The Mark of the
Best by Rudyard
Your Gods and my Gods-do you or I know which are the
stronger? Native Proverb.
EAST of Suez, some hold, the direct control of Providence
ceases; Man being there handed over to the power of the Gods and Devils of Asia,
and the Church of England Providence only exercising an occasional and modified
supervision in the case of Englishmen.
This theory accounts for some of the more unnecessary horrors
of life in India: it may be stretched to explain my story.
My friend Strickland of the Police, who knows as much of
natives of India as is good for any man, can bear witness to the facts of the
case. Dumoise, our doctor, also saw what Strickland and I saw. The inference
which he drew from the evidence was entirely incorrect. He is dead now; he died,
in a rather curious manner, which has been elsewhere described.
When Fleete came to India he owned a little money and some
land in the Himalayas, near a place called Dharmsala. Both properties had been
left him by an uncle, and he came out to finance them. He was a big, heavy,
genial, and inoffensive man. His knowledge of natives was, of course, limited,
and he complained of the difficulties of the language.
He rode in from his place in the hills to spend New Year in
the station, and he stayed with Strickland. On New Year's Eve there was a big
dinner at the club, and the night was excusably wet. When men foregather from
the uttermost ends of the Empire, they have a right to be riotous. The Frontier
had sent down a contingent o' Catch-'em-Alive-O's who had not seen twenty white
faces for a year, and were used to ride fifteen miles to dinner at the next Fort
at the risk of a Khyberee bullet where their drinks should lie. They profited by
their new security, for they tried to play pool with a curled-up hedgehog found
in the garden, and one of them carried the marker round the room in his teeth.
Half a dozen planters had come in from the south and were talking 'horse' to the
Biggest Liar in Asia, who was trying to cap all their stories at once. Everybody
was there, and there was a general closing up of ranks and taking stock of our
losses in dead or disabled that had fallen during the past year. It was a very
wet night, and I remember that we sang 'Auld Lang Syne' with our feet in the
Polo Championship Cup, and our heads among the stars, and swore that we were all
dear friends. Then some of us went away and annexed Burma, and some tried to
open up the Soudan and were opened up by Fuzzies in that cruel scrub outside
Suakim, and some found stars and medals, and some were married, which was bad,
and some did other things which were worse, and the others of us stayed in our
chains and strove to make money on insufficient experiences.
Fleete began the night with sherry and bitters, drank
champagne steadily up to dessert, then raw, rasping Capri with all the strength
of whisky, took Benedictine with his coffee, four or five whiskies and sodas to
improve his pool strokes, beer and bones at half-past two, winding up with old
brandy. Consequently, when he came out, at half-past three in the morning, into
fourteen degrees of frost, he was very angry with his horse for coughing, and
tried to leapfrog into the saddle. The horse broke away and went to his stables;
so Strickland and I formed a Guard of Dishonour to take Fleete home.
Our road lay through the bazaar, close to a little temple of
Hanuman, the Monkey-god, who is a leading divinity worthy of respect. All gods
have good points, just as have all priests. Personally, I attach much importance
to Hanuman, and am kind to his people—the great gray apes of the hills. One
never knows when one may want a friend.
There was a light in the temple, and as we passed, we could
hear voices of men chanting hymns. In a native temple, the priests rise at all
hours of the night to do honour to their god. Before we could stop him, Fleete
dashed up the steps, patted two priests on the back, and was gravely grinding
the ashes of his cigar-butt into the forehead of the red stone image of Hanuman.
Strickland tried to drag him out, but he sat down and said solemnly:
'Shee that? 'Mark of the B-beasht! I made it. Ishn't
In half a minute the temple was alive and noisy, and
Strickland, who knew what came of polluting gods, said that things might occur.
He, by virtue of his official position, long residence in the country, and
weakness for going among the natives, was known to the priests and he felt
unhappy. Fleete sat on the ground and refused to move. He said that 'good old
Hanuman' made a very soft pillow.
