CHAPTER XI.

After the meal was concluded, the captain said to the chief:

“Now, Hassan, we want to know how it was that you arrived at the nick of

time to save my officers' lives.”

“I had been watching for some days,” the chief said quietly. “When I

heard that many chiefs had joined Sehi Pandash, I said 'I must go and

help my white brothers,' but I dared not take many men away from here,

and as I had to hide, the fewer there were with me the better; so I came

down into the forest near Sehi's town, and found the wood full of men.

We had come down in sampans, so that I could send off messengers as

might be required. One of these I sent down to you, to warn you to be

prepared for an attack. Other messengers I had sent before from here;

but they must have been caught and killed, for I had been watched

closely when they found that I would not join against you.

“When my last messenger returned, I was glad; I knew that you would be

on your guard, and would not be caught treacherously. Two of my men

were in the town when they began to fire on the ship, and I saw the

town destroyed, and followed Sehi to the place where the six prahus were

lying, and crossed the creek, and lay down in the woods near the village

on the other side; for I thought that something might happen. One of my

men went down in the night, and brought me news that the ship was gone.

As my messenger had told me that you had questioned him as to the other

entrance to the creek, I felt sure that you had gone there; so I was not

surprised when, just before daybreak, two guns were fired. We saw the

fight, the sinking of two of their vessels, and the attack by the water

pirates, and by the men of the rajah and the chiefs with him, and I

feared greatly that my friends would be overpowered.

“I sent one of my men down to the mouth of the creek, to tell you how

much aid was wanted; but he saw the ship steaming up as he went, and so

came back to me. Then we heard the ship's great guns begin to fire, and

soon all was quiet where the fight had been going on. Then I saw the

other four boats start. One of them sank before she was out of sight,

and I soon heard that your ship had sunk another, and that two had got

away. It was not for another two days that I learned where they were,

and then I heard that they had gone into a creek twenty miles away;

there one had sunk, and the other had been joined by the two prahus that

had been far up the river; and I also learned that one of Sehi's men

had gone into the village and let himself be captured, so that he might

guide the ship's boats to the place where, as they thought, they would

find but one prahu, while three would be waiting for them. I was not

sure where the exact place was, for there are many creeks, but, with one

of my men, I rowed in a sampan all night, in hopes to arrive in time

to warn the boats; but it was not till I heard the firing that I knew

exactly where they were.

“When I got there the fighting was over, and but one prahu had escaped,

and I learned from the men who had swum ashore from those that had been

sunk that one of the English boats had been destroyed, and many men

killed, but that two boats had gone down the creek again. It was also

said that the white officers and sailors had boarded the boat that had

escaped, and had been all killed. I thought it best to follow the prahu,

so that I could send word to you where she was to be found. As there

were many passages, it was difficult to find her, and I should have lost

her altogether had I not heard where Sehi was hiding, and guessed that

she would go there. It was late when I arrived at the village. There

one of my men learned that two young officers, who had been wounded, had

been brought there, and that Sehi was sending word to you that, unless

you gave him the conditions he asked, they would be put to death.

“I did not know whether to send down to you, or to send up the river for

help; but I thought the last was best, for if you came in boats, then

Sehi's men would hear you, and the officers would be killed; so I sent

off my man with the sampan. I told him that he must not stop until he

got here. He must tell them that all my men, except fifty old ones who

were to guard the village, were to start in their canoes, and paddle

their hardest till they came within half a mile of the village, and he

was to come back with them to guide them, and I was to meet them. As

the prahus that had been up there were destroyed, the river was safe

for them to descend. I said that they must be at the point I named

last evening. They were two hours late, though they had paddled their

hardest. As soon as they disembarked I led them to the spot, and the

rest was easy. I knew that the prisoners who had been taken were my two

friends, for I saw them on the deck of the prahu; and glad indeed I was

to be able to pay my debt to them.”

“You have paid it indeed most nobly, Hassan,” the captain said,

holding out his hand, and grasping that of the chief, when, sentence by

sentence, the story was translated to him. “Little did we think, when

you were brought on board the Serpent, that your friendship would turn

out of such value to us.”

There was now some discussion as to the proposed meeting of chiefs; and

half an hour after, a dozen small canoes started with invitations to the

various chiefs to meet the captain at Hassan's campong, with assurances

that he was ready to overlook their share in the attack on the ship, and

be on friendly terms with them, and that the safety of each who attended

was guaranteed, whether he was willing to be on good terms with the

English or not. Four days later, the meeting took place in the newly

erected hall. Ten or twelve of the chiefs attended; others, who

had taken a leading part as Sehi's allies, did not venture to come

themselves, but sent messages with assurances of their desire to be on

friendly terms. A good deal of ceremonial was observed. The marines and

bluejackets were drawn up in line before the hall, which was decorated

with green boughs; a Union jack waved from a pole in front of it.

The chiefs were introduced by Hassan to the captain. The former then

addressed them, rehearsing the service that the English had done to them

by destroying the power of the tyrant who had long been a scourge to

his neighbors, and who intended, without doubt, to become master of the

whole district. As a proof of the good will of the English towards the

Malays, he related how the two English officers had leaped into the

water to save his child, and how kindly he himself had been treated.

Then the captain addressed them through the interpreter. He told them

that he had only been sent up the river by the Governor in accordance

with an invitation from Sehi, of whose conduct he was ignorant, to

undertake the protectorate of his district; and that, on learning his

true character, he at once reported to the Governor that the rajah was

not a proper person to receive protection, as not only did he prevent

trade and harass his neighbors, but was the owner of a number of

piratical craft, that often descended the river and plundered the coast.

“England,” he went on, “has no desire whatever to take under her

protection any who do not earnestly desire it, and who are not willing,

in return, to promote trade, and keep peace with their neighbors;

nor can she make separate arrangements with minor chiefs. It was only

because she understood that Sehi ruled over a considerable extent of

territory, and was all powerful in this part, that his request was

listened to.

“I shall shortly return down the river,” he said, “and have no thought

or intention of interfering in any way with matters here. I wish to

leave on good terms with you all, and to explain to you that it is to

your interest to do all in your power to further trade, both by sending

down your products to the coast, and by throwing no hindrance in the way

of the products of the highlands coming down the river, charging, at the

utmost, a very small toll upon each boat that passes up and down. It

is the interest of all of you, of the people of the hills, and of

ourselves, that trade should increase. Now that Sehi is dead and his

people altogether dispersed and all his piratical craft destroyed, with

the exception of the one captured by Hassan, there is no obstruction to

trade, and you are free from the fear that he would one day eat you up.

“Be assured that there is nothing to be feared from us. You all know how

greatly the States protected by us have flourished and how wealthy their

rajahs have become from the increase of cultivation and the cessation

of tribal wars. If in the future all the chiefs of this district should

desire to place themselves under English protection, their request will

be considered; but there is not the slightest desire on the part of the

Governor to assume further responsibility, and he will be well satisfied

indeed to know that there is peace among the river tribes, security for

trade, and a large increase in the cultivation of the country and in its

prosperity.”

There was a general expression of satisfaction and relief upon the face

of the chiefs, as, sentence by sentence, the speech was translated to

them; and, one by one, they rose after its conclusion, and expressed

their hearty concurrence with what had been said.

“We know,” one of them said, “that these wars do much harm; but if we

quarrel, or if one ill treats another, or encourages his slaves to leave

him, or ravages his plantations, what are we to do?”

“That I have thought of,” the captain said. “I have spoken with the

chief Hassan, and he has agreed to remove with his people to the spot

where Sehi's town stood. There, doubtless, he will be joined by Sehi's

former subjects, who cannot but be well pleased at being rid of a tyrant

who had forcibly taken them under his rule. He will retain the prahu

that he has taken, and will use it to keep the two rivers free of

robbers, but in no other respect will he interfere with his neighbors.

His desire is to cultivate the land, clear away the forest, and

encourage his people to raise products that he can send down the river

to trade with us. He will occupy the territory only as far as the creek

that runs between the two rivers. I propose that all of you shall come

to an agreement to submit any disputes that may arise between you to his

decision, swearing to accept his judgment, whichever way it may go. This

is the way in which the disputes are settled in our country. Both sides

go before a judge, and he hears their statements and those of their

witnesses, and then decides the case; and even the government of the

country is bound by his decision. I don't wish you to give me any reply

as to this. I make the suggestion solely for your own good, and it is

for you to talk it over among yourselves, and see if you cannot all come

to an agreement that will put a stop to the senseless wars, and enable

your people to cultivate the land in peace, and to obtain all the

comforts that arise from trade.”

A boat had been sent down to the ship, and this returned with a number

of the articles that had been put on board her as presents for Sehi and

other chiefs. These were now distributed. A feast was then held, and the

next morning the chiefs started for their homes, highly gratified with

the result of the meeting. On the following day, the British boats

also took their way down the river, followed by the prahu, with a

considerable number of Hassan's men, who were to clear away the ruins

of Sehi's campong, to bury the dead still lying among them, and to erect

huts for the whole community. The Serpent remained for a week opposite

the town; a considerable quantity of flour, sugar, and other useful

stores being landed for the use of Hassan's people. Dr. Horsley was

gladdened by Hassan's promise that his people should be instructed to

search for specimens of birds, butterflies, and other insects, and that

these should be treated according to his instructions, and should be

from time to time, as occasion offered, sent down to him in large cases

to Singapore. To the two midshipmen the chief gave krises of the finest

temper.

