The Incarnation of Krishna Mulvaney - Part I

Wohl auf, my bully cavaliers,
We ride to church to-day,
The man that hasn't got a horse
Must steal one straight away.

Be reverent, men, remember
This is a Gottes haus.
Du, Conrad, cut along der aisle
And schenck der whiskey aus.

_Hans Breitmann's Ride to Church._

Once upon a time, very far from England, there lived three men who loved
each other so greatly that neither man nor woman could come between them.
They were in no sense refined, nor to be admitted to the outer-door mats
of decent folk, because they happened to be private soldiers in Her
Majesty's Army; and private soldiers of our service have small time for
self-culture. Their duty is to keep themselves and their accoutrements
specklessly clean, to refrain from getting drunk more often than is
necessary, to obey their superiors, and to pray for a war. All these
things my friends accomplished; and of their own motion threw in some
fighting-work for which the Army Regulations did not call. Their fate sent
them to serve in India, which is not a golden country, though poets have
sung otherwise. There men die with great swiftness, and those who live
suffer many and curious things. I do not think that my friends concerned
themselves much with the social or political aspects of the East. They
attended a not unimportant war on the northern frontier, another one on
our western boundary, and a third in Upper Burma. Then their regiment sat
still to recruit, and the boundless monotony of cantonment life was their
portion. They were drilled morning and evening on the same dusty
parade-ground. They wandered up and down the same stretch of dusty white
road, attended the same church and the same grog-shop, and slept in the
same lime-washed barn of a barrack for two long years. There was Mulvaney,
the father in the craft, who had served with various regiments from
Bermuda to Halifax, old in war, scarred, reckless, resourceful, and in his
pious hours an unequalled soldier. To him turned for help and comfort six
and a half feet of slow-moving, heavy-footed Yorkshireman, born on the
wolds, bred in the dales, and educated chiefly among the carriers' carts
at the back of York railway-station. His name was Learoyd, and his chief
virtue an unmitigated patience which helped him to win fights. How
Ortheris, a fox-terrier of a Cockney, ever came to be one of the trio, is
a mystery which even to-day I cannot explain. "There was always three av
us," Mulvaney used to say. "An' by the grace av God, so long as our
service lasts, three av us they'll always be. 'Tis betther so."

They desired no companionship beyond their own, and it was evil for any
man of the regiment who attempted dispute with them. Physical argument was
out of the question as regarded Mulvaney and the Yorkshireman; and assault
on Ortheris meant a combined attack from these twain--a business which no
five men were anxious to have on their hands. Therefore they flourished,
sharing their drinks, their tobacco, and their money; good luck and evil;
battle and the chances of death; life and the chances of happiness from
Calicut in southern, to Peshawur in northern India.

Through no merit of my own it was my good fortune to be in a measure
admitted to their friendship--frankly by Mulvaney from the beginning,
sullenly and with reluctance by Learoyd, and suspiciously by Ortheris, who
held to it that no man not in the Army could fraternize with a red-coat.
"Like to like," said he. "I'm a bloomin' sodger--he's a bloomin' civilian.
'Tain't natural--that's all."

But that was not all. They thawed progressively, and in the thawing told
me more of their lives and adventures than I am ever likely to write.

