i CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY FROM Si"bley College Cornell University Library PR 4854.S46 1919 Selected stories from Kipling, 3 1924 013 493 774 ^ € SELECTED STORIES FROM KIPLING The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013493774 SELECTED STORIES FROM KIPLING EDITED BY WILLIAM LYON PHELPS LAMPSON FBOFEBSOB OF ENGLISH LITBBATUBB AT TALE GARDKN CITY NEW YOBK DOUBLEDAY. DORAN & COMPANY, INC. ^ COPYBIGHT 1891, 1892, 1893, 1894, 1899, 1896, 1897, 1898^ 1900, 1901, 1908, 1904, 190S, 1906, 1907, 1909, 1910, 1911, 1912, 1913, 1914, 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919 BY RUDYARD KIPLING AIX BIGHTS BEBERTBD SEVENTEENTH PBINTINO PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTBT LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITT, £r* Y. CONTENTS PAOB Introduction vii The Man Who Would Be Kino ...... 1 1 -^ The Drums of the Fore and Aft 40 The Phantom 'Rickshaw 75 Web Willie Winkie 100 The Courting of Dinah Shadd ...... 112 — The Man Who Was 137 Without Benefit of Clerqt 152 — The Incarnation OF Krishna MuLVANET. . . . 178 "Rikki-Tikki-Tavi" 206 The Brushwood Bot 223 William the Conqueror 259 — "Thet" 295 An Habitation Enforced INTRODUCTION RtTDTABD Kipling India is the birthplace of two famous English writers — Thackeray came in Calcutta and Kipling in Bombay. The latter was born December 30, 1865. Much of his boyhood was spent in England; he was formally educated at United Services College, Westward Ho, North Devon. From 1882 to 1889 he was a journalist in India, being assistant editor of the Civil and Military Gazette and the Pioneer. In the tropics he matured swiftly, publishing his first book, "De^ partmental Ditties," at the age of twenty. He has not only traveled around the world; he has been a householder in Vermont, India, Cape Town, and Sussex. In 1899 he re- ceived the degree of D. C. L. from McGill University; in 1907 the degree of Litt. D. from Durham and from Oxford; the same honor came to him in 1908 from Cambridge and in 1920 from Edinburgh. In 1907 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature. He has enjoyed a planet-wide reputa- tion for more than thirty years, and it is a matter for public rejoicing that he is no older than fifty-five. He is a novelist of distinction, the foremost living English poet, and a imi- versally acknowledged master of the art of writing short stories. He was formally educated in Devonshire. Where did he get his real education? and how did he become a finished literary expert before he became a legal man? The answer is in one word — genius; but for all that we should like to know some details. Kipling has been the subject of coimtless essays, but little is loiown about his childhood, boyhood, youth, and his early ambition. It is apparent from his viii INTRODUCTION published work that he read and studied the poets faith* fully — and especially the more original poets, Donne, Emer- son, Browning. Quotations from Robert Browning are fairly common in the stories, and we know what use is made of him in "Stalky and Co." He must have intensively studied the British and American classics outside of school hours. As a newspaper man in India, he added to the news of the day columns of original scribbling, the real news being — ■ though no one suspected it — ^that the office contained an original genius. When he had reached the mature age of nineteen, he began to amuse himself with the composition of verse; these running rimes attracted general attention; they were quoted right and left, and sung with enthusiasm around camp-fires. He contracted the disease called by Oliver Wen- dell Holmes "lead-poisoning," and a literary career became for him the only career possible. Collecting his fugitive verse in a volume bound like a Government report, he sent around reply post-cards for cash orders, in the manner made famous by Walt Whitman; the result was more than gratify- ing, and these humble-looking books command fancy prices to-day. His fame came out of the East like a great dawn, and now it is mid-day; everybody who reads anything reads KipUng. Many thousands of his readers can quote him by title and by text. To use Browning's phrase, his soul is in men's hearts. His ideas and his drapery of them are part of our intellectual furniture. He is the spokesman of the Anglo- Saxon race. For although he has traveled everywhere he has always been an unalloyed Englishman, carrying his English opinions, ideas, manners, clothes, and speech into every corner of the earth. Never has there been a wide traveler so little affected by foreign people and foreign cus- toms. He observes them all with the sharp eye of the bom journalist, but they are always alien — he always "reports" them but never dreams of making anything like concessions^ Perhaps, after all, there is something normal in all this; we never love home so much as when we are away from it. INTRODUCTION ix Kipling judges everybody and everything, even the beasts in the jungle, by English standards. His religion, his ethics, his ideals, are British, and while they might seem to a cosmo- poHtan Russian or Parisian somewhat limited, they represent pr&ctical and definite virtues, and show how these virtues may be acquired by races less fortunate than that which in- herited them. The lesser breeds are without the law, but they have the living example. It is characteristic that Kip- ling should have quite recently written a poem in defence of the old copy-book moralities, which have somehow survived the test of time and experience. In the world of conduct and in the world of art, Kipling has always stood for stand- ards. A writer of extraordinary versatility, he has always been true to Form. He has never run after false gods in literature, and his adolescence never took the familiar atti- tude of rebellion. It is astonishing that a man of such splendid imagination should always have had a thoroughly disciplined mind. Indeed he seems to have actually loved discipline at a time when most young men hate it. A com- mon disease of youth is either rebellion or affected cynicism; Kipling was always on the side of the schoolmaster, es- pecially if the schoolmaster wore a military uniform. Per- haps Kis preternaturally sharp eyes taught him the lessons of experience without any personal expenses. In literature his surging vitality found abundant room for expression within the traditional boundaries of verse and prose; he achieved eminence in verse not by singing out of tune, but by singing in tune better than his rivals; he achieved eminence in prose not by shock and self -advertising, but by excellence in English composition. Everyone has noticed the analogy between the early work of Kipling and that of Bret Harte. Kipling noticed it him- self. The American saw his opportunity as a frontiersman in literature, and became a sectional writer. He revealed to sophisticated city-bred readers the passion, humor, and pathos in the lives of the rough miners of California, giving to his sketches that touch of nature which makes the whole s INTRODUCTION world kin. Kipling saw his chance with the British soldier in India. The light shining in the "Plain Tales" was as a new star rising in the East, and every wise man followed it. Many of us can remember the ardor and enthusiasm with which, some thirty years ago, we read these revelations of humanity, so fresh and so strange. For some time Kipling was identi- fied with Tommy Atkins, as Bret Harte had been with the American gold-diggers. There are officers who assert that KipUng reported the private soldier exactly as he was, but a higher compliment comes from General Sir George Young- husband, who, in his book, "A Soldier's Memories," says, "I had never heard the words or expressions that Rudyard Kipling's soldiers used. Many a time did I ask my brother officers whether they had ever heard them. No, never. But sure enough, a few years after the soldiers thought, and talked, and expressed themselves exactly as Rudyard Kip- ling had taught them in his stories. Rudyard Kipling made the modern soldier. Other writers have gone on with the good work, and they have between them manufactured the cheery, devil-may-care, lovable person enshrined in our hearts as Thomas Atkins. Before he had learned from read' ing stories about himself that he, as an individual, also pos- sessed the above attributes, he was mostly ignorant of the fact. My early recollections of the British soldier are of a bluff, rather surly person, never the least jocose or light- hearted except perhaps when he had too much beer." I call this a higher achievement than correct reporting, because it the statement is true, it means that a literary man transformed the soldier from what he was to what the author thought he ought to be. He made an idealized portrait real. It is interesting to speculate on the effect of KipUng's writings on the British soldier in the World War. There can be no doubt that the rank and file were not exactly what they would have been if Kipling had never written, and the difference is to the credit of the man-of-letters, just as the French fighting-men owed more than the world has yet realized to the author of "Cyrano de Bergerac." INTRODUCTION xi Bret Harte survives by reason of his early work. Kipling went on into other fields of successful endeavor, which include not only the various activities of life in city and country, in England and in India, but reach out into the world of Spirit. In "They" we found a new Kipling. Just as in the "Plain Tales," he had drawn our attention to the far horizon, so here he drew our intent gaze beyond the horizon, and set us all looking through the gates of Death. As usual, Kipling was well ahead of the fashion. Had he written "They" in 1919, he would have been in the mode. But at the time he wrote it, he was doing pioneer work. In other words, he is always original. My favorite Kipling story is "The Man Who Would Be King." More than a quarter of a century has elapsed since I first read this amazing tale, but the first impression has lasted through the layers placed over it by other books and other authors. The big man with the big red beard and the predatory imagination — the strange country with the white men and white women — ^the astounding coup d'Stat that elevated Daniel and Peachey not merely to kings but to gods — ^the fatal yet natural disaster brought into this para- dise by woman — ^Daniel out on the lonely rope — ^Daniel faUing twenty thousand miles, turning over and over — ^the crucifixion of Peachey — ^his return with the head of his Chief — ^who can ever forget such men and such deeds? After all, Daniel was a King and a God — to Peachey. Although KipUng is a humorist, his finest work is the reverse of comic. His humor is ordinarily unlike conventional British humor. He, who is so English in everything else, is not English in this. His humorous scenes depend mainly on exaggeration and incongruity, which are American rather than British characteristics. The dominant note in Kipling's idea of mirth is buffoonery, which is sometimes the refuge of a serious man from serious problems. Such stories as "The Incarnation of Krishna Mulvaney," "Brugglesmith," "The Village That Voted the Earth Was Flat," are at the farthest possible remove from the typical English humor of Charles sii INTRODUCTION Lamb. The printed page seems to laugh out loud. Kipling ia funny enough in his own way; but it is not always the most subtle way, and it is perhaps f ortimate that his literary repu- tation depends, not on his humor, but on his imagination. We may follow the growth of his reputation by reading chronologically the references to him in the Letters of Henry James. The first occurs in 1890, when, in writing to Steven- son, James playfully alludes to his "rival." (And indeed I can remember when High School Graduation Essays began to change from Tennyson and Browning to Stevenson and Kipling.) Stevenson was fifteen years older, but the two men became famous in the late eighties. Henry James is writing to his friend in Samoa, on March 21, 1890, about the possi- bility of the Scotsman's return to Europe. "The other two questions (the eternal Irish and Rudyard Kipling) aren't in it. (We'll tell you all about Rudyard Kipling — ^your nascent rival; he has killed one immortal — Rider Haggard; the star of the hour, aged 24, and author of remarkable Anglo-Indian and extraordinarily observed barrack life — ^Tommy Atkins — tales.") The next year he writes that the only news in litera- ture "continues to be the infant monster of a Kipling." Later Henry James, while never losing his wonder at the display of force, became less and less sympathetic, probably because Kipling seemed to be proceeding in the direction contrary to that desired by the American, who loved com- plexity above all things. Writing to Grace Norton on Christ- mas Day, 1897, he says, "he has come steadily from the less simple in subject to the more simple — ^from the Anglo-Indians to the natives, from the natives to the Tommies, from the Tommies to the quadrupeds, from the quadrupeds to the fish, and from the fish to the engines and screws." So far as this criticism is inclusive, it is just; I have never liked KipUng's stories of ships, machinery, and locomotives, so much as I have admired his work that deals with hiunan beings. But Kipling has not lacked the abiUty to surprise the world with a recrudescence of power. Like Antseus, he seems to gain additional strength by touching the earth. In INTRODUCTION xiii "An Habitation Enforced," he produced a story that must have pleased Henry James. It is subdued in tone and style; the light, instead of glaring, is tender and diffused; the shad- ing of character, in both action and dialogue, is subtle. It is one more convincing proof of the fact that no formula has ever yet been found that will successfully define or cover the work of Kiplingj for he defies classification. -^ Fortunately, in dealing with a Uterary artist, we are not concerned with any discussion of his political opinions. We are fortunately not concerned with politics at all. Politics are ephemeral, art is eternal. We are concerned here with KipUng's skill in writing short stories, of which the collection in this volume ought to supply sufficient illustration. He is / perhaps better at depicting action than character, which is one reason why his short stories are finer than his novels; even his most beloved characters are men of action. They are hard, clean, lean, the incarnation of orderly energy. • Their minds are as neat as their lodgings, not empty, but certainly swept. There is, as a rule, not much room in their tidy brains for any "nonsense," which makes "The Brush- " wood Boy" such a charming exception. His heroes have an English straightforwardness, even when they are natives. His noblest animals are models of EngUsh efficiency. The^ mongoose, in that extraordinary narrative, "Ri kki-Tikki- _ Tavi," does his job thoroughly, like an Englishman^ I wonder what Kipling thinks of the men and women in the novels of Dostoevski? Yet, curiously enough, this apostle of Hard Work, who has through his pen lived a vicarious life of toil and fighting, is the author of beautiful and sympathetic stories of children. In producing these tales, he is like a tanned soldier home on leave, who takes the children on his knee, and listens to their prattle and laughter and questions with an avuncular interest. He treats children with dignity, and reports them accurately, like the expert he is; and has a strong man's chivalrous respect for their fragility and innocence. It has not been easy to select out of so many tales a baker's xiv INTRODUCTION dozen which shall best represent both variety and excellence, but I have undertaken the task, first, because, I have been asked to do it, and second, because it ought to be done. As it is impossible to please everybody, I have finally considered myself as an average reader, and tried to please no one else. Kipling is a standard author; he belongs to English litera- ture; he is already a classic. It is high time that there should be a collection of his tales in one volume, making his repre- sentative work accessible to all. Many ardent Kiplingites will regret, some with wonder, some with anger, that more of their own favorites do not appear. Now if it were a ques- tion of simple addition, it would be easy to gratify their wishes. But our space is limited; for every additional story, one now in this volume would have to be cast out. Which shall it be? that tale of love and death, "Without Benefit of Clergy"? that reverberating echo of the past, "The Man Who Was"? that picture of passion and jealousy, "Dinah Shadd"? that colossal farce, "The Incarnation of Krishna Mulvaney"? that stirring battle scene, "The Drums of the Fore and Aft"? that mingling of the real and the ideal, "The Brushwood Boy"? that chilly horror, "The Phantom 'Rickshaw"? that picture of the irresistible child, "Wee WUlie Winkie"? that picture of drudgery glorified by womanly tenderness, "William the Conqueror"? that revelation of the brain of an animal, "Rikki-Tikki-Tavi"? that exploration of the spirit world, "They"? that quiet picture of civilizing influences, "An Habitation Enforced"? that masterpiece of flaming Imagina- tion, "The Man Who Would Be King"? Finding it impossible to part with any of these, I include them all. Wm. Lyon Phelps. Yale Univebsitt, 29, April, 1921. SELECTED STORIES FROM KIPLING SELECTED STORIES FROM KIPLING THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING (1889) Brother to a Prince and fellow to a beggar if he be found worthy. The Law, as quoted, lays down a fair conduct 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. I 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 hunt it for my- self. The beginning of everything was in a railway train upon the road to Mhow from Ajmir. There had been a Deficit in the Budget, which necessitated traveling, not Second-class, which is only half as dear as First-class, but by Intermediate, which is very awful indeed. There are no cushions in the Intermediate class, and the population are either Intermedi- ate, which is Eurasian, or native, which for a long night journey is nasty, or Loafer, which is amusing though in- toxicated. Intermediates do not buy from refreshment- rooms. They carry their food in bundles and pots, and buy sweets from the native sweetmeat-sellers, and drink the roadside water. That is why in hot weather Intermediates 1 g STORIES FROM KIPLING are taken out of the carriages dead, and in all weathers are most properly looked down upon. My particular Intermediate happened to be empty till I reached Nasirabad, when a big black-browed gentleman m shirt-sleeves entered, and, following the custom of Inter- mediates, passed the time of day. He was a wanderer and a vagabond 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 hke you and me, not knowing more than the crows where they'd get their next day's ra- tions, it isn't seventy miUions of revenue the land would be paying — ^it's seven hundred millions," said he; and as I looked at his mouth and chin I was disposed to agree with him. We talked politics — ^the politics of Loaferdom that sees things from the imderside where the lath and plaster is not smoothed off — ^and we talked postal arrangements because my friend wanted to send a telegram back from the next station to Ajmir, the turning-off place from the Bombay to the Mhow line as you travel westward. My friend had no money beyond eight annas which he wanted for dinner, and I had no money at all, owing to the hitch in the Budget before mentioned. Further, I was going into a wilderness where, though I should resume touch with the Treasury, there were no telegraph offices. I was, therefore, imable 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 were 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. THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 3 "I couldn't trust the wire to fetch him now I think of it. It's this way. He leaves Delhi on the 23rd for Bombay. That means he'll be running through Ajmir about the night of the 23rd." "But I'm going into the Indian Desert," I explained. "Well and good," said he. "You'U be changing at Mar- war Junction to get into Jodhpore territory — ^you must do that — and he'll be coming through Marwar Junction in the early morning of the 24th by the Bombay Mail, Can you be at Marwar Junction on that time? '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 Backwoods- man." "Have you ever tried that trick?" I asked. "Again and again, but the Residents find you out and then you get escorted to the Border before you've time to get your knife into them. But about my friend here. I must give him a word o' mouth to tell him what's come to me or eke 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 sleeping hke a gentleman with all his luggage round him in a Second-class apartment. But don't you be afraid. Shp 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 — agoing to the West," he said with emphasis. "Where have you come from?" said I. "Prom 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 appeals to the memory of their mothers; but for certain reasons, which will be fully apparent, I saw fit to agree. 4 STORIES FROM KIPLING "It's more than a little matter," said he, "and that's why I asked you to do it — and now I know that I can depend on you doing it. A Second-class carriage at Marwar Junction, and a red-haired man asleep in it. You'U be sure to re- member. I get out at the next station, and I must hold on there till he comes or sends me what I want." "I'll give the message if I catch him," I said, "and for the sake of your Mother as well as mine I'll give you a word of advice. Don't try to run the Central India States just now as the correspondent of the Backwoodsman. There's a real one knocking about here, and it might lead to trouble." "Thank you," said he simply, "and when will the swine be gone? I can't starve because he's 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 himg 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 Jimction my message?" He got out at a little roadside station, and I reflected. I had heard, more than once, of men personating correspon- dents of newspapers and bleeding small Native States with threats of exposure, but I had never met any of the caste before. They lead a hard life, and generally die with great suddenness. The Native States have a wholesome horror of English newspapers, which may throw light on their peculiar methods of government, and do their best to choke correspon- dents with champagne, or drive them out of their mind with four-in-hand barouches. They do not understand that nobody cares a straw for the internal administration of Native States so long as oppression and crime are kept within decent limits, and the ruler is not drugged, drunk, or diseased from one end of the year to the other. They are the dark places of the earth, full of unimaginable cruelty, touching the THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 5 Tlailway and the Telegraph on one side, and, on the other, the days of Harun-al-Raschid. When I left the train I did busi- ness with divers Kings, and in eight days passed through many changes of life. Sometimes I wore dress-clothes and consorted with Princes and Politicals, drinking from crystal and eating from silver. Sometimes I lay out upon the ground and devoured what I could get, from a plate made of leaves, and drank the running water, and slept under the same rug as my servant. It was aU 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 Junction, where a funny little, happy-go- lucky, native-managed railway runs to Jodhpore. The Bombay Mail from Delhi makes a short halt, at Marwar. She arrived as I got in, and I had just time to hurry to her platform and go down the 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?" said he. "No," said I. "I am to tell you that he is gone South for the week. He has gone South for the week!" The train had begun to move out. The red man rubbed his eyes. "He has gone South for the week," he repeated. "Now that's just hke 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 Ughts die out in the dark. It was horribly cold because the wind was blowing oflF the sands. I climbed into my own train — ^not an Intermediate carriage this time — and went to isleep. 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. 6 STORIES FROM KIPLING Later on I reflected that two gentlemen like my friends could not do any good if they foregathered and personated correspondents of newspapers, and might, if they blacK- mailed one of the little rat-trap states of Central India or Southern Rajputana, get themselves into serious diflBculties. I therefore took some trouble to describe them as accurately as I could remember to people who would be interested in deporting them: and succeeded, so I was later informed, in having them headed back from the Degumber borders. Then I became respectable, and retiirned to an OflBce where there were no Kings and no incidents outside the daily manufacture of a newspaper. A newspaper oflBce seems to attract every conceivable sort of person, to the prejudice of discipline. Zenana-mission ladies arrive, and beg that the Editor will instantly abandon all his duties to describe a Christian prize-giving in a back-sliun of a per- fectly inaccessible village; Colonels who have been over- passed for command sit down and sketch the outline of a series of ten, twelve, or twenty-four leading articles on Seniority versus Selection; missionaries wish to know 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 2^aland or Tahiti will do so with interest; inventors of patent punkah- pulling machines, carriage couplings and imbreakable swords and axle-trees call with specifications in their pockets and hours at their disposal; tea-companies enter and elaborate their prospectuses with the office pens; secretaries of ball- committees clamor to have the glories of their last dance more fully described; strange ladies rustle in and say: "I want a hundred lady's cards printed at once, please," which is manifestly part of an Editor's duty; and every dissolute ruffian that ever tramped the Grand Trunk Road makes it his business to ask for employment as a proof-reader. And all the time, the telephone-bell is ringing madly, and King" THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 7 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 Uttle black copy-boys are whiniag, "kaa-pi chay-ha-^eh " (copy wanted) like tired bees, and most of the paper is as blank as Modred's shield. But that is the amusing part of the year. There are six other months when none ever come to call, and the thermometer walks inch by inch up to the top of the glass, and the office is darkened to just above reading-light, and the press-machines are red-hot to touch, and nobody writes anything but accounts of amusements 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 with a garment, and you sit down and write: "A slight increase of sickness is reported from the Khuda Janta Khan District. The outbreak is purely sporadic in its nature, and, thanks to the energetic efforts of the District authorities, is now almost at an end. It is, however, with deep regret we record the death," etc. Then 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 divfcrt themselves as selfishly as before, and the Foreman thinks that a daily paper really ought to come out once in twenty-four hours, and all the people at the Hill-stations in the middle of their amusements say: "Good gracious! Why can't the paper be sparkling? I'm sure there's plenty going on up here." That is the dark half of the moon, and, as the ad- vertisements say, "Must be experienced to be appreci- ated." It was in that season, and a remarkably evil season, that the paper began running the last issue of the week on Satur- day night, which is to say Sunday morning, after the custom of a London paper. This was a great convenience, for im- 8 STOEIES FROM KIPLING mediately after the paper was put to bed, the dawn would lower the thermometer from 96° to ahnost 84° for half an hour, and in that chill — ^you have no idea how cold is 84 on the grass until you begin to pray for it — a very tired man could get ofif to sleep ere the heat roused him. One Satiu-day night it was my pleasant duty to put the paper to bed alone. A King or courtier or a courtesan or a Community was going to die or get a new Constitution, or do something that was important on the other side of the world, and the paper was to be held open tiU the latest possible minute in order to catch the telegram. It was a pitchy black night, as stifling as a June night can be, and the loo, the red-hot wind from the westward, was booming among the tinder-dry trees and pretending that the rain was on its heels. Now and again a spot of almost boihng water would fall on the dust with the flop of a frog, but aU 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 ticked and cUcked, and the night- jars hooted at the windows, and the aU 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 oflF, though the ho dropped and the last, type was set, and the whole round earth stood still in the choking heat, with its finger on its lip, to wait the event. I drowsed, and wondered whether the telegraph was a blessing, and whether this dying man, or struggling people, might be aware of the inconvenience the delay was causing. There was no special reason beyond the heat and worry to make tension, but, as the clock-hands crept up to 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. Then the roar and rattle of the wheels shivered the quiet into little bits. I rose to go away, but two men in white clothes stood in front of me. The first one said : " It's him ! " The second said: "So it is!" And they both laughed THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 9 ftlmost as loudly as the machinery roared, and mopped their foreheads. "We seed there was a light burning across the road and we were sleeping in that ditch there for coolness, and I said to my friend here, The office is open. Let's come along and speak to him as turned us back from the Degumber State," said the smaller of the two. He was the man I had met in the Mhow train, and his feUow was the red-bearded man of Marwar Junction. There was no mistaking the eye- brows 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 comfortable, 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 we found out you did us a bad turn about Degumber State." I led from the press-room to the stiffing office with the maps on the walls, and the red-haired man rubbed his hands. "That's something Uke," 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 correspondent 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 wiU save you cutting into my talk. We'll take one of your cigars apiece, and you shall see us light up." I watched the test. The men were absolutely sober, so I gave them each a tepid whiskey and soda. "Well and good," said Carnehan of the eyebrows, wiping the froth from his moustache. "Let me talk now, Dan. We have been all over India, mostly on foot. We have been boiler-fitters, engine-drivers, petty contractors, and 10 STORIES FROM KIPLING all that, and we have decided that India isn't big enough f oi 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 they sat on the big table. Carnehan continued : "The country isn't half worked out because they that gov- erns 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 Uke 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 Uttle men, and there is nothing that we are afraid of except Drink, and we have signed a Contrack on that. Therefore, we are going away to be Kings." "Kings in our own right," muttered Dravot. "Yes, of course," I said. "You've been tramping in the sun, and it's a very warm night, and hadn't you better sleep over the notion? Come to-morrow." "Neither drimk 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- whach. They call it Kafiristan. By my reckoning it's the top right-hand corner of Afghanistan, not more than three hundred miles from Peshawar. They have two-and-thirty heathen idols there, and we'll be the thirty-third and fourth. It's a mountaineous country, and the women of those parts are very beautiful." "But that is provided against in the Contrack," said Carnehan. "Neither Woman nor Liqu-or, Daniel." "And that's all we know, except that no one has gone there, and they fight, and in any place where they fight a man who knows how to drill men can always 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 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 11 how to drill men; for that we know better than anything else. Then we will subvert that King and seize his Throne and establish a Dy-nasty." "You'll be cut to pieces before you're fifty miles across the Border," I said. "You have to travel through Afghan- istan to get to that country. It's one mass of mountains and peaks and glaciers, and no Englishman has been through it. The people are utter brutes, and even if you reached them you couldn't do anything." "That's more like," said Carnehan. "If you could think us a Uttle more mad we would be more pleased. We have come to you to know about this country, to read a book about it, and to be shown maps. We want yoii to tell us that we are fools and to show us your books." He turned to the book-cases. "Are you at all in earnest? " I said. "A little," said Dravot sweetly. "As big a map as you have got, even if it's all blank where Kafiristan is, and any books you've got. We can read, though we aren't very educated." I uncased the big thirty-two-miles-to-the-inch map of India, and two smaller Frontier maps, hauled down volume INF-KAN of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and the men consulted them. "See here!" said Dravot, his thumb on the map. "Up to Jagdallak, Peachey and me know the road. We was there with Roberts' Army. We'll have to turn off to the right at Jagdallak through Laghmann territory. Then we get among the hiUs — ^fourteen thousand feet — ^fifteen thousand — it will be cold work there, but it don't look very far on the map." I handed him Wood on the Sources of the Oxus. Carnehan was deep in the Encyclopcedia. "They're a mixed lot," said Dravot reflectively; "and it won't help us to know the names of their tribes. The more tribes the more they'll fight, and the better for us. From Jagdallak to Ashang. H'mm ! " "But all the information about the country is as sketchy 12 STORIES FROM KIPLING and inaccurate as can be," I protested, "No one knowa anything about it really. Here's the file of the United Ser. vices' Institute. Read what Bellew says." "Blow Bellew!" said Carnehan. "Dan, they're a stinkin lot of heathens, but this book here says they think they're related to us English." I smoked while the men pored over Raverty, Wood, the maps, and the Encyclopcedia. "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 recommenda- tion down-coimtry? I can help you to the chance of work next week." "Next week we shall be hard at work ourselves, thank you," said Dravot. "It isn't so easy being a King as it looks. When we've got our Kingdom in going order we'll let you know, and you can come up and help us to govern it." "Would two lunatics make a Contrack Uke that?" said Carnehan, with subdued pride, showing me a greasy half- sheet of notepaper on which was written the following. I copied it, then and there, as a curiosity — This Contract between me and you persuing witnesseth in the name of God — Amen and so jorth. {One) That me and you vjill settle this matter together} i. e., to be Kings of Kafiristan. {Two) That you and me vnll 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. THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 13 {Three) That we conduct ourselves vnih Dignity and Discretion, and if one of us gets into trouble the other will stay by him. Signed by you and me this day. Peachey Taliaferro Camehan. Daniel Dravot. Both Gentlemen at Large. "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 Uves 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-morrow," 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 imload. AU 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. Ib the afternoon I went down to see whether my friends in- tended to keep their word or were lying there drunk. A priest attired in fragments of ribbons and rags stalked up to me, gravely twisting a child's paper whirUgig. Behind him was his servant bending under the load of a crate of mud toys. The two were loading up two camels, and the in- habitants 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 14 STORIES FROM KIPLING raised to honor or have his head cut off. He came in hers this morning and has been behaving madly ever since. "The witless are under the protection of God," stammered a flat-cheeked Usbeg in broken Hindi. "They foretell future events." "Would they could have foretold that my caravan would have been cut up by the Shinwaris almost within shadow of the Pass !" grunted the Eusufzai agent of a Rajputana trading- house whose goods had been diverted into the hands of other robbers just across the Border, and whose misfortunes were the laughing-stock of the bazar. "Oh6, priest, whence come you and whither do you go?" "Prom Romn 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 faithful while they are away, of the men who give me place in their caravan. Who will assist me to sUpper 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 between the lines of tethered horses. "There starts a caravan from Peshawar to Kabul in twenty days, Hvzrut," said the Eusufzai 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 Peshawar 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, and I will sell thee a charm — an amulet that shall make thee King of Kafiristan." Then the light broke upon me, and I followed the two THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 15 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 handsome servant. 'Tisn't for noth- ing that I've been knocking about the country for fourteen years. Didn't I do that talk neat? We'll hitch on to a caravan at Peshawar till we get to Jagdallak, and then we'll see if we can get donkeys for our camels, and strike into Kafiristan. WhirUgigs for the Amir, O Lor! Put your hand imder the camel-bags and tell me what you feel." I felt the butt of a Martini, and another and another. "Twenty of 'em," said Dravot placidly. "Twenty of 'em and ammunition to correspond, under the 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 coxJd beg, borrow, or steal — ^are invested on these two camels," said Dravot. "We 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 memento of your kindness. Brother. You did me a service, yesterday, and that time in Marwar. Half my Kingdon^ shall you have, as the saying is." I slipped a small charm compass from my watch chain and handed it up to the priest. "Grood-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. 16 STORIES FROM KIPLING The scene in the Serai proved that they were complete to the native mind. There was just the chance, therefore, that Carnehan and Dravot would be able to wander through Afghanistan without detection. But, beyond, they would find death — certain and awful death. Ten days later a native correspondent giving me the news of the day from Peshawar, wound up his letter with : " There has been much laughter here on account of a certain mad priest who is going in h|s estimation to sell petty gauds and insignificant trinkets wluch he ascribes as great charms to H. H. the Amir of Bokhara. He passed through Peshawar and associated himself to the Second Summer caravan that goes to Kabul. The merchants are pleased because through superstition they imagine that such mad fellows bring good- fortune." The two, then, were beyond the Border. I would have prayed for them, but, that night, a real King died in Europe, and demanded an obituary notice. The wheel of the world swings through the same phases again and again. Summer passed and winter thereafter, and came and passed again. The daily paper continued and I with it, and upon the third summer there fell a hot night, a night-issue, and a strained waiting for something to be telegraphed from the other side of the world, exactly as had happened before. A few great men had died in the past two years, the machines worked with more clatter, and some of the trees in the Office garden were a few feet taller. But that was all the difference. I passed over to the press-room, and went through just such a scene as I have already described. The nervous tension was stronger than it had been two years before, and I felt the heat more acutely. At three o'clock I cried, "Print off," and turned to go, when there crept to my chair what was left of a man. He was beat into a circle, his head was sunk THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING W tetween 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?" he whimpered. "For the Jord's sake, give me a drink!" I went back to the office, the man following with groans of pain, and I turned up the lamp. "Don't you know me?" he gasped, dropping into a chair, and he turned his drawn face, surmounted by a shock of gray hair, to the light. I looked at him intently. Once before had I seen eye- brows that met over the nose in an inch-broad black band, but for the life of me I could not tell where. "I don't know you," I said, handing him the whiskey. "What can I do for you?" He took a gulp of the spirit raw, and shivered in spite of the suffocating heat. "I've come back," he repeated; "and I was the King of Kafiristan — ^me and Dravot — crowned Kings we was! In this office we settled it — ^you setting there and givipg 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 expressed my feel- ings 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 ray 18 STORIES FROM KIPLING words will go all to pieces. Keep looking at me in my eyes and don't say anything." I leaned forward and looked into his face as steadily as 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 afterwards, but for the Lord's sake don't dis- track me. We left with that caravan, me and Dravot playing all sorts of antics to amuse the people we were with. Dravot used to make us laugh in the evenings when all the people was cooking their dinners — cooking their dinners, and . . . what did they do then? They Ut 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 Ut those fires. To Jagdallak, where you turned oflf to try to get into Kafiristan." "No, we didn't neither. What are you talking about? We turned oflf before Jagdallak, because we heard the roads was good. But they wasn't good enough for our two camels — ^mine and Dravot's. When we left the caravan, Dravot took off all his clothes and mine too, and said we would be heathen, because the Kafirs didn't allow Mohammedans to talk to them. So we dressed betwixt and between, and such a sight as Daniel Dravot I never saw yet nor expect to see again. He burned half his beard, and slung a sheep-skin over his shoulder, and shaved his head into patterns. He shaved mine, too, and made me wear outrageous things to look like a heathen. That was in a most mountaineoua country, and our camels couldn't go along any more because of the moimtains. They were tall and black, and coming home I saw them fight like wild goats — ^there are lots of goats in Kafiristan. And these moimtains, they never keep THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 19 still, no more than the goats. Always fighting they are, and don't let you sleep at night." "Take some more whiskey," I said very slowly. "What did you and Daniel Dravot do when the camels could go no further because of the rough roads that led into Kafiristan? " "What did which do? There was a party called Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan that was with Dravot. Shall I tell you about him? He died out there in the cold. Slap from the bridge fell old Peachey, turning and twisting in the air like a penny whirligig that you can sell to the Amir. — No; they was two for three ha'pence, those whirligigs, or I am much mistaken and woeful sore. . . . And then these camels were no use, and Peachey said to Dravot — 'For the Lord's sake let's get out of this before oiu* heads are chopped off,' and with that they killed the camels all among the mountains, not having anything in particidar to eat, but first they took off the boxes with the guns and the ammuni- tion, till two jnen 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 rims 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 moun- taineous and the mules were most contrary, and the in- habitants was dispersed and solitary. They went up and up, and down and down, and that other party, Carnehan, was imploring of Dravot not to sing and whistle so loud, for fear of bringing down the tremenjus avalanches. But Dravot 20 STOEIES FROM KIPLING says that if a King couldn't sing it wasn't worth being King, and whacked the mules over the rump, and never took no heed for ten cold days. We came to a big level valley all among the 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 he was sitting. The other men began to run, but Carnehan and Dravot sits on the boxes picking them off at all ranges, up and dovm the valley. Then he goes up to the ten men that had run across the snow too, and they fires a footy little arrow at us. Dravot he shoots above their heads and they all falls down flat. Then he walks over them and kicks them, and then he lifts them up and shakes hands all round to make them friendly Uke. He calls them and gives them the boxes to carry, and waves his hand for all the world as though he was King already. They takes the boxes and him across the valley and up the hill into a pine wood on the top, where there was half a dozen big stone idols. Dravot he goes to the biggest — ^a fellow they call Imbra — and lays a rifle and a cartridge at his feet, rubbing his nose respectful with his own nose, patting him on the head, and 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. THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 21 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 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 worshipped. That was Dravot's order. Then a lot of men came into the valley, and Carnehan Dravot picks them off with the rifles before they knew where they was, and runs down into the valley and up again the other side and finds another village, same as the first one, and the people all falls down fiat on their faces, and Dravot says — 'Now what is the trouble between you two villages? ' and the people points to a woman, as fair as you or ' me, that was carried off, and Dravot takes her back to the first village and counts up the dead — eight there was. For each dead man Dravot pours a little milk on the groimd and waves his arms like a whirligig and 'That's all right,' says he. Then he and Carnehan takes the big boss of each village 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 of the line. Then all the people comes down and shouts like the devil and all, and Dravot says — 'Go and dig the land, and be fruitful and multiply,' which they did, though they didn't understand. Then we asks the names of things in their lingo — ^bread and water and fire and idols and such, and Dravot leads the priest of each village up to the idol, and says he must sit there and judge the people, and if anything goes wrong he is to be shot. "Next week they was all turning up the land in the valley 22 STORIES FROM KIPLING as quiet as bees and much 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 chck ofiE a rifle, and form fours, and advance in line, and they was very pleased to do so, and clever to see the hang of it. Then he takes out his pipe and his baccy-pouch and leaves one at one village, and one at the other, and off we two goes to see what was to be done in the next valley. That was all rock, and there was a httle 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 Uttle 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 thvmdering big Chief comes across the snow with kettle-drums and horns twanging, because he heard there was a new God kicking about. Carnehan sights for the brown of the men half a mile across the snow and wings one of them. Then he sends a message to the Chief that, unless he wished to be killed, he must come and shake hands with me and leave his arms behind. The Chief comes alone first, and Carnehan shakes hands with him and whirls his arms about, same as Dravot used, and very much sur- prised 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 gets the two of the Army to show them drill and at the end of THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 2S two weeks the men can manoeuvre about as well as Volun- teers. So he marches with the Chief to a great big plain on the top of a moimtain, 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 scriptiu:al. By way of a reminder, when me and the Army was eighteen 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 inter- rupted — "How could you write a letter up yonder?" "The letter?— Oh!— The letter! Keep looking at me between the eyes, please. It was a string-talk letter, that we'd learned tie way of it from a blind beggar in the Pun- jab." 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 roimd the twig according to some cipher of his own. He could, after the lapse of days or hours, repeat the sentence which he had reeled up. He had reduced the alphabet to eleven primitive sounds; and tried to teach me his method, but I could not imderstand. "I sent that letter to Dravot," said Carnehan; "and told him to come back because this Kingdom was growing too big for me to handle, and then I struck for the first valley, to see how the priests were working. They called the village we took along with the Chief, Bashkai, and the first village we took, Er-Heb. The priests at Er-Heb was doing all right, but they had a lot of pending cases about land to show me, and some men from another village had been firing arrows at night. I went out and looked for that village, and fired four rounds at it from a thousand yards. That used aU the cartridges I cared to spend, and I waited for Dravot, who had been away two or three months, and I kept my people quiet. "One morning I heard the devil's own noise of drums U STORIES FROM KIPLING and horns, and Dan Dravot marches down the hiU with his Army and a tail of himdreds of men, and which was the most amazing, a great gold crown on his head. 'My Gord, Carnehan,' said Daniel, 'this is a tremenjus business, and we've got the whole coimtry as far as it's worth having. I am the son of Alexander by Queen Semiramis, and you're my yoimger brother and a God too! 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 '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 there's a chimk 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. "'Peachey,' 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 him afterwards, because he w£is so like BiUy Fish that drove the big tank-engine at Mach on the Bolan in the old days. 'Shake hands with him,' says Dravot, and I shook hands and nearly dropped, for Billy Fish gave me the Grip. I said nothing, but tried him with the Fellow Craft Grip. He answers, all right, and I tried the Master's Grip, but that was a sUp. '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 Gord's Truth. I've known these long years that the Afghans THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 2S 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 with- out warrant from any one; and you know we never held office in any Lodge.' "'It's a master-stroke o' policy,' says Dravot. 'It means running the country as easy as a four-wheeled bogie on a down grade. We can't stop to 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. "I was fair run oflF my legs, but I wasn't such a fool as not to see what a pull this Craft business gave us. I showed the priests' famiUes 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 pave- ment 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 Alexander, 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 were so hairy and white and fair it was just shaking hands with old friends. We gave them names ac- cording as they was like men we had known in India — ^BiUy Fish, Holly Dilworth, Pikky Kergan, that was Bazar-master when I was at Mhow, and so on, and so on. "The most amazing miracles was at Lodge next night. 26 STORIES FROM KIPLING One of the old priests was watching us continuous, and I felt imeasy, for I knew we'd have to fudge the Ritual; and I didn't know what the men knew. The old priest was a stranger come in from beyond the village of 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 warrant!' Dravot never winked an eye, not when ten priests took and tilted over the Grand-Master's chair — ^which was to say the stone of Imbra. The priest begins rubbing the bottom end of it to clear away the black dirt, and presently he shows all the other priests the Master's Mark, same as was on Dravot's apron, cut into the stone. Not even the priests of the temple of Imbra knew it was there. The old chap falls flat on his face at Dravot's feet and kisses 'em, 'Luck again,' says Dravot, across the Lodge to me, 'they say it's the missing Mark that no one could under- stand the why of. We're more than safe now.' Then he bangs the butt of his gun for a gavel and says: 'By virtue lof the authority vested in my by my own right hand and the help of Peachey, I declare myself Grand-Master of all Free- masonry 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, 'we'll hold another THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 27 Communication, and see how you are working.' Then he asks them about their villages, and learns that they was fighting one against the other, and were 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 country,' says Dravot. 'Tell off every tenth man of yoiu" tribes for a Frontier guard, and send two hundred at a time to this valley to be drilled. Nobody is going to be shot or speared any more so long as he does well, and I know that you won't cheat me, because you're white people — sons of Alexander — ^and not like common, black Mohammedans. You are my people, and by God,' says he, running off into English at the end — 'I'll make a damned fine Nation of you, or I'll die in the making!' "I can't tell all we did for the next six months, because Dravot did a lot I couldn't see the hang of, and he learned their lingo in a way I never could. My work was to help the people plow, and now and again go out with some of the Army and see what the other villages were doing, and make 'em throw rope-bridges across the ravines which cut up the country horrid. Dravot was very kind to me, but when he walked up and down in the pine wood pulUng that bloody red beard of his with both fists I knew he was thinking plans I could not advise about, and I just waited for orders. "But Dravot never showed me disrespect before 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 caUed Kafuzelum — it was like enough to his real name — ^and hold councils with 'em when there was any fighting to be done in small villages. That was his Council of War, and the foiu: 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 28 STORIES FROM KIPLING carrying turquoises, into the Ghorband country to buy those, hand-made Martini rifles, that come out of the Amir's work- shops at Kabul, 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 regiment some more, and, between the two and the tribes-people, we got more than a hundred hand-made Martinis, a hundred good Kohat Jezails that'll throw to six hundred yards, and forty manloads of very bad am- munition for the rifles. I came back with what I had, and distributed 'em among the men that the Chiefs sent in to me to drill. Dravot was too busy to attend to those things, but the old Army that we first made helped me, and we turned out five hundred men that could drill, and two hundred that knew how to hold arms pretty straight. Even those cork- screwed, hand-made guns was a miracle to them. Dravot talked big about powder-shops and factories, walking up and down in the pine wood when the winter was coming on. "'I won't make a Nation,' says he. 'I'll make an Em- pire! 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 EngKsh. I'll take a census ia the spring if the priests don't get frightened. There must be a fair two million of 'em in these hiUs. The villages are full o' little children. Two million people — ^two himdred and fifty thousand fight- ing men — ^and all Enghsh! 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 Viceroy on equal terms. I'U ask him to send me twelve picked English — ^twelve that I know of — to help us govern a THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 29 bit. There's Mackray, Sergeant-pensioner at SegowK — 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 Viceroy shall do it for me, I'll send a man through in the spring for those men, and I'll write for a dis- pensation 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 hiUs. Twelve English, a himdred thousand Sniders run through the Amir's country in driblets — ^I'd be content with twenty thousand in one year — ^and we'd be an Empire. When everything was shipshape, I'd hand over the crown — this crown I'm wearing now — to Queen Victoria on my knees, and she'd say: "Rise up, Sir Daniel Dravot." Oh, it's big! It's big, I tell you! But there's so much to be done in every place — ^Bashkai, Xhawak, Shu, and every- where 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 my 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 somehow you can't help me, Peachey, in the way I want to be helped.' "'Go to your blasted priests, then!' I said, and I was sorry when I made that remark, but it did hurt me sore to find Daniel talking so superior when I'd drilled all the men, and done all he told me. "'Don't let's quarrel, Peachey,' says Daniel without cursing. 'You're a King too, and the half of this Kingdom is yours; but can't you see, Peachey, we want cleverer men than us now — three or four of 'em, that we can scatter about 80 STORIES FROM KIPLING for our Deputies. It's a hugeous great State, and I can't always tell the right thing to do, and I haven't time for all I want to do, and here's the winter coming on and all.' He put half his beard into his mouth, all red like the gold of his crown. "'I'm sorry, Daniel,' says I. I've done all I could. I've drilled the men and shown the people how to stack their oats better; and I've brought in those tin-ware rifles from Ghorband — ^but I know what you're driving at. I take it Kings always feel oppressed that way.' " 'There's another thing too,' says Dravot, walking up and down. 'The winter's coming and these people won't be giving much trouble, and if they do we can't move about. I want a wife.' "'For Gord's sake leave the women alone!' I says. 'We'vf both got all the work we can, though I am a fool. Remember the Contrack, and keep clear o' women.' '"The Contrack only lasted tiU such time as we was Kings; and Kings we have been these months past,' saya Dravot, weighing his crown in his hand. 'You go get a wife too, Peachey — a nice, strappin', plump girl that'll keep you warm in the winter. They're prettier than English girls, and we can take the pick of 'em. Boil 'em once or twice in hot water, and they'll come out like chicken and ham.' "'Don't tempt me!' I says. *I will not have any dealings with a woman not till we are a dam' side more settled than we are now. I've been doing the work o' two men, and you've been doing the work o' three. Let's lie off a bit, and see if we can get some better tobacco from Afghan country and run in some good liquor; but no women.' " 'Who's talking o' women ? ' says Dravot. 'I said vxife — a queen to breed a King's son for the King. A Queen out of the strongest tribe, that'U make them your blood-brothers and that'll lie by your side and tell you all the people thinks about you and their own affairs. That's what I want.' " 'Do you remember that Bengali women I kept at Mogul THE MAN WHO WOXJLD BE KING 31 Serai when I was a plate-layer?' says I. 'A fat lot o' good she was to me. She taught me the lingo and one or two other things; but what happened? She ran away with the Station Master's servant and half my month's pay. Then she turned up at Dadur Junction in tow of a half-caste, and had the impidence to say I was her husband — ^all among the drivers in the running-shed too!' "'We've done with that,' says Dravot, 'these women are whiter than you or me, and a Queen I will have for the winter months.' " 'For the last time o' asking, Dan, do not' 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 Uke a big red devil, the sun being on his crown and beard and aU. "But getting a wife was not as easy as Dauj thought. He put it before the Council, and there was no answer till Billy Fish said 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 bought your guns? Who repaired the bridges? Who's the Grand-Master of the sign cut in the stone?' says he, and he thumped his hand on the block that he used to sit on in Lodge, and at Council, which opened like Lodge always. Billy Fish said nothing and no more did the others. 'Keep your hair on, Dan,' said I ; 'and ask the girls. That's how it's done at Home, and these people are quite English.' " 'The marriage of the King is a matter of State,' says Dan, in a white-hot rage, for he could feel, I hope, that he was going against his better mind. He walked out of the Council- room, and the others sat still, looking at the ground. 32 STpRIES FROM KIPLING "'Billy Fish,' says I to the Chief of Bashkai, Vhat's the difficulty here? A straight answer to a true friend.' "'You know,' says Billy Fish. Ilow should a man tell you who knows everything? 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 moimtains, and now and again a girl marries one of them and isn't seen any more. Besides, you two know the Mark cut in the stone. Only the Gods know that. We thought you were men till you showed the sign of the Master.' "I wished then that we had explained about the loss of the genuine secrets of a Master-Mason at the first go-oflf; 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. "'I'll have no nonsense of that kind,' says Dan. 'I don't want to interfere with your customs, but I'll take my own wife.' — 'The girl's a Uttle bit afraid,' says the priest. 'She thinks she's going to die, and they are aheartening of her up down in the temple.' " 'Hearten her very tender, then,' says Dravot, 'or I'll hearten you with the butt of a gun so you'll never want to be heartened again.' He licked his lips, did Dan, and stayed up walking about more than half the night, thiaking of the wife that he was going to get in the morning. I wasn't by any means comfortable, for I knew that deal- ings with a woman in foreign parts, though you was a crowned King twenty times over, could not but be risky. I got up very early in the morning while Dravot was asleep, and I saw the priests talking together in whispers, and the Chiefs THE MAN WHO WOULD Bg KING 33 talking together too, and they looked at me out of the cor- ners of their eyes. "'What is up, Fish?' I say to the Bashkai man, who was wrapped up in his furs and looking splendid to behold. "'I can't rightly say,' says he; 'but if you can make the King drop all this nonsense about marriage, you'll be doing him and me and yourself a great service.' " 'That I do believe,' says I. 'But sure, you know, Billy, as well as me, having fought against and for us, that the King and me are nothing more than two of the finest men that God Almighty ever made. Nothing more, I do assure you.' " 'That may be,' says Billy Fish, 'and yet I should be sorry if it was.' He sinks his head upon his great fur cloak for a minute and thinks. 'King,' says 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 Uttle 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 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 Emperor 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 center of the pine wood. A lot of priests went down to the little temple to bring up the girl, and the horns blew fit to wake the dead. Billy Fish saunters round and gets as close to Daniel as he could, and behind him stood his twenty men with matchlocks. Not a man of them under six feet. I waa next to Dravot, and behind me was twenty men of the regular 34 STORIES FROM KIPLING ^rmy. Up comes the girl, and a strapping wench she was, covered with silver and turquoises but white as death, and looking back every minute at the priests. "'She'll do,' said Dan, looking her over. "What's to be afraid of, lass? Come and kiss me.' He puts his arm round her. She shuts her eyes, gives a bit of a squeak, and down goes her face in the side of Dan's flaming red beard. "'The slut's bitten me!' 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 howls in their lingo, — 'Neither Gk)d nor Devil but a man!' I was all taken aback, for a priest cut at me in front, and the Army ^egan firing into the Bashkai men. '"God A'mighty!^says Dan. *What is the meaning o' this?' "'Comeback! 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 hue. The valley was full of shouting, howling creatiu-es, and every soul was shrieking, 'Not a God nor a Devil but only a man!' The Bashkai troops stuck to Billy Fish all they were worth, but their matchlocks wasn't half as good as the Kabul breech-loaders, and four of them 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. He was swearing horrible and crying out he was a King. The priests rolled great stones on us, and the regular Army fired hard, and there wasn't more than six men, not counting Dan, Billy Fish, and Me, that came down to the bottom of the valley alive. THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 85 "Then they stopped firing and the horns in the temple blew again. 'Come away — ^for Gord's sake come away!' says Billy Fish. 'They'll send runners out to all the villages before ever we get to 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 hoiu*. 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.' "'It's your faidt,' 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 foohshness that brought the smash. "'I'm sorry, Dan,' says I, 'but there's no accounting 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 begins to pray to his Gods. "Next morning we was in a cruel bad country — all up and down, no level ground at all, and no food either. The six 86 STORIES FROM KIPLING Bashkai men looked at Billy Fish hungry-way as if they wanted to ask something, but they said never a word. At noon we came to the top of a flat mountain all covered witli 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 Englishmen, 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 BUly. Maybe they won't kill you. I'll 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.' "The Bashkai fellows didn't wait for a second word but ran off, and Dan and Me and BiUy Fish walked across to where the drums were drumming and the horns were homing. 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 oflBce, 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. THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 37 "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 pig; and the King kicks up the bloody snow and says: 'We've had a dashed fiine 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 Commander-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. 