diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/8king10u.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/8king10u.txt | 2484 |
1 files changed, 2484 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/8king10u.txt b/old/8king10u.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f3c153 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8king10u.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2484 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Man Who Would Be King, by Rudyard Kipling +#24 in our series by Rudyard Kipling + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Man Who Would Be King + +Author: Rudyard Kipling + +Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8147] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on June 20, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING *** + + + + +Produced by Jeffrey Kraus-yao. + + + + +The Man Who +Would be King + + By + + Rudyard Kipling + + + + +Published by Brentano’s at +31 Union Square New York + + THE MAN WHO WOULD + BE KING + +“Brother to a Prince and fellow to a beggar if he +be found worthy.” + +The Law, as quoted, lays down a fair conduct +of life, and one not easy to follow. I +have been fellow to a beggar again and +again under circumstances which prevented +either of us finding out whether the other +was worthy. I have still to be brother to a +Prince, though I once came near to kinship +with what might have been a veritable King +and was promised the reversion of a Kingdom +—army, law-courts, revenue and policy +all complete. But, to-day, I greatly fear +that my King is dead, and if I want a crown +I must go and hunt it for myself. + +The beginning of everything was in a railway +train upon the road to Mhow from +Ajmir. There had been a deficit in the +Budget, which necessitated travelling, not +Second-class, which is only half as dear as +First-class, but by Intermediate, which is +very awful indeed. There are no cushions +in the Intermediate class, and the population +are either Intermediate, which is Eurasian, +or native, which for a long night journey is +nasty; or Loafer, which is amusing though +intoxicated. Intermediates do not patronize +refreshment-rooms. They carry their food +in bundles and pots, and buy sweets from the +native sweetmeat-sellers, and drink the roadside +water. That is why in the hot weather +Intermediates are taken out of the carriages +dead, and in all weathers are most properly +looked down upon. + +My particular Intermediate happened to +be empty till I reached Nasirabad, when a +huge gentleman in shirt-sleeves entered, +and, following the custom of Intermediates, +passed the time of day. He was a wanderer +and a vagabond like myself, but with an +educated taste for whiskey. He told tales +of things he had seen and done, of out-of-the-way +corners of the Empire into which he +had penetrated, and of adventures in which +he risked his life for a few days’ food. +“If India was filled with men like you and +me, not knowing more than the crows where +they’d get their next day’s rations, it isn’t +seventy millions of revenue the land would +be paying—it’s seven hundred million,” said +he; and as I looked at his mouth and chin I +was disposed to agree with him. We talked +politics—the politics of Loaferdom that sees +things from the underside where the lath +and plaster is not smoothed off—and we +talked postal arrangements because my +friend wanted to send a telegram back from +the next station to Ajmir, which is the +turning-off place from the Bombay to the +Mhow line as you travel westward. My +friend had no money beyond eight annas +which he wanted for dinner, and I had no +money at all, owing to the hitch in the +Budget before mentioned. Further, I was +going into a wilderness where, though I +should resume touch with the Treasury, +there were no telegraph offices. I was, +therefore, unable to help him in any way. + +“We might threaten a Station-master, +and make him send a wire on tick,” said +my friend, “but that’d mean inquiries for +you and for me, and I’ve got my hands full +these days. Did you say you are travelling +back along this line within any days?” + +“Within ten,” I said. + +“Can’t you make it eight?” said he. +“Mine is rather urgent business.” + +“I can send your telegram within ten +days if that will serve you,” I said. + +“I couldn’t trust the wire to fetch him +now I think of it. It’s this way. He leaves +Delhi on the 23d for Bombay. That means +he’ll be running through Ajmir about the +night of the 23d.” + +“But I’m going into the Indian Desert,” +I explained. + +“Well and good,” said he. “You’ll be +changing at Marwar Junction to get into +Jodhpore territory—you must do that—and +he’ll be coming through Marwar Junction +in the early morning of the 24th by the +Bombay Mail. Can you be at Marwar +Junction on that time? ’Twon’t be inconveniencing +you because I know that there’s +precious few pickings to be got out of these +Central India States—even though you pretend +to be correspondent of the Backwoodsman.” + +“Have you ever tried that trick?” I +asked. + +“Again and again, but the Residents find +you out, and then you get escorted to the +Border before you’ve time to get your knife +into them. But about my friend here. I +must give him a word o’ mouth to tell him +what’s come to me or else he won’t know +where to go. I would take it more than +kind of you if you was to come out of Central +India in time to catch him at Marwar +Junction, and say to him:—‘He has gone +South for the week.’ He’ll know what that +means. He’s a big man with a red beard, +and a great swell he is. You’ll find him +sleeping like a gentleman with all his luggage +round him in a second-class compartment. +But don’t you be afraid. Slip down +the window, and say:—‘He has gone South +for the week,’ and he’ll tumble. It’s only +cutting your time of stay in those parts by +two days. I ask you as a stranger—going to +the West,” he said with emphasis. + +“Where have you come from?” said I. + +“From the East,” said he, “and I am +hoping that you will give him the message +on the Square—for the sake of my Mother +as well as your own.” + +Englishmen are not usually softened by +appeals to the memory of their mothers, but +for certain reasons, which will be fully apparent, +I saw fit to agree. + +“It’s more than a little matter,” said he, +“and that’s why I ask you to do it—and +now I know that I can depend on you doing +it. A second-class carriage at Marwar Junction, +and a red-haired man asleep in it. +You’ll be sure to remember. I get out at +the next station, and I must hold on there +till he comes or sends me what I want.” + +“I’ll give the message if I catch him,” I +said, “and for the sake of your Mother as +well as mine I’ll give you a word of advice. +Don’t try to run the Central India States +just now as the correspondent of the Backwoodsman. +There’s a real one knocking +about here, and it might lead to trouble.” + +“Thank you,” said he simply, “and when +will the swine be gone? I can’t starve because +he’s ruining my work. I wanted to +get hold of the Degumber Rajah down here +about his father’s widow, and give him a +jump.” + +“What did he do to his father’s widow, +then?” + +“Filled her up with red pepper and slippered +her to death as she hung from a beam. +I found that out myself and I’m the only +man that would dare going into the State to +get hush-money for it. They’ll try to poison +me, same as they did in Chortumna +when I went on the loot there. But you’ll +give the man at Marwar Junction my message?” + +He got out at a little roadside station, and +I reflected. I had heard, more than once, of +men personating correspondents of newspapers +and bleeding small Native States with +threats of exposure, but I had never met any +of the caste before. They lead a hard life, +and generally die with great suddenness. +The Native States have a wholesome horror +of English newspapers, which may throw +light on their peculiar methods of government, +and do their best to choke correspondents +with champagne, or drive them out of +their mind with four-in-hand barouches. +They do not understand that nobody cares a +straw for the internal administration of Native +States so long as oppression and crime +are kept within decent limits, and the ruler +is not drugged, drunk, or diseased from one +end of the year to the other. Native States +were created by Providence in order to supply +picturesque scenery, tigers and tall-writing. +They are the dark places of the earth, +full of unimaginable cruelty, touching the +Railway and the Telegraph on one side, and, +on the other, the days of Harun-al-Raschid. +When I left the train I did business with +divers Kings, and in eight days passed +through many changes of life. Sometimes I +wore dress-clothes and consorted with Princes +and Politicals, drinking from crystal and +eating from silver. Sometimes I lay out +upon the ground and devoured what I could +get, from a plate made of a flapjack, and +drank the running water, and slept under +the same rug as my servant. It was all in a +day’s work. + +Then I headed for the Great Indian Desert +upon the proper date, as I had promised, and +the night Mail set me down at Marwar Junction, +where a funny little, happy-go-lucky, +native managed railway runs to Jodhpore. +The Bombay Mail from Delhi makes a short +halt at Marwar. She arrived as I got in, +and I had just time to hurry to her platform +and go down the carriages. There was only +one second-class on the train. I slipped the +window and looked down upon a flaming +red beard, half covered by a railway rug. +That was my man, fast asleep, and I dug him +gently in the ribs. He woke with a grunt +and I saw his face in the light of the lamps. +It was a great and shining face. + +“Tickets again?” said he. + +“No,” said I. “I am to tell you that he +is gone South for the week. He is gone +South for the week!” + +The train had begun to move out. The +red man rubbed his eyes. “He has gone +South for the week,” he repeated. “Now +that’s just like his impudence. Did he say +that I was to give you anything?