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DRIFTWOOD SPARS

THE STORIES OF A MAN, A BOY, A WOMAN, AND CERTAIN OTHER PEOPLE WHOSTRANGELY MET UPON THE SEA OF LIFE

BY

CAPTAIN PERCIVAL CHRISTOPHER WREN, I.A.R.

AUTHOR OF "DEW AND MILDEW", "FATHER GREGORY", "SNAKE AND SWORD", ETC.

    "Like driftwood spars which meet and pass
      Upon the boundless ocean-plain,
    So on the sea of life, alas!
      Man nears man, meets, and leaves again"

—MATTHEW ARNOLD

TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED WIFE

NOTE.—This book was written in the year 1912

CONTENTS.

I. THE MAN (Mainly concerning the early life of John, Robin
Ross-Ellison.)

II. THE BOY (Mainly concerning the life of Moussa Isa Somali.)

III. THE WOMAN (And Augustus Grabble; General Murger; Sergeant-MajorLawrence-Smith; Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius Gosling-Green; Mr. Horace Faggit;as well as a reformed JOHN ROBIN ROSS-ELLISON.)

IV. "MEET AND LEAVE AGAIN"

CHAPTER I.

THE MAN.

(Mainly concerning the early life of John Robin Ross-Ellison.)

Truth is stranger than fiction, and many of the coincidences of reallife are truly stranger than the most daring imaginings of thefictionist.

Now, I, Major Michael Malet-Marsac, happened at the moment to bethinking of my dear and deeply lamented friend John Ross-Ellison, and tobe pondering, for the thousandth time, his extraordinary life and moreextraordinary death. Nor had I the very faintest notion that theSubedar-Major had ever heard of such a person, much less that he wasactually his own brother, or, to be exact, his half-brother. You see Ihad known Ross-Ellison intimately as one only can know the man with whomone has worked, soldiered, suffered, and faced death. Not only had Iknown, admired and respected him—I had loved him. There is no otherword for it; I loved him as a brother loves a brother, as a son loveshis father, as the fighting-man loves the born leader of fighting-men: Iloved him as Jonathan loved David. Indeed it was actually a case of"passing the love of women" for although he killed Cleopatra Dearman,the only woman for whom I ever cared, I fear I have forgiven him andalmost forgotten her.

But to return to the Subedar-Major. "Peace, fool! Art blind as IbrahimMahmud the Weeper," growled that burly Native Officer as the zealous andover-anxious young sentry cried out and pointed to where, in themoonlight, the returning reconnoitring-patrol was to be seen as itemerged from the lye-bushes of the dry river-bed.

A recumbent comrade of the outpost sentry group sniggered.

My own sympathies were decidedly with the sentry, for I had fever, and"fever is another man". In any case, hours of peering, watching,imagining and waiting, for the attack that will surely come—and nevercomes—try even experienced nerves.

"And who was Ibrahim the Weeper, Subedar-Major Saheb?" I inquired of theredoubtable warrior as he joined me.

"He was my brother's enemy, Sahib," replied Mir Daoud Khan Mir HafizUllah Khan, principal Native Officer of the 99th Baluch Light Infantryand member of the ruling family of Mekran Kot in far Kubristan.

"And what made him so blind as to be for a proverb unto you?"

"Just some litt

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