Omitting all else, this tale begins with the Lamentable Thirst that was at
the beginning of First Causes. Never was such a thirst--Mulvaney told me
so. They kicked against their compulsory virtue, but the attempt was only
successful in the case of Ortheris. He, whose talents were many, went
forth into the highways and stole a dog from a "civilian"--_videlicet_,
some one, he knew not who, not in the Army. Now that civilian was but
newly connected by marriage with the colonel of the regiment, and outcry
was made from quarters least anticipated by Ortheris, and, in the end, he
was forced, lest a worse thing should happen, to dispose at ridiculously
unremunerative rates of as promising a small terrier as ever graced one
end of a leading string. The purchase-money was barely sufficient for one
small outbreak which led him to the guard-room. He escaped, however, with
nothing worse than a severe reprimand, and a few hours of punishment
drill. Not for nothing had he acquired the reputation of being "the best
soldier of his inches" in the regiment. Mulvaney had taught personal
cleanliness and efficiency as the first articles of his companions' creed.
"A dhirty man," he was used to say, in the speech of his kind, "goes to
Clink for a weakness in the knees, an' is coort-martialled for a pair av
socks missin'; but a clane man, such as is an ornament to his service--a
man whose buttons are gold, whose coat is wax upon him, an' whose
'coutrements are widout a speck--that man may, spakin' in reason, do fwhat
he likes an' dhrink from day to divil. That's the pride av bein' dacint."

We sat together, upon a day, in the shade of a ravine far from the
barracks, where a watercourse used to run in rainy weather. Behind us was
the scrub jungle, in which jackals, peacocks, the grey wolves of the
Northwestern Provinces, and occasionally a tiger estrayed from Central
India, were supposed to dwell. In front lay the cantonment, glaring white
under a glaring sun; and on either side ran the broad road that led to
Delhi.

It was the scrub that suggested to my mind the wisdom of Mulvaney taking a
day's leave and going upon a shooting-tour. The peacock is a holy bird
throughout India, and he who slays one is in danger of being mobbed by the
nearest villagers; but on the last occasion that Mulvaney had gone forth,
he had contrived, without in the least offending local religious
susceptibilities, to return with six beautiful peacock skins which he sold
to profit. It seemed just possible then--

"But fwhat manner av use is ut to me goin' out widout a dhrink? The
ground's powdher-dhry underfoot, an' ut gets unto the throat fit to kill,"
wailed Mulvaney, looking at me reproachfully. "An' a peacock is not a bird
you can catch the tail av onless ye run. Can a man run on wather--an'
jungle-wather too?"

Ortheris had considered the question in all its bearings. He spoke,
chewing his pipe-stem meditatively the while:

"Go forth, return in glory,
To Clusium's royal 'ome:
An' round these bloomin' temples 'ang
The bloomin' shields o' Rome.

You better go. You ain't like to shoot yourself--not while there's a
chanst of liquor. Me an' Learoyd 'll stay at 'ome an' keep shop--'case o'
anythin' turnin' up. But you go out with a gas-pipe gun an' ketch the
little peacockses or somethin'. You kin get one day's leave easy as
winkin'. Go along an' get it, an' get peacockses or somethin'."

"Jock," said Mulvaney, turning to Learoyd, who was half asleep under the
shadow of the bank. He roused slowly.

"Sitha, Mulvaaney, go," said he.

And Mulvaney went; cursing his allies with Irish fluency and barrack-room
point.

"Take note," said he, when he had won his holiday, and appeared dressed in
his roughest clothes with the only other regimental fowling piece in his
hand. "Take note, Jock, an' you Orth'ris, I am goin' in the face av my own
will--all for to please you. I misdoubt anythin' will come av permiscuous
huntin' afther peacockses in a desolit lan'; an' I know that I will lie
down an' die wid thirrrst. Me catch peacockses for you, ye lazy
scutts--an' be sacrificed by the peasanthry--Ugh!"

He waved a huge paw and went away.

At twilight, long before the appointed hour, he returned empty-handed,
much begrimed with dirt.

"Peacockses?" queried Ortheris from the safe rest of a barrack-room table
whereon he was smoking cross-legged, Learoyd fast asleep on a bench.

"Jock," said Mulvaney, without answering, as he stirred up the sleeper.
"Jock, can ye fight? Will ye fight?"

Very slowly the meaning of the words communicated itself to the
half-roused man. He understood--and again--what might these things mean?
Mulvaney was shaking him savagely. Meantime the men in the room howled
with delight. There was war in the confederacy at last--war and the
breaking of bonds.

