommies— private soldiers, 
 that is — and another subaltern, a year senior to me. The 
 Burmese business was a subaltern's war, and our forces were 
 split up into little detachments, all running about the coun- 
 try and trying to keep the Dacoits quiet. The Dacoits were 
 having a first-class time, y' know — filling women up with 
 kerosene and setting 'em aHght, and burning villages, and 
 crucifying people." 
 
 The wonder in Eustace Cleever's eyes deepened. He 
 disbelieved wholly in a book which describes crucifixion at 
 
A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 203 
 
 length, and he could not quite reah"ze that the custom still 
 existed. 
 
 " Have you ever seen a crucifixion? " said he. 
 
 "Of course not. Shouldn't have allowed it if I had. But 
 Tve seen the corpses. The Dacoits had a nice trick of send- 
 ing a crucified corpse down the river on a raft, just to show 
 they were keeping their tail up and enjoying themselves. 
 Well, that was the kind of people I had to deal with." 
 
 "Alone?" said Cleever. Solitude of the soul he knew — 
 none better; but he had never been ten miles away from his 
 fellow-men in his life. 
 
 " I had my men, but the rest of it was pretty much alone. 
 The nearest military post that could give me orders was 
 fifteen miles away, and we used to heliograph to them, and 
 they used to give us orders same way. Too many orders." 
 
 "Who was your C. O.? " said Boileau. 
 
 "Bounderby. Major. /^^//^/^^ Boun derby. More Bounder 
 than pukka. He went on up Bhamo way. Shot or cut 
 down last year," said the Infant. 
 
 "What mean these interludes in a strange tongue?" said 
 Cleever to me. 
 
 " Professional information, like the Mississippi pilots' talk. 
 He did not approve of his major, who has since died a 
 violent death," said I. "Go on. Infant." 
 
 "Far too many orders. You couldn't take the Tommies 
 out for a two-days' daur — that means expedition, sir — with- 
 out being blown up for not asking leave. And the whole 
 country was humming with Dacoits. I used to send out 
 spies and act on their information. As soon as a man came 
 in and told me of a gang in hiding, I'd take thirty men, with 
 some grub, and go out and look for them, while the other 
 subaltern lay doggo in camp." 
 
 "Lay? Pardon me, but how did he lie? " said Cleever. 
 
 " Lay doggo. Lay quiet with the other thirty men. 
 
2 04 A COXFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 
 
 When I came back, he'd take out his half of the command, 
 and have a good time of his own." 
 
 "Who was he?" said Boileau. 
 
 " Carter-Deecey, of the Aurungabadis. Good chap, but 
 too zubberdiisty, and went bokhar four days out of seven. 
 He's gone out, too. Don't interrupt a man." 
 
 Cleever looked helplessly at me. 
 
 "The other subaltern," I translated swiftly, "came from 
 a native regiment and was overbearing in his demeanor. 
 He suffered much from the fever of the country and is now 
 dead. Go on, Infant." 
 
 " After a bit we got into trouble for using the men on friv- 
 olous occasions, and so I used to put my signaller under ar- 
 rest to prevent him reading the helio orders. Then I'd go 
 out, and leave a message to be sent an hour after I got clear 
 of the camp; something like this: 'Received important in- 
 formation; start in an hour, unless countermanded.' If I 
 was ordered back, it didn't much matter. I swore that the C. 
 O.'s watch was wrong, or something, when I came back. The 
 Tommies enjoyed the fun, and — oh, yes — there was one 
 Tommy who was the bard of the detachment. He used to 
 make up verses on everything that happened." 
 
 "What sort of verses?" said Cleever. 
 
 " Lovely verses ; and the Tommies used to sing 'em. 
 There was one song with a chorus, and it said something 
 like this." The Infant dropped into the barrack-room 
 twang. 
 
 " ' Theebau, the Burma king, did a very foolish thing 
 When 'e mustered 'ostile forces in ar-rai. 
 'E littul thought that we, from far across the sea, 
 Would send our armies up to Mandalai! ' " 
 
 "Oh, gorgeous! " said Cleever. "And how magnificently 
 direct! The notion of a regimental bard is new to me. 
 It's epic." 
 
A CONFERESCE OF THE FOIVERS. 205 
 
 " He was avvf ly popular with the men," said the Infant. 
 '* He had them all down in rhyme as soon as ever they had 
 done anything. He was a great bard. He was always on 
 time with a eulogy when we picked up a Boh — that's a leader 
 of Dacoits.'' 
 
 " How did you pick him up? " said Cleever. 
 
 " Oh, shot him if he wouldn't surrender." 
 
 " You! Have you shot a man? " 
 
 There was a subdued chuckle from all three, and it 
 dawned on the questioner that one experience in life which 
 was denied to himself — and he weighed the souls of men in 
 a balance — had been shared by three very young gentlemen 
 of engaging appearance. He turned round on Nevin, who 
 had climbed to the top of the book-case and was sitting 
 cross-legged as before. 
 
 " And have j/^z/, too? " 
 
 " Think so," said Nevin sweetly. " In the Black Moun- 
 tain, sir. He was rolling cliffs on to my half-company and 
 spoiling our formation. I took a rifle from a man and 
 brought him down at the second shot." 
 
 " Good heavens! And how did you feel afterward? " 
 
 " Thirsty. I wanted a smoke, too." 
 
 Cleever looked at Boileau, the youngest. Surely his 
 hands were guiltless of blood. Boileau shook his head and 
 laughed. " Go on. Infant," said he. 
 
 " And you, too? " said Cleever. 
 
 " Fancy so. It was a case of cut — cut or be cut — with me, 
 so I cut at one. I couldn't do any more, sir," said Boileau. 
 
 Cleever looked as though he would like to ask many ques- 
 tions, but the Infant swept on in the full tide of his tale. 
 
 " Well, we were called insubordinate young whelps at last, 
 and strictly forbidden to take the Tommies out any more 
 without orders. I wasn't sorry, because Tommy is such an 
 exacting sort of creature, though he works beautifully. He 
 
2o6 A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 
 
 wants to live as though he were in barracks all the time. I 
 was grubbing on fowls and boiled corn, but the Tommies 
 wanted their pound of fresh meat, and their half-ounce of 
 this, and their two ounces of t'other thing, and they used to 
 come to me and badger me for plug tobacco when we were 
 four days in jungle! I said, ' I can get you Burma tobacco, 
 but I don't keep a canteen up my sleeve.' They couldn't 
 see it. They wanted all the luxuries of the season, con- 
 found 'em! " 
 
 " You were alone when you were dealing with these men? " 
 said Cleever, watching the Infant's face under the palm of 
 his hand. He was receiving new ideas, and they seemed to 
 trouble him. 
 
 " Of course. TJnless you count the mosquitoes. They 
 were nearly as big as the men. After I had to lie doggo I 
 began to look for something to do, and I was great pals with 
 a man called Hicksey, in the Burma poHce. The best man 
 that ever stepped on earth; a first-class man." 
 
 Cleever nodded applause. He knew something of en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 " Hicksey and I were as thick as thieves. He had some 
 Burma mounted police — nippy little chaps, armed with 
 sword and Snider carbine. They rode punchy Burma ponies, 
 with string stirrups, red cloth saddles, and red bell-rope 
 headstalls. Hicksey used to lend me six or eight of them 
 when I asked him — nippy little devils, keen as mustard. 
 But they told their wives too much, and all my plans got 
 known, till I learned to give false marching orders overnight, 
 and take the men to quite a different village in the morning. 
 Then we used to catch the simple dakus before breakfast, and 
 make them very sick. It's a ghastly country on the Hline- 
 datalone; all bamboo jungle, with paths about four feet 
 wide winding through it. The dakus knew all the paths, and 
 used to pot at us as we came round a corner; but the 
 
A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 207 
 
 mounted police knew the paths as well as the dakiis, and we 
 used to go stalking 'em in and out among the paths. Once 
 we flushed 'em — the men on the ponies had the pull of the 
 man on foot. We held all the country absolutely quiet for 
 ten miles round in about a month. Then we took Boh Na- 
 ghee — Hicksey and I and the civil officer. That was a 
 lark!" 
 
 " I think I am beginning to understand a little," said 
 Cleever. " It was a pleasure to you to administer and fight, 
 and so on." 
 
 " Rather. There's nothing nicer than a satisfactory little 
 expedition, when you find all your plans fit together and your 
 conformations teek — correct, you know — and the whole sub- 
 
 chiz 1 mean when everything works out like formulae on a 
 
 blackboard. Hicksey had all the information about the Boh. 
 He had been burning villages and murdering people right 
 and left, and cutting up government convoys, and all that. 
 He was lying doggo in a village about fifteen miles off, wait- 
 ing to get a fresh gang together. So we arranged to take 
 thirty mounted police, and turn him out before he could 
 plunder into the newly settled villages. At the last minute 
 the civil officer in our part of the world thought he'd assist 
 in the performance." 
 
 "Who was he?" said Nevin. 
 
 "His name was Dennis," said the Infant slowly; "and 
 we'll let it stay so. He's a better man now than he was 
 then." 
 
 " But how old was the civil power? " said Cleever. " The 
 situation is developing itself.'' Then, in his beard, " Who 
 are you, to judge men?" 
 
 "He was about six-and-twenty," said the Infant; "and 
 he was awf ly clever. He knew a lot of literary thmgs, but 
 I don't think he was quite steady enough for Dacoit-hunt- 
 ing. We started overnight for Boh Na-ghce's village, and we 
 
2o8 A COXFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 
 
 got there just before the morning, without raising an alarm. 
 Dennis had turned out armed to the teeth — two revolvers, a 
 carbine, and all sorts of things. I was talking to Hicksey 
 about posting our men, and Dennis edged his pony in be- 
 tween us and said, 'What shall I do? What shall I do? 
 Tell me what to do, you fellows.' We didn't take much 
 notice, but his pony tried to bite me in the leg, and I said, 
 * Pull out a bit, old man, till we've settled the attack.' He 
 kept edging in, and fiddling with his reins and the revolvers, 
 and saying, ' Dear me ! dear me ! Oh, dear me ! What do 
 you think I'd better do? ' The man was in a blue funk and 
 his teeth were chattering." 
 
 " I sympathize with the civil power," said Cleever. " Con- 
 tinue, young Clive." 
 
 " The fun of it was that he was supposed to be our su- 
 perior officer. Hicksey took a good look at him, and told 
 him to attach himself to my party. Beastly mean of Hick- 
 sey, that. The chap kept on edging in and bothering instead 
 of asking for some men and taking up his own position, till 
 I got angry. The carbines began popping on the other side 
 of the village. Then I said, ' For God's sake, be quiet, and 
 sit down where you are! If you see anybody come out of 
 the village, shoot at him.' I knew he couldn' hit a hayrick 
 at a yard. Then I took my men over the garden wall — over 
 the pahsades, y' know — somehow or other, and the fun be- 
 gan. Hicksey had found the Boh in bed under a mosquito 
 curtain, and he had taken a flying jump on to him." 
 
 "A flying jump! " said Cleever. " Is that, also, war? " 
 
 " Yes," said the Infant, now thoroughly warmed. " Don't 
 you know how you take a flying jump on to a fellow's head 
 at school when he snores in the dormitory? The Boh was 
 sleeping in a regular bedful of swords and pistols, and Hick- 
 sey came down a la Zazel through the netting, and the net 
 ^ot mixed up with the pistols and the Boh and Hicksey, and 
 
A COXFEREXCE OF THE POWERS. 209 
 
 they all rolled on the floor together. I laughed till I couldn't 
 stand, and Hicksey was cursing me for not helping him, so I 
 left him to fight it out and went into the village. Our men 
 were slashing about and firing, and so were the Dacoits, and 
 in the thick of the mess some ass set fire to a house, and we 
 all had to clear out. I froze on to the nearest daku and ran 
 to the palisade, shoving him in front of me. He wriggled 
 clear and bounded over to the other side. I came after 
 him, but when I had one leg one side and one leg the other 
 of the palisade, I saw that my friend had fallen fiat on Den- 
 nis' head. That man had never moved from where I left 
 him. The two rolled on the ground together, and Dennis' 
 carbine went off and nearly shot me. The daku picked him- 
 self up and ran, and Dennis heaved his carbine after him, 
 and it caught him on the back of his head and knocked him 
 silly. You never saw anything so funny in your life. I 
 doubled up on the top of the palisade and hung there, yell- 
 ing with laughter. But Dennis began to weep like anything. 
 * Oh, I've killed a man! ' he said — 'I've killed a man, and 
 I shall never know another peaceful hour in my life! Is he 
 dead? Oh, is he dead? Good God! I've killed a man!' 
 I came down and said, ' Don't be a fool! ' But he kept on 
 shouting 'Is he dead?' till I could have kicked him. The 
 daku was only knocked out of time with the carbine. He 
 came to after a bit, and I said, ' Are you hurt much? ' He 
 grinned and said no. His chest was all cut with scrambling 
 over the palisade. * The white man's gun didn't do that,' he 
 said. * I did that myself, and I knocked the white man 
 over.' Just like a Barman, wasn't it? Dennis wouldn't be 
 happy at any price. He said, ' Tie u{) his wounds. He'll 
 bleed to death. Oh, my God, he'll bleed to death!' 'Tie 
 'em up yourself,' I said, ' if you're so anxious.' ' I can't touch 
 him,' said Dennis, 'but here's my shirt.' He took off his 
 ^Jiirt, and he fixed his braces again over his bare shoulders. 
 14 
 
2 TO A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 
 
 I ripped the shirt up and bandaged the Dacoit quite profes- 
 sionally. He was grinning at Dennis all the time; and 
 Dennis' haversack was lying on the ground, bursting full of 
 sandwiches. Greedy hog! I took some and offered some 
 to Dennis. * How can I eat? ' he said. ' How can you ask 
 me to eat? His very blood is on your hands, O God! and 
 you're eating my sandwiches! ' ' All right,' I said. * I'll give 
 'em to the daku.'' So I did, and the little chap was quite 
 pleased and wolfed 'em down like one o'clock." 
 
