The Day's Work

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HE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

embodied his virtues in a stately resolution, and paid
for the expenses of his tomb among the Satpura hills.

He was succeeded by his son, Lionel Chinn, who left
the little old Devonshire home just in time to be severely
wounded in the Mutiny. He spent his working life
within a hundred and fifty miles of John Chinn 's grave,
and rose to the command of a regiment of small, wild
hill-men, most of whom had known his father. His
son John was born in the small thatched-roofed, mud-
walled cantonment, which is even to-day eighty miles
from the nearest railway, in the heart of a scrubby,
tigerish country. Colonel Lionel Chinn served thirty
years and retired. In the Canal his steamer passed the
outward-bound troop- ship, carrying his son eastward to
the family duty.

The Chirms are luckier than most folk, because they
know exactly what they must do. A clever Chinn
passes for the Bombay Civil Service, and gets away to
Central India, where everybody is glad to see him. A
dull Chinn enters the Police Department or the Woods
and Forest, and sooner or later he, too, appears in
Central India, and that is what gave rise to the saying,
'* Central India is inhabited by Bhils, Mairs, and Chinns,
all very much alike." The breed is small-boned, dark,
and silent, and the stupidest of them are good shots.
John Chinn the Second was rather clever, but as the
eldest son he entered the army, according to Chinn
tradition. His duty was to abide in his father's regi-
ment for the term of his natural life, though the corps
was one which most men would have paid heavily to
avoid. They were irregulars, small, dark, and blackish,
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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

clothed in rifle-green with black-leather trimmings;
and friends called them the u Wuddars," which means
a race of low-caste people who dig up rats to eat. But
the Wuddars did not resent it. They were the only
Wuddars, and their points of pride were these :

Firstly, they had fewer English officers than any
native regiment. Secondly, their subalterns were not
mounted on parade, as is the general rule, but walked
at the head of their men. A man who can hold his
own with the Wuddars at their quickstep must be
sound in wind and limb. Thirdly, they were the most
pukka sliikarries (out-and-out hunters) in all India.
Fourthly— up to one hundredthly— they were the Wud-
dars—Chinn's Irregular Bhil Levies of the old days,
but now, henceforward and for ever, the Wuddars.

No Englishman entered their mess except for love
or through family usage. The officers talked to their
soldiers in a tongue not two hundred white folk in India
understood ; and the men were their children, all drawn
from the Bhils, who are, perhaps, the strangest of the
many strange races in India. They were, and at heart
are, wild men, furtive, shy, full of untold superstitions.
The races whom we call natives of the country found
the Bhil in possession of the land when they first broke
into that part of the world thousands of years ago. The
books call them Pre- Aryan, Aboriginal, Dravidian, and
so forth ; and, in other words, that is what the Bhils call
themselves. When a Rajput chief whose bards can
sing his pedigree backwards for twelve hundred years
is set on the throne, his investiture is not complete till
he has been marked on the forehead with blood from

[in]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

the veins of a Bhil. The Rajputs say the ceremony has
no meaning, but the Bhil knows that it is the last, last
shadow of his old rights as the long-ago owner of the
soil.

Centuries of oppression and massacre made the Bhil
a cruel and half -crazy thief and cattle-stealer, and when
the English came he seemed to be almost as open to
civilisation as the tigers of his own jungles. But John
Chinn the First, father of Lionel, grandfather of our
John, went into his country, lived with him, learned
his language, shot the deer that stole his poor crops,
and won his confidence, so that some Bhils learned to
plough and sow, while others were coaxed into the Com-
pany's service to police their friends.

When they understood that standing in line did not
mean instant execution, they accepted soldiering as a
cumbrous but amusing kind of sport, and were zealous
to keep the wild Bhils under control. That was the
thin edge of the wedge. John Chinn the First gave them
written promises that, if they were good from a certain
date, the Government would overlook previous offences ;
and since John Chinn was never known to break his
word— he promised once to hang a Bhil locally esteemed
invulnerable, and hanged him in front of his tribe for
seven proved murders— the Bhils settled down as stead-
ily as they knew how. It was slow, unseen work, of
the sort that is being done all over India to-day; and
though John Chinn's only reward came, as I have said,
in the shape of a grave at Government expense, the
little people of the hills never forgot him.

Colonel Lionel Chinn knew and loved them, too, and
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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

they were very fairly civilised, for Bhils, before his
service ended. Many of them could hardly be distin-
guished from low-caste Hindoo farmers ; but in the south,
where John Chinn the First was buried, the wildest
still clung to the Satpura ranges, cherishing a legend
that some day Jan Chinn, as they called him, would
return to his own. In the mean tune they mistrusted
the white man and his ways. The least excitement
would stampede them, plundering, at random, and now
and then killing; but if they were handled discreetly
they grieved like children, and promised never to do it
again.

The Bhils of the regiment— the uniformed men— were
virtuous in many ways, but they needed humouring.
They felt bored and homesick unless taken after tiger
as beaters; and their cold-blooded daring— all Wuddars
shoot tigers on foot: it is their caste-mark—made even
the officers wonder. They would follow up a wounded
tiger as unconcernedly as though it were a sparrow
with a broken wing; and this through a country full
of caves and rifts and pits, where a wild beast could
hold a dozen men at his mercy. Now and then some
little man was brought to barracks with his head
smashed in or his ribs torn away; but his companions
never learned caution ; they contented themselves with
settling the tiger.

Young John Chinn was decanted at the verandah of
the Wuddars' lonely mess-house from the back seat of a
two-wheeled cart, his gun-cases cascading all round
him. The slender little, hookey-nosed boy looked for-
lorn as a strayed goat when he slapped the white dust
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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

off his knees, and the cart jolted down the glaring road.
But in his heart he was contented. After all, this was
the place where he had been born, and things were not
much changed since he had been sent to England, a
child, fifteen years ago.

There were a few new buildings, but the air and the
smell and the sunshine were the same; and the little
green men who crossed the parade-ground looked very
familiar. Three weeks ago John Chinn would have
said he did not remember a word of the Bhil tongue,
but at the mess door he found his lips moving in sen-
tences that he did not understand— bits of old nursery
rhymes, and tail-ends of such orders as his father used
to give the men.

The Colonel watched him come up the steps, and
laughed.

"Look!" he said to the Major. "No need to ask
the young un's breed. He 's a puMca Chinn. 'Might
be his father in the Fifties over again. ' '

* ' Hope he '11 shoot as straight, ' ' said the Major.
"He 's brought enough ironmongery with him."

" 'Would n't be a Chinn if he did n't. Watch him
blowin' his nose. 'Regular Chinn beak. 'Flourishes
his handkerchief like his father. It 's the second edi-
tion— line for line. ' '

"'Fairy tale, by Jove!" said the Major, peering
through the slats of the jalousies. " If he 's the lawful
heir, he '11 . . . Now old Chinn could no more pass
that chick without fiddling with it than . . .

" His son! " said the Colonel, jumping up.

" Well, I be blowed ! " said the Major. The boy's eye
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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

had been caught by a split-reed screen that hung on a
slew between the verandah pillars, and, mechanically,
he had tweaked the edge to set it level. Old Chinn
had sworn three times a day at that screen for many
years; he could never get it to his satisfaction. His
son entered the anteroom in the middle of a fivefold
silence. They made him welcome for his father's sake
and, as they took stock of him, for his own. He was
ridiculously like the portrait of the Colonel on the
wall, and when he had washed a little of the dust from
his throat he went to his quarters with the old man's
short, noiseless jungle-step.

