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THE SERV ICE EDITION

OF

THE WORKS OF

RUDYARD KIPLING

WILLIE WINKIE

OTHER STORIES

V OL. II

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

AND OTHER STOR IES

RUDYAR D K IPL ING

IN TWO V OLUMES

V OL. II

AND CO., LIMITED

ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON

1 9 1 4

CONTENTS

The Man who would be King

Wee Willie Winkie

Baa Baa, Black Sheep

His Majesty the KingThe Drums of the Fore

vii

THE MAN WHO WOULD EH

K ING

w. W . W . V ol. II E

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE

KING

Brother to a Prince and fel low to a beggar i f he be foundworthy

E Law, as quoted, lays down a fair con ;duct of life, and one not easy to follow.

I have been fellow to a beggar again andagain under circumstances which prevented eitherof us finding out whether the other was worthy.

I have still to be brother to a Prince, though I oncecame near to kinship with what might have beena veritable King, and was promised the reversionof a Kingdom—army, law fcourts, revenue, andpolicy all complete. But, today, I greatly fear thatmy King is dead, and if I want a crown I must gohunt it for myself.The beginning of everything was in a railwaytrain upon the road to Mhow from Ajmir. Therehad been a Deficit in the Budget, which necessitatedtravelling, not Secondaclass, which is only half as

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

dear as Firsbclass, but by Intermediate, which isvery awful indeed. There are no cushions in theIntermediate class, and the population are eitherIntermediate

,which is Euras ian, or native, which

for a long night journey is nas ty, or Loafer, whichis amusing though intoxicated. Intermediates donot buy from refreshmentarooms. They carrytheir food in bundles and pots, and buy sweetsfrom the native sweetmeatasellers, and drink theroadside water. That is why in the hot weatherIntermediates are taken out of the carriages dead,and in all weathers are most properly lookeddown upon.My particular Intermediate happened to beempty ti l l I reached Nasirabad, when a big black ,browed gentleman in shirt l sleeves entered, and,following the custom of Intermediates, passed thetime of day. He was a wanderer and a vagabondlike myself, but with an educated taste for whisky.

He told tales of things he had seen and done, ofoutrofftheaway corners of the Empire into whichhe had penetrated, and of adventures in which herisked his life for a few days' food .

If India was filled wi th men like you and me,not knowing more than the crows where they’dget their next day’s rations, it isn

’t seventy mill ionsof revenue the land would be paying—it's sevenhundred millions,

’ said he ; and as I looked at his

4

THE MAN WHO WOULD EH KING

mouth and chin I was disposed to agree withhim .

We talked politics—the politics of Loaferdom,

that sees things from the underside where the lathand plaster is not smoothed off—and we talkedpostal arrangements because my friend wantedto send a telegram back from the next station toAjmir, the tum ingaoffplace from the Bombayto the Mhow line as you travel westward. Myfriend had no money beyond eight annas, whichhe 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 fmaster, and make

him send a wire on tick,’ said my friend, but that

'dmean inquiries for you and for me, and I

’ve got

my hands full these days. Did you say you aretravelling back along this line within any days

‘Within ten,’ I said.

Can’t you make it eight ? ’ said he.

‘Mine israther urgent business.’

‘ I can send your telegram within ten days ifthat wi ll serve you,

’ I said.‘ I couldn’t trust the wire to fetch him now Ithink of it. I t’s this way. He leaves Delhi on


the 23rdfor Bombay. That means he’l l be run a

ning through Ajmir about the night of the 23rd.’

‘ But I’m going into the Indian Desert,’ I ex ,

plained .‘Well and good,

’ said he. You’ll be changingat Marwar Junction to get into Iodhpore terri tory—you must do that—and he’ll be coming throughMarwar Iunction in the early morning of the 24thby the Bombay Mail. Can you be at Marwar

Iunction on that time"Twon

’

t be inconveniencfing you because I know that there’s precious fewpickings to be got out of these Central India States—even though you pretend to be correspondent ofthe Backwoodsman.

’

Have you ever tried that trick I asked.‘Again and again, but the Residents find youout, and then you get escorted to the Border beforeyou’ve time to get your knife into them. But aboutmy friend here. I must give him a word 0’ mouthto tell him what’s come to me or else he won’tknow where to go. I would take it more thankind of you if you was to come out of CentralIndia in time to catch him at Marwar Iunction, andsay to him :

“He has gone South for the week.

He’l l know what that means. He’s a big manwith a red beard, and a great swell he is . You

’llfind him sleeping like a gentleman with all hisluggage round him in a Second—clas s compartment.

6


But don’t you be afraid . Slip down the window,

and say : He has gone South for the week," and

he’l l tumble. It’s only cutting your time of stayin those parts by two days. I ask you as astranger—going to theWest,’ he said with emphasis.Where have you come from P said I.From the East,

’ said he, and I am hoping thatyou will give him the message on the Square—forthe sake of my Mother as well as your own .

’

Englishmen are not usually softened by appealsto the memory of their mothers , but for certainreasons, which will be fully apparent, I saw fit toagree.It’s more than a little matter,

’ said he, andthat’s why I asked you to do it—and now I knowthat I can depend on you doing it. A Secondfclass

carriage at Marwar Iunction, and a red’hairedmanasleep in it. You'l l be sure to remember. I getout at the next station, and I must hold on theretill 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 mineI’l l give you a word of advice. Don't try to runthe Central India States just now as the correaspondent of the Backwoodsman. There’s a real oneknocking about here, and it might lead to trouble.

’

‘Thank you,’ said he simply,

‘ and when willthe swine be gone ? I can’t starve because he’s


m ining my work. I wanted to get hold of theDegumber Rajah down here about his father

'swidow

,and give him a jump.’

What did he do to his father's widow, thenFilled her up with red pepper and slippered her

to death as she hung from a beam. I found thatout myself, and I

’

m the only man that would daregoing into the State to get hushamoney for it.They’ll try to poison me, same as they did inChortumna when I went on the loot there. Butyou'l l give the man at Marwar Junction mymessage ? ’

He got out at a little roadside station, and Ireflected. I had heard, more than once, of menpersonating correspondents of newspapers andbleeding small Native States W ith threats of ex ,

posure, but I had never met any of the castebefore. They led a hard life, and generally diewith great suddenness. The Native States havea wholesome horror of English newspapers whichmay throw light on their peculiar methods ofgovernment, and do their best to choke correaspondents with champagne, or drive them out oftheir mind with fourzin ahand barouches. Theydo not understand that nobody cares a straw forthe internal administration of Native States solong as oppression and crime are kept withindecent limits, and the ruler is not drugged, drunk,

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‘Tickets again ? ’ said he.

‘No,’ said I. ‘ I am to tell you that he is gone

South for the week. He has gone South for theweek ! ’

The train had begun to move out. The redman rubbed his eyes. ‘

He has gone South forthe week,

’ he repeated. ‘Now that’s just like hisimpidence. Did he say that I was to give youanything ? ’Cause I won’t. ’

‘He didn’t,

’ I said, and dropped away, andwatched the red lights die out in the dark. I twas horribly cold because the wind was blowingoff the sands. I climbed into my own train—notan Intermediate Carriage thi s time—and went tosleep.If the man with the beard had given me arupee I should have kept it as a memento of arather curious affair. But the consciousness ofhaving done my duty was my only reward.Later on I reflected that two gentlemen l ikemy friends could not do any good if they foragathered and personated correspondents of news ,papers, and might, if they blackfmailedone of thel ittle ratftrap states of Central India or SouthernRajputana, get themselves into serious difficulties.I therefore took some trouble to describe them asaccurately as I could remember to people whowould be interes ted in deporting them ; and mo

10


ceeded, so I was later informed, in having themheaded back from the Degumber borders .Then I became respectable, and returned to anOffice where there were no Kings and no incidentsoutside the daily manufacture of a newspaper. Anewspaper office seems to attract every conceivablesort of person, to the prejudice of discipline.Zenanaamission ladies arrive, and beg that theEditor will instantly abandon all his duties todescribe a Christian prizezgiving in a backaslum

of a perfectly inaccessible village ; Colonels whohave been overpassed for command sit down andsketch the outline of a series of ten, twelve, ortwentyffour leading articles on Seniority versus

Selection ; Missionaries wish to know why theyhave not been permitted to escape from theirregular vehicles of abuse and swear at a brother,missionary under special patronage of the editorialWe ; stranded theatrical companies troop up toexplain that they cannot pay for their advertise ,ments, but on their return from New Zealand orTahiti will do so with interest ; inventors of patentpunkabpulling machines, carriage couplings, andunbreakable swords and axleftrees, call with speciofications in their pockets and hours at their dis ,posal ; teaacompanies enter and elaborate theirprospectuses with the office pens ; secretaries ofballacommittees clamour to have the glories of

1 1


their last dance more fully described ; strangeladies rustle in and say,

‘ I want a hundred lady’scards printed at once, please,

’ which is manifestlypart of an Editor’s duty ; and every dissoluteruffian that ever tramped the Grand Trunk Roadmakes it his business to ask for employment as a

proofareader. And, all the time, the telephone,bell is ringing madly, and Kings are being killedon the Continent, and Empires are saying, You

’reanother,

’ and Mister Gladstone is calling downbrimstone upon the British Dominions, and thelittle black c0pyfboys are whining,

‘kaafpi chayz

kazyeh’

!copy wanted) l ike tired bees, and mostof the paper is as blank as Modred

’s shield.

But that is the amusing part of the year.There are six other months when none ever comesto call, and the thermometer walks inch by inchup to the top of the glass, and the office isdarkened to just above readingzlight, and thepress«machines are redfhot of touch, and nobodywrites anything but accounts of amusements inthe Hillastations or obituary notices. Then thetelephone becomes a tinkling terror, because i ttells you of the sudden deaths of men and womenthat you knew intimately, and the pricklyaheat

covers you with a garment, and you sit down andwrite : ‘ A slight increase of sickness is reportedfrom the Khuda Ianta Khan District. The cut

1 2


break is purely sporadic in its nature, and, thanksto the energetic efforts of the District authorities,is now almost at an end. It is, however, withdeep regret we record the death, etc.

’

Then the s ickness really breaks out, and theless recording and reporting the better for thepeace of the subscribers. But the Empires andthe Kings continue to divert themselves as selfishlyas before, and the Foreman thinks that a dailypaper really ought to come out once in twenty,four hours, and all the people at the Hillastationsin the middle of their amusements say : ‘Goodgracious ! 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 theadvertisements say,

‘must be experienced to beappreciated.’

It was in that season, and a remarkably evilseason, that the paper began running the last issueof the week on Saturday night, which is to saySunday morning, after the custom of a Londonpaper. This was a great convenience, for immea

diately after the paper was put to bed, the dawnwould lower the thermometer from 96

°

to almost8 4

°

for half an hour, and in that chill—you haveno idea how cold is 84

°

on the grass until youbegin to pray for it—a very tired man could getoffto sleep ere the heat roused him.

1 3


One Saturday night it was my pleasant duty toput the paper to bed alone. A King or courtieror a courtesan or a Community was going to dieor get a new Constitution, or do something thatwas important on the other side of the world, andthe paper was to be held open till the latest possibleminute in order to catch the telegram.

It was a pitchy black night, as stifling as a Junenight can be, and the loo, the redahot wind fromthe westward, was booming among the tinderfdrytrees and pretending that the rain was on its heels.Now and again a spot of almost boiling waterwould fall on the dust with the flop of a frog, butall our weary world knew that was only pretence.It was a shade cooler in the pressfroom than theoffice, so I sat there, while the type ticked andclicked, and the n ightajars hooted at the windows,and the all but naked compositors wiped the sweatfrom their foreheads, and called for water. Thething that was keeping us back, whatever it was,would not come off, though the loo dropped andthe las t type was set, and the whole round earthstood still in the choking heat, with its fingeron its lip, to wait the event. I drowsed, andwondered whether the telegraph was a blessing,and whether this dying man, or struggling people,might be aware of the inconvenience the delay wascausing. There was no special reason beyond the

1 4


heat and worry to make tension, but, as theclock r hands crept up to three o'clock, and themachines spun their flylwheels two or three timesto see that all was in order before I said the wordthat would set them off, I could have shriekedaloud.Then the roar and rattle of the wheels shivered

the quiet into l ittle bits. I rose to go away, buttwo men in white clothes stood in front of me.The first one said : It’s him 1 ' The second said‘So i t is ! ’ And they both laughed almost asloudly as the machinery roared, and mopped theirforeheads. ‘We seed there was a light burningacross the road, and we were sleeping in that ditchthere for coolness, and I said to my friend here,The office is open. Let’s come along and speakto 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 fellowwas the red—bearded man of Marwar Junction.There was no mistaking the eyebrows of the oneor the beard of the other.I was not pleased, because I wished to go tosleep, not to squabble with loafers. What do youwant ? ’ I asked.

‘ Half an hour's talk with you, cool andcomfortable, in the office,

’ said the redabearded

man. ‘We’d like some drink—the Contrack1 5


doesn’t begin yet, Peachey, so you needn’t look

—but what we really want is advice. We don’twant money. We ask you as a favour, becausewe found out you did us a bad turn aboutDegumber State.

’

I led from the pressfroom to the stifling officewith the maps on the walls, and the reda 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 PeacheyCarnehan, that

’s him, and Brother Daniel Dravot,that is me, and the less said about our professionsthe better, for we have been most things in ourtime. Soldier, sailor, compositor, photographer,proofr reader, streetapreacher, and correspondentsof the Backwoodsman when we thought the paper»wanted one. Cam ehan is sober, and so am I.

Look at us first, and see that’s sure. I t will save

you cutting into my talk. We’ll take one ofyour cigars apiece, and you shall see us l ight up.

’

I watched the test. The men were absolutelysober, so I gave them each a tepid whisky andsoda.

‘Well and good,’ said Carnehan of the eye ,

brows, wiping the froth from his moustache.‘ Let me talk now, Dan. We have been all overIndia, mostly on foot. We have been boiler,fitters, engine adrivers, petty contractors, and all

1 6


They call it Kafiristan. By my reckoning it’s the

top rightfhandcomer of Afghanistan, not more thanthree hundred miles from Peshawar. They havetwozandf thirty heathen idols there, and we

'll bethe thirtt ird and fourth. It’s a mountaineous

country, and the women of those parts are verybeautiful.’

‘But that is provided against in the Contrack,’ said

Carnehan. NeitherWoman nor Liqu ’ or, Daniel.’

‘ And that's all we know, except that no onehas gone there, and they fight, and in any placewhere they fight a man who knows how to drillmen can always be a King. We shall go to thoseparts and say to any King we find D

’

youwantto vanquish your foes ? " and we will show himhow to drill men ; for that we know better thananything else. Then we will subvert that Kingand seize his Throne and establish a Dyfnasty.

’

‘You’ll be cut to pieces before you’re fifty milesacross the Border,

’ I said. ‘You have to travelthrough Afghanistan to get to that country. It’sone mass of mountains and peaks and glaciers, andno Englishman has been through it. The peopleare utter brutes, and even if you reached themyou couldn’t do anything.’

‘That’s more like,’ said Camehan.

‘Ifyou

could think us a little more mad we would bemore pleased. We have come to you to know

1 8


about this country, to read a book about it, and tobe shown maps. We want you to tell us that weare fools and to show us your books.’ He turnedto the bookcases.Are you at all in earnest P 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 thirtyr twofmiles't theainch

map of India, and two smaller Frontier maps,hauled down volume INFaKAN of the Encyclo»

peedia Bri tannica, and the men consulted them.

See here I said Dravot, his thumb on the map .

‘Up to Iagdallak, Peachey and me know theroad. We was there with Roberts’ Army. We’llhave to turn off to the right at Iagdallak throughLaghmann terri tory. Then we get among thehills—fourteen thousand feet - fifteen thousandit will be cold work there, but it don

’t look veryfar on the map.’

I handed him Wood on the Sources ofthe Oxus.Carnehan was deep in the Encyclopwdia.

‘They’re a mixed lot,’ said Dravot reflectively ;

‘ and it won’t help us to know the names of theirtribes. The more tribes the more they’l l fight,and the better for us. From Iagdallak to AshangH ’mm l

1 9


‘ But all the information about the country isas sketchy and inaccurate as can be,

’ I protested.No one knows anything about it really. Here’sthe file of the United Services’

Insti iute. Readwhat Bellew says.’

‘ Blow Bellew l ’ said Carnehan. ‘ Dan, they're

a stinkin’ lot of heathens, but this book here saysthey think they’re related to us English.

’

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

‘There is no use your waiting,’ said Dravot

politely. It’s about four o’clock now. We’l l gobefore six o’clock if you want to sleep, and wewon't s teal any of the papers. Don’t you sit up.

We’re two harmless lunatics, and if you cometo morrow evening down to the Serai we’ll saygoodbye to you.

’

‘You are two fools,’ I answered. ‘You’ll be

turned back at the Frontier or cut up the minuteyou set foot in Afghanistan. Do you want anymoney or a recommendation down a countryP

I can help you to the chance of work nextweek.

’

Next week we shall be hard at work ourselves,thank you,

’ said Dravot. It isn’t so easy being aKing as it looks. When we’ve got our Kingdomin going order we’l l let you know, and you cancome up and help us to govern it.’

20


Would two lunatics make a contrack likethat I‘ said Carnehan,with subdued pride, showingme a greasy halffsheet of notepaper on which waswritten the following. I copied it, then and there,as a curiosity

This Contract between me and you persuingwitnesseth in the name ofGod—Amen andsofor th.

!One) That me and you will settle this mattertogether ; i.a. to be Kings ofKafiristan.

!Two)That you and me will not, while thismatter is being settled, look at any

Liquor , nor any Woman black,whi te, orbrown, so as to get mixed upwith one

or the other harmful.! Three)That we conduct ourselves with Dignity

and D iscretion, and ifone ofas getsinto trouble the other will stay by him.

Signed byyou andme 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 regu r

lar. Now you know the sort of men that loafersare—we are loafers, Dan, until we get out ofIndia- and do you think that we would sign aContrack l ike that unless we was in earnest ? We

2 1


have kept away from the two things that makelife worth having.’

‘You won’t enjoy your lives much longer ifyou are going to try this idiotic adventure. Don’tset the office on fire,

’ I said, and go away beforenine o’clock.’

I left them stil l po ring over the maps andmaking notes on the back of the Contrack.

’Be

sure to come down to the Serai tofmorrow} weretheir parting words .The Kumharsen Serai is the great fourzsquaresink of humanity where the strings of camels andhorses from the North load and unload. All thenational ities of Central Asia may be found there,and most of the folk of India proper. Balkh andBokhara there meet Bengal and Bombay, andtry to draw eye l teeth. You can buy ponies,turquoises, Persian pussyacats, saddleabags, fat ;tailed sheep and musk in the Kumharsen Serai,and get many strange things for nothing. In

the afternoon I went down to see whether myfriends intended to keep their word or were lyingthere drunk.A priest attired in fragments of ribbons andrags stalked up to me, gravely twisting a child

’spaper Whirligig. Behind him was his servantbending under the load of a crate of mud toys.The two were loading up two camels, and the

22


inhabitants of the Serai watched them with shrieksof laughter.

‘The priest is mad,’ said a horse ldealer to me.

‘He is going up to Kabul to sell toys to theAmir. He will either be raised to honour or havehis head cut off. He came in here this morningand has been behaving madly ever since.’

‘The witless are under the protection of God,’

stammered a flatfcheekedUsbeg in broken Hindi.‘They foretell future events.’

‘Would they could have foretold that mycaravan would have been cut up by the Shinwarisalmost within shadow of the Pass ! ’ grunted theEusufzai agent of a Rajputana trading ahouse

whose goods had been diverted into the hands ofother robbers just across the Border, and

'

whose

misfortunes were the laughingastock of the bazar.‘

Ohé , priest, whence come you and whither doyou go P

‘From Roum have I come,

’ shouted the priest,waving his Whirligig ;

‘ from Roum, blown by thebreath of a hundred devils across the sea l 0thieves, robbers, l iars, the bless ing of Pir Khan onpigs, dogs, and perjurers l Who will take theProtected of God to the North to sell charms thatare never still to the Amir P The camels shall notgall, the sons shall not fall sick, and the wivesshall remain faithful while they are away, of the

23


men who give me place in their caravan. Whowill ass ist me to slipper the King of the ROOS witha golden slipper with a silver heelP The pro,tection of Pir Khan be Upon his labours l

’

He

spread out the skirts of his gaberdine and pirouettedbetween the lines of tethered horses .

‘There starts a caravan from Peshawar toKabul in twenty days, Huzrut,

’ said the Eusufzaitrader. ‘

IVIy camels go therewith. Do thou also

go and bring us good luck.

’

‘ I will go even now l’ shouted the priest. ‘ I

will depart upon my winged camels, and be atPeshawar in a day ! Ho l Hazar Mir Khan,

’

he yelled to his servant, drive out the camels, butlet me firs t mount my own.’

He leaped on the back of his beas t as it knelt,and, turning round to me, cried Come thou also,Sahib, a li ttle along the road, and I wil l sell thee acharm—

an amulet that shall make thee King ofKafiristan.

’

Then the light broke upon me, and I followedthe two camels out of the Serai till we reached openroad and the priest halted.What d’yon think 0’ that P said he in English.

‘Camehan can’t talk their patter, so I

’ve madehim 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

24


Goodlbye,’ said Dravot, giving me hand

cautiously.

‘ It’s the last t ime we’ll shake handswith an Englishman these many days. Shakehands with him, Carnehan,

’ he cried, as the secondcamel passed me.Carnehan leaned down and shook hands. Then

the camels passed away along the dus ty road, andI was left alone to wonder. My eye could detectno failure in the disguises. The scene in the Seraiproved that they were complete to the nativemind. There was just the chance, therefore,that Carnehan and Dravot would be able towander through Afghanis tan without detection.

But, beyond, they would find death—c ertain andawful death.Ten days later a native correspondent giving methe news of the day from Peshawar, wound up hisletter with : ‘There has been much laughter hereon account of a certain mad priest who is going inhis estimation to sell petty gauds and insignificanttrinkets which he ascribes as great charms to H.H .

the Amir of Bokhara. He passed through Peshawarand associated himself to the Second Summer caravan that goes to Kabul. The merchan ts are pleasedbecause throug h superstition they imagine that suchmad fellows bring good fortune .’

