in every language except Mahrathi. And he, poor soul, has lost both
feet--they were frostbitten--and will never answer the music of the
charge again. But at the sound of his own tongue he raises his body by
the pulley hanging at the head of his cot, and gravely salutes the
sahib. Like Ruth amid the alien corn, his heart is sad with thoughts of
home, and he has been dreaming between these iron walls of the wide,
sunlit spaces of the Deccan. As his feverish brain counts and re-counts
the rivets on the ship-plates, ever and anon they part before his
wistful eyes, and he sees again the little village with its grove of
mangoes and its sacred banyan on the inviolable _otla_; he hears once
again the animated chatter of the wayfarers in the _chowdi_.

"Where is thy home?"

"Sahib, it is at Pirgaon."

"I know it--is not Turkaran Patal the head-man?"

The dark face gleams with pleasure. "Even so, sahib."

"Shall I write to thy people?"

"The sahib is very kind."

"So will I do, and, perhaps, prepare thy people for thy homecoming. I
will tell them that thou hast lost thy feet with the frostbite, but art
otherwise well."

"Nay, sahib, tell them everything but that, for if my people hear that
they will neither eat nor drink--nay, nor sleep, for sorrow."

"Then will I not. But I will tell them that thou art a brave man."

The Mahratta smiles mournfully.

"And have you heard from your folk at home?" I ask of the others,
leaving Smith and the Mahratta together.

"Yea, sahib, the exalted Government is very good to us. We get letters
often." It is a sepoy in the 107th who speaks. "My brother writes even
thus," and he reads with tears in his eyes: "'We miss you terribly, but
such is the will of God. I have been daily to Haji Baba Ziarat' (it is a
famous shrine in India), 'and day and night I pray for you, and am very
distressed. I am writing to tell you to have no anxiety about us at
home, but do your duty cheerfully and say your prayers. Repeat the
beginning with the word "Kor" and breathe forty times on your body.
Your father is well, but is very anxious for you, and weeps day and
night.'"

"I also have received a letter." The speaker is a Bengali, and, though a
surgeon and non-combatant, must have his say. "My brother writes that I
am to enlight the names of my ancestors, who were tiger-like warriors,
and were called Bahadurs, by performing my duties to utmost
satisfaction." This is truly Babu English.

"And you will