Barrack-room etiquette is stringent. On the direct challenge must follow
the direct reply. This is more binding than the ties of tried friendship.
Once again Mulvaney repeated the question. Learoyd answered by the only
means in his power, and so swiftly that the Irishman had barely time to
avoid the blow. The laughter around increased. Learoyd looked bewilderedly
at his friend--himself as greatly bewildered. Ortheris dropped from the
table because his world was falling.

"Come outside," said Mulvaney, and as the occupants of the barrack-room
prepared joyously to follow, he turned and said furiously, "There will be
no fight this night--onless any wan av you is wishful to assist. The man
that does, follows on."

No man moved. The three passed out into the moonlight, Learoyd fumbling
with the buttons of his coat. The parade-ground was deserted except for
the scurrying jackals. Mulvaney's impetuous rush carried his companions
far into the open ere Learoyd attempted to turn round and continue the
discussion.

"Be still now. 'Twas my fault for beginnin' things in the middle av an
end, Jock. I should ha' comminst wid an explanation; but Jock, dear, on
your sowl are ye fit, think you, for the finest fight that iver
was--betther than fightin' me? Considher before ye answer."

More than ever puzzled, Learoyd turned round two or three times, felt an
arm, kicked tentatively, and answered, "Ah'm fit." He was accustomed to
fight blindly at the bidding of the superior mind.

They sat them down, the men looking on from afar, and Mulvaney untangled
himself in mighty words.

"Followin' your fools' scheme I wint out into the thrackless desert beyond
the barricks. An' there I met a pious Hindu dhriving a bullock-kyart. I
tuk ut for granted he wud be delighted for to convoy me a piece, an' I
jumped in"--

"You long, lazy, black-haired swine," drawled Ortheris, who would have
done the same thing under similar circumstances.

"'Twas the height av policy. That naygur-man dhruv miles an' miles--as far
as the new railway line they're buildin' now back av the Tavi river. ''Tis
a kyart for dhirt only,' says he now an' again timoreously, to get me out
av ut. 'Dhirt I am,' sez I, 'an' the dhryest that you iver kyarted. Dhrive
on, me son, an' glory be wid you.' At that I wint to slape, an' took no
heed till he pulled up on the embankmmt av the line where the coolies were
pilin' mud. There was a matther av two thousand coolies on that line--you
remimber that. Prisintly a bell rang, an' they throops off to a big
pay-shed. 'Where's the white man in charge?' sez I to my kyart-dhriver.
'In the shed,' sez he, 'engaged on a riffle,'--'A fwhat?' sez I. 'Riffle,'
sez he, 'You take ticket. He take money. You get nothin'.--'Oho!' sez I,
'that's fwhat the shuperior an' cultivated man calls a raffle, me
misbeguided child av darkness an' sin. Lead on to that raffle, though
fwhat the mischief 'tis doin' so far away from uts home--which is the
charity-bazaar at Christmas, an' the colonel's wife grinnin' behind the
tea-table--is more than I know.' Wid that I wint to the shed an' found
'twas payday among the coolies. Their wages was on a table forninst a big,
fine, red buck av a man--sivun fut high, four fut wide, an' three fut
thick, wid a fist on him like a corn-sack. He was payin' the coolies fair
an' easy, but he wud ask each man If he wud raffle that month, an' each
man sez, 'Yes,' av course. Thin he wud deduct from their wages accordin'.
Whin all was paid, he filled an ould cigar-box full av gun-wads an'
scatthered ut among the coolies. They did not take much joy av that
performince, an' small wondher. A man close to me picks up a black gun-wad
an' sings out, 'I have ut,'--'Good may ut do you.' sez I. The coolie wint
forward to this big, fine, red man, who threw a cloth off av the most
sumpshus, jooled, enamelled an' variously bedivilled sedan-chair I iver
saw."

"Sedan-chair! Put your 'ead in a bag. That was a palanquin. Don't yer know
a palanquin when you see it?" said Ortheris with great scorn.