“I have no presents to give you worthy of your acceptance,” he said;

“but you know that I shall never forget you, and always regard you as

brothers. I intend to send twelve of my young men down to Penang, there

to live for three years and learn useful trades from your people. The

doctor has advised me also to send Bahi, and has promised to find a

comfortable home for her, where she will learn to read and write your

language and many other useful things. It is hard to part with her;

but it is for her good and that of her people. If you will write to me

sometimes, she will read the letters to me and write letters to you in

return, so that, though we are away from each other, we may know that

neither of us has forgotten the other.”

Bahi and twelve young Malays were taken to Penang in the Serpent, where

the doctor found a comfortable home for her with some friends of his,

to whom payment for her board and schooling was to be paid by Hassan

in blocks of tin, which he would obtain from boats coming down from the

hills in exchange for other articles of trade. The Malays were placed

with men of their own race belonging to the protected States, and

settled as carpenters, smiths, and other tradesmen in Penang. Three

years later, they and Bahi were all taken back in the Serpent to their

home.

The river was acquiring considerable importance from the great increase

of trade. They found Hassan's town far more extensive and flourishing

than it had been in the time of its predecessor. The forest had been

cleared for a considerable distance round it, the former inhabitants had

returned, tobacco, sugar canes, cotton, pepper, and other crops whose

products were useful for trade purposes, were largely cultivated, while

orchards of fruit trees had been extensively planted. Hassan reported

that tribal wars had almost ceased, and that disputes were in almost

all cases brought for his arbitration. Owing to the abolition of all

oppressive tolls, trade from the interior had very largely increased, a

great deal of tin, together with spices and other products, now finding

its way down by the river. Hassan was delighted with the progress Bahi

had made, and ordered that three or four boys should at once be placed

for instruction under each of the men who had learned trades at Penang.

There was much regret on both sides when the Serpent again started

down the river; for it was known that she would not return, as in a few

months she would be sent to a Chinese station, and from there would

go direct to England. The composition of her crew was already somewhat

changed. Lieutenant Ferguson had received his promotion for the fight

with the prahus, and had been appointed to the command of a gunboat

whose captain had been invalided home. Lieutenant Hopkins was now the

Serpent's first lieutenant, and Morrison was second. Harry Parkhurst was

third lieutenant, Dick Balderson, to the regret of both, having left the

ship on his promotion, and having been transferred as third lieutenant

to Captain Ferguson's craft. Both have since kept up a correspondence

with Bahi, who has married a neighboring chief, and who tells them

that the river is prospering greatly, and that, although he assumes no

authority, her father is everywhere regarded as the paramount chief of

the district. From time to time each receives chests filled with spices,

silks, and other Malay products, and sends back in return European

articles of utility to the rajah, for such is the rank that Hassan has

now acquired on the river.

BEARS AND DACOITS A TALE OF THE GHAUTS

CHAPTER I

A merry party were sitting in the veranda of one of the largest and

handsomest bungalows of Poonah. It belonged to Colonel Hastings, colonel

of a native regiment stationed there, and at present, in virtue of

seniority, commanding a brigade. Tiffin was on, and three or four

officers and four ladies had taken their seats in the comfortable cane

lounging chairs which form the invariable furniture of the veranda of

a well ordered bungalow. Permission had been duly asked, and granted

by Mrs. Hastings, and the cheroots had just begun to draw, when Miss

Hastings, a niece of the colonel, who had only arrived the previous week

from England, said: “Uncle, I am quite disappointed. Mrs. Lyons showed

me the bear she has got tied up in their compound, and it is the most

wretched little thing, not bigger than Rover, papa's retriever, and it's

full grown. I thought bears were great fierce creatures, and this poor

little thing seemed so restless and unhappy that I thought it quite a

shame not to let it go.”

Colonel Hastings smiled rather grimly.

“And yet, small and insignificant as that bear is, my dear, it is a

question whether he is not as dangerous an animal to meddle with as a

man eating tiger.”

“What, that wretched little bear, uncle?”

“Yes, that wretched little bear. Any experienced sportsman will tell you

that hunting those little bears is as dangerous a sport as tiger hunting

on foot, to say nothing of tiger hunting from an elephant's back, in

which there is scarcely any danger whatever. I can speak feelingly about

it, for my career was pretty nearly brought to an end by a bear, just

after I entered the army, some thirty years ago, at a spot within a few

miles from here. I have got the scars on my shoulder and arm still.”

“Oh, do tell me all about it,” Miss Hastings said; and the request being

seconded by the rest of the party, none of whom, with the exception

of Mrs. Hastings, had ever heard the story before--for the colonel was

somewhat chary of relating this special experience--he waited till they

had all drawn up their chairs as close as possible, and then giving two

or three vigorous puffs at his cheroot, began as follows:

“Thirty years ago, in 1855, things were not so settled in the Deccan as

they are now. There was no idea of insurrection on a large scale, but we

were going through one of those outbreaks of Dacoity which have several

times proved so troublesome. Bands of marauders kept the country in

confusion, pouring down on a village, now carrying off three or four

of the Bombay money lenders, who were then, as now, the curse of the

country; sometimes making an onslaught upon a body of traders; and

occasionally venturing to attack small detachments of troops or isolated

parties of police. They were not very formidable, but they were very

troublesome, and most difficult to catch, for the peasantry regarded

them as patriots, and aided and shielded them in every way. The

headquarters of these gangs of Dacoits were the Ghauts. In the thick

bush and deep valleys and gorges there they could always take refuge,

while sometimes the more daring chiefs converted these detached peaks

and masses of rock, numbers of which you can see as you come up the

Ghaut by railway, into almost impregnable fortresses. Many of these

masses of rock rise as sheer up from the hillside as walls of masonry,

and look at a short distance like ruined castles. Some are absolutely

inaccessible; others can only be scaled by experienced climbers;

and, although possible for the natives with their bare feet, are

impracticable to European troops. Many of these rock fortresses were at

various times the headquarters of famous Dacoit leaders, and unless the

summits happened to be commanded from some higher ground within gunshot

range they were all but impregnable, except by starvation. When driven

to bay, these fellows would fight well.

“Well, about the time I joined, the Dacoits were unusually troublesome;

the police had a hard time of it, and almost lived in the saddle, and

the cavalry were constantly called up to help them, while detachments of

infantry from the station were under canvas at several places along the

top of the Ghauts to cut the bands off from their strongholds, and to

aid, if necessary, in turning them out of their rock fortresses. The

natives in the valleys at the foot of the Ghauts, who have always been

a semi-independent race, ready to rob whenever they saw a chance,

were great friends with the Dacoits and supplied them with provisions

whenever the hunt on the Deccan was too hot to make raids in that

direction.

“This is a long introduction, you will say, and does not seem to have

much to do with bears; but it is really necessary, as you will see. I

had joined about six months when three companies of the regiment were

ordered to relieve a wing of the 15th, who had been under canvas at a

village some four miles to the north of the point where the line crosses

the top of the Ghauts. There were three white officers, and little

enough to do, except when a party was sent off to assist the police.

We had one or two brushes with the Dacoits, but I was not out on either

occasion. However, there was plenty of shooting, and a good many pigs

about, so we had very good fun. Of course, as a raw hand, I was very hot

for it, and as the others had both passed the enthusiastic age, except

for pig sticking and big game, I could always get away. I was supposed

not to go far from camp, because in the first place, I might be wanted;

and, in the second, because of the Dacoits; and Norworthy, who was in

command, used to impress upon me that I ought not to go beyond the sound

of a bugle. Of course we both knew that if I intended to get any sport

I must go further afoot than this; but I merely used to say 'All

right, sir, I will keep an ear to the camp,' and he on his part never

considered it necessary to ask where the game which appeared on the

table came from. But in point of fact, I never went very far, and

my servant always had instructions which way to send for me if I was

wanted; while, as to the Dacoits, I did not believe in their having the

impudence to come in broad daylight within a mile or two of our camp. I

did not often go down the face of the Ghauts. The shooting was good, and

there were plenty of bears in those days, but it needed a long day for

such an expedition, and in view of the Dacoits who might be scattered

about, was not the sort of thing to be undertaken except with a strong

party. Norworthy had not given any precise orders about it, but I must

admit that he said one day:

“'Of course you won't be fool enough to think of going down the

Ghauts, Hastings?' But I did not look at that as equivalent to a direct

order--whatever I should do now,” the colonel put in, on seeing a

furtive smile on the faces of his male listeners.

“However, I never meant to go down, though I used to stand on the edge

and look longingly down into the bush and fancy I saw bears moving about

in scores. But I don't think I should have gone into their country if

they had not come into mine. One day the fellow who always carried my

spare gun or flask, and who was a sort of shikaree in a small way, told

me he had heard that a farmer whose house stood near the edge of the

Ghauts, some two miles away, had been seriously annoyed by his fruit and

corn being stolen by bears.

“'I'll go and have a look at the place tomorrow,' I said; 'there is no

parade, and I can start early. You may as well tell the mess cook to put

up a basket with some tiffin and a bottle of claret, and get a boy to

carry it over.'

“'The bears not come in day,' Rahman said.

“'Of course not,' I replied; 'still I may like to find out which way

they come. Just do as you are told.'

“The next morning, at seven o'clock, I was at the farmer's spoken of,

and there was no mistake as to the bears. A patch of Indian corn had

been ruined by them, and two dogs had been killed. The native was in a

terrible state of rage and alarm. He said that on moonlight nights he

had seen eight of them, and they came and sniffed around the door of the

cottage.

