“An ape and a lion lie side by side in the heart of a man.” 
     ­Persian proverb

Spring-fishing in the North is a cold game for a man whose blood has become thin in gentler climates.  All afternoon I had failed to stir a fish, and the wan streams of the Laver, swirling between bare grey banks, were as icy to the eye as the sharp gusts of hail from the north-east were to the fingers.  I cast mechanically till I grew weary, and then with an empty creel and a villainous temper set myself to trudge the two miles of bent to the inn.  Some distant ridges of hill stood out snow-clad against the dun sky, and half in anger, half in dismal satisfaction, I told myself that fishing to-morrow would be as barren as to-day.

At the inn door a tall man was stamping his feet and watching a servant lifting rodcases from a dog-cart.  Hooded and wrapped though he was, my friend Thirlstone was an unmistakable figure in any landscape.  The long, haggard, brown face, with the skin drawn tightly over the cheek-bones, the keen blue eyes finely wrinkled round the corners with staring at many suns, the scar which gave his mouth a humorous droop to the right, made up a whole which was not easily forgotten.  I had last seen him on the quay at Funchal bargaining with some rascally boatman to take him after mythical wild goats in Las Desertas.  Before that we had met at an embassy ball in Vienna, and still earlier at a hill-station in Persia to which I had been sent post-haste by an anxious and embarrassed Government.  Also I had been at school with him, in those far-away days when we rode nine stone and dreamed of cricket averages.  He was a soldier of note, who had taken part in two little wars and one big one; had himself conducted a political mission through a hard country with some success, and was habitually chosen by his superiors to keep his eyes open as a foreign attache in our neighbours’ wars.  But his fame as a hunter had gone abroad into places where even the name of the British army is unknown.  He was the hungriest shikari I have ever seen, and I have seen many.  If you are wise you will go forthwith to some library and procure a little book entitled “Three Hunting Expeditions,” by A.W.T.  It is a modest work, and the style is that of a leading article, but all the lore and passion of the Red Gods are in its pages.

The sitting-room at the inn is a place of comfort, and while Thirlstone warmed his long back at the fire I sank contentedly into one of the well-rubbed leather arm-chairs.  The company of a friend made the weather and scarcity of salmon less the intolerable grievance they had seemed an hour ago than a joke to be laughed at.  The landlord came in with whisky, and banked up the peats till they glowed beneath a pall of blue smoke.

“I hope to goodness we are alone,” said Thirlstone, and he turned to the retreating landlord and asked the question.

“There’s naebody bidin’ the nicht forbye yoursels,” he said, “but the morn there’s a gentleman comin’.  I got a letter frae him the day.  Maister Wiston, they ca him.  Maybe ye ken him?”

I started at the name, which I knew very well.  Thirlstone, who knew it better, stopped warming himself and walked to the window, where he stood pulling his moustache and staring at the snow.  When the man had left the room, he turned to me with the face of one whose mind is made up on a course but uncertain of the best method.

“Do you know this sort of weather looks infernally unpromising?  I’ve half a mind to chuck it and go back to town.”

I gave him no encouragement, finding amusement in his difficulties.  “Oh, it’s not so bad,” I said, “and it won’t last.  To-morrow we may have the day of our lives.”

He was silent for a little, staring at the fire.  “Anyhow,” he said at last, “we were fools to be so far up the valley.  Why shouldn’t we go down to the Forest Lodge?  They’ll take us in, and we should be deucedly comfortable, and the water’s better.”

“There’s not a pool on the river to touch the stretch here,” I said.  “I know, for I’ve fished every inch of it.”

He had no reply to this, so he lit a pipe and held his peace for a time.  Then, with some embarrassment but the air of having made a discovery, he announced that his conscience was troubling him about his work, and he thought he ought to get back to it at once.  “There are several things I have forgotten to see to, and they’re rather important.  I feel a beast behaving like this, but you won’t mind, will you?”

“My dear Thirlstone,” I said, “what is the good of hedging?  Why can’t you say you won’t meet Wiston!”

His face cleared.  “Well, that’s the fact ­I won’t.  It would be too infernally unpleasant.  You see, I was once by way of being his friend, and he was in my regiment.  I couldn’t do it.”

The landlord came in at the moment with a basket of peats.  “How long is Capt. ­Mr. Wiston staying here?” I asked.

“He’s no bidin’ ony time.  He’s just comin’ here in the middle o’ the day for his denner, and then drivin’ up the water to Altbreac.  He has the fishin’ there.”

Thirlstone’s face showed profound relief.  “Thank God!” I heard him mutter under his breath, and when the landlord had gone he fell to talking of salmon with enthusiasm.  “We must make a big day of it to-morrow, dark to dark, you know.  Thank Heaven, our beat’s down-stream, too.”  And thereafter he made frequent excursions to the door, and bulletins on the weather were issued regularly.