' ' So much for heredity, ' ' said the Major. ' ' That
comes of four generations among the Bhils. ' '

' ' And the men know it, ' ' said a Wing officer.
" They 've been waiting for this youth with their
tongues hanging out. I am persuaded that, unless he
absolutely beats 'em over the head, they '11 lie down by
companies and worship him. ' '

" Nothin' like havin' a father before you," said the
Major. "I 'ma parvenu with my chaps. I 've only
been twenty years in the regiment, and my revered
parent he was a simple squire. There 's no getting at
the bottom of a Bhil's mind. Now, why is the superior
bearer that young Chinn brought with him fleeing
across country with his bundle? " He stepped into the
verandah, and shouted after the man— a typical new-
joined subaltern's servant who speaks English and
cheats in proportion.

"What is it?" he called.

"Plenty bad man here. I going, sar," was the
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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

reply. " Have taken Sahib's keys, and say will
shoot."

" Doocid lucid— doocid convincin'. How those up-
country thieves can leg it ! He has been badly fright-
ened by some one. ' ' The Major strolled to his quarters
to dress for mess.

Young Chinn, walking like a man in a dream, had
fetched a compass round the entire cantonment before
going to his own tiny cottage. The captain's quarters,
in which he had been born, delayed him for a little;
then he looked at the well on the parade-ground, where
he had sat of evenings with his nurse, and at the ten-by-
fourteen church, where the officers went to service if
a chaplain of any official creed happened to come along.
It seemed very small as compared with the gigantic
buildings he used to stare up at, but it was the same
place.

From time to time he passed a knot of silent soldiers,
who saluted. They might have been the very men
who had carried him on their backs when he was in
his first knickerbockers. A faint light burned in his
room, and, as he entered, hands clasped his feet, and a
voice murmured from the floor.

"Who is it?" said young Chinn, not knowing he
spoke in the Bhil tongue.

" I bore you in my arms, Sahib, when I was a strong
man and you were a small one— crying, crying, crying!
I am your servant, as I was your father's before you.
We are all your servants."

Young Chinn could not trust himself to reply, and
the voice went on:

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" I have taken your keys from that fat foreigner,
and sent him away; and the studs are in the shirt for
mess. Who should know, if I do not know? And so
the baby has become a man, and forgets his nurse; but
my nephew shall make a good servant, or I will beat
him twice a day."

Then there rose up, with a rattle, as straight as a Bhil
arrow, a little white-haired wizened ape of a man, with
medals and orders on his tunic, stammering, saluting,
and trembling. Behind him a young and wiry Bhil, in
uniform, was taking the trees out of Chinn's mess-boots.

Chinn's eyes were full of tears. The old man held
out his keys.

"Foreigners are bad people. He will never come
back again. We are all servants of your father's son.
Has the Sahib forgotten who took him to see the trapped
tiger in the village across the river, when his mother
was so frightened and he was so brave? "

The scene came back to Chinn in great magic-lantern
flashes. * * Bukta ! " he cried ; and all in a breath : * ' You
promised nothing should hurt me. Is it Bukta? "

The man was at his feet a second tune. " He has not
forgotten. He remembers his own people as his father
remembered. Now can I die. But first I will live and
show the Sahib how to kill tigers. That that yonder is
my nephew. If he is not a good servant, beat him and
send him to me, and I will surely kill him, for now the
Sahib is with his own people. Ai, Jan baba— Jan baba!
My Jan baba! I will stay here and see that this does
his work well. Take off his boots, fool. Sit down upon
the bed, Sahib, and let me look. It is Jan 6a6a."
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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

He pushed forward the hilt of his sword as a sign of
service, which is an honour paid only to viceroys, gov-
ernors, generals, or to little children whom one loves
dearly. Chinn touched the hilt mechanically with three
fingers, muttering he knew not what. It happened to
be the old answer of his childhood, when Bukta in jest
called him the little General Sahib.

The Major's quarters were opposite Chinn's, and
when he heard his servant gasp with surprise he looked
across the room. Then the Major sat on the bed and
whistled; for the spectacle of the senior native com-
missioned officer of the regiment, an ' ' unmixed ' ' Bhil,
a Companion of the Order of British India, with thirty-
five years' spotless service in the army, and a rank
among his own people superior to that of many Bengal
princelings, valeting the last-joined subaltern, was a
little too much for his nerves.

The throaty bugles blew the Mess-call that has a long
legend behind it. First a few piercing notes like the
shrieks of beaters in a far-away cover, and next, large,
full, and smooth, the refrain of the wild song : ' ' And
oh, and oh, the green pulse of Mundore— Mundore! "

u All little children were in bed when the Sahib heard
that call last," said Bukta, passing Chinn a clean hand-
kerchief. The call brought back memories of his cot
under the mosquito-netting, his mother's kiss, and the
sound of footsteps growing fainter as he dropped asleep
among his men. So he hooked the dark collar of his
new 'mess- jacket, and went to dinner like a prince who
has newly inherited his father's crown.

Old Bukta swaggered forth curling his whiskers. He
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knew his own value, and no money and no rank within
the gift of the Government would have induced him to
put studs in young officers' shirts, or to hand them
clean ties. Yet, when he took off his uniform that
night, and squatted among his fellows for a quiet smoke,
he told them what he had done, and they said that he
was entirely right. Thereat Bukta propounded a theory
which to a white mind would have seemed raving in-
sanity; but the whispering, level-headed little men of
war considered it from every point of view, and thought
that there might be a great deal in it.

At mess under the oil-lamps the talk turned as usual
to the unfailing subject of shikar— big game-shooting of
every kind and under all sorts of conditions. Young
Chinn opened his eyes when he understood that each
one of his companions had shot several tigers in the
Wuddar style— on foot, that is— making no more of the
business than if the brute had been a dog.

" In nine cases out of ten," said the Major, " a tiger
is almost as dangerous as a porcupine. But the tenth
time you come home feet first."

That set all talking, and long before midnight Chinn' s
brain was in a whirl with stories of tigers— man-eaters
and cattle-killers each pursuing his own business as
methodically as clerks in an office ; new tigers that had
lately come into such-and-such a district; and old,
friendly beasts of great cunning, known by nicknames
in the mess— such as "Puggy," who was lazy, with
huge paws, and " Mrs. Malaprop," who turned up when
you never expected her, and made female noises. Then
they spoke of Bhil superstitions, a wide and picturesque

[119]

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field, till young Chinn hinted that they must be pulling
his leg.

" 'Deed, we are n't," said a man on his left. " We
know all about you. You 're a Chinn and all that, and
you 've a sort of vested right here; but if you don't
believe what we 're telling you, what will you do when
old Bukta begins his stories? He knows about ghost-
tigers, and tigers that go to a hell of their own; and
tigers that walk on their hind feet; and your grand-
papa's riding- tiger, as well. 'Odd he has n't spoken of
that yet."

" You know you 've an ancestor buried down Satpura
way, don't you?" said the Major, as Chinn smiled
irresolutely.

" Of course I do," said Chinn, who had the chronicle
of the Book of Chinn by heart. It lies in a worn old
ledger on the Chinese lacquer table behind the piano in
the Devonshire home, and the children are allowed to
look at it on Sundays.

* * "Well, I was n't sure. Your revered ancestor, my boy,
according to the Bhils, has a tiger of his own— a saddle-
tiger that he rides round the country whenever he feels
inclined. / don't call it decent in an ex-Collector's
ghost; but that is what the Southern Bhils believe.
Even our men, who might be called moderately cool,
don't care to beat that country if they hear that Jan
Chinn is running about on his tiger. It is supposed to
be a clouded animal— not stripy, but blotchy, like a
tortoise-shell tom-cat. No end of a brute, it is, and a
sure sign of war or pestilence or — or something. There ' s
a nice family legend for you."
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"What 's the origin of it, d' you suppose?" said
Chinn.