"I chuse to call ut sedan chair, an' chair ut shall be, little man,"
continued the Irishman. "Twas a most amazin' chair--all lined wid pink
silk an' fitted wid red silk curtains. 'Here ut is,' sez the red man.
'Here ut is,' sez the coolie, an' he grinned weakly-ways. 'Is ut any use
to you?' sez the red man. 'No,' sez the coolie; 'I'd like to make a
presint av ut to you.'--'I am graciously pleased to accept that same,' sez
the red man; an' at that all the coolies cried aloud in fwhat was mint for
cheerful notes, an' wint back to their diggin', lavin' me alone in the
shed. The red man saw me, an' his face grew blue on his big, fat neck.
'Fwhat d'you want here?' sez he. 'Standin'-room an' no more,' sez I,
'onless it may be fwhat ye niver had, an' that's manners, ye rafflin'
ruffian,' for I was not goin' to have the Service throd upon. 'Out of
this,' sez he. 'I'm in charge av this section av construction.'--'I'm in
charge av mesilf,' sez I, 'an' it's like I will stay a while. D'ye raffle
much in these parts?'--'Fwhat's that to you?' sez he. 'Nothin',' sez I,
'but a great dale to you, for begad I'm thinkin' you get the full half av
your revenue from that sedan-chair. Is ut always raffled so?' I sez, an'
wid that I wint to a coolie to ask questions. Bhoys, that man's name is
Dearsley, an' he's been rafflin' that ould sedan-chair monthly this
matther av nine months. Ivry coolie on the section takes a ticket--or he
gives 'em the go--wanst a month on pay-day. Ivry coolie that wins ut gives
ut back to him, for 'tis too big to carry away, an' he'd sack the man that
thried to sell ut. That Dearsley has been makin' the rowlin' wealth av
Roshus by nefarious rafflin'. Think av the burnin' shame to the sufferin'
coolie-man that the army in Injia are bound to protect an' nourish in
their bosoms! Two thousand coolies defrauded wanst a month!"

"Dom t' coolies. Has't gotten t' cheer, man?" said Learoyd.

"Hould on. Havin' onearthed this amazin' an' stupenjus fraud committed by
the man Dearsley, I hild a council av war; he thryin' all the time to
sejuce me into a fight wid opprobrious language. That sedan-chair niver
belonged by right to any foreman av coolies. 'Tis a king's chair or a
quane's. There's gold on ut an' silk an' all manner av trapesemints.
Bhoys, 'tis not for me to countenance any sort av wrong-doin'--me bein'
the ould man--but--anyway he has had ut nine months, an' he dare not make
throuble av ut was taken from him. Five miles away, or ut may be six"--

There was a long pause, and the jackals howled merrily. Learoyd bared one
arm, and contemplated it in the moonlight. Then he nodded partly to
himself and partly to his friends. Ortheris wriggled with suppressed
emotion.

"I thought ye wud see the reasonableness av ut," said Mulvaney. "I make
bould to say as much to the man before. He was for a direct front
attack--fut, horse, an' guns--an' all for nothin', seein' that I had no
thransport to convey the machine away. 'I will not argue wid you,' sez I,
'this day, but subsequintly, Mister Dearsley, me rafflin' jool, we talk ut
out lengthways. 'Tis no good policy to swindle the naygur av his
hard-earned emolumints, an' by presint informa-shin'--'twas the kyart man
that tould me--'ye've been perpethrating that same for nine months. But
I'm a just man,' sez I, 'an' over-lookin' the presumpshin that yondher
settee wid the gilt top was not come by honust'--at that he turned
sky-green, so I knew things was more thrue than tellable--'not come by
honust. I'm willin' to compound the felony for this month's winnin's.'"

"Ah! Ho!" from Learoyd and Ortheris.