 Cleever brought his hand down on the table-cloth a thump 
 that made the empty glasses dance. " That's art," he said. 
 ."Flat, flagrant mechanism. Don't tell me that happened on 
 the spot!" 
 
 The pupils of the Infant's eyes contracted to pin points. 
 " I beg your pardon," he said slowly and a little stiffly, " but 
 I am telling this thing as it happened." 
 
 Cleever looked at him for a moment. " My fault entirely," 
 said he. " I should have known. Please go on." 
 
 " Oh, then Hicksey came out of what was left of the vil- 
 lage with his prisoners and captives all neatly tied up. Boh 
 Na-ghee was first, and one of the villagers, as soon as he saw 
 the old ruffian helpless, began kicking him quietly. The Boh 
 stood it as long as he could and then groaned, and we saw 
 what was going on. Hicksey tied the villager up and gave 
 him half a dozen good ones to remind him to leave a prisoner 
 alone. You should have seen the old Boh grin. Oh, but 
 Hicksey was in a furious rage with everybody. He'd got a 
 wipe over the elbow that had tickled up his funny-bone, and 
 he was simply rabid with me for not having helped him with 
 the Boh and the mosquito net. I had to explain that I 
 couldn't do anything. If you'd seen 'em both tangled up to- 
 gether on the floor, like a blaspheming cocoon, you'd have 
 laughed for a week. Hicksey swore tliat the only decent 
 man of his acquaintance was the Boh, and all the way back 
 
A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 211 
 
 to camp Hicksey was talking to him, and the Boh was grum- 
 bimg about the soreness of his bones. When we got home and 
 had had a bath, the Boh wanted to know when he was going 
 to be hanged. Hicksey said he couldn't oblige him on the 
 spot, but had to send him to Rangoon. The Boh went 
 down on his knees and reeled off a catalogue of his crimes 
 — he ought to have been hanged seventeen times over by his 
 own confession — and implored Hicksey to settle the business 
 out of hand. ' If I'm sent to Rangoon,' said he, * they'll keep 
 me in jail all my life, and that is a death every time the sun 
 gets up or the wind blows.' But we had to send him to 
 Rangoon; and, of course, he was let off down there and 
 given penal servitude for life. When I came to Rangoon I 
 went over the jail— I had helped to fill it, y' know — and the 
 old Boh was there and recognized me at once. He begged 
 for some opium first, and I tried to get him some; but that 
 was against the rules. Then he asked me to have his sen- 
 tence changed to death, because he was afraid of being sent 
 to the Andamans. I couldn't do that, either; but I tried to 
 cheer him, and told him how the row was going up country. 
 And the last thing he said was, ' Give my compliments to the 
 fat white man who jumped on me. If I'd been awake I'd 
 have killed him.' I wrote that to Hicksey next mail, and — 
 and that's all. I'm 'fraid I've been gassing awf'ly, sir." 
 
 Cleever said nothing for a long time. The Infant looked 
 uncomfortable. He feared that, misled by enthusiasm, he 
 had filled up the novelist's time with unprofitable recital of 
 trivial anecdotes. 
 
 Then said Cleever, " I can't understand it. Why should 
 you have seen and done all these things before you have cut 
 your wisdom-teeth? " 
 
 " Don't know," said the Infant apologetically. " I haven't 
 seen much — only Burmese jungle." 
 
 "And dead men and war and power and responsibility," 
 
212 A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS. 
 
 said Cleever, under his breath. " You won't have any sen- 
 sations left at thirty if you go on as you have done. But I 
 want to hear more tales — more tales." He seemed to forget 
 that even subalterns might have engagements of their own. 
 
 " We're thinking of dining out somewhere, the lot of us, 
 and going on to the Empire afterward," said Nevin, with 
 hesitation. He did not like to ask Cleever to come too. 
 The invitation might be regarded as " cheek." And Cleever, 
 anxious not to wag a gray beard unbidden among boys at 
 large, said nothing on his side. 
 
 Boileau solved the little difficulty by blurting out, " Won't 
 you come too, sir?" 
 
 Cleever almost shouted " Yes," and while he was being 
 helped into his coat, continued to murmur " Good heavens! " 
 at intervals, in a manner that the boys could not understand. 
 
 " I don't think I've been to the Empire in my Hfe," said 
 he. "But, good heavens! what is my life, after all? Let us 
 go back." 
 
 So they went out with Eustace Cleever, and I sulked at 
 home, because the boys had come to see me, but had gone 
 over to the better man, which was humiliating. They 
 packed him into a cab with utmost reverence, for was he not 
 the author of " As it was in the Beginning," and a person in 
 whose company it was an honor to go abroad? From all I 
 gathered later, he had taken less interest in the performance 
 before him than in the boys' conversation, and they protested 
 with emphasis that he was " as good a man as they make, 
 knew what a man was driving at almost before he said it, and 
 yet he's so dashed simple about things any man knows." 
 That was one of many comments made afterward. 
 
 At midnight they returned, announcing that they were 
 Highly Respectable Gondoliers, and that oysters and stout 
 were what they chiefly needed. The eminent novelist was 
 still with them, and I think he was calling them by their 
 
A COXFEREXCE OF THE POWERS. 213 
 
 shorter names I am certain that he said lie had been mov- 
 ing in worlds r.ot realized, and that they had shown him the 
 Empire in a new light. Still sore at recent neglect, I answered 
 shortly, " Thank Heaven, we have within the land ten thou- 
 sand as good as they! " ; and when Cleever departed, asked 
 him what he thought of things generally. 
 
 He replied with another quotation, to the effect that 
 though singing was a remarkably fine performance, I was to 
 be quite sure that few lips would be moved to song if they 
 could find a sufficiency of kissing. 
 
 Whereat I understood that Eustace Cleever, decorator 
 and color man in words, was blaspheming his own art, and 
 that he would be lorry for this in the morning. 
 
ON GREENHOW HILL. 
 
ON GREENHOW HILL 
 
 " Ohi ahmed din / Shajiz Ullah ahoo! Bahadur Khan, 
 where are you? Come out of the tents, as I have done, and 
 fight against the EngHsh. Don't kill your own kin! Come 
 out to me! " 
 
 The deserter from a native corps was crawling round the 
 outskirts of the camp, firing at intervals, and shouting invi- 
 tations to his old comrades. Misled by the rain and the 
 darkness, he came to the English wing of the camp, and with 
 his yelping and rifle practice disturbed the men. They had 
 been making roads all day and were tired. 
 
 Ortheris was sleeping at Learoyd's feet. " Wot's all that? " 
 he said thickly. Learoyd snored, and a Snider bullet ripped 
 its way through the tent wall. The men swore. " It's that 
 bloomin' deserter from the Aurangabadis," said Ortheris. 
 " Git up, some one, an' tell 'em 'e's come to the wrong shop." 
 
 " Go to sleep, little man," said Mulvaney, who was steam- 
 ing nearest the door. " I can't rise an' expaytiate with him. 
 'Tis rainin' entrenchin' tools outside." 
 
 "'Tain't because you bloomin' can't. It's 'cause you 
 bloomin' won't, ye long, limp, lousy, lazy beggar, you. 'Ark 
 to 'im 'ovvlin'! " 
 
 "Wot's the good of argifying? Put a bullet into the 
 swine! "E's keepin' us awake! " said another voice. 
 
 A subaltern shouted angrily, and a dripping sentry whined 
 from the darkness: 
 
2i8 ON GREENHOIV HILL. 
 
 " 'Tain't no good, sir. I can't see "im. 'E's 'idin' some- 
 where down 'ill." 
 
 Ortheris tumbled out of his blanket. " Shall I try to get 
 'im, sir? " said he. 
 
 " No," was the answer; " lie down. I won't have the whole 
 camp shooting all round the clock. Tell him to go and pot 
 his friends." 
 
 Ortheris considered for a moment. Then, putting his 
 head under the tent wall, he called, as a 'bus conductor calls 
 in a block, " 'Igher up, there! 'Igher up! " 
 
 The men laughed, and the laughter was carried down wind 
 to the deserter, who, hearing that he had made a mistake, 
 went off to worry his own regiment half a mile away. He 
 was received with shots, for the Aurangabadis were very 
 angry with him for disgracing their colors. 
 
 "An' that's all right," said Ortheris, withdrawing his head 
 as he heard the hiccough of the Sniders in the distance. 
 "S'elp me Gawd, the', that man's not fit to live — messin' 
 with my beauty sleep this way." 
 
 " Go out and shoot him in the morning, then," said the 
 subaltern incautiously. "Silence in the tents now. Get 
 your rest, men." 
 
 Ortheris lay down with a happy little sigh, and in two 
 minutes there was no sound except the rain on the canvas 
 and the all-embracing and elemental snoring of Learoyd. 
 
 The camp lay on a bare ridge of the Himalayas, and for 
 a week had been waiting for a flying column to make con- 
 nection. The nightly rounds of the deserter and his friends 
 had become a nuisance. 
 
 In the morning the men dried themselves in hot sunshine 
 and cleaned their grimy accoutrements. The native regi- 
 ment was to take its turn of road-making that day while the 
 Old Regiment loafed. 
 
 " I'm goin' to lay far a shot at that man," said Ortheris, 
 
OA^ GREEN HOW HILL. 219 
 
 when he had finished washing out his ritle. "'E comes up 
 the watercourse every evenin' about five o'clock. If we go 
 and He out on the north 'ill a bit this afternoon well get 'im.*' 
 
 " You're a bloodthirsty little mosquito," said Mulvaney, 
 blowing blue clouds into the air. " But I suppose I will have 
 to come wid you. Fwhere's Jock? " 
 
 " Gone out with the Mi.xed Pickles, 'cause 'e thinks 'isself 
 a bloomin' marksman," said Ortheris with scorn. 
 
 The " Mixed Pickles" were a detachment of picked shots, 
 generally employed in clearing spurs of hills when the enemy 
 were too impertinent. This taught the young officers how 
 to handle men, and did not do the enemy much harm. 
 Tvlulvaney and Ortheris strolled out of camp, and passed the 
 Aurangabadis going to their road-making. 
 
 "You've got to sweat to-day," said Ortheris, genially. 
 " We're going to get your man. You didn't knock 'im out 
 last night by any chance, any of you ? " 
 
 " No. The pig went away mocking us. I had one shot 
 at him," said a private. " He's my cousin, and / ought to 
 have cleared our dishonor. But good-luck to you." 
 
 They went cautiously to the north hill, Ortheris leading, 
 because, as he explained, "this is a long-range show, an' I've 
 got to do it." His was an almost passionate devotion to his 
 rifle, whom, by barrack-room report he was supposed to kiss 
 every night before turning in. Charges and scuffles he held 
 in contempt, and, when they were inevitable, slipped between 
 Mulvaney and Learoyd, bidding them to fight for his skin as 
 well as their own. They never failed him. He trotted 
 along, questing like a hound on a broken trail, through the 
 wood of the north hill. At last he was satisfied, and threw 
 himself down on the soft pine-needle slope that commanded 
 a clear view of the watercourse and a brown, bare hill-side 
 beyond it. The trees made a scented darkness in which an 
 army corps could have hidden from the sun-glare without. 
 
220 ON GREENHOW HILL. 
 
 (t n 
 
 'Ere's the tail o' the wood," said Ortheris. "'E's got ^o 
 come up the watercourse, 'cause it gives 'im cover. TVe'U 
 lay 'ere. 'Tain't not arf so bloomin' dusty nsither." 
 
 He buried his nose in a clump ol scentless white violets. 
 No one had come *o tell tlie flowers that the season of their 
 strength was long past, and they had bloomed merrily in the 
 twilight of the pines. 
 
 " This is something like," he said luxuriously. " Wot a 
 'evinly clear drop for a bullet acrost. How much d' you 
 make it, Mulvaney? " 
 
 " Seven hunder. Maybe a trifle less, bekase the airs so 
 thin." 
 
 JV(?/>/ 7vop! wop! went a volley of musketry on the rear 
 face of the north hill. 
 
 "Curse them Mixed Pickles firin' at nothin'! They'll 
 scare arf the country." 
 
 "Thry a sightin' shot in the middle of the row," said Mul- 
 vaney, the man of many wiles. " There's a red rock yonder 
 he'll be sure to pass. Quick! " 
 
 Ortheris ran his sight up to six hundred yards and fired. 
 The bullet threw up a feather of dust by a clump of gentians 
 at the base of the rock. 
 
 "Good enough! " said Ortheris, snapping the scale down. 
 " You snick your sights to mine or a little lower. You're al- 
 ways firin' high. But remember, first shot to me. O Lordy! 
 but it's a lovely afternoon." 
 
 The noise of the firing grew louder, and there was a 
 tramping of men in the wood. The two lay very quiet, for 
 they knew that the British soldier is desperately prone to fire 
 at anything that moves or calls. Then Learoyd appeared, 
 his tunic ripped across the breast by a bullet, looking ashamed 
 of himself. He flung down on the pine-needles, breathing in 
 snorts. 
 
 "One o' them damned gardeners o' th' Pickles," said he, 
 
ON GREEN HOW HILL. 221 
 
 fingering the rent. " Firin' to th' right flank, when he 
 knowed I was there. If I knew who he was I'd 'a' rippen the 
 hide off an. Look at ma tunic ! " 
 
 " That's the spishil trustabihty av a marksman. Train 
 him to hit a fly wid a stiddy rest at seven hunder, an' he 
 loose on anythin' he sees or hears up to th' mile. You're 
 well out av that fancy-firin' gang, Jock. Stay here."' 
 
 "Bin firin' at the bloomin' wind in the bloom in' tree- 
 tops," said Ortheris with a chuckle. " I'll show you some 
 firin' later on." 
 