" Ask the Satpura Bhils. Old Jan Chinn was a
mighty hunter before the Lord. Perhaps it was the
tiger's revenge, or perhaps he 's huntin' 'em still. You
must go to his tomb one of these days and inquire.
Bukta will probably attend to that. He was asking me
before you came whether by any ill-luck you had al-
ready bagged your tiger. If not, he is going to enter
you under his own wing. Of course, for you of all men
it 's imperative. You '11 have a first-class time with
Bukta."

The Major was not wrong. Bukta kept an anxious
eye on young Chinn at drill, and it was noticeable that
the first time the new officer lifted up his voice in an
order the whole line quivered. Even the Colonel was
taken aback, for it might have been Lionel Chinn re-
turned from Devonshire with a new lease of life. Bukta
had continued to develop his peculiar theory among his
intimates, and it was accepted as a matter of faith in the
lines, since every word and gesture on young Chinn's
part so confirmed it.

The old man arranged early that his darling should
wipe out the reproach of not having shot a tiger; but he
was not content to take the first or any beast that hap-
pened to arrive. In his own villages he dispensed the
high, low, and middle justice, and when his people-
naked and fluttered— came to him with word of a beast
marked down, he bade them send spies to the kills and
the watering-places, that he might be sure the quarry
was such an one as suited the dignity of such a man.
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Three or four times the reckless trackers returned,
most truthfully saying that the beast was mangy,
undersized— a tigress worn with nursing, or a broken-
toothed old male— and Bukta would curb young Chinn's
impatience.

At last, a noble animal was marked down— a ten-foot
cattle-killer with a huge roll of loose skin along the
belly, glossy-hided, full-frilled about the neck, whis-
kered, frisky, and young. He had slain a man in pure
sport, they said.

"Let him be fed," quoth Bukta, and the villagers
dutifully drove out a cow to amuse him, that he might
lie up near by.

Princes and potentates have taken ship to India and
spent great moneys for the mere glimpse of beasts one-
half as fine as this of Bukta' s.

"It is not good," said he to the Colonel, when he
asked for shooting-leave, " that my Colonel's son who
may be— that my Colonel's son should lose his maiden-
head on any small jungle beast. That may come after.
I have waited long for this which is a tiger. He has
come in from the Mair country. In seven days we will
return with the skin."

The mess gnashed their teeth enviously. Bukta, had
he chosen, might have invited them all. But he went
out alone with Chinn, two days in a shooting-cart and
a day on foot, till they came to a rocky, glary valley
with a pool of good water in it. It was a parching day,
and the boy very naturally stripped and went in for a
bathe, leaving Bukta by the clothes. A white skin shows
far against brown jungle, and what Bukta beheld on
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THE TOMB OP HIS ANCESTORS

Chirm's back and right shoulder dragged him forward
step by step with staring eyeballs.

" I 'd forgotten it is n't decent to strip before a man
of his position," said Chinn, flouncing in the water.
" How the little devil stares! What is it, Bukta? "

' ' The Mark I ' ' was the whispered answer.

"It is nothing. You know how it is with my
people!" Chinn was annoyed. The dull-red birth-
mark on his shoulder, something like a conventional-
ised Tartar cloud, had slipped his memory or he would
not have bathed. It occurred, so they said at home,
in alternate generations, appearing, curiously enough,
eight or nine years after birth, and, save that it was
part of the Chinn inheritance, would not be considered
pretty. He hurried ashore, dressed again, and went on
till they met two or three Bhils, who promptly fell on
their faces. " My people," grunted Bukta, not conde-
scending to notice them. " And so your people, Sahib.
"When I was a young man we were fewer, but not so
weak. Now we are many, but poor stock. As may be
remembered. How will you shoot him, Sahib? From
a tree; from a shelter which my people shall build; by
day or by night? "

" On foot and in the daytime," said young Chinn.

"That was your custom, as I have heard," said
Bukta to himself . " I will get news of him. Then you
and I will go to him. I will carry one gun. You have
yours. There is no need of more. What tiger shall
stand against thee f ' '

He was marked down by a little water-hole at the
head of a ravine, full-gorged and half asleep in the
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May sunlight. He was walked up like a partridge, and
he turned to do battle for his life. Bukta made no
motion to raise his rifle, but kept his eyes on Chinn,
who met the shattering roar of the charge with a single
shot— it seemed to him hours as he sighted— which tore
through the throat, smashing the backbone below the
neck and between the shoulders. The brute couched,
choked, and fell, and before Chinn knew well what had
happened Bukta bade him stay still while he paced the
distance between his feet and the ringing jaws.

" Fifteen," said Bukta. " Short paces. No need for
a second shot, Sahib. He bleeds cleanly where he lies,
and we need not spoil the skin. I said there would be
no need of these, but they came— in case."

Suddenly the sides of the ravine were crowned with
the heads of Bukta 's people— a force that could have
blown the ribs out of the beast had Chinn' s shot failed;
but their guns were hidden, and they appeared as inter-
ested beaters, some five or six waiting the word to
skin. Bukta watched the life fade from the wild eyes,
lifted one hand, and turned on his heel.

" No need to show that we care," said he. " Now,
after this, we can kill what we choose. Put out your
hand, Sahib."

Chinn obeyed. It was entirely steady, and Bukta
nodded. " That also was your custom. My men skin
quickly. They will carry the skin to cantonments.
Will the Sahib come to my poor village for the night
and, perhaps, forget that I am his officer? "

"But those men— the beaters. They have worked
hard, and perhaps—"

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" Oh, if they skin clumsily, we will skin them. They
are my people. In the Lines I am one thing. Here I am
another. ' '

This was very true. When Bukta doffed uniform and
reverted to the fragmentary dress of his own people, he
left his civilisation of drill in the next world. That
night, after a little talk with his subjects, he devoted to
an orgie; and a Bhil orgie is a thing not to be safely
written about. Chinn, flushed with triumph, was in
the thick of it, but the meaning of the mysteries was
hidden. Wild folk came and pressed about his knees
with offerings. He gave his flask to the elders of the
village. They grew eloquent, and wreathed him about
with flowers. Gifts and loans, not all seemly, were thrust
upon him, and infernal music rolled and maddened
round red fires, while singers sang songs of the ancient
times, and danced peculiar dances. The aboriginal
liquors are very potent, and Chinn was compelled to
taste them often, but, unless the stuff had been drugged,
how came he to fall asleep suddenly, and to waken late
the next day— half a march from the village?

" The Sahib was very tired. A little before dawn he
went to sleep," Bukta explained. " My people carried
him here, and now it is time we should go back to can-
tonments. ' '

The voice, smooth and deferential, the step, steady
and silent, made it hard to believe that only a few
hours before Bukta was yelling and capering with
naked fellow-devils of the scrub.

' ' My people were very pleased to see the Sahib. They
will never forget. When next the Sahib goes out re-
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THE TOMB OP HIS ANCESTORS

cruiting, he will go to my people, and they will give
him as many men as we need."

Chinn kept his own counsel, except as to the shooting
of the tiger, and Bukta embroidered that tale with a
shameless tongue. The skin was certainly one of the
finest ever hung up in the mess, and the first of many.
When Bukta could not accompany his boy on shooting-
trips, he took care to put him in good hands, and Chinn
learned more of the mind and desire of the wild Bhil in
his marches and campings, by talks at twilight or at
wayside pools, than an uninstructed man could have
come at in a lifetime.

Presently his men in the regiment grew bold to speak
of their relatives— mostly in trouble— and to lay cases
of tribal custom before him. They would say, squat-
ting in his verandah at twilight, after the easy, confi-
dential style of the Wuddars, that such-and-such a
bachelor had run away with such-and-such a wife at
a far-off village. Now, how many cows would Chinn
Sahib consider a just fine? Or, again, if written order
came from the Government that a Bhil was to repair to
a walled city of the plains to give evidence in a law-
court, would it be wise to disregard that order? On
the other hand, if it were obeyed, would the rash voy-
ager return alive?

