white undress, slipped off his loose native shoes and entered the room
barefoot, as is the custom in India.

"For this one a receipt is needed," continued the sepoy, holding out a long
official envelope registered and insured and addressed, like all the
others, to "The Officer Commanding, Ranga Duar, Eastern Bengal."

Major Dermot signed the receipt and handed it to the man. As he did so the
scream of an elephant in pain came to his ears.

"What is that?" he asked the post orderly.

"It is the _mahout_, Chand Khan, beating his _hathi_ (elephant), sahib,"
replied the sepoy looking out.

Dermot threw the unopened letters on the table, and, going out on the
verandah of his bungalow, gazed down on the parade ground which lay a
hundred feet below. Beyond it at the foot of the small hill on which stood
the Fort was a group of trees, to two of which a transport elephant was
shackled by a fore and a hind leg in such a way as to render it powerless.
Its _mahout_, or driver, keeping out of reach of its trunk, was beating it
savagely on the head with a bamboo. Mad with rage, the man, a grey-bearded
old Mohammedan, swung the long stick with both hands and brought it down
again and again with all his force. From the gateway of the Fort above the
_havildar_, or native sergeant, of the guard shouted to the _mahout_ to
desist. But the angry man ignored him and continued to belabour his
unfortunate animal, which, at the risk of dislocating its leg, struggled
wildly to free itself and screamed shrilly each time that the bamboo fell.
This surprised Dermont, for an elephant's skull is so thick that a blow
even from the _ankus_ or iron goad used to drive it, is scarcely felt.