Then, without any warning, a Silver Man came out of a recess
behind the image of the god. He was perfectly naked in that bitter, bitter cold,
and his body shone like frosted silver, for he was what the Bible calls 'a leper
as white as snow.' Also he had no face, because he was a leper of some years'
standing and his disease was heavy upon him. We two stooped to haul Fleete up,
and the temple was filling and filling with folk who seemed to spring from the
earth, when the Silver Man ran in under our arms, making a noise exactly like
the mewing of an otter, caught Fleete round the body and dropped his head on
Fleete's breast before we could wrench him away. Then he retired to a corner and
sat mewing while the crowd blocked all the doors.
The priests were very angry until the Silver Man touched
Fleete. That nuzzling seemed to sober them.
At the end of a few minutes' silence one of the priests came
to Strickland and said, in perfect English, 'Take your friend away. He has done
with Hanuman, but Hanurnan has not done with him/ The crowd gave room and we
carried Fleete into the road.
Strickland was very angry. He said that we might all three
have been knifed, and that Fleete should thank his stars that he had escaped
Fleete thanked no one. He said that he wanted to go to bed.
He was gorgeously drunk.
We moved on, Strickland silent and wrathful, until Fleete was
taken with violent shivering fits and sweating. He said that the smells of the
bazaar were overpowering, and he wondered why slaughter-houses were permitted so
near English residences. 'Can't you smell the blood?' said Fleete.
We put him to bed at last, just as the dawn was breaking, and
Strickland invited me to have another whisky and soda. While we were drinking he
talked of the trouble in the temple, and admitted that it baffled him
completely. Strickland hates being mystified by natives, because his business in
life is to overmatch them with their own weapons. He has not yet succeeded in
doing this, but in fifteen or twenty years he will have made some small
'They should have mauled us,' he said, 'instead of mewing at
us. I wonder what they meant. I don't like it one little bit.'
I said that the Managing Committee of the temple would in all
probability bring a criminal action against us for insulting their religion.
There was a section of the Indian Penal Code which exactly met Fleete's offence.
Strickland said he only hoped and prayed that they would do this. Before I left
I looked into Fleete's room, and saw him lying on his right side, scratching his
left breast. Then. I went to bed cold, depressed, and unhappy, at seven o'clock
in the morning.
At one o'clock I rode over to Strickland's house to inquire
after Fleete's head. I imagined that it would be a sore one. Fleete was
breakfasting and seemed unwell. His temper was gone, for he was abusing the cook
for not supplying him with an underdone chop. A man who can eat raw meat after a
wet night is a curiosity. I told Fleete this and he laughed.
'You breed queer mosquitoes in these parts,' he said. 'I've
been bitten to pieces, but only in one place.'
'Let's have a look at the bite,' said Strickland. 'It may
have gone down since this morning.'
While the chops were being cooked, Fleete opened his shirt
and showed us, just over his left breast, a mark, the perfect double of the
black rosettes-the five or six irregular blotches arranged in a circle-on a
leopard's hide. Strickland looked and said, 'It was only pink this morning. It's
grown black now.'
Fleete ran to a glass.
'By Jove!' he said,' this is nasty. What is it?'
We could not answer. Here the chops came in, all red and
juicy, and Fleete bolted three in a most offensive manner. He ate on his right
grinders only, and threw his head over his right shoulder as he snapped the
meat. When he had finished, it struck him that he had been behaving strangely,
for he said apologetically, 'I don't think I ever felt so hungry in my life.
I've bolted like an ostrich.'
After breakfast Strickland said to me, 'Don't go. Stay here,
and stay for the night.'
Seeing that my house was not three miles from Strickland's,
this request was absurd. But Strickland insisted, and was going to say something
when Fleete interrupted by declaring in a shamefaced way that he felt hungry
again. Strickland sent a man to my house to fetch over my bedding and a horse,
and we three went down to Strickland's stables to pass the hours until it was
time to go out for a ride. The man who has a weakness for horses never wearies
of inspecting them; and when two men are killing time in this way they gather
knowledge and lies the one from the other.