" But what have I to do with these things? " Chinn
demanded of Bukta, impatiently. ' ' I am a soldier. I
do not know the law. ' '

" Hoo! Law is for fools and white men. Give them
a large and loud order, and they will abide by it. Thou
art their law. ' '

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" But wherefore?"

Every trace of expression left Bukta's countenance.
The idea might have smitten him for the first time.
" How can I say? " he replied. " Perhaps it is on ac-
count of the name. A Bhil does not love strange things.
Give them orders, Sahib— two, three, four words at a
time such as they can carry away in their heads. That
is enough."

Chinn gave orders then, valiantly, not realising that
a word spoken in haste before mess became the dread
unappealable law of villages beyond the smoky hills-
was, in truth, no less than the .Law of Jan Chinn the
First, who, so the whispered legend ran, had come back
to earth, to oversee the third generation, in the body
and bones of his grandson.

There could be no sort of doubt in this matter. All the
Bhils knew that Jan Chinn reincarnated had honoured
Bukta's village with his presence after slaying his first
—in this life— tiger; that he had eaten and drunk with
the people, as he was used; and— Bukta must have
drugged Chirm's liquor very deeply —upon his back and
right shoulder all men had seen the same angry red
Flying Cloud that the high Gods had set on the flesh of
Jan Chinn the First when first he came to the Bhil. As
concerned the foolish white world which has no eyes,
he was a slim and young officer in the Wuddars; but
his own people knew he was Jan Chinn, who had made
the Bhil a man; and, believing, they hastened to carry
his words, careful never to alter them on the way.

Because the savage and the child who plays lonely
games have one horror of being laughed at or questioned,
[127]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

the little folk kept their convictions to themselves ; and
the Colonel, who thought he knew his regiment, never
guessed that each one of the six hundred quick-footed,
beady-eyed rank-and-file, to attention beside their rifles,
believed serenely and unshakenly that the subaltern on
the left flank of the line was a demi-god twice born —
tutelary deity of their land and people. The Earth-gods
themselves had stamped the incarnation, and who would
dare to doubt the handiwork of the Earth-gods?

Chinn, being practical above all things, saw that his
family name served him well in the lines and in camp.
His men gave no trouble— one does not commit regi-
mental offences with a God in the chair of justice— and
he was sure of the best beaters in the district when he
needed them. They believed that the protection of Jan
Chinn the First cloaked them, and were bold in that
belief beyond the utmost daring of excited Bhils.

His quarters began to look like an amateur natural-
history museum, in spite of duplicate heads and horns
and skulls that he sent home to Devonshire. The
people, very humanly, learned the weak side of their
god. It is true he was unbribable, but bird-skins, but-
terflies, beetles, and, above all, news of big game pleased
him. In other respects, too, he lived up to the Chinn
tradition. He was fever-proof. A night's sitting out
over a tethered goat in a damp valley, that would have
filled the Major with a month's malaria, had no effect
on him. He was, as they said, " salted before he was
born."

Now in the autumn of his second year's service an
uneasy rumour crept out of the earth and ran about
[128]

THE TOMB OP HIS ANCESTORS

among the Bhils. Chinn heard nothing of it till a
brother-officer said across the mess- table: "Your
revered ancestor 's on the rampage in the Satpura
country. You 'd better look him up."

" I don't want to be disrespectful, but I ;m a little
sick of my revered ancestor. Bukta talks of nothing
else. What 's the old boy supposed to be doing now? "

"Riding cross-country by moonlight on his proces-
sional tiger. That 's the story. He 's been seen by
about two thousand Bhils, skipping along the tops of the
Satpuras, and scaring people to death. They believe it
devoutly, and all the Satpura chaps are worshipping
away at his shrine— tomb, I mean— like good 'uns.
You really ought to go down there. Must be a queer
thing to see your grandfather treated as a god."

" What makes you think there 's any truth in the
tale?" said Chinn.

4 ' Because all our men deny it. They say they ;ve
never heard of Chinn' s tiger. Now that 's a manifest
lie, because every Bhil Tias."

" There 's only one thing you 've overlooked," said
the Colonel, thoughtfully. " When a local god reappears
on earth, it 's always an excuse for trouble of some kind;
and those Satpura Bhils are about as wild as your grand-
father left them, young 'un. It means something."

" Meanin' they may go on the war-path? " said Chinn.

" Can't say— as yet. Should n't be surprised a little
bit."

" I have n't been told a syllable."

" Proves it all the more. They are keeping some-
thing back."

[129]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

u Bukta tells me everything, too, as a rule. Now,
why did n't he tell me that? "

Chinn put the question directly to the old man that
night, and the answer surprised him.

" Why should I tell what is well known? Yes, the
Clouded Tiger is out in the Satpura country."

" What do the wild Bhils think that it means? "

"They do not know. They wait. Sahib, what is
coming? Say only one little word, and we will be con-
tent."

" We? What have tales from the south, where the
jungly Bhils livex to do with drilled men? "

" When Jan Chinn wakes is no time for any Bhil to be
quiet."

" But he has not waked, Bukta."

" Sahib "—the old manxs eyes were full of tender re-
proof—" if he does not wish to be seen, why does he go
abroad in the moonlight? We know he is awake, but
we do not know what he desires. Is it a sign for all the
Bhils, or one that concerns the Satpura folk alone? Say
one little word, Sahib, that I may carry it to the lines,
and send on to our villages. Why does Jan Chinn ride
out? Who has done wrong? Is it pestilence? Is it
murrain? Will our children die? Is it a sword? Re-
member, Sahib, we are thy people and thy servants, and
in this life I bore thee in my arms— not knowing."

" Bukta has evidently looked on the cup this even-
ing, ' ' Chinn thought ; ' ' but if I can do anything to
soothe the old chap I must. It 's like the Mutiny
rumours on a small scale. ' '

He dropped into a deep wicker chair, over which was
[130]

THE TOMB OP HIS ANCESTORS

thrown his first tiger-skin, and his weight on the cush-
ion flapped the clawed paws over his shoulders. He
laid hold of them mechanically as he spoke, drawing
the painted hide, cloak-fashion, about him.

" Now will I tell the truth, Bukta," he said, leaning
forward, the dried muzzle on his shoulder, to invent a
specious lie.

44 1 see that it is the truth," was the answer, in a
shaking voice.

'4 Jan Chinn goes abroad among the Satpuras, riding
on the Clouded Tiger, ye say? Be it so. Therefore the
sign of the wonder is for the Satpura Bhils only, and
does not touch the Bhils who plough in the north and
east, the Bhils of the Khandesh, or any others, except the
Satpura Bhils, who, as we know, are wild and foolish."

44 It is, then, a sign for them. Good or bad? "

44 Beyond doubt, good. For why should Jan Chinn
make evil to those whom he has made men? The nights
over yonder are hot ; it is ill to lie in one bed over-long
without turning, and Jan Chinn would look again upon
his people. So he rises, whistles his Clouded Tiger, and
goes abroad a little to breathe the cool air. If the
Satpura Bhils kept to their villages, and did not wander
after dark, they would not see him. Indeed, Bukta, it
is no more than that he would see the light again in
his own country. Send this news south, and say that
it is my word."