 They wallowed in the pine-needles, and the sun warmed 
 them where they lay. The ]\Iixed Pickles ceased firing and 
 returned to camp, and left the wood to a few scared apes. 
 The watercourse lifted up its voice in the silence and talked 
 foolishly to the rocks. Nov/ and again the dull thump of a 
 blasting charge three miles away told that the Aurangabadis 
 were in difficulties with their road-making. The men smiled 
 as they listened and lay still soaking in the warm leisure. 
 Presently Learoyd, between the whiffs of his pipe: 
 
 "Seems queer — about 'im yonder — desertin' at all." 
 
 "'E"ll be a boomin' side queerer when I've done with 
 'im," said Ortheris. They were talking in whispers, for the 
 stillness of the wood and the desire of slaughter lay heavy 
 upon them. 
 
 "I make no doubt he had his reasons for desertin'; but, 
 my faith! I make less doubt ivry man has good reason for 
 killin' him," said Mulvaney. 
 
 " Happen there was a lass tewed up wi' it. Men do more 
 than more for th' sake of a lass." 
 
 "They make most av us 'list. They've no manner av 
 right to make us desert." 
 
 "Ah; they make us 'list, or their fathers do," said Lea- 
 royd softly, his helmet over his eyes. 
 
 Ortheris' brows contracted savagely. He was watching 
 
2 22 O.V GREEXHOIV HILL. 
 
 the valley. " If it's a girl Til shoot the beggar twice over, 
 an' second time for bein' a fool You're blasted sentimental 
 all of a sudden. Thinkin' o' your last near shave? " 
 
 "Nay, lad; ah was but thinkin' o' what had happened." 
 
 "An' fwhat has happened, ye lumberin' child av calamity, 
 that you're lowing like a cow-calf at the back av the pasture, 
 an' suggestin' invidious excuses for the man Stanley's goin' 
 to kill. Ye'll have to wait another hour yet, Httle man. 
 Spit it out, Jock, an' bellow melojus to the moon. It takes 
 an earthquake or a bullet graze to fetch aught out av you. 
 Discourse, Don Juan! The a-moors of Lotharius Learoyd. 
 Stanley, kape a rowlin' rig'mental eye on the valley." 
 
 " It's along o' yon hill there," said Learoyd, watching the 
 bare sub-Himalayan spur that reminded him of his Yorkshire 
 moors. He was speaking more to himself than his fellows. 
 " Ay," said he ; " Rumbolds Moor stands up ower Skipton 
 town, an' Greenhow Hill stands up over ower Pately Brig. 
 I reckon you've never heeard tell o' Greenhow Hill, but yon 
 bit o' bare stuff if there was nobbut a white road windin' is 
 like ut, strangely like. Moors an' moors — moors wi' never 
 a tree for shelter, an' gray houses wi' flagstone rooves, and 
 pewits cryin', an' a windhover goin' to and fro just like these 
 kites. And cold! a wind that cuts you like a knife. You could 
 tell Greenhow Hill folk by the red-apple color o' their cheeks 
 an' nose tips, an' their blue eyes, driven into pin-points by 
 the wind. Miners mostly, burrowin' for lead i' th' hill-sides, 
 followin' the trail of th' ore vein same as a field-rat. It was 
 the roughest minin' I ever seen. Yo'd come on a bit o' 
 creakin' wood windlass like a well-head, an' you was let 
 down i' th' bight of a rope, fendin' yoursen off the side wi' 
 one hand, carryin' a candle stuck in a lump o' clay with 
 t'other, an' clickin' hold of a rope with t'other hand." 
 
 " An' that's three of them," said Mulvaney. " Must be a 
 good climate in those parts" 
 
ON GREEN HOW HILL 223 
 
 Learoyd took no heed. 
 
 '* An' then yo' came to a level, where you crept on your 
 hands an' knees through a mile o' windin' drift, an' you 
 come out into a cave-place as big as Leeds Town-lrall, with 
 a engine pumpin' water from workin's 'at went deeper still. 
 It's a queer country, let alone minin', for the hill is full of 
 those natural caves, an' the rivers an' the becks drops into 
 what they call pot-holes an' come out again miles away.' 
 
 " Wot was you doin' there? " said Ortheris. 
 
 " I was a young chap then, an' mostly went wi' osses, lead- 
 in' coal and lead ore; but at th' time I'm tellin' on I was 
 drivin' the wagon team i' the big sumph. I didn't belong 
 to that country-side by rights. I went there because of a 
 little difference at home, an' at fust I took up wi' a rough lot. 
 One night we'd been drinkin', an' I must ha' hed more than 
 I could stand, or happen th' ale was none so good. Though 
 i' them days, by for God, I never seed bad ale." He flung 
 his arms over his head and gripped a vast handful of white 
 violets. "Nah," said he, "I never seed the ale I could not 
 drink, the bacca I could not smoke, nor the lass I could not 
 kiss. Well, we mun have a race home, the lot on us. I lost 
 all th' others, an' when I was climbin' ower one of them walls 
 built o' loose stones, I comes down into the ditch, stones an' 
 all, an' broke my arm. Not as I knawed much about it, for 
 I fell on th' back o' my head, an' was knocked stupid like. 
 An' when I come to mysen it were mornin', an' I were lym' 
 on the settle i' Jesse Roantree's house-place, an' 'Liza 
 Roantree was settin' sewin'. I ached all ower, and my 
 mouth were like a lime-kiln. She gave me a drink out of a 
 f:I)ina mug wi' gold letters — 'A Present from Leeds' — as I 
 looked at many and many a time at after. * Yo're to lie still 
 wliile Dr. Warbottom comes, because your arm's broken, an' 
 falher has sent a lad to fetch him. He found yo' when he was 
 goin' to work, an' carried you here on his back,' sez she. * Oal ' 
 
2 24 ON GREENHOW HILL. 
 
 sez I ; an' I shet my eyes, for I felt ashamed o' mysen. 
 * Father's gone to his work these three hours, an' he said he'd 
 tell 'em to get somebody to drive the train.' The clock 
 ticked an' a bee comed in the house, an' they rung i' my 
 head like mill-wheels. An' she give me another drink an' 
 settled the pillow. * Eh, but yo're young to be getten drunk 
 an' such like, but yo' won't do it again, will yo'? ' * Noa,' sez 
 I, * I wouldn't if she'd not but stop they mill-wheels clat- 
 terin'.' " 
 
 " Faith, it's a good thing to be nursed by a woman when 
 you're sick!" said Mulvaney. " Dir' cheap at the price av 
 twenty broken heads." 
 
 Ortheris turned to frown across the valley. He had not 
 been nursed by many women in his life. 
 
 " An' then Dr. Warbottom comes ridin' up, an' Jesse 
 Roantree along with 'im. He was a high-larned doctor, but 
 he talked wi' poor folk same as theirsens. ' What's tha bin 
 agaate on naa?' he sings out. * Brekkin tha thick head?' 
 An, he felt me all over. * That's none broken. Tha' nobbut 
 knocked a bit sillier than ordinary, an' that's daaft eneaf.' 
 An' soa he went on, callin' me all the names he could thmk 
 on, but settin' my arm, wi' Jesse's help, as careful as could 
 be. ' Yo' mun let the big oaf bide here a bit, Jesse,' he says, 
 when he hed strapped me up an' given me a dose o' physic ; 
 'an' you an' ' Liza will tend him, though he's scarcelins worth 
 the trouble. An' tha'll lose tha work/ sez he, ' an' tha'U be 
 upon th' Sick Club for a couple o' months an' more. Doesn't 
 tha think tha's a fool?'" 
 
 " But whin was a young man, high or low, the other av a 
 fool, I'd like to know?" said Mulvaney. "Sure, folly's the 
 only safe way to wisdom, for I've thried it." 
 
 " Wisdom! " grinned Ortheris, scanning his comrades with 
 uplifted chin. " You're bloomin' Solomons, you two, ain't 
 you?" 
 
ox GREEN HOW HILL 225 
 
 Learoyd went calmly on, with a steady eye like an ox chew- 
 ing the cud. " And that was how I corned to know 'Liza 
 Roantree. There's some tunes as she used to sing — aw, she 
 were always singin' — that fetches Greenhow Hill before my 
 eyes as fair as yon brow across there. And she would learn 
 me to sing bass, an' I was to go to th' chapel wi' 'em, where 
 Jesse and she led the singin', th' old man playin' the fiddle. 
 He was a strange chap, old Jesse, fair mad wi' music, an' 
 he made me promise to learn the big fiddle when my arm 
 was better. It belonged to him, and it stood up in a big 
 case alongside o' th' eight-day clock, but Willie Satterthwaite, 
 as played it in the chapel, had getten deaf as a door-post, 
 and it vexed Jesse, as he had to rap him ower his head wi' 
 th' fiddle stick to make him give ower saw^n' at th' right 
 time. 
 
 " But there was a black drop in it all, an' it was a man in 
 a black coat that brought it. When th' Primitive Methodist 
 preacher came to Greenhow, he would always stop wi' Jesse 
 Roantree, an' he laid hold of me from th' beginning. It 
 seemed I wor a soul to be saved, an' he meaned to do it. 
 At th' same time I jealoused 'at he were keen o' savin' 'Liza 
 Roantree's soul as well, an' I could ha' killed him many a 
 time. An' this went on til; one day I broke out, an' bor- 
 rowed th' brass for a drink from 'Liza. After fower days I 
 come back, wi' my tail between m.y legs, just to see 'Liza 
 again. "But Jesse were at home an' th' preacher — th' Rev- 
 erend Amos Barraclough. 'Liza said naught, but a bit o' red 
 come into her face as were white of a regular thing. Says 
 Jesse, tryin' his best to be civil: 'Nay, lad, it's like this. 
 You've getten to choose which way it's goin' to be. I'll ha' 
 nobody across ma doorstep as goes a-drinkin', an' borrows 
 my lass' money to spend i' their drink. Ho'd tha tongue, 
 'Liza,' sez he, when she wanted to put in a word 'at I were 
 welcome to th' brass, an' she were none afraid that I 
 15 
 
2 26 OiV GKEENHOW HILL. 
 
 wouldn't pay it back. Then the Reverend cuts in, seein' as 
 Jesse were losin' his temper, an' they fair beat me among 
 them. But it were 'Liza, as looked an' said naught, as did 
 more than either o' their tongues, an' soa I concluded to get 
 converted." 
 
 "Fwhat!" shouted Mulvaney. Then, checking himself, 
 he said, softly : " Let be ! Let be ! Sure the Blessed Virgin 
 is the mother of all religion an' most women ; an' there's a 
 dale av piety in a girl if the men would only let it stay there. 
 I'd ha' been converted myself under the circumstances." 
 
 " Nay, but," pursued Learoyd, with a blush, " I meaned it." 
 
 Ortheris laughed as loudly as he dared, having regard to 
 his business at the time. 
 
 "Ay, Ortheris, you may laugh, but you didn't know yon 
 preacher Barraclough — a little white-faced chap wi' a voice 
 as 'ud wile a bird off an a bush, and a way o' layin' hold of 
 folks as made them think they'd never had a live man for a 
 friend before. You never saw him, an' — an' — you never 
 "eed 'Liza Roantree — never seed 'Liza Roantree. . . . Hap- 
 pen it was as much 'Liza as th' preacher and her father, but 
 anyways they all meaned it, an' I was fair shamed o' mysen, 
 an' so I become what they called a changed character. And 
 when I think on, it's hard to believe as yon chap going to 
 prayer-meetin's, chapel, and class-meetin's were me. But I 
 never had naught to say for mysen, though there was a deal 
 o' shoutin', and old Sammy Strother, as were almost 
 clemmed to death and doubled up with the rheumatics, 
 would sing out, 'Joyful! joyful! ' and 'at it were better to go 
 up to heaven in a coal-basket than down to hell i' a coach 
 an' six. And he would put his poor old claw on my 
 shoulder, sayin': 'Doesn't tha feel it, tha great lump? 
 Doesn't tha feel it?' An' sometimes I thought I did, and 
 then again I thought I didn't, an' how was that? " 
 
 " The iverlastin' nature av mankind," said Mulvaney. 
 
ox crej:xiiou' hiij.. 227 
 
 " An', furthermore, I misdoubt you were built for the Primi- 
 tive Methodians. They're a new corps anyways. I hold by 
 the Ould Church, for she's the mother of them all — ay, an' 
 the father, too. I like her bekase she's most remarkable 
 regimental in her fittings. I may die in Honolulu, Nova 
 Zambra, or Cape Cayenne, but wherever I die, me bein' 
 fwhat I am, an' a priest handy, I go under the same orders 
 an' the same words an' the same unction as tho' the Pope 
 himself come down from the dome av St. Peter's to see me 
 off. There's neither high nor low, nor broad nor deep, nor 
 betwixt nor between with her, an' that's what I like. But 
 mark you, she's no manner av Church for a wake man, be- 
 kase she takes the body and the soul av him, onless he has 
 his proper work to do. I remember when my father died 
 that was three months comin' to his grave ; begad he'd ha' 
 sold the shebeen above our heads for ten minutes' quit- 
 tance of purgathory. An' he did all he could. That's why 
 I say it takes a strong man to deal with the Ould Church, 
 an' for that reason you'll find so many women go there. An' 
 that same's a conundrum." 
 
