Kipling S Works Volume II The Phantom Rickshaw And Other Stories

MARGARET

L.
STOTT

DRAVOTS HEAD

M

M

The Sahib Edition of
Rudyard Kipling

THE PHANTOM
'RICKSHAW

AND OTHER STORIES

Illudtmted by
SIR E. BURN E- JONES
REGINALD BULLES
W. KIKKPATKICK

P. F. COLLIER & SON COMPANY

Publishers New York

09

M

MANUFACTURED IN U. S. A.

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

CONTENTS

PAOl

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW i

MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY 43

THE STRANGE RIDE OF MORROWBIE

JUKES 61

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 105

"THE FINEST STORY IN THE WORLD". . . 173

THE BISARA OF POOREE 227

A FRIEND'S FRIEND 239

THE GATE OF THE HUNDRED SORROWS. . 251

THE STORY OF MUHAMMAD DIN 265

ON THE STRENGTH OF A LIKENESS 273

WRESSLEY OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE . . . . 285

BY WORD OF MOUTH 297

To BE FILED FOR REFERENCE 307

THE LAST RELIEF 325

BITTERS NEAT 339

HAUNTED SUBALTERNS { . . . . 3511

RICKSHAW

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

DRAVOT'S HEAD (Sec page 169) Frontispiece

Photogravure by John Andrew & Son after
original by W. Kirkpatrick

SHE LEARNED THAT I WAS SICK OF HER
PRESENCE 26

Mezzogravure by John Andrew & Son after
original by W. Kirkpatrick

I STRUGGLED CLEAR, SWEATING WITS

TERROR 90

Mexzogravure by John Andrew <Sr* Son after
original by W. Kirkpatrick

SHE HAD NEVER BEEN KISSED BY A MAN
BEFORE 218

Mezxogravure by John Andrew & Son after
original by W. Kirkpatrick

OPPOSITE THE Joss WAS FUNG-TCHING'S
COFFIN 251

Mexxogravure by John Andrew & Son after
original by Reginald Bo lies

'RICKSHAW

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

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

Evening Hymn.

ONE of the few advantages that India has
over England is a great Knowability.
After five years' service a man is directly or in-
directly acquainted with the two or three hun-
dred Civilians in his Province, all the Messes
of ten or twelve Regiments and Batteries, and
some fifteen hundred other people of the non-
official caste. In ten years his knowledge
should be doubled, and at the end of twenty he
knows, or knows something about, every Eng-
lishman in the Empire, and may travel any-
where and everywhere without paying hotel-
bills.

Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as
a right, have, even within my memory, blunted
this open-heartedness, but none the less to-day,
if you belong to the Inner Circle and are
neither a Bear nor a Black Sheep, all houses
are open to you, and our small world is very
kind and helpful*

I

a THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of
Kumaon some fifteen years ago. He meant to
stay two nights, but was knocked down by
rheumatic fever, and for six weeks disorgan-
ized Polder's establishment, stopped Polder's
work, and nearly died in Polder's bedroom.
Polder behaves as though he had been placed
under eternal obligation by Rickett, and yearly
sends the little Ricketts a box of presents and
toys. It is the same everywhere. The men
who do not take the trouble to conceal from
you their opinion that you are an incompetent
ass, and the women who blacken your charac-
ter and misunderstand your wife's amuse-
ments, will work themselves to the bone in your
behalf if you fall sick or into serious trouble.

Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition
to his regular practice, a hospital on his pri-
vate account an arrangement of loose boxes
for Incurables, his friends called it but it was
really a sort of fitting-up shed for craft that
had been damaged by stress of weather. The
weather in India is often sultry, and since the
tale of bricks is always a fixed quantity, and
the only liberty allowed is permission to work
overtime and get no thanks, men occasionally
break down and become as mixed as the meta-
phors in this sentence.

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 3

Hcathcrlcgh is the dearest doctor that ever
was, and his invariable prescription to all his
patients is, "lie low, go slow, and keep cool.".
He says that more men are killed by overwork
than the importance of this world justifies.
He maintains that overwork slew Pansay, who
died under his hands about three years ago.
He has, of course, the right to speak authorita-
tively, and he laughs at my theory that there
was a crack in Pansay's head and a little bit
of the Dark World came through and pressed
him to death. "Pansay went off the handle,"
says Heatherlegh, "after the stimulus of long
leave at Home. He may or he may not have
behaved like a blackguard to Mrs. Keith-Wes-
sington. My notion is that the work of the
Katabundi Settlement ran him off his legs,
and that he took to brooding and making much
of an ordinary P. & O. flirtation. He cer-
tainly was engaged to Miss Mannering, and
she certainly broke off the engagement. Then
he took a feverish chill and all that nonsense
about ghosts developed. Overwork started his
illness, kept it alight, and killed him, poor
devil. Write him off to the System one man
to take the work of two and a half men."

I do not believe this. I used to sit up with
Pansay sometimes when Heatherlegh was

4 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

called out to patients, and I happened to be
within claim. The man would make me most
unhappy by describing in a low, even voice,
the procession that was always passing at the
bottom of his bed. He had a sick man's com-
mand of language. When he recovered I sug-
gested that he should write out the whole af-
fair from beginning to end, knowing that ink
might assist him to ease his mind. When little
boys have learned a new bad word they are
never happy till they have chalked it up on a
door. And this also is Literature.

He was in a high fever while he was writ-
ing, and the blood-and-thunder Magazine dic-
tion he adopted did not calm him. Two
months afterward he was reported fit for duty,
but, in spite of the fact that he was urgently
needed to help an undermanned Commission
stagger through a deficit, he preferred to die;
vowing at the last that he was hag-ridden. I
got his manuscript before he died, and this is
his version of the affair, dated 1885 :

My doctor tells me that I need rest and
change of air. It is not improbable that I shall
get both ere long rest that neither the red-
coated messenger nor the midday gun can
break, and change of air far beyond that

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 5

which any homeward-bound steamer can give
me. In the meantime I am resolved to stay
where I am; and, in flat defiance of my doc-,
tor's orders, to take all the world into my con-
fidence. You shall learn for yourselves the
precise nature of my malady; and shall, too,
judge for yourselves whether any man born of
woman on this weary earth was ever so tor-
mented as I.

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

6 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

Three years ago it was my fortune my
great misfortune to sail from Gravesend to
Bombay, on return from long leave, with one
Agnes Keith- Wessington, wife of an officer
on the Bombay side. It docs not in the least
concern you to know what manner of woman
she was. Be content with the knowledge that,
ere the voyage had ended, both she and I were
desperately and unreasoningly in love with one
another. Heaven knows that I can make the
admission now without one particle of vanity.
In matters of this sort there is always one
who gives and another who accepts. From
the first day of our ill-omened attachment, I
was conscious that Agnes's passion was a
stronger, a more dominant, and if I may use
the expression a purer sentiment than mine.
Whether she recognized the fact then, I do not
know. Afterward it was bitterly plain to both
of us.

Arrived at Bombay in the spring of the
year, we went our respective ways, to meet no
more for the next three or four months, when
my leave and her love took us both to Simla.
There we spent the season together; and there
my fire of straw burned itself out to a pitiful
end with the closing year. I attempt no ex-
cuse. I make no apology. Mrs. Wessington

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 7

had given up much for my sake, and was pre-
pared to give up all. From my own lips, in
August, 1882, she learned that I was sick of.
her presence, tired of her company, and weary
of the sound of her voice. Ninety-nine women
out of a hundred would have wearied of me as
I wearied of them; seventy-five of that num-
ber would have promptly avenged themselves
by active and obtrusive flirtation with other
men. Mrs. Wessington was the hundredth.
On her neither my openly expressed aversion
nor the cutting brutalities with which I gar-
nished our interviews had the least effect.

"Jack, darling!" was her one eternal cuckoo
cry: "I'm sure it's all a mistake a hideous
mistake ; and we'll be good friends again some
day. Please forgive me, Jack, dear."

I was the offender, and I knew it. That
knowledge transformed my pity into passive
endurance, and, eventually, into blind hate
the same instinct, I suppose, which prompts a
man to savagely stamp on the spider he has
but half killed. And with this hate in my
bosom the season of 1882 came to an end.

Next year we met again at Simla she with
her monotonous face and timid attempts at
reconciliation, and I with loathing of her in
every fibre of my frame. Several times I

8 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW,

could not avoid meeting her alone ; and on each
occasion her words were identically the same.
Still the unreasoning wail that it was a$l a
"mistake"; and still the hope of eventually
"making friends." I might have seen had I
cared to look, that that hope only was keeping
her alive. She grew more wan and thin month
by month. You will agree with me, at least,
that such conduct would have driven any one
to despair. It was uncalled for ; childish ; un-
womanly. I maintain that she was much to
blame. And again, sometimes, in the black,
fever-stricken night-watches, I have begun to
think that I might have been a little kinder to
her. But that really is a "delusion." I could
not have continued pretending to love her
when I didn't; could I? It would have been
unfair to us both.

Last year we met again on the same terms
as before. The same weary appeals, and the
same curt answers from my lips. At least I
would make her see how wholly wrong and
hopeless were her attempts at resuming the old
relationship. As the season wore on, we fell
apart that is to say, she found it difficult to
meet me, for I had other and more absorbing
interests to attend to. When I think it over
quietly in my sick-room, the season of 1884

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

seems a confused nightmare wherein light and
shade were fantastically intermingled my
courtship of little Kitty Mannering; my hopes,,
doubts, and fears ; our long rides together ; my
trembling avowal of attachment; her reply;
and now and again a vision of a white face
flitting by in the 'rickshaw with the black and
white liveries I once watched for so earnestly ;
the wave of Mrs. Wessington's gloved hand;
and, when she met me alone, which was but
seldom, the irksome monotony of her appeal.
I loved Kitty Mannering; honestly, heartily
loved her, and with my love for her grew my
hatred for Agnes. In August Kitty and I
were engaged. The next day I met those ac-
cursed "magpie" jhampanies at the back of
Jakko, and, moved by some passing sentiment
of pity, stopped to tell Mrs. Wessington every-
thing. She knew it already.

"So I hear you're engaged, Jack, dear."
Then, without a moment's pause: "I'm sure
it's all a mistake a hideous mistake. We
shall be as good friends some day, Jack, as we

ever were."

My answer might have made even a man
wince. It cut the dying woman before me
like the blow of a whip. "Please forgive me,
Jack; I didn't mean to make you angry; but
it's true, it's true!"

10 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

And Mrs. Wcssington broke down com-
pletely. I turned away and left her to finish
her journey in peace, feeling, but only for a
moment or two, that I had been an unutterably
mean hound. I looked back, and saw that she
had turned her 'rickshaw with the idea, I sup-
pose, of overtaking me.

The scene and its surroundings were photo-
graphed on my memory. The rain-swept sky
(we were at the end of the wet weather), the
sodden, dingy pines, the muddy road, and the
black powder-riven cliffs formed a gloomy
background against which the black and white
liveries of the jhampanics, the yellow-paneled
'rickshaw and Mrs. Wessington's down-bowed
golden head stood out clearly. She was hold-
ing her handkerchief in her left hand and
was leaning back exhausted against the 'rick-
shaw cushions. I turned my horse up a by-
path near the Sanjowlie Reservoir and literally
ran away. Once I fancied I heard a faint call
of "Jadd" This may have been imagination.
I never stopped to verify it. Ten minutes
later I came across Kitty on horseback; and,
in the delight of a long ride with her, forgot
all about the interview.

A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and tfie
inexpressible burden of her existence was re-

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW ix

moved from my life. I went Plainsward per-
fectly happy. Before three months were over
I had forgotten all about her, except that at
times the discovery of some of her old letters
reminded me unpleasantly of our bygone re-
lationship. By January I had disinterred
what was left of our correspondence from
among my scattered belongings and had
burned it. At the beginning of April of this
year, 1885, I was at Simla semi-deserted
Simla once more, and was deep in lover's
talks and walks with Kitty. It was decided
that we should be married at the end of June.
You will understand, therefore, that, loving
Kitty as I did, I am not saying too much when
I pronounce myself to have been, at that time,
the happiest man in India.

Fourteen delightful days passed almost be-
fore I noticed their flight. Then, aroused to
the sense of what was proper among mortals
circumstanced as we were, I pointed out to
Kitty that an engagement ring was the out-
ward and visible sign of her dignity as an en-
gaged girl ; and that she must forthwith come
to Hamilton's to be measured for one. Up to
that moment, I give you my word, we had
completely forgotten so trivial a matter. To
Hamilton's we accordingly went on the I5th

12 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

of April, 1885. Remember that whatever
my doctor may say to the contrary I was
then in perfect health, enjoying a well-balanced
mind and an absolutely tranquil spirit. Kitty
and I entered Hamilton's shop together, and
there, regardless of the order of affairs, I
measured Kitty for the ring in the presence of
the amused assistant. The ring was a sap-
phire with two diamonds. We then rode out
down the slope that leads to the Combermere
Bridge and Peliti's shop.

While my Waler was cautiously feeling his
way over the loose shale, and Kitty was laugh-
ing and chattering at my side while all Simla,
that is to say as much of it as had then come
from the Plains, was grouped round the Read-
ing-room and Peliti's veranda, I was aware
that some one, apparently at a vast distance,
was calling me by my Christian name. It
struck me that I had heard the voice before,
but when and where I could not at once deter-
mine. In the short space it took to cover the
road between the path from Hamilton's shop
and the first plank of the Combermere Bridge
I had thought over half a dozen people who
might have committed such a solecism, and
had eventually decided that it must have been
singing in my ears. Immediately opposite

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 13

Peliti's shop my eye was arrested by the sight
of four jhampanies in "magpie" livery, pulling
a yellow-paneled, cheap, bazar 'rickshaw. In
a moment my mind flew back to the previous
season and Mrs. Wessington with a sense of
irritation and disgust. Was it not enough that
the woman was dead and done with, without
her black and white servitors reappearing to
spoil the day's happiness ? Whoever employed
them now I thought I would call upon, and ask
as a personal favor to change her jhampanies'
livery, I would hire the men myself, and, if
necessary, buy their coats from off their backs.
It is impossible to say here what a flood of un-
desirable memories their presence evoked.

"Kitty," I cried, "there are poor Mrs. Wes-
sington's jhampanies turned up again ! I won-
der who has them now ?"

Kitty had known Mrs. Wessington slightly
last season, and had always been interested in
the sickly woman.

"What? Where?" she asked. "I can't set
them anywhere."

Even as she spoke, her horse, swerving from
a laden mule, threw himself directly in front
of the advancing 'rickshaw. I had scarcely
time to utter a word of warning when, to my
unutterable horror, horse and rider passed

14 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

through men and carriage as if they had been
thin air.

"What's the matter?" cried Kitty; "what
made you call out so foolishly, Jack? If I ant
engaged I don't want all creation to know
about it. There was lots of space between the
mule and the veranda ; and, if you think I can't
ride There!"

Whereupon wilful Kitty set off, her dainty
little head in the air, at a hand-gallop in the
direction of the Band-stand; fully expecting,
as she herself afterward told me, that I should
follow her. What was the matter? Nothing
indeed. Either that I was mad or drunk, or
that Simla was haunted with devils. I reined
in my impatient cob, and turned round. The
'rickshaw had turned too, and now stood im-
mediately facing me, near the left railing of
the Combermere Bridge.

"Jack ! Jack, darling !" (There was no mis-
take about the words this time: they rang
through my brain as if they had been shouted
in my ear.) "It's some hideous mistake, I'm
sure. Please forgive me, Jack, and let's be
friends again."

The 'rickshaw-hood had fallen back, and in-
side, as I hope and pray daily for the death I
dread by night, sat Mrs. Keith-Wessington,

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 15

handkerchief in hand, and golden head bowed
on her breast.

How long I stared motionless I do not
know. Finally, I was aroused by my syce tak-
ing the Water's bridle and asking whether I
was ill. From the horrible to the common-
place is but a step. I tumbled off my horse and
dashed, half fainting, into Peliti's for a glass
of cherry brandy. There two or three couples
were gathered round the coffee-tables discuss-
ing the gossip of the day. Their trivialities
were more comforting to me just then than the
consolations of religion could have been. I
plunged into the midst of the conversation at
once; chatted, laughed, and jested with a face
(when I caught a glimpse of it in a mirror) as
white and drawn as that of a corpse. Three
or four men noticed my condition; and, evi-
dently setting it down to the results of over-
many pegs, charitably endeavored to draw me
apart 'from the rest of the loungers. But I re-
fused to be led away. I wanted the company
of my kind as a child rushes into the midst
of the dinner-party after a fright in the dark.
I must have talked for about ten minutes or
so, though it seemed an eternity to me, when I
heard Kitty's clear voice outside inquiring for
me. In another minute sfie had entered the

18 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

shop, prepared to roundly upbraid me for fail-
ing so signally in my duties. Something in
my face stopped her.

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

In my room I sat down and tried calmly to
reason out the matter. Here was I, Theobald
Jack Pansay, a well-educated Bengal Civilian
in the year of grace 1885, presumably sane,
certainly healthy, driven in terror from my
sweetheart's side by the apparition of a woman
who had been dead and buried eight months
ago. These were facts that I could not blink.
Nothing was further from my thought than
any memory of Mrs. Wessington when Kitty
and I left Hamilton's shop. Nothing was

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 17

more utterly commonplace than the stretch of
wall opposite Peliti's. It was broad daylight.
The road was full of people ; and yet here, look
you, in defiance of every law of probability, in
direct outrage of Nature's ordinance, there had
appeared to me a face from the grave.

Kitty's Arab had gone through the 'rick-
shaw : so that my first hope that some woman
marvelously like Mrs. Wessington had hired
the carriage and the coolies with their old
livery was lost. Again and again I went round
this treadmill of thought ; and again and again
gave up baffled and in despair. The voice was
as inexplicable as the apparition. I had ori-
ginally some wild notion of confiding it all to
Kitty; of begging her to marry me at once;
and in her arms defying the ghostly occupant
of the 'rickshaw. "After all," I argued, "the
presence of the Vickshaw is in itself enough to
prove the existence of a spectral illusion. One
may see ghosts of men and women, but surely
never of coolies and carriages. The whole
thing is absurd. Fancy the ghost of a
tollman!"

Next morning I sent a penitent note to Kitty,
imploring her to overlook my strange conduct
of the previous afternoon. My Divinity was
still very wroth, and a personal apology was

18 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

necessary. I explained, with a fluency born of
night-long pondering over a falsehood, that I
had been attacked with a sudden palpitation of
the heart the result of indigestion. This emi-
nently practical solution had its effect; and
Kitty and I rode out that afternoon with the
shadow of my first lie dividing us.

Nothing would please her save a canter
round Jakko. With my nerves still unstrung
from the previous night I feebly protested
against the notion, suggesting Observatory
Hill, Jutogh, the Boileaugunge road any-
thing rather than the Jakko round. Kitty was
angry and a little hurt : so I yielded from fear
of provoking further misunderstanding, and
we set out together toward Chota Simla. We
walked a greater part of the way, and, accord-
ing to our custom, cantered from a mile or so
below the Convent to the stretch of level road
by the Sanjowlie Reservoir. The wretched
horses appeared to fly, and my heart beat
quicker and quicker as we neared the crest of
the ascent. My mind had been full of Mrs.
Wessington all the afternoon; and every inch
of the Jakko road bore witness to our old-time
walks and talks. The bowlders were full of
it ; the pines sang it aloud overhead ; the rain-
fed torrents giggled and chuckled unseen over

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 19

the shameful story; and the wind in my ears
chanted the iniquity aloud.

As a fitting climax, in the middle of the level
men call the Ladies' Mile the Horror was
awaiting me. No other 'rickshaw was in sight
only the four black and white jhampanies,
the yellow-paneled carriage, and the golden
head of the woman within all apparently just
as I had left them eight months and one fort-
night ago! For an instant I fancied that Kitty
must see what I saw we were so marvelously
sympathetic in all things. Her next words un-
deceived me "Not a soul in sight! Come
along, Jack, and I'll race you to the Reservoir
buildings!" Her wiry little Arab was off like
a bird, my Waler following close behind, and
in this order we dashed under the cliffs. Half
a minute brought us within fifty yards of the
'rickshaw. I pulled my Waler and fell back a
little. The 'rickshaw was directly in the middle
of the road; and once more the Arab passed
through it, my horse following. "Jack \ Jack
dearl Please forgive me," rang with a wail
in my ears, and, after an interval : "It's all a
mistake, a hideous mistake!"

I spurred my horse like a man possessed.
When I turned my head at the Reservoir
'works, the black and white liveries were still

20 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

waiting patiently waiting under the grey
hillside, and the wind brought me a mocking
echo of the words I had just heard. Kitty
bantered me a good deal on my silence
throughout the remainder of the ride. I had
been talking up till then wildly and at random.
To save my life I could not speak afterward
naturally, and from Sanjowlie to the Church
wisely held my tongue.

I was to dine with the Mannerings that
night, and had barely time to canter home to
dress. On the road to Elysium Hill I over-
heard two men talking together in the dusk.
"It's a curious thing," said one, "how com-
pletely all trace of it disappeared. You know
my wife was insanely fond of the woman
(never could see anything in her myself), and
wanted me to pick up her old 'rickshaw and
coolies if they were to be got for love or
money. Morbid sort of fancy I call it; but
I've got to do what the Memsahib tells me.
Would you believe that the man she hired it
from tells me that all four of the men they
were brothers died of cholera on the way to
Hardwar, poor devils; and the 'rickshaw has
been broken up by the man himself. Told me
he never used a dead Memsahib's 'rickshaw.
'Spoiled his luck. Queer notion, wasn't it?

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

Fancy poor little Mrs. Wessington spoiling any
one's luck except her own!" I laughed aloud,
at this point ; and my laugh jarred on me as I
uttered it. So there were ghosts of 'rickshaws
after all, and ghostly employments in the other
world! How much did Mrs. Wessington give
her men? What were their hours? Where
did they go ?

And for visible answer to my last question I
saw the infernal Thing blocking my path in the
twilight. The dead travel fast, and by short
cuts unknown to ordinary coolies. I laughed
aloud a second time and checked my laughter
suddenly, for I was afraid I was going mad.
Mad to a certain extent I must have been, for
1 recollect that I reined in my horse at the head
of the 'rickshaw, and politely wished Mrs.
Wessington "Good-evening." Her answer
was one I knew only too well. I listened to
the end; and replied that I had heard it all
before, but should be delighted if she had any-
thing further to say. Some malignant devil
stronger than I must have entered into me that
evening, for I have a dim recollection of talk-
ing the commonplaces of the day for five min-
utes to the thing in front of me.

"Mad as a hatter, poor devil or drunk.
Max, try and get him to come home."

82 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

Surely that was not Mrs. Wessington's
voice ! The two men had overheard me speak-
ing to the empty air, and had returned to look
after me. They were very kind and consid-
erate, and from their words evidently gathered
that I was extremely drunk. I thanked them
confusedly and cantered away to my hotel,
there changed, and arrived at the Mannerings'
ten minutes late. I pleaded the darkness of the
night as an excuse; was rebuked by Kitty for
my unlover-like tardiness ; and sat down.

The conversation had already become gen-
eral; and under cover of it, I was addressing
some tender small talk to my sweetheart when
I was aware that at the further end of the table
a short red-whiskered man was describing,
with much broidery, his encounter with a mad
unknown that evening.

A few sentences convinced me that he was
repeating the incident of half an hour ago. In
the middle of the story he looked round
for applause, as professional story-tellers do,
caught my eye, and straightway collapsed.
There was a moment's awkward silence, and
the red-whiskered man muttered something to
the effect that he had "forgotten the rest,"
thereby sacrificing a reputation as a good story-
teller which he had built up for six seasons

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 23

past. I blessed him from the bottom of my
heart, and went on with my fish.

In the fulness of time that dinner came to
an end ; and with genuine regret I tore myself
away from Kitty as certain as I was of my
own existence that It would be waiting for me
outside the door. The red-whiskered man,
who had been introduced to me as Doctor
Heatherlegh of Simla, volunteered to bear me
company as far as our roads lay together. I
accepted his offer with gratitude.

My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in
readiness in the Mall, and, in what seemed
devilish mockery of our ways, with a lighted
head-lamp. The red-whiskered man went to
the point at once, in a manner that showed he
had been thinking over it all dinner time.

"I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the mat-
ter with you this evening on the Elysium
road?" The suddenness of the question
wrenched an answer from me before I was

aware.

That!" said I, pointing to It.
"That may be cither D. T. or Eyes for aught
I know. Now you don't liquor. I saw as
much at dinner, so it can't be D. T. There's
nothing whatever where you're pointing,
though you're sweating and trembling with

24 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

fright like a scared pony. Therefore, I con-
clude that it's Eyes. And I ought to under-
stand all about them. Come along home with
me. I'm on the Blessington lower road,"

To my intense delight the 'rickshaw instead
of waiting for us kept about twenty yards
ahead and this, too, whether we walked,
trotted, or cantered. In the course of that
long night ride I had told my companion
almost as much as I have told you here.

"Well, you've spoiled one of the best tales
I've ever laid tongue to/' said he, "but I'll for-
give you for the sake of what you've gone
through. Now come home and do what I tell
you; and when I've cured you, young man, let
this be a lesson to you to steer clear of women
and indigestible food till the day of your
death."

The 'rickshaw kept steady in front ; and my
red-whiskered friend seemed to derive great
pleasure from my account of its exact where-
abouts.

"Eyes, Pansay all Eyes, Brain, and Stom-
ach. And the greatest of these three is
Stomach. You've too much conceited Brain,
too little Stomach, and thoroughly unhealthy
Eyes. Get your Stomach straight and the rest
follows. And all that's French for a liver pill.

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 25

I'll take sole medical charge of you from this
hour ! for you're too interesting a phenomenon
to be passed over/'

By this time we were deep in the shadow of
the Blessington lower road and the 'rickshaw
came to a dead stop under a pine-clad, over-
hanging shale cliff. Instinctively I halted too,
giving my reason. Heatherlegh rapped out an
oath.

"Now, if you think I'm going to spend a cold
night on the hillside for the sake of a Stomach-
mw-Brain-nwi-Eye illusion . . . Lord,
ha' mercy ! What's that ?"

There was a muffled report, a blinding
smother of dust just in front of us, a crack,
the noise of rent boughs, and about ten yards
of the cliff-side pines, undergrowth, and all -
slid down into the road below, completely
blocking it up. The uprooted trees swayed
and tottered for a moment like drunken giants
in the gloom, and then fell prone among their
fellows with a thunderous crash. Our two
horses stood motionless and sweating with
fear. As soon as the rattle of falling earth and
stone had subsided, my companion muttered :
"Man, if we'd gone forward we should have
been ten feet deep in our graves by now.
'There are more things in heaven and earth.'

26 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

. . . Come home, Pansay, and thank
God. I want a peg badly."

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

His attempts toward my cure commenced
almost immediately, and for a week I never left
his sight. Many a time in the course of that
week did I bless the good-fortune which had
thrown me in contact with Simla's best and
kindest doctor. Day by day my spirits grew
lighter and more equable. Day by day, too, I
became more and more inclined to fall in with
Heatherlegh's "spectral illusion" theory, im-
plicating eyes, brain, and stomach. I wrote to
Kitty, telling her that a slight sprain caused by
a fall from my horse kept me indoors for a few
days; and that I should be recovered before she
had time to regret my absence.

Heatherlegh's treatment was simple to a de-
gree. It consisted of liver pills, cold-water
baths, and strong exercise, taken in the dusk or
at early dawn for, as he sagely observed:*
"A man with a sprained ankle doesn't walk a
dozen miles a day, and your young woman
might be wondering if she saw you."

At the end of the week, after much exami-
nation of pupil and pulse, and strict injunctions

Kip. 21

"She learned that I was sick of her presence"

The Phantom 'Rickshaw, p. 7

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 27

as to diet and pcdestrianism, Heatherlegh dis-
missed me as brusquely as he had taken charge
of me. Here is his parting benediction:
"Man, I certify to your mental cure, and that's
as much as to say I've cured most of your
bodily ailments. Now, get your traps out of
this as soon as you can ; and be off to make love
to Miss Kitty."

I was endeavoring to express my thanks for
his kindness. He cut me short.

"Don't think I did this because I like you. I
gather that you've behaved like a blackguard all
through. But, all the same, you're a phenome-
non, and as queer a phenomenon as you are a
blackguard. No !" checking me a second time
"not a rupee please. Go out and see if you
can find the eyes-brain-and-stomach business
again. Ill give you a lakh for each time you
see it."

Half an hour later I was in the Mannerings'
drawing-room witK Kitty drunk with the in-
toxication of present happiness and the fore-
knowledge that I should never more be troubled
with Its hideous presence. Strong in the
sense of my new-found security, I proposed a
ride at once ; and, by preference, a canter round
Jakko.

Never had I felt so well, so overladen with
Kip. S-a

28 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

vitality and mere animal spirits, as I did on the
afternoon of the soth of April Kitty was
delighted at the change in my appearance, and
complimented me on it in her delightfully frank
and outspoken manner. We left the Manner-
ings 9 house together, laughing and talking, and
cantered along the Choto Simla road as of old.

I was in haste to reach the Sanjowlie Reser-
voir and there make my assurance doubly sure.
The horses did their best, but seemed all too
slow to my impatient mind. Kitty was aston-
ished at my boisterousness. "Why, Jadcl"
she cried at last, "you are behaving like a child.
What are you doing?"

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

"Doing?" I answered; "nothing, dear.
That's just it. If you'd been doing nothing
for a week except lie up, you'd be as riotous
as I.

'Singing and murmuring in your fcaitful mirth,

Joying to feel yourself alive;
Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible Earth,

Lord of the senses five/ "
My quotation was hardly out of my lips

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 29

before we had rounded the corner above the
Convent; and a few yards further on could see
across to Sanjowlie. In the centre of the level
road stood the black and white liveries, the
yellow-paneled 'rickshaw, and Mrs. Keith- Wes-
sington. I pulled up, looked, rubbed my eyes,
and, I believe, must have said something. The
next thing I knew was that I was lying face
downward on the road, with Kitty kneeling
above me in tears.

"Has it gone, child!'* I gasped. Kitty only
wept more bitterly.

"Has what gone, Jack dear? what does it all
mean? There must be a mistake somewhere,
Jack. A hideous mistake/' Her last words
brought me to my feet mad raving for the
time being.

"Yes, there is a mistake somewhere," I re-
peated, "a hideous mistake. Come and look at
It."

I have an indistinct idea that I dragged Kitty
by the wrist along the road up to where It
stood, and implored her for pity's sake to speak
to It; to tell It that we were betrothed; that
neither Death nor Hell could break the tie be-
tween us: and Kitty only knows how much
more to the same effect. Now and again I
appealed passionately to the Terror in the ' rick-

30 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

shaw to bear witness to all I had said, and to
release me from a torture that was killing me.
As I talked I suppose I must have told Kitty
of my old relations with Mrs. Wessington, for
I saw her listen intently with white face and
blazing eyes.

"Thank you, Mr. Pansay," she said, "that's
quite enough. Syce ghora lao."

The syces, impassive as Orientals always are,
had come up with recaptured horses; and as
Kitty sprang into her saddle I caught hold of
the bridle, entreating her to hear me out and
forgive. My answer was the cut of her riding-
whip across my face from mouth to eye, and a
word or two of farewell that even now I cannot
write down. So I judged, and judged rightly,
that Kitty knew all; and I staggered back to
the side of the 'rickshaw. My face was cut and
bleeding, and the blow of the riding-whip had
raised a livid blue wheal on it. I had no self-
respect. Just then, Heatherlegh, who must
have been following Kitty and me at a distance,
cantered up.

"Doctor/' I said, pointing to my face, "here's
Miss Mannering's signature to my order of
dismissal and . . . I'll thank you for
that lakh as soon as convenient."

Heatherlegh's face, even in my abject
misery, moved me to laughter.

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 31

"I'll stake my professional reputation" he
began. "Don't be a fool," I whispered. "I've
lost my life's happiness and you'd better take
me home/'

As I spoke the 'rickshaw was gone. Then I
lost all knowledge of what was passing. The
crest of Jakko seemed to heave and roll like the
crest of a cloud and fall in upon me.

Seven days later (on the 7th of May, that is
to say) I was aware that I was lying in
Heatherlegh's room as weak as a little child.
Heatherlegh was watching me intently from
behind the papers on his writing-table. His
first words were not encouraging; but I was
too far spent to be much moved by them.

"Here's Miss Kitty has sent back your
letters. You corresponded a good deal, you
young people. Here's a packet that looks like a
ring, and a cheerful sort of a note from Man-
nering Papa, which I've taken the liberty of
reading and burning. The old gentleman's not
pleased with you."

"And Kitty?"! asked, dully.

"Rather more drawn than her father, from
what she says. By the same token you must
have been letting out any number of queer
reminiscences just before I met you. 'Says
that a man who would have behaved to a

32 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

woman as you did to Mrs. Wessington ought to
kill himself out of sheer pity for his kind.
She's a hot-headed little virago, your mash.
'Will have it too that you were suffering from
D. T. when that row on the Jakko road turned
up. 'Says she'll die before she ever speaks to
you again."

I groaned and turned over on the other side.

"Now you've got your choice, my friend.
This engagement has to be broken off ; and the
Mannerings don't want to be too hard on you.
Was it broken through D. T. or epileptic fits?
Sorry I can't offer you a better exchange unless
you'd prefer hereditary insanity. Say the word
and I'll tell 'em it's fits. All Simla knows about
that scene on the Ladies' Mile. Come! I'll
give you five minutes to think it over."

During those five minutes I believe that I ex-
plored thoroughly the lowest circles of the In-
ferno which it is permitted man to tread on
earth. And at tKe same time I myself was
watching myself faltering through the dark
labyrinths of doubt, misery, and utter despair.
I wondered, as Hcatherlegh in his chair might
have wondered, which dreadful alternative I
should adopt. Presently I heard myself an-
swering in a voice that I hardly recognized,

"They're confoundedly particular about

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 33

morality in these parts. Give 'em fits, Heather-
legh, and my love. Now let me sleep a bit
longer."

Then my two selves joined, and it was only I
(half crazed, devil-driven I) that tossed in my
bed, tracing step by step the history of the past
month.

"But I am in Simla/' I kept repeating to my-
self. "I, Jack Pansay, am in Simla, and there
are no ghosts here. It's unreasonable of that
woman to pretend there are. Why couldn't
Agnes have left me alone? I never did her
any harm. It might just as well have been me
as Agnes. Only I'd never have come back on
purpose to kill her. Why can't I be left alone
left alone and happy ?"

It was high noon when I first awoke: and
the sun was low in the sky before I slept
slept as the tortured criminal sleeps on his rack,
too worn to feel further pain.

Next day I could not leave my bed.
Heatherlegh told me in the morning that he
had received an answer from Mr. Mannering,
and that, thanks to his (Heatherlegh's)
friendly offices, the story of my affliction had
traveled through the length and breadth of
Simla, where I was on all sides much pitied.

"And that's rather more than you deserve/ 9

34 THE PHANTOM TUCKSHAW

he concluded, pleasantly, "though the Lord
knows you've been going through a pretty
severe mill. Never mind ; we'll cure you yet,
you perverse phenomenon."

I declined firmly to be cured. "You've been
much too good to me already, old man/' said I ;
"but I don't think I need trouble you further."

In my heart I knew that nothing Heather-
legh could do would lighten the burden that
had been laid upon me.

With that knowledge came also a sense of
hopeless, impotent rebellion against the unrea-
sonableness of it all. There were scores of
men no better than I whose punishments had
at least been reserved for another world ; and I
felt that it was bitterly, cruelly unfair that I
alone should have been singled out for so hide-
ous a fate. This mood would in time give
place to another where it seemed that the 'rick-
shaw and I were the only realities in a world
of shadows; that Kitty was a ghost; that
Mannering, Heatherlegh, and all the other
men and women I knew were all ghosts; and
the great, grey hills themselves but vain
shadows devised to torture me. From mood
to mood I tossed backward and forward for
seven weary days; my body growing daily
stronger and stronger, until the bedroom look-

THE PHANTOM TIICKSHAW 35

ing-glass told me that I had returned to every-
day life, and was as other men once more.
Curiously enough my face showed no signs of"
the struggle I had gone through. It was pale
indeed, but as expressionless and commonplace
as even I had expected some permanent alter-
ation visible evidence of the disease that was
eating me away. I found nothing.

On the isth of May T left Heatherlegh's
house at eleven o'clock in the morning; and
the instinct of the bachelor drove me to the
Club. There I found that every man knew my
story as told by Heatherlegh, and was, in
clumsy fashion, abnormally kind and attentive.
Nevertheless 1 recognized that for the rest of
my natural life I should be among but not of
my fellows ; and I envied very bitterly indeed
the laughing coolies on the Mall below. I
lunched at the Club, and at four o'clock wan-
dered aimlessly down the Mall in the vague
Hope of meeting Kitty. Close to the Band-
stand the black and white liveries joined me;
and I hear3 Mrs. Wessington's old appeal at
my s!3e. I Had been expecting this ever since
I came out; and was only surprised at her de-
lay. The phantom Vicksfiaw and I went side
by side along the Chota Simla road in silence.
Close to the bazar, Kitty and a man on horse-

*36 THE PHANTOM TIICKSHAW

back overtook and passed us. For any sign
she gave I might have been a dog in the road.
She did not even pay me the compliment of
quickening her pace; though the rainy after-
noon had served for an excuse.

So Kitty and her companion, and I and my
ghostly Light-o*-Love, crept round Jakko in
couples. The road was streaming with water ;
the pines dripped like roof-pipes on the rocks
below, and the air was full of fine, driving rain.
Two or three times I found myself saying to
myself almost aloud: "I'm Jack Pansay on
leave at Simla at Simla! Everyday, ordinary
Simla. I mustn't forget that I mustn't for-
get that." Then I would try to recollect some
of the gossip I had heard at the Qub: the
prices of So-and-So's horses anything, in
fact, that related to the workaday Anglo-
Indian world I knew so well. I even repeated
the multiplication-table rapidly to myself, to
make quite sure that I was not taking leave
of my senses. It gave me much comfort ; and
must have prevented my hearing Mrs. Wes-
sington for a time.

Once more I wearily climbed the Convent
slope and entered the level road. Here Kitty
and the man started off at a canter, and I was
left alone with Mrs. Wessington. "Agnes,"

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW, 37

said I, "will you put back your hood and tell
me what it all means ?" The hood dropped
noiselessly, and I was face to face with my *
dead and buried mistress. She was wearing
the dress in which I had last seen her alive;
carried the same tiny handkerchief in her right
hand; and the same cardcase in her left. (A
woman eight months dead with a cardcase!)
I had to pin myself down to the multiplication-
table, and to set both hands on the stone
parapet of the road, to assure myself that that
at least was real.

"Agnes/* I repeated, "for pity's sake tell me
what it all means." Mrs. Wessington leaned
forward, with that odd, quick turn of the head
I used to know so well, and spoke.

If my story had not already so madly over-
leaped the bounds of all human belief I should
apologize to you now. As I know that no one
no, not even Kitty, for whom it is written as
some sort of justification of my conduct will
believe me, I will go on. Mrs. Wessington
spoke and I walked with Her from the San-
jowlie road to the turning below the Com-
mander-in-Chiefs house as I might walk by
the aide of any living woman f s 'rickshaw, deep
in conversation. The second and most tor-
menting of my moods of sickness had suddenly

38 THE PHANTOM TIICKSHAW

laid hold upon me, and like the Prince in
Tennyson's poem, "I seemed to move amid a
world of ghosts/' There had been a garden-
party at the Commander-in-Chief s, and we
two joined the crowd of homeward-bound folk.
As I saw them then it seemed that they were
the shadows impalpable, fantastic shadows
that divided for Mrs. Wessington's 'rickshaw
to pass through. What we said during the
course of that weird interview I cannot in-
deed, dare not tell. Heatherlegh's comment
would have been a short laugh and a remark
that I had been "mashing a brain-eye-and-
stomach chimera." It was a ghastly and yet
in some indefinable way a marvelously dear
experience. Could it be possible, I wondered,
that I was in this life to woo a second time the
woman I had killed by my own neglect and
cruelty?