Bukta bowed to the floor. 4 4 Good Heavens ! ' ' thought
Chinn, 44 and this blinking pagan is a first-class officer,
and as straight as a die! I may as well round it off
neatly . " He went on :

[131]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

" If the Satpura Bhils ask the meaning of the sign,
tell them that Jan Chinn would see how they kept
their old promises of good living. Perhaps they have
plundered; perhaps they mean to disobey the orders of
the Government; perhaps there is a dead man in the
jungle ; and so Jan Chinn has come to see. ' '

"Is he, then, angry? "

"Bah! Am I ever angry with my Bhils? I say
angry words, and threaten many things. Thou know-
est, Bukta. I have seen thee smile behind the hand.
I know, and thou knowest. The Bhils are my children.
I have said it many times."

" Ay. We be thy children," said Bukta.

" And no otherwise is it with Jan Chinn, my father's
father. He would see the land he loved and the people
once again. It is a good ghost, Bukta. I say it. Go
and tell them. And I do hope devoutly," he added,
"that it will calm 'em down." Flinging back the
tiger-skin, he rose with a long, unguarded yawn that
showed his well-kept teeth.

Bukta fled, to be received in the lines by a knot of
panting inquirers.

"It is true," said Bukta. " He wrapped himself in
the skin, and spoke from it. He would see his own coun-
try again. The sign is not for us; and, indeed, he is a
young man. How should he lie idle of nights? He
says his bed is too hot and the air is bad. He goes to
and fro for the love of night-running. He has said it."

The grey-whiskered assembly shuddered.

" He says the Bhils are his children. Ye know he
does not lie. He has said it to me."
[132]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

"But what of the Satpura Bhils? What means the
sign for them?"

" Nothing. It is only lu'ght-running, as I have said.
He rides to see if they obey the Government, as he
taught them to do in his first life."

" And what if they do not? "

"He did not say."

The light went out in Chinn's quarters.

"Look," said Bukta. "Now he goes away. None
the less it is a good ghost, as he has said. How shall
we fear Jan Chinn, who made the Bhil a man? His
protection is on us; and ye know Jan Chinn never broke
a protection spoken or written on paper. When he is
older and has found him a wife he will lie in his bed till
morning. ' '

A commanding officer is generally aware of the regi-
mental state of mind a little before the men; and this
is why the Colonel said, a few days later, that some one
had been putting the Fear of God into the Wuddars.
As he was the only person officially entitled to do this,
it distressed him to see such unanimous virtue. "It 's
too good to last," he said. " I only wish I could find
out what the little chaps mean."

The explanation, as it seemed to him, came at the
change of the moon, when he received orders to hold
himself in readiness to " allay any possible excitement "
among the Satpura Bhils, who were, to put it mildly,
uneasy because a paternal Government had sent up
against them a Mahratta State-educated vaccinator,
with lancets, lymph, and an officially registered calf.
In the language of State, they had " manifested a strong
[133]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

objection to all prophylactic measures," had " forcibly
detained the vaccinator," and "were on the point of
neglecting or evading their tribal obligations. ' '

" That means they are in a blue funk— same as they
were at census- time, ' ' said the Colonel ; ' ' and if we
stampede them into the hills we '11 never catch 'em, in
the first place, and, in the second, they '11 whoop off
plundering till further orders. Wonder who the God-
forsaken idiot is who is trying to vaccinate a Bhil. I
knew trouble was coming. One good thing is that
they '11 only use local corps, and we can knock up
something we '11 call a campaign, and let them down
easy. Fancy us potting our best beaters because they
don't want to be vaccinated ! They 're only crazy with
fear."

" Don't you think, sir," said Chinn, the next day,
" that perhaps you could give me a fortnight's shooting-
leave? "

4 ' Desertion in the face of the enemy, by Jove ! ' ' The
Colonel laughed. u I might, but I 'd have to antedate it
a little, because we 're warned for service, as you might
say. However, we '11 assume that you applied for
leave three days ago, and are now well on your way
south."

" I 'd like to take Bukta with me."

" Of course, yes. I think that will be the best plan.
You 've some kind of hereditary influence with the
little chaps, and they may listen to you when a glimpse
of our uniforms would drive them wild. You 've never
been in that part of the world before, have you? Take
care they don't send you to your family vault in your
[134]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

youth and innocence. I believe you '11 be all right if
you can get 'em to listen to you."

" I think so, sir; but if— if they should accidentally
put an— make asses of 'emselves— they might, you
know— I hope you '11 represent that they were only
frightened. There is n't an ounce of real vice in 'em,
and I should never forgive myself if any one of —of my
name got them into trouble."

The Colonel nodded, but said nothing.

Chinn and Bukta departed at once. Bukta did not
say that, ever since the official vaccinator had been
dragged into the hills by indignant Bhils, runner after
runner had skulked up to the lines, entreating, with
forehead in the dust, that Jan Chinn should come and
explain this unknown horror that hung over his people.

The portent of the Clouded Tiger was now too clear.
Let Jan Chinn comfort his own, for vain was the help
of mortal man. Bukta toned down these beseechings
to a simple request for Chinn 's presence. Nothing
would have pleased the old man better than a rough-
and-tumble campaign against the Satpuras, whom he,
as an " unmixed "• Bhil, despised; but he had a duty to
all his nation as Jan Chinn's interpreter; and he de-
voutly believed that forty plagues would fall on his
village if he tampered with that obligation. Besides,
Jan Chinn knew all things, and he rode the Clouded
Tiger.

They covered thirty miles a day on foot and pony,
raising the blue wall-like line of the Satpuras as swiftly
as might be. Bukta was very silent.

They began the steep climb a little after noon, but it
[135]

THE TOMB OP HIS ANCESTORS

was near sunset ere they reached the stone platform
clinging to the side of a rifted, jungle-covered hill, where
Jan Chinn the First was laid, as he had desired, that
he might overlook his people. All India is full of neg-
lected graves that date from the beginning of the
eighteenth century— tombs of forgotten colonels of corps
long since disbanded; mates of East Indiamen who
went on shooting expeditions and never came back;
factors, agents, writers, and ensigns of the Honourable
the East India Company by hundreds and thousands
and tens of thousands. English folk forget quickly, but
natives have long memories, and if a man has done good
in his life it is remembered after his death. The wea-
thered marble four-square tomb of Jan Chinn was hung
about with wild flowers and nuts, packets of wax and
honey, bottles of native spirits, and infamous cigars,
with buffalo horns and plumes of dried grass. At one
end was a rude clay image of a white man, in the old-
fashioned top-hat, riding on a bloated tiger.

Bukta salamed reverently as they approached.
Chinn bared his head and began to pick out the blurred
inscription. So far as he could read it ran thus— word
for word, and letter for letter:

To the Memory of JOHN CHINN, ESQ.

Late Collector of

.... ithout Bloodshed or ... error of Authority
Employ . only . . eans of Conciliat . . . and Confiden .
accomplished the . . . tire Subjection . . .

a Lawless and Predatory Peop . . .
.... taching them to . . . . ish Government
by a Conquest over .... Minds

[136]

THE TOMB OP HIS ANCESTORS

The most perma . . . and rational Mode of Domini . .
. . . Governor General and Counc . . . engal

have ordered thi erected

. . . arted this Life Aug. 19, 184 . . Ag . . .
On the other side of the grave were ancient verses,
also very worn. As much as Chinn could decipher
said:

.... the savage band

Forsook their Haunts and b .... is Command
.... mended . . rals check a ... st for spoil
And . s . ing Hamlets prove his gene .... toil

Humanit . . . survey ights restore . .

A Nation . . ield . . subdued without a Sword.

For some little time he leaned on the tomb thinking of
this dead man of his own blood, and of the house in
Devonshire; then, nodding to the plains: " Yes; it 's a
big work— all of it— even my little share. He must
have been worth knowing. . . . Bukta, where are
my people?"

