my lords in the chains,”⁠—he whirled up the line of pickets⁠—“here is the little one that has seen your dances in your hidden places⁠—the sight that never man saw! Give him honor, my lords! Salaam karo , my children. Make your salute to Toomai of the Elephants! Gunga Pershad, ahaa! Hira Guj, Birchi Guj, Kuttar Guj, ahaa! Pudmini⁠—thou hast seen him at the dance, and thou too, Kala Nag, my pearl among elephants!⁠—ahaa! Together! To Toomai of the Elephants. Barrao! ”

And at that last wild yell the whole line flung up their trunks till the tips touched their foreheads, and broke out into the full salute⁠—the crashing trumpet-peal that only the Viceroy of India hears, the Salaamut of the Keddah.

But it was all for the sake of Little Toomai, who had seen what never man had seen before⁠—the dance of the elephants at night and alone in the heart of the Garo hills!