"That man Dearsley's rushin' on his fate," continued Mulvaney, solemnly
wagging his head. "All Hell had no name bad enough for me that tide.
Faith, he called me a robber! Me! that was savin' him from continuin' in
his evil ways widout a remonstrince--an' to a man av conscience a
remonstrince may change the chune av his life. ''Tis not for me to argue,'
sez I, 'fwhatever ye are, Mister Dearsley, but, by my hand, I'll take away
the temptation for you that lies in that sedan-chair.'--'You will have to
fight me for ut,' sez he, 'for well I know you will never dare make report
to any one.'--'Fight I will,' sez I, 'but not this day, for I'm rejuced
for want av nourishment.'--'Ye're an ould bould hand,' sez he, sizin' me
up an' down; 'an' a jool av a fight we will have. Eat now an' dhrink, an'
go your way.' Wid that he gave me some hump an' whisky--good whisky--an'
we talked av this an' that the while. 'It goes hard on me now,' sez I,
wipin' my mouth, 'to confiscate that piece av furniture, but justice is
justice.'--'Ye've not got ut yet,' sez he; 'there's the fight
between.'--'There is,' sez I, 'an' a good fight. Ye shall have the pick av
the best quality in my rigimint for the dinner you have given this day.'
Thin I came hot-foot to you two. Hould your tongue, the both. 'Tis this
way. To-morrow we three will go there an' he shall have his pick betune me
an' Jock. Jock's a deceivin' fighter, for he is all fat to the eye, an' he
moves slow. Now I'm all beef to the look, an' I move quick. By my
reckonin' the Dearsley man won't take me; so me an' Orth'ris 'll see fair
play. Jock, I tell you, 'twill be big fightin'--whipped, wid the cream
above the jam. Afther the business 'twill take a good three av us--Jock
'll be very hurt--to haul away that sedan-chair."

"Palanquin." This from Ortheris.

"Fwhatever ut is, we must have ut. Tis the only sellin' piece av property
widin reach that we can get so cheap. An' fwhat's a fight afther all? He
has robbed the naygur-man, dishonust. We rob him honust for the sake av
the whisky he gave me."

"But wot'll we do with the bloomin' article when we've got it? Them
palanquins are as big as 'ouses, an' uncommon 'ard to sell, as McCleary
said when ye stole the sentry-box from the Curragh."

"Who's goin' to do t' fightin'?" said Learoyd, and Ortheris subsided. The
three returned to barracks without a word. Mulvaney's last argument
clinched the matter. This palanquin was property, vendible, and to be
attained in the simplest and least embarrassing fashion. It would
eventually become beer. Great was Mulvaney.

Next afternoon a procession of three formed itself and disappeared into
the scrub in the direction of the new railway line. Learoyd alone was
without care, for Mulvaney dived darkly into the future, and little
Ortheris feared the unknown, What befell at that interview in the lonely
pay-shed by the side of the half-built embankment, only a few hundred
coolies know, and their tale is a confusing one, running thus--