The two, then, were beyond the Bo rder. Iwould have prayed for them, but, that night, a real

26


King died in Europe, and demanded an obituarynotice .

The wheel of the world swings through thesame phases again and again. Summer passed andwinter thereafter, and came and passed again. Thedaily paper continued and I with it, and upon thethird summer there fell a hot night, a n ightaissue, anda strained waiting for something to be telegraphedfrom the other side of the world, exactly as hadhappened before. A few great men had died inthe pas t two years, the machines worked with moreclatter, and some of the trees in the office gardenwere a few feet taller. But thatwas all the difference.I passed over to the preSS a room, and wentthrough just such a scene as I have already defscribed. The nervous tension was stronger than ithad been two years before, and I felt the heat moreacutely. At three o’clock I cried,

‘Pn

'

nt off,’ and

turned to go, when there crept to my chair whatwas left of a man. He was bent into a circle, hishead was sunk between his shoulders, and hemoved his feet one over the other like a bear. Icould hardly see whether he walked or crawledthis ragfwrapped, whining cripple who addressedme by name, crying that he was come back.Can you give me a drink P he whimpered. For

the Lord’s sake give me a drink I

2 7


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

‘Don’t you know me P’ he gasped, dropping

into a chair, and he turned his drawn face, surfmounted by a shock of gray hair, to the light.I looked at him intently. Once before had Iseen eyebrows that met over the nose in an inch ,broad black band, but for the life of me I couldnot tell where.

‘ I don’t know you,’ I said, handing him the

whisky.

‘What can I do for you PHe took a gulp of the spirit raw, and shiveredin Spite of the suffocating heat.I’ve come back,

’ he repeated ;‘ and I was the

King of Kafiristan—me and Dravot—crownedKings we was ! In this office we settled ityou setting there and giving us the books. Iam Peachey—Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan, andyou’ve been setting here ever since—O Lord II was more than a little astonished, and ex,pressed my feelings accordingly.

It’s true,’ said Carnehan, with a dry cackle,

nurs ing his feet, which were wrapped in rags.‘True as gospel. Kings we were, with crownsupon our heads—me and Dravot—poor Dan—oh,poor, poor Dan, that would never take advice, notthough I begged of him I

‘Take the whisky,’ I said, and take your own

28


time. Tell me all you can recollect of every,

thing from beginning to end. You got across theBorder on your camels, Dravot dressed as a madpriest and you his servant. Do you rememberthat ? ’

I ain’t mad—yet, but I shall be that way

soon. Ofcourse I remember. Keep looking atme, or maybe my words will go all to pieces .Keep looking at me in my eyes and don’t sayanything.

’

I leaned forward and looked into his face assteadily as I could . He dropped one hand uponthe table and I grasped it by the wrist. It wastwisted like a bird’s claw, and upon the back was aragged red diamondashapedscar.

‘No, don’t look there. Look at me,

’ saidCarnehan. ‘That comes afterwards, but for theLord’s sake don't distrack me. We left with thatcaravan, me and Dravot playing al l sorts of anticsto amuse the people we were with. Dravot usedto make us laugh in the evenings when all thepeople was cooking their dinners—cooking theirdinners, and what did they do them? Theylit little fires with sparks that went into Dravot’

s

beard, and we all laughed—fit to die. Little redfires they was, going into Dravot

’s big red beard

—so funny.

’ His eyes left mine and he smiledfoolishly.

29


‘You went as far as Iagdallak with thatcaravan,

’ I said at a venture,‘ after you had lit

those fires. To Iagdallak, where you turned off

to try to get into Kafiristan.’

‘No, we didn't neither. What are you talking

aboutP We turned off before Iagdallak, becausewe heard the roads was good. But they wasn’tgood enough for our two camels— mine andDravot

’

s. When we left the caravan, Dravottook off all his clothes and mine too, and saidwe would be heathen, because the Kafirs didn

’tallow Mohammedans to talk to them . So wedressed betwixt and between, and such a s ight asDaniel Dravot I never saw yet nor expect to seeagain. He burned half his beard, and slung asheepaskin over his shoulder, and shaved his headinto patterns. He shaved mine, too, and mademe wear outrageous things to look like a heathen .

That was in a most mountaineous country, andour camels couldn’t go along any more becauseof the mountains. They were tall and black, andcoming home I saw them fight like wild goatsthere are lots of goats in Kafiristan . And thesemountains, they never keep still, no more than thegoats. Always fighting they are, and don

’t letyou sleep at night.’

‘Take some more whisky,

’ I said very slowly.

‘What did you and Daniel Dravot do when the

30


camels could go no farther because of the roughroads that led into Kafiristan P’

‘What did which do P There was a partycalled Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan that was withDravot. Shall I tell you about him P He diedout there in the cold. Slap from the bridge fellold Peachey, turning and twisting in the air l ike apenny W hirligig that you can sell to the Amir.No ; they was two for three a ha

’

pence, thosewhirligigs, or I am much mistaken and wofulsore. And then these camels were no use,and Peachey said to Dravot For the Lord’ssake let’s get out of this before our heads arechopped off,

" and with that they killed the camelsall among the mountains, not having anything inparticular to eat, but first they took off the boxeswith the guns and the ammunition, till two mencame along driving four mules. Dravot up anddances in front of them, singing—

“ Sell me fourmules. Says the firs t man Ifyou are richenough to buy, you are rich enough to rob butbefore ever he could put his hand to his knife,Dravot breaks his neck over his knee , and theother party runs away. So Carnehan loaded themules with the rifles that was taken off the camels,and together we starts forward into those bittercold mountaineous parts, and never a road broaderthan the back of your hand .

’

3 1


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

‘ I am tell ing you as straight as I can, but myhead isn’t as good as it might be. They drovenails through it to make me hear better howDravot died. The country was mountaineous andthe mules were most contrary, and the inhabitantswas dispersed and solitary. They went up andup, and down and down, and that other party,Carnehan, was imploring of Dravot not to singand whistle so loud, for fear of bringing downthe tremenjus avalanches. But Dravot says thatif a King couldn’t sing it wasn’t worth beingKing, and whacked the mules over the rump, andnever took no heed for ten cold days. We cameto a big level valley all among the mountains, andthe mules were near dead, so we killed them, nothaving anything in special for them or us to eat.We sat upon the boxes, and played odd and evenwith the cartridges that was jolted out.Then ten men with bows and arrows ran down

that valley, chasing twenty men with bows andarrows, and the row was tremenjus. They wasfair men—fairer than you or me

—with yellowhair and remarkable well buil t. Says Dravot,unpacking the guns This is the beginning ofthe business. We’ll fight for the ten men,

" and

32


one of the old priests and the boss of the villagebrings him food, he says very haughty,andeats it slow. That was how we came to ourfirs t village, without any trouble, just as thoughwe had tumbled from the skies. But we tumbledfrom one of those damned ropeabridges, you see,and—you couldn't expect a man to laugh muchafter that P

‘Take some more whisky and go ou,’ I said.

‘ That was the first village you came into. Howdid you get to be KingP

’

‘ I wasn’t King,’ said Carnehan. ‘ Dravot he

was the King, and a handsome man he lookedwith the gold crown on his head and all. Himand the other party stayed in that village, andevery morning Dravot sat by the side of oldImbra, and the people came and worshipped.That was Dravot

's order. Then a lot of men

came into the valley, and Carnehan and Dravotpicks them off with the rifles before they knewwhere they was, and runs down into the valleyand up again the other side and finds anothervillage, same as the firs t one, and the people allfalls down flat on their faces, and Dravot saysNow what is the trouble between you two

villages P" and the people points to a woman, as

fair as you or me, that was carried off, and Dravottakes her back to the first village and counts up

34


the dead—eight there was. For each dead manDravot pours a little milk on the ground andwaves his arms like a Whirligig, and That

’s allright,

" says he. Then he and Camehan takes thebig boss of each village by the arm and walksthem down into the valley, and shows them howto scratch a line with a spear right down the valley,and gives each ‘

a sod of turf from both sides of theline. Then all the people comes down and shoutsl ike the devil and all, and Dravot says Go anddig the land, and be fruitful and multiply,

" whichthey did, though they didn

’t unders tand. Thenwe asks the names of things in their lingo—breadand water and fire and idols and such, and Dravotleads the priest of each village up to the idol, andsays he must sit there and judge the people, and ifanything 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, andthe priests heard all the complaints and told Dravotin dumb show what it was about. “That’s justthe beginning,

" says Dravot. “They think we’reGods . He and Carnehan picks out twenty goodmen and shows them how to click off a rifle, andform fours, and advance in line, and they wasvery pleased to do so, and clever to see the hangof it. Then he takes out his pipe and his baccyz

pouch and leaves one at one village, and one at the

3 5


other, and off we two goes to see what was to bedone in the next valley. That was all rock, andthere was a little village there, and Carnehan saysSend ’em to the old valley to plant,

” and takes’em there, and gives

’em some land that wasn’ttook before. They were a poor lot, and weblooded ’em with a kid before letting ’em into thenew Kingdom. That was to impress the people,and then they settled down quiet, and Camehan

went back to Dravot who had got into anothervalley, all snow and ice and most mountaineous.There was no people there and the Army gotafraid, so Dravot shoots one of them, and goes ontill he finds some people in a village, and the Armyexplains that un less the people wants to be killedthey had better not shoot their little matchlocks ;for they had matchlocks. We makes friends withthe priest, and I stays there alone with two of theArmy, teaching the men how to drill, and athundering big Chief comes across the snow withkettleadrums and horns twanging, because he heardthere was a new God kicking about. Carnehansights for the brown of the men half a mile acrossthe snow and wings one of them. Th en he sendsa message to the Chief that, unless he wished tobe killed, he must come and shake hands with meand leave his arms behind. The Chief comes alonefirst, and Camehan shakes hands with him and

36


whirls his arms about, same as Dravot used, andvery much surprised that Chief was , and strokesmy eyebrows. Then Camehan goes alone to theChief, and asks him in dumb show if he had anenemy he hated. “ I have,

" says the Chief. So

Camehan weeds out the pick of his men, and setsthe two of the Army to show them drill, andatthe end of two weeks the men can manoeuvreabout as well as Volunteers . So he marcheswith the Chief to a great big plain on the top of amountain, and the Chief

’s men rushes into a villageand takes it ; we three Martinis firing into thebrown of the enemy. So we took that villagetoo, and I gives the Chief a rag from my coat andsays, Occupy till I come

"

3 which was scri ptural.By way of a reminder, when me and the Armywas eighteen hundred yards away, I drops a bulletnear him standing on the snow, and all the peoplefalls flat on their faces . Then I sends a letter toDravot wherever he be by land or by sea.’

At the risk of throwing the creature out of trainI interrupted—‘ How could you write a letter upyonder P

'

‘The letterP—Oh I—The letter ! Keep lookingat me between the eyes, please. It was a string,talk letter, that we

’d learned the way of it from ablind beggar in the Punjab.’

I remember that there had once come to the

3 7


office a blind man with a knotted twig and a pieceof string which he wound round the twig accordingto some cipher of his own. He could, after thelapse of days or hours, repeat the sentence whichhe had reeled up. He had reduced the alphabet toeleven primitive sounds, and tried to teach me hismethod, but I could not understand.

‘ I sent that letter to Dravot,’ said Camehan ;

and told him to come back because this Kingdomwas growing too big for me to handle, and then Istruck for the firs t valley, to see how the priestswere working. They called the village we tookalong with the Chief, Bashkai, and the first villagewe took, EraHeb. The priests at EraI-Ieb wasdoing all right, but they had a lot of pending casesabout land to show me, and some men fromanother village had been firing arrows at night. Iwent out and looked for that village, and fired fourrounds at it from a thousand yards. That used allthe cartridges I cared to spend, and I waited forDravot, 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 downthe hill with his Army and a tail of hundreds ofmen, and, which was the most amazing, a greatgold crown on his head. My Gord, Carnehan,

"

says Daniel, this is a tremenjus business, and

3 8


we’ve got the whole country as far as it's worthhaving. I am the son of Alexander by QueenSemiramis, and you

’re my younger brother and aGod too ! It’s the biggest thing we’ve ever seen.I’ve been march ing and fighting for six weeks withthe Army, and every foo ty little village for fiftymiles 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 tomake two of ’em at a place called Shu, where thegold lies in the rock like suet in mutton. Gold I'veseen, andturquoise I

’ve kicked out of the cliffs, andthere's garnets in the sands of the river, and here

's achunk of amber that a man brought me. Call upall the priests and, here, take your crown.One of the men opens a black hair bag, and I

sl ips the crown on. It was too small and tooheavy, but I wore it for the glory. Hammered goldit was—five pound weight, like a hoop of a barrel.

says Dravot, we don’t want tofight no more. The Craft’s the trick, so help me Iand he bri ngs forward that same Chief that I left atBashkai—Billy Fish we called him afterwards,because he was so like Billy Fish that drove the bigtankfengine at Mach on the Bolan in the old days .Shake hands with him,

" says Dravot, and I shookhands and nearly dropped, for Billy Fish gave methe Grip. I said nothing, but tried him with the

39


Fellow Craft Grip. He answers all right, and Itried the Master's Grip, but that was a slip.

“ AFellow Craft he is ! " I says to Dan.

“Does heknow the word P He does,

" says Dan, and allthe priests know. It’s a miracle ! The Chiefs andthe priests can work a Fellow Craft Lodge in a waythat's very like ours, and they

've cut the marks onthe 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 knewup to the Fellow Craft Degree, but this is a miracle.A God and a GrandrMaster of the Craft am I, anda Lodge in the Third Degree I will open, and we

’llraise 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 youknow we never held office in any Lodge.”

It’s a masterastroke o’ policy,

” says Dravot.It means running the country as easy as a fourawheeled bogie on a down grade. We can’t s top toinquire now, or they

’l l turn against us. I've fortyChiefs at my heel, and passed and raised accordingto their merit they shall be. Billet these men onthe villages, and see that we run up a Lodge ofsome kind. The temple of Imbra will do for theLodgearoom. The women must make aprons asyou show them. I'll hold a levee of Chiefs to,night and Lodge tofmorrow .

"

40


beyond the village ofBashkai. The minute Dravotputs on the Master’s apron that the girls had madefor him, the priest fetches a whoop and a howl, andtries to overturn the stone that Dravot was sittingon .

“ It’s all up now,

" I says. “That comes ofmeddlingwi th the Craftwithoutwarrant ! Dravotnever winked an eye, not when ten priests took andtilted over theGrandaMaster

’

s chair—which was tosay the stone of Imbra. The pries t begins rubbingthe bottom end of it to clear away the black dirt,and presently he shows all the other priests theMaster

's lMark, same as was onDravot

’s apron, cut

into the stone. Not even the priests of the templeof Imbra knew it was there. The old chap falls flaton his face at Dravot’s feet and kisses 'em. Luckagain, says Dravot, across the Lodge to me 3 theysay it’s the missing Mark that no one could underastand the why of. We’re more than safe now.

”

Then he bangs the butt of his gun for a gavel andsays By virtue of the authori ty vested in me bymy own right hand and the help of Peachey, Ideclare myselfGrandlMaster of all Freemasonry inKafiristan in this the Mother Lodge 0’ the country,and King of Kafiristan equally with Peachey l At

that he puts on his crown and I puts on mine—Iwas doing SeniorWarden—andwe opens the Lodgein most ample form. It was a amazing miracle !The priests moved in Lodge through the firs t two

42


degrees almost without telling, as if the memorywascoming back to them. After that, Peachey andDravot raised such as was worthy—high priests andChiefs of faraoffvillages . 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 itserved our turn. We didn’t raise more than ten ofthe biggest men, because we didn

't want to makethe Degree common. And theywas clamouring tobe raised.

In another s ix months, says Dravot, we'll

hold another Communication, and see how you areworking.” Then he asks them about their villages,and learns that they was fighting one against theother, andwere sick and tired of it. And whenthey wasn’t doing that they was fighting with theMohammedans. You can fight those when theycome into our country,

" says Dravot. “Tell offevery tenth man of your tribes for a Frontier guard,and send two hundred at a time to this valley to bedrilled Nobody is going to be shot or speared anymore so long as he does well, and I know that youwon’t cheat me, because you

’re white people—sonsof Alexander—and not like common, blackMoham'

medans. You aremy people, and byGod,”says he,

running off into English at the end I’ll make adamned fine Nation of you, or I

’l l die in themaking !

43


‘ I can't tell all we did for the next s ix 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 nowandagain go out wi th some of the Army and seewhat the other villages were doing, and make

’emthrow ropeabridges across the ravines which cut upthe country horrid. Dravot was very kind to me,but when he walked up and down in the pine woodpulling that bloody red beard of his with both fistsI knew he was thinking plans I could not adviseabout, 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 friendswi th the priests and the Chiefs ; but any one couldcome across the hills with a complaint, and Dravotwould hear him out fai r, and call four priests te a

gether and say what was to be done. He used tocall in Billy Fish from Bashkai, and Pikky Kerganfrom Shu, and an old Chief we calledKafuzelum

i t was like enough to his real name—and holdcouncils with ’em when there was any fighting tobe done in small villages. That was his Councilof War, and the four priests of Bashkai, Shu,Khawak, and Madora was his Privy Council .Between the lot of 'em they sent me, with fortymen and twenty rifles and sixty men carrying

4 4


turquoises , into the Ghorband country to buythose handamade Martini rifles, that come out ofthe Amir’s workshops at Kabul, from one of theAmi r’s Herati regiments that would have sold thevery teeth out of their mouths for turquoises .

‘ I stayed in Ghorband a month, and gave theGovernor there the pick of my baskets for hush ,

money, and bribed the Colonel of the regimentsome more, and, between the two and the tribes,people, we got more than a hundred hand'madeMartinis, a hundred good Kohat Iezails that

’l lthrow to s ix hundred yards, and forty manfloads

of very bad ammunition for the rifles. I cameback with what I had, and distributed

’em amongthe 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 coulddrill, and two hundred that knew how to holdarms pretty straight. Even those cork l screwed,handamade guns was a miracle to them. Dravottalked big about powderashops and factories, walk,ing up and down in the pine wood when the winterwas coming on.

‘ “I won’t make a Nation, says he.

“ I'llmake an Empire ! These men aren’t niggers ;they’re English ! Look at their eyes—look attheir mouths. Look at the way they stand up.

4 5


They sit on chairs in their own houses. They'rethe Lost Tribes, or something like it, and they

’vegrown to be English. I’l l take a census in thespring if the priests don’t get frightened. Theremust be a fair two million of ’em in these hills .The villages are ful l 0

’ li ttle children. Twomillion people—two hundred and fifty thousandfighting men—and all English ! They only wantthe rifles and a little drill ing. Two hundred andfifty thousand men, ready to cut in on Russia

’sright 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 treatwith the Viceroy on equal terms. I

'll ask him to

send me twelve pickedEnglish—twelve that I knowof— to help us govern a bit. There’s Mackray,Sergeantfpensioner at Segowli—many’s the gooddinner he’s given me, and his wife a pair oftrousers . There's Donkin, the Warder of Toung»hoo Iail ; there

’s hundreds that I could lay myhand on if I was in India. The Viceroy shall doit for me. I'll send a man through in the springfor those men, and I

’ll write for a dispensationfrom the Grand Lodge for what I’ve done asGrandaMaster. That—and all the Sniders that'llbe thrown out when the native troops in India takeup the Martini. They’l l be worn smooth, but

46


they’ll do for fighting in these hills. TwelveEnglish, a hundred thousand Sniders run throughthe Amir’s country in driblets—I

’

d be contentwith twenty thousand in one year—and we'd bean Empire. When everything was shipshape

, I’

d

hand over the crown—this crown I’m wearing now—to Queen Victoria on my knees, and she

’d say :‘ Rise up, Sir Daniel Dravot.

’ Oh, it’s big ! It’s

big, I tell you ! But there’s so much to be done

in every place—Bashkai, Khaw'ak Shu, and every,

where else."” ‘What is it ? I says . There are no moremen coming in to be drilled this autumn. Lookat those fat, black clouds. They

’re bringing thesnow.

”

It isn’t that, said Daniel, putting his handvery hard on my shoulder ; and I don

’t wish tosay anything that’s against you, for no other livingman would have followed me and made me what Iam as you have done. You’re a firstaclass Coma

mandera ia hief, and the people know you butit’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 itdid hurt me sore to find Daniel talking so superiorwhen I’ddrilled all the men , and done all he told me.Don't let’s quarrel, Peachey,

" says Daniel

4 7


without curs ing. “You’re a King too, and thehalf of this Kingdom is yours ; but can

’t you see,Peachey,we want cleverer men than us now—threeor four of ’em, that we can scatter about for ourDeputies. It’s a hugeous great State, and I can

'talways tell the right thing to do, and I haven

’ttime for all I want to do, and here

’s the wintercoming on and all.

”He put half his beard into

his mouth, all red like the gold of his crown.“ ‘I

’m sorry, Daniel, says I.

“ I've done all Icould. I’ve drilled the men and shown the peoplehow to stack their oats better ; and I

’ve broughtin those tinware rifles from Ghorband—but Iknow what you’re driving at. I take it Kingsalways feel oppressed that way.

‘ “There’s another thing too, says Dravot,walking up and down. The winter’s comingand these people won't be giving much trouble ,and if they dowe can't move about. Iwant a wife."

For Gord’s sake leave the women alone ! " Isays . “We’ve both got all the work we can,though I am a fool. Remember the Contrack,and keep clear 0’ women."

The Contrack only lasted till such time aswe was Kings ; and Kings we have been thesemonths past,

" says Dravot, weighing his crown inhis hand. You go get a wife too, Peachey—a

nice, strappin'

, plump girl that’

ll keep you warm

48


“We’ve done with that, says Dravot ; thesewomen are whi ter than you or me, and a QueenI will have for the winter months .”

” ‘For the las t time 0’ asking, Dan, do not, I

says. It'll only bring us harm. The Bible saysthat Kings ain't to waste their s trength on women ,’specially when they’ve got a new raw Kingdomto work over."

For the last t ime of answering I will, saidDravot, and he went away through the pineztreeslooking like a big red devil, the sun being on hiscrown and beard and all.

‘ But getting a wife was not as easy as Danthought. He put it before the Council, and therewas no answer till Billy Fish said that he’d betterask the girls. Dravot damned them all round.

