i 
 

/ 
 
 
THE WORKS 
 
 of 
 
 RUDYARD 
 KIPLING 
 
 MINE OWN PEOPLE: 
 
 THE REGENT PRESS 
 NEW YORK 
 
V 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PA3* 
 
 Introduction — * 
 
 BlMI 21 
 
 Namgay Doola S3 
 
 The Recrudescence of Imray 55 
 
 Moti Guj — Mutineer 79 
 
 The Mutiny of the Mavericks 95 
 
 At the End of the Passage 13 l 
 
 The Man Who Was 169 
 
 A Conference of the Powers 199 
 
 Without Benefit of Clergy 227 
 
 The Mark of the Beast 271 
 
 The Head of the District 297 
 
 MINE OWN PEOPLE 
 
 4S4627 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 IT would be difficult to answer the general 
 question whether the books of the world 
 grow, as they multiply, as much better as one 
 might suppose they ought, with such a lesson 
 of wasteful experiment spread perpetually be- 
 hind them. There is no doubt, however, that 
 in one direction we profit largely by this educa- 
 tion : whether or not we have become wiser to 
 fashion, we have certainly become keener to 
 enjoy. We have acquired the sense of a partic- 
 ular quality which is precious beyond all others 
 — so precious as to make us wonder where, at 
 such a rate, our posterity will look for it, and 
 how they will pay for it. After tasting many 
 essences we find freshness the sweetest of all /\ 
 We yearn for it, we watch for it and lie in wait 
 for it, and when we catch it on the wing (it 
 flits by so fast) we celebrate our capture with 
 extravagance. We feel that after so much has 
 come and gone it is more and more of a feat >; 
 and a tour de force to be fresh. The torment- 
 ing part of the phenomenon is that, in any par- 
 
 I 
 
2 INTRODUCTION 
 
 ticular key, it can happen but once — by a sad 
 failure of the law that inculcates the repetition 
 of goodness. It is terribly a matter of acci- 
 dent; emulation and imitation have a fatal ef- 
 fect upon it. It is easy to see, therefore, what 
 importance the epicure may attach to the brief 
 moment of its bloom. While that lasts we all 
 are epicures. 
 
 This helps to explain, I think, the unmistak- 
 able intensity of the general relish for Mr. 
 Rudyard Kipling. His bloom lasts, from 
 month to month, almost surprisingly — by 
 which I mean that he has not worn out even by 
 active exercise the particular property that 
 made us all, more than a year ago, so precipi - 
 tately drop everything else to attend to him. 
 He has many others which he will doubtless 
 always keep ; but a part of the potency attach- 
 ing to his freshness, what makes it as exciting 
 as a drawing of lots, is our instinctive convic- 
 tion that he cannot, in the nature of things, 
 keep that; so that our enjoyment of him, so 
 long as the miracle is still wrought, has both 
 the charm of confidence and the charm of sus- 
 pense. And then there is the further charm, 
 with Mr. Kipling, that this same freshness in 
 such a very strange affair of its kind so mixed 
 and various and cynical, and, in certain lights, 
 
INTRODUCTION 3 
 
 so contradictory of itself. The extreme recent- 
 ness of his inspiration is as enviable as the tale 
 is startling that his productions tell of his being 
 at home, domesticated and initiated, in this 
 wicked and weary world. At times he strikes 
 us as shockingly precocious, at others as se- 
 renely wise. On the whole, he presents himself 
 as a strangely clever youth who has stolen the 
 formidable mask of maturity and rushes about, 
 making people jump with the deep sounds, the 
 sportive exaggerations of tone, that issue from 
 its painted lips. He has this mark of a real vo- 
 cation, that different spectators may like him — 
 must like him, I should almost say — for differ- 
 ent things; and this refinement of attraction, 
 that to those who reflect even upon their pleas- 
 ures he has as much to say as to those who 
 never reflect upon anything. Indeed there is a 
 certain amount of room for surprise in the fact 
 that, being so much the sort of figure that the 
 hardened critic likes to meet, he should also be 
 the sort of figure that inspires the multitude 
 with confidence — for a complicated air is, in 
 general, the last thing that does this. 
 
 By the critic who likes to meet such a brist- 
 ling adventurer as Mr. Kipling I mean of 
 course the critic for whom the happy accident 
 of character, whatever form it may take, is 
 
4 INTRODUCTION 
 
 more of a bribe to interest than the promise of 
 some character cherished in theory — the ap- 
 pearance of justifying some foregone conclu- 
 sion as to what a writer of a book "ought," in 
 the Ruskinian sense, to be ; the critic, in a word, 
 who has, a priori, no rule for a literary produc- 
 tion but that it shall have genuine life. Such a 
 critic (he gets much more out of his opportuni- 
 ties, I think, than the other sort) likes a writer 
 exactly in proportion as he is a challenge, an 
 appeal to interpretation, intelligence, ingenu- 
 ity, to what is elastic in the critical mind — in 
 proportion indeed as he may be a negation of 
 things familiar and taken for granted. He 
 feels in this case how much more play and ser- 
 sation there is for himself. 
 
 Mr. Kipling, then, has the character that fur- 
 nishes plenty of play and of vicarious experi- 
 ence — that makes any perceptive reader fore- 
 see a rare luxury. He has the great merit of 
 being a compact and convenient illustration of 
 the surest source of interest in any painter of 
 life — that of having an identity as marked as a 
 window-frame. He is one of the illustrations, 
 taken near at hand, that help to clear up the 
 vexed question in the novel or the tale, of 
 kinds, camps, schools, distinctions, the right 
 way and the wrong way; so very positively 
 
INTRODUCTION 5 
 
 does he contribute to the showing that there are 
 just as many kinds, as many ways, as many 
 forms and degrees of the "right," as there are 
 personal points in view. It is the blessing of the 
 art he practices that it is made up of experience 
 conditioned, infinitely, in this personal way — 
 the sum of the feeling of life as reproduced 
 by innumerable natures; natures that feel 
 through all their differences, testify through 
 their diversities. These differences, which 
 make the identity, are of the individual; they 
 form the channel by which life flows through 
 him, and how much he is able to give us of life 
 — in other words, how much he appeals to us — 
 depends on whether they form it solidly. 
 
 This hardness of the conduit, cemented with 
 a rare assurance, is perhaps the most striking 
 idiosyncrasy of Mr. Kipling; and what makes 
 it more remarkable is that accident of his ex- 
 treme youth which, if we talk about him at all, 
 we can not affect to ignore. I cannot pretend 
 to give a biography or a chronology of the au- 
 thor of "Soldiers Three," but I cannot over- 
 look the general, the importunate fact that, 
 confidently as he has caught the trick and habit 
 of this sophisticated world, he has not been 
 long of it. His extreme youth is indeed what 
 I may call his window-bar — the support on 
 
5 INTRODUCTION 
 
 which he somewhat rowdily leans while he 
 looks down at the human scene with his pipe in 
 his teeth; just as his other conditions (to men- 
 tion only some of them), are his prodigious 
 facility, which is only less remarkable than his 
 stiff selection ; his unabashed temperament, his 
 flexible talent, his smoking-room manner, his 
 familiar friendship with India — established so 
 rapidly, and so completely under his control; 
 his delight in battle, his "cheek" about women 
 — and indeed about men and about everything ; 
 his determination not to be duped, his "impe- 
 rial" fibre, his love of the inside view, the pri- 
 vate soldier and the primitive man. I must 
 add further to this list of attractions the re- 
 markable way in which he makes us aware that 
 he has been put up to the whole thing directly 
 by life (miraculously, in his teens), and not 
 by the communication of others. These ele- 
 ments, and many more, constitute a singularly 
 robust little literary character (our use of the 
 diminutive is altogether a note of endearment 
 and enjoyment) which, if it has the rattle of 
 high spirits and is in no degree apologetic or 
 shrinking, yet offers a very liberal pledge in the 
 way of good faith and immediate performance. 
 Mr. Kipling's performance comes off before 
 the more circumspect have time to decide 
 
INTRODUCTION 7 
 
 whether they like h'im or not, and if you have 
 seen it once you will be sure to return to the 
 show. He makes us prick up our ears to the 
 good news that in the smoking-room too there 
 may be artists ; and indeed to an intimation still 
 more refined — that the latest development of 
 the modern also may be, most successfully, for 
 the canny artist to put his victim off his guard 
 by imitating the amateur (superficially, of 
 course) to the life. 
 
 These, then, are some of the reasons why 
 Mr. Kipling may be dear to the analyst as well 
 as, M. Renan says, to the simple. The simple 
 may like him because he is wonderful about In- 
 dia, and India has not been "done" ; while there 
 is plenty left for the morbid reader in the sur- 
 prises of his skill and the Horiture of his form, 
 whLh are so oddly independent of any distinc- 
 tively literary note in him, any bookish associa- 
 tion. It is as one of the morbid that the writer 
 of these remarks (which doubtless only too 
 shamefully betray his character) exposes him- 
 self as most consentingly under the spell. The 
 freshness arising from a subject that — by a 
 good fortune I do not mean to under-estimate 
 — has never been "done," is after all less of an 
 affair to build upon than the freshness residing 
 in the temper of the artist. Happy indeed is 
 
8 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Mr. Kipling, who can command so much of 
 both kinds. It is still as one of the morbid, no 
 doubt — that is, as one of those who are capable 
 of sitting up all night for a new impression of 
 talent, of scouring the trodden field for one lit- 
 tle spot of green — that I find our young author 
 quite most curious in his air, and not only in his 
 air, but in his evidently very real sense, of 
 knowing his way about life. Curious in the 
 highest degree and well worth attention is such 
 an idiosyncrasy as this in a young Anglo-Sax- 
 on. We meet it with familiar frequency in the 
 budding talents of France, and it startles and 
 haunts us for an hour. After an hour, how- 
 ever, the mystery is apt to fade, for we find that 
 the wondrous initiation is not in the least gen- 
 eral, is only exceedingly special, and is, even 
 with this limitation, very often rather conven- 
 tional. In a word, it is with the ladies that the 
 young Frenchman takes his ease, and more 
 particularly with ladies selected expressly to 
 make this attitude convincing. When they 
 have let him off, the dimnesses too often en- 
 compass him. But for Mr. Kipling there are 
 no dimnesses anywhere, and if the ladies are 
 indeed violently distinct they are not only 
 strong notes in a universal loudness. This 
 loudness fills the ears of Mr. Kipling's admir- 
 
INTRODUCTION 9 
 
 ers (it lacks sweetness, no doubt, for those 
 who are not of the number), and there is really 
 only one strain that is absent from it — the 
 voice, as it were, of the civilized man ; in whom 
 I of course also include the civilized woman. 
 But this is an element that for the present one 
 does not miss — every other note is so articulate 
 and direct. 
 
 It is a part of the satisfaction the author 
 gives us that he can make us speculate as to 
 whether he will be able to complete his picture 
 altogether (this is as far as we presume to go 
 in meddling with the question of his future) 
 without bringing in the complicated soul. On 
 the day he does so, if he handles it with any- 
 thing like the cleverness he has already shown, 
 the expectation of his friends will take a great 
 bound. Meanwhile, at any rate, we have Mul- 
 vaney, and Mulvaney is after all tolerably com- 
 plicated. He is only a six-foot saturated Irish 
 private, but he is a considerable pledge of more 
 to come. Hasn't he, for that matter, the tongue 
 of a hoarse siren, and hasn't he also mysteries 
 and infinitudes almost Carlylese? Since I am 
 speaking of him I may as well say that, as an 
 evocation, he has probably led captive those of 
 Mr. Kipling's readers who have most given up 
 resistance. He is a piece of portraiture of the 
 
io INTRODUCTION 
 
 largest, vividest kind, growing and growing on 
 the painter's hands without ever outgrowing 
 them. I can't help regarding him, in a certain 
 sense, as Mr. Kipling's tutelary deity — a land- 
 mark in the direction in which it is open to him 
 to look furthest. If the author will only go as 
 far in this direction as Mulvaney is capable of 
 taking him, (and the inimitable Irishman is, 
 like Voltaire's Habakkuk, capable de tout), he 
 may still discover a treasure and find a reward 
 for the services he has rendered the winner of 
 Dinah Shadd. I hasten to add that the truly 
 appreciative reader should surely have no quar- 
 rel with the primitive element in Mr. Kipling's 
 subject-matter, or with what, for want of a 
 better name, I may call his love of low life. 
 What is that but essentially a part of his fresh- 
 ness ? And for what part of his freshness are 
 we exactly more thankful than for just this 
 smart jostle that he gives the old stupid super- 
 stition that the amiability of a story-teller is the 
 amiability of the people he represents — that 
 their vulgarity, or depravity, or gentility, or 
 fatuity are tantamount to the same qualities in 
 the painter itself? A blow from which, appar- 
 ently, it will not easily recover is dealt this in- 
 fantine philosophy by Mr. Howells when, with 
 the most distinguished dexterity and all the de- 
 
INTRODUCTION n 
 
 tachment of a master, he handles some of the 
 clumsiest, crudest, most human things in life — 
 answering surely thereby the play-goers in the 
 sixpenny gallery who howl at the representa- 
 tive of the villain when he comes before the 
 curtain. 
 
 Nothing is_more refreshing than this active, 
 disinterested sense of the real; it is doubtless 
 the quality for the want of more of which our 
 English and American fiction has turned so wo- 
 fully stale. We are ridden by the old conven- 
 tionalities of type and small proprieties of ob- 
 servance—by the foolish baby_-formula (to put 
 it sketchily) of the picture and the subject. Mr. 
 Kipling has all the air of being disposed to lift 
 the whole business off the nursery carpet, and 
 of being perhaps even more able than he is dis- 
 posed. One must hasten of course to parenthe- 
 size that there is not, intrinsically, a bit more 
 luminosity in treating of low life and of primi- 
 tive man than of those whom civilization has 
 kneaded to a finer paste ; the only luminosity in 
 either case is in the intelligence with which the 
 thing is done. But it so happens that, among 
 ourselves, the frank, capable outlook, when 
 *umed upon the vulgar majority, the coarse, re- 
 ceding edges of the sociaf perspective, borrows 
 a charm from being new ; such a charm as, for 
 
12 INTRODUCTION 
 
 instance, repetition has already despoiled it of 
 among the French — the hapless French who 
 pay the penalty as well as enjoy the glow of 
 living intellectually so much faster than we. It 
 is the most inexorable part of our fate that we 
 grow tired of everything, and of course in due 
 time we may grow tired even of what explorers 
 shall come back to tell us about the great grimy 
 condition, or, with unprecedented items and de- 
 tails, about the grey middle state which darkens 
 into it. But the explorers, bless them! may 
 have a long day before that ; it is earlv to trou- 
 ble about reactions, so that we mast give 
 them the benefit of every presumption. We are 
 thankful for any boldness and any sharp curi- 
 osity, and that is why we are thankful for Mr. 
 Kipling's general spirit and for most of his ex- 
 cursions. 
 
 Many of these, certainly, are into a region 
 not to be designated as superficially dim, 
 though indeed the author always reminds us 
 that India is above all the land of mystery. A 
 large part of his high spirits, and of ours, 
 comes doubtless from the amusement of such 
 vivid, heterogeneous material, from the irre- 
 sistible magic of scorching suns, subject em- 
 pires, uncanny religions, uneasy garrisons and 
 smothered-up women — from heat and color 
 
INTRODUCTION 13 
 
 and danger and dust. India is a portentous mP\ 
 age, and we are duly awed by the familiarities 
 it undergoes at Mr. Kipling's hand and by the 
 fine impunity, the sort of fortune that favors 
 the brave, of his want of awe. An abject hu- 
 mility is not his strong point, but he gives us 
 something instead of it — vividness and droll- 
 ery, the vision and the thrill of many things, 
 the misery and strangeness of most, the per- 
 sonal sense of a hundred queer contacts and 
 risks. And then in the absence of respect he 
 has plenty of knowledge, and if knowledge 
 should fail him he would have plenty of inven- 
 tion. Moreover, if invention should ever fail 
 him, he would still have the lyric string and 
 the patriotic chord, on which he plays admi- 
 rably ; so that it may be said he is a man of re- 
 sources. What he gives us, above all, is the 
 feeling of the English manner and the English 
 blood in conditions they have made at once so 
 much and so little their own; with manifesta- 
 tions grotesque enough in some of his satiric 
 sketches and deeply impressive in some of his 
 anecdotes of individual responsibility. 
 
 His Indian impressions divide themselves in- 
 to three groups, one of which, I think, very 
 much outshines the others. First to be men- 
 tioned are the tales of native life, curious 
 
 X 
 
^ 
 
 14 INTRODUCTION 
 
 glimpses of custom and superstition, dusky 
 matters not beholden of the many, for which 
 the author has a remarkable Hair. Then comes 
 the social, the Anglo-Indian episode, the study 
 of administrative and military types, and of 
 the wonderful rattling, riding ladies who, at 
 Simla and more desperate stations, look out for 
 husbands and lovers ; often, it would seem, and 
 husbands and lovers of others. The most bril- 
 liant group is devoted wholly to the common 
 soldier, and of this series it appears to me that 
 too much goc 1 is hardly to be said. Here Mr. 
 Kipling, with all his ofT-handedness, is a mas- 
 ter ; for we are held not so much by the greater 
 or less oddity of the particular yarn — some- 
 times fc is scarcely a yarn at all, but something 
 much less artificial — as by the robust attitude 
 of the narrator, who never arranges or glosses 
 or falsifies, but makes straight for the common 
 and the characteristic. I have mentioned the 
 great esteem in which I hold Mulvaney — surely 
 a charming man and one qualified to adorn a 
 higher sphere. Mulvaney is a creation to be 
 proud of, and his two comrades stand as firm 
 on their legs. In spite of Mulvaney 's social 
 possibilities, they are all three finished brutes; 
 but it is precisely in the finish that we delight. 
 Whatever Mr. Kipling may relate about them 
 
INTRODUCTION 15 
 
 forever will encounter readers equally fasci- 
 nated and unable fully to justify their faith. 
 
 Are not those literary pleasures after all the 
 most intense which are the most perverse and 
 whimsical, and even indefensible? There is a 
 logic in them somewhere, but it often lies be- 
 low the plummet of criticism. The spell may 
 be weak in a writer who has every reasonable 
 and regular claim, and it may be irresistible in 
 one who presents himself with a style corres- 
 ponding to a bad hat. A good hat is better 
 than a bad one, but a conjurer may wear either. 
 Many a reader will never be able to say what 
 secret human force lavs its hand upon him 
 when Private Ortheris, having sworn "quietly 
 into the blue sky," goes mad with homesick- 
 ness by the yellow river and raves for the bas- 
 est sights and sounds of London. I can scarce- 
 ly tell why I think "The Courting of Dinah 
 Shadd" a masterpiece (though, indeed, I can S 
 make a shrewd guess at one of the reasons), 
 nor would it be worth while perhaps to attempt 
 to defend the same pretension in regard to "On 
 Greenhow Hill" — much less to trouble the tol- 
 erant reader of these remarks with a statement 
 of how many more performances in the nature 
 of "The End of the Passage" (quite admitting 
 even that they might not represent Mr. Kip- 
 
i 6 INTRODUCTION 
 
 ling at his best) I am conscious of a latent rel- 
 ish for. One might as well admit while one is 
 about it that one has wept profusely over "The 
 Drums of the Fore and Aft," the history of the 
 "Dutch courage" of two dreadful dirty little 
 boys, who, in the face of Afghans scarcely 
 more dreadful, saved the reputation of their 
 regiment and perished, the least mawkishly in 
 the world, in a squalor of battle incomparably 
 expressed. People who know how peaceful 
 they are themselves and have no bloodshed to 
 reproach themselves with needn't scruple to 
 mention the glamor that Mr. Kipling's intense 
 militarism has for them, and how astonishing 
 and contagious they find it, in spite of the un- 
 romantic complexion of it — the way it bristles 
 with all sorts of ugliness and technicalities. 
 Perhaps that is why I go all the way even with 
 "The Gadsbys" — the Gadsbys were so con- 
 nected (uncomfortably, it is true) with the 
 army. There is fearful fighting — or a fearful 
 danger of it — in "The Man Who Would be 
 King"; is that the reason we are deeply af- 
 fected by this extraordinary tale ? It is one of 
 them, doubtless, for Mr. Kipling has many rea- 
 sons, after all, on his side, though they don't 
 equally call aloud to be uttered. 
 
 One more of them, at any rate, I must add to 
 
INTRODUCTION i r 
 
 these unsystematized remarks — it is the one 
 I spoke of a shrewd guess at in alluding to 
 "The Courting of Dinah Shadd." The talent 
 that produces such a tale is a talent eminently 
 in harmony with the short story, and the short 
 story is, on our side of the Channel and of the 
 Atlantic, a mine which will take a great deal of 
 working. Admirable is the clearness with 
 which Mr. Kipling perceives this — perceives 
 what innumerable chances it gives, chances of 
 touching life in a thousand different places, 
 taking it up in innumerable pieces, each a speci- 
 men and an illustration. In a word, he appre- 
 ciates the episode, and there are signs to show 
 that this shrewdness will, in general, have long 
 innings. It will find the detachable, compres- 
 sible "case" an admirable, flexible form; the 
 cultivation of which may well add to the mis- 
 trust already entertained by Mr. Kipling, if his 
 manner does not betray him, for what is 
 clumsy and tasteless in the time-honored prac- 
 tice of the "plot." It will fortfy him in the 
 conviction that the vivid picture has a greater 
 communicative value than the Chinese puzzle. 
 There is little enough "plot" in such a perfect 
 little piece of hard representation as "The end 
 of the Passage," to cite again only the most 
 salient of twenty examples. 
 
18 INTRODUCTION 
 
 But I am speaking of our author's future, 
 which is the luxury that I mean to forbid my- 
 self — precisely because the subject is so tempt- 
 ing. There is nothing in the world (for the 
 prophet) so charming as to prophesy, and as 
 there is nothing so inconclusive the tendency 
 should be repressed in proportion as the oppor- 
 tunity is good. There is a certain want of cour- 
 tesy to a peculiarly contemporaneous present 
 even in speculating, with a dozen differential 
 precautions, on the question of what will be- 
 come in the later hours of the day of a talent 
 that has got up so early. Mr. Kipling's actual 
 performance is like a tremendous walk before 
 breakfast, making one welcome the idea of the 
 meal, but consider with some alarm the hours 
 still to be traversed. Yet if his breakfast is 
 all to come, the indications are that he will be 
 more active than ever after he has had it. 
 Among these indications are the unflagging 
 character of his pace and the excellent form, 
 as they say in athletic circles, in which he gets 
 over the ground. We don't detect him stum- 
 bling; on the contrary, he steps out quite as 
 briskly as at first, and still more firmly. There 
 is something zealous and craftsman-like in him 
 which r1 iows that he feels both joy and respon- 
 sibility. A whimsical, wanton reader, haunted 
 
INTRODUCTION 19 
 
 by a recollection of all the good things he has 
 seen spoiled ; by a sense of the miserable, or, at 
 any rate, the inferior, so many continuations 
 and endings, is almost capable of perverting 
 poetic justice to the idea that it would be even 
 positively well for so surprising a producer to 
 remain simply the fortunate suggestive, uncon- 
 firmed and unqualified representative of what 
 he has actually done. We can always refer to 
 that. 
 
 Henry James. 
 
BIMI 
 
 THE orang-outang in the big iron cage 
 lashed to the sheep-pen began the dis- 
 cussion. The night was stifling hot, and as 
 Hans Breitmann and I passed him, dragging 
 our bedding to the fore-peak of the steamer, 
 he roused himself and chattered obscenely. 
 He had been caught somewhere in the Malayan 
 Archipelago, and was going to England to be 
 exhibited at a shilling a head. For four days 
 he had struggled, yelled, and wrenched at the 
 heavy iron bars of his prison without ceasing, 
 and had nearly slain a Lascar incautious 
 enough to come within reach of the great hairy 
 paw. 
 
 "It would be well for you, mine friend, if 
 you was a liddle seasick," said Hans Breit- 
 mann, pausing by the cage. "You haf too 
 much Ego in your Cosmos." 
 
 The orang-outang's arm slid out negligently 
 from between the bars. No one would have 
 believed that it would make a sudden snake- 
 
 23 
 
24 BIMI 
 
 like rush at the German's breast. The thin 
 silk of the sleeping-suit tore out ; Hans stepped 
 back unconcernedly, to pluck a banana from a 
 bunch hanging close to one of the boats. 
 
 "Too much Ego," said he, peeling the fruit 
 and offering it to the caged devil, who was 
 rending the silk to tatters. 
 
 Then we laid out our bedding in the bows, 
 among the sleeping Lascars, to catch any breeze 
 that the pace of the ship might give us. The 
 sea was like smoky oil, except where it turned 
 to fire under our forefoot and whirled back 
 into the dark in smears of dull flame. There 
 was a thunderstorm some miles way ; we could 
 see the glimmer of the lightning. The ship's 
 cow, distressed by the heat and the smell of 
 the ape-beast in the cage, lowed unhappily from 
 time to time in exactly the same key as the 
 lookout man at the bows answered the hourly 
 call from the bridge. The trampling tune of 
 the engines was very distinct, and the jarring 
 of the ash-lift, as it was tipped into the sea, 
 hurt the procession of hushed noise. Hans lay 
 down by my side and lighted a good-night 
 cigar. This was naturally the beginning of 
 conversation. He owned a voice as soothing 
 as the wash of the sea, and stores of experi- 
 ences as vast as the sea itself ; for his business 
 
BIMI 25 
 
 in life was to wander up and down the world, 
 collecting orchids and wild beasts and ethno- 
 logical specimens for German and American 
 dealers. I watched the glowing end of his 
 cigar wax and wane in the gloom, as the sen- 
 tences rose and fell, till I was nearly asleep. 
 The orang-outang, troubled by some dream of 
 the forests of his freedom, began to yell like 
 a soul in purgatory, and to wrench madly at 
 the bars of the cage. 
 
 "If he was out now dere would not be much 
 of us left hereabouts," said Hans, lazily. "He 
 screams good. See, now, how I shall tame 
 him when he stops himself." 
 
 There was a pause in the outcry, and from 
 Hans' mouth came an imitation of a snake's 
 hiss, so perfect that I almost sprung to my feet. 
 The sustained murderous sound ran along the 
 deck, and the wrenching at the bars ceased. 
 The orang-outang was quaking in an ecstasy 
 of pure terror 
 
 "Dot stop him," said Hans. "I learned dot- 
 trick in Mogoung Tanjong when I was collect- 
 ing liddle monkeys for some peoples in Berlin. 
 Efery one in der world is afraid of der mon- 
 keys — except der snake. So I blay snake 
 against monkey, and he keep quite still. Dere 
 was too much Ego in his Cosmos. Dot is der 
 
26 BIMI 
 
 soul-custom of monkeys. Are you asleep, or 
 will you listen, and I will tell a dale dot you 
 shall not pelief ?" 
 
 "There's no tale in the wide world that I 
 can't believe," I said. 
 
 "If you have learned pelief you haf learned 
 somedings. Now I shall try your pelief. 
 Good! When I was collecting dose liddle 
 monkeys — it was in '79 or '80, und I was in der 
 islands of der Archipelago — over dere in der 
 dark" — he pointed southward to New Guinea 
 generally — "Mein Gott ! I would sooner col- 
 lect life red devils than liddle monkeys. When 
 dey do not bite off your thumbs dey are always 
 dying from nostalgia — homesick — for dey haf 
 der imperfect soul, which is midway arrested in 
 defelopment — und too much Ego. I was dere 
 for nearly a year, und dere I found a man 
 dot was called Bertram He was a French- 
 man, und he was a goot man — naturalist to the 
 bone. Dey said he was an esc^^ed convict, but 
 he was a naturalist, und dot was enough for 
 me. He would call all her life beasts from der 
 forest, und dey would come. I said he was 
 St. Francis of Assisi in a new dransmigration 
 produced, und he laughed und said he haf never 
 preach to der fishes. He sold dem for tripang 
 — beche-de-mer. 
 
BIMI 27 
 
 "Und dot man, who was king of beasts-tamer 
 men, he had in der house shush such anoder as 
 dot devil-animal in der cage — a great orang- 
 outang dot thought he was a man. He haf 
 found him when he was a child — der orang-ou- 
 tang — und he was child and brother and opera 
 comique all round to Bertran. He had his 
 room in dot house — not a cage, but a room — 
 mit a bed and sheets, and he would go to bed 
 and get up in der morning and smoke his cigar 
 und eat his dinner mit Bertran, und walk mit 
 him hand-in-hand, which was most horrible. 
 Herr Gott! I haf seen dot beast throw him- 
 self back in his chair and laugh when Bertran 
 haf made fun of me. He was not a beast; he 
 was a man, and he talked to Bertran, und Ber- 
 tran comprehended, for I have seen dem. Und 
 he was always politeful to me except when I 
 talk too long to Bertran und say nodings at all 
 to him. Den he would pull me away — dis 
 great, dark devil, mit his enormous paws — 
 shush as if I was a child. He was not a beast, 
 he was a man. Dis I saw pefore I know him 
 three months, und Bertran he haf saw the 
 same; and Bimi, der orang-outang, haf under- 
 stood us both, mit his cigar between his big- 
 dog teeth und der blue gum. 
 
 "I was dere a year, dere und at dere oder 
 
28 BIMI 
 
 islands — somedimes for monkeys and some- 
 dimes for butterflies und orchits. One time 
 Bertran says to me dot he will be married, be- 
 cause he haf found a girl dot was good, and 
 he inquire if this marrying idea was right. I 
 would not say, pecause it was not me dot was 
 going to be married. Den he go off courting 
 der girl — she was a half-caste French girl — 
 very pretty. Haf you got a new light for my 
 cigar? Oof! Very pretty. Only I say: 
 'Haf you thought of Bimi? If he pulls me 
 away when I talk to you, what will he do to 
 your wife? He will pull her in pieces. If I 
 was you, Bertran, I would gif my wife for wed- 
 ding present der stuff figure of Bimi.' By dot 
 time I had learned somedings about der mon- 
 key peoples. 'Shoot him?' says Bertran. 'He 
 is your beast/ I said; 'if he was mine he would 
 be shot now.' 
 
 "Den I felt at der back of my neck der fin- 
 gers of Bimi. Mein Gott! I tell you dot he 
 talked through dose fingers. It was der deaf- 
 and-dumb alphabet all gomplete. He slide his 
 hairy arm round my neck, and he tilt up my 
 chin und look into my face, shust to see if 
 I understood his talk so well as he understood 
 
 mine. 
 
 n t 
 
 See now dere!' says Bertran, 'und you 
 
BIMI 29 
 
 would shoot him while he is cuddling you ? Dot 
 is der Teuton ingrate !' 
 
 "But I knew dot I had made Bimi a life's en- 
 emy, pecause his fingers haf talk murder 
 through the back of my neck. Next dime I 
 see Bimi dere was a pistol in my belt, und he 
 touch it once, and I open der breech to show 
 him it was loaded. He haf seen der liddle 
 monkeys killed in der woods, and he under- 
 stood. 
 
 "So Bertran he was married, and he forgot 
 clean about Bimi dot was skippin' alone on der 
 beach mit her haf of a human soul in his belly. 
 I was see him skip, und he took a big bough 
 und thrash der sand till he haf made a great 
 hole like a grave. So I says to Bertran : Tor 
 any sakes, kill Bimi. He is mad mit der jeal- 
 ousy/ 
 
 "Bertran haf said: 'He is not mad at all. 
 He haf obey and love my wife, und if she 
 speaks he will get her slippers,' und he looked 
 at his wife across der room. She was a very 
 pretty girl. 
 
 "Den I said to him : 'Dost thou pretend to 
 know monkeys und dis beast dot is lashing him- 
 self mad upon der sands, pecause you do not 
 talk to him ? Shoot him when he comes to der 
 house, for he haf der light in his eyes dot means 
 
SO BIMI 
 
 killing — und killing. ' Bimi come to der house, 
 but dere was no light in his eyes. It was all 
 put away, cunning — so cunning — und he fetch 
 der girl her slippers, and Bertran turn to me 
 und say : 'Dost thou know him in nine months 
 more dan I haf known him in twelve years? 
 Shall a child stab his fader? I have fed him, 
 und he was my child. Do not speak this non- 
 sense to my wife or to me any more/ 
 
 "Dot next day Bertran came to my house to 
 help me make some wood cases for der speci- 
 mens, und he tell me dot he haf left his wife a 
 liddle while mit Bimi in der garden. Den I 
 finish my cases quick, und I say : 'Let us go 
 to your house und get a trink.' He laugh and 
 say : 'Come along, dry mans.' 
 
 "His wife was not in der garden, und Bimi 
 did not come when Bertran called. Und his 
 wife did not come when he called, und he 
 knocked at her bedroom door und dot was 
 shut tight — locked. Den he look at me, und 
 his face was white. I broke down the door 
 mit my shoulder, und der thatch of der roof 
 was torn into a great hole, und der sun came 
 in upon der floor. Haf you ever seen paper 
 in der waste-basket, or cards at whist on der 
 table scattered? Dere was no wife dot could 
 be seen. I tell you dere was noddings in dot 
 room dot might be a woman. Dere was stuff 
 
BIMI 31 
 
 on der floor, und dot was all. I looked at dese 
 things und I was very sick ; but Bertran looked 
 a little longer at what was upon the floor und 
 der walls, und der hole in der thatch. Den he 
 pegan to laugh, soft and low, und I knew und 
 thank Got dot he was mad. He nefer cried, 
 he nefer prayed. He stood still in der door- 
 way und laugh to himself. Den he said : 'She 
 haf locked herself in dis room, and he haf torn 
 up der thatch. Fi done. Dot is so. We will 
 mend der thatch und wait for Bimi. He will 
 surely come.' 
 
 "I tell you we waited ten days in dot house, 
 after der room was made into a room again, 
 and once or twice we saw Bimi comin' a liddle 
 way from der woods. He was afraid pecause 
 he haf done wrong. Bertran called him when 
 he was come to look on the tenth day, und 
 Bimi come skipping along der beach und mak- 
 ing noises, mit a long piece of black hair in his 
 hands. Den Bertran laugh and say, ( Fi done!' 
 shust as if it was a glass broken upon der 
 table; und Bimi come nearer, und Bertran 
 was honey-sweet in his voice and laughed to 
 himself. For three days he made love to 
 Bimi, pecause Bimi would not let himself be 
 touched. Den Bimi come to dinner at der 
 same table mit us, und der hair on his hands 
 was all black und thick mit — mit what had 
 
$2 BIMI 
 
 dried on his hands. Bertran gave him sanga- 
 ree till Birni was drunk and stupid, und den — " 
 
 Hans paused to puff at his cigar. 
 
 "And then?" said I. 
 
 "Und den Bertran kill him with his hands, 
 und I go for a walk upon der beach. It was 
 Bertran's own piziness. When I come back 
 der ape he was dead, und Bertran was dying 
 abofe him ; but still he laughed a little und low, 
 and he was quite content. Now you know der 
 formula uf der strength of der orang-outang 
 — it is more as seven to one in relation to man. 
 But Bertran, he haf killed Bimi mit sooch 
 dings as Gott gif him. Dot was der mer- 
 icle." 
 
 The infernal clamor in the cage recom- 
 menced. "Aha! Dot friend of ours haf still 
 too much Ego in his Cosmos. Be quiet, 
 thou!" 
 
 Hans hissed long and venomously. We 
 could hear the great beast quaking in his cage. 
 
 "But why in the world didn't you help Ber- 
 tran instead of letting him be killed ?" I asked. 
 
 "My friend," said Hans, composedly 
 stretching himself to slumber, "it was not nice 
 even to mineself dot I should lif after I had 
 seen dot room wit der hole in der thatch. 
 Und Bertran, he was her husband. Goot- 
 night, und sleep well." 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
 ONCE upon a time there was a king who 
 lived on the road to Thibet, very many 
 miles in the Himalaya Mountains. His king- 
 dom was 11,000 feet above the sea, and ex- 
 actly four miles square, but most of the miles 
 stood on end, owing to the nature of the coun- 
 try. His revenues were rather less than £400 
 yearly, and they were expended on the mainte- 
 nance of one elephant and a standing army of 
 five men. He was tributary to the Indian gov- 
 ernment, who allowed him certain sums for 
 keeping a section of the Himalaya-Tibet road 
 in repair. He further increased his revenues by 
 selling timber to the railway companies, for he 
 would cut the great deodar trees in his own 
 forest and they fell thundering into the Sutlej 
 River and were swept down to the Plains, 300 
 miles away, and became railway ties. Now 
 and again this king, whose name does not mat- 
 ter, would mount a ring-streaked horse and 
 ride scores of miles to Simlatown to confer 
 with the lieutenant-governor on matters of 
 state, or assure the viceroy that his sword was 
 
 35 
 
36 NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
 at the service of the queen-empress. Then the 
 viceroy would cause a ruffle of drums to be 
 sounded and the ring-streaked horse and the 
 cavalry of the state — two men in tatters — and 
 the herald who bore the Silver Stick before the 
 king would trot back to their own place, which 
 was between the tail of a heaven-climbing gla- 
 cier and a dark birch forest. 
 
 Now, from such a king, always remember- 
 ing that he possessed one veritable elephant 
 and could count his descent for 1,200 years, 
 I expected, when it was my fate to wander 
 through his dominions, no more than mere 
 license to live. 
 
 The night had closed in rain, and rolling 
 clouds had blotted out the lights of the vil- 
 lages in the valley. Forty miles away, 
 untouched by cloud or storm, the white shoul- 
 der of Dongo Pa — the Mountain of the Coun- 
 cil of the Gods — upheld the evening star. The 
 monkeys sung sorrowfully to each other as 
 they hunted for dry roots in the fern-draped 
 trees, and the last puff of the day-wind 
 brought from the unseen villages the scent of 
 damp wood smoke, hot cakes, dripping under- 
 growth, and rotting pine-cones. That smell 
 is the true smell of the Himalayas, and if it 
 once gets into the blood of a man he will, at 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 37 
 
 the last, forgetting everything else, return to 
 the Hills to die. The clouds closed and the 
 smell went away, and there remained nothing 
 in all the world except chilling white mists and 
 the boom of the Sutlej River. 
 
 A fat-tailed sheep, who did not want to die, 
 bleated lamentably at my tent-door. He was 
 scuffling with the prime minister and the direc- 
 tor-general of public education, and he was a 
 royal gift to me and my camp servants. I 
 expressed my thanks suitably and inquired if I 
 might have audience of the king. The prime 
 minister readjusted his turban — it had fallen 
 off in the struggle — and assured me that the 
 king would be very pleased to see me. There- 
 fore I despatched two bottles as a foretaste, 
 and when the sheep had entered upon another 
 incarnation, climbed up to the king's palace 
 through the wet. He had sent his army to 
 escort me, but it stayed to talk with my cook. 
 Soldiers are very much alike all the world 
 over. 
 
 The palace was a four-roomed, white- 
 washed mud-and-timber house, the finest in all 
 the Hills for a day's journey. The king was 
 dressed in a purple velvet jacket, white mus- 
 lin trousers, and a saffron-yellow turban of 
 price. He gave me audience in a little car- 
 
38 NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
 peted room opening off the palace court-yard, 
 which was occupied by the elephant of state. 
 The great beast was sheeted and anchored 
 from trunk to tail, and the curve of his back 
 stood out against the sky line. 
 
 The prime minister and the director-general 
 of public instruction were present to introduce 
 me; but all the court had been dismissed lest 
 the two bottles aforesaid should corrupt their 
 morals. The king cast a wreath of heavy, 
 scented flowers round my neck as I bowed, and 
 inquired how my honored presence had the 
 felicity to be. I said that through seeing his 
 auspicious countenance the mists of the night 
 had turned into sunshine, and that by reason 
 of his beneficent sheep his good deeds would 
 be remembered by the gods. He said that 
 since I had set my magnificent foot in his 
 kingdom the crops would probably yield sev- 
 enty per cent, more than the average. I said 
 that the fame of the king had reached to the 
 four corners of the earth, and that the nations 
 gnashed their teeth when they heard daily of 
 the glory of his realm and the wisdom of his 
 moon-like prime minister and lotus-eyed direc- 
 tor-general of public education. 
 
 Then we sat down on clean white cushions, 
 and I was at the king's right hand. Three 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 39 
 
 minutes later he was telling me that the con- 
 dition of the maize crop was something dis- 
 graceful, and that the railway companies 
 would not pay him enough for his timber. 
 The talk shifted to and fro with the bottles. 
 We discussed very many quaint things, and 
 the king became confidential on the subject of 
 government generally. Most of all he dwelt 
 on the shortcomings of one of his subjects, 
 who, from what I could gather, had been para- 
 lyzing the executive. 
 
 "In the old days," said the king, "I could 
 have ordered the elephant yonder to trample 
 him to death. Now I must e'en send him sev- 
 enty miles across the hills to be tried, and his 
 keep for that time would be upon the state. 
 And the elephant eats everything." 
 
 "What be the man's crimes, Rajah Sahib?" 
 said I. 
 
 "Firstly, he is an 'outlander,' and no man of 
 mine own people. Secondly, since of my 
 favor I gave him land upon his coming, he 
 refuses to pay revenue. Am I not the lord of 
 the earth, above and below — entitled by right 
 and custom to one-eighth of the crop? Yet this 
 devil, establishing himself, refuses to pay a 
 single tax . . . and he brings a poison- 
 ous spawn of babes." 
 
40 NAMGAY D00LA 
 
 "Cast him into jail," I said. 
 
 "Sahib," the king answered, shifting a little 
 on the cushions, " once and only once in these 
 forty years sickness came upon me so that 
 I was not able to go abroad. In that hour I 
 made a vow to my God that I would never 
 again cut man or woman from the light of 
 the sun and the air of God, for I perceived the 
 nature of the punishment. How can I break 
 my vow? Were it only the lopping off of a 
 hand or a foot, I should not delay. But even 
 that is imposible now that the English have 
 rule. One or another of my people" — he looked 
 obliquely at the director-general of public edu- 
 cation — "would at once write a letter to the 
 viceroy, and perhaps I should be deprived of 
 that ruffle of drums." 
 
 He unscrewed the mouthpiece of his silver 
 water-pipe, fitted a plain amber one, and passed 
 the pipe to me. "Not content with refusing 
 revenue," he continued, "this outlander refuses 
 also to beegar" (this is the corvee or forced 
 labor on the roads), "and stirs my people up 
 to the like treason. Yet he is, if so he wills, 
 an expert log-snatcher. There is none better 
 or bolder among my people to clear a block of 
 the river when the logs stick fast." 
 
 "But he worships strange gods," said the 
 prime minister, deferentially. 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 41 
 
 "For that I have no concern," said the king, 
 who was as tolerant as Akbar in matters of 
 belief. "To each man his own god, and the 
 fire or Mother Earth for us all at the last. 
 It is the rebellion that offends me." 
 
 "The king has an army," I suggested. 
 "Has not the king burned the man's house, and 
 left him naked to the night dews?" 
 
 "Nay. A hut is a hut, and it holds the life 
 of a man. But once I sent my army against 
 him when his excuses became wearisome. Of 
 their heads he brake three across the top with 
 a stick. The other two men ran away. Also 
 the guns would not shoot." 
 
 I had seen the equipment of the infantry. 
 One-third of it was an old muzzle-loading 
 fowling-piece with ragged rust holes where the 
 nipples should have been; one-third a wire- 
 bound matchlock with a worm-eaten stock, 
 and one-third a four-bore flint duck-gun, with- 
 out a flint. 
 
 "But it is to be remembered," said the king, 
 reaching out for the bottle, "that he is a very 
 f xpert log-snatcher and a man of a merry face. 
 What shall I do to him, sahib?" 
 
 This was interesting. The timid hill-folk 
 would as soon have refused taxes to their king 
 as offerings to their gods. The rebel must 
 be a man of character. 
 
42 NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
 "If it be the king's permission," I said, "I 
 will not strike my tents till the third day, and 
 I will see this man. The mercy of the king is 
 godlike, and rebellion is like unto the sin of 
 witchcraft. Moreover, both the bottles, and 
 another, be empty." 
 
 "You have my leave to go," said the king. 
 
 Next morning the crier went through the 
 stare proclaiming that there was a log- jam on 
 the river and that it behooved all loyal sub- 
 jects to clear it. The people poured down 
 from their villages to the moist, warm val- 
 ley of poppy fields, and the king and I went 
 with them. 
 
 Hundreds of dressed deodar logs had 
 caught on a snag of rock, and the river was 
 bringing down more logs every minute to com- 
 plete the blockade. The water snarled and 
 wrenched and worried at the timber, while the 
 population of the state prodded at the near- 
 est logs with poles, in the hope of easing the 
 pressure. Then there went up a shout of 
 "Namgay Doola! Namgay Doola!" and a 
 large, red-haired villager hurried up, stripping 
 off his clothes as he ran. 
 
 "That he is. That is the rebel!" said the 
 king. "Now will the dam be cleared." 
 
 "But why has he red hair?" I asked, since 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 43 
 
 red hair among hill-folk is as uncommon as 
 blue or green. 
 
 "He is an outlander," said the king. "Well 
 done! Oh, well done!" 
 
 Namgay Doola had scrambled on the jam 
 and was clawing out the butt of a log with a 
 rude sort of a boat-hook. It slid forward 
 slowly, as an alligator moves, and three or 
 four others followed it. The green water 
 spouted through the gaps. Then the villagers 
 howled and shouted and leaped among the 
 logs, pulling and pushing the obstinate timber, 
 and the red head of Namgay Doola was chief 
 among them all. The logs swayed and chafed 
 and groaned as fresh consignments from up- 
 stream battered the now weakened dam. It 
 gave way at last in a smother of foam, racing 
 butts, bobbing black heads, and a confusion 
 indescribable, as the river tossed everything 
 before it. I saw the red head go down with 
 the last remnants of the jam and disappear 
 between the great grinding tree trunks. It 
 rose close to the bank, and blowing like a 
 grampus, Namgay Doola wiped the water out 
 of his eyes and made obeisance to the king. 
 
 I had time to observe the man closely. The 
 virulent redness of his shock head and beard 
 was most startling, and in the thicket of hair 
 
44 NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
 twinkled above high cheek-bones two very 
 merry blue eyes. He was indeed an out- 
 lander, but yet a Thibetan in language, habit 
 and attire. He spoke the Lepcha dialect with 
 an indescribable softening of the gutturals. It 
 was not so much a lisp as an accent. 
 
