Camps, Quarters, and Casual Places by Archibald Forbes

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CAMPS, QUARTERS AND CASUAL PLACES

BY ARCHIBALD FORBES, LL.D.

NOTE

My obligations for permission to incorporate some of the articles in this
volume are due to Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Mr. James Knowles of
the _Nineteenth Century_, Mr. Percy Bunting of the _Contemporary Review_,
and the Proprietor of _McClure's Magazine_.

LONDON, _June_ 1896.

CONTENTS

1. MATRIMONY UNDER FIRE

2. REVERENCING THE GOLDEN FEET

3. GERMAN WAR PRAYERS

4. MISS PRIEST'S BRIDECAKE

5. A VERSION OF BALACLAVA

6. HOW I "SAVED FRANCE"

7. CHRISTMAS IN A CAVALRY REGIMENT

8. THE MYSTERY OF MONSIEUR REGNIER

9. RAILWAY LIZZ

10. MY NATIVE SALMON RIVER

11. THE CAWNPORE OF TO-DAY

12. BISMARCK BEFORE AND DURING THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR

13. THE INVERNESS "CHARACTER" FAIR

14. THE WARFARE OF THE FUTURE

15. GEORGE MARTELL'S BANDOBAST

16. THE LUCKNOW OF TO-DAY

17. THE MILITARY COURAGE OF ROYALTY

18. PARADE OF THE COMMISSIONAIRES

19. THE INNER HISTORY OF THE WATERLOO CAMPAIGN

MATRIMONY UNDER FIRE

The interval between the declaration of the Franco-German war of 1870-71,
and the "military promenade," at which the poor Prince Imperial received
his "baptism of fire," was a pleasant, lazy time at Saarbrücken; to which
pretty frontier town I had early betaken myself, in the anticipation,
which proved well founded, that the tide of war would flow that way first.
What a pity it is that all war cannot be like this early phase of it, of
which I speak! It was playing at warfare, with just enough of the grim
reality cropping up occasionally, to give the zest which the reckless
Frenchwoman declared was added to a pleasure by its being also a sin. The
officers of the Hohenzollerns--our only infantry regiment in garrison--
drank their beer placidly under the lime-tree in the market-place, as
their men smoked drowsily, lying among the straw behind the stacked arms
ready for use at a moment's notice. The infantry patrol skirted the
frontier line every morning in the gray dawn, occasionally exchanging with
little result a few shots with the French outposts on the Spicheren or
down in the valley bounded by the Schönecken wood. The Uhlans, their
piebald lance-pennants fluttering in the wind, cantered leisurely round
the crests of the little knolls which formed the vedette posts, despising
mightily the straggling chassepot bullets which were pitched at them from
time to time in a desultory way; but which, desultory as they were, now
and then brought lance-pennant and its bearer to the ground--an occurrence
invariably followed by a little spurt of lively hostility.

I had my quarters at the Rheinischer Hof, a right comfortable hotel on the
St. Johann side of the Saar, where most of the Hohenzollern officers
frequented the _table d'hôte_ and where quaint little Max, the drollest
imp of a waiter imaginable, and pretty Fraülein Sophie the landlord's
niece, did all that in them lay to contribute to the pleasantness and
comfort of the house. Not a few pleasant evenings did I spend at the table
of the long dining-room, with the close-cropped red head of silent and
genial Hauptmann von Krehl looming large over the great ice-pail, with its
_chevaux de frise_ of long-necked Niersteiner bottles--the worthy
Hauptmann supported by blithe Lieutenant von Klipphausen, ever ready with
the _Wacht am Rhein_; quaint Dr. Diestelkamp, brimful of recollections of
"six-and-sixty" and as ready to amputate your leg as to crack a joke or
clink a glass; gay young Adjutant von Zülow--he who one day brought in a
prisoner from the foreposts a red-legged Frenchman across the pommel of
his saddle; and many other good fellows, over most of whom the turf of the
Spicheren, or the brown earth of the Gravelotte plain, now lies lightly.

