walking home with a splendid parti-coloured string of fish, probably
chuckling over the white man's credulity.

The natural surroundings of that school were lovely, but the little
white boys, who had lived all their lives in Jamaica, most likely took
it all for granted, and thought it quite natural to have their
bathing-place surrounded by cocoa-nut palms, their playground fringed
with hibiscus and scarlet poinsettias, and the garden a riot of
mangoes, bread-fruits, nutmeg and cinnamon trees.

No doubt they thought their school and its grounds dull and
hideous. On a subsequent voyage home from Jamaica, there was on board
a very small boy from this identical school, on his way to a school in
Scotland. He seemed about eight; a little, sturdy figure in white
cotton shorts. He was really much older, and it was curious to hear a
deep bass voice (with a strong Scottish accent) issuing from so small
a frame. He was a very independent little Scot, wanting no help, and
quite able to take care of himself. We arrived at Bristol in bitterly
cold weather, and the boy, who had been five years in Jamaica, had
only his tropical clothing. We left him on the platform of Bristol
station, a forlorn little figure, shivering in his inadequate white
cotton shorts, and blue with the unaccustomed cold, to commence his
battle with the world alone, but still declining any assistance in
reaching his destination. That boy had a brief, but most distinguished
career. He passed second out of Sandhurst, sweeping the board of
prizes, including the King's Prize, Lord Roberts' Prize, the Sword of
Honour, and the riding and shooting prizes. He chose the Indian Army,
and the 9th Goorkhas as his regiment, a choice he had made, as he told
me afterwards, since his earliest boyhood, when Rudyard Kipling's
books had first opened his eyes to a new world. That lad proved to