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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: In Black and White - The writings in prose and verse of Rudyard Kipling - -Author: Rudyard Kipling - -Release Date: June 8, 2020 [EBook #62346] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN BLACK AND WHITE *** - - - - -Produced by KD Weeks, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note: - -This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. -Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. - -Footnotes have been moved to follow the paragraphs in which they are -referenced. - -Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please -see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding -the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation. - - RUDYARD KIPLING - - - VOLUME IV - - IN BLACK AND WHITE - -[Illustration: ON THE CITY WALL] - - THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF - - RUDYARD KIPLING - - IN BLACK AND - WHITE - -[Illustration] - - NEW YORK - CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS - 1909 - - _Copyright, 1895_, - By MACMILLAN AND CO. - - _Copyright, 1897_, - By RUDYARD KIPLING - - - - - PREFACE - - -In Northern India stood a monastery called The Chubára of Dhunni Bhagat. -No one remembered who or what Dhunni Bhagat had been. He had lived his -life, made a little money and spent it all, as every good Hindu should -do, on a work of piety—the Chubára. That was full of brick cells, gaily -painted with the figures of Gods and kings and elephants, where worn-out -priests could sit and meditate on the latter end of things: the paths -were brick-paved, and the naked feet of thousands had worn them into -gutters. Clumps of mangoes sprouted from between the bricks; great pipal -trees overhung the well-windlass that whined all day; and hosts of -parrots tore through the trees. Crows and squirrels were tame in that -place, for they knew that never a priest would touch them. - -The wandering mendicants, charm-sellers, and holy vagabonds for a -hundred miles round used to make the Chubára their place of call and -rest. Mahommedan, Sikh, and Hindu mixed equally under the trees. They -were old men, and when man has come to the turnstiles of Night all the -creeds in the world seem to him wonderfully alike and colourless. - -Gobind the one-eyed told me this. He was a holy man who lived on an -island in the middle of a river, and fed the fishes with little bread -pellets twice a day. In flood-time, when swollen corpses stranded -themselves at the foot of the island, Gobind would cause them to be -piously burned, for the sake of the honour of mankind, and having regard -to his own account with God hereafter. But when two-thirds of the island -was torn away in a spate, Gobind came across the river to Dhunni -Bhagat’s Chubára, he and his brass drinking-vessel with the well-cord -round the neck, his short arm-rest crutch studded with brass nails, his -roll of bedding, his big pipe, his umbrella, and his tall sugar-loaf hat -with the nodding peacock feathers in it. He wrapped himself up in his -patched quilt made of every colour and material in the world, sat down -in a sunny corner of the very quiet Chubára, and, resting his arm on his -short-handled crutch, waited for death. The people brought him food and -little clumps of marigold flowers, and he gave his blessing in return. -He was nearly blind, and his face was seamed and lined and wrinkled -beyond belief, for he had lived in his time, which was before the -English came within five hundred miles of Dhunni Bhagat’s Chubára. - -When we grew to know each other well, Gobind would tell me tales in a -voice most like the rumbling of heavy guns over a wooden bridge. His -tales were true, but not one in twenty could be printed in an English -book, because the English do not think as natives do. They brood over -matters that a native would dismiss till a fitting occasion; and what -they would not think twice about a native will brood over till a fitting -occasion: then native and English stare at each other hopelessly across -great gulfs of miscomprehension. - -“And what,” said Gobind one Sunday evening, “is your honoured craft, and -by what manner of means earn you your daily bread?” - -“I am,” said I, “a _kerani_—one who writes with a pen upon paper, not -being in the service of the Government.” - -“Then what do you write?” said Gobind. “Come nearer, for I cannot see -your countenance, and the light fails.” - -“I write of all matters that lie within my understanding, and of many -that do not. But chiefly I write of Life and Death, and men and women, -and Love and Fate, according to the measure of my ability, telling the -tale through the mouths of one, two, or more people. Then by the favour -of God the tales are sold and money accrues to me that I may keep -alive.” - -“Even so,” said Gobind. “That is the work of the bazar story-teller; but -he speaks straight to men and women and does not write anything at all. -Only when the tale has aroused expectation and calamities are about to -befall the virtuous, he stops suddenly and demands payment ere he -continues the narration. Is it so in your craft, my son?” - -“I have heard of such things when a tale is of great length, and is sold -as a cucumber, in small pieces.” - -“Ay, I was once a famed teller of stories when I was begging on the road -between Koshin and Etra, before the last pilgrimage that ever I took to -Orissa. I told many tales and heard many more at the rest-houses in the -evening when we were merry at the end of the march. It is in my heart -that grown men are but as little children in the matter of tales, and -the oldest tale is the most beloved.” - -“With your people that is truth,” said I. “But in regard to our people -they desire new tales, and when all is written they rise up and declare -that the tale were better told in such and such a manner, and doubt -either the truth or the invention thereof.” - -“But what folly is theirs!” said Gobind, throwing out his knotted hand. -“A tale that is told is a true tale as long as the telling lasts. And of -their talk upon it—you know how Bilas Khan, that was the prince of -tale-tellers, said to one who mocked him in the great rest-house on the -Jhelum road: ‘Go on, my brother, and finish that I have begun,’ and he -who mocked took up the tale, but having neither voice nor manner for the -task, came to a standstill, and the pilgrims at supper made him eat -abuse and stick half that night.” - -“Nay, but with our people, money having passed, it is their right; as we -should turn against a shoeseller in regard to shoes if those wore out. -If ever I make a book you shall see and judge.” - -“And the parrot said to the falling tree, Wait, brother, till I fetch a -prop!” said Gobind with a grim chuckle. “God has given me eighty years, -and it may be some over. I cannot look for more than day granted by day -and as a favour at this tide. Be swift.” - -“In what manner is it best to set about the task,” said I, “O chiefest -of those who string pearls with their tongue?” - -“How do I know? Yet”—he thought for a little—“how should I not know? God -has made very many heads, but there is only one heart in all the world -among your people or my people. They are children in the matter of -tales.” - -“But none are so terrible as the little ones, if a man misplace a word, -or in a second telling vary events by so much as one small devil.” - -“Ay, I also have told tales to the little ones, but do thou this—” His -old eyes fell on the gaudy paintings of the wall, the blue and red dome, -and the flames of the poinsettias beyond. “Tell them first of those -things that thou hast seen and they have seen together. Thus their -knowledge will piece out thy imperfections. Tell them of what thou alone -hast seen, then what thou hast heard, and since they be children tell -them of battles and kings, horses, devils, elephants, and angels, but -omit not to tell them of love and such like. All the earth is full of -tales to him who listens and does not drive away the poor from his door. -The poor are the best of tale-tellers; for they must lay their ear to -the ground every night.” - -After this conversation the idea grew in my head, and Gobind was -pressing in his inquiries as to the health of the book. - -Later, when we had been parted for months, it happened that I was to go -away and far off, and I came to bid Gobind good-bye. - -“It is farewell between us now, for I go a very long journey,” I said. - -“And I also. A longer one than thou. But what of the book?” said he. - -“It will be born in due season if it is so ordained.” - -“I would I could see it,” said the old man, huddling beneath his quilt. -“But that will not be. I die three days hence, in the night, a little -before the dawn. The term of my years is accomplished.” - -In nine cases out of ten a native makes no miscalculation as to the day -of his death. He has the foreknowledge of the beasts in this respect. - -“Then thou wilt depart in peace, and it is good talk, for thou hast said -that life is no delight to thee.” - -“But it is a pity that our book is not born. How shall I know that there -is any record of my name?” - -“Because I promise, in the forepart of the book, preceding everything -else, that it shall be written, Gobind, sadhu, of the island in the -river and awaiting God in Dhunni Bhagat’s Chubára, first spoke of the -book,” said I. - -“And gave counsel—an old man’s counsel. Gobind, son of Gobind of the -Chumi village in the Karaon tehsil, in the district of Mooltan. Will -that be written also?” - -“That will be written also.” - -“And the book will go across the Black Water to the houses of your -people, and all the Sahibs will know of me who am eighty years old?” - -“All who read the book shall know. I cannot promise for the rest.” - -“That is good talk. Call aloud to all who are in the monastery, and I -will tell them this thing.” - -They trooped up, _faquirs_, _sadhus_, _sunnyasis_, _byragis_, _nihangs_, -and _mullahs_, priests of all faiths and every degree of raggedness, and -Gobind, leaning upon his crutch, spoke so that they were visibly filled -with envy, and a white-haired senior bade Gobind think of his latter end -instead of transitory repute in the mouths of strangers. Then Gobind -gave me his blessing, and I came away. - -These tales have been collected from all places, and all sorts of -people, from priests in the Chubára, from Ala Yar the carver, Jiwun -Singh the carpenter, nameless men on steamers and trains round the -world, women spinning outside their cottages in the twilight, officers -and gentlemen now dead and buried, and a few, but these are the very -best, my father gave me. The greater part of them have been published in -magazines and newspapers, to whose editors I am indebted; but some are -new on this side of the water, and some have not seen the light before. - -The most remarkable stories are, of course, those which do not -appear—for obvious reasons. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - DRAY WARA YOW DEE 1 - NAMGAY DOOLA 17 - “THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT” 35 - THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA 46 - THE FINANCES OF THE GODS 60 - AT HOWLI THANA 67 - IN FLOOD TIME 75 - MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER 90 - WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY 101 - NABOTH 139 - THE SENDING OF DANA DA 145 - THROUGH THE FIRE 161 - THE HEAD OF THE DISTRICT 168 - THE AMIR’S HOMILY 204 - AT TWENTY-TWO 210 - JEWS IN SHUSHAN 227 - GEORGIE PORGIE 233 - LITTLE TOBRAH 247 - GEMINI 252 - THE LIMITATIONS OF PAMBÉ SERANG 266 - ONE VIEW OF THE QUESTION 274 - FROM “MANY INVENTIONS.” - ON THE CITY WALL 302 - THE ENLIGHTENMENTS OF PAGETT, M. P. 340 - - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - ILLUSTRATIONS - - ON THE CITY WALL FRONTISPIECE - THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA PAGE 52 - THE SENDING OF DANA DA 158 - - - - - IN BLACK AND WHITE - - DRAY WARA YOW DEE - -For jealousy is the rage of a man: therefore he will not spare in the - day of vengeance.—_Prov._ vi. 34. - - -Almonds and raisins, Sahib? Grapes from Kabul? Or a pony of the rarest -if the Sahib will only come with me. He is thirteen three, Sahib, plays -polo, goes in a cart, carries a lady and—Holy Kurshed and the Blessed -Imams, it is the Sahib himself! My heart is made fat and my eye glad. -May you never be tired! As is cold water in the Tirah, so is the sight -of a friend in a far place. And what do _you_ in this accursed land? -South of Delhi, Sahib, you know the saying—“Rats are the men and trulls -the women.” It was an order? Ahoo! An order is an order till one is -strong enough to disobey. O my brother, O my friend, we have met in an -auspicious hour! Is all well in the heart and the body and the house? In -a lucky day have we two come together again. - -I am to go with you? Your favour is great. Will there be picket-room in -the compound? I have three horses and the bundles and the horse-boy. -Moreover, remember that the police here hold me a horse-thief. What do -these Lowland bastards know of horse-thieves? Do you remember that time -in Peshawur when Kamal hammered on the gates of Jumrud—mountebank that -he was—and lifted the Colonel’s horses all in one night? Kamal is dead -now, but his nephew has taken up the matter, and there will be more -horses amissing if the Khaiber Levies do not look to it. - -The Peace of God and the favour of His Prophet be upon this house and -all that is in it! Shafizullah, rope the mottled mare under the tree and -draw water. The horses can stand in the sun, but double the felts over -the loins. Nay, my friend, do not trouble to look them over. They are to -sell to the Officer fools who know so many things of the horse. The mare -is heavy in foal; the gray is a devil unlicked; and the dun—but you know -the trick of the peg. When they are sold I go back to Pubbi, or, it may -be, the Valley of Peshawur. - -O friend of my heart, it is good to see you again. I have been bowing -and lying all day to the Officer Sahibs in respect to those horses; and -my mouth is dry for straight talk. _Auggrh!_ Before a meal tobacco is -good. Do not join me, for we are not in our own country. Sit in the -verandah and I will spread my cloth here. But first I will drink. _In -the name of God returning thanks, thrice!_ This is sweet water, -indeed—sweet as the water of Sheoran when it comes from the snows. - -They are all well and pleased in the North—Khoda Baksh and the others. -Yar Khan has come down with the horses from Kurdistan—six and thirty -head only, and a full half pack-ponies—and has said openly in the -Kashmir Serai that you English should send guns and blow the Amir into -Hell. There are _fifteen_ tolls now on the Kabul road; and at Dakka, -when he thought he was clear, Yar Khan was stripped of all his Balkh -stallions by the Governor! This is a great injustice, and Yar Khan is -hot with rage. And of the others: Mahbub Ali is still at Pubbi, writing -God knows what. Tugluq Khan is in jail for the business of the Kohat -Police Post. Faiz Beg came down from Ismail-ki-Dhera with a Bokhariot -belt for thee, my brother, at the closing of the year, but none knew -whither thou hadst gone: there was no news left behind. The Cousins have -taken a new run near Pakpattan to breed mules for the Government carts, -and there is a story in Bazar of a priest. Oho! Such a salt tale! -Listen—— - -Sahib, why do you ask that? My clothes are fouled because of the dust on -the road. My eyes are sad because of the glare of the sun. My feet are -swollen because I have washed them in bitter water, and my cheeks are -hollow because the food here is bad. Fire burn your money! What do I -want with it? I am rich and I thought you were my friend; but you are -like the others—a Sahib. Is a man sad? Give him money, say the Sahibs. -Is he dishonoured? Give him money, say the Sahibs. Hath he a wrong upon -his head? Give him money, say the Sahibs. Such are the Sahibs, and such -art thou—even thou. - -Nay, do not look at the feet of the dun. Pity it is that I ever taught -you to know the legs of a horse. Footsore? Be it so. What of that? The -roads are hard. And the mare footsore? She bears a double burden, Sahib. - -And now I pray you, give me permission to depart. Great favour and -honour has the Sahib done me, and graciously has he shown his belief -that the horses are stolen. Will it please him to send me to the Thana? -To call a sweeper and have me led away by one of these lizard-men? I am -the Sahib’s friend. I have drunk water in the shadow of his house, and -he has blackened my face. Remains there anything more to do? Will the -Sahib give me eight annas to make smooth the injury and—complete the -insult——? - -Forgive me, my brother. I knew not—I know not now—what I say. Yes, I -lied to you! I will put dust on my head—and I am an Afridi! The horses -have been marched footsore from the Valley to this place, and my eyes -are dim, and my body aches for the want of sleep, and my heart is dried -up with sorrow and shame. But as it was my shame, so by God the -Dispenser of Justice—by Allah-al-Mumit—it shall be my own revenge! - -We have spoken together with naked hearts before this, and our hands -have dipped into the same dish and thou hast been to me as a brother. -Therefore I pay thee back with lies and ingratitude—as a Pathan. Listen -now! When the grief of the soul is too heavy for endurance it may be a -little eased by speech, and, moreover, the mind of a true man is as a -well, and the pebble of confession dropped therein sinks and is no more -seen. From the Valley have I come on foot, league by league, with a fire -in my chest like the fire of the Pit. And why? Hast thou, then, so -quickly forgotten our customs, among this folk who sell their wives and -their daughters for silver? Come back with me to the North and be among -men once more. Come back, when this matter is accomplished and I call -for thee! The bloom of the peach-orchards is upon all the Valley, and -_here_ is only dust and a great stink. There is a pleasant wind among -the mulberry trees, and the streams are bright with snow-water, and the -caravans go up and the caravans go down, and a hundred fires sparkle in -the gut of the Pass, and tent-peg answers hammer-nose, and pack-horse -squeals to pack-horse across the drift smoke of the evening. It is good -in the North now. Come back with me. Let us return to our own people! -Come! - - * * * * * - -Whence is my sorrow? Does a man tear out his heart and make fritters -thereof over a slow fire for aught other than a woman? Do not laugh, -friend of mine, for your time will also be. A woman of the Abazai was -she, and I took her to wife to staunch the feud between our village and -the men of Ghor. I am no longer young? The lime has touched my beard? -True. I had no need of the wedding? Nay, but I loved her. What saith -Rahman: “Into whose heart Love enters, there is Folly _and naught else_. -By a glance of the eye she hath blinded thee; and by the eyelids and the -fringe of the eyelids taken thee into the captivity without ransom, _and -naught else_.” Dost thou remember that song at the sheep-roasting in the -Pindi camp among the Uzbegs of the Amir? - -The Abazai are dogs and their women the servants of sin. There was a -lover of her own people, but of that her father told me naught. My -friend, curse for me in your prayers, as I curse at each praying from -the Fakr to the Isha, the name of Daoud Shah, Abazai, whose head is -still upon his neck, whose hands are still upon his wrists, who has done -me dishonour, who has made my name a laughing-stock among the women of -Little Malikand. - -I went into Hindustan at the end of two months—to Cherat. I was gone -twelve days only; but I had said that I would be fifteen days absent. -This I did to try her, for it is written: “Trust not the incapable.” -Coming up the gorge alone in the falling of the light, I heard the voice -of a man singing at the door of my house; and it was the voice of Daoud -Shah, and the song that he sang was “_Dray wara yow dee_”—“All three are -one.” It was as though a heel-rope had been slipped round my heart and -all the Devils were drawing it tight past endurance. I crept silently up -the hill-road, but the fuse of my matchlock was wetted with the rain, -and I could not slay Daoud Shah from afar. Moreover, it was in my mind -to kill the woman also. Thus he sang, sitting outside my house, and, -anon, the woman opened the door, and I came nearer, crawling on my belly -among the rocks. I had only my knife to my hand. But a stone slipped -under my foot, and the two looked down the hillside, and he, leaving his -matchlock, fled from my anger, because he was afraid for the life that -was in him. But the woman moved not till I stood in front of her, -crying: “O woman, what is this that thou hast done?” And she, void of -fear, though she knew my thought, laughed, saying: “It is a little -thing. I loved him, and _thou_ art a dog and cattle-thief coming by -night. Strike!” And I, being still blinded by her beauty, for, O my -friend, the women of the Abazai are very fair, said: “Hast thou no -fear?” And she answered: “None—but only the fear that I do not die.” -Then said I: “Have no fear.” And she bowed her head, and I smote it off -at the neck-bone so that it leaped between my feet. Thereafter the rage -of our people came upon me, and I hacked off the breasts, that the men -of Little Malikand might know the crime, and cast the body into the -water-course that flows to the Kabul river. _Dray wara yow dee! Dray -wara yow dee!_ The body without the head, the soul without light, and my -own darkling heart—all three are one—all three are one! - -That night, making no halt, I went to Ghor and demanded news of Daoud -Shah. Men said: “He is gone to Pubbi for horses. What wouldst thou of -him? There is peace between the villages.” I made answer: “Aye! The -peace of treachery and the love that the Devil Atala bore to Gurel.” So -I fired thrice into the gate and laughed and went my way. - -In those hours, brother and friend of my heart’s heart, the moon and the -stars were as blood above me, and in my mouth was the taste of dry -earth. Also, I broke no bread, and my drink was the rain of the Valley -of Ghor upon my face. - -At Pubbi I found Mahbub Ali, the writer, sitting upon his charpoy, and -gave up my arms according to your Law. But I was not grieved, for it was -in my heart that I should kill Daoud Shah with my bare hands thus—as a -man strips a bunch of raisins. Mahbub Ali said: “Daoud Shah has even now -gone hot-foot to Peshawur, and he will pick up his horses upon the road -to Delhi, for it is said that the Bombay Tramway Company are buying -horses there by the truck-load; eight horses to the truck.” And that was -a true saying. - -Then I saw that the hunting would be no little thing, for the man was -gone into your borders to save himself against my wrath. And shall he -save himself so? Am I not alive? Though he run northward to the Dora and -the snow, or southerly to the Black Water, I will follow him, as a lover -follows the footsteps of his mistress, and coming upon him I will take -him tenderly—Aho! so tenderly!—in my arms, saying: “Well hast thou done -and well shalt thou be repaid.” And out of that embrace Daoud Shah shall -not go forth with the breath in his nostrils. _Auggrh!_ Where is the -pitcher? I am as thirsty as a mother-mare in the first month. - -Your Law! What is your Law to me? When the horses fight on the runs do -they regard the boundary pillars; or do the kites of Ali Musjid forbear -because the carrion lies under the shadow of the Ghor Kuttri? The matter -began across the Border. It shall finish where God pleases. Here, in my -own country, or in Hell. All three are one. - -Listen now, sharer of the sorrow of my heart, and I will tell of the -hunting. I followed to Peshawur from Pubbi, and I went to and fro about -the streets of Peshawur like a houseless dog, seeking for my enemy. Once -I thought that I saw him washing his mouth in the conduit in the big -square, but when I came up he was gone. It may be that it was he, and, -seeing my face, he had fled. - -A girl of the bazar said that he would go to Nowshera. I said: “O -heart’s heart, does Daoud Shah visit thee?” And she said: “Even so.” I -said: “I would fain see him, for we be friends parted for two years. -Hide me, I pray, here in the shadow of the window shutter, and I will -wait for his coming.” And the girl said: “O Pathan, look into my eyes!” -And I turned, leaning upon her breast, and looked into her eyes, -swearing that I spoke the very Truth of God. But she answered: “Never -friend waited friend with such eyes. Lie to God and the Prophet, but to -a woman ye cannot lie. Get hence! There shall no harm befall Daoud Shah -by cause of me.” - -I would have strangled that girl but for the fear of your Police; and -thus the hunting would have come to naught. Therefore I only laughed and -departed, and she leaned over the window-bar in the night and mocked me -down the street. Her name is Jamun. When I have made my account with the -man I will return to Peshawur and—her lovers shall desire her no more -for her beauty’s sake. She shall not be _Jamun_, but _Ak_, the cripple -among trees. Ho! Ho! _Ak_ shall she be! - -At Peshawur I bought the horses and grapes, and the almonds and dried -fruits, that the reason of my wanderings might be open to the -Government, and that there might be no hindrance upon the road. But when -I came to Nowshera he was gone, and I knew not where to go. I stayed one -day at Nowshera, and in the night a Voice spoke in my ears as I slept -among the horses. All night it flew round my head and would not cease -from whispering. I was upon my belly, sleeping as the Devils sleep, and -it may have been that the Voice was the voice of a Devil. It said: “Go -south, and thou shalt come upon Daoud Shah.” Listen, my brother and -chiefest among friends—listen! Is the tale a long one? Think how it was -long to me. I have trodden every league of the road from Pubbi to this -place; and from Nowshera my guide was only the Voice and the lust of -vengeance. - -To the Uttock I went, but that was no hindrance to me. Ho! Ho! A man may -turn the word twice, even in his trouble. The Uttock was no _uttock_ -[obstacle] to me; and I heard the Voice above the noise of the waters -beating on the big rock, saying: “Go to the right.” So I went to -Pindigheb, and in those days my sleep was taken from me utterly, and the -head of the woman of the Abazai was before me night and day, even as it -had fallen between my feet. _Dray wara yow dee! Dray wara yow dee!_ -Fire, ashes, and my couch, all three are one—all three are one! - -Now I was far from the winter path of the dealers who had gone to -Sialkot and so south by the rail and the Big Road to the line of -cantonments; but there was a Sahib in camp at Pindigheb who bought from -me a white mare at a good price, and told me that one Daoud Shah had -passed to Shahpur with horses. Then I saw that the warning of the Voice -was true, and made swift to come to the Salt Hills. The Jhelum was in -flood, but I could not wait, and, in the crossing, a bay stallion was -washed down and drowned. Herein was God hard to me—not in respect of the -beast, of that I had no care—but in this snatching. While I was upon the -right bank urging the horses into the water, Daoud Shah was upon the -left; for—_Alghias! Alghias!_—the hoofs of my mare scattered the hot -ashes of his fires when we came up the hither bank in the light of -morning. But he had fled. His feet were made swift by the terror of -Death. And I went south from Shahpur as the kite flies. I dared not turn -aside, lest I should miss my vengeance—which is my right. From Shahpur I -skirted by the Jhelum, for I thought that he would avoid the Desert of -the Rechna. But, presently, at Sahiwal, I turned away upon the road to -Jhang, Samundri, and Gugera, till, upon a night, the mottled mare -breasted the fence of the rail that runs to Montgomery. And that place -was Okara, and the head of the woman of the Abazai lay upon the sand -between my feet. - -Thence I went to Fazilka, and they said that I was mad to bring starved -horses there. The Voice was with me, and I was _not_ mad, but only -wearied, because I could not find Daoud Shah. It was written that I -should not find him at Rania nor Bahadurgarh, and I came into Delhi from -the west, and there also I found him not. My friend, I have seen many -strange things in my wanderings. I have seen Devils rioting across the -Rechna as the stallions riot in spring. I have heard the _Djinns_ -calling to each other from holes in the sand, and I have seen them pass -before my face. There are no Devils, say the Sahibs? They are very wise, -but they do not know all things about devils or—horses. Ho! Ho! I say to -you who are laughing at my misery, that I have seen the Devils at high -noon whooping and leaping on the shoals of the Chenab. And was I afraid? -My brother, when the desire of a man is set upon one thing alone, he -fears neither God nor Man nor Devil. If my vengeance failed, I would -splinter the Gates of Paradise with the butt of my gun, or I would cut -my way into Hell with my knife, and I would call upon Those who Govern -there for the body of Daoud Shah. What love so deep as hate? - -Do not speak. I know the thought in your heart. Is the white of this eye -clouded? How does the blood beat at the wrist? There is no madness in my -flesh, but only the vehemence of the desire that has eaten me up. -Listen! - -South of Delhi I knew not the country at all. Therefore I cannot say -where I went, but I passed through many cities. I knew only that it was -laid upon me to go south. When the horses could march no more, I threw -myself upon the earth, and waited till the day. There was no sleep with -me in that journeying; and that was a heavy burden. Dost thou know, -brother of mine, the evil of wakefulness that cannot break—when the -bones are sore for lack of sleep, and the skin of the temples twitches -with weariness, and yet—there is no sleep—there is no sleep? _Dray wara -yow dee! Dray wara yow dee!_ The eye of the Sun, the eye of the Moon, -and my own unrestful eyes—all three are one—all three are one! - -There was a city the name whereof I have forgotten, and there the Voice -called all night. That was ten days ago. It has cheated me afresh. - -I have come hither from a place called Hamirpur, and, behold, it is my -Fate that I should meet with thee to my comfort and the increase of -friendship. This is a good omen. By the joy of looking upon thy face the -weariness has gone from my feet, and the sorrow of my so long travel is -forgotten. Also my heart is peaceful; for I know that the end is near. - -It may be that I shall find Daoud Shah in this city going northward, -since a Hillman will ever head back to his Hills when the spring warns. -And shall he see those hills of our country? Surely I shall overtake -him! Surely my vengeance is safe! Surely God hath him in the hollow of -His hand against my claiming. There shall no harm befall Daoud Shah till -I come; for I would fain kill him quick and whole with the life sticking -firm in his body. A pomegranate is sweetest when the cloves break away -unwilling from the rind. Let it be in the daytime, that I may see his -face, and my delight may be crowned. - -And when I have accomplished the matter and my Honour is made clean, I -shall return thanks unto God, the Holder of the Scale of the Law, and I -shall sleep. From the night, through the day, and into the night again I -shall sleep; and no dream shall trouble me. - -And now, O my brother, the tale is all told. _Ahi! Ahi! Alghias! Ahi!_ - - - - - NAMGAY DOOLA - - There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, - The dew on his wet robe hung heavy and chill; - Ere the steamer that brought him had passed out of hearin’, - He was Alderman Mike inthrojuicin’ a bill! - _American Song._ - - -Once upon a time there was a King who lived on the road to Thibet, very -many miles in the Himalayas. His Kingdom was eleven thousand feet above -the sea and exactly four miles square; but most of the miles stood on -end owing to the nature of the country. His revenues were rather less -than four hundred pounds yearly, and they were expended in the -maintenance of one elephant and a standing army of five men. He was -tributary to the Indian Government, who allowed him certain sums for -keeping a section of the Himalaya-Thibet road in repair. He further -increased his revenues by selling timber to the railway-companies; for -he would cut the great deodar trees in his one forest, and they fell -thundering into the Sutlej river and were swept down to the plains three -hundred miles away and became railway-ties. Now and again this King, -whose name does not matter, would mount a ringstraked horse and ride -scores of miles to Simla-town to confer with the Lieutenant-Governor on -matters of state, or to assure the Viceroy that his sword was at the -service of the Queen-Empress. Then the Viceroy would cause a ruffle of -drums to be sounded, and the ringstraked horse and the cavalry of the -State—two men in tatters—and the herald who bore the silver stick before -the King would trot back to their own place, which lay between the tail -of a heaven-climbing glacier and a dark birch-forest. - -Now, from such a King, always remembering that he possessed one -veritable elephant, and could count his descent for twelve hundred -years, I expected, when it was my fate to wander through his dominions, -no more than mere license to live. - -The night had closed in rain, and rolling clouds blotted out the lights -of the villages in the valley. Forty miles away, untouched by cloud or -storm, the white shoulder of Donga Pa—the Mountain of the Council of the -Gods—upheld the Evening Star. The monkeys sang sorrowfully to each other -as they hunted for dry roosts in the fern-wreathed trees, and the last -puff of the day-wind brought from the unseen villages the scent of damp -wood-smoke, hot cakes, dripping undergrowth, and rotting pine-cones. -That is the true smell of the Himalayas, and if once it creeps into the -blood of a man, that man will at the last, forgetting all else, return -to the hills to die. The clouds closed and the smell went away, and -there remained nothing in all the world except chilling white mist and -the boom of the Sutlej river racing through the valley below. A -fat-tailed sheep, who did not want to die, bleated piteously at my tent -door. He was scuffling with the Prime Minister and the Director-General -of Public Education, and he was a royal gift to me and my camp servants. -I expressed my thanks suitably, and asked if I might have audience of -the King. The Prime Minister readjusted his turban, which had fallen off -in the struggle, and assured me that the King would be very pleased to -see me. Therefore I despatched two bottles as a foretaste, and when the -sheep had entered upon another incarnation went to the King’s Palace -through the wet. He had sent his army to escort me, but the army stayed -to talk with my cook. Soldiers are very much alike all the world over. - -The Palace was a four-roomed and whitewashed mud and timber house, the -finest in all the hills for a day’s journey. The King was dressed in a -purple velvet jacket, white muslin trousers, and a saffron-yellow turban -of price. He gave me audience in a little carpeted room opening off the -palace courtyard which was occupied by the Elephant of State. The great -beast was sheeted and anchored from trunk to tail, and the curve of his -back stood out grandly against the mist. - -The Prime Minister and the Director-General of Public Education were -present to introduce me, but all the court had been dismissed, lest the -two bottles aforesaid should corrupt their morals. The King cast a -wreath of heavy-scented flowers round my neck as I bowed, and inquired -how my honoured presence had the felicity to be. I said that through -seeing his auspicious countenance the mists of the night had turned into -sunshine, and that by reason of his beneficent sheep his good deeds -would be remembered by the Gods. He said that since I had set my -magnificent foot in his Kingdom the crops would probably yield seventy -per cent. more than the average. I said that the fame of the King had -reached to the four corners of the earth, and that the nations gnashed -their teeth when they heard daily of the glories of his realm and the -wisdom of his moon-like Prime Minister and lotus-like Director-General -of Public Education. - -Then we sat down on clean white cushions, and I was at the King’s right -hand. Three minutes later he was telling me that the state of the maize -crop was something disgraceful, and that the railway-companies would not -pay him enough for his timber. The talk shifted to and fro with the -bottles, and we discussed very many stately things, and the King became -confidential on the subject of Government generally. Most of all he -dwelt on the shortcomings of one of his subjects, who, from all I could -gather, had been paralyzing the executive. - -“In the old days,” said the King, “I could have ordered the Elephant -yonder to trample him to death. Now I must e’en send him seventy miles -across the hills to be tried, and his keep would be upon the State. The -Elephant eats everything.” - -“What be the man’s crimes, Rajah Sahib?” said I. - -“Firstly, he is an outlander and no man of mine own people. Secondly, -since of my favour I gave him land upon his first coming, he refuses to -pay revenue. Am I not the lord of the earth, above and below, entitled -by right and custom to one-eighth of the crop? Yet this devil, -establishing himself, refuses to pay a single tax; and he brings a -poisonous spawn of babes.” - -“Cast him into jail,” I said. - -“Sahib,” the King answered, shifting a little on the cushions, “once and -only once in these forty years sickness came upon me so that I was not -able to go abroad. In that hour I made a vow to my God that I would -never again cut man or woman from the light of the sun and the air of -God; for I perceived the nature of the punishment. How can I break my -vow? Were it only the lopping of a hand or a foot I should not delay. -But even that is impossible now that the English have rule. One or -another of my people”—he looked obliquely at the Director-General of -Public Education—“would at once write a letter to the Viceroy, and -perhaps I should be deprived of my ruffle of drums.” - -He unscrewed the mouthpiece of his silver water-pipe, fitted a plain -amber mouthpiece, and passed his pipe to me. “Not content with refusing -revenue,” he continued, “this outlander refuses also the _begar_” (this -was the corvée or forced labour on the roads), “and stirs my people up -to the like treason. Yet he is, when he wills, an expert log-snatcher. -There is none better or bolder among my people to clear a block of the -river when the logs stick fast.” - -“But he worships strange Gods,” said the Prime Minister deferentially. - -“For that I have no concern,” said the King, who was as tolerant as -Akbar in matters of belief. “To each man his own God and the fire or -Mother Earth for us all at last. It is the rebellion that offends me.” - -“The King has an army,” I suggested. “Has not the King burned the man’s -house and left him naked to the night dews?” - -“Nay, a hut is a hut, and it holds the life of a man. But once I sent my -army against him when his excuses became wearisome: of their heads he -brake three across the top with a stick. The other two men ran away. -Also the guns would not shoot.” - -I had seen the equipment of the infantry. One-third of it was an old -muzzle-loading fowling-piece, with a ragged rust-hole where the nipples -should have been, one-third a wire-bound matchlock with a worm-eaten -stock, and one-third a four-bore flint duck-gun without a flint. - -“But it is to be remembered,” said the King, reaching out for the -bottle, “that he is a very expert log-snatcher and a man of a merry -face. What shall I do to him, Sahib?” - -This was interesting. The timid hill-folk would as soon have refused -taxes to their King as revenues to their Gods. - -“If it be the King’s permission,” I said, “I will not strike my tents -till the third day, and I will see this man. The mercy of the King is -God-like, and rebellion is like unto the sin of witchcraft. Moreover, -both the bottles and another be empty.” - -“You have my leave to go,” said the King. - -Next morning a crier went through the State proclaiming that there was a -log-jam on the river, and that it behoved all loyal subjects to remove -it. The people poured down from their villages to the moist warm valley -of poppy-fields; and the King and I went with them. Hundreds of dressed -deodar-logs had caught on a snag of rock, and the river was bringing -down more logs every minute to complete the blockade. The water snarled -and wrenched and worried at the timber, and the population of the State -began prodding the nearest logs with a pole in the hope of starting a -general movement. Then there went up a shout of “Namgay Doola! Namgay -Doola!” and a large red-haired villager hurried up, stripping off his -clothes as he ran. - -“That is he. That is the rebel,” said the King. “Now will the dam be -cleared.” - -“But why has he red hair?” I asked, since red hair among hill-folks is -as common as blue or green. - -“He is an outlander,” said the King. “Well done! Oh, well done!” - -Namgay Doola had scrambled out on the jam and was clawing out the butt -of a log with a rude sort of boat-hook. It slid forward slowly as an -alligator moves, three or four others followed it, and the green water -spouted through the gaps they had made. Then the villagers howled and -shouted and scrambled across the logs, pulling and pushing the obstinate -timber, and the red head of Namgay Doola was chief among them all. The -logs swayed and chafed and groaned as fresh consignments from up-stream -battered the new weakening dam. All gave way at last in a smother of -foam, racing logs, bobbing black heads and confusion indescribable. The -river tossed everything before it. I saw the red head go down with the -last remnants of the jam and disappear between the great grinding -tree-trunks. It rose close to the bank and blowing like a grampus. -Namgay Doola wrung the water out of his eyes and made obeisance to the -King. I had time to observe him closely. The virulent redness of his -shock head and beard was most startling; and in the thicket of hair -wrinkled above high cheek-bones shone two very merry blue eyes. He was -indeed an outlander, but yet a Thibetan in language, habit, and attire. -He spoke the Lepcha dialect with an indescribable softening of the -gutturals. It was not so much a lisp as an accent. - -“Whence comest thou?” I asked. - -“From Thibet.” He pointed across the hills and grinned. That grin went -straight to my heart. Mechanically I held out my hand and Namgay Doola -shook it. No pure Thibetan would have understood the meaning of the -gesture. He went away to look for his clothes, and as he climbed back to -his village I heard a joyous yell that seemed unaccountably familiar. It -was the whooping of Namgay Doola. - -“You see now,” said the King, “why I would not kill him. He is a bold -man among my logs, but,” and he shook his head like a schoolmaster, “I -know that before long there will be complaints of him in the court. Let -us return to the Palace and do justice.” It was that King’s custom to -judge his subjects every day between eleven and three o’clock. I saw him -decide equitably in weighty matters of trespass, slander, and a little -wife-stealing. Then his brow clouded and he summoned me. - -“Again it is Namgay Doola,” he said despairingly. “Not content with -refusing revenue on his own part, he has bound half his village by an -oath to the like treason. Never before has such a thing befallen me! Nor -are my taxes heavy.” - -A rabbit-faced villager, with a blush-rose stuck behind his ear, -advanced trembling. He had been in the conspiracy, but had told -everything and hoped for the King’s favour. - -“O King,” said I. “If it be the King’s will let this matter stand over -till the morning. Only the Gods can do right swiftly, and it may be that -yonder villager has lied.” - -“Nay, for I know the nature of Namgay Doola; but since a guest asks let -the matter remain. Wilt thou speak harshly to this red-headed outlander? -He may listen to thee.” - -I made an attempt that very evening, but for the life of me I could not -keep my countenance. Namgay Doola grinned persuasively, and began to -tell me about a big brown bear in a poppy-field by the river. Would I -care to shoot it? I spoke austerely on the sin of conspiracy, and the -certainty of punishment. Namgay Doola’s face clouded for a moment. -Shortly afterwards he withdrew from my tent, and I heard him singing to -himself softly among the pines. The words were unintelligible to me, but -the tune, like his liquid insinuating speech, seemed the ghost of -something strangely familiar. - - “Dir hané mard-i-yemen dir - To weeree ala gee,” - -sang Namgay Doola again and again, and I racked my brain for that lost -tune. It was not till after dinner that I discovered some one had cut a -square foot of velvet from the centre of my best camera-cloth. This made -me so angry that I wandered down the valley in the hope of meeting the -big brown bear. I could hear him grunting like a discontented pig in the -poppy-field, and I waited shoulder deep in the dew-dripping Indian corn -to catch him after his meal. The moon was at full and drew out the rich -scent of the tasselled crop. Then I heard the anguished bellow of a -Himalayan cow, one of the little black crummies no bigger than -Newfoundland dogs. Two shadows that looked like a bear and her cub -hurried past me. I was in act to fire when I saw that they had each a -brilliant red head. The lesser animal was trailing some rope behind it -that left a dark track on the path. They passed within six feet of me, -and the shadow of the moonlight lay velvet-black on their faces. -Velvet-black was exactly the word, for by all the powers of moonlight -they were masked in the velvet of my camera-cloth! I marvelled and went -to bed. - -Next morning the Kingdom was in uproar. Namgay Doola, men said, had gone -forth in the night and with a sharp knife had cut off the tail of a cow -belonging to the rabbit-faced villager who had betrayed him. It was -sacrilege unspeakable against the Holy Cow. The State desired his blood, -but he had retreated into his hut, barricaded the doors and windows with -big stones, and defied the world. - -The King and I and the populace approached the hut cautiously. There was -no hope of capturing the man without loss of life, for from a hole in -the wall projected the muzzle of an extremely well-cared-for gun—the -only gun in the State that could shoot. Namgay Doola had narrowly missed -a villager just before we came up. The Standing Army stood. It could do -no more, for when it advanced pieces of sharp shale flew from the -windows. To these were added from time to time showers of scalding -water. We saw red heads bobbing up and down in the hut. The family of -Namgay Doola were aiding their sire, and blood-curdling yells of -defiance were the only answers to our prayers. - -“Never,” said the King, puffing, “has such a thing befallen my State. -Next year I will certainly buy a little cannon.” He looked at me -imploringly. - -“Is there any priest in the Kingdom to whom he will listen?” said I, for -a light was beginning to break upon me. - -“He worships his own God,” said the Prime Minister. “We can starve him -out.” - -“Let the white man approach,” said Namgay Doola from within. “All others -I will kill. Send me the white man.” - -The door was thrown open and I entered the smoky interior of a Thibetan -hut crammed with children. And every child had flaming red hair. A raw -cow’s tail lay on the floor, and by its side two pieces of black -velvet—my black velvet—rudely hacked into the semblance of masks. - -“And what is this shame, Namgay Doola?” said I. - -He grinned more winningly than ever. “There is no shame,” said he. “I -did but cut off the tail of that man’s cow. He betrayed me. I was minded -to shoot him, Sahib. But not to death. Indeed not to death. Only in the -legs.” - -“And why at all, since it is the custom to pay revenue to the King? Why -at all?” - -“By the God of my father I cannot tell,” said Namgay Doola. - -“And who was thy father?” - -“The same that had this gun.” He showed me his weapon—a Tower musket -bearing date 1832 and the stamp of the Honourable East India Company. - -“And thy father’s name?” said I. - -“Timlay Doola,” said he. “At the first, I being then a little child, it -is in my mind that he wore a red coat.” - -“Of that I have no doubt. But repeat the name of thy father thrice or -four times.” - -He obeyed, and I understood whence the puzzling accent in his speech -came. “Thimla Dhula,” said he excitedly. “To this hour I worship his -God.” - -“May I see that God?” - -“In a little while—at twilight time.” - -“Rememberest thou aught of thy father’s speech?” - -“It is long ago. But there is one word which he said often. Thus, -‘_Shun_.’ Then I and my brethren stood upon our feet, our hands to our -sides. Thus.” - -“Even so. And what was thy mother?” - -“A woman of the hills. We be Lepchas of Darjeeling, but me they call an -outlander because my hair is as thou seest.” - -The Thibetan woman, his wife, touched him on the arm gently. The long -parley outside the fort had lasted far into the day. It was now close -upon twilight—the hour of the Angelus. Very solemnly, the red-headed -brats rose from the floor and formed a semicircle. Namgay Doola laid his -gun against the wall, lighted a little oil lamp, and set it before a -recess in the wall. Pulling aside a curtain of dirty cloth, he revealed -a worn brass crucifix leaning against the helmet-badge of a -long-forgotten East India regiment. “Thus did my father,” he said, -crossing himself clumsily. The wife and children followed suit. Then all -together they struck up the wailing chant that I heard on the hillside— - - Dir hané mard-i-yemen dir - To weeree ala gee. - -I was puzzled no longer. Again and again they crooned, as if their -hearts would break, their version of the chorus of the “Wearing of the -Green”— - - They’re hanging men and women too, - For the wearing of the green. - -A diabolical inspiration came to me. One of the brats, a boy about eight -years old, was watching me as he sang. I pulled out a rupee, held the -coin between finger and thumb, and looked—only looked—at the gun against -the wall. A grin of brilliant and perfect comprehension overspread the -face of the child. Never for an instant stopping the song, he held out -his hand for the money, and then slid the gun to my hand. I might have -shot Namgay Doola as he chanted. But I was satisfied. The blood-instinct -of the race held true. Namgay Doola drew the curtain across the recess. -Angelus was over. - -“Thus my father sang. There is much more, but I have forgotten, and I do -not know the purport of these words, but it may be that the God will -understand. I am not of this people, and I will not pay revenue.” - -“And why?” - -Again that soul-compelling grin. “What occupation would be to me between -crop and crop? It is better than scaring bears. But these people do not -understand.” He picked the masks from the floor, and looked in my face -as simply as a child. - -“By what road didst thou attain knowledge to make these devilries?” I -said, pointing. - -“I cannot tell. I am but a Lepcha of Darjeeling, and yet the stuff——” - -“Which thou hast stolen.” - -“Nay, surely. Did I steal? I desired it so. The stuff—the stuff—what -else should I have done with the stuff?” He twisted the velvet between -his fingers. - -“But the sin of maiming the cow—consider that.” - -“That is true; but oh, Sahib, that man betrayed me, and I had no -thought—but the heifer’s tail waved in the moonlight and I had my knife. -What else should I have done? The tail came off ere I was aware. Sahib, -thou knowest more than I.” - -“That is true,” said I. “Stay within the door. I go to speak to the -King.” - -The population of the State were ranged on the hillsides. I went forth -and spoke to the King. - -“O King,” said I. “Touching this man there be two courses open to thy -wisdom. Thou canst either hang him from a tree, he and his brood, till -there remains no hair that is red within the land.” - -“Nay,” said the King. “Why should I hurt the little children?” - -They had poured out of the hut door and were making plump obeisance to -everybody. Namgay Doola waited with his gun across his arm. - -“Or thou canst, discarding the impiety of the cow-maiming, raise him to -honour in thy Army. He comes of a race that will not pay revenue. A red -flame is in his blood which comes out at the top of his head in that -glowing hair. Make him chief of the Army. Give him honour as may befall, -and full allowance of work, but look to it, O King, that neither he nor -his hold a foot of earth from thee henceforward. Feed him with words and -favour, and also liquor from certain bottles that thou knowest of, and -he will be a bulwark of defence. But deny him even a tuft of grass for -his own. This is the nature that God has given him. Moreover, he has -brethren——” - -The State groaned unanimously. - -“But if his brethren come, they will surely fight with each other till -they die; or else the one will always give information concerning the -other. Shall he be of thy Army, O King? Choose.” - -The King bowed his head, and I said, “Come forth, Namgay Doola, and -command the King’s Army. Thy name shall no more be Namgay in the mouths -of men, but Patsay Doola, for as thou hast said, I know.” - -Then Namgay. Doola, new christened Patsay Doola, son of Timlay Doola, -which is Tim Doolan gone very wrong indeed, clasped the King’s feet, -cuffed the Standing Army, and hurried in an agony of contrition from -temple to temple, making offerings for the sin of cattle-maiming. - -And the King was so pleased with my perspicacity that he offered to sell -me a village for twenty pounds sterling. But I buy no villages in the -Himalayas so long as one red head flares between the tail of the -heaven-climbing glacier and the dark birch-forest. - -I know that breed. - - - - - “THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT” - - Copyright, 1891, by Macmillan & Co. - - -The dense wet heat that hung over the face of land, like a blanket, -prevented all hope of sleep in the first instance. The cicalas helped -the heat; and the yelling jackals the cicalas. It was impossible to sit -still in the dark, empty, echoing house and watch the punkah beat the -dead air. So, at ten o’clock of the night, I set my walking-stick on end -in the middle of the garden, and waited to see how it would fall. It -pointed directly down the moonlit road that leads to the City of -Dreadful Night. The sound of its fall disturbed a hare. She limped from -her form and ran across to a disused Mahomedan burial-ground, where the -jawless skulls and rough-butted shank-bones, heartlessly exposed by the -July rains, glimmered like mother o’ pearl on the rain-channelled soil. -The heated air and the heavy earth had driven the very dead upward for -coolness’ sake. The hare limped on; snuffed curiously at a fragment of a -smoke-stained lamp-shard, and died out in the shadow of a clump of -tamarisk trees. - -The mat-weaver’s hut under the lee of the Hindu temple was full of -sleeping men who lay like sheeted corpses. Overhead blazed the unwinking -eye of the Moon. Darkness gives at least a false impression of coolness. -It was hard not to believe that the flood of light from above was warm. -Not so hot as the Sun, but still sickly warm, and heating the heavy air -beyond what was our due. Straight as a bar of polished steel ran the -road to the City of Dreadful Night; and on either side of the road lay -corpses disposed on beds in fantastic attitudes—one hundred and seventy -bodies of men. Some shrouded all in white with bound-up mouths; some -naked and black as ebony in the strong light; and one—that lay face -upwards with dropped jaw, far away from the others—silvery white and -ashen gray. - -“A leper asleep; and the remainder wearied coolies, servants, small -shopkeepers, and drivers from the hack-stand hard by. The scene—a main -approach to Lahore city, and the night a warm one in August.” This was -all that there was to be seen; but by no means all that one could see. -The witchery of the moonlight was everywhere; and the world was horribly -changed. The long line of the naked dead, flanked by the rigid silver -statue, was not pleasant to look upon. It was made up of men alone. Were -the womenkind, then, forced to sleep in the shelter of the stifling -mud-huts as best they might? The fretful wail of a child from a low -mud-roof answered the question. Where the children are the mothers must -be also to look after them. They need care on these sweltering nights. A -black little bullet-head peeped over the coping, and a thin—a painfully -thin—brown leg was slid over on to the gutter pipe. There was a sharp -clink of glass bracelets; a woman’s arm showed for an instant above the -parapet, twined itself round the lean little neck, and the child was -dragged back, protesting, to the shelter of the bedstead. His thin, -high-pitched shriek died out in the thick air almost as soon as it was -raised; for even the children of the soil found it too hot to weep. - -More corpses; more stretches of moonlit, white road; a string of -sleeping camels at rest by the wayside; a vision of scudding jackals; -_ekka_-ponies asleep—the harness still on their backs, and the -brass-studded country carts, winking in the moonlight—and again more -corpses. wherever a grain cart atilt, a tree trunk, a sawn log, a couple -of bamboos and a few handfuls of thatch cast a shadow, the ground is -covered with them. They lie—some face downwards, arms folded, in the -dust; some with clasped hands flung up above their heads; some curled up -dog-wise; some thrown like limp gunny-bags over the side of the -grain-carts; and some bowed with their brows on their knees in the full -glare of the Moon. It would be a comfort if they were only given to -snoring; but they are not, and the likeness to corpses is unbroken in -all respects save one. The lean dogs snuff at them and turn away. Here -and there a tiny child lies on his father’s bedstead, and a protecting -arm is thrown round it in every instance. But, for the most part, the -children sleep with their mothers on the housetops. Yellow-skinned, -white-toothed pariahs are not to be trusted within reach of brown -bodies. - -A stifling hot blast from the mouth of the Delhi Gate nearly ends my -resolution of entering the City of Dreadful Night at this hour. It is a -compound of all evil savours, animal and vegetable, that a walled city -can brew in a day and a night. The temperature within the motionless -groves of plantain and orange-trees outside the city walls seems chilly -by comparison. Heaven help all sick persons and young children within -the city to-night! The high house-walls are still radiating heat -savagely, and from obscure side gullies fetid breezes eddy that ought to -poison a buffalo. But the buffaloes do not heed. A drove of them are -parading the vacant main street; stopping now and then to lay their -ponderous muzzles against the closed shutters of a grain-dealer’s shop, -and to blow thereon like grampuses. - -Then silence follows—the silence that is full of the night noises of a -great city. A stringed instrument of some kind is just, and only just, -audible. High overhead some one throws open a window, and the rattle of -the wood-work echoes down the empty street. On one of the roofs a hookah -is in full blast; and the men are talking softly as the pipe gutters. A -little farther on, the noise of conversation is more distinct. A slit of -light shows itself between the sliding shutters of a shop. Inside, a -stubble-bearded, weary-eyed trader is balancing his account-books among -the bales of cotton prints that surround him. Three sheeted figures bear -him company, and throw in a remark from time to time. First he makes an -entry, then a remark; then passes the back of his hand across his -streaming forehead. The heat in the built-in street is fearful. Inside -the shops it must be almost unendurable. But the work goes on steadily; -entry, guttural growl, and uplifted hand-stroke succeeding each other -with the precision of clockwork. - -A policeman—turbanless and fast asleep—lies across the road on the way -to the Mosque of Wazir Khan. A bar of moonlight falls across the -forehead and eyes of the sleeper, but he never stirs. It is close upon -midnight, and the heat seems to be increasing. The open square in front -of the Mosque is crowded with corpses; and a man must pick his way -carefully for fear of treading on them. The moonlight stripes the -Mosque’s high front of coloured enamel work in broad diagonal bands; and -each separate dreaming pigeon in the niches and corners of the masonry -throws a squab little shadow. Sheeted ghosts rise up wearily from their -pallets, and flit into the dark depths of the building. Is it possible -to climb to the top of the great Minars, and thence to look down on the -city? At all events, the attempt is worth making, and the chances are -that the door of the staircase will be unlocked. Unlocked it is; but a -deeply-sleeping janitor lies across the threshold, face turned to the -Moon. A rat dashes out of his turban at the sound of approaching -footsteps. The man grunts, opens his eyes for a minute, turns round and -goes to sleep again. All the heat of a decade of fierce Indian summers -is stored in the pitch-black, polished walls of the corkscrew staircase. -Half-way up, there is something alive, warm, and feathery; and it -snores. Driven from step to step as it catches the sound of my advance, -it flutters to the top and reveals itself as a yellow-eyed, angry kite. -Dozens of kites are asleep on this and the other Minars, and on the -domes below. There is the shadow of a cool, or at least a less sultry -breeze at this height; and, refreshed thereby, turn to look on the City -of Dreadful Night. - -Doré might have drawn it! Zola could describe it—this spectacle of -sleeping thousands in the moonlight and in the shadow of the Moon. The -roof-tops are crammed with men, women, and children; and the air is full -of undistinguishable noises. They are restless in the City of Dreadful -Night; and small wonder. The marvel is that they can even breathe. If -you gaze intently at the multitude, you can see that they are almost as -uneasy as a daylight crowd; but the tumult is subdued. Everywhere, in -the strong light, you can watch the sleepers turning to and fro; -shifting their beds and again resettling them. In the pit-like -courtyards of the houses there is the same movement. - -The pitiless Moon shows it all. Shows, too, the plains outside the city, -and here and there a hand’s-breadth of the Ravee without the walls. -Shows lastly a splash of glittering silver on a house-top almost -directly below the mosque Minar. Some poor soul has risen to throw a jar -of water over his fevered body; the tinkle of the falling water strikes -faintly on the ear. Two or three other men, in far-off corners of the -City of Dreadful Night, follow his example, and the water flashes like -heliographic signals. A small cloud passes over the face of the Moon, -and the city and its inhabitants—clear drawn in black and white -before—fade into masses of black and deeper black. Still the unrestful -noise continues, the sigh of a great city overwhelmed with the heat, and -of a people seeking in vain for rest. It is only the lower-class women -who sleep on the housetops. What must the torment be in the latticed -zenanas, where a few lamps are still twinkling? There are footfalls in -the court below. It is the _Muezzin_—faithful minister; but he ought to -have been here an hour ago to tell the Faithful that prayer is better -than sleep—the sleep that will not come to the city. - -The _Muezzin_ fumbles for a moment with the door of one of the Minars, -disappears awhile, and a bull-like roar—a magnificent bass thunder—tells -that he has reached the top of the Minar. They must hear the cry to the -banks of the shrunken Ravee itself! Even across the courtyard it is -almost overpowering. The cloud drifts by and shows him outlined in black -against the sky, hands laid upon his ears, and broad chest heaving with -the play of his lungs—“Allah ho Akbar”; then a pause while another -_Muezzin_ somewhere in the direction of the Golden Temple takes up the -call—“Allah ho Akbar.” Again and again; four times in all; and from the -bedsteads a dozen men have risen up already.