Wee 
 VillieWinkie
 
 LIBRARY ^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY OP 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGOu.


 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE
 
 /
 
 Wee Willie Winkie * * * * 
 and « * # * Other Stories 
 * * * and American Notes 
 
 By « t! « * Rudyard Kipling 
 
 Chicago and New York * * « 
 Rand, McNally & Company
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Wee Willie Winkie 7 
 
 Baa Baa, Black Sheep, 35 
 
 His Majesty the King, ' . 111 
 
 The Drums of the Fore and Aft, 14 t 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 At the Golden -Gate, 231 
 
 American Politics, 269 
 
 American Catches, . 302 
 
 Astride the Clouds, 327 
 
 Chicago, . - 354 
 
 The American Army, 381
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 " An officer and a gentleman. " 
 His full name was Percival William 
 Williams, but he picked up the other 
 name in a nursery-book, and that was the 
 end of the christened titles. His mother's 
 ayah called him WiW'ie-Ba&a, but as he 
 never paid the faintest attention to any- 
 thing that the ayah said, her wisdom did 
 not help matters. 
 
 His father was the colonel of the 195th, 
 and as soon as Wee Willie Winkie was 
 old enough to understand what military 
 discipline meant, Colonel Williams put 
 him under it. There was no other way 
 of managing the child. When he was 
 
 (7)
 
 8 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 good for a week, he drew good-conduct 
 pay; and when he was bad, he was de- 
 prived of his good-conduct stripe. Gen- 
 erally he was bad, for India offers so many 
 chances to little six-year-olds of going 
 wrong. 
 
 Children resent familiarity from strang- 
 ers, and Wee Willie Winkie was a very 
 particular child. Once he accepted an 
 acquaintance he was graciously pleased 
 to thaw. He accepted Brandis, a subal- 
 tern of the* 195th, on sight. Brandis was 
 having tea at the Colonel's, and Wee 
 Willie Winkie entered, strong in the 
 possession of a good-conduct badge won 
 for not chasing the hens round the com- 
 pound. He regarded Brandis with grav- 
 ity for at least ten minutes, and then de- 
 livered himself of his opinion. 
 
 " I like you," said he, slowly, getting off 
 his chair and coming over to Brandis.
 
 WEE WILLIE WINK1E. Q 
 
 " I like you. I shall call you Coppy, 
 because of your hair. Do you mind being 
 called Coppy? It is because of ve hair, 
 you know." 
 
 Here was one of the most embarrassing 
 of Wee Willie Winkle's peculiarities. He 
 would look at a stranger for some time, 
 and then, without warning or explanation, 
 would give him a name. And the name 
 stuck. No regimental penalties could 
 break Wee Willie Winkie of this habit. 
 He lost his good-conduct badge for chris- 
 tening the commissioner's wife " Pobs; " 
 but nothing that the Colonel could do 
 made the station forego the nickname, 
 and Mrs. Collen remained Mm, " Pobs " 
 till the end of her stay. So Brandis was 
 christened " Coppy," and rose, therefore, 
 in the estimation of the regiment. 
 
 If Wee Willie Winkie took an interest 
 in any one, the fortunate man was envied
 
 IO WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 alike by the mess and the rank and file. 
 And in their envy lay no suspicion of 
 self-interest. "The Colonel's son" was 
 idolized on his own merits entirely. Yet 
 Wee Willie Winkie was not lovely. His 
 face was permanently freckled, as his legs 
 were permanently scratched, and, in spite 
 of his mother's almost tearful remon- 
 strances, he had insisted upon having his 
 long, yellow locks cut short in the military 
 fashion. " I want my hair like Sergeant 
 Tummil's," said Wee Willie Winkie; and, 
 his father abetting, the sacrifice was ac- 
 complished. 
 
 Three weeks after the bestowal of his 
 youthful affections on Lieutenant Brandis 
 — henceforward to be called "Coppy" for 
 the sake of brevity — Wee Willie Winkie 
 was destined to behold strange'things and 
 far beyond his comprehension. 
 
 Coppy returned his liking with interest.
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. II 
 
 Coppy had let him wear for five rapturous 
 minutes his own big sword — just as tall as 
 Wee Willie Winkie. Coppy had prom- 
 ised him a terrier puppy; and Coppy had 
 permitted him to witness the miraculous 
 operation of shaving. Nay, more — Coppy 
 had said that even he, Wee Willie Winkie, 
 would rise in time to the ownership of a 
 box of shiny knives, a silver soap-box, and 
 a silver-handled "sputter-brush," as Wee 
 Willie Winkie called it. Decidedly, there 
 was no one, except his father — who could 
 give or take away good-conduct badges at 
 pleasure — half so wise, strong, and valiant 
 as Coppy with the Afghan and Egyptian 
 medals on his breast. Why, then, should 
 Coppy be guilty of the unmanly weakness 
 of kissing — vehemently kissing — a " big 
 girl," Miss Allardyce to wit? In the course 
 of a morning ride, Wee Willie Winkie 
 had seen Coppy so doing, and, like the
 
 12 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 gentleman he was, had promptly wheeled 
 round and cantered back to his groom, 
 lest the groom should also see. 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances he would 
 have spoken to his father, but he felt 
 instinctively that this was a matter on 
 which Coppy ought first to be consulted. 
 
 " Coppy," shouted Wee Willie Winkie, 
 reining up outside that subaltern's bunga- 
 low early one morning — " I want to see 
 you, Coppy!" 
 
 " Come in, young un," returned Coppy, 
 who was at early breakfast in the midst 
 of his dogs. " What mischief have you 
 been getting into now? " 
 
 Wee Willie Winkie had done nothing 
 notoriously bad for three days, and so 
 stood on a pinnacle of virtue. 
 
 " I've been doing nothing bad," said he, 
 curling himself into a long chair with a 
 studious affectation of the Colonel's Ian-
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 1 3 
 
 guor after a hot parade. He buried his 
 freckled nose in a tea-cup, and, with eyes 
 staring roundly over the rim, asked: " I 
 say, Coppy, is it pwoper to kiss big girls? " 
 
 " By Jove! You're beginning early. 
 Who do you want to kiss? " 
 
 "No one. My muvver's always kissing 
 me if I don't stop her. If it isn't pwoper, 
 how was you kissing Major Allardyce's 
 big girl last morning, by ve canal? " 
 
 Coppy's brow wrinkled. He and Miss 
 Allardyce had, with great craft, managed 
 to keep their eno-agement secret for a 
 fortnight. There were urgent and imper- 
 ative reasons why Major Allardyce should 
 not know how matters stood for at least 
 another month, and this small marplot 
 had discovered a great deal too much. 
 
 " I saw you," said Wee Willie Winkie, 
 calmly. " But ve groom didn't see. I 
 said, • Hut jao? "
 
 14 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 " Oh, you had that , much sense, you 
 young rip," groaned poor Coppy, half- 
 amused and half-angry. "And how many 
 people may you have told about it? " 
 
 "Only me myself. You didn't tell 
 when I twied to wide ve buffalo ven my 
 pony was lame; and I fought you wouldn't 
 like," 
 
 " Winkie," said Coppy, enthusiastically, 
 shaking the small hand, " you're the best 
 of good fellows. Look here, you can't 
 understand all these things. One of these 
 days — hang it, how can I make you see it! 
 — I'm going to marry Miss Allardyce, 
 and then she'll be Mrs. Coppy, as you 
 say. If your young mind is so scandal- 
 ized at the idea of kissing big girls, go 
 and tell your father." 
 
 " What will happen? " said Wee Willie 
 Winkie, who firmly believed that his 
 father was omnipotent.
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 1 5 
 
 " I shall get into trouble," said Coppy, 
 playing his trump card with an appealing 
 look at the holder of the ace. 
 
 "Ven I won't," said Wee Willie Winkie, 
 briefly. " But my faver says it's un-man-ly 
 to be always kissing, and I didn't fink 
 youd do vat, Coppy." 
 
 " I'm not always kissing, old chap. It's 
 only now and then, and when you're big- 
 ger you'll do it, too. Your father meant 
 it's not good for little boys." 
 
 "Ah! "said Wee Willie Winkie, now 
 fully enlightened. " It's like ve sputter- 
 brush?" 
 
 " Exactly," said Coppy, gravely. 
 
 " But I don't fink I'll ever want to kiss 
 big girls, nor no one, 'cept my muwer. 
 And I must vat, you know." 
 
 There was a long pause broken by 
 Wee Willie Winkie. 
 
 " Are you fond of vis big girl, Coppy? "
 
 1 6 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 " Awfully!" said Coppy. 
 
 "Fonder van you are of Bell or ve 
 Butcha- — or me? " 
 
 " It's in a different way," said Coppy. 
 "You see, one of these days Miss Allar- 
 dyce will belong to me, but you'll grow 
 up and command the regiment and — all 
 sorts of things. It's quite different, you 
 see. 
 
 " Very well," said Wee Willie Winkie, 
 rising. "If you're fond of ve big girl, I 
 won't tell any one. I must go now." 
 
 Coppy rose and escorted his small guest 
 to the door, adding: " You're the best of 
 little fellows, Winkie. I tell you what. 
 In thirty days from now you can tell if you 
 like — tell any one you like." 
 
 Thus the secret of the Brandis-Allar- 
 dyce engagement was dependent on a 
 little child's word. Coppy, who knew 
 Wee Willie Winkle's idea of truth, was at
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. I 7 
 
 ease, for he felt that he would not break 
 promises. Wee Willie Winkie betrayed 
 a special and unusual interest in Miss 
 Allardyce, and, slowly revolving round 
 that embarrassed young lady, was used 
 to regard her gravely with unwinking eye. 
 He was trying to discover why Coppy 
 should have kissed her. She was not 
 half so nice as his own mother. On the 
 other hand, she was Coppy's property, 
 and would in time belong to him. There- 
 fore it behooved him to treat her with as 
 much respect as Coppy's big sword or 
 shiny pistol. 
 
 The idea that he shared a great secret 
 in common with Coppy kept Wee Willie 
 Winkie unusually virtuous for three 
 weeks. Then the Old Adam broke out, 
 and he made what he called a " camp-fire " 
 at the bottom of the garden. How could 
 
 he have foreseen that the flying sparks 
 a
 
 1 8 WEE WILLIE WINKLE. 
 
 would have lighted the Colonel's little hay- 
 rick and consumed a week's store for the 
 horses? Sudden and swift was the pun- 
 ishment — deprivation of the good con- 
 duct badge, and, most sorrowful of all, 
 two days' confinement to barracks — the 
 house and veranda — coupled with the 
 withdrawal of the light of his father's 
 countenance. 
 
 He took the sentence like the man he 
 strove to be, drew himself up with a quiv- 
 ering under-lip, saluted, and, once clear of 
 the room, ran to weep bitterly in his 
 nursery — called by him " my quarters." 
 Coppy came in the afternoon and 
 attempted to console the culprit. 
 
 "I'm under awwest," said Wee Willie 
 Winkie, mournfully, "and I didn't ought 
 to speak to you." 
 
 Very early the next morning he climbed 
 on to the roof of the house — that was not
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 19 
 
 forbidden — and beheld Miss Allardyce 
 going for a ride. 
 
 " Where are you going? " cried Wee 
 Willie Winkie. 
 
 "Across the river," she answered, and 
 trotted forward. 
 
 Now the cantonment in which the 
 195th lay was bounded on the north by a 
 river — dry in the winter. From his earli- 
 est years, Wee Willie Winkie had been 
 forbidden to go across the river, and had 
 noted that even Coppy — the almost al- 
 mighty Coppy — had never set foot beyond 
 it. Wee Willie Winkie had once been 
 read to— out of a big, blue book — the his- 
 tory of the princess and the goblins; a 
 most wonderful tale of a land where the 
 goblins were always warring with the 
 children of men until they were defeated 
 by one Curdie. Ever since that date, it 
 seemed to him that the bare black-and-
 
 20 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 purple hills across the river were inhab- 
 ited by goblins, and, in truth, every one 
 had said that there lived the bad men. 
 Even in his own house, the lower halves 
 of the windows were covered with green 
 paper on account of the bad men who 
 might, if allowed clear view, fire into 
 peaceful drawing-rooms and comfortable 
 bedrooms. Certainly, beyond the river, 
 which was the end of all the earth, lived 
 the bad men. And here was Major 
 Allardyce's big girl, Coppy's property, 
 preparing to venture into their borders! 
 What would Coppy say if anything hap- 
 pened to her? If the goblins ran off with 
 her as they did with Curdie's princess? 
 She must at all hazards be turned back. 
 
 The house was still. Wee Willie 
 Winkie reflected for a moment on the very 
 terrible wrath of his father; and then — 
 broke his arrest! It was a crime unspeak-
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 2 I 
 
 able. -The low sun threw his shadow, 
 very large and very black, on the trim 
 garden-paths, as he went down to the sta- 
 bles and ordered his pony. It seemed to 
 him, in the hush of the dawn, that all 
 the big world had been bidden to stand 
 still and look at Wee Willie Winkie 
 guilty of mutiny. The drowsy groom 
 handed him his mount, and, since the one 
 great sin made all others insignificant, 
 Wee Willie Winkie said that he was 
 going to ride over to Coppy Sahib, and 
 went out at a foot-pace, stepping on the 
 soft mold of the flower-borders. 
 
 The devastating track of the pony's feet 
 was the last misdeed that cut him off from 
 all sympathy of humanity. He turned 
 into the road, leaned forward, and rode as 
 fast as the pony could put foot to the 
 ground, in the direction of the river. 
 
 But the liveliest of twelve-two ponies
 
 22 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 can do little ao-ainst the long- canter of a 
 waler. Miss Allardyce was far ahead, had 
 passed through the crops, beyond the 
 police-post, when all the guards were 
 asleep, and her mount was scattering the 
 pebbles of the river-bed as Wee Willie 
 Winkie left the cantonment and Brit- 
 ish India behind him. Bowed forward 
 and still flogging, Wee Willie Winkie 
 shot into Afghan territory, and could just 
 see Miss Allardyce, a black speck, flicker- 
 ing across the stony plain. The reason of 
 her wandering was simple enough. Coppy, 
 in a tone of too hastily assumed authority, 
 had told her overnight that she must not 
 ride out by the river. And she had gone 
 to prove her own spirit and teach Coppy 
 a lesson. 
 
 Almost at the foot of the inhospitable 
 hills, Wee Willie Winkie saw the waler 
 blunder and come down heavily. Miss
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 23 
 
 Allardyce struggled clear, but her ankle 
 had been severely twisted, and she could 
 not stand. Having- thus demonstrated 
 her spirit, she wept copiously, and was 
 surprised by the apparition of a white, 
 wide-eyed child in khaki, on a nearly spent 
 pony. 
 
 "Are you badly — badly hurted?" 
 shouted Wee Willie Winkie, as soon as 
 he was within range. " You didn't ought 
 to be here." 
 
 " I don't know," said Miss Allardyce, 
 ruefully, ignoring the reproof. " Good 
 gracious, child, what are you- doing here?" 
 
 " You said you was going acwoss ve 
 wiver," panted Wee Willie Winkie, throw- 
 ing himself off his pony. " And nobody 
 — not even Coppy — must go acwoss ve 
 wiver, and I came after you ever so hard; 
 but you wouldn't stop, and now you've 
 hurted yourself, and Coppy will be angwy
 
 24 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 wiv me, and — I've bwoken my awwest! 
 I've bwoken my awwest! " 
 
 The future colonel of the 195th sat 
 down and sobbed. In spite of the pain in 
 her ankle, the girl was moved. 
 
 " Have you ridden all the way from 
 cantonments, little man? What for?" 
 
 " You belonged to Coppy. Coppytold 
 me so!" wailed Wee Willie Winkie, dis- 
 consolately. "I saw him kissing you, and 
 he said he was fonder of you van Bell or 
 ve Butcha or me. And so I came. You 
 must get up and come back. You didn't 
 ought to be here. Vis is a bad place and 
 I've bwoken my awwest." 
 
 " I can't move, Winkie," said Miss 
 Allardyce, with a groan. " I've hurt my 
 foot. What shall I do? " 
 
 She showed a readiness to weep afresh, 
 which steadied Wee Willie Winkie, who 
 had been brought up to believe that tears
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 2$ 
 
 were the depth of unmanliness. Still, 
 when one is as great a sinner as Wee 
 Willie Winkie, even a man may be per- 
 mitted to break down. 
 
 " Winkie," said Miss Allardyce, " when 
 you've rested a little, ride back and tell 
 them to send out something to carry me 
 back in. It hurts fearfully." 
 
 The child sat still for a little time, and 
 Miss Allardyce closed her eyes; the pain 
 was nearly making her faint. She was 
 roused by Wee Willie Winkie tying up 
 the reins on his pony's neck, and setting it 
 free with a vicious cut of his whip that 
 made it whicker. The little animal headed 
 toward the cantonments. 
 
 " Oh, Winkie! What are you doing? " 
 
 "Hush!" said Wee Willie Winkie. 
 " Vere's a man coming — one of ve bad 
 men. I must stay wiv you. My faver 
 says a man must always look after a girl.
 
 26 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 Jack will go home, and ven vey'll come 
 and look for us. Vat's why I let him go." 
 
 Not one man but two or three had 
 appeared from behind the rocks of the 
 hills, and the heart of Wee Willie Winkie 
 sunk within him, for just in this manner 
 were the goblins wont to steal out and 
 vex Curdie's soul. Thus had they played 
 in Curdie's garden — he had seen the pict- 
 ure — and thus had they frightened the 
 princess' nurse. He heard them talking 
 to each other, and recognized with joy 
 the bastard Pushto that he had picked up 
 from one of his father's grooms lately dis- 
 missed. People who spoke that tongue 
 could not be the bad men. They were 
 only natives after all. 
 
 They came up to the bowlders on which 
 Miss Allardyce's horse had blundered. 
 
 Then rose from the rock Wee Willie 
 Winkie, child of the dominant race, aged
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 2*] 
 
 six and three-quarters, and said, briefly 
 and emphatically, "Jaof " The pony had 
 crossed the river-bed. 
 
 The men laughed, and laughter from 
 the natives was the one thing- Wee Willie 
 Winkie could not tolerate. He asked 
 them what they wanted and why they did 
 not depart. Other men, with most evil 
 faces and crooked-stocked guns, crept out 
 of the shadows of the hills, till soon Wee 
 Willie Winkie was face to face with an 
 audience some twenty strong. Miss Allar- 
 dyce screamed. 
 
 " Who are you?" said one of the men. 
 
 " I am the Colonel Sahib's son, and 
 my order is that you go at once. You 
 black men are frightening the Miss Sahib. 
 One of you must run into cantonments 
 and take the news that the Miss Sahib has 
 hurt herself, and that the Colonel's son is 
 here with her."
 
 28 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 u Put our feet into the trap?" was the 
 laughing reply. " Hear this boy's speech!" 
 
 " Say that I sent you — I, the Colonel's 
 son. They will give you money." 
 
 " What is the use of this talk? Take 
 up the child and the girl, and we can at 
 least ask for the ransom. Ours are the vil- 
 lages on the heights," said a voice in the 
 background. 
 
 These were the bad men — worse than 
 the goblins — and it needed all Wee Willie 
 Winkie's training to prevent him from 
 bursting into tears. But he felt that to 
 cry before a native, excepting only his 
 mother's ayah, would be an infamy greater 
 than any mutiny. Moreover, he, as future 
 colonel of the 195th, had that grim regi- 
 ment at his back. 
 
 " Are you going to carry us away? " 
 said Wee Willie Winkie, very blanched 
 and uncomfortable.
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 20. 
 
 " Yes, my little Sahib Bahadur," said 
 the tallest of the men, ''and eat you after- 
 ward." 
 
 " That is child's talk," said Wee Willie 
 Winkie. " Men do not eat men." 
 
 A yell of laughter interrupted him, but 
 he went on, firmly: "And if you do carry 
 us away, I tell you that all my regiment 
 will come up in a day and kill you all with- 
 out leaving one. Who will take my mes- 
 sage to the Colonel Sahib? " 
 
 Speech in any vernacular — and Wee 
 Willie Winkie had a colloquial acquaint- 
 ance with three — was easy to the boy who 
 could not yet manage his rs and tJis 
 aright. 
 
 Another man joined the conference, 
 crying: " Oh, foolish men! What this 
 babe says is true. He is the heart's 
 heart of those white troops. For the 
 sake of peace, let them go both; for, if he
 
 30 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 be taken, the regiment will break loose 
 and gut the valley. Our villages are in 
 the valley, and we shall not escape. That 
 regiment are devils. They broke Khoda 
 Yar's breast-bone with kicks when he tried 
 to take the rifles; and, if we touch this 
 child, they will fire and rape and plunder 
 for a month, till nothing remains. Better 
 to send a man back to take the message 
 and get a reward. I say that this child is 
 their god, and that will spare none of us, 
 nor our women, if we harm him.' 
 
 It was Din Mahommed, the dismissed 
 groom of the Colonel, who made the 
 diversion, and an angry and heated dis- 
 cussion followed. Wee Willie Winkie, 
 standing over Miss Allardyce, waited the 
 upshot. Surely his " wegiment," his own 
 " wegiment,"would not desert him if they 
 knew of his extremity.
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 3 1 
 
 The riderless pony brought the news to 
 the 195th, though there had been con- 
 sternation in the Colonel's household for 
 an hour before. The little beast came in 
 through the parade-ground in front of the 
 main barracks, where the men were settling 
 down to play spoil-five till the afternoon. 
 Devlin, the color-sergeant of E Com- 
 pany, glanced at the empty saddle and 
 tumbled through the barrack-rooms, kick- 
 ing up each room corporal as he passed. 
 c< Up, ye beggars! There's something 
 happened to the Colonel's son," he 
 shouted. 
 
 "He couldn't fall off! S'elp me, 'e 
 couldrit fall off," blubbered a drummer- 
 boy. " Go an' hunt acrost the river. He's 
 over there if he's anywhere, an' may be 
 those Pathans have got 'im. For the 
 love o' Gawd, don't look for 'im in the 
 nullahs! Let's go over the river."
 
 32 WEF WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 " There's sense in Mott yet," said Dev- 
 lin. " E Company, double out to the 
 river — sharp! " 
 
 So E Company, in its shirt-sleeves 
 mainly, doubled for the dear life, and in 
 the rear toiled the perspiring sergeant, 
 adjuring it to double yet faster. The 
 cantonment was alive with the men of the 
 195th hunting for Wee Willie Winkie, 
 and the Colonel finally overtook E Com- 
 pany, far too exhausted to swear, strug- 
 gling in the pebbles of the river-bed. 
 
 Up the hill under which Wee Willie 
 Winkie's bad men were discussing the 
 wisdom of carrying off the child and the 
 girl, a lookout fired two shots. 
 
 ."What have I said? " shouted Din Ma- 
 hommed. " There is the warning! The 
 pulton are out already and are coming 
 across the plain! Getaway! Let us not 
 be seen with the boy! "
 
 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 33 
 
 The men waited for an instant, and 
 then, as another shot was fired, withdrew 
 into the hills silently as they had ap- 
 peared. 
 
 " The wegiment is coming," said Wee 
 Willie Winkie, confidently, to Miss Allar- 
 dyce, " and it's all wight. Don't cry!" 
 
 He needed the advice himself, for, ten 
 minutes later, when his father came up, 
 he was weeping bitterly with his head in 
 Miss Allardyce's lap. 
 
 And the men of the 195th carried him 
 home with shouts and rejoicings; and 
 Coppy, who had ridden a horse into a 
 lather, met him, and, to his intense dis- 
 gust, kissed him openly in the presence of 
 the men. 
 
 But there was balm for his dignity. His 
 father assured him that not only would 
 the breaking of arrest be condoned, 
 but that the good-conduct badge would
 
 34 WEE WILLIE WINKIE. 
 
 be restored as soon as his mother could 
 sew it on his blouse-sleeve. Miss Allar- 
 dyce had told the Colonel a story that 
 made him proud of his son. 
 
 " She belonged to you, Coppy," said 
 Wee Willie Winkie, indicating Miss 
 Allardyce with a grimy forefinger. "I 
 knew she didn't ought to go acwoss ve 
 wiver, and I knew ve wegiment would 
 come to me if I sent Jack home." 
 
 "You're a hero, Winkie," said Coppy — 
 " 2. pukka hero!" 
 
 " I don't know what vat means," said 
 Wee Willie Winkie; " but you mustn't 
 call me Winkie any no more. I'm Percival 
 Will'am Will'ams." 
 
 And in this manner did Wee Willie 
 Winkie enter into his manhood.
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 Baa baa, black sheep, 
 Have you any wool? 
 Yes, sir; yes, sir; three bags full. 
 One for the master, one for the dame — 
 None for the little boy that cries down the lane. 
 
 Nursery Rhyme. 
 
 THE FIRST BAG. 
 
 "When I was in my father's house, I was in a 
 better place." 
 
 They were putting Punch to bed — the 
 ayah and the hamal and Meeta, the big 
 Surti boy with the red-and-gold turban. 
 Judy, already tucked inside her mosquito- 
 curtains, was nearly asleep. Punch had 
 been allowed to stay up for dinner. Many 
 privileges had been accorded to Punch 
 within the last ten days, and a greater 
 
 <85>
 
 36 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 kindness from the people of his world had 
 encompassed his ways and works, which 
 were mostly obstreperous. He sat on 
 the edge of his bed and swung his bare 
 legs defiantly. 
 
 ""Punch-da 6a going to bye-lo?" said the 
 ayah, suggestively. 
 
 " No," said Punch. " Punch-6a6a wants 
 the story about the Ranee that was turned 
 into a tiger. Meeta must tell it, and the 
 hamal shall hide behind the door and 
 make tiger-noises at the proper time." 
 
 " But ]\\6y-baba will wake up," said the 
 ayah. 
 
 "]udy-6a6a is waking," piped a small 
 voice from the mosquito-curtains. " There 
 was a Ranee that lived at Delhi. Go on, 
 Meeta," and she fell fast asleep again 
 while Meeta began the story. 
 
 Never had Punch secured the telling of 
 that tale with so little opposition. He
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. $J 
 
 reflected for a long time. The hernial 
 made the tiger-noises in twenty different 
 keys. 
 
 "'Top!" said Punch, authoritatively. 
 " Why doesn't papa come in and say he is 
 going to give me put-put? " 
 
 " "Punch-data is going away," said the 
 ayah. "In another week there will be no 
 Punch-baba to pull my hair any more." 
 She sighed softly, for the boy of the 
 household was very dear to her heart. 
 
 " Up the Ghauts in a train?" said 
 Punch, standing on his bed. " All the 
 way to Nassick where the Ranee tiger 
 lives?" 
 
 " Not to Nassick this year, little sahib," 
 said Meeta, lifting him on his shoulder. 
 " Down to the sea where the cocoanuts 
 are thrown, and across the sea in a big 
 ship. Will you take Meeta with you to 
 Belait?" ,
 
 38 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 " You shall all come," said Punch, 
 from the height of Meeta's strong arms. 
 " Meeta, and the ayah, and the kamal, and 
 Bhini-in-the-garden, and the salaam-cap- 
 tain-sahib-snake-man." 
 
 There was no mockery in Meeta's voice 
 when he replied: "Great is the sahib's 
 favor," and laid the little man down in the 
 bed, while the ayah, sitting in the moon- 
 light at the door-way, lulled him to sleep 
 with an interminable canticle such as they 
 sing in the Roman Catholic Church at 
 Parel. Punch curled himself into a ball 
 and slept. 
 
 Next morning, Judy shouted that 
 there was a rat in the nursery; and thus 
 he forgot to tell her the wonderful 
 news. It did not much matter, for 
 Judy was only three and she would not 
 have understood. But Punch was five, 
 and he knew that going to. England
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 39 
 
 would be much nicer than a trip to 
 Nassick. 
 
 "^p" *T* ^» ^P T* *^ 
 
 And papa and mamma sold the 
 brougham and the piano, and stripped 
 the house, and curtailed the allowance of 
 crockery for the daily meals, and took 
 long counsel together over a bundle of 
 letters bearing the Rocklington postmark. 
 
 "The worst of it is that one can't be 
 certain of anything," said papa, pulling his 
 mustache. " The letters in themselves 
 are excellent, and the terms are moderate 
 enough." 
 
 "The worst of it is that the children 
 will grow up away from me," thought 
 mamma; but she did not say it aloud. 
 
 "We are only one case among hun- 
 dreds," said papa, bitterly. "You shall 
 go home again in five years, dear." 
 
 "Punch will be ten then — and Judy
 
 4-0 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 eight. Oh, how long and long and long 
 the time will be! And we have to leave 
 them among strangers." 
 
 "Punch is a cheery little chap. He's 
 sure to make friends wherever he goes." 
 
 "And who could help loving my Ju?" 
 
 They were standing over the cots in 
 the nursery late at night, and I think that 
 mamma was crying softly. After papa 
 had gone away, she knelt down by the 
 side of Judy's cot. The ayah saw her and 
 put up a prayer that the memsahib might 
 never find the love of her children taken 
 away from her and given to a stranger. 
 
 Mamma's own prayer was a slightly 
 illogical one. Summarized it ran: "Let 
 strangers love my children, and be as good 
 to them as I should be; but let me pre- 
 serve their love and their confidence for- 
 ever and ever. Amen." Punch scratched 
 himself in his sleep, and Judy moaned a
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 41 
 
 little. That seems to be the only answer 
 to the prayer; and, next day, they all 
 went down to the sea, and there was a 
 scene at the Apollo Bunder when Punch 
 discovered that Meeta could not come, 
 too, and Judy learned that the ayah must 
 be left behind. But Punch found a 
 thousand fascinating things in the rope, 
 block, and steam-pipe line on the big P. 
 and O. steamer long before Meeta and 
 the ayah had dried their tears. 
 
 " Come back, Punch-baba," said the 
 ayah. 
 
 "Come back," said Meeta, "and be a 
 Burr a sahib." 
 
 "Yes," said Punch, lifted up in his 
 father's arms to wave good-bye. "Yes, I 
 will come back, and I will be a Burra 
 sahib Baha dur! " 
 
 At the end of the first day, Punch 
 demanded to be set down in England,
 
 42 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 which he was certain must be close at 
 hand. Next day, there was a merry 
 breeze, and Punch was very sick. " When 
 I come back to Bombay," said Punch, on 
 his recovery, " I will come by the road — 
 in a hroom-gharrt. This is a very 
 naughty ship." 
 
 The Swedish boatswain consoled him, 
 and he modified his opinions as the 
 voyage went on. There was so much 
 to see, and to handle, and ask questions 
 about that Punch nearly forgot the 
 ayah, and Meeta, and the hamal, and 
 with difficulty remembered a few words 
 of the Hindoostanee, once his second 
 speech. 
 
 But Judy was much worse. The day 
 before the steamer reached Southampton, 
 mamma asked her if she would not like to 
 see the ayah again. Judy's blue eyes 
 turned to the stretch of sea that had
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 43 
 
 swallowed all her tiny past, and she said: 
 "Ayah! What ayah?" - _ 
 
 Mamma cried over her and Punch mar- 
 veled. It was then that he Jieard, for the 
 first time, mamma's passionate appeal to 
 him never to let Judy forget mamma. 
 Seeing that Judy was young, ridiculously 
 young, and that mamma, every evening 
 for four weeks past, had come into the 
 cabin to sing her and Punch to sleep with 
 a mysterious rune that he called " Sonny,' 
 my soul," Punch could not understand 
 what mamma meant. But he strove to 
 do his duty; for, the moment mamma left 
 the cabin, he said to Judy: 
 
 "Ju, you remember mamma?" 
 
 "'Torse I do," said Judy. 
 
 "Then always remember mamma, else 
 I won't give you the paper ducks that 
 the red-haired Captain Sahib cut out for 
 
 5> 
 
 me.
 
 44 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 So Judy promised always to "bemem- 
 ber mamma." 
 
 Many and many a time was mamma's 
 command laid upon Punch, and papa 
 would say the same thing with an insist- 
 ence that awed the child. 
 
 " You must make haste and learn to 
 write, Punch," said papa, "and then you'll 
 be able to write letters to us in Bombay." 
 
 " I'll come into your room," said Punch, 
 and papa choked. 
 
 Papa and mamma were always choking 
 in those days. If Punch took Judy to 
 task for not " bemembering," they choked. 
 If Punch sprawled on the sofa in the 
 Southampton lodging-house and sketched 
 his future in purple and gold, they choked; 
 and so they did if Judy put up her mouth 
 for a kiss. 
 
 Through many days all four were vaga- 
 bonds on the face of the earth—Punch
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 45 
 
 with no one to give orders to, Judy too 
 young for anything, and papa and mamma 
 grave, distracted, and choking. 
 
 "Where," demanded Punch, wearied, 
 of a loathsome contrivance on four wheels 
 with a mound of luggage atop — "where 
 is our broom-gharri? This thing talks 
 so much that / can't talk. Where is our 
 own broom-gharri? When I was at 
 Bandstand, before we corned away, I 
 asked Inverarity Sahib why he was sitting 
 in it, and he said it was his own. And I 
 said, ' I will give it you ' — I like Inverarity 
 Sahib — and I said, ' Can you put your legs 
 through the pully-wag loops by the win- 
 dows?' And Inverarity Sahib said 'No,' 
 and laughed. / can put my legs through 
 the pully-wag loops. I can put my legs 
 through these pully-wag loops. Look! 
 Oh, mamma's crying again! I didn't 
 know. I wasn't not to do so"
 
 46 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 Punch drew his legs out of the loops of 
 the four-wheeler; the door opened and he 
 slid to the earth, in a cascade of parcels, 
 at the door of an austere little villa whose 
 gates bore the legend " Downe Lodge." 
 Punch gathered himself together and eyed 
 the house with disfavor. It stood on a 
 sandy road, and a cold wind tickled his 
 knickerbockered legs. 
 
 11 Let us go away," said Punch. " This 
 is not a pretty place." 
 
 But mamma and papa and. Judy had 
 quitted the cab, and all the luggage was 
 being taken into the house. At the door- 
 step stood a woman in black, and she 
 smiled largely, with dry, chapped lips. 
 Behind her was a man — big, bony, gray, 
 and lame as to one leg — behind him a boy 
 of twelve, black-haired and oily in appear- 
 ance. Punch surveyed the trio, and 
 advanced without fear, as he had been
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 47 
 
 accustomed to do in Bombay when callers 
 came and he happened to be playing in 
 the veranda. 
 
 "How do you do?" said he. "I am 
 Punch." But they were all looking at 
 the luggage — all except the gray man, 
 who shook hands with Punch and said he 
 was "a smart little fellow." There was 
 much running about and banging of boxes, 
 and Punch curled himself up on the sofa 
 in the dining-room and considered 
 things. 
 
 " I don't like these people," said Punch. 
 " But never mind. We'll go away soon. 
 We have always went away soon from 
 everywhere. I wish we was gone back to 
 Bombay soon." 
 
 The wish bore no fruit. For six days 
 mamma wept at intervals, and showed the 
 woman in black all Punch's clothes — a 
 liberty which Punch resented. " But
 
 48 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 pYaps she's a new white ayak" he 
 thought. " I'm to call her Antirosa, but 
 she doesn't call me sahib. She says just 
 Punch," he confided to Judy. "What is 
 Antirosa?" 
 
 Judy didn't know. Neither she nor 
 Punch had heard anything of an animal 
 called an aunt. Their world had been 
 papa and mamma, who knew everything, 
 permitted everything, and loved every- 
 body — even Punch when he used to go 
 into the garden at Bombay and fill his 
 nails with mold after the weekly nail-cut- 
 ting, because, as he explained, between 
 two strokes of the slipper, to his sorely 
 tried father, his fingers " felt so new at 
 the ends." 
 
 In an undefined way, Punch judged it 
 advisable to keep both parents between 
 himself and the woman in black and the 
 boy in black hair. He did not approve
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 49 
 
 of them. He liked the gray man, who 
 had expressed a wish to be called 
 "Uncleharri." They nodded at each 
 other when they met, and the gray man 
 showed him a little ship with rigging that 
 took up and down. 
 
 " She is a model of the Brisk — the little 
 Brisk that was sore exposed that day at 
 Navarino." The gray man hummed the 
 last words and fell into a reverie. " I'll 
 tell you about Navarino, Punch, when 
 we go for walks together; and you 
 mustn't touch the ship, because she's the 
 Brisk." 
 
 Long before that walk, the first of 
 many, was taken, they roused Punch and 
 Judy in the chill dawn of a February 
 morning to say good-bye, and of all people 
 in the wide earth, to papa and mamma — 
 both crying this time. Punch was very 
 
 sleepy, and Judy was cross. 
 
 4
 
 50 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 " Don't forget us," pleaded mamma. 
 " Oh, my little son, don't forget us, and 
 see that Judy remembers us, too." 
 
 "I've told Judy to bemember," said 
 Punch, wriggling, for his father's beard 
 tickled his neck. " I've told Judy — ten — 
 forty — 'leven thousand times. But Ju's 
 so young — quite a baby — isn't she?" 
 
 "Yes," said papa, "quite a baby, and 
 you must be good to Judy, and make 
 haste to learn to write and — and — 
 and — " 
 
 Punch was back in his bed again. Judy 
 was fast asleep, and there was the rattle 
 of a cab below. Papa and mamma had 
 gone away. Not to Nassick; that was 
 across the sea. To some place much 
 nearer, of course, and equally of course 
 they would return. They came back after 
 dinner-parties, and papa had come back 
 after he had been to a place called " The
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 5 1 
 
 Snows," and mamma with him, to Punch 
 and Judy at Mrs. Inverarity's house in 
 Marine Lines. Assuredly they would 
 come back again. So Punch fell asleep 
 till the true morning, when the black- 
 haired boy met him with the information 
 that papa and mamma had gone to Bom- 
 bay, and that he and Judy were to stay at 
 Downe Lodge " forever." Antirosa, tear- 
 fully appealed to for a contradiction, said 
 that Harry had spoken the truth, and that 
 it behooved Punch to fold up his clothes 
 neatly on going to bed. Punch went 
 out and wept bitterly with Judy, into 
 whose fair head he had driven some ideas 
 of the meaning of separation. 
 
 When a matured man discovers that he 
 has been deserted by Providence, de- 
 prived of his God, and cast without help, 
 comfort, or sympathy, upon a world which 
 is new and strange to him, his despair,
 
 52 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 which may find expression in evil-living, 
 the writing of his experiences, or the more 
 satisfactory diversion of suicide, is gener- 
 ally supposed to be impressive. A child, 
 under exactly similar circumstances, as far 
 as its knowledge goes, can not very well 
 curse God and die. It howls till its nose 
 is red, its eyes are sore, and its head aches. 
 Punch and Judy, through no fault of their 
 own, had lost all their world. They sat in 
 the hall and cried; the black-haired boy 
 looking on from afar. 
 
