We were quartered up in the hills making a military road when Private Flanigan was lost. It was to be a big road, cutting clean into the heart of the Himalayas, so various detachments were set to work upon its long length. Ours was the last but one, and we were lucky in getting by far the best pitch on the whole line. It would be difficult, indeed, to exaggerate its beauty, and as summer came on the advantages of shade-shelter which it afforded made us feel blessed above our fellows. It was a green oasis about half-a-mile long by some quarter broad, of fine emerald sward not to be beaten by any English lawn. And it was irregularly fringed by the most magnificent deodar cedars I have ever seen. When we arrived in early autumn these were wreathed with virginia creeper already russet, which, as winter advanced, flamed like fire among the dark spines. Now, in spring the trees were hung to their very tops with a rambling white rose, faintly double, faintly yet penetratingly scented, which festooned the whole forest, making it look as if it were garlanded for some festival, and turning the oval greensward into a veritable stadium fit for the sport of a King; for an amphitheatre of blue hills rose behind the forest, with here and there a peak of eternal snow.

It was simply a ripping place, and when on Saturday evenings, the detachment further south, and the detachment further north, used to come over to play football, the fellows were always full of envy. Our men--there were but two officers with each detachment--were little Ghurkas, but they played an uncommonly good game, thanks partly to the fact that my captain was an old Rugby man, and gave his countenance to practice. But our chief asset was Private Flanigan of the small party of Sappers and Miners who acted as overseers on the works. He was not, perhaps, a shining example to the men in other ways, but so far as football went, he was the best possible coach.

The result was, that, despite their small size, our Ghurkas could hold their own with the detachment of Tommies further south. They never actually won a match, but they made a stubborn fight, and accepted honourable defeat good humouredly, treating their adversaries right royally at the canteen afterwards in the manner of Ghurkas when they get chummy with British regiments. It was a quaint sight to see them hob-nobbing together at the further end of the stadium, where there was a duck-pond sort of lake half filled with sacred lotus, blossoming white and pink. A wood-slab little temple dedicated to KÂli stood beside this lake with steps leading down to the water; but nobody seemed to notice its presence, and the very brahman in charge used to come and watch the games with interest; perhaps he thought it sufficiently savage to please the terrific goddess who sat enshrined in a little dark hole, where nothing was to be seen of Her but crimson arms and hands, one of them apparently holding a football. It certainly was bloodthirsty enough one day when the detachment further north came down to try their luck. They were the biggest, tallest, lankiest lot of Sikhs I ever saw, but, perhaps because they had such long shins, they simply knuckled under before a rush of our little beggars. It was almost pitiable to see them; the more so because they were furious, and would not accept consolation, even at the hands of Private Flanigan, who with unblushing kindness of heart, took all the credit to himself in the curious dialect he used as a means of communication with his pupils; for being a Manchester Irishman, his English had to contend with a town accent, a Lancashire accent and an Irish accent, while his Hindustani was of the lowest type to be picked up in a barrack square.

"'Taint your kussoor (fault), sonnies, at all, at all! be jabers! nahin (no). Don'tcher fret. Dil khoosh (heart happy). Kape yer 'air on. Dekko you soors--beg pardon, gintlemen, it was a mistake entoirely!--You 'aven't a Nadmi (man) like Tim Flanigan to purwarish karo (nourish) you." So in his garbled language he went on to boast of what he had done for the little Gherkins, as he was wont to call them, making them, indeed, rhyme to jerkins and firkins in a football song he had composed; for Private Flanigan was great at singing, also at clog dancing. In fact, he was good at anything and everything he chose to take in hand thoroughly; but that was not much, for a more idle, able, devil-may-care fellow did not exist. He was, however, a general favourite, and I noticed that even my regulationarily correct captain dealt leniently with his not infrequent lapses from good behaviour. Flanigan was in tremendous form at a sing-song held the night of the football match, and literally brought down the house with his clog accompaniment to a patter song in which he parodied the feelings of victor and vanquished. Even the priest of KÂli, who, as usual, viewed the performance from a distance, was reported to have observed that the energetic and active Goddess herself could not have danced with greater vigour upon the prostrate body of Shiv-jee!