—“I bear witness that there -is no God but God.” What a splendid cry it is, the proclamation of the -creed that brings men out of their beds by scores at midnight! Once -again he thunders through the same phrase, shaking with the vehemence of -his own voice; and then, far and near, the night air rings with “Mahomed -is the Prophet of God.” It is as though he were flinging his defiance to -the far-off horizon, where the summer lightning plays and leaps like a -bared sword. Every _Muezzin_ in the city is in full cry, and some men on -the roof-tops are beginning to kneel. A long pause precedes the last -cry, “La ilaha Illallah,” and the silence closes up on it, as the ram on -the head of a cotton-bale. - -The _Muezzin_ stumbles down the dark stairway grumbling in his beard. He -passes the arch of the entrance and disappears. Then the stifling -silence settles down over the City of Dreadful Night. The kites on the -Minar sleep again, snoring more loudly, the hot breeze comes up in puffs -and lazy eddies, and the Moon slides down towards the horizon. Seated -with both elbows on the parapet of the tower, one can watch and wonder -over that heat-tortured hive till the dawn. “How do they live down -there? What do they think of? When will they awake?” More tinkling of -sluiced water-pots; faint jarring of wooden bedsteads moved into or out -of the shadows; uncouth music of stringed instruments softened by -distance into a plaintive wail, and one low grumble of far-off thunder. -In the courtyard of the mosque the janitor, who lay across the threshold -of the Minar when I came up, starts wildly in his sleep, throws his -hands above his head, mutters something, and falls back again. Lulled by -the snoring of the kites—they snore like over-gorged humans—I drop off -into an uneasy doze, conscious that three o’clock has struck, and that -there is a slight—a very slight—coolness in the atmosphere. The city is -absolutely quiet now, but for some vagrant dog’s love-song. Nothing save -dead heavy sleep. - -Several weeks of darkness pass after this. For the Moon has gone out. -The very dogs are still, and I watch for the first light of the dawn -before making my way homeward. Again the noise of shuffling feet. The -morning call is about to begin, and my night watch is over. “Allah ho -Akbar! Allah ho Akbar!” The east grows gray, and presently saffron; the -dawn wind comes up as though the _Muezzin_ had summoned it; and, as one -man, the City of Dreadful Night rises from its bed and turns its face -towards the dawning day. With return of life comes return of sound. -First a low whisper, then a deep bass hum; for it must be remembered -that the entire city is on the housetops. My eyelids weighed down with -the arrears of long deferred sleep, I escape from the Minar through the -courtyard and out into the square beyond, where the sleepers have risen, -stowed away the bedsteads, and are discussing the morning hookah. The -minute’s freshness of the air has gone, and it is as hot as at first. - -“Will the Sahib, out of his kindness, make room?” What is it? Something -borne on men’s shoulders comes by in the half-light, and I stand back. A -woman’s corpse going down to the burning-ghat, and a bystander says, -“She died at midnight from the heat.” So the city was of Death as well -as Night, after all. - - - - - THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA - -See the pale martyr with his shirt on fire.—_Printer’s Error._ - - -They tell the tale even now among the groves of the Berbulda Hill, and -for corroboration point to the roofless and windowless Mission-house. -The great God Dungara, the God of Things as They Are, Most Terrible, -One-eyed, Bearing the Red Elephant Tusk, did it all; and he who refuses -to believe in Dungara will assuredly be smitten by the Madness of -Yat—the madness that fell upon the sons and the daughters of the Buria -Kol when they turned aside from Dungara and put on clothes. So says -Athon Dazé, who is High Priest of the shrine and Warden of the Red -Elephant Tusk. But if you ask the Assistant Collector and Agent in -Charge of the Buria Kol, he will laugh—not because he bears any malice -against missions, but because he himself saw the vengeance of Dungara -executed upon the spiritual children of the Reverend Justus Krenk, -Pastor of the Tubingen Mission, and upon Lotta, his virtuous wife. - -Yet if ever a man merited good treatment of the Gods it was the Reverend -Justus, one time of Heidelberg, who, on the faith of a call, went into -the wilderness and took the blonde, blue-eyed Lotta with him. “We will -these Heathen now by idolatrous practices so darkened better make,” said -Justus in the early days of his career. “Yes,” he added with conviction, -“they shall be good and shall with their hands to work learn. For all -good Christians must work.” And upon a stipend more modest even than -that of an English lay-reader, Justus Krenk kept house beyond Kamala and -the gorge of Malair, beyond the Berbulda River close to the foot of the -blue hill of Panth on whose summit stands the Temple of Dungara—in the -heart of the country of the Buria Kol—the naked, good-tempered, timid, -shameless, lazy Buria Kol. - -Do you know what life at a Mission outpost means? Try to imagine a -loneliness exceeding that of the smallest station to which Government -has ever sent you—isolation that weighs upon the waking eyelids and -drives you by force headlong into the labours of the day. There is no -post, there is no one of your own colour to speak to, there are no -roads: there is, indeed, food to keep you alive, but it is not pleasant -to eat; and whatever of good or beauty or interest there is in your -life, must come from yourself and the grace that may be planted in you. - -In the morning, with a patter of soft feet, the converts, the doubtful, -and the open scoffers, troop up to the verandah. You must be infinitely -kind and patient, and, above all, clear-sighted, for you deal with the -simplicity of childhood, the experience of man, and the subtlety of the -savage. Your congregation have a hundred material wants to be -considered; and it is for you, as you believe in your personal -responsibility to your Maker, to pick out of the clamouring crowd any -grain of spirituality that may lie therein. If to the cure of souls you -add that of bodies, your task will be all the more difficult, for the -sick and the maimed will profess any and every creed for the sake of -healing, and will laugh at you because you are simple enough to believe -them. - -As the day wears and the impetus of the morning dies away, there will -come upon you an overwhelming sense of the uselessness of your toil. -This must be striven against, and the only spur in your side will be the -belief that you are playing against the Devil for the living soul. It is -a great, a joyous belief; but he who can hold it unwavering for four and -twenty consecutive hours, must be blessed with an abundantly strong -physique and equable nerve. - -Ask the gray heads of the Bannockburn Medical Crusade what manner of -life their preachers lead; speak to the Racine Gospel Agency, those lean -Americans whose boast is that they go where no Englishman dare follow; -get a Pastor of the Tubingen Mission to talk of his experiences—if you -can. You will be referred to the printed reports, but these contain no -mention of the men who have lost youth and health, all that a man may -lose except faith, in the wilds; of English maidens who have gone forth -and died in the fever-stricken jungle of the Panth Hills, knowing from -the first that death was almost a certainty. Few Pastors will tell you -of these things any more than they will speak of that young David of St. -Bees, who, set apart for the Lord’s work, broke down in the utter -desolation, and returned half distraught to the Head Mission, crying: -“There is no God, but I have walked with the Devil!” - -The reports are silent here, because heroism, failure, doubt, despair, -and self-abnegation on the part of a mere cultured white man are things -of no weight as compared to the saving of one half-human soul from a -fantastic faith in wood-spirits, goblins of the rock, and river-fiends. - -And Gallio, the Assistant Collector of the country-side “cared for none -of these things.” He had been long in the district, and the Buria Kol -loved him and brought him offerings of speared fish, orchids from the -dim moist heart of the forests, and as much game as he could eat. In -return, he gave them quinine, and with Athon Dazé, the High Priest, -controlled their simple policies. - -“When you have been some years in the country,” said Gallio at the -Krenks’ table, “you grow to find one creed as good as another. I’ll give -you all the assistance in my power, of course, but don’t hurt my Buria -Kol. They are a good people and they trust me.” - -“I will them the Word of the Lord teach,” said Justus, his round face -beaming with enthusiasm, “and I will assuredly to their prejudices no -wrong hastily without thinking make. But, O my friend, this in the mind -impartiality-of-creed-judgment-be-looking is very bad.” - -“Heigh-ho!” said Gallio, “I have their bodies and the district to see -to, but you can try what you can do for their souls. Only don’t behave -as your predecessor did, or I’m afraid that I can’t guarantee your -life.” - -“And that?” said Lotta sturdily, handing him a cup of tea. - -“He went up to the Temple of Dungara—to be sure, he was new to the -country—and began hammering old Dungara over the head with an umbrella; -so the Buria Kol turned out and hammered _him_ rather savagely. I was in -the district, and he sent a runner to me with a note saying: ‘Persecuted -for the Lord’s sake. Send wing of regiment.’ The nearest troops were -about two hundred miles off, but I guessed what he had been doing. I -rode to Panth and talked to old Athon Dazé like a father, telling him -that a man of his wisdom ought to have known that the Sahib had -sunstroke and was mad. You never saw a people more sorry in your life. -Athon Dazé apologised, sent wood and milk and fowls and all sorts of -things; and I gave five rupees to the shrine, and told Macnamara that he -had been injudicious. He said that I had bowed down in the House of -Rimmon; but if he had only just gone over the brow of the hill and -insulted Palin Deo, the idol of the Suria Kol, he would have been -impaled on a charred bamboo long before I could have done anything, and -then I should have had to have hanged some of the poor brutes. Be gentle -with them, Padri—but I don’t think you’ll do much.” - -“Not I,” said Justus, “but my Master. We will with the little children -begin. Many of them will be sick—that is so. After the children the -mothers; and then the men. But I would greatly that you were in internal -sympathies with us prefer.” - -Gallio departed to risk his life in mending the rotten bamboo bridges of -his people, in killing a too persistent tiger here or there, in sleeping -out in the reeking jungle, or in tracking the Suria Kol raiders who had -taken a few heads from their brethren of the Buria clan. He was a -knock-kneed, shambling young man, naturally devoid of creed or -reverence, with a longing for absolute power which his undesirable -district gratified. - -“No one wants my post,” he used to say grimly, “and my Collector only -pokes his nose in when he’s quite certain that there is no fever. I’m -monarch of all I survey, and Athon Dazé is my viceroy.” - -Because Gallio prided himself on his supreme disregard of human -life—though he never extended the theory beyond his own—he naturally -rode forty miles to the Mission with a tiny brown girl-baby on his -saddle-bow. - -“Here is something for you, Padri,” said he. “The Kols leave their -surplus children to die. ’Don’t see why they shouldn’t, but you may rear -this one. I picked it up beyond the Berbulda fork. I’ve a notion that -the mother has been following me through the woods ever since.” - -“It is the first of the fold,” said Justus, and Lotta caught up the -screaming morsel to her bosom and hushed it craftily; while, as a wolf -hangs in the field, Matui, who had borne it and in accordance with the -law of her tribe had exposed it to die, panted weary and footsore in the -bamboo-brake, watching the house with hungry mother-eyes. What would the -omnipotent Assistant Collector do? Would the little man in the black -coat eat her daughter alive, as Athon Dazé said was the custom of all -men in black coats? - -[Illustration: THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA] - -Matui waited among the bamboos through the long night; and, in the -morning, there came forth a fair white woman, the like of whom Matui had -never seen, and in her arms was Matui’s daughter clad in spotless -raiment. Lotta knew little of the tongue of the Buria Kol, but when -mother calls to mother, speech is easy to follow. By the hands stretched -timidly to the hem of her gown, by the passionate gutturals and the -longing eyes, Lotta understood with whom she had to deal. So Matui took -her child again—would be a servant, even a slave, to this wonderful -white woman, for her own tribe would recognise her no more. And Lotta -wept with her exhaustively, after the German fashion, which includes -much blowing of the nose. - -“First the child, then the mother, and last the man, and to the Glory of -God all,” said Justus the Hopeful. And the man came, with a bow and -arrows, very angry indeed, for there was no one to cook for him. - -But the tale of the Mission is a long one, and I have no space to show -how Justus, forgetful of his injudicious predecessor, grievously smote -Moto, the husband of Matui, for his brutality; how Moto was startled, -but being released from the fear of instant death, took heart and became -the faithful ally and first convert of Justus; how the little gathering -grew, to the huge disgust of Athon Dazé; how the Priest of the God of -Things as They Are argued subtilely with the Priest of the God of Things -as They Should Be, and was worsted; how the dues of the Temple of -Dungara fell away in fowls and fish and honeycomb, how Lotta lightened -the Curse of Eve among the women, and how Justus did his best to -introduce the Curse of Adam; how the Buria Kol rebelled at this, saying -that their God was an idle God, and how Justus partially overcame their -scruples against work, and taught them that the black earth was rich in -other produce than pig-nuts only. - -All these things belong to the history of many months, and throughout -those months the white-haired Athon Dazé meditated revenge for the -tribal neglect of Dungara. With savage cunning he feigned friendship -towards Justus, even hinting at his own conversion; but to the -congregation of Dungara he said darkly: “They of the Padri’s flock have -put on clothes and worship a busy God. Therefore Dungara will afflict -them grievously till they throw themselves, howling, into the waters of -the Berbulda.” At night the Red Elephant Tusk boomed and groaned among -the hills, and the faithful waked and said: “The God of Things as They -Are matures revenge against the back-sliders. Be merciful, Dungara, to -us Thy children, and give us all their crops!” - -Late in the cold weather, the Collector and his wife came into the Buria -Kol country. “Go and look at Krenk’s Mission,” said Gallio. “He is doing -good work in his own way, and I think he’d be pleased if you opened the -bamboo chapel that he has managed to run up. At any rate, you’ll see a -civilised Buria Kol.” - -Great was the stir in the Mission. “Now he and the gracious lady will -that we have done good work with their own eyes see, and—yes—we will him -our converts in all their new clothes by their own hands constructed -exhibit. It will a great day be—for the Lord always,” said Justus; and -Lotta said, “Amen.” Justus had, in his quiet way, felt jealous of the -Basel Weaving Mission, his own converts being unhandy; but Athon Dazé -had latterly induced some of them to hackle the glossy silky fibres of a -plant that grew plenteously on the Panth Hills. It yielded a cloth white -and smooth almost as the _tappa_ of the South Seas, and that day the -converts were to wear for the first time clothes made therefrom. Justus -was proud of his work. “They shall in white clothes clothed to meet the -Collector and his well-born lady come down, singing ‘Now thank we all -our God.’ Then he will the Chapel open, and—yes—even Gallio to believe -will begin. Stand so, my children, two by two, and—Lotta, why do they -thus themselves bescratch? It is not seemly to wriggle, Nala, my child. -The Collector will be here and be pained.” - -The Collector, his wife, and Gallio climbed the hill to the -Mission-station. The converts were drawn up in two lines, a shining band -nearly forty strong. “Hah!” said the Collector, whose acquisitive bent -of mind led him to believe that he had fostered the institution from the -first. “Advancing, I see, by leaps and bounds.” - -Never was truer word spoken! The Mission _was_ advancing exactly as he -had said—at first by little hops and shuffles of shamefaced uneasiness, -but soon by the leaps of fly-stung horses and the bounds of maddened -kangaroos. From the hill of Panth the Red Elephant Tusk delivered a dry -and anguished blare. The ranks of the converts wavered, broke and -scattered with yells and shrieks of pain, while Justus and Lotta stood -horror-stricken. - -“It is the Judgment of Dungara!” shouted a voice. “I burn! I burn! To -the river or we die!” - -The mob wheeled and headed for the rocks that overhung the Berbulda, -writhing, stamping, twisting, and shedding its garments as it ran, -pursued by the thunder of the trumpet of Dungara. Justus and Lotta fled -to the Collector almost in tears. - -“I cannot understand! Yesterday,” panted Justus, “they had the Ten -Commandments. What is this? Praise the Lord all good spirits by land and -by sea. Nala! Oh, shame!” - -With a bound and a scream there alighted on the rocks above their heads, -Nala, once the pride of the Mission, a maiden of fourteen summers, good, -docile, and virtuous—now naked as the dawn and spitting like a wild-cat. - -“Was it for this!” she raved, hurling her petticoat at Justus, “was it -for this I left my people and Dungara—for the fires of your Bad Place? -Blind ape, little earthworm, dried fish that you are, you said that I -should never burn! O Dungara, I burn now! I burn now! Have mercy, God of -Things as They Are!” - -She turned and flung herself into the Berbulda, and the trumpet of -Dungara bellowed jubilantly. The last of the converts of the Tubingen -Mission had put a quarter of a mile of rapid river between herself and -her teachers. - -“Yesterday,” gulped Justus, “she taught in the school A, B, C, D.—Oh! It -is the work of Satan!” - -But Gallio was curiously regarding the maiden’s petticoat where it had -fallen at his feet. He felt its texture, drew back his shirt-sleeve -beyond the deep tan of his wrist and pressed a fold of the cloth against -the flesh. A blotch of angry red rose on the white skin. - -“Ah!” said Gallio calmly, “I thought so.” - -“What is it?” said Justus. - -“I should call it the Shirt of Nessus, but—Where did you get the fibre -of this cloth from?” - -“Athon Dazé,” said Justus. “He showed the boys how it should -manufactured be.” - -“The old fox! Do you know that he has given you the Nilgiri -Nettle—scorpion—_Girardenia heterophylla_—to work up? No wonder they -squirmed! Why, it stings even when they make bridge-ropes of it, unless -it’s soaked for six weeks. The cunning brute! It would take about half -an hour to burn through their thick hides, and then——!” - -Gallio burst into laughter, but Lotta was weeping in the arms of the -Collector’s wife, and Justus had covered his face with his hands. - -“_Girardenia heterophylla!_” repeated Gallio. “Krenk, why _didn’t_ you -tell me? I could have saved you this. Woven fire! Anybody but a naked -Kol would have known it, and, if I’m a judge of their ways, you’ll never -get them back.” - -He looked across the river to where the converts were still wallowing -and wailing in the shallows, and the laughter died out of his eyes, for -he saw that the Tubingen Mission to the Buria Kol was dead. - -Never again, though they hung mournfully round the deserted school for -three months, could Lotta or Justus coax back even the most promising of -their flock. No! The end of conversion was the fire of the Bad -Place—fire that ran through the limbs and gnawed into the bones. Who -dare a second time tempt the anger of Dungara? Let the little man and -his wife go elsewhere. The Buria Kol would have none of them. An -unofficial message to Athon Dazé that if a hair of their heads were -touched, Athon Dazé and the priests of Dungara would be hanged by Gallio -at the temple shrine, protected Justus and Lotta from the stumpy -poisoned arrows of the Buria Kol, but neither fish nor fowl, honeycomb, -salt nor young pig were brought to their doors any more. And, alas! man -cannot live by grace alone if meat be wanting. - -“Let us go, mine wife,” said Justus; “there is no good here, and the -Lord has willed that some other man shall the work take—in good time—in -His own good time. We will go away, and I will—yes—some botany bestudy.” - -If any one is anxious to convert the Buria Kol afresh, there lies at -least the core of a mission-house under the hill of Panth. But the -chapel and school have long since fallen back into jungle. - - - - - THE FINANCES OF THE GODS - - Copyright, 1891, by Macmillan & Co. - - -The evening meal was ended in Dhunni Bhagat’s Chubara, and the old -priests were smoking or counting their beads. A little naked child -pattered in, with its mouth wide open, a handful of marigold flowers in -one hand, and a lump of conserved tobacco in the other. It tried to -kneel and make obeisance to Gobind, but it was so fat that it fell -forward on its shaven head, and rolled on its side, kicking and gasping, -while the marigolds tumbled one way and the tobacco the other. Gobind -laughed, set it up again, and blessed the marigold flowers as he -received the tobacco. - -“From my father,” said the child. “He has the fever, and cannot come. -Wilt thou pray for him, father?” - -“Surely, littlest; but the smoke is on the ground, and the night-chill -is in the air, and it is not good to go abroad naked in the autumn.” - -“I have no clothes,” said the child, “and all to-day I have been -carrying cow-dung cakes to the bazar. It was very hot, and I am very -tired.” It shivered a little, for the twilight was cool. - -Gobind lifted an arm under his vast tattered quilt of many colours, and -made an inviting little nest by his side. The child crept in, and Gobind -filled his brass-studded leather water-pipe with the new tobacco. When I -came to the Chubara the shaven head with the tuft atop and the beady -black eyes looked out of the folds of the quilt as a squirrel looks out -from his nest, and Gobind was smiling while the child played with his -beard. - -I would have said something friendly, but remembered in time that if the -child fell ill afterwards I should be credited with the Evil Eye, and -that is a horrible possession. - -“Sit thou still, Thumbling,” I said as it made to get up and run away. -“Where is thy slate, and why has the teacher let such an evil character -loose on the streets when there are no police to protect us weaklings? -In which ward dost thou try to break thy neck with flying kites from the -house-tops?” - -“Nay, Sahib, nay,” said the child, burrowing its face into Gobind’s -beard, and twisting uneasily. “There was a holiday to-day among the -schools, and I do not always fly kites. I play ker-li-kit like the -rest.” - -Cricket is the national game among the school-boys of the Punjab, from -the naked hedge-school children, who use an old kerosene-tin for wicket, -to the B. A.’s of the University, who compete for the Championship belt. - -“Thou play kerlikit! Thou art half the height of the bat!” I said. - -The child nodded resolutely. “Yea, I _do_ play. _Perlay-ball._ _Ow-at!_ -_Ran, ran, ran!_ I know it all.” - -“But thou must not forget with all this to pray to the Gods according to -custom,” said Gobind, who did not altogether approve of cricket and -western innovations. - -“I do not forget,” said the child in a hushed voice. - -“Also to give reverence to thy teacher, and”—Gobind’s voice softened—“to -abstain from pulling holy men by the beard, little badling. Eh, eh, eh?” - -The child’s face was altogether hidden in the great white beard, and it -began to whimper till Gobind soothed it as children are soothed all the -world over, with the promise of a story. - -“I did not think to frighten thee, senseless little one. Look up! Am I -angry? Aré, aré, aré! Shall I weep too, and of our tears make a great -pond and drown us both, and then thy father will never get well, lacking -thee to pull his beard? Peace, peace, and I will tell thee of the Gods. -Thou hast heard many tales?” - -“Very many, father.” - -“Now, this is a new one which thou hast not heard. Long and long ago -when the Gods walked with men as they do to-day, but that we have not -faith to see, Shiv, the greatest of Gods, and Parbati, his wife, were -walking in the garden of a temple.” - -“Which temple? That in the Nandgaon ward?” said the child. - -“Nay, very far away. Maybe at Trimbak or Hurdwar, whither thou must make -pilgrimage when thou art a man. Now, there was sitting in the garden -under the jujube trees a mendicant that had worshipped Shiv for forty -years, and he lived on the offerings of the pious, and meditated -holiness night and day.” - -“Oh, father, was it thou?” said the child, looking up with large eyes. - -“Nay, I have said it was long ago, and, moreover, this mendicant was -married.” - -“Did they put him on a horse with flowers on his head, and forbid him to -go to sleep all night long? Thus they did to me when they made my -wedding,” said the child, who had been married a few months before. - -“And what didst thou do?” said I. - -“I wept, and they called me evil names, and then I smote _her_, and we -wept together.” - -“Thus did not the mendicant,” said Gobind; “for he was a holy man, and -very poor. Parbati perceived him sitting naked by the temple steps where -all went up and down, and she said to Shiv, ‘What shall men think of the -Gods when the Gods thus scorn their worshippers? For forty years yonder -man has prayed to us, and yet there be only a few grains of rice and -some broken cowries before him, after all. Men’s hearts will be hardened -by this thing.’ And Shiv said, ‘It shall be looked to,’ and so he called -to the temple which was the temple of his son, Ganesh of the elephant -head, saying, ‘Son, there is a mendicant without who is very poor. What -wilt thou do for him?’ Then that great elephant-headed One awoke in the -dark and answered, ‘In three days, if it be thy will, he shall have one -lakh of rupees.’ Then Shiv and Parbati went away. - -“But there was a money-lender in the garden hidden among the -marigolds”—the child looked at the ball of crumpled blossoms in its -hands—“ay, among the yellow marigolds, and he heard the Gods talking. He -was a covetous man, and of a black heart, and he desired that lakh of -rupees for himself. So he went to the mendicant and said, ‘O brother, -how much do the pious give thee daily?’ The mendicant said, ‘I cannot -tell. Sometimes a little rice, sometimes a little pulse, and a few -cowries, and, it has been, pickled mangoes and dried fish.’” - -“That is good,” said the child, smacking its lips. - -“Then said the money-lender, ‘Because I have long watched thee, and -learned to love thee and thy patience, I will give thee now five rupees -for all thy earnings of the three days to come. There is only a bond to -sign on the matter.’ But the mendicant said, ‘Thou art mad. In two -months I do not receive the worth of five rupees,’ and he told the thing -to his wife that evening. She, being a woman, said, ‘When did -money-lender ever make a bad bargain? The wolf runs through the corn for -the sake of the fat deer. Our fate is in the hands of the Gods. Pledge -it not even for three days.’ - -“So the mendicant returned to the money-lender, and would not sell. Then -that wicked man sat all day before him, offering more and more for those -three days’ earnings. First, ten, fifty, and a hundred rupees; and then, -for he did not know when the Gods would pour down their gifts, rupees by -the thousand, till he had offered half a lakh of rupees. Upon this sum -the mendicant’s wife shifted her counsel, and the mendicant signed the -bond, and the money was paid in silver; great white bullocks bringing it -by the cart-load. But saving only all that money, the mendicant received -nothing from the Gods at all, and the heart of the money-lender was -uneasy on account of expectation. Therefore at noon of the third day the -money-lender went into the temple to spy upon the councils of the Gods, -and to learn in what manner that gift might arrive. Even as he was -making his prayers, a crack between the stones of the floor gaped, and, -closing, caught him by the heel. Then he heard the Gods walking in the -temple in the darkness of the columns, and Shiv called to his son -Ganesh, saying, ‘Son, what hast thou done in regard to the lakh of -rupees for the mendicant?’ And Ganesh woke, for the money-lender heard -the dry rustle of his trunk uncoiling, and he answered, ‘Father, one -half of the money has been paid, and the debtor for the other half I -hold here fast by the heel.’” - -The child bubbled with laughter. “And the money-lender paid the -mendicant?” it said. - -“Surely, for he whom the Gods hold by the heel must pay to the -uttermost. The money was paid at evening, all silver, in great carts, -and thus Ganesh did his work.” - -“Nathu! Oh[=e], Nathu!” - -A woman was calling in the dusk by the door of the courtyard. - -The child began to wriggle. “That is my mother,” it said. - -“Go then, littlest,” answered Gobind; “but stay a moment.” - -He ripped a generous yard from his patchwork-quilt, put it over the -child’s shoulders, and the child ran away. - - - - - AT HOWLI THANA - -His own shoe, his own head.—_Native Proverb._ - - -As a messenger, if the heart of the Presence be moved to so great -favour. And on six rupees. Yes, Sahib, for I have three little little -children whose stomachs are always empty, and corn is now but forty -pounds to the rupee. I will make so clever a messenger that you shall -all day long be pleased with me, and, at the end of the year, bestow a -turban. I know all the roads of the Station and many other things. Aha, -Sahib! I am clever. Give me service. I was aforetime in the Police. A -bad character? Now without doubt an enemy has told this tale. Never was -I a scamp. I am a man of clean heart, and all my words are true. They -knew this when I was in the Police. They said: “Afzal Khan is a true -speaker in whose words men may trust.” I am a Delhi Pathan, Sahib—all -Delhi Pathans are good men. You have seen Delhi? Yes, it is true that -there be many scamps among the Delhi Pathans. How wise is the Sahib! -Nothing is hid from his eyes, and he will make me his messenger, and I -will take all his notes secretly and without ostentation. Nay, Sahib, -God is my witness that I meant no evil. I have long desired to serve -under a true Sahib—a virtuous Sahib. Many young Sahibs are as devils -unchained. With these Sahibs I would take no service—not though all the -stomachs of my little children were crying for bread. - -Why am I not still in the Police? I will speak true talk. An evil came -to the Thana—to Ram Baksh, the Havildar, and Maula Baksh, and Juggut Ram -and Bhim Singh and Suruj Bul. Ram Baksh is in the jail for a space, and -so also is Maula Baksh. - -It was at the Thana of Howli, on the road that leads to Gokral-Seetarun, -wherein are many dacoits. We were all brave men—Rustums. Wherefore we -were sent to that Thana, which was eight miles from the next Thana. All -day and all night we watched for dacoits. Why does the Sahib laugh? Nay, -I will make a confession. The dacoits were too clever, and, seeing this, -we made no further trouble. It was in the hot weather. What can a man do -in the hot days? Is the Sahib who is so strong—is he, even, vigorous in -that hour? We made an arrangement with the dacoits for the sake of -peace. That was the work of the Havildar, who was fat. Ho! Ho! Sahib, he -is now getting thin in the jail among the carpets. The Havildar said: -“Give us no trouble, and we will give you no trouble. At the end of the -reaping send us a man to lead before the judge, a man of infirm mind -against whom the trumped-up case will break down. Thus we shall save our -honour.” To this talk the dacoits agreed, and we had no trouble at the -Thana, and could eat melons in peace, sitting upon our charpoys all day -long. Sweet as sugar-cane are the melons of Howli. - -Now there was an assistant commissioner—a Stunt Sahib, in that district, -called Yunkum Sahib. Aha! He was hard—hard even as is the Sahib who, -without doubt, will give me the shadow of his protection. Many eyes had -Yunkum Sahib, and moved quickly through his district. Men called him The -Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun, because he would arrive unannounced and make -his kill, and, before sunset, would be giving trouble to the Tehsildars -thirty miles away. No one knew the comings or the goings of Yunkum -Sahib. He had no camp, and when his horse was weary he rode upon a -devil-carriage. I do not know its name, but the Sahib sat in the midst -of three silver wheels that made no creaking, and drave them with his -legs, prancing like a bean-fed horse—thus. A shadow of a hawk upon the -fields was not more without noise than the devil-carriage of Yunkum -Sahib. It was here: it was there: it was gone: and the rapport was made, -and there was trouble. Ask the Tehsildar of Rohestri how the -hen-stealing came to be known, Sahib. - -It fell upon a night that we of the Thana slept according to custom upon -our charpoys, having eaten the evening meal and drunk tobacco. When we -awoke in the morning, behold, of our six rifles not one remained! Also, -the big Police-book that was in the Havildar’s charge was gone. Seeing -these things, we were very much afraid, thinking on our parts that the -dacoits, regardless of honour, had come by night and put us to shame. -Then said Ram Baksh, the Havildar: “Be silent! The business is an evil -business, but it may yet go well. Let us make the case complete. Bring a -kid and my tulwar. See you not _now_, O fools? A kick for a horse, but a -word is enough for a man.” - -We of the Thana, perceiving quickly what was in the mind of the -Havildar, and greatly fearing that the service would be lost, made haste -to take the kid into the inner room, and attended to the words of the -Havildar. “Twenty dacoits came,” said the Havildar, and we, taking his -words, repeated after him according to custom. “There was a great -fight,” said the Havildar, “and of us no man escaped unhurt. The bars of -the window were broken. Suruj Bul, see thou to that; and, O men, put -speed into your work, for a runner must go with the news to The Tiger of -Gokral-Seetarun.” Thereon, Suruj Bul, leaning with his shoulder, brake -in the bars of the window, and I, beating her with a whip, made the -Havildar’s mare skip among the melon-beds till they were much trodden -with hoof-prints. - -These things being made, I returned to the Thana, and the goat was -slain, and certain portions of the walls were blackened with fire, and -each man dipped his clothes a little into the blood of the goat. Know, O -Sahib, that a wound made by man upon his own body can, by those skilled, -be easily discerned from a wound wrought by another man. Therefore, the -Havildar, taking his tulwar, smote one of us lightly on the forearm in -the fat, and another on the leg, and a third on the back of the hand. -Thus dealt he with all of us till the blood came; and Suruj Bul, more -eager than the others, took out much hair. O Sahib, never was so perfect -an arrangement. Yea, even I would have sworn that the Thana had been -treated as we said. There was smoke and breaking and blood and trampled -earth. - -“Ride now, Maula Baksh,” said the Havildar, “to the house of the Stunt -Sahib, and carry the news of the dacoity. Do you also, O Afzal Khan, run -there, and take heed that you are mired with sweat and dust on your -in-coming. The blood will be dry on the clothes. I will stay and send a -straight report to the Dipty Sahib, and we will catch certain that ye -know of, villagers, so that all may be ready against the Dipty Sahib’s -arrival.” - -Thus Maula Baksh rode and I ran hanging on the stirrup, and together we -came in an evil plight before The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun in the -Rohestri tehsil. Our tale was long and correct, Sahib, for we gave even -the names of the dacoits and the issue of the fight, and besought him to -come. But The Tiger made no sign, and only smiled after the manner of -Sahibs when they have a wickedness in their hearts. “Swear ye to the -rapport?” said he, and we said: “Thy servants swear. The blood of the -fight is but newly dry upon us. Judge thou if it be the blood of the -servants of the Presence, or not.” And he said: “I see. Ye have done -well.” But he did not call for his horse or his devil-carriage, and -scour the land as was his custom. He said: “Rest now and eat bread, for -ye be wearied men. I will wait the coming of the Dipty Sahib.” - -Now it is the order that the Havildar of the Thana should send a -straight report of all dacoities to the Dipty Sahib. At noon came he, a -fat man and an old, and overbearing withal, but we of the Thana had no -fear of his anger; dreading more the silences of The Tiger of -Gokral-Seetarun. With him came Ram Baksh, the Havildar, and the others, -guarding ten men of the village of Howli—all men evil affected towards -the Police of the Sirkar. As prisoners they came, the irons upon their -hands, crying for mercy—Imam Baksh, the farmer, who had denied his wife -to the Havildar, and others, ill-conditioned rascals against whom we of -the Thana bore spite. It was well done, and the Havildar was proud. But -the Dipty Sahib was angry with the Stunt for lack of zeal, and said -“Dam-Dam” after the custom of the English people, and extolled the -Havildar. Yunkum Sahib lay still in his long chair. “Have the men -sworn?” said Yunkum Sahib. “Aye, and captured ten evildoers,” said the -Dipty Sahib. “There be more abroad in _your_ charge. Take horse—ride, -and go in the name of the Sirkar!” “Truly there be more evildoers -abroad,” said Yunkum Sahib, “but there is no need of a horse. Come all -men with me.” - -I saw the mark of a string on the temples of Imam Baksh. Does the -Presence know the torture of the Cold Draw? I saw also the face of The -Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun, the evil smile was upon it, and I stood back -ready for what might befall. Well it was, Sahib, that I did this thing. -Yunkum Sahib unlocked the door of his bathroom, and smiled anew. Within -lay the six rifles and the big Police-book of the Thana of Howli! He had -come by night in the devil-carriage that is noiseless as a ghoul, and -moving among us asleep, had taken away both the guns and the book! Twice -had he come to the Thana, taking each time three rifles. The liver of -the Havildar was turned to water, and he fell scrabbling in the dirt -about the boots of Yunkum Sahib, crying—“Have mercy!” - -And I? Sahib, I am a Delhi Pathan, and a young man with little children. -The Havildar’s mare was in the compound. I ran to her and rode: the -black wrath of the Sirkar was behind me, and I knew not whither to go. -Till she dropped and died I rode the red mare; and by the blessing of -God, who is without doubt on the side of all just men, I escaped. But -the Havildar and the rest are now in jail. - -I am a scamp? It is as the Presence pleases. God will make the Presence -a Lord, and give him a rich _Memsahib_ as fair as a Peri to wife, and -many strong sons, if he makes me his orderly. The Mercy of Heaven be -upon the Sahib! Yes, I will only go to the bazar and bring my children -to these so-palace-like quarters, and then—the Presence is my Father and -my Mother, and I, Afzal Khan, am his slave. - -Ohe, _Sirdar-ji_! I also am of the household of the Sahib. - - - - - IN FLOOD TIME - - Tweed said tae Till: - “What gars ye rin sae still?” - Till said tae Tweed: - “Though ye rin wi’ speed - An’ I rin slaw— - Yet where ye droon ae man - I droon twa.” - - -There is no getting over the river to-night, Sahib. They say that a -bullock-cart has been washed down already, and the _ekka_ that went over -a half hour before you came has not yet reached the far side. Is the -Sahib in haste? I will drive the ford-elephant in to show him. Ohe, -mahout there in the shed! Bring out Ram Pershad, and if he will face the -current, good. An elephant never lies, Sahib, and Ram Pershad is -separated from his friend Kala Nag. He, too, wishes to cross to the far -side. Well done! Well done! my King! Go half way across, _mahoutji_, and -see what the river says. Well done, Ram Pershad! Pearl among elephants, -go into the river! Hit him on the head, fool! Was the goad made only to -scratch thy own fat back with, bastard? Strike! Strike! What are the -boulders to thee, Ram Pershad, my Rustum, my mountain of strength? Go -in! Go in! - -No, Sahib! It is useless. You can hear him trumpet. He is telling Kala -Nag that he cannot come over. See! He has swung round and is shaking his -head. He is no fool. He knows what the Barhwi means when it is angry. -Aha! Indeed, thou art no fool, my child! _Salaam_, Ram Pershad, Bahadur! -Take him under the trees, mahout, and see that he gets his spices. Well -done, thou chiefest among tuskers! _Salaam_ to the Sirkar and go to -sleep. - -What is to be done? The Sahib must wait till the river goes down. It -will shrink to-morrow morning, if God pleases, or the day after at the -latest. Now why does the Sahib get so angry? I am his servant. Before -God, _I_ did not create this stream! What can I do! My hut and all that -is therein is at the service of the Sahib, and it is beginning to rain. -Come away, my Lord. How will the river go down for your throwing abuse -at it? In the old days the English people were not thus. The -fire-carriage has made them soft. In the old days, when they drave -behind horses by day or by night, they said naught if a river barred the -way, or a carriage sat down in the mud. It was the will of God—not like -a fire-carriage which goes and goes and goes, and would go though all -the devils in the land hung on to its tail. The fire-carriage hath -spoiled the English people. After all, what is a day lost, or, for that -matter, what are two days? Is the Sahib going to his own wedding, that -he is so mad with haste? Ho! Ho! Ho! I am an old man and see few Sahibs. -Forgive me if I have forgotten the respect that is due to them. The -Sahib is not angry? - -His own wedding! Ho! Ho! Ho! The mind of an old man is like the -_numah_-tree. Fruit, bud, blossom, and the dead leaves of all the years -of the past flourish together. Old and new and that which is gone out of -remembrance, all three are there! Sit on the bedstead, Sahib, and drink -milk. Or—would the Sahib in truth care to drink my tobacco? It is good. -It is the tobacco of Nuklao. My son, who is in service there, sent it to -me. Drink, then, Sahib, if you know how to handle the tube. The Sahib -takes it like a Musalman. Wah! Wah! Where did he learn that? His own -wedding! Ho! Ho! Ho! The Sahib says that there is no wedding in the -matter at all? Now _is_ it likely that the Sahib would speak true talk -to me who am only a black man? Small wonder, then, that he is in haste. -Thirty years have I beaten the gong at this ford, but never have I seen -a Sahib in such haste. Thirty years, Sahib! That is a very long time. -Thirty years ago this ford was on the track of the _bunjaras_, and I -have seen two thousand pack-bullocks cross in one night. Now the rail -has come, and the fire-carriage says _buz-buz-buz_, and a hundred lakhs -of maunds slide across that big bridge. It is very wonderful; but the -ford is lonely now that there are no _bunjaras_ to camp under the trees. - -Nay, do not trouble to look at the sky without. It will rain till the -dawn. Listen! The boulders are talking to-night in the bed of the river. -Hear them! They would be husking your bones, Sahib, had you tried to -cross. See, I will shut the door and no rain can enter. _Wahi!_ _Ahi!_ -_Ugh!_ Thirty years on the banks of the ford! An old man am I, and—where -is the oil for the lamp? - - * * * * * - -Your pardon, but, because of my years, I sleep no sounder than a dog; -and you moved to the door. Look then, Sahib. Look and listen. A full -half _kos_ from bank to bank is the stream now—you can see it under the -stars—and there are ten feet of water therein. It will not shrink -because of the anger in your eyes, and it will not be quiet on account -of your curses. Which is louder, Sahib—your voice or the voice of the -river? Call to it—perhaps it will be ashamed. Lie down and sleep afresh, -Sahib. I know the anger of the Barhwi when there has fallen rain in the -foot-hills. I swam the flood, once, on a night ten-fold worse than this, -and by the Favour of God I was released from death when I had come to -the very gates thereof. - -May I tell the tale? Very good talk. I will fill the pipe anew. - -Thirty years ago it was, when I was a young man and had but newly come -to the ford. I was strong then, and the _bunjaras_ had no doubt when I -said, “This ford is clear.” I have toiled all night up to my -shoulder-blades in running water amid a hundred bullocks mad with fear, -and have brought them across, losing not a hoof. When all was done I -fetched the shivering men, and they gave me for reward the pick of their -cattle—the bell-bullock of the drove. So great was the honour in which I -was held! But to-day, when the rain falls and the river rises, I creep -into my hut and whimper like a dog. My strength is gone from me. I am an -old man, and the fire-carriage has made the ford desolate. They were -wont to call me the Strong One of the Barhwi. - -Behold my face, Sahib—it is the face of a monkey. And my arm—it is the -arm of an old woman. I swear to you, Sahib, that a woman has loved this -face and has rested in the hollow of this arm. Twenty years ago, Sahib. -Believe me, this was true talk—twenty years ago. - -Come to the door and look across. Can you see a thin fire very far away -down the stream? That is the temple-fire in the shrine of Hanuman, of -the village of Pateera. North, under the big star, is the village -itself, but it is hidden by a bend of the river. Is that far to swim, -Sahib? Would you take off your clothes and adventure? Yet I swam to -Pateera—not once, but many times; and there are _muggers_ in the river -too. - -Love knows no caste; else why should I, a Musalman and the son of a -Musalman, have sought a Hindu woman—a widow of the Hindus—the sister of -the headman of Pateera? But it was even so. They of the headman’s -household came on a pilgrimage to Muttra when She was but newly a bride. -Silver tires were upon the wheels of the bullock-cart, and silken -curtains hid the woman. Sahib, I made no haste in their conveyance, for -the wind parted the curtains and I saw Her. When they returned from -pilgrimage the boy that was Her husband had died, and I saw Her again in -the bullock-cart. By God, these Hindus are fools! What was it to me -whether She was Hindu or Jain—scavenger, leper, or whole? I would have -married Her and made Her a home by the ford. The Seventh of the Nine -Bars says that a man may not marry one of the idolaters? Is that truth? -Both Shiahs and Sunnis say that a Musalman may not marry one of the -idolaters? Is the Sahib a priest, then, that he knows so much? I will -tell him something that he does not know. There is neither Shiah nor -Sunni, forbidden nor idolater, in Love; and the Nine Bars are but nine -little fagots that the flame of Love utterly burns away. In truth, I -would have taken Her; but what could I do? The headman would have sent -his men to break my head with staves. I am not—I was not—afraid of any -five men; but against half a village who can prevail? - -Therefore it was my custom, these things having been arranged between us -twain, to go by night to the village of Pateera, and there we met among -the crops; no man knowing aught of the matter. Behold, now! I was wont -to cross here, skirting the jungle to the river bend where the railway -bridge is, and thence across the elbow of land to Pateera. The light of -the shrine was my guide when the nights were dark. That jungle near the -river is very full of snakes—little _karaits_ that sleep on the sand—and -moreover, Her brothers would have slain me had they found me in the -crops. But none knew—none knew save She and I; and the blown sand of the -river-bed covered the track of my feet. In the hot months it was an easy -thing to pass from the ford to Pateera, and in the first Rains, when the -river rose slowly, it was an easy thing also. I set the strength of my -body against the strength of the stream, and nightly I ate in my hut -here and drank at Pateera yonder. She had said that one Hirnam Singh, a -thief, had sought Her, and he was of a village up the river but on the -same bank. All Sikhs are dogs, and they have refused in their folly that -good gift of God—tobacco. I was ready to destroy Hirnam Singh that ever -he had come nigh Her; and the more because he had sworn to Her that She -had a lover, and that he would lie in wait and give the name to the -headman unless She went away with him. What curs are these Sikhs! - -After that news, I swam always with a little sharp knife in my belt, and -evil would it have been for a man had he stayed me. I knew not the face -of Hirnam Singh, but I would have killed any who came between me and -Her. - -Upon a night in the beginning of the Rains, I was minded to go across to -Pateera, albeit the river was angry. Now the nature of the Barhwi is -this, Sahib. In twenty breaths it comes down from the Hills, a wall -three feet high, and I have seen it, between the lighting of a fire and -the cooking of a _chupatty_, grow from a runnel to a sister of the -Jumna. - -When I left this bank there was a shoal a half mile down, and I made -shift to fetch it and draw breath there ere going forward; for I felt -the hands of the river heavy upon my heels. Yet what will a young man -not do for Love’s sake? There was but little light from the stars, and -midway to the shoal a branch of the stinking deodar tree brushed my -mouth as I swam. That was a sign of heavy rain in the foot-hills and -beyond, for the deodar is a strong tree, not easily shaken from the -hillsides. I made haste, the river aiding me, but ere I had touched the -shoal, the pulse of the stream beat, as it were, within me and around, -and, behold, the shoal was gone and I rode high on the crest of a wave -that ran from bank to bank. Has the Sahib ever been cast into much water -that fights and will not let a man use his limbs? To me, my head upon -the water, it seemed as though there were naught but water to the -world’s end, and the river drave me with its driftwood. A man is a very -little thing in the belly of a flood. And _this_ flood, though I knew it -not, was the Great Flood about which men talk still. My liver was -dissolved and I lay like a log upon my back in the fear of Death. There -were living things in the water, crying and howling grievously—beasts of -the forest and cattle, and once the voice of a man asking for help. But -the rain came and lashed the water white, and I heard no more save the -roar of the boulders below and the roar of the rain above. Thus I was -whirled downstream, wrestling for the breath in me. It is very hard to -die when one is young. Can the Sahib, standing here, see the railway -bridge? Look, there are the lights of the mail-train going to Peshawur! -The bridge is now twenty feet above the river, but upon that night the -water was roaring against the lattice-work and against the lattice came -I feet first. But much driftwood was piled there and upon the piers, and -I took no great hurt. Only the river pressed me as a strong man presses -a weaker. Scarcely could I take hold of the lattice-work and crawl to -the upper boom. Sahib, the water was foaming across the rails a foot -deep! Judge therefore what manner of flood it must have been. I could -not hear. I could not see. I could but lie on the boom and pant for -breath. - -After a while the rain ceased and there came out in the sky certain new -washed stars, and by their light I saw that there was no end to the -black water as far as the eye could travel, and the water had risen upon -the rails. There were dead beasts in the driftwood on the piers, and -others caught by the neck in the lattice-work, and others not yet -drowned who strove to find a foothold on the lattice-work—buffaloes and -kine, and wild pig, and deer one or two, and snakes and jackals past all -counting. Their bodies were black upon the left side of the bridge, but -the smaller of them were forced through the lattice-work and whirled -down-stream. - -Thereafter the stars died and the rain came down afresh and the river -rose yet more, and I felt the bridge begin to stir under me as a man -stirs in his sleep ere he wakes. But I was not afraid, Sahib. I swear to -you that I was not afraid, though I had no power in my limbs. I knew -that I should not die till I had seen Her once more. But I was very -cold, and I felt that the bridge must go. - -There was a trembling in the water, such a trembling as goes before the -coming of a great wave, and the bridge lifted its flank to the rush of -that coming so that the right lattice dipped under water and the left -rose clear. On my beard, Sahib, I am speaking God’s truth! As a -Mirzapore stone-boat careens to the wind, so the Barhwi Bridge turned. -Thus and in no other manner. - -I slid from the boom into deep water, and behind me came the wave of the -wrath of the river. I heard its voice and the scream of the middle part -of the bridge as it moved from the piers and sank, and I knew no more -till I rose in the middle of the great flood. I put forth my hand to -swim, and lo! it fell upon the knotted hair of the head of a man. He was -dead, for no one but I, the Strong One of Barhwi, could have lived in -that race. He had been dead full two days, for he rode high, wallowing, -and was an aid to me. I laughed then, knowing for a surety that I should -yet see Her and take no harm; and I twisted my fingers in the hair of -the man, for I was far spent, and together we went down the stream—he -the dead and I the living. Lacking that help I should have sunk: the -cold was in my marrow, and my flesh was ribbed and sodden on my bones. -But _he_ had no fear who had known the uttermost of the power of the -river; and I let him go where he chose. At last we came into the power -of a side-current that set to the right bank, and I strove with my feet -to draw with it. But the dead man swung heavily in the whirl, and I -feared that some branch had struck him and that he would sink. The tops -of the tamarisk brushed my knees, so I knew we were come into -flood-water above the crops, and, after, I let down my legs and felt -bottom—the ridge of a field—and, after, the dead man stayed upon a knoll -under a fig-tree, and I drew my body from the water rejoicing. - -Does the Sahib know whither the backwash of the flood had borne me? To -the knoll which is the eastern boundary-mark of the village of Pateera! -No other place. I drew the dead man up on the grass for the service that -he had done me, and also because I knew not whether I should need him -again. Then I went, crying thrice like a jackal, to the appointed place -which was near the byre of the headman’s house. But my Love was already -there, weeping. She feared that the flood had swept my hut at the Barhwi -Ford. When I came softly through the ankle-deep water, She thought it -was a ghost and would have fled, but I put my arms round Her, and—I was -no ghost in those days, though I am an old man now. Ho! Ho! Dried corn, -in truth. Maize without juice. Ho! Ho![1] - -Footnote 1: - - I grieve to say that the Warden of Barhwi Ford is responsible here for - two very bad puns in the vernacular.