 "Wot's the use o' worrittin' 'bout these things?" said 
 Ortheris. " You're bound to find all out quicker nor you 
 want to, any'ow." He jerked the cartridge out of the 
 breech-block into the palm of his hand. " 'Ere's my chap- 
 lain," he said, and made the venomous black-headed bullet 
 bow like a marionette. " 'E's goin' to teach a man all about 
 which is which, an' wot's true, after all, before sundown. 
 But wot 'appened after that, Jock? '^ 
 
 " There was one thing they boggled at, and almost shut 
 tir gate i' my face for, and that were my dog Blast, th' only 
 one saved out o' a litter o' pups as was blowed up when a keg 
 o' minin' powder loosed off in th' storekeeper's hut. They 
 liked his name no better than his business, which was fight- 
 in' every dog he corned across; a rare good dog, wi' spots o' 
 
2 28 ON GREENHOW HILL. 
 
 black and pink on his face, one ear gone, and lame o' one 
 side \vi' being driven in a basket through an iron roof, a mat- 
 ter of half a mile. 
 
 " They said I mun give him up 'cause he were worldly and 
 low; and would I let mysen be shut out of heaven for the 
 sake on a dog? 'Nay,' says I, *if th' door isn't wide enough 
 for th' pair on us, we'll stop outside, or we'll none be 
 parted.' And th' preacher spoke up for Blast, as had a Hkin' 
 for him from th' first — I reckon that was why I come to like 
 th' preacher — and wouldn't hear o' changin' his name to 
 Bless, as some o' them wanted. So th' pair on us became 
 reg'lar chapel members. But it's hard for a young chap o' 
 my build to cut traces from the world, th' flesh, an' the devil 
 all av a heap. Yet I stuck to it for a long time, while th' 
 lads as used to stand about th' town-end an' lean ower th' 
 bridge, spittin' into th' beck o' a Sunday, would call after 
 me, ' Sitha, Learoyd, when's ta bean to preach, 'cause we're 
 comin' to hear that.' * Ho'd tha jaw. He hasn't getten th' 
 white choaker on ta morn,' another lad would say, and I had 
 to double my fists hard i' th' bottom of my Sunday coat, and 
 say to mysen, ' If 'twere Monday and I warn't a member o' 
 the Primitive Methodists, I'd leather ail th' lot of yond'.' 
 That was th' hardest of all — to know that I could fight and I 
 mustn't fight." 
 
 Sympathetic grunts from Mulvaney. 
 
 " So what wi' singin', practisin', and class-meetin's, and th' 
 big fiddle, as he made me take between my knees, I spent a 
 deal o' time i' Jesse Roantree's house-place. But often as I 
 was there, th' preacher fared to me to go oftener, and both 
 th' old an' th' young woman were pleased to have him. He 
 hved i' Pately Brigg, as were a goodish step off, but he come. 
 He come all the same. I liked him as well or better as any 
 man I'd ever seen i' one way, and yet I hated him wi' all my 
 heart i' t'other, and we watched each other like cat and 
 
ox GKEEXHOIV JIILL. 229 
 
 mouse, but civil as you please, for I was on my best be- 
 havior, and he was that fair and open that I was bound to 
 be fair with him. Rare good company he was, if I hadn't 
 wanted to wring his cliver little neck half of the time. Often 
 and often when he was goin' from Jesse's I'd set him a bit 
 on the road." 
 
 "See 'im 'ome, you mean?" said Ortheris. 
 
 "Ay. It's a way we have i' Yorkshire o' seein' friends oflF. 
 You was a friend as I didn't want to come back, and he 
 didn't want me to come back neither, and so we'd walk to- 
 gether toward Pately, and then he'd set me back again, and 
 there we'd be wal two i' o'clock the morning' settin' each other 
 to an' fro like a blasted pair o' pendulums twixt hill and valley, 
 long after th' light had gone out i' 'Liza's window, as both on 
 us had been looking at, pretending to watch the moon.'' 
 
 "Ah!" broke in Mulvaney, "yc'd no chanst against the 
 maraudin' psalm-singer. They'll take the airs an' the graces 
 instid av the man nine times out av ten, an' they only find 
 the blunder later — the wimmen." 
 
 "That's just where yoVe wrong," said Learoyd, reddening 
 under the freckled tan of his cheek. " I was th' first wi' 
 'Liza, an' yo'd think that were enough. But th' parson were 
 a steady-gaited sort o' chap, and Jesse were strong o' his 
 side, and all th' women i' the congregation dinned it to 'Liza 
 'at she were fair fond to take up wi' a wastrel ne'er-do-weel 
 like me, as was scarcelins respectable and a fighting dog 
 at his heels. It was all very well for her to be floing me 
 good and saving my soul, but she must mind as she didn't 
 do herself harm. They talk o' rich folk bcin' stuck up an' 
 genteel, but for cast-iron pride o' respectability there's naught 
 like poor chapel folk. It's as cold as th' wind o' Greenhow 
 Hill — ay, and colder, for 'twill never change. hw(\ now I 
 come to think on it, one at strangest things I know is 'at 
 they couldn't abide tir thought 0" soldiering. There's a vast 
 
230 O.V GREEXIIOW HILL. 
 
 o' fightin' i' th' Bible, and there's a deal of Methodists i" th' 
 army; but to hear chapel folk talk yo'd think that soldierin' 
 were next door, an' t'other side, to hangin'. V their meetin's 
 all their talk is o' fightin'. When Sammy Strother were stuck 
 for summat to say in his prayers, he'd sing out, ' The sword 
 o' th' Lord and o' Gideon.' They were alius at it about 
 puttin' on th' whole armor o' righteousness, an' fightin' the 
 good fight o' faith. And then, atop o' 't all, they held a 
 prayer-meetin' ower a young chap as wanted to 'list, and 
 nearly deafened him, till he picked up his hat and fair ran 
 away. And they'd tell tales in th' Sunday-school o' bad 
 lads as had been thumped and brayed for bird-nesting o' 
 Sundays and playin' truant o' week-days, and how they took 
 to wrestlin', dog-fightin', rabbit-runnin', and drinkin', till at 
 last, as if 'twere a hepitaph on a gravestone, they damned 
 him across th' moors wi', an' then he went and 'listed for a 
 soldier, an' they'd all fetch a deep breath, and throw up their 
 eyes like a hen drinkin'." 
 
 "Fwhy is it? " said Mulvaney, bringing down his hand on 
 his thigh with a crack. "In the name av God, fwhy is it? 
 I've seen it, tu. They cheat an' they swindle an' they lie 
 an' they slander, an' fifty things fifty times worse; but the 
 last an' the worst by their leckonin' is to serve the Widdy 
 honest. It's like the talk av childer — seein' things all 
 round." 
 
 " Plucky lot of fightin' good fights of whatsername they'd 
 do if we didn't see they had a quiet place to fight in. And 
 such fightin' as theirs is! Cats on the tiles. T'other callin' 
 to which to come on. I'd give a month's pay to get some 
 o' them broad-backed beggars in London sweatin' through a 
 day's road-makin' an' a night's rain. They'd carry on a deal 
 afterward — same as we're supposed to carry on. I've bin 
 turned out of a measly arf-license pub down Lambeth way, 
 full o' greasy kebmen, 'fore now," said Ortheris with an oath. 
 
ox GREEN now HILL. 231 
 
 " Maybe you were dhrunk," said Mulvaney soothingly 
 
 " Worse nor that. The Forders were drunk. I was wear- 
 in' the queen's uniform.' 
 
 "I'd no particular thought to be a soldier i' them days," 
 said Learoyd, still keeping his eye on the bare hill opposite, 
 "but this sort o' talk put it i' ray head. They was so good, 
 th' chapel folk, that they tumbled ower t'other side. But I 
 stuck to it for 'Liza's sake, specially as she was learning me 
 to sing the bass part in a horotorio as Jesse were getting up. 
 She sung like a throstle hersen, and we had practisin's night 
 after night for a matter of three months." 
 
 " I know what a horotorio is," said Ortheris pertly. " It's 
 a sort of chaplain's sing-song — words all out of the Bible, 
 and hullabaloojah choruses." 
 
 " Most Greenhow Hill folks played some instrument or 
 t'other, an' they all sung so you might have heard them miles 
 away, and they were so pleased wi' the noise they made they 
 didn't fair to want anybody to listen. The preacher sung 
 high seconds when he wasn't playin' the flute, an' they set 
 me, as hadn't got far with big fiddle, again Willie Satter- 
 thwaite, to jog his elbow when he had to get a' gate playin'. 
 Old Jesse was happy if ever a man was, for he were th' con- 
 ductor an' th' first fiddle an' th' leadin' singer, beatin' time 
 wi' his fiddle-stick, till at times he'd rap with it on the table, 
 and cry out, * Now, you mun all stop; it's my turn.' And 
 he'd face round to his front, fair sweating wi' pride, to sing 
 the tenor solos. But he t\'ere grandest i' th' chorus, waggin' 
 his head, flinging his arm.s round like a windmill, and singin' 
 hisself black in the face. A rare singer were Jesse. 
 
 " Yo' see, I was not o' much account wi' 'em all exceptin' 
 to Eliza Roantree, and I had a deal o' time settin' quiet at 
 meeting and horotorio practises to hearken their talk, and if 
 it were strange to me at beginnin', it got stranger still at after, 
 when I was shut in, and could study what it meaned. 
 
232 Oy GREEXHOIV HILL. 
 
 "Just aftei ih' horotorios come off, 'Liza, as had alius been 
 weakly like, was took very bad. I walked Dr. Warbottom's 
 horse up and down a deal of times while he were inside, 
 where they wouldn't let me go, though I fair ached to see 
 her. 
 
 " * She'll be better i' noo, lad — better i' noo, he used to 
 say. * Tha mun ha' patience.' Then they said if I was 
 quiet I might go in, and th' Reverend Amos Barraclough 
 used to read to her lyin' propped up among th' pillows. 
 Then she began to mend a bit, and they let me carry her on 
 to th' settle, and when it got warm again she went about 
 same as afore. Th' preacher and me and Blast was a deal 
 together i' them days, and i' one way we was rare good com- 
 rades. But I could ha' stretched him time and again with a 
 good will, I mind one day he said he would like to go down 
 into th' bowels o' th' earth, and see how th' Lord had builded 
 th' framework o' th' everlastin' hills. He was one of them 
 chaps as had a gift o' sayin' things. They rolled off the tip 
 of his clever tongue, same as Mulvaney here, as would ha' 
 made a rare good preacher if he had nobbut given his mind 
 to it. I lent him a suit o' miner's kit as almost buried th' 
 little man, and his white face down i' th' coat collar and hat 
 flap looked like the face of a boggart, and he cowered down i' 
 th' bottom o' the wagon. I was drivin' a tram as led up a 
 bit of an incline up to th' cave where the engine was pump- 
 in', and where th^ ore was brought up and put into th' 
 wagons as went down o' themselves, me puttin th' brake on 
 and th' horses a-trottin' after. Long as it was daylight we 
 were good friends, but when we got fair into th' dark, and 
 could nobbut see th' day shinin' at the hole hke a lamp at a 
 street end, I feeled downright wicked. My religion dropped 
 all away from me when I looked hack at him as were always 
 comin' between me and Eliza. The talk was 'at they were 
 to be wed when she got better, an' I couldn't get her to say 
 
O.V GREEN now HILL. 233 
 
 yes or nay to it. He began to sing a hymn in his thin voice, 
 and I came out \\\ a chorus that was all cussin' an' swearin' 
 at my horses, an' I began to know how I hated him. He 
 were such a little chap, too. I could drop him wi' one hand 
 down Garstang's copper hole — a place where th' beck slithered 
 ower th' edge on a rock, and fell wi' a bit of a whisper into 
 a pit as rope i' Greenhow could plump." 
 
 Again Learoyd rooted up the innocent violets. "Ay, he 
 should see th' bowels o' th' earth an' never naught else. I 
 could take him a mile or two along th' drift, and leave him 
 wi' his candle doused to cry hallelujah, wi' none to hear him 
 and say amen. I was to lead him down th' ladder way to th' 
 drift where Jess Roantree was workin', and why shouldn't 
 be slip on th' ladder, wi' my feet on his fingers till they 
 loosed grip, and I put him down wi' my heel ? If I went 
 fust down th' ladder I could click hold on him and chuck him 
 over my head, so as he should go squashin' down the shaft, 
 breakin' his bones at ev'ry timberin' as Bill Appleton did 
 when he was fresh, and hadn't a bone left when he wrought 
 to th' bottom. Niver a blasted leg to walk from Pately. 
 Niver an arm to put round 'Liza Roantree's waist. Niver 
 no more — niver no more." 
 
 The thick lips curled back over the yellow teeth, and that 
 flushed face was not pretty to look upon. Mulvaney nodded 
 sympathy, and Ortheris, moved by his comrade's passion, 
 brought up the rifle to his shoulder, and searched the hill- 
 side for his quarry, muttering ribaldry about a sparrow, a 
 spout, and a thunderstorm. The voice of the watercourse 
 supplied the necessary small-talk till Learoyd picked up his 
 story. 
 
 " But it's none so easy to kill a man like yon. When I'd 
 give up my horses to th' lad ns took mv place and I wns 
 showin' th' preacher th' workin's, shoutin' into his ear across 
 th' clang o' th' pumpin' engines, I saw he was afraid o' 
 
234 ON GREEN HOW HILL. 
 
 naught; and when the lamplight showed his black eyes, I 
 could feel as he was masterin' me again. 1 were no better 
 nor Blast chained up short and growlin' i' the depths of him 
 while a strange dog went safe past. 
 
 " ' Th'art a coward and a fool,' I said to mysen ; an' I 
 wrestled i' my mind again' him till, when we come to Gar- 
 stang's copper hole, I laid hold o' the preacher and lifted 
 him up over my head and held him into the darkest on it. 
 * Now, lad,' I says, ' it's to be one or t'other on us — thee or 
 me — for 'Liza Roantree. Why, isn't thee afraid for thysen?' 
 I says, for he were still i' my arms as a sack. 'Nay; I'm 
 but afraid for thee, my poor lad, as knows naught,' says he. 
 I set him down on th' edge, an' th' beck run stiller, an' there 
 was no more buzzin' in my head like when th' be come 
 through th' window o' Jesse's house. * What dost tha mean? ' 
 says I. 
 