What’s wrong with me P he shouts, standing bythe idol Imbra. Am I a dog or am I not enoughof a man for your wenches P Haven’t I put theshadow of my hand over this countryP Whostopped the las t Afghan raid P It was me really,but Dravot was too angry to remember. “Whobought your guns P Who repaired the bridges PWho’s the GrandzMaster of the sign cut in thestone P says he, and he thumped his hand on theblock that he used to sit on in Lodge, and atCouncil, which opened like Lodge always . BillyFish said nothing and no more did the others .

50


Keep your hair on, Dan, said I ; and ask thegirls. That’s how it’s done at Home, and thesepeople are quite English.The marriage of the King is a matter of

State," says Dan, in a whiteahot rage, for he could

feel, I hope, that he was going against his bettermind. He walked out of the Councilfroom, andthe others sat still, looking at the ground.

u ‘Billy Fish, says I to the Chief ofBashkai,

what’s the difficulty here P A straight answerto a true friend.You know, says Billy Fish. How should

a man tell you who knows everythingP How candaughters of men marry Gods or Devils P It’s notproper."

‘ I remembered something like that in the Bible ;but if, after seeing us as long as they had, theystill believed we were Gods, i t wasn

’t for me toundeceive them.

A God can do anything, says I. IftheKing is fond of a girl he'll not let her die.She’ll have to,

" said Billy Fish. There are allsorts of Gods and Devils in these mountains, andnow and again a girl marries one of them and isn’tseen any more. Besides, you two know the Markcut in the stone. Only the Gods know that. Wethought you were men till you showed the sign ofthe Master.”

5 1


‘ I wished then that we had explained about theloss of the genuine secrets of a MasteraMason atthe firs t ga ff ; but I said nothing. All that nightthere was a blowing of horns in a little dark templehalfrway down the hill, and I heard a girl cryingfit to die. One of the priests told us that she wasbeing prepared to marry the King.I’ll have no nonsense of that kind, says

Dan. “ I don't want to interfere with yourcustoms, but I

’

ll take my own wife." The g irl’sa little bit afraid,

" says the priest. She thinksshe’s going to die, and they are azheartening of herup down in the temple .”

Hearten her very tender, then, says Dravot,or I’ll hearten you with the butt of a gun so you’llnever want to be heartened again.

"He licked his

lips, did Dan, and stayed up walking about morethan half the night, thinking of the wife that hewas going to get in the morning. I wasn’t anymeans comfortable, for I knew that dealings with awoman in foreign parts, though you was a crownedKing twenty times over, could not but be risky . Igot up very early in the morning while Dravot wasasleep, and I saw the priests talking together inwhispers, and the Chiefs talking together too, andthey looked at me out of the comers of theireyes.

” ‘What is up, Fish P I say to the Bashkai

5 2


man, who was wrapped up in his furs and lookingsplendid to behold.

” ‘I can’t rightly say, says he ; but if you

can make the King drop all this nonsense aboutman iage, you

’l l be doing him and me and yourselfa great service.

” That I do believe, says I. But sure, youknow, Billy, as well as me, having fought againstand for us, that the King and me are nothing morethan two of the finest men that God Almightyever 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 headupon his great fur cloak for a m inute and thinks .“ King,

” says he, be you man or God or Devil,I’l l stick by you today. I have twenty of mymen with me, and they will follow me. We

’l l

go to Bashkai until the storm blows over."

‘ A little snow had fallen in the night, andeverything was white except the greasy fat cloudsthat blew down and down from the north. Dravotcame out with his crown on his head, swinging hisarms and stamping his feet, and looking morepleased than Punch.

For the last time, drop it, Dan, says I in awhisper,

“Billy Fish here says that there will be arow.

“ A row among my peOple ! says Dravot.5 3


Not much. Peachey, you're a fool not to get a

wife too. Where's the girl P says he with a voiceas loud as the braying of a jackass. Call up allthe Chiefs and priests, and let the Emperor see ifhis wife suits him .

"

‘There was no need to call any one. They wereall there leaning on their guns and spears roundthe clearing in the centre of the pine wood. A lotofpriests went down to the little temple to bringup the girl, and the horns blew fit to wake thedead. Billy Fish saunters round and gets as closeto Daniel as he could, and behind him stood histwenty men with matchlocks. Not a man of themunder six feet. I was next to Dravot, and behindme was twenty men of the regular Army. Upcomes the gi rl, and a strapping wench she was,covered with silver and turquoises, but white asdeath, and looking back every minute at thepnests.

” She'll do, said Dan, looking her over.What’s to be afraid of, lass P Come and kissme." He puts his arm round her. She shuts hereyes, gives a bit of a squeak, and down goes herface in the s ide of Dan’s flaming red beard.The slut’s bitten me ! ” says he, clapping his

hand to his neck, and, sure enough, his hand wasred with blood. Billy Fish and two of his match ,lockzmen catches hold of Dan by the shoulders

5 4


and drags him into the Bashkai lot, while thepriests howl in their lingo—“Neither God norDevil but a man ! " I was all taken aback, for apriest cut at me in front, and the Army behindbegan firing into the Bashkai men.

H ‘

CiodA'mighty l

" says Dan . What is themeaning 0’ this P

Come back ! Come away ! says Billy Fish.

Ruin and Mutiny is the matter. We’ll break forBashkai if we can.

‘ I tried to give some sort of orders to my men—the men 0

' the regular Army—but it was nouse, so I fired into the brown of

'em with an EnglishMartini and drilled three beggars in a line. Thevalley was full of shouting, howling creatures, andevery soul was shrieking, Not a God nor a Devilbut only a man ! " The Bashkai tr00ps stuck toBilly Fish all they were worth, but their match ,locks wasn’t half as good as the Kabul breech ,loaders, and four of them dropped. Dan wasbellowing l ike a bull, for he was very wrathy ; andBilly Fish had a hard job to prevent him runningout at the crowd.We can’t stand, says Billy Fish. Make

a run for it down the valley ! The whole place isagainst us." The matchlockrmen ran, and we wentdown the valley in spite of Dravot. He wasswearing horrible and crying out he was a King.

5 5


The priests rolled great stones on us, and theregular Army fired hard, and there wasn

’t morethan s ix men, not counting Dan, Billy Fish, andMe, that came down to the bottom of the valleyalive.

‘Then they stopped firing and the horns inthe temple blew again. Come away—for God’ssake come away ! " says Billy Fish. “They’l lsend runners out to all the villages before ever weget to Bashkai. I can protect you there, but Ican’t do anything now.

"

‘My own notion is that Dan began to go madin his head from that hour. He stared up anddown like a stuck pig. Then he was all for walk ,ing back alone and killing the priests with his barehands ; 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 faul t,

” says be, for not lookingafter your Army better. There was mutiny inthe midst, and you didn

’t know—you damnedengine a driving, plate laying, missionary

’s pass ,hunting hound ! He sat upon a rock and calledme every foul name he could lay tongue to. Iwas too heartasick to care, though i t was all hisfoolishness that brought the smash.

5 6


Billy Fish, with a li ttle bit of a laugh.“They

are waiting for us."‘Three or four men began to fire from theenemy’s side, and a chance shot took Daniel in thecalf of the leg. That brought him to his senses.He looks across the snow at the Army, and seesthe rifles that we had brought into the country.

“We’re done for,” say s he.

“They are

Englishmen, these people, —and it's my blastednonsense that has brought you to this. Get back,Billy Fish, and take your men away ; you

’ve donewhat 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 goand meet ’em alone. It's me that did it. Me,the King !

says I. Go to Hell, Dan ! I’m

with you here. Billy Fish, you clear out, and wetwo 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 secondword, but ran off, and Dan and Me and Billy Fishwalked across to where the drum s were drummingand the horns were horning. It was cold—awfulcold. I've got that cold in the back of my headnow. There’s a lump of it there.’

The punkahfcoolies had gone to sleep. Two

5 8


kerosene lamps were blazing in the office, and theperspiration poured down my face and splashedon the blotter as I leaned forward. Carnehan wasshivering, and I fearedthat his mind might go. Iwiped my face, took a fresh grip of the piteouslymangled hands, and said :

‘What happened afterthat PThe momentary shift of my eyes had brokenthe clear current.

‘What was you pleased to sayP’ whined

Carnehan. ‘They took them without any sound.Not a little whisper all along the snow, not thoughthe King knocked down the first man that sethand on him—not though old Peachey fired hislast cartridge into the brown of ’em. Not a singlesolitary sound did those swines make. They justclosed up tight, and I tell you their furs stunk.There was a man called Bil ly Fish, a good friendof us all, and they cut his throat, Sir, then andthere, like a pig ; and the King kicks up thebloody snow and says We’ve had a dashed finerun for our money. What’s coming next P ButPeachey, Peachey Taliaferro, I tell you, Sir, inconfidence as betwixt two friends, he lost his head,Sir. No, he didn

't neither. The King lost hishead, so he did, all along 0

’ one of those cunningrope rbridges. Kindly let me have the paper,cutter, Sir. It tilted this way. They marched

5 9


him a mile across that snow to a ropeabridge overa ravine with a river at the bottom. You mayhave seen such. They prodded him behind likean ox.

“Damn your eyes ! " says the King.“D

’

you suppose I can’t die like a gentleman P

"

He turns to Peachey—Peachey that was cryinglike a child . I’ve brought you to this, Peachey,says he. Brought you out of your happy lifeto be killed in Kafiristan, where you was lateCommander l in aChiefof 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

’mgoing now.

" Out he goes, looking neither rightnor left, and when he was plumb in the middle ofthose dizzy dancing ropes—“ Cut, you beggars,

"

he shouts ; and they cut, and old Dan fell, turninground and round and round, twenty thousandmiles, for he took half an hour to fall till he struckthe water, and I could see his body caught on arock with the gold crown close beside.

‘ But do you know what they did to Peacheybetween two pine t trees P They crucified him, Sir,as Peachey

’

s hand will show. They used woodenpegs for his hands and his feet ; and he didn

’t die.He hung there and screamed, and they took himdown next day, and said it was a miracle that hewasn’t dead. They took him down—poor old

60


Peachey that hadn’t done them any harm—thathadn’t done them anyHe rocked to and fro and wept bitterly

,

wiping his eyes with the back of his scarredhands and moaning like a child for some tenminutes.

‘They was cruel enough to feed him up in thetemple, because they said he was more of a Godthan old Daniel that was a man. Then theyturned him out on the snow, and told him to gohome, and Peachey came home in about a year,begging along the roads quite safe ; for DanielDravot he walked before and said : Come along,Peachey. It’s a big thing we’re doing." Themountains they danced at night, and the mountainsthey tried to fall on Peachey

’

s head, but Dan heheld up his hand, and Peachey came along bentdouble. He never let go of Dan

’s hand, and henever let go of Dan

’s head. They gave it to himas a present in the temple, to remind him not tocome again, and though the crown was pure gold,and Peachey was starving, never would Peacheysell the same. You knew Dravot, Sir ! You knewRight Worshipful Brother Dravot ! Look at himnow l ’

He fumbled in the mass of rags round his bentwaist ; brought out a black horsehair bag emf

broidered with silver thread, and shook therefrom

6 1


on to my table—the dried, withered head ofDaniel Dravot ! The morn ing sun that had longbeen paling the lamps struck the red beard and blindsunken eyes ; struck, too, a heavy circlet of goldstudded with raw turquoises, that Carnehan placedtenderly on the battered temples .You be’

oldnow,

’ said Carnehan, the Emperorin his 'abit as he lived —the King of Kafiristan withhis crown upon his head. Poor old Daniel thatwas a monarch once II shuddered, for, in spite of defacements maniafold, I recognised the head of the man of MarwarJunction. Carnehan rose to go . I attempted tostop him. He was not fit to walk abroad. Letme take away the whisky, and give me a littlemoney,

’ he gasped. ‘ I was a King once. I’l l goto the Deputy Commissioner and ask to set in thePoorhouse till I get my health. No, thank you,I can’t wait till you get a carriage for me. I’veurgent private affairs—in the south—at Marwar.’

He shambled out of the office and departed inthe direction of the Deputy Commissioner’s house.That day at noon I had occasion to go down theblinding hot Mall, and I saw a crooked mancrawling along the white dust of the roadside, hishat in his hand, quavering dolorously after thefashion of streetasingers at Home. There was nota soul in sight, and he was out of all possible ear,

62


shot of the houses. And he sang through hisnose, turning his head from right to left

The Son ofMan goes forth to war,

A go lden crown to gain ;H IS bloodaredbanner streams afarWho fol lows in his train P

I waited to hear no more, but put the poorwretch into my carriage and drove him off to thenearest missionary for eventual transfer to theAsylum. He repeated the hymn twice while hewas with me whom he did not in the least recogn ise,and I left him singing it to the missionary.Two days later I inquired after his welfare of

the Superintendent of the Asylum.

He was admitted suffering from sunstroke.He died early yesterday morning,

’ said the Superin l

tendent. Is it true that he was half an hour bare ,headed in the sun at midday PYes,

’ said I, but do you happen to know if hehad anything upon him by any chance when hedied PNot to my knowledge,

’ said the Superintendent.And there the matter rests.

63

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

An officer anda gentleman

IS full namewas PercivalWilliamWilliams,but he picked up the other name in anursery 'book, and that was the end of

the christened titles. His mother’s ayah called himWillie fBaba, but as he never paid the faintestattention to anything that the ayah said, herwisdomdid not help matters .His father was the Colonel of the 1 95 th, andas soon as Wee Willie Winkie was old enough tounderstand what MilitaryDiscipline meant,ColonelWilliams put him under it. There was no otherway of managing the child. When he was goodfor a week, he drew good’ conduct pay ; and whenhe was bad, he was deprived of his goodaconduct

stripe. Generally he was bad, for India offersmany chances of going wrong to little siXayearl olds .

Children resent familiarity from strangers, andWee Will ie Winkie was a very particular child.

67

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

Once he accepted an acquaintance, hewas graciouslypleased to thaw. I-Ie accepted Brandis, a subaltemof the 19 5 th, on sight. Brandis was having teaat the Colonel’s, and Wee Willie Winkie enteredstrong in the possession of a goodaconduct badgewon for not chasing the hens round the compound.He regarded Brandis with gravity for at leas t tenminutes, and then delivered himself of his opinion.

‘ I like you,’ said he slowly, getting off his chair

and coming over to Brandis . ‘ I like you. I shallcall you Coppy, because of your hair. Do youmind being called CoppyP I t is because of ve hair,you know.

’

Here was one of the most embarrassing of WeeWillie Winkie's peculiarities. He would look at as tranger for some time, and then, without warningor explanation, would give him a name. Andthe name stuck. No regimental penalties couldbreak Wee Willie Winkie of this habit. He losthis goodzconduct badge for christening the Coma

missioner's wife ‘ Pobs 3 but nothing that theColonel could do made the Station forego the nickname, and Mrs. Collen remained

‘ Pobs ’ till theend of her stay. So Brandis was christened‘ Coppy,

’ and rose, therefore, in the estimation ofthe regiment.IfWee Willie Winkie took an interest in anyone, the fortunate man was envied alike by the

68

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

mess and the rank and file. And in their envylay no suspicion of selfa interest. ‘The Colonel’sson was idolised on his own merits entirely. YetWee Willie Winkie was not lovely. His face waspermanently freckled, as his legs were permanentlyscratched, and in spite of his mother’s almosttearful remonstrances he had insisted upon havinghis long yellow locks cut short in the militaryfashion . I want my hair like SergeantTummil’s,

’

said Wee Willie Winkie, and, his father abetting,the sacrifice was accomplished.Three weeks after the bestowal of his youthfulaffections on Lieutenant Brandis—henceforward tobe called ‘ Coppy ’ for the sake of brevity—WeeWillie Winkie was destined to behold strangethings and far beyond his comprehension.Coppy returned his liking with interest. Coppyhad let him wear for five rapturous minutes hisown big sword—just as tall as Wee Willie WinkieCoppy had promised him a terrier puppy ; andCoppy had permitted him to witness the miraculousoperation of shaving. Nay, more—Coppy hadsaid that even he, Wee Willie Winkie, would risein time to the ownership of a box of shiny knives,a silver soapbox, and a silverahandled

‘sputtera

brush,’ as Wee Willie Winkie called it. Decidedly,

there was no one except his father, who could giveor take away good' conduct badges at pleasure,

69

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

half so wise, strong, and valiant as Coppy withthe Afghan and Egyptian medals on his breast.Why, then, should Coppy be gui l ty of the un i

manly weakness of kissing—vehemently kissinga big girl,

’ Miss Allardyce to w itP In the courseof a morning ride Wee Willie Winkie had seenCoppy so doing, and, like the gentleman he was ,had promptly wheeled round and cantered back tohis groom, les t the groom should also see.Under ordinary circumstances he would havespoken to his father, but he felt instinctively thatthis was a matter on which Coppy ought first tobe consulted.Coppy,

’ shouted Wee Willie Winkie, reiningup outside that subaltem ’

s bungalow early onemorning—‘

I want to see you, Coppy l‘ Come in, young

’un ,

’ returned Coppy, whowas at early breakfas t in the mids t of his dogs.‘What mischief have you been getting into now PWeeWillie Winkie had done noth ing notoriouslybad for three days, and so stood on a pinnacle ofvirtue.

‘I

’ve been doing nothing bad,

’ said he, curlinghimself into a long chair with a studious affectationof the Colonel’s languor after a hot parade. He

buried his freckled nose in a teafcup and, witheyes staring roundly over the rim, asked :

‘ I say,Coppy, is it pwoper to ki ss big girls P

70

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

‘By Iove l You

’re beginning early. Who doyou want to kiss PNo one. My muvver’

s always kissing me if Idon’t stop her. Ifi t isn't pwoper, how was youkissing Major Allardyce

's big girl last morning, by

ve canalP’

Coppy's brow wrinkled. He and Miss Allarfdyce had with great craft managed to keep theirengagement secret for a fortnight. There wereurgent and imperative reasons why Major Allar,dyce should not know how matters stood for atleast another month, and this small marplot haddiscovered a great deal too much .

‘ I saw you,’ said Wee Willie Winkie calmly.

‘But ve sais didn't see. I said,“Hut jao I

‘Oh, you had that much sense, you youngRip,

’ groaned poor Coppy, half amused and halfangry. ‘And how many people may you havetold about itP’

Only me myself. You didn’t tell when I twiedto wide ve buffalo ven my pony was lame ; and Ifought you wouldn't like.’

‘Winkie,’ said Coppy enthusiastically, shaking

the small hand,‘ you're the best of good fellows.

Look here, you can't understand all these things ,

One of these days—hang it, how can I make yousee it l—I’m going to marry Miss Allardyce, andthen she’ll be Mrs . Coppy, as you say. Ifyour

7 1

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

young mind is so scandalised at the idea of kissingbig girls, go and tell your father.

’

‘What will happen P sai d Wee Willie Winkie,who firmly believed that his father was omnipotent.

‘ I shall get into trouble,’ said Coppy, playing

his trump card with an appealing look at theholder of the ace.

‘Ven I won’t,’ said Wee Willie Winkie briefly.

‘ But my faver says it's unfman aly to be alwayskissing, and I didn

’t fink you’d do vat, Coppy.

’

‘I'm not always kissing, old chap. It

’s onlynow and then, and when you

’re bigger you’l l doit too. Your father meant it’s not good for littleboys.’

‘

Ah l' said Wee Willie Winkie, now fully en ,

lightened. It’s l ike ve sputterfbrush P‘Exactly,

’ said Coppy gravely.

‘ But I don’t fink I’ll ever want to kiss big girls,nor no one,

’cept my muvver. And I must vat,you know.

’

There was a long pause, broken by Wee WillieWinkie.Are you fond of vis big girl, CoppyP

‘Awfully l

’ said Coppy.

‘Fonder van you are of Bell or ve Butcha—or

meP’

‘ It's in a different way,’ said Coppy.

‘ Yousee, one of these days Miss Allardyce will belong

7 2

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

virtuous for three weeks. Then the Old Adambroke out, and he made what he called a

‘ campfire at the bottom of the garden. How could hehave foreseen that the flying sparks would havelighted the Colonel’s li ttle hayarick and consumeda week’s store for the horses ? Sudden and swiftwas the punishment—deprivation of the good ,conduct badge and, most sorrowful of all, twodays' confinement to barracks—the house andveranda—coupled with the withdrawal of thelight of his father’s countenance.He took the sentence l ike the man he strove to

be, drew himself up with a quivering underalip,saluted, and, once clear of the room, ran to weepbitterly in his nursery—called by him my quarters.’

Coppy came in the afternoon and attempted to con ,sole the culprit.

‘

I’

m under awwest,’ said Wee Willie Winkie

mournfully, and I didn't ought to speak to you.

’

Very early the next morning he climbed on tothe roof of the house—that was not forbiddenand beheld Miss Allardyce going for a ride.

‘Where are you goingP’ cr ied Wee Willie

Winki e.‘ Across the river,

’ she answered, and trottedforward.Now the cantonment in which the 1 95 th laywas bounded on the north by a river—dry in the

7 4

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

winter. From his earliest years ,WeeWillieWinkiehad been forbidden to go across the river, and hadnoted that even Coppy—the almost almightyCoppy—had never set foot beyond it. Wee WillieWinkie had once been read to, out of a big bluebook, the history of the Princess and the Goblins—a most wo derful tale of a land where theGoblins were l ays warring with the children ofmen until they were defeated by one Curdie. Eversince that date i t seemed to him that the bare blackand purple hills across the river were inhabited byGoblins, and, in truth, every one had said thatthere l ived the Bad Men. Even in his own housethe lower halves of the windows were covered withgreen paper on account of the Bad Men who might,if allowed clear view, fire into peaceful drawing,rooms and comfortable bedrooms. Certainly,beyond the river, which was the end of all theEarth, l ived the Bad Men . And here was MajorAllardyce

’

s big girl, Coppy’s property, preparing

to venture into their borders ! What wouldCoppy say if anything happened to her ? IftheGoblins ran off with her as they did with Curdie’sPrincess P She must at all hazards be turnedback.The house was still. Wee Willie Winkie ref

flectedfor a moment on the very terrible wrath ofhis father ; and then—broke his arrest ! I t was a

7 5

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

crime unspeakable. The low sun threwhis shadow,

very large and very black, on the trim garden»paths, as he went down to the stables and orderedhis pony. It seemed to him in the hush of thedawn that all the big world had been hidden tostand still and look at Wee Willie Winkie guiltyof mutiny. The drowsy sais gave him his mount,and, since the one great sin made all others ina

significant, Wee Willie Winkie said that he wasgoing to ride over to Coppy Sahib, and went outat a footfpace, stepping on the soft mould of theflowerzborders.