—_R. K._ - -I told Her the story of the breaking of the Barhwi Bridge, and She said -that I was greater than mortal man, for none may cross the Barhwi in -full flood, and I had seen what never man had seen before. Hand in hand -we went to the knoll where the dead lay, and I showed Her by what help I -had made the ford. She looked also upon the body under the stars, for -the latter end of the night was clear, and hid Her face in Her hands, -crying: “It is the body of Hirnam Singh!” I said: “The swine is of more -use dead than living, my Beloved,” and She said: “Surely, for he has -saved the dearest life in the world to my love. None the less, he cannot -stay here, for that would bring shame upon me.” The body was not a -gunshot from Her door. - -Then said I, rolling the body with my hands: “God hath judged between -us, Hirnam Singh, that thy blood might not be upon my head. Now, whether -I have done thee a wrong in keeping thee from the burning-ghat, do thou -and the crows settle together.” So I cast him adrift into the -flood-water, and he was drawn out to the open, ever wagging his thick -black beard like a priest under the pulpit-board. And I saw no more of -Hirnam Singh. - -Before the breaking of the day we two parted, and I moved towards such -of the jungle as was not flooded. With the full light I saw what I had -done in the darkness, and the bones of my body were loosened in my -flesh, for there ran two _kos_ of raging water between the village of -Pateera and the trees of the far bank, and, in the middle, the piers of -the Barhwi Bridge showed like broken teeth in the jaw of an old man. Nor -was there any life upon the waters—neither birds nor boats, but only an -army of drowned things—bullocks and horses and men—and the river was -redder than blood from the clay of the foot-hills. Never had I seen such -a flood—never since that year have I seen the like—and, O Sahib, no man -living had done what I had done. There was no return for me that day. -Not for all the lands of the headman would I venture a second time -without the shield of darkness that cloaks danger. I went a _kos_ up the -river to the house of a blacksmith, saying that the flood had swept me -from my hut, and they gave me food. Seven days I stayed with the -blacksmith, till a boat came and I returned to my house. There was no -trace of wall, or roof, or floor—naught but a patch of slimy mud. Judge, -therefore, Sahib, how far the river must have risen. - -It was written that I should not die either in my house, or in the heart -of the Barhwi, or under the wreck of the Barhwi Bridge, for God sent -down Hirnam Singh two days dead, though I know not how the man died, to -be my buoy and support. Hirnam Singh has been in Hell these twenty -years, and the thought of that night must be the flower of his torment. - -Listen, Sahib! The river has changed its voice. It is going to sleep -before the dawn, to which there is yet one hour. With the light it will -come down afresh. How do I know? Have I been here thirty years without -knowing the voice of the river as a father knows the voice of his son? -Every moment it is talking less angrily. I swear that there will be no -danger for one hour or, perhaps, two. I cannot answer for the morning. -Be quick, Sahib! I will call Ram Pershad, and he will not turn back this -time. Is the paulin tightly corded upon all the baggage? Ohe, mahout -with a mud head, the elephant for the Sahib, and tell them on the far -side that there will be no crossing after daylight. - -Money? Nay, Sahib. I am not of that kind. No, not even to give -sweetmeats to the baby-folk. My house, look you, is empty, and I am an -old man. - -_Dutt_, Ram Pershad! _Dutt! Dutt! Dutt!_ Good luck go with you, Sahib. - - - - - MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER - - -Once upon a time there was a coffee-planter in India who wished to clear -some forest land for coffee-planting. When he had cut down all the trees -and burned the under-wood the stumps still remained. Dynamite is -expensive and slow-fire slow. The happy medium for stump-clearing is the -lord of all beasts, who is the elephant. He will either push the stump -out of the ground with his tusks, if he has any, or drag it out with -ropes. The planter, therefore, hired elephants by ones and twos and -threes, and fell to work. The very best of all the elephants belonged to -the very worst of all the drivers or mahouts; and the superior beast’s -name was Moti Guj. He was the absolute property of his mahout, which -would never have been the case under native rule, for Moti Guj was a -creature to be desired by kings; and his name, being translated, meant -the Pearl Elephant. Because the British Government was in the land, -Deesa, the mahout, enjoyed his property undisturbed. He was dissipated. -When he had made much money through the strength of his elephant, he -would get extremely drunk and give Moti Guj a beating with a tent-peg -over the tender nails of the forefeet. Moti Guj never trampled the life -out of Deesa on these occasions, for he knew that after the beating was -over Deesa would embrace his trunk and weep and call him his love and -his life and the liver of his soul, and give him some liquor. Moti Guj -was very fond of liquor—arrack for choice, though he would drink -palm-tree toddy if nothing better offered. Then Deesa would go to sleep -between Moti Guj’s forefeet, and as Deesa generally chose the middle of -the public road, and as Moti Guj mounted guard over him and would not -permit horse, foot, or cart to pass by, traffic was congested till Deesa -saw fit to wake up. - -There was no sleeping in the daytime on the planter’s clearing: the -wages were too high to risk. Deesa sat on Moti Guj’s neck and gave him -orders, while Moti Guj rooted up the stumps—for he owned a magnificent -pair of tusks; or pulled at the end of a rope—for he had a magnificent -pair of shoulders, while Deesa kicked him behind the ears and said he -was the king of elephants. At evening time Moti Guj would wash down his -three hundred pounds’ weight of green food with a quart of arrack, and -Deesa would take a share and sing songs between Moti Guj’s legs till it -was time to go to bed. Once a week Deesa led Moti Guj down to the river, -and Moti Guj lay on his side luxuriously in the shallows, while Deesa -went over him with a coir-swab and a brick. Moti Guj never mistook the -pounding blow of the latter for the smack of the former that warned him -to get up and turn over on the other side. Then Deesa would look at his -feet, and examine his eyes, and turn up the fringes of his mighty ears -in case of sores or budding ophthalmia. After inspection, the two would -“come up with a song from the sea,” Moti Guj all black and shining, -waving a torn tree branch twelve feet long in his trunk, and Deesa -knotting up his own long wet hair. - -It was a peaceful, well-paid life till Deesa felt the return of the -desire to drink deep. He wished for an orgie. The little draughts that -led nowhere were taking the manhood out of him. - -He went to the planter, and “My mother’s dead,” said he, weeping. - -“She died on the last plantation two months ago; and she died once -before that when you were working for me last year,” said the planter, -who knew something of the ways of nativedom. - -“Then it’s my aunt, and she was just the same as a mother to me,” said -Deesa, weeping more than ever. “She has left eighteen small children -entirely without bread, and it is I who must fill their little -stomachs,” said Deesa, beating his head on the floor. - -“Who brought you the news?” said the planter. - -“The post,” said Deesa. - -“There hasn’t been a post here for the past week. Get back to your -lines!” - -“A devastating sickness has fallen on my village, and all my wives are -dying,” yelled Deesa, really in tears this time. - -“Call Chihun, who comes from Deesa’s village,” said the planter. -“Chihun, has this man a wife?” - -“He!” said Chihun. “No. Not a woman of our village would look at him. -They’d sooner marry the elephant.” Chihun snorted. Deesa wept and -bellowed. - -“You will get into a difficulty in a minute,” said the planter. “Go back -to your work!” - -“Now I will speak Heaven’s truth,” gulped Deesa, with an inspiration. “I -haven’t been drunk for two months. I desire to depart in order to get -properly drunk afar off and distant from this heavenly plantation. Thus -I shall cause no trouble.” - -A flickering smile crossed the planter’s face. “Deesa,” said he, “you’ve -spoken the truth, and I’d give you leave on the spot if anything could -be done with Moti Guj while you’re away. You know that he will only obey -your orders.” - -“May the Light of the Heavens live forty thousand years. I shall be -absent but ten little days. After that, upon my faith and honour and -soul, I return. As to the inconsiderable interval, have I the gracious -permission of the Heaven-born to call up Moti Guj?” - -Permission was granted, and, in answer to Deesa’s shrill yell, the -lordly tusker swung out of the shade of a clump of trees where he had -been squirting dust over himself till his master should return. - -“Light of my heart, Protector of the Drunken, Mountain of Might, give -ear,” said Deesa, standing in front of him. - -Moti Guj gave ear, and saluted with his trunk. “I am going away,” said -Deesa. - -Moti Guj’s eyes twinkled. He liked jaunts as well as his master. One -could snatch all manner of nice things from the roadside then. - -“But you, you fubsy old pig, must stay behind and work.” - -The twinkle died out as Moti Guj tried to look delighted. He hated -stump-hauling on the plantation. It hurt his teeth. - -“I shall be gone for ten days, O Delectable One. Hold up your near -forefoot and I’ll impress the fact upon it, warty toad of a dried -mud-puddle.” Deesa took a tent-peg and banged Moti Guj ten times on the -nails. Moti Guj grunted and shuffled from foot to foot. - -“Ten days,” said Deesa, “you must work and haul and root trees as Chihun -here shall order you. Take up Chihun and set him on your neck!” Moti Guj -curled the tip of his trunk, Chihun put his foot there and was swung on -to the neck. Deesa handed Chihun the heavy _ankus_, the iron -elephant-goad. - -Chihun thumped Moti Guj’s bald head as a paviour thumps a kerbstone. - -Moti Guj trumpeted. - -“Be still, hog of the backwoods. Chihun’s your mahout for ten days. And -now bid me good-bye, beast after mine own heart. Oh, my lord, my king! -Jewel of all created elephants, lily of the herd, preserve your honoured -health; be virtuous. Adieu!” - -Moti Guj lapped his trunk round Deesa and swung him into the air twice. -That was his way of bidding the man good-bye. - -“He’ll work now,” said Deesa to the planter. “Have I leave to go?” - -The planter nodded, and Deesa dived into the woods. Moti Guj went back -to haul stumps. - -Chihun was very kind to him, but he felt unhappy and forlorn -notwithstanding. Chihun gave him balls of spices, and tickled him under -the chin, and Chihun’s little baby cooed to him after work was over, and -Chihun’s wife called him a darling; but Moti Guj was a bachelor by -instinct, as Deesa was. He did not understand the domestic emotions. He -wanted the light of his universe back again—the drink and the drunken -slumber, the savage beatings and the savage caresses. - -None the less he worked well, and the planter wondered. Deesa had -vagabonded along the roads till he met a marriage procession of his own -caste and, drinking, dancing, and tippling, had drifted past all -knowledge of the lapse of time. - -The morning of the eleventh day dawned, and there returned no Deesa. -Moti Guj was loosed from his ropes for the daily stint. He swung clear, -looked round, shrugged his shoulders, and began to walk away, as one -having business elsewhere. - -“Hi! ho! Come back, you,” shouted Chihun. “Come back, and put me on your -neck, Misborn Mountain. Return, Splendour of the Hillsides. Adornment of -all India, heave to, or I’ll bang every toe off your fat forefoot!” - -Moti Guj gurgled gently, but did not obey. Chihun ran after him with a -rope and caught him up. Moti Guj put his ears forward, and Chihun knew -what that meant, though he tried to carry it off with high words. - -“None of your nonsense with me,” said he. “To your pickets, Devil-son.” - -“Hrrump!” said Moti Guj, and that was all—that and the forebent ears. - -Moti Guj put his hands in his pockets, chewed a branch for a toothpick, -and strolled about the clearing, making jest of the other elephants, who -had just set to work. - -Chihun reported the state of affairs to the planter, who came out with a -dog-whip and cracked it furiously. Moti Guj paid the white man the -compliment of charging him nearly a quarter of a mile across the -clearing and “Hrrumping” him into the verandah. Then he stood outside -the house chuckling to himself, and shaking all over with the fun of it, -as an elephant will. - -“We’ll thrash him,” said the planter. “He shall have the finest -thrashing that ever elephant received. Give Kala Nag and Nazim twelve -foot of chain apiece, and tell them to lay on twenty blows.” - -Kala Nag—which means Black Snake—and Nazim were two of the biggest -elephants in the lines, and one of their duties was to administer the -graver punishments, since no man can beat an elephant properly. - -They took the whipping-chains and rattled them in their trunks as they -sidled up to Moti Guj, meaning to hustle him between them. Moti Guj had -never, in all his life of thirty-nine years, been whipped, and he did -not intend to open new experiences. So he waited, weaving his head from -right to left, and measuring the precise spot in Kala Nag’s fat side -where a blunt tusk would sink deepest. Kala Nag had no tusks; the chain -was his badge of authority; but he judged it good to swing wide of Moti -Guj at the last minute, and seem to appear as if he had brought out the -chain for amusement. Nazim turned round and went home early. He did not -feel fighting-fit that morning, and so Moti Guj was left standing alone -with his ears cocked. - -That decided the planter to argue no more, and Moti Guj rolled back to -his inspection of the clearing. An elephant who will not work, and is -not tied up, is not quite so manageable as an eighty-one ton gun loose -in a heavy sea-way. He slapped old friends on the back and asked them if -the stumps were coming away easily; he talked nonsense concerning labour -and the inalienable rights of elephants to a long “nooning”; and, -wandering to and fro, thoroughly demoralized the garden till sundown, -when he returned to his pickets for food. - -“If you won’t work you sha’n’t eat,” said Chihun angrily. “You’re a wild -elephant, and no educated animal at all. Go back to your jungle.” - -Chihun’s little brown baby, rolling on the floor of the hut, stretched -its fat arms to the huge shadow in the doorway. Moti Guj knew well that -it was the dearest thing on earth to Chihun. He swung out his trunk with -a fascinating crook at the end, and the brown baby threw itself shouting -upon it. Moti Guj made fast and pulled up till the brown baby was -crowing in the air twelve feet above his father’s head. - -“Great Chief!” said Chihun. “Flour cakes of the best, twelve in number, -two feet across, and soaked in rum shall be yours on the instant, and -two hundred pounds’ weight of fresh-cut young sugar-cane therewith. -Deign only to put down safely that insignificant brat who is my heart -and my life to me.” - -Moti Guj tucked the brown baby comfortably between his forefeet, that -could have knocked into toothpicks all Chihun’s hut, and waited for his -food. He ate it, and the brown baby crawled away. Moti Guj dozed, and -thought of Deesa. One of many mysteries connected with the elephant is -that his huge body needs less sleep than anything else that lives. Four -or five hours in the night suffice—two just before midnight, lying down -on one side; two just after one o’clock, lying down on the other. The -rest of the silent hours are filled with eating and fidgeting and long -grumbling soliloquies. - -At midnight, therefore, Moti Guj strode out of his pickets, for a -thought had come to him that Deesa might be lying drunk somewhere in the -dark forest with none to look after him. So all that night he chased -through the undergrowth, blowing and trumpeting and shaking his ears. He -went down to the river and blared across the shallows where Deesa used -to wash him, but there was no answer. He could not find Deesa, but he -disturbed all the elephants in the lines, and nearly frightened to death -some gypsies in the woods. - -At dawn Deesa returned to the plantation. He had been very drunk indeed, -and he expected to fall into trouble for outstaying his leave. He drew a -long breath when he saw that the bungalow and the plantation were still -uninjured; for he knew something of Moti Guj’s temper; and reported -himself with many lies and salaams. Moti Guj had gone to his pickets for -breakfast. His night exercise had made him hungry. - -“Call up your beast,” said the planter, and Deesa shouted in the -mysterious elephant-language, that some mahouts believe came from China -at the birth of the world, when elephants and not men were masters. Moti -Guj heard and came. Elephants do not gallop. They move from spots at -varying rates of speed. If an elephant wished to catch an express train -he could not gallop, but he could catch the train. Thus Moti Guj was at -the planter’s door almost before Chihun noticed that he had left his -pickets. He fell into Deesa’s arms trumpeting with joy, and the man and -beast wept and slobbered over each other, and handled each other from -head to heel to see that no harm had befallen. - -“Now we will get to work,” said Deesa. “Lift me up, my son and my joy.” - -Moti Guj swung him up, and the two went to the coffee-clearing to look -for irksome stumps. - -The planter was too astonished to be very angry. - - - - - WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY - - 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. - _Bitter Waters._ - - - I - -“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.” - -“Never—never. No.” - -“Not even though the _mem-log_—the white women of thy own blood—love -thee? And remember, I have watched them driving in the evening; they are -very fair.” - -“I have seen fire-balloons by the hundred. I have seen the moon, -and—then I saw no more fire-balloons.” - -Ameera clapped her hands and laughed. “Very good talk,” she said. Then -with an assumption of great stateliness, “It is enough. Thou hast my -permission to depart,—if thou wilt.” - -The man did not move. He was sitting on a low red-lacquered couch in a -room furnished only with a blue and white floor-cloth, some rugs, and a -very complete collection of native cushions. At his feet sat a woman of -sixteen, and she was all but all the world in his eyes. By every rule -and law she should have been otherwise, for he was an Englishman, and -she a Mussulman’s daughter bought two years before from her mother, who, -being left without money, would have sold Ameera 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 overlooking the great red-walled city, and found,—when the -marigolds had sprung up by the well in the courtyard and Ameera had -established herself according to her own ideas of comfort, and her -mother had ceased grumbling at the inadequacy of the cooking-places, the -distance from the daily market, and 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 there was -an unlovely one. In the house in the city his feet only could pass -beyond the outer courtyard to the women’s rooms; and when the big wooden -gate was bolted behind him he was king in his own territory, with Ameera -for queen. And there was going to be added to this kingdom 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 all.” - -“He will go back to his own people in time,” said the mother; “but by -the blessing of God that time is yet afar off.” - -Holden sat silent on the couch thinking of the future, and his thoughts -were not 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. Go thou to thy work and think no troublesome thoughts. When the -days are done I believe ... nay, I am sure. And—and then I shall lay -_him_ in thy arms, and thou wilt love me 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 tethered to the -gate-post, Holden spoke to the white-haired old watchman who guarded the -house, and bade him under certain contingencies despatch the filled-up -telegraph-form that Holden gave him. It was all that could be done, and -with the sensations of a man who has attended his own funeral 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 towards 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 reward. - -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.” - -“Ay, but how is it with thee, life of my life? Old woman, how is it with -her?” - -“She has forgotten her sufferings for joy that the child is born. There -is no harm; but speak softly,” said the mother. - -“It only needed thy presence to make me all well,” said Ameera. “My -king, thou hast been very long away. What gifts hast thou for me? Ah, -ah! It is I that bring gifts this time. Look, my life, look. Was there -ever such a babe? Nay, I am too weak even to clear my arm from him.” - -“Rest then, and do not talk. I am here, _bachari_ [little woman].” - -“Well said, for there is a bond and a heel-rope [_peecharee_] 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!_ 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 carefully, for he is very young, and men are -unskilled in such matters.” - -Very cautiously Holden touched with the tips of his fingers the downy -head. - -“He is of the faith,” said Ameera; “for lying here in the night-watches -I whispered the call to prayer and the profession of faith into his -ears. And it is most marvellous that he was born upon a Friday, as I was -born. Be careful of him, my life; but he can almost grip with his -hands.” - -Holden found one helpless little hand that closed feebly on his finger. -And the clutch ran through his body till it settled about his heart. -Till then his sole thought had been for Ameera. He began to realise that -there was some one else in the world, but he could not feel that it was -a veritable son with a soul. He sat down to think, and Ameera dozed -lightly. - -“Get hence, Sahib,” said her mother under her breath. “It is not good -that she should find you here on waking. She must be still.” - -“I go,” said Holden submissively. “Here be rupees. See that my _baba_ -gets fat and finds all that he needs.” - -The chink of the silver roused Ameera. “I am his mother, and no -hireling,” she said weakly. “Shall I look to him more or less for the -sake of money? Mother, give it back. I have 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. I bought them, -and they cost much money; and since there is no birth-party assembled -their flesh will be all mine. Strike craftily, Sahib! ’Tis an -ill-balanced sabre at the best. Wait till they raise their heads from -cropping the marigolds.” - -“And why?” said Holden, bewildered. - -“For the birth-sacrifice. What else? Otherwise the child being unguarded -from fate may die. The Protector of the Poor knows the fitting words to -be said.” - -Holden had learned them once with little thought that he would ever -speak them in earnest. The touch of the cold sabre-hilt in his palm -turned suddenly to the clinging grip of the child up-stairs—the child -that was his own son—and a dread of loss filled him. - -“Strike!” said Pir Khan. “Never life came into the world but life was -paid for it. See, the goats have raised their heads. Now! With a drawing -cut!” - -Hardly knowing what he did Holden cut twice as he muttered the Mahomedan -prayer that runs: “Almighty! In place of this my son I offer life for -life, blood for blood, head for head, bone for bone, hair for hair, skin -for skin.” The waiting horse snorted and bounded in his pickets at the -smell of the raw blood that spurted over Holden’s riding-boots. - -“Well smitten!” said Pir Khan, wiping the sabre. “A swordsman was lost -in thee. Go with a light heart, 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 towards 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. “May I cut in? It’s -dew. I’ve been riding through high crops. My faith! my boots are in a -mess though! - - “And if it be a girl she shall wear a wedding-ring, - And if it be a boy he shall fight for his king, - With his dirk, and his cap, and his little jacket blue, - He shall walk the quarter-deck—” - -“Yellow 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 don’t see that you have anything to crow about,” said a zealous -junior civilian acidly. “The Government is not exactly pleased with your -work when you relieved Sanders.” - -“Does that mean a wigging from headquarters?” said Holden with an -abstracted smile. “I think I can stand it.” - -The talk beat up round the ever-fresh subject of each man’s work, and -steadied Holden till it was time to go to his dark empty bungalow, where -his butler received him as one who knew all his affairs. Holden remained -awake for the greater part of the night, and his dreams were pleasant -ones. - - - II - -“How old is he now?” - -“_Ya illah!_ What a man’s question! He is all but six weeks old; and on -this night I go up to the housetop with thee, my life, to count the -stars. For that is auspicious. And he was born on a Friday under the -sign of the Sun, and it has been told to me that he will outlive us both -and get wealth. Can we wish for aught better, beloved?” - -“There is nothing better. Let us go up to the roof, and thou shalt count -the stars—but a few only, for the sky is heavy with cloud.” - -“The winter rains are late, and maybe they come out of season. Come, -before all the stars are hid. I have put on my richest jewels.” - -“Thou hast forgotten the best of all.” - -“_Ai!_ Ours. He comes also. He has never yet seen the skies.” - -Ameera climbed the narrow staircase that led to the flat roof. The -child, placid and unwinking, lay in the hollow of her right arm, -gorgeous in silver-fringed muslin with a small skull-cap on his head. -Ameera wore all that she valued most. The diamond nose-stud that takes -the place of the Western patch in drawing attention to the curve of the -nostril, the gold ornament in the centre of the forehead studded with -tallow-drop emeralds and flawed rubies, the heavy circlet of beaten gold -that was fastened round her neck by the softness of the pure metal, and -the chinking curb-patterned silver anklets hanging low over the rosy -ankle-bone. She was dressed in jade-green muslin as befitted a daughter -of the Faith, and from shoulder to elbow and elbow to wrist ran -bracelets of silver tied with floss silk, frail glass bangles slipped -over the wrist in proof of the slenderness of the hand, and certain -heavy gold bracelets that had no part in her country’s ornaments but, -since they were Holden’s gift and fastened with a cunning European snap, -delighted her immensely. - -They sat down by the low white parapet of the roof, overlooking the city -and its lights. - -“They are happy down there,” said Ameera. “But I do not think that they -are as happy as we. Nor do I think the white _mem-log_ are as happy. And -thou?” - -“I know they are not.” - -“How dost thou know?” - -“They give their children over to the nurses.” - -“I have never seen that,” said Ameera with a sigh, “nor do I wish to -see. _Ahi!_”—she dropped her head on Holden’s shoulder—“I have counted -forty stars, and I am tired. Look at the child, love of my life, he is -counting too.” - -The baby was staring with round eyes at the dark of the heavens. Ameera -placed him in Holden’s arms, and he lay there without a cry. - -“What shall we call him among ourselves?” she said. “Look! Art thou ever -tired of looking? He carries thy very eyes. But the mouth——” - -“Is thine, most dear. Who should know better than I?” - -“’Tis such a feeble mouth. Oh, so small! And yet it holds my heart -between its lips. Give him to me now. He has been too long away.” - -“Nay, let him lie; he has not yet begun to cry.” - -“When he cries thou wilt give him back—eh? What a man of mankind thou -art! If he cried he were only the dearer to me. But, my life, what -little name shall we give him?” - -The small body lay close to Holden’s heart. It was utterly helpless and -very soft. He scarcely dared to breathe for fear of crushing it. The -caged green parrot that is regarded as a sort of guardian-spirit in most -native households moved on its perch and fluttered a drowsy wing. - -“There is the answer,” said Holden. “Mian Mittu has spoken. He shall be -the parrot. When he is ready he will talk mightily and run about. Mian -Mittu is the parrot in thy—in the Mussulman tongue, is it not?” - -“Why put me so far off?” said Ameera fretfully. “Let it be like unto -some English name—but not wholly. For he is mine.” - -“Then call him Tota, for that is likest 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 wonderful rhyme of _Aré koko, Jaré koko!_ which -says: - - Oh crow! Go crow! Baby’s sleeping sound, - And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound. - Only a penny a pound, _baba_, only a penny a pound. - -Reassured many times as to the price of those plums, Tota cuddled -himself down to sleep. The two sleek, white well-bullocks in the -courtyard were steadily chewing the cud of their evening meal; old Pir -Khan squatted at the head of Holden’s horse, his police sabre across his -knees, pulling drowsily at a big water-pipe that croaked like a -bull-frog in a pond. Ameera’s mother sat spinning in the lower verandah, -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?” - -“From thy lips who would not hear the lightest word?” - -“I asked for straight talk, and thou hast given me sweet talk. Will my -prayers be heard?” - -“How can I say? God is very good.” - -“Of that I am not sure. Listen now. When I die, or the child dies, what -is thy fate? Living, thou wilt return to the bold white _mem-log_, for -kind calls to kind.” - -“Not always.” - -“With a woman, no; with a man it is otherwise. Thou wilt in this life, -later on, go back to thine own folk. That I could almost endure, for I -should be dead. But in thy very death thou wilt be taken away to a -strange place and a paradise that I do not know.” - -“Will it be paradise?” - -“Surely, for 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, but to-day and -love we know well. Surely we are happy now.” - -“So happy that it were well to make our happiness assured. And thy -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!_ At twenty-five! Who would of his own will take a wife even -of eighteen? She is a woman—aging every hour. Twenty-five! I shall be an -old woman at that age, and——Those _mem-log_ remain young 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 art as foolish as -any babe!” Ameera tucked Tota out of harm’s way in the hollow of her -neck, and was carried downstairs laughing in Holden’s arms, while Tota -opened his eyes and smiled after the manner of the lesser angels. - -He was a silent infant, and, almost before Holden could realise that he -was in the world, developed into a small gold-coloured little god and -unquestioned despot of the house overlooking the city. Those were months -of absolute happiness to Holden and Ameera—happiness withdrawn from the -world, shut in behind the wooden gate that Pir Khan guarded. By day -Holden did his work with an immense pity for such as were not so -fortunate as himself, and a sympathy for small children that amazed and -amused many mothers at the little station-gatherings. At nightfall he -returned to Ameera,—Ameera, full of the wondrous doings of Tota; how he -had been seen to clap his hands together and move his fingers with -intention and purpose—which was manifestly a miracle—how later, he had -of his own 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 house-top! -_Tobah, tobah!_ 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 embroidered bag a handful of almonds. “See! we count seven. -In the name of God!” - -She placed Mian Mittu, very angry and rumpled, on the 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. See! I give the parrot one half and Tota the other.” Mian -Mittu with careful beak took his share from between Ameera’s lips, and -she kissed the other half into the mouth of the child, who ate it slowly -with wondering eyes. “This I will do each day of seven, and without -doubt he who is ours will be a bold speaker and wise. Eh, Tota, what -wilt thou be when thou art a man and I am gray-headed?” Tota tucked his -fat legs into adorable creases. He could crawl, but he was not going to -waste the spring of his youth in idle speech. He wanted Mian Mittu’s -tail to tweak. - -When he was advanced to the dignity of a silver belt—which, with a magic -square engraved on silver and hung round his neck, made up the greater -part of his clothing—he staggered on a perilous journey down the garden -to Pir Khan and proffered him all his jewels in exchange for one little -ride on Holden’s horse, having seen his mother’s mother chaffering with -pedlars in the verandah. 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 dealing with anything larger than himself and when Holden called -him a “spark,” he rose to his feet and answered slowly in defence of his -new-found individuality, “_Hum ’park nahin hai. Hum admi hai_ [I am no -spark, but a man].” - -The protest made Holden choke and devote himself very seriously to a -consideration of Tota’s future. He need hardly have taken the trouble. -The delight of that life was too perfect to endure. Therefore it was -taken away as many things are taken away in India—suddenly and without -warning. The little lord of the house, as Pir Khan called him, grew -sorrowful and complained of pains who had never known the meaning of -pain. Ameera, wild with terror, watched him through the night, and in -the dawning of the second day the life was shaken out of him by -fever—the seasonal autumn fever. It seemed altogether impossible that he -could die, and neither Ameera nor Holden at first believed the evidence -of the little body on the bedstead. Then Ameera beat her head against -the wall and would have flung herself down the well in the garden had -Holden not restrained her by main force. - -One mercy only was granted to Holden. He rode to his office in broad -daylight and found waiting him an unusually heavy mail that demanded -concentrated attention and hard work. He was not, however, alive to this -kindness of the gods. - - - III - -The first shock of a bullet is no more than a brisk pinch. The wrecked -body does not send in its protest to the soul till ten or fifteen -seconds later. Holden realised his pain slowly, exactly as he had -realised his happiness, and with the same imperious necessity for hiding -all trace of it. In the beginning he only felt that there had been a -loss, and that Ameera needed comforting, where she sat with her head on -her knees shivering as Mian Mittu from the house-top called _Tota! Tota! -Tota!_ 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 sympathy; and Ameera at the end of each weary day would lead him -through the hell of self-questioning reproach which is reserved for -those who have lost a child, and believe that with a little—just a -little—more care it might have been saved. - -“Perhaps,” Ameera would say, “I did not take sufficient heed. Did I, or -did I not? The sun on the roof that day when he played so long alone and -I was—_ahi!_ braiding my hair—it may be that the sun then bred the -fever. If I had warned him from the sun he might have lived. But, oh my -life, say that I am 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? _Ahi! Ahi!_ 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 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 something that was not there. It was -after this night that life became a little easier for Holden. The -ever-present pain of loss drove him into his work, and the work repaid -him by filling up his mind for nine or ten hours a day. Ameera sat alone -in the house and brooded, but grew happier when she understood that -Holden was more at ease, according to the custom of women. They touched -happiness again, but this time with caution. - -“It was because we loved Tota that he died. The jealousy of God was upon -us,” said Ameera. “I have hung up a large black jar before our window to -turn the evil eye from us, and we must make no protestations of delight, -but go softly underneath the stars, lest God find us out. Is that not -good talk, worthless one?” - -She had shifted the accent on the word that means “beloved,” in proof of -the sincerity of her purpose. But the kiss that followed the new -christening was a thing that any deity might have envied. They went -about henceforward saying, “It is naught, it is naught;” and hoping that -all the Powers heard. - -The Powers were busy on other things. They had allowed thirty million -people four years of plenty wherein men fed well and the crops were -certain, and the birth-rate rose 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 Member 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 smiled more than ever. - -It was the Deputy Commissioner of Kot-Kumharsen, staying at the club for -a day, who lightly told a tale that made Holden’s blood run cold as he -overheard the end. - -“He won’t bother any one any more. Never saw a man so astonished in my -life. By Jove, I thought he meant to ask a question in the House about -it. Fellow-passenger in his ship—dined next him—bowled over by cholera -and died in eighteen hours. You needn’t laugh, you fellows. The Member -for Lower Tooting is awfully angry about it; but he’s more scared. I -think he’s going to take his enlightened self out of India.” - -“I’d give a good deal if he were knocked over. It might keep a few -vestrymen of his kidney to their own parish. But what’s this about -cholera? It’s full early for anything of that kind,” said the warden of -an unprofitable salt-lick. - -“Don’t know,” said the Deputy Commissioner reflectively. “We’ve got -locusts with us. There’s sporadic cholera all along the north—at least -we’re calling it sporadic for decency’s sake. The spring crops are short -in five districts, 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 accounts with a big red pencil this summer.” - -“Just when I wanted to take leave, too!” said a voice across the room. - -“There won’t be much leave this year, but there ought to be a great deal -of promotion. I’ve come in to persuade the Government to put my pet -canal on the list of famine-relief works. It’s an ill wind that blows no -good. I shall get that canal finished at last.” - -“Is it the old programme then,” said Holden; “famine, fever, and -cholera?” - -“Oh, no. Only local scarcity and an unusual prevalence of seasonal -sickness. You’ll find it all in the reports if you live till next year. -You’re a lucky chap. _You_ haven’t got a wife to 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 Government, which had decreed that no man should -die of want, sent wheat. Then came the cholera from all four quarters of -the compass. It struck a pilgrim-gathering of half a million at a sacred -shrine. Many died at the feet of their god; the others broke and ran -over the face of the land, carrying the pestilence with them. It smote a -walled city and killed two hundred a day. The people crowded the trains, -hanging on to the footboards and squatting on the roofs of the -carriages, and the cholera followed them, for at each station they -dragged out the dead and the dying. They died by the roadside, and the -horses of the Englishmen shied at the corpses in the grass. The rains -did not come, and the earth turned to iron lest man should escape 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. - -“Why should I go?” said she one evening on the roof. - -“There is sickness, and people are dying, and all the white _mem-log_ -have gone.” - -“All of them?” - -“All—unless perhaps there remain some old scald-head who vexes her -husband’s heart by running risk of death.” - -“Nay; who stays is my sister, and thou must not abuse her, for I will be -a scald-head too. I am glad all the bold _mem-log_ are gone.” - -“Do I speak to a woman or a babe? Go to the hills and I will see to it -that thou goest like a queen’s daughter. Think, child. In a -red-lacquered bullock-cart, veiled and 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 bullocks and played with the housings. -For his sake, perhaps,—thou hast made me very English—I might have gone. -Now, I will not. Let the _mem-log_ run.” - -“Their husbands are sending them, beloved.” - -“Very good talk. Since when hast thou been my husband to tell me what to -do? I have but borne thee a son. Thou art only all the desire of my soul -to me. How shall I depart when I know that if evil 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 together and laughed, calling -each other openly by every pet name that could move the wrath of the -gods. The city below them was locked up in its own torments. Sulphur -fires blazed in the streets; the conches in the 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 -little breathing-space ere the torrent of cheap life should flood it -anew. The children of immature fathers and undeveloped mothers made no -resistance. They were cowed and sat still, waiting till the sword should -be sheathed in November if it were so willed. There were gaps among the -English, but the gaps were filled. The work of superintending -famine-relief, cholera-sheds, medicine-distribution, 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 would be if he could not see her for three months, or if -she died out of his sight. He was absolutely certain that her death -would be demanded—so certain that when he looked up from the telegram -and saw Pir Khan breathless in the doorway, he laughed aloud. “And?” -said he,—— - -“When there is a cry in the night and the spirit flutters into the -throat, who has a charm that will restore? Come swiftly, Heaven-born! It -is the black cholera.” - -Holden galloped to his home. The sky was heavy with clouds, for the -long-deferred rains were near and the heat was stifling. Ameera’s mother -met him in the courtyard, whimpering, “She is dying. She is nursing -herself into death. She is all but dead. What shall I do, Sahib?” - -Ameera was lying in the room in which Tota had been born. She made no -sign when Holden entered, because the human soul is a very lonely thing, -and, when it is getting ready to go away, hides itself in a misty -borderland where the living may not follow. The black cholera does its -work quietly and without explanation. Ameera was being thrust out of -life as though the Angel of Death had himself put his hand upon her. The -quick breathing seemed to show that she was either afraid or in pain, -but neither eyes nor mouth gave any answer to Holden’s kisses. There was -nothing to be said or done. Holden could only wait and suffer. The first -drops of the rain began to fall on the roof, and he could hear shouts of -joy in the parched city. - -The soul came back a little and the lips moved. Holden bent down to -listen. “Keep nothing of mine,” said Ameera. “Take no hair from my head. -_She_ would make thee burn it later on. That flame I should feel. Lower! -Stoop lower! Remember only that I was thine and bore thee a son. 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 resume it? -It is so little, so very little, Sahib, and I am an old woman. I would -like to lie softly.” - -“For the mercy of God be silent a while. Go out and mourn where I cannot -hear.” - -“Sahib, she will be buried in four hours.” - -“I know the custom. I shall go ere she is taken away. That matter is in -thy hands. Look to it, that the bed on which—on which she lies——” - -“Aha! That beautiful red-lacquered bed. I have long desired——” - -“That the bed is left here untouched for my disposal. All else in the -house is thine. Hire a cart, take everything, go hence, and before -sunrise let there be nothing in this house but that which I have ordered -thee to respect.” - -“I am an old woman. I would stay at least for the days of mourning, and -the rains have just broken. Whither shall I go?” - -“What is that to me? My order is that there is a going. The house gear -is worth a thousand rupees, and my orderly shall bring thee a hundred -rupees to-night.” - -“That is very little. Think of the cart-hire.” - -“It shall be nothing unless thou goest, and with speed. O woman, get -hence and leave me with my dead!” - -The mother shuffled down the staircase, and in her anxiety to take stock -of the house-fittings forgot to mourn. Holden stayed by Ameera’s side -and the rain roared on the roof. He could not think connectedly by -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 found 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 protection of the Presence whose -sorrow is my sorrow. For the last time I hold his stirrup.” - -He touched Holden’s foot with both hands and the horse sprang out into -the road, where the creaking bamboos were whipping the sky, and all the -frogs were 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, Sahib, eat. Meat is good against sorrow. I also -have known. Moreover, the shadows come and go, Sahib; the shadows come -and go. These be curried eggs.” - -Holden could neither eat nor sleep. The heavens sent down eight inches -of rain in that night and washed the earth clean. The waters tore down -walls, broke roads, and scoured open the shallow graves on the Mahomedan -burying-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. Immediate.” Then he thought that before he departed he would -look at the house wherein he had been master and lord. There was a break -in the weather, and the rank earth steamed with vapour. - -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 verandah, as if the house had been -untenanted for thirty years instead of three days. Ameera’s mother had -removed everything except some mildewed matting. The _tick-tick_ of the -little 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?” - -“What are you going to do with it?” - -“Perhaps I shall let it again.” - -“Then I will keep it on while I am away.” - -Durga Dass was silent for some time. “You shall not take it on, Sahib,” -he said. “When I was a young man I also——, but to-day I am a member of -the Municipality. Ho! Ho! No. When the birds have gone what need to keep -the nest? I will have it pulled down—the timber will sell for something -always. It shall be pulled down, and the Municipality shall make a road -across, as they desire, from the burning-ghaut to the city wall, so that -no man may say where this house stood.” - - - - - NABOTH - - Copyright, 1891, by Macmillan & Co. - - -This was how it happened; and the truth is also an allegory of Empire. - -I met him at the corner of my garden, an empty basket on his head, and -an unclean cloth round his loins. That was all the property to which -Naboth had the shadow of a claim when I first saw him. He opened our -acquaintance by begging. He was very thin and showed nearly as many ribs -as his basket; and he told me a long story about fever and a lawsuit, -and an iron cauldron that had been seized by the court in execution of a -decree. I put my hand into my pocket to help Naboth, as kings of the -East have helped alien adventurers to the loss of their kingdoms. A -rupee had hidden in my waistcoat lining. I never knew it was there, and -gave the trove to Naboth as a direct gift from Heaven. He replied that I -was the only legitimate Protector of the Poor he had ever known. - -Next morning he reappeared, a little fatter in the round, and curled -himself into knots in the front verandah. He said I was his father and -his mother, and the direct descendant of all the gods in his Pantheon, -besides controlling the destinies of the universe. He himself was but a -sweetmeat-seller, and much less important than the dirt under my feet. I -had heard this sort of thing before, so I asked him what he wanted. My -rupee, quoth Naboth, had raised him to the everlasting heavens, and he -wished to prefer a request. He wished to establish a sweetmeat-pitch -near the house of his benefactor, to gaze on my revered countenance as I -went to and fro illumining the world. I was graciously pleased to give -permission, and he went away with his head between his knees. - -Now at the far end of my garden the ground slopes toward the public -road, and the slope is crowned with a thick shrubbery. There is a short -carriage-road from the house to the Mall, which passes close to the -shrubbery. Next afternoon I saw that Naboth had seated himself at the -bottom of the slope, down in the dust of the public road, and in the -full glare of the sun, with a starved basket of greasy sweets in front -of him. He had gone into trade once more on the strength of my -munificent donation, and the ground was as Paradise by my honoured -favour. Remember, there was only Naboth, his basket, the sunshine, and -the gray dust when the sap of my Empire first began. - -Next day he had moved himself up the slope nearer to my shrubbery, and -waved a palm-leaf fan to keep the flies off the sweets. So I judged that -he must have done a fair trade. - -Four days later I noticed that he had backed himself and his basket -under the shadow of the shrubbery, and had tied an Isabella-coloured rag -between two branches in order to make more shade. There were plenty of -sweets in his basket. I thought that trade must certainly be looking up. - -Seven weeks later the Government took up a plot of ground for a Chief -Court close to the end of my compound, and employed nearly four hundred -coolies on the foundations. Naboth bought a blue and white striped -blanket, a brass lamp-stand, and a small boy to cope with the rush of -trade, which was tremendous. - -Five days later he bought a huge, fat, red-backed account-book and a -glass inkstand. Thus I saw that the coolies had been getting into his -debt, and that commerce was increasing on legitimate lines of credit. -Also I saw that the one basket had grown into three, and that Naboth had -backed and hacked into the shrubbery, and made himself a nice little -clearing for the proper display of the basket, the blanket, the books, -and the boy. - -One week and five days later he had built a mud fireplace in the -clearing, and the fat account-book was overflowing. He said that God -created few Englishmen of my kind, and that I was the incarnation of all -human virtues. He offered me some of his sweets as tribute, and by -accepting these I acknowledged him as my feudatory under the skirt of my -protection. - -Three weeks later I noticed that the boy was in the habit of cooking -Naboth’s mid-day meal for him, and Naboth was beginning to grow a -stomach. He had hacked away more of my shrubbery, and owned another and -a fatter account-book. - -Eleven weeks later Naboth had eaten his way nearly through that -shrubbery, and there was a reed hut with a bedstead outside it, standing -in the little glade that he had eroded. Two dogs and a baby slept on the -bedstead. So I fancied Naboth had taken a wife. He said that he had, by -my favour, done this thing, and that I was several times finer than -Krishna. - -Six weeks and two days later a mud wall had grown up at the back of the -hut. There were fowls in front and it smelt a little. The Municipal -Secretary said that a cess-pool was forming in the public road from the -drainage of my compound, and that I must take steps to clear it away. I -spoke to Naboth. He said I was Lord Paramount of his earthly concerns, -and the garden was all my own property, and sent me some more sweets in -a second-hand duster. - -Two months later a coolie bricklayer was killed in a scuffle that took -place opposite Naboth’s Vineyard. The Inspector of Police said it was a -serious case; went into my servants’ quarters; insulted my butler’s -wife, and wanted to arrest my butler. The curious thing about the murder -was that most of the coolies were drunk at the time. Naboth pointed out -that my name was a strong shield between him and his enemies, and he -expected that another baby would be born to him shortly. - -Four months later the hut was _all_ mud walls, very solidly built, and -Naboth had used most of my shrubbery for his five goats. A silver watch -and an aluminium chain shone upon his very round stomach. My servants -were alarmingly drunk several times, and used to waste the day with -Naboth when they got the chance. I spoke to Naboth. He said, by my -favour and the glory of my countenance, he would make all his women-folk -ladies, and that if any one hinted that he was running an illicit still -under the shadow of the tamarisks, why, I, his Suzerain, was to -prosecute. - -A week later he hired a man to make several dozen square yards of -trellis-work to put round the back of his hut, that his women-folk might -be screened from the public gaze. The man went away in the evening, and -left his day’s work to pave the short cut from the public road to my -house. I was driving home in the dusk, and turned the corner by Naboth’s -Vineyard quickly. The next thing I knew was that the horses of the -phaeton were stamping and plunging in the strongest sort of bamboo -net-work. Both beasts came down. One rose with nothing more than chipped -knees. The other was so badly kicked that I was forced to shoot him. - -Naboth is gone now, and his hut is ploughed into its native mud with -sweetmeats instead of salt for a sign that the place is accursed. I have -built a summer-house to overlook the end of the garden, and it is as a -fort on my frontier whence I guard my Empire. - -I know exactly how Ahab felt. He has been shamefully misrepresented in -the Scriptures. - - - - - THE SENDING OF DANA DA - - When the Devil rides on your chest remember the _chamar_. - —_Native Proverb._ - - -Once upon a time, some people in India made a new Heaven and a new Earth -out of broken tea-cups, a missing brooch or two, and a hair-brush. These -were hidden under bushes, or stuffed into holes in the hillside, and an -entire Civil Service of subordinate Gods used to find or mend them -again; and every one said: “There are more things in Heaven and Earth -than are dreamt of in our philosophy.” Several other things happened -also, but the Religion never seemed to get much beyond its first -manifestations; though it added an air-line postal service, and -orchestral effects in order to keep abreast of the times and choke off -competition. - -This Religion was too elastic for ordinary use. It stretched itself and -embraced pieces of everything that the medicine-men of all ages have -manufactured. It approved of and stole from Freemasonry; looted the -Latter-day Rosicrucians of half their pet words; took any fragments of -Egyptian philosophy that it found in the “Encyclopædia Britannica”; -annexed as many of the Vedas as had been translated into French or -English, and talked of all the rest; built in the German versions of -what is left of the Zend Avesta; encouraged White, Gray and Black Magic, -including spiritualism, palmistry, fortune-telling by cards, hot -chestnuts, double-kernelled nuts and tallow-droppings; would have -adopted Voodoo and Oboe had it known anything about them, and showed -itself, in every way, one of the most accommodating arrangements that -had ever been invented since the birth of the Sea. - -When it was in thorough working order, with all the machinery, down to -the subscriptions, complete, Dana Da came from nowhere, with nothing in -his hands, and wrote a chapter in its history which has hitherto been -unpublished. He said that his first name was Dana, and his second was -Da. Now, setting aside Dana of the New York “Sun,” Dana is a Bhil name, -and Da fits no native of India unless you accept the Bengali Dé as the -original spelling. Da is Lap or Finnish; and Dana Da was neither Finn, -Chin, Bhil, Bengali, Lap, Nair, Gond, Romaney, Magh, Bokhariot, Kurd, -Armenian, Levantine, Jew, Persian, Punjabi, Madrasi, Parsee, nor -anything else known to ethnologists. He was simply Dana Da, and declined -to give further information. For the sake of brevity and as roughly -indicating his origin, he was called “The Native.” He might have been -the original Old Man of the Mountains, who is said to be the only -authorized head of the Tea-cup Creed. Some people said that he was; but -Dana Da used to smile and deny any connection with the cult; explaining -that he was an “Independent Experimenter.” - -As I have said, he came from nowhere, with his hands behind his back, -and studied the Creed for three weeks; sitting at the feet of those best -competent to explain its mysteries. Then he laughed aloud and went away, -but the laugh might have been either of devotion or derision. - -When he returned he was without money, but his pride was unabated. He -declared that he knew more about the Things in Heaven and Earth than -those who taught him, and for this contumacy was abandoned altogether. - -His next appearance in public life was at a big cantonment in Upper -India, and he was then telling fortunes with the help of three leaden -dice, a very dirty old cloth, and a little tin box of opium pills. He -told better fortunes when he was allowed half a bottle of whiskey; but -the things which he invented on the opium were quite worth the money. He -was in reduced circumstances. Among other people’s he told the fortune -of an Englishman who had once been interested in the Simla Creed, but -who, later on, had married and forgotten all his old knowledge in the -study of babies and things. The Englishman allowed Dana Da to tell a -fortune for charity’s sake, and gave him five rupees, a dinner, and some -old clothes. When he had eaten, Dana Da professed gratitude, and asked -if there were anything he could do for his host—in the esoteric line. - -“Is there any one that you love?” said Dana Da. The Englishman loved his -wife, but had no desire to drag her name into the conversation. He -therefore shook his head. - -“Is there any one that you hate?” said Dana Da. The Englishman said that -there were several men whom he hated deeply. - -“Very good,” said Dana Da, upon whom the whiskey and the opium were -beginning to tell. “Only give me their names, and I will despatch a -Sending to them and kill them.” - -Now a Sending is a horrible arrangement, first invented, they say, in -Iceland. It is a Thing sent by a wizard, and may take any form, but, -most generally, wanders about the land in the shape of a little purple -cloud till it finds the Sendee, and him it kills by changing into the -form of a horse, or a cat, or a man without a face. It is not strictly a -native patent, though _chamars_ of the skin and hide castes can, if -irritated, despatch a Sending which sits on the breast of their enemy by -night and nearly kills him. Very few natives care to irritate _chamars_ -for this reason. - -“Let me despatch a Sending,” said Dana Da; “I am nearly dead now with -want, and drink, and opium; but I should like to kill a man before I -die. I can send a Sending anywhere you choose, and in any form except in -the shape of a man.” - -The Englishman had no friends that he wished to kill, but partly to -soothe Dana Da, whose eyes were rolling, and partly to see what would be -done, he asked whether a modified Sending could not be arranged for—such -a Sending as should make a man’s life a burden to him, and yet do him no -harm. If this were possible, he notified his willingness to give Dana Da -ten rupees for the job. - -“I am not what I was once,” said Dana Da, “and I must take the money -because I am poor. To what Englishman shall I send it?” - -“Send a Sending to Lone Sahib,” said the Englishman, naming a man who -had been most bitter in rebuking him for his apostasy from the Tea-cup -Creed. Dana Da laughed and nodded. - -“I could have chosen no better man myself,” said he. “I will see that he -finds the Sending about his path and about his bed.” - -He lay down on the hearth-rug, turned up the whites of his eyes, -shivered all over and began to snort. This was Magic, or Opium, or the -Sending, or all three. When he opened his eyes he vowed that the Sending -had started upon the war-path, and was at that moment flying up to the -town where Lone Sahib lives. - -“Give me my ten rupees,” said Dana Da wearily, “and write a letter to -Lone Sahib, telling him, and all who believe with him, that you and a -friend are using a power greater than theirs. They will see that you are -speaking the truth.” - -He departed unsteadily, with the promise of some more rupees if anything -came of the Sending. - -The Englishman sent a letter to Lone Sahib, couched in what he -remembered of the terminology of the Creed. He wrote: “I also, in the -days of what you held to be my backsliding, have obtained Enlightenment, -and with Enlightenment has come Power.” Then he grew so deeply -mysterious that the recipient of the letter could make neither head nor -tail of it, and was proportionately impressed; for he fancied that his -friend had become a “fifth-rounder.” When a man is a “fifth-rounder” he -can do more than Slade and Houdin combined. - -Lone Sahib read the letter in five different fashions, and was beginning -a sixth interpretation when his bearer dashed in with the news that -there was a cat on the bed. Now if there was one thing that Lone Sahib -hated more than another, it was a cat. He scolded the bearer for not -turning it out of the house. The bearer said that he was afraid. All the -doors of the bedroom had been shut throughout the morning, and no _real_ -cat could possibly have entered the room. He would prefer not to meddle -with the creature. - -Lone Sahib entered the room gingerly, and there, on the pillow of his -bed, sprawled and whimpered a wee white kitten; not a jumpsome, frisky -little beast, but a slug-like crawler with its eyes barely opened and -its paws lacking strength or direction,—a kitten that ought to have been -in a basket with its mamma. Lone Sahib caught it by the scruff of its -neck, handed it over to the sweeper to be drowned, and fined the bearer -four annas. - -That evening, as he was reading in his room, he fancied that he saw -something moving about on the hearth-rug, outside the circle of light -from his reading-lamp. When the thing began to myowl, he realised that -it was a kitten—a wee white kitten, nearly blind and very miserable. He -was seriously angry, and spoke bitterly to his bearer, who said that -there was no kitten in the room when he brought in the lamp, and _real_ -kittens of tender age generally had mother-cats in attendance. - -“If the Presence will go out into the verandah and listen,” said the -bearer, “he will hear no cats. How, therefore, can the kitten on the bed -and the kitten on the hearth-rug be real kittens?” - -Lone Sahib went out to listen, and the bearer followed him, but there -was no sound of any one mewing for her children. He returned to his -room, having hurled the kitten down the hillside, and wrote out the -incidents of the day for the benefit of his co-religionists. Those -people were so absolutely free from superstition that they ascribed -anything a little out of the common to Agencies. As it was their -business to know all about the Agencies, they were on terms of almost -indecent familiarity with Manifestations of every kind. Their letters -dropped from the ceiling—un-stamped—and Spirits used to squatter up and -down their staircases all night; but they had never come into contact -with kittens. Lone Sahib wrote out the facts, noting the hour and the -minute, as every Psychical Observer is bound to do, and appending the -Englishman’s letter because it was the most mysterious document and -might have had a bearing upon anything in this world or the next. An -outsider would have translated all the tangle thus: “Look out! You -laughed at me once, and now I am going to make you sit up.” - -Lone Sahib’s co-religionists found that meaning in it; but their -translation was refined and full of four-syllable words. They held a -sederunt, and were filled with tremulous joy, for, in spite of their -familiarity with all the other worlds and cycles, they had a very human -awe of things sent from Ghost-land. They met in Lone Sahib’s room in -shrouded and sepulchral gloom, and their conclave was broken up by a -clinking among the photo-frames on the mantelpiece. A wee white kitten, -nearly blind, was looping and writhing itself between the clock and the -candlesticks. That stopped all investigations or doubtings. Here was the -Manifestation in the flesh. It was, so far as could be seen, devoid of -purpose, but it was a Manifestation of undoubted authenticity. - -They drafted a Round Robin to the Englishman, the backslider of old -days, adjuring him in the interests of the Creed to explain whether -there was any connection between the embodiment of some Egyptian God or -other (I have forgotten the name) and his communication. They called the -kitten Ra, or Toth, or Tum, or something; and when Lone Sahib confessed -that the first one had, at his most misguided instance, been drowned by -the sweeper, they said consolingly that in his next life he would be a -“bounder,” and not even a “rounder” of the lowest grade. These words may -not be quite correct, but they accurately express the sense of the -house. - -When the Englishman received the Round Robin—it came by post—he was -startled and bewildered. He sent into the bazar for Dana Da, who read -the letter and laughed. “That is my Sending,” said he. “I told you I -would work well. Now give me another ten rupees.” - -“But what in the world is this gibberish about Egyptian Gods?” asked the -Englishman. - -“Cats,” said Dana Da with a hiccough, for he had discovered the -Englishman’s whiskey-bottle. “Cats, and cats, and cats! Never was such a -Sending. A hundred of cats. Now give me ten more rupees and write as I -dictate.” - -Dana Da’s letter was a curiosity. It bore the Englishman’s signature, -and hinted at cats—at a Sending of Cats. The mere words on paper were -creepy and uncanny to behold. - -“What have you done, though?” said the Englishman. “I am as much in the -dark as ever. Do you mean to say that you can actually send this absurd -Sending you talk about?” - -“Judge for yourself,” said Dana Da. “What does that letter mean? In a -little time they will all be at my feet and yours, and I—O Glory!