Dinner over, we drew our chairs to the hearth, and fell to talk and the slow consumption of tobacco.  When two men from the ends of the earth meet by a winter fire, their thoughts are certain to drift overseas.  We spoke of the racing tides off Vancouver, and the lonely pine-clad ridges running up to the snow-peaks of the Selkirks, to which we had both travelled once upon a time in search of sport.  Thirlstone on his own account had gone wandering to Alaska, and brought back some bear-skins and a frost-bitten toe as trophies, and from his tales had consorted with the finest band of rogues which survives unhanged on this planet.  Then some casual word took our thoughts to the south, and our memories dallied with Africa.  Thirlstone had hunted in Somaliland and done mighty slaughter; while I had spent some never-to-be forgotten weeks long ago in the hinterland of Zanzibar, in the days before railways and game-preserves.  I have gone through life with a keen eye for the discovery of earthly paradises, to which I intend to retire when my work is over, and the fairest I thought I had found above the Rift valley, where you had a hundred miles of blue horizon and the weather of Scotland.  Thirlstone, not having been there, naturally differed, and urged the claim of a certain glen in Kashmir, where you may hunt two varieties of bear and three of buck in thickets of rhododendron, and see the mightiest mountain-wall on earth from your tent door.  The mention of the Indian frontier brought us back to our professions, and for a little we talked “shop” with the unblushing confidence of those who know each other’s work and approve it.  As a very young soldier Thirlstone had gone shooting in the Pamirs, and had blundered into a Russian party of exploration which contained Kuropatkin.  He had in consequence grossly outstayed his leave, having been detained for a fortnight by an arbitrary hospitality; but he had learned many things, and the experience had given him strong views on frontier questions.  Half an hour was devoted to a masterly survey of the East, until a word pulled us up.

“I went there in ’99” Thirlstone was saying, ­“the time Wiston and I were sent ­” and then he stopped, and his eager face clouded.  Wiston’s name cast a shadow over our reminiscences.

“What did he actually do?” I asked after a short silence.

“Pretty bad!  He seemed a commonplace, good sort of fellow, popular, fairly competent, a little bad-tempered perhaps.  And then suddenly he did something so extremely blackguardly that everything was at an end.  It’s no good repeating details, and I hate to think about it.  We know little about our neighbours, and I’m not so sure that we know much about ourselves.  There may be appalling depths of iniquity in every one of us, only most people are fortunate enough to go through the world without meeting anything to wake the devil in them.  I don’t believe Wiston was bad in the ordinary sense.  Only there was something else in him-somebody else, if you like ­and in a moment it came uppermost, and he was a branded man.  Ugh! it’s a gruesome thought.”  Thirlstone had let his pipe go out, and was staring moodily into the fire.

“How do you explain things like that?” he asked.  “I have an idea of my own about them.  We talk glibly of ourselves and our personality and our conscience, as if every man’s nature were a smooth, round, white thing, like a chuckie-stone.  But I believe there are two men-perhaps more-in every one of us.  There’s our ordinary self, generally rather humdrum; and then there’s a bit of something else, good, bad, but never indifferent, ­and it is that something else which may make a man a saint or a great villain.”

“‘The Kings of Orion have come to earth,’” I quoted.

Something in the words struck Thirlstone, and he asked me what was the yarn I spoke of.

“It’s an old legend,” I explained.  “When the kings were driven out of Orion, they were sent to this planet and given each his habitation in some mortal soul.  There were differences of character in that royal family, and so the alter ego which dwells alongside of us may be virtuous or very much the reverse.  But the point is that he is always greater than ourselves, for he has been a king.  It’s a foolish story, but very widely believed.  There is something of the sort in Celtic folk-lore, and there’s a reference to it in Ausonius.  Also the bandits in the Bakhtiari have a version of it in a very excellent ballad.”

“Kings of Orion,” said Thirlstone musingly.  “I like that idea.  Good or bad, but always great!  After all, we show a kind of belief in it in our daily practice.  Every man is always making fancies about himself; but it is never his workaday self, but something else.  The bank clerk who pictures himself as a financial Napoleon knows that his own thin little soul is incapable of it; but he knows, too, that it is possible enough for that other bigger thing which is not his soul, but yet in some odd way is bound up with it.  I fancy myself a field-marshal in a European war; but I know perfectly well that if the job were offered me, I should realise my incompetence and decline.  I expect you rather picture yourself now and then as a sort of Julius Cæsar and empire-maker, and yet, with all respect, my dear chap, I think it would be rather too much for you.”

“There was once a man,” I said, “an early Victorian Whig, whose chief ambitions were to reform the criminal law and abolish slavery.  Well, this dull, estimable man in his leisure moments was Emperor of Byzantium.  He fought great wars and built palaces, and then, when the time for fancy was past, went into the House of Commons and railed against militarism and Tory extravagance.  That particular king from Orion had a rather odd sort of earthly tenement.”

Thirlstone was all interest.  “A philosophic Whig and the throne of Byzantium.  A pretty rum mixture!  And yet ­yet,” and his eyes became abstracted.  “Did you ever know Tommy Lacelles?”

“The man who once governed Deira?  Retired now, and lives somewhere in Kent.  Yes, I’ve met him once or twice.  But why?”

“Because,” said Thirlstone solemnly, “unless I’m greatly mistaken, Tommy was another such case, though no man ever guessed it except myself.  I don’t mind telling you the story, now that he is retired and vegetating in his ancestral pastures.  Besides, the facts are all in his favour, and the explanation is our own business....

“His wife was my cousin, and when she died Tommy was left a very withered, disconsolate man, with no particular object in life.  We all thought he would give up the service, for he was hideously well off and then one fine day, to our amazement, he was offered Deira, and accepted it.  I was short of a job at the time, for my battalion was at home, and there was nothing going on anywhere, so I thought I should like to see what the East Coast of Africa was like, and wrote to Tommy about it.  He jumped at me, cabled offering me what he called his Military Secretaryship, and I got seconded, and set off.  I had never known him very well, but what I had seen I had liked; and I suppose he was glad to have one of Maggie’s family with him, for he was still very low about her loss.  I was in pretty good spirits, for it meant new experiences, and I had hopes of big game.