The devastating track of the pony’s feet was thelas t misdeed that cut him off from all sympathy ofHumanity. He turned into the road, leaned for,ward, and rode as fast as the pony could put footto the ground in the direction of the river.But the liveli est of twelveatwo ponies can doli ttle against the long canter of a Waler. MissAllardyce was far ahead, had passed through thecrops, beyond the Policeaposts, when all the guardswere asleep, and her mount was scattering thepebbles of the riverabedas Wee Willie Winkie leftthe cantonment 'and British India behind him.

Bowed forward and still flogging, Wee WillieWinkie shot into Afghan territory, and could justsee Miss Al lardyce, a black speck, flickering acrossthe stony plain . The reason of herwandexi ngwas

7 6

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

simple enough. Coppy, in a tone of too thastilyz

assumed authority, had told her overnight that shemust not ride out by the river. And she hadgone to prove her own spirit and teach Coppya lesson.Almost at the foot of the inhospitable hills,Wee Willie Winkie saw the Waler blunder andcome down heavily. Miss Allardyce struggledclear, but her ankle had been severely twisted, andshe could not stand. Having fully shown herspirit, she wept, and was surprised by the apparitionof a white, wideaeyed child in khaki, on a nearlyspent pony.

‘ Are you badly, badly hurtedP’ shouted Wee

Willie Winkie, as soon as he was within range.You didn’t ought to be here.’

‘ I don’t know,

’ said Miss Allardyce ruefully,ignoring the reproof. Good gracious, child, whatare you doing here P

‘You said you was going acwoss ve wiver,’

panted Wee Willie Winkie, throwing himself offhis pony. And nobody—not even Coppy—mustgo acwoss ve wiver, and I came after you ever sohard, but you wouldn

’t s top, and now you’ve

hurted yourself, and Coppy will be angwywiv me,and—I’ve bwoken my awwest ! I've bwoken myawwest !

’

The future Colonel of the 1 95 th sat down and

7 7

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

sobbed. In spite of the pain in her ankle the girlwas moved.Have you ridden all the way from cantonments,

li ttle man P What for P’

You belonged to Coppy. Coppy told me so I ’

wailed Wee Willie Winkie disconsolately. ‘ I sawhim kissing you, and he said he was fonder of youvan Bell or ve Butcha or me. And so I came.You must get up and come back. You didn’tought to be here. Vis is a bad place, and I

’vebwoken my awwest.

’

‘ I can't move, Winkie,’ said Miss Allardyce,

with a groan. I've hurt my foot. What shall Ido P

'

She showed a readiness to weep anew, whichsteadied Wee Will ie Winkie,who had been broughtup to bel ieve that tears were the depth of unmanli,

ness. Still, when one is as great a sinner as WeeWillie Winkie, even a man may be permitted tobreak down .

‘Winkie,’ said Miss Allardyce,

‘when you’verested a little, ride back and tell them to send outsomething to carry me back in . It hurts fear,fully.

’

The child sat still for a little time and MissAllardyce closed her eyes ; the pain was nearlymaking her faint. She was roused by Wee Will ieWinkie tying up the reins on his pony’s neck and

7 8

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

setting i t free with a vicious cut of his whip thatmade it whicker. The little animal headed towardsthe cantonments.Oh, Winkie, what are you doingP

'

Hush I said Wee Willie Winkie. ‘Vere’s aman coming—one of ve BadMen. I must stayw ivyou. Myfaver says a man must always look after agirl. lack wil l go home, and ven vey

’

ll come andlook for us. Vat’s why I let him go.

’

Not one man but two or three had appearedfrom behind the rocks of the hills, and the heartof Wee Willie Winkie sank within him, for justin this manner were the Goblins wont to steal outand vex Curdie’s soul. Thus had they played inCurdie’s garden—he had seen the picture—andthus had they fri ghtened the Princess’s nurse. He

heard them talking to each other, and recognisedwi th joy the bastard Pushto that he had picked upfrom one of his father’s grooms lately dismissed.People who spoke that tongue could not be theBad Men. They were only natives after all.They came up to the boulders on which Miss

Allardyce's horse had blundered.

Then rose from the rock Wee Willie Winkie,child of the Dominant Race, aged six and threeaquarters, and said briefly and emphatically

‘

j ao !

The pony had crossed the riverrbed.

The men laughed, and laughter from natives

7 9

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

was the one thing Wee Willie Winkie could nottolerate. He asked them what they wanted andwhy they did not depart. Other men with mostevil faces and crookedastocked guns crept out ofthe shadows of the hills, till, soon, Wee WillieWinkie was face to face with an audience sometwenty strong. Miss Allardyce screamed.Who are you P said one of the men.I am the Colonel Sahib’s son, and my order is

that you go at once. You black men are frighten ;ing the Miss Sahib. One of you must run intocantonments and take the news that the MissSahib has hurt herself, and that the Colonel

’s sonis here with her.’

Put our feet into the trap ? ’ was the laughingreply. Hear this boy’s speech I

‘ Say that I sent you—I, the Colonel’s son.

They will give you money.

’

‘What is the use of this talkP Take up thechild and the girl, and we can at least ask for theransom. Ours are the villages on the heights,

’ saida voice in the background.These were the Bad Men—worse than Goblinsand it needed all Wee Willie Winkie’

s trainingto prevent him from brusting into tears. Buthe felt that to cry before a native, exceptingonly his mother's ayah, would be an infamygreater than any mutiny. Moreover, he, as future

80

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

to take the message and get a reward. I saythat this child is their God, and that they willspare none of us, nor our women, if we harm him.

’

It was Din Mahommed, the dismissed groomofthe Colonel, who made the diversion, and anangry and heated discussion followed. Wee WillieWinkie, standing over Miss Allardyce, waited theupshot. Surely his ‘

wegiment,’ his own ‘

wegif

ment,’ would not desert him if they knew of his

extremity.

The riderless pony brought the news to the1 95th, though there had been consternation in theColonel’s household for an hour before. The littlebeast came in through the paradefground in frontof the main barracks, where the men were settlingdown to play Spoilafive till the afternoon. Devlin,the Coloun Sergeant of E Company, glanced atthe empty saddle and tumbled through the barrack'rooms, kicking up each Room Corporal as hepassed. ‘

Up, ye beggars ! There’s something

happened to the Colonel’s son,’ he shouted.

He couldn’t fall off ! S ’elp me, e couldn’t fall

off,’ blubbered '

a drummeraboy. Go an’ hunt

acrost the river. He’s over there if he’s anywhere,an

'maybe those Pathans have got ’im . For the

love 0’ Gawd don’t look for ’im in the nullahs I

Let’s go over the river.’

82

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

‘There’s sense in Mott yet,’ said Devlin. ‘

E

Company, double out to the river—sharp I50 E Company, in its shirt f sleeves mainly,doubled for the dear life, and in the rear toiled theperspiring Sergeant, adjuring it to double yet faster.The cantonment was alive with the men of the1 9 5 th hunting for Wee Willie Winkie, and theColonel finally overtook E Company, far tooexhausted to swear, struggling in the pebbles ofthe riverabed.

Up the hill under which Wee Willie Winkie’s

Bad Men were discussing the wisdom of carryingoff the child and the girl, a looko ut fired twoshots .

‘What have I saidP’ shouted Din Mahommed.

There is the warning I Thepulton are out alreadyand are coming across the plain ! Get away I

Let us not be seen with the boy.’

The men waited for an instant, and then, asanother shot was fired, withdrew into the hills,s ilently as they had appeared.

‘The wegiment is coming,’ said Wee Willie

Winkie confidently to Miss Allardyce, and it’s all

W ight. Don’t cwy l'

He needed the advice himself, for ten minuteslater, when his father came up, he was weepingbitterly with his head in Miss Allardyce

’s lap.

And the men of the 1 95 th carried him home

8 3

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

with shouts and rejoicings ; and Coppy, who hadridden a horse into a lather, met him, and, to hisin tense disgust, kissed him openly in the presenceof the men.

But there was balm for his dignity. His fatherassured him that not only would the breaking ofarrest be condoned, but that the good'conduct

badge would be restored as soon as his mothercould sew it on his blouseasleeve. Miss Al lardycehad told the Colonel a story that made him proudof his son.She belonged to you, Coppy,

’ said Wee WillieWinkie, indicating Miss Allardyce with a grimyforefinger. ‘ I knew she didn’t ought to go acwoss

ve wiver, and I knew ve wegimentwould come tome if I sent lack home.

’

You’re a hero, Winkie,’ said Coppy a puhha

ha o l’

‘ I don’t know what vat means,’ said Wee Willie

Winkie, but you mustn’t call me Winkie any no

more. I'm PercivalWill'am Will’ams.’

And in this manner did Wee Willie Winkieenter into his manhood.

8 4

BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP

Baa Baa, Black Sheep,Have you any wool ?Yes, S1r, yes, Sir, three bags ful l.One for the Master, one for the DameNone for the L ittle Boy that cri es down the lane.

Nursery Rhyme.

THE Fmsr BAG

When I was in my father’s house, I was in a better place.

HEY were putting Punch to bed—the ayahand the hamal and Meeta, the big Surtiboy, with the red and gold turban. Judy,

already tucked inside her mosquito « curtains, wasnearly asleep. Punch had been allowed to stay upfor dinner. Many privileges had been accordedto Punch within the last ten days, and a greaterkindness from the people of his world had encoma

passed his ways and works, which were mostlyobstreperous. He sat on the edge of his bed andswung his bare legs defiantly.

8 5


‘Punch fbaba going to bye ' lo P

’ said the ayahsuggestively.No,

’ said Punch. ‘Punch ababa wants the

story about the Ranee that was turned into a tiger.Meeta must tell it, and the hamal shall hide behindthe door and make tigerl noises at the proper time.

’

But Iudy'baba will wake up,’ said the ayah.

Iudyfbaba is waked,’ piped a small voice from

the mosquitoacurtains.‘There was a Ranee that

lived at Delhi. Go on, Meeta,’ and she fell fast

asleep again while Meeta began the story.Never had Punch secured the tell ing of thattale with so little opposition. I-Ie reflected for along time. The hamal made the tigerznoises intwenty different keys.

'Top I

’ said Punch authoritatively.

‘Whydoesn't Papa come in and say he is going to giveme putrputP

'

Punchababa is going away,’ said the ayah. In

another week there will be no Punchfbaba to pullmy hair any more.’ She sighed softly, for the boyof the household was very dear to her heart.

‘

Up the Ghauts in a train ?’ said Punch,

standing on his bed. ‘All the way to Nassick

where the RaneeaTiger lives P‘Not to Nassick this year, li ttle Sahib,

’ saidMeeta, lifting him on his shoulder.

‘Down tothe sea where the cocoafnuts are thrown, and across

86


the sea in a big ship. Will you take Meeta withyou to BelaitP

‘You shall all come,’ said Punch, from the

height of Meeta’s strong arms. ‘Meeta and the

ayah and the hamal and BhinifinfthefGarden, andthe salaamzCaptain fSahibasnakeaman .

’

Th ere was no mockery in Meeta’s voice when

he replied Great is the Sahib’s favour,’ and laid

the little man down in the bed, while the ayah,sitting in the moonlight at the doorway, lulledhim to sleep with an interminable canticle such asthey sing in the Roman Catholic Church at Pare!.Punch curled himself into a ball and slept.Next morning Iudy shouted that there was arat in the nursery, and thus he forgot to tell herthe wonderful news. It did not much matter, forJudy was only three and she would not haveunderstood. But Punch was five ; and he knewthat going to England would be much nicer thana tr ip to Nassick.

Papa and Mamma sold the brougham and thepiano, and stripped the house, and curtailed theallowance of crockery for the daily meals, andtook long counsel together over a bundle of lettersbearing the Rocklington postmark.

‘The worst of it is that one can’t be certain of

ything,’ said Papa, pulling his moustache. The

8 7


letters in themselves are excellent, and the termsare moderate enough.’

‘The worst of it is that the children will growup away from me,

’ thought Mamma ; but she didnot say it aloud.

‘We are only one case among hundreds,’ said

Papa bitterly. You shall go Home again in fiveyears, dear.

’

Punch will be ten then—and Iudy eight.Oh, how long and long and long the time will be !And we have to leave them among strangers .’

‘Punch is a cheery li ttle chap. He’s sure to

make friends wherever he goes.’

And who could help loving my Iu PThey were s tanding over the cots in the nurserylate at night, and I think that Mamma was cryingsoftly. After Papa had gone away, she kneltdown by the side of Indy’s cot. The ayah sawher and put up a prayer that the memsahibmightnever find the love of her children taken awayfrom her and given to a stranger.Mamma's own prayer was a slightly illogicalone. Summarised it ran : ‘ Let s trangers love mychi ldren and be as good to them as I should be,but let me preserve their love and their confidencefor ever and ever. Amen.

’ Punch scratchedhimself in his sleep, and Judy moaned a little.Next day they al l went down to the sea, and

8 8


But Iudy was much worse. The day beforethe steamer reached Southampton, Mamma askedher if she would not like to see the ayah again.Indy’s blue eyes turned to the stretch of sea thathad swallowed all her tiny past, and she saidAyah ! What ayah P

'

Mamma cried over her and Punch marvelled.I t was then that he heard for the first timeMamma’s passionate appeal to him never to let

Iudy forget Mamma. Seeing that Judy wasyoung, ridiculously young, and that Mamma,every evening for four weeks past, had come intothe cabin to sing her and Punch to sleep with amysterious rune that he called Sonny, my soul,

’

Punch could not understand what Mamma meant.But he strove to do his duty ; for, the momentMamma left the cabin, he said to Judy : Iu, youbemember Mamma P

’Torse I do,’ said Judy.

Then alwaysbememberMamma, r else I won’t

give you the paper ducks that the reda haired

Captain Sahib cut out for me.’

So Iudy promised always to‘bemember

Mamma.’

Many and many a time was Mamma’s com ;

mand laid upon Punch, and Papa would say thesame thing with an insistence that awed thechild.

90


‘You must make haste and learn to write,Punch,

’ said Papa,‘ and then you’l l be able to

write letters to us in Bombay.

’

‘ I’ll come into your room,

’ said Punch, andPapa choked.Papa and Mamma were always choking in thosedays. If Punch took Iudy to task for not bemem ,

bering,’ they choked. If Punch sprawled on the

sofa in the Southampton lodging l house andsketched his future in purple and gold, theychoked ; and so they did if Iudy put up hermouth for a kiss.Th rough many days all four were vagabonds on

the face of the earth -Punch with no one to giveorders to, Iudy too young for anything, and Papaand Mamma grave, distrac ted, and choking.

‘Where,’ demanded Punch, wearied of a loath ,

some contrivance on four wheels with a mound ofluggage atop where is our broomagharri P Thisthing talks so much that I can't talk. Where isour own broomagharri P When I was at Band»stand before we comed away, I asked InveraritySahib why he was sitting in it, and he said i t washis own. And I said,

“ I will give i t you -I l ikeInverari ty Sahib—and I said, Can you put yourlegs through the pullyawag loopsbythewindows P

"

And Inverarity Sahib said No, and laughed. I canput my legs through the pullyawag loops. I can

9 1


put my legs through these pullyfwag loops. Look !Oh, Mamma

’s crying again ! I didn’t know I

wasn’t not to do so.’

Punch drew his legs out of the loops of thefourawheeler : the door opened and he slid to theearth, in a cascade of parcels, at the door of anaustere little villa whose gates bore the legendDowne Lodge. ’ Punch gathered himself togetherand eyed the house with disfavour. It stood on asandy road, and a cold wind tickled his kn ickerobockeredlegs.

‘ Let us go away,’ said Punch. ‘This is not a

pretty place.’

But Mamma and Papa and Judy had left thecab, and all the luggage was being taken into thehouse. At the doorstep stood a woman in black,and she smiled largely, with dry chapped lips.Behind her was a man, big, bony, gray, and lameas to one leg—behind him a boy of twelve, black,haired and oily in appearance. Punch surveyedthe trio, and advanced without fear, as he had beenaccustomed to do in Bombay when callers cameand he happened to be playing in the veranda.

‘How do you do P

’ said he. ‘ I am Punch.

’

But they were all looking at the luggage allexcept the gray man,who shook hands with Punch,and said he was a smart 1ittlefellow.

’ There wasmuch running about and banging of boxes, and

92


nodded at each other when they met, and the grayman showed him a little ship with rigging that tookup and down.

‘ She is a model of the Brish—the little Briskthat was sore exposed that day at Navarino.’ Thegray man hummed the last words and fell into ar everie. I’l l tell you about Navarino, Punch,whenw e go for walks together ; and you mustn

’t touchthe ship, because she

’s the Brisk.

’

Long before that walk, the first of many, wastaken, they roused Punch and Judy in the chilldawn of a February morning to say Goodrbye ;and of all people in the wide earth to Papa andMamma—both crying this time. Punch was verys leepy and Judy was cross.

‘Don’t forget us,’ pleaded Mamma. ‘Oh, my

little son, don't forget us, and see that Iudy

remembers too.’‘ I’ve told Judy to bemember,

’ said Punch,w riggling, for his father

’s beard tickled his neck,‘ I’ve told Indy—ten—forty— 'leven thousandtimes. But Iu’s so young—quite a baby—isn’tshe P

’

‘Yes,’ said Papa,

‘ quite a baby, and you mustbe good to Judy, and make haste to learn to writeand—and—andPunch was back in his bed again. Iudy was

fast asleep, and there was the rattle of a cab below.

94


Papa andMamma had gone away. Not toNassick ;that was across the sea. To some place muchnearer, of course, and equally of course they wouldreturn. They came back after dinneraparties, andPapa had come back after he had been to a placecalled ‘The Snows,

’ and Mamma with him, toPunch and Judy at Mrs. Inverarity

’s house in

Marine Lines. Assuredly they would come backagain. So Punch fell asleep till the true morning,when the blackf haired boy met him with theinformation that Papa and Mamma had gone toBombay, and that he and Judy were to stayat Downe Lodge ‘ for ever.’

Antirosa, tearfullyappealed to for a contradiction, said that Harryhad spoken the truth, and that it behoved Punchto fold up his clothes neatly on going to bed.Punch went out and wept bitterly with Judy, intowhose fair head he had driven some ideas of themeaning of separation.When a matured man discovers that he has beendeserted by Providence, deprived of his God, andcast without help, comfort, or sympathy, upon aworld which is new and strange to him, his despair,which may find expression in evilaliving, the writingof his experiences, or the more satisfactory diversionof suicide, is generally supposed to be impressive.A child, under exactly similar circumstances as faras its knowledge goes, cannot very well curse God

95


and die. It howls till its nose is red, its eyes aresore, and its head aches . Punch and Judy, throughno fault of their own, had lost all their world.They sat in the hall and cried ; the blackahaired

boy looking on from afar.The model of the ship availed nothing, thoughthe gray man assured Punch that he might pull therigging up and down as much as he pleased ; and

Iudy was promised free entry into the kitchen ,

They wanted Papa and Mamma gone to Bombaybeyond the seas, and their grief while it lasted waswithout remedy.

When the tears ceased the house was very still.Antirosa had decided that it was better to let thechildren have their cry out,

’ and the boy had goneto school. Punch raised his head from the floorand sniffed mournfully. Iudy was nearly asleep.Three short years had not taught her how to bearsorrow with full knowledge. There was a distant,dull boom in the air—a repeated heavy thud.Punch knew that sound in Bombay in the Mon ,soon. It was the sea—the sea that must betraversed before any one could get to Bombay.

‘

Cluick, Iu I' he cried,

‘we’re close to the sea.I can hear it ! Listen ! That’s where they’vewent. F

’raps we can catch them if we was intime. They didn't mean to go without us.

They’ve only forgot.’

96


great gray sea at low tide. Hundreds of crabswere scuttling about the beach, but there was notrace of Papa and Mamma, not even of a shipupon the waters—nothing but sand and mud formiles and miles .And ‘

Uncleharri found them by chance—verymuddy and very forlorn—Punch dissolved in tears ,but trying to divert Judy with an ‘ ickle trab,

’ andJudy wailing to the pitiless horizon for ‘Mamma,Mamma I —and again Mamma I

Ah, wellr a—day, for we are souls bereaved !Ofall the creatures under Heaven's wide scopeWe are most hopeless, who hadonce most hope,And most behefless, who hadmost be11eved.

The Ci ty ofDreadful Night.

ALL this time not a word about Black Sheep.He came later, and Harry the blackzhairedboy wasmainly responsible for his coming.Iudy—who could help loving little IudyP

passed, by special permit, into the kitchen andthence straight to Aunty Rosa’s heart. Harry wasAunty Rosa

’s one child, and Punch was the extraboy about the house. There was no special place

98


for him or his little affairs, and he was forbiddento sprawl on sofas and explain his ideas about themanufacture of this world and his hopes for hisfuture. Sprawling was lazy and wore out sofas,and little boys were not expected to talk. Theywere talked to, and the talking to was intended forthe benefi t of their morals. As the unquestioneddespot of the house at Bombay, Punch could notquite understand how he came to be of no accountin this his new life.Harry might reach across the table and takewhat he wanted ; Iudy might point and get whatshe wanted. Punch was forbidden to do either.The gray man was his great hope and standby formany months after Mamma and Papa left, and hehad forgotten to tell Judy to bemember Mamma.’

This lapse was excusable, because in the intervalhe had been introduced by Aunty Rosa to two veryimpressive things—an abstraction called God, theintimate friend and ally of Aunty Rosa, generallybelieved to live behind the kitchenfrange because itwas hot there—and a dirty brown book filled withunintelligible dots and marks. Punch was alwaysanxious to oblige everybody. He therefore weldedthe story of the Creation on to what he could recolflect of his Indian fairy tales, and scandalised AuntyRosa by repeating the result to Iudy. It was as in, a grievous sin, and Punch was talked to for

99


a quarter of an hour. He could not understandwhere the iniquity came in, but was careful not torepeat the offence, because Aunty Rosa told himthat God had heard every word he had said andwas very angry. If this were true why didn’t Godcome and say so, thought Punch, and dismissedthe matter from his mind. Afterwards he learnedto know the Lord as the only thing in the worldmore awful than Aunty Rosa—as a Creature thatstood in the background and counted the strokesof the cane.But the reading was, jus t then, a much moreserious matter than any creed . Aunty Rosa sathim upon a table and told him that A B meant ab.