—will -be drugged or drunk all day long.” - -Dana Da knew his people. - -When a man who hates cats wakes up in the morning and finds a little -squirming kitten on his breast, or puts his hand into his ulster-pocket -and finds a little half-dead kitten where his gloves should be, or opens -his trunk and finds a vile kitten among his dress-shirts, or goes for a -long ride with his mackintosh strapped on his saddle-bow and shakes a -little squawling kitten from its folds when he opens it, or goes out to -dinner and finds a little blind kitten under his chair, or stays at home -and finds a writhing kitten under the quilt, or wriggling among his -boots, or hanging, head downwards, in his tobacco-jar, or being mangled -by his terrier in the verandah,—when such a man finds one kitten, -neither more nor less, once a day in a place where no kitten rightly -could or should be, he is naturally upset. When he dare not murder his -daily trove because he believes it to be a Manifestation, an Emissary, -an Embodiment, and half a dozen other things all out of the regular -course of nature, he is more than upset. He is actually distressed. Some -of Lone Sahib’s co-religionists thought that he was a highly favoured -individual; but many said that if he had treated the first kitten with -proper respect—as suited a Toth-Ra-Tum-Sennacherib Embodiment—all this -trouble would have been averted. They compared him to the Ancient -Mariner, but none the less they were proud of him and proud of the -Englishman who had sent the Manifestation. They did not call it a -Sending because Icelandic magic was not in their programme. - -After sixteen kittens, that is to say after one fortnight, for there -were three kittens on the first day to impress the fact of the Sending, -the whole camp was uplifted by a letter—it came flying through a -window—from the Old Man of the Mountains—the Head of all the -Creed—explaining the Manifestation in the most beautiful language and -soaking up all the credit for it himself. The Englishman, said the -letter, was not there at all. He was a backslider without Power or -Asceticism, who couldn’t even raise a table by force of volition, much -less project an army of kittens through space. The entire arrangement, -said the letter, was strictly orthodox, worked and sanctioned by the -highest authorities within the pale of the Creed. There was great joy at -this, for some of the weaker brethren seeing, that an outsider who had -been working on independent lines could create kittens, whereas their -own rulers had never gone beyond crockery—and broken at best—were -showing a desire to break line on their own trail. In fact, there was -the promise of a schism. A second Round Robin was drafted to the -Englishman, beginning: “O Scoffer,” and ending with a selection of -curses from the Rites of Mizraim and Memphis and the Commination of -Jugana, who was a “fifth rounder” upon whose name an upstart -“third-rounder” once traded. A papal excommunication is a _billet-doux_ -compared to the Commination of Jugana. The Englishman had been proved, -under the hand and seal of the Old Man of the Mountains, to have -appropriated Virtue and pretended to have Power which, in reality, -belonged only to the Supreme Head. Naturally the Round Robin did not -spare him. - -He handed the letter to Dana Da to translate into decent English. The -effect on Dana Da was curious. At first he was furiously angry, and then -he laughed for five minutes. - -“I had thought,” he said, “that they would have come to me. In another -week I would have shown that I sent the Sending, and they would have -dis-crowned the Old Man of the Mountains who has sent this Sending of -mine. Do you do nothing. The time has come for me to act. Write as I -dictate, and I will put them to shame. But give me ten more rupees.” - -At Dana Da’s dictation the Englishman wrote nothing less than a formal -challenge to the Old Man of the Mountains. It wound up: “And if this -Manifestation be from your hand, then let it go forward; but if it be -from my hand, I will that the Sending shall cease in two days’ time. On -that day there shall be twelve kittens and thenceforward none at all. -The people shall judge between us.” This was signed by Dana Da, who -added pentacles and pentagrams, and a _crux ansata_, and half a dozen -_swastikas_, and a Triple Tau to his name, just to show that he was all -he laid claim to be. - -The challenge was read out to the gentlemen and ladies, and they -remembered then that Dana Da had laughed at them some years ago. It was -officially announced that the Old Man of the Mountains would treat the -matter with contempt; Dana Da being an Independent Investigator without -a single “round” at the back of him. But this did not soothe his people. -They wanted to see a fight. They were very human for all their -spirituality. Lone Sahib, who was really being worn out with kittens, -submitted meekly to his fate. He felt that he was being “kittened to -prove the power of Dana Da,” as the poet says. - -When the stated day dawned, the shower of kittens began. Some were white -and some were tabby, and all were about the same loathsome age. Three -were on his hearth-rug, three in his bath-room, and the other six turned -up at intervals among the visitors who came to see the prophecy break -down. Never was a more satisfactory Sending. On the next day there were -no kittens, and the next day and all the other days were kittenless and -quiet. The people murmured and looked to the Old Man of the Mountains -for an explanation. A letter, written on a palm-leaf, dropped from the -ceiling, but every one except Lone Sahib felt that letters were not what -the occasion demanded. There should have been cats, there should have -been cats,—full-grown ones. The letter proved conclusively that there -had been a hitch in the Psychic Current which, colliding with a Dual -Identity, had interfered with the Percipient Activity all along the main -line. The kittens were still going on, but owing to some failure in the -Developing Fluid, they were not materialised. The air was thick with -letters for a few days afterwards. Unseen hands played Glück and -Beethoven on finger-bowls and clock-shades; but all men felt that -Psychic Life was a mockery without materialised Kittens. Even Lone Sahib -shouted with the majority on this head. Dana Da’s letters were very -insulting, and if he had then offered to lead a new departure, there is -no knowing what might not have happened. - -[Illustration: THE SENDING OF DANA DA] - -But Dana Da was dying of whiskey and opium in the Englishman’s godown, -and had small heart for honours. - -“They have been put to shame,” said he. “Never was such a Sending. It -has killed me.” - -“Nonsense,” said the Englishman, “you are going to die, Dana Da, and -that sort of stuff must be left behind. I’ll admit that you have made -some queer things come about. Tell me honestly, now, how was it done?” - -“Give me ten more rupees,” said Dana Da faintly, “and if I die before I -spend them, bury them with me.” The silver was counted out while Dana Da -was fighting with Death. His hand closed upon the money and he smiled a -grim smile. - -“Bend low,” he whispered. The Englishman bent. - -“_Bunnia_—Mission-school—expelled—_box-wallah_ (peddler)—Ceylon -pearl-merchant—all mine English education—out-casted, and made up name -Dana Da—England with American thought-reading man and—and—you gave me -ten rupees several times—I gave the Sahib’s bearer two-eight a month for -cats—little, little cats. I wrote, and he put them about—very clever -man. Very few kittens now in the bazar. Ask Lone Sahib’s sweeper’s -wife.” - -So saying, Dana Da gasped and passed away into a land where, if all be -true, there are no materialisations and the making of new creeds is -discouraged. - -But consider the gorgeous simplicity of it all! - - - - - THROUGH THE FIRE - - Copyright, 1891, by Macmillan & Co. - - -The Policeman rode through the Himalayan forest, under the moss-draped -oaks, and his orderly trotted after him. - -“It’s an ugly business, Bhere Singh,” said the Policeman. “Where are -they?” - -“It is a very ugly business,” said Bhere Singh; “and as for _them_, they -are, doubtless, now frying in a hotter fire than was ever made of -spruce-branches.” - -“Let us hope not,” said the Policeman, “for, allowing for the difference -between race and race, it’s the story of Francesca da Rimini, Bhere -Singh.” - -Bhere Singh knew nothing about Francesca da Rimini, so he held his peace -until they came to the charcoal-burners’ clearing where the dying flames -said “_whit, whit, whit_” as they fluttered and whispered over the white -ashes. It must have been a great fire when at full height. Men had seen -it at Donga Pa across the valley winking and blazing through the night, -and said that the charcoal-burners of Kodru were getting drunk. But it -was only Suket Singh, Sepoy of the 102d Punjab Native Infantry, and -Athira, a woman, burning—burning—burning. - -This was how things befell; and the Policeman’s Diary will bear me out. - -Athira was the wife of Madu, who was a charcoal-burner, one-eyed and of -a malignant disposition. A week after their marriage, he beat Athira -with a heavy stick. A month later, Suket Singh, Sepoy, came that way to -the cool hills on leave from his regiment, and electrified the villagers -of Kodru with tales of service and glory under the Government, and the -honour in which he, Suket Singh, was held by the Colonel Sahib Bahadur. -And Desdemona listened to Othello as Desdemonas have done all the world -over, and, as she listened, she loved. - -“I’ve a wife of my own,” said Suket Singh, “though that is no matter -when you come to think of it. I am also due to return to my regiment -after a time, and I cannot be a deserter—I who intend to be Havildar.” -There is no Himalayan version of “I could not love thee, dear, as much, -Loved I not Honour more”; but Suket Singh came near to making one. - -“Never mind,” said Athira, “stay with me, and, if Madu tries to beat me, -you beat him.” - -“Very good,” said Suket Singh; and he beat Madu severely, to the delight -of all the charcoal-burners of Kodru. - -“That is enough,” said Suket Singh, as he rolled Madu down the hillside. -“Now we shall have peace.” But Madu crawled up the grass slope again, -and hovered round his hut with angry eyes. - -“He’ll kill me dead,” said Athira to Suket Singh. “You must take me -away.” - -“There’ll be a trouble in the Lines. My wife will pull out my beard; but -never mind,” said Suket Singh, “I will take you.” - -There was loud trouble in the Lines, and Suket Singh’s beard was pulled, -and Suket Singh’s wife went to live with her mother and took away the -children. “That’s all right,” said Athira; and Suket Singh said, “Yes, -that’s all right.” - -So there was only Madu left in the hut that looks across the valley to -Donga Pa; and, since the beginning of time, no one has had any sympathy -for husbands so unfortunate as Madu. - -He went to Juseen Dazé, the wizard-man who keeps the Talking Monkey’s -Head. - -“Get me back my wife,” said Madu. - -“I can’t,” said Juseen Dazé, “until you have made the Sutlej in the -valley run up the Donga Pa.” - -“No riddles,” said Madu, and he shook his hatchet above Juseen Dazé’s -white head. - -“Give all your money to the headmen of the village,” said Juseen Dazé; -“and they will hold a communal Council, and the Council will send a -message that your wife must come back.” - -So Madu gave up all his worldly wealth, amounting to twenty-seven -rupees, eight annas, three pice, and a silver chain, to the Council of -Kodru. And it fell as Juseen Dazé foretold. - -They sent Athira’s brother down into Suket Singh’s regiment to call -Athira home. Suket Singh kicked him once round the Lines, and then -handed him over to the Havildar, who beat him with a belt. - -“Come back,” yelled Athira’s brother. - -“Where to?” said Athira. - -“To Madu,” said he. - -“Never,” said she. - -“Then Juseen Dazé will send a curse, and you will wither away like a -barked tree in the springtime,” said Athira’s brother. Athira slept over -these things. - -Next morning she had rheumatism. “I am beginning to wither away like a -barked tree in the springtime,” she said. “That is the curse of Juseen -Dazé.” - -And she really began to wither away because her heart was dried up with -fear, and those who believe in curses die from curses. Suket Singh, too, -was afraid because he loved Athira better than his very life. Two months -passed, and Athira’s brother stood outside the regimental Lines again -and yelped, “Aha! You are withering away. Come back.” - -“I will come back,” said Athira. - -“Say rather that _we_ will come back,” said Suket Singh. - -“Ai; but when?” said Athira’s brother. - -“Upon a day very early in the morning,” said Suket Singh; and he tramped -off to apply to the Colonel Sahib Bahadur for one week’s leave. - -“I am withering away like a barked tree in the spring,” moaned Athira. - -“You will be better soon,” said Suket Singh; and he told her what was in -his heart, and the two laughed together softly, for they loved each -other. But Athira grew better from that hour. - -They went away together, travelling third-class by train as the -regulations provided, and then in a cart to the low hills, and on foot -to the high ones. Athira sniffed the scent of the pines of her own -hills, the wet Himalayan hills. “It is good to be alive,” said Athira. - -“Hah!” said Suket Singh. “Where is the Kodru road and where is the -Forest Ranger’s house?”... - -“It cost forty rupees twelve years ago,” said the Forest Ranger, handing -the gun. - -“Here are twenty,” said Suket Singh, “and you must give me the best -bullets.” - -“It is _very_ good to be alive,” said Athira wistfully, sniffing the -scent of the pine-mould; and they waited till the night had fallen upon -Kodru and the Donga Pa. Madu had stacked the dry wood for the next day’s -charcoal-burning on the spur above his house. “It is courteous in Madu -to save us this trouble,” said Suket Singh as he stumbled on the pile, -which was twelve foot square and four high. “We must wait till the moon -rises.” - -When the moon rose, Athira knelt upon the pile. “If it were only a -Government Snider,” said Suket Singh ruefully, squinting down the -wire-bound barrel of the Forest Ranger’s gun. - -“Be quick,” said Athira; and Suket Singh was quick; but Athira was quick -no longer. Then he lit the pile at the four corners and climbed on to -it, reloading the gun. - -The little flames began to peer up between the big logs atop of the -brushwood. “The Government should teach us to pull the triggers with our -toes,” said Suket Singh grimly to the moon. That was the last public -observation of Sepoy Suket Singh. - - * * * * * - -Upon a day, early in the morning, Madu came to the pyre and shrieked -very grievously, and ran away to catch the Policeman who was on tour in -the district. - -“The base-born has ruined four rupees’ worth of charcoal wood,” Madu -gasped. “He has also killed my wife, and he has left a letter which I -cannot read, tied to a pine bough.” - -In the stiff, formal hand taught in the regimental school, Sepoy Suket -Singh had written— - -“Let us be burned together, if anything remain over, for we have made -the necessary prayers. We have also cursed Madu, and Malak the brother -of Athira—both evil men. Send my service to the Colonel Sahib Bahadur.” - -The Policeman looked long and curiously at the marriage-bed of red and -white ashes on which lay, dull black, the barrel of the Ranger’s gun. He -drove his spurred heel absently into a half-charred log, and the -chattering sparks flew upwards. “Most extraordinary people,” said the -Policeman. - -“_Whe-w, whew, ouiou_,” said the little flames. - -The Policeman entered the dry bones of the case, for the Punjab -Government does not approve of romancing, in his Diary. - -“But who will pay me those four rupees?” said Madu. - - - - - THE HEAD OF THE DISTRICT - - There’s a convict more in the Central Jail, - Behind the old mud wall; - There’s a lifter less on the Border trail, - And the Queen’s Peace over all, - Dear boys, - The Queen’s Peace over all. - - For we must bear our leader’s blame, - On us the shame will fall, - If we lift our hand from a fettered land, - And the Queen’s Peace over all, - Dear boys, - The Queen’s Peace over all! - - _The Running of Shindand._ - - - I - -The Indus had risen in flood without warning. Last night it was a -fordable shallow; to-night five miles of raving muddy water parted bank -and caving bank, and the river was still rising under the moon. A litter -borne by six bearded men, all unused to the work, stopped in the white -sand that bordered the whiter plain. - -“It’s God’s will,” they said. “We dare not cross to-night, even in a -boat. Let us light a fire and cook food. We be tired men.” - -They looked at the litter inquiringly. Within, the Deputy Commissioner -of the Kot-Kumharsen district lay dying of fever. They had brought him -across country, six fighting-men of a frontier clan that he had won over -to the paths of a moderate righteousness, when he had broken down at the -foot of their inhospitable hills. And Tallantire, his assistant, rode -with them, heavy-hearted as heavy-eyed with sorrow and lack of sleep. He -had served under the sick man for three years, and had learned to love -him as men associated in toil of the hardest learn to love—or hate. -Dropping from his horse, he parted the curtains of the litter and peered -inside. - -“Orde—Orde, old man, can you hear? We have to wait till the river goes -down, worse luck.” - -“I hear,” returned a dry whisper. “Wait till the river goes down. I -thought we should reach camp before the dawn. Polly knows. She’ll meet -me.” - -One of the litter-men stared across the river and caught a faint twinkle -of light on the far side. He whispered to Tallantire, “There are his -camp-fires, and his wife. They will cross in the morning, for they have -better boats. Can he live so long?” - -Tallantire shook his head. Yardley-Orde was very near to death. What -need to vex his soul with hopes of a meeting that could not be? The -river gulped at the banks, brought down a cliff of sand, and snarled the -more hungrily. The litter-men sought for fuel in the waste—dried -camel-thorn and refuse of the camps that had waited at the ford. Their -sword-belts clinked as they moved softly in the haze of the moonlight, -and Tallantire’s horse coughed to explain that he would like a blanket. - -“I’m cold too,” said the voice from the litter. “I fancy this is the -end. Poor Polly!” - -Tallantire rearranged the blankets; Khoda Dad Khan, seeing this, -stripped off his own heavy-wadded sheepskin coat and added it to the -pile. “I shall be warm by the fire presently,” said he. Tallantire took -the wasted body of his chief into his arms and held it against his -breast. Perhaps if they kept him very warm Orde might live to see his -wife once more. If only blind Providence would send a three-foot fall in -the river! - -“That’s better,” said Orde faintly. “Sorry to be a nuisance, but is—is -there anything to drink?” - -They gave him milk and whiskey, and Tallantire felt a little warmth -against his own breast. Orde began to mutter. - -“It isn’t that I mind dying,” he said. “It’s leaving Polly and the -district. Thank God! we have no children. Dick, you know, I’m -dipped—awfully dipped—debts in my first five years’ service. It isn’t -much of a pension, but enough for her. She has her mother at home. -Getting there is the difficulty. And—and—you see, not being a soldier’s -wife——” - -“We’ll arrange the passage home, of course,” said Tallantire quietly. - -“It’s not nice to think of sending round the hat; but, good Lord! how -many men I lie here and remember that had to do it! Morten’s dead—he was -of my year. Shaughnessy is dead, and he had children; I remember he used -to read us their school-letters; what a bore we thought him! Evans is -dead—Kot-Kumharsen killed him! Ricketts of Myndonie is dead—and I’m -going too. ‘Man that is born of a woman is small potatoes and few in the -hill.’ That reminds me, Dick; the four Khusru Kheyl villages in our -border want a one-third remittance this spring. That’s fair; their crops -are bad. See that they get it, and speak to Ferris about the canal. I -should like to have lived till that was finished; it means so much for -the North-Indus villages—but Ferris is an idle beggar—wake him up. -You’ll have charge of the district till my successor comes. I wish they -would appoint you permanently; you know the folk. I suppose it will be -Bullows, though. ’Good man, but too weak for frontier work; and he -doesn’t understand the priests. The blind priest at Jagai will bear -watching. You’ll find it in my papers,—in the uniform-case, I think. -Call the Khusru Kheyl men up; I’ll hold my last public audience. Khoda -Dad Khan!” - -The leader of the men sprang to the side of the litter, his companions -following. - -“Men, I’m dying,” said Orde quickly, in the vernacular; “and soon there -will be no more Orde Sahib to twist your tails and prevent you from -raiding cattle.” - -“God forbid this thing!” broke out the deep bass chorus: “The Sahib is -not going to die.” - -“Yes, he is; and then he will know whether Mahomed speaks truth, or -Moses. But you must be good men when I am not here. Such of you as live -in our borders must pay your taxes quietly as before. I have spoken of -the villages to be gently treated this year. Such of you as live in the -hills must refrain from cattle-lifting, and burn no more thatch, and -turn a deaf ear to the voice of the priests, who, not knowing the -strength of the Government, would lead you into foolish wars, wherein -you will surely die and your crops be eaten by strangers. And you must -not sack any caravans, and must leave your arms at the police-post when -you come in; as has been your custom, and my order. And Tallantire Sahib -will be with you, but I do not know who takes my place. I speak now true -talk, for I am as it were already dead, my children,—for though ye be -strong men, ye are children.” - -“And thou art our father and our mother,” broke in Khoda Dad Khan with -an oath. “What shall we do, now there is no one to speak for us, or to -teach us to go wisely!” - -“There remains Tallantire Sahib. Go to him; he knows your talk and your -heart. Keep the young men quiet, listen to the old men, and obey. Khoda -Dad Khan, take my ring. The watch and chain go to thy brother. Keep -those things for my sake, and I will speak to whatever God I may -encounter and tell him that the Khusru Kheyl are good men. Ye have my -leave to go.” - -Khoda Dad Khan, the ring upon his finger, choked audibly as he caught -the well-known formula that closed an interview. His brother turned to -look across the river. The dawn was breaking, and a speck of white -showed on the dull silver of the stream. “She comes,” said the man under -his breath. “Can he live for another two hours?” And he pulled the -newly-acquired watch out of his belt and looked uncomprehendingly at the -dial, as he had seen Englishmen do. - -For two hours the bellying sail tacked and blundered up and down the -river, Tallantire still clasping Orde in his arms, and Khoda Dad Khan -chafing his feet. He spoke now and again of the district and his wife, -but, as the end neared, more frequently of the latter. They hoped he did -not know that she was even then risking her life in a crazy native boat -to regain him. But the awful foreknowledge of the dying deceived them. -Wrenching himself forward, Orde looked through the curtains and saw how -near was the sail. “That’s Polly,” he said simply, though his mouth was -wried with agony. “Polly and—the grimmest practical joke ever played on -a man. Dick—you’ll—have—to—explain.” - -And an hour later Tallantire met on the bank a woman in a gingham -riding-habit and a sun-hat who cried out to him for her husband—her boy -and her darling—while Khoda Dad Khan threw himself face-down on the sand -and covered his eyes. - - - II - -The very simplicity of the notion was its charm. What more easy to win a -reputation for far-seeing statesmanship, originality, and, above all, -deference to the desires of the people, than by appointing a child of -the country to the rule of that country? Two hundred millions of the -most loving and grateful folk under Her Majesty’s dominion would laud -the fact, and their praise would endure for ever. Yet he was indifferent -to praise or blame, as befitted the Very Greatest of All the Viceroys. -His administration was based upon principle, and the principle must be -enforced in season and out of season. His pen and tongue had created the -New India, teeming with possibilities—loud-voiced, insistent, a nation -among nations—all his very own. Wherefore the Very Greatest of All the -Viceroys took another step in advance, and with it counsel of those who -should have advised him on the appointment of a successor to -Yardley-Orde. There was a gentleman and a member of the Bengal Civil -Service who had won his place and a university degree to boot in fair -and open competition with the sons of the English. He was cultured, of -the world, and, if report spoke truly, had wisely and, above all, -sympathetically ruled a crowded district in South-Eastern Bengal. He had -been to England and charmed many drawing-rooms there. His name, if the -Viceroy recollected aright, was Mr. Grish Chunder Dé, M. A. In short, -did anybody see any objection to the appointment, always on principle, -of a man of the people to rule the people? The district in South-Eastern -Bengal might with advantage, he apprehended, pass over to a younger -civilian of Mr. G. C. Dé’s nationality (who had written a remarkably -clever pamphlet on the political value of sympathy in administration); -and Mr. G. C. Dé could be transferred northward to Kot-Kumharsen. The -Viceroy was averse, on principle, to interfering with appointments under -control of the Provincial Governments. He wished it to be understood -that he merely recommended and advised in this instance. As regarded the -mere question of race, Mr. Grish Chunder Dé was more English than the -English, and yet possessed of that peculiar sympathy and insight which -the best among the best Service in the world could only win to at the -end of their service. - -The stern, black-bearded kings who sit about the Council-board of India -divided on the step, with the inevitable result of driving the Very -Greatest of All the Viceroys into the borders of hysteria, and a -bewildered obstinacy pathetic as that of a child. - -“The principle is sound enough,” said the weary-eyed Head of the Red -Provinces in which Kot-Kumharsen lay, for he too held theories. “The -only difficulty is——” - -“Put the screw on the District officials; brigade Dé with a very strong -Deputy Commissioner on each side of him; give him the best assistant in -the Province; rub the fear of God into the people beforehand; and if -anything goes wrong, say that his colleagues didn’t back him up. All -these lovely little experiments recoil on the District-Officer in the -end,” said the Knight of the Drawn Sword with a truthful brutality that -made the Head of the Red Provinces shudder. And on a tacit understanding -of this kind the transfer was accomplished, as quietly as might be for -many reasons. - -It is sad to think that what goes for public opinion in India did not -generally see the wisdom of the Viceroy’s appointment. There were not -lacking indeed hireling organs, notoriously in the pay of a tyrannous -bureaucracy, who more than hinted that His Excellency was a fool, a -dreamer of dreams, a doctrinaire, and, worst of all, a trifler with the -lives of men. “The Viceroy’s Excellence Gazette,” published in Calcutta, -was at pains to thank “Our beloved Viceroy for once more and again thus -gloriously vindicating the potentialities of the Bengali nations for -extended executive and administrative duties in foreign parts beyond our -ken. We do not at all doubt that our excellent fellow-townsman, Mr. -Grish Chunder Dé, Esq., M. A., will uphold the prestige of the Bengali, -notwithstanding what underhand intrigue and _peshbundi_ may be set on -foot to insidiously nip his fame and blast his prospects among the proud -civilians, some of which will now have to serve under a despised native -and take orders too. How will you like that, Misters? We entreat our -beloved Viceroy still to substantiate himself superiorly to -race-prejudice and colour-blindness, and to allow the flower of this now -_our_ Civil Service all the full pays and allowances granted to his more -fortunate brethren.” - - - III - -“When does this man take over charge? I’m alone just now, and I gather -that I’m to stand fast under him.” - -“Would you have cared for a transfer?” said Bullows keenly. Then, laying -his hand on Tallantire’s shoulder: “We’re all in the same boat; don’t -desert us. And yet, why the devil should you stay, if you can get -another charge?” - -“It was Orde’s,” said Tallantire simply. - -“Well, it’s Dé’s now. He’s a Bengali of the Bengalis, crammed with code -and case law; a beautiful man so far as routine and deskwork go, and -pleasant to talk to. They naturally have always kept him in his own home -district, where all his sisters and his cousins and his aunts lived, -somewhere south of Dacca. He did no more than turn the place into a -pleasant little family preserve, allowed his subordinates to do what -they liked, and let everybody have a chance at the shekels. Consequently -he’s immensely popular down there.” - -“I’ve nothing to do with that. How on earth am I to explain to the -district that they are going to be governed by a Bengali? Do you—does -the Government, I mean—suppose that the Khusru Kheyl will sit quiet when -they once know? What will the Mahomedan heads of villages say? How will -the police—Muzbi Sikhs and Pathans—how will _they_ work under him? We -couldn’t say anything if the Government appointed a sweeper; but my -people will say a good deal, you know that. It’s a piece of cruel -folly!” - -“My dear boy, I know all that, and more. I’ve represented it, and have -been told that I am exhibiting ‘culpable and puerile prejudice.’ By -Jove, if the Khusru Kheyl don’t exhibit something worse than that I -don’t know the Border! The chances are that you will have the district -alight on your hands, and I shall have to leave my work and help you -pull through. I needn’t ask you to stand by the Bengali man in every -possible way. You’ll do that for your own sake.” - -“For Orde’s. I can’t say that I care twopence personally.” - -“Don’t be an ass. It’s grievous enough, God knows, and the Government -will know later on; but that’s no reason for your sulking. _You_ must -try to run the district; _you_ must stand between him and as much insult -as possible; _you_ must show him the ropes; _you_ must pacify the Khusru -Kheyl, and just warn Curbar of the Police to look out for trouble by the -way. I’m always at the end of a telegraph-wire, and willing to peril my -reputation to hold the district together. You’ll lose yours, of course. -If you keep things straight, and he isn’t actually beaten with a stick -when he’s on tour, he’ll get all the credit. If anything goes wrong, -you’ll be told that you didn’t support him loyally.” - -“I know what I’ve got to do,” said Tallantire wearily, “and I’m going to -do it. But it’s hard.” - -“The work is with us, the event is with Allah,—as Orde used to say when -he was more than usually in hot water.” And Bullows rode away. - -That two gentlemen in Her Majesty’s Bengal Civil Service should thus -discuss a third, also in that service, and a cultured and affable man -withal, seems strange and saddening. Yet listen to the artless babble of -the Blind Mullah of Jagai, the priest of the Khusru Kheyl, sitting upon -a rock overlooking the Border. Five years before, a chance-hurled shell -from a screw-gun battery had dashed earth in the face of the Mullah, -then urging a rush of Ghazis against half a dozen British bayonets. So -he became blind, and hated the English none the less for the little -accident. Yardley-Orde knew his failing, and had many times laughed at -him therefor. - -“Dogs you are,” said the Blind Mullah to the listening tribesmen round -the fire. “Whipped dogs! Because you listened to Orde Sahib and called -him father and behaved as his children, the British Government have -proven how they regard you. Orde Sahib ye know is dead.” - -“Ai! ai! ai!” said half a dozen voices. - -“He was a man. Comes now in his stead, whom think ye? A Bengali of -Bengal—an eater of fish from the South.” - -“A lie!” said Khoda Dad Khan. “And but for the small matter of thy -priesthood, I’d drive my gun, butt first, down thy throat.” - -“Oho, art thou there, lickspittle of the English? Go in to-morrow across -the Border to pay service to Orde Sahib’s successor, and thou shalt slip -thy shoes at the tent-door of a Bengali, as thou shalt hand thy offering -to a Bengali’s black fist. This I know; and in my youth, when a young -man spoke evil to a Mullah holding the doors of Heaven and Hell, the -gun-butt was not rammed down the Mullah’s gullet. No!” - -The Blind Mullah hated Khoda Dad Khan with Afghan hatred, both being -rivals for the headship of the tribe; but the latter was feared for -bodily as the other for spiritual gifts. Khoda Dad Khan looked at Orde’s -ring and grunted, “I go in to-morrow because I am not an old fool, -preaching war against the English. If the Government, smitten with -madness, have done this, then....” - -“Then,” croaked the Mullah, “thou wilt take out the young men and strike -at the four villages within the Border?” - -“Or wring thy neck, black raven of Jehannum, for a bearer of -ill-tidings.” - -Khoda Dad Khan oiled his long locks with great care, put on his best -Bokhara belt, a new turban-cap and fine green shoes, and accompanied by -a few friends came down from the hills to pay a visit to the new Deputy -Commissioner of Kot-Kumharsen. Also he bore tribute—four or five -priceless gold mohurs of Akbar’s time in a white handkerchief. These the -Deputy Commissioner would touch and remit. The little ceremony used to -be a sign that, so far as Khoda Dad Khan’s personal influence went, the -Khusru Kheyl would be good boys,—till the next time; especially if Khoda -Dad Khan happened to like the new Deputy Commissioner. In Yardley-Orde’s -consulship his visit concluded with a sumptuous dinner and perhaps -forbidden liquors; certainly with some wonderful tales and great -good-fellowship. Then Khoda Dad Khan would swagger back to his hold, -vowing that Orde Sahib was one prince and Tallantire Sahib another, and -that whosoever went a-raiding into British territory would be flayed -alive. On this occasion he found the Deputy Commissioner’s tents looking -much as usual. Regarding himself as privileged, he strode through the -open door to confront a suave, portly Bengali in English costume, -writing at a table. Unversed in the elevating influence of education, -and not in the least caring for university degrees, Khoda Dad Khan -promptly set the man down for a Babu—the native clerk of the Deputy -Commissioner—a hated and despised animal. - -“Ugh!” said he cheerfully. “Where’s your master, Babujee?” - -“I am the Deputy Commissioner,” said the gentleman in English. - -Now he overvalued the effects of university degrees, and stared Khoda -Dad Khan in the face. But if from your earliest infancy you have been -accustomed to look on battle, murder, and sudden death, if spilt blood -affects your nerves as much as red paint, and, above all, if you have -faithfully believed that the Bengali was the servant of all Hindustan, -and that all Hindustan was vastly inferior to your own large, lustful -self, you can endure, even though uneducated, a very large amount of -looking over. You can even stare down a graduate of an Oxford college if -the latter has been born in a hothouse, of stock bred in a hothouse, and -fearing physical pain as some men fear sin; especially if your -opponent’s mother has frightened him to sleep in his youth with horrible -stories of devils inhabiting Afghanistan, and dismal legends of the -black North. The eyes behind the gold spectacles sought the floor. Khoda -Dad Khan chuckled, and swung out to find Tallantire hard by. “Here,” -said he roughly, thrusting the coins before him, “touch and remit. That -answers for _my_ good behaviour. But, O Sahib, has the Government gone -mad to send a black Bengali dog to us? And am I to pay service to such -an one? And are you to work under him? What does it mean?” - -“It is an order,” said Tallantire. He had expected something of this -kind. “He is a very clever S-sahib.” - -“He a Sahib! He’s a _kala admi_—a black man—unfit to run at the tail of -a potter’s donkey. All the peoples of the earth have harried Bengal. It -is written. Thou knowest when we of the North wanted women or plunder -whither went we? To Bengal—where else? What child’s talk is this of -Sahibdom—after Orde Sahib too! Of a truth the Blind Mullah was right.” - -“What of him?” asked Tallantire uneasily. He mistrusted that old man -with his dead eyes and his deadly tongue. - -“Nay, now, because of the oath that I sware to Orde Sahib when we -watched him die by the river yonder, I will tell. In the first place, is -it true that the English have set the heel of the Bengali on their own -neck, and that there is no more English rule in the land?” - -“I am here,” said Tallantire, “and I serve the Maharanee of England.” - -“The Mullah said otherwise, and further that because we loved Orde Sahib -the Government sent us a pig to show that we were dogs who till now have -been held by the strong hand. Also that they were taking away the white -soldiers, that more Hindustanis might come, and that all was changing.” - -This is the worst of ill-considered handling of a very large country. -What looks so feasible in Calcutta, so right in Bombay, so unassailable -in Madras, is misunderstood by the North and entirely changes its -complexion on the banks of the Indus. Khoda Dad Khan explained as -clearly as he could that, though he himself intended to be good, he -really could not answer for the more reckless members of his tribe under -the leadership of the Blind Mullah. They might or they might not give -trouble, but they certainly had no intention whatever of obeying the new -Deputy Commissioner. Was Tallantire perfectly sure that in the event of -any systematic border-raiding the force in the district could put it -down promptly? - -“Tell the Mullah if he talks any more fool’s talk,” said Tallantire -curtly, “that he takes his men on to certain death, and his tribe to -blockade, trespass-fine, and blood-money. But why do I talk to one who -no longer carries weight in the counsels of the tribe?” - -Khoda Dad Khan pocketed that insult. He had learned something that he -much wanted to know, and returned to his hills to be sarcastically -complimented by the Mullah, whose tongue raging round the camp-fires was -deadlier flame than ever dung-cake fed. - -IV - -Be pleased to consider here for a moment the unknown district of -Kot-Kumharsen. It lay cut lengthways by the Indus under the line of the -Khusru hills—ramparts of useless earth and tumbled stone. It was seventy -miles long by fifty broad, maintained a population of something less -than two hundred thousand, and paid taxes to the extent of forty -thousand pounds a year on an area that was by rather more than half -sheer, hopeless waste. The cultivators were not gentle people, the -miners for salt were less gentle still, and the cattle-breeders least -gentle of all. A police-post in the top right-hand corner and a tiny mud -fort in the top left-hand corner prevented as much salt-smuggling and -cattle-lifting as the influence of the civilians could not put down; and -in the bottom right-hand corner lay Jumala, the district headquarters—a -pitiful knot of lime-washed barns facetiously rented as houses, reeking -with frontier fever, leaking in the rain, and ovens in the summer. - -It was to this place that Grish Chunder Dé was travelling, there -formally to take over charge of the district. But the news of his coming -had gone before. Bengalis were as scarce as poodles among the simple -Borderers, who cut each other’s heads open with their long spades and -worshipped impartially at Hindu and Mahomedan shrines. They crowded to -see him, pointing at him, and diversely comparing him to a gravid -milch-buffalo, or a broken-down horse, as their limited range of -metaphor prompted. They laughed at his police-guard, and wished to know -how long the burly Sikhs were going to lead Bengali apes. They inquired -whether he had brought his women with him, and advised him explicitly -not to tamper with theirs. It remained for a wrinkled hag by the -roadside to slap her lean breasts as he passed, crying, “I have suckled -six that could have eaten six thousand of _him_. The Government shot -them, and made this That a king!” Whereat a blue-turbaned huge-boned -plough-mender shouted, “Have hope, mother o’ mine! He may yet go the way -of thy wastrels.” And the children, the little brown puff-balls, -regarded curiously. It was generally a good thing for infancy to stray -into Orde Sahib’s tent, where copper coins were to be won for the mere -wishing, and tales of the most authentic, such as even their mothers -knew but the first half of. No! This fat black man could never tell them -how Pir Prith hauled the eye-teeth out of ten devils; how the big stones -came to lie all in a row on top of the Khusru hills, and what happened -if you shouted through the village-gate to the gray wolf at even, “Badl -Khas is dead.” Meantime Grish Chunder Dé talked hastily and much to -Tallantire, after the manner of those who are “more English than the -English,”—of Oxford and “home,” with much curious book-knowledge of -bump-suppers, cricket-matches, hunting-runs, and other unholy sports of -the alien. “We must get these fellows in hand,” he said once or twice -uneasily; “get them well in hand, and drive them on a tight rein. No -use, you know, being slack with your district.” - -And a moment later Tallantire heard Debendra Nath Dé, who brotherliwise -had followed his kinsman’s fortune and hoped for the shadow of his -protection as a pleader, whisper in Bengali, “Better are dried fish at -Dacca than drawn swords at Delhi. Brother of mine, these men are devils, -as our mother said. And you will always have to ride upon a horse!” - -That night there was a public audience in a broken-down little town -thirty miles from Jumala, when the new Deputy Commissioner, in reply to -the greetings of the subordinate native officials, delivered a speech. -It was a carefully thought out speech, which would have been very -valuable had not his third sentence begun with three innocent words, -“_Hamara hookum hai_—It is my order.” Then there was a laugh, clear and -bell-like, from the back of the big tent, where a few border landholders -sat, and the laugh grew and scorn mingled with it, and the lean, keen -face of Debendra Nath Dé paled, and Grish Chunder, turning to -Tallantire, spake: “_You_—you put up this arrangement.” Upon that -instant the noise of hoofs rang without, and there entered Curbar, the -District Superintendent of Police, sweating and dusty. The State had -tossed him into a corner of the province for seventeen weary years, -there to check smuggling of salt, and to hope for promotion that never -came. He had forgotten how to keep his white uniform clean, had screwed -rusty spurs into patent-leather shoes, and clothed his head -indifferently with a helmet or a turban. Soured, old, worn with heat and -cold, he waited till he should be entitled to sufficient pension to keep -him from starving. - -“Tallantire,” said he, disregarding Grish Chunder Dé, “come outside. I -want to speak to you.” They withdrew. “It’s this,” continued Curbar. -“The Khusru Kheyl have rushed and cut up half a dozen of the coolies on -Ferris’s new canal-embankment; killed a couple of men and carried off a -woman. I wouldn’t trouble you about that—Ferris is after them and -Hugonin, my assistant, with ten mounted police. But that’s only the -beginning, I fancy. Their fires are out on the Hassan Ardeb heights, and -unless we’re pretty quick there’ll be a flare-up all along our Border. -They are sure to raid the four Khusru villages on our side of the line; -there’s been bad blood between them for years; and you know the Blind -Mullah has been preaching a holy war since Orde went out. What’s your -notion?” - -“Damn!” said Tallantire thoughtfully. “They’ve begun quick. Well, it -seems to me I’d better ride off to Fort Ziar and get what men I can -there to picket among the lowland villages, if it’s not too late. Tommy -Dodd commands at Fort Ziar, I think. Ferris and Hugonin ought to teach -the canal-thieves a lesson, and——No, we can’t have the Head of the -Police ostentatiously guarding the Treasury. You go back to the canal. -I’ll wire Bullows to come into Jumala with a strong police-guard, and -sit on the Treasury. They won’t touch the place, but it looks well.” - -“I—I—I insist upon knowing what this means,” said the voice of the -Deputy Commissioner, who had followed the speakers. - -“Oh!” said Curbar, who, being in the Police, could not understand that -fifteen years of education must, on principle, change the Bengali into a -Briton. “There has been a fight on the Border, and heaps of men are -killed. There’s going to be another fight, and heaps more will be -killed.” - -“What for?” - -“Because the teeming millions of this district don’t exactly approve of -you, and think that under your benign rule they are going to have a good -time. It strikes me that you had better make arrangements. I act, as you -know, by your orders. What do you advise?” - -“I—I take you all to witness that I have not yet assumed charge of the -district,” stammered the Deputy Commissioner, not in the tones of the -“more English.” - -“Ah, I thought so. Well, as I was saying, Tallantire, your plan is -sound. Carry it out. Do you want an escort?” - -“No; only a decent horse. But how about wiring to headquarters?” - -“I fancy, from the colour of his cheeks, that your superior officer will -send some wonderful telegrams before the night’s over. Let him do that, -and we shall have half the troops of the province coming up to see -what’s the trouble. Well, run along, and take care of yourself—the -Khusru Kheyl jab upwards from below, remember. Ho! Mir Khan, give -Tallantire Sahib the best of the horses, and tell five men to ride to -Jumala with the Deputy Commissioner Sahib Bahadur. There is a hurry -toward.” - -There was; and it was not in the least bettered by Debendra Nath Dé -clinging to a policeman’s bridle and demanding the shortest, the very -shortest way to Jumala. Now originality is fatal to the Bengali. -Debendra Nath should have stayed with his brother, who rode steadfastly -for Jumala on the railway-line, thanking gods entirely unknown to the -most catholic of universities that he had not taken charge of the -district, and could still—happy resource of a fertile race!