As for the Sikhs, they positively bellowed with delight, although Private Flanigan had not paltered with such obvious rhymes as kicks and licks. In fact, the whole audience was so happy and hilarious that we hoped the slight difference of the afternoon was forgotten; but we were mistaken. About midnight Sunt Singh, havildar, began to attribute Jye Kush naick's flat nose to a provision of the All-wise Creator in view of football squashes, and assert magniloquently that God never made an ugly Sikh, whereat strife arose, and kukries and bichwas might have drawn blood had not my captain shown discreet firmness, and sent an exactly equal number of Sikhs and Gurkhas to the guard room.

It was very shortly after this incident that Private Flanigan found himself there also; as usual for patronising the canteen too liberally. But this time he was profusely indignant, and assured me on his Bible oath--as a rule he professed Roman Catholicism--that it was a gross case of mistaken diagnosis. He had not been drunk; still less, disorderly. When the sergeant put him under arrest he was merely giving a realistic and spirited representation of last year's All England match as it had appeared to him. And this he was doing solely for the benefit of his pupils, the little Gherkins; shirkin', lurkin' little Gherkins, who had basely failed to speak up for him when he was comatose from fatigue.

That was about the last time I ever spoke to poor Flanigan; for about a week after he was mysteriously lost. I say mysteriously, because though all sorts of theories were put forward to explain his disappearance, none of them were entirely satisfactory. I myself, inclined to the explanation that, being, according to the Ghurkas' testimony, a little bit on at the time, he lost his life in a sudden spate of the river caused by the melting of the snows in the higher hills. It was a very sudden spate, and caught the working party as they were clearing the southern end of a deep cutting--a tunnel, indeed, for twenty yards or so--which lay just at the end of our section. The Sikhs, however, who were working at the northern end, escaped the flood altogether, and rather jeered at our men who had to scramble for dear life, some regaining the camp and others spending the night in the open; so, each party thinking Flanigan must be with the other, he was not missed till next morning, when it was too late to find his body.

We dragged the river pools to no purpose, then, as the spate had ruined half our work, gave up the search and duly reported his death at headquarters.

With the prospect of the advancing hot weather before us, when we must knock off, there was not much time for amusement, and we were kept pretty close at it. But a Himalaya spring in the uplands was a perpetual temptation to me, and I used to start off at dawn time for a long tramp on the higher murgs or alps, taking my gun with me in case I came across an old cock minawul pheasant. There was a perfect mosaic of flowers beneath one's feet; forget--menots, pansies, white anemones, yellow gillyflowers, scarlet potentilla and half-a-hundred others whose names I did not know. You could not set your foot down without crushing some beautiful thing; you felt that you were ramping through a veritable garden.

Then it was marvellous to see the snow peaks flush red with sunrise while the shadow of night--the shadow of the earth itself!--still lay immovable in the valleys, and you had to bend close over the mosaic to distinguish one flower from another. Even the cock minawul, despite their dazzling metallic lustre, looked shadowy and dark as they rose; rose swiftly to flash out suddenly into copper and green, and silvery goldeny blue as they met the higher sunlight.

One morning, thinking I had hit a splendid specimen of these rocketting fireworks, and being anxious to secure such a perfectly plumaged bird, I followed one over keenly. The result being that I lost my way, and found myself under a blazing hot sun, still seeking for my particular valley. At long last I caught a glimpse of deodar trees below me and began to descend confidently; but half way down a certain strangeness of contour made me pull up and question my judgment.