But although the Rheinischer Hof associates itself in my mind with many
memories, half-pleasant, half-sad, it was not the most accustomed haunt of
the casuals in Saarbrücken, including myself. Of the waifs and strays
which the war had drifted down to the pretty frontier town the great
rendezvous was the Hôtel Hagen, at the bend of the turn leading from the
bridge up to the railway station. The Hagen was a free-and-easy place
compared with the Rheinischer, and among its inmates there was no one who
could sing a better song than manly George--type of the Briton at whom
foreigners stare--who, ignorant of a word of their language, wholly
unprovided with any authorisation save the passport signed "Salisbury,"
and having not quite so much business at the seat of war as he might have
at the bottom of a coal-mine, gravitates into danger with inevitable
certainty, and stumbles through all manner of difficulties and bothers by
reason of a serene good-humour that nothing can ruffle and a cool
resolution before which every obstacle fades away. Was there ever a more
compositely polyglot cosmopolitan than poor young de Liefde--half
Dutchman, half German by birth, an Englishman by adoption, a Frenchman in
temperament, speaking with equal fluency the language of all four
countries, and an unconsidered trifle of some half-dozen European
languages besides? Then there was the English student from Bonn, who had
come down to the front accompanied by a terrible brute of a dog, vast,
shaggy, self-willed, and dirty; an animal which, so to speak, owned his
owner, and was so much the horror and disgust of everybody that on account
of him the company of his master--one of the pleasantest fellows alive--
was the source of general apprehension. There was young Silberer the
many-sided and eccentric, an Austrian nobleman, a Vienna feuilletonist and
correspondent, a rowing man, a gourmet, ever thinking of his stomach and
yet prepared for all the roughness of the campaign--warm-hearted,
passionate, narrow-minded, capable of sleeping for twenty-three out of the
twenty-four hours, and the wearer of a Scotch cap. There was Küster, a
German journalist with an address somewhere in the Downham Road; and Duff,
a Fellow of ---- College, the strangest mixture of nervousness and cool
courage I ever met.

We were a kind of happy family at the Hagen; the tone of the coterie was
that of the easiest intimacy into which every newcomer slid quite
naturally. Thus when on the 31st July there was a somewhat sensational
arrival, the stolid landlord had not turned the gas on in the empty saal
before everybody knew and sympathised with the errand of the strangers.
The party consisted of a plump little girl of about eighteen with a bonny
round face and fine frank eyes; her sister who was some years older; and a
brother, the eldest of the three. They had come from Silesia on rather a
strange tryst. Little Minna Vogt had for her _Bräutigam_ a young Feldwebel
of the second battalion of the Hohenzollerns, a native of Saarlouis. The
battalion quartered there was under orders to join its first battalion at
Saarbrücken, and young Eckenstein had written to his betrothed to come and
meet him there, that the marriage-knot might be tied before he should go
on a campaign from which he might not return. The arrangement was
certainly a charming one; we should have a wedding in the Hagen! There was
no nonsense about our young _Braut_. She told me the little story at
supper on the night of her arrival in the most matter-of-fact way
possible, drank her two glasses of red wine, and went off serenely to bed
with a dainty lisping _Schlafen Sie wohl!_

While Minna was between the sheets in the pleasant chamber in the Hagen
her lover was lying in bivouac some fifteen miles away. In the afternoon
of the next day his battalion approached Saarbrücken and bivouacked about
two miles from the town. Of course we all went out to welcome it; some
bearing peace-offerings of cigars, others the drink-offering of potent
Schnapps. The Vogt family were left the sole inmates of the Hagen,
delicacy preventing their accompanying us. The German journalist, however,
had a commission to find out young Eckenstein and tell him of the bliss
that awaited him two short miles away. Right hearty fellows were the
officers of the second battalion--from the grizzled Oberst down to the
smooth-faced junior lieutenant; and the men who had been marching and
bivouacking for a fortnight looked as fresh as if they had not travelled
five miles. Küster soon found the young Feldwebel; and the Hauptmann of
his company when he heard the state of the case, smiled a grim but kindly
smile, and gave him leave for two days with the proviso, that if any
hostile action should be taken in the interval he should rejoin the
colours immediately and without notice. "No fear of that!" was
Eckenstein's reply with a significant down glance at his sword; and then,
after a cheery "good-night" to the hardy bivouackers, we visitors started
in triumph on our return to the Hagen, the young Feldwebel in our midst It
was good to see the unrestraint with which Minna--she of the apple face
and frank eyes--threw herself round the neck of her betrothed as she met
him on the steps of the Hagen, and his modest manly blush as he returned
the embrace. Ye gods! did not we make a night of it! Stolid Hagen came out
of his shell for once, and swore, _Donner Wetter_ that he would give us a
supper we should remember; and he kept his word. The good old pastor of
the snow-white hair and withered cheeks--he had been engaged to perform
the ceremony of the morrow--we voted into the chair whether he would or
not; and on his right sat Minna and Eckenstein, their arms interlacing and
whispering soft speeches which were not for our ears. The table was
covered with bottles of Blume de Saar, the champagne peculiar of the Hagen;
and the speed with which the full bottles were converted into "dead
marines" was a caution to teetotallers. Then de Liefde the polyglot gave
the health of the happy couple in a felicitous but composite speech, in
which half a dozen languages were impartially intermixed so that all might
understand at least a portion. George the jolly insisted in leading off
the honours with a truly British "three times three;" and that horrible
dog of Hyndman's gave the time, like a beast as he was, with stentorian
barkings. Then Minna and her sister retired, followed by Herr Pastor; and
after a considerable number of more bottles of Blume de Saar had met their
fate we formed a procession and escorted the happy Eckenstein to the
Rheinischer Hof where he was to sleep.