 " ' Ive often thought as thou ought to know,' says he, 'but 
 'twas hard to tell thee. 'Liza Roantree's for neither on us, 
 nor for nobody o' this earth. Dr. Warbottom says — and he 
 knows her, and her mother before her — that she is in a de- 
 cline, and she cannot live six months longer. He's known 
 it for many a day. Steady, John! Steady! ' says he. And 
 that weak Httle man pulled me further back and set me again' 
 him, and talked it all over quiet and still, me turnin' a bunch 
 o' candles in my hand, and counting them ower and ower 
 again as I listened. A deal on it were th' regular preachin' 
 talk, but there were a vast lot as made me begin to think as 
 he were more of a man than I'd ever given him credit for 
 till I were cut as deep for him as I were for mysen. 
 
 " Six candles we had, and we crawled and climbed all that 
 day while they lasted, and I said to mysen, ' 'Liza Roantree 
 hasn't six months to live.' And when we came into th' day- 
 light again we were like dead men to look at, an' Blast come 
 behind us without so much as waggin' his tail. When I saw 
 
O.V GREENHOIV HILL. 235 
 
 'Liza again she looked at me a minute and says: 'Who's 
 telled tha? For I see tha knows.' And she tried to smile 
 as she kissed me, and I fair broke down. 
 
 *' You see, I was a young chap i' them days, and had seen 
 naught o' life, let alone death, as is alius a-waitin\ She 
 telled me as Dr. Warbottom said as Greenhow air was too 
 keen, and they were goin' to Bradford, to Jesse's brother 
 David, as worked i' a mill, and I mun hold up like a man 
 and a Christian, and she'd pray for me well, and they went 
 away, and the preacher that same back end o' th' year were 
 appointed to another circuit, as they call it, and I were left 
 alone on Greenhow Hill. 
 
 " I tried, and I tried hard, to stick to th' chapel, but 
 'tweren't th' same thing at after. I hadn't 'Liza's voice to 
 follow i' th' singin', nor her eyes a-shinin' acrost their heads. 
 And i' th' class-meetings they said as I mun have some ex- 
 periences to tell, and I hadn't a word to say for mysen. 
 
 "Blast and me moped a good deal, and happen we didn't 
 behave ourselves over well, for they dropped us, and won- 
 dered however they'd come to take us up. I can't tell how 
 we got through th' time, while i' th' winter I gave up my job 
 and went to Bradford. Old Jesse were at th' door o' th' 
 house, in a long street o' little houses. He'd been sendin' 
 th' children 'way as were clatterin' their clogs in th' cause- 
 way, for she were asleep. 
 
 " ' Is it thee?' he says: 'but you're not to see her. Lll 
 none have her wakened for a nowt like thee. She's goin' 
 fast, and she mun go in peace. Thou'lt never be good for 
 naught i' th' world, and as long as thou lives thou'll never 
 play the big fiddle. Get away, lad, get away! ' So he shut 
 the door softly i' my face. 
 
 " Nobody never made Jesse my master, but it seemed to 
 me he was about right, and I went away into the town and 
 knocked up against a recruiting sergeant. The old tales o' 
 
236 ON GREEN HOW HILL. 
 
 th' chapel folk came buzzin' into my head. I was to get 
 away, and this were th' regular road for the likes o' me. I 
 'listed there and then, took th' Widow's shillin', and had a 
 bunch o' ribbons pinned i' my hat. 
 
 " But next day I found my way to David Roantree's door, 
 and Jesse came to open it. Says he, *Thou's come back 
 again wi' th' devil's colors flyin' — thy true colors, as I always 
 telled thee.' 
 
 " But I begged and prayed of him to let me see her nob- 
 but to say good-by, till a woman calls down th' stairway — 
 she says, 'John Learoyd's to come up.' Th' old man shift 
 aside in a flash, and lays his hand on my arm, quite gentle 
 like. *But thou'lt be quiet, John,' says he, 'for she's rare 
 and weak. Thou wast alius a good lad.' 
 
 " Her eyes were all alive wi' light, and her hair was thick 
 on the pillow round her, but her cheeks were thin — thin to 
 frighten a man that's strong. 'Nay, father, yo' mayn't say 
 th' devil's colors. Them ribbons is pretty.' An* she held 
 out her hands for th' hat, an' she put all straight as a woman 
 will wi' ribbons. * Nay, but what they're pretty,' she says. 
 * Eh, but I'd ha' liked to see thee i' thy red coat, John, for 
 thou wast alius my own lad — my very own lad, and none 
 else.' 
 
 "She lifted up her arms, and they come round my neck i' 
 a gentle grip, and they slacked away, and she seemed fainting. 
 *Now yo' mun get away, lad,' says Jesse, and I picked up 
 my hat and I came down-stairs. 
 
 " Th' recruiting sergeant were waitin' for me at th' corner 
 public-house. ' Yo've seen your sweetheart? ' says he. * Yes, 
 I've seen her,' says I. 'Well, we'll have a quart now, and 
 you'll do your best to forget her,' says he, bein' one o' them 
 smart, bustlin' chaps. ' Ay, sergeant,' says I. ' Forget her.' 
 And I've been forgettin' her ever since." 
 
 He threw away the wilted clump of white violets as he 
 
ox GREENHOW HILL. 237 
 
 Spoke. Ortheris suddenly rose to his knees, his rifle at his 
 shoulder, and peered across the valley in the clear afternoon 
 light. His chin cuddled the stock, and there was a twitching 
 of the muscles of the right cheek as he sighted; Private 
 Stanley Ortheris was engaged on his business. A speck of 
 white crawled up the watercourse. 
 
 " See that beggar? Got 'im." 
 
 Seven hundred yards away, and a full two hundred down 
 the hill-side, the deserter of the Aurangabadis pitched for- 
 ward, rolled down a red rock, and lay very still, with his face 
 in a clump of blue gentians, while a big raven flapped out of 
 the pine wood to make investigation. 
 
 "That's a clean shot, Httle man," said Mulvaney. 
 
 Learoyd thoughtfully watched the smoke clear away. 
 
 *' Happen there was a lass tewed up wi' him, too," said he. 
 Ortheris did not reply. He was staring across the valley, 
 with the smile of the artist who looks on the completed work. 
 
 For Ke saw that it was good. 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF 
 CLERGY. 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 
 
 "But if it be a girl?*' 
 
 " Lord of my life, it cannot be ! * I have prayed for so 
 many nights, and sent gifts to Sheikh^BadPs shrine so often, 
 that I know God will give us a son — a man-child that shall 
 grow into ^ lAian. Think of this and be glad. My mother 
 shall be h^? mother till I can take him again, and the mullah 
 of the Pattan Mosque shall cast his nativity — God send he 
 be born in an auspicious hour! — and then^, and then thou wilt 
 never weary of me, thy slave." 
 
 " Since when hast thou been a slave, my queen? " 
 
 " Since the beginning — till this mercy came to me. How 
 could I be sure of thy love when I knew that I had been 
 bought with silver?" 
 
 " Nay, that was the dowry. I paid it to thy mother." 
 
 " And she has buried it, and sits upon it all day long like 
 a hen. What talk is yours of dowry? • I was bought as 
 though I had been a Lucknow dancing-girl instead of a 
 child." 
 
 " Art thou sorry for the sale? " 
 
 " I have sorrowed; but to-day I am glad. Thou wilt never 
 cease to love me now? -Answer, my king." 
 
 " Never — never. No." 
 
 " Not even though tlie mc/zi-Zo^ ~ihc white women of thy 
 i6 
 
242 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 
 
 own blood — love thee? And remember, I have watched 
 them driving in the evening ; they are very fair." 
 
 " I have seen fire-balloons by the hundred^I have s^^en the 
 moon, and — then I saw no more fire-balloons." 
 
 Ameera clapped her hands and laughed. "Very good 
 talk," she said. Then, with an assumption of great stateli- 
 nes^ " It is enough. Thou hast my permission to depart^— if 
 thou wilt." 
 
 The man did not move. He was sitting on a low red- 
 lacquered couch in a room furnished only with a bluecandr 
 white floor-cloth, some rugs, and a very complete collection 
 of native cushions. At his feet sat a woman of sixteen, and 
 she was all but all the world in his eyes. By every rule and 
 law she should have been otherwise, for he was an English- 
 man and she a Mussulman's daughter, bought two years be- 
 fore from her mother, who, being left without money, would 
 have sold Ameera, shrieking, to the Prince of Darknes^)if 
 the price had been sufficient. ^p 
 
 It was a contract entered into with a light hearh; But 
 even before the girl had reached her bloom she came to fill 
 the greater portion of John Holden's life. For her.and the 
 withered hag her mother, he had taken a little house over- 
 looking the 'great red-walled city, and found,-when the mari- 
 golds had sprung up by the well in the court-yard, and 
 Ameera had established herself according to her own ideas 
 of comfort, and her mother had ceased grumbling at the in- 
 adequacy of J;he cooking-places, the distance from the daily 
 market, and, matters of housekeeping in general, ^hat the 
 house was to him his home. Any one could enter his bach- 
 elor's bungalow by day or night, and the life that he led 
 there was an unlovely one. In the house in the city his feet 
 only could pass beyond the outer courtyard to the women's 
 rooms; and when the big wooden gate was bolted behind 
 him he was king in his own territory, with Ameera for queen. 
 
WITHOUT BEXEFIT OF CLERGY. 243 
 
 And there was going to be added to this kingdom a third 
 person, whose arrival Holden felt inclined to resent. It in- 
 terfered with his perfect happiness. It disarranged the 
 orderly peace of the house that was his own. But Ameera 
 was wild with delight at the thought of it, and her mother 
 not less so. The love of a man, and particularly a white 
 man, was at the best an inconstant affair, but it might, both 
 women argued, be held fast by a baby's hands. " And then," 
 Ameera would always say--" then he will never care for the 
 white viem-log. I hate them all — I hate them all." 
 
 " He will go back to his own people in time," said the 
 motheiy " but, by the blessing of God, that time is yet afar 
 off." 
 
 Holden sat silent on the couch, thinking of the future, 
 and his thoughts were not pleasant. The drawbacks of a 
 double life are manifold. The government, with singular 
 care, had ordered him out of the station for a fortnight on 
 special duty in the place of a man who was watching by the 
 bedside of a sick wife. The verbal notification of the trans- 
 fer had been edged by a cheerful remark that Holden ought 
 to think himself lucky in being a bachelor and a free man. 
 He came to break the news to Ameera. 
 
 " It is not good," she said slowly, " but it is not all bad. 
 There is my mother here, and no harm will come to me — 
 unless, indeed, I die of pure joy. Go thou to thy work, 
 and think no troublesome thoughts. When the days are 
 done I believe . . . nay, I am sure. And — and then I shall 
 lay him in thy arms, and thou wilt love me forifever. The 
 train goes to-night;— at midnight, is it not? Go now, and do 
 not let thy heart be heavy by cause of me. But thou wilt 
 not delay in returning^I ; Thou wilt not stay on the road to 
 talk to the bold white jne??i-u^g/. .- Come back to me swiftly, 
 my life!" 
 
 As he left the court^'ard to reach his horse, that was 
 
2 44 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CIERGY. 
 
 tethered to the gate-post, Holden spoke to the white-haired 
 old watchman who guarded, the house, and bade him under 
 certain contingencies dispatch the filled-up telegraph-form 
 that Holden gave him. It was all that could be done, ano^ 
 with the sensations of a man who has attended his own 
 funeral, Holden went away hy the night-mail to his exile. 
 Every hour of the day he dreaded the arrival of the telegram, 
 and every hour of the night he pictured to hir^self the death 
 of Ameera. In consequence, his work for the state was not of 
 first-rate quality, nor was his temper toward his colleagues of 
 the most amiable. The fortnight ended without a sign from 
 his home, and, torn to pieces by his anxieties, Holden re- 
 turned to be swallowed up for two precious hours by a din- 
 ner at the club, wherein he heard, as a man hears in a swoon, 
 voices telling him how execrably he had performed the other 
 man's duties* and how he had endeared himself to all his as- 
 sociates. Then he fled on horseback through the night with 
 his heart in his mouth. There was no answer at first to his 
 blows on the gate, and he had just wheeled his horse round 
 to kick it in when Pir Khan appeared with a lantern and 
 held his stirrup. 
 
 "Has aught occurred?" said Holden. 
 
 " The news does not come from my mouth, Protector of 
 the Poor, but " He held out his shaking hand, as be- 
 fitted the bearer of good news who is entitled to a reward. 
 
 Holden hurried through the court-yard. A light burned 
 in the upper room. His horse neighed in the gateway, and 
 he heard a pin-pointed wail that sent all the blood into the 
 apple of his throat. It was a new voice, but it did not prove 
 that Ameera was alive. 
 
 "Who is there? " he called up the narrow brick staircase. 
 
 There was a cry of delight from Ameera, and then the 
 voice of her mother, tremulous with old age and prid^"*' We 
 be two women and — the — man — thy-son." 
 
WITHOUT BEXEFIT OF CLERGY. 245 
 
 On the threshold of the room Flolden stepped on a naked 
 dagger,that was laid there to avert ill luck, and it broke at 
 the hilt under his impatient heel. 
 
 " God is great! " cooed Ameera in the half-light. " Thou 
 hast taken his misfortunes on thy head." 
 
 "Ay, but how is it with thee, life of my life? Old woman, 
 how is it with her? " 
 
 "She has forgotten her sufferings for joy that the child is 
 born. There is no harm; but speak softly," said the mother. 
 
 " It only needed thy presence to make me all well," said 
 Ameera. " My king, thou hast been very long away. What 
 gifts hast thou for me? Ah! ah! It is I that bring gifts 
 this time. Look, my life, look! 'Was there ever such a 
 babe? Nay, I am too weak even to clear my arm from 
 him." 
 