 The model of the ship availed nothing, 
 though the gray man assured Punch that 
 he might pull the rigging up and down as 
 much as he pleased; and Judy was prom- 
 ised free entry into the kitchen. They 
 wanted papa and mamma gone to Bombay 
 beyond the seas, and their grief, while it 
 lasted, was without remedy. 
 
 When the tears ceased, the house was
 
 BAA BAA, BLAPFC SHFF.P. 53 
 
 very still. Antirosa had decided it was 
 much better to let the children " have 
 their cry out," and the boy had gone to 
 school. Punch raised his head from the 
 floor and sniffled mournfully. Judy was 
 nearly asleep. Three short years had not 
 taught her how to bear sorrow with full 
 knowledge. There was a distant dull boom 
 in the air — a repeated heavy thud. Punch 
 knew that sound in Bombay in the mon- 
 soon. It was the sea — the sea that must 
 be traversed before any one could get to 
 Bombay. 
 
 "Quick, Ju!" he cried, "we're close to 
 the sea. I can hear it! Listen! That's 
 where they've went. P'raps we can catch 
 them, if we was in time. They didn't 
 mean to go without us. They've only 
 forgot." 
 
 "Iss," said Judy. "They've only for- 
 gotted. Less go to the sea."
 
 54 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 The hall door was open and so was the 
 garden gate. 
 
 " It's very, very big, this place," he said, 
 lopking cautiously down the road, "and 
 we will get lost; but I will find a man and 
 order him to take me back to my house 
 — like I did in Bombay." 
 
 He took Judy by the hand, and 
 the two fled hatless in the direction 
 of the sound of the sea. JDowne Villa 
 was almost the last of a range of newly 
 built houses running out, through a chaos 
 of brick-mounds, to a heath where gyp- 
 sies occasionally camped, and where the 
 Garrison Artillery of Rocklington prac- 
 ticed. There were few people to be 
 seen, and the children might have been 
 taken for those of the soldiery who 
 ranged far. Half an hour the wearied 
 little legs tramped across heath, potato- 
 field, and sand-dune.
 
 BAA BA£, BLACK SHEEP. 55 
 
 " I'se so tired," said Judy, " and mam- 
 ma will be angry." 
 
 " Mamma's never angry. I suppose she 
 is waiting at the sea now while papa gets 
 tickets. We'll find them and go along 
 with. Ju, you mustn't sit down. Only a. 
 little more and we'll come to the sea. Ju, 
 if you sit down I'll thmack you!" said 
 Punch. 
 
 They climbed another dune, and came 
 upon the great gray sea at low tide. 
 Hundreds of crabs were scuttling about 
 the beach, but there was no trace of papa 
 and mamma, not even of a ship upon the 
 waters — nothing but sand and mud for 
 miles and miles. 
 
 And "Uncleharri " found them by 
 chance — very muddy and very forlorn — 
 Punch dissolved in tears, but trying to 
 divert Judy with an " ickle trab," and 
 Judy wailing to the pitiless horizon for
 
 56 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 " mamma, mamma! " and again " mam- 
 ma! 
 
 I" 
 
 THE SECOND BAG. 
 
 Ah, well-a-day, for we are souls bereaved! 
 Of all the creatures under heaven's wide scope 
 We are most hopeless, who had once most hope, 
 And most beliefless, who had most believed. 
 
 The City of Dreadful Night. 
 
 All this time not a word about Black 
 Sheep. He came later, and Harry, the 
 black-haired boy, was mainly responsible 
 for his coming. 
 
 Judy — who could help loving little Judy? 
 — passed, by special permit, into the 
 kitchen and thence straight to Aunty 
 Rosa's heart. Harry was Aunty Rosa's 
 one child, and Punch was the extra boy 
 about the house. There was no special 
 place for him or his little affairs, and he 
 was forbidden to sprawl on sofas and
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 57 
 
 explain his ideas about the manufacture 
 of this world and his hopes for his future. 
 Sprawling was lazy and wore out sofas, 
 and little boys were not expected to talk. 
 They were talked to, and the talking to 
 was intended for the benefit of their mor- 
 als. As the unquestioned despot of the 
 house at Bombay, Punch could not quite 
 understand how he came to be of no 
 account in this his new life. 
 
 Harry might reach across the table and 
 take what he wanted; Judy might point 
 and get what she wanted. Punch was 
 forbidden to do either. The gray man 
 was his great hope and stand-by for many 
 months after mamma and papa left, and 
 he had forgotten to tell Judy to " bemem- 
 ber mamma." 
 
 This lapse was excusable, because, in 
 the interval, he had been introduced by 
 Aunty Rosa to two very impressive things
 
 58 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 — an abstraction called God, the intimate 
 friend and ally of Aunty Rosa, generally 
 believed to live behind the kitchen-range, 
 because it was hot there-— and a dirty 
 brown book filled with unintelligible dots 
 and marks. Punch was always anxious to 
 oblige everybody. He, therefore, welded 
 the story of the Creation on to what he 
 could recollect of his Indian fairy tales, 
 and scandalized Aunty Rosa by repeating 
 the result to Judy. It was a sin, a griev- 
 ous sin, and Punch was talked to for a 
 quarter of an hour. He could not under- 
 stand where the iniquity came in, but was 
 careful not to repeat the offense, because 
 Aunty Rosa told him that God had heard 
 every word he had said and was very 
 angry. If this were true, why didn't God 
 come and say so, thought Punch, and dis- 
 missed the matter from his mind. After- 
 ward he learned to know the Lord as the
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 59 
 
 only thing in the world more awful than 
 Aunty Rosa — as a creature that stood in 
 the background and counted the strokes 
 of the cane. 
 
 But the reading was, just then, a much 
 more serious matter than any creed. 
 Aunty Rosa sat him upon a table and 
 told him that A B meant ab. 
 
 " Why? " said Punch. " A is a and B is 
 bee. Why does A B mean ab? " 
 
 " Because I tell you it does," said Aunty 
 Rosa, " and you've got to say it." , 
 
 Punch said it accordingly, and for a 
 month, hugely against his will, stumbled 
 through the brown book, not in the least 
 comprehending what it meant. But Uncle 
 Harry, who walked much, and generally 
 alone, was wont to come into the nursery 
 and suggest to Aunty Rosa that Punch 
 should walk with him. He seldom spoke, 
 but he showed Punch all Rocklington,
 
 60 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 from the mud-banks and the sand of the 
 back-bay to the great harbors where ships 
 lay at anchor, and the dock-yards where 
 the hammers are never still, and the 
 marine-store shops, and the shiny brass 
 counters in the offices where Uncle Harry 
 went once every three months with a slip 
 of blue paper and received sovereigns in 
 exchange; for he held a wound-pension. 
 Punch heard, too, from his lips, the story 
 of the Battle of Navarino, where the sail- 
 ors of the fleet, for three days afterward, 
 were deaf as posts and could only sign to 
 each other. "That was because of the 
 noise of the guns," said Uncle Harry, 
 " and I have got the wadding of a bullet 
 somewhere inside me now." 
 
 Punch regarded him with curiosity. He 
 had not the least idea what wadding was, 
 and his notion of a bullet was a dock-yard 
 cannon-ball bigger than his own head.
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 6 1 
 
 How could Uncle Harry keep a cannon- 
 ball inside him? He was ashamed to 
 ask, for fear Uncle Harry might be angry. 
 Punch had never known what anger — 
 real anger — meant until one terrible day 
 when Harry had taken his paint-box to 
 paint a boat with, and Punch had pro- 
 tested with a loud and lamentable voice. 
 Then Uncle Harry had appeared on the 
 scene, and, muttering something about 
 "strangers' children," had, with a stick, 
 smitten the black-haired boy across the 
 shoulders till he wept and yelled, and 
 Aunty Rosa came in and abused Uncle 
 Harry for cruelty to his own flesh and 
 blood, and Punch shuddered to the tips 
 of his shoes. " It wasn't my fault," he 
 explained to the boy, but both Harry and 
 Aunty Rosa said that it was, and that 
 Punch had told tales, and for a week there 
 were no more walks with Uncle Harry,
 
 62 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 But that week brought a great joy to 
 Punch. 
 
 He had repeated, till he was thrice 
 weary, the statement that " the cat lay on 
 the mat and the rat came in." 
 
 " Now I can truly read," said Punch, 
 " and now I will never read anything in 
 the world." 
 
 He put the brown book in the cupboard 
 where his school-books lived, and accident- 
 ally tumbled out a venerable volume, 
 without covers, labeled " Sharpe's Maga- 
 zine." There was the most portentous 
 picture of a griffin on the first page, with 
 verses below. The griffin carried off one 
 sheep a day from a German village, till a 
 man came with a " falchion " and split the 
 griffin open. Goodness only knew what 
 a falchion was, but there was the griffin, 
 and his history was an improvement upon 
 the eternal cat.
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 63 
 
 " This," said Punch, " means things, 
 and now I will know all about everything 
 in all the world." He read till the light 
 failed, not understanding a tithe of the 
 meaning, but tantalized by glimpses of 
 new worlds hereafter to be revealed. 
 
 " What is a ' falchion? ' What is a 
 1 wee lamb?' What is a ' base ussurper?' 
 What is a ' verdant me-ad? ' " he demanded, 
 with flushed cheeks, at bed-time, of the 
 astonished Aunt Rosa. 
 
 " Say your prayers and go to sleep," 
 she replied, and that was all the help 
 Punch then or afterward found at her 
 hands in the new and delightful exercise 
 of reading. 
 
 "Aunt Rosa only knows about God 
 and things like that," argued Punch. 
 ■'■ Uncle Harry will tell me." 
 
 The next walk proved that Uncle Harry 
 could not help either; but he allowed
 
 64 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 Punch to talk, and even sat down on a 
 bench to hear about the griffin. Other 
 walks brought other stories as Punch 
 ranged farther afield, for the house held a 
 large store of old books that no one ever 
 opened — from Frank Fairlegh, in serial 
 numbers, and the earlier poems of Tenny- 
 son, contributed anonymously to " Sharpe's 
 Magazine," to '62 Exhibition Catalogues, 
 gay with colors and delightfully incom- 
 prehensible, and odd leaves of " Gulliver's 
 Travels." 
 
 As soon as Punch could string a few 
 pot-hooks together, he wrote to Bombay, 
 demanding by return of post " all the 
 books in all the world." Papa could not 
 comply with this modest indent, but sent 
 " Grimm's Fairy Tales " and a " Hans 
 Andersen " That was enough. If he 
 were only left alone, Punch could pass, at 
 any hour he chose, into a land of his own,
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 65 
 
 beyond reach of Aunty Rosa and her God, 
 Harry and his teasements, and Judy's 
 claims to be played with. 
 
 " Don't disturve me, I'm reading. Go 
 and play in the kitchen," grunted Punch. 
 "Aunty Rosa lets yon go there." Judy 
 was cutting her second teeth and was 
 fretful. She appealed to Aunty Rosa,who 
 descended on Punch. 
 
 " I was reading," he explained, " reading 
 a book. I want to read." 
 
 " You're only doing that to show off," 
 said Aunty Rosa. " But we'll see. Play 
 with Judy now, and don't open a book for 
 a week." 
 
 Judy did not pass a very enjoyable play- 
 time with Punch, who was consumed with 
 indignation. There was a pettiness at 
 the bottom of the prohibition which 
 puzzled him. 
 
 "It's what I like to do," he said, "and
 
 66 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 she's found out that and stopped me. 
 Don't cry, Ju — it wasn't your fault — please 
 don't cry, or she'll say I made you." 
 
 Ju loyally mopped up her tears, and 
 the two played in their nursery, a room in 
 the basement and half underground, to 
 which they were regularly sent after the 
 midday dinner while Aunty Rosa slept. 
 She drank wine — that is to say, some- 
 thing from a bottle in the cellaret — for 
 her stomach's sake; but if she did not fall 
 asleep she would sometimes come into the 
 nursery to see that the children were 
 really playing. Now, bricks, wooden 
 hoops, nine-pins, and china-ware can not 
 amuse forever, especially when all fairy- 
 land is to be won by the mere opening of 
 a book, and, as often as not, Punch would 
 be discovered reading to Judy or telling 
 her interminable tales. That was an 
 offense in the eyes of the law, and Judy
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 6j 
 
 would be whisked off by Aunty Rosa, 
 while Punch was left to play alone/' and 
 be sure that I hear you doing it." 
 
 It was not a cheering employ, for he 
 had to make a playful noise. At last, with 
 infinite craft, he devised an arrangement 
 whereby the table could be supported as 
 to three legs on toy bricks, leaving the 
 fourth clear to bring down on the floor. 
 He could work the table with one hand 
 and hold a book with the other. This 
 he did till an evil day when Aunty Rosa 
 pounced upon him unawares and told him 
 that he was " acting a lie." 
 
 "If you're old enough to do that," she 
 said — her temper was always worst after 
 dinner — " you're old enough to be beaten." 
 
 " But — I'm — I'm not a animal! " said 
 Punch, aghast. He remembered Uncle 
 Harry and the stick, and turned white. 
 Aunty Rosa had hidden a light cane be-
 
 63 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 hind her, and Punch was beaten then and 
 there over the shoulders. It was a reve- 
 lation to him. The room-door was shut, 
 and he was left to weep himself into re- 
 pentance and work out his own gospel of 
 life. 
 
 Aunty Rosa, he argued, had the power 
 to beat him with many stripes. It was 
 unjust and cruel, and mamma and papa 
 would never have allowed it. Unless, per- 
 haps, as Aunty Rosa seemed to imply, 
 they had sent secret orders, in which 
 case he was abandoned, indeed. It would 
 be discreet in the future to propitiate 
 Aunty Rosa; but, then again, even in 
 matters in which he was innocent, he had 
 been accused of wishing to " show off." 
 He had "shown off" before visitors when 
 he had attacked a strange gentleman — 
 Harry's uncle, not his own — with requests 
 for information about the griffin and the
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 69 
 
 falchion, and the precise nature of the 
 tilbury in which Frank Fairlegh rode; 
 all points of paramount interest which he 
 was bursting to understand. Clearly it 
 would not do to pretend to care for Aunty 
 Rosa. 
 
 At this point Harry entered and stood 
 afar off, eyeing Punch, a disheveled heap 
 in the corner of the room, with disgust. 
 
 " You're a liar — a young liar," said 
 Harry, with great unction, "and you're to 
 have tea down here because you're not fit 
 to speak to us. And you're not to speak 
 to Judy again till mother gives you leave. 
 You'll corrupt her. You're only fit to 
 associate with the servant. Mother says 
 so. 
 
 Having reduced Punch to a second 
 " gony of tears, Harry departed down- 
 stairs with the news that Punch was still 
 rebellious.
 
 JO BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 Uncle Harry sat uneasily in the dining- 
 room. " Damn it all, Rosa," said he, at 
 last," can't you leave the child alone? He's 
 a good enough little chap when I met 
 him." 
 
 " He puts on his best manners with 
 you, Henry," said Aunty Rosa, "but I'm 
 afraid, I'm very much afraid, that he is 
 the black sheep of the family." 
 
 Harry heard and stored up the name 
 for future use. Judy cried till she was 
 bidden to stop, her brother not being 
 worth tears; and the evening concluded 
 with the return of Punch to the upper 
 regions and a private sitting at which all 
 the blinding horrors of hell were revealed 
 to Punch with such store of imagery as 
 Aunty Rosa's narrow mind possessed. 
 
 Most grievous of all was Judy's round- 
 eyed reproach, and Punch went to bed in 
 the depths of the Valley of Humiliation.
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 7 1 
 
 He shared his room with Harry and knew 
 the torture in store. For an hour and a 
 half he had to answer that young gentle- 
 man's question as to his motives for telling 
 a lie, and a grievous lie, the precise quan- 
 tity of punishment inflicted byAunty Rosa, 
 and had also to profess his deep gratitude 
 for such religious instruction as Harry 
 thought fit to impart. 
 
 From that day began the downfall of 
 Punch, now Black Sheep. 
 
 " Untrustworthy in one thing, untrust- 
 worthy in all," said Aunty Rosa, and 
 Harry felt that Black Sheep was deliv- 
 ered into his hands. He would wake him 
 up in the night to ask him why he was 
 such a liar. 
 
 " I don't know," Punch would reply. 
 
 " Then don't you think you ought to 
 get up and pray to God for a new 
 heart? "
 
 72 BAA BAA, BLACK SI1LEF. 
 
 " Y-yess." 
 
 " Get but and pray, then!" And Punch 
 would get out of bed with raging hate in 
 his heart against all the world, seen and 
 unseen. He was always tumbling into 
 trouble. Harry had a knack of cross-ex- 
 amining him as to his day's doings, which 
 seldom failed to lead him, sleepy and sav- 
 age, into half-a-dozen contradictions — all 
 duly reported to Aunty Rosa next morn- 
 ing. 
 
 " But it wasn't a lie," Punch would be- 
 gin, charging into a labored explanation 
 that landed him more hopelessly in the 
 mire. " I said that I didn't say my pray- 
 ers twice over in the day, and that was on 
 Tuesday. Once I did. I know I did, but 
 Harry said I didn't," and so forth, till the 
 tension brought tears, and he was dis- 
 missed from the table in disgrace. 
 
 " You usen't to be as bad as this! " said
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 7$ 
 
 Judy, awe-stricken at the catalogue of 
 Black Sheep's crimes. " Why are you so 
 bad now?" 
 
 " I don't know," Black Sheep would re- 
 ply. " I'm not, if I only wasn't bothered 
 upside down. I knew what I did, and 1 
 want to say so; but Harry always makes 
 it out different somehow, and Aunty Rosa 
 doesn't believe a word I say. Oh, Ju! 
 don't you say I'm bad, too." 
 
 "Aunty Rosa says you are," said Judy. 
 " She told the vicar so when he came yes- 
 terday." 
 
 " Why does she tell all the people out- 
 side the house about me? It isn't fair," 
 said Black Sheep. " When I was in Bom- 
 bay, and was bad — doing bad, not made- 
 up bad like this — mamma told papa, and 
 papa told me he knew, and that was all. 
 Outside people didn't know, too— even 
 Meeta didn't know."
 
 74 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 " I don't remember," said Judy, wist- 
 fully. " I was all little then. Mamma 
 was just as fond of you as she was of me, 
 wasn't she?" 
 
 " ' Course she was. So was papa. So 
 was everybody." 
 
 " Aunty Rosa likes me more than she 
 does you. She says that you are a 
 trial and a black sheep, and I'm not to 
 speak to you more than I can help." 
 
 "Always? Not outside of the times 
 when you mustn't speak to me at all?" 
 
 Judy nodded her head mournfully. 
 Black Sheep turned away in despair, 
 but Judy's arms were round his neck. 
 
 " Never mind, Punch," she whispered. 
 " I will speak to you just the same as 
 ever and ever. You're my own, own 
 brother, though you are — though Aunty 
 Rosa says you're bad, and Harry says 
 you're a little coward. He says that if 
 I pulled your hair hard, you'd cry."
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 75 
 
 " Pull, then," said Punch. 
 
 Judy pulled gingerly. 
 
 " Pull harder — as hard as you can! 
 There! I don't mind how much you pull 
 it now. If you'll speak to me the same 
 as ever, I'll let you pull it as much as you 
 like — pull it out if you like. But I know 
 if Harry came and stood by and made 
 you do it, I'd cry." 
 
 So the two children sealed the compact 
 with a kiss, and Black Sheep's heart was 
 cheered within him, and by extreme cau- 
 tion and careful avoidance of Harry, 
 he acquired virtue, and was allowed to 
 read undisturbed for a week. Uncle Harry 
 took him for walks and consoled him with 
 rough tenderness, never calling him Black 
 Sheep. " It's good for you, I suppose, 
 Punch," he used to say. " Let us sit 
 down. I'm getting tired." His steps led 
 him now, not to the beach, but to the
 
 y6 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 cemetery of Rocklington, amid the potato 
 fields. For hours the gray man would 
 sit on a tombstone, while Black Sheep 
 read epitaphs, and then, with a sigh, 
 would stump home again. 
 
 "I shall lie there soon," said he to 
 Black Sheep, one winter evening, when 
 his face showed white as a worn silver 
 coin under the lights of the chapel lodge. 
 "You needn't tell Aunty Rosa." 
 
 A month later, he turned sharp round, 
 ere half a morning walk was completed, 
 and stumped back to the house. " Put me 
 to bed, Rosa," he muttered. " I've walked 
 my last. The wadding has found me 
 out. 
 
 They put him to bed, and for a fort- 
 night the shadow of his sickness lay upon 
 the house, and Black Sheep went to and 
 fro unobserved. Papa had sent him 
 some new books, and he was told to
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. TJ 
 
 keep quiet. He retired into his own 
 world, and was perfectly happy. Even 
 at night his felicity was unbroken. He 
 could lie in bed and string himself tales 
 of travel and adventure while Harry was 
 down-stairs. 
 
 " Uncle Harry's going to die," said 
 Judy, who now lived almost entirely with 
 Aunty Rosa. 
 
 " I'm very sorry," said Black Sheep, 
 soberly. "He told me that a long time 
 ago." 
 
 Aunty Rosa heard the conversation. 
 "Will nothing check your wicked 
 tongue?" she said, angrily. There were 
 blue circles round her eyes. 
 
 Black Sheep retreated to the nursery 
 and read " Cometh up as a Flower" with 
 deep and uncomprehending interest. He 
 had been forbidden to read it on account 
 of its " sinfulness," but the bonds of the
 
 78 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 universe were crumbling, and Aunty Rosa 
 was in great grief. 
 
 " I'm glad," said Black Sheep. " She's 
 unhappy now. It wasn't a lie, though, 
 /knew. He told me not to tell." 
 
 That night Black Sheep woke with a 
 
 start. Harry was not in the room, and 
 
 there was a sound of sobbing on the next 
 
 floor. Then the voice of Uncle Harry, 
 
 singing the song of the Battle of 
 
 Navarino, cut through the darkness: 
 
 " ' Our vanship was the Asia — 
 The Albion and Genoa! ' " 
 
 "He's getting well," thought Black 
 
 Sheep, who knew the song through all 
 
 its seventeen verses. But the blood 
 
 froze at his little heart as he thought. 
 
 The voice leaped an octave and rang 
 
 shrill as a boatswain's pipe: 
 
 " ' And next came on the lovely Rose, 
 The Philomel, her fire-ship, closed,
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. /Q 
 
 And the little Brisk was sore exposed 
 That day at Navarino.'" 
 
 " That day at Navarino, Uncle Harry! " 
 shouted Black Sheep, half wild with 
 excitement and fear of he knew not 
 what. 
 
 A door opened, and Aunty Rosa 
 screamed up the stair-case: " Hush! For 
 God's sake, hush, you little devil! Uncle 
 Harry is dead!" 
 
 THE THIRD BAG. 
 
 " Journeys end in lovers' meeting, 
 Every wise man's son doth know." 
 
 " I wonder what will happen to me 
 now," thought Black Sheep, when the 
 semi-pagan rites, peculiar to the burial of 
 the dead in middle-class houses, had been 
 accomplished, and Aunty Rosa, awful in 
 black crape, had returned to this life. " I
 
 8C BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 don't think I've done anything bad that 
 she knows of. I suppose I will soon. She 
 will be very cross after Uncle Harry's 
 dying, and Harry will be cross, too. I'll 
 keep in the nursery." 
 
 Unfortunately for Punch's plans, it was 
 decided that he should be sent to a day- 
 school which Harry attended. This meant 
 a morning walk with Harry, and perhaps 
 an evening one; but the prospect of free- 
 dom in the interval was refreshing. 
 ' Harry'll tell everything I do, but I won't 
 do anything," said Black Sheep. Fortified 
 with this virtuous resolution, he went to 
 school only to find that Harry's version of 
 his character had preceded him, and that 
 life was a burden in consequence. He 
 took stock of his associates. Some of 
 them were unclean, some of them talked in 
 dialect, many dropped their tis, and there 
 were two Jews and a negro, or someone
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 8 1 
 
 quite as dark, in the assembly. " That's 
 a hubshi" said Black Sheep to himself. 
 " Even Meeta used to laugh at a hubshi. 
 I don't think this is a proper place." He 
 was indignant for at least an hour, till he 
 reflected that any expostulation on his 
 part would be by Aunty Rosa construed 
 into " showing off," and that Harry would 
 tell the boys. 
 
 " How do you like school?" said Aunty 
 Rosa at the end of the day. 
 
 " 1 think it is a very nice place," said 
 Punch, quietly. 
 
 " I suppose you warned the boys of 
 Black Sheep's character?" said Aunty Rosa 
 to Harry. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said the censor of Black 
 Sheep's morals. " They all know about 
 him." 
 
 " If I was with my father," said Black 
 Sheep, stung to the quick, "I shouldn't 
 
 6
 
 82 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 speak to those boys. He wouldn't let 
 me. They live in shops. I saw them go 
 into shops— where their fathers live and 
 sell things." 
 
 " You're too good for that school, are 
 you?" said Aunty Rosa, with a bitter 
 smile. " You ought to be grateful, Black 
 Sheep, that those boys speak to you at 
 all. It isn't every school that takes little 
 lars. 
 
 Harry did not fail to make much capital 
 out of Black Sheep's ill-considered remark, 
 with the result that several boys, includ- 
 ing the hubshi, demonstrated to Black 
 Sheep the eternal equality of the human 
 race by smacking his head, and his conso- 
 lation from Aunty Rosa was that it 
 " served him right for being vain." He 
 learned, however, to keep his opinions to 
 himself, and by propitiating Harry in car- 
 rying books and the like to secure a little
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 83 
 
 peace. His existence was not too joyful. 
 From nine till twelve he was at school, 
 and from two to four, except on Saturdays. 
 In the evenings he was sent down into the 
 nursery to prepare his lessons for the next 
 day, and every night came the dreaded 
 cross-questionings at Harry's hand. Of 
 Judy he saw but little. She was deeply 
 religious — at six years of age religion is 
 easy to come by — and sorely divided be- 
 tween her natural love for Black Sheep 
 and her love for Aunty Rosa, who could 
 do no wrong. 
 
 The lean woman returned that love with 
 interest, and Judy, when she dared, took 
 advantage of this for the remission of 
 Black Sheep's penalties. Failures in les- 
 sons at school were punished at home by 
 a week without reading other than school- 
 books, and Harry brought the news of 
 such a failure with glee. Further, Black
 
 84 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 Sheep was then bound to repeat his lessons 
 at bed-time to Harry, who generally suc- 
 ceeded in making him break down, and 
 consoled him by gloomiest forebodings for 
 the morrow. Harry was at once spy, prac- 
 tical joker, inquisitor, and Aunty Rosa's 
 deputy executioner. He filled his many 
 posts to admiration. From his actions, 
 now that Uncle Harry was dead, there 
 was no appeal. Black Sheep had not 
 been permitted to keep any self-respect at 
 school; at home he was of course utterly 
 discredited, and grateful for any pity that 
 the servant-girls — they changed frequently 
 at Downe Lodge because they, too, were 
 liars — might show. " You're just fit to 
 row in the same boat with Black Sheep," 
 was a sentiment that each new Jane or 
 Eliza might expect to hear, before a 
 month was over, from Aunty Rosa's lips; 
 and Black Sheep was used to ask new
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 85 
 
 girls whether they had yet been compared 
 to him. Harry was "Master Harry" in 
 their mouths; Judy was officially " Miss 
 Judy;" but Black Sheep was never any- 
 thing more than Black Sheep tout court. 
 
 As time went on and the memory of 
 papa and mamma became wholly overlaid 
 by the unpleasant task of writing them 
 letters, under Aunty Rosa's eye, each 
 Sunday, Black Sheep forgot what manner 
 of life he had led in the beginning ot 
 things. Even Judy's appeals to "try 
 and remember about Bombay " failed to 
 quicken him. 
 
 " I can't remember," he said. " I know 
 I used to give orders and mamma kissed 
 me." 
 
 " Aunty Rosa will kiss you if you are 
 good," pleaded Judy. 
 
 " Ugh ! I don't want to be kissed by 
 Aunty Rosa. She'd say I was doing it 
 to get something more to eat."
 
 86 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 The weeks lengthened into months, 
 and the holidays came; but just before 
 the holidays Black Sheep fell into deadly 
 sin. 
 
 Among the many boys whom Harry 
 had incited to " punch Black Sheep's 
 head because he daren't hit back," was 
 one more aggravating than the rest, who, 
 in an unlucky moment, fell upon Black 
 Sheep when Harry was not near. The 
 blows stung, and Black Sheep struck 
 back at random with all the power at his 
 command. The boy dropped and whim- 
 pered. Black Sheep was astounded at 
 his own act, but, feeling the unresisting 
 body under him, shook it with both his 
 hands in blind fury, and then began to 
 throttle his enemy, meaning honestly to 
 slay him. There was a scuffle, and Black 
 Sheep was torn off the body by Harry 
 and some colleagues, and cuffed home,
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 87 
 
 tingling but exultant. Aunty Rosa was 
 out; pending her arrival, Harry set 
 himself to lecture Black Sheep on the sin 
 of murder — which he described as the 
 offense of Cain. 
 
 " Why didn't you fight him fair? 
 What did you hit him when he was down 
 for, you little cur? " 
 
 Black Sheep looked up at Harry's 
 throat, and then at a knife on the dinner- 
 table. 
 
 " I don't understand," he said, wearily. 
 " You always set him on me, and told me 
 I was a coward when I blubbered. Will 
 you leave me alone until Aunty Rosa 
 comes in ? She'll beat me if you tell her 
 I ought to be beaten; so it's all right." 
 
 "It's all wrong," said Harry, magisteri- 
 ally. " You nearly killed him, and I 
 shouldn't wonder if he dies." 
 
 " Will he die ? " said Black Sheep.
 
 88 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 " I dare say," said Harry, " and then 
 you'll be hanged." 
 
 " All right," said Black Sheep, possess- 
 ing himself of the table-knife. " Then 
 I'll kill you now. You say things and do 
 things, and . . . and / don't know 
 how things happen, and you never leave 
 me alone — and I don't care what hap- 
 pens! 
 
 He ran at the boy with the knife, and 
 Harry fled upstairs to his room, promis- 
 ing Black Sheep the finest thrashing in 
 the world when Aunty Rosa returned. 
 Black Sheep sat at the bottom of the stairs, 
 the table-knife in his hand, and wept for 
 that he had not killed Harry. The ser- 
 vant-girl came up from the kitchen, took 
 the knife away, and consoled him. But 
 Black Sheep was beyond consolation. 
 He would be badly beaten by Aunty 
 Rosa; then there would be another beat-
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEr. 89 
 
 ing at Harry's hands; then Judy would 
 not be allowed to speak to him; then the 
 tale would be told at school, and then. . . 
 
 There was no one to help and no one 
 to care, and the best way out of the 
 business was by death. A knife would 
 hurt; but Aunty Rosa had told him, a 
 year ago, that if he sucked paint he 
 would die. He went into the nursery, 
 unearthed the now disused Noah's Ark, 
 and sucked the paint off as many ani- 
 mals as remained. It tasted abominable, 
 but he had licked Noah's dove clean by 
 the time Aunty Rosa and Judy returned. 
 He went upstairs and greeted them with: 
 " Please, Aunty Rosa, I believe I've nearly 
 killed a boy at school, and I've tried to 
 kill Harry, and when you've done all 
 about God and hell, will you beat me and 
 get it over? " 
 
 The tale of the assault as told by
 
 90 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEER 
 
 Harry could only be explained on the 
 ground of possession by the devil. Where- 
 fore Black Sheep was not only most 
 excellently beaten, once by Aunty Rosa, 
 and once, when thoroughly cowed down, 
 by Harry, but he was further prayed for 
 at family prayers, together with Jane, who 
 had stolen a cold rissole from the pantry 
 and snuffled audibly as her enormity was 
 brought before the Throne of Grace. 
 Black Sheep was sore and stiff but tri- 
 umphant. He would die that very night 
 and be rid of them all. No, he would 
 ask for no forgiveness from Harry, and 
 at bed-time would stand no questioning 
 at Harrv's hands, even though addressed 
 as "Young Cain." 
 
 "I've been beaten," said he, "and I've 
 done other things. I don't care what I 
 do. If you speak to me to-night, Harry, 
 I'll get out and try to kill you. Now, 
 you can kill me if you like."
 
 baa raa, black sheep. 91 
 
 Harry took his bed into the spare room, 
 and Black Sheep lay down to die. 
 
 It may be that the makers of Noah's 
 arks know that their animals are likely to 
 find their way into young - mouths, and 
 paint them accordingly. Certain it is 
 that the common, weary next morning 
 broke through the windows and found 
 Black Sheep quite well and a good deal 
 ashamed of himself, but richer by the 
 knowledge that he could, in extremity, 
 secure himself against Harry for the 
 future. 
 
 When he descended to breakfast on the 
 first day of the holidays, he was greeted 
 with the news that Harry, Aunty Rosa, 
 and Judy were going away to Brighton, 
 while Black Sheep was to stay in the 
 house with the servant. His latter out- 
 break suited Aunty Rosa's plans admi- 
 rably. It gave her good excuse for leav-
 
 92 Baa Baa, black sheep. 
 
 ing the extra boy behind. Papa in Bom- 
 bay, who really seemed to know a young 
 sinner's wants to the hour, sent, that 
 week, a package of new books. And 
 with these, and the society of Jane on 
 board-wages, Black Sheep was left alone 
 for a month. 
 
 The books lasted for ten days. They 
 were eaten too quickly, in long gulps of 
 four-and-twenty hours at a time. Then 
 came days of doing absolutely nothing, 
 of dreaming dreams and marching imag- 
 inary armies up and down stairs, of count- 
 ing the number of banisters, and of 
 measuring the length and breadth of every 
 room in hand-spans — fifty down the side, 
 thirty across, and fifty back again. Jane 
 made many friends, and, after receiving- 
 Black Sheep's assurance that he would 
 not tell of her absences, went out daily 
 for long hours. Black Sheep would fol-
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 93 
 
 low the rays of the sinking sun from the 
 kitchen to the dining-room, and thence 
 upward to his own bedroom, until all was 
 gray dark, and he ran down to the 
 kitchen fire and read by its light. He 
 was happy in that he was left alone and 
 could read as much as he pleased. But, 
 later, he grew afraid of the shadows of 
 window-curtains and the flapping of doors 
 and the creaking of shutters. He went 
 out into the garden, and the rustling of 
 the laurel bushes frightened him. 
 
 He was glad when they all returned — 
 Aunty Rosa, Harry, and Judy — full of 
 news, and Judy laden with gifts. Who 
 could help loving loyal little Judy. In 
 return for all her merry babblement, 
 Black Sheep confided to her that the dis- 
 tance from the hall door to the top of the 
 first landing was exactly one hundred and 
 eighty -four hand-spans. He had found 
 it out himself.
 
 94 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 Then the old life recommenced; but 
 with a difference, and a new sin. To his 
 other iniquities Black Sheep had now 
 added a phenomenal clumsiness — was as 
 unfit to trust in action as he was in word. 
 He himself could not account for spilling 
 everything he touched, upsetting glasses 
 as he put his hand out, and bumping 
 his head against doors that were mani- 
 festly shut. There was a gray haze upon 
 all his world, and it narrowed month by 
 month, until at last it left Black Sheep 
 almost alone with the flapping curtains 
 that were so like ghosts, and the nameless 
 terrors of broad daylight that were only 
 coats on pegs, after all. 
 
 Holidays came and holidays went, and 
 Black Sheep was taken to see many 
 people whose faces were all exactly alike; 
 was beaten when occasion demanded, and 
 tortured by Harry on all possible occa-
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 95 
 
 sions; but defended by Judy through good 
 and evil report, though she thereby drew 
 upon herself the wrath of Aunty Rosa. 
 
 The weeks were interminable, and papa 
 and mamma were clean forgotten. Harry 
 had left school and was a clerk in a bank- 
 ing-office. Freed from his presence, 
 Black Sheep resolved that he should no 
 longer be deprived of his allowance of 
 pleasure-reading. Consequently when he 
 failed at school he reported that all was 
 well, and conceived a large contempt for 
 Aunty Rosa as he saw how easy it was to 
 deceive her. " She says I'm a little liar 
 when I don't tell lies, and now I do, she 
 doesn't know," thought Black Sheep. 
 Aunty Rosa had credited him in the past 
 with petty cunning and stratagem that 
 had never entered into his head. By the 
 light of the sordid knowledge that she 
 had revealed to him, he paid her back full
 
 96 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 tale. In a household when- the most in- 
 nocent of his motives — his natural yearn- 
 ing for a little affection — had been inter- 
 preted into a desire for more bread and 
 jam, or to ingratiate himself with strangers 
 and so put Harry into the background, 
 his work was easy. Aunty Rosa could 
 penetrate certain kinds of hypocrisy, but 
 not all. He set his child's wits against 
 hers and was no more beaten. It grew 
 monthly more and more of a trouble 
 to read the school-books, and even 
 the pages of the open-print story-books 
 danced and were dim. So Black Sheep 
 brooded in the shadows that fell about 
 him and cut him off from the world, in- 
 venting horrible punishments for " dear 
 Harry," or plotting another line of the 
 tangled web of deception that he wrapped 
 round Aunty Rosa. Then the crash 
 came and the cobwebs were broken. It
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 97 
 
 was impossible to foresee everything. 
 Aunty Rosa made personal inquiries as 
 to Black Sheep's progress and received 
 information that startled her. Step by 
 step, with a delight as keen as when she 
 convicted an under-fed house-maid of the 
 theft of cold meats, she followed the trail 
 of Black Sheep's delinquencies. For 
 weeks and weeks, in order to escape ban- 
 ishment from the book-shelves, he had 
 made a fool of Aunty Rosa, of Harry, of 
 God, of all the world! Horrible, most 
 horrible, and evidence of an utterly de- 
 praved mind. 
 
 Black Sheep counted the cost. "It 
 will only be one big beating and then 
 she'll put a card with ' Liar' on my back, 
 same as she did before. Harry will 
 whack me at prayers and tell me I'm a 
 child of the devil, and give me hymns to 
 learn. But I've done all my reading and 
 
 '4
 
 98 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 she never knew. She'll say she knew all 
 along. She's an old liar, too," said he. 
 
 For three days Black Sheep was shut 
 in his own bedroom — to prepare his heart. 
 " That means two beatings. One at 
 school and one here. That one will 
 hurt most." And it fell even as he 
 thought. He was thrashed at school be- 
 fore the Jews and the hubs hi, for the 
 heinous crime of bringing home false re- 
 ports of progress. He was thrashed at 
 home by Aunty Rosa on the same account, 
 and then the placard was produced. 
 Aunty Rosa stitched it between his shoul- 
 ders and bade him go for a walk with it 
 upon him. 
 