Next morning by eleven, we had all reassembled in the second saal of the
Hagen. In the great room the marriage-breakfast was laid out, and in the
kitchen Hagen and his Frau were up to their eyes in mystic culinary
operations. Minna looked like a rosebud in her pretty low-necked blue
dress, and the pastor in his cassock helped to the diversity of colour. We
had done shaking hands with the bride and bridegroom after the ceremony,
and were sitting down to the marriage feast, when young Eckenstein started
and made three strides to the open window. His accustomed ear had caught a
sound which none of us had heard. It was the sharp peremptory note of the
drum beating the alarm. As it came nearer and could no longer be mistaken,
the bright colour went out from poor Minna's cheek and she clung with a
brave touching silence to her sister. In two minutes more Eckenstein had
his helmet on his head and his sword buckled on, and then he turned to say
farewell to his girl ere he left her for the battle. The parting was
silent and brief; but the faces of the two were more eloquent than words.
Poor Minna sat down by the window straining her eyes as Eckenstein,
running at speed, went his way to the rendezvous.

When I got up to the Bellevue the French were streaming in overwhelming
force down the slope of the Spicheren into the intervening valley. It was
a beautiful sight; but I am not going to describe it here. Ere an hour was
over the shells and chassepôt bullets were sweeping across the Exercise
Platz, and it was no longer a safe spot for a non-combatant like myself.
Before I got back into the Hagen after paying my bill at the Rheinischer
and fetching away my knapsack, the French guns were on the Exercise Platz.
I heard for the first time the angry screech of the mitrailleuse and saw
the hailstorm of its bullets spattering on the pavement of the bridge.
Somehow or other the whole of our little coterie had found their way into
the Hagen; by a sort of common impulse, I imagine. The landlady was
already in hysterics; the Vogt girls were pale but plucky. Presently the
shells began to fly. The Prussians had a gun or two on the railway
esplanade above us, the fire of which the French began to return fiercely.
Every shell that fell short tumbled in or about the Hagen; and a company
of the Hohenzollerns was drawn up in the street in front of it, in trying
to dislodge which the French fire could not well miss the Hagen and the
houses opposite. A shell burst in the back-yard and the landlady fainted.
Another came crashing in through a first-floor window, and, bursting,
knocked several bedrooms into one. Then we thought it time to get the
women down into the cellar--rather a risky undertaking since the door of
it was in the backyard. However, we got them all down in safety and came
up into the second saal to watch the course of events. Hagen gave a
fearful groan as a shell broke into the kitchen behind us, and, bursting
in the centre of the stove, sent his _chefs-d'oeuvre_ of cookery sputtering
in all directions. He gave a still deeper groan as another shell crashed
into the principal dining-room and knocked the long table, laid out as it
was for the marriage-feast, into a chaos of splinters, tablecloth, and
knives and forks. The Restauration Küche on the other side was in flames,
so was the stable of the hotel to the left rear. In this pleasing
situation of affairs George produced a pack of cards and coolly proposed a
game of whist. Küster, de Liefde, and Hyndman joined him; and the game
proceeded amidst the crashing of the projectiles. Silberer and myself took
counsel together and agreed that the occupation of the town by the French
was only a question of a few hours at latest. We were both correspondents;
and although the French would do us no harm our communications with our
journals would inevitably be stopped--a serious contingency to contemplate
at the beginning of a campaign. We both agreed that evacuation of the
Hagen was imperative; but then, how to get out? The only way was up the
esplanade to the railway station, and upon it the French shells were
falling and bursting in numbers very trying to the nerves. However, there
was nothing for it but to make a rush through the fire; and saying
good-bye to the whist-players we sallied forth. To my disgust I found that
Silberer positively refused to make a rush of it. Although an Austrian all
his sympathies were Prussian, and he had the utmost contempt for the
French. In his broken language his invariable appellation for them was
"God-damned Hundsöhne!" and he would not run before them at any price. I
would have run right gladly at top-speed; but I did not like to run when
another man walked, and so he made me saunter at the rate of two miles an
hour till we got under shelter. After a hot walk of several miles, we
reached the Hôtel Till in the village of Duttweiler. After all the French,
although they might have done so, did not occupy Saarbrücken; and towards
evening our friends came dropping into the Hôtel Till, singly or in pairs.
Küster and George brought the Vogt sisters out in a waggon--it was
surprising to see the coolness and composure of the girls. By nightfall we
were all reunited, except one unfortunate fellow who had been slightly
wounded and whom a Saarbrücken doctor had kindly received into his house.