"We were at work. Three men in red coats came. They saw the
Sahib--Dearsley Sahib. They made oration; and noticeably the small man
among the red-coats. Dearsley Sahib also made oration, and used many very
strong words, Upon this talk they departed together to an open space, and
there the fat man in the red coat fought with Dearsley Sahib after the
custom of white men--with his hands, making no noise, and never at all
pulling Dearsley Sahib's hair. Such of us as were not afraid beheld these
things for just so long a time as a man needs to cook the midday meal. The
small man in the red coat had possessed himself of Dearsley Sahib's watch.
No, he did not steal that watch. He held it in his hand, and at certain
seasons made outcry, and the twain ceased their combat, which was like the
combat of young bulls in spring. Both men were soon all red, but Dearsley
Sahib was much more red than the other. Seeing this, and fearing for his
life--because we greatly loved him--some fifty of us made shift to rush
upon the red-coats. But a certain man--very black as to the hair, and in
no way to be confused with the small man, or the fat man who fought--that
man, we affirm, ran upon us, and of us he embraced some ten or fifty in
both arms, and beat our heads together, so that our livers turned to
water, and we ran away. It is not good to interfere in the fightings of
white men. After that Dearsley Sahib fell and did not rise, these men
jumped upon his stomach and despoiled him of all his money, and attempted
to fire the pay-shed, and departed. Is it true that Dearsley Sahib makes
no complaint of these latter things having been done? We were senseless
with fear, and do not at all remember. There was no palanquin near the
pay-shed. What do we know about palanquins? Is it true that Dearsley Sahib
does not return to this place, on account of his sickness, for ten days?
This is the fault of those bad men in the red coats, who should be
severely punished; for Dearsley Sahib is both our father and mother, and
we love him much. Yet, if Dearsley Sahib does not return to this place at
all, we will speak the truth. There was a palanquin, for the up-keep of
which we were forced to pay nine-tenths of our monthly wage. On such
mulctings Dearsley Sahib allowed us to make obeisance to him before the
palanquin. What could we do? We were poor men. He took a full half of our
wages. Will the Government repay us those moneys? Those three men in red
coats bore the palanquin upon their shoulders and departed. All the money
that Dearsley Sahib had taken from us was in the cushions of that
palanquin. Therefore they stole it. Thousands of rupees were there--all
our money. It was our bank-box, to fill which we cheerfully contributed to
Dearsley Sahib three-sevenths of our monthly wage. Why does the white man
look upon us with the eye of disfavor? Before God, there was a palanquin,
and now there is no palanquin; and if they send the police here to make
inquisition, we can only say that there never has been any palanquin. Why
should a palanquin be near these works? We are poor men, and we know
nothing."

Such is the simplest version of the simplest story connected with the
descent upon Dearsley. From the lips of the coolies I received it.
Dearsley himself was in no condition to say anything, and Mulvaney
preserved a massive silence, broken only by the occasional licking of the
lips. He had seen a fight so gorgeous that even his power of speech was
taken from him. I respected that reserve until, three days after the
affair, I discovered in a disused stable in my quarters a palanquin of
unchastened splendor--evidently in past days the litter of a queen. The
pole whereby it swung between the shoulders of the bearers was rich with
the painted _papier-mache_ of Cashmere. The shoulder-pads were of yellow
silk. The panels of the litter itself were ablaze with the loves of all
the gods and goddesses of the Hindu Pantheon--lacquer on cedar. The cedar
sliding doors were fitted with hasps of translucent Jaipur enamel and ran
in grooves shod with silver. The cushions were of brocaded Delhi silk, and
the curtains which once hid any glimpse of the beauty of the king's palace
were stiff with gold. Closer investigation showed that the entire fabric
was everywhere rubbed and discolored by time and wear; but even thus it
was sufficiently gorgeous to deserve housing on the threshold of a royal
zenana. I found no fault with it, except that it was in my stable. Then,
trying to lift it by the silver-shod shoulder-pole, I laughed. The road
from Dearsley's pay-shed to the cantonment was a narrow and uneven one,
and, traversed by three very inexperienced palanquin-bearers, one of whom
was sorely battered about the head, must have been a path of torment.
Still I did not quite recognize the right of the three musketeers to turn
me into a "fence" for stolen property.