 " Rest, then, and do not talk. I am here, bachJm'V^ (little 
 woman). 
 
 " Well said, for there is a bond and a heel-rope \^eechare^ 
 between us now that nothing can break. Look — canst thou 
 see in this light? He is without spot or blemish. Never 
 was such a man-^hild. Ya illah / he shall be a pundit — no, 
 a trooper of the ^ueen. And, my hfe, dost thou love me as 
 well as ever, though I am faint and sick and worn? Answer 
 truly." 
 
 " Yea. I love as I have loved, with all my soul. Lie 
 still, pearl, and rest." 
 
 " Then do not go. Sit by my side here — so. Mother, 
 the lord of this house needs a cushion. Bring it." There 
 was an almost imperceptible movement on the part of the 
 new life that lay in the hollow of Ameera's arm. " Aho! " 
 she said, her voice breaking with love. " The babe is a 
 champion from his birth. He is kicking me in the side with 
 mighty kicks. Was there ever such a babe? , And he is ours 
 to us — thine and mine. Put thy hand on his head, but care- 
 
246 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 
 
 fully, for he is very young, and men are unskilled in such 
 matters." 
 
 Very cautiously Holden touched with the tips of his 
 fingers the downy head. 
 
 " He is of the Faith," said Ameera; "for^lying here in the 
 night-watches, I whispered the Call to iPrayer and the Pro- 
 fession of Faith into his ears. And it is most marvellous 
 that he was born upon a Friday, as I was born. Be careful 
 of him, my life; but he can almost grip with his hands." 
 
 Holden found one helpless little hand that closed feebly 
 on his finger. And the clutch ran through his limbs till it 
 settled about his heart. Till then his sole thought had been 
 for Ameera. He began to realize that there was some one 
 else in the world, but he could not feel that it was a veritable 
 son with a soul. He sat down to think, and Ameera dozed 
 lightly. 
 
 " Get hence, sahib," said her mother, under her breath. 
 " It is not good that she should find you here on waking» 
 She must be still." 
 
 " I go," said Holden submissively. " Here be rupees. 
 See that my baba gets fat and finds all that he needs." 
 
 The chink of the silver roused Ameera. " I am his 
 mother, and no hireling," she said weakly. " Shall I look 
 to him more or less for the sake of money? Mother, give it 
 back. I have borne my lord a son." 
 
 The deep sleep of weakness came upon her almost before 
 the sentence was completed. Holden went down to the 
 court-yard very softly, with his heart at ease. Pir Khan, 
 .A.«h<uf- the old watchman, was chuckling with delight. 
 %)^ U4 « -pi^-g |-^Q^se is now complete," he said, and without further 
 comment thrust into Holden's hands the hilt of a sabre worn 
 many years ago," wher^ Pir Khan- served the queen in the 
 police. The bleat of a tethered goat came from the well- 
 curb. 
 
WITHOUT BtXEFIT OF CLERGY. 247 
 
 " There be two/' said Pir Khar^ — '^ two goats of the best. 
 I bought them, and they cost much money; and since there 
 is no birth-party assembled, tneir flesh will be all mine. 
 Strike craftily, sahibs' 'Tis an ill-balanced sabre at the best. 
 Wait till they raise their heads from cropping the marigolds." 
 
 "And why?" said Holden, bewildered. 
 
 " For the birtl>sacrifice. What else? Otherwise the child, 
 being unguarded from fate, may die. The Protector of the 
 Poor knows the fitting words to be said." 
 
 Holden had learned them once, with little thought that 
 he would ever say them in earnest. The touch of the cold 
 sabre-hilt in his palm turned suddenly to the clinging grip of 
 the child up-stairs — the child that was his own son— and a 
 dread of loss filled him. 
 
 "Strike!" said Pir Khan. "Never life came into the 
 world but life was paid for it. See, the goats have raised 
 their heads. Now! With a drawing cut! " 
 
 Hardly knowing what he did, Holden cut twice as he mut- 
 tered the Mohammedan prayer that runs, "Almighty! In 
 place of this my son I offer life for life, blood for blood, head 
 for head, bone for bone, hair for hair, skin for skin." The 
 waiting horse snorted and bounded in his pickets at the 
 smell of the raw blood that spurted over Holden's riding- 
 boots. 
 
 "Well smitten!" said Pir Khan, wiping the sabre. "A 
 swordsman was lost in thee. Go with a light heart, IVeaven- 
 born. I am thy servant and the servant of thy son. May 
 the Presence live a thousand years, and . . . the flesh of the 
 gr»ats is all mine? " 
 
 Pir Khan drew back richer by a month's pay. Holden 
 swung himself into the saddle and rode off through the low- 
 hanging wood^smoke of the evening. He was full of riotous 
 exultation, alternating with a vast vague tenderness directed 
 tcuard no particular object, that made him choke as he bent 
 
2 48 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 
 
 over the neck of his uneasy horse. " I never felt like this in 
 my life," he thought. " I'll go to the club and pull myself 
 together.'' 
 
 A game of pool was beginning, and the room was full of 
 men. Holden entered, eager to get to the light and the 
 company of his fellows, singing, at the top of his voice, ', 
 
 " ' In Baltimore a-walking, a lady I did meet.' " 
 
 " Did you? " said the clut>«ecretary from his corner. " Did 
 she happen to tell you that your boots were wringing wet? 
 Great goodness, man, it's blood! " 
 
 " Bosh ! " said Holden, picking his cue from the rack. 
 "May I cut in? It's dew. I've been riding through high 
 crops. My faith ! my boots are in a mess, though ! 
 
 ' ' And if it be a gir^- she shall wear a wedding-ring; , ^ 
 And if it be a boyr^he shall fight for his king; f 
 With his dirk, and his cap, and his little jacket blue, 
 He shall walk the quarter-deck — ' " 
 
 " Yellow on blue — green next player," said the marker, 
 monotonously. 
 
 He shall walk the quarter-deck '-—am I green, marker? 
 Je shall walk the quarter-deck' — oucK! that's a bad shot! j 
 • — 'as his daddy used to do! ' " 
 
 "I don't see that you have anything tqcrow about," said 
 a zealous junior civiHan acidly. " The government is not 
 exactly pleased with your work when you reheved Sanders." 
 
 "Does that mean a wigging from headquarters?" said 
 Holden^, with an abstracted smile. " I think I can stand it." 
 
 The talk beat up round the ever»fresh subject of each 
 man's work, and steadied Holden till it was time to go to his 
 dark, empty bungalow, where his butler received him as one 
 who knew all his affairs. Holden remained awake for the 
 greater part of the night, and his dreams were pleasant ones. 
 
 ^ 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 249 
 
 11. 
 
 ^ How old is he now? " 
 
 '* Ya illahf What a man's question! He is all but six 
 weeks old ; and on this night I go up to the house-top with 
 thee, my life, to count the stars. For that is auspicious. 
 And he was born on a Friday, under the sign of the "^un, 
 and it has been told to me that he will outlive us both and 
 get wealth. Can we wish for aught better, beloved? " 
 
 " There is nothing better. Let us go up to the roof, and 
 thou shalt count the stars — but a few only, for the sky is 
 heavy with cloud." 
 
 " The winter rains are late, and maybe they come out of 
 season. Come, before all the stars are hid. I have put on 
 my richest jewels." 
 
 " Thou hast forgotten the best of all." 
 
 "Ai! Ours. He comes also. He has never yet seen 
 the skies." 
 
 Ameera climbed the narrow staircase that led to the flat 
 roof. The child, placid and unwinking, lay in the hollow of 
 her right arm, gorgeous in silver-fringed muslin, with a small 
 skull-cap on his head. Ameera wore all that she valued 
 most. The diamond nose-stud that takes the place of the 
 Western patch in drawing attention to the curve of the nos- 
 tril, the gold ornament in the centre of the forehead studded 
 with tallow-drop emeralds and flawed rubies, the heavy circlet 
 of beaten gold that was fastened round her neck by the soft- 
 ness of the pure metal, and the chinking curb-patterned sil- 
 ver anklets hanging low over the rosy ankle-bone. She was 
 dressed in jade-green muslin, as befitted a daughter of the 
 Faith, and from shoulder to elbow and elbow to wrist ran 
 bracelets of silver tied with floss silk, frail glass bangles 
 slipped over the wrist in proof of the slenderness of the hand. 
 
250 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 
 
 and certain heavy gold bracelets that had no part in her 
 country's ornaments, but since they were Holden's gif^and 
 fastened with a cunning European snap, delighted her im- 
 mensely. 
 
 They sat down by the low white parapet of the roof, over- 
 looking the city and its lights. 
 
 " They are happy down there," said Ameera. " But I do 
 not think that they are as happy as we. Nor do I think the 
 white mem-log are as happy. And thou? " 
 
 " I know they are not." 
 
 " How dost thou know? " 
 
 " They give their children over to the nurses." 
 
 " I have never seen that," said Ameera, with a sigh ; ^," nor 
 do I wish to see. Ahi ! " — she dropped her head on Hofden's 
 shoulder-i — " I have counted forty stars, and I am tired. Look 
 at the child, love of my lif^ He is counting, too." 
 
 The baby was staring with round eyes at the dark of the 
 heavens. Ameera placed him in Holden's arms, and he lay 
 there without a cry. 
 
 "What shall we call him among ourselves?" she said. 
 "Look! Art thou ever tired of looking? He carries thy 
 very eyes! But the mouth " 
 
 " Is thine, most dear. Who should know better than I? " 
 
 "'Tis such a feeble mouth. Oh, so small! And yet it 
 holds my heart between its lips. Give him to me now. He 
 has been too long away." 
 
 " Nay, let him lie ; he has not yet begun to cry." 
 
 "When he cries thou wilt give him back,— eh? What a 
 man of mankind thou art! If he cried, he were only the 
 dearer to me. But, my life, what little name shall we give 
 him?" 
 
 The smill body lay close to Holden's heart. It was ut- 
 terly helpless and very soft. He scarcely dared to breathe 
 for fear of crushing it. The caged green parrot, that is re- 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 25I 
 
 garded as a sort of guardian spirit in most native households, 
 moved on its perch and fluttered a drowsy wing. 
 
 " There is the answer," said Holden. " Mian Mittu has 
 spoken. He shall be the parrot. When he is ready he will 
 talk mightily and run about. Mian Mittu is the parrot in 
 thy— in the Mussulman tongue, is it not? " 
 
 "Why put me so far off?'' said Ameera fretfully. " Let 
 it be like unto some English name — but not wholly. For 
 he is mine.'' 
 
 "Then call him Tota, for that is.likest English." 
 
 " Ay, Tot^Oi-.and that is still the parrot. Forgive me, my 
 lord, for a minute agocj.but, in truth, he is too little to wear 
 all the weig^ht of Mian Mittu for name. He shall be Tota 
 — our Tota to us. Hearest thou, O small one? Littlest, 
 thou art Tota." 
 
 She touched the child's cheek, and he, waking, wailed, 
 and it was necessary to return him to his mother, who 
 soothed him with the wonderful rhyme of " Ar^ koko, Ja r& 
 koko f'' which says: 
 
 " Oh, crow! Go crow! Baby's sleeping sound, 
 
 And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound. 
 Only a penny a pound, Baba^r^vXy a penny a pound." 
 
 Reassured many times as to the price of those plums, 
 Tota cuddled himself down to sleep. The two sleeky white 
 wel'-bullocks in the courtyard were steadily chewing the cud 
 of their evening meal; old Pir Khan squatted at the head of 
 Holden's horse, his police sabre across his knees, pulling 
 drowsily at a big water-pipe that croaked like a bull-frog ii^^ 
 a pond. Ameera's mother sat spinning in the lower veranda, 
 and the wooden gate was shut and barred. The music of a 
 marriage procession came to the roof above the gentle hum 
 of the city, and a string of flying-fo.xcs crossed the face of 
 the low moon. 
 
252 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. . , 
 
 "I have prayed," said Ameera, after a long pause, ^vith ^ 
 her chin in her hand*—" I have prayed for two things. First, 
 that I may die in thy stead, if thy death is demanded: .and 
 in the second^ that I may die in the place of the child. I 
 have prayed to the Prophet and to Beebee Miriam.* Thmk- 
 est thou either will hear?" • -''^-^j 
 
 "From thy lips who would not hear the lightest word?" 
 
 " I asked for straight talk, and thou hast given me sweet 
 talk. Will my prayers be heard? " 
 
 " How can I say? God is very good." 
 
 "Of that I am not sure. Listen now. When I die. or the 
 child dies, what is thy fate? Living, thou wilt return to the 
 bold white ?ne??i-log, for kind calls to kind." 
 
 " Not always." 
 
 " With a woman, noj With a man it is otherwise. Thou 
 wilt in this life, later on, go back to thine own folk. That I 
 could almost endure, for I should be dead. But in thy very 
 death thou wilt be taken away to a strange place and a para- 
 dise that I do not know." 
 
 "Will it be paradise?" 
 
 " Surely; for what God would harm thee? But we two — 
 I and the child — shall be elsewhere, and we cannot come to 
 thee, nor canst thou come to us. In the old days, before the 
 child was born, I did not think of these things; but now I 
 think of them perpetually. It is very hard talk." 
 
 "It will fall as it will fall. To-morrow we do not know, 
 but to-day and love we know well. Surely we are happy 
 now." 
 
 " So happy that it were well to make our happiness as- 
 sured. And thy Beebee Miriam should listen to, me; for 
 
 she is also a woman. But then she would envy me^^ It is 
 
 not seemly for men to worship a woman." 
 
 * The Virgin Mary. 
 
WITHOUT B EXE FIT OF CLERGY. 253 
 
 Holden laughed aloud at Ameera's little spasm of jealousy. 
 