 "Whence comest thou?" I asked, wonder- 
 ing. 
 
 "From Thibet." He pointed across the hills 
 and grinned. That grin went straight to my 
 heart. Mechanically I held out my hand, and 
 Namgay Doola took it. No pure Thibetan 
 would have understood the meaning of the 
 gesture. He went away to look for his 
 clothes, and as he climbed back to his village, 
 I heard a joyous yell that seemed unaccount- 
 ably familiar. It was the whooping of Nam- 
 gay Doola. 
 
 "You see now," said the king, "why I 
 would not kill him. He is a bold man among 
 my logs, but," and he shook his head like a 
 schoolmaster, "I know that before long there 
 will be complaints of him in the court. Let 
 us return to the palace and do justice." 
 
 It was that king's custom to judge his sub- 
 jects every day between eleven and three 
 o'clock. I heard him do justice equitably on 
 weighty matters of trespass, slander, and a 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 45 
 
 little wife-stealing. Then his brow clouded 
 and he summoned me. 
 
 "Again it is Namgay Doola," he said, 
 despairingly. "Not content with refusing reve- 
 nue on his own part, he has bound half his vil- 
 lage by an oath to the like treason. Never 
 before has such a thing befallen me ! Nor are 
 my taxes heavy." 
 
 A rabbit-faced villager, with a blush rose 
 stuck behind his ear, advanced trembling. He 
 had been in Namgay Doola's conspiracy, but 
 had told everything and hoped for the king's 
 favor. 
 
 "Oh, king!" said I, "if it be the king's will, 
 let this matter stand over till the morning. 
 Only the gods can do right in a hurry, and it 
 may be that yonder villager has lied." 
 
 "Nay, for I know the nature of Namgay 
 Doola; but since a guest asks, let the matter 
 remain. Wilt thou, for my sake, speak 
 harshly to this red-headed outlander? He 
 may listen to thee." 
 
 I made an attempt that very evening, but 
 for the life of me I could not keep my coun- 
 tenance. Namgay Doola grinned so persuas- 
 ively and began to tell me about a big brown 
 bear in a poppy field by the river. Would I 
 care to shoot that bear? I spoke austerely on 
 
46 NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
 the sin of detected conspiracy and the certainty 
 of punishment. Namgay Doola's face clouded 
 for a moment. Shortly afterward he with- 
 drew from my tent, and I heard him singing 
 softly among the pines. The words were 
 unintelligible to me, but the tune, like his 
 liquid, insinuating speech, seemed the ghost of 
 something strangely familiar. 
 
 'Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir 
 To weeree ala gee," 
 
 crooned Namgay Doola again and again, and 
 I racked my brain for that lost tune. It was 
 not till after dinner that I discovered some 
 one had cut a square foot of velvet from the 
 centre of my best camera-cloth. This made 
 me so angry that I wandered down the valley 
 in the hope of meeting the big brown bear. 
 I could hear him grunting like a discontented 
 pig in the poppy field as I waited shoulder 
 deep in the dew-dripping Indian corn to catch 
 him after his meal. The moon was at full 
 and drew out the scent of the tasseled crop. 
 Then I heard the anguished bellow of a Hima- 
 layan cow — one of the little black crummies 
 no bigger than Newfoundland dogs. Two 
 shadows that looked like a bear and her cub 
 hurried past me. I was in the act of firing 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 47 
 
 when I saw that each bore a brilliant red 
 head. The lesser animal was trailing some- 
 thing rope-like that left a dark track on the 
 path. They were within six feet of me, and 
 the shadow of the moonlight lay velvet-black 
 on their faces. Velvet-black was exactly the 
 word, for by all the powers of moonlight 
 they were masked in the velvet of my camera- 
 cloth. I marveled, and went to bed. 
 
 Next morning the kingdom was in an 
 uproar. Namgay Doola, men said, had gone 
 forth in the night and with a sharp knife had 
 cut off the tail of a cow belonging to the 
 rabbit-faced villager who had betrayed him. 
 It was sacrilege unspeakable against the holy 
 cow ! The state desired his blood, but he had 
 retreated into his hut, barricaded the doors and 
 windows with big stones, and defied the world. 
 
 The king and I and the populace approached 
 the hut cautiously. There was no hope of 
 capturing our man without loss of life, for 
 from a hole in the wall projected the muzzle 
 of an extremely well-cared- for gun — the only 
 gun in the state that could shoot. Namgay 
 Doola had narrowly missed a villager just 
 before we came up. 
 
 The standing army stood. 
 
 It could do no more, for when it advanced 
 
48 NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
 pieces of sharp shale flew from the windows. 
 To these were added from time to time show- 
 ers of scalding water. We saw red heads 
 bobbing up and down within. The family of 
 Namgay Doola were aiding their sire. Blood- 
 curdling yells of defiance were the only answer 
 to our prayers. 
 
 "Never," said the king, puffing, "has such 
 a thing befallen my state. Next year I will 
 certainly buy a little cannon." He looked at 
 me imploringly. 
 
 "Is there any priest in the kingdom to whom 
 he will listen?" said I, for a light was begin- 
 ning to break upon me. 
 
 "He worships his own god," said the prime 
 minister. "We can but starve him out." 
 
 "Let the white man approach," said Nam- 
 gay Doola from within. "All others I will 
 kill. Send me the white man." 
 
 The door was thrown open and I entered 
 the smoky interior of a Thibetan hut crammed 
 with children. And every child had flaming 
 red hair. A fresh-gathered cow's tail lay on 
 the floor, and by its side two pieces of black 
 velvet — my black velvet — rudely hacked into 
 the semblance of masks. 
 
 "And what is this shame, Namgay Doola ?" 
 I asked. 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 49 
 
 He grinned more charmingly than ever. 
 "There is no shame," said he. "I did but cut 
 off the tail of that man's cow. He betrayed 
 me. I was minded to shoot him, sahib, but 
 not to death. Indeed, not to death; only in 
 the legs." 
 
 "And why at all, since it is the custom to 
 pay revenue to the king? Why at all?" 
 
 "By the god of my father, I cannot tell," 
 said Namgay Doola. 
 
 "And who was thy father?" 
 
 "The same that had this gun." He showed 
 me his weapon, a Tower musket, bearing date 
 1832 and the stamp of the Honorable East 
 India Company. 
 
 "And thy father's name?" said I. 
 
 "Timla Doola," said he. "At the first, I 
 being then a little child, it is in my mind that 
 he wore a red coat." 
 
 "Of that I have no doubt; but repeat the 
 name of thy father twice or thrice." 
 
 He obeyed, and I understood whence the 
 puzzling accent in his speech came. "Thimla 
 Dhula!" said he, excitedly. "To this hour 
 I worship his god." 
 
 "May I see that god?" 
 
 "In a little while — at twilight time." 
 
 "Rememberest thou aught of thy father's 
 speech ?" 
 
50 NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
 "It is long ago. But there was one word 
 which he said often. Thus, ''Shun!' Then 
 I and my brethren stood upon our feet, our 
 hands to our sides, thus." 
 
 "Even so. And what was thy mother?" 
 
 "A woman of the Hills. We be Lepchas of 
 Darjiling, but me they call an outlander be- 
 cause my hair is as thou seest." 
 
 The Thibetan woman, his wife, touched him 
 on the arm gently. The long parley outside 
 the fort had lasted far into the day. It was 
 now close upon twilight — the hour of the 
 Angelus. Very solemnly the red-headed Lrats 
 rose from the floor and formed a semicircle. 
 Namgay Doola laid his gun aside, lighted 
 a little oil-lamp, and set it before a recess in 
 the wall. Pulling back a whisp of dirty cloth, 
 he revealed a worn brass crucifix leaning 
 against the helmet badge of a long- forgotten 
 East India Company's regiment. "Thus did 
 my father," he said, crossing himself clumsily. 
 The wife and children followed suit. Then, 
 all together, they struck up the wailing chant 
 that I heard on the hillside : 
 
 "Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir 
 To weeree ala gee." 
 
 I was puzzled no longer. Again and again 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 5 1 
 
 they sung, as if their hearts would break, 
 their version of the chorus of "The Wearing 
 of the Green" : 
 
 "They're hanging men and women, too, 
 For the wearing of the green." 
 
 A diabolical inspiration came to me. One of 
 the brats, a boy about eight years old — could 
 he have been in the fields last night? — was 
 watching me as he sung. I pulled out a rupee, 
 held the coin between finger and thumb, and 
 looked — only looked — at the gun leaning 
 against the wall. A grin of brilliant and per- 
 fect comprehension overspread his porringer- 
 like face. Never for an instant stopping the 
 song, he held out his hand for the money, and 
 then slid the gun to my hand. I might have 
 shot Namgay Doola dead as he chanted, but 
 I was satisfied. The inevitable blood-instinct 
 held true. Namgay Doola drew the curtain 
 across the recess. Angelus was over. 
 
 "Thus my father sung. There was much 
 more, but I have forgotten, and I do not know 
 the purport of even these words, but it may 
 be that the god will understand. I am not of 
 this people, and I will not pay revenue." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 Again that soul-compelling grin. "What 
 
52 NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
 occupation would be to me between crop and 
 crop? It is better than scaring bears. But 
 these people do not understand." 
 
 He picked the masks off the floor and looked 
 in my face as simply as a child. 
 
 "By what road didst thou attain knowledge 
 to make those deviltries?" I said, pointing. 
 
 "I cannot tell. I am but a Lepcha of Dar- 
 jiling, and yet the stuff" — 
 
 "Which thou hast stolen," said I. 
 
 "Nay, surely. Did I steal? I desired it 
 so. The stuff — the stuff. What else should 
 I have done with the stuff?" He twisted the 
 velvet between his fingers. 
 
 "But the sin of maiming the cow — consider 
 that." 
 
 "Oh, sahib, the man betrayed me; the 
 heifer's tail waved in the moonlight, and I had 
 my knife. What else should I have done? 
 The tail came off ere I was aware. Sahib, 
 thou knowest more than I." 
 
 "That is true," said I. "Stay within the 
 door. I go to speak to the king." The popula- 
 tion of the state were ranged on the hillside. 
 I went forth and spoke. 
 
 "Oh, king," said I, "touching this man, 
 there be two courses open to thy wisdom. 
 Thou canst either hang him from a tree — he 
 
NAMGAY DOOLA 53 
 
 and his brood — till there remains no hair that 
 is red within thy land." 
 
 "Nay," said the king. "Why should I hurt 
 the little children?" 
 
 They had poured out of the hut and were 
 making plump obeisances to everybody. Nam- 
 gay Doola waited at the door with his gun 
 across his arm. 
 
 "Or thou canst, discarding their impiety of 
 the cow-maiming, raise him to honor in thy 
 army. He comes of a race that will not pay 
 revenue. A red flame is in his blood which 
 comes out at the top of his head in that 
 glowing hair. Make him chief of thy army. 
 Give him honor as may befall and full allow- 
 ance of work, but look to it, oh, king, that 
 neither he nor his hold a foot of earth from 
 thee henceforward. Feed him with words and 
 favor, and also liquor from certain bottles that 
 thou knowest of, and he will be a bulwark of 
 defense. But deny him even a tuftlet of grass 
 for his own. This is the nature that God has 
 given him. Moreover, he has brethren" — 
 
 The state groaned unanimously. 
 
 "But if his brethren come they will surely 
 fight with each other till they die; or else the 
 one will always give information concerning 
 the other. Shall he be of thy army, oh, king? 
 Choose." 
 
54 NAMGAY DOOLA 
 
 The king bowed his head, and I said: 
 "Come forth, Namgay Doola, and command 
 the king's army. Thy name shall no more be 
 Namgay in the mouths of men, but Patsay 
 Doola, for, as thou hast truly said, I know." 
 
 Then Namgay Doola, new-christened Pat- 
 say Doola, son of Timlay Doola — which is 
 Tim Doolan — clasped the king's feet, cuffed 
 the standing army, and hurried in an agony 
 of contrition from temple to temple making 
 offerings for the sin of cattle-maiming. 
 
 And the king was so pleased with my perspi- 
 cacity that he offered to sell me a village for 
 £20 sterling. But I buy no village in the 
 Himalayas so long as one red head flares be- 
 tween the tail of the heaven-climbing glacier 
 and the dark birch forest. 
 
 I know that breed. 
 
THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY. 
 
 T MRAY had achieved the impossible. With- 
 •*- out warning, for no conceivable motive, in 
 his youth and at the threshold of his career 
 he had chosen to disappear from the world — 
 which is to say, the little Indian station where 
 he lived. Upon a day he was alive, well, 
 happy, and in great evidence at his club, among 
 the billiard-tables. Upon a morning he was 
 not, and no manner of search could make sure 
 where he might be. He had stepped out of his 
 place; he had not appeared at his office at the 
 proper time, and his dog-cart was not upon the 
 public reads. For these reasons and because 
 he was hampering in a microscopical degree 
 the administration of the Indian Empire, the 
 Indian Empire paused for one microscopical 
 moment to make inquiry into the fate of 
 Imray, Ponds were dragged, wells were 
 plumbed, telegrams were dispatched down the 
 lines of railways and to the nearest seaport 
 town — 1,200 miles away — but Imray was not 
 at the end of the drag-ropes nor the telegrams. 
 He was gone, and his place knew him no 
 
 57 
 
58 THE RECRUDESCENCE 
 
 more. Then the work of the great Indian 
 Empire swept forward, because it could not 
 be delayed, and Imray, from being a man, be- 
 came a mystery — such a thing as men talk 
 over at their tables in the club for a month and 
 then forget utterly. His guns, horses, and 
 carts were sold to the highest bidder. His 
 superior officer wrote an absurd letter to his 
 mother, saying that Imray had unaccount- 
 ably disappeared and his bungalow stood 
 empty on the road. 
 
 After three or four months of the scorching 
 hot weather had gone by, my friend Strick- 
 land, of the police force, saw fit to rent the 
 bungalow from the native landlord. This .vas 
 before he was engaged to Miss Youghai — an 
 affair which has been described in another 
 place — and while he was pursuing his investi- 
 gations into native life. His own life was 
 sufficiently peculiar, and men complained of 1 is 
 manners and customs. There was always food 
 in his house, but there were no regular times 
 for meals. He eat, standing up and walking 
 about, whatever he might find on the side- 
 board, and this is not good for the insides 
 of human beings. His domestic equipment 
 was limited to six rifles, three shot-guns, five 
 saddles, and a collection of stiff-jointed 
 
OF IMRAY 59 
 
 masheer rods, bigger and stronger than the 
 largest salmon rods. These things occupied 
 one half of his bungalow, and the other half 
 was given up to Strickland and his dog Tiet- 
 jens — an enormous Rampur slut, who sung 
 when she was ordered, and devoured daily the 
 rations of two men. She spoke to Strickland 
 in a language of her own, and whenever, in 
 her walks abroad she saw things calculated 
 to destroy the peace of Her Majesty the Queen 
 Empress, she returned to her master and gave 
 him information. Strickland would take steps 
 at once, and the end of his labors was trouble 
 and fine and imprisonment for other people. 
 The natives believed that Tietjens was a famil- 
 iar spirit, and treated her with the great rever- 
 ence that is born of hate and fear. One room 
 in the bungalow was set apart for her special 
 use. She owned a bedstead, a blanket, and a 
 drinking-trough, and if any one came into 
 Strickland's room at night, her custom was to 
 knock down the invader and give tongue till 
 some one came with a light. Strickland owes 
 his life to her. When he was on the frontier in 
 search of the local murderer who came in the 
 grey dawn to send Strickland much further 
 than the Andaman Islands, Tietjens caught 
 him as he was crawling into Strickland's tent 
 
6o THE RECRUDESCENCE 
 
 with a dagger between his teeth, and after his 
 record of iniquity was established in the eyes 
 of the law, he was hanged. From that date 
 Tietjens wore a collar of rough silver and 
 employed a monogram on her night blanket, 
 and the blanket was double-woven Kashmir 
 cloth, for she was a delicate dog. 
 
 Under no circumstances would she be sepa- 
 rated from Strickland, and when he was ill 
 with fever she made great trouble for the 
 doctors because she did not know how to help 
 her master and would not allow another crea- 
 ture to attempt aid. Macarnaght, of the 
 Indian Medical Service, beat her over the head 
 with a gun, before she could understand that 
 she must give room for those who could give 
 quinine. 
 
 A short time after Strickland had taken 
 Imray's bungalow, my business took me 
 through that station, and naturally, the club 
 quarters being full, I quartered my?elf upon 
 Strickland. It was a desirable bungalow, 
 eight-roomed, and heavily thatched against 
 any chance of leakage from rain. Under the 
 pitch of the roof ran a ceiling cloth, which 
 looked just as nice as a white-washed ceiling. 
 The landlord had repainted it when Strick- 
 land took the bungalow, and unless you knew 
 
OF IMRAY 6 1 
 
 how Indian bungalows were built you would 
 never have suspected that above the cloth lay 
 the dark, three-cornered cavern of the roof, 
 where the beams and the under side of the 
 thatch harbored all manner of rats, bats, ants, 
 and other things. 
 
 Tietjens met me in the veranda with a bay 
 like the boom of the bells of St. Paul's, and put 
 her paws on my shoulders and said she was 
 glad to see me. Strickland had contrived 
 to put together that sort of meal which he 
 called lunch, and immediately after it was fin- 
 ished went out about his business. I was left 
 alone with Tietjens and my own affairs. The 
 heat of the summer had broken up and given 
 place to the warm damp of the rains. There 
 was no motion in the heated air, but the rain 
 fell like bayonet rods on the earth, and flung 
 up a blue mist where it splashed back again. 
 The bamboos and the custard apples, the poin- 
 settias and the mango-trees in the garden 
 stood still while the warm water lashed 
 through them, and the frogs began to sing 
 among the aloe hedges. A little before the 
 light failed, and when the rain was at its 
 worst, I sat in the back veranda and heard the 
 water roar from the eaves, and scratched my- 
 self because I was covered with the thing they 
 
62 THE RECRUDESCENCE 
 
 called prickly heat. Tietjens came out with 
 me and put her head in my lap, and was very 
 sorrowful, so I gave her biscuits when tea was 
 ready, and I took tea in the back veranda on 
 account of the little coolness I found there. 
 The rooms of the house were dark behind me. 
 I could smell Strickland's saddlery and the oil 
 on his guns, and I did not the least desire to 
 sit among these things. My own servant 
 came to me in the twilight, the muslin of his 
 clothes clinging tightly to his drenched body, 
 and told me that a gentleman had called and 
 wished to see some one. Very much against 
 my will, and because of the darkness of the 
 rooms, I went into the naked drawing-room, 
 telling my man to bring the lights. There 
 might or might not have been a caller in the 
 room — it seems to me that I saw a figure by 
 one of the windows, but when the lights came 
 there was nothing save the spikes of the rain 
 without and the smell of the drinking earth 
 in my nostrils. I explained to my man that he 
 was no wiser than he ought to be, and went 
 back to the veranda to talk to Tietjens. She 
 had gone out into the wet and I could hardly 
 coax her back to me — even with biscuits with 
 sugar on top. Strickland rode back, dripping 
 wet, just before dinner, and the first thing he 
 said was: 
 
OF IMRAY 63 
 
 "Has any one called?" 
 
 I explained, with apologies, that my servant 
 had called me into the drawing-room on a 
 false alarm, or that some loafer had tried to 
 call on Strickland, and, thinking better of it, 
 fled after giving his name. Strickland ordered 
 dinner without comment, and since it was a 
 real dinner, with white table-cloth attached, we 
 sat down. 
 
 At nine o'clock Strickland wanted to go to 
 bed, and I was tired too. Tietjens, who had 
 been lying underneath the table, rose up and 
 went into the least-exposed veranda as soon as 
 her master moved to his own room, which 
 was next to the stately chamber set apart for 
 Tietjens. If a mere wife had wished to sleep 
 out-of-doors in that pelting rain, it would not 
 have mattered, but Tietjens was a dog, and 
 therefore the better animal. I looked at 
 Strickland, expecting to see him flog her with 
 a whip. He smiled queerly, as a man would 
 smile after telling some hideous domestic trag- 
 edy. "She has done this ever since I moved 
 in here/ 5 
 
 The dog was Strickland's dog, so I said 
 nothing, but I felt all that Strickland felt in 
 being made light of. Tietjens encamped out* 
 side my bedroom window, and storm after 
 
64 THE RECRUDESCENCE 
 
 storm came up, thundered on the thatch, and 
 died away. The lightning spattered the sky 
 as a thrown egg spattered a barn door, but 
 the light was pale blue, not yellow; and look- 
 ing through my slit bamboo blinds, I could see 
 the great dog standing, not sleeping, in the 
 veranda, the hackles alift on her back, and her 
 feet planted as tensely as the drawn wire rope 
 of a suspension bridge. In the very short 
 pauses of the thunder I tried to sleep, but it 
 seemed that some one wanted me very badly. 
 He, whoever he was, was trying to call me by 
 name, but his voice was no more than a husky 
 whisper. Then the thunder ceased and Tiet- 
 jens went into the garden and howled at the 
 low moon. Somebody tried to open my door, 
 and walked about and through the house, and 
 stood breathing heavily in the verandas, and 
 just when I was falling asleep I fancied that I 
 heard a wild hammering and clamoring above 
 my head or on the door. 
 
 I ran into Strickland's room and asked him 
 whether he was ill and had been calling for 
 me. He was lying on the bed half-dressed, 
 with a pipe in his mouth. "I thought you'd 
 come," he said. "Have I been walking around 
 the house at all?" 
 
 I explained that he had been in the dining- 
 
OF IMRAY 65 
 
 room and the smoking-room and two or three 
 other places; and he laughed and told me to 
 go back to bed. I went back to bed and slept 
 till the morning, but in all my dreams I was 
 sure I was doing some one an injustice in not 
 attending to his wants. What those wants were 
 I could not tell, but a fluttering, whispering, 
 bolt-fumbling, luring, loitering some one was 
 reproaching me for my slackness, and through 
 all the dreams I heard the howling of Tietjens 
 in the garden and the thrashing of the rain. 
 
 I was in that house for two days, and 
 Strickland went to his office daily, leaving me 
 alone for eight or ten hours a day, with Tiet- 
 jens for my only companion. As long as the 
 full light lasted I was comfortable, and so was 
 Tietjens ; but in the twilight she and I moved 
 into the back veranda and cuddled each other 
 for company. We were alone in the house, 
 but for all that it was fully occupied by a ten- 
 ant with whom I had no desire to interfere. 
 I never saw him, but I could see the curtains 
 between the rooms quivering where he had 
 just passed through; I could hear the chairs 
 creaking as the bamboos sprung under a 
 weight that had just quitted them; and I could 
 feel when I went to get a book from the din- 
 ing-room that somebody was waiting in tire 
 
66 THE RECRUDESCENCE 
 
 shadows of the front veranda till I should 
 have gone away. Tietjens made the twilight 
 more interesting by glaring into the dark- 
 ened rooms, with every hair erect, and follow- 
 ing the motions of something I could not see. 
 She never entered the rooms, but her eyes 
 moved, and that was quite sufficient. Only 
 when my servant came to trim the lamps and 
 make all light and habitable, she would come 
 in with me and spend her time sitting on her 
 haunches watching an invisible extra man as 
 he moved about behind my shoulder. Dogs 
 are cheerful companions. 
 
 I explained to Strickland, gently as might 
 be, that I would go over to the club and find 
 for myself quarters there. I admired his hos- 
 pitality, was pleased with his guns and rods, 
 but I did not much care for his house and its 
 atmosphere. He heard me out to the end, and 
 then smiled very wearily, but without con- 
 tempt, for he is a man who understands 
 things. "Stay on," he said, "and see what 
 this thing means. All you have talked about 
 I have known since I took the bungalow. 
 Stay on and wait. Tietjens has left me. Are 
 you going too? 
 
 I had seen him through one little affair con- 
 nected with an idol that had brought me to the 
 
OF IMRAY 67 
 
 doors of a lunatic asylum, and I had no de- 
 sire to help him through further experiences. 
 He was a man to whom unpleasantnesses ar- 
 rived as do dinners to ordinary people. 
 
 Therefore I explained more clearly than 
 ever that I liked him immensely, and would 
 be happy to see him in the daytime, but that I 
 didn't care to sleep under his roof. This was 
 after dinner, when Tietjens had gone out to 
 lie in the veranda. 
 
 " Ton my soul, I don't wonder," said 
 Strickland, with his eyes on the ceiling-cloth. 
 "Look at that!" 
 
 The tails of two snakes were hanging be- 
 tween the cloth and the cornice of the wall. 
 They threw long shadows in the lamp-light. 
 "If you are afraid of snakes, of course" — 
 said Strickland. "I hate and fear snakes, be- 
 cause if you look into the eyes of any snake 
 you will see that it knows all and more of 
 man's fall, and that it feels all the contempt 
 that the devil felt when Adam was evicted 
 from Eden. Besides which its bite is gener- 
 ally fatal, and it bursts up trouser legs." 
 
 "You ought to get your thatch overhauled," 
 I said. "Give me a masheer rod, and we'll 
 poke 'em down." 
 
 "They'll hide among the roof beams," said 
 
68 THE RECRUDESCENCE 
 
 Strickland. "I can't stand snakes overhead. 
 I'm going up. If I shake 'em down, stand by 
 with a cleaning rod and break their backs." 
 
 I was not anxious to assist Strickland in his 
 work, but I took the loading-rod and waited 
 in the dining-room, while Strickland brought 
 a gardener's ladder from the veranda and set 
 it against the side of the room. The snake 
 tai 1 ~ drew themselves up and disappeared. 
 We could hear the dry rushing scuttle of long 
 bodies running over the baggy cloth. Strick- 
 land took a lamp with him, while I tried to 
 make clear the danger of hunting roof snakes 
 between a ceiling cloth and a thatch, apart 
 from the deterioration of property caused by 
 ripping out ceiling-cloths. 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Strickland. "They're 
 sure to hide near the walls by the cloth. The 
 bricks are too cold for 'em, and the heat of the 
 room is just what they like." He put his hand 
 to the corner of the cloth and ripped the rotten 
 stuff from the cornice. It gave a great sound 
 of tearing, and Strickland put his head 
 through the opening into the dark angle of the 
 roof beams. I set my teeth and lifted the 
 loading-rod, for I had not the least knowledge 
 of what might descend. 
 
 "H'm," said Strickland; and his voice 
 
OF IMRAY 69 
 
 rolled and rumbled in the roof. "There's room 
 for another set of rooms up here, and, by 
 Jove! some one is occupying 'em." 
 
 "Snakes?" I said down below. 
 
 "No. It's a buffalo. Hand me up the two 
 first joints of a masheer rod, and I'll prod it. 
 It's lying on the main beam." 
 
 I handed up the rod. 
 
 "What a nest for owls and serpents! No 
 wonder the snakes live here," said Strickland, 
 climbing further into the roof. I could see his 
 elbow thrusting with the rod. "Come out of 
 that, whoever you are! Look out! Heads be- 
 low there! It's tottering." 
 
 I saw the ceiling-cloth nearly in the centre 
 of the room bag with a shape that was press- 
 ing it downward and downward toward the 
 lighted lamps on the table. I snatched a lamp 
 out of danger and stood back. Then the cloth 
 ripped out from the walls, tore, split, swayed 
 and shot down upon the table something that 
 I dared not look at till Strickland had slid 
 down the ladder and was standing by my side. 
 
 He did not say much, being a man of few 
 words, but he picked up the loose end of the 
 tablecloth and threw it over the thing on the 
 table. 
 
 "It strikes me," said he, pulling down the 
 
70 THE RECRUDESCENCE 
 
 lamp, "our friend Imray has come back. Oh! 
 you would, would you?" 
 
 There was a movement under the cloth, and 
 a little snake wriggled out, to be back-broken 
 by the butt of the masheer rod. I was suffi- 
 ciently sick to make no remarks worth record- 
 ing. 
 
 Strickland meditated and helped himself to 
 drinks liberally. The thing under the cloth 
 made no more signs of life. 
 
 "Is it Imray?" I said. 
 
 Strickland turned back the cloth for a mo- 
 ment and looked. "It is Imray," he said, "and 
 his throat is cut from ear to ear." 
 
 Then we spoke both together and to our- 
 selves: "That's why he whispered about the 
 house." 
 
 Tietjens, in the garden, began to bay furi- 
 ously. A little later her great nose heaved 
 upon the dining-room door. 
 
 She sniffed and was still. The broken and 
 tattered ceiling-cloth hung down almost to the 
 level of the table, and there was hardly room 
 to move away from the discovery. 
 
 Then Tietjens came in and sat down, her 
 teeth bared, and her forepaws planted. She 
 looked at Strickland. 
 
 "It's bad business, old lady," said he. "Men 
 
OF IMRAY 71 
 
 don't go up into the roofs of their bungalows 
 to die, and they don't fasten up the ceiling- 
 cloth behind 'em. Let's think it out." 
 
 "Let's think it out somewhere else," I said. 
 
 "Excellent idea! Turn the lamps out. We'll 
 get into my room." 
 
 I did not turn the lamps out. I went into 
 Strickland's room first and allowed him to 
 make the darkness. Then he followed me, 
 and we lighted tobacco and thought. Strick- 
 land did the thinking. I smoked furiously be- 
 cause I was afraid. 
 
 "Imray is back," said Strickland. "The 
 question is, who killed Imray? Don't talk — 
 I have a notion of my own. When I took this 
 bungalow I took most of Imray's servants. 
 Imray was guileless and inoffensive, wasn't 
 he?" 
 
 I agreed, though the heap under the cloth 
 looked neither one thing nor the other, 
 
 "If I call the servants they will stand fast 
 in a crowd and lie like Aryans. What do you 
 suggest?" 
 
 "Call 'em in one by one," I said. 
 
 "They'll run away and give the news to all 
 their fellows," said Strickland. 
 
 "We must segregate 'em. Do you suppose 
 your servant knows anything about it?" 
 
J2 THE RECRUDESCENCE 
 
 "He may, for aught I know, but I don't 
 think it's likely. He has only been here two 
 or three days." 
 
 "What's your notion?" I asked. 
 
 "I can't quite tell. How the dickens did the 
 man get the wrong side of the ceiling-cloth?" 
 
 There was a heavy coughing outside Strick- 
 land's bedroom door. This showed that Ba- 
 hadur Khan, his body-servant, had waked 
 from sleep and wished to put Strickland to 
 bed. 
 
 "Come in," said Strickland. "It is a very 
 warm night, isn't it ?" 
 
 Bahadur Khan, a great, green-turbaned, 
 six-foot Mohammedan, said that it was a 
 very warm night, but that there was more rain 
 pending, which, by his honor's favor, would 
 bring relief to the country. 
 
 "It will be so, if God pleases," said Strick- 
 land, tugging off his boots. "It is in my 
 mind, Bahadur Kahn, that I have worked 
 thee remorselessly for many days — ever since 
 that time when thou first earnest into my ser- 
 vice. What time was that?" 
 
 "Has the heaven-born forgotten? It was 
 when Imray Sahib went secretly to Europe 
 without warning given, and I — even I — came 
 into the honored service of the protector of 
 the poor." 
 
OF IMRAY 73 
 
 "And Imray Sahib went to Europe ?" 
 
 "It is so said among the servants." 
 
 "And thou wilt take service with him when 
 he returns?" 
 
 "Assuredly, sahib. He was a good master 
 and cherished his dependents." 
 
 "That is true. I am very tired, but I can 
 go buck-shooting to-morrow. Give me the 
 little rifle that I use for black buck ; it is in the 
 case yonder." 
 
 The man stooped over the case, handed bar- 
 rels, stock, and fore-end to Strickland, who 
 fitted them together. Yawning dolefully, 
 then he reached down to the gun-case, took a 
 solid drawn cartridge, and slipped it into the 
 breech of the .360 express. 
 
 "And Imray Sahib has gone to Europe se- 
 cretly? That is very strange, Bahadur Khan, 
 is it not?" 
 
 "What do I know of the ways of the white 
 man, heaven-born?" 
 
 "Very little, truly. But thou shalt know 
 more. It has reached me that Imray Sahib 
 has returned from his so long journeyings, and 
 that even now he lies in the next room, wait- 
 ing his servant." 
 
 "Sahib!" 
 
 The lamp-light slid along the barrels of the 
 
74 THE RECRUDESCENCE 
 
 rifle as they leveled themselves against Baha- 
 dur Khan's broad breast. 
 
 "Go, then, and look!" said Strickland. 
 "Take a lamp. Thy master is tired, and he 
 waits. Go !" 
 
 The man picked up a lamp and went into 
 the dining-room, Strickland following, and 
 almost pushing him with the muzzle of the 
 rifle. He looked for a moment at the black 
 depths behind the ceiling-cloth, at the carcass 
 of the mangled snake under foot, and last, a 
 grey glaze setting on his face, at the thing un- 
 der the table-cloth. 
 
 "Hast thou seen?" said Strickland, after 
 a pause. 
 
 "I have seen. I am clay in the white man's 
 hands. What does the presence do ?" 
 
 "Hang thee within a month! What else?" 
 
 "For killing him? Nay, sahib, consider. 
 Walking among us, his servants, he cast his 
 eyes upon my child, who was four years old. 
 Him he bewitched, and in ten days he died of 
 the fever. My child !" 
 
 "What said Imray Sahib?" 
 
 "He said he was a handsome child, and 
 patted him on the head; wherefore my child 
 died. Wherefore I killed Imray Sahib in the 
 twilight, when he came back from office and 
 
OF IMRAY 75 
 
 was sleeping. The heaven-born knows all 
 things. I am the servant of the heaven-born." 
 
 Strickland looked at me above the rifle, and 
 said, in the vernacular: "Thou art witness to 
 this saying. He has killed." 
 
 Bahadur Khan stood ashen grey in the light 
 of the one lamp. The need for justification 
 came upon him very swiftly. 
 
 "I am trapped," he said, "but the offence 
 was that man's. He cast an evil eye upon my 
 child, and I killed and hid him. Only such 
 as are served by devils," he glared at Tiet- 
 jens, crouched stolidly before him, "only such 
 could know what I did." 
 
 "It was clever. But thou shouldst have 
 lashed him to a beam with a rope. Now, thou 
 thyself wilt hang by a rope. Orderly!" 
 
 A drowsy policeman answered Strickland's 
 call. He was followed by another, and Tiet- 
 jens sat still. 
 
 "Take him to the station," said Strickland. 
 "There is a case toward." 
 
 "Do I hang, then?" said Bahadur Khan, 
 making no attempt to escape and keeping his 
 eyes on the ground. 
 
 "If the sun shines, or the water runs, thou 
 wilt hang," said Strickland. Bahadur Kahn 
 stepped back one pace, quivered, and stood 
 
y6 THE RECRUDESCENCE 
 
 still. The two policemen waited further or* 
 ders. 
 
 "Go!" said Strickland. 
 
 "Nay; but I go very swiftly," said Baha- 
 dur Khan. "Look! I am even now a dead 
 man." 
 
 He lifted his foot, and to the little toe there 
 clung the head of the half-killed snake, firm 
 fixed in the agony of death. 
 
 "I come of land-holding stock," said Ba- 
 hadur Khan, rocking where he stood. "It 
 were a disgrace for me to go to the public 
 scaffold, therefore I take this way. Be it re- 
 membered that the sahib's shirts are correctly 
 enumerated, and that there is an extra piece 
 of soap in his wash-basin. My child was be- 
 witched, and I slew the wizard. Why should 
 you seek to slay me? My honor is saved, 
 and — and — I die." 
 
 At the end of an hour he died as they die 
 who are bitten by the little kariat, and the 
 policemen bore him and the thing under the 
 table-cloth to their appointed places. They 
 were needed to make clear the disappearance 
 of Imray. 
 
 "This," said Strickland, very calmly, as he 
 climbed into bed, "is called the nineteenth cen- 
 tury. Did you hear what that man said?" 
 
OF IMRAY 77 
 
 "I heard," I answered. "Imray made a mis- 
 take." 
 
 "Simply and solely through not knowing the 
 nature and the coincidence of a little seasonal 
 fever. Bahadur Khan has been with him for 
 four years." 
 
 I shudderd. My own servant had been with 
 me for exactly that length of time. When I 
 went over to my own room I found him wait- 
 ing, impassive as the copper head on a penny, 
 to pull off my boots. 
 
 "What has befallen Bahadur Khan?" said I. 
 
 "He was bitten by a snake and died; the 
 rest the sahib knows," was the answer. 
 
 "And how much of the matter hast thou 
 known ?" 
 
 "As much as might be gathered from one 
 coming in the twilight to seek satisfaction. 
 Gently, sahib. Let me pull off those boots." 
 
 I had just settled to the sleep of exhaustion 
 when I heard Strickland shouting from his 
 side of the house : 
 
 "Tietjens has come back to her room!" 
 
 And so she had. The great deerhound was 
 couched on her own bedstead, on her own 
 blanket, and in the next room the idle, empty 
 ceiling-cloth wagged light-heartedly as it 
 flailed on the table. 
 
MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 
 
 ONCE upon a time there was a coffee- 
 planter in India who wished to clear 
 some forest land for coffee-planting. When 
 he had cut down all the trees and burned the 
 underwood, the stumps still remained. Dyna- 
 mite is expensive and slow fire slow. 
 The haj py medium for stump-clearing is the 
 lord of all beasts, who is the elephant. He 
 will either push the stump out of the ground 
 with his tusks, if he has any, or drag it out 
 with ropes. The planter, therefore, hired 
 elephants by ones and twos and threes, and 
 fell to work. The very best of all the ele- 
 phants belonged to the very worst of all the 
 drivers or mahouts; and this superior beast's 
 name was Moti Guj. He was the absolute 
 property of his mahout, which would never 
 have been the case under native rule ; for Moti 
 Guj was a creature to be desired by kings, and 
 his name, being translated, meant the Pearl 
 Elephant. Because the British government 
 was in the land, Deesa, the mahout, enjoyed 
 his property undisturbed. He was dissipated. 
 81 
 
82 MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 
 
 When he had made much money through the 
 strength of his elephant, he would get extreme- 
 ly drunk and give Moti Guj a beating with 
 a tent-peg over the tender nails of the fore- 
 feet. Moti Guj never trampled the life out of 
 Deesa on these occasions, for he knew that 
 after the beating was over, Deesa would em- 
 brace his trunk and weep and call him his love 
 and his life and the liver of his soul, and give 
 him some liquor. Moti Guj was very fond of 
 liquor — arrack for choice, though 'ie would 
 drink palm-tree toddy if nothing better of- 
 fered. Then Deesa would go to sleep between 
 Moti Guj's forefeet, and as Deesa generally 
 chose the middle of the public road, and as 
 Moti Guj mounted guard over him, and would 
 not permit horse, foot, or cart to pass by, traf- 
 fic was congested till Deesa saw fit to wake 
 up. 
 
 There was no sleeping in the daytime on 
 the planter's clearing : the wages were too high 
 to risk. Deesa sat on Moti Guj's neck and 
 gave him orders, while Moti Guj rooted up the 
 stumps — for he owned a magnificent pair of 
 tusks; or pulled at the end of a rope — for he 
 had a magnificent pair of shoulders — while 
 Deesa kicked him behind the ears and said he 
 was the king of elephants. At evening time 
 
MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 83 
 
 Moti Guj would wash down his three hundred 
 pounds' weight of green food with a quart of 
 arrack, and Deesa would take a share, and sing 
 songs between Moti Guj's legs till it was time 
 to go to bed. Once a week Deesa led Moti 
 Guj down to the river, and Moti Guj lay on 
 his side luxuriously in the shallows, while 
 Deesa went over him with a coir swab and 
 a brick. Moti Guj never mistook the pound- 
 ing blow of the latter for the smack of the 
 former that warned him to get up and turn 
 over on the other side. Then Deesa would 
 look at his feet and examine his eyes, and turn 
 up the fringes of his mighty ears in case of 
 sores or budding ophthalmia. After inspec- 
 tion the two would "come up with a song from 
 the sea," Moti Guj, all black and shining, wav- 
 ing a torn tree branch twelve feet long in his 
 trunk, and Deesa knotting up his own long 
 wet hair. 
 
 It was a peaceful, well-paid life till Deesa 
 felt the return of the desire to drink deep. He 
 wished for an orgy. The little draughts that 
 led nowhere were taking the manhood out of 
 him. 
 
 He went to the planter, and "My mother's 
 dead," said he, weeping. 
 
 "She died on the last plantation, two months 
 
84 MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 
 
 ago, and she died once before that when you 
 were working for me last year," said the plant- 
 er, who knew something of the ways of native- 
 dom. 
 
 "Then it's my aunt, and she was just the 
 same as a mother to me," said Deesa, weeping 
 more than ever. "She has left eighteen small 
 children entirely without bread, and it is I who 
 must fill their little stomachs," said Deesa, 
 beating his head on the floor. 
 
 "Who brought you the news?" said the 
 planter. 
 
 "The post," said Deesa. 
 
 "There hasn't been a post here for the past 
 week. Get back to your lines!" 
 
 "A devastating sickness has fallen on my 
 village, and all my wives are dying," yelled 
 Deesa, really in tears this time. 
 
 "Call Chihun, who comes from Deesa's vil- 
 lage," said the planter. "Chihun, has this 
 man got a wife?" 
 
 "He?" said Chihun. "No. Not a woman 
 of our village would look at him. They'd 
 sooner marry the elephant." 
 
 Chihun snorted. Deesa wept and bellowed. 
 
 "You will get into a difficulty in a minute," 
 said the planter. "Go back to your work!" 
 
 "Now I will speak Heaven's truth," gulped 
 
MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 85 
 
 Deesa, with an inspiration. "I haven't been 
 drunk for two months. I desire to depart in 
 order to get properly drunk afar off and dis- 
 tant from this heavenly plantation. Thus I 
 shall cause no trouble." 
 
 A flickering smile crossed the planter's face. 
 "Deesa," said he, "you have spoken the truth, 
 and I'd give you leave on the spot if anything 
 could be done with Moti Guj while you're 
 away. You know that he will only obey your 
 orders." 
 
 "May the light of the heavens live forty 
 thousand years. I shall be absent but ten 
 little days. After that, upon my faith and 
 honor and soul, I retui n. As to the inconsider- 
 able interval, have I the gracious permission 
 of the heaven-born to call up Moti Guj ?" 
 
 Permision was granted, and in answer to 
 Deesa's shrill yell, the mighty tusker swung 
 out of the shade of a clump of trees where he 
 had been squirting dust over himself till his 
 master should return. 
 
 "Light of my heart, protector of the drunk- 
 en, mountain of might, give ear!" said Deesa, 
 standing in front of him. 
 
 Moti Guj gave ear, and saluted with his 
 trunk. "I am going away," said Deesa. 
 
 Moti Guj's eyes twinkled. He liked jaunts 
 
86 MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 
 
 as well as his master. One could snatch all 
 manner of nice things from the roadside then. 
 
 "But you, you fussy old pig, must stay be- 
 hind and work." 
 
 The twinkle died out as Moti Guj tried to 
 look delighted. He hated stump-hauling on 
 the plantation. It hurt his teeth. 
 
 "I shall be gone for ten days, oh. delectable 
 one! Hold up your near forefeet and I'll im- 
 press the fact upon it, warty toad of a dried 
 mud-puddle." Deesa took a tent-peg and 
 banged Moti Guj ten times on the nails. Moti 
 Guj grunted and shuffled from foot to foot. 
 
 "Ten days," said Deesa, "you will work and 
 haul and root the trees as Chihum here shall 
 order you. Take up Chihun and set him on 
 your neck!" Moti Guj curled the tip of his 
 trunk, Chihun put his foot there, and was 
 swung on to the neck. Deesa handed Chihun 
 the heavy ankus — the iron elephant goad. 
 
 Chihun thumped Moti Guj's bald head as a 
 paver thumps a curbstone. 
 
 Moti Guj trumpeted. 
 
 "Be still, hog of the backwoods! Chihun's 
 your mahout for ten days. And now bid me 
 good-bye, beast after mine own heart. Oh, 
 mv lord, my king! Jewel of all created ele- 
 phants, lily of the herd, preserve your honored 
 health; be virtuous. Adieu J" 
 
MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 87 
 
 Moti Guj lapped his trunk round Deesa and 
 swung him into the air twice. That was his 
 way of bidding him good-bye. 
 
 "He'll work now," said Deesa to the planter. 
 "Have I leave to go?" 
 
 The planter nodded, and Deesa dived into 
 the woods. Moti Guj went back to haul 
 stumps. 
 
 Chihun was very kind to him, but he felt 
 unhappy and forlorn for all that. Chihun 
 gave him a ball of spices, and tickled him un- 
 der the chin, and Chihun's" little baby cooed to 
 him after the work was over, and Chihun's 
 wife called him a darling; but Moti Guj was a 
 bachelor by instinct, as Deesa was. He did 
 not understand the domestic emotions. He 
 wanted the light of his universe back again — 
 the drink and the drunken slumber, the savage 
 beatings and the savage caresses. 
 
 None the less he worked well, and the plant- 
 er wondered. Deesa had wandered along the 
 roads till he met a marriage procession of his 
 own caste, and, drinking, dancing, and tippling, 
 had drifted with it past all knowledge of the 
 lapse of time. 
 
 The morning of the eleventh day dawned, 
 and there returned no Deesa. Moti Guj was 
 loosened from his ropes for the daily stint. He 
 
88 MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 
 
 swung clear, looked round, shrugged his 
 shoulders, and began to walk away, as one 
 hr.ving business elesewhere. 
 
 "Hi! ho! Come back you!" shouted Chi- 
 hun. "Come back and put me on your neck, 
 misborn mountain! Return, splendor of the 
 hillsides! Adornment of all India, heave to, 
 or I'll bang every toe off your fat forefoot!" 
 
 Moti Guj gurgled gently, but did not obey. 
 Chihun ran after him with a rope and caught 
 him up. Moti Guj put his ears forward, and 
 Chihun knew what that meant, though he tried 
 to carry it off with high words. 
 
 "None of your nonsense with me," said he. 
 "To your pickets, devil-son!" 
 
 "Hrrump!" said Moti Guj, and that was all 
 — that and the forebent ears. 
 
 Moti Guj put his hands in his pockets, chew- 
 ed a branch for a toothpick, and strolled about 
 the clearing, making fun of the other elephants 
 who had just set to work. 
 