‘WhyP' said Punch. ‘ A is a and B is bee.

l/Vhy does A B mean abP’

‘ Because I tell you it does,’ said Aunty Rosa,

and you've got to say it.’

Punch said it accordingly, and for a month,hugely against his will, stumbled through thebrown book, not in the least comprehending whatit meant. But Uncle Harry, who walked muchand generally alone, was wont to come into thenursery and suggest to Aunty Rosa that Punchshould walk with him . He seldom spoke, but heshowed Punch all Rocklington, from the mud,banks and the sand of the backfbay to the greatharbours where ships lay at anchor, and the dock»

100


shoes. ‘It wasn’t my fault,

’ he explained to theboy, but both Harry and Aunty Rosa said thatit was, and that Punch had told tales, and fora week there were no more walks with UncleHarry.

But that week brought a great joy to Punch.He had repeated till he was thrice weary thestatement that ‘ the Cat lay on the Mat and theRat came in.

’

‘Now I can truly read,’ said Punch, and now

I will never read anything in the world.’

He put the brown book in the cupboard wherehis schoolfbooks lived and accidentally tumbledout a venerable volume, without covers, labelledSharpe

'sMagazine. There was the most portentous

picture of a griffin on the first page, with versesbelow. The griffin carried offone sheep a dayfrom a German village, till a man came with a‘ falchion ' and split the gri ffin open. Goodnessonly kn ew what a falchion was, but there wasthe Griffin, and his history was an improvementupon the eternal Cat.

‘This,’ said Pun ch,

‘ means things, and now Iwill know all about everything in all the world.’

He read till the light failed, not understanding atithe of the meaning, but tantalised by gl impses ofnew worlds hereafter to be revealed.

‘What is a “ falchion ” P What is a eawee

102


lamb P What is a base ussurper P What isa verdant mezad " P’ he demanded with flushedcheeks, at bedtime, of the astonished Aunty Rosa.Say your prayers and go to sleep,

’ she replied,and that was all the help Punch then or afterwardsfound at her hands in the new and delightfulexercise of reading.

‘Aunty Rosa only knows about God and thingslike that,

’ argued Punch. ‘Uncle Harry will tellme. ’

The next walk proved that Uncle Harry couldnot help either ; but he allowed Punch to talk,and even sat down on a bench to hear about theGriffin. Other walks brought other stories asPunch ranged farther afield, for the house heldlarge store of old books that no one ever opened—from Frank Fairlegh in serial numbers, and theearlier poems of Tennyson, contributed anony,

mously to Sharpe’

s Magazine, to’62 Exhibition

Catalogues, gay with colours and delightfullyincomprehensible, and odd leaves of Gulliver

’s

Travels.As soon as Punch could string a few potzhooks

together he wrote to Bombay, demanding byreturn of post all the books in all the world.’

Papa could not comply with this modest indent,but sent Grimm’

s Fairy Tales and a Hans Ander,sen. That was enough. If he were only left

103


alone Punch could pass, at any hour he chose,into a land of his own , beyond reach of AuntyRosa and her God, Harry and his teasements, and

Iudy’s claims to be played with.Don’t disturve me, I

'm reading. Go and play

in the kitchen,’ grunted Punch. Aunty Rosa let’s

you go there.’ Iudy was cutting her second teeth

and was fretful. She appealed to Aunty Rosa,who descended on Punch.

‘ I was reading,’ he explained,

‘ reading a bookI want to read }

‘ You’re only doing that to show off,’ said

Aunty Rosa. ‘ But we’ll see. Play with Judynow, and don

't open a book for a week.’

Iudy did not pass a very enjoyable playtimewith Punch, who was consumed with indignation.There was a pettiness at the bottom of the profhibition which puzzled him.

‘ It's what I l ike to do,’ he said,

‘ and she’sfound out that and stopped me. Don't cry, Iui t wasn’t your fault—please don

’t cry, or she’ll say

I made you.

’

Iu loyally mopped up her tears, and the twoplayed in their nursery, a room in the basementand half underground, to which they were regularlysent after the mid'day dinner while Aunty Rosaslept. She drank wine—that is to say, somethingfrom a bottle in the cellaret—for her stomach’s

104


then and there over the shoulders. It was a revela,tion to him. The roomzdoorwas shut, and he wasleft to weep himself into repentance and work outhis own gospel of li fe.Aunty Rosa, he argued, had the power to beat

him with many stripes. It was unjust and cruel,and Mamma and Papa would never have allowedit. Unless perhaps, as Aunty Rosa seemed toimply, they had sent secret orders. In which casehe was abandoned indeed. It would be discreet inthe future to propitiate Aunty Rosa, but, then,again, even in matters in which he was innocent,he had been accused of wishing to show off.’

He

had ‘ shown off ’ before visitors when he hadattacked a strange gentleman—I-Iarry

’

s uncle, nothis own—with requests for information about theGriffin and the falchion, and the precise nature ofthe Tilbury in which Frank Fairlegh rode— allpoints of paramount interest which he was burstingto understand. Clearly it would not do to pretendto care for Aunty Rosa.At this point I-Iarry entered and stood afar off,eyeing Punch, a dishevelled heap in the com er ofthe room, with disgust.You’re a liar—a young liar,

’ said Harry, withgreat unction,

‘ and you’re to have tea down herebecause you’re not fit to speak to us. Andyou’re not to speak to Indy again ti ll Mother

106


gives you leave. You’l l corrupt her. You ’reonly fit to associate with the servant. Mothersays so.

’

Having reduced Punch to a second agony oftears, Harry departed upstairs with the news thatPunch was still rebellious.Uncle Harry sat uneasily in the dining ’ room .

‘Damn it all, Rosa,’ said he at last,

‘ can’t youleave the child alone P He’s a good enough littlechap when I meet him.

’

He puts on his best manners with you, Henry,’

said Aunty Rosa, but I’

m afraid, I’m very much

afraid, that he is the Black Sheep of the family.

’

Harry heard and stored up the name for futureuse. Iudy cried til l she was bidden to stop, herbrother not being worth tears ; and the eveningconcluded with the return of Punch to the upperregions and a private sitting at which all the blind ,ing horrors of Hell were revealed to Punch withsuch store of imagery as Aunty Rosa’s narrowmind possessed.Most grievous of all was Judy's roundaeyed

reproach, and Punch went to bed in the depths ofthe Valley of Humiliation. He shared his roomwith Harry and knew the torture in store. For

an hour and a half he had to answer that younggentleman’s questions as to his motives for tellinga lie, and a grievous l ie, the precise quantity of

107


punishment infl icted by Aunty Rosa, and had alsoto profess his deep gratitude for such religiousinstruction as Harry thought fit to impart.From that day began the downfall of Punch,now Black Sheep.

‘Untrustworthy in one thing, untrustworthy inall,

’ said Aunty Rosa, and Harry felt that BlackSheep was delivered into his hands. He wouldwake him up in the night to ask him why he wassuch a liar.

‘ I don’t know,

’ Punch would reply.‘Then don’t you think you ought to get up andpray to God for a new heart P

‘Yayess.

’

‘Get out andpray, then I' And Punch would

get out of bed with raging hate in his heart againstall the world, seen and unseen. He was alwaystumbling into trouble. Harry had a knack ofcrossaexamining him as to his day

’s doings, whichseldom failed to lead him, sleepy and savage, intohalft a’dozen contradictions—all duly reported toAunty Rosa next morning.

‘ But it wasn’t a lie,’ Punch would begin,

charging into a laboured explanation that landedhim more hopelessly in the mire. ‘ I said that Ididn’t say my prayers twice over in the day, andthat was on Tuesday. Once I did. I know I did,but Harry said I didn’t,

’ and so forth, t ill the

108


Always P Not outside of the times when youmustn’t speak to me at all PIudy nodded her head mournfully. Black

S heep turned away in despair, but Iudy’

s armswere round his neck.

‘Never mind, Punch,’ she whispered. ‘ I will

s peak to you just the same as ever and ever.You’re my own own brother though you arethough Aunty Rosa says you’re bad, andHarrys ays you are a li ttle coward . He says that if I

pulled your hair hard, you’d cry.

’

Pull, then,’ said Punch.

Iudy pulled gingerly.

‘ Pull harder—as hard as you can I There ! Idon't mind how much you pull it now. If you'l lspeak to me same as ever I’l l let you pull i t asmuch as you like—pull it out if you l ike. But I

know if Harry came and stood by and made youdo it I’dcry.

’

So the two children sealed the compact with akiss, and Black Sheep

’s heart was cheered withinhim, and by extreme caution and careful avoidanceof Harry he acquired virtue, and was allowed toread undisturbed for a week. Uncle Harry tookhim for walks, and consoled him with rough tender,ness, never calling him Black Sheep. It’s good foryou, I suppose, Punch,

’ he used to say. ‘ Let uss it down. I

’

m getting tir ed.’ His steps led him

1 10


now not to the beach, but to the Cemetery ofRocklington , amid the potato «fie1ds. For hoursthe gray man would sit on a tombstone, whileBlack Sheep would read epitaphs, and then wi th as igh would stump home again.

‘ I shall lie there soon,’ said he to Black Sheep,

one winter evening, when his face showed white asa worn silver coin under the light of the lychagate.

You needn’t tell Aunty Rosa. ’

A month later he turned sharp round, ere halfa morning walk was completed, and stumped backto the house. Put me to bed, Rosa,

’ he muttered.I’ve walked my last. The wadding has found meout.’

They put him to bed, and for a fortnight theshadow of his sickness lay upon the house, andBlack Sheep went to and fro unobserved. Papahad sent him some new books, and he was told tokeep quiet. He retired into his own world, andwas perfectly happy. Even at night his felicitywas unbroken. He could lie in bed and stringhimself tales of travel and adventure while Harrywas downstairs.

‘Uncle Harry’s going to die,’ said Iudy, who

now lived almost entirely with Aunty Rosa.I'm very sorry,

’ said Black Sheep soberly. He

told me that a long time ago.’

Aunty Rosa heard the conversation.‘Will

1 1 1


nothing check your wicked tongue P’ she said

angrily. There were blue circles round her eyes.Black Sheep retreated to the nursery and read

Cometh up as a Flower with deep and uncompre,

hending interest. He had been forbidden to openit on account of its ‘ s infulness,

’ but the bonds ofthe Universe were crumbling, and Aunty Rosa wasin great grief.

‘I

’

m glad,’ said Black Sheep. ‘ She's unhappy

now. It wasn't a lie, though. I knew. He toldme not to tell. ’

That night Black Sheep woke with a start.Harry was not in the room, and there was a soundof sobbing on the next floor. Then the voice ofUncle Harry, singing the song of the Battle ofNavarino, came through the darkness

Our vansh ip was the AsiaTh e Albion andGenoa I

‘ He’s getting well,’ thought Black Sheep, who

knew the song through all its seventeen verses.But the blood froze at his little heart as he thought.The voice leapt an octave, and rang shrill as aboatswain’s pipe

And next came on the lovely Rose,The Philomel, her fi re—sh1p, closed,And the little Br1sk was sore exposedThat day atNavarino.

’

Th at day at Navarino, Uncle Harry I shouted

1 1 2


tion, he went to school only to find that Harry’s

version of his character had preceded him, and thatlife was a burden in consequence. He took stockof his associates. Some of them were unclean,some of them talked in dialect, many droppedtheir h’

s, and there were two Jews and a negro,or some one quite as dark, in the assembly.‘That's a hubshi,

’ said Black Sheep to himself.Even Meeta used to laugh at a hubshi. [ don’tthink this is a proper place.’

He was indignantfor at least an hour, till he reflected that anyexpostulation on his part would be by Aunty Rosaconstrued into ‘ showing off,

’ and that Harrywould tell the boys.

‘

!How do you like school P said Aunty Rosa atthe end of the day.

‘ I think it is a very nice place,’ said Punch

quietly.I suppose you warned the boys of Black Sheep’s

character P said Aunty Rosa to Harry.Oh yes,

’ said the censor of Black Sheep’s morals.‘They know all about him.

’

‘IfI was with my father,

’ said Black Sheep,stung to the Quick,

‘ I shouldn’t speak to thoseboys. He wouldn’t let me. They live in shops.I saw them go into shops—where their fathers l iveand sell things.’

‘You’re too good for that school, are you P’

1 1 4


said Aunty Rosa,with a bitter smile. You oughtto be grateful, Black Sheep, that those boys speakto you at all. It isn't every school that takes l ittleliars. ’

Harry did not fail to make much capital outof Black Sheep’s illaconsidered remark ; with theresult that several boys, including the hubshi,demonstrated to Black Sheep the eternal equalityof the human race by smacking his head, andhis consolation from Aunty Rosa was that it‘ served him right for being vain.’

He learned,however, to keep his opinions to himself, and bypropitiating Harry in carrying books and the l iketo get a little peace. His existence was not toojoyful. From nine till twelve he was at school,and from two to four, except on Saturdays. Inthe evenings he was sent down into the nurseryto prepare his lessons for the next day, and everynight came the dreaded cross f questionings atHarry’s hand. OfIudy he saw but little. Shewas deeply religious—at six years of age Religionis easy to come by—and sorely divided betweenher natural love for Black Sheep and her love forAunty Rosa, who could do no wrong.The lean woman returned that love withinterest, and Judy, when she dared, took advan ,

tage ofthis for the remission of Black Sheep’spenalties. Failures in lessons at school were

1 1 5


punished at home by a week without reading otherthan school l books, and Harry brought the newsof such a failure with glee. Further, Black Sheepwas then bound to repeat his lessons at bedtime toHarry, who generally succeeded in making himbreak down, and consoled him by gloomiest fore,bodings for the morrow. Harry was at oncespy, practical joker, inquisitor, and Aunty Rosa

'sdeputy executioner. He filled his many posts toadmiration. From his actions, now that UncleHarry was dead, there was no appeal. BlackSheep had not been permitted to keep any self,respect at school at home he was, of course, utterlydiscredited, and grateful for any pity that theservant girls—they changed frequently at DowneLodge because they, too, were liars —might show.

You’re just fit to row in the same boat with BlackSheep,

’ was a sentiment that each new Iane orEliza might expect to hear, before a month wasover, from Aunty Rosa

's lips ; and Black Sheepwas used to ask new gir ls whether they had yetbeen compared to him . Harry was ‘MasterHarry in their mouths ; Indy was officially MissIndy but Black Sheep was never anything morethan Black Sheep tout court.As time went on and the memory of Papa andMamma became wholly overlaid by the unpleasanttask of wri ting them letters , under Aunty Rosa

’s

1 1 6


exultant. Aunty Rosa was out : pending herarrival, Harry set himself to lecture Black Sheepon the sin of murder—which he described as theoffence of Cain.

‘Why didn't you fight him fair P What didyou hit him when he was down for, you l ittlecur P

’

Black Sheep looked up at Harry's throat andthen at a knife on the dinneratable.

‘ I don ’t understand,’ he said wearily.

‘Youalways set him on me and told me I was a cowardwhen I blubbed. Will you leave me alone untilAunty Rosa comes in P She

’l l beat me if you tellher I ought to be beaten ; so it

's all right.’

‘ It’s all wrong,’ said Harry magisterially.

‘You nearly killed him, and I shouldn’t wonder

if he dies.’

‘Will he die P said Black Sheep.‘ I daresay,

’ said Harry,‘ and then you'll be

hanged, and go to Hell.’

‘All right,’ said Black Sheep, picking up the

table l knife.

‘Then I’ll ki ll you now. You saythings and do things and—and 1 don’t know howthings happen, andyou never leave me alone —andI don’t care what happens IHe ran at the boy with the knife, and Harry

fledupstairs to his room, promising Black Sheepthe finest thrashing in the world when Aunty

1 1 8


Rosa returned. Black Sheep sat at the bottom ofthe stai rs, the tableaknife in his hand, and weptfor that he had not killed Harry. The servant,girl came up from the kitchen, took the knifeaway, and consoled him . But Black Sheep wasbeyond consolation. He would be badly beatenby Aunty Rosa ; then there would be anotherbeating at Harry's hands ; then Judy would notbe allowed to speak to him ; then the tale wouldbe told at school, and thenThere was no one to help and no one to care,and the best way out of the business was by death.A knife would hurt, but Aunty Rosa had toldhim, a year ago, that if he sucked paint he woulddie. He went into the nursery, unearthed thenow disused Noah's Ark, and sucked the paintoff as many animals as remained. I t tas tedabominable, but he had licked Noah

’s Dove cleanby the time Aunty Rosa and Iudy returned. He

went upstairs and greeted them with : ‘ Please,Aunty Rosa, I believe I

’ve nearly killed a boy atschool, and I

’ve tried to kill Harry, and whenyou've done all about God and Hell, will you beatme and get it over P’

The tale of the assault as told by Harry couldonly be explained on the ground of possession bythe Devil. Wherefore Black Sheep was not onlymost excellently beaten, once by Aunty

1 1 9


once, when thoroughly cowed down, by Harry,but he was further prayed for at family prayers,together with Iane who had stolen a cold rissolefrom the pantry, and snuffled audibly as her sinwas brought before the Throne of Grace. BlackSheep was sore and stiff but triumphant. He

would die that very night and be rid of them all.No, he would ask for no forgiveness from Harry,and at bedtime would stand no questioning atHarry’s hands, even though addressed as

‘YoungCain.’

I’ve been beaten,’ said he, and I

’ve done otherthings. I don’t care what I do. If you speak tome tofnight, Harry, I

’ll get out and try to kil l you.Now you can kill me if you like.’

Harry took his bed in to the spare room, andBlack Sheep lay down to die.It may be that the makers of Noah’s Arksknow that their animals are likely to find their wayinto young mouths, and paint them accordingly.

Certain it is that the common,weary nex t morningbroke through the windows and found Black Sheepquite well and a good deal ashamed of himself,but richer by the knowledge that he could, inextremity, secure himself against Harry for thefuture.When he descended to breakfast on the firs tday of the holidays, he was greeted with the news

1 20


curtains and the flapping of doors and the creakingof shutters . He went out into the garden, andthe rustling of the laurellbushes frightened him.

He was glad when they all retumed—AuntyRosa, Harry, and Iudy

— full of news, and Judyladen with gifts. Who could help loving loyallittle IudyP In return for all her merry babble,ment, Black Sheep confided to her that the distancefrom the hall'door to the top of the first landingwas exactly one hundred and eightyafour handspans. He had found it out himself.Then the old life recommenced ; but with adifference, and a new sin. To his other in iquitiesBlack Sheep had now added a phenomenal clumsi,

ness—was as unfit to trust in action as he was inword. He himself could not account for spillingeverything he touched, upsetting glasses as he puthis hand out, and bumping his head against doorsthat were manifestly shut. There was a gray hazeupon all his world, and it narrowed month bymonth, until at last it left Black Sheep almost alonewith the flapping curtains that were so like ghosts,and the nameless terrors of broad daylight thatwere only coats on pegs after all.Holidays came and holidays went, and BlackSheep was taken to see many people whose faceswere all exactly alike ; was beaten when occasiondemanded, and tortured by Harry on all possible

1 22


occas ions ; but defended by Iudy through goodand evil report, though she hereby drew uponherself the wrath of Aunty Rosa.The weeks were interminable, and Papa andMamma were clean forgotten. Harry had leftschool and was a clerk in a Banking Office. Freedfrom his presence, Black Sheep resolved that heshould no longer be deprived of his allowance ofpleasurefreading. Consequently when he failed atschool he reported that all was well, and conceiveda large contempt for Aunty Rosa as he saw howeasy it was to deceive her. ‘ She says I’m a littleliar when I don't tell l ies, and now I do, she doesn

’tknow,

’ thought Black Sheep. Aunty Rosa hadcredited him in the past with petty cunning andstratagem that had never entered into his head.By the light of the sordid knowledge that she hadrevealed to him he paid her back full tale. In ahousehold where the most innocent of his motives,his natural yearning for a little affect ion, had beeninterpreted into a desire for more bread and jam ,

or to ingratiate himself with strangers and so putHarry into the background, his work was easy.Aunty Rosa could penetrate certain kinds of hypo ,crisy, but not all. He set his child’s wits againsthers and was no more beaten. It grew monthlymore and more of a trouble to read the school ,books, and even the pages of the openaprint story,

1 23


books danced and were dim. So Black Sheepbrooded in the shadows that fell about him andcut him off from the world, inventing horriblepunishments for ‘ dear Harry,

’ or plotting anotherline of the tangled web of deception that hewrapped round Aunty Rosa.Then the crash came and the cobwebs werebroken. It was impossible to foresee everything.Aunty Rosa made personal inquiries as to BlackSheep's progress and received information thatstartled her. Step by step, with a delight as keenas when she convicted an underfed housemaid ofthe theft of cold meats, she followed the trail ofBlack Sheep’s delinquencies. Forweeks and weeks,in order to escape banishment from the book,shelves, he had made a fool of Aunty Rosa, ofHarry, of God, of all the world ! Horrible, mosthorrible, and evidence of an utterly depravedmind.Black Sheep counted the cost. It will only beone big beating and then she’ll put a card with“ Liar ” on my back, same as she did before.Harry will whack me and pray for me, and shewill pray for me at prayers and tell me I’m a Childof the Devil and give me hymns to learn. ButI’ve done all my reading and she never knew.

She’ll say she knew all along. She’s an old liartoo,

’ said he.