" Not here, Sahib. No man comes here except in
full sun. They wait above. Let us climb and see. "

But Chinn, remembering the first law of Oriental
diplomacy, in an even voice answered: " I have come
this far only because the Satpura folk are foolish, and
dared not visit our lines. Now bid them wait on me
here. I am not a servant, but the master of Bhils."

" I go— I go," clucked the old man. Night was fall-
ing, and at any moment Jan Chinn might whistle up
his dreaded steed from the darkening scrub.

Now for the first time in a long life Bukta disobeyed
a lawful command and deserted his leader; for he did
[137]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

not come back, but pressed to the flat table- top of the
hill, and called softly. Men stirred all about him— little
trembling men with bows and arrows who had watched
the two since noon.

" Where is he? " whispered one.

u At his own place. He bids you come," said Bukta.

"Now?"

"Now."

* * Rather let him loose the Clouded Tiger upon us. We
do not go."

* ' Nor I, though I bore him in my arms when he was
a child in this his life. Wait here till the day."

" But surely he will be angry."

" He will be very angry, for he has nothing to eat.
But he has said to me many times that the Bhils are
his children. By sunlight I believe this, but— by moon-
light I am not so sure. What folly have ye Satpura pigs
compassed that ye should need him at all? "

" One came to us in the name of the Government with
little ghost-knives and a magic calf, meaning to turn us
into cattle by the cutting off of our arms. We were
greatly afraid, but we did not kill the man. He is here,
bound— a black man; and we think he comes from the
west. He said it was an order to cut us all with knives
—especially the women and the children. We did not
hear that it was an order, so we were afraid, and kept
to our hills. Some of our men have taken ponies and
bullocks from the plains, and others pots and cloths
and ear-rings."

"Are any slain?"

" By our men? Not yet. But the young men are
[138]

THE TOMB OP HIS ANCESTORS

blown to and fro by many rumours like flames upon a
hill. I sent runners asking for Jan Chinn lest worse
should come to us. It was this fear that he foretold by
the sign of the Clouded Tiger."

"He says it is otherwise," said Bukta; and he re-
peated, with amplifications, all that young Chinn had
told him at the conference of the wicker chair.

" Think you," said the questioner, at last, " that the
Government will lay hands on us? "

" Not I," Bukta rejoined. " Jan Chinn will give an
order, and ye will obey. The rest is between the Govern-
ment and Jan Chinn. I myself know something of the
ghost-knives and the scratching. It is a charm against
the Smallpox. But how it is done I cannot tell. Nor
need that concern you. ' '

u If he stands by us and before the anger of the Govern-
ment we will most strictly obey Jan Chinn, except— ex-
cept we do not go down to that place to-night."

They could hear young Chinn below them shouting
for Bukta; but they cowered and sat still, expecting the
Clouded Tiger. The tomb had been holy ground for
nearly half a century. If Jan Chinn chose to sleep
there, who had better right? But they would not come
within eyeshot of the place till broad day.

At first Chinn was exceedingly angry, till it occurred
to him that Bukta most probably had a reason (which,
indeed, he had), and his own dignity might suffer if he
yelled without answer. He propped himself against
the foot of the grave, and, alternately dozing and
smoking, came through the warm night proud that
he was a lawful, legitimate, fever-proof Chinn.
[139]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

He prepared his plan of action much as his grandfather
would have done; and when Bukta appeared in the
morning with a most liberal supply of food, said nothing
of the overnight desertion. Bukta would have been
relieved by an outburst of human anger; but Chinn fin-
ished his victual leisurely, and a cheroot, ere he made
any sign.

" They are very much afraid," said Bukta, who was
not too bold himself. " It remains only to give orders.
They said they will obey if thou wilt only stand between
them and the Government."

" That I know," said Chinn, strolling slowly to the
table-land. A few of the elder men stood in an irregu-
lar semicircle in an open glade; but the ruck of people
— women and children — were hidden in the thicket.
They had no desire to face the first anger of Jan Chinn
the First.

Seating himself on a fragment of split rock, he smoked
his cheroot to the butt, hearing men breathe hard all
about him. Then he cried, so suddenly that they
jumped :

" Bring the man that was bound! "

A scuffle and a cry were followed by the appearance
of a Hindoo vaccinator, quaking with fear, bound hand
and foot, as the Bhils of old were accustomed to bind
their human sacrifices. He was pushed cautiously be-
fore the presence ; but young Chinn did not look at him.

"I said— the man that was bound. Is it a jest to
bring me one tied like a buffalo? Since when could the
Bhil bind folk at his pleasure? Cut! "

Half a dozen hasty knives cut away the thongs, and
[140]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

the man crawled to Chinn, who pocketed his case of
lancets and tubes of lymph. Then, sweeping the semi-
circle with one comprehensive forefinger, and in the
voice of compliment, he said, clearly and distinctly:
"Pigs!"

" Ai! " whispered Bukta. " Now he speaks. Woe to
foolish people! "

" I have come on foot from my house " (the assembly
shuddered) " to make clear a matter which any other
than a Satpura Bhil would have seen with both eyes
from a distance. Ye know the Smallpox, who pits and
scars your children so that they look like wasp-combs.
It is an order of the Government that whoso is scratched
on the arm with these little knives which I hold up is
charmed against Her. All Sahibs are thus charmed,
and very many Hindoos. This is the mark of the charm.
Look!"

He rolled back his sleeve to the armpit and showed
the white scars of the vaccination-mark on the white
skin. " Come, all, and look."

A few daring spirits came up, and nodded their heads
wisely. There was certainly a mark, and they knew
well what other dread marks were hidden by the shirt.
Merciful was Jan Chinn, that he had not then and there
proclaimed his godhead !

" Now all these things the man whom ye bound told
you."

"I did— a hundred times; but they answered with
blows," groaned the operator, chafing his wrists and
ankles.

" But, being pigs, ye did not believe; and so came I
[141]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

here to save you, first from Smallpox, next from a great
folly of fear, and lastly, it may be, from the rope and
the jail. It is no gain to me ; it is no pleasure to me :
but for the sake of that one who is yonder, who made
the Bhil a man"— he pointed down the hill—" I, who
am of his blood, the son of his son, come to turn your
people. And I speak the truth, as did Jan Chinn."

The crowd murmured reverently, and men stole out
of the thicket by twos and threes to join it. There was
no anger in their God's face.

" These are my orders. (Heaven send they '11 take
'em, but I seem to have impressed 'em so far!) I my-
self will stay among you while this man scratches your
arms with the knives, after the order of the Govern-
ment. In three, or it may be five or seven, days, your
arms will swell and itch and burn. That is the power
of Smallpox fighting in your base blood against the
orders of the Government. I will therefore stay among
you till I see that Smallpox is conquered, and I will not go
away till the men and the women and the little children
show me upon their arms such marks as I have even now
showed you. I bring with me two very good guns, and
a man whose name is known among beasts and men.
We will hunt together, I and he and your young men,
and the others shall eat and lie still. This is my order. ' '

There was a long pause while victory hung in the
balance. A white-haired old sinner, standing on one
uneasy leg, piped up:

" There are ponies and some few bullocks and other
things for which we need a Jcowl [protection]. They
were not taken in the way of trade."
[142]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

The battle was won, and John Chinn drew a breath of
relief. The young Bhils had been raiding, but if taken
swiftly all could be put straight.

" I will write a Jcoivl so soon as the ponies, the bullocks,
and the other things are counted before me and sent
back whence they came. But first we will put the
Government mark on such as have not been visited by
Smallpox." In an undertone, to the vaccinator: "If
you show you are afraid you '11 never see Poona again,
my friend. ' '

" There is not sufficient ample supply of vaccine for
all this population," said the man. "They have de-
stroyed the offeecial calf."