On the 6th August came the Prussian repossession of Saarbrücken and the
desperate storm of the Spicheren. The 40th was the regiment to which was
assigned the place of honour in the preliminary recapture of the Exercise
Platz height. Kameke rode up the winding road to the Bellevue; then came
the march across the broad valley and after much bloodshed the final storm
of the Spicheren, in which the 40th occupied about the left centre of the
Prussian advance. Three times did the blue wave surge up the green steep,
to be beaten back three times by the terrible blast of fire that crashed
down upon it from above. Yet a fourth time it clambered up again, and this
time it lipped the brink and poured over the intrenchment at the top. But
I am not describing the battle.

When it was over or at least when it had drifted away across the farther
plateau, I followed on in the broad wake of dying and dead which the
advance had left. The familiar faces of the Hohenzollerns were all around
me; but either still in death or writhing in the torture of wounds. About
the centre of the valley lay the genial Hauptmann von Krehl, more silent
than ever now, for a bullet had gone right through that red head of his
and he would never more quaff of the Niersteiner; neither would Lieutenant
von Klipphausen ever again stir the blood of the sons of the Fatherland
with the _Wacht am Rhein_; he lay dead close by the first spur of the
slope--what of him at least a bursting shell had left. On a little flat
half up sat quaint Dr. Diestelkamp, like Mark Tapley jolly under
difficulties; by his side lay a man who had just bled to death as the good
doctor explained to me. While he had been applying the tourniquet under a
hot fire his right arm had been broken; and before he could pull himself
up and go to the rear another bullet had found its billet in his thigh.
There the little man sat, contentedly smoking till somebody would be good
enough to come and take him away. Von Zülow too--he of the gay laugh and
sprightly countenance--was on his back a little higher up, with a bullet
through the chest. I heard the ominous sound of the escaping air as I
raised him to give him a drink from my flask. What needs it to become
diffuse as to the terrible sights which that steep and the plateau above
it presented on this beautiful summer evening? It was farther to the
right, in ground more broken with gullies and ravines, that the second
battalion of the Hohenzollerns had gone up; and I wandered along there
among the carnage eking out the contents of my flask as far as I could,
and when the wounded had exhausted the brandy in it filling it up with
water and still toiling on in a task that seemed endless. At last, in a
sitting posture, his back against a hawthorn tree in one of the grassy
ravines, I saw one whom I thought I recognised. "Eckenstein!" I cried as I
ran forward; for the posture was so natural that I could not but think he
was alive. Alas! no answer came; the gallant young Feldwebel was dead,
shot through the throat. He had not been killed outright by the fatal
bullet; the track was apparent by the blood on the grass along which he
had crawled to the hawthorn tree against which I found him. His head had
fallen forward on his chest and his right hand was pressed against his
left breast. I saw something white in the hollow of the hand and easily
moved the arm for he was yet warm; it was the photograph of the little
girl he had married but three short days before. The frank eyes looked up
at me with a merry unconsciousness; and the face of the photograph was
spotted with the life-blood of the young soldier.

I sent the death-token to Saarlouis by post to the young widow. I never
knew whether she received it, for all the address I had was Saarlouis.
Eckenstein I saw buried with two officers in a soldier's grave under the
hawthorn. Any one taking the ascent up the fourth ravine Forbach-ward from
the bluff of the Spicheren, may easily find it about halfway up. It may be
recognised by the wooden cross bearing the rude inscription: "Hier ruhen
in Gott 2 Officiere, 1 Feldwebel, 40ste Hohenzol. Fus. Regt."

REVERENCING THE GOLDEN FEET

1879

By Christmas 1878 the winter had brought to a temporary standstill the
operations of the British troops engaged in the first Afghan campaign, and
I took the opportunity of this inaction to make a journey into Native
Burmah, the condition of which seemed thus early to portend the interest
which almost immediately after converged upon it, because of King Thebau's
wholesale slaughter of his relatives. Reaching Mandalay, the capital of
Native Burmah, in the beginning of February 1879, I immediately set about
compassing an interview with the young king. Both Mr. Shaw, who was our
Resident at Mandalay at the time of my visit, and Dr. Clement Williams
whose kindly services I found so useful, are now dead, and many changes
have occurred since the episode described below; but no description, so
far as I am aware, has appeared of any visit of courtesy and curiosity to
the Court of King Thebau of a later date than that made by myself at the
date specified. One of my principal objects in visiting Mandalay, or, in
Burmese phrase, of "coming to the Golden Feet," was to see the King of
Burmah in his royal state in the Presence Chamber of the Palace. Certain
difficulties stood in the way of the accomplishment of this object. I had
but a few days to spend in Mandalay. With the approval of Mr. Shaw, the
British Resident, I determined to pursue an informal course of action, and
with this intent I enlisted the good offices of an English gentleman
resident in Mandalay, who had intimate relations with the Ministers and
the Court.

This gentleman, Dr. Williams, was good enough to help me with zeal and
address. The line of strategy to adopt was to interest in my cause one of
the principal Ministers. Of these there were four, who constituted the
_Hlwot-dau_, or High Court and Council of the Monarchy. These "Woonghys"
or "Menghyis," as they were more commonly called--"Menghyi," meaning
"Great Prince"--were of equal rank; but the senior Minister, the
Yenangyoung Menghyi, who had precedence, was then in confinement, and,
indeed, a decree of degradation had gone forth against him. Obviously he
was of no use; but a more influential man than he ever was, and having the
additional advantages of being at liberty, in power and in favour, was the
"Kingwoon Menghyi." He was in effect the Prime Minister of the King of
Burmah. His position was roughly equivalent to that of Bismarck in
Germany, or of Gortschakoff in Russia, since, in addition to his internal
influence, he had the chief direction of foreign affairs. Now this
"Kingwoon Menghyi" had for a day or two been relaxing from the cares of
State. Partly for his own pleasure, partly by way of example, he had laid
out a beautiful garden on the low ground near the river. Within this
garden he had the intention to build himself a suburban residence, which
meanwhile was represented by a summer pavilion of teak and bamboo. He was
a liberal-minded man, and it was a satisfaction to him that the shady
walks and pleasant rose-groves of this garden should be enjoyed by the
people of Mandalay. He was a reformer, this "Kingwoon Menghyi," and
believed in the humanising effect of free access to the charms of nature.
His garden laid out and his pavilion finished, he was celebrating the
event by a series of _fêtes._ He was "at home" in his pavilion to
everybody; bands of music played all day long and day after day, in the
kiosks, among the young palm trees and the rosebushes. Mandalay, high and
low, made holiday in the mazy walks of his garden and in an improvised
theatre, wherein an interminable _pooey,_ or Burmese drama, was being
enacted before ever-varying and constantly appreciative audiences. Dr.
Williams opined that it would conduce to the success of my object that we
should call upon the Minister at his garden-house and request him to use
his good offices in my behalf.