"I'm askin' you to warehouse ut," said Mulvaney when he was brought to
consider the question. "There's no steal in ut. Dearsley tould us we cud
have ut if we fought. Jock fought--an', oh, sorr, when the throuble was at
uts finest an' Jock was bleedin' like a stuck pig, an' little Orth'ris was
shquealin' on one leg chewin' big bites out av Dearsley's watch, I wud ha'
given my place at the fight to have had you see wan round. He tuk Jock, as
I suspicioned he would, an' Jock was deceptive. Nine roun's they were even
matched, an' at the tenth--About that palanquin now, There's not the least
throuble in the world, or we wud not ha' brought ut here. You will
ondherstand that the Queen--God bless her!--does not reckon for a privit
soldier to kape elephints an' palanquins an' sich in barricks. Afther we
had dhragged ut down from Dearsley's through that cruel scrub that near
broke Orth'ris's heart, we set ut in the ravine for a night; an' a thief
av a porcupine an' a civet-cat av a jackal roosted in ut, as well we knew
in the mornin'. I put ut to you, sorr, is an elegint palanquin, fit for
the princess, the natural abidin' place av all the vermin in cantonmints?
We brought ut to you, afther dhark, and put ut in your shtable. Do not let
your conscience prick. Think av the rejoicin' men in the pay-shed
yonder--lookin' at Dearsley wid his head tied up in a towel--an' well
knowin' that they can dhraw their pay ivry month widout stoppages for
riffles. Indirectly, sorr, you have rescued from an onprincipled son av a
night-hawk the peasanthry av a numerous village. An' besides, will I let
that sedan-chair rot on our hands? Not I. Tis not every day a piece av
pure joolry comes into the market. There's not a king widin these forty
miles"--he waved his hand round the dusty horizon--"not a king wud not be
glad to buy ut. Some day meself, whin I have leisure, I'll take ut up
along the road an' dishpose av ut."

"How?" said I, for I knew the man was capable of anything.

"Get into ut, av coorse, and keep wan eye open through the curtains. Whin
I see a likely man av the native persuasion, I will descind blushin' from
my canopy and say, 'Buy a palanquin, ye black scutt?' I will have to hire
four men to carry me first, though; and that's impossible till next
pay-day."

Curiously enough, Learoyd, who had fought for the prize, and in the
winning secured the highest pleasure life had to offer him, was altogether
disposed to undervalue it, while Ortheris openly said it would be better
to break the thing up. Dearsley, he argued, might be a many-sided man,
capable, despite his magnificent fighting qualities, of setting in motion
the machinery of the civil law--a thing much abhorred by the soldier.
Under any circumstances their fun had come and passed; the next pay-day
was close at hand, when there would be beer for all. Wherefore longer
conserve the painted palanquin?

"A first-class rifle-shot an' a good little man av your inches you are,"
said Mulvaney. "But you niver had a head worth a soft-boiled egg. 'Tis me
has to lie awake av nights schamin' an' plottin' for the three av us.
Orth'ris, me son, 'tis no matther av a few gallons av beer--no, nor twenty
gallons--but tubs an' vats an' firkins in that sedan-chair. Who ut was,
an' what ut was, an' how ut got there, we do not know; but I know in my
bones that you an' me an' Jock wid his sprained thumb will get a fortune
thereby. Lave me alone, an' let me think."

Meantime the palanquin stayed in my stall, the key of which was in
Mulvaney's hands.

Pay-day came, and with it beer. It was not in experience to hope that
Mulvaney, dried by four weeks' drought, would avoid excess. Next morning
he and the palanquin had disappeared. He had taken the precaution of
getting three days' leave "to see a friend on the railway," and the
colonel, well knowing that the seasonal outburst was near, and hoping it
would spend its force beyond the limits of his jurisdiction, cheerfully
gave him all he demanded. At this point Mulvaney's history, as recorded in
the mess-room, stopped.

Ortheris carried it not much further. "No, 'e wasn't drunk," said the
little man loyally, "the liquor was no more than feelin' its way round
inside of 'im; but 'e went an' filled that 'ole bloomin' palanquin with
bottles 'fore 'e went off. 'E's gone an' 'ired six men to carry 'im, an' I
'ad to 'elp 'im into 'is nupshal couch, 'cause 'e wouldn't 'ear reason.
'E's gone off in 'is shirt an' trousies, swearin' tremenjus--gone down the
road in the palanquin, wavin' 'is legs out o' windy."

"Yes," said I, "but where?"

"Now you arx me a question. 'E said 'e was goin' to sell that palanquin,
but from observations what happened when I was stuffin' 'im through the
door, I fancy 'e's gone to the new embankment to mock at Dearsley. 'Soon
as Jock's off duty I'm goin' there to see if 'e's safe--not Mulvaney, but
t'other man. My saints, but I pity 'im as 'elps Terence out o' the
palanquin when 'e's once fair drunk!"

"He'll come back without harm," I said.

"'Corse 'e will. On'y question is, what 'll 'e be doin' on the road?
Killing Dearsley, like as not. 'E shouldn't 'a gone without Jock or me."

Reinforced by Learoyd, Ortheris sought the foreman of the coolie-gang.
Dearsley's head was still embellished with towels. Mulvaney, drunk or
sober, would have struck no man in that condition, and Dearsley
indignantly denied that he would have taken advantage of the intoxicated
brave.

"I had my pick o' you two," he explained to Learoyd, "and you got my
palanquin--not before I'd made my profit on it. Why'd I do harm when
everything's settled? Your man _did_ come here--drunk as Davy's sow on a
frosty night--came a-purpose to mock me--stuck his head out of the door
an' called me a crucified hodman. I made him drunker, an' sent him along.
But I never touched him."

To these things Learoyd, slow to perceive the evidences of sincerity,
answered only, "If owt comes to Mulvaaney 'long o' you, I'll gripple you,
clouts or no clouts on your ugly head, an' I'll draw t' throat twistyways,
man. See there now."

The embassy removed itself, and Dearsley, the battered, laughed alone over
his supper that evening.

Three days passed--a fourth and a fifth. The week drew to a close and
Mulvaney did not return. He, his royal palanquin, and his six attendants,
had vanished into air. A very large and very tipsy soldier, his feet
sticking out of the litter of a reigning princess, is not a thing to
travel along the ways without comment. Yet no man of all the country round
had seen any such wonder. He was, and he was not; and Learoyd suggested
the immediate smashment of Dearsley as a sacrifice to his ghost. Ortheris
insisted that all was well, and in the light of past experience his hopes
seemed reasonable.

"When Mulvaney goes up the road," said he, "'e's like to go a very long
ways up, specially when 'e's so blue drunk as 'e is now. But what gits me
is 'is not bein' 'eard of pullin' wool off the niggers somewheres about.
That don't look good. The drink must ha' died out in 'im by this, unless
e's broke a bank, an' then--Why don't 'e come back? 'E didn't ought to ha'
gone off without us."

Even Ortheris's heart sank at the end of the seventh day, for half the
regiment were out scouring the countryside, and Learoyd had been forced to
fight two men who hinted openly that Mulvaney had deserted. To do him
justice, the colonel laughed at the notion, even when it was put forward
by his much-trusted adjutant.

"Mulvaney would as soon think of deserting as you would," said he. "No;
he's either fallen into a mischief among the villagers--and yet that isn't
likely, for he'd blarney himself out of the Pit; or else he is engaged on
urgent private affairs--some stupendous devilment that we shall hear of at
mess after it has been the round of the barrack-rooms. The worst of it is
that I shall have to give him twenty-eight days' confinement at least for
being absent without leave, just when I most want him to lick the new
batch of recruits into shape. I never knew a man who could put a polish on
young soldiers as quickly as Mulvaney can. How does he do it?"

"With blarney and the buckle-end of a belt, sir," said the adjutant. "He
is worth a couple of non-commissioned officers when we are dealing with an
Irish draft, and the London lads seem to adore him. The worst of it is
that if he goes to the cells the other two are neither to hold nor to bind
till he comes out again. I believe Ortheris preaches mutiny on those
occasions, and I know that the mere presence of Learoyd mourning for
Mulvaney kills all the cheerfulness of his room, The sergeants tell me
that he allows no man to laugh when he feels unhappy. They are a queer
gang."