There were five horses in the stables, and I shall never
forget the scene as we tried to look them over. They seemed to have gone mad.
They reared and screamed and nearly tore up their pickets; they sweated and
shivered and lathered and were distraught with fear. Strickland's horses used to
know him as well as his dogs; which made the matter more curious. We left the
stable for fear of the brutes throwing themselves in their panic. Then
Strickland turned back and called me. The horses were still frightened, but they
let us 'gentle' and make much of them, and put their heads in our bosoms.
'They aren't afraid of US,' said Strickland. 'D'you know, I'd
give three months' pay if OUTRAGE here could talk.'
But Outrage was dumb, and could only cuddle up to his master
and blow out his nostrils, as is the custom of horses when they wish to explain
things but can't. Fleete came up when we were in the stalls, and as soon as the
horses saw him, their fright broke out afresh. It was all that we could do to
escape from the place unkicked. Strickland said, 'They don't seem to love you,
'Nonsense,' said Fleete;'my mare will follow me like a dog.'
He went to her; she was in a loose-box; but as he slipped the bars she plunged,
knocked him down, and broke away into the garden. I laughed, but Strickland was
not amused. He took his moustache in both fists and pulled at it till it nearly
came out. Fleete, instead of going off to chase his property, yawned, saying
that he felt sleepy. He went to the house to lie down, which was a foolish way
of spending New Year's Day.
Strickland sat with me in the stables and asked if I had
noticed anything peculiar in Fleete's manner. I said that he ate his food like a
beast; but that this might have been the result of living alone in the hills out
of the reach of society as refined and elevating as ours for instance.
Strickland was not amused. I do not think that he listened to me, for his next
sentence referred to the mark on Fleete's breast, and I said that it might have
been caused by blister-flies, or that it was possibly a birth-mark newly born
and now visible for the first time. We both agreed that it was unpleasant to
look at, and Strickland found occasion to say that I was a fool.
'I can't tell you what I think now,' said he, 'because you
would call me a madman; but you must stay with me for the next few days, if you
can. I want you to watch Fleete, but don't tell me what you think till I have
made up my mind.'
'But I am dining out to-night,' I said. 'So am I,' said
Strickland, 'and so is Fleete. At least if he doesn't change his mind.'
We walked about the garden smoking, but saying
nothing—because we were friends, and talking spoils good tobacco—till our pipes
were out. Then we went to wake up Fleete. He was wide awake and fidgeting about
'I say, I want some more chops,' he said. 'Can I get them?'
We laughed and said, 'Go and change. The ponies will be round
in a minute.'
'All right,' said Fleete. I'll go when I get the
chops—underdone ones, mind.'
He seemed to be quite in earnest. It was four o'clock, and we
had had breakfast at one; still, for a long time, he demanded those underdone
chops. Then he changed into riding clothes and went out into the verandah. His
pony—the mare had not been caught—would not let him come near. All three horses
were unmanageable—-mad with fear—-and finally Fleete said that he would stay at
home and get something to eat. Strickland and I rode out wondering. As we passed
the temple of Hanuman, the Silver Man came out and mewed at us.
'He is not one of the regular priests of the temple,' said
Strickland. 'I think I should peculiarly like to lay my hands on him.'
There was no spring in our gallop on the racecourse that
evening. The horses were stale, and moved as though they had been ridden out.
'The fright after breakfast has been too much for them,' said
That was the only remark he made through the remainder of the
ride. Once or twice I think he swore to himself; but that did not count.
We came back in the dark at seven o'clock, and saw that there
were no lights in the bungalow. 'Careless ruffians my servants are!' said
My horse reared at something on the carriage drive, and
Fleete stood up under its nose.