“You’ve never been to Deira?  Well, there’s no good trying to describe it, for it’s the only place in the world like itself.  God made it and left it to its own devices.  The town is pretty enough, with its palms and green headland, and little scrubby islands in the river’s mouth.  It has the usual half-Arab, half-Portugee look-white green-shuttered houses, flat roofs, sallow little men in duck, and every type of nigger from the Somali to the Shangaan.  There are some good buildings, and Government House was the mansion of some old Portugee seigneur, and was built when people in Africa were not in such a hurry as to-day.  Inland there’s a rolling, forest country, beginning with decent trees and ending in mimosa-thorn, when the land begins to rise to the stony hills of the interior; and that poisonous yellow river rolls through it all, with a denser native population along its banks than you will find anywhere else north of the Zambesi.  For about two months in the year the climate is Paradise, and for the rest you live in a Turkish bath, with every known kind of fever hanging about.  We cleaned out the town and improved the sanitation, so there were few epidemics, but there was enough ordinary malaria to sicken a crocodile.

“The place was no special use to us.  It had been annexed in spite of a tremendous Radical outcry, and, upon my soul, it was one of the few cases where the Radicals had something to say for themselves.  All we got by it was half a dozen of the nastiest problems an unfortunate governor can have to face.  Ten years before it had been a decaying strip of coast, with a few trading firms in the town, and a small export of ivory and timber.  But some years before Tommy took it up there had been a huge discovery of copper in the hills inland, a railway had been built, and there were several biggish mining settlements at the end of it.  Deira itself was filled with offices of European firms, it had got a Stock Exchange of its own, and it was becoming the usual cosmopolitan playground.  It had a knack, too, of getting the very worst breed of adventurer.  I know something of your South African and Australian mining town, and with all their faults they are run by white men.  If they haven’t much morals, they have a kind of decency which keeps them fairly straight.  But for our sins we got a brand of Levantine Jew, who was fit for nothing but making money and making trouble.  They were always defying the law, and then, when they got into a hole, they squealed to Government for help, and started a racket in the home papers about the weakness of the Imperial power.  The crux of the whole difficulty was the natives, who lived along the river and in the foothills.  They were a hardy race of Kaffirs, sort of far-away cousins to the Zulu, and till the mines were opened they had behaved well enough.  They had arms, which we had never dared to take away, but they kept quiet and paid their hut-taxes like men.  I got to know many of the chiefs, and liked them, for they were upstanding fellows to look at and heavenborn shikaris.  However, when the Jews came along they wanted labour, and, since we did not see our way to allow them to add to the imported coolie population, they had to fall back upon the Labonga.  At first things went smoothly.  The chiefs were willing to let their men work for good wages, and for a time there was enough labour for everybody.  But as the mines extended, and the natives, after making a few pounds, wanted to get back to their kraals, there came a shortage; and since the work could not be allowed to slacken, the owners tried other methods.  They made promises which they never intended to keep, and they stood on the letter of a law which the natives did not understand, and they employed touts who were little better than slave-dealers.  They got the labour, of course, but soon they had put the Labonga into a state of unrest which a very little would turn into a rising.

“Into this kettle of fish Tommy was pitchforked, and when I arrived he was just beginning to understand how unpleasant it was.  As I said before, I did not know him very well, and I was amazed to find how bad he was at his job.  A more curiously incompetent person I never met.  He was a long, thin man, with a grizzled moustache and a mild sleepy eye-not an impressive figure, except on a horse; and he had an odd lisp which made even a shrewd remark sound foolish.  He was the most industrious creature in the world, and a model of official decorum.  His papers were always in order, his despatches always neat and correct, and I don’t believe any one ever caught him tripping in office work.  But he had no more conception than a child of the kind of trouble that was brewing.  He knew never an honest man from a rogue, and the result was that he received all unofficial communications with a polite disbelief.  I used to force him to see people-miners, prospectors, traders, any one who had something to say worth listening to, but it all glided smoothly off his mind.  He was simply the most incompetent being ever created, living in the world as not being of it, or rather creating a little official world of his own, where all events happened on lines laid down by the Colonial Office, and men were like papers, to be rolled into packets and properly docketed.  He had an Executive Council of people like himself, competent officials and blind bats at anything else.  Then there was a precious Legislative Council, intended to represent the different classes of the population.  There were several good men on it-one old trader called Mackay, for instance, who had been thirty years in the country-but most were nominees of the mining firms, and very seedy rascals at that.  They were always talking about the rights of the white man, and demanding popular control of the Government, and similar twaddle.  The leader was a man who hailed from Hamburg, and called himself Le Foy ­descended from a Crusader of the name of Levi ­who was a jackal of one of the chief copper firms.  He overflowed with Imperialist sentiment, and when he wasn’t waving the flag he used to gush about the beauties of English country life the grandeur of the English tradition.  He hated me from the start, for when he talked of going ‘home’ I thought he meant Hamburg, and said so; and then a thing happened which made him hate me worse.  He was infernally rude to Tommy, who, like the dear sheep he was, never saw it, and, if he had, wouldn’t have minded.  But one day I chanced to overhear some of his impertinences, so I hunted out my biggest sjambok and lay in wait for Mr. Le Foy.  I told him that he was a representative of the sovereign people, that I was a member of an effete bureaucracy, and that it would be most painful if unpleasantness arose between us.  But, I added, I was prepared, if necessary, to sacrifice my official career to my private feelings, and if he dared to use such language again to his Majesty’s representative I would give him a hiding he would remember till he found himself in Abraham’s bosom.  Not liking my sjambok, he became soap and butter at once, and held his tongue for a month or two.