“'Why don't you fire through the window at them?' I asked scornfully,

for I had seen a score of tame bears in captivity, and, like you, Mary,

was inclined to despise them, though there was far less excuse for me;

for I had heard stories which should have convinced me that, small as

he is, the Indian bear is not a beast to be attacked with impunity. Upon

walking to the edge of the Ghauts there was no difficulty in discovering

the route by which the bears came up to the farm. For a mile to the

right and left the ground fell away as if cut with a knife, leaving a

precipice of over a hundred feet sheer down; but close by where I was

standing was the head of a water course, which in time had gradually

worn a sort of cleft in the wall, up or down which it was not difficult

to make one's way. Further down this little gorge widened out and became

a deep ravine, and further still a wide valley, where it opened upon the

flats far below us. About half a mile down, where the ravine was deepest

and darkest, was a thick clump of trees and jungle.

“'That's where the bears are?' I asked Rahman. He nodded. It seemed no

distance. I could get down and back in time for tiffin, and perhaps bag

a couple of bears. For a young sportsman the temptation was great. 'How

long would it take us to go down and have a shot or two at them?'

“'No good go down. Master come here at night, shoot bears when they come

up.'

“I had thought of that; but, in the first place, it did not seem much

sport to shoot the beasts from cover when they were quietly eating,

and, in the next place, I knew that Norworthy could not, even if he were

willing, give me leave to go out of camp at night. I waited, hesitating

for a few minutes, and then I said to myself, 'It is of no use waiting.

I could go down and get a bear and be back again while I am thinking of

it;' then to Rahman, 'No, come along; we will have a look through that

wood anyhow.'

“Rahman evidently did not like it. 'Not easy to find bear, sahib. He

very cunning.'

“'Well, very likely we shan't find them,' I said, 'but we can try

anyhow. Bring that bottle with you; the tiffin basket can wait here till

we come back.' In another five minutes I had begun to climb down the

watercourse--the shikaree following me. I took the double barreled rifle

and handed him the shotgun, having first dropped a bullet down each

barrel over the charge. The ravine was steep, but there were bushes to

hold on by, and although it was hot work and took a good deal longer

than I expected, we at last got down to the place which I had fixed upon

as likely to be the bears' home.

“'Sahib, climb up top,' Rahman said; 'come down through wood; no good

fire at bear when he above.'

“I had heard that before; but I was hot, the sun was pouring down, there

was not a breath of wind, and it looked a long way up to the top of the

wood.

“'Give me the claret. It would take too long to search the wood

regularly. We will sit down here for a bit, and if we can see anything

moving up in the wood, well and good; if not, we will come back again

another day with some beaters and dogs.' So saying, I sat down with my

back against a rock, at a spot where I could look up among the trees for

a long way through a natural vista. I had a drink of claret, and then I

sat and watched till gradually I dropped off to sleep. I don't know how

long I slept, but it was some time, and I woke up with a sudden start.

Rahman, who had, I fancy, been asleep too, also started up.

“The noise which had aroused us was made by a rolling stone striking a

rock: and looking up I saw some fifty yards away, not in the wood, but

on the rocky hillside on our side of the ravine, a bear standing, as

though unconscious of our presence, snuffing the air. As was natural,

I seized my rifle, cocked it, and took aim, unheeding a cry of 'No, no,

sahib,' from Rahman. However, I was not going to miss such a chance as

this, and I let fly. The beast had been standing sideways to me, and as

I saw him fall I felt sure I had hit him in the heart. I gave a shout of

triumph, and was about to climb up, when, from behind the rock on which

the bear had stood, appeared another, growling fiercely; on seeing me,

it at once prepared to come down. Stupidly, being taken by surprise, and

being new at it, I fired at once at its head. The bear gave a spring,

and then--it seemed instantaneous--down it came at me. Whether it rolled

down, or slipped down, or ran down, I don't know, but it came almost as

if it had jumped straight at me.

“'My gun, Rahman,' I shouted, holding out my hand. There was no answer.

I glanced round and found that the scoundrel had bolted. I had time, and

only just time, to take a step backwards, and to club my rifle, when the

brute was upon me. I got one fair blow at the side of its head, a blow

that would have smashed the skull of any civilized beast into pieces,

and which did fortunately break the brute's jaw; then in an instant he

was upon me, and I was fighting for life. My hunting knife was out, and

with my left hand I had the beast by the throat; while with my right I

tried to drive my knife into its ribs. My bullet had gone through his

chest. The impetus of his charge had knocked me over, and we rolled on

the ground, he tearing with his claws at my shoulder and arm, I stabbing

and struggling; my great effort being to keep my knees up so as to

protect my body with them from his hind claws. After the first blow with

his paw which laid my shoulder open, I do not think I felt any special

pain whatever. There was a strange faint sensation, and my whole energy

seemed centered in the two ideas--to strike and to keep my knees up.

I knew that I was getting faint, but I was dimly conscious that his

efforts, too, were relaxing. His weight on me seemed to increase

enormously, and the last idea that flashed across me was that it was a

drawn fight.

“The next idea of which I was conscious was that I was being carried. I

seemed to be swinging about, and I thought I was at sea. Then there was

a little jolt and a sense of pain. 'A collision,' I muttered, and opened

my eyes. Beyond the fact that I seemed in a yellow world--a bright

orange yellow--my eyes did not help me, and I lay vaguely wondering

about it all, till the rocking ceased. There was another bump, and then

the yellow world seemed to come to an end; and as the daylight streamed

in upon me I fainted again. This time, when I awoke to consciousness,

things were clearer. I was stretched by a little stream. A native woman

was sprinkling my face and washing the blood from my wounds; while

another, who had with my own knife cut off my coat and shirt, was

tearing the latter into strips to bandage my wounds. The yellow world

was explained. I was lying on the yellow robe of one of the women.

They had tied the ends together, placed a long stick through them, and

carried me in the bag-like hammock. They nodded to me when they saw I

was conscious, and brought water in a large leaf, and poured it into my

mouth. Then one went away for some time, and came back with some leaves

and bark. These they chewed and put on my wounds, bound them up with

strips of my shirt, and then again knotted the ends of the cloth, and

lifting me up, went on as before.

“I was sure that we were much lower down the Ghaut than we had been

when I was watching for the bears, and we were now going still lower.

However, I knew very little Hindustani, nothing of the language the

women spoke. I was too weak to stand, too weak even to think much; and

I dozed and woke, and dozed again until, after what seemed to me many

hours of travel, we stopped again, this time before a tent. Two or three

old women and four or five men came out, and there was great talking

between them and the young women--for they were young--who had carried

me down. Some of the party appeared angry; but at last things quieted

down, and I was carried into the tent. I had fever, and was, I suppose,

delirious for days. I afterwards found that for fully a fortnight I had

lost all consciousness; but a good constitution and the nursing of the

women pulled me round. When once the fever had gone, I began to mend

rapidly. I tried to explain to the women that if they would go up to the

camp and tell them where I was they would be well rewarded; but although

I was sure they understood, they shook their heads, and by the fact that

as I became stronger two or three armed men always hung about the

tent, I came to the conclusion that I was a sort of prisoner. This was

annoying, but did not seem serious. If these people were Dacoits, or, as

was more likely, allies of the Dacoits, I could be kept only for ransom

or exchange. Moreover, I felt sure of my ability to escape when I got

strong, especially as I believed that in the young women who had saved

my life, both by bringing me down and by their careful nursing, I should

find friends.”

“Were they pretty, uncle?” Mary Hastings broke in.

“Never mind whether they were pretty, Mary; they were better than

pretty.”

“No; but we should like to know, uncle.”

“Well, except for the soft, dark eyes, common to the race, and the good

temper and lightheartedness, also so general among Hindu girls, and

the tenderness which women feel towards a creature whose life they have

saved, whether it is a wounded bird or a drowning puppy, I suppose they

were nothing remarkable in the way of beauty, but at the time I know

that I thought them charming.”

CHAPTER II

“Just as I was getting strong enough to walk, and was beginning to think

of making my escape, a band of five or six fellows, armed to the teeth,

came in, and made signs that I was to go with them. It was evidently

an arranged thing, the girls only were surprised, but they were at once

turned out, and as we started I could see two crouching figures in the

shade with their cloths over their heads. I had a native garment thrown

over my shoulders, and in five minutes after the arrival of the fellows

found myself on my way. It took us some six hours before we reached our

destination, which was one of those natural rock citadels. Had I been

in my usual health I could have done the distance in an hour and a half,

but I had to rest constantly, and was finally carried rather than helped

up. I had gone not unwillingly, for the men were clearly, by their

dress, Dacoits of the Deccan, and I had no doubt that it was intended

either to ransom or exchange me.

“At the foot of this natural castle were some twenty or thirty more

robbers, and I was led to a rough sort of arbor in which was lying, on a

pile of maize straw, a man who was evidently their chief. He rose and we

exchanged salaams.

“'What is your name, sahib?' he asked in Mahratta.

“'Hastings--Lieutenant Hastings,' I said. 'And yours?'

“'Sivajee Punt!' he said.

“This was bad. I had fallen into the hands of the most troublesome, most

ruthless, and most famous of the Dacoit leaders. Over and over again he

had been hotly chased, but had always managed to get away; and when I

last heard anything of what was going on four or five troops of native

police were scouring the country after him. He gave an order which I did

not understand, and a wretched Bombay writer, I suppose a clerk of some

moneylender, was dragged forward. Sivajee Punt spoke to him for some

time, and the fellow then told me in English that I was to write at

once to the officer commanding the troops, telling him that I was in his

hands, and should be put to death directly he was attacked.

“'Ask him,' I said, 'if he will take any sum of money to let me go?'

