` What is to do now ? ' ` Wait . Let us wait . ' ` Even now the darkness clears , ' said Kim . It was only natural that the descending sun should at last strike through the tree-trunks , across the grove , filling it with mealy gold light for a few minutes ; but to Kim it was the crown of the Umballa Brahmin 's prophecy . ` Hark ! ' said the lama . ` One beats a drum -- far off ! ' At first the sound , carrying diluted through the still air , resembled the beating of an artery in the head . Soon a sharpness was added . ` Ah ! The music , ' Kim explained . He knew the sound of a regimental band , but it amazed the lama . At the far end of the plain a heavy , dusty column crawled in sight . Then the wind brought the tune : We crave your condescension To tell you what we know Of marching in the Mulligan Guards To Sligo Port below ! Here broke in the shrill-tongued fifes : We shouldered arms , We marched -- we marched away . From Phoenix Park We marched to Dublin Bay . The drums and the fifes , Oh , sweetly they did play , As we marched -- marched -- marched -- with the Mulligan Guards ! It was the band of the Mavericks playing the regiment to camp ; for the men were route-marching with their baggage . The rippling column swung into the level -- carts behind it divided left and right , ran about like an ant-hill , and ... ` But this is sorcery ! '
said the XXXXX .
Bay Mavericks Park Port fifes first lama left minutes tree-trunks