 Chihun reported the state of affairs to the 
 planter, who came out with a dog-whip and 
 cracked it furiously. Moti Guj paid the white 
 man the compliment of charging him nearly a 
 quarter of a mile across the clearing and 
 "Hrrumphing" him into his veranda. Then 
 he sto^d outside the house, chuckling to him- 
 
MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 89 
 
 self, and shaking all over with the fun of it, as 
 an elephant will. 
 
 "We'll thrash him," said the planter. "He 
 shall have the finest thrashing ever elephant re- 
 ceived. Give Kala Nag and Nazim twelve 
 foot of chain apiece, and tell them to lay on 
 twenty." 
 
 Kala Nag — which means Black Snake — and 
 Nazim were two of the biggest elephants in 
 the lines, and one of their duties was to admin- 
 ister the graver punishment, since no man can 
 beat an elephant properly. 
 
 They took the whipping-chains and rattled 
 them in their trunks as they sidled up to Moti 
 Guj, meaning to hustle him between them. 
 Moti Guj had never, in all his life of thirty- 
 nine years, been whipped, and he did not intend 
 to begin a new experience. So he waited, waiv- 
 ing his head from right to left and measuring 
 the precise spot in Kala Nag's fat side 
 where a blunt tusk could sink deepest. Kala 
 Nag had no tusks ; the chain was the badge of 
 his authority; but for all that, he swung wide 
 of Moti Guj at the last minute, and tried to 
 appear as if he had brought the chain out for 
 amusement. Nazim turned round and went 
 home early. He did not feel fighting fit that 
 morning, and so Moti Guj was left standing 
 alone with his ears cocked. 
 
90 MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 
 
 That decided the planter to argue no more, 
 and Moti Guj rolled back to his amateur in- 
 spection of the clearing. An elephant who 
 will not work and is not tied up is about as 
 manageable as an eighty-one-ton gun loose in 
 a heavy seaway. He slapped old friends on 
 the back and asked them if the stumps were 
 coming away easily; he talked nonsense con- 
 cerning labor and the inalienable rights of 
 elephants to a long "nooning" ; and, wander- 
 ing to and fro, he thoroughly demoralized the 
 garden till sundown, when he returned to his 
 picket for food. 
 
 "If you won't work you shan't eat," said 
 Chihun, angrily. "You're a wild elephant, 
 and no educated animal at all. Go back to 
 your jungle." 
 
 Chihun's little brown baby was rolling on 
 the floor of the hut, and stretching out its fat 
 arms to the huge shadow in the doorway. Moti 
 Guj knew well that it was the dearest thing on 
 earth to Chihun. He swung out his trunk 
 with a fascinating crook at the end, and the 
 brown baby threw itself, shouting, upon it. 
 Moti Guj made fast and pulled up till the 
 brown baby was crowing in the air twelve feet 
 above his father's head. 
 
 "Great Lord!" said Chihun. "Flour cakes 
 
MOTI GU J— MUTINEER 91 
 
 of the best, twelve in number, two feet across 
 and soaked in rum, shall be yours on the in- 
 stant, and two hundred pounds weight of 
 fresh-cut young sugar-cane therewith. Deign 
 only to put down safely that insignificant brat 
 who is my heart and my life to me !" 
 
 Moti Guj tucked the brown baby comfort- 
 ably between his forefeet, that could have 
 knocked into toothpicks all Chihun's hut, and 
 waited for his food. He eat it, and the brown 
 baby crawled away. Moti Guj dozed and 
 thought of Deesa. One of many mysteries 
 connected with the elephant is that his huge 
 body needs less sleep than anything else that 
 lives. Four or five hours in the night suffice 
 — two just before midnight, lying down on 
 one side; two just after one o'clock, lying 
 down on the other. The rest of the silent 
 hours are filled with eating and fidgeting, and 
 long grumbling soliloquies. 
 
 At midnight, therefore, Moti Guj strode 
 out of his pickets, for a thought had come to 
 him that Deesa might be lying drunk some- 
 where in the dark forest with none to look 
 after him.' So all that night he chased 
 through the undergrowth, blowing and trum- 
 peting and shaking his ears. He went down 
 to the river and blared across the shallows 
 
92 MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 
 
 where Dessa used to wash him, but there was 
 no answer. He could not find Deesa, but he 
 disturbed all the other elephants in the lines, 
 and nearly frightened to death some gypsies in 
 the woods. 
 
 At dawn Deesa returned to the plantation. 
 He had been very drunk indeed, and he ex- 
 pected to get into trouble for outstaying his 
 leave. He drew a long breath when he saw 
 that the bungalow and the plantation were 
 still uninjured, for he knew something of Moti 
 Guj's temper, and reported himself with many 
 lies and salaams. Moti Guj had gone to his 
 pickets for breakfast. The night exercise had 
 made him hungry. 
 
 "Call up your beast," said the planter; and 
 Deesa shouted in the mysterious elephant lan- 
 guage that some mahouts believe came from 
 China at the birth of the world, when ele- 
 phants and not men were masters. Moti Guj 
 heard and came. Elephants do not gallop. 
 They move from places of varying rates of 
 speed. If an elephant wished to catch an ex- 
 press train he could not gallop, but he could 
 catch the train. So Moti Guj was at the 
 planter's door almost before Chihun noticed 
 that he had left his pickets. He fell into 
 Deesa's arms trumpeting with joy, and the 
 
MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 93 
 
 man and the beast wept and slobbered over 
 each other, and handled each other from head 
 to heel to see that no harm had befallen. 
 
 "Now we will get to work," said Deesa. 
 "Lift me up, my son and my joy!" 
 
 Moti Guj swung him up, and the two went 
 to the coffee-clearing to look for difficult 
 stumps. 
 
 The planter was too astonished to be very 
 angry. 
 
THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS 
 
 WHEN three obscure gentlemen in San 
 Francisco argued on insufficient pre- 
 mises, they condemned a fellow-creature to a 
 most unpleasant death in a far country which 
 had nothing whatever to do with the United 
 States. They foregathered at the top of a 
 tenement-house in Tehama Street, an unsa- 
 vory quarter of the city, and there calling for 
 certain drinks, they conspired because they 
 were conspirators by trade, officially known as 
 the Third Three of the I. A. A. — an institution 
 for the propagation of pure light, not to be 
 confounded with any others, though it is affi- 
 liated to many. The Second Three live in 
 Montreal and work among the poor there ; the 
 First Three have their home in New York, 
 not far from Castle Garden, and write regu- 
 larly once a week to a small house near one 
 of the big hotels at Boulogne. What happens 
 after that, a particular section of Scotland 
 Yard knows too well and laughs at. A 
 conspirator detests ridicule. More men have 
 been stabbed with Lucrezia Borgia daggers 
 and dropped into the Thames for laughing at 
 
 27 
 
 ) 
 
98 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 head centres and triangles than for betraying 
 secrets; for this is human nature. 
 
 The Third Three conspired over whisky 
 cocktails and a clean sheet of note-paper 
 against the British Empire and all that lay 
 therein. This work is very like what men 
 without discernment call politics before a gen- 
 eral election. You pick out and discuss in the 
 company of congenial friends all the weak 
 points in your opponents' organization, and 
 unconsciously dwell upon and exaggerate all 
 their mishaps, till it seems to you a miracle that 
 the party holds together for an hour. 
 
 "Our principle is not so much active de- 
 monstration — that we leave to others. — as pas- 
 sive embarrassment to weaken and unnerve," 
 said the first man. "Wherever an organiza- 
 tion is crippled, wherever a confusion is 
 thrown into any branch of any department, 
 we gain a step for those who take on the 
 work; we are but the forerunners." He was 
 a German enthusiast, and editor of a news- 
 paper, from whose leading articles he quoted 
 frequently. 
 
 "That cursed empire makes so many blun- 
 ders of her own that unless we doubled the 
 year's average I guess it wouldn't strike her 
 anything special had occurred," said the sec- 
 
THE MAVERICKS 99 
 
 ond man. "Are you prepared to say that all 
 our resources are equal to blowing off the 
 muzzle of a hundred-ton gun or spiking a ten- 
 thousand-ton ship on a plain rock in clear day- 
 light? They can beat us at our own game. 
 Better join hands with the practical branches; 
 we're in funds now. Try and direct a scare 
 in a crowded street. They value their greasy 
 hides." He was the drag upon the wheel, and 
 an Americanized Irishman of the second gen- 
 eration, despising his own race and hating the 
 other. He had learned caution. 
 
 The third man drank his cocktail and spoke 
 no word. He was the strategist, but unfor- 
 tunately his knowledge of life was limited. He 
 picked a letter from his breast-pocket and 
 threw it across the table. That epistle to the 
 heathen contained some very concise direc- 
 tions from the First Three in New York. It 
 said: 
 
 "The boom in black iron has already affect- 
 ed the eastern markets, where our agents have 
 been forcing down the English-held stock 
 among the smaller buyers who watch the turn 
 of shares. Any immediate operations, such 
 as western bears, would increase their willing- 
 ness to unload. This, however, cannot be ex- 
 pected till they see clearly that foreign iron- 
 
ioo THE MUTINY OF 
 
 masters are willing to co-operate. Mulcahy 
 should be dispatched to feel the pulse of the 
 market, and act accordingly. Mavericks are at 
 present the best for our purpose. — P. D. Q." 
 
 As a message referring to an iron crisis in 
 Pennsylvania it was interesting, if not lucid. 
 As a new departure in organized attack on an 
 outlying English dependency, it was more than 
 interesting. 
 
 The first man read it through, and mur- 
 mured : 
 
 "Already? Surely they are in too great a 
 hurry. All that Dhulip Singh could do in 
 India he has done, down to the distribution of 
 his photographs among the peasantry. Ho! 
 Ho! The Paris firm arranged that, and he 
 has no substantial money backing from the 
 Other Power. Even our agents in India 
 know he hasn't. What is the use of our or- 
 ganization wasting men on work that is al- 
 ready done? Of course, the Irish regiments 
 in India are half mutinous as they stand." 
 
 This shows how near a lie may come to the 
 truth. An Irish regiment, for just so long as 
 it stands still, is generally a hard handful to 
 control, being reckless and rough. When, 
 however, it is moved in the direction of mus- 
 ketry-fire, it becomes strangely and unpatriot- 
 
THE MAVERICKS 101 
 
 ically content with its lot. It has even been 
 heard to cheer the queen with enthusiasm on 
 these occasions. 
 
 But the notion of tampering with the army 
 was, from the point of view of Tehama Street, 
 an altogether sound one. There is no shadow 
 of stability in the policy of an English govern- 
 ment, and the most sacred oaths of England 
 would, even if embossed on vellum, find very 
 few buyers among colonies and dependencies 
 that have suffered from vain beliefs. But 
 there remains to England always her army. 
 That cannot change, except in the matter of 
 uniform and equipment. The officers may 
 write to the papers demanding the heads of the 
 Horse Guards in default of cleaner redress for 
 grievances ; the men may break loose across a 
 country town, and seriously startle the pub- 
 licans, but neither officers nor men have it in 
 their composition to mutiny after the Contin- 
 ental manner. The English people, when 
 they trouble to think about the army at all, are, 
 and with justice, absolutely assured that it is 
 absolutely trustworthy. Imagine for a mo- 
 ment their emotions on realizing that such and 
 such a regiment was in open revolt from 
 causes directly due to England's management 
 of Ireland. They would probably send the 
 
102 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 regiment to the polls forthwith, and examine 
 their own consciences as to their duty to Erin, 
 but they would never be easy any more. And 
 it was this vague, unhappy mistrust that the 
 I. A. A. was laboring to produce. 
 
 "Sheer waste of breath," said the second. 
 man, after a pause in the council. "I don't 
 see the use of tampering with their fool-army, 
 but it has been tried before, and we must try 
 it again. It looks well in the reports. If we 
 send one man from here, you may bet your 
 life that other men are going too. Order up 
 Mulcahy." 
 
 They ordered him up — a slim, slight, dark- 
 haired young man, devoured with that blind, 
 rancorous hatred of England that only reaches 
 its full growth across the Atlantic. He had 
 sucked it from his mother's breast in the little 
 cabin at the back of the northern avenues of 
 New York; he had been taught his rights and 
 his wrongs, in German and Irish, on the canal 
 fronts of Chicago; and San Francisco held 
 men who told him strange and awful things 
 of the great blind power over the seas. Once, 
 when business took him across the Atlantic, 
 he had served in an English regiment, and 
 being insubordinate, had suffered extremely. 
 He drew all his ideas of England that were 
 
THE MAVERICKS 103 
 
 not bred by the cheaper patriotic print, from 
 one iron-fisted colonel and an unbending ad- 
 jutant. He would go to the mines if need 
 be to teach his gospel. And he went as his in- 
 structions advised p. d. q. — which means "with 
 speed" — to introduce embarrassment into an 
 Irish regiment, "already half mutinous, quar- 
 tered among Sikh peasantry, all wearing min- 
 iatures of His Highness Dhulip Singh, Ma- 
 haraja of the Punjab, next their hearts, and 
 all eagerly expecting his arrival." Other in- 
 formation equally valuable was given him by 
 his masters. He was to be cautious, but never 
 to grudge expense in winning the hearts of the 
 men in the regiment. His mother in New 
 York would supply funds, and he was to write 
 to her once a month. Life is pleasant for a 
 man who has a mother in New York to send 
 him £200 a year over and above his regimental 
 pay. 
 
 In process of time, thanks to his intimate 
 knowledge of drill and musketry exercise, the 
 excellent Mulcahy, wearing the corporal's 
 stripe, went out in a troop-ship and joined 
 Her Majesty's Royal Loyal Musketeers, com- 
 monly known as the "Mavericks," because 
 they were masterless and unbranded cattle — 
 sons of small farmers in County Clare, shoe- 
 
104 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 less vagabonds of Kerry, herders of Ballyve- 
 gan, much wanted "moonlighters" from the 
 bare rainy headlands of the south coast, offi- 
 cered by O'Mores, Bradys, Hills, Kilreas, and 
 the like. Never, to outward seeming, was 
 there more promising material to work on. The 
 First Three had chosen their regiment well. 
 It feared nothing that moved or talked save 
 the colonel and the regimental Roman Catholic 
 chaplain, the fat Father Dennis, who held the 
 keys of heaven and hell, and glared like an 
 angry bull when he desired to be convincing. 
 Him also it loved because on occasions of 
 stress he was wont to tuck up his cassock and 
 charge with the rest into the merriest of the 
 fray, where he always found, good man, that 
 the saints sent him a revolver when there was 
 a fallen private to be protected or — but this 
 came as an after-thought — his own grey head 
 to be guarded. 
 
 Cautiously as he had been instructed, ten- 
 derly and with much beer, Mulcahy opened 
 his projects to such as he deemed fittest to list- 
 en. And these were, one and all, of that 
 quaint, crooked, sweet, profoundly irrespon- 
 sible, and profoundly lovable race that fight 
 like fiends, argue like children, reason like 
 women, obey like men, and jest like their own 
 
THE MAVERICKS 105 
 
 goblins of the wrath through rebellion, loyalty, 
 want, woe, or war. The underground work 
 of a conspiracy is always dull, and very much 
 the same the world over. At the end of six 
 months — the seed always falling on good 
 ground — Mulcahy spoke almost explicitly, 
 hinting darkly in the approved fashion at 
 dread powers behind him, and advising noth- 
 ing more nor less than mutiny. Were they 
 not dogs, evily treated? had they not all their 
 own and the natural revenges to satisfy? Who 
 in these days could do aught to nine hundred 
 men in rebellion? who, again, could stay them 
 if they broke for the sea, licking up on their 
 way other regiments only too anxious to join? 
 And afterward . . . here followed windy 
 promises of gold and preferment, office and 
 honor, ever dear to a certain type of Irish- 
 man. 
 
 As he finished his speech, in the dusk of a 
 twilight, to his chosen associates, there was a 
 sound of a rapidly unslung belt behind him. 
 The arm of one Dan Grady flew out in the 
 gloom and arrested something. Then said 
 Dan: 
 
 "Mulcahy, you're a great man, an' you do 
 credit to whoever sent you. Walk about a 
 bit while we think of it." Mulcahy departed 
 elated. He knew his words would sink deep. 
 
106 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 "Why the triple-dashed asterisks did ye not 
 let me curl the tripes out of him?" grunted a 
 voice. 
 
 "Because I'm not a fat-headed fool. Boys, 
 'tis what he's been driving at these six months 
 • — our superior corpril, with his education, and 
 his copies of the Irish papers, and his everlast- 
 ing beer. He's been sent for the purpose, and 
 that's where the money comes from. Can 
 ye not see? That man's a gold-mine, which 
 Horse Egan here would have destroyed with 
 a belt-buckle. It would be throwing away the 
 gifts of Providence not to fall in with his little 
 plans. Of course we'll mutiny till all's dry. 
 Shoot the colonel on the parade-ground, mas- 
 sacre the company officers, ransack the arsenal, 
 and then — boys, did he tell you what next? 
 He told me the other night, when he was 
 beginning to talk wild. Then we're to join 
 with the niggers, and look for help from Dhu- 
 'ip Singh and the Russians !" 
 
 "And spoil the best campaign that ever was 
 this side of hell! Danny, I'd have lost the 
 beer to ha' given him the belting he requires." 
 
 "Oh, let him go this awhile, man! He's 
 got no — no constructiveness ; but that's the 
 egg-meat of his plan, and you must under- 
 stand that I'm in with it, an' so are you. We'll 
 
THE MAVERICKS 107 
 
 want oceans of beer to convince us — firma- 
 ments full We'll give him talk for his money, 
 and one by one all the boys '11 come in, and 
 he'll have a nest of nine hundred mutineers to 
 squat in an' give drink to." 
 
 "What makes me killing mad is his wanting 
 us to do what the niggers did thirty years gone. 
 That an' his pig's cheek in saying that other 
 regiments would come along," said a Kerry 
 man. 
 
 'That's not so bad as hintin' we should 
 loose off at the colonel." 
 
 "Colonel be sugared! I'd as soon as not put 
 a shot through his helmet, to see him jump 
 and clutch his old horse's head. But Mulcahy 
 talks o' shootin' our comp'ny orf'cers accident- 
 al." 
 
 "He said that, did he?" said Horse Egan. 
 
 "Somethin' like that, anyways. Can't ye 
 fancy ould Barber Brady with a bullet in his 
 lungs, coughin' like a sick monkey an' savin' : 
 'Bhoys, I do not mind your gettin' dhrunk, but 
 you must hould your liquor like men. The 
 man that shot me is dhrunk. I'll suspend in- 
 vestigations for six hours, while I get this bul- 
 let cut out, and then* " — 
 
 "An' then," continued Horse Egan, for the 
 peppery major's peculiarities of speech and 
 
108 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 manner were as well known as his tanned face 
 — "an' then, ye dissolute, half-baked, putty- 
 faced scum o' Connemara, if I find a man so 
 much as lookin' confused, bedad I'll coort- 
 martial the whole company. A man that 
 can't get over his liquor in six hours is not fit 
 to belong to the Mavericks!" 
 
 A shout of laughter bore witness to the 
 truth of the sketch. 
 
 "It's pretty to think of," said the Kerry man 
 slowly. "Mulcahy would have us do all the 
 devilment, and get clear himself, someways. 
 He wudn't be takin' all this fool's throuble in 
 shpoilin' the reputation of the regiment." 
 
 "Reputation of your grandmother's pig!" 
 said Dan. 
 
 "Well, an' he had a good reputation too ; so 
 it's all right. Mulcahy must see his way clear 
 out behind him, or he'd not ha' come so far, 
 talkin' powers of darkness." 
 
 "Did you hear anything of a regimental 
 courtmartial among the Black Boneens, these 
 days? Half a company of 'em took one of 
 the new draft an' hanged him by his arms with 
 a tent-rope from a third-story veranda. They 
 gave no reason for so doin', but he was half 
 dead. I'm thinking that the Boneens are 
 short-sighted. It was a friend of Mulcahy's 
 
THE MAVERICKS 109 
 
 or a man in the same trade. They'd a deal 
 better ha' taken his beer/' returned Dan, re- 
 flectively. 
 
 "Better still ha' handed him up to the colo- 
 nel," said Horse Egan, "onless — But sure the 
 news wud be all over the counthry an' give 
 the regiment a bad name." 
 
 "An' there'd be no reward for that man — 
 but he went about talkin'," said the Kerry 
 man, artlessly. 
 
 "You speak by your breed," said Dan, with 
 a laugh. "There was never a Kerry man yet 
 that wudn't sell his brother for a pipe o' to- 
 bacco an' a pat on the back from a policeman.' 1 " 
 
 "Thank God I'm not a bloomin' Orange- 
 man," was the answer. 
 
 "No, nor never will be," said Dan. "They 
 breed men in Ulster. Would you like to thry 
 the taste of one?" 
 
 The Kerry man looked and longed, but for- 
 bore. The odds of the battle were too great. 
 
 "Then you'll not even give Mulcahy a — a 
 strike for his money," said the voice of Horse 
 Egan, who regarded what he called "trouble" 
 of any kind as the pinnacle of felicity. 
 
 Dan answered not at all, but crept on tiptoe, 
 with large strides, to the mess-room, the men 
 following. The room was empty. In a 
 
no THE MUTINY OF 
 
 corner, cased like the King of Dahomey's state 
 umbrella, stood the regimental colors. Dan 
 lifted them tenderly, and unrolled in the light 
 of the candles the record of the Mavericks — ■ 
 tattered, worn, and hacked. The white satin 
 was darkened everywhere with big brown 
 stains, the gold threads on the crowned harp 
 were frayed and discolored, and the red bull, 
 the totem of the Mavericks, was coffee-hued. 
 The stiff, embroidered folds, whose price is 
 human life, rustled down slowly. The Mave- 
 ricks keep their colors long and guard them 
 very sacredly. 
 
 "Vittoria, Salamanca, Toulouse, Waterloo, 
 Moodkee, Ferozshah, and Sobraon — that was 
 fought close next door here, against the very 
 beggars he wants us to join. Inkerman, the 
 Alma, Sebastopol ! What are those little busi- 
 nesses compared to the campaigns of General 
 Mulcahy? The mut'r v , think o' that; the 
 mut'ny an' some dirty little matters in Afghan- 
 istan, and for that an* these and those" — Dan 
 pointed to the names of glorious battles — 
 "that Yankee man with the partin' in his hair 
 comes and says as easy as 'have a drink' . . . 
 Holy Moses ! there's the captain !" 
 
 But it was the mess-sergeant who came in 
 just as the men clattered out, and found the 
 colors uncased. 
 
THE MAVERICKS III 
 
 From that day dated the mutiny of the 
 Mavericks, to the joy of Mulcahy and the 
 pride of his mother in New York — the good 
 lady who sent the money for the beer. Never, 
 as far as words went, was such a mutiny. The 
 conspirators, led by Dan Grady and Horse 
 Egan poured in daily. They were sound men, 
 men to be trusted, and they all wanted blood; 
 but first they must have beer. They cursed 
 the queen, they mourned over Ireland, they 
 suggested hideous plunder of the Indian 
 country-side, and then, alas! some of the 
 younger men would go forth and wallow on 
 the ground in spasms of unholy laughter. The 
 genius of the Irish for conspiracies is remark- 
 able. None the less, they would swear no 
 oaths but those of their own making, which 
 were rare and curious, and they were always 
 at pains to impress Mulcahy with the risks 
 they ran. Naturally the flood of beer wrought 
 demoralization. But Mulcahy confused the 
 causes of things, and when a pot-valiant Ma- 
 verick smote a servant on the nose or called 
 his commanding officer a bald-headed old lard- 
 Madder, and even worse names, he fancied that 
 rebellion and not liquor was at the bottom of 
 She. outbreak. Other gentlemen who have con- 
 cerned themselves in larger conspiracies have 
 made the same error. 
 
112 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 The hot season, in which they protested no 
 man could rebel, came to an end, and Mulcahy 
 suggested a visible return for his teachings. As 
 to the actual upshot of the mutiny, he cared 
 nothing. It would be enough if the English, 
 infatuatedly trusting to the integrity of their 
 army, should be startled with news of an Irish 
 regiment revolting from political considera- 
 tions. His persistent demands would have 
 ended, at Dan's instigation, in a regimental 
 belting which in all probability would have 
 killed him and cut off the supply of beer, had 
 not he been sent on special duty some fifty 
 miles away from the cantonment to cool his 
 heels in a mud fort and dismount obsolete ar- 
 tillery. Then the colonel of the Mavericks, 
 reading his newspaper diligently and scenting 
 frontier trouble from afar, posted to the army 
 headquarters and pleaded with the commander- 
 in-chief for certain privileges, to be granted 
 under certain contingencies; which contingen- 
 cies came about only a week later when the an- 
 nual little war on the border developed itself 
 and the colonel returned to carry the good 
 news to the Mavericks. He held the promise 
 of the chief for active service, and the men 
 must get ready. 
 
 On the evening of the same day, Mulcahy, 
 
THE MAVERICKS 113 
 
 an unconsidered corporal— yet great in con- 
 spiracy — returned to cantonments, and heard 
 sounds of strife and howlings from afar off. 
 The mutiny had broken out, and the barracks 
 of the Mavericks were one whitewashed pan- 
 demonium. A private tearing through the 
 barrack square gasped in his ear: "Service! 
 Active service! It's a burnin' shame." Oh, 
 joy, the Mavericks had risen on the eve of 
 battle ! They would not — noble and loyal sons 
 of Ireland! — serve the queen longer. The 
 news would flash through the country-side and 
 over to England, and he — Mulcahy — the 
 trusted of the Third Three, had brought about 
 the crash. The private stood in the middle of 
 the square and cursed colonel, regiment, offi- 
 cers, and doctor, particularly the doctor, by 
 his gods. An orderly of the native cavalry 
 regiment clattered through the mob of soldiers. 
 He was half lifted, half dragged from his 
 horse, beaten on the back with mighty hand- 
 claps till his eyes watered, and called all man- 
 ner of endearing names. Yes, the Mavericks 
 had fraternized with the native troops. Who, 
 then, was the agent among the latter that had 
 blindly wrought with Mulcahy so well? 
 
 An officer slunk, almost ran, from the mess 
 to a barrack. He was mobbed by the infuri- 
 
114 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 ated soldiery, who closed round but did not 
 kill him, for he fought his way to shelter, fly- 
 ing for his life. Mulcahy could have wept 
 with pure joy and thankfulness. The very 
 prisoners in the guard-room were shaking the 
 bars of their cells and howling like wild beasts, 
 and from every barrack poured the booming as 
 of a big war-drum. 
 
 Mulcahy hastened to his own barrack. He 
 could hardly hear himself speak. Eighty men 
 were pounding with fist and heel the tables 
 and trestles — eighty men flushed with mutiny, 
 stripped to their shirt-sleeves, their knapsacks 
 half -packed for the march to the sea, made 
 the two-inch boards thunder again as they 
 chanted to a tune that Mulcahy knew well, the 
 Sacred War Song of the Mavericks : 
 
 "Listen in the north, my boys, there's trouble on the 
 wind : 
 Tramp o' Cossack's hoofs in front, grey great-coats 
 
 behind, 
 Trouble on the frontier of a most amazin' kind, 
 Trouble on the water o' the Oxus !" 
 
 Then as a table broke under the furious ac- 
 companiment : 
 
 "Hurrah ! hurrah ! it's north by west we go ; 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! the chance we wanted so ; 
 Let 'em hear the chorus from Umballa to Moscow, 
 As we ^^ marching to the Kremlin." 
 
THE MAVERICKS 115 
 
 "Mother of all the saints in bliss and all the 
 devils in cinders, where's my fine new sock 
 widout the heel?" howled Horse Egan, ran- 
 sacking everybody's knapsack but his own. He 
 was engaged in making up deficiencies of kit 
 preparatory to a campaign, and in that em- 
 ploy, he steals best who steals last. "Ah, 
 Mulcahy, you're in good time," he shouted. 
 "We've got the route, and we're off on Thurs- 
 day for a picnic wid the Lancers next door." 
 
 An ambulance orderly appeared with a huge 
 basket full of lint rolls, provided by the fore- 
 thought of the queen, for such as might need 
 them later on. Horse Egan unrolled his ban- 
 dage and flicked it under Mulcahy's nose 
 chanting : 
 
 "'Sheep's skin air* bees'-wax, thunder, pitch and plas- 
 ter; 
 The more you try to pull it off, the more it sticks the 
 
 faster. 
 As I was goin' to New Orleans' — 
 
 You know the rest of it, my Irish-American 
 Jew boy. By gad, ye have to fight for the 
 queen in the inside av a fortnight, my darlin." 
 A roar of laughter interrupted. Mulcahy 
 looked vacantly down the room. Bid a boy 
 defy his father when the pantomime-cab is at 
 the door, or a girl develop a will of her own 
 
Il6 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 when her mother is putting- the last touches 
 to the first ball-clress, but do not ask an Irish 
 regiment to embark upon mutiny on the eve 
 of a campaign; when it has fraternized with 
 the native regiment that accompanies it, 
 and driven its officers into retirement with ten 
 thousand clamourous questions, and the pris- 
 oners dance for joy, and the sick men stand 
 in the open, calling down all known diseases 
 on the head of the doctor who has certified 
 that they are "medically unfit for active ser- 
 vice. " And even the Mavericks might have 
 been mistaken for mutineers by one so un- 
 versed in their natures as Mulcahy. At dawn 
 a girl's school might have learned deportment 
 from them. They knew that their colonel's 
 hand had closed, and that he who broke that 
 iron discipline would not go to the front. 
 Nothing in the world will persuade one of our 
 soldiers when he is ordered to the north on the 
 smallest of affairs, that he is not immediately 
 going gloriously to slay Cossacks and cook his 
 kettles in the palace of the czar. A few of the 
 younger men mourned for Mulcahy's beer, be- 
 cause the campaign was to be conducted on 
 strict temperance principles, but, as Dan and 
 Horse Egan said sternly : "We've got the beer- 
 man with us; he shall drink now on his own 
 hook. ,, 
 
THE MAVERICKS 1 17 
 
 Mulcahy had not taken into account the pos- 
 sibility of being sent on active service. He 
 had made up his mind that he would not go 
 under any circumstances; but fortune was 
 against him. 
 
 "Sick — you?" said the doctor, who had 
 served an unholy apprenticeship to his trade in 
 Tralee poorhouses. "You're only homesick, 
 and what you call varicose veins come from 
 overeating. A little gentle exercise will cure 
 that." And later: "Mulcahy, my man, every- 
 body is allowed to apply for a sick certificate 
 once. If he tries it twice, we call him by 
 an ugly name. Go back to your duty, and let's 
 hear no more of your diseases." 
 
 I am ashamed to say that Horse Egan en- 
 joyed the study of Mulcahy's soul in those 
 days, and Dan took an equal interest. To- 
 gether they would communicate to their cor- 
 poral all the dark lore of death that is the por- 
 tion of those who have seen men die. Egan 
 had the larger experience, but Dan the finer 
 imagination. Mulcahy shivered when the for- 
 mer spoke of the knife as an intimate acquaint- 
 ance, or the latter dwelt with loving particu- 
 larity on the fate of those who, wounded and 
 helpless, had been overlooked by the ambul- 
 ances, and had fallen into the hands of the 
 Afghan women- folk. 
 
n8 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 Mulcahy knew that the mutiny, for the pre- 
 sent at least, was dead. Knew, too, that a 
 change had come over Dan's usually respectful 
 attitude toward him, and Horse Egan's laugh- 
 ter and frequent allusions to abortive conspir- 
 acies emphasized all that the conspirator had 
 guessed. The horrible fascination of the 
 death-stories, however, made him seek their 
 society. He learned much more than he had 
 bargained for; and in this manner. It was 
 on the last night before the regiment entrained 
 to the front. The barracks were stripped of 
 everything movable, and the men were too ex- 
 cited to sleep. The bare walls gave out a 
 heavy hospital smell of chloride of lime — a 
 stench that depresses the soul. 
 
 "And what," said Mulcahy, in an awe- 
 stricken whisper, after some conversation on 
 the eternal subject, "are you going to do to me, 
 Dan?" This might have been the language 
 of an able conspirator conciliating a weak 
 spirit. 
 
 "You'll see," said Dan, grimly, turning over 
 in his cot, "or I rather shud say you'll not 
 see." 
 
 This was hardly the language of a weak 
 spirit. Mulcahy shook under the bedclothes. 
 
 "Be easy with him," put in Egan from the 
 
THE MAVERICKS 119 
 
 next cot. "He has got his chanst o' goin' 
 clean. Listen, Mulcahy : all we want is for the 
 good sake of the regiment that you take your 
 death standing up, as a man shud. There be 
 heaps an' heaps of enemy — splenshus heaps. 
 Go there an' do all you can and die decent. 
 You'll die with a good name there. Tis not 
 a hard thing considerin'." 
 
 Again Mulcahy shivered. 
 
 "And how could a man wish to die better 
 than nghtin'?" added Dan, consolingly. 
 
 "And if I won't?" said the corporal in a 
 dry whisper. 
 
 "There'll be a dale of smoke," returned 
 Dan, sitting up and ticking off the situation 
 on his fingers, "sure to be, an' the noise of the 
 firm' '11 be tremenjus, an' we'll be running 
 about up and down, the regiment will. But 
 we, Horse and I — we'll stay by you, Mulcahy, 
 and never let you go. Maybe there'll be an ac- 
 cident." 
 
 "It's playing it low on me. Let me go. 
 For pity's sake, let me go! I never did you 
 harm, and — and I stood you as much beer as 
 I could. Ch, don't be hard on me, Dan ! You 
 are' — you were in it, too. You won't kill me 
 up there, will you?" 
 
 "I'm not thinkin' of the treason; though 
 
120 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 you shud be glad any honest boys drank with 
 you. It's for the regiment. We can't have 
 the shame o' you bringin' shame on us. You 
 went to the doctor quiet as a sick cat to get 
 and stay behind an' live with the women at 
 the depot — you that wanted us to run to the 
 sea in wolf-packs like the rebels none of your 
 black blood dared to be! But we knew about 
 your goin' to the doctor, for he told it in mess, 
 and it's all over the regiment. Bein' as we are 
 your best friends, we didn't allow any one to 
 molest you yet. We will see to you ourselves. 
 Fight which you will — us or the enemy — 
 you'll never lie in that cot again, and there's 
 more glory and maybe less kicks from fight- 
 ing the enemy. That's fair speakin'." 
 
 "And he told us by word of mouth to go 
 and join with the niggers — you've forgotten 
 that, Dan," said Horse Egan, to justify sen- 
 tence. 
 
 "What's the use plaguin' the man? One 
 shot pays for all. Sleep ye sound, Mulcahy. 
 But you onderstand, do ye not?" 
 
 Mulcahy for some weeks understood very 
 little of anything at all save that ever at his 
 elbow, in camp, or at parade, stood two big 
 men with soft voices adjuring him to commit 
 hari kari lest a worse thing should happen — 
 
THE MAVERICKS 121 
 
 to die for the honor of the regiment in de- 
 cency among the nearest knives. But Mul- 
 cahy dreaded death. He remembered certain 
 things that priests had said in his infancy, 
 and his mother — not the one at New York — 
 starting from her sleep with shrieks to pray 
 for a husband's soul in torment. It is well 
 to be of a cultured intelligence, but in time of 
 trouble the weak human mind returns to the 
 creed it sucked in at the breast, and if that 
 creed be not a pretty one, trouble follows. 
 Also, the death he would have to face would 
 be physically painful. Most conspirators have 
 large imaginations. Mulcahy could see him- 
 self, as he lay on the earth in the night, dying 
 by various causes. They were all horrible ; the 
 mother in New York was very far away, and 
 the regiment, the engine that, once you fall in 
 its grip, moves you forward whether you will 
 or won't, was daily coming closer to the 
 enemy ! 
 
 ****** 
 
 They were brought to the field of Marzun- 
 Katai, and with the Black Boneens to aid, they 
 fought a fight that has never been set down 
 in the newspapers. In response, many be- 
 lieve, to the fervent prayers of Father Dennis, 
 the enemy not only elected to fight in the open, 
 
122 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 but made a beautiful fight, as many weeping 
 Irish mothers knew later. They gathered be- 
 hind walls or flickered across the open in 
 shouting masses, and were pot-valiant in ar- 
 tillery. It was expedient to hold a large re- 
 serve and wait for the psychological moment 
 that was being prepared by the shrieking 
 shrapnel. Therefore the Mavericks lay down 
 in open order on the brow of a hill to watch 
 the play till their call should come. Father 
 Dennis, whose place was in the rear, to 
 smoothe the trouble of the wounded, had nat- 
 urally managed to make his way to the fore- 
 most of his boys, and lay, like a black porpoise, 
 at length on the grass. To him crawled Mul- 
 cahy, ashen-grey, demanding absolution. 
 
 "Wait till you're shot," said Father Dennis, 
 sweetly. "There's a time for everything." 
 
 Dan Grady chuckled as he blew for the fif- 
 tieth time into the breech of his speckless rifle. 
 Mulcahy groaned and buried his head in his 
 arms till a stray shot spoke like a snipe im- 
 mediately above his head, and a general heave 
 and tremor rippled the line. Other shots fol- 
 lowed, and a few took effect, as a shriek or a 
 grunt attested. The officers, who had been 
 lying down with the men, rose and began to 
 walk steadily up and down the front of their 
 companies. 
 
THE MAVERICKS 123 
 
 This maneuvre, executed not for publica- 
 tion, but as a guarantee of good faith, to 
 soothe men, demands nerve. You must not 
 hurry, you must not look nervous, though you 
 know that you are a mark for every rifle 
 within extreme range; and, above all, if you 
 are smitten you must make as little noise as 
 possible and roll inward through the files. It 
 is at this hour, when the breeze brings the 
 first salt whirr* of the powder to noses rather 
 cold at the tips, and the eye can quietly take in 
 the appearance of each red casualty, that the 
 strain on the nerves is strongest. Scotch reg- 
 iments can endure for half a day, and abate 
 no whit of their zeal at the end ; English regi- 
 ments sometimes sulk under punishment, 
 while the Irish, like the French, are apt to run 
 forward by ones and twos, which is just as 
 bad as running back. The truly wise com- 
 mandment of highly strung troops allows 
 them in seasons of waiting to hear the sound 
 of their own voices uplifted in song. There is 
 a legend of an English regiment that lay by 
 its arms under fire chanting "Sam Hall," to 
 the horror of its newly appointed and pious 
 colonel. The Black Boneens, who were suf- 
 fering more than the Mavericks, on a hill half 
 
124 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 a mile away, began presently to explain to all 
 who cared to listen : 
 
 "We'll sound the jubilee, from the centre to the sea, 
 And Ireland shall be free, says the Shan-van- Voght." 
 
 "Sing, boys," said Father Dennis, softly. 
 "It looks as if we cared for their Afghan 
 peas." 
 
 Dan Grady raised himself to his knees and 
 opened his mouth in a song imparted to him, 
 as to most of his comrades, in the strictest 
 confidence by Mulcahy — that Mulcahy then 
 lying limp and fainting on the grass, the chill 
 fear of death upon him. 
 
 Company after company caught up the 
 words which, the I. A. A. say, are to herald 
 the general rising of Erin, and to breathe 
 which, except to those duly appointed to hear, 
 is death. Wherefore they are printed in this 
 place : 
 
 "The Saxon in heaven's just balance is weighed, 
 
 His doom, like Belshazzar's, in death has been cast, 
 And the hand of the 'venger shall never be stayed 
 Till his race, faith, and speech are a dream of the 
 past." 
 
 They were heart-filling lines, and they ran 
 with a swirl ; the I. A. A. are better served 
 by pens than their petards. Dan clapped Mill- 
 
THE MAVERICKS 125 
 
 cahy merrily on the back, asking him to sing 
 tip. The officers lay down again. There was 
 no need to walk any more. Their men were 
 soothing themselves thunderously, thus : 
 
 "St. Mary in heaven has written the vow- 
 That the land shall not rest till the heretic blood, 
 From the babe at the breast to the hand at the plow, 
 Has rolled to the ocean like Shannon in flood !" 
 
 "I'll speak to you after all's over," said Fa- 
 ther Dennis, authoritatively, in Dan's ear. 
 "What's the use of confessing to me when you 
 do this foolishness? Dan, you've been play- 
 ing with fire! I'll lay you more penance in a 
 week than" — 
 
 "Come along to purgatory with us, father, 
 dear. The Boneens are on the move; they'll 
 let us go now!" 
 
 The regiment rose to the blast of the bugle 
 as one man; but one man there was who rose 
 more swiftly than all the others, for half an 
 inch of bayonet was in the fleshy part of his 
 leg. 
 
 "You've got to do it," said Dan, grimly. 
 "Do it decent, anyhow;" and the roar of the 
 rush drowned his words as the rear companies 
 thrust forward the first, still singing as they 
 swung down the slope: 
 
 "From the child at the breast to the hand at the plow 
 Has rolled to the ocean like Shannon in flood!" 
 
126 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 They should have sung it in the face of 
 England, not of the Afghans, whom it im- 
 pressed as much as did the wild Irish yell. 
 
 "They came down singing," said the unoffi- 
 cial report of the enemy, borne from village to 
 village next day. "They continued to sing, 
 and it was written that our men could not 
 abide when they came. It is believed that 
 there was magic in the aforesaid song." 
 
 Dan and Horse Egan kept themselves in the 
 neighborhood of Mulcahy. Twice the man 
 would have bolted back in the confusion. 
 Twice he was heaved like a half-drowned kit- 
 ten into the unpaintable inferno of a hotly 
 contested charge. 
 
 At the end, the panic excess of his fear 
 roved him into madness beyond all human 
 courage. His eyes staring at nothing, his 
 mouth open and frothing, and breathing as 
 one in a cold bath, he went forward demented, 
 while Dan toiled after him. The charge was 
 checked at a high mud wall. It was Mulcahy 
 that scrambled up tooth and nail and heaved 
 down among the bayonets the amazed Afghan 
 who barred his way. It was Mulcahy, keeping 
 to the straight line of the rabid dog, led a col- 
 lection of ardent souls at a newly unmasked 
 battery, and flung himself on the muzzle of a 
 
THE MAVERICKS 127 
 
 gun as his companions danced among" the 
 gunners. It was Mulcahy who ran wildly 
 on from that batery into the open plain where 
 the enemy were retiring in sullen groups. His 
 hands were empty, he had lost helmet and 
 belt, and he was bleeding from a wound in the 
 neck. Dan and Horse Egan, panting and dis- 
 tressed, had thrown themselves down on the 
 ground by the captured guns, when they no- 
 ticed Mulcahy's flight. 
 
 "Mad," said Horse Egan, critically. "Mad 
 with fear! He's going straight to his death, 
 an' shouting's no use." 
 
 "Let him go. Watch now! If we fire we'll 
 hit him maybe." 
 
 The last of a hurrying crowd of Afghans 
 turned at the noise of shod feet behind him, 
 and shifted his knife ready to hand. This, he 
 saw, was no time to take prisoners. Mulcahy 
 ran on, sobbing, and the straight-held blade 
 went home through the defenceless breast, and 
 the body pitched forward almost before a sh ot 
 from Dan's rifle brought down the slayer and 
 still further hurried the Afghan retreat. The 
 two Irishmen went out to bring in their dead. 
 
 "He was given the point, and that was an 
 easy death," said Horse Egan, viewing the 
 corpse. "But would you ha* shot him, 
 Danny, if he had lived?" 
 
128 THE MUTINY OF 
 
 "He didn't live, so there's no sayin'. But I 
 doubt I wud have, bekase of the fun he gave 
 us — let alone the beer. Hike up his legs. 
 Horse, and we'll bring him in. Perhaps 'tis 
 better this way." 
 
 They bore the poor limp body to the mass of 
 the regiment, lolling open-mouthed on their 
 rifles; and there was a general snigger when 
 one of the younger subalterns said : "That was 
 a good man!" 
 
 "Phew!" said Horse Egan, when a burial 
 party had taken over the burden. "I'm pow- 
 erful dhry, and this reminds me, there'll be 
 no more beer at all." 
 
 "Fwhy not?" said Dan, with a twinkle in 
 his eye as he stretched himself for rest. "Are 
 we not conspirin' all we can, an' while we con- 
 spire are we not entitled to free dhrinks ? Sure 
 his ould mother in New York would not let 
 her son's comrades perish of drouth — if she 
 can be reached at the end of a letter." 
 
 "You're a janius," said Horse Egan. "O' 
 coorse she will not. I wish this crool war was 
 over, an' we'd get back to canteen. Faith, the 
 commander-in-chief ought to be hanged on 
 his own little sword-belt for makin' us work 
 on wather." 
 
 The Mavericks were generally of Horse 
 
THE MAVERICKS 129 
 
 Egan's opinion. So they made haste to get 
 their work done as soon as possible, and their 
 industry was rewarded by unexpected peace. 
 "We can fight the sons of Adam," said the 
 tribesmen, "but we cannot fight the sons of 
 Eblis, and this regiment never stays still in 
 one place. Let us therefore come in." They 
 came in, and "this regiment" withdrew to 
 conspire under the leadership of Dan Grady. 
 Excellent as a subordinate, Dan failed alto- 
 gether as a chief-in-command — possibly be- 
 cause he was too much swayed by the advice of 
 the only man in the regiment who could per- 
 petrate more than one kind of handwriting. 
 The same mail that bore to Mulcahy's mother 
 in New York a letter from the colonel, telling 
 her how valiantly her son had fought for the 
 queen, and how assuredly he would have been 
 recommended for the Victoria Cross had he 
 survived, carried a communication signed, I 
 grieve to say, by that same colonel and all the 
 officers of the regiment, explaining their will- 
 ingness to do "anything which is contrary to 
 the regulations and all kinds of revolutions" 
 if only a little money could be forwarded to 
 cover incidental expenses. Daniel Grady, 
 Esquire, would receive funds, vice Mulcahy, 
 who "was unwell at this present time of writ- 
 ing." 
 
i 3 o THE MUTINY OF 
 
 Both letters were forwarded from New 
 York to Tahema Street, San Francisco, with 
 marginal comments as brief as they were bit- 
 ter. The Third Three read and looked at each 
 other. Then the Second Conspirator — he who 
 believed in "joining hands with the practical 
 branches" — began to laugh, and on recovering 
 his gravity, said : "Gentlemen, I consider this 
 will be a lesson to us. We're left again. Those 
 cursed Irish have let us down. I knew they 
 would, but" — here he laughed afresh — "I'd 
 give considerable to know what was at the 
 back of it all." 
 
 His curiosity would have been satisfied had 
 he seen Dan Grady, discredited regimental 
 conspirator, trying to explain to his thirsty 
 comrades in India the non-arrival of funds 
 from New York. 
 
AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE 
 
 FOUR men, theoretically entitled to "life, 
 liberty, and the pursuit of happiness/' sat 
 at a table playing whist. The thermometer 
 marked — for them — one hundred and one de- 
 grees of heat. The room was darkened till it 
 was only just possible to distinguish the pipes 
 of the cards and the very white faces of the 
 players. A tattered, rotten punkah of white- 
 washed calico was puddling the hot air and 
 whining dolefully at each stroke. Outside lay 
 gloom of a November day in London. There 
 was neither sky, sun, nor horizon. — nothing 
 but a brown-purple haze of heat. It was as 
 though the earth were dying of apoplexy. 
 
 From time to time clouds of tawny dust rose 
 from the ground without wind or warning, 
 flung themselves table-cloth-wise among the 
 tops of the parched trees, and came down 
 again. Then a whirling dust-devil would scut- 
 ter across the plain for a couple of miles, break 
 and fall outward, though there was nothing to 
 check its flight save a long low line of piled 
 railway-sleepers white with the dust, a cluster 
 of huts made of mud, condemned rails and 
 
 133 
 
134 AT THE END OF 
 
 canvas, and the one squat four-roomed bunga- 
 low that belonged to the assistant engineer in 
 charge of a section of the Gandhari State line 
 then under construction. 
 
 The four men, stripped to the thinnest of 
 sleeping-suits, played whist crossly, with 
 wranglings as to leads and returns. It was not 
 the best kind of whist, but they had taken some 
 trouble to arrive at it. Mottram, of the India 
 Survey, had ridden thirty and railed one hun- 
 dred miles from his lonely post in the desert 
 since the previous night; Lowndes, of the Civil 
 Service, on special duty in the political depart- 
 ment, had come as far to escape for an instant 
 the miserable intrigues of an impoverished na- 
 tive state whose king alternately fawned and 
 blustered for more money from the pitiful 
 revenues contributed by hard-wrung peasants 
 and despairing camel-breeders; Spurstow, the 
 doctor of the line, had left a cholera-stricken 
 camp of coolies to look after itself for forty- 
 eight hours while he associated with white men 
 once more. Hummil, the assistant engineer, 
 was the host. He stood fast, and received his 
 friends thus every Sunday if they could come 
 in. When one of them failed to appear, he 
 would send a telegram to his last address, in 
 order that he might know whether the de- 
 
THE PASSAGE 135 
 
 faulter was dead or alive. There be very many 
 places in the East where it is not good or kind 
 to let your acquaintances drop out of sight 
 even for one short week. 
 
 The players were not conscious of any spe- 
 cial regard for each other. They squabbled 
 whenever they met; but they ardently desired 
 to meet, as men without water desire to drink. 
 They were lonely folk who understood the 
 dread meaning of loneliness. They were all 
 under thirty years of age — which is too soon 
 for any man to possess that knowledge. 
 
 "Pilsener," said Spurstow, after the second 
 rubber, mopping his forehead. 
 
 "Beer's out, I'm sorry to say, and there's 
 hardly enough soda-water for to-night," said 
 Hummil. 
 
 "What filthy bad management!" snarled 
 Spurstow. 
 
 "Can't help it. I've written and wired ; but 
 the trains don't come through regularly yet. 
 Last week the ice ran out — as Lowndes 
 knows." 
 
 "Glad I didn't come. I could ha' sent you 
 some if I had known, though. Phew! it's too 
 hot to go on playing bumblepuppy." 
 
 This was a savage growl at Lowndes, who 
 only laughed. He was a hardened offender. 
 
136 AT THE END OF 
 
 Mottram rose from the table and looked out 
 of a chink in the shutters. 
 
 "What a sweet day!" said he. 
 
 The company yawned unanimously and be- 
 took themselves to an aimless investigation of 
 all Hummil's possessions • — guns, tattered 
 novels, saddlery, spurs, and the like. They 
 had fingered them a score of times before, but 
 there was really nothing else to do. 
 
 "Got anything fresh?" said Lowndes. 
 
 "Last week's 'Gazette of India,' and a cut- 
 ting from a home paper. My father sent it 
 out. It's rather amusing." , 
 
 "One of those vest^miejj^ihat call 'emselves 
 M. P.'s again, is it?" said Spurstow, who read 
 his newspapers when he could get them. 
 
 "Yes. Listen to this. It's to your address, 
 Lowndes. The man was making a speech to 
 his constituents, and he piled it on. Here's a 
 sample: 'And I assert unhesitatingly that the 
 Civil Service in India is to preserve — the pet 
 preserve — of the aristocracy of England. What 
 does the democracy — what do the masses — get 
 from that country, which we have step by step 
 fraudulently annexed? I answer, nothing 
 whatever. It is farmed, with a single eye to 
 their own interests, by the scions of the aris- 
 tocracy. They take good care to maintain 
 
THE PASSAGE 137 
 
 their lavish scale of incomes, to avoid or stifle 
 any inquiries into the nature and conduct of 
 their administration, while they themselves 
 force the unhappy peasant to pay with the 
 sweat of his brow for all the luxuries in which 
 they are lapped/ " Hummil waved the cut- 
 ting above his head. "'Ear! 'ear!" said his 
 audience. 
 
 Then Lowndes, meditatively: "I'd give — I'd 
 give three months' pay to have that gentleman 
 spend one month with me and see how the free 
 and independent native prince works things. 
 Old Timbersides" — this was his flippant title 
 for an honored and decorated prince — "has 
 been wearing my life out this week past for 
 money. By Jove! his latest performance was 
 to send me one of his women as a bribe!" 
 
 "Good for you. Did you accept it?" said 
 Mottram. 
 
 "No. I rather wish I had, now. She was a 
 pretty little person, and she yarned away to me 
 about the horrible destitution among the king's 
 women-folk. The darlings haven't had any 
 new clothes for nearly a month, and the old 
 man wants to buy a new drag from Calcutta — 
 solid silver railings and silver lamps, and 
 trifles of that kind. " I've tried to make him un- 
 derstand that he has played the deuce with the 
 
138 AT THE END OF 
 
 revenues for the last twenty years, and must 
 go slow. He can't see it." 
 
 "But he has the ancestral treasure-vault to 
 draw on. There must be three millions at least 
 in jewels and coin under his palace," said 
 Hummil. 
 
 "Catch a native king disturbing the family 
 treasure! The priests forbid it, except as the 
 last resort. Old Timbersides has added some- 
 thing like a quarter of a million to the deposit 
 in his reign." 
 
 "Where the mischief does it all come 
 from?" said Mottram. 
 
 "The country. The state of the people is 
 enough to make you sick. I've known the tax- 
 men wait by a milch-camel till the foal was 
 born, and then hurry off the mother for ar- 
 rears. And what can I do? I can't get the 
 court clerks to give me any accounts; I can't 
 raise anything more than a fat smile from the 
 commander-in-chief when I find out the 
 troops are three months in arrears; and old 
 Timbersides begins to weep when I speak to 
 him. He has taken to the king's peg heavily 
 — liquor brandy for whisky and Heidsieck for 
 soda-water." 
 
 "That's what the Rao of Jubela took to. 
 Even a native can't last long at that," said 
 Spurstow. "He'll go out." 
 
THE PASSAGE 139 
 
 "And a good thing, too. Then I suppose 
 we'll have a council of regency, and a tutor for 
 the young prince, and hand him back his king- 
 dom with ten years' accumulations." 
 
 "Whereupon that young prince, having been 
 taught all the vices of the English, will play 
 ducks and drakes with the money, and undo 
 ten years' work in eighteen months. I've seen 
 that business before," said Spurstow. "I should 
 tackle the king with a light hand, if I were 
 you, Lowndes. They'll hate you quite enough 
 under any circumstances." 
 
 "That's all very well. The man who looks 
 on can talk about the light hand ; but you can't 
 clean a pig-sty with a pen dipped in rosewarer. 
 I know my risks; but nothing has happened 
 yet. My servant's an old Pathan, and he cooks 
 for me. They are hardly likely to bribe him, 
 and I don't accept food from my true friends, 
 as they call themselves. Oh, but it's weary 
 work! I'd sooner be with you, Spurstow. 
 There's shooting near your camp." 
 
 "Would you? I don't think it. About fif- 
 teen deaths a day don't incite a man to shoot 
 anything but himself. And the worst of it is 
 that the poor devils look at you as though you 
 ought to save them. Lord knows, I've tried 
 everything. My last attempt was empirical, 
 
140 AT THE END OF 
 
 but it pulled an old man through. He was 
 brought to me apparently past hope, and I 
 gave him gin and Worcester sauce with cay- 
 enne. It cured him; but I don't recommend 
 it." 
 
 "How do the cases run generally ?" said 
 Hummil. 
 
 "Very simply indeed. Chlorodyne, opium 
 pill, chlorodyne, collapse, nitre, bricks to the 
 feet, and then — the burning-ghat. The .last 
 seems to be the only thing that stops the trou- 
 ble. It's black cholera, you know. Poor dev- 
 ils ! But, what I will say, little Bunsee Lai, my 
 apothecary, works like a demon. I've recom- 
 mended him for promotion if he comes 
 through it all alive." 
 
 "And what are your chances, old man?" 
 said Mottram. 
 
 "Don't know ; don't care much ; but I've sent 
 the letter in. What are you doing with your- 
 self generally?" 
 
 "Sitting under a table in the tent and spit- 
 ting on the sextant to keep it cool," said the 
 man of the survey. "Washing my eyes to 
 avoid ophthalmia, which I shall certainly get, 
 and trying to make a sub-surveyor understand 
 that an error of five degrees in an angle isn't 
 quite so small as it looks. I'm altogether alone, 
 
THE PASSAGE 141 
 
 y* know, and shall be till the end of the hot 
 weather." 
 
 "Hummil's the lucky man," said Lowndes, 
 flinging" himself into a long chair. "He has an 
 actual roof — torn as to the ceiling-cloth, but 
 still a roof — over his head. He sees one train 
 daily. He can get beer and soda-water, and 
 ice it when God is good. He has books, pic- 
 tures" — they were torn from the "Graphic" — ■ 
 "and the society of the excellent sub-contractor 
 Jevins, besides the pleasure of receiving us 
 weekly." 
 
 Hummil smiled grimly. "Yes, I'm the lucky 
 man, I suppose. Jevins is luckier." 
 
 "How? Not"— 
 
 "Yes. Went out. Last Monday." 
 
 "Ap sef" said Spurstow, quickly, hinting 
 the suspicion that was in everybody's mind. 
 There was no cholera near Hummil's section. 
 Even fever gives a man at least a week's 
 grace, and sudden death generally implied self- 
 slaughter. 
 
 "I judge no man this weather," said Hum- 
 mil. "He had a touch of the sun, I fancy ; for 
 last week, after you fellows had left, he came 
 into the veranda and told me that he was go- 
 ing home to see his wife, in Market Street, 
 Liverpool, that evening. I got the apothecary 
 
142 AT THE END OF 
 
 in to look at him, and we tried to make him lie 
 down. After an hour or two he rubbed his 
 eyes and said he believed he had had a fit — * 
 hoped he hadn't said anything- rude. Jevins 
 had a great idea of bettering himself socially. 
 He was very like Chucks in his language." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Then he went to his own bungalow and be- 
 gan cleaning a rifle. He told the servant that 
 he was going after buck in the morning. Nat- 
 urally he fumbled with the trigger, and shot 
 himself through the head accidentally. The 
 apothecary sent in a report to my chief, and 
 Jevins is buried somewhere out there. I'd 
 have wired to you, Spurstow, if you could have 
 done anything." 
 
 "You're a queer chap," said Mottram. "If 
 you killed the man yourself you couldn't have 
 been more quiet about the business." 
 
 "Good Lord! what does it matter?" said 
 Hummil, calmly. "I've got to do a lot of his 
 overseeing work in addition to my own. I'm 
 the only person that suffers. Jevins is out of 
 it — by pure accident, of course, but out of it. 
 The apothecary was going to write a long 
 screed on suicide. Trust a babu to drivel when 
 he gets the chance." 
 
 "Why didn't you let it go in as suicide?" 
 said Lowndes. 
 
THE PASSAGE 143 
 
 "No direct proof. A man hasn't many priv- 
 ileges in this country, but he might at least be 
 allowed to mishandle his own rifle. Besides, 
 some day I may need a man to smother up an 
 accident to myself. Live and let live. Die and 
 let die." 
 
 "You take a pill," said Spurstow, who had 
 been watching Hummil's white face narrowly. 
 "Take a pill, and don't be an ass. That sort of 
 talk is skittles. Anyhow, suicide is shirking 
 your work. If I was a Job ten times over, I 
 should be so interested in what was going to 
 happen next that I'd stay on and watch." 
 
 "Ah! I've lost that curiosity," said HummiL 
 
 "Liver out of order?" said Lowndes, feel- 
 ingly. 
 
 "No. Can't sleep. That's worse." 
 
 "By Jove, it is!" said Mottram. I'm that 
 way every now and then, and the fit has to 
 wear itself out. What do you take for it ?" 
 
 "Nothing. What's the use? I haven't had 
 ten minutes' sleep since Friday morning." 
 
 "Poor chap ! Spurstow, you ought to attend 
 to this," said Mottram. "Now you mention it, 
 your eyes are rather gummy and swollen." 
 
 Spurstow, still watching Hummil, laughed 
 lightly. "I'll patch him up later on. Is it too 
 hot, do you think, to go for a ride ?" 
 
144 AT THE END OF 
 
 "Where to?" said Lowndes, wearily. "We 
 shall have to go away at eight, and there'll be 
 riding enough for us then. I hate a horse, 
 when I have to use him as a necessity. Oh, 
 heavens ! what is there to do ?" 
 
 "Begin whist again, at chick points" (a 
 "chick" is supposed to be eight shillings), "and 
 a gold mohur on the rub," said Spurstow, 
 promptly. 
 
 "Poker. A month's pay all round for the 
 pool — no limit — and fifty-rupee raises. Some- 
 body would be broken before we got up," said 
 Lowndes. 
 
 "Can't say that it would give me any pleas- 
 ure to break any man in this company," said 
 Mottram. "There isn't enough excitement in 
 it, and it's foolish." He crossed over to the 
 worn and battered little camp piano — wreck- 
 age of a married household that had once held 
 the bungalow — and opened the case. 
 
 "It's used up long ago," said Hummil. "The 
 servants have picked it to pieces." 
 
 The piano was indeed hopelessly out of or- 
 der, but Mottram managed to bring the rebel- 
 lious notes into a sort of agreement, and there 
 rose from the ragged key-board something 
 that might once have been the ghost of a pop- 
 ular music-hall song. The men in the long 
 
THE PASSAGE 145 
 
 chairs turned with evident interest as Mot- 
 tram banged the more lustily. 
 
 "That's good!" said Lowndes. "By Jove! 
 the last time I heard that song was in '79, or 
 thereabouts, just before I came out." 
 
 "Ah!" said Spurstow, with pride, "I was 
 home in J 8o." And he mentioned a song of 
 the streets popular at that date. 
 
 Mottram executed it indifferently well. 
 Lowndes criticised, and volunteered emenda- 
 tions. Mottram dashed into another ditty, not 
 of the music-hall character, and made as if to 
 rise. 
 
 "Sit down," said Hummil. "I didn't know 
 that you had any music in your composition. 
 Go on playing until you can't think of any- 
 thing more. I'll have that piano tuned up be- 
 fore you come again. Play somthing festive." 
 
 Very simple indeed were the tunes to which 
 Mottram's art and the limitations of the piano 
 could give effect, but the men listened with 
 pleasure, and in the pauses talked all together 
 of what they had seen or heard when they 
 were last at home. A dense dust-storm 
 sprung up outside and swept roaring over the 
 house, enveloping it in the choking darkness of 
 midnight, but Mottram continued unheeding, 
 and the crazy tinkle reached the ears of the lis- 
 
146 AT THE END OF 
 
 teners above the flapping of the tattered ceil- 
 ing-cloth. 
 
 In the silence after the storm he glided from 
 the more directly personal songs of Scotland, 
 half humming them as he played, into the 
 "Evening Hymn. ,, 
 
 "Sunday," said he, nodding his head. 
 
 "Go on. Don't apologize for it," said Spur- 
 stow. 
 
 Hummil laughed long and riotously. "Play 
 it, by all means. You're full of surprises to- 
 day. I didn't know you had such a gift of fin- 
 ished sarcasm. How does that thing go ?" 
 
 Mottram took up the tune. 
 
 "Too slow by half. You miss the note of 
 gratitude," said Hummil. "It ought to go to 
 the 'Grasshopper's Polka' — this way." And 
 he chanted, prestissimo: 
 
 " 'Glory to Thee, my God, this night, 
 For all the blessings of the light.' 
 
 That shows we really feel our blessings. How 
 does it go on ? — 
 
 "If in the night I sleepless lie, 
 
 My soul with sacred thoughts supply; 
 May no ill dreams disturb my rest/— 
 
 Quicker. Mottram! — 
 
 " 'Or powers of darkness me molest!"* 
 
THE PASSAGE 147 
 
 "Bah! what an old hypocrite you are." 
 
 "Don't be an ass," said Lowndes. "You are 
 at full liberty to make fun of anything else you 
 like, but leave that hymn alone. It's associated 
 in my mind with the most sacred recollec- 
 tions" — 
 
 "Summer evenings in the country — stained- 
 glass window — light going out, and you and 
 she jamming your heads together over one 
 hymn-book," said Mottram. 
 
 "Yes, and a fat old cockshafer hitting you in 
 the eye when you walked home. Smell of hay, 
 and a moon as big as a band-box siting on the 
 top of a haycock; bats — roses — milk and 
 midges," said Lowndes. 
 
 "Also mothers. I can just recollect my 
 mother singing me to sleep with that when I 
 was a little chap," said Spurstow. 
 
 The darkness had fallen on the room. They 
 could hear Hummil squirming in his chair. 
 
 "Consequently," said he, testily, "you sing 
 it when you are seven fathoms deep in hell! 
 It's an insult to the intelligence of the Deity to 
 pretend we're anything but tortured rebels." 
 
 "Take two pills," said Spurstow: "that's 
 tortured liver." 
 
 "The usually placid Hummil is in a vile bad 
 temper. I'm sorry for the coolies to-mor- 
 
I 4 8 AT THE END OF 
 
 row," said Lowndes, as the servants brought 
 in the lights and prepared the table for dinner. 
 
 As they were settling into their places about 
 the miserable goat-chops, the curried eggs, and 
 the smoked tapioca pudding, Spurstow took 
 occasion to whisper to Mottram : "Well done, 
 David!" 
 
 "Look after Saul, then," was the reply. 
 
 "What are you two whispering about?" 
 said Hummil, suspiciously. 
 
 "Only saying that you are a d d poor 
 
 host. This fowl can't be cut," returned Spur- 
 stow, with a sweet smile. "Call this a din- 
 ner?" 
 
 "I can't help it. You don't expect a ban- 
 quet, do you?" 
 
 Throughout that meal Hummil contrived 
 laboriously to insult directly and pointedly all 
 his guests in succession, and at each insult 
 Spurstow kicked the aggrieved person under 
 the table; but he dared not exchange a glance 
 of intelligence with either of them. Hummil's 
 face was white and pinched, while his eyes 
 were unnaturally large. No man dreamed for 
 a moment of resenting his savage personalities, 
 but as soon as the meal was over they made 
 haste to get away. 
 
 "Don't go. You're just getting amusing, 
 
THE PASSAGE 149 
 
 you fellows. I hope I haven't said anything 
 that annoyed you. You're such touchy dev- 
 ils." Then, changing the note into one of al- 
 most abject entreaty : "I say, you surely aren't 
 going?" 
 
 "Where I dines, I sleeps, in the language of 
 the blessed Jorrocks," said Spurstow. "I want 
 to have a look at your coolies to-morrow, if 
 you don't mind. You can give me a place to 
 lie down in, I suppose ?" 
 
 The others pleaded the urgency of their sev- 
 eral employs next day, and, saddling up, de- 
 parted together, Hummil begging them to 
 come next Sunday. As they jogged off to- 
 gether, Lowndes unbosomed himself to Mot- 
 tram : " . . . And I never felt so like kick- 
 ing a man at his own table in my life. Said I 
 cheated at whist, and reminded me I was in 
 debt ! Told you you were as good as a liar to 
 your face! You aren't half indignant enough 
 over it." 
 
 "Not I," said Mottram. "Poor devil ! Did 
 you ever know old Hummy behave like that 
 before? Did you ever know him go within 
 a hundred miles of it?" 
 
 "That's no excuse. Spurstow was hacking 
 my shin all the time, so I kept a hand on my- 
 self. Else I should have"' — 
 
150 &T THE END OF 
 
 "No, you wouldn't You'd have done as 
 Hummy did about Jevins: judge no man this 
 weather. By Jove! the buckle of my bridle is 
 hot in my hand ! Trot out a bit, and mind the 
 rat-holes." 
 
 Ten minutes' trotting jerked out of Lowndes 
 one very sage remark when he pulled up, 
 sweating from every pore : 
 
 "Good thing Spurstow's with him to-night." 
 
 "Ye-es. Good man, Spurstow. Our roads 
 turn here. See you again next Sunday, if the 
 sun doesn't bowl me over." 
 
 "S'pose so, unless old Timbersides' finance 
 minister manages to dress some of my food. 
 Good-night, and — God bless you!" 
 
 "What's wrong now?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing." Lowndes gathered up his 
 whip, and, as he flicked Mottram's mare on the 
 flank, added: "You're a good little chap — > 
 that's all." And the mare bolted half a mile 
 across the sand on the word. 
 
 In the assistant engineer's bungalow Spur- 
 stow and Hummil smoked the pipe of silence 
 together, each narrowly watching the other. 
 The capacity of a bachelor's establishment is 
 as elastic as its arrangements are simple. A 
 servant cleared away the dining-room table, 
 brought in a couple of rude native bedsteads 
 
THE PASSAGE 151 
 
 made of tape strung on a light wood frame, 
 flung a square of cool Calcutta matting over 
 each, set them side by side, pinned two towels 
 to the punkah so that their fringes should just 
 sweep clear of each sleeper's nose and mouth, 
 and anounced that the couches were ready. 
 
 The men flung themselves down, adjuring 
 the punkah-coolies by all the powers of Eblis 
 to pull. Every door and window was shut, 
 for the outside air was that of an oven. The 
 atmosphere within was only 104 , as the ther- 
 mometer attested, and heavy wiui the foul 
 smell of badly trimmed kerosene lamps; and 
 this stench, combined with that of native to- 
 bacco, baked brick, and dried earth, sends the 
 heart of many a strong man down to his boots, 
 for it is the smell of the great Indian Empire 
 when she turns herself for six months into a 
 house of torment. Spurstow packed his pil- 
 lows craftily, so that he reclined rather than 
 lay, his head at a safe elevation above his feet. 
 It is not good to sleep on a low pillow in the 
 hot weather if you happen to be of thick- 
 necked build, for you may pass with lively 
 snores and gurglings from natural sleep into 
 the deep slumber of heat-apoplexy. 
 
 "Pack your pillows," said the doctor, 
 sharply, as he saw Hummil preparing .to lie 
 down at full length. 
 
152 AT THE END OF 
 
 The night-light was trimmed; the shadow 
 of the punkah wavered across the room, and the 
 Hick of the punkah-towel and the soft whine 
 of the rope through the wall-hole followed it. 
 Then the punkah flagged, almost ceased. The 
 sweat poured from Spurstow's brow. Should 
 he go out and harangue the coolie ? It started 
 forward again with a savage jerk, and a pin 
 came out of the towels. When this was re- 
 placed, a tom-tom in the coolie lines began to 
 beat with the steady throb of a swollen artery 
 inside some brain-fevercJ skull. Spurstow 
 turned on his side and swore gently. There 
 was no movement on Hummil's part. The 
 man had composed himself as rigidly as a 
 corpse, his hands clinched at his sides. The 
 respiration was too hurried for any suspicion 
 of sleep. Spurstow looked at the set face. 
 The jaws were clinched, and there was a 
 pucker round the quivering eyelids. 
 
 "He's holding himself as tightly as ever he 
 can," thought Spurstow. "What a sham it is ! 
 and what in the world is the matter with him ? 
 — Hummiir 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Can't you get to sleep?" 
 
 "No." " 
 
 "Head hot? Throat feeling bulgy? or 
 how?" 
 
THE PASSAGE 153 
 
 "Neither, thanks. I don't sleep much, you 
 know." 
 
 "Feel pretty bad?" 
 
 "Pretty bad, thanks. There is a tom-tom 
 outside, isn't there? I thought it was my 
 head at first. Oh, Spurstow, for pity's sake, 
 give me something that will put me asleep — 
 sound sleep — if it's only for six hours!" He 
 sprung up. "I haven't been able to sleep nat- 
 urally for days, and I can't stand it! — I can't 
 stand it!" 
 
 "Poor old chap!" 
 
 "That's no use. Give me something to make 
 me sleep. I tell you I'm nearly mad. I don't 
 know what I say half my time. For three 
 weeks I've had to think and spell out every 
 word that has come through my lips before 
 I dared say it. I had to get my sentences out 
 down to the last word, for fear of talking 
 drivel if I didn't. Isn't that enough to drive 
 a man mad ? I can't see things correctly now, 
 and I've lost my sense of touch. Make me 
 sleep. Oh, Spurstow, for the love of God, 
 make me sleep sound. It isn't enough merely 
 to let me dream. Let me sleep !" 
 
 "All right, old man, all right. Go slow. 
 You aren't half as bad as you think" The 
 flood-gates of reserve once broken, Hummil 
 was clinging to him like a frightened child. 
 
154 AT THE END OF 
 
 "You're pinching my arm to pieces." 
 
 "I'll break your neck if you don't do some- 
 thing for me. No, I didn't mean that. Don't 
 be angry, old fellow." He wiped the sweat off 
 himself as he fought to regain composure. 
 "As a matter of fact, I'm a bit restless and off 
 my oats, and perhaps you could recommend 
 some sort of sleeping-mixture — bromide of 
 potassium." 
 
 "Bromide of skittles! Why didn't you tell 
 me this before? Let go of my arm, and I'll 
 see if there's anything in my cigarette-case to 
 suit your complaint." He hunted among his 
 day-clothes, turned up the lamp, opened a lit- 
 tle silver cigarette-case, and advanced on the 
 expectant Hummil with the daintiest of fairy 
 squirts. 
 
 "The last appeal of civilization," said he, 
 "and a thing I hate to use. Hold out your 
 arm. Well, your sleeplessness hasn't ruined 
 your muscle; and what a th'ck hide it is! 
 Might as well inject a buffalo subcutaneously. 
 Now in a few minutes the morphia will begin 
 working. Lie down and wait." 
 
 A smile of unalloyed and idiotic delight 
 began to creep over Hummil's face. "I 
 think," he whispered — "I think I'm going off 
 now. Gad! it's positively heavenly! Spurs- 
 
THE PASSAGE 1 55 
 
 tow, you must give me that case to keep ; you" 
 — The voice ceased as the head fell back. 
 
 "Not for a good deal," said Spurstow to the 
 unconscious form. "And now, my friend, 
 sleeplessness of your kind being very apt to re- 
 lax the moral fibre in little matters of life and 
 death, I'll just take the liberty of spiking your 
 guns." 
 
 He paddled into Hummil's saddle-room in 
 his bare feet, and uncased a twelve-bore, an 
 express, and a revolver. Of the first he un- 
 screwed the nipples and hid them in the bot- 
 tom of a saddlery-case; of the second he ab- 
 stracted the lever, placing it behind a big ward- 
 robe. The third he merely opened, and 
 knocked the doll-head bolt of the grip up with 
 the heel of the riding-boot. 
 
 "That's settled," he said, as he shook the 
 sweat off his hands. "These little precautions 
 will at least give you time to turn. You have 
 too much sympathy with gun-room accidents." 
 
 And as he rose from his knees, the thick 
 muffled voice of Hummil cried in the door- 
 way: "You fool!" 
 
 Such tones they use who speak in the lucid 
 intervals of delirium to their friends a little 
 before they die. 
 
 Spurstow jumped with sheer fright. Hum- 
 
156 AT THE END OF 
 
 mil stood in the doorway, rocking with help- 
 less laughter. 
 
 "That was awf'ly good of you, I'm sure," 
 he said, very slowly, feeling for his words. "I 
 don't intend to go out by my own hand at 
 present. I say, Spurstow, that stuff won't 
 work. What shall I do? What shall I do?" 
 A panic terror stood in his eyes. 
 
 "Lie down and give it a chance. Lie down 
 at once." 
 
 "I daren't. It will only take me half-way 
 again, and I shan't be able to get away this 
 time. Do you know it was all I could do to 
 come out just now? Generally I am as quick 
 as lightning ; but you have clogged my feet. I 
 was nearly caught." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I understand. Go and lie down." 
 
 "No, it isn't delirium ; but it was an awfully 
 mean trick to play on me. Do you know I 
 might have died?" 
 
 As a sponge rubs a slate clean, so some 
 power unknown to Spurstow had wiped out 
 of Hummil's face all that stamped it for the 
 face of a man, and he stood at the doorway in 
 the expression of his lost innocence. He had 
 slept back into terrified childhood. 
 
 "Is he going to die on the spot?" thought 
 Spurstow. Then, aloud: "All right, my son. 
 
THE PASSAGE 157 
 
 Come back to bed, and tell me all about it. 
 You couldn't sleep; but what was all the rest 
 of the nonsense?" 
 
 "A place — a place down there," said Hum- 
 mil, with simple sincerity. The drug was 
 acting on him by waves, and he was flung 
 from the fear of a strong man to the fright 
 of a child as his nerves gathered sense or 
 were dulled. 
 
 "Good God! I've been afraid of it for 
 months past, Spurstow. It has made every 
 night hell to me; and yet I'm not conscious 
 of having done anything wrong." 
 
 "Be still, and I'll give you another dose. 
 We'll stop your nightmares, you unutterable 
 idiot!" 
 
 "Yes, but you must give me so much that I 
 can't get away. You must make me quite 
 sleepy — not just a little sleepy. It's so hard 
 to run then." 
 
 "I know it; I know it. I've felt it myself. 
 The symptoms are exactly as you describe." 
 
 "Oh, don't laugh at me, confound you ! Be- 
 fore this awful sleeplessness came to me I've 
 tried to rest on my elbow and put a spur in 
 the bed to sting me when I fell back. Look !" 
 
 "By Jove! the man has been roweled like 
 a horse! Ridden by the nightmare with a 
 
158 AT THE END OF 
 
 vengeance! And we all thought him sensible 
 enough. Heaven send us understanding! You 
 like to talk, don't you, old man?" 
 
 "Yes, sometimes. Not when I'm fright- 
 ened. Then I want to run. Don't you?" 
 
 "Always. Before I give you your second 
 dose, try to tell me exactly what your trouble 
 is." 
 
 Hummil spoke in broken whispers for 
 nearly ten minutes, while Spurstow looked 
 into the pupils of his eyes and passed his hand 
 before them once or twice. 
 
 At the end of the narrative the silver cig- 
 arette-case was produced, and the last words 
 that Hummil said as he fell back for the 
 second time were: "Put me quite to sleep; 
 for if I'm caught, I die — I die!" 
 
 "Yes, yes; we all do that sooner or later, 
 thank Heaven! who has set a term to our 
 miseries," said Spurstow, setting the cushions 
 under the head. "It occurs to me that unless 
 I drink something I shall go out before my 
 time. I've stopped sweating, and I wear a 
 seventeen-inch collar." And he brewed him- 
 self scalding hot tea, which is an excellent 
 remedy against heat-apoplexy if you take three 
 or four cups of it in time. Then he watched 
 the sleeper. 
 
THE PASSAGE 159 
 
 "A blind face that cries and can't wipe its 
 eyes. H'm! Decidedly, Hummil ought to go 
 on leave as soon as possible; and, sane or 
 otherwise, he undoubtedly did rowel himself 
 most cruelly. Well, Heaven send us under- 
 standing!" 
 
 At midday Hummil rose, with an evil taste 
 in his mouth, but an unclouded eye and a joy- 
 ful heart. 
 
 "I was pretty bad last night, wasn't I?" 
 said he. 
 
 "I have seen healthier men. You must have 
 had a touch of the sun. Look here : if I write 
 you a swingeing medical certificate, will you 
 apply for leave on the spot?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not? You want it." 
 
 "Yes, but I can hold on till the weather's 
 a little cooler." 
 
 "Why should you, if you can get relieved 
 on the spot?" 
 
 "Burkett is the only man who could be 
 sent; and he's a born fool." 
 
 "Oh, never mind about the line. You 
 aren't so important as all that. Wire for 
 leave, if necessary." 
 
 Hummil looked very uncomfortable. 
 
 "I can hold on till the rains," he said, eva- 
 sively. 
 
160 AT THE END OF 
 
 "You can't. Wire to headquarters for Bur- 
 kett." 
 
 "I won't. If you want to know why, par- 
 ticularly, Burkett is married, and his wife's 
 just had a kid, and she's up at Simla, in the 
 cool, and Burkett has a very nice billet that 
 takes him into Simla from Saturday to Mon- 
 day. That little woman isn't at all well. If 
 Burkett was transferred she'd try to follow 
 him. If she left the baby behind she'd fret 
 herself to death. If she came — and Burkett's 
 one of those selfish little beasts who are al- 
 ways talking about a wife's place being with 
 her husband — she'd die. Its murder to bring 
 a woman here just now. Burkett has got 
 the physique of a rat. If he came here he'd 
 go out; and I know she hasn't any money, 
 and I'm pretty sure she'd go out too. I'm 
 salted in a sort of way, and I'm not married. 
 Wait till the rains, and then Burkett can get 
 thin down here. It'll do him heaps of good." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that you intend to 
 face — what you have faced, for the next fifty- 
 six nights?" 
 
 "Oh, it won't be so bad, now you've shown 
 me a way out of it. I can always wire to 
 you. Besides, now I've once got into the way 
 of sleeping, it'll be all right. Anyhow, I 
 
THE PASSAGE 161 
 
 sha'n't put in for leave. That's the long and 
 the short of it." 
 
 "My great Scott! I thought all that sort 
 of thing was dead and done with." 
 
 "Bosh! You'd do the same yourself. I 
 feel a new man, thanks to that cigarette-case. 
 You're going over to camp now, aren't you?" 
 
 "Yes ; but I'll try to look you up every other 
 day, if I can." 
 
 "I'm not bad enough for that. I don't want 
 you to bother. Give the coolies gin and ketch- 
 up." 
 
 "Then you feel all right?" 
 
 "Fit to fight for my life, but not to stand 
 out in the sun talking to you. Go along, old 
 man, and bless you!" 
 
 Hummil turned on his heel to face the echo- 
 ing desolation of his bungalow, and the first 
 thing he saw standing in the veranda was the 
 figure of himself. He had met a similar ap- 
 parition once before, when he was suffering 
 from overwork and the strain of the hot 
 weather. 
 
 "This is bad — already," he said, rubbing his 
 eyes. "If the thing slides away from me all 
 in one piece, like a ghost, I shall know it is 
 only my eyes and stomach that are out of or- 
 der. If it walks, I shall know that my head 
 is going." 
 
1 62 AT THE END OF 
 
 He walked to the figure, which naturally 
 kept at an unvarying distance from him, as 
 is the use of all spectres that are born of over- 
 work. It slid through the house and dissolved 
 into swimming specks within the eyeball as 
 soon as it reached the burning light of the 
 garden. Hummil went about his business till 
 even. When he came into dinner he found 
 himself sitting at the table. The thing rose 
 and walked out hastily. 
 
 No living man knows what that week held 
 for Hummil. An increase of the epidemic 
 kept Spurstow in camp among the coolies, and 
 all he could do was to telegraph to Mottram, 
 bidding him go to the bungalow and sleep 
 there. But Mottram was forty miles away 
 from the nearest telegraph, and knew nothing 
 of anything save the needs of the survey till 
 he met early on Sunday morning Lowndes 
 and Spurstow heading toward Hummil's for 
 the weekly gathering. 
 
 "Hope the poor chap's in a better temper," 
 said the former, swinging himself off his horse 
 at the door. "I suppose he isn't up yet." 
 
 "I'll just have a look at him," said the doc- 
 tor. "If he's asleep there's no need to wake 
 him." 
 
 And an instant later, by the tone of Spur- 
 
THE PASSAGE 163 
 
 stow's voice calling upon them to enter, the 
 men knew what had happened. 
 
 The punkah was still being pulled over the 
 bed, but Hummil had departed this life at 
 least three hours before. 
 
 The body lay on its back, hands clinched 
 by the side, as Spurstow had seen it lying seven 
 nights previously. In the staring eyes was 
 written terror beyond the expression of any 
 pen. 
 
 Mottram, who had entered behind Lowndes, 
 bent over the dead and touched the forehead 
 lightly with his lips. "Oh, you lucky, lucky 
 devil!" he whispered. 
 
 But Lowndes had seen the eyes, and had 
 withdrawn shuddering to the other side of the 
 room. 
 
 "Poor chap! poor chap! And the last time 
 I met him I was angry. Spurstow, we should 
 have watched him. Has he" — 
 
 Deftly Spurstow continued his investiga- 
 tions, ending by a search round the room. 
 
 "No, he hasn't," he snapped. "There's no 
 trace of anything. Call in the servants." 
 
 They came, eight or ten of them, whisper- 
 ing and peering over each other's shoulders. 
 
 "When did your sahib go to bed?" said 
 Spurstow. 
 
164 AT THE END OF 
 
 "At eleven or ten, we think," said HummU's 
 personal servant. 
 
 "He was well then? But how should you 
 know?" 
 
 "He was not ill, as far as our comprehen- 
 sion extended. But he had slept very little 
 for three nights. This I know, because I saw 
 him walking much, and especially in the heart 
 of the night." 
 
 As Spurstow was arranging the sheet, a 
 big, straight-necked hunting-spur tumbled on 
 the ground. The doctor groaned. The per- 
 sonal servant peeped at the body. 
 
 "What do you think, Chuma?" said Spur- 
 stow, catching the look in the dark face. 
 
 "Heaven-born, in my poor opinion, this that 
 was my master has descended into the Dark 
 Places, and there has been caught, because 
 he was not able to escape with sufficient speed. 
 We have the spur for evidence that he fought 
 with Fear. Thus have I seen men of my race 
 do with thorns when a spell was laid upon 
 them to overtake them in their sleeping hours 
 and they dared not sleep." 
 
 "Chuma, you're a mud-head. Go out and 
 prepare seals to be set on the sahib's property." 
 
 "God has made the heaven-born. God has 
 made me. Who are we, to inquire into the 
 
THE PASSAGE 165 
 
 dispensations of God? I will bid the other 
 servants hold aloof while you are reckoning 
 the tale of the sahib's property. They are 
 all thieves, and would steal. ,, 
 
 "As far as I can make out, he died from-*- 
 oh, anything: stopping of the heart's action, 
 heat-apoplexy, or some other visitation," said 
 Spurstow to his companions. "We must make 
 an inventory of his effects, and so on." 
 
 "He was scared to death," insisted Lowndes. 
 "Look at those eyes! For pity's sake, don't 
 let him be buried with them open!" 
 
 "Whatever it was, he's out of all the 
 trouble now," said Mottram, softly. 
 
 Spurstow was peering into the open eyes. 
 
 "Come here," said he. "Can you see any- 
 thing there ?" 
 
 "I can't face it!" whimpered Lowndes. 
 "Cover up the face! Is there any fear on 
 earth that can turn a man into that likeness? 
 It's ghastly. Oh, Spurstow, cover him up!" 
 
 "No fear — on earth," said Spurstow. Mot- 
 tram leaned over his shoulder and looked in- 
 tently. 
 
 "I see nothing except some grey blurs in 
 the pupil. There can be nothing there, you 
 know." 
 
 "Even so. Well, let's think. I'll take half a 
 
166 AT THE END OF 
 
 a day to knock up any sort of coffin; and He 
 must have died at midnight. Lowndes, old 
 man, go out and tell the coolies to break 
 ground next to Jevins' grave. Mottram, go 
 round the house with Chuma and see that the 
 seals are put on things. Send a couple of 
 men to me here, and I'll arrange." 
 
 The strong-armed servants when they re- 
 turned to their own kind told a strange story 
 of the doctor sahib vainly trying to call their 
 master back to life by magic arts — to wit, the 
 holding of a little green box opposite each of 
 the dead man's eyes, of a frequent clicking of 
 the same, and of a bewildered muttering on 
 the part of the doctor sahib, who subsequently 
 took the little green box away with him. 
 
 The resonant hammering of a coffin lid is no 
 pleasant thing to hear, but those who have 
 experience maintain that much more terrible 
 is the soft swish of the bed-linen, the reeving 
 and unreeving of the bed-tapes, when he who 
 has fallen by the roadside is appareled for 
 burial, sinking gradually as the tapes are tied 
 over, till the swaddled shape touches the floor 
 and there is no protest against the indignity 
 of hasty disposal. 
 
 At the last moment Lowndes was seized 
 with scruples of conscience. "Ought you to 
 
THE PASSAGE 167 
 
 read the service — from beginning to end?" 
 said he. 
 
 "I intend to. You're my senior as a civilian. 
 You can take it, if you like." 
 
 "I didn't mean that for a moment, I only 
 thought if we could get a chaplain from some- 
 where — I'm willing to ride anywhere — and 
 give poor Hummil a better chance. That's 
 all." 
 
 "Bosh!" said Spurstow, as he framed his 
 lips to the tremendous words that stand at the 
 head of the burial service. 
 
 After breakfast they smoked a pipe in si- 
 lence to the memory of the dead. Then said 
 Spurstow, absently: 
 
 " 'Tisn't in medical science." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Things in a dead man's eyes." 
 
 "For goodness' sake, leave that horror 
 alone!" said Lowndes. "I've seen a native die 
 of fright when a tiger chivied him. I know 
 what killed Hummil." 
 
 "The deuce you do! I'm going to try to 
 see." And the doctor retreated into the bath- 
 room with a Kodak camera, splashing and 
 grunting for ten minutes. Then there was 
 the sound of something being hammered to 
 
168 AT THE END OF 
 
 pieces, and Spurstow emerged, very white 
 indeed. 
 
 "Have you got a picture?" said Mottram. 
 "What does the thing look like?" 
 
 "Nothing there. It was impossible, of 
 course. You needn't look, Mottram. I've 
 torn up the films. There was nothing there. 
 It was impossible." 
 
 "That," said Lowndes, very distinctly, 
 watching the shaking hand striving to relight 
 the pipe, "is a damned lie." 
 
 There was no further speech for a long 
 time. The hot wind whistled without, and the 
 dry trees sobbed. Presently the daily train, 
 winking brass, burnished steel, and spouting 
 steam, pulled up panting in the intense glare. 
 "We'd better go on on that," said Spurstow. 
 "Go back to work. I've written my certifi- 
 cate. We can't do any more good here. Come 
 on." 
 
 No one moved. It is not pleasant to face 
 railway journeys at midday in June. Spur- 
 stow gathered up his hat and whip, and, turn- 
 ing in the doorway, said: 
 
 "There may be heaven — there must be hell. 
 Meantime, there is our life here. We-ell?" 
 
 But neither Mottram nor Lowndes had any 
 answer to the question. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 LET it be clearly understood that the Rus- 
 sian is a delightful person till he tucks 
 his shirt in. As an oriental he is charming. It 
 is only when he insists upon being treated 
 as the most easterly of Western peoples, in- 
 stead of the most westerly of Easterns, that 
 he becomes a racial anomaly extremely difficult 
 to handle. The host never knows which side 
 of his nature is going to turn up next. 
 
 Dirkovitch was a Russian — a Russian of 
 the Russians, as he said — who appeared to get 
 his bread by serving the czar as an officer in 
 a Cossack regiment, and corresponding for a 
 Russian newspaper with a name that was never 
 twice the same. He was a handsome young 
 Oriental, with a taste for wandering through 
 unexplored portions of the earth, and he ar- 
 rived in India from nowhere in particular. 
 At least no living man could ascertain whether 
 it was by way of Balkh, Budukhshan, Chitral, 
 Beloochistan, Nepaul, or anywhere else. The 
 Indian government, being in an unusually af- 
 171 
 
172 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 fable mood, gave orders that he was to be 
 civilly treated, and shown everything that was 
 to be seen; so he drifted, talking bad English 
 and worse French, from one city to another 
 till he foregathered with her Majesty's White 
 Hussars in the city of Peshawur, which stands 
 at the mouth of that narrow swordcut in the 
 hills that men call the Khyber Pass. He was 
 undoubtedly an officer, and he was decor- 
 ated, after the manner of the Russians, with 
 little enameled crosses, and he could talk, and 
 (though this has nothing to do with his mer- 
 its) he had been given up as a hopeless task 
 or case by the Black Tyrones, who, individu- 
 ally and collectively, with hot whisky and 
 honey, mulled brandy and mixed spirits of all 
 kinds, had striven in all hospitality to make 
 him drunk. And when the Black Tyrones, 
 who are exclusively Irish, fail to disturb the 
 peace of the head of a foreigner, that for- 
 eigner is certain to be a superior man. This 
 was the argument of the Black Tyrones, but 
 they were ever an unruly and self-opinionated 
 regiment, and they allowed junior subalterns 
 of four years' service to choose their wines. 
 The spirits were always purchased by the 
 colonel and a committee of majors. And a 
 regiment that would so behave may be re- 
 spected but cannot be loved. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 173 
 
 The White Hussars were as conscientious 
 in choosing their wine as in charging the ene- 
 my. There was a brandy that had been pur- 
 chased by a cultured colonel a few years after 
 the battle of Waterloo. It has been maturing 
 ever since, and it was a marvelous brandy at 
 the purchasing. The memory of that liquor 
 would cause men to weep as they lay dying 
 in the teak forests of Upper Burmah or the 
 slime of the Irrawaddy. And there was a port 
 which was notable ; and there was a champagne 
 of an obscure brand, which always came to 
 mess without any labels, because the White 
 Hussars wished none to know where the source 
 of supply might be found. The officer on 
 whose head the champagne-choosing lay was 
 forbidden the use of tobacco for six weeks 
 previous to sampling. 
 
 This particularity of detail is necessary to 
 emphasize the fact that that champagne, that 
 port, and, above all, that brandy — the green 
 and yellow and white liquors did not count — 
 was placed at the absolute disposition of Dirk- 
 ovitch, and he enjoyed himself hugely — even 
 more than among the black Tyrones. 
 