"They won't know the difference. Scrape 'em all
round, and give me a couple of lancets; I '11 attend to
the elders."

The aged diplomat who had demanded protection was
the first victim. He fell to Chinn' s hand, and dared not
cry out. As soon as he was freed he dragged up a com-
panion, and held him fast, and the crisis became, as it
were, a child's sport; for the vaccinated chased the un-
vaccinated to treatment, vowing that all the tribe must
suffer equally. The women shrieked, and the children
ran howling; but Chinn laughed, and waved the pink-
tipped lancet.

" It is an honour," he cried. " Tell them, Bukta, how
great an honour it is that I myself should mark them.
Nay, I cannot mark every one— the Hindoo must also do
his work— but I will touch all marks that he makes, so
there will be an equal virtue in them. Thus do the
Rajputs stick pigs. Ho, brother with one eye ! Catch
[143]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

that girl and bring her to me. She need not run away
yet, for she is not married, and I do not seek her in
marriage. She will not come? Then she shall be
shamed by her little brother, a fat boy, a bold boy.
He puts out his arm like a soldier. Look ! He does not
flinch at the blood. Some day he shall be in my regi-
ment. And now, mother of many, we will lightly
touch thee, for Smallpox has been before us here. It is
a true thing, indeed, that this charm breaks the power of
Mata. There will be no more pitted faces among the
Satpuras, and so ye can ask many cows for each maid
to be wed."

And so on and so on — quick-poured showman's patter,
sauced in the Bhil hunting-proverbs and tales of their
own brand of coarse humour— till the lancets were
blunted and both operators worn out.

But, nature being the same the world over, the un-
vaccinated grew jealous of their marked comrades, and
came near to blows about it. Then Chinn declared him-
self a court of justice, no longer a medical board, and
made formal inquiry into the late robberies.

* ' We are the thieves of Mahadeo, ' ' said the Bhils,
simply. "It is our fate, and we were frightened.
When we are frightened we always steal."

Simply and directly as children, they gave in the tale
of the plunder, all but two bullocks and some spirits that
had gone amissing (these Chinn promised to make good
out of his own pocket), and ten ringleaders were
despatched to the lowlands with a wonderful document,
written on the leaf of a note-book, and addressed to an
Assistant District Superintendent of Police. There was
[144]

Draivn by E. L. Blumenschein.

" One climbed into a tree, and stuck the letter into a cleft forty feet
from the ground."

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

warm calamity in that note, as Jan Chinn warned them,
but anything was better than loss of liberty.

Armed with this protection, the repentant raiders
went downhill. They had no desire whatever to meet
Mr. Dundas Fawne of the Police, aged twenty-two, and
of a cheerful countenance, nor did they wish to revisit
the scene of their robberies. Steering a middle course,
they ran into the camp of the one Government chaplain
allowed to the various irregular corps through a district
of some fifteen thousand square miles, and stood before
him in a cloud of dust. He was by way of being a priest,
they knew, and, what was more to the point, a good
sportsman who paid his beaters generously.

When he read Chinn 's note he laughed, which they
deemed a lucky omen, till he called up policemen, who
tethered the ponies and the bullocks by the piled house-
gear, and laid stern hands upon three of that smiling
band of the thieves of Mahadeo. The chaplain himself
addressed them magisterially with a riding- whip. That
was painful, but Jan Chinn had prophesied it. They
submitted, but would not give up the written protection,
fearing the jail. On their way back they met Mr. D.
Fawne, who had heard about the robberies, and was not
pleased.

" Certainly," said the eldest of the gang, when the
second interview was at an end, " certainly Jan Chinn' s
protection has saved us our liberty, but it is as though
there were many beatings in one small piece of paper.
Put it away."

One climbed into a tree, and stuck the letter into a
cleft forty feet from the ground, where it could do no
[145]

THE TOMB OP HIS ANCESTORS

harm. Warmed, sore, but happy, the ten returned to
Jan Chinn next day, where he sat among uneasy Bhils,
all looking at their right arms, and all bound under
terror of their God's disfavour not to scratch.

" It was a good ~kowl," said the leader. " First the
chaplain, who laughed, took away our plunder, and
beat three of us, as was promised. Next, we meet
Fawne Sahib, who frowned, and asked for the plunder.
We spoke the truth, and so he beat us all, one after an-
other, and called us chosen names. He then gave us
these two bundles ' ' —they set down a bottle of whisky
and a box of cheroots—" and we came away. The Jcowl
is left in a tree, because its virtue is that so soon as we
show it to a Sahib we are beaten. ' '

" But for that Jcoivl^ said Jan Chinn, sternly, " ye
would all have been marching to jail with a policeman
on either side. Ye come now to serve as beaters for
me. These people are unhappy, and we will go hunting
till they are well. To-night we will make a feast. ' '

It is written in the chronicles of the Satpura Bhils, to-
gether with many other matters not fit for print, that
through five days, after the day that he had put his
mark upon them, Jan Chinn the First hunted for his
people; and on the five nights of those days *ihe tribe
was gloriously and entirely drunk. Jan Chinn bought
country spirits of an awful strength, and slew wild pig
and deer beyond counting, so that if any fell sick they
might have two good reasons.

Between head- and stomach-aches they found no time
to think of their arms, but followed Jan Chinn obedi-
ently through the jungles, and with each day's return-
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THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

ing confidence men, women, and children stole away to
their villages as the little army passed by. They car-
ried news that it was good and right to be scratched
with ghost-knives; that Jan Chinn was indeed reincar-
nated as a god of free food and drink, and that of all
nations the Satpura Bhils stood first in his favour, if they
would only refrain from scratching. Henceforward
that kindly demi-god would be connected in their
minds with great gorgings and the vaccine and lancets
of a paternal Government.

" And to-morrow I go back to my home," said Jan
Chinn to his faithful few, whom neither spirits, over-
eating, nor swollen glands could conquer. It is hard for
children and savages to behave reverently at all times
to the idols of their make-belief, and they had frolicked
excessively with Jan Chinn. But the reference to his
home cast a gloom on the people.

" And the Sahib will not come again? " said he who
had been vaccinated first.

" That is to be seen," answered Chinn, warily.

" Nay, but come as a white man— come as a young
man whom we know and love; for, as thou alone
knowest, we are a weak people. If we again saw thy
—thy horse—" They were picking up their courage.

" I have no horse. I came on foot— with Bukta, yon-
der. What is this?"

" Thou knowest— the thing that thou hast chosen for
a night-horse." The little men squirmed in fear and
awe.

"Night-horses? Bukta, what is this last tale of
children?"

[147]

THE TOMB OP HIS ANCESTORS

Bukta had been a silent leader in Chinn's presence
since the night of his desertion, and was grateful for a
chance-flung question.

"They know, Sahib," he whispered. "It is the
Clouded Tiger. That that comes from the place where
thou didst once sleep. It is thy horse— as it has been
these three generations. ' '

" My horse! That was a dream of the Bhils."

u It is no dream. Do dreams leave the tracks of broad
pugs on earth? Why make two faces before thy people?
They know of the night-ridings, and they— and they—

" Are afraid, and would have them cease."

Bukta nodded. ' ' If thou hast no further need of him.
He is thy horse."

" The thing leaves a trail, then? " said Chinn.

* ' "We have seen it. It is like a village road under the
tomb."

" Can ye find and follow it for me? "

" By daylight— if one comes with us, and, above all,
stands near by."

" I will stand close, and we will see to it that Jan
Chinn does not ride any more."

The Bhils shouted the last words again and again.