1 24


turning Black Sheep’s face to the light slowly.What’s that big bird on the palings P

‘What bird P asked Black Sheep.The visitor looked deep down into BlackSheep’s eyes for half a minute, and then said sud ,

denly : Good God, the little chap’s nearly blind I

I t was a most businessflike visitor. He gaveorders, on his own responsibili ty, that Black Sheepwas not to go to school or open a book untilMamma came home. ‘ She’l l be here in threeweeks, as you know of course,

’ said he,‘ and I’m

Inverarity Sahib. I ushered you into this wickedworld, young man, and a nice use you seem tohave made of your time. You must do nothingwhatever. Can you do that P

‘ Yes,’ said Punch in a dazed way. He had

known that Mamma was coming. There was achance, then, of another beating. Thank Heaven,Papa wasn’t coming too. Aunty Rosa had said oflate that he ought to be beaten by a man.For the next three weeks Black Sheep wasstrictly allowed to do nothing. He spent his timein the old nursery looking at the broken toys, forall of which account must be rendered to Mamma.Aunty Rosa hit him over the hands if even awooden boat were broken. But that sin was ofsmall importance compared to the other revelaztions, so darkly hinted at by Aunty Rosa. When

1 26


your Mother comes, and hears what I have to tellher, she may appreciate you properly,

’ she saidgrimly, and mounted guard over Indy lest thatsmall maiden should attempt to comfort herbrother, to the peril of her soul.And Mamma came—in afounwheeler—flutteredwith tender excitement. Such a Mamma I Shewas young, frivolously young, and beautiful, withdelicatelyfflushedcheeks, eyes that shone l ike stars,and a voice that needed no appeal of outstretchedarms to draw little ones to her heart. Iudy ranstraight to her, but Black Sheep hesitated. Couldthis wonder be ‘ showing off ’ P She would notput out her arms when she knew of his crimes .Meantime was it possible that by fondling shewanted to get anything out of Black Sheep POnly all his love and all his confidence ; but thatBlack Sheep did not know. Aunty Rosa wi thdrewand left Mamma, kneeling between her children,half laughing, half crying, in the very hall wherePunch and Judy had wept five years before.Well, chicks, do you remember me P

‘No,’ said Judy frankly, but I said, God bless

Papa and Mamma ev’vy night.’

‘ A little,’ said Black Sheep. ‘Remember I

wrote to you every week, anyhow. That isn’tto show off, but

’cause of what comes after:wards. ’

12 7


‘What comes after ? What should come after,my darling boyP

' And she drew him to heragain. He came awkwardly, with many angles.Not used to petting,

’ said the quick Motherasoul.‘The girl is .’

She's too little to hurt any one,’ thought Black

Sheep,‘ and if I said I’d kill her, she

'd be afraid.I wonder what Aunty Rosa will tell. ’

There was a constrained late dinner, at the endof which Mamma picked up Judy and put her tobed with endearments manifold. Faithless littleIndy had shown her defection from Aunty Rosaalready. Andthat lady resented it bitterly. BlackSheep rose to leave the room.

‘ Come and say good'night,’ said Aunty Rosa,

offering a withered cheek.‘Huh I

’ said Black Sheep. ‘ I never kiss you,and I’m not going to show off. Tell that womanwhat I’ve done, and see what she says .

’

Black Sheep climbed into bed feeling that hehad lost Heaven after a glimpse through the gates.In half an hour ‘ that woman ’ was bending overhim. Black Sheep flung up his right arm . I twasn’t fair to c ome and hit him in the dark.Even Aunty Rosa never tried that. But no blowfollowed.Are you showing off P I won’t tell you any,

thing more than Aunty Rosa has, and she doesn't

1 28


‘Everything. What does it matter P But

the voice broke with a sob that was also laughterPunch, my poor, dear, half'blind darling, don

’tyou think it was a little foolish of you P

‘No. It saved aMamma shuddered and slipped away in thedarkness to write a long letter to Papa. Here isan extract

Indy i s a dear, plump little prig who adores thewoman, and wears with as much gravi ty as her religiousopinions—only e 1ght, lack I—a venerable horse ahair atroci tywh i ch she ca lls her Bustle I I have jus t burnt ir, and thechild i s as leep in my bed as I wri te. She wil l come to meat once. Punch I cannot quite understand. He is wellnourished, but seems to have been worri ed into a system of

smal l deceptions whi ch the woman magnifies into deadly sins.Don't you recol l ect our own upbringing, dear, when the Fearofthe Lord was so often the beginning offalsehoodP I shal lwin Punch to me before long. I am taking the chi ldrenaway into the country to get them to know me, and, on thewho l e, I am content, or shal l be when you come home, dearboy, and then, thank God, we shall be all under one roofagain at last !

Three months later, Punch, no longer BlackSheep, has discovered that he is the veritable ownerof a real, live, lovely Mamma, who is also a sister,comforter, and friend, and that he must protecther till the Father comes home. Deception doesnot suit the part of a protector, and, when one

1 30


can do anything without question, where is theuse of deception ?Mother would be awfully cross if you walked

through that ditch,’ says Iudy, continuing a coma

versation.‘Mother’s never angry,

’ says Punch.

‘ She’djust say,

“You’re a l ittle pagal and that’s notnice, but I

’ll show.

’

Punch walks through the ditch and mires hima

self to the knees. Mother, dear,’ he shouts, I

’

m

just as dirty as I can pos sibly be I‘Then change your clothes as quickly as youpos sibly can I

’ Mother’s clear voice rings outfrom the house. ‘And don’t be a little pagal I

‘There I

’Told you so,’ says Punch. ‘ It's all

different now, and we are just as much Mother’s

as if she had never gone.’

Not altogether, O Punch, for when young lipshave drunk deep of the bitter waters of Hate,Suspicion, and Despair, all the Love in the worldwill not wholly take away that knowledge ; thoughit may turn darkened eyes for a while to the light,and teach Faith where no Faith was.

1 3 1

H IS MAJESTY THE KING

Where the word ofa King i s, there is power : And whomay say unto h1m—What doest thouP

ETH I And Chimo to sleep at ve footof ve bed, and ve pink pikkynbook, andve bwead—’cause I will be hungwy in ve

night—and vat’s all, Miss Biddums. And nowgive me one kiss and I’ll go to sleep. —So I Kitequiet. Ow I V e pink pikky r book has slidded

under ve pillow and ve bwead is cwumbling I

Miss Biddums I MissBidrdums I I’m souncomfy ICome and tuck me up, Miss Biddums.

’

His Majesty the King was going to bed ; andpoor, patient Miss Biddums, who had advertisedherself humbly as a ‘ young person, European,accustomed to the care of li ttle children,

’ wasforced to wait upon his royal caprices. The goingto bed was always a lengthy process, because HisMajesty had a convenient knack of forgettingwhich of his many friends, from the mehter

's son

1 32

HIS MAJESTY THE KING

There was no room for His Majesty the Kingeither in official reserve or worldly gorgeousness .He had discovered that, ages and ages agobefore even Chimo came to the house, or MissBiddums had ceased gr izzl ing over a packet ofgreasy letterswhich appeared to be her chief treasureon earth. His Majesty the King, therefore, wiselyconfined himself to his own territories, where onlyMiss Biddums, and she feebly, disputed his sway.From Miss Biddums he had picked up his s impletheology and welded it to the legends of gods anddevils that he had learned in the servants'quarters.To Miss Biddums he confided with equal trust

his tattered garments and his more serious griefs.She would make everything whole. She knewexactly how the Earth had been born, and hadreassured the trembling soul of His Majesty theKing that terrible time in Inly when it rained con,tinuously for seven days and seven nights, andthere was no Ark ready and all the ravens hadflown away I She was the most powerful personwith whom he was brought into contact—alwaysexcepting the two remote and silent people beyondthe nursery dooZr.How was His Majesty the King to know that,s ix years ago, in the summer of his birth, Mrs ,Austell, turning over her husband

’s papers, hadcome upon the intemperate letter of a foolish woman

1 3 4


who had been carried away by the silent man’sstrength and personal beauty P How could he tellwhat evil the overlooked slip of notepaper hadwrought in the mind of a desperately jealous wife ?How could he, despite his wisdom, guess that hismother had chosen to make of it excuse for a barand a division between herself and her husband,that strengthened and grew harder to break witheach year ; that she, having unearthed this skeletonin the cupboard, had trained it into a householdGod which should be about their path and abouttheir bed, and poison all their ways ?These things were beyond the province of HisMajesty the King. He only knew that his fatherwas daily absorbed in some mysterious work for athing called the Sirkar, and that his mother was thevictim alternately of the Nautch and the Burraha

hana. To these entertainments she was escortedby a CaptainfMan for whom His Majesty the Kinghad no regard.

‘He doesn

’t laugh,’ he argued with Miss Bid,

dums, who would fain have taught him charity.‘He only makes faces wiv his mouf, and when hewants to oamuseme [ am notofmused.

’ And HisMajesty the King shook his head as one who knewthe deceitfulness of this world.Morning and evening it was his duty to salutehis father and mother—the former with a grave

1 3 5


shake ofthe hand, and the latter with an equallygrave kiss . Once, indeed, he had put his armsround his mother's neck, in the fashion he usedtowards Miss Biddums. The openwork of hissleeve l edge caught in an earring, and the last stageof His Majesty’s little overture was a suppressedscream and summary dismissal to the nursery.It is w’ong,

’ thought His Majesty the King, tohug Memsahibs wiv fings in veir ears . I willamember.

’He never repeated the experiment.

Miss Biddums, it must be confessed, spoilt himas much as his nature admitted, in some sort ofrecompense for what she called the hard ways ofhis Papa and Mamma.’ She, like her charge, knewnothing of the trouble between man and wife—thesavage contempt for a woman’s stupidity on theone s ide, or the dull, rankl ing anger on the other.Miss Biddums had looked after many little childrenin her time, and served in many establishments.Being a discreet woman, she observed little andsaid less , and, when her pupils went over the seato the Great Unknown, which she, with touchingconfidence in her hearers, called

‘ Home,’ packed

up her slender belongings and sought for employment afresh, lavishing all her love on each successivebatch of ingrates. Only His Majesty the Kinghad repaid her affection with interest ; and in hisuncomprehending ears she had told the tale of

1 36


‘Patsie, lend me your blue wiband,

’ said HisMajesty the King.

‘ You’ll bewy it,’ said Patsie doubtfully, mind,

ful of certain atrocities committed on her doll.No, I won

't—twoofanhonour. It’s for me towear. ’

Pooh I said Patsie.

‘ Boys don’t wear sal ashes.

Zey's only for dirls. ’

‘ I didn’t know.

’ The face of His Majesty theKing fell.Who wants ribandsP Are you playing horses,

chickabiddiesP' said the Commissioner’s wife,

stepping into the veranda.Toby wanted my sash,

’ explained Patsie.

‘ I don’t now,

’ said His Majesty the Kinghastily, feeling that with one of these terrible

grown aups his poor little secret would be shame ,lessly wrenched from him, and perhaps—mostburning desecration of allfi laughedat.

‘ I’ll give you a crackeracap,’ said the CommiSa

sioner’

s wife. Come along with me, Toby, andwe’ll choose it.’

The cracker f cap was a stiff, three r pointed

vermilionaandztinsel splendour. His Majes ty theKing fitted it on his royal brow. The CommiSasioner

’

s wife had a face that children instinctivelytrusted, and her action, as she adjusted the topplingmiddle spike, was tender.

1 38


‘Will it do as wellP’ stammered His Majestythe King.As what, little one P

‘As ve wihan POh, quite. Go and look at yourself in the

glass .’

The words were spoken in all sincerity, and tohelp forward any absurd dressingmp amusementthat the chi ldren might take into their minds. Butthe young savage has a keen sense of the ludicrous.His Majesty the King swung the great Chevalzglassdown, and saw his head crowned with the staringhorror of a fool's cap—a thing which his fatherwould rend to pieces if it ever came into his office.He plucked it off, and burst into tears.

‘Toby,’ said the Commissioner’s wife gravely,

‘ you shouldn't give way to temper. I am verysorry to see it. It’s wrong. ’

His Majesty the King sobbed inconsolably, andthe heart of Patsie’s mother was touched. Shedrew the child on to her knee. Clearly it was nottemper alone.What is it, Toby P Won't you tell me ?

Aren’t you well PThe torrent of sobs and speech met, and foughtfor a time, with chokings and gulpings and gasps.Then, in a sudden rush, His Majesty the King wasdel ivered of a few inarticulate sounds, followed

1 39

HIS MAIESTY THE KING

by the words Go a—way you—dirty—little

debbil I’

Toby I What do you mean PIt’s what he’d say. I know i t is I He said vat

when vere was only a little, l ittle eggy mess, on mytataunic ; and he

’d say it again, and laugh, if I wentin w ifvat on my head.’

Who would say that P‘Mfmamy Papa l And I fought if I had ve

blue wihan, he’d let me play in ve wasteapaper

basket under ve table.’

LVhat blue riband, childie P‘V e same vat Patsie had—ve big blue wiban

W rW aWOLlnCI my tatatummy I'

‘What is it, TobyP There’s something onyour mind. Tell me all about it, and perhaps Ican help.’

Isn’t anyfing,’ sniffed His Majesty, mindful of

his manhood, and raising his head from the motherlybosom upon which it was resting. ‘ I only foughtvat you—you petted Patsie ’cause she had ve bluewiban, and— and if I

’d had ve blue wiban too,

mamy Papa W vWOUIdpet me.’

The secret was out, and His Majesty the Kingsobbed bitterly in spite of the arms around himand the murmur of comfort on his heated littleforehead.Enter Patsie tumultuously, embarrassed by

1 40


about children ; inquiring specially for His Majestythe King.He’s with his governess,

’ said Mrs. Austell,and the tone showed that she was not interested.The Commissioner’s wife, unskilled in the art ofwar, continued her questionings.

‘ I don’t know,

’

said Mrs. Austell. ‘These things are left to MissBiddums, and, of cour se, she does not illatreat thechild.’

The Commissioner’s wife left hast11y. The lastsentence jarred upon her nerves. Doesn’t illatreatthe child ! As if that were all ! I wonder whatTom would say if I only didn't ill a treatPatsie I

’

Thenceforward, His Majesty the King was anhonoured guest at the Commissioner’s house, andthe chosen friend of Patsie,with whom he blunderedinto as many scrapes as the compound and theservants’ quarters afforded. Patsie’s Mamma wasalways ready to give counsel, help, and sympathy,and, if need were and callers few, to enter into theirgames with an abandon that would have shockedthe sleek'hairedsubalterns who squirmed painfullyin their chairs when they came to call on her whomthey profanely nicknamed Mother Bunch. ’

Yet, in spite of Patsie and Patsie’s Mamma, and

the love that these two lavished upon him , HisMajesty the King fell grievously from grace, and

1 42


committed no less a sin than that of theft—unf

known, it is true, but burdensome.There came a man to the door one day, whenHis Majesty was playing in the hall and the bearerhad gone to dinner, with a packet for His Majesty

’sMamma. And he put it upon the hallftable, andsaid that there was no answer, and departed.Presently, the pattern of the dado ceased tointerest His Majesty, while the packet, a white,neatlyfwrappedone of fascinating shape, interestedhim very much indeed. His Mamma was out, sowas Miss Biddums, and there was pink string roundthe packet. He greatly desired pink string. Itwould help him in many of his little businessesthe haulage across the floor of his small caneachair,the torturi ng of Chimo, who could never under»stand harness —and so forth. If he took the stringit would be his own, and nobody would be any thewiser. He certainly could not pluck up sufficientcourage to ask Mamma for it. Wherefore, mount»ing upon a chair, he carefully untied the string and,behold, the stiff white paper spread out in fourdirections, and revealed a beautiful little leatherbox with gold lines upon it ! He tried to replacethe string, but that was a failure. So he openedthe box to get full satisfaction for his iniquity, andsaw a most beautiful Star that shone and winked,and was altogether lovely and desirable .

1 4 3


‘Vat,’ said His Majes ty meditatively, is a

’

parkle cwown, like what I will wear when I go toheaven. I wi ll wear it on my head—Mi ss Biddums

says so. I would like to wear it now. I wouldlike to play w iv it. I will take it away and playw iv it, very careful, until Mamma asks for it. Ifink it was bought for me to play wiv—same asmy cart .’

His Majesty the King was arguing against hisconscience, and he knew it, for he thought immedif

ately after Never mind, I will keep it to play wivuntil Mamma says where is it, and then I will say—“

I tookt it and I am sorry.” I wi ll not hurt itbecause it is a ’

parkle cwown . But Miss Biddums

will tell me to put it back. I will not show it toMiss Biddums.

’

If Mamma had come in at that moment allwould have gone well. She did not, and HisMajesty the King stuffed paper, case, and jewelinto the breast of his blouse and marched to thenursery.

‘When Mamma asks I wi ll tell,’ was the salve

that he laid upon his conscience. But Mammanever asked, and for three whole days His Majestythe King gloated over his treasure. I t was ofno earthly use to him , but it was splendid, and,for aught he knew, something dropped fromthe heavens themselves . Still Mamma made no

1 4 4


the interminable mud flanks of the Central Iail, heshook in his li ttle s trapped shoes.But release came after an afternoon spent inplaying boats by the edge of the tank at the bottomof the garden. His Majesty the King went to tea,and, for the first time in his memory, the mealrevolted him. His nose was very cold, and hischeeks were burning hot. There was a weightabout his feet, and he pressed his head severalt imes to make sure that it was not swelling ashe sat.

‘ I feel vevy funny,’ said His Majesty the King,

rubbing his nose. ‘Vere’s a buzzabuzz in myhead. ’

He went to bed quietly. Miss Biddums wasout and the bearer undressed him.

The sin of the ’

parkle cwown was forgotten inthe acuteness of the discomfort to which he rousedafter a leaden sleep of some hours. Hewas thirsty,and the bearer had forgotten to leave the drinking,water. Miss Biddums I Miss Biddums ! I

’

m sokirsty INo answer.

!

Miss Biddums had leave to attendthe wedding of a Calcutta schoolmate. His Majestythe King had forgotten that.I want a dwink of water,

’ he cried, but his voicewas dried up in his throat. ‘ I want a dwink IVere is ve glass P

1 46

HIS MAIESTY THE KING

He sat up in bed and looked round. Th ere wasa murmur of voices from the other side of thenursery door. I t was better to face the terribleunknown than to choke in the dark. I-Ie slippedout of bed, but his feet were strangely wilful, andhe reeled once or twice. Then he pushed the doorOpen and staggered—a puffed and purpleafacedlittlefigure—into the brilliant light of the diningzroom

full of pretty ladies.I'm vevy hotI I’m vevy uncomfitivle,

’moanedHis Majesty the King, clinging to the portiere,

‘ andvere's no water in ve glass, and I

’

m so kirsty. Giveme a dwink of water.’

An apparition in black and white—His Majestythe King could hardly see distinctly—l ifted him upto the level of the table, and felt his wrists and torehead . The water came, and he drank deeply, histeeth chattering against the edge of the tumbler.Then every one seemed to go away—every oneexcept the huge man in black and white, whocarried him back to his bed ; the mother and fatherfollowing. And the sin of the "

parkle cwown’

rushed back and took possession of the terrifiedsoul.I

’

m a fief I he gasped. ‘I want to tell Miss

Biddums vat I’m a fief. Vere is Miss Biddums PMiss Biddums had come and was bending overhim. I

’

m a fief,’ he whispered. A fief—like ve

1 4 7


men in ve pwison . But I’ll tell now. I tookt—Itooktve

’

parkle cwown when veman that came leftit in ve hall . Ibwoke ve paper and ve little bwown

box, and it looked shiny, and I tookt it to playwif,and I was afwaid. It’s in ve doolyrbox at vebottom. No one never asked for it, but I wasafwaid. Oh, go an

’ get ve doolyfbox IMiss Biddums obediently stooped to the lowestshelf of the almirah and unearthed the big paperbox in which His Majesty the King kept hisdearest possessions. Under the tin soldiers, anda layer of mud pellets for a pellet abow , winkedand blazed a diamond star, wrapped roughly ina halfzsheet of notepaper whereon were a fewwords.Somebody was crying at the head of the bed, anda man’s hand touched the forehead of His Majestythe King, who grasped the packet and spread it onthe bed.

‘Vat is ve ’

parkle cwown ,

’ he said, and weptbitterly ; for now that he had made restitution hewould fain have kept the shining splendour with

‘It concerns you too,

’ said a voice at the headof the bed. Read the note. This is not the timeto keep back anything.’

The note was curt, very much to the point,and signed by a single initial. ‘

Ifyou wear this

1 48


his mouth with his hand. ‘Vat’s my Mamma'splace—vere she kisses me.’

‘ Oh ! ’ said the Commissioner’s wife briefly.

Then to herself : ‘Well, I suppose I ought to beglad for his sake . Children are selfish little grubsand—I’ve got my Patsie.

’

1 50

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE

AND AFT

the Army List they still stand as ‘The Foreand Fit Princess Hohenzollern I Sigmaringen ,

Auspach's Merthyr aTydfilshire Own Royal

Loyal Light Infantry, Regimental District 329A,

’

but the Army through all its barracks and canteensknows them now as the ‘

Fore and Aft.’ Theymay in time do something that shall make theirnew title honourable, but at present they arebitterly ashamed, and the man who calls them‘Fore and Aft ’ does so at the risk of the headwhich is on his shoulders .Two words breathed into the stables of a certainCavalry Regiment will bring the men out into thestreets with belts and mops and bad language ; buta whisper of ‘

Fore and Aft will bring out thisregiment with rifles.Their one excuse is that they came again and

1 5 1

DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT

did their bes t to finish the job in style. But for atime all their world knows that they were openlybeaten, whipped, dumbv cowed, shaking, andafraid. The men know it ; their officers know it ;the Ho rse Guards know it, and when the nextwar comes the enemy will know it also. Thereare two or three regiments of the Line that havea black mark against their names which they willthen wipe out ; and it will be excessively inconaven ient for the troops upon whom they do theirwiping.The courage of the British soldier is officiallysupposed to be above proof, and, as a general rule,i t is so . The exceptions are decently shovelled outof sight, only to be referred to in the freshet ofunguarded talk that occasionally swamps a Mess ,table at midnight. Then one hears strange andhorrible stories of men not following their officers ,of orders being given by those who had no right togive them, and of disgrace that, but for the standingluck of the British Army, might have ended inbrilliant disas ter. These are unpleasant stories tol isten to, and the Messes tell them under theirbreath, sitting by the big wood fires, and the youngofficer bows his head and thinks to himself, pleaseGod , his men shall never behave unhandily.The British soldier is not altogether to beblamed for occas ional lapses ; but this verdict he

1 52


away to gain ten minutes’ time. He may eitherdeploy with desperate swiftness, or he may shuffle,or bunch, or break, according to the disciplineunder which he has lain for four years.Armed with imperfect knowledge, cursed withthe rudiments of an imagination, hampered by theintense selfishness of the lower classes, and unsupf

ported by any regimental associations, this youngman is suddenly introduced to an enemy who ineastern lands is always ugly, generally tall and hairy,and frequently noisy. If he looks to the right andthe left and sees old soldiers—men of twelve years'

service, who, he knows, know what they are about—taking a charge, rush, or demonstration withoutembarrassment, he is consoled and applies hisshoulder to the butt of his rifle with a stout heart.His peace is the greater if he hears a senior,who has taught him his soldiering and brokenhis head on occasion, whispering :

‘They’l l shoutand carry on like this for five minutes. Thenthey’l l rush in, and then we

've got ’em by the shorthairs I

’

But, on the other hand, if he sees only men ofhis own term of service turning white and playingwith their triggers, and saying :

‘What the Hell’sup now P’ while the Company Commanders aresweating into their sworda hilts and shoutingFrontl rank, fix bayonets. Steady there—steady I

1 5 4


Sight for three hundred —no, for five I Lie down,all ! Steady ! Frontarank kneel I

’ and so forth,he becomes unhappy ; and grows acutely miserablewhen he hears a comrade turn over with the rattleof firezirons falling into the fender, and the gruntof a poleaaxed ox. If he can be moved about alittle and allowed to watch the effect of his ownfire on the enemy he feels merrier, and may bethen worked up to the blind passion of fighting,which is, contrary to general belief, controlled bya chilly Devil and shakes men like ague. If he isnot moved about, and begins to feel cold at thepit of the stomach, and in that crisis is badlymauled, and hears orders that were never given,he will break, and he will break badly ; and ofall things under the l ight of the Sun there is nothingmore terrible than a broken British regiment.When the worst comes to the worst and the panicis really epidemic

,the men must be e'en let go,

and the Company Commanders hadbetter escapeto the enemy and stay there for safety’s sake. Ifthey can be made to come again they are notpleasant men to meet ; because they will not breaktW 1ce.