“But though Tommy was no good at his job, he was a tremendous swell at other things.  He was an uncommonly good linguist, and had always about a dozen hobbies which he slaved at; and when he found himself at Deira with a good deal of leisure, he became a bigger crank than ever.  He had a lot of books which used to follow him about the world in zinc-lined boxes ­your big paper-backed German books which mean research, ­and he was a Fellow of the Royal Society, and corresponded with half a dozen foreign shows.  India was his great subject, but he had been in the Sudan and knew a good deal about African races.  When I went out to him, his pet hobby was the Bantu, and he had acquired an amazing amount of miscellaneous learning.  He knew all about their immigration from the North, and the Arab and Phoenician trade-routes, and the Portuguese occupation, and the rest of the history of that unpromising seaboard.  The way he behaved in his researches showed the man.  He worked hard at the Labonga language-which, I believe, is a linguistic curiosity of the first water-from missionary books and the conversation of tame Kaffirs.  But he never thought of paying them a visit in their native haunts.  I was constantly begging him to do it, but it was not Tommy’s way.  He did not care a straw about political experience, and he liked to look at things through the medium of paper and ink.  Then there were the Phoenician remains in the foot-hills where the copper was mined-old workings, and things which might have been forts or temples.  He knew all that was to be known about them, but he had never seen them and never wanted to.  Once only he went to the hills, to open some new reservoirs and make the ordinary Governor’s speech; but he went in a special train and stayed two hours, most of which was spent in lunching and being played to by brass bands.

“But, oddly enough, there was one thing which stirred him with an interest that was not academic.  I discovered it by accident one day when I went into his study and found him struggling with a map of Central Asia.  Instead of the mild, benevolent smile with which he usually greeted my interruptions, he looked positively furtive, and, I could have sworn, tried to shuffle the map under some papers.  Now it happens that Central Asia is the part of the globe that I know better than most men, and I could not help picking up the map and looking at it.  It was a wretched thing, and had got the Oxus two hundred miles out of its course.  I pointed this out to Tommy, and to my amazement he became quite excited.  ‘Nonsense,’ he said.  ’You don’t mean to say it goes south of that desert.  Why, I meant to ­,’ and then he stammered and stopped.  I wondered what on earth he had meant to do, but I merely observed that I had been there, and knew.  That brought Tommy out of his chair in real excitement.  ‘What!’ he cried, ’you!  You never told me,’ and he started to fire off a round of questions, which showed that if he knew very little about the place, he had it a good deal in his mind.”

I drew some sketch-plans for him, and left him brooding over them.

“That was the first hint I got.  The second was a few nights later, when we were smoking in the billiard-room.  I had been reading Marco Polo, and the talk got on to Persia and drifted all over the north side of the Himalaya.  Tommy, with an abstracted eye, talked of Alexander and Timour and Genghis Khan, and particularly of Prester John, who was a character and took his fancy.  I had told him that the natives in the Pamirs were true Persian stock, and this interested him greatly.  ’Why was there never a great state built up in those valleys?’ he asked.  ’You get nothing but a few wild conquerors rushing east and west, and then some squalid khanates.  And yet all the materials were there ­the stuff for a strong race, a rich land, the traditions of an old civilisation, and natural barriers against all invasion.’

“‘I suppose they never found the man,’ I said.

“He agreed.  ’Their princes were sots, or they were barbarians of genius who could devastate to the gates of Peking or Constantinople, but could never build.  They did not recognise their limits, and so they went out in a whirlwind.  But if there had been a man of solid genius he might have built up the strongest nation on the globe.  In time he could have annexed Persia and nibbled at China.  He would have been rich, for he could tap all the inland trade-routes of Asia.  He would have had to be a conqueror, for his people would be a race of warriors, but first and foremost he must have been a statesman.  Think of such a civilisation, the Asian civilisation, growing up mysteriously behind the deserts and the ranges!  That’s my idea of Prester John.  Russia would have been confined to the line of the Urals.  China would have been absorbed.  There would have been no Japan.  The whole history of the world for the last few hundred years would have been different.  It is the greatest of all the lost chances in history.’  Tommy waxed pathetic over the loss.

“I was a little surprised at his eloquence, especially when he seemed to remember himself and stopped all of a sudden.  But for the next week I got no peace with his questions.  I told him all I knew of Bokhara, and Samarkand, and Tashkend, and Yarkand.  I showed him the passes in the Pamirs and the Hindu Kush.  I traced out the rivers, and I calculated distances; we talked over imaginary campaigns, and set up fanciful constitutions.  It a was childish game, but I found it interesting enough.  He spoke of it all with a curious personal tone which puzzled me, till one day when we were amusing ourselves with a fight on the Zarafshan, and I put in a modest claim to be allowed to win once in a while.  For a second he looked at me in blank surprise.  ‘You can’t,’ he said; ‘I’ve got to enter Samarkand before I can...’ and he stopped again, with a glimmering sense in his face that he was giving himself away.  And then I knew that I had surprised Tommy’s secret.  While he was muddling his own job, he was salving his pride with fancies of some wild career in Asia, where Tommy, disguised as the lord knows what Mussulman grandee, was hammering the little states into an empire.