 " If you make me do that," said Black 
 Sheep, very quietly, "I shall burn this 
 house down, and perhaps I'll kill you. I 
 don't know whether I can kill you — 
 you're so bony — but I'll try."
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 99 
 
 No punishment followed this blas- 
 phemy, though Black Sheep held himself 
 ready to work his way to Aunty Rosa's 
 withered throat, and grip there till he was 
 beaten off. Perhaps Aunty Rosa was 
 afraid, for Black Sheep, having reached 
 the Nadir of Sin, bore himself with a new 
 recklessness. 
 
 In the midst of all the trouble, there 
 came a visitor from over the seas to 
 Downe Lodge, who knew papa and mam- 
 ma, and was commissioned to see Punch 
 and Judy. Black Sheep was sent to the 
 drawing-room, and charged into a solid 
 tea-table laden with china. 
 
 " Gently, gently, little man," said the 
 visitor, turning Black Sheep's face to the 
 light, slowly. " What's that big bird on 
 the palings?" 
 
 " What bird?" asked Black Sheep. 
 
 The visitor looked deep down into
 
 IOO BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 Black Sheep's eyes for half a minute, and 
 then said, suddenly: " Good God, the 
 little chap's nearly blind! " 
 
 It was a most business-like visitor. He 
 gave orders, on his own responsibility, 
 that Black Sheep was not to go to school 
 or open a book until mamma came home. 
 " She'll be here in three weeks, as you 
 know, of course," said he; " and I'm 
 Inverarity Sahib. I ushered you into 
 this wicked world, young man, and a nice 
 use you seem to have made of your time. 
 You must do nothing whatever. Can 
 you do that?" 
 
 " Yes," said Punch, in a dazed way. 
 He had known that mamma was coming. 
 There was a chance, then, of another beat- 
 ing. Thank Heaven, papa wasn't coming, 
 too. Aunty Rosa had said of late that he 
 ought to be beaten by a man. 
 
 For the next three weeks Black Sheep
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. IOI 
 
 was strictly allowed to do nothing. He 
 spent his time in the old nursery looking 
 at the broken toys, for all of which account 
 must be rendered to mamma. Aunty 
 Rosa hit him over the hands if even a 
 wooden boat were broken. But that sin 
 was of small importance compared to the 
 other revelations, so darkly hinted at by 
 Aunty Rosa. "When your mother comes, 
 and hears what I have to tell her, she may 
 appreciate you properly," she said, grimly, 
 and mounted guard over Judy lest that 
 small maiden should attempt to comfort 
 her brother, to the peril of her own soul. 
 And mamma came — in a four-wheeler 
 and a flutter of tender excitement. Such 
 a mamma! She was young, frivolously 
 young, and beautiful, with delicately 
 flushed cheeks, eyes that shone like stars, 
 and a voice that needed no additional 
 appeal of outstretched arms to draw little
 
 102 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP, 
 
 ones to her heart. Judy ran straight to 
 her, but Black Sheep hesitated. Could 
 this wonder be "showing off?" She would 
 not put out her arms when she knew of 
 his crimes. Meantime, was it possible 
 that by fondling she wanted to get any- 
 thing out of Black Sheep? Only all his 
 love and all his confidence; but that Black 
 Sheep did not know. Aunty Rosa with- 
 drew and left mamma kneeling between 
 her children, half laughing, half crying, in 
 the very hall where Punch and Judy had 
 wept five years before. 
 
 " Well, chicks, do you remember me?" 
 "No," said Judy, frankly, "but I said 
 ' God bless papa and mamma ' ev'vy 
 night." 
 
 "A little," said Black Sheep. "Re- 
 member I wrote to you every week, any- 
 how. That isn't to show off, but 'cause 
 of what comes afterward."
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK S1TEEP. 103 
 
 "What comes after! What should 
 come after, my darling boy?" And she 
 drew him to her again. He came awk- 
 wardly, with many angles. " Not used to 
 petting," said the quick mother-soul. 
 "The girl is." 
 
 " She's too little to hurt anyone," 
 thought Black Sheep, "and if I said I'd 
 kill her, she'd be afraid. I wonder what 
 Aunty Rosa will tell." 
 
 There was a constrained late dinner, 
 at the end of which mamma picked up 
 Judy and put her to bed with endearments 
 manifold. Faithless little Judy had 
 shown her defection from Aunty Rosa 
 already; and that lady resented it bit- 
 terly. Black Sheep rose to leave the 
 room. 
 
 "Come an i say good-night," said 
 Aunty Rosa, offering a withered cheek. 
 
 "Huh!" said Black Sheep. "I never
 
 / 
 
 104 BAA BAA » BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 kiss you, and I'm not going to show off. 
 Tell that woman what I've done, and see 
 what she says." 
 
 Black Sheep climbed into bed feeling 
 that he had lost Heaven after a glimpse 
 through the gates. In half an hour "that 
 woman " was bending over him. Black 
 Sheep flung up his right arm. It wasn't 
 fair to come and hit him in the dark. Even 
 Aunty Rosa never tried that. But no 
 blow followed. 
 
 ** Are you showing off? I won't tell you 
 anything more than Aunty Rosa has, and 
 she doesn't know everything," said Black 
 Sheep, as clearly as he could for the arms 
 round his neck. 
 
 "Oh, my son — my little, little son! It 
 was my fault — my fault, darling — and yet 
 how could we help it? Forgive me, 
 Punch." The voice died out in a broken 
 whisper, and two hot tears fell on Black 
 Sheep's forehead
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 105 
 
 " Has she been making you cry, too?" 
 he asked. "You should see Jane cry. 
 But you're nice, and Jane is a born liar — 
 Aunty Rosa says so." 
 
 "Hush, Punch, hush! My boy, don't 
 talk like that. Try to love me a little 
 bit — a little bit. You don't know how I 
 want it. Punch-Sada, come back to me! 
 I am your mother — your own mother — 
 and never mind the rest. I know — yes, 
 I know, dear. It doesn't matter now. 
 Punch, won't you care for me a little?" 
 
 It is astonishing how much petting a 
 big boy of ten can endure when he is 
 quite sure that there is no one to laugh 
 at him. Black Sheep had never been 
 made much of before, and here was this 
 beautiful woman treating him — Black 
 Sheep, the Child of the Devil and the In- 
 heritor of Undying Flame — as though he 
 were a small god.
 
 106 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 " I care for you a great deal, mother 
 dear," he whispered at last, 'and I'm glad 
 you've come back; but are you sure Aunty 
 Rosa told you everything? " 
 
 "Everything. What does it matter? 
 But" — the voice broke with a sob that 
 was also laughter — " Punch, my poor, 
 dear, half-blind darling, don't you think 
 it was a little foolish of you? " 
 
 " No. It saved a lickin'." 
 
 Mamma shuddered and slipped away 
 in the darkness to write a long letter to 
 papa. Here is an extract: 
 
 ". . . Judy is a dear, plump little 
 prig who adores the woman, and wears, 
 with as much gravity as her religious 
 opinions — only eight, Jack! — a venerable 
 horse-hair atrocity which she calls her 
 bustle! I have just burned it, and the 
 child is asleep in my bed as I write. She 
 will come to me at once. Punch I can
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 107 
 
 not quite understand. He is well nour- 
 ished, but seems to have been worried 
 into a system of small deceptions which 
 the woman magnifies into deadly sins. 
 Don't you recollect our own up-bringing, 
 dear, when the fear of the Lord was so 
 often the beginning of falsehood? I shall 
 win Punch to me before long. I am 
 taking the children away into the country 
 to get them to know me, and, on the 
 whole, I am content, or shall be when 
 you come home, dear boy; and then, 
 thank God, we shall be all under one roof 
 again at last!" 
 
 Three months later, Punch, no longer 
 Black Sheep, has discovered that he is 
 the veritable owner of a real, live, lovely 
 mamma, who is also a sister, comforter, 
 and friend, and that he must protect her 
 till the father comes home. Deception 
 does not suit the part of a protector, and
 
 108 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 
 
 when one can do anything without ques- 
 tion, where is the use of deception? 
 
 " Mother would be awfully cross if you 
 walked through that ditch," says Judy, 
 continuing a conversation. 
 
 " Mother's never angry," says Punch. 
 "She'd just say, 'You're a little pagal;' 
 and that's not nice, but I'll show." 
 
 Punch walks through the ditch and 
 mires himself to the knees. " Mother 
 dear," he shouts, " I'm just as dirty as I 
 can pos-jz$-ly be! " 
 
 "Then change your clothes as quickly 
 as you pos-^-ly can!" rings out moth- 
 er's clear voice from the house. "And 
 don't be a little pagal!" 
 
 " There! Told you so," said Punch. 
 "It's all different now, and we are just as 
 much mother's as if she had never gone." 
 
 Not altogether, oh Punch, for when 
 young lips have drunk deep of the bitter
 
 BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP. IO9 
 
 waters of Hate, Suspicion, and Despair, 
 all the love in the world will not wholly 
 take away that knowledge; though it 
 may turn darkened eyes for awhile to 
 the light, and teach Faith where no Faith 
 was.
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 " Where the word of a King is, there is power. 
 And who may say unto him — What doest thou?" 
 
 " Yeth! And Chimo to sleep at ve foot 
 of ve bed, and ve pink pikky-book, andve 
 bwead — 'cause I will be hungwy in ve 
 night — and vat's all, Miss Biddums. And 
 now give me one kiss and I'll go to sleep. 
 So! Kite quiet. Ow! Ve pink pikky- 
 book has slidded under ve pillow and ve 
 bwead is cwumbling! Miss Biddums! 
 Miss Bz'd-dumsl I'm so uncomfy! Come 
 and tuck me up, Miss Biddums." 
 
 His Majesty the King was going to 
 
 bed; and poor, patient Miss Biddums, who 
 
 had advertised herself humbly as a " young 
 
 person, European, accustomed to the care 
 
 fill)
 
 112 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 of little children," was forced to wait upon 
 his royal caprices. The going to bed was 
 always a lengthy process, because His Maj- 
 esty had a convenient knack of forgetting 
 which of his many friends, from the 
 mehters son to the commissioner's daugh- 
 ter, he had prayed for, and, lest the Deity 
 should take offense, was used to toil 
 through his little prayers, in all reverence, 
 five times in one evening. His Majesty 
 the King believed in the efficacy of prayer 
 as devoutly as he believed in Chimo, the 
 patient spaniel, or Miss Biddums, who 
 could reach him down his gun — " with 
 cursuffun caps — reel ones " — from the up- 
 per shelves of the big nursery cupboard. 
 At the door of the nursery his authority 
 stopped. Beyond lay the empire of his 
 father and mother — two very terrible peo- 
 ple who had no time to waste upon His 
 Majesty the King. His voice was lowered
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. II3 
 
 when he passed the frontier of his own 
 dominions, his actions were fettered, and 
 his soul was filled with awe because of the 
 grim man who lived among a wilderness 
 of pigeon-holes and the most fascinating 
 pieces of red tape, and the wonderful 
 woman who was always getting into or 
 stepping out of the big carriage. To the 
 one belonged the mysteries of the "duftar- 
 room;" to the other, the great, reflected 
 wilderness of the " Memsahib's room," 
 where the shiny, scented dresses hung on 
 pegs, miles and miles up in the air, and 
 the just-seen plateau of the toilet-table 
 revealed an acreage of speckly combs, em- 
 broidered " hanafitch-bags," and "white- 
 headed " brushes. 
 
 There was no room for His Majesty the 
 King either in official reserve or mundane 
 gorgeousness. He had discovered that, 
 
 ages and ages ago — before even Chimo 
 a
 
 114 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 came to the house, or Miss Biddums had 
 ceased grizzling over a packet of greasy 
 letters which appeared to be her chief 
 treasure on earth. His Majesty the King, 
 therefore, wisely confined himself to his 
 own territories, where only Miss Biddums, 
 and she feebly, disputed his sway. 
 
 From Miss Biddums he had picked up 
 his simple theology and welded it to the 
 legends of gods and devils that he had 
 learned in the servants' quarters. 
 
 To Miss Biddums he confided with 
 equal trust his tattered garments and his 
 more serious griefs. She would make 
 everything whole. She knew exactly how 
 the earth had been born, and had reassured 
 the trembling soul of His Majesty the King 
 of that terrible time in July when it rained 
 continuously for seven days and seven 
 nights, and — there was no Ark ready and 
 all the ravens had flown away! She was
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. I 1 5 
 
 the most powerful person with whom he 
 was brought into contact — always except- 
 ing the two remote and silent people be- 
 yond the nursery door. 
 
 How was His Majesty the King to know 
 that, six years ago, in the summer of his 
 birth, Mrs. Austell, turning over her hus- 
 band's papers, had come upon the intem- 
 perate letter of a foolish woman who had 
 been carried away by the silent man's 
 strength and personal beauty? How could 
 he tell what evil the overlooked slip of 
 note-paper had wrought in the mind of a 
 desperately jealous wife? How could he, 
 despite his wisdom, guess that his mother 
 had chosen to make of it excuse for a bar 
 and a division between herself and her 
 husband that strengthened and grew 
 harder to break with each year; that she, 
 having unearthed this skeleton in the cup- 
 board, had trained it into a household
 
 I t6 his majesty the king. 
 
 god which should be about their path and 
 about their bed, and poison all their ways? 
 
 These things were beyond the province 
 of His Majesty the King. He only knew 
 that his father was daily absorbed in some 
 mysterious work for a thing called the 
 Szrkar, and that his mother was the vic- 
 tim alternately of the Nautch and the 
 Burrakhana. To these entertainments 
 she was escorted by a captain-man for 
 whom His Majesty the King had no 
 regard. 
 
 ''He doesrit laugh," he argued with 
 Miss Biddums, who would fain have 
 taught him charity. " He only makes 
 faces wiv his mouf, and when he wants 
 to o-muse me, I am not o-mused." And 
 His Majesty the King shook his head as 
 one who knew the deceitfulness of the 
 world. 
 
 Morning and evening it was his duty
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. I I 7 
 
 to salute his father and mother — the for- 
 mer with a grave shake of the hand, and 
 the latter with an equally grave kiss. 
 Once, indeed, he had put his arms round 
 his mother's neck, in the fashion he 
 used toward Miss Biddums. The open- 
 work of his sleeve-edge caught in an ear- 
 ring, and the last stage of His Majesty's 
 little overture was a suppressed scream 
 and summary dismissal to the nursery. 
 
 " It is w'ong," thought His Majesty the 
 King, " to hug Memsahibs wiv nngs in 
 veir ears. I will amember." He never 
 repeated the experiment. 
 
 Miss Biddums, it must be confessed, 
 spoiled him as much as his nature admit- 
 ted, in some sort of recompense for what 
 she called " the hard ways of papa and 
 mamma." She, like her charge, knew 
 nothing of the trouble between man and 
 wife — the savage contempt for a woman s
 
 Jl8 HIS MAJESTY THE KING, 
 
 stupidity on the one side, or the dull, 
 rankling anger on the other. Miss Bid- 
 dums had looked after many little chil- 
 dren in her time, and served in many 
 establishments. Being a discreet woman, 
 she observed little and said less, and 
 when her pupils went over the sea to the 
 Great Unknown, which she, with touch- 
 ing confidence in her hearers, called 
 " Home," packed up her slender belong- 
 ings and sought for employment afresh, 
 lavishing all her love on each successive 
 batch of ingrates. Only His Majesty the 
 King had repaid her affection with inter- 
 est; and in his uncomprehending ears she 
 had told the tale of nearly all her hopes, 
 her aspirations, the hopes that were dead, 
 and the dazzling glories of her ancestral 
 home in " Calcutta., close to Wellington 
 Square." 
 
 Everything above the average was, in
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. I 19 
 
 the eyes of His Majesty the King, " Cal- 
 cutta good." When Miss Biddums had 
 crossed his royal will, he reversed the epi- 
 thet to vex that estimable lady, and all 
 things evil were, until the tears of repent- 
 ance swept away spite, " Calcutta bad." 
 
 Now and again Miss Biddums begged 
 for him the rare pleasure of a day in the 
 society of the commissioner's child — the 
 willful four-year-old Patsie, who, to the 
 intense amazement of His Majesty the 
 King, was idolized by her parents. On 
 thinking the question out at length, by 
 roads unknown to those who have left 
 childhood behind, he came to the conclu- 
 sion that Patsie was petted because she 
 wore a big blue sash and yellow hair. 
 
 This precious discovery he kept to him- 
 self. The yellow hair was absolutely be- 
 yond his power, his own tousled wig being 
 potato-brown; but something might be
 
 120 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 done toward the blue sash. He tied a 
 large knot in his mosquito-curtains in or- 
 der to remember to consult Patsie on 
 their next meeting. She was the only 
 child he had ever spoken to, and almost 
 the only one that he had ever seen. The 
 little memory and the very large and 
 ragged knot held good. 
 
 " Patsie, lend me your blue wibbon," 
 said His Majesty the King. 
 
 " You'll bewy it," said Patsie, doubt- 
 fully, mindful of certain fearful atrocities 
 committed on her doll. 
 
 "No, I won't — twoofanhonor. It's for 
 me to wear." 
 
 " Pooh!" said Patsie. " Boys don't 
 wear sa-ashes. Zey's only for dirls." 
 
 " I didn't know." The face of His 
 Majesty the King fell. 
 
 " Who wants ribbons? Are you play- 
 ing*- horses, chicka-biddies?" said the com-
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 131 
 
 missioner's wife, stepping into the ve- 
 randa. 
 
 " Toby wanted my sash," explained 
 Patsie. 
 
 " I don't now," said His Majesty the 
 King, hastily, feeling that with one of 
 these terrible " grown-ups " his poor little 
 secret would be shamelessly wrenched 
 from him, and perhaps — most burning 
 desecration of all — laughed at. 
 
 " I'll give you a cracker-cap," said the 
 commissioner's wife. " Come along with 
 me, Toby, and we'll choose it." 
 
 The cracker-cap was a stiff, three- 
 pointed, vermilion-and-tinsel splendor. 
 His Majesty the King fitted it on his 
 royal brow. The commissioner's wife 
 had a face that children instinctively 
 trusted, and her action, as she adjusted 
 the toppling middle spike, was tender. 
 
 "Will it do as well?" stammered His 
 Majesty the King.
 
 122 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 " As what, little one? " 
 
 "As ve wibbon?" 
 
 " Oh, quite. Go and look at yourself 
 in the Mass." 
 
 The words were spoken in all sin- 
 cerity and to help forward any absurd 
 " dressing-up " amusement that the chil- 
 dren mioht take into their minds. But 
 the young savage has a keen sense of the 
 ludicrous. His Majesty the King swung 
 the great cheval-glass down, and saw his 
 head crowned with the staring horror of 
 a fool's cap — a thing which his father 
 would rend to pieces if it ever came into 
 his office. He plucked it off, and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 " Toby," said the commissioner's wife, 
 gravely, " you shouldn't give way to 
 temper. I am very sorry to see it. It's 
 wrong." 
 
 His Majesty the King sobbed inconsol-
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KINO. 12^ 
 
 ably, and the heart of Patsie's mother 
 was touched. She drew the child on to 
 her knee. Clearly it was not temper 
 alone. 
 
 "What is it, Toby? Won't you tell 
 me? Aren't you well?" 
 
 The torrent of sobs and speech met, 
 and fought for a time, with chokings and 
 gulpings and gasps. Then, in a sudden 
 rush, His Majesty the King was delivered 
 of a few inarticulate sounds, followed by 
 the words: " Go a — way, you— dirty — 
 little debbil!" 
 
 "Toby! What do you mean?" 
 
 "It's what he'd say. I hiow it is! He 
 sait vat when vere was only a little, little 
 eggy mess on my t-t-unic; and he'd say it 
 again, and laugh, if I went in wif vat on 
 my head." 
 
 "Who would say that?" 
 
 " M-m-my papa! And I fought if I had
 
 124 111S MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 ve blue wibbon, he'd let me play in ve 
 waste-paper basket under ve table." 
 
 " What blue ribbon, childie?" 
 
 " Ve same vat Patsie had — ve h'w blue 
 wibbon w-w-wound my t-t-tummy!" 
 
 "What is it, Toby? There's some- 
 thing on your mind. Tell me all about 
 it, and perhaps I can help." 
 
 "Isn't anyfing," sniffed His Majesty, 
 mindful of his manhood, and raising his 
 head from the motherly bosom upon 
 which it was resting. " I only fought vat 
 you — you petted Patsie 'cause she had ve 
 blue wibbon, and — and if I'd had ve blue 
 wibbon, too, m-my papa w-would pet me." 
 
 The secret was out, and His Majesty 
 the King sobbed bitterly in spite of the 
 arms round him, and the murmur of 
 comfort on his heated little forehead. 
 
 Enter Patsie tumultuously, embar- 
 rassed by several lengths of the com-
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 125 
 
 missioner's pet mahseer-rod. ' Turn 
 along, Toby! Zere's a chu-chu lizard in 
 ze chick, and I've told Chimo to watch 
 him till we turn. If we poke him wiz zis, 
 his tail will go wiggle-wiggle and fall off. 
 Turn along! I can't weach." 
 
 " I'm comin'," said His Majesty the 
 King, climbing down from the commis- 
 sioner's wife's knee after a hasty kiss. 
 
 Two minutes later, the chu-chu lizard's 
 tail was wriggling on the matting of the 
 veranda, and the children were gravely 
 poking it with splinters from the chick, to 
 urge its exhausted vitality into "just one 
 wiggle more, 'cause it doesn't hurt chu- 
 chu." 
 
 The commissioner's wife stood in the 
 door-way and watched: " Poor little mite! 
 A blue sash — and my own precious Patsie! 
 I wonder if the best of us, or we who love 
 them best, ever understand what goes on 
 in their topsy-turvy little heads?"
 
 126 IMS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 A big tear splashed on the commission- 
 er's wife's wedding-ring, and she went in- 
 doors to devise a tea for the benefit of His 
 Majesty the King. 
 
 " Their souls aren't in their tummies at 
 that age in this climate," said the commis- 
 sioner's wife, "but they are not far off. I 
 wonder if I could make Mrs. Austell 
 understand. Poor little fellow!" 
 
 With simple craft, the commissioner's 
 wife called on Mrs. Austell and spoke long 
 and lovingly about children; inquiring 
 specially for His Majesty the King. 
 
 " He's with his governess," said Mrs. 
 Austell, and the tone intimated that she 
 was not interested. 
 
 The commissioner's wife, unskilled in 
 the art of war, continued her questionings. 
 " I don't know," said Mrs. Austell. "These 
 things are left to Miss Biddums, and, of 
 course, she does not ill-treat the child."
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 1 27 
 
 The commissioner's wife left hastily. 
 The last sentence jarred upon her nerves. 
 " Doesn't ill-treat the child! As if that 
 were all! I wonder what Tom would say 
 if I only ' didn't ill-treat ' Patsie!" 
 
 Thenceforward His Majesty the King 
 was an honored guest at the commission- 
 er's house, and the chosen friend of Patsie, 
 with whom he blundered into as many 
 scrapes as the compound and the servants' 
 quarters afforded. Patsie's mamma was 
 always ready to give counsel, help, and 
 sympathy, and, if need were, and callers 
 few, to enter into their games with an 
 abandon that would have shocked the 
 sleek-haired subalterns who squirmed pain- 
 fully in their chairs when they came to call 
 on her whom they profanely nicknamed 
 " Mother Bunch." 
 
 Yet, in spite of Patsie and Patsie's 
 mamma, and the love that these two lav-
 
 128 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 ished upon him, His Majesty the King 
 fell grievously from grace, and committed 
 no less a sin than that of theft — unknown, 
 it is true, but burdensome. 
 
 There came a man to the door one day, 
 when His Majesty was playing in the hall, 
 and the bearer had gone to dinner, with a 
 packet for His Majesty's mamma. And 
 he put it upon the hall table, said that 
 there was no answer, and departed. 
 
 Presently, the pattern of the dado ceased 
 to interest His Majesty, while the packet — 
 a white, neatly-wrapped one of fascinating 
 shape — interested him very much indeed. 
 His mamma was out, so was Miss Bid- 
 dums, and there was pink string round the 
 packet. He greatly desired the pink 
 string. It would help him in many of his 
 little businesses — the haulage across the 
 floor of his small cane chair, the torturing 
 of Chimo, who could never understand
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. I2Q. 
 
 harness — and so forth. If he took the 
 string, it would be his own, and nobody 
 would be any the wiser. He certainly 
 could not pluck up sufficient courage to 
 ask mamma for it. Wherefore, mounting 
 upon a chair, he carefully untied the string, 
 and, behold, the stiff white paper spread 
 out in four directions, and revealed a beau- 
 tiful little leather box with gold lines upon 
 it! He tried to replace the string, but 
 that was a failure. So he opened the box 
 to get full satisfaction for his iniquity, and 
 saw a most beautiful star that shone and 
 winked, and was altogether lovely and 
 desirable. 
 
 "Vat," said His Majesty, meditatively, 
 " is a 'parkle cwown, like what I will wear 
 when I go to heaven. I will wear it on 
 my head— Miss Biddums says so. I 
 would like to wear it now. I would like 
 
 to play wiv it. I will take it away and 
 9
 
 I30 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 play wiv it, very careful, until mamma asks 
 for it. I fink it was bought for me to play 
 wiv — same as my cart." 
 
 His Majesty the King was arguing 
 against his conscience, and he knew it, for 
 he thought immediately after: " Never 
 mind. I will keep it to play~ wiv until 
 mamma says where is it, and then I will 
 say: ' I tookt it, and I am sorry.' I will 
 not hurt it, because it is a 'parkle cwown. 
 But Miss Biddums will tell me to put it 
 back. I will not show it to Miss Bid- 
 dums." 
 
 If mamma had come in at that moment, 
 all would have gone well. She did not, 
 and His Majesty the King stuffed paper, 
 case, and jewel into the breast of his 
 blouse, and marched to the nursery. 
 
 " When mamma asks, I will tell," was 
 the salve that he laid upon his conscience. 
 But mamma never asked, and for three
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. T 3 I 
 
 whole days His Majesty the King gloated 
 over his treasure. It was of no earthly 
 use to him, but it was splendid, and, for 
 aught he knew, something dropped from 
 the heavens themselves. Still mamma 
 made no inquiries, and it seemed to him, 
 in his furtive peeps, as though the shiny 
 stones grew dim. What was the use of a 
 'parkle cwown if it made a little boy feel 
 all bad in his inside? He had the pink 
 string as well as the other treasure, but 
 greatly he wished that he had not gone 
 beyond the string. It was his first expe- 
 rience of iniquity, and it pained him after 
 the flush of possession and secret delight 
 in the "'parkle cwown" had died away. 
 
 Each day that he delayed, rendered con- 
 fession to the people beyond the nursery 
 doors more impossible. Now and again 
 he determined to put himself in the path 
 of the beautifully attired lady as she was
 
 132 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 going out, and explain that he and no one 
 else was the possessor of a " 'parkle 
 cwown," most beautiful and quite unin- 
 quired for. But she passed hurriedly to 
 her carriage, and the opportunity was gone 
 before His Majesty the King could draw 
 the deep breath which clinches noble 
 resolve. The dread secret cut him off 
 from Miss Biddums, Patsie, and the com- 
 missioner's wife, and — doubly hard fate — 
 when he brooded over it, Patsie said, and 
 told her mother, that he was cross. 
 
 The days were very long to His Majesty 
 the King, and the nights longer still. 
 Miss Biddums had informed him, more 
 than once, what was the ultimate destiny 
 of " fieves," and when he passed the inter- 
 minable mud flanks of the central jail, he 
 shook in his little strapped shoes. 
 
 But release came after an afternoon 
 spent in playing boats by the edge of the
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 1 33 
 
 tank at the bottom of the garden. His 
 Majesty the King went to tea, and, for 
 the first time in his memory, the meal 
 revolted him. His nose was very cold, 
 and his cheeks were burning hot. There 
 was a weight about ■ his feet, and he 
 pressed his head several times to make 
 sure that it was not swelling as he sat. 
 
 " I feel vevy funny," said His Majesty 
 the King, rubbing his nose. " Vere's a 
 buzzing in my head." 
 
 He went to bed quietly. Miss Bid- 
 dums was out, and the bearer undressed 
 him. 
 
 The sin of the " 'parkle cwown " was 
 forgotten in the acuteness of the discom- 
 fort to which he roused after a leaden 
 sleep of some hours. He was thirsty, 
 and the bearer had forgotten to leave the 
 drinking-water. " Miss Biddums! Miss 
 Biddums! I'm so kirsty! "
 
 134 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 No answer. Miss Biddums had leave 
 to attend the wedding of a Calcutta 
 school-mate. His Majesty the King had 
 forgotten that. 
 
 " I want a dwink of water! " he cried, 
 but his voice was dried up in his throat. 
 " I want a dwink! Vere is ve glass? " 
 
 He sat up in bed and looked round. 
 There was a murmur of voices from the 
 other side of the nursery door. It was 
 better to face the terrible unknown than 
 to choke in the dark. He slipped out of 
 bed, but his feet were strangely willful, 
 and he reeled once or twice. Then he 
 pushed the door open and staggered — a 
 puffed and purple-faced little figure — into 
 the brilliant light of the dining-room full 
 of pretty ladies. 
 
 " I'm vevy hot! I'm vevy uncomfitivle," 
 moaned His Majesty the King, clinging 
 to the portiere, " and vere's no water in
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 1 35 
 
 ve glass, and I'm so kirsty. Give me a 
 dwink of water." 
 
 An apparition in black and white — His 
 Majesty the King could hardly see dis- 
 tinctly — lifted him up to the level of the 
 table, and felt his wrists and forehead. 
 The water came, and he drank deeply, 
 his teeth chattering against the edge of 
 the tumbler. Then everyone seemed to 
 go away — everyone except the huge man 
 in black and white, who carried him back 
 to his bed; the mother and father follow- 
 ing. And the sin of the "'parkle cvvown" 
 rushed back and took possession of the 
 terrified soul. 
 
 " I'm a fief!" he gasped. " I want to 
 tell Miss Biddums vat I'm a fief. Vere is 
 Miss Biddums? " 
 
 Miss Biddums had come and was bend- 
 ing over him. " I'm a fief," he whispered. 
 "A fief — like ve men in the pwison.
 
 136 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 But I'll tell now. I tookt — I tookt ve 
 'parkle cwown when the man that came 
 left it in ve hall. I bwoke ve paper and ve 
 little bwown box, and it looked shiny, and 
 I tookt it to play wiv, and I was afwaid. 
 It's in ve dooly-box at ve bottom. No 
 one never asked for it, but I was afwaid. 
 Oh, go an' get ve dooly-box! " 
 
 Miss Biddums obediently stooped to 
 the lowest shelf of the almirah and un- 
 earthed the big paper box in which His 
 Majesty the King kept his dearest pos- 
 sessions. Under the tin soldiers, ?nd a 
 layer of mud pellets for a pellet-bow, 
 winked and blazed a diamond star, 
 wrapped roughly in a half-sheet of note- 
 paper whereon were a few words. 
 
 Somebody was crying at the head of 
 the bed, and a man's hand touched the 
 forehead of His Majesty the King, who 
 grasped the packet and spread it on the 
 bed.
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 137 
 
 " Vat is ve 'parkle cwown," he said, and 
 wept bitterly; for now that he had made 
 restitution he would fain have kept the 
 shining splendor with him. 
 
 " It concerns you, too," said a voice at 
 the head of the bed. " Read the note. 
 This is not the time to keep back 
 anything." 
 
 The note was curt, very much to the 
 point, and signed by a single initial — "If 
 you wear this to-morrow night, I shall know 
 what to expect." The date was three 
 weeks old. 
 
 A whisper followed, and the deeper 
 voice returned: " And you drifted as far 
 apart as that! I think it makes us quits 
 now, doesn't it? Oh, can't we drop this 
 folly, once and for all? Is it worth it, 
 darling?" 
 
 " Kiss me, too," said His Majesty the 
 King, dreamily. "You isn't vevy angwy, 
 is you?"
 
 I38 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 
 
 The fever burned itself out, and His 
 Majesty the King slept. 
 
 When he waked, it was in a new world 
 — peopled by his father and mother as 
 well as Miss Biddums; and there wis 
 much love in that world and no morsel 
 of fear, and more petting than was 
 good for several little boys. His Majesty 
 the King was too young to moralize on 
 the uncertainty of things human, or he 
 would have been impressed with the 
 singular advantages of crime — ay, black 
 sin. Behold, he had stolen the " ' parkle 
 cwown," and his reward was love, and the 
 right to play in the waste-paper basket 
 under the table "for always." 
 
 » # i(c 3p v v 
 
 He trotted over to spend an evening 
 with Patsie, and the commissioner's wife 
 would have kissed him. " No, not vere," 
 said His Majesty the King, with superb
 
 HIS MAJESTY THE KING. 1 39 
 
 insolence, fencing one corner of his mouth 
 with his hand. ''Vat's my mamma's 
 place — vere she kisses me." 
 
 "Oh!" said the commissioner's wife, 
 briefly. Then, to herself: "Well, 1 sup- 
 pose I ought to be glad for his sake. 
 Children are selfish little grubs, and — I've 
 got my Patsie."
 
 THE DRUMS' OF THE FORE 
 AND AFT. 
 
 " And a little child shall lead them." 
 
 In the Army List they still stand as 
 " The Fore and Fit Princess Hohenzol- 
 lern-Sigmaringen-Auspach's Merther-Tyd- 
 filshire Own Royal Loyal Light Infantry, 
 Regimental District 329 A," but the army 
 through all its barracks and canteens 
 knows them now as the " Fore and Aft." 
 They may in time do something that shall 
 make their new title honorable, but at 
 present they are bitterly ashamed, and the 
 man who calls them " Fore and Aft " does 
 so at the risk of the head which is on his 
 shoulders. 
 
 (141)
 
 I42 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 Two words breathed into the stables of 
 a certain cavalry regiment will bring the 
 men out into the streets with belts and 
 mops and bad language; but a whisper of 
 " Fore and Aft" will bring out this regi- 
 ment with rifles. 
 
 Their one excuse is that they came 
 again and did their best to finish the job 
 in style. But for a time all their world 
 knows that they were openly beaten, 
 whipped, dumb-cowed, shaking, and afraid. 
 The men know it; their officers know it; 
 the Horse Guards know it; and when the 
 next war comes the enemy will know it 
 also. There are two or three regiments 
 of the line that have a black mark against 
 their names which they will then wipe out, 
 and it will be excessively inconvenient for 
 the troops upon whom they do their 
 wiping. 
 
 The courage of the British soldier is
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 43 
 
 officially supposed to be above proof, and, 
 as a general rule, it is so. The exceptions 
 are decently shoveled out of sight, only to 
 be referred to in the freshest of unguarded 
 talk that occasionally swamps a mess-table 
 at midnight. Then one hears strange and 
 horrible stories of men not following their 
 officers, of orders being given by those 
 who had no right to give them, and of dis- 
 grace that, but for the standing luck of the 
 British Army, might have ended in brill- 
 iant disaster. These are unpleasant 
 stories to listen to, and the messes tell 
 them under their breath, sitting by the 
 big wood fires, and the young officer bows 
 his head and thinks to himself, please 
 God, his men shall never behave un- 
 handily. 
 
 The British soldier is not altogether to 
 be blamed for occasional lapses; but this 
 verdict he should not know. A moder-
 
 144 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 ately intelligent general will waste six 
 months in mastering the craft of the par- 
 ticular war that he may be waging; a colo- 
 nel may utterly misunderstand the capac- 
 ity of his regiment for three months after 
 it has taken the field; and even a company 
 commander may err and be deceived as to 
 the temper and temperament of his own 
 handful; wherefore the soldier, and the 
 soldier of to-day more particularly, should 
 not be blamed for falling back. He should 
 be shot or hanged afterward — potir en- 
 courager les autres — but he should not be 
 vilified in newspapers, for that is want of 
 tact and waste of space. 
 
 He has, let us say, been in the service 
 of the empress for, perhaps, four years. 
 He will leave in another two years. He 
 has no inherited morals, and four years 
 are not sufficient to drive toughness into 
 his fiber, or to teach him how holy a thing
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 45 
 
 is his regiment. He wants to drink, he 
 wants to enjoy himself — in India he wants 
 to save money— and he does not in the 
 least like getting hurt. He had received 
 just sufficient education to make him un- 
 derstand half the purport of the orders he 
 receives, and to speculate on the nature of 
 clean, incised, and shattering wounds. 
 Thus, if he is told to deploy under fire 
 preparatory to an attack, he knows that he 
 runs a very great risk of being killed while 
 he is deploying, and suspects that he is 
 being thrown away to gain ten minutes' 
 time. He may either deploy with desper- 
 ate swiftness, or he may shuffle, or bunch, 
 or break, according to the discipline under 
 which he has lain for four years. 
 
 Armed with imperfect knowledge, 
 cursed with the rudiments of an imagi- 
 nation, hampered by the intense selfish- 
 ness of the lower classes, and unsup- 
 10
 
 146 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 ported by any regimental associations, this 
 young man is suddenly introduced to an 
 enemy who in eastern lands is always 
 ugly, generally tall and hairy, and fre- 
 quently noisy. If he looks to the right 
 and the left and sees old soldiers — men 
 of twelve years' service, who, he knows, 
 know what they are about — taking a 
 charge, rush, or demonstration without 
 embarrassment, he is consoled, and applies 
 his shoulder to the butt of his rifle with a 
 stout heart. His peace is the greater if 
 he hears a senior, who has taught him his 
 soldiering and broken his head on occa- 
 sion, whispering: "They'll shout and 
 carry on like this for five minutes, then 
 they'll rush in, and then we've got 'em by 
 the short hairs! " 
 
 But, on the other hand, if he sees only 
 men of his own term of service, turning 
 white and playing with their triggers and
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 47 
 
 saying: "What the hell's up now?" 
 while the company commanders are 
 sweating into their sword-hilts and shout- 
 ing: " Front-rank, fix bayonets! Steady, 
 there — steady! Sight for three hundred 
 — no, for five! Lie down, all! Steady! 
 Front-rank, kneel!" and so forth, he 
 becomes unhappy; and grows acutely mis- 
 erable when he hears a comrade turn over 
 with the rattle of fire-irons falling into the 
 fender, and the grunt of a pole-axed ox. 
 If he can be moved about a little and 
 allowed to watch the effect of his own fire 
 on the enemy, he feels merrier, and may 
 be then worked up to the blind passion 
 of fighting, which is, contrary to general 
 belief, controlled by a chilly devil and 
 shakes men like ague. If he is not 
 moved about, and begins to feel cold at 
 the pit of the stomach, and in that crisis 
 is badly mauled and hears orders that were
 
 I48 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT, 
 
 never given, he will break, and he will 
 break badly; and of all things under the 
 sight of the sun there is nothing more 
 terrible than a broken British regiment. 
 When the worst comes to the worst, and 
 the panic is really epidemic, the men must 
 be e'en let go, and the company command- 
 ers had better escape to the enemy and 
 stay there for safety's sake. If they can 
 be made to come again, they are not 
 pleasant men to meet, because they will 
 not break twice. 
 
