Jackson’s fate was generally attributed to whisky—or filthy country liquor. “Poor fellow! his position preyed on his mind, and he drank himself to death.”
This was the universal opinion in mess-room, barrack-room, and bazaar. But there were one or two people, including his wife and Mrs. Clark, who thought otherwise, and who gravely shook their heads and whispered—“The Khitmatgar.”
THE DÂK BUNGALOW AT DAKOR.
“When shall these phantoms flicker away,
Like the smoke of the guns on the wind-swept hill;
Like the sounds and colours of yesterday,
And the soul have rest, and the air be still?”
Sir A. Lyall.
“And so you two young women are going off on a three days’ journey, all by yourselves, in a bullock tonga, to spend Christmas with your husbands in the jungle?”