“Sivajee shook his head very decidedly.

“A piece of paper was put before me, and a pen and ink, and I wrote as

I had been ordered, adding however, in French, that I had brought myself

into my present position by my own folly, and would take my chance,

for I well knew the importance which government attached to Sivajee's

capture. I read out loud all that I had written in English, and the

interpreter translated it. Then the paper was folded and I addressed it,

'The Officer Commanding,' and I was given some chupattis and a drink of

water, and allowed to sleep. The Dacoits had apparently no fear of any

immediate attack.

“It was still dark, although morning was just breaking, when I was

awakened, and was got up to the citadel. I was hoisted rather than

climbed, two men standing above with a rope, tied round my body, so that

I was half hauled, half pushed up the difficult places, which would have

taxed all my climbing powers had I been in health.

“The height of this mass of rock was about a hundred feet; the top was

fairly flat, with some depressions and risings, and about eighty feet

long by fifty wide. It had evidently been used as a fortress in ages

past. Along the side facing the hill were the remains of a rough wall.

In the center of a depression was a cistern, some four feet square,

lined with stone work, and in another depression a gallery had been cut,

leading to a subterranean storeroom or chamber.

“This natural fortress rose from the face of the hill at a distance of

a thousand yards or so from the edge of the plateau, which was fully two

hundred feet higher than the top of the rock. In the old days it would

have been impregnable, and even at that time it was an awkward place to

take, for the troops were armed only with Brown Bess, and rifled cannon

were not thought of. Looking round, I could see that I was some four

miles from the point where I had descended. The camp was gone; but

running my eye along the edge of the plateau I could see the tops of

tents a mile to my right, and again two miles to my left; turning round,

and looking down into the wide valley, I saw a regimental camp.

“It was evident that a vigorous effort was being made to surround and

capture the Dacoits, since troops had been brought up from Bombay. In

addition to the troops above and below, there would probably be a strong

police force, acting on the face of the hill. I did not see all these

things at the time, for I was, as soon as I got to the top, ordered to

sit down behind the parapet, a fellow armed to the teeth squatting down

by me, and signifying that if I showed my head above the stones he would

cut my throat without hesitation. There were, however, sufficient gaps

between the stones to allow me to have a view of the crest of the Ghaut,

while below my view extended down to the hills behind Bombay. It was

evident to me now why the Dacoits did not climb up into the fortress.

There were dozens of similar crags on the face of the Ghauts, and the

troops did not as yet know their whereabouts. It was a sort of blockade

of the whole face of the hills which was being kept up, and there were,

probably enough, several other bands of Dacoits lurking in the jungle.

“There were only two guards and myself on the rock plateau. I discussed

with myself the chances of my overpowering them and holding the top of

the rock till help came; but I was greatly weakened, and was not a match

for a boy, much less for the two stalwart Mahrattas; besides, I was by

no means sure that the way I had been brought up was the only possible

path to the top. The day passed off quietly. The heat on the bare rock

was frightful, but one of the men, seeing how weak and ill I really was,

fetched a thick rug from the storehouse, and with the aid of a stick

made a sort of lean-to against the wall, under which I lay sheltered

from the sun.

“Once or twice during the day I heard a few distant musket shots, and

once a sharp, heavy outburst of firing. It must have been three or four

miles away, but it was on the side of the Ghaut, and showed that the

troops or police were at work. My guards looked anxiously in that

direction, and uttered sundry curses. When it was dusk, Sivajee and

eight of the Dacoits came up. From what they said, I gathered that the

rest of the band had dispersed, trusting either to get through the line

of their pursuers, or, if caught, to escape with slight punishment, the

men who remained being too deeply concerned in murderous outrages to

hope for mercy. Sivajee himself handed me a letter, which the man who

had taken my note had brought back in reply. Major Knapp, the writer,

who was the second in command, said that he could not engage the

Government, but that if Lieutenant Hastings was given up the act

would certainly dispose the Government to take the most merciful

view possible; but that if, on the contrary, any harm was suffered by

Lieutenant Hastings, every man taken would be at once hung. Sivajee

did not appear put out about it. I do not think he expected any other

answer, and imagine that his real object in writing was simply to

let them know that I was a prisoner, and so enable him the better to

paralyze the attack upon a position which he no doubt considered all but

impregnable.

“I was given food, and was then allowed to walk as I chose upon the

little plateau, two of the Dacoits taking post as sentries at the

steepest part of the path, while the rest gathered, chatting and

smoking, in the depression in front of the storehouse. It was still

light enough for me to see for some distance down the face of the rock,

and I strained my eyes to see if I could discern any other spot at which

an ascent or descent was possible. The prospect was not encouraging. At

some places the face fell sheer away from the edge, and so evident was

the impracticability of escape that the only place which I glanced at

twice was the western side, that is the one away from the hill. Here it

sloped gradually for a few feet. I took off my shoes and went down to

the edge. Below, some ten feet, was a ledge, on to which with care I

could get down, but below that was a sheer fall of some fifty feet. As a

means of escape it was hopeless, but it struck me that if an attack was

made I might slip away and get on to the ledge. Once there I could not

be seen except by a person standing where I now was, just on the edge of

the slope, a spot to which it was very unlikely that anyone would come.

“The thought gave me a shadow of hope, and, returning to the upper end

of the platform, I lay down, and in spite of the hardness of the rock,

was soon asleep. The pain of my aching bones woke me up several times,

and once, just as the first tinge of dawn was coming, I thought I could

hear movements in the jungle. I raised myself somewhat, and I saw

that the sounds had been heard by the Dacoits, for they were standing

listening, and some of them were bringing spare firearms from the

storehouse, in evident preparation for attack.

“As I afterwards learned, the police had caught one of the Dacoits

trying to effect his escape, and by means of a little of the ingenious

torture to which the Indian police then frequently resorted, when their

white officers were absent, they obtained from him the exact position of

Sivajee's band, and learned the side from which the ascent must be made.

That the Dacoit and his band were still upon the slopes of the Ghauts

they knew, and were gradually narrowing their circle, but there were so

many rocks and hiding places that the process of searching was a slow

one, and the intelligence was so important that the news was off at once

to the colonel, who gave orders for the police to surround the rock at

daylight and to storm it if possible. The garrison was so small that

the police were alone ample for the work, supposing that the natural

difficulties were not altogether insuperable.

“Just at daybreak there was a distant noise of men moving in the jungle,

and the Dacoit halfway down the path fired his gun. He was answered by

a shout and a volley. The Dacoits hurried out from the chamber, and

lay down on the edge, where, sheltered by a parapet, they commanded the

path. They paid no attention to me, and I kept as far away as possible.

The fire began--a quiet, steady fire, a shot at a time and in strong

contrast to the rattle kept up from the surrounding jungle; but every

shot must have told, as man after man who strove to climb that steep

path fell. It lasted only ten minutes, and then all was quiet again.

“The attack had failed, as I knew it must do, for two men could have

held the place against an army; a quarter of an hour later a gun from

the crest above spoke out, and a round shot whistled above our heads.

Beyond annoyance, an artillery fire could do no harm, for the party

could be absolutely safe in the store cave. The instant the shot flew

overhead, however, Sivajee Punt beckoned to me, and motioned me to take

my seat on the wall facing the guns. Hesitation was useless, and I took

my seat with my back to the Dacoits and my face to the hill. One of

the Dacoits, as I did so, pulled off the native cloth which covered my

shoulders, in order that I might be clearly seen.

“Just as I took my place another round shot hummed by; but then there

was a long interval of silence. With a field glass every feature must

have been distinguishable to the gunners, and I had no doubt that they

were waiting for orders as to what to do next.

“I glanced round and saw that, with the exception of one fellow squatted

behind the parapet some half dozen yards away, clearly as a sentry to

keep me in place, all the others had disappeared. Some, no doubt, were

on sentry down the path, the others were in the store beneath me. After

half an hour's silence the guns spoke out again. Evidently the gunners

were told to be as careful as they could, for some of the shots went

wide on the left, others on the right. A few struck the rock below me.

The situation was not pleasant, but I thought that at a thousand yards

they ought not to hit me, and I tried to distract my attention by

thinking out what I should do under every possible contingency.

“Presently I felt a crash and a shock, and fell backwards to the ground.

I was not hurt, and picking myself up saw that the ball had struck the

parapet to the left, just where my guard was sitting, and he lay covered

with its fragments. His turban lay some yards behind him. Whether he was

dead or not I neither knew nor cared.

“I pushed down some of the parapet where I had been sitting, dropped my

cap on the edge outside, so as to make it appear that I had fallen

over, and then, picking up the man's turban, ran to the other end of the

platform and scrambled down to the ledge. Then I began to wave my arms

about--I had nothing on above the waist--and in a moment I saw a face

with a uniform cap peer out through the jungle; and a hand was waved. I

made signs to him to make his way to the foot of the perpendicular wall

of rock beneath me. I then unwound the turban, whose length was, I

knew, amply sufficient to reach to the bottom, and then looked round for

something to write on. I had my pencil still in my trousers pocket, but

not a scrap of paper.

“I picked up a flattish piece of rock and wrote on it, 'Get a rope

ladder quickly, I can haul it up. Ten men in garrison. They are all

under cover. Keep on firing to distract their attention.'

“I tied the stone to the end of the turban, and looked over. A

noncommissioned officer of the police was already standing below. I

lowered the stone; he took it, waved his hand to me, and was gone.

“An hour passed: it seemed an age. The round shots still rang overhead,

and the fire was now much more heavy and sustained than before.