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

If I were to describe all the incidents of the
next fortnight in their order, my story would
never come to an end ; and your patience would
be exhausted. Morning after morning and
evening after evening the ghostly Vickshaw
and I used to wander through Simla together.
Wherever I went, there the four black and

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 39

white liveries followed me and bore me com-
pany to and from my hotel. At the Theatre I
found them amid the crowd of yelling jham- '
panics; outside the Club veranda, after a long
evening of whist ; at the Birthday Ball, waiting
patiently for my reappearance; and in broad
daylight when I went calling. Save that it
cast no shadow, the 'rickshaw was in every
respect as real to look upon as one of wood and
iron. More than once, indeed, I have had to
check myself from warning some hard-riding
friend against cantering over it. More than
once I have walked down the Mall deep in
conversation with Mrs. Wessington to the un-
speakable amazement of the passers-by.

Before I had been out and about a week I
learned that the "fit" theory had been discarded
in favor of insanity. However, I made no
change in my mode of life. I called, rode, and
dined out as freely as ever. I had a passion
for the society of my kind which I had never
felt before; I hungered to be among the
realities of life; and at the same time I felt
vaguely unhappy when I had been separated
too long from my ghostly companion. It
would be almost impossible to describe my
varying moods from the i$th of May up to
to-day.

40 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

The presence of the 'rickshaw filled me by
turns with horror, blind fear, a dim sort of
pleasure, and utter despair. I dared not leave
Simla; and I knew that my stay there was
killing me. I knew, moreover, that it was my
destiny to die slowly and a little every day.
My only anxiety was to get the penance over
as quietly as might be. Alternately I hungered
for a sight of Kitty and watched her out-
rageous flirtations with my successor to
speak more accurately, my successors with
amused interest. She was as much out of my
life as I was out of hers. By day I wandered
with Mrs. Wessington almost content. By
night I implored Heaven to let me return to
the world ?s I used to know it. Above all
these varying moods lay the sensation of dull,
numbing wonder that the Seen and the Unseen
should mingle so strangely on this earth to
hound one poor soul to its grave.

"August 27. Heatherlegh has been inde-
fatigable in his attendance on me; and only
yesterday told me that I ought to send in an
application for sick leave. An application to
escape the company of a phantom ! A request
that the Government would graciously permit

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 41

me to get rid of five ghosts and an airy 'rick-
shaw by going to England! Heatherlegh's
proposition moved me to almost hysterical
laughter. I told him that I should await the
end quietly at Simla; and I am sure that the
end is not far off. Believe me that I dread its
advent more than any word can say; and I
torture myself nightly with a thousand specu-
lations as to the manner of my death.

Shall I die in my bed decently and as an
English gentleman should die ; or, in one last
walk on the Mall, will my soul be wrenched
from me to take its place forever and ever by
the side of that ghastly phantasm? Shall I
return to my old lost allegiance in the next
world, or shall I meet Agnes loathing her and
bound to her side through all eternity ? Shall
we two hover over the scene of our lives till the
end of Time? As the day of my death draws
nearer, the intense horror that all living flesh
feels toward escaped spirits from beyond the
grave grows more and more powerful. It is
an awful thing to go down quick among the
dead with scarcely one-half of your life com-
pleted. It is a thousand times more awful to
wait as I do in your midst, for I know not
what unimaginable terror. Pity me, at least
on the score of my "delusion," for I know you

42 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

will never believe what I have written here.
Yet as surely as ever a man was done to death
by the Powers of Darkness I am that man.

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

MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY

MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY

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

The City of Dreadful Night.

QOMEWHERE in the Other World, where
^ there are books and pictures and plays
and shop-windows to look at, and thousands
of men who spend their lives in building up all
four, lives a gentleman who writes real stories
about the real insides of people; and his name
is Mr. Walter Besant. But he will insist upon
treating his ghosts he has published half a
workshopf ul of them with levity. He makes
his ghost-seers talk familiarly, and, in some
cases, flirt outrageously, with the phantoms.
You may treat anything, from a Viceroy to a
Vernacular Paper, with levity; but you must
behave reverently toward a ghost, and particu-
larly an Indian one.

There are, in this land, ghosts who take the
form of fat, cold, pobby corpses, and hide in
trees near the roadside till a traveler passes.
Then they drop upon his neck and remain.
There are also terrible ghosts of women who
45

46 MY OWN TRUE

have died in child-bed. These wander along
the pathways at dusk, or hide in the crops near
a village, and call seductively. But to answer
their call is death in this world and the next.
Their feet are turned backward that all sober
men may recognize them. There are ghosts
of little children who have been thrown into
wells. These haunt well-curbs and the fringes
of jungles, and wail under the stars, or catch
women by the wrist and beg to be taken up
and carried. These and the corpse-ghosts,
however, are only vernacular articles and do
not attack Sahibs. No native ghost has yet
been authentically reported to have frightened
an Englishman : hut many English ghosts have
scared the life out of both white and black.

Nearly every other Station owns a ghost.
There are said to be two at Simla, not count-
ing the woman who blows the bellows at Syree
dak-bungalow on the Old Road: Mnssoorie
has a house haunted of a very lively Thing ; a
White Lady is supposed to do night-watchman
round a house in Cafiore : Dalhousie says that
one of her houses "repeats" on autumn even-
ings all the incidents of a horrible horse-and-
precipice accident : Murree has a merry ghost,
and, now that she has been swept by cholera,
will have room for a sorrowful one ; there art

GHOST STORY 47

Officers' Quarters in Mian Mir whose doors
open without reason, and whose furniture is
guaranteed to creak, not with the heat of June*
but with the weight of Invisibles who come to
lounge in the chair ; Peshawur possesses houses
that none will willingly rent ; and there is some-
thing not fever wrong with a big bungalow
in Allahabad. The older Provinces simply
bristle with haunted houses, and march phan-
tom armies along their main thoroughfares.

Some of the dak-bungalows on the Grand
Trunk Road have handy little cemeteries in
their compound witnesses to the "changes
and chances of this mortal life" in the days
when men drove from Calcutta to the North-
west. These bungalows are objectionable
places to put up in. They are generally very
old, always dirty, while the khansamah is as
ancient as the bungalow. He either chatters
senilely, or falls into the long trances of age.
In both moods he is useless. If you get angry
with him, he refers to some Sahib dead and
buried these thirty years, and says that when
he was in that Sahib's service not a khansamah
in the Province could touch him. Then he
jabbers and mows and trembles and fidgets
among the dishes, and you repent of your
irritation.

48 MY OWN TRUE

In these dak-bungalows, ghosts are most
likely to be found, and when found, they
should be made a note of. Not long ago it was
my business to live in dak-bungalows. I never
inhabited the same house for three nights run-
ning, and grew to be learned in the breed. I
lived in Government-built ones with red brick
walls and rail ceilings, an inventory of the
furniture posted in every room, and an excited
snake at the threshold to give welcome. I lived
in "converted" ones old houses officiating as
dak-bungalows where nothing was in its
proper place and there wasn't even a fowl for
dinner. I lived in second-hand palaces where
the wind blew through open-work marble
tracery just as uncomfortably as through a
broken pane. I lived in dak-bungalows where
the last entry in the visitors' book was fifteen
months old, and where they slashed off the
curry-kid's head with a sword. It was my
good-luck to meet all sorts of men, from sober
traveling missionaries and deserters flying
from British Regiments, to drunken loafers
who threw whiskey bottles at all who passed ;
and my still greater good-fortune just to escape
a maternity case. Seeing that a fair proportion
of the tragedy of our lives out here acted itself
in dak-bungalows, I wondered that I had met

GHOST STORY 49

no ghosts. A ghost that would voluntarily
hang about a dak-bungalow would be mad of ,
course; but so many men have died mad in
dak-bungalows that there must be a fair per-
centage of lunatic ghosts.

In due time I found my ghost, or ghosts
rather, for there were two of them. Up till
that hour I had sympathized with Mr. Besant's
method of handling them, as shown in "The
Strange Case of Mr. Lucraft and other
Stories." I am now in the Opposition.

We will call the bungalow Katmal dak-
bungalow. But that was the smallest part of
the horror. A man with a sensitive hide has
no right to sleep in dak-bungalows. He should
marry. Katmal dak-bungalow was old and
rotten and unrepaired. The floor was of worn
brick, the walls were filthy, and the windows
were nearly black with grime. It stood on a
by-path largely used by native Sub-Deputy
Assistants of all kinds, from Finance to
Forests; but real Sahibs were rare. The
khansamah, who was nearly bent double with
age, said so.

When I arrived, there was a fitful, undecided
rain on the face of the land, accompanied by a
restless wind, and every gust made a noise like
the rattling of dry bones in the stiff toddy-

SO MY OWN TRUE

palms outside. The khansamah completely lost
his head on my arrival. He had served a Sahib
once. Did I know that Sahib? He gave me
the name of a well-known man who had been
buried for more than a quarter of a century,
and showed me an ancient daguerreotype of
that man in his prehistoric youth. I had seen
a steel engraving of him at the head of a
double volume of Memoirs a month before, and
I felt ancient beyond telling.

The day shut in and the khansamah went to
get me food. He did not go through the pre-
tence of calling it "khana" man's victuals.
He said "ratub" and that means, among other
things, "grub" dog's rations. There was no
insult in his choice of the term. He had for-
gotten the other word, I suppose.

While he was cutting up the dead bodies of
animals, I settled myself down, after exploring
the dak-bungalow. There were three rooms,
beside my own, which was a corner kennel,
each giving into the other through dingy white
doors fastened with long iron bars. The
bungalow was a very solid one, but the parti-
tion-walls of the rooms were almost jerry-built
in their flimsiness. Every step or bang of a
trunk echoed from my room down the other
three, and every footfall came back tremulously

GHOST STORY 51

from the far walls. For this reason I shut the
door. There were no lamps only candles in
long glass shades. An oil wick was set in the
bath-room.

For bleak, unadulterated misery that dak-
bungalow was the worst of the many that I had
ever set foot in. There was no fireplace, and
the windows would not open; so a brazier of
charcoal would have been useless. The rain
and the wind splashed and gurgled and moaned
round the house, and the toddy-palms rattled
and roared. Half a dozen jackals went
through the compound singing, and a hyena
stood afar off and mocked them. A hyena
would convince a Sadducee of the Resurrection
of the Dead the worst sort of Dead. Then
came the ratub a curious meal, half native
and half English in composition with the old
khansamah babbling behind my chair about
dead and gone English people, and the wind-
blown candles playing shadow-bo-peep with
the bed and the mosquito-curtains. It was
just the sort of dinner and evening to make a
man think of every single one of his past sins,
and of all the others that he intended to com-
mit if he lived.

Sleep, for several Hundred reasons, was not
easy. The lamp in the bath-room threw the

2 MY OWN TRUE

most absurd shadows into the room, and the
wind was beginning to talk nonsense.

Just when the reasons were drowsy with
blood-sucking I heard the regular "Let-us-
take-and-heave-hinvovcr" grunt of doolie-
bearers in the compound. First one doolie
came in, then a second, and then a third. I
heard the doolies dumped on the ground, and
the shutter in front of my door shook. 'That's
some one trying to come in/' I said. But no
one spoke, and I persuaded myself that it was
the gusty wind. The shutter of the room next
to mine was attacked, flung back, and the inner
door opened. "That's some Sub-Deputy As-
sistant/' I said, "and he has brought his
friends with him. Now they'll talk and spit
and smoke for an hour/'

But there were no voices and no footsteps.
No one was putting his luggage into the next
room. The door shut, and I thanked Provi-
dence that I was to be left in peace. But I was
curious to know where the doolies had gone. I
got out of bed and looked into the darkness.
There was never a sign of a doolie. Just as I
was getting into bed again, I heard, in the
next room, the sound that no man in his senses
can possibly mistake the whir of a billiard
ball down the length of the slates when the

GHOST STORY 53

striker is stringing for break. No other sound
is like it. A minute afterward there was an-
other whir, and I got into bed, I was not
frightened indeed I was not. I was very
curious to know what had become of the
doolies. I jumped into bed for that reason.

Next minute I heard the double click of a
cannon and my hair sat up. It is a mistake to
say that hair stands up. The skin of the head
tightens and you can feel a faint, prickly
bristling all over the scalp. That is the hair
sitting up. There was a whir and a click, and
both sounds could only have been made by one
thing a billiard ball. I argued the matter out
at great length with myself; and the more I
argued the less probable it seemed that one bed,
one table, and two chairs all the furniture of
the room next to mine could so exactly dupli-
cate the sounds of a game of billiards. After
another cannon, a three-cushion one to judge
by the whir, I argued no more. I had found
my ghost and would have given worlds to have
escaped from that dak-bungalow. I listened,
and with each listen the game grew clearer.
There was whir on whir and click on click.
Sometimes there was a double click and a whir
and another click. Beyond any sort of doubt,
people were playing billiards in the next room.

54 MY OWN TRUE

And the next room was not big enough to hold
a billiard tablet

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

Do you know what fear is? Not ordinary
fear of insult, injury or death, but abject,
quivering dread of something that you cannot
see fear that dries the inside of the mouth
and half of the throat fear that makes you
sweat on the palms of the hands, and gulp in
order to keep the uvula at work? This is a
fine Fear a great cowardice, and must be felt
to be appreciated. The very improbability of
billiards in a dak-bungalow proved the reality
of the thing. No man drunk or sober could
imagine a game at billiards, or invent the spit-
ting crack of a "screw-cannon."

A severe course of dak-bungalows has this
disadvantage it breeds infinite credulity. If
a man said to a confirmed dak-bungalow-
haunter : "There is a corpse in the next room,
and there's a mad girl in the next but one, and
the woman and man on that camel have just
eloped from a place sixty miles away/' the
hearer would not disbelieve because he would
know that nothing is too wild, grotesque, or
horrible to happen in a dak-bungalow.

GHOST STORY 55

This credulity, unfortunately, extends to
ghosts. A rational person fresh from his own
house would have turned on his side and slept.
I did not. So surely as I was given up as a
bad carcass by the scores of things in the bed
because the bulk of my blood was in my heart,
so surely did I hear every stroke of a long
game at billiards played in the echoing room
behind the iron-barred door. My dominant
fear was that the players might want a marker.
It was an absurd fear; because creatures who
could play in the dark would be above such
superfluities. I only know that that was my
terror ; and it was real.

After a long while, the game stopped, and
the door banged. I slept because I was dead
tired. Otherwise I should have preferred to
have kept awake. Not for everything in Asia
would I have dropped the door-bar and peered
into the dark of the next room.

When the morning came, I considered that I
had done well and wisely, and inquired for the
means of departure.

"By the way, khansamah" I said, "what
were those three doolies doing in my compound
in the night?"

"There were no doolies/' said the khan*
samah.

56 MY OWN TRUE

I went into the next room and the daylight
streamed through the open door. I was im-
mensely brave. I would, at that hour, have
played Black Pool with the owner of the big
Black Pool down below.

"Has this place always been a dak-bunga-
low?" I asked.

"No," said the khansamah. "Ten or twenty
years ago, I have forgotten how long, it was a
billiard-room/'

"A how much?"

"A billiard-room for the Sahibs who built
the Railway. I was khansamah then in the big
house where all the Railway-Sahibs lived, and
I used to come across with brandy-$Ara&.
These three rooms were all one, and they held
a big table on which the Sahibs played every
evening. But the Sahibs are all dead now,
and the Railway runs, you say, nearly to
Kabul."

"Do you remember anything about the
Sahibs?"

"It is long ago, but I remember that one
Sahib, a fat man and always angry, was play-
ing here one night, and he said to me:
'Mangal Khan, brandy-^aw do/ and I filled
the glass, and he bent over the table to strike,
and his head fell lower and lower till it hit the

GHOST STORY 57

table, and his spectacles came off, and when we
the Sahibs and I myself ran to lift him he
was dead. I helped to carry him out. Aha,
he was a strong Sahib 1 But he is dead and I,
old Mangal Khan, am still living, by your
favor."

That was more than enough! I had my
ghost a first-hand, authenticated article. I
would write to the Society for Psychical Re-
search I would paralyze the Empire with the
news! But I would, first of all, put eighty
miles of assessed crop-land between myself and
that dak-bungalow before nightfall. The
Society might send their regular agent to in-
vestigate later on.

I went into my own room and prepared to
pack after noting down the facts of the case.
As I smoked I heard the game begin again
with a miss in balk this time, for the whir was
a short one.

The door was open and I could see into the
room. Click click! That was a cannon. I
entered the room without fear, for there was
sunlight within and a fresh breeze without.
The unseen game was going on at a tremen-
dous rate. And well it might, when a restless
little rat was running to and fro inside the
dingy ceiling-cloth, and a piece of loose

58 MY OWN TRUE

window-sash was making fifty breaks off the
window-bolt as it shook in the breeze !

Impossible to mistake the sound of billiard
balls ! Impossible to mistake the whir of a ball
over the slate ! But I was to be excused. Even
when I shut my enlightened eyes the sound was
marvelously like that of a fast game.

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

"This bungalow is very bad and low-caste!
No wonder the Presence was disturbed and is
speckled. Three sets of doolie-bearers came to
the bungalow late last night when I was sleep-
ing outside, and said that it was their custom
to rest in the rooms set apart for the English
people! What honor has the khansamahf
They tried to enter, but I told them to go. No
wonder, if these Oorias have been here, that
the Presence is sorely spotted. It is shame,
and the work of a dirty man!"

Kadir Baksh did not say that he had taken
from each gang two annas for rent in advance,
and then, beyond my earshot, had beaten them
with the big green umbrella whose use I could
never before divine. But Kadir Baksh has no
notions of morality.

There was an interview with the khans amah,
but as he promptly lost his head, wrath gave

GHOST STORY 59

place to pity, and pity led to a long conversa-
tion, in the course of which he put -the fat En-
gineer-Sahib's tragic death in three separate
stations two of them fifty miles away. The
third shift was to Calcutta, and there the Sahib
died while driving a dog-cart.

If I had encouraged him the khansamah
would have wandered all through Bengal with
his corpse.

I did not go away as soon as I intended. I
stayed for the night, while the wind and the
rat and the sash and the window-bolt played a
ding-dong "hundred and fifty up/' Then the
wind ran out and the billiards stopped, and I
felt that I had ruined my one genuine, hall-
marked ghost story.

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

That was the bitterest thought of all I

Kip. 23

THE STRANGE RIDE OF MORROWBIE
JUKES

THE STRANGE RIDE OF MORROWBIE
JUKES

Alive or dead there is no other way. Natwe Proverb.

*T^HERE is, as the conjurors say, no deccp-
A tion about this tale. Jukes by accident
stumbled upon a village that is well known to
exist, though he is the only Englishman who
has been there. A somewhat similar institu-
tion used to flourish on the outskirts of Cal-
cutta, and there is a story that if you go into
the heart of Bikanir, which is in the heart of
the Great Indian Desert, you shall come across
not a village but a town where the Dead who
did not die but may not live have established
their headquarters. And, since it is perfectly
true that in the same Desert is a wonderful
city where all the rich money-lenders retreat
after they have made their fortunes (fortunes
so vast that the owners cannot trust even the
strong hand of the Government to protect
them, but take refuge in the waterless sands),
and drive sumptuous C-spring barouches, and
buy beautiful girls and decorate their palaces
63

64 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

with gold and ivory and Minton tiles and
mother-o'-pearl, I do not see why Jukes's tale
should not be true. He is a Civil Engineer,
with a head for plans and distances and things
of that kind, and he certainly would not take
the trouble to invent imaginary traps. He
could earn more by doing his legitimate work.
He never varies the tale in the telling, and
grows very hot and indignant when he thinks
of the disrespectful treatment he received. He
wrote this quite straightforwardly at first, but
he has since touched it up in places and in-
troduced Moral Reflections, thus :

In the beginning it all arose from a slight at-
tack of fever. My work necessitated my being
in camp for some months between Pakpattan
and Mubarakpur a desolate sandy stretch of
country as every one who has had the misfor-
tune to go there may know. My coolies were
neither more nor less exasperating than other
gangs, and my work demanded sufficient atten-
tion to keep me from moping, had I been in-
clined to so unmanly a weakness.

On the 23d December, 1884, I felt a little
feverish. There was a full moon at the time,
and, in consequence, every dog near my tent
was baying it The brutes assembled in twos
and threes and drove me frantic A few days

MORROWBIE JUKES 65

previously I had shot one loud-mouthed singer
and suspended his carcass in terrorem about
fifty yards from my tent-door. But his friends
fell upon, fought for, and ultimately devoured
the body : and, as it seemed to me, sang their
hymns of thanksgiving afterward with re-
newed energy.

The light-headedness which accompanies
fever acts differently on different men. My
irritation gave way, after a short time, to a
fixed determination to slaughter one huge
black and white beast who had been foremost
in song and first in flight throughout the even-
ing. Thanks to a shaking hand and a giddy
head I had already missed him twice with both
barrels of my shotgun, when it struck me that
my best plan would be to ride him down in the
open and finish him off with a hog-spear.
This, of course, was merely the semi-delirious
notion of a fever patient ; but I remember that
it struck me at the time as being eminently
practical and feasible.

I therefore ordered my groom to saddle Por-
nic and bring him round quietly to the rear of
my tent When the pony was ready, I stood
at his head prepared to mount and dash out as
soon as the dog should again lift up his voice.
Pornic, by the way, had not been out of his

66 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

pickets for a couple of days; the night air was
crisp and chilly; and I was armed with a spe-
cially long and sharp pair of persuaders with
which I had been rousing a sluggish cob that
afternoon. You will easily believe, then, that
when he was let go he went quickly. In one
moment, for the brute bolted as straight as a
die, the tent was left far behind, and we were
flying over the smooth sandy soil at racing
speed. In another we had passed the wretched
dog, and I had almost forgotten why it was
y that,I had taken horse and hog-spear.

JThe delirium of fever and the excitement of
rapid motion through the air must have taken
away the remnant of my senses. I have a faint
recollection of standing upright in my stirrups,
and of brandishing my hog-spear at the great
white Moon that looked down so calmly on my
mad gallop; and of shouting challenges to the
camel-thorn bushes as they whizzed past.
Once or twice, I believe, I swayed forward on
Pornic's neck, and literally hung on by my
spurs as the marks next morning showed.

The wretched beast went forward like a
thing possessed, over what seemed to be a lim-
itless expanse of moonlit sand. Next, I re-
member, the ground rose suddenly in front of
us, and as we topped the ascent I saw the

MORROWBIE JUKES 67

waters of the Sutlej shining like a silver bar
below. Then Pornic blundered heavily on his
nose, and we rolled together down some un-
seen slope.

I must have lost consciousness, for when I
recovered I was lying on my stomach in a heap
of soft white sand, and the dawn was begin-
ning to break dimly over the edge of the slope
down which I had fallen. 4 As the light grew
stronger I saw that I was at the bottom of a
horseshoe-shaped crater of sand, opening on
one side directly on to the shoals of the Sutlej.
My fever had altogether left me, and, with the
exception of a slight dizziness in the head, I
felt no bad effects from the fall over night.

Pornic, who was standing a few yards
away, was naturally a good deal exhausted,
but had not hurt himself in the least. His
saddle, a favorite polo one, was much knocked
about, and had been twisted under his belly.
It took me some time to put him to rights, and
in the meantime I had ample opportunities of
observing the spot into which I had so fool-
ishly dropped.

At the risk of being considered tedious, I
must describe it at length ; inasmuch as an ac-
curate mental picture of its peculiarities will
be of material assistance in enabling the reader
to understand what follows.

68 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

Imagine then, as I have said before, a horse-
shoe-shaped crater of sand with steeply graded
sand walls about thirty-five feet high. (The
slope, I fancy, must have been about 65*.)
This crater enclosed a level piece of ground
about fifty yards long by thirty at its broadest
part, with a rude well in the centre. Round
the bottom of the crater, about three feet from
the level of the ground proper, ran a series of
eighty-three semicircular, ovoid, square, and
multilateral holes, all about three feet at the
mouth. Each hole on inspection showed that
it was carefully shored internally with drift-
wood and bamboos, and over the mouth a
wooden drip-board projected, like the peak of
a jockey's cap, for two feet. No sign of life
was visible in these tunnels, but a most sicken-
ing stench pervaded the entire amphitheatre
a stench fouler than any which my wanderings
in Indian villages have introduced me to.

Having remounted Pornic, who was as anx-
ious as I to get back to camp, I rode round
the base of the horseshoe to find some place
whence an exit would be practicable. The in-
habitants, whoever they might be, had not
thought fit to put in an appearance, so I was
left to my own devices. My first attempt to
"rush" Pornic up the steep sand-banks showed

MORROWBIE JUKES 69

me that I had fallen into a trap exactly on the
same model as that which the ant-lion sets for
its prey. At each step the shifting sand poured
down from above in tons, and rattled on the
drip-boards of the holes like small shot. A
couple of ineffectual charges sent us both roll-
ing down to the bottom, half choked with the
torrents of sand ; and I was constrained to turn
my attention to the river-bank.

Here everything seemed easy enough. The
sand hills ran down to the river edge, it is true,
but there were plenty of shoals and shallows
across which I could gallop Pornic, and find
my way back to terra firma by turning sharply
to the right or the left. As I led Pornic over
the sands I was startled by the faint pop of a
rifle across the river ; and at the same moment
a bullet dropped with a sharp "whit" close to
Pornic's head.

There was no mistaking the nature of the
missile a regulation Martini-Henry "picket."
About five hundred yards away a country-boat
was anchored in midstream ; and a jet of smoke
drifting away from its bows in the still morn-
ing air showed me whence the delicate atten-
tion had come. Was ever a respectable gentle-
man in such an impasse? The treacherous
sand slope allowed no escape from a spot

70 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

which I had visited most involuntarily, and a
promenade on the river frontage was the sig-
nal for a bombardment from some msane na-
tive in a boat. I'm afraid that I lost my tem-
per very much indeed.

Another bullet reminded me that I had better
save my breath to cool my porridge ; and I re-
treated hastily up the sands and back to the
horseshoe, where I saw that the noise of the
rifle had drawn sixty-five human beings from
the badger-holes which I had up till that point
supposed to be untenanted. I found myself
hi the midst of a crowd of spectators about
forty men, twenty women, and one child who
could not have been more than five years old.
They were all scantily clothed in that salmon-
colored cloth which one associates with Hindu
mendicants, and, at first sight, gave me the im-
pression of a band <jf loathsome fakirs. The
filth and repulsiveness of the assembly were
beyond all description, and I shuddered to
. Jiink what their life in the badger-holes must
be.

Even in these days, when local self-govern-
ment has destroyed the greater part of a na-
tive's respect for a Sahib, I have been accus-
tomed to a certain amount of civility from my
inferiors, and on approaching the crowd nat-

MORROWBIE JUKES 71

urally expected that there would be some rec-
ognition of my presence. As a matter of fact
there was ; but it was by no means what I had
looked for.

The ragged crew actually laughed at me
such laughter I hope I may never hear again.
They cackled, yelled, whistled, and howled as
I walked into their midst ; some of them liter-
ally throwing themselves down on the ground
in convulsions of unholy mirth. In a moment
I had let go Pornic's head, and, irritated be-
yond expression at the morning's adventure,
commenced cuffing those nearest to me with
all the force I could. The wretches dropped
under my blows like nine-pins, and the laugh-
ter gave place to wails for mercy ; while those
yet untouched clasped me round the knees, im-
ploring me in all sorts of uncouth tongues to
spare them.

In the tumult, and just when I was feeling
very much ashamed of myself for having thus
easily given way to my temper, a thin, high
voice murmured in English from behind my
shoulder: "Sahib! Sahib! Do you not
know me? Sahib, it is Gunga Dass, the tele-
graph-master."

I spun round quickly and faced the speaker.

Gunga Dass (I have, of course, no hesita-

71 THE STRANGE RIDE OF!

tion in mentioning the man's real name) I had
known four years before as a Deccanee Brah-
min loaned by the Punjab Government to one
of the Khalsia States. He was in charge of a
branch telegraph-office there, and when I had
last met him was a jovial, full-stomached,
portly Government servant with a marvelous
capacity for making bad puns in English a
peculiarity which made me remember him long
after I had forgotten his services to me in his
official capacity. It is seldom that a Hindu
makes English puns.

Now, however, the man was changed be-
yond all recognition. Caste-mark, stomach,
slate-colored continuations, and unctuous
speech were all gone. I looked at a withered
skeleton, turbanless and almost naked, with
long matted hair and deep-set codfish-eyes.
But for a crescent-shaped scar on the left
cheek the result of an accident for which I
was responsible I should never have known
him. But it was indubitably Gunga Dass, and
for this I was thankful an English-speak-
ing native who might at least tell me the mean-
ing of all that I had gone through that day.

The crowd retreated to some distance as I
turned toward the miserable figure, and or-
dered him to show me some method of escap-

MORROWBIE JUKES 73

ing from the crater. He held a freshly plucked
crow in his hand, and in reply to my question
climbed slowly on a platform of sand which
ran in front of the holes, and commenced
lighting a fire there in silence. Dried bents,
sand-poppies, and driftwood burn quickly ; and
I derived much consolation from the fact that
he lit them with an ordinary sulphur-match.
When they were in a bright glow, and the
crow was neatly spitted in front thereof,
Gunda Dass began without a word of pre-
amble:

"There are only two kinds of men, Sar.
The alive and the dead. When you are dead
you are dead, but when you are alive you live."
(Here the crow demanded his attention for an
instant as it twirled before the fire in danger
of being burned to a cinder.) "If you die at
home and do not die when you come to the
ghat to be burned you come here."

The nature of the reeking village was made
plain now, and all that I had known or read of
the grotesque and the horrible paled before the
fact just communicated by the ex-Brahmin.
Sixteen years ago, when I first landed in Bom-
bay, I had been told by a wandering Armenian
of the existence, somewhere in India, of a
place to which such Hindus as had the misfor-

74 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

tune to recover from trance or catalepsy were
conveyed and kept, and I recollect laughing
heartily at what I was then pleased to consider
a traveler's tale. Sitting at the bottom of the
sand-trap, the memory of Watson's Hotel,
with its swinging punkahs, white-robed at-
tendants, and the sallow-faced Armenian, rose
up in my mind as vividly as a photograph, and
I burst into a loud fit of laughter. The con-
trast was too absurd !

Gunga Dass, as he bent over the unclean
bird, watched me curiously. Hindus seldom
laugh, and his surroundings were not such as
to move Gunga Dass to any undue excess of
hilarity. He removed the crow solemnly from
the wooden spit and as solemnly devoured it
Then he continued his story, which I give in
his own words :

"In epidemics of the cholera you are carried
to be burned almost before you are dead.
When you come to the riverside the cold air,
perhaps, makes you alive, and then, if you are
only little alive, mud is put on your nose and
mouth and you die conclusively. If you are
rather more alive, more mud is put ; but if you
are too lively they let you go and take you
away. I was too lively, and made protestation
with anger against the indignities that they en-

MORROWBIE JUKES 75

deavored to press upon me. In those days I
was Brahmin and proud man. Now I am
dead man and eat" here he eyed the well-
gnawed breast bone with the first sign of emo-
tion that I had seen in him since we met
"crows, and other things. They took me from
my sheets when they saw that I was too lively
and gave me medicines for one week, and I
survived successfully. Then they sent me by
rail from my place to Okara Station, with a
man to take care of me ; and at Okara Station
we met two other men, and they conducted
we three on camels, in the night, from Okara
Station to this place, and they propelled me
from the top to the bottom, and the other two
succeeded, and I have been here ever since two
and a half years. Once I was Brahmin and
proud man, and now I eat crows/'

"There is no way of getting out?"

"None of what kind at all. When I first
came I made experiments frequently and all
the others also, but we have always succumbed
to the sand which is precipitated upon our
heads."

"But surely," I broke in at this point, "the
river-front is open, and it is worth while dodg-
ing the bullets ; while at night"

I had already matured a rough plan of es

76 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

cape which a natural instinct of selfishness for-
bade me sharing with Gunga Dass. He, how-
ever, divined my unspoken thought almost as
soon as it was formed ; and, to my intense as-
tonishment, gave vent to a long low chuckle of
derision the laughter, be it understood, of a
superior or at least of an equal.

"You will not" he had dropped the Sir
completely after his opening sentence "make
any escape that way. But you can try. I have
tried. Once only."

The sensation of nameless terror and abject
fear which I had in vain attempted to strive
against overmastered me completely. My long
fast it was now close upon ten o'clock, and
I had eaten nothing since tiffin on the previous
day combined with the violent and unnatural
agitation of the ride had exhausted me, and I
verily believe that, for a few minutes, I acted
as one mad. I hurled myself against the piti-
less sand-slope. I ran round the base of the
crater, blaspheming and praying by turns. I
crawled out among the sedges of the river-
front, only to be driven back each time in an
agony of nervous dread by the rifle-bullets
which cut up the sand round me for I dared
not face the death of a mad dog among that
hideous crowd and finally fell, spent and rav-

MORROWBIE JUKES 77

ing, at the curb of the well No one had taken
the slightest notice of an exhibition which
makes me blush hotly even when L think of it
now.

Two or three men trod on my panting body
as they drew water, but they were evidently
used to this sort of thing, and had no time to
waste upon me. The situation was humiliat-
ing. Gunga Dass, indeed, when he had banked
the embers of his fire with sand, was at some
pains to throw half a cupful of fetid water
over my head, an attention for which I could
have fallen on my knees and thanked him, but
he was laughing all the while in the same
mirthless, wheezy key that greeted me on my
first attempt to force the shoals. And so, in a
semi-comatose condition, I lay till noon. Then,
being only a man after all, I felt hungry, and
intimated as much to Gunga Dass, whom I
had begun to regard as my natural protector.
Following the impulse of the outer world when
dealing with natives, I put my hand into my
pocket and drew out four annas. The ab-
surdity of the gift struck me at once, and I
was about to replace the money.

Gunga Dass, however, was of a different
opinion. "Give me the money/' said he ; "all
you have, or I will get help, and we will kill

78 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

you!" All this as if it were the most natural
thing in the world!

A Briton's first impulse, I believe, is to
guard the contents of his pockets; but a mo-
ment's reflection convinced me of the futility
of differing with the one man who had it in
his power to make me comfortable; and with
whose help it was possible that I might even-
tually escape from the crater. I gave him all
the money in my possession, Rs. 9-8-5
nine rupees eight annas and five pie for I al-
ways keep small change as bakshish when I am
in camp. Gunga Dass clutched the coins, and
hid them at once in his ragged loin-cloth, his
expression changing to something diabolical
as he looked round to assure himself that no
one had observed us.

"Now I will give you something to eat/'
said he.

What pleasure the possession of my money
could have afforded him I am unable to say;
but inasmuch as it did give him evident delight
I was not sorry that I had parted with it so
readily, for I had no doubt that he would have
had me killed if I had refused. One does not
protest against the vagaries of a den of wild
beasts; and my companions were lower than
any beasts. While I devoured what Gunga

MORROWBIE JUKES 79

Dass had provided, a coarse chapatti and a
cupful of the foul well-water, the people
showed not the faintest sign of curiosity that
curiosity which is so rampant, as a rule, in an
Indian village,

I could even fancy that they despised me.
At all events they treated me with the most
chilling indifference, and Gunga Dass was
nearly as bad, I plied him with questions
about the terrible village, and received ex-
tremely unsatisfactory answers. So far as
I could gather, it had been in existence from
time immemorial whence I concluded that it
was at least a century old and during that
time no one had ever been known to escape
from it. [I had to control myself here with
both hands, lest the blind terror should lay
hold of me a second time and drive me raving
round the crater.] Gunga Dass took a mali-
cious pleasure in emphasizing this point and in
watching me wince. Nothing that I could do
would induce him to tell me who the mysteri-
ous "They" were.

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

"Only wait till my servants find that I am
missing," I retorted, "and I promise you that

80 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

this place shall be cleared off the face of the
earth, and 111 give you a lesson in civility, too,
my friend/ 1

"Your servants would be torn in pieces be-
fore they came near this place; and, besides,
you are dead, my dear friend. It is not your
fault, of course, but none the less you are dead
and buried."

At irregular intervals supplies of food, I
was told, were dropped down from the land
side into the amphitheatre, and the inhabitants
fought for them like wild beasts. When a
man felt his death coming on he retreated to
his lair and died there. The body was some-
times dragged out of the hole and thrown on
to the sand, or allowed to rot where it lay.

The phrase "thrown on to the sand" caught
my attention, and I asked Gunga Dass whether
this sort of thing was not likely to breed a pes-
tilence.

"That/ 1 said he, with another of his wheezy
chuckles, "you may see for yourself subse-
quently. You will have much time to make
observations."

Whereat, to his great delight, I winced once
more and hastily continued the conversation:
"And how do you live here from day to day?
What do you do?" The question elicited ex-

MORROWBIE JUKES 8i

actly the same answer as before coupled with
the information that "this place is like your
European heaven; there is neither marrying
nor giving in marriage. "

Gunga Dass has been educated at a Mission
School, and, as he himself admitted, had he
only changed his religion "like a wise man,"
might have avoided the living grave which was
now his portion. But as long as I was with
him I fancy he was happy.

Here was a Sahib, a representative of the
dominant race, helpless as a child and com-
pletely at the mercy of his native neighbors.
In a deliberate lazy way he set himself to tor-
ture me as a schoolboy would devote a raptur-
ous half -hour to watching the agonies of an
impaled beetle, or as a ferret in a blind burrow
might glue himself comfortably to the neck of
a rabbit. The burden of his conversation was
that there was no escape "of no kind what-
ever/* and that I should stay here till I died
and was ''thrown on to the sand." If it were
possible to forejudge the conversation of the
Damned on the advent of a new soul in their
abode, I should say that they would speak as
Gunga Dass did to me throughout that long
afternoon. I was powerless to protest or an-
swer; aH my energies being devoted to a strug*-

82 THE STRANGE RIDE OP

glc against the inexplicable terror that threat-
ened to overwhelm me again and again. I
can compare the feeling to nothing except the
struggles of a man against the overpowering
nausea of the Channel passage only my
agony was of the spirit and infinitely more ter-
rible.

As the day wore on, the inhabitants began
to appear in full strength to catch the rays of
the afternoon sun, which were now sloping in
at the mouth of the crater. They assembled in
little knots, and talked among themselves with-
out even throwing a glance in my direction.
About four o'clock, as far as I could judge,
Gunga Dass rose and dived into his lair for a
moment, emerging with a live crow in his
hands. The wretched bird was in a most
draggled and deplorable condition, but seemed
to be in no way afraid of its master. Advanc-
ing cautiously to the river front, Gunga Dass
stepped from tussock to tussock until he had
reached a smooth patch of sand directly in the
line of the boat's fire. The occupants of the
boat took no notice. Here he stopped, and,
with a couple of dexterous turns of the wrist,
pegged the bird on its back with outstretched
wings. As was only natural, the crow began
to shriek at once and beat the air with its claws.

MORROWBIE JUKES 83

In a few seconds the clamor had attracted the
attention of a bevy of wild crows on a shoal a
few hundred yards away, where they were dis-
cussing something that looked like a corpse.
Half a dozen crows flew over at once to see
what was going on, and also, as it proved, to
attack the pinioned bird. Gunga Dass, who
had lain down on a tussock, motioned to me to
be quiet, though I fancy this was a needless
precaution. In a moment, and before I could
see how it happened, a wild crow, who had
grappled with the shrieking and helpless bird,
was entangled in the latter's claws, swiftly dis-
engaged by Gunga Dass, and pegged down
beside its companion in adversity. Curiosity,
it seemed, overpowered the rest of the flock,
and almost before Gunga Dass and I had time
to withdraw to the tussock, two more captives
were struggling in the upturned claws of the
decoys. So the chase if I can give it so dig-
nified a name continued until Gunga Dass
had captured seven crows. Five of them he
throttled at once, reserving two for further
operations another day. I was a good deal
impressed by this, to me, novel method of se-
curing food, and complimented Gunga Dass on
his skill.

"It is nothing to do/' said he. "To-morrow

84 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

you must do it for me. You are stronger than
I am."

This calm assumption of superiority upset
me not a little, and I answered peremptorily;
"Indeed, you old ruffian! What do you
think I have given you money for ?"

"Very well/' was the unmoved reply. "Per-
haps not to-morrow, nor the day after, nor
subsequently; but in the end, and for many
years, you will catch crows and eat crows, and
you will thank your European God that you
have crows to catch and eat."

