I 7 8 THE TRIBES ON MY FRONTIER. 



others grow, like Topsy ; but cock-fighting Mussulmans 

 have really brought the kullum to great perfection. And 

 the Sergeant is a kullum of the kullums. He is commonly 

 considered hideous, for he is "caviare to the general," and 

 it requires an educated eye to discern his beauties. He 

 stands twenty-five inches high, and a plummet from his 

 chin would drop on his toes. His head is very red, with a 

 fleshy knob for a comb, his deep-sunk eyes are fiery, his 

 legs are very pillars of Hercules, his covering is more like 

 fishes' scales than the plumage of feathered fowls, and so 

 scanty, that after dinner it parts in front and displays a 

 patch of naked redness, but it shines with the richest 

 purple gloss. I could make my fortune by betting on him 

 but that he suffers, aristocratic bird that he is, from gout ; 

 for I do not believe he ever turned his back on a foe. Fear 

 is a state with which he is not acquainted. When he is 

 pecking at a bone, the Hubshee looks on from a distance 

 and breaks the Tenth Commandment, but dare not touch 

 the bone. When the kid thrust his impudent nose into the 

 grain-dish the Sergeant smote him between the eyes. But 

 the most striking feature of the noble bird is dignity, that 

 inalienable dignity which is an inheritance. Being unable 

 to compete at feeding-time with the more nimble chickens 