 But he remained distressingly European 
 through it all. The White Hussars were — 
 "My dear true friends," "Fellow-soldiers glor- 
 
174 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 ious," and "Brothers inseparable." He would 
 unburden himself by the hour on the glorious 
 future that awaited the combined arms of En- 
 gland and Russia when their hearts and their 
 territories should run side by side, and the 
 great mission of civilizing Asia should begin. 
 That was unsatisfactory, because Asia is not 
 going to be civilized after the methods of the 
 West. There is too much Asia, and she is too 
 old. You cannot reform a lady of many lov- 
 ers, and Asia has been insatiable in her flirta- 
 tions aforetime. She will never attend 
 Sunday-school, or learn to vote save with 
 swords for tickets. 
 
 Dirkovitch knew this as well as anyone else, 
 but it suited him to talk special-correspon- 
 dently and to make himself as genial as he 
 could. Now and then he volunteered a little, 
 a very little, information about his own Sotnia 
 of Cossacks, left apparently to look after them- 
 selves somewhere at the back of beyond. He 
 had done rough work in Central Asia, and 
 had seen rather more help-ycurself fighting 
 than most men of his years. But he was care- 
 ful never to betray his superiority, and more 
 than careful to praise on all occasions the ap- 
 pearance, drill, uniform, and organization of 
 her Majesty's White Hussars. And, indeed, 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 175 
 
 they were a regiment to be admired. When 
 Mrs. Durgan, widow of the late Sir John 
 Durgan, arrived in their station, and after a 
 short time had been proposed to by every 
 single man at mess, she put the public senti- 
 ment very neatly when she explained that 
 they were all so nice that unless she could 
 marry them all, including the colonel and some 
 majors who were already married, she was 
 not going to content herself with one of them. 
 Wherefore she wedded a little man in a rifle 
 regiment — being by nature contradictious — ■ 
 and the White Hussars were going to wear 
 crape on their arms, but compromised by at- 
 tending the wedding in full force, and lining 
 the aisle with unutterable reproach. She had 
 jilted them all — from Basset-Holmer, the 
 senior captain, to Little Mildred, the last sub- 
 altern, and he could have given her four thou- 
 sand a year and a title. He was a viscount, 
 and on his arrival the mess had said he had 
 better go into the Guards, because they were 
 all sons of large grocers and small clothiers 
 in the Hussars, but Mildred begged very hard 
 to be allowed to stay, and behaved so prettily 
 that he was forgiven, and became a man, 
 which is much more important than being 
 any sort of viscount. 
 
176 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 The only persons who did not share the gen* 
 eral regard for the White Hussars were a few 
 thousand gentlemen of Jewish extraction who 
 lived across the border, and answered to the 
 name of Pathan. They had only met the regi- 
 ment officially, and for something less than 
 twenty minutes, but the interview, which was 
 complicated with many casualties, had filled 
 them with prejudice. They even called the 
 White Hussars "children of the devil," and 
 sons of persons whom it would be perfectly 
 impossible to meet in decent society. Yet they 
 were not above making their aversion fill their 
 money-belts. The regiment possessed car- 
 bines, beautiful Martini-Henry carbines, that 
 would cob a bullet into an enemy's camp at 
 one thousand yards, and were even handier 
 than the long rifle. Therefore they were 
 coveted all along the border, and, since de- 
 mand inevitably breeds supply, they were sup- 
 plied at the risk of life and limb for exactly 
 their weight in coined silver — seven and one 
 half pounds of rupees, or sixten pounds and a 
 few shillings each, reckoning the rupee at par. 
 They were stolen at night by snaky-haired 
 thieves that crawled on their stomachs under 
 the nose of the sentries ; they disappeared 
 mysteriously from arm-racks; and in the hot 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 177 
 
 ■weather, when all the doors and windows were 
 open, they vanished like puffs of their own 
 smoke. The border people desired them first 
 for their own family vendettas, and then for 
 contingencies. But in the long cold nights of 
 the Northern Indian winter they were stolen 
 most extensively. The traffic of murder was 
 liveliest among the hills at that season, and 
 prices ruled high. The regimental guards 
 were first doubled and then trebled. A 
 trooper does not much care if he loses a weapon 
 i — government must make it good — but he 
 deeply resents the loss of his sleep. The regi- 
 ment grew very angry, and one night-thief 
 who managed to limp away bears the visible 
 marks of their anger upon him to this hour. 
 That incident stopped the burglaries for a 
 time, and the guards were reduced accord- 
 ingly, and the regiment devoted itself to polo 
 with unexpected results, for it beat by two 
 goals to one that very terrible polo corps the 
 Lushkar Light Horse, though the latter had 
 four ponies a piece for a short hour's fight, 
 as well as a native officer who played like a 
 lambent flame across the ground. 
 
 Then they gave a dinner to celebrate the 
 event. The Lushkar team came, and Dirko- 
 vitch came, in the fullest full uniform of a 
 
178 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 Cossack officer, which is as full as a dressing- 
 gown, and was introduced to the Lushkars, 
 and opened his eyes as he regarded them. 
 They were lighter men than the Hussars, and 
 they carried themselves with the swing that is 
 the peculiar right of the Punjab frontier force 
 and all irregular horse. Like everything else 
 in the service, it has to be learned ; but, unlike 
 many things, it is never forgotten, and re- 
 mains on the body till death. 
 
 The great beam-roofed mess-room of the 
 White Hussars was a sight to be remembered. 
 All the mess-plate was on the long table — the 
 same table that had served up the bodies of 
 five dead officers in a forgotten fight long and 
 long ago — the dingy, battered standards 
 faced the door of entrance, clumps of winter 
 roses lay between the silver candlesticks, the 
 portraits of eminent officers deceased looked 
 down on their successors from between the 
 heads of sambhur, nilghai, maikhor, and, 
 pride of all the mess, two grinning snow-leop- 
 ards that had cost Basset-Holmer four 
 months' leave that he might have spent in 
 England instead of on the road to Thibet, and 
 the daily risk of his life on ledge, snow-slide, 
 and grassy grass-slope. 
 
 The servants, in spotless white muslin and 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 179 
 
 the crest of their regiments on the brow of 
 their turbans, waited behind their masters, 
 who were clad in the scarlet and gold of the 
 White Hussars and the cream and silver of 
 the Lushkar Light Horse. Dirkovitch's dull 
 green uniform was the only dark spot at the 
 board, but his big onyx eyes made up for it. 
 He was fraternizing effusively with the cap- 
 tain of the Lushkar team, who was wondering 
 how many of Dirkovitch's Cossacks his own, 
 long, lathy, down-countrymen could account 
 for in a fair charge. But one does not speak 
 of these things openly. 
 
 The talk rose higher and higher, and the 
 regimental band played bet wen the courses, as 
 is the immemorial custom, till all tongues 
 ceased for a moment with the removal of the 
 dinner slips and the First Toast of Obligation, 
 when the colonel, rising, said: "Mr. Vice, the 
 Queen," and Little Mildred from the bottom 
 of the table answered : "The Queen, God bless 
 her!" and the big spurs clanked ;.as the big 
 men heaved themselves up and drank the 
 Queen, upon whose pay they were falsely 
 supposed to pay their mess-bills. That sacra- 
 ment of the mess never grows old, and never 
 ceases to bring a lump into the throat of the lis- 
 tener wherever he be, by land or by sea. Dirk- 
 
180 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 ovitch rose with his "brothers glorious," but 
 he could not understand. No one but an offi- 
 cer can understand what the toast means ; and 
 the bulk have more sentiment than compre- 
 hension. It all comes to the same in the end, as 
 the enemy said when he was wriggling on a 
 lance-point. Immediately after the little silence 
 that follows on the ceremony there en- 
 tered the native officer who had played for the 
 Lushkar team. He could not of course eat 
 with the alien, but he came in at dessert, all 
 six feet of him, with the blue-and-silver tur- 
 ban atop and the big black top-boots below. 
 The mess rose joyously as he thrust forward 
 the hilt of his sabre, in token of realty, for the 
 colonel of the White Hussars to touch, and 
 dropped into a vacant chair amid shouts of 
 Rung ho! "Hira Singh!" (which being 
 translated means "Go in and win!"). "Did 
 I whack you over the knee, old man ?" "Res- 
 saidar Sahib, what the devil made you play 
 that kicking pig of a pony in the last ten min- 
 utes?" "Shabash, Ressaidar Sahib!" Then 
 the voice of the colonel : "The health of Res- 
 saidar Hira Singh!" 
 
 After the shouting had died away Hira 
 Singh rose to reply, for he was the cadet of a 
 royal house, the son of a king's son, and knew 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 181 
 
 what was due on these occasions. Thus he 
 spoke in the vernacular : 
 
 "Colonel Sahib and officers of this regi- 
 ment, much honor have you done me. This 
 will I remember. We came down from afar 
 to play you; but we were beaten." ("No 
 fault of yours, Ressaidar Sahib. Played on 
 your own ground, y' know. Your ponies were 
 cramped from the railway. Don't apolo- 
 gize.") "Therefore perhaps we will come 
 again if it be so ordained." ("Hear! Hear, 
 hear, indeed! Bravo! H'sh!") "Then we 
 will play you afresh" ("Happy to meet 
 you"), "till there are left no feet upon our 
 ponies. Thus far for sport." He dropped 
 one hand on his sword-hilt, and his eye wan- 
 dered to Dirkovitch lolling back in his chair. 
 "But if by the will of God there arises any 
 other game which is not the polo game, then 
 be assured, Colonel Sahib and officers, that 
 we shall play it out side by side, though they" 
 — again his eye sought Dirkovitch — "though 
 they, I say, have fifty ponies to our one 
 horse." And with a deep-mouthed Rung ho! 
 that rang like a musket-butt on flag-stones, he 
 sat down amid shoutings. 
 
 Dirkovitch, who had devoted himself stead- 
 ily to the brandy — the terrible brandy afore- 
 
182 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 mentioned — did not understand, nor did the 
 expurgated translations offered to him at all 
 convey the point. Decidedly the native offi- 
 cer's was the speech of the evening, and the 
 clamor might have continued to the dawn had 
 it not been broken by the noise of a shot with- 
 out that sent every man feeling at his defense- 
 less left side. It is notable that Dirkovitch 
 "reached back," after the American fashion 
 — a gesture that set the captain of the Lush- 
 kar team wondering how Cossack officers 
 were armed at mess. Then there was a scuffle 
 and a yell of pain. 
 
 "Carbine-stealing again!" said the adju- 
 tant, calmly sinking back in his chair. "This 
 comes of reducing the guards. I hope the 
 sentries have killed him." 
 
 The feet of armed men pounded on the ve- 
 randa flags, and it sounded as though some- 
 thing was being dragged. 
 
 "Why don't they put him in the cells till the 
 morning?" said the colonel, testily. "See if 
 they've damaged him, sergeant." 
 
 The mess-sergeant fled out into the dark- 
 ness, and returned with two troopers and a 
 corporal, all very much perplexed. 
 
 "Caught a man stealin' carbines, sir," said 
 the corporal. "Leastways 'e was crawlin' 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 183 
 
 toward the barricks, sir, past the main-road 
 sentries ; an' the sentry 'e says, sir" — 
 
 The limp heap of rags upheld by the three 
 men groaned. Never was seen so destitute 
 and demoralized an Afghan. He was tur- 
 banless, shoeless, caked with dirt, and all but 
 dead with rough handling. Hira Singh 
 started slightly at the sound of the man's pain. 
 Dirkovitch took another liquor glass of 
 brandy. 
 
 "What does the sentry say?" said the 
 colonel. 
 
 "Sez he speaks English, sir," said the cor- 
 poral. 
 
 "So you brought him into mess instead of 
 handing him over to the sergeant! If he 
 spoke all the tongues of the Pentecost, you've 
 no business" — 
 
 Again the bundle groaned and muttered. 
 Little Mildred had risen from his place to in- 
 spect. He jumped back as though he had 
 been shot. 
 
 "Perhaps it would be better, sir, to send 
 the men away," said he to the colonel, for he 
 was a much-privileged subaltern. He put his 
 arms round the rag-bound horror as he spoke, 
 and dropped him into a chair. It may not 
 have been explained that the littleness of Mil- 
 
1 84 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 dred lay in his being six feet four, and big 
 in proportion. The corporal, seeing that an 
 officer was disposed to look after the capture, 
 and that the colonel's eye was beginning to 
 blaze, promptly removed himself and his men. 
 The mess was left alone with the carbine 
 thief, who laid his head on the table and wept 
 bitterly, hopelessly, and inconsolably, as little 
 children weep. 
 
 Hira Singh leaped to his feet with a long- 
 drawn vernacular oath. "Colonel Sahib," 
 said he, "that man is no Afghan, for they 
 weep 'Ai! Ail' Nor is he of Hindoostan, for 
 they weep f Oh! Ho!' He weeps after the 
 fashion of the white men, who say 'Ow! 
 Owl' " 
 
 "Now, where the dickens did you get that 
 knowledge, Hira Singh?" said the captain of 
 the Lushkar team. 
 
 "Hear him!" said Hira Singh, simply, 
 pointing at the crumpled figure, that wept as 
 though it would never cease. 
 
 "He said, 'My God !' " said Little Mildred. 
 "I heard him say it." 
 
 The colonel and the mess-room looked at 
 the man in silence. It is a horrible thing to 
 hear a man cry. A woman can sob from the 
 top of her palate, or her lips, or anywhere else, 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 185 
 
 but a man cries from his diaphragm, and it 
 rends him to pieces. Also, the exhibition 
 causes the throat of the on-looker to close at 
 the top. 
 
 "Poor devil 1" said the colonel, coughing 
 tremendously. "We ought to send him to 
 hospital. He'fr been man-handled." 
 
 Now the adjutant loved his rifles. They 
 were to him as his grandchildren — the men 
 standing in the first place. He grunted re- 
 belliously: "I can understand an Afghan 
 stealing, because he's made that way. But 
 I can't understand his crying. That makes 
 it worse." 
 
 The brandy must have affected Dirkovitch, 
 for he lay back in his chair and stared at the 
 ceiling. There was nothing special in the ceil- 
 ing beyond a shadow as of a huge black cof- 
 fin. Owing to some peculiarity in the con- 
 struction of the mess-room, this shadow was 
 always thrown when the candles were lighted. 
 It never disturbed the digestion of the White 
 Hussars. They were, in fact, rather proud of 
 it. 
 
 "Is he going to cry all night," said the col- 
 onel, "or are we supposed to sit up with Little 
 Mildred's guest until he feels better?" 
 
 The man in the chair threw up his head and 
 
186 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 stared at the mess. Outside, the wheels of the 
 first of those bidden to the festivities crunched 
 the roadway. 
 
 "Oh, my God!" said the man in the chair, 
 and every soul in the mess rose to his feet. 
 Then the Lushkar captain did a deed for 
 which he ought to have been given the Vic- 
 toria Cross — distinguished gallantry in a fight 
 against overwhelming curiosity. He picked 
 up his team with his eyes as the hostess picks 
 up the ladies at the opportune moment, and 
 pausing only by the colonel's chair to say: 
 "This isn't our affair, you know, sir," led the 
 team into the veranda and the gardens. Hira 
 Singh was the last, and he looked at Dirko- 
 vitch as he moved. But Dirkovitch had de- 
 parted into a brandy paradise of his own. His 
 lips moved without sound, and he was study- 
 ing the coffin on uie ceiling. 
 
 "White — white all over," said Basset-Hol- 
 mer, the adjutant. "What a pernicious rene- 
 gade he must be! I wonder where he came 
 from?" 
 
 The colonel shook the man gently by the 
 arm, and "Who are you?" said he. 
 
 There was no answer. The man stared 
 round the mess-room and smiled in the 
 colonel's face. Little Mildred, who was al- 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 187 
 
 ways more of a woman than a man till "Boot 
 and saddle" was sounded repeated the ques- 
 tion in a voice that would have drawn confi- 
 dences from a geyser. The man only smiled. 
 Dirkovitch, at the far end of the table, slid 
 gently from his chair to the floor. No son of 
 Adam, in this present imperfect world, can 
 mix the Hussars' champagne with the Hus- 
 sars' brandy by five and eight glasses of each 
 without remembering the pit whence he has 
 been digged and descended thither. The band 
 began to play the tune with which the White 
 Hussars, from the date of their formation, 
 preface all their functions. They would 
 sooner be disbanded than abandon that tune. 
 It is a part of their system. The man 
 straightened himself in his chair and 
 drummed on the table with his fingers. 
 
 "I don't see why we should entertain luna- 
 tics," said the colonel ; "call a guard and send 
 him off to the cells. We'll look into the busi- 
 ness in the morning. Give him a glass of 
 wine first, though." 
 
 Little Mildred filled a sherry glass with the 
 brandy and thrust it over to the man. He 
 drank, and the tune rose louder, and he 
 straightened himself yet more. Then he put 
 out his long-taloned hands to a piece of plate 
 
1 88 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 opposite and fingered it lovingly. There was 
 a mystery connected with that piece of plate 
 in the shape of a spring, which converted 
 what was a seven-branched candlestick, three 
 springs each side and one in the middle, into 
 a sort of wheel-spoke candelabrum. He 
 found the spring, pressed it, and laughed 
 weakly. He rose from his chair and inspected 
 a picture on the wall, then moved on to an- 
 other picture, the mess watching him without 
 a word. When he came to the mantelpiece he 
 shook his head and seemed distressed. A 
 piece of plate representing a mounted hussar 
 in full uniform caught his eye. He pointed to 
 it, and then to the mantelpiece, with inquiry 
 in his eyes. 
 
 "What is it — oh, what is it?" said Little 
 Mildred. Then, as a mother might speak to 
 a child, "That is a horse — yes, a horse." 
 
 Very slowly came the answer, in a thick, 
 passionless guttural: "Yes, I — have seen. 
 But — where is the horse?" 
 
 He could have heard the hearts of the mess 
 beating as the men drew back to give the 
 stranger full room in his wanderings. There 
 was no question of calling the guard. 
 
 Again he spoke, very slowly: "Where is 
 our horse?" 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 189 
 
 There is no saying what happened after 
 that. There is but one horse in the White 
 Hussars, and his portarit hangs outside the 
 door of the mess-room. He is the piebald 
 drum-horse, the king of the regimental band, 
 that served the regiment for seven-and-thirty 
 years, and in the end was shot for old age. 
 Half the mess tore the thing down from its 
 place and thrust it into the man's hands. He 
 placed it above the mantelpiece; it clatered on 
 the ledge, as his poor hands dropped it, and 
 he staggered toward the bottom of the table, 
 falling into Mildred's chair. The band be- 
 gan to play the "River of Years" waltz, and 
 the laughter from the gardens came into the 
 tobacco-scented mess-room. But nobody, 
 even the youngest, was thinking of waltzes. 
 They all spoke to one another something after 
 this fashion: "The drum-horse hasn't hung 
 over the mantelpiece since '67." "How does 
 he know?" "Mildred, go and speak to him 
 again." "Colonel, what are you going to 
 do?" "Oh, dry up, and give the poor devil a 
 chance to pull himself together!" "It isn't 
 possible, anyhow. The man's a lunatic." 
 
 Little Mildred s'^od at the colonel's side 
 talking into his ear. "Will you be good 
 enough to take your seats, please, gentle- 
 
I 9 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 men?" he said, and the mess dropped into the 
 chairs. 
 
 Only Dirkovitch's seat, next to Little Mil- 
 dred's, was blank, and Little Mildred himself 
 had found Hira Singh's place. The wide- 
 eyed mess-sergeant filled the glasses in dead 
 silence. Once more the colonel rose, but his 
 hand shook, and the port spilled on the table 
 as he looked straight at the man in Little Mil- 
 dred's chair and said, hoarsely: "Mr. Vice, 
 the Queen." There was a little pause, but the 
 man sprung to his feet and answered, without 
 hesitation: "The Queen, God bless her!" and 
 as he emotied the thin glass he snapped the 
 shank between his fingers. 
 
 Long and long ago, when the Empress of 
 India was a young woman, and there were 
 no unclean ideals in the land, it was the cus- 
 tom in a few messes to drink the queen's toast 
 in broken glass, to the huge delight of the 
 mess contractors. The custom is now dead, 
 because there is nothing to break anything 
 for, except now and again the word of a gov- 
 ernment, and that has been broken already. 
 
 "That settles it," said the colonel, with a 
 gasp. "He's not a sergeant. What in the 
 world is he?" 
 
 The entire mess echoed the word, and the 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 191 
 
 volley of questions would have scared any 
 man. Small wonder that the ragged, filthy 
 invader could only smile and shake his head. 
 
 From under the table, calm and smiling ur- 
 banely, rose Dirkovitch, who had been roused 
 from healthful slumber by feet upon his body. 
 By the side of the man he rose, and the man 
 shrieked and groveled at his feet. It was a 
 horrible sight, coming so swiftly upon the 
 pride and glory of the toast that had brought 
 the strayed wits together. 
 
 Dirkovitch made no offer to raise him, but 
 Little Mildred heaved him up in an instant. 
 It is not good that a gentleman who can an- 
 swer to the queen's toast should lie at the feet 
 of a subaltern of Cossacks. 
 
 The hasty action tore the wretch's upper 
 clothing nearly to the waist, and his body was 
 seamed with dry black scars. There is only 
 one weapon in the world that cuts in parallel 
 lines, and it is neither the cane nor the cat. 
 Dirkovitch saw the marks, and the pupils of 
 his eyes dilated — also, his face changed. He 
 said something that sounded like "Shto ve 
 takete"; and the man, fawning, answered, 
 "Chetyre." 
 
 "What's that?" said everybody together. 
 
 "His number. That is number four, you 
 
192 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 know." Dirkovitch spoke very thickly. 
 
 "What has a queen's officer to do with a 
 qualified number?" said the colonel, and there 
 rose an unpleasant growl round the table. 
 
 "How can I tell ?" said the affable Oriental, 
 with a sweet smile. "He is a — how you have 
 it? — escape — runaway, from over there." 
 
 He nodded toward the darkness of the 
 night. 
 
 "Speak to him, if he'll answer you, and 
 speak to him gently," said Little Mildred, set- 
 tling the man in the chair. It seemed most 
 improper to all present that Dirkovitch should 
 sip brandy as he talked in purring, spitting 
 Russian to the creature who answered so 
 feebly and with such evident dread. But 
 since Dirkovitch appeared to understand, no 
 man said a word. They breathed heavily, 
 leaning forward in the long gaps of the con- 
 versation. The next time that they have 
 no engagements on hand the White Hussars 
 intend to go to St. Petersburg and learn Rus- 
 sian. 
 
 "He does not know how many years ago," 
 said Dirkovitch, facing the mess, "but he 
 says it was very long ago, in a war. I think 
 that there was an accident. He says he was 
 of this glorious and distinguished regiment 
 in the war." 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 193 
 
 'The rolls! The rolls! Holmer, get the 
 rells!" said Little Mildred, and the adjutant 
 dashed off bareheaded to the orderly-room 
 where the rolls of the regiment were kept. 
 He returned just in time to hear Dirl ovitch 
 conclude : "Therefore I am most sorry to say 
 there was an accident, which would have been 
 reparable if he had apologized to that our 
 colonel, which he had insulted." 
 
 Another growl, which the colonel tried to 
 beat down. The mess was in no mood to 
 weigh insults to Russian colonels just then. 
 
 "He does not remember, but I think that 
 there was an accident, and so he was not ex- 
 changed among the prisoners, but he was sent 
 to another place — how do you say ? — the coun- 
 try. So, he says, he came here. He does not 
 know how he came. Eh? He was at Chep- 
 any" — the man caught the word, nodded, and 
 shivered — "at Zhigansk and Irkutsk. I can- 
 not understand how he escaped. He says, too, 
 that he was in the forests for many years, 
 but how many years he has forgotten — that 
 with many things. It was an accident; done 
 because he did not apologize to that our col- 
 onel. Ah!" 
 
 Instead of echoing Dirkovitch's sigh of re- 
 gret, it is sad to record that the White Hus- 
 
194 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 sars livelily exhibited unchristian delight and 
 other emotions, hardly restrained by their 
 sense of hospitality. Holmer flung the frayed 
 and yellow regimental rolls on the table, and 
 the men flung themselves atop of these. 
 
 "Steady! Fifty-six — fifty-five — fifty- 
 four," said Holmer. "Here we are. 'Lieu- 
 tenant Austin Limmason — missing,' That 
 was before Sebastopol. What an infernal 
 shame! Insulted one of their colonels, and 
 was quietly shipped ofT. Thirty years of his 
 life wiped out." 
 
 "But he never apologized. Said he'd see 
 him — first,"chorused the mess. 
 
 "Poor devil! I suppose he never had the 
 chance afterward. How did he come here?" 
 said the colonel. 
 
 The dingy heap in the chair could give no 
 answer. 
 
 "Do you know who you are ?" 
 
 It laughed weakly. 
 
 "Do you know that you are Limmason — 
 Lieutenant Limmason, of the White Hus- 
 sars?" 
 
 Swift as a shot came the answer, in a 
 slightly surprised tone: "Yes, I'm Limmason, 
 of course." The light died out in his eyes, and 
 he collapsed afresh, watching every motion 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 195 
 
 of Dirkovitch with terror. A flight from Si- 
 beria may fix a few elementary facts in the 
 mind, but it does not lead to continuity of 
 thought. The man could not explain how, 
 like a homing pigeon, he had found his way 
 to his own old mess again. Of what he had 
 suffered or seen he knew nothing. He cringed 
 before Dirkovitch as instinctively as he had 
 pressed the spring of the candlestick, sought 
 the picture of the drum-horse, and answered 
 to the queen's toast. The rest was a blank 
 that the dreaded Russian tongue could only 
 in part remove. His head bowed on his 
 breast, and he giggled and cowered alter- 
 nately. 
 
 The devil that lived in the brandy prompted 
 Dirkovitch at this extremely inopportune mo- 
 ment to make a speech. He rose, swaying 
 slightly, gripped the table edge, while his eyes 
 glowed like opals, and began: 
 
 "Fellow-soldiers glorious — true friends and 
 hospitables. It was an accident, and deplora- 
 ble — most deplorable." Here he smiled 
 sweetly all round the mess. "But you will 
 think of this little — little thing. So little, 
 is it not? The czar! Posh! I slap my fin- 
 gers — I snap my fingers at him. Do I be- 
 lieve in him? No! But the Slav who has 
 done nothing, him I believe. Seventy — how 
 
196 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 much? — millions that have done nothing — 
 not one thing. Napoleon was an episode." 
 He banged a hand on the table. "Hear you, 
 old peoples, we have done nothing in the 
 world — out here. All our work is to do : and 
 it shall be done, old peoples. Get away!" 
 He waved his hand imperiously, and pointed 
 to the man. "You see him. He is not good 
 to see. He was just one little — oh, so little — 
 accident, that no one remembered. Now he 
 is That. So will you be, brother-soldiers so 
 brave — so will you be. But you will never 
 come back. You will all go where he is gone, 
 or" — he pointed to the great coffin shadow on 
 the ceiling, and muttered, "Seventy millions — 
 get away, you old people," fell asleep. 
 
 "Sweet, and to the point," said Little Mil- 
 dred. "What's the use of getting wroth? 
 Let's make the poor devil comfortable." 
 
 But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly 
 taken from the loving hands of the White 
 Hussars. The lieutenant had returned only 
 to go away again three days later, when the 
 wail of the "Dead March" and the tramp of 
 the squadrons told the wondering station, that 
 saw no gap in the table, an officer of the regi- 
 ment had resigned his new found commis- 
 sion. 
 
 And Dirkovitch — bland, supple, and al- 
 ways genial — went away too by a night train. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 197; 
 
 Little Mildred and another saw him off, for 
 he was the guest of the mess, and even had he 
 smitten the colonel with the open hand, the 
 law of the mess allowed no relaxation of hos- 
 pitality. 
 
 "Good-bye, Dirkovitch, and a pleasant jour- 
 ney," said little Mildred. 
 
 "Au revoir, my true friends," said the Rus- 
 sian. 
 
 "Indeed! But we thought you were going 
 home?" 
 
 "Yes; but I will come again. My friends, 
 is that road shut?" He pointed to where the 
 north star burned over the Khyber Pass. 
 
 "By Jove! I forgot. Of course. Happy 
 to meet you, old man, any time you like. Got 
 everything you want — cheroots, ice, bed- 
 ding? That's all right. Well, au revoir, Dir- 
 kovitch." 
 
 "Urn," said the other man, as the tail- 
 lights of the train grew small. "Of — all — 
 the — unmitigated" — 
 
 Little Mildred answered nothing, but 
 watched the north star, and hummed a selec- 
 tion from a recent burlesque that had much 
 delighted the White Hussars. It ran: 
 
 "Pm sorry for Mr. Bluebeard, 
 
 I'm sorry to cause him pain; 
 But a terrible spree there's sure to be 
 When he comes back again." 
 
A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS 
 
A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS 
 
 "Life liveth best in life, and doth not roam 
 To other realms if all be well at home. 
 'Solid as ocean foam,' quoth ocean foam." 
 
 THE room was blue with the smoke of 
 three pipes and a cigar. The leave sea- 
 son had opened in India, and the first-fruits 
 on the English side of the water were "Tick" 
 Boileau, of the Forty-fifth Bengal Cavalry, 
 who called on me after three years' absence 
 to discuss old things which had happened. 
 Fate, who always does her work handsomely, 
 sent up the same staircase within the same hour 
 the Infant, fresh from Upper Burmah, and he 
 and Boileau, looking out of my window, saw 
 walking in the street one Nevin, late in a 
 Ghoorka regiment and the Black Mountain 
 expedition. They yelled to him to come up, 
 and the whole street was aware that they de- 
 sired him to come up; and he came up, and 
 there followed pandemonium, because we had 
 foregathered from the ends of the earth, and 
 three of us were on a holiday, and none of 
 us was twenty-five, and all the delights of all 
 London lay waiting our pleasure. 
 201 
 
202 A CONFERENCE 
 
 Boileau took the only other chair; and the 
 Infant, by right of his bulk, the sofa; and 
 Nevin, being a little man, sat cross-legged on 
 the top of the revolving book-case; and we 
 all said: "Who'd ha' thought it?" and "What 
 are you doing here?" till speculation was ex- 
 hausted, and the talk went over to inevitable 
 "shop." Boileau was full of a great scheme 
 for securing military attacheship at St. Peters- 
 burg; Nevin had hopes of the Staff College; 
 and the Infant had been moving heaven and 
 earth and the Horse Guards for a commission 
 in the Egyptian army. 
 
 "What's the use o' that?" said Nevin, twirl- 
 ing round on the book-case. 
 
 "Oh, heaps! Course if you get stuck with a 
 Fellaheen regiment, you're sold; but if you 
 are appointed to a Soudanese lot, you're in 
 clover. They are first-class fighting men, and 
 just think of the eligible central position of 
 Egypt in the next row!" 
 
 This was putting the match to the maga- 
 zine. We all began to explain the Central- 
 Asian question off-hand, flinging army corps 
 from the Helmund to Cashmir with more than 
 Russian recklessness. Each of the boys made 
 for himself a war to his own liking, and when 
 he had settled all the details of Armageddon, 
 
OF THE POWERS 203 
 
 killed all our senior officers, handled a divi- 
 sion apiece, and nearly torn the atlas in two 
 in attempts to explain our theories, Boileau 
 needs must lift up his voice above the 
 
 clamor and cry: "Anyhow, it'll be the of 
 
 a row!" in tones that carried conviction far 
 down the staircase. 
 
 Entered unperceived in the smoke William 
 the Silent. "Gen'elmen to see you, sir," said 
 he, and disappeared, leaving in his stead none 
 other than Mr. Eustace Cleever. William 
 would have introduced the dragon of Want- 
 ley with equal disregard of present company. 
 
 "I — I beg your pardon! I didn't know 
 that there was anybody — with you. I" — 
 
 But it was not seemly to allow Mr. Cleever 
 to depart, for he was a great man. The boys 
 remained where they were, because any move- 
 ment would block the little room. Only when 
 they saw his grey hairs they stood up on their 
 feet, and when the Infant caught the name, 
 he said : "Are you — did you write that book 
 called 'As it was in the Beginning'?" 
 
 Mr. Cleever admitted that he had written 
 the book. 
 
 "Then — then I don't know how to thank 
 you, sir," said the Infant, flushing pink. "I was 
 brought up in the country you wrote about. 
 
204 A CONFERENCE 
 
 All my people live there, and I read the book in 
 camp out in Burmah on the Hlinedatalone, 
 and I knew every stick and stone, and the 
 dialect, too; and, by Jove! it was just like 
 being at home and hearing the country people 
 talk. Nevin, you know/ As it was in the Be- 
 ginning'? So does Ti — Boileau." 
 
 Mr. Cleever has tasted as much praise, pub- 
 lic and private, as one man may safely swal- 
 low, but it seemed to me that the outspoken 
 admiration in the Infant's eyes and the little 
 stir in the little company came home to him 
 very nearly indeed. 
 
 "Won't you take the sofa ?" said the Infant. 
 "Ill sit on Boileau's chair, and" — Here he 
 looked at me to spur me to my duties as a 
 host, but I was watching the novelist's face. 
 Cleever had not the least intention of going 
 away, but settled himself on the sofa. Fol- 
 lowing the first great law of the army, which 
 says : "All property is common except money, 
 and you've only got to ask the next man for 
 that," the Infant offered tobacco and drink. 
 It was the least he could do, but not four col- 
 umns of the finest review in the world held 
 half as much appreciation and reverence as 
 the Infant's simple: "Say when, sir," above 
 the long glass. 
 
OF THE POWERS 205 
 
 Geever said "when," and more thereto, for 
 he was a golden talker, and he sat in the midst 
 of hero-worship devoid of all taint of self- 
 interest. The boys asked him of the birth of 
 his book, and whether it was hard to write, 
 and how his notions came to him, and he an- 
 swered with the same absolute simplicity as 
 he was questioned. His big eyes twinkled, he 
 dug his long, thin hands into his grey beard, 
 and tugged it as he grew animated and 
 dropped little by little from the peculiar pinch- 
 ing of the broader vowels — the indefinable 
 "euh" that runs through the speech of the pun- 
 dit caste — and the elaborate choice of words 
 to freely mouthed ows and ois, and for him, at 
 least, unfettered colloquialisms. He could not 
 altogether understand the boys who hung 
 upon his words so reverently. The line of the 
 chin-strap that still showed white and un- 
 tanned on cheek-bone and jaw, the steadfast 
 young eyes puckered at the corners of the lids 
 with much staring through red-hot sunshine, 
 the deep, troubled breathing and the curious 
 crisp, curt speech seemed to puzzle him 
 equally. 'He could create men and women, 
 and send them to the uttermost ends of the 
 earth to help, delight, and comfort; he knew 
 every mood of the fields, and could interpret 
 
206 A CONFERENCE 
 
 them to the cities, and he knew the hearts of 
 many in the city and country, but he had hardly 
 in forty years come into contact with the thing 
 which is called a Subaltern of the Line. He 
 told the boys this. 
 
 "Well, how should you?" said the Infant. 
 "You — you're quite different, y' see, sir." 
 
 The Infant expressed his ideas in his tone 
 rather than his words, and Cleever understood 
 the compliments. 
 
 "We're only subs," said Nevin, "and we 
 aren't exactly the sort of men you'd meet 
 much in your life, I s'pose." 
 
 "That's true," said Cleever. "I live chiefly 
 among those who write and paint and sculp 
 and so forth. We have our own talk and our 
 own interests, and the outer world doesn't 
 trouble us much." 
 
 "That must be awfully jolly," said Boileau, 
 at a venture. "We have our own shop, too, 
 but 'tisn't half as interesting as yours, of 
 course. You know all the men who've ever 
 done anything, and we only knock about from 
 place to place, and we do nothing." 
 
 "The army's a very lazy profession, if you 
 choose to make it so," said Nevin. "When 
 there's nothing going on, there is nothing go- 
 ing on, and you lie up." 
 
OF THE POWERS 207 
 
 "Or try to get a billet somewhere so as to be 
 ready for the next show," said the Infant, with 
 a chuckle. 
 
 "To me," said Cleever softly, "the whole 
 idea of warfare seems so foreign and unnat- 
 ural — so essentially vulgar, if I may say so — 
 that I can hardly appreciate your sensations. 
 Of course, though, any change from idling in 
 garrison towns must be a godsend to you." 
 
 Like not a few home-staying Englishmen, 
 Cleever believed that the newspaper phrase he 
 quoted covered the whole duty of the army, 
 whose toil enabled him to enjoy his many- 
 sided life in peace. The remark was not a 
 happy one, for Boileau had just come off the 
 Indian frontier, the Infant had been on the 
 war path for nearly eighteen months, and the 
 little red man, Nevin, two months before had 
 been sleeping under the stars at the peril of his 
 life. But none of them tried to explain till I 
 ventured to point out that they had all seen 
 service, and were not used to idling. Cleever 
 took in the idea slowly. 
 
 "Seen service?" said he. Then, as a child 
 might ask, "Tell me — tell me everything about 
 everything." 
 
 "How do you mean, sir?" said the Infant, 
 delighted at being directly appealed to by the 
 great man. 
 
208 A CONFERENCE 
 
 "Good heavens! how am I to make you 
 understand if you can't see? In the first place, 
 what is your age?" 
 
 "Twenty-three next July," said the Infant, 
 promptly. 
 
 Cleever questioned the others with his eyes. 
 
 "I'm twenty-four," said Nevin. 
 
 "I'm twenty-two," said Boileau. 
 
 "And you've all seen service ?" 
 
 "We've all knocked about a little bit, sir, 
 but the Infant's the war-worn veteran. He's 
 had two years' work in Upper Burmah," said 
 Nevin. 
 
 "When you say work, what do you mean, 
 you extraordinary creatures?" 
 
 "Explain it, Infant," said Nevin. 
 
 "Oh, keeping things in order generally, and 
 running about after little dakus< — that's Da- 
 coits — and so on. There's nothing to ex- 
 plain." 
 
 "Make that young leviathan speak," said 
 Cleever, impatiently. 
 
 "How can he speak?" said I. "He's done 
 the work. The two don't go together. But, 
 Infant, you are requested to bukh." 
 
 "What about? I'll try." 
 
 "Bukh about a daur. You've been on heaps 
 of 'em," said Nevin. 
 
OF THE POWERS 20g 
 
 "What in the world does that mean? Has 
 the army a language of its own?" 
 
 The Infant turned very red. He was afraid 
 he was being laughed at, and he detested talk- 
 ing before outsiders ; but it was the author of 
 "As it was in the Beginning" who waited. 
 
 "It's all so new to me," pleaded Cleever. 
 "And — you said you liked my book." 
 
 This was a direct appeal that the Infant 
 could understand. He began, rather Hur- 
 riedly, with "Pull me up, sir, if I say anything 
 you don't follow. 'Bout six months before 
 I took my leave out of Burmah I was on the 
 Hlinedatalone up near the Shan states with 
 sixty Tommies — private soldiers, that is — and 
 another subaltern, a year senior to me. The 
 Burmese business was a subaltern war, and 
 our forces were split up into little detach- 
 ments, all running about the country and try- 
 ing to keep the Dacoits quiet. The Dacoits 
 were having a first-class time, y' know — filling 
 women up with kerosene and setting 'em alight, 
 and burning villages, and crucifying people." 
 
 The wonder in Eustace Cleever's eyes deep- 
 ened. He disbelieved wholly in a book which 
 describes crucifixion at length, and he could 
 not quite realize that the custom still existed. 
 
 "Have you ever seen a crucifixion?" said 
 he. 
 
210 A CONFERENCE 
 
 "Of course not. Shouldn't have allowed it if 
 I had. But I've seen the corpses. The Da- 
 coits had a nice trick of sending a crucified 
 corpse down the river on a raft, just to show 
 they were keeping their tail up and en- 
 joying themselves. Well, that was the kind of 
 people I had to deal with." 
 
 "Alone?" said Cleever. Solitude of the soul 
 he knew — none better; but he had never been 
 ten miles away from his fellow-men in his 
 life. 
 
 "I had my men, but the rest of it was pretty 
 much alone. The nearest military post that 
 could give me orders was fifteen miles away, 
 and we used to heliograph to them, and they 
 used to give us orders same way. Too many 
 orders." 
 
 "Who was your C. O. ?" said Boileau. 
 
 "Bounderby. Major. Pukka Bounderby. 
 More Bounder than pukka. He went out up 
 Bhamo way. Shot or cut down last year," 
 said the Infant. 
 
 "What mean these interludes in a strange 
 tongue?" said Cleever to me. 
 
 "Professional information, like the Missis- 
 sippi pilots* talk. He did not approve of his 
 major, who has since died a violent death," 
 said I. "Go on, Infant." 
 
OF THE POWERS 211 
 
 "Far too many orders. You couldn't take 
 the Tommies out for a two-days' daur — that 
 means expedition, sir — without being blown 
 up for not asking leave. And the whole coun- 
 try was humming with* Dacoits. I used to 
 send out spies and act on their information. 
 As soon as a man came in and told me of a 
 gang in hiding, I'd take thirty men, with some 
 grub, and go out and look for them, while the 
 other subaltern lay doggo in camp.'" 
 
 "Lay? Pardon me, how did he lie?" said 
 Cleever. 
 
 "Lay doggo. Lay quiet with the thirty 
 other men. When I came back, he'd take out 
 his half of the command, and have a good 
 time of his own." 
 
 "Who was he?" said Boileau. 
 
 "Carter-Deecy, of the Aurangabadis. Good 
 chap, but too zubherdusty, and went bokhar 
 four days out of seven. He's gone out too. 
 Don't interrupt a man." 
 
 Cleever looked helplessly at me. 
 
 "The other subaltern," I translate, swiftly, 
 "came from a native regiment and was over- 
 bearing in his demeanor. He suffered much 
 from the fever of the country, and is now 
 dead. Go on, Infant." 
 
 "After a bit we got into trouble for using the 
 
212 A CONFERENCE 
 
 men on frivolous occasions, and so I used to 
 put my signaler under arrest to prevent him 
 reading the helio orders. Then I'd go out, 
 and leave a message to be sent an hour after I 
 got clear of the camp; something like this: 
 'Received important information; start in an 
 hour, unless countermanded.' If I was or- 
 dered back, it didn't much matter. I swore 
 that the C. O.'s watch was wrong, or some- 
 thing, when I came back. The Tommies en- 
 joyed the fun, and — oh, yes — there was one 
 Tommy who was the bard of the detachment. 
 He used to make up verses on everything that 
 happened." 
 
 "What sort of verses?" said Cleever 
 "Lovely verses; and the Tommies used to 
 sing 'em. There was one song with a chorus, 
 and it said something like this." The Infant 
 dropped into the barrack-room twang: 
 
 "Theebau, the Burmah king, did a very foolish thing 
 When 'e mustered 'ostile forces in ar-rai. 
 'E littul thought that we, from far across the sea, 
 Would send cur armies up to Mandalai !' " 
 
 "Oh, gorgeous!" said Cleever. "And how 
 magnificently direct! The notion of a regi- 
 mental bard is new to me. It's epic." 
 
 "He was awf'ly popular with the men," 
 
OF THE POWERS 213 
 
 said the Infant. "He had them all down in 
 rhyme as soon as ever they had done anything. 
 He was a great bard. He was always on time 
 with a eulogy when he picked up a Boh — that's 
 a leader of Dacoits." 
 
 "How did you pick him up ?" said Cleever. 
 
 "Oh, shot him if he wouldn't surrender." 
 
 "You ! Have you shot a man ?" 
 
 There was a subdued chuckle from all three, 
 and it dawned on the questioner that one ex- 
 perience in life which was denied to himself — > 
 and he weighed the souls of men in a balance 
 — had been shared by three very young gen- 
 tlemen of engaging appearance. He turned 
 round on Nevin, who had climbed to the top 
 of the book-case and was sitting cross-legged 
 as before. 
 
 "And have you, too ?" 
 
 "And have you, too ?" 
 
 "Think so," said Nevin, sweetly. "In the 
 Black Mountain, sir. He was rolling cliffs on 
 to my half-company and spoiling our forma- 
 tion. I took a rifle from a man and brought 
 him down at a second shot." 
 
 "Good heavens! And how did you feel af- 
 terward ?" 
 
 "Thirsty. I wanted a smoke, too." 
 
 Cleever looked at Boileau, the youngest. 
 
214 A CONFERENCE 
 
 Surely his hands were guiltless of blood. Boi- 
 leau shook his head and laughed. "Go on, 
 Infant," said he. 
 
 "And you, too?" said Cleever. 
 
 "Fancy so. It was a case of cut — cut or be 
 cut — with me, so I cut at one. I couldn't do 
 any more, sir," said Boileau. 
 
 Cleever looked as though he would like to 
 ask many questions, but the Infant swept on in 
 the full tide of his tale. 
 
 "Well, we were called insubordinate young 
 whelps at last, and strictly forbidden to take 
 the Tommies out any more without orders. I 
 wasn't sorry, because Tommy is such an exact- 
 ing sort of creature, though he works beauti- 
 fully. He wants to live as though he were in 
 barracks all the time. I was grubbing on fowls 
 and boiled corn, but the Tommies wanted their 
 pound of fresh meat, and their half ounce of 
 this, and their two ounces of t'other thing, and 
 they used to come to me and badger me for 
 plug tobacco when we were four days in jun- 
 gle! I said: 'I can get you Burmah tobacco, 
 but I don't keep a canteen up my sleeve.' They 
 couldn't see it. They wanted all the luxuries 
 of the season, confound 'em!" 
 
 "You were alone when you were dealing 
 with these men?" said Cleever, watching the 
 
OF THE POWERS 215 
 
 Infant's face under the palm of his hand. He 
 was receiving new ideas, and they seemed to 
 trouble him. 
 
 "Of course. Unless you count the mosqui- 
 toes. They were nearly as big as the men. 
 After I had to lie doggo I began to look for 
 something to do, and I was great pals with a 
 man called Hicksey, in the Burmah police. — 
 the best man that ever stepped on earth; a 
 first-class man." 
 
 Cleever nodded applause. He knew some- 
 thing of enthusiasm. 
 