No! it was not our valley. It was too narrow, too small; besides, there was no lakelet in it. Indeed, there seemed no way out of it; it lay like an extinct crater, absolutely shut in by the high hills, tucked away--right away--No! by Jove! there were people or things in it. I could see a steady white spot of something on the greensward, and a sort of dancing circle of black specks.

Were they men or animals? I was too short-sighted to distinguish; so I started downwards again, impelled by curiosity and a vague feeling that I knew what was coming, to find a point of vantage whence I could see clearly.

I don't think I was in the least surprised at what I did see. I am sure my inner consciousness was aware of it before I was.

The dazzling white speck was Private Flanigan. He was standing in a dignified attitude in the very middle of the field, naked as the day he was born, save for a waistcloth and the biggest pair of boots I ever saw. At his feet lay a football, and in his right hand was a glass of something to drink, which, between his sips, he used to beckon on his adversaries.

I crept further till I could hear his voice.

"Come on, sonnies! come on, boys!" it came persuasively. "Idder 'h'ow! I won't 'urt much--not to spake of--Kooch nay--Come on, I says." Then, as his invitation was reluctantly accepted, he lunged out a wild kick, an awful howl followed, and yet another lanky Sikh retired rapidly, rubbing his shin. Whereat Private Flanigan laughed and took another sip triumphantly.

"Bahoot utcha!"--the rollicking tones were a trifle thick--"Now you're learning, I tell yer--yer 'ardening like a hegg in 'ot water. And you'll soon get useter it. You won't remember it when yer sees the leather a-sailing through the uprights. No, yer won't! No more nor a woman for joy as a man is born into the wurrld. Hello! ye divvle--ye would, would ye?"

This was to an enterprising youth who thought to take advantage of a prolonged drink to sniggle the ball.

I lay and laughed. I couldn't help it. Flanigan wasn't a big man, but he was brawny, and the Sikhs, twice his height, had such temptingly long shins!

I watched the lesson of how to defend the globe until, after several replenishings of the glass he held, Private Flanigan's dignity became portentous, and his lunge a little wide.

Evidently, however, he was not too far gone to recognise the fact, for suddenly he sat down, still guarding the ball with his wide-spread legs, and called for a pipe, a pillow, and a punkah.

All three were instantly forthcoming, and as I cautiously re-climbed the hill, I saw Private Flanigan enjoying his ease in the centre of an admiring circle of pupils.

As I made my way home, I puzzled over what I had best do. Of course, it was easy to report to my captain, but, by so doing, I should get a lot of men into trouble over what was, in reality, a huge joke. Anyhow, before I did so report, I determined to find out whether Private Flanigan had absconded himself, or had been stolen.

So the next evening, having carefully taken the bearings of our valley in miniature the day before, I went over after work hours. When I came on the level at the bottom, I found that quite a large wood slab shed had been erected at one end of the little bit of greensward. As I crossed towards it the familiar sound of really good clog dancing met my ears accompanying a rollicking baritone voice that was singing the refrain of a patter song:

A perfect bellow of applause was following as I opened the slab door and walked in. There was a regular stage at the end of the shed, and on it stood Tim Flanigan, bowing his acknowledgments to an audience of squatting Sikhs with much dignity. A flimsy muslin overcoat partially hid his massive muscles and he was garlanded with flowers like a prize ox at a show. He did not notice me at first, and began a speech in true music hall style, his hand on his heart:

"My kyind patrons, an' you Gintlemen of the Press, it is with the hutmost diffidence that I roise to drink me own 'elth, you, gintlemen, bein' by birth and descent tay totallers, which is better by a long chalk than being answered for by godfathers an' godmothers at your baptism. Gintlemen, I have but a few wurrds to say, so I will not detain you. Since I come 'ere--I mean since the woise decrays of a koindly Providence brought me to the wilderness, I 'ave endeavoured to do my dooty by you, an' I done it. Gintlemen! you are a credit to me. There ain't a 'ole skin amongst the lot of your shins. Gintlemen! it is a thing to be proud of. It makes the tear come to my watery heyes an' sends the life blood to the tip of my nose. I tell you, gintlemen, that if any of thim officer chaps were to step in this moment----" Here his eye caught mine. The change was instantaneous, and he brought himself up to the salute smartly.

