"I remember it well; and he gave way. The gates were thrown open, and the scourge left us. But it's late; and if we are to have any chance of the tiger, you had better get your rifles, and we will have the sheep picketed. See, they are closing the messroom doors, and putting out the lights." "So they are," returned a third, yawning; "I shall wish you luck, and turn in." "I say, Harris, mind you don't make a vacancy in the Light Company yourself," said a captain of Grenadiers, as a group of the late billiard-players went laughing and talking down the steps into the moonlight. "I don't believe you ever saw a tiger, or know anything about a rifle." "Never fear for me, Hunt; an ensign's not worth a tiger's trouble. If you would consent, now, to be picketed instead of the sheep, Captain--" "Go to the devil! Good-night, Hughes." And "Good-night--a pleasant journey," rang out cheerily from one after another as they crossed the mess-compound, and took their way to their respective quarters. "You are an old hand, Hughes," said the Ensign, after a short pause. "Do you remember the Rajah who was a prisoner on the top of Bellary rock?" "Don't I!" replied the Captain. "I say, Curtis," he continued, addressing a lieutenant of his own company, "you relieved the man who so nearly let the old Rajah loose." "Ay, poor old fellow; he's dead now, and can't ask his old, well-known question." "What was it, Curtis? What did he ask, and who was he?" "Well, wait till I have lit this cigar, and I'll tell you," answered Curtis. "We have an hour yet before the moon gets low, and those black palkywallers are making such a row." The cigar was lighted, the brandy-and-water carefully mixed and placed on an adjoining table within reach, and comfortably settling himself on his seat, Lieutenant Curtis began his history. "On the top of yonder sugar-loaf hill, in the centre of Bellary Fort, a prisoner was confined, and the daily duty of the officer of the guard was to visit him. He was an old, worn-out man, whose hair had grown grey a captive, and I can tell you, Harris, it was no joke to have to plod up the steps cut in the face of the rock every morning, to ask the old man the stereotyped question, `Did he want anything?' "He had been a sovereign of some petty State, and our people wanted the land, so they took it, and to keep its former owner quiet, confined him to the top of yon granite rock; so daily the subaltern on guard mounted the steps, and asked the usual question, every time receiving the same reply,-- "`Yes, I want my liberty and the land you stole from me, nothing else!'" "And did he ever get it?" asked Harris. "He very nearly did," replied Captain Hughes. "But go on with your tale, Curtis." The officer addressed took a steady pull at the brandy pawnee by his side, puffed out a heavy cloud of smoke, and continued--