 "Hicksey and I were as thick as thieves. He 
 had some Burmah mounted police — nippy lit- 
 tle chaps, armed with sword and Snider car- 
 bine. They rode punchy Burmah ponies, with 
 string stirrups, red cloth saddles, and red bell- 
 rope headstalls. Hicksey used to lend me six 
 or eight of them when I asked him — nippy lit- 
 tle devils, keen as mustard. But they told 
 their wives too much, and all my plans got 
 known, till I learned to give false marching 
 orders over night, and take the men to quite a 
 different village in the morning. Then we 
 used to catch the simple dakus before break- 
 fast, and make them very sick. It's a ghastly 
 country on the Hlinedatalone ; all bamboo jun- 
 gle, with paths about four feet wide winding 
 
216 A CONFERENCE 
 
 through it. The dakus knew all the paths, and 
 used to pot at us as we came round a corner; 
 but the mounted police knew the paths as well 
 as the dakus, and we used to go stalking 'em 
 in and out among the paths. Once we flushed 
 'em — the men on the ponies had the pull of 
 the man on foot. We held all the country ab- 
 solutely quiet for ten miles round in about a 
 month. Then we took Boh Na-ghee — Hick- 
 sey and I and the civil officer. That was a 
 lark!" 
 
 ' i think I am beginning to understand a lit- 
 tle," said Cleever. "It was a pleasure to you 
 to administer and fight, and so on." 
 
 "Rather. There's nothing nicer than a sat- 
 isfactory little expedition, when you find all 
 your plans fit together and your conformations 
 teek — correct, you know — and the whole sub- 
 chiz — I mean when everything works out like 
 formulae on a blackboard. Hicksey had all the 
 information about the Boh. He had been 
 burning villages and murdering people right 
 and left, and cutting up government convoys, 
 and all that. He was lying doggo in a village 
 about fifteen miles off, waiting to get a fresh 
 gang together. So we arranged to take thirty 
 mounted police, and turn him out before he 
 could plunder into the newly settled villages. 
 
OF THE POWERS 217 
 
 At the last minute the civil officer in our part 
 of the world thought he'd assist in the per- 
 formance." 
 
 "Who was he?" said Nevin. 
 
 "His name was Dennis," said the Infant, 
 slowly ; "and we'll let it stay so. He's a better 
 man now than he was then." 
 
 "But how old was the civil power?" said 
 Cleever. ^"The situation is developing itself." 
 Then, in his beard: "Who are you, to judge 
 men?" 
 
 "He was about six-and-twenty," said the 
 Infant; "and he was aw fly clever. He knew 
 a lot of literary things, but I don't think he 
 was quite steady enough for Dacoit-hunting. 
 We started over night for Boh Na-ghee's vil- 
 lage, and we got there just before the morning, 
 without raising an alarm. Dennis had turned 
 out armed to the teeth — two revolvers, a car- 
 bine, and all sorts of things. I was talking 
 to Hicksey about posting our men, and Dennis 
 edged his pony in between us and said : 'What 
 shall I do? What shall I do? Tell me what 
 to do, you fellows.' We didn't take much 
 notice, but his pony tried to bite me in the 
 leg, and I said: 'Pull out a bit, old man, 
 till we've settled the attack.' He kept edging 
 in, and fiddling with his reins and the revol- 
 
218 A CONFERENCE 
 
 vers, and saying: 'Dear me! dear me! Oh, 
 clear me! What do you think I'd better do?' 
 The man was in a blue funk and his teeth were 
 chattering." 
 
 "I sympathize with the civil power," said 
 Cleever. "Continue, young Give." 
 
 "The fun of it was that he was supposed 
 to be our superior officer. Hicksey took a 
 good look at him, and told him to attach 
 himself to my party. Beastly mean of Hick- 
 sey, that. The chap kept on edging in and 
 bothering, instead of asking for some men 
 and taking up his own position, till I got 
 angry. The carbines began popping on the 
 other side of the village. Then I said: Tor 
 God's sake, be quiet, and sit down where 
 you are! If you see anybody come out of the 
 village, shoot at him.' I knew he couldn't 
 hit a hayrick at a yard. Then I took my men 
 over the garden wall — over the palisades, 
 y' know — somehow or other, z id the fun be- 
 gan. Hicksey had found the Boh in bed under 
 a mosquito curtain, and he had taken a flying 
 jump on to him." 
 
 "A flying jump!" said Cleever. "Is that 
 also war?" 
 
 "Yes," said the Infant, now thoroughly 
 warmed. "Don't you know how you take a 
 
OF THE POWERS 219 
 
 flying jump on to a fellow's head at school 
 when he snores in the dormitory? The Boh 
 was sleeping in a regular bedful of swords and 
 pistols, and Hicksey came down a la Zazel 
 through the netting, and the net got mixed 
 up with the pistols and the Boh and Hicksey, 
 and they all rolled on the floor together. I 
 laughed till I couldn't stand, and Hicksey 
 was cursing me for not helping him, so I 
 left him to fight it out, and went into the vil- 
 lage. Our men were slashing about and firing, 
 and so were the Dacoits, and in the thick of 
 the mess some ass set fire to a house, and we 
 all had to clear out. I froze on the nearest 
 daku and ran to the palisade, shoving him 
 in front of me. He wriggled clear and 
 bounded over to the other side. I came after 
 him, but when I had one leg on one side and 
 one leg the other of the palisade, I saw 
 that my friend had fallen flat on Dennis's 
 head. That man had never moved from 
 where I left him. The two rolled on the 
 ground together, and Dennis's carbine went off 
 and nearly shot me. The daku picked him- 
 self up and ran, and Dennis heaved his car- 
 bine after him, and it caught him on the back 
 of his head and knocked him silly. You 
 never saw anything so funny in your life. 
 
220 A CONFERENCE 
 
 I doubled up on the top of the palisade and 
 hung there, yelling with laughter. But Den- 
 nis began to weep like anything. * Oh, I've 
 killed a man !' he said — Tve killed a man, and 
 I shall never know another peaceful hour in my 
 life! Is he dead? Oh, is he dead? Good 
 God! I've killed a man!' I came down and 
 said: 'Don't be a fool!' But he kept on 
 shouting 'Is he dead?' till I could have kicked 
 him. The daku was only knocked out of time 
 with the carbine. He came to after a bit, and 
 I said: 'Are you hurt much?' He grinned 
 and said no. His chest was all cut with 
 scrambling over the palisade. 'The white 
 man's gun didn't do that,' he said. 'I did that 
 myself, and I knocked the white man over.' 
 Just like a Burman, wasn't it? Dennis 
 wouldn't be happy at any price. He said: 
 'Tie up his wounds. He'll bleed to death. 
 Oh, my God, he'll bleed to death!' 'Tie 'em 
 up yourself,' I said, 'if you're so anxious/ 'I 
 can't touch him,' said Dennis, 'but here's my 
 shirt.' He took off his shirt, and he fixed his 
 braces again over his bare shoulders. I ripped 
 the shirt up and bandaged the Dacoit quite 
 professionally. He was grinning at Dennis 
 all the time ; and Dennis's haversack was lying 
 on the ground, bursting full of sandwiches. 
 
OF THE POWERS 221 
 
 Greedy hog! I took some and offered some 
 to Dennis. 'How can I eat?' he said. 'How 
 can you ask me to eat? His very blood is 
 on your hands, oh, God! and your eating my 
 sandwiches!' 'All right/ I said. Til give 
 'em to the daku." So I did, and the little 
 chap was quite pleased, and wolfed 'em down 
 like one o'clock." 
 
 Cleever brought his hand down on the table- 
 cloth a thump that made the empty glasses 
 dance. "That's art," he said. "Flat, flagrant 
 mechanism. Don't tell me what happened 
 on the spot!" 
 
 The pupils of the Infant's eyes contracted 
 to pin points. "I beg your pardon," he said 
 slowly and a little stiffly, "but I am telling this 
 thing as it happened." 
 
 Cleever looked at him for a moment. "My 
 fault entirely," said he. "I should have 
 known. Please go on." 
 
 "Oh, then Hicksey came out of what was 
 left of the village with his prisoners and cap- 
 tives all neatly tied up. Boh Na-ghee was 
 first, and one of the villagers, as soon as he 
 saw the old ruffian helpless, began kicking 
 him quietly. The Boh stood it as long as 
 he could, and then groaned, and we saw what 
 was going on. Hicksey tied the villager up 
 
222 A CONFERENCE 
 
 and gave him half a dozen good ones to re- 
 mind him to leave a prisoner alone. You 
 should have seen the old Boh grin. Oh, but 
 Hicksey was in a furious rage with every- 
 body. He'd got a wipe over the elbow that 
 had tickled up his funny-bone, and he was 
 simply rabid with me for not having helped 
 him with the Boh and the mosquito net. I 
 had to explain that I couldn't do anything. 
 If you'd seen 'em both tangled up together 
 on the floor, like a blaspheming cocoon, you'd 
 have laughed for a week, Hicksey swore that 
 the only decent man of his acquaintance was 
 the Boh, and all the way back to camp Hicksey 
 was talking to him, and the Boh was grumb- 
 ling about the soreness of his bones. When 
 we got home and had had a bath, the Boh 
 wante to know when he was going to be 
 hanged. Hicksey said he couldn't oblige him 
 on the spot, but had to send him to Ran- 
 goon. The Boh went down on his knees and 
 reeled off a catalogue of his crimes — he ought 
 to have been hanged seventeen times over by 
 his own confession — and implored Hicksey 
 to settle the business out of hand. JIf I'm 
 sent to Rangoon,' said he, 'they'll keep me 
 in jail all my life, and that is a death every 
 dme the sun gets up or the wind blows.' But 
 
OF THE POWERS 223 
 
 we had to send him to Rangoon; and, of 
 course, he was let off down there and given 
 penal servitude for life. When I came to 
 Rangoon I went over the jail — I had helped 
 to fill it, y' know — and the old Boh was there 
 and recognized me at once. He begged for 
 some opium first, and I tried to get him some ; 
 but that was against the rules. Then he asked 
 me to have his sentence changed to death, 
 because he was afraid of being sent to the 
 'Andamans. I couldn't do that, either; but 
 I tried to cheer him, and told him how the 
 row was going up country. And the last 
 thing he said was: 'Give my compliments to 
 the fat white man who jumped on me. If I'd 
 been awake I'd have killed him.' I wrote 
 that to Hicksey next mail, and — and that's 
 all. I'm 'fraid I've been gassing awf'ly, sir." 
 
 Cleever said nothing for a long time. The 
 Infant looked uncomfortable. He feared that, 
 misled by enthusiasm, he had filled up the 
 novelist's time with unprofitable recital of triv- 
 ial anecdotes. 
 
 Then said Cleever: "I can't understand 
 it. Why should you have seen and done all 
 these things before you have cut your wis- 
 dom-teeth?" 
 
 "Don't know," said the Infant, apologeti- 
 
224 A CONFERENCE 
 
 cally. "I haven't seen much — only Burmese 
 jungle." 
 
 "And dead men and war and power and 
 responsibility," said Cleever, under his breath. 
 "You won't have any sensations left at thirty 
 if you go on as you have done. But I want 
 to hear more tales — more tales." He seemed 
 to forget that even subalterns might have 
 engagements of their own. 
 
 "We're thinking of dining out somewhere, 
 the lot of us, and going on to the Empire 
 afterward," said Nevin, with hesitation. He 
 did not like to ask Cleever to come too. The 
 invitation might be regarded as "cheek." And 
 Cleever, anxious not to wag a grey beard un- 
 bidden among boys at large, said nothing on 
 his side. 
 
 Boileau solved the little difficulty by blurt- 
 ing out: "Won't you come too, sir?" 
 
 Cleever almost shouted "Yes," and while 
 he was being helped into his coat, continued 
 to murmur "Good heavens!" at intervals, in 
 a manner that the boys could not understand. 
 
 "I don't think I've been to the Empire in 
 my life," said he. "But, good heavens! what 
 is my life, after all? Let us go back." 
 
 So they went out with Eustace Cleever, 
 and I sulked at home, because the boys had 
 
OF THE POWERS 225 
 
 come to see me, but had gone over to the 
 better man, which was humiliating. They 
 packed him into a cab with utmost reverence, 
 for was he not the author of "As it was in the 
 Beginning," and a person in whose company 
 it was an honor to go abroad? From all I 
 gathered later, he had taken no less interest 
 in the performance before him than in the 
 boys' conversation, and they protested with 
 emphasis that he was "as good a man as they 
 make, knew what a man was driving at almost 
 before he said it, and yet he's so dashed 
 simple about things any man knows." That 
 was one of many comments made afterward. 
 
 At midnight they returned, announcing that 
 they were highly respectable gondoliers, and 
 that oysters and stout were what they chiefly 
 needed. The eminent novelist was still with 
 them, and I think he was calling them by 
 their shorter names. I am certain that he 
 said he had been moving in worlds not real- 
 ized, and that they had shown him the Em- 
 pire in a new light Still sore at recent ne- 
 glect, I answered shortly: "Thank Heaven, 
 we have within the land ten thousand as good 
 as they!" and when Cleever departed, asked 
 him what he thought of things generally. 
 
 He replied with another quotation, to the 
 
226 A CONFERENCE 
 
 effect that though singing was a remarkable 
 fine performance, I was to be quite sure that 
 few lips would be moved to song if they could 
 find a sufficiency of kissing. 
 
 Whereat I understood that Eustace Cleever, 
 decorator and color man in words, was blas- 
 pheming his own art, and that he would be 
 sorry for this in the morning. 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 
 
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 
 
 Up>UT if it be a girl?" 
 
 -D "Lord of my life, it cannot be! I 
 have prayed for so many nights, and sent 
 gifts to Sheikh Badl's shrine so often, that 
 I know God will give us a son — a man-child 
 that shall grow into a man. Think of this 
 and be glad. My mother shall be his mother 
 till I can take him again, and the mullah of 
 the Pattan Mosque shall cast his nativity — 
 God send he be born in an auspicious hour! — • 
 and then, and then thou wilt never weary of 
 me, thy slave." 
 
 "Since when hast thou been a slave, my 
 queen?" 
 
 "Since the beginning — till this mercy came 
 to me. How could I be sure of thy love when 
 I knew that I had been bought with silver?" 
 
 "Nay, that was the dowry,. I paid it to 
 thy mother." 
 
 "And she has buried it, and sits upon it 
 all day long like a hen. What talk is yours 
 of dowry? I was bought as though I had 
 been a Lucknow dancing-girl instead of a 
 child." 
 
 229 
 
230 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 "Art thou sorry for the sale?" 
 
 "I have sorrowed; but to-day I am glad. 
 Thou wilt never cease to love me now? An- 
 swer, my king." 
 
 "Never — never. No." 
 
 "Not even though the mem-log — the white 
 women of thy own blood — love thee? And 
 remember, I have watched them driving in 
 the evening; they are very fair." 
 
 "I have seen fire-balloons by the hundred, 
 I have seen the moon, and — then I saw no 
 more fire-balloons." 
 
 Ameera clapped her hands and laughed. 
 "Very good talk," she said. Then, with an 
 assumption of great stateliness: "It is 
 enough. Thou hast my permission to depart 
 — if thou wilt." 
 
 The man did not move. He was sitting on 
 a low red-lacquered couch in a room furnished 
 only with a blue-and-white floor-cloth, some 
 rugs, and a very complete collection of native 
 cushions. At his feet sat a woman of sixteen, 
 and she was all but all in the world in his eyes. 
 By every rule and law she should have been 
 otherwise, for he was an Englishman and 
 she a Mussulman's daughter, bought two 
 years before from her mother, who, being 
 left without money, would have sold Ameera, 
 
OF CLERGY 23 1 
 
 shrieking, to the Prince of Darkness, if the 
 price had been sufficient. 
 
 It was a contract entered into with a light 
 heart. But even before the girl had reached 
 her bloom she came to fill the greater portion 
 of John Holden's life. For her and the with- 
 ered hag her mother he had taken a little 
 house overlooking the great red-walled city, 
 and found, when the marigolds had sprung up 
 by the well in the courtyard, and Ameera had 
 established herself according to her own ideas 
 of comfort, and her mother had ceased 
 grumbling at the inadequacy of the cooking- 
 places, the distance from the daily market, and 
 matters of housekeeping in general, that the 
 house was to him his home. Any one could 
 enter his bachelor's bungalow by day or night, 
 and the life that he led there was an unlovely 
 one. In the house in the city his feet only 
 could pass beyond the outer court-yard to the 
 women's rooms; and when the big wooden 
 p-ate was bolted behind him he was king in his 
 own territory, with Ameera for queen. And 
 there was going to be added to this kingdom a 
 third person, whose arrival Holden felt in- 
 clined to resent. It interfered with his perfect 
 happiness. It disarranged the orderly peace 
 of the house that was his own. But Ameera 
 
232 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 was wild with delight at the thought of it, 
 and her mother not less so. The love of a 
 man, and particularly a white man, was at 
 the best an inconstant affair, but it might, 
 both women argued, be held fast by a baby's 
 hands. "And then," Ameera would always 
 say — "then he will never care for the white 
 mem-log. I hate them all — I hate them all !" 
 
 "He will go back to his own people in time," 
 said the mother, "but, by the blessing of God, 
 that time is yet afar off." 
 
 Holden sat silent on the couch, thinking 
 of the future, and his thoughts were not pleas- 
 ant. The drawbacks of a double life are 
 manifold. The government, with singular 
 care, had ordered him out of the station for 
 a fortnight on special duty, in the place of a 
 man who was watching by the bedside of a 
 sick wife. The verbal notification of the 
 transfer had been edged by a cheerful remark 
 that Holden ought to think himself lucky in 
 being a bachelor and a free man. He came 
 to break the news to Ameera. 
 
 "It. is not good," she said slowly, "but it 
 is not all bad. There is my mother here, and 
 no harm will come to me — unless, indeed, I 
 die of pure joy. Go thou to thy work, and 
 think no troublesome thoughts. When the 
 
OF CLERGY 233 
 
 days are done, I believe . . . nay, I am sure. 
 And — then I shall lay him in thy arms, and 
 thou wilt love me forever. The train goes 
 to-night — at midnight, is it not ? Go now, and 
 do not let thy heart be heavy by cause of me. 
 But thou wilt not delay in returning! Thou 
 wilt not stay on the road to talk to the bold 
 white mem-log! Come back to me swiftly, 
 my lifer 
 
 As he left the court-yard to reach his horse, 
 that was tethered to the gate-post, Holden 
 spoke to the white-haired old watchman who 
 guarded the house, and bid him under certain 
 contingencies dispatch the filled-up telegraph 
 form that Holden gave him. It was all that 
 could be done, and, with the sensations of a 
 man who has attended his own funeral, Hold- 
 en went away by the night mail to his exile. 
 Every hour of the day he dreaded the arrival 
 of the telegram, and every hour of the night he 
 pictured to himself the death of Ameera. In 
 consequence, his work for the state was not of 
 first-rate quality, nor was his temper toward 
 his colleagues of the most amiable. The fort- 
 night ended without a sign from his home, 
 and, torn to pieces by his anxieties, Holden 
 returned to be swallowed up for two precious 
 hours by a dinner at the club, wherein he 
 
234 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 heard, as a man hears in a swoon, voices tell- 
 ing him how execrably he had performed the 
 other man's duties, and how he had endeared 
 himself to all his associates. Then he fled on 
 horseback through the night with his heart 
 in his mouth. There was no answer at first 
 to his blows on the gate, and he had just 
 wheeled his horse round to kick it in, when 
 Pir Khan appeared with a lantern and held 
 his stirrup. 
 
 "Has aught occurred ?" said Holden. 
 
 "The news does not come from my mouth, 
 Protector of the Poor, but" — He held out his 
 shaking hand, as befitted the bearer of good 
 news who is entitled to a reward. 
 
 Holden hurried through the court-yard. A 
 light burned in the upper room. His horse 
 neighed in the gateway, and he heard a pin- 
 pointed wail that sent all the blood into the 
 apple of his throat. It was a new voice, but it 
 did not prove that Ameera was alive. 
 
 "Who is there?" he called up the narrow 
 brick staircase. 
 
 There was a cry of delight from Ameera 
 and then the voice of her mother, tremulous 
 with old age and pride : "We be two women, 
 and — the — man — thy son." 
 
 On the threshold of the room Holden 
 
OF CLERGY 235 
 
 stepped on a naked dagger that was laid there 
 to avert ill-luck, and it broke at the hilt under 
 his impatient heel. 
 
 "God is great!" cooed Ameera in the half- 
 light. "Thou hast taken his misfortunes on 
 thy head." 
 
 "Ay, but how is it with thee, life of my 
 life? Old woman, how is it with her?" 
 
 "She has forgotten her sufferings for joy 
 that the child is born. There is no harm ; but 
 speak softly," said the mother. 
 
 "It only needed thy presence to make me 
 all well," said Ameera. "My king, thou hast 
 been very long away. What gifts hast thou 
 for me? Ah! ah! It is I that bring gifts 
 this time. Look, my life, look! Was there 
 ever such a babe? Nay, I am too weak even 
 to clear my arm from him." 
 
 "Rest, then, and do not talk. I am here, 
 bachheri (little woman). 
 
 "Well said, for there is a bond and a heel- 
 rope '(peecharee) between us now that noth- 
 ing can break. Look — canst thou see in this 
 light? He is without spot or blemish. Never 
 was such a man-child. Ya Mali! he shall be 
 a pundit — no, a trooper of the queen. And, 
 my life, dost thou love me as well as ever, 
 though I am faint and sick and worn? An- 
 swer truly." 
 
236 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 "Yea. I love as I have loved, with all my 
 soul. Lie still, pearl, and rest." 
 
 "Then do not go. Sit by my side here — 
 so. Mother, the lord of this house needs a 
 cushion. Bring it." There was an almost 
 imperceptible movement on the part of the 
 new life that lay in the hollow of Ameera's 
 arm. "Aho!" she said, her voice breaking 
 with love. "The babe is a champion from his 
 birth. He is kicking me in the side with 
 mighty kicks. Was there ever such a babe? 
 And he is ours to us — thine and mine. Put 
 thy hand on his head, but carefully, for he is 
 very young, and men are unskilled in such 
 matters." 
 
 Very cautiously Holden touched with the 
 tips of his fingers the downy head. 
 
 "He is of the Faith," said Ameera; "for, 
 lying here in the night-watches, I whispered 
 the Call to Prayer and the Profession of Faith 
 into his ears. And it is most marvelous that 
 he was born upon a Friday, as I was born. 
 Be careful of him, my life; but he can almost 
 grip with his hands." 
 
 Holden found one helpless little hand that 
 closed feebly on his finger. And the clutch 
 ran through his limbs till it settled about his 
 heart. Till then his sole thought had been for 
 
OF CLERGY 237 
 
 Ameera. He began to realize that there was 
 some one else in the world, but he could not 
 feel that it was a veritable son with a soul. 
 He sat down to think, and Ameera dozed 
 lightly. 
 
 "Get hence, sahib," said her mother, under 
 her breath. "It is not good that she should 
 find you here on waking. She must be still." 
 
 "I go," said Holden, submissively. "Here 
 be rupees. See that my baba gets fat and finds 
 all that he needs." 
 
 The chink of the silver roused Ameera. "I 
 am his mother, and no hireling," she said, 
 weakly. "Shall I look to him more or less 
 for the sake of money ? Mother, give it back. 
 I have borne my lord a son." 
 
 The deep sleep of weakness came upon her 
 almost before the sentence was completed. 
 Holden went down to the court-yard very 
 softly, with his heart at ease. Pir Khan, the 
 old watchman, was chuckling with delight. 
 
 "This house is now complete," he said, and 
 without further comment thrust into Holden's 
 hands the hilt of a sabre worn many years 
 ago, when Pir Khan served the queen in the 
 police. The bleat of a tethered goat came from 
 the well-curb. 
 
 "There be two," said Pir Khan— "two 
 
238 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 goats of the best. I bought them, and they 
 cost much money ; and since there is no birth- 
 party assembled, their flesh will be all mine. 
 Strike craftily, sahib. 'Tis an ill-balanced 
 sabre at the best. Wait till they raise their 
 heads from cropping the marigolds." 
 
 "And why?" said Holden, bewildered. 
 
 "For the birth sacrifice. What else? 
 Otherwise the child, being unguarded from 
 fate, may die. The Protector of the Poor 
 knows the fitting words to be said." 
 
 Holden had learned them once, with little 
 thought that he would ever say them in ear- 
 nest. The touch of the cold sabre-hilt in his 
 palm turned suddenly to the clinging grip of 
 the child upstairs — the child that was his own 
 son — and a dread of loss filled him. 
 
 "Strike!" said Pir Khan. "Never life 
 came into the world but life was paid for it. 
 See, the goats have raised their heads. Now ! 
 With a drawing cut !" 
 
 Hardly knowing what he did Holden cut 
 twice as he muttered the Mohammedan prayer 
 that runs: "Almighty! In place of this my 
 son I offer life for life, blood for blood, head 
 for head, bone for bone, hair for hair, skin for 
 skin." The waiting horse snorted and 
 bounded in his pickets at the smell of the raw 
 
OF CLERGY 239 
 
 blood that spurted over Holden's riding- 
 boots. 
 
 "Well smitten!" said Pir Khan, wiping the 
 sabre. "A swordsman was lost in thee. Go 
 with a light heart, neaven born. I am thy 
 servant and the servant of thy son. May the 
 Presence live a thousand years, and . . . 
 the flesh of the goats is all mine?" 
 
 Pir Khan drew back richer by a month's 
 pay. Holden swung himself into the saddle 
 and rode off through the low-hanging wood 
 smoke of the evening. He was full of riotous 
 exultation, alternating with a vast vague ten- 
 derness directed toward no particular object, 
 that made him choke as he bent over the neck 
 of his uneasy horse. "I never felt like this in 
 my life," he thought. "I'll go to the club and 
 pull myself together." 
 
 A game of pool was beginning, and the 
 room was full of men. Holden entered, 
 eager to get to the light and the company of 
 his fellows, singing at the top of his voice : 
 
 "'In Baltimore a-walking, a lady I did meet'* 
 
 "Did you?" said the club secretary from 
 his corner. "Did she happen to tell you that 
 your boots were wringing wet. Great good- 
 ness, man, it's blood!" 
 
240 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 "Bosh!" said Hclden, picking his cue from 
 the rack. "May I cut in? It's dew. I've 
 been riding through high crops. My faith! 
 my boots are in a mess, though! 
 
 "'And if it be a girl, she shall wear a wedding-ring; 
 And if it be a boy, he shall fight for his king; 
 With his dirk and his cap, and his little jacket blue, 
 He shall walk the quarter-deck' " — 
 
 "Yellow and blue — green next player," said 
 the marker, monotonously. 
 
 " He shall walk the quarter-deck' — am I 
 green, marker? — 'he shall walk the quarter- 
 deck ! — ouch ! that's a bad shot ! — 'as his daddy 
 used to do!'" 
 
 "I don't see that you have anything to crow 
 about," said a zealous junior civilian, acidly. 
 "The government is not exactly pleased with 
 your work when you relieved Sanders." 
 
 "Does that mean a wigging from headquar- 
 ters?" said Holden, with an abstracted smile, 
 "I think I can stand it." 
 
 The talk beat up round the ever-fresh sub- 
 ject of each man's work, and steadied Holden 
 till it was time to go to his dark, empty bunga- 
 low, where his butler received him as one who 
 knew all his affairs. Holden remained awake 
 for the greater part of the night, and his 
 dreams were pleasant ones. 
 
OF CLERGY 241 
 
 II 
 
 "How old is he now?" 
 
 "Ya illah! What a man's question! He 
 is all but six weeks old; and on this night I 
 go up to the house-top with thee, my life, to 
 count the stars. For that is auspicious. And 
 he was born on a Friday, under the sign of 
 the Sun, and it has been told to me that he 
 will outlive us both and get wealth. Can we 
 wish for aught better, beloved?" 
 
 "There is nothing better. Let us go up to 
 the roof and thou shalt count the stars — but 
 a few only, for the sky is heavy with cloud. " 
 
 "The winter rains are late, and maybe they 
 come out of season. Come, before all the 
 stars are hid. I have put on my richest 
 jewels." 
 
 "Thou hast forgotten the best of all." 
 
 "Ai! Ours. He comes also. He has 
 never yet seen the skies." 
 
 Ameera climbed the narrow staircase that 
 led to the flat roof. The child, placid and 
 unwinking, lay in the hollow of her right 
 arm, gorgeous in silver-fringed muslin, with 
 a small skull-cap on his head. Ameera wore 
 all that she valued most. The diamond nose- 
 stud that takes the place of the Western patch 
 
242 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 in drawing attention to the curve of the nos- 
 tril, the gold ornament in the centre of the 
 forehead studded with tallow-drop emeralds 
 and flawed rubies, the heavy circlet of beaten 
 gold that was fastened round her neck by the 
 softness of the pure metal, and the chinking 
 curb-patterned silver anklets hanging low over 
 the rosy ankle-bone. She was dressed in 
 jade-green muslin, as befitted a daughter of 
 the Faith, and from shoulder to elbow and 
 elbow to wrist ran bracelets of silver tied with 
 floss silk, frail glass bangles slipped over the 
 wrist in proof of the slenderness of the hand, 
 and certain heavy gold bracelets that had no 
 part in her country's ornaments, but since they 
 were Holden's gift, and fastened with a cun- 
 ning European snap, delighted her immensely. 
 
 They sat down by the low white parapet of 
 the roof, overlooking the city and its lights. 
 
 "They are happy down there," said Ameera. 
 "But I do not think that they are as happy as 
 we. Nor do I think the white mem-log are 
 as happy. And thou?" 
 
 "I know they are not." 
 
 "How dost thou know?" 
 
 "They give their children over to the 
 nurses." 
 
 "I have never seen that," said Ameera, with" 
 
OF CLERGY 243 
 
 a sigh; "nor do I wish to see. Ahi!" — she 
 dropped her head on Holden's shoulder — "I 
 have counted forty stars, and I am tired. Look 
 at the child, love of my life. He is counting, 
 too." 
 
 The baby was staring with round eyes at 
 the dark of the heavens. Ameera placed him 
 in Holden's arms, and he lay there without a 
 cry. 
 
 "What shall we call him among ourselves ?" 
 she said. "Look! Art thou ever tired of 
 looking? He carries thy very eyes! But the 
 mouth" — 
 
 "Is thine, most dear. Who should know 
 better than I ?" 
 
 "Tis such a feeble mouth. Oh, so small! 
 And yet it holds my heart between its lips. 
 Give him to me now. He has been too long 
 away." 
 
 "Nay, let him lie; he has not vet begun to 
 cry." 
 
 "When he cries thou wilt give him back, 
 eh? What a man of mankind thou art! If 
 he cried, he v ere only the dearer to me. But, 
 my life, what little name shall we give him?" 
 
 The small body lay close to Holden's heart. 
 It was utterly helpless and very soft. He 
 scarcely dared to breathe for fear of crushing 
 
244 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 it. The caged green parrot, that is regarded 
 as a sort of guardian spirit in most native 
 households, moved on its perch and fluttered 
 a drowsy wing. 
 
 'There is the answer," said Holden. "Mian 
 Mittu has spoken. He shall be the parrot. 
 When he is ready he will talk mightily, and 
 run about. Mian Mittu is the parrot in thy — 
 in the Mussulman tongue, is it not?" 
 
 "Why put me so far off?" said Ameera, 
 fretfully. "Let it be like unto some English 
 name — but not wholly. For he is mine." 
 
 "Then call him Tota, for that is likest Eng- 
 lish." 
 
 "Ay, Tota; and that is still the parrot. 
 Forgive me, my lord, for a minute ago; but, 
 in truth, he is too little to wear all the weight 
 of Mian Mittu for name. He shall be Tota 
 —our Tota to us. Hearest thou, oh, small 
 one? Littlest, thou art Tota." 
 
 She touched the child's cheek, and, he wak- 
 ing, wailed, and it was necessary to return 
 him to his mother, who soothed him with the 
 wonderful rhyme of "Are koko, J a re koko!" 
 which says; 
 
 "Oh, crow ! Go crow ! Baby's sleeping sound, 
 And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny 
 
 a pound — 
 Only a penny a pound, Baba. — only a penny a pound." 
 
OF CLERGY 245 
 
 Reassured many times as to the price of 
 those plums, Tota cuddled himself down to 
 sleep. The two sleek white well-bullocks in 
 the courtyard were steadily chewing the cud 
 of their evening meal; old Pir Khan squatted 
 at the head of Holden's horse, his police sabre 
 across his knees, pulling drowsily at a big 
 water-pipe that croaked like a bull-frog in a 
 pond. Ameera's mother sat spinning in the 
 lower veranda, and the wooden gate was shut 
 and barred. The music of a marriage pro- 
 cession came to the roof above the gentle hum 
 of the city, and a string of flying-foxes crossed 
 the face of the low moon. 
 
 "I have prayed," said Ameera, after a long 
 pause, with her chin in her hand — "I have 
 prayed for two things. First, that I may die 
 in thy stead, if thy death is demanded; and in 
 the second, that I may die in the place of the 
 child. I have prayed to the prophet and to 
 Beebee Miriam. 1 Thinkest thou either will 
 hear?" 
 
 "From thy lips who would not hear the 
 lightest word?" 
 
 "I asked for straight talk, and thou hast 
 given me sweet talk. Will my prayers be 
 heard?" 
 
 1 The Virgin Mary. 
 
246 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 "How can I say? God is very good." 
 
 "Of that I am not sure. Listen now. 
 When I die or the child dies, what is thy fate? 
 Living, thou wilt return to the bold white 
 mem-log, for kind calls to kind." 
 
 "Not always." 
 
 "With a woman, no. With a man it is 
 otherwise. Thou wilt in this life, later on, go 
 back to thine own folk. That I could almost 
 endure, for I should be dead. But in thy very 
 death thou wilt be taken away to a strange 
 place and a paradise that I do not know." 
 
 "Will it be paradise?" 
 
 "Surely; for what God would harm thee? 
 But we two — I and the child — shall be else- 
 where, and we cannot come to thee, nor canst 
 thou come to us. In the old days, before the 
 child was born, I did not think of these things ; 
 but now I think of them perpetually. It is 
 very hard talk." 
 
 "It will fall as it will fall. To-morrow we 
 do not know, but to-day and love we know 
 well. Surely we are happy now." 
 
 "So happy that it were well to make our 
 happiness assured. And thy Beebe Miriam 
 should listen to me; for she is also a woman. 
 But then she would envy me — It is not seemly 
 for men to worship a woman." 
 
OF CLERGY 247 
 
 Holden laughed aloud at Ameera's little 
 spasm of jealousy. 
 
 "Is it not seemly? Why didst thou not 
 turn me from worship of thee, then?" 
 
 "Thou a worshipper! And of me! My 
 king, for all thy sweet words, well I know 
 that I am thy servant and thy slave, and the 
 dust under thy feet. And I would not have it 
 otherwise. See !" 
 
 Before Holden could prevent her she stooped 
 forward and touched his feet ; recovering her- 
 self with a little laugh, she hugged Tota closer 
 to her bosom. Then, almost savagely: 
 
 "Is it true that the bold white mem-log live 
 for three times the length of my life? Is it 
 true that they make their marriages not before 
 they are old women ?" 
 
 "They marry as do others* — when they are 
 women." 
 
 "That I know, but they wed when they are 
 twenty-five. Is that true?" 
 
 "That is true." 
 
 "Ya illah! At twenty-five! Who would 
 of his own will take a wife even of eighteen? 
 She is a woman- — aging every hour. Twenty- 
 five! I shall be an old woman at that age, 
 and — Those mem-log remain young forever. 
 How I hate them!" 
 
248 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 "What have they to do with us?" 
 
 "I cannot tell. I know only that there may 
 now be alive on this earth a woman ten years 
 older than I who may come to thee and take 
 thy love ten years after I am an old woman, 
 grey-headed and the nurse of Tota's son. 
 That is unjust and evil. They should die 
 too." 
 
 "Now, for all thy years thou art a child, 
 and shalt be picked up and carried down the 
 staircase." 
 
 "Tota! Have a care for Tota, my lord! 
 Thou, at least, art as foolish as any babe!" 
 Ameera tucked Tota out of harm's way in 
 the hollow in her neck, and was carried down- 
 stairs, laughing, in Holden's arms, while Tota 
 opened his eyes and smiled, after the manner 
 of the lesser angels. 
 
 He was a silent infant, and almost before 
 Holden could realize that he was in the world, 
 developed into a small gold-colored godling 
 and unquestioned despot of the house over- 
 looking the city. Those were months of ab- 
 solute happiness to Holden and Ameera — hap- 
 piness withdrawn from the world, shut in be- 
 hind the wooden gate that Pir Khan guarded. 
 By day Holden did his work, with an immense 
 pity for such as were not so fortunate as him- 
 
OF CLERGY 249 
 
 self, and a ympathy for small children that 
 amazed and amused many mothers at the little 
 station gatherings. At nightfall he returned 
 to Ameera — Ameera full of the wondrous 
 doings of Tota ; how he had been seen to clap 
 his hands together and move his fingers with 
 intention and purpose, which was manifestly a 
 miracle; how, later, he had of his own initia- 
 tive crawled out of his low bedstead on to the 
 floor, and swayed on both feet for the space 
 of three breaths. "And they were long 
 breaths, for my heart stood still with delight," 
 said Ameera. 
 
 Then he took the beasts into his councils — 
 the well-bullocks, the little grey squirrels, the 
 mongoose that lived in a hole near the well, 
 and especially Mian Mittu, the parrot, whose 
 tail he grievously pulled, and Mian Mittu 
 screamed till Ameera and Holden arrived. 
 
 "Oh, villain! Child of strength! This is 
 to thy brother on the house-top! Tobah, 
 tobah! Fy! fy! But I know a charm to make 
 him wise as Suleiman and Aflatoun. 1 Now 
 look,' , said Ameera. She drew from an em- 
 broidered bag a handful of almonds. "See, 
 we count seven, in the name of God!" She 
 placed Mian Mittu, very angry and rumpled, 
 
 1 Solomon and Plato. 
 
250 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 on the top of his cage, and, seating herself be- 
 tween the babe and the bird, cracked and 
 peeled an almond less white than her teeth. 
 "This is a true charm, my life; and do not 
 laugh. See! I give the parrot one half and 
 Tota the other." Mian Mittu, with careful 
 beak, took his share from between Ameera's 
 lips, and she kissed the other half into the 
 mouth of the child, who eat it slowly, with 
 wondering eyes. "This I will do each day of 
 seven and without doubt he who is ours will 
 be a bold speaker and wise. Eh, Tota, what 
 wilt thou be when thou art a man and I am 
 grey-headed?" Tota tucked his fat legs into 
 adorable creases. He could crawl, but he was 
 not going to waste the spring of his youth in 
 idle speech. He wanted Mian Mittu's tail to 
 tweak. 
 
 When he was advanced to the dignity of a 
 silver belt — which, with a magic square en- 
 graved on silver and hung round his neck, 
 made up the greater part of his clothing — he 
 staggered on a perilous journey down the 
 garden to Pir Khan, and proffered him all his 
 jewels in exchange for one little ride on Hold- 
 en's horse. He had seen his mother's mother 
 chaffering with peddlers in the veranda. Pir 
 Khan wept, set the untried feet on his own 
 
OF CLERGY 25 1 
 
 grey head in sign of fealty, and brought the 
 bold adventurer to his mother's arms, vowing 
 that Tota would be a leader of men ere his 
 beard was grown. 
 
 One hot evening, while he sat on the roof 
 between his father and mother, watching the 
 never-ending warfare of the kites that the 
 city boys flew, he demanded a kite of his own, 
 with Pir Khan to fly it, because he had a fear 
 of dealing with anything larger than himself ; 
 and when Holden called him a "spark" he rose 
 to his feet and answered slowly, in defence of 
 his new-found individuality: "Hum 'park 
 nahin hai. Hum admi hai" (I am no spark, 
 but a man.) 
 
 The protest made Holden choke, and devote 
 himself very seriously to a consideration of 
 Tota's future. 
 
 He need hardly have taken the trouble. The 
 delight of that life was too perfect to endure. 
 Therefore it was taken away, as many things 
 are taken away in India, suddenly and with- 
 out warning. The little lord of the house, as 
 Pir Khan called him, grew sorrowful and 
 complained of pains, who had never known 
 the meaning of pain. Ameera, wild with ter- 
 ror, watched him through the night, and in the 
 'dawning of the second day the life was shaken 
 
252 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 out of him by fever — the seasonal autumn 
 fever. It seemed altogether impossible that 
 he could die, and neither Ameera nor Holden 
 at first believed the evidence of the body on 
 the bedstead. Then Ameera beat her head 
 against the wall, and would have flung herself 
 down the well in the garden had Holden not 
 restrained her by main force. 
 
 One mercy only was granted to Holden. He 
 rode to his office in broad daylight, and found 
 waiting him an unusually heavy mail that de- 
 manded concentrated attention and hard work. 
 He was not, however, alive to this kindness of 
 the gods. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The first shock of a bullet is no more than a 
 brisk pinch. The wrecked body does not send 
 in its protest to the soul till ten or fifteen sec- 
 onds later. Then comes thirst, throbbing, 
 and agony, and a ridiculous amount of scream- 
 ing. Holden realized his pain slowly, exactly 
 as he had realized his happiness, and with the 
 same imperious necessity for hiding all trace 
 of it. In the begninning he only felt that 
 there had been a loss, and that Ameera needed 
 comforting where she sat with her head on 
 
OF CLERGY 253 
 
 her knees, shivering as Mian Mittu, from the 
 house-top, called "Total Total Total" Later 
 all his world and the daily life of it rose up to 
 hurt him. It was an outrage that any one of 
 the children at the band-stand in the evening 
 should be alive and clamorous when his own 
 child lay dead. It was more than mere pain 
 when one of them touched him, and stories 
 told by overfond fathers of their children's 
 latest performances cut him to the quick. He 
 could not declare his pain. He had neither 
 help, comfort, nor sympathy, and Ameera, at 
 the end of each weary day, would lead him 
 through the hell of self -questioning reproach 
 which is reserved for those who have lost a 
 child, and believe that with a little — just a 
 little — more care it might have been saved. 
 There are not many hells worse than this, but 
 he knows one who has sat down temporarily 
 to consider whether he is or is not responsible 
 for the death of his wife. 
 
 "Perhaps," Ameera would say, "I did not 
 take sufficient heed. Did I, or did I not ? The 
 sun on the roof that day when he played so 
 long alone, and I was — ahi! braiding my hair 
 — it may be that the sun then bred the fever. 
 If I had warned him from the sun he might 
 have lived. But, oh, my life, say that I am 
 
254 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 guiltless! Thou knowest that I loved him as 
 I loved thee! Say that there is no blame on 
 me, or I shall die — I shall die !" 
 
 "There is no blame. Before God, none. 
 It was written, and how could we do aught to 
 save? What has been, has been. Let it go, 
 beloved. ,, 
 
 "He was all my heart to me. How can I let 
 the thougt go when my arm tells me every 
 night thai" Tie is not here? A hi! ahi! Oh, 
 Tota, come back to me — come back again, and 
 let us be all together as it was before !" 
 
 "Peace! peace! For thine own sake, and 
 for mine also, if thou lovest me, rest." 
 
 "By this I know thou dost not care; and 
 how shouldst thou? The white men have 
 hearts of stone and souls of iron. Oh, that I 
 had married a man of mine own people — 
 though he beat me — and had never eaten the 
 bread of an alien!" 
 
 "Am I an alien, mother of my son?" 
 
 "What else, sahib? . . . Oh, forgive 
 me — forgive! The death has driven me mad. 
 Thou art the light of my heart, and the light 
 of my eyes, and the breath of my life, and — 
 and I have put thee from me, though it was 
 but for a moment. If thou goest away, to 
 whom shall I look for help? Do not be 
 
OF CLERGY 255 
 
 angry. Indeed, it was the pain that spoke, 
 and not thy slave." 
 
 "I know — I know. We be two who were 
 three. The greater need, therefore, that we 
 should be one." 
 
 They were sitting on the roof, as of custom. 
 The night was a warm one in early spring, and 
 sheet-lightning was dancing on the horizon to 
 a broken tune played by far-off thunder. 
 Ameera settled herself in Holden's arms. 
 
 "The dry earth is lowing like a cow for the 
 rain, and I — I am afraid. It was not like 
 this when we counted the stars. But thou 
 lovest me as much as before, though a bond 
 is taken away ? Answer." 
 
 "I love more, because a new bond has come 
 out of the sorrow that we have eaten together, 
 and that thou knowest." 
 
 "Yea, I know," said Ameera, in a very small 
 whisper. "But it is good to hear thee say so, 
 my life, who art so strong to help. I will 
 be a child no more, but a woman and an aid to 
 thee. Listen. Give me my sitar, and I will 
 sing bravely." 
 
 She took the light silver-studded sitar, and 
 began a song of the great hero Raja Rasalu. 
 The hand failed on the strings, the tune halted, 
 checked, and at a low note turned off to the 
 
256 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 poor little nursery rhyme about the wicked 
 crow: 
 
 " 'And the wild plums grow in the jungle — 
 Only a penny a pound, 
 Only a penny a pound, Baba — only' " — 
 
 Then came the tears and the piteous rebel- 
 lion against fate, till she slept, moaning a little 
 in her sleep, with the right arm thrown clear 
 of the body, as though it protected something 
 that was not there. 
 
 It was after this night that life became a 
 little easier for Holden. The ever-present 
 pain of loss drove him into his work, and the 
 work repaid him by filling up his mind for 
 eight or nine hours a day. Ameera sat alone 
 in the house and brooded, but grew happier 
 when she understood that Holden was more 
 at ease, according to the custom of women. 
 They touched happiness again, but this time 
 with caution. 
 
 "It was because we loved Tota that he died. 
 The jealousy of God was upon us," said 
 Ameera. "I have hung up a large black jar 
 before our window to turn the Evil Eye 
 from us, and we must make no protestations of 
 delight, but go softly underneath the stars, 
 lest God find us out. Is that not good talk, 
 worthless one?" 
 
OF CLERGY 257 
 
 She had shifted the accent of the word that 
 means "beloved," in proof of the sincerity of 
 her purpose. But the kiss that followed the 
 new christening was a thing that any deity 
 might have envied. They went about hence- 
 forth saying: "It is naught — it is naught," 
 and hoping that all the powers heard. 
 