—fall sick. - -And I grieve to say that when he reached his goal two policemen, not -devoid of rude wit, who had been conferring together as they bumped in -their saddles, arranged an entertainment for his behoof. It consisted of -first one and then the other entering his room with prodigious details -of war, the massing of bloodthirsty and devilish tribes, and the burning -of towns. It was almost as good, said these scamps, as riding with -Curbar after evasive Afghans. Each invention kept the hearer at work for -half an hour on telegrams which the sack of Delhi would hardly have -justified. To every power that could move a bayonet or transfer a -terrified man, Grish Chunder Dé appealed telegraphically. He was alone, -his assistants had fled, and in truth he had not taken over charge of -the district. Had the telegrams been despatched many things would have -occurred; but since the only signaller in Jumala had gone to bed, and -the station-master, after one look at the tremendous pile of paper, -discovered that railway regulations forbade the forwarding of imperial -messages, policemen Ram Singh and Nihal Singh were fain to turn the -stuff into a pillow and slept on it very comfortably. - -Tallantire drove his spurs into a rampant skewbald stallion with -china-blue eyes, and settled himself for the forty-mile ride to Fort -Ziar. Knowing his district blindfold, he wasted no time hunting for -short cuts, but headed across the richer grazing-ground to the ford -where Orde had died and been buried. The dusty ground deadened the noise -of his horse’s hoofs, the moon threw his shadow, a restless goblin, -before him, and the heavy dew drenched him to the skin. Hillock, scrub -that brushed against the horse’s belly, unmetalled road where the -whip-like foliage of the tamarisks lashed his forehead, illimitable -levels of lowland furred with bent and speckled with drowsing cattle, -waste, and hillock anew, dragged themselves past, and the skewbald was -labouring in the deep sand of the Indus-ford. Tallantire was conscious -of no distinct thought till the nose of the dawdling ferry-boat grounded -on the farther side, and his horse shied snorting at the white headstone -of Orde’s grave. Then he uncovered, and shouted that the dead might -hear, “They’re out, old man! Wish me luck.” In the chill of the dawn he -was hammering with a stirrup-iron at the gate of Fort Ziar, where fifty -sabres of that tattered regiment, the Belooch Beshaklis, were supposed -to guard Her Majesty’s interests along a few hundred miles of Border. -This particular fort was commanded by a subaltern, who, born of the -ancient family of the Derouletts, naturally answered to the name of -Tommy Dodd. Him Tallantire found robed in a sheepskin coat, shaking with -fever like an aspen, and trying to read the native apothecary’s list of -invalids. - -“So you’ve come, too,” said he. “Well, we’re all sick here, and I don’t -think I can horse thirty men; but we’re bub-bub-bub-blessed willing. -Stop, does this impress you as a trap or a lie?” He tossed a scrap of -paper to Tallantire, on which was written painfully in crabbed Gurmukhi, -“We cannot hold young horses. They will feed after the moon goes down in -the four border villages issuing from the Jagai pass on the next night.” -Then in English round hand—“Your sincere friend.” - -“Good man!” said Tallantire. “That’s Khoda Dad Khan’s work, I know. It’s -the only piece of English he could ever keep in his head, and he is -immensely proud of it. He is playing against the Blind Mullah for his -own hand—the treacherous young ruffian!” - -“Don’t know the politics of the Khusru Kheyl, but if you’re satisfied, I -am. That was pitched in over the gate-head last night, and I thought we -might pull ourselves together and see what was on. Oh, but we’re sick -with fever here, and no mistake! Is this going to be a big business, -think you?” said Tommy Dodd. - -Tallantire gave him briefly the outlines of the case, and Tommy Dodd -whistled and shook with fever alternately. That day he devoted to -strategy, the art of war, and the enlivenment of the invalids, till at -dusk there stood ready forty-two troopers, lean, worn, and dishevelled, -whom Tommy Dodd surveyed with pride, and addressed thus: “O men! If you -die you will go to Hell. Therefore endeavour to keep alive. But if you -go to Hell that place cannot be hotter than this place, and we are not -told that we shall there suffer from fever. Consequently be not afraid -of dying. File out there!” They grinned, and went. - -V - -It will be long ere the Khusru Kheyl forget their night attack on the -lowland villages. The Mullah had promised an easy victory and unlimited -plunder; but behold, armed troopers of the Queen had risen out of the -very earth, cutting, slashing, and riding down under the stars, so that -no man knew where to turn, and all feared that they had brought an army -about their ears, and ran back to the hills. In the panic of that flight -more men were seen to drop from wounds inflicted by an Afghan knife -jabbed upwards, and yet more from long-range carbine-fire. Then there -rose a cry of treachery, and when they reached their own guarded -heights, they had left, with some forty dead and sixty wounded, all -their confidence in the Blind Mullah on the plains below. They -clamoured, swore, and argued round the fires; the women wailing for the -lost, and the Mullah shrieking curses on the returned. - -Then Khoda Dad Khan, eloquent and unbreathed, for he had taken no part -in the fight, rose to improve the occasion. He pointed out that the -tribe owed every item of its present misfortune to the Blind Mullah, who -had lied in every possible particular and talked them into a trap. It -was undoubtedly an insult that a Bengali, the son of a Bengali, should -presume to administer the Border, but that fact did not, as the Mullah -pretended, herald a general time of license and lifting; and the -inexplicable madness of the English had not in the least impaired their -power of guarding their marches. On the contrary, the baffled and -out-generalled tribe would now, just when their food-stock was lowest, -be blockaded from any trade with Hindustan until they had sent hostages -for good behaviour, paid compensation for disturbance, and blood-money -at the rate of thirty-six English pounds per head for every villager -that they might have slain. “And ye know that those lowland dogs will -make oath that we have slain scores. Will the Mullah pay the fines or -must we sell our guns?” A low growl ran round the fires. “Now, seeing -that all this is the Mullah’s work, and that we have gained nothing but -promises of Paradise thereby, it is in my heart that we of the Khusru -Kheyl lack a shrine whereat to pray. We are weakened, and henceforth how -shall we dare to cross into the Madar Kheyl border, as has been our -custom, to kneel to Pir Sajji’s tomb? The Madar men will fall upon us, -and rightly. But our Mullah is a holy man. He has helped two score of us -into Paradise this night. Let him therefore accompany his flock, and we -will build over his body a dome of the blue tiles of Mooltan, and burn -lamps at his feet every Friday night. He shall be a saint; we shall have -a shrine; and there our women shall pray for fresh seed to fill the gaps -in our fighting-tale. How think you?” - -A grim chuckle followed the suggestion, and the soft _wheep, wheep_ of -unscabbarded knives followed the chuckle. It was an excellent notion, -and met a long-felt want of the tribe. The Mullah sprang to his feet, -glaring with withered eyeballs at the drawn death he could not see, and -calling down the curses of God and Mahomed on the tribe. Then began a -game of blind man’s buff round and between the fires, whereof Khuruk -Shah, the tribal poet, has sung in verse that will not die. - -They tickled him gently under the armpit with the knife-point. He leaped -aside screaming, only to feel a cold blade drawn lightly over the back -of his neck, or a rifle-muzzle rubbing his beard. He called on his -adherents to aid him, but most of these lay dead on the plains, for -Khoda Dad Khan had been at some pains to arrange their decease. Men -described to him the glories of the shrine they would build, and the -little children, clapping their hands, cried, “Run, Mullah, run! There’s -a man behind you!” In the end, when the sport wearied, Khoda Dad Khan’s -brother sent a knife home between his ribs. “Wherefore,” said Khoda Dad -Khan with charming simplicity, “I am now Chief of the Khusru Kheyl!” No -man gainsaid him; and they all went to sleep very stiff and sore. - -On the plain below Tommy Dodd was lecturing on the beauties of a cavalry -charge by night, and Tallantire, bowed on his saddle, was gasping -hysterically because there was a sword dangling from his wrist flecked -with the blood of the Khusru Kheyl, the tribe that Orde had kept in -leash so well. When a Rajpoot trooper pointed out that the skewbald’s -right ear had been taken off at the root by some blind slash of its -unskilled rider, Tallantire broke down altogether, and laughed and -sobbed till Tommy Dodd made him lie down and rest. - -“We must wait about till the morning,” said he. “I wired to the Colonel, -just before we left, to send a wing of the Beshaklis after us. He’ll be -furious with me for monopolizing the fun, though. Those beggars in the -hills won’t give us any more trouble.” - -“Then tell the Beshaklis to go on and see what has happened to Curbar on -the canal. We must patrol the whole line of the Border. You’re quite -sure, Tommy, that—that stuff was—was only the skewbald’s ear?” - -“Oh, quite,” said Tommy. “You just missed cutting off his head. _I_ saw -you when we went into the mess. Sleep, old man.” - -Noon brought two squadrons of Beshaklis and a knot of furious brother -officers demanding the court-martial of Tommy Dodd for “spoiling the -picnic,” and a gallop across country to the canal-works where Ferris, -Curbar, and Hugonin were haranguing the terror-stricken coolies on the -enormity of abandoning good work and high pay, merely because half a -dozen of their fellows had been cut down. The sight of a troop of the -Beshaklis restored wavering confidence, and the police-hunted section of -the Khusru Kheyl had the joy of watching the canal-bank humming with -life as usual, while such of their men as had taken refuge in the -water-courses and ravines were being driven out by the troopers. By -sundown began the remorseless patrol of the Border by police and -trooper, most like the cow-boys’ eternal ride round restless cattle. - -“Now,” said Khoda Dad Khan to his fellows, pointing out a line of -twinkling fires below, “ye may see how far the old order changes. After -their horse will come the little devil-guns that they can drag up to the -tops of the hills, and, for aught I know, to the clouds when we crown -the hills. If the tribe-council thinks good, I will go to Tallantire -Sahib—who loves me—and see if I can stave off at least the blockade. Do -I speak for the tribe?” - -“Ay, speak for the tribe in God’s name. How those accursed fires wink! -Do the English send their troops on the wire—or is this the work of the -Bengali?” - -As Khoda Dad Khan went down the hill he was delayed by an interview with -a hard-pressed tribesman, which caused him to return hastily for -something he had forgotten. Then, handing himself over to the two -troopers who had been chasing his friend, he claimed escort to -Tallantire Sahib, then with Bullows at Jumala. The Border was safe, and -the time for reasons in writing had begun. - -“Thank Heaven,” said Bullows, “that the trouble came at once. Of course -we can never put down the reason in black and white, but all India will -understand. And it is better to have a sharp, short outbreak than five -years of impotent administration inside the Border. It costs less. Grish -Chunder Dé has reported himself sick, and has been transferred to his -own province without any sort of reprimand. He was strong on not having -taken over the district.” - -“Of course,” said Tallantire bitterly. “Well, what am I supposed to have -done that was wrong?” - -“Oh, you will be told that you exceeded all your powers, and should have -reported, and written, and advised for three weeks until the Khusru -Kheyl could really come down in force. But I don’t think the authorities -will dare to make a fuss about it. They’ve had their lesson. Have you -seen Curbar’s version of the affair? He can’t write a report, but he can -speak the truth.” - -“What’s the use of the truth? He’d much better tear up the report. I’m -sick and heart-broken over it all. It was so utterly unnecessary—except -in that it rid us of the Babu.” - -Entered unabashed Khoda Dad Khan, a stuffed forage-net in his hand, and -the troopers behind him. - -“May you never be tired!” said he cheerily. “Well, Sahibs, that was a -good fight, and Naim Shah’s mother is in debt to you, Tallantire Sahib. -A clean cut, they tell me, through jaw, wadded coat, and deep into the -collar-bone. Well done! But I speak for the tribe. There has been a -fault—a great fault. Thou knowest that I and mine, Tallantire Sahib, -kept the oath we sware to Orde Sahib on the banks of the Indus.” - -“As an Afghan keeps his knife—sharp on one side, blunt on the other,” -said Tallantire. - -“The better swing in the blow, then. But I speak God’s truth. Only the -Blind Mullah carried the young men on the tip of his tongue, and said -that there was no more Border-law because a Bengali had been sent, and -we need not fear the English at all. So they came down to avenge that -insult and get plunder. Ye know what befell, and how far I helped. Now -five score of us are dead or wounded, and we are all shamed and sorry, -and desire no further war. Moreover, that ye may better listen to us, we -have taken off the head of the Blind Mullah, whose evil counsels have -led us to folly. I bring it for proof,”—and he heaved on the floor the -head. “He will give no more trouble, for _I_ am chief now, and so I sit -in a higher place at all audiences. Yet there is an offset to this head. -That was another fault. One of the men found that black Bengali beast, -through whom this trouble arose, wandering on horseback and weeping. -Reflecting that he had caused loss of much good life, Alla Dad Khan, -whom, if you choose, I will to-morrow shoot, whipped off this head, and -I bring it to you to cover your shame, that ye may bury it. See, no man -kept the spectacles, though they were of gold.” - -Slowly rolled to Tallantire’s feet the crop-haired head of a spectacled -Bengali gentleman, open-eyed, open-mouthed—the head of Terror incarnate. -Bullows bent down. “Yet another blood-fine and a heavy one, Khoda Dad -Khan, for this is the head of Debendra Nath, the man’s brother. The Babu -is safe long since. All but the fools of the Khusru Kheyl know that.” - -“Well, I care not for carrion. Quick meat for me. The thing was under -our hills asking the road to Jumala, and Alla Dad Khan showed him the -road to Jehannum, being, as thou sayest, but a fool. Remains now what -the Government will do to us. As to the blockade——” - -“Who art thou, seller of dog’s flesh,” thundered Tallantire, “to speak -of terms and treaties? Get hence to the hills—go and wait there, -starving, till it shall please the Government to call thy people out for -punishment—children and fools that ye be! Count your dead, and be still. -Rest assured that the Government will send you a _man_!” - -“Ay,” returned Khoda Dad Khan, “for we also be men.” - -As he looked Tallantire between the eyes, he added, “And by God, Sahib, -may thou be that man!” - - - - - THE AMIR’S HOMILY - - Copyright, 1891, by Macmillan & Co. - - -His Royal Highness Abdur Rahman, Amir of Afghanistan, G. C. S. I., and -trusted ally of Her Imperial Majesty the Queen of England and Empress of -India, is a gentleman for whom all right-thinking people should have a -profound regard. Like most other rulers, he governs not as he would, but -as he can, and the mantle of his authority covers the most turbulent -race under the stars. To the Afghan neither life, property, law, nor -kingship are sacred when his own lusts prompt him to rebel. He is a -thief by instinct, a murderer by heredity and training, and frankly and -bestially immoral by all three. None the less he has his own crooked -notions of honour, and his character is fascinating to study. On -occasion he will fight without reason given till he is hacked in pieces; -on other occasions he will refuse to show fight till he is driven into a -corner. Herein he is as unaccountable as the gray wolf, who is his -blood-brother. - -And these men His Highness rules by the only weapon that they -understand—the fear of death, which among some Orientals is the -beginning of wisdom. Some say that the Amir’s authority reaches no -farther than a rifle-bullet can range; but as none are quite certain -when their king may be in their midst, and as he alone holds every one -of the threads of Government, his respect is increased among men. Gholam -Hyder, the Commander-in-chief of the Afghan army, is feared reasonably, -for he can impale; all Kabul city fears the Governor of Kabul, who has -power of life and death through all the wards; but the Amir of -Afghanistan, though outlying tribes pretend otherwise when his back is -turned, is dreaded beyond chief and governor together. His word is red -law; by the gust of his passion falls the leaf of man’s life, and his -favour is terrible. He has suffered many things, and been a hunted -fugitive before he came to the throne, and he understands all the -classes of his people. By the custom of the East any man or woman having -a complaint to make, or an enemy against whom to be avenged, has the -right of speaking face to face with the king at the daily public -audience. This is personal government, as it was in the days of Harun al -Raschid of blessed memory, whose times exist still and will exist long -after the English have passed away. - -The privilege of open speech is of course exercised at certain personal -risk. The king may be pleased, and raise the speaker to honour for that -very bluntness of speech which three minutes later brings a too -imitative petitioner to the edge of the ever-ready blade. And the people -love to have it so, for it is their right. - -It happened upon a day in Kabul that the Amir chose to do his day’s work -in the Baber Gardens, which lie a short distance from the city of Kabul. -A light table stood before him, and round the table in the open air were -grouped generals and finance ministers according to their degree. The -Court and the long tail of feudal chiefs—men of blood, fed and cowed by -blood—stood in an irregular semicircle round the table, and the wind -from the Kabul orchards blew among them. All day long sweating couriers -dashed in with letters from the outlying districts with rumours of -rebellion, intrigue, famine, failure of payments, or announcements of -treasure on the road; and all day long the Amir would read the dockets, -and pass such of these as were less private to the officials whom they -directly concerned, or call up a waiting chief for a word of -explanation. It is well to speak clearly to the ruler of Afghanistan. -Then the grim head, under the black astrachan cap with the diamond star -in front, would nod gravely, and that chief would return to his fellows. -Once that afternoon a woman clamoured for divorce against her husband, -who was bald, and the Amir, hearing both sides of the case, bade her -pour curds over the bare scalp, and lick them off, that the hair might -grow again, and she be contented. Here the Court laughed, and the woman -withdrew, cursing her king under her breath. - -But when twilight was falling, and the order of the Court was a little -relaxed, there came before the king, in custody, a trembling, haggard -wretch, sore with much buffeting, but of stout enough build, who had -stolen three rupees—of such small matters does His Highness take -cognisance. - -“Why did you steal?” said he; and when the king asks questions they do -themselves service who answer directly. - -“I was poor, and no one gave. Hungry, and there was no food.” - -“Why did you not work?” - -“I could find no work, Protector of the Poor, and I was starving.” - -“You lie. You stole for drink, for lust, for idleness, for anything but -hunger, since any man who will may find work and daily bread.” - -The prisoner dropped his eyes. He had attended the Court before, and he -knew the ring of the death-tone. - -“Any man may get work. Who knows this so well as I do? for I too have -been hungered—not like you, bastard scum, but as any honest man may be, -by the turn of Fate and the will of God.” - -Growing warm, the Amir turned to his nobles all arow, and thrust the -hilt of his sabre aside with his elbow. - -“You have heard this Son of Lies? Hear me tell a true tale. I also was -once starved, and tightened my belt on the sharp belly-pinch. Nor was I -alone, for with me was another, who did not fail me in my evil days, -when I was hunted, before ever I came to this throne. And wandering like -a houseless dog by Kandahar, my money melted, melted, melted till——” He -flung out a bare palm before the audience. “And day upon day, faint and -sick, I went back to that one who waited, and God knows how we lived, -till on a day I took our best _lihaf_—silk it was, fine work of Iran, -such as no needle now works, warm, and a coverlet for two, and all that -we had. I brought it to a money-lender in a by-lane, and I asked for -three rupees upon it. He said to me, who am now the King, ‘You are a -thief. This is worth three hundred.’ ‘I am no thief,’ I answered, ‘but a -prince of good blood, and I am hungry.’—‘Prince of wandering beggars,’ -said that money-lender, ‘I have no money with me, but go to my house -with my clerk and he will give you two rupees eight annas, for that is -all I will lend.’ So I went with the clerk to the house, and we talked -on the way, and he gave me the money. We lived on it till it was spent, -and we fared hard. And then that clerk said, being a young man of a good -heart, ‘Surely the money-lender will lend yet more on that _lihaf_,’ and -he offered me two rupees. These I refused, saying, ‘Nay; but get me some -work.’ And he got me work, and I, even I, Abdur Rahman, Amir of -Afghanistan, wrought day by day as a coolie, bearing burdens, and -labouring of my hands, receiving four annas wage a day for my sweat and -backache. But he, this bastard son of naught, must steal! For a year and -four months I worked, and none dare say that I lie, for I have a -witness, even that clerk who is now my friend.” - -Then there rose in his place among the Sirdars and the nobles one clad -in silk, who folded his hands and said, “This is the truth of God, for -I, who, by the favour of God and the Amir, am such as you know, was once -clerk to that money-lender.” - -There was a pause, and the Amir cried hoarsely to the prisoner, throwing -scorn upon him, till he ended with the dread, “_Dar arid_,” which -clinches justice. - -So they led the thief away, and the whole of him was seen no more -together; and the Court rustled out of its silence, whispering, “Before -God and the Prophet, but this is a man!” - - - - - AT TWENTY-TWO - -Narrow as the womb, deep as the Pit, and dark as the heart of a - man.—_Sonthal Miner’s Proverb._ - - -“A weaver went out to reap, but stayed to unravel the corn-stalks. Ha! -Ha! Ha! Is there any sense in a weaver?” - -Janki Meah glared at Kundoo, but, as Janki Meah was blind, Kundoo was -not impressed. He had come to argue with Janki Meah, and, if chance -favoured, to make love to the old man’s pretty young wife. - -This was Kundoo’s grievance, and he spoke in the name of all the five -men who, with Janki Meah, composed the gang in Number Seven gallery of -Twenty-Two. Janki Meah had been blind for the thirty years during which -he had served the Jimahari Collieries with pick and crowbar. All through -those thirty years he had regularly, every morning before going down, -drawn from the overseer his allowance of lamp-oil—just as if he had been -an eyed miner. What Kundoo’s gang resented, as hundreds of gangs had -resented before, was Janki Meah’s selfishness. He would not add the oil -to the common stock of his gang, but would save and sell it. - -“I knew these workings before you were born,” Janki Meah used to reply: -“I don’t want the light to get my coal out by, and I am not going to -help you. The oil is mine, and I intend to keep it.” - -A strange man in many ways was Janki Meah, the white-haired, -hot-tempered, sightless weaver who had turned pitman. All day -long—except Sundays and Mondays, when he was usually drunk—he worked in -the Twenty-Two shaft of the Jimahari Colliery as cleverly as a man with -all the senses. At evening he went up in the great steam-hauled cage to -the pit-bank, and there called for his pony—a rusty, coal-dusty beast, -nearly as old as Janki Meah. The pony would come to his side, and Janki -Meah would clamber on to its back and be taken at once to the plot of -land which he, like the other miners, received from the Jimahari -Company. The pony knew that place, and when, after six years, the -Company changed all the allotments to prevent the miners from acquiring -proprietary rights, Janki Meah represented, with tears in his eyes, that -were his holding shifted, he would never be able to find his way to the -new one. “My horse only knows that place,” pleaded Janki Meah, and so he -was allowed to keep his land. - -On the strength of this concession and his accumulated oil-savings, -Janki Meah took a second wife—a girl of the Jolaha main stock of the -Meahs, and singularly beautiful. Janki Meah could not see her beauty; -wherefore he took her on trust, and forbade her to go down the pit. He -had not worked for thirty years in the dark without knowing that the pit -was no place for pretty women. He loaded her with ornaments—not brass or -pewter, but real silver ones—and she rewarded him by flirting -outrageously with Kundoo of Number Seven gallery gang. Kundoo was really -the gang-head, but Janki Meah insisted upon all the work being entered -in his own name, and chose the men that he worked with. Custom—stronger -even than the Jimahari Company—dictated that Janki, by right of his -years, should manage these things, and should, also, work despite his -blindness. In Indian mines, where they cut into the solid coal with the -pick and clear it out from floor to ceiling, he could come to no great -harm. At Home, where they undercut the coal and bring it down in -crashing avalanches from the roof, he would never have been allowed to -set foot in a pit. He was not a popular man, because of his oil-savings; -but all the gangs admitted that Janki knew all the _khads_, or workings, -that had ever been sunk or worked since the Jimahari Company first -started operations on the Tarachunda fields. - -Pretty little Unda only knew that her old husband was a fool who could -be managed. She took no interest in the collieries except in so far as -they swallowed up Kundoo five days out of the seven, and covered him -with coal-dust. Kundoo was a great workman, and did his best not to get -drunk, because, when he had saved forty rupees, Unda was to steal -everything that she could find in Janki’s house and run with Kundoo to a -land where there were no mines, and every one kept three fat bullocks -and a milch-buffalo. While this scheme ripened it was his custom to drop -in upon Janki and worry him about the oil-savings. Unda sat in a corner -and nodded approval. On the night when Kundoo had quoted that -objectionable proverb about weavers, Janki grew angry. - -“Listen, you pig,” said he, “blind I am, and old I am, but, before ever -you were born, I was gray among the coal. Even in the days when the -Twenty-Two _khad_ was unsunk and there were not two thousand men here, I -was known to have all knowledge of the pits. What _khad_ is there that I -do not know, from the bottom of the shaft to the end of the last drive? -Is it the Baromba _khad_, the oldest, or the Twenty-Two where Tibu’s -gallery runs up to Number Five?” - -“Hear the old fool talk!” said Kundoo, nodding to Unda. “No gallery of -Twenty-Two will cut into Five before the end of the Rains. We have a -month’s solid coal before us. The Babuji says so.” - -“Babuji! Pigji! Dogji! What do these fat slugs from Calcutta know? He -draws and draws and draws, and talks and talks and talks, and his maps -are all wrong. I, Janki, know that this is so. When a man has been shut -up in the dark for thirty years, God gives him knowledge. The old -gallery that Tibu’s gang made is not six feet from Number Five.” - -“Without doubt God gives the blind knowledge,” said Kundoo, with a look -at Unda. “Let it be as you say. I, for my part, do not know where lies -the gallery of Tibu’s gang, but _I_ am not a withered monkey who needs -oil to grease his joints with.” - -Kundoo swung out of the hut laughing, and Unda giggled. Janki turned his -sightless eyes toward his wife and swore. “I have land, and I have sold -a great deal of lamp-oil,” mused Janki; “but I was a fool to marry this -child.” - -A week later the Rains set in with a vengeance, and the gangs paddled -about in coal-slush at the pit-banks. Then the big mine-pumps were made -ready, and the Manager of the Colliery ploughed through the wet towards -the Tarachunda River swelling between its soppy banks. “Lord send that -this beastly beck doesn’t misbehave,” said the Manager piously, and he -went to take counsel with his Assistant about the pumps. - -But the Tarachunda misbehaved very much indeed. After a fall of three -inches of rain in an hour it was obliged to do something. It topped its -bank and joined the flood-water that was hemmed between two low hills -just where the embankment of the Colliery main line crossed. When a -large part of a rain-fed river, and a few acres of flood-water, make a -dead set for a nine-foot culvert, the culvert may spout its finest, but -the water cannot _all_ get out. The Manager pranced upon one leg with -excitement, and his language was improper. - -He had reason to swear, because he knew that one inch of water on land -meant a pressure of one hundred tons to the acre; and here were about -five feet of water forming, behind the railway embankment, over the -shallower workings of Twenty-Two. You must understand that, in a -coal-mine, the coal nearest the surface is worked first from the central -shaft. That is to say, the miners may clear out the stuff to within ten, -twenty, or thirty feet of the surface, and, when all is worked out, -leave only a skin of earth upheld by some few pillars of coal. In a deep -mine where they know that they have any amount of material at hand, men -prefer to get all their mineral out at one shaft, rather than make a -number of little holes to tap the comparatively unimportant -surface-coal. - -And the Manager watched the flood. - -The culvert spouted a nine-foot gush; but the water still formed, and -word was sent to clear the men out of Twenty-Two. The cages came up -crammed and crammed again with the men nearest the pit-eye, as they call -the place where you can see daylight from the bottom of the main shaft. -All away and away up the long black galleries the flare-lamps were -winking and dancing like so many fireflies, and the men and the women -waited for the clanking, rattling, thundering cages to come down and fly -up again. But the out-workings were very far off, and word could not be -passed quickly, though the heads of the gangs and the Assistant shouted -and swore and tramped and stumbled. The Manager kept one eye on the -great troubled pool behind the embankment, and prayed that the culvert -would give way and let the water through in time. With the other eye he -watched the cages come up and saw the headmen counting the roll of the -gangs. With all his heart and soul he swore at the winder who controlled -the iron drum that wound up the wire rope on which hung the cages. - -In a little time there was a down-draw in the water behind the -embankment—a sucking whirlpool, all yellow and yeasty. The water had -smashed through the skin of the earth and was pouring into the old -shallow workings of Twenty-Two. - -Deep down below, a rush of black water caught the last gang waiting for -the cage, and as they clambered in the whirl was about their waists. The -cage reached the pit-bank, and the Manager called the roll. The gangs -were all safe except Gang Janki, Gang Mogul, and Gang Rahim, eighteen -men, with perhaps ten basket-women who loaded the coal into the little -iron carriages that ran on the tramways of the main galleries. These -gangs were in the out-workings, three-quarters of a mile away, on the -extreme fringe of the mine. Once more the cage went down, but with only -two Englishmen in it, and dropped into a swirling, roaring current that -had almost touched the roof of some of the lower side-galleries. One of -the wooden balks with which they had propped the old workings shot past -on the current, just missing the cage. - -“If we don’t want our ribs knocked out, we’d better go,” said the -Manager. “We can’t even save the Company’s props.” - -The cage drew out of the water with a splash, and a few minutes later it -was officially reported that there were at least ten feet of water in -the pit’s eye. Now ten feet of water there meant that all other places -in the mine were flooded except such galleries as were more than ten -feet above the level of the bottom of the shaft. The deep workings would -be full, the main galleries would be full, but in the high workings -reached by inclines from the main roads there would be a certain amount -of air cut off, so to speak, by the water and squeezed up by it. The -little science-primers explain how water behaves when you pour it down -test-tubes. The flooding of Twenty-Two was an illustration on a large -scale. - - * * * * * - -“By the Holy Grove, what has happened to the air!” It was a Sonthal -gangman of Gang Mogul in Number Nine gallery, and he was driving a -six-foot way through the coal. Then there was a rush from the other -galleries, and Gang Janki and Gang Rahim stumbled up with their -basket-women. - -“Water has come in the mine,” they said, “and there is no way of getting -out.” - -“I went down,” said Janki—“down the slope of my gallery, and I felt the -water.” - -“There has been no water in the cutting in our time,” clamoured the -women. “Why cannot we go away?” - -“Be silent!” said Janki. “Long ago, when my father was here, water came -to Ten—no, Eleven—cutting, and there was great trouble. Let us get away -to where the air is better.” - -The three gangs and the basket-women left Number Nine gallery and went -further up Number Sixteen. At one turn of the road they could see the -pitchy black water lapping on the coal. It had touched the roof of a -gallery that they knew well—a gallery where they used to smoke their -_huqas_ and manage their flirtations. Seeing this, they called aloud -upon their Gods, and the Meahs, who are thrice bastard Muhammadans, -strove to recollect the name of the Prophet. They came to a great open -square whence nearly all the coal had been extracted. It was the end of -the out-workings, and the end of the mine. - -Far away down the gallery a small pumping-engine, used for keeping dry a -deep working and fed with steam from above, was throbbing faithfully. -They heard it cease. - -“They have cut off the steam,” said Kundoo hopefully. “They have given -the order to use all the steam for the pit-bank pumps. They will clear -out the water.” - -“If the water has reached the smoking-gallery,” said Janki, “all the -Company’s pumps can do nothing for three days.” - -“It is very hot,” moaned Jasoda, the Meah basket-woman. “There is a very -bad air here because of the lamps.” - -“Put them out,” said Janki; “why do you want lamps?” The lamps were put -out and the company sat still in the utter dark. Somebody rose quietly -and began walking over the coals. It was Janki, who was touching the -walls with his hands. “Where is the ledge?” he murmured to himself. - -“Sit, sit!” said Kundoo. “If we die, we die. The air is very bad.” - -But Janki still stumbled and crept and tapped with his pick upon the -walls. The women rose to their feet. - -“Stay all where you are. Without the lamps you cannot see, and I—I am -always seeing,” said Janki. Then he paused, and called out: “Oh, you who -have been in the cutting more than ten years, what is the name of this -open place? I am an old man and I have forgotten.” - -“Bullia’s Room,” answered the Sonthal who had complained of the vileness -of the air. - -“Again,” said Janki. - -“Bullia’s Room.” - -“Then I have found it,” said Janki. “The name only had slipped my -memory. Tibu’s gang’s gallery is here.” - -“A lie,” said Kundoo. “There have been no galleries in this place since -my day.” - -“Three paces was the depth of the ledge,” muttered Janki without -heeding—“and—oh, my poor bones!—I have found it! It is here, up this -ledge. Come all you, one by one, to the place of my voice, and I will -count you.” - -There was a rush in the dark, and Janki felt the first man’s face hit -his knees as the Sonthal scrambled up the ledge. - -“Who?” cried Janki. - -“I, Sunua Manji.” - -“Sit you down,” said Janki. “Who next?” - -One by one the women and the men crawled up the ledge which ran along -one side of “Bullia’s Room.” Degraded Muhammadan, pig-eating Musahr and -wild Sonthal, Janki ran his hand over them all. - -“Now follow after,” said he, “catching hold of my heel, and the women -catching the men’s clothes.” He did not ask whether the men had brought -their picks with them. A miner, black or white, does not drop his pick. -One by one, Janki leading, they crept into the old gallery—a six-foot -way with a scant four feet from thill to roof. - -“The air is better here,” said Jasoda. They could hear her heart beating -in thick, sick bumps. - -“Slowly, slowly,” said Janki. “I am an old man, and I forget many -things. This is Tibu’s gallery, but where are the four bricks where they -used to put their _huqa_ fire on when the Sahibs never saw? Slowly, -slowly, O you people behind.” - -They heard his hands disturbing the small coal on the floor of the -gallery and then a dull sound. “This is one unbaked brick, and this is -another and another. Kundoo is a young man—let him come forward. Put a -knee upon this brick and strike here. When Tibu’s gang were at dinner on -the last day before the good coal ended, they heard the men of Five on -the other side, and Five worked _their_ gallery two Sundays later—or it -may have been one. Strike there, Kundoo, but give me room to go back.” - -Kundoo, doubting, drove the pick, but the first soft crush of the coal -was a call to him. He was fighting for his life and for Unda—pretty -little Unda with rings on all her toes—for Unda and the forty rupees. -The women sang the Song of the Pick—the terrible, slow, swinging melody -with the muttered chorus that repeats the sliding of the loosened coal, -and, to each cadence, Kundoo smote in the black dark. When he could do -no more, Sunua Manji took the pick, and struck for his life and his -wife, and his village beyond the blue hills over the Tarachunda River. -An hour the men worked, and then the women cleared away the coal. - -“It is farther than I thought,” said Janki. “The air is very bad; but -strike, Kundoo, strike hard.” - -For the fifth time Kundoo took up the pick as the Sonthal crawled back. -The song had scarcely recommenced when it was broken by a yell from -Kundoo that echoed down the gallery: “_Par hua! Par hua!_ We are -through, we are through!” The imprisoned air in the mine shot through -the opening, and the women at the far end of the gallery heard the water -rush through the pillars of “Bullia’s Room” and roar against the ledge. -Having fulfilled the law under which it worked, it rose no farther. The -women screamed and pressed forward. “The water has come—we shall be -killed! Let us go.” - -Kundoo crawled through the gap and found himself in a propped gallery by -the simple process of hitting his head against a beam. - -“Do I know the pits or do I not?” chuckled Janki. “This is the Number -Five; go you out slowly, giving me your names. Ho! Rahim, count your -gang! Now let us go forward, each catching hold of the other as before.” - -They formed a line in the darkness and Janki led them—for a pit-man in a -strange pit is only one degree less liable to err than an ordinary -mortal underground for the first time. At last they saw a flare-lamp, -and Gangs Janki, Mogul, and Rahim of Twenty-Two stumbled dazed into the -glare of the draught-furnace at the bottom of Five: Janki feeling his -way and the rest behind. - -“Water has come into Twenty-Two. God knows where are the others. I have -brought these men from Tibu’s gallery in our cutting; making connection -through the north side of the gallery. Take us to the cage,” said Janki -Meah. - - * * * * * - -At the pit-bank of Twenty-Two some thousand people clamoured and wept -and shouted. One hundred men—one thousand men—had been drowned in the -cutting. They would all go to their homes to-morrow. Where were their -men? Little Unda, her cloth drenched with the rain, stood at the -pit-mouth, calling down the shaft for Kundoo. They had swung the cages -clear of the mouth, and her only answer was the murmur of the flood in -the pit’s eye two hundred and sixty feet below. - -“Look after that woman! She’ll chuck herself down the shaft in a -minute,” shouted the Manager. - -But he need not have troubled; Unda was afraid of Death. She wanted -Kundoo. The Assistant was watching the flood and seeing how far he could -wade into it. There was a lull in the water, and the whirlpool had -slackened. The mine was full, and the people at the pit-bank howled. - -“My faith, we shall be lucky if we have five hundred hands on the place -to-morrow!” said the Manager. “There’s some chance yet of running a -temporary dam across that water. Shove in anything—tubs and -bullock-carts if you haven’t enough bricks. Make them work _now_ if they -never worked before. Hi! you gangers, make them work.” - -Little by little the crowd was broken into detachments, and pushed -towards the water with promises of overtime. The dam-making began, and -when it was fairly under way, the Manager thought that the hour had come -for the pumps. There was no fresh inrush into the mine. The tall, red, -iron-clamped pump-beam rose and fell, and the pumps snored and guttered -and shrieked as the first water poured out of the pipe. - -“We must run her all to-night,” said the Manager wearily, “but there’s -no hope for the poor devils down below. Look here, Gur Sahai, if you are -proud of your engines, show me what they can do now.” - -Gur Sahai grinned and nodded, with his right hand upon the lever and an -oil-can in his left. He could do no more than he was doing, but he could -keep that up till the dawn. Were the Company’s pumps to be beaten by the -vagaries of that troublesome Tarachunda River? Never, never! And the -pumps sobbed and panted: “Never, never!” The Manager sat in the shelter -of the pit-bank roofing, trying to dry himself by the pump-boiler fire, -and, in the dreary dusk, he saw the crowds on the dam scatter and fly. - -“That’s the end,” he groaned. “’Twill take us six weeks to persuade ’em -that we haven’t tried to drown their mates on purpose. Oh, for a decent, -rational Geordie!” - -But the flight had no panic in it. Men had run over from Five with -astounding news, and the foremen could not hold their gangs together. -Presently, surrounded by a clamorous crew, Gangs Rahim, Mogul, and -Janki, and ten basket-women walked up to report themselves, and pretty -little Unda stole away to Janki’s hut to prepare his evening meal. - -“Alone I found the way,” explained Janki Meah, “and now will the Company -give me pension?” - -The simple pit-folk shouted and leaped and went back to the dam, -reassured in their old belief that, whatever happened, so great was the -power of the Company whose salt they ate, none of them could be killed. -But Gur Sahai only bared his white teeth and kept his hand upon the -lever and proved his pumps to the uttermost. - - * * * * * - -“I say,” said the Assistant to the Manager, a week later, “do you -recollect ‘Germinal’?” - -“Yes. ’Queer thing. I thought of it in the cage when that balk went by. -Why?” - -“Oh, this business seems to be ‘Germinal’ upside down. Janki was in my -verandah all this morning, telling me that Kundoo had eloped with his -wife—Unda or Anda, I think her name was.” - -“Hillo! And those were the cattle that you risked your life to clear out -of Twenty-Two!” - -“No—I was thinking of the Company’s props, not the Company’s men.” - -“Sounds better to say so _now_; but I don’t believe you, old fellow.” - - - - - JEWS IN SHUSHAN - - Copyright, 1891, by Macmillan & Co. - - -My newly purchased house furniture was, at the least, insecure; the legs -parted from the chairs, and the tops from the tables, on the slightest -provocation. But such as it was, it was to be paid for, and Ephraim, -agent and collector for the local auctioneer, waited in the verandah -with the receipt. He was announced by the Mahomedan servant as “Ephraim, -Yahudi”—Ephraim the Jew. He who believes in the Brotherhood of Man -should hear my Elahi Bukhsh grinding the second word through his white -teeth with all the scorn he dare show before his master. Ephraim was, -personally, meek in manner—so meek indeed that one could not understand -how he had fallen into the profession of bill-collecting. He resembled -an over-fed sheep, and his voice suited his figure. There was a fixed, -unvarying mask of childish wonder upon his face. If you paid him, he was -as one marvelling at your wealth; if you sent him away, he seemed -puzzled at your hard-heartedness. Never was Jew more unlike his dread -breed. - -Ephraim wore list slippers and coats of duster-cloth, so preposterously -patterned that the most brazen of British subalterns would have shied -from them in fear. Very slow and deliberate was his speech, and -carefully guarded to give offense to no one. After many weeks, Ephraim -was induced to speak to me of his friends. - -“There be eight of us in Shushan, and we are waiting till there are ten. -Then we shall apply for a synagogue, and get leave from Calcutta. To-day -we have no synagogue; and I, only I, am Priest and Butcher to our -people. I am of the tribe of Judah—I think, but I am not sure. My father -was of the tribe of Judah, and we wish much to get our synagogue. I -shall be a priest of that synagogue.” - -Shushan is a big city in the North of India, counting its dwellers by -the ten thousand; and these eight of the Chosen People were shut up in -its midst, waiting till time or chance sent them their full -congregation. - -Miriam, the wife of Ephraim, two little children, an orphan boy of their -people, Ephraim’s uncle Jackrael Israel, a white-haired old man, his -wife Hester, a Jew from Cutch, one Hyem Benjamin, and Ephraim, Priest -and Butcher, made up the list of the Jews in Shushan. They lived in one -house, on the outskirts of the great city, amid heaps of saltpetre, -rotten bricks, herds of kine, and a fixed pillar of dust caused by the -incessant passing of the beasts to the river to drink. In the evening, -the children of the City came to the waste place to fly their kites, and -Ephraim’s sons held aloof, watching the sport from the roof, but never -descending to take part in it. At the back of the house stood a small -brick enclosure, in which Ephraim prepared the daily meat for his people -after the custom of the Jews. Once the rude door of the square was -suddenly smashed open by a struggle from inside, and showed the meek -bill-collector at his work, nostrils dilated, lips drawn back over his -teeth, and his hands upon a half-maddened sheep. He was attired in -strange raiment, having no relation whatever to duster coats or list -slippers, and a knife was in his mouth. As he struggled with the animal -between the walls, the breath came from him in thick sobs, and the -nature of the man seemed changed. When the ordained slaughter was ended, -he saw that the door was open and shut it hastily, his hand leaving a -red mark on the timber, while his children from the neighbouring -house-top looked down awe-stricken and open-eyed. A glimpse of Ephraim -busied in one of his religious capacities was no thing to be desired -twice. - -Summer came upon Shushan, turning the trodden waste-ground to iron, and -bringing sickness to the city. - -“It will not touch us,” said Ephraim confidently. “Before the winter we -shall have our synagogue. My brother and his wife and children are -coming up from Calcutta, and _then_ I shall be the priest of the -synagogue.” - -Jackrael Israel, the old man, would crawl out in the stifling evenings -to sit on the rubbish-heap and watch the corpses being borne down to the -river. - -“It will not come near us,” said Jackrael Israel feebly, “for we are the -people of God, and my nephew will be priest of our synagogue. Let them -die.” He crept back to his house again and barred the door to shut -himself off from the world of the Gentile. - -But Miriam, the wife of Ephraim, looked out of the window at the dead as -the biers passed, and said that she was afraid. Ephraim comforted her -with hopes of the synagogue to be, and collected bills as was his -custom. - -In one night the two children died and were buried early in the morning -by Ephraim. The deaths never appeared in the City returns. “The sorrow -is my sorrow,” said Ephraim; and this to him seemed a sufficient reason -for setting at naught the sanitary regulations of a large, flourishing, -and remarkably well-governed Empire. - -The orphan boy, dependent on the charity of Ephraim and his wife, could -have felt no gratitude, and must have been a ruffian. He begged for -whatever money his protectors would give him, and with that fled down -country for his life. A week after the death of her children Miriam left -her bed at night and wandered over the country to find them. She heard -them crying behind every bush, or drowning in every pool of water in the -fields, and she begged the cartmen on the Grand Trunk Road not to steal -her little ones from her. In the morning the sun rose and beat upon her -bare head, and she turned into the cool, wet crops to lie down, and -never came back, though Hyem Benjamin and Ephraim sought her for two -nights. - -The look of patient wonder on Ephraim’s face deepened, but he presently -found an explanation. “There are so few of us here, and these people are -so many,” said he, “that, it may be, our God has forgotten us.” - -In the house on the outskirts of the city old Jackrael Israel and Hester -grumbled that there was no one to wait on them, and that Miriam had been -untrue to her race. Ephraim went out and collected bills, and in the -evenings smoked with Hyem Benjamin till, one dawning, Hyem Benjamin -died, having first paid all his debts to Ephraim. Jackrael Israel and -Hester sat alone in the empty house all day, and, when Ephraim returned, -wept the easy tears of age till they cried themselves asleep. - -A week later Ephraim, staggering under a huge bundle of clothes and -cooking-pots, led the old man and woman to the railway station, where -the bustle and confusion made them whimper. - -“We are going back to Calcutta,” said Ephraim, to whose sleeve Hester -was clinging. “There are more of us there, and here my house is empty.” - -He helped Hester into the carriage and, turning back, said to me, “I -should have been priest of the synagogue if there had been ten of us. -Surely we must have been forgotten by our God.” - -The remnant of the broken colony passed out of the station on their -journey south; while a subaltern, turning over the books on the -bookstall, was whistling to himself “The Ten Little Nigger Boys.” - -But the tune sounded as solemn as the Dead March. - -It was the dirge of the Jews in Shushan. - - - - - GEORGIE PORGIE - - Copyright, 1891, by Macmillan & Co. - - Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, - Kissed the girls and made them cry. - When the girls came out to play - Georgie Porgie ran away. - - -If you will admit that a man has no right to enter his drawing-room -early in the morning, when the housemaid is setting things right and -clearing away the dust, you will concede that civilised people who eat -out of china and own card-cases have no right to apply their standard of -right and wrong to an unsettled land. When the place is made fit for -their reception, by those men who are told off to the work, they can -come up, bringing in their trunks their own society and the Decalogue, -and all the other apparatus. Where the Queen’s Law does not carry, it is -irrational to expect an observance of other and weaker rules. The men -who run ahead of the cars of Decency and Propriety, and make the jungle -ways straight, cannot be judged in the same manner as the stay-at-home -folk of the ranks of the regular _Tchin_. - -Not many months ago the Queen’s Law stopped a few miles north of -Thayetmyo on the Irrawaddy. There was no very strong Public Opinion up -to that limit, but it existed to keep men in order. When the Government -said that the Queen’s Law must carry up to Bhamo and the Chinese border, -the order was given, and some men whose desire was to be ever a little -in advance of the rush of Respectability flocked forward with the -troops. These were the men who could never pass examinations, and would -have been too pronounced in their ideas for the administration of -bureau-worked Provinces. The Supreme Government stepped in as soon as -might be, with codes and regulations, and all but reduced New Burma to -the dead Indian level; but there was a short time during which strong -men were necessary and ploughed a field for themselves. - -Among the fore-runners of Civilisation was Georgie Porgie, reckoned by -all who knew him a strong man. He held an appointment in Lower Burma -when the order came to break the Frontier, and his friends called him -Georgie Porgie because of the singularly Burmese-like manner in which he -sang a song whose first line is something like the words “Georgie -Porgie.” Most men who have been in Burma will know the song. It means: -“Puff, puff, puff, puff, great steamboat!” Georgie sang it to his banjo, -and his friends shouted with delight, so that you could hear them far -away in the teak-forest. - -When he went to Upper Burma he had no special regard for God or Man, but -he knew how to make himself respected, and to carry out the mixed -Military-Civil duties that fell to most men’s share in those months. He -did his office work and entertained, now and again, the detachments of -fever-shaken soldiers who blundered through his part of the world in -search of a flying party of dacoits. Sometimes he turned out and dressed -down dacoits on his own account; for the country was still smouldering -and would blaze when least expected. He enjoyed these charivaris, but -the dacoits were not so amused. All the officials who came in contact -with him departed with the idea that Georgie Porgie was a valuable -person, well able to take care of himself, and, on that belief, he was -left to his own devices. - -At the end of a few months he wearied of his solitude, and cast about -for company and refinement. The Queen’s Law had hardly begun to be felt -in the country, and Public Opinion, which is more powerful than the -Queen’s Law, had yet to come. Also, there was a custom in the country -which allowed a white man to take to himself a wife of the Daughters of -Heth upon due payment. The marriage was not quite so binding as is the -_nikkah_ ceremony among Mahomedans, but the wife was very pleasant. - -When all our troops are back from Burma there will be a proverb in their -mouths, “As thrifty as a Burmese wife,” and pretty English ladies will -wonder what in the world it means. - -The headman of the village next to Georgie Porgie’s post had a fair -daughter who had seen Georgie Porgie and loved him from afar. When news -went abroad that the Englishman with the heavy hand who lived in the -stockade was looking for a housekeeper, the headman came in and -explained that, for five hundred rupees down, he would entrust his -daughter to Georgie Porgie’s keeping, to be maintained in all honour, -respect, and comfort, with pretty dresses, according to the custom of -the country. This thing was done, and Georgie Porgie never repented it. - -He found his rough-and-tumble house put straight and made comfortable, -his hitherto unchecked expenses cut down by one half, and himself petted -and made much of by his new acquisition, who sat at the head of his -table and sang songs to him and ordered his Madrassee servants about, -and was in every way as sweet and merry and honest and winning a little -woman as the most exacting of bachelors could have desired. No race, men -say who know, produces such good wives and heads of households as the -Burmese. When the next detachment tramped by on the war-path the -Subaltern in Command found at Georgie Porgie’s table a hostess to be -deferential to, a woman to be treated in every way as one occupying an -assured position. When he gathered his men together next dawn and -replunged into the jungle, he thought regretfully of the nice little -dinner and the pretty face, and envied Georgie Porgie from the bottom of -his heart. Yet _he_ was engaged to a girl at Home, and that is how some -men are constructed. - -The Burmese girl’s name was not a pretty one; but as she was promptly -christened Georgina by Georgie Porgie, the blemish did not matter. -Georgie Porgie thought well of the petting and the general comfort, and -vowed that he had never spent five hundred rupees to a better end. - -After three months of domestic life, a great idea struck him. -Matrimony—English matrimony—could not be such a bad thing after all. If -he were so thoroughly comfortable at the Back of Beyond with this -Burmese girl who smoked cheroots, how much more comfortable would he be -with a sweet English maiden who would not smoke cheroots, and would play -upon a piano instead of a banjo? Also he had a desire to return to his -kind, to hear a Band once more, and to feel how it felt to wear a -dress-suit again. Decidedly, Matrimony would be a very good thing. He -thought the matter out at length of evenings, while Georgina sang to -him, or asked him why he was so silent, and whether she had done -anything to offend him. As he thought he smoked, and as he smoked he -looked at Georgina, and in his fancy turned her into a fair, thrifty, -amusing, merry little English girl, with hair coming low down on her -forehead, and perhaps a cigarette between her lips. Certainly not a big, -thick, Burma cheroot, of the brand that Georgina smoked. He would wed a -girl with Georgina’s eyes and most of her ways. But not all. She could -be improved upon. Then he blew thick smoke-wreaths through his nostrils -and stretched himself. He would taste marriage. Georgina had helped him -to save money, and there were six months’ leave due to him. - -“See here, little woman,” he said, “we must put by more money for these -next three months. I want it.” That was a direct slur on Georgina’s -housekeeping; for she prided herself on her thrift; but since her God -wanted money she would do her best. - -“You want money?” she said with a little laugh. “I _have_ money. Look!” -She ran to her own room and fetched out a small bag of rupees. “Of all -that you give me, I keep back some. See! One hundred and seven rupees. -Can you want more money than that? Take it. It is my pleasure if you use -it.” She spread out the money on the table and pushed it towards him -with her quick, little, pale yellow fingers. - -Georgie Porgie never referred to economy in the household again. - -Three months later, after the despatch and receipt of several mysterious -letters which Georgina could not understand, and hated for that reason, -Georgie Porgie said that he was going away and she must return to her -father’s house and stay there. - -Georgina wept. She would go with her God from the world’s end to the -world’s end. Why should she leave him? She loved him. - -“I am only going to Rangoon,” said Georgie Porgie. “I shall be back in a -month, but it is safer to stay with your father. I will leave you two -hundred rupees.” - -“If you go for a month, what need of two hundred? Fifty are more than -enough. There is some evil here. Do not go, or at least let me go with -you.” - -Georgie Porgie does not like to remember that scene even at this date. -In the end he got rid of Georgina by a compromise of seventy-five -rupees. She would not take more. Then he went by steamer and rail to -Rangoon. - -The mysterious letters had granted him six months’ leave. The actual -flight and an idea that he might have been treacherous hurt severely at -the time, but as soon as the big steamer was well out into the blue, -things were easier, and Georgina’s face, and the queer little stockaded -house, and the memory of the rushes of shouting dacoits by night, the -cry and struggle of the first man that he had ever killed with his own -hand, and a hundred other more intimate things, faded and faded out of -Georgie Porgie’s heart, and the vision of approaching England took its -place. The steamer was full of men on leave, all rampantly jovial souls -who had shaken off the dust and sweat of Upper Burma and were as merry -as schoolboys. They helped Georgie Porgie to forget. - -Then came England with its luxuries and decencies and comforts, and -Georgie Porgie walked in a pleasant dream upon pavements of which he had -nearly forgotten the ring, wondering why men in their senses ever left -Town. He accepted his keen delight in his furlough as the reward of his -services. Providence further arranged for him another and greater -delight—all the pleasures of a quiet English wooing, quite different -from the brazen businesses of the East, when half the community stand -back and bet on the result, and the other half wonder what Mrs. -So-and-So will say to it. - -It was a pleasant girl and a perfect summer, and a big country-house -near Petworth where there are acres and acres of purple heather and -high-grassed water-meadows to wander through. Georgie Porgie felt that -he had at last found something worth the living for, and naturally -assumed that the next thing to do was to ask the girl to share his life -in India. She, in her ignorance, was willing to go. On this occasion -there was no bartering with a village headman. There was a fine -middle-class wedding in the country, with a stout Papa and a weeping -Mamma, and a best man in purple and fine linen, and six snub-nosed girls -from the Sunday-School to throw roses on the path between the tombstones -up to the Church door. The local paper described the affair at great -length, even down to giving the hymns in full. But that was because the -Direction were starving for want of material. - -Then came a honeymoon at Arundel, and the Mamma wept copiously before -she allowed her one daughter to sail away to India under the care of -Georgie Porgie the Bridegroom. Beyond any question, Georgie Porgie was -immensely fond of his wife, and she was devoted to him as the best and -greatest man in the world. When he reported himself at Bombay he felt -justified in demanding a good station for his wife’s sake; and, because -he had made a little mark in Burma and was beginning to be appreciated, -they allowed him nearly all that he asked for, and posted him to a -station which we will call Sutrain. It stood upon several hills, and was -styled officially a “Sanitarium,” for the good reason that the drainage -was utterly neglected. Here Georgie Porgie settled down, and found -married life come very naturally to him. He did not rave, as do many -bridegrooms, over the strangeness and delight of seeing his own true -love sitting down to breakfast with him every morning “as though it were -the most natural thing in the world.” “He had been there before,” as the -Americans say, and, checking the merits of his own present grace by -those of Georgina, he was more and more inclined to think that he had -done well. - -But there was no peace or comfort across the Bay of Bengal, under the -teak-trees where Georgina lived with her father, waiting for Georgie -Porgie to return. The headman was old, and remembered the war of ’51. He -had been to Rangoon, and knew something of the ways of the _Kullahs_. -Sitting in front of his door in the evenings, he taught Georgina a dry -philosophy which did not console her in the least. - -The trouble was that she loved Georgie Porgie just as much as the French -girl in the English History books loved the priest whose head was broken -by the King’s bullies. One day she disappeared from the village, with -all the rupees that Georgie Porgie had given her, and a very small -smattering of English—also gained from Georgie Porgie. - -The headman was angry at first, but lit a fresh cheroot and said -something uncomplimentary about the sex in general. Georgina had started -on a search for Georgie Porgie, who might be in Rangoon, or across the -Black Water, or dead, for aught that she knew. Chance favoured her. An -old Sikh policeman told her that Georgie Porgie had crossed the Black -Water. She took a steerage-passage from Rangoon and went to Calcutta, -keeping the secret of her search to herself. - -In India every trace of her was lost for six weeks, and no one knows -what trouble of heart she must have undergone. - -She reappeared, four hundred miles north of Calcutta, steadily heading -northwards, very worn and haggard, but very fixed in her determination -to find Georgie Porgie. She could not understand the language of the -people; but India is infinitely charitable, and the women-folk along the -Grand Trunk gave her food. Something made her believe that Georgie -Porgie was to be found at the end of that pitiless road. She may have -seen a sepoy who knew him in Burma, but of this no one can be certain. -At last she found a regiment on the line of march, and met there one of -the many subalterns whom Georgie Porgie had invited to dinner in the -far-off, old days of the dacoit-hunting. There was a certain amount of -amusement among the tents when Georgina threw herself at the man’s feet -and began to cry. There was no amusement when her story was told; but a -collection was made, and that was more to the point. One of the -subalterns knew of Georgie Porgie’s whereabouts, but not of his -marriage. So he told Georgina and she went her way joyfully to the -north, in a railway carriage where there was rest for tired feet and -shade for a dusty little head. The marches from the train through the -hills into Sutrain were trying, but Georgina had money, and families -journeying in bullock-carts gave her help. It was an almost miraculous -journey, and Georgina felt sure that the good spirits of Burma were -looking after her. The hill-road to Sutrain is a chilly stretch, and -Georgina caught a bad cold. Still there was Georgie Porgie at the end of -all the trouble to take her up in his arms and pet her, as he used to do -in the old days when the stockade was shut for the night and he had -approved of the evening meal. Georgina went forward as fast as she -could; and her good spirits did her one last favour. - -An Englishman stopped her, in the twilight, just at the turn of the road -into Sutrain, saying, “Good Heavens! What are you doing here?” - -He was Gillis, the man who had been Georgie Porgie’s assistant in Upper -Burma, and who occupied the next post to Georgie Porgie’s in the jungle. -Georgie Porgie had applied to have him to work with at Sutrain because -he liked him. - -“I have come,” said Georgina simply. “It was such a long way, and I have -been months in coming. Where is his house?” - -Gillis gasped. He had seen enough of Georgina in the old times to know -that explanations would be useless. You cannot explain things to the -Oriental. You must show. - -“I’ll take you there,” said Gillis, and he led Georgina off the road, up -the cliff, by a little pathway, to the back of a house set on a platform -cut into the hillside. - -The lamps were just lit, but the curtains were not drawn. “Now look,” -said Gillis, stopping in front of the drawing-room window. Georgina -looked and saw Georgie Porgie and the Bride. - -She put her hand up to her hair, which had come out of its top-knot and -was straggling about her face. She tried to set her ragged dress in -order, but the dress was past pulling straight, and she coughed a queer -little cough, for she really had taken a very bad cold. Gillis looked, -too, but while Georgina only looked at the Bride once, turning her eyes -always on Georgie Porgie, Gillis looked at the Bride all the time. - -“What are you going to do?” said Gillis, who held Georgina by the wrist, -in case of any unexpected rush into the lamplight. “Will you go in and -tell that English woman that you lived with her husband?” - -“No,” said Georgina faintly. “Let me go. I am going away. I swear that I -am going away.” She twisted herself free and ran off into the dark. - -“Poor little beast!” said Gillis, dropping on to the main road. “I’d ha’ -given her something to get back to Burma with. What a narrow shave, -though! And that angel would never have forgiven it.” - -This seems to prove that the devotion of Gillis was not entirely due to -his affection for Georgie Porgie. - -The Bride and the Bridegroom came out into the verandah after dinner, in -order that the smoke of Georgie Porgie’s cheroots might not hang in the -new drawing-room curtains. - -“What is that noise down there?” said the Bride. Both listened. - -“Oh,” said Georgie Porgie, “I suppose some brute of a hillman has been -beating his wife.” - -“Beating—his—wife! How ghastly!” said the Bride. “Fancy _your_ beating -_me_!” She slipped an arm round her husband’s waist, and, leaning her -head against his shoulder, looked out across the cloud-filled valley in -deep content and security. - -But it was Georgina crying, all by herself, down the hillside, among the -stones of the water-course where the washermen wash the clothes. - - - - - LITTLE TOBRAH - - Copyright, 1891, by Macmillan & Co. - - -“Prisoner’s head did not reach to the top of the dock,” as the English -newspapers say. This case, however, was not reported because nobody -cared by so much as a hempen rope for the life or death of Little -Tobrah. The assessors in the red courthouse sat upon him all through the -long hot afternoon, and whenever they asked him a question he salaamed -and whined. Their verdict was that the evidence was inconclusive, and -the Judge concurred. It was true that the dead body of Little Tobrah’s -sister had been found at the bottom of the well, and Little Tobrah was -the only human being within a half-mile radius at the time; but the -child might have fallen in by accident. Therefore Little Tobrah was -acquitted, and told to go where he pleased. This permission was not so -generous as it sounds, for he had nowhere to go to, nothing in -particular to eat, and nothing whatever to wear. - -He trotted into the court-compound, and sat upon the well-curb, -wondering whether an unsuccessful dive into the black water below would -end in a forced voyage across the other Black Water. A groom put down an -emptied nose-bag on the bricks, and Little Tobrah, being hungry, set -himself to scrape out what wet grain the horse had overlooked. - -“O Thief—and but newly set free from the terror of the Law! Come along!” -said the groom, and Little Tobrah was led by the ear to a large and fat -Englishman, who heard the tale of the theft. - -“Hah!” said the Englishman three times (only he said a stronger word). -“Put him into the net and take him home.” So Little Tobrah was thrown -into the net of the cart, and, nothing doubting that he should be stuck -like a pig, was driven to the Englishman’s house. “Hah!” said the -Englishman as before. “Wet grain, by Jove! Feed the little beggar, some -of you, and we’ll make a riding-boy of him? See? Wet grain, good Lord!” - -“Give an account of yourself,” said the head of the Grooms to Little -Tobrah after the meal had been eaten and the servants lay at ease in -their quarters behind the house. “You are not of the groom caste, unless -it be for the stomach’s sake. How came you into the court, and why? -Answer, little devil’s spawn!” - -“There was not enough to eat,” said Little Tobrah calmly. “This is a -good place.” - -“Talk straight talk,” said the Head Groom, “or I will make you clean out -the stable of that large red stallion who bites like a camel.” - -“We be _Telis_, oil-pressers,” said Little Tobrah, scratching his toes -in the dust. “We were _Telis_—my father, my mother, my brother, the -elder by four years, myself, and the sister.” - -“She who was found dead in the well?” said one who had heard something -of the trial. - -“Even so,” said Little Tobrah gravely. “She who was found dead in the -well. It befell upon a time, which is not in my memory, that the -sickness came to the village where our oil-press stood, and first my -sister was smitten as to her eyes, and went without sight, for it was -_mata_—the small-pox. Thereafter, my father and my mother died of that -same sickness, so we were alone—my brother who had twelve years, I who -had eight, and the sister who could not see. Yet were there the bullock -and the oil-press remaining, and we made shift to press the oil as -before. But Surjun Dass, the grain-seller, cheated us in his dealings; -and it was always a stubborn bullock to drive. We put marigold flowers -for the Gods upon the neck of the bullock, and upon the great -grinding-beam that rose through the roof; but we gained nothing thereby, -and Surjun Dass was a hard man.” - -“_Bapri-bap_,” muttered the grooms’ wives, “to cheat a child so! But we -know what the _bunnia_-folk are, sisters.” - -“The press was an old press, and we were not strong men—my brother and -I; nor could we fix the neck of the beam firmly in the shackle.” - -“Nay, indeed,” said the gorgeously-clad wife of the Head Groom, joining -the circle. “That is a strong man’s work. When I was a maid in my -father’s house——” - -“Peace, woman,” said the Head Groom. “Go on, boy.” - -“It is nothing,” said Little Tobrah. “The big beam tore down the roof -upon a day which is not in my memory, and with the roof fell much of the -hinder wall, and both together upon our bullock, whose back was broken. -Thus we had neither home, nor press, nor bullock—my brother, myself, and -the sister who was blind. We went crying away from that place, -hand-in-hand, across the fields; and our money was seven annas and six -pie. There was a famine in the land. I do not know the name of the land. -So, on a night when we were sleeping, my brother took the five annas -that remained to us and ran away. I do not know whither he went. The -curse of my father be upon him. But I and the sister begged food in the -villages, and there was none to give. Only all men said—‘Go to the -Englishmen and they will give.’ I did not know what the Englishmen were; -but they said that they were white, living in tents. I went forward; but -I cannot say whither I went, and there was no more food for myself or -the sister. And upon a hot night, she weeping and calling for food, we -came to a well, and I bade her sit upon the curb, and thrust her in, -for, in truth, she could not see; and it is better to die than to -starve.” - -“Ai! Ahi!” wailed the grooms’ wives in chorus; “he thrust her in, for it -is better to die than to starve!” - -“I would have thrown myself in also, but that she was not dead and -called to me from the bottom of the well, and I was afraid and ran. And -one came out of the crops saying that I had killed her and defiled the -well, and they took me before an Englishman, white and terrible, living -in a tent, and me he sent here. But there were no witnesses, and it is -better to die than to starve. She, furthermore, could not see with her -eyes, and was but a little child.” - -“Was but a little child,” echoed the Head Groom’s wife. “But who art -thou, weak as a fowl and small as a day-old colt, what art _thou_?” - -“I who was empty am now full,” said Little Tobrah, stretching himself -upon the dust. “And I would sleep.” - -The groom’s wife spread a cloth over him while Little Tobrah slept the -sleep of the just. - - - - - GEMINI - - Great is the justice of the White Man—greater the power - of a lie.—_Native Proverb._ - - -This is your English Justice, Protector of the Poor. Look at my back and -loins which are beaten with sticks—heavy sticks! I am a poor man, and -there is no justice in Courts. - -There were two of us, and we were born of one birth, but I swear to you -that I was born the first, and Ram Dass is the younger by three full -breaths. The astrologer said so, and it is written in my horoscope—the -horoscope of Durga Dass. - -But we were alike—I and my brother who is a beast without honour—so -alike that none knew, together or apart, which was Durga Dass. I am a -Mahajun of Pali in Marwar, and an honest man. This is true talk. When we -were men, we left our father’s house in Pali, and went to the Punjab, -where all the people are mud-heads and sons of asses. We took shop -together in Isser Jang—I and my brother—near the big well where the -Governor’s camp draws water. But Ram Dass, who is without truth, made -quarrel with me, and we were divided. He took his books, and his pots, -and his Mark, and became a _bunnia_—a money-lender—in the long street of -Isser Jang, near the gateway of the road that goes to Montgomery. It was -not my fault that we pulled each other’s turbans. I am a Mahajun of -Pali, and I _always_ speak true talk. Ram Dass was the thief and the -liar. - -Now no man, not even the little children, could at one glance see which -was Ram Dass and which was Durga Dass. But all the people of Isser -Jang—may they die without sons!—said that we were thieves. They used -much bad talk, but I took money on their bedsteads and their -cooking-pots and the standing crop and the calf unborn, from the well in -the big square to the gate of the Montgomery road. They were fools, -these people—unfit to cut the toe-nails of a Marwari from Pali. I lent -money to them all. A little, very little only—here a pice and there a -pice. God is my witness that I am a poor man! The money is all with Ram -Dass—may his sons turn Christian, and his daughter be a burning fire and -a shame in the house from generation to generation! May she die unwed, -and be the mother of a multitude of bastards! Let the light go out in -the house of Ram Dass, my brother. This I pray daily twice—with -offerings and charms. - -Thus the trouble began. We divided the town of Isser Jang between us—I -and my brother. There was a landholder beyond the gates, living but one -short mile out, on the road that leads to Montgomery, and his name was -Muhammad Shah, son of a Nawab. He was a great devil and drank wine. So -long as there were women in his house, and wine and money for the -marriage-feasts, he was merry and wiped his mouth. Ram Dass lent him the -money, a lakh or half a lakh—how do I know?—and so long as the money was -lent, the landholder cared not what he signed. - -The people of Isser Jang were my portion, and the landholder and the -out-town were the portion of Ram Dass; for so we had arranged. I was the -poor man, for the people of Isser Jang were without wealth. I did what I -could, but Ram Dass had only to wait without the door of the -landholder’s garden-court, and to lend him the money; taking the bonds -from the hand of the steward. - -In the autumn of the year after the lending, Ram Dass said to the -landholder: “Pay me my money,” but the landholder gave him abuse. But -Ram Dass went into the Courts with the papers and the bonds—all -correct—and took out decrees against the landholder; and the name of the -Government was across the stamps of the decrees. Ram Dass took field by -field, and mango-tree by mango-tree, and well by well; putting in his -own men—debtors of the out-town of Isser Jang—to cultivate the crops. So -he crept up across the land, for he had the papers, and the name of the -Government was across the stamps, till his men held the crops for him on -all sides of the big white house of the landholder. It was well done; -but when the landholder saw these things he was very angry and cursed -Ram Dass after the manner of the Muhammadans. - -And thus the landholder was angry, but Ram Dass laughed and claimed more -fields, as was written upon the bonds. This was in the month of Phagun. -I took my horse and went out to speak to the man who makes lac-bangles -upon the road that leads to Montgomery, because he owed me a debt. There -was in front of me, upon his horse, my brother Ram Dass. And when he saw -me, he turned aside into the high crops, because there was hatred -between us. And I went forward till I came to the orange-bushes by the -landholder’s house. The bats were flying, and the evening smoke was low -down upon the land. Here met me four men—swashbucklers and -Muhammadans—with their faces bound up, laying hold of my horse’s bridle -and crying out: “This is Ram Dass! Beat!” Me they beat with their -staves—heavy staves bound about with wire at the end, such weapons as -those swine of Punjabis use—till, having cried for mercy, I fell down -senseless. But these shameless ones still beat me, saying: “O Ram Dass, -this is your interest—well weighed and counted into your hand, Ram -Dass.” I cried aloud that I was not Ram Dass, but Durga Dass, his -brother, yet they only beat me the more, and when I could make no more -outcry they left me. But I saw their faces. There was Elahi Baksh who -runs by the side of the landholder’s white horse, and Nur Ali the keeper -of the door, and Wajib Ali the very strong cook, and Abdul Latif the -messenger—all of the household of the landholder. These things I can -swear on the Cow’s Tail if need be, but—_Ahi! Ahi!_—it has been already -sworn, and I am a poor man whose honour is lost. - -When these four had gone away laughing, my brother Ram Dass came out of -the crops and mourned over me as one dead. But I opened my eyes, and -prayed him to get me water. When I had drunk, he carried me on his back, -and by byways brought me into the town of Isser Jang. My heart was -turned to Ram Dass, my brother, in that hour, because of his kindness, -and I lost my enmity. - -But a snake is a snake till it is dead; and a liar is a liar till the -Judgment of the Gods takes hold of his heel. I was wrong in that I -trusted my brother—the son of my mother. - -When we had come to his house and I was a little restored, I told him my -tale, and he said: “Without doubt it is me whom they would have beaten. -But the Law Courts are open, and there is the Justice of the Sirkar -above all; and to the Law Courts do thou go when this sickness is -over-past.” - -Now when we two had left Pali in the old years, there fell a famine that -ran from Jeysulmir to Gurgaon and touched Gogunda in the south. At that -time the sister of my father came away and lived with us in Isser Jang; -for a man must above all see that his folk do not die of want. When the -quarrel between us twain came about, the sister of my father—a lean -she-dog without teeth—said that Ram Dass had the right, and went with -him. Into her hands—because she knew medicines and many cures—Ram Dass, -my brother, put me faint with the beating, and much bruised even to the -pouring of blood from the mouth. When I had two days’ sickness the fever -came upon me; and I set aside the fever to the account written in my -mind against the landholder. - -The Punjabis of Isser Jang are all the sons of Belial and a she-ass, but -they are very good witnesses, bearing testimony unshakingly whatever the -pleaders may say. I would purchase witnesses by the score, and each man -should give evidence, not only against Nur Ali, Wajib Ali, Abdul Latif, -and Elahi Baksh, but against the landholder, saying that he upon his -white horse had called his men to beat me; and, further that they had -robbed me of two hundred rupees. For the latter testimony I would remit -a little of the debt of the man who sold the lac-bangles, and he should -say that he had put the money into my hands, and had seen the robbery -from afar, but, being afraid, had run away. This plan I told to my -brother Ram Dass; and he said that the arrangement was good, and bade me -take comfort and make swift work to be abroad again. My heart was opened -to my brother in my sickness, and I told him the names of those whom I -would call as witnesses—all men in my debt, but of that the Magistrate -Sahib could have no knowledge, nor the landholder. The fever stayed with -me, and after the fever I was taken with colic, and gripings very -terrible. In that day I thought that my end was at hand, but I know now -that she who gave me the medicines, the sister of my father—a widow with -a widow’s heart—had brought about my second sickness. Ram Dass, my -brother, said that my house was shut and locked, and brought me the big -door-key and my books, together with all the moneys that were in my -house—even the money that was buried under the floor; for I was in great -fear lest thieves should break in and dig. I speak true talk; there was -but very little money in my house. Perhaps ten rupees—perhaps twenty. -How can I tell? God is my witness that I am a poor man. - -One night when I had told Ram Dass all that was in my heart of the -lawsuit that I would bring against the landholder, and Ram Dass had said -that he had made the arrangements with the witnesses, giving me their -names written, I was taken with a new great sickness, and they put me on -the bed. When I was a little recovered—I cannot tell how many days -afterwards—I made enquiry for Ram Dass, and the sister of my father said -that he had gone to Montgomery upon a lawsuit. I took medicine and slept -very heavily without waking. When my eyes were opened, there was a great -stillness in the house of Ram Dass, and none answered when I called—not -even the sister of my father. This filled me with fear, for I knew not -what had happened. - -Taking a stick in my hand, I went out slowly, till I came to the great -square by the well, and my heart was hot in me against the landholder -because of the pain of every step I took. - -I called for Jowar Singh, the carpenter, whose name was first upon the -list of those who should bear evidence against the landholder, saying: -“Are all things ready, and do you know what should be said?” - -Jowar Singh answered: “What is this, and whence do you come, Durga -Dass?” - -I said: “From my bed, where I have so long lain sick because of the -landholder. Where is Ram Dass, my brother, who was to have made the -arrangement for the witnesses? Surely you and yours know these things!” - -Then Jowar Singh said: “What has this to do with us, O Liar? I have -borne witness and I have been paid, and the landholder has, by the order -of the Court, paid both the five hundred rupees that he robbed from Ram -Dass and yet other five hundred because of the great injury he did to -your brother.” - -The well and the jujube-tree above it and the square of Isser Jang -became dark in my eyes, but I leaned on my stick and said: “Nay! This is -child’s talk and senseless. It was I who suffered at the hands of the -landholder, and I am come to make ready the case. Where is my brother -Ram Dass?” - -But Jowar Singh shook his head, and a woman cried: “What lie is here? -What quarrel had the landholder with you, _bunnia_? It is only a -shameless one and one without faith who profits by his brother’s smarts. -Have these _bunnias_ no bowels?” - -I cried again, saying: “By the Cow—by the Oath of the Cow, by the Temple -of the Blue-throated Mahadeo, I and I only was beaten—beaten to the -death! Let your talk be straight, O people of Isser Jang, and I will pay -for the witnesses.” And I tottered where I stood, for the sickness and -the pain of the beating were heavy upon me. - -Then Ram Narain, who has his carpet spread under the jujube-tree by the -well, and writes all letters for the men of the town, came up and said: -“To-day is the one and fortieth day since the beating, and since these -six days the case has been judged in the Court, and the Assistant -Commissioner Sahib has given it for your brother Ram Dass, allowing the -robbery, to which, too, I bore witness, and all things else as the -witnesses said. There were many witnesses, and twice Ram Dass became -senseless in the Court because of his wounds, and the Stunt Sahib—the -_baba_ Stunt Sahib—gave him a chair before all the pleaders. Why do you -howl, Durga Dass? These things fell as I have said. Was it not so?” - -And Jowar Singh said: “That is truth. I was there, and there was a red -cushion in the chair.” - -And Ram Narain said: “Great shame has come upon the landholder because -of this judgment, and fearing his anger, Ram Dass and all his house have -gone back to Pali. Ram Dass told us that you also had gone first, the -enmity being healed between you, to open a shop in Pali. Indeed, it were -well for you that you go even now, for the landholder has sworn that if -he catch any one of your house, he will hang him by the heels from the -well-beam, and, swinging him to and fro, will beat him with staves till -the blood runs from his ears. What I have said in respect to the case is -true, as these men here can testify—even to the five hundred rupees.” - -I said: “Was it five hundred?” And Kirpa Ram, the Jat, said: “Five -hundred; for I bore witness also.” - -And I groaned, for it had been in my heart to have said two hundred -only. - -Then a new fear came upon me and my bowels turned to water, and, running -swiftly to the house of Ram Dass, I sought for my books and my money in -the great wooden chest under my bedstead. There remained nothing: not -even a cowrie’s value. All had been taken by the devil who said he was -my brother. I went to my own house also and opened the boards of the -shutters; but there also was nothing save the rats among the -grain-baskets. In that hour my senses left me, and, tearing my clothes, -I ran to the well-place, crying out for the Justice of the English on my -brother Ram Dass, and, in my madness, telling all that the books were -lost. When men saw that I would have jumped down the well, they believed -the truth of my talk; more especially because upon my back and bosom -were still the marks of the staves of the landholder. - -Jowar Singh the carpenter withstood me, and turning me in his hands—for -he is a very strong man—showed the scars upon my body, and bowed down -with laughter upon the well-curb. He cried aloud so that all heard him, -from the well-square to the Caravanserai of the Pilgrims: “Oho! The -jackals have quarrelled, and the gray one has been caught in the trap. -In truth, this man has been grievously beaten, and his brother has taken -the money which the Court decreed! Oh, _bunnia_, this shall be told for -years against you! The jackals have quarrelled, and, moreover, the books -are burned. O people indebted to Durga Dass—and I know that ye be -many—the books are burned!” - -Then all Isser Jang took up the cry that the books were burned—_Ahi! -Ahi!_ that in my folly I had let that escape my mouth—and they laughed -throughout the city. They gave me the abuse of the Punjabi, which is a -terrible abuse and very hot; pelting me also with sticks and cow-dung -till I fell down and cried for mercy. - -Ram Narain, the letter-writer, bade the people cease, for fear that the -news should get into Montgomery, and the Policemen might come down to -enquire. He said, using many bad words: “This much mercy will I do to -you, Durga Dass, though there was no mercy in your dealings with my -sister’s son over the matter of the dun heifer. Has any man a pony on -which he sets no store, that this fellow may escape? If the landholder -hears that one of the twain (and God knows whether he beat one or both, -but this man is certainly beaten) be in the city, there will be a murder -done, and then will come the Police, making inquisition into each man’s -house and eating the sweet-seller’s stuff all day long.” - -Kirpa Ram, the Jat, said: “I have a pony very sick. But with beating he -can be made to walk for two miles. If he dies, the hide-sellers will -have the body.” - -Then Chumbo, the hide-seller, said: “I will pay three annas for the -body, and will walk by this man’s side till such time as the pony dies. -If it be more than two miles, I will pay two annas only.” - -Kirpa Ram said: “Be it so.” Men brought out the pony, and I asked leave -to draw a little water from the well, because I was dried up with fear. - -Then Ram Narain said: “Here be four annas. God has brought you very low, -Durga Dass, and I would not send you away empty, even though the matter -of my sister’s son’s dun heifer be an open sore between us. It is a long -way to your own country. Go, and if it be so willed, live; but, above -all, do not take the pony’s bridle, for that is mine.” - -And I went out of Isser Jang, amid the laughing of the huge-thighed -Jats, and the hide-seller walked by my side waiting for the pony to fall -dead. In one mile it died, and being full of fear of the landholder, I -ran till I could run no more, and came to this place. - -But I swear by the Cow, I swear by all things whereon Hindus and -Musalmans, and even the Sahibs swear, that I, and not my brother, was -beaten by the landholder. But the case is shut and the doors of the Law -Courts are shut, and God knows where the _baba_ Stunt Sahib—the mother’s -milk is not yet dry upon his hairless lip—is gone. _Ahi! Ahi!_ I have no -witnesses, and the scars will heal, and I am a poor man. But, on my -Father’s Soul, on the oath of a Mahajun from Pali, I, and not my -brother, I was beaten by the landholder! - -What can I do? The Justice of the English is as a great river. Having -gone forward, it does not return. Howbeit, do you, Sahib, take a pen and -write clearly what I have said, that the Dipty Sahib may see, and remove -the Stunt Sahib, who is a colt yet unlicked by the mare, so young is he. -I, and not my brother, was beaten, and he is gone to the west—I do not -know where. - -But, above all things, write—so that Sahibs may read, and his disgrace -be accomplished—that Ram Dass, my brother, son of Purun Dass, Mahajun of -Pali, is a swine and a night-thief, a taker of life, an eater of flesh, -a jackal-spawn without beauty, or faith, or cleanliness, or honour! - - - - - THE LIMITATIONS OF PAMBÉ SERANG - - Copyright, 1891, by Macmillan & Co. - - -If you consider the circumstances of the case, it was the only thing -that he could do. But Pambé Serang has been hanged by the neck till he -is dead, and Nurkeed is dead also. - -Three years ago, when the Elsass-Lothringen steamer _Saarbruck_ was -coaling at Aden and the weather was very hot indeed, Nurkeed, the big -fat Zanzibar stoker who fed the second right furnace thirty feet down in -the hold, got leave to go ashore. He departed “a Seedee boy,” as they -call the stokers; he returned the full-blooded Sultan of Zanzibar—His -Highness Sayyid Burgash, with a bottle in each hand. Then he sat on the -fore-hatch grating, eating salt fish and onions, and singing the songs -of a far country. The food belonged to Pambé, the serang or head man of -the lascar sailors. He had just cooked it for himself, turned to borrow -some salt, and when he came back Nurkeed’s dirty black fingers were -spading into the rice. - -A serang is a person of importance, far above a stoker, though the -stoker draws better pay. He sets the chorus of “Hya! Hulla! Hee-ah! -Heh!” when the captain’s gig is pulled up to the davits; he heaves the -lead too; and sometimes, when all the ship is lazy, he puts on his -whitest muslin and a big red sash, and plays with the passengers’ -children on the quarter-deck. Then the passengers give him money, and he -saves it all up for an orgy at Bombay or Calcutta, or Pulu Penang. - -“Ho! you fat black barrel, you’re eating my food!” said Pambé, in the -Other Lingua Franca that begins where the Levant tongue stops, and runs -from Port Said eastward till east is west, and the sealing-brigs of the -Kurile Islands gossip with the strayed Hakodate junks. - -“Son of Eblis, monkey-face, dried shark’s liver, pig-man, I am the -Sultan Sayyid Burgash, and the commander of all this ship. Take away -your garbage”; and Nurkeed thrust the empty pewter rice-plate into -Pambé’s hand. - -Pambé beat it into a basin over Nurkeed’s woolly head. Nurkeed drew his -sheath-knife and stabbed Pambé in the leg. Pambé drew _his_ -sheath-knife; but Nurkeed dropped down into the darkness of the hold and -spat through the grating at Pambé, who was staining the clean fore-deck -with his blood. - -Only the white moon saw these things; for the officers were looking -after the coaling, and the passengers were tossing in their close -cabins. “All right,” said Pambé—and went forward to tie up his leg—“we -will settle the account later on.” - -He was a Malay born in India: married once in Burma, where his wife had -a cigar-shop on the Shwe-Dagon road; once in Singapore, to a Chinese -girl; and once in Madras, to a Mahomedan woman who sold fowls. The -English sailor cannot, owing to postal and telegraph facilities, marry -as profusely as he used to do; but native sailors can, being -uninfluenced by the barbarous inventions of the Western savage. Pambé -was a good husband when he happened to remember the existence of a wife; -but he was also a very good Malay; and it is not wise to offend a Malay, -because he does not forget anything. Moreover, in Pambé’s case blood had -been drawn and food spoiled. - -Next morning Nurkeed rose with a blank mind. He was no longer Sultan of -Zanzibar, but a very hot stoker. So he went on deck and opened his -jacket to the morning breeze, till a sheath-knife came like a -flying-fish and stuck into the wood-work of the cook’s galley half an -inch from his right armpit. He ran down below before his time, trying to -remember what he could have said to the owner of the weapon. At noon, -when all the ship’s lascars were feeding, Nurkeed advanced into their -midst, and, being a placid man with a large regard for his own skin, he -opened negotiations, saying, “Men of the ship, last night I was drunk, -and this morning I know that I behaved unseemly to some one or another -of you. Who was that man, that I may meet him face to face and say that -I was drunk?” - -Pambé measured the distance to Nurkeed’s naked breast. If he sprang at -him he might be tripped up, and a blind blow at the chest sometimes only -means a gash on the breast-bone. Ribs are difficult to thrust between -unless the subject be asleep. So he said nothing; nor did the other -lascars. Their faces immediately dropped all expression, as is the -custom of the Oriental when there is killing on the carpet or any chance -of trouble. Nurkeed looked long at the white eyeballs. He was only an -African, and could not read characters. A big sigh—almost a groan—broke -from him, and he went back to the furnaces. The lascars took up the -conversation where he had interrupted it. They talked of the best -methods of cooking rice. - -Nurkeed suffered considerably from lack of fresh air during the run to -Bombay. He only came on deck to breathe when all the world was about; -and even then a heavy block once dropped from a derrick within a foot of -his head, and an apparently firm-lashed grating on which he set his foot -began to turn over with the intention of dropping him on the cased cargo -fifteen feet below; and one insupportable night the sheath-knife dropped -from the fo’c’s’le, and this time it drew blood. So Nurkeed made -complaint; and, when the _Saarbruck_ reached Bombay, fled and buried -himself among eight hundred thousand people, and did not sign articles -till the ship had been a month gone from the port. Pambé waited too; but -his Bombay wife grew clamorous, and he was forced to sign in the -_Spicheren_ to Hongkong, because he realised that all play and no work -gives Jack a ragged shirt. In the foggy China seas he thought a great -deal of Nurkeed, and, when Elsass-Lothringen steamers lay in port with -the _Spicheren_, inquired after him and found he had gone to England -_via_ the Cape, on the _Gravelotte_. Pambé came to England on the -_Worth_. The _Spicheren_ met her by the Nore Light. Nurkeed was going -out with the _Spicheren_ to the Calicut coast. - -“Want to find a friend, my trap-mouthed coal-scuttle?” said a gentleman -in the mercantile service. “Nothing easier. Wait at the Nyanza Docks -till he comes. Every one comes to the Nyanza Docks. Wait, you poor -heathen.” The gentleman spoke truth. There are three great doors in the -world where, if you stand long enough, you shall meet any one you wish. -The head of the Suez Canal is one, but there Death comes also; Charing -Cross Station is the second—for inland work; and the Nyanza Docks is the -third. At each of these places are men and women looking eternally for -those who will surely come. So Pambé waited at the docks. Time was no -object to him; and the wives could wait, as he did from day to day, week -to week, and month to month, by the Blue Diamond funnels, the Red Dot -smoke-stacks, the Yellow Streaks, and the nameless dingy gypsies of the -sea that loaded and unloaded, jostled, whistled, and roared in the -everlasting fog. When money failed, a kind gentleman told Pambé to -become a Christian; and Pambé became one with great speed, getting his -religious teachings between ship and ship’s arrival, and six or seven -shillings a week for distributing tracts to mariners. What the faith was -Pambé did not in the least care; but he knew if he said “Native -Ki-lis-ti-an, Sar,” to men with long black coats he might get a few -coppers; and the tracts were vendible at a little public-house that sold -shag by the “dottel,” which is even smaller weight than the half-screw, -which is less than the half-ounce, and a most profitable retail trade. - -But after eight months Pambé fell sick with pneumonia, contracted from -long standing still in slush; and much against his will he was forced to -lie down in his two-and-sixpenny room raging against Fate. - -The kind gentleman sat by his bedside, and grieved to find that Pambé -talked in strange tongues, instead of listening to good books, and -almost seemed to become a benighted heathen again—till one day he was -roused from semi-stupor by a voice in the street by the dock-head. “My -friend—he,” whispered Pambé. “Call now—call Nurkeed. Quick! God has sent -him!” - -“He wanted one of his own race,” said the kind gentleman; and, going -out, he called “Nurkeed!” at the top of his voice. An excessively -coloured man in a rasping white shirt and brand-new slops, a shining -hat, and a breast-pin, turned round. Many voyages had taught Nurkeed how -to spend his money and made him a citizen of the world. - -“Hi! Yes!” said he, when the situation was explained. “Command him—black -nigger—when I was in the _Saarbruck_. Ole Pambé, good ole Pambé. Dam -lascar. Show him up, Sar”; and he followed into the room. One glance -told the stoker what the kind gentleman had overlooked. Pambé was -desperately poor. Nurkeed drove his hands deep into his pockets, then -advanced with clenched fists on the sick, shouting, “Hya, Pambé. Hya! -Hee-ah! Hulla! Heh! Takilo! Takilo! Make fast aft, Pambé. You know, -Pambé. You know me. Dekho, jee! Look! Dam big fat lazy lascar!” - -Pambé beckoned with his left hand. His right was under his pillow. -Nurkeed removed his gorgeous hat and stooped over Pambé till he could -catch a faint whisper. “How beautiful!” said the kind gentleman. “How -these Orientals love like children!” - -“Spit him out,” said Nurkeed, leaning over Pambé yet more closely. - -“Touching the matter of that fish and onions,” said Pambé—and sent the -knife home under the edge of the rib-bone upwards and forwards. - -There was a thick, sick cough, and the body of the African slid slowly -from the bed, his clutching hands letting fall a shower of silver pieces -that ran across the room. - -“Now I can die!” said Pambé. - -But he did not die. He was nursed back to life with all the skill that -money could buy, for the Law wanted him; and in the end he grew -sufficiently healthy to be hanged in due and proper form. - -Pambé did not care particularly; but it was a sad blow to the kind -gentleman. - - - - - ONE VIEW OF THE QUESTION - - Copyright, 1893, by D. Appleton & Co. - - -_From Shafiz Ullah Khan, son of Hyat Ullah Khan, in the honoured service - of His Highness the Rao Sahib of Jagesur, which is in the northern - borders of Hindustan, and Orderly to His Highness, this to Kazi - Jamal-ud-Din, son of Kazi Ferisht ud Din Khan, in the service of the - Rao Sahib, a minister much honoured. From that place which they call - the Northbrook Club, in the town of London, under the shadow of the - Empress, it is written_: - - Between brother and chosen brother be no long protestations of Love - and Sincerity. Heart speaks naked to Heart, and the Head answers for - all. Glory and Honour on thy house till the ending of the years, and - a tent in the borders of Paradise. - -MY BROTHER,—In regard to that for which I was despatched follows the -account. I have purchased for the Rao Sahib, and paid sixty pounds in -every hundred, the things he most desired. Thus, two of the great -fawn-coloured tiger-dogs, male and female, their pedigree being written -upon paper, and silver collars adorning their necks. For the Rao Sahib’s -greater pleasure I send them at once by the steamer, in charge of a man -who will render account of them at Bombay to the bankers there. They are -the best of all dogs in this place. Of guns I have bought five—two -silver-sprigged in the stock, with gold scroll-work about the hammer, -both double-barrelled, hard-striking, cased in velvet and red leather; -three of unequalled workmanship, but lacking adornment; a pump-gun that -fires fourteen times—this when the Rao Sahib drives pig; a -double-barrelled shell-gun for tiger, and that is a miracle of -workmanship; and a fowling-piece no lighter than a feather, with green -and blue cartridges by the thousand. Also a very small rifle for -blackbuck, that yet would slay a man at four hundred paces. The harness -with the golden crests for the Rao Sahib’s coach is not yet complete, by -reason of the difficulty of lining the red velvet into leather; but the -two-horse harness and the great saddle with the golden holsters that is -for state use have been put with camphor into a tin box, and I have -signed it with my ring. Of the grained-leather case of women’s tools and -tweezers for the hair and beard, of the perfumes and the silks, and all -that was wanted by the women behind the curtains, I have no knowledge. -They are matters of long coming, and the hawk-bells, hoods, and jesses -with the golden lettering are as much delayed as they. Read this in the -Rao Sahib’s ear, and speak of my diligence and zeal, that favour may not -be abated by absence, and keep the eye of constraint upon that jesting -dog without teeth—Bahadur Shah—for by thy aid and voice, and what I have -done in regard to the guns, I look, as thou knowest, for the headship of -the army of Jagesur. That conscienceless one desires it also, and I have -heard that the Rao Sahib leans thatward. Have ye done, then, with the -drinking of wine in your house, my brother, or has Bahadur Shah become a -forswearer of brandy? I would not that drink should end him, but the -well-mixed draught leads to madness. Consider. - -And now in regard to this land of the Sahibs, follows that thou hast -demanded. God is my witness that I have striven to understand all that I -saw and a little of what I heard. My words and intention are those of -truth, yet it may be that I write of nothing but lies. - -Since the first wonder and bewilderment of my beholding is gone—we note -the jewels in the ceiling-dome, but later the filth on the floor—I see -clearly that this town, London, which is as large as all Jagesur, is -accursed, being dark and unclean, devoid of sun, and full of low-born, -who are perpetually drunk, and howl in the streets like jackals, men and -women together. At nightfall it is the custom of countless thousands of -women to descend into the streets and sweep them, roaring, making jests, -and demanding liquor. At the hour of this attack it is the custom of the -householders to take their wives and children to the playhouses and the -places of entertainment; evil and good thus returning home together as -do kine from the pools at sundown. I have never seen any sight like this -sight in all the world, and I doubt that a double is to be found on the -hither side of the gates of Hell. Touching the mystery of their craft, -it is an ancient one, but the householders assemble in herds, being men -and women, and cry aloud to their God that it is not there; the said -women pounding at the doors without. Moreover, upon the day when they go -to prayer the drink-places are only opened when the mosques are shut; as -who should dam the Jumna river for Friday only. Therefore the men and -women, being forced to accomplish their desires in the shorter space, -become the more furiously drunk, and roll in the gutter together. They -are there regarded by those going to pray. Further, and for visible sign -that the place is forgotten of God, there falls upon certain days, -without warning, a cold darkness, whereby the sun’s light is altogether -cut off from all the city and the people, male and female, and the -drivers of the vehicles grope and howl in this Pit at high noon, none -seeing the other. The air being filled with the smoke of Hell—sulphur -and pitch as it is written—they die speedily with gaspings, and so are -buried in the dark. This is a terror beyond the pen, but by my hand I -write of what I have seen! - -It is not true that the Sahibs worship one God, as do we of the Faith, -or that the differences in their creed be like those now running between -Shiah and Sunni. I am but a fighting man, and no darvesh, caring, as -thou knowest, as much for Shiah as Sunni. But I have spoken to many -people of the nature of their Gods. One there is who is the head of the -Mukht-i-Fauj,[2] and he is worshipped by men in blood-red clothes, who -shout and become without sense. Another is an image, before whom they -burn candles and incense in just such a place as I have seen when I went -to Rangoon to buy Burma ponies for the Rao. Yet a third has naked altars -facing a great assembly of dead. To him they sing chiefly; and for -others there is a woman who was the mother of the great prophet that was -before Mahomed. The common folk have no God, but worship those who may -speak to them hanging from the lamps in the street. The most wise people -worship themselves and such things as they have made with their mouths -and their hands, and this is to be found notably among the barren women, -of whom there are many. Thou wilt not believe this, my brother. Nor did -I when I was first told, but now it is nothing to me; so greatly has the -foot of travel let out the stirrup-holes of belief. - -Footnote 2: - - Salvation Army. - -But thou wilt say, “What matter to us whether Ahmed’s beard or Mahmud’s -be the longer! Speak what thou canst of the Accomplishment of Desire.” -Would that thou wert here to talk face to face; to walk abroad with me -and learn. - -With this people it is a matter of Heaven and Hell whether Ahmed’s beard -and Mahmud’s tally or differ but by a hair. Thou knowest the system of -their statecraft? It is this. Certain men, appointing themselves, go -about and speak to the low-born, the peasants, the leather-workers, and -the cloth-dealers, and the women, saying: “Give us leave by your favour -to speak for you in the council.” Securing that permission by large -promises, they return to the council-place, and, sitting unarmed, some -six hundred together, speak at random each for himself and his own ball -of low-born. The viziers and dewans of the Empress must ever beg money -at their hands, for unless more than a half of the six hundred be of one -heart towards the spending of the revenues, neither horse can be shod, -rifle loaded, or man clothed throughout the land. Remember this very -continually. The six hundred are above the Empress, above the Viceroy of -India, above the Head of the Army and every other power that thou hast -ever known. Because they hold the revenues. - -They are divided into two hordes—the one perpetually hurling abuse at -the other, and bidding the low-born hamper and rebel against all that -the other may devise for government. Except that they sit unarmed, and -so call each other liar, dog, and bastard without fear, even under the -shadow of the Empress’s throne, they are at bitter war which is without -any end. They pit lie against lie, till the low-born and common folk -grow drunk with lies, and in their turn begin to lie and refuse to pay -the revenues. Further, they divide their women into bands, and send them -into this fight with yellow flowers in their hands, and since the belief -of a woman is but her lover’s belief stripped of judgment, very many -wild words are added. Well said the slave girl to Mámún in the -delectable pages of the Son of Abdullah:— - - “Oppression and the sword slay fast— - Thy breath kills slowly but at last.” - -If they desire a thing they declare that it is true. If they desire it -not, though that were Death itself, they cry aloud, “It has never been.” -Thus their talk is the talk of children, and like children they snatch -at what they covet, not considering whether it be their own or -another’s. And in their councils, when the army of unreason has come to -the defile of dispute, and there is no more talk left on either side, -they, dividing, count heads, and the will of that side which has the -larger number of heads makes that law. But the outnumbered side run -speedily among the common people and bid them trample on that law, and -slay the officers thereof. Follow slaughter by night of men unarmed, and -the slaughter of cattle and insults to women. They do not cut off the -noses of women, but they crop their hair and scrape the flesh with pins. -Then those shameless ones of the council stand up before the judges -wiping their mouths and making oath. They say: “Before God we are free -from blame. Did we say ‘Heave that stone out of that road and kill that -one and no other’?” So they are not made shorter by the head because -they said only: “Here are stones and yonder is such a fellow obeying the -Law which is no law because we do not desire it.” - -Read this in the Rao Sahib’s ear, and ask him if he remembers that -season when the Manglôt headmen refused revenue, not because they could -not pay, but because they judged the cess extreme. I and thou went out -with the troopers all one day and the black lances raised the thatch, so -that there was hardly any need of firing; and no man was slain. But this -land is at secret war and veiled killing. In five years of peace they -have slain within their own borders and of their own kin more men than -would have fallen had the ball of dissension been left to the mallet of -the army. And yet there is no hope of peace, for soon the sides again -divide, and then they will cause to be slain more men unarmed and in the -fields. And so much for that matter, which is to our advantage. There is -a better thing to be told, and one tending to the Accomplishment of -Desire. Read here with a fresh mind after sleep. I write as I -understand. - -Above all this war without honour lies that which I find hard to put -into writing, and thou knowest I am unhandy of the pen. I will ride the -steed of Inability sideways at the wall of Expression. The earth -underfoot is sick and sour with the much handling of man, as a -grazing-ground sours under cattle; and the air is sick too. Upon the -ground they have laid in this town, as it were, the stinking boards of a -stable, and through these boards, between a thousand thousand houses, -the rank humours of the earth sweat through to the over-burdened air -that returns them to their breeding-place; for the smoke of their -cooking-fires keeps all in as the cover the juices of the sheep. And in -like manner there is a green-sickness among the people, and especially -among the six hundred men who talk. Neither winter nor autumn abates -that malady of the soul. I have seen it among women in our own country, -and in boys not yet blooded to the sword; but I have never seen so much -thereof before. Through the peculiar operation of this air the people, -abandoning honour and steadfastness, question all authority, not as men -question, but as girls, whimperingly, with pinchings in the back when -the back is turned, and mowing. If one cries in the streets, “There has -been an injustice,” they take him not to make complaint to those -appointed, but all who pass, drinking his words, fly clamorously to the -house of the accused and write evil things of him, his wives and his -daughters; for they take no thought to the weighing of evidence, but are -as women. And with one hand they beat their constables who guard the -streets, and with the other beat the constables for resenting that -beating, and fine them. When they have in all things made light of the -State they cry to the State for help, and it is given; so that the next -time they will cry more. Such as are oppressed riot through the streets, -bearing banners that hold four days’ labour and a week’s bread in cost -and toil; and when neither horse nor foot can pass by they are -satisfied. Others, receiving wages, refuse to work till they get more, -and the priests help them, and also men of the six hundred—for where -rebellion is one of those men will come as a kite to a dead bullock—and -priests, talker, and men together declare that it is right because these -will not work that no others may attempt. In this manner they have so -confused the loading and the unloading of the ships that come to this -town that, in sending the Rao Sahib’s guns and harness, I saw fit to -send the cases by the train to another ship that sailed from another -place. There is now no certainty in any sending. But who injures the -merchants shuts the door of well-being on the city and the army. And ye -know what Sa’adi saith:— - - “How may the merchant westward fare - When he hears the tale of the tumults there?” - -No man can keep faith, because he cannot tell how his underlings will -go. They have made the servant greater than the master, for that he is -the servant; not reckoning that each is equal under God to the appointed -task. That is a thing to be put aside in the cupboard of the mind. - -Further, the misery and outcry of the common folk, of whom the earth’s -bosom is weary, has so wrought upon the minds of certain people who have -never slept under fear nor seen the flat edge of the sword on the heads -of a mob, that they cry out: “Let us abate everything that is, and -altogether labour with our bare hands.” Their hands in that employ would -fester at the second stroke; and I have seen, for all their unrest at -the agonies of others, that they abandon no whit of soft living. -Unknowing the common folk, or indeed the minds of men, they offer strong -drink of words, such as they themselves use, to empty bellies; and that -wine breeds drunkenness of soul. The distressful persons stand all day -long at the door of the drink-places to the number of very many -thousands. The well-wishing people of small discernment give them words -or pitifully attempt in schools to turn them into craftsmen, weavers, or -builders, of whom there be more than enough. Yet they have not the -wisdom to look at the hands of the taught, whereon a man’s craft and -that of his father is written by God and Necessity. They believe that -the son of a drunkard shall drive a straight chisel and the charioteer -do plaster-work. They take no thought in the dispensation of generosity, -which is as the closed fingers of a water-scooping palm. Therefore the -rough timber of a very great army drifts unhewn through the slime of -their streets. If the Government, which is to-day and to-morrow changes, -spent on these hopeless ones some money to clothe and equip, I should -not write what I write. But these people despise the trade of arms, and -rest content with the memory of old battles; the women and the -talking-men aiding them. - -Thou wilt say: “Why speak continually of women and fools?” I answer by -God, the Fashioner of the Heart, the fools sit among the six hundred, -and the women sway their councils. Hast thou forgotten when the order -came across the seas that rotted out the armies of the English with us, -so that soldiers fell sick by the hundred where but ten had sickened -before? That was the work of not more than twenty of the men and some -fifty of the barren women. I have seen three or four of them, male and -female, and they triumph openly, in the name of their God, because three -regiments of the white troops are not. This is to our advantage, because -the sword with the rust-spot breaks over the turban of the enemy. But if -they thus tear their own flesh and blood ere their madness be risen to -its height, what will they do when the moon is full? - -Seeing that power lay in the hands of the six hundred, and not in the -Viceroy or elsewhere, I have throughout my stay sought the shadow of -those among them who talk most and most extravagantly. They lead the -common folk, and receive permission of their good-will. It is the desire -of some of these men—indeed, of almost as many as caused the rotting of -the English army—that our lands and peoples should accurately resemble -those of the English upon this very day. May God, the Contemner of -Folly, forbid! I myself am accounted a show among them, and of us and -ours they know naught, some calling me Hindu and others Rajput, and -using towards me, in ignorance, slave-talk and expressions of great -disrespect. Some of them are well-born, but the greater part are -low-born, coarse-skinned, waving their arms, high-voiced, without -dignity, slack in the mouth, shifty-eyed, and, as I have said, swayed by -the wind of a woman’s cloak. - -Now this is a tale but two days old. There was a company at meat, and a -high-voiced woman spoke to me, in the face of the men, of the affairs of -our womankind. It was her ignorance that made each word an edged insult. -Remembering this, I held my peace till she had spoken a new law as to -the control of our zenanas, and of all who are behind the curtains. - -Then I—“Hast thou ever felt the life stir under thy heart or laid a -little son between thy breasts, O most unhappy?” Thereto she, hotly, -with a haggard eye—“No, for I am a free woman, and no servant of babes.” -Then I, softly—“God deal lightly with thee, my sister, for thou art in -heavier bondage than any slave, and the fuller half of the earth is -hidden from thee. The first ten years of the life of a man are his -mother’s, and from the dusk to the dawn surely the wife may command the -husband. Is it a great thing to stand back in the waking hours while the -men go abroad unhampered by thy hands on the bridle-rein?” Then she -wondered that a heathen should speak thus: yet she is a woman honoured -among these men, and openly professes that she hath no profession of -faith in her mouth. Read this in the ear of the Rao Sahib, and demand -how it would fare with me if I brought such a woman for his use. It were -worse than that yellow desert-bred girl from Cutch, who set the girls to -fighting for her own pleasure, and slippered the young prince across the -mouth. Rememberest thou? - -In truth the fountain-head of power is putrid with long standing still. -These men and women would make of all India a dung-cake, and would fain -leave the mark of the fingers upon it. And they have power and the -control of the revenues, and that is why I am so particular in -description. _They have power over all India._ Of what they speak they -understand nothing, for the low-born’s soul is bounded by his field, and -he grasps not the connection of affairs from pole to pole. They boast -openly that the Viceroy and the others are their servants. When the -masters are mad, what shall the servants do? - -Some hold that all war is sin, and Death the greatest fear under God. -Others declare with the Prophet that it is evil to drink, to which -teaching their streets bear evident witness; and others there are, -specially the low-born, who aver that all dominion is wicked and -sovereignty of the sword accursed. These protested to me, making, as it -were, an apology that their kin should hold Hindustan, and hoping that -some day they would withdraw. Knowing well the breed of white man in our -borders, I would have laughed, but forbore, remembering that these -speakers had power in the counting of heads. Yet others cry aloud -against the taxation of Hindustan under the Sahibs’ rule. To this I -assent, remembering the yearly mercy of the Rao Sahib when the turbans -of the troopers come through the blighted corn, and the women’s anklets -go into the melting-pot. But I am no good speaker. _That_ is the duty of -the boys from Bengal—hill-asses with an eastern bray—Mahrattas from -Poona, and the like. These, moving among fools, represent themselves as -the sons of some one, being beggar-taught, offspring of grain-dealers, -curriers, sellers of bottles, and money-lenders, as thou knowest. Now, -we of Jagesur owe naught save friendship to the English who took us by -the sword, and having taken us let us go, assuring the Rao Sahib’s -succession for all time. But _these_ base-born, having won their -learning through the mercy of the Government, attired in English -clothes, forswearing the faith of their fathers for gain, spread rumour -and debate against the Government, and are therefore very dear to -certain of the six hundred. I have heard these cattle speak as princes -and rulers of men, and I have laughed, but not altogether. - -Once it happened that a son of some grain-bag sat with me at meat, who -was arrayed and speaking after the manner of the English. At each -mouthful he committed perjury against the salt that he had eaten, the -men and women applauding. When, craftily falsifying, he had magnified -oppression and invented untold wrong, together with the desecration of -his tun-bellied gods, he demanded in the name of his people the -government of all our land, and turning, laid palm to my shoulder, -saying—“Here is one who is with us, albeit he professes another faith; -he will bear out my words.” This he delivered in English, and, as it -were, exhibited me to that company. Preserving a smiling countenance, I -answered in our own tongue—“Take away that hand, man without a father, -or the folly of these folk shall not save thee, nor my silence guard thy -reputation. Sit off, herd!” And in their speech I said—“He speaks truth. -When the favour and wisdom of the English allows us yet a little larger -share in the burden and the reward, the Musalman will deal with the -Hindu.” He alone saw what was in my heart. I was merciful towards him -because he was accomplishing our desires; but remember that his father -is one Durga Charan Laha, in Calcutta. Lay thy hand upon _his_ shoulder -if ever chance sends. It is not good that bottle-dealers and auctioneers -should paw the sons of princes. I walk abroad sometimes with the man, -that all the world may know the Hindu and Musalman are one, but when we -come to the unfrequented streets I bid him walk behind me, and that is -sufficient honour. - -And why did I eat dirt? - -Thus, my brother, it seems to my heart, which has almost burst in the -consideration of these matters. The Bengalis and the beggar-taught boys -know well that the Sahibs’ power to govern comes neither from the -Viceroy nor the head of the army, but from the hands of the six hundred -in this town, and peculiarly those who talk most. They will therefore -yearly address themselves more and more to that protection, and working -on the green-sickness of the land, as has ever been their custom, will -in time cause, through the perpetually instigated interference of the -six hundred, the hand of the Indian Government to become inoperative, so -that no measure nor order may be carried through without clamour and -argument on their part; for that is the delight of the English at this -hour. Have I overset the bounds of possibility? No. Even thou must have -heard that one of the six hundred, having neither knowledge, fear, nor -reverence before his eyes, has made in sport a new and a written scheme -for the government of Bengal, and openly shows it abroad as a king might -read his crowning proclamation. And this man, meddling in affairs of -State, speaks in the council for an assemblage of leather-dressers, -makers of boots and harness, and openly glories in that he has no God. -Has either minister of the Empress, Empress, Viceroy, or any other -raised a voice against this leather-man? Is not his power therefore to -be sought, and that of his like-thinkers with it? Thou seest. - -The telegraph is the servant of the six hundred, and all the Sahibs in -India, omitting not one, are the servants of the telegraph. Yearly, too, -thou knowest, the beggar-taught will hold that which they call their -Congress, first at one place and then at another, leavening Hindustan -with rumour, echoing the talk among the low-born people here, and -demanding that they, like the six hundred, control the revenues. And -they will bring every point and letter over the heads of the Governors -and the Lieutenant-Governors, and whoever hold authority, and cast it -clamorously at the feet of the six hundred here; and certain of those -word-confounders and the barren women will assent to their demands, and -others will weary of disagreement Thus fresh confusion will be thrown -into the councils of the Empress, even as an island near by is helped -and comforted into the smothered war of which I have written. Then -yearly, as they have begun and we have seen, the low-born men of the six -hundred anxious for honour will embark for our land, and, staying a -little while, will gather round them and fawn before the beggar-taught, -and these departing from their side will assuredly inform the