'What are you doing, grovelling about the garden?' said
But both horses bolted and nearly threw us. We dismounted by
the stables and returned to Fleete, who was on his hands and knees under the
'What the devil's wrong with you?' said Strickland.
'Nothing, nothing in the world,' said Fleete, speaking very
quickly and thickly. 'I've been gardening-botanising you know. The smell of the
earth is delightful. I think I'm going for a walk-a long walk-all night.'
Then I saw that there was something excessively out of order
somewhere, and I said to Strickland, 'I am not dining out.'
'Bless you!' said Strickland. 'Here, Fleete, get up. You'll
catch fever there. Come in to dinner and let's have the lamps lit. We 'll all
dine at home.'
Fleete stood up unwillingly, and said, 'No lamps-no lamps.
It's much nicer here. Let's dine outside and have some more chops-lots of 'em
and underdone—bloody ones with gristle.'
Now a December evening in Northern India is bitterly cold,
and Fleete's suggestion was that of a maniac.
'Come in,' said Strickland sternly. 'Come in at once.'
Fleete came, and when the lamps were brought, we saw that he
was literally plastered with dirt from head to foot. He must have been rolling
in the garden. He shrank from the light and went to his room. His eyes were
horrible to look at. There was a green light behind them, not in them, if you
understand, and the man's lower lip hung down.
Strickland said, 'There is going to be trouble-big
trouble-to-night. Don't you change your riding-things.'
We waited and waited for Fleete's reappearance, and ordered
dinner in the meantime. We could hear him moving about his own room, but there
was no light there. Presently from the room came the long-drawn howl of a wolf.
People write and talk lightly of blood running cold and hair
standing up and things of that kind. Both sensations are too horrible to be
trifled with. My heart stopped as though a knife had been driven through it, and
Strickland turned as white as the tablecloth.
The howl was repeated, and was answered by another howl far
across the fields.
That set the gilded roof on the horror. Strickland dashed
into Fleete's room. I followed, and we saw Fleete getting out of the window. He
made beast-noises in the back of his throat. He could not answer us when we
shouted at him. He spat.
I don't quite remember what followed, but I think that
Strickland must have stunned him with the long boot-jack or else I should never
have been able to sit on his chest. Fleete could not speak, he could only snarl,
and his snarls were those of a wolf, not of a man. The human spirit must have
been giving way all day and have died out with the twilight. We were dealing
with a beast that had once been Fleete.
The affair was beyond any human and rational experience. I
tried to say 'Hydrophobia,' but the word wouldn't come, because I knew that I
We bound this beast with leather thongs of the punkah-rope,
and tied its thumbs and big toes together, and gagged it with a shoe-horn, which
makes a very efficient gag if you know how to arrange it. Then we carried it
into the dining-room, and sent a man to Dumoise, the doctor, telling him to come
over at once. After we had despatched the messenger and were drawing breath,
Strickland said, 'It's no good. This isn't any doctor's work.' I, also, knew
that he spoke the truth.
The beast's head was free, and it threw it about from side to
side. Any one entering the room would have believed that we were curing a wolf's
pelt. That was the most loathsome accessory of all.
Strickland sat with his chin in the heel of his fist,
watching the beast as it wriggled on the ground, but saying nothing. The shirt
had been torn open in the scuffle and showed the black rosette mark on the left
breast. It stood out like a blister.
In the silence of the watching we heard something without
mewing like a she-otter. We both rose to our feet, and, I answer for myself, not
Strickland, felt sick—actually and physically sick. We told each other, as did
the men in Pinafore, that it was the cat.
Dumoise arrived, and I never saw a little man so
unprofessionally shocked. He said that it was a heart-rending case of
hydrophobia, and that nothing could be done. At least any palliative measures
would only prolong the agony. The beast was foaming at the mouth. Fleete, as we
told Dumoise, had been bitten by dogs once or twice. Any man who keeps half a
dozen terriers must expect a nip now and again. Dumoise could offer no help. He
could only certify that Fleete was dying of hydrophobia. The beast was then
howling, for it had managed to spit out the shoe-horn. Dumoise said that he
would be ready to certify to the cause of death, and that the end was certain.