 The powers were busy on other things. 
 They had allowed thirty million people four 
 years of plenty, wherein men fed well and the 
 crops were certain and the birth-rate rose 
 every year ; the districts reported a purely agri- 
 cultural population varying from nine hun- 
 dred to two thousand to the square mile of the 
 overburdened earth. It was time to make 
 room. And the Member of the Lower Toot- 
 ing, wandering about India in top-hat and 
 frock-coat, talked largely of the benefits of 
 British rule, and suggested as the one thing 
 needful the establishment of duly qualified 
 electoral system and a general bestowal of the 
 franchise. His long-suffering hosts smiled 
 and made him welcome, and when he paused 
 to admire, with pretty picked words, the blos- 
 som of the blood-red dhak-tree, that had flow- 
 ered untimely for a sign of the sickness that 
 was coming, they smiled more than ever. 
 
 It was the Deputy Commissioner of Kot- 
 
258 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 Kumharsen, staying at the club for a day, who 
 lightly told a tale that made Holden's blood 
 run cold as he overheard the end. 
 
 "He won't bother any one any more. Never 
 saw a man so astonished in my life. By 
 Jove! I thought he meant to ask a question 
 in the House about it. Fellow-passenger in 
 his ship — dined next him — bowled over by 
 cholera, and died in eighteen hours. You 
 needn't laugh, you fellows. The Member for 
 Lower Tooting is awfully angry about it; but 
 he's more scared. I think he's going to take 
 his enlightened self out of India." 
 
 "I'd give a good deal if he were knocked 
 over. It might keep a few vestrymen of his 
 kidney to their parish. But what's this about 
 cholera? It's full early for anything of that 
 kind," said a warden of an unprofitable salt- 
 lick. 
 
 "Dunno," said the deputy commissioner, re- 
 flectively. "We've got locusts with us. 
 There's sporadic cholera all along the north — 
 at least, we're calling it sporadic for decency's 
 sake. The spring crops are short in five dis- 
 tricts, and nobody seems to know where the 
 winter rains are. It's nearly March now. I 
 don't want to scare anybody, but it seems to 
 me that Nature's going to audit her accounts 
 with a big red pencil tjiis summer." 
 
OF CLERGY 259 
 
 "Just when I wanted to take leave, too," 
 said a voice across the room. 
 
 "There won't be much leave this year, but 
 there ought to be a great deal of promotion. 
 I've come in to persuade the government to 
 put my pet canal on the list of famine-relief 
 works. It's an ill wind that blows no good. I 
 shall get that canal finished at last." 
 
 "Is it the old programme, then," said Hold- 
 en — "famine, fever, and cholera ?" 
 
 "Oh, no! Only local scarcity and an un- 
 usual prevalence of seasonal sickness. You'll 
 find it all in the reports if you live till next 
 year. You're a lucky chap. You haven't got 
 a wife to put you out of harm's way. The 
 hill-stations ought to be full of women this 
 year." 
 
 "I think you're inclined to exaggerate the 
 talk in the bazaars," said a young civilian in 
 the secretariat. "Now, I have observed" — 
 
 "I dare say you have," said the deputy com- 
 missioner, "but you've a great deal more to 
 observe, my son. In the meantime, I wish to 
 observe to you" — And he drew him aside to 
 discuss the construction of the canal that was 
 so dear to his heart. 
 
 Holden went to his bungalow, and began to 
 understand that he was not alone in the world, 
 
260 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 and also that he was afraid for the sake of an- 
 other, which is the most soul-satisfying fear 
 known to man. 
 
 Two months later, as the deputy had fore- 
 told, Nature began to audit her accounts with 
 a red pencil. On the heels of the spring reap- 
 ings came a cry for bread, and the government, 
 which had decreed that no man should die of 
 want, sent wheat. Then came the cholera 
 from all four quarters of the compass. It 
 struck a pilgrim gathering of half a million 
 at a sacred shrine. Many died at the feet of 
 their god, the others broke and ran over the 
 face of the land, carrying the pestilence with 
 them. It smote a walled city and killed two 
 hundred a day. The people crowded the 
 trains, hanging on to the footboards and 
 squatting on the roofs of the carriages; and 
 the cholera followed them, for at each station 
 they dragged out the dead and the dying on 
 the platforms reeking of lime-wash and car- 
 bolic acid. They died by the roadside, and 
 the horses of the Englishmen shied at the 
 corpses in the grass. The rains did not come, 
 and the earth turned to iron lest man should 
 escape by hiding in her. The English sent 
 their wives away to the Hills, and went about 
 their work, coming forward as they were bid- 
 
OF CLERGY 261 
 
 den to fill the gaps in the fighting- line. Hold- 
 en, sick with fear of losing his chiefest treas- 
 ure on earth, had done his best to persuade 
 ■Ameera, to go away with her mother to the 
 Himalayas. 
 
 "Why should I go?" said she one evening 
 on the roof. 
 
 "There is sickness, and the people are dy- 
 ing, and all the white mem-log have gone." 
 
 "All of them?" 
 
 "All — unless, perhaps, there remain some 
 old scald-head who vexes her husband's 
 heart by running risk of death." 
 
 "Nay; who stays is my sister, and thou 
 must not abuse her, for I will be a scald-head 
 too. I am glad all the bold white mem-log 
 are gone." 
 
 "Do I speak to a woman or a babe ? Go to 
 the Hills, and I will see to it that thou goest 
 like a queen's daughter. Think, child! In a 
 red-lacquered bullock-cart, veiled and curtain- 
 ed, with brass peacocks upon the pole and red- 
 cloth hangings. I will send two orderlies for 
 guard, and" — 
 
 "Peace! Thou art the babe in speaking 
 thus. What use are those toys to me? He 
 would have patted the bullocks and played with 
 the housings. For his sake, perhaps — thou 
 
262 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 hast made me very English — I might have 
 gone. Now I will not. Let the man-log 
 run." 
 
 "Their husbands are sending them, be- 
 loved." 
 
 "Very good talk. Since when hast thou 
 been my husband to tell me what to do? I 
 have but borne thee a son. Thou art only all 
 the desire of my soul to me. How shall I de- 
 part when I know that if evil befell thee by 
 the breadth of so much as my littlest finger- 
 nail — is that not small? — I should be aware 
 of it though I were in Paradise? And here, 
 this summer thou mayest die — ai, Janee, die! 
 &nd in dying they might call to tend thee a 
 white woman, and she would rob me in the 
 last of thy love." 
 
 "But love is not born in a moment, or on a 
 deathbed." 
 
 "What dost thou know of love, stone-heart? 
 She would take thy thanks at least, and, by 
 God and the Prophet and Beebee Miriam, the 
 mother of thy Prophet, that I will never en- 
 dure. My lord and my love, let there be no, 
 more foolish talk of going away. Where thou 
 art, I am. It is enough." She put an arm 
 round his neck and a hand on his mouth. 
 
 There are not many happinesses so com- 
 
OF CLERGY 263 
 
 plete as those that are snatched under the 
 shadow of the sword. They sat together and 
 laughed, calling each other openly by every 
 pet name that could move the wrath of the 
 gods. The city below them was locked up in 
 its own torments. Sulphur-fires blazed in the 
 streets; the conches in the Hindoo temples 
 screamed and bellowed, for the gods were in- 
 attentive in those days. There was a service 
 in the great Mohammedan shrine, and the call 
 to prayer from the minarets was almost un- 
 ceasing. They heard the wailing in the 
 houses of the dead, and once the shriek of a 
 mother who had lost a child and was calling 
 for its return. In the grey dawn they saw the 
 dead borne out through the city gates, each 
 litter with its own little knot of mourners. 
 Wherefore they kissed each other and 
 shivered. 
 
 It was a red and heavy audit, for the land 
 was very sick and needed a little breathing- 
 space ere the torrent of cheap life should flood 
 it anew. The children of immature fathers 
 and undeveloped mothers made no resistance. 
 They were cowed and sat still, waiting till 
 the sword should be sheathed in November, if 
 it were so willed. There were gaps among 
 the English, but the gaps were filled. The 
 
264 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 work of superintending famine relief, choiera- 
 sheds, medicine distribution, and what little 
 sanitation was possible, went forward because 
 it was ordered. 
 
 Holden had been told to hold himself in 
 readiness to move to replace the next man 
 who should fall. There were twelve hours in 
 each day when he could not see Ameera, and 
 she might die in three. He was considering 
 what his pain would be if he could not see her 
 for three months, or if she died out of his 
 sight. He was absolutely certain that her 
 death would be demanded — so certain that, 
 when he looked up from the telegram and saw 
 Pir Khan breathless in the doorway, he 
 laughed aloud, "And?" — said he. 
 
 "When there is a cry in the night and the 
 spirit flutters into the throat, who has a 
 charm that will restore? Come swiftly, 
 heaven born. It is the black cholera." 
 
 Holden galloped to his home. The sky 
 was heavy with clouds, for the long-deferred 
 rains were at hand, and the heat was stifling. 
 Ameera's mother met him in the court-yard, 
 whimpering: "She is dying. She is nursing 
 herself into death. She is all but dead. What 
 shall I do, sahib?" 
 
 Ameera was lying in the room in which 
 
OF CLERGY 265 
 
 Tota had been born. She made no sign when 
 Holden entered, because the human soul is a 
 very lonely thing, and when it is getting ready 
 to go away hides itself in a misty border-land 
 where the living may not follow. The black 
 cholera does its work quietly and without ex- 
 planation. Ameera was being thrust out of 
 life as though the Angel of Death had 
 himself put his hand upon her. The quick 
 breathing seemed to show that she was either 
 afraid or in pain, but neither eyes nor mouth 
 gave any answer to Holden's kisses. There 
 was nothing to be said or done. Holden could 
 only wait and suffer. The first drops of the 
 rain began to fall on the roof, and he could 
 hear shouts of joy in the parched city. 
 
 The soul came back a little and the lips 
 moved. Holden bent down to listen. "Keep 
 nothing of mine," said Ameera. "Take no 
 hair from my head. She would make thee 
 burn it later on. That flame I should feel. 
 Lower! Stoop lower! Remember only that 
 I was thine and bore thee a son. Thoup-h thou 
 wed a white woman tomorrow, the pleasure of 
 taking in thy arms thy first son is taken from 
 thee forever. Remember me when thy son 
 is born — the one that shall carry thy name be- 
 fore all men. His misfortunes be on my head, 
 
266 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 I bear witness — I bear witness" — the lips 
 were forming the words on his ear — "that 
 there is no God but — thee, beloved." 
 
 Then she died. Holden sat still, and 
 thought of any kind was taken from him till 
 he heard Ameera's mother lift the curtain. 
 
 "Is she dead, sahib?" 
 
 "She is dead." 
 
 "Then I will mourn, and afterward take an 
 inventory of the furniture in this house; for 
 that will be mine. The sahib does not mean 
 to resume it. It is so little, so very little, sahib, 
 and I am an old woman. I would like to lie 
 softly." 
 
 "For the mercy of God, be silent awhile! 
 Go out and mourn where I cannot hear." 
 
 "Sahib, she will be buried in four hours." 
 
 "I know the custom. I shall go ere she is 
 taken away. That matter is in thy hands. 
 Look to it that the bed — on which — on which 
 — she lies" — 
 
 "Aha! That beautiful red-lacquered bed. 
 I have long desired" — 
 
 — "That the bed is left here untouched for 
 my disposal. All else in the house is thine. 
 Hire a cart, take everything, go hence, and 
 before sunrise let there be nothing in this 
 house but that which I have ordered thee to 
 respect." 
 
OF CLERGY 267 
 
 "I am an old woman. I would stay at least 
 for the days of mourning", and the rains have 
 just broken. Whither shall I go?" 
 
 "What is that to me?" My order is that 
 there is a going-. The house-gear is worth a 
 thousand rupees, and my orderly shall bring 
 thee a hundred rupees to-night." 
 
 "That is very little. Think of the cart- 
 hire." 
 
 "It shall be nothing unless thou goest, and 
 with speed. Oh, woman, get hence, and leave 
 me to my dead !" 
 
 The mother shuffled down the staircase, 
 and in her anxiety to take stock of the house- 
 fittings forgot to mourn. Holden stayed by 
 Ameera's side, and the rain roared on the 
 roof. He could not think connectedly by rea- 
 son of the noise, though he made many at- 
 tempts to do so. Then four sheeted ghosts 
 glided dripping into the room and stared at 
 him through their veils. They were the 
 washers of the dead. Holden left the room 
 and went out to his horse. He had come in a 
 dead, stifling calm, through ankle-deep dust. 
 He found the court-yard a rain-lashed pond 
 alive with frogs, a torrent of yellow water ran 
 under the gate, and a roaring wind drove the 
 bolts of the rain like buckshot against the 
 mud walls. Pir Khan was shivering in his 
 
*68 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 little hut by the gate, and the horse was stamp- 
 ing uneasily in the water. 
 
 "I have been told the sahib's order," said 
 he. "It is well. This house is now desolate. 
 I'll go also, for my monkey face would be a 
 reminder of that which has been. Concern- 
 ing the bed, I will bring that to thy house 
 yonder in the morning. But remember, sahib, 
 it will be to thee as a knife turned in a green 
 wound. I go upon a pilgrimage and I will 
 take no money. I have grown fat in the pro- 
 tection of the Presence, whose sorrow is my 
 sorrow. For the last time I hold his stirrup." 
 
 He touched Holden's foot with both hands, 
 and the horse sprung out into the road, where 
 the creaking bamboos were whipping the sky 
 and all the frogs were chuckling. Holden 
 could not see for the rain in his face. He 
 put his hands before his eyes and muttered: 
 "Oh, you brute! You utter brute!" 
 
 The news of his trouble was already in his 
 bungalow. He read the knowledge in his 
 butler's eyes when Ahmed Khan brought in 
 food, and for the first and last time in his life 
 laid a hand upon his master's shoulder, say- 
 ing: "Eat, sahib, eat. Meat is good against 
 sorrow. I also have known. Moreover, the 
 shadows come and go, sahib. The shadows 
 come and go. These be curried eggs." 
 
OF CLERGY 269 
 
 Holden could neither eat nor sleep. The 
 heavens sent down eight inches of rain in that 
 night and scoured the earth clean. The 
 waters tore down walls, broke roads, and 
 washed open the shallow graves in the Mo- 
 hammedan burying-ground. All next day it 
 rained, and Holden sat still in his house con- 
 sidering his sorrow. On the morning of the 
 third day he received a telegram which said 
 only: "Ricketts, Myndonie. Dying. Holden. 
 Relieve. Immediate." Then he thought that 
 before he departed he would look at the house 
 wherein he had been master and lord. There 
 was a break in the weather. The rank earth 
 steamed with vapor, and Holden was vermil- 
 ion from head to heel with the prickly-heat 
 born of sultry moisture. 
 
 He found that the rains had torn down the 
 mud-pillars of the gateway, and the heavy 
 wooden gate that had guarded his life hung 
 drunkenly from one hinge. There was grass 
 three inches high in the court-yard; Pir 
 Khan's lodge was empty, and the sodden 
 thatch sagged between the beams. A grey 
 squirrel was in possession of the veranda, as 
 if the house had been untenanted for thirty 
 years instead of three days. Ameera's 
 mother had removed everything except some 
 mildewed matting. The tick-tick of the little 
 
270 WITHOUT BENEFIT 
 
 scorpions as they hurried across the floor was 
 the only sound in the house. Ameera's room 
 and that other one where Tota had lived were 
 heavy with mildew, and the narow staircase 
 leading to the roof was streaked and stained 
 with rain-borne mud. Holden saw all these 
 things, and came out again to meet in the road 
 Durga Dass, his k. ldlord — portly, affable, 
 clothed in white muslin, and driving a C- 
 spring buggy. He was overlooking his prop- 
 erty, to see how the roofs withstood the stress 
 of the first rains. 
 
 "I have heard," said he, "you will not take 
 this place any more, sahib?" 
 
 "What are you going to do with it ?" 
 
 "Perhaps I shall let it again." 
 
 "Then I will keep it on while I am away." 
 
 Durga Dass was silent for some time. 
 "You shall not take it on, sahib," he said. 
 "When I was a young man I also — But to- 
 day I am a member of the municipality. Ho! 
 ho ! No. When the birds have gone, what 
 need to keep the nest? I will have it pulled 
 down; the timber will sell for something al- 
 ways. It shall be pulled down, and the munic- 
 ipality shall make a road across, as they de- 
 sire, from the burning-ghat to the city wall. 
 So that no man may say where this house 
 stood." 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 Your Gods and my Gods — do you or I know which are 
 the stronger? — Native Proverb. 
 
 EAST of Suez, some hold, the direct con- 
 trol of Providence ceases; Man being 
 there handed over to the power of the Gods 
 and Devils of Asia, and the Church of Eng- 
 land Providence only exercising an occasional 
 and modified supervision in the case of Eng- 
 lishmen. 
 
 This theory accounts for some of the more 
 unnecessary horrors of life in India: it may 
 be stretched to explain my story. 
 
 My friend Strickland of the Police, who 
 knows as much of natives of India as is good 
 for any man, can bear witness to the facts of 
 the case. Dumoise, our doctor, also saw what 
 Strickland and I saw. The inference which 
 he drew from the evidence was entirely incor- 
 rect. He is dead now ; he died in a rather cu- 
 rious manner, which has been elsewhere de- 
 scribed. 
 
 When Fleete came to India he owned a little 
 
 273 
 
274 THE MAHK OF THE BEAST 
 
 money and some land in the Himalayas, near 
 a place called Dharmsala. Both properties 
 had been left him by an uncle, and he came 
 out to finance them. He was a big, heavy, 
 genial, and inoffensive man. His knowledge 
 of natives was, of course, limited, and he 
 complained of the difficulties of the language. 
 He rode in from his place in the hills to 
 spend New Year in the station, and he stayed 
 with Strickland. On New Year's Eve there 
 was a big dinner at the club, and the night 
 was excusably wet. When men foregather 
 from the uttermost ends of the Empire, they 
 have a right to be riotous. The Frontier had 
 sent down a contingent o' Catch-'em-Alive-O's 
 who had not seen twenty white faces for a 
 year, and were used to ride fifteen miles to 
 dinner at the next Fort at the risk of a Khy- 
 beree bullet where their drinks should lie. 
 They profited by their new security, for they 
 tried to play pool with a curled-up hedge-hog 
 found in the garden, and one of them carried 
 the marker round the room in his tieth. Half 
 a dozen planters had come in from the south 
 and were talking "horse" to the Biggest Liar 
 in Asia, who was trying to cap all their stories 
 at once. Everybody was there, and there was 
 a general closing up of ranks and taking stock 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 275 
 
 of our losses in dead or disabled that had 
 fallen during the past year. It was a very wet 
 night, and I remember that we sang "Auld 
 Lang Syne" with our feet in the Polo Cham- 
 pionship Cup, and our heads among the stars, 
 and swore that we were all dear friends. Then 
 some of us went away and annexed Burma, 
 and some tried to open up the Soudan and were 
 opened up by Fuzzies in that cruel scrub out- 
 side Suakim, and some found stars and med- 
 als, and some were married, which was bad, 
 and some did other things which were worse, 
 and the others of us stayed in our chains and 
 strove to make money on insufficient experi- 
 ences. 
 
 Fleete began the night with sherry and bit- 
 ters, drank champagne steadily up to dessert, 
 then raw, rasping Capri with all the strength 
 of whisky, took Benedictine with his coffee, 
 four or five whiskies and sodas to improve his 
 pool strokes, beer and bones at half-past two, 
 winding up with old brandy. Consequently, 
 when he came out, at half -past three in the 
 morning into fourteen degrees of frost, he 
 was very angry with his horse for coughing, 
 and tried to leap-frog into the saddle. The 
 horse broke away and went to his stables; so 
 Strickland and I formed a Guard of Dishonor 
 £0 take Fleete home. 
 
276 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 Our road lay through the bazaar, close to a 
 little temple of Hanuman, the Monkey-god, 
 who is a leading divinity worthy of respect. 
 All gods have good points, just as have all 
 priests. Personally, I attach much importance 
 to Hanuman, and am kind to his people — the 
 great grey apes of the hills. One never knows 
 when one may want a friend. 
 
 There was a light in the temple, and as we 
 passed, we could hear the voices of men chant- 
 ing hymns. In a native temple, the priests rise 
 at all hours of the night to do honor to their 
 god. Before we could stop him, Fleete dashed 
 up the steps, patted two priests on the back, 
 and was gravely grinding the ashes of his ci- 
 gar-butt into the forehead of the red, stone 
 image of Hanuman. Strickland tried to drag 
 him out, but he sat down and said solemnly : 
 
 "Shee that? 'Mark of the B— beasht! / 
 made it. Ishn't it fine?" 
 
 In half a minute the temple was alive and 
 noisy, and Strickland, who knew what came of 
 polluting gods, said that things might occur. 
 He, by virtue of his official position, long resi- 
 dence in the country, and weakness for going 
 among the natives, was known to the priests 
 and he felt unhappy. Fleete sat on the ground 
 and refused to move. He said that "good old 
 Hanuman" made a very soft pillow. 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 277 
 
 Then, without any warning, a Silver Man 
 came out of a recess behind the image of the 
 god. He was perfectly naked in that bitter, 
 bitter cold, and his body shone like frosted sil- 
 ver, for he was what the Bible calls "a leper 
 as white as snow." Also he had no face, be- 
 cause he was a leper of some years' standing, 
 and his disease was heavy upon him. We 
 stooped to haul Fleete up, and the temple was 
 filling and filling with folk who seemed to 
 spring from the earth, when the Silver Man 
 ran in under our arms, making a noise exactly 
 like the mewing of an otter, caught Fleete 
 round the body and dropped his head on 
 Fleete's breast before we could wrench him 
 away. Then he retired to a corner and sat 
 mewing while the crowd blocked all the doors. 
 
 The priests were very angry until the Sil- 
 ver Man touched Fleete. That nuzzling 
 seemed to sober them. 
 
 At the end of a few minutes' silence one of 
 the priests came to Strickland and said, in 
 perfect English, "Take your friend away. 
 He has done with Hanuman, but Hanuman 
 has not done with him." The crowd gave 
 room and we carried Fleete into the road. 
 
 Strickland was very angry. He said that 
 we might all three have been knifed, and that 
 
278 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 Fleete should thank his stars that he had es« 
 caped without injury. 
 
 Fleete thanked no one. He said that he 
 wanted to go to bed. He was gorgeously 
 drunk. 
 
 We moved on, Strickland silent and wrath- 
 ful, until Fleete was taken with violent shiv- 
 ering fits and sweating. He said that the 
 smells of the bazaar were overpowering, and 
 he wondered why slaughter-houses were per- 
 mitted so near English residences. "Can't 
 you smell the blood ?" said Fleete. 
 
 We put him to bed at last, just as the dawn 
 was breaking, and Strickland invited me to 
 have another whisky and soda. While we 
 were drinking he talked of the trouble in the 
 temple, and admitted that it baffled him com- 
 pletely. Strickland hates being mystified by 
 natives, because his business in life is to over- 
 match them with their own weapons. He has 
 not yet succeeded in doing this, but in fifteen 
 or twenty years he will have made some small 
 progress. 
 
 "They should have mauled us," he said, 
 "instead of mewing at us. I wonder what 
 they meant. I don't like it one little bit." 
 
 I said that the Managing Committee of the 
 temple would in all probability bring a crim- 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 279 
 
 inal action against us for insulting their re- 
 ligion, There was a section of the Indian 
 Penal Code which exactly met Fleete's of- 
 fence. Strickland said he only hoped and 
 prayed that they would do this. Before I left 
 I looked into Fleete's room, and saw him lying 
 on his right side, scratching his left breast. 
 Then I went to bed cold, depressed, and un- 
 happy, at seven o'clock in the morning. 
 
 At one o'clock I rode over to Strickland's 
 house to inquire after Fleete's head. I im- 
 agined that it would be a sore one. Fleete was 
 breakfasting and seemed unwell. His temper 
 was gone, for he was abusing the cook for 
 not supplying him with an underdone chop. 
 A man who can eat raw meat after a wet 
 night is a curiosity. I told Fleete this and he 
 laughed. 
 
 "You breed queer mosquitoes in these 
 parts/' he said. "I've been bitten to pieces, 
 but only in one place." 
 
 "Let's have a look at the bite," said Strick- 
 land. "It may have gone down since this 
 morning." 
 
 While the chops were being cooked, Fleete 
 opened his shirt and showed us, just over his 
 left breast, a mark, the perfect double of the 
 black rosettes — the five or six irregular 
 
280 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 blotches arranged in a circle — on a leopard's 
 hide. Strickland looked and said, "It was 
 only pink this morning. It's grown black 
 now." 
 
 Fleete ran to a glass. 
 
 "By Jove!" he said, "this is nasty. What 
 is it?" 
 
 We could not answer. Here the chops 
 came in, all red and juicy, and Fleete bolted 
 three in a most offensive manner. He ate on 
 his right grinders only, and threw his head 
 over his right shoulder as he snapped the meat. 
 When he had finished, it struck him that he 
 had been behaving strangely, for he said, apol- 
 ogetic illy, "I don't think I ever felt so hun- 
 gry in my life. I've bolted like an ostrich." 
 
 After breakfast Strickland said to me, 
 "Don't go. Stay here, and stay for the 
 night." 
 
 Seeing that my house was not three miles 
 from Strickland's, this request was absurd. 
 But Strickland insisted, and was going to say 
 something when Fleete interrupted by declar- 
 ing in a shame-faced way that he felt hun- 
 gry again. Strickland sent a man to my house 
 to fetch over my bedding and a horse, and we 
 three went down to Strickland's stables to 
 pass the hours until it was time to go out for a 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 281 
 
 ride. The man who has a weakness for horses 
 never wearies of inspecting them; and when 
 two men are killing time in this way they 
 gather knowledge and lies the one from the 
 other. 
 
 There were five horses in the stables, and I 
 shall never forget the scene as we tried to look 
 them over. They seemed to have gone mad. 
 They reared and screamed and nearly tore up 
 their pickets: they sweated and shivered and 
 lathered and were distraught with fear. 
 Strickland's horses used to know him as well 
 as his dogs; which made the matter more curi- 
 ous. We left the stable for fear of the brutes 
 throwing themselves in their panic. Then 
 Strickland turned back and called me. The 
 horses were still frightened, but they let us 
 "gentle" and make much of them, and put 
 their heads in our bosoms. 
 
 "They aren't afraid of us" said Strickland. 
 "D' you know, I'd give three months' pay if 
 Outrage here could talk." 
 
 But Outrage was dumb, and could only 
 cuddle up to his master and blow out his nos- 
 trils, as is the custom of horses when they 
 wish to explain things but can't. Fleete came 
 up when we were in the stalls, and as soon as 
 the horses saw him, their fright broke out 
 afresh. It was all that we could do to escape 
 
282 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 from the place unkicked. Strickland said, 
 "They don't seem to love you, Fleete." 
 
 "Nonsense," .said Fleete; "my mare will 
 follow me like a dog." He went to her; she 
 was in a loose-box; but as he slipped the bars 
 she plunged, knocked him down, and broke 
 away into the garden. I laughed, but Strick- 
 land was not amused. He took his moustache 
 in both fists and pulled at it till it nearly came 
 out. Fleete, instead of going off to chase his 
 property, yawned, saying that he felt sleepy. 
 He went to the house to lie down, which was 
 a foolish way of spending New Year's Day. 
 
 Strickland sat with me in the stables and 
 asked if I had noticed anything peculiar in 
 Fleete's manner. I said that he ate his food 
 like a beast ; but that this might have been the 
 result of living alone in the hills out of the 
 reach of society as refined and elevating as 
 ours for intance. Strickland was not amused. 
 I do not think that he listened to me, for his 
 next sentence referred to the mark on Fleete's 
 breast and I said that it might have been 
 caused by blister-flies, or that it was possibly 
 a birth-mark newly born and now visible for 
 the first time. We both agreed that it was 
 unpleasant to look at, and Strickland found 
 occasion to say that I was a fool, 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 283 
 
 "I can't tell you what I think now," said 
 he, "because you would call me a madman; 
 but you must stay with me for the next few 
 days, if you can. I want you to watch Fleete, 
 but don't tell me what you think till I have 
 made up my mind." 
 
 "But I am dining out to-night," I said. 
 
 "So am I," said Strickland, "and so is 
 Fleete. At least if he doesn't change his 
 mind." 
 
 We walked about the garden smoking, but 
 saying nothing — because we were friends, 
 and talking spoils good tobacco — till our 
 pipes were out. Then we went to wake up 
 Fleete. He was wide awake and fidgeting 
 about his room. 
 
 "I say, I want some more chops," he said. 
 "Can I get them?" 
 
 We laughed and said, "Go and change. 
 The ponies will be round in a minute." 
 
 "All right," said Fleete. "I'll go when I 
 get the chops — underdone ones, mind." 
 
 He seemed to be quite in earnest. It was 
 four o'clock, and we had had breakfast at 
 one; still, for a long time, he demanded those 
 underdone chops. Then he changed into rid- 
 ing clothes and went out into the veranda. 
 
284 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 His pony — the mare had not been caught — 
 would not let him come near. All three horses 
 were unmanageable — mad with fear — and 
 finally Fleete said that he would stay at home 
 and get something to eat. Strickland and I 
 rode out wondering. As we passed the temple 
 of Hanuman, the Silver Man came out and 
 mewed at us. 
 
 "He is not one of the regular priests of the 
 temple," said Strickland. "I think I should 
 peculiarly like to lay my hands on him." 
 
 There was no spring in our gallop on the 
 race-course tha : evening. The horses were 
 stale, and moved as though they had been rid- 
 den out. 
 
 "The fright after breakfast has been too- 
 much for them," said Strickland. 
 
 That was the only remark he made through 
 the remainder of the ride. Once or twice I 
 think he swore to himself; but that did not 
 count. 
 
 We came back in the dark at seven o'clock, 
 and saw that there were no lights in the bun- 
 galow. "Careless ruffians my servants are!" 
 said Strickland. 
 
 My horse reared at something on the car- 
 riage drive, and Fleete stood up under its 
 nose. 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 285 
 
 "What are you doing-, grovelling about the 
 garden?" said Strickland. 
 
 But both horses bolted and nearly threw 
 us. We dismounted by the stables and re- 
 turned to Fleete, who was on his hands and 
 knees under the orange-bushes. 
 
 "What the devil's wrong with you?" said 
 Strickland. 
 
 "Nothing, nothing in the world," said 
 Fleete, speaking very quickly and thickly. 
 "I've been gardening — botanizing, you know. 
 The smell of the earth is delightful. I think 
 I'm going for a walk — a long walk — all 
 night." 
 
 Then I saw that there was something ex- 
 cessively out of order somewhere, and I said 
 to Strickland, "I am not dining out." 
 
 "Bless you!" said Strickland. "Here, 
 Fleete, get up. You'll catch fever there. Come 
 in to dinner and let's have the lamps lit. We'll 
 all dine at home." 
 
 Fleete stood up unwillingly, and said, "No 
 lamps — no lamps. It's much nicer here. 
 Let's dine outside and have some more chops 
 — lots of 'em and underdone — bloody ones 
 with gristle." 
 
 Now a December evening in Northern In- 
 dia is bitterly cold, and Fleete's suggestion 
 was that of a maniac. 
 
286 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 "Come in," said Strickland, sternly. "Come 
 in at once." 
 
 Fleete came, and when the lamps were 
 brought, we saw that he was literally plas- 
 tered with dirt from head to foot. He must 
 have been rolling in the garden. He shrank 
 from the light and went to his room. His 
 eyes were horrible to look at. There was a 
 green light behind them, not in them, if you 
 understand, and the man's lower lip hung 
 down. 
 
 Strickland said, "There is going to be 
 trouble — big trouble — to-night. Don't you 
 change your riding-things." 
 
 We waited and waited for Fleete's reap- 
 pearance, and ordered dinner in the meantime. 
 We could hear him moving about his own 
 room, but there was no light there. Presently 
 from the room came the long-drawn howl of 
 a wolf. 
 
 People write and talk lightly of blood run- 
 ning cold and hair standing up and things of 
 that kind. Both sensations are too horrible 
 to be trifled with. My heart stopped as though 
 a knife had been driven through it, and 
 Strickland turned as white as the table-cloth. 
 
 The howl was repeated, and was answered 
 by another howl far across the fields. 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 287 
 
 That set the gilded roof on the horror. 
 Strickland dashed into Fleete' s room. I fol- 
 lowed, and we saw Fleete getting out of the 
 window. He made beast-noises in the back 
 of his throat. He could not answer us when 
 we shouted at him. He spat. 
 
 I don't quite remember what followed, but 
 I think that Strickland must have stunned 
 him with the long boot- jack or else I should 
 never have been able to sit on his chest. Fleete 
 could not speak, he could only snarl, and his 
 snarls were those of a wolf, not of a man. 
 The human spirit must have been giving way 
 all day and have died out with the twilight. 
 We were dealing with a beast that had once 
 bc:n Fleete. 
 
 The affair was beyond any human and ra- 
 tional experience. I tried to say "Hydro- 
 phobia," but the word wouldn't come, because 
 I knew that I was lying. 
 
 We bound this beast with leather thongs of 
 the punkah-rope, and tied its thumbs and big 
 toes together, and gagged it with a shoe-horn, 
 which makes a very efficient gag if you know 
 how to arrange it. Then we carried it into 
 the dining-room and sent a man to Dumoise, 
 the doctor, telling him to come over at once. 
 After we had despatched the messenger and 
 
288 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 were drawing breath, Strickland said, "It's 
 no good. This isn't any doctor's work." I, 
 also, knew that he spoke the truth. 
 
 The beast's head was free, and it threw it 
 about from side to side. Any one entering 
 the room would have believed that we were 
 curing a wolf's pelt. That was the most 
 loathsome accessory of all. 
 
 Strickland sat with his chin in the heel of 
 his fist, watching the beast as it wriggled on 
 the ground, but saying nothing. The shirt 
 had been torn open in the scuffle and showed 
 the black rosette mark on the left breast. It 
 stood out like a blister. 
 
 In the silence of the watching we heard 
 something without mewing like a she-otter. 
 We both rose to our feet, and, I answer for 
 myself, not Strickland, felt sick — actually 
 and physically sick. We told each other, as 
 did the men in Pinafore, that it was the cat. 
 
 Dumoise arrived, and I never saw a little 
 man so unprofessionally shocked. He said 
 that it was a heart-rending case of hydropho- 
 bia, and that nothing could be done. At least 
 any palliative measures would only prolong 
 the agony. The beast was foaming at the 
 mouth. Fleete, as we told Dumoise, had been 
 bitten by dogs once or twice. Any man who 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 289 
 
 keeps half a dozen terriers must expect a nip 
 now and again. Dumoise could offer no help. 
 He could only certify that Fleete was dying 
 of hydrophobia. The beast was then howling, 
 for it had managed to spit out the shoe-horn. 
 Dumoise said that he would be ready to cer- 
 tify to the cause of death, and that the end 
 was certain. He was a good little man, and 
 he offered to remain with us; but Strickland 
 refused the kindness. He did not wish to 
 poison Dumoise's New Year, He would only 
 ask him not to give the real cause of Fleete's 
 death to the public. 
 
 So Dm noise left, deeply agitated; and as 
 soon as the noise of the cart wheels had died 
 away, Strickland told me, in a whisper, his 
 suspicions. They were so wildly improbable 
 that he dared not say them out aloud; and I, 
 who entertained all Strickland's beliefs, was 
 so ashamed of owning to them that I pre- 
 tended to disbelieve. 
 
 "Even if the Silver Man had bewitched 
 Fleete for polluting the image of Hanuman, 
 the punishment could not have fallen so 
 quickly." 
 
 As I was whispering this the cry outside 
 the house rose again, and the beast fell into a 
 fresh paroxysm of struggling till we w^re 
 
^90 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 afraid that the thongs that held it would give 
 way. 
 
 "Watch!" said Strickland. "If this hap- 
 pens six times I shall take the law into my 
 own hands. I order you to help me." 
 
 He went into his room and came out in a 
 few minutes with the barrels of an old shot- 
 gun, a piece of fishing line, some thick cord, 
 and his heavy wooden bedstead. I reported 
 that the convulsions had followed the cry by 
 two seconds in each case, and the beast seemed 
 perceptibly weaker. 
 
 Strickland muttered. "But he can't take 
 away the life! He can't take away the life!" 
 
 I said, though I knew that I was arguing 
 against myself, "It may be a cat. It must be 
 a cat. If the Silver Man is responsible, why 
 does he dare to come here?" 
 
 Strickland arranged the wood on the hearth, 
 put the gun-barrels into the glow of the fire, 
 spread the twine on the table and broke a 
 walking stick in two. There was one yard of 
 fishing line, gut, lapped with wire, such as is 
 used for mahseer-fishmg, and he tied the two 
 ends together in a loop. 
 
 Then he said, "How can we catch him? 
 He must be taken alive and unhurt." 
 
 I said that we must trust in Providence, and 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 291 
 
 go out softly with polo-sticks into the shrub- 
 bery at the front of the house. The man or 
 animal that made the cry was evidently mov- 
 ing round the house as regularly as a night- 
 watchman. We could wait in the bushes till 
 he came by and knock him over. 
 
 Strickland accepted this suggestion, and we 
 slipped out from a bath-room window into 
 the front veranda and then across the carriage 
 drive into the bushes. 
 
 In the moonlight we could see the leper 
 coming round the corner of the house. He 
 was perfectly naked, and from time to time he 
 mewed and stopped to dance with his shadow. 
 It was an unattractive sight, and thinking of 
 poor Fleete, brought to such degradation by 
 so foul a creature, I put away all my doubts 
 and resolved to help Strickland from the 
 heated gun-barrels to the loop of twine — 
 from the loins to the head and back again — ■ 
 with all tortures that might be needful. 
 
 The leper halted in the front porch for a 
 moment and we jumped out on him with the 
 sticks. He was wonderfully strong, and we 
 were afraid that he might escape or be fatally 
 injured before we caught him. We had an idea 
 that lepers were frail creatures, but this 
 proved to be incorrect. Strickland knocked 
 
292 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 his legs from under him and I put my foot on 
 his neck. He mewed hideously, and even 
 through my riding-boots I could feel that his 
 flesh was not the flesh of a clean man. 
 
 He struck at us with his hand and feet- 
 stumps. We looped the lash of a dog-whip 
 round him, under the armpits, and dragged 
 him backward into the hall and so into the 
 dining-room where the beast lay. There we 
 tied him with trunk-straps. He made no at- 
 tempt to escape, but mewed. 
 
 When we confronted him with the beast the 
 scene was beyond description. The beast 
 doubled backward into a bow as though he 
 had been poisoned with strychnine, and 
 moaned in the most pitiable fashion. Several 
 other things happened also, but they cannot be 
 put down here. 
 
 "I think I was right," said Strickland. 
 "Now we will ask him to cure this case." 
 
 But the leper only mewed. Strickland 
 wrapped a towel round his hand and took the 
 gun-barrels out of the fire. I put the half of 
 the broken walking stick through the loop of 
 the fishing-line and buckled the leper com- 
 fortably to Strickland's bedstead. I under- 
 stood then how men and women and little 
 children can endure to see a witch burned 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 293 
 
 alive: for the beast was moaning on the floor, 
 and though the Silver Man had no face, you 
 could see horrible feelings passing through the 
 slab that took its place, exactly as waves of 
 heat play across red-hot iron — gun-barrels for 
 instance. 
 
 Strickland shaded his eyes with his hands 
 for a moment and we got to work. This part 
 is not to be printed. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The dawn was beginning to break when the 
 leper spoke. His mewings had not been satis- 
 factory up to that point. The beast had 
 fainted from exhaustion and the house was 
 very still. We unstrapped the leper and told 
 him to take away the evil spirit. He crawled 
 to the beast and laid his hand upon the left 
 breast. That was all. Then he fell face 
 down and whined, drawing in his breath as 
 he did so. 
 
 We watched the face of the beast, and saw 
 the soul of Fleete coming back into the eyes. 
 Then a sweat broke out on the forehead and 
 the eyes — they were human eyes — closed. We 
 waited for an hour but Fleete still slept. We 
 carried him to his room and bade the leper goj. 
 giving him the bedstead, and the sheet on the 
 
294 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 bedstead to cover his nakedness, the gloves and 
 the towels with which we had touched him, 
 and the whip that had been hooked round his 
 body. He put the sheet about him and went 
 out into the early morning without speaking or 
 mewing. 
 
 Strickland wiped his face and sat down. A 
 night-gong, far away in the city, made seven 
 o'clock. 
 
 "Exactly four-and-twenty hours!" said 
 Strickland. "And I've done enough to ensure 
 my dismissal from the service, besides per- 
 manent quarters in a lunatic asylum. Do you 
 believe that we are awake ?" 
 
 The red-hot gun-barrel had fallen on the 
 floor and was singeing the carpet. The smell 
 was entirely real. 
 
 That morning at eleven we two together 
 went to wake up Fleete. We looked and saw 
 that the black leopard-rosette on his chest had 
 disappeared. He was very drowsy and tired, 
 but as soon as he saw us, he said, "Oh! Con- 
 found you fellows. Happy New Year to you. 
 Never mix your liquors. I'm nearly dead." 
 
 "Thanks for your kindness, but you're over 
 time," said Strickland. "To-day is the morn- 
 ing of the second. You've slept the clock 
 round with a vengeance." 
 
THE MARK OF THE BEAST 295 
 
 The door opened, and little Dumoise put his 
 head in. He had come on foot, and fancied 
 that we were laying out Fleete. 
 
 "I've brought a nurse," said Dumoise. "I 
 suppose that she can come in for .... 
 what is necessary." 
 
 "By all means," said Fleete, cheerily, sitting 
 up in bed. "Bring on your nurses." 
 
 Dumoise was dumb. Strickland led him 
 out and explained that there must have been a 
 mistake in the diagnosis. Dumoise remained 
 dumb and left the house hastily. He consid- 
 ered that his professional reputation had been 
 injured, and was inclined to make a personal 
 matter of the recovery. Strickland went out 
 too. When he came back, he said that he had 
 been to call on the Temple of Hanuman to 
 offer redress for the pollution of the god, and 
 had been solemnly assured that no white man 
 had ever touched the idol and that. he was an 
 incarnation of all the virtues laboring under 
 a delusion. "What do you think?" said 
 Strickland. 
 
 I said, " 'There are more things. . . .' ' 
 
 But Strickland hates that quotation He 
 says that I have worn it threadbare. 
 
 One other curious thing happened which 
 frightened me as much as anything in all the 
 night's work. When Fleete was dressed he 
 
296 THE MARK OF THE BEAST 
 
 came into the dining-room and sniffed. He 
 had a quaint trick of moving his nose when 
 he sniffed. "Horrid doggy smell, here," said 
 he. "You should really keep those terriers of 
 yours in better order. Try sulphur, Strick." 
 
 But Strickland did not answer. He caught 
 hold of the back of a chair, and, without warn- 
 ing went into an amazing fit of hysterics. It 
 is terrible to see a strong man overtaken with 
 hysteria. Then it struck me that we had 
 fought for Fleete's soul with the Silver Man 
 in that room, and had disgraced ourselves as 
 Englishmen forever, and I laughed and gasped 
 and gurgled just as shamefully as Strickland, 
 while Fleete thought that we had both gone 
 mad. We never told him what we had done. 
 
 Some years later, when Strickland had mar- 
 ried and was a church-going member of 
 society for his wife's sake, we reviewed the 
 incident dispassionately, and Strickland sug- 
 gested that I should put it before the public. 
 
 I cannot myself see that this step is likely to 
 clear up the mystery; because, in the first 
 place, no one will believe a rather unpleasant 
 story, and, in the second, it is well known to 
 every right-minded man that the gods of the 
 heathen are stone and brass, and any attempt 
 to deal with them otherwise is justly con* 
 demned. 
 
THE HEAD OF THE DISTRICT 
 
THE HEAD OF THE DISTRICT 
 
 There's a convict more in the Central Jail, 
 
 Behind the old mud wall; 
 There's a lifter less on the Border trail, 
 And the Queen's Peace over all, 
 
 Dear boys, 
 The Queen's Peace over all. 
 
 For we must bear our leader's blame, 
 
 On us the shame will fall, 
 If we lift our hand from a fettered land 
 And the Queen's Peace over all, 
 Dear boys, 
 The Queen's Peace over all ! 
 
 — The Running of Shindand. 
 
 THE Indus had risen in flood without warn- 
 ing-. Last night it was a fordable shal- 
 low ; to-night five miles of raving muddy water 
 parted bank and caving bank, and the river 
 was still rising under the moon. A litter 
 borne by six bearded men, all unused to the 
 work, stopped in the white sand that bordered 
 the whiter plain. 
 
 "It's God's will," they said. "We dare not 
 299 
 
300 THE HEAD OF 
 
 cross to-night, even in a boat. Let us light 
 a fire and cook food. We be tired men." 
 
 They looked at the litter inquiringly. 
 Within, the Deputy Commissioner of the Kot- 
 Kumharsen district lay dying of fever. 
 They had brought him across country, six 
 fighting-men of a frontier clan that he had 
 won over to the paths of a moderate right- 
 eousness, when he had broken down at the 
 foot of their inhospitable hills. And Tallan- 
 tire, his assistant, rode with them, heavy- 
 hearted as heavy-eyed with sorrow and lack of 
 sleep. He had served under the sick man for 
 three years, and had learned to love him as 
 men associated in toil of the hardest learn to 
 love — or hate. Dropping from his horse he 
 parted the curtains of the litter and peered 
 inside. 
 
 "Orde — Orde, old man, can you hear ? We 
 have to wait till the river goes down, worse 
 luck." 
 
 "I hear," returned a dry whisper. "Wait 
 till the river goes down. I thought we should 
 reach camp before the dawn. Polly knows. 
 She'll meet me." 
 
 One of the litter-men stared across the river 
 and caught a faint twinkle of light on the far 
 side. He whispered to Tallantire, "There are 
 
THE DISTRICT 301 
 
 his camp-fires, and his wife. They will cross 
 in the morning, for they have better boats. 
 Can he live so long?" 
 
 Tallantire shook his head. Yardley-Orde 
 was very near to death. What need to vex his 
 soul with hopes of a meeting that could not 
 be? The river gulped at the banks, brought 
 down a cliff of sand, and snarled the more 
 hungrily. The litter-men sought for fuel in 
 the waste — dried camel-thorn and refuse of 
 the camps that had waited at the ford. Their 
 sword-belts clinked as they moved softly in 
 the haze of the moonlight, and Tallantire's 
 horse coughed to explain that he would like a 
 blanket. 
 
 "I'm cold too," said the voice from the litter. 
 "I fancy this is the end. Poor Polly!" 
 