From Chinn's point of view the stalk was nothing
more than an ordinary one— down hill, through split
and crannied rocks, unsafe, perhaps, if a man did not
keep his wits by him, but no worse than twenty others
he had undertaken. Yet his men— they refused abso-
lutely to beat, and would only trail— dripped sweat at
every move. They showed the marks of enormous
pugs that ran, always down hill, to a few hundred feet
[148]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

below Jan Chinn's tomb, and disappeared in a narrow-
mouthed cave. It was an insolently open road, a
domestic highway, beaten without thought of con-
cealment.

' ' The beggar might be paying rent and taxes, ' ' Chinn
muttered ere he asked whether his friend's taste ran to
cattle or man.

" Cattle," was the answer. "Two heifers a week.
We drive them for him at the foot of the hill. It is his
custom. If we did not, he might seek us."

" Blackmail and piracy," said Chinn. " I can't say I
fancy going into the cave after him. What 's to be
done?"

The Bhils fell back as Chinn lodged himself behind a
rock with his rifle ready. Tigers, he knew, were shy
beasts, but one who had been long cattle-fed in this
sumptuous style might prove overbold.

"He speaks!" some one whispered from the rear.
"He knows, too."

* * Well, of all the infernal cheek ! ' ' said Chinn. There
was an angry growl from the cave— a direct challenge.

"Come out, then," Chinn shouted. "Come out of
that. Let 's have a look at you."

The brute knew well enough that there was some
connection between brown nude Bhils and his weekly
allowance; but the white helmet in the sunlight annoyed
him, and he did not approve of the voice that broke his
rest. Lazily as a gorged snake, he dragged himself out
of the cave, and stood yawning and blinking at the en-
trance. The sunlight fell upon his flat right side, and
Chinn wondered. Never had he seen a tiger marked
[149]

THE TOMB OP HIS ANCESTORS

after this fashion. Except for his head, which was star-
ingly barred, he was dappled— not striped, but dappled
like a child's rocking-horse in rich shades of smoky
black on red gold. That portion of his belly and throat
which should have been white was orange, and his tail
and paws were black.

He looked leisurely for some ten seconds, and then
deliberately lowered his head, his chin dropped and
drawn in, staring intently at the man. The effect of
this was to throw forward the round arch of his skull,
with two broad bands across it, while below the bands
glared the unwinking eyes; so that, head on, as he stood,
he showed something like a diabolically scowling pan-
tomine-mask. It was a piece of natural mesmerism
that he had practised many times on his quarry, and
though Chinn was by no means a terrified heifer, he
stood for a while, held by the extraordinary oddity of
the attack. The head— the body seemed to have been
packed away behind it— the ferocious, skull-like head,
crept nearer to the switching of an angry tail-tip in the
grass. Left and right the Bhils had scattered to let
John Chinn subdue his own horse.

" My word! " he thought. " He 's trying to frighten
me!" and fired between the saucer-like eyes, leaping
aside upon the shot.

A big coughing mass, reeking of carrion, bounded past
him up the hill, and he followed discreetly. The tiger
made no attempt to turn into the jungle ; he was hunt-
ing for sight and breath— nose up, mouth open, the
tremendous fore-legs scattering the gravel in spurts.

" Scuppered! " said John Chinn, watching the flight.
[150]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

u Now if he was a partridge he 'd tower. Lungs must
be full of blood."

The brute had jerked himself over a boulder and
fallen out of sight the other side. John Chinn looked
over with a ready barrel. But the red trail led straight
as an arrow even to his grandfather's tomb, and there,
among the smashed spirit-bottles and the fragments of
the mud image, the life left, with a flurry and a grunt.

" If my worthy ancestor could see that," said John
Chinn, "he 'd have been proud of me. Eyes, lower
jaw, and lungs. A very nice shot." He whistled for
Bukta as he drew the tape over the stiffening bulk.

" Ten— six— eight— by Jove! It 's nearly eleven—
call it eleven . Fore-arm, twenty-four — five — seven and
a half. A short tail, too : three feet one. But what a
skin! Oh, Bukta! Bukta! The men with the knives
swiftly."

" Is he beyond question dead? " said an awe-stricken
voice behind a rock.

" That was not the way I killed my first tiger," said
Chinn. ' ' I did not think that Bukta would run. I had
no second gun."

" It— it is the Clouded Tiger," said Bukta, unheeding
the taunt. " He is dead. ' '

Whether all the Bhils, vaccinated and unvaccinated,
of the Satpuras had lain by to see the kill, Chinn could
not say; but the whole hill's flank rustled with little
men, shouting, singing, and stamping. And yet, till he
had made the first cut in the splendid skin, not a man
would take a knife ; and, when the shadows fell, they
ran from the red-stained tomb, and no persuasion would
[151]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

bring them back till dawn. So Chinn spent a second
night in the open, guarding the carcass from jackals,
and thinking about his ancestor.

He returned to the lowlands to the triumphal chant
of an escorting army three hundred strong, the Mah-
ratta vaccinator close at his elbow, and the rudely dried
skin a trophy before him. When that army suddenly
and noiselessly disappeared, as quail in high corn, he
argued he was near civilisation, and a turn in the road
brought him upon the camp of a wing of his own corps.
He left the skin on a cart- tail for the world to see, and
sought the Colonel.

u They 're perfectly right," he explained earnestly.
" There is n't an ounce of vice in 'em. They were only
frightened. I 've vaccinated the whole boiling, and
they like it awfully. What are— what are we doing
here, sir?"

" That 's what I 'm trying to find out," said the
Colonel. " I don't know yet whether we 're a piece of
a brigade or a police force. However, I think we '11
call ourselves a police force. How did you manage to
get a Bhil vaccinated? "

" Well, sir," said Chinn, " I 've been thinking it over,
and, as far as I can make out, I 've got a sort of
hereditary influence over 'em."

u So I know, or I would n't have sent you; but what,
exactly?"

"It 's rather rummy. It seems, from what I can

make out, that I 'm my own grandfather reincarnated,

and I 've been disturbing the peace of the country by

riding a pad-tiger of nights. If I had n't done that, I

[152]

THE TOMB OF HIS ANCESTORS

don't think they 'd have objected to the vaccination ; but
the two together were more than they could stand.
And so, sir, I 've vaccinated 'em, and shot my tiger-
horse as a sort o' proof of good faith. You never saw
such a skin hi your life."

The Colonel tugged his moustache thoughtfully.
"Now, how the deuce," said he, " am I to include
that in my report?"

Indeed, the official version of the Bhils' anti- vac-
cination stampede said nothing about Lieutenant
John Chinn, his godship. But Bukta knew, and the
corps knew, and every Bhil in the Satpura hills knew.

And now Bukta is zealous that John Chinn shall
swiftly be wedded and impart his powers to a son;
for if the Chinn succession fails, and the little Bhils
are left to their own imaginings, there will be fresh
trouble in the Satpuras.

[153]

THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA

THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA

All supplies very bad and dear, and there are no facilities
for even the smallest repairs. — SAILING DIRECTIONS.

HER nationality was British, but you will not find
her house-flag in the list of our mercantile
marine. She was a nine-hundred ton, iron, schooner-
rigged, screw cargo-boat, differing externally in no way
from any other tramp of the sea. But it is with steam-
ers as it is with men. There are those who will for a
consideration sail extremely close to the wind; and, in
the present state of a fallen world, such people and
such steamers have their use. From the hour that the
Aglaia first entered the Clyde— new, shiny, and inno-
cent, with a quart of cheap champagne trickling down
her cutwater— Fate and her owner, who was also her
captain, decreed that she should deal with embarrassed
crowned heads, fleeing Presidents, financiers of over-
extended ability, women to whom change of air was
imperative, and the lesser law-breaking Powers. Her
career led her sometimes into the Admiralty Courts,
where the sworn statements of her skipper filled his
brethren with envy. The mariner cannot tell or act a