“I did not think then as I think now, and I was amused to find so odd a trait in a dull man.  I had known something of the kind before.  I had met fellows who after their tenth peg would begin to swagger about some ridiculous fancy of their own ­their little private corner of soul showing for a moment when the drink had blown aside their common-sense.  Now, I had never known the thing appear in cold blood and everyday life, but I assumed the case to be the same.  I thought of it only as a harmless fancy, never imagining that it had anything to do with character.  I put it down to that kindly imagination which is the old opiate for failures.  So I played up to Tommy with all my might, and though he became very discreet after the first betrayal, having hit upon the clue, I knew what to look for, and I found it.  When I told him that the Labonga were in a devil of a mess, he would look at me with an empty face and change the subject; but once among the Turcomans his eye would kindle, and he would slave at his confounded folly with sufficient energy to reform the whole East Coast.  It was the spark that kept the man alive.  Otherwise he would have been as limp as a rag, but this craziness put life into him, and made him carry his head in the air and walk like a free man.  I remember he was very keen about any kind of martial poetry.  He used to go about crooning Scott and Macaulay to himself, and when we went for a walk or a ride he wouldn’t speak for miles, but keep smiling to himself and humming bits of songs.  I daresay he was very happy, ­far happier than your stolid, competent man, who sees only the one thing to do and does it.  Tommy was muddling his particular duty, but building glorious palaces in the air.

“One day Mackay, the old trader, came to me after a sitting of the precious Legislative Council.  We were very friendly, and I had done all I could to get the Government to listen to his views.  He was a dour, ill-tempered Scotsman, very anxious for the safety of his property, but perfectly careless about any danger to himself.

“‘Captain Thirlstone,’ he said, ’that Governor of yours is a damned fool.’

“Of course I shut him up very brusquely, but he paid no attention.  ’He just sits and grins, and lets yon Pentecostal crowd we’ve gotten here as a judgment for our sins do what they like wi’ him.  God kens what’ll happen.  I would go home to-morrow, if I could realise without an immoderate loss.  For the day of reckoning is at hand.  Maark my words, Captain ­at hand.’

“I said I agreed with him about the approach of trouble, but that the Governor would rise to the occasion.  I told him that people like Tommy were only seen at their best in a crisis, and that he might be perfectly confident that when it arrived he would get a new idea of the man.  I said this, but of course I did not believe a word of it.  I thought Tommy was only a dreamer, who had rotted any grit he ever possessed by his mental opiates.  At that time I did not understand about the kings from Orion.

“And then came the thing we had all been waiting for ­a Labonga rising.  A week before I had got leave and had gone up country, partly to shoot, but mainly to see for myself what trouble was brewing.  I kept away from the river, and therefore missed the main native centres, but such kraals as I passed had a look I did not like.  The chiefs were almost always invisible, and the young bloods were swaggering about and bukking to each other, while the women were grinding maize as if for some big festival.  However, after a bit the country seemed to grow more normal, and I went into the foothills to shoot, fairly easy in my mind.  I had got up to a place called Shimonwe, on the Pathi river, where I had ordered letters to be sent, and one night coming in from a hard day after kudu I found a post-runner half-dead of fatigue with a chit from Utterson, who commanded a police district twenty miles nearer the coast.  It said simply that all the young men round about him had cleared out and appeared to be moving towards Deira, that he was in the devil of a quandary, and that, since the police were under the Governor, he would take his orders from me.

“It looked as if the heather were fairly on fire at last, so I set off early next morning to trek back.  About midday I met Utterson, a very badly scared little man, who had come to look for me.  It seemed that his policemen had bolted in the night and gone to join the rising, leaving him with two white sergeants, barely fifty rounds of ammunition, and no neighbour for a hundred miles.  He said that the Labonga chiefs were not marching to the coast, as he had thought, but north along the eastern foothills in the direction of the mines.  This was better news, for it meant that in all probability the railway would remain open.  It was my business to get somehow to my chief, and I was in the deuce of a stew how to manage it.  It was no good following the line of the natives’ march, for they would have been between me and my goal, and the only way was to try and outflank them by going due east, in the Deira direction, and then turning north, so as to strike the railway about half-way to the mines.  I told Utterson we had better scatter, otherwise we should have no chance of getting through a densely populated native country.  So, about five in the afternoon I set off with my chief shikari, who, by good luck, was not a Labonga, and dived into the jungly bush which skirts the hills.

“For three days I had a baddish time.  We steered by the stars, travelling chiefly by night, and we showed extraordinary skill in missing the water-holes.  I had a touch of fever and got light-headed, and it was all I could do to struggle through the thick grass and wait-a-bit thorns.  My clothes were torn to rags, and I grew so footsore that it was agony to move.  All the same we travelled fast, and there was no chance of our missing the road, for any route due north was bound to cut the railway.  I had the most sickening uncertainty about what was to come next.  Hely, who was in command at Deira, was a good enough man, but he had only three companies of white troops, and the black troops were as likely as not to be on their way to the rebels.  It looked as if we should have a Cawnpore business on a small scale, though I thanked Heaven there were no women in the case.  As for Tommy, he would probably be repeating platitudes in Deira and composing an intelligent despatch on the whole subject.