I could have cheerfully strangled him for
this; but judged it best under the circum-
stances to smother my resentment. An hour
later I was eating one of the crows; and, as
Gunga Dass had said, thanking my God that
I had a crow to eat. Never as long as I live
shall I forget that evening meal. The whole
population were squatting on the hard sand
platform opposite their dens, huddled over tiny
fires of refuse and dried rushes. Death, hav-
ing once laid his hand upon these men and for-
borne to strike, seemed to stand aloof from
them now; for most of our company were old
men, bent and worn and twisted with years,
and women aged to all appearance as the Fates
themselves. They sat together in knots and

MORROWBIE JUKES 85

talked God only knows what they found to
discuss in low equable tones, curiously in
contrast to the strident babble with which na-
tives are accustomed to make day hideous.
Now and then an access of that sudden fury
which had possessed me in the morning would
lay hold on a man or woman; and with yells
and imprecations the sufferer would attack the
steep slope until, baffled and bleeding, he fell
back on the platform incapable of moving a
limb. The others would never even raise their
eyes when this happened, as men too well
aware of the futility of their fellows' attempts
and wearied with their useless repetition. I
saw four such outbursts in the course of that
evening.

Gunga Dass took an eminently business-like
view of my situation, and while we were din-
ing I can afford to laugh at the recollection
now, but it was painful enough at the time-
propounded the terms on which he would con-
sent to "do" for me. My nine rupees eight
annas, he argued, at the rate of three annas a
day, would provide me with food for fifty-
one days, or about seven weeks ; that is to say,
he would be willing to cater for me for that
length of time. At the end of it I was to look
after myself. For a further consideration*

86 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

videlicet my boots he would be willing to al-
low me to occupy the den next to his own, and
would supply me with as much dried grass for
bedding as he could spare.

"Very well, Gunga Dass," I replied ; "to the
first terms I cheerfully agree, but, as there is
nothing on earth to prevent my killing you as
you sit here and taking everything that you
have" (I thought of the two invaluable crows
at the time), "I flatly refuse to give you my
boots and shall take whichever den I please. 1 '

The stroke was a bold one, and I was glad
when I saw that it had succeeded. Gunga Dass
changed his tone immediately, and disavowed
all intention of asking for my boots. At the
time it did not strike me as at all strange that
I, a Civil Engineer, a man of thirteen years'
standing in the Service, and, I trust, an aver-
age Englishman, should thus calmly threaten
murder and violence against the man who had,
for a consideration it is true, taken me under
his wing. I had left the world, it seemed, for
centuries. I was as certain then as I am now
of my own existence, that in the accursed set-
tlement there was no law save that of the
strongest ; that the living dead men had thrown
behind them every canon of the world which
had cast them out; and that I had to depend

MORROWBIE JUKES 87

for my own life on my strength and vigilance
alone. The crew of the ill-fated Mignonette
are the only men who would understand my
frame of mind. "At present," I argued to
myself, "I am strong and a match for six of
these wretches. It is imperatively necessary
that I should, for my own sake, keep both
health and strength until the hour of my re-
lease comes if it ever does."

Fortified with these resolutions, I ate and
drank as much as I could, and made Gunga
Dass understand that I intended to be his mas-
ter, and that the least sign of insubordination
on his part would be visited with the only pun-
ishment I had it in my power to inflict sudden
and violent death. Shortly after this I went
to bed. That is to say, Gunga Dass gave me
a double armful of dried bents which I thrust
down the mouth of the lair to the right of his,
and followed myself, feet foremost; the hole
running about nine feet into the sand with a
slight downward inclination, and being neatly
shored with timbers. From my den, which
faced the river-front, I was able to watch the
waters of the Sutlej flowing past under the
light of a young moon and compose myself
to sleep as best I might.

The horrors of that night I shall never for-

88 THE STRANGE RIDE OP

get My den was nearly as narrow as a coffin,
and the sides had been worn smooth and
greasy by the contact of innumerable naked
bodies, added to which it smelled abominably.
Sleep was altogether out of the question to one
in my excited frame of mind. As the night
wore on, it seemed that the entire amphitheatre
was filled with legions of unclean devils that,
trooping up from the shoals below, mocked
the unfortunates in their lairs.

Personally I am not of an imaginative tem-
perament, very few Engineers are, but on
that occasion I was as completely prostrated
with nervous terror as any woman. After
half an hour or so, however, I was able once
more to calmly review my chances of escape.
Any exit by the steep sand walls was, of
course, impracticable. I had been thoroughly
convinced of this some time before. It was
possible, just possible, that I might, in the un-
certain moonlight, safely run the gauntlet of
the rifle shots. The place was so full of terror
for me that I was prepared to undergo any
risk in leaving it. Imagine my delight, then,
when after creeping stealthily to the river-
front I found that the infernal boat was not
there. My freedom lay before me in the next
few steps I

MORROWBIE JUKES 89

By walking out to the first shallow pool that
lay at the foot of the projecting left horn of
the horseshoe, I could wade across, turn the
flank of the crater, and make my way inland.
Without a moment's hesitation I marched
briskly past the tussocks where Gunga Dass
had snared the crows, and out in the direction
of the smooth white sand beyond. My first
step from the tufts of dried grass showed me
how utterly futile was any hope of escape; for
as I put my foot down, I felt an indescribable
drawing, sucking motion of the sand below.
Another moment and my leg was swallowed
up nearly to the knee. In the moonlight the
whole surface of the sand seemed to be shaken
with devilish delight at my disappointment.
I struggled clear, sweating with terror and ex-
ertion, back to the tussocks behind me and fell
on my face.

My only means of escape from the semicir-
cle was protected with a quicksand!

How long I lay I have not the faintest idea ;
but I was roused at last by the malevolent
chuckle of Gunga Dass at my ear. "I would
advise you, Protector of the Poor" (the ruffian
was speaking English) "to return to your
house. It is unhealthy to lie down here.
Moreover, when the boat returns, you will

90 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

most certainly be rifled at." He stood over
me in the dim light of the dawn, chuckling
and laughing to himself. Suppressing my first
impulse to catch the man by the neck and
throw him on to the quicksand, I rose sullenly
and followed him to the platform below the
burrows.

Suddenly, and futilely as I thought while I
spoke, I asked: "Gunga Dass, what is the
good of the boat if I can't get out anyhow?' 9
I recollect that even in my deepest trouble I
had been speculating vaguely on the waste of
ammunition in guarding an already well pro-
tected foreshore.

Gunga Dass laughed again and made an-
swer: "They have the boat only in daytime.
It is for the reason that there is a way. I hope
we shall have the pleasure of your company
for much longer time. It is a pleasant spot
when you have been here some years and eaten
roast crow long enough/'

I staggered, numbed and helpless, toward
the fetid burrow allotted to me, and fell asleep.
An hour or so later I was awakened by a
piercing scream the shrill, high-pitched
scream of a horse in pain. Those who have
once heard that will never forget the sound.
I found some little difficulty in scrambling out

'7 struggled clear, sweating wilh terror."

The Strange Ride of Morrowbie Jukes, /. $9

MORROWBIE JUKES gt

D the burrow. When I was in the open, I saw
Pornic, my poor old Pornic, lying dead on the
sandy soil How they had killed him I cannot
guess. Gunga Dass explained that horse was
better than crow, and "greatest good of great-
est number is political maxim. We are now
Republic, Mister Jukes, and you are entitled to
a fair share of the beast. If you like, we will
pass a vote of thanks. Shall I propose?"

Yes, we were a Republic indeed ! A Repub-
lic of wild beasts penned at the bottom of a
pit, to eat and fight and sleep till we died. I
attempted no protest of any kind, but sat down
and stared at the hideous sight in front of me.
In less time almost than it takes me to write
this, Pornic's body was divided, in some un-
clean way or other; the men and women had
dragged the fragments on to the platform and
were preparing their morning meal. Gunga
Dass cooked mine. The almost irresistible im-
pulse to fly at the sand walls until I was wear-
ied laid hold of me afresh, and I had to strug-
gle against it with all my might. Gunga Dass
was offensively jocular till I told him that if
he addressed another remark of any kind
whatever to me I should strangle him where he
sat. This silenced him till silence became in-
supportable, and I bade him say something.
Kip. 2--4

92 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

"You will live here till you die like the other
Feringhi," he said coolly, watching me over
the fragment of gristle that he was gnawing.

"What other Sahib, you swine? Speak at
once, and don't stop to tell me a lie."

"He is over there," answered Gunga Dass,
pointing to a burrow-mouth about four doors
to the left of my own. "You can see for your-
self. He died in the burrow as you will die,
and I will die, and as all these men and women
and the one child will also die."

"For pity's sake tell me all you know about
him. Who was he ? When did he come, and
when did he die?"

This appeal was a weak step on my part.
Gunga Dass only leered and replied: "I will
not unless you give me something first."

Then I recollected where I was, and struck
the man between the eyes, partially stunning
him. He stepped down from the platform at
once, and, cringing and fawning and weeping
and attempting to embrace my feet, led me
round to the burrow which he had indicated*

"I know nothing whatever about the gentle-
man. Your God be my witness that I do not
He was as anxious to escape as you were, and
he was shot from the boat, though we all did
things to prevent him from attempting. He

MORROWBIE JUKES 99

was shot here." Gunga Dass laid his hand on
his lean stomach and bowed to the earth.

"Well, and what then? Go on!"

"And then and then, Your Honor, we car-
ried him to his house and gave him water, and
put wet cloths on the wound, and he laid down
in his house and gave up the ghost."

"In how long? In how long?"

"About half an hour after he received his
wound. I call Vishnu to witness," yelled the
wretched man, "that I did everything for him.
Everything which was possible, that I did I"

He threw himself down on the ground and
clasped my ankles. But I had my doubts about
Gunga Dass's benevolence, and kicked him off
as he lay protesting.

"I believe you robbed him of everything he
had. But I can find out in a minute or two.
How long was the Sahib here?"

"Nearly a year and a half. I think he must
have gone mad. But hear me swear, Protec-
tor of the Poor! Won't Your Honor hear me
swear that I never touched an article that be-
longed to him? What is Your Worship go-
ing to do?"

I had taken Gunga Dass by the waist and
had hauled him on to the platform opposite
the deserted burrow. As I did so I thought

94 THE STRANGE RIDE OP

of my wretched fellow-prisoner's unspeakable
misery among all these horrors for eighteen
months, and the final agony of dying like a
rat in a hole, with a bullet-wound in the stom-
ach. Gunga Dass fancied I was going to kill
him and howled pitifully. The rest of the
population, in the plethora that follows a full
flesh meal, watched us without stirring.

"Go inside, Gunga Dass/' said I. "and fetch
it out."

I was feeling sick and faint with horror
now. Gunga Dass nearly rolled off the plat-
form and howled aloud.

"But I am Brahmin, Sahib a high-caste
Brahmin. By your soul, by your father's soul,
do not make me do this thing!"

"Brahmin or no Brahmin, by my soul and
my father's soul, in you go!" I said, and, seiz-
ing him by the shoulders, I crammed his head
into the mouth of the burrow, kicked the rest
of him in, and, sitting down, covered my face
with my hands.

At the end of a few minutes I heard a rustle
and a creak; then Gunga Dass in a sobbing,
choking whisper speaking to himself; then a
soft thud and I uncovered my eyes.

The dry sand had turned the corpse en-
trusted to its keeping into a yellow-brown

MORROWBIE JUKES 9$

mummy. I told Gunga Dass to stand off while
I examined it. The body clad in ah olive-
green hunting-suit much stained and worn,
with leather pads on the shoulders was that
of a man betwen thirty and forty, above mid-
dle height, with light, sandy hair, long mous-
tache, and a rough unkempt beard. The left
canine of the upper jaw was missing, and a
portion of the lobe of the right ear was gone.
On the second finger of the left hand was a
ring a shield-shaped bloodstone set in gold,
with a monogram that might have been either
"B.K." or "B.L." On the third finger of the
right hand was a silver ring in the shape of a
coiled cobra, much worn and tarnished.
Gunga Dass deposited a handful of trifles he
had picked out of the burrow at my feet, and,
covering the face of the body with my hand-
kerchief, I turned to examine these. I give
the full list in the hope that it may lead to the
identification of the unfortunate man:

1. Bowl of briarwood pipe, serrated at the
edge; much worn and blackened; bound with
string at the screw.

2. Two patent-lever keys; wards of both
broken.

3. Tortoise-shell-handled penknife, silver
or nickel, name-plate, marked with monogram
"B.K."

f6 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

4. Envelope, postmark undecipherable,
bearing a Victorian stamp, addressed to "Miss
Mon ' ' (rest illegible) "ham" "nt."

5. Imitation crocodile-skin notebook with
pencil. First forty-five pages blank; four and
a-half illegible; fifteen others filled with pri-
vate memoranda relating chiefly to three per-
sons a Mrs. L. Singleton, abbreviated several
times to "Lot Single/ 1 "Mrs. S. May," and
"Garmison," referred to in places as "Jerry"
or "Jack."

6. Handle of small-sized hunting-knife.
Blade snapped short. Buck's horn, diamond
cut, with swivel and ring on the butt; frag-
ment of cotton cord attached.

It must not be supposed that I inventoried
all these things on the spot as fully as I have
here written them down. The notebook first
attracted my attention, and I put it in my
pocket with a view to studying it later on.
The rest of the articles I conveyed to my bur-
row for safety's sake, and there, being a me-
thodical man, I inventoried them. I then re-
turned to the corpse and ordered Gunga Dass
to help me to carry it out to the river-front.
While we were engaged in this, the exploded
shell of an old brown cartridge dropped out of
one of the pockets and rolled at tny feet

MORROWBIE JUKES 97

Gunga Dass had not seen it; and I fell to
thinking that a man does not carry exploded
cartridge-cases, especially "browns," which
will not bear loading twice, about with him
when shooting. In other words, that cart-
ridge-case has been fired inside the crater.
Consequently there must be a gun somewhere.
I was on the verge of asking Gunga Dass, but
checked myself, knowing that he would lie.
We laid the body down on the edge of the
quicksand by the tussocks. It was my inten-
tion to push it out and let it be swallowed up
the only possible mode of burial that I could
think of. I ordered Gunga Dass to go away.
Then I gingerly put the corpse out on the
quicksand. In doing so, it was lying face
downward, I tore the frail and rotten khaki
shooting-coat open, disclosing a hideous cav-
ity in the back. I have already told you that
the dry sand had, as it were, mummified the
body. A moment's glance showed that the
gaping hole had been caused by a gun-shot
wound ; the gun must have been fired with the
muzzle almost touching the back. The shoot-
ing-coat, being intact, had been drawn over
the body after death, which must have been
instantaneous. The secret of the poor wretch's
death was plain to me in a flash. Some one

98 THE STRANGE RIDE OF

of the crater, presumably Gunga Dass, must
have shot him with his own gun the gun that
fitted the brown cartridges. He had never
attempted to escape in the face of the rifle-fire
from the boat.

I pushed the corpse out hastily, and saw it
sink from sight literally in a few seconds. I
shuddered as I watched. In a dazed, half-
conscious way I turned to peruse the notebook.
A stained and discolored slip of paper had been
inserted between the binding and the back, and
dropped out as I opened the pages. This is what
it contained: "Four out from crow clump:
three left; nine out; tivo right; three back; two
left; fourteen out; two left; seven out; one
left; nine back; two right; six back; four
right; seven back/' The paper had been
burned and charred at the edges. What it
meant I could not understand. I sat down on
the dried bents turning it over and over be-
tween my fingers, until I was aware of Gunga
Dass standing immediately behind me with
glowing eyes and outstretched hands.

"Have you got it?" he panted. "Will you
not let me look at it also? I swear that I will
return it."

"Got what? Return what?" I asked.

"That which you have in your hands. It

MORROWBIE JUKES 99

will help us both/' lie stretched out his long,
bird-like talons, trembling with eagerness.

"I could never find it/' he continued. "He
had secreted it about his person. Therefore
I shot him, but nevertheless I was unable to
obtain it."

Gunga Dass had quite forgotten his little
fiction about the rifle-bullet. I received the
information perfectly calmly. Morality is
blunted by consorting with the Dead who are
alive.

"What on earth are you raving about?
What is it you want me to give you?"

"The piece of paper in the notebook. It
will help us both. Oh, you fool! You fool!
Can you not see what it will do for us? We
shall escape!"

His voice rose almost to a scream, and he
danced with excitement before me. I own I
was moved at the chance of getting away.

"Don't skip! Explain yourself. Do you
mean to say that this slip of paper will help
us? What does it mean?"

"Read it aloud! Read it aloud! I beg and
I pray you to read it aloud."

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

ioo THE STRANGE RIDE OP

"Sec now! It was the length of his gun-
barrels without the stock. I have those bar-
rels. Four gun-barrels out from the place
where I caught crows. Straight out; do you
follow me? Then three left Ah! how well
I remember when that man worked it out night
after night. Then nine out, and so on. Out
is always straight before you across the quick-
sand. He told me so before I killed him."

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

"I did not know it. He told me that he was
working it out a year and a half ago, and how
he was working it out night after night when
the boat had gone away, and he could get out
near the quicksand safely. Then he said that
we would get away together. But I was afraid
that he would leave me behind one night when
he had worked it all out, and so I shot him.
Besides, it is not advisable that the men who
once get in here should escape. Only I, and /
am a Brahmin."

The prospect of escape had brought Gunga
Bass's caste back to him. He stood up,
walked about and gesticulated violently.
Eventually I managed to make him talk so-
berly, and he told me how this Englishman
had spent six months night after night in ex-

MORROWBIE JUKES 1OI

ploring, inch by inch, the passage across the
quicksand; how he had declared it to be sim-
plicity itself up to within about twenty yards
of the river bank after turning the flank of
the left horn of the horseshoe. This much he
had evidently not completed when Gunga Dass
shot him with his own gun.

In my frenzy of delight at the possibilities
of escape I recollect shaking hands effusively
with Gunga Dass, after we had decided that
we were to make an attempt to get away that
very night. It was weary work waiting
throughout the afternoon.

About ten o'clock, as far as I could judge,
when the Moon had just risen above the lip
of the crater, Gunga Dass made a move for
his burrow to bring out the gun-barrels
whereby to measure our path. All the other
wretched inhabitants had retired to their lairs
long ago. The guardian boat drifted down-
stream some hours before, and we were utterly
alone by the crow-clump. Gunga Dass, while
carrying the gun-barrels, let slip the piece of
paper which was to be our guide. I stooped
down hastily to recover it, and, as I did so,
I was aware that the diabolical Brahmin was
aiming a violent blow at the back of my head
with the gun-barrels. It was too late to ture

102 THE STRANGE RIDE OP

round. I must have received the blow some-
where on the nape of my neck. A hundred
thousand fiery stars danced before my eyes,
and I fell forward senseless at the edge of the
quicksand.

When I recovered consciousness, the Moon
was going down, and I was sensible of intoler-
able pain in the back of my head. Gunga Dass
had disappeared and my mouth was full of
blood. I lay down again and prayed that I
might die without more ado. Then the unrea-
soning fury which I have before mentioned
laid hold upon me, and I staggered inland
toward the walls of the crater. It seemed that
some one was calling to me in a whisper
"Sahib! Sahib! Sahib!" exactly as my bearer
used to call me in the mornings. I fancied that
I was delirious until a handful of send fell at
my feet. Then I looked up and saw a head
peering down into the amphitheatre the head
of Dunnoo, my dog-boy, who attended to my
collies. As soon as he had attracted my at-
tention, he held up his hand and showed a
rope. I motioned, staggering to and fro the
while, that he should throw it down. It was a
couple of leather punkah-ropes knotted to-
gether, with a loop at one end. I slipped the
loop over my head and under my arms ; heard
Dunnoo urge something forward; was con-

MORROWBIE JUKES 103

scious that I was being dragged, face down-
ward up the step sand slope, and the next in-
stant found myself choked and half* fainting
on the sand hills overlooking the crater. Dun-
noo, with his face ashy grey in the moonlight,
implored me not to stay but to get back to my
tent at once.

It seems that he had tracked Pornic's foot-
prints fourteen miles across the sands to the
crater: had returned and told my servants,
who flatly refused to meddle with any one,
white or black, once fallen into the hideous
Village of the Dead ; whereupon Dunnoo had
taken one of my ponies and a couple of pun-
kah-ropes, returned to the crater, and hauled
me out as I have described.

To cut a long story short, Dunnoo is now
my personal servant on a gold mohur a month
a sum which I still think far too little for
the services he has rendered. Nothing on
earth will induce me to go near that devilish
spot again, or to reveal its whereabouts more
clearly than I have done. Of Gunga Dass I
have never found a trace, nor do I wish to do.
My sole motive in giving this to be published
is the hope that some one may possibly iden-
tify, from the details and the inventory which
I have given above, the corpse of the man in
the olive-green hunting-suit

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

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

THE law, as quoted, lays down a fair con-
duct of life, and one not easy to follow.
I have been fellow to a beggar again and again
under circumstances which prevented either of
us finding out whether the other was worthy*
T have still to be brother to a Prince, though
I once came near to kinship with what might
have been a veritable King and was promised
the reversion of a Kingdom army, law-
courts, revenue and policy all complete. But,
to-day, I greatly fear that my King is dead,
and if I want a crown I must go and hunt it
for my sal f.

The beginning of everything was in a rail-
way train upon the road to Mhow from Ajmir.
There had been a Deficit in the Budget, which
necessitated traveling, not Second-class, which
is only half as dear as First-class, but by In-
termediate, which is very awful indeed. There
are no cushions in the Intermediate class, and
the population are either Intermediate, which

107

108 THE MAN WHO

is Eurasian, or native, which for a long night
journey is nasty, or Loafer, which is amusing
though intoxicated. Intermediates do not
patronize refreshment-rooms. Jhey carry
their food in bundles and pots, and buy sweets
from the native sweetmeat-sellers, and drink
the roadside water. That is why in the hot
weather Intermediates are taken out of the
carnages dead, and in all weathers are most
properly looked down upon.

My particular Intermediate happened to be
empty till I reached Nasirabad, when a huge
gentleman in shirt-sleeves entered, and, follow-
ing the custom of Intermediates, passed the
time of day. He was a wanderer and a vaga-
bond like myself, but with an educated taste
for whiskey. He told tales of things he had
seen and done, of out-of-the-way corners of
the Empire into which he had penetrated, and
of adventures in which he risked his life for
a few days' food. "If India was filled with
men like you and me, not knowing more than
the crows where they'd get their next day's
rations, it isn't seventy millions of revenue the
land would be paying it's seven hundred mil-
lions/ 9 said he; and as I looked at his mouth
and chin I was disposed to agree with him.
We talked politics the politics of Loaferdom

WOULD BE KING

that sees things from the underside where the
lath and plaster is not smoothed off and we
talked postal arrangements because my friend
wanted to send a telegram back from the next
station to Ajmir, which is the turning-off
place from the Bombay to the Mhow line as
you travel westward. My friend had no money
beyond eight annas which he wanted for din-
ner, and I had no money at all, owing to the
hitch in the Budget before mentioned. Fur-
ther, I was going into a wilderness where,
though I should resume touch with the Treas-
ury, there were no telegraph offices. I was,
therefore, unable to help him in any way.

"We might threaten a Station-master, and
make him send a wire on tick/* said my friend,
"but that'd mean inquiries for you and for me,
and I've got my hands full these days. Did
you say you are traveling back along this line
within any days?"

"Within ten," I said.

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

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

"I couldn't trust the wire to fetch him now I
think of it. It's this way. He leaves Delhi on
the 23d for Bombay. That means he'll be run-

no THE MAN WHO

ning through Ajmir about the night of the
23d."

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

"Well and good," said he. "You'll be
changing at Marwar Junction to get into Jodh-
pore territory you must do that and he'll be
coming through Marwar Junction in the early
morning of the 24th by the Bombay Mail. Can
you be at Marwar Junction on that time?
Twon't be inconveniencing you because I know
that there's precious few pickings to be got
out of these Central India States even though
you pretend to be correspondent of the Back-
woodsman."

"Have you ever tried that trick?" I asked.

"Again and again, but the Residents find
you out, and then you get escorted to the Bor-
der before you've time to get your knife into
them. But about my friend here. I must give
him a word o' mouth to tell him what's come to
me or else he won't know where to go. I would
take it more than kind of you if you was to
come out of Central India in time to catch him
at Marwar Junction, and say to him : 'He has
gone South for the week/ He'll know what
that means. He's a big man with a red beard,
and a great swell he is. You'll find him sleep*

WOULD BE KING in

ing like a gentleman with all his luggage round
him in a Second-class compartment. But don't
you be afraid. Slip down the window, and
say : 'He has gone South for the week/ and
he'll tumble. It's only cutting your time of
stay in those parts by two days. I ask you as
a stranger going to the West/' he said, with
emphasis.

"Where have you come from?" said I.

"From the East/' said he, "and I am hoping
that you will give him the message on the
Square for the sake of my Mother as well
as your own."

Englishmen are not usually softened by ap-
peals to the memory of their mothers, but for
certain reasons, which will be fully apparent, I
saw fit to agree.

"It's more than a little matter," said he,
"and that's why I ask you to do it and now I
know that I can depend on you doing it. A
Second-class carriage at Marwar Junction, and
a red-haired man asleep in it. You'll be sure
to remember. I get out at the next station, and
I must hold on there till he comes or sends me
what I want."

"I'll give the message if I catch him/' I said,
"and for the sake of your Mother as well as
mine Til give you a word of advice. Don't

ix* THE MAN WHO

try to run the Central India States just now, as
the correspondent of the Backwoodsman.
There's a real one knocking about here, and it
might lead to trouble/ 1

"Thank you/ 1 said he f simply, "and when
will the swine be gone? I can't starve because
he's ruining my work. I wanted to get hold of
the Degumber Rajah down here about his
father's widow, and give him a jump/'

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

"Filled her up with red pepper and slippered
her to death as she hung from a beam. I found
that out myself, and I'm the only man that
would dare going into the State to get hush-
money for it. They'll try to poison me, same
as they did in Chortumna when I went on the
loot there. But you'll give the man at Marwar
Junction my message?"

He got out at a little roadside station, and I
reflected. I had heard, more than once, of men
personating correspondents of newspapers and
bleeding small Native States with threats of
exposure, but I had never met any of the caste
before. They lead a hard life, and generally
die with great suddenness. The Native States
have a wholesome horror of English newspa-
pers, which may throw light <m their peculiar

WOULD BE KING 113

methods of government, and do their best to
choke correspondents with champagne, or
drive them out of their mind with four-in-hand
barouches. They do not understand that no-
body cares a straw for the internal administra-
tion of Native States so long as oppression and
crime are kept within decent limits, and the
ruler is not drugged, drunk, or diseased from
one end of the year to the other. Native
States were created by Providence in order to
supply picturesque scenery, tigers, and tall-
writing. They are the dark places of the earth,
full of unimaginable cruelty, touching the Rail-
way and the Telegraph on one side, and, on the
other, the days of Harun-al-Raschid. When I
left the train I did business with divers Kings,
and in eight days passed through many
changes of life. Sometimes I wore dress-
clothes and consorted with Princes and Politi-
cals, drinking from crystal and eating from sil-
ver. Sometimes I lay out upon the ground and
devoured what I could get, from a plate made
of a flapjack, and drank the running water, and
slept under the same rug as my servant. It
was all in the day's work.

Then I headed for the Great Indian Desert
upon the proper date, as I had promised, and
the night Mail set me down at Marwar June-

114 THE MAN WHO

tion, where a funny little, happy-go-lucky, na-
tive-managed railway runs to Jodhpore. The
Bombay Mail from Delhi makes a short halt
at Marwar. She arrived as I got in, and I had
just time to hurry to her platform and go down
the carriages. There was only one Second-
class on the train. I slipped the window, and
looked down upon a flaming red beard, half
covered by a railway rug. That was my man,
fast asleep, and I dug him gently in the ribs.
He woke with a grunt, and I saw his face in
the light of the lamps. It was a great and
shining face.

"Tickets again? 1 ' said he.

"No," said I. "I am to tell you that he is
gone South for the week. He is gone South
for the week!"

The train had begun to move out. The red
man rubbed his eyes. "He has gone South for
the week/' he repeated. "Now that's just like
his impidence. Did he say that I was to give
you anything? 'Cause I won't."

"He didn't," I said, and dropped away, and
watched the red lights die out in the dark. It
was horribly cold, because the wind was blow-
ing off the sands. I climbed into my own train
not an Intermediate Carriage this time and
went to sleep.

WOULD BE KING 115

If the man with the beard had given me a
rupee I should have kept it as a memento of a
rather curious affair. But the consciousness of
having done my duty was my only reward.

Later on I reflected that two gentlemen like
my friends could not do any good if they fore-
gathered and personated correspondents of
newspapers, and might, if they "stuck up" one
of tht little rat-trap states of Central India or
Southern Rajputana, get themselves into seri-
ous difficulties. I therefore took some trouble
to describe them as accurately as I could re-
member to people who would be interested in
deporting them ; and succeeded, so I was later
informed, in having them headed back from
Degumber borders.

Then I became respectable, and returned to
an Office where there were no Kings and no
incidents except the daily manufacture of a
newspaper. A newspaper office seems to at-
tract every conceivable sort of person, to the
prejudice of discipline. Zenana-mission ladies
arrive, and beg that the Editor will instant!;
abandon all his duties to describe a Christian
prize-giving in a back-slum of a perfectly inac-
cessible village ; Colonels who have been over-
passed for commands sit down and sketch the
outline of a series of ten, twelve, or twenty-

Ii6 THE MAN WHO

four leading articles on Seniority versus Se-
lection; missionaries wish to know why they
have not been permitted to escape from their
regular vehicles of abuse and swear at a
brother missionary under special patronage of
the editorial We ; stranded theatrical companies
troop up to explain that they cannot pay for
their advertisements, but on their return from
New Zealand or Tahiti will do so with interest ;
inventors of patent punkah-pulling machines,
carriage couplings and unbreakable swords
and axle-trees call with specifications in their
pockets and hours at their disposal; tea-com-
panies enter and elaborate their prospectuses
with the office pens ; secretaries of ball-commit-
tees clamor to have the glories of their last
dance more fully expounded; strange ladies
rustle in and say: "I want a hundred lady's
cards printed at once, please/' which is mani-
festly part of an Editor's duty ; and every dis-
solute ruffian that ever tramped the Grand
Trunk Road makes it his business to ask for
employment as a proof-reader. And, all the
time, the telephone-bell is ringing madly, and
Kings are being killed on the Continent, and
Empires are saying "You're another," and
Mister Gladstone is calling down brimstone
upon the British Dominions, and the little

WOULD BE KING 117

black copy-boys are whining, "kaa~pi chay-ha-
yeh" (copy wanted) like tired bees, and "most
of the paper is as blank as Modred's shield.

But that is the amusing part of the year.
There are other six months wherein none ever
come to call, and the thermometer walks inch
by inch up to the top of the glass, and the office
is darkened to just above reading-light, and
the press machines are red-hot of touch, and
nobody writes anything but accounts of amuse-
ments in the Hill-stations or obituary notices.
Then the telephone becomes a tinkling terror,
because it tells you of the sudden deaths of men
and women that you knew intimately, and the
prickly-heat covers you as with a garment,
and you sit down and write: "A slight in-
crease of sickness is reported from the Khuda
Janta Khan District. The outbreak is purely
sporadic in its nature, and, thanks to the ener-
getic efforts of the District authorities, is now
almost at an end. It is, however, with deep re-
gret we record the death, etc."

Then the sickness really breaks out, and the
less recording and reporting the better for the
peace of the subscribers. But the Empires and
the Kings continue to divert themselves as self-
ishly as before, and the Foreman thinks that a
daily paper really ought to come out once in

ll8 THE MAN WHO

twenty-four hours, and all the people at the
Hill-stations in the middle of their amuse-
ments say: "Good gracious! Why can't the
paper be sparkling? I'm sure there's plenty
going on up here."

That is the dark half of the moon, and, as
the advertisements say, "must be experienced
to be appreciated/'

It was in that season, and a remarkably evil
season, that the paper began running the last
issue of the week on Saturday night, which is
to say, Sunday morning, after the custom of a
London paper. This was a great convenience,
for immediately after the paper was put to bed,
the dawn would lower the thermometer from
96* to almost 84 for half an hour, and in that
chill you have no idea how cold is 84* on the
grass until you begin to pray for it a very
tired man could set off to sleep ere the heat
loused him.

One Saturday night it was my pleasant duty
to put the paper to bed alone. A King or cour-
tier or a courtesan or a community was going
to die or get a new Constitution, or do some-
thing that was important on the other side of
the world, and the paper was to be held open
till the latest possible minute in order to catch
the telegram. It was a pitchy black night, as

WOULD BE KING 119

stifling as a June night can be, and the loo, the
red-hot wind from the westward, was booming
among the tinder-dry trees and pretending that
the rain was on its heels. Now and again a
spot of almost boiling water would fall on the
dust with the flop of a frog, but all our weary
world knew that was only pretence. It was a
shade cooler in the press-room than the office,
so I sat there, while the type clicked and clicked
and the night- jars hooted at the windows, and
the all but naked compositors wiped the sweat
from their foreheads and called for water.
The thing that was keeping us back, whatever
it was, would not come off, though the loo
dropped and the last type was set, and the
whole round earth stood still in the choking
heat, with its finger on its lip, to wait the event.
I drowsed, and wondered whether the tele-
graph was a blessing, and whether this dying
man, or struggling people, was aware of the
inconvenience the delay was causing. There
was no special reason beyond the heat and
worry to make tension, but, as the clock hands
crept up to three o'clock and the machines spun
their fly-wheels two and three times to see that
all was in order, before I said the word that
would set them off, I could have shrieked
aloud.

ISO THE MAN WHO

Then the roar and rattle of the wheels shiv-
ered the quiet into little bits. I rose to go away,
but two men in white clothes stood in front of
me. The first one said: "It's himl" The
second said: "So it is!" And they both
laughed almost as loudly as the machinery
roared, and mopped their foreheads. "We see
there was a light burning across the road and
we were sleeping in that ditch there for cool-
ness, and I said to my friend here, The office is
open. Let's come along and speak to him as
turned us back from the Degumber State/ "
said the smaller of the two. He was the man
I had met in the Mhow train, and his fellow
was the red-bearded man of Marwar Junction.
There was no mistaking the eyebrows of the
one or the beard of the other.

I was not pleased, because I wished to go to
sleep, not to squabble with loafers. "What do
you want ?" I asked.

"Half an hour's talk with you cool and com-
fortable, in the office," said the red-bearded
man. "We'd like some drink the Contrack
doesn't begin yet, Peachey, so you needn't look
but what we really want is advice. We don't
want money. We ask you as a favor, because
you did us a bad turn about Degumber/'

I led from the press-room to the stifling

WOULD BE KING xai

office with the maps on the walls, and the red-
haired man rubbed his hands. "That's "some-
thing like/' said he. 'This was the proper
shop to come to. Now, Sir, let me introduce
to you Brother Peachey Carnehan, that's him,
and Brother Daniel Dravot, that is me, and the
less said about our professions the better, for
we have been most things in our time. Soldier,
sailor, compositor, photographer, proof-reader,
street-preacher, and correspondents of the
Backwoodsman when we thought the paper
wanted one. Carnehan is sober, and so am I.
Look at us first and see that's sure. It will
save you cutting into my talk. We'll take one
of your cigars apiece, and you shall see us
light."

I watched the test. The men were absolutely
sober, so I gave them each a tepid peg.

"Well and good," said Carnehan of the eye-
brows, wiping the froth from his moustache.
"Let me talk now, Dan. We have been all over
India, mostly on foot. We have been boiler-
fitters, engine-drivers, petty contractors, and
all that, and we have decided that India isn't
big enough for such as us/'

They certainly were too big for the office.
Dravot's beard seemed to fill half the room
and Carnehan's shoulders the other half, as

122 THE MAN WHO

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

"Kings in our own right," muttered Dravot.

"Yes, of course/' I said. "You've been
tramping in the sun, and it's a very warm
night, and hadn't you better sleep over the no-
tion? Come to-morrow."

"Neither drunk nor sunstruck," said Dravot.
"We have slept over the notion half a year, and
require to see Books and Atlases, and we have
decided that there is only one place now in the
world that two strong men can Sar-a-wfcocfc.
They call it Kafiristan. By my reckoning it's
the top right-hand corner of Afghanistan, not
more than three hundred miles from Peshawur.
They have two and thirty heathen idols there,

WOULD BE KING 123

and we'll be the thirty-third. It's a mountain-
ous country, and the women of those parts are
very beautiful."

"But that is provided against in the Con-
track/' said Carnehan. "Neither Women nor
Liqu-or, Daniel."

"And that's all we know, except that no one
has gone there, and they fight, and in any place
where they fight, a man who knows how to
drill men can always be a King. We shall go to
those parts and say to any King we find *D'
you want to vanquish your foes?' and we will
show him how to drill men ; for that we know
better than anything else. Then we will sub-
vert that King and seize his Throne and es-
tablish a Dy-nasty."

"You'll be cut to pieces before you're fifty
miles across the Border/' I said. "You have
to travel through Afghanistan to get to that
country. It's one mass of mountains and peaks
and glaciers, and no Englishman has been
through it. The people are utter brutes, and
even if you reached them you couldn't do any-
thing."

"That's more like," said Carnehan. "If you

could think us a little more mad we would be

more pleased. We have come to you to know

about this country, to read a book about it, and

Kip. 25

124 THE MAN WHO

to be shown maps. We want you to tell us
that we are fools and to show us your books/'
He turned to the bookcases.

"Are you at all in earnest?" I said.

"A little/* said Dravot, sweetly. "As big a
map as you have got, even if it's all blank
where Kafiristan is, and any books you've got.
We can read, though we aren't very educated."

I uncased the big thirty-two-miles-to-the-
inch map of India, and two smaller Frontier
maps, hauled down volume INF-KAN of the
Encyclopaedia Britannica, and the men con-
sulted them.

"See here! said Dravot, his thumb on the
map. "Up to Jagdallak, Peachey and me know
the road. We was there with Roberts's Army.
We'll have to turn off to the right at Jagdallak
through Laghmann territory. Then we get
among the hills fourteen thousand feet fif-
teen thousand it will be cold work there, but
it don't look very far on the map/'

I handed him Wood on the Sources of the
Qxus. Carnehan was deep in the Encyclo-
paedia.

"They're a mixed lot/' said Dravot, reflect-
ively ; "and it won't help us to know the names
of their tribes. The more tribes the more they'll
fight, and the better for us. From Jagdallak
to Ashang. H'mm!"

WOULD BE KING 125

"But all the information about the country
is as sketchy and inaccurate as can be,". I pro-
tested. "No one knows anything about it
really. Here's the file of the United Services'
Institute. Read what Bellew says."

"Blow Bellew!" said Carnehan. "Dan,
they're an all-fired lot of heathens, but this
book here says they think they're related to us
English."

I smoked while the men pored over Raverty,
Wood, the maps, and the Encyclopaedia.

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

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

"Next week we shall be hard at work our-
selves, thank you," said Dravot. "It isn't so
easy being a King as it looks. When we've got
our Kingdom in going order we'll let you

126 THE MAN WHO

know, and you can come up and help us to gov-
ern it"

"Would two lunatics make a Contrack like
that?" said Carnehan, with subdued pride,
showing me a greasy half-sheet of note-paper
on which was written the following. I copied
it, then and there, as a curiosity :

This Contract between me and you persuing
ivitnesseth in the name of God Amen and so
forth.

( One) That me and you will settle this mat-
ter together: i. e., to be Kings of
Kafiristan.

(Two) That you and me will not, while
this matter is being settled, look at
any Liquor, nor any Woman,
black, white or brown, so as to get
mixed up with one or the other
harmful.

(Three) That we conduct ourselves with dig-
nity and discretion and if one of
us gets into trouble the other will
stay by him.

Signed by you and me this day.
Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan.
Daniel Dravot.
Both Gentlemen at Large.

WOULD BE KING 127

i

"There was no need for the last article,"
said Carnehan, blushing modestly; /'but it
looks regular. Now you know the sort of men
that loafers are we are loafers, Dan, until we
get out of India and do you think that we
would sign a Contrack like that unless we was
in earnest ? We have kept away from the two
things that make life worth having."

"You won't enjoy your lives much longer if
you are going to try this idiotic adventure.
Don't set the office on fire/' I said, "and go
away before nine o'clock."

I left them still poring over the maps and
making notes on the back of the "Contrack."
"Be sure to come down to the Serai to-mor-
row," were their parting words.