 About thirty years from this date, 
 when we have succeeded in half-educating 
 everything that wears trousers, our army 
 will be a beautifully unreliable machine. 
 It will know too much, and it will do too 
 little. Later still, when all men are at 
 the mental level of the officer of to-day, 
 it will sweep the earth. Speaking roughly, 
 you must employ either blackguards or
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 49 
 
 gentlemen, or, best of all, blackguards 
 commanded by gentlemen, to do butcher's 
 work with efficiency and dispatch. The 
 ideal soldier should, of course, think for 
 himself — the pocket-book says so. Un- 
 fortunately, to attain this virtue, he has 
 to pass through the phase of thinking of 
 himself, and that is misdirected genius. A 
 blackguard may be slow to think for him- 
 self, but he is genuinely anxious to kill, 
 and a little punishment teaches him how 
 to guard his own skin and perforate 
 another's. A powerfully prayerful High- 
 land regiment, officered by rank Presby- 
 terians, is, perhaps, one degree more 
 terrible in action than a hard-bitten 
 thousand of irresponsible Irish ruffians, 
 led by most improper young unbelievers. 
 But these things prove the rule — which 
 is, that the midway men are not to be 
 trusted alone. They have ideas about the
 
 15O DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 value of life and an up-bringing that has 
 not taught them to go on and take the 
 chances. They are carefully unprovided 
 with a backing of comrades who have 
 been shot over, and until that backings is 
 reintroduced, as a great many regimental 
 commanders intend it shall be, they are 
 more liable to disgrace themselves than 
 the size of the empire or the dignity of 
 the army allows. Their officers are as 
 good as good can be, because their train- 
 ing begins early, and God has arranged 
 that a clean-run youth of the British mid- 
 dle classes shall, in the matter of back- 
 bone, brains, and bowels, surpass all other 
 youths. For this reason, a child of 
 eighteen will stand up, doing nothing, 
 with a tin sword in his hand and joy in 
 his heart until he is dropped. If he 
 dies, he dies like a gentleman. If he 
 lives, he writes home that he has been
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 5 1 
 
 "potted," "sniped," "chipped" or "cut 
 over," and sits down to besiege the gov- 
 ernment for a wound-gratuity until the 
 next little war breaks out, when he per- 
 jures himself before a medical board, 
 blarneys his colonel, burns incense round 
 his adjutant, and is allowed to go to the 
 front once more. 
 
 Which homily brings me directly to a 
 brace of the most finished little fiends 
 that ever banged drum or tooted fife in 
 the band of a British regiment. They 
 ended their sinful career by open and 
 flagrant mutiny and were shot for it. 
 Their names were J akin and Lew — Piggy 
 Lew — and they were bold, bad drummer- 
 boys, both of them frequently birched by 
 the drum-major of the Fore and Aft. 
 
 Jakin was a stunted child of fourteen, 
 and Lew was about the same age. When 
 not looked -after, they smoked and drank.
 
 152 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 They swore habitually after the manner of 
 the barrack-room, which is cold-swearing 
 and comes from between clinched teeth; 
 and they fought religiously once a week. 
 J akin had sprung from some London 
 gutter and may or may not have passed 
 through Dr. Barnado's hands ere he ar- 
 rived at the dignity of drummer-boy. 
 Lew could remember nothing except the 
 regiment and the delight of listening to 
 the band from his earliest years. He hid 
 somewhere in his grimy little soul a gen- 
 uine love for music, and was most mis- 
 takenly furnished with the head of a 
 cherub; insomuch that beautiful ladies 
 who watched the regiment in church were 
 wont to speak of him as a " darling." 
 They never heard his vitriolic comments 
 on their manners and morals, as he 
 walked back to barracks with the band 
 and matured fresh causes of offense 
 against J akin.
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 53 
 
 The other drummer-boys hated both 
 lads on account of their illogical conduct. 
 Jakin might be pounding Lew, or Lew 
 might be rubbing Jakin's head in the dirt; 
 but any attempt at aggression on the part 
 of an outsider was met by the combined 
 forces of Lew and Jakin, and the conse- 
 quences were painful. The boys were 
 the Ishmaels of the corps, but wealthy 
 Ishmaels, for they sold battles in alternate 
 weeks for the sport of the barracks when 
 they were not pitted against other boys; 
 and thus amassed money. 
 
 On this particular day there was dis- 
 sension in the camp. They had just been 
 convicted afresh of smoking, which is bad 
 for little boys who use plug tobacco, and 
 Lew's contention was that Jakin had 
 "stunk so 'orrid bad from keepin' the 
 pipe in his pocket," that he and he alone 
 was responsible for the birching they 
 were both tingling under.
 
 154 DKUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 " I tell you I 'id the pipe back o' bar- 
 ricks," said Jakin pacifically. 
 
 "You're a bloomin' liar," said Lew, 
 without heat. 
 
 " You're a bloomin' little barstard," said 
 Jakin, strong in the knowledge that his 
 own ancestry was unknown. 
 
 Now there is one word in the extended 
 vocabulary of barrack-room abuse that 
 can not pass without comment. You may 
 call a man a thief and risk nothing. You 
 may even call him a coward without find- 
 ing more than a boot whiz past your ear, 
 but you must not call a man a bastard 
 unless you are prepared to prove it on 
 his front teeth. 
 
 " You might ha' kep 1 that till I wasn't 
 so sore," said Lew, sorrowfully, dodging 
 round Jakin's guard. 
 
 " I'll make you sorer," said Jakin, geni- 
 ally, and got home on Lew's alabaster
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 55 
 
 forehead. All would have gone well and 
 this story, as the books say, would never 
 have been written, had not his evil fate 
 prompted the bazaar-sergeant's son, a 
 long, employless man of five-and-twenty, 
 to put in appearance after the first round. 
 He was eternally in need of money, and 
 knew that the boys had silver. 
 
 " Fighting again," said he. " I'll report 
 you to my father, and he'll report you to 
 the color-sergeant." 
 
 " What's that to you?" said J akin, with 
 an unpleasant dilation of the nostrils. 
 
 " Oh! nothing to me. You'll get into 
 trouble, and you've been up too often to 
 afford that." 
 
 " What the hell do you know about 
 what we've done?" asked Lew, the Seraph. 
 " You aren't in the army, you lousy, 
 cadging civilian!" 
 
 He closed in on the man's left flank.
 
 I56 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 "jes' 'cause you find two gentlemen 
 settlin' their differences with their fistes, 
 you stick in your ugly nose where you 
 aren't wanted. Run 'ome to your 'arf- 
 caste slut of a ma — or we'll give you 
 what-for," said J akin. 
 
 The man attempted reprisals by knock- 
 ing the boys' heads together. The 
 scheme would have succeeded had not 
 J akin punched him vehemently in the 
 stomach, or had Lew refrained from kick- 
 ing his shins. They fought together, 
 bleeding and breathless, for half an hour, 
 and, after heavy punishment, triumph- 
 antly pulled down their opponent as ter- 
 riers pull down a jackal. 
 
 " Now," gasped Jakin, " I'll give you 
 what-for." He proceeded to pound the 
 man's features while Lew stamped on the 
 outlying portions of his anatomy. Chiv- 
 alry is not a strong point in the composi-
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 57 
 
 tion of the average drummer-boy. He 
 fights, as do his betters, to make his 
 mark. 
 
 Ghastly was the ruin that escaped, and 
 awful was the wrath of the bazaar-ser- 
 geant. Awful, too, was the scene in the 
 orderly-room when the two reprobates 
 appeared to answer the charge of half- 
 murdering a "civilian." The bazaar-ser- 
 geant thirsted for a criminal action, and 
 his son lied. The boys stood to attention 
 while the black clouds of evidence accu- 
 mulated. 
 
 "You little devils are more trouble 
 than the rest of the regiment put to- 
 gether," said the colonel, angrily. " One 
 might as well admonish thistledown, 
 and I can't well put you in cells or 
 under stoppages. You must be flogged 
 again." 
 
 " Beg y' pardon, sir. Can't we say
 
 158 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 nothin' in our own defense, sir?" shrilled 
 Jakin. 
 
 " Hey! What? Are you going to 
 argue with me?" said the colonel. 
 
 " No, sir," said Lew. "But if a man 
 come to you, sir, and said he was going to 
 report you, sir, for 'aving a bit of a turn- 
 up with a friend, sir, an' wanted to get 
 money out o' you, sir — " 
 
 The orderly-room exploded in a roar of 
 laughter. " Well?" said the colonel. 
 
 " That was what that measly jarnwar 
 there did, sir, and 'e'd a' done it, sir, if we 
 'adn't prevented 'im. We didn't 'it Mm 
 much, sir. 'E 'adn't no manner o' right 
 to interfere with us, sir. I don't mind 
 bein 1 flogged by the drum-major, sir, nor 
 yet reported by any corp'ral, but I'm — but 
 I don't think it's fair, sir, for a civilian to 
 come an' talk over a man in the army." 
 
 A second shout of laughter shook
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 59 
 
 the orderly-room, but the colonel was 
 grave. 
 
 " What sort of characters have these 
 boys? 1 ' he asked of the regimental sergeant- 
 major. 
 
 " Accordin' to the bandmaster, sir, 1 ' re- 
 turned that revered official — the only soul 
 in the regiment whom the boys feared — 
 " they do everything but lie, sir." 
 
 " Is it like we'd go for that man for fun, 
 sir?" said Lew, pointing to the plaintiff. 
 
 " Oh, admonished — admonished!" said 
 the colonel, testily, and, when the boys had 
 gone, he read the bazaar-sergeant's son a 
 lecture on the sin of unprofitable med- 
 dling, and gave orders that the band-mas- 
 ter should keep the drums in better disci- 
 pline. 
 
 " If either of you come to practice again 
 with so much as a scratch on your two 
 ugly little faces," thundered the bandmas-
 
 l6o DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 ter, "I'll tell the drum-major to take the 
 skin off your backs. Understand that, 
 you young devils." 
 
 Then he repented of his speech for just 
 the length of time that Lew, looking 
 like a seraph in red-worsted embellish- 
 ments, took the place of one of the 
 trumpets — in hospital — and rendered the 
 echo of a battle-piece. Lew certainly 
 was a musician, and had often, in his more 
 exalted moments, expressed a yearning to 
 master every instrument of the band. 
 
 "There's nothing to prevent your 
 becoming a bandmaster, Lew," said the 
 bandmaster, who had composed waltzes 
 of his own, and worked day and night in 
 the interests of the band. 
 
 "What did he say?" demanded Jakin, 
 after practice. 
 
 "Said I might be a bloomin' band- 
 master, an' be asked in to 'ave a glass o' 
 sherry -wine on mess-nights,"
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. l6l 
 
 "Ho! Said you might be a bloomin' non- 
 combatant, did 'e? That's just about wot 
 'e would say. When I've put in my boy's 
 service — it's a bloomin' shame that doesn't 
 count for pension — I'll take on a privit. 
 Then, I'll be a lance in a year — knowin' 
 what I know about the ins an' outs o' 
 things. In three years, I'll be a bloomin' 
 sergeant. I won't marry then, not I! I'll 
 'old on, and learn the orf cers' ways, an' 
 apply for exchange into a reg'ment that 
 doesn't know all about me. Then, I'll be a 
 bloomin' orf'cer. Then, I'll ask you to 
 'ave a glass o' sherry-wine, Miste7" Lew, 
 an' you'll bloomin' well 'ave to stay in the 
 hanty-room while the mess-sergeant brings 
 it to your dirty 'ands." 
 
 " S'pose I'm going to be a bandmaster? 
 
 Not I, quite. I'll be a orfcer, too. 
 
 There's nothin' like taking to a thing an 1 
 
 stickin' to it, the schoolmaster says. The 
 21
 
 1 62 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 reg'ment don't go 'ome for another seven 
 years. I'll be a lance then or near to." 
 
 Thus the boys discussed their futures, 
 and conducted themselves with exemplary 
 piety for a week. That is to say, Lew 
 started a flirtation with the color-ser- 
 geant's daughter, aged thirteen — "not," 
 as he explained to Jakin, "with any 
 intention o' matrimony, but by way o' 
 keepin' my 'and in." And the black-haired 
 Cris Delighan enjoyed that flirtation more 
 than previous ones, and the other drum- 
 mer-boys raged furiously together, and 
 Jakin preached sermons on the dangers of 
 "bein' tangled along o' petticoats." 
 
 But neither love nor virtue would have 
 held Lew long in the paths of propriety, 
 had not the rumor gone abroad that the 
 regiment was to be sent on active service, 
 to take part in a war which, for the sake of 
 brevity, we will call " The War of the 
 Lost Tribes."
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 63 
 
 The barracks had the rumor almost be- 
 fore the mess-room, and of all the nine 
 hundred men in barracks not ten had seen 
 a shot fired in anger. The colonel had, 
 twenty years ago, assisted at a frontier 
 expedition; one of the majors had seen 
 service at the Cape; a confirmed deserter 
 in E Company had helped to clear streets 
 in Ireland; but that was all. The regi- 
 ment had been put by for many years. 
 The overwhelming mass of its rank and 
 file had from three to four years' service; 
 the non-commissioned officers were under 
 thirty years old; and men and sergeants 
 alike had forgotten to speak of the stories, 
 written in brief upon the colors — the new 
 colors that had been formally blessed by 
 an archbishop in England ere the regi- 
 ment came away. 
 
 They wanted to go to the front — they 
 were enthusiastically anxious to go — but
 
 164 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 they had no knowledge of what war 
 meant, and there was none to tell them. 
 They were an educated regiment, the per- 
 centage of school certificates in their ranks 
 was high, and most of the men could do 
 more than read and write. They had been 
 recruited in loyal observance of the terri- 
 torial idea; but they themselves had no 
 notion of that idea. They were made up 
 of drafts from an overpopulated manu- 
 facturing district. The system had put 
 flesh and muscle upon their small bones, 
 but it could not put heart into the sons of 
 those who for generations had done over- 
 much work for over-scanty pay, had 
 sweated in drying-rooms, stooped over 
 looms, coughed among white-lead, and 
 shivered on lime-barges. The men had 
 found food and rest in the army, and now 
 they were going to fight " niggers " — peo- 
 ple who ran away if you shook a stick at
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 65 
 
 them. Wherefore they cheered lustily 
 when the rumor ran, and the shrewd, 
 clerkly, non-commissioned officers specu- 
 lated on the chances of battle and of sav- 
 ing their pay. At head-quarters, men 
 said: " The Fore and Fit have never been 
 under fire within the last generation. Let 
 us, therefore, break them in easily by set- 
 ting them to guard lines of communica- 
 tion." And this would have been done 
 but for the fact that British regiments 
 were wanted — badly wanted — at the front, 
 and there were doubtful native regiments 
 that could fill the minor duties. " Brigade 
 'em with two strong regiments," said 
 head-quarters. " They may be knocked 
 about a bit, but they'll learn their busi- 
 ness before they come through. Nothing 
 like a night-alarm and a little cutting-up 
 of stragglers to make a regiment smart in 
 the field. Wait till they've had half-a- 
 dozen sentries' throats cut."
 
 1 66 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT, 
 
 The colonel wrote with delight that the 
 temper of his men was excellent, that the 
 regiment was all that could be wished, and 
 as sound as a bell. The majors smiled 
 with a sober joy, and the subalterns 
 waltzed in pairs down the mess-room 
 after dinner and nearly shot themselves 
 at revolver-practice. But there was con- 
 sternation in the hearts of Jakin and Lew. 
 What was to be done with the drums? 
 Would the band go to the front? How 
 many of the drums would accompany the 
 regiment? 
 
 They took council together, sitting in a 
 tree and smoking. 
 
 " It's more than a bloomin' toss-up 
 they'll leave us be'incl at the depot with 
 the women. You'll like that," said Jakin, 
 sarcastically. 
 
 "'Cause o' Cris, y' mean? Wot's a 
 woman, or a 'ole bloomin' depot o'
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 167 
 
 women, 'longside o' the chanst of field- 
 service? You know I'm as keen on goin' 
 as you," said Lew. 
 
 " Wish I was a bloomin' bugler," said 
 J akin, sadly. " They'll take Tom Kidd 
 along, that I can plaster a wall with, an' 
 like as not they won't take us." 
 
 "Then let's go an' make Tom Kidd so 
 bloomin' sick 'e can't bugle no more. 
 You 'old Ms 'ands, an' I'll kick him," said 
 Lew, wriggling on the branch. 
 
 " That ain't no good, neither. We ain't 
 the sort o' characters to presoon on our 
 rep'tations — they're bad. If they have 
 the band at the depot we don't go, and 
 no error there. If they take the band we 
 may get cast for medical unfitness. Are 
 you medical fit, Piggy?" said Jakin, dig- 
 ging Lew in the ribs with force. 
 
 " Yus," said Lew, with an oath. " The 
 doctor says your 'eart's weak through
 
 1 68 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 smokin' on an empty stummick. Throw 
 a chest, an' I'll try yer." 
 
 Jakin threw out his chest, which Lew 
 smote with all his might. Jakin turned 
 very pale, gasped, crowed, screwed up his 
 eyes, and said " That's all right." 
 
 " You'll do," said Lew. " I've 'eard o' 
 men dyin' when you 'it 'em fair on the 
 breast-bone." 
 
 " Don't bring us no nearer goin', 
 though," said Jakin. " Do you know 
 where we're ordered? " 
 
 " Gawd knows, an' 'e won't split on a 
 pal. Somewheres up to the front to kill 
 Paythans — hairy big beggars that turn 
 you inside out if they get 'old o' you. 
 They say their women are good-looking, 
 too." 
 
 " Any loot?" asked the abandoned 
 Jakin. 
 
 " Not a bloomin' anna, they say, unless
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 69 
 
 you dig up the ground an' see what the 
 niggers 'ave 'id. They're a poor lot." 
 Jakin stood upright on the branch and 
 gazed across the plain. 
 
 " Lew," said he, " there's the colonel 
 coming. Colonel's a good old beggar. 
 Let's go an' talk to 'im." 
 
 Lew nearly fell out of the tree at the 
 audacity of the suggestion. Like Jakin, 
 he feared not God, neither regarded he 
 man, but there are limits even to the 
 audacity of drummer-boy, and to speak 
 to a colonel was — 
 
 But Jakin had slid down the trunk and 
 doubled in the direction of the colonel. 
 That officer was walking wrapped in 
 thought and visions of a C. B. — yes, even 
 a K. C. B., for had he not at command 
 one of the best regiments of the line — • 
 the Fore and Fit? And he was aware of 
 two small boys charging down upon him.
 
 IJO DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 Once before, it had been solemnly 
 reported to him that "the drums were 
 in a state of mutiny; 1 ' Jakin and Lew- 
 being the ringleaders. This looked like 
 an organized conspiracy. 
 
 The boys halted at twenty yards, 
 walked to the regulation four paces, and 
 saluted together, each as well set-up as a 
 ramrod and little taller. 
 
 The colonel was in a genial mood; the 
 boys appeared very forlorn and unpro- 
 tected on the desolate plain, and one of 
 them was handsome. 
 
 "Well!" said the colonel, recognizing 
 them. " Are you going to pull me down 
 in the open? I'm sure I never interfere 
 with you, even though" — he sniffed 
 suspiciously — "you have been smoking." 
 
 It was time to strike while the iron was 
 hot. Their hearts beat tumultuously. 
 
 " Beg y' pardon, sir," began Jakin.
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE .AND AFT. IJ\ 
 
 " The regiment's ordered on active 
 service, sir? " 
 
 " So I believe," said the colonel, court- 
 eously. 
 
 " Is the band goin', sir?" said both 
 together. Then, without pause, "We're 
 goin', sir, ain't we?" 
 
 "You!" said the colonel, stepping back 
 the more fully to take in the two small 
 figures. "You! You'd die in the first 
 
 o 
 
 march." 
 
 " No, we wouldn't, sir. We can march 
 with the reg'ment anywheres — p'rade an' 
 anywhere else," said J akin. 
 
 " If Tom Kidd goes, 'e'll shut up like a 
 clasp-knife," said Lew. " Tom 'as very 
 close veins in both 'is legs, sir." 
 
 " Very how much?" 
 
 " Very close veins, sir. That's why 
 they swells after long p'rade, sir. If 'e 
 can go, we can go, sir."
 
 172 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 Again the colonel looked at them long- 
 and intently. 
 
 "Yes, the band is going," he said as 
 gravely as though he had been address- 
 ing a brother officer. " Have you any 
 parents, either of you two? " 
 
 " No, sir," rejoicingly from Lew and 
 Jakin. " We're both orphans, sir. 
 There's no one to be considered of on 
 our account, sir." 
 
 " You poor little sprats, and you want 
 to go up to the front with the regiment, 
 do you? Why?" 
 
 " I've wore the queen's uniform for two 
 years," said Jakin. " It's very 'ard, sir, 
 that a man don't get no recompense for 
 doin' 'is dooty, sir." 
 
 " An' — an' if I don't go, sir," inter- 
 rupted Lew, "the bandmaster 'e says 'e'll 
 catch an' make a bloo — a blessed musi- 
 cian o' me, sir. Before I've seen any 
 service, sir."
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. I 73 
 
 The colonel made no answer for a long 
 time. Then he said, quietly: " If you're 
 passed by the doctor, I dare say you can 
 , go. I shouldn't smoke if I were you." 
 
 The boys saluted and disappeared. 
 The colonel walked home and told the 
 story to his wife, who nearly cried over it. 
 The colonel was well pleased. If that 
 was the temper of the children, what 
 would not the men do? 
 
 J akin and Lew entered the boys' bar- 
 rack-room with great stateliness, and re- 
 fused to hold any conversation with their 
 comrades for at least ten minutes. Then, 
 bursting with pride, Jakin drawled: " I've 
 bin intervooin' the colonel. Good old 
 beggar is the colonel. Says I to 'im, 
 'colonel,' says I, 'let me go to the front, 
 along o' the reg'ment.' ' To the front 
 you shall go,' says 'e, 'an' I only wish 
 there was more like you among the dirty
 
 I 74 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 little devils that bang the bloomin* 
 drums.' Kidd, if you throw your 'couter- 
 ments at me for tellin' you the truth to 
 your own advantage, your legs '11 swell." 
 
 None the less there was a battle-royal 
 in the barrack-room, for the boys were 
 consumed with envy and hate, and 
 neither Jakin nor Lew behaved in con- 
 ciliatory wise. 
 
 "I'm goin' out to say adoo to my girl," 
 said Lew, to cap the climax. " Don't 
 none o' you touch my kit because it's 
 wanted for active service, me bein' 
 specially invited to go by the colonel." 
 
 He strolled forth and whistled in the 
 clump of trees at the back of the married 
 quarters till Cris came to him, and, the 
 preliminary kisses being given and taken, 
 Lew began to explain the situation. 
 
 "I'm goin' to the front with the reg'- 
 ment," he said, valiantly.
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 75 
 
 11 ^ig&y> you're a little liar," said Cris, but 
 her heart misgave her, for Lew was not 
 in the habit of lying. 
 
 "Liar yourself, Cris," said Lew, slip- 
 ping an arm round her. "I'm goin'. 
 When the reg'ment marches out you'll 
 see me with 'em, all galliant and gay. 
 Give us another kiss, Cris, on the strength 
 of it." 
 
 "If you'd on'y a-stayed at the depot — 
 where you ought to ha' bin — you could 
 get as many of 'em as — as you damn 
 please," whimpered Cris, putting up her 
 mouth. 
 
 "It's 'ard, Cris. I grant you, it's 'ard. 
 But what's a man to do? If I'd a-stayed 
 at the depot, you wouldn't think anything 
 of me." 
 
 " Like as not, but I'd 'ave you with 
 me > Piggy- An' all the thinkin' in the 
 world isn't like kissin'."
 
 176 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 " An' all the kissin' in the world isn't 
 like 'avin' a medal to wear on the front o' 
 your coat." 
 
 " You won't get no medal." 
 
 " Oh, yus, I shall,though. Me an' J akin 
 are the only acting-drummers that'll be 
 took along. All the rest is full men, an' 
 we'll get our medals with them." 
 
 " They might ha' taken anybody but 
 you, Piggy. You'll get killed — you're so 
 venturesome. Stay with me, Piggy, dar- 
 lin', down at the depot, an' I'll love you 
 true forever." 
 
 " Ain't you goin' to do that now, Cris? 
 You said you was." 
 
 " O' course I am, but th' other's more 
 comfortable. Wait till you've growed a 
 bit, Piggy. You aren't no taller than me 
 
 now." 
 
 "I've bin in the army for two years an' 
 I'm not goin' to get out of a chanst o' see-
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. \JJ 
 
 in' service an' don't you try to make me 
 do so. I'll come back, Cris, an' when I 
 take on as a man I'll marry you — marry 
 you when I'm a lance." 
 
 " Promise, Piggy?" 
 
 Lew reflected on the future as arranged 
 by Jakin a short time previously, but 
 Cris's mouth was very near to his own. 
 
 " I promise, s'elp me Gawd!" said he. 
 
 Cris slid an arm round his neck. 
 
 " I won't 'old you back no more, Piggy. 
 Go away an' get your medal, an 1 I'll make 
 you a new button-bag as nice as I know 
 how," she whispered. 
 
 " Put some o' your 'air into it, Cris, an' 
 I'll keep it in my pocket so long's I'm 
 alive." 
 
 Then Cris wept anew, and the interview 
 ended. Public feeling among the drum- 
 mer-boys rose to fever pitch, and the lives 
 
 of Jakin and Lew became unenviable. 
 ia
 
 I78 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 Not only had they been permitted to 
 enlist two years before the regulation boy's 
 age — fourteen — but, by virtue, it seemed, 
 of their extreme youth, they were allowed 
 to go to the front — which thing had not 
 happened to acting-drummers within the 
 knowledge of boy. The band which was 
 to accompany the regiment had been cut 
 down to the regulation twenty men, the 
 surplus returning to the ranks. J akin 
 and .Lew were attached to the band as 
 supernumeraries, though they would much 
 have preferred being company buglers. 
 
 " Don't matter much," said Jakin, after 
 the medical inspection. " Be thankful 
 that we're 'lowed to go at all. The 
 doctor 'e said that if we could stand what 
 we took from the bazaar-sergeant's son, 
 we'd stand pretty nigh anything." 
 
 "Which we will," said Lew, looking 
 tenderly at the ragged and ill-made
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 79 
 
 housewife that Cris had given him, with 
 a lock of her hair worked into a sprawl- 
 ing " L " upon the cover. 
 
 " It was the best I could," she sobbed. 
 " I wouldn't let mother nor the sergeant's 
 tailor 'elp me. Keep it always, Piggy, • 
 an' remember I love you true." 
 
 They marched to the railway station, 
 nine hundred and sixty strong, and every 
 soul in cantonments turned out to see 
 them go. The drummers gnashed their 
 teeth at Jakin and Lew marching with 
 the band, the married women wept upon 
 the platform, and the regiment cheered 
 its noble self black in the face. 
 
 " A nice level lot," said the colonel to 
 the second in command as they watched 
 the first four companies entraining. 
 
 " Fit to do anything," said the second 
 in command, enthusiastically. " But it 
 seems to me they're a thought too young
 
 l8o DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 and tender for the work in hand It's 
 bitter cold up at the front now." 
 
 " They're sound enough," said the colo- 
 nel. " We must take our chance of sick 
 casualties." 
 
 So they went northward, ever north- 
 ward, past droves and droves of camels, 
 armies of camp followers, and legions of 
 laden mules, the throng thickening day 
 by day, till with a shriek the train pulled 
 up at a hopelessly congested junction 
 where six lines of temporary track accom- 
 modated six forty-wagon trains; where 
 whistles blew, Babus sweated and com- 
 missariat officers swore from dawn till far 
 into the night amid the wind-driven chaff 
 of the fodder-bales and the lowing of a 
 thousand steers. 
 
 "Hurry up — you're badly wanted at 
 the front," was the message that greeted 
 the Fore and Aft, and the occupants of
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. iSl 
 
 the Red Cross carriages told the same 
 tale. 
 
 "'Tisn't so much the bloomin' 
 fightin'," gasped a headbound trooper 
 of hussars to a knot of admiring Fore 
 and Afts. "' Tisn't so much the bloomin' 
 fightin', though there's enough o' that. 
 It's the bloomin' food an' the bloomin' 
 climate. Frost all night 'cept when it 
 hails, an' bilin' sun all day, an' the water 
 stinks fit to knock you down. I got my 
 'ead chipped like a egg; I've got pneu- 
 monia, too, an' my guts is all out o' order. 
 'Tain't no bloomin' picnic in those parts, 
 I can tell you." 
 
 " Wot are the niggers like?" demanded 
 a private. 
 
 " There's some prisoners in that train 
 yonder. Go an' look at 'em. They're 
 the aristocracy o' the country. The com- 
 mon folk are a dashed sight uglier. If
 
 l82 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 you want to know what they fight with, 
 reach under my seat an' pull out the long 
 knife that's there." 
 
 They dragged out and beheld for the 
 first time the grim, bone-handled, tri- 
 angular Afghan knife. It was almost 
 as long as Lew. 
 
 "That's the think to j'int ye," said the 
 trooper, feebly. " It can take off a man's 
 arm at the shoulder as easy as slicing 
 butter. I halved the beggar that used 
 that 'un, but there's more of his likes up 
 above. They don't understand thrustin', 
 but they're devils to slice.' 
 
 The men strolled across the tracks to 
 inspect the Afghan prisoners. They were 
 unlike any "niggers" that the Fore and 
 Aft had ever met — these huge, black- 
 haired, scowling sons of the Beni-Israel. 
 As the men stared, the Afghans spat 
 freely and muttered one to another with 
 lowered eyes.
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 83 
 
 "My eyes! Wot awful swine!" said 
 Jakin, who was in the rear of the proces- 
 sion. " Say, old man, how you got puck- 
 rowed, eh? Kiszvasti you wasn't hanged 
 for your ugly face, hey?" 
 
 The tallest of the company turned, his 
 leg-irons clanking at the movement, and 
 stared at the boy. " See!" he cried to his 
 fellows in Pushto, " they send children 
 against us. What a people, and what 
 fools!" 
 
 " Hya!" said Jakin, nodding his head, 
 cheerily. "You go down-country. Khana 
 get, peenikapanee get- — live like a bloom- 
 in' rajah ke marjik. That's a better 
 bandobust than baynit get it in your in- 
 nards. Good-bye, old man. Take care 
 o' your beautiful figure-'ed, an' try to look 
 kusky" 
 
 The men laughed and fell in for their 
 first march when they began to realize
 
 184 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 that a soldier's life was not all beer and 
 skittles. They were much impressed with 
 the size and bestial ferocity of the niggers, 
 whom they had now learned to call " Pay- 
 thans," and more with the exceeding dis- 
 comfort of their own surroundings. 
 Twenty old soldiers in the corps would 
 have taught them how to make themselves 
 moderately snug at night, but they had no 
 old soldiers, and, as the troops on the line 
 of march said, " they lived like pigs." 
 They learned the heart-breaking cussed- 
 ness of camp-kitchens and camels and the 
 depravity of an E. P. tent and a wither- 
 wrung mule. They studied animalcule in 
 water, and developed a few cases of dys- 
 entery in their study. 
 
 At the end of their third march they 
 were disagreeably surprised by the arrival 
 in their camp of a hammered iron slug 
 which, fired from a steady-rest at seven
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 85 
 
 hundred yards, flicked out the brains of a 
 private seated by the fire. This robbed 
 them of their peace for a night, and was 
 the beginning of a long-range fire care- 
 fully calculated to that end. In the day- 
 time, they saw nothing except an occa- 
 sional puff of smoke from a crag above the 
 line of march. At night, there were dis- 
 tant spurts of flame and occasional casual- 
 ties, which set the whole camp blazing 
 into the gloom, and, occasionally, into 
 opposite tents. Then they swore vehe- 
 mently and vowed that this was magnifi- 
 cent but not war. 
 
 Indeed it was not. The regiment 
 could not halt for reprisals against the 
 franctireurs of the country-side. Its duty 
 was to go forward and make connection 
 with the Scotch and Gurkha troops with 
 which it was brigaded. The Afghans 
 knew this, and knew, too, after their first
 
 1 86 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 tentative shots, that they were dealing 
 with a raw regiment. Thereafter they 
 devoted themselves to the task of keeping 
 the Fore and Aft on the strain. Not for 
 anything would they have taken equal 
 liberties with a seasoned corps — with the 
 wicked little Gurkhas, whose delight it 
 was to lie out in the open on a dark night 
 and stalk their stalkers — with the terrible, 
 big men dressed in women's clothes, who 
 could be heard praying to their God in 
 the night-watches, and whose peace of 
 mind no amount of " snipping " could 
 shake — or with those vile Sikhs, who 
 marched so ostentatiously unprepared, and 
 who dealt out such grim reward to those 
 who tried to profit by that unprepared- 
 ness. This white regiment was different 
 — quite different. It slept like a hog, and, 
 like a hog, charged in every direction 
 when it was roused. Its sentries walked
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. itty 
 
 with a footfall that could be heard for a 
 quarter of a mile; would fire at anything 
 that moved — even a driven donkey — and 
 when they had once fired, could be scien- 
 tifically "rushed "and laid out a horror 
 and an offense against the morning sun. 
 Then there were camp-followers who 
 straggled and could be cut up without 
 fear. Their shrieks would disturb the 
 white boys, and the loss of their services 
 would inconvenience them sorely. 
 
 Thus, at every march, the hidden enemy 
 became bolder and the regiment "writhed 
 and twisted under attacks it could not 
 avenge. The crowning triumph was a 
 sudden night-rush ending in the cutting of 
 many tent-ropes, the collapse of the sud- 
 den canvas and a glorious knifing of the 
 men who struggled and kicked below. It 
 was a great deed, neatly carried out, and 
 it shook the already shaken nerves of the
 
 l88 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 Fore and Aft. All the courage that they 
 had been required to exercise up to this 
 point was the "two o'clock in the morn- 
 ing courage; " and they, so far, had only 
 succeeded in shooting their comrades and 
 losing their sleep. 
 
 Sullen, discontented, cold, savage, sick, 
 with their uniforms dulled and unclean, 
 the Fore and Aft joined their brigade. 
 
 " I hear you had a tough time of it 
 coming up," said the brigadier. But when 
 he saw the hospital-sheets his face fell. 
 
 " This is bad," said he to himself. 
 " They're as rotten as sheep." And aloud 
 to the colonel, " I'm afraid we can't spare 
 you just yet. We want all we have, else 
 I should have given you ten days to 
 recruit in." 
 
 The colonel winced. " On my honor, 
 sir," he returned, " there is not the least 
 necessity to think of sparing us. My
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 89 
 
 men have been rather mauled and upset 
 without a fair return. They only want to 
 go in somewhere where they can see 
 what's before them." 
 
 " Can't say I think much of the Fore 
 and Aft," said the brigadier in confidence 
 to his brigade-major. " They've lost all 
 their soldiering, and, by the trim of them, 
 might have marched through the country 
 from the other side. A more fagged-out 
 set of men I never put eyes on." 
 
 " Oh, they'll improve as the work goes 
 on. The parade gloss has been rubbed 
 off a little, but they'll put on field polish 
 before long," said the brigade-major. 
 "They've been mauled, and they don't 
 quite understand it." 
 
 They did not. All the hitting was on 
 one side, and it was cruelly hard hitting 
 with accessories that made them sick. 
 There was also the real sickness that laid
 
 IC)0 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 hold of a strong man and dragged him 
 howling to the grave. Worst of all, their 
 officers knew just as little of the country 
 as the men themselves, and looked as if 
 they did. The Fore and Aft were in a 
 thoroughly unsatisfactory condition, but 
 they believed that all would be well if 
 they once got a fair go-in at the enemy. 
 Pot-shots up and down the valleys were 
 unsatisfactory, and the bayonet never 
 seemed to get a chance. Perhaps it was 
 as well, for a long-limbed Afghan with a 
 knife had a reach of eight feet, and could 
 carry away enough lead to disable three 
 Englishmen. The Fore and Aft would 
 like some rifle practice at the enemy — all 
 seven hundred rifles blazing together. 
 That wish showed the mood of the men. 
 The Gurkhas walked into their camp, 
 and in broken, barrack-room English 
 strove to fraternize with them; offered
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. I Q I 
 
 them pipes of tobacco, and stood them 
 treat at the -canteen. But the Fore and 
 Aft, not knowing much of the nature of 
 the Gurkhas, treated them as they would 
 treat any other " niggers," and the little 
 men in green trotted back to their firm 
 friends, the Highlanders, and with many 
 grins confided to them: "That damn white 
 regiment no damn use. Sulky — ugh! Dirty 
 — ugh! Hya, any tot for Johnny?" Where- 
 at the Highlanders smote the Gurkhas as 
 to the head, and told them not to vilify a 
 British regiment, and the Gurkhas 
 grinned cavernously, for the Highlanders 
 were their elder brothers and entitled to 
 the privileges of kinship. The common 
 soldier who touches a Gurkha is more 
 than likely to have his head sliced open. 
 Three days later, the brigadier arranged 
 a. battle according to the rules of war and 
 the peculiarity of the African temperament.
 
 I92 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 The enemy were massing in inconvenient 
 strength among the hills, and the moving 
 of many green standards warned him that 
 the tribes were "up" in aid of the 
 Afghan regular troops. A squadron and 
 a half of Bengal lancers represented the 
 available cavalry, and two screw-guns 
 borrowed from a column thirty miles 
 away, the artillery at the general's 
 disposal. 
 
 "If they stand, as I've a very strong 
 notion that they will, I fancy we shall see 
 an infantry fight that will be worth watch- 
 ing," said the brigadier. " We'll do it in 
 style. Each regiment shall be played 
 into action by its band, and we'll hold the 
 cavalry in reserve." 
 
 " For all the reserve? " somebody asked. 
 
 "For all the reserve; because we're 
 going to crumple them up," said the brig- 
 adier, who was an extraordinary brigadier,
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 93 
 
 and did not believe in the value of a 
 reserve when dealing with Asiatics. And, 
 indeed, when you come to think of it, had 
 the British army consistently waited for 
 reserves in all its little affairs, the bound- 
 aries of our empire would have stopped 
 at Brighton beach. 
 
 That battle was to be a glorious battle. 
 