He was a good little man, and he offered to remain with us; but Strickland
refused the kindness. He did not wish to poison Dumoise's New Year. He would
only ask him not to give the real cause of Fleete's death to the public.
So Dumoise left, deeply agitated; and as soon as the noise of
the cart- wheels had died away, Strickland told me, in a whisper, his
suspicions. They were so wildly improbable that he dared not say them out aloud;
and I, who entertained all Strickland's beliefs, was so ashamed of owning to
them that I pretended to disbelieve.
'Even if the Silver Man had'bewtiched Fleete for polluting
the image of Hanuman, the punishment could not have fallen so quickly.'
As I was whispering this the cry outside the house rose
again, and the beast fell into a fresh paroxysm of struggling till we were
afraid that the thongs that held it would give way.
'Watch!' said Strickland. 'If this happens six times I shall
take the law into my own hands. I order you to help me.'
He went into his room and came out in a few minutes with the
barrels of an old shot-gun, a piece of fishing-line, some thick cord, and his
heavy wooden bedstead. I reported that the convulsions had followed the cry by
two seconds in each case, and the beast seemed perceptibly weaker.
Strickland muttered, 'But he can't take away the life! He
can't take away the life!'
I said, though I knew that I was arguing against myself, 'It
may be a cat. It must be a cat. If the Silver Man is responsible, why does he
dare to come here?'
Strickland arranged the wood on the hearth, put the
gun-barrels into the glow of the fire, spread the twine on the table and broke a
walking stick in two. There was one yard of fishing line, gut, lapped with wire,
such as is used for mahseer-fishing, and he tied the two ends together in a
Then he said, 'How can we catch him? He must be taken alive
I said that we must trust in Providence, and go out softly
with polo- sticks into the shrubbery at the front of the house. The man or
animal that made the cry was evidently moving round the house as regularly as a
night-watchman. We could wait in the bushes till he came by and knock him over.
Strickland accepted this suggestion, and we slipped out from
a bath-room window into the front verandah and then across the carriage drive
into the bushes.
In the moonlight we could see the leper coming round the
corner of the house. He was perfectly naked, and from time to time he mewed and
stopped to dance with his shadow. It was an unattractive sight, and thinking of
poor Fleete, brought to such degradation by so foul a creature, I put away all
my doubts and resolved to help Strickland from the heated gun-barrels to the
loop of twine-from the loins to the head and back again—-with all tortures that
might be needful.
The leper halted in the front porch for a moment and we
jumped out on him with the sticks. He was wonderfully strong, and we were afraid
that he might escape or be fatally injured before we caught him. We had an idea
that lepers were frail creatures, but this proved to be incorrect. Strickland
knocked his legs from under him and I put my foot on his neck. He mewed
hideously, and even through my riding-boots I could feel that his flesh was not
the flesh of a clean man.
He struck at us with his hand and feet-stumps. We looped the
lash of a dog-whip round him, under the armpits, and dragged him backwards into
the hall and so into the dining-room where the beast lay. There we tied him with
trunk-straps. He made no attempt to escape, but mewed.
When we confronted him with the beast the scene was beyond
description. The beast doubled backwards into a bow as though he had been
poisoned with strychnine, and moaned in the most pitiable fashion. Several other
things happened also, but they cannot be put down here.
'I think I was right,' said Strickland. 'Now we will ask him
to cure this case.'
But the leper only mewed. Strickland wrapped a towel round
his hand and took the gun-barrels out of the fire. I put the half of the broken
walking stick through the loop of fishing-line and buckled the leper comfortably
to Strickland's bedstead. I understood then how men and women and little
children can endure to see a witch burnt alive; for the beast was moaning on the
floor, and though the Silver Man had no face, you could see horrible feelings
passing through the slab that took its place, exactly as waves of heat play
across red-hot iron—gun-barrels for instance.