The Kumharsen Serai is the great four-
square sink of humanity where the strings of
camels and horses from the North load and
unload. All the nationalities of Central Asia
may be found there, and most of the folk of
India proper. Balkh and Bokhara there meet
Bengal and Bombay, and try to draw eye-
teeth. You can buy ponies, turquoises, Persian
pussy-cats, saddle-bags, fat-tailed sheep and
musk in the Kumharsen Serai, and get many
strange things for nothing. In the afternoon
I went down there to see whether my friends

128 THE MAN WHO

intended to keep their word or were lying
about drunk.

A priest attired in fragments of ribbons and
rags stalked up to me, gravely twisting a child's
paper whirligig. Behind was his servant bend-
ing under the load of a crate of mud toys.
The two were loading up two camels, and the
inhabitants of the Serai watched them with
shrieks of laughter.

'The priest is mad," said a horse-dealer to
me. "He is going up to Kabul to sell toys to
the Amir. He will either be raised to honor or
have his head cut off. He came in here this
morning and has been behaving madly ever

since."

"The witless are under the protection of
God/' stammered a flat-cheeked Usbeg in bro-
ken Hindi. 'They foretell future events."

"Would they could have foretold that my
caravan would have been cut up by the Shin-
waris almost within shadow of the Pass!"
grunted the Eusufzai agent of a Rajputana
trading-house whose goods had been felon-
iously diverted into the hands of other robbers
just across the Border, and whose misfortunes
were the laughing-stock of the bazar. "Ohe,
priest, whence come you and whither do you
go?"

WOULD BE KING 129

"From Roum have I come," shouted the
priest, waving his whirligig; "from .Roum,
blown by the breath of a hundred devils across
the sea! O thieves, robbers, liars, the blessing
of Pir Khan on pigs, dogs, and perjurers!
Who will take the Protected of God to the
North to sell charms that are never still to the
Amir ? The camels shall not gall, the sons shall
not fall sick, and the wives shall remain faith-
ful while they are away, of the men who give
me place in their caravan. Who will assist me
to slipper the King of the Roos with a golden
slipper with a silver heel? The protection of
Pir Khan be upon his labors !" He spread out
the skirts of his gaberdine and pirouetted be-
tween the lines of tethered horses.

'There starts a caravan from Peshawur to
Kabul in twenty days, Huzrut" said the Eu-
sufzai trader. "My camels go therewith. Do
thou also go and bring us good-luck."

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

He leaped on the back of his beast as it
knelt, and, turning round to me, cried:
"Come thou also, Sahib, a little along the road t

130 THE MAN WHO

and I will sell thee a charm an amulet that
shall make thee King of Kafiristan."

Then the light broke upon me, and I fol-
lowed the two camels out of the Serai till we
reached open road and the priest halted.

"What d' you think o' that?" said he in
English. "Carnehan can't talk their patter, so
I've made him my servant. He makes a hand-
some servant. Tisn't for nothing that I've
been knocking about the country for fourteen
years. Didn't I do that talk neat ? We'll hitch
on to a caravan at Peshawur till we get to Jag-
dallak, and then we'll see if we can get don-
keys for our camels, and strike into Kafiristan.
Whirligigs for the Amir, O Lor! Put your
hand under the camel-bags and tell me what
you feel."

I felt the butt of a Martini, and another and
another.

"Twenty of 'em/' said Dravot, placidly.
"Twenty of 'em, and ammunition to corre-
spond, under the whirligigs and the mud dolls."

"Heaven help you if you are caught with
those things!" I said. "A Martini is worth her
weight in silver among the Pathans."

"Fifteen hundred rupees of capital every
rupee we could beg, borrow, or steal are in-
vested on these two camels," said Dravot. "We

WOULD BE KING 131

won't get caught. We're going through the
Khaiber with a regular caravan. Who'd touch
a poor mad priest ?"

"Have you got everything you want?" I
asked, overcome with astonishment.

"Not yet, but we shall soon. Give us a me-
mento of your kindness, Brother. You did me
a service yesterday, and that time in Marwar.
Half my Kingdom shall you have, as the say-
ing is." I slipped a small charm compass from
my watch-chain and handed it up to the priest.

"Good-bye," said Dravot, giving me hand
cautiously. "It's the last time we'll shake hands
with an Englishman these many days. Shake
hands with him, Carnehan," he cried, as the
second camel passed me.

Carnehan leaned down and shook hands.
Then the camels passed away along the dusty
road, and I was left alone to wonder. My eye
could detect no failure in the disguises. The
scene in Serai attested that they were complete
to the native mind. There was just the chance,
therefore, that Carnehan and Dravot would be
able to wander through Afghanistan without
detection. But, beyond, they would find death,
certain and awful death.

Ten days later a native friend of mine, giv-
ing me the news of the day from Peshawur,

13* THE MAN WHO

wound up his letter with: "There has been
much laughter here on account of a certain
mad priest who is going in his estimation to sell
petty gauds and insignificant trinkets which
he ascribes as great charms to H. H. the Amir
of Bokhara. He passed through Peshawur and
associated himself to the Second Summer cara-
van that goes to Kabul. The merchants are
pleased, because through superstition they im-
agine that such mad fellows bring good- for-
tune."

The two, then, were beyond the Border. I
would have prayed for them, but, that night, a
real King died in Europe, and demanded an

obituary notice.

* * * * * *

The wheel of the world swings through the
same phases again and again. Summer passed
and winter thereafter, and came and passed
again. The daily paper continued and I with
it, and upon the third summer there fell a hot
night, a night-issue, and a strained waiting for
something to be telegraphed from the other
side of the world, exactly as had happened be-
fore. A few great men had died in the past
two years, the machines worked with more
clatter, and some of the trees in the Office gar-
den were a few feet taller. But that was all
the difference.

WOULD BE KING 133

I passed over to the press-room, and went
through just such a scene as I have already de-
scribed. The nervous tension was stronger
than it had been two years before, and I felt
the heat more acutely. At three o'clock I cried,
"Print off/* and turned to go, when there crept
to my chair what was left of a man. He was
bent into a circle, his head was sunk between
his shoulders, and he moved his feet one over
the other like a bear. I could hardly see
whether he walked or crawled this rag-
wrapped, whining cripple who addressed me by
name, crying that he was come back. "Can you
give me a drink?' 1 he whimpered. "For the
Lord's sake, give me a drink !"

I went back to the office, the man following
with groans of pain, and I turned up the lamp.

"Don't you know me?" he gasped, dropping
into a chair, and he turned his drawn face,
surmounted by a shock of grey hair, to the
light.

I looked at him intently. Once before had I
seen eyebrows that met over the nose in an
inch-broad black band, but for the life of me
I could not tell where.

"I don't know you," I said, handing him the
whiskey. "What can I do for you?"

He took a gulp of the spirit raw, and shiv-
ered in spite of the suffocating heat

134 THE MAN WHO

"I've come back/' he repeated ; "and I was
the King of Kafiristan me and Dravot
crowned Kings we was ! In this office we set-
tled it you setting there and giving us the
books. I am Peachey Peachey Taliaferro
Carnehan, and you've been setting here ever
since O Lord !"

I was more than a little astonished, and ex-
pressed my feelings accordingly.

"It's true," said Carnehan, with a dry
cackle, nursing his feet, which were wrapped
in rags. 'True as gospel. Kings we were,
with crowns upon our heads me and Dravot
poor Dan oh, poor, poor Dan, that would
never take advice, not though I begged of
him!"

"Take the whiskey/* I said, "and take your
own time. Tell me all you can recollect of
everything from beginning to end. You got
across the border on your camels, Dravot
dressed as a mad priest and you his servant
Do you remember that ?"

"I ain't mad yet, but I shall be that way
soon. Of course I remember. Keep looking
at me, or maybe my words will go all to pieces.
Keep looking at me in my eyes and don't say
anything."

I leaned forward and looked into his face

WOULD BE KING 135

as steadily as I could. He dropped one hand
upon the table and I grasped it by the wrist.
It was twisted like a bird's claw, and upon the
back was a ragged, red, diamond-shaped scar.

"No, don't look there. Look at me" said
Carnehan.

"That comes afterward, but for the Lord's
sake don't distrack me. We left with that cara-
van, me and Dravot playing all sorts of antics
to amuse the people we were with. Dravot
used to make us laugh in the evenings when
all the people was cooking their dinners
cooking their dinners, and . . . what did they
do then? They lit little fires with sparks that
went into Dravot's beard, and we all laughed
fit to die. Little red fires they was, going
into Dravot's big red beard so funny." His
eyes left mine and he smiled foolishly.

"You went as far as Jagdallak with that
caravan/' I said, at a venture, "after you had
lit those fires. To Jagdallak, where you turned
off to try to get into Kafiristan."

"No, we didn't neither. What are you talk-
ing about? We turned off before Jagdallak, be-
cause we heard the roads was good. But they
wasn't good enough for our two camels
mine and Dravot's. When we left the caravan,
Dravot took off all his clothes and mine too.

136 THE MAN WHO

and said we would be heathen, because the
Kafirs didn't allow Mohammedans to talk to
them. So we dressed betwixt and between, and
such a sight as Daniel Dravot I never saw yet
nor expect to see again. He burned half his
beard, and slung a sheep-skin over his shoul-
der, and shaved his head into patterns. He
shaved mine, too, and made me wear outrage-
ous things to look like a heathen. That was in
a most mountaineous country, and our camels
couldn't go along any more because of the
mountains. They were tall and black, and
coming home I saw them fight like wild goats
there are lots of goats in Kafiristan. And
these mountains, they never keep still, no more
than goats. Always fighting they are, and don't
let you sleep at night."

'Take some more whiskey/' I said, very
slowly. "What did you and Daniel Dravot do
when the camels could go no further because
of the rough roads that led into Kafiristan?"

"What did which do? There was a party
called Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan that was
with Dravot. Shall I tell you about him? He
died out there in the cold Slap from the
bridge fell old Peachey, turning and twisting in
the air like a penny whirligig that you can sell
to the Amir No; they was two for three ha'*

WOULD BE KING 137

pence, those whirligigs, or I am much mistaken
and woful sore. And then these camels were
no use, and Peachey said to Dravot Tor the
Lord's sake, let's get out of this before our
heads are chopped off/ and with that they
killed the camels all among the mountains, not
having anything in particular to eat, but first
they took off the boxes with the guns and the
ammunition, till two men came along driving
four mules. Dravot up and dances in front of
them, singing, 'Sell me four mules.' Says
the first man, 'If you are rich enough to buy,
you are rich enough to rob;' but before ever
he could put his hand to his knife, Dravot
breaks his neck over his knee, and the other
party runs away. So Carnehan loaded the
mules with the rifles that was taken off the
camels, and together we starts forward into
those bitter cold mountaineous parts, and never
a road broader than the back of your hand."

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

"I am telling you as straight as I can, but
my head isn't as good as it might be. They
drove nails through it to make me hear better
how Dravot died. The country was mountaine-
ous and the mules were most contrary, and the

138 THE MAN WHO

inhabitants was dispersed and solitary. They
went up and up, and down and down, and that
other party, Carnehan, was imploring of Dra-
vot not to sing and whistle so loud, for fear of
bringing down the tremenjus avalanches. But
Dravot says that if a King couldn't sing it
wasn't worth being King, and whacked the
mules over the rump, and never took no heed
for ten cold days. We came to a big level val-
ley all among the mountains, and the mules
were near dead, so we killed them, not having
anything in special for them or us to eat. We
sat upon the boxes, and played odd and even
with the cartridges that was jolted out.

"Then ten men with bows and arrows ran
down that valley, chasing twenty men with
bows and arrows, and the row was tremenjus.
They was fair men fairer than you or me
with yellow hair and remarkable well built.
Says Dravot, unpacking the guns This is
the beginning of the business. We'll fight for
the ten men,' and with that he fires two rifles
at the twenty men, and drops one of them at
two hundred yards from the rock where we
was sitting. The other men began to run, but
Carnehan and Dravot sits on the boxes picking
them off at all ranges, up and down the valley.
Then we goes up to the ten men that had run

WOULD BE KING 139

across the snow too, and they fires a f ooty little
arrow at us. Dravot he shoots above their
heads and they all falls down flat. Then he
walks over and kicks them, and then he lifts
them up and shakes hands all round to make
them friendly like. He calls them and gives
them the boxes to carry, and waves his hand
for all the world as though he was King al-
ready. They takes the boxes and him across
the valley and up the hill into a pine wood on
the top, where there was half a dozen big stone
idols. Dravot he goes to the biggest a fellow
they call Imbra and lays a rifle and a cart-
ridge at his feet, rubbing his nose respectful
with his own nose, patting him on the head,
and saluting in front of it. He turns round to
the men and nods his head, and says, That's
all right. I'm in the know too, and all these
old jim-jams are my friends/ Then he opens
his mouth and points down it, and when the
first man brings him food, he says 'No;' and
when the second man brings him food, he says
'No ;' but when one of the old priests and the
boss of the village brings him food, he says
'Yes ;' very haughty, and eats it slow. That
was how we came to our first village, without
any trouble, just as though we had tumbled
from the skies. But we tumbled from one of

I 4 THE MAN WHO

those damned rope-bridges, you see, and you
couldn't expect a man to laugh much after
that."

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

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

WOULD BE KING 14*

lage by the arm and walks them down into the
valley, and shows them how to scratch a line
with a spear right down the valley, and gives
each a sod of turf from both sides o' the line.
Then all the people comes down and shouts like
the devil and all, and Dravot says, 'Go and
dig the land, and be fruitful and multiply,'
which they did, though they didn't understand.
Then we asks the names of things in theii
lingo bread and water and fire and idols and
such, and Dravot leads the priest of each vil-
lage up to the idol, and says he must sit there
and judge the people, and if anything goes
wrong he is to be shot.

"Next week they was all turning up the land
in the valley as quiet as bees and muchi prettier,
and the priests heard all the complaints and
told Dravot in dumb show what it was about.
That's just the beginning,' says Dravot. They
think we're Gods.' He and Carnehan picks
out twenty good men and shows them how to
click off a rifle, and form fours, and advance in
line, and they was very pleased to do so, and
clever to see the hang of it. Then he takes out
his pipe and his baccy-pouch and leaves one at
one village and one at the other, and off we
two goes to see what was to be done in the
next valley. That was all rock, and there was

142 THE MAN WHO

a little village there, and Carnehan says,
'Send 'em to the old valley to plant/ and takes
'em there and gives 'em some land that wasn't
took before. They were a poor lot, and we
blooded 'em with a kid before letting 'em into
the new Kingdom. That was to impress the
people, and then they settled down quiet, and
Carnehan went back to Dravot, who had got
into another valley, all snow and ice and
most mountaineous. There was no people
there, and the Army got afraid, so Dravot
shoots one of them, and goes on till he finds
some people in a village, and the Army explains
that unless the people wants to be killed they
had better not shoot their little matchlocks;
for they had matchlocks. We makes friends
with the priest and I stays there alone with two
of the Army, teaching the men how to drill,
and a thundering big Chief comes across the
snow with kettle-drums and horns twanging,
because he heard there was a new God kicking
about. Carnehan sights for the brown of the
men half a mile across the snow and wings one
of them. Then he sends a message to the Chief
that, unless he wished to be killed, he must
come and shake hands with me and leave his
arms behind. The Chief comes alone first, and
Carnehan shakes hands with him and whirls

WOULD BE KING 143

his arms about, same as Dravot used, and very
much surprised that Chief was, and strokes my
eyebrows. Then Carnehan goes alone to the
Chief, and asks him in dumb show if he had an
enemy he hated. 'I have/ says the Chief. So
Carnehan weeds out the pick of his men, and
sets the two of the Army to show them drill,
and at the end of two weeks the men can ma-
noeuvre about as well as Volunteers. So he
marches with the Chief to a great big plain on
the top of a mountain, and the Chief's men
rushes into a village and takes it; we three
Martinis firing into the brown of the enemy.
So we took that village too, and I gives the
Chief a rag from my coat and says, 'Occupy
till I come ;' which was scriptural. By way of
a reminder, when me and the Army was eigh-
teen hundred yards away, I drops a bullet near
him standing on the snow, and all the people
falls flat on their faces. Then I sends a letter
to Dravot, wherever he be by land or by sea."

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

"The letter ? Oh ! The letter ! Keep look-
ing at me between the eyes, please. It was a
string-talk letter, that we'd learned the way of
tt from a blind beggar in the Punjab/'

144 THE MAN WHO

I remember that there had once come to the
office a blind man with a knotted twig and a
piece of string which he wound round the twig
according to some cipher of his own. He could,
after the lapse of days or hours, repeat the sen-
tence which he had reeled up. He had reduced
the alphabet to eleven primitive sounds; and
tried to teach me his method, but failed.

"I sent that letter to Dravot, " said Carnehan ;
"and told him to come back because this King-
dom was growing too big for me to handle,
and then I struck for the first valley, to see how
the priests were working. They called the vil-
lage we took along with the Chief, Bashkai,
and the first village we took, Er-Heb, The
priests at Er-Heb was doing all right, but they
had a lot of pending cases about land to show
me, and some men from another village had
been firing arrows at night. I went out and
looked for that village and fired four rounds
at it from a thousand yards. That used all the
cartridges I cared to spend, and I waited for
Dravot, wfio had been away two or three
months, and T kept my people quiet.

"One morning I heard the devil's own noise
of drums and horns, and Dan Dravot marches
down the hill with his Army and a tail of hun-
dreds of men, and, which was the most amaz-*

WOULD BE KING 145

ing a great gold crown on his head. 'My
Gord, Carnehan,' says Daniel, 'this is a tremen-
jus business, and we've got the whole country
as far as it's worth having. I am the son of
Alexander by Queen Semiramis, and you're my
younger brother and a God too 1 It's the biggest
thing we've ever seen. I've been marching and
fighting for six weeks with the Army, and
every footy little village for fifty miles has
come in rejoiceful; and more than that, I've
got the key of the whole show, as you'll see,
and I've got a crown for you! I told f em to
make two of 'em at a place called Shu, where
the gold lies in the rock like suet in mutton.
Gold I've seen, and turquoise I've kicked out
of the cliffs, and there's garnets in the sands
of the river, and here's a chunk of amber that
a man brought me. Call up all the priests and,
here, take your crown.'

"One of the men opens a black hair bag and
I slips the crown on. It was too small and too
heavy, but I wore it for the glory. Hammered
gold it was five pound weight, like a hoop of
a barrel.

" Teachey,' says Dravot, 'we don't want to
fight no more. The Craft's the trick, so help
me!' and he brings forward that same Chief
that I left at Bashkai Billy Fish we called

146 THE MAN WHO

him afterward, because he was so like Billy
Fish that drove the big tank-engine at Mach on
the Bolan in the old days. 'Shake hands with
him/ says Dravot, and I shook hands and
nearly dropped, for Billy Fisli gave me the
Grip. I said nothing, but tried him with the
Fellow Craft Grip. He answers, all right, and
I tried the Master's Grip, but that was a slip.
'A Fellow Craft he is !' I says to Dan. 'Does
he know the word?' 'He does,' says Dan, 'and
all the priests know. It's a miracle ! The Chiefs
and the priests can work a Fellow Craft
Lodge in a way that's very like ours, and
they've cut the marks on the rocks, but they
don't know the Third Degree, and they've
come to find out It's Cord's Truth. I've known
these long years that the Afghans knew up to
the Fellow Craft Degree, but this is a miracle.
A God and a Grand-Master of the Craft am I,
and a Lodge in the Third Degree I will open,
and we'll raise the head priests and the Chiefs
of the villages/

" 'It's against all the law/ I says, 'holding a
Lodge without warrant from any one ; and we
never held office in any Lodge/

" 'It's a master-stroke of policy/ says Dra-
vot. It means running the country as easy as
a four-wheeled bogy on a down grade. We

WOULD BE KING 147

can't stop to inquire now, or they'll turn
against us. I've forty Chiefs at my heel, and
passed and raised according to their merit they
shall be. Billet these men on the villages and
see that we run up a Lodge of some kind. The
temple of Imbra will do for the Lodge-room.
The women must make aprons as you show
them. I'll hold a levee of Chiefs to-night and
Lodge to-morrow. J

"I was fair run off my legs, but I wasn't such
a fool as not to see what a pull this Craft busi-
ness gave us. I showed the priests' families
how to make aprons of the degrees, but for
Dravot's apron the blue border and marks was
made of turquoise lumps on white hide, not
cloth. We took a great square stone in the
temple for the Master's chair, and little stones
for the officers' chairs, and painted the black
pavement with white squares, and did what we
could to make things regular.

"At the levee which was held that night on
the hillside with big bonfires, Dravot gives out
that him and me were Gods and sons of Alex-
ander, and Past Grand-Masters in the Craft,
and was come to make Kafiristan a country
where every man should eat in peace and drink
in quiet, and specially obey us. Then the Chiefs
come round to shake hands, and they was so

148 THE MAN WHO

hairy and white and fair it was just shakirife
hands with old friends. We gave them names
according as they was like men we had known
in India Billy Fish, Holly Wilworth, Pikky
Kergan that was Bazar-master when I was at
Mhow, and so on and so on.

"The most amazing miracle was at Lodge
next night. One of the old priests was watch-
ing us continuous, and I felt uneasy, for I
knew we'd have to fudge the Ritual, and I
didn't know what the men knew. The old priest
was a stranger come in from beyond the vil-
lage of Bashkai. The minute Dravot puts on
the Master's apron that the girls had made for
him, the priest fetches a whoop and a howl,
and tries to overturn the stone that Dravot
was sitting on. 'It's all up now/ I says. That
comes of meddling with the Craft without war-
rant P Dravot never winked an eye, not when
ten priests took and tilted over the Grand-
Master's chair which was to say the stone of
Imbra. The priest begins rubbing the bottom
end of it to clear away the black dirt, and pres-
ently he shows all the other priests the Mas-
ter's Mark, same as was on Dravot's apron,
cut into the stone. Not even the priests of the
temple of Imbra knew it was there. The old
chap falls flat on his face at Dravot's feet and

WOULD BE KING 149

kisses 'em. 'Luck again/ says Dravot, across
the Lodge to me, 'they say it's the missing
Mark that no one could understand the why of.
We're more than safe now/ Then he bangs
the butt of his gun for a gavel and says : 'By
virtue of the authority vested in me by my own
right hand and the help of Peachey, I declare
myself Grand-Master of all Freemasonry in
Kafiristan in this the Mother Lodge o' the
country, and King of Kafiristan equally with
Peachey!' At that he puts on his crown and
I puts on mine I was doing Senior Warden
and we opens the Lodge in most ample form.
It was a amazing miracle ! The priests moved
in Lodge through the first two degrees almost
without telling, as if the memory was coming
back to them. After that, Peachey and Dravot
raised such as was worthy high priests and
Chiefs of far-off villages. Billy Fish was the
first, and I can tell you we scared the soul out
of him. It was not in any way according to
Ritual, but it served our turn. We didn't raise
more than ten of the biggest men, because we
didn't want to make the Degree common, And
they was clamoring to be raised.

" 'In another six months/ says Dravot, 'well
hold another Communication and see how you
are working/ Then he asks them about their

ISO THE MAN WHO

villages, and learns that they was fighting one
against the other and were fair sick and tired
of it. And when they wasn't doing that they
was fighting with the Mohammedans. 'You
can fight those when they come into our coun-
try/ says Dravot. Tell off every tenth man of
your tribes for a Frontier guard, and send two
hundred at a time to this valley to be drilled.
Nobody is going to be shot or speared any
more so long as he does well, and I know that
you won't cheat me because you're white peo-
ple sons of Alexander and not like com-
mon, black Mohammedans. You are my peo-
ple and by God/ says he, running off into Eng-
lish at the end Til make a damned fine Na-
tion of you, or I'll die in the making!'

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

WOULD BE KING 151

not advise him about, and I just waited for
orders.

"But Dravot never showed me disrespect be-
fore the people. They were afraid of me and
the Army, but they loved Dan. He was the
best of friends with the priests and the Chiefs;
but any one could come across the hills with a
complaint and Dravot would hear him out fair,
and call four priests together and say what
was to be done. He used to call in Billy Fish
from Bashkai, and Pikky Kergan from Shu,
and an old Chief we called Kafuzelum it was
like enough to his real name and hold coun-
cils with 'em when there was any fighting to
be done in small villages. That was his Coun-
cil of War, and the four priests of Bashkai,
Shu, Khawak, and Madora was his Privy
Council. Between the lot of 'em they sent me,
with forty men and twenty rifles, and sixty
men carrying turquoises, into the Ghorband
country to buy those hand-made Martini rifles,
that come out of the Amir's workshops at Ka-
bul, from one of the Amir's Herati regiments
that would have sold the very teeth out of their
mouths for turquoises.

"I stayed in Ghorband a month, and gave
the Governor there the pick of my baskets for
hush-money, and bribed the Colonel of the

152 THE MAN WHO

regiment some more, and, between the two and
the tribes-people, we got more than a hundred
hand-made Martinis, a hundrd good Kohat
Jezails that'll throw to six hundred yards, and
forty man-loads of very bad ammunition for
the rifles. I came back with what I had, and
distributed 'em among the men that the Chiefs
sent to me to drill. Dravot was too busy to at-
tend to those things, but the old Army that we
first made helped me, and we turned out five
hundred men that could drill, and two hundred
that knew how to hold arms pretty straight.
Even those cork-screwed, hand-made guns was
a miracle to them. Dravot talked big about
powder-shops and factories, walking up and
down in the pine wood when the winter was
coming on.

" 1 won't make a Nation/ says he. Til
make an Empire! These men aren't niggers;
they're English! Look at their eyes look at
their mouths. Look at the way they stand up.
They sit on chairs in their own houses. They're
the Lost Tribes, or something like it, and
they've grown to be English. I'll take a census
in the spring if the priests don't get frightened.
There must be a fair two million of 'em in
these hills. The villages are full o' little chil-
dren. Two million people two hundred and

WOULD BE KING 153

fifty thousand fighting men and all English!
They only want the rifles and a little drilling.
Two hundred and fifty thousand men, ready to
cut in on Russia's right flank when she tries for
India! Peachey, man/ he says, chewing his
beard in great hunks, 'we shall be Emperors
Emperors of the Earth! Rajah Brooke will
be a suckling to us. I'll treat with the Vice-
roy on equal terms. Ill ask him to send me
twelve picked English twelve that I know of
to help us govern a bit. There's Mackray,
Sergeant-pensioner at Segowli many's the
good dinner he's given me, and his wife a pair
of trousers. There's Donkin, the Warder of
Tounghoo Jail; there's hundreds that I could
lay my hand on if I was in India. The Vice-
roy shall do it for me. I'll send a man through
in the spring for those men, and I'll write for
a dispensation from the Grand-Lodge for what
I've done as Grand-Master. That and all the
Sniders that'll be thrown out when the native
troops in India take up the Martini. They'll
be worn smooth, but they'll do for fighting in
these hills. Twelve English, a hundred thou-
sand Sniders run through the Amir's country
in driblets I'd be content with twenty thou-
sand in one year and we'd be an Empire.
When everything was shipshape, I'd hand over

154 THE MAN WHO

the crown this crown I'm wearing now to
Queen Victoria on my knees, and she'd say:
"Rise up, Sir Daniel Dravot" Oh, it's big!
It's big, I tell you! But there's so much to be
done in every place Bashkai, Khawak, Shu,
and everywhere else.'

" 'What is it ?' I says. There are no more
men coming in to be drilled this autumn. Look
at those fat, black clouds. They're bringing
the snow.'

" It isn't that/ says Daniel, putting his hand
very hard on rny shoulder; 'and I don't wish
to say anything that's against you, for no other
living man would have followed me and made
me what I am as you have done. You're a first-
class Commander-in-Chief, and the people
know you; but it's a big country, and some*
how you can't help me, Peachey, in the way I
want to be helped.'

11 'Go to your blasted priests, then !' I said,
and I was sorry when I made that remark, but
it did hurt me sore to find Daniel talking so
superior when I'd drilled all the men, and done
all he told me.

" 'Don't let's quarrel, Peachey,' says Daniel,
without cursing. 'You're a King, too, and the
half of this Kingdom is yours; but can't you
see, Peachey, we want cleverer men than us

WOULD BE KING 155

now three or four of f em, that we can scatter
about for our Deputies. It's a hugeous great
State, and I can't always tell the right thing to
do, and I haven't time for all I want to do, and
here's the winter coming on and all/ He put
half his beard into his mouth, and it was as red
as the gold of his crown.

" Tm sorry, Daniel,' says I. 'I've done all I
could. I've drilled the men and shown the peo-
ple how to stack their oats better; and I've
brought in thos* tinware rifles from Ghorband
but I know what you're driving at. I take it
Kings always feel oppressed that way/

" 'There's another thing too/ says Dravot,
walking up and down. 'The winter's coming
and these people won't be giving much trouble
and if they do we can't move about. I want a
wife/

" 'For Cord's sake leave the women alone!'
I says. 'We've both got all the work we can,
though I am a fool. Remember the Contrack,
and keep clear o' women/

" 'The Contrack only lasted till such time as
we was Kings ; and Kings we have been these
months past/ says Dravot, weighing his crown
in his hand. 'You go get a wife too, Peachey
a nice, strappin', plump girl that'll keep you
warm in the winter. They're prettier than
Kip. 26

156 THE MAN WHO

English girls, and we can take the pick of 'em.
Boil 'em once or twice in hot water, and they'll
come as fair as chicken and ham.'

" 'Don't tempt me !' I says. 1 will not have
any dealings with a woman not till we are a
dam' side more settled than we are now. I've
been doing the work o' two men, and you've
been doing the work o' three. Let's lie off a bit,
and see if we can get some better tobacco from
Afghan country and run in some good liquor;
but no women.'

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

" 'Do you remember that Bengali woman I
kept at Mogul Serai when I was a plate-layer?'
says I. 'A fat lot o' good she was to me. She
taught me the lingo and one or two other
things ; but what happened ? She ran away with
the Station-master's servant and half my
month's pay. Then she turned up at Dadur
Junction in tow of a half-caste, and had the im-
pidence to say I was her husband all among
the drivers in the running-shed 1'

WOULD BE KING 157

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

" 'For the last time o' asking, Dan, do not, 9
I says. 'It'll only bring us harm. The Bible
says that Kings ain't to waste their strength on
women, 'specially when they've got a new raw
Kingdom to work over.'

" 'For the last time of answering, I will,' said
Dravot, and he went away through the pine-
trees looking like a big red devil. The low sun
hit his crown and beard on one side and the two
blazed like hot coals.

"But getting a wife was not as easy as Dan
thought. He put it before the Council, and
there was no answer till Billy Fish said that
he'd better ask the girls. Dravot damned them
all round. 'What's wrong with me?' he shouts,
standing by the idol Imbra. 'Am I a dog or am
I not enough of a man for your wenches?
Haven't I put the shadow of my hand over this
country? Who stopped the last Afghan raid?'
It was me really, but Dravot was too angry to
remember. 'Who brought your guns? Who
repaired the bridges? Who's the Grand-Mas-
ter of the sign cut in the stone?' and he
thumped his hand on the block that he used to
sit on in Lodge, and at Council, which opened

158 THE MAN WHO

like Lodge always. Billy Fish said nothing,
and no more did the others. 'Keep your hair
on, Dan/ said I; 'and ask the girls. That's
how it's done at Home, and these people are
quite English/

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

" 'Billy Fish/ says I to the Chief of Bashkai,
'what's the difficulty here? A straight answer
to a true friend/ 'You know/ says Billy Fish.
'How should a man tell you who know every-
thing? How can daughters of men marry
Gods or Devils? It's not proper/

"I remembered something like that in the
Bible; but if, after seeing us as long as they
had, they still believed we were Gods, it wasn't
for me to undeceive them.

" 'A God can do anything/ says I. 'If the
King is fond of a girl he'll not let her die/
'She'll have to/ said Billy Fish. 'There are all
sorts of Gods and Devils in these mountains,
and now and again a girl marries one of them
and isn't seen any more. Besides, you two
know the Mark cut in the stone. Only the Gods

WOULD BE KING 159

know that. We thought you were men till you
showed the sign of the Master/

"I wished then that we had explained about
the loss of the genuine secrets of a Master*
Mason at the first go-off; but I said nothing.
All that night there was a blowing of horns in
a little dark temple half-way down the hill, and
I heard a girl crying fit to die. One of the
priests told us that she was being prepared to
marry the King.

" Til have no nonsense of that kind/ says
Dan. 'I don't want to interfere with your cus-
toms, but I'll take my own wife.' The girl's a
little bit afraid, 1 says the priest. 'She thinks
she's going to die, and they are a-heartening of
her up down in the temple/

" 'Hearten her very tender, then/ says Dra-
vot, 'or Til hearten you with the butt of a gun
so that you'll never want to be heartened
again/ He licked his lips, did Dan, and stayed
up walking about more than half the night,
thinking of the wife that he was going to get in
the morning. I wasn't any means comfortable,
for I knew that dealings with a woman in for-
eign parts, though you was a crowned King
twenty times over, could not but be risky. I
got up very early in the morning while Dravot
was asleep, and I saw the priests talking to*

i6o THE MAN WHO

gether in whispers, and the Chiefs talking to-
gether too, and they looked at me out of the
corners of their eyes.

" 'What is up, Fish?' I says to the Bashkai
man, who was wrapped up in his furs and look-
ing splendid to behold.

" 'I can't rightly say/ says he ; 'but if you
can induce the King to drop all this nonsense
about marriage, you'll be doing him and me
and yourself a great service/

" That I do believe/ says I. 'But sure, you
know, Billy, as well as me, having fought
against and for us, that the King and me are
nothing more than two of the finest men that
God Almighty ever made. Nothing more, I
do assure you/

" That may be/ says Billy Fish, 'and yet I
should be sorry if it was/ He sinks his head
upon his great fur cloak for a minute and
thinks. 'King/ says he, 'be you man or God or
Devil, I'll stick by you to-day. I have twenty
of my men with me, and they will follow me.
We'll go to Bashkai until the storm blows
over/

"A little snow had fallen in the night, and
everything was white except the greasy fat
clouds that blew down and down from the
north. Dravot came out with his crown on

WOULD BE KING 161

his head, swinging his arms and stamping his
feet, and looking more pleased than Punch.

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

"'A row among my people!' says Dravot.
'Not much. Peachey, you're a fool not to get
a wife too. Where's the girl ?' says he, with a
voice as loud as the braying of a jackass. 'Call
up all the Chiefs and priests, and let the Em-
peror see if his wife suits him/

'There was no need to call any one. They
were all there leaning on their guns and spears
round the clearing in the centre of the pine
wood. A deputation of priests went down to
the little temple to bring up the girl, and the
horns blew up fit to wake the dead. Billy Fish
saunters round and gets as close to Daniel as
he could, and behind him stood his twenty men
with matchlocks. Not a man of them under
six feet. I was next to Dravot, and behind me
was twenty men of the regular Army. Up
comes the girl, and a strapping wench she was,
covered with silver and turquoises, but white
as death, and looking back every minute at the
priests.

" 'Shell do/ said Dan, looking her over.
'What's to be afraid of, lass? Come and kiss

162 THE MAN WHO

me/ He puts his arm round her. She shuts
her eyes, gives a bit of a squeak, and down goes
her face in the side of Dan's flaming red beard.

" The slut's bitten me!' says he, clapping his
hand to his neck, and, sure enough, his hand
was red with blood, Billy Fish and two of his
matchlock-men catches hold of Dan by the
shoulders and drags him into the Bashkai lot,
while the priests howl in their lingo, 'Neither
God nor Devil, but a man!' I was all taken
aback, for a priest cut at me in front, and the
Army behind began firing into the Bashkai
men.

" 'God A-mighty !' says Dan. 'What is the
meaning o' this ?'

" 'Come back! Come away!' says Billy Fish.
'Ruin and Mutiny is the matter. We'll break
for Bashkai if we can.'

"I tried to give some sort of orders to my
men the men o' the regular Army but it was
no use, so I fired into the brown of 'em with an
English Martini and drilled three beggars in a
line. The valley was full of shouting, howling
creatures, and every soul was shrieking, 'Not a
God nor a Devil, but only a man !' The Bash-
kai troops stuck to Billy Fish all they were
worth, but their matchlocks wasn't half as good
as the Kabul breech-loaders, and four of them

WOULD BE KING 163

dropped. Dan was bellowing like a bull, for he
was very wrathy; and Billy Fish had a- hard
job to prevent him running out at the crowd.

" 'We can't stand,' says Billy Fish. 'Make a
run for it down the valley! The whole place is
against us.' The matchlock-men ran, and we
went down the valley in spite of Dravot's pro-
testations. He was swearing horribly and cry-
ing out that he was a King. The priests rolled
great stones on us, and the regular Army fired
hard, and there wasn't more than six men, not
counting Dan, Billy Fish, and Me, that came
down to the bottom of the valley alive.

"Then they stopped firing and the horns in
the temple blew again. ' Come away for
Cord's sake come away!' says Billy Fish.
They'll send runners out to all the villages be-
fore ever we get to Bashkai. I can protect you
there, but I can't do anything now.'

"My own notion is that Dan began to go
mad in his head from that hour. He stared up
and down like a stuck pig. Then he was all for
walking back alone and killing the priests with
his bare hands ; which he could have done. 'An
Emperor am I,' says Daniel, 'and next year I
shall be a Knight of the Queen/

'"All right, Dan/ says I; 'but come along
now while there's time/

164 THE MAN WHO

" It's your fault/ says he, 'for not looking
after your Army better. There was mutiny in
the midst and you didn't know you damned
engine-driving, plate-laying, missionary's-pass-
hunting hound!' He sat upon a rock and
called me every foul name he could lay tongue
to. I was too heart-sick to care, though it was
all his foolishness that brought the smash.

" Tm sorry, Dan/ says I, 'but there's no ac-
counting for natives. This business is our
Fifty-Seven. Maybe we'll make something out
of it yet, when we've got to Bashkai.'

" 'Let's get to Bashkai, then/ says Dan, 'and,
by God, when I come back here again I'll sweep
the valley so there isn't a bug in a blanket left !'

"We walked all that day, and all that night
Dan was stumping up and down on the snow,
chewing his beard and muttering to himself.

" 'There's no hope o' getting clear/ said Billy
Fish. 'The priests will have sent runners to the
villages to say that you are only men. Why
didn't you stick on as Gods till things was more
settled ? I'm a dead man/ says Billy Fish, and
he throws himself down on the snow and be-
gins to pray to his Gods.

"Next morning we was in a cruel bad coun-
try all up and down, no level ground at all,
and no food either. The six Bashkai men

WOULD BE KING 165

looked at Billy Fish hungry-wise as if they
wanted to ask something, but they said. never
a word. At noon we came to the top of a flat
mountain all covered with snow, and when we
climbed up into it, behold, there was an Army
in position waiting in the middle!

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

"Three or four men began to fire from the
enemy's side, and a chance shot took Daniel in
the calf of the leg. That brought him to his
senses. He looks across the snow at the Army,
and sees the rifles that we had brought into the
country.

" 'We're done for/ says he. They are Eng-
lishmen, these people, and it's my blasted
nonsense that has brought you to this. Get
back, Billy Fish, and take your men away;
you've done what you could, and now cut for
it. Carnehan/ says he, 'shake hands with me
and go along with Billy. Maybe they won't kill
you. Pll go and meet 'em alone. It's me that
did it. Me, the King!'

"'Go!' says I. 'Go to Hell, Dan. I'm with
you here. Billy Fish, you clear out, and we
two will meet those folk/

" 'I'm a Chief/ says Billy Fish, quite quiet.
*I stay with you. My men can go/

166 THE MAN WHO

"The Bashkai fellows didn't wait for a sec-
ond word, but ran off, and Dan and Me and
Billy Fish walked across to where the drums
were drumming and the horns were horning.
It was cold awful cold. I've got that cold
in the back of my head now. There's a lump
of it there."

The punkah-coolies had gone to sleep. Two
kerosene lamps were blazing in the office, and
the perspiration poured down my face and
splashed on the blotter as I leaned forward.
Carnehan was shivering, and I feared that his
mind might go. I wiped my face, took a fresh
grip of the piteously mangled hands, and said :
"What happened after that?"

The momentary shift of my eyes had broken
the clear current.