 The three regiments debouching from 
 three separate gorges, after duly crown- 
 ing the heights above, were to converge 
 from the center, left, and right upon what 
 we will call the Afghan army, then sta- 
 tioned toward the lower extremity of a 
 flat-bottomed valley. Thus it will be 
 seen that three sides of the valley prac- 
 tically belonged to the English, while the 
 fourth was strictly Afghan property. In 
 the event of defeat, the Afghans had the 
 rocky hills to fly to, where the fire from 
 the guerilla tribes in aid would cover 
 
 13
 
 T94 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 their retreat. In the event of victory, 
 these same tribes would rush down and 
 lend their weight to the rout of the 
 British. 
 
 The screw-guns were to shell the head 
 of each Afghan rush that was made in close 
 formation, and the cavalry, held in reserve 
 in the right valley, were to gently stimu- 
 late the break-up which would follow on 
 the combined attack. The brigadier, sit- 
 ting upon a rock overlooking the valley, 
 would watch the battle unrolled at his 
 feet. The Fore and Aft would debouch 
 from the central gorge, the Gurkhas from 
 the left, and the Highlanders from the 
 right, for the reason that the left flank of 
 the enemy seemed as though it required 
 the most hammering. It was not every 
 day that an Afghan force would take 
 ground in the open, and the brigadier was 
 resolved to make the most of it.
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 195 
 
 " If we only had a few more men," he 
 said plaintively, "we could surround the 
 creatures and crumble 'em up thoroughly. 
 As it is, I'm afraid we can only cut them 
 up as they run. It's a great pity." 
 
 The Fore and Aft had enjoyed un- 
 broken peace for five days, and were 
 beginning, in spite of dysentery, to re- 
 cover their nerve. But they were not 
 happy, for they did not know the work in 
 hand, and had they known, would not 
 have known how to do it. Throughout 
 those five days in which old soldiers 
 might have taught them the craft of the 
 game, they discussed together their mis- 
 adventures in the past — how such an one 
 was alive at dawn and dead ere the dusk, 
 and with what shrieks and struggles such 
 another had given up his soul under the 
 Afghan knife. Death was a new and 
 horrible thing to the sons of mechanics
 
 I96 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 who were used to die decently of zymotic 
 disease; and their careful conservation in 
 barracks had done nothing to make them 
 look upon it with less dread. 
 
 Very early in the dawn the bugles be- 
 gan to blow, and the Fore and Aft, filled 
 with a misguided enthusiasm, turned out 
 without waiting for a cup of coffee and a 
 biscuit; and were rewarded by being kept 
 under arms in the cold while the other 
 regiments leisurely prepared for the fray. 
 All the world knows that it is ill taking 
 the breeks off a Highlander. It is much 
 iller to try to make him stir unless he is 
 convinced of the necessity for haste. 
 
 The Fore and Aft waited, leaning upon 
 their rifles and listening to the protests 
 of their empty stomachs. The colonel 
 did his best to remedy the default of 
 lining as soon as it was borne in upon 
 him that the affair would not begin at
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 9; 
 
 once, and so well did he succeed that the 
 coffee was just ready when — the men 
 moved off, their band leading. Even 
 then there had been a mistake in time, 
 and the Fore and Aft came out into the 
 valley ten minutes before the proper hour. 
 Their band wheeled to the right after 
 reaching the open, and retired behind a 
 little rocky knoll, still playing while the 
 regiment went past. 
 
 It was not a pleasant sight that opened 
 on the unobstructed view, for the lower 
 end of the valley appeared to be filled 
 by an army in position — real and actual 
 regiments attired in red coats, and — of 
 this there was no doubt — firing Martini- 
 Henri bullets which cut up the ground a 
 hundred yards in front of the leading 
 company. Over that pock-marked ground 
 the regiment had to pass, and it opened 
 the ball with a general and profound
 
 I98 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 courtesy to the piping pickets; ducking 
 in perfect time, as though it had been 
 brazed on a rod. Being half capable of 
 thinking for itself, it fired a volley by the 
 simple process of pitching its rifle into 
 its shoulder and pulling the trigger. The 
 bullets may have accounted for some of 
 the watchers on the hill-side, but they cer- 
 tainly did not affect the mass of enemy in 
 front, while the noise of the rifles drowned 
 any orders that might have been given. 
 
 ''Good God!" said the brigadier, sit- 
 ting on the rock high above all. " That 
 regiment has spoiled the whole show. 
 Hurry up the others, and let the screw 
 guns get off." 
 
 But the screw-guns, in working round 
 the heights, had stumbled upon a wasp's 
 nest of a small mud fort which they 
 incontinently shelled at eight hundred 
 yards, to the huge discomfort of the
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 1 99 
 
 occupants, who were unaccustomed to 
 weapons of such devilish precision. 
 
 The Fore and Aft continued to go for- 
 ward, but with shortened stride. Where 
 were the other regiments, and why did 
 these niggers use Martinis? They took 
 open order instinctively, lying down and 
 firing at random, rushing a few paces 
 forward and lying down again, accord- 
 ing to the regulations. Once in this 
 formation, each man felt himself desper- 
 ately alone, and edged in toward his 
 fellow for comfort's sake. 
 
 Then the crack of his neighbor's rifle 
 at his ear led him to fire as rapidly as he 
 could — again for the sake of the comfort 
 of the noise. The reward was not long 
 delayed. Five volleys plunged the files 
 in banked smoke impenetrable to the 
 eye, and the bullets began to take ground 
 twenty or thirty yards in front of the
 
 200 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 firers, as the weight of the bayonet 
 dragged down, and to the right arms 
 
 wearied with holding the kick of the leap- . 
 
 ing Martini. The company commanders 
 
 peered helplessly through the smoke, the 
 
 more nervous mechanically trying to fan 
 
 it away with their helmets. 
 
 "High and to the left!" bawled a cap- 
 tain till he was hoarse. "No good! 
 Cease firing, and let it drift away a bit." 
 
 Three or four times the bugles shrieked 
 the order, and when it was obeyed the 
 Fore and Aft looked that their foe should 
 be lying before them in mown swaths of 
 men. A light wind drove the smoke to 
 leeward, and showed the enemy still in 
 position and apparently unaffected. A 
 quarter of a ton of lead had been buried 
 a furlong in front of them, as the ragged 
 earth attested. 
 
 That was not demoralizing. They
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 201 
 
 were waiting for the mad riot to die 
 down, and were firing quietly into the 
 heart of the smoke. A private of the 
 Fore and Aft spun up his company 
 shrieking with agony, another was kick- 
 ing the earth and gasping, and a third, 
 ripped through the lower intestines by a 
 jagged bullet, was calling aloud on his 
 comrades to put him out of his pain. 
 These were the casualties, and they were 
 not soothing to hear or see. The smoke 
 cleared to a dull haze. 
 
 Then the foe began to shout with a 
 great shouting and a mass — a black mass 
 — detached itself from the main body, 
 and rolled over the ground at horrid 
 speed. It was composed of, perhaps, 
 three hundred men, who would shout and 
 fire and slash if the rush of their fifty 
 comrades, who were determined to die, 
 carried home. The fifty were Ghazis,
 
 202 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 half-maddened .with drugs and wholly 
 mad with religious fanaticism. When 
 they rushed, the British fire ceased, and 
 in the lull the order was given to close 
 ranks and meet them with the bayonet. 
 
 Any one who knew the business could 
 have told the Fore and Aft that the only 
 way of dealing with a Ghazi rush is by 
 volleys at long ranges; because a man who 
 means to die, who desires to die, who will 
 gain heaven by dying, must, in nine cases 
 out of ten, kill a man who has a lingering 
 prejudice in favor of life if he can close 
 with the latter. Where they should have 
 closed and gone forward, the Fore and 
 Aft opened out and skirmished, and where 
 they should have opened out and fired, 
 they closed and waited. 
 
 A man draped from his blankets half 
 awake and unfed is never in a pleasant 
 frame of mind. Nor does his happiness
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 203 
 
 increase when he watches the whites of 
 the eyes of three hundred six-foot fiends 
 upon whose beards the foam is lying, 
 upon whose tongues is a roar of wrath, 
 and in whose hands are three-foot knives. 
 The Fore and Aft heard the Gurkha 
 bugles bringing that regiment forward at 
 the double, while the neighing of the 
 Highland pipes came from the left. They 
 strove to stay where they were, though 
 the bayonets wavered down the line like 
 the oars of a ragged boat. Then they felt 
 body to body the amazing physical 
 strength of their foes; a shriek of pain 
 ended the rush, and the knives fell amid 
 scenes not to be told. The men clubbed 
 together and smote blindly — as often as 
 not at their own fellows. Their front 
 crumpled like paper, and the fifty Ghazis 
 passed on; their backers, now drunk with 
 success, fighting as madly as they.
 
 ?04 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 Then the rear ranks were bidden to 
 close up, and the subalterns dashed into 
 the stew — alone. For the rear rank had 
 heard the clamor in front, the yells and 
 the howls of pain, and had seen the dark 
 stale blood that makes afraid. They were 
 not going to stay. It was the rushing of 
 the camps over again. Let their officers 
 go to hell, if they chose; they would get 
 away from the knives. 
 
 "Come on!" shrieked the subalterns, 
 and their men, cursing them, drew back, 
 each closinof into his neighbor and wheel- 
 ing round. 
 
 Charteris and Devlin, subalterns of the 
 last company, faced their death alone in 
 the belief that their men would follow. 
 
 "You've killed me, you cowards," 
 sobbed Devlin, and dropped, cut from 
 the shoulder-strap to the center of the 
 chest, and a fresh detachment of his men
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 205 
 
 retreating, always retreating, trampled 
 him under foot as they made for the 
 pass whence they had emerged. 
 
 I kissed her in the kitchen and I kissed her in the 
 hall. 
 
 Child'un, child'un, follow me! 
 Oh, Golly, said the cook, is he gwine to kiss us all? 
 
 Halla— Halla— Halla Hallelujah! 
 
 The Gurkhas were pouring through 
 the left gorge and over the heights at 
 the double to the invitation of their regi- 
 mental quickstep. The black rocks were 
 crowned with dark-green spiders as the 
 bugles gave tongue jubilantly: 
 
 In the morning! In the morning by the bright 
 
 light! 
 When Gabriel blows his trumpet in the morning! 
 
 The Gurkha rear companies tripped 
 and blundered over loose stones. The 
 front files halted for a moment to take 
 stock of the valley and to settle stray 
 boot-laces. Then a happy little sigh of
 
 206 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 contentment soughed down the ranks, 
 and it was as though the land smiled, for 
 behold there below was the enemy, and 
 it was to meet them that the Gurkhas 
 had doubled so hastily. There was much 
 enemy. There would be amusement. 
 The little men hitched their ktikris well 
 to hand, and gaped expectantly at their 
 officers as terriers grin ere the stone is 
 cast for them to fetch. The Gurkhas' 
 ground sloped downward to the valley, 
 and they enjoyed a fair view of the pro- 
 ceedings. They sat upon the bowlders to 
 watch, for their officers were not going to 
 waste their wind in assisting to repulse a 
 Ghazi rush more than half a mile away. 
 Let the white men look to their own 
 front. 
 
 " Hi! yi!" said the Subadar major, who 
 was sweating profusely. " Dam fools 
 yonder, stand close-order! This is no
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 207 
 
 time for close-order, it's the time for 
 volleys. Ugh! " Horrified, amused, and 
 indignant, the Gurkhas beheld the retire- 
 ment — let us be gentle — of the Fore and 
 Aft with a running chorus of oaths and 
 commentaries. 
 
 " They run! The white men run! 
 Colonel Sahib, may we also do a little 
 running?" murmured Runbir Thappa, the 
 senior jemadar. 
 
 But the colonel would have none of it. 
 " Let the beggars be cut up a little," 
 said he, wrathfully. " Serves 'em right. 
 They'll be prodded into facing round in a 
 minute." He looked through his field- 
 glasses, and caught the glint of an 
 officer's sword. 
 
 " Beating 'em with the flat — damned 
 conscripts! How the Ghazis are walking 
 into them! " said he. 
 
 The Fore and Aft, heading back, bore
 
 208 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 with them their officers. The narrowness 
 of the pass forced tKe mob into solid for- 
 mation, and the rear rank delivered some 
 sort of a wavering volley. The Ghazis 
 drew off, for they did not know what 
 reserves the gorge might hide. More- 
 over, it was never wise to chase white 
 men too far. They returned as wolves 
 return to cover, satisfied with the slaugh- 
 ter that they had done, and only stop- 
 ping to slash at the wounded on the 
 ground. A quarter of a mile had the 
 Fore and Aft retreated, and now, jammed 
 in the pass, was quivering with pain, 
 shaken and demoralized with fear, while 
 the officers, maddened beyond control, 
 smote the men with the hilts and the flats 
 of their swords. 
 
 " Get back! Get back, you cowards — 
 you women! Right about face — column 
 of companies, form — you hounds! "
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 2O9 
 
 shouted the colonel, and the subalterns 
 swore aloud. But the regiment wanted 
 to go — to go anywhere out of the range 
 of those merciless knives. It swayed to 
 and fro irresolutely with shouts and out- 
 cries, while from the right the Gurkhas 
 dropped volley after volley of cripple- 
 stopper Snider bullets at long range into 
 the mob of the Ghazis returning to their 
 own troops. 
 
 The Fore and Aft band, though pro- 
 tected from direct fire by the rocky knoll 
 under which it had sat down, fled at the 
 first rush. Jakin and Lew would have 
 fled also, but their short legs left them 
 fifty yards in the rear, and by the time 
 the band had mixed with the regiment 
 they were painfully aware that they would 
 have to close in alone and unsupported. 
 
 " Get back to that rock," gasped Jakin. 
 " They won't see us there." 
 
 14
 
 2IO DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 And they returned to the scattered 
 instruments of the band; their hearts 
 nearly bursting their ribs. 
 
 " Here's a nice show for us" said 
 Jakin, throwing himself full length on the 
 pround. " A bloomin' fine show for 
 British infantry! Oh, the devils! They've 
 gone an' left us alone here! Wot'll we 
 do?" 
 
 Lew took possession of a cast-off water- 
 bottle, which naturally was full of canteen 
 rum, and drank till he coughed again. 
 
 "Drink," said he shortly. "They'll 
 come back in a minute or two — you see." 
 
 Jakin drank, but there was no sign of 
 the regiment's return. They could hear 
 a dull clamor from the head of the valley 
 of retreat, and saw the Ghazis slink back, 
 quickening their pace as the Gurkhas 
 fired at them. 
 
 " We're all that's left of the band, an'
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 211 
 
 we'll be cut up as sure as death," said 
 J akin. 
 
 " I'll die game, then," said Lew thickly, 
 fumbling with his tiny drummer's sword. 
 The drink was working on his brain as it 
 was on Jakin's. 
 
 "'Old 'on! I know something better than 
 fightin'," said Jakin, stung by the splen- 
 dor of a sudden thought, due chiefly to 
 rum. "Tip our bloomin' cowards yonder 
 the word to come back. The Paythan 
 beggars are well away. Come on, Lew! 
 We won't get hurt. Take the fife an' 
 give me the drum. The Old Step for all 
 your bloomin' guts are worth! There's 
 a few of our men coming back now. 
 Stand up, ye drunken little defaulter. By 
 your right — quick march!" 
 
 He slipped the drum-sling over his 
 shoulder, thrust the fife into Lew's hand, 
 and the two boys marched out of the
 
 212 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 • 
 
 cover of the rock into the open, making 
 a hideous hash of the first bars of the 
 " British Grenadiers." 
 
 As Lew had said, a few of the Fore 
 and Aft were coming back sullenly and 
 shamefacedly under the stimulus of blows 
 and abuse; their red coats shone at the 
 head of the valley, and behind them were 
 wavering bayonets. But between this 
 shattered line and the enemy, who with 
 Afghan suspicion feared that the hasty 
 retreat meant an ambush, and had not 
 moved therefore, lay half a mile of level 
 ground dotted only by the wounded. 
 
 The tune settled into full swing, and 
 the boys kept shoulder to shoulder, J akin 
 banging the drum as one possessed. 
 The one fife made a thin and pitiful 
 squeaking, but the tune carried far, even 
 to the Gurkhas. 
 
 " Come on, you dogs! " muttered Jakin
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 213 
 
 to himself. "Are we to play forever?" 
 Lew was staring straight in front of him 
 and marching more stiffly than ever he 
 had done on parade. 
 
 And in bitter mockery of the distant 
 mob, the old tune of the Old Line 
 shrilled and rattled: 
 
 Some talk of Alexander, 
 
 And some of Hercules; 
 Of Hector and Lysander, 
 
 And such great names as these 
 
 There was a far-off clapping of hands 
 from the Gurkhas, and a roar from the 
 Highlanders in the distance, but never a 
 shot was fired by British or Afghan. The 
 two little red dots moved forward in the 
 open parallel to the enemy's front. 
 
 But of all the world's great heroes 
 
 There's none that can compare, 
 With a tow-row-row-row-row-row, 
 • To the British Grenadier!
 
 2 14 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 The men of the Fore and Aft were gath- 
 ering thick at the entrance into the plain. 
 The brigadier on the heights far above 
 was speechless with rage. Still no move- 
 ment from the enemy. The day stayed 
 to watch the children. 
 
 Jakin halted and beat the long roll of 
 the assembly, while the fife squealed de- 
 spairingly. 
 
 " Right about face! Hold up, Lew, 
 you're drunk," said Jakin. They wheeled 
 and marched back: 
 
 Those heroes of antiquity 
 Ne'er saw a cannon-ball, 
 Nor knew the force o' powder, 
 
 " Here they come! " said Jakin. "Go 
 on, Lew : " 
 
 To scare their foes withal! 
 
 The Fore and Aft were pouring out of 
 the valley. What officers had said to 
 men in that time of shame and humilia-
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 2 15 
 
 tion will never be known, for neither offi- 
 cers nor men speak of it now. 
 
 " They are coming anew! " shouted a 
 priest among the Afghans. " Do not kill 
 the boys! Take them alive, and they shall 
 be of our faith." 
 
 But the first volley had been fired, and 
 Lew dropped on his face. Jakin stood for 
 a minute, spun round, and collapsed as 
 the Fore and Aft came forward, the male- 
 dictions of their officers in their ears, and 
 in their hearts the shame of open shame. 
 
 Half the men had seen the drummers 
 die, and they made no sign. They did 
 not even shout. They doubled out 
 straight across the plain in open order, 
 and they did not fire. 
 
 "This," said the Colonel of Gurkhas, 
 softly, "is the real attack, as it ought to 
 have been delivered. Come on, my 
 children."
 
 2l6 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 " Ulu-lu-lu-lu! " squealed the Gurkhas, 
 and came down with a joyful clicking of 
 kukris — those vicious Gurkha knives. 
 
 On the right there was no rush. The 
 Highlanders, cannily commending their 
 souls to God (for it matters as much to a 
 dead man whether he has been shot in a 
 border scuffle or at Waterloo), opened 
 out and fired according to their custom; 
 that is to say, without heat and without 
 intervals, while the screw-guns, having 
 disposed of the impertinent mud fort 
 afore-mentioned, dropped shell after shell 
 into the clusters round the nickering 
 green standards on the heights. 
 
 " Charging is an unfortunate neces- 
 sity," murmured the color-sergeant of the 
 right company of the Highlanders. 
 
 "It makes the men sweer so, but I am 
 thinkin' that it will come to a change if 
 these black devils stand much longer.
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 2 ! 7 
 
 Stewarrt, man, you're firing into the eye 
 of the sun, and he'll not take any harm 
 for o-overnment ammuneetion. A foot 
 lower and a great deal slower! What are 
 the English doing? They're very quiet 
 there in the center. Running again?" 
 
 ' The English were not running. They 
 were hacking and hewing and stabbing, 
 for though one white man is seldom 
 physically a match for an Afghan in a 
 sheep-skin or wadded coat, yet, through 
 the pressure of many white men behind, 
 and a certain thirst for revenge in his 
 heart, he becomes capable of doing much 
 with both ends of his rifle. The Fore 
 and Aft held their fire till one bullet 
 could drive through five or six men, and 
 the front of the Afghan force gave on the 
 volley. They then selected their men, 
 and slew them with deep gasps and short 
 hacking coughs, and groanings of leather
 
 2l8 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 belts against strained bodies, and realized 
 for the first time that an Afghan attacked 
 is far less formidable than an Afghan 
 attacking; which fact old soldiers might 
 have told them. 
 
 But they had no old soldiers in their 
 ranks. 
 
 The Gurkhas' stall at the bazaar was 
 the noisiest, for the men were engaged — 
 to a nasty noise as of beef being cut on 
 the block — with the kukri, which they 
 preferred to the bayonet; well knowing 
 how the Afghan hates the half-moon 
 blade. 
 
 As the Afghans wavered, the green 
 standards on the mountain moved down 
 to assist them in a last rally; which was 
 unwise. The lancers chafing in the right 
 gorge had thrice dispatched their only 
 subaltern as galloper to report on the 
 progress of affairs. On the third occa-
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 219 
 
 sion he returned, with a bullet-graze on 
 his knee, swearing strange oaths in Hin- 
 doostanee, and saying that all things were 
 ready. So that squadron swung round 
 the right of the Highlanders with a wicked 
 whistling of wind in the pennons of its 
 lances, and fell upon the remnant just 
 when, according to all the rules of war, it 
 should have waited for the foe to show 
 more signs of wavering. 
 
 But it was a dainty charge, deftly 
 delivered, and it ended by the cavalry 
 finding itself at the head of the pass by 
 which the Afghans intended to retreat; 
 and down the track that the lances had 
 made streamed two companies of the 
 Highlanders, which was never intended 
 by the brigadier. The new development 
 was successful. It detached the enemy 
 from his base as a sponge is torn from a 
 rock, and left him ringed about with fire
 
 220 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 in that pitiless plain. And as a sponge is 
 chased round the bath-tub by the hand of 
 the bather, so were the Afghans chased 
 till they broke into little detachments 
 much more difficult to dispose of than 
 large masses. 
 
 " See! " quoth the brigadier. " Every- 
 thing has come as I arranged. We've cut 
 their base, and now we'll bucket 'em to 
 pieces." 
 
 A direct hammering was all that the 
 brigadier had dared to hope for, consid- 
 ering the size of the force at his dis 
 posal; but men who stand or fall by the 
 errors of their opponents may be for- 
 given for turning Chance into Design. 
 The bucketing went forward merrily. 
 The Afghan forces were upon the run — 
 the run of wearied wolves who snarl and 
 bite over their shoulders. The red lances 
 dipped by twos and threes, and, with a
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 221 
 
 shriek, up rose the lance-butt, like a spar 
 on a stormy sea, as the trooper cantering 
 forward cleared his point. The lancers 
 kept between their prey and the steep hills, 
 for all who could were trying to escape 
 from the valley of death. The High- 
 landers gave the fugitives two hundred 
 yards' law, and then brought them down, 
 gasping and choking, ere they could reach 
 the protection of the bowlders above. 
 The Gurkhas followed suit; but the Fore 
 and Aft were killing on their own account, 
 for they had penned a mass of men be- 
 tween their bayonets and a wall of rock, 
 and the flash of the rifles was lighting 
 the wadded coats. 
 
 "We can not hold them, Captain 
 Sahib!" panted a ressaidar of lancers. 
 " Let us try the carbine. The lance is 
 good, but it wastes time." 
 
 They tried the carbine, and still the
 
 222 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 enemy melted away — fled up the hills by 
 hundreds when there were only twenty 
 bullets to stop them. On the heights the 
 screw-guns ceased firing — they had run 
 out of ammunition — and the brigadier 
 groaned, for the musketry fire could not 
 sufficiently smash the retreat. Long before 
 the last volleys were fired the litters were 
 out in force looking for the wounded. 
 The battle was over, and, but for want of 
 fresh troops, the Afghans would have been 
 wiped off the earth. As it was they 
 counted their dead by hundreds, and 
 nowhere were the dead thicker than in 
 the track of the Fore and Aft. 
 
 But the regiment did not cheer with the 
 Highlanders, nor did they dance uncouth 
 dances with the Gurkhas among the dead. 
 They looked under their brows at the 
 colonel as they leaned upon their rifles 
 and panted.
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 223 
 
 " Get back to camp, you! Haven't you 
 disgraced yourself enough for one day? 
 Go and look to the wounded. It's all 
 you're fit for," said the colonel. Yet for 
 the past hour the Fore and Aft had been 
 doing all that mortal commander could 
 expect. They had lost heavily because 
 they did not know how to set about their 
 business with proper skill, but they had 
 borne themselves gallantly, and this was 
 their reward. 
 
 A young and sprightly color-sergeant, 
 who had begun to imagine himself a hero, 
 offered his water-bottle to a Highlander, 
 whose tongue was black with thirst. " I 
 drink with no cowards," answered the 
 youngster, huskily, and turning to a 
 Gurkha, said, " Hya, Johnny! Drink 
 water got it? " The Gurkha grinned and 
 passed his bottle. The Fore and Aft said 
 no word.
 
 224 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 They went back to camp when the field 
 of strife had been a little mopped up and 
 made presentable, and the brigadier, who 
 saw himself a knight in three months, was 
 the only soul who was complimentary to 
 them. The colonel was heart-broken and 
 the officers were savage and sullen. 
 
 " Well," said the brigadier, "they are 
 young troops, of course, and it was not 
 unnatural that they should retire in disor- 
 der for a bit." 
 
 " Oh, my only Aunt Maria!" murmured 
 a junior staff officer. " Retire in disorder! 
 It was a bully run!" 
 
 " But they came again as we all know," 
 cooed the brigadier, the colonel's ashy- 
 white face before him, " and they behaved 
 as well as could possibly be expected. 
 Behaved beautifully, indeed. I was watch- 
 ing them. It's not a matter to take to 
 heart, colonel. As some German general
 
 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 225 
 
 said of his men, they wanted to beshooted 
 over a little, that was all." To himself he 
 said: — " Now they're blooded I can give 
 'em responsible work. It's as well that 
 they got what they did. Teach 'em more 
 than half-a-dozen rifle flirtations, that will 
 — later — run alone and bite. Poor old 
 colonel, though." 
 
 All that afternoon the heliograph 
 winked and flickered on the hills, striving 
 to tell the good news to a mountain forty 
 miles away. And in the evening there 
 arrived — dusty, sweating, and sore — a mis- 
 guided correspondent who had gone out 
 to assist at a trumpery village-burning 
 and who had read off the message from 
 afar, cursing his luck the while. 
 
 " Let's have the details somehow — as 
 full as ever you can, please. It's the first 
 time I've ever been left this campaign," 
 said the correspondent to the brigadier;
 
 2 26 DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT. 
 
 and the brigadier, nothing loath, told him 
 how an army of communication had been 
 crumpled up, destroyed, and all but anni- 
 hilated by the craft, strategy, wisdom, and 
 foresight of the brigadier. 
 
 But some say, and among these be the 
 Gurkhas who watched on the hill-side, 
 that that battle was won by J akin and 
 Lew, whose little bodies were borne up 
 just in time to fit two gaps at the head of 
 the big ditch -grave for the dead under 
 the heights of Jagai. 
 
 THE END.
 
 AMERICAN NOTES
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 "Serene, indifferent to fate, 
 Thou sittest at the Western Gate ; 
 Thou seest the white seas fold their tents, 
 Oh, warder of two continents ; 
 Thou drawest all things, small and great, 
 To thee, beside the Western Gate." 
 
 This is what Bret Harte has written of 
 the great city of San Francisco, and for 
 the past fortnight I have been wondering 
 what made him do it. 
 
 There is neither serenity nor indiffer- 
 ence to be found in these parts ; and evil 
 would it be for the continents whose 
 
 (231)
 
 232 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 wardship were intrusted to so reckless a 
 guardian. 
 
 Behold me pitched neck-and-crop from 
 twenty days of the high seas into the 
 whirl of California, deprived of any guid- 
 ance, and left to draw my own conclusions. 
 Protect me from the wrath of an outraged 
 community if these letters be ever read by 
 American eyes ! San Francisco is a mad 
 city — inhabited for the most part by 
 perfectly insane people, whose women are 
 of a remarkable beauty. 
 
 When the " City of Pekin " steamed 
 through the Golden Gate, I saw with 
 great joy that the block-house which 
 guarded the mouth of the "finest harbor 
 in the world, sir," could be silenced by two 
 gunboats from Hong Kong with safety, 
 comfort, and dispatch. Also, there was 
 not a single American vessel of war in the 
 harbor.
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 233 
 
 This may sound blood-thirsty ; but re- 
 member, I had come with a grievance 
 upon me — the grievance of the pirated 
 English books. 
 
 A REPORTER. 
 
 Then a reporter leaped aboard, and ere 
 I could gasp held me in his toils. He 
 pumped me exhaustively while I was get- 
 ting ashore, demanding of all things in 
 the world news about Indian journalism. 
 It is an awful thing to enter a new land 
 with a new lie on your lips. I spoke the 
 truth to the evil-minded Custom House 
 man who turned my most sacred raiment 
 on a floor composed of stable refuse and 
 pine splinters; but the reporter over- 
 whelmed me not so much by his poignant 
 audacity as his beautiful ignorance. I am 
 sorry now that I did not tell him more 
 lies as I passed into a city of three hun-
 
 234 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 dred thousand white men. Think of it ! 
 Three hundred thousand white men and 
 women gathered in one spot, walking 
 upon real pavements in front of plate- 
 glass-windowed shops, and talking some- 
 thing that at first hearing was not very 
 different from English. It was only when 
 I had tangled myself up in a hopeless 
 maze of small wooden houses, dust, street 
 refuse, and children who played with 
 empty kerosene tins, that I discovered 
 the difference of speech. 
 
 " You want to go to the Palace Hotel ?" 
 said an affable youth on a dray. " What 
 in hell are you doing here, then ? This is 
 about the lowest ward in the city. Go 
 six blocks north to corner of Geary and 
 Markey, then walk around till you strike 
 corner of Gutter and Sixteenth, and that 
 brings you there." 
 
 I do not vouch for the literal accuracy
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 235 
 
 of these directions, quoting but from a 
 disordered memory. 
 
 "Amen," I said. "But who am I that 
 I should strike the corners of such as you 
 name? Peradventure they be gentlemen 
 of repute, and might hit back. Bring it 
 down to dots, my son." 
 
 I thought he would have smitten me, 
 but he didn't. He explained that no one 
 ever used the word street, and that every 
 one was supposed to know how the streets 
 ran, for sometimes the names were upon 
 the lamps and sometimes they weren't. 
 Fortified with these directions, I proceeded 
 till I found a mighty street, full of sump- 
 tuous buildings four and five stories high, 
 but paved with rude cobblestones, after 
 the fashion of the year 1. 
 
 THE CABLE CAR. 
 Here a tram-car, without any visible
 
 236 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 means of support, slid stealthily behind 
 me and nearly struck me in the back. 
 This was the famous cable car of San 
 Francisco, which runs by gripping an end- 
 less wire rope sunk in the ground, and of 
 which I will tell you more anon. A 
 hundred yards farther there was a slight 
 commotion in the street, a gathering 
 together of three or four, something that 
 glittered as it moved very swiftly. A 
 ponderous Irish gentleman, with priest's 
 cords in his hat and a small nickel-plated 
 badge on his fat bosom, emerged from the 
 knot supporting a Chinaman who had 
 been stabbed in the eye and was bleeding 
 like a pig. The by-standers went their 
 ways, and the Chinaman, assisted by the 
 policeman, his own. Of course this was 
 none of my business, but I rather wanted 
 to know what had happened to the 
 gentleman who had dealt the stab. It
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 237 
 
 said a great deal for the excellence of 
 the municipal arrangement of the town 
 that a surging crowd did not at once 
 block the street to see what was going 
 forward. I was the sixth man and the 
 last who assisted at the performance, and 
 my curiosity was six times the greatest. 
 Indeed, I felt ashamed of showing it. 
 
 THE HOTEL CLERK. 
 There were no more incidents till I 
 reached the Palace Hotel, a seven-storied 
 warren of humanity with a thousand 
 rooms in it. All the travel books will 
 tell you about hotel arrangements in this 
 country. They should be seen to be ap- 
 preciated. Understand clearly — and this 
 letter is written after a thousand miles of 
 experiences — that money will not buy 
 you service in the West. When the 
 hotel clerk — the man who awards your
 
 238 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 room to you and who is supposed to give 
 you information — when that resplendent 
 individual stoops to attend to your wants, 
 he does so whistling or humming or pick- 
 ing his teeth, or pauses to converse with 
 some one he knows. These perform- 
 ances, I gather, are to impress upon you 
 that he is a free man and your equal. 
 From his general appearance and the 
 size of his diamonds he ought to be your 
 superior. There is no necessity for this 
 swaggering self-consciousness of freedom. 
 Business is business, and the man who is 
 paid to attend to a man might reason- 
 ably devote his whole attention to the 
 job. Out of office hours he can take his 
 coach and four and pervade society if he 
 pleases. 
 
 In a vast marble-paved hall, under the 
 glare of an electric light, sat forty or fifty 
 men, and for their use and amusement
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 239 
 
 were provided spittoons of infinite capac- 
 ity and generous gape. Most of the men 
 wore frock coats and top hats — the 
 things that we in India put on at a 
 wedding-breakfast, if we possess them — 
 but they all spat. They spat on principle. 
 The spittoons were on the staircases, in 
 each bedroom — yea, and in chambers 
 even more sacred than these. They 
 chased one into retirement, but they blos- 
 somed in chiefest splendor round the bar, 
 and they were all used, every reeking one 
 of them. 
 
 ANSWERS MENDACIOUS AND EVASIVE. 
 
 Just before I began to feel deathly sick 
 another reporter grappled me. What he 
 wanted to know was the precise area of 
 India in square miles. I referred him 
 to Whittaker. He had never heard of 
 Whittaker. He wanted it from my own
 
 240 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 mouth, and I would not tell him. Then 
 he swerved off, just like the other man, 
 to details of journalism in our own coun- 
 try. I ventured to suggest that the in- 
 terior economy of a paper most concerned 
 the people who worked it. 
 
 "That's the very thing that interests 
 us, 1 ' he said. " Have you got reporters 
 anything like our reporters on Indian 
 newspapers ?" 
 
 " We have not," I said, and suppressed 
 the "thank God" rising to my lips. 
 
 " Why haven't you ?" said he. 
 
 " Because they would die," I said. 
 
 It was exactly like talking to a child — 
 a very rude little child. He would begin 
 . almost every sentence with, "Now tell me 
 something about India, 1 ' and would turn 
 aimlessly from one question to the other 
 without the least continuity. I was not 
 angry, but keenly interested. The man
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 24 1 
 
 was a revelation tome. To his questions I 
 returned answers mendacious and evasive. 
 After all, it really did not matter what I 
 said. He could not understand. I can 
 only hope and pray that none of the 
 readers of the "Pioneer" will ever see 
 that portentous interview. The man 
 made me out to be an idiot several sizes 
 more driveling than my destiny intended, 
 and the rankness of his ignorance man- 
 aged to distort the few poor facts with 
 which I supplied him into large and elab- 
 orate lies. Then, thought I, "the mat- 
 ter of American journalism shall be 
 looked into later on. At present I will 
 enjoy myself." 
 
 ABOUT THE CITY. 
 
 No man rose to tell me what were the 
 lions of the place. No one volunteered 
 any sort of conveyance. I was abso- 
 
 16
 
 242 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 lutely alone in this big city of white folk. 
 By instinct I sought refreshment, and 
 came upon a bar-room full of bad Salon 
 pictures, in which men with hats on the 
 backs of their heads were wolfing food 
 from a counter. It was the institution of 
 the "free lunch" I had struck. You paid 
 for a drink and got as much as you 
 wanted to eat. For something less than 
 a rupee a day a man can feed himself 
 sumptuously in San Francisco, even 
 though he be a bankrupt. Remember 
 this if ever you are stranded in these 
 parts. 
 
 Later I began a vast but unsystematic 
 exploration of the streets. I asked for no 
 names. It was enough that the pave- 
 ments were full of white men and women, 
 the streets clanging with traffic, and that 
 the restful roar of a great city rang in my 
 ears. The cable cars glided to all points
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 243 
 
 of the compass at once. I took them one 
 by one till I could go no farther. San 
 Francisco has been pitched down on the 
 sand bunkers of the Bikaneer desert. 
 About one-fourth of it is ground re- 
 claimed from the sea — any old-timers will 
 tell you all about that. The remainder is 
 just ragged, unthrifty sand hills, to-day 
 pegged down by houses. 
 
 UP AND DOWN THE SAND HILLS. 
 
 From an English point of view there 
 has not been the least attempt at grading 
 those hills, and indeed you might as 
 well try to grade the hillocks of Sind. 
 The cable cars have for all practical pur- 
 poses made San Francisco a dead level. 
 They take no count of rise or fall, but 
 slide equably on their appointed courses 
 from one end to the other of a six-mile 
 street. They turn corners almost at right
 
 244 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 angles, cross other lines, and for aught I 
 know may run up the sides of houses. 
 There is no visible agency of their flight, 
 but once in awhile you shall pass a five- 
 storied building humming with machinery 
 that winds up an everlasting wire cable, 
 and the initiated will tell you that here is 
 the mechanism. I gave up asking ques- 
 tions. If it pleases Providence to make a 
 car run up and down a slit in the ground 
 for many miles, and if for twopence half- 
 penny I can ride in that car, why shall I 
 seek the reasons of the miracle ? Rather 
 let me look out of the windows till the 
 shops give place to thousands and thou- 
 sands of little houses made of wood 
 (to imitate stone), each house just big 
 enough for a man and his family. Let 
 me watch the people in the cars and try 
 to find out in what manner they differ 
 from us, their ancestors.
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 245 
 
 It grieves me now that I cursed them 
 (in the matter of book piracy), because I 
 perceived that my curse is working and 
 that their speech is becoming a horror 
 already. They delude themselves into 
 the belief that they talk English — the 
 English — and I have already been pitied 
 for speaking with "an English accent." 
 The man who pitied me spoke, so far as 
 I was concerned, the language of thieves. 
 And they all do. Where we put the 
 accent forward they throw it back, and 
 vice versa; where we give the long "a" 
 they use the short, and words so simple 
 as to be past mistaking they pronounce 
 somewhere up in the dome of their heads. 
 How do these things happen ? Oliver 
 Wendell Holmes says that the Yankee 
 school-marm, the cider and the salt cod- 
 fish of the Eastern States, are responsible 
 for what he calls a nasal accent. I know
 
 246 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 better. They stole books from across the 
 water without paying for 'em, and the 
 snort of delight was fixed in their nostrils 
 forever by a just Providence. That is 
 why they talk a foreign tongue to-day. 
 
 "Cats is dogs, and rabbits is dogs, and 
 so's parrots. But this 'ere tortoise is an 
 insect, so there ain't no charge," as the 
 old porter said. 
 