peasants, -and the fighting men for whom there is no employ, that there is a change -toward and a coming of help from over the seas. That rumour will not -grow smaller in the spreading. And, most of all, the Congress, when it -is not under the eye of the six hundred—who, though they foment -dissension and death, pretend great reverence for the law which is no -law—will, stepping aside, deliver uneasy words to the peasants, -speaking, as it has done already, of the remission of taxation, and -promising a new rule. That is to our advantage, but the flower of danger -is in the seed of it. Thou knowest what evil a rumour may do; though in -the Black Year, when thou and I were young, our standing to the English -brought gain to Jagesur and enlarged our borders, for the Government -gave us land on both sides. Of the Congress itself nothing is to be -feared that ten troopers could not remove, but if its words too soon -perturb the minds of those waiting or _of princes in idleness_, a flame -may come _before the time_, and since there are now many white hands to -quench it, all will return to the former condition. If the flame be kept -under we need have no fear, because, sweating and panting, the one -trampling on the other, the white people here are digging their own -graves. The hand of the Viceroy will be tied, the hearts of the Sahibs -will be downcast, and all eyes will turn to England disregarding any -orders. Meantime, keeping tally on the sword-hilt against the hour when -the score must be made smooth by the blade, it is well for us to assist -and greatly befriend the Bengali that he may get control of the revenues -and the posts. We must even write to England that we be of one blood -with the schoolmen. It is not long to wait; by my head it is not long! -This people are like the great king Ferisht, who, eaten with the scab of -long idleness, plucked off his crown and danced naked among the -dung-hills. But I have not forgotten the profitable end of that tale. -The vizier set him upon a horse and led him into battle. Presently his -health returned, and he caused to be engraven on the crown:— - - “Though I was cast away by the king - Yet, through God, I returned and he added to my brilliance - Two great rubies (Balkh and Iran).” - -If this people be purged and bled out by battle, their sickness may go -and their eyes be cleared to the necessities of things. But they are now -far gone in rottenness. Even the stallion, too long heel-roped, forgets -how to fight: and these men are mules. I do not lie when I say that -unless they are bled and taught with the whip, they will hear and obey -all that is said by the Congress and the black men here, hoping to turn -our land into their own orderless Jehannum. For the men of the six -hundred, being chiefly low-born and unused to authority, desire much to -exercise rule, extending their arms to the sun and moon, and shouting -very greatly in order to hear the echo of their voices, each one saying -some new strange thing and parting the goods and honour of others among -the rapacious, that he may obtain the favour of the common folk. And all -this is to our advantage. - -Therefore write, that they may read, of gratitude and of love and the -law. I myself, when I return, will show how the dish should be dressed -to take the taste here; for it is here that we must come. Cause to be -established in Jagesur a newspaper, and fill it with translations of -their papers. A beggar-taught may be brought from Calcutta for thirty -rupees a month, and if he writes in Gurmukhi our people cannot read. -Create, further, councils other than the panchayats of headmen, village -by village and district by district, instructing them beforehand what to -say according to the order of the Rao. Print all these things in a book -in English, and send it to this place, and to every man of the six -hundred. Bid the beggar-taught write in front of all that Jagesur -follows fast on the English plan. If thou squeezest the Hindu shrine at -Theegkot, and it is ripe, remit the head-tax, and perhaps the -marriage-tax, with great publicity. But above all things keep the troops -ready, and in good pay, even though we glean the stubble with the wheat -and stint the Rao Sahib’s women. All must go softly. Protest thou thy -love for the voice of the common people in all things, and affect to -despise the troops. That shall be taken for a witness in this land. The -headship of the troops must be mine. See that Bahadur Shah’s wits go -wandering over the wine, but do not send him to God. I am an old man, -but I may yet live to lead. - -If this people be not bled out and regain strength, we, watching how the -tide runs, when we see that the shadow of their hand is all but lifted -from Hindustan, must bid the Bengali demand the removal of the residue -or set going an uneasiness to that end. We must have a care neither to -hurt the life of the Englishmen nor the honour of their women, for in -that case six times the six hundred here could not hold those who remain -from making the land swim. We must care that they are not mobbed by the -Bengalis, but honourably escorted, while the land is held down with the -threat of the sword if a hair of their heads fall. Thus we shall gain a -good name, and when rebellion is unaccompanied by bloodshed, as has -lately befallen in a far country, the English, disregarding honour, call -it by a new name: even one who has been a minister of the Empress, but -is now at war against the law, praises it openly before the common folk. -So greatly are they changed since the days of Nikhal Seyn![3] And then, -if all go well and the Sahibs, who through continual checking and -browbeating will have grown sick at heart, see themselves abandoned by -their kin—for this people have allowed their greatest to die on dry sand -through delay and fear of expense—we may go forward. This people are -swayed by names. A new name therefore must be given to the rule of -Hindustan (and that the Bengalis may settle among themselves), and there -will be many writings and oaths of love, such as the little island over -seas makes when it would fight more bitterly; and after that the residue -are diminished the hour comes, and we must strike so that the Sword is -never any more questioned. - -Footnote 3: - - Nicholson, a gentleman once of some notoriety in India. - -By the favour of God and the conservation of the Sahibs these many -years, Hindustan contains very much plunder, which we can in no way eat -hurriedly. There will be to our hand the scaffolding of the house of -state, for the Bengali shall continue to do our work, and must account -to us for the revenue, and learn his seat in the order of things. -Whether the Hindu kings of the West will break in to share that spoil -before we have swept it altogether, thou knowest better than I; but be -certain that, _then_, strong hands will seek their own thrones, and it -may be that the days of the king of Delhi will return if we only, -curbing our desires, pay due obedience to the outward appearances and -the names. Thou rememberest the old song:— - - “Hadst thou not called it Love, I had said it were a drawn sword, - But since thou hast spoken, I believe and—I die.” - -It is in my heart that there will remain in our land a few Sahibs -undesirous of returning to England. These we must cherish and protect, -that by their skill and cunning we may hold together and preserve unity -in time of war. The Hindu kings will never trust a Sahib in the core of -their counsels. I say again that if we of the Faith confide in them, we -shall trample upon our enemies. - -Is all this a dream to thee, gray fox of my mother’s bearing? I have -written of what I have seen and heard, but from the same clay two men -will never fashion platters alike, nor from the same facts draw equal -conclusions. Once more, there is a green-sickness upon all the people of -this country. They eat dirt even now to stay their cravings. Honour and -stability have departed from their councils, and the knife of dissension -has brought down upon their heads the flapping tent-flies of confusion. -The Empress is old. They speak disrespectfully of her and hers in the -street. They despise the sword, and believe that the tongue and the pen -sway all. The measure of their ignorance and their soft belief is -greater than the measure of the wisdom of Solomon, the son of David. All -these things I have seen whom they regard as a wild beast and a -spectacle. By God the Enlightener of Intelligence, if the Sahibs in -India could breed sons who lived so that their houses might be -established, I would almost fling my sword at the Viceroy’s feet, -saying: “Let us here fight for a kingdom together, thine and mine, -disregarding the babble across the water. Write a letter to England, -saying that we love them, but would depart from their camps and make all -clean under a new crown.” But the Sahibs die out at the third generation -in our land, and it may be that I dream dreams. Yet not altogether. -Until a white calamity of steel and bloodshed, the bearing of burdens, -the trembling for life, and the hot rage of insult—_for pestilence would -unman them if eyes not unused to men see clear_—befall this people, our -path is safe. They are sick. The Fountain of Power is a gutter which all -may defile; and the voices of the men are overborne by the squealings of -mules and the whinnying of barren mares. If through adversity they -become wise, then, my brother, strike with and for them, and later, when -thou and I are dead, and the disease grows up again (the young men bred -in the school of fear and trembling and word-confounding have yet to -live out their appointed span), those who have fought on the side of the -English may ask and receive what they choose. At present seek quietly to -confuse, and delay, and evade, and make of no effect. In this business -four score of the six hundred are our true helpers. - -Now the pen, and the ink, and the hand weary together, as thy eyes will -weary in this reading. Be it known to my house that I return soon, but -do not speak of the hour. Letters without name have come to me touching -my honour. The honour of my house is thine. If they be, as I believe, -the work of a dismissed groom, Futteh Lal, that ran at the tail of my -wine-coloured Katthiawar stallion, his village is beyond Manglôt; look -to it that his tongue no longer lengthens itself on the names of those -who are mine. If it be otherwise, put a guard upon my house till I come, -and especially see that no sellers of jewelry, astrologers, or midwives -have entrance to the women’s rooms. We rise by our slaves, and by our -slaves we fall, as it was said. To all who are of my remembrance I bring -gifts according to their worth. I have written twice of the gift that I -would cause to be given to Bahadur Shah. - -The blessing of God and his Prophet on thee and thine till the end which -is appointed. Give me felicity by informing me of the state of thy -health. My head is at the Rao Sahib’s feet; my sword is at his left -side, a little above my heart. Follows my seal. - - - - - ON THE CITY WALL - -Then she let them down by a cord through the window; for her house was - upon the town-wall, and she dwelt upon the wall.—_Joshua_ ii. 15. - - -Lalun is a member of the most ancient profession in the world. Lilith -was her very-great-grand-mamma, and that was before the days of Eve, as -every one knows. In the West, people say rude things about Lalun’s -profession, and write lectures about it, and distribute the lectures to -young persons in order that Morality may be preserved. In the East, -where the profession is hereditary, descending from mother to daughter, -nobody writes lectures or takes any notice; and that is a distinct proof -of the inability of the East to manage its own affairs. - -Lalun’s real husband, for even ladies of Lalun’s profession in the East -must have husbands, was a big jujube-tree. Her Mamma, who had married a -fig-tree, spent ten thousand rupees on Lalun’s wedding, which was -blessed by forty-seven clergymen of Mamma’s church, and distributed five -thousand rupees in charity to the poor. And that was the custom of the -land. The advantages of having a jujube-tree for a husband are obvious. -You cannot hurt his feelings, and he looks imposing. - -Lalun’s husband stood on the plain outside the City walls, and Lalun’s -house was upon the east wall, facing the river. If you fell from the -broad window-seat you dropped thirty feet sheer into the City Ditch. But -if you stayed where you should and looked forth, you saw all the cattle -of the City being driven down to water, the students of the Government -College playing cricket, the high grass and trees that fringed the -river-bank, the great sand-bars that ribbed the river, the red tombs of -dead Emperors beyond the river, and very far away through the blue -heat-haze, a glint of the snows of the Himalayas. - -Wali Dad used to lie in the window-seat for hours at a time, watching -this view. He was a young Muhammadan who was suffering acutely from -education of the English variety, and knew it. His father had sent him -to a Mission-school to get wisdom, and Wali Dad had absorbed more than -ever his father or the Missionaries intended he should. When his father -died, Wali Dad was independent and spent two years experimenting with -the creeds of the Earth and reading books that are of no use to anybody. - -After he had made an unsuccessful attempt to enter the Roman Catholic -Church and the Presbyterian fold at the same time (the Missionaries -found him out and called him names, but they did not understand his -trouble), he discovered Lalun on the City wall and became the most -constant of her few admirers. He possessed a head that English artists -at home would rave over and paint amid impossible surroundings—a face -that female novelists would use with delight through nine hundred pages. -In reality he was only a clean-bred young Muhammadan, with penciled -eyebrows, small-cut nostrils, little feet and hands, and a very tired -look in his eyes. By virtue of his twenty-two years he had grown a neat -black beard which he stroked with pride and kept delicately scented. His -life seemed to be divided between borrowing books from me and making -love to Lalun in the window-seat. He composed songs about her, and some -of the songs are sung to this day in the City from the Street of the -Mutton-Butchers to the Copper-Smiths’ ward. - -One song, the prettiest of all, says that the beauty of Lalun was so -great that it troubled the hearts of the British Government and caused -them to lose their peace of mind. That is the way the song is sung in -the streets; but, if you examine it carefully and know the key to the -explanation, you will find that there are three puns in it—on “beauty,” -“heart,” and “peace of mind,”—so that it runs: “By the subtlety of Lalun -the administration of the Government was troubled and it lost such and -such a man.” When Wali Dad sings that song his eyes glow like hot coals, -and Lalun leans back among the cushions and throws bunches of -jasmine-buds at Wali Dad. - -But first it is necessary to explain something about the Supreme -Government which is above all and below all and behind all. Gentlemen -come from England, spend a few weeks in India, walk round this great -Sphinx of the Plains, and write books upon its ways and its works, -denouncing or praising it as their own ignorance prompts. Consequently -all the world knows how the Supreme Government conducts itself. But no -one, not even the Supreme Government, knows everything about the -administration of the Empire. Year by year England sends out fresh -drafts for the first fighting-line, which is officially called the -Indian Civil Service. These die, or kill themselves by overwork, or are -worried to death or broken in health and hope in order that the land may -be protected from death and sickness, famine and war, and may eventually -become capable of standing alone. It will never stand alone, but the -idea is a pretty one, and men are willing to die for it, and yearly the -work of pushing and coaxing and scolding and petting the country into -good living goes forward. If an advance be made all credit is given to -the native, while the Englishmen stand back and wipe their foreheads. If -a failure occurs the Englishmen step forward and take the blame. -Overmuch tenderness of this kind has bred a strong belief among many -natives that the native is capable of administering the country, and -many devout Englishmen believe this also, because the theory is stated -in beautiful English with all the latest political colour. - -There be other men who, though uneducated, see visions and dream dreams, -and they, too, hope to administer the country in their own way—that is -to say, with a garnish of Red Sauce. Such men must exist among two -hundred million people, and, if they are not attended to, may cause -trouble and even break the great idol called “Pax Britannic,” which, as -the newspapers say, lives between Peshawur and Cape Comorin. Were the -Day of Doom to dawn to-morrow, you would find the Supreme Government -“taking measures to allay popular excitement” and putting guards upon -the graveyards that the Dead might troop forth orderly. The youngest -Civilian would arrest Gabriel on his own responsibility if the Archangel -could not produce a Deputy Commissioner’s permission to “make music or -other noises” as the license says. - -Whence it is easy to see that mere men of the flesh who would create a -tumult must fare badly at the hands of the Supreme Government. And they -do. There is no outward sign of excitement; there is no confusion; there -is no knowledge. When due and sufficient reasons have been given, -weighed and approved, the machinery moves forward, and the dreamer of -dreams and the seer of visions is gone from his friends and following. -He enjoys the hospitality of Government; there is no restriction upon -his movements within certain limits; but he must not confer any more -with his brother dreamers. Once in every six months the Supreme -Government assures itself that he is well and takes formal -acknowledgment of his existence. No one protests against his detention, -because the few people who know about it are in deadly fear of seeming -to know him; and never a single newspaper “takes up his case” or -organises demonstrations on his behalf, because the newspapers of India -have got behind that lying proverb which says the Pen is mightier than -the Sword, and can walk delicately. - -So now you know as much as you ought about Wali Dad, the educational -mixture, and the Supreme Government. - -Lalun has not yet been described. She would need, so Wali Dad says, a -thousand pens of gold and ink scented with musk. She has been variously -compared to the Moon, the Dil Sagar Lake, a spotted quail, a gazelle, -the Sun on the Desert of Kutch, the Dawn, the Stars, and the young -bamboo. These comparisons imply that she is beautiful exceedingly -according to the native standards, which are practically the same as -those of the West. Her eyes are black and her hair is black, and her -eyebrows are black as leeches; her mouth is tiny and says witty things; -her hands are tiny and have saved much money; her feet are tiny and have -trodden on the naked hearts of many men. But, as Wali Dad sings: “Lalun -_is_ Lalun, and when you have said that, you have only come to the -Beginnings of Knowledge.” - -The little house on the City wall was just big enough to hold Lalun, and -her maid, and a pussy-cat with a silver collar. A big pink and blue -cut-glass chandelier hung from the ceiling of the reception room. A -petty Nawab had given Lalun the horror, and she kept it for politeness’ -sake. The floor of the room was of polished chunam, white as curds. A -latticed window of carved wood was set in one wall; there was a -profusion of squabby pluffy cushions and fat carpets everywhere, and -Lalun’s silver _huqa_, studded with turquoises, had a special little -carpet all to its shining self. Wali Dad was nearly as permanent a -fixture as the chandelier. As I have said, he lay in the window-seat and -meditated on Life and Death and Lalun—specially Lalun. The feet of the -young men of the City tended to her doorways and then—retired, for Lalun -was a particular maiden, slow of speech, reserved of mind, and not in -the least inclined to orgies which were nearly certain to end in strife. -“If I am of no value, I am unworthy of this honour,” said Lalun. “If I -am of value, they are unworthy of Me.” And that was a crooked sentence. - -In the long hot nights of latter April and May all the City seemed to -assemble in Lalun’s little white room to smoke and to talk. Shiahs of -the grimmest and most uncompromising persuasion; Sufis who had lost all -belief in the Prophet and retained but little in God; wandering Hindu -priests passing southward on their way to the Central India fairs and -other affairs; Pundits in black gowns, with spectacles on their noses -and undigested wisdom in their insides; bearded headmen of the wards; -Sikhs with all the details of the latest ecclesiastical scandal in the -Golden Temple; red-eyed priests from beyond the Border, looking like -trapped wolves and talking like ravens; M. A.’s of the University, very -superior and very voluble—all these people and more also you might find -in the white room. Wali Dad lay in the window-seat and listened to the -talk. - -“It is Lalun’s _salon_,” said Wali Dad to me, “and it is electic—is not -that the word? Outside of a Freemason’s Lodge I have never seen such -gatherings. _There_ I dined once with a Jew—a Yahoudi!” He spat into the -City Ditch with apologies for allowing national feelings to overcome -him. “Though I have lost every belief in the world,” said he, “and try -to be proud of my losing, I cannot help hating a Jew. Lalun admits no -Jews here.” - -“But what in the world do all these men do?” I asked. - -“The curse of our country,” said Wali Dad. “They talk. It is like the -Athenians—always hearing and telling some new thing. Ask the Pearl and -she will show you how much she knows of the news of the City and the -Province. Lalun knows everything.” - -“Lalun,” I said at random—she was talking to a gentleman of the Kurd -persuasion who had come in from God-knows-where—“when does the 175th -Regiment go to Agra?” - -“It does not go at all,” said Lalun, without turning her head. “They -have ordered the 118th to go in its stead. That Regiment goes to Lucknow -in three months, unless they give a fresh order.” - -“That is so,” said Wali Dad without a shade of doubt. “Can you, with -your telegrams and your newspapers, do better? Always hearing and -telling some new thing,” he went on. “My friend, has your God ever -smitten a European nation for gossiping in the bazars? India has -gossiped for centuries—always standing in the bazars until the soldiers -go by. Therefore—you are here today instead of starving in your own -country, and I am not a Muhammadan—I am a Product—a Demnition Product. -That also I owe to you and yours: that I cannot make an end to my -sentence without quoting from your authors.” He pulled at the _huqa_ and -mourned, half feelingly, half in earnest, for the shattered hopes of his -youth. Wali Dad was always mourning over something or other—the country -of which he despaired, or the creed in which he had lost faith, or the -life of the English which he could by no means understand. - -Lalun never mourned. She played little songs on the _sitar_, and to hear -her sing, “O Peacock, cry again,” was always a fresh pleasure. She knew -all the songs that have ever been sung, from the war-songs of the South -that make the old men angry with the young men and the young men angry -with the State, to the love-songs of the North where the swords -whinny-whicker like angry kites in the pauses between the kisses, and -the Passes fill with armed men, and the Lover is torn from his Beloved -and cries, _Ai, Ai, Ai!_ evermore. She knew how to make up tobacco for -the _huqa_ so that it smelt like the Gates of Paradise and wafted you -gently through them. She could embroider strange things in gold and -silver, and dance softly with the moonlight when it came in at the -window. Also she knew the hearts of men, and the heart of the City, and -whose wives were faithful and whose untrue, and more of the secrets of -the Government Offices than are good to be set down in this place. -Nasiban, her maid, said that her jewelry was worth ten thousand pounds, -and that, some night, a thief would enter and murder her for its -possession; but Lalun said that all the City would tear that thief limb -from limb, and that he, whoever he was, knew it. - -So she took her _sitar_ and sat in the window-seat and sang a song of -old days that had been sung by a girl of her profession in an armed camp -on the eve of a great battle—the day before the Fords of the Jumna ran -red and Sivaji fled fifty miles to Delhi with a Toorkh stallion at his -horse’s tail and another Lalun on his saddle-bow. It was what men call a -Mahratta _laonee_, and it said:— - - Their warrior forces Chimnajee - Before the Peishwa led, - The Children of the Sun and Fire - Behind him turned and fled. - -And the chorus said:— - - With them there fought who rides so free - With sword and turban red, - The warrior-youth who earns his fee - At peril of his head. - -“At peril of his head,” said Wali Dad in English to me. “Thanks to your -Government, all our heads are protected, and with the educational -facilities at my command”—his eyes twinkled wickedly—“I might be a -distinguished member of the local administration. Perhaps, in time, I -might even be a member of a Legislative Council.” - -“Don’t speak English,” said Lalun, bending over her _sitar_ afresh. The -chorus went out from the City wall to the blackened wall of Fort Amara -which dominates the City. No man knows the precise extent of Fort Amara. -Three kings built it hundreds of years ago, and they say that there are -miles of underground rooms beneath its walls. It is peopled with many -ghosts, a detachment of Garrison Artillery and a Company of Infantry. In -its prime it held ten thousand men and filled its ditches with corpses. - -“At peril of his head,” sang Lalun again and again. - -A head moved on one of the Ramparts—the gray head of an old man—and a -voice, rough as shark-skin on a sword-hilt, sent back the last line of -the chorus and broke into a song that I could not understand, though -Lalun and Wali Dad listened intently. - -“What is it?” I asked. “Who is it?” - -“A consistent man,” said Wali Dad. “He fought you in ’46, when he was a -warrior-youth; refought you in ’57, and he tried to fight you in ’71, -but you had learned the trick of blowing men from guns too well. Now he -is old; but he would still fight if he could.” - -“Is he a Wahabi, then? Why should he answer to a Mahratta _laonee_ if he -be Wahabi—or Sikh?” said I. - -“I do not know,” said Wali Dad. “He has lost, perhaps, his religion. -Perhaps he wishes to be a King. Perhaps he is a King. I do not know his -name.” - -“That is a lie, Wali Dad. If you know his career you must know his -name.” - -“That is quite true. I belong to a nation of liars. I would rather not -tell you his name. Think for yourself.” - -Lalun finished her song, pointed to the Fort, and said simply: “Khem -Singh.” - -“Hm,” said Wali Dad. “If the Pearl chooses to tell you the Pearl is a -fool.” - -I translated to Lalun, who laughed. “I choose to tell what I choose to -tell. They kept Khem Singh in Burma,” said she. “They kept him there for -many years until his mind was changed in him. So great was the kindness -of the Government. Finding this, they sent him back to his own country -that he might look upon it before he died. He is an old man, but when he -looks upon this his country his memory will come. Moreover, there be -many who remember him.” - -“He is an Interesting Survival,” said Wali Dad, pulling at the _huqa_. -“He returns to a country now full of educational and political reform, -but, as the Pearl says, there are many who remember him. He was once a -great man. There will never be any more great men in India. They will -all, when they are boys, go whoring after strange gods, and they will -become citizens—‘fellow-citizens’—‘illustrious fellow-citizens.’ What is -it that the native papers call them?” - -Wali Dad seemed to be in a very bad temper. Lalun looked out of the -window and smiled into the dust-haze. I went away thinking about Khem -Singh, who had once made history with a thousand followers, and would -have been a princeling but for the power of the Supreme Government -aforesaid. - -The Senior Captain Commanding Fort Amara was away on leave, but the -Subaltern, his Deputy, had drifted down to the Club, where I found him -and enquired of him whether it was really true that a political prisoner -had been added to the attractions of the Fort. The Subaltern explained -at great length, for this was the first time that he had held Command of -the Fort, and his glory lay heavy upon him. - -“Yes,” said he, “a man was sent in to me about a week ago from down the -line—a thorough gentleman, whoever he is. Of course I did all I could -for him. He had his two servants and some silver cooking-pots, and he -looked for all the world like a native officer. I called him Subadar -Sahib; just as well to be on the safe side, y’know. ‘Look here, Subadar -Sahib,’ I said, ‘you’re handed over to my authority, and I’m supposed to -guard you. Now I don’t want to make your life hard, but you must make -things easy for me. All the Fort is at your disposal, from the -flag-staff to the dry ditch, and I shall be happy to entertain you in -any way I can, but you mustn’t take advantage of it. Give me your word -that you won’t try to escape, Subadar Sahib, and I’ll give you my word -that you shall have no heavy guard put over you.’ I thought the best way -of getting at him was by going at him straight, y’know, and it was, by -Jove! The old man gave me his word, and moved about the Fort as -contented as a sick crow. He’s a rummy chap—always asking to be told -where he is and what the buildings about him are. I had to sign a slip -of blue paper when he turned up, acknowledging receipt of his body and -all that, and I’m responsible, y’know, that he doesn’t get away. Queer -thing, though, looking after a Johnnie old enough to be your -grandfather, isn’t it? Come to the Fort one of these days and see him?” - -For reasons which will appear, I never went to the Fort while Khem Singh -was then within its walls. I knew him only as a gray head seen from -Lalun’s window—a gray head and a harsh voice. But natives told me that, -day by day, as he looked upon the fair lands round Amara, his memory -came back to him and, with it, the old hatred against the Government -that had been nearly effaced in far-off Burma. So he raged up and down -the West face of the Fort from morning till noon and from evening till -the night, devising vain things in his heart, and croaking war-songs -when Lalun sang on the City wall. As he grew more acquainted with the -Subaltern he unburdened his old heart of some of the passions that had -withered it. “Sahib,” he used to say, tapping his stick against the -parapet, “when I was a young man I was one of twenty thousand horsemen -who came out of the City and rode round the plain here. Sahib, I was the -leader of a hundred, then of a thousand, then of five thousand, and -now!”—he pointed to his two servants. “But from the beginning to to-day -I would cut the throats of all the Sahibs in the land if I could. Hold -me fast, Sahib, lest I get away and return to those who would follow me. -I forgot them when I was in Burma, but now that I am in my own country -again, I remember everything.” - -“Do you remember that you have given me your Honour not to make your -tendance a hard matter?” said the Subaltern. - -“Yes, to you, only to you, Sahib,” said Khem Singh. “To you because you -are of a pleasant countenance. If my turn comes again, Sahib, I will not -hang you nor cut your throat.” - -“Thank you,” said the Subaltern gravely, as he looked along the line of -guns that could pound the City to powder in half an hour. “Let us go -into our own quarters, Khem Singh. Come and talk with me after dinner.” - -Khem Singh would sit on his own cushion at the Subaltern’s feet, -drinking heavy, scented anise-seed brandy in great gulps, and telling -strange stories of Fort Amara, which had been a palace in the old days, -of Begums and Ranees tortured to death—aye, in the very vaulted chamber -that now served as a Mess-room; would tell stories of Sobraon that made -the Subaltern’s cheeks flush and tingle with pride of race, and of the -Kuka rising from which so much was expected and the foreknowledge of -which was shared by a hundred thousand souls. But he never told tales of -’57 because, as he said, he was the Subaltern’s guest, and ’57 is a year -that no man, Black or White, cares to speak of. Once only, when the -anise-seed brandy had slightly affected his head, he said: “Sahib, -speaking now of a matter which lay between Sobraon and the affair of the -Kukas, it was ever a wonder to us that you stayed your hand at all, and -that, having stayed it, you did not make the land one prison. Now I hear -from without that you do great honour to all men of our country and by -your own hands are destroying the Terror of your Name which is your -strong rock and defence. This is a foolish thing. Will oil and water -mix? Now in ’57——” - -“I was not born then, Subadar Sahib,” said the Subaltern, and Khem Singh -reeled to his quarters. - -The Subaltern would tell me of these conversations at the Club, and my -desire to see Khem Singh increased. But Wali Dad, sitting in the -window-seat of the house on the City wall, said that it would be a cruel -thing to do, and Lalun pretended that I preferred the society of a -grizzled old Sikh to hers. - -“Here is tobacco, here is talk, here are many friends and all the news -of the City, and, above all, here is myself. I will tell you stories and -sing you songs, and Wali Dad will talk his English nonsense in your -ears. Is that worse than watching the caged animal yonder? Go to-morrow, -then, if you must, but to-day such and such an one will be here, and he -will speak of wonderful things.” - -It happened that To-morrow never came, and the warm heat of the latter -Rains gave place to the chill of early October almost before I was aware -of the flight of the year. The Captain commanding the Fort returned from -leave and took over charge of Khem Singh according to the laws of -seniority. The Captain was not a nice man. He called all natives -“niggers,” which, besides being extreme bad form, shows gross ignorance. - -“What’s the use of telling off two Tommies to watch that old nigger?” -said he. - -“I fancy it soothes his vanity,” said the Subaltern. “The men are -ordered to keep well out of his way, but he takes them as a tribute to -his importance, poor old wretch.” - -“I won’t have Line men taken off regular guards in this way. Put on a -couple of Native Infantry.” - -“Sikhs?” said the Subaltern, lifting his eyebrows. - -“Sikhs, Pathans, Dogras—they’re all alike, these black vermin,” and the -Captain talked to Khem Singh in a manner which hurt that old gentleman’s -feelings. Fifteen years before, when he had been caught for the second -time, every one looked upon him as a sort of tiger. He liked being -regarded in this light. But he forgot that the world goes forward in -fifteen years, and many Subalterns are promoted to Captaincies. - -“The Captain-pig is in charge of the Fort?” said Khem Singh to his -native guard every morning. And the native guard said: “Yes, Subadar -Sahib,” in deference to his age and his air of distinction; but they did -not know who he was. - -In those days the gathering in Lalun’s little white room was always -large and talked more than before. - -“The Greeks,” said Wali Dad, who had been borrowing my books, “the -inhabitants of the city of Athens, where they were always hearing and -telling some new thing, rigorously secluded their women—who were fools. -Hence the glorious institution of the heterodox women—is it not?—who -were amusing and _not_ fools. All the Greek philosophers delighted in -their company. Tell me, my friend, how it goes now in Greece and the -other places upon the Continent of Europe. Are your women-folk also -fools?” - -“Wali Dad,” I said, “you never speak to us about your women-folk, and we -never speak about ours to you. That is the bar between us.” - -“Yes,” said Wali Dad, “it is curious to think that our common -meeting-place should be here, in the house of a common—how do you call -_her_?” He pointed with the pipe-mouth to Lalun. - -“Lalun is nothing but Lalun,” I said, and that was perfectly true. “But -if you took your place in the world, Wali Dad, and gave up dreaming -dreams——” - -“I might wear an English coat and trouser. I might be a leading -Muhammadan pleader. I might be received even at the Commissioner’s -tennis-parties, where the English stand on one side and the natives on -the other, in order to promote social intercourse throughout the Empire. -Heart’s Heart,” said he to Lalun quickly, “the Sahib says that I ought -to quit you.” - -“The Sahib is always talking stupid talk,” returned Lalun with a laugh. -“In this house I am a Queen and thou art a King. The Sahib”—she put her -arms above her head and thought for a moment—“the Sahib shall be our -Vizier—thine and mine, Wali Dad—because he has said that thou shouldst -leave me.” - -Wali Dad laughed immoderately, and I laughed too. “Be it so,” said he. -“My friend, are you willing to take this lucrative Government -appointment? Lalun, what shall his pay be?” - -But Lalun began to sing, and for the rest of the time there was no hope -of getting a sensible answer from her or Wali Dad. When the one stopped, -the other began to quote Persian poetry with a triple pun in every other -line. Some of it was not strictly proper, but it was all very funny, and -it only came to an end when a fat person in black, with gold -_pince-nez_, sent up his name to Lalun, and Wali Dad dragged me into the -twinkling night to walk in a big rose-garden and talk heresies about -Religion and Governments and a man’s career in life. - -The Mohurrum, the great mourning-festival of the Muhammadans, was close -at hand, and the things that Wali Dad said about religious fanaticism -would have secured his expulsion from the loosest-thinking Muslim sect. -There were the rose-bushes round us, the stars above us, and from every -quarter of the City came the boom of the big Mohurrum drums. You must -know that the City is divided in fairly equal proportions between the -Hindus and the Musalmans, and where both creeds belong to the fighting -races, a big religious festival gives ample chance for trouble. When -they can—that is to say when the authorities are weak enough to allow -it—the Hindus do their best to arrange some minor feast-day of their own -in time to clash with the period of general mourning for the martyrs -Hasan and Hussain, the heroes of the Mohurrum. Gilt and painted paper -presentations of their tombs are borne with shouting and wailing, music, -torches, and yells, through the principal thoroughfares of the City, -which fakements are called _tazias_. Their passage is rigorously laid -down beforehand by the Police, and detachments of Police accompany each -_tazia_, lest the Hindus should throw bricks at it and the peace of the -Queen and the heads of her loyal subjects should thereby be broken. -Mohurrum time in a “fighting” town means anxiety to all the officials, -because, if a riot breaks out, the officials and not the rioters are -held responsible. The former must foresee everything, and while not -making their precautions ridiculously elaborate, must see that they are -at least adequate. - -“Listen to the drums!” said Wali Dad. “That is the heart of the -people—empty and making much noise. How, think you, will the Mohurrum go -this year. _I_ think that there will be trouble.” - -He turned down a side-street and left me alone with the stars and a -sleepy Police patrol. Then I went to bed and dreamed that Wali Dad had -sacked the City and I was made Vizier, with Lalun’s silver _huqa_ for -mark of office. - -All day the Mohurrum drums beat in the City, and all day deputations of -tearful Hindu gentlemen besieged the Deputy Commissioner with assurances -that they would be murdered ere next dawning by the Muhammadans. -“Which,” said the Deputy Commissioner in confidence to the Head of -Police, “is a pretty fair indication that the Hindus are going to make -’emselves unpleasant. I think we can arrange a little surprise for them. -I have given the heads of both Creeds fair warning. If they choose to -disregard it, so much the worse for them.” - -There was a large gathering in Lalun’s house that night, but of men that -I had never seen before, if I except the fat gentleman in black with the -gold _pince-nez_. Wali Dad lay in the window-seat, more bitterly -scornful of his Faith and its manifestations than I had ever known him. -Lalun’s maid was very busy cutting up and mixing tobacco for the guests. -We could hear the thunder of the drums as the processions accompanying -each _tazia_ marched to the central gathering-place in the plain outside -the City, preparatory to their triumphant re-entry and circuit within -the walls. All the streets seemed ablaze with torches, and only Fort -Amara was black and silent. - -When the noise of the drums ceased, no one in the white room spoke for a -time. “The first _tazia_ has moved off,” said Wali Dad, looking to the -plain. - -“That is very early,” said the man with the _pince-nez_. - -“It is only half-past eight.” The company rose and departed. - -“Some of them were men from Ladakh,” said Lalun, when the last had gone. -“They brought me brick-tea such as the Russians sell, and a tea-urn from -Peshawur. Show me, now, how the English _Memsahibs_ make tea.” - -The brick-tea was abominable. When it was finished Wali Dad suggested -going into the streets. “I am nearly sure that there will be trouble -to-night,” he said. “All the City thinks so, and _Vox Populi_ is _Vox -Dei_, as the Babus say. Now I tell you that at the corner of the -Padshahi Gate you will find my horse all this night if you want to go -about and to see things. It is a most disgraceful exhibition. Where is -the pleasure of saying ‘_Ya Hasan, Ya Hussain_,’ twenty thousand times -in a night?” - -All the processions—there were two and twenty of them—were now well -within the City walls. The drums were beating afresh, the crowd were -howling “_Ya Hasan! Ya Hussain!_” and beating their breasts, the brass -bands were playing their loudest, and at every corner where space -allowed Muhammadan preachers were telling the lamentable story of the -death of the Martyrs. It was impossible to move except with the crowd, -for the streets were not more than twenty feet wide. In the Hindu -quarters the shutters of all the shops were up and cross-barred. As the -first _tazia_, a gorgeous erection ten feet high, was borne aloft on the -shoulders of a score of stout men into the semi-darkness of the Gully of -the Horsemen, a brickbat crashed through its talc and tinsel sides. - -“Into thy hands, O Lord!” murmured Wali Dad profanely, as a yell went up -from behind, and a native officer of Police jammed his horse through the -crowd. Another brickbat followed, and the _tazia_ staggered and swayed -where it had stopped. - -“Go on! In the name of the Sirkar, go forward!” shouted the Policeman; -but there was an ugly cracking and splintering of shutters, and the -crowd halted, with oaths and growlings, before the house whence the -brickbat had been thrown. - -Then, without any warning, broke the storm—not only in the Gully of the -Horsemen, but in half a dozen other places. The _tazias_ rocked like -ships at sea, the long pole-torches dipped and rose round them, while -the men shouted: “The Hindus are dishonouring the _tazias_! Strike! -Strike! Into their temples for the Faith!” The six or eight Policemen -with each _tazia_ drew their batons and struck as long as they could, in -the hope of forcing the mob forward, but they were overpowered, and as -contingents of Hindus poured into the streets the fight became general. -Half a mile away, where the _tazias_ were yet untouched, the drums and -the shrieks of “_Ya Hasan! Ya Hussain!_” continued, but not for long. -The priests at the corners of the streets knocked the legs from the -bedsteads that supported their pulpits and smote for the Faith, while -stones fell from the silent houses upon friend and foe, and the packed -streets bellowed: “_Din! Din! Din!_” A _tazia_ caught fire, and was -dropped for a flaming barrier between Hindu and Musalman at the corner -of the Gully. Then the crowd surged forward, and Wali Dad drew me close -to the stone pillar of a well. - -“It was intended from the beginning!” he shouted in my ear, with more -heat than blank unbelief should be guilty of. “The bricks were carried -up to the houses beforehand. These swine of Hindus! We shall be gutting -kine in their temples to-night!” - -_Tazia_ after _tazia_, some burning, others torn to pieces, hurried past -us, and the mob with them, howling, shrieking, and striking at the house -doors in their flight. At last we saw the reason of the rush. Hugonin, -the Assistant District Superintendent of Police, a boy of twenty, had -got together thirty constables and was forcing the crowd through the -streets. His old gray Police-horse showed no sign of uneasiness as it -was spurred breast-on into the crowd, and the long dog-whip with which -he had armed himself was never still. - -“They know we haven’t enough Police to hold ’em,” he cried as he passed -me, mopping a cut on his face. “They _know_ we haven’t! Aren’t any of -the men from the Club coming down to help? Get on, you sons of burnt -fathers!” The dog-whip cracked across the writhing backs, and the -constables smote afresh with baton and gun-butt. With these passed the -lights and the shouting, and Wali Dad began to swear under his breath. -From Fort Amara shot up a single rocket; then two side by side. It was -the signal for troops. - -Petitt, the Deputy Commissioner, covered with dust and sweat, but calm -and gently smiling, cantered up the clean-swept street in rear of the -main body of the rioters. “No one killed yet,” he shouted. “I’ll keep -’em on the run till dawn! Don’t let ’em halt, Hugonin! Trot ’em about -till the troops come.” - -The science of the defence lay solely in keeping the mob on the move. If -they had breathing-space they would halt and fire a house, and then the -work of restoring order would be more difficult, to say the least of it. -Flames have the same effect on a crowd as blood has on a wild beast. - -Word had reached the Club, and men in evening-dress were beginning to -show themselves and lend a hand in heading off and breaking up the -shouting masses with stirrup-leathers, whips, or chance-found staves. -They were not very often attacked, for the rioters had sense enough to -know that the death of a European would not mean one hanging, but many, -and possibly the appearance of the thrice-dreaded Artillery. The clamour -in the City redoubled. The Hindus had descended into the streets in real -earnest, and ere long the mob returned. It was a strange sight. There -were no _tazias_—only their riven platforms—and there were no Police. -Here and there a City dignitary, Hindu or Muhammadan, was vainly -imploring his co-religionists to keep quiet and behave themselves—advice -for which his white beard was pulled. Then a native officer of Police, -unhorsed but still using his spurs with effect, would be borne along, -warning all the crowd of the danger of insulting the Government. -Everywhere men struck aimlessly with sticks, grasping each other by the -throat, howling and foaming with rage, or beat with their bare hands on -the doors of the houses. - -“It is a lucky thing that they are fighting with natural weapons,” I -said to Wali Dad, “else we should have half the City killed.” - -I turned as I spoke and looked at his face. His nostrils were distended, -his eyes were fixed, and he was smiting himself softly on the breast. -The crowd poured by with renewed riot—a gang of Musalmans hard-pressed -by some hundred Hindu fanatics. Wali Dad left my side with an oath, and -shouting: “_Ya Hasan! Ya Hussain!_” plunged into the thick of the fight, -where I lost sight of him. - -I fled by a side alley to the Padshahi Gate, where I found Wali Dad’s -horse, and thence rode to the Fort. Once outside the City wall, the -tumult sank to a dull roar, very impressive under the stars and -reflecting great credit on the fifty thousand angry able-bodied men -who were making it. The troops who, at the Deputy Commissioner’s -instance, had been ordered to rendezvous quietly near the Fort showed -no signs of being impressed. Two companies of Native Infantry, a -squadron of Native Cavalry, and a company of British Infantry were -kicking their heels in the shadow of the East face, waiting for orders -to march in. I am sorry to say that they were all pleased, unholily -pleased, at the chance of what they called “a little fun.” The senior -officers, to be sure, grumbled at having been kept out of bed, and the -English troops pretended to be sulky, but there was joy in the hearts -of all the subalterns, and whispers ran up and down the line: “No -ball-cartridge—what a beastly shame!” “D’you think the beggars will -really stand up to us?” “’Hope I shall meet my money-lender there. I -owe him more than I can afford.” “Oh, they won’t let us even unsheathe -swords.” “Hurrah! Up goes the fourth rocket. Fall in, there!” - -The Garrison Artillery, who to the last cherished a wild hope that they -might be allowed to bombard the City at a hundred yards’ range, lined -the parapet above the East gateway and cheered themselves hoarse as the -British Infantry doubled along the road to the Main Gate of the City. -The Cavalry cantered on to the Padshahi Gate, and the Native Infantry -marched slowly to the Gate of the Butchers. The surprise was intended to -be of a distinctly unpleasant nature, and to come on top of the defeat -of the Police who had been just able to keep the Muhammadans from firing -the houses of a few leading Hindus. The bulk of the riot lay in the -north and north-west wards. The east and south-east were by this time -dark and silent, and I rode hastily to Lalun’s house, for I wished to -tell her to send some one in search of Wali Dad. The house was -unlighted, but the door was open, and I climbed upstairs in the -darkness. One small lamp in the white room showed Lalun and her maid -leaning half out of the window, breathing heavily and evidently pulling -at something that refused to come. - -“Thou art late—very late,” gasped Lalun without turning her head. “Help -us now, O Fool, if thou hast not spent thy strength howling among the -_tazias_. Pull! Nasiban and I can do no more. O Sahib, is it you? The -Hindus have been hunting an old Muhammadan round the Ditch with clubs. -If they find him again they will kill him. Help us to pull him up.” - -I put my hands to the long red silk waist-cloth that was hanging out of -the window, and we three pulled and pulled with all the strength at our -command. There was something very heavy at the end, and it swore in an -unknown tongue as it kicked against the City wall. - -“Pull, oh, pull!” said Lalun at the last. A pair of brown hands grasped -the window-sill and a venerable Muhammadan tumbled upon the floor, very -much out of breath. His jaws were tied up, his turban had fallen over -one eye, and he was dusty and angry. - -Lalun hid her face in her hands for an instant and said something about -Wali Dad that I could not catch. - -Then, to my extreme gratification, she threw her arms round my neck and -murmured pretty things. I was in no haste to stop her; and Nasiban, -being a handmaiden of tact, turned to the big jewel-chest that stands in -the corner of the white room and rummaged among the contents. The -Muhammadan sat on the floor and glared. - -“One service more, Sahib, since thou hast come so opportunely,” said -Lalun. “Wilt thou”—it is very nice to be thou-ed by Lalun—“take this old -man across the City—the troops are everywhere, and they might hurt him, -for he is old—to the Kumharsen Gate? There I think he may find a -carriage to take him to his house. He is a friend of mine, and thou -art—more than a friend—therefore I ask this.” - -Nasiban bent over the old man, tucked something into his belt, and I -raised him up and led him into the streets. In crossing from the east to -the west of the City there was no chance of avoiding the troops and the -crowd. Long before I reached the Gully of the Horsemen I heard the -shouts of the British Infantry crying cheeringly: “Hutt, ye beggars! -Hutt, ye devils! Get along! Go forward, there!” Then followed the -ringing of rifle-butts and shrieks of pain. The troops were banging the -bare toes of the mob with their gun-butts—for not a bayonet had been -fixed. My companion mumbled and jabbered as we walked on until we were -carried back by the crowd and had to force our way to the troops. I -caught him by the wrist and felt a bangle there—the iron bangle of the -Sikhs—but I had no suspicions, for Lalun had only ten minutes before put -her arms round me. Thrice we were carried back by the crowd, and when we -made our way past the British Infantry it was to meet the Sikh Cavalry -driving another mob before them with the butts of their lances. - -“What are these dogs?” said the old man. - -“Sikhs of the Cavalry, Father,” I said, and we edged our way up the line -of horses two abreast and found the Deputy Commissioner, his helmet -smashed on his head, surrounded by a knot of men who had come down from -the Club as amateur constables and had helped the Police mightily. - -“We’ll keep ’em on the run till dawn,” said Petitt. “Who’s your -villainous friend?” - -I had only time to say: “The Protection of the Sirkar!” when a fresh -crowd flying before the Native Infantry carried us a hundred yards -nearer to the Kumharsen Gate, and Petitt was swept away like a shadow. - -“I do not know—I cannot see—this is all new to me!” moaned my companion. -“How many troops are there in the City?” - -“Perhaps five hundred,” I said. - -“A lakh of men beaten by five hundred—and Sikhs among them! Surely, -surely, I am an old man, but—the Kumharsen Gate is new. Who pulled down -the stone lions? Where is the conduit? Sahib, I am a very old man, and, -alas, I—I cannot stand.” He dropped in the shadow of the Kumharsen Gate -where there was no disturbance. A fat gentleman wearing gold _pince-nez_ -came out of the darkness. - -“You are most kind to bring my old friend,” he said suavely. “He is a -landholder of Akala. He should not be in a big City when there is -religious excitement. But I have a carriage here. You are quite truly -kind. Will you help me to put him into the carriage? It is very late.” - -We bundled the old man into a hired victoria that stood close to the -gate, and I turned back to the house on the City wall. The troops were -driving the people to and fro, while the Police shouted, “To your -houses! Get to your houses!” and the dog-whip of the Assistant District -Superintendent cracked remorselessly. Terror-stricken _bunnias_ clung to -the stirrups of the cavalry, crying that their houses had been robbed -(which was a lie), and the burly Sikh horsemen patted them on the -shoulder, and bade them return to those houses lest a worse thing should -happen. Parties of five or six British soldiers, joining arms, swept -down the side-gullies, their rifles on their backs, stamping, with -shouting and song, upon the toes of Hindu and Musalman. Never was -religious enthusiasm more systematically squashed; and never were poor -breakers of the peace more utterly weary and footsore. They were routed -out of holes and corners, from behind well-pillars and byres, and bidden -to go to their houses. If they had no houses to go to, so much the worse -for their toes. - -On returning to Lalun’s door, I stumbled over a man at the threshold. He -was sobbing hysterically and his arms flapped like the wings of a goose. -It was Wali Dad, Agnostic and Unbeliever, shoeless, turbanless, and -frothing at the mouth, the flesh on his chest bruised and bleeding from -the vehemence with which he had smitten himself. A broken torch-handle -lay by his side, and his quivering lips murmured, “_Ya Hasan! Ya -Hussain!_” as I stooped over him. I pushed him a few steps up the -staircase, threw a pebble at Lalun’s City window, and hurried home. - -Most of the streets were very still, and the cold wind that comes before -the dawn whistled down them. In the center of the Square of the Mosque a -man was bending over a corpse. The skull had been smashed in by gun-butt -or bamboo-stave. - -“It is expedient that one man should die for the people,” said Petitt -grimly, raising the shapeless head. “These brutes were beginning to show -their teeth too much.” - -And from afar we could hear the soldiers singing “Two Lovely Black -Eyes,” as they drove the remnant of the rioters within doors. - - * * * * * - -Of course you can guess what happened? I was not so clever. When the -news went abroad that Khem Singh had escaped from the Fort, I did not, -since I was then living this story, not writing it, connect myself, or -Lalun, or the fat gentleman of the gold _pince-nez_, with his -disappearance. Nor did it strike me that Wali Dad was the man who should -have convoyed him across the City, or that Lalun’s arms round my neck -were put there to hide the money that Nasiban gave to Khem Singh, and -that Lalun had used me and my white face as even a better safeguard than -Wali Dad, who proved himself so untrustworthy. All that I knew at the -time was that when Fort Amara was taken up with the riots Khem Singh -profited by the confusion to get away, and that his two Sikh guards also -escaped. - -But later on I received full enlightenment; and so did Khem Singh. He -fled to those who knew him in the old days, but many of them were dead -and more were changed, and all knew something of the Wrath of the -Government. He went to the young men, but the glamour of his name had -passed away, and they were entering native regiments or Government -offices, and Khem Singh could give them neither pension, decorations, -nor influence—nothing but a glorious death with their backs to the mouth -of a gun. He wrote letters and made promises, and the letters fell into -bad hands, and a wholly insignificant subordinate officer of Police -tracked them down and gained promotion thereby. Moreover, Khem Singh was -old, and anise-seed brandy was scarce, and he had left his silver -cooking-pots in Fort Amara with his nice warm bedding, and the gentleman -with the gold _pince-nez_ was told by those who had employed him that -Khem Singh as a popular leader was not worth the money paid. - -“Great is the mercy of these fools of English!” said Khem Singh when the -situation was put before him. “I will go back to Fort Amara of my own -free will and gain honour. Give me good clothes to return in.” - -So, at his own time, Khem Singh knocked at the wicket-gate of the Fort -and walked to the Captain and the Subaltern, who were nearly gray-headed -on account of correspondence that daily arrived from Simla marked -“Private.” - -“I have come back, Captain Sahib,” said Khem Singh. “Put no more guards -over me. It is no good out yonder.” - -A week later I saw him for the first time to my knowledge, and he made -as though there were an understanding between us. - -“It was well done, Sahib,” said he, “and greatly I admired your -astuteness in thus boldly facing the troops when I, whom they would have -doubtless torn to pieces, was with you. Now there is a man in Fort -Ooltagarh whom a bold man could with ease help to escape. This is the -position of the Fort as I draw it on the sand——” - -But I was thinking how I had become Lalun’s Vizier after all. - - - - - THE ENLIGHTENMENTS OF - PAGETT, M. P. - -“Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field ring with - their importunate chink while thousands of great cattle, reposed - beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and are silent, - pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are the only - inhabitants of the field—that, of course, they are many in number—or - that, after all, they are other than the little, shrivelled, meagre, - hopping, though loud and troublesome insects of the hour.”