"What was you pleased to say?" whined
Carnehan. "They took them without any
sound. Not a little whisper all along the snow,
not though the King knocked down the first
man that set hand on him not though old
Peachey fired his last cartridge into the brown
of 'em. Not a single solitary sound did those
swines make They just closed up tight, and
I tell you their furs stunk. There was a man
called Billy Fish, a good friend of us all, and
they cut his throat, Sir, then and there, like a

WOULD BE KING 167

pig; and the King kicks up the bloody snow
and says: 'We've had a dashed fine run for
our money. What's coming next?' But
Peachey, Peachey Taliaferro, I tell you, Sir, in
confidence as betwixt two friends, he lost his
head, Sir. No, he didn't neither. The King
lost his head, so he did, all along o' one of
those cunning rope-bridges. Kindly let me
have the paper-cutter, Sir. It tilted this way.
They marched him a mile across that snow to
a rope-bridge over a ravine with a river at the
bottom. You may have seen such. They
prodded him behind like an ox. 'Damn your
eyes!' says the King. 'D'you suppose I can't
die like a gentleman ?' He turns to Peachey
Peachey that was crying like a child. 'I've
brought you to this, Peachey/ says he.
'Brought you out of your happy life to be
killed in Kafiristan, where you was late Com-
mander-in-Chief of the Emperor's forces. Say
you forgive me, Peachey.' 'I do,' says Peachey.
'Fully and freely do I forgive you, Dan/
'Shake hands, Peachey,' says he. Tm going
now/ Out he goes, looking neither right nor
left, and when he was plumb in the middle of
those dizzy dancing ropes, 'Cut, you beggars/
he shouts ; and they cut, and old Dan fell, turn-
ing round and round and round twenty thou*

168 THE MAN WHO

sand miles, for he took half an hour to fall till
he struck the wate/:, and I could see his body
caught on a rock with the gold crown close
beside.

"But do you know what they did to Peachey
between two pine trees? They crucified him,
Sir, as Peachey's hand will show. They used
wooden pegs for his hands ana his feet; and
he didn't die. He hung there and screamed,
and they took him down next day, and said
it was a miracle that he wasn't dead. They
took him down poor old Peachey that hadn't
done them any harm that hadn't done them
any ... "

He rocked to and fro and wept bitterly,
wiping his eyes with the back of his scarred
hands and moaning like a child for some ten
minutes.

"They was cruel enough to feed him up in
the temple, because they said he was more of a
God than old Daniel that was a man. Then
they turned him out on the snow, and told him
to go home, and Peachey came home in about a
year, begging along the roads quite safe; for
Daniel Dravot he walked before and said:
'Come along, Peachey. It's a big thing we're
doing.' The mountains they danced at night,
and the mountains they tried to fall on

WOULD BE KING 169

Peachey's head, but Dan he held up his hand,
and Peachey came along bent double. He
never let go of Dan's hand, and he never let go
of Dan's head. They gave it to him as a pres-
ent in the temple, to remind him not to come
again, and though the crown was pure gold,
and Peachey was starving, never would
Peachey sell the same. You knew Dravot, Sir !
You knew Right Worshipful Brother Dravot!
Look at him now!"

He fumbled in the mass of rags round his
bent waist; brought out a black horsehair bag
embroidered with silver thread; and shook
therefrom on to my table the dried, withered
head of Daniel Dravot ! The morning sun that
had long been paling the lamps struck the red
beard and blind, sunken eyes; struck, too, a
heavy circlet of gold studded with raw tur-
quoises, that Carnehan placed tenderly on the
battered temples.

"You behold now," said Carnehan, "the
Emperor in his habit as he lived the King of
Kafiristan with his crown upon his head. Poor
old Daniel that was a monarch once!"

I shuddered, for, in spite of defacements
manifold, I recognized the head of the man of
Marwar Junction, Carnehan rose to go. I
attempted to stop him. He was not fit to walk

170 THE MAN WHO

abroad, "Let me take away the whiskey, and
give me a little money," he gasped. "I was a
King once. I'll go to the Deputy Commis-
sioner and ask to set in the Poorhouse till I
get my health. No, thank you, I can't wait
till you get a carriage for me. I've urgent pri-
vate affairs in the south at Marwar."

He shambled out of the office and departed
in the direction of the Deputy Commissioner's
house. That day at noon I had occasion to go
down the blinding hot Mall, and I saw a
crooked man crawling along the white dust of
the roadside, his hat in his hand, quavering
dolorously after the fashion of street-singers
at Home. There was not a soul in sight, and
he was out of all possible earshot of the houses.
And he sang through his nose, turning his
head from right to left :

"The Son of Man goes forth to war,

A golden crown to gain ;
His bloodied banner streams afar

Who follows in his train ?"

I waited to hear no more, but put the poor
wretch into my carriage and drove him off to
the nearest missionary for eventual transfer to
the Asylum. He repeated the hymn twice
while he was with me, whom he did not in the
least recognize, and I left him singing it to the
missionary.

WOULD BE KING 171

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

"He was admitted suffering from sunstroke.
He died early yesterday morning," said the
Superintendent. "Is it true that he was half
an hour bareheaded in the sun at midday ?"

"Yes," said I, "but do you happen to know if
he had anything upon him by any chance when
he died?"

"Not to my knowledge," said the Superin-
tendent.

And there the matter rests.

"THE FINEST STORY IN THE
WORLD"

"THE FINEST STORY IN THE
WORLD"

"Or ever the knightly years were gone

With the old world to the grave,
I was a king in Babylon
And you were a Christian slave."

W. E. Henky.

HIS name was Charlie Hears; he was the
only son of his mother, who was a
widow, and he lived in the north of London,
coming into the City every day to work in a
bank. He was twenty years old and suffered
from aspirations, I met him in a public bil-
liard-saloon where the marker called him by
his given name, and he called the marker
"Bullseyes." Charlie explained, a little ner-
vously, that he had only come to the place to
look on, and since looking on at games of skill
is not a cheap amusement for the young, I sug-
gested that Charlie should go back to his
mother.

That was our first step toward better ac-
quaintance. He would call on me sometimes
in the evenings instead of running about Lon-

175

176 "THE FINEST STORY

don with his fellow-clerks; and before long,
speaking of himself as a young man must, he
told me of his aspirations, which were all lit-
erary. He desired to make himself an undy-
ing name, chiefly through verse, though he was
not above sending stories of love and death to
the drop-a-penny-in-the-slot journals. It was
my fate to sit still while Charlie read me poems
of many hundred lines, and bulky fragments
of plays that would surely shake the world.
My reward was his unreserved confidence, and
the self-revelations and troubles of a young
man are almost as holy as those of a maiden.
Charlie had never fallen in love, but was anx-
ious to do so on the first opportunity; he be-
lieved in all things good and all things honor-
able, but, at the same time, was curiously care-
ful to let me see that he knew his way about
the world as befitted a bank clerk on twenty-
five shillings a week. He rhymed "dove" with
"love" and "moon" with "June," and devoutly
believed that they had never so been rhymed
before. The long, lame gaps in his plays he
filled up with hasty words of apology and de-
scription and swept on, seeing all that he in-
tended to do so clearly that he esteemed it al-
ready done, and turned to me for applause.
I fancy that his mother did not encourage

IN THE WORLD" 177

his aspirations, and I know that his writing-
table at home was the edge of his washstand.
This he told me almost at the outset of our ac-
quaintance; when he was ravaging my book-
shelves, and a little before I was implored to
speak the truth as to his chances of "writing
something really great, you know/' Maybe I
encouraged him too much, for, one night, he
called on me, his eyes flaming with excitement,
and said breathlessly:

"Do you mind can you let me stay here and
write all this evening? I won't interrupt you,
I won't really. There's no place for me to
write in at my mother's."

"What's the trouble?" I said, knowing well
what that trouble was.

"I've a notion in my head that would make
the most splendid story that was ever writ-
ten. Do let me write it out here. It's such a
notion!"

There was no resisting the appeal. I set
him a table ; he hardly thanked me, but plunged
into the work at once. For half an hour the
pen scratched without stopping. Then Charlie
sighed and tugged his hair. The scratching
grew slower, there were more erasures, and
at last ceased. The finest story in the world
would not come forth.

178 "THE FINEST STORY

"It looks such awful rot now," he said,
mournfully. "And yet it seemed so good when
I was thinking about it. What's wrong?"

I could not dishearten him by saying the
truth. So I answered : "Perhaps you don't feel
in the mood for writing."

"Yes I do except when I look at this stuff.
Ugh!"

"Read me what you've done," I said.

He read, and it was wondrous bad, and
he paused at all the specially turgid sentences,
expecting a little approval ; for he was proud
of those sentences, as I knew he would be.

"It needs compression," I suggested, cau-
tiously.

"I hate cutting my things down. I don't
think you could alter a word here without
spoiling the sense. It reads better aloud than
when I was writing it"

"Charlie, you're suffering from an alarming
disease afflicting a numerous class. Put the
thing by, and tackle it again in a week."

"I want to do it at once. What do you
think of it?"

"How can I judge from a half-written tale?
Tell me the story as it lies in your head."

Charlie told, and in the telling there was
everything that his ignorance had so carefully

IN THE WORLD" 179

prevented from escaping into the written word.
I looked at him and wondered whether it
were possible that he did not know the orig-
inality, the power of the notion that had come
in his way. It was distinctly a Notion among
notions. Men had been puffed up with pride
by notions not a tithe as excellent and practi-
cable. But Charlie babbled on serenely, in-
terrupting the current of pure fancy with san>
pies of horrible sentences that he proposed to
use, I heard him out to the end. It would
be folly to allow his idea to remain in his own
inept hands, when I could do so much with it.
Not all that could be done indeed; but, oh so
much!

"What do you think?" he said, at last. "I
fancy I shall call it The Story of a Ship/ "

"I think the idea's pretty good; but you
won't be able to handle it for ever so long.
Now I"

"Would it be of any use to you? Would
you care to take it? I should be proud." said
Charlie, promptly.

There are few things sweeter in this world
than the guileless, hot-headed, intemperate,
open admiration of a junior. Even a woman
in her blindest devotion does not fall into the
gait of the man she adores, tilt ber bonnet to

i8o "THE FINEST STORY

the angle at which he wears his hat, or inter-
lard her speech with his pet oaths. And Char-
lie did all these things. Still it was necessary
to salve my conscience before I possessed my-
self of Charlie's thoughts.

"Let's make a bargain. I'll give you a fiver
for the notion/' I said.

Charlie became a bank-clerk at once.

"Oh, that's impossible. Between two pals,
you know, if I may call you so, and speaking
as a man of the world, I couldn't. Take the
notion if it's any use to you. I've heaps more."

He had none knew this better than I but
they were notions of other men.

"Look at it as a matter of business be-
tween men of the world," I returned. "Five
pounds will buy you any number of poetry-
books. Business is business, and you may be
sure I shouldn't give that price unless"

"Oh, if you put it that way," said Charlie,
visibly moved by the thought of the books.
The bargain was clinched with an agreement
that he should at unstated intervals come to
me with all the notions that he possessed,
should have a table of his own to write at, and
unquestioned right to inflict upon me all his
poems and fragments of poems. Then I said,
*Now tell me how you came by this idea/ 1

IN THE WORLD" 181

"It came by itself/' Charlie's eyes opened
a little.

"Yes, but you told me a great deal about
the hero that you must have read before some-
where/'

"I haven't any time for reading, except
when you let me sit here, and on Sundays I'm
on my bicycle or down the river all day.
There's nothing wrong about the hero, is
there?"

"TeM me again and I shall understand clear-
ly. You say that your hero went pirating.
How did he live?"

"He was on the lower deck of this ship-thing
that I was telling you about/'

"What sort of ship?"

"It was the kind rowed with oars, and the
sea spurts through the oar-holes and the men
row sitting up to their knees in water. Then
there's a bench running between the two lines
of oars and an overseer with a whip walks up
and down the bench to make the men work."

"How do you know that?"

"It's in the tale. There's a rope running
overhead, looped to the upper deck, for the
overseer to catch hold of when the ship rolls.
When the overseer misses the rope once and
falls among the rowers, remember the hero

i82 "THE FINEST STORY

laughs at him and gets licked for it. He's
chained to his oar of course the hero."

"How is he chained?"

"With an iron band round his waist fixed to
the bench he sits on, and a sort of handcuff on
his left wrist chaining him to the oar. He's on
the lower deck where the worst men are sent,
and the only light comes from the hatchways
and through the oar-holes. Can't you imagine
the sunlight just squeezing through between
the handle and the hole and wobbling about
as the ship moves?"

"I can, but I can't imagine your imagining
it"

"How could it be any other way? Now
you listen to me. The long oars on the upper
deck are managed by four men to each bench,
the lower ones by three, and the lowest of all
by two. Remember it's quite dark on the low-
est deck and all the men there go mad. When
a man dies at his oar on that deck he isn't
thrown overboard, but cut up in his chains and
stuffed through the oar-hole in little pieces."

"Why?" I demanded, amazed, not so much
at the information as the tone of command
in which it was flung out.

"To save trouble and to frighten the others.
It needs two overseers to drag a man's body up

IN THE WORLD" 183

to the top deck; and if the men at the lower
deck oars were left alone, of course they'd stop
rowing and try to pull up all the benches by
all standing together in their chains."

"You've a most provident imagination.
Where have you been reading about galleys
and galley-slaves ?"

"Nowhere that I remember. I row a little
when I get the chance. But, perhaps, if you
say so, I may have read something."

He went away shortly afterward to deal
with booksellers, and I wondered how a bank
clerk aged twenty could put into my hands
with a profligate abundance of detail, all given
with absolute assurance, the story of extrava-
gant and bloodthirsty adventure, riot, piracy,
and death in unnamed seas.

He had led his hero a desperate dance
through revolt against the overseers, to com-
mand a ship of his own, and ultimate estab-
lishment of a kingdom on an island "some-
where in the sea, you know;" and, delighted
with my paltry five pounds, had gone out to
buy the notions of other men, that these might
teach him how to write. I had the consolation
of knowing that this notion was mine by
right of purchase, and I thought that I could
make something of it.

When next he came to me he was drunk-

184 "THE FINEST STORY

royally drunk on many poets for the first time
revealed to him. His pupils were dilated, his
words tumbled over each other, and he wrapped
himself in quotations. Most of all he was
drunk with Longfellow.

"Isn't it splendid? Isn't it superb?" he
cried, after hasty greetings. "Listen to this

* Wouldst thou/ so the helmsman answered,
'Know the secrets of the sea?
Only those who brave its dangers
Comprehend its mystery/

By gum!

'"Only those who brave its danger!
Comprehend its mystery/ "

he repeated twenty times, walking up and
down the room and forgetting me. "But /
can understand it too," he said to himself. "I
don't know how to thank you for that fiver.
And this ; listen

"1 remember the black wharves and the ships
And the sea-tides tossing free,
And the Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.'

I haven't braved any dangers, but I feel as if
I knew all about it."

"You certainly seem to have a grip of the
sea. Have you ever seen it?"

IN THE WORLD" 185

"When I was a little chap I went to Brigh-
ton once ; we used to live in Coventry, though,
before we came to London. I never saw it,

"'When descends on the Atlantic

The gigantic
Storm- wind of the Equinox.'"

He shook me by the shoulder to make me
understand the passion that was shaking him-
self.

"When that storm comes/' he continued, "I
think that all the oars in the ship that I was
talking about get broken, and the rowers have
their chests smashed in by the bucking oar-
heads. By the way, have you done anything
with that notion of mine yet?"

"No. I was waiting to hear more of it from
you. Tell me how in the world you're so cer-
tain about the fittings of the ship. You know
nothing of ships."

"I don't know. It's as real as anything to
me until I try to write it down. I was think-
ing about it only last night in bed, after you
had loaned me Treasure Island;' and I made
up a whole lot of new things to go into the
story/'

"What sort of things?"

"About the food the men ate ; rotten figs and
black beans and wine in a skin bag, passed
from bench to bench."

186 "THE FINEST STORY

"Was the ship built so long ago as that?"

"As what? I don't know whether it was
long ago or not. It's only a notion, but some-
times it seems just as real as if it was true.
Do I bother you with talking about it?"

"Not in the least. Did you make up any-
thing else?"

"Yes, but it's nonsense." Charlie flushed a
little.

"Never mind ; let's hear about it."

"Well, I was thinking over the story, and
after a while I got out of bed and wrote down
on a piece of paper the sort of stuff the men
might be supposed to scratch on their oars
with the edges of their handcuffs. It seined to
make the thing more lifelike. It is so real to
me, y'know."

"Have you the paper on you?"

"Ye-es, but what's the use of showing it?
It's only a lot of scratches. All the same, we
might have 'em reproduced in the .book on the
front page."

"I'll attend to those details. Show me what
your men wrote."

He pulled out of his pocket a sheet of note-
paper, with a single line of scratches upon it,
and I put this carefully away.

"What is it supposed to mean in English?' 1
I said.

IN THE WORLD" 187

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it means Tm
beastly tired.' It's nonsense," he repeated,
"but all those men in the ship seem as real as
people to me. Do do something to the notion
soon; I should like to see it written and
printed."

"But all you've told me would make a long
book."

"Make it then. You've only to sit down and
write it out."

"Give me a little time. Have you any more
notions?"

"Not just now. I'm reading all the books
I've bought. They're splendid."

When he had left I looked at the sheet of
notepaper with the inscription upon it. Then
I took my head tenderly between both hands,
to make certain that it was not coming off or
turning round. Then . . . but there seemed
to be no interval between quitting my rooms
and finding myself arguing with a policeman
outside a door marked Private in a corridor of
the British Museum. All I demanded, as po-
litely as possible, was "the Greek antiquity
man/' The policeman knew nothing except
the rules of the Museum, and it became neces-
sary to forage through all the houses and of-
fices inside the gates. An elderly gentleman
Kip. 2 7

188 "THE FINEST STORY

called away from his lunch put an end to my
search by holding the note-paper between fin*
ger and thumb and sniffing at it scornfully.

"What does this mean? H'mm," said he.
"So far as I can ascertain it is an attempt to
write extremely corrupt Greek on the part"
here he glared at me with intention "of an
extremely illiterate ah person/' He read
slowly from the paper, "Pollock, Erckmann,
Tauchnits, Henniker" four names familiar
to me.

"Can you tell me what the corruption is
supposed to mean the gist of the thing?" I
asked.

"I have been many times overcome with
weariness in this particular employment. That
is the meaning." He returned me the paper,
and I fled without a word of thanks, explana-
tion, or apology.

I might have been excused for forgetting
much. To me of all men had been given the
chance to write the most marvelous tale in the
world, nothing less than the story of a Greek
galley-slave, as told by himself. Small won-
der that his dreaming had seemed real to
Charlie. The Fates that are so careful to shut
the doors of each successive life behind us had,
in this case, been neglectful, and Charlie was

IN THE WORLD" 189

looking, though that he did not know, where
never man had been permitted to look with full
knowledge since Time began. Above all, he
was absolutely ignorant of the knowledge sold
to me for five pounds; and he would retain
that ignorance, for bank-clerks do not under-
stand metempsychosis, and a sound commercial
education does not include Greek. He would
supply me here I capered among the dumb
gods of Egypt and laughed in their battered
faces with material to make my tale sure
so sure that the world would hail it as an im-
pudent and vamped fiction. And I I alone
would know that it was absolutely and liter-
ally true. I, I alone held this jewel to my
hand for the cutting and polishing. Therefore
I danced again among the gods till a police-
man saw me and took steps in my direction.

It remained now only to encourage Charlie
to talk, and here there was no difficulty. But
I had forgotten those accursed books of poe-
try. He came to me time after time, as use-
less as a surcharged phonograph drunk on
Byron, Shelley, or Keats. Knowing now what
the boy had been in his past lives, and desper-
ately anxious not to lose one word of his bab-
ble, I could not hide from him my respect and
interest He misconstrued both into respect

192 "THE FINEST STORY

and I knew that Charlie was speaking the truth
as he remembered it.

"What do you think of this?" I said one
evening, as soon as I understood the medium
in which his memory worked best, and, before
he could expostulate, read him the whole of
"The Saga of King Olaf !"

He listened open-mouthed, flushed, his
hands drumming on the back of the sofa
where he lay, till I came to the Song of Einar
Tamberskelver and the verse :

"Einar then, the arrow taking
From the loosened string,
Answered: That was Norway breaking
'Neath thy hand, O King/ "

He gasped with pure delight of sound.

"That's better than Byron, a little/' I ven-
tured.

"Better? Why it's true! How could he
have known?

I went back and repeated:

"'What was that? 1 said Olaf, standing

On the quarter-deck,
'Something heard I like the stranding
Of a shattered wreck? 1 "

"How could he have known how the ships
crash and the oars rip out and go z-zzp all
along the line? Why only the other night

IN THE WORLD" 193

. . . But go back please and read 'The
Skerry of Shrieks' again."

"No, I'm tired. Let's talk. What hap-
pened the other night?"

"I had an awful nightmare about that gal-
ley of ours. I dreamed I was drowned in a
fight. You see we ran alongside another ship
in the harbor. The water was dead still ex-
cept where our oars whipped it up. You
know where I always sit in the galley?" He
spoke haltingly at first, under a fine English
fear of being laughed at.

"No. That's news to me," I answered,
meekly, my heart beginning to beat.

"On the fourth oar from the bow on the
right side on the upper deck. There were
four of us at that oar, all chained. I remem-
ber watching the water and trying to get my
handcuffs off before the row began. Then we
closed up on the other ship, and all their fight-
ing men jumped over our bulwarks, and my
bench broke and I was pinned down with the
three other fellows on top of me, and the big
oar jammed across our backs."

"Well?" Charlie's eyes were alive and
alight. He was looking at the wall behind my
chair.

"I don't know how we fought. The men

194 "THE FINEST STORY

were trampling all over my back, and I lay
low. Then our rowers on the left side tied
to their oars, you know began to yell and
back water. I could hear the water sizzle, and
we spun round like a cockchafer and I knew,
lying where I was, that there was a galley
coming up bow-on, to ram us on the left side.
I could just lift up my head and see her sail
over the bulwarks. We wanted to meet her
bow to bow, but it was too late. We could
only turn a little bit because the galley on our
right had hooked herself on to us and stopped
our moving. Then, by gum! there was a
crash! Our left oars began to break as the
other galley, the moving one y'know, stuck
her nose into them. Then the lower-deck oars
shot up through the deck planking, butt first,
and one of them jumped clean up into the air
and came down again close to my head."

"How was that managed ?"

"The moving galley's bow was plunking
them back through their own oar-holes, and I
could hear the devil of a shindy in the decks
below. Then her nose caught us nearly in the
middle, and we tilted sideways, and the fellows
in the right hand galley unhitched their hooks
and ropes, and threw things on to our upper
deck arrows, and hot pitch or something that

IN THE WORLD" 195

stung, and we went up and up and up on the
left side, and the right side dipped, and I
twisted my head round and saw the water
stand still as it topped the right bulwarks, and
then it curled over and crashed down on the
whole lot of us on the right side, and I felt it
hit my back, and I woke."

"One minute, Charlie. When the sea
topped the bulwarks, what did it look like?"
I had my reasons for asking. A man of my
acquaintance had once gone down with a leak-
ing ship in a still sea, and had seen the water-
level pause for an instant ere it fell on the
deck.

"It looked just like a banjo-string drawn
tight, and it seemed to stay there for years,"
said Charlie.

Exactly! The other man had said: "It
looked like a silver wire laid down along the
bulwarks, and I thought it was never going to
break." He had paid everything except the
bare life for this little valueless piece of knowl-
edge, and I had traveled ten thousand weary
miles to meet him and take his knowledge at
second hand. But Charlie, the bank-clerk on
twenty-five shillings a week, he who had never
been out of sight of a London omnibus, kne^
it all. It was no consolation to me that ono*

196 "THE FINEST STORY

in his lives he had been forced to die for his
gains. I also must have died scores of times,
but behind me, because I could have used my
knowledge, the doors were shut.

"And then?" I said, trying to put away the
devil of envy.

"The funny thing was, though, in all the
mess I didn't feel a bit astonished or fright-
ened. It seemed as if I'd been in a good many
fights, because I told my next man so when
the row began. But that cad of an overseer on
my deck wouldn't unloose our chains and give
us a chance. He always said that we'd all be
set free after a battle, but we never were ; we
never were." Charlie shook his head mourn-
fully.

"What a scoundrel!"

"I should say he was. He never gave us
enough to eat, and sometimes we were so
thirsty that we used to drink salt-water. I can
taste that salt-water still."

"Now tell me something about the harbor
where the fight was fought."

"I didn't dream about that. I know it was
a harbor, though; because we were tied up to
a ring on a white wall and all the face of the
stone under water was covered with wood to
prevent our ram getting chipped when the tide
made us rock."

IN THE WORLD" 197

"That's curious. Our hero commanded the
galley, didn't he?"

"Didn't he just! He stood by the bows and
shouted like a good 'un. He was the man who
killed the overseer."

"But you were all drowned together, Char-
lie, weren't you?"

"I can't make that fit quite," he said, with
a puzzled look. "The galley must have gone
down with all hands, and yet I fancy that the
hero went on living afterward. Perhaps he
climbed into the attacking ship. I wouldn't
see that, of course. I was dead, you know."

He shivered slightly and protested that he
could remember no more.

I did not press him further, but to satisfy
myself that he lay in ignorance of the work-
ings of his own mind, deliberately introduced
him to Mortimer Collins's "Transmigration,"
and gave him a sketch of the plot before he
opened the pages.

"What rot it all is!" he said, frankly, at the
end of an hour. "I don't understand his non-
sense about the Red Planet Mars and the
King, and the rest of it. Chuck me the Long-
fellow again."

I handed him the book and wrote out as
much as I could remember of his description

198 "THE FINEST STORY

of the sea-fight, appealing to him from time
to time for confirmation of fact or detail.
He would answer without raising his eyes
from the book, as assuredly as though all his
knowledge lay before him on the printed page.
I spoke under the normal key of my voice that
the current might not be broken, and I know
that he was not aware of what he was saying,
for his thoughts were out on the sea with
Longfellow.

"Charlie," I asked, "when the rowers on the
galleys mutinied how did they kill their over-
seers?"

"Tore up the benches and brained 'em. That
happened when a heavy sea was running. An
overseer on the lower deck slipped from the
centre plank and fell among the rowers. They
choked him to death against the side of the
ship with their chained hands quite quietly,
and it was too dark for the other overseer to
see what had happened. When he asked, he
was pulled down too and choked, and the
lower deck fought their way up deck by deck,
with the pieces of the broken benches banging
behind 'em. How they howled!"

"And what happened after that?"

"I don't know. The hero went away red
hair and red beard and all. That was after he
had captured our galley, I think."

IN THE WORLD" 199

The sound of my voice irritated him, and he
motioned slightly with his left hand as a man
does when interruption jars.

"You never told me he was red-headed be-
fore, or that he captured your galley," I said,
after a discreet interval.

Charlie did not raise his eyes.

"He was as red as a red bear/' said he, ab-
stractedly. "He came from the north; they
said so in the galley when he looked for row-
ers not slaves, but free men. Afterward
years and years afterward news came from
another ship, or else he came back"

His lips moved in silence. He was raptur-
ously retasting some poem before him.

"Where had he been, then?" I was almost
whispering, that the sentence might come gen-
tle to whichever section of Charlie's brain was
working on my behalf.

"To the Beaches the Long and Wonderful
Beaches!" was the reply, after a minute of
silence.

"To Furdurstrandi ?" I asked, tingling from
head to foot.

"Yes, to Furdurstrandi," he pronounced the
word in a new fashion. "And I too saw"
The voice failed.

"Do you know what you have said?" 1
shouted, incautiously.

"THE FINEST STORY

He lifted his eyes, fully roused now. "No!"
he snapped. "I wish you'd let a chap go on
reading. Hark to this:

"'But Othere, the old sea captain,
He neither paused nor stirred
Till the king listened, and then
Once more took up his pen
And wrote down every word.

"'And to the King of the Saxons
In witness of the truth,
Raising his noble head,
He stretched his brown hand and said,
"Behold this walrus tooth." '

By Jove, what chaps those must have been, to
go sailing all over the shop never knowing
where they'd fetch the land! Hah!"

"Charlie," I pleaded, "if you'll only be sen-
sible for a minute or two I'll make our hero in
our tale every inch as good as Othere/'

"Umph! Longfellow wrote that poem. I
don't care about writing things any more. I
want to read/' He was thoroughly out of tune
now, and raging over my own ill-luck, I left
him.

Conceive yourself at the door of the world's
treasure-house guarded by a child an idle,
irresponsible child playing knuckle-boneson
whose favor depends the gift of the key, and
you will imagine one half my torment. Till

IN THE WORLD* 201

that evening Charlie had spoken nothing that
might not lie within the experiences of a
Greek galley-slave. But now, or there was no
virtue in books, he had talked of some desper-
ate adventure of the Vikings, of Thorfin Karl-
sefne's sailing to Wineland, which is America,
in the ninth or tenth century. The battle in the
harbor he had seen ; and his own death he had
described. But this was a much more start-
ling plunge into the past. Was it possible that
he had skipped half a dozen lives and was then
dimly remembering some episode of a thou-
sand years later? It was a maddening jumble,
and the worst of it was that Charlie Mears in
his normal condition was the last person in
the world to clear it up. I could only wait and
watch, but I went to bed that night full of the
wildest imaginings. There was nothing that
was not possible if Charlie's detestable memory
only held good.

I might rewrite the Saga of Thorfin Karl-
sefne as it had never been written before,
might tell the story of the first discovery of
America, myself the discoverer. But I was
entirely at Charlie's mercy, and so long as
there was a three-and-sixpenny Bohn volume
within his reach Charlie would not tell. I
dared not curse him openly; I hardly dared

202 "THE FINEST STORY

jog his memory, for I was dealing with the
experiences of a thousand years ago, told
through the mouth of a boy of to-day; and a
boy of to-day is affected by every change of
tone and gust of opinion, so that he lies even
when he desires to speak the truth.

I saw no more of him for nearly a week.
When next I met him it was in Gracechurch
street with a billbook chained to his waist.
Business took him over London Bridge and I
accompanied him. He was very full of the
importance of that book and magnified it. As
we passed over the Thames we paused to look
at a steamer unloading great slabs of white
and brown marble. A barge drifted under the
steamer's stern and a lonely cow in that barge
bellowed. Charlie's face changed from the
face of the bank-clerk to that of an unknown
and though he would not have believed this
a much shrewder man. He flung out his
arm across the parapet of the bridge and
laughing very loudly, said:

"When they heard our bulls bellow the
Skralings ran away!"

I waited only for an instant, but the barge
and the cow had disappeared under the bows
of the steamer before I answered.

"Charlie, what do you suppose are Skroel-
ings?"

IN THE WORLD" 203

"Never heard of 'em before. They sound
like a new kind of seagull. What a chap you
are for asking questions!" he replied. "I have
to go to the cashier of the Omnibus Company
yonder. Will you wait for me and we can
lunch somewhere together? I've a notion for
a poem."

"No, thanks. I'm off. You're sure you
know nothing about Skroelings?"

"Not unless he's been entered for the Liver-
pool Handicap." He nodded and disappeared
in the crowd.

Now it is written in the Saga of Eric, the
Red or that of Thorfin Karlsefne, that nine
hundred years ago when Karlsefne's galleys
came to Leif's booths, which Lief had erected
in the unknown land called Markland, which
may or may not have been Rhode Island, the
Skroelings and the Lord He knows who these
may or may not have been came to trade with
the Vikings, and ran away because they were
frightened at the bellowing of the cattle which
Thorfin had brought with him in the ships.
But what in the world could a Greek slave
know of that affair ? I wandered up and down
among the streets trying to unravel the mys-
tery, and the more I considered it, the more
baffling it grew. One thing only seemed cer-

204 "THE FINEST STORY

tain, and that certainty took away my breath
for the moment. If I came to full knowledge
of anything at all, it would not be one life of
the soul in Charlie Mears's body, but half a
dozen half a dozen several and separate ex-
istences spent on blue water in the morning
of the world !

Then I walked round the situation.

Obviously if I used my knowledge I should
stand alone and unapproachable until all men
were as wise as myself. That would be some-
thing, but manlike I was ungrateful. It
deemed bitterly unfair that Charlie's memory
should fail me when I needed it most. Great
Powers above I looked up at them through
the fog and smoke did the Lords of Life and
Death know what this meant to me? Nothing
less than eternal fame of the best kind, that
comes from One, and is shared by one alone.
I would be content remembering Clive, I
stood astounded at my own moderation, with
the mere right to tell one story, to work out
one little contribution to the light literature
of the day. If Charlie were permitted full
recollection for one hour for sixty short min-
utesof existences that had extended over a
thousand years I would forego all profit and
honor from all that I should make of his

IN THE WORLD" 205

speech. I would take no share in the commo-
tion that would follow throughout the partic-
ular corner of the earth that calls itself "the
world/' The thing should be put forth anon-
ymously. Nay, I would make other men be-
lieve that they had written it. They would
hire bull-hided self-advertising Englishmen to
bellow it abroad. Preachers would found a
fresh conduct of life upon it, swearing that it
was new and that they had lifted the fear of
death from all mankind. Every Orientalist in
Europe would patronize it discursively with
Sanskrit and Pali texts. Terrible women in-
vent unclean variants of the men's belief for
the elevation of their sisters. Churches and
religions would war over it. Between the hail-
ing and re-starting of an omnibus I foresaw the
scuffles that would arise among half a dozen
denominations all professing "the doctrine of
the True Metempsychosis as applied to the
world and the New Era" ; and saw, too, the re-
spectable English newspapers shying, like
frightened kine, over the beautiful simplicity
of the tale. The mind leaped forward a hun-
dred two hundred a thousand years. I
saw with sorrow that men would mutilate and
garble the story; that rival creeds would turn
it upside down till, at last, the western world

ao6 "THE FINEST STORY

which clings to the dread of death more
closely than the hope of life, would set it aside
as an interesting superstition and stampede
after some faith so long forgotten that it
seemed altogether new. Upon this I changed
the terms of the bargain that I would make
with the Lords of Life and Death. Only let
me know, let me write, the story with sure
knowledge that I wrote the truth, and I would
burn the manuscript as a solemn sacrifice. Five
minutes after the last line was written I would
destroy it all. But I must be allowed to write
it with absolute certainty.

There was no answer. The flaming colors of
an Aquarium poster caught my eye and I won-
dered whether it would be wise or prudent to
lure Charlie into the hands of the professional
mesmerist, and whether, if he were under his
power, he would speak of his past lives. If he
did, and if people believed him . . . but
Charlie would be frightened and flustered, or
made conceited by the interviews. In either
case he would begin to lie, through fear or
vanity. He was safest in my own hands.

"They are very funny fools, your English,"
said a voice at my elbow, and turning round
I recognized a casual acquaintance, a young
Bengali law student, called Grish Chunder,

IN THE WORLD" 207

whose father had sent him to England to be-
come civilized. The old man was a retired na-
tive official, and on an income of five pounds a
month contrived to allow his son two hundred
pounds a year, and the run of his teeth in a
city where he could pretend to be the cadet of
a royal house, and tell stories of the brutal In-
dian bureaucrats who ground the faces of the
poor.

Grish Chunder was a young, fat, full-bodied
Bengali dressed with scrupulous care in frock
coat, tall hat, light trousers and tan gloves.
But I had known him in the days when the
brutal Indian Government paid for his univer-
sity education, and he contributed cheap sedi-
tion to Sachi Durpan, and intrigued with the
wives of his schoolmates*

"That is very funny and very foolish," he
said, nodding at the poster. "I am going
down to the Northbrook Club. Will you come
too?"

I walked with him for some time. "You are
not well," he said. "What is there in your
mind? You do not talk."

"Grish Chunder, you've been too well edu-
cated to believe in a God, haven't you?"

"Oah, yes, here! But when I go home I
must conciliate popular superstition, and make

208 "THE FINEST STORY

ceremonies of purification, and my women will
anoint idols. "

"And hang up tulsi and feast the purohit,
and take you back into caste again and make
a good khuttri of you again, you advanced so-
cial Freethinker. And you'll eat desi food,
and like it all, from the smell in the courtyard
to the mustard oil over you."

"I shall very much like it/' said Grish Chun-
der, unguardedly. "Once a Hindu always a
Hindu. But I like to know what the English
think they know."

"I'll tell you something that one Englishman
knows. It's an old tale to you."

I began to tell the story of Charlie in Eng-
lish, but Grish Chunder put a question in the
vernacular, and the history went forward nat-
urally in the tongue best suited for its telling.
After all it could never have been told in Eng-
lish. Grish Chunder heard me, nodding from
time to time, and then came up to my rooms,
where I finished the tale.

"Beshak," he said, philosophically. "Lekm
darwasa band hai. (Without doubt, but the
door is shut.) I have heard of this remem-
bering of previous existences among my peo-
ple. It is of course an old tale with us, but,
to happen to an Englishman a cow-fed Mai-

IN THE WORLD" 209

echh an outcast. By Jove, that is most pe-
culiar!"

"Outcast yourself, Grish Chunder! You eat
cow-beef every day. Let's think the thing
over. The boy remembers his incarnations."

"Does he know that?" said Grish Chunder,
quietly, swinging his legs as he sat on my table.
He was speaking in English now.

"He does not know anything. Would I
speak to you if he did? Go on!"

"There is no going on at all. If you tell
that to your friends they will say you are mad
and put it in the papers. Suppose, now, you
prosecute for libel."

"Let's leave that out of the question entirely.
Is there any chance of his being made to
speak?"

"There is a chance. Oah, yess ! But if he
spoke it would mean that all this world would
end now instanto fall down on your head.
These things are not allowed, you know. As
I said, the door is shut."

"Not a ghost of a chance?"

"How can there be? You are a Christi-an,
and it is forbidden to eat, in your books, of the
Tree of Life, or else you would never die.
How shall you all fear death if you all know
what your friend does not know that he

210 "THE FINEST STORY

knows? I am afraid to be kicked, but I am not
afraid to die, because I know what I know.
You are not afraid to be kicked, but you are
afraid to die. If you were not, by God! you
English would be all over the shop in an hour,
upsetting the balances of power, and making
commotions. It would not be good. But no
fear. He will remember a little and a little
less, and he will call it dreams. Then he will
forget altogether. When I passed my First
Arts Examination in Calcutta that was all in
the cram-book on Wordsworth. Trailing
clouds of glory, you know."

"This seems to be an exception to the rule."

"There are no exceptions to rules. Some arc
not so hard-looking at others, but they are all
the same when you touch. If this friend of
yours said so-and-so and so-and-so, indicating
that he remembered all his lost lives, or one
piece of a lost life, he would not be in the bank
another hour. He would be what you called
sack because he was mad, and they would send
him to an asylum for lunatics. You can see
that, my friend."

"Of course I can, but I wasn't thinking of
him. His name need never appear in the
story."

"Ah! I see. That story will never be writ-
ten. You can try."

IN THE WORLD" 211

"I am going to."

"For your own credit and for the sake of
money, of course?"

"No. For the sake of writing the story.
On my honor that will be all."

"Even then there is no chance. You cannot
play with the Gods. It is a very pretty story
now. As they say, Let it go on that I mean
at that. Be quick ; he will not last long."

"How do you mean? 1 '

"What I say. He has never, so far, thought
about a woman."

"Hasn't he, though!" I remembered some
of Charlie's confidences.

"I mean no woman has thought about him.
When that comes; bus hogya all upl I
know. There are millions of women here.
Housemaids, for instance."

I winced at the thought of my story being
ruined by a housemaid. And yet nothing was
more probable.

Grish Chunder grinned.

"Yes also pretty girls cousins of his
house, and perhaps not of his house. One kiss
that he gives back again and remembers will
cure all this nonsense, or else"

"Or else what? Remember he does not
know that he knows "

212 "THE FINEST STORY

"I know that. Or else, if nothing happens
he will become immersed in the trade and the
financial speculations like the rest. It must be
so. You can see that it must be so. But the
woman will come first, / think."

There was a rap at the door, and Charlie
charged in impetuously. He had been released
from office, and by the look in his eyes I could
see that he had come over for a long talk;
most probably with poems in his pockets.
Charlie's poems were very wearying, but some-
times they led him to talk about the galley.

Grish Chunder looked at him keenly for a
minute.

"I beg your pardon," Charlie said, uneasily;
"I didn't know you had any one with you."

"I am going," said Grish Chunder.

He drew me into the lobby as he departed.

'That is your man," he said, quickly. "I tell
you he will never speak all you wish. That is
rot bosh. But he would be most good to
make to see things. Suppose now we pretend
that it was only play" I had never seen Grish
Chunder so excited "and pour the ink-pool
into his hand. Eh, what do you think? I tell
you that he could see anything that a man
could see. Let me get the ink and camphor.
He is a seer and he will tell us very many
things."