 A Hindoo is a Hindoo and a brother 
 to the man who knows his vernacular. 
 And a Frenchman is French, because he 
 speaks his own language. But the Ameri- 
 can has no language. He is dialect, 
 slang, provincialism, accent, and so forth. 
 Now that I have heard their voices, 
 all the beauty of Bret Harte is being 
 ruined for me, because I find myself catch- 
 ing, through the roll of his rhythmical 
 prose, the cadence of his peculiar father- 
 land. Get an American lady to read
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 247 
 
 to you "How Santa Claus Came to 
 Simpson's Bar," and see how much is, 
 under her tongue, left of the beauty of 
 the original. 
 
 But I am sorry for Bret Harte. It 
 happened this way. A reporter asked 
 me what I thought of the city, and I 
 made answer suavely that it was hallowed 
 ground to me, because of Bret Harte. 
 That was true. 
 
 "Well," said the reporter, "Bret Harte 
 claims California, but California don't 
 claim Bret Harte. He's been so long in 
 England that he's quite English. Have 
 you seen our cracker factories or the new 
 offices of the ' Examiner' ?" 
 
 He could not understand that to the 
 outside world the city was worth a great 
 deal less than the man. I never intended 
 to curse the people with a provincialism 
 so vast as this.
 
 248 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 THE CLIFF HOUSE. 
 
 But let us return to our sheep — which 
 means the sea lions of the Cliff House. 
 They are the great show of San Fran- 
 cisco. You take a train which pulls up 
 the middle of the street (it killed two 
 people the day before yesterday, being 
 unbraked and driven absolutely regard- 
 less of consequences), and you pull up 
 somewhere at the back of the city on the 
 Pacific beach. Originally the cliffs and 
 their approaches must have been pretty, 
 but they have been so carefully defiled 
 with advertisements that they are now 
 one big blistered abomination. A hun- 
 dred yards from the shore stood a big 
 rock covered with the carcasses of the 
 sleek sea-beasts, who roared and rolled 
 and walloped in the spouting surges. No 
 bold man had painted the creatures sky- 
 blue or advertised newspapers on their
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 249 
 
 backs, wherefore they did not match the 
 landscape, which was chiefly hoarding. 
 Some day, perhaps, whatever sort of gov- 
 ernment may obtain in this country will 
 make a restoration of the place and keep 
 it clean and neat. At present the sov- 
 ereign people, of whom I have heard so 
 much already, are vending cherries and 
 painting the virtues of " Little Bile 
 Beans " all over it. 
 
 ON KEARNEY STREET. 
 
 Night fell over the Pacific, and the 
 white sea-fog whipped through the 
 streets, dimming the splendors of the 
 electric lights. It is the use of this city, 
 her men and women folk, to parade be- 
 tween the hours of eight and ten a cer- 
 tain street called Kearney Street, where 
 the finest shops are situated. Here the 
 click of high heels on the pavement is
 
 250 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 loudest, here the lights are brightest, and 
 here the thunder of the traffic is most 
 overwhelming. I watched young Cali- 
 fornia, and saw that it was, at least, ex- 
 pensively dressed, cheerful in manner, 
 and self-asserting in conversation. Also 
 the women were very fair. Perhaps 
 eighteen days aboard ship had something 
 to do with my unreserved admiration. 
 The maidens were of generous build, 
 large, well groomed, and attired in rai- 
 ment that even to my unexperienced eyes 
 must have cost much. Kearney Street 
 at nine o'clock levels all distinctions of 
 rank as impartially as the grave. Again 
 and again I loitered at the heels of a 
 couple of resplendent beings, only to 
 overhear, when I expected the level voice 
 of culture, the staccato "Sez he," lt Sez I " 
 that is the mark of the white servant girl 
 all the world over.
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 251 
 
 THE OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 This was depressing because, in spite 
 of all that goes to the contrary, fine 
 feathers ought to make fine birds. There 
 was wealth — unlimited wealth — in the 
 streets, but not an accent that would not 
 have been dear at fifty cents. Where- 
 fore, revolving in my mind that these folk 
 were barbarians, I was presently enlight- 
 ened and made aware that they also were 
 the heirs of all the ages, and civilized 
 after all. There appeared before me an 
 affable stranger of prepossessing appear- 
 ance, with a blue and an innocent eye. 
 Addressing me by name, he claimed to 
 have met me in New York, at the Wind- 
 sor, and to this claim I gave a qualified 
 assent. I did not remember the fact, but 
 since he was so certain of it, why, then — 
 I waited developments. 
 
 "And what did you think of Indiana
 
 2 c 2 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 when you came through ? " was the next 
 question. 
 
 It revealed the mystery of previous 
 acquaintance and one or two other things. 
 With reprehensible carelessness my friend 
 of the light-blue eye had looked up the 
 name of his victim in the hotel register, 
 and read "Indiana " for India. 
 
 The provincialism with which I had 
 cursed his people extended to himself. 
 He could not imagine an Englishman 
 coming through the States from West to 
 East instead of by the regularly ordained 
 route. My fear was that in his delight in 
 finding me so responsive he would make 
 remarks about New York and the Wind- 
 sor which I could not understand. And, 
 indeed, he adventured in this direction 
 once or twice, asking me what I thought 
 of such and such streets, which from his 
 tone I gathered to be anything but re-
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 253 
 
 spectable. It is trying to talk unknown 
 New York in almost unknown San Fran- 
 cisco. But my friend was merciful. He 
 protested that I was one after his own 
 heart, and pressed upon me rare and cu- 
 rious drinks at more than one bar. These 
 drinks I accepted with gratitude, as also 
 the cigars with which his pockets were 
 stored. He would show me the life of 
 the city. Having no desire to watch a 
 weary old play again, I evaded the offer 
 and received in lieu of the devil's instruc- 
 tion much coarse flattery. Curiously 
 constituted is the soul of man. Knowing 
 how and where this man lied, waiting 
 idly for the finale, I was distinctly con- 
 scious, as he bubbled compliments in my 
 ear, of soft thrills of gratified pride steal- 
 ing from hat-rim to boot-heels. I was 
 wise, quoth he — anybody could see that 
 with half an eye ; sagacious, versed in the
 
 254 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 ways of the world, an acquaintance to be 
 desired ; one who had tasted the cup of 
 life with discretion. 
 
 THE BUNCO STEERER. 
 
 All this pleased me, and in a measure 
 numbed the suspicion that was thoroughly 
 aroused. Eventually the blue-eyed one 
 discovered, nay, insisted, that I had a 
 taste for cards (this was clumsily worked 
 in, but it was my fault, for in that I met 
 him half-way and allowed him no chance 
 of good acting). Hereupon I laid my 
 head upon one side and simulated unholy 
 wisdom, quoting odds and ends of poker 
 talk, all ludicrously misapplied. My 
 friend kept his countenance admirably, 
 and well he might, for five minutes later 
 we arrived, always by the purest of 
 chance, at a place where we could play
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 255 
 
 cards and also frivol with Louisiana State 
 lottery tickets. Would I play ? 
 
 " Nay," said I, " for to me cards have 
 neither meaning nor continuity; but let us 
 assume that I am going to play. How 
 would you and your friends get to work ? 
 Would you play a straight game, or make 
 me drunk, or — well, the fact is, I'm a 
 newspaper man, and I'd be much obliged 
 if you'd let me know something about 
 bunco steering." 
 
 My blue-eyed friend erected himself 
 into an obelisk of profanity. He cursed 
 me by his gods — the right and left bower ; 
 he even cursed the very good cigars he 
 had given me. But, the storm over, he 
 quieted down and explained. I apolo- 
 gized for causing him to waste an even- 
 ing, and we spent a very pleasant time 
 together. 
 
 Inaccuracy, provincialism, and a too
 
 256 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 hasty rushing to conclusions, were the 
 rocks that he had split on, but he got his 
 revenge when he said : 
 
 " How would I play with you ? From 
 all the poppycock (Anglice bosh) you 
 talked about poker, I'd ha' played a 
 straight game, and skinned you. I 
 wouldn't have taken the trouble to make 
 you drunk. You never knew anything of 
 the game, but how I was mistaken in go- 
 ing to work on you makes me sick." 
 
 He glared at me as though I had done 
 him an injury. To-day I know how it is 
 that year after year, week after week, the 
 bunco steerer, who is the confidence trick 
 and the card-sharper man of other climes, 
 secures his prey. He clavers them over 
 with flattery as the snake clavers the 
 rabbit. The incident depressed me, be- 
 cause it showed I had left the innocent 
 East far behind and was come to a
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 257 
 
 country where a man must look out for 
 
 himself. The very hotels bristled with 
 
 notices about keeping my door locked and 
 
 depositing my valuables in a safe. The 
 
 ' white man in a lump is bad. Weeping 
 
 softly for O-Toyo (little I knew then that 
 
 my heart was to be torn afresh from my 
 
 bosom), I fell asleep in the clanging hotel. 
 
 Next morning I had entered upon the 
 
 deferred inheritance. There are no 
 
 princes in America- — at least with crowns 
 
 on their heads — but a generous-minded 
 
 member of some royal family received my 
 
 letter of introduction. Ere the day closed 
 
 I was a member of the two clubs, and 
 
 booked for many engagements to dinner 
 
 and party. Now, this prince, upon whose 
 
 financial operations be continual increase, 
 
 had no reason, nor had the others, his 
 
 friends, to put himself out for the sake of 
 
 one Briton more or less, but he rested not 
 17
 
 258 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 till he had accomplished all in my behalf 
 that a mother could think of for her 
 debutante daughter. 
 
 THE BOHEMIAN CLUB. 
 
 Do you know the Bohemian Club of 
 San Francisco ? They say its fame ex- 
 tends over the world. It was created, 
 somewhat on the lines of the Savage, by 
 men who wrote or drew things, and has 
 blossomed into most unrepublican luxury. 
 The ruler of the place is an owl — an owl 
 standing upon a skull and cross-bones, 
 showing forth grimly the wisdom of the 
 man of letters and the end of his hopes 
 for immortality. The owl stands on the 
 staircase, a statue four feet high ; is carved 
 in the wood-work, flutters on the frescoed 
 ceiling, is stamped on the note-paper, and 
 hangs on the walls. He is an ancient
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 259 
 
 and honorable bird. Under his wing 
 'twas my privilege to meet with white 
 men whose lives were not chained down 
 to routine of toil, who wrote magazine 
 articles instead of reading them hurriedly 
 in the pauses of office-work, who painted 
 pictures instead of contenting themselves 
 with cheap etchings picked up at another 
 man's sale of effects. Mine were all the 
 rights of social intercourse, craft by craft, 
 that India, stony-hearted step-mother of 
 collectors, has swindled us out of. Tread- 
 ing soft carpets and breathing the incense 
 of superior cigars, I wandered from room 
 to room studying the paintings in which 
 the members of the club had caricatured 
 themselves, their associates, and their 
 aims. There was a slick French audacity 
 about the workmanship of these men of 
 toil unbending that went straight to the 
 heart of the beholder. And yet it was
 
 2 6o AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 not altogether French. A dry grimness 
 of treatment, almost Dutch, marked the 
 difference. The men painted as they 
 spoke — with certainty. The club indulges 
 in revelries which it calls "jinks" — high 
 and low, at intervals-- and each of these 
 gatherings is faithfully portrayed in oils 
 by hands that know their business. In 
 this club were no amateurs spoiling can- 
 vas, because they fancied they could 
 handle oils without knowledge of shadows 
 or anatomy — no gentleman of leisure 
 ruining the temper of publishers and an 
 already ruined market with attempts to 
 write, "because everybody writes some- 
 thing these days." 
 
 PLEASANT HOURS. 
 
 My hosts were working, or had worked 
 for their daily bread with pen or paint, 
 and their talk for the most part was of
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 26 I 
 
 the shop — shoppy — that is to say, de- 
 lightful. They extended a large hand of 
 welcome, and were as brethren, and I did 
 homage to the owl and listened to their 
 talk. An Indian club about Christmas- 
 time will yield, if properly worked, an 
 abundant harvest of queer tales ; but at a 
 gathering of Americans from the utter- 
 most ends of their own continent, the 
 tales are larger, thicker, more spinous, 
 and even more azure than any Indian va- 
 riety. Tales of the war I heard told by 
 an ex-officer of the South over his even- 
 ing drink to a colonel of the Northern 
 army, my introducer, who had served as a 
 trooper in the Northern Horse,' throw- 
 ing in emendations from time to time. 
 "Tales of the Law,' 1 which in this coun- 
 try is an amazingly elastic affair, followed 
 from the lips of a judge. Forgive me for 
 recording one tale that struck me as new.
 
 262 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 It may interest the up-country Bar in 
 India. 
 
 Once upon a time there was a Samuel- 
 son, a young lawyer, who feared not God, 
 neither regarded the Bench. (Name, age, 
 and town of the man were given at great 
 length.) To him no case had ever come 
 as a client, partly because he lived in a 
 district where lynch law prevailed, and 
 partly because the most desperate pris- 
 oner shrunk from intrusting himself to 
 the mercies of a phenomenal stammerer. 
 But in time there happened an aggra- 
 vated murder — so bad, indeed, that by 
 common consent the citizens decided, as 
 a prelude to lynching, to give the real 
 law a chance. They could, in fact, gam- 
 bol round that murder. They met — the 
 court in its shirt-sleeves — and against the 
 raw square of the Court House window a 
 temptingly suggestive branch of a tree
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 263 
 
 fretted the sky. No one appeared for 
 the prisoner, and, partly in jest, the court 
 advised young Samuelson to take up the 
 case. 
 
 " The prisoner is undefended, Sam," 
 said the court. " The square thing to do 
 would be for you to take him aside and 
 do the best you can for him." 
 
 Court, jury, and witness then adjourned 
 to the veranda, while Samuelson led his 
 client aside to the Court House cells. 
 An hour passed ere the lawyer returned 
 alone. Mutely the audience questioned. 
 
 "May it p-p-please the c-court," said 
 Samuelson, "my client's case is a b-b-b- 
 bad one — a d-d-amn bad one. You told 
 me to do the b-b-best I c-couid for him, 
 judge, so I've jest given him y-your b-b- 
 bay gelding, an 1 told him to light out 
 for healthier c-climes, my p-p-professional 
 opinion being he'd be hanged quicker'n
 
 264 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 h-h-hades if he dallied here. B-by this 
 time my client's 'bout fifteen mile out 
 yonder somewheres. That was the b-b- 
 best I could do for him, may it p-p-please 
 the court." 
 
 The young man, escaping punishment 
 in lieu of the prisoner, made his fortune 
 ere five years. 
 
 TALES OF OLD DAYS. 
 
 Other voices followed, with equally 
 wondrous tales of riata-throwing in Mex- 
 ico and Arizona, of gambling at army 
 posts in Texas, of newspaper wars waged 
 in Godless Chicago (I could not help be- 
 ing interested, but they were not pretty 
 tricks), of deaths sudden and violent in 
 Montana and Dakota, of the loves of 
 half-breed maidens in the South, and fan- 
 tastic huntings for gold in mysterious 
 Alaska. Above all, they told the story
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 265 
 
 of the building of old San Francisco, 
 when the " finest collection of humanity 
 on God's earth, sir, started this town, and 
 the water came up to the foot of Market ' 
 Street." Very terrible were some of the 
 tales, grimly humorous the others, and 
 the men in broadcloth and fine linen who 
 told them had played their parts in them. 
 
 " And now and again when things got 
 too bad they would toll the city bell, and 
 the Vigilance Committee turned out and 
 hanged the suspicious characters. A man 
 didn't begin to be suspected in those days 
 till he had committed at least one unpro- 
 voked murder," said a calm-eyed, portly 
 old eentleman. 
 
 I looked at the pictures around me, the 
 noiseless, neat-uniformed waiter behind 
 me, the oak-ribbed ceiling above, the 
 velvet carpet beneath. It was hard to 
 realize that even twenty years ago you
 
 2 66 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 could see a man hanged with great pomp. 
 Later on I found reason to change my 
 opinion. The tales gave me a headache 
 and set me thinking. How in the world 
 was it possible to take in even one thou- 
 sandth of this huge, roaring, many-sided 
 continent ? In the tobacco-scented silence 
 of the sumptuous library lay Professor 
 Bryce's book on the American Republic. 
 " It is an omen," said I. " He has done 
 all things in all seriousness, and he may 
 be purchased for half a guinea. Those 
 who desire information of the most un- 
 doubted, must refer to his pages. For me 
 is the daily round of vagabondage, the re- 
 cordincr of the incidents of the hour and 
 intercourse with the traveling-companion 
 of the day. I will not ' do ' this country 
 
 at all." 
 
 INDIA FORGOTTEN. 
 
 And I forgot all about India for ten
 
 AT THE GOLDEN GATE. 267 
 
 days while I went out to dinners and 
 watched the social customs of the people, 
 which are entirely different from our cus- 
 toms, and was introduced to men of many 
 millions. These persons are harmless in 
 their earlier stages — that is to say, a man 
 worth three or four million dollars may be 
 a good talker, clever, amusing, and of the 
 world ; a man with twice that amount is 
 to be avoided, and a twenty-million man 
 is — just twenty millions. Take an in- 
 stance. I was speaking to a newspaper 
 man about seeing the proprietor of his 
 journal, as in my innocence I supposed 
 newspaper men occasionally did. My 
 friend snorted indignantly : 
 
 " See him ! Great Scott ! No. If he 
 happens to appear in the office, I have to 
 associate with him ; but, thank Heaven ! 
 outside of that I move in circles where he 
 can not come."
 
 2 68 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 And yet the first thing I have been 
 taught to believe is that money was every- 
 thing in America !
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 
 
 I have been watching machinery in re- 
 pose after reading about machinery in 
 action. 
 
 An excellent gentleman, who bears a 
 name honored in the magazine, writes, 
 much as Disraeli orated, of " the sublime 
 instincts of an ancient people," the cer- 
 tainty with which they can be trusted to 
 manage their own affairs in their own 
 way, and the speed with which they are 
 making for all sorts of desirable goals. 
 This he called a statement or purview of 
 American politics. 
 
 I went almost directly afterward to a 
 saloon where gentlemen interested in ward 
 politics nightly congregate. They were 
 not pretty persons. Some of them were 
 bloated, and they all swore cheerfully till 
 
 (269)
 
 270 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 the heavy gold watch-chains on their fat 
 stomachs rose and fell again ; but they 
 talked over their liquor as men who had 
 power and unquestioned access to places 
 of trust and profit. 
 
 The magazine writer discussed theories 
 of government ; these men the practice. 
 They had been there. They knew all 
 about it. They banged their fists on the 
 table and spoke of political "pulls," the 
 vending of votes, and so forth. Theirs 
 was not the talk of village babblers recon- 
 structing the affairs of the nation, but of 
 strong, coarse, lustful men fighting for 
 spoil, and thoroughly understanding the 
 best methods of reaching it. 
 
 I listened long and intently to speech I 
 could not understand — or but in spots. 
 
 It was the speech of business, however. 
 I had sense enough to know that, and to 
 do my laughing outside the door.
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 271 
 
 Then I began to understand why my 
 pleasant and well-educated hosts in San 
 Francisco spoke with a bitter scorn of 
 such duties of citizenship as voting and 
 taking an interest in the distribution 
 of offices. Scores of men have told me, 
 without false pride, that they would as 
 soon concern themselves with the public 
 affairs of the city or State as rake muck 
 with a steam-shovel. It may be that 
 their lofty disdain covers selfishness, but 
 I should be very sorry habitually to meet 
 the fat gentlemen with shiny top-hats 
 and plump cigars in whose society I have 
 been spending the evening. 
 
 Read about politics as the cultured 
 writer of the magazine regards 'em, and 
 then, and not till then, pay your respects 
 to the gentlemen who run the grimy 
 reality. 
 
 I'm sick of interviewing night editors
 
 072 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 who lean their chair against the wall, and, 
 in response to my demand for the record 
 of a prominent citizen, answer : "Well, 
 you see, he began by keeping a saloon," 
 etc. I prefer to believe that my inform- 
 ants are treating me as in the old sinful 
 days in India I was used to treat the 
 wandering globe-trotter. They declare 
 that they speak the truth, and the news of 
 dog politics lately vouchsafed to me in 
 groggeries inclines me to believe, but 
 I won't. The people are much too nice 
 to slangander as recklessly as I have been 
 doing. Besides, I am hopelessly in love 
 with about eight American maidens — all 
 perfectly delightful till the next one comes 
 into the room. 
 
 O-Toyo was a darling, but she lacked 
 several things — conversation for one. 
 You can not live on giggles. She shall 
 remain unmarried at Nagasaki, while I
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 273 
 
 roast a battered heart before the shrine of 
 a big Kentucky blonde, who had for 
 a nurse, when she was little, a negro 
 "mammy." 
 
 By consequence she has welded on 
 California beauty, Paris dresses, Eastern 
 culture, Europe trips, and wild Western 
 originality, the queer, dreamy supersti- 
 tions of the quarters, and the result is 
 soul-shattering. And she is but one of 
 many stars. 
 
 Item, a maiden who believes in educa- 
 tion and possesses it, with a few hundred 
 thousand dollars to boot and a taste for 
 slumming. 
 
 Item, the leader of a sort of informal 
 salon where girls congregate, read papers, 
 and daringly discuss metaphysical prob- 
 lems and candy — a sloe-eyed, black-browed, 
 imperious maiden she. 
 
 Item, a very small maiden, absolutely 
 
 18
 
 274 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 without reverence, who can in one swift 
 sentence trample upon and leave gasping 
 half a dozen young men. 
 
 Item, a millionairess, burdened with her 
 money, lonely, caustic, with a tongue 
 keen as a sword, yearning for a sphere, 
 but chained up to the rock of her vast 
 possessions. 
 
 Item, a typewriter maiden earning her 
 own bread in this big city, because she 
 doesn't think a girl ought to be a burden 
 on her parents, who quotes Theophile 
 Gautier and moves through the world 
 manfully, much respected for all her 
 twenty inexperienced summers. 
 
 Item, a woman from cloud-land who 
 has no history in the past or future, but is 
 discreetly of the present, and strives for 
 the confidences of male humanity on the 
 grounds of "sympathy" (methinks this is 
 not altogether a new type).
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 275 
 
 Item, a girl in a "dive," blessed with a 
 Greek head and eyes, that seem to speak 
 all that is best and sweetest in the world. 
 But woe is me ! She has no ideas in this 
 world or the next beyond the consump 
 tion of beer (a commission on each bottle), 
 and protests that she sings the songs 
 allotted to her nightly without more than 
 the vaguest notion of their meaning. 
 
 AMERICAN GIRLS SUPREME. 
 
 Sweet and comely are the maidens of 
 Devonshire ; delicate and of gracious 
 seeming those who live in the pleasant 
 places of London ; fascinating for all their 
 demureness the damsels of France, cling- 
 ing closely to their mothers, with large 
 eyes wondering at the wicked world ; 
 excellent in her own place and to those 
 who understand her is the Anglo-Indian 
 "spin" in her second season ; but the girls
 
 276 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 of America are above and beyond them 
 all. They are clever, they can talk — yea, 
 it is said that they think. Certainly they 
 have an appearance of so doing, which is 
 delightfully deceptive. 
 
 They are original, and regard you be- 
 tween the brows with unabashed eyes as 
 a sister might look at her brother. They 
 are instructed, too, in the folly and vanity 
 of the male mind, for they have associ- 
 ated with "the boys" from babyhood, 
 and can discerningly minister to both 
 vices or pleasantly snub the possessor. 
 They possess, moreover, a life among 
 themselves, independent of any masculine 
 associations. They have societies and 
 clubs and unlimited tea-fights where all 
 the guests are girls. They are self- 
 possessed, without parting with any ten- 
 derness that is their sex-right; they under- 
 stand ; they can take care of themselves ;
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 277 
 
 they are superbly independent. When 
 you ask them what makes them so charm- 
 ing, they say : 
 
 " It is because we are better educated 
 than your girls, and — and we are more 
 sensible in regard to men. We have 
 eood times all round, but we aren't 
 taught to regard every man as a possible 
 husband. Nor is he expected to marry 
 the first girl he calls on regularly." 
 
 Yes, they have good times, their free- 
 dom is large, and they do not abuse it. 
 They can go driving with young men 
 and receive visits from young men to an 
 extent that would make an English 
 mother wink with horror, and neither 
 driver nor drivee has a thought beyond 
 the enjoyment of a good time. As cer- 
 tain, also, as their own poets have said : 
 
 " Man is fire and woman is tow, 
 And the devil he comes and begins to blow."
 
 278 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 In America the tow is soaked in a 
 solution that makes it fireproof, in ab- 
 solute liberty and large knowledge ; con- 
 sequently, accidents do not exceed the 
 regular percentage arranged by the devil 
 for each class and climate under the skies. 
 
 MADE TOO MUCH OF. 
 
 But the freedom of the young girl has 
 its drawbacks. She is — I say it with all 
 reluctance — irreverent, from her forty- 
 dollar bonnet to the buckles in her 
 eighteen-dollar shoes. She talks flip- 
 pantly to her parents and men old 
 enough to be her grandfather. She has 
 a prescriptive right to the society of the 
 man who arrives. The parents admit it. 
 
 This is sometimes embarrassing, espe- 
 cially when you call on a man and his wife 
 for the sake of information — the one 
 being a merchant of varied knowledge,
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 279 
 
 the other a woman of the world. In five 
 minutes your host has vanished. In 
 another five his wife has followed him, 
 and you are left alone with a very charm- 
 ing maiden, doubtless, but certainly not 
 the person you came to see. She chat- 
 ters, and you grin, but you leave with the 
 very strong impression of a wasted morn- 
 ing. This has been my experience once 
 or twice. I have even said as pointedly 
 as I dared to a man : 
 
 " I came to see you." 
 
 "You'd better see me in my office, then. 
 The house belongs to my. women folk — to 
 my daughter, that is to say." 
 
 He spoke the truth. The American of 
 wealth is owned by his family. They ex- 
 ploit him for bullion. The women get the 
 ha'pence, the kicks are all his own. Noth- 
 ing is too good for an American's daughter 
 (I speak here of the moneyed classes).
 
 280 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 The girls take every gift as a matter of 
 course, and yet they develop greatly when 
 a catastrophe arrives and the man of 
 many millions goes np or goes down, and 
 his daughters take to stenography or 
 typewriting. I have heard many tales of 
 heroism from the lips of girls who counted 
 the principals among their friends. The 
 crash came, Mamie, or Hattie, or Sadie, 
 gave up their maid, their carriages, and 
 candy, and with a No. 2 Remington and 
 a stout heart set about earning their daily 
 bread. 
 
 " And did I drop her from the list of 
 my friends ? No, sir," said a scarlet- 
 lipped vision in white lace ; " that might 
 happen to us any day." 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO VELOCITY. 
 
 It may be this sense of possible dis- 
 aster in the air that makes San Francisco
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 28 I 
 
 society go with so captivating a rush and 
 whirl. Recklessness is in the air. I 
 can't explain where it comes from, but 
 there it is. The roaring winds of the Pa- 
 cific make you drunk to begin with. The 
 aggressive luxury on all sides helps out 
 the intoxication, and you spin forever 
 " down the ringing grooves of change" 
 (there is no small change, by the way, 
 west of the Rockies) as long as money 
 lasts. They make greatly and they spend 
 lavishly ; not only the rich, but the arti- 
 sans, who pay nearly five pounds for a 
 suit of clothes, and for other luxuries in 
 proportion. 
 
 The young men rejoice in the days of 
 their youth. They gamble, yacht, race, 
 enjoy prize-fights and cock-fights, the one 
 openly, the other in secret ; they establish 
 luxurious clubs ; they break themselves 
 over horse-flesh and other things, and 
 
 •3
 
 282 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 they are instant in a quarrel. At twenty 
 they are experienced in business, embark 
 in vast enterprises, take partners as ex- 
 perienced as themselves, and go to pieces 
 with as much splendor as their neighbors. 
 Remember that the men who stocked 
 California in the fifties were physically, 
 and, as far as regards certain tough vir- 
 tues, the pick of the earth. The inept 
 and the weakly died en route, or went 
 under in the days of construction. To 
 this nucleus were added all the races of 
 the Continent — French, Italian, German, 
 and, of course, the Jew. 
 
 The result you can see in the large- 
 boned, deep - chested, delicate - handed 
 women, and long, elastic, well-built boys. 
 It needs no little golden badge swinging 
 from the watch-chain to mark the native 
 son of the Golden West, the country-bred 
 of California.
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 283 
 
 Him I love because he is devoid of 
 fear, carries himself like a man, and has a 
 heart as big as his books. I fancy, too, 
 he knows how to enjoy the blessings of 
 life that his province so abundantly be- ■ 
 stows upon him. At least, I heard a little 
 rat of a creature with hock-bottle shoul- 
 ders explaining that a man from Chicago 
 could pull the eye-teeth of a Californian 
 in business. 
 
 ABOUT THAT CLIMATE. 
 
 Well, if I lived in fairy-land, where 
 cherries were as big as plums, plums as 
 big as apples, and strawberries of no ac- 
 count, where the procession of the fruits 
 of the seasons was like a pageant in a 
 Drury Lane pantomime, and the dry air 
 was wine, I should let business slide onc^ 
 in a way and kick up my heels with my 
 fellows. The tale of the resources of
 
 084 ' AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 California — vegetable and mineral — is a 
 fairy-tale. You can read it in books. You 
 would never believe me. 
 
 All manner of nourishing food, from - 
 sea-fish to beef, may be bought at the low- 
 est prices, and the people are consequently 
 well developed and of a high stomach. 
 They demand ten shillings for tinkering a 
 jammed lock of a trunk ; they receive six- 
 teen shillings a day for working as car- 
 penters ; they spend many sixpences on 
 very bad cigars, which the poorest of them 
 smoke, and they go mad over a prize- 
 fight. When they disagree they do so 
 fatally, with fire-arms in their hands, and 
 on the public streets. I was just clear of 
 Mission Street when the trouble began 
 between two gentlemen, one of whom per- 
 forated the other. 
 
 When a policeman, whose name I do 
 not recollect, " fatally shot Ed Hearney"
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 285 
 
 for attempting to escape arrest, I was in 
 the next street. For these things I am 
 thankful. It is enough to travel with a 
 policeman in a tram-car, and, while he ar- 
 ranges his coat-tails as he sits down, to 
 catch sight of a loaded revolver. It is 
 enough to know that 50 per cent of the 
 men in the public saloons carry pistols 
 about them. 
 
 The Chinaman waylays his adversary, 
 and methodically chops him to pieces with 
 his hatchet. Then the press roars about 
 the brutal ferocity of the pagan. 
 
 The Italian reconstructs his friend with 
 a long knife. The press complains of the 
 waywardness of the alien. 
 
 The Irishman and the native Califor- 
 nian in their hours of discontent use the 
 revolver, not once, but six times. The 
 press records the fact, and asks in the 
 next column whether the world can paral-
 
 286 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 lei the progress of San Francisco. The 
 American who loves his country will tell 
 you that this sort of thing is confined to 
 the lower classes. Just at present an ex- 
 judge, who was sent to jail by another 
 judge (upon my word I can not tell 
 whether these titles mean anything), is 
 breathing red-hot vengeance against his 
 enemy. The papers have interviewed 
 both parties, and confidently expect a 
 fatal issue. 
 
 AFRICAN-AMERICAN TYPES. 
 
 Now, let me draw breath and curse the 
 negro waiter, and through him the negro 
 in service generally. He has been made 
 a citizen with a vote, consequently both 
 political parties play with him. But that 
 is neither here nor there. He will com- 
 mit in one meal every betise that a senllion 
 fresh from the plow-tail is capable of, and
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 287 
 
 he will continue to repeat those faults. 
 He is as complete a heavy-footed, uncom- 
 prehending, bungle-fisted fool as any 
 mem-sahib in the East ever took into her 
 establishment. But he is according to 
 law a free and independent citizen — con- 
 sequently above reproof or criticism. He, 
 and he alone, in this insane city, will wait 
 at table (the Chinaman doesn't count). 
 
 He is untrained, inept, but he will fill 
 the place and draw the pay. Now, God 
 and his father's fate made him intellect- 
 ually inferior to the Oriental. He insists 
 on pretending that he serves tables by 
 accident — as a sort of amusement. He 
 wishes you to understand this little fact. 
 You wish to eat your meals, and, if possi- 
 ble, to have them properly served. He is 
 a big, black, vain baby and a man rolled 
 into one. 
 
 A colored gentleman who insisted on
 
 288 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 getting me pie when I wanted something 
 else, demanded information about India. 
 I gave him some facts about wages. 
 
 "Oh, hell!" said he, cheerfully, "that 
 wouldn't keep me in cigars for a month." 
 
 Then he fawned on me for a ten-cent 
 piece. Later he took it upon himself to 
 pity the natives of India. "Heathens," 
 he called them — this woolly one, whose 
 race has been the butt of every comedy 
 on the native stage since the beginning. 
 And I turned and saw by the head upon 
 his shoulders that he was a Yoruba. man, 
 if there be any truth in ethnological castes. 
 He did his thinking in English, but he 
 was a Yoruba negro, and the race type 
 had remained the same throughout his 
 generations. And the room was full of 
 other races — some that looked exactly 
 like Gallas (but the trade was never 
 recruited from that side of Africa), some
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 289 
 
 duplicates of Cameroon heads, and some 
 Kroomen, if ever Kroomen wore evening 
 dress. 
 
 The American does not consider little 
 matters of descent, though by this time 
 he ougdit to know all about " damnable 
 heredity." As a general rule he keeps 
 himself very far from the negro, and says 
 things about him that are not pretty. 
 There are six million negroes, more or 
 less, in the States, and they are increas- 
 ing. The American, once having made 
 them citizens, can not unmake them. He 
 says, in his newspapers, they ought to be 
 elevated by education. He is trying this, 
 but it is likely to be a long job, because 
 black blood is much more adhesive than 
 white, and throws back with annoying 
 persistence. 
 
 When the negro gets religion he re- 
 turns directly as a hiving bee to the first 
 
 19
 
 290 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 instincts of his people, just now a wave 
 of religion is sweeping over some of the 
 Southern States. 
 
 Up to the present two Messiahs and a 
 Daniel have appeared, and several human 
 sacrifices have been offered up to these 
 incarnations. The Daniel managed to 
 get three young men, who he insisted 
 were Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, 
 to walk into a blast furnace, guaranteeing 
 non-combustion. They did not return. 
 I have seen nothing of this kind, but I 
 have attended a negro church. They 
 pray, or are caused to pray by themselves 
 in this country. The congregation were 
 moved by the spirit to groans and tears, 
 and one of them danced up the aisle to 
 the mourners' bench. The motive may 
 have been genuine. The movements of 
 the shaken body were those of a Zanzibar 
 stick dance, such as you see at Aden on
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 29 I 
 
 the coal-boats, and even as I watched the 
 people, the links that bound them to the 
 white man snapped one by one, and I 
 saw before me the hubs hi (woolly hair) 
 praying to a God he did not understand. 
 Those neatly dressed folk on the benches, 
 and the gray-headed elder by the window, 
 were savages, neither more nor less. 
 
 AN IRREPRESSIBLE PROBLEM. 
 
 What will the American do with the 
 negro ? The South will not consort with 
 him. In some States miscegenation is a 
 penal offense. The North is every year 
 less and less in need of his services. 
 
 And he will not disappear. He will 
 continue as a problem. His friends will 
 urge that he is as good as the white man. 
 His enemies — well, you can guess what 
 his enemies will do from a little incident
 
 2Q2 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 that followed on a recent appointment 
 by the president. He made a negro an 
 assistant in a post office where — think of 
 it! — he had to work at the next desk 
 to a white girl, the daughter of a colonel, 
 one of the first families of Georgia's mod- 
 ern chivalry, and all the weary, weary 
 rest of it. The Southern chivalry howled, 
 and hanged or burned some one in effigy. 
 Perhaps it was the president, and perhaps 
 it was the negro — but the principle re- 
 mains the same. They said it was an 
 insult. It is not good to be a negro in 
 the land of the free and the home of the 
 brave. 
 
 But this is nothing to do with San 
 Francisco and her merry maidens, her 
 strong, swaggering men, and her wealth 
 of gold and pride. They bore me to a 
 banquet in honor of a brave lieutenant — 
 Carlin, of the "Vandalia" — who stuck by
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 293 
 
 his ship in the great cyclone at Apia and 
 comported himself as an officer should. 
 On that occasion — 'twas at the Bohemian 
 Club — I heard oratory with the roundest 
 of o's, and devoured a dinner the memory 
 of which will descend with me into the 
 hungry grave. 
 
 SCREAMS FROM THE EAGLE. 
 
 There were about forty speeches deliv- 
 ered, and not one of them was average or 
 ordinary. It was my first introduction to 
 the American eagle screaming . for all 
 it was worth. The lieutenant's heroism 
 served as a peg from which the silver- 
 tongued ones turned themselves loose and 
 kicked. 
 
 They ransacked the clouds of sunset, 
 the thunderbolts of heaven, the deeps of 
 hell, and the splendor of the resurrection 
 for tropes and metaphors, and hurled the
 
 2 9 4 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 result at the head of the guest of the 
 evening. 
 
 Never since the morning - stars sunor 
 together for joy, I learned, had an amazed 
 creation witnessed such superhuman 
 bravery as that displayed by the Ameri- 
 can navy in the Samoa cyclone. Till 
 earth rotted in the phosphorescent star- 
 and-stripe slime of a decayed universe, 
 that godlike gallantry would not be for- 
 gotten. I grieve that I can not give the 
 exact words. My attempt at reproduc- 
 ing their spirit is pale and inadequate. I 
 sat bewildered on a coruscating Niagara 
 of blatherumskite. It was magnificent — 
 it was stupendous — and I was conscious 
 of a wicked desire to hide my face in a 
 napkin and grin. Then, according to 
 rule, they produced their dead, and across 
 the snowy tablecloths dragged the corpse 
 of every man slain in the Civil War, and
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 
 
 295 
 
 hurled defiance at "our natural enemy" 
 (England, so please you), "with her 
 chain of fortresses across the world." 
 Thereafter they glorified their nation 
 afresh from the beginning, in case any 
 detail should have been overlooked, and 
 that made me uncomfortable for their 
 sakes. How in the world can a white 
 man, a sahib, of our blood, stand up and 
 plaster praise on his own country? He can 
 think as highly as he likes, but this open- 
 mouthed vehemence of adoration struck 
 me almost as indelicate. My hosts talked 
 for rather more than three hours, and at the 
 end seemed ready for three hours more. 
 
 But when the lieutenant — such a big, 
 brave, gentle giant — rose to his feet, he 
 delivered what seemed to me as the 
 speech of the evening. I remember 
 nearly the whole of it, and it ran some- 
 thing in this way :
 
 296 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 " Gentlemen — It's very good of you to 
 give me this dinner and to tell me all 
 these pretty things, but what I want you 
 to understand — the fact is, what we want 
 and what we ought to get at once, is a 
 navy — more ships — lots of 'em — " 
 
 Then we howled the top of the roof off, 
 and I for one fell in love with Carlin on 
 the spot. Wallah ! He was a man. 
 