 "Is it not seemly? Why didst thou not turn me from 
 worship of thee, then? " 
 
 "Thou a worshipper! And of me! My king, for all thy 
 sweet words, well I know that I am thy servant and thy 
 slave, and the dust under thy feet. And I would not have it 
 otherwise. See! '' 
 
 Before Holden could prevent her she stooped forward 
 and touched his feet; recovering herself with a little laugh, 
 she hugged Tota closer to her bosom. Then, almost sav- 
 agelx5 — 
 
 "Is it true that the bold white ??iemiog live for three times 
 the length of my hfe? Is it true that they make their mar- 
 riages not before they are old women? " 
 
 "They marry as do others — when they are women." 
 
 " That I know, but they wed when they are twenty-five. 
 Is that true?" 
 
 " That is true." 
 
 " Ya illah! At twenty-five ! Who would of his own will 
 take a wife even of eighteen? She is a woman — aging every 
 hour. Twenty-five! I shall be an eld woman at that age, 
 
 and Those mem-log remain young forever. How I hate 
 
 them ! " 
 
 " What have they to do with us? " 
 
 " I cannot tell. I know only that there may now be alive 
 on this earth a woman ten years older than I who may come 
 to thee and take thy love ten years after I am an old 
 woman, gray-4ieaded, and the nurse of Tota's son. That is 
 unjust and evil. They should die too." 
 
 " Now, for all thy years thou art a child, and shalt be 
 picked up and carried down the staircase." 
 
 "Tota! Have a care for Tota, my lord! Thou, at least, 
 art as foolish as any babe!" Ameera tucked Tota out of 
 harm's way in the hollow in her ncck^, and was carried down- 
 
254 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 
 
 Stairs, laughing, in Holden's arms, while Tota opened his 
 eyes and smiled, after the manner of the lesser angels. 
 
 He was a silent infant, and almost before Holden could 
 realize that he was in the world, developed into a small gold- 
 colored godling and unquestioned despot of the house over- 
 looking the city. Those were months of absolute happiness 
 to Holden and Ameera — happiness withdrawn from the 
 world, shut in behind the wooden gate that Pir Khan 
 guarded. By day Holden did his work; with an immense 
 pity for such as were not so fortunate as himself, and a sym- 
 pathy for small children that amazed and amused many 
 mothers at the little station— gatherings. At nightfall he re- 
 turned to Ameera — Ameera full of the wondrous doings of 
 Tota:. how he had been seen to clap his hands together and 
 move his fingers with intention and purposQ,"which was mani- 
 festly a miracle ;Tiow, later, he had of his own initiative 
 crawled out of his low bedstead on to the floor, and swayed 
 on both feet for the space of three breaths. "And they 
 were long breaths, for my heart stood still with delight," 
 said Ameera. 
 
 Then he took the beasts into his councils — the well- 
 bullocks, the little ^ray squirrels, the mongoose that lived in 
 a hole near the well, and especially Mian Mittu, the parrot, 
 whose tail he grievously pulled, and Mian Mittu screamed 
 till Ameera and Holden arrived. 
 
 " Oh, villain! Child of strength! This to thy brother on 
 the house-top! Toba/i, iobahf Fie! fie! But I_.know a ^.^^ 
 charm to make him wise as Suleiman and Aflatoun."^ Now 
 look," said Ameera. She drew from an embroidered bag a 
 handful of almonds. " See ! we count seven. In the name 
 of God!" 
 
 She placed Mian Mittu, very angry and rumpled, on the 
 
 * Solomon and rialo. 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 255 
 
 top of hi^ cage, and, seating herself between the babe and 
 the bird* -^racked and peeled an ahnond less white than her 
 teeth. "This is a true charm, my life;, and do not laugh. 
 See! I give the parrot one half and Tota the other." Mian 
 Mittu, with careful beak, took his share from between 
 Ameera's lips, and she kissed the other half into the mouth 
 of the child, who ate it slowly, with wondering eyes. " This 
 I will do each day of seven, and without doubt he who is 
 ours will be a bold speaker and wise. Eh, Tota, what wilt 
 thou be when thou art a man and I am gray-headed? " Tota 
 tucked his fat legs into adorable creases. He could crawl, 
 but he was not going to waste the spring of his youth in idle 
 speech. He wanted Mian Mittu's tail to tweak. 
 
 When he was advanced to the dignity of a silver belt — 
 which, with a magic— square engraved on silver and hung 
 round his neck, made up the greater part of his clothing — • 
 he staggered on a perilous journey down the garden to Pir 
 Khan, and proffered him all his jewels in exchange for one 
 little ride on Holden's horse, -He had seen his mother's 
 mother chaffering with peddlers in the veranda. • Pir Khan 
 vveptj,.set the untried feet on his own gray head in sign of 
 fealty, and brought the bold adventurer to his mother's 
 arms, vowing that Tota would be a leader of men ere his 
 beard was grown. 
 
 One hot evening, while he sat on the roof between his 
 father and mother, watching the never-ending warfare of the 
 kites (that the city boys flew, he demanded a kite of his owi^ 
 with Pir Khan to fly it, because he had a fear of dealing with 
 anything larger than himself j.and when Holden called him 
 a "spark," he rose to his feet and answered slowly, in de- 
 fence of his new found individuality: " ////;// 'park nahifi hai. 
 Hum admi hair (I am no spark, but a man.) 
 
 The protest made Holden choke, and devoie himself very 
 seriously to a consideration of Totals future. 
 
2 so WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY, 
 
 He need hardly have taken the trouble. The delight of 
 that life was too perfect to endure. Therefore it was taken 
 away, as many things are taken away in India, suddenly and 
 without warning. The little lord of the house, as Pir Khan 
 called him, grew sorrowful and complained of pains, who 
 had never known the meaning of pain. Ameera, wild with 
 terror, watched him through the night, and in the dawning 
 of the second day the life was shaken out of him by fever — 
 the seasonal autumn fever. It seemed altogether impossi- 
 ble that he could die, and neither. Ameera nor Holden at 
 first beheved the evidence of the body on the bedstead. 
 Then Ameera beat her head against the wall, and would 
 have flung herself down the well in the garden had Holden 
 not restrained her by main force. 
 
 One mercy only was granted to Holden. He rode to his 
 office in broad daylight, and found waiting him an unusually 
 heavy mail that demanded concentrated attention and hard 
 work. He was not, however, alive to this kindness of the 
 gods. 
 
 III. 
 
 The first shock of a bullet is no more than a brisk pinch. 
 The wrecked body does not senc^Jn its protest to the soul 
 till ten or fifteen seconds later. /.Then comes thirst, throb-' 
 1)ing, and agony, and a ridiculous amount of screaming. / 
 rlolden realized his pain slowl)^, exactly as he had realized 
 his happiness, and with the same imperious necessity for hid- 
 ing all trace of it. In the beginning he only felt that there 
 had been a loss, and that Ameera needed comforting- where 
 she sat with her head on her knees,-shivering as Mian Mittu, 
 from the house-top, called *' Tota! Total Total " Later all 
 his world and the daily life of it rose up to hurt him. It was 
 an outrage that any one of the children at the band-stand in 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 257 
 
 the evening should be alive and clamorous-when his own 
 child lay dead. It was more than mere pam when one of 
 them touched him, and stories told by overfond fathers of 
 their children's latest performances cut him to the quick. 
 He could not declare his pain. He had neither help, com- 
 fort, nor sympathyf and Ameera, at the end of each weary 
 day, would lead him through the hell of self-questioning re- 
 proach which is reserved for those who have lost a child, and 
 believe that with a little — just a little — more care-^it might 
 have been saved. ;' There are not many hells worse than this, 
 but he knows one who has sat down temperately to consider 
 whether he is or is not responsible for the death of his wife. | 
 
 " Perhaps," Ameera would say, " I did not take sufficient 
 heed. Did I, or did I not? The sun on the roof that day 
 when he played so long alone, and 1 was — aki ! braiding my 
 hair — it m.ay be that the sun then bred the fever. If I had 
 warned him from the sun he might have lived. But, oh, my 
 life, say that I am guiltless! Thou knowest that I loved 
 him as I love thee! - Say that there is no blame on me, or I 
 shall die— I shall die!" 
 
 "There is no blame.- Before God, none. It was writterr,^ 
 and hov/ could we do aught to save? What has been, has 
 been. Let it go, beloved." 
 
 " He was all my heart to me. How can I let the thought 
 go when my arm tells me every night that he is not here? 
 Ahi ! a/ii / O Tota, come back to me — come back again, 
 and let us be all together as it was before! " 
 
 " Peace! peace! For thine own sake, and for mine also, 
 if thou lovest me, rest." 
 
 "By this I know thou dost not care; and how shouldst 
 thou? The white men have hearts of stone and souls of 
 iron. Oh, that I had married a man of mine own j)eople — ■ 
 though he beat me — and had never eaten ihe bread of an 
 alien! " 
 
258 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 
 
 "Am I an alien, mother of my son?" 
 
 "What elsersahib? . . . Oh, forgive me — forgive! The 
 death has driven me mad. Thou art the Hfe of my heart, 
 and the light of my eyes, and the breath of my life, and — 
 and I have put thee from me,^ though it was but for a mo- 
 ment. If thou goest away, to whom shall I look for help? 
 Do not be angry. Indeed, it was the pain that spoke, and 
 not thy slave." 
 
 " I know — I know. We be two who were three. The 
 greater need, therefore, that we should be one." 
 
 They were sitting on the roof as of custom. The night 
 was a warm one in early spring, and sheet-lightning was 
 dancing on the horizon to a broken tune played by far-off 
 thunder. Ameera settled herself in Holden's arms. 
 
 "The dry earth is lowing like a cow for the rain, and I — I 
 am afraid. It was not Hke this when we counted the stars. 
 But thou lovest me as much as before, though a bond is 
 taken away? Answer." 
 
 , " I love more, because a new bond has come out of the 
 sorrow that ^ye have eaten together; and that thou knowest." 
 
 " Yea, I know," said Ameera, in a very small whisper. 
 "But it is good to hear thee say so, my life, who art so 
 strong to help. I will be a child no more, but a woman and 
 an aid to thee. Listen. Give me my sitar^ and I will sing 
 bravely." 
 
 She took the light silver-studded sitar^ and. began a song 
 of the great hero Raja Rasalu. The hand failed on the 
 strings, the tune halted, checked, and at a low note turned 
 off to the poor little nursery rhyme about the wicked crow: 
 
 " ' And the Avild plums grow in the jungle^r. 
 Only a penny a pound^^. 
 Only a penny a pound, Baba — only ^3 ' " 
 
 Then came the tears^and the piteous rebellion against fate, 
 till she slept, moaning a little in her sleep, with the right arm 
 
IVITHOL'T BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 259 
 
 thrown clear of the body, as though it protected something 
 that was not there. 
 
 It was after this night that life became a little easier for 
 Holden. The ever-present pain of loss drove him into his 
 work, and the work repaid him by filling up his mind for 
 eight or nine hours a day. Ameera sat alone in the house 
 and brooded, but grew happier when she understood that 
 Holden was more at ease, according to the custom of women. 
 They touched happiness again, but this time with caution. 
 
 " It was because we loved Tota that he died. The jeal- 
 ousy of God was upon us,'' said Ameera. " I have hung up 
 a large black jar before our window to turn the Evil-Eye 
 from us, and we must make no protestations of delight, but 
 go softly underneath the stars, lest God find us out. Is that 
 not good talk, worthless one? " 
 
 She had shifted the accent of the word that means "be- 
 loved," in proof of the sincerity of her purpose. But the 
 kiss that followed the new christening was a thing that any 
 deity might have envied. They went about henceforth say- 
 ing, " It is naught: — it is naught^' and hoping that all the 
 Powers heard. 
 
 The Powers were busy on other things. They had allowed 
 thirty million people four years of plenty, wherein men fed 
 well and the crops were certain and the birth-rate rose year 
 by year;;the districts reported a purely agricultural popula- 
 tion varying from nine hundred to two thousand to the square 
 mile of the overburdened eartlv '\It was time to make room. 
 And the Member oif the Lower Tooting, wandering about 
 India in top-hat and frock-coat, talked largely of the bene- 
 fi's of British rule, and suggested as the one thing needful 
 the e«»tablishment of a duly qualified electoral system and a 
 general bestowal of the franchise. His long-suffering hosts 
 smiled and made him welcome, and when he paused to ad- 
 mire, with pretty picked words, the blossom of the blood-red 
 
26o WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY, 
 
 dhak-tree, that had flowered untimely for a sign of the sick ^cA*XJ 
 ness that was coming, they smiled more than ever. 
 
 It was the Deputy Commissioner of Kot-Kumharsen, 
 staying at the club for a day, who lightly told a tale that 
 made Holden's blood run cold as he overheard the end. 
 
 " He won't bother any one any more. Never saw a man 
 so astonished in my life. By Jove, I thought he meant to 
 ask a question in the House about it. Fellow-passenger in 
 his ship — dined next him — bowled over by cholera, and died 
 in eighteen hours. You needn't laugh, you fellows. The 
 Member for Lower Tooting is awfully angry about it ; but 
 he's more scared. I think he's going to take his enlightened 
 self out of India." 
 
 " I'd give a good deal if he were knocked over. It might 
 keep a few vestrymen of his kidney to their parish. But 
 what's this about cholera? It's full early for anything of 
 that kind," said a warden of an unprofitable salt-lick. 
 
 *'* Dun'no','^ said the deputy commissioner reflectively. 
 " We've got lopusts with us. There's sporadic cholera all 
 along the north — at least, we're calling it sporadic for de- 
 cency's sake. The spring crops are short in five districts, 
 and nobody seems to know where the winter rains are. It's 
 nearly March now. I don't want to scare anybody, but it 
 seems to me that Nature's going to audit her accounts with 
 a big red pencil this summer." 
 
 "Just when I wanted to take leave, too,'" said a voice 
 across the room. 
 