IN THE WORLD" 213

"He may be all you say, but I'm not going
to trust him to your gods and devils."

"It will not hurt him. He will only feel a
little stupid and dull when he wakes up. You
have seen boys look into the ink-pool before."

'That is the reason why I am not going to
see it any more. You'd better go, Grish Chun-
der."

He went, declaring far down the staircase
that it was throwing away my only chance of
looking into the future.

This left me unmoved, for I was concerned
for the past, and no peering of hypnotized
boys into mirrors and ink-pools would help me
to that. But I recognized Grish Chunder's
point of view and sympathized with it.

"What a big black brute that was!" said
Charlie, when I returned to him. "Well, look
here, I've just done a poem; did it instead of
playing dominoes after lunch. May I read
it?"

"Let me read it to myself."

"Then you miss the proper expression. Be-
sides, you always make my things sound as if
the rhymes were all wrong."

"Read it aloud, then. You're like the rest
of 'em."

Charlie mouthed me his poem, and it was

214 "THE FINEST STORY

not much worse than the average of his verses.
He had been reading his books faithfully, but
he was not pleased when I told him that I pre-
ferred my Longfellow undiluted with Charlie.

Then we began to go through the MS. line
by line; Charlie parrying every objection and
correction with :

"Yes, that may be better, but you don't catch
what I'm driving at."

Charles was, in one way at least, very like
one kind of a poet.

There was a pencil scrawl at the back of the
paper and "what's that?" I said.

"Oh, that's not poetry at all. It's some rot
I wrote last night before I went to bed and it
was too much bother to hunt for rhymes; so
I made it a sort of blank verse instead."

Here is Charlie's "blank verse":

"We pulled for you when the wind was against us
and the sails were low.

Will you never let us go?

We ate bread and onions when you took towns or
ran aboard quickly when you were beaten back by the
foe,

The captains walked up and down the deck in fair
weather singing songs, but we were below,

We fainted with our chins on the oars, and you did
not see that we were idle, for we still swung to and fro.
Will you never let us got

IN THE WORLD" 215

The salt made the oar handles like shdrkskin; our
knees were cut to the bone with salt cracks; our hair
was stuck to our foreheads; and our lips were cut to
our gums, and you whipped us because we could not
row.

Will you never let us go?

But in a little time we shall run out of the portholes
as the water runs along the oarblade, and though you
tell the others to row after us you will never catch us
till you catch the oar-thresh and tie up the winds in
the belly of the sail. Aho!

Witt you never let us got"

"H'm. What's oar-thresh, Charlie?"

"The water washed up by the oars. That's
the sort of song they might sing in the galley,
y'know. Aren't you ever going to finish that
story and give me some of the profits?"

"It depends on yourself. If you had only
told me more about your hero in the first in-
stance it might have been finished by now.
You're so hazy in your notions."

"I only want to give you the general notion
of it the knocking about from place to place
and the fighting and all that. Can't you fill
in the rest yourself? Make the hero save a
girl on a pirate-galley and marry her or do
something."

"You're a really helpful collaborator. I
suppose the hero went through some few ad-
ventures before he married."

216 "THE FINEST STORY

"Well then, make him a very artful card-*
a low sort of man a sort of political man
who went about making treaties and breaking
them a black-haired chap who hid behind the
mast when the fighting began."

"But you said the other day that he was
red-haired."

"I couldn't have. Make him black-haired
of course. You've no imagination."

Seeing that I had just discovered the entire
principles upon which the half-memory falsely
called imagination is based, I felt entitled to
laugh, but forbore, for the sake of the tale.

"You're right. You're the man with imagi-
nation. A black-haired chap in a decked ship,"
I said.

"No, an open ship like a big boat."

This was maddening.

"Ypur ship has been built and designed,
closed and decked in; you said so yourself,"
I protested.

"No, no, not that ship. That was open, or
half decked because By Jove, you Ye right.
You made me think of the hero as a red-haired
chap. Of course if he were red, the ship
would be an open one with painted sails."

Surely, I thought, he would remember now
that he had served in two galleys at least in

IN THE WORLD" 217

a three-decked Greek one under the black-
haired "political man," and again in a Vi-
king's open sea-serpent under the man "red as
a red bear" who went to Markland. The devil
prompted me to speak.

"Why 'of course/ Charlie?" said I.

"I don't know. Are you making fun of
me?"

The current was broken for the time being.
I took up a notebook and pretended to make
many entries in it.

"It's a pleasure to work with an imaginative
chap like yourself," I said, after a pause. "The
way that you've brought out the character of
the hero is simply wonderful."

"Do you think so?" he answered, with a
pleased flush. "I often tell myself that there's
more in me than mo than people think."

"There's an enormous amount in you."

"Then, won't you let me send an essay on
The Ways of Bank Clerks to Tit-Bits, and get
the guinea prize?"

"That wasn't exactly what I meant, old fel-
low : perhaps it would be better to wait a little
and go ahead with the galley-story."

"Ah, but I sha'n't get the credit of that.
Tit-Bits would publish my name and address
if I win. What are you grinning at? They
would."

ai8 "THE FINEST STORY

"I know it. Suppose you go for a walk. I
want to look through my notes about our
story."

Now this reprehensible youth who left me,
a little hurt and put back, might for aught he
or I knew have been one of the crew of the
Argo had been certainly slave or comrade to
Thorfin Karlsefne. Therefore he was deeply
interested in guinea competitions. Remem-
bering what Grish Chunder had said I laughed
aloud. The Lords of Life and Death would
never allow Charlie Hears to speak with full
knowledge of his pasts, and I must even piece
out what he had told me with my own poor in-
ventions while Charlie wrote of the ways of
bank-clerks.

I got together and placed on one file all my
notes ; and the net result was not cheering. I
read them a second time. There was nothing
that might not have been compiled at second-
hand from other people's books except, per-
haps, the story of the fight in the harbor. The
adventures of a Viking had been written many
times before; the history of a Greek galley-
slave was no new thing, and though I wrote
both, who could challenge or confirm the ac-
curacy of my details? I might as well tell a
tale of two thousand years hence. The Lordi

IN THE WORLD" 219

of Life and Death were as cunning as Grish
Chunder had hinted. They would allow noth-
ing to escape that might trouble or make easy
the minds of men. Though I was convinced
of this, yet I could not leave the tale alone.
Exaltation followed reaction, not once, but
twenty times in the next few weeks. My
moods varied with the March sunlight and fly-
ing clouds. By night or in the beauty of a
spring morning I perceived that I could write
that tale and shift continents thereby. In the
wet, windy afternoons, I saw that the tale
might indeed be written, but would be nothing
more than a faked, false-varnished, sham-
rusted piece of Wardour Street work at the
end. Then I blessed Charlie in many ways
though it was no fault of his. He seemed to
be busy with prize competitions, and I saw less
and less of him as the weeks went by and the
earth cracked and grew ripe to spring, and
the buds swelled in their sheaths. He did not
care to read or talk of what he had read, and
there was a new ring of self-assertion in his
voice. I hardly cared to remind him of the
galley when we met ; but Charlie alluded to it
on every occasion, always as a story from
which money was to be made.

"I think I deserve twenty-five per cent.,
Kip. 28

230 "THE FINEST STORY

don't I, at least?" he said, with beautiful frank-
ness. "I supplied all the ideas, didn't I ?"

This greediness for silver was a new side in
his nature. I assumed that it had been devel-
oped in the City, where Charlie was picking
up the curious nasal drawl of the underbred
City man.

"When the thing's done we'll talk about it.
I can't make anything of it at present. Red-
haired or black-haired hero are equally diffi-
cult."

He was sitting by the fire staring at the red
coals. "I can't understand what you find so
difficult. It's all as clear as mud to me," he
replied. A jet of gas puffed out between the
bars, took light and whistled softly. "Sup-
pose we take the red-haired hero's adventures
first, from the time that he came south to my
galley and captured it and sailed to the
Beaches."

I knew better now than to interrupt Charlie.
I was out of reach of pen and paper, and
dared not move to get them lest I should break
the current. The gas-jet puffed and whinnied,
Charlie's voice dropped almost to a whisper,
and he told a tale of the sailing of an open
galley to Furdurstrandi, of sunsets on the open
sea, seen under the curve of the one sail even*

IN THE WORLD" 221

ing after evening when the galley's beak was
notched into the centre of the sinking" disc,
and "we sailed by that for we had no other
guide," quoth Charlie. He spoke of a land-
ing on an island and explorations in its woods,
where the crew killed three men whom they
found asleep under the pines. Their ghosts,
Charlie said, followed the galley, swimming
and choking in the water, and the crew cast
lots and threw one of their number overboard
as a sacrifice to the strange gods whom they
had offended. Then they ate sea-weed when
their provisions failed, and their legs swelled,
and their leader, the red-haired man, killed
two rowers who mutinied, and after a year
spent among the woods they set sail for their
own country, and a wind that never failed car-
ried them back so safely that they all slept at
night. This, and much more Charlie told.
Sometimes the voice fell so low that I could
not catch the words, though every nerve was
on the strain. He spoke of their leader, the
red-haired man, as a pagan speaks of his God ;
for it was he who cheered them and slew them
impartially as he thought best for their needs ;
and it was he who steered them for three days
among floating ice, each floe crowded with
strange beasts that "tried to sail with us/ 1 said

222 "THE FINEST STORY

Charlie, "and we beat them back with the
handles of the oars."

The gas-jet went out, a burned coal gave
way, and the fire settled down with a tiny
crash to the bottom of the grate. Charlie
ceased speaking, and I said no word.

"By Jove!" he said, at last, shaking his
head. "I've been staring at the fire till I'm
dizzy. What was I going to say?"

"Something about the galley."

"I remember now. It's 25 per cent, of the
profits, isn't it?"

"It's anything you like when I've done the
tale."

"I wanted to be sure of that. I must go
now. I've I've an appointment." And he
left me.

Had my eyes not been held I might have
known that that broken muttering over the fire
was the swan-song of Charlie Mears. But I
thought it the prelude to fuller revelation. At
last and at last I should cheat the Lords of
Life and Death!

When next Charlie came to me I received
him with rapture. He was nervous and em*
barrassed, but his eyes were very full of light,
and his lips a little parted.

"I've done a poem," he said; and then,

IN THE WORLD" 223

quickly: "it's the best I've ever done. Read
it" He thrust it into my hand and retreated
to the window.

I groaned inwardly. It would be the work
of half an hour to criticise that is to say
praise the poem sufficiently to please Charlie.
Then I had good reason to groan, for Charlie,
discarding his favorite centipede metres, had
launched into shorter and choppier verse, and
verse with a motive back of it. This is what
5 read :

"The day is most fair, the chccr> wind

Halloos behind the hill,
Where he bends the wood as seemeth good,

And the sapling to his will !
Riot O wind ; there is that in my blood
That would not have thee still !

"She gave me herself, O Earth, O Sky;

Grey sea, she is mine alone!
Let the sullen boulders hear my cry,
And rejoice tho' they be but stone!

"Mine! I have won her, O good brown earth,

Make merry! Tis hard on Spring;
Make merry; my love is doubly worth

All worship your fields can bring!
Let the hind that tills you feel my mirth
At the early harrowing."

"Yes, it's the early harrowing, past a
doubt," I said, with a dread at my heart.
Charlie smiled, but did not answer.

224 "THE FINEST STORY

"Red cloud of the sunset, tell it abroad;

I am victor. Greet me O Sun,
Dominant master and absolute lord
Over the soul of onel"

'Well?" said Charlie, looking over my
shoulder.

I thought it far from well, and very evil in-
deed, when he silently laid a photograph on
the paper the photograph of a girl with a
curly head, and a foolish slack mouth.

"Isn't it isn't it wonderful ?" he whispered,
pink to the tips of his ears, wrapped in the rosy
mystery of first love. "I didn't know ; I didn't
think it came like a thunderclap."

"Yes. It comes like a thunderclap. Are
you very happy, Charlie?"

"My God she she loves me!" He sat
down repeating the last words to himself. I
looked at the hairless face, the narrow shoul-
ders already bowed by desk-work, and won-
dered when, where, and how he had loved in
his past lives.

"What will your mother say?" I asked,
cheerfully.

"I don't care a damn what she says."

At twenty the things for which one does not
care a damn should, properly, be many, but
one must not include mothers in the list. I
told him this gently; and he described Her,

IN THE WORLD" 225

even as Adam must have described to the
newly named beasts the glory and tenderness
and beauty of Eve. Incidentally I learned that
She was a tobacconist's assistant with a weak-
ness for pretty dress, and had told him four
or five times already that She had never been
kissed by a man before.

Charlie spoke on and on, and on; while I,
separated from him by thousands of years,
was considering the beginnings of things.
Now I understood why the Lords of Life and
Death shut the doors so carefully behind us.
It is that we may not remember our first woo-
ings. Were it not so, our world would be
without inhabitants in a hundred years.

"Now, about that galley-story," I said, still
more cheerfully, in a pause in the rush of the
speech.

Charlie looked up as though he had been
hit. "The galley what galley? Good heav-
ens, don't joke, man! This is serious! You
don't know how serious it is!"

Grish Chunder was right. Charlie had
tasted the love of woman that kills remem-
brance, and the finest story in the world would
never be written.

THE BISARA OF POOREE

THE BISARA OF POOREE

Little Blind Fish, thou art marvelous wise,
Little Blind Fish, who put out thy eyes?
Open thy ears while I whisper my wish
Bring me a lover, thou little Blind Fish.

The CJiarm of the Bisara.

SOME natives say that it came from the
other side of Kulu, where the eleven-inch
Temple Sapphire is. Others that it was made
at the Devil-Shrine of Ao-Chung in Thibet,
was stolen by a Kafir, from him by a Gurkha,
from him again by a Lahouli, from him by a
khitmatgar, and by this latter sold to an Eng-
lishman, so all its virtue was lost; because, to
work properly, the Bisara of Pooree must be
stolen with bloodshed if possible, but, at any
rate, stolen.

These stories of the coming into India are
all false. It was made at Pooree ages since
the manner of its making would fill a small
book was stolen by one of the Temple danc-
ing-girls there, for her own purposes, and then
passed on from hand to hand, steadily north-
229

230 THE BISARA OF POOREE

ward, till it reached Hanle: always bearing
the same name the Bisara of Pooree. In
shape it is a tiny square box of silver, studded
outside with eight small balas-rubies. Inside
the box, which opens with a spring, is a little
eyeless fish, carved from some sort of dark,
shiny nut and wrapped in a shred of faded
gold-cloth. That is the Bisara of Pooree, and
it were better for a man to take a king-cobra
in his hand than to touch the Bisara of Pooree.

All kinds of magic are out of date, and done
away with except in India where nothing
changes in spite of the shiny, top-scum stuff
that people call "civilization/* Any man who
knows about the Bisara of Pooree will tell you
what its powers are always supposing that it
has been honestly stolen. It is the only reg-
ularly working, trustworthy love-charm in the
country, with one exception. [The other
charm is in the hands of a trooper of the
Nizam's Horse, at a place called Tuprani, due
north of Hyderabad.] This can be depended
upon for a fact. Some one else may explain k.

If the Bisara be not stolen, but given or
bought or found, it turns against its owner in
three years, and leads to ruin or death. This
is another fact which you may explain when
you have time. Meanwhile, you can laugh at

THE BISARA OF POOREE 231

it At present, the Bisara is safe on a hack-
pony's neck, inside the blue bead-necklace that
keeps off the Evil-Eye. If the pony-driver
ever finds it, and wears it, or gives it to his
wife, I am sorry for him.

A very dirty hill-cooly woman, with goitre,
owned it at Theog in 1884. It came into Simla
from the north before Churton's khitmatgar
bought it, and sold it, for three times its silver-
value, to Churton, who collected curiosities.
The servant knew no more what he had bought
than the master ; but a man looking over Chur-
ton's collection of curiosities Churton was an
Assistant Commissioner by the way saw and
held his tongue. He was an Englishman ; but
knew how to believe. Which shows that he
was different from most Englishmen. He
knew that it was dangerous to have any share
in the little box when working or dormant;
for Love unsought is a terrible gift.

Pack "Grubby" Pack, we used to call him
was, in every way, a nasty little man who
must have crawled into the Army by mistake.
He was three inches taller than his sword, but
not half so strong. And the sword was a fifty-
shilling, tailor-made one. Nobody liked him,
and, I suppose, it was his wizenedness and
worthlessness that made kim fall so hopelessly

1232 THE BISARA OP POOREE

in love with Miss Hollis, who was good and
sweet, and five-foot-seven in her tennis-shoes.
He was not content with falling in love
quietly, but brought all the strength of his
miserable little nature into the business. If
he had not been so objectionable, one might
have pitied him. He vapored, and fretted, and
fumed, and trotted up and down, and tried to
make himself pleasing in Miss Hollis' big,
quiet, grey eyes, and failed. It was one of
the cases that you sometimes meet, even in
our country where we marry by Code, of a
really blind attachment all on one side, with-
out the faintest possibility of return. Miss
Hollis looked on Pack as some sort of vermin
running about the road. He had no prospects
beyond Captain's pay, and no wits to help that
out by one penny. In a large-sized man, love
like this would have been touching. In a good
man it would have been grand. He being
what he was, it was only a nuisance.
, You will believe this much. What you will
not believe is what follows: Churton, and
The Man who Knew what the Bisara was,
were lunching at the Simla Club together.
Churton was complaining of life in general.
His best mare had rolled out of stable down
the cliff and had broken her back; his decisions

THE BISARA OF POOREE 233

were being reversed by the upper Courts more
than an Assistant Commisioner of eight years'
standing has a right to expect ; he knew liver
and fever, and, for weeks past, had felt out of
sorts. Altogether, he was disgusted and dis-
heartened.

Simla Club dining-room is built, as all the
world knows, in two sections, with an arch-
arrangement dividing them. Come in, turn to
your own left, take the table under the win-
dow, and you cannot see any one who has
come in, turned to the right, and taken a table
on the right side of the arch. Curiously
enough, every word that you say can be heard,
not only by the other diner, but by the servants
beyond the screen through which they bring
dinner. This is worth knowing; an echoing-
room is a trap to be forewarned against.

Half in fun, and half hoping to be believed,
The Man who Knew told Churton the story of
the Bisara of Pooree at rather greater length
than I have told it to you in this place ; winding
up with a suggestion that Churton might as
well throw the little box down the hill and see
whether all his troubles would go with it. In
ordinary ears, English ears, the tale was only
an interesting bit of folklore. Churton
laughed, said that he felt better for his tiffin,

234 THE BISARA OF POOREE

and went out. Pack had been tiffining by him-
self to the right of the arch, and had heard
everything. He was nearly mad with his ab-
surd infatuation for Miss Hollis, that all Simla
had been laughing about.

It is a curious thing that, when a man hates
or loves beyond reason, he is ready to go be-
yond reason to gratify his feelings. Which
he would not do for money or power merely.
Depend upon it, Solomon would never have
built altars to Ashtaroth and all those ladies
with queer names, if there had not been trouble
of some kind in his zenana, and nowhere else.
But this is beside the story. The facts of the
case are these: Pack called on Churton next
day when Churton was out, left his card,
and stole the Bisara of Pooree from its
place under the clock on the mantelpiece!
Stole it like the thief he was by nature.
Three days later all Simla was electrified
by the news that Miss Hollis had accept-
ed Pack the shrivelled rat, Pack! Do
you desire clearer evidence than this? The
Bisara of Pooree had been stolen, and it
worked as it had always done when won by
foul means.

There are three or four times in a man's life
when he is justified in meddling with other
people's affairs to play Providence.

THE BISARA OF POOREE

The Man who Knew felt that he was jus-
tified ; but believing and acting on a belief are
quite different things. The insolent satisfac-
tion of Pack as he ambled by the side of Miss
Hollis, and Churton's striking release from
liver, as soon as the Bisara of Pooree had
gone, decided The Man. He explained to
Churton, and Churton laughed, because he
was not brought up to believe that men on the
Government House List steal at least little
things. But the miraculous acceptance by Miss
Hollis of that tailor, Pack, decided him to take
steps on suspicion. He vowed that he only
wanted to find out where his ruby-studded
silver box had vanished to. You cannot accuse
a man on the Government House List of steal-
ing. And if you rifle his room, you are a thief
yourself. Churton, prompted by The Man
who Knew, decided on burglary. If he found
nothing in Pack's room ... but it is not
nice to think of what would have happened in
that case.

Pack went to a dance at Benmore Benmore
was Benmore in those days, and not an office
and danced fifteen waltzes out of twenty-two
with Miss Hollis. Churton and The Man took
all the keys that they could lay hands on, and
went to Pack's room in the hotel, certain that
his servants would be away. Pack was a cheap

236 THE BISARA OF POOREE

soul. He had not purchased a decent cash-box
to keep his papers in, but one of those native
imitations that you buy for ten rupees. It
opened to any sort of key, and there at the bot-
tom, under Pack's Insurance Policy, lay the
Bisara of Pooree!

Churton called Pack names, put the Bisara
of Pooree in his pocket, and went to the dance
with The Man. At least, he came in time for
supper, and saw the beginning of the end in
Miss Hollis' eyes. She was hysterical after
supper, and was taken away by her Mamma.

At the dance, with the abominable Bisara in
his pocket, Churton twisted his foot on one of
the steps leading down to the old Rink, and
had to be sent home in a 'rickshaw, grumbling.
He did not believe in the Bisara of Pooree any
more for this manifestation, but he sought out
Pack and called him some ugly names; and
"thief" was the mildest of them. Pack took
the names with the nervous smile of a little
man who wants both soul and body to resent
ah insult, and went his way. There was no
public scandal.

A week later, Pack got his definite dismissal
from Miss Hollis. There had been a mistake
in the placing of her affections, she said. So
he went away to Madras, where he can do no

THE BISARA OF POOREE 237

great harm even if he lives to be a Colonel.

Churton insisted upon The Man who Knew
taking the Bisara of Pooree as a gift. The
Man took it, went down to the Cart-Road at
once, found a cart-pony with a blue bead-
necklace, fastened the Bisara of Pooree inside
the necklace with a piece of shoe-string and
thanked Heaven that he was rid of a danger.
Remember, in case you ever find it, that you
must not destroy the Bisara of Pooree. I
have not time to explain why just now, but the
power lies in the little wooden fish. Mister
Gubernatis or Max Miiller could tell you more
about it than I.

You will say that all this story is made up.
Very well. If ever you come across a little,
silver, ruby-studded box, seven-eighths of an
inch long by three-quarters wide, with a dark
brown wooden fish, wrapped in gold cloth, in-
side it, keep it. Keep it for three years, and
then you will discover for yourself whether
my story is true or false.

Better still, steal it as Pack did, and you will
be sorry that you had not killed yourself in the
beginning.

A FRIEND'S FRIEND

A FRIEND'S FRIEND

Wherefore slew you the stranger? He brought me
dishonor.

I saddled my marc BijlL I set him upon her.

I gave him rice and goat's flesh. He bared me to laugh-
ter;

When lie was gone from my tent, swift I followed after,

Taking a sword in my hand. The hot wine had filled
him:

Under the stars he mocked me. Therefore I killed him.

Hadramauti.

THIS tale must be told in the first person
for many reasons. The man whom I
want to expose is Tranter of the Bombay side.
I want Tranter black-balled at his Club,
divorced from his wife, turned out of Service,
and cast into prison, until I get an apology
from him in writing, I wish to warn the
world against Tranter of the Bombay side.

You know the casual way in which men pass
on acquaintances in India? It is a great con-
venience, because you can get rid of a man
you don't like by writing a letter of introduc-
241

242 A FRIEND'S FRIEND

tion and putting him, with it, into the train,
T. G.'s are best treated thus. If you keep
them moving, they have no time to say insult-
ing and offensive things about "Anglo-Indian
Society/'

One day, late in the cold weather, I got a let-
ter of preparation from Tranter of the Bom-
bay side, advising me of the advent of a T. G.,
a man called Jevon ; and saying, as usual, that
any kindness shown to Jevon would be a kind-
ness to Tranter. Every one knows the regular
form of these communications.

Two days afterward, Jevon turned up with
his letter of introduction, and I did what I
could for him. He was lint-haired, fresh-col-
ored, and very English. But he held no views
about the Government of India. Nor did he
insist on shooting tigers on the Station Mall,
as some T. G.'s do. Nor did he call us
"colonists," and dine in a flannel shirt and
tweeds, under that delusion as other T. G.'s
do. He was well-behaved and very grateful
for the little I won for him most grateful
of all when I secured him an invitation for the
Afghan Ball, and introduced him to a Mrs.
Deemes, a lady for whom I had a great re-
spect and admiration, who danced like the
shadow of a leaf in a light wind. I set great

A FRIEND'S FRIEND 243

store by the friendship of Mrs. Deemes; but,
had I known what was coming, I would have
broken Jevon's neck with a curtain-pole before
getting him that invitation.

But I did not know, and he dined, at the
Club, I think, on the night of the ball I dined
at home. When I went to the dance, the first
man I met asked me whether I had seen Jevon.
"No," said I. "He's at the Club. Hasn't he
come?" "Come !" said the man. "Yes, he's
very much come. You'd better look at him."

I sought for Jevon. I found him sitting on
a bench and smiling to himself and a pro-
gramme. Half a look was enough for me.
On that one night, of all others, he had begun
a long and thirsty evening, by taking too
much ! He was breathing heavily through his
nose, his eyes were rather red, and he appeared
very satisfied with all the earth. I put up a
little prayer that the waltzing would work off
the wine, and went about programme-filling,
feeling uncomfortable. But I saw Jevon walk
up to Mrs. Deemes for the first dance, and I
knew that all the waltzing on the card was
not enough to keep Jevon's rebellious legs
steady. That couple went round six times. I
counted. Mrs. Deemes dropped Jevon's arm
and came across to me.

244 A FRIEND'S FRIEND

I am not going to repeat what Mrs. Deemes
said to me; because she was very angry in-
deed. I am not going to write what I said to
Mrs. Deemes, because I didn't say anything.
I only wished that I had killed Jevon first and
been hanged for it. Mrs. Deemes drew her
pencil through all the dances that I had booked
with her, and went away, leaving me to re-
member that what I ought to have said was
that Mrs. Deemes had asked to be introduced
to Jevon because he danced well; and that I
really had not carefully worked out a plot to
get her insulted. But I felt that argument was
no good, and that I had better try to stop
Jevon from waltzing me into more trouble.
He, however, was gone, and about every third
dance I set off to hunt for him. This ruined
what little pleasure I expected from the en-
tertainment.

Just before supper I caught Jevon, at the
buffet with his legs wide apart, talking to a
very fat indignant chaperone. "If this per-
son is a friend of yours, as I understand he is,
I would recommend you to take him home,"
said she. "He is unfit for decent society."
Then I knew that goodness only knew what
Jevon had been doing, and I tried to get him
away.

A FRIEND'S FRIEND 245

But Jevon wasn't going; not he. He knew
what was good for him, he did; and he -wasn't
going to be dictated to by any laconical nigger-
driver, he wasn't; and I was the friend who
had formed his infant mind and brought him
up to buy Benares brassware and fear God,
so I was ; and we would have many more blaz-
ing good drunks together, so we would; and
all the she-camels in black silk in the world
shouldn't make him withdraw his opinion that
there was nothing better than Benedictine to
give one an appetite. And then ... but
he was my guest.

I set him in a quiet corner of the supper-
room, and went to find a wall-prop that I could
trust. There was a good and kindly Subaltern
may Heaven bless that Subaltern, and make
him a Commander-in-Chief ! who heard of
my trouble. He was not dancing himself, and
he owned a head like five-year-old teak-baulks.
He said that he would look after Jevon till the
end of the ball.

"Don't suppose you much mind what I do
with him?" said he.

"Mind!" said I. "No! You can murder
the beast if you like."

But the Subaltern did not murder him. He
trotted off to the supper-room, and sat down

A FRIEND'S FRIEND

by Jcvon, drinking peg for peg with him. I
saw the two fairly established, and went away,
feeling more easy.

When "The Roast Beef of Old England"
sounded, I heard of Jevon's performances be-
tween the first dance and my meeting with
him at the buffet. After Mrs. Deemes had
cast him off, it seems that he had found his
way into the gallery, and offered to conduct
the Band or to play any instrument in it just
as the Bandmaster pleased.

When the Bandmaster refused Jevon said
that he wasn't appreciated, and he yearned for
sympathy. So he trundled downstairs and sat
out four dances with four girls, and proposed
to three of them. One of the girls was a mai-
ried woman by the way. Then he went into
the whist-room, and fell face-down and wept
on the hearth-rug in front of the fire, because
he had fallen into a den of card-sharpers, and
his Mamma had always warned him against
bad company. He had done a lot of other
things, too, and had taken about three quarts
of mixed liquors. Besides, speaking of me
in the most scandalous fashion!

All the women wanted him turned out, and
all the men wanted him kicked. The worst of
it was, that every one said it was my fault

A FRIEND'S FRIEND 247

Now, I put it to you how on earth could I
have known that this innocent, fluffy -T. G.
would break out in this disgusting manner?
You see he had gone round the world nearly,
and his vocabulary of abuse was cosmopolitan,
though mainly Japanese which he had picked
up in a low tea-house at Hakodate. It sounded
like whistling.

While I was listening to first one man and
then another telling me of Jevon's shameless
behavior and asking me for his blood, I won-
dered where he was. I was prepared to sac-
rifice him to Society on the spot.

But Jevon was gone, and, far away in the
corner of the supper-room, sat my dear, good
Subaltern, a little flushed, eating salad. I went
over and said, "Where's Jevon?" "In the
cloakroom," said the Subaltern. "He'll keep
till the women have gone. Don't you inter-
fere with my prisoner." I didn't want to in-
terfere but I peeped into the cloakroom, and
found my guest put to bed on some rolled-up
carpets, all comfy, his collar free, and a wet
swab on his head.

The rest of the evening I spent in making
timid attempts to explain things to Mrs.
Deemes and three or four other ladies, and
trying to clear my character for I am a ro-

248 A FRIEND'S FRIEND

spectable man from the shameful slurs that
my guest had cast upon it. Libel was no word
for what he had said.

When I wasn't trying to explain, I was run-
ning off to the cloakroom to see that Jevon
wasn't dead of apoplexy. I didn't want him
to die on my hands. He had eaten my
salt.

At last that ghastly ball ended, though I was
not in the least restored to Mrs. Deemes' favor.
When the ladies had gone, and some one was
calling for songs at the second supper, that
angelic Subaltern told the servants to bring in
the Sahib who was in the cloakroom, and clear
away one end of the supper-table. While this
was being done, we formed ourselves into a
Board of Punishment with the Doctor for
President.

Jevon came in on four men's shoulders, and
was put down on the table like a corpse in a
dissecting-room, while the Doctor lectured on
the evils of intemperance and Jevon snored.
Then we set to work.

We corked the whole of his face. We filled
his hair with meringue-cream till it looked like
a white wig. To protect everything till it
dried, a man in the Ordnance Department, who
understood the work, luted a big blue paper

A FRIEND'S FRIEND 249

cap from a cracker, with meringue-cream, low
down on Jevon's forehead. This was punish-
ment, not play, remember. We took gelatine
off crackers, and stuck blue gelatine on his
nose, and yellow gelatine on his chin, and green
and red gelatine on his cheeks, pressing each
dab down till it held as firm as goldbeaters'
skin.

We put a ham-frill round his neck, and tied
it in a bow in front. He nodded like a man-
darin.

We fixed gelatine on the back of his hands,
and burned-corked them inside, and put small
cutlet-frills round his wrists, and tied both
wrists together with string. We waxed up
the ends of his moustache with isinglass. He
looked very martial.

We turned him over, pinned up his coat-
tails between his shoulders, and put a rosette of
cutlet-frills there. We took up the red cloth
from the ball-rpom to the supper-room, and
wound him up in it. There were sixty feet
of red cloth, six feet broad; and he rolled up
into a big fat bundle, with only that amazing
head sticking out.

Lastly, we tied up the surplus of the cloth
beyond his feet with cocoanut-fibre string as
tightly as we knew how. We were so angry
that we hardly laughed at all.

250 A FRIEND'S FRIEND

Just as we finished, we heard the rumble of
bullock - carts taking away some chairs and
things that the General's wife had loaned for
the ball. So we hoisted Jevon, like a roll of
carpets, into one of the carts, and the carts
went away.

Now the most extraordinary part of this
tale is that never again did I see or hear any-
thing of Jevon, T. G. He vanished utterly.
He was not delivered at the General's house
with the carpets. He just went into the black
darkness of the end of the night, and was swal-
lowed up. Perhaps he died and was thrown
into the river.

But, alive or dead, I have often wondered
how he got rid of the red cloth and the
meringue-cream. I wonder still whether Mrs.
Deemes will ever take any notice of me again,
and whether I shall live down the infamous
stories that Jevon set afloat about my manners
and customs between the first and the ninth
waltz of the Afghan Ball. They stick closer
than cream.

Wherefore, I want Tranter of the Bombay
side, dead or alive. But dead for preference.

e.u.5

"Opposite the Joss was Fiing-Tching's coffin.'

THE GATE OF THE HUNDRED
SORROWS

THE GATE OF THE HUNDRED
SORROWS

If I can attain Heaven for a pice, why should you be
envious ? -O/u'ttw Smoker's Proverb.

THIS is no work of mine. My friend,
Gabral Misquitta, the half-caste, spoke it
all, between moonset and morning, six weeks
before he died; and I took it down from his
mouth as he answered my questions. So :

It lies between the Coppersmith's Gully and
the pipe-stem sellers' quarter, within a hun-
dred yards, too, as the crow flies, of the
Mosque of Wazir Khan. I don't mind telling
any one this much, but I defy him to find the
Gate, however well he may think he knows the
City. You might even go through the very
gully it stands in a hundred times, and be none
the wiser. We used to call the gully, "The
Gully of the Black Smoke/' but its native name
is altogether different of course. A loaded
donkey couldn't pass between the walls; and,
at one point, just before you reach the Gate,
a bulged house-front makes people go along
all sideways.

253

254 THE GATE OF THE

It isn't really a gate though. It's a house.
Old Fung-Tching had it first five years ago.
He was a boot-maker in Calcutta. They say
that he murdered his wife there when he was
drunk. That was why he dropped bazar-rum
and took to the Black Smoke instead. Later
on, he came up north and opened the Gate as
a house where you could get your smoke in
peace and quiet. Mind you, it was a pukka,
respectable opium-house, and not one of those
stifling, sweltering chandoo-khanas, that you
can find all over the City. No; the old man
knew his business thoroughly, and he was most
clean for a Chinaman. He was a one-eyed
little chap, not much more than five feet high,
and both his middle fingers were gone. All
the same, he was the handiest man at rolling
black pills I have even seen. Never seemed
to be touched by the Smoke, either; and what
he took day and night, night and day, was a
caution. I've been at it five years, and I can
do my fair share of the Smoke with any one;
but I was a child to Fung-Tching that way.
All the same, the old man was keen on his
money : very keen ; and that's what I can't un-
derstand. I heard he saved a good deal before
he died, but his nephew has got all that now;
and the old man's gone back to China to be
buried.

HUNDRED SORROWS 255

He Icept the big upper room, where his best
customers gathered, as neat as a new -pin. In
one corner used to stand Fung-Tching's Joss
almost as ugly as Fung-Tching and there
were always sticks burning under his nose;
but you never smelled 'em when the pipes were
going thick. Opposite the Joss was Fung-
Tching's coffin. He had spent a good deal of
his savings on that, and whenever a new man
came to the Gate he was always introduced to
it. It was lacquered black, with red and gold
writings on it, and I've heard that Fung-
Tching brought it out all the way from China.
I don't know whether that's true or not, but I
know that, if I came first in the evening, I
used to spread my mat just at the foot of it.
It was a quiet corner, you see, and a sort of
breeze from the gully came in at the window
now and then. Besides the mats, there was no
other furniture in the room only the coffin,
and the old Joss all green and blue and purple
with age and polish.

Fung-Tching never told us why he called
the place "The Gate of the Hundred Sorrows."
(He was the only Chinaman I know who used
bad-sounding fancy names. Most of them are
flowery. As you'll see in Calcutta.) We used
to find that out for ourselves. Nothing grows

256 THE GATE OF THE

on you so much, if you're white, as the Black
Smoke. A yellow man is made different.
Opium doesn't tell on him scarcely at all ; but
white and black suffer a good deal. Of
course, there are some people that the Smoke
doesn't touch any more than tobacco would at
first. They just doze a bit, as one would fall
asleep naturally, and next morning they are
almost fit for work. Now, I was one of that
sort when I began, but I've been at it for five
years pretty steadily, and it's different now.
There was an old aunt of mine, down Agra
way, and she left me a little at her death.
About sixty rupees a month secured. Sixty
isn't much. I can recollect a time, 'seems
hundreds and hundreds of years ago, that I
was getting my three hundred a month, and
pickings, when I was working on a big timber*
contract in Calcutta.

I didn't stick to that work for long. The
Black Smoke does not allow of much other
business; and even though I am very little
affected by it, as men go, I couldn't do a day's
work now to save my life. After all, sixty
rupees is what I want. When old Fung-
Tching was alive he used to draw the money
for me, give me about half of it to live on
(I eat very little), and the rest he kept himself*

HUNDRED SORROWS 257

I was free of the Gate at any time of the day
and night, and could smoke and sleep there
when I liked, so I didn't care. I know the old
man made a good thing out of it; but that's
no matter. Nothing matters much to me ; and
besides, the money always came fresh and
fresh each month.

There were ten of us met at the Gate when
the place was first opened. Me, and two
Baboos from a Government Office somewhere
in Anarkulli, but they got the sack and couldn't
pay (no man who has to work in the daylight
can do the Black Smoke for any length of time
straight on) ; a Chinaman that was Fung-
Tching's nephew ; a bazar-woman that had got
a lot of money somehow ; an English loafer
Mac- Somebody I think, but I have forgotten,
that smoked heaps, but never seemed to pay
anything (they said he had saved Fung-
Tching's life at some trial in Calcutta when
he was a barrister) ; another Eurasian, like
myself, from Madras ; a half-caste woman, and
a couple of men who said they had come from
the North. I think they must have been Per-
sians or Afghans or something. There are
not more than five of us living now, but we
come regular. I don't know what happened
Co the Baboos; but the bazar-woman she died

258 THE GATE OF THE

after six months of the Gate, and I think
Fung-Tching took her bangles and nose-ring
for himself. But I'm not certain. The Eng-
lishman, he drank as well as smoked, and he
dropped off. One of the Persians got killed in
a row at night by the big well near the Mosque
a long time ago, and the Police shut up the
well, because they said it was full of foul air.
They found him dead at the bottom of it. So
you see, there is only me, the Chinaman, the
half-caste woman that we call the Memsahib
(she used to live with Fung-Tching), the other
Eurasian, and one of the Persians. The
Memsahib looks very old now. I think she
was a young woman when the Gate was
opened; but we are all old for the matter of
that Hundreds and hundreds of years old.
It is very hard to keep count of time in the
Gate, and, besides, time doesn't matter to me.
I draw my sixty rupees fresh and fresh every
month. A very, very long while ago, when I
used to be getting three hundred and fifty
rupees a month, and pickings, on a big timber-
contract at Calcutta, I had a wife of sorts.
But she's dead now. People said that I killed
her by taking to the Black Smoke. Perhaps
I did, but it's so long since that it doesn't
matter. Sometimes when I first came to the

HUNDRED SORROWS

Gate, I used to feel sorry for it; but that's all
over and done with long ago, and I draw my
sixty rupees fresh and fresh every month, and
am quite happy. Not drunk happy, you know,
but always quiet and soothed and contented.

How did I take to it? It began at Calcutta.
I used to try it in my own house, just to sec
what it was like. I never went very far, but I
think my wife must have died then. Anyhow,
I found myself here, and got to know Fung-
Tching. I don't remember rightly how that
came about ; but he told me of the Gate and I
used to go there, and, somehow, I have never
got away from it since. Mind you, though,
the Gate was a respectable place in Fung-
Tching's time, where you could be comfortable,
and not at all like the chandoo-khanas where
the niggers go. No; it was clean and quiet,
and not crowded. Of course, there were
others beside us ten and the man; but we al-
ways had a mat apiece, with a wadded woolen
headpiece, all covered with black and red
dragons and things; just like the coffin in the
corner.

At the end of one's third pipe the dragons
used to move about and fight. I've watched
'em many and many a night through. I used
to regulate my Smoke that way, now it takes

260 THE GATE OP THE

a dozen pipes to make 'em stir. Besides,
they are all torn and dirty, like the mats,
and old Fung-Tching is dead. He died a
couple of years ago, and gave me the pipe I
always use now a silver one, with queer
beasts crawling up and down the receiver-
bottle below the cup. Before that, I think, I
used a big bamboo stem with a copper cup, a
very small one, and a green jade mouthpiece.
It was a little thicker than a walking-stick
stem, and smoked sweet, very sweet. The
bamboo seemed to suck up the smoke. Silver
doesn't, and I've got to clean it out now and
then, that's a great deal of trouble, but I smoke
it for the old man's sake. He must have made
a good thing out of me, but he always gave me
clean mats and pillows, and the best stuff you
could get anywhere.

When he died, his nephew Tsin-ling took up
the Gate, and he called it the "Temple of the
Three Possessions" ; but we old ones speak of
it as the "Hundred Sorrows/' all the same.
The nephew does things very shabbily, and I
think the Memsahib must help him. She lives
with him; same as she used to do with the old
man. The two let in all sorts of low people,
niggers and all, and the Black Smoke isn't as
good as it used to be. I've found burned bran

HUNDRED SORROWS 2611

in my pipe over and over again. The old man
would have died if that had happened in his
time. Besides, the room is never cleaned, and
all the mats are torn and cut at the edges. The
coffin is gone gone to China again with the
old man and two ounces of Smoke inside it,
in case he should want 'em on the way.

The Joss doesn't get so many sticks burned
under his nose as he used to ; that's a sign of
ill-luck, as sure as Death. He's all brown, too,
and no one ever attends to him. That's the
MemsahiVs work. I know; because, when
Tsin-ling tried to burn gilt paper before him,
she said it was a waste of money, and, if he
kept a stick burning very slowly, the Joss
wouldn't know the difference. So we've got
the sticks mixed with a lot of glue, and they
take half an hour longer to burn, and smell
stinky. Let alone the smell of the room by
itself. No business can get on if they try that
sort of thing. The Joss doesn't like it. I can
see that. Late at night, sometimes, he turns
all sorts of queer colors blue and green and
red just as he used to do when old Fung-
Tching was alive; and he rolls his eyes and
stamps his feet like a devil.

I don't know why I don't leave the place
and smoke quietly in a little room of my own

262 THE GATE OF THE

in the bazar. Most like, Tsing-ling would kill
me if I went away he draws my sixty rupees
now and besides, it's so much trouble, and
I've grown to be very fond of the Gate. It's
not much to look at. Not what it was in the
old man's time, but I couldn't leave it. I've
seen so many come in and out. And I've seen
so many die here on the mats that I should be
afraid of dying in the open now. I've seen
some things that people would call strange
enough; but nothing is strange when you're
on the Black Smoke, except the Black Smoke.
And if it was, it wouldn't matter. Fung-
Tching used to be very particular about his
people, and never got in any one who'd give
trouble by dying messy and such. But the
nephew isn't half so careful. He tells every-
where that he keeps a "first-chop" house.
Never tries to get men in quietly, and make
them comfortable like Fung-Tching did.
That's why the Gate is getting a little bit more
known than it used to be. Among the nig-
gers of course. The nephew daren't get a
white, or, for the matter of that, a mixed skin
into the place. He has to keep us three of
course me and the Memsahib and the other
Eurasian. We're fixtures. But he wouldn't
give us credit for a pipeful not for anything.

HUNDRED SORROWS 263

One of these days, I hope, I shall die in the
Gate. The Persian and the Madras man are
terribly shaky now. They've got a boy to light
their pipes for them. I always do that myself.
Most like, I shall see them carried out before
me. I don't think I shall ever outlive the
Mcmsahib or Tsin-ling. Women last longer
than men at the Black Smoke, and Tsin-ling
has a deal of the old man's blood in him,
though he does smoke cheap stuff. The bazar-
woman knew when she was going two days
before her time; and she died on a clean mat
with a nicely wadded pillow, and the old man
hung up her pipe just above the Joss. He was
always fond of her, I fancy. But he took her
bangles just the same.

I should like to die like the bazar-woman
on a clean, cool mat with a pipe of good stuff
between my lips. When I feel I'm going, I
shall ask Tsin-ling for them, and he can draw
my sixty rupees a month, fresh and fresh, as
long as he pleases. Then I shall lie back, quiet
and comfortable, and watch the black and red
dragons have their last fight together; and
then . . .

Well, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters
much to me only I wish Tsin-ling wouldn't
put bran into the Black Smoke.

THE STORY OF MUHAMMAD DIN

THE STORY OF MUHAMMAD DIN

Who is the happy man? He that sees in his own
house at home, little children crowned with dust, leap-
ing and falling and crying. Munichandra, translated
by Professor Peterson.

THE polo-ball was an old one, scarred,
chipped, and dinted. It stood on the
mantelpiece among the pipe-stems which Imam
Din, khitmatgar, was cleaning for me.

"Does the Heaven-born want this ball ?"
said Imam Din, deferentially.

The Heaven-born set no particular store by
it ; but of what use was a polo-ball to a khit-
tnatgar?

"By your Honor's favor, I have a little son.
He has seen this ball, and desires it to play
with. I do not want it for myself."

No one would for an instant accuse portly
old Imam Din of wanting to play with polo-
balls. He carried out the battered thing into
the veranda; and there followed a hurricane
of joyful squeaks, a patter of small feet, and
the thud-thud-thud of the ball rolling along
267

268 THE STORY OP

the ground. Evidently the little son had been
waiting outside the door to secure his treasure.
But how had he managed to see that polo-ball?

Next day, coming back from office half an
hour earlier than usual, I was aware of a small
figure in the dining-room a tiny, plurnp figure
in a ridiculously inadequate shirt which came,
perhaps, half-way down the tubby stomach. It
wandered round the room, thumb in mouth,
crooning to itself as it took stock of the pic-
tures. Undoubtedly this was the "little son."

He had no business in my room, of course;
but was so deeply absorbed in his discoveries
that he never noticed me in the doorway. I
stepped into the room and startled him nearly
into a fit. He sat down on the ground with a
gasp. His eyes opened, and his mouth fol-
lowed suit. I knew what was coming, and fled,
followed by a long, dry howl which reached
the servants' quarters far more quickly than
any command of mine had ever done. In ten
seconds Imam Din was in the dining-room.
Then despairing sobs arose, and I returned to
find Imam Din admonishing the small sinner
who was using most of his shirt as a hand-
kerchief.

"This boy," said Imam Din, judicially, "is a
budmashz big budmash. He will, without

MUHAMMAD DIN 269

doubt, go to the jail-khana for his behavior."
Renewed yells from the penitent, and an elab-
orate apology to myself from Imam "Din.

"Tell the baby/' said I, "that the Sahib is
not angry, and take him away." Imam Din
conveyed my forgiveness to the offender, who
had now gathered all his shirt round his neck,
stringwise, and the yell subsided into a sob.
The two set off for the door. "His name,"
said Imam Din, as though the name were part
of the crime, "is Muhammad Din, and he is a
budmash." Freed from present danger,
Muhammad Din turned round in his father's
arms, and said gravely, "It is true that my
name is Muhammad Din, Tahib, but I am not
a budmash. I am a man!"

From that day dated my acquaintance with
Muhammad Din. Never again did he come
into my dining-room, but on the neutral
ground of the garden, we greeted each other
with much state, though our conversation was
confined to "Talaam, Tahib" from his side,
and "Salaam, Muhammad Din" from mine.
Daily on my return from office, the little white
shirt, and the fat little body used to rise from
the shade of the creeper-covered trellis where
they had been hid; and daily I checked my
horse here, that my salutation might not be
slurred over or given unseemly.

270 THE STORY OP

Muhammad Din never had any companions.
He used to trot about the compound, in and
out of the castor-oil bushes, on mysterious
errands of his own. One day I stumbled upon
some of his handiwork far down the grounds.
He had half buried the polo-ball in dust, and
stuck six shriveled old marigold flowers in a
circle round it. Outside that circle again was
a rude square, traced out in bits of red brick
alternating with fragments of broken china;
the whole bounded by a little bank of dust.
The water-man from the well-curb put in a
plea for the small architect, saying that it was
only the play of a baby and did not much dis-
figure my garden.

Heaven knows that I had no intention of
touching the child's work then or later; but,
that evening, a stroll through the garden
brought me unawares full on it; so that I
trampled, before I knew, marigold-heads, dust-
bank, and fragments of broken soap-dish into
confusion past all hope of mending. Next
morning, I came upon Muhammad Din crying
softly to himself over the ruin I had wrought.
Some one had cruelly told him that the Sahib
was very angry with him for spoiling the gar-
den, and had scattered his rubbish, using bad
language the while. Muhammad Din labored

MUHAMMAD DIN 27*

for an hour at effacing every trace of the dust-
bank and pottery fragments, and it was with a
tearful and apologetic face that he said
"Talaam, Tahib" when I came home from
office. A hasty inquiry resulted in Imam Din
informing Muhammad Din that, by my singu-
lar favor, he was permitted to disport himself
as he pleased. Whereat the child took heart
and fell to tracing the ground-plan of an edi-
fice which was to eclipse the marigold-polo-
ball creation.

For some months, the chubby little eccen-
tricity revolved in his humble orbit among the
castor-oil bushes and in the dust ; always fash-
ioning magnificent palaces from stale flowers
thrown away by the bearer, smooth water-
worn pebbles, bits of broken glass, and feathers
pulled, I fancy, from my fowls always alone,
and always crooning to himself.

A gaily-spotted sea-shell was dropped one
day close to the last of his little buildings ; and
I looked that Muhammad Din should build
something more than ordinarily splendid on
the strength of it. Nor was I disappointed.
He meditated for the better part of an hour,
and his crooning rose to a jubilant song. Then
he began tracing in the dust. It would cer-
tainly be a wondrous palace, this one, for it

272 MUHAMMAD DIN

was two yards long and a yard broad in
ground-plan. But the palace was never com-
pleted.

Next day there was no Muhammad Din at
the head of the carriage-drive, and no
"Talaam, Tahib" to welcome my return. I
had grown accustomed to the greeting, and its
omission troubled me. Next day Imam Din
told me that the child was suffering slightly
from fever and needed quinine. He got the
medicine, and an English Doctor.

"They have no stamina, these brats," said
the Doctor, as he left Imam Din's quarters.

A week later, though I would have given
much to have avoided it, I met on the road to
the Mussulman burying-ground Imam Din, ac-
companied by one other friend, carrying in
his arms, wrapped in a white cloth, all that was
left of little Muhammad Din.

ON THE STRENGTH OF A LIKENESS

ON THE STRENGTH OF A LIKENESS

If your mirror be broken, look into still water; but
have a care that you do not fall in. Hindu Proverb.

to a requited attachment, one of the
most convenient things that a young man
can carry about with him at the beginning of
his career, is an unrequited attachment. It
makes him feel important and business-like,
and blase, and cynical; and whenever he has
a touch of liver, or suffers from want of exer-
cise, he can mourn over his lost love, and be
very happy in a tender, twilight fashion.

Hannasyde's affair of the heart had been a
godsend to him. It was four years old, and
the girl had long since given up thinking of it.
She had married and had many cares of her
own. In the beginning, she had told Hanna-
syde that, "while she could never be anything
more than a sister to him, she would always
take the deepest interest in his welfare." This
startlingly new and original remark gave
Hannasyde something to think over for two

275

276 ON THE STRENGTH

years; and his own vanity filled in the other
twenty-four months. Hannasyde was quite
different from Phil Garron, but, none the less,
had several points in common with that far too
lucky man.

He kept his unrequited attachment by him
as men keep a well-smoked pipe for com-
fort's sake, and because it had grown dear in
the using. It brought him happily through
one Simla season. Hannasyde was not lovely.
There was a crudity in his manners, and a
roughness in the way in which he helped a
lady on to her horse, that did not attract the
other sex to him. Even if he had cast about
for their favor, which he did not. He kept
his wounded heart all to himself for a while.
, Then trouble came to him. All who go to
Simla know the slope from the Telegraph to
the Public Works Office. Hannasyde was
loafing up the hill, one September morning be-
tween calling hours, when a 'rickshaw came
down in a hurry, and in the 'rickshaw sat the
living, breathing image of the girl who had
made him so happily unhappy. Hannasyde
leaned against the railings and gasped. He
wanted to run down hill after the 'rickshaw,
but that was impossible; so he went forward
with most of his blood in his temples. It was

OF A LIKENESS 277

impossible, for man> reasons, that the woman
in the 'rickshaw could be the girl, he had
known. She was, he discovered later, the wife
of a man from Dincligul, or Coitnbatore, or
some out-of-the-way place, and she had come
up to Simla early in the season for the good of
her health. She was going back to Dindigul,
or wherever it was, at the end of the season;
and in all likelihood would never return to
Simla again; her proper Hill-station being
Ootacamund. That night Hannasyde, raw
and savage from the raking up of all old feel-
ings, took counsel with himself for one meas-
ured hour. What he dicided upon was this;
and you must decide for yourself how much
genuine affection for the old Love, and how
much a very natural inclination to go abroad
and enjoy himself, affected the decision. Mrs.
Landys-Haggert would never in all human
likelihood cross his path again. So whatever
he did didn't much matter. She was marvel-
ously like the girl who "took a deep interest"
and the rest of the formula. All things con-
sidered, it would be pleasant to make the ac-
quaintance of Mrs. Lanclys-Haggert, and for
a little time only a very little time to make
believe that he was with Alice Chisane again.
Every one is more or less mad on one point

278 ON THE STRENGTH

Hannasyde's particular monomania was his
old love, Alice Chisane.

He made it his business to get introduced
to Mrs. Haggert, and the introduction pros-
pered. He also made it his business to see as
much as he could of that lady. When a man
is in earnest as to interviews, the facilities
which Simla offers are startling. There are
garden-parties, and tennis-parties, and picnics,
and luncheons at Annandale, and rifle-
matches, and dinners and balls; besides rides
and walks, which are matters of private ar-
rangement. Hannasyde had started with the
intention of seeing a likeness, and he ended by
doing much more. He wanted to be deceived,
he meant to be deceived, and he deceived him-
self very thoroughly. Not only were the face
and figure the face and figure of Alice Chisane,
but the voice and lower tones were exactly the
same, and so were the turns of speech ; and the
little mannerisms, that every woman has, of
gait and gesticulation, were absolutely and
identically the same. The turn of the heacj
was the same ; the tired look in the eyes at the
end of a long walk was the same; the stoop-
and-wrench over the saddle to hold in a pulling
horse was the same ; and once, most marvelous
of all, Mrs. Landys-Haggert singing to her-

OP A LIKENESS 279

self in the next room, while Hannasyde was
waiting to take her for a ride, hummed, note
for note, with a throaty quiver of the voice in
the second line, "Poor Wandering One!" ex-
actly as Alice Chisane had hummed it for Han-
nasyde in the dusk of an English drawing-
room. In the actual woman herself in the
soul of her there was not the least likeness;
she and Alice Chisane being cast in different
moulds. But all that Hannasyde wanted to
know and see and think about, was this mad-
dening and perplexing likeness of face and
voice and manner. He was bent on making
a fool of himself that way; and he was in no
sort disappointed.

Open and obvious devotion from any sort
of man is always pleasant to any sort of
woman; but Mrs. Landys-Haggert, being a
woman of the world, could make nothing of
Hannasyde's admiration.

He would take any amount of trouble he
was a selfish man habitually to meet and
forestall, if possible her wishes. Anything
she told him to do was law ; and he was, there
could be no doubting it, fond of her company
so long as she talked to him, and kept on talk-
ing about trivialities. But when she launched
into expression of her personal views and her

282 ON THE STRENGTH

tain whether it was Haggert or Chisane that
made up the greater part of the pretty phan-
tom.

******

He got understanding a month later.

A peculiar point of this particular country
is the way in which a heartless Govern-
ment transfers men from one end of the Em-
pire to the other. You can never be sure of
getting rid of a friend or an enemy till he or
she dies. There was a case once but that's
another story.

Haggert's Department ordered him up from
Dindigul to the Frontier at two days' notice,
and he went through, losing money at every
step, from Dindigul to his station. He
dropped Mrs. Haggert at Lucknow, to stay
with some friends there, to take part in a big
ball at the Chutter Munzil, and to come on
when he had made the new home a little com-
fortable. Lucknow was Hannasyde's station,
and Mrs. Haggert stayed a week there. Han-
nasyde went to meet her. As the train came
in, he discovered what he had been thinking
of for the past month. The unwisdom of his
conduct also struck him. The Lucknow week,
with two dances, and an unlimited quantity of
rides together, clinched matters; and Hanna-
Kip.2 9

OF A LIKENESS 283,

syde found himself pacing this circle of
thought : He adored Alice Chisane, .at least
he had adored her. And he admired Mrs.
Landys-Haggert because she was like Alice
Chisane. But Mrs. Landys-Haggert was not
in the least like Alice Chisane, being a thou-
sand times more adorable. Now Alice Chi-
sane was "the bride of another/' and so was
Mrs. Landys-Haggert, and a good and honest
wife too. Therefore, he, Hannasyde, was
. . . here he called himself several hard
names, and wished that he had been wise in
the beginning.

Whether Mrs. Landys-Haggert saw what
was going on in his mind, she alone knows.
He seemed to take an unqualified interest in
everything connected with herself, as distin-
guished from the Alice-Chisane likeness, and
he said one or two things which, if Alice Chi-
sane had been still betrothed to him, could
scarcely have been excused, even on the
grounds of the likeness. But Mrs. Haggert
turned the remarks aside, and spent a long
time in making Hannasyde see what a com-
fort and a pleasure she had been to him be-
cause of her strange resemblance to his old
love. Hannasyde groaned in his saddle and
said, "Yes, indeed/' and busied himself with
Kip. 210

284 ON THE STRENGTH

preparations for her departure to the Frontier,
feeling very small and miserable.

The last day of her stay at Lucknow came,
and Hannasyde saw her off at the Railway
Station. She was very grateful for his kind-
ness and the trouble he had taken, and smiled
pleasantly and sympathetically as one who
knew the Alice Chisane reason of that kind-
ness. And Hannasyde abused the coolies with
the luggage, and hustled the people on the plat-
form, and prayed that the roof might fall in
and slay him.

As the train went out slowly, Mrs. Landys-
Haggert leaned out of the window to say
good-bye "On second thoughts au revoir,
Mr. Hannasyde. I go Home in the Spring,
and perhaps I may meet you in Town."

Hannasyde shook hands, and said very ear-
nestly and adoringly "I hope to Heaven I
shall never see your face again I 1 '

And Mrs. Haggert understood.

WRESSLEY OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE

WRESSLEY OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE

I closed and drew for my Love's sake,

That now is false to me,
And I slew the Riever of Tarrant Moss,

And set Dumeny free.

And ever they give me praise and gold,

And ever I moan my loss;
For I struck the blow for my false Love's sake,
And not for the men of Moss)

Tarrant Moss.

ONE of the many curses of our life in In-
dia is the want of atmosphere in the
painter's sense. There are no half-tints worth
noticing. Men stand out all crude and raw,
with nothing to tone them down, and nothing
to scale them against. They do their work,
and grow to think that there is nothing but
their work, and nothing like their work, and
that they are the real pivots on which the Ad-
ministration turns. Here is an instance of
this feeling. A half-caste clerk was ruling
forms in a Pay Office. He said to me, "Do
287

288 WRESSLEY OF THE

you know what would happen if I added or
took away one single line on this sheet ?"
Then, with the air of a conspirator, "It would
disorganize the whole of the Treasury pay-
ments throughout the whole of the Presidency
Circle! Think of that!"

If men had not this delusion as to the ultra-
importance of their own particular employ-
ments, I suppose that they would sit clown
and kill themselves. But their weakness is
wearisome, particularly when the listener
knows that he himself commits exactly the
same sin.

Even the Secretariat believes that it does
good when it asks an over-driven Executive
Officer to take a census of wheat-weevils
through a district of five thousand square
miles.

There was a man once in the Foreign Office
a man who had grown middle-aged in the
Department, and was commonly said, by irrev-
erent juniors, to be able to repeat Aitchison's
Treaties and Sunnuds backward in his sleep.
What he did with his stored knowledge only
the Secretary knew; and he, naturally, would
not publish the news abroad. This man's name
was Wressley, and it was the Shibboleth, in
those days, to say "Wressley knows more

FOREIGN OFFICE 289

about the Central Indian States than any living
man/' If you did not say this, you were con-
sidered one of mean understanding.

Nowadays, the man who says that he knows
the ravel of the inter-tribal complications
across the Border is more of use; but, in
Wressley's time, much attention was paid to
the Central Indian States. They were called
"foci" and "factors," and all manner of impos-
ing names.

And here the curse of Anglo-Indian life fell
heavily. When Wressley lifted up his voice,
and spoke about such-and-such a succession to
such-and-such a throne, the Foreign Office
were silent, and Heads of Departments re*
peated the last two or three words of Wress-
ley's sentences, and tacked "yes, yes/' on to
them, and knew that they were assisting the
Empire to grapple with serious political con*
tingencies. In most big undertakings, one or
two men do the work while the rest sit near
and talk till the ripe decorations begin to fall.

Wressley was the working-member of the
Foreign Office firm, and, to keep him up to his
duties when he showed signs of flagging, he
was made much of by his superiors and told
what a fine fellow he was. He did not require
coaxing, because he was of tough build, but

29 WRESSLEY OP THE

what he received confirmed him in the belief
that there was no one quite so absolutely and
imperatively necessary to the stability of India
as Wressley of the Foreign Office. There
might be other good men, but the known* hon-
ored and trusted man among men was Wress-
ley of the Foreign Office. We had a Viceroy
in those days who knew exactly when to "gen-
tle" a fractious big man, and to hearten-up a
collar-galled little one, and so keep all his team
level. He conveyed to Wressley the impres-
sion which I have just set down; and even
tough men are apt to be disorganized by a
Viceroy's praise. There was a case once but
that is another story.

All India knew Wressley's name and office
it was in Thacker and Spink's Directory
but who he was personally, or what he did,
or what his special merits were, not fifty men
knew or cared. His work filled all his time,
and he found no leisure to cultivate acquaint-
ances beyond those of dead Rajput chiefs with
Ahir blots in their scutcheons. Wressley
would have made a very good Clerk in the
Herald's College had he not been a Bengal Ci-
vilian.

Upon a day, between office and office, great
trouble came to Wressley overwhelmed him,

FOREIGN OFFICE 29*

knocked him down, and left him gasping as
though he had been a little schoolboy. With-
out reason, against prudence, and at a mo-
ment's notice, he fell in love with a frivolous,
golden-haired girl who used to tear about
Simla Mall on a high, rough waler, with a blue
velvet jockey-cap crammed over her eyes. Her
name was Venner Tillie Venner and she
was delightful. She took Wressley 's heart at
a hand-gallop, and Wressley found that it was
not good for man to live alone; even with half
the Foreign Office Records in his presses.

Then Simla laughed, for Wressley in love
was slightly ridiculous. He did his best to in-
terest the girl in himself that is to say, his
work and she, after the manner of women,
did her best to appear interested in what, be-
hind his back, she called "Mr. Wressley's
Wajahs"; for she lisped very prettily. She
did not understand one little thing about them,
but she acted as if she did. Men have married
on that sort of error before now.

Providence, however, had care of Wressley.
He was immensely struck with Miss Vernier's
intelligence. He would have been more im-
pressed had he heard her private and confiden-
tial accounts of his calls. He held peculiar no-
tions as to the wooing of girls. He said that

WRESSLEY OF THE

the best work of a man's career should be laid
reverently at their feet. Ruskin writes some-
thing like this somewhere, I think ; but in or-
dinary life a few kisses are better and save
time.

About a month after he had lost his heart
to Miss Venner, and had been doing his work
vilely in consequence, the first idea of his Na-
tive Rule in Central India struck Wressley and
filled him with joy. It was, as he sketched it,
a great thing the work of his life * really
comprehensive survey of a most fascinating
subject to be written with all the special and
laboriously acquired knowledge of Wressley
of the Foreign Office a gift fit for an Em-
press.

He told Miss Venner that he was going to
take leave, and hoped, on his return, to bring
her a present worthy of her acceptance.
Would she wait? Certainly she would.
Wressley drew seventeen hundred rupees a
nlonth. She would wait a year for that Her
Mamma would help her to wait.

So Wressley took one year's leave and all
the available documents, about a truck-load,
that he could lay hands on, and went down to
Central India with his notion hot in his head.
He began his book in the land he was writing

FOREIGN OFFICE 293

of. Too much official correspondence had
made him a frigid workman, and he must have
guessed that he needed the white light of local
color on his palette. This is a dangerous paint
for amateurs to play with.

Heavens, how that man worked! He
caught his Rajahs, analyzed his Rajahs, and
traced them up into the mists of Time and be-
yond, with their queens and their concubines.
He dated and cross-dated, pedigreed and
triple-pedigreed, compared, noted, connoted,
wove, strung, sorted, selected, inferred, calen-
dared and counter-calendared for ten hours a
day. And, because this sudden and new light
of Love was upon him, he turned those dry
bones of history and dirty records of misdeeds
into things to weep or to laugh over as he
pleased. His heart and soul were at the end
of his pen, and they got into the ink. He was
dowered with sympathy, insight, humor, and
style for two hundred and thirty days and
nights ; and his book was a Book. He had his
vast special knowledge with him, so to speak;
but the spirit, the woven-in human Touch, the
poetry and the power of the output, were be-
yond all special knowledge. But I doubt
whether he knew the gift that was in him then,
and thus he may have lost some happiness. He

294 WRESSLEY OF THE

was toiling for Tillie Venner, not for himself.
Men often do their best work blind, for some
one else's sake.

Also, though this has nothing to do with
the story, in India, where every one knows
every one else, you can watch men being
driven, by the women who govern them, out
of the rank-and-file and sent to take up points
alone. A good man, once started, goes for-
ward; but an average man, as soon as the
woman loses interest in his success as a tribute
to her power, comes back to the battalion and
is no more heard of.

Wressley bore the first copy of his book to
Simla, and, blushing and stammering, pre-
sented it to Miss Venner. She read a little bit
of it. I give her review verbatim "Oh your
book? It's all about those howwid Wajahs.
I didn't understand it."

Wressley of the Foreign Office was broken,
smashed, I am not exaggerating by this one
frivolous little girl. All that he could say
feebly was "But but it's my magnum opust
The work of my life." Miss Venner did not
know what magnum opus meant ; but she knew
that Captain Kerrington had won three races

FOREIGN OFFICE 295

at the last Gymkhana. Wressley didn't press
her to wait for him any longer. He had sense
enough for that.

Then came the reaction after the year's
strain, and Wressley went back to the Foreign
Office and his "Wajahs," a compiling, gazet-
teering, report-writing hack, who would have
been dear at three hundred rupees a month.
He abided by Miss Vernier's review. Which
proves that the inspiration in the book was
purely temporary and unconnected with him-
self. Nevertheless, he had no right to sink,
in a hill-tarn, five packing-cases, brought up
at enormous expense from Bombay, of the
best book of Indian history ever written.

When he sold off before retiring, some years
later, I was turning over his shelves, and came
across the only existing copy of Native Rule in
Central India the copy that Miss Venner
could not understand. I read it, sitting on his
mule-trunks, as long as the light lasted, and
offered him his own price for it. He looked
over my shoulder for a few pages and said to
himself drearily

"Now, how in the world did I come to write
such damned good stuff as that ?"

Then to me

"Take it and keep it. Write one of yout

396 WKESBLEY OF THE

penny-farthing yarns about its birth. Perhaps
perhaps the whole business may have been
ordained to that end."

Which, knowing what Wressley of the For-
eign Office was once, struck me as about the
bitterest thing that I had ever heard a man say
of his own work.

BY WORD OF MOUTH

BY WORD OF MOUTH

Not though you die to-night, O Sweet, and

A spectre at my door,
Shall mortal Fear make Love immortal fail

I shall but love you more,

Who, from Death's house returning, give me still
One moment's comfort in my matchless ill.

Shadow Houses.

* I A HIS tale may be explained by those who
* know how souls are made, and where the
bounds of the Possible are put down. I have
lived long enough in this India to know that it
is best to know nothing, and can only write
the story as it happened.

Dumoise was our Civil Surgeon at Meridki,
and we called him "Dormouse," because he
was a round little, sleepy little man. He was a
good Doctor and never quarreled with any
one, not even with our Deputy Commissioner
who had the manners of a bargee and the tact
of a horse. He married a girl as round and as
sleepy-looking as himself. She was a Miss
299

300 BY WORD OF MOUTH

Hillardyce, daughter of "Squash" Hillardyce
of the Berars, who married his Chief's daugh-
ter by mistake. But that is another story.

A honeymoon in India is seldom more than
a week long; but there is nothing to hinder a
couple from extending it over two or three
years. India is a delightful country for mar-
ried folk who are wrapped up in one another.
They can live absolutely alone and without in-
terruption just as the Dormice did. Those
two little people retired from the world after
their marriage, and were very happy. They
were forced, of course, to give occasional din-
ners, but they made no friends thereby, and the
Station went its own way and forgot them;
only saying, occasionally, that Dormouse was
the best of good fellows though dull. A Civil
Surgeon who never quarrels is a rarity, ap-
preciated as such.

Few people can afford to play Robinson Cru-
soe anywhere least of all in India, where we
are few in the land and very much dependent
on each other's kind offices. Dumoise was
wrong in shutting himself from the world for
a year, and he discovered his mistake when an
epidemic of typhoid broke out in the Station
in the heart of the cold weather, and his wife
went down* He was a shy little man, and five

BY WORD OF MOUTH

days were wasted before he realized that Mrs.
Dumoise was burning with something worse
than simple fever, and three d^ys more passed
before he ventured to call on Mrs. Shute, the
Engineer's wife, and timidly speak about his
trouble. Nearly every household in India
knows that Doctors are very helpless in
typhoid. The battle must be fought out be-
tween Death and the Nurses minute by minute
and degree by degree. Mrs. Shute almost
boxd Dumoise's ears for what she called his
"criminal delay," and went off at once to look
after the poor girl. We had seven cases of
typhoid in the Station that Winter and, as the
average of death is about one in every five
cases, we felt certain that we should have to
lose somebody. But all did their best. The
women sat up nursing the women, and the men
turned to and tended the bachelors who were
down, and we wrestled with those typhoid
cases for fifty-six days, and brought them
through the Valley of the Shadow in triumph.
But, just when we thought all was over, and
were going to give a dance to celebrate the
victory, little Mrs. Dumoise got a relapse and
died in a week and the Station went to the
funeral. Dumoise broke down utterly at the
brink of the grave, and had to be taken away.

302 BY WORD OF MOUTH

After the death, Dumoise crept into his own
house and refused to be comforted. He did
his duties perfectly, but we all felt that he
should go on leave, and the other men of his
own Service told him so. Dumoise was very
thankful for the suggestion he was thankful
for anything in those days and went to Chini
on a walking-tour. Chini is some twenty
marches from Simla, in the heart of the Hills,
and the scenery is good if you are in trouble.
You pass through big, still deodar-forests, and
under big, still cliffs, and over big, still grass-
downs swelling like a woman's breasts; and
the wind across the grass, and the rain among
the deodars says "Hush hush hush." So
little Dumoise was packed off to Chini, to wear
down his grief with a full-plate camera and a
rifle. He took also a useless bearer, because
the man had been his wife's favorite servant.
He was idle and a thief, but Dumoise trusted
everything to him.

On his way back from Chini, Dumoise
turned aside to Bagi, through the Forest Re-
serve which is on the spur of Mount Huttoo.
Some men who have traveled more than a little
say that the march from Kotegarh to Bagi is
one of the finest in creation. It runs through
dark wet forest, and ends suddenly in bleak,

BY WORD OF MOUTH 303

nipped hillside and black rocks. Bagi dak-
bungalow is open to all the winds and is-bitterly
cold. Few people go to Bagi. Perhaps that
was the reason why Dumoise went there. He
halted at seven in the evening, and his bearer
went down the hillside to the village to engage
coolies for the next day's march. The sun
had set, and the night-winds were beginning to
croon among the rocks. Dumoise leaned on
the railing of the veranda, waiting for his
bearer to return. The man came back almost
immediately after he had disappeared, and at
such a rate that Dumoise fancied he must have
crossed a bear. He was running as hard as
he could up the face of the hill.

But there was no bear to account for his
terror. He raced to the veranda and fell down,
the blood spurting from his nose and his face
iron-grey. Then he gurgled "I have seen the
Memsahib! I have seen the Memsahib!"

"Where?" said Dumoise.

"Down there, walking on the road to the vil-
lage. She was in a blue dress, and she lifted
the veil of her bonnet and said 'Ram Dass,
give my salaams to the Sahib, and tell him that
I shall meet him next month at Nuddea.' Then
I ran away, because I was afraid."

What Dumoise said or did I do not know.

304 BY WORD OF MOUTH

Ram Dtss declares that he said nothing, but
walked up and down the veranda all the cold
night, waiting for the Memsahib to come up
the hill and stretching out his arms into the
dark like a madman. But no Memsahib came,
and, next day, he went on to Simla cross-ques-
tioning the bearer every hour.

Ram Dass could only say that he had met
Mrs. Dumoise and that she had lifted up her
veil and given him the message which he had
faithfully repeated to Dumoise. To this state-
ment Ram Dass adhered. He did not know
where Nuddea was, had no friends at Nuddea,
and would most certainly never go to Nuddea ;
even though his pay were doubled.

Nuddea is in Bengal and has nothing what-
ever to do with a Doctor serving in the Punjab.
It must be more than twelve hundred miles
south of Meridki.

Dumoise went through Simla without halt-
ing, and returned to Meridki, there to take over
charge from the man who had been officiating
for him during his tour. There were some
Dispensary accounts to be explained, and some
recent orders of the Surgeon-General to be
noted, and, altogether, the taking-over was a
full day's work. In the evening, Dumoise told
his locum tenens, who was an old friend of

BY WORD OP MOUTH 35

his bachelor days, what had happened at Bag! ;
and the man said that Ram Dass might as well
have chosen Tuticorin while he was about it.

At that moment, a telegraph-peon came in
with a telegram from Simla, ordering Dumoise
not to take over charge at Meridki, but to go
at once to Nuddea on special duty. There was
a nasty outbreak of cholera at Nuddea, and
the Bengal Government, being short-handed,
as usual, had borrowed a Surgeon from the
Punjab.

Dumoise threw the telegram across the table
and said 'Well?"

The other Doctor said nothing. It was all
that he could say.

Then he remembered that Dumoise had
passed through Simla on his way from Bagi;
and thus might, possibly, have heard first news
of the impending transfer.

He tried to put the question, and the implied
suspicion into words, but Dumoise stopped him
with "If I had desired that, I should never
have come back from Chini. I was shooting
there. I wish to live, for I have things to
do ... but I shall not be sorry/'

The other man bowed his head, and helped,
in the twilight, to pack up Dumoise's just
opened trunks. Ram Dass entered with the
lamps.

306 BY WORD OF MOUTH

"Where is the Sahib going?" he asked.

"To Nuddea," said Dumoise, softly.

Ram Dass clawed Dumoise's knees and boots
and begged him not to go. Ram Dass wept
and howled till he was turned out of the room.
Then he wrapped up all his belongings and
came back to ask for a character. He was not
going to Nuddea to see his Sahib die and, per-
haps, to die himself.

So Dumoise gave the man his wages and
went down to Nuddea alone ; the other Doctor
bidding him good-bye as one under sentence of
death.

Eleven days later he had joined his Mem-
sahib; and the Bengal Government had to bor-
row a fresh Doctor to cope with that epidemic
at Nuddea. The first importation lay dead in
Chooadanga Dak-Bungalow,

TO BE FILED FOR REFERENCE

TO BE FILED FOR REFERENCE

By the hoof of the Wild Goat up-tossed
From the Cliff where She lay in the Sun,

Fell the Stone

To the Tarn where the daylight is lost;
So She fell from the light of the Sun,

And alone.

Now the fall was ordained from the first,
With the Goat and the Cliff and the Tarn,

But the Stone

Knows only Her life is accursed,
As She sinks in the depths of the Tarn,
And alone.

Oh, Thou who has builded the world !
Oh, Thou who hast lighted the Sun !
Oh, Thou who hast darkened the Tarn!

Judge Thou

The sin of the Stone that was hurled
By the Goat from the light of the Sun,
As She sinks in the mire of the Tarn,

Even now even now even now!
From the Unpublished Papers of Mclntosh fellaludi*

AY is it dawn, is it dusk in thy Bower,
Thou whom I long for, who longest for

me?
Oh, be it night be it'

39

3io TO BE FILED

Here he fell over a little camel-colt that was
sleeping in the Serai where the horse-traders
and the best of the blackguards from Central
Asia live; and, because he was very drunk in-
deed and the night was dark, he could not rise
again till I helped him. That was the begin-
ning of my acquaintance with Mclntosh Jel-
laludin. When a loafer, and drunk, sings
"The Song of the Bower," he must be worth
cultivating. He got off the camel's back and
said, rather thickly, "I I I'm a bit screwed,
but a dip in Loggerhead will put me right
again ; and, I say, have you spoken to Symonds
about the mare's knees ?"

Now Loggerhead was six thousand weary
miles away from us, close to Mesopotamia,
where you musn't fish and poaching is impos-
sible, and Charley Symonds' stable a half mile
farther across the paddocks. It was strange to
hear all the old names, on a May night, among
the horses and camels of the Sultan Caravan-
serai. Then the man seemed to remember him-
self and sober down at the same time. He
leaned against the camel and pointed to a cor-
ner of the Serai where a lamp was burning.

"I live there/' said he, "and I should be ex-
tremely obliged if you would be good enough
to help my mutinous feet thither; for I am

FOR REFERENCE 3"

more than usually drunk most most phe-
nomenally tight. But not in respect- to my
head. 'My brain cries out against' how does
it go? But my head rides on the rolls on
the dunghill I should have said, and controls
the qualm."

I helped him through the gangs of tethered
horses and he collapsed on the edge of the
veranda in front of the line of native quarters.

"Thanks a thousand thanks ! O Moon and
little, little Stars ! To think that a man should
so shamelessly . . . Infamous liquor too.
Ovid in exile drank no worse. Better. It was
frozen. Alas! I had no ice. Good-night. I
would introduce you to my wife were I sober
or she civilized."

A native woman came out of the darkness
of the room, and began calling the man names;
so I went away. He was the most interesting
loafer that I had had the pleasure of knowing
for a long time; and later on, he became a
friend of mine. He was a tall, well-built, fair
man, fearfully shaken with drink, and he
looked nearer fifty than the thirty-five which,
he said, was his real age. When a man begins
to sink in India, and is not sent Home by his
friends as soon as may be, he falls very low
from a respectable point of view. By the time

312 TO BE FILED

that he changes his creed, as did Mclntosh,
he is past redemption.

In most big cities, natives will tell you of
two or three Sahibs, generally low-caste, who
have turned Hindu or Mussulman, and who
live more or less as such. But it is not often
that you can get to know them. As Mclntosh
himself used to say, "If I change my religion
for my stomach's sake, I do not seek to become
a martyr to missionaries, nor am I anxious for
notoriety."

At the outset of acquaintance Mclntosh
warned me. "Remember this. I am not an
object for charity. I require neither your
money, your food, nor your cast-off raiment.
I am that rare animal, a self-supporting drunk-
ard. If you choose, I will smoke with you, for
the tobacco of the bazars does not, I admit,
suit my palate; and I will borrow any books
which you may not specially value. It is more
than likelj that I shall sell them for bottles of
excessively filthy country liquors. In return,
you shall share such hospitality as my house
affords. Here is a charpoy on which two can
it, and it is possible that there may, from
time to time, be food in that platter. Drink,
unfortunately, you will find on the premises at
any hour: and thus I make you welcome to
all my poor establishment."

FOR REFERENCE 3*3

I was admitted to the Mclntosh household*
I and my good tobacco. But nothing else.
Unluckily, one cannot visit a loafer in the Serai
by day. Friends buying horses would not un*
derstand it. Consequently, I was obliged to
see Mclntosh after dark. He laughed at this,
and said simply, "You are perfectly right.
When I enjoyed a position in society, rather
higher than yours, I should have done exactly
the same thing. Good heavens ! I was once"
he spoke as though he had fallen from the
Command of a Regiment "an Oxford Man 1
This accounted for the reference to Charley
Symonds' stable.