 The prince among merchants bid me 
 take no heed to the warlike sentiments 
 of some of the old generals. 
 
 "The skyrockets are thrown in for 
 effect,'' quoth he, "and whenever w.e get 
 on our hind legs we always express a 
 desire to chaw up England. It's a sort 
 of family affair." 
 
 And, indeed, when you come to think 
 of it, there is no other country for the 
 American public speaker to trample upon. 
 
 France has Germany; we have Russia;
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 
 
 297 
 
 for Italy Austria is provided, and the hum- 
 blest Pathan possesses an ancestral enemy. 
 
 Only America stands out of the racket, 
 and therefore to be in fashion makes a 
 sand bag of the mother country, and 
 hangs her when occasion requires. 
 
 "The chain of fortresses" man, a fasci- 
 nating talker, explained to me after the 
 affair that he was compelled to blow off 
 steam. Everybody expected it. 
 
 When we had chanted "The Star 
 Spangled Banner" not more than eight 
 times, we adjourned. America is a very 
 great country, but it is not yet heaven, 
 with electric lights and plush fittings, as 
 the speakers professed to believe. My 
 listening mind went back to the politi- 
 cians in the saloon, who wasted no time in 
 talking about freedom, but quietly made 
 arrangements to impose their will on the . 
 citizens.
 
 2 9 8 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 "The judge is a great man, but give 
 thy presents to the clerk," as the proverb 
 saith. 
 
 TRAITS OF THE TYPEWRITER. 
 
 And what more remains to tell ? I can 
 not write connectedly, because I am in 
 love with all those girls aforesaid, and 
 some others who do not appear in the 
 invoice. The typewriter is an institution 
 of which the comic papers make much 
 capital, but she is vastly convenient. She 
 and a companion rent a room in a busi- 
 ness quarter, and, aided by a typewriting 
 machine, copy MSS. at the rate of six 
 annas a page. Only a woman can oper- 
 ate a typewriting machine, because she 
 has served apprenticeship to the sewing 
 machine. She can earn as much as one 
 hundred dollars a month, and professes 
 to regard this form of bread-winning as
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 
 
 299 
 
 her natural destiny. But, oh ! how she 
 hates it in her heart of hearts ! When I 
 had got over the surprise of doing busi- 
 ness with and trying to give orders to a 
 young woman of coldly, clerkly aspect in- 
 trenched behind gold-rimmed spectacles, 
 I made inquiries concerning the pleasures 
 of this independence. They liked it — 
 indeed they did. 'Twas the natural fate 
 of almost all girls — the recognized cus- 
 tom in America —and I was a barbarian 
 not to see it in that light. 
 
 "Well, and after?" said I. "What 
 happens?" 
 
 "We work for our bread." 
 
 "And then what do you expect?" 
 
 "Then we shall work for our bread." 
 
 "Till you die?" 
 
 ' ' Ye-es — unless — " 
 
 "Unless what? This is your business, 
 you know. A man works until he dies."
 
 3<X> AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 "So shall we" — this without enthusiasm 
 — " I suppose." Said the partner in the 
 firm, audaciously : 
 
 "Sometimes we marry our employes — 
 at least, that's what the newspapers say." 
 
 The hand banged on half a dozen 
 of the keys of the machine at once. 
 "Yet I don't care. I hate it — I hate it 
 — I hate it — and you needn't look so!" 
 
 The senior partner was regarding the 
 rebel with grave-eyed reproach. 
 
 "I thought you did," said I. "I don't 
 suppose American girls are much different 
 from English ones in instinct." 
 
 "Isn't it Theophile Gautier who says 
 that the only difference between country 
 and country lie in the slang and the uni- 
 form of the police? 1 ' 
 
 Now, in the name of all the gods 
 at once, what is one to say to a young 
 lady (who in England would be a person)
 
 AMERICAN POLITICS. 30 I 
 
 who earns her own bread, and very natur- 
 ally hates the employ, and slings out-of- 
 the-way quotations at your head? That 
 one falls in love with her goes without 
 saying, but that is not enough. 
 A mission should be established.
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 
 
 The race is neither to the swift nor the battle 
 to the strong ; but time and chance cometh to all. 
 
 I have lived ! 
 
 The American Continent may now sink 
 under the sea, for I have taken the best 
 that it yields, and the best was neither 
 dollars, love, nor real estate. 
 
 Hear now, gentlemen of the Punjab 
 Fishing Club, who whip the reaches of 
 the Tavi, and you who painfully import 
 trout over to Octamund, and I will tell 
 you how old man California and I went 
 fishing, and you shall envy. 
 
 We returned from The Dalles to Port- 
 land by the way we had come, the 
 steamer stopping en route to pick up a 
 night's catch of one of the salmon wheels 
 
 (302)
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 303 
 
 on the river, and to deliver it at a can- 
 nery down-stream. 
 
 When the proprietor of the wheel 
 announced that his take was two thou- 
 sand two hundred and thirty pounds 
 weieht of fish, "and not a heavy catch 
 neither," I thought he lied. But he 
 sent the boxes aboard, and I counted 
 the salmon by the hundred — huge fifty- 
 pounders hardly dead, scores of twenty 
 and thirty pounders, and a host of smaller 
 fish. They were all Chenook salmon, 
 as distinguished from the "steel head" 
 and the "silver side." That is to say, 
 they were royal salmon, and California 
 and I dropped a tear over them, as mon- 
 archs who deserved a better fate ; but the 
 lust of slaughter entered into our souls, 
 and we talked fish and forgot the moun- 
 tain scenery that had so moved us a day 
 before.
 
 304 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 The steamer halted at a rude wooden 
 warehouse built on piles in a lonely reach 
 of the river, and sent in the fish. I 
 followed them up a scale-strewn, fishy 
 incline that led to the cannery. The 
 crazy building was quivering with the 
 machinery on its floors, and a glittering 
 bank of tin scraps twenty feet high 
 showed where the waste was thrown after 
 the cans had been punched. 
 
 IN A CANNERY. 
 
 Only Chinamen were employed on 
 the work, and they looked like blood- 
 besmeared yellow devils as they crossed 
 the rifts of sunlight that lay upon the 
 floor. When our consignment arrived, 
 the rough wooden boxes broke of them- 
 selves as they were dumped down under 
 a jet of water, and the salmon burst out
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 305 
 
 in a stream of quicksilver. A Chinaman 
 jerked up a twenty-pounder, beheaded 
 and detailed it with two swift strokes of a 
 knife, flicked out its internal arrange- 
 ments with a third, and cast it into a 
 blood-dyed tank. The headless fish 
 leaped from under his hands as though 
 they were facing a rapid. Other China- 
 men pulled them from the vat and thrust 
 them under a thing like a chaff-cutter, 
 which, descending, hewed them into un- 
 seemly red gobbets fit for the can. 
 
 More Chinamen, with yellow, crooked 
 fingers, jammed the stuff into the cans, 
 which slid down some marvelous machine 
 forthwith, soldering their own tops as 
 they passed. Each can was hastily tested 
 for flaws, and then sunk with a hundred 
 companions into a vat of boiling water, 
 there to be half cooked for a few minutes. 
 
 The cans bulged slightly after the oper- 
 20
 
 306 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 ation, and were therefore slidden along 
 by the trolleyful to men with needles and 
 solderine-irons who vented them and 
 soldered the aperture. Except for the 
 label, the "Finest Columbia Salmon" was 
 ready for the market. I was impressed 
 not so much with the speed of the .manu- 
 facture as the character of the factory. 
 Inside, on a floor ninety by forty, the 
 most civilized and murderous of machin- 
 ery. Outside, three footsteps, the thick- 
 growing pines and the immense solitude 
 of the hills. Our steamer only stayed 
 twenty minutes at that place, but I 
 counted two hundred and forty finished 
 cans made from the catch of the previous 
 night ere I left the slippery, blood-stained, 
 scale-spangled, oily floors and the offal- 
 smeared Chinamen.
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. ^oj 
 
 LUST OF SLAUGHTER. 
 
 We reached Portland, California and I 
 crying for salmon, and a real estate man, 
 to whom we had been intrusted by an 
 insurance man, met us in the street, say- 
 ing that fifteen miles away, across coun- 
 try, we should come upon a place called 
 Clackamas, where we might perchance 
 find what we desired. And California, 
 his coat-tails flying in the wind, ran to a 
 livery-stable and chartered a wagon and 
 team forthwith. I could push the wagon 
 about with one hand, so light was its 
 structure. The team was purely Ameri- 
 can — that is to say, almost human in its 
 intelligence and docility. Some one said 
 that the roads were not good on the way 
 to Clackamas, and warned us against 
 smashing the springs. " Portland," who 
 had watched the preparations, finally 
 reckoned ''He'd come along, too;" and
 
 308 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 under heavenly skies we three compan- 
 ions of a day set forth, California care- 
 fully lashing our rods into the carriage, 
 and the by-standers overwhelming us with 
 directions as to the sawmills we were to 
 pass, the ferries we were to cross, and the 
 sign-posts we were to seek signs from. 
 Half a mile from this city of fifty thou- 
 sand souls we struck (and this must be 
 taken literally) a plank road that would 
 have been a disgrace to an Irish village. 
 
 OFF FOR CLACKAMAS. 
 
 Then six miles of macadamized road 
 showed us that the team could move. A 
 railway ran between us and the banks of 
 the Willamette, and another above us 
 through the mountains. All the land 
 was dotted with small townships, and the 
 roads were full of farmers in their town
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 309 
 
 wagons, bunches of tow-haired, boggle- 
 eyed urchins sitting in the hay behind. 
 The men generally looked like loafers, but 
 their women were all well dressed. 
 
 Brown braiding on a tailor-made jacket 
 does not, however, consort with hay- 
 wagons. Then we struck into the woods 
 along what California called a camina 
 reale — a good rG ad — and Portland a 
 " fair track." It wound in and out among 
 fire-blackened stumps under pine trees, 
 along the corners of log fences, through 
 hollows, which must be hopeless marsh in 
 the winter, and up absurd gradients. But 
 nowhere throughout its length did I see 
 any evidence of road-making. There was 
 a track — you couldn't well get off it, 
 and it was all you could do to stay on it. 
 The dust lay a foot thick in the blind ruts, 
 and under the dust we found bits of plank- 
 ing and bundles of brushwood that sent
 
 310 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 the wagon bounding into the air. The 
 journey in itself was a delight. Some- 
 times we crashed through bracken ; anon, 
 where the blackberries grew rankest, we 
 found a lonely little cemetery, the wooden 
 rails all awry and the pitiful, stumpy head- 
 stones nodding drunkenly at the soft 
 green mullions. Then, with oaths and the 
 sound of rent underwood, a yoke of 
 mighty bulls would swing down a " skid " 
 road, hauling a forty-foot log along a 
 rudely made slide. 
 
 A valley full of wheat and cherry trees 
 succeeded, and halting at a house, we 
 bought ten-pound weight of luscious black 
 cherries for something less than a rupee, 
 and got a drink of icy-cold water for 
 nothing, while the untended team browsed 
 sagaciously by the roadside. Once we 
 found a wayside camp of horse-dealers 
 lounging by a pool, ready for a sale or a
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 3H 
 
 swap, and once two sun-tanned youngsters 
 shot down a hill on Indian ponies, their 
 full creels banging from the high- 
 pommeled saddle. They had been fishing, ' 
 and were our brethren therefore. We 
 shouted aloud in chorus to scare a wild 
 cat; we squabbled over the reasons that 
 had led a snake to cross a road; we 
 heaved bits of bark at a venturesome 
 chipmunk, who was really the little gray 
 squirrel of India, and had come to call on 
 me ; we lost our way, and got the wagon 
 so beautifully fixed on a khud-bound road 
 that we had to tie the two hind wheels to 
 get it down. 
 
 Above all, California told tales of 
 Nevada and Arizona, of lonely nights 
 spent out prospecting, the slaughter of 
 deer and the chase of men, of woman — 
 lovely woman — who is a firebrand in a 
 Western city and leads to the popping of
 
 312 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 pistols, and of the sudden changes and 
 chances of Fortune, who delights in mak- 
 ing the miner or the lumberman a quad- 
 ruplicate millionaire and in " busting " the 
 railroad king. 
 
 A DAY TO BE REMEMBERED. 
 
 That was a day to be remembered, and 
 it had only begun when we drew rein at a 
 tiny farmhouse on the banks of the Clack- 
 amas and sought horse feed and lodging, 
 ere we hastened to the river that broke 
 over a weir not a quarter of a mile away. 
 Imagine a stream seventy yards broad 
 divided by a pebbly island, running over 
 seductive " riffles " and swirling into deep, 
 quiet pools, where the good salmon goes 
 to smoke his pipe after meals. Get such 
 a stream amid fields of breast-high crops 
 surrounded by hills of pines, throw in 
 where you please quiet water, long-fenced
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 
 
 313 
 
 meadows, and a hundred-foot bluff just to 
 keep the scenery from growing too monot- 
 onous, and you will get some faint notion 
 of the Clackamas. The weir had been 
 erected to pen the Chenook salmon from 
 going farther up-stream. We could see 
 them, twenty or thirty pounds, by the 
 score in the deep pools, or flying madly 
 against the weir and foolishly skinning 
 their noses. They were not our prey, for 
 they would not rise at a fly, and we knew 
 it. All the same, when one made his leap 
 against the weir, and landed on the foot- 
 plank with a jar that shook the board I 
 was standing on, I would fain have 
 claimed him for my own capture. 
 
 Portland had no rod. He held the gaff 
 and the whisky. California sniffed up- 
 stream and down-stream, across the racing 
 water, chose his ground, and let the 
 gaudy fly drop in the tail of a riffle. I
 
 3«4 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 was getting my rod together, when I 
 heard the joyous shriek of the reel and 
 the yells of California, and three feet of 
 living silver leaped into the air far across 
 the water. The forces were engaged. 
 
 BATTLE ROYAL WITH SALMON. 
 
 The salmon tore up-stream, the tense 
 line cutting the water like a tide-rip be- 
 hind him, and the light bamboo bowed to 
 breaking. What happened thereafter I 
 can not tell. California swore and prayed, 
 and Portland shouted advice, and I did all 
 three for what appeared to be half a day, 
 but was in reality a little over a quarter of 
 an hour, and sullenly our fish came home 
 with spurts of temper, dashes head on and 
 sarabands in the air, but home to the 
 bank came he, and the remorseless reel 
 gathered up the thread of his life inch by
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 315 
 
 inch. We landed him in a little bay, and 
 the spring weight in his gorgeous gills 
 checked at eleven and one-half pounds. 
 Eleven and one-half pounds of fighting 
 salmon ! We danced a war-dance on the 
 pebbles, and California caught me round 
 the waist in a hu^f that went near to break- 
 ing my ribs, while he shouted : 
 
 " Partner ! Partner ! This is glory ! 
 Now you catch your fish ! Twenty-four 
 years I've waited for this !" 
 
 I went into that icy-cold river and made 
 my cast just above the weir, and all but 
 foul-hooked a blue-and-black water-snake 
 with a coral mouth who coiled herself on 
 a stone and hissed maledictions. 
 
 The next cast — ah, the pride of it, the 
 regal splendor of it ! the thrill that ran 
 down from finger-tip to toe! Then the 
 water boiled. He broke for the fly and 
 got it. • There remained enough sense in
 
 5 1 6 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 me to give him all he wanted, when he 
 jumped not once, but twenty times, before 
 the up-stream flight that ran my line out 
 to the last half dozen turns, and I saw the 
 nickeled reel-bar glitter under the thin- 
 ning green coils. My thumb was burned 
 deep when I strove to stopper the line. 
 
 I did not feel it till later, for my soul 
 was out in the dancing weir, praying for 
 him to turn ere he took my tackle away. 
 And the prayer was heard. As I bowed 
 back, the butt of the rod on my left hip- 
 bone and the top joint dipping like unto 
 a weeping willow, he turned and accepted 
 each inch of slack that I could by any 
 means get in as a favor from on high. 
 There lie several sorts of success in this 
 world that taste well in the moment of 
 enjoyment, but I question whether the 
 stealthy theft of line from an able-bodied 
 salmon, who knows exactly what you are
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 
 
 3*7 
 
 doing and why you are doing it, is 
 not sweeter than any other victory 
 within human scope. Like California's 
 fish, he ran at me head on, and leaped 
 against the line, but the Lord gave me 
 two hundred and fifty pairs of fingers 
 in that hour. The banks and the pine 
 trees danced dizzily round me, but I only 
 reeled — reeled as for life — reeled for 
 hours, and at the end of the reeling con- 
 tinued to give him the butt while he 
 sulked in a pool. California was farther 
 up the reach, and with the corner of my 
 eye I could see him casting with long 
 casts and much skill. Then he struck, 
 and my fish broke for the weir in the same 
 instant, and down the reach we came, 
 California and I, reel answering reel even 
 as the morning stars sing together.
 
 ^l8 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 SWEETS OF VICTORY. 
 
 The first wild enthusiasm of capture 
 had died away. We were both at work 
 now in deadly earnest to prevent the 
 lines fouling, to stall off a down-stream 
 rush for shaggy water just above the weir, 
 and at the same time to get the fish into 
 the shallow bay down-stream that gave 
 the best practicable landing. Portland 
 bid us both be of good heart, and volun- 
 teered to take the rod from my hands. 
 
 I would rather have died among the 
 pebbles than surrender my right to play 
 and land a salmon, weight unknown, with 
 an eieht-ounce rod. I heard California, 
 at my ear, it seemed, gasping : " He's a 
 fighter from Fightersville, sure ! " as his 
 fish made a fresh break across the stream. 
 I saw Portland fall off a log fence, break 
 the overhanging bank, and clatter down 
 to the pebbles, all sand and landing net,
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 319 
 
 and I dropped on a log to rest for a 
 moment. As I drew breath the weary 
 hands slackened their hold, and I forgot 
 to give him the butt. 
 
 A wild scutter in the water, a plunge, 
 and a break for the head-waters of the 
 Clackamas was my reward, and the weary 
 toil of reeling in with one eye under the 
 water and the other on the top joint of 
 the rod was renewed. Worst of all, I 
 was blocking California's path to the little 
 landing bay aforesaid, and he had to halt 
 and tire his prize where he was. 
 
 " The father of all the salmon ! " he 
 shouted. " For the love of Heaven, get 
 your trout to bank, Johnny Bull ! " 
 
 But I could do no more. Even the 
 insult failed to move me. The rest of 
 the game was with the salmon. He suf- 
 fered himself to be drawn, skipping with 
 pretended delight at getting to the haven
 
 320 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 where I would fain bring him. Yet no 
 sooner did he feel shoal water under his 
 ponderous belly than he backed like 
 a torpedo boat, and the snarl of the reel 
 told me that my labor was in vain. A 
 dozen times, at least, this happened ere 
 the line hinted he had given up the battle 
 and would be towed in. He was towed. 
 The landing net was useless for one of 
 his size, and I would not have him gaffed. 
 I stepped into the shallows and heaved 
 him out with a respectful hand under the 
 gill, for which kindness he battered me 
 about the legs with his tail, and I felt the 
 strength of him and was proud. Califor- 
 nia had taken my place in the shallows, 
 his fish hard held. I was up the bank 
 lying full length on the sweet-scented 
 grass and gasping in company with my 
 first salmon caught, played, and landed on 
 an eight-ounce rod. My hands were cut
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 
 
 321 
 
 and bleeding, I was dripping with sweat, 
 spangled like a harlequin with scales, 
 water from my waist down, nose peeled 
 by the sun, but utterly, supremely, and 
 consummately happy. 
 
 The beauty, the darling, the daisy, my 
 Salmon Bahadur, weighed twelve pounds, 
 and I had been seven and thirty minutes 
 bringing him to bank! He had been 
 lightly hooked on the angle of the right 
 jaw, and the hook had not wearied him. 
 That hour I sat among princes and 
 crowned heads greater than them all. 
 Below the bank we heard California scuf- 
 fling with his salmon and swearing Span- 
 ish oaths. Portland and I assisted at the 
 capture, and the fish dragged the spring 
 balance out by the roots. It was only 
 constructed to weigh up to fifteen pounds. 
 We stretched the three fish on the grass 
 
 — the eleven and a half, the twelve, and 
 21
 
 ^2 2 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 fifteen-pounder — and we gave an oath 
 that all who came after should merely be 
 weighed and put back again. 
 
 RESTING ON LAURELS. 
 
 How shall I tell the glories of that day 
 so that you may be interested ? Again 
 and again did California and I prance 
 down that reach to the little bay, each 
 with a salmon in tow, and land him in the 
 shallows. Then Portland took my rod 
 and caught some ten-pounders, and my 
 spoon was carried away by an unknown 
 leviathan. Each fish, for the merits of 
 the three that had died so gamely, was { 
 hastily hooked on the balance and flung 
 back. Portland recorded the weight in a 
 pocket-book, for he was a real estate man. 
 Each fish fought for all he was worth, and 
 none more savagely than the smallest,
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 
 
 3 2 3 
 
 a game little six-pounder. At the end of 
 six hours we added up the list. Read it. 
 Total : Sixteen fish ; aggregate weight, 
 one hundred and forty pounds. The 
 score in detail runs something like this — 
 it is only interesting to those concerned : 
 Fifteen, eleven and a half, twelve, ten, 
 nine and three-quarters, eight, and so 
 forth ; as I have said, nothing under six 
 pounds, and three ten-pounders. 
 
 Very solemnly and thankfully we put 
 up our rods — it was glory enough for all 
 time — and returned, weeping in each 
 other's arms, weeping tears of pure joy, to 
 that simple, bare-legged family in the 
 packing-case house by the water side. 
 
 The old farmer recollected days and 
 nights of fierce warfare with the Indians 
 "way back in the fifties," when every 
 ripple of the Columbia River and her 
 tributaries hid covert danger. God had
 
 324 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 dowered him with a queer, crooked gift 
 of expression and a fierce anxiety for the 
 welfare of his two little sons — tanned and 
 reserved children, who attended school 
 daily and spoke good English in a strange 
 tongue. 
 
 His wife was an austere woman, who 
 had once been kindly, and perhaps 
 handsome. 
 
 Very many years of toil had taken the 
 elasticity out of step and voice. She 
 looked for nothing better than everlasting 
 work — the chafing detail of housework 
 — and then a grave somewhere up the 
 hill among the blackberries and the pines. 
 But in her grim way she sympathized with 
 her eldest daughter, a small and silent 
 maiden of eighteen, who had thoughts 
 very far from the meals she tended and 
 the pans she scoured. 
 
 We stumbled into the household at a
 
 AMERICAN CATCHES. 325 
 
 crisis, and there was a deal of downright 
 humanity in that same. A bad, wicked 
 dressmaker had promised the maiden a 
 dress in time for a to-morrow's railway jour- 
 ney, and, though the barefooted Georgy, 
 who stood in very wholesome awe of his 
 sister, had scoured the woods on a pony 
 in search, that dress never arrived. So, 
 with sorrow in her heart and a hundred 
 Sister-Anne glances up the road, she 
 waited upon the strangers, and, I doubt 
 not, cursed them for the wants that stood 
 between her and her need for tears. It 
 was a genuine little tragedy. The mother, 
 in a heavy, passionless voice, rebuked her 
 impatience, yet sat up far into the night, 
 bowed over a heap of sewing for the 
 daughter's benefit. 
 
 These things I beheld in the long, mari- 
 gold-scented twilight and whispering 
 night, loafing round the little house with
 
 326 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 California, who unfolded himself like a 
 lotus to the moon ; or, in the little boarded 
 bunk that was our bedroom, swapping 
 tales with Portland and the old man. 
 Most of the yarns began in this way : 
 " Red Larry was a bull-puncher back of 
 Lone County, Montana," or " There was 
 a man riding the trail met a jack-rabbit 
 sitting in a cactus," or " 'Bout the time of 
 the San Diego land boom, a woman from 
 Monterey," etc. 
 
 You can try to piece out for yourselves 
 what sort of stories they were.
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Once upon a time there was a carter 
 who brought his team and a friend into 
 the Yellowstone Park without due 
 thought. Presently they came upon a 
 few of the natural beauties of the place, 
 and that carter turned his team into his 
 friend's team, howling : 
 
 " Get out o' this, Jim. All hell's alight 
 under our noses! " 
 
 And they called the place Hell's Half- 
 Acre to this day to witness if the carter 
 lied. 
 
 We, too, the old lady from Chicago, 
 her husband, Tom, and the good little 
 mares, came to HelPs Half-Acre, which is 
 about sixty acres in extent, and when Tom 
 said : 
 
 " Would you like to drive over it ? " 
 
 (327)
 
 ^23 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 We said : 
 
 "Certainly not, and if you do we shall 
 report you to the park authorities." 
 
 There was a plain, blistered, peeled, and 
 abominable, and it was given over to the 
 sportings and spoutings of devils who 
 threw mud, and steam, and dirt at each 
 other with whoops, and halloos, and bel- 
 lowing curses. 
 
 The places smelled of the refuse of the 
 pit, and that odor mixed with the clean, 
 wholesome aroma of the pines in our nos- 
 trils throughout the day. 
 
 LAID OUT LIKE OLLENDORF. 
 
 This Yellowstone Park is laid out like 
 Ollendorf, in exercises of progressive diffi- 
 culty. Hell's Half-Acre was a prelude to 
 ten or twelve miles of geyser formation. 
 
 We passed hot streams boiling in the
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 329 
 
 forest ; saw whiffs of steam beyond these, 
 and yet other whiffs breaking through the 
 misty green hills in the far distance ; we 
 trampled on sulphur in crystals, and 
 sniffed things much worse than any 
 sulphur which is known to the upper 
 world ; and so journeying, bewildered with 
 the novelty, came upon a really park-like 
 place where Tom suggested we should get 
 out and play with the geysers on foot. 
 
 Imagine mighty green fields splattered 
 with lime beds, all the flowers of the 
 summer growing up to the very edge of 
 the lime. That was our first glimpse of 
 the geyser basins. 
 
 The buggy had pulled up close to a 
 rough, broken, blistered cone of spelter 
 stuff between ten and twenty feet high. 
 There was trouble in that place — moan- 
 ing, splashing, gurgling, and the clank of 
 machinery. A spurt of boiling water
 
 33o 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 jumped into the air, and a wash of water 
 followed. 
 
 I removed swiftly. The old lady from 
 Chicago shrieked. " What a wicked 
 waste ! " said her husband. 
 
 I think they call it the Riverside Gey- 
 ser. Its spout was torn and ragged like 
 the mouth of a gun when a shell has burst 
 there. It grumbled madly for a moment 
 or two, and then was still. I crept over 
 the steaming lime — it was the burning 
 marl on which Satan lay — and looked 
 fearfully down its mouth. You should 
 never look a gift geyser in the mouth. 
 
 DEVIL'S BETHESDA. 
 
 I beheld a horrible, slippery, slimy fun- 
 nel with water rising and falling ten feet 
 at a time. Then the water rose to lip 
 level with a rush, and an infernal bubbling
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 331 
 
 troubled this Devil's Bethesda before the 
 sullen heave of the crest of a wave lapped 
 over the edge and made me run. 
 
 Mark the nature of the human soul ! I 
 had begun with awe, not to say terror, for 
 this was my first experience of such things. 
 I stepped back from the banks of the 
 Riverside Geyser, saying : 
 
 " Pooh ! Is that all it can do ?" 
 
 Yet for aught I knew, the whole thing 
 might have blown up at a minute's notice, 
 she, he, or it being an arrangement of 
 uncertain temper. 
 
 We drifted on, up that miraculous val- 
 ley. On either side of us were hills from 
 a thousand or fifteen hundred feet high, 
 wooded from crest to heel. As far as the 
 eye could range forward were columns of 
 steam in the air, misshapen lumps of lime, 
 mist-like preadamite monsters, still pools 
 of turquoise-blue stretches of blue corn-
 
 *>->2 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 flowers, a river that coiled on itself twenty 
 times, pointed bowlders of strange colors, 
 and ridges of glaring, staring white. 
 
 A moon-faced trooper of German extrac- 
 tion — never was park so carefully patroled 
 — came up to inform us that as yet we 
 had not seen any of the real geysers ; that 
 they were all a mile or so up the valley, 
 and tastefully scattered round the hotel in 
 which we would rest for the night. 
 
 THE TROOPER'S STORY. 
 
 America is a free country, but the citi- 
 zens look down on the soldier. I had 
 to entertain that trooper. The old lady 
 from Chicago would have none of him ; 
 so we loafed alone together, now across 
 half-rotten pine logs sunk in swampy 
 ground, anon over the ringing geyser 
 formation, then pounding through river-
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 233 
 
 J J J 
 
 sand or brushing knee-deep through long 
 grass. 
 
 "And why did you enlist ?" said I. 
 
 The moon-faced one's face beean to 
 work. I thought he would have a fit, but 
 he told me a story instead — such a nice 
 tale of a naughty little girl who wrote 
 pretty love letters to two men at once. 
 She was a simple village wife, but a 
 wicked "family novelette" countess 
 couldn't have accomplished her ends bet- 
 ter. She drove one man nearly wild with 
 the pretty little treachery, and the other 
 man abandoned her and came West to 
 forget the trickery. 
 
 Moon-face was that man. 
 
 GOBLIN BATHTUBS. 
 
 We rounded and limped over a low 
 spur of hill, and came out upon a field of
 
 334 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 aching, snowy lime rolled in sheets, 
 twisted into knots, riven with rents, and 
 diamonds, and stars, stretching for more 
 than half a mile in every direction. 
 
 On this place of despair lay most of the 
 big, bad geysers who know when there is 
 trouble in Krakatoa, who tell the pines 
 when there is a cyclone on the Atlantic 
 sea-board, and who are exhibited to visi- 
 tors under pretty and fanciful names. 
 
 The first mound that I encountered 
 belonged to a goblin who was splashing 
 in his tub. 
 
 I heard him kick, pull a shower-bath on 
 his shoulders, gasp, crack his joints, and 
 rub himself down with a towel ; then he 
 let the water out of the bath, as a thought- 
 ful man should, and it all sunk down out 
 of sight till another goblin arrived. 
 
 So we looked and we wondered at the 
 Beehive, whose mouth is built up exactly
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 335 
 
 like a hive, at the Turban (which is not in 
 the least like a turban), and at many, 
 many other geysers, hot holes, and 
 springs. Some of them rumbled, some 
 hissed, some went off spasmodically, and 
 others lay dead still in sheets of sapphire 
 and beryl. 
 
 TURNING A GEYSER'S STOMACH. 
 
 Will you believe that even these terri- 
 ble creatures have to be guarded by the 
 troopers to prevent the irreverent Ameri- 
 cans from chipping the cones to pieces, or, 
 worse still, making the geyser sick? If 
 you take a small barrel full of soft-soap 
 and drop it down a geyser's mouth, that 
 geyser will presently be forced to lay all 
 before you, and for days afterward will be 
 of an irritated and inconstant stomach. 
 
 When they told me the tale I was filled 
 with sympathy. Now I wish that I had
 
 336 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 soft-soap and tried the experiment on 
 some lonely little beast far away in the 
 woods. It sounds so probable and so 
 human. 
 
 Yet he would be a bold man who would 
 administer emetics to the Giantess. She 
 is flat-lipped, having no mouth ; she looks 
 like a pool, fifty feet long and thirty wide, 
 and there is no ornamentation about her. 
 At irregular intervals she speaks and 
 sends up a volume of water over two 
 hundred feet high to begin with, then she 
 is angry for a day and a half — sometimes 
 for two days. 
 
 Owing to her peculiarity of going mad 
 in the night, not many people have seen 
 the Giantess at her finest ; but the clamor 
 of her unrest, men say, shakes the wooden 
 hotel, and echoes like thunder among the 
 hills.
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. ^^J 
 
 UNCLE SAM'S SOLDIERS. 
 
 The congregation returned to the hotel 
 to put down their impressions in diaries 
 and note-books, which they wrote up os- 
 tentatiously in the verandas. It was a 
 sweltering hot day, albeit we stood some- 
 what higher than the level of Simla, and 
 I left that raw pine creaking caravansary 
 for the cool shade of a clump of pines, 
 between whose trunks glimmered tents. 
 
 A batch of United States troopers came 
 down the road and flung themselves across 
 the country into their rough lines. The 
 Melican cavalryman can ride, though he 
 keeps his accouterments pig-fashion and 
 his horse cow-fashion. 
 
 I was free of that camp in five minutes 
 — free to play with the heavy, lumpy 
 carbines, have the saddles stripped, and 
 punch the horses knowingly in the ribs. 
 One of the men had been in the fight with
 
 333 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 " Wrap-up-his-Tail, 11 and he told me how 
 that great chief, his horse's tail tied up in 
 red calico, swaggered in front of the 
 United States cavalry, challenging all to 
 single combat. But he was slain, and a 
 few of his tribe with him. 
 
 "There's no use in an Indian, any- 
 way," concluded my friend. 
 
 A couple of cow-boys — real cow-boys 
 — jingled through the camp amid a 
 shower of mild chaff. They were on 
 their way to Cook City, I fancy, and I 
 know that they never washed. But they 
 were picturesque ruffians exceedingly, 
 with long spurs, hooded stirrups, slouch 
 hats, fur weather-cloth over their knees, 
 and pistol-butts just easy to hand. 
 
 11 The cow-boy's goin' under before 
 long," said my friend. " Soon as the 
 country's settled up he'll have to go. But 
 he's mighty useful now. What would we 
 do without the cow-boy ? "
 
 ASTRTDE THE CLOUDS. 339 
 
 WHAT COW-BOYS ARE GOOD FOR. 
 
 "As how?" said I, and the camp 
 laughed. 
 
 " He has the money. We have the 
 skill. He comes in winter to play poker 
 at the military posts. We play poker — 
 a few. When he's lost his money we 
 make him drunk and let him go. Some- 
 times we get the wrong man." 
 
 And he told me a tale of an innocent 
 cow-boy who turned up, cleaned out, at 
 an army post, and played poker for thirty- 
 six hours. But it was the post that 
 was cleaned out when that long-haired 
 Caucasian removed himself, heavy with 
 everybody's pay and declining the prof- 
 fered liquor. 
 
 "Noaw," said the historian, "I don't 
 play with no cow-boy unless he's a little 
 bit drunk first." 
 
 Ere I departed I gathered from more
 
 34° 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 than one man the significant fact that up 
 to one hundred yards he felt absolutely 
 secure behind his revolver. 
 
 "In England, I understand," quoth the 
 limber youth from the South, " in Eng- 
 land a man isn't allowed to play with 
 no firearms. He's got to be taught 
 all that when he enlists. I didn't want 
 much teaching how to shoot straight 'fore 
 I served Uncle Sam. And that's just 
 where it is. But you was talking about 
 your Horse Guards now ?" 
 
 I explained briefly some peculiarities of 
 equipment connected with our crackest 
 crack cavalry. I grieve to say the camp 
 roared. 
 
 " Take 'em over swampy ground. Let 
 'em run around a bit an' work the starch 
 out of 'em, an' then, Almighty, if we 
 wouldn't plug 'em at ease I'd eat their 
 horses."
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 341 
 
 A HENRY JAMES MAIDEN. 
 
 There was a maiden — a very little 
 maiden — who had just stepped out of one 
 of James' novels. She owned a delight- 
 ful mother and an equally delightful 
 father — a heavy-eyed, slow-voiced man of 
 finance. The parents thought that their 
 daughter wanted change. 
 
 She lived in New Hampshire. Accord- 
 ingly, she had dragged them up to Alaska 
 and to the Yosemite Valley, and was now 
 returning leisurely, via the Yellowstone, 
 just in time for the tail-end of the summer 
 season at Saratoga. 
 
 We had met once or twice before in the 
 park, and I had been amazed and amused 
 at her critical commendation of the 
 wonders that she saw. From that very 
 resolute little mouth I received a lecture 
 on American literature, the nature and 
 inwardness of Washington society, the
 
 342 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 precise value of Cable's works as com- 
 pared with Uncle Remus Harris, and 
 a few other things that had nothing 
 whatever to do with geysers, but were 
 altogether pleasant. 
 
 Now, an English maiden who had 
 stumbled on a dust-grimed, lime-washed, 
 sun-peeled, collarless wanderer come from 
 and going to goodness knows where, 
 would, her mother inciting her and her 
 father brandishing his umbrella, have re- 
 garded him as a dissolute adventurer — a 
 person to be disregarded. 
 
 AMERICAN VERSUS ENGLISH MANNERS. 
 
 Not so those delightful people from 
 New Hampshire. They were good 
 enough to treat him — it sounds almost 
 incredible — as a human being, possibly 
 respectable, probably not in immediate 
 need of financial assistance.
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 343 
 
 Papa talked pleasantly, „and to the 
 point. 
 
 The little maiden strove valiantly with 
 the accent of her birth and that of her 
 rearing, and mamma smiled benignly in 
 the background. 
 
 Balance this with a story of a young 
 English idiot I met mooning about inside 
 his high collar, attended by a valet. He 
 condescended to tell me that " you can't be 
 too careful who you talk to in these parts." 
 And stalked on, fearing, I suppose, every 
 minute for his social chastity. 
 
 That man was a barbarian (I took oc- 
 casion to tell him so), for he comported 
 himself after the manner of the head- 
 hunters and hunted of Assem, who are at 
 perpetual feud one with another. 
 
 You will understand that these foolish 
 stories are introduced in order to cover 
 the fact that this pen can not describe the
 
 344 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 glories of the Upper Geyser Basin. The 
 evening I spent under the lee of the Castle 
 Geyser, sitting on a log with some 
 troopers, and watching a baronial keep 
 forty feet high spouting hot water. If the 
 Castle went off first, they said the Giantess 
 would be quiet, and vice versa, and then 
 they told tales till the moon got up and a 
 party of campers in the woods gave us all 
 something to eat. 
 
 CHANCE CAVALRY ESCORT. 
 
 Then came soft, turfy forest that dead- 
 ened the wheels, and two troopers on de- 
 tachment duty stole noiselessly behind us. 
 One was the Wrap-up-his-Tail man, and 
 they talked merrily while the half-broken 
 horses bucked about among the trees. 
 And so a cavalry escort was with us for a 
 mile, till we got to a mighty hill all strewn
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 345 
 
 with moss agates, and everybody had to 
 jump out and pant in that thin air. But 
 how intoxicating it was ! The old lady 
 from Chicago ducked like an emancipated 
 hen as she scuttled about the road, cram- 
 ming pieces of rock into her reticule. She 
 sent me fifty yards down to the hillside to 
 pick up a piece of broken bottle which, 
 she insisted, was moss agate. 
 