“About four in the afternoon of the third day I struck the line near a little station called Palala.  I saw by the look of the rails that trains were still running, and my hopes revived.  At Palala there was a coolie stationmaster, who gave me a drink and a little food, after which I slept heavily in his office till wakened by the arrival of an up train.  It contained one of the white companies and a man Davidson, of the 101st, who was Hely’s second in command.  From him I had news that took away my breath.  The Governor had gone up the line two days before with an A.D.C. and old Mackay.  ’The sportsman has got a move on him at last,’ said Davidson, ’but what he means to do Heaven only knows.  The Labonga are at the mines, and a kind of mine-guard has been formed for defence.  The joke of it is that most of the magnates are treed up there, for the railway is cut and they can’t get away.  I don’t envy your chief the job of schooling that nervous crowd.’

“I went on with Davidson, and very early next morning we came to a broken culvert and had to stop.  There we stuck for three hours till the down train arrived, and with it Hely.  He was for ordinary a stolid soul, but I never saw a man in such a fever of excitement.  He gripped me by the arm and fairly shook me.  ‘That old man of yours is a hero,’ he cried.  ‘The Lord forgive me! and I have always crabbed him.’

“I implored him in Heaven’s name to tell me what was up, but he would say nothing till he had had his pow-pow with Davidson.  It seemed that he was bringing all his white troops up the line for some great demonstration that Tommy had conceived.  Davidson went back to Deira, while we mended the culvert and got the men transferred to the other train.  Then I screwed the truth out of Hely.  Tommy had got up to the mines before the rebels arrived, and had found as fine a chaos as can be imagined.  He did not seem to have had any doubts what to do.  There was a certain number of white workmen, hard fellows from Cornwall mostly, with a few Australians, and these he got together with Mackay’s help and organised into a pretty useful corps.  He set them to guard the offices, and gave them strict orders to shoot at sight any one attempting to leave.  Then he collected the bosses and talked to them like a father.  What he said Hely did not know, except that he had damned their eyes pretty heartily, and told them what a set of swine they were, making trouble which they had not the pluck to face.  Whether from Mackay, or from his own intelligence, or from a memory of my neglected warnings, he seemed to have got a tight grip on the facts at last.  Meanwhile, the Labonga were at the doors, chanting their battle-songs half a mile away, and shots were heard from the far pickets.  If they had tried to rush the place then, all would have been over, but, luckily, that was never their way of fighting.  They sat down in camp to make their sacrifices and consult their witch-doctors, and presently Hely arrived with the first troops, having come in on the northern flank when he found the line cut.  He had been in time to hear the tail-end of Tommy’s final address to the mineowners.  He told them, in words which Hely said he could never have imagined coming from his lips, that they would be well served if the Labonga cleaned the whole place out.  Only, he said, that would be against the will of Britain, and it was his business, as a loyal servant, to prevent it.  Then, after giving Hely his instructions, he had put on his uniform, gold lace and all, and every scrap of bunting he possessed ­all the orders and ‘Golden Stars’ of half a dozen Oriental States where he had served.  He made Ashurst, the A.D.C., put on his best Hussar’s kit, and Mackay rigged himself out in a frock-coat and a topper; and the three set out on horseback for the Labonga.  ’I believe he’ll bring it off, said Hely, with wild eyes, ’and, by Heaven, if he does, it’ll be the best thing since John Nicholson!’

“For the rest of the way I sat hugging myself with excitement.  The miracle of miracles seemed to have come.  The old, slack, incompetent soul in Tommy seemed to have been driven out by that other spirit, which had hitherto been content to dream of crazy victories on the Oxus.  I cursed my folly in having missed it all, for I would have given my right hand to be with him among the Labonga.  I envied that young fool Ashurst his luck in being present at that queer transformation scene.  I had not a doubt that Tommy would bring it off all right.  The kings from Orion don’t go into action without coming out on top.  As we got near the mines I kept my ears open for the sound of shots; but all was still, ­not even the kind of hubbub a native force makes when it is on the move.  Something had happened, but what it was no man could guess.  When we got to where the line was up, we made very good time over the five miles to the mines.  No one interfered with us, and the nearer we got the greater grew my certainty.  Soon we were at the pickets, who had nothing to tell us; and then we were racing up the long sandy street to the offices, and there, sitting smoking on the doorstep of the hotel, surrounded by everybody who was not on duty, were Mackay and Ashurst.

“They were an odd pair.  Ashurst still wore his uniform; but he seemed to have been rolling about in it on the ground; his sleek hair was wildly ruffled, and he was poking holes in the dust with his sword.  Mackay had lost his topper, and wore a disreputable cap, his ancient frock-coat was without buttons, and his tie had worked itself up behind his ears.  They talked excitedly to each other, now and then vouchsafing a scrap of information to an equally excited audience.  When they saw me they rose and rushed for me, and dragged me between them up the street, while the crowd tailed at our heels.

“‘Ye’re a true prophet, Captain Thirlstone,’ Mackay began, ’and I ask your pardon for doubting you.  Ye said the Governor only needed a crisis to behave like a man.  Well, the crisis has come; and if there’s a man alive in this sinful world, it’s that chief o’ yours.  And then his emotion overcame him, and, hard-bitten devil as he was, he sat down on the ground and gasped with hysterical laughter, while Ashurst, with a very red face, kept putting the wrong end of a cigarette in his mouth and swearing profanely.