—’Cause I +won’t.” + +“He didn’t,” I said and dropped away, +and watched the red lights die out in the +dark. It was horribly cold because the wind +was blowing off the sands. I climbed into +my own train—not an Intermediate Carriage +this time—and went to sleep. + +If the man with the beard had given me a +rupee I should have kept it as a memento of +a rather curious affair. But the consciousness +of having done my duty was my only +reward. + +Later on I reflected that two gentlemen +like my friends could not do any good if +they foregathered and personated correspondents +of newspapers, and might, if they +“stuck up” one of the little rat-trap states of +Central India or Southern Rajputana, get +themselves into serious difficulties. I therefore +took some trouble to describe them as +accurately as I could remember to people +who would be interested in deporting them; +and succeeded, so I was later informed, in +having them headed back from the Degumber +borders. + +Then I became respectable, and returned +to an Office where there were no Kings and +no incidents except the daily manufacture of +a newspaper. A newspaper office seems to +attract every conceivable sort of person, to +the prejudice of discipline. Zenana-mission +ladies arrive, and beg that the Editor will instantly +abandon all his duties to describe a +Christian prize-giving in a back-slum of a +perfectly inaccessible village; Colonels who +have been overpassed for commands sit +down and sketch the outline of a series of +ten, twelve, or twenty-four leading articles +on Seniority versus Selection; missionaries +wish to know why they have not been permitted +to escape from their regular vehicles +of abuse and swear at a brother-missionary +under special patronage of the editorial We; +stranded theatrical companies troop up to explain +that they cannot pay for their advertisements, +but on their return from New +Zealand or Tahiti will do so with interest; +inventors of patent punkah-pulling machines, +carriage couplings and unbreakable +swords and axle-trees call with specifications +in their pockets and hours at their disposal; +tea-companies enter and elaborate their prospectuses +with the office pens; secretaries of +ball-committees clamor to have the glories +of their last dance more fully expounded; +strange ladies rustle in and say:—“I want a +hundred lady’s cards printed at once, please,” +which is manifestly part of an Editor’s duty; +and every dissolute ruffian that ever tramped +the Grand Trunk Road makes it his business +to ask for employment as a proof-reader. +And, all the time, the telephone-bell is ringing +madly, and Kings are being killed on the +Continent, and Empires are saying, “You’re +another,” and Mister Gladstone is calling +down brimstone upon the British Dominions, +and the little black copy-boys are whining, +“kaa-pi chayha-yeh” (copy wanted) like +tired bees, and most of the paper is as blank +as Modred’s shield. + +But that is the amusing part of the year. +There are other six months wherein none +ever come to call, and the thermometer +walks inch by inch up to the top of the glass, +and the office is darkened to just above reading +light, and the press machines are red-hot +of touch, and nobody writes anything but +accounts of amusements in the Hill-stations +or obituary notices. Then the telephone becomes +a tinkling terror, because it tells you +of the sudden deaths of men and women +that you knew intimately, and the prickly-heat +covers you as with a garment, and you +sit down and write:—“A slight increase of +sickness is reported from the Khuda Janta +Khan District. The outbreak is purely sporadic +in its nature, and, thanks to the energetic +efforts of the District authorities, is now +almost at an end. It is, however, with deep +regret we record the death, etc.” + +Then the sickness really breaks out, and +the less recording and reporting the better +for the peace of the subscribers. But the +Empires and the Kings continue to divert +themselves as selfishly as before, and the +foreman thinks that a daily paper really +ought to come out once in twenty-four hours, +and all the people at the Hill-stations in the +middle of their amusements say:—“Good +gracious! Why can’t the paper be sparkling? +I’m sure there’s plenty going on up here.” + +That is the dark half of the moon, and, as +the advertisements say, “must be experienced +to be appreciated.” + +It was in that season, and a remarkably +evil season, that the paper began running +the last issue of the week on Saturday night, +which is to say Sunday morning, after the +custom of a London paper. This was a +great convenience, for immediately after the +paper was put to bed, the dawn would lower +the thermometer from 96° to almost 84° for +almost half an hour, and in that chill—you +have no idea how cold is 84° on the grass +until you begin to pray for it—a very tired +man could set off to sleep ere the heat +roused him. + +One Saturday night it was my pleasant +duty to put the paper to bed alone. A King +or courtier or a courtesan or a community +was going to die or get a new Constitution, +or do something that was important on the +other side of the world, and the paper was to +be held open till the latest possible minute +in order to catch the telegram. It was a +pitchy black night, as stifling as a June night +can be, and the loo, the red-hot wind from +the westward, was booming among the tinder-dry +trees and pretending that the rain +was on its heels. Now and again a spot of +almost boiling water would fall on the dust +with the flop of a frog, but all our weary +world knew that was only pretence. It was +a shade cooler in the press-room than the +office, so I sat there, while the type ticked +and clicked, and the night-jars hooted at the +windows, and the all but naked compositors +wiped the sweat from their foreheads +and called for water. The thing that was +keeping us back, whatever it was, would not +come off, though the loo dropped and the +last type was set, and the whole round earth +stood still in the choking heat, with its finger +on its lip, to wait the event. I drowsed, and +wondered whether the telegraph was a blessing, +and whether this dying man, or struggling +people, was aware of the inconvenience +the delay was causing. There was no special +reason beyond the heat and worry to make +tension, but, as the clock-hands crept up to +three o’clock and the machines spun their +fly-wheels two and three times to see that all +was in order, before I said the word that +would set them off, I could have shrieked +aloud. + +Then the roar and rattle of the wheels +shivered the quiet into little bits. I rose to +go away, but two men in white clothes stood +in front of me. The first one said:—“It’s +him!” The second said —“So it is!” And +they both laughed almost as loudly as the +machinery roared, and mopped their foreheads. +“We see there was a light burning +across the road and we were sleeping in +that ditch there for coolness, and I said to +my friend here, the office is open. Let’s +come along and speak to him as turned us +back from the Degumber State,” said the +smaller of the two. He was the man I had +met in the Mhow train, and his fellow was +the red-bearded man of Marwar Junction. +There was no mistaking the eyebrows of the +one or the beard of the other. + +I was not pleased, because I wished to go +to sleep, not to squabble with loafers. +“What do you want?” I asked. + +“Half an hour’s talk with you cool and +comfortable, in the office,” said the red-bearded +man. “We’d like some drink—the +Contrack doesn’t begin yet, Peachey, so you +needn’t look—but what we really want is +advice. We don’t want money. We ask +you as a favor, because you did us a bad +turn about Degumber.” + +I led from the press-room to the stifling +office with the maps on the walls, and the +red-haired man rubbed his hands. “That’s +something like,” said he. “This was the +proper shop to come to. Now, Sir, let me +introduce to you Brother Peachey Carnehan, +that’s him, and Brother Daniel Dravot, that +is me, and the less said about our professions +the better, for we have been most things in +our time. Soldier, sailor, compositor, photographer, +proof-reader, street-preacher, and +correspondents of the Backwoodsman when +we thought the paper wanted one. Carnehan +is sober, and so am I. Look at us first +and see that’s sure. It will save you cutting +into my talk. We’ll take one of your cigars +apiece, and you shall see us light.” +I watched the test. The men were absolutely +sober, so I gave them each a tepid +peg. + +“Well and good,” said Carnehan of the +eyebrows, wiping the froth from his mustache. +“Let me talk now, Dan. We have +been all over India, mostly on foot. We +have been boiler-fitters, engine-drivers, petty +contractors, and all that, and we have decided +that India isn’t big enough for such +as us.” + +They certainly were too big for the office. +Dravot’s beard seemed to fill half the room +and Carnehan’s shoulders the other half, as +they sat on the big table. Carnehan continued: +—“The country isn’t half worked +out because they that governs it won’t let +you touch it. They spend all their blessed +time in governing it, and you can’t lift a +spade, nor chip a rock, nor look for oil, nor +anything like that without all the Government +saying—‘Leave it alone and let us +govern.’ Therefore, such as it is, we will let +it alone, and go away to some other place +where a man isn’t crowded and can come to +his own. We are not little men, and there +is nothing that we are afraid of except Drink, +and we have signed a Contrack on that. +Therefore, we are going away to be Kings.” + +“Kings in our own right,” muttered +Dravot. + +“Yes, of course,” I said. “You’ve been +tramping in the sun, and it’s a very warm +night, and hadn’t you better sleep over the +notion? Come to-morrow.” + +“Neither drunk nor sunstruck,” said +Dravot. “We have slept over the notion +half a year, and require to see Books and +Atlases, and we have decided that there is +only one place now in the world that two +strong men can Sar-a-whack. They call it +Kafiristan. By my reckoning its the top +right-hand corner of Afghanistan, not more +than three hundred miles from Peshawar. +They have two and thirty heathen idols there, +and we’ll be the thirty-third. It’s a mountainous +country, and the women of those +parts are very beautiful.” + +“But that is provided against in the Contrack,” +said Carnehan. “Neither Women +nor Liquor, Daniel.” + +“And that’s all we know, except that no +one has gone there, and they fight, and in +any place where they fight a man who +knows how to drill men can always be a +King. We shall go to those parts and say +to any King we find—‘D’ you want to vanquish +your foes?’ and we will show him +how to drill men; for that we know better +than anything else. Then we will subvert +that King and seize his Throne and establish +a Dy-nasty.” + +“You’ll be cut to pieces before you’re +fifty miles across the Border,” I said. +“You have to travel through Afghanistan +to get to that country. It’s one mass of +mountains and peaks and glaciers, and no +Englishman has been through it. The people +are utter brutes, and even if you reached +them you couldn’t do anything.” + +“That’s more like,” said Carnehan. “If +you could think us a little more mad we +would be more pleased. We have come to +you to know about this country, to read a +book about it, and to be shown maps. We +want you to tell us that we are fools and to +show us your books.” He turned to the +book-cases. + +“Are you at all in earnest?” I said. + +“A little,” said Dravot, sweetly. “As big +a map as you have got, even if it’s all blank +where Kafiristan is, and any books you’ve +got. We can read, though we aren’t very +educated.” + +I uncased the big thirty-two-miles-to-the-inch +map of India, and two smaller Frontier +maps, hauled down volume INF-KAN of +the Encyclopædia Britannica, and the men +consulted them. + +“See here!” said Dravot, his thumb on +the map. “Up to Jagdallak, Peachey and +me know the road. We was there with +Roberts’s Army. We’ll have to turn off to +the right at Jagdallak through Laghmann +territory. Then we get among the hills— +fourteen thousand feet—fifteen thousand— +it will be cold work there, but it don’t look +very far on the map.” + +I handed him Wood on the Sources of +the Oxus. Carnehan was deep in the Encyclopædia. + +“They’re a mixed lot,” said Dravot, reflectively; +“and it won’t help us to know +the names of their tribes. The more tribes +the more they’ll fight, and the better for us. +From Jagdallak to Ashang. H’mm!” + +“But all the information about the country +is as sketchy and inaccurate as can be,” +I protested. “No one knows anything +about it really. Here’s the file of the +United Services’ Institute. Read what Bellew +says.” + +“Blow Bellew!” said Carnehan. “Dan, +they’re an all-fired lot of heathens, but this +book here says they think they’re related to +us English.” + +I smoked while the men pored over +Raverty, Wood, the maps and the Encyclopædia. + +“There is no use your waiting,” said +Dravot, politely. “It’s about four o’clock +now. We’ll go before six o’clock if you +want to sleep, and we won’t steal any of +the papers. Don’t you sit up. We’re two +harmless lunatics, and if you come, to-morrow +evening, down to the Serai we’ll say +good-by to you.” + +“You are two fools,” I answered. “You’ll +be turned back at the Frontier or cut up the +minute you set foot in Afghanistan. Do +you want any money or a recommendation +down-country? I can help you to the +chance of work next week.” + +“Next week we shall be hard at work ourselves, +thank you,” said Dravot. “It isn’t +so easy being a King as it looks. When +we’ve got our Kingdom in going order we’ll +let you know, and you can come up and help +us to govern it.” + +“Would two lunatics make a Contrack +like that!” said Carnehan, with subdued +pride, showing me a greasy half-sheet of note-paper +on which was written the following. +I copied it, then and there, as a curiosity:— + +This Contract between me and you persuing witnesseth +in the name of God—Amen and so forth. + (One) That me and you will settle this matter together: + i.e., to be Kings of Kafiristan. + (Two) That you and me will not while this matter is + being settled, look at any Liquor, nor any + Woman black, white or brown, so as to get + mixed up with one or the other harmful. + (Three) That we conduct ourselves with Dignity and + Discretion, and if one of us gets into trouble + the other will stay by him. + + Signed by you and me this day. + Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan. + Daniel Dravot. + Both Gentlemen at Large. + +“There was no need for the last article,” +said Carnehan, blushing modestly; “but it +looks regular. Now you know the sort of +men that loafers are—we are loafers, Dan, +until we get out of India—and do you think +that we could sign a Contrack like that +unless we was in earnest? We have kept +away from the two things that make life +worth having.” + +“You won’t enjoy your lives much longer +if you are going to try this idiotic adventure. +Don’t set the office on fire,” I said, “and go +away before nine o’clock.” + +I left them still poring over the maps and +making notes on the back of the “Contrack.” +“Be sure to come down to the Serai to-morrow,” +were their parting words. + +The Kumharsen Serai is the great four-square +sink of humanity where the strings +of camels and horses from the North load +and unload. All the nationalities of Central +Asia may be found there, and most of the +folk of India proper. Balkh and Bokhara +there meet Bengal and Bombay, and try to +draw eye-teeth. You can buy ponies, turquoises, +Persian pussy-cats, saddle-bags, fat-tailed +sheep and musk in the Kumharsen +Serai, and get many strange things for +nothing. In the afternoon I went down +there to see whether my friends intended to +keep their word or were lying about drunk. + +A priest attired in fragments of ribbons +and rags stalked up to me, gravely twisting +a child’s paper whirligig. Behind him was +his servant, bending under the load of a +crate of mud toys. The two were loading +up two camels, and the inhabitants of the +Serai watched them with shrieks of laughter. + +“The priest is mad,” said a horse-dealer to +me. “He is going up to Kabul to sell toys +to the Amir. He will either be raised to +honor or have his head cut off. He came +in here this morning and has been behaving +madly ever since.” + +“The witless are under the protection of +God,” stammered a flat-cheeked Usbeg in +broken Hindi. “They foretell future events.” + +“Would they could have foretold that my +caravan would have been cut up by the +Shinwaris almost within shadow of the +Pass!” grunted the Eusufzai agent of a Rajputana +trading-house whose goods had been +feloniously diverted into the hands of other +robbers just across the Border, and whose +misfortunes were the laughing-stock of the +bazar. “Ohé, priest, whence come you and +whither do you go?” + +“From Roum have I come,” shouted the +priest, waving his whirligig; “from Roum, +blown by the breath of a hundred devils +across the sea! O thieves, robbers, liars, +the blessing of Pir Khan on pigs, dogs, and +perjurers! Who will take the Protected of +God to the North to sell charms that are +never still to the Amir? The camels shall +not gall, the sons shall not fall sick, and the +wives shall remain faithful while they are +away, of the men who give me place in +their caravan. Who will assist me to slipper +the King of the Roos with a golden slipper +with a silver heel? The protection of Pir +Kahn be upon his labors!” He spread out +the skirts of his gaberdine and pirouetted between +the lines of tethered horses. + +“There starts a caravan from Peshawar to +Kabul in twenty days, Huzrut,” said the +Eusufzai trader. “My camels go therewith. +Do thou also go and bring us good luck.” + +“I will go even now!” shouted the priest. +“I will depart upon my winged camels, +and be at Peshawar in a day! Ho! Hazar +Mir Khan,” he yelled to his servant “drive +out the camels, but let me first mount my +own.” + +He leaped on the back of his beast as it +knelt, and turning round to me, cried:— + +“Come thou also, Sahib, a little along the +road, and I will sell thee a charm—an amulet +that shall make thee King of Kafiristan.” + +Then the light broke upon me, and I followed +the two camels out of the Serai till we +reached open road and the priest halted. + +“What d’ you think o’ that?” said he in +English. “Carnehan can’t talk their patter, +so I’ve made him my servant. He makes a +handsome servant. ’Tisn’t for nothing that +I’ve been knocking about the country for +fourteen years. Didn’t I do that talk neat? +We’ll hitch on to a caravan at Peshawar till +we get to Jagdallak, and then we’ll see if we +can get donkeys for our camels, and strike +into Kafiristan. Whirligigs for the Amir, +O Lor! Put your hand under the camel-bags +and tell me what you feel.” + +I felt the butt of a Martini, and another +and another. + +“Twenty of ’em,” said Dravot, placidly. + +“Twenty of ’em, and ammunition to correspond, +under the whirligigs and the mud +dolls.” + +“Heaven help you if you are caught with +those things!” I said. “A Martini is worth +her weight in silver among the Pathans.” + +“Fifteen hundred rupees of capital—every +rupee we could beg, borrow, or steal—are +invested on these two camels,” said Dravot. +“We won’t get caught. We’re going through +the Khaiber with a regular caravan. Who’d +touch a poor mad priest?” + +“Have you got everything you want?” +I asked, overcome with astonishment. + +“Not yet, but we shall soon. Give us a +momento of your kindness, Brother. You +did me a service yesterday, and that time in +Marwar. Half my Kingdom shall you have, +as the saying is.” I slipped a small charm +compass from my watch-chain and handed +it up to the priest. + +“Good-by,” said Dravot, giving me his +hand cautiously. “It’s the last time we’ll +shake hands with an Englishman these many +days. Shake hands with him, Carnehan,” +he cried, as the second camel passed me. + +Carnehan leaned down and shook hands. +Then the camels passed away along the dusty +road, and I was left alone to wonder. My +eye could detect no failure in the disguises. +The scene in the Serai attested that they +were complete to the native mind. There +was just the chance, therefore, that Carnehan +and Dravot would be able to wander +through Afghanistan without detection. +But, beyond, they would find death, certain +and awful death. + +Ten days later a native friend of mine, +giving me the news of the day from Peshawar, +wound up his letter with:—“There has +been much laughter here on account of a +certain mad priest who is going in his estimation +to sell petty gauds and insignificant +trinkets which he ascribes as great charms +to H. H. the Amir of Bokhara. He passed +through Peshawar and associated himself to +the Second Summer caravan that goes to +Kabul. The merchants are pleased because +through superstition they imagine that such +mad fellows bring good-fortune.” + +The two then, were beyond the Border. +I would have prayed for them, but, that +night, a real King died in Europe, and demanded +an obituary notice. + + * * * * * * * * + +The wheel of the world swings through +the same phases again and again. Summer +passed and winter thereafter, and came and +passed again. The daily paper continued +and I with it, and upon the third summer +there fell a hot night, a night-issue, and a +strained waiting for something to be telegraphed +from the other side of the world, +exactly as had happened before. A few great +men had died in the past two years, the machines +worked with more clatter, and some +of the trees in the Office garden were a few +feet taller. But that was all the difference. + +I passed over to the press-room, and went +through just such a scene as I have already +described. The nervous tension was stronger +than it had been two years before, and I felt +the heat more acutely. At three o’clock I +cried, “Print off,” and turned to go, when +there crept to my chair what was left of a +man. He was bent into a circle, his head +was sunk between his shoulders, and he +moved his feet one over the other like a bear. +I could hardly see whether he walked or +crawled—this rag-wrapped, whining cripple +who addressed me by name, crying that he +was come back. “Can you give me a +drink?” he whimpered. “For the Lord’s +sake, give me a drink!” + +I went back to the office, the man following +with groans of pain, and I turned up the +lamp. + +“Don’t you know me?” he gasped, dropping +into a chair, and he turned his drawn +face, surmounted by a shock of gray hair, to +the light. + +I looked at him intently. Once before had +I seen eyebrows that met over the nose in an +inch-broad black band, but for the life of me +I could not tell where. + +“I don’t know you,” I said, handing him +the whiskey. “What can I do for you?” + +He took a gulp of the spirit raw, and shivered +in spite of the suffocating heat. + +“I’ve come back,” he repeated; “and I +was the King of Kafiristan—me and Dravot +—crowned Kings we was! In this office we +settled it—you setting there and giving us +the books. I am Peachey—Peachey Taliaferro +Carnehan, and you’ve been setting here +ever since—O Lord!” + +I was more than a little astonished, and +expressed my feelings accordingly. + +“It’s true,” said Carnehan, with a dry +cackle, nursing his feet which were wrapped +in rags. “True as gospel. Kings we were, +with crowns upon our heads—me and Dravot +—poor Dan—oh, poor, poor Dan, that would +never take advice, not though I begged of +him!” + +“Take the whiskey,” I said, “and take +your own time. Tell me all you can recollect +of everything from beginning to end. +You got across the border on your camels, +Dravot dressed as a mad priest and you his +servant. Do you remember that?” + +“I ain’t mad—yet, but I will be that way +soon. Of course I remember. Keep looking +at me, or maybe my words will go all to +pieces. Keep looking at me in my eyes and +don’t say anything.” + +I leaned forward and looked into his face +as steadily as I could. He dropped one hand +upon the table and I grasped it by the wrist. +It was twisted like a bird’s claw, and upon +the back was a ragged, red, diamond-shaped +scar. + +“No, don’t look there. Look at me,” said +Carnehan. + +“That comes afterwards, but for the Lord’s +sake don’t distrack me. We left with that +caravan, me and Dravot, playing all sorts of +antics to amuse the people we were with. +Dravot used to make us laugh in the evenings +when all the people was cooking their +dinners—cooking their dinners, and … what +did they do then? They lit little fires +with sparks that went into Dravot’s beard, +and we all laughed—fit to die. Little red +fires they was, going into Dravot’s big red +beard—so funny.” His eyes left mine and +he smiled foolishly. + +“You went as far as Jagdallak with that +caravan,” I said at a venture, “after you +had lit those fires. To Jagdallak, where +you turned off to try to get into Kafiristan.” + +“No, we didn’t neither. What are you +talking about? We turned off before Jagdallak, +because we heard the roads was good. +But they wasn’t good enough for our two +camels—mine and Dravot’s. When we left +the caravan, Dravot took off all his clothes +and mine too, and said we would be heathen, +because the Kafirs didn’t allow Mohammedans +to talk to them. So we dressed betwixt +and between, and such a sight as Daniel +Dravot I never saw yet nor expect to see +again. He burned half his beard, and slung +a sheep-skin over his shoulder, and shaved +his head into patterns. He shaved mine, +too, and made me wear outrageous things to +look like a heathen. That was in a most +mountaineous country, and our camels +couldn’t go along any more because of the +mountains. They were tall and black, and +coming home I saw them fight like wild +goats—there are lots of goats in Kafiristan. +And these mountains, they never keep still, +no more than the goats. Always fighting +they are, and don’t let you sleep at night.” + +“Take some more whiskey,” I said, very +slowly. “What did you and Daniel Dravot +do when the camels could go no further because +of the rough roads that led into Kafiristan?” + +“What did which do? There was a party +called Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan that was +with Dravot. Shall I tell you about him? +He died out there in the cold. Slap from +the bridge fell old Peachey, turning and +twisting in the air like a penny whirligig +that you can sell to the Amir—No; they +was two for three ha’pence, those whirligigs, +or I am much mistaken and woful sore. +And then these camels were no use, and +Peachey said to Dravot—‘For the Lord’s +sake, let’s get out of this before our heads are +chopped off,’ and with that they killed the +camels all among the mountains, not having +anything in particular to eat, but first they +took off the boxes with the guns and the +ammunition, till two men came along driving +four mules. Dravot up and dances in front +of them, singing,—‘Sell me four mules.’ +Says the first man,—‘If you are rich enough +to buy, you are rich enough to rob;’ but before +ever he could put his hand to his knife, +Dravot breaks his neck over his knee, and +the other party runs away. So Carnehan +loaded the mules with the rifles that was +taken off the camels, and together we starts +forward into those bitter cold mountainous +parts, and never a road broader than the +back of your hand.” + +He paused for a moment, while I asked +him if he could remember the nature of the +country through which he had journeyed. + +“I am telling you as straight as I can, but +my head isn’t as good as it might be. They +drove nails through it to make me hear +better how Dravot died. The country was +mountainous and the mules were most contrary, +and the inhabitants was dispersed and +solitary. They went up and up, and down +and down, and that other party Carnehan, +was imploring of Dravot not to sing and +whistle so loud, for fear of bringing down the +tremenjus avalanches. But Dravot says that +if a King couldn’t sing it wasn’t worth being +King, and whacked the mules over the rump, +and never took no heed for ten cold days. +We came to a big level valley all among the +mountains, and the mules were near dead, +so we killed them, not having anything in +special for them or us to eat. We sat upon +the boxes, and played odd and even with +the cartridges that was jolted out. + +“Then ten men with bows and arrows +ran down that valley, chasing twenty men +with bows and arrows, and the row was +tremenjus. They was fair men—fairer than +you or me—with yellow hair and remarkable +well built. Says Dravot, unpacking the +guns—‘This is the beginning of the business. +We’ll fight for the ten men,’ and with that he +fires two rifles at the twenty men and drops +one of them at two hundred yards from the +rock where we was sitting. The other men +began to run, but Carnehan and Dravot sits +on the boxes picking them off at all ranges, up +and down the valley. Then we goes up to the +ten men that had run across the snow too, +and they fires a footy little arrow at us. +Dravot he shoots above their heads and they +all falls down flat. Then he walks over +them and kicks them, and then he lifts them +up and shakes hands all around to make +them friendly like. He calls them and gives +them the boxes to carry, and waves his hand +for all the world as though he was King +already. They takes the boxes and him +across the valley and up the hill into a pine +wood on the top, where there was half a +dozen big stone idols. Dravot he goes to the +biggest—a fellow they call Imbra—and lays +a rifle and a cartridge at his feet, rubbing his +nose respectful with his own nose, patting +him on the head, and saluting in front of it. +He turns round to the men and nods his +head, and says,—‘That’s all right. I’m in +the know too, and these old jim-jams are my +friends.’ Then he opens his mouth and +points down it, and when the first man +brings him food, he says—‘No;’ and when +the second man brings him food, he says— +‘No;’ but when one of the old priests and +the boss of the village brings him food, he +says—‘Yes;’ very haughty, and eats it slow. +That was how we came to our first village, +without any trouble, just as though we had +tumbled from the skies. But we tumbled +from one of those damned rope-bridges, you +see, and you couldn’t expect a man to laugh +much after that.” + +“Take some more whiskey and go on,” I +said. “That was the first village you came +into. How did you get to be King?” + +“I wasn’t King,” said Carnehan. “Dravot +he was the King, and a handsome man +he looked with the gold crown on his head +and all. Him and the other party stayed in +that village, and every morning Dravot sat +by the side of old Imbra, and the people came +and worshipped. That was Dravot’s order. +Then a lot of men came into the valley, and +Carnehan and Dravot picks them off with +the rifles before they knew where they was, +and runs down into the valley and up again +the other side, and finds another village, +same as the first one, and the people all falls +down flat on their faces, and Dravot says,— +‘Now what is the trouble between you two +villages?’ and the people points to a woman, +as fair as you or me, that was carried off, +and Dravot takes her back to the first village +and counts up the dead—eight there was. +For each dead man Dravot pours a little milk +on the ground and waves his arms like a +whirligig and, ‘That’s all right,’ says he. +Then he and Carnehan takes the big boss of +each village by the arm and walks them +down into the valley, and shows them how +to scratch a line with a spear right down +the valley, and gives each a sod of turf +from both sides o’ the line. Then all the +people comes down and shouts like the devil +and all, and Dravot says,—‘Go and dig the +land, and be fruitful and multiply,’ which +they did, though they didn’t understand. +Then we asks the names of things in their +lingo—bread and water and fire and idols +and such, and Dravot leads the priest of each +village up to the idol, and says he must sit +there and judge the people, and if anything +goes wrong he is to be shot. + +“Next week they was all turning up the +land in the valley as quiet as bees and much +prettier, and the priests heard all the complaints +and told Dravot in dumb show what +it was about. ‘That’s just the beginning,’ +says Dravot. ‘They think we’re gods.’ He +and Carnehan picks out twenty good men +and shows them how to click off a rifle, and +form fours, and advance in line, and they +was very pleased to do so, and clever to see +the hang of it. Then he takes out his pipe +and his baccy-pouch and leaves one at one +village, and one at the other, and off we two +goes to see what was to be done in the next +valley. That was all rock, and there was a +little village there, and Carnehan says,— +‘Send ’em to the old valley to plant,’ and +takes ’em there and gives ’em some land that +wasn’t took before. They were a poor lot, +and we blooded ’em with a kid before letting +’em into the new Kingdom. That was to +impress the people, and then they settled +down quiet, and Carnehan went back to +Dravot who had got into another valley, all +snow and ice and most mountainous. There +was no people there and the Army got afraid, +so Dravot shoots one of them, and goes on +till he finds some people in a village, and +the Army explains that unless the people +wants to be killed they had better not shoot +their little matchlocks; for they had matchlocks. +We makes friends with the priest +and I stays there alone with two of the +Army, teaching the men how to drill, and a +thundering big Chief comes across the snow +with kettledrums and horns twanging, because +he heard there was a new god kicking +about. Carnehan sights for the brown of +the men half a mile across the snow and +wings one of them. Then he sends a message +to the Chief that, unless he wished to +be killed, he must come and shake hands +with me and leave his arms behind. The +Chief comes alone first, and Carnehan shakes +hands with him and whirls his arms about, +same as Dravot used, and very much surprised +that Chief was, and strokes my eyebrows. +Then Carnehan goes alone to the +Chief, and asks him in dumb show if he +had an enemy he hated. ‘I have,’ says the +Chief. So Carnehan weeds out the pick of +his men, and sets the two of the Army to +show them drill and at the end of two weeks +the men can manœuvre about as well as +Volunteers. So he marches with the Chief +to a great big plain on the top of a mountain, +and the Chiefs men rushes into a village +and takes it; we three Martinis firing into +the brown of the enemy. So we took that +village too, and I gives the Chief a rag from +my coat and says, ‘Occupy till I come’: +which was scriptural. By way of a reminder, +when me and the Army was eighteen hundred +yards away, I drops a bullet near him +standing on the snow, and all the people +falls flat on their faces. Then I sends a letter +to Dravot, wherever he be by land or by +sea.” + +At the risk of throwing the creature out of +train I interrupted,—“How could you write +a letter up yonder?” + +“The letter?—Oh! — The letter! Keep +looking at me between the eyes, please. It +was a string-talk letter, that we’d learned +the way of it from a blind beggar in the +Punjab.” + +I remember that there had once come to +the office a blind man with a knotted twig +and a piece of string which he wound round +the twig according to some cypher of his +own. He could, after the lapse of days or +hours, repeat the sentence which he had +reeled up. He had reduced the alphabet to +eleven primitive sounds; and tried to teach +me his method, but failed. + +“I sent that letter to Dravot,” said Carnehan; +“and told him to come back because +this Kingdom was growing too big for me to +handle, and then I struck for the first valley, +to see how the priests were working. They +called the village we took along with the +Chief, Bashkai, and the first village we took, +Er-Heb. The priest at Er-Heb was doing all +right, but they had a lot of pending cases +about land to show me, and some men from +another village had been firing arrows at +night. I went out and looked for that village +and fired four rounds at it from a thousand +yards. That used all the cartridges I +cared to spend, and I waited for Dravot, who +had been away two or three months, and I +kept my people quiet. + +“One morning I heard the devil’s own +noise of drums and horns, and Dan Dravot +marches down the hill with his Army and a +tail of hundreds of men, and, which was the +most amazing—a great gold crown on his +head. ‘My Gord, Carnehan,’ says Daniel, +‘this is a tremenjus business, and we’ve got +the whole country as far as it’s worth having. +I am the son of Alexander by Queen Semiramis, +and you’re my younger brother and +a god too! It’s the biggest thing we’ve ever +seen. I’ve been marching and fighting for +six weeks with the Army, and every footy +little village for fifty miles has come in rejoiceful; +and more than that, I’ve got the +key of the whole show, as you’ll see, and +I’ve got a crown for you! I told ’em to +make two of ’em at a place called Shu, where +the gold lies in the rock like suet in mutton. +Gold I’ve seen, and turquoise I’ve kicked out +of the cliffs, and there’s garnets in the sands +of the river, and here’s a chunk of amber +that a man brought me. Call up all the +priests and, here, take your crown.’ + +“One of the men opens a black hair bag +and I slips the crown on. It was too small +and too heavy, but I wore it for the glory. +Hammered gold it was—five pound weight, +like a hoop of a barrel. + +“‘Peachey,’ says Dravot, ‘we don’t want to +fight no more. The Craft’s the trick so help +me!’ and he brings forward that same Chief +that I left at Bashkai—Billy Fish we called +him afterwards, because he was so like Billy +Fish that drove the big tank-engine at Mach +on the Bolan in the old days. ‘Shake hands +with him,’ says Dravot, and I shook hands +and nearly dropped, for Billy Fish gave me +the Grip. I said nothing, but tried him +with the Fellow Craft Grip. He answers, +all right, and I tried the Master’s Grip, but +that was a slip. ‘A Fellow Craft he is!’ +I says to Dan. ‘Does he know the word?’ +‘He does,’ says Dan, ‘and all the priests +know. It’s a miracle! The Chiefs and +the priest can work a Fellow Craft Lodge +in a way that’s very like ours, and they’ve +cut the marks on the rocks, but they +don’t know the Third Degree, and they’ve +come to find out. It’s Gord’s Truth. +I’ve known these long years that the +Afghans knew up to the Fellow Craft +Degree, but this is a miracle. A god and a +Grand-Master of the Craft am I, and a +Lodge in the Third Degree I will open, and +we’ll raise the head priests and the Chiefs of +the villages.’ + +“‘It’s against all the law,’ I says, ‘holding +a Lodge without warrant from any one; +and we never held office in any Lodge.’ + +“‘It’s a master-stroke of policy,’ says +Dravot. ‘It means running the country as +easy as a four-wheeled bogy on a down +grade. We can’t stop to inquire now, or +they’ll turn against us. I’ve forty Chiefs at +my heel, and passed and raised according +to their merit they shall be. Billet these +men on the villages and see that we run up +a Lodge of some kind. The temple of Imbra +will do for the Lodge-room. The women +must make aprons as you show them. I’ll +hold a levee of Chiefs tonight and Lodge to-morrow.’ + +“I was fair rim off my legs, but I wasn’t +such a fool as not to see what a pull this +Craft business gave us. I showed the +priests’ families how to make aprons of +the degrees, but for Dravot’s apron the blue +border and marks was made of turquoise +lumps on white hide, not cloth. We took a +great square stone in the temple for the +Master’s chair, and little stones for the officers’ +chairs, and painted the black pavement +with white squares, and did what we +could to make things regular. + +“At the levee which was held that night +on the hillside with big bonfires, Dravot +gives out that him and me were gods and +sons of Alexander, and Past Grand-Masters +in the Craft, and was come to make Kafiristan +a country where every man should eat +in peace and drink in quiet, and specially +obey us. Then the Chiefs come round to +shake hands, and they was so hairy and +white and fair it was just shaking hands +with old friends. We gave them names according +as they was like men we had known +in India—Billy Fish, Holly Dilworth, Pikky +Kergan that was Bazar-master when I was +at Mhow, and so on, and so on. + +“The most amazing miracle was at Lodge +next night. One of the old priests was +watching us continuous, and I felt uneasy, +for I knew we’d have to fudge the Ritual, +and I didn’t know what the men knew. The +old priest was a stranger come in from beyond +the village of Bashkai. The minute +Dravot puts on the Master’s apron that the +girls had made for him, the priest fetches a +whoop and a howl, and tries to overturn the +stone that Dravot was sitting on. ‘It’s all +up now,’ I says. ‘That comes of meddling +with the Craft without warrant!’ Dravot +never winked an eye, not when ten priests +took and tilted over the Grand-Master’s chair +—which was to say the stone of Imbra. The +priest begins rubbing the bottom end of it +to clear away the black dirt, and presently +he shows all the other priests the Master’s +Mark, same as was on Dravot’s apron, cut +into the stone. Not even the priests of +the temple of Imbra knew it was there. The +old chap falls flat on his face at Dravot’s feet +and kisses ’em. ‘Luck again,’ says Dravot, +across the Lodge to me, ‘they say it’s the +missing Mark that no one could understand +the why of. We’re more than safe now.’ +Then he bangs the butt of his gun for a +gavel and says:—‘By virtue of the authority +vested in me by my own right hand and +the help of Peachey, I declare myself Grand-Master +of all Freemasonry in Kafiristan in +this the Mother Lodge o’ the country, and +King of Kafiristan equally with Peachey!’ +At that he puts on his crown and I puts on +mine—I was doing Senior Warden—and we +opens the Lodge in most ample form. It +was a amazing miracle! The priests moved +in Lodge through the first two degrees almost +without telling, as if the memory was +coming back to them. After that, Peachey +and Dravot raised such as was worthy— +high priests and Chiefs of far-off villages. +Billy Fish was the first, and I can tell you +we scared the soul out of him. It was not +in any way according to Ritual, but it served +our turn. We didn’t raise more than ten of +the biggest men because we didn’t want to +make the Degree common. And they was +clamoring to be raised. + +“‘In another six months,’ says Dravot, +‘we’ll hold another Communication and see +how you are working.’ Then he asks them +about their villages, and learns that they +was fighting one against the other and were +fair sick and tired of it. And when they +wasn’t doing that they was fighting with +the Mohammedans. ‘You can fight those +when they come into our country,’ says +Dravot. ‘Tell off every tenth man of your +tribes for a Frontier guard, and send two +hundred at a time to this valley to be drilled. +Nobody is going to be shot or speared any +more so long as he does well, and I know +that you won’t cheat me because you’re +white people—sons of Alexander—and not +like common, black Mohammedans. You are +my people and by God,’ says he, running +off into English at the end—‘I’ll make a +damned fine Nation of you, or I’ll die in the +making!’ + +“I can’t tell all we did for the next six +months because Dravot did a lot I couldn’t +see the hang of, and he learned their lingo +in a way I never could. My work was to +help the people plough, and now and again +to go out with some of the Army and see +what the other villages were doing, and +make ’em throw rope-bridges across the +ravines which cut up the country horrid. +Dravot was very kind to me, but when he +walked up and down in the pine wood pulling +that bloody red beard of his with both +fists I knew he was thinking plans I could +not advise him about, and I just waited for +orders. + +“But Dravot never showed me disrespect +before the people. They were afraid of me +and the Army, but they loved Dan. He +was the best of friends with the priests and +the Chiefs; but any one could come across +the hills with a complaint and Dravot would +hear him out fair, and call four priests together +and say what was to be done. He +used to call in Billy Fish from Bashkai, and +Pikky Kergan from Shu, and an old Chief +we called Kafuzelum—it was like enough to +his real name—and hold councils with ’em +when there was any fighting to be done in +small villages. That was his Council of +War, and the four priests of Bashkai, Shu, +Khawak, and Madora was his Privy Council. +Between the lot of ’em they sent me, with +forty men and twenty rifles, and sixty men +carrying turquoises, into the Ghorband +country to buy those hand-made Martini +rifles, that come out of the Amir’s workshops +at Kabul, from one of the Amir’s Herati regiments +that would have sold the very teeth +out of their mouths for turquoises. + +“I stayed in Ghorband a month, and gave +the Governor the pick of my baskets for +hush-money, and bribed the colonel of the +regiment some more, and, between the two +and the tribes-people, we got more than a +hundred hand-made Martinis, a hundred +good Kohat Jezails that’ll throw to six hundred +yards, and forty manloads of very bad +ammunition for the rifles. I came back with +what I had, and distributed ’em among the +men that the Chiefs sent in to me to drill. +Dravot was too busy to attend to those +things, but the old Army that we first made +helped me, and we turned out five hundred +men that could drill, and two hundred that +knew how to hold arms pretty straight. +Even those cork-screwed, hand-made guns +was a miracle to them. Dravot talked big +about powder-shops and factories, walking +up and down in the pine wood when the +winter was coming on. + +“‘I won’t make a Nation,’ says he. ‘I’ll +make an Empire! These men aren’t niggers; +they’re English! Look at their eyes— +look at their mouths. Look at the way they +stand up. They sit on chairs in their own +houses. They’re the Lost Tribes, or something +like it, and they’ve grown to be English. +I’ll take a census in the spring if the +priests don’t get frightened. There must be +a fair two million of ’em in these hills. The +villages are full o’ little children. Two million +people—two hundred and fifty thousand +fighting men—and all English! They only +want the rifles and a little drilling. Two +hundred and fifty thousand men, ready to +cut in on Russia’s right flank when she tries +for India! Peachey, man,’ he says, chewing +his beard in great hunks, ‘we shall be Emperors +—Emperors of the Earth! Rajah +Brooke will be a suckling to us. I’ll treat +with the Viceroy on equal terms. I’ll ask +him to send me twelve picked English— +twelve that I know of—to help us govern a +bit. There’s Mackray, Sergeant-pensioner at +Segowli—many’s the good dinner he’s given +me, and his wife a pair of trousers. There’s +Donkin, the Warder of Tounghoo Jail; +there’s hundreds that I could lay my hand +on if I was in India. The Viceroy shall do +it for me. I’ll send a man through in the +spring for those men, and I’ll write for a +dispensation from the Grand Lodge for what +I’ve done as Grand-Master. That—and all +the Sniders that’ll be thrown out when the +native troops in India take up the Martini. +They’ll be worn smooth, but they’ll do for +fighting in these hills. Twelve English, a +hundred thousand Sniders run through the +Amir’s country in driblets—I’d be content +with twenty thousand in one year—and we’d +be an Empire. When everything was ship-shape, +I’d hand over the crown—this crown +I’m wearing now—to Queen Victoria on my +knees, and she’d say:—“Rise up, Sir Daniel +Dravot.” Oh, its big! It’s big, I tell you! +But there’s so much to be done in every +place—Bashkai, Khawak, Shu, and everywhere +else.’ + +“‘What is it?’ I says. ‘There are no +more men coming in to be drilled this +autumn. Look at those fat, black clouds. +They’re bringing the snow.’ + +“‘It isn’t that,’ says Daniel, putting his +hand very hard on my shoulder; ‘and I +don’t wish to say anything that’s against +you, for no other living man would have +followed me and made me what I am as you +have done. You’re a first-class Commander-in-Chief, +and the people know you; but—it’s +a big country, and somehow you can’t help +me, Peachey, in the way I want to be helped.’ + +“‘Go to your blasted priests, then!’ I said, +and I was sorry when I made that remark, +but it did hurt me sore to find Daniel talking +so superior when I’d drilled all the men, and +done all he told me. + +“‘Don’t let’s quarrel, Peachey,’ says Daniel +without cursing. ‘You’re a King too, +and the half of this Kingdom is yours; but +can’t you see, Peachey, we want cleverer +men than us now—three or four of ‘em that +we can scatter about for our Deputies? It’s +a hugeous great State, and I can’t always tell +the right thing to do, and I haven’t time for +all I want to do, and here’s the winter coming +on and all.’ He put half his beard into +his mouth, and it was as red as the gold of +his crown. + +“‘I’m sorry, Daniel,’ says I. ‘I’ve done +all I could. I’ve drilled the men and shown +the people how to stack their oats better, and +I’ve brought in those tinware rifles from +Ghorband—but I know what you’re driving +at. I take it Kings always feel oppressed +that way.’ + +“‘There’s another thing too,’ says Dravot, +walking up and down. ‘The winter’s coming +and these people won’t be giving much +trouble, and if they do we can’t move about. +I want a wife.’ + +“‘For Gord’s sake leave the women alone!’ +I says. ‘We’ve both got all the work we +can, though I am a fool. Remember the +Contrack, and keep clear o’ women.’ + +“‘The Contrack only lasted till such time +as we was Kings; and Kings we have been +these months past,’ says Dravot, weighing +his crown in his hand. ‘You go get a wife +too, Peachey—a nice, strappin’, plump girl +that’ll keep you warm in the winter. They’re +prettier than English girls, and we can take +the pick of ’em. Boil ’em once or twice in +hot water, and they’ll come as fair as chicken +and ham.’ + +“‘Don’t tempt me!’ I says. ‘I will not +have any dealings with a woman not till we +are a dam’ side more settled than we are now. +I’ve been doing the work o’ two men, and +you’ve been doing the work o’ three. Let’s +lie off a bit, and see if we can get some +better tobacco from Afghan country and run +in some good liquor; but no women.’ + +“‘Who’s talking o’ women?’ says Dravot. +‘I said wife—a Queen to breed a King’s son +for the King. A Queen out of the strongest +tribe, that’ll make them your blood-brothers, +and that’ll lie by your side and tell you all +the people thinks about you and their own +affairs. That’s what I want.’ + +“‘Do you remember that Bengali woman +I kept at Mogul Serai when I was plate-layer?’ +says I. ‘A fat lot o’ good she was +to me. She taught me the lingo and one or +two other things; but what happened? She +ran away with the Station Master’s servant +and half my month’s pay. Then she turned +up at Dadur Junction in tow of a half-caste, +and had the impidence to say I was her husband +—all among the drivers of the running-shed!’ + +“‘We’ve done with that,’ says Dravot. +‘These women are whiter than you or me, and +a Queen I will have for the winter months.’ + +“‘For the last time o’ asking, Dan, do +not,’ I says. ‘It’ll only bring us harm. The +Bible says that Kings ain’t to waste their +strength on women, ’specially when they’ve +got a new raw Kingdom to work over.’ + +“‘For the last time of answering, I will,’ +said Dravot, and he went away through the +pine-trees looking like a big red devil. The +low sun hit his crown and beard on one side, +and the two blazed like hot coals. + +“But getting a wife was not as easy as +Dan thought. He put it before the Council, +and there was no answer till Billy Fish said +that he’d better ask the girls. Dravot +damned them all round. ‘What’s wrong +with me?’ he shouts, standing by the idol +Imbra. ‘Am I a dog or am I not enough +of a man for your wenches? Haven’t I put +the shadow of my hand over this country? +Who stopped the last Afghan raid?’ It was +me really, but Dravot was too angry to remember. +‘Who bought your guns? Who +repaired the bridges? Who’s the Grand-Master +of the sign cut in the stone?’ and he +thumped his hand on the block that he used +to sit on in Lodge, and at Council, which +opened like Lodge always. Billy Fish said +nothing and no more did the others. ‘Keep +your hair on, Dan,’ said I; ‘and ask the +girls. That’s how it’s done at home, and +these people are quite English.’ + +“‘The marriage of a King is a matter of +State,’ says Dan, in a white-hot rage, for he +could feel, I hope, that he was going against +his better mind. He walked out of the +Council-room, and the others sat still, looking +at the ground. + +“‘Billy Fish,’ says I to the Chief of Bashkai, +‘what’s the difficulty here? A straight +answer to a true friend.’ ‘You know,’ says +Billy Fish. ‘How should a man tell you +who know everything? How can daughters +of men marry gods or devils? It’s not +proper.’ + +“I remembered something like that in the +Bible; but if, after seeing us as long as they +had, they still believed we were gods it +wasn’t for me to undeceive them. + +“‘A god can do anything,’ says I. ‘If +the King is fond of a girl he’ll not let her +die.’ ‘She’ll have to,’ said Billy Fish. +‘There are all sorts of gods and devils in +these mountains, and now and again a girl +marries one of them and isn’t seen any more. +Besides, you two know the Mark cut in the +stone. Only the gods know that. We +thought you were men till you showed the +sign of the Master.’ + +“‘I wished then that we had explained +about the loss of the genuine secrets of a +Master-Mason at the first go-off; but I said +nothing. All that night there was a blowing +of horns in a little dark temple half-way +down the hill, and I heard a girl crying fit +to die. One of the priests told us that she +was being prepared to marry the King. + +“‘I’ll have no nonsense of that kind,’ +says Dan. ‘I don’t want to interfere with +your customs, but I’ll take my own wife. +‘The girl’s a little bit afraid,’ says the priest. +‘She thinks she’s going to die, and they are +a-heartening of her up down in the temple.’ + +“‘Hearten her very tender, then,’ says +Dravot, ‘or I’ll hearten you with the butt +of a gun so that you’ll never want to be +heartened again.’ He licked his lips, did +Dan, and stayed up walking about more +than half the night, thinking of the wife +that he was going to get in the morning. I +wasn’t any means comfortable, for I knew +that dealings with a woman in foreign parts, +though you was a crowned King twenty +times over, could not but be risky. I got up +very early in the morning while Dravot was +asleep, and I saw the priests talking together +in whispers, and the Chiefs talking together +too, and they looked at me out of the corners +of their eyes. + +“‘What is up, Fish?’ I says to the Bashkai +man, who was wrapped up in his furs +and looking splendid to behold. + +“‘I can’t rightly say,’ says he; ‘but if you +can induce the King to drop all this nonsense +about marriage, you’ll be doing him and me +and yourself a great service.’ + +“‘That I do believe,’ says I. ‘But sure, +you know, Billy, as well as me, having +fought against and for us, that the King +and me are nothing more than two of the +finest men that God Almighty ever made. +Nothing more, I do assure you.’ + +“‘That may be,’ says Billy Fish, ‘and yet +I should be sorry if it was.’ He sinks his +head upon his great fur cloak for a minute +and thinks. ‘King,’ says he, ‘be you man +or god or devil, I’ll stick by you to-day. I +have twenty of my men with me, and they +will follow me. We’ll go to Bashkai until +the storm blows over.’ + +“A little snow had fallen in the night, and +everything was white except the greasy fat +clouds that blew down and down from the +north. Dravot came out with his crown +on his head, swinging his arms and stamping +his feet, and looking more pleased than +Punch. + +“‘For the last time, drop it, Dan,’ says I +in a whisper. ‘Billy Fish here says that +there will be a row.’ + +“‘A row among my people!’ says Dravot. +‘Not much. Peachy, you’re a fool not to +get a wife too. Where’s the girl?’ says he +with a voice as loud as the braying of a +jackass. ‘Call up all the Chiefs and priests, +and let the Emperor see if his wife suits him.’ + +“There was no need to call any one. They +were all there leaning on their guns and +spears round the clearing in the centre of +the pine wood. A deputation of priests went +down to the little temple to bring up the +girl, and the horns blew up fit to wake the +dead. Billy Fish saunters round and gets +as close to Daniel as he could, and behind +him stood his twenty men with matchlocks. +Not a man of them under six feet. I was +next to Dravot, and behind me was twenty +men of the regular Army. Up comes the +girl, and a strapping wench she was, covered +with silver and turquoises but white as death, +and looking back every minute at the priests. + +“‘She’ll do,’ said Dan, looking her over. +‘What’s to be afraid of, lass? Come and +kiss me.’ He puts his arm round her. She +shuts her eyes, gives a bit of a squeak, and +down goes her face in the side of Dan’s flaming +red beard. + +“‘The slut’s bitten me!’ says he, clapping +his hand to his neck, and, sure enough, his +hand was red with blood. Billy Fish and +two of his matchlock-men catches hold of +Dan by the shoulders and drags him into the +Bashkai lot, while the priests howls in their +lingo,—‘Neither god nor devil but a man!’ +I was all taken aback, for a priest cut at me +in front, and the Army behind began firing +into the Bashkai men. + +“‘God A-mighty!’ says Dan. ‘What is +the meaning o’ this?’ + +“‘Come back! Come away!’ says Billy +Fish. ‘Ruin and Mutiny is the matter. +We’ll break for Bashkai if we can.’ + +“I tried to give some sort of orders to my +men—the men o’ the regular Army—but it +was no use, so I fired into the brown of ’em +with an English Martini and drilled three +beggars in a line. The valley was full of +shouting, howling creatures, and every soul +was shrieking, ‘Not a god nor a devil but +only a man!’ The Bashkai troops stuck to +Billy Fish all they were worth, but their +matchlocks wasn’t half as good as the Kabul +breech-loaders, and four of them dropped. +Dan was bellowing like a bull, for he was +very wrathy; and Billy Fish had a hard job +to prevent him running out at the crowd. + +“‘We can’t stand,’ says Billy Fish. +‘Make a run for it down the valley! The +whole place is against us.’ The matchlock-men +ran, and we went down the valley +in spite of Dravot’s protestations. He was +swearing horribly and crying out that he +was a King. The priests rolled great stones +on us, and the regular Army fired hard, and +there wasn’t more than six men, not counting +Dan, Billy Fish, and Me, that came +down to the bottom of the valley alive. + +“‘Then they stopped firing and the horns +in the temple blew again. ‘Come away— +for Gord’s sake come away!’ says Billy +Fish. ‘They’ll send runners out to all the +villages before ever we get to Bashkai. I +can protect you there, but I can’t do anything +now.’ + +“My own notion is that Dan began to go +mad in his head from that hour. He stared +up and down like a stuck pig. Then he was +all for walking back alone and killing the +priests with his bare hands; which he could +have done. ‘An Emperor am I,’ says Daniel, +‘and next year I shall be a Knight of the +Queen. + +“‘All right, Dan,’ says I; ‘but come +along now while there’s time.’ + +“‘It’s your fault,’ says he, ‘for not looking +after your Army better. There was +mutiny in the midst, and you didn’t know +—you damned engine-driving, plate-laying, +missionary’s-pass-hunting hound!’ He sat +upon a rock and called me every foul name +he could lay tongue to. I was too heart-sick +to care, though it was all his foolishness +that brought the smash. + +“‘I’m sorry, Dan,’ says I, ‘but there’s no +accounting for natives. This business is our +Fifty-Seven. Maybe we’ll make something +out of it yet, when we’ve got to Bashkai.’ + +“‘Let’s get to Bashkai, then,’ says Dan, +‘and, by God, when I come back here again +I’ll sweep the valley so there isn’t a bug in +a blanket left!’ + +“‘We walked all that day, and all that +night Dan was stumping up and down on +the snow, chewing his beard and muttering +to himself. + +“‘There’s no hope o’ getting clear,’ said +Billy Fish. ‘The priests will have sent +runners to the villages to say that you are +only men. Why didn’t you stick on as gods +till things was more settled? I’m a dead +man,’ says Billy Fish, and he throws himself +down on the snow and begins to pray +to his gods. + +“Next morning we was in a cruel bad +country—all up and down, no level ground +at all, and no food either. The six Bashkai +men looked at Billy Fish hungry-wise as if +they wanted to ask something, but they said +never a word. At noon we came to the top +of a flat mountain all covered with snow, +and when we climbed up into it, behold, +there was an army in position waiting in +the middle! + +“‘The runners have been very quick,’ +says Billy Fish, with a little bit of a laugh. +‘They are waiting for us.’ + +“Three or four men began to fire from the +enemy’s side, and a chance shot took Daniel +in the calf of the leg. That brought him to +his senses. He looks across the snow at the +Army, and sees the rifles that we had +brought into the country. + +“‘We’re done for,’ says he. ‘They are +Englishmen, these people,—and it’s my +blasted nonsense that has brought you to +this. Get back, Billy Fish, and take your +men away; you’ve done what you could, +and now cut for it. Carnehan,’ says he, +‘shake hands with me and go along with +Billy. Maybe they won’t kill you. I’ll go +and meet ’em alone. It’s me that did it. +Me, the King!’ + +“‘Go!’ says I. ‘Go to Hell, Dan. I’m +with you here. Billy Fish, you clear out, +and we two will meet those folk.’ + +“‘I’m a Chief,’ says Billy Fish, quite +quiet. ‘I stay with you. My men can go.’ + +“The Bashkai fellows didn’t wait for a +second word but ran off, and Dan and Me +and Billy Fish walked across to where the +drums were drumming and the horns were +horning. It was cold-awful cold. I’ve +got that cold in the back of my head now. +There’s a lump of it there.” + +The punkah-coolies had gone to sleep. +Two kerosene lamps were blazing in the +office, and the perspiration poured down my +face and splashed on the blotter as I leaned +forward. Carnehan was shivering, and I +feared that his mind might go. I wiped +my face, took a fresh grip of the piteously +mangled hands, and said:—“What happened +after that?” + +The momentary shift of my eyes had +broken the clear current. + +“What was you pleased to say?” whined +Carnehan. “They took them without any +sound. Not a little whisper all along the snow, +not though the King knocked down the first +man that set hand on him—not though old +Peachey fired his last cartridge into the +brown of ’em. Not a single solitary sound +did those swines make. They just closed up, +tight, and I tell you their furs stunk. There +was a man called Billy Fish, a good friend +of us all, and they cut his throat, Sir, then +and there, like a pig; and the King kicks +up the bloody snow and says:—‘We’ve had a +dashed fine run for our money. What’s +coming next?’ But Peachey, Peachey +Taliaferro, I tell you, Sir, in confidence as betwixt +two friends, he lost his head, Sir. No, +he didn’t neither. The King lost his head, +so he did, all along o’ one of those cunning +rope-bridges. Kindly let me have the +paper-cutter, Sir. It tilted this way. They +marched him a mile across that snow to a +rope-bridge over a ravine with a river at the +bottom. You may have seen such. They +prodded him behind like an ox. ‘Damn +your eyes!’ says the King. ‘D’you +suppose I can’t die like a gentleman?’ He +turns to Peachey—Peachey that was crying +like a child. ‘I’ve brought you to this, +Peachey,’ says he. ‘Brought you out of +your happy life to be killed in Kafiristan, +where you was late Commander-in-Chief of +the Emperor’s forces. Say you forgive me, +Peachey.’ ‘I do,’ says Peachey. ‘Fully and +freely do I forgive you, Dan.’ ‘Shake +hands, Peachey,’ says he. ‘I’m going now.’ +Out he goes, looking neither right nor left, +and when he was plumb in the middle of those +dizzy dancing ropes, ‘Cut, you beggars,’ he +shouts; and they cut, and old Dan fell, +turning round and round and round, twenty +thousand miles, for he took half an hour to +fall till he struck the water, and I could see +his body caught on a rock with the gold +crown close beside. + +“But do you know what they did to +Peachey between two pine-trees? They +crucified him, sir, as Peachey’s hands will +show. They used wooden pegs for his hands +and his feet; and he didn’t die. He hung +there and screamed, and they took him +down next day, and said it was a miracle +that he wasn’t dead. They took him down +—poor old Peachey that hadn’t done them +any harm—that hadn’t done them any…” + +He rocked to and fro and wept bitterly, +wiping his eyes with the back of his scarred +hands and moaning like a child for some +ten minutes. + +“They was cruel enough to feed him up +in the temple, because they said he was more +of a god than old Daniel that was a man. +Then they turned him out on the snow, and +told him to go home, and Peachey came +home in about a year, begging along the +roads quite safe; for Daniel Dravot he walked +before and said:—‘Come along, Peachey. +It’s a big thing we’re doing.’ The mountains +they danced at night, and the mountains +they tried to fall on Peachey’s head, +but Dan he held up his hand, and Peachey +came along bent double. He never let go +of Dan’s hand, and he never let go of Dan’s +head. They gave it to him as a present in +the temple, to remind him not to come again, +and though the crown was pure gold, and +Peachey was starving, never would Peachey +sell the same. You knew Dravot, sir! You +knew Right Worshipful Brother Dravot! +Look at him now!” + +He fumbled in the mass of rags round his +bent waist; brought out a black horsehair +bag embroidered with silver thread; and +shook therefrom on to my table—the dried, +withered head of Daniel Dravot! The morning +sun that had long been paling the lamps +struck the red beard and blind sunken eyes; +struck, too, a heavy circlet of gold studded +with raw turquoises, that Carnehan placed +tenderly on the battered temples. + +“You behold now,” said Carnehan, “the +Emperor in his habit as he lived—the King +of Kafiristan with his crown upon his +head. Poor old Daniel that was a monarch +once!” + +I shuddered, for, in spite of defacements +manifold, I recognized the head of the man +of Marwar Junction. Carnehan rose to go. +I attempted to stop him. He was not fit to +walk abroad. “Let me take away the whiskey, +and give me a little money,” he gasped. +“I was a King once. I’ll go to the Deputy +Commissioner and ask to set in the Poor-house +till I get my health. No, thank you, +I can’t wait till you get a carriage for me. +I’ve urgent private affairs—in the south—at +Marwar.” + +He shambled out of the office and departed +in the direction of the Deputy Commissioner’s +house. That day at noon I had +occasion to go down the blinding hot Mall, +and I saw a crooked man crawling along the +white dust of the roadside, his hat in his +hand, quavering dolorously after the fashion +of street-singers at Home. There was not a +soul in sight, and he was out of all possible +earshot of the houses. And he sang through +his nose, turning his head from right to left:— + + “The Son of Man goes forth to war, + A golden crown to gain; + His blood-red banner streams afar— + Who follows in his train?” + +I waited to hear no more, but put the poor +wretch into my carriage and drove him off to +the nearest missionary for eventual transfer +to the Asylum. He repeated the hymn twice +while he was with me whom he did not in +the least recognize, and I left him singing to +the missionary. + +Two days later I inquired after his welfare +of the Superintendent of the Asylum. + +“He was admitted suffering from sun-stroke. +He died early yesterday morning,” +said the Superintendent. “Is it true that he +was half an hour bareheaded in the sun at +midday?” + +“Yes,” said I, “but do you happen to +know if he had anything upon him by any +chance when he died?” + +“Not to my knowledge,” said the Superintendent. + +And there the matter rests. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Man Who Would Be King, by Rudyard Kipling + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING *** + +This file should be named 8king10u.txt or 8king10u.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8king11u.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8king10au.txt + +Produced by Jeffrey Kraus-yao. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +http://gutenberg.net or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 + +Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + |