found twelve Lucknow
doolie-wallahs waiting by the veranda, lithe and erect, and part of a
drilled corps. Drill discipline is good, but in the art of their trade
these men needed no teaching. For centuries their ancestors had carried
palanquins in the plains, bearing Rajas and ladies of high estate,
perhaps even the Great Mogul himself. The running step to their strange
rhythmic chants must be an instinct to them. That morning I knew my
troubles were at an end. They started off with steps of velvet,
improvising as they went a kind of plaintive song like an intoned
litany.

The leading man chanted a dimeter line, generally with an iambus in the
first foot; but when the road was difficult or the ascent toilsome, the
metre became trochaic, in accordance with the best traditions of
classical poetry. The hind-men responded with a sing-song trochaic
dimeter which sounded like a long-drawn-out monosyllable. They never
initiated anything. It was not custom; it had never been done. The laws
of Nature are not so immutable as the ritual of a Hindu guild.

We sped on smoothly for eight miles, and when I asked the _kahars_ if
they were tired, they said they would not rest, as relays were waiting
on the road. All the way they chanted their hymn of the obvious:--

'Mountains are steep;
_Chorus_: Yes, they are.
The road is narrow;
Yes, it is.
The sahib is wounded;
That is so.
With many wounds;
They are many.
The road goes down;
Yes, it does.
Now we are hurrying;
Yes, we are.'

Here they ran swiftly till the next rise in the hill.

Waiting in the shade for relays, I heard two Englishmen meet on the
road. One had evidently been attached, and was going down to join his
regiment; the other was coming up on special service. I caught fragments
of our crisp expressive argot.

_Officer going down_ (_apparently disillusioned_): 'Oh, it's the same
old bald-headed maidan we usually muddle into.'

_Officer coming up_: '... Up above Phari ideal country for native
cavalry, isn't it?... A few men with lances prodding those fellows in
the back would soon put the fear of God into them. Why don't they send
up the --th Light Cavalry?'

_Officer going down_: 'They've Walers, and you can't feed 'em, and the
--th are all Jats. They're no good; can't do without a devil of a lot of
milk. They want bucketsful of it. Well, bye-bye; you'll soon get fed up
with i