Strickland shaded his eyes with his hands for a moment and we
got to work. This part is not to be printed.
The dawn was beginning to break when the leper spoke. His
mewings had not been satisfactory up to that point. The beast had fainted from
exhaustion and the house was very still. We unstrapped the leper and told him to
take away the evil spirit. He crawled to the beast and laid his hand upon the
left breast. That was all. Then he fell face down and whined, drawing in his
breath as he did so.
We watched the face of the beast, and saw the soul of Fleete
coming back into the eyes. Then a sweat broke out on the forehead and the
eyes-they were human eyes—-closed. We waited for an hour but Fleete still slept.
We carried him to his room and bade the leper go, giving him the bedstead, and
the sheet on the bedstead to cover his nakedness, the gloves and the towels with
which we had touched him, and the whip that had been hooked round his body. He
put the sheet about him and went out into the early morning without speaking or
Strickland wiped his face and sat down. A night-gong, far
away in the city, made seven o'clock.
'Exactly four-and-twenty hours!' said Strickland. 'And I've
done enough to ensure my dismissal from the service, besides permanent quarters
in a lunatic asylum. Do you believe that we are awake?'
The red-hot gun-barrel had fallen on the floor and was
singeing the carpet. The smell was entirely real.
That morning at eleven we two together went to wake up Fleete.
We looked and saw that the black leopard-rosette on his chest had disappeared.
He was very drowsy and tired, but as soon as he saw us, he said, 'Oh! Confound
you fellows. Happy New Year to you. Never mix your liquors. I'm nearly dead.'
'Thanks for your kindness, but you're over time,' said
Strickland. 'To- day is the morning of the second. You've slept the clock round
with a vengeance.'
The door opened, and little Dumoise put his head in. He had
come on foot, and fancied that we were laving out Fleete.
'I've brought a nurse,' said Dumoise. 'I suppose that she can
come in for... what is necessary.'
'By all means,' said Fleete cheerily, sitting up in bed.
'Bring on your nurses.'
Dumoise was dumb. Strickland led him out and explained that
there must have been a mistake in the diagnosis. Dumoise remained dumb and left
the house hastily. He considered that his professional reputation had been
injured, and was inclined to make a personal matter of the recovery. Strickland
went out too. When he came back, he said that he had been to call on the Temple
of Hanuman to offer redress for the pollution of the god, and had been solemnly
assured that no white man had ever touched the idol and that he was an
incarnation of all the virtues labouring under a delusion.
'What do you think?' said Strickland.
I said, '"There are more things . . ."'
But Strickland hates that quotation. He says that I have worn
One other curious thing happened which frightened me as much
as anything in all the night's work. When Fleete was dressed he came into the
dining-room and sniffed. He had a quaint trick of moving his nose when he
sniffed. 'Horrid doggy smell, here,' said he. 'You should really keep those
terriers of yours in better order. Try sulphur, Strick.'
But Strickland did not answer. He caught hold of the back of
a chair, and, without warning, went into an amazing fit of hysterics. It is
terrible to see a strong man overtaken with hysteria. Then it struck me that we
had fought for Fleete's soul with the Silver Man in that room, and had disgraced
ourselves as Englishmen for ever, and I laughed and gasped and gurgled just as
shamefully as Strickland, while Fleete thought that we had both gone mad. We
never told him what we had done.
Some years later, when Strickland had married and was a
church-going member of society for his wife's sake, we reviewed the incident
dispassionately, and Strickland suggested that I should put it before the
I cannot myself see that this step is likely to clear up the
mystery; because, in the first place, no one will believe a rather unpleasant
story, and, in the second, it is well known to every right-minded man that the
gods of the heathen are stone and brass, and any attempt to deal with them
otherwise is justly condemned.