Presently I again saw a movement in the jungle, and Norworthy's face

appeared, and he waved his arm in greeting.

“Five minutes more and a party were gathered at the foot of the rock,

and a strong rope was tied to the cloth. I pulled it up. A rope ladder

was attached to it, and the top rung was in a minute or two in my hands.

To it was tied a piece of paper with the words: 'Can you fasten the

ladder?' I wrote on the paper: 'No; but I can hold it for a light

weight.'

“I put the paper with a stone in the end of the cloth, and lowered

it again. Then I sat down, tied the rope round my waist, got my feet

against two projections, and waited. There was a jerk, and then I felt

someone was coming up the rope ladder. The strain was far less than I

expected, but the native policeman who came up first did not weigh half

so much as an average Englishman. There were now two of us to hold. The

officer in command of the police came up next, then Norworthy, then

a dozen more police. I explained the situation, and we mounted to the

upper level. Not a soul was to be seen. Quickly we advanced and took up

a position to command the door of the underground chamber; while one

of the police waved a white cloth from his bayonet as a signal to the

gunners to cease firing. Then the officer hailed the party within the

cave.

“'Sivajee Punt! you may as well come out and give yourself up! We are in

possession, and resistance is useless!'

“A yell of rage and surprise was heard, and the Dacoits, all desperate

men, came bounding out, firing as they did so. Half of their number

were shot down at once and the rest, after a short, sharp struggle, were

bound hand and foot.

“That is pretty well all of the story, I think. Sivajee Punt was one of

the killed. The prisoners were all either hung or imprisoned for life.

I escaped my blowing up for having gone down the Ghauts after the bear,

because, after all, Sivajee Punt might have defied their force for

months had I not done so.

“It seemed that that scoundrel Rahman had taken back word that I was

killed. Norworthy had sent down a strong party, who found the two dead

bears, and who, having searched everywhere without finding any signs of

my body, came to the conclusion that I had been found and carried away,

especially as they ascertained that natives used that path. They had

offered rewards, but nothing was heard of me till my note saying I was

in Sivajee's hands arrived.”

“And did you ever see the women who carried you off?”

“No, Mary, I never saw them again. I did, however, after immense

trouble, succeed in finding out where it was that I had been taken to.

I went down at once, but found the village deserted. Then after much

inquiry I found where the people had moved to, and sent messages to the

women to come up to the camp, but they never came; and I was reduced at

last to sending them down two sets of silver bracelets, necklaces, and

bangles, which must have rendered them the envy of all the women on the

Ghauts. They sent back a message of grateful thanks, and I never heard

of them afterwards. No doubt their relatives, who knew that their

connection with the Dacoits was now known, would not let them come.

However, I had done all I could and I have no doubt the women were

perfectly satisfied. So you see, my dear, that the Indian bear, small as

he is, is an animal which it is as well to leave alone, at any rate when

he happens to be up on the side of a hill while you are at the foot.”

THE PATERNOSTERS

“And do you really mean that we are to cross by the steamer, Mr. Virtue,

while you go over in the Seabird? I do not approve of that at all.

Fanny, why do you not rebel, and say we won't be put ashore? I call it

horrid, after a fortnight on board this dear little yacht, to have to

get on to a crowded steamer, with no accommodation and lots of seasick

women, perhaps, and crying children. You surely cannot be in earnest?”

“I do not like it any more than you do, Minnie; but, as Tom says we

had better do it, and my husband agrees with him, I am afraid we must

submit. Do you really think it is quite necessary, Mr. Virtue? Minnie

and I are both good sailors, you know; and we would much rather have a

little extra tossing about on board the Seabird than the discomforts of

a steamer.”

“I certainly think that it will be best, Mrs. Grantham. You know very

well we would rather have you on board, and that we shall suffer from

your loss more than you will by going the other way; but there's no

doubt the wind is getting up, and though we don't feel it much here, it

must be blowing pretty hard outside. The Seabird is as good a seaboat

as anything of her size that floats; but you don't know what it is to

be out in anything like a heavy sea in a thirty tonner. It would be

impossible for you to stay on deck, and we should have our hands

full, and should not be able to give you the benefit of our society.

Personally, I should not mind being out in the Seabird in any weather,

but I would certainly rather not have ladies on board.”

“You don't think we should scream, or do anything foolish, Mr. Virtue?”

Minnie Graham said indignantly.

“Not at all, Miss Graham. Still, I repeat, the knowledge that there are

women on board, delightful at other times, does not tend to comfort in

bad weather. Of course, if you prefer it, we can put off our start

till this puff of wind has blown itself out. It may have dropped before

morning. It may last some little time. I don't think myself that it will

drop, for the glass has fallen, and I am afraid we may have a spell of

broken weather.”

“Oh, no; don't put it off,” Mrs. Grantham said; “we have only another

fortnight before James must be back again in London, and it would be a

great pity to lose three or four days perhaps; and we have been looking

forward to cruising about among the Channel Islands, and to St. Mao,

and all those places. Oh, no; I think the other is much the better

plan--that is if you won't take us with you.”

“It would be bad manners to say that I won't, Mrs. Grantham; but I must

say I would rather not. It will be a very short separation. Grantham

will take you on shore at once, and as soon as the boat comes back I

shall be off. You will start in the steamer this evening, and get into

Jersey at nine or ten o'clock tomorrow morning; and if I am not there

before you, I shall not be many hours after you.”

“Well, if it must be it must,” Mrs. Grantham said, with an air of

resignation. “Come, Minnie, let us put a few things into a handbag for

tonight. You see the skipper is not to be moved by our pleadings.”

“That is the worst of you married women, Fanny,” Miss Graham said, with

a little pout. “You get into the way of doing as you are ordered. I call

it too bad. Here have we been cruising about for the last fortnight,

with scarcely a breath of wind, and longing for a good brisk breeze and

a little change and excitement, and now it comes at last, we are to be

packed off in a steamer. I call it horrid of you, Mr. Virtue. You may

laugh, but I do.”

Tom Virtue laughed, but he showed no signs of giving way, and ten

minutes later Mr. and Mrs. Grantham and Miss Graham took their places in

the gig, and were rowed into Southampton Harbor, off which the Seabird

was lying.

The last fortnight had been a very pleasant one, and it had cost the

owner of the Seabird as much as his guests to come to the conclusion

that it was better to break up the party for a few hours.

Tom Virtue had, up to the age of five-and-twenty, been possessed of a

sufficient income for his wants. He had entered at the bar, not that he

felt any particular vocation in that direction, but because he thought

it incumbent upon him to do something. Then, at the death of an uncle,

he had come into a considerable fortune, and was able to indulge his

taste for yachting, which was the sole amusement for which he really

cared, to the fullest.

He sold the little five tonner he had formerly possessed, and purchased

the Seabird. He could well have afforded a much larger craft, but he

knew that there was far more real enjoyment in sailing to be obtained

from a small craft than a large one, for in the latter he would be

obliged to have a regular skipper, and would be little more than a

passenger, whereas on board the Seabird, although his first hand was

dignified by the name of skipper, he was himself the absolute master.

The boat carried the aforesaid skipper, three hands, and a steward, and

with them he had twice been up the Mediterranean, across to Norway, and

had several times made the circuit of the British Isles.

He had unlimited confidence in his boat, and cared not what weather he

was out in her. This was the first time since his ownership of her that

the Seabird had carried lady passengers. His friend Grantham, an old

school and college chum, was a hard working barrister, and Virtue had

proposed to him to take a month's holiday on board the Seabird.

“Put aside your books, old man,” he said. “You look fagged and

overworked; a month's blow will do you all the good in the world.”

“Thank you, Tom; I have made up my mind for a month's holiday, but I

can't accept your invitation, though I should enjoy it of all things.

But it would not be fair to my wife; she doesn't get very much of my

society, and she has been looking forward to our having a run together.

So I must decline.”

Virtue hesitated a moment. He was not very fond of ladies' society, and

thought them especially in the way on board a yacht; but he had a great

liking for his friend's wife, and was almost as much at home in his

house as in his own chambers.

“Why not bring the wife with you?” he said, as soon as his mind was made

up. “It will be a nice change for her too; and I have heard her say that

she is a good sailor. The accommodation is not extensive, but the after

cabin is a pretty good size, and I would do all I could to make her

comfortable. Perhaps she would like another lady with her; if so by all

means bring one. They could have the after cabin, you could have the

little stateroom, and I could sleep in the saloon.”

“It is very good of you, Tom, especially as I know that it will put you

out frightfully; but the offer is a very tempting one. I will speak to

Fanny, and let you have an answer in the morning.”

“That will be delightful, James,” Mrs. Grantham said, when the

invitation was repeated to her. “I should like it of all things; and I

am sure the rest and quiet and the sea air will be just the thing for

you. It is wonderful, Tom Virtue making the offer; and I take it as a

great personal compliment, for he certainly is not what is generally

called a lady's man. It is very nice, too, of him to think of my

having another lady on board. Whom shall we ask? Oh, I know,” she said

suddenly; “that will be the thing of all others. We will ask my cousin

Minnie; she is full of fun and life, and will make a charming wife for

Tom!”

James Grantham laughed.

“What schemers you all are, Fanny! Now I should call it downright

treachery to take anyone on board the Seabird with the idea of capturing

its master.”

“Nonsense, treachery!” Mrs. Grantham said indignantly; “Minnie is the

nicest girl I know, and it would do Tom a world of good to have a wife

to look after him. Why, he is thirty now, and will be settling down

into a confirmed old bachelor before long. It's the greatest kindness we

could do him, to take Minnie on board; and I am sure he is the sort of

man any girl might fall in love with when she gets to know him. The

fact is, he's shy! He never had any sisters, and spends all his time in

winter at that horrid club; so that really he has never had any women's

society, and even with us he will never come unless he knows we are

alone. I call it a great pity, for I don't know a pleasanter fellow than

he is. I think it will be doing him a real service in asking Minnie; so

that's settled. I will sit down and write him a note.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose,” was Tom Virtue's comment

when he received Mrs. Grantham's letter, thanking him warmly for the

invitation, and saying that she would bring her cousin, Miss Graham,

with her, if that young lady was disengaged.

As a matter of self defense he at once invited Jack Harvey, who was a

mutual friend of himself and Grantham, to be of the party.

“Jack can help Grantham to amuse the women,” he said to himself; “that

will be more in his line than mine. I will run down to Cowes tomorrow

and have a chat with Johnson; we shall want a different sort of stores

altogether from those we generally carry, and I suppose we must do her

up a bit below.”

Having made up his mind to the infliction of female passengers, Tom

Virtue did it handsomely, and when the party came on board at Ryde

they were delighted with the aspect of the yacht below. She had been

repainted, the saloon and ladies' cabin were decorated in delicate

shades of gray, picked out with gold; and the upholsterer, into whose

hands the owner of the Seabird had placed her, had done his work with

taste and judgment, and the ladies' cabin resembled a little boudoir.

“Why, Tom, I should have hardly known her!” Grantham, who had often

spent a day on board the Seabird, said.

“I hardly know her myself,” Tom said, rather ruefully; “but I hope

she's all right, Mrs. Grantham, and that you and Miss Graham will find

everything you want.”

“It is charming!” Mrs. Grantham said enthusiastically. “It's awfully

good of you, Tom, and we appreciate it; don't we, Minnie? It is such a

surprise, too; for James said that while I should find everything very

comfortable, I must not expect that a small yacht would be got up like a

palace.”

So a fortnight had passed; they had cruised along the coast as far as

Plymouth, anchoring at night at the various ports on the way. Then they

had returned to Southampton, and it had been settled that as none of

the party, with the exception of Virtue himself, had been to the Channel

Islands, the last fortnight of the trip should be spent there. The

weather had been delightful, save that there had been some deficiency in

wind, and throughout the cruise the Seabird had been under all the

sail she could spread. But when the gentlemen came on deck early in the

morning a considerable change had taken place; the sky was gray and the

clouds flying fast overhead.

“We are going to have dirty weather,” Tom Virtue said at once. “I don't

think it's going to be a gale, but there will be more sea on than will

be pleasant for ladies. I tell you what, Grantham; the best thing will

be for you to go on shore with the two ladies, and cross by the boat

tonight. If you don't mind going directly after breakfast I will start

at once, and shall be at St. Helier's as soon as you are.”

And so it had been agreed, but not, as has been seen, without opposition

and protest on the part of the ladies.

Mrs. Grantham's chief reason for objecting had not been given. The

little scheme on which she had set her mind seemed to be working

satisfactorily. From the first day Tom Virtue had exerted himself to

play the part of host satisfactorily, and had ere long shaken off any

shyness he may have felt towards the one stranger of the party, and he

and Miss Graham had speedily got on friendly terms. So things were going

on as well as Mrs. Grantham could have expected.

No sooner had his guests left the side of the yacht than her owner began

to make his preparations for a start.

“What do you think of the weather, Watkins?” he asked his skipper.

“It's going to blow hard, sir; that's my view of it, and if I was you

I shouldn't up anchor today. Still, it's just as you likes; the Seabird

won't mind it if we don't. She has had a rough time of it before now;

still, it will be a case of wet jackets, and no mistake.”

“Yes, I expect we shall have a rough time of it, Watkins, but I want to

get across. We don't often let ourselves be weather bound, and I am not

going to begin it today. We had better house the topmast at once, and

get two reefs in the mainsail. We can get the other down when we get

clear of the island. Get number three jib up, and the leg of mutton

mizzen; put two reefs in the foresail.”

Tom and his friend Harvey, who was a good sailor, assisted the crew in

reefing down the sails, and a few minutes after the gig had returned and

been hoisted in, the yawl was running rapidly down Southampton waters.

“We need hardly have reefed quite so closely,” Jack Harvey said, as he

puffed away at his pipe.

“Not yet, Jack; but you will see she has as much as she can carry before

long. It's all the better to make all snug before starting; it saves a

lot of trouble afterwards, and the extra canvas would not have made ten

minutes' difference to us at the outside. We shall have pretty nearly a

dead beat down the Solent. Fortunately the tide will be running strong

with us, but there will be a nasty kick up there. You will see we shall

feel the short choppy seas there more than we shall when we get outside.

She is a grand boat in a really heavy sea, but in short waves she puts

her nose into it with a will. Now, if you will take my advice, you will

do as I am going to do; put on a pair of fisherman's boots and oilskin

and sou'wester. There are several sets for you to choose from below.”

As her owner had predicted, the Seabird put her bowsprit under pretty

frequently in the Solent; the wind was blowing half a gale, and as it

met the tide it knocked up a short, angry sea, crested with white heads,

and Jack Harvey agreed that she had quite as much sail on her as she

wanted. The cabin doors were bolted, and all made snug to prevent the

water getting below before they got to the race off Hurst Castle; and

it was well that they did so, for she was as much under water as she was

above.

“I think if I had given way to the ladies and brought them with us they

would have changed their minds by this time, Jack,” Tom Virtue said,

with a laugh.

“I should think so,” his friend agreed; “this is not a day for a fair

weather sailor. Look what a sea is breaking on the shingles!”

“Yes, five minutes there would knock her into matchwood. Another ten

minutes and we shall be fairly out; and I shan't be sorry; one feels

as if one was playing football, only just at present the Seabird is the

ball and the waves the kickers.”

Another quarter of an hour and they had passed the Needles.

“That is more pleasant, Jack,” as the short, chopping motion was

exchanged for a regular rise and fall; “this is what I enjoy--a steady

wind and a regular sea. The Seabird goes over it like one of her

namesakes; she is not taking a teacupful now over her bows.

“Watkins, you may as well take the helm for a spell, while we go down to

lunch. I am not sorry to give it up for a bit, for it has been jerking

like the kick of a horse.

“That's right, Jack, hang up your oilskin there. Johnson, give us a

couple of towels; we have been pretty well smothered up there on deck.

Now what have you got for us?”

“There is some soup ready, sir, and that cold pie you had for dinner

yesterday.”

“That will do; open a couple of bottles of stout.”

Lunch over, they went on deck again.

“She likes a good blow as well as we do,” Virtue said enthusiastically,

as the yawl rose lightly over each wave. “What do you think of it,

Watkins? Is the wind going to lull a bit as the sun goes down?”

“I think not, sir. It seems to me it's blowing harder than it was.”

“Then we will prepare for the worst, Watkins; get the trysail up on

deck. When you are ready we will bring her up into the wind and set it.

That's the comfort of a yawl, Jack; one can always lie to without any

bother, and one hasn't got such a tremendous boom to handle.”

The trysail was soon on deck, and then the Seabird was brought up into

the wind, the weather foresheet hauled aft, the mizzen sheeted almost

fore and aft, and the Seabird lay, head to wind, rising and falling with

a gentle motion, in strong contrast to her impetuous rushes when under

sail.

“She would ride out anything like that,” her owner said. “Last time

we came through the Bay on our way from Gib. we were caught in a gale

strong enough to blow the hair off one's head, and we lay to for nearly

three days, and didn't ship a bucket of water all the time. Now let us

lend a hand to get the mainsail stowed.”

Ten minutes' work and it was securely fastened and its cover on; two

reefs were put in the trysail. Two hands went to each of the halliards,

while, as the sail rose, Tom Virtue fastened the toggles round the mast.

“All ready, Watkins?”

“All ready, sir.”

“Slack off the weather foresheet, then, and haul aft the leeward. Slack

out the mizzen sheet a little, Jack. That's it; now she's off again,

like a duck.”

The Seabird felt the relief from the pressure of the heavy boom to

leeward and rose easily and lightly over the waves.

“She certainly is a splendid seaboat, Tom; I don't wonder you are ready

to go anywhere in her. I thought we were rather fools for starting this

morning, although I enjoy a good blow; but now I don't care how hard it

comes on.”

By night it was blowing a downright gale.

“We will lie to till morning, Watkins. So that we get in by daylight

tomorrow evening, that is all we want. See our side lights are burning

well, and you had better get up a couple of blue lights, in case

anything comes running up Channel and don't see our lights. We had

better divide into two watches; I will keep one with Matthews and

Dawson, Mr. Harvey will go in your watch with Nicholls. We had better

get the trysail down altogether, and lie to under the foresail and

mizzen, but don't put many lashings on the trysail, one will be enough,

and have it ready to cast off in a moment, in case we want to hoist the

sail in a hurry. I will go down and have a glass of hot grog first, and

then I will take my watch to begin with. Let the two hands with me go

down; the steward will serve them out a tot each. Jack, you had better

turn in at once.”

Virtue was soon on deck again, muffled up in his oilskins.

“Now, Watkins, you can go below and turn in.”

“I shan't go below tonight, sir--not to lie down. There's nothing much

to do here, but I couldn't sleep, if I did lie down.”

“Very well; you had better go below and get a glass of grog; tell

the steward to give you a big pipe with a cover like this, out of the

locker; and there's plenty of chewing tobacco, if the men are short.”

“I will take that instead of a pipe,” Watkins said; “there's nothing

like a quid in weather like this, it aint never in your way, and it

lasts. Even with a cover a pipe would soon be out.”

“Please yourself, Watkins; tell the two hands forward to keep a bright

lookout for lights.”

The night passed slowly. Occasionally a sea heavier than usual came on

board, curling over the bow and falling with a heavy thud on the

deck, but for the most part the Seabird breasted the waves easily;

the bowsprit had been reefed in to its fullest, thereby adding to the

lightness and buoyancy of the boat. Tom Virtue did not go below when his

friend came up to relieve him at the change of watch, but sat smoking

and doing much talking in the short intervals between the gusts.

The morning broke gray and misty, driving sleet came along on the wind,

and the horizon was closed in as by a dull curtain.

“How far can we see, do you think, Watkins?”

“Perhaps a couple of miles, sir.”

“That will be enough. I think we both know the position of every reef to

within a hundred yards, so we will shape our course for Guernsey. If we

happen to hit it off, we can hold on to St. Helier, but if when we think

we ought to be within sight of Guernsey we see nothing of it, we must

lie to again, till the storm has blown itself out or the clouds lift.

It would never do to go groping our way along with such currents as run

among the islands. Put the last reef in the trysail before you hoist it.

I think you had better get the foresail down altogether, and run up the

spitfire jib.”

The Seabird was soon under way again.

“Now, Watkins, you take the helm; we will go down and have a cup of hot

coffee, and I will see that the steward has a good supply for you and

the hands; but first, do you take the helm, Jack, whilst Watkins and

I have a look at the chart, and try and work out where we are, and the

course we had better lie for Guernsey.”

Five minutes were spent over the chart, then Watkins went above and Jack

Harvey came below.

“You have got the coffee ready, I hope, Johnson?”

“Yes, sir, coffee and chocolate. I didn't know which you would like.”

“Chocolate, by all means. Jack, I recommend the chocolate. Bring two

full sized bowls, Johnson, and put that cold pie on the table, and a

couple of knives and forks; never mind about a cloth; but first of all

bring a couple of basins of hot water, we shall enjoy our food more

after a wash.”

The early breakfast was eaten, dry coats and mufflers put on, pipes

lighted, and they then went up upon deck. Tom took the helm.

“What time do you calculate we ought to make Guernsey, Tom?”

“About twelve. The wind is freer than it was, and we are walking along

at a good pace. Matthews, cast the log, and let's see what we are doing.

About seven knots, I should say.”

“Seven and a quarter, sir,” the man said, when he checked the line.

“Not a bad guess, Tom; it's always difficult to judge pace in a heavy

sea.”

At eleven o'clock the mist ceased.

“That's fortunate,” Tom Virtue said; “I shouldn't be surprised if we

get a glimpse of the sun between the clouds presently. Will you get my

sextant and the chronometer up, Jack, and put them handy?”

Jack Harvey did as he was asked, but there was no occasion to use the

instruments, for ten minutes later, Watkins, who was standing near the

bow gazing fixedly ahead, shouted:

“There's Guernsey, sir, on her lee bow, about six miles away, I should

say.”

“That's it, sure enough,” Tom agreed, as he gazed in the direction in

which Watkins was pointing. “There's a gleam of sunshine on it, or we

shouldn't have seen it yet. Yes, I think you are about right as to the

distance. Now let us take its bearings, we may lose it again directly.”

Having taken the bearings of the island they went below, and marked

off their position on the chart, and they shaped their course for Cape

Grosnez, the northwestern point of Jersey. The gleam of sunshine was

transient--the clouds closed in again overhead, darker and grayer than

before. Soon the drops of rain came flying before the wind, the horizon

closed in, and they could not see half a mile away, but, though the sea

was heavy, the Seabird was making capital weather of it, and the two

friends agreed that, after all, the excitement of a sail like this was

worth a month of pottering about in calms.

“We must keep a bright lookout presently,” the skipper said; “there

are some nasty rocks off the coast of Jersey. We must give them a wide

berth. We had best make round to the south of the island, and lay to

there till we can pick up a pilot to take us into St. Helier. I don't

think it will be worth while trying to get into St. Aubyn's Bay by

ourselves.”

“I think so, too, Watkins, but we will see what it is like before it

gets dark; if we can pick up a pilot all the better; if not, we will lie

to till morning, if the weather keeps thick; but if it clears so that

we can make out all the lights we ought to be able to get into the bay

anyhow.”

An hour later the rain ceased and the sky appeared somewhat clearer.

Suddenly Watkins exclaimed, “There is a wreck, sir! There, three miles

away to leeward. She is on the Paternosters.”

“Good Heavens! she is a steamer,” Tom exclaimed, as he caught sight

of her the next time the Seabird lifted on a wave. “Can she be the

Southampton boat, do you think?”

“Like enough, sir, she may have had it thicker than we had, and may not

have calculated enough for the current.”

“Up helm, Jack, and bear away towards her. Shall we shake out a reef,

Watkins?”

“I wouldn't, sir; she has got as much as she can carry on her now. We

must mind what we are doing, sir; the currents run like a millstream,

and if we get that reef under our lee, and the wind and current both

setting us on to it, it will be all up with us in no time.”

“Yes, I know that, Watkins. Jack, take the helm a minute while we run

down and look at the chart.

“Our only chance, Watkins, is to work up behind the reef, and try and

get so that they can either fasten a line to a buoy and let it float

down to us, or get into a boat, if they have one left, and drift to us.”

“They are an awful group of rocks,” Watkins said, as they examined the

chart; “you see some of them show merely at high tide, and a lot of them

are above at low water. It will be an awful business to get among them

rocks, sir, just about as near certain death as a thing can be.”

“Well, it's got to be done, Watkins,” Tom said firmly. “I see the danger

as well as you do, but whatever the risk it must be tried. Mr. Grantham

and the two ladies went on board by my persuasion, and I should never

forgive myself if anything happened to them. But I will speak to the

men.”

He went on deck again and called the men to him. “Look here, lads; you

see that steamer ashore on the Paternosters. In such a sea as this she

may go to pieces in half an hour. I am determined to make an effort to

save the lives of those on board. As you can see for yourselves there is

no lying to weather of her, with the current and wind driving us on to

the reef; we must beat up from behind. Now, lads, the sea there is full

of rocks, and the chances are ten to one we strike on to them and go to

pieces; but, anyhow, I am going to try; but I won't take you unless you

are willing. The boat is a good one, and the zinc chambers will keep

her afloat if she fills; well managed, you ought to be able to make the

coast of Jersey in her. Mr. Harvey, Watkins, and I can handle the yacht,

so you can take the boat if you like.”

The men replied that they would stick to the yacht wherever Mr. Virtue

chose to take her, and muttered something about the ladies, for

the pleasant faces of Mrs. Grantham and Miss Graham had, during the

fortnight they had been on board, won the men's hearts.

“Very well, lads, I am glad to find you will stick by me; if we pull

safely through it I will give each of you three months' wages. Now set

to work with a will and get the gig out. We will tow her after us, and

take to her if we make a smash of it.”

They were now near enough to see the white breakers, in the middle of

which the ship was lying. She was fast breaking up. The jagged outline

showed that the stern had been beaten in. The masts and funnel were

gone, and the waves seemed to make a clean breach over her, almost

hiding her from sight in a white cloud of spray.

“Wood and iron can't stand that much longer,” Jack Harvey said; “another

hour and I should say there won't be two planks left together.”

“It is awful, Jack; I would give all I have in the world if I had not

persuaded them to go on board. Keep her off a little more, Watkins.”

The Seabird passed within a cable's length of the breakers at the

northern end of the reef.

“Now, lads, take your places at the sheets, ready to haul or let go as I

give the word.” So saying, Tom Virtue took his place in the bow, holding

on by the forestay.

The wind was full on the Seabird's beam as she entered the broken water.

Here and there the dark heads of the rocks showed above the water. These

were easy enough to avoid, the danger lay in those hidden beneath its

surface, and whose position was indicated only by the occasional break

of a sea as it passed over them. Every time the Seabird sank on a wave

those on board involuntarily held their breath, but the water here was

comparatively smooth, the sea having spent its first force upon the

outer reef. With a wave of his hand Tom directed the helmsman as to his

course, and the little yacht was admirably handled through the dangers.

“I begin to think we shall do it,” Tom said to Jack Harvey, who was

standing close to him. “Another five minutes and we shall be within

reach of her.”

It could be seen now that there was a group of people clustered in the

bow of the wreck. Two or three light lines were coiled in readiness for

throwing.

“Now, Watkins,” Tom said, going aft, “make straight for the wreck. I

see no broken water between us and them, and possibly there may be deep

water under their bow.”

It was an anxious moment, as, with the sails flattened in, the yawl

forged up nearly in the eye of the wind towards the wreck. Her progress

was slow, for she was now stemming the current.

Tom stood with a coil of line in his hand in the bow.

“You get ready to throw, Jack, if I miss.”

Nearer and nearer the yacht approached the wreck, until the bowsprit of

the latter seemed to stand almost over her. Then Tom threw the line. It

fell over the bowsprit, and a cheer broke from those on board the

wreck and from the sailors of the Seabird. A stronger line was at once

fastened to that thrown, and to this a strong hawser was attached.

“Down with the helm, Watkins. Now, lads, lower away the trysail as fast

as you can. Now, one of you, clear that hawser as they haul on it. Now

out with the anchors.”

These had been got into readiness; it was not thought that they would

get any hold on the rocky bottom, still they might catch on a projecting

ledge, and at any rate their weight and that of the chain cable would

relieve the strain upon the hawser.

Two sailors had run out on the bowsprit of the wreck as soon as the line

was thrown, and the end of the hawser was now on board the steamer.

“Thank God, there's Grantham!” Jack Harvey exclaimed; “do you see him

waving his hand?”

“I see him,” Tom said, “but I don't see the ladies.”

“They are there, no doubt,” Jack said confidently; “crouching down, I

expect. He would not be there if they weren't, you may be sure. Yes,

there they are; those two muffled up figures. There, one of them has

thrown back her cloak and is waving her arm.”

The two young men waved their caps.

“Are the anchors holding, Watkins? There's a tremendous strain on that

hawser.”

“I think so, sir; they are both tight.”

“Put them round the windlass, and give a turn or two, we must relieve

the strain on that hawser.”

Since they had first seen the wreck the waves had made great progress in

the work of destruction, and the steamer had broken in two just aft of

the engines.

“Get over the spare spars, Watkins, and fasten them to float in front of

her bows like a triangle. Matthews, catch hold of that boat hook and try

to fend off any piece of timber that comes along. You get hold of the

sweeps, lads, and do the same. They would stave her in like a nutshell

if they struck her.”

“Thank God, here comes the first of them!”

Those on board the steamer had not been idle. As soon as the yawl was

seen approaching slings were prepared, and no sooner was the hawser

securely fixed, than the slings were attached to it and a woman placed

in them. The hawser was tight and the descent sharp, and without a check

the figure ran down to the deck of the Seabird. She was lifted out of

the slings by Tom and Jack Harvey, who found she was an old woman and

had entirely lost consciousness.

“Two of you carry her down below; tell Johnson to pour a little brandy

down her throat. Give her some hot soup as soon as she comes to.”

Another woman was lowered and helped below. The next to descend was Mrs.

Grantham.

“Thank God, you are rescued!” Tom said, as he helped her out of the

sling.

“Thank God, indeed,” Mrs. Grantham said, “and thank you all! Oh, Tom, we

have had a terrible time of it, and had lost all hope till we saw your

sail, and even then the captain said that he was afraid nothing could be

done. Minnie was the first to make out it was you, and then we began to

hope. She has been so brave, dear girl. Ah! here she comes.”

But Minnie's firmness came to an end now that she felt the need for it

was over. She was unable to stand when she was lifted from the slings,

and Tom carried her below.

“Are there any more women, Mrs. Grantham?”

“No; there was only one other lady passenger and the stewardess.”

“Then you had better take possession of your own cabin. I ordered

Johnson to spread a couple more mattresses and some bedding on the

floor, so you will all four be able to turn in. There's plenty of hot

coffee and soup. I should advise soup with two or three spoonfuls of

brandy in it. Now, excuse me; I must go upon deck.”

Twelve men descended by the hawser, one of them with both legs broken by

the fall of the mizzen. The last to come was the captain.

“Is that all?” Tom asked.

“That is all,” the captain said. “Six men were swept overboard when she

first struck, and two were killed by the fall of the funnel. Fortunately

we had only three gentlemen passengers and three ladies on board. The

weather looked so wild when we started that no one else cared about

making the passage. God bless you, sir, for what you have done! Another

half hour and it would have been all over with us. But it seems like a

miracle your getting safe through the rocks to us.”

“It was fortunate indeed that we came along,” Tom said; “three of the

passengers are dear friends of mine; and as it was by my persuasion that

they came across in the steamer instead of in the yacht, I should never

have forgiven myself if they had been lost. Take all your men below,

captain; you will find plenty of hot soup there. Now, Watkins, let us be

off; that steamer won't hold together many minutes longer, so there's no

time to lose. We will go back as we came. Give me a hatchet. Now, lads,

two of you stand at the chain cables; knock out the shackles the moment

I cut the hawser. Watkins, you take the helm and let her head pay off

till the jib fills. Jack, you lend a hand to the other two, and get up

the trysail again as soon as we are free.”

In a moment all were at their stations. The helm was put on the yacht,

and she payed off on the opposite tack to that on which she had before

been sailing. As soon as the jib filled, Tom gave two vigorous blows

with his hatchet on the hawser, and, as he lifted his hand for a third,

it parted. Then came the sharp rattle of the chains as they ran round

the hawser holes. The trysail was hoisted and sheeted home, and the

Seabird was under way again. Tom, as before, conned the ship from the

bow. Several times she was in close proximity to the rocks, but each

time she avoided them. A shout of gladness rose from all on deck as she

passed the last patch of white water. Then she tacked and bore away for

Jersey.

Tom had now time to go down below and look after his passengers. They

consisted of the captain and two sailors--the sole survivors of those

who had been on deck when the vessel struck--three male passengers, and

six engineers and stokers.

“I have not had time to shake you by the hand before, Tom,” Grantham

said, as Tom Virtue entered; “and I thought you would not want me on

deck at present. God bless you, old fellow! We all owe you our lives.”

“How did it happen, captain?” Tom asked, as the captain also came up to

him.

“It was the currents, I suppose,” the captain said; “it was so thick

we could not see a quarter of a mile any way. The weather was so wild I

would not put into Guernsey, and passed the island without seeing it.

I steered my usual course, but the gale must have altered the currents,

for I thought I was three miles away from the reef, when we saw it on

our beam, not a hundred yards away. It was too late to avoid it then,

and in another minute we ran upon it, and the waves were sweeping over

us. Everyone behaved well. I got all, except those who had been swept

overboard or crushed by the funnel, up into the bow of the ship, and

there we waited. There was nothing to be done. No boat would live for a

moment in the sea on that reef, and all I could advise was that when she

went to pieces everyone should try to get hold of a floating fragment;

but I doubt whether a man would have been alive a quarter of an hour

after she went to pieces.”

“Perhaps, captain, you will come on deck with me and give me the benefit

of your advice. My skipper and I know the islands pretty well, but

no doubt you know them a good deal better, and I don't want another

mishap.”

But the Seabird avoided all further dangers, and as it became dark

the lights of St. Helier's were in sight, and an hour later the yacht

brought up in the port and landed her involuntary passengers.

A fortnight afterwards the Seabird returned to England, and two months

later Mrs. Grantham had the satisfaction of being present at the

ceremony which was the successful consummation of her little scheme in

inviting Minnie Graham to be her companion on board the Seabird.

“Well, my dear,” her husband said, when she indulged in a little

natural triumph, “I do not say that it has not turned out well, and I

am heartily glad for both Tom and Minnie's sake it has so; but you must

allow that it very nearly had a disastrous ending, and I think if I were

you I should leave matters to take their natural course in future. I

have accepted Tom's invitation for the same party to take a cruise in

the Seabird next summer, but I have bargained that next time a storm is

brewing up we shall stop quietly in port.”

“That's all very well, James,” Mrs. Grantham said saucily; “but you

must remember that Tom Virtue will only be first mate of the Seabird in

future.”

“That I shall be able to tell you better, my dear, after our next

cruise. All husbands are not as docile and easily led as I am.”

A PIPE OF MYSTERY

A jovial party were gathered round a blazing fire in an old grange near

Warwick. The hour was getting late; the very little ones had, after

dancing round the Christmas tree, enjoying the snapdragon, and playing

a variety of games, gone off to bed; and the elder boys and girls

now gathered round their uncle, Colonel Harley, and asked him for a

story--above all, a ghost story.

“But I have never seen any ghosts,” the colonel said, laughing; “and,

moreover, I don't believe in them one bit. I have traveled pretty well

all over the world, I have slept in houses said to be haunted, but

nothing have I seen--no noises that could not be accounted for by

rats or the wind have I ever heard. I have never “--and here he

paused--“never but once met with any circumstances or occurrence that

could not be accounted for by the light of reason, and I know you prefer

hearing stories of my own adventures to mere invention.”

“Yes, uncle. But what was the 'once' when circumstances happened that

you could not explain?”

“It's rather a long story,” the colonel said, “and it's getting late.”

“Oh! no, no, uncle; it does not matter a bit how late we sit up on

Christmas Eve, and the longer the story is, the better; and if you

don't believe in ghosts how can it be a story of something you could not

account for by the light of nature?”

“You will see when I have done,” the colonel said. “It is rather a

story of what the Scotch call second sight, than one of ghosts. As to

accounting for it, you shall form your own opinion when you have heard

me to the end.

“I landed in India in '50, and after going through the regular drill

work marched with a detachment up country to join my regiment, which was

stationed at Jubbalpore, in the very heart of India. It has become an

important place since; the railroad across India passes through it and

no end of changes have taken place; but at that time it was one of the

most out of the way stations in India, and, I may say, one of the most

pleasant. It lay high, there was capital boating on the Nerbudda, and,

above all, it was a grand place for sport, for it lay at the foot of the

hill country, an immense district, then but little known, covered with

forests and jungle, and abounding with big game of all kinds.

“My great friend there was a man named Simmonds. He was just of my own

standing; we had come out in the same ship, had marched up the country

together, and were almost like brothers. He was an old Etonian, I an old

Westminster, and we were both fond of boating, and, indeed, of sport

of all kinds. But I am not going to tell you of that now. The people

in these hills are called Gonds, a true hill tribe--that is to say,

aborigines, somewhat of the negro type. The chiefs are of mixed blood,

but the people are almost black. They are supposed to accept the

religion of the Hindus, but are in reality deplorably ignorant and

superstitious. Their priests are a sort of compound of a Brahmin priest

and a negro fetish man, and among their principal duties is that of

charming away tigers from the villages by means of incantations. There,

as in other parts of India, were a few wandