Indian Tales

There are 36 articles in this category


And they were stronger hands than mine That digged the Ruby from the earth— More cunning brains that made it worth

The Madness of Private Ortheris

My friends Mulvaney and Ortheris had gone on a shooting-expedition for one day. Learoyd was still in hospital, recovering from fever picked up in Burma.

The Daughter of the Regiment

"A gentleman who doesn't know the Circasian Circle ought not to stand up for it—puttin' everybody out." That was what Miss McKenna said, and the Sergeant who was my vis-à-vis looked the same thing.

The God from the Machine

The Inexpressibles gave a ball. They borrowed a seven-pounder from the Gunners, and wreathed it with laurels, and made the dancing-floor plate-glass and provided a supper,

Beyond the Pale

A man should, whatever happens, keep to his own caste, race and breed. Let the White go to the White and the Black to the Black.

The Three Musketeers

Mulvaney, Ortheris and Learoyd are Privates in B Company of a Line Regiment, and personal friends of mine. Collectively I think, but am not certain,

The Solid Muldoon

There had been a royal dog-fight in the ravine at the back of the rifle-butts, between Learoyd's Jock and Ortheris's Blue Rot—both mongrel Rampur hounds,

Wressley of the Foreign Office

One of the many curses of our life in India is the want of atmosphere in the painter's sense. There are no half-tints worth noticing.