“I never remember a madder sight.  There was the brassy blue sky and reddish granite rock and acres of thick red dust.  The scrub had that metallic greenness which you find in all copper places.  Pretty unwholesome it looked, and the crowd, which had got round us again, was more unwholesome still.  Fat Jew boys, with diamond rings on dirty fingers and greasy linen cuffs, kept staring at us with twitching lips; and one or two smarter fellows in riding-breeches, mine-managers and suchlike, tried to show their pluck by nervous jokes.  And in the middle was Mackay, with his damaged frocker, drawling out his story in broad Scots.

“’He made this laddie put on his braws, and he commandeered this iniquitous garment for me.  I’ve raxed its seams, and it’ll never look again on the man that owns it.  Syne he arrayed himself in purple and fine linen till he as like the king’s daughter, all glorious without; and says he to me, “Mackay,” he says, “we’ll go and talk to these uncovenanted deevils in their own tongue.  We’ll visit them at home, Mackay,” he says.  “They’re none such bad fellows, but they want a little humouring from men like you and me.”  So we got on our horses and started the procession ­the Governor with his head in the air, and the laddie endenvouring to look calm and collected, and me praying to the God of Israel and trying to keep my breeks from working up above my knees.  I’ve been in Kaffir wars afore, but I never thought I would ride without weapon of any kind into such a black Armageddon.  I am a peaceable man for ordinär’, and a canny one, but I wasna myself in that hour.  Man, Thirlstone, I was that overcome by the spirit of your chief, that if he had bidden me gang alone on the same errand, I wouldna say but what I would have gone.

“’We hadna ridden half a mile before we saw the indunas and their men, ten thousand if there was one, and terrible as an army with banners.  I speak feeguratively, for they hadna the scrap of a flag among them.  They were beating the war-drums, and the young men were dancing with their big skin shields and wagging their ostrich feathers, so I saw they were out for business.  I’ll no’ say but what my blood ran cold, but the Governor’s eye got brighter and his back stiffer.  “Kings may be blest,” I says to myself, “but thou art glorious.”

“’We rode straight for the centre of the crowd, where the young men were thickest and the big war-drums lay.  As soon as they saw us a dozen lifted their spears and ran out to meet us.  But they stopped after six steps.  The sun glinted on the Governor’s gold lace and my lum hat, and no doubt they thought we were heathen deities descended from the heavens.  Down they went on their faces, and then back like rabbits to the rest, while the drums stopped, and the whole body awaited our coming in a silence like the tomb.

“’Never a word we spoke, but just jogged on with our chins cocked up till we were forenent the big drum, where yon old scoundrel Umgazi was standing with his young men looking as black as sin.  For a moment their spears were shaking in their hands, and I heard the click of a breech-bolt.  If we had winked an eye we would have become pincushions that instant.  But some unearthly power upheld us.  Even the laddie kept a stiff face, and for me I forgot my breeks in watching the Governor.  He looked as solemn as an archangel, and comes to a halt opposite Umgazi, where he glowers at the old man for maybe three minutes, while we formed up behind him.  Their eyes fell before his, and by-and-by their spears dropped to their sides.  “The father has come to his children,” says he in their own tongue.  “What do the children seek from their father?

“’Ye see the cleverness of the thing.  The man’s past folly came to help him.  The natives had never seen the Governor before till they beheld him in gold lace and a cocked hat on a muckle horse, speaking their own tongue and looking like a destroying angel.  I tell you the Labonga’s knees were loosed under them.  They durstna speak a word until the Governor repeated the question in the same quiet, steely voice.  “You seek something,” he said, “else you had not come out to meet me in your numbers.  The father waits to hear the children’s desires.”

“’Then Umgazi found his tongue and began an uneasy speech.  The mines, he said, truly enough, were the abode of devils, who compelled the people to work under the ground.  The crops were unreaped and the buck went unspeared, because there were no young men left to him.  Their father had been away or asleep, they thought, for no help had come from him; therefore it had seemed good to them, being freemen and warriors, to seek help for themselves.

“’The Governor listened to it all with a set face.  Then he smiled at them with supernatural assurance.  They were fools, he said, and people of little wit, and he flung the better part of the Book of Job at their heads.  The Lord kens where the man got his uncanny knowledge of the Labonga.  He had all their heathen customs by heart, and he played with them like a cat with a mouse.  He told then they were damned rascals to make such a stramash, and damned fools to think they could frighten the white man by their demonstrations.  There was no brag about his words, just a calm statement of fact.  At the same time, he said, he had no mind to let any one wrong his children, and if any wrong had been done it should be righted.  It was not meet, he said, that the young men should be taken from the villages unless by their own consent, though it was his desire that such young men as could be spared should have a chance of earning an honest penny.  And then he fired at them some stuff about the British Empire and the King, and you could sec the Labonga imbibing it like water.  The man in a cocked hat might have told them that the sky was yellow, and they would have swallowed it.

“’"I have spoken,” he says at last, and there was a great shout from the young men, and old Umgazi looked pretty foolish.  They were coming round our horses to touch our stirrups with their noses, but the Governor stopped them.

“’"My children will pile their weapons in front of me,” says he, “to show me how they have armed themselves, and likewise to prove that their folly is at an end.  All except a dozen,” says he, “whom I select as a bodyguard.”  And there and then he picked twelve lusty savages for his guard, while the rest without a cheep stacked their spears and guns forenent the big drum.