 " I've some o' that at home, an 1 they 
 shine. Yes, you go get it, young man." 
 
 As we climbed the long path the road 
 grew viler and viler till it became, without 
 disguise, the bed of a torrent ; and just 
 when things were at their rockiest we 
 nearly fell into a little sapphire lake 
 — but never sapphire was so blue — 
 called Mary^s Lake ; and that between 
 eiodit and nine thousand feet above 
 the sea. 
 
 Afterward, grass downs, all on a vehe-
 
 346 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 ment slope, so that the buggy, following 
 the new-made road, ran on the two off- 
 wheels mostly till we dipped head-first 
 into a ford, climbed up a cliff, raced along 
 down, dipped again, and pulled up dishev- 
 eled at "Larry's" for lunch and an 
 hour's rest. 
 
 Then we lay on the grass and laughed 
 with sheer bliss of being alive. This have 
 I known once in Japan, once on the banks 
 of the Columbia, what time the salmon 
 came in and California howled, and once 
 again in the Yellowstone by the light of 
 the eyes of the maiden from New Hamp- 
 shire. Four little pools lay at my elbow, 
 one was of black water (tepid), one clear 
 water (cold), one clear water (hot), one 
 red- water (boiling). My newly washed 
 handkerchief covered them all, and we 
 two marveled as children marvel.
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 347 
 
 DOING THE CANYON. 
 
 " This evening we shall do the Grand 
 Canyon of the Yellowstone," said the 
 maiden. 
 
 ''Together?" said I; and she said,. 
 "Yes." 
 
 The sun was beginning to sink when we 
 heard the roar of falling waters and came 
 to a broad river along whose banks we 
 ran. And then — I might at a pinch 
 describe the infernal regions, but not the 
 other place. The Yellowstone River has 
 occasion to run through a gorge about 
 eight miles long. To get to the bottom 
 of the gorge it makes two leaps, one of 
 about one hundred and twenty and the 
 other of three hundred feet. I investi- 
 gated the upper or lesser fall, which is 
 close to the hotel. 
 
 Up to that time nothing particular hap- 
 pens to the Yellowstone — its banks being
 
 7.|8 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 only rocky, rather steep, and plentifully 
 adorned with pines. 
 
 At the falls it comes round a corner, 
 green, solid, ribbed with a little foam, and 
 not more than thirty yards wide. Then it 
 goes over, still green, and rather more 
 solid than before. After a minute or two 
 you, sitting upon a rock directly above 
 the drop, begin to understand that some- 
 thing has occurred ; that the river has 
 jumped between solid cliff walls, and that 
 the gentle froth of water lapping the sides 
 of the gorge below is really the outcome 
 of great waves. 
 
 And the river yells aloud ; but the cliffs 
 do not allow the yells to escape. 
 
 That inspection began with curiosity 
 and finished in terror, for it seemed that 
 the whole world was sliding in chrysolite 
 from under my feet. I followed with the 
 others round the corner to arrive at the
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 349 
 
 brink of the canyon. We had to climb up 
 a nearly perpendicular ascent to begin 
 with, for the ground rises more than the 
 river drops. Stately pine woods fringe 
 either lip of the gorge, which is the gorge 
 of the Yellowstone. You'll find all about 
 it in the guide books. 
 
 SOME WORD-PAINTING. 
 
 All that I can say is that without warn- 
 ing or preparation I looked into a gulf 
 seventeen hundred feet deep, with eagles 
 and fishhawks circling far below. And 
 the sides of that gulf were one wild welter 
 of color — crimson, emerald, cobalt, ocher, 
 amber, honey splashed with port wine, 
 snow white, vermilion, lemon, and silver 
 gray in wide washes. The sides did not 
 fall sheer, but were graven by time, and 
 water, and air, into monstrous heads of
 
 35o 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 kings, dead chiefs — men and women of 
 the old time. So far below that no sound 
 of its strife could reach us, the Yellow- 
 stone River ran a finger-wide strip of jade 
 green. 
 
 The sunlight took those wondrous 
 walls and gave fresh hues to those that 
 nature had already laid there. 
 
 Evening crept through the pines that 
 shadowed us, but the full glory of the day 
 flamed in that canyon as we went out 
 very cautiously to a jutting piece of rock — 
 blood-red or pink it was — that overhung 
 the deepest deeps of all. 
 
 Now I know what it is to sit enthroned 
 amid the clouds of sunset, as the spirits 
 sit in Blake's pictures. Giddiness took 
 away all sensation of touch or form, but 
 the sense of blinding color remained. 
 
 When I reached the mainland again I 
 had sworn that I had been floating.
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 35' 
 
 The maid from New Hampshire said no 
 word for a very long time. Then she 
 quoted poetry, which was, perhaps, the 
 best thing she could have done. 
 
 " And to think that this show-place has 
 been going on all these days, an' none of 
 we ever saw it," said the old lady from 
 Chicago, with an acid glance at her 
 husband. 
 
 ''No, only the Injians," said he, un- 
 moved ; and the maiden and I laughed. 
 
 TOYING WITH, IMMENSITIES. 
 
 Inspiration is fleeting, beauty is vain, 
 and the power of the mind for wonder 
 limited. Though the shining hosts them- 
 selves had risen choiring from the bottom 
 of the gorge, they would not have pre- 
 vented her papa, and one baser than he, 
 from rolling stones down those stupendous
 
 352 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 rainbow-washed slides. Seventeen hun- 
 dred feet of steepest pitch and rather more 
 than seventeen hundred colors for log or 
 bowlder to whirl through ! 
 
 So we heaved things and saw them 
 gather way, and bound from white rock to 
 red or yellow, dragging behind them tor- 
 rents of color, till the noise of their de- 
 scent ceased, and they bounded a hundred 
 yards clear at the last into the 'Yellow- 
 stone. 
 
 " I've been down there," said Tom, that 
 evening. " It's easy to get down if you're 
 careful — just sit an' slide ; but getting up 
 is worse. An' I found down below there 
 two stones just marked with a picture of 
 the canyon. I wouldn't sell these rocks 
 not for fifteen dollars." 
 
 And papa and I crawled down to the 
 Yellowstone — just above the first little 
 fall — to wet a line for good luck. The
 
 ASTRIDE THE CLOUDS. 353 
 
 round moon came up and turned the cliffs 
 and pines into silver ; and a two-pound 
 trout came up also, and we slew him 
 among the rocks, nearly tumbling - into 
 that wild river. 
 
 ^ *r» ^ ^p f^ ^w 
 
 Then out and away to Livingstone 
 once more. The maiden from New 
 Hampshire disappeared, papa and mamma 
 with her. Disappeared, too, the old lady 
 from Chicago, and the others.
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
 " I know thy cunning and thy greed, 
 Thy hard high lust and willful deed, 
 And all thy glory loves to tell 
 Of specious gifts material." 
 
 I have struck a city— a real city — 
 and they call it Chicago. 
 
 The other places do not count. San 
 Francisco was a pleasure resort as well as 
 a city, and Salt Lake was a phenomenon. 
 
 This place is the first American city I 
 have encountered. It holds rather more 
 than a million of people with bodies, and 
 stands on the same sort of soil as Cal- 
 cutta. Having seen it, I urgently desire 
 never to see it again. It is inhabited by 
 savages. Its water is the water of the 
 Hooghly, and its air is dirt. Also it says 
 that it is the "boss " town of America. 
 
 (354)
 
 CHICAGO. 355 
 
 I do not Relieve that it has anything to 
 do with this country. They told me to 
 go to the Palmer House, which is over- 
 much gilded and mirrored, and there 
 I found a huge hall of tessellated marble 
 crammed with people talking about 
 money, and spitting about everywhere. 
 Other barbarians charged in and out 
 of this inferno with letters and telegrams 
 in their hands, and yet others shouted at 
 each other. A man who had drank quite 
 as much as was good for him told me 
 that this was "the finest hotel in the 
 finest city on God Almighty's earth." 
 By the way, when an American wishes to 
 indicate the next country or state, he says, 
 " God A'mighty's earth." This prevents 
 discussion and flatters his vanity. 
 
 Then I went out into the streets, which 
 are long and flat and without end. And 
 verily it is not a good thing to live in the
 
 356 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 East for any length of time. Your ideas 
 grow to clash with those held by every 
 right-thinking man. I looked down inter- 
 minable vistas flanked with nine, ten, and 
 fifteen-storied houses, and crowded with 
 men and women, and the show impressed 
 me with a great horror. 
 
 Except in London — and I have for- 
 gotten what London was like — I had 
 never seen so many white people together, 
 and never such a collection of miserables. 
 There was no color in the street and 
 no beauty — only a maze of wire ropes 
 overhead and dirty stone flagging under 
 foot. 
 
 THROUGH A CAB-DRIVER'S LENS. 
 
 A cab-driver volunteered to show me 
 the glory of the town for so much an 
 hour, and with him I wandered far. He 
 conceived that all this turmoil and squash
 
 CHICAGO. ' 3 r )7 
 
 was a thing to be reverently admired, that 
 it was good to huddle men together 
 in fifteen layers, one atop of the other, 
 and to dig holes in the ground for offices. 
 
 He said that Chicago was a live town, . 
 and that all the creatures hurrying by me 
 were engaged in business. That is to say 
 they were trying to make some money 
 that they might not die through lack 
 of food to put into their bellies. He took 
 me to canals as black as ink, and filled 
 with untold abominations, and bid me 
 watch the stream of traffic across the 
 bridges. 
 
 He then took me into a saloon, and 
 while I drank made me note that the 
 floor was covered with coins sunk in 
 cement. A Hottentot would not have 
 been guilty of this sort of barbarism. 
 The coins made an effect pretty enough, 
 but the man who put them there had
 
 358 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 no thought of beauty, and, therefore, he 
 was a savage. 
 
 Then my cab-driver showed me busi- 
 ness blocks gay with signs and studded 
 with fantastic and absurd advertisements 
 of goods, and looking down the long 
 street so adorned, it was as though each 
 vender stood at his door howling : 
 
 " For the sake of money, employ or buy 
 of me, and me only!" 
 
 Have you ever seen a crowd at a 
 famine-relief distribution ? You know 
 then how the men leap into the air, 
 stretching out their arms above the crowd 
 in the hope of being seen, while the women 
 dolorously slap the stomachs of their chil- 
 dren and whimper. I had sooner watch 
 famine relief than the white man engaged 
 in what he calls legitimate competition. 
 The one I understand. The other makes 
 me ill.
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
 359 
 
 And the cabman said that these things 
 were the proof of progress, and by that I 
 knew he had been reading his newspaper, 
 as every intelligent American should. The 
 papers tell their clientele in language fitted 
 to their comprehension that the snarling 
 together of telegraph wires, the heaving 
 up of houses, and the making of money, is 
 progress. 
 
 DONE IN TEN HOURS. 
 
 I spent ten hours in that huge wilder- 
 ness, wandering through scores of miles 
 of these terrible streets and jostling some 
 few hundred thousand of these terrible 
 people who talked paisa bat through their 
 noses. 
 
 The cabman left me ; but after awhile I 
 picked up another man, who was full of 
 figures, and into my ears he poured them 
 as occasion required or the big blank fac-
 
 360 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 tories suggested. Here they turned out 
 so many hundred thousand dollars' worth 
 of such and such an article; there so many 
 million other things; this house was worth 
 so many million dollars ; that one so many 
 million, more or less. It was like listen- 
 ing to a child babbling of its hoard of 
 shells. It was like watching a fool play- 
 ing with buttons. But I was expected to 
 do more than listen or watch. He 
 demanded that I should admire ; and the 
 utmost that I could say was : 
 
 "Are these things so ? Then I am very 
 sorry for you." 
 
 That made him angry, and he said that 
 insular envy made me unresponsive. So, 
 you see, I could not make him under- 
 stand. 
 
 About four and a half hours after Adam 
 was turned out of the Garden of Eden he 
 felt hungry, and so, bidding Eve take care
 
 CHICAGO. 361 
 
 that her head was not broken by the 
 descending fruit, shinned up a cocoanut- 
 palm. That hurt his legs, cut his breast, 
 and made him breathe heavily, and Eve 
 was tormented with fear lest her lord 
 should miss his footing, and so bring the 
 tragedy of this world to an end ere the 
 curtain had fairly risen. Had I met 
 Adam then, I should have been sorry for 
 him. To-day I find eleven hundred thou- 
 sand of his sons just as far advanced as 
 their father in the art of getting food, and 
 immeasurably inferior to him in that they 
 think that their palm trees lead straight 
 to the skies. Consequently, I am sorry in 
 rather more than a million different ways. 
 In the East bread comes naturally, 
 even to the poorest, by a little scratching 
 or the gift of a friend not quite so poor. 
 In less favored countries one is apt to 
 forget. Then I went to bed. And that 
 was on a Saturday night.
 
 362 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 CHICAGO PREACHING. 
 
 Sunday brought me the queerest 
 experiences of all — a revelation of bar- 
 barism complete. I found a place that 
 was officially described as a church. It 
 was a circus really, but that the wor- 
 shipers did not know. There were flowers 
 all about the building, which was fitted up 
 with plush and stained oak and much 
 luxury, including twisted brass candle- 
 sticks of severest Gothic design. 
 
 To these things and a congregation of 
 savages entered suddenly a wonderful 
 man, completely in the confidence of their 
 God, whom he treated colloquially and 
 exploited very much as a newspaper 
 reporter would exploit a foreign poten- 
 tate. But, unlike the newspaper reporter, 
 he never allowed his listeners to forget 
 that he, and not He, was the center 
 of attraction. With a voice of silver and
 
 CHICAGO. 363 
 
 with imagery borrowed from the auction- 
 room, he built up for his hearers a heaven 
 on the lines of the Palmer House (but 
 with all the gilding real gold, and all the 
 plate-glass diamond), and set in the center 
 of it a loud-voiced, argumentive, very 
 shrewd creation that he called God. One 
 sentence at this point caught my delighted 
 ear. It was apropos of some question of 
 the Judgment, and ran : 
 
 "No! I tell you God doesn't do busi- 
 ness that way." 
 
 He was giving them a deity whom they 
 could comprehend, and a gold and jeweled 
 heaven in which they could take a natural 
 interest. He interlarded his performance 
 with the slang of the streets, the counter, 
 and the exchange, and he said that 
 religion ought to enter into daily life. 
 Consequently, I presume he introduced it 
 as daily life — his own and the life of his 
 friends.
 
 364 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 Then I escaped before the blessing, 
 desiring- no benediction at such hands. 
 But the persons who listened seemed to 
 enjoy themselves, and I understood that 
 I had met with a popular preacher. 
 
 Later on, when I had perused the 
 sermons of a gentleman called Talmage 
 and some others, I perceived that I had 
 been listening to a very mild specimen. 
 Yet that man, with his brutal gold and 
 silver idols, his hands-in-pocket, cigar-in- 
 mouth, and hat-on-the-back-of-the-head 
 style of dealing with the sacred vessels, 
 would count himself, spiritually, quite 
 competent to send a mission to convert 
 the Indians. 
 
 All that Sunday I listened to people 
 who said that the mere fact of spiking 
 down strips of iron to wood, and getting 
 a steam and iron thing to run along them 
 was progress, that the telephone was
 
 CHICAGO. 365 
 
 progress, and the network of wires over- 
 head was progress. They repeated their 
 statements again and again. 
 
 One of them took me to their City Hall 
 and Board of Trade works, and pointed 
 it out with pride. It was very ugly, but 
 very big, and the streets in front of it were 
 narrow and unclean. When I saw the 
 faces of the men who did business in that 
 building, I felt that there had been a mis- 
 take in their billeting. By the way, 'tis a 
 consolation to feel that I am not writing 
 to an English audience. Then I should 
 have to fall into feigned ecstasies over the 
 marvelous progress of Chicago since the 
 days of the great fire, to allude casually 
 to the raising of the entire city so many 
 feet above the level of the lake which it 
 faces, and generally to grovel before the 
 golden calf. But you, who are desper- 
 ately poor, and, therefore, by these
 
 -66 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 standards of no account, know things, will 
 understand when I write that they have 
 managed to get a million of men together 
 on flat land, and that the bulk of these 
 men together appear to be lower than 
 Mahajans, and not so companionable as a 
 Punjabi J at after harvest. 
 
 But I don't think it was the blind hurry 
 of the people, their argot, and their grand 
 ignorance of things beyond their imme- 
 diate interests that displeased me so 
 much as a study of the daily papers of 
 Chicago. 
 
 Imprimis, there was some sort of a 
 dispute between New York and Chicago 
 as to which town should give an exhibi- 
 tion of products to be hereafter holden, 
 and through the medium of their more 
 dignified journals the two cities were ya- 
 hooing and hi-yi-ing at each other like op- 
 position newsboys. They called it humor,
 
 CHICAGO. 367 
 
 but it sounded like something quite 
 different. 
 
 That was only the first trouble. The 
 second lay in the tone of the productions. 
 Leading articles which include gems such 
 as " Back of such and such a place," or, 
 "We noticed, Tuesday, such an event," 
 or, u don't " for " does not,' 1 are things to 
 be accepted with thankfulness. All that 
 made me want to cry was that in these 
 papers were faithfully reproduced all the 
 war-cries and " back-talk " of the Palmer 
 House bar, the slang of the barber-shops, 
 the mental elevation and integrity of the 
 Pullman car porter, the dignity of the dime 
 museum, and the accuracy of the excited 
 fishwife. I am sternly forbidden to be- 
 lieve that the paper educates the public. 
 Then I am compelled to believe that the 
 public educate the paper ; yet suicides on 
 the press are rare.
 
 368 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 A PROTECTIONIST. 
 
 Just when the sense of unreality and 
 oppression was strongest upon me, and 
 when I most wanted help, a man sat at 
 my side and began to talk what he called 
 politics. 
 
 I had chanced to pay about six shillings 
 for a traveling-cap worth eighteen pence, 
 and he made of the fact a text for a ser- 
 mon. He said that this was a rich coun- 
 try, and that the people liked to pay two 
 hundred per cent, on the value of a thing. 
 They could afford it. He said that the 
 Government imposed a protective duty of 
 from ten to seventy per cent on foreign- 
 made articles, and that the American man- 
 ufacturer consequently could sell hisgoods 
 for a healthy sum. Thus an imported hat 
 would, with duty, cost two guineas. The 
 American manufacturer would make a hat 
 for seventeen shillings, and sell it for one
 
 CHICAGO. 369 
 
 pound fifteen. In these things, he said, 
 lay the greatness of America and the 
 effeteness of England. Competition 
 between factory and factory kept the 
 prices down to decent limits, but I was 
 never to forget that this people were a rich 
 people, not like the pauper Continentals, 
 and that they enjoyed paying duties. 
 
 To my weak intellect this seemed 
 rather like juggling with counters. 
 Everything that I have yet purchased 
 costs about twice as much as it would in 
 England, and when native-made is of 
 inferior quality. 
 
 AN OBJECT-LESSON IN TRUSTS. 
 
 Moreover, since these lines were first 
 thought of, I have visited a gentleman who 
 owned a factory which used to produce 
 things. He owned the factory still. Not 
 
 24
 
 37o 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 a man was in it, but he was drawing a 
 handsome income from a syndicate of 
 firms for keeping it closed, in order that 
 it might not produce things. This man 
 said that if protection were abandoned, a 
 tide of pauper labor would flood the coun- 
 try, and as I looked at his factory I 
 thought how entirely better it was to 
 have no labor of any kind whatever rather 
 than face so horrible a future. 
 
 Meantime, do you remember that this 
 peculiar country enjoys paying money for 
 value not received ? I am an alien, and 
 for the life of me I can not see why six 
 shillings should be paid for eighteen- 
 penny caps, or eight shillings for half- 
 crown cigar-cases. When the country 
 fills up to a decently populated level a 
 few million people who are not aliens 
 will be smitten with the same sort of 
 blindness.
 
 CHICAGO. 37 1 
 
 But my friend's assertion somehow 
 thoroughly suited the grotesque ferocity 
 of Chicago. 
 
 CHICAGO VERSUS INDIA. 
 
 See now and judge ! In the village of 
 Isser Jang, on the road to Montgomery, 
 there be four Changar women who win- 
 now corn — some seventy bushels a year. 
 Beyond their hut lives Purun Dass, the 
 money-lender, who, on good security, 
 lends as much as five thousand rupees in a 
 year. Jowala Singh, the smith, mends 
 the village plows — some thirty, broken 
 at the share, in three hundred and sixty- 
 five days; and Hukm Chund, who is 
 letter-writer and head of the little club 
 under the travelers' tree, generally keeps 
 the village posted in such gossip as the 
 barber and the midwife have not yet made 
 public property.
 
 372 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 Chicago husks and winnows her wheat 
 by the million bushels, a hundred banks 
 lend hundreds of millions of dollars in the 
 year, and scores of factories turn out 
 plowgear and machinery by steam. Scores 
 of daily papers do work which Hukm 
 Chund, and the barber and the midwife 
 perform, with due regard for public 
 opinion, in the village of Isser Jang. So 
 far as manufactories go, the difference 
 between Chicago on the lake, and Isser 
 Jang on the Montgomery road, is one of 
 degree only, and not of kind. As far as 
 the understanding of the uses of life goes, 
 Isser Jang, for all its seasonal cholers, has 
 the advantage over Chicago. 
 
 Jowala Singh knows and takes care to 
 avoid the three or four ghoul-haunted 
 fields on the outskirts of the village ; but 
 he is not urged by millions of devils to 
 run about all day in the sun and swear
 
 CHICAGO. 373 
 
 that his plowshares are the best in the 
 Punjab ; nor does Purun Dass fly forth in 
 an ekka more than once or twice a year, 
 and he knows, on a pinch, how to use the 
 railway and the telegraph as well as any son 
 of Israel in Chicago. But this is absurd. 
 
 The East is not the West, and these 
 men must continue to deal with the 
 machinery of life, and to call it progress. 
 Their very preachers dare not rebuke 
 them. They gloss over the hunting for 
 money and the thrice-sharpened bitterness 
 of Adam's curse, by saying that such 
 things dower a man with a larger range 
 of thoughts and higher aspirations. They 
 do not say, " Free yourselves from your 
 own slavery," but rather, " If you can 
 possibly manage it, do not set quite so 
 much store on the things of this world." 
 
 And they do not know what the things 
 of this world are !
 
 374 AMERICAN NOTES. - 
 
 FE, FI, FO, FUM ! 
 
 I went off to see cattle killed, by way of 
 clearing my head, which, as you will per- 
 ceive was getting muddled. They say 
 every Englishman goes to the Chicago 
 stock-yards. You shall find them about 
 six miles from the city ; and once having 
 seen them, you will never forget the sight. 
 
 As far as the eye can reach stretches a 
 township of cattle-pens, cunningly divided 
 into blocks, so that the animals of any 
 pen can be speedily driven out close to an 
 inclined timber path which leads to an 
 elevated covered way straddling high 
 above the pens. These viaducts are two- 
 storied. On the upper story tramp the 
 doomed cattle, stolidly for the most part. 
 On the lower, with a scuffling of sharp 
 hoofs and multitudinous yells, run the 
 pigs, the same end being appointed for 
 each. Thus you will see the gangs of
 
 Chicago. 375 
 
 cattle waiting their turn — as they wait 
 sometimes for days ; and they need not 
 be distressed by the sight of their fellows 
 running about in the fear of death. All 
 they know is that a man on horseback 
 causes their next-door neighbors to move 
 by means of a whip. Certain bars and 
 fences are unshipped, and behold ! that 
 crowd have gone up the mouth of a slop- 
 ing tunnel and return no more. 
 
 It is different with the pigs. They 
 shriek back the news of the exodus to 
 their friends, and a hundred pens skirl 
 responsive. 
 
 It was to the pigs I first addressed 
 myself. Selecting a viaduct which was 
 full of them, as I could hear, though I 
 could not see, I marked a somber building 
 whereto it ran, and went there, not una- 
 larmed by stray cattle who had managed 
 to escape from their proper quarters. A
 
 376 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 pleasant smell of brine warned me of what 
 was coming. I entered the factory and 
 found it full of pork in barrels, and on 
 another story more pork unbarreled, and 
 in a huge room the halves of swine, for 
 whose behoof great lumps of ice were 
 being pitched in at the window. That 
 room was the mortuary chamber where 
 the pigs lay for a little while in state ere 
 they began their progress through such 
 passages as kings may sometimes travel. 
 
 HOW PORK IS MADE. 
 
 Turning a corner, and not noting an 
 overhead arrangement of greased rail, 
 wheel and pulley, I ran into the arms of 
 four eviscerated carcasses, all pure white 
 and of a human aspect, pushed by a man 
 clad in vehement red. When I leaped 
 aside, the floor was slippery under me.
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
 377 
 
 Also there was a flavor of farmyard in 
 my nostrils and the shouting of a multi- 
 tude in my ears. But there was no joy 
 in that shouting. Twelve men stood in 
 two lines six a side. Between them and 
 overhead ran the railway of death that 
 had nearly shunted me through the 
 window. Each man carried a knife, the 
 sleeves of his shirt were cut off at the 
 elbows, and from bosom to heel he was 
 blood-red. 
 
 Beyond this perspective was a column 
 of steam, and beyond that was where 
 I worked my awe-struck way, unwilling to 
 touch beam or wall. The atmosphere 
 was stifling as a night in the rains by 
 reason of the steam and the crowd. 
 I climbed to the beginning of things and, 
 perched upon a narrow beam, overlooked 
 very nearly all the pigs ever bred in 
 Wisconsin. They had just been shot out
 
 - -5. 
 
 ;8 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 of the mouth of the viaduct and huddled 
 together in a large pen. Thence they 
 were flicked persuasively, a few at a time, 
 into a smaller chamber, and there a man 
 fixed tackle on their hinder legs, so that 
 they rose in the air, suspended from the 
 railway of death. 
 
 Oh ! it was then they shrieked and 
 called on their mothers, and made 
 promises of amendment, till the tackle- 
 man punted them in their backs and they 
 slid head down into a brick-floored passage, 
 very like a big kitchen sink, that was 
 blood-red. There awaited them a red 
 man with a knife, which he passed jauntily 
 through their throats, and the full-voiced 
 shriek became a splutter, and then a fall 
 as of heavy tropical rain, and the red man, 
 who was backed against the passage-wall, 
 you will understand, stood clear of the 
 wildly kicking hoofs and passed his hand
 
 CHICAGO. 379 
 
 over his eyes, not from any feeling of 
 compassion, but because the spurted 
 blood was in his eyes, and he had barely 
 time to stick the next arrival. Then that 
 first stuck swine dropped, still kicking, 
 into a great vat of boiling water, and 
 spoke no more words, but wallowed in 
 obedience to some unseen machinery, and 
 presently came forth at the lower end 
 of the vat, and was heaved on the blades 
 of a blunt paddle-wheel, things which said 
 " Hough, hough, hough ! " and skelped all 
 the hair off him, except what little a couple 
 of men with knives could remove. 
 
 Then he was again hitched by the heels 
 to that said railway, and passed down the 
 line of the twelve men, each man with 
 a knife — losing with each man a certain 
 amount of his individuality, which was 
 taken away in a wheelbarrow, and when 
 he reached the last man he was very
 
 :>SO AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 beautiful to behold, but excessively 
 unstuffed and limp. Preponderance of 
 individuality, was ever a bar to foreign 
 travel. That pig could have been in case 
 to visit you in India had he not parted 
 with some of his most cherished notions. 
 The dissecting part impressed me not 
 so much as the slaying. They were 
 so excessively alive, these pigs. And 
 then, they were so excessively dead, and 
 the man in the dripping, clammy, hot 
 passage did not seem to care, and ere the 
 blood of such a one had ceased to foam 
 on the floor, such another and four friends 
 with him had shrieked and died. But a 
 pig is only the unclean animal — the for- 
 bidden of the prophet.
 
 THE AMERICAN ARMY. 
 
 I should very much like to deliver a 
 dissertation on the American army and 
 the possibilities of its extension. You 
 see, it is such a beautiful little army, and 
 the dear people don't quite understand 
 what to do with it. The theory is that it 
 is an instructional nucleus round which 
 the militia of the country will rally, and 
 from which they will get a stiffening 
 in time of danger. Yet other people con- 
 sider that the army should be built, like 
 a pair of lazy tongs — on the principle of 
 elasticity and extension — so that in time 
 of need it may fill up its skeleton bat- 
 talions and empty saddle troops. This is 
 real wisdom, because the American army, 
 as at present constituted, is made up of : 
 
 Twenty-five regiments infantry, ten 
 companies each. 
 
 (881)
 
 382 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 Ten regiments cavalry, twelve com- 
 panies each. 
 
 Five regiments artillery, twelve com- 
 panies each. 
 
 Now there is a notion in the air to re- 
 organize the service on these lines : 
 
 Eighteen regiments infantry at four 
 battalions, four companies each ; third bat- 
 talion, skeleton ; fourth, on paper. 
 
 Eight regiments cavalry at four bat- 
 talions, four troops each ; third battalion, 
 skeleton ; fourth on paper. 
 
 Five regiments artillery at four bat- 
 talions, four companies each ; third bat- 
 talion, skeleton ; fourth on paper. 
 
 A CONCERTINA ARMY. 
 
 Observe the beauty of this business. 
 The third battalion will have its officers, 
 but no men ; the fourth will probably
 
 THE AMERICAN ARMY. 
 
 tf3 
 
 have a rendezvous and some equipment. 
 It is not contemplated to give it any- 
 thing more definite at present. Assum- 
 ing the regiments to be made up .to full 
 complement, we get an army of fifty 
 thousand men, which, after the need passes 
 away, must be cut down 50 per cent, to 
 the huge delight of the officers. 
 
 The military needs of the States be 
 three : (a) Frontier warfare, an employ- 
 ment well within the grip of the present 
 army of twenty-five thousand, and in the 
 nature of things growing less arduous 
 year by year ; (b) internal riots and com- 
 motions which rise up like a dust devil, 
 whirl furiously, and die out long before 
 the authorities at Washington could begin 
 to fill up even the third skeleton bat- 
 talions, much less hunt about for material 
 for the fourth ; (c) civil war, in which, as 
 the case in the affair of the North and
 
 384 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 South, the regular army would be 
 swamped in the mass of militia and armed 
 volunteers that would turn the land into 
 a hell. 
 
 Yet the authorities persist in regarding 
 an external war as a thing to be seriously 
 considered. 
 
 . The power that would disembark troops 
 on American soil would be capable of 
 heaving- a shovelful of mud into the At- 
 lantic in the hope of filling it up. Con- 
 sequently, the authorities are fascinated 
 with the idea of the sliding scale or con- 
 certina army. This is an hereditary in- 
 stinct, for you know that when we Eng- 
 lish have got together two companies, one 
 machine gun, a sick bullock, forty gen- 
 erals, and a mass of W. O. forms, we say 
 we possess " an army corps capable of in- 
 definite extension." 
 
 The American army is a beautiful little
 
 THE AMERICAN ARMY. 385 
 
 army. Some day, when all the Indians 
 are happily dead or drunk, it ought to 
 make the finest scientific and survey corps 
 that the world has ever seen ; it does ex- 
 cellent work now, but there is this defect 
 in its nature : It is officered, as you 
 know, from West Point. 
 
 WEST POINT LEAVENING'. 
 
 The mischief of it is that West Point 
 seems to be created for the purpose 
 of spreading a general knowledge of mili- 
 tary matters among the people. A boy 
 goes up to that institution, gets his pass, 
 and returns to civil life, so they tell me, 
 with a dangerous knowledge that he is a 
 suckling Von Moltke, and may apply his 
 learning when occasion offers. Given 
 trouble, that man will be a nuisance, 
 because he is a hideously versatile Ameri- 
 
 25
 
 386 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 can, to begin with, as cock-sure of himself 
 as a man can be, and with all the racial 
 disregard for human life to back him, 
 through any demi-semi-professional gen- 
 eralship. 
 
 In a country where, as the records 
 of the daily papers show, men engaged in 
 a conflict with police or jails are all too 
 ready to adopt a military formation and 
 get heavily shot in a sort of cheap, half- 
 constructed warfare, instead of being 
 decently scared by the appearance of the 
 military, this sort of arrangement does 
 not seem wise. 
 
 SOVEREIGN STATE LAWLESSNESS. 
 
 The bond between the States is of an 
 amazing tenuity. So long as they do not 
 absolutely march into the District of 
 Columbia, sit on the Washington statues, 

 
 THE AMERICAN ARMY. 387 
 
 and invent a flag of their own, they can 
 legislate, lynch, hunt negroes through 
 swamps, divorce, railroad, and rampage 
 as much as ever they choose. They 
 do not need knowledge of their own 
 military strength to back their genial 
 lawlessness. 
 
 That regular army, which is a dear 
 little army, should be kept to itself, 
 blooded on detachment duty, turned into 
 the paths of science, and now and again 
 assembled at feasts of Free Masons, and 
 so forth. 
 
 It is too tiny to be a political power. 
 The immortal wreck of the Grand Army 
 of the Republic is a political power of the 
 largest and most unblushing description. 
 It ought not to help to lay the founda- 
 tions of an amateur military power that is 
 blind and irresponsible.
 
 388 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 SALT LAKE CITY. 
 
 By great good luck the evil-minded 
 train, already delayed twelve hours by a 
 burned bridge, brought me to the city on 
 a Saturday by way of that valley which 
 the Mormons, over their efforts, had 
 caused to blossom like the rose. Twelve 
 hours previously I had entered into a new 
 world where, in conversation, every one 
 was either a Mormon or a Gentile. It is 
 not seemly for a free and independent 
 citizen to dub himself a Gentile, but the 
 Mayor of Ogden — which is the Gentile 
 city of the valley — told me that there 
 must be some distinction between the 
 two flocks. 
 
 Long before the fruit orchards of Logan 
 or the shining levels of the Salt Lake had 
 been reached, that mayor — himself a Gen- 
 tile, and one renowned for his dealings 
 with the Mormons — told me that the
 
 THE AMERICAN ARMY. 389 
 
 great question of the existence of the 
 power within the power was being gradu- 
 ally solved by the ballot and by education. 
 All the beauty of the valley could not 
 make me forget it. And the valley is very 
 fair. Bench after bench of land, flat as a 
 table against the flanks of the ringing 
 hills, marks where the Salt Lake rested 
 for awhile in its collapse from an inland 
 sea to a lake fifty miles long and thirty 
 broad. 
 
 THE CREED OF MORMON. 
 
 There are the makings of a very fine 
 creed about Mormonism. To begin with, 
 the Church is rather more absolute than 
 that of Rome. Drop the poligamy plank 
 in the platform, but on the other hand 
 deal lightly with certain forms of excess ; 
 keep the quality of the recruit down to 
 the low mental level, and see that the best
 
 3QO AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 of all the agricultural science available is 
 in the hands of the elders, and there you 
 have a first-class engine for pioneer work. 
 The tawdry mysticism and the borrowing 
 from Free-masonry serve the low caste 
 Swede and Dane, the Welshman and the 
 Cornish cotter, just as well as a highly 
 organized heaven. 
 
 Then I went about the streets and 
 peeped into people's front windows, and 
 the decorations upon the tables were after 
 the manner of the year 1850. Main Street 
 was full of country folk from the desert, 
 come in to trade with the Zion Mercantile 
 Co-operative Institute. The Church, I 
 fancy, looks after the finances of this thing, 
 and it consequently pays good dividends. 
 
 The faces of the women were not 
 lovely. Indeed, but for the certainty 
 that ugly persons are just as irrational 
 in the matter of undivided love as the
 
 THE AMERICAN ARMY. 39 1 
 
 beautiful, it seems that poligamy was a 
 blessed institution for the women, and 
 that only the dread threats of the spirit- 
 ual power could drive the hulking, board- 
 faced men into it. The women wore 
 hideous garments, and the men appeared 
 to be tied up with strings. 
 
 They would market all that afternoon, 
 and on Sunday go to the praying-place. 
 I tried to talk to a few of them, but they 
 spoke strange tongues, and stared and 
 behaved like cows. Yet one woman, and 
 not an altogether ugly one, confided to 
 me that she hated the idea of Salt Lake 
 City being turned into a show-place for 
 the amusement of the Gentiles. 
 
 lt If we 'ave our own institutions, that 
 ain't no reason why people should come 
 'ere and stare at us, his it?" 
 
 The dropped "h" betrayed her. 
 
 "And when did you leave England ?"
 
 3Q 2 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 11 Summer of '84. I am Dorset," she 
 said. " The Mormon agent was very good 
 to us, and we was very poor. Now we're 
 better off — my father, an' mother, an' me." 
 
 " Then you like the State ? " 
 
 She misunderstood at first. 
 
 " Oh, I ain't livin' in the state of polyg- 
 amy. Not me, yet. I ain't married. I 
 like where I am. I've got things o' my 
 own — and some land." 
 
 " But I suppose you will — " 
 
 " Not me. I ain't like them Swedes 
 an' Danes. I ain't got nothin' to say for 
 or against polygamy. It's the elders' 
 business, an' between, you an' me, I don't 
 think it's going on much longer. You 1 !! 
 'ear them in the 'ouse to-morrer talkin' as 
 if it was spreadin 1 all over America. The 
 
 Swedes, they think it his. I know it 
 
 hi. >» 
 isn t. 
 
 " But you've got your land all right?"
 
 THE AMERICAN ARMY. 393 
 
 " Oh, yes ; we've got our land, an' we 
 never say aught against polygamy, o' 
 course — father, an' mother, an' me." 
 
 AT THE LAST GASP. 
 
 On a table-land overlooking all the city 
 stands the United States garrison of in- 
 fantry and artillery. The State of Utah 
 can do nearly anything it pleases until 
 that much-to-be-desired hour when the 
 Gentile vote shall quietly swamp out Mor- 
 monism ; but the garrison is kept there in 
 case of accidents. The big, shark- 
 mouthed, pig-eared, heavy-boned farmers 
 sometimes take to their creed with wildest 
 fanaticism, and in past years have made 
 life excessively unpleasant for the Gentile 
 when he was few in the land. But to- 
 day, so far from killing openly or secretly, 
 or burning Gentile farms, it is all theMor-
 
 ;94 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 mon dare do to feebly try to boycott the 
 interloper. His journals preach defiance 
 to the United States Government, and in 
 the Tabernacle on a Sunday the preachers 
 follow suit. 
 
 When I went there, the place was full 
 of people who would have been much 
 better for a washing. A man rose up and 
 told them that they were the chosen of 
 God, the elect of Israel ; that they were 
 to obey their priests, and that there was a 
 good time coming. I fancy that they 
 had heard all this before so many times it 
 produced no impression whatever, even as 
 the sublimest mysteries of another faith 
 lose salt through constant iteration. They 
 breathed heavily through their noses, and 
 stared straight in front of them — im- 
 passive as flatfish. 
 
 THE END.
 
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