"Beg pardon, sir," he went on, without the least sign of embarrassment. "Havin' bin h'absent without leave, sir, this fortnight past through being kidnapped outrageous, I 'as to report myself."

I mustered up what gravity I could, for his attitude of respectful and disciplined attention was excruciatingly funny in contrast with his costume--or rather the lack of it.

"Private Flanigan," I said. "Have done with tomfoolery. How the devil do you come here?"

"I didn't come, sir," he replied volubly. "I was brought, s'help me Moses. I was kidnapped outrageous, as I said, by them Sickies, same as seethin' it in its mother's milk. I was, entirely, sir--sure the bla'gards won't deny it."

Here, havildar Sunt Singh, who understood English, broke in rapidly in Hindustani. "He speaks truth, Huzoor. He did not come of himself. He was brought hither when he was without consciousness."

"From drink, I suppose?" I asked severely.

Havildar Sunt Singh paused a moment. "Huzoor," he said at last, solemnly. "In a world of illusion it is difficult to reach truth; but one thing is certain, by the blessing of God he was extremely without consciousness. Was it not so, brothers?" he continued, appealing to two naicks and another havildar who were also standing to attention. Their corroborative "Be-shakks" rang out smartly, like a rifle shot.

"That is all very well," I continued, sternly addressing the culprit-in-chief. "If they kidnapped you, they'll have to answer for it; but that is no excuse for you stopping here. You can't pretend you're a prisoner, you know."

I glanced round as I spoke, and Flanigan's eyes followed mine. There was a bed in one corner, a chair, a washhandstand, an assortment of Europe tins, a box of cigars in a rough set of shelves, while on one side of the stage stood a table, elaborately laid for dinner, with a tablenapkin folded into the form of a peacock!

There was a pause. Then candour came to Private Flanigan's aid--almost pathetic candour.

"Well! it weren't exactly uncomfortable, you see, sir," he said, with a deprecating smile; and I had to admit the justice of his plea. It was more comfortable than being packed like a herring in a barrel in a bell tent. I had, moreover, thought the matter out, and had come to the conclusion that the less said about it the better. So I gave Private Flanigan the option of taking the pledge, and returning to duty, making the best excuse he could for his absence, or being sent for officially.

He chose the former, to the great delight of the Sikhs, who, as he had said, were teetotallers to a man, and who naturally did not want to get into trouble over the business.

Next morning Private Flanigan reported himself to my captain. He was bare-foot, travel-stained, weary, and he had the most cock-and-bull story I ever heard of how he had spent the last ten days.

"If there had been any liquor shop within two hundred miles I wouldn't believe him," said my captain in an injured tone, "but there isn't--and no man is such a fool as to stop out in this wild country for nothing."

So the tale passed muster. Had I known, however, of the richness of the culprit's imagination, I doubt whether I should have given him such a field for it; for the story of the "loss of Private Flanigan" became a recognised entertainment, even for the Gherkins, and night after night he gave a different version of it to delighted admirers. I ventured once to remonstrate with him, and hint that capture by cannibals was hardly correct; but his unconsciousness was supreme.

"S'elp me Moses, sir," he said. "You don' know wot I bin through. They'd have eat me, sure enuff, if I 'adn't happen to 'ave my big boots on."

A fortnight afterwards we finished the work, but before we left our jolly little camp we had a football Saturday. The Sikhs came down in force, and licked the little Ghurkas all to smithereens.

"They must a 'ad some un to teach 'em 'ow to charge, sir," said Private Flanigan sorrowfully to the captain.

The captain looked at me, and I looked at the captain. But I said nothing, for Flanigan had been as sober as a judge since I found him.