“’Then he turned to us and spoke in English.  “Get back to the mines hell-for-leather, and tell them what’s happening, and see that you get up some kind of a show for to-morrow at noon.  I will bring the chiefs, and we’ll feast them.  Get all the bands you can, and let them play me in.  Tell the mines fellows to look active for it’s the chance of their lives.  “Then he says to the Labonga, “My men will return he says, “but as for me I will spend the night with my children.  Make ready food, but let no beer be made, for it is a solemn occasion.”

“’And so we left him.  I will not describe how I spent last night mysel’, but I have something to say about this remarkable phenomenon.  I could enlarge on the triumph of mind over matter. ....

“Mackay did not enlarge.  He stopped, cocked his ears, and looked down the road, from which came the strains of ‘Annie Laurie,’ played with much spirit but grievously out of tune.  Followed ’The British Grenadiers,’ and then an attempt at ‘The March of the Priests.’  Mackay rose in excitement and began to crane his disreputable neck, while the band ­a fine scratch collection of instruments ­took up their stand at the end of the street, flanked by a piper in khaki who performed when their breath failed.  Mackay chuckled with satisfaction.  ’The deevils have entered into the spirit of my instructions,’ he said.  ’In a wee bit the place will be like Falkirk Tryst for din.

“Punctually at twelve there came a great hullabaloo up the road, the beating of drums and the yelling of natives, and presently the procession hove in sight.  There was Tommy on his horse, and on each side of him six savages with feather head-dress, and shields and war-paint complete.  After him trooped about thirty of the great chiefs, walking two by two, for all the world like an Aldershot parade.  They carried no arms, but the bodyguard shook their spears, and let yells out of them that would have scared Julius Cæsar.  Then the band started in, and the piper blew up, and the mines people commenced to cheer, and I thought the heavens would fall.  Long before Tommy came abreast of me I knew what I should see.  His uniform looked as if it had been slept in, and his orders were all awry.  But he had his head flung back, and his eyes very bright, and his jaw set square.  He never looked to right or left, never recognised me or anybody, for he was seeing something quite different from the red road and the white shanties and the hot sky.”

The fire had almost died out.  Thirlstone stooped for a moment and stirred the peats.

“Yes,” he said, “I knew that in his fool’s ear the trumpets of all Asia were ringing, and the King of Bokhara was entering Samarkand.”

Babylon.

(The Song of NEHEMIAH’S Workmen)

  How many miles to Babylon? 
  ’Three score and ten. 
  Can I get there by candle-light? 
  Yes, and back again.

  We are come back from Babylon,
  Out of the plains and the glare,
  To the little hills of our own country
  And the sting of our kindred air;
  To the rickle of stones on the red rock’s edge
  Which Kedron cleaves like a sword. 
  We will build the walls of Zion again,
  To the glory of Zion’s lord.

  Now is no more of dalliance
  By the reedy waters in spring,
  When we sang of home, and sighed, and dreamed,
  And wept on remembering. 
  Now we are back in our ancient hills
  Out of the plains and the sun;
  But before we make it a dwelling-place
  There’s a wonderful lot to be done.

  The walls are to build from west to east,
  From Gihon to Olivet,
  Waters to lead and wells to clear,
  And the garden furrows to set. 
  From the Sheep Gate to the Fish Gate
  Is a welter of mire and mess;
  And southward over the common lands
  ’Tis a dragon’s wilderness.

  The Courts of the Lord are a heap of dust
  Where the hill winds whistle and race,
  And the noble pillars of God His House
  Stand in a ruined place
  In the Holy of Holies foxes lair,
  And owls and night-birds build. 
  There’s a deal to do ere we patch it anew
  As our father Solomon willed.

  Now is the day of the ordered life
  And the law which all obey. 
  We toil by rote and speak by note
  And never a soul dare stray. 
  Ever among us a lean old man
  Keepeth his watch and ward,
  Crying, “The Lord hath set you free: 
  Prepare ye the way of the Lord.”

  A goodly task we are called unto,
  A task to dream on o’ nights,
   ­Work for Judah and Judah’s God,
  Setting our lands to rights;
  Everything fair and all things square
  And straight as a plummet string. 
   ­Is it mortal guile, if once in a while
  Our thoughts go wandering?...

  We were not slaves in Babylon,
  For the gate of our souls lay free,
  There in that vast and sunlit land
  On the edges of mystery. 
  Daily we wrought and daily we thought,
  And we chafed not at rod and power,
  For Sinim, Ssabea, and dusky Hind
  Talked to us hour by hour.

  The man who lives in Babylon
  May poorly sup and fare,
  But loves and lures from the ends of the earth
  Beckon him everywhere. 
  Next year he too may have sailed strange seas
  And conquered a diadem;
  For kings are as common in Babylon
  As crows in Bethlehem.

  Here we are bound to the common round
  In a land which knows not change
  Nothing befalleth to stir the blood
  Or quicken the heart to range;
  Never a hope that we cannot plumb
  Or a stranger visage in sight, ­
  At the most a sleek Samaritan
  Or a ragged Amorite.

  Here we are sober and staid of soul,
  Working beneath the law,
  Settled amid our father’s dust,
  Seeing the hills they saw. 
  All things fixed and determinate,
  Chiselled and squared by rule;
  Is it mortal guile once in a while
  To try and escape from school?

  We will go back to Babylon,
  Silently one by one,
  Out from the hills and the laggard brooks
  To the streams that brim in the sun. 
  Only a moment, Lord, we crave,
  To breathe and listen and see. ­
  Then we start anew with muscle and thew
  To hammer trestles for Thee.