'I'm 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, turning round and roimd and round, twenty thousand miles, for he took half an hour to fall till he struck the water, and I could see his body caught on a rock with the gold crown close beside. "But do you know what they did to Peachey between two pine-trees? They crucified him. Sir, as Peachey 's hands will show. They used wooden pegs for his hands and 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 38 STORIES FROM KIPLING 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 moanmg Uke 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 Peachey's head, but Dan he held up his hand, and Peachey came along bent double. He never let go of Dan's hand, and he never let go of Dan's head. They gave it to him as a present in the temple, to remind him not to come again, and though the crown was pure gold, and Peachey was starving, never could 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 turquoises, that Camehan placed tenderly on the bat- tered temples. "You be'old now," said Camehan, "the Emperor in his 'abit as he lived — ^the Xing 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. Came- han rose to go. I attempted to stop him. He was not fit to walk abroad. "Let me take away the whiskey, and give me a little money," he gasped. "I was a King once. I'll go to THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING 39 the Deputy Commissioner and ask to set in the Poorhouse till I get my health. No, thank you, I can't wait till you get a carriage for me. I've urgent private affairs — ^in the south — at Marwar." He shambled out of the office and departed in the direc- tion 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 blood-red banner streams afar — Who follows in his train?" I waited to hear no more, but put the poor wretch into my carriage and drove him off to the nearest missionary for even- tual 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. Two days later I inquired after his welfare of the Super- intendent of the Asylum. "He was admitted suffering from sun-stroke. He died early yesterday morning," said the Superintendent. "Is it true that he was half an hour bare-headed in the sun at midday?" "Yes," said I, "but do you happen to know if he had anything upon him by any chance when he died? " "Not to my knowledge," said the Superintendent. And there the matter rests. THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT (1889) In the Army List they still stand as "The Fore and B?t Princess HohenzoUern-Sigmaringen-Anspach's Merther- Tydfilshire Own Royal Loyal Light Lifantry, Regimental District 329A," but the Army through aU its barracks and canteens knows them now as the "Fore and Aft." They may in time do something that shall make their new title honorable, but at present they are bitterly ashamed, and the man who calls them "Fore and Aft" does so at the risk of the head which is on his shoulders. Two words breathed into the stables of a certain Cavalry Regiment will bring the men out into the streets with belts and mops and bad language; but a whisper of "Fore and Aft" will bring out this regiment with rifles. Their one excuse is that they came again and did their best to finish the job in style. But for a time all their world knows that they were openly beaten, whipped, dumb-cowed, shaking and afraid. The men know it; their officers know it; the Horse Guards know it, and when the next war comes the enemy will know it also. There are two or three regiments of the Line that have a black mark against their names which they will then wipe out; and it wiU be excessively inconvenient for the troops upon whom they do their wiping. The com-age of the British soldier is officially supposed to be above proof, and, as a general rule, it is so. The exceptions are decently shoveled out of sight, only to be referred to in the freshest of unguarded talk that occasionally swamps a Mess-table at midnight. Then one hears strange and horrible stories of men not following their officers, of 40 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 41 orders being given by those who had no right to give them, and of disgrace that, but for the standing luck of the British Army, might have ended in brilliant disaster. These are unpleasant stories to listen to, and the Messes tell them under their breath, sitting by the big wood fires, and the young officer bows his head and thinks to himself, please God, his men shall never behave unhandily. The British soldier is not altogether to be blamed for oc- casional lapses; but this verdict he should not know. A moderately intelligent General will waste six months in mastering the craft of the particular war that he may be Waging; a Colonel may utterly misunderstand the capacity of his regiment for three monliis after it has taken the field, and even a Company Commander may err and be deceived as to the temper and temperament of his own handful : where- fore the soldier, and the soldier of to-day more particularly, should not be blamed for falling back. He should be shot or hanged afterwards — ^to encourage the others; but he should not be vilified in newspapers, for that is want of tact and waste of space. He has, let us say, been in the service of the Empress for, perhaps, four years. He will leave in another two years. He has no inherited morals, and four years are not sufficient to drive toughness into his fiber, or to teach him how holy a thing is his Regiment. He wants to drink, he wants to enjoy himself — ^in India he wants to save money — ^and he does not in the least like getting hurt. He has received just sufficient education to make him understand half the purport of the orders he receives, and to speculate on the nature of clean, incised, and shattering wounds. Thus, if he is told to deploy under fire preparatory to an attack, he knows that he runs a very great risk of being killed while he is deploying, and suspects that he is being thrown away to gain ten minutes' time. He may either deploy with desperate swift- ness, or he may shuffle, or bunch, or break, according to the discipline under which he has lain for four years. Armed with imperfect knowledge, cursed with the rudi- 42 STORIES FROM KIPLING ments of an imagination, hampered by the intense selfishness of the lower classes, and unsupported by any regimental associations, this young man is suddenly introduced to an enemy who in eastern lands is always ugly, generally tall and hairy, and frequently noisy. If he looks to the right and the left and sees old soldiers — ^men of twelve years' service, who he knows, know what they are about — taking a charge, rush, or demonstration without embarrassment, he is consoled and applies his shoulder to the butt of his rifle with a stout heart. His peace is the greater if he hears a senior, who has taught him his soldiering and broken his head on occasion, whispering : "They'll shout and cariy on like this for five minutes. Then they'll rush in, and then we've got 'em by the short hairs!" But, on the other hand, if he sees only men of his own term of service, turning white and playing with their triggers and saying: "What the Hell's up now? " while the Company Commanders are sweating into their sword-hilts and shouting: "Front-rank, fix bayonets. Steady there — steady! Sight for three hundred — ^no, for five! Lie down, all! Steady! Front-rank kneel!" and so forth, he becomes unhappy, and grows acutely miserable when he hears a comrade turn over with the rattle of fire-irons falling into the fender, and the grunt of a pole-axed ox. If he can be moved about a little and allowed to watch the effect of his own fire on the enemy he feels merrier, and may be then worked up to the blind passion of fighting, which is, contrary to general belief, controlled by a chilly Devil and shakes men like ague. If he is not moved about, and begins to feel cold at the pit of the stomach, and in that crisis is badly mauled and hears orders that were never given, he will break, and he wiU break badly, and of all things under the light of the Sun there is nothing more terrible than a broken British regiment. When the worst comes to the worst and the panic is really epidemic, the men must be e'en let go, and the Company Commanders had better escape to the enemy and stay there for safety's sake. If they can be made to come again liey are not pleasant men to meet; because they will not break twice. THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 43 About thirty years from this date, when we have succeeded in half-educating everything that wears trousers, our Army will be a beautifully unreliable machine. It will know too much and it will do too Uttle. Later still, when all men are at the mental level of the officer of to-day, it will sweep the earth. Speaking roughly, you must employ either black- guards or gentlemen, or, best of all, blackguards commanded by gentlemen, to do butcher's work with efficiency and despatch. The ideal soldier should, of course, thiak for him- eelf — ^the Pocket-book says so. Unfortunately, to attain this virtue, he has to pass through the phase of thinking of him- self, and that is misdirected genius. A blackguard may be slow to think for himseK, but he is genuinely anxious to kill, and a httle punishment teaches him how to guard his own skin and perforate another's. A powerfully prayerful High- land Regiment, officered by rank Presbyterians, is, per- haps, one degree more terrible in action than a hard-bitten thoustand of irresponsible Irish ruffians led by most improper yoimg unbelievers. But these things prove the rule — which is that the midway men are not to be trusted alone. They have ideas about the value of life and an upbriuging that has not taught them to go on and take the chances. They are carefully unprovided with a backing of comrades who have been shot over, and until that backing is re-introduced, as a great many Regimental Commanders intend it shall be, they are more liable to disgrace themselves than the size of the Empire or the dignity of the Army allows. Their officers are as good as good can be, because their training begins early, and God has arranged that a clean-run youth of the British middle classes shall, in the matter of backbone, brains, and bowels, surpass all other youths. For this reason a child of eighteen will stand up, doing nothing, with a tin sword in his hand and joy in his heart until he is dropped. If he dies, he dies like a gentleman. If he lives, he writes Home that he has been "potted," "sniped," "chipped," or "cut over," and sits down to besiege Government for a wound-gratuity until the next little war breaks out, when he perjures himself 44 STORIES FROM KIPLING before a Medical Board, blarneys his Colonel, burns incense round his Adjutant, and is allowed to go to the Front once more. Which homily brings me directly to a brace of the most finished little fiends that ever banged drum or tootled fife in the Band of a British Regiment. They ended their sinful career by open and flagrant mutiny and were shot for it. Their names were Jakin and Lew — ^Piggy Lew — and they were bold, bad drummer-boys, both of them frequently birched by the Drum-Major of the Fore and Aft. Jakin was a stunted child of fourteen, and Lew was about the same age. When not looked after, they smoked and drank. They swore habitually after the manner of the Barrack-room, which is cold-swearing and comes from between clinched teeth, and they fought religiously once a week. Jakin had sprung from some London gutter and may or may not have passed through Doctor Barnardo's hands ere he arrived at the dignity of drummer-boy. Lew could remember nothing except the Regiment and the delight of listening to the Band from his earliest years. He hid some- where in his grimy Httle soul a genuine love for music, and was most mistakenly furnished with the head of a cherub: insomuch that beautiful ladies who watched the Regiment in church were wont to speak of him as a "darling." They never heard his vitriolic comments on their manners and morals, as he walked back to barracks with the Band and matured fresh causes of offence against Jakic. The other drummer-boys hated both lads on account of their illogical conduct. Jakin might be poimding Lew, or Lew might be rubbing Jakin's head in the dirt, but any attempt at aggression on the part of an outsider was met by the combined forces of Lew and Jakin; and the consequences were painful. The boys were the Ishmaels of the corps, but wealthy Ishmaels, for they sold battles in alternate weeks for the sport of the barracks when they were not pitted against other boys; and thus amassed money. On this particular day there was dissension in the camp. THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 45 They had just been convicted afresh of smoking, which is bad for little boys who use plug-tobacco, and Lew's con- tention was that Jakin had "stunk so 'orrid bad from keepin' the pipe in pocket," that he and he alone was responsible for the birching they were both tingling under. "I tell you I 'id the pipe back o' barracks," said Jakin pacifically. "You're a bloomin' liar," said Lew without heat. "You're a bloomin' little barstard," said Jakin, strong in the knowledge that his own ancestry was unknown. Now there is one word in the extended vocabulary of Barrack- room abuse that cannot pass without comment. You may call a man a thief and risk nothing. You may even call him a coward without finding more than a boot whiz past your ear, but you must not call a man a bastard unless you are prepared to prove it on his front teeth. "You might ha' kep' that till I wasn't so sore," said Lew sorrowfully, dodging round Jakin's guard. "I'll make you sorer," said Jakin genially, and got home on Lew's alabaster forehead. All would have gone well and this story, as the books say, would never have been written, had not his evil fate prompted the Bazar-Sergeant's son, a long, employless man of five-and-twenty, to put in an appearance after the first round. He was eternally in need of money, and knew that the boys had silver. "Fighting again," said he. "I'll report you to my father, and he'll report you to the Color-Sergeant." "What's that to you?" said Jakin with an unpleasant dila- tion of the nostrils. "Oh! nothing to me. You'll get into trouble, and you've been up too often to afford that." "What the Hell do you know about what we've done?" asked Ijsw the Seraph. "You aren't in the Army, you lousy, cadging civilian." He closed in on the man's left fiank. " Jes' 'cause you find two gentlemen settlin' their diff'rences with their fistes you stick in yotir ugly nose where you aren't 46 STORIES FROM KIPLING wanted. Run 'ome to your 'arf-caste slut of a Ma — or we'll give you what-for," said Jakin. The man attempted reprisals by knocking the boys' heads together. The scheme would have succeeded had not Jakin punched him vehemently in the stomach, or had Lew re- frained from kicking his shins. They fought together, bleeding and breathless, for half an hour, and, after heavy punishment, triumphantly pulled down their opponent as terriers pull down a jackal. "Now," gasped Jakin, "I'll give you what-jFor." He proceeded to pound the man's features while Lew stamped on the outlying portions of his anatomy. Chivalry is not a strong point in the composition of the average drummer-boy. He fights, as do his betters, to make his mark. Ghastly was the ruin that escaped, and awful was the wrath of the Bazar-Sergeant. Awful too was the scene in Orderly-room when the two reprobates appeared to answer the charge of half-murdering a "civilian." The Bazar- Sergeant thirsted for a criminal action, and his son lied. The boys stood to attention while the black clouds of evidence accumulated. "You little devils are more trouble than the rest of the Regiment put together," said the Colonel angrily. "One might as well admonish thistledown, and I can't well put you in cells or imder stoppages. You must be birched again." "Beg y' pardon. Sir. Can't we say nothin' in our own defence. Sir?" shrilled Jakin. "Hey! What? Are you going to argue with me?" said the Colonel. "No, Sir," said Lew. "But if a man come to you. Sir, and said he was going to report you. Sir, for 'aving a bit of a turn-up with a friend. Sir, an' wanted to get money out o' you. Sir " The Orderly-room exploded in a roar of laughter. "Well? " said the Colonel. "That was what that measly jarnwar there did, Sir, and 'e'd 'a' done it, Sir, if we 'adn't prevented 'im. We (Hdn't, THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 47 'it 'im much, Sir. 'E 'adn't no manner o' right to interfere with us. Sir. I don't mind bein' birched by the Drum- Major, Sir, nor yet reported by any Corp'ral, but I'm — but I don't think it's fair. Sir, for a civilian to come an' talk over a man in the Army." A second shout of laughter shook the Orderly-room, but the Colonel was grave. "What sort of characters have these boys?" he asked of the Regimental Sergeant-Major. "Accordin' to the Bandmaster, Sir," returned that revered official — ^the only soul in the Regiment whom the boys feared — "they do everything hut lie. Sir." "Is it like we'd go for that man for fun, Sir?" said Lewr pointing to the plaintiff. *'0h, admonished, — ^admonished!" said the Colonel testily, and when the boys had gone he read the Bazar-Sergeant's son a lecture on the sin of unprofitable meddling, and gave orders that the Bandmaster should keep the Drums in better discipline. "If either of you come to practice again with so much as a scratch on your two ugly little faces," thundered the Bandmaster, "I'll tell the Drum-Major to take the skin off your backs. Understand that, you young devils." Then he repented of his speech for j'ust the length of time that Lew, looking like a seraph in red worsted embellish- ments, took the place of one of the trumpets — ^in hospital — and rendered the echo of a battle-piece. Lew certainly was a musician, and had often in his more exalted moments ex- pressed a yearning to master every instrument of the Band. "There's nothing to prevent your becoming a Band- master, Lew," said the Bandmaster, who had composed waltzes of his own, and worked day and night in the interests of the Band. "What did he say?" demanded Jakin after practice. " 'Said I might be a bloomin' Bandmaster, an' be asked in to 'ave aglass o' sherry-wine on Mess-nights." "Ho! 'Said you might be a bloomin' non-combatant, did 48 STORIES FROM KIPLING 'e! That's just about wot 'e would say. Wlien I've but in my boy's service — ^it's a bloomin' shame that doesn't count for pension — I'll take on as a privit. Then I'll be a Lance in a year — ^knowin' what I know about the ins and outs o' things. . In three years I'll be a bloomin' Sergeant. I won't merry then, not I! I'll 'old on and learn the orf'cers' ways an' apply for exchange into a reg'ment that doesn't know all about me. Then I'll be a bloomin' orf'cer. Then I'll ask you to 'ave a glass o' sherry-wine, Mister Lew, an' you'll bloomin' well 'ave to stay in the hanty-room while the Mess-Sergeant brings it to your dirty 'ands." " 'S'pose I'm going to be a Bandmaster? Not I, quite. I'll be a orf'cer too. There's nothin' like takin' to a thing an' sticMn' to it, the Schoolmaster says. The Reg'ment don't go 'ome for another seven years. I'll be a Lance then or near to." Thus the boys discussed their futures, and conducted themselves piously for a week. That is to say. Lew started a flirtation with the Color-Sergeant's daughter, aged thirteen — "not," as he explained to Jakin, "with any intention of matrimony, but by way o' keepin' my 'and in." And the black-haired Cris DeHghan enjoyed that flirtation more than previous ones, and the other drummer-boys raged furiously together, and JaMn preached sermons on the dangers of "bein' tangled along o' petticoats." But neither love nor virtue would have held Lew long in the paths of propriety had not the rumour gone abroad that the Regiment wes to be sent on active service, to take part in a war which, for the sake of brevity, we will call "The War of the Lost Tribes." The barracks had the rumour almost before the Mess- room, and of all the nine hundred men in barracks, not ten had seen a shot fired in anger. The Colonel had, twenty years ago, assisted at a Frontier expedition; one of the Majors had seen service at the Cape; a confirmed deserter in E Company had helped to clear streets in Ireland; but that was all. The Regiment had been put by for many years. The THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 49 overwhelming mass of its rank and file had from three to four years* service; the non-commissioned officers were under thirty years old; and men and sergeants alike had forgotten to speak of the stories written in brief upon the Colors ■ — ^the New Colors that had been formally blessed by an Archbishop in England ere the Regiment came away. They wanted to go to the Front — ^they were enthusias- tically anxious to go — but they had no Imowledge of what war meant, and there was none to tell them. They were an educated regiment, the percentage of school-certificates in their ranks was high, and most of the men could do more than read and write. They had been recruited in loyal observance of the territorial idea; but they themselves had no notion of that idea. They were made up of drafts from an over-populated manufacturing district. The system had put fiesh and muscle upon their small bones, but it could not put heart into the sons of those who for generations had done overmuch work for over-scanty pay, had sweated in drying- rooms, stooped over looms, coughed among white-lead, and shivered on lime-barges. The men had found food and rest in the Army, and now they were going to fight "niggers" — people who ran away if you shook a stick at them. Where- fore they cheered lustily when the rumor ran, and the shrewd, clerkly non-commissioned officers speculated on the chances of batta and of saving their pay. At Headquarters, men said: "The Fore and Fit have never been under £ie within the last generation. Let us, therefore, break them in easily by setting them to guard lines of communication." And this would have been done but for the fact that British Regiments were wanted — ^badly wanted — at the Front, and there were doubtful Native Regiments that could fill the minor duties. "Brigade 'em with two strong Regiments," said Headquarters. "They may be knocked about a bit, but they'll learn their business before they come through. Nothing like a night-alarm and a little cutting-up of stragglers to make a Regiment smart in the field. Wait till they've had half a dozen sentries' throats cut." 50 STORIES FROM KIPLING The Colonel wrote with delight that the temper of his men was excellent, that the Regiment was all that could be wished, and as sound as a bell. The Majors smiled with a sober joy, and the subalterns waltzed in pairs down the Mess-room after dinner, and nearly shot themselves at revolver-practice. But there was consternation in the hearts of Jakin and Lew. What was to be done with the Drums? Would the Band go to the Front? How many of the Drums would accompany the Regiment? They took council together, sitting in a tree and smoking. "It's more than a bloomin' toss-up they'll leave us be'ind at the Depot with the women. You'll like that," said Jakin sarcastically. " 'Cause o' Cris, y' mean? Wot's a woman, or a 'ole bloomin' depdt o' women, 'longside o' the chanst of field- service? You know I'm as keen on going as you," said Lew.^ " 'Wish I was a bloomin' bugler," said Jakin sadly. "They'll take Tom Kidd along, that I can plaster a wall with, an' like as not they won't take us." "Then let's go an' make Tom Kidd so bloomin' sick 'e can't bugle no more. You 'old 'is 'ands an I'll kick 'im," said Lew, wriggling on the branch. "That ain't no good neither. We ain't the sort o' char- acters to presoom on our rep'tations — they're bad. If they leave the Band at the Depot we don't go, and no error there. If they take the Band we may get cast for medical unfitness. Are you medical fit. Piggy?" said Jakin, digging Lew in the ribs with force. "Yus," said Lew with an oath. "The Doctor says your 'eart's weak through smokin' on an empty stummick. Throw a chest an' I'll try yer." Jakin threw out his diest, which Lew smote with all his might. Jakin turned very pale, gasped, crowed, screwed Up his eyes and said — "That's all right." "You'll do," said Lew. "I've 'card o' men dying when you 'it 'em fair on the breastbone." THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 51 "Don't bring us no nearer goin,' though," said JaKn. "Do you know where we're ordered?" "Gawd knows, an' 'E won't split on a pal. Somewherea up to the Front to kill Paythans — ^hairy big beggars that turn you inside out if they get 'old o' you. They say their women are good-looking, too." "Any loot?" asked the abandoned Jakin. "Not a bloomin' anna, they say, unless you dig up the ground an' see what the niggers 'ave 'id. They're a poor lot." Jakin stood upright on the branch and gazed across the plain. "Lew," said he, "there's the Colonel coming. 'Colonel's a good old beggar. Let's go an' talk to 'im." Lew nearly fell out of the tree at the audacity of the suggestion. Like Jakin he feared not God, neither regarded he Man, but there are limits even to the audacity of a drummer-boy, and to speak to a Colonel was But Jakin had slid down the trunk and doubled in the direction of the Colonel. That officer was walking wrapped in thought and visions of a C. B. — ^yes, even a K. C. B., for had he not at command one of the best Regiments of the Line — the Fore and Fit? And he was aware of two small boys charging down upon him. Once before it had been solemnly reported to him that "the Drums were in a state of mutiny," Jakin and Lew being the ring-leaders. This looked like an organized conspiracy. The boys halted at twenty yards, walked to the regulation four paces, and saluted together, each as well set-up as a ramroad and little taller. The Colonel was in a genial mood; the boys appeared very forlorn and unprotected on the desolate plain, and one of them was handsome. "Well!" said the Colonel, recognizing them. "Are you going to pull me down in the open? I'm sure I never inter- fere with you, even though" — ^he sniffed suspiciously — "you have been smoking." It was time to strike while the iron was hot. Their hearts beat tumultuously. 62 STORIES FROM KIPLING "Beg y' pardon. Sir," began Jakin. "The Beg'ment's ordered on active service. Sir? " "So I believe," said the Colonel courteously. "Is the Band goin', Sir?" said both together. Then, without pause, "We're goin', Sir, ain't we?" "You!" said the Colonel, stepping back the more fully to take in the two small figures. "You! You'd die in the first march." "No, we wouldn't, Sir. We can march with the Reg'- ment anywheres — ^p'rade an' anywhere else," said Jakin. "If Tom Kidd goes 'e '11 shut up like a clasp-knife," said Lew. "Tom 'as very-close veins in both 'is legs. Sir." "Very how much?" "Very-close veins. Sir. That's why they swells after long p'rade. Sir. If 'e can go, we can go, Sir." Again the Colonel looked at them long and intently. "Yes, the Band is going," he said as gravely as though he had been addressing a brother officer. "Have you any parents, either of you two?" "No, Sir," rejoicingly from Lew and Jakin. "We're both orphans. Sir. There's no one to be considered of on our account. Sir." "You poor little sprats, and you want to go up to the Front with the Regiment, do you? Why?" "I've wore the Queen's Uniform for two years," said Jakin. "It's very 'ard, Sir, that a man don't get no rec- ompense for doin' of 'is dooty. Sir." "An'— an' if I don't go. Sir," interrupted Lew, "the Bandmaster 'e says 'e'U catch an' make a bloo — a blessed musician o' me. Sir. Before I've seen any service. Sir." The Colonel made no answer for a long time. Then he said quietly: "If you're passed by the Doctor I dare say you can go. I shouldn't smoke if I were you." The boys saluted and disappeared. The Colonel walked home and told the story to his wife, who nearly cried over it. The Colonel was well pleased. If that was the temper of the children, what would not the men do? THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT S3 Jakin and Lew entered the boys' barrack-room with great stateUness, and refused to hold any conversation tnth their comrades for at least ten minutes. Then, bursting with pride, Jakin drawled : " I've bin intervooin' the Colonel. Good old beggar is the Colonel. Says I to 'im 'Colonel,' says I, 'let me go to the Front, along o' the Reg'ment.' — 'To the Front you shall go,' says 'e, 'an' I only wish there was more Hke you among the dirty little devils that bang the bloomin' drums.' Kidd, if you throw yoiur 'courterments at me for tellin' you the truth to your own advantage, your legs'U swell." None the less there was a Battle-Royal m the bar« rack-room, for the boys were consumed with envy and hate, and neither Jakin nor Lew behaved in conciliatory wise. "I'm goin' out to say adoo to my girl," said Lew to cap the climax. "Don't none o' you touch my kit because it's wanted for active service; me bein' specially inAdted to go by the Colonel." He strolled forth and whistled in the clump of trees at the back of the Married Quarters till Cris came to him, and, the preliminary kisses being given and taken, Lew began to explain the situation. "I'm goin' to the Front with the Reg'ment," he said valiantly. "Piggy, you're a little liar," said Cris, but her heart mis- gave her, for Lew was not in the habit of lying. "Liar yourself, Cris," said Lew, slipping an arm round her. "I'm goin'. When the Reg'ment marches out you'll see me with 'em, all galliant and gay. Give us another kiss, Cris, on the strength of it." "If you'd on'y a-stayed at the Depot — ^where you ought to ha' bin — ^you could get as many of 'em as — ^as you dam please," whimpered Cris, putting up her mouth. "It's 'ard, Cris. I grant you it's 'ard. But what's a man to do? If I'd a-stayed at the Depot, you wouldn't think anything of me." 64 STORIES FROM KIPLING "Like as not, but I'd 'ave you with me. Piggy. An' aD the thinkin' in the world isn't like kissin'." "An' all the kissin' in the world isn't Hke 'avin' a medal to wear on the front o' your coat." " You won't get no medal." " Oh yus, I shall though. Me an' Jakin are the only acting- drummers that'll be took along. All the rest is full men, an' we'll get our medals with them." "They might ha' taken anybody but you, Piggy. You'll get killed — ^you're so venturesome. Stay with me. Piggy, darhn', down at the Depot, an' I'll love you true, for ever." "Ain't you goin' to do that now, Cris? You said you was." "O' course I am, but th' other's more comfortable. Wait till you've growed a bit. Piggy. You aren't no taller than me now." "I've bin in the Army for two years an' I'm not goin' to get out of a chanst o' seein' service an' don't you try to make me do so. I'll come back, Cris, an' when I take on as a man I'll marry you — ^marry you when I'm a Lance." "Promise, Piggy.?" Lew reflected on the future as arranged by Jakin a short time previously, but Cris's mouth was very near to his own. "I promise, s'elp me. Gawd!" said he. Cris slid an arm round his neck. "I won't 'old you back no more. Piggy. Go away an' get your medal, an' I'll make you a new button-bag as nice as I know how," she whispered. "Put some o' your 'air into it, Cris, an' I'll keep it in my pocket so long's I'm aUve." Then Cris wept anew, and the interview ended. Public feeling among the drummer-boys rose to fever pitch and the lives of Jakin and Lew became unenviable. Not only had they been permitted to enlist two years before the regulation boy's age — ^fourteen — ^but, by virtue, it seemed, of their extreme youth, they were allowed to go to the Front — ^which thing had not happened to acting-drummers within the knowledge of boy. The Band which was to accompany the THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 55 Regiment had been cut down to the regulation twenty men, the surplus returning to the ranks. Jakin and Lew were attached to the Band as supernvuneraries, though they would much have preferred being company buglers. " 'Don't matter much," said Jakin after the medical inspection. "Be thankful that we're 'lowed to go at all. The Doctor 'e said that if we could stand what we took from the Bazar-Sergeant's son we'd stand pretty nigh any- thing." "Which we wiU," said Lew, looking tenderly at the ragged and ill- made housewife that Cris had given him, with a lock of her hair worked into a sprawling "L" upon the cover. "It was the best I could," she sobbed. "I wouldn't let Mother nor the Sergeant's tailor 'elp me. Keep it always. Piggy, an' remember I love you true." They marched to the railway station, nine hundred and sixty strong, and every soul in cantonments turned out to see them go. The drummers gnashed their teeth at Jakin and Lew marching with the Band, the married women wept upon the platform, and the Regiment cheered its noble seK black in the face. "A nice level lot," said the Colonel to the Second-in- Conmiand as they watched the first four companies en- training. "Fit to do anything," said the Second-in-Command en- thusiastically. "But it seems to me they're a thought too young and tender for the work in hand. It's bitter cold up at the Front now." "They're sound enough," said the Colonel. "We must take our chance of sick casualties." So they went northward, ever northward, past droves and droves of camels, armies of camp-followers, and legions of laden mules, the throng thickening day by day, till with a shriek the train puUed up at a hopelessly congested jimction where six lines of temporary track accommodated six forty- wagon trains; where whistles blew, Babus sweated and Commissariat officers swore from dawn till far into tho 56 STORIES FROM KIPLING night amid the wind-driven chaflPof the fodder-bales and the lowing of a thousand steers. "Hurry up — ^you're badly wanted at the Front," was the message that greeted the Fore and Aft, and the occupants of the Red Cross carriages told the same tale. " 'Tisn't so much of the bloomin' fightin'," gasped a head' bound trooper of Hussars to a knot of admiring Fore and Afts. " 'Tisn't so much the bloomin' fightin', though there's enough o' that. It's the bloomin' food an' the bloomin' chmate. Frost all night 'cept when it hails, and bUing sun all day, and the water stinks fit to knock you down. I got my 'ead chipped like a egg; I've got pneumonia too, an' my guts is all out o' order. 'Tain't no bloomin' picnic in those parts, I can tell you." "Wot are the niggers like?" demanded a private. "There's some prisoners in that train yonder. Go an' look at 'em. They're the aristocracy o' the country. The common folk are a dashed sight ugUer. If you want to know what they fight with, reach under my seat an' pull out the long knife that's there." They dragged out and beheld for the first time the grim, bone-handled, triangular Afghan knife. It was almost as long as Lew. "That's the thing to jint ye," said the trooper feebly. "It can take off a man's arm at the shoulder as easy as slicing butter. I halved the beggar that used that 'un, but there's more of his likes up above. They don't imderstand thrustin', but they're devils to slice." The men strolled across the tracks to inspect the Afghan prisoners. They were unlike any "niggers" that the Fore and Aft had ever met — ^these huge, black-haired, scowling sons of the Beni-Israel. As the men stared the Afghans spat freely and muttered one to another with lowered eyes. " My eyes ! Wot awful swine ! " said Jakin, who was in the rear of the procession. "Say, old man, how you got puck- rowed, eh? Kiswasti you wasn't hanged for your ugly face. Hey?" THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 57 The tallest of the company turned, his leg-irons clanking at the movement, and stared at the boy. " See ! " he cried to his fellows in Pushto. "They send children against us. What a people, and what fools!" "Hyar said Jakin, nodding his head cheerily. "You go down-country. Khana get, peenikapanee get — ^live Uke a bloomin' Raja he marfik. That's a better handohust than baynit get it in your innards. Good-bye, ole man. Take care o' your beautiful figure- 'ed, an' try to look kushy.' The men laughed and fell in for their first march when they began to realize that a soldier's life was not all beer and skittles. They were much impressed with the size and bestial ferocity of the niggers whom they had now learned to call "Paythans," and more with the exceeding discomfort of their own surroundings. Twenty old soldiers in the corps would have taught them how to make themselves moderately snug at night, but they had no old soldiers, and, as the troops on the Une of march said, "thiey lived like pigs." They learned the heart-breaking cussedness of camp-kitchens and camels and the depravity of an E. P. tent and a wither-wrung mule. They studied animalculse in water, and developed a few cases of dysentery in their study. At the end of their third march they were disagreeably 'surprised by the arrivals in their camp of a hammered iron slug which, fired from a steady rest at seven hundred yards, flicked out the brains of a private seated by the fire. This robbed them of their peace for a night, and was the beginning of a long-range fire carefully>calculated(o that end. Intheday- time they saw nothing except an unpleasant puflf of smoke from a crag above the line of marcli. At night there were distant spurts of flame and occasional casualties, which set the whole camp blazing into the gloom, and occasionally, into opposite tents. Then they swore vehemently and vowed that this was magnificent but not war. Indeed it was not. The Regiment could not halt for reprisals against the sharpshooters of the country-side. Its duty was to go forward and make connection with the Scotch 58 STORIES FROM KIPLING and Gurkha troops with which it was brigaded. The Afghans knew this, and knew too, after their first tentative shots, that they were dealing with a raw regiment. There- after they devoted themselves to the task of keeping the Fore and Aft on the strain. Not for anything would they have taken equal liberties with a seasoned corps — ^with the wicked little Gurkhas, whose delight it was to lie out in the open on a dark night and stalk their stalkers — ^with the terrible, big men dressed in women's clothes, who could be heard praying to their God in the night-watches, and whose peace of mind no amount of "sniping" could shake — or with those vile Sikhs, who marched so ostentatiously unprepared and who dealt out such grim reward to those who tried to profit by that unpreparedness. This white regiment was diflFerent — quite different. It slept like a hog, and, like a hog, charged in every direction when it was roused. Its sentries walked with a footfall that could be heard for a quarter of a mile; would fire at anything that moved — even a driven donkey — and when they had once fired, could be scientifically "rushed " and laid out a horror and an offence against the morning sun. Then there were camp-followers who straggled and could be cut up without fear. Their shrieks would disturb the white boys, and the loss of their services would incon- venience them sorely. Thus, at every march, the hidden enemy became bolder and the regiment writhed and twisted under attacks it could not avenge. The crowning triumph was a sudden night-rush ending in the cutting of many tent-ropes, the coUapse of the sodden canvas and a glorious knifing of the men who struggled and kicked below. It was a great deed, neatly carried out, and it shook the already shaken nerves of the Fore and Aft. All the courage that they had been required to exercise up to this point was the "two o'clock in the morning courage," and so far, they had only succeeded in shooting their comrades and losing their sleep. Sullen, discontented, cold, savage, sick, with their uniforms dulled and unclean, the Fore and Aft joined their Brigade. THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 59 "I hear you had a tough time of it coming up," said the Brigadier. But when he saw the hospital-sheets his face felL "This is bad," said he to himself. "They're as rotten as sheep." And aloud to the Colonel — "I'm afraid we can't spare you just yet. We want all we have, else I should have given you ten days to recover in." The Colonel winced. "On my honor, Sir," he returned, "there is not the least necessity to think of sparing us. My men have been rather mauled and upset without a fair return. They only want to go in somewhere where they can see what's before them." "Can't say I think much of the Fore and Fit," said the Brigadier in confidence to his Brigade-Major. "They've lost all their soldiering, and, by the trim of them, might have marched through the country from the other side. A more fagged-out set of men I never put eyes on." "Oh, they'll improve as the work goes on. The parade gloss has been rubbed off a little, but they'll put on field polish before long," said the Brigade-Major. "They've been mauled, and they quite don't understand it." They did not. All the hitting was on one side, and it was cruelly hard hitting with accessories that made them sick. There was also the real sickness that laid hold of a strong man and dragged him howling to the grave. Worst of all, their officers knew just as little of the country as the men themselves, and looked as if they did. The Fore and Aft were in a thoroughly unsatisfactory condition, but they believed that all would be well if they could once get a fair go-in at the enemy. Pot-shots up and down the valleys were unsatisfactory, and the bayonet never seemed to get a chance. Perhaps it was as well, for a long-limbed Afghan with a knife had a reach of eight feet, and could carry away lead that would disable three Enghshmen. The Fore and Aft would like some rifle-practice at the enemy — all seven hundred rifles blazing together. That wish showed the mood of the men. The Gurkhas walked into their camp, and in broken.. 60 STORIES FROM KIPLING Barrack-room English strove to fraternize with them; o£Fered them pipes of tobacco and stood them treat at the canteen. But the Fore and Aft, not knowing much of the nature of the Gurkhas, treated them as they would treat any other "nig- gers," and the little men in green trotted back to their firm friends the Highlanders, and with many grins confided to them: "That dam white regiment no dam use. Sulky — ugh! Dirty — ugh! Hya, any tot for Johnny?" Whereat the Highlanders smote the Gurkhas as to the head, and told them not to vilify a British Regiment, and the Gurkhas griimed cavemously, for the Highlanders were thpir elder brothers and entitled to the privileges of kinship. The com- mon soldier who touches a Gurkha is more than likely to have his head sliced open. Three days later the Brigadier arranged a battle according to the rules of war and the peculiarity of the Afghan tempera- ment. The enemy were massing in inconvenient strength among the hills, and the moving of many green standards warned him that the tribes were "up" in aid of the Afghan regular troops. A Squadron and a half of Bengal Lancers represented the available Cavalry, and two screw-guns borrowed from a column thirty miles away, the Artillery at the General's disposal. "If they stand, as I've a very strong notion that they will, I fancy we shall see an infantry fight that will be worth watching," said the Brigadier. "We'll do it in style. Each regiment shall be played into action by its Band, and we'll hold the Cavalry in reserve." "For all the reserve?" somebody asked. "For all the reserve; because we're going to crumple them up," said the Brigadier, who was an extraordinary Brigadier, and did not believe in the value of a reserve when dealing with Asiatics. Indeed, when you come to think of it, had the British Army consistently waited for reserves in all its little affairs, the boundaries of Our Empire would have stopped at Brighton beach. That battle was to be a glorious battle. THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 61 The three regiments debouching from three sepaxate gorges, after duly crowning the heights above, were to con- verge from the center, left, and right upon what we will call the Afghan army, then stationed toward the lower extremity of a flat-bottomed valley. Thus it will be seen that three sides of the valley practically belonged to the English, while the foittth was strictly Afghan property. In the event of defeat the Afghans had the roclqr hills to fly to, where the fire from the guerilla tribes in aid would cover their retreat. In the event of victory these same tribes would rush down and lend their weight to the rout of the British. The screw-gims were to shell the head of each Afghan rush that was made in close formation, and the Cavalry, held in reserve in the right valley, were to gently stimulate the break-up which would follow on the combined attack. The Brigadier, sitting upon a rock overlooking the valley, would watch the battle unrolled at his feet. The Fore and Aft would debouch from the central gorge, the Gurkhas from the left, and the Highlanders from the right, for the reason that the left flank of the enemy seemed as though it required the most hammering. It was not every day that an Afghan force would take ground in the open, and the Brigadier was resolved to make the most of it. "If we only had a few more men," he said plaintively, "we could surround the creatures and crumple 'em up thoroughly. As it is, I'm afraid we can only cut them up as they run. It's a great pity." The Fore and Aft had enjoyed unbroken peace for five days, and were beginning, in spite of dysentery, to recover their nerve. But they were not happy, for they did not know the work in hand, and had they known, would not have known how to do it. Throughout those five days in which old soldiers might have taught them the craft of the game, they discussed together their misadventures in the past — how such an one was alive at dawn and dead ere the dusk, and with what shrieks and struggles such another had given up his soul under the Afghan knife. Death was a new and 62 STORIES FROM KIPLING horrible thing to the sons of mechanics who were used to die decently of zymotic disease; and their careful conservation in barracks had done nothing to make them look upon it with less dread. Very early in the dawn the bugles began to blow, and the Fore and Aft, filled with a misguided enthusiasm, turned out without waiting for a cup of coffee and a biscuit; and were rewarded by being kept under arms in the cold while the other regiments leisurely prepared for the fray. All the world knows that it is ill taking the breeks off a Highlander. It is much iller to try to make him stir unless he is convinced of the necessity for haste. The Fore and Aft waited, leaning upon their rifles and listening to the protests of their empty stomachs. The Colonel did his best to remedy the default of lining as soon as it was borne in upon him that the affair would not begin at once, and so well did he succeed that the coffee was just ready when — ^the men moved off, their Band leading. Even then there had been a mistake in time, and the Fore and Aft came out into the vaUey ten minutes before the proper hour. Their Band wheeled to the right after reaching the open, and retired behind a little rocky knoll still playing while the Regiment went past. It was not a pleasant sight that opened on the uninstructed view, for the lower end of the valley appeared to be filled by an army in position — real and actual regiments attired in red coats, and — of this there was no doubt — ^firing Martini- Henri bullets which cut up the ground a hundred yards in front of the leading company. Over that pock-marked ground the Regiment had to pass, and it opened the ball with a general and profound courtesy to the piping pickets; ducking in perfect time, as though it had been brazed on a rod. Being half-capable of thinking for itself, it fired a volley by the simple process of pitching its rifle into its shoulder and pulling the trigger. The bullets may have accounted for some of the watchers on the hillside, but they certainly did not affect the mass of enemy in front, while the noise THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 63 of the rifles drowned any orders that might have been given. "Good God!" said the Brigadier, sitting on the rock high above all. "That regiment has spoilt the whole show. Hurry up the others, and let the screw-guns get off." But the screw-guns, in working round the heights, had stumbled upon a wasp's nest of a small mud fort which they incontinently shelled at eight hundred yards, to the huge discomfort of the occupants, who were unaccustomed to weapons of such devilish precision. The Fore and Aft continued to go forward but with shortened stride. Where were the other regiments, and why did these niggers use Martinis? They took open order instinctively, lying down and firing at random, rushing a few paces forward and lying down again, according to the regulations. Once in this formation, each man felt himself desperately alone, and edged in toward his fellow for com- fort's sake. Then the crack of his neighbor's rifle at his ear led him to fire as rapidly as he could — again for the sake of the comfort of the noise. The reward was not long delayed. Five volleys plunged the files in banked smoke impenetrable to the eye, and the bullets began to take ground twenty or thirty yards in front of the firers, as the weight of the bayonet dragged down and to the right arms wearied with holding the kick of the leaping Martini. The Company Commanders peered helplessly through the smoke, the more nervous mechanically trying to fan it away with their helmets. "High and to the left ! " bawled a Captain till he was hoarse. "No good! Cease firing, and let it drift away a bit." Three and four times the bugles shrieked the order, and when it was obeyed the Fore and Aft looked that their foe should be lying before them in mown swaths of men. A light wind drove the smoke to leeward, and showed the enemy still in position and apparently unaffected. A quarter of a ton of lead had been buried a furlong in front of them, as the ragged earth attested. 64 STORIES FROM KIPLING That was not demoralizing to the Afghans, who have not European nerves. They were waiting for the mad riot to die down, and were firing quietly into the heart of the smoke. A private of the Fore and Aft spun up his company shrieking with agony, another was kicking the earth and gasping, and a third, ripped through the lower intestines by a jagged bullet, was calling aloud on his comrades to put him out of his pain. These were the casualties, and they were not soothing to hear or see. The smoke cleared to a dull haze. Then the foe began to shout with a great shouting and a mass — a, black mass — detached itself from the main body, and rolled over the ground at horrid speed. It was composed of, perhaps, three hundred men, who would shout and fire and slash if the rush of their fifty comrades who were determined to die carried home. The fifty were Ghazis, half -maddened with drugs and wholly mad with religious fanaticism. When they rushed the British fire ceased, and in the lull the order was given to close ranks and meet them with the bayonet. Any one who knew the business could have told the Fore and Aft that the only way of dealing with a Ghazi rush is by volleys at long ranges; because a man who means to die, who desires to die, who will gain heaven by dying, must, in nine cases out of ten, kill a man who has a lingering prejudice in favor of life. Where they should have closed and gone forward, the Fore and Aft opened out and skirmished, and where they should have opened out and fired, they closed and waited. A man dragged from his blankets half awake and imfed is never in a pleasant frame of mind. Nor does his happiness increase when he watches the whites of the eyes of three hundred six-foot fiends upon whose beards the foam is lying, upon whose tongues is a roar of wrath, and in whose hands are yard-long knives. The Fore and Aft heard the Gurkha bugles bringing that regi- ment forward at the double, while the neighing of the Highland pipes came from the left. They strove to stay where they were, though the bayonets wavered down the line like the THE DRUMS OP THE FORE AND AFT 65 oars of a ragged boat. Then they felt body to body the amazing physical strength of their foes; a shriek of pain ended the rush, and the knives fell amid scenes not to be told. The men clubbed together and smote blindly — as often as not at their own fellows. Their front crumpled like paper, and the fifty Ghazis passed on; their backers, now drunk with success, fighting as madly as they. Then the rear-ranks were bidden to close up, and the subalterns dashed into the stew — alone. For the rear-ranks had heard the clamor in front, the yells and the howls of pain, and had seen the dark stale blood that makes afraid. They were not going to stay. It was the rushing of the camps over again. Let their officers go to Hell, if they chose; they would get away from the knives. "Come on!" shrieked the subalterns, and their men eursing them, drew back, each closing into his neighbor and wheehng round. Charteris and Devlin, subalterns of the last company, faced their death alone in the belief that their men would follow. "You've killed me, you cowards," sobbed Devlin and dropped, cut from the shoulder-strap to the center of the chest, and a fresh detachment of his men retreating, always retreating, trampled him under foot as they made for the' pass whence they had emerged. I kissed her in the kitchen, and I kissed her in the hall. Child'um, child'um, follow me I Oh Golly, said the cook, is he gwine to kiss us all? Halla—Halla—Halla— Hallelujah! The Gurkhas were pouring through the , left gorge and over the heights at the double to the invitation of their Regimental Quick-step. The black rocks were crowned with dark green spiders as the bugles gave tongue jubilantly: In the morning! In the morning by the bright lightl When Gabriel blows his trumpet in the momingl 66 STORIES FROM KIPLING The Gurkha rear-companies tripped and blundered over loose stones. The front-files halted for a moment to take stock of the valley and to settle stray boot-laces. Then a happy little sigh of contentment soughed down the ranks, and it was as though the land smiled, for behold there below was the enemy, and it was to meet them that the Gurkhas had doubled so hastily. There was much enemy. There would be amusement. The little men hitched their kukris well to hand, and gaped expectantly at their officers as terriers grin ere the stone is cast for them to fetch. The Gurkhas' ground sloped downward to the valley, and they enjoyed a fair view of the proceedings. They sat upon the bowlders to watch, for their officers were not going to waste their wind in assisting to repulse a Ghazi rush more than half a mile away. Let the white men look to their own front. "Hi! yi!" said the Subadar-Major, who was sweating pro- fusely. "Dam fools yonder, stand close-order! This is no time for close order, it is the time for volleys. Ugh!" Horrified, amused, and indignant, the Gurkhas beheld the retirement of the Fore and Aft with a running chorus of oaths and commentaries. "They run! The white men run! Colonel Sahib, may we also do a little running? " murmured Runbir Thappa, the Senior Jemadar. But the Colonel would have none of it. "Let the beggars be cut up a little," said he wrathfuUy. "'Serves 'em right. They'll be prodded into facing roimd in a minute." He looked through his field-glasses, and caught the glint of an officer's sword. "Beating 'em with the flat — damned conscripts! How the Ghazis are walking into them!" said he. The Fore and Aft, heading back, bore with them their offi- cers. The narrowness of the pass forced the mob into soUd formation, and the rear-ranks delivered some sort of a waver- ing volley. The Ghazis drew oflf, for they did not know what reserve the gorge might hide. Moreover, it was never wise to chase white men too far. They returned as wolves THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 67 return to cover, satisfied with the slaughter that they had done, and only stopping to slash at the wounded on the ground. A quarter of a mile had the Fore and Aft retreated, and now, jammed in the pass, was quivering with pain, shaken and demoralized with fear, while the officers, mad- dened beyond control, smote the men with the hilts and the flats of their swords. "Get back! Get back, you cowards — ^you women! Right about face — column of companies, form — ^you hounds!" shouted the Colonel, and the subalterns swore aloud. But the Regiment wanted to go — to go anywhere out of the range of those merciless knives. It swayed to and fro ir- resolutely with shouts and outcries, while from the right the Gurkhas dropped volley after volley of cripple-stopper Snider bullets at long range into the mob of the Ghazis returning to their own troops. The Fore and Aft Band, though protected from direct fire by the rocky knoll under which it had sat down, fled at the first rush. Jakin and Lew would have fled also, but their short legs left them fifty yards in the rear, and by the time the Band had mixed with the Regiment, they were painfully aware that they would have to close in alone and unsup- ported. "Get back to that rock," gasped Jakin. "They won't see us there." And they returned to the scattered instruments of the Band; their hearts nearly bursting their ribs. "Here's a nice show for us," said Jakin, throwing him- self full length on the ground. "A bloomin' fine show for British Infantry! Oh, the devils! They've gone an' left us alone here! Wot '11 we do.?" Lew took possession of a cast-off water bottle, which naturally was full of canteen rum, and drank till he coughed again. "Drink," said he shortly. "They'll come back in a min- ute or two — ^you see." Jakin drank, but there was no sign of the Regiment's 68 STORIES FROM lOPLING return. They could hear a dull clamor from the head of the valley of retreat, and saw the Ghazis slmk back, ^piickening their pace as the Gurkhas fired at them. "We're all that's left of the Band, an' we'll be cut up as sure as death," said Jakin. "I'll die game, then," said Lew thickly, fumbling with his tiny drummer's sword. The drink was working on his brain as it was on Jakin's. "'Old on! I know something better than fightin'," said Jakin, stung by the splendor of a sudden thought due chiefly to rum. "Tip our bloomin' cowards yonder the word to come back. The Paythan beggars are well away. Come on, Lew! We won't get hurt. Take^he fife an' give me the drum. The Old Step for all your bloomin' guts are worth ! There's a few of our men coming back now. Stand up, ye drunken little defaulter. By your right — quick march!" He slipped the drum-sling over his shoulder, thrust the fife into Lew's hand, and the two boys marched out of the cover of the rock into the open, making a hideous hash of the first bars of the "British Grenadiers." As Lew had said, a few of the Fore and Aft were coming back sullenly and shamefacedly under the stimulus of blows and abuse; their red coats shone at the head of the valley, and behind them were wavering bayonets. But between this shattered line and the enemy, who with Afghan suspi- cion feared that the hasty retreat meant an ambush, and had not moved therefore, lay half a mile of a level ground dotted only by the woimded. The time settled into full swing and the boys kept shoulder to shoulder, Jakin banging the drum as one possessed. The one fife made a thin and pitiful squeaking, but the tune carried far, even to the Gurkhas. "Come on, you dogs!" muttered Jakin to himself. "Are we to play forhever?" Lew was staring straight in front of him and marching more stiffly than ever he had done on parade. THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 69 And in bitter mockery of the distant mob, the old time of the Old Line shrilled and rattled: — Some talk of Alexander, And some of Hercules; Of Hector and Lysander, And such great names as these! There was a far-off clapping of hands from the Gurkhas, and a roar from the Highlanders in the distance, but never a shot was fired by British or Afghan. The two little red dots moved forward in the open parallel to the enemy's front. But of all the world's great heroes There's none that can compare. With a tow-row-row-row-row-row. To the British Grenadier! The men of the Fore and Aft were gathering thick at the entrance into the plain. The Brigadier on the heights far above was speechless with rage. Still no movement from the enemy. The day stayed to watch the children. Jakin halted and beat the long roll of the Assembly, while the fife squealed despairingly. "Right about face! Hold up. Lew, you're dnmk," said Jakin. They wheeled and marched back: — Those heroes of antiquity ' Ne'er saw a cannon-ball. Nor knew the force o' powder, "Here they come!" said Jakin. "Go on. Lew": — To scare their foes withal! The Fore and Aft were pouring out of the valley. What officers had said to men in that time of shame and humili- ation wiU never be known; for neither officers nor men speak of it now. "They are coming anew!" shouted a priest among the Afghans. "Do not kill the boys! Take them alive, and they shall be of our faith." 70 STORIES FROM KIPLING But the first volley had been fired, and Lew dropped on his face. Jakin stood for a minute, spun round and col- lapsed, as the Fore and Aft came forward, the curses of their oflficers in their ears, and in their hearts the shame of open shame. Half the men had seen the drummers die, and they made no sign. They did not even shout. They doubled out straight across the plain in open order, and they did not fire. "This," said the Colonel of Gurkhas, softly, "is the real attack, as it should have been delivered. Come on, my children." "Ulu-lu-lu-lu!" squealed the Gurkhas, and came down with a joj^ul clicking of kukris — ^those vicious Gurkha knives. On the right there was no rush. The Highlanders, cannily commending their souls to God (for it matters as much to a dead man whether he has been shot in a Border scuffle or at Waterloo), opened out and fired according to their custom, that is to say without heat and without intervals, while the screw-guns, having disposed of the impertinent mud fort aforementioned, dropped shell after shell into the clusters round the fiickering green standards on the heights. "Charrging is an unfortunate necessity," murmured the Color-Sergeant of the right company of the Highlanders. "It makes the men sweer so, but I am thinkin' that it will come to a charrge if these black devils stand much longer. Stewarrt, man, you're firing into the eye of the sun, and he'll not take any harm for Government ammuneetion. A foot lower and a great deal slower! What are the Eng- lish doing? They're very quiet there in the center. Run- nmg again?" The English were not running. They were hacking and hewing and stabbing, for though one white man is seldom physically a match for an Afghan in a sheepskin or wadded coat, yet, through the pressure of many white men behind, and a certain thirst for revenge in his heart, he becomes capable of doing much with both ends of his rifie. The Fore and Aft held their fire till one bullet could drive through THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 71 five or six men, and the front of the Afghan force gave on the volley. They then selected their men, and slew them with deep gasps and short hacking coughs, and groanings of leather belts against strained bodies, and realized for the first time that an Afghan attacked is far less formidable than an Afghan attacking; which fact old soldiers might have told them. But they had no old soldiers in their ranks. The Gurkhas' stall at the bazar was the noisiest, for the men were engaged — ^to a nasty noise as of beef being cut on the block — ^with the kukri, which they preferred to the bayonet; well knowing how the Afghan hates the half -moon blade. As the Afghans wavered, the green standards on the mountain moved down to assist them in a last rally. This was unwise. The Lancers chafing in the right gorge had thrice dispatched their only subaltern as galloper to re- port on the progress of affairs. On the third occasion he returned, with a bullet-graze on his knee, swearing strange oaths in Hindustani, and saying that all things were ready. So that Squadron swung round the right of the Highlanders with a wicked whistling of wind in the pennons of its lances, and fell upon the remnant just when, according to all the rules of war, it should have waited for the foe to shoy? more signs of wavering. But it was a dainty charge, deftly delivered, and it ended by the Cavalry finding itself at the head of the pass by which the Afghans intended to retreat; and down the track that the lances had made streamed two companies of the High- landers, which was never intended by the Brigadier. The new development was successful. It detached the enemy from his base as a sponge is torn from a rock, and left him ringed about with fiire in that pitiless plain. And as a sponge is chased round the bath-tub by the hand of the bather, so were the Afghans chased till they broke into little de- tachments much more difficult to dispose of than large masses. 72 STORIES FROM KIPLING "See!" quoth the Brigadier. "Everything has come as 1 arranged. We've cut their base, and now we'll bucket 'em to pieces." A direct hammering was all that the Brigadier had dared to hope for, considering the size of the force at his disposal; but men who stand or fall by the errors of their opponents may be forgiven for turning Chance into Design. The bucketing went forward merrily. The Afghan forces were upon the run — the run of wearied wolves who snarl and bite over their shoulders. The red lances dipped by twos and threes, and, with a shriek, uprose the lance-butt, like a spar on a stormy sea, as the trooper cantering forward cleared his point. The Lancers kept between their prey and the steep hills, for all who could were trying to escape from the valley of death. The Highlanders gave the fugitives two hundred yards' law, and then brought them down, gasping and chok- ing ere they could reach the protection of the bowlders above. The Gurkhas followed suit; but the Fore and Aft were killing on their own account, for they had penned a mass of men be- tween their bayonets and a wall of rock, and the flash of the rifles was lighting the wadded coats. "We cannot hold them, Captain Sahib!" panted a Res- saidar of Lancers. "Let us try the carbine. The lance is good, but it wastes time." They tried the carbine, and still the enemy melted away -—fled up the hills by hundreds when there were only twenty bullets to stop them. On the heights the screw-guns ceased firing — ^they had nm out of ammunition — ^and the Brigadier groaned, for the musketry flre could not sufficiently smash the retreat. Long before the last volleys were fired, the doolies were out in force looking for the wounded. The battle was over, and, but for want of fresh troops, the Afghans would have been wiped off the earth. As it was they counted their dead by hundreds, and nowhere were the dead thicker than in the track of the Fore and Aft. But the Regiment did not cheer with the Highlanders, nor did they dance uncouth dances with the Gurkhas among THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 73 the dead. They looked under their brows at the Colonel as they leaned upon their rifles and panted. "Get back to camp, you. Haven't you disgraced your- self enough for one day! Go and look to the wounded. It's all you're fit for," said the Colonel. Yet for the past hour the Fore and Aft had been doing all that mortal com- mander could expect. They had lost heavily because they did not know how to set about their business with proper skill, but they had borne themselves gallantly, and this was their reward. A young and sprightly Color-Sergeant, who had begun to imagine himself a hero, offered his water bottle to a High- lander, whose tongue was black with thirst. "I drink with no cowards," answered the youngster huskily, and, txirning to a Gurkha, said, "Hya, Johnny! Drink water got it?" The Gurkha grinned and passed his bottle. The Fore and Aft said no word. They went back to camp when the field of strife had been a little mopped up and made presentable, and the Brigadier, who saw himself a Eiiight in three months, was the only soul who was complimentary to them. The Colonel was heartbroken, and the officers were savage and sullen. "Well," said the Brigadier, "they are yoimg troops of course, and it was not unnatural that they should retire in disorder for a bit." "Oh, my only Aunt Maria!" murmured a junior Staff Officer. "Retire in disorder ! It was a bally run ! " "But they came again as we all know," cooed the Brig- adier, the Colonel's ashy-white face before him, "and they behaved as well as could possibly be expected. Behaved beautifully, indeed. I was watching them. It's not a matter to take to heart, Colonel. As some German General said of his men, they wanted to be shooted over a little, that was all." To himself he said — "Now they're blooded I can give 'em responsible work. It's as well that they got what they did. 'Teach 'em more than half a dozen rifle 74 STOKIES FROM KIPLING flirtations, that will — Plater — nm alone and bite. Poor old Colonel, though." All that afternoon the heliograph winked and flicke^^ed on the hills, striving to tell the good news to a mountain forty miles away. And in the evening there arrived, dusty, sweating, and sore, a misguided Correspondent who had gone out to assist at a trmnpery village-burning, and who had read off the message from afar, cursing his luck the while. "Let's have the details somehow — ^as full as ever you can, please. It's the first time I've ever been left this campaign," said the Correspondent to the Brigadier, and the Brigadier, nothing loth, told him how an Army of Communication had been crumpled up, destroyed, and all but annihilated by the craft, strategy, wisdom, and foresight of the Brigadier. But some say, and among these be the Gurkhas who watched on the hiUside, that that battle was won by Jakin and Lew, whose little bodies were borne up just in time to fit two gaps at the head of the big ditch-grave for the dead under the heights of Jagai. THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW (1889) 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 KnowabiHty. After five years' service a man is directly or indirectly acquainted with the two or three hundred Civilians in his Province, all the Messes of ten or twelve Regiments and Batteries, and some fifteen hun- dred other people of the non-oflBcial caste. In ten years his knowledge should be doubled, and at the end of twenty years he knows, or knows something about, every English- man in the Empire, and may travel anywhere and every- where without paying hotel-bills. Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a right, have, even within my memory, blunted this open-heart- edness, but none the less to-day, if you belong to the Inner Circle and are neither a Bear nor a Black Sheep, all houses are open to you, and our small world is very, very kind and helpful. Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of Kumaon some fifteen years ago. He meant to stay two nights, but was knocked down by rheumatic fever, and for six weeks disorganized 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 75 76 STORIES FROM KIPLING are an incompetent ass, and the women who blacken yom character and misunderstand your wife's amusements, will work themselves to the bone in your behalf if you fall sick or into serious trouble. Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition to his regular practice, a hospital on his private account — an arrangement of loose boxes for Incurables, his friends called it — ^but it was really a sort of fitting-up shed for craft that had been dam- aged by stress of weather. The weather in India is often sultry, and since the tale of bricks is always a fixed quantity, and the only liberty allowed is permission to work overtime and get no thanks, men occasionally break down and become as mixed as the metaphors in this sentence. Heatherlegh is the dearest doctor that ever was, and his invariable prescription to all his patients is, "Lie low, go slow, and keep cool." He says that more men are killed by overwork than the importance of this world justifies. He maintains that overwork slew Pansay, who died under his hands about three years ago. He has, of course, the right to speak authoritatively, and he laughs at my theory that there was a crack in Pansay's head and a little bit of the Dark World came through and pressed him to death. "Pan- say went off the handle," says Heatherlegh, "after the stimu- lus of long leave at Home. He may or he may not have be- haved like a blackguard to Mrs. Keith-Wessington. My notion is that the work of the Katabundi Settlement ran him off his legs, and that he took to brooding and making much ol an ordinary P. & O. flirtation. He certainly was engaged te Miss Mannering, and she certainly broke off the engage- ment. Then he took a feverish chill and all that nonsense about ghosts developed. Overwork started his illness, kept it alight, and killed him, poor devil. Write him off to the System that uses one man to do the work of two and a half men." I do not believe this. I used to sit up with Pansay some- times when Heatherlegh was called out to patients and I happened to be within claim. The man would make me THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 77 most unhappy by describing in a low, even voice, the pro- cession that was always passing at the bottom of his bed. He had a sick man's command of language. When he re- covered I suggested that he should write out the whole afiParr from beginning to end, knowing that ink might assist him to ease his mind. He was in a high fever while he was writing, and the blood- and-thunder Magazine diction he adopted did not calm him. Two months afterwards he was reported fit for duty, but, in spite of the fact that he was urgently needed to help an under- manned Commission stagger through a deficit, he preferred to die; vowing at the last that he was hag-ridden. I got his manuscript before he died, and this is his version of the affair, dated 1885, exactly as he wrote it: — My doctor tells me that I need rest and change of air. It is not improbable that I shall get both ere long — ^rest that neither the red-coated messenger nor the mid-day gun can break, and change of air far beyond that which any home- ward-bound steamer can give me. In the meantime I am resolved to stay where I am; and, in flat defiance of my doctor's orders, to take all the world into my confidence. You shall learn for yourselves the precise nature of my malady, and shall, too, judge for yourselves whether any man bom of woman on this weary earth was ever so tormented as I. Speaking now as a condemned criminal might speak ere the drop-bolts are drawn, my story, wild and hideously im- probable as it may appear, demands at least attention. That it will ever receive credence I utterly disbelieve. Two months ago I should have scouted as mad or drunk the man who had dared tell me the like. Two months ago I was the happiest man in India. To-day, from Peshawar to the sea, there is no one more wretched. My doctor and I are the only two who know this. His explanation is, that my brain, digestion, and eyesight are all slightly affected; giving rise to my frequent and persistent "delusions." Delusions, in- deed ! I call him a fool; but he attends me still with the same unwearied smile, the same bland professional mannerj the 78 STORIES FROM KIPLING same neatly-trimmed red whiskers, till I begin to suspect that I am an ungrateful, e-vil-tempered invalid. But you shall judge for yourselves. Three years ago it was my fortune — my great misfortune — to sail from Gravesend to Bombay, on return from long leave, with one Agnes Keith- Wessington, wife of an officer on the Bombay side. It does 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 al- ways 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. After- wards it was bitterly plain to both of us. Arrived at Bombay in the spring of the year, we went our respective ways, to meet no more for the next three or four months, when my leave and her love took us both to Simla. There we spent the season together; and there my fire of straw burnt itself out to a pitiful end with the closing year. I attempt no excuse. I make no apology. Mrs. Wessing- ton had given up much for my sake, and was prepared to give up all. From my own lips, in August, 1882, she learnt that I was sick of her presence, tired of her company, and weary of the sound of her voice. Ninety-nine women out of a hun- dred would have wearied of me as I wearied of them; seventy- five of that number would have promptly avenged themselves by active and obtrusive flirtation with other men. Mrs. Wessington was the hundredth. On her neither my openly- expressed aversion nor the cutting brutalities with which I garnished our interviews had the least effect. "Jack, darling!" was her one eternal cuckoo cry: "I'm sure it's all a mistake — a hideous mistake; and we'U be good friends again some day. Please forgive me. Jack, dear." THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 79 I was the offender, and I knew it. That knowledge trans- formed 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 monoto- nous face and timid attempts at reconciliation, Wd I with loathing of her in every fiber of my frame. Several times I could not avoid meeting her alone; and on each occasion her words were identically the same. Still the unreasoning wail that it was all a "mistake"; and still the hope of eventually "making friends." I might have seen, had I cared to look, that that hope only was keeping her alive. She grew more wan and thin month by month. You will agree with me, at least, that such conduct would have driven any one to de- spair. It was uncalled for; childish; unwomanly. I main- tain 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 pretend- ing 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 hps. 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 foimd it difficult to meet me, for I had other and more absorbing interests to attend to. When I think it over quietly in my sick-room, the season of 1884 seems a confused nightmare wherein light and shade were fantastically intermingled — ^my courtship of little Kitty Mannering; my hopes, doubts, and fears; our long rides together; my trembling avowal of at- tachment; 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. 80 STORIES FROM KIPLING Wessington's gloved hand; and, when she met me alon^ 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 "mag-pie" jhampanies at the back of Jakko, and, moved by some passing sentiment of pity, stopped to tell Mrs. Wessington everything. She knew it already. "So I hear you're engaged. Jack dear." Then, with- out a moment's pause: "I'm sure it's all a mistake — ^a hideous mistake. We shall be as good friends some day. Jack, as we ever were." My answer might have made even a man wince. It cut the dying woman before me like the blow of a whip. "Please forgive me. Jack; I didn't mean to make you angry; but it's true, it's true!" And Mrs. Wessington broke down completely. I turned away and left her to finish her journey in peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, that I had been an unutterably mean hoimd. I looked back, and saw that she had turned her 'rickshaw with the idea, I suppose, of overtaking me. The scene and its surroundings were photographed on my memory. The rain-swept sky (we were at the end of the w«t weather), the sodden, dingy pines, the muddy road, and the black powder-riven cliffs formed a gloomy background against which the black and white liveries of the jhampanies, the yellow-paneled 'rickshaw and Mrs. Wessington's down- bowed golden head stood out clearly. She was holding her handkerchief in her left hand and was leaning back exhausted against the 'rickshaw cushions. I turned my horse up a bypath near the Sanjowlie Reservoir and literally ran away. Once I fancied I heard a faint call of "Jack!" 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 inter- view. A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the inexpressible THE PHANTOM "RICKSHAW 81 burden of her existence was removed from my life. I went Plainsward perfectly happy. Before three months were over I had forgotten all about her, except that at times the discovery of some of her older letters reminded me unpleas- antly of our bygone relationship. By January I had dis- interred what was left of our correspondence from among my scattered belongings and had burnt it. At the beginning of April of this year, 1885, I was at Simla — semi-deserted Simla — once more, and was deep in lover's talks and walks with Kitty . It was decided that we should be married at the end of Jime. You will understand, therefore, that, lov- ing Kitty as I did, I am not saying too much when I pro- noimced myself to have been, at that time, the happiest man in India. Fourteen delightful days passed almost before I noticed their flight. Then, aroused to the sense of what was proper among mortals circumstanced as we were, I pointed out to Kitty that an engagement ring was the outward and visible sign of her dignity as an engaged girl; and that she must forth- with come to Hamilton's to be measured for one. Up to that moment, I give you my word, we had completely for- gotten so trivial a matter. To Hamilton's we accordingly went on the 15th of April, 1885. Remember that — ^whatever my doctor may say to the contrary — I was then in perfect health, enjoying a weU-balanced mind and an absolutely, tranquil spirit. Kitty and I entered Hamilton's shop to- gether, and there, regardless of the order of affairs, I meas- ured Kitty for the ring in the presence of the amused assis- tant. The ring was a sapphire with two diamonds. We then rode out down the slope that leads to the Combermere Bridge and Peliti's shop. While my Waler was cautiously feeling his way over the loose shale, and Kitty was laughing and chattering at my side — ^while all Simla, that is to say as much of it as had then come from the Plains, was grouped round the Reading-room and Peliti's veranda, — ^I was aware that someone, apparently at a vast distaace, was calling me by my Christian name. 82 STORIES FROM KIPLING It struck me that I had heard the voice before, but when and where I could not at once determine. In the short space it took to cover the road 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 some singing in my ears. Immediately opposite Peliti's shop my eye was arrested by the sight of four jham- panies in "mag-pie" 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 irrita- tion 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 em- ployed them now I thought I would call upon, and ask as a personal favor to change her jhampanies' Hvery. I would hire the men myself, and, if necessary, buy their coats from off their backs. It is impossible to say here what a flood of undesirable memories their presence evoked. "Kitty," I cried, "there are poor Mrs. Wessington's jhampanies turned up again! I wonder who has them now? " Kitty had known Mrs. Wessington slightly last season, and had always been interested in the sickly woman. "What? Where?" she asked. "I can't see them any- where." Even as she spoke, her horse, swerving from a laden mule, threw himself directly in front of the advancing 'rickshaw. I had scarcely time to utter a word of warning when to my unutterable horror, horse and rider passed through men and carriage as if they had been thin air. "What's the matter?" cried Kitty; "what made you call out so fooUshly, Jack? If I am engaged I don't want all creation to know about it. There was lots of space between the mule and the veranda; and, if you think I can't ride ■ There!" Whereupon wilful Kitty set off, her dainty little head in THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 83 the air, at a hand-gallop in the direction of the Band-stand; fully expecting, as she herself afterwards told me, that I should follow her. What was the matter? Nothing in- deed. Either that I was mad or drunk, or that Simla was haunted with devils. I reined in my impatient cob, and turned round. The 'rickshaw had turned too, and now stood immediately facing me, near the left railing of the Combermere Bridge. "Jack! Jack, darling." (There was no mistake 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 inside, as I hope and pray daily for the death I dread by night, sat Mrs. Keith- Wessington, handkerchief in hand, and golden head bowed on her breast. How long I stared motionless I do not know. Finally, I was aroused by my syce taking the Waler's bridle and asking whether I was ill. Prom the horrible to the commonplace is but a step. I tumbled off my horse and dashed, half fainting, into Peliti's for a glass of cherry-brandy. There two or three couples were gathered round the coffee-tables discussing the gossip of the day. Their trivialities were more comforting to me just then than the consolations of reUgion 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, evidently setting it down to the results of over-many pegs, charitably endeavored to draw me apart from the rest of the loungers. But I refused to be led away. I wanted the company of my kind — as a child rushes into the midst of the dinner-party after a fright in the dark. I must have talked for about ten minutes or so, though it seemed an eternity to me, when I heard Eatty's clear voice outside inquiring for me. In another minute she had entered 84 STORIES FROM KIPLING the shop, prepared to upbraid me for failing so signally in my duties. Something in my face stopped her. "Why, Jack," she cried, "what have you been doing? What hxis 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 after- noon, and the sun had been hidden all day. I saw my mis- take 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 feeling faint; and cantered away to my hotel, leaving 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 more utterly commonplace than the stretch of wall opposite Peliti's. It was broad daylight. The road was full of people; and yet here, look you, in defiance of every law of probability, in direct outrage of Nature's ordinance, there had appeared to me a face from the grave. Kitty's Arab had gone through the 'rickshaw: so that my first hope that some woman marvelously like Mrs. Wes- sington 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 ap- parition. I had originally some wild notion of confiding it all to Kitty; of begging her to marry me at once; and in her arms defying the ghostly occupant of the 'rickshaw. "After all," I argued, "the presence of the 'rickshaw is in itself enough to prove the existence of a spectral illusion. Ono THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 85 may see ghosts of men and women, but surely never coolies and carriages. The whole thing is absurd. Fancy the ghost of a hillman!" Next morning I sent a penitent note to Kitty, imploring her to overlook my strange conduct of the previous after- noon. My Divinity was still very wroth, and a personal apology was necessary. I explained, with a fluency bom of night-long pondering over a falsehood, that I had been attacked with a sudden palpitation of the heart — ^the re- sult of indigestion. This eminently practical solution had its effect: and Kitty and I rode out that afternoon with the shadow of my first lie dividing us. Nothing would please her save a canter round Jakko. With my nerves still unstnmg from the previous night I feebly protested against the notion, suggesting Observatory Hill, Jutogh, the Boileaugunge road — anything rather than the Jakko round. Kitty was angry and a little hurt; so I yielded from fear of provoking further misunderstanding, and we set out together toward Chota Simla. We walked a greater part of the way, and, according to our custom, cantered from a mile or so below the Convent to the stretch of level road by the Sanjowlie Reservoir. The wretched horses 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 over- head; the rain-fed torrents giggled and chuckled unseen over the shameful story; and the wind in my ears chanted the iniquity aloud. As a fitting climax, in the middle of the level men call the Ladies' Mile the Horror was awaiting me. No other 'rick- shaw 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 fortnight ago! For an instant I fancied that Kitty must see what I saw — we were so marvelousljT 86 STORIES FROM KIPLING sympathetic in all things. Her next words undeceived me—" "Not a soul in sight! Come along. Jack, and I'll race you to the Reservoir buildings!" Her wiry little Arab was off like a bird, my Waler following close behind, and in this order we dashed under the cliffs. Half a minute brought us within fifty yards of the 'rickshaw. I pulled my Waler and fell back a little. The 'rickshaw was directly in the middle of the road; and once more the Arab passed through it, my horse following. "Jack! Jack, dear! Please forgive me," rang with a wail in my ears, and, after an interval: "It's all a 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 waiting — ^patiently waiting — ^under the gray hill- side, 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 afterwards naturally, and from Sanjowlie to the Church wisely held my tongue. I was to dine with the Mannerings that night, and had barely time to canter home to dress. On the road to Ely- sium Hill I overheard two men talking together in the dusk — "It's a curious thing," said one, "how completely 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. 'Spoilt his luck. Queer notion, wasn't it? Fancy poor little Mrs. Wessington spoil- ing 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 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 87 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 in- fernal Thing blocking my path in the twihght. The dead travel fast, and by short cuts unknown to ordinary coolies. I laughed aloud a second time and checked my laughter sud- denly, for I was afraid I was going mad. Mad to a certain extent I must have been, for I recollect that I reined in my horse at the head of the 'rickshaw, and politely wished Mrs. Wessington "Good-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 talking the commonplaces of the day for five minutes to the Thing in front of me. "Mad as a hatter, poor devil — or drunk. Max, try and get him to come home." Surely that was not Mrs. Wessington's voice! The two men had overheard me speaking to the empty air, and had returned to look after me. They were very kind and con- siderate and from their words evidently gathered that I was extremely drunk. I thanked them confusedly and can- tered 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 general; and under cover of it, I was addressing some tender small talk to my sweetheart when I was aware that at the further end of the table a short red-whiskered man was 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 88 STORIES FROM KIPLING moment's awkward silence, and the red-whiskered man muttered something to the efiFect that he had "forgotten the rest," thereby sacrificing a reputation as a good story-teller which he had built up for six seasons past. I blessed him from the bottom of my heart, and — ^went on with my fish. In the fulness of time that diimer 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, volun- teered 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 matter 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 either D. T. or Eyes for aught I know. Now you don't liquor. I saw as much at dinner, so it can't be D. T.. There's nothing whatever where you're pointing, though you're sweating and trembling with fright, like a scared pony. Therefore, I conclude that it's Eyes. And I ought to understand all about them. Come along home with me. I'm on the Blessington lower road." To my intense delight the 'rickshaw instead of 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 spoilt one of the best tales I've ever laid tongue to," said he, "but I'll forgive you for the sake of what you've gone through. Now come home and do what I tell THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 89 you; and when I've cured you, young man, let this be a lesson to you to steer clear of women and indigestible food till the day of your death." The 'rickshaw kept steady in front; and my red-whiskered friend seemed to derive great pleasure from my account of its exact whereabouts. "Eyes, Pansay — all Eyes, Brain, and Stomach. And the greatest of these is Stomach. You've too much conceited Brain, too little Stomach, and thoroughly imhealthy eyes. Get your Stomach straight and the rest follows. And all that's French for a liver pill. I'll take sole medical charge of you from this hour! for you're too interesting a phe-- nomenon 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-dad, overhanging 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-cztm-Brain-CMm-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. Om- two horses stood mo- tionless and sweating with fear. As soon as the rattle of falling earth and stone had subsided, my companion mut' tered: "Man, if we'd gone forward we should have been ten feet deep in our graves by now. There are more things in heaven and earth. . . . Come home, Pansay, and thank God. I want a peg badly." We retraced our way over the Church Ridge, and I arrived at Doctor Heatherlegh's house shortly after mid- night. His attempts towards my cure conmienced almost im< 90 STORIES FROM KIPLING mediately, and for a week I never left his sight. Many a time in the course of that week did I bless the good-fortune which had thrown me in contact with Simla's best and kind- est doctor. Day by day my spirits grew lighter and more equable. Day by day, too, I became more and more in- clined to fall in with Heatherlegh's "spectral illusion" theory, impKcating 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 re- covered before she had time to regret my absence. Heatherlegh's treatment was simple to a degree. It con. sisted of liver pills, cold-water baths, and strong exercise, taken in the dusk or at early dawn — ^for, as he sagely ob- served : "A man with a sprained ankle doesn't walk a dozen miles a day, and your young woman might be wondering if she saw you." At the end of the week, after much examination of pupil and pulse, and strict injunctions as to diet and pedestrianism, Heatherlegh dismissed 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 phenomenon, 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 eye- brain-and-stomach business again. I'll give you a lakh for each time you see it." Half an hour later I was in the Mannerings' drawing-room with Kitty — drunk with the intoxication of present happiness and the foreknowledge that I should never more be troubled with Its hideous presence. Strong in the sense of my new* THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 91 found security, I proposed a ride at once; and, by preference, a canter round Jakko. Never had I felt so well, so overladen with vitality and mere aninxal spirits, as I did on the afternoon of the 30th of April. Kitty was delighted at the change in my appearance, and complimented me on it in her delightfully frank and out- spoken manner. We left the Mannerings' house together, laughing and talking, and cantered along the Chota Simla road as of old. I was in haste to reach the Sanjowlie Reservoir and there make my assurance doubly sure. The horses did their best, but seemed all too slow to my impatient mind. Kitty was astonished at my boisterousness. "Why, Jack!" she cried at last, "you are behaving like a child. What are you doing?" We were just below the Convent, and from sheer wantonness I was making my Waler plunge and curvet across the road as I tickled it with the loop of my riding-whip. "Doing?" I answered; "nothing, dear. That's just it. If you'd been doing nothing for a week except lie up, you'd be as riotous as I. "Singing and murmuring in your feastful mirth. Joying to feel yoursdf alive; Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible Earth, Lord of the senses five." My quotation was hardly out of my lips before we had rounded the corner above the Convent; and a few yards further on could see across to Sanjowlie. In the center of the level road stood the black and white liveries, the yellow- paneled 'rickshaw, and Mrs. Keith-Wessmgton. 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. 92 STORIES FROM KIPLING "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 repeated, "a hideous mistake. Come and look at It." I have an indistinct idea that I dragged Kitty by the wrist along the road up to where It stood, and implored her for pity's sake to speak to It; to tell It that we were betrothed; that nether Death nor Hell could break the tie between us: and Kitty only knows how much more to the same effect. Now and again I appealed passionately to the Terror in the 'rickshaw to bear witness to all I had said, and to release me from a torture that was killing me. As I talked I suppose I must have told Kitty of my old relations with Mrs. Wes- sington, for I saw her hsten intently with white face and blazing eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Pansay," she said, "that's quite enough. Syce, ghora Ido." The syces, impassive as Orientals always are, had come up with the recaptured horses; and as Kitty sprang into her saddle I caught hold of her bridle, entreating her to hear me out and forgive. My answer was the cut of her riding-whip across my face from mouth to eye, and a word or two of farewell that even now I cannot write down. So I judged and judged rightly, that Kitty knew all; and 1 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, Heather- legh, who must have been following Kitty and me at a dis- tance, cantered up. "Doctor," I said, pointing to my face, "here's Miss Mannering's signature to my order of dismissal and I'll thank you for that lakh as soon as convenient." Heatherlegh's face, even in my abject misery, moved me to laughter. "I'll stake my professional reputation " he began. THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 93 "Don't be a fool." I whispered. "I've lost my life's hap- piness and you'd better take me home." As I spoke the 'rickshaw was gone. Then I lost all knowl- edge 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 be- hind 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 cor- responded a good deal, you young people. Here's a packet that looks like a ring, and a cheerful sort of a note from Mannering Papa, which I've taken the liberty of reading and burning. The old gentleman's not pleased with you." "And Kitty?" I asked dully. "Rather more drawn than her father from what she says. By the same token you must have been letting out any num- ber of queer reminiscences just before I met you. 'Says that a man who would have behaved to a woman as you did to Mrs. Wessington ought to kill himself out of sheer pity for his kind. She's a hot-headed little virago, your mash. 'Win 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 engage- ment 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 un- less 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 over it." During those five minutes I believe that I explored thor- oughly the lowest circles of the Inferno which it is permitted 94 STORIES FROM KIPLING man to tread on earth. And at the same time I myself was watching myself faltering through the dark labyrinths of doubt, misery, and utter despair. I wondered, as Heather- legh in his chair might have wondered, which dreadful alter- native I should adopt. Presently I heard myself answering in a voice that I hardly recognized — "They're confoundedly particular about morality in these parts. Give 'em fits, Heatherlegh, and my love. Now let me sleep a bit longer." Then my two selves joined, and it was only I (half-crazed, devil-driven I) that tossed in my bed tracing step by step the history of the past month. " But I am in Simla," I kept repeating to myself. " I, Jack Pansay, am in Simla, and there are no ghosts here. It's un- reasonable 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 1 first awoke: and the sxm 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 oflSces, the story of my affiction 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," 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 fimily to be cured. "You've been much too good to me already, old man," said I; "but I don't think I need trouble you further." In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh could do would Ughten the burden that had been laid upon me. THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 95 With that knowledge came also a sense of hopeless, im- potent rebellion against the unreasonableness of it all. There were scores of men no better than I whose punishments had at least been reserved for another world; and I felt that it was bitterly, cruelly unfair that I alone should have been singled out for so hideous a fate. This mood would in time give place to another where it seemed that the 'rickshaw and I were the only realities in a world of shadows; that Kitty was a ghost; that Mannering, Heatherlegh, and all the other men and women I knew were all ghosts; and the great, gray hills themselves but vain shadows devised to torture me. From mood to mood I tossed backwards and forwards for seven weary days; my body growing daily stronger and stronger, until the bedroom lookmg-glass told me that I had returned to every-day life, and was as other men once more. Cur- iously enough my face showed no signs of the struggle I had gone through. It was pale indeed, but as expressionless and commonplace as ever. I had expected some permanent «>lteration — ^visible evidence of the disease that was eating me away. I found nothing. On the 15th of May I 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 I 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 cooUes on the Mall below. I lunched at the Club, and at four o'clock wandered aimlessly down the Mall in the vague hope of meeting Kitty. Close to the Band-stand the black and white liveries joined me; and I heard Mrs. Wessington's old appeal at my side. I had been expecting this ever since I came out; and was only surprised at her delay. The phantom 'rickshaw and I went side by side along the Chota Simla road in silence. Close to the bazar, Kitty and a man on horseback overtook and passed us. For any sign she gave I might have been a dog in the road. She did not even 96 STORIES FROM KIPLING pay me the compliment of quickening her^pace;' though the rainy afternoon had served for an excuse. ,^ So Kitty and her companion, and I' and iny 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 I Every-day, ordinary Siinla. I mustn't forget that — ^I mustn't forget that." Then I would try to recoUect some of the gossip I had heard at the Club: the prices of So-and So's horses — anything, in fact, that related to the work-a- day 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 oflf at a canter, and I was left alone with Mrs. Wessington. "Agnes," said I, "will you put back your hood and tell me what it all means? The hood dropped noiselessly, and I was face to face with my dead and buried mistress. She was wearing the dress in which I had last seen her alive; carried the same tiny handkerchief in her right hand; and the same card-case in her left. (A woman eight months dead with a card-case!) I had to pin myself down to the multiplication-table, and to set both hands on the stone parapet of the road, to assure myself that that at least was real. "Agnes," I repeated, "for pity's sake tell me what it all means." Mrs. Wessington leaned forward, with that odd, quick turn of the head I used to know so well, and spoke. If my story had not already so madly overleaped the bounds of all human belief I should 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 THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 97 believe me, I will go on. Mrs. Wessington spoke and I walked with her from the Sanjowlie road to the turning below the Commander-in-Chief's house as I might walk by the side of any living woman's 'rickshaw, deep in con- versation. The second and most tormenting of my moods of sickness had suddenly 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 it seemed that they were the shadows — ^impalpable fantastic shadows — ^that divided for Mrs. Wessington's 'rickshaw to pass through. What we said during the course of that weird interview I cannot — ^indeed, I dare not — ^tell. Heatherlegh's comment would have been a short laugh and a remark that I had been "mashing a brain-eye-and-stomach chimera." It was a ghastly and yet in some indefinable way a 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 'rickshaw and I used to wander through Simla together. Wherever I went there the four black and white liveries followed me and bore me company to and from my hotel. At the Theater I found them amid the crowd of yelling jhampanies; outside the Club veranda, after a long evening of whist; at the Birthday Ball, waiting patiently for my reappearance; and in broad daylight when I went calling. Save that it cast no shadow, the 'rickshaw was in every respect as real to look upon as one of wood and iron. More than once, indeed, I have had to check myself from warning some hard-riding friend against cantering over it. More than once I have walked down the 98 STORIES FROM KIPLING 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 imhappy when I had been separated too long from my ghostly companion. It would be almost impossible to describe my varying moods from the 15th of May up to to-day. The presence of the 'rickshaw filled me by turns with horror, blind fear, a dim sort of pleasure, and utter de- spair. I dared not leave Simla; and I knew that my stay there was killing me. I knew, moreover, that it was my destiny to die slowly and a little every day. My only anxiety was to get the penance over as quietly as might be. Alternately I hungered for a sight of Kitty and watched her outrageous ffirtations 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 wan- dered with Mrs. Wessington almost content. By night I implored Heaven to let me return to the world as I used to know it. Above all these varying moods lay the sensation of dull, numbing wonder that the seen and Unseen should mingle so strangely on this earth to hound one poor soul to its grave. August 27. — ^Heatherlegh has been indefatigable in his attendance on me; and only yesterday told me that I ought to send in an application for sick leave. An application to escape the company of a phantom! A request that the Government would graciously permit me to get rid of five ghosts and an airy 'rickshaw by going to England ! Heather* THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW 99 legh'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 speculations as to the manner of my death. Shall I die in my bed decently and as an English gentle- man should die; or, in one last walk on the MaU, will my soul be wrenched from me to take its place for ever and ever by the side of that ghastly phantasm? Shall I return to my old lost allegiance in the next world, or shall I meet Agnes loathing her and bound to her side through all eternity? shall we two hover over the scene of our lives tiU the end of Time? As the day of my death draws nearer, the intense horror that all living flesh feels toward escaped spirits from beyond the grave grows more and more powerful. It is an awful thing to go down quick among the dead with scarcely one-half of your life completed. It is a thousand times more awful to wait as I do in your midst, for I know not what unimaginable terror. Pity me, at least on the score of my "delusion," for I know you wiU never believe what I have written here. Yet as surely as ever a man was done to death by the Powers of Darkness, I am that man. In justice, too, pity her. For as surely as ever woman was killed by man, I killed Mrs. Wessington. And the last portion of my punishment is even now upon me. WEE WILLIE WINKIE (1889) "An o^cer and a gentleman." His full name was Percival William Williams, but he picked up the other name in a nurseiy-book, and that was the end of the christened titles. His mother's ayah called him Willie-Boftfl, but as he never paid the faintest attention to anything that the ayah said, her wisdom did not help matters. His father was the Colonel of the 195th, and as soon as Wee Willie Winkie was old enough to understand what Military Discipline meant. Colonel Williams put him under it. There was no other way of managing the child. WheQ he was good for a week, he drew good-conduct pay; and when he was bad, he was deprived of his good-conduct stripe. Generally he was bad, for India offers many chances of going wrong to little six-year-olds. Children resent familiarity from strangers, and Wee Willie Winkie was a very particular child. Once he ac- cepted an acquaintance, he was graciously pleased to thaw. He accepted Brandis, a subaltern of the 195th, on sight. Brandis was having tea at the Colonel's, and Wee Willie Winkie entered strong in the possession of a good-conduct badge won for not chasing the hens round the compound. He regarded Brandis with gravity for at least ten minutes, and then delivered himself of his opinion. "I like you," said he slowly, getting off his chair and coming over to Brandis. "I like you. I shall call you Coppy, because of your hair. Do you mind being called Coppy? It is because of ve hair, you know." 100 WEE WILLIE WmKIE 101 Here was one of the most embarrassing of Wee Willie WinMe's peculiarities. He would look at a stranger for some time, and then, without warning or explanation, would give him a name. And the name stuck. No regi- mental penalties could break Wee Willie Winkie of this habit. He lost his good-conduct badge for christening the Commissioner's wife "Fobs"; but nothing that the Colonel could do made the Station forego the nickname, and Mrs. Collen remained "Fobs" till the end of her stay. So Brandis was christened "Coppy," and rose, therefore, in the estima- tion of the regiment. If Wee Willie Winkie took an interest in any one, the fortimate man was envied alike by the mess and the rank and file. And in their envy lay no suspicion of self-inter- est. "The Colonel's son" was idolized on his own merits entirely. Yet Wee Willie Winkie was not lovely. His face was permanently freckled, as his legs were permanently scratched, and in spite of his mother's almost tearful remon- strances he had insisted upon having his long yellow locks cut short in the military fashion. "I want my hair like Sergeant Tummil's," said Wee Willie Winkie, and, his father abetting, the sacrifice was accomplished. Three weeks after the bestowal of his youthful affec- tions on Lieutenant Brandis — thenceforward to be called "Coppy" for the sake of brevity — ^Wee Willie Winkie was destined to behold strange things and far beyond his com- prehension. Coppy returned his liking with interest. Coppy had let him wear for five rapturous minutes his own big sword — • just as tall as Wee Willie Winkie. Coppy had promised him a terrier puppy; and Coppy had permitted him to wit- ness the miraculous operation of shaving. Nay, more — Coppy had said that even he. Wee Willie Winkie, would rise in time to the ownership of a box of shiny knives, a silver soap-box and a silver-handled "sputter-brush," as "Wee Willie Winkie called it. Decidedly, there was no one except his father, who could give or take away good-con- 102 STORIES FROM KIPLING duct badges at pleasure, half so wise, strong, and valiant as Coppy with the Afghan and Egyptian medals on his breast. Why, then, should Coppy be guilty of the un- manly weakiaess of kissing — ^vehemently kissing — a "big girl," Miss Allardyce to wit? In the course of a morning ride. Wee WiUie Winkie had seen Coppy so doing, and, like the gentleman he was, had promptly wheeled round and cantered back to his groom, lest the groom should also see. Under ordinary circumstances he would have spoken to his father, but he felt instinctively that this was a matter on which Coppy ought first to be consulted. "Coppy," shouted Wee Willie Winkie, reining up out- side that subaltern's bungalow early one morning — "I want to see you, Coppy!" "Come in, yoimg 'un," returned Coppy, who was at early breakfast in the midst of his dogs. "What mischief have you been getting into now? " Wee Willie Winkie had done nothing notoriously bad for three days, and so stood on a pinnacle of virtue. "I've been doing nothing bad," said he, curling himself into a long chair with a studious affectation of the Colo- nel's languor after a hot parade. He biu-ied his freckled nose in a tea-cup and, with eyes staring roimdly over the rim, asked : " I say, Coppy, is it pwoper to kiss big girls? " "By Jove! You're beginning early. Who do you want to kiss?" "No one. My muwer's always kissing me if I don't stop her. If it isn't pwoper, how was you kissing Major Allardyce's big girl last morning, by ve canal? " Coppy's brow wrinkled. He and Miss Allardyce had with great craft managed to keep their engagement secret for a fortnight. There were urgent and imperative reasons why Major Allardyce should not know how matters stood for at least another month, and this small marplot had dis- covered a great deal too much. "I saw you," said Wee Willie Winkie calmly. "But ve sais didn't see. I said, 'Hut jao I' WEE WILLIE WINKTE 103 "Oh, you had that much sense, you young Rip," groaned poor Coppy, half amused and half angry. "And how many people may you have told about it? " "Only me myself. You didn't tell when I twied to wide ve buffalo ven my pony was lame; and I fought you wouldn't like." "Winkie," said Coppy enthusiastically, shaking the small hand, "you're the best of good fellows. Look here, you can't understand all these things. One of these days — ^hang it, how can I make you see it ! — I'm going to marry Miss AUardyce, and then she'll be Mrs. Coppy, as you say. If your young mind is so scandalized at the idea of kissing big girls, go and tell your father." "What will happen?" said Wee Willie Winkie, who firmly believed that his father was omnipotent. "I shall get into trouble," said Coppy, playing his trump card with an appealing look at the holder of the ace. " Ven I won't," said Wee Willie Winkie briefly. " But my faver says it's un-man-ly to be always kissing, and I didn't fink you'd do vat, Coppy." "I'm not always kissing, old chap. It's only now and then, and when you're bigger you'll do it too. Your father meant it's not good for little boys." "Ah!" said Wee Willie Winkie, now fully enlightened. "It's like ve sputter-brush?" "Exactly," said Coppy gravely. "But I don't fink I'll ever want to kiss big girls, nor no one, 'cept my muvver. And I must vat, you know." There was a long pause, broken by Wee Willie Winkie, "Are you fond of vis big girl, Coppy?" "Awfully!" said Coppy. "Fonder van you are of Bell or ve Butcha — or me?" "It's in a different way," said Coppy. "You see, one of these days Miss Allardyce will belong to me, but you'll grow up and command the Regiment and — ^all sorts of things. It's quite different, you see." "Very well," said Wee WUlie Winkie, rising. "E you're 104 STORIES FROM KIPLING fond of ve big girl, I won't tell any one. I must go now." Coppy rose and escorted his small guest to the door, adding — "You're the best of little fellows, Winkie. I tell you what. In thirty days from now you can tell if you like — ^tell any one you like." Thus the secret of the Brandis-Allardyce engagement was dependent on a little child's word. Coppy, who knew Wee Willie Winkie's idea of truth, was at ease, for he felt that he would not break promises. Wee Willie Winkie betrayed a special and unusual interest in Miss Allardyce, and, slowly revolving round that embarrassed young lady, was used to regard her gravely with unwinking eye. He was trying to discover why Coppy should have kissed her. She was not half so nice as his own mother. On the other hand, she was Coppy's property, and would in time belong to him. Therefore it behooved him to treat her with as much respect as Coppy's big sword or shiny pistol. The idea that he shared a great secret in common with Coppy kept Wee Willie Winkie unusually virtuous for three weeks. Then the Old Adam broke out, and he made what he called a "camp-fire" at the bottom of the garden. How could he have foreseen that the flying sparks would have lighted the Colonel's little hay-rick and consumed a week's store for the horses? Sudden and swift was the punishment — deprivation of the good-conduct badge and, most sorrowful of all, two days' confinement to barracks — the house and veranda — coupled with the withdrawal of the light of his father's countenance. He took the sentence like the man he strove to be, drew himself up with a quivering imder-lip, saluted, and, once clear of the room, ran to weep bitterly in his nursery — called by him "my quarters." Coppy came in the afternoon and attempted to console the culprit. "I'm under awwest," said Wee Willie Winkie mournfully, "and I didn't ought to speak to you." Very early the next morning he climbed on to the roof of WEE WILLIE WINKIE 105 the house — ^that was not forbidden — and beheld Miss Allar- dyce going for a ride. "Where are you going?" cried Wee Willie Winkie. "Across the river," she answered, and trotted forward. Now the cantonment in which the 195th lay was bounded on the north by a river — dry in the winter. From his ear- liest years. Wee Willie Winkie had been forbidden to go across the river, and had noted that even Coppy — the almost almighty Coppy — ^had never set foot beyond it. Wee Willie Winkie had once been read to, out of a big blue book, the history of the Princess and the Goblins — a most wonderful tale of a land where the Goblins were always warring with the children of men until they were defeated by one Curdie. lilver since that date it seemed to him that the bare black and purple hills across the river were inhabited by Goblins, and, in truth, everyone had said that there lived the Bad Men. Even in his own house the lower halves of the win- dows were covered with green paper on account of the Bad Men who might, if allowed clear view, fire into peaceful drawing-rooms and comfortable bedrooms. Certainly, be- yond the river, which was the end of aU the Earth, lived the Bad Men. And here was Major Allardyce's big girl, Coppy's property, preparing to venture into their borders! What would Coppy say if anything happened to her? If the Goblins ran off with her as they did with Curdie's Princess? She must at aU hazards be turned back. The house was still. Wee WiUie Winkie reflected for a moment on the very terrible wrath of his father; and then ' — ^broke his arrest! It was a crime unspeakable. The low sun threw his shadow, very large and very black, on the trim garden-paths, as he went down to the stables and ordered his pony. It seemed to him in the hush of the dawn that aU the big world had been bidden to stand still and look at Wee Willie Winkie guilty of mutiny. The drow^ sais gave him his mount, and, since the one great sin made all others insignificant, Wee Willie Winkie said that he was going to ride over to Coppy Sahib, and went 108 STORIES FROM KIPLING out at a foot-pace, stepping on the soft mould of the flower- borders. The devastating track of the pony's feet was the last mis- deed that cut him off from all sympathy of Humanity. He turned into the road, leaned forward, and rode as fast as the pony could put foot to the ground in the direction of the river. But the liveliest of twelve-two ponies can do little against the long canter of a Waler. Miss Allardyce was far ahead, had passed through the crops, beyond the Police-posts, when all the guards were asleep, and her mount was scattering the pebbles of the river-bed as Wee Willie Winkie left the can- tonment and British India behind him. Bowed forward and still flogging, Wee Willie Winkie shot into Afghan territory, and could just see Miss Allardyce a black speck, flickering across the stony plain. The reason of her wandering was simple enough. Coppy, in a tone of too-hastily-assumed authority, had told her over night that she must not ride out by lie river. And she had gone to prove her own spirit and teach Coppy a lesson. Almost at the foot of the inhospitable hills, Wee Willie Winkie saw the Waler blunder and come down heavily. Miss Allardyce struggled clear, but her ankle had been severely twisted, and she could not stand. Having fully shown her spirit, she wept, and was surprised by the ap- parition of a white, wide-eyed child in khaki, on a nearly spent pony. "Are you badly, badly hurted?" shouted Wee Willie Winkie, as soon as he was within range. "You didn't ought to be here." "I don't know," said Miss Allardyce ruefully, ignoring the reproof. "Good gracious, child, what are you doing here?" "You said you was going acwoss ve wiver," panted Wee WiUie Winkie, throwing himself off his pony. "And no- body — ^not even Coppy — must go acwoss ve wiver, and I came after you ever so hard, but you wouldn't stop, and WEE WILLIE WINKIE 107 now you've hurted yourself, and Coppy will be angwy wiv me, and — ^I've bwoken my awwest! I've bwoken my aw- west!" The future Colonel of the 195th sat down and sobbed. In spite of the pain in her ankle the girl was moved. "Have you ridden all the way from cantonments, little man? What for?" "You belonged to Coppy. Coppy told me so!" wailed Wee Willie Winkie disconsolately. "I saw him kissing you, and he said he was fonder of you van Belle or ve Butcha or me. And so I came. You must get up and come back. You didn't ought to be here. Vis is a bad place, and I've bwoken my awwest." "I can't move, Winkie," said Miss Allardyce, with a groan. " I've hurt my foot. What shall I do? " She showed a readiness to weep anew, which steadied Wee Willie Winkie, who had been brought up to believe that tears were the depth of unmanliness. Still, when one is as great a sinner as Wee WiUie Winkie, even a man may be permitted to break down. "Winkie," said Miss Allardyce, "when you've rested a. little, ride back and tell them to send out something to carry me back in. It hurts fearfully." The child sat still for a little time and Miss Allardyce closed her eyes; the pain was nearly making her faint. She was roused by Wee Willie Winkie tying up the reins on his pony's neck and setting it free with a vicious cut of his whip that made it whicker. The little animal headed towards the cantonments. "Oh, Winkie! What are you doing?" "Hush!" said Wee Willie Winkie. "Vere's a man coming — one of ve Bad Men. I must stay wiv you. My faver says a man must always look after a girl. Jack will go home, and ven vey'U come and look for us. Vat's why I let him go." Not one man but two or three had appeared from behind 108 STORIES FROM KIPLING the rocks of the hills, and the heart of Wee Willie Winkie sank within him, for just in this manner were the Goblins wont to steal out and vex Curdie's soul. Thus had they played in Curdie's garden, he had seen the picture, and thus had they frightened the Princess's nurse. He heard them talking to each other, and recognized with joy the bastard Pushto that he had picked up from one of his father's grooms, lately dismissed. People who spoke that tongue could not be the Bad Men. They were only natives after all. They came up to the bowlders on which Miss Allar- dyce's horse had blundered. Then rose from the rock Wee Willie Winkie, child of the Dominant Race, aged six and three-quarters, and said briefly and emphatically "Jao^l" The pony had crossed the river- bed. The men laughed, and laughter from natives was the one thing Wee Willie Winkie could not tolerate. He asked them what they wanted and why they did not depart. Other men with most evil faces and crooked-stocked guns crept out of the shadows of the hills, till, soon. Wee Willie Winkie was face to face with an audience some twenty strong. Miss Allardyce screamed. "Who are you?" said one of the men. "I am the Colonel Sahib's son, and my order is that you go at once. You black men are frightening the Miss Sahib. One of you must run into cantonments and take the news that the Miss Sahib has hurt herself, and that the Colonel's son is here with her." "Put our feet into the trap?" was the laughing reply. "Hear this boy's speech!" "Say that I sent you — ^I, the Colonel's son. They will give you money." "What is the use of this talk? Take up the child and the girl, and we can at least ask for the ransom. Ours are the villages on the heights," said a voice in the back- ground. These were the Bad Men — ^worse than Goblins — and it WEE WILLIE WINKIE 109 needed all Wee Willie Winkle's training to prevent him from bursting into tears. But he felt that to cry before a native, excepting only his mother's ayah, would be an infamy greater than any mutiny. Moreover, he, as future Colonel of the 195th, had that grim regiment at his back. "Are you going to carry us away?" said Wee Willie Win- kle, very blanched and uncomfortable. "Yes, my little Sahih Bahadur," said the tallest of the men, "and eat you afterwards." "That is child's talk," said Wee Willie Winkie. "Men do not eat men." A yell of laughter interrupted him, but he went on firmly — "And if you do carry us away, I tell you that all my regi- ment will come up in a day and kill you all without leaving one. Who will take my message to the Colonel Sahib?" Speech in any vernacular — ^and Wee Willie Winkie had a colloquial acquaintance with three — was easy to the boy who could not yet manage his "r's" and "th's" aright. Another man joined the conference, crying: "O fool- ish men! What this babe says is true. He is the heart's heart of those white troops. For the sake of peace let them go both, for if he be taken, the regiment will break loose and gut the valley. Our villages are in the valley, and we shall not escape. That regiment are devils. They broke Khoda Yar's breastbone with kicks when he tried to take the rifles; and if we touch this child they will fire and rape and plunder for a month, till nothing remains. Better to send a man back to take the message and get a reward. I say that this child is their God, and that they will spare none of us, nor our women, if we harm him." It was Din Mahommed, the dismissed groom of the Colonel, who made the diversion, and an angry and heated discussion followed. Wee Willie Winkie, standing over Miss Allardyce, waited the upshot. Surely his "wegi- ment," his own "wegiment," would not desert him if they knew of his extremity. 110 STORIES FROM KIPLING The riderless pony brought the news to the 195th, though there had been consternation in the Colonel's household for an hour before. The little beast came in through the parade-ground in front of the main barracks, where the men were settling down to play Spoil-five till the afternoon. Devlin, the Color-Sergeant of E Company, glanced at the empty saddle and tumbled through the barrack-rooms, kicking up each Room Corporal as he passed. "Up, ye beggars! There's something happened to the Colonel's son," he shouted. "He couldn't faU off! S'elp me, 'e couldn't fall off," blubbered a drummer-boy. "Go an' hunt acrost the river. He's over there if he's anywhere, an' maybe those Pathans have got 'im. For the love o' Gawd don't look for 'im in the nullahs! Let's go over the river." "There's sense in Mott yet," said Devlin. "E Company, double out to the river — sharp!" So E Company, in its shirt-sleeves mainly, doubled for the dear life, and in the rear toiled the perspiring Sergeant, adjuring it to double yet faster. The cantonment was alive with the men of the 195th hunting for Wee Willie Winkie, and the Colonel finally overtook E Company, far too ex- hausted to swear, struggling in the pebbles of the river-bed. Up the hill under which Wee Willie Winkle's Bad Men were discussing the wisdom of carrying off the child and the girl, a look-out fired two shots. "What have I said.?" shouted Din Mahommed. "There is the warning! The puUon are out already and are coming across the plain! Get away! Let us not be seen with the boy!" The men waited for an instant, and then, as another shot was fired, withdrew into the hiUs, silently as they had ap- peared. "The wegiment is coming," said Wee WiUie Winkle con- fidently to Miss Allardyce, "and it's all wight. Don't cwy!" He needed the advice himself, for ten minutes later, whea WEE WILLIE WINKIE 111 his father came up, he was weeping bitterly with his head in Miss Allardyce's lap. And the men of the 195th carried him home with shouts and rejoicings; and Coppy, who had ridden a horse into lather, met him, and, to his intense disgust, kissed him openly in the presence of the men. But there was balm for his dignity. His father assured him that not only would the breaking of arrest be condoned but that the good-conduct badge would be restored as soon as his mother could sew it on his blouse-sleeve. Miss Allar- dyce had told the Colonel a story that made him proud of his son. "She belonged to you, Coppy," said Wee Willie Winkie, indicating Miss Allardyce with a grimy forefinger. "I hnew she didn't ought to go acwoss ve wiver, and I knew ve wegiment would come to me if I sent Jack home." "You're a hero, Winkie," said Coppy — "a pukka hero!" "I don't know what vat means," said Wee Willie Winkie, "but you mustn't call me Winkie any no more. I'm Per- eival Will'am Will'ams." And in this manner did Wee Willie Winkie enter into his manhood. THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD (1890) What did the colonel's lady think? Nobody never knew. Somebody asked the sergeant's wife An' she told 'em true. . When you git to a man in the case They're like a row o' pins. For the colonel's lady an' Judy O'Grady Are sisters under their skins. Barraclc-Boom Ballad. All day I had followed at the heels of a pursuing army en« gaged on one of the finest battles that ever camp of exercise be- held. Thirty thousand troops had by the wisdom of the Gov- ernment of India been turned loose over a few thousand square miles of country to practise in peace what they would never attempt in war. Consequently cavalry charged unshaken infantry at the trot. Infantry captured artillery by frontal attacks delivered in line of quarter columns, and mounted infantry skirmished up to the wheels of an armored train which carried nothing more deadly than a twenty-five pounder Armstrong, two Nordenfeldts, and a few score vol- unteers all cased in three-eighths-inch boiler-plate. Yet it was a very lifelike camp. Operations did not cease at sun- down; nobody knew the country and nobody spared man or horse. There was unending cavalry scouting and almost unending forced work over broken ground. The Army of the South had finally pierced the centre of the Army of the North, and was pouring through the gap hot-foot to capture a city of strategic importance. Its front extended fanwise, the sticks being represented by regiments strung out along the line of route backwards to the divisional transport coK THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 113 omns and all the lumber that trails behind an army on the move. On its right the broken left of the Army of the North was flying in mass, chased by the Southern horse and hammered by the Southern guns till these had been pushed far beyond the limits of their last support. Then the flying sat down to rest, while the elated commandant of the pur- suing force telegraphed that he held all in check and ob- servation. Unluckily he did not observe that three miles to his right flank a flying column of Northern horse with a detachment of Ghoorkhas and British troops had been pushed round, as fast as the failing light allowed, to cut across the entire rear of the Southern Army, to break, as it were, all the ribs of the fan where they converged by striking at the transport, re- serve ammunition, and artillery supplies. Their instructions were to go in, avoiding the few scouts who might not have been drawn off by the pursuit, and creat sufficient excite- ment to impress the Southern Army with the wisdom of guarding their own flank and rear before they captured cities. It was a pretty manoeuvre, neatly carried out. Speaking for the second division of the Southern Army, our first intimation of the attack was at twilight, when the artillery were laboring in deep sand, most of the escort were trying to help them out, and the main body of the infantry had gone on. A Noah's Ark of elephants, camels, and the mixed menagerie of an Indian transport-train bubbled and squealed behind the guns when there appeared from no- where in particular British infantry to the extent of three companies, who sprang to the heads of the, gun-horses and brought all to a standstill amid oaths and cheers. "How's that, umpire?" said the major commanding the attack, and with one voice the drivers and limber gunners answered "Hout!" while the colonel of artillery sputtered. "All your scouts are cha^rging our main body," said the major. "Your flanks are unprotected for two miles. I think we've broken the back of this division. And listen,-^ there go the Ghoorkhas!" 114 STORIES PROM KIPLING A weak fire broke from the rear-guard more than a mile away, and was answered by cheerful bowlings. The Ghoor- khas, who should have swung clear of the second division, had Stepped on its tail in the dark, but drawing o£P hastened to reach the next hne of attack, which lay almost parallel to us five or six miles away. Our column swayed and surged irresolutely, — three bat- teries, the divisional ammimition reserve, the baggage, and a section of the hospital and bearer corps. The commandant ruefully promised to report himself "cut up" to the nearest umpire, and commending his cavalry and all other cavalry to the special care of Eblis, toiled on to resume touch with the rest of the division. "We'll bivouac here to-night," said the major, "I have a notion that the Ghoorkhas will get caught. They may want us to re-form on. Stand easy till the transport gets away." A hand caught my beast's bridle and led him out of the choking dust; a larger hand deftly canted me out of the saddle; and two of the hugest hands in the world received me sliding. Pleasant is the lot of the special correspondent who falls into such hands as those of Privates Mulvaney, Ortheris, and Learoyd. "An' that's all right," said the Irishman calmly. "We thought we'd find you somewhere here by. Is there any- thing av yours in the transport? Orth'ris '11 fetch ut out." Ortheris did "fetch ut out," from imder the trunk of an elephant, in the shape of a servant and an animal both laden with medical comforts. The little man's eyes sparkled. "If the brutil an' licentious soldiery av these parts gets sight av the thruck," said Mulvaney, making practised in- vestigations, "they'll loot ev'ry thing. They're bein' fed on iron-filin's an' dog-biscuit these days, but glory's no com- pensation for a belly-ache. Praise be, we're here to protect you, sorr. Beer, sausage, bread (soft an' that's a cur'- osity), soup in a tin, whisky by the smell av ut, an' fowls! Mother av Moses, but ye take the field like a confectioner! 'Tis scand'lus." THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 115 "'Ere's a orficer," said Ortheris significantly. "When the sergent's done lushin' the privit may clean the pot." I bundled several things into Mulvaney's haversack be- fore the major's hand fell on my shoulder and he said ten- derly, "Requisitioned for the Queen's service. Wolseley was quite wrong about special correspondents: they are the soldier's best friends. Come and take pot-luck with us to- night." And so it happened amid laughter and shoutings that my well-considered commissariat melted away to reappear later at the mess-table, which was a waterproof sheet spread on the ground. The flying column had taken three days' rations with it, and there be few things nastier than govern- ment rations — especially when government is experimenting with German toys. Erbsenwurst tinned beef of surpassing tinniness, compressed vegetables, and meat-biscuits may be nourishing, but what Thomas Atkins needs is buUc JD. Ms inside. The major, assisted by his brother oflacers, pur- chased goats for the camp and so made the experiment of no effect. Long before the fatigue-party sent to collect brush- wood had returned, the men were settled down by their vaHses, kettles and pots had appeared from the surroimding country and were dangling over fires as the kid and the com- pressed vegetable bubbled together; there rose a cheerful clinking of mess-tins; outrageous demands for "a little more etuffin' with that there liver-wing"; and gust on gust of chaff as pointed as a bayonet and as delicate as a gun- butt. "The boys are in a good temper," said the major. "They- 'll be singing presently. Well, a night like this is enough to keep them happy." Over our heads burned the wonderful Indian stars, which are not all pricked in on one plane, but, preserving an orderly perspective, draw the eye through the velvet darkness of the void up to the barred doors of heaven itself. The earth was a gray shadow more unreal than the sky. We could hear her breathing lightly in the pauses between the howling of 116 STORIES FROM KIPLING the jackals, the movement of the wind in the tamarisks, and the fitful mutter of musketry-fire leagues away to the left. A native woman from some imseen hut began to sing, the mail-train thundered past on its way to Delhi, and a roosting crow cawed drowsily. Then there was a belt-loosening vlence about the fires, and the even breathing of the crowded earth took up the story. The men, full fed, turned to tobacco and song, — their oflBcers with them. The subaltern is happy who can win the approval of the musical critics in his regiment, and is hon- ored among the more intricate step-dancers. By him, as by him who plays cricket cleverly, Thomas Atkins will stand in time of need, when he will let a better officer go on alone. The ruined tombs of forgotten Mussulman saints heard the ballad of Agra Tovm, The Buffalo Battery, Marching to Kabul, The long, long Indian Day, The Place where the Punkah-coolie died, and that crashing chorus which announces. Youth's daring spirit, manhood's fiie. Firm hand and eagle eye. Must he acquire who would aspire To see the gray boar die. To-day, of all those jovial thieves who appropriated my commissariat and lay and laughed round that waterproof sheet, not one remains. They went to camps that were not of exercise and battles without umpires. Burmah, the Sou- dan, and the frontier, — ^fever and fight, — ^took them in their time. I drifted across to the men's fires in search of Mulvaney, whom I found strategically greasing his feet by the blaze. There is nothing particularly lovely in the sight of a private thus engaged after a long day's march, but when you reflect on the exact proportion of the "might, majesty, dominion, and power" of the British Empire which stands on those feet you take an interest in the proceedings. "There's a blister, bad luck to ut, on the heel," said Mulvaney. "I can't touch ut. Prick ut out, little man." THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 117 Ortheris took out his house-wife, eased the trouble with a needle, stabbed Mulvaney in the calf with the same weapon, and was swiftly kicked into the fire. "I've bruk the best av my toes over you, ye grinnin' child av disruption," said Mulvaney, sitting cross-legged and nursing his feet; then seeing me, "Oh, ut's you, sorr! Be welkim, an' take that maraudin' scutt's place. Jock, hold him down on the cindhers for a bit." But Ortheris escaped and went elsewhere, as I took pos- session of the hollow he had scraped for himself and lined with his greatcoat. Learoyd on the other side of the fire grinned affably and in a minute fell fast asleep. "There's the height av politeness for you," said Mul- vaney, lighting his pipe with a flaming branch. "But Jock's eaten half a box av your sardines at wan gulp, an' I think the tin too. What's the best wid you, sorr, an' how did you happen to be on the losin' side this day whin we captured you? " "The Army of the South is winning all along the line," I said. "Then that line's the hangman's rope, savin' your pres- ence. You'll learn to-morrow how we rethreated to dhraw thim on before we made thim trouble, an' that's what a woman does. By the same tokin, we'll be attacked before the dawnin' an' ut would be betther not to slip your boots. How do I know that? By the light av pure reason. Here are three companies av us ever so far inside av the enemy's flank an' a crowd av roarin', tarin', squealin' cavalry gone on just to turn out the whole hornet's nest av them. Av course the enemy will pursue, by brigades like as not, an' thin we'll have to run for ut. Mark my words. I am av the opinion av Polonius whin he said, 'Don't fight wid ivry scutt for the pure joy av fightin', but if you do, knock the nose av him first an' frequint.' We ought to ha' gone on an' helped the Ghoorkhas." "But what do you know about Polonius?" I demanded. Thia was a new side of Mulvaney 's chaiacter. 118 STORIES FROM KIPLING "All that Shakespeare iver wrote an' a dale more that the gallery shouted," said the man of war, carefully lacing his boots, "Did I not tell you av Silver's theater in Dublin, whin I was younger than I am now an' a patron av the drama? Ould Silver wud never pay actor-man or woman their just dues, an' by consequince his comp'nies was collap- sible at the last minute. Thin the bhoys wud clamor to take a part, an' oft as not ould Silver made them pay for the fun. Faith, I've seen Hamlut played wid a new black eye an' the queen as full as a cornucopia. I remimber wanst Hogin that 'listed in the Black Tyrone an' was shot in South Africa, he sejuced ould Silver into givin' him Hamlut's part instid av me that had a fine fancy for rhetoric in those days. Av course I wint into the gallery an' began to fill the pit wid other people's hats, an' I passed the time av day to Hogin walkin' through Denmark like a hamstrung mule wid a pall on his back. 'Hamlut,' sez I, 'there's a hole in your heel. Pull up your shtockin's, Hamlut,' sez I. 'Hamlut, Hamlut, for the love av decincy dhrop that skull an' pull up your shtockin's.' The whole house begim to tell him that. He stopped his soliloquishms mid-between. 'My shtockin's may be comin' down or they may not,' sez he, screwin' his eye into the gallery, for well he knew who I was. 'But afther this performince is over me an' the Ghost '11 trample the tripes out av you, Terence, wid your ass's bray!' An' that's how I come to know about Hamlut. Eyah! Those days, those days! Did you iver have onendin' devil- mint an' nothin' to pay for it in your life, sorr?" "Never, without having to pay," I said. "That's thrue! 