About thirty years from this date, when we havesucceeded in halfaeducating everything that wearstrousers, our Army will be a beautifully unreliablemachine. I t will know too much and it will do too

1 5 5


little. Later still, when all men are at the mentallevel of the officer of today it will sweep the earth.Speaking roughly, you must employ either black,guards or gentlemen, or, best of all, blackguardscommanded by gentlemen, to do butcher

's workwith efficiency and despatch. The ideal soldiershould, of course, think for himself—the Pocket booksays so. Unfortunately, to attain this virtue hehas to pass through the phase of thinking of himself,and that is misdirected genius. A blackguard maybe slow to think for himself, but he is genuinelyanxious to kill, and a l ittle punishment teacheshim how to guard his own skin and perforateanother’s. A powerq y prayerful HighlandRegiment, officered by rank Presbyterians, is,perhaps, one degree more terri ble in action than ahard'bitten thousand of irresponsible Irish ruffiansled by most improper young unbelievers. Butthese things prove the rule—whi ch is that the mid ,way men are not to be trusted alone. They haveideas about the value of life and an upbringingthat has not taught them to go on and take thechances. They. are carefully unprovided with abacking of comrades who have been shot over, anduntil that backing is refintroduced, as a great manyRegimental Commanders intend it shall be, theyare more liable to disgrace themselves than the sizeof the Empire or the dignity of the Army allows.

l 56


teeth ; and they fought religiously once a week.Iakin had sprung from some London gutter andmayormay not have passed throughDr.Barnardo’

s

hands ere he arrived at the dignity ofdrummeraboy.

Lew could remember nothing except the regimentand the delight of listening to the Band from hisearliest years . He hid somewhere in his grimylittle soul a genuine love for music, and was mostmistakenly furnished with the head of a cherubinsomuch that beautiful ladies who watched theRegiment in church were wont to speak of him asa ‘ darling.’ They never heard his vitriolic com ,

ments on their manners and morals, as he walkedback to barracks with the Band and matured freshcauses of offence against Iakin.

The other drummeraboys hated both lads onaccount of their i llogical conduct. Iakin might bepounding Lew, or Lew might be rubbing Iakin

’

s

head in the dirt, but any attempt at aggression onthe part of an outsider was met by the combinedforces of Lew and Iakin ; and the consequenceswere painful. The boys were the Ishmaels of thecorps, but weal thy Ishmaels , for they sold battlesin alternate weeks for the sport of the barrackswhen they were not pitted against other boys ;and thus amassed money.On this particular day there was dissension inthe camp. They had just been convicted afresh of

1 5 8


smoking, which is bad for little boys who use plug,tobacco, and Lew

’s contention was that Iakin had‘ stunk so '

orrid bad from keepin’ the pipe inpocket,

’ that he and he alone was responsible forthe birching they were both tingling under

‘ I tell you I ’id the pipe back 0’ barracks,

’ saidIakin pacifically.

You’re a bloomin ’ liar,’ said Lew without heat.

‘ You’re a bloomin’ l ittle barstard,’ said Iakin,

strong in the knowledge that his own ancestrywas unknown .Now there is one word in the extended vocabu'

lary of barrackaroom abuse that cannot pass with :out comment. You may call a man a thief andrisk nothing. You may even call him a cowardwithout finding more than a boot whiz pas t yourear, but you must not call a man a bastard unlessyou are prepared to prove it on his front teeth.

You might ha’ kep’ that till I wasn’t so sore,’

said Lew sorrowfully, dodging round Iakin’

s

guard.‘I'll make you sorer,

’ said Iakin genially, andgot home on Lew’s alabaster forehead. All wouldhave gone well and this story, as the books say,would never have been written, had not his evilfate prompted the BazarS ergeant

’s son, a long,

employless man of five r andatw enty, to put in anappearance after the firs t round. He was eternally

1 5 9


in need of money, and knew that the boys hadsilver.

‘Fighting again,

’ said he. I’ll report you tomy father, and he

’l l report you to the Colour,Sergeant.’

‘What’s that to youP’ said Iakin with an um,

pleasant dilation of the nostrils .‘

Oh I nothing to me. You’ll get into trouble,and you’ve been up too often to afford that. ’

What the Hell do you know about what we’vedone P' asked Lew the Seraph. You aren’t in theArmy, you lousy, cadging civilian.

’

He closed in on the man’s left flank.

Ies ’cause you find two gentlemen settlin ’ theirdiff

’rences with their fistes you stick in your ugly

nose where you aren’t wanted . Run 'ome to your’arf¢caste slut of a Ma—or we’ll give you whatafor,

’

said Iakin.The man attempted reprisals by knocking theboys’ heads together. The scheme would havesucceeded had not Iakin punched him vehementlyin the stomach, or had Lew refrained from kickinghis shins. They fought together, bleeding and

breathless, for half an hour, and, after heavy punish ,

ment, triumphantly pulled down their opponent asterriers pull down a jackal .

‘Now,

’ gasped Iakin,‘ I’ll give you whataforf

He proceeded to pound the man's features while1 60


Sir, and’e

’d

’a

’ done it, Sir, if we’adn

’

t prevented’im. We didn’t ’

it’im much, Sir.

’E

’adn

’

t nomanner 0’ right to interfere with us, Sir. I don

'tmind bein’ birched by the Drum ajor, Sir, noryet reported by any Corp

’ral, but l

’m—but I don't

th ink it’s fair, Sir, for a civilian to come an’

talkover a man in the Army.

’

A second shout of laughter shook the Orderly;

room , but the Colonel was grave.‘What sort of characters have these boys P

’ heasked of the Regimental SergeantaMajor.

‘Accordin

’ to the Bandmaster, Sir,’ returned

that revered official—the only soul in the regimentwhom the boys feared they do everything butl ie, Sir.

’

‘ Is it l ike we’d go for that man for fun, Sir P’

said Lew, pointing to the plaintiff.‘Oh, admonished—admonishedl

' said theColonel testily, and when the boys had gonehe read the Bazap Sergeant

’s son a lecture on

the sin of unprofitable meddling, and gave ordersthat the Bandmaster should keep the Drums inbetter discipline.If either of you comes to practice again with so

much as a scratch on your two ugly little faces,’

thundered the Bandmaster,‘ I’l l tell the Drumf

Major to take the skin off your backs . Under,stand that, you young devils.

’

1 62


Then he repented of his Speech for just thelength of time that Lew, looking like a Seraph inred worsted embell ishments, took the place of oneof the trumpets- in hospital—and rendered theecho of abattleapiece. Lewcertainlywas amusician,and had often in his more exalted moments ex,pressed a yearning to master every instrument ofthe Band.

‘There’s nothing to prevent your becoming aBandmaster, Lew,

’ said the Bandmaster, who hadcomposed waltzes of his own, and worked day andnight in the interests of the Band.

‘What did he sayP’ demanded Iakin after

practice." Said I might be a bloomin’ Bandmaster, an

’

be asked in to ’ave a glass 0' sherrydavine on Mess ,nights.’

‘Ho I

’Said you might be a bloomin’ non ,combatant, did

’c I That’s just about wot ’

e

would say. When I’ve put in my boy’s service

—it's a bloomin' shame that doesn’t count forpension—I’l l take on as a privit. Then I

’ll be aLance in a year—knowin'what I know about theins an’ outs 0’ things. In three years I’ll be abloomin

’ Sergeant. I won’t marry then, not I II’ll 'old on and learn the orf’cers’ ways an’ applyfor exchange into a reg

'ment that doesn’t know

all about me. Then I’ll be a bloomin’orf

’

cer.

1 63


Then I’ll ask you to ’ave a glass 0' sherryfwine,

Mister Lew, an’ you'll bloomin’ well 'ave to stay

in the hantyaroom while the MeSSaSergeant bringsit to your dirty 'ands.'

’S ’pose I’m going to be a Bandmaster P Not I,quite. I’ll be a orf

’

cer too. There’s nothin' liketaking to a thing an’

stickin’ to it, the Schoolmaster

says. The teg’ment don’t go’ome for another

seven years . I’l l be a Lance then or near to.’

Thus the boys discussed their futures, and con,ducted themselves piously for a week. That isto say, Lew started a flirtation with the ColouroSergeant’s daughter, aged thirteen as heexplained to Iakin,

‘ with any intention o’matria

mony, but by way 0’ keepin’my ’and in .

’ And theblacknhaired Cris Delighan enjoyed that flirtationmore than previous ones, and the other drummer,boys raged furiously together, and Iakin preachedsermons on the dangers of bein' tangled along 0’

petticoats .’

But neither love nor vi rtue would have heldLew long in the paths of propriety had not therumour gone abroad that the Regiment was to besent on active service, to take part in a war which,for the sake of brevity, we will call

‘The War ofthe Lost Tribes.’

The barracks had the rumour almost before theMessfroom, and of all the nine hundred men in

164


pay, had sweated in drying'rooms, stooped overlooms, coughed among whitealead, and shiveredon limelbarges. The men had found food andrest in the Army, and now they were going tofight ‘ niggers -people who ran away if youshook a stick at them. Wherefore they cheeredlustily when the rumour ran, and the shrewd,clerkly non'commissioned officers speculated onthe chances of batta and of saving their pay. At

Headquarters men said : ‘The Fore and Fit havenever been under fire within the las t generation.Let us, therefore, break them in easily by settingthem to guard lines of communication.’ And thiswould have been done but for the fact that BritishRegiments were wanted—badly wanted—at theFront, and there were doubtful Native Regimentsthat could fill the minor duties. ‘ Brigade ’emwith two strong Regiments,

’ said Headquarters .‘They may be knocked about a bit, but they

’

lllearn their bus iness before they come throughNothing like a n ightfalarm and a little cutting—up ofstragglers to make a Regiment smart in the field.Wait till they've had halffa'dozen sentries’ throatscut.’

The Colonel wrote with delight that the temperof his men was excellent, that the Regiment wasall that could be wished, and as sound as a bell.The Majors smiled with a sober joy, and the sub

1 66


altems waltzed in pairs down the Messaroom afterdinner, and nearly shot themselves at revolver,practice. But there was consternation in the heartsof Iakin and Lew. What was to be done withthe Drums P Would the Band go to the FrontPHow many of the Drums would accompany theRegimentP

They took counsel together, sitting in a tree andsmoking.It's more than a bloomin' toss'up they’ll leave

us be’indat the Depot with the women. You’ll

like that,’ said Iakin sarcastically.

’Cause 0’ Cris, y’

mean P Wot's a woman, ora ’ole bloomin' depo t 0’ women,

’longside o’ thechanst of field'service P You know I

’

m as keenon goin’ as you,

’ sai d Lew.

ish I was a bloomin’ bugler,’ said Iakin

sadly.

‘They’ll take Tom Kidd along, that I canplaster a wall with, an

’ l ike as not they won’ttake us.’

Then let’s go an’ make Tom Kidd so bloomin’

sick ’e can't bugle no more. You 'old ’is ’ands

an’ I ’l l kick him,

’ said Lew, wriggling on thebranch.

‘That ain’t no good neither. We ain’t thesort 0’ characters to presoom on our rep

’tationsthey're bad. If they leave the Band at the Depotwe don’t go, and no error there. If they take the

167


Band we may get cast for medical unfitness. Areyou medical fit, Piggy P

’ sai d Iakin, digging Lewin the ribs with force.

‘Yus,’ said Lew with an oath.

‘The Doctorsays your '

eart’

s weak through smokin' on an

empty stummick. Throw a ches t an’ I’ll try yer. ’

Iakin threw out his chest, which Lew smotewith all his might. Iakin turned very pale, gasped,crowed, screwed up his eyes, and said

‘That’sall right.’

‘You’l l do,’ said Lew.

‘ I’ve ’eard 0’ men

dying when you’it

’em fair on the breastbone. ’

‘Don't bring us no nearer goin’

, though,’ said

Iakin. Do you know where we’re ordered P‘ Gawd knows, an

' ’E won’t spl it on a pal.

Somewheres up to the Front to ki ll Paythanshairy big beggars that turn you inside out if theyget ’old 0’

you, They say their women are good :looking, too.

’

‘ Any loot P asked the abandoned Iakin.Not a bloomin’ anna, they say, unless you dig

up the ground an’ see what the niggers ’ave ’

id.

They’re a poor lot.’ Iakin stood upright on thebranch and gazed across the plain.

‘ Lew,

’ said he,‘ there’s the Colonel coming.

’Colonel’s a good old beggar. Let’s go an’ talk

to ’im.

’

Lew nearly fell out of the tree at the audaci ty

168


‘ Beg y’ pardon, Sir,

’ began Iakin. ‘TheReg

’

ment’

s ordered on active service, Sir PSo I believe,

’ said the Colonel courteously.

Is the Band goin’

, Sir P said both together.Then, without pause, We

’re goin', Sir, ain’t we P

You I said the Colonel, stepping back the morefully to take in the two small figures. You I

You’d die in the first march.

’

No, we wouldn’t, Sir. We can march with the

Reg'ment anywheres—p'rade an’ anywhere else,

’

said Iakin.If Tom Kidd goes ’e’ll shut up l ike a claspfknife,

’

said Lew.

‘Tom ’as veryl close veins in both ’islegs, Sir.

’

Very how much P‘V eryrclose veins, Sir. That

's why they swellsafter long p’rade, Sir. If

’e can go, we can go, Sir.

’

Again the Colonel looked at them long andintently.

‘ Yes, the Band is going,’ he said as gravely as

though he had been addressing a brother officer.Have you any parents, either of you two P

‘No, Sir,’ rejoicingly from Lew and Iakin.

‘We’re both orphans, Sir. There’s no one to be

considered of on our account, Sir.’

You poor little sprats, and you want to go upto the Front with the Regiment, do you P Why PI’ve worn the Queen’s Uniform for two years,

’

1 70


said Iakin.

‘ It's very ’ard, Sir, that a man don’t

get no recompense for doin'of is dooty, Sir.’

‘An

’—an

’ if I don’t go, Sir,’ interrupted Lew,

‘ the Bandmaster ’e says ’e’l l catch an

’ make abloo—a blessed musician 0’ me, Sir. Before I

’veseen any service, Sir.

’

The Colonel made no answer for a long time.Then he Said quietly : ‘

Ifyou’re passed by theDoctor I daresay you can go. I shouldn’t smokeif I were you.’

The boys saluted and disappeared. The Colonelwalked home and told the story to his wife, whonearly cried over it. The Colonel was well pleased.If that was the temper of the children, what wouldnot the men do PIakin and Lew entered the boys’ barrackfroom

with great stateliness, and refused to hold any con»versation with their comrades for at least tenminutes. Then, bursting with pride, Iakin drawledI’ve bin intervooin ’ the Colonel. Good old beggaris the Colonel. Says I to ’

im, Colonel, says I,let me go to the Front, along 0

’ the Regiment.”

To the Front you shall go," says 'e, an

' I onlywish there was more like you among the dirty littledevils that bang the bloomin’ drums .” Kidd, ifyou throw your ’

courtrements at me for tellin’ youthe truth to your own advantage, your legs

'll swell.’

None the less there was a BattlerRoyal in the

1 7 1

DRUMS OF THE FORE AND APT

barrackzroom, for the boys were consumed withenvy and hate, and neither Iakin nor Lew behavedin conciliatory wise.I

’m goin’ out to say adoo to my girl,

’ said Lew,

to cap the climax. Don’t none 0’ you touch mykit because it’s wanted for active service ; me bein

’

specially invited to go by the Colonel.’

He strolled forth and whistled in the clump oftrees at the back of the Married Quarters till Criscame to him, and, the preliminary kisses being givenand taken, Lew began to explain the situation.I

’

m goin’ to the Front with the Reg’ment,

’ hesaid valiantly.Piggy, you

’re a little liar,’ said Cris, but her

heart misgave her, for Lew was not in the habit oflying.

‘ Liar yourself, Cris,’ said Lew, sl ipping an arm

round her. I’

m goin’. When the Reg

’ment

marches out you’ll see me with ’em, all galliant andgay. G ive us another kiss, Cris, on the strengthof it. ’

If you’d on’y al stayed at the Depot—where

you ought to ha’ bin—you could get as many of

’em as—as you dam please,’ whimpered Cris,

putting up her mouth.It’s ’ard, Cris. I grant you it’s ’ard. But

what’s a man to do P If I’daastayedat the Depot,you wouldn’t think anything of me.’

1 72


Cris slid an arm round his neck.‘ I won’t ’old you back no more, Piggy. Goaway an’ get your medal, an

’ I’ll make you a newbuttonzbag as nice as I know how,

’ she whispered.Put some 0’ your 'air into it, Cris, an

’I

’

ll keepi t in my pocket so long’s I’m alive.’

Then Cris wept anew, and the interview ended.Public feeling among the drummerrboys rose tofever pitch and the lives of Iakin and Lew becameunenviable. Not only had they been permitted toenl is t two years before the regulation boy’s agefourteen—but, by virtue, it seemed, of their extremeyouth, they were allowed to go to the Frontwhich thing had not happened to actingzdrummers

within the knowledge of boy. The Band whichwas to accompany the Regiment had been cut downto the regulation twenty men, the surplus returningto the ranks . [akin and Lew were attached to theBand as supemumeraries, though they would muchhave preferr ed being Company buglers .

" Don’t matter much,’ said Iakin, after the

medical inspection. ‘Be thankful that we’re

'lowed to go at all. The Doctor’e said that if

we could stand what we took from the Bazar,Sergeant’s son we’d stand pretty nigh any,thing.’

‘Which we will,’ said Lew, looking tenderly at

the ragged and illlmade housewife that Cris had

1 7 4


given him, with a lock of her hair worked into asprawling L upon the cover.

‘

It was the best I could,’ she sobbed. ‘ I

wouldn’t let mother nor the Sergeants’ tailor ’elpme. Keep it always, Piggy, an

’ remember I loveyou true. ’

They marched to the railway station, ninehundred and sixty strong, and every soul in canotonments turned out to see them go. The drum»

mers gnashed their teeth at Iakin and Lew marchingwi th the Band, the married women wept upon theplatform, and the Regiment cheered its noble selfblack in the face.

‘A nice level lot,’ said the Colonel to the

SecondainaCommandas they watched the firs t fourcompanies entraining.

‘Fit to do anything,

’ said the Seconda infCom'

mand enthusiastically. But it seems to me they'rea thought too young and tender for the work inhand. I t’s bitter cold up at the Front now.

’

‘They're sound enough,’ said the Colonel.

‘We must take our chance of sick casualties. ’

So they went northward, ever northward, pastdroves and droves of camels, armies of campfollowers, and legions of laden mules, the throngthickening day by day, till with a shriek the trainpulled up at a hopelesslyr congestedjunction wheres ix lines of temporary track accommodated six

1 7 5


fortyfwaggon trains ; where whistles blew, Babussweated, and Commissariat officers swore fromdawn till far into the night amid the windadrivenchaff of the fodderzbales and the lowing of athousand steers.Hurry up—you

're badly wanted at the Front,’

was the message that greeted the Fore and Aft,and the occupants of the Red Cross carriages toldthe same tale.

"Tisn’t so much the bloomin’fightin gasped

a headbound trooper of Hussars to a knot ofadmiring Fore and Afts. "

Tisn't so much the

bloomin'fightin

’

, though there's enough 0

’ that.It's the bloomin’ food an

’ the bloomin’ climate.Frost all night 'cept when it hails, and biling sunall day, and the water stinks fit to knock youdown. I got my ’ead chipped l ike a egg : I

'vegot pneumonia too, an

’ my gu ts is all out 0’ order.’Tain’t no bloomin'picn ic in those parts, I can tellyou. ’

‘Wot are the niggers like P demanded a private.‘There’s some prisoners in that train yonder.

Go an’ look at ’em. They’re the aristocracy o’ the

country. The common folk are a dashed s ightuglier. If you want to know what they fight with,reach under my seat an' pull out the long knifethat’s there.’

They dragged out and beheld for the first time

1 7 6


innards . Goodabye, ole man. Take care 0’ yourbeautiful figurea

’ed, an

’ try to look hushy.