—_Burke_: - “Reflections on the Revolution in France.” - - -They were sitting in the verandah of “the splendid palace of an Indian -Pro-Consul,” surrounded by all the glory and mystery of the immemorial -East. In plain English it was a one-storied, ten-roomed, whitewashed -mud-roofed bungalow, set in a dry garden of dusty tamarisk trees and -divided from the road by a low mud wall. The green parrots screamed -overhead as they flew in battalions to the river for their morning -drink. Beyond the wall, clouds of fine dust showed where the cattle and -goats of the city were passing afield to graze. The remorseless white -light of the winter sunshine of Northern India lay upon everything and -improved nothing, from the whining Persian-wheel by the lawn-tennis -court to the long perspective of level road and the blue, domed tombs of -Mahommedan saints just visible above the trees. - -“A Happy New Year,” said Orde to his guest. “It’s the first you’ve ever -spent out of England, isn’t it?” - -“Yes. ’Happy New Year,” said Pagett, smiling at the sunshine. “What a -divine climate you have here! Just think of the brown cold fog hanging -over London now!” And he rubbed his hands. - -It was more than twenty years since he had last seen Orde, his -schoolmate, and their paths in the world had divided early. The one had -quitted college to become a cog-wheel in the machinery of the great -Indian Government; the other, more blessed with goods, had been whirled -into a similar position in the English scheme. Three successive -elections had not affected Pagett’s position with a loyal constituency, -and he had grown insensibly to regard himself in some sort as a pillar -of the Empire whose real worth would be known later on. After a few -years of conscientious attendance at many divisions, after newspaper -battles innumerable, and the publication of interminable correspondence, -and more hasty oratory than in his calmer moments he cared to think -upon, it occurred to him, as it had occurred to many of his fellows in -Parliament, that a tour to India would enable him to sweep a larger lyre -and address himself to the problems of Imperial administration with a -firmer hand. Accepting, therefore, a general invitation extended to him -by Orde some years before, Pagett had taken ship to Karachi, and only -over-night had been received with joy by the Deputy-Commissioner of -Amara. They had sat late, discussing the changes and chances of twenty -years, recalling the names of the dead, and weighing the futures of the -living, as is the custom of men meeting after intervals of action. - -Next morning they smoked the after-breakfast pipe in the verandah, still -regarding each other curiously, Pagett in a light gray frock-coat and -garments much too thin for the time of the year, and a puggried sun-hat -carefully and wonderfully made; Orde in a shooting-coat, -riding-breeches, brown cowhide boots with spurs, and a battered flax -helmet. He had ridden some miles in the early morning to inspect a -doubtful river-dam. The men’s faces differed as much as their attire. -Orde’s, worn and wrinkled about the eyes and grizzled at the temples, -was the harder and more square of the two, and it was with something -like envy that the owner looked at the comfortable outlines of Pagett’s -blandly receptive countenance, the clear skin, the untroubled eye, and -the mobile, clean-shaved lips. - -“And this is India!” said Pagett for the twentieth time, staring long -and intently at the gray feathering of the tamarisks. - -“One portion of India only. It’s very much like this for 300 miles in -every direction. By the way, now that you have rested a little—I -wouldn’t ask the old question before—what d’you think of the country?” - -“’Tis the most pervasive country that ever yet was seen. I acquired -several pounds of your country coming up from Karachi. The air is heavy -with it, and for miles and miles along that distressful eternity of rail -there’s no horizon to show where air and earth separate.” - -“Yes. It isn’t easy to see truly or far in India. But you had a decent -passage out, hadn’t you?” - -“Very good on the whole. Your Anglo-Indian may be unsympathetic about -one’s political views; but he has reduced ship life to a science.” - -“The Anglo-Indian is a political orphan, and if he’s wise he won’t be in -a hurry to be adopted by your party grandmothers. But how were your -companions unsympathetic?” - -“Well, there was a man called Dawlishe, a judge somewhere in this -country, it seems, and a capital partner at whist, by the way, and when -I wanted to talk to him about the progress of India in a political sense -[Orde hid a grin which might or might not have been sympathetic], the -National Congress movement, and other things in which, as a Member of -Parliament, I’m of course interested, he shifted the subject, and when I -once cornered him, he looked me calmly in the eye, and said: ‘That’s all -Tommy Rot. Come and have a game at Bull.’ You may laugh, but that isn’t -the way to treat a great and important question; and, knowing who I was, -well, I thought it rather rude, don’t you know; and yet Dawlishe is a -thoroughly good fellow.” - -“Yes; he’s a friend of mine, and one of the straightest men I know. I -suppose, like many Anglo-Indians, he felt it was hopeless to give you -any just idea of any Indian question without the documents before you, -and in this case the documents you want are the country and the people.” - -“Precisely. That was why I came straight to you, bringing an open mind -to bear on things. I’m anxious to know what popular feeling in India is -really like, y’know, now that it has wakened into political life. The -National Congress, in spite of Dawlishe, must have caused great -excitement among the masses?” - -“On the contrary, nothing could be more tranquil than the state of -popular feeling; and as to excitement, the people would as soon be -excited over the ‘Rule of Three’ as over the Congress.” - -“Excuse me, Orde, but do you think you are a fair judge? Isn’t the -official Anglo-Indian naturally jealous of any external influences that -might move the masses, and so much opposed to liberal ideas, truly -liberal ideas, that he can scarcely be expected to regard a popular -movement with fairness?” - -“What did Dawlishe say about Tommy Rot? Think a moment, old man. You and -I were brought up together; taught by the same tutors, read the same -books, lived the same life, and thought, as you may remember, in -parallel lines. _I_ come out here, learn new languages, and work among -new races; while you, more fortunate, remain at home. Why should I -change my mind—our mind—because I change my sky? Why should I and the -few hundred Englishmen in my service become unreasonable, prejudiced -fossils, while you and your newer friends alone remain bright and -open-minded? You surely don’t fancy civilians are members of a Primrose -League?” - -“Of course not, but the mere position of an English official gives him a -point of view which cannot but bias his mind on this question.” Pagett -moved his knee up and down a little uneasily as he spoke. - -“That sounds plausible enough, but, like more plausible notions on -Indian matters, I believe it’s a mistake. You’ll find when you come to -consult the unofficial Briton that our fault, as a class—I speak of the -civilian now—is rather to magnify the progress that has been made -towards liberal institutions. It is of English origin, such as it is, -and the stress of our work since the Mutiny—only thirty years ago—has -been in that direction. No, I think you will get no fairer or more -dispassionate view of the Congress business than such men as I can give -you. But I may as well say at once that those who know most of India, -from the inside, are inclined to wonder at the noise our scarcely begun -experiment makes in England.” - -“But surely the gathering together of Congress delegates is of itself a -new thing.” - -“There’s nothing new under the sun. When Europe was a jungle half Asia -flocked to the canonical conferences of Buddhism; and for centuries the -people have gathered at Puri, Hurdwar, Trimbak, and Benares in immense -numbers. A great meeting, what you call a mass meeting, is really one of -the oldest and most popular of Indian institutions. In the case of the -Congress meetings, the only notable fact is that the priests of the -altar are British, not Buddhist, Jain or Brahmanical, and that the whole -thing is a British contrivance kept alive by the efforts of Messrs. -Hume, Eardley Norton, and Digby.” - -“You mean to say, then, it’s not a spontaneous movement?” - -“What movement was ever spontaneous in any true sense of the word? This -seems to be more factitious than usual. You seem to know a great deal -about it; try it by the touchstone of subscriptions, a coarse but fairly -trustworthy criterion, and there is scarcely the colour of money in it. -The delegates write from England that they are out of pocket for working -expenses, railway fares, and stationery—the mere pasteboard and -scaffolding of their show. It is, in fact, collapsing from mere -financial inanition.” - -“But you cannot deny that the people of India, who are, perhaps, too -poor to subscribe, are mentally and morally moved by the agitation,” -Pagett insisted. - -“That is precisely what I _do_ deny. The native side of the movement is -the work of a limited class, a microscopic minority, as Lord Dufferin -described it, when compared with the people proper, but still a very -interesting class, seeing that it is of our own creation. It is composed -almost entirely of those of the literary or clerkly castes who have -received an English education.” - -“Surely that’s a very important class. Its members must be the ordained -leaders of popular thought.” - -“Anywhere else they might be leaders, but they have no social weight in -this topsy-turvy land, and though they have been employed in clerical -work for generations, they have no practical knowledge of affairs. A -ship’s clerk is a useful person, but he is scarcely the captain; and an -orderly-room writer, however smart he may be, is not the colonel. You -see, the writer class in India has never till now aspired to anything -like command. It wasn’t allowed to. The Indian gentleman, for thousands -of years past, has resembled Victor Hugo’s noble: - - “Un vrai sire - Chatelain - Laisse ecrire - Le vilain. - Sa main digne - Quand il signe - Egratigne - Le velin.” - -And the little _egratignures_ he most likes to make have been scored -pretty deeply by the sword.“ - -“But this is childish and mediæval nonsense!” - -“Precisely; and from your, or rather our, point of view the pen _is_ -mightier than the sword. In this country it’s otherwise. The fault lies -in our Indian balances, not yet adjusted to civilised weights and -measures.” - -“Well, at all events, this literary class represent the natural -aspirations and wishes of the people at large, though it may not exactly -lead them, and, in spite of all you say, Orde, I defy you to find a -really sound English Radical who would not sympathise with those -aspirations.” - -Pagett spoke with some warmth, and he had scarcely ceased when a -well-appointed dog-cart turned into the compound gates, and Orde rose, -saying: - -“Here is Edwards, the Master of the Lodge I neglect so diligently, come -to talk about accounts, I suppose.” - -As the vehicle drove up under the porch Pagett also rose, saying with -the trained effusion born of much practice: - -“But this is also _my_ friend, my old and valued friend, Edwards. I’m -delighted to see you. I knew you were in India, but not exactly where.” - -“Then it isn’t accounts, Mr. Edwards,” said Orde cheerily. - -“Why, no, sir; I heard Mr. Pagett was coming, and as our works were -closed for the New Year I thought I would drive over and see him.” - -“A very happy thought. Mr. Edwards, you may not know, Orde, was a -leading member of our Radical Club at Switchton when I was beginning -political life, and I owe much to his exertions. There’s no pleasure -like meeting an old friend, except, perhaps, making a new one. I -suppose, Mr. Edwards, you stick to the good old cause?” - -“Well, you see, sir, things are different out here. There’s precious -little one can find to say against the Government, which was the main of -our talk at home, and them that do say things are not the sort o’ people -a man who respects himself would like to be mixed up with. There are no -politics, in a manner of speaking, in India. It’s all work.” - -“Surely you are mistaken, my good friend. Why, I have come all the way -from England just to see the working of this great National movement.” - -“I don’t know where you’re going to find the nation as moves, to begin -with, and then you’ll be hard put to it to find what they are moving -about. It’s like this, sir,” said Edwards, who had not quite relished -being called “my good friend.” “They haven’t got any grievance—nothing -to hit with, don’t you see, sir; and then there’s not much to hit -against, because the Government is more like a kind of general -Providence, directing an old-established state of things, than that at -home, where there’s something new thrown down for us to fight about -every three months.” - -“You are probably, in your workshops, full of English mechanics, out of -the way of learning what the masses think.” - -“I don’t know so much about that. There are four of us English foremen, -and between seven and eight hundred native fitters, smiths, carpenters, -painters, and such like.” - -“And they are full of the Congress, of course?” - -“Never hear a word of it from year’s end to year’s end, and I speak the -talk, too. But I wanted to ask how things are going on at home—old Tyler -and Brown and the rest?” - -“We will speak of them presently, but your account of the indifference -of your men surprises me almost as much as your own. I fear you are a -backslider from the good old doctrine, Edwards.” Pagett spoke as one who -mourned the death of a near relative. - -“Not a bit, sir, but I should be if I took up with a parcel of babus, -pleaders, and schoolboys, as never did a day’s work in their lives, and -couldn’t if they tried. And if you was to poll us English railway-men, -mechanics, tradespeople, and the like of that all up and down the -country from Peshawur to Calcutta, you would find us mostly in a tale -together. And yet you know we’re the same English you pay some respect -to at home at ’lection time, and we have the pull o’ knowing something -about it.” - -“This is very curious, but you will let me come and see you, and perhaps -you will kindly show me the railway works, and we will talk things over -at leisure. And about all old friends and old times,” added Pagett, -detecting with quick insight a look of disappointment in the mechanic’s -face. - -Nodding briefly to Orde, Edwards mounted his dog-cart and drove off. - -“It’s very disappointing,” said the Member to Orde, who, while his -friend discoursed with Edwards, had been looking over a bundle of -sketches drawn on gray paper in purple ink, brought to him by a -_Chuprassee_. - -“Don’t let it trouble you, old chap,” said Orde sympathetically. “Look -here a moment, here are some sketches by the man who made the -carved-wood screen you admired so much in the dining-room, and wanted a -copy of, and the artist himself is here too.” - -“A native?” said Pagett. - -“Of course,” was the reply, “Bishen Singh is his name, and he has two -brothers to help him. When there is an important job to do, the three go -into partnership, but they spend most of their time and all their money -in litigation over an inheritance, and I’m afraid they are getting -involved. Thoroughbred Sikhs of the old rock, obstinate, touchy, -bigoted, and cunning, but good men for all that. Here is Bishen -Singh—shall we ask _him_ about the Congress?” - -But Bishen Singh, who approached with a respectful salaam, had never -heard of it, and he listened with a puzzled face and obviously feigned -interest to Orde’s account of its aims and objects, finally shaking his -vast white turban with great significance when he learned that it was -promoted by certain pleaders named by Orde, and by educated natives. He -began with laboured respect to explain how he was a poor man with no -concern in such matters, which were all under the control of God, but -presently broke out of Urdu into familiar Punjabi, the mere sound of -which had a rustic smack of village smoke-reek and plough-tail, as he -denounced the wearers of white coats, the jugglers with words who -filched his field from him, the men whose backs were never bowed in -honest work; and poured ironical scorn on the Bengali. He and one of his -brothers had seen Calcutta, and being at work there, had Bengali -carpenters given to them as assistants. - -“Those carpenters!” said Bishen Singh. “Black apes were more efficient -workmates, and as for the Bengali babu—tchick!” The guttural click -needed no interpretation, but Orde translated the rest, while Pagett -gazed with interest at the wood-carver. - -“He seems to have a most illiberal prejudice against the Bengali,” said -the M. P. - -“Yes, it’s very sad that for ages outside Bengal there should be so -bitter a prejudice. Pride of race, which also means race-hatred, is the -plague and curse of India and it spreads far.” Orde pointed with his -riding-whip to the large map of India on the verandah wall. - -“See! I begin with the North,” said he. “There’s the Afghan, and, as a -highlander, he despises all the dwellers in Hindustan—with the exception -of the Sikh, whom he hates as cordially as the Sikh hates him. The Hindu -loathes Sikh and Afghan, and the Rajput—that’s a little lower down -across this yellow blot of desert—has a strong objection, to put it -mildly, to the Maratha, who, by the way, poisonously hates the Afghan. -Let’s go North a minute. The Sindhi hates everybody I’ve mentioned. Very -good, we’ll take less warlike races. The cultivator of Northern India -domineers over the man in the next province, and the Behari of the -North-West ridicules the Bengali. They are all at one on that point. I’m -giving you merely the roughest possible outlines of the facts, of -course.” - -Bishen Singh, his clean-cut nostrils still quivering, watched the large -sweep of the whip as it travelled from the frontier, through Sindh, the -Punjab and Rajputana, till it rested by the valley of the Jumna. - -“Hate—eternal and inextinguishable hate,” concluded Orde, flicking the -lash of the whip across the large map from East to West as he sat down. -“Remember Canning’s advice to Lord Granville, ‘Never write or speak of -Indian things without looking at a map.’” - -Pagett opened his eyes; Orde resumed. “And the race-hatred is only a -part of it. What’s really the matter with Bishen Singh is class-hatred, -which, unfortunately, is even more intense and more widely spread. -That’s one of the little drawbacks of caste, which some of your recent -English writers find an impeccable system.” - -The wood-carver was glad to be recalled to the business of his craft, -and his eyes shone as he received instructions for a carved wooden -doorway for Pagett, which he promised should be splendidly executed and -despatched to England in six months. It is an irrelevant detail, but in -spite of Orde’s reminders, fourteen months elapsed before the work was -finished. Business over, Bishen Singh hung about, reluctant to take his -leave, and at last joining his hands and approaching Orde with bated -breath and whispering humbleness, said he had a petition to make. Orde’s -face suddenly lost all trace of expression. “Speak on, Bishen Singh,” -said he, and the carver in a whining tone explained that his case -against his brothers was fixed for hearing before a native judge, -and—here he dropped his voice still lower till he was summarily stopped -by Orde, who sternly pointed to the gate with an emphatic Begone! - -Bishen Singh, showing but little sign of discomposure, salaamed -respectfully to the friends and departed. - -Pagett looked inquiry; Orde, with complete recovery of his usual -urbanity, replied: “It’s nothing, only the old story: he wants his case -to be tried by an English judge—they all do that—but when he began to -hint that the other side were in improper relations with the native -judge I had to shut him up. Gunga Ram, the man he wanted to make -insinuations about, may not be very bright; but he’s as honest as -daylight on the bench. But that’s just what one can’t get a native to -believe.” - -“Do you really mean to say these people prefer to have their cases tried -by English judges?” - -“Why, certainly.” - -Pagett drew a long breath. “I didn’t know that before.” At this point a -phaeton entered the compound, and Orde rose with “Confound it, there’s -old Rasul Ali Khan come to pay one of his tiresome duty-calls. I’m -afraid we shall never get through our little Congress discussion.” - -Pagett was an almost silent spectator of the grave formalities of a -visit paid by a punctilious old Mahommedan gentleman to an Indian -official; and was much impressed by the distinction of manner and fine -appearance of the Mahommedan landholder. When the exchange of polite -banalities came to a pause, he expressed a wish to learn the courtly -visitor’s opinion of the National Congress. - -Orde reluctantly interpreted, and with a smile which even Mahommedan -politeness could not save from bitter scorn, Rasul Ali Khan intimated -that he knew nothing about it and cared still less. It was a kind of -talk encouraged by the Government for some mysterious purpose of its -own, and for his own part he wondered and held his peace. - -Pagett was far from satisfied with this, and wished to have the old -gentleman’s opinion on the propriety of managing all Indian affairs on -the basis of an elective system. - -Orde did his best to explain, but it was plain the visitor was bored and -bewildered. Frankly, he didn’t think much of committees; they had a -Municipal Committee at Lahore and had elected a menial servant, an -orderly, as a member. He had been informed of this on good authority, -and after that committees had ceased to interest him. But all was -according to the rule of Government, and, please God, it was all for the -best. - -“What an old fossil it is!” cried Pagett, as Orde returned from seeing -his guest to the door; “just like some old blue-blooded hidalgo of -Spain. What does he really think of the Congress after all, and of the -elective system?” - -“Hates it all like poison. When you are sure of a majority, election is -a fine system; but you can scarcely expect the Mahommedans, the most -masterful and powerful minority in the country, to contemplate their own -extinction with joy. The worst of it is that he and his co-religionists, -who are many, and the landed proprietors, also of Hindu race, are -frightened and put out by this election business and by the importance -we have bestowed on lawyers, pleaders, writers, and the like, who have, -up to now, been in abject submission to them. They say little, but after -all they are the most important faggots in the great bundle of -communities, and all the glib bunkum in the world would not pay for -their estrangement. They have controlled the land.” - -“But I am assured that experience of local self-government in your -municipalities has been most satisfactory, and when once the principle -is accepted in your centres, don’t you know, it is bound to spread, and -these important—ah’m—people of yours would learn it like the rest. I see -no difficulty at all,” and the smooth lips closed with the complacent -snap habitual to Pagett, M. P., the “man of cheerful yesterdays and -confident to-morrows.” - -Orde looked at him with a dreary smile. - -“The privilege of election has been most reluctantly withdrawn from -scores of municipalities, others have had to be summarily suppressed, -and, outside the Presidency towns, the actual work done has been badly -performed. This is of less moment, perhaps—it only sends up the local -death-rates—than the fact that the public interest in municipal -elections, never very strong, has waned, and is waning, in spite of -careful nursing on the part of Government servants.” - -“Can you explain this lack of interest?” said Pagett, putting aside the -rest of Orde’s remarks. - -“You may find a ward of the key in the fact that only one in every -thousand of our population can spell. Then they are infinitely more -interested in religion and caste questions than in any sort of politics. -When the business of mere existence is over, their minds are occupied by -a series of interests, pleasures, rituals, superstitions, and the like, -based on centuries of tradition and usage. You, perhaps, find it hard to -conceive of people absolutely devoid of curiosity, to whom the book, the -daily paper, and the printed speech are unknown, and you would describe -their life as blank. That’s a profound mistake. You are in another land, -another century, down on the bed-rock of society, where the family -merely, and not the community, is all-important. The average Oriental -cannot be brought to look beyond his clan. His life, too, is more -complete and self-sufficing and less sordid and low-thoughted than you -might imagine. It is bovine and slow in some respects, but it is never -empty. You and I are inclined to put the cart before the horse, and to -forget that it is the man that is elemental, not the book. - - “The corn and the cattle are all my care, - And the rest is the will of God.” - -Why should such folk look up from their immemorially appointed round of -duty and interests to meddle with the unknown and fuss with -voting-papers? How would you, atop of all your interests, care to -conduct even one-tenth of your life according to the manners and customs -of the Papuans, let’s say? That’s what it comes to.” - -“But if they won’t take the trouble to vote, why do you anticipate that -Mahommedans, proprietors, and the rest would be crushed by majorities of -them?” - -Again Pagett disregarded the closing sentence. - -“Because, though the landholders would not move a finger on any purely -political question, they could be raised in dangerous excitement by -religious hatreds. Already the first note of this has been sounded by -the people who are trying to get up an agitation on the cow-killing -question, and every year there is trouble over the Mahommedan Muharrum -processions.” - -“But who looks after the popular rights, being thus unrepresented?” - -“The Government of Her Majesty the Queen, Empress of India, in which, if -the Congress promoters are to be believed, the people have an implicit -trust; for the Congress circular, specially prepared for rustic -comprehension, says the movement is ‘_for the remission of tax, the -advancement of Hindustan, and the strengthening of the British -Government._’ This paper is headed in large letters—‘MAY THE PROSPERITY -OF THE EMPRESS OF INDIA ENDURE.’” - -“Really!” said Pagett, “that shows some cleverness. But there are things -better worth imitation in our English methods of—er—political statement -than this sort of amiable fraud.” - -“Anyhow,” resumed Orde, “you perceive that not a word is said about -elections and the elective principle, and the reticence of the Congress -promoters here shows they are wise in their generation.” - -“But the elective principle must triumph in the end, and the little -difficulties you seem to anticipate would give way on the introduction -of a well-balanced scheme capable of indefinite extension.” - -“But is it possible to devise a scheme which, always assuming that the -people took any interest in it, without enormous expense, ruinous -dislocation of the administration and danger to the public peace, can -satisfy the aspirations of Mr. Hume and his following, and yet safeguard -the interests of the Mahommedans, the landed and wealthy classes, the -conservative Hindus, the Eurasians, Parsees, Sikhs, Rajputs, native -Christians, domiciled Europeans and others, who are each important and -powerful in their way?” - -Pagett’s attention, however, was diverted to the gate, where a group of -cultivators stood in apparent hesitation. - -“Here are the twelve Apostles, by Jove!—come straight out of Raffaele’s -cartoons,” said the M. P., with the fresh appreciation of a new-comer. - -Orde, loath to be interrupted, turned impatiently towards the villagers, -and their leader, handing his long staff to one of his companions, -advanced to the house. - -“It is old Jelloo, the Lumberdar or head-man of Pind Sharkot, and a very -intelligent man for a villager.” - -The Jat farmer had removed his shoes and stood smiling on the edge of -the verandah. His strongly marked features glowed with russet bronze, -and his bright eyes gleamed under deeply set brows, contracted by -life-long exposure to sunshine. His beard and moustache, streaked with -gray, swept from bold cliffs of brow and cheek in the large sweeps one -sees drawn by Michael Angelo, and strands of long black hair mingled -with the irregularly piled wreaths and folds of his turban. The drapery -of stout blue cotton cloth thrown over his broad shoulders and girt -round his narrow loins, hung from his tall form in broadly sculptured -folds and he would have made a superb model for an artist in search of a -patriarch. - -Orde greeted him cordially, and after a polite pause the countryman -started off with a long story told with impressive earnestness. Orde -listened and smiled, interrupting the speaker at times to argue and -reason with him in a tone which Pagett could hear was kindly, and, -finally checking the flux of words, was about to dismiss him when Pagett -suggested that he should be asked about the National Congress. - -But Jelloo had never heard of it. He was a poor man, and such things, by -the favour of his Honour, did not concern him. - -“What’s the matter with your big friend that he was so terribly in -earnest?” asked Pagett, when he had left. - -“Nothing much. He wants the blood of the people in the next village, who -have had smallpox and cattle plague pretty badly, and by the help of a -wizard, a currier, and several pigs have passed it on to his own -village. ’Wants to know if they can’t be run in for this awful crime. It -seems they made a dreadful charivari at the village boundary, threw a -quantity of spell-bearing objects over the border, a buffalo’s skull and -other things; then branded a _chamar_—what you would call a currier—on -his hinder parts and drove him and a number of pigs over into Jelloo’s -village. Jelloo says he can bring evidence to prove that the wizard -directing these proceedings, who is a Sansi, has been guilty of theft, -arson, cattle-killing, perjury and murder, but would prefer to have him -punished for bewitching them and inflicting smallpox.” - -“And how on earth did you answer such a lunatic?” - -“Lunatic! the old fellow is as sane as you or I; and he has some ground -of complaint against those Sansis. I asked if he would like a native -superintendent of police with some men to make inquiries, but he -objected on the grounds the police were rather worse than small-pox and -criminal tribes put together.” - -“Criminal tribes—er—I don’t quite understand,” said Pagett. - -“We have in India many tribes of people who in the slack ante-British -days became robbers, in various kind, and preyed on the people. They are -being restrained and reclaimed little by little, and in time will become -useful citizens, but they still cherish hereditary traditions of crime, -and are a difficult lot to deal with. By the way, what about the -political rights of these folk under your schemes? The country people -call them vermin, but I suppose they would be electors with the rest.” - -“Nonsense—special provision would be made for them in a well-considered -electoral scheme, and they would doubtless be treated with fitting -severity,” said Pagett with a magisterial air. - -“Severity, yes—but whether it would be fitting is doubtful. Even those -poor devils have rights, and, after all, they only practise what they -have been taught.” - -“But criminals, Orde!” - -“Yes, criminals with codes and rituals of crime, gods and godlings of -crime, and a hundred songs and sayings in praise of it. Puzzling, isn’t -it?” - -“It’s simply dreadful. They ought to be put down at once. Are there many -of them?” - -“Not more than about sixty thousand in this province, for many of the -tribes broadly described as criminal are really vagabond and criminal -only on occasion, while others are being settled and reclaimed. They are -of great antiquity, a legacy from the past, the golden, glorious Aryan -past of Max Müller, Birdwood and the rest of your spindrift -philosophers.” - -An orderly brought a card to Orde, who took it with a movement of -irritation at the interruption, and handed it to Pagett: a large card -with a ruled border in red ink, and in the centre in school-boy -copper-plate, _Mr. Dina Nath_. “Give salaam,” said the civilian, and -there entered in haste a slender youth, clad in a closely fitting coat -of gray homespun, tight trousers, patent-leather shoes, and a small -black velvet cap. His thin cheek twitched, and his eyes wandered -restlessly, for the young man was evidently nervous and uncomfortable, -though striving to assume a free-and-easy air. - -“Your honour may perhaps remember me,” he said in English, and Orde -scanned him keenly. - -“I know your face, somehow. You belonged to the Shershah district, I -think, when I was in charge there?” - -“Yes, sir, my father is writer at Shershah, and your honour gave me a -prize when I was first in the Middle School examination five years ago. -Since then I have prosecuted my studies, and I am now second year’s -student in the Mission College.” - -“Of course: you are Kedar Nath’s son—the boy who said he liked geography -better than play or sugar-cakes, and I didn’t believe you. How is your -father getting on?” - -“He is well, and he sends his salaam, but his circumstances are -depressed, and he also is down on his luck.” - -“You learn English idioms at the Mission College, it seems.” - -“Yes, sir, they are the best idioms, and my father ordered me to ask -your honour to say a word for him to the present incumbent of your -honour’s shoes, the latchet of which he is not worthy to open, and who -knows not Joseph; for things are different at Shershah now, and my -father wants promotion.” - -“Your father is a good man, and I will do what I can for him.” - -At this point a telegram was handed to Orde, who, after glancing at it, -said he must leave his young friend, whom he introduced to Pagett, “a -member of the English House of Commons who wishes to learn about India.” - -Orde had scarcely retired with his telegram when Pagett began: - -“Perhaps you can tell me something of the National Congress movement?” - -“Sir, it is the greatest movement of modern times, and one in which all -educated men like us _must_ join. All our students are for the -Congress.” - -“Excepting, I suppose, Mahommedans, and the Christians?” said Pagett, -quick to use his recent instruction. - -“These are some _mere_ exceptions to the universal rule.” - -“But the people outside the College, the working classes, the -agriculturists; your father and mother, for instance.” - -“My mother,” said the young man, with a visible effort to bring himself -to pronounce the word, “has no ideas, and my father is not -agriculturist, nor working class; he is of the Kayeth caste; but he had -not the advantage of a collegiate education, and he does not know much -of the Congress. It is a movement for the educated young-man”—connecting -adjective and noun in a sort of vocal hyphen. - -“Ah, yes,” said Pagett, feeling he was a little off the rails, “and what -are the benefits you expect to gain by it?” - -“Oh, sir, everything. England owes its greatness to Parliamentary -institutions and we should _at once_ gain the same high position in -scale of nations. Sir, we wish to have the sciences, the arts, the -manufactures, the industrial factories, with steam-engines and other -motive powers and public meetings and debates. Already we have a -debating club in connection with the college and elect a Mr. Speaker. -Sir, the progress _must_ come. You also are a Member of Parliament and -worship the great Lord Ripon,” said the youth, breathlessly, and his -black eyes flashed as he finished his commaless sentences. - -“Well,” said Pagett, drily, “it has not yet occurred to me to worship -his Lordship, although I believe he is a very worthy man, and I am not -sure that England owes quite all the things you name to the House of -Commons. You see, my young friend, the growth of a nation like ours is -slow, subject to many influences, and if you have read your history -aright——” - -“Sir, I know it all—all! Norman Conquest, Magna Charta, Runnymede, -Reformation, Tudors, Stuarts, Mr. Milton and Mr. Burke, and I have read -something of Mr. Herbert Spencer and Gibbon’s ‘Decline and Fall,’ -Reynolds’ ‘Mysteries of the Court,’ and——” - -Pagett felt like one who had pulled the string of a shower-bath -unawares, and hastened to stop the torrent with a question as to what -particular grievances of the people of India the attention of an elected -assembly should be first directed. But young Mr. Dina Nath was slow to -particularise. There were many, very many demanding consideration. Mr. -Pagett would like to hear of one or two typical examples. The Repeal of -the Arms Act was at last named, and the student learned for the first -time that a license was necessary before an Englishman could carry a gun -in England. Then natives of India ought to be allowed to become -Volunteer Riflemen if they chose, and the absolute equality of the -Oriental with his European fellow-subject in civil status should be -proclaimed on principle, and the Indian Army should be considerably -reduced. The student was not, however, prepared with answers to Mr. -Pagett’s mildest questions on these points, and he returned to vague -generalities, leaving the M. P. so much impressed with the crudity of -his views that he was glad on Orde’s return to say good-bye to his “very -interesting” young friend. - -“What do you think of young India?” asked Orde. - -“Curious, very curious—and callow.” - -“And yet,” the civilian replied, “one can scarcely help sympathising -with him for his mere youth’s sake. The young orators of the Oxford -Union arrived at the same conclusions and showed doubtless just the same -enthusiasm. If there were any political analogy between India and -England, if the thousand races of this Empire were one, if there were -any chance even of their learning to speak one language, if, in short, -India were a Utopia of the debating-room, and not a real land, this kind -of talk might be worth listening to, but it is all based on false -analogy and ignorance of the facts.” - -“But he is a native and knows the facts.” - -“He is a sort of English schoolboy, but married three years, and the -father of two weaklings, and knows less than most English schoolboys. -You saw all he is and knows, and such ideas as he has acquired are -directly hostile to the most cherished convictions of the vast majority -of the people.” - -“But what does he mean by saying he is a student of a mission college? -Is he a Christian?” - -“He meant just what he said, and he is not a Christian, nor ever will he -be. Good people in America, Scotland, and England, most of whom would -never dream of collegiate education for their own sons, are pinching -themselves to bestow it in pure waste on Indian youths. Their scheme is -an oblique, subterranean attack on heathenism; the theory being that -with the jam of secular education, leading to a University degree, the -pill of moral or religious instruction may be coaxed down the heathen -gullet.” - -“But does it succeed; do they make converts?” - -“They make no converts, for the subtle Oriental swallows the jam and -rejects the pill; but the mere example of the sober, righteous, and -godly lives of the principals and professors, who are most excellent and -devoted men, must have a certain moral value. Yet, as Lord Lansdowne -pointed out the other day, the market is dangerously overstocked with -graduates of our Universities who look for employment in the -administration. An immense number are employed, but year by year the -college mills grind out increasing lists of youths foredoomed to failure -and disappointment, and meanwhile trade, manufactures, and the -industrial arts are neglected and in fact regarded with contempt by our -new literary mandarins _in posse_.” - -“But our young friend said he wanted steam-engines and factories,” said -Pagett. - -“Yes, he would like to direct such concerns. He wants to begin at the -top, for manual labour is held to be discreditable, and he would never -defile his hands by the apprenticeship which the architects, engineers, -and manufacturers of England cheerfully undergo; and he would be aghast -to learn that the leading names of industrial enterprise in England -belonged a generation or two since, or now belong, to men who wrought -with their own hands. And, though he talks glibly of manufacturers, he -refuses to see that the Indian manufacturer of the future will be the -despised workman of the present. It was proposed, for example, a few -weeks ago, that a certain municipality in this province should establish -an elementary technical school for the sons of workmen. The stress of -the opposition to the plan came from a pleader who owed all he had to a -college education bestowed on him gratis by Government and missions. You -would have fancied some fine old crusted Tory squire of the last -generation was speaking. ‘These people,’ he said, ‘want no education, -for they learn their trades from their fathers, and to teach a workman’s -son the elements of mathematics and physical science would give him -ideas above his business. They must be kept in their place, and it was -idle to imagine that there was any science in wood or iron work.’ And he -carried his point. But the Indian workman will rise in the social scale -in spite of the new literary caste.” - -“In England we have scarcely begun to realise that there is an -industrial class in this country, yet, I suppose, the example of men -like Edwards, for instance, must tell,” said Pagett thoughtfully. - -“That you shouldn’t know much about it is natural enough, for there are -but few sources of information. India in this, as in other respects, is -like a badly kept ledger—not written up to date. And men like Edwards -are, in reality, missionaries who by precept and example are teaching -more lessons than they know. Only a few, however, of their crowds of -subordinates seem to care to try to emulate them, and aim at individual -advancement; the rest drop into the ancient Indian caste groove.” - -“How do you mean?” asked Pagett. - -“Well, it is found that the new railway and factory workmen, the fitter, -the smith, the engine-driver, and the rest are already forming separate -hereditary castes. You may notice this down at Jamalpur in Bengal, one -of the oldest railway centres; and at other places, and in other -industries, they are following the same inexorable Indian law.” - -“Which means——?” queried Pagett. - -“It means that the rooted habit of the people is to gather in small -self-contained, self-sufficing family groups with no thought or care for -any interests but their own—a habit which is scarcely compatible with -the right acceptation of the elective principle.” - -“Yet you must admit, Orde, that though our young friend was not able to -expound the faith that is in him, your Indian army is too big.” - -“Not nearly big enough for its main purpose. And, as a side issue, there -are certain powerful minorities of fighting folk whose interests an -Asiatic Government is bound to consider. Arms is as much a means of -livelihood as civil employ under Government and law. And it would be a -heavy strain on British bayonets to hold down Sikhs, Jats, Bilochis, -Rohillas, Rajputs, Bhils, Dogras, Pathans, and Gurkhas to abide by the -decisions of a numerical majority opposed to their interests. Leave the -‘numerical majority’ to itself without the British bayonets—a flock of -sheep might as reasonably hope to manage a troop of collies.” - -“This complaint about excessive growth of the army is akin to another -contention of the Congress party. They protest against the malversation -of the whole of the moneys raised by additional taxes as a Famine -Insurance Fund to other purposes. You must be aware that this special -Famine Fund has all been spent on frontier roads and defences and -strategic railway schemes as a protection against Russia.” - -“But there was never a special famine fund raised by special taxation -and put by as in a box. No sane administrator would dream of such a -thing. In a time of prosperity a finance minister, rejoicing in a -margin, proposed to annually apply a million and a half to the -construction of railways and canals for the protection of districts -liable to scarcity, and to the reduction of the annual loans for public -works. But times were not always prosperous, and the finance minister -had to choose whether he would hang up the insurance scheme for a year -or impose fresh taxation. When a farmer hasn’t got the little surplus he -hoped to have for buying a new waggon and draining a low-lying field -corner, you don’t accuse him of malversation if he spends what he has on -the necessary work of the rest of his farm.” - -A clatter of hoofs was heard, and Orde looked up with vexation, but his -brow cleared as a horseman halted under the porch. - -“Hello, Orde! just looked in to ask if you are coming to polo on -Tuesday: we want you badly to help to crumple up the Krab Bokhar team.” - -Orde explained that he had to go out into the District, and while the -visitor complained that though good men wouldn’t play, duffers were -always keen, and that his side would probably be beaten, Pagett rose to -look at his mount, a red, lathered Biloch mare, with a curious lyre-like -incurving of the ears. “Quite a little thoroughbred in all other -respects,” said the M. P., and Orde presented Mr. Reginald Burke, -Manager of the Sind and Sialkote Bank, to his friend. - -“Yes, she’s as good as they make ’em, and she’s all the female I -possess, and spoiled in consequence, aren’t you, old girl?” said Burke, -patting the mare’s glossy neck as she backed and plunged. - -“Mr. Pagett,” said Orde, “has been asking me about the Congress. What is -your opinion?” Burke turned to the M. P. with a frank smile. - -“Well, if it’s all the same to you, sir, I should say, Damn the -Congress, but then I’m no politician, but only a business man.” - -“You find it a tiresome subject?” - -“Yes, it’s all that, and worse than that, for this kind of agitation is -anything but wholesome for the country.” - -“How do you mean?” - -“It would be a long job to explain, and Sara here won’t stand, but you -know how sensitive capital is, and how timid investors are. All this -sort of rot is likely to frighten them, and we can’t afford to frighten -them. The passengers aboard an Ocean steamer don’t feel reassured when -the ship’s way is stopped and they hear the workmen’s hammers tinkering -at the engines down below. The old Ark’s going on all right as she is, -and only wants quiet and room to move. Them’s my sentiments, and those -of some other people who have to do with money and business.” - -“Then you are a thick-and-thin supporter of the Government as it is.” - -“Why, no! The Indian Government is much too timid with its money—like an -old maiden aunt of mine—always in a funk about her investments. They -don’t spend half enough on railways, for instance, and they are slow in -a general way, and ought to be made to sit up in all that concerns the -encouragement of private enterprise, and coaxing out into use the -millions of capital that lie dormant in the country.” - -The mare was dancing with impatience, and Burke was evidently anxious to -be off, so the men wished him good-bye. - -“Who is your genial friend who condemns both Congress and Government in -a breath?” asked Pagett, with an amused smile. - -“Just now he is Reggie Burke, keener on polo than on anything else, but -if you went to the Sind and Sialkote Bank to-morrow you would find Mr. -Reginald Burke a very capable man of business, known and liked by an -immense constituency North and South of this.” - -“Do you think he is right about the Government’s want of enterprise?” - -“I should hesitate to say. Better consult the merchants and chambers of -commerce in Cawnpore, Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta. But though these -bodies would like, as Reggie puts it, to make Government sit up, it is -an elementary consideration in governing a country like India, which -must be administered for the benefit of the people at large, that the -counsels of those who resort to it for the sake of making money should -be judiciously weighed and not allowed to overpower the rest. They are -welcome guests here, as a matter of course, but it has been found best -to restrain their influence. Thus the rights of plantation labourers, -factory operatives, and the like, have been protected, and the -capitalist, eager to get on, has not always regarded Government action -with favour. It is quite conceivable that under an elective system the -commercial communities of the great towns might find means to secure -majorities on labour questions and on financial matters.” - -“They would act at least with intelligence and consideration.” - -“Intelligence, yes; but as to consideration, who at the present moment -most bitterly resents the tender solicitude of Lancashire for the -welfare and protection of the Indian factory operative? English and -native capitalists running cotton mills and factories.” - -“But is the solicitude of Lancashire in this matter entirely -disinterested?” - -“It is no business of mine to say. I merely indicate an example of how a -powerful commercial interest might hamper a Government intent in the -first place on the larger interests of humanity.” - -Orde broke off to listen a moment. “There’s Dr. Lathrop talking to my -wife in the drawing-room,” said he. - -“Surely not; that’s a lady’s voice, and if my ears don’t deceive me, an -American.” - -“Exactly; Dr. Eva McCreery Lathrop, chief of the new Women’s Hospital -here, and a very good fellow forbye. Good morning, Doctor,” he said, as -a graceful figure came out on the verandah; “you seem to be in trouble. -I hope Mrs. Orde was able to help you.” - -“Your wife is real kind and good; I always come to her when I’m in a -fix, but I fear it’s more than comforting I want.” - -“You work too hard and wear yourself out,” said Orde, kindly. “Let me -introduce my friend, Mr. Pagett, just fresh from home, and anxious to -learn his India. You could tell him something of that more important -half of which a mere man knows so little.” - -“Perhaps I could if I’d any heart to do it, but I’m in trouble, I’ve -lost a case, a case that was doing well, through nothing in the world -but inattention on the part of a nurse I had begun to trust. And when I -spoke only a small piece of my mind she collapsed in a whining heap on -the floor. It is hopeless!” - -The men were silent, for the blue eyes of the lady doctor were dim. -Recovering herself, she looked up with a smile half sad, half humorous. -“And I am in a whining heap too; but what phase of Indian life are you -particularly interested in, sir?” - -“Mr. Pagett intends to study the political aspect of things and the -possibility of bestowing electoral institutions on the people.” - -“Wouldn’t it be as much to the purpose to bestow point-lace collars on -them? They need many things more urgently than votes. Why, it’s like -giving a bread-pill for a broken leg.” - -“Er—I don’t quite follow,” said Pagett uneasily. - -“Well, what’s the matter with this country is not in the least -political, but an all-round entanglement of physical, social, and moral -evils and corruptions, all more or less due to the unnatural treatment -of women. You can’t gather figs from thistles, and so long as the system -of infant marriage, the prohibition of the remarriage of widows, the -lifelong imprisonment of wives and mothers in a worse than penal -confinement, and the withholding from them of any kind of education or -treatment as rational beings continues, the country can’t advance a -step. Half of it is morally dead, and worse than dead, and that’s just -the half from which we have a right to look for the best impulses. It’s -right here where the trouble is, and not in any political considerations -whatsoever.” - -“But do they marry so early?” said Pagett, vaguely. - -“The average age is seven, but thousands are married still earlier. One -result is that girls of twelve and thirteen have to bear the burden of -wifehood and motherhood, and, as might be expected, the rate of -mortality both for mothers and children is terrible. Pauperism, domestic -unhappiness, and a low state of health are only a few of the -consequences of this. Then, when, as frequently happens, the boy-husband -dies prematurely, his widow is condemned to worse than death. She may -not re-marry, must live a secluded and despised life, a life so -unnatural that she sometimes prefers suicide; more often she goes -astray. You don’t know in England what such words as ‘infant-marriage, -baby-wife, girl-mother, and virgin-widow’ mean; but they mean -unspeakable horrors here.” - -“Well, but the advanced political party here will surely make it their -business to advocate social reforms as well as political ones,” said -Pagett. - -“Very surely they will do no such thing,” said the lady doctor, -emphatically. “I _wish_ I could make you understand. Why, even of the -funds devoted to the Marchioness of Dufferin’s organisation for medical -aid to the women of India, it was said in print and in speech that they -would be better spent on more college scholarships for men. And in all -the advanced parties’ talk—God forgive them—and in all their programmes, -they carefully avoid all such subjects. They will talk about the -protection of the cow, for that’s an ancient superstition—they can all -understand that; but the protection of the women is a new and dangerous -idea.” She turned to Pagett impulsively: - -“You are a member of the English Parliament. Can you do nothing? The -foundations of their life are rotten—utterly and bestially rotten. I -could tell your wife things that I couldn’t tell you. I know the -life—the inner life that belongs to the native, and I know nothing else; -and, believe me, you might as well try to grow golden-rod in a -mushroom-pit as to make anything of a people that are born and reared as -these—these things are. The men talk of their rights and privileges. I -have seen the women that bear these very men, and again—may God forgive -the men!” - -Pagett’s eyes opened with a large wonder. Dr. Lathrop rose -tempestuously. - -“I must be off to lecture,” said she, “and I’m sorry that I can’t show -you my hospitals; but you had better believe, sir, that it’s more -necessary for India than all the elections in creation.” - -“That’s a woman with a mission, and no mistake,” said Pagett, after a -pause. - -“Yes; she believes in her work, and so do I,” said Orde. “I’ve a notion -that in the end it will be found that the most helpful work done for -India in this generation was wrought by Lady Dufferin in drawing -attention—what work that was, by the way, even with her husband’s great -name to back it!—to the needs of women here. In effect, native habits -and beliefs are an organised conspiracy against the laws of health and -happy life—but there is some dawning of hope now.” - -“How d’you account for the general indifference, then?” - -“I suppose it’s due in part to their fatalism and their utter -indifference to all human suffering. How much do you imagine the great -province of the Punjab, with over twenty million people and half a score -rich towns, has contributed to the maintenance of civil dispensaries -last year? About seven thousand rupees.” - -“That’s seven hundred pounds,” said Pagett quickly. - -“I wish it was,” replied Orde; “but anyway, it’s an absurdly inadequate -sum, and shows one of the blank sides of Oriental character.” - -Pagett was silent for a long time. The question of direct and personal -pain did not lie within his researches. He preferred to discuss the -weightier matters of the law, and contented himself with murmuring: -“They’ll do better later on.” Then, with a rush, returning to his first -thought: - -“But, my dear Orde, if it’s merely a class movement of a local and -temporary character, how d’you account for Bradlaugh, who is at least a -man of sense, taking it up?” - -“I know nothing of the champion of the New Brahmans but what I see in -the papers. I suppose there is something tempting in being hailed by a -large assemblage as the representative of the aspirations of two hundred -and fifty millions of people. Such a man looks ‘through all the roaring -and the wreaths,’ and does not reflect that it is a false perspective, -which, as a matter of fact, hides the real complex and manifold India -from his gaze. He can scarcely be expected to distinguish between the -ambitions of a new oligarchy and the real wants of the people of whom he -knows nothing. But it’s strange that a professed Radical should come to -be the chosen advocate of a movement which has for its aim the revival -of an ancient tyranny. Shows how even Radicalism can fall into academic -grooves and miss the essential truths of its own creed. Believe me, -Pagett, to deal with India you want first-hand knowledge and experience. -I wish he would come and live here for a couple of years or so.” - -“Is not this rather an _ad hominem_ style of argument?” - -“Can’t help it in a case like this. Indeed, I am not sure you ought not -to go further and weigh the whole character and quality and upbringing -of the man. You must admit that the monumental complacency with which he -trotted out his ingenious little Constitution for India showed a strange -want of imagination and the sense of humour.” - -“No, I don’t quite admit it,” said Pagett. - -“Well, you know him and I don’t, but that’s how it strikes a stranger.” -He turned on his heel and paced the verandah thoughtfully. “And, after -all, the burden of the actual, daily unromantic toil falls on the -shoulders of the men out here, and not on his own. He enjoys all the -privileges of recommendation without responsibility, and we—well, -perhaps, when you’ve seen a little more of India you’ll understand. To -begin with, our death-rate’s five times higher than yours—I speak now -for the brutal bureaucrat—and we work on the refuse of worked-out cities -and exhausted civilisations, among the bones of the dead.” - -Pagett laughed. “That’s an epigrammatic way of putting it, Orde.” - -“Is it? Let’s see,” said the Deputy Commissioner of Amara, striding into -the sunshine towards a half-naked gardener potting roses. He took the -man’s hoe, and went to a rain-scarped bank at the bottom of the garden. - -“Come here, Pagett,” he said, and cut at the sun-baked soil. After three -strokes there rolled from under the blade of the hoe the half of a -clanking skeleton that settled at Pagett’s feet in an unseemly jumble of -bones. The M. P. drew back. - -“Our houses are built on cemeteries,” said Orde. “There are scores of -thousands of graves within ten miles.” - -Pagett was contemplating the skull with the awed fascination of a man -who has but little to do with the dead. “India’s a very curious place,” -said he, after a pause. - -“Ah? You’ll know all about it in three months. Come in to lunch,” said -Orde. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note - -Many chapters included a copyright statement at the bottom of the first -page. These have been relocated to directly follow the title. - -The name ‘Yardley-Orde’ (pp. 169 & 175) appears twice as ‘Yardely-Orde’ -(pp. 180 & 182). References to the character in Kipling critical texts -use the former, and the variant is corrected here. - -Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and -are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original. -The following issues should be noted, along with the resolutions. - - 2.29 Do not join me[./,] for Replaced. - - 37.20 Whereever where[e]ver a grain cart atilt Removed. - - 78.1 two thousand pack-bullocks cross in one Replaced. - night[,/.] - - 151.9 its paws lacking strength or direction[./,] Replaced. - - 180.20 Yard[el/le]y-Orde knew his failing Transposed. - - 182.12 In Yard[el/le]y-Orde’s consulship Transposed. - - 216.4 to clear the men out of Twenty-[t/T]wo Uppercase. - - 219.3 and the Me[ha/ah]s, who are thrice bastard Transposed? - Muhammadans - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of In Black and White, by Rudyard Kipling - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN BLACK AND WHITE *** - -***** This file should be named 62346-0.txt or 62346-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/3/4/62346/ - -Produced by KD Weeks, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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