'Tis mane whin you considher on ut; but ut's the same wid horse or fut. A headache if you dhrink, an' a belly-ache if you eat too much, an' a heart- ache to kape all down. Faith, the beast only gets the colic, an' he's the lucky man." He dropped his head and stared into the fire, fingering his moustache the while. From the far side of the bivouac the voice of Corbet-Nolan, senior subaltern of B companyi THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 119 uplifted itself in an ancient and much appreciated song of sentiment, the men moaning melodiously behind him. The north wind blew coldly, she drooped from that hour. My own little Kathleen, my sweet little Kathleen, Kathleen, my Kathleen, Kathleen O'Moore! With forty-five O's in the last word: even at that distance you might have cut the soft South Irish accent with a shovel. "For all we take we must pay, but the price is cruel high," murmured Mulvaney when the chorus had ceased. "What's the trouble?" I said gently, for I knew that he was a man of an inextinguishable sorrow. "Hear now," said' he. "Ye know what I am now. I know what I mint to be at the begiimin' av my service. I've tould you time an' again, an' what I have not Dinah Shadd has. An' what am I ? Oh, Mary, Mother av Hiven, an ould dhrunken, untrustable baste av a privit that has seen the reg'ment change out from colonel to drummer-boy, not wanst or twice, but scores av times! Ay, scores! An' me not so near gettin' promotion as in the first! An' me livin' on an' kapin' clear av clink, not by my own good con- duck, but the kindness av some orf 'cer-bhoy yoimg enough to be son to me ! Do I not know ut? Can I not tell whin I'm passed over at p'rade, tho' I'm rockin full av liquor an' ready to fall all in wan piece, such as even a suckin' child might see, bekaze, 'Oh, 'tis only ould Mulvaney!' An' whin I'm let off in ord'ly-room through some thrick of the tongue an' a ready answer an' the ould man's mercy, is ut smilin' I feel whin I fall away an' go back to Dinah Shadd, thryin' to carry ut all off as a joke? Not I ! 'Tis hell to me, dumb hell through ut all; an' next time whin the fit comes I will be as bad again. Good cause the reg'ment has to know me for the best soldier in ut. Better cause have I to know mesilf for the worst man. I'm only fit to tache the new drafts what I'll niver learn mesilf; an' I am sure, as tho' I heard ut, that the minut wan av these pink-eyed recruities gets away from my ^.' Mind ye now,' an' 'Listen to this, Jim, bhoy,' — %.\ 1 v 120 STORIES FROM KIPLING sure I am that the sergmt houlds me up to him for a wamin'. So I tache, as they say at musketry-instruction, by direct and ricochet fire. Lord be good to me, for I have stud somethrouble!" "Lie down and go to sleep," said I, not being able to com- fort or advise. "You're the best man in the regiment, and, next to Ortheris, the biggest fool. Lie down and wait till we're attacked. What force will they turn out? Guns, think you?" "Try that wid your lorrds an' ladies, twistin' an' tumin' the talk, tho' you mint ut well. Ye cud say nothin' to help me, an' yet ye niver knew what cause I had to be what I am. "Begin at the beginning and go on to the end," I said royally. "But rake up the fire a bit first." I passed Ortheris's bayonet for a poker. "That shows how little we know what we do," said Mul- vaney, putting it aside. "Fire takes all the heart out av the steel, an' the next time, may be, that our little man is fighting for his life his bradawl 'U break, an' so you'll ha' killed him, manin' no more than to kape yourself warm. 'Tis a recruity's thrick that. Pass the clanin'-rod, sorr." I snuggled down abased; and after an interval the voice of Mulvaney began. "Did I iver tell you how Dinah Shadd came to be wife av mine?" I dissembled a burning anxiety that I had felt for some months — ever since Dinah Shadd, the strong, the patient, and the infinitely tender, had of her own good love and free will washed a shirt for me, moving in a barren land where washing was not. "I can't remember," I said casually. "Was It before or after you made love to Annie Bragin, and got no satis- faction?" The story of Annie Bragin is written in another place. It is one of the many less respectable episodes in Mulvaney'a checkered career. THE COmiTING OF DINAH SHADD 121 "Before — ^before — ^long before, was that business av Annie Bragin an' the corp'ril's ghost. Niver woman was the worse for me whin I had married Dinah. There's a time for all things, an' I know how to kape all things in place — ^barrin' the dhrink, that kapes me in my place wid no hope av comin' to be aught else." "Begin at the beginning," I insisted. "Mrs. Mulvaney told me that you married her when you were quartered in Krab Bokhar barracks." "An' the same is a cess-pit," said Mulvaney piously. "She spoke thrue, did Dinah. 'Twas this way. Talkin' av that, have ye iver fallen in love, sorr.? " I preserved the silence of the damned. Mulvaney con^ tinned — "Thin I will assume that ye have not. I did. In the days av my youth, as I have more than wanst tould you, I was a man that filled the eye an' delighted the sowl av women. Niver man was hated as I have bin. Niver man was loved as I — ^no, not within half a day's march av ut! For the first five years av my service, whin I was what I wud give my sowl to be now, I tuk whatever was within my reach an' digested ut — an that's more than most men can say. Dhrink I tuk, an' ut did me no harm. By the Hollow av Hiven, I cud play wid four women at wanst, an' kape them from findin' out anythin' about the other three, an' smile like a full-blown marigold through ut all. Dick Coul- han, av the battery we'll have down on us to-night, could drive his team no betther than I mine, an' I hild the worser cattle! An' so I lived, an' so I was happy till afther that business wid Annie Bragin — she that turned me off as cool as a meat-safe, an' taught me where I stud in the mind av an honest woman. 'Twas no sweet dose to swallow. "Afther that I sickened awhile an' tuk thought to my reg'- mental work; conceiting mesilf I wud study an' be a sergint, an' a major-gineral twinty minutes afther that. But on top av my ambitiousness there was an empty place in my sowl, an' me own opinion av mesilf cud not fill ut. Sez I 122 STORIES FROM KIPLING to mesilf, 'Terence, you're a great man an' the best set-up in the reg'mint. Go on an' get promotion.' Sez mesilf to me, 'What for?' Sez I to mesilf, 'For the glory av ut!' Sez mesilf to me, 'Will that fill these two strong arnuns av yours, Terence?' 'Go to the devil,' sez I to mesilf. 'Go to the married lines,' sez mesilf to me. ' 'Tis the same thing,' sez I to mesilf. 'Av you're the same man, ut is,' said mesilf to me; an' wid that I considhered on ut a long while. Did you iver feel that way, sorr?" I snored gently, knowing that if Mulvaney were uninter- rupted he would go on. The clamor from the bivouac fires beat up to the stars, as the rival singers of the companies were pitted against each other. "So I felt that way an' a bad time ut was. Wanst, bein' a fool, I wint into the married lines more for the sake av spakin' to our ould color-sergint Shadd than for any thruck wid women-folk. I was a corp'ril then — rejuced afther- wards, but a corp'ril then. I've got a photograft av mesilf to prove ut. 'You'll take a cup av tay wid us?* sez Shadd *I will that,' I sez, 'tho' tay is not my divarsion.' " "Twud be better for you if ut were,' sez ould Mother Shadd, an' she had ought to know, for Shadd, in the ind av his service, dhrank bung-full each night. "Wid that I tuk oflF my gloves — there was pipe-clay in thim, so that they stud alone — ^an' pulled up my chair, lookin' round at the china ornaments an' bits av things in the Shadds' quarters. They were things that belonged to a man, an' no camp-kit, here to-day an' dishipated next. 'You're comfortable in this place, sergint,' sez I. "Tis the wife that did ut, boy,' sez he, pointin' the stem av his pipe to ould Mother Shadd, an' she smacked the top av his bald head apon the compliment. 'That manes you want money,' sez she. "An' thin— an' thin whin the kettle was to be filled, Dinah came in — my Dinah — ^her sleeves rowled up to the elbow an' her hair in a winkin' glory over her forehead, the big blue eyes beneath twinklin' Uke stars on a frosty night. THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 123 an' the tread av her two feet lighter than waste-paper from the colonel's basket in ord'ly-room whin ut's emptied. Bein' but a shlip av a girl she went pink at seein' me, an' I twisted me moustache an' looked at a picture forninst the wall. Niver show a woman that ye care the snap av a finger for her, an' begad she'll come bleatin' to your boot-heels!" "I suppose that's why you followed Annie Bragin till everybody in the married quarters laughed at you," said I, remembering that unhallowed wooing and casting oflF the disguise of drowsiness. "I'm layin' down the gin'ral theory av the attack," said Mulvaney, driving his boot into the dying fire. "If you read the Soldier's Pocket Book, which niver any soldier reads, you'll see that there are exceptions. Whin Dinah was out av the door (an' 'twas as tho' the simlight had shut too) — 'Mother av Hiven, sergint,' sez I, 'but is that your daugh- ter?' — 'I've believed that way these eighteen years,' sez ould Shadd, his eyes twinklin'; 'but Mrs. Shadd has her own opinion, like iv'ry woman.' — ' 'Tis wid yours this time, for a mericle,' sez Mother Shadd. 'Thin why in the name av fortune did I niver see her before?' sez I. 'Bekaze you've been thrapesin' round wid the married women these three years past. She was a bit av a child till last year, an' she shot up wid the spring,' sez ould Mother Shadd. 'I'll thrapese no more,' sez I. 'D'you mane that?' sez ould Mother Shadd, lookin' at me side-ways like a hen looks at a hawk whin the chickens are runnin' free. 'Try me, an' tell,' sez I. Wid that I pulled on my gloves, dhrank off the tay an' went out av the house as stiff as at gin'ral p'rade, for well I knew that Dinah Shadd's eyes were in the small av my back out av the scullery window. Faith! that was the only time I mourned I was not a cav'lry-man for the pride av the spurs to jingle. "I wiht out to think, an' I did a powerful lot av thinkin', but ut all came round to that shlip av a girl in the dotted blue dhress, wid the blue eyes an' the sparkil in them. Thin I kept off canteen, an' I kept to the married quarthers, or 124 STORIES FROM KIPLING near by, on the chanst av meetin' Dinah. Did I meet her? Oh, my time past, did I not; wid a Imnp in my throat as big as my valise an' my heart goin' like a farrier's forge on a Saturday morning? 'Twas 'Good day to ye, Miss Din- ah,' an' 'Good day t'you, corp'ril,' for a week or two, and divil a bit further could I get bekaze av the respect I had to that girl that I cud ha' broken betune finger an' thumb." Here I giggled as I recalled the gigantic figure of Dinah Shadd when she handed me my shirt. "Ye may laugh," grunted Mulvaney. "But I'm speakin' the trut', an' 'tis you that are in fault. Dinah was a girl that wud ha' taken the imperiousness out av the Duchess av Clonmel in those days. Flower hand, foot av shod air, an' the eyes av the livin' mornin' she had that is my wife to-day — ould Dinah, and niver aught else than Dinah Shadd to me. "'Twas after three weeks standin' ofif an' on, an' niver makin' headway excipt through the eyes, that a little drum- mer-boy grinned in me face whin I had admonished him wid the buckle av my belt for riotin' all over the place. 'An' I'm not the only wan that doesn't kape to barricks,' sez he. I tuk him by the scruff av his neck, — ^my heart was hung on a hair-thrigger those days, you will onderstand — an' 'Out wid ut,' sez I, 'or I'll lave no bone av you unbreakable.' — 'Speak to Dempsey,' sez he howlin'. 'Dempsey which?' sez I, 'ye unwashed limb av Satan.' — 'Av the Bob-tailed Dhragoons,' sez he. 'He's seen her home from her aunt's house in the civil lines four times this fortnight.' — 'Child!" sez I, dhroppin' him, 'your tongue's stronger than your body. Go to your quarters. I'm sorry I dhressed you down.' "At that I went four ways to wanst huntin' Dempsey. I was mad to think that wid all my airs among women I shud ha' been chated by a basin-faced fool av a cav'lry-man not fit to trust on a trunk. Presintly I found him in our lines — ^the Bobtails was quartered next us — an' a tallowy, topheavy son av a she-mule he was wid his big brass spurs an' his plastrons on his epigastrons an' all. But he niver flinched a hair. THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 125 '"A word wid you, Dempsey,' sez I. 'You've walked wid Dinah Shadd four times this fortnight gone.' "'What's that to you?' sez he. 'I'll walk forty times more, an' forty on top av that, ye shovel-futted clod-breakin' infantry lance-corp'ril.' "Before I cud gyard he had his gloved fist home on my cheek an' down I went full-sprawl. 'Will that content you?' sez he, blowin' on his knuckles for all the world like a Scots Greys orf'cer. 'Content!' sez I. 'For your own sake, man, take off your spurs, peel your jackut, an' onglove. 'TIS the beginnin' av the overture; stand up!' "He stud all he know, but he niver peeled his 'jackut, an' his shoulders had no fair play. I was fightin' for Dinah Shadd an' that cut on my cheek. What hope had he for- ninst me? 'Stand up,' sez I, time an' again whin he was beginnin' to quarter the ground and gyard high an' go large. 'This isn't ridin'-school,' I sez. 'O man, stand up an' let me get in at ye.' But whin I saw he wud be runnin' about, I grup his shtock in my left an' his waist-belt in my right an' swimg him clear to my right front, head undher, he hammer- in' my nose till the wind was knocked out av him on the bare groimd. 'Stand up,' sez I, 'or I'll kick your head into your chest ! ' and I wud ha' done ut too, so ragin' mad I was. "'My collar-bone's bruk,' sez he. 'Help me back to. lines. I'll walk wid her no more.' So I helped him back." "And was his collar-bone broken?" I asked, for I fancied that only Learoyd could neatly accomplish that terrible throw. "He pitched on his left shoulder-point. Ut was. Next day the news was in both barricks, an' whin I met Dinah Shadd wid a cheek on me like all the reg'mintal tailor's samples there was no 'Good mornin', corp'ril,' or aught else. 'An' what have I done. Miss Shadd,' sez I, very bould, plantin' mesilf forninst her, 'that ye should not pass the time of day?' "'Ye've half -killed rough-rider Dempsey,' sez she, ha dear blue eyes fillin' up. 126 STORIES FROM KIPLING "'May be,' sez I. 'Was he a friend av yours that saw ye home four times in the fortnight? ' " 'Yes,' sez she, but her mouth was down at the corners. 'An' — an' what's that to you?' she sez. " 'Ask Dempsey,' sez I, purtendin' to go away. "'Did you fight for me then, ye silly man?' she sez, tho' she knew ut all along. "'Who else?' sez I, an' I tuk wan pace to the front. " 'I wasn't worth ut,' sez she, fingerin' in her apron. " 'That's for me to say,' sez I. 'Shall I say ut?' " 'Yes,' sez she in a saint's whisper, an' at that I explained mesilf ; and she tould me what ivry man that is a man, an' many that is a woman, hears wanst in his life. "'But what made ye cry at startin', Dinah, darlin'?' sez I. "'Your — ^your bloody cheek,' sez she, duckin' her Uttle head down on my sash (I was on duty for the day) an' whimp- erin' like a sorrowful angil. "Now a man cud take that two ways. I tuk ut as pleased me best an' my first kiss wid ut. Mother av Innocence! but I kissed her on the tip av the nose an' undher the eye; an' a girl that lets a kiss come tumbleways like that has never been kissed before. Take note av that, sorr. Thin we wint hand in hand to ould Mother Shadd like two little childher, an' she said 'twas no bad thing, an' ould Shadd nodded be- hind his pipe, an' Diaah ran away to her own room. That day I throd on roUin' clouds. All earth was too small to hould me. Begad, I cud ha' hiked the sun out av the sky for a live coal to my pipe, so magnificent I was. But I tuk tecruities at squad-drUl instid, an' began wid general bat- talion advance whin I shud ha' been balance-steppin' them. Eyah! that day! that day!" A very long pause. "Well? " said I. "'Twas all wrong," said Mulvaney, with an enormous sigh. 'An' I know that ev'ry bit av ut was my own fool- ishness. That night I tuk maybe the half av three pints — not enough to turn the hair of a man in his natural senses. THE COURTING OP DINAH SHADD 127 But I was more than half drunk wid pure joy, an' that can- teen beer was so much whisky to me. I can't tell how it came about, but hehaze I had no thought for any wan except Dinah, hehaze I hadn't slipped her little white arms from my neck five minutes, hekaze the breath of her kiss was not gone from my mouth, I must go through the married lines on my way to quarters an' I must stay talkin' to a red-headed Mullingar heifer av a girl, Judy Sheehy, that was daughter to Mother Sheehy, the wife of Nick Sheehy, the canteen- sergint — the Black Curse av Shielygh be on the whole brood that are above groim' this day! " 'An' what are ye houldin' your head that high for, corp- 'ril?' sez Judy. 'Come in an' thry a cup av tay,' she sez, standin' in the doorway. Bein' an ontrustable fool, an' thinkin' av anything but tay, I wint. "'Mother's at canteen,' sez Judy, smoothin' the hair av hers that was like red snakes, an' lookin' at me cor- nerways out av her green cats' eyes. 'Ye will not mind, corp'ril?' "'I can endure,' sez I; ould Mother Sheehy bein' no divar- sion av mine, nor her daughter too. Judy fetched the tea things an' put thim on the table, leanin' over me very close to get thim square. I dhrew back, thinkin' av Dinah. "'Is ut afraid you are av a girl alone?' sez Judy. "'No,' sez I. 'Why should I be?' "'That rests wid the girl,' sez Judy, dhrawin' her chair next to mine. "'Thin there let ut rest,' sez I; an' thinkin' I'd been a trifle onpolite, I sez, 'The tay's not quite sweet enough for my taste. Put your little finger in the cup, Judy. 'Twill make ut necthar.' "'What's necthar?' sez she. "'Somethin' very sweet,' sez I; an' for the sinful life av me I cud not help lookin' at her out av the comer av my eye, as I was used to look at a woman. " 'Go on wid ye, corp'ril,' sez she. 'You're a flirt.' " 'On me sowl I'm not,' sez I. 128 STORIES FROM KIPLING "'Then you're a cruel handsome man, an' that's worses sez she, heaving big sighs an' lookin' crossways. "'You know your own mind,' sez I. ""Twud be better for me if I did not,' she sez/ "'There's a dale to be said on both sides av that,' sez I, unthinkin'. " 'Say your own part av ut, then, Terence, darlin',' sez she, 'for begad I'm thinkin' I've said too much or too little for an honest girl,' an' wid that she put her arms round my neck an' kissed me. "'There's no more to be said afther that,' sez I, kissin' her back again — Oh the mane scutt that I was, my head ringin' wid Dinah Shadd! How does ut come about, sorr, that when a man has put the comether on wan woman, he's sure bound to put it on another? 'Tis the same thing at musketry. Wan day ivry shot goes wide or into the bank, an' the next, lay high lay low, sight or snap, ye can't get off the bull's-eye for ten shots nmnin'." "That only happens to a man who has had a good deal of «3tperience. He does it without thinking," I replied. "Thankin' you for the complimint, sorr, ut may be so. But I'm doubtful whether you mint ut for a complimint. Hear now; I sat there wid Judy on my knee tellin' me all manner av nonsLnse an' only sayin' 'yes' an' 'no,' when I'd much better ha' kept tongue betune teeth. An' that was not an hour afther I had left Dinah! What I was thinJdn' av I cannot say. Presintly, quiet as a cat, ould Mother Sheehy came in velvet-dhrunk. She had her daughter's red hair, but 'twas bald in patches, an' I cud see in her wicked ould face, clear as lightnin', what Judy wud be twenty years to come. I was for jumpin' up, but Judy niver moved. "'Terence has promust, mother,' sez she, an' the could sweat bruk out all over me. Ould Mother Sheehy sat down of a heap an' began playin' wid the cups. 'Thin you're a well-matched pair,' she sez very thick. 'For he's the biggest rogue that iver spoiled the queen's shoe-leather' an' THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 1£9 "'I'm off, Judy,' sez I. *Ye should not talk nonsinse to your mother. Get her to bed, girl,' "'Nonsinse!' sez the ould woman, prickin' up her ears like a cat an' grippin' the table-edge. "Twill be the most nonsinsical nonsinse for you, ye grixmin' badger, if nonsinse 'tis. Git clear, you. I'm goin' to bed.' "I ran out into the dhark, my head in a stew an' my heart sick, but I had sinse enough to see that I'd brought ut all on mysilf. 'It's this to pass the time av day to a panjand- hrum av hell-cats,' sez I. 'What I've said, an' what I've not said do not matther. Judy an' her dam wiU hould me for a promust man, an' Dinah will give me the go, an' I desarve ut. I will go an' get dhrunk,' sez I, 'an' forget about ut, for 'tis plain I'm not a marryin' man.' "On my way to canteen I ran against Lascelles, color- sergint that was av E Comp'ny, a hard, hard man, wid a tor- ment av a wife. 'You've the head av a drowned man on your shoulders,' sez he; 'an' you're goin' where you'll get a worse wan. Come back,' sez he. 'Let me go,' sez I. 'I've thrown my luck over the wall wid my own hand!' — 'Then that's not the way to get ut back again,' sez he. Bave out wid your throuble, ye fool-bhoy.' An' I tould him how the matther was. "He sucked in his lower lip. 'You've been thrapped,' sez he. ' Ju Sheehy wud be the betther for a man's name to hers as soon as can. An' ye thought ye'd put the comether on her, — ^that's the natural vanity of the baste. Terence, you're a big born fool, but you're not bad enough to marry into that comp'ny. If you said anythin', an' for all your protestations I'm sure ye did — or did not, which is worse, — eat ut all — ^lie like the father of all lies, but come out av ut free av Judy. Do I not know what ut is to marry a woman that was the very spit an' image av Judy whin she was yoimg? I'm gettin' old an' I've larnt patience, but you, Terence, you'd raise hand on Judy an' kill her in a year. Nevermind if Dinah gives you the go, you've desarved ut; never mind if the whole reg'mint laughs you all day. Get 130 STORIES FROM KIPLING shut av Judy an' her mother. They can't dhrag you to church, but if they do, they'll dhrag you to hell. Go back to your quarters and lie down,' sez he. Thin over his shoulder,' You must ha' done with thim.' "Next day I wint to see Dinah, but there was no tucker in me as I walked. I knew the throuble wud come soon enough widout any handlin' av mine, an' I dreaded ut sore. "I heard Judy callin' me, but I hild straight on to the Shadds' quarthers, an' Dinah wud ha' kissed me but I put her back. " 'Whin all's said, darlin',' sez I, 'you can give ut me if ye will, tho' I misdoubt 'twill be so easy to come by then.' "I had scarce begun to put the explanation into shape before Judy an' her mother came to the door. I think there was a veranda, but I'm forgettin'. "'Will ye not step in?' sez Dinah, pretty and polite, though the Shadds had no dealin's with the Sheehys. Ould Mother Shadd looked up quick, an' she was the fust to see the throuble; for Dinah was her daughter. "'I'm pressed for time to-day,' sez Judy as bould as brass; 'an' I've only come for Terence, — ^my promust man. 'Tis strange to find him here the day afther the day.' "Dinah looked at me as though I had hit her, an' I an- swered straight. "'There was some nonsinse last. night at the Sheehys* quarthers, an' Judy's carryin' on the joke, darlin',' sez I. '"At the Sheehys' quarthers.?' sez Dinah very slow, an' Judy cut in wid: 'He was there from nine till ten, Dinah Shadd, an' the betther half av that time I was sittin' on his knee, Dinah Shadd. Ye may look and ye may look an' ye may look me up an' down, but ye won't look away that Terence is my promust man. Terence, darlin', 'tis time for us to be comin' home.* "Dinah Shadd niver said word to Judy. 'Ye left me at half-past eight,' she sez to me, 'an' I niver thought that ye'd leave me for Judy, — ^promises or no promises. Go back wid her, you that have to be fetched by a girl! I'm done with THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 131 you,' sez she and she ran into her own room, her mother foUowin'. So I was alone wid those two women and at liberty to spake my sentiments. " 'Judy Sheehy,' sez I, 'if you made a fool av me betime the lights you shall not do ut in the day. I niver promised you words or lines.' "'You lie,' sez ould Mother Sheehy, 'an' may ut choke you where you stand ! ' She was far gone in dhrink. "'An' tho' ut choked me where I stud I'd not change,' sez I. 'Go home, Judy. I take shame for a decent girl like you dhraggin' your mother out bare-headed on this errand. Hear now, and have ut for an answer. I gave my word to Dinah Shadd yesterday, an' more blame to me, I was wid you last night talkin' nonsinse but nothin' more. You've chosen to thry to hould me on ut. I will not be held thereby for any thin' in the world. Is that enough?' "Judy wint pink all over. 'An' I wish you joy av the per- jury,' sez she, duckin' a ciu^sey. 'You've lost a woman that would ha' wore her hand to the bone for your pleasure; an' 'deed, Terence, ye were not thrapped. . . .'Lascelles must ha' spoken plain to her. 'I am such as Dinah is — 'deed I am! Ye've lost a fool av a girl that'll niver look at you again, an' ye've lost what ye niver had, — ^your common honesty. If you manage your men as you manage your love-makin', small wondher they call you the worst corp'ril in the comp'ny. Come away, mother,' sez she. "But divil a fut would the ould woman budge! 'D'you hould by that.?' sez she, peerin' up under her thick gray eyebrows. "'Ay, an' wud,' sez I, 'tho' Dinah give me the go twinty times. I'll have no thruck with you or yours,' sez I. 'Take your child away, ye shameless woman.' "'An' am I shameless?' sez she, bringin' her hands up above her head. 'Thin what are you, ye lyin', schamin', weak-kneed, dhirty-souled son av a sutler? Am / shameless? Who put the open shame on me an' my child that we shud go beggin' through the lines in the broad daylight for the 132 STORIES FROM KIPLING broken word of a man? Double portion of my shame be on you, Terence Mulvaney, that think yourself so strong! By Mary and the saints, by blood and water an' by ivry sorrow that came into the world since the begiimin', the black blight fall on you and yours, so that you may niver be free from pain for another when ut's not your own! May your heart bleed in your breast drop by drop wid all your friends laughin' at the bleedin' ! Strong you think yourself? May your strength be a curse to you to dhrive you into the divil's hands against your own will! Clear-eyed you are? May your eyes see clear ivry step av the dark path you take till the hot cindhers av hell put thim out! May the ragin* dry thirst in my own ould bones go to you that you shall niver pass bottle full nor glass empty. God preserve the light av your onderstandin' to you, my jewel av a bhoy, that ye may niver forget what you mint to be an' do, whin you're wallowin' in the muck! May ye see the betther and follow the worse as long as there's breath in your body; an' may ye die quick in a strange land, watchin' your death before ut takes you, an' onable to stir hand or foot!' "I heard a scufBin' in the room behind, and thin Dinah Shadd's hand dhropped into mine like a roseleaf into a muddy road. " 'The half av that I'll take,' sez she, 'an' more too if I can. Go home, ye silly talkin' woman, — ^go home an* confess." " 'Come away ! Come away ! ' sez Judy, pullin' her mother by the shawl. "Twas none av Terence's fault. For the love av Mary stop the talkin' ! ' "'An' you!' said ould Mother Sheehy, spinnin' round fornin^t Dinah. 'Will ye take the half av that man's load? Stand off from him, Dinah Shadd, before he takes you down too — ^you that look to be a quarther-master-sergeant's wife in five years. You look too high, child. You shall wash for the quarther-master-sergeant, whin he pleases to give you the job out av charity; but a privit's wife you shaU be to the end, an' ivry sorrow of a privit's wife you shall know and niver a joy but wan, that shall go from you like the run- THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 13$ ning tide from a rock. The pain av bearin' you shall know but niver the pleasure av giving the breast; an' you shall put away a man-child into the common ground wid niver a priest to say a prayer over him, an' on that man-child ye shall think ivry day av your life. Think long, Dinah Shadd, for you'll niver have another tho' you pray till your knees are bleedin'. The mothers av childher shall mock you be- hind your back when you're wringing over the washtub. You shall know what ut is to help a dhrunken husband home an' see him go to the gyard-room. Will that plase you, Dinah Shadd, that won't be seen taUdn' to my daughter? You shall talk to worse than Judy before all's over. The sergints' wives shall look down on you contemptuous, daughter av a sergint, an' you shall cover ut all up wid a smiling face when your heart's burstin'. Stand oflF av him, Dinah Shadd, for I've put the Black Curse of Shielygh upon him an' his own mouth shall make ut good.' "She pitched forward on her head an' began foamin' at the mouth. Dinah Shadd ran out wid water, an' Judy dhragged the ould woman into the veranda till she sat up. "'I'm old an,forlore,' she sez, thremblin' an' cryin', 'and 'tis like I say a dale more than I mane.' "'When you're able to walk, — ^go,' says ould Mother Shadd. 'This house has no place for the likes av you that have cursed my daughter.' '"Eyah!" said the ould woman. 'Hard words break no bones, an' Dinah Shadd '11 kape the love av her husband till my bones are green corn. Judy darlin', I misremember what I came here for. Can you lend us the bottom av a taycup av tay, Mrs. Shadd?' "But Judy dhragged her off cryin' as tho' her heart wud break. An' Dinah Shadd an' I, in ten minutes we had V)rgot ut all." "Then why do you remember it now?" said I. "Is ut like I'd forget? Ivry word that wicked ould woman spoke fell thrue in my life aftherwards, an' I cud ha' stud ut all — stud ut all — except when my little Shadd was bom. 134 STORIES FROM KIPLING That was on the line av march three months afther the re^. ment was taken with cholera. We were betune Umballa an' Kalka thin, an' I was on picket. Whin I came oflP duty the women showed me the child, an' ut turned on uts side an' died as I looked. We buried him by the road, an' Father Victor was a day's march behind wid the heavy baggage, so the comp'ny captain read a prayer. An' since then I've been a childless man, an' all else that ould Mother Sheehy put upon me an' Dinah Shadd. What do you think, sorr?" I thought a good deal, but it seemed better then to reach out for Mulvaney's hand. The demonstration nearly cost me the use of three fingers. Whatever he knows of his weaknesses, Mulvaney is entirely ignorant of his strength. "But what do you think? " he repeated, as I was straighten- ing out the crushed fingers. My reply was drowned in yells and outcries from the next fire, where ten men were shouting for "Orth'ris," "Privit Orth'ris," "Mistah Oi^thei— ris!" "Deah bov," "Cap'n Orth'ris," "Field-Marshal Orth'ris," "Stanley, you pen 'north o' pop, come 'ere to your own comp'ny!" And the cockney, who had been delighting another audience with recondite and Rabelaisian yams, was shot down among his admirers by the major force. "You've crumpled my dress-shirt 'orrid," said he, "an' I shan't sing no more to this 'ere bloomin' drawin'-room." Learoyd, roused by the confusion, uncoiled himself, crept behind Ortheris, and slung him aloft on his shoulders. "Sing, ye bloomin' hummin' bird!" said he, and Ortheris, beating time on Learoyd's skull, delivered himself, in the raucous voice of the Ratcliffe Highway, of this song: — • My gjrl she give me the go onst. When I was a London lad. An' I went on the drink for a fortnight. An' then I went to the bad. The Queen she give me a shillin' To fight for 'er over the seas; But Guv'ment built me a fever-trap^ An' Injia give me disease. THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 135 Chorus Ho! don't you 'eed what a girl says. An' don't you go for the beer; But I was an ass when I was at grass. An' that is why I'm 'ere. I fired a shot at a Afghan, The beggar 'e fired again. An' I lay on my bed with a 'ole in my 'ed; An' missed the next campaign! I up with my gun at a Burman Who carried a bloomin' dah. But the cartridge stuck and the bay'nit bruk. An' all I got was the scar. Chorus Ho! don't you aim at a Afghan When you stand on the sky-line dear; An' don't you go for a Burman If none o' your friends is near. I served my time for a corp'ral. An' wetted my stripes with pop. For I went on the bend with a intimate friend An' finished the night in the "shop." I served my time for a sergeant; The colonel 'e sez "No! The most you'll see is a full C. B."» An' . . . very next night 'twas so. Chorus Ho! don't you go for a corp'ral Unless your 'ed is dear; But I was an ass when I was at grass. An' that is why I'm 'ere. I've tasted the luck o' the army In barrack an' camp an' dink. An' I lost my tip through the bloomin' trip Along o' the women an' drink. I'm down at the heel o' my service An' when I am laid on the shelf. My very wust friend from beginning to end By the blood of a mouse was myself! 'Confined to barracks. 136 STORIES FROM KIPLING Chorus Ho! don't you 'eed what a girl says. An' don't you go for the beer; But I was an ass when I was at grans. An' that is why I'm 'ere. "Ay, listen to our little man now, singin' an' shoutin' as the' trouble had niver touched him. D'you remember when he went mad with the home-sickness? " said Mulvaney, recalling a never-to-be-forgotten season when Ortheris waded through the deep waters of affliction and behaved abominably. " But he's talkin' bitter truth, though. Eyah ! "My very worst frind from beginnin' to ind By the blood av a mouse was mesilf !" When I woke I saw Mulvaney, the night-dew gemming his moustache, leaning on his rifle at picket, lonely as Prome- theus on his rock, with I know not what vultures tearing his liver. THE MAN WHO WAS (1890) The Earth gave up her dead that tide. Into our camp he came. And said his say, and went his way. And left our hearts aflame. Keep tally — on the gun-butt score The vengeance we must take. When Grod shall bring full reckoning. For our dead comrade's sake. Ballad. Let it be clearly understood that the Russian is a delightful person till he tucks in his shirt. As an Oriental he is charm- ing. It is only when he insists upon being treated as the most easterly of western peoples instead of the most westerly of easterns that he becomes a racial anomaly extremely dif- ficult to handle. The host never knows which side of his nature is going to turn up next. Dirkovitch was a Russian — ^a Russian of the Russians — ■ who appeared to get his bread by serving the Czar as an officer in a Cossack regiment, and corresponding for a Rus- sian newspaper with a name that was never twice alike. He was a handsome young Oriental, fond of wandering through unexplored portions of the earth, and he arrived in India from nowhere in particular. At least no living man could ascertain whether it was by way of Balkh, Badakshan, Chitral, Beluchistan, or Nepaul, or anywhere else. The Indian Government, being in an unusually affable mood, gave orders that he was to be civilly treated and shown everything that was to be seen. So he drifted, talking bad English and worse French, from one city to another, till he 138 STORIES FROM KIPLING foregathered with Her Majesty's White Hussars in the city of Peshawur, which stands at the mouth of that narrow swordcut in the hills that men call the Khyber Pass. He was undoubtedly an officer, and he was decorated after the manner of the Russians with little enameled crosses, and he could talk, and (though this has nothing to do with his merits) he had been given up as a hopeless task, or cask, by the Black Tyrone, who individually and collectively, with hot whisky and honey, mulled brandy, and mixed spirits of every kind, had striven in all hospitality to make him drunk. And when the Black Tyrone, who are exclusively Irish, fail to disturb the peace of head of a foreigner — ^that foreigner is certain to be a superior man. The White Hussars were as conscientious in choosing their wine as in charging the enemy. All that they possessed, in- cluding some wondrous brandy, was placed at the absolute disposition of Dirkovitch, and he enjoyed himself hugely — even more than among the Black Tyrones. But he remained distressingly European through it all. The White Hussars were "My dear true friends," "FeUow- soldiers glorious," and "Brothers inseparable." He would unburden himself by the hour on the glorious future that awaited the combined arms of England and Russia when their hearts and their territories should run side by side and the great mission of civilizing Asia should begin. That was imsatisfactory, because Asia is not going to be civilized after the methods of the West. There is too much Asia and she is too old. You cannot reform a lady of many lovers, and Asia has been insatiable in her flirtations aforetime. She will never attend Sunday-school or learn to vote save with swords for tickets. Dirkovitch knew this as well as any one else, but it suited him to talk special-correspondently and to make himself as genial as he could. Now and then he volunteered a little, a very little, information about his own sotnia of Cossacks, left apparently to look after themselves somewhere at the back of beyond. He had done rough work in Central Asia, THE MAN WHO WAS 139 and had seen rather more help-yourself fighting than most men of his years. But he was careful never to betray his superiority, and more than careful to praise on all occasions the appearance, drill, uniform, and organization of Her Majesty's White Hussars. And indeed they were a regi- ment to be admired. When Lady Durgan, widow of the late Sir John Durgan, arrived in their station, and after a short time had been proposed to by every single man at mess, she put the public sentiment very neatly when she explained that they were all so nice that unless she could marry them all, including the colonel and some majors already married, she was not going to content herself with one hussar. Where- fore she wedded a little man in a rifle regiment, being by nature contradictious; and the White Hussars were going to wear crape on their arms, but compromised by attending the wedding in fuU force, and lining the aisle with unutterable reproach. She had jilted them all — ^from Basset-Holmer the senior captain to little Mildred the junior subaltern, who could have given her four thousand a year and a title. The only persons who did not share the general regard for the White Hussars were a few thousand gentlemen of Jewish extraction who lived across the border, and answered to the name of Pathan. They had once met the regiment officially and for something less than twienty minutes, but the interview, which was complicated with many casualties, had fiUed them with prejudice. They even called the White Hussars children of the devil and sons of persons whom it would be perfectly impossible to meet in decent society. Yet they were not above making their aversion fill their money-belts. The regiment possessed carbines — ^beautiful Martini-Henri carbines that would lob a bullet into an enemy's camp at one thousand yards, and were even handier than the long rifle. Therefore they were coveted all along the border, and since demand inevitably breeds supply, they were supplied at the risk of life and limb for exactly their weight in coined silver — seven and one-half pounds weight of rupees, or sixteen pounds sterling reckoning the 140 STORIES FROM KIPLING rupee at par. They were stolen at night by snaky-haired thieves who crawled on their stomachs under the nose of the sentries; they disappeared mysteriously from locked arm-racks, and in the hot weather, when all the barrack doors and windows were open, they vanished like puffs of their own smoke. The border people desired them for family vendettas and contingencies. But in the long cold nights of the northern Indian winter they were stolen most extensively. The traffic of murder was liveliest among the hills at that season^ and prices ruled high. The regimental guards were first doubled and then trebled. A trooper does not much care if he loses a weapon — Government must make it good — but he deeply resents the loss of his sleep. The regiment grew very angry, and one rifle-thief bears the visible marks of their anger upon him to this hour. That incident stopped the burglaries for a time, and the guards were reduced accordingly, and the regiment devoted itself to polo with unexpected results; for it beat by two goals to one that veiy terrible polo corps the Lushkar Light Horse, though the latter had four ponies apiece for a short hour's fight, as well as a native officer who played like a lambent fiame across the ground. They gave a dinner to celebrate the event. The Lushkar team came, and Dirkovitch came, in the fullest full uniform of a Cossack officer, which is as full as a dressing-gown, and was introduced to the Lushkars, and opened his eyes as he regarded. They were lighter men than the Hussars, and they carried themselves with the swing that is the peculiar right of the Punjab Frontier Force and all Irregular Horse. Like everything else in the Service it has to be learnt, but, unlike many things, it is never forgotten, and remains on the body till death. The great beam-roofed mess-room of the White Hussars was a sight to be remembered. All the mess plate was out on the long table — the same table that had served up the bodies of five officers after a forgotten fight long and long ago — the dingy, battered standards faced the door of en- THE MAN WHO WAS 141 trance, clumps of winter-roses lay between the silver candle- sticks, and the portraits of eminent oflScers deceased looked down on their successors from between the heads of samb- hur, nilghai, markhor, and, pride of all the mess, two grinning snow-leopards that had cost Basset-Holmer four months' leave that he might have spent in England, instead of on the road to Thibet and the daily risk of his life by ledge, snow-slide, and grassy slope. The servants in spotless white muslin and the crest of their regiments on the brow of their turbans waited behind their masters, who were clad in the scarlet and gold of the White Hussars, and the cream and silver of the Lushkar Light Horse. Dirkovitch's dull green uniform was the only dark spot at the board, but his big onyx eyes made up for it. He was fraternizing eflFusively with the captain of the Lush- kar team, who was wondering how many of Dirkovitch's Cossacks his own dark wiry down-countrymen could account for in a fair charge. But one does not speak of these things openly. The talk rose higher and higher, and the regimental band played between the courses, as is the immemorial custom, till aU tongues ceased for a moment with the removal of the dinner-sUps and the first toast of obligation, when an officer rising said, "Mr. Vice, the Queen," and little Mildred from the bottom of the table answered, "The Queen, God bless her," and the big spurs clanked as the big men heaved them- selves up and drank the Queen -upon whose pay they were falsely supposed to settle their mess-bills. That Sacrament of the Mess never grows old, and never ceases to bring a lump into the throat of the listener wherever he be by sea or by land. Dirkovitch rose with his "brothers glorious," but he could not tmderstand. No one but an officer can tell what the toast means; and the bulk have more sentiment than comprehension. Immediately after the little silence that follows on the ceremony there entered the native officer who had played for the Lushkar team. He could not, of course, eat with the mess, but he came in at dessert, all six 142 STORIES FROM KIPLING feet of him, with the blue and silver turban atop, and the big black boots below. The mess rose joyously as he thrust forward the hilt of his sabre in token of fealty for the colonel of the White Hussars to touch, and dropped into a vacant chair amid shouts of : " Rung ho, Hira Singh ! " (which being translated means "Go in and wm"). "Did I whack you over the knee, old man?" "Ressaidar Sahib, what the devil made you play that kicking pig of a pony in the last ten minutes?" "Shabash, Ressaidar Sahib!" Then the voice of the colonel, "The health of Ressaidar Hira Singh!" After the shouting had died away Hira Singh rose to reply, for he was the cadet of a royal house, the son of a king's son, and knew what was due on these occasions. Thus he spoke in the vernacular: — "Colonel Sahib and oflBcers of this regi- ment. Much honor have you done me. This will I remem- ber. We came down from afar to play you. But we were beaten." ("No fault of yours, Ressaidar Sahib. Played on our own ground y'know. Your ponies were cramped from the railway. Don't apologize!") "Therefore per- haps we will come again if it be so ordained." ("Hear! Hear! Hear, indeed! Bravo! Hsh!") "Then we will play you afresh" ("Happy to meet you.") "till there are left no feet upon our ponies. Thus far for sport." He dropped one hand on his sword-hilt and his eye wandered to Dirko- vitch lolling back in his chair. "But if by the will of God there arises any other game which is not the polo game, then be assured. Colonel Sahib and officers, that we will play it out side by side, though they," again his eye sought Dirko- vitch, "though they I say have fifty ponies to our one horse." And with a deep-mouthed Rung ho 1 that sounded like a musket-butt on flagstones he sat down amid leaping glasses. Dirkovitch, who had devoted himself steadily to the brandy — ^the terrible brandy aforementioned — did not under- stand, nor did the expurgated translations offered to him at all convey the point. Decidedly Hira Singh's was the speech of the evening, and the clamor might have THE MAN WHO WAS 143 continued to the dawn had it not been broken by the noise of a shot without that sent every man feeling at his defenceless left side. Then there was a scuffle and a yell of pain. "Carbine-stealing again!" said the adjutant, calmly sinking back in his chair. "This comes of reducing the guards. I hope the sentries have killed him." The feet of armed men pounded on the veranda flags, and it was as though something was being dragged. "Why don't they put him in the cells till the morning?" said the colonel testily. "See if they've damaged him, sergeant." The mess sergeant fled out into the darkness and returned with two troopers and a corporal, all very much perplexed. "Caught a man stealin' carbines, sir," said the corporal. "Leastways 'e was crawlin' towards the barricks, sir, past the main road sentries, an' the sentry 'e sez, sir " The limp heap of rags upheld by the three men groaned. Never was seen so destitute and demoralized an Afghan. He was turbanless, shoeless, caked with dirt, and all but dead with rough handling. Hira Singh started slightly at the sound of the man's pain. Dirkovitch took another glass of brandy. "What does the sentry say?" said the colonel. "Sez 'e speaks English, sir," said the corporal. "So you brought him into mess instead of handing him over to the sergeant! If he spoke all the Tongues of the Pentecost you've no business " Again the bundle groaned and muttered. Little Mildred had risen from his place to inspect. He jumped back as though he had been shot. "Perhaps it would be better, sir, to send the men away," said he to the colonel, for he was a much privileged subaltern. He put his arms round the ragbound horror as he spoke, and dropped him into a chair. It may not have been explained that the littleness of Mildred lay in his being six feet four and big in proportion. The corporal seeing that an officer was 144 STORIES FROM KIPLING disposed to look after the capture, and that the colonel's eye was beginning to blaze, promptly removed himself and his men. The mess was left alone with the carbine-thief, who laid his head on the table and wept bitterly, hopelessly, and inconsolably, as little children weep. Hira Singh leapt to his feet. "Colonel Sahib," said he, "that man is no Afghan, for they weep Ail Ail Nor is he of Hindustan, for they weep Ohl Hoi He weeps after the fashion of the white men, who say Ow l Ow I" "Now where the dickens did you get that knowledge, Hira Singh?" said the captain of the Lushkar team. "Hear him!" said Hira Singh simply, pointing at the crumpled figure that wept as though it woidd never cease. "He said, 'My God!'" said little MUdred. "I heard him say it." The colonel and the mess-room looked at the man in silence. It is a horrible thing to hear a man cry. A woman can sob from the top of her palate, or her lips, or anywhere else, but > man must cry from his diaphragm, and it rends him to pieces. "Poor devil!" said the colonel, coughing tremendously. " We ought to send him to hospital. He's been manhandled." Now the adjutant loved his carbines. They were to him as his grandchildren, the men standing in the first place. He grunted rebelliously: "I can understand an Afghan stealing, because he's built that way. But I can't under- stand his crying. That makes it worse." The brandy must have aflfected Dirkovitch, for he lay back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. There was nothing special in the ceiling beyond a shadow as of a huge black coffin. Owing to some peculiarity in the construction of the mess-room this shadow was always thrown when the candles were lighted. It never disturbed the digestion of the White Hussars. They were in fact rather proud of it. "Is he going to cry all night?" said the colonel, "or are we supposed to sit up with little Mildred's guest until hj feels better? " The man in the chair threw up his head aiid stared at the THE MAN WHO WAS 145 mess. "Oh, my God!" he said, and every soul in the mess rose to his feet. Then the Lushkar captain did a deed for which he ought to have been given the Victoria Cross — dis- tinguished gallantry in a fight against overwhelming curiosity. He picked up his team with his eyes as the hostess picks up the ladies at the opportune moment, and pausing only by the colonel's chair to say, "This isn't our affair, you Imow, sir," led them into the veranda and the gardens. Hira Singh was the last to go, and he looked at Dirkovitch. But Dirkovitch had departed into a brandy-paradise of his own. His lips moved without sound and he was studying the coffin on the ceiling. "White — ^white all over," said Basset-Holmer, the ad- jutant. "What a pernicious renegade he must be! I wonder where he came from? " The colonel shook the man gently by the arm, and "Who are you?" said he. There was no answer. The man stared round the mess- room and smiled in the colonel's face. Little Mildred, who was always more of a woman than a man till "Boot and saddle" was soimded, repeated the question in a voice that would have drawn confidences from a geyser. The man only smiled. Dirkovitch at the far end of the table slid gently from his chair to the floor. No son of Adam in this present imperfect world can mix the Hussars' champagne with the Hussars' brandy by five and eight glasses of each without remembering the pit whence he was digged and descending thither. The band began to play the time with which the White Hussars from the date of their formation have con- cluded all their fimctions. They would sooner be disbanded than abandon that tune; it is a part of their system. The man straightened himself in his chair and drummed on the table with his fingers. "I don't see why we should entertain lunatics," said the colonel. "Call a guard and send him off to the cells. We'll look into the business in the morning. Give him a glass of wine first though." 146 STORIES FROM KIPLING Little Mildred filled a sherry-glass with the brandy and thrust it over to the man. He drank, and the tune rose louder, and he straightened himself yet more. Then he put out his long-taloned hands to a piece of plate opposite and fingered it lovingly. There was a mystery connected with that piece of plate, in the shape of a spring which con- verted what was a seven-branched candlestick, three springs on each side and one in the middle, into a sort of wheel- spoke candelabrum. He found the spring, pressed it, and laughed weakly. He rose from his chair and inspected a picture on the wall, then moved on to another picture, the mess watching him without a word. When he came to the mantelpiece he shook his head and seemed distressed. A piece of plate representing a mounted hussar in full uniform caught his eye. He pointed to it, and then to the man- telpiece with inquiry in his eyes. "What is it— Oh what is it?" said little Mildred. Then as a mother might speak to a child, "That is a horse. Yes, a horse." Very slowly came the answer in a thick, passionless gut- tural — "Yes, I — ^have seen. But — ^where is the horse?" You could have heard the hearts of the mess beating as the men drew back to give the stranger full room in his wanderings. There was no question of calling the guard. Again he spoke — very slowly, "Where is our horse?" There is but one horse in the White Hussars, and his por- trait hangs outside the door of the mess-room. He is the piebald drum-horse, the king of the regimental band, that served the regiment for seven-and-thirty years, and in the end was shot for old age. Half the mess tore the thing down from its place and thrust it into the man's hands. He placed it above the mantelpiece, it clattered on the ledge as his poor hands dropped it, and he staggered towards the bottom of the table, falling into Mildred's chair. Then all the men spoke to one another something after this fashion, "The drum-horse hasn't hung over the mantelpiece since •67." "How does he know?" "Mildred, go and speak to THE MAN WHO WAS 147 him again." "Colonel, what are you going to do?" "Oh, dry up, and give the poor devil a chance to pull himself to- gether." "It isn't possible anyhow. The man's a lunatic." Little Mildred stood at the colonel's side talking in his ear. "Will you be good enough to take your seats please, gentlemen!" he said, and the mess dropped into the chairs. Only Dirkovitch's seat, next to little Mildred's, was blank, and little Mildred himself had found Hira Singh's place. The wide-eyed mess-sergeant filled the glasses in deep silence. Once more the colonel rose, but his hand shook and the port spilled on the table as he looked straight at the man in little Mildred's chair and said hoarsely, "Mr. Vice, the Queen." There was a little pause, but the man sprung to his feet and answered without hesitation, "The Queen, God bless her!" and as he emptied the thin glass he snapped the shank between his fingers. Long and long ago, when the Empress of India was a young woman and there were no unclean ideals in the land, it was the custom of a few messes to drink the Queen's toast in broken glass, to the vast deUght of the mess-contractors. The custom is now dead, because there is nothing to break anything for, except now and again the word of a Govern- ment, and that has been broken already. "That settles it," said the colonel, with a gasp. "He's not a sergeant. What in the world is he?" The entire mess echoed the word, and the volley of ques- tions would have scared any man. It was no wonder that the ragged, filthy invader could only smile and shake his head. From under the table, calm and smiling, rose Dirkovitch, who had been roused from healthful slimiber by feet upon his body. By the side of the man he rose, and the man shrieked and groveled. It was a horrible sight coming so swiftly upon the pride and glory of the toast that had brought the strayed wits together. Dirkovitch made no offer to raise him, but little Mildred heaved him up in an instant. It is not good that a gentle- 148 STORIES FROM KIPLING man who can answer to the Queen's toast should lie at the feet of a subaltern of Cossacks. The hasty action tore the wretch's upper clothing nearly to the waist, and his body was seamed with dry black scars. There is only one weapon in the world that cuts in parallel lines, and it is neither the cane nor the cat. Dirkovitch saw the marks, and the pupils of his eyes dilated. Also his face changed. He said something that sounded like Shto ve takete, and the man fawning answered, Chetyre. "What's that?" said everybody together. "His number. That is number four, you know." Dirko- vitch spoke very thickly. "What has a Queen's officer to do with a qualified num. ber?" said the colonel, and an unpleasant growl ran round the table. "How can I tell?" said the afiFable Oriental with a sweel smile. "He is a — ^how you have it? — escape — ^run-a-way, from over there." He nodded toward the darkness of the night. "Speak to him if he'll answer you, and speak to him gently," said little Mildred, settling the man in a chair. It seemed most improper to all present that Dirkovitch should sip brandy as he talked in purring, spitting Russian to the creature who answered so feebly and with such evident dread. But since Dirkovitch appeared to understand no one said a word. All breathed heavily, leaning forward, in the long gaps of the conversation. The next time that they have no engagements on hand the White Hussars intend to go to St. Petersbiu-g in a body to learn Russian. "He does not know how many years ago," said Dirko- vitch, facing the mess, "but he says it was very long ago in a war. I think that there was an accident. He says he was of this glorious and distinguished regiment in the war." "The rolls! The rolls! Holmer, get the rolls!" said little Mildred, and the adjutant dashed oflf bare-headed to the orderly-room, where the muster-rolls of the regiment THE MAN WHO WAS 149 were kept. He returned just in time to hear Dirkovitch conclude," Therefore, my dear friends, I am most sorry to say there was an accident which would have been reparable if he had apologized to that our colonel, which he had in- sulted." Then followed another growl which the colonel tried to beat down. The mess was in no mood just then to weigh insults to Russian colonels. "He does not remember, but I think that there was an accident, and so he was not exchanged among the prisoners, but he was sent to another place — ^how do you say? — ^the country. So, he says, he came here. He does not know how he came. Eh? He was at Chepany" — ^the man caught the word, nodded, and shivered — ^"at Zhigansk and Ir- kutsk. I cannot understand how he escaped. He says, too; that he was in the forests for many years, but how many years he has forgotten — that with many things. It was an accident; done because he did not apologize to that our colo- nel. Ah!" Instead of echoing Dirkovitch's sigh of regret, it is sad to record that the White Hussars livelily exhibited vm-Christian delight and other emotions, hardly restrained by their sense of hospitality. Holmer flung the frayed and yellow regi- mental rolls on the table, and the men flung themselves, at these. "Steady! Fifty-six— fifty-five— fifty-four," said HoU mer. "Here we are. 'Lieutenant Austin Limmason. Missing.' That was before Sebastopol. What an infernal shame. Insulted one of their colonels, and was quietly shipped oflF. Thirty years of his life wiped out." "But he never apologized. Said he'd see him damned first," chorused the mess. "Poor chap! I suppose he never had the chance after- wards. How did he come here?" said the colonel. The dingy heap in the chair could give no answer. "Do you know who you are?" It laughed weakly. 150 STORIES FROM KIPLING "Do you know that you are Limmason — ^Lieutenant Limmason of the White Hussars?" Swiftly as a shot came the answer, in a slightly surprised tone, "Yes, I'm Limmason, of course." The light died out ' in his eyes, and the man collapsed, watching every motion of Dirkovitch with terror. A flight from Siberia may fix a few elementary facts in the mind, but it does not seem to lead to continuity of thought. The man could not explain how, like a homing pigeon, he had foimd his way to his own old mess again. Of what he had suffered or seen he knew nothing. He cringed before Dirkovitch as instinctively as he had pressed the spring of the candlestick, sought the pic- ture of the drum-horse, and answered to the toast of the Queen. The rest was a blank that the dreaded Russian tongue could only in part remove. His head bowed on his breast, and he giggled and cowered alternately. The devil that lived in the brandy prompted Dirkovitch at this extremely inopportune moment to make a speech. He rose, swaying slightly, gripped the table-edge, while his eyes glowed like opals, and began: "Fellow-soldiers glorious — ^true friends and hospitables. It was an accident, and deplorable — most deplorable." Here he smiled sweetly all round the mess. "But you will think of this little, little thing. So little, is it not? The Czar! Posh! I slap my fingers — I snap my fingers at him. Do I believe in him? No ! But in us Slav who has done noth- ing, him I believe. Seventy — ^how much — ^millions peoples that have done nothing — not one thing. Posh! Napoleon was an episode." He banged a hand on the table. "Hear you, old peoples, we have done nothing in the world — out here. All our work is to do; and it shall be done, old peoples. Get a-way!" He waved his hand imperiously, and pointed to the man. "You see him. He is not good to see. He was just one little — oh, so little — accident, that no one remem- bered. Now he is That I So will you be, brother-soldiers so brave — so will you be. But you will never come back. You will all go where he is gone, or" — ^he pointed to the great THE MAN WHO WAS 151 coflSn-shadow on the ceiling, and muttering, "Seventy mil- lions — get a-way, you old peoples," fell asleep. "Sweet, and to the point," said little Mildred. "What's the use of getting wroth? Let's make this poor devil com- fortable." But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly taken from the loving hands of the White Hussars. The lieutenant had returned only to go away again three days later, when the wail of the Dead March, and the tramp of the squadrons, told the wondering Station, who saw no gap in the mess-table, that an officer of the regiment had resigned his new-found commission. And Dirkovitch, bland, supple, and always genial, went away too by a night train. Little Mildred and another man saw him off, for he was the guest of the mess, and even had he smitten the colonel with the open hand, the law of that mess allowed no relaxation of hospitality. "Good-bye, Dirkovitch, and a pleasant journey," said little Mildred. "Au revoir," said the Russian. "Indeed! But we thought you were going home?" " Yes, but I will come again. My dear friends, is that road shut?" He pointed to where the North Star burned over the Khyber Pass. "By Jove! I forgot. Of course. Happy to meet you, old man, any time you like. Got everything you want? Cheroots, ice, bedding? That's all right. Well, au revoir, Dirkovitch." "Um," said the other man, as the tail-lights of the train grew small. "Of — all — the — ^unmitigated !" Little Mildred answered nothing, but watched the North Star and hummed a selection from a recent Simla burlesque that had much delighted the White Hussars. It ran — I'm sorry for Mister Bluebeard, I'm sorry to cause him pain; But a terrible spree there's sure to be When he comes back again. WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY (1890) Before my Spring I garnered Autumn's gain. Out of her time my field was white with grain. The year gave up her secrets to my woe. Forced and deflowered each sick season lay. In mystery of increase and decay; I saw the sunset ere men saw the day. Who am too wise in that I should not know. Biiter Waters. "But if it be a girl?" "Lord of my life, it cannot be. I have prayed for so many nights, and sent gifts to Sheikh Badl's shrine so often, that I know God will give us a son — a, man-child that shall grow into a man. Think of this and be glad. My mother shall be his mother till I can take him again, and the mullah of the Pattan mosque shall cast his nativity — God send he be born in an auspicious hour! — ^and then, and then thou wilt never weary of me, thy slave." "Since when hast thou been a slave, my queen?" "Since the beginning — ^till this mercy came to me. How could I be sure of thy love when I knew that I had been bought with silver?" "Nay, that was the dowry. I paid it to thy mother." "And she has buried it, and sits upon it all day long like a hen. What talk is yours of dower ! I was bought as though I had been a Lucknow dancing-girl instead of a child." "Art thou sorry for the sale?" " I have sorrowed; but to-day I am glad. Thou wilt never cease to love me now? — answer, my king." 152 WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 163 "Never — ^never. No." "Not even though the mem-log — the white women of thy own blood — ^love thee? And remember, I have watched them driving in the evening; they are very fair." "I have seen fire-balloons by the hundred. I have seen the moon, and — ^then I saw no more fire-balloons." Ameera clapped her hands and laughed. "Very good talk," she said. Then with an assumption of great state- liness, "It is enough. Thou hast my permission to depart, — if thou wilt." The man did not move. He was 'sitting on a low red- lacquered couch in a room furnished only with a blue and white floor-cloth, some rugs, and a very complete collection of native cushions. At his feet sat a woman of sixteen, and she was all but all the world in his eyes. By every rule and law she should have been otherwise, for he was an English- man, and she a Mussulman's daughter bought two years before from her mother, who, being left without money, would have sold Ameera shrieking to the Prince of Darkness if the price had been sufficient. It was a contract entered into with a light heart; but even before the girl had reached her bloom she came to fill the greater portion of John Holden's life. For her, and the withered hag her mother, he had taken a little house over- looking the great red-walled city, and found, — ^when the marigolds had sprung up by the well in the courtyard and Ameera had established herself according to her own ideas of comfort, and her mother had ceased grumbling at the in- adequacy of the cooking-places, the distance from the daily market, and at matters of housekeeping in general, — ^that the house was to him his home. Any one could enter his bachelor's bungalow by day or night, and the life that he led tJiere was an unlovely one. In the house in the city his feet only could pass beyond the outer courtyard to the women's rooms; and when the big wooden gate was bolted behind him he was king in his own territory, with Ameera for queen. And there was going to be added to this kingdom 154 STORIES FROM KIPLING a third person whose arrival Holden felt inclined to resent It interfered with his perfect happiness. It disarranged the orderly peace of the house that was his own. But Ameera was wild with delight at the thought of it, and her mother not less so. The love of a man, and particularly a white man, was at the best an inconstant affair, but it might, both women argued, be held fast by a baby's hands. "And then," Ameera would always say, "then he will never care for the white mem-log. I hate them all — ^I hate them aU." "He will go back to his own people in time," said the mother; "but by the blessing of Grod that time is yet afar off." Holden sat silent on the couch thinking of the future, and his thoughts were not pleasant. The drawbacks of a double life are manifold. The Government, with singular care, had ordered him out of the station for a fortnight on special duty in the place of a man who was watching by the bedside of a sick wife. The verbal notification of the transfer had been edged by a cheerful remark that Holden ought to think himself lucky in being a bachelor and a free man. He came to break the news to Ameera. "It is not good," she said slowly, "but it is not all bad. There is my mother here, and no harm will come to me — unless indeed I die of pure joy. Gro thou to thy work and think no troublesome thoughts. When the days are done I believe . . . nay, I am sure. And — and then I shall lay him in thy arms, and thou wilt love me for ever. The train goes to-night, at midnight is it not? Go now, and do not let thy heart be heavy by cause of me. But thou wilt not delay in returning? Thou wilt not stay on the road to talk to the bold white mem-log. Come back to me swiftly, my life." As he left the courtyard to reach his horse that was teth- ered to the gate-post, Holden spoke to the white-haired old watchman who guarded the house, and bade him under certain contingencies dispatch the fiUed-up telegraph form WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 155 •that Holden gave him. It was all that could be done, and with the sensations of a man who has attended his own funeral Holden went away by the night mail to his exile. Every hour of the day he dreaded the arrival of the telegram, and every hour of the night he pictured to himself the death of Ameera. In consequence his work for the State was not of first-rate quality, nor was his temper toward his colleagues of the most amiable. The fortnight ended without a sign from his home, and, torn to pieces by his anxieties, Holden returned to be swallowed up for two precious hours by a dinner at the club, wherein he heard, as a man hears in a swoon, voices telling him how execrably he had performed the other man's duties, and how he had endeared himself to all his associates. Then he fled on horseback through the night with his heart in his mouth. There was no answer at first to his blows on the gate, and he had just wheeled his horse round to kick it in when Pir Khan appeared with a lantern and held his stirrup. "Has aught occurred?" said Holden. "The news does not come from my mouth, Protector of the Poor, but " He held out his shaking hand as befitted the bearer of good news who is entitled to a re- ward. Holden hurried through the courtyard. A light burned in the upper room. His horse neighed in the gateway, and he heard a shrill little wail that sent all the blood into the apple of his