 Tallantire rearranged the blankets; Khoda 
 Dad Khan, seeing this, stripped off his own 
 heavy-wadded sheepskin coat and added it to 
 the pile. "I shall be warm by the fire pres- 
 ently," said he. Tallantire took the wasted 
 body of his chief into his arms and held it 
 against his breast. Perhaps if they kept him 
 very warm Orde might live to see his wife 
 once more. If only blind Providence would 
 send a three-foot fall in the river ! 
 
 "That's better," said Orde, faintly. "Sorry 
 
302 THE HEAD OF 
 
 to be a nuisance, but is — is there anything to 
 drink ?" 
 
 They gave him milk and whiskey, and Tal- 
 lantire felt a little warmth against his own 
 breast. Orde began to mutter. 
 
 "It isn't that I mind dying," he said. "It's 
 leaving Polly and the district. Thank God! 
 we have no children. Dick, you know, I'm 
 dipped — awfully dipped — debts in my first 
 five years' service. It isn't much of a pension, 
 but enough for her. She has her mother at 
 home. Getting there is the difficulty. And — • 
 and — you see, not being a soldier's wife" — 
 
 "We'll arrange the passage home, of 
 course," said Tallantire, quietly. 
 
 "It's not nice to think of sending round the 
 hat ; but, good Lord ! how many men I lie here 
 and remember that had to do it! Morten's 
 dead — he was of my year. Shaughnessy is 
 dead, and he had children ; I remember he used 
 to read us their school-letters ; what a bore we 
 thought him! Evans is dead — Kot-Kumhar- 
 sen killed him! Ricketts of Myndonie is dead 
 ■• — and I'm going too. 'Man that is born of 
 woman is small potatoes and few in a hill.' 
 That reminds me, Dick; the four Khusru 
 Kheyl villages in our border want a one-third 
 remittance this spring. That's fair; their 
 
THE DISTRICT 303 
 
 crops are bad. See that they get it, and speak 
 to Ferris about the canal. I should like to 
 have lived till that was finished; it means so 
 much for the North-Indus villages — but Fer- 
 ris is an idle beggar — wake him up. You'll 
 have charge of the district till my successor 
 comes. I wish they would appoint you per- 
 manently; you know the folk. I suppose it 
 will be Bullows, though. 'Good man, but too 
 weak for frontier work ; and he doesn't under- 
 stand the priests. The blind priest at Jagai 
 will bear watching. You'll find it in my pa- 
 pers, — in the uniform-case, I think. Call the 
 Khusru Kheyl men up; I'll hold my last pub- 
 lic audience. Khoda Dad Khan !" 
 
 The leader of the men sprang to the side of 
 the litter, his companions following. 
 
 "Men, I'm dying," said Orde, quickly, in 
 the vernacular; "and soon there will be no 
 more Orde Sahib to twist your tails and pre- 
 vent you from raiding cattle." 
 
 "God forbid this thing!" broke out the deep 
 bass chorus. "The Sahib is not going to die." 
 
 "Yes, he is ; and then he will know whether 
 Mahomed speaks truth, or Moses. But you 
 must be good men, when I am not here. Such 
 of you as live in our borders must pay your 
 taxes quietly as before. I have spoken of the 
 
3©4 THE HEAD OF 
 
 villages to be gently treated this year. Such 
 of you as live in the hills must refrain from 
 cattle-lifting, and burn no more thatch, and 
 turn a deaf ear to the voice of the priests, 
 who, not knowing the strength of the Govern- 
 ment, would lead you into foolish wars, 
 wherein you will surely die and your crops be 
 eaten by strangers. And you must not sack 
 any caravans, and must leave your arms at 
 the police-post when you come in ; as has been 
 your custom, and my order. And Tallantire 
 Sahib will be with you, but I do not know 
 who takes my place. I speak now true talk, 
 for I am as it were alreaay dead, my children, 
 — for though ye be strong men, ye are chil- 
 dren." 
 
 "And thou art our father and our mother," 
 broke in Khoda Dad Khan with an oath. 
 "What shall we do, now there is no one to 
 speak for us, or to teach us to go wisely !" 
 
 "There remains Tallantire Sahib. Go to 
 him; he knows your talk and your heart. 
 Keep the young men quiet, listen to the old 
 men, and obey. Khoda Dad Khan, take my 
 ring. The watch and chain go to thy brother. 
 Keep those things for my sake, and I will 
 speak to whatever God I may encounter and 
 tell him that the Khusru Kheyl are good men. 
 Ye have my leave to go." 
 
THE DISTRICT 303 
 
 Khoda Dad Khan, the ring upon his ringer, 
 choked audibly as he caught the well-known 
 formula that closed an interview. His 
 brother turned to look across the river. The 
 dawn was breaking, and a speck of white 
 showed on the dull silver of the stream. "She 
 comes," said the man under his breath. "Can 
 he live for another two hours ?" And he 
 pulled the newly-acquired watch out of his 
 belt and looked uncomprehendingly at the 
 dial, as he had seen Englishmen do. 
 
 For two hours the bellying sail tacked and 
 blundered up and down the river, Tallantire 
 still clasping Orde in his arms, and Khoda 
 Dad Khan chafing his feet. He spoke now 
 and again of the district and his wife, but, as 
 the end neared, more frequently of the latter. 
 They hoped he did not know that she was even 
 then risking her life in a crazy native boat to 
 regain him. But the awful foreknowledge of 
 the dying deceived them. Wrenching himself 
 forward, Orde looked through the curtains 
 and saw how near was the sail. "That's 
 Polly, ,, he said, simply, though his mouth was 
 wried with agony. "Polly and — the grimmest 
 practical joke ever played on a man. Dick — 
 you'll — have — to — explain." 
 
 And an hour later Tallantire met on the 
 bank a woman in a gingham riding-habit and 
 
3 o6 THE HEAD OF 
 
 a sun-hat who cried out to him for her hus- 
 band — her boy and her darling — while Khoda 
 Dad Khan threw himself face-down on the 
 sand and covered his eyes. 
 
 II 
 
 The very simplicity of the notion was its 
 charm. What more easy to win a reputation 
 for far-seeing statesmanship, originality, and, 
 above all, deference to the desires of the peo- 
 ple, than by appointing a child of the country 
 to the rule of that country? Two hundred 
 millions of the most loving and grateful folk 
 under Her Majesty's dominion would laud 
 the fact, and their praise would endure for- 
 ever. Yet he was indifferent to praise or 
 blame, as befitted the Very Greatest of All 
 Viceroys. His administration was based upon 
 principle, and the principle must be enforced 
 in season and out of season. His pen and 
 tongue had created the New India, teeming 
 with possibilities — loud-voiced, insistent, a na- 
 tion among nations — all his very own. 
 Wherefore the Very Greatest of All the Vice- 
 roys took another step in advance, and with 
 
THE DISTRICT 30; 
 
 it counsel of those who should have advised 
 him on the appointment of a successor to 
 Yardley-Orde. There was a gentleman and 
 a member of the Bengal Civil Service who 
 had won his place and a university degree to 
 boot in fair and open competition with the 
 sons of the English. He was cultured, of the 
 world, and, if report spoke truly, had wisely 
 and, above all, sympathetically ruled a 
 crowded district in Southeastern Bengal. He 
 had been to England and charmed many 
 drawing-rooms there. His name, if the Vice- 
 roy recollected aright, was Mr. Grish Chunder 
 De, M. A. In short, did anybody see any ob- 
 jection to the appointment, always on princi- 
 ple, of a man of the people to rule the people ? 
 The district in Southeastern Bengal might 
 with advantage, he apprehended, pass over to a 
 younger civilian of Mr. G. C. De's nationality 
 (who had written a remarkably clever pam- 
 phlet on the political value of sympathy in ad- 
 ministration) ; and Mr. G. C. De could be 
 transferred northward to Kot-Kumharsen. 
 The Viceroy was averse, on principle, to in- 
 terfering with appointments under control of 
 the Provincial Governments. He wished it to 
 be understood that he merely recommended 
 and advised in this instance. As regarded 
 
3 o8 THE HEAD OF 
 
 the mere question of race, Mr. Grish Chunder 
 De was more English than the English, and 
 yet possessed of that peculiar sympathy and 
 insight which the best among the best Service 
 in the world could only win to at the end of 
 their service. 
 
 The stern, black-bearded kings who sit 
 about the Council-board of India divided on 
 the step, with the inevitable result of driving 
 the Very Greatest of All Viceroys into the 
 borders of hysteria, and a bewildered obsti- 
 nacy pathetic as that of a child. 
 
 "The principle is sound enough," said the 
 weary-eyed Head of the Red Provinces in 
 which Kot-Kumharsen lay, for he too held 
 theories. "The only difficulty is"- — 
 
 "Put the screw on the District officials ; bri- 
 gade De with a very strong Deputy Commis- 
 sioner on each side of him; give him the best 
 assistant in the Province; rub the fear of God 
 into the people beforehand; and if anything 
 goes wrong, say that his colleagues didn't 
 back him up. All these lovely little experi- 
 ments recoil on the District-Officer in the 
 end," said the Knight of the Drawn Sword 
 with a truthful brutality that made the Head 
 of the Red Provinces shudder. And on a 
 tacit understanding of this kind the transfer 
 
THE DISTRICT 309 
 
 was accomplished, as quietly as might be for 
 many reasons. 
 
 It is sad to think that what goes for public 
 opinion in India did not generally see the wis- 
 dom of the Viceroy's appointment. There 
 were not lacking indeed hireling organs, no- 
 toriously in the pay of a tyrannous bureau- 
 cracy, who more than hinted that His Excel- 
 lency was a fool, a dreamer of dreams, a doc- 
 trinaire, and, worst of all, a trifler with the 
 lives of men. "The Viceroy's Excellence Ga- 
 zette," published in Calcutta, was at pains to 
 thank "Our beloved Viceroy for once more 
 and again thus gloriously vindicating the 
 potentialities of the Bengali nations for ex- 
 tended executive and administrative duties in 
 foreign parts beyond our ken. We do not at 
 all doubt that our excellent fellow-townsman, 
 Mr. Grish Chunder De, Esq., M. A., will up- 
 hold the prestige of the Bengali, notwithstand- 
 ing what underhand intrigue and peshbundi 
 may be set on foot to insidiously nip his fame 
 and blast his prospects among the proud civil- 
 ians, some of which will now have to serve 
 under a despised native and take orders too. 
 How will you like that, Misters? We entreat 
 our beloved Viceroy still to substantiate him- 
 self superiorly to race-prejudice and color- 
 blindness, and to allow the flower of this now 
 
310 THE HEAD OF 
 
 our Civil Service all the full pays and allow- 
 ances granted to his more fortunate breth- 
 
 III 
 
 "When does this man take over charge? 
 I'm alone just now, and I gather that I'm to 
 stand fast under him." 
 
 "Would you have cared for a transfer?" 
 said Bullows, keenly. Then, laying his hand 
 on Tallantire's shoulder: "We're all in the 
 same boat; don't desert us. And yet, why 
 the devil should you stay, if you can get an- 
 other charge?" 
 
 "It was Orde's," said Tallantire, simply. 
 
 "Well, it's De's now. He's a Bengali of the 
 Bengalis, crammed with code and case law; a 
 beautiful man so far as routine and desk work 
 go, and pleasant to talk to. They naturally 
 have always kept him in his own home district, 
 where all his sisters and his cousins and his 
 aunts lived, somewhere south of Dacca. He 
 did no more than turn the place into a pleas- 
 ant little family preserve, allowed his subor- 
 dinates to do what they liked, and let every- 
 body have a chance at the shekels. Conse- 
 
THE DISTRICT 31 B 
 
 quently he's immensely popular down there." 
 
 "I've nothing to do with that. How on 
 earth am I to explain to the district that they 
 are going to be governed by a Bengali? Do 
 you — does the Government, I mean — suppose 
 that the Khusru Kheyl will sit quiet when they 
 once know ? What will the Mahomedan heads 
 of villages say? How will the police — Muzbi 
 Sikhs and Pathans — how will they work under 
 him? We couldn't say anything if the Gov- 
 ernment appointed a sweeper; but my people 
 will say a good deal, you know that. It's a 
 piece of cruel folly!" 
 
 "My dear boy, I know all that, and more. 
 I've represented it, and have been told that I 
 am exhibiting 'culpable and puerile prejudice.' 
 By Jove, if the Khusru Kheyl don't exhibit 
 something worse than that I don't know the 
 Border! The chances are that you will have 
 the district alight on your hands, and I shall 
 have to leave my work and help you pull 
 through. I needn't ask you to stand by the 
 Bengali man in every possible way. You'll do 
 that for your own sake." 
 
 "For Orde's. I can't say that I care two- 
 pence personally." 
 
 "Don't be an ass. It's grievous enough, 
 God knows, and the Government will know 
 
3 i2 THE HEAD OF 
 
 later on; but there's no reason for your sulk- 
 ing. You must try to run the district; you 
 must stand between him and as much insult as 
 possible; you must show him the rope; you 
 must pacify the Khusru Kheyl and just warn 
 Curbar of the Police to look out for trouble 
 by the way. I'm always at the end of a tele- 
 graph-wire, and willing to peril my reputation 
 to hold the district together. You'll lose yours, 
 of course. If you keep things straight, and 
 he isn't actually beaten with a stick when he's 
 on tour, he'll get all the credit. If anything 
 goes wrong, you'll be told that you didn't sup- 
 port him loyally." 
 
 "I know what I've got to do," said Tallan- 
 tire, wearily, "and I'm going to do it. But it's 
 hard." 
 
 "The work is with us, the event is with 
 Allah, — as Orde used to say when he was 
 more than usually in hot water." And Bul- 
 lows rode away. 
 
 That two gentlemen in Her Majesty's Ben- 
 gal Civil Service should thus discuss a third, 
 also in that service, and a cultured and affable 
 man withal, seems strange and saddening. Yet 
 listen to the artless babble of the Blind Mullah 
 of Jagai, the priest of the Khusru Kheyl, sit- 
 ting upon a rock overlooking the Border. Five 
 
THE DISTRICT 313 
 
 years before, a chance-hurled shell from a 
 screw-gun battery had dashed earth in the face 
 of the Mullah, then urging a rush of Ghazis 
 against half a dozen British bayonets. So he 
 became blind, and hated the English none the 
 less for the little accident. Yardley-Orde knew 
 his failing, and had many times laughed at 
 him therefore. 
 
 "Dogs you are," said the Blind Mullah to 
 the listening tribesmen round the fire. 
 "Whipped dogs ! Because you listened to Orde 
 Sahib and called him father and behaved as 
 his children, the British Government have 
 proven how they regard you. Orde Sahib ye 
 know is dead." 
 
 "Ai! ai! ai!" said half a dozen voices. 
 
 "He was a man. Comes now in his stead, 
 whom think ye? A Bengali of Bengal — an 
 eater of fish from the South." 
 
 "A lie!" said Khoda Dad Khan. "And but 
 for the small matter of thy priesthood, I'd 
 drive my gun butt-first down thy throat." 
 
 "Oho, art thou there, lickspittle of the Eng- 
 lish? Go in to-morrow across the Border to 
 pay service to Orde Sahib's successor, and thou 
 shalt slip thy shoes at the tent-door of a Ben- 
 gali, as thou shalt hand thy offering to a Ben- 
 gali's black fist. This I know; and in my 
 
3 H THE HEAD OF 
 
 youth, when a young man spoke evil to a 
 Mullah holding the doors of Heaven and Hell, 
 the gun-butt was not rammed down the Mul- 
 lah's gullet. No!" 
 
 The blind Mullah hated Khoda Dad Khan 
 with Afghan hatred ; both being rivals for the 
 headship of the tribe; but the latter was feared 
 for bodily as the other for spiritual gifts. 
 Khoda Dad Khan looked at Orde's ring and 
 grunted, "I go in to-morrow because I am not 
 an old fool, preaching war against the Eng- 
 lish. If the Government, smitten with mad- 
 ness, have done this, then . 
 
 "Then," croaked the Mullah, "thou wilt 
 take out the young men and strike at the four 
 villages within the Border?" 
 
 "Or wring thy neck, black raven of Jehan- 
 num, for a bearer of ill-tidings." 
 
 Khoda Dad Khan oiled his long locks with 
 great care, put on his best Bokhara belt, a new 
 turban cap and fine green shoes, and accompa- 
 nied by a few friends came down from the hills 
 to pay a visit to the new Deputy Commissioner 
 of Kot-Kumharsen. Also he bore tribute — 
 four or five priceless gold mohurs of Akbar's 
 time in a white handkerchief. These the Dep- 
 uty Commissioner would touch and remit. 
 The little ceremony used to be a sign that, so 
 
THE DISTRICT 315 
 
 far as Khoda Dad Khan's personal influence 
 went, the Khusru Kheyl would be good boys, 
 — till the next time; especially if Khoda Dad 
 Khan happened to like the new Deputy Com- 
 misioner. In Yardley-Orde's consulship his 
 visit concluded with a sumptuous dinner and 
 perhaps forbidden liquors ; certainly with some 
 wonderful tales and great good-fellowship. 
 Tjen Khoda Dad Khan would swagger back 
 to his hold, vowing that Orde Sahib was one 
 prince and Tallantire Sahib another, and that 
 whosoever went a-raiding into British terri- 
 tory would be flayed alive. On this occasion he 
 found the Deputy Commissioner's tents look- 
 ing much as usual. Regarding himself as 
 privileged he strode through the open door to 
 confront a suave, portly Bengali in English 
 costume writing at a table. Unversed in the 
 elevating influence of education, and not in the 
 least caring for university degrees, Khoda Dad 
 Khan promptly set the man down for a Babu 
 — the native clerk of the Deputy Commis- 
 sioner — a hated and despised animal. 
 
 "Ugh!" said he, cheerfully. "Where's 
 your master, Babujee?" 
 
 "I am the Deputy Commissioner," said the 
 gentleman in English. 
 
 Now he overvalued the effects of university 
 degrees, and stared Khoda Dad Khan in the 
 
316 THE HEAD OF 
 
 face. But if from your earliest infancy you 
 have been accustomed to look on battle, mur- 
 der, and sudden death, if spilt blood affects 
 your nerves as much as red paint, and, above 
 all, if you have faithfully believed that the 
 Bengali was the servant of all Hindustan, and 
 that all Hindustan was vastly inferior to your 
 own large, lustful self, you can endure, even 
 though uneducated, a very large amount of 
 looking over. You can even stare down a 
 graduate of an Oxford college if the latter 
 has been born in a hothouse, of stock bred in 
 a hothouse, and fearing physical pain as some 
 men fear sin; especially if your opponent's 
 mother has frightened him to sleep in his 
 youth with horrible stories of devils inhabit- 
 ing Afghanistan, and dismal legends of the 
 black North. The eyes behind the gold spec- 
 tacles sought the floor. Khoda Dad Khan 
 chuckled, and swung out to find Tallantire 
 hard by. "Here," said he, roughly, thrusting 
 the coins before him, "touch and remit. That 
 answers for my good behavior. But, O Sahib, 
 has the Government gone mad to send a black 
 Bengali dog to us? And am I to pay service 
 to such an one? And are you to work under 
 him? What does it mean?" 
 
 "It is an order," said Tallantire. He had 
 
THE DISTRICT 31^ 
 
 expected something of this kind. "He is a 
 very clever S-sahib." 
 
 "He a Sahib! He's a kala admi — a black 
 man — unfit to run at the tail of a potter's don- 
 key. All the peoples of the earth have harried 
 Bengal. It is written. Thou knowest when 
 we of the North wanted women of plunder 
 whither went we? To Bengal — where else? 
 What child's talk is this of Sahibdom — after 
 Orde Sahib too ! Of a truth the Blind Mullah 
 was right." 
 
 "What of him?" asked Tallantire, uneasily. 
 He mistrusted that old man with his dead eyes 
 and his deadly tongue. 
 
 "Nay, now, because of the oath that I sware 
 to Orde Sahib when we watched him die by the 
 river yonder, I will tell. In the first place, is it 
 true that the English have set the heel of the 
 Bengali on their own neck, and that there is no 
 more English rule in the land?" 
 
 "I am here," said Tallantire, "and I serve 
 the Maharanee of England." 
 
 "The Mullah said otherwise, and further 
 that because we loved Orde Sahib the Govern- 
 ment sent us a pig to show that we were dogs, 
 who till now have been held by the strong 
 hand. Also that they were taking away the 
 white soldiers, that more Hindustanis might 
 come, and that all was changing." 
 
3 i8 THE HEAD OF 
 
 This is the worst of ill-considered handling 
 of a very large country. What looks so feasi- 
 ble in Calcutta, so right in Bombay, so unas- 
 sailable in Madras, is misunderstood by the 
 North and entirely changes its complexion on 
 the banks of the Indus. Khoda Dad Khan ex- 
 plained as clearly as he could that, though he 
 himself intended to be good, he really could 
 not answer for the more reckless members of 
 his tribe under the leadership of the Blind 
 Mullah. They might or they might not give 
 trouble, but they certainly had no intention 
 whatever of obeying the new Deputy Commis- 
 sioner. Was Tallantire perfectly sure that in 
 the event of any systematic border-raiding the 
 force in the district could put it down 
 promptly ? 
 
 'Tell the Mullah if he talks any more fool's 
 talk," said Tallantire, curtly, "that he takes his 
 men on to certain death, and his tribe to block- 
 ade, trespass-fine and blood-money. But why 
 do I talk to one who no longer carries weight 
 in the counsels of the tribe?" 
 
 Khoda Dad Khan pocketed that insult. He 
 had learned something that he much wanted to 
 know, and returned to his hills to be sarcasti- 
 cally complimented by the Mullah, whose 
 tongue raging round the camp-fires was dead- 
 er fb.me than ever dung-cake fed. 
 
THE DISTRICT 319 
 
 IV 
 
 Be pleased to consider here for a moment 
 the unknown district of Kot-Kumharsen. It 
 lay cut lengthways by the Indus under the line 
 of the Khusru hills — ramparts of useless earth 
 and tumbled stone. It was seventy miles long- 
 by fifty broad, maintained a population of 
 something less than two hundred thousand, 
 and paid taxes to the extent of forty thousand 
 pounds a year on an area that was by rather 
 more than half sheer, hopeless waste. The cul- 
 tivators were not gentle people, the miners for 
 salt were less gentle still, and the cattle-breed- 
 ers least gentle of all. A police-post in the top 
 right-hand corner and a tiny mud fort in the 
 top left-hand corner prevented as much salt- 
 smuggling and cattle-lifting as the influence of 
 the civilians could not put down; and in the 
 bottom right-hand corner lay Jumala, the dis- 
 trict headquarters — a pitiful knot of lime- 
 washed barns facetiously rented as houses, 
 reeking with frontier fever, leaking in the 
 rain, and ovens in the summer. 
 
 It was to this place that Grish Chunder De 
 was traveling, there formally to take over 
 charge of the district. But the news of his 
 coming had gone before. Bengalis were as 
 
3 20 THE HEAD OF 
 
 scarce as poodles among the simple Borderers, 
 who cut each other's heads open with their 
 long spades and worshipped impartially at 
 Hindu and Mahomedan shrines. They 
 crowded to see him, pointing at him, and di- 
 versely comparing him to a gravid milch-buf- 
 falo, or a broken-down horse, as their limited 
 range of metaphor prompted. They laughed 
 at his police-guard, and wished to know how 
 long the burly Sikhs were going to lead Ben- 
 gali apes. They inquired whether he had 
 brought his women with him, and advised him 
 explicitly not to tamper with theirs. It re- 
 mained for a wrinkled hag by the roadside to 
 slap her lean breasts as he passed, crying, "I 
 have suckled six that could have eaten six 
 thousand of him. The Government shot them, 
 and made this That a king !" Whereat a blue- 
 turbaned huge-boned plough mender shouted, 
 "Have hope, mother o' mine! He may yet go 
 the way of thy wastrels." And the children, 
 the little brown puff-balls, regarded curiously. 
 It was generally a good thing for infancy to 
 stray into Orde Sahib's tent, where copper 
 coins were to be won for the mere wishing, 
 and tales of the most authentic, such as even 
 their mothers knew but the first half of. No! 
 This fat black man could never tell them how 
 
THE DISTRICT 321 
 
 Pir Prith hauled the eye-teeth out of ten devils ; 
 how the big stones came to lie all in a row on 
 top of the Khusru hills, and what happened if 
 you shouted through the village-gate to the 
 grey wolf at even "Badl Khas is dead." 
 Meantime Grish Chunder De talked hastily 
 and much to Tallantire, after the manner of 
 those who are "more English than the Eng- 
 lish," — of Oxford and "home," with much 
 curious book-knowledge of bump-suppers, 
 cricket-matches, hunting-runs, and other un- 
 holy sports of the alien. "We must get these 
 fellows in hand," he said once or twice, un- 
 easily ; "get them well in hand, and drive them 
 on a tight rein. No use, you know, being 
 slack with your district." 
 
 And a moment later Tallantire heard De- 
 bendra Nath De, who brotherliwise had fol- 
 lowed his kinsman's fortune and hoped for 
 the shadow of his protection as a pleader, 
 whisper in Bengali, "Better are dried fish at 
 Dacca than drawn swords at Delhi. Brother 
 of mine, these men are devils, as our mother 
 said. And you will always have to ride upon 
 a horse!" 
 
 That night there was a public audience in a 
 broken-down little town thirty miles from Ju- 
 mala, when the new Deputy Commissioner, in 
 
322 THE HEAD OF 
 
 reply to the greetings of the subordinate native 
 officials, delivered a speech. It was a carefully 
 thought-out speech, which would have been 
 very valuable had not his third sentence begun 
 with three innocent words, "Hamara hookum 
 hai — It is my order." Then there was a laugh, 
 clear and bell-like, from the back of the big 
 tent, where a few Border landholders sat, and 
 the laugh grew and scorn mingled with it, and 
 the lean, keen face of Debendra Nath De paled, 
 and Grish Chunder turning to Tallantire 
 spake: "You — you put up this arrangement." 
 Upon that instant the noise of hoofs rang 
 without, and there entered Curbar, the District 
 Superintendent of Police, sweating and dusty. 
 The State had tossed him into a corner of the 
 province for seventeen weary years, there to 
 check smuggling of salt, and to hope for pro- 
 motion that never came. He had forgotten 
 how to keep his white uniform clean, had 
 screwed rusty spurs into patent-leather shoes, 
 and clothed his head indifferently with a hel- 
 met or a turban. Soured, old, worn with heat 
 and cold, he waited till he should be entitled to 
 sufficient pension to keep him from starving. 
 
 "Tallantire," said he, disregarding Grish 
 Chunder De, "come outside. I want to speak 
 to you." They withdrew. "It's this," con* 
 
THE DISTRICT 323 
 
 tinued Curbar. "The Khusru Kheyl have 
 rushed and cut up half a dozen of the coolies 
 on Ferris's new canal-embankment; killed a 
 couple of men and carried off a woman. I 
 wouldn't trouble you about that — Ferris is af- 
 ter them and Hugonin, my assistant, with ten 
 mounted police. But that's only the beginning, 
 I fancy. Their fires are out on the Hassan Ar- 
 deb heights, and unless we're pretty quick 
 there'll be a flare-up all along our Border. 
 They are sure to raid the four Khusru villages 
 on our side of the line ; there's been bad blood 
 between them for years; and you know the 
 Blind Mullah has been preaching a holy war 
 since Orde went out. What's your notion?" 
 
 "Damn!" said Tallantire, thoughtfully. 
 "They've begun quick. Well, it seems to me 
 I'd beter ride off to Fort Ziar and get what 
 men I can there to picket among the lowland 
 villages, if it's not too late. Tommy Dodd com- 
 mands at Fort Ziar, I think. Ferris and Hu- 
 gonin ought to teach the canal-thieves a lesson, 
 and — No, we can't have the Head of the Po- 
 lice ostentatiously guarding the Treasury. You 
 go back to the canal. I'll wire Bullows to come 
 into Jumala with a strong police-guard, and 
 sit on the Treasury. They won't touch the 
 place, but it looks well." 
 
324 THE HEAD OF 
 
 "I — I — I insist upon knowing what this 
 means," said the voice of the Deputy Commis- 
 sioner, who had followed the speakers. 
 
 "Oh !" said Curbar, who being in the Police 
 could not understand that fifteen years of edu- 
 cation, must, on principle, change the Bengali 
 into a Briton. "There has been a fight on the 
 Border, and heaps of men are killed. There's 
 going to be another fight, and heaps more will 
 be killed." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Because the teeming millions of this dis- 
 trict don't exactly approve of you, and think 
 that under your benign rule they are going to 
 have a good time. It strikes me that you had 
 better make arangements. I act, as you know, 
 by your orders. What do you advise ?" 
 
 "I — I take you all to witness that I have not 
 yet assumed charge of the district," stam- 
 mered the Deputy Commissioner, not in the 
 tones of the "more English." 
 
 "Ah, I thought so. Well, as I was saying, 
 Tallantire, your plan is sound. Carry it out. 
 Do you want an escort?" 
 
 "No; only a decent horse. But how about 
 wiring to headquarters ?" 
 
 "I fancy, from the color of his cheeks, that 
 your superior officer will send some wonderful 
 
THE DISTRICT 325 
 
 telegrams before the night's over. Let him do 
 that, and we shall have half the troops of the 
 province coming up to see what's the trouble. 
 Well, run along, and take care of yourself — 
 the Khusru Kheyl jab upward from below, 
 remember. Ho! Mir Khan, give Tallantire 
 Sahib the best of the horses, and tell five men 
 to ride to Jumala with the Deputy Com- 
 missioner Sahib Bahadur. There is a hurry 
 toward." 
 
 There was; and it was not in the least bet- 
 tered by Debendra Nath De clinging to a po- 
 liceman's bridle and demanding the shortest, 
 the very shortest way to Jumala. Now origi- 
 nality is fatal to the Bengali. Debendra Nath 
 should have stayed with his brother, who rode 
 steadfastly for Jumala on the railway-line, 
 thanking gods entirely unknown to the most 
 catholic of universities that he had not taken 
 charge of the district, and could still — happy 
 resource of a fertile race ! — fall sick. 
 
 And I grieve to say that when he reached 
 his goal two policemen, not devoid of rude wit, 
 who had been conferring together as they 
 bumped in their saddles, arranged an entertain- 
 ment for his behoof. It consisted of first one 
 and then the other entering his room with pro- 
 digious details of war, the massing of blood- 
 
326 THE HEAD OF 
 
 thirsty and devilish tribes, and the burning of 
 towns. It was almost as good, said these 
 scamps, as riding with Curbar after evasive 
 Afghans. Each invention kept the hearer at 
 work for half an hour on telegrams which the 
 sack of Delhi would hardly have justified. To 
 every power that could move a bayonet or 
 transfer a terrified man, Grish Chunder De ap- 
 pealed telegraphically. He was alone, his as- 
 sistants had fled, and in truth he had not taken 
 over charge of the district. Had the telegrams 
 been despatched many things would have oc- 
 curred ; but since the only signaller in Jumala 
 had gone to bed, and the station-master, after 
 one look at the tremendous pile of paper, dis- 
 covered that railway regulations forbade the 
 forwarding of imperial messages, Policemen 
 Ram Singh and Nihal Singh were fain to turn 
 the stuff into a pillow and slept on it very 
 comfortably. 
 
 Tallantire drove his spurs into a rampant 
 skewbald stallion with china-blue eyes, and set- 
 tled himself for the forty-mile ride to Fort 
 Ziar. Knowing his district blindfold, he 
 wasted no time hunting for short cuts, but 
 headed across the richer grazing-ground to the 
 ford where Orde had died and been buried. 
 The dusty ground deadened the noise of his 
 horse's hoofs, the moon threw his shadow, a 
 
THE DISTRICT 327 
 
 restless goblin, before him, and the heavy dew 
 drenched him to the skin. Hillock, scrub that 
 brushed against the horse's belly, unmetalled 
 road where the whip-like foliage of the tamar- 
 isks lashed his forehead, illimitable levels of 
 lowland furred with bent and speckled and 
 drowsing cattle, waste, and hillock anew, 
 dragged themselves past, and the skewbald 
 was laboring in the deep sand of the Indus- 
 ford. Tallantire was conscious of no distinct 
 thought till the nose of the dawdling ferry- 
 boat grounded on the farther side, and his 
 horse shied snorting at the white headstone of 
 Orde's grave. Then he uncovered and shouted 
 that the dead might hear, "They're out, old 
 man! Wish me luck." In the chill of the 
 dawn he was hammering with a stirrup-iron 
 at the gate of Fort Ziar, where fifty sabres of 
 that tattered regiment, the Belooch Beshaklis 
 were supposed to guard Her Majesty's inter- 
 ests along a few hundred miles of Border. 
 This particular fort was commanded by a sub- 
 altern, who, born of the ancient family of the 
 Derouletts, naturally answered to the name of 
 Tommy Dodd. Him Tallantire found robed 
 in a sheepskin coat, shaking with fever like an 
 aspen, and trying to read the native apothe- 
 cary's list of invalids. 
 
1328 THE HEAD OF 
 
 "So you've come to," said he. "Well, we're 
 all sick here, and I don't think I can horse 
 thirty men; but we're bub — bub' — bub blessed 
 willing. Stop, does this impress you as a trap 
 or a lie?" He tossed a scrap of paper to Tal- 
 lantire, on which was written painfully in 
 crabbed Gurmukhi, "We cannot hold young 
 horses. They will feed after the moon goes 
 down in the four Border villages issuing from 
 the Jagai pass on the next night." Then in 
 English round hand — "Your sincere friend." 
 
 "Good man!" said Tallantire. "That's 
 Khoda Dad Khan's work, I know. It's the 
 only piece of English he could ever keep in 
 his head, and he is immensely proud of it. He 
 is playing against the Blind Mullah for his 
 own hand — the treacherous young ruffian!" 
 
 "Don't know the politics of the Khusru 
 Kheyl, but if you're satisfied, I am. That 
 was pitched in over the gatehead last night, 
 and I thought we might pull ourselves to- 
 gether and see what was on. Oh, but we're 
 sick with fever here and no mistake! Is this 
 going to be a big business, think you?" said 
 Tommy Dodd. 
 
 Tallantire gave him briefly the outlines of 
 the case, and Tommy Dodd whistled and shook 
 with fever alternately. That day he devoted to 
 strategy, the art of war, and the enlivenment 
 
THE DISTRICT 329 
 
 of the invalids, till at dusk there stood ready 
 forty-two troopers, lean, worn, and disheveled, 
 whom Tommy Dodd surveyed with pride, and 
 addressed thus : "O men! If you die you will 
 go to Hell. Therefore endeavor to keep alive. 
 But if you go to Hell that place cannot be hot- 
 ter than this place, and we are not told that 
 we shall there suffer from fever. Consequently 
 be not afraid of dying. File out there!" They 
 grinned, and went. 
 
 It will be long ere the Khusru Kheyl forget 
 their night attack on the lowland villages. The 
 Mullah had promised an easy victory and un- 
 limited plunder; but behold, armed troopers of 
 the Queen had risen out of the very earth, 
 cutting, slashing, and riding down under the 
 stars, so that no man knew where to turn, and 
 all feared that they had brought an army about 
 their ears, and ran back to the hills. In the 
 panic of that flight more men were seen to 
 drop from wounds inflicted by an Afghan 
 knife jabbed upward, and yet more from long- 
 range carbine-fire. Then there rose a cry of 
 treachery, and when they reached their own 
 guarded heights, they had left, with some forty 
 dead and sixty wounded, all their confidence 
 
330 THE HEAD OF 
 
 in the Blind Mullah on the plains below. They 
 clamored, swore, and argued round the fires; 
 the women wailing for the lost, and the Mullah 
 shrieking curses on the returned. 
 
 Then Khoda Dad Khan, eloquent and un- 
 breathed, for he had taken no part in the fight, 
 rose to improve the occasion. He pointed out 
 that the tribe owed every item of its present 
 misfortune to the Blind Mullah, who had lied 
 in every possible particular and talked them 
 into a trap. It was undoubtedly an insult that 
 a Bengali, the son of a Bengali, should pre- 
 sume to administer the Border, but that fact 
 did not, as the Mullah pretended, herald a 
 general time of license and lifting; and the 
 inexplicable madness of the English had not 
 in the least impaired their power of guarding 
 their marches. On the contrary, the baffled 
 and out-generalled tribe would now, just when 
 their food-stock was lowest, be blockaded from 
 any trade with Hindustan until they had sent 
 hostages for good behavior, paid compensation 
 for disturbance, and blood-money at the rate 
 of thirty-six English pounds per head for 
 every villager that they might have slain. "And 
 ye know that those lowland dogs will make 
 oath that we have slain scores. Will the Mul- 
 lah pay the fines or must we sell our guns?" 
 
THE DISTRICT 331 
 
 A low growl ran round the fires. "Now, see- 
 ing that all this is the Mullah's work, and that 
 we have gained nothing but promises of Para- 
 dise thereby, it is in my heart that we of the 
 Khusru Kheyl lack a shrine whereat to pray. 
 We are weakened, and henceforth how shall 
 we dare to cross into the Madar Kheyl border, 
 as has been our custom, to kneel to Pir Saji's 
 tomb ? The Madar men will fall upon us, and 
 rightly. But our Mullah is a holy man. He 
 has helped two score of us into Paradise this 
 night. Let him therefore accompany his flock, 
 and we will build over his body a dome of the 
 blue tiles of Mooltan, and burn lamps at his 
 feet every Friday night. He shall be a saint ; 
 we shall have a shrine; and there our women 
 shall pray for fresh seed to fill the gaps in our 
 fighting-tale. How think you?" 
 
 A grim chuckle followed the suggestion, and 
 the soft wheep, wheep of unscabbarded knives 
 followed the chuckle. It was an excellent 
 notion, and met a long felt want of the tribe. 
 The Mullah sprang to his feet, glaring with 
 withered eyeballs at the drawn death he could 
 not see, and calling down the curses of God 
 and Mahomed on the tribe. Then began a 
 game of blind man's buff round and between 
 the fires, whereof Khuruk Shah, the tribal 
 poet, has sung in verse that will not die. 
 
3$2 THE HEAD OF 
 
 They tickled him gently under the armpit 
 with the knife-point. He leaped aside scream- 
 ing, only to feel a cold blade drawn lightly 
 over the back of his neck, or a rifle-muzzle rub- 
 bing his beard. He called on his adherents to 
 aid him, but most of these lay dead on the 
 plains, for Khoda Dad Khan had been at some 
 pains to arrange their decease. Men described 
 to him the glories of the shrine they would 
 build, and the little children clapping their 
 hands cried, "Run, Mullah, run! There's a 
 man behind you !" In the end, when the sport 
 wearied, Khoda Dad Khan's brother sent a 
 knife home between his ribs. "Wherefore," 
 said Khoda Dad Khan with charming sim- 
 plicity, "I am now Chief of the Khusru 
 Kheyl !" No man gainsaid him ; and they all 
 went to sleep very stiff and sore. 
 
 On the plain below Tommy Dodd was lec- 
 turing on the beauties of a cavalry charge by 
 night, and Tallantire, bowed on his saddle, was 
 gasping hysterically because there was a sword 
 dangling from his wrist flecked with the blood 
 of the Khusru Kheyl, the tribe that Orde had 
 kept in leash so well. When a Rajpoot trooper 
 pointed out that the skewbald's right ear had 
 been taken off at the root, by some blind slash 
 of its unskilled rider, Tallantire broke down 
 
THE DISTRICT 333 
 
 altogether, and laughed and sobbed till Tommy 
 Dodd made him lie down and rest. 
 
 "We must wait about till the morning," 
 said he. "I wired to the Colonel just before 
 we left, to send a wing of the Beshaklis after 
 us. He'll be furious with me for monopoliz- 
 ing the fun, though. Those beggars in the 
 hills won't give us any more trouble." 
 
 "Then tell the Beshaklis to go on and see 
 what has happened to Curbar on the canal. 
 We must patrol the whole line of the Border. 
 You're quite sure, Tommy, that — that stuff 
 was — was only the skewbald's ear ?" 
 
 "Oh, quite," said Tommy. "You just 
 missed cutting off his head. / saw you when 
 we went into the mess. Sleep, old man." 
 
 Noon brought two squadrons of Beshaklis 
 and a knot of furious brother officers demand- 
 ing the court-martial of Tommy Dodd for 
 "spoiling the picnic," and a gallop across coun- 
 try to the canal-works where Ferris, Curbar, 
 and Hugonin were haranguing the terror- 
 stricken coolies on the enormity of abandoning 
 good work and high pay, merely because half 
 a dozen of their fellows had been cut down. 
 The sight of a troop of the Beshaklis restored 
 wavering confidence, and the police-hunted 
 section of the Khusru Kheyl had the joy of 
 watching the canal-bank humming with li£@ 
 
334 TH E HEAD OF 
 
 as usual, while such of their men as had taken 
 refuge in the water-courses and ravines were 
 being driven out by the troopers. By sun- 
 down began the remorseless patrol of the 
 Border by police and trooper, most like the 
 cow-boys' eternal ride round restless cattle. 
 
 "Now," said Khoda Dad Khan to his fel- 
 lows, pointing out a line of twinkling fires 
 below, "ye may see how far the old order 
 changes. After their horse will come the little 
 devil-guns that they can drag up to the tops 
 of the hills, and, for aught I know, to the 
 clouds when we crown the hills. If the tribe- 
 council thinks good, I will go to Tallantire 
 Sahib — who loves me — and see if I can stave 
 off at least the blockade. Do I speak for 
 the tribe?" 
 
 "Ay, speak for the tribe in God's name. 
 How those accursed fires wink ! Do the Eng- 
 lish send their troops on the wire — or is this 
 the work of the Bengali?" 
 
 As Khoda Dad Khan went down the hill he 
 was delayed by an interview with a hard- 
 pressed tribesman, which caused him to return 
 hastily for something he had forgotten. Then, 
 handing himself over to the two troopers who 
 had been chasing his friend, he claimed escort 
 to Tallantire Sahib, then with Bullows at 
 
THE DISTRICT 335 
 
 Jumala. The Border was safe, and the time 
 for reasons in writing had begun. 
 
 "Thank Heaven!" said Bullows, "that the 
 trouble came at once. Of course we can 
 never put down the reason in black and white, 
 but all India will understand. And it is better 
 to have a sharp short outbreak than five years 
 of impotent adminstration inside the Border. 
 It costs less. Grish Chunder De has reported 
 himself sick, and has been transferred to his 
 own province without any sort of reprimand. 
 He was strong on not having taken over the 
 district." 
 
 "Of course," said Tallantire, bitterly. 
 "Well, what am I supposed to have done that 
 was wrong?" 
 
 "Oh, you will be told that you exceeded all 
 your powers, and should have reported, and 
 written, and advised for three weeks until the 
 Khusru Kheyl could really come down in 
 force. But I don't think the authorities will 
 dare to make a fuss about it. They've had 
 their lesson. Have you seen Curbar's version 
 of the affair? He can't write a report, but he 
 can speak the truth." 
 
 "What's the use of the truth? He'd much 
 better tear up the report. I'm sick and heart- 
 broken over it all. It was so utterly unneces- 
 sary — except in that it rid us of that Babu." 
 
336 THE HEAD OF 
 
 Entered unabashed Khoda Dad Khan, a 
 stuffed forage-net in his hand, and the troop- 
 ers behind him. 
 
 "May you never be tired !" said he, cheerily. 
 "Well, Sahibs, that was a good fight, and 
 Nairn Shah's mother is in debt to you, Tallan- 
 tire Sahib. A clean cut, they tell me, through 
 jaw, wadded coat, and deep into the collar- 
 bone. Well done! But I speak for the tribe. 
 There has been a fault — a great fault. Thou 
 knowest that I and mine, Tallantire Sahib, kept 
 the oath we sware to Orde Sahib on the banks 
 of the Indus." 
 
 "As an Afghan keeps his knife — sharp on 
 one side, blunt on the other," said Tallantire. 
 
 "The better swing in the blow, then. But 
 I speak God's truth. Only the Blind Mullah 
 carried the young men on the tip of his tongue, 
 and said that there was no more Border-law 
 because a Bengali had been sent, and we 
 need not fear the English at all. So they 
 came down to avenge that insult and get plun- 
 der. Ye know what befell, and how far I 
 helped. Now five score of us are dead or 
 wounded, and we are all shamed and sorry, 
 and desire no further war. Moreover, that 
 ye may better listen to us, we have taken off 
 the head of the Blind Mullah, whose evil 
 
THE DISTRICT 33Z 
 
 counsels have led us to folly. I bring it for 
 proof," — and he heaved on the floor the head. 
 "He will give no more trouble, for / am chief 
 now, and so I sit in a higher place at all audi- 
 ences. Yet there is an offset to this head. 
 That was another fault. One of the men 
 found that black Bengali beast, through 
 whom this trouble arose, wandering on horse- 
 back and weeping. Reflecting that he had 
 caused loss of much good life, Alia Dad 
 Khan, whom, if you choose, I will to-morrow 
 shoot, whipped off this head, and I bring it to 
 you to cover your shame, that ye may bury it. 
 See, no man kept the spectacles, though they 
 were of gold." 
 
 Slowly rolled to Tallantire's feet the crop- 
 haired head of a spectacled Bengali gentle- 
 man, opened-eyed, open-mouthed — the head 
 of Terror incarnate. Bullows bent down. 
 "Yet another blood-fine and a heavy one, 
 Khoda Dad Khan, for this is the head of 
 Debendra Nath, the man's brother. The 
 Babu is safe long since. All but the fools 
 of the Khusru Kheyl know that." 
 
 "Well, I care not for carrion. Quick meat 
 for me. The thing was under our hills ask- 
 ing the road to Jumala and Alia Dad Khan 
 showed him the road to Jehannum, being, as 
 
338 THE HEAD OF 
 
 thou sayest, but a fool. Remains now what 
 the Government will do to us. As to the 
 blockade" — 
 
 "Who art thou, seller of dog's flesh," thun- 
 dered Tallantire, "to speak of terms and 
 treaties? Get hence to the hills — go, and 
 wait there starving, till it shall please the Gov- 
 ernment to call thy people out for punishment 
 — children and fools that ye be! Count your 
 dead, and be still. Rest assured that the 
 Government will send you a man!" 
 
 "Ay," returned Khoda Dad Khan, "for we 
 also be men." 
 
 As he looked Tallantire between the eyes, 
 he added, "And by God, Sahib, may thou be 
 that man!" 
 
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