figure approached him humbly but openly--not at all like a ghost with
a grievance. We could see other men running towards him. Perhaps he had
been missed? At any rate there was a great stir. A group formed itself
rapidly near him, and he walked along the sands, followed by a growing
cortege and kept nearly abreast of the schooner. With our glasses we
could see the blue ribbon on his neck and a patch of white on his brown
chest. The bay was waking up. The smokes of morning fires stood in faint
spirals higher than the heads of palms; people moved between the houses;
a herd of buffaloes galloped clumsily across a green slope; the slender
figures of boys brandishing sticks appeared black and leaping in the
long grass; a coloured line of women, with water bamboos on their heads,
moved swaying through a thin grove of fruit-trees. Karain stopped in the
midst of his men and waved his hand; then, detaching himself from the
splendid group, walked alone to the water's edge and waved his hand
again. The schooner passed out to sea between the steep headlands that
shut in the bay, and at the same instant Karain passed out of our life
forever.

But the memory remains. Some years afterwards I met Jackson, in the
Strand. He was magnificent as ever. His head was high above the crowd.
His beard was gold, his face red, his eyes blue; he had a wide-brimmed
gray hat and no collar or waistcoat; he was inspiring; he had just
come home--had landed that very day! Our meeting caused an eddy in the
current of humanity. Hurried people would run against us, then walk
round us, and turn back to look at that giant. We tried to compress
seven years of life into seven exclamations; then, suddenly appeased,
walked sedately along, giving one another the news of yesterday. Jackson
gazed about him, like a man who looks for landmarks, then stopped before
Bland's window. He always had a passion for firearms; so he stopped
short and contemplated the row of weapons, perfect and severe, drawn up