throat. It was a new voice, but it did not prove that Ameera was alive. "Who is there?" he called up the narrow brick staircase. There was a cry of delight from Ameera, and then the voice of the mother, tremulous with old age and pride — "We be two women and — the — ^man — thy — son." On the threshold of the room Holden stepped on a naked dagger, that was laid there to avert ill-luck, and it broke at the hilt under his impatient heel. "God is great!" cooed Ameera in the half-light. "Thou hast taken his misfortunes on thy head." 156 STORIES FROM KIPLING "Ay, but how is it with thee, life of my life? Old woman, how is it with her?" "She has forgotten her suflFerings for joy that the child is born. There is no harm; but speak softly," said the mother. "It only needed thy presence to make me all well," said Ameera. "My king, thou hast been very long away. What gifts hast thou for me? Ah, ah! It is I that bring gifts this time. Look, my life, look. Was there ever such a babe? Nay, I am too weak even to clear my arm from him." "Rest then, and do not talk. I am here, bachari [little woman]." "Well said, for there is a bond and a heel-rope [pee-charee] between us now that nothing can break. Look — canst thou see in this light? He is without spot or blemish. Never was such a man-child. Ya illah I he shall be a pundit — no, a trooper of the Queen. And, my life, dost thou love me as well as ever, though I am faint and sick and worn? Answer truly." "Yea. I love as I have loved, with all my soul. Lie still, pearl, and rest." "Then do not go. Sit by my side here — so. Mother, the lord of this house needs a cushion. Bring it." There was an almost imperceptible movement on the part of the new life that lay in the hollow of Ameera's arm. "Aho!" she said, her voice breaking with love. "The babe is a champion from his birth. He is kicking me in the side with mighty kicks. Was there ever such a babe! And he is ours to us — ^thine and mine. Put thy hand on his head, but care- fully, for he is very young, and men are unskilled in such matters." Very cautiously Holden touched with the tips of his fingers the downy head. "He is of the faith," said Ameera; "for lying here in the night-watches I whispered the call to prayer and the profession of faith into his ears. And it is most marvel- WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 157 ous that he was born upon a Friday, as I was bom. Be careful of him, my life; but he can almost grip with his hands." Holden found one helpless little hand that closed feebly on his finger. And the clutch ran through his body tiU it settled about his heart. Till then his sole thought had been for Ameera. He began to realize that there was someone else in the world, but he could not feel that it was a veritable son with a soul. He sat down to think, and Ameera dozed Ughtly. "Get hence, sahib," said her mother under her breath. "It is not good that she should find you here on waking. She must be still." "I go," said Holden submissively. "Here be rupees. See that my bdba gets fat and finds all that he needs." The chink of the silver roused Ameera. " I am his mother, and no hireling," she said weakly. "Shall I look to him more or less for the sake of money? Mother, give it back. I have born my lord a son." The deep sleep of weakness came upon her almost before the sentence was completed. Holden went down to the courtyard very softly with his heart at ease. Pir Khan, the old watchman, was chuckling with delight. "This house is now complete," he said, and without further comment thrust into Holden's hands the hilt of a sabre worn many years ago when he, Pir Khan, served the Queen in the police. The bleat of a tethered goat came from the well-kerb. "There be two," said Pir Khan, "two goats of the best. Ibought them, and they cost much money; and since there is no birth-party assembled their flesh will be all mine. Strike craftily, sahib I 'Tis an ill-balanced saber at the best. Wait till they raise their heads from cropping the marigolds." "And why?" said Holden, bewildered. "For the birth-sacrifice. What else? Otherwise the child being imguarded from fate may die. The Protector of the Poor knows the fitting words to be said." 158 STORIES FROM KIPLING Holden had learned them once with little thought that he would ever speak them in earnest. The touch of the cold saber-hilt in his palm turned suddenly to the clinging grip of the child upstairs — the child that was his own son — ^and a dread of loss filled him. "Strike ! " said Pir Khan. " Never life came into the world but life was paid for it. See, the goats have raised their heads. Now. With a drawing cut!" Hardly knowing what he did Holden cut twice as he muttered the Mahomedan prayer that runs: "Almighty! In place of this my son I oflfer life for life, blood for blood, head for head, bone for bone, hair for hair, skin for skin." The waiting horse snorted and bounded in his pickets at the smell of the raw blood that spirted over Holden's riding- boots. "Well smitten!" said Pir Khan, wiping the saber. "A swordsman was lost in thee. Go with a light heart. Heaven- born. I am thy servant, and the servant of thy son. May the Presence live a thousand years and . . . the flesh of the goats is all mine?" Pir Khan drew back richer by a month's pay. Holden swung himself into the saddle and rode off through the low-hanging wood-smoke of the evening. He was full of riotous exultation, alternating with a vast vague tenderness directed toward no particular object, that made him choke as he bent over the neck of his uneasy horse. "I never felt like this in my life," he thought. "I'll go to the club and pull myself together." A game of pool was beginning, and the room was full of men. Holden entered, eager to get to the light and the company of his fellows, singing at the top of his voice In Baltimore a-walking, a lady I. did meet! "Did you?" said the club-secretary from his corner. "Did she happen to tell you that your boots were wringing wet? Great goodness, man, it's blood ! " "Bosh!" said Holden, picking his cue from the rack. WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 159 •'May I cut in? It's dew. I've been riding through high crops. My faith ! my boots are in a mess though ! "And if it be a girl she shall wear a wedding-ring. And if it be a boy he shall fight for his king. With his dirk, and his cap, and his little jadcet blue. He shall walk the quarter-deck " "Yellow on blue — green next player," said the marker monotonously. "He shall walk the quarter-deck, — ^Am I green, marker? He shall walk the quarter-deck, — eh! that's a bad shot, — As his daddy used to do I" "I don't see that you have anjrthing to crow about," said a zealous junior civilian acidly. "The Grovemment is not exactly pleased with your work when you relieved Sanders." "Does that mean a wigging from headquarters?" said Holden with an abstracted smile. "I think I can stand it." The talk beat up round the ever-fresh subject of each man's work, and steadied Holden till it was time to go to his dark empty bungalow, where his butler received him as one who knew all his afiFairs. Holden remained awake for the greater part of the night, and bis dreams were pleasant ones. n "How old is he now? " "Ya iLlah! What a man's question! He is all but six weeks old; and on this night I go up to the housetop with thee, my life, to count the stars. For that is auspicious. And he was born on a Friday imder the sign of the Sun, and it has been told to me that he will outlive us both and get wealth. Can we wish for aught better, beloved? " "There is nothing better. Let us go up to the roof, and thou shalt coimt the stars — ^but a few only, for the sky is heavy with cloud." "The winter rains are late, and maybe they come out of 160 STORIES FROM KIPLING season. Come, before all the stars are hid. I have put on my richest jewels." "Thou hast forgotten the best of all." "AH Ours. He comes also. He has never yet seen the skies." Ameera chmbed the narrow staircase that led to the flat roof. The child, placid and unwinking, lay in the hollow of her right eirm, gorgeous in silver-fringed muslin with a small skull-cap on his head. Ameera wore all that she valued most. The diamond nose-stud that takes the place of the Western patch in drawing attention to the curve of the nostril, the gold ornament in the center of the forehead studded with tallow-drop emeralds and flawed rubies, the heavy circlet of beaten gold that was fastened round her neck by the softness of the pure metal, and the chinking curb-patterned silver anklets hanging low over the rosy ankle-bone. She was dressed in jade-green muslin as be* fitted a daughter of the Faith, and from shoulder to elbow and elbow to wrist ran bracelets of silver tied with floss silk, frail glass bangles slipped over the wrist in proof of the slenderness of the hand, and certain heavy gold bracelets that had no part in her country's ornaments but, since they were Holden's gift and fastened with a cunning Euro- pean snap, delighted her immensely. They sat down by the low white parapet of the roof, over looking the city and its Ughts. "They are happy down there," said Ameera. "But I do not think that they are as happy as we. Nor do I think the white mem-log are as happy. And thou?" "I know they are not." "How dost thou know? " "They give their children over to the nurses." "I have never seen that," said Ameera with a sigh, "nor do I wish to see. Ahi I — ^she dropped her head on Holden's shoulder, — "I have counted forty stars, and I am tired. Look at the child, love of my life, he is counting too." The baby was staring with round eyes at the dark of the WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 161 iieavens. Ameera placed him in Holden's arms, and he lay there without a cry. "What shall we call him among ourselves?" she said. "Look! Art thou ever tired of looking? He carries thy very eyes. But the mouth " "Is thine, most dear. Who should know better than I?" "Tis such a feeble mouth. Oh, so small! And yet it holds my heart between its lips. Give him to me now. He has been too long away." "Nay, let him lie; he has not yet begun to cry." " When he cries thou wilt give him back — eh? What a man of manldnd thou art! If he cried he were only the dearer to me. But, my life, what little name shall we give him?" The small body lay close to Holden's heart. It was utterly helpl^s and very soft. He scarcely dared to breathe for fear of crushing it. The caged green parrot that is re- garded as a sort of guardian-spirit in most native households moved on its perch and fluttered a drowsy wing. "There is the answer," said Holden. "Mian Mittu has spoken. He shall be the parrot. When he is ready he will talk mightily and nm about. Mian Mittu is the parrot in thy — ^in the Mussulman tongue, is it not?" "Why put me so far off?" said Ameera fretfully. "Let It be like unto some English name — ^but not wholly. For he is mine." "Then call him Tota, for that is likest English." "Ay, Tota, and that is still the parrot. Forgive me, my lord, for a minute ago, but in truth he is too little to wear all the weight of Mian Mittu for name. He shall be Tota^ our Tota to us. Hearest thou, O small one? Littlest, thou art Tota." She touched the child's cheek, and he waking wailed, and it was necessary to return him to his mother, who soothed him with the wonderfxil rhyme of Ar& hoJco, J art kolcol which says: Oh crow! Gio crow! Babi^g sleq>ing sound. And the wild plums grow in the jun^, only a penny a pound. Only a penny a pound, baba — only a penny a pound. 162 STORIES FROM KIPLING Reassured many times as to the price of those plums, Tota cuddled himself down to sleep. The two sleek, white well-bullocks in the courtyard were steadily chewing the cud of their evening meal; old Pir Khan squatted at the head of Holden's horse, his police saber across his knees, pulling drowsily at a big water-pipe that croaked like a bull-frog in a pond. Ameera's mother sat spinning in the lower ver- anda, and the wooden gate was shut and barred. The music of a marriage-procession came to the roof above the gentle hum of the city, and a string of flying-foxes crossed the face of the low moon. "I have prayed," said Ameera after a long pause, "I have prayed for two things. First, that I may die in thy stead if thy death is demanded, and in the second that I may die in the place of the child. I have prayed to the Prophet and to Beebee Miriam [the Virgin Mary]. Thinkest thou either will hear? " "Prom thy lips who would not hear the lightest word?" "I asked for straight talk, and thou hast given me sweet talk. Will my prayers be heard? " "How can I say? God is very good." "Of that I am not sure. Listen now. When I die, or the child dies, what is thy fate? Living, thou wilt retiu"n to the bold white mem-log, for kind calls to kind." "Not always." "With a woman, no; with a man it is otherwise. Thou wilt in this life, later on, go back to thine own folk. That I could almost endure, for I should be dead. But in thy very death thou wilt be taken away to a strange place and a para- dise that I do not know." "Will it be paradise?" "Surely, for who would harm thee? But we two — ^I and the child — shall be elsewhere, and we cannot come to thee, nor canst thou come to us. In the old days, before the child was born, I did not think of these things; but now I think of them always. It is very hard talk." "It will fall as it will fall. To-morrow we do not know. WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 163 but to-day and love we know well. Surely we are happy now." "So happy that it were well to make our happiness as- sured. And thy Beebee Miriam should listen to me; for she is also a woman. But then she would envy me! It is not seemly for men to worship a woman." Holden laughed aloud at Ameera's little spasm of jealousy. "Is it not seemly? Why didst thou not turn me from worship of thee, then?" "Thou a worshipper! And of me? My king, for all thy sweet words, well I know that I am thy servant and thy slave, and the dust under thy feet. And I would not have it otherwise. See!" Before Holden could prevent her she stooped forward and touched his feet; recovering herself with a little laugh she hugged Tota closer to her bosom. Then, almost savagely — "Is it true that the bold white mem-log live for three times the length of my life? Is it true that they make their marriages not before they are old women? " "They marry as do others — ^when they are women." "That I know, but they wed when they are twenty-five. Is that true?" "That is true." "Ya illah I At twenty-five! Who would of his own will take a wife even of eighteen? She is a woman — aging every hour. Twenty-five! I shall be an old woman at that age, and Those mem-hg remain young for ever. How I hate them!" "What have they to do with us?" "I cannot tell. I know only that there may now be alive on this earth a woman ten years older than I who may come to thee and take thy love ten years after I am an old woman, gray-headed, and the nurse of Tota's son. That is unjust and evil. They should die too." "Now, for all thy years thou art a child, and shalt be picked up and carried down the staircase." "Tota! Have a care for Tota, my lord! Thou at least 164 STORIES FROM KIPLING art as foolish as any babe!" Ameera tucked Tota out of harm's way in the bollow of her neck, and was carried down- stairs hiughing in Holden's arms, while Tota opened his eyes and smiled after the manner of the lesser angels. He was a silent infant, and, almost before Holden could realize that he was in the world, developed into a small gold- colored little god and unquestioned despot of the house overlooking the city. Those were months of absolute hap- piness to Holden and Ameera — ^happiness withdrawn from the world, shut in behind the wooden gate that Pir Khan guarded. By day Holden did his work with an immense pity for such as were not so fortunate as himself, and a sym- pathy for small children that amazed and amused many mothers at the little station-gatherings. At nightfall he re- turned to Ameera, — ^Ameera, full of the wondrous doings of Tota; how he had been seen to clap his hands together and move his fingers with intention and purpose — ^which was mani- festly a miracle — ^how later, he had of his own initiative crawled out of his low bedstead on to the floor and swayed on both feet for the space of three breaths. "And they were long breaths, for my heart stood still with delight," said Ameera. Then Tota took the beasts into his councils — ^the well- bullocks, the little gray squirrels, the mongoose that lived in a hole near the well, and especially Mian Mittu, the parrot, whose tail he grievously pulled, and Mian Mittu screamed till Ameera and Holden arrived. "O villain! Child of strength! This to thy brother on the housetop! Tobah,tobahl Fie! Fie! But I know a charm to make him wise as Suleiman and Aflatoun [Solomon and Plato] . Now look," said Ameera. She drew from an em- broidered bag a handful of almonds. "See! we count seven. In the name of God ! " She placed Mian Mittu, very angry and rumpled, on the top of his cage, and seating herself between the babe and the bird she cracked and peeled an almond less white than her teeth. "This is a true charm, my life, and do not laugh. WITHOUT BENEFIT OP CLERGY 165 See! I give the parrot one half and Tota the other." Mian Mittu with careful beak took his share from between Ameera'a lips, and she kissed the other half into the mouth of the child, who ate it slowly with wondering eyes. "This I will do each day of seven, and without doubt he who is ours will be a bold speaker and wise. Eh, Tota, what wilt thou be when thou art a man and I am gray-headed?" Tota tucked his fat legs into adorable creases. He could crawl, but he was not going to waste the spring of his youth in idle speech. He wanted Mian Mittu's tail to tweak. When he was advanced to the dignity of a silver belt — which, with a magic square engraved on silver and hung round his neck, made up the greater part of his clothing — ^he staggered on a perilous journey down the garden to Pir Khan and proflFered him all his jewels in exchange for one Uttle ride on Holden's horse, having seen his mother's mother chaffer- ing with pedlars in the veranda. Pir Khan wept and set the untried feet on his own gray head in sign of fealty, and brought the bold adventurer to his mother's arms, vowing that Tota would be a leader of men ere his beard was grown. One hot evening, while he sat on the roof between his father and mother watching the never-ending warfare of the kites that the city boys flew, he demanded a kite of his own with Pir Khan to fly it, because he had a fear of deal- ing with anything larger than himself, and when Holden called him a "spark," he rose to his feet and answered slowly in defence of his new-found individuality, "Bum'park nahin hai. Hum admi hai [I am no spark, but a man]." The protest made Holden choke and devote himself very seriously to a consideration of Tota's future. He need hardly have taken the trouble. The delight of that life was too perfect to endure. Therefore it was taken away as many things are taken away in India — suddenly and without warning. The little lord of the house, as Pir Khan called him, grew sorrowful and complained of pains who had never known themeaning of pain. Ameera, wild with terror, watched 166 STORIiSTEDM KIPLING him througli the night, and in the dawning of the second day the Ufe was shaken out of him by fever — ^the seasonal autumn fever. It seemed altogether impossible that he could die, and neither Ameera nor Holden at first believed the evidence of the Uttle body on the bedstead. Then Ameera beat her head against the wall and would have flung herself down the well in the garden had Holden not restrained her by main force. One mercy only was granted to Holden. He rode to his office in broad dayhght and found waiting him an un- usually heavy mail that demanded concentrated attention and hard work. He was not, however, alive to this kindness of the gods. in The first shock of a bullet is no more than a brisk pinch. The wrecked body does not send in its protest to the soul till ten or fifteen seconds later. Holden realized his pain slowly, exactly as he had realized his happiness, and with the same imperious necessity for hiding all trace of it. In the beginning he only felt liiat there had been a loss, and that Ameera needed comforting, where she sat with her head on her knees shivering as Mian Mittu from the house-top called, Tota I Tata I Tola I Later all his world and the daily life of it rose up to hurt him. It was an outrage that any one of the children at the band-stand in the evening should be alive and clamorous, when his own child lay dead. It was more than mere pain when one of them touched him, and stories told by over-fond fathers of their children's latest performances cut him to the quick. He could not declare his pain. He had neither help, comfort, nor sym- pathy; and Ameera at the end of each weary day would lead him through the hell of self -questioning reproach which is reserved for those who have lost a child, and believe that with a little — ^just a Uttle — ^more care it might have been saved. WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 167 "Perhaps," Ameera would say, "I did not take suflScient heed. Did I, or did I not? The sun on the roof that day when he played so long alone and I was — ahi 1 braiding my hair — it may be that the sun then bred the fever. If I had warned him from the sim he might have lived. But, oh my life, say that I am guiltless! Thou knowest that I loved him as I love thee. Say that there is no blame on me, or I shall die — I shall die!" "There is no blame, — ^before God, none. It was written and how could we do aught to save? What has been, has been. Let it go, beloved." "He was all my heart to me. How can I let the thought go when my arm tells me every night that he is not here? AM I Ahi I O Tota, come back to me — come back again, and let us be all together as it was before!" "Peace, peace! For thine own sake, and for mine also, if thou lovest me — rest." "By this I know thou dost not care; and how shouldst thou? The white men have hearts of stone and souls of iron. Oh, that I had married a man of mine own people — though he beat me — ^and had never eaten the bread of an alien!" "Am I an alien — ^mother of my son?" "What else — Sahib? . . . Oh, forgive me — ^forgive! The death has driven me mad. Thou art the life of my heart, and the light of my eyes, and the breath of my life, and — and I have put thee from me, though it was but for a moment. If thou goest away, to whom shall I look for help? Do not be angry. Indeed, it was the pain that spoke and not thy slave." "I know, I know. We be two who were three. The greater need therefore that we should be one." They were sitting on the roof as of custom. The night was a warm one in early spring, and sheet-lightning was dancing on the horizon to a broken tune played by far-off thunder. Ameera settled herself in Holden's arms. "The dry earth is lowing like a cow for the rain, and I — I 168 STORIES FROM KIPLING am afraid. It was not like this when we counted the stars. But thou lovest me as much as before, though a bond is taken away? Answer!" "I love more because a new bond has come out of the sorrow that we have eaten together, and that thou knowest." "Yea, I knew," said Ameera in a very small whisper. "But it is good to hear thee say so, my life, who art so strong to help. I will be a child no more, but a woman and an aid to thee. Listen! Give me my sitar and I will sing bravely." She took the light silver-studded sitar and began a song of the great hero Rajah Rasalu. The hand failed on the strings, the tune halted, checked, and at a low note turned off to the poor little nursery-rhyme about the wicked crow — And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound. Only a penny a pound, baba — only . . . Then came the tears, and the piteous rebellion against fate till she slept, moaning a little in her sleep, with the right arm thrown clear of the body as though it protected some- thing that was not there. It was after this night that life became a httle easier for Holden. The ever-present pain of loss drove him into his work, and the work repaid him by filling up his mind for nine or ten hours a day. Ameera sat alone in the house and brooded, but grew happier when she imderstood that Holden was more at ease, according to the custom of women. They touched happiness again, but this time with caution. " It was because we loved Tota that he died. The jealousy of God was upon us," said Ameera. "I have hung up a large black jar before our window to turn the evil eye from us, and we must make no protestations of delight, but go softly underneath the stars, lest God find us out. Is that not good talk, worthless one?" She had shifted the accent on the word that means "be- loved," in proof of the sincerity of her purpose. But the kiss that followed the new christening was a thing that WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 169 any deity might have envied. They went about hence- forward saying, "It is naught, it is naught"; and hoping that all the Powers heard. The Powers were busy on other things. They had aI-< lowed thirty million people four years of plenty wherein men fed well and the crops were certain, and the birthrate rose year by year; the districts reported a purely agricultural population varying from nine hundred to two thousand to the square mile of the overburdened earth; and the Mem* ber for Lower Tooting, wandering about India in pot-hat and frock-coat, talked largely of the benefits of British rule and suggested as the one thing needful the establishment of a duly qualified electoral system and a general bestowal of the franchise. His long-suffering hosts smiled and made him welcome, and when he paused to admire, with pretty picked words, the blossom of the blood-red dhak-tree that had flowered untimely for a sign of what was coming, they 3niiled more than ever. It was the Deputy Commissioner of Kot-Kumharsen, staying at the club for a day, who lightly told a tale that made Holden's blood run cold as he overheard the end. "He won't bother any one any more. Never saw a man so astonished in my life. By Jove, I thought he meant to ask a question in the House about it. Fellow-passenger in his ship — dined next him — ^bowled over by cholera and died in eighteen hours. You needn't laugh, you fellows. The Member for Lower Tooting is awfully angry about it; but he's more scared. I think he's going to take his en- lightened self out of India." "I'd give a good deal if he were knocked over. It might keep a few vestrymen of his kidney to their own parish. But what's this about cholera? It's full early for any- thing of that kind," said the warden of an improfitable salt-lick. "Don't know," said the Deputy Commissioner reflect- ively. "We've got locusts with us. There's sporadic cholera all along the north — ^at least we're calling it sporadic 170 STORIES FROM KIPLING for decency's sake. The spring crops are short in five dis* tricts, and nobody seems to know where the rains are. It's nearly March now. I don't want to scare anybody, but it seems to me that Nature's going to audit her ac- counts with a big red pencil this summer." "Just when I wanted to take leave, too!" said a voice across the room. "There won't be much leave this year, but there ought to be a great deal of promotion. I've come in to persuade the Grovernment to put my pet canal on the list of famine- relief works. It's an ill-wind that blows no good. I shall get that canal finished at last." "Is it the old programme then," said Holden; "famine, fever, and cholera?" "Oh no. Only local scarcity and an unusual prevalence of seasonal sickness. You'll find it all in the reports if you hve tiU next year. You're a lucky chap. You haven't got a wife to send out of harm's way. The hill-stations ought to be full of women this year." "I think you're inclined to exaggerate the talk in the bazars," said a young civilian in the Secretariat. "Now I have observed " "I daresay you have," said the Deputy Commissioner, "but you've a great deal more to observe, my son. In the meantime, I wish to observe to you " and he drew him aside to discuss the construction of the canal that was so dear to his heart. Holden went to his bungalow and began to understand that he was not alone in the world, and also that he was afraid for the sake of another, — which is the most soul-satisfying fear known to man. Two months later, as the Deputy had foretold. Nature began to audit her accounts with a red pencil. On the heels of the spring-reapings came a cry for bread, and the Govern- ment, which had decreed that no man should die of want, sent wheat. Then came the cholera from all four quarters of the compass. It struck a pilgrim-gathering of half a million at a sacred shrine. Many died at the feet of theit WITHOUT BENEFIT OP CLERGY 171 god; the others broke and ran over the face of the land carrying the pestilence with them. It smote a walled city and killed two hundred a day. The people crowded the trains, hanging on to the footboards and squatting on the roofs of the carriages, and the cholera followed them, for at each station they dragged out the dead and the dying. They died by the roadside, and the horses of the English- men shied at the corpses in the grass. The rains did not come, and the earth turned to iron lest men should escape death by hiding in her. The English sent their wives away to the hills and went about their work, coming forward as they were bidden to fill the gaps in the fighting-line. Holden, sick with fear of losing his chiefest treasure on earth, had done his best to persuade Ameera to go away with her mother to the Himalayas. "W hy should I go?" said she one evening on the roof. "Here is sickness, and people are dying, and all the white memAdg liave gone." "All of them?" "All — ^unless perhaps there remain some old scaldhead who vexes her husband's heart by nmning risk of death." "Nay; who stays is my sister, and thou must not abuse her, for I will be a scald-head too. I am glad all the bold mem-log are gone." "Do I speak to a woman or a babe? (ro to the hills and I will see to it that thou goest like a queen's daughter. Think, child. In a red-lacquered bullock-cart, veiled and curtained, with brass peacocks upon the pole and red cloth hangings. I will send two orderlies for guard, and " "Peace! Thou art the babe in speaking thus. What use are those toys to me? He would have patted the bid- locks and played with the housings. For his sake, perhaps, — ^thou hast made me very English — ^I might have gone. Now, I win not. Let the mem-log run." "Their husbands are sending them, beloved." "Very good talk. Since when hast thou been my hus- band to tell me what to do? I have but borne thee a son. 172 STORIES FROM KIPLmG Thou art only all the desire of my soul to me. How shall 1 depart when I know that if cAril befall thee by the breadth of so much as my littlest finger-nail — ^is that not small?— I should be aware of it though I were in paradise. And here, this summer thou mayest die — ai, janee, die! and in dying they might call to tend thee a white woman, and she would rob me in the last of thy love!" "But love is not born in a moment or on a death-bed!" "What dost thou know of love, stoneheart? She would take thy thanks at least and, by God and the Prophet and Beebee Miriam the mother of thy Prophet, that I will never endure. My lord and my love, let there be no more foolish talk of going away. Where thou art, I am. It is enough." She put an arm round his neck and a hand on his mouth. There are not many happinesses so complete as those that are snatched under the shadow of the sword. They sat to- gether and laughed, calling each other openly by every pet name that could move the wrath of the gods. The city be- low them was locked up in its own torments. Sulphur fires blazed in the streets; the conches in the Hindu temples screamed and bellowed, for the gods were inattentive in those days. There was a service in the great Mahomedan shrine, and the call to prayer from the minarets was almost unceasing. They heard the wailing in the houses of the dead, and once the shriek of a mother who had lost a child and was calling for its return. In the gray dawn they saw the dead borne out through the city gates, each litter with its own little knot of mourners. Wherefore they kissed each other and shivered. It was a red and heavy audit, for the land was very sick and needed a Uttle breathing-space ere the torrent of cheap life should flood it anew. The children of immature fathers and undeveloped mothers made no resistance. They were cowed and sat still, waiting till the sword should be sheathed in November if it were so willed. There were gaps among the English, but the gaps were so filled. The work of super- intending famine-relief, cholera-sheds, medicine-distribution WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 173 and what little sanitation was possible, went forward because it was so ordered. Holden had been told to keep himself in readiness to move to replace the next man who should fall. There were twelve hours in each day when he could not see Ameera, and she might die in three. He was considering what his pain woidd be if he could not see her for three months, or if she died out of his sight. He was absolutely certain that her death would be demanded — so certain that when he looked up from the telegram and saw Pir Khan breathless in the doorway, be laughed aloud. "And?" said he, "When there is a cry in the night and the spirit flutters into the throat, who has a charm that will restore? Come swiftly. Heaven-bom! It is the black cholera." Holden galloped to his home. The sky was heavy with clouds, for the long-deferred rains were near and the heat was stifling. Ameera's mother met him in the courtyard, whimi>ering, "She is dying. She is nursing herself into death. She is aU but dead. What shall I do, sahib?" Ameera was lying in the room in which Tota had been bom. She made no sign when Holden entered, because the human soul is a very lonely thing and, when it is getting ready to go away, hides itself in a misiy borderland where the living may not foDow. The black cholera does its work quietly and without explanation. Ameera was being thrust out of life as though the Angel of Death had himself put his hand upon her. The quick breathing seemed to show that she was either afraid or in pain, but neither eyes nor mouth gave any answer to Holden's kisses. There was nothing to be said or done. Holden could only wait and suffer. The first drops of the rain began to fall on the roof, and he could hear shouts of ]oy in the parched city. The soul came back a little and the hps moved. Holden bent down to listen. " Keep nothing of mine," said Ameera. "Take no hair from my head. She would make thee bum it later on. That flame I should feel. Lower! Stoop lower! Bemember only that I was thine and bore thee a son. 174 STORIES FROM KIPLING Though thou wed a white woman to-morrow, the pleasure of receiving in thy arms thy first son is taken from thee for ever. Remember me when thy son is born — ^the one that shall carry thy name before all men. His misfortunes be on my head. I bear witness — ^I bear witness" — the lips were forming the words on his ear — "that there is no God but — thee, beloved!" Then she died. Holden sat still, and all thought was taken from him, — ^till he heard Ameera's mother lift the curtain. "Is she dead, sahib?" "She is dead." "Then I will mourn, and afterwards take an inventory of the furniture in this house. For that will be mine. The sahib does not mean to resiune it? It is so little, so very little, sahib, and I am an old woman. I would like to lie softly." "For the mercy of God be silent awhile. Go out and mourn where I cannot hear." "Sahib, she will be buried in four hoiu"s." "I know the custom. I shall go ere she is taken away. That matter is in thy hands. Look to it, that the bed on which — on which she lies " "Aha! That beautiful red-lacquered bed. I have long desired " "That the bed is left here tmtouched for my disposal. All else in the house is thine. Hire a cart, take everything, go hence, and before sunrise let there be nothing in this house but that which I have ordered thee to respect." "I am an old woman. I would stay at least for the days of mourning, and the rains have just broken. Whither shall I go?" "What is that to me? My order is that there is a going. The house-gear is worth a thousand rupees and my orderly shall bring thee a himdred rupees to-night." "That is very httle. Think of the cart-hire." "It shall be nothing unless thou goest, and with speed. O woman, get hence and leave me with my dead!" The mother shuffled down the staircase, and in her anxiety WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 175 to take stock of the house-fittings forgot to mourn. Holden stayed by Ameera's side and the rain roared on the roof. He could not think connectedly by reason of the noise^ though he made many attempts to do so. Then four sheeted ghosts glided dripping into the room and stared at him through their veils. They were the washers of the dead. Holden left the room and went out to his horse. He had come in a dead, stifling calm through ankle-deep dust. He foimd the courtyard a rain-lashed pond alive with frogs; a torrent of yellow water ran under the gate, and a roaring wind drove the bolts of the rain like buckshot against the mud-walls. Pir Khan was shivering in his little hut by the gate, and the horse was stamping uneasily in the water. "I have been told the sahib's order," said Pir Khan. "It is well. This house is now desolate. I go also, for my monkey-face would be a reminder of that which has been. Concerning the bed, I will bring that to thy house yonder in the morning; but remember, sahib, it will be to thee a knife turning in a green wound. I go upon a pilgrimage, and I will take no money. I have grown fat in the protec- tion of the Presence whose sorrow is my sorrow. For the last time I hold his stirrup." He touched Holden's foot with both hands and the horse sprang out into the road, where the creaking bamboos were whipping the sky and aU the frogs were chuckling. Holden could not see for the rain in his face. He put his hands before his eyes and muttered — "Oh you brute! You utter brute!" The news of his trouble was already in his bungalow. He read the knowledge in his butler's eyes when Ahmed Khan brought in food, and for the first and last time in his life laid a hand upon his master's shoulder, saying, "Eat, sahih, eat. Meat is good against sorrow. I also have known. Moreover the shadows come and go, sahii; the shadows come and go. These be curried eggs." Holden could neither eat nor sleep. The heavens sent down eight inches of rain in that night and washed the 176 STORIES FROM KIPLING earth clean. The waters tore down walls, broke roade, and scoiu'ed open the shallow graves on the Mahomedan bnrying-ground. All next day it rained, and Holden sat still in his house considering his sorrow. On the morning of the third day he received a telegram which said only, "Ricketts, Myndonie. Dying. Holden relieve. Immed- iate." Then he thought that before he departed he would look at the house wherein he had been master and lord. There was a break in the weather, and the rank earth steamed with vapor. He found that the rains had torn down the mud pillars of the gateway, and the heavy wooden gate that had guarded his life hung lazily from one hinge. There was grass three inches high in the courtyard; Pir Khan's lodge was empty, and the sodden thatch sagged between the beams. A gray squirrel was in possession of the veranda, as if the house had been untenanted for thirty years instead of three days. Ameera's mother had removed everything except some mildewed matting. The tick-tick of the Uttle scorpions as they hurried across the floor was the only sound in the house. Ameera's room and the other one where Tota had lived were heavy with mildew; and the narrow staircase leading to the roof was streaked and stained with rain-borne mud. Holden saw all these things, and came out again to meet in the road Durga Dass, his landlord, — ^portly, affable, clothed in white muslin, and driving a Cee-spring buggy. He was overlooking his property to see how the roofs stood the stress of the first rains. "I have heard," said he, "you will not take this place any more, sahib f" "What are you going to do with it?".. "Perhaps I shall let it again." " Then I will keep it on while I am away." Durga Dass was silent for some time. "You shall not take it on, sahih," he said. "When I was a yoimg man I also , but to-day I am a member of the Municipality. Ho! Hoi No. When the birds have gone what need to WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 177 keep the nest? I will have it pulled dovm — ^the timber will sell for somethiBg always. It shall be pulled down, and the Municipality shall make a road across, as they desire, from the buming-ghat to the city wall, so that no man may say where this house stood." THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANE\ (1891) Wohl auf, my bully cavaliers. We ride to church to-day. The man that hasn't got a horse Must steal one straight away. Be reverent, men, remember This is a Grottes haus. Du, Conrad, cut along der aisle And schenck der whiskey aus. Hans Breitmann's Ride to Church. Once upon a time, very far from England, there lived three men who loved each other so greatly that neither man nor woman could come between them. They were in no sense refined, nor to be admitted to the outer-door mats of decent folk, because they happened to be private soldiers in Her Majesty's Army; and private soldiers of our service have small time for self -culture. Their duty is to keep themselves and their accouterments specklessly clean, to refrain from getting drunk more often than is necessary, to obey theii superiors, and to pray for a war. All these things my friends accomplished; and of their own motion threw in some fighting-work for which the Army Regulations did not call. Their fate sent them to serve in India, which is not a golden country, though poets have sung otherwise. There men die with great swiftness, and those who live suffer many and curious things. I do not think that my friends con> cerned themselves much with the social or political aspects of the East. They attended a not imimportant war on the northern frontier, another one on our western boundary* 173 mCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 179 and a third in Upper Burma. Then their regiment sat still to recruit, and the boimdless monotony of cantonment life was their portion. They were drilled morning and evening on the same dusty parade-groimd. They wandered up and down the same stretch of dusty white road, attended the same church and the same grog-shop, and slept in the same lime- washed barn of a barrack for two long years. There was Mulvaney, the father in the craft, who had served with various regiments from Bermuda to Halifax, old in war, scarred, reckless, resourcefid, and in his pious hours an un- equaled soldier. To him turned for help and comfort six and a half feet of slow-moving, heavy-footed Yorkshireman, born on the wolds, bred in the dales, and educated chiefly among the carriers' carts at the back of York railway-station. His name was Learoyd, and his chief virtue an unmitigated patience which helped him to win fights. How Ortheris, a fox-terrier of a Cockney, ever came to be one of the trio, is a mystery which even to-day I cannot explain. "There was always three av us," Mulvaney used to say. "An' by the grace av God, so long as our service lasts, three av us they'll always be. 'Tis betther so." They desired no companionship beyond their own, and it was evil for any man of the regiment who attempted dispute with them. Physical argument was out of the question as regarded Mulvaney and the Yorkshireman; and assault on Ortheris meant a combined attack from these twain — a business which no five men were anxious to have on their hands. Therefore they flourished, sharing their drinks, their tobacco, and their money; good luck and evil; battle and the chances of death; Itfe and the chances of hap- piness from Calicut in southern, to Peshawur in northern India. Through no merit of my own it was my good fortune to be in a measure admitted to their friendship — ^frankly by Mulvaney from the beginning, sullenly and with re- luctance by Learoyd, and suspiciously by Ortheris, who held to it that no man not in the Army could fraternize with a 180 STORIES FROM KIPLING red-coat. "Like to like," said he. " I'm a bloomin' sodger — he's a bloomin' m-ilian. Tain't natural — ^that's all." But that was not all. They thawed progressi\'e]j-, and in the thawing told me more of their li\'es and adventures than I am e^■e^ likely to write. Omitting all else, this tale begins with the Lamentable Thirst that was at the beginning of First Causes. Never was such a thirst — ^Mulvaney told me so. They kicked against their compulsorj' ^■irtue, but the attempt was only successful in the case of Ortheris. He, whose talents were many, went forth into the highwaj-s and stole a dog from a "ci\'ilian" — videlicei, someone, he knew not who, not in the Army. Now that ci^^lian was but newly connected by mar- riage with the colonel of the regiment, and outcry tntvs made from quarters least anticipated by Otheris, and, in the end, he was forced, lest a worse thing should happen, to dispose at ridiculously unremunerative rates of as promising a small terrier as ever graced one end of a leading string. The purchase-money was barely suflScient for one small outbreak which led him to the guardroom. He escaped, hoM-e\-er, with nothing worse than a se\-ere reprimand, and a few hours of punishment drill. Not for nothing had he acquired the rep- utation of being "the best soldier of his inches" in tJie regi- ment. Muh^aney had taught personal cleanliness and efS- ciency as the first articles of his companions' creed. "A dhirty man," he was used to say, in the speech of his kind, "goes to Chnk for a weakness in the knees, an' is coort-martialed for a pair av socks missin"; but a clane man, such as is an ornament to his service — a man whose buttons are gold, whose coat is wax upon him, an' whose 'couterments are widout a speck — that man may, spakin' in reason, do fwhat he likes an' dhrink from day to divil. That's the pride av bein' dacint." We sat togetiier upon a day, in the shade of a ravine far from the barracks, where a watercourse used to run in rainy weather. Beliind us was the scrub jungle, in which jackals, peacocks, the gray wolves of the North-Wostern Provinces, and occasionally a tiger estrayed from Central India, were DiCABNATIOX OF KBISHXA MULVA^^EY 181 mpposed to dwfSL In front lay the cantcRunent, faring wiate under a faring sun; mid INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 183 light, Learoyd fumbling with the buttons of his coat. The parade-ground was deserted except for the scurrying jackals. Mulvaney's impetuous rush carried his companions far into the open ere Learoyd attempted to turn roimd and continue the discussion. "Be still now. 'Twas my fault for beginnin' things in the middle av an end, Jock. I should ha' comminst wid an explanation; but Jock, dear, on your sowl are ye fit, think you, for the finest fight that iver was — betther than fightin' me? Considher before ye answer." More than ever puzzled, Learoyd turned round two or three times, felt an arm, kicked tentatively, and answered, "Ah'm fit." He was accustomed to fight blindly at the bidding of the superior mind. They sat them down, the men looking on from afar, and Mulvaney imtangled himself in mighty words. "FoUowin' your fools' scheme I wint out into the thrack- less desert beyond the barricks. An' there I met a pious Hindu dhriving a bullock-kyart. I tuk ut for granted he wud be delighted for to convoy me a piece, an' I jumped in " "You long, lazy, black-haired swine," drawled Ortheris, who would have done the same thing under similar cir- ciunstances. "'Twas the height av policy. The naygur-man dhruv miles an' miles — as far as the new railway line they're buildin' now back av the Tavi river. " 'Tis a kyart for dhirt only," says he now an' agin timoreously, to get me out av ut. 'Dhirt I am,' sez I, 'an' the dhryest that you iver kyarted. Dhrive on, me son," an glory be wid you.' At that I wiut to slape, an' took no heed tiU he pulled up on the embankmint av the line where the coolies were pilin' mud. There was a matther av two thousand coolies on that line — ^you remimber that. Prisintly a bell rang, an' they throops off to a big pay- shed. 'Where's the white man in charge?' sez I to my kyart- dhriver. 'In the shed,' sez he, 'engaged on a riffle.' — *A fwhat?' sez I. 'Riffle,' sez he. 'You take ticket. He 184 STORIES FROM KIPLING take money. You get nothin.' — 'Oho!' sez I, 'that's fwhat the shuperior an' cultivated man calls a raffle, me misbe- guided child av darkness an' sin. Lead on to that raffle, though fwhat the mischief 'tis doin' so far away from uts home — ^which is the charity-bazaar at Christmas, an' the colonel's wife grinnin' behind the tea-table — ^is more than I know.' Wid that I wint to the shed an' foimd 'twas pay- day among the cooHes. Their wages was on a table for- ninst a big, fine, red buck av a man — sivun fut high, four fut wide, an' three fut thick, wid a fist on him like a corn- sack. He was payin' the coolies fair an' easy, but he wud ask each man if he wud raffle that month, an' each man sez, 'Yes,' av course. Thin he wud deduct from their wages ac- cordin'. Whin all was paid, he filled an ould cigar-box full av gun-wads an' scatthered ut among the coolies. They did not take much joy av that performince, an' small won- dher. A man close to me picks up a black gun-wad an' sings out, 'I have ut.' — 'Grood may ut do you,' sez I. The coolie wint forward to this big, fine, red man, who threw a cloth off av the most sumpshus, jooled, enameled an' variously bediviled sedan-chair I iver saw." "Sedan-chair! Put your 'ead in a bag. That was a palanquin. Don't yer know a palanquin when you see it?" said Ortheris with great scorn. "I chuse to call ut sedan-chair, an' chair ut shall be, little man," continued the Irishman. " 'Twas a most amazin' chair — ^all lined wid pink silk an' fitted wid red silk curtains. "Here ut is,' sez the red man. Ilere ut is,' sez the coolie, an' he grinned weakly-ways. 'Is ut any use to you?' sez the red man. 'No,' sez the coolie; 'I'd like to make a presint av ut to you.' — 'I am graciously pleased to accept that same,' sez the red man; an' at that all the coolies cried aloud iu fwhat was mint for cheerful notes, an' wint back to their diggin', lavin' me alone in the shed. The red man saw me, an' his face grew blue on his big, fat neck. 'Fwhat d'you want here?' sez he. 'Standin'-room an' no more,' sez I, 'onless it may be fwhat ye niver had, an' that's manners, INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 185 ye rafflin' ruflBan,' for I was not goin' to have the Service throd upon. 'Out of this,' sez he. 'I'm in charge av this section av construction.' — 'I'm in charge av mesilf,' sez I, 'an' it's like I will stay a while. D'ye raffle much in these parts?' — 'Fwhat's that to you?' sez he. 'Nothin',' sez I, 'but a great dale to you, for begad I'm thinkin' you get the full half av your revenue from that sedan-chair. Is ut always raffled so?' I sez, an' wid that I wint to a coolie to ask questions. Bhoys, that man's name is Dearsley, an' he's been rafflin' that ould sedan-chair monthly this matther av nine months. Ivry coolie on the section takes a ticket — or he gives 'em the go — ^wanst a month on pay- day. Ivry coolie that wins ut gives ut back to him, for 'tis too big to carry away, an' he'd sack the man that thried to sell ut. That Dearsley has been makin' the rowlin' wealth av Roshus by nefarious rafflin.' Think av the burnin' shame to the sufferin' coolie-man that the Army in Injia are bound to protect an' nourish in their bosoms! Two thousand coolies defrauded wanst a month!" "Dom t' coolies. Has't gotten t' cheer, man?" said Learoyd. "Hould on. Havin' onearthed this amazin' an' stupen- jus fraud committed by the man Dearsley, I hild a council av war; he thryin' all the time to sejuce me into a fight with opprobrious language. That sedan-chair niver belonged by right to any foreman av coolies. 'Tis a king's chair or a quane's. There's gold on ut an' silk an' all manner av trap- esemints. Bhoys, 'tis not for me to countenance any sort av wrong-doin' — me bein' the ould man — ^but Anyway he has had ut nine months, an' he dare not make throuble av ut was taken from him. Five miles away, or ut may be six " There was a long pause, and the jackals howled merrily. Learoyd bared one arm, and contemplated it in the moon- light. Then he nodded partly to himself and partly to his friends. Ortheris wriggled with suppressed emotion. "I thought ye wud see the reasonableness av ut," said 186 STORIES FROM KIPLING Mulvaney. "I made bould to say as much to the man be* fore. He was for a direct front attack — ^fut, horse, an' guns — an' all for nothin', seein' that I had no thransport to convey the machine away. 'I will not argue wid you,' sez I, 'this day, but subsequintly, Mister Dearsley, me rafflin' jool, we talk ut out lengthways. 'Tis no good policy to swindle the naygur av his hard-earned emolumints, an' by presint informashin' — 'twas the kyart man that tould me — 'yc've been perpethrating that same for nine months. But I'm a just man,' sez I, 'an' overlookin' the presumpshin that yondher settee wid the gilt top was not come by honust' — at that he turned sky-green, so I knew things was more thrue than tellable — 'not come by honust, I'm willin' to com- pound the felony for this month's winnin's.' "Ah! Ho!" from Learoyd and Ortheris. "That man Dearsley 's rushin' on his fate," continued Mulvaney, solemnly wagging his head. "All Hell had no name bad enough for me that tide. Faith, he called me a robber! Me! that was savin' him from continuin' in his evil ways widout a remonstrince — an' to a man av con- science a remonstrince may change the chune av his life. "Tis not for me to argue,' sez I, 'fwhatever ye are. Mister Dearsley, but, by my hand, I'll take away the temptation for you that lies in that sedan-chair.' — 'You will have to fight me for ut,' sez he, 'for well I know you will never dare make report to any one.' — 'Fight I will,' sez I, 'but not this day, for I'm rejuced for want av nourishment.' — "Ye're an ould bould hand, 'sez he, sizin' me up an' down; 'an' a jool av a fight we will have. Eat now an' dhrink an' go your way.' Wid that he gave me some hump an' whisky — good whisky — an' we talked av this an' that the while. 'It goes hard on me now,' sez I, wipin' my mouth, 'to confiscate that piece av furniture, but justice is justice.' — 'Ye've not got ut yet,' sez he; 'there's the fight between.' — 'There is,' sez I, 'an" a good fight. Ye shall have the pick av the best quality in my rigimint for the dinner you have given this day.' Thin 1 came hot-foot to you two. Hould your tongue, the both. INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 187 *Tis this way. To-morrow we three will go there an' he shall have his pick betune me an' Jock. Jock's a deceivin' fighter, for he is all fat to the eye, an' he moves slow. Now, I'm all beef to the look, an' I move quick. By my reckonin' the Dearsley man won't take me; so me an' Orth'ris '11 see fair play. Jock, I tell you, 'twill be big fightin' — whipped, wid the cream above the jam. Afther the business 'twill take a good three av us— Jock 'II be very hurt — to haul away that sedan-chair." "Palanquin." This from Ortheris. "Fwhatever ut is, we must have ut. 'Tis the only sellin' piece av property widin reach that we can get so cheap. An' fwhat's a fight afther all? He has robbed the naygur- man, dishonust. We rob him honust for the sake av the whisky he gave me." "But wot '11 we do with the bloomin' article when we've got it? Them palanquins are as big as 'ouses, an' uncommon 'ard to sell, as McCleary said when ye stole the sentry-box from the Curragh." "Who's goin' to do t' fightin'?" said Learoyd, and Ortheris subsided. The three returned to barracks without a word. Mulvaney's last argument clinched the matter. This palanquin was property, vendible, and to be attained in the simplest and least embarrassing fashion. It would even- tually become beer. Great was Mulvaney. Next afternoon a procession of three formed itself and dis- appeared into the scrub in the direction of the new railway line. Learoyd alone was without care, for Mulvaney dived darkly into the future, and little Ortheris feared the unknown. What befell at that interview in the lonely pay-shed by the side of the half-built embankment, only a few hundred coolies know, and their tale is a confusing one, running thus — "We were at work. Three men in red coats came. They saw the Sahib — Dearsley Sahib. They made oration; and noticeably the small man among the red-coats. Dearsley Sahib also made oration, and used many very strong words. Upon this talk they departed together to an open space, and 188 STORIES FROM KIPLING there the fat man in the red coat fought with Dearsley Sahib after the custom of white men — with his hands, making no noise, and never at all pulling Dearsley Sahib's hair. Such of us as were not afraid beheld these things for just so long a time as a man needs to cook the mid-day meal. The small man in the red coat had possessed himself of Dearsley Sahib's watch. No, he did not steal that watch. He held it in his hand, and at certain seasons made outcry, and the twain ceased their combat, which was like the combat of young bulls in spring. Both men were soon all red, but Dearsley Sahib was much more red than the other. Seeing this, and fearing for his life — because we greatly loved him — some fifty of us made shift to rush upon the red-coats. But a certain man — very black as to the hair, and in no way to be confused with the small man, or the fat man who fought — that man, we aflBrm, ran upon us, and of us he embraced some ten or fifty in both arms, and beat our heads together, so that our livers turned to water, and we ran away. It is not good to interfere in the fightings of white men. After that Dearsley Sahib fell and did not rise, these men jumped upon his stomach and despoiled him of all his money, and attempted to fire the pay-shed, and departed. Is it true that Dearsley Sahib makes no complaint of these latter things having been done? We were senseless with fear, and do not at all remember. There was no palanquin near the pay-shed. What do we know about palanquins? Is it true that Dearsley Sahib does not return to this place, on accoimt of his sickness, for ten days? This is the fault of those bad men in the red coats, who should be severely punished; for Dearsley Sahib is both our father and mother, and we love him much. Yet, if Dearsley Sahib does not return to this place at all, we will speak the truth. There was a palan- quin, for the up-keep of which we were forced to pay nine- tenths of our monthly wage. On such mulctings Dearsley Sahib allowed us to make obeisance to him before the palan- quin. What could we do? We were poor men. He took a full half of our wages. Will the Government repay us INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 189 those moneys? Those three men in red coats bore the palan- quin upon their shoulders and departed. All the money that Dearsley Sahib had taken from us was in the cushions of that palanquin. Therefore they stole it. Thousands of rupees were there — ^all our money. It was our bank-box, to fill which we cheerfully contributed to Dearsley Sahib three-sevenths of our monthly wage. Why does the white man look upon us with the eye of disfavor? Before God, there was a palanquin, and now there is no palanquin; and if they send the police here to make inquisition, we can only say that there never has been any palanquin. Why should a palanquin be near these works? We are poor men, and we know nothing." Such is the simplest version of the simplest story connected with the descent upon Dearsley. From the lips of the coolies I received it. Dearsley himself was in no condition to say anything, and Mulvaney preserved a massive silence, broken only by the occasional licking of the lips. He had seen a fight so gorgeous that even his power of speech was taken from him. I respected that reserve imtil, three days after the aflFair, I discovered in a disused stable in my quart- ers a palanquin of unchastened splendor — evidently in past days the litter of a queen. The pole whereby it swung be- tween the shoulders of the bearers was rich with the painted papier-macM of cashmere. The shoulder-pads were of yellow silk. The panels of the litter itself were ablaze with the loves of all the gods and goddesses of the Hindu Pantheon — lacquer on cedar. The cedar sliding doors were fitted with hasps of translucent Jaipur enamel and ran in grooves shod with silver. The cushions were of brocaded Delhi silk, and the curtains which once hid any glimpse of the beauty of the king's palace were stiff with gold. Closer investigation showed that the entire fabric was everywhere rubbed and discolored by time and wear; but even thus it was sufficiently gorgeous to deserve housing on the threshold of a royal zenana. I found no fault with it, except that it was in my stable. Then, trying to lift it by the silver-shod 190 STORIES FROM KIPLING shoulder-pole, I laughed. The road from Dearsley's pay- shed to the cantonment was a narrow and uneven one, and, traversed by three very inexperienced palanquin-bearers, one of whom was sorely battered about the head, must have been a path of torment. Still I did not quite recognize the right of the three musketeers to tiirn me into a "fence" for stolen property. "I'm askin' you to warehouse ut," said Mulvaney when he was brought to consider the question. "There's no steal in ut. Dearsley tould us we cud have ut if we fought. Jock fought — ^an', oh, sorr, when the throuble was at uts finest an' Jock was bleedin' like a stuck pig, an' little Orth'ris was shquealin' on one leg chewin' big bits out av Dearsley's watch, I wud ha' given my place at the fight to have had you see wan roimd. He tuk Jock, as I suspicioned he would, an' Jock was deceptive. Nine roun's they were even matched, an' at the tenth About that palanquin now. There's not the least throuble in the world, or we wud not ha' brought ut here. You will ondherstand that the Queen — God bless her! — does not reckon for a privit soldier to kape elephints an' palanquins an' sich in barricks. Afther we had dhragged ut down from Dearsley's through that cruel scrub that near broke Orth'ris's heart, we set ut in the ravine for a night; an' a thief av a porcupine an' a civet-cat av a jackal roosted in ut, as well we knew in the mornin'. I put ut to you, sorr, is an elegint palanquin, fit for the princess, the natural abidin' place av all the vermin in cantonmints? We brought ut to you, afther dhark, and put ut in your shtable. Do not let your conscience prick. Think av the rejoicin' men in the pay-shed yonder — ^lookin' at Dearsley wid his head tied up in a towel — an' well knowin' that they can dhraw their pay ivry month widout stoppages for riffles. Indirectly, sorr, you have rescued from an onprincipled son av a night- hawk the peasanthry av a numerous village. An' besides, will I let that sedan-chair rot on our hands? Not I. 'Tis not every day a piece av pure jooby comes into the market. There's not a king widin these forty miles" — ^he waved his INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 191 hand round the dusty horizon — "not a king wud not be glad to buy ut. Some day meself, whin I have leisiu-e, I'll take ut up along the road an' dishpose av ut." "How?" said I, for I knew the man was capable of any- thing. "Get into ut, av coorse, and keep wan eye open through the curtains. Whin I see a likely man av the native per- suasion, I will descind blushin' from my canopy and say, 'Buy a palanquin, ye black scutt?' I will have to hire four men to carry me first, though; and that's impossible till next pay-day." Curiously enough, Learoyd, who had fought for the prize, and in the winning secured the highest pleasure life had to offer him, was altogether disposed to undervalue it, while Ortheris openly said it would be better to break the thing up. Dearsley, he argued, might be a many-sided man, capable, despite his magnificent fighting qualities, of setting in motion the machinery of the civil law — a thing much abhorred by the soldier. Under any circumstances their fun had come and passed; the next pay-day was close at hand, when there would be beer for all. Wherefore longer conserve the painted palanquin? "A first-class rifle-shot an' a good little man av your inches you are," said Mulvaney. " But you niver had a head worth a soft-boiled egg. 'Tis me has to lie awake av nights schamin' an' plottin' for the three av us. Orth'ris, me son, 'tis no matther av a few gallons av beer — ^no, not twenty gallons — • but tubs an' vats an' firkins in that sedan-chair. Who ut was, an' what ut was, an' how ut got there, we do not know; but I know in my bones that you an' me an' Jock wid his sprained thumb will get a fortune thereby. Lave me alone, an' let me think." Meantime the palanquin stayed in my stall, the key of which was in Mulvaney's hands. Pay-day came, and with it beer. It was not in experience to hope that Mulvaney, dried by four weeks' drought, would avoid excess. Next morning he and the palanquin 192 STORIES FROM KIPLING had disappeared. He had taken the precaution of getting three days' leave "to see a friend on the railway," and the colonel, well knowing that the seasonal outburst was near, and hoping it would spend its force beyond the limits of his jurisdiction, cheerfully gave him all he demanded. At this point Mulvaney's history, as recorded in the mess-room, stopped. Ortheris carried it not much further. "No, 'e wasn't drunk," said the little man loyally, "the liquor was no more than feelin' its way round inside of 'im; but 'e went an' filled that 'ole bloomin' palanquin with bottles 'fore 'e went off. 'E's gone an' 'ired six men to carry 'im, an' I 'ad to 'elp 'im into 'is nupshal couch, 'cause 'e wouldn't 'ear reason. 'E's gone off in 'is shirt an' trousies, swearin' tremenjus — gone down the road in the palanquin, wavin' 'is legs out o' windy." "Yes," said I, "but where?" "Now you arx me a question. 'E said 'e was goin' to sell that palanquin, but from observations what happened when I was stuflSn' 'im through the door, I fancy 'e's gone to the new embankment to mock at Dearsley. 'Soon as Jock's off duty I'm goin' there to see if 'e's safe — ^not Mulvaney, but t'other man. My saints, but I pity 'im as 'elps Terence out o' the palanquin when 'e's once fair drunk!" "He'll come back without harm," I said. "'Corse 'e will. On'y question is, what'll 'e be doin' on the road? Killing Dearsley, like as not. 'E shouldn't 'a' gone without Jock or me." Reinforced by Learoyd, Ortheris sought the foreman of the coolie-gang. Dearsley's head was still embellished with towels. Mulvaney, drunk or sober, would have struck no man in that condition, and Dearsley indignantly denied that he would have taken advantage of the intoxicated brave. "I had my pick o' you two," he explained to Learoyd, "and you got my palanquin — ^not before I'd made my profit on it. Why'd I do harm when everything's settled? Your INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 193 man did come here — dnmk as Davy's sow on a frosty night — • came a-purpose to mock me — stuck his head out of the door an' called me a crucified hodman. I made him drunker, an' sent him along. But I never touched him." To these things, Learoyd, slow to perceive the evidences of sincerity, answered only, "If owt comes to Mulvaaney 'long o' you, I'll gripple you, clouts or no clouts on your ugly head, an' I'll draw t' throat twistyways, man. See there now." The embassy removed itself, and Dearsley, the battered, laughed alone over his supper that evening. Three days passed — a fourth and a fifth. The week drew to a close and Mulvaney did not return He, his royal palanquin, and his six attendants, had vanished into air. A very large and very tipsy soldier, his feet sticking out of the Utter of a reigning princess, is not a thing to travel along the ways without comment. Yet no man of all the country round had seen any such wonder. He was, and he was not; and Learoyd suggested the immediate smashment of Dearsley as a sacrifice to his ghost. Ortheris insisted that all was well, and in the light of past experience his hopes seemed reasonable. "When Mulvaney goes up the road," said he, "'e's like to go a very long ways up, specially when 'e's so blue drunk as *e is now. But what gits me is 'is not bein' 'card of pullin' wool off the niggers somewheres about. That don't look good. The drink must ha' died out in 'im by this, unless 'e's broke a bank, an' then Why don't' e come back? 