 " There won't be much leave this year, but there ought to. 
 be a great deal of promotion. I've come in to persuade the 
 government to put my pet canal on the list of famine-relief- 
 works. It's an ill-wind that blows no good. I shall get that 
 canal finished at last." 
 
 " Is it the old programme, then," said Holden — " famine, 
 fever, and cholera? " 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 261 
 
 "Oh, no! Only local scarcity and an unusual prevalence 
 of seasonal sickness. You'll find it all in the reports if you 
 live till next year. You're a lucky chap. You haven't got 
 a wife to put out of harm's way. The hill-stations ought 
 to be full of women this year." 
 
 " I think you're inclined to exaggerate the talk in the 
 bazars^'' said a young civilian in the secretariat. " Now, I 
 have observed " 
 
 " I dare say you have,"' said the deputy commissioner, 
 " but you've a great deal more to observe, my son. In the 
 
 mean time T wish to observe to you " And he drew him 
 
 aside to discuss the construction of the canal that was so 
 dear to his heart. 
 
 Holden went to his bungalow, and began to understand 
 that he was not alone in the world, and also that he was afraid 
 for the sake of another, which is the most soul-satisfying fear 
 known to man. 
 
 Two months later, as the deputy had foretold. Nature be-^ 
 gan to audit her accounts with a red pencil^ On tl^e heels 
 of the spring-reapings came a cry for bread, and the govern- 
 ment, which had decreed that no man should die of want, 
 sent wheat. Then came the cholera from all four quarters 
 of the compass. It struck a pilgrim-gathering of half a mil- 
 lion at a sacred shrine. Many died at the feet of their god; 
 the others broke and ran over the face of the land, carr)'ing 
 the pestilence with them. It smote a walled city and killed 
 two hundred a day. The people crowded tlie trains, hanging 
 on to the foot-boards and squatting on the roofs of the car- 
 riages j.^and the cholera followed them, for at each station 
 they dragged out the dead and the dying^on the platiornis' 
 reeking of lime-wash and carbolic acid.j They died by the 
 roadside, and the horses of the Englishmen shied at the 
 corpses in the grass. The rains did not come, and the earth 
 turned to iron lest man should escaj^e by hiding in her. The 
 
2ti2 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CIEKGY. 
 
 English sent their wives away to the riills, and went about 
 their work, coming forward as ihey were bidden to fill the 
 gaps in the fighting line. Holden, sick with fear of losing 
 his chiefest treasure on earth, had done his best to persuade 
 Ameera to go away with her mother to the Himalayas. 
 
 " Why should I go? " said she one evening on the roof. 
 
 " There is sickness, and the people are dying, and all the 
 white mem-log have gone." 
 
 "All of them?*' 
 
 "All — unless, perhaps, there remain some oid scald-head 
 who vexes her husband's heart by running risk of death." 
 
 "Nay; who stays is my sister, and thou must not abuse 
 her, for I will be a scald-head too. I am glad all the bold 
 white mem-log are gone." 
 
 " Do I speak to a woman or a babe? Go to the ^ills, and 
 I will see to it that thou goest like a queen's daughter. Think, 
 child. In a red-lacquered bullock-cart, veiled and curtained, 
 with brass peacocks upon the pole and red-cloth hangings. 
 I will send two. orderlies for guard, and " 
 
 " Peace! Thou art the babe in speaking thus. What use 
 are those toys to me? Z;'^ would have patted the bullocks 
 and played with the housings. For his sake, perhaps — thou 
 hast made me very English — I might have gone. Now I 
 will not. Let the 77ie?n-log rvmy 
 
 " Their husbands are sending them, beloved." 
 
 " Very good talk. Since when hast thou been my husband 
 to tell me what to do? I have but borne thee a son. Thou 
 art only all the desire of my soul to me. How shall I de- 
 part when I know that if evil befall thee by the breadth oi 
 so much as my littlest finger-nail — i^ that not small? — I 
 should be aware of it though I were in Paradise? , And here, 
 this summer thou mayest die — ai, janee, die!— and in dying 
 they might call to tend thee a white woman, and she would 
 rob me in the last of thy love!" 
 
IVITIIOL'T BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 263 
 
 " But love is not born in a moment, or on a death-bed." ! 
 
 "What dost thou know of lo'e, stone-lieart? Slic would 
 take thy thanks at least, and, by God and the Prophet and 
 Beebee Miriam, the mother of thy Prophet, that I will never 
 endure. My lord and my lo^•e, let there be no more foolish 
 talk of going away. Where thou art, I am. It is enough." 
 She put an arm round his neck and a hand on his mouth. 
 
 There are not many happinesses so complete as those that 
 are snatched under the shadow of the sword. They sat to- 
 gether and laughed, calling each other openly by every pet 
 name that could move the wrath of the gods. The city be- 
 low them was locked up in its own torments. Sulphur^fires 
 blazed in the streets; the conches in the Hindu temples 
 screamed and bellowed, for the gods were inattentive in those 
 days. There was a service in the great Mohammedan shrine, 
 and the call to prayer from the minarets was almost unceas- 
 ing. They heard the wailing in the houses of the dead, and 
 once the shriek of a mother who had lost a child and was 
 calling for its return. In the gray dawn they saw the dead 
 borne out through the city gates, each litter with its own 
 little knot of mourners. Wherefore they kissed each other 
 and shivered. 
 
 It was a red and heavy audit, for the land was very sick 
 and needed a little breathing-space ere the torrent nf cheap 
 life should flood it anew. The children of immature fathers 
 and undeveloped mothers made no resistance. They were 
 cowed and sat still, waiting till the sword should be sheathed 
 in November, if it were so willed. There were gaps among 
 the English, but the gaps were filled. The work of superin- 
 tending famine^elief, cholera-sheds, medicine-distribution, 
 and what little sanitation was ])ossible went forward because 
 it was so ordered. 
 
 Holden had been told to hold himself in readiness to 
 move to replace the next man who should fall. There were 
 
264 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 
 
 twelve hours in each day when he could not see Ameera; 
 and she might die in three. He was considering what his 
 pain would be if he could not see her for three months, or if 
 she died out of his sight. He was absolutely certain that 
 her death would be demanded — so certain that, when he 
 looked up from the telegram and saw Pir Khan breathless in 
 the doorway, he laughed aloud, "And?" — said he. 
 
 " When there is a cry in the night and the spirit flutters 
 into the throat, who has a charm that will restore? Come 
 swiftly, heaven-born.' It is the black cholera." 
 
 Holden galloped to his home. The sky was heavy with 
 clouds, for the long-deferred rains were at nand, and the heat 
 was stifling. Ameera's mother met him in the court^yard, 
 whimpering, " She is dying. She is nursing herself into 
 death. She is all but dead. What shall I do, sahib?" 
 
 Ameera was lying in the room in which Tota had been 
 bom. She made no sign when Holden entered, because the 
 human soul is a very lonely thing, and when it is getting 
 ready to go away^hides itself in a misty border-land where the 
 living may not follow. The black cholera does its work 
 quietly and without explanation. Ameera was being thrust 
 out of life as though the Angel of Death had himself put his 
 hand upon her. The quick breathmg seemed to show that 
 she was either afraid or in pain, but neither eyes nor mouth 
 gave any answer to Holden's kisses. There was nothing to 
 be said or done. Holden could only wait and suffer. The 
 first drops of the rain began to fall on the roof, and he could 
 hear shouts of joy in the parched city. 
 
 The soul came back a little and the lips moved. Holden 
 bent down to listen. " Keep nothing of mine,'' said Ameera. 
 "Take no hair from my head. She would make thee burn 
 it later on. That flame I should feel. Lower! Stoop 
 lower! Remember only that I was thine and bore thee a 
 son. Thous^h thou wed a white woman to-morrow, the 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 265 
 
 pleasure of taking in thy arms thy first son is taken from 
 thee forever. Remember me when thy son is born — the 
 one that shall carry thy name before all men. His misfor- 
 tunes be on my head. I bear witness — 1 bear witness " — 
 the lips were forming the words on liis ear — "that there is 
 no God but — thee, beloved-" 
 
 Then she died. Holden sat still, and. thought of any U^c*^ 
 kindlwas taken from him.-till he heard Ameera's mother lift 
 the curtain. 
 
 "Is she dead, sahib?" 
 
 " She is dead." 
 
 " Then I will mourn, and afterward take an inventory of 
 the furniture in this house; for that will be mine. The 
 sahib does not m.ean to resume it. It is so little, so very 
 little, sahib, and I am an old woman. I would Hke to lie 
 softly." 
 
 "For the mercy of God, be silent* awhile! ' Go out and 
 mourn where I cannot hear." 
 
 " Sahib, she will be buried in four hours." ' 
 
 " I know the custom. I shall go ere she is taken away. 
 That matter is in thy hands. Look to it.that the bed — on 
 which — on which — she lies " 
 
 "Aha! That beautiful red-lacquered bed. I have long 
 desired '' 
 
 " — That the bed is left here untouched for my disposal. 
 All else in the house is thine. Hire a cart, take everything, 
 go hence, and before sunrise let there be nothing in this 
 house but that which I have ordered thee to respect." 
 
 " I am an old woman. I would stay at least for the days 
 of mourning, and the rains have just broken. Whither shall 
 I go?" 
 
 "What is that to me? ]\Ty order is that there is a going. 
 The house-gear is worth a thousand rupees, and my orderly 
 shall bring thee a hundred rupees to-night." 
 
266 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 
 
 " That is very little. Think of the cart-hire." 
 
 " It shall be nothing unless thou goest, and with speed. 
 O woman, get hence, and leave me to my dead! " 
 
 The mother shuffled down the staircase, and in her anx- 
 iety to take, stock of the house-fittings forgot to mourn. 
 Holden stai'd by Ameera's side, and the rain roared on the 
 roof. He could not think connectedly by reason of the 
 noise, though he made many attempts to do so. Then four 
 sheeted ghosts ghded dripping into the room and stared at 
 him through their veils. They were the washers of the 
 dead. Holden left the room and went out to his horse. 
 He had come in a dead, stilling calm, through ankle-deep 
 dust. He found the court-yard a rain-lashed pond alive with 
 frogs, a torrent of yellow water ran under the gate, and a 
 roaring wind drove the bolts of the rain like buckshot against 
 the mud walls. Pir Khan was shivering in his little hut by 
 the gate, and the horse was stamping uneasily in the water. 
 
 " I have been told the sahib's order," said he:' " It is well. 
 This house is now desolate. I go also, for my monkey-face 
 would be a reminder of that which has been. Concerning 
 the bed, I will bring that to thy house yonder in the morning,; 
 But remember, sahib, it will be to thee as a knife turned in 
 a green wound. I go upon a pilgrimage»,and I will take no 
 money. I have grown fat in the protection of the Presence, 
 whose sorrow is my sorrow. For the last time I hold his 
 stirrup." 
 
 He touched Holden's foot with both hands, and the horse 
 sprang out into the road, where the creaking bamboos were 
 whipping the sky and all the frogs were chuckHng. Holden 
 could not see for the rain in his face. He put his hands be- 
 fore his eyes and muttered: "Oh, you brute! You utter 
 brute!" -"-• ^e^^K^ 
 
 The news of his trouble was already in his bungalow. He 
 lead the knowledge in his butler's eyes when Ahmed Khan 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 267 
 
 brought in food, and for the first and last time in his Hfe 
 laid a hand upon his master's shoulder, saying: "Eat, sahib- 
 eat. Meat is good against sorrow. I also have known. 
 Moreover, the shadows come and go, sahib. The shadows 
 come and go. These be curried eggs." 
 
 Holden could neither eat nor sleep. The heavens sent 
 down eight inches of rain in that night and scoured the 
 earth clean. The waters tore down walls, broke roads, and 
 washed open the shallow graves in the ^Mohammedan bury- 
 ing-ground. All next day it rained, and Holden sat still in 
 his house considering his sorrow. On the morning of the 
 third day he receved a telegram which said only: " Ricketts,'^^^ 
 Myndonie. Dying. Holden. Relieve. Immediate." Then 
 he thought that before he departed he would look at the 
 house wherein he had been master and lord. There was a 
 break in the weather^ The rank earth steamed with vapor, \^ ' 
 and Holden was vermilion from head to heel with the prickly- ^ '^ \ 
 heat born of sultry moisture. 
 
 He found that the rains had torn down the mud pillars 
 of the gateway, and the heavy wooden gate that had guarded 
 his life hung drunkenly from one hinge. There was grass 
 three inches high in the court-yard; Pir Khan's lodge was 
 empty and the sodden thatch sagged between the beams. A 
 gray squirrel was in possession of the verandah as if the house 
 had been untenanted for thirty years instead of three days. 
 Ameera's mother had removed everything except some mil- 
 dewed matting. The tick-tick of the little scorpions as they 
 hurried across the floor was the only sound in the house. 
 Ameera's room and that other one where Tota had lived 
 were heavy with mildew; and the narrow staircase leading 
 to the roof was streaked and stained with rain-borne mud. 
 Holden saw all these things, and came out again to meet in 
 the road Durga Dass, his landlord — portly, affable, clothed iu 
 white muslin, and driving a C-spring buggy. He was over- 
 
268 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY. 
 
 looking his property, to see how the roofs withstood the 
 stress of the first rains. 
 
 "I have heard," said he, "you will not take this place any 
 more, sahib? " 
 
 " What are you going to do with it? " 
 
 "Perhaps I shall let it again." 
 
 ""' Then I will keep it on while 1 am away." 
 
 Durga Dass was silent for some time. "You shall not 
 take it on, sahib," he said. "When I was a young man I 
 also — — But to-day I am a member of the municipality. 
 Ho! ho! No. When the birds have gone, what need to 
 keep the nest? I will have it pulled down •" the timber will 
 sell for something always. It shall be pulled down, and the 
 municipality shall make a road across, as they desire, from 
 the burning-ghat to the city wall,. So that no man may say 
 where this house stood." 
 
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