But the sahib would not. 'You may need it as well as I. Who can tell in
this war?' And he returned it.

And the paper? It was a prayer--a prayer used by the Roman Catholic
Church, printed on a sheet of paper. At the top was a red cross. The
paper was old and worn, creased at the edges; it had evidently been much
used, much read. Such was the charm that kept the soldier from danger.

The nights were cold then, when the sun had set, and after dinner we
used to have a camp-fire built of wood from the forest, to sit round for
a time and talk before turning in. The native officers of the cavalry
would come and sit with us, and one or two of the Burmans, too. We were
a very mixed assembly. I remember one night very well--I think it must
have been the very night after the fight at Laka, and we were all of us
round the fire. I remember there was a half-moon bending towards the
west, throwing tender lights upon the hills, and turning into a silver
gauze the light white mist that lay upon the rice-fields. Opposite to
us, across the little river, a ridge of hill ran down into the water
that bent round its foot. The ridge was covered with forest, very black,
with silver edges on the sky-line. It was out of range for a Burmese
flint-gun, or we should not have camped so near it. On all the other
sides the fields stretched away till they ended in the forest that
gloomed beyond. I was talking to the governor's son (our guide of the
fight at Laka) of the prospects of the future, and of the intentions of
the Prince of Wuntho, in whose country Laka lay. I remarked to him how
the Burmans of Wuntho seemed to hate him, of how they had cursed him
from the hills, and he admitted that it was true. 'All except my
friends,' he said, 'hate me. And yet what have I done? I had to help my
father to get back his governorship. They forget that they attacked us
first.'

He went on to tell me of how every day he was threatened, of how he was
sure they would murder him some time, because he had joined us. 'They
are sure to kill me some time,' he said. He seemed sad and depressed,
not afraid.

So we talked on, and I asked him about charms. 'Are there not charms
that will prevent you being hurt if you are hit, and that will not allow
a sword to cut you? We hear of invulnerable men. There were the
Immortals of the King's Guard, for instance.'

And he said, yes, there were charms, but no one believed in them except
the villagers. He did not, nor did men