"You," said Mclntosh slowly, "have not had
that advantage; but, to outward appearanct,
you do not seem possessed of a craving for
strong drinks. On the whole, I fancy that
you are the luckier of the two. Yet I am not
certain. You are forgive my saying so even
while I am smoking your excellent tobacco-
painfully ignorant of many things. 1 '

We were sitting together on the edge of his
bedstead, for he owned no chairs, watching
the horses being watered for the night, while
the native woman was preparing dinner. I did
not like being patronized by a loafer, but I was
his guest for the time being, though he owned

314 TO BE FILED

only one very torn alpaca-coat and a pair of
trousers made out of gunny-bags. He took
the pipe out of his mouth, and went on judi-
cially, "All things considered, I doubt whether
you are the luckier. I do not refer to your
extremely limited classical attainments, or your
excruciating quantities, but to your gross ig-
norance of matters more immediately under
your notice. That, for instance/' he pointed
to a woman cleaning a samovar near the well
in the centre of the Serai. She was flicking
the water out of the spout in regular cadenced
jerks.

"There are ways and ways of cleaning sam-
ovars. If you knew why she was doing her
work in that particular fashion, you would
know what the Spanish Monk meant when he
said

I the Trinity illustrate,
Drinking watered orange-pulp

In three sips the Arian frustrate,
While he drains his at one gulp

and many other things which now are hidden
from your eyes. However, Mrs. Mclntosh has
prepared dinner. Let us come and eat after
the fashion of the people of the country of
whom, by the way, you know nothing."

FOR REFERENCE 3*5

The native woman dipped her hand in the
dish with us. This was wrong. The wife
should always wait until the husband has
eaten. Mclntosh Jellaludin apologized, say-
ing

"It is an English prejudice which I have not
been able to overcome; and she loves aie.
Why, I have never been able to understand. I
foregathered with her at Jullundur, three years
ago, and she has remained with me ever since.
I believe her to be moral, and know her to be
skilled in cookery."

He patted the woman's head as he spoke,
and she cooed softly. She was not pretty to
look at.

Mclntosh never told me what position he
had held before his fall. He was, when sober, a
scholar and a gentleman. When drunk, he was
rather more of the first than the second. He
used to get drunk about once a week for two
days. On those occasions the native woman
tended him while he raved in all tongues except
his own. One day, indeed, he began reciting
Atalanta in Cdydon, and went through it to
the end, beating time to the swing of the verse
with a bedstead-leg. But he did most of his
ravings in Greek or German. The man's mind
was a perfect rag-bag of useless things. Once,
Kip. 211

316 TO BE FILED

when he was beginning to get sober, he told
me that I was the only rational being in the
Inferno into which he had descended a Virgil
in the Shades, he said and that, in return for
my tobacco, he would, before he died, give me
the materials of a new Inferno that should
make me greater than Dante. Then he fell
asleep on a horse-blanket and woke up quite
calm.

"Man," said he, "wlten you have reached
the uttermost depths of degradation, little in-
cidents which would vex a higher life, are to
you of no consequence. Last night, my soul
was among the Gods ; but I make no doubt that
my bestial body was writhing down here in
the garbage."

"You were abominably drunk if that's what
you mean," I said.

"I was drunk filthily drunk. I who am the
sort of a man with whom you have no concern
I who was once Fellow of a College whose
buttery-hatch you have not seen. I was loath-
somely drunk. But consider how lightly I
am touched. It is nothing to me. Less than
nothing; for I do not even feel the headache
which should be my portion. Now, in a higher
life, how ghastly would have been my punish-
ment, how bitter my repentance! Believe me

* FOR REFERENCE 317

my friend with the neglected education, the
highest is as the lowest always supposing
each degree extreme."

He turned around on the blanket, put his
head betwen his fists and continued

"On the Soul which I have lost and on the
Conscience which I have killed, I tell you that
I cannot feel! I am as the Gods, knowing
good and evil, but untouched by either. Is
this enviable or is it not?"

When a man has lost the warning of "next
morning's head," he must be in bad state. I
answered, looking at Mclntosh on the blanket,
with his hair over his eyes and his lips blue-
white, that I did not think the insensibility
good enough.

"For pity's sake, don't say that ! I tell you,
it is good and most enviable. Think of my
consolations !"

"Have you so many, then, Mclntosh?"

"Certainly ; your attempts at sarcasm, which
is essentially the weapon of a cultured man,
are crude. First, my attainments, my classical
and literary knowledge, blurred, perhaps, by
immoderate drinking which reminds me that
before my soul went to the Gods last night, I
sold the Pickering Horace you so kindly loaned
me. Ditta Mull the clothesman has it. It

3i8 TO BE FILED

fetched ten annas, and may be redeemed for a
rupee but still infinitely superior to yours.
Secondly, the abiding affection of Mrs. Mcln-
tosh, best of wives. Thirdly, a monument,
more enduring than brass, which I have built
up in the seven years of my degradation."

He stopped here, and crawled across the
room for a drink of water. He was very
shaky and sick.

He referred several times to his "treasure"
some great possession that he owned but I
held this to be the raving of drink. He was as
poor and as proud as he could be. His man-
ner was not pleasant, but he knew enough
about the natives, among whom seven years
of his life had been spent, to make his ac-
quaintance worth having. He used actually
to laugh at Strickland as an ignorant man
"ignorant West and East" he said. His
boast was, first, that he was an Oxford Man
of rare and shining parts, which may or may
not have been true I did not know enough to
check his statements and, secondly, that he
"had his hand on the pulse of native life"
which was a fact. As an Oxford Man, he
struck me as a prig; he was always throwing
his education about. As a Mohammedan
faquir as Mclntosh Jellaludin he was all

FOR REFERENCE 3*9

that I wanted for my own ends. He smoked
several pounds of my tobacco, and taught me
several ounces of things worth knowing; but
he would never accept any gifts, not even when
the cold weather came, and gripped the poor
thin chest under the poor thin alpaca-coat. He
grew very angry, and said that I had insulted
him, and that he was not going into hospital.
He had lived like a beast and he would die
rationally, like a man.

As a matter of fact, he died of pneumonia ;
and on the night of his death sent over a
grubby note asking me to come and help him
to die.

The native woman was weeping by the side
of the bed. Mclntosh, wrapped in a cotton
cloth, was too weak to resent a fur coat being
thrown over him. He was very active as far
as his mind was concerned, and his eyes were
blazing. When he had abused the Doctor who
came with me, so foully that the indignant old
fellow left, he cursed me for a few minutes and
calmed down.

Then he told his wife to fetch out "The
Book" from a hole in the wall. She brought
out a big bundle, wrapped in the tail of a petti-
coat, of old sheets of miscellaneous note-paper,
all numbered and covered with fine cramped

320 TO BE FILED

writing. Mclntosh ploughed his hand through'
the rubbish and stirred it up lovingly.

"This," he said, "is my work the Book of
Mclntosh Jellaludin, showing what he saw and
how he lived, and what befell him and others ;
being also an account of the life and sins and
death of Mother Maturin. What Mirza
Murad AH Beg's book is to all other books on
native life, will my work be to Mirza Murad
AH Beg's!"

This, as will be conceded by any one who
knows Mirza Murad AH Beg's book, was a
sweeping statement. The papers did not look
specially valuable ; but Mclntosh handled them
as if they were currency-notes. Then said he
slowly

"In despite the many weaknesses of your
education, you have been good to me. I will
speak of your tobacco when I reach the Gods.
I owe you much thanks for many kindnesses.
But I abominate indebtedness. For this rea-
son, I bequeath to you now the monument more
enduring than brass my one book rude and
imperfect in parts, but oh how rare in others!
I wonder if you will understand it. It is a
gift more honorable than . . . Bah!
wtiere is my brain rambling to? You will
mutilate it horribly. You will knock out the

FOR REFERENCE

gems you call Latin quotations, you Philistine,
and you will butcher the style to carve into
your own jerky jargon; but you cannot de-
stroy the whole of it. I bequeath it to you.
Ethel . . . My brain again! . . .
Mrs. Mclntosh, bear witness that I give the
Sahib all these papers. They would be of no
use to you, Heart of my Heart; and I lay it
upon you," he turned to me here, "that you do
not let my book die in its present form. It is
yours unconditionally the story of Mclntosh
Jellaludin, which is not the story of Mclntosh
Jellaludin, but of a greater man than he, and
of a far greater woman. Listen now! I am
neither mad nor drunk! That book will make
you famous."

I said, "Thank you," as the native woman
put the bundle into my arms.

"My only baby!" said Mclntosh, with a
smile. He was sinking fast, but he continued
to talk as long as breath remained. I waited
for the end ; knowing that, in six cases out of
ten a dying man calls for his mother. He
turned on his side and said*

"Say how it came into your possession. No
one will believe you, but my name, at least,
will live. You will treat it brutally, I know
you will. Some of it must go; the public are

322 TO BE FILED

fools and prudish fools. I was their servant
once. But do your mangling gently very
gently. It is a great work, and I have paid for
it in seven years' damnation."

His voice stopped for ten or twelve breaths,
and then he began mumbling a prayer of some
kind in Greek. The native woman cried very
bitterly. Lastly, he rose in bed and said, as
loudly as slowly "Not guilty, my lord!"

Then he fell back, and the stupor held him
till he died. The native woman ran into the
Serai among the horses, and screamed and beat
her breasts ; for she had loved him.

Perhaps his last sentence in life told what
Mclntosh had once gone through ; but, saving
the big bundle of old sheets in the cloth, there
was nothing in his room to say who or what
he had been.

The papers were in a hopeless muddle.

Strickland helped me to sort them, and he
said that the writer was either an extreme liar
or a most wonderful person. He thought the
former. One of these days, you may be able to
judge for yourselves. The bundle needed
much expurgation and was full of Greek non-
sense, at the head of the chapters, which has
all been cut out.

If the thing is ever published, some one

FOR REFERENCE 3^3

may perhaps remember this story, now printed
as a safeguard to prove that Mclntosh Jel-
laludin and not myself wrote the Book of
Mother Maturin.

I don't want the Giant's Robe to come true in
my case.

THE LAST RELIEF

THE LAST RELIEF

*He rode to death across the moor

Oh, false to me and mine!
But the naked ghost came to my door
And bade me tend the kine.

"The naked ghost came to my door,

And flickered to and fro,
And syne it whimpered through the crack
Wi' 'Jcanie, let me go. 1 "

Old Ballad.

"^rOTHING is easier than the administration
-LN of an empire so long as there is a supply
of administrators. Nothing, on the other
hand, is more difficult than short-handed ad-
ministration. In India, where every man hold-
ing authority above a certain grade must be
specially imported from England, this diffi-
culty crops up at unexpected seasons. Then the
great empire staggers along, like a North Sea
fishing-smack, with a crew of two men and a
boy, until a fresh supply of food for fever
arrives from England, and the gaps are filled
up. Some of the provinces are permanently
327

328 THE LAST RELIEF

short-handed, because their rulers know that
if they give a man just a little more work than
he can do, he contrives to do it. From the
man's point of view this is wasteful, but it
helps the empire forward, and flesh and blood
are very cheap. The young men and young
men are always exacting expect too much at
the outset. They come to India desiring
careers and money and a little success, and
sometimes a wife. There is no limit to their
desires, but in a few years it is explained to
them by the sky above, the earth beneath, and
the men around, that they are of far less im-
portance than their work, and that it really does
not concern themselves whether they live or
die so long as that work continues. After they
have learned this lesson, they become men
worth consideration.

Many seasons ago the gods attacked the ad-
ministration of the government of India in the
heart of the hot season. They caused pesti-
lences and famines, and killed the men who
were deputed to deal with each pestilence and
every famine. They rolled the smallpox across
ft desert, and it killed four Englishmen, one
ftfter the other, leaving thirty thousand square
miles masterless for many days. They even
caused the cholera to attack the reserve depots

THE LAST RELIEF 329

* the sanitaria in the Himalayas where men
were waiting on leave till their turn should
come to go down into the heat. They killed
inen with sunstroke who otherwise might have
lived for three months longer, and this was
mean they caused a strong man to tumble
from hi horse and break his neck just when
he was most needed. It will not be long, that
is to say, five or six years will pass, before
those who survived forget that season of trib-
ulation, when they danced at Simla with wives
who feared that they might be widows before
the morning, and when the daily papers from
the plains confined themselves entirely to one
kind of domestic occurrence.

Only the Supreme government never
blanched. It sat upon the hilltops of Simla
among the pines, and called for returns and
statements as usual. Sometimes it called to a
dead man, but it always received the returns as
soon as his successor could take his place.

Ricketts of Myndonie died, and was relieved
by Carter. Carter was invalided home, but he
worked to the last minute, and left no arrears.
He was relieved by Morten-Holt, who was too
young for the work. Holt died of sunstroke
when the famine was in Myndonie. He was
relieved by Darner, a man borrowed from an-

330 THE LAST RELIEF

other province, who did all he could, but broke
down from overwork. Cromer, in London on
a year's leave, was dragged out by telegram
from the cool darkness of a Brompton flat to
the white heat of Myndonie, and he held fast
That is the record of Myndonie alone.

On the Moonee Canal three men went down ;
in the Kahan district, when cholera was at its
worst, three more. In the Divisional Court of
Halimpur two good men were accounted for;
and so the record ran, exclusive of the wives
and little children. It was a great game of
general post, with death in all the corners, and
it drove the Government to their wits' end to
tide over the trouble till autumn should bring
the new drafts.

The gods had no mercy, but the Government
and the men it employed had no fear. This
annoyed the gods, who are immortal, for they
perceived, that the men whose portion was
death were greater than they. The gods are
always troubled, even in their paradises, by
this sense of inferiority. They know that it is
so easy for themselves to be strong and cruel,
and they are afraid of being laughed at. So
they smote more furiously than ever, just as a
swordsman slashes at a chain to prove the tern*
per of his blade. The chain of men parted

THE LAST RELIEF ,331

for an instant at the stroke, but it closed up
again, and continued to drag the empire for-
ward, and not one living link of it* rang false
or was weak. AH desired life, and love, and the
light, and liquor, and larks, but none the less
they died without whimpering. Therefore the
gods would have continued to slay them till
this very day had not one man failed.

His name was Haydon, and being young, he
looked for all that young men desire; most of
all, he looked for love. He had been at work
in the Girdhauri district for eleven months, till
fever and pressure had shaken his nerve more
than he knew. At last he had taken the holiday
that was his right the holiday for which he
had saved up one month a year for three years
past. Keyte, a junior, relieved him one hot
afternoon. Haydon shut his ink-stained box,
packed himself some thick clothes he had been
living in cotton ducks for four months gave
his files of sweat-dotted papers, saw Keyte
slide a piece of blotting-paper between the
naked arm and the desk, and left that parched
station of roaring dust storms for Simla and
the cool of the snows. There he found rest,
and the pink blotches of prickly heat faded
from his body, and being idle, he went a-court-
ing without knowing it After a decent in-

332 THE LAST RELIEF

tcrval he found himself drifting very gently
along the road that leads to the church, and
a pretty girl helped him. He enjoyed his
meals, was free from the intolerable strain of
bodily discomfort, and as he looked from Simla
upon the torment of the silver-wrapped plains
below, laughed to think he had escaped honor-
ably, and could talk prettily to a pretty girl,
who he felt sure, would in a little time answer
an important question as it should be answered.

But out of natural perversity and an inferior
physique, Keyte, at Girdhauri, one evening laid
his head upon his table and never lifted it up
again, and news was flashed up to Simla that
the district of Girdhauri called for a new head.
It never occurred to Haydon that he would be
in any way concerned till Hamerton, a secre-
tary of the Government, stopped him on the
Mall, and said :

"I'm afraid I'm very much afraid that
you will have to drop your leave and go back
to Girdhauri. You see Keyte's dead, and and
We have no one else to send except yourself.
The roster's a very short one this season, and
you look much better than when you came up.
Of course I'll do all I can to spare you, but
I'm afraid I'm very much afraid that you
will have to go down."

THE LAST RELIEF 333

The Government, on the other hand, was not
in the least afraid. It was quite certain that
Haydon must go down. He was in moderately
good health, had enjoyed nearly a month's holi-
day, and the needs of the state were urgent
Let him, they said, return to his work at Gir-
dhauri. He must forego his leave, but some
time, in the years to come, the Government
might repay him the lost months, if it were
not too short-handed. In the meantime he
would return. to duty.

The assistants in the hara-kiri of Japan are
all intimate friends of the man who must die.
They like him immensely, and they bring him
the news of his doom with polite sorrow. But
he must die, for that is required of him.

Hamerton would have spared Haydon had it
been possible, but, indeed, he was the healthiest
man in the ranks, and he knew the district.
"You will go down to-morrow/' said Hamer-
ton. "The regular notification will appear in
the Gazette later on. We can't stand on forms
this year."

Haydon said nothing, because those who
govern India obey the law. He looked it was
evening at the line of the sun-flushed snows
forty miles to the east, and the palpitating
heat haze of the plains fifty miles to the west,

334 THE LAST RELIEF

and his heart sank. He wished to stay in
Simla to continue his wooing, and he knew too
well the torments that were in store for him
in Girdhauri. His nerve was broken. The
coolness, the dances, the dinners that were to
come, the scent of the Simla pines and the wood
smoke, the canter of horses' feet on the
crowded Mall, turned his heart to water. He
could have wept passionately, like a little child,
for his lost holiday and his lost love, and, like a
little child balked of its play, he became filled
with cheap spite that can only hurt the owner.
The men at the Club were sorry for him, but
he did not want to be condoled with. He was
angry and afraid. Though he recognized the
necessity of the injustice that had been done
to him, he conceived that it could all be put
right by yet another injustice, and then and
then somebody else would have to do his work,
for he would be out of it forever.

He reflected on this while he was hurrying
down the hillsides, after a last interview with
the pretty girl, to whom he had said nothing
that was not commonplace and inconclusive.
This last failure made him the more angry
with himself, and the spite and the rage in-
creased. The air grew warmer and warmer as
the cart rattled down the mountain road, till

THE LAST RELIEF 335

at last the hot, stale stillness of the plains
closed over his head like heated oil, and he
gasped for breath among the dry date-palms
at Kalka. Then came the long level ride into
Umballa ; the stench of dust which breeds de-
spair; the lime- washed walls of Umballa sta-
tion, hot to the hand though it was eleven at
night; the greasy, rancid meal served by the
sweating servants; the badly trimmed lamps
in the oven-like waiting-room; and the whin-
ing of innumerable mosquitoes. That night,
he remembered, there would be a dance at
Simla. He was a very weak man.

That night Hamerton sat at work till late in
the old Simla Foreign Office, which was a
rambling collection of match-boxes packed
away in a dark by-path under the pines. One
of the wandering storms that run before the
regular breaking of the monsoon had wrapped
Simla in white mist. The rain was roaring
on the shingled, tin-patched roof, and the thun-
der rolled to and fro among the hills as a ship
rolls in the seaways. Hamerton called for a
lamp and a fire to drive out the smell of mould
and forest undergrowth that crept in from the
woods. The clerks and secretaries had left
the office two hours ago, and there remained
only one native orderly, who set the lamp and

336 THE LAST RELIEF

went away. Hamerton returned to his papers,
and the voice of the rain rose and fell In the
pauses he could catch the crunching of 'rick-
shaw wheels and the clatter of horses' feet
going to the dance at the Viceroy's. These
ceased at last, and the rain with them. The
thunder drew off, muttering, toward the plains,
and all the dripping pine-trees sighed with
relief.

"Orderly," said Hamerton. He fancied that
he heard somebody moving about the rooms.
There was no answer, except a deep-drawn
breath at the door. It might come from a
panther prowling about the verandas in search
of a pet dog, but panthers generally snuffed in
a deeper key. This was a thick, gasping breath,
as of one who had been running swiftly, or lay
in deadly pain. Hamerton listened again.
There certainly was somebody moving about
the Foreign Office. He could hear boards
creaking in far-off rooms, and uncertain steps
on the rickety staircase. Since the clock
marked close upon midnight, no one had a
right to be in the office. Hamerton had picked
up the lamp, and was going to make a search,
when the steps and the heavy breathing came
to the door again, and stayed.

"Who's there?" said Hamerton. "Come

THE LAST RELIEF ,337

Again the heavy breathing, and a thick, short
cough.

"Who relieves Haydon?" said a voice out-
side. "Haydon! Haydon! Dying at Um-
balla. He can't go till he is relieved. Who
relieves Haydon ?"

Hamerton dashed to the door and opened It,
to find a stolid messenger from the telegraph
office, breathing through his nose, after the
manner of natives. The man held out a tele-
gram. "I could not find the room at first,"
he said. "Is there an answer?"

The telegram was from the Station-master
at Umballa, and said : "Englishman killed ; up
mail 42 ; slipped from platform. Dying. Hay-
don. Civilian. Inform Government."

"There is no answer," said Hamerton; and
the man went away. But the fluttering whis-
per at the door continued :

"Haydon! Haydon! Who relieves Hay-
don? He must not go till he is relieved.
Haydon ! Haydon ! Dying at Umballa. For
pity's sake, be quick!"

Hamerton thought for a minute of the piti-
fully short roster oT men available, and an-
swered, quietly, "Flint, of Degauri." Then,
and not till then, did the hair begin to rise on
his head ; and Hamerton, secretary to Govern-

338 THE LAST RELIEF

mcnt, neglecting the lamp and the papers, went
out very quickly from the Foreign Office into
the cool wet night. His ears were tingling
with the sound of a dry death-rattle, and he
was afraid to continue his work.

Now only the gods know by whose design
and intention Haydon had slipped from the
dimly lighted Umballa platform under the
wheels of the mail that was to take him back to
his district; but since they lifted the pestilence
on his death, we may assume that they had
proved their authority over the minds of men,
and found one man in India who was afraid
of present pain.

BITTERS NEAT

BITTERS NEAT

THE oldest trouble in the world comes from
want of understanding. And it is en-
tirely the fault of the woman. Somehow, she
is built incapable of speaking the truth, even
to herself. She only finds it out about four
months later, when the man is dead, or has
been transferred. Then she says she never
was so happy in her life, and marries some one
else, who again touches some woman's heart
elsewhere, and did not know it, but was mixed
up with another man's wife, who only used
him to pique a third man. And so round again
all criss-cross.

Out here, where life goes quicker than at
Home, things are more obviously tangled, and
therefore more pitiful to look at. Men speak
the truth as they understand it, and women as
they think men would like to understand it;
and then they all act lies which would deceive
Solomon, and the result is a heart-rending
muddle that half a dozen open words would
put straight.

34*

342 BITTERS NEAT

This particular muddle did not differ from
any other muddle you may see, if you are not
busy playing cross-purposes yourself, going on
in a big Station any cold season. It's only
merit was that it did not come all right in the
end; as muddles are made to do in the third
volume.

I've forgotten what the man was he was
an ordinary sort of man 'man you meet any
day at the A.-D.-C.'s end of the table, and go
away and forget about. His name was Surrey ,
but whether he was in the Army or the P.
W. D., or the Commissariat, or the Police, or
a factory, I don't remember. He wasn't a
Civilian. He was just an ordinary man, of
the light-colored variety, with a fair moustache
and with the average amount of pay that comes
beween twenty-seven and thirty-two from
six to nine hundred a month.

He didn't dance, and he did what little rid-
ing he wanted to do by himself, and was busy
in office all day, and never bothered his head
about women. No man ever dreamed he
would. He was of the type that doesn't marry,
just because it doesn't think about marriage.
He was one of the plain cards, whose only use
is to make up the pack; and furnish back-
ground to put the Court cards against

BITTERS NEAT 343

Then there was a girl ordinary girl the
dark-colored variety daughter of a man in
the Army, who played a little, sang a little,
talked a little, and furnished the background,
exactly as Surrey did. She had been sent out
here to get married if she could, because there
were many sisters at Home, and Colonels' al-
lowances aren't elastic. She lived with an
Aunt. She was a Miss Tallaght, and men
spelled her name "Tart" in the programmes
when they couldn't catch what the introducer
said.

Surrey and she were thrown together in the
same Station one cold weather ; and the partic-
ular Devil who looks after muddles prompted
Miss Tallaght to fall in love with Surrey. He
had spoken to her perhaps twenty times- cer-
tainly not more but she fell as unreasonably
in love with him as if she had been Elaine and
he Lancelot.

She, of course, kept her own counsel; and,
equally of course, her manner to Surrey, who
never noticed manner or style or dress any
more than he noticed a sunset, was icy, not
to say repellant. The deadly dullness of
Surrey struck her as reserve of force, and she
grew to believe he was wonderfully clever in
some secret and mysterious sort of line. She

344 BITTERS NEAT

did not know what line; but she believed, and
that was enough. No one suspected anything
of any kind, for the simple reason that no one
took any deep interest in Miss Tallaght except
her Aunt ; who wanted to get the girl off her
hands.

This went on for some months, till a man
suddenly woke up to the fact that Miss Tal-
laght was the one woman in the world for him,
and told her so. She jawabed him without
rhyme or reason ; and that night there followed
one of those awful bedroom conferences that
men know nothing about. Miss Tallaght's
Aunt, querulous, indignant, and merciless, with
her mouth full of hairpins, and her hands full
of false hair-plaits, set herself to find out by
cross-examination what in the name of every-
thing wise, prudent, religious and dutiful, Miss
Tallaght meant by jawabing her suitor. The
conference lasted for an hour and a half, witb
question on question, insult and reminders of
poverty appeals to Providence, then a fresh
mouthful of hairpins then all the questions
over again, beginning with: "But what do

you see to dislike in Mr. ?" then, a vicious

tug at what was left of the mane; then im-
pressive warnings and more appeals to Heaven ;
and then the collapse of poor Miss Tallaght, a

BITTERS NEAT 345

rumpled, crumpled, tear-stained arrangement
in white on the couch at the foot of the bed,
and, between sobs and gasps, the whole absurd
little story of her love for Surrey.

Now, in all the forty-five years' experience
of Miss Tallaght's Aunt, she had never heard
of a girl throwing over a real genuine lover
with an appointment, for a problematical,
hypothetical lover, to whom she had spoken
merely in the course of the ordinary social
visiting rounds. So Miss Tallaght's Aunt was
struck dumb, and, merely praying that Heaven
might direct Miss Tallaght into a better frame
of mind, dismissed the ayah, and went to bed ;
leaving Miss Tallaght to sob and moan herself
to sleep.

Understand clearly, I don't for a moment de-
fend Miss Tallaght. She was wrong ab-
surdly wrong but attachments like hers must
sprout by the law of averages, just to remind
people that Love is as nakedly unreasoning as
when Venus first gave him his kit and told
him to run away and play.

Surrey must be held innocent innocent as
his own pony. Could he guess that, when
Miss Tallaght was as curt and as unpleasing
as she knew how, she would have risen up and
followed him from Colombo to Dadar at t

346 BITTERS NEAT

word? He didn't know anything, or care any-
thing about Miss Tallaght. He had his work
to do.

Miss Tallaght's Aunt might have respected
her niece's secret. But she didn't. What we
call "Talking rank scandal/' she called "seek-
ing advice" ; and she sought advice, on the case
of Miss Tallaght, from the Judge's wife "in
strict confidence, my dear," who told the Com-
missioner's wife, "of course you won't repeat
it, my dear," who told the Deputy Commis-
sioner's wife, "you understand it is to go no
further, my dear," who told the newest bride,
who was so delighted at being in possession of
a secret concerning real grown-up men and
women, that she told any one and every one
who called on her. So the tale went all over
the Station, and from being no one in partic-
ular, Miss Tallaght came to take precedence
of the last interesting squabble between the
Judge's wife and the Civil Engineer's wife.
Then began a really interesting system of per-
secution worked by women soft and sympa-
thetic and intangible, but calculated to drive a
girl off her head. They were all so sorry for
Miss Tallaght, and they cooed together and
were exaggeratedly kind and sweet in their
manner to her, as those who said : "You may
confide in us, my stricken deer!"

BITTERS NEAT 347

Miss Tallaght was a woman and sensitive
It took her less than one evening at the Band
Stand to find that her poor little, precious little
secret, that had been wrenched from her on the
rack, was known as widely as if it had been
written on her hat. I don't know what she
went through. Women don't speak of these
things, and men ought not to guess ; but it must
have been some specially refined torture, for
she .told her Aunt she would go Home and die
as a Governess sooner than stay in this hateful
hateful place. Her Aunt said she was a
rebellious girl, and sent her Home to her people
after a couple of months; and said no one
knew what the pains of a chaperone's life
were.

Poor Miss Tallaght had one pleasure just at
the last. Half way down the line, she caught a
glimpse of Surrey, who had gone down on
duty, and was in the up-train. And he took off
his hat to her. She went Home, and if she is
not dead by this time must be living still.

Months afterward, there was a lively dinner
at the Club for the Races. Surrey was moon-
ing about as usual, and there was a good deal
of idle talk flying every way. Finally, one
man, who had taken more than was good for
Kip. 2 12

348 BITTERS

him, said, Apropos of something about Surrey's
reserved ways, "Ah, you old fraud. It's all
very well for you to pretend. I know a girl
who was awfly mashed on you once. Dead
nuts she was on old Surrey. What had you
been doing, eh?"

Surrey expected some sort of sell, and said
with a laugh :

"Who was she?"

Before any one could kick the man, he
plumped out with the name ; and the Honorary
Secretary tactfully upset the half of a big brew
of shandy-gaff all over the table. After tfo
mopping up, the men went out to the Lotteries

But Surrey sat on, and, after ten minutes
said very humbly to the only other man in th<
deserted dining-room: "On your honor, wai
there a word of truth in what the drunken foo
said?"

Then the man who is writing this story, wh<
had known of the thing from the beginning
and now felt all the hopelessness and tangle o
it the waste and the muddle said, a goo
deal more energetically than he meant :

"Truth! O man, man, couldn't you see it?

Surrey said nothing, but sat still, smokin
and smoking and thinking, while the Letter
tent babbled outside, and the khitnwtgw
turned down the lamps.

BITTERS NEAT 349

To the best of my knowledge and belief that
was the first thing Surrey ever knew about
love. But his awakening did not seen to de-
light him. It must have been rather unpleas-
ant, to judge by the look on his face. He
looked like a man who had missed a train and
had been half stunned at the same time.

When the men came in from the Lotteries,
Surrey went out. He wasn't in the mood for
bones and "horse" talk. He went to his tent,
and the last thing he said, quite aloud to him-
self, was: "I didn't see. I didn't see. If I
had only known !"

Even if he had known I don't believe . . .

But these things are kismet, and we only find
out all about them just when any knowledge is
too late.

HAUNTED SUBALTERNS

HAUNTED SUBALTERNS

SO long as the "Inextinguishables" confined
themselves to running picnics, gymkhanas,
flirtations and innocences of that kind, no one
said anything. But when they ran ghosts,
people put up their eyebrows. 'Man can't feel
comfy with a regiment that entertains ghosts
on its establishment. It is against General
Orders. The "Inextinguishables" said that the
ghosts were private and not Regimental prop-
erty. They referred you to Tesser for partic-
ulars ; and Tesser told you to go to the hottest
cantonment of all. He said that it was bad
enough to have men making hay of his bedding
and breaking his banjo-strings when he was
out, without being chaffed afterward; and he
would thank you to keep your remarks on
ghosts to yourself. This was before the "In-
extinguishables" had sworn by their several
lady loves that they were innocent of any in-
trusion into Tesser's quarters. Then Horrocks
mentioned casually at Mess, that a couple of
white figures had been bounding about his
353

354 HAUNTED SUBALTERNS

room the night before, and he didn't approve
of it. The "Inextinguishables" denied, ener-
getically, that they had had any hand in the
manifestations, and advised Horrocks to con-
sult Tesser.

I don't suppose that a Subaltern believes in
anything except his chances of a Company;
but Horrocks and Tesser were exceptions.
They came to believe in their ghosts. They
had reason.

Horrocks used to find himself, at about
three o'clock in the morning, staring wide-
awake, watching two white Things hopping
about his room and jumping up to the ceiling.
Horrocks was of a placid turn of mind. After
a week or so spent in watching his servants,
and lying in wait for strangers, and trying to
keep awake all night, he came to the conclusion
that he was haunted, and that, consequently,
he need not bother. He wasn't going to en-
courage these ghosts by being frightened of
them. Therefore, when he awoke as usual
with a start and saw these Things jumping
like kangaroos, he only murmured: "Go on!
Don't mind me!" and went to sleep again.

Tesser said: "It's all very well for you to
make fun of your show. You can see your
ghosts. Now I can't see mine, and I don't half
like it/ 9

HAUNTED SUBALTERNS 355

Tesaer used to come into his room of nights,
and ind the whole of his bedding neatly
stripped, as if it had been done with one. sweep
of the hand, from the top right-hand corner
of the charpoy to the bottom left-hand corner.
Also his lamp used to lie weltering on the floor,
and generally his pet screw-head, inlaid, nickel-
plated banjo was lying on the charpoy, with all
its strings broken. Tesser took away the
strings on the occasion of the third manifesta-
tion, and the next night a man complimented
him on his playing the best music ever got out
of a banjo, for half an hour.

"Which half hour?" said Tesser.

"Betwten nine and ten," said the man. Tes-
ser had gone out to dinner at 7:30 and had
returned at midnight.

He talktd to his bearer and threatened him
with unspeakable things. The bearer was grey
with fear: "I'm a poor man," said he. "If the
Sahib is haunted by a Devil, what can I do?"

"Who says I'm haunted by a Devil?" howled
Tesser, for he was angry.

"I have seen It," said the bearer, "at night,
walking round and round your bed; and that
is why everything is ulta-pulta in your room.
I am a poor man, but I never go into your room
alone. The bhisti comes with me."

356 HAUNTED SUBALTERNS

Teaser was thoroughly savage at this, and
he spoke to Horrocks, and the two laid traps
to catch that Devil, and threatened their ser-
vants with dog-whips if any more "shaitan-ke-
hanky-panky" took place. But the servants
were soaked with fear, and it was no use add-
ing to their tortures. When Tesser went out
for a night, four of his men, as a rule, slept in
the veranda of his quarters, until the banjo
without the strings struck up, and then they
fled.

One day, Tesser had to put in a month at a
Fort with a detachment of "Inextinguishables."
The Fort might have been Govindghar, Jum-
rood or Phillour ; but it wasn't. He left Can-
tonments rejoicing, for his Devil was preying
on his mind; and with him went another
Subaltern, a junior. But the Devil came too.
After Tesser had been in the Fort about ten
days he went out to dinner. When he came
back he found his Subaltern doing sentry on
a banquette across the Fort Ditch, as far re-
moved as might be from the Officers' Quar-
ters.

"What's wrong?" said Tesser.

The Subaltern said, "Listen!" and the two,
standing under the stars, heard from the Offi-
cers 9 Quarters, high up in the wall of the Fort,

HAUNTED SUBALTERNS 357

the "strumpty, tumty, tumty" of the banjo;
which seemed to have an oratorio on hand.

"That performance," said the Subaltern,
"has been going on for three mortal hours. I
never wished to desert before, but I do now.
I say, Tesser, old man, you are the best of good
fellows, Fm sure, but ... I say ...
look here, now, you are quite unfit to live
with. 'Tisn't in my Commission, you know,
that Fm to serve under a ... a ...
man with Devils."

"Isn't it?" said Tesser. "If you make an

ass of yourself I'll put you under arrest

. . . and in my room!"

"You can put me where you please, but I'm

not going to assist at these infernal concerts.

'Tisn't right. 'Tisn't natural Look here, I

don't want to hurt your feelings, but try to

think now haven't you done something

committed some murder that has slipped your

memory or forged something . . . ?"

"Well! For an all-round, double-shotted,
half-baked fool you are the . . ."

"I dare say I am," said the Subaltern. "But
you don't expect me to keep my wits with that
row going on, do you?"

The banjo was rattling away as if it had
twenty strings. Tesser sent up a stone, and a

358 HAUNTED SUBALTERNS

shower of broken window-pane fell into the
Fort Ditch; but the banjo kept on. Tesser
hauled the other Subaltern up to the quarters,
and found his room in frightful confusion
lamp upset, bedding all over the floor, chairs
overturned and table tilted side-ways. He took
stock of the wreck and said despairingly : "Oh f
this is lovely!"

The Subaltern was peeping in at the door.

"I'm glad you think so," he said. "Tisn't
lovely enough for me. I locked up your room
directly after you had gone out. See here, I
think you'd better apply for Horrocks to come
out in my place. He's troubled with your com-
plaint, and this business will make me a jabber-
ing idiot if it goes on."

Tesser went to bed amid the wreckage, very
angry, and next morning he rode into Can-
tonments and asked Horrocks to arrange to
relieve "that fool with me now."

"You've got 'em again, have you?" said
Horrocks. "So've I. Three white figures this
time. We'll worry through the entertainment
together."

So Horrocks and Tesser settled down in the
Fort together, and the "Inextinguishables"
said pleasant things about "seven other Devils/'
Tesser didn't see where the joke came in. His

HAUNTED SUBALTERNS 359

room was thrown upside down three nights out
of the seven. Horrocks was not troubled in
any way, so his ghosts must have been purely
local ones. Tesser, on the other hand, was
personally haunted; for his Devil had moved
with him from Cantonments to the Fort.
Those two boys spent three parts of their time
trying to find out who was responsible for the
riot in Tesser's rooms. At the end of a fort-
night they tried to find out what was respon-
sible ; and seven days later they gave it up as a
bad job. Whatever It was, It refused to be
caught ; even when Tesser went out of the Fort
ostentatiously, and Horrocks lay under Tesser's
charpoy with a revolver. The servants were
afraid more afraid than ever and all the
evidence showed that they had been playing no
tricks. As Tesser said to Horrocks: "A
haunted Subaltern is a joke, but s'pose this
keeps on. Just think what a haunted Colonel
would be! And, look here s'pose I marry!
D' you s'pose a girl would live a week with
me and this Devil?"

"I don't know," said Horrocks. "I haven't
married often ; but I knew a woman once who
lived with her husband when he had D. T.
He's dead now and I dare say she would marry
you if you asked her. She isn't exactly a girt

360 HAUNTED 8UBALTEBN8

though, but she has a large experience of the
other devils the blue variety. She's a Gov-
ernment pensioner now, and you might write,
y' know. Personally, if I hadn't suffered from
ghosts of my own, I should rather avoid you."

"That's just the point," said Tesser. "This
Devil will end in getting me budnamed, and
you know I've lived on lemon-squashes and
gone to bed at ten for weeks past."

" Tisn't that sort of Devil," said Horrocks.
"It's either a first-class fraud for which some
one ought to be killed or else you've offended
one of these Indian Devils. It stands to reason
that such a beastly country should be full of
fiends of all sorts."

"But why should the creature fix on me,"
said Tesser, "and why won't he show himself
and have it out like a like a Devil ? w

They were talking outside the Mess after
dark, and, even as they spoke, they heard the
banjo begin to play in Tesser's room, about
twenty yards off.

Horrocks ran to his own quarters for a shot-
gun and a revolver, and Tesser and he crept
up quietly, the banjo still playing, to Tesser's
door.

"Now we've got It!" said Horrocks, as he
threw the door open and let fly with the twelve-

HAUNTED SUBALTERNS 361

bore; Tesser squibbing off all six barrels into
the dark, as hard as he could pull the trigger.

The furniture was ruined, and the whole
Fort was awake ; but that was all. No one had
been killed and the banjo was lying on the dis-
heveled bedclothes as usual.

Then Tesser sat down in the veranda, and
used language that would have qualified him
for the companionship of unlimited Devils.
Horrocks said things too; but Tesser said the
worst

When the month in the Fort came to an end,
both Horrocks and Tesser were glad. They
held a final council of war, but came to no con-
dusioa

" 'Seems to me, your best plan would be to
make your Devil stretch himself. Go down to
Bombay with the time-expired men, said
Horrocks. "If he really is a Devil, he'll come
in the train with you."

" 'Tisn't good enough/ 1 said Tesser. "Bom-
bay's no fit place to live in at this time of the
year. But I'll put in for Depot duty at the
Hills/' And he did.

Now here the tale rests. The Devil stayed
below, and Tesser went up and was free. If
I had invented this story, I should have put in
a satisfactory ending explained the manifes-

362 HAUNTED SUBALTERNS

tations as somebody's practical joke. My
business being to keep to facts, I can only sty
what I have said. The Devil may have been a
hoax. If so, it was one of the best ever ar-
ranged. If it was not a hoax . . but
you must settle that for yourselves.

53