It was near noon when we reached the entrance to the garden. Merry but
orderly sightseers thronged its alleys, and stared with wondering
admiration at a rather attenuated jet of water which rose into the clear
air some thirty feet above a rockwork fountain in the centre. Dignitaries
strolled about under the stemless umbrellas like huge shields, with which
assiduous attendants protected them from the sun; and were followed by
posses of retainers, who prostrated themselves whenever their masters
halted or looked round. Ladies in white jackets and trailing silk skirts
of vivid hue were taking a leisurely airing, each with her demure maid
behind her carrying the lacquer-ware box of betel-nut. As often as not the
fair ones were blowing copious clouds from huge reed-like cheroots. Sounds
of shrill music were heard in the distance. Walking up the central alley
between the rows of palms and the hedges of roses, we found in the veranda
a mixed crowd of laymen and priests, the latter distinguishable by their
shaved heads and yellow robes. The Minister was just finishing his
morning's work of distributing offerings to the latter, in commemoration
of the opening of his gardens. In response to a message, he at once sent
to desire that we should come to him. The great "shoe-question," the
_quaestio vexata_ between British officialism and Burmah officialism, did
not trouble me. I had no official position; I wanted to gain an object. I
have a respect for the honour of my country, but I could not bring myself
to realise that the national honour centres in my shoes. So I parted with
them at the top of the steps leading up into the Minister's pavilion, and
walking on what is known as my "stocking-feet," and feeling rather
shuffling and shabby accordingly, was ushered through a throng of
prostrate dependents into the presence of the Menghyi. He came forward
frankly and cordially, shook hands with a hearty smile with Dr. Williams
and myself, and beckoned us into an inner alcove, carpeted with rich rugs
and panelled with mirrors. Placing himself in a half-sitting,
half-kneeling attitude which did not expose his feet, he beckoned to us to
get down also. I own to having experienced extreme difficulty in keeping
my feet out of sight, which was a point _de rigueur_; but his Excellency
was not censorious. There was with him a secretary who had resided several
years in Europe, and who spoke fluently English, French, and Italian. This
gentleman knew London thoroughly, and was perfectly familiar both with the
name of the _Daily News_ and of myself. He introduced me formally to his
Excellency, who, I ought to have mentioned, was the head of the Burmese
Embassy which had visited Europe a few years previously. That his
Excellency had some sort of knowledge of the political character of the
_Daily News_ was obvious from the circumstance that when its name was
mentioned he nodded and exclaimed, "Ah! ah! Gladstone, Bright!" in tones
of manifest approval, which was no doubt accounted for by the fact that he
himself was a pronounced Liberal. I explained that I had come to Mandalay
to learn as much about Burmese manners, customs, and institutions as was
possible in four days, with intent to embody my impressions in letters to
England; and that as the King was the chief institution of the country, I
had a keen anxiety to see him and begged of his Excellency to lend me his
aid toward doing so. He gave no direct reply, but certainly did not frown
on the request. We were served with tea (without cream or sugar) in pretty
china cups, and then the Menghyi, observing that we were looking at some
quaint-shaped musical instruments at the foot of the dais, explained that
they belonged to a band of rural performers from the Pegu district, and
proposed that we should first hear them play and afterwards visit the
theatre and witness the _pooey_. We assenting, he led the way from his
pavilion through the garden to a pretty kiosk half-embosomed in foliage,
and chairs having been brought the party sat down. We had put on our shoes
as we quitted the dais. The Menghyi explained that it was pleasanter for
him, as it must be for us, that we should change the manner of our
reception from the Burmese to the European custom; and we were quite free
to confess that we would sooner sit in chairs than squat on the floor.
More tea was brought, and a plateful of cheroots. After we had sat a
little while in the kiosk we were joined by the chief Under-Secretary for
Foreign Affairs, the Baron de Giers of Burmah, a jovial, corpulent,
elderly gentleman who had the most wonderful likeness to the late Pio
Nono, and who clasped his brown hands over his fat paunch and kicked about
his plump bare brown feet in high enjoyment when anything that struck him
as humorous was uttered. He wholly differed in appearance from his
superior, who was a lean-faced and lean-figured man, grave, and indeed
somewhat sad both of eye and of visage when his face was in repose. As we
talked, our conversation being through the interpreting secretary, there
came to the curtained entrance to the kiosk a very dainty little lady. I
had noticed her previously sauntering around the garden under one of the
great shield-like shades, with a following of serving-men and
serving-women behind her. She greeted the Menghyi very prettily, with the
most perfect composure, although strangers were present. She was clearly a
great pet with the Menghyi; he took her on his knee and played with her
long black hair, as he told her about the visitors. The little lady was in
her twelfth year, and was the daughter of a colleague and a relative of
the Menghyi. She had an olive oval face, with lovely dark eyes, like the
eyes of a deer. She wore a tiara of feathery white blossoms. In her ears
were rosettes of chased red gold. Round her throat was a necklace of a
double row of large pearls. Her fingers--I regret to say her nails were
not very clean--were loaded with rings set with great diamonds of
exceptional sparkle and water; one stone in particular must have been
worth many thousands of pounds. She wore a jacket of white silk, and round
her loins was girt a gay silken robe that trailed about her bare feet as
she walked. She shook hands with us with a pretty shyness and immediately
helped herself to a cheroot, affably accepting a light from mine. The
Menghyi told us she was a great scholar--could read and write with
facility, and had accomplishments to boot.

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