’

The men laughed and fell in for their firs tmarch, when they began to realise that a soldier

’slife was not all beer and skittles. They were muchimpressed with the size and bestial ferocity of theniggers whom they had now learned to callPaythans,

’ and more with the exceeding discomo

fort of their own surr oundings . Twenty oldsoldiers in the corps would have taught them howto make themselves moderately snug at night, butthey had no old soldiers, and, as the troops on thel ine of march said,

‘ they lived like pigs.’ Theylearned the heart breaking cussedness of camp ,kitchens and camels and the depravity of an E. P.

tent and a wither'wrung mule. Th ey studiedanimalculae in water, and developed a few cases ofdysentery in their study.At the end of their third march they were dis ,agreeably surprised by the arrival in their camp ofa hammered iron slug which, fired from a steadyrest at seven hundred yards, flickedout the brainsof a private seated by the fire. This robbed themof their peace for a night, and was the beginning ofa longr range fire carefully calculated to that end .In the daytime they saw nothing except an un e

pleasant puff of smoke from a crag above the lineofmarch. At night there were distant spurts of

1 7 8


flame and occasional casualties, which set the wholecamp blazing into the gloom and, occasionally, intoopposite tents. Then they swore vehemently,and vowed that this was magnificent but notwar.Indeed it was not. The Regiment could not

halt for reprisals agains t the sharpshooters of thecountryside. Its duty was to go forward andmake connection with the Scotch and Gurkhatroops with which it was brigaded. The Afghansknew this, and knew too, after their first tentativeshots, that they were dealing with a raw regiment.Thereafter they devoted themselves to the task ofkeeping the Fore and Aft on the strain. Not foranything would they have taken equal libertieswith a seasoned corps—with the wicked littleGurkhas, whose del ight it was to lie out in theopen on a dark night and stalk their stalkerswith the terrible, big men dressed in women

’sclothes, who could be heard praying to their Godin the nightfwatches, and whose peace of mind noamount of ‘ sniping ’ could shake—or with thosevile Sikhs, who marched so ostentatiously unpreapared, and who dealt out such grim reward to thosewho tried to profit by that unpreparedness. Thiswhite regiment was different—quite different. I tslept l ike a hog, and, like a hog, charged in everydirection when it was roused. Its sentries walked

1 79


with a footfall that could be heard for a quarter ofa mile ; would fire at anything that moved—evena driven donkey—and when they had once fired,could be scientifically ‘ rushed and laid out ahorror and an offence again st the morning sun .

Then there were campafollowers who straggled andcould be cut up without fear. Their shrieks woulddisturb the white boys, and the loss of their serviceswould inconvenience them sorely.Thus, at every march, the hidden enemy becamebolder and the regiment writhed and twisted underattacks it could not avenge. The crowning triumphwas a sudden nightarush ending in the cutting ofmany tentaropes, the collapse of the sodden canvas,and a glorious knifing of the men who struggledand kicked below. It was a great deed, neatlycarried out, and it shook the already shaken nervesof the Fore and Aft. All the courage that theyhad been required to exercise up to this point wasthe ‘ two o’clock in the morning courage ’ and,so far, they had only succeeded in shooting theircomrades and losing their sleep.Sul len, discontented, cold, savage, sick, withtheir uniforms dulled and unclean, the Fore andAft joined their Brigade.

‘ I hear you had a tough time of it coming up,’

said the Brigadier. But when he saw the hospital ,sheets his face fell.

1 80


men themselves, and looked as if they did. TheFore and Aft were in a thoroughly un satisfactorycondition, but they believed that all would be wellif they could once get a fair go l in at the enemy.Pot'shots up and down the valleys were unsatis»factory, and the bayonet never seemed to get achance. Perhaps i t was as well, for a longalimbed

Afghan wi th a knife had a reach of eight feet, andcould carry away lead that would disable threeEnglishmen.The Fore and Fit would like some rifle l practiceat the enemy—all seven hundred rifles blazing to,gether. That wish showed the mood of the men.

The Gurkhas walked into their camp, and inbroken, barrackl room English strove to fraternisewith them ; offered them pipes of tobacco andstood them treat at the canteen. But the Foreand Aft, not knowing much of the nature of theGurkhas, treated them as they would treat anyother ‘ niggers,

’ and the little men in green trottedback to their firm friends the Highlanders, andwith many grins confided to them :

‘That damwhite regiment no dam use. Sulky—ugh I Dirty—ugh I Hya, any tot for IohnnyP

' Wherea tthe Highlanders smote the Gurkhas as to thehead, and told them not to vil ify a British Regi ,ment, and the Gurkhas grinned cavernously, forthe Highlanders were their elder brothers and

1 82


entitled to the privilegesof kinship. The commonsoldier who touches a Gurkha is more than likelyto have his head sliced open.Three days later the Brigadier arranged a battleaccording to the rules of war and the peculiarityof the Afghan temperament. The enemy weremassing in inconvenient strength among the hills,and the moving of many green standards warnedhim that the tribes were up in aid of the Afghanregular troops. A squadron and a half of BengalLancers represented the available Cavalry, and twoscrew'guns borrowed from a column thirty milesaway, the Artillery at the General

’s disposal.If they stand, as I

’ve a very strong notion thatthey w ill, I fancy we shall see an infantry fightthat will be worth watching,

’ said the Brigadier.‘We’ll do it in style. Each regiment shall beplayed into action by its Band, and we

'll hold theCavalry in reserve. ’

For all the reserve P somebody asked.For all the reserve ; because we

’re going tocrumple them up,

’ said the Brigadier, who was anextraordinary Brigadier, and did not bel ieve in thevalue of a reserve when dealing with Asiatics.Indeed, when you come to think of it, had theBritish Army consistently waited for reserves inall its l ittle affairs, the boundaries of Our Empirewould have stopped at Brighton beach.

1 83


That battle was to be a glorious battle.The three regiments debouching from threeseparate gorges, after duly crowning the heightsabove, were to converge from the centre, left, andright upon what we will call the Afghan army,then stationed towards the lower extremity of aflatfbottomed valley. Thus it will be seen thatthree sides of the valley practically belonged tothe English, while the fourth was s trictly Afghanproperty. In the event of defeat the Afghans hadthe rocky hills to fly to, where the fire from theguerilla tribes in aid would cover their retreat. Inthe event of victory these same tribes would rushdown and lend their weight to the rout of theBritish.The screW rguns were to shell the head of eachAfghan rush that was made in close formation,and the Cavalry, held in reserve in the right valley,were to gently stimulate the breaku p which wouldfollow on the combined attack. The Brigadier,sitting upon a rock overlooking the valley, wouldwatch the battle unrolled at his feet. The Foreand Aft would debouch from the central gorge,the Gurkhas from the left, and the Highlandersfrom the right, for the reason that the left flankof the enemy seemed as though it required themost hammering. It was not every day that anAfghan force would take ground in the open, and

1 8 4


regiments leisurely prepared for the fray. All theworld knows that it is ill taking the breeks off aHighlander. It is much iller to try to make himstir unless he is convinced of the necessity forhaste.The Fore and Aft waited, leaning upon theirrifles and listening to the protests of their emptystomachs. The Colonel did his best to remedythe default of lining as soon as it was borne in uponhim that the affair would not begin at once, and sowell did he succeed that the coffee was just readywhen—the men moved off, their Band leading.Even then there had been a mistake in time, andthe Fore and Aft came out into the valley tenminutes before the proper hour. Their Bandwheeled to the right after reaching the open, andretired behind a little rocky knoll s ti ll playingwhile the regiment went past.It was not a pleasant sight that opened on theuninstructed view, for the lower end of the valleyappeared to be filled by an army in position —realand actual regiments attired in red coats, and—of

this there was.

no doubt—firing Martinifl-Ienrybullets which cut up the ground a hundred yardsin front of the leading company. Over thatpockamarkedground the regiment had to pass, andit Opened the ball with a general and profoundcour tesy to the piping pickets ; ducking in pe rfect

1 86


time, as though it had been brazed on a rod .

Being halfl capable of thinking for itself, it fired avolley by the simple process of pitching its rifleinto its shoulder and pull ing the trigger. Thebullets may have accounted for some of thewatcherson the hillside, but they certainly did not affectthe mass of enemy in front, while the noise of therifles drowned any orders that might have beengiven.

‘Good God I said the Brigadier, sitting on therock high above all. ‘That regiment has spoiltthe whole show. Hurry up the others, and letthe screw l guns get off.

’

But the screwfguns, in working round theheights, had stumbled upon a wasp

’s nest of a smallmud fort which they incontinently shelled at eighthundred yards, to the huge discomfort of theoccupants, who were unaccustomed to weapons ofsuch devil ish precision.The Fore and Aft continued to go forward, butwith shortened stride. Where were the otherregiments, and why did these niggers useMartin is P

They took open order instinctively, lying downand firing at random, rushing a few paces forwardand lying down again, according to the regulations .Once in this formation, each man felt himselfdesperately alone, and edged in towards his fellowfor comfort's sake.

1 8 7


Then the crack of his neighbour ’s rifle at hisear led him to fire as rapidly as he could—againfor the sake of the comfort of the noise. Thereward was not long delayed. Five volleys plungedthe files in banked smoke impenetrable to the eye,and the bullets began to take groun d twenty orthirty yards in front of the firers, as the weight ofthe bayonet dragged down and to the right armswearied with holding the kick of the leapingMartini . The Company Commanders peeredhelplessly through the smoke, the more nervousmechanically trying to fan it away with theirhelmets .

‘I-Iigh and to the left I

’ bawled a Captain til lhe was hoarse. ‘No good ! Cease firing, and letit drift away a bit.’

Th ree and four times the bugles shrieked theorder, and when it was obeyed the Fore and Aftlooked that the ir foe should be lying before themin mown swaths of men . A light wind drove thesmoke to leeward, and showed the enemy still inpos ition and apparently unaffected. A quarter ofa ton of lead had been buried a furlong in front ofthem , as the ragged earth attes ted.That was not demoralising to the Afghans, whohave not European nerves . They were waitingfor the mad riot to die down, and were firingquietly into the heart of the smoke. A private of

1 8 8


A man dragged from his blankets half awakeand unfed is never in a pleasant frame of mind .Nor does his happiness increase when he watchesthe whites of the eyes of three hundred sixofootfiends upon whose beards the foam is lying, uponwhose tongues is a roar of wrath, and in whosehands are yard'long knives.The Fore and Aft heard the Gurkha buglesbringing that regiment forward at the double,whi le the neighing of the Highland pipes camefrom the left. They strove to stay where theywere, though the bayonets wavered down the linel ike the oars of a ragged boat. Then they feltbody to body the amazing physical strength oftheir foes ; a shriek of pain ended the rush, andthe knives fell amid scenes not to be told. Themen clubbed together and smote blindly—as often asnot at their own fellows. Their front crumpled likepaper, and the fiftyGhazis passed on ; their backers,now drunk with success, fighting as madly as they.Then the rearfranks were bidden to close up,and the subalterns dashed into the stew—alone.For the reararank had heard the clamour in front,the yells and the howls of pain, and had seen thedark stale blood that makes afraid. They werenot going to stay. It was the rushing of the campsover again. Let their officers go to Hell, if theychose ; they would get away from the knives.

1 90


Come on I ’ shrieked the subalterns, and theirmen, cursing them, drew back, each closing intohis neighbour and wheeling round.Charteris and Devl in, subalterns of the lastcompany, faced their death alone in the belief thattheir men would follow.

You’ve kil led me, you cowards,’ sobbed Devlin

and dropped, cut from the shoulderr strap to thecentre of the chest, and a fresh detachment of hismen retreating, always retreating, trampled himunder foot as they made for the pass whence theyhad emerged.

I kissed her in the kitchen and I kissed her in the hal l.Child

'un , ch ild

'un, fol low me I

Oh Gol ly, said the cook, is he gwine to kiss us all ?Hal la—Hal la—Hal la—Hal lelujah I

The Gurkhas were pouring through the leftgorge and over the heights at the double to theinvitation of their Regimental Quickr step. Theblack rocks were crowned with dark green spidersas the bugles gave tongue jubilantly

In the morn ing l In the morning by the bright l ight !When Gabriel blows his trumpet in the morning I

The Gurkha rear f companies tripped andblundered over loose stones. Thefront'files haltedfor a moment to take stock of the valley and tosettle stray boot'laces. Then a happy little s igh

1 9 1


of contentment soughed down the ranks, and itwas as though the land smiled, for behold therebelow was the enemy, and it was to meet them thatthe Gurkhas had doubled so hastily. There wasmuch enemy. There would be amusement. Thelittle men hitched their kukr is well to hand, andgaped expectantly at their officers as terriers gr inere the stone is cast for them to fetch. TheGurkhas’ ground sloped downward to the valley,and they enjoyed a fair view of the proceedings.They sat upon the boulders to watch, for theirofficers were not going to waste their wind inassisting to repulse a Ghazi rush more than half amile away. Let the white men look to their ownfront.

‘I'i i I yi l

’ said the SubadaraMajor, who wassweating profusely. ‘Dam fools yonder, standclose order ! This is no time for close order, i tis the time for volleys. Ugh IHorrified, amused, and indignant, the Gurkhasbeheld the retirement of the Fore and Aft with arunning chorus of oaths and commentaries.

‘They run I The white men run I ColonelSahib, maywe also do a little runningP murmuredRunbir Thappa, the Senior Iemadar.

But the Colonel would have none of it. ‘ Letthe beggars be cut up a little,

’ said he wrathfully.

’Serves ’em right. They’ll be prodded into facing

1 92


stopper Snider bullets at long range into the mobof the Ghazis returning to their own troops.The Fore and Aft Band, though protected fromdirect fire by the rocky knoll under which it hadsat down, fled at the firs t rush. Iakin and Lewwould have fledalso, but their short legs left themfifty yards in the rear, and by the time the Bandhad mixed with the regiment, they were painfullyaware that they would have to close in alone andunsupported.

‘Get back to that rock,’ gasped Iakin. ‘They

won’t see us there.’

And they returned to the scattered instrumentsof the Band, their hearts nearly bursting theirribs.Here's a nice show for us,

’ said Iakin, throwinghimself full length on the ground. ‘ A bloomin'

fine show for British Infantry I Oh, the devils IThey’ve gone an’ left us alone here I Wot

’ll we

do P’

Lew took possession of a castaoffwater bottle,which naturally was full of canteen rum, and dranktill he coughed again.

‘Drink,’ said he shortly.

‘They’ll come backin a minute or two—you see.’

Iakin drank, but there was no sign of theregiment’s return. They could hear a dull clamourfrom the head of the valley ofretreat, and saw the

1 94


Ghazis slink back, quickening their pace as theGurkhas fired at them.

‘We’re all that’s left of the Band, an’ we'll be

cut up as sure as death,’ said Iakin .

I ’l l die game, then,’ said Lew thickly, fumbling

with his tiny drummer’s sword. The drink wasworking on his brain as it was on Iakin

’

s.

'Old on ! I know something better thansaid Iakin,

‘ stung by the splendour of asudden thought due chiefly to rum.

‘Tip ourbloomin

’ cowards yonder the word to come back.The Paythan beggars are well away. Come on,Lew I We won’t get hurt. Take the fife an’ giveme the drum I The Old Step for all yourbloomin'

guts are worth ! There's a few of our men comingback now. Stand up, ye drunken l ittle defaulter.By your right

—quick march IHe slipped the drumasling over his shoulder,thrust the fife into Lew’s hand, and the two boysmarched out of the cover of the rock into the open,making a hideous hash of the first bars of theBritish Grenadiers .’

As Lew had said, a few of the Fore and Aftwere coming back sullenly and shamefacedly underthe stimulus of blows and abuse ; their red coatsshone at the head of the valley, and behind themwere wavering bayonets. But between thisshattered line and the enemy, who with Afghan

195


suspicion feared that the hasty retreat meant anambush, and had not moved therefore, lay halfa mile of level ground dotted only by thewounded.The tune settled into full swing and the boyskept shoulder to shoulder, Iakin banging the drumas one possessed. The one fife made a thin andpitiful squeaking, but the tune carried far, even tothe Gurkhas.

‘ Come on, you dogs I’ muttered Iakin to him ;

self. ‘ Are we to playforhever P’ Lew was staringstraight in front of him and marching more stifflythan ever he had done on parade.And in bitter mockery of the distant mob, theold tune of the Old Line shrilled and rattled

Some talk ofAlexander,And some ofHercules ;

OfHector andLysander,And such great names as these I

There was a faraoffclapping of hands from theGurkhas, and a roar from the Highlanders in thedistance, but never a shot was fired by British orAfghan. The two little red dots moved forwardin the open parallel to the enemy’s front.

But ofall the world's great heroesThere's none that can compare,

W1th a tOe OW A'

OW r rOW r rOe OW ,

To the Bri tish Grenadler I

l 96


Half the men had seen the drummers die, andthey made no sign. They did not even shout.They doubled out straight across the plain in openorder, and they did not fire .

‘This,’ said the Colonel of Gurkhas, softly, is

the real attack, as it should have been delivered.Come ou, my children.

’

Ulufluflu l lu I squealed the Gurkhas, and camedown with a joyful clicking of hukris —those viciousGurkha knives.On the right there was no rush. The High ,

landers, cannily commending their souls to God!for it matters as much to a dead man whether hehas been shot in a Border scuffle or at Waterloo),Opened out and fired according to their custom,

that is to say, without heat and without intervals,while the screW aguns, having disposed of the im'

pertinent mud fort aforementioned, dropped shellafter shell into the clusters round the flickeringgreen standards on the heights.

‘

Charrging is an unfortunate necessity,’murf

mured the Colour rSergeant of the right companyof the Highlanders . It makes the men sweer so,but I am thinkin

’ that it will come to a charrge ifthese black devils stand much longer. Stewarrt,man, you

’re firing into the eye of the sun, andhe’l l not take any harm for Government ammuf

neetion. A foot lower and a great deal slower !

1 98


What are the English doingP They're very quiet

there in the centre . Running again P’

The English were not running. They werehacking and hewing and stabbing, for though onewhite man is seldom physically a match for anAfghan in a sheepskin or wadded coat, yet,through the pressure of many white men behind,and a certain thirs t for revenge in his heart, hebecomes capable of doing much with both endsof his rifle. The Fore and Aft held their fire tillans. bullet could drive through five or six men,and the front of the Afghan force gave on thevolley. They then selected their men, and slewthem with deep gasps and short hacking coughs,and groanings of leather belts against strainedbodies, and realised for the first time that anAfghan attacked is far less formidable than anAfghan attacking : which fact old soldiers mighthave told them.

But they had no old soldiers in their ranks .The Gurkhas'stall at the bazar was the noisiest,for the men were engaged— to a nasty noise as ofbeef being cut on the block—with the kukri , whichthey preferred to the bayonet ; well knowing howthe Afghan hates the halfamoon blade.As the Afghans wavered, the green standards

on the mountain moved down to assist them in alast rally. Th is was unwise. The Lancers chafing

1 99


in the right gorge had thrice despatched their onlysubaltem as galloper to report on the progress ofaffairs . On the third occas ion he returned, wi th abulletzgraze on his knee, swearing strange oaths inHindustani, and saying that all things were ready.So that Squadron swung round the right of theHighlanders with a wicked whistl ing of wind inthe pennons of its lances, and fell upon the remnantjust when, according to all the rules of war, itshould have waited for the foe to show more signsof wavering.But it was a dainty charge, deftly delivered, andit ended by the Cavalry finding itself at the headof the pass by which the Afghans intended toretreat ; and down the track that the lances hadmade streamed two companies of the Highlanders,which was never intended by the Brigadier. Thenew development was successful. I t detached theenemy from his base as a sponge is torn from arock, and left him ringed about with fire in thatpitiless plain. And as a sponge is chased roundthe bath tub by the hand of the bather, so werethe Afghans chased till they broke into littledetachments much more difficult to dispose ofthan large masses .

‘ See l ' quoth the Brigadier. ‘Everything has

come as I arranged . We’ve cut their base, andnow we'll bucket 'em to pieces. ’

200


the heights the screw «guns ceased firing—they hadrun out of ammunition—and the Brigadier groaned,for the musketry fire could not sufficiently smashthe retreat. Long before the last volleys werefired the doolies were out in force looking for thewounded. The battle was over, and, but for wantof fresh tr00ps, the Afghans would have beenwiped off the earth. As it was they counted theirdead by hundreds, and nowhere were the deadthicker than in the track of the Fore and Aft.But the Regiment did not cheer with the High,landers, nor did they dance uncouth dances withthe Gurkhas among the dead . They looked undertheir brows at the Colonel as they leaned upontheir rifles and panted.

‘ Get back to camp, you. Haven’t you dis ,

graced yourself enough for one day I Go andlook to the wounded. It's all you’re fit for,

’ saidthe Colonel. Yet for the past hour the Fore andAft had been doing all tha t mortal commandercould expect. They had lost heavily because theydid not know how to set about their businesswith proper skill, but they had borne themselvesgallantly, and this was their reward .

A young and sprightly Colour'Sergeant, whohad begun to imagine himself a hero, offered hiswaterrbottle to a Highlander, whose tongue wasblack with thirst. ‘ I drink with no cowards,

’

202


answered the youngster huskily, and, turning toa Gurkha, said, Hya, Johnny ! Drink water gotitP

' The Gurkha grinned and passed his bottle.The Fore and Aft said no word.They went back to camp when the field ofstrife had been a little mopped up and madepresentable, and the Brigadier, who saw himselfa Knight in three months, was the only soul whowas complimentary to them. The Colonel washeart l broken, and the officers were savage andsullen.

‘Well,’ said the Brigadier,

‘ they are youngtroops of course, and it was not unnatural thatthey should retire in disorder for a bit.’

‘Oh, my only Aunt Maria l’ murmured a

junior S taff Officer. ‘ Retire in disorder I I t wasa bally r un I

‘ But they came again, as we all know,

’ cooedthe Brigadier, the Colonel

’s ashyrwhite face beforehim, and they behaved as well as could possiblybe expected. Behaved beautifully, indeed. I waswatching them. It’s not a matter to take to heart,C010nel. As some German General said of hismen, they wanted to be shootedover a little, thatwas all.’ To himself he said—‘Now they’reblooded I can give ’em responsible work. It’s aswell that they got what they did. ’Teach ’emmore than halfzaadozen rifle fl irtations, that will

203


later—run alone and bite. Poor old Colonel,though.’

All that afternoon the heliograph winked andflickered on the hills, striving to tell the good newsto a mountain forty miles away. And in the even ,ing there arrived, dusty, sweating, and sore, amisguided Correspondent who had gone out toassist at a trumpery villagefburning, and who hadread off the message from afar, cursing his luckthe while.Let’s have the details somehow—as full as ever

you can, please. It’s the firs t time I’ve ever been

left this campaign,’ said the Correspondent to the

Brigadier, and the Brigadier, nothing loath, toldhim how an Army of Communication had beenmpledup, destroyed, and all but annihilated by

the craft, strategy, wisdom, and foresight of theBrigadier.But some say, and among these be the Gurkhaswho watched on the hillside, that that battle waswon by Iakin and Lew, whose little bodies wereborne up just in time to fit two gaps at the headof the bigditch«grave for the dead under the heightsof Iagai.

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