'E didn't ought to ha' gone off without us." Even Ortheris 's heart sank at the end of the seventh day, for half the regiment were out scouring the country-side, and Learoyd had been forced to fight two men who hinted openly that Mulvaney had deserted. To do him justice, the colonel laughed at the notion, even when it was put for- ward by his much-trusted adjutant. "Mulvaney would as soon think of deserting as you would," said he. "No; he's either fallen into a misdiief 194 STORIES FROM KIPLING among the villagers — and yet that isn't likely, for he'd blarney himself out of the Pit; or else he is engaged on urgent private aflFairs — some stupendous devilment that we shall hear of at mess after it has been the round of the barrack- rooms. The worst of it is that I shall have to give him twenty-eight days' confinement at least for being absent without leave, just when I most want him to lick the new batch of recruits into shape. I never knew a man who could put a polish on young soldiers as quickly as Mul- vaney can. How does he do it? " "With blarney and the buckle-end of a belt, sir," said the adjutant. "He is worth a couple of non-commissioned oflBcers when we are deaUng with an Irish draft, and the London lads seem to adore him. The worst of it is that if he goes to the cells the other two are neither to hold nor to bind till he comes out again. I believe Ortheris preaches mutiny on those occasions, and I know that the mere presence of Learoyd mourning for Mulvaney kills all the cheerfulness of his room. The sergeants tell me that he allows no man to laugh when he feels unhappy. They are a queer gang." "For all that, I wish we had a few more of them. I Uke a well-conducted regiment, but these pasty-faced, shifty- eyed, mealy-mouthed young slouchers from the depot worry me sometimes with their ofifensive virtue. They don't seem to have backbone enough to do anything but play cards and prowl round the married quarters. I believe I'd forgive that old villain on the spot if he turned up with any sort of explanation that I could in decency accept." "Not likely to be much difficulty about that, sir," said the adjutant. " Mulvaney 's explanations are only one degree less wonderful than his performances. They say that when he was in the Black Tyrone, before he came to us, he was discovered on the banks of the Liffey trying to sell his colonel's charger to a Donegal dealer as a perfect lady's hack. Shackbolt commanded the Tyrone then." "Shackbolt must have had apoplexy at the thought of his INCARNATION OP KRISHNA MULVANEY 195 ramping war-horses answering to that description. He used to buy unbacked devils, and tame them on some pet theory of starvation. What did Mulvaney say ? " "That he was a member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, anxious to 'sell the poor baste where he would get something to fill out his dimples.' Shackbolt laughed, but I fancy that was why Mulvaney exchanged to ours." "I wish he were back," said the colonel; "for I like him and believe he likes me." That evening, to cheer our souls, Learoyd, Ortheris, and I went into the waste to smoke out a porcupine. All the dogs attended, but even their clamor — ^and they began to discuss the shortcomings of porcupines before they left cantonments — could not take us out of ourselves. A large, low moon turned the tops of the plume-grass to silver, and the stunted camelthorn bushes and sour tamarisks into the likenesses of trooping devils. The smell of the sun had not left the earth, and httle aimless winds blowing across the rose-gardens to the southward brought the scent of dried roses and water. Our fire once started, and the dogs craftily disposed to wait the dash of the porcupine, we climbed to the top of a rain- scarred hiUock of earth, and looked across the scrub seamed with cattle paths, white with the long grass, and dotted with spots of level pond-bottom, where the snipe would gather in winter. "This," said Ortheris, with a sigh, as he took in the un- kempt desolation of it all, "this is sanguinary. This is un- usually sanguinary. Sort o' mad country. Like a grate when the fire's put out by the sun." He shaded his eyes against the moonUght. "An' there's a loony dancin' in the middle of it all. Quite right. I'd dance too if I wasn't so downheart." There pranced a Portent in the face of the moon — a huge and ragged spirit of the waste, that flapped its wings from afar. It had risen out of the earth; it was coming towards us, and its outline was never twice the same. The toga, 196 STORIES FROM KIPLING table-cloth, or dressing-gown, whatever the creature worei took a hundred shapes. Once it stopped on a neighboring mound and flung all its legs and arms to the winds. "My, but that scarecrow 'as got 'em bad!" said Ortheris. "Seems like if 'e comes any furder we'll 'ave to argify with im. Learoyd raised himself from the dirt as a bull clears his flanks of the wallow. And as a bull bellows, so he, after a short minute at gaze, gave tongue to the stars. "Mulvaaney! Mulvaaney! A-hoo!" Oh then it was that we yelled and the figure dipped into the hollow, till, with a crash of rending grass, the lost one strode up to the light of the fire and disappeared to the waist in a wave of joyous dogs! Then Learoyd and Ortheris gave greeting, bass and falsetto together, both swallowing a lump in the throat. "You damned fool!" said they, and severally pounded him with their fists. "Go easy!" he answered; wrapping a huge arm round each. 'T would have you to know that I am a god, to be treated as such — ^tho', by my faith, I fancy I've got to go to the guard-room just like a privit soldier." The latter part of the sentence destroyed the suspicions raised by the former. Any one would have been justified in regarding Mulvaney as mad. He was hatless and shoeless, and his shirt and trousers were dropping off him. But he wore one wondrous garment — a, gigantic cloak that fell from collar-bone to heel — of pale pink silk, wrought all over in cunningest needlework of hands long since dead, with the loves of the Hindu gods. The monstrous figures leaped in and out of the light of the fire as he settled the folds round him. Ortheris handled the stuff respectfully for a moment while I was trying to remember where I had seen it before. Then he screamed, "What 'ave you done with the palanquin? You're wearin' the linin'." "I am," said the Irishman, "an' by the same token the INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 197 broidery is scrapin' my hide off. I've lived in this sump- shus counterpane for four days. Me son, I begin to ondher- stand why the naygur is no use. Widout me boots, an' me trousies like an openwork stocking on a gyurl's leg at a dance, I begin to feel like a naygur-man — all fearful an' timoreous. Give me a pipe an' I'll tell on." He lit a pipe, resumed his grip of his two friends, and rocked to and fro in a gale of laughter. "Mulvaney," said Ortheris sternly, "'tain't no time for laughin'. You've given Jock an' me more trouble than you're worth. You 'ave been absent without leave an' you'll go into cells for that; an' you 'ave come back dis- gustin'Iy dressed an' most improper in the linin' o' that bloomin' palanquin. Instid of which you laugh. An' we thought you was dead all the time." "Bhoys," said the culprit, still shaking gently, "whin I've done my tale you may cry if you like an' little Orth'ris here can thrample my inside out. Ha' done an' listen. My performlnces have been stupenjus: my luck has been the blessed luck av the British Army — ^an' there's no betther than that. I went out dhrunk an' dhrinkin' in the palanquin, and I have come back a pink god. Did any of you go to t?rarsley afther my time was up? He was at the bottom of ut all." "Ah said so," murmured Learoyd. "To-morrow ah'll smash t' face in upon his heead." "Ye will not. Dearsley's a jool av a man. Afther Ortheris had put me into the palanquin an' the six bearer-men were gruntin' down the road, I tuk thought to mock Dearsley for that fight. So I tould thim, 'Go to the embankmint,' and there, bein' most amazin' full, I shtuck my head out av the concern an' passed compliments wid Dearsley. I must ha' miscalled him outrageous, for whin I am that way the power av the tongue comes on me. I can bare remimber tellia' him that his mouth opened endways like the mouth av a skate, which was thrue afther Learoyd had handled ut; an' I clear remimber bis takin' no manner nor matter av offence, but 198 STORIES FROM KIPLING givin' me a big dhrink of beer. 'Twas the beer did the thrick, for I crawled back into the palanquin, steppin' on me right ear wid me left foot, an' thin I slept like the dead. Wanst I half-roused, an' begad the noise in my head was tremenjus — ^roarin' and rattlin'an' poundin' such as was quite new to me. 'Mother av Mercy,' thinks I, 'phwat a concer- tina I will have on my shoulders whin I wake!' An' wid that I curls mesilf up to sleep before ut should get hould on me. Bhoys, that noise was not dhrink, 'twas the rattle av a thrain!" There followed an impressive pause. "Yes, he had put me on a thrain — ^put me, palanquin an' all, an' six black assassins av his own coolies that was in hia nefarious confidence, on the flat av a ballast-thruck, and we were rowlin' an' bowlin' along to Benares. Glory be that I did not wake up thin an' introjuse mesilf to the coohes. As I was sayin', I slept for the betther part av a day an' a night. But remimber you, that that man Dearsley had packed me off on wan av his material-thrains to Benares, all for to make me overstay my leave an' get me into the cells." The explanation was an eminently rational one. Benares lay at least ten hours by rail from the cantonments, and nothing in the world could have saved Mulvaney from arrest as a deserter had he appeared there in the apparel of his orgies. Dearsley had not forgotten to take revenge. Lea- royd, drawing back a little, began to place soft blows over selected portions of Mulvaney 's body. His thoughts were away on the embankment, and they meditated evil for Dearsley. Mulvaney continued — "Whin I was full awake the palanquin was set down in a street, I suspicioned, for I cud hear people passin' an' talkin'. But I knew well I was far from home. There is a queer smeli upon our cantonments — a smell av dried earth and brick- kilns wid whiffs av cavalry stable-litter. This place smelt marigold flowers an' bad water, an' wanst somethin' alive came an' blew heavy with his muzzle at the chink av the shutter. 'It's in a village I am,' thinks I to mesilf, 'an' INCAENATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 199 the parochial buffalo is investigatin' the palanquin.' But anyways I had no desire to move. Only lie still whin you're in foreign parts an' the standin' luck av the British Army will carry ye through. That is an epigram. I made ut. "Thin a lot av whisperin' divils surrounded the palan- quin. 'Take ut up,' sez wan man. 'But who'll pay us?' sez another. 'The Maharanee's minister, av coorse,' sez the man. 'Oho!' sez I to mesilf, 'I'm a quane in me own right, wid a minister to pay me expenses. I'll be an emperor if I He still long enough; but this is no village I've found.' I lay quiet, but I gummed me right eye to a crack av the shutters, an' I saw that the whole street was crammed wid palanquins an' horses, an' a sprinklin' av naked priests all yellow powder an' tigers' tails. But I may tell you, Orth'ris, an' you, Learoyd, that av all the palanquins ours was the most imperial an' magnificent. Now a palanquin means a native lady all the world over, except whin a soldier av the Quane happens to be takin' a ride. 'Women an' priests!' sez I. 'Your father's son is in the right pew this time, Terence. There will be proceedin's.' Six black divils in pink muslin tuk up the palanquin, an' oh! but the rowlin' an' the rockin' made me sick. Thin we got fair jammed among the palanquins — ^not more than fifty av them — an' we grated an' bumped like Queenstown potato-smacks in a runnin' tide. I cud hear the women gigglLn' and squirkin' in their palanquins, but mine was the royal equipage. They made way for ut, an', begnd, the pink muslin men o' mine were howlin', 'Room for the Maharanee av Gokral- Seetarun.' Do you know aught av the lady, sorr? " "Yes," said I. "She is a very estimable old queen of the Central Indian States, and they say she is fat. How on earth could she go to Benares without all the city knowing her palanquin?" " 'Twas the eternal foolishness av the naygur-man. They saw the palanquin lying loneful an' forlornsome, an' the beauty av ut, after Dearsley's men had dhropped ut and gone away, an' they gave ut the best name that occurred 200 STORIES FROM KIPLING to thim. Quite right too. For aught we know the cuM lady was thravellin' incog — ^like me. I'm glad to hear she's fat. I was no light weight mysilf, an' my men were mortial anxious to dhrop me under a great big archway promiscuously ornamented wid the most improper carvin's an' cuttin's I iver saw. Begad', they made me blush — ^like a — ^like a Maharanee." "The temple of Prithi-Devi," I murmured, remembering the monstrous horrors of that sculptured archway at Benares. "Pretty Devilskins, savin' your presence, sorr! There was nothin' pretty about ut, except me. 'Twas aU half dhark, an' whin the coolies left they shut a big black gate behind av us, an' half a company av fat yellow priests began pully- haulin' the palanquins into a dharker place yet — ^a big stone hall full av pillars, an' gods, an' incense, an' aU manner av similar thruck. The gate disconcerted me, for I perceived I wud have to go forward to get out, my retreat bein' cut ofiF. By the same token a good priest makes a bad palanquin* coolie. Begad! they nearly turned me inside out draggin* the palanquin to the timple. Now the disposishin av the forces inside was this way. The Maharanee av GokraK Seetarun — that was me — ^lay by the favor av Providence on the far left flank behind the dhark av a pillar carved with elephints' heads. The remainder av the palanquins was in a big half circle facing in to the biggest, fattest an' most amazin' she-god that iver I dreamed av. Her head ran up into the black above us, an' her feet stuck out in the light av a little fire av melted butter that a priest was feedin' out av a butter-dish. Thin a man began to sing an' play on some- thin' back in the dhark, an' 'twas a queer song. Ut made my hair lift on the back av my neck. Thin the doors av all the palanquins slid back, an' the women bundled out. I saw what I'll niver see again. 'Twas more glorious than thransformations at a pantomime, for they was in pink an' blue an' silver an' red an' grass-green, wid di'monds an' im'ralds an' great red rubies all over thim. But that was the least part av the glory. bhoys, they were more INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 201 lovely than the like av any loveliness in hiven; ay, their little bare feet were betther than the white hands av a lord's lady, an' their mouths were like puckered roses, an' their eyes were bigger an' dharker than the eyes av any livin' woman I've seen. Ye may laugh, but I'm speakin' truth. I niver saw the like, an' niver I will again." "Seeing that in all probability you were watching the wives and daughters of most of the kings of India, the chances are that you won't," I said, for it was dawning on me that Mulvaney had stumbled upon a big Queens' Praying at Benares. "I niver will," he said mournfully. "That sight doesn't come twist to any man. It made me ashamed to watch. A fat priest knocked at my door. I didn't think he'd have the insolince to disturb the Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun, so I lay still. 'The old cow's asleep,' sez he to another. 'Let her be,' sez that. "Twill be long before she has a calf!' I might ha' known before he spoke that all a woman prays for in Injia — ^an' for matter o' that in England too — is chil- dher. That made me more sorry I'd come, me bein', as you well know, a childless man." He was silent for a moment, thinking of his little son, dead many years ago. - "They prayed, an' the butter-fires blazed up an' the incense turned everything blue, an' between that an' the fires the women looked as tho' they were all ablaze an' twinklin'. They took hold av the she-god's knees, they cried out an' they threw themselves about, an' that world- without-end-amen music was dhrivin' thim mad. Mother av Hiven! how they cried, an' the ould she-god grinnin' above thim aU so scornful! The dhrink was dyin' out in me fast, an' I was thinkin' harder than the thoughts Vrud go through my head — thinkin' how to get out, an' all manner of nonsense as well. The women were rockin' in rows, their di'mond belts clickin', an' the tears runnin' out betune their hands, an' the lights were goin' lower an' dharker. Thin there was a blaze like lightnin' from the 202 STORIES FROM KIPLING roof, an' that showed me the inside av the palanquin, an' at the end where my foot was, stood the livin' spit an' image o' mysilf worked on the linin'. This man here, ut was." He hunted in the folds of his pink cloak, ran a hand under one, and thrust into the firelight a foot-long embroidered presentment of the great god Krishna, playing on a flute. The heavy jowl, the staring eye, and the blue-black mous- tache of the god made up a far-oflf resemblance to Mulvaney. "The blaze was gone in a wink, but the whole schame came to me thin. I believe I was mad too. I slid the oflF- shutteropen an'rowled out into the dhark behind the elephint- head pillar, tucked up my trousies to my knees, slipped ofE my boots an' tuk a general hould av all the pink linin' av the palanquin. Glory be, ut ripped out like a woman's dhriss whin you tread on ut at a sergeants' ball, an' a bottle came with ut. I tuk the bottle an' the next minute I was out av the dhark av the pillar, the pink linin' wrapped round me most graceful, the music thunderin' like kettledrums, an' a could draft blowin' round my bare legs. By this hand that did ut, I was Krishna tootlin' on the flute — the god that the rig'mental chaplain talks about. A sweet sight I must ha' looked. I knew my eyes were big, and my face was wax-white, an' at the worst I must ha' looked like a ghost. But they took me for the livin' god. The music stopped, and the women were dead diunb an' I crooked my legs like a shepherd on a china basin, an' I did the ghost-waggle with my feet as I had done ut at the rig'- mental theater many times, an' I slid acrost the width av that temple in front av the she-god tootlin' on the beer bottle." "Wot did you toot?" demanded Ortheris the practical. "Me? Oh!" Mulvaney sprang up, suiting the action to the word, and sliding gravely in front of us, a dilapidated but imposing deity in the half light. "I sang — , "Only say You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan. Don't say nay, Charmin' Judy Callaghan. INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 203 I didn't know me own voice when I sang. An' oh! 'twas pitiful to see the women. The darlin's were down on their faces. Whin I passed the last wan I cud see her poor little fingers workin' one in another as if she wanted to touch my feet. So I dhrew the tail av this pink overcoat over her head for the greater honor, an' I slid into the dhark on the other side av the temple, and fetched up in the arms av a big fat priest. All I wanted was to get away clear. So I tuk him by his greasy throat an' shut the speech out av him. 'Out!' sez I. 'Which way, ye fat heathen?' — 'Oh!' sez he. 'Man,' sez I. 'White man, soldier man, common soldier man. Where in the name av confusion is the back door?' The women in the temple were still on their faces, an' a young priest was holdin' out his arms above their heads. " 'This way,' sez my fat friend, duckin' behind a big bull- god an' divin' into a passage. Thin I remembered that I must ha' made the miraculous reputation av that temple for the next fifty years. 'Not so fast,' I sez, an' I held out both my hands wid a wink. That ould thief smiled like a father. I tuk him by the back av the neck in case he should be wishful to put a knife into me unbeknownst, an' I ran him up an' down the passage twice to collect his sensibihties! 'Be quiet,' sez he, in English. 'Now you talk sense,' I sez. Fwhat '11 you give me for the use av that most iligant pa- lanquin I have no time to take away?' — 'Don't tell,' sez he. 'Is ut like?' sez I. 'But ye might give me my railway fare. I'm far from my home an' I've done you a service." Bhoys, 'tis a good thing to be a priest. The ould man niver throubled himself to dhraw from a bank. As I will prove to you subsequint, he philandered all round the slack av his clothes an' began dribblin' ten-rupee notes, old gold mohurs, and rupees into my hand till I could hould no more." "You lie!" said Ortheris. "You're mad or sunstrook. A native don't give coin imless you cut it out o' 'im. 'Tain't nature." "Then my lie an' my sunstroke is concealed under that 204 STORIES FROM KIPLING lump av sod yonder," retorted Mulvaney unruffled, nodding across the scrub. "An' there's a dale more in nature than your squidgy little legs have iver taken you to, Orth'ris, me son. Four hundred an' thirty-four rupees by my reck- onin', an' a big fat gold necklace that I took from him as a remimbrancer, was our share in that business." "An' 'e give it you for love?" said Ortheris. "We were alone in that passage. Maybe I was a trifle too pressin', but considher fwhat I had done for the good av the temple and the iverlastin' joy av those women. 'Twas cheap at the price. I wud ha' taken more if I cud ha' found ut. I turned the ould man upside down at the last, but he was milked dhry. Thin he opened a door in another pass- age an' I found mysilf up to my knees in Benares river- water, an' bad smellin' ut is. More by token I had come out on the river-line close to the burnin' ghat and con- tagious to a cracklin' corpse. This was in the heart av the night, for I had been four hours in the temple. There was a crowd av boats tied up, so I tuk wan an' wint across the river. Thin I came home acrost country, lyin' up by day." "How on earth did you manage?" I said. "How did Sir Frederick Roberts get from Cabul to Can- dahar? He marched an' he niver tould how near he was to breakin'down. That's why he is fwhat he is. An' now " Mulvaney yawned portentously. "Now I will go an' give myself up for absince widout leave. It's eight an' twenty days an' the rough end of the colonel's tongue in orderly room, any way you look at ut. But 'tis cheap at the price." "Mulvaney," said I softly. "If there happens to be any sort of excuse that the colonel can in any way accept, I have a notion that you'll get nothing more than the dressing- down. The new recruits are in, and " "Not a word more, sorr. Is ut excuses the old man wants? 'Tis not my way, but he shall have thim. I'll tell him I was engaged in financial operations connected wid a church," and he flapped his way to cantonments and the cells, singing lustily — INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 206 "So they sent a corp'ril's file. And they put me in the gyard- room For conduck unbecomin' of a soldier." And when he was lost in the midst of the moonlight we could hear the refrain — Bang upon the big drum, bash upon the cymbals. As we go marchin' along, boys, oh! For although in this campaign There's no whisky nor champagne. We'll keep oiu: spirits goin' with a song, boys! Therewith he surrendered himself to the joyful and al- most weeping guard, and was made much of by his fellows. But to the colonel he said that he had been smitten with sim- stroke and had lain insensible on a villager's cot for untold hours; and between laughter and goodwill the affair was smoothed over, so that he could, next day, teach the new recruits how to "Fear God, Honor the Queen, Shoot Straight, and Keep Clean." "RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI " (1893) At the hole where he went in Red-Eye called to Wrinkle-Skin. Hear what little Red-Eye saith: "Nag, come up and dance with death!" Eye to eye and head to head, {Keep the measure. Nag.) This shall end when one is dead; (At thy pleasure. Nag.) Turn for turn and twist for twist — (Run and hide thee. Nag.) Hah! The hooded Death has missed! (Woe betide thee, Nagt) This is the , story of the great war that RikM-tikki-tavi fought single-handed, through the bath-rooms of the big bungalow in Segowlee cantonment. Darzee, the tailor-bird, helped him, and Chuchundra, the muskratj who never comes out into the middle of the floor, but always creeps round by the wall, gave him advice; but RikM-tikki did the real fighting. He was a mongoose, rather like a little cat in his fur and his tail, but quite like a weasel in his head and his habits. His eyes and the end of his restless nose were pink; he could scratch himself anywhere he pleased, with any leg, front or back, that he chose to use; he could fluff up his tail till it looked like a bottle-brush, and his war-cry as he scuttled through the long grass, was: "Rikk-tikk-tikM-tikki-tchJc !" One day, a high summer flood washed him out of the burrow where he lived with his father and mother, and carried him, kicking and clucking, down a roadside ditch. He found a little wisp of grass floating there, and dung to it SOS "RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI" 207 till he lost his senses. When he revived, he was lying in the hot sun on the middle of a garden path, very draggled indeed, and a small boy was saying: "Here's a dead mongoose. Let's have a fmieral." "No," said his mother; "let's take him in and dry him. Perhaps he isn't really dead." They took him into the house, and a big man picked him up between his finger and thumb and said he was not dead but half choked; so they wrapped him in cotton-wool, and warmed him, and he opened his eyes and sneezed. "Now," said the big man (he was an Englishman who had just moved into the bungalow); "don't frighten him, and we'll see what he'll do." It is the hardest thing in the world to frighten a mongoose, because he is eaten up from nose to tail with curiosity. The motto of all the mongoose family is, "Run and find out"; and Rikki-tikki was a true mongoose. He looked at the cotton-wool, decided that it was not good to eat, ran all round the table, sat up and put his fur in order, scratched himself, and jumped on the small boy's shoulder. "Don't be frightened, Teddy," said his father. "That's his way of making friends." "Ouch! He's tickling imder my chin," said Teddy. Rikki-tikki looked down between the boy's collar and neck, snuffed at his ear, and climbed down to the floor, where he sat rubbing his nose. "Good gracious," said Teddy's mother, "and that's a wild creature! I suppose he's so tame because we've been kind to him." "All mongooses are like that," said her husband. "If Teddy doesn't pick him up by the tail, or try to put him in a cage, he'll run in and out of the house all day long. Let's give him something to eat." They gave him a little piece of raw meat. Rikki-tikki liked it immensely, and when it was finished he went out into the veranda and sat in the sunshine and fluffed up his Cur to make it dry to the roots. Then he felt better. 208 STORIES FROM KIPLING "There are more things to find out about in this house," he said to himself, "than all my family could find out in all their lives. I shall certainly stay and find out." He spent all that day roaming over the house. He nearly drowned himself in the bath-tubs, put his nose into the ink on a writing-table, and burned it on the end of the big man's cigar, for he climbed up in the big man's lap to see how writing was done. At nightfall he ran into Teddy's nursery to watch how kerosene lamps were Ughted, and when Teddy went to bed Rikki-tikki climbed up too; but he was a restless companion, because he had to get up and attend to every noise all through the night, and find out what made it. Teddy's mother and father came in, the last thing, to look at their boy, and Rikki-tikki was awake on the pillow. "I don't like that," said Teddy's mother; "he may bite the child." "He'll do no such thmg," said the father. "Teddy's safer with that little beast than if he had a bloodhound to watch him. If a snake came into the nursery now " But Teddy's mother wouldn't think of anything so awful. Early in the morning Rikki-tikki came to early breakfast in the veranda riding on Teddy's shoulder, and they gav#> him banana and some boiled egg; and he sat on all their laps one after the other, because every well-brought-up mongoose always hopes to be a house-mongoose some day and have rooms to run about in, and Rikki-tikki's mother (she used to live in the General's house at Segowlee) had carefully told Rikki what to do if ever he came across white men. Then Rikki-tikki went out into the garden to see what was to be seen. It was a large garden, only half cultivated, with bushes as big as summer-houses of Marshal Niel roses, lime and orange trees, clumps of bamboos, and thickets of high grass. Rikki-tikki licked his lips. "This is a splendid hunting-ground," he said, and his tail grew bottle-brushy at the thought of it, and he scuttled up and down the garden, snuflSng here and there till he heard very sorrowful voices in a thorn-bush. "RIKKT-TIKKI-TAVI" 209 It was Darzee, the tailor-bird, and his wife. They had made a beautiful nest by pulling two big leaves together and stitching them up the edges with fibers, and had filled the hollow with cotton and downy flufip. The nest swayed to and fro, as they sat on the rim and cried. "What is the matter?" asked Rikki-tikki. "We are very miserable," said Darzee. "One of our babies fell out of the nest yesterday and Nag ate him." "H'm!" said Rikki-tikki, "that is very sad — but I am a stranger here. Who is Nag?" Darzee and his wife only cowered down in the nest without answering, for from the thick grass at the foot of the bush there came a low hiss — a horrid cold sound that made Rikki- tikki jump back two clear feet. Then inch by inch out of the grass rose up the head and spread hood of Nag, the big black cobra, and he was five feet long from tongue to tail. When he had lifted one third of himself clear of the ground, iie stayed balancing to and fro exactly as a dandelion-tuft balances in the wind, and he looked at Rikki-tikki with the wicked snake's eyes that never change their expression, whatever the snake may be thinking of. "Who is Nag?" he said. "J am Nag. The great god Brahm put his mark upon all oiu* people when the first cobra spread his hood to keep the sun oJBf Brahm as he slept. Look and be afraid!" He spread out his hood more than ever, and Rikki-tikki saw the spectacle-mark on the back of it that looks exactly like the eye part of a hook-and-eye fastening. He was afraid for the minute; but it is impossible for a mongoose to stay frightened for any length of time, and though Rikki- tikki had never met a live cobra before, his mother had fed him on dead ones, and he knew that all a grown mongoose's business in life was to fight and eat snakes. Nag knew that too, and at the bottom of his cold heart he was afraid. "Well," said Rikki-tikki, and his tail began to fluff up again, "marks or no marks, do you think it is right for you to eat fledglings out of a nest? " 210 STORIES FROM KIPLING Nag was thinking to himself, and watching the least little movement in the grass behind Rikki-tikki. He knew that mongooses in the garden meant death sooner or later for him and his family; but he wanted to get Rikki-tikki off his guard. So he dropped his head a little, and put it on one side. "Let us talk," he said. "You eat eggs. Why should not I eat bu-ds?" " Behind you ! Look behind you ! " sang Darzee. Rikki-tikki knew better than to waste time in staring. He jumped up in the air as high as he could go, and just under him whizzed by the head of Nagaina, Nag's wicked wife. She had crept up behind him as he was talking, to make an end of him; and he heard her savage hiss as the stroke missed. He came down almost across her back, and if he had been an old mongoose he would have known that then was the tim^ to break her back with one bite; but he was afraid of the terrible lashing return-stroke of the cobra. He bit, indeed, but did not bite long enough, and he jumped clear of the whisking tail, leaving Nagaina torn and angry. "Wicked, wicked Darzee!" said Nag, lashing up as high as he could reach toward the nest in the thorn-bush; but Darzee had built it out of reach of snakes, and it only swayed to and fro. Rikki-tikki felt his eyes growing red and hot (when a mongoose's eyes grow red, he is angry), and he sat back on his tail and hind legs like a Uttle kangaroo, and looked all around him, and chattered with rage. But Nag and Nagaina had disappeared into the grass. When a snake misses its stroke, it never says anything or gives any sign of what it means to do next. Rikki-tikki did not care to follow them, for he did not feel sure that he could manage two snakes at once. So he trotted off to the gravel path near the house, and sat down to think. It was a serious matter for him. If you read the old books of natural history, you will find they say that when the mongoose fights the snake and happens to get bitten, he runs off and eats some herb that "RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI" 211 cures him. That is not true. The victory is only a matter of quickness of eye and quickness of foot, — snake's blow against mongoose's jiunp, — ^and as no eye can follow the motion of a snake's head when it strikes, that makes things much more wonderful than any magic herb. Rikki-tikki knew he was a young mongoose, and it made him all the more pleased to think that he had managed to escape a blow from behind. It gave him confidence in himself, and when Teddy came running down the path, Rikki-tikki was ready to be petted. But just as Teddy was stooping, something flinched a little in the dust, and a tiny voice said: "Be careful. lam death!" It was Karait, the dust-brown snakeling that lies for choice on the dusty earth; and his bite is as dangerous as the cobra's. But he is so small that nobody thinks of him, and so he does the more harm to people, Rikki-tikki's eyes grew red again, and he danced up to Karait with the peculiar rocking, swaying motion that he had ii^r^ed from his family. It looks very funny, but it is so perRctl y balance d a gait that you can fly off from it at ^ any angle you please; and in dealing with snakes this is an advantage. If Rikki-tikki had only known, he was doing a much more dangerous thing than fighting Nag, for Karait is so small, and can turn so quickly, that unless Rikki bit him close to the back of the head, he would get the return- stroke in his eye or lip. But Rikki did not know; his eyes were all red, and he rocked back and forth, looking for a good place to hold. Karait struck out. Rikki jumped side- ways and tried to run in, but the wicked little dusty gray head lashed within a fraction of his shoulder, and he had to jump over the body, and the head followed his heels close. Teddy shouted to the house: "Oh, look here! Our mongoose is killing a snake"; and Rikki-tikki heard a scream fcom Teddy's mother. His father ran out with a stick, but by the time he came up, Karait had lunged out once too far, and Rikki-tikki had sprung, jumped on the snake's back, droDDcd his head far between his fore legs, bitten as high 212 STORIES FROM KIPLING up the back as he could get hold, and rolled away. That bite paralyzed Karait, and Rikki-tikki was just going to eat him up from the tail, after the custom of his family at dinner, when he remembered that a raffSeal makes a slow mongoose, and if he wanted all his strength and quickness ready, he must keep himself thin. He went away for a dust-bath under the castor-oil bushes, while Teddy's father beat the dead Karait. "What is the use of that?" thought Rikki-tikM. "I have settled it all"; and then Teddy's mother picked him up from the dust and hugged him, crying that he had saved Teddy from death, and Teddy's father said that he was a providence, and Teddy looked on with big scared eyes. Rikki-Tikki was rather amused at all the fuss, which, of course, he did not under- stand. Teddy's mother might just as well have petted Teddy for playing in the dust. Rikki was thoroughly en- joying himself. That night, at dinner, walking to and fro among the wine- glasses on the table, he could have stuffed himself three times over with nice things; but he remembered Nag and Nagaina, and though it was very pleasant to be patted and petted by Teddy's mother, and to sit on Teddy's shoulder, his eyes would get red from time to time, and he would go off into his long war-cry of "Rikk-tikk-tikhi-tikkir-tchkl" Teddy carried him off to bed, and insisted on Rikki-tikki sleeping under his chin. Rikki-tikki w as too well bre d to bite or scratch, but as soon as Teddy was asleep he went off for his nightly walk round the house, and in the dark he ran up against Chuchundra, the muskrat, creeping round by the wall. Chuchundra is a broken-hearted httle beast. He whimpers and cheeps all the night, trying to make up his mind to run into the middle of the room, but he never gets there. "Don't kill me," said Chuchundra, almost weeping. "Rikki-tikki, don't kill me." "Do you think a snake-kiUer kills muskrats?" said Rikki- tikki scornfully. "RIKBa-TIKEQ-TAVI" 213 "Those who kill snakes get killed by snakes," said Chu- chundra, more sorrowfully than ever. "And how am I to be sure that Nag won't mistake me for you some dark night?" "There's not the least danger," said Rikki-tikki; "but Nag is in the garden, and I know you don't go there." "My cousin Chua, the rat, told me " said Chuchundra, and then he stopped. "Told you what.?" "H'sh! Nag is everywhere, Rikki-tikki. You should have talked to Chua in the garden." "I didn't — so you must tell me. Quick, Chuchundra, or I'll bite you!" Chuchundra sat down and cried till the tears roUed off his whiskers. "I am a very poor man," he sobbed. "I never had spirit enough to run out into the middle of the room. H'sh! I mustn't tell you anything. Can't you hear, Rikki- tikki?" Rikki-tikki listened. The house was as still as still, but he thought he could just catch the faintest scratch-scratch in the world — ^a noise as faint as that of a wasp walking on a window-pane, — ^the dry scratch of a snake's scales on brick- work. "That's Nag or Nagaina," he said to himself; "and he is crawling into the bath-room sluice. You're right, Chuchim- dra; I should have talked to Chua." He stole off to Teddy's bath-room, but there was nothing there, and then to Teddy's mother's bath-room. At the bottom of the smooth plaster wall there was a brick pulled out to make a sluice for the bath-water, and as RLkki-tikM stole in by the masonry curb where the bath is put, he heard Nag and Nagaina whispering together outside in the moon- Ught. "When the house is emptied of people," said Nagaina to her husband, "he will have to go away, and then the garden will be our own again. Go in quietly, and remember that the big man who killed Karait is the first one to bite. Then 214 STORIES FROM KIPLING come out and tell me, and we will hunt for RikM-tikki to- gether." "But are you sure that there is anything to be gained by killing the people?" said Nag. "Everything. When there were no people in the bunga- low, did we have any mongoose in the garden? So long as the bungalow is empty, we are king and queen of the garden; and remember that as soon as our eggs in the melon-bed hatch (as they may to-morrow), our children will need room and quiet." "I had not thought of that," said Nag. " I will go, but there is no need that we should hunt for Rikki-tikki after- ward. I will kill the big man and his wife, and the child if I can, and come away quietly. Then the bimgalow will be empty, and Rikki-tikki will go." Rikki-tikki tingled all over with rage and hatred at this, and then Nag's head came through the sluice, and his five feet of cold body followed it. Angry as he was, Rikki-tikki was very frightened as he saw the size of the big cobra. Nag coiled himself up, raised his head, and looked into the bath- room in the dark, and Rikki could see his eyes glitter. "Now, if I kill him here, Nagaina will know; and if I fight him on the open floor, the odds are in his favor. What am I to do?" said Rikki-tikki-tavi. Nag waved to and fro, and then Rikki-tikki heard him drinking from the biggest water-jar that was used to fill the bath. " That is good," said the snake. " Now, when Karait was killed, the big man had a stick. He may have that stick still, but when he comes in to bathe in the morning he will not have a stick. I shall wait here till he comes, Nagaina — do you hear me? — ^I shall wait here in the cool til] daytime." There was no answer from outside, so Rikki-tikki knew Nagaina had gone away. Nag coiled himself down, coil by coil, round the bulge at the bottom of the water-jar, and Rikki-tikki stayed stiU as death. After an hour he began to move, muscle by muscle, toward the jar. Nag wa8 "RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI" 215 asleep, and Rikki-tikki looked at his big back, wondering which would be the best place for a good hold. "EI don't break his back at the first jump," said Rikki, "he can still fight; and if he fights— O Rikki!" He looked at the thick- ness of the neck below the hood, but that was too much for him; and a bite near the tail would only make Nag savage. "It must be the head," he said at last; "the head above the hood; and, when I am once there, I must not let go." Then he jumped. The head was lying a little clear of the water- jar, under the curve of it; and, as his teeth met, Rikki braced his back against the bulge of the red earthenware to hold down the head. This gave him just one second's pur- chase, and he made the most of it. Then he was battered to and fro as a rat is shaken by a dog — ^to and fro on the floor, up and down, and roimd in great circles; but his eyes were red, and he held on as the body cartwhipped over the floor, upsetting the tin dipper and the soap-dish and the flesh- brush, and banged against the tin side of the bath. As he held he closed his jaws tighter and tighter, for he made sure he would be banged to death, and, for the honor of his famil y, he preferred to be found with his teeth lockedT"^ He was dizzy, aching, and felt shaken to pieces when something went off like a thunderclap just behind him; a hot wind knocked him senseless and red fire singed his fur. The big man had been wakened by the noise, and had fired both barrels of a shot- gun into Nag just behind the hood. Rikki-tikki held on with his eyes shut, for now he was quite sure he was dead; but the head did not move, and the big man picked him up and said: "It's the mongoose again, Alice; the h ttlechap has saved our lives now." Then Teddy's mother came m with a very white face, and saw what was left of Nag, and Rikki-tikki dragged himself to Teddy's bed- room and spent half the rest of the night shaking himself tenderly to find out whether he really was broken into forty pieces, as he fancied. When morning came he was very stiff, but well pleased with his doings. "Now I have Nagaina to settle with, and 216 STORIES FROM KIPLING she will be worse than five Nags, and there's no knowing when the eggs she spoke of will hatch. Goodness! I must go and see Darzee," he said. Without waiting for breakfast, Rikki-tikki ran to the thorn- bush where Darzee was singing a song of triumph at the top of his voice. The news of Nag's death was all over the gar- den, for the sweeper had thrown the body on the rubbish- heap. "Oh, you stupid tuft of feathers ! " said Rikki-tikki, angrily. "Is this the time to sing? " "Nag is dead — ^is dead — ^is dead!" sang Darzee. "The vaUant Rikki-tikki caught him by the head and held fast. The big man brought the bang-stick and Nag fell in two pieces ! He will never eat my babies again." "All that's true enough; but where 's Nagaina?" said Rikki-tikki, looking carefully round him. "Nagaina came to the bath-room sluice and called for Nag," Darzee went on; "and Nag came out on the end of a stick — ^the sweeper picked him up on the end of a stick and threw him upon the rubbish-heap. Let us sing about the great, the red-eyed Rikki-tikki ! " and Darzee filled his throat and sang. " If I could get up to your nest, I'd roll all your babies out ! " said Rikki-tikki. "You don't know when to do the right thing at the right time. You're safe enough in your nest there, but it's war for me down here. Stop singing a minute, Darzee." "For the great, the beautiful Rikki-tikM's sake I will stop," said Darzee. "What is it, O Killer of the terrible Nag!" "Where is Nagaina, for the third time?" "On the rubbish-heap by the stables, mourning for Nag. Great is Rikki-tikki with the white teeth." "Bother my white teeth! Have you ever heard where she keeps her eggs?" "In the melon-bed, on the end nearest the wall, where the sun strikes nearly all day. She had them there weeks ago. "RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI" 217 "And you never thought it worth while to tell me? The end nearest the wall, you said?" "Rikki-tikki, you are not going to eat her eggs?" "Not eat exactly; no. Darzee, if you have a grain of sense you will fly off to the stables and pretend that your wing is broken, and let Nagaina chase you away to this bush. I must get to the melon-bed, and if I went there now she'd see me." Darzee was a feather-brained little fellow who could nevet hold more than one idea at a time in his head; and just be- cause he knew that Nagaina 's children were born in eggs like his own, he didn't think at first that it was fair to kill them. But his wife was a sensible bird, and she knew that cobra's eggs meant young cobras later on; so she flew off from the nest, and left Darzee to keep the babies warm, and continue his song about the death of Nag. Darzee was very like a man in some wa^ . "She fluttered m fr^t of Nagaina by the rubbish-heap, and cried out, "Oh, my wing is broken! The boy in the house threw a stone at me and broke it." Then she fluttered more desperately than ever. Nagaina lifted up her head and hissed, "You warned Rikki-tikki when I would have killed him. Indeed and truly, you've chosen a bad place to be lame in." And she moved toward Darzee 's wife, slipping along over the dust. "The boy broke it with a stone!" shrieked Darzee's wife. "Well! It may be some consolation to you when you're dead to know that I shall settle accounts with the boy. My husband lies on the rubbish-heap this morning, but be- fore night the boy in the house will he very still. What is the use of running away? I am sure to catch you. Little fool, look at me!" Darzee's wife knew better than to do that, for a bird who looks at a snake's eyes gets so frightened that she cannot move. Darzee's wife fluttered on, piping sorrowfully, and uever leaving the ground, and Nagaina quickened her pace. Rikki-tikki heard them going up the path from the stables. 218 STORIES FROM KIPLING and he raced for the end of the melon-patch near the walL There, in the warm litter about the melons, very cunningly hidden, he found twenty-five eggs, about the size of a ban- tam's eggs, but with whitish skin instead of shell. "I was not a day too soon," he said; for he could see the baby cobras curled up inside the skin, and he knew that the minute they were hatched they could each kill a man or a mongoose. He bit off the tops of the eggs as fast as he could, taking care to crush the young cobras, and turned over the litter from time to time to see whether he had missed any. At last there were only three eggs left, and Rikki-tikki began to chuckle to himself, when he heard Darzee's wife screaming: "Rikki-tikki, I led Nagaina toward the house, and she has gone into the veranda, and — oh, come quickly — she means killing!" Rikki-tikki smashed two eggs, and tumbled backward down the melon-bed with the third egg in his mouth, and scuttled to the veranda as hard as he could put foot to the ground. Teddy and his mother and father were there at early breakfast; but Rikki-tikki saw that they were not eat- ing anything. They sat stone-still, and their faces were white. Nagaina was coiled up on the matting by Teddy's chair, within easy striking distance of Teddy's bare leg, and she was swaying to and fro singing a song of triumph. "Son of the big man that killed Nag," she hissed, "stay still. I am not ready yet. Wait a little. Keep very still, all you three. If you move I strike and if you do not move I strike. Oh, foohsh people, who killed my Nag!" Teddy's eyes were fixed on his father, and all his father could do was to whisper, "Sit still, Teddy. You mustn't move. Teddy, keep still." Then Rikki-tikki came up and cried: "Turn roimd, Nag- aina; turn and fight!" "All in good time," said she, without moving her eyes. "I will settle my account with you presently. Look at your friends, Rikki-tikki. They are still and white; they are "RTKKT-TTKKT-TAYI" 219 afraid. They dare not move, and if you come a step nearer I strike." "Look at your eggs," said Rikki-tikki, "in the melon-bed near the wall. Gro and look, Nagaina." The big sinake turned half round, and saw the egg on the veranda. "Ah-h! Give it to me," she said. Rikki-tikki put his paws one on each side of the egg, and his eyes were blood-red. "What price for a snake's egg? For a young cobra? For a young king-cobra? For the last — ^the very last of the brood? The ants are eating all the others down by the melon-bed." Nagaina spim clear round, forgetting everything for the sake of the one egg; and Rikki-tikki saw Teddy's father shoot out a big hand, catch Teddy by the shoulder, and drag him across the little table with the tea-cups, safe and out of reach of Nagaina. "Tricked! Tricked! Tricked! Rikh-tcktchl" chuckled Rikki-tikki. "The boy is safe and it was I — I — I that caught Nag by the hood last night in the bath-room." Then he began to jump up and down, all four feet together, his head close to the floor. "He threw me to and fro, but he could not shake me off. He was dead before the big man blew him in two. I did it. Rikki-tikki-tck-tclcl Come then, Nagaina. Come and fight with me. You shall not be a widow long." Nagaina saw that she had lost her chance of killing Teddy, and the egg lay between Rikki-tikki's paws. "Give me the egg, Rikki-tikki. Give me the last of my eggs, and I will go away and never come back," she said, lowering her hood. "Yes, you will go away, and you will never come back; for you will go to the rubbish-heap with Nag. Fight, widow ! The big man has gone for his gun ! Fight ! " Rikki-tikki was bounding all round Nagaina, keeping just out of reach of her stroke, his little eyes like hot coals. Nag- aina gathered herself together, and flung out at him. Rikki- tikki jumped up and backward. Again and again and again 220 STORIES FROM KIPLING she struck, and each time her head came with a whack on the matting of the veranda and she gathered herself together like a watch-spring. Then Rikki-tikki danced in a circle to get behind her, and Nagaina spun round to keep her head to his head, so that the rustle of her tail on the matting sounded like dry leaves blown along by the wind. He had forgotten the egg. It still lay on the veranda, and Nagaina came nearer and nearer to it, till at last, while Rikki-tikki was drawing breath, she caught it in her mouth, turned to the veranda steps, and flew like an arrow down the path, with Rikki-tikki behind her. When the cobra runs for her life, she goes like a whiplash flicked across a horse's neck. Rikki-tikki knew that he must catch her, or all the trouble would begin again. She headed straight for the long grass by the thorn-bush, and as he was rimning Rikki-tikki heard Darzee still singing his foolish little song of triumph. But Darzee's wife was wiser. She flew off her nest as Nagaina came along, and flapped her wings about Nagaina's head. H Darzee had helped they might have turned her; but Nagaina only lowered her hood and went on. Still, the instant's delay brought Rikki-tikki up to her, and as she plunged into the rat-hole where she and Nag used to live his little white teeth were clenched on her tail, and he went down with her — and very few mongooses, however wise and old they may be, care to follow a cobra into its hole. It was dark in the hole; and Rikki-tikki never knew when it might open out and give Nagaina room to turn and strike at him. He held on savagely, and struck out his feet to act as brakes on the dark slope of the hot, moist earth. Then the grass by the mouth of the hole stopped waving, and Darzee said : " It is all over with Rikki-tikki ! We must sing his death-song. Valiant Rikki-tikki is dead ! For Nag- aina will surely kill him underground." So he sang a very mournful song that he made up all on the spur of the minute, and just as he got to the most touch- ing part the grass quivered again, and Rikki-tikki, covered "RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI" 221 with dirt, dragged himself out of the hole leg by leg, licking his whiskers. Darzee stopped with a little shout. Rikki- tikki shook some of the dust out of his fur and sneezed. "It is all over," he said. "The widow wUl never come out again." And the red ants that live between the grass stems heard him, and began to troop down one after another to see if he had spoken the truth. Bikki-tikki curled himself up in the grass and slept where he was — slept and slept till it was late in the afternoon, for he had done a hard day's work. "Now," he said, when he awoke, "I will go back to the house. TeU the Coppersmith, Darzee, and he will tell the garden that Nagaina is dead." The Coppersmith is a bird who makes a noise exactly like the beating of a little hammer on a copper pot; and the reason he is always making it is because he is the town-crier to every Indian garden, and tells all the news to everybody who cares to listen. As Rikki-tikki went up the path, he heard his "attention" notes like a tiny dinner-gong; and then the steady " Ding-dong-tockt Nag is dead — dongl Nagaina is dead! Ding-dong-tockl" That set all the birds in the gar- den singing, and the frogs croaking; for Nag and Nagaina used to eat frogs as well as little birds. When Rikki got to the house, Teddy and Teddy's mother (she looked very white still, for she had been fainting) and Teddy's father came out and almost cried over him; and that night he ate all that was given him till he could eat no more, and went to bed on Teddy's shoulder, where Teddy's mother saw him when she came to look late at night. "He saved our Uves and Teddy's life," she said to her husband. "Just think, he saved all our lives." RikM-tikki woke up with a jump, for all the mongooses are light sleepers. "Oh, it's you," said he. "What are you botheriag for? All the cobras are dead; and if they weren't, I'm here." Rikki-tikki had a right to be proud of himself; but he did not grow too proud, and he kept that garden as a mongoose 222 STORIES FROM KIPLING should keep it, with tooth and jump and spring and bite, till never a cobra dared show its head inside the walls. DARZEE'S CHAUNT (SUNO IN HONOR OP EIKKI-TIKIU-TAVl) Singer and tailor am I — Doubled the joys that I know — Proud of my lilt through the sky. Proud of the house that I sew — Over and under, so weave I my music — so weave I the house that I sew. Sing to your fledglings again. Mother, oh lift up your head! Evil that plagued us is slain. Death in the garden lies dead. Terror that hid in the roses is impotent — ^flung on the dung-hill and dead- Who hath delivered us, who? Tell me his nest and his name. Rikki, the valiant, the true, Tildiii, with eyeballs of flame. Rik-tikki-tikki, the ivory-fanged, the hunter with eyeballs of flame. Give him the Thanks of the Birds, Bowing with tail-feathers spread! Praise him with nightingale words- Nay, I will praise him instead. Hear! I will sing you the praise of the bottle-tailed Rikki, with eyeballs of red! (Here BikhirtikH interrupted, and the rest of the song is lost.) THE BRUSHWOOD BOY (1895) Girls and boys, come out to play: The moon is shining as bright as day I Leave your supper and leave your sleep, And come with your playfellows out in the street! Up the ladder and down the wall— A CHILD of three sat up in his crib and screamed at the top of his voice, his fists clinched and his eyes full of terror. At first no one heard, for his nursery was in the west wing, and the nurse was talking to a gardener among the laurels. Then the housekeeper passed that way, and hurried to soothe him. He was her special pet, and she disapproved of the nurse. "What was it, then? What was it, then? There's noth- ing to frighten him, Georgie dear." "It was — ^it was a policeman! He was on the Down — I saw him ! He came in. Jane said he would." "Policemen don't come into houses, dearie. Turn over, and take my hand." "I saw him — on the Down. He came here. Where is your hand, Harper? " The housekeeper waited till the sobs changed to the regular breathing of sleep before she stole out. "Jane, what nonsense have you been telling Master Georgie about policemen?" "I haven't told him anything." "You have. He's been dreaming about them." " We met Tisdall on Dowhead when we were in the donkey- TOrt this morning. P'r'aps that's what put it into his head." "Oh! Now you aren't going to frighten the child into its 224 STORIES FROM KIPLING fits with your silly tales, and the master know nothing about it. If ever I catch you again," etc. A child of six was telling himself stories as he lay in bed. It was a new power, and he kept it a secret. A month before it had occurred to him to carry on a nursery tale left un- finished by his mother, and he was delighted to find the tale as it came out of his own head just as surprising as though he were listening to it "all new from the beginning." There was a prince in that tale and he killed dragons, but only for one night. Ever afterwards Georgie dubbed himself prince, pasha, giant-killer, and all the rest (you see, he could not tell any one, for fear of being laughed at), and his tales faded gradually into dreamland, where adventures were so many that he could not recall the half of them. They all began in the same way, or, as Georgie explained to the shadows of the night-light, there was "the same starting-ofif place" — a pile of brushwood stacked somewhere near a beach; and round this pile Georgie found himself nmning races with little boys and girls. These ended, ships ran high up the dry land and opened into cardboard boxes; or gilt-and-green iron railings that surrounded beautiful gar- dens turned all soft and could be walked through and over- thrown so long as he remembered it was only a dream. He could never hold that knowledge more than a few seconds ere things became real, and instead of pushing down houses full of grown-up people (a just revenge), he sat miserably upon gigantic door-steps trying to sing the multiplication- table up to four times six. The princess of his tales was a person of wonderful beauty (she came from the old illustrated edition of Grimm, now out of print), and as she always applauded Georgie's valor among the dragons and buffaloes, he gave her the two finest names he had ever heard in his life — Annie and Louise, pronounced "Annieanlouise." When the dreams swamped THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 225 the stories, she would change into one of the little girls round the brushwood-pile, still keeping her title and crown. She saw Greorgie drown once in a dream-sea by the beach (it was the day after he had been taken to bathe in a real sea by his nurse); and he said as he sank: "Poor Annieanlouise! She'll be sorry for me now!" But "Annieanlouise," walking slowly on the beach, called, "'Ha! ha!' said the duck, laughing," which to a waking mind might not seem to bear on the situa- tion. It consoled (ieorgie at once, and must have been some kind of spell, for it raised the bottom of the deep, and he waded out with a twelve-inch flower-pot on each foot. As he was strictly forbidden to meddle with flower-pots in real life, he felt triumphantly wicked. The movements of the grown-ups, whomGeorgie tolerated, but did not pretend to understand, removed his world, when he was seven years old, to a place called "Oxford-on-a-visit." Here were huge buildings surrounded by vast prairies, with streets of infinite length, and, above all, something called the "buttery," which Georgie was dying to see, because he knew it must be greasy, and therefore dehghtful. He per- ceived how correct were his judgments when his nurse led him through a stone arch into the presence of an enormously fat man, who asked him if he would like some bread and cheese. Georgie was used to eat all round the clock, so he took what "buttery" gave him, and would have taken some brown liquid called "auditale" but that his nurse led him away to an afternoon performance of a thing called "Pepper's Ghost." This was intensely thrilling. People's heads came off and flew all over the stage, and skeletons danced bone by bone, while Mr. Pepper himself, beyond question a man of the worst, waved his arms and flapped a long gown, and in a deep bass voice (Georgie had never heard a man sing before) told of his sorrows unspeakable. Some grown-up or other tried to explain that the illusion was made with mirrors. 226 STORIES FROM KIPLING and that there was no need to be frightened. Georgie did not know what illusions were, but he did know that a mirror was the looking-glass with the ivory handle on his mother's dressing-table. Therefore the "grown-up" was "just saying things" after the distressing cu,stom of "grown-ups," and Georgie cast about for amusement between scenes. Next to him sat a httle girl dressed all in black, her hair combed off her forehead exactly like the girl in the book called "Alice in Wonderland," which had been given him on his last birth- day. The little girl looked at Georgie, and G^eorgie looked at her. There seemed to be no need of any further introduction. "I've got a cut on my thumb," said he. It was the first work of his first real knife, a savage triangular hack, and he esteemed it a most valuable possession. "I'm tho thorry!" she hsped. "Let me look — ^pleathe." "There's a di-ack-lum plaster on, but it's all raw imder," Georgie answered, complying. "Dothen't it hurt?" — ^her gray eyes were full of pity and interest. "Awf'ly. Perhaps it will give me lockjaw." "It lookth very horrid. I'm tho thorry!" She put a forefinger to his hand, and held her head sidewise for a better view. Here the nurse turned, and shook him severely. "You mustn't talk to strange little girls. Master Georgie." "She isn't strange. She's very nice. I Hke her, an' I've showed her my new cut." " The idea ! You change places with me." She moved him over, and shut out the little girl from his view, while the grown-up behind renewed the futile ex- planations. "I am not afraid, tndy," said the boy, wriggling in despair; "but why don't you go to sleep in the afternoons same as Provost of Oriel?" Georgie had been introduced to a grown-up of that name, who slept in his presence without apology. Georgie under* stood that he was the most important grown-up in Oxfordi THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 227 hence he strove to gild his rebuke with flatteries. This grown-up did not seem to Uke it, but he collapsed, and Georgie lay back in his seat, silent and enraptured. Mr. Pepper was singing again, and the deep, ringing voice, the red fire, and the misty, waving gown all seemed to be mixed up with the little girl who had been so kind about his cut. When the performance was ended she nodded to Georgie, and Georgie nodded in return. He spoke no more than was necessary till bedtime, but meditated on new colors and soimds and lights and music and things as far as he imder- stood them; the deep-mouthed agony of Mr. Pepper min gling with the Uttle girl's Hsp. That night he made a new tale, from which he shamelessly removed the Rapunzel-Rapunzel- let-down-your-hair princess, gold crown, Grimm edition, and all, and put a new Annieanlouise in her place. So it was perfectly right and natural that when he came to the brush' wood-pile he should find her waiting for him, her hair combed oflf her forehead more like Alice in Wonderland than ever, and the races and adventures began. Ten years at an EngUsh public school do not encourage dreaming. Georgie won his growth and chest measure- ment, and a few other things which did not appear in the bills imder a system of cricket, foot-ball, and paper-chases, from four to five days a week, which provided for three lawful cuts of a ground-ash if any boy absented himself from these entertainments. He became a rumple-coUared, dusty- hatted fag of the Lower Third, and a light haK-back at Little Side foot-ball; was pushed and prodded through the slack back-waters of the Lower Fourth, where the raffle of a school generally accumulates; won his "second-fifteen" cap at foot-ball, enjoyed the dignity of a study with two companions in it, and began to look forward to office as a sub-prefect. At last he blossomed into fuU glory as head of the school, ex-officio captain of the games; head of his 228 STORIES FROM KIPLING house, where he and his lieutenants preserved discipline and decency among seventy boys from twelve to seventeen; general arbiter in the quarrels that spring up among the touchy Sixth — and intimate friend and ally of the Head himself. When he stepped forth in the black jersey, white knickers, and black stockings of the First Fifteen, the new match-ball under his arm, and his old and frayed cap at the back of his head, the small fry of the lower forms stood apart and worshipped, and the "new caps" of the team talked to him ostentatiously, that the world might see. And so, in summer, when he came back to the paviUon after a slow but eminently safe game, it mattered not whether he had made nothing or, as once happened, a hundred and three, the school shouted just the same, and women-folk who had come to look at the match looked at Cottar — Cottar, major; "that's Cottar!" Above all, he was responsible for that thing called the tone of the school, and few realize with what passionate devotion a certain type of boy throws himself into this work. Home was a far-away coimtry, full of ponies and fishing and shooting, and men-visitors who interfered with one's plans; but school was the real world, where things of vital importance happened, and crises arose that must be dealt with promptly and quietly. Not for nothing was it written, "Let the Consuls look to it that the Republic takes no harm," and Georgie was glad to be back in authority when the holidays ended. Behind him, but not too near, was the wise and temperate Head, now suggesting the wisdom of the serpent, now counseling the mildness of the dove; leading him on to see, more by half-hints than by any direct word, how boys and men are all of a piece, and how he who can handle the one will assuredly in time control the other. For the rest, the school was not encouraged to dwell on its emotions, but rather to keep in hard condition, to avoid false quantities, and to enter the army direct, without the help of the expensive London crammer, xmder whose roof young blood learns too much. Cottar, major, went the way of hundreds before him. The Head gave hiTn six months' THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 229 final polish, taught him what kind of answers best please a certain kind of examiners, and handed him over to the prop- erly constituted authorities, who passed him into Sandhurst. Here he had sense enough to see that he was in the Lowef Third once more, and behaved with respect toward his sen- iors, till they in turn respected him, and he was promoted to the rank of corporal, and sat in authority over mixed peoples with all the vices of men and boys combined. His reward was another string of athletic cups, a good-conduct sword, and, at last. Her Majesty's commission as a subaltern in a &st-class line regiment. He did not know that he bo^e with bim from school and college a character worth much fine gold, but was pleased to find his mess so kindly. He had plenty of money of his own; his training had set the public- school mask upon his face, and had taught him how many were the "things no fellow can do." By virtue of the same training he kept his pores open and his mouth shut. The regular working of the Empire shifted his world to India, where he tasted utter loneliness in subaltern's quar- ters, — one room and one bullock-trunk, — and, with his mess, learned the new life from the beginning. But there were horses in the land — ^ponies at reasonable prices; there was polo for such as could afford it; there were the disreputable remnants of a pack of hounds; and Cottar worried his way along without too much despair. It dawned on him that a regiment in India was nearer the chance of active service than he had conceived, and that a man might as well study his profession. A major of the new school backed this idea with enthusiasm, and he and Cottar accumulated a library of military works, and read and argued and disputed far into the nights. But the adjutant said the old thing: "Get to know your men, young un, and they'll follow you anywhere. That's all you want — ^know your men." Cottar thought he knew them fairly well at cricket and the regimental sports, but he never realized the true inwardness of them till he was sent off with a detachment of twenty to sit down in a mud fort near a rushing river which was spamied by a 230 STORIES FROM KIFLING bridge of boats. When the floods came they went forth and hunted strayed pontoons along the banks. Otherwise there was nothing to do, and the men got drunk, gambled, and quarreled. They were a sickly crew, for a junior subaltern is by custom saddled with the worst men. Cottar endured their riotiug as long as he coidd, and then sent down-country for a dozen pairs of boxing-gloves. "I wouldn't blame you for fightin'," said he, "if you only knew how to use your hands; but you don't. Take these things, and I'll show you." The men appreciated his ef- forts. Now, instead of blaspheming and swearmg at a comrade, and threatening to shoot him, they could take him apart, and soothe themselves to exhaustion. As one explained whom Cottar found with a shut eye and a diamond- shaped mouth spitting blood through an embrasiure: "We tried it with the gloves, sir, for twenty minutes, and that done us no good, sir. Then we took off the gloves and tried it that way for another twenty minutes, same as you showed us, sir, an' that done us a world o' good. 'Twasn't fightin', sir; there was a bet on." Cottar dared not laugh, but he invited his men to other sports, such as racing across country in shirt and trousers after a trail of torn paper, and to single-stick in the evenings, till the native population, who had a lust for sport in every form, wished to know whether the white men understood wrestling. They sent in an ambassador, who took the soldiers by the neck and threw them about the dust; and the entire conmiand were all for this new game. They spent money on learning new falls and holds, which was better than buying other doubtful commodities; and the peasantry grinned five deep round the tournaments. That detachment, who had gone up in bullock-carts, re- turned to headquarters at an average rate of thirty miles a day, fair heel-and-toe; no sick, no prisoners, and no court- martials pending. They scattered themselves among their friends, singing the praises of their lieutenant and looking fot causes of offense. THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 231 *'How did you do it, young un? " the adjutant asked. "Oh, I sweated the beef off 'em, and then I sweated some muscle on to 'em. It was rather a lark." "If that's your way of lookin' at it, we can give you all the larks you want. Young Davies isn't feelin' quite fit, and he's next for detachment duty. Care to go for him? " "'Sure he wouldn't mind? I don't want to shove myself forward, you know." "You needn't bother on Davies's account. We'll give you the sweepin's of the corps, and you can see what you can make of 'em." "All right," said Cottar. "It's better fun than loafin' about cantonments." "Rummy thing," said the adjutant, after Cottar had returned to his wilderness with twenty other devils worse than the first. "If Cottar only knew it, half the women in the station would give their eyes — confoimd 'em! — ^to have the young un in tow." "That accounts for Mrs. Elery sayin' I was workin' my nice new boy too hard," said a wing commander. "Oh, yes; and 'Why doesn't he come to the bandstand in the evenings?' and 'Can't I get him to make up a four at tennis with the Hammon girls?'" the adjutant snorted. "Look at young Davies makin' an ass of himself over mut- ton-dressed-as-lamb old enough to be his mother!" "No one can accuse young Cottar of runnin' after women, white or black," the major replied thoughtfully. "But, then, that's the kind that generally goes the worst mucker in the end." "Not Cottar. I've only run across one of his muster before — a fellow called Ingles, in South Africa. He was just the same hard-trained, athletic-sports build of animal. Always kept himself in the pink of condition. Didn't do him much good, though. 'Shot at Wesselstroom the week before Majuba. Wonder how the young im will lick his detachment into shape." Cottar turned up six weeks later, on foot, with his pupils^ 232 STORIES FROM KIPLING He never told his experiences, but the men spoke enthusiast!' cally, and fragments of it leaked back to the colonel through sergeants, bdtmen, and the like. There was great jealousy between the first and second de- tachments, but the men united in adoring Cottar, and their way of showing it was by sparing him all the trouble that men know how to make for an unloved officer. He sought popu- larity as little as he had sought it at school, and therefore it came to him. He favored no one — ^not even when the company sloven pulled the company cricket-match out of the fire with an imexpected forty-three at the last moment. There was very httle getting round him, for he seemed to know by instinct exactly when and where to head off a maling- erer; but he did not forget that the difference between a dazed and sulky jimior of the upper school and a bewildered, browbeaten lump of a private fresh from the depot was vxy small indeed. The sergeants, seeing these things, told him secrets generally hid from young officers. His words were quoted as barrack authority on bets in canteen and at tea; and the veriest shrew of the corps, bursting with charges against other women who had used the cooking-ranges out of turn, forbore to speak when Cottar, as the regulations ordained, asked of a morning if there were "any complaints." "I'm full o' complaints," said Mrs. Corporal Morrison, "an' I'd kill O'HaUoran's fat sow of a wife any day, but ye know how it is. 'E puts 'is head just inside the door, an' looks down 'is blessed nose so bashful, an' 'e whispers, 'Any complaints?' Ye can't complain after that. I want to kiss him. Some day I think I will. Heigh-ho! she'll be » lucky woman that gets Young Innocence. See 'im now, girls. Do ye blame me?" Cottar was cantering across to polo, and he looked a very satisfactory figure of a man as he gave easily to the first ex- cited bucks of his pony, and slipped over a low mud wall to the practice-groimd. There were more than Mrs. Corporal Morrison who felt as she did. But Cottar was busy for eleven hours of the day. He did not care to have his tenuia THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 233 spoiled by petticoats in the court; and after one long after- noon at a garden party, he explained to his major that this sort of thing was "futile piffle," and the major laughed. Theirs was not a married mess, except for the colonel's wife, and Cottar stood in awe of the good lady. She said "my regiment," and the world knows what that means. None the less, when they wanted her to give away the prizes after a shooting-match, and she refused because one of the prize- winners was married to a girl who had made a jest of her be- hind her broad back, the mess ordered Cottar to "tackle her," in his best calling-kit. This he did, simply and laboriously, and she gave way altogether. "She only wanted to know the facts of the case," he ex- plained. "I just told her, and she saw at once." "Ye-es," said the adjutant. "I expect that's what she did. Comin' to the FusUiers' dance to-night, Galahad? " "No, thanks. I've got a fight on with the major." The virtuous apprentice sat up till midnight in the major's quar^ ters, with a stop-watch and a pair of compasses, shifting little painted lead-blocks about a four-inch map. Then he turned in and slept the sleep of innocence,"" which is full of healthy dreams. One peculiarity of his dreams he noticed at the beginning of his second hot weather. Two or three times a month they duplicated or ran in series. He would find himself sliding into dreamland by the same road — a road that ran along a beach near a pile of brushwood. To the right lay the sea, sometimes at full tide, sometimes with- drawn to the very horizon; but he knew it for the same sea. By that road he would travel over a swell of rising ground covered with short, withered grass, into valleys of wonder and imreason. Beyond the ridge, which was crowned with some sort of street-lamp, anything was possible; but up to the lamp it seemed to him that he knew the road as well as he knew the parade-groimd. He learned to look forward to the place; for, once there, he was sure of a good night's rest, and Indian hot weather can be rather trying. First, shad- owy under closing eyeUds, would come the outline of the 234 STORIES FROM KIPLING brushwood-pile; next the white sand of the beach-road, almost overhanging the black, changeful sea; then the turn inland and uphill to the single light. When he was unrestful for any reason, he would tell himself how he war sure to get there — sure to get there — ^if he shut his eyes and surrendered to the drift of things. But one night after a foolishly hard hour's polo (the thermometer was 94° in his quarters at ten o'clock), sleep stood away from him alto- gether, though he did his best to find the well-known road, the point where true sleep began. At last he saw the brush- wood-pile, and hurried along to the ridge, for behind him he felt was the wide-awake, sultry world. He reached the lamp in safety, tingling with drowsiness, when a policeman — a common country policeman — sprang up before him and touched him on the shoulder ere he could dive into the dim valley below. He was filled with terror — ^the hopeless terror of dreams, — ^for the policeman said, in the awful, distinct voice of dream-people, "I am Policeman Day coming back from the City of Sleep. You come with me." Georgie knew it was true — ^that just beyond him in the valley lay the Ughts of the City of Sleep, where he would have been sheltered, and that this Policeman-Thing had full power and authority to head him back to miserable wakefulness. He found him- self looking at the moonlight on the wall, dripping with fright; and he never overcame that horror, though he met the Policeman several times that hot weather, and his coming was the forerunner of a bad night. But other dreams — ^perfectly absurd ones — ^filled him with an incommunicable delight. All those that he remembered began by the brushwood-pile. For instance, he found a small clockwork steamer (he had noticed it many nights before) lying by the sea-road, and stepped into it, whereupon it moved with surpassing swiftness over an absolutely level sea. This was glorious, for he felt he was exploring great matters; and it stopped by a lily carved in stone, which, most naturally, floated on the water. Seeing the lily was labeled "Hong-Kong," Georgie said: "Of course. This is precisely THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 235 what I expected Hong-Kong would be like. How magnifi- cent!" Thousands of miles farther on it halted at yet an- other stone lily, labeled "Java"; and this, again, delighted him hugely, because he knew that now he was at the world's end. But the little boat ran on and on till it lay in a deep fresh-water lock, the sides of which were carven marble, green with moss. Lily-pads lay on the water, and reeds arched above. Someone moved among the reeds — someone whom Georgie knew he had traveled to this world's end to reach. Therefore everything was entirely well with him. He was unspeakably happy, and vaulted over the ship's side to find this person. When his feet touched that still water, it changed, with the rustle of unrolling maps, to nothing less than a sixth quarter of the globe, beyond the most remote imagining of man — a, place where islands were colored yel- low and blue, their lettering strung across their faces. They gave on unknown seas, and Georgie's urgent desire was to return swiftly across this floating atlas to known bearings. He told himself repeatedly that it was no good to hurry; but still he hurried desperately, and the islands slipped and slid under his feet, the straits yawned and widened, till he found himself utterly lost in the world's fourth dimension, with no hope of return. Yet only a little distance away he could see the old world with the rivers and moimtain chains marked according to the Sandhurst rules of map-making. Then that person for whom he had come to the Lily Lock (that was its name) ran up across unexplored territories, and showed him a way. They fled hand in hand till they reached a road that spanned ravines, and ran along the edge of preci- pices, and was tunneled through mountains. "This goes to our brushwood-pile," said his companion; and all his trouble was at an end. He took a pony, because he under- stood that this was the Thirty-Mile Ride and he must ride swiftly, and raced through the clattering tunnels and roimd the curves, always downhill, till he heard the sea to his left, and saw it raging imder a full moon, against sandy clifPs. It was heavy going, but he recognized the nature of the 236 STORIES FROM KIPLING country, the dark-purple downs inland, and the bents that whistled in the wind. The road was eaten away in places, and the sea lashed at him — ^black, foamless tongues of smooth and glossy rollers; but he was sure that there was less danger from the sea than from "Them," whoever "They" were, inland to his right. He knew, too, that he would be safe if he could reach the down with the lamp on it. This came as he expected: he saw the one light a mile ahead along the beach, dismounted, turned to the right, walked quietly over to the brushwood-pile, foimd the little steamer had returned to the beach whence he had unmoored it, and — ^must have fallen asleep, for he could remember no more. "I'm gettin' the hang of the geography of that place," he said to himself, as he shaved next morning. "I must have made some sort of circle. Let's see. The Thirty-Mile Ride (now how the deuce did I know it was called the Thirty-Mile Ride?) joins the sea-road beyond the first down where the lamp is. And that atlas-country lies at the back of the Thirty-Mile Ride, somewhere out to the right beyond the hills and timnels. Rummy things, dreams. 'Wonder what makes mine fit into each other so?" He continued on his soUd way through the recurring duties of the seasons. The regiment was shifted to another station, and he enjoyed road-marching for two months, with a good deal of mixed shooting thrown in, and when they reached their new cantonments he became a member of the local Tent Club, and chased the mighty boar on horseback with a short stabbing-spear. There he met the mahseer of the Poonch, beside whom the tarpon is as a herring, and he who lands him can say that he is a fisherman. This was as new and as fascinating as the big-game shooting that fell to his portion, when he had himself photographed for the mother's benefit, sitting on the flank of his first tiger. Then the adjutant was promoted, and Cottar rejoiced with him, for he admired the adjutant greatly, and marveled who might be big enough to fill his place; so that he nearly collapsed when the mantle fell on his own shoulders, and the THE BRUSHWOOD BOY S37 colonel said a few sweet things that made him blush. An adjutant's position does not difiFer materially from that of head of the school, and Cottar stood in the same relation to the colonel as he had to his old Head in England. Only, tempers wear out in hot weather, and things were said and done that tried him sorely, and he made glorious blunders, from which the regimental sergeant-major pulled him with a loyal soul and a shut mouth. Slovens and incompetents raged against him ; the weak-minded strove to lure him from the ways of justice; the small-minded — ^yea, men whom Cot- tar believed would never do "things no fellow can do" — imputed motives mean and circuitous to actions that he had not spent a thought upon; and he tasted injustice, and it made him very sick. But his consolation came on parade, when he looked down the full companies, and reflected how few were in hospital or cells, and wondered when the time would come to try the machine of his love and labor. But they needed and expected the whole of a man's work- ing-day, and maybe three or four hours of the night. Cm:i- ously enough, he never dreamed about the regiment as he was popularly supposed to. The mind, set free from the day's doings, generally ceased working altogether, or, if it moved at all, carried him along the old beach-road to the downs, the lamp-post, and, once in a while, to terrible Police- man Day. The second time that he returned to the world's lost continent (this was a dream that repeated itself again and again, with variations, on the same ground) he knew that if he only sat still the person from the Lily Lock would help him, and he was not disappointed. Sometimes he was trapped in mines of vast depth hollowed out of the heart of the world, where men in torment chanted echoing songs; and he heard this person coming along through the galleries, and everything was made safe and delightful. They met again in low-roofed Lidian railway-carriages that halted in a garden stirrounded by gilt-and-green railings, where a mob of stony white people, all unfriendly, sat at breakfast- tables covered with roses, and separated Georgie from hia 238 STORIES FROM KIPLING companion, while underground voices sang deep-voiced songs. Greorgie was filled with enormous despair till they two met again. They foregathered in the middle of an endless, hot tropic night, and crept into a huge house that stood, he knew, somewhere north of the railway-station where the people ate among the roses. It was surrounded with gar- dens, all moist and dripping; and in one room, reached through leagues of whitewashed passages, a Sick Thing lay in bed. Now the least noise, Gfeorgie knew, would unchain some waiting horror, and his companion knew it, too; but when their eyes met across the bed, Gleorgie was disgusted to see that she was a child — ^a little girl in strapped shoes, with her black hair combed back from her forehead. "What disgraceful folly!" he thought. "Now she could do nothing whatever if Its head came oflt." Then the Thing coughed, and the ceiling shattered down in plaster on the mosquito-netting, and "They" rushed in from all quarters. He dragged the child through the stifling garden, voices chanting behind them, and they rode the Thirty-Mile Ride imder whip and spur along the sandy beach by the booming sea, till they came to the downs, the lamp- post, and the brushwood-pile which was safety. Very often dreams would break up about them in this fashion, and they would be separated, to endiu-e awful adventures alone. But the most amusing times were when he and she had a clear understanding that it was all make-believe, and walked through mile-wide roaring rivers without even taking ofi their shoes, or set light to populous cities to see how they would burn, and were rude as any children to the vaguC shadows met in their rambles. Later in the night they werfe sure to suffer for this, either at the hands of the Railway People eating among the roses, or in the tropic uplands at the far end of the Thirty-Mile Ride. Together, this did not much affright them; but often Georgie would hear her shrill cry of "Boy! Boy!" half a world away, and hurry to her rescue before "They" maltreated her. He and she explored the dark-purple downs as far inland THE BRUSHWOOD BOY from the brushwood-pile as they dared, but that was always a dangerous matter. The interior was filled with "Them," and "They" went about singing in the hollows, and Greorgie and she felt safer on or near the seaboard. So thoroughly had he come to know the place of his dreams that even wak- ing he accepted it as a real country, and made a rough sketch of it. He kept his own counsel, of course; but the per- manence of the land puzzled him. His ordinary dreams were as formless and as fleeting as any healthy dreams could be, but once at the brushwood-pile he moved within known limits and could see where he was going. There were months at a time when nothing notable crossed his sleep. Then the dreams would come in a batch of five or six, and next morning the map that he kept in his writing-case would be written up to date, for Georgie was a most methodical person. ^^^HfcjuL. 240 STORIES FROM KIPLING There was, indeed, a danger — ^his seniors said so — of his developing into a regular "Auntie Fuss" of an adjutant, and when an officer once takes to old-maidism there is more hope for the virgin of seventy than for him. But fate sent the change that was needed, in the shape of a httle winter campaign on the Border, which, after the manner of Uttle campaigns, flashed out into a very ugly war; and Cottar's regiment was chosen among the first. "Now," said a major, "this'Il shake the cobwebs out of us all — especially you, Galahad; and we can see what your hen- with-one-chick attitude has done for the regiment." Cottar nearly wept with joy as the campaign went for- ward. They were fit — ^physically fit beyond the other troops; they were good children in camp, wet or dry, fed or unfed; and they followed their officers with the quick suppleness and trained obedience of a first-class foot-baU fifteen Ther were cut off from their apology for a base, and cheerfully cut their way back to it again; they crowned and cleaned out hills full of the enemy with the precision of well-broken dogs of chase; and in the hour of retreat, when, hampered with the sick and wounded of the column, they were persecuted down eleven miles of waterless valley, they, serving as rearguard, covered themselves with a great glory in the eyes of fellow- professionals. Any regiment can advance, but few know how to retreat with a sting in the tail. Then they turned to made roads, most often under fire, and dismantled some incon- venient mud redoubts. They were the last corps to be with- drawn when the rubbish of the campaign was all swept up; and after a month in standing camp, which tries morals severely, they departed to their own place in column of fours, singing: "'E's goin' to do without 'em — Don't want 'em any more; 'E's goin' to do without 'em. As 'e's often done before. 'E's goin' to be a martyr On a 'ighly novel plan. An' all the boys and girls will say, 'Ow! what a nice young man — man — man! Ow! what a nice young man!'" THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 241 There came out a "Gazette" in which Cottar found that he had been behaving with "courage and coohiess and discre- tion" in all his capacities; that he had assisted the wounded imder fire, and blown in a gate, also under fire. Net results, his captaincy and a brevet majority, coupled with the Distinguished Service Order. As to his wounded, he explained that they were both heavy men, whom he could lift more easily than any one eke. "Otherwise, of course, I should have sent out one of my men; and, of course, about that gate business, we were safe the minute we were well under the walls." But this did not prevent his men from cheering him furiously when- ever they saw him, or the mess from giving him a dinner on the eve of his departure to England. (A year's leave was among the things he had "snaflSed out of the campaign," to use his own words.) The doctor, who had taken quite as much as was good for him, quoted poetry about "a good blade carving the casques of men," and so on, and everybody told Cottar that he was an excellent person; but when he rose to make his maiden speech they shouted so that he was understood to say, "It isn't any use tryin' to speak with you chaps rottin' me like this. Let's have some pool." It is not unpleasant to spend eight-and-twenty days in an easy-going steamer on warm waters, in the company of a woman who lets you see that you are head and shoulders superior to the rest of the world, even though that woman may be, and most often is, ten counted years your senior. P. & O. boats are not lighted with the disgustful particularity of Atlantic liners. There is more phosphorescence at the bows, and greater silence and darkness by the hand-steering gear aft. Awful things might have happened to Georgie but for the little fact that he had never studied the first principles of the game he was expected to play. So when Mrs. ZuleikOf 242 STORIES FROM KIPLING at Aden, told him how motherly an interest she felt in his welfare, medals, brevet, and all, Georgie took her at the foot of the letter, and promptly talked of his own mother, three hundred miles nearer each day, of his home, and so forth, all the way up the Red Sea. It was much easier than he had supposed to converse with a woman for an hour at a time. Then Mrs. Zuleika, turning from parental affection, spoke of love in the abstract as a thing not unworthy of study, and in discreet twilights after dinner demanded confidences. Georgie would have been delighted to supply them, but he had none, and did not know it was his duty to manufacture them. Mrs. Zuleika expressed surprise and unbelief, and asked those questions which deep asks of deep. She learned all that was necessary to conviction, and being very much a woman, resumed (Georgie never knew that she had aban- doned) the motherly attitude. "Do you know," she said, somewhere in the Mediterran- ean, "I think you're the very dearest boy I have ever met in my life, and I'd like you to remember me a httle. You will when you are older, but I want you to remember me now. You'll make some girl very happy." "Oh! Hope so," said (Jeorgie, gravely; "but there's heaps of time for marryin' an' all that sort of thing, ain't there?" "That depends. Here are your bean-bags for the Ladies' Competition. I think I'm growing too old to care for these iamashas." They were getting up sports, and Georgie was on the com- mittee. He never noticed how perfectly the bags were sewn, but another woman did, and smiled — once. He liked Mrs. Zuleika greatly. She was a bit old, of course, but un- commonly nice. There was no nonsense about her. A few nights after they passed Gibraltar his dream returned to him. She who waited by the brushwood-pile was no longer a little girl, but a woman with black hair that grew into a "widow's peak," combed back from her forehead. He knew her for the child in black, the companion of the last THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 243 six years, and, as it had been in the time of the meetings on the Lost Continent, he was filled with delight unspeakable. "They," for some dreamland reason, were friendly or had gone away that night, and the two flitted together over all their country, from the brushwood-pile up the Thirty-Mile Ride, till they saw the House of the Sick Thing, a pin-point in the distance to the left; stamped through the Railway Waiting-room where the roses lay on the spread breakfast- tables; and returned, by the ford and the city they had once burned for sport, to the great swells of the downs imder the lamp-post. Wherever they moved a strong singing followed them underground, but this night there was no panic. All the land was empty except for themselves, and at the last (they were sitting by the lamp-post hand in hand) she turned and kissed him. He woke with a start, staring at the waving curtain of the cabin door; he could almost have sworn that the kiss was real. Next morning the ship was rolling in a Biscay sea, and people were not happy; but as Georgie came to breakfast, shaven, tubbed, and smelling of soap, several turned to look at him because of the light in his eyes and the splendor of his countenance. "Well, you look beastly fit," snapped a neighbor. "Any one left you a legacy in the middle of the Bay?" Georgie reached for the curry, with a seraphic grin. "I suppose it's the gettin' so near home, and all that. I do feel rather festive this mornin'. 'Rolls a bit, doesn't she?" Mrs. Zuleika stayed in her cabin till the end of the voyage, when she left without bidding him farewell, and wept pas- sionately on the dock-head for pure joy of meeting her chil- dren, who, she had often said, were so like their father. Georgie headed for his own country, wild with delight of his first long furlough after the lean seasons. Nothing was changed in that orderly life, from the coachman who met him at the station to the white peacock that stormed at the carriage from the stone wall above the shaven laws. The house took toll of him with due regard to precedence — ^first 244 STORIES FROM KIPLING the mother; then the father; then the housekeeper who wept and praised God; then the butler, and so on down to the under-keeper, who had been dogboy in Georgie's youth, and called him "Master Georgie" and was reproved by the groom who had taught Georgie to ride. "Not a thing changed," he sighed contentedly, when the three of them sat down to dinner in the late sunlight, while the rabbits crept out upon the lawn below the cedars, and the big trout in the ponds by the home paddock rose for their evening meal. "Ouf changes are all over, dear," cooed the mother; "and now I am getting used to your size and your tan (you're very brown, Georgie), I see you haven't changed in the least. You're exactly like the pater." The father beamed on this man after his own heart, — "youngest major in the army, and should have had the V. C, sir," — ^and the butler listened with his professional mask off when Master Georgie spoke of war as it is waged to-day, and his father cross-questioned. They went out on the terrace to smoke among the roses, and the shadow of the old house lay long across the wonderful English foliage, which is the only living green in the world. "Perfect! By Jove, it's perfect!" Georgie was looking at the round-bosomed woods beyond the home paddock, where the white pheasant boxes were ranged; and the golden air was full of a hundred sacred scents and sounds. Georgie felt his father's arm tighten in his. "It's not half bad — ^but hodie mihi, eras tihi, isn't it? I suppose you'll be turning up some fine day with a girl under your arm, if you haven't one now, eh?" "You can make your mind easy, sir. I haven't one." "Not in all these years?" said the mother. "I hadn't time, mummy. They keep a man pretty busy, these days, in the service, and most of our mess are unmar- ried, too." "But you must have met hundreds in society — ^at ballai and so on? " THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 245 "I'm like the Tenth, mummy: I don't dance." ^ "Don't dance ! What have you been doing with yourself j then — ^backing other men's bills?" said the father. "Oh, yes; I've done a little of that too; but you see, as things are now, a man has all his work cut out for him to keep abreast of his profession, and my days were always too full to let me lark about half the night." " Hmm ! " — suspiciously. "It's never too late to learn. We ought to give some kind of housewarming for the people about, now you've come back. Unless you want to go straight up to) town, dear?" "No. I don't want anything better than this. Let's sit still and enjoy ourselves. I suppose there will be some- thing for me to ride if I look for it.'' " "Seeing I've been kept down to the old brown pair for the last six weeks because all the others were being got ready for Master Georgie, I should say there might be," the father chuckled. "They're reminding me in a himdred ways that I must take the second place now." "Brutes!" "The pater doesn't mean it, dear; but every one had been trying to make your home-coming a success; and you do like it, don't you?" "Perfect! Perfect! There's no place like England— t when you've done your work." "That's the proper way to look at it, my son." And so up and down the flagged walk till their shadows grew long in the moonUght, and the mother went indoors and played such songs as a small boy once clamored for, and the squat silver candlesticks were brought in, and Georgie climbed to the two rooms in the west wing that had been his nursery and his play-room in the beginning. Then who should come to tuck him up for the night but the mother? And she sat down on the bed, and they talked for a long hour, as mother and son should, if there is to be any future for the Empire. With a simple woman's deep guile she asked questions and 246 STOKIES FROM KIPLING suggested answers that should have waked some sign in the face on the pillow, and there was neither quiver of eyelid nor quickening of breath, neither evasion nor delay in reply. So she blessed him and kissed him on the mouth, which is not always a mother's property, and said somethmg to her husband later, at which he laughed profane and incredulous laughs. All the establishment waited on Georgie next morning, from the tallest six-year-old, "with a mouth like a kid glove. Master Georgie," to the under-keeper strolling carelessly along the horizon, Georgie's pet rod in his hand, and "There's a four-pounder risin' below the lasher. You don't 'ave 'em in Injia, Mast — ^Major Georgie." It was all beautiful beyond telling, even though the mother insisted on taking him out in the landau (the leather had the hot Sunday smell of his youth) and showing him off to her friends at all the houses for six miles round; and the pater bore him up to town and a lunch at the club, where he introduced him, quite carelessly, to not less than thirty ancient warriors whose sons were not the youngest majors in the army and had not the D. S. 0. After that it was G«orgie's turn; and remembering his friends, he filled up the house with that kind of officer who Uve in cheap lodgings at Southsea or Montpelier Square, Brompton — good men all, but not well off. The mother perceived that they needed girls to play with; and as there was no scarcity of girls, the house hummed like a dovecote in spring. They tore up the place for amateur theatricals; they disap- peared in the gardens when they ought to have been re- hearsing; they swept off every available horse and vehicle, especially the governess-cart and the fat pony; they fell into the trout-ponds; they picnicked and they tennised; and they sat on gates in the twilight, two by two, and Georgie found that he was not in the least necessary to their entertainment. "My word!" said he, when he saw the last of their dear backs. "They told me they've enjoyed 'emselves, but they haven't done half the things they said they would." THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 247 "I know they've enjoyed themselves — ^immensely," said the mother. "You're a public benefactor, dear." "Now we can be quiet again, can't we?" "Oh, quite. I've a very dear friend of mine that I want you to know, She couldn't come with the house so full, be- cause she's an invalid, and she was away when you first came. She's a Mrs. Lacy." "Lacy ! I don't remember the name about here." "No; they came after you went to Lidia — ^from Oxford. Her husband died there, and she lost some money, I believe. They bought The Firs on the Bassett Road. She's a very sweet woman, and we're very fond of them both." "She's a widow, didn't you say?" "She has a daughter. Surely I said so, dear?" "Does she fall into trout-ponds, and gas and giggle, and •Oh, Major Cottah!' and all that sort of thing?" "No, indeed. She's a very quiet girl, and very musical. She always came over here with her music books — compos- ing, you know; and she generally works all day, so you won't " "'Talking about Miriam?" said the pater, commg up. The mother edged toward him within elbow-reach. There was no finesse about Georgie's father. "Oh, Miriam's a dear girl. Plays beautifully. Rides beautifully, too. She's a regular pet of the household. Used to call me " The elbow went home, and ignorant but obedient always, the pater shut himself off. "What used she to call you, sir?" " All sorts of pet names. I'm very fond of Miriam." "Sounds Jewish — ^Miriam." "Jew! You'll be calling yourself a Jew next. She's one of the Herefordshire Lacys. When her aunt dies " Again the elbow. "Oh, you won't see anything of her, Georgie. She's busy with her music or her mother all day. Besides, you're going up to town to-morrow, aren't you? I thought you said something about an Institute meeting? " The mother spoke. 248 STORIES FROM KIPLING "Gro up to town now I What nonsense!" Once more the pater was shut ofiF. "I had some idea of it, but I'm not quite sure," said the son of the house. Why did the mother try to get Mm away be- cause a musical girl and her invalid parent were expected? He did not approve of unknown females calling his father pet names. He would observe these pushing persons who had been only seven years in the county. All of which the delighted mother read in his countenance, herself keeping an air of sweet disinterestedness. " They'll be here this evening for dinner. I'm sending the carriage over for them, and they won't stay more than a week." "Perhaps I shall go up to town. I don't quite know yet." Georgie moved away irresolutely. There was a lecture at the United Services Institute on the supply of ammunition in the field, and the one man whose theories most irritated Major Cottar would deliver it. A heated discussion was sure to follow, and perhaps he might find himself moved to speak. He took his rod that afternoon and went down to thrash it out among the trout. " Good sport, dear ! " said the mother from the terrace. "'Fraid it won't be, mummy. All those men from town, and the girls particularly, have put every trout off his feed for weeks. There isn't one of 'em that cares for fishin' — really. Fancy stampin' and shoutin' on the bank, and tellin' every fish for half a mile exactly what you're goin' to do, and then chuckin' a brute of a fly at him! By Jove, it would scare m« if I was a trout ! " But things were not as bad as he had expected. The black gnat was on the water, and the water was strictly preserved. A three-quarter-pounder at the second cast set him for the campaign, and he worked down-stream, crouch- ing behind the reed and meadow-sweet; creeping between a hornbeam hedge and a foot-wide strip of bank, where he could see the trout, but where they could not distinguish him from the background; lying almost on his stomach to switch the THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 249 blue-upriglit sidewise through the checkered shadows of a gravelly ripple under overarching trees. But he had known every inch of the water since he was four feet high. The aged and astute between simk roots, with the large and fat that lay in the frothy scum below some strong rush of water, sucking as lazily as carp, came to trouble in their turn, at the hand that imitated so delicately the flicker and wimple of an egg-dropping fly. Consequently, Georgie found himself five miles from home when he ought to have been dressing for dinner. The housekeeper had taken good care that her boy should not go empty, and before he changed to the white moth he sat down to excellent claret with sandwiches of potted egg and things that adoring women make and men never notice. Then back, to surprise the otter grubbing for fresh-water mussels, the rabbits on the edge of the beech- woods foraging in the clover, and the poUceman-Uke white owl stooping to the little field-mice, till the moon was strong, and he took his rod apart, and went home through well-remem- bered gaps in the hedges. He fetched a compass round the house, for, though he might have broken every law of the establishment every hour, the law of his boyhood was un- breakable: after fishing you went in by the south garden back-door, cleaned up in the outer scullery, and did not pre- sent yourself to your elders and your betters till you had washed and changed. "Half -past ten, by Jove! Well, we'll make the sport an excuse. They wouldn't want to see me the first evening, at any rate. Gone to bed, probably." He skirted by the open French windows of the «lrawing-room. "No, they haven't They look very comfy in there." He could see his father in his own particular chair, the mother in hers, and the back of a girl at the piano by the big potpourri-jar. The gardens looked half divine in the moon- light, and he turned down through the roses to finish his pipe. A prelude ended, and there floated out a voice of the kind that in his childhood he used to call "creamy" — a full. 250 STORIES FROM KIPLING true contralto; and this is the song that he heard, every syllable of it: Over the edge of the purple down. Where the single lamplight gleams. Know ye the road to the Merciful Town That is hard by the Sea of Dreams— Where the poor may lay their wrongs away. And the sick may forget to weep? But we — ^pity us! Oh, pity us! We wakeful; ah, pity us! — We must go back with Policeman Day — Back from the City of Sleep! Weary they turn from the scroll and crown. Fetter and prayer and plough — They that go up to the Mercif iJ Town, For her gates are closing now. It is their right in the Batiis of Night Body and soul to steep: But we — pity us! ah, pity us! We wakeful; oh, pity us! — We must go back with Policeman Day — Back from the City of Sleep! Over the edge of the purple down. Ere the tender dreams begin. Look — we may look — at the Merciful Town, But we may not enter in! Outcasts all, from her guarded wall Back to our watch we creep: We — ^pity us! ah, pity us! We wakeful; oh, pity us! — We that go back with Policeman Day — Back from the City of Sleep! At ihe last echo he was aware that his mouth was dry and unknown pulses were beating in the roof of it. The house- keeper, who would have it that he must have fallen in and caught a chill, was waiting to catch him on the stairs, and, since he neither saw nor answered her, carried a wild tale abroad that brought his mother knocking at the door. "Anything happened, dear? Harper said she thought you weren't " "No; it's nothing. I'm all right, mummy. Please don't bother." THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 251 He did not recognize his own voice, but that was a small matter beside what he was considering. Obviously, most obviously, the whole coincidence was crazy lunacy. He proved it to the satisfaction of Major George Cottar, who was going up to town to-morrow to hear a lecture on the supply of ammunition in the field; and having so proved it, the soul and brain and heart and body of Georgie cried joyously: "That's the Lily Lock girl — ^the Lost Continent girl — ^the Thirty-Mile Ride girl — ^the Brushwood girl! I know her!" He waked, stiff and cramped in his chair, to reconsider the situation by sunlight, when it did not appear normal. But a man must eat, and he went to breakfast, his heart between his teeth, holding himself severely in hand. "Late, as usual," said the mother. "'My boy,MissLacy." A tall girl in black raised her eyes to his, and Georgie's life training deserted him — ^just as soon as he realized that she did not know. He stared coolly and critically. There was the abundant black hair, growing in a widow's peak, turned back from the forehead, with that peculiar ripple over the right ear; there were the gray eyes set a httle close together; the short upper hp, resolute chin, and the known poise of the head. There was also the small well-cut mouth that had kissed him. "Greorgie — dear I" said the mother, amazedly, for Miriam was flushing under the stare. "I — ^I beg your pardon!" he gulped. "I don't know whether the mother has told you, but I'm rather an idiot at times, specially before I've had my breakfast. It's — ^it's a family failing." He turned to explore among the hot-water dishes on the sideboard, rejoicing that she did not know — she did not know. His conversation for the rest of the meal was mildly insane, though the mother thought she had never seen her boy look half so handsome. How could any girl, least of all one of Miriam's discernment, forbear to fall down and worship? But deeply Miriam was displeased. She had never been stared at in that fashion before, and promptly retired into 252 STORIES FROM KIPLING her shell when Creorgie announced that he had changed his mind about going to town, and would stay to play with Miss Lacy if she had nothing better to do. "Oh, but don't let me throw you out. I'm at work. I've things to do all the morning." "What possessed Georgie to behave so oddly?" the mother sighed to herself. "Miriam's a bundle of feelings — like her mother." "You compose — don't you? Must be a fine thing to be able to do that. ["Pig — oh, pig!" thought Miriam.] I think I heard you singm' when I came in last night after fishin'. All about a Sea of Dreams, wasn't it? [Miriam shuddered to the core of the soul that afflicted her.] AwfuUy pretty song. How'd you think of such things? " "You only composed the music, dear, didn't you?" "The words too. I'm sure of it," said Georgie, with a sparkling eye. No; she did not know. "Yeth; I wrote the words too." Miriam spoke slowly, for she knew she lisped when she was nervous. "Now how covld you tell, Georgie?" said the mother, as delighted as though the youngest major in the army were ten years old, showing oflP before company. "I was sure of it, somehow. Oh, there are heaps of things about me, mmnmy, that you don't understand. Looks as if it were goin' to be a hot day — ^for England. Would you care for a ride this afternoon. Miss Lacy? We can start out after tea, if you'd like it." Miriam could not in decency refuse, but any woman migh* see she was not filled with delight. "That will be very nice, if you take the Bassett Road. It will save me sending Martin down to the village," said the mother, filling in gaps. Like all good managers, the mother had her one weakness — a mania for little strategies that should economize horses and vehicles. Her men-folk complained that she turned them into common carriers, and there was a legend in the family that she had once said to the pater on the morning of THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 253 a meet: "If you should kill near Bassett, dear, and if it isn't too late, would you mind just popping over and matching me this?" "I knew that was coming. You'd never miss a chance, mother. If it's a fish or a trunk I won't." Georgie laughed. "It's only a duck. They can do it up very neatly at Mallett's," said the mother, simply. "You won't mind, will you? We'll have a scratch dinner at nine, because it's so hot." The long summer day dragged itself out for centuries; but at last there was tea on the lawn, and Miriam appeared. She was in the saddle before he could offer to help, with the clean spring of the chUd who mounted the pony for the Thirty-Mile Ride. The day held mercilessly, though Creorgie got down thrice to look for imaginary stones in Rufus's foot. One cannot say even simple things in broad light, and this that Georgie meditated was not simple. So he spoke seldom, and Miriam was divided between relief and scorn. It annoyed her that the great hulking thing should know she had written the words of the song overnight; for though a maiden may sing her most secret fancies aloud, she does not care to have them trampled over by the male Philistine. They rode into the little red-brick street of Bassett, and G«orgie made untold fuss over the disposition of that duck. It must go in just such a package, and be fastened to the saddle in just such a manner, though eight o'clock had struck and they were miles from dinner. "We must be quick! " said Miriam, bored and angry. "There's no great hurry; but we can cut over Dowhead Down, and let 'em out on the grass. That will save us half an hour." The horses capered on the short, sweet-smelling turf, and the delaying shadows gathered in the valley as they cantered over the great dun down that overhangs Bassett and the Western coaching-road. Insensibly the pace quickened without thought of mole-hills; Rufus, gentleman that he was, waiting on Miriam's Dandy tUl they should have cleared the 254 STORIES PROM KIPLING rise. Then down the two-mile slope they raced together, the wind whistling in their ears, to the steady throb of eight hoofs and the light click-click of the shifting bits. "Oh, that was glorious! "Miriam cried, reining in. ' Dandy and I are old friends, but I don't think we've ever gone better together." "No; but you've gone quicker, once or twice." "Really? When?" Georgie moistened his lips. "Don't you remember the Thirty-Mile Ride — with me — when 'They' were after us — on the beach-road, with the sea to the left — going toward the lamp-post on the downs?" The girl gasped. "What — ^what do you mean?" she said hysterically. "The Thirty-Mile Ride, and— and all the rest of it." " You mean ? I didn't sing anything about the Thirty- Mile Ride. I know I didn't. I have never told a Uving soul. "You told about Policeman Day, and the lamp at the top of the downs, and the City of Sleep. It all joins on, you know — it's the same country — and it was easy enough to see where you had been." "Good God! — ^It joins on — of course it does; but — ^I have been — ^you have been Oh, let's walk, please, or I shall fall oflF!" Georgie ranged alongside, and laid a hand that shook below her bridle-hand, pulling Dandy into a walk. Miriam was sobbing as he had seen a man sob under the touch of the bullet. "It's all right — it's all right," he whispered feebly. "Only '-^july it's true, you know." "True! Am I mad?" "Not unless I'm mad as well. Do try to think a minute quietly. How could any one conceivably know anything about the Thirty-Mile Ride having anything to do with you, unless he had been there?" "But where? "BvLt where? Tell me!" "There — ^wherever it may be — in our country, I suppose^ THE BRUSHWOOD BOY S55 Do you remember the first time you rode it — the Thirty-Mile Ride, I mean? You must." "It was all dreams — ^all dreams!" "Yes, but tell, please; because I know." "Let me think. I — we were on no account to make any noise — on no account to make any noise." She was staring between Dandy's ears, with eyes that did not see, and a suffocating heart. "Because Tt' was dying in the big house?" Georgie went on, reining in again. "There was a garden with green-and-gilt railings — ^all hot. Do you remember? " "I ought to. I was sitting on the other side of the bed before Tt' coughed and 'They' came in." "You!" — the deep voice was unnaturally full and strong, and the girl's wide-opened eyes burned in the dusk as she stared him through and through. "Then you're the Boy — ■ my Brushwood Boy, and I've known you all my life!" She fell forward on Dandy's neck. Georgie forced himself out of the weakness that was overmastering his limbs, and slid an arm round her waist. The head dropped on his shoulder, and he found himself with parched lips saying things that up till then he believed existed only in printed works of fiction. Mercifully the horses were quiet. She made no attempt to draw herself away when she recovered, but lay still, whispering, "Of course you're the Boy, and I didn't know — I didn't know." "I knew last night; and when I saw you at breakfast " "Oh, that was why ! I wondered at the time. You would, of course." "I couldn't speak before this. Keep your head where it is, dear. It's all right now — ^all right now, isn't it?" "But how was it I didn't know— after all these years and years? I remember — oh, what lots of things I remember!" "Tell me some. I'll look after the horses." "I remember waiting for you when the steamer came in. Do you?" «56 STORIES FROM KIPLING "At the Lily Lock, beyond Hong-Kong and Java?" "Do ycm call it that, too?" "You told me it was when I was lost in the continent, That was you that showed me the way through the moun- tains?" "When the islands slid? It must have been, because you're the only one I remember. All the others were 'Them.' " "Awful brutes they were, too." "I remember showing you the Thirty-Mile Ride the first time. You ride just as you used to — ^then. You are you!" "That's odd. I thought that of you this afternoon. Isn't it wonderful?" "What does it all mean? Why should you and I of the miUions of people in the world have this — ^this thing between us? What does it mean? I'm frightened." "This!" said Georgie. The horses quickened their pace. They thought they had heard an order. "Perhaps when we die we may find out more, but it means this now." There was no answer. What could she say? As the world went, they had known each other rather less than eight and a half hours, but the matter was one that did not concern the world. There was a very long silence, while the breath in their nostrils drew cold and sharp as it might have been a fume of ether. "That's the second," Georgie whispered. "You remem- ber, don't you?" "It's not I "—furiously. "It's not !" "On the downs the other night — ^months ago. You were just as you are now, and we went over the country for miles and miles." "It was all empty, too. They had gone away. Nobody frightened us. I wonder why. Boy? " "Oh, if you remember thai, you must remember the rest. Confess!" "I remember lots of things, but I know I didn't. I never liave — ^tni just now." "You did, dear." THE BRUSHWOOD BOY 257 "I know I didn't, because — oh, it's no use keeping any- thing back! — ^because I truthfully meant to." "And truthfully did." "No; meant to; but someone else came by." "There wasn't any one else. There never has been." "There was — ^there always is. It was another woman — out there on the sea. I saw her. It was the 26th of May. I've got it written down somewhere." "Oh you'we kept a record of your dreams, too? That's odd about the other woman, because I happened to be on the sea just then." "I was right. How do I know what you've done when you were awake — ^and I thought it was only you I" "You never were more wrong in your life. What a little temper you've got. Listen to me a minute, dear." And Georgie, though he knew it not, committed black perjury. "It — ^it isn't the kind of thing one says to any one, because they'd laugh; but on my word and honor, darling, I've never been kissed by a living soul outside my own people in all my life. Don't laugh, dear. I wouldn't tell any one but you, but it's the solemn truth." "I knew! You are you. Oh, I knew you'd come some day; but I didn't know you were you in the least till you spoke." "Then give me another." "And you never cared or looked anywhere? Why, all the round world must have loved you from the very minute they saw you, Boy." "They kept it to themselves if they did. No; I never cared." "And we shall be late for dinner — ^horribly late. Oh, how can I look at you in the light before your mother — and mine ! " "We'll play you're Miss Lacy till the proper time comes. What's the shortest limit for people to get engaged? S'pose we have got to go through all the fuss of an engagement, baven't we?" 258 STORIES FROM KIPLING "Oh, I don't want to talk about that. It's so common* place. I've thought of something that you don't know. I'm sure of it. What's my name? " "Miri — ^no, it isn't, by Jove! Wait half a second, and it'll come back to me. You aren't — ^you can't? Why, those old tales — ^before I went to school! I've never thought of 'em from that day to this. Are you the original, only Annieawlouise? " "It was what you always called me ever since the be- ginning. Oh ! We've turned into the avenue, and we must be an hour late." "What does it matter? The chain goes as far back as those days? It must, of course — of course it must. I've got to ride round with this pestilent old bird — confoimd him!" ""'Ha! ha!" said duck laughing' — do you remember that?" "Yes, I do — ^flower-pots on my feet, and all. We've been together all this while; and I've got to say good-bye to you till dinner. Sure I'll see you at dinner-time? Sure you won't sneak up to your room, darling, and leave me all the evening? Good-bye, dear — good-bye." "Good-bye, Boy, good-bye. Mind the arch! Don't let Rufus bolt into his stables. Good-bye. Yes, I'll come down to dinner; but — ^what shall I do when I see you in the light!" WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR (1895-6) PART I I have done one braver thing Than all the worthies did; And yet a braver thence doth spring, Which is to keep that hid. The Undeetaking. "Is IT oflScially declared yet? " "They've gone as far as to admit 'extreme local scarcity,' and they've started relief-works in one or two districts, the paper says." "That means it will be declared as soon as they can make sure of the men and the rolling-stock. 'Shouldn't wonder if it were as bad as the '78 Famine." " 'Can't be," said Scott, turning a little in the long cane chair. "We've had fifteen-anna crops in the north, and Bombay and Bengal report more than they know what to do with. They'll be able to check it before it gets out of hand. It wiU only be local." Martyn picked the Pioneer from the table, read through the telegrams once more, and put up his feet on the chair- rests. It was a hot, dark, breathless evening, heavy with the smell of the newly watered Mall. The flowers in the Club gardens were dead and black on their stalks, the little lotus- pond was a. circle of caked mud, and the tamarisk trees were white with the dust of weeks. Most of the men were at the band-stand in the public gardens — ^from the Club veranda you could hear the native Police band hammering stale waltzes — or on the polo-ground, or in the high-walled fives- 259 260 STORIES FROM KIPLING court, hotter than a Dutch oven. Half a dozen grooms, squatted at the heads of their ponies, waited their masters' return. From time to time a man would ride at a foot-pace into the Club compoimd, and listlessly loaf over to the white- washed barracks beside the main building. These were supposed to be chambers. Men lived in them, meeting the same white faces night after night at dinner, and drawing out their office-work till the latest possible hour, that they might escape that doleful company. "What are you going to do?" said Martyn, with a yawn. "Let's have a swim before dinner." " 'Water's hot. I was at the bath to-day." "'Play you game ©'billiards — ^fifty up." "It's a hundred and five in the hall now. Sit still and don't be so abominably energetic." A grunting camel swung up to the porch, his badged and belted rider fumbling a leather pouch. " Kubber-kargaz-ki-yektraaa," the man whined, handing down the newspaper extra — ^a slip printed on one side only and damp from the press. It was pinned up on the green- baize board, between notices of ponies for sale and fox terriers missing. Martyn rose lazily, read it, and whistled. "It's declared ! " he cried. "One, two, three — eight districts go under the operations of the Famine Code ek dum. They've put Jimmy Hawkins in charge." "Good business!" said Scott, with the first sign of interest he had shown. "When in doubt hire a Punjabi. I worked under Jimmy when I first came out and he belonged to the Punjab. He has more bundobust than most men." "Jimmy's a Jubilee Knight now," said Martjni. "He's a good chap, even though he is a thrice-born civilian and went to the Benighted Presidency. What unholy names these Madras districts rejoice in — all ungas or rungas or piUays or polliumsl" A dog-cart drove up in the dusk, and a man entered, mop- ping his head. He was editor of the one daily paper at the WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 261 capital of a province of twenty-five million natives and a few hundred white men: as his staff was limited to himself and one assistant, his office-hours ran variously from ten to twenty a day. "Hi, Raines; you're supposed to know everything," said Martyn, stopping him. "How's this Madras 'scarcity' going to turn out?" "No one knows as yet. There's a message as long as your arm coming in on the telephone. I've left my cub to fill it out. Madras has owned she can't manage it alone, and Jimmy seems to have a free hand in getting all the men he needs. Arbuthnot's warned to hold himself in readiness." "'Badger' Arbuthnot?" "The Peshawur chap. Yes: and the Pi wires that Ellis and Clay have been moved from the Northwest already, and they've taken half a dozen Bombay men, too. It's pukka famine, by the looks of it." "They're nearer the scene of action than we are; but if it comes to indenting on the Punjab this early, there's more in this than meets the eye," said Martyn. "Here to-day and gone to-morrow. 'Didn't come to stay for ever," said Scott, dropping one of Marryat's novels and rising to his feet. " Martyn, your sister's waiting for you." A rough gray horse was backing and shifting at the edge of the veranda, where the light of a kerosene lamp fell on a brown calico habit and a white face imder a gray felt hat. "Right, O!" said Martyn. "I'm ready. Better come and dine with us, if you've nothing to do, Scott. William, is there any dinner in the house?" "I'll go home and see," was the rider's answer. "You can drive him over — at eight, remember." Scott moved leisurely to his room, and changed into the evening-dress of the season and the country: spotless white linen from head to foot, with a broad silk cummerbund. Din- ner at the Martyns' was a decided improvement on the goat- mutton, twiney-tough fowl and tinned entries of the Club. 262 STORIES FROM KIPLING But it was a great pity that Martyn could not afford to send his sister to the hills for the hot weather. As an Acting District Superintendent of Police, Martyn drew the magnifi- cent pay of six hundred depreciated silver rupees a month, and his little four-roomed bungalow said just as much. There were the usual blue-and-white-striped jail-made rugs on the uneven fioor; the usual glass-studded Amritsar phvlkaris draped on nails driven into the flaking whitewash of the walls; the usual half-dozen chairs that did not match, picked up art sales of dead men's effects; and the usual streak of black grease where the leather pimka-thong ran through the wall. It was as though everything had been unpacked the night before to be repacked next morning. Not a door in the house was true on its hinges. The little windows, fifteen feet up, were darkened with wasp-nests, and lizards hunted flies between the beams of the wood-ceiled roof. But all this was part of Scott's life. Thus did people live \^o had such an income; and in a land where each man's pay, age, and position are printed in a book, that all may read, it is hardly worth while to play at pretence in word or deed. Scott counted eight years' service in the Irrigation Department, and drew eight hundred rupees a month, on the understand- ing that if he served the State faithfuUy for another twenty- two years he could retire on a pension of some four hundred rupees a month. His working-life, which had been spent chiefly imder canvas or in temporary shelters where a man could sleep, eat, and write letters, was boimd up with the opening and guarding of irrigation canals, the handling of two or three thousand workmen of all castes and creeds, and the payment of vast sums of coined silver. He had finished that spring, not without credit, the last section of the great Mosuhl Canal, and — ^much against his will, for he hated oflBce work — ^had been sent in to serve during the hot weather on the accounts and supply side of the Department, with sole charge of the sweltering sub-oflSce at the capital of the Province. Martyn knew this; William, his sister, knew it; and everybody knew it. Scott knew, too, as well WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 263 as the rest of the world, that Miss Martyn had come out to India four years ago to keep house for her brother, who, as everyone knew, had borrowed the money to pay for her passage, and that she ought, as all the world said, to have married at once. Instead of this, she had refused some half a dozen subalterns, a Civilian twenty years her senior, one major, and a man in the Indian Medical Department. This, too, was common property. She had " stayed down three hot weathers," as the saying is, because her brother was in debt and could not afiPord the expense of her keep at even a cheap hill-station. Therefore her face was white as bone, and in the center of her forehead was a big silvery scar about the size of a shilling — the mark of a Delhi sore, which is the same as a "Bagdad date." This comes from drinking bad water, and slowly eats into the flesh till it is ripe enough to be burned out. None the less William had enjoyed herself hugely in her four years. Twice she had been nearly drowned while ford- ing a river; once she had been run away with on a camel; had witnessed a midnight attack of thieves on her brother's camp; had seen justice administered, with long sticks, in the open under trees; could speak Urdu and even rough Punjabi with a fluency that was envied by her seniors; had entirely fallen out of the habit of writing to her aunts in England, or cutting the pages of the English magazines; had been through a very bad cholera year, seeing sights unfit to be told; and had wound up her experiences by six weeks of typhoid fever, during which her head had been shaved — ^and hoped to keep her twenty-third birthday that September. It is conceivable that the aunts would not have approved of a girl who never set foot on the ground if a horse were within hail; who rode to dances with a shawl thrown over her skirts; who wore her hair cropped and curling all over her head; who answered indifferently to the name of William or Bill; whose speech was heavy with the flowers of the vernacular; who could act in amateur theatricals, play on the banjo, rule eight servants and two horses, their accoutns and their diseases, and look 264 STORIES FROM KIPLING men slowly and deliberately between the eyes — even after they had proposed to her and been rejected. "I like men who do things," she had confided to a man in the Educational Department, who was teaching the sons of cloth-merchants and dyers the beauty of Wordsworth's "Excursion" in annotated cram-books, and when he grew poetical, William explained that she "didn't understand poetry very much; it made her head ache," and an- other broken heart took refuge at the Club. But it was all William's fault. She delighted in hearing men talk of their own work, and that is the most fatal way of bringing a man to your feet. Scott had known her for some three years, meeting her, as a rule, under canvas, when his camp and her brother's joined for a day on the edge of the Indian Desert. He had danced with her several times at the big Christmas gather- ings, when as many as five hundred white people came in t- the station; and had always a great respect for her housekeep- ing and her dinners. She looked more like a boy than ever when, the meal ended, she sat, rolling cigarettes, her low forehead puckered be- neath the dark curls as she twiddled the papers and stuck out her roimded chin when the tobacco stayed in place, or, with a gesture as true as a schoolboy's throwing a stone, tossed the finished article across the room to Martyn, who caught it with one hand, and continued his talk with Scott. It was all "shop," — canals and the policing of canals; the sins of villagers who stole more water than they had paid for, and the grosser sin of native constables who connived at the thefts; of the transplanting bodily of villages to newly ir- rigated ground, and of the coming fight with the desert in the south when the Provincial funds should warrant the open- ing of the long-surveyed Luni Protective Canal System. And Scott spoke openly of his great desire to be put on one particular section of the work where he knew the land and the people; and Martyn sighed for a billet in the Himalayan foot-hills, and said his mind of his superiors, and William WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 265 rolled cigarettes and said nothing, but smiled gravely on her brother because he was happy. At ten Scott's horse came to the door, and the evening was ended. The lights of the two low bungalows in which the daily paper was printed showed bright across the road. It was too early to try to find sleep, and Scott drifted over to the editor. Raines, stripped to the waist like a sailor at a gun, lay half asleep in a long chair, waiting for night telegrams. He had a theory that if a man did not stay by his work all day and most of the night he laid himself open to fever: so he ate and slept among his files. "Can you do it?" he said drowsily "I didn't mean to bring you over." "About what? I've been dining at the Martyns'." "The Madras famine, of course. Martyn's warned, too. They're taking men where they can find 'em. I sent a note to you at the Club just now, asking if you could do us a letter once a week from the south — between two and three columns, say. Nothing sensational, of course, but just plain facts about who is doing what, and so forth. Our regular rates — ten rupees a column." " 'Sorry, but it's out of my line," Scott answered, staring absently at the map of India on the wall. "It's rough on Martyn — ^very. 'Wonder what he'll do with his sister? 'Wonder what the deuce they'll do with me? I've no famine experience. This is the first I've heard of it. Am I ordered?" "Oh, yes. Here's the wire. They'll put you on to relief- works," Raines said, "with a horde of Madrassis dying like flies; one native apothecary and half a pint of cholera-mix- ture among the ten thousand of you. It comes of your being idle for the moment. Every man who isn't doing two men's work seems to have been called upon. Hawkins evidently believes in Punjabis. It's going to be quite as bad as any- thing they have had in the last ten years." "It's all in the day's work, worse luck. I suppose I shall get my orders officially some time to-morrow. I'm awfully 266 STORIES FROM KIPLING glad I happened to drop in. 'Better go and pack my kit now. Who relieves me here — do you know? " Raines turned over a sheaf of telegrams. "McEuan," said he, "from Miuree." Scott chuckled. "He thought he was going to be cool all summer. He'll be very sick about this. Well, no good talk- ing. 'Night." Two hours later, Scott, with a clear conscience, laid himself down to rest on a string cot in a bare room. Two worn bullock trunks, a leather water-bottle, a tin ice-box, and his pet saddle sewed up in sacking were piled at the door, and the Club secretary's receipt for last month's bill was under his pillow. His orders came next morning, and with them an imofficial telegram from Sir James Hawkins, who was not in the habit of forgetting good men when he had once met them, bidding him report himself with all speed at some unpronounceable place fifteen hundred miles to the south, for the famine was sore in the land, and white men were needed. A pink and fattish youth arrived in the red-hot noonday, whimpering a little at fate and famines, which never allowed any one three months' peace. He was Scott's successor — another cog in the machinery, moved forward behind his feUow whose services, as the official announcement ran, "were placed at the disposal of the Madras Government for famine duty until fmrther orders." Scott handed over the funds in his charge, showed him the coolest corner in the office, warned him against excess of zeal, and, as twilight fell, departed from the Club in a hired carriage, with his faithful body-servant, Faiz UUah, and a mound of disordered baggage atop, to catch the southern mail at the loopholed and bastioned railway-station. The heat from the thick brick walls struck him across the face as if it had been a hot towel; and he reflected that there were at least five nights and four days of this travel before him. Faiz Ullah, used to the chances of service, plunged into the crowd on the stone platform, while Scott, a black cheroot between his teeth. WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 267 waited till his compartment should be set away. A dozen native policemen, with their rifles and bundles, shouldered into the press of Punjabi farmers, Sikh craftsmen, and greasy-locked Afreedee pedlars, escorting with all pomp Martyn's uniform-case, water-bottles, ice-box, and bedding- roll. They saw Faiz Ullah's lifted hand, and steered for it. "My Sahib and your Sahib," said Faiz Ullah to Martyn's man, "will travel together. Thou and I, O brother, will thus secure the servants' places close by; and because of our masters' authority none will dare to disturb us." When Faiz Ullah reported all things ready, Scott settled down at full length, coatless and bootless, on the broad leather-covered bunk. The heat under the iron-arched roof of the station might have been anything over a hundred degrees. At the last moment Martyn entered, dripping. "Don't swear," said Scott, lazily; "it's too late to change your carriage; and we'll divide the ice." "What are you doing here?" said the policeman. "I'm lent to the Madras Government, same as you. By Jove, it's a bender of a night! Are you taking any of youi men down?" "A dozen. I suppose I shall have to superintend relief distributions. 'Didn't know you were under orders too." "I didn't, till after I left you last night. Raines had the news first. My orders came this morning. McEuan re- lieved me at four, and I got off at once. 'Shouldn't wonder if it wouldn't be a good thing — ^this famine — if we come through it alive." "Jimmy ought to put you and me to work together," said Martyn; and then, after a pause: "My sister's here." "Good business," said Scott, heartily. "Going to get off at Umballa, I suppose, and go up to Simla. Who'll she stay with there?" "No-o; that's just the trouble of it. She's going down with me." Scott sat bolt upright under the oil lamps as the train 268 STORIES FROM KIPLING jolted past Tarn-Taran. "What! You don't mean you couldn't afiFord " "Tain't that. I'd have scraped up the money somehow." "You might have come to me, to begin with," said Scott, stiffly; "we aren't altogether strangers." "Well, you needn't be stuffy about it. I might, but — you don't know my sister. I've been explaining and exhorting and all the rest of it all day — ^lost my temper since seven this morning, and haven't got it back yet — ^but she wouldn't hear of any compromise. A woman's entitled to travel with her husband if she wants to; and William says she's on the same footing. You see, we've been together aU our lives, more or less, since my people died. It isn't as if she were an ordinary sister." "All the sisters I've ever heard of would have stayed where they were well off." "She's as clever as a man, confoimd her," Martyn went on. "She broke up the bxmgalow over my head while I was talk- ing at her. 'Settled the whole thing in three hours — servants, horses, and all. I didn't get my orders till nine." "Jimmy Hawkins won't be pleased," said Scott. "A famine's no place for a woman." "Mrs. Jim — I mean Lady Jim's in camp with him. At any rate, she says she will look after my sister. William wired down to her on her own responsibility, asking if she could come, and knocked the ground from under me by showing me her answer." Scott laughed aloud. "If she can do that she can take care of herself, and Mrs. Jim won't let her run into any mis- chief. There aren't many women, sisters or wives, who would walk into a famine with their eyes open. It isn't as if she didn't know what these things mean. She was through the Jaloo cholera last year." The train stopped at Amritsar, and Scott went back to the ladies' compartment, immediately behind their carriage. William, with a cloth riding-cap on her curls, nodded af- fably. WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 269 "Come in and have some tea," she said. '"Best thing in the world for heat-apoplexy." "Do I look as if I were going to have heat-apoplexy?" "'Never can tell," said William, wisely. "It's always best to be ready." She had arranged her compartment with the knowledge of an old campaigner. A felt-covered water-bottle hung in the draught of one of the shuttered windows; a tea-set of Russian china, packed in a wadded basket, stood on the seat; and a traveling spirit-lamp was clamped against the wood- work above it. William served them generously, in large cups, hot tea, which saves the veins of the neck from swelHng inopportunely on a hot night. It was characteristic of the girl that her plan of action once settled, she asked for no comments on it. Life among men who had a great deal of work to do, and very little time to do it in, had taught her the wisdom of effacing, as well as of fending for, herself. She did not by word or deed suggest that she would be useful, comforting, or beautiful in their travels, but continued about her business serenely: put the cups back without clatter when tea was ended, and made cigarettes for her guests. "This time last night," said Scott, "we didn't expect — er — this kind of thing, did we? " "I've learned to expect anything," said William. "You know, in our service, we live at the end of the telegraph; but, of course, this ought to be a good thing for us all, depart- mentally — if we live." "It knocks us out of the running in our own Province,'' Scott replied, with equal gravity. "I hoped to be put on the Luni Protective Works this cold weather, but there's no saying how long the famine may keep us." "Hardly beyond October, I should think," said Martyn. "It will be ended, one way or the other, then." "And we've nearly a week of this," said WiUiam. "Sha'n't vre be dusty when it's over?" For a night and a day they knew their surroundings, and 270 STORIES FROM KIPLING for a night and a day, skirting the edge of the great Indian Desert on a narrow-gauge railway, they remembered how in the days of their apprenticeship they had come by that road from Bombay. Then the languages in which the names of the stations were written changed, and they launched south into a foreign land, where the very smells were new. Many long and heavily laden grain-trains were in front of them, and they could feel the hand of Jiromy Hawkins from far off. They waited in extemporized sidings while processions of empty trucks returned to the north, and were coupled on to slow crawling trains, and dropped at midnight. Heaven knew where; but it was furiously hot, and they walked to and fro among sacks, and dogs howled. Then they came to an India more strange to them than to the untraveled English- man — ^the flat, red India of palm-tree, palmyra-palm, and rice — ^the India of the picture-books, of "Little Harry and His Bearer" — all dead and dry in the baking heat. They had left the incessant passenger-traffic of the north and west far and far behind them. Here the people crawled to the side of the train, holding their little ones in their arms; and a loaded truck would be left behind, the men and women clustering round it like ants by spilled honey. Once in the twihght they saw on a dusty plain a regiment of little brown men, each bearing a body over his shoulder; and when the train stopped to leave yet another truck, they perceived that the burdens were not corpses, but only foodless folk picked up beside dead oxen by a corps of Irregular troops. Now they met more white men, here one and there two, whose tents stood close to the line, and who came armed with writ- ten authorities and angry words to cut off a truck. They were too busy to do more than nod at Scott and Martyn, and stare curiously at WiUiam, who could do nothing except make tea, and watch how her men staved off the rush of wailing, walking skeletons, putting them down three at a time in heaps, with their own hands uncoupling the marked trucks, or taking receipts from the hollow-eyed, weary white men, who spoke another argot than theirs. They ran out of icCi WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 271 out of soda-water, and out of tea; for they were six days and seven nights on the road, and it seemed to them hke seven times seven years. At last, in a dry, hot dawn, in a land of death, lit by long fed fires of railway-sleepers, where they were burning the dead, they came to their destination, and were met by Jim Hawkins, the Head of the Famine, unshaven, unwashed, but cheery, and entirely in command of affairs. Martyn, he decreed then and there, was to live on trains till further orders; was to go back with empty trucks, filling them with starving people as he foimd them, and dropping them at a famine-camp on the edge of the Eight Districts. He would pick up supplies and return, and his constables would guard the loaded grain-cars, also picking up people, and would drop them at a camp a hundred miles south. Scott — Hawkins was very glad to see Scott again — ^would that same hour take charge of a convoy of bullock-carts, and would go south, feeding as he went, to yet another famine-camp, where he would leave his starving — ^there would be no lack of starving on the route — and wait for orders by telegraph. Generally, Scott was in all small things to act as he thought best. William bit her under lip. There was no one in the wide world like her one brother, but Martyn's orders gave him no discretion. She came out on the platform, marked with dust from head to foot, a horse-shoe wrinkle on her forehead, put here by much thinking during the past week, but as self- possessed as ever. Mrs. Jim — ^who should have been Lady Jim but that no one remembered the title — took possession of her with a little gasp. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here," she almost sobbed. "You oughtn't to, of course, but there — ^there isn't another woman in the place, and we must help each other, you know; and we've all the wretched people and the little babies they are selling." "I've seen some," said William. "Isn't it ghastly? I've bought twenty — they're in our 272 STORIES FROM KIPLING camp; but won't you have something to eat first? We've more than ten people can do here; and I've got a horse for you. Oh, I'm so glad you've come, dear. You're a Pun- jabi, too, you know." "Steady, Lizzie," said Hawkins, over his shoulder. "We'll look after you. Miss Martyn. 'Sorry I can't ask you to breakfast, Martyn. You'll have to eat as you go. Leave two of your men to help Scott. These poor devils can't stand up to load carts. Saunders" (this to the engine- driver, who was half asleep in the cab), "back down and get those empties away. You've 'line clear' to Animdrapillay; they'll give you orders north of that. Scott, load up your carts from that B. P. P. truck, and be off as soon as you can. The Eurasian in the pink shirt is your interpreter and guide. You'll find an apothecary of sorts tied to the yoke of the second wagon. He's been trying to bolt; you'll have to look after him. Lizzie, drive Miss Martyn to camp, and tell them to send the red horse down here for me." Scott, with Faiz Ullah and two policemen, was already busied with the carts, backing them up to the truck and un- bolting the sideboards quietly, while the others pitched in the bags of millet and wheat. Hawkins watched him for as long as it took to fill one cart. "That's a good man," he said. "If all goes well I shall work him hard." This was Jim Hawkins's notion of the highest compliment one human being could pay another. An hour later Scott was under way; the apothecary threat- ening him with the penalties of the law for that he, a member of the Subordinate Medical Department, had been coerced and bound against his will and all laws governing the Uberty of the subject; the pink-shirted Eurasian begging leave to see his mother, who happened to be dying some three miles away: "Only verree, verree short leave of absence, and will presently return, sar — "; the two constables, armed with staves, bringing up the rear; and Faiz Ullah, a Mohamme- dan's contempt for all Hindoos and foreigners in every line of his face, explaining to the drivers that though Scott Sahib WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 273 was a man to be feared on all fours, he, Faiz Ullah, was Authority Itself. The procession creaked past Hawkins's camp — ^three stained tents under a clump of dead trees, behind them the famine-shed, where a crowd of hopeless ones tossed their arms around the cooking-kettles. "'Wish to Heaven William had kept out of it," said Scott to himself, after a glance. " We'll have cholera, sure as a gun, when the Rains break." But William seemed to have taken kindly to the operations of the Famine Code, which, when famine is declared, super- sede the workings of the ordinary law. Scott saw her, the center of a mob of weeping women, in a calico riding-habit, and a blue-gray felt hat with a gold puggaree. "I want fifty rupees, please. I forgot to ask Jack before he went away. Can you lend it me? It's for condensed milk for the babies," said she. Scott took the money from his belt, and handed it over without a word. " For goodness sake, take care of yoiu-self ," he said. "Oh, I shall be all right. We ought to get the milk in two days. By the way, the orders are, I was to tell you, that you're to take one of Sir Jim's horses. There's a gray Cabuli here that I thought would be just your style, so I've said you'd take him. Was that right? " "That's awfully good of you. We can't either of us talk much about style, I am afraid." Scott was in a weather-stained drill shooting-kit, very white at the seams and a little frayed at the wrists. William regarded him thoughtfully, from his pith helmet to his greased ankle-boots. "You look very nice, I think. Are you sure you've everything you'll need — quinine, chlorodyne, and so on? " " 'Think so," said Scott, patting three or four of his shoot- ing-pockets as he mounted and rode alongside his convoy. "Good-bye," he cried. "Good-bye, and good luck," said William. "I'm awfully 874 STORIES TROM KIPLING obliged for the money." She turned on a spurred heel and disappeared into the tent, while the carts pushed on past the famine-sheds, past the roaring lines of the thick, fat fires, down to the baked Gehenna of the South. PABT U So let us melt and make no noise. No tear-floods nor sigh-tempests move; 'T were profanation of our joys To tell the Laity our love. A Valediction. It was punishing work, even though he traveled by night and camped by day; but within the hmits of his vision there was no man whom Scott could call master. He was as free as Jimmy Hawkins — ^freer, in fact, for the Government held the Head of the Famine tied neatly to a telegraph-wire, and if Jimmy had ever regarded telegrams seriously, the death- rate of that famine would have been much higher than it was. At the end of a few days' crawling Scott learned some- thing of the size of the India which he served, and it aston- ished him. His carts, as you know, were loaded with wheat, millet, and barley, good food-grains needing only a little grinding. But the people to whom he brought the life-giving stuffs were rice-eaters. They could hull rice in their mortars, but they knew nothing of the heavy stone querns of the North, and less of the material that the white man convoyed so laboriously. They clamored for rice — ^unhusked paddy such as they were accustomed to — ^and, when they found that there was none, broke away weeping from the sides of the cart. What was the use of these strange hard grains that choked their throats? They would die. And then and there very many of them kept their word. Others took their allowance, and bartered enough millet to feed a man through a week for a few handfuls of rotten rice saved by some less unfortunate, A few put their shares into the rice* WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 275 mortars, pounded it, and made a paste with foul water; but they were very few. Scott understood dimly that many people in the India of the South ate rice, as a rule, but he had spent his service in a grain Province, had seldom seen rice in the blade or ear, and least of all would have believed that in time of deadly need men could die at arm's length of plenty, sooner than touch food they did not know. In vain the interpreters interpreted; in vain his two policemen showed in vigorous pantomime what should be done. The starving crept away to their bark and weeds, grubs, leaves, and clay, and left the open sacks untouched. But sometimes the women laid their phantoms of children at Scott's feet, looking back as they staggered away. Faiz miah opined it was the will of God that these foreign- ers should die, and it remained only to give orders to bum the dead. None the less there was no reason why the Sahib should lack his comforts, and Faiz Ullah, a campaigner of experience, had picked up a few lean goats and had added them to the procession. That they might give milk for the morning meal, he was feeding them on the good grain that these imbeciles rejected. "Yes," said Faiz Ullah; "if the Sahib thought fit, a little milk might be given to some of the babies"; but, as the Sahib well knew, babies were cheap, and, for his own part, Faiz Ullah held that there was no Government order as to babies. Scott spoke forcefully to Faiz Ullah and the two policemen, and bade them capture goats where they could find them. This they most joyfully did, for it was a recreation, and many ownerless goats were driven in. Once fed, the poor brutes were willing enough to follow the carts, and a few days' good food — ^food such as human beings died for lack of — set them in milk again. "But I am no goatherd," said Faiz Ullah. "It is against my izzat [my honor]." " When we cross the Bias River again we will talk of izzat," Scott replied. "Till that day thou and the pohcemen shall be sweepers to the camp, if I give the order." "Thus, then, it is done." grunted Faiz Ullah, "if the 276 STORIES FROM KIPLING Sahib will have it so"; and he showed how a goat should be milked, while Scott stood over him. "Now we will feed them," said Scott; "twice a day we will feed them"; and he bowed his back to the milking, and took a horrible cramp. When you have to keep connection unbroken between a restless mother of kids and a baby who is at the point of death, you suffer in all your system. But the babies were fed. Each morning and evening Scott would solemnly lift them out one by one from their nest of gunny -bags under the cart-tilts. There were always many who could do no more than breathe, and the milk was dropped into their toothless mouths drop by drop, with due pauses when they choked. Each morning, too, the goats were fed; and since they would straggle without a leader, and since the natives were hire- lings, Scott was forced to give up riding, and pace slowly at the head of his flocks, accommodating his step to their weak- nesses. All this was sufiBciently absurd, and he feK Ihe absurdity keenly; but at least he was saving life, and when the women saw that their children did not die, they made shift to eat a little of the strange foods, and crawled after the carts, blessing the master of the goats. "Give the women something to live for," said Scott to himself, as he sneezed in the dust of a hundred Uttle feet, "and they'll hang on somehow. This beats William's con- densed-mUk trick all to pieces. I shall never live it down, tiough." He reached his destination very slowly, foimd that a rice-ship had come in from Burmah, and that stores of paddy were available; found also an overworked Englishman in charge of the shed, and, loading the carts, set back to cover the ground he had already passed. He left some of the children and half his goats at the famine-shed. For this he was not thanked by the Englishman, who had already more stray babies than he knew what to do with. Scott's back was suppled to stooping now, and he went on with his wayside ministrations in addition to distributing the paddy. More WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 277 babies and more goats were added unto him; but now some of the babies wore rags, and beads round their wrists or necks. " That, " said the interpreter, as though Scott did not know, "signifies that their mothers hope in eventual con- tingency to resume them offeecially." "The sooner, the better," said Scott; but at the same time he marked, with the pride of ownership, how this or that httle Ramasawmy was putting on flesh Hke a bantam. As the paddy -carts were emptied he headed for Hawkins's camp by the railway, timing his arrival to fit in with the dinner- hour, for it was long since he had eaten at a cloth. He had no desire to make any dramatic entry, but an accident of the sunset ordered it that when he had taken off his helmet to get the evening breeze, the low light should fall across his forehead, and he could not see what was before him; while one waiting at the tent door beheld with new eyes a young man, beautiful as Paris, a god in a halo of golden dust, walking slowly at the head of his flocks, while at his knee ran small naked Cupids. But she laughed — ^William, in a slate- colored blouse, laughed consumedly till Scott, putting the best face he could upon the matter, halted his armies and bade her admire the kindergarten. It was an unseemly sight, but the proprieties had been left ages ago, with the tea- party at Amritsar Station, fifteen hundred miles to the north. "They are coming on nicely," said William. "We've only five-and-twenty here now. The women are beginning to take them away aaain." "Are you in charge of the babies, then?" " Yes — ^Mrs. Jim and I. We didn't think of goats, though. We've been trying condensed milk and water." "Any losses?" "More than I care to think of," said William, with a jhudder. "And you?" Scott said nothing. There had been many little burials along his route — one cannot burn a dead baby — ^many mothers who had wept when they did not find again the children they had trusted to the care of the Government. 278 STORIES FROM KIPLING Then Hawkins came out carrying a razor, at which Scott looked hungrily, for he had a beard that he did not love. And when they sat down to dinner in the tent he told his tale in few words, as it might have been an official report. Mrs. Jim snuffled from time to time, and Jim bowed his head judicially; but William's gray eyes were on the clean-shaven face, and it was to her that Scott seemed to appeal. "Good for the Pauper Province!" said William, her chin on her hand, as she leaned forward among the wine-glasses. Her cheeks had fallen in, and the scar on her forehead was more prominent than ever, but the well-turned neck rose roundly as a colunm from the ruffle of the blouse which was the accepted evening-dress in camp. "It was awfully absurd at times," said Scott. "You see, I didn't know much about milking or babies. They'll chaff my head off, if the tale goes up north." "Let 'em," said William, haughtily. "We've all done coolie-work since we came. I know Jack has." This was to Hawkins's address, and the big man smiled blandly. "Your brother's a highly efficient officer, William," said he, "and I've done him the honor of treating him as he deserves. Remember, I write the confidential reports." "Then you must say that William's worth her weight in gold," said Mrs. Jim. "I don't know what we should have done without her. She has been everything to us." She dropped her hand upon William's, which was rough with much handling of reins, and William patted it softly. Jim beamed on the company. Things were going well with his world. Three of his more grossly incompetent men had died, and their places had been filled by their betters. Every day brought the Rains nearer. They had put out the famine in five of the Eight Districts, and, after all, the death-rate had not been too heavy — ^things considered. He looked Scott over carefully, as an ogre looks over a man, and rejoiced in his thews and iron -hard condition. "He's just the least bit in the world tucked up," said Jim to himself, "but he can do two men's work yet." Then he WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 279 was aware that Mrs. Jim was telegraphing to him, and ac- cording to the domestic code the message ran: "A clear case. Look at them!" He looked and listened. All that WilUam was saying was : "What can you expect of a country where they call a bhistee [a water-carrier] a tunni-cutch ?" and aU that Scott answered was: "I shall be glad to get back to the Club. Save me a dance at the Christmas Ball, won't you?" "It's a far cry from here to the Lawrence Hall," said Jim. "Better turn in early, Scott. It's paddy-carts to-morrow; you'll begin loading at five." "Aren't you going to give Mr. Scott a single day's rest?" " 'Wish I could, Lizzie, but I'm afraid I can't. As long as he can stand up we must use him." "Well, I've had one Europe evening, at least. By Jove, I'd nearly forgotten! What do I do about those babies of mine?" "Leave them here," said WiUiam — "we are in charge of that — and as many goats as you can spare. I must learn how to milk now." "If you care to get up early enough to-morrow I'll show you. I have to milk, you see. Half of 'em have beads and things round their necks. You must be careful not to take 'em off, in case the mothers turn up." "You forget I've had some experience here." "I hope to goodness you won't overdo." Scott's voice was unguarded. "I'll take care of her," said Mrs. Jim, telegraphing hun- dred-word messages as she carried William off, while Jim gave Scott his orders for the coming campaign. It was very late — ^nearly niae o'clock. "Jim, you're a brute," said his wife, that night; and the Head of the Famine chuckled. "Not a bit of it, dear. I remember doing the first Jan- diala Settlement for the sake of a girl in a crinoline, and she was slender, Lizzie. I've never done as good a piece of work since. He'll work like a demon." 280 STORIES FROM KIPLING "But you might have given him one day." "And let things come to a head now? No, dear, it's theit happiest time." "I don't believe either of the darlings know what's the matter with them. Isn't it beautiful.'' Isn't it lovely? " "Getting up at three to learn to milk, bless her heart! Oh, ye gods, why must we grow old and fat? " " She's a darling. She has done more work under me " "Under you 1 The day after she came she was in charge and you were her subordinate. You've stayed there ever since; she manages you almost as well as you manage me." "She doesn't, and that's why I love her. She's as direct as a man — as her brother." "Her brother's weaker than she is. He's always coming to me for orders ; but he's honest, and a glutton for work. I con- fess I'm rather fond of William, and if I had a daughter " The talk ended. Far away in the Derajat was a child's grave more than twenty years old, and neither Jim nor his wife spoke of it any more. "AU the same, you're responsible," Jim added, after a moment's silence. "Bless 'em!" said Mrs. Jim, sleepily. Before the stars paled, Scott, who slept in an empty cart, waked and went about his work in silence; it seemed at that hour unkind to rouse Faiz UUah and the interpreter. His head being close to the ground, he did not hear WilUam till she stood over him in the dingy old riding-habit, her eyes still heavy with sleep, a cup of tea and a piece of toast in her hands. There was a baby on the groimd, squirming on a piece of blanket, and a six-year-old child peered over Scott's shoulder. "Hai, you little rip," said Scott, "how the deuce do you expect to get your rations if you aren't quiet?" A cool white hand steadied the brat, who forthwith choked as the milk gurgled into his mouth. "'Mornin'," said the milker. "You've no notion how these little fellows can wriggle." WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 281 "Oh, yes, I have." She whispered, because the world was asleep. " Only I feed them with a spoon or a rag. Yours are fatter than mine. . . , And you've been doing this day after day.? " The voice was almost lost. " Yes ; it was absurd. Now you try," he said, giving place to the girl. "Lookout! A goat's not a cow." The goat protested against the amateur, and there was a scuffle, in which Scott snatched up the baby. Then it was all to do over again, and William laughed softly and merrily. She managed, however, to feed two babies and a third. "Don't the little beggars take it well?" said Scott. "I trained 'em." They were very busy and interested, when lo! it was broad daylight, and before they knew, the camp was awake, and they kneeled among the goats, surprised by the day, both flushed to the temples. Yet all the round world rolling up out of the darkness might have heard and seen all that had passed between them. "Oh," said William, unsteadUy, snatching up the tea and toast, "I had this made for you. It's stone-cold now. I thought you mightn't have anything ready so early. 'Better not drink it. It's — it's stone-cold." "That's awfuUy kind of you. It's just right. It's aw- fully good of you, really. I'll leave my kids and goats with you and Mrs. Jim, and, of course, any one in camp can show you about the milking." "Of course," said William; and she grew pinker and pinker and statelier and more stately, as she strode back to her tent, fanning herself with the saucer. There were shrill lamentations through the camp when the elder children saw their nurse move off without them. Faiz Ullah unbent so far as to jest with the policemen, and Scott turned purple with shame because Hawkins, already in the saddle, roared. A child escaped from the care of Mrs. Jim, and, running like a rabbit, climg to Scott's boot, William pursuing with long, easy strides. 282 STORIES FROM KIPLING "I will not go — ^I will not go!" shrieked the child, twining his feet round Scott's ankle. "They will kill me here. I do not know these people." "I say," said Scott, in broken Tamil, "I say, she will do you no harm. Gro with her and be well fed." "Come!" said William, panting, with a wrathful glance at Scott, who stood helpless and, as it were, hamstrung. "Go back," said Scott quickly to William. "I'll send the little chap over in a minute." The tone of authority had its effect, but in a way Scott did not exactly intend. The boy loosened his grasp, and said with graAaty : "I did not know the woman was thine. I will go." Then he cried to his companions, a mob of three-, four-, and five-year-olds waiting on the success of his venture ere they stampeded: "Go back and eat. It is our man's woman. She will obey his orders." Jim collapsed where he sat; Faiz Ullah and the two police- men grinned; and Scott's orders to the cartmen flew like hail. "That is the custom of the Sahibs when truth is told in their presence," said Faiz Ullah. "The time comes that I must seek new service. Yoimg wives, especially such as speak oiu" language and have knowledge of the ways of the Police, make great trouble for honest butlers in the matter of weekly accounts." What William thought of it all she did not say, but when her brother, ten days later, came to camp for orders, and heard of Scott's performances, he said, laughing: "Well, that settles it. He'll be Bakri Scott to the end of his days." (Bakri, in the Northern vernacular, means a goat.) "What a lark! I'd have given a month's pay to have seen him nurs- ing famine babies. I fed some with conjee [rice-water], but that was all right." "It's perfectly disgusting," said his sister, with blazing eyes. "A man does something like — ^hke that — and all you other men think of is to give him an absurd nickname, aad then you laugh and think it's funny." "Ah," said Mrs. Jim, sympathetically. WILLIAM THE CONQUEEOR 283 "Well, you can't talk, William. You christened little Miss Demby the Button-quail, last cold weather; you know you did. India's the land of nicknames." "That's diflFerent," William replied. "She was only a girl, and she hadn't done anything except walk like a quail, and she does. But it isn't fair to make fun of a man." "Scott won't care," said Martyn. "You can't get a rise out of old Scotty. I've been trying for eight years, and you've only known him for three. How does he look? " "He looks very well," said William, and went away with a flushed cheek. "Bakri Scott, indeed!" Then she laughed to herself, for she knew her country. "But it will be Bakri all the same"; and she repeated it under her breath several times slowly, whispering it into favor. When he returned to his duties on the railway, Martyn spread the name far and wide among his associates, so that Scott met it as he led his paddy-carts to war. The natives believed it to be some English title of honor, and the cart- drivers used it in all simplicity till Faiz Ullah, who did not approve of foreign japes, broke their heads. There was very httle time for milking now, except at the big camps, where Jim had extended Scott's idea and was feeding large flocks on the useless northern grains. Sufficient paddy had come now into the Eight Districts to hold the people safe, if it were only distributed quickly, and for that purpose no one was better than the big Canal officer, who never lost his temper, never gave an imnecessary order, and never questioned an order given. Scott pressed on, saving his cattle, washing their galled necks daily, so that no time should be lost on the road; reported himself with his rice at the minor famine-sheds, unloaded, and went back light by forced night-march to the next distributing center, to find Hawkins's unvarying tele- gram: "Do it again." And he did it again and again, and yet again, while Jim Hawkins, fifty miles away, marked off on a big map the tracks of his wheels gridironing the stricken lands. Others did well — ^Hawkins reported at the end they all did well — ^but Scott was the most excellent, for he kept 284 STORIES FROM KIPLING good coined rupees by him, settled for Lis own cart repairs on the spot, and ran to meet all sorts of unconsidered extras, trusting to be recouped later on. Theoretically, the Govern- ment should have paid for every shoe and linch pin, for every hand employed in the loading; but Government vouchers cash themselves slowly, and intelligent and efficient clerks write at great length, contesting unauthorized expenditures of eight annas. The man who wants to make his work a success must draw on his own bank-account of money or other things as he goes. "I told you he'd work," said Jimmy to his wife, at the end of six weeks. "He's been in sole charge of a couple of thousand men up north, on the Mosuhl Canal, for a year; but he gives less trouble than young Martyn with his ten constables; and I'm morally certain — only Government doesn't recognize moral obligations — ^he's spent about half his pay to grease his wheels. Look at this, Lizzie, for one week's work! Forty miles in two days with twelve carts; two days' halt building a famine-shed for young Rogers. (Rogers ought to have built it himself, the idiot!) Then forty miles back again, loading six carts on the way, and distributing all Sunday. Then in the evening he pitches in a twenty-page Demi-Official to me, saying the people where he is might be 'advantageously employed on relief -work,' and suggesting that he put 'em to work on some broken- down old reservoir he's discovered, so as to have a good water-supply when the Rains break. 'Thinks he can cauk the dam in a fortnight. Look at his marginal sketches — aren't they clear and good? I knew he was pukka, but I didn't know he was as pukka as this." "I must show these to William," said Mrs. Jim. "The child's wearing herself out among the babies." "Not more than you are, dear. Well, another two months ought to see us out of the wood. I'm sorry it's not in my power to recommend you for a V. C." William sat late in her tent that night, reading through page after page of the square handwriting, patting the WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 285 sketches of proposed repairs to the reservoir, and wrinkling her eyebrows over the columns of figures of estimated water- supply. "And he finds time to do all this," she cried to her- self, "and — well, I also was present, I've saved one or two babies." She dreamed for the twentieth time of the god in the golden dust, and woke refreshed to feed loathsome black children, scores of them, wastrels picked up by the wayside, their bones almost breaking their skin, terrible and covered with sores. Scott was not allowed to leave his cart-work, but his letter was duly forwarded to the Government, and he had the con- solation, not rare in India, of knowing that another man was reaping where he had sown. That also was discipline profitable to the soul. "He's much too good to waste on canals," said Jimmy. "Any one can oversee coolies. You needn't be angry, William; he can — but I need my pearl among bullock-drivers, and I've transferred him to the Khanda district, where he'll have it all to do over again. He should be marching now." "He's not a coolie," said William, furiously. "He ought to be doing his regulation work." "He's the best man in his service, and that's saying a good deal; but if you must use razors to cut grindstones, why, I prefer the best cutlery." "Isn't it almost time we saw him again?" said Mrs. Jim. "I'm sure the poor boy hasn't had a respectable meal for a month. He probably sits on a cart and eats sardines with his fingers." "All in good time, dear. Duty before decency — wasn't it Mr. Chucks said that?" "No; it was Midshipman Easy," William laughed. "I sometimes wonder how it will feel to dance or listen to a band again, or sit under a roof. I can't believe I ever wore a ball- frock in my life." "One minute," said Mrs. Jim, who was thinking. "If 286 STORIES FROM KIPLING he goes to Khanda, he passes within five miles of us. Of course he'll ride in." "Oh, no, he won't," said William. "How do you know, dear?" "It will take him off his work. He won't have time." "He'll make it," said Mrs. Jim, with a twinkle. "It depends on his own judgment. There's absolutely no reason why he shouldn't, if he thinks fit," said Jim. "He won't see fit," William replied, without sorrow or emotion. "It wouldn't be him if he did." "One certainly gets to know people rather well in times like these," said Jim, drily; but WiUiam's face was serene as ever, and even as she prophesied, Scott did not appear. The Rains fell at last, late, but heavily ; and the dry, gashed earth was red mud, and servants killed snakes in the camp, where everyone was weather-bound for a fortnight — ^all except Hawkins, who took horse and plashed about in the wet, rejoicing. Now the Government decreed that seed-grain should be distributed to the people, as well as advances of money for the purchase of new oxen; and the white men were doubly worked for this new duty, while William skipped from brick to brick laid down on the trampled mud, and dosed her charges with warming medicines that made them rub their httle round stomachs; and the milch goats throve on the rank grass. There was never a word from Scott in the Khanda district, away to the southeast, except the regular telegraphic report to Hawkins. The rude country roads had disap- peared; his drivers were half mutinous; one of Martyn's loaned poHcemen had died of cholera; and Scott was taking thirty grains of quinine a day to fight the fever that comes with the rain: but those were things Scott did not consider necessary to report. He was, as usual, working from a base of supplies on a railway line, to cover a circle of fifteen miles' radius, and since full loads were impossible, he took quarter loads, and toiled four times as hard by consequence; for he did not choose to risk an epidemic which might have grown uncontrollable by assembling villagers in thousands at the WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 287 relief-sheds. It was cheaper to take Government bullocks, work them to death, and leave them to the crows in the wayside sloughs. That was the time when eight years of clean living and hard condition told, though a man's head were ringing like a bell from the cinchona, and the earth swayed under his feet when he stood and under his bed when he slept. If Hawkins had seen fit to make him a bullock-driver, that, he thought, was entirely Hawkins's own affair. There were men in the North who would know what he had done; men of thirty years' service in his own department who would say that it was "not half bad"; and above, immeasurably above, all men of all grades, there was William in the thick of the fight, who would approve because she understood. He had so trained his mind that it would hold fast to the mechan- ical routine of the day, though his own voice soimded strange in his own ears, and his hands, when he wrote, grew large as pillows or small as peas at the end of his wrists. That stead- fastness bore his body to the telegraph-office at the railway- station, and dictated a telegram to Hawkins saying that the Khanda district was, in his judgment, now safe, and he "waited further orders." The Madrassee telegraph-clerk did not approve of a large, gaimt man falling over him in a dead faint, not so much be- cause of the weight as because of the names and blows that Faiz Ullah dealt him when he found the body rolled under a bench. Then Faiz Ullah took blankets, quilts, and cover- lets where he found them, and lay down under them at his master's side, and bound his arms with a tent-rope, and filled him with a horrible stew of herbs, and set the poKceman to fight him when he wished to escape from the intolerable heat of his coverings, and shut the door of the telegraph-office to keep out the curious for two nights and one day; and when a light engine came down the line, and Hawkins kicked in the door, Scott hailed him weakly but in a natural voice, and Faiz Ullah stood back and took all the credit. "For two nights. Heaven-bom, he was paged," said Faiz «88 STORIES FROM KIPLING Ullah. "Look at my nose, and consider the eye of the policeman. He beat us with his bound hands; but we sat upon him, Heaven-born, and though his words were tez, we sweated him. Heaven-born, never has been such a sweat! He is weaker now than a child; but the fever has gone out of him, by the grace of Grod. There remains only my nose and the eye of the constabeel. Sahib, shall I ask for my dismissal because my Sahib has beaten me?" And Faiz Ullah-laid his long thin hand carefully on Scott's chest to be sure that the fever was all gone, ere he went out to open tinned soups and discourage such as laughed at his swelled nose. "The district's all right," Scott whispered. "It doesn't make any diflFerence. You got my wire? I shall be fit in a week. 'Can't understand how it happened. I shall be fit in a few days." "You're coming into camp with us," said Hawkins. "But look here— but " "It's all over except the shouting. We sha'n't need you Pimjabis any more. On my honor, we sha'n't. Martyn goes back in a few weeks; Arbuthnot's returned al- ready; Ellis and Clay are putting the last touches to a new feeder-line the Government's built as rehef-work. Morten's dead — ^he was a Bengal man, though; you wouldn't know him. 'Pon my word, you and Will — ^Miss Martyn — seem to have come through it as well as anybody." "Oh, how is she, by the way?" The voice went up and down as he spoke. "Gk)ing strong when I left her. The Roman Catholic Missions are adopting the unclaimed babies to turn them into little priests; the Basil Mission is taking some, and the mothers are taking the rest. You should hear the Httle beggars howl when they're sent away from William. She's pulled down a bit, but so are we all. Now, when do you suppose you'll be able to move?" " I can't come into camp in this state. I won't," he replied, pettishly. WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 289 "Well, you are rather a sight, but from what I gathered there it seemed to me they'd be glad to see you under any conditions. I'll look over your work here, if you like, for a couple of days, and you can pull yourself together while Faiz TJllah feeds you up." Scott could walk dizzily by the time Hawkins's inspection was ended, and he flushed all over when Jim said of his work that it was "not half bad," and volunteered, further, that he had considered Scott his right-hand man through the famine and would feel it his duty to say as much officially. So they came back by rail to the old camp; but there were no crowds near it; the long fires in the trenches were dead and black, and the famine-sheds were almost empty. "You see!" said Jim. "There isn't much more to do. 'Better ride up and see the wife. They've pitched a tent for you. Dinner's at seven. I've some work here." Riding at a foot-pace, Faiz Ullah by his stirrup, Scott came to WilHam in the brown calico riding-habit, sitting at the dining-tent door, her hands in her lap, white as ashes, thin and worn, with no luster in her hair. There did not seem to be any Mrs. Jim on the horizon, and all that William could say was: "My word, how pulled down you look!" "I've had a touch of fever. You don't look very well yourself." "Oh, I'm fit enough. We've stamped it out. I suppose you know?" Scott nodded. "We shall all be returned in a few weeks. Hawkins told me." "Before Christmas, Mrs. Jim says. Sha'n't you be glad to go back? I can smell the wood-smoke already"; William sniffed. "We shall be in time for all the Christmas doings. I don't suppose even the Punjab Government would be base enough to transfer Jack till the new year?" "It seems hundreds of years ago — ^the Punjab and al3 that — doesn't it? Are you glad you came? " "Now it's all over, yes. It has been ghastly here, though. 290 STORIES FROM KIPLING You know we had to sit still and do nothing, and Sir Jim was away so much." "Do nothing! How did you get on with the milking?" "I managed it somehow — ^after you taught me. 'Re- member?" Then the talk stopped with an almost audible jar. Still no Mrs. Jim, "That reminds me, I owe you fifty rupees for the con- densed milk. I thought perhaps you'd be coming here when you were transferred to the Khanda district, and I could pay you then; but you didn't." "I passed within five miles of the camp, but it was in the middle of a march, you see, and the carts were breaking down every few minutes, and I couldn't get 'em over the ground till ten o'clock that night. I wanted to come awfully. You knew I did, didn't you?" "I — ^believe — ^I — did," said William, facing him with leve) eyes. She was no longer white. "Did you understand?" " Why you didn't ride in? Of course I did." "Why?" "Because you couldn't, of course. I knew that." "Did you care?" "If you had come in — ^but I knew you wouldn't — ^but if you had, I should have cared a great deal. You know I should." "Thank God I didn't! Oh, but I wanted to! I couldn't trust myself to ride in front of the carts, because I kept edging 'em over here, don't you know?" "I knew you wouldn't," said William, contentedly. "Here's your fifty." Scott bent forward and kissed the hand that held the greasy notes. Its fellow patted him awkwardly but very tenderly on the head. "And you knew, too, didn't you?" said William, in a new voice. "No, on my honor, I didn't. I hadn't the — ^the cheek to WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 291 expect anything of the kind, except ... I say, were you out riding anywhere the day I passed by to Khanda?" William nodded, and smiled after the manner of an angel surprised in a good deed. "Then it was just a speck I saw of your habit in the " "Palm-grove on the Southern cart-road. I saw your helmet when you came up from the nullah by the temple — just enough to be sure that you were all right. D' you care ? " This time Scott did not kiss her hand, for they were in the dusk of the dining-tent, and, because William's knees were trembling under her, she had to sit down in the nearest chair, where she wept long and happily, her head on her arms; and when Scott imagined that it would be well to comfort her, she needing nothing of the kind, she ran to her own tent; and Scott went out into the world, and smiled upon it largely and idiotically. But when Faiz IHlah brought him a drink, he found it necessary to support one hand with the other, or the good whisky and soda would have been spilled abroad. There are fevers and fevers. But it was worse — ^much worse — ^the strained, eye-shirking talk at dinner till the servants had withdrawn, and worst of aU when. Mrs. Jim, who had been on the edge of weeping from the soup down, kissed Scott and William, and they drank one whole bottle of champagne, hot, because there was no ice, and Scott and William sat outside the tent in the starhght till Mrs. Jim drove them in for fear of more fever. Apropos of these things and some others William said: "Being engaged is abominable, because, you see, one has no ofiScial position. We must be thankful we've lots of things to do." "Things to do!" said Jim, when that was reported to him. "They're neither of them any good any more. I can't get five hours' work a day out of Scott. He's in the clouds half the time." "Oh, but they're so beautiful to watch, Jimmy. It will break my heart when they go. Can't you do anything for him?" 292 STORIES FROM KIPLING "I've given the Government the impression — at least, I hope I have — ^that he personally conducted the entire famine. But all he wants is to get on to the Luni Canal Works, and WiUiam's just as bad. Have you ever heard 'em talking of barrage and aprons and waste-water? It's their style of spooning, I suppose." Mrs. Jim smiled tenderly. "Ah, that's in the intervals — bless 'em." And so Love ran about the camp unrebuked in broad daylight, while men picked up the pieces and put them neatly away of the Famine in the Eight Districts. Morning brought the penetrating chill of the Northern December, the layers of wood-smoke, the dusty gray-blue of the tamarisks, the domes of ruined tombs, and all the smell of the white Northern plains, as the mail train ran on to the mile-long Sutlej Bridge. WiUiam, wrapped in a poshteen — a. silk-embroidered sheepskin jacket trimmed with rough astrakhan — ^looked out with moist eyes and nostrils that dilated joyously. The South of pagodas ajid palm trees, the overpopulated Hindu South, was done with. Here was the land she knew and loved, and before her lay the good life she imderstood, among folk of her own caste and mind. They were picking them up at almost every station now — men and women coming in for the Christmas Week, with racquets, with bimdles of polo-sticks, with dear and bruised cricket-bats, with fox-terriers and saddles. The greater part of them wore jackets like William's, for the Northern cold is as little to be trifled with as the Northern heat. And William was among them and of them, her hands deep in her pockets, her collar turned up over her ears, stamping her feet on the platforms as she walked up and down to get warm, visiting from carriage to carriage and everywhere being con- gratulated. Scott was with the bachelors at the far end of the train, where they chaffed him mercilessly about feeding WILLIAM TEIE CONQUEROR 293 babies and milking goats; but from time to time he would stroU up to William's window, and murmur: "Good enough, isn't it?" and William would answer with sighs of pure de- light: "Good enough, indeed." The large open names of the home towns were good to listen to. Umballa, Ludianah, Phillour, JuUundur, they rang like the coming mar- riage-bells in her ears, and William felt deeply and truly sorry for all strangers and outsiders — visitors, tourists, and those fresh-caught for the service of the country. It was a glorious return, and when the bachelors gave the Christmas Ball, William was, unofficially, you might say, the chief and honored guest among the Stewards, who could make things very pleasant for their friends. She and Scott danced nearly all the dances together, and sat out the rest in the big dark gallery overlooking the superb teak floor, where the uniforms blazed, and the spurs clinked, and the new frocks and four hundred dancers went round and round till the draped flags on the piUars flapped and bellied to the whirl of it. About midnight half a dozen men who did not care for dancing came over from the Club to play "Waits," and — ■ that was- a surprise the Stewards had arranged — ^before any one knew what had happened, the band stopped, and hidden voices broke into "Good King Wencesiaus," and William in the gallery hummed and beat time with her foot: "Mark my footsteps well, my page. Tread thou in them boldly. Thou shalt feel the winter's rage Freeze thy blood less coldly!" "Oh, I hope they are going to give us another! Isn't it pretty, coming out of the dark in that way? Look — look down. There's Mrs. Gregory, wiping her eyes!" "It's like Home, rather," said Scott. "I remember " "Hsh! Listen— dear." And it began again: "When, shepherds watched their flocks by night—" 294 STORIES FROM KIPLING "A-h-h!" said William, drawing closer to Scott. "All seated on the ground, The Angel of the Lord came down. And glory shone around. 'Fear not,' said he (for mighty dread Had seized their troubled mind); 'Glad tidings of great joy I bring To you and all mankind.'" This time it was William that wiped her qrea. "THEY" (1904) THE RETURN OP THE CHILDREN Neither the harps nor the crowns amused, nor the cherubs' dove-winged races — ' Holding hands forlornly the Children wandered beneath the Dome; Plucking the radiant robes of the passers by, and with pitiful faces Begging what Princes and Powers refused: — "Ah, please will you let us go home?" Over the jeweled floor, nigh weeping, ran to_ them Mary the Mother, Kneeled and caressed and made promise with kisses, and drew them along to the gateway — Yea, the all-iron unbribable Door which Peter must guard and none other. Straightway She took the Keys from his keeping, and opened and freed them straightway. Then to Her Son, Who had seen and smiled. She said "On the night that I bore Thee What didst Thou care for a love beyond mine or a heaven that was not my arm? Didst Thou push from the nipple O child, to hear the angels adore Thee? When we two lay in the breaOi of the kine?" And He said: — "Thou hast done no harm." So through the Void the Children ran homeward merrily hand in hand. Looking neither to left nor right where the breathless Heavens stood still; And the Guards of the Void resheathed their swords, for they heard the Command: "Shall I that have suffered the children to come to me hold them against thettwill?" One view called me to another; one hill top to its fellow, half across the county, and since I could answer at no more trouble than the snapping forward of a lever, I let the country flow imder my wheels. The orchid-studded flats of the East gave way to the thyme, ilex, and gray grass of the Downs; 295 296 STORIES FROM KIPLING these again to the rich cornland and fig-trees of the lowei coast, where you carry the beat of the tide on your left hand for fifteen level miles; and when at last I turned inland through a huddle of rounded hills and woods I had run myself clean out of my known marks. Beyond that precise hamlet which stands godmother to the capital of the United States, I foimd hidden villages where bees, the only things awake, boomed in eighty-foot lindens that overhung gray Norman churches; miraculous brooks diving under stone bridges built for heavier traflic than would ever vex them again; tithe-bams larger than their churches, and an old smithy that cried out aloud how it had once been a hall of theKnights of the Temple. Gipsies I found on a common where the gorse, bracken, and heath fought it out together up a mile of Roman road; and a Uttle farther on I disturbed a red fox roUing dog-fashion in the naked sunlight. As the wooded hills closed about me I stood up in the car to take the bearings of that great Down whose ringed head is a landmark for fifty miles across the low countries. I judged that the he of the country would bring me across some westward-running road that went to his feet, but I did not allow for the confusing veils of the woods. A quick turn plunged me first into a green cutting brimful of liquid sun- shine, next into a gloomy tunnel where last year's dead leaves whispered and scuffled about my tires. The strong hazel stuff meeting overhead had not been cut for a couple of generations at least, nor had any axe helped the moss- cankered oak and beech to spring above them. Here the road changed frankly into a carpeted ride on whose brown velvet spent primrose-clumps showed like jade, and a few . sickly, white-stalked bluebells nodded together. As the slope favored I shut off the power and slid over the whirled leaves, expecting every moment to meet a keeper; but I only heard a jay, far off, arguing against the silence under the twilight of the trees. Still the track descended. I was on the point of reversing and working my way back on the second speed ere I ended "THEY" 297 in some swamp, when I saw sunshine through the tangle ahead and lifted the brake. It was down again at once. As the light beat across my face my fore-wheels took the turf of a great still lawn from which sprang horsemen ten feet high with leveled lances, monstrous peacocks, and sleek round-headed maids of honor — blue, black, and glistening — ^all of clipped yew. Across the lawn — ^the marshaled woods besieged it on three sides — stood an ancient house of lichened and weather-worn stone, with mullioned windows and roofs of rose-red tile. It was flanked by semi-circular walls, also rose-red, that closed the lawn on the fourth side, and at their feet a box hedge grew man-high. There were doves on the roof about the slim brick chimneys, and I caught a glimpse of an octagonal dove-house behind the screening wall. Here, then, I stayed; a horseman's green spear laid at my breast; held by the exceeding beauty of that jewel in that setting. "If I am not packed off for a trespasser, or if this knight does not ride a wallop at me," thought I, "Shakespeare and Queen Elizabeth at least must come out of that half-open garden door and ask me to tea." A child appeared at an upper window, and I thought the little thing waved a friendly hand. But it was to call a companion, for presently another bright head showed. Then I heard a laugh among the yew-peacocks, and turning to make sure (till then I had been watching the house only) I saw the silver of a fountain behind a hedge thrown up against the sim. The doves on the roof cooed to the cooing water; but be- tween the two notes I caught the utterly happy chuckle of a child absorbed in some light mischief. The garden door — ^heavy oak sunk deep in the thickness of the wall — opened further: a woman in a big garden hat set her foot slowly on the time-hollowed stone step and as slowly walked across the turf. I was forming some apology when she lifted up her head and I saw that she was blind. "I heard you," she said. "Isn't that a motor car?" «98 STORIES FROM KIPLING "I'm afraid I've made a mistake in my road. I should have turned off up above — I never dreamed " I began. "But I'm very glad. Fancy a motor car coming into the garden! It will be such a treat " She turned and made as though looking about her. "You — ^you haven't seen any one have you — ^perhaps?" "No one to speak to, but the children seemed interested at a distance." "Which?" "I saw a couple up at the window just now, and I think I heard a little chap in the grounds." "Oh, lucky you!" she cried, and her face brightened. "I hear them, of course, but that's all. You've seen them and heard them?" "Yes," I answered. "And if I know anything of children one of them's having a beautiful time by the fountain yonder. Escaped, I should imagine." "You're fond of children?" I gave her one or two reasons why I did not altogether hate them. "Of course, of course," she said. "Then you understand. Then you won't think it foolish if I ask you to take your car through the gardens, once or twice — quite slowly. I'm sure they'd like to see it. They see so little, poor things. One tries to make their life pleasant, but " she threw out het hands toward the woods. "We're so out of the world here." "That will be splendid," I said. "But I can't cut up your grass." She faced to the right. "Wait a minute," she said. "We're at the South gate, aren't we? Behind those peacocks there's a flagged path. We call it the Peacock's Walk. You can't see it from here, they tell me, but if you squeeze along by the edge of the wood you can turn at the first peacock and get on to the flags." It was sacrilege to wake that dreaming house-front with the datter of machinery, but I swung the car to clear the tiu^, brushed along the edge of the wood and turned in on the "THEY" 299 broad stone path where the fountain-basin lay like one star- sapphire. "May I come too? " she cried. "No, please don't help me. They'll like it better if they see me." She felt her way lightly to the front of the car, and with one foot on the step she called: "Children, oh, children! Look and see what's going to happen ! " The voice would have drawn lost souls from the Pit, for the yearning that underlay its sweetness, and I was not sur- prised to hear an answering shout behind the yews. It must have been the child by the fountain, but he fled at our approach, leaving a little toy boat in the water. I saw the glint of his blue blouse among the still horsemen. Very disposedly we paraded the length of the walk and at her request backed again. This time the child had got the better of his panic, but stood far off and doubting. "The little fellow's watching us," I said. "I wonder if he'd Uke a ride." "They're very shy still. Very shy. But, oh, lucky you to be able to see them ! Let's Usten." I stopped the machine at once, and the humid stillness, heavy with the scent of box, cloaked us deep. Shears I could hear where some gardener was clipping; a mumble of bees and broken voices that might have been the doves. "Oh, unkind!" she said, weariedly. "Perhaps they're only shy of the motor. The little maid at the window looks tremendously interested." "Yes?" She raised her head. "It was wrong of me to say that. They are really fond of ine. It's the only thing that makes life worth hying — ^when they're fond of you, isn't it? I daren't think what the place would be without them. By the way, is it beautiful? " "I think it is the most beautiful place I have ever seen." " So they all tell me. I can feel it, of course, but that isn't quite the same thing." "Then have you never ?" I began, but stopped abashed. SOO STORIES PROM KIPLING "Not since I can remember. It happened when I was only a few months old, they tell me. And yet I must remem- ber something, else how could I dream about colors. I see light in my dreams, and colors, but I never see them. I only hear them just as I do when I'm awake." "It's difficult to see faces in dreams. Some people can but most of us haven't the gift," I went on, looking up at the window where the child stood all but hidden. "I've heard that too," she said. "And they tell me that one never sees a dead person's face in a dream. Is that true?" "I believe it is — ^now I come to think of it." "But how is it with yourseK — ^yourself?" The blind eyes turned toward me. "I have never seen the faces of my dead in any dream," I answered. "Then it must be as bad as being blind." The sun had dipped behind the woods and the long shades were possessing the insolent horsemen one by one. I saw the light die from off the top of a glossy-leaved lance and all the brave hard green turn to soft black. The house, accept' ing another day at end, as it had accepted an hundred thou- sand gone, seemed to settle deeper into its rest among the shadows. "Have you ever wanted to?" she said after the silence. "Very much sometimes," I replied. The child had left the window as the shadows closed upon it. "Ah! So've I, but I don't suppose it's allowed. . , . Where d'you live?" "Quite the other side of the coxmty — sixty miles and more, and I must be going back. I've come without my big lamp." " But it's not dark yet. I can feel it." "I'm afraid it will be by the time I get home. Could you lend me someone to set me on my road at first? I've utterly lost myself." "I'll send Madden with you to the cross-roads. We are so out of the world, I don't wonder you were lost ! I'll guide "THEY" SOI you round to the front of the house; but you will go slowly, won't you, till you're out of the grounds? It isn't foolish, do you think?" "I promise you I'll go like this," I said, and let the car start herself down the flagged path. We skirted the left wing of the house, whose elaborately cast lead guttering alone was worth a day's journey; passed under a great rose-grown gate in the red wall, and so round to the high front of the house which in beauty land statelincss as much excelled the back as that all others I had seen. "Is it so very beautiful? " she said wistfully when she heard my raptures. "And you Uke the lead-figures too? There's the old azalea garden behind. They say that this place must have been made for children. Will you help me out, please? I should like to come with you as far as the cross-roads, but I mustn't leave them. Is that you. Madden? I want you to show this gentleman the way to the cross-roads. He has lost his way but — ^he has seen them," A butler appeared noiselessly at the miracle of old oak that must be called the front door, and slipped aside to put on his hat. She stood looking at me with open blue eyes in which no sight lay, and I saw for the first time that she was beauti- ful. "Remember," she said quietly, "if you are fond of them you will come again," and disappeared within the house. The butler in the car said nothing till we were nearly at the lodge gates, where catching a glimpse of a blue blouse in a shrubbery I swerved amply lest the devil that leads Kttle boys to play should drag me into child-murder. "Excuse me," he asked of a sudden, "but why did you do that. Sir?" "The child yonder." "Our young gentleman in blue? " "Of course." "He runs about a good deal. Did you see him by the fountain. Sir?" 302 STORIES FROM KIPLING " Oh, yes, several times. Do we turn here? " " Yes, Su:. And did you 'appen to see them upstairs too? ' "At the upper window? Yes." "Was that before the mistress come out to speak to you, Sir?" "A little before that. Why d'you want to know?" He paused a little. "Only to make sure that — ^that they had seen the car. Sir, because with children running about, though I'm sure you're driving particularly careful, there might be an accident. That was all, Sir. Here are the cross-roads. You can't miss your way from now on. Thank you, Sir, but that isn't our custom, not with " "I beg your pardon," I said, and thrust away the British silver. "Oh, it's quite right with the rest of 'em as a rule. Good« bye. Sir." He retired into the armor-plated conning tower of his caste and walked away. Evidently a butler soUcitous for the honor of his house, and interested, probably through a maid, in the nursery. Once beyond the signposts at the cross-roads I looked back, but the crumpled hills interlaced so jealously that I could not see where the house had lain. When I asked its name at a cottage along the road, the fat woman who sold sweetmeats there gave me to understand that people with motor cars had small right to live — much less to "go about talking like carriage folk." They were not a pleasant-mannered com- munity. When I retraced my route on the map that evening I was little wiser. Hawkin's Old Farm appeared to be the survey title of the place, and the old County Gazetteer, generally so ample, did not allude to it. The big house of those parts was Hodnington Hall, Georgian with early Victorian em- bellishments, Bs an atrocious steel engraving attested. 1 carried my diflBculty to a neighbor — ^a deep-rooted tree of that soil — ^and he gave me a name of a family which con« veyed no meaning. "THEY" 303 A month or so later — I went again, or it may have been that my car took the road of her own volition. She over-ran the fruitless Downs, threaded every turn of the maze of lanes below the hills, drew through the high-walled woods, impene- trable in their full leaf, came out at the cross-roads where the butler had left me, and a little farther on developed an inter- nal trouble which forced me to turn her in on a grass way- waste that cut into a summer-silent hazel wood. So far as I could make sure by the sun and a six-inch Ordnance map, this should be the road flank of that wood which I had first ex- plored from the heights above. I made a mighty serious busi- ness of my repairs and a ghttering shop of my repair kit, spanners, pump, and the like, which I spread out orderly upon a rug. It was a trap to catch aU childhood, for on such a day, I argued, the children would not be far off. When I paused in my work I Ustened, but the wood was so full of the noises of summer (though the birds had mated) that I could not at first distinguish these from the tread of small cautious feet stealing across the dead leaves. I rang my beU in an alliu-ing manner, but the feet fled, and I repented, for to a child a sudden noise is very real terror. I must have been at work half an hour when I heard in the wood the voice of the blind woman crying: "Children, oh children, where are you? "and the stillness made slow to close on the perfection of that cry. She came toward me, half feeling her way between the tree- boles, and though a child it seemed clung to her skirt, it Swerved into the leafage hke a rabbit as she drew nearer. "Is that you?" she said, "from the other side of the county?" "Yes, it's me from the other side of the county." "Then why didn't you come through the upper woods? They were there just now." "They were here a few minutes ago. I expect they knew my car had broken down, and came to see the fun." "Nothing serious, I hope? How do cars break down?" "In fifty different ways. Only mine has chosen the fifty- first." S04 STORIES FROM KIPLING She laughed merrily at the tiny joke, cooed with delicious laughter, and pushed her hat back. "Let me hear," she said. "Wait a moment," I cried, "and I'll get you a cushion." She set her foot on the rug all covered with spare parts, and stooped above it eagerly. "What delightful things!" The hands through which she saw glanced in the checkered sunlight. "A box here — ^another box! Why you've ar- ranged them like playing shop!" "I confess now that I put it out to attract them. I don't need half those things really." "How nice of you! I heard your bell in the upper wood. You say they were here before that?" "I'm sure of it. Why are they so shy? That Uttle fellow in blue who was with you just now ought to have got over his fright. He's been watching me like a Red Indian." "It must have been your bell," she said. "I heard one of them go past me in trouble when I was coming down. They're shy — so shy even with me." She turned her face over her shoulder and cried again: "Children! Oh, children! Look and see!" "They must have gone off together on their own affairs," I suggested, for there was a murmtir behind us of lowered voices broken by the sudden squeaking giggles of childhood. I returned to my tinkerings and she leaned forward, her chin on her hand, Ustening interestedly. "How many are they?" I said at last. The work was finished, but I saw no reason to go. Her forehead puckered a little in thought. "I don't quite know," she said simply. " Sometimes more — sometimes less. They come and stay with me because I love them, you see." "That must be very jolly," I said, replacing a drawei, and as I spoke I heard the inanity of my answer. "You — ^you aren't laughing at me," she cried. "I — ^I haven't any of my own. I never married. People laugh at me sometimes about them because — ^because " "THEY" 305 "Because they're savages," I returned. "It's nothing to fret for. That sort laugh at everything that isn't in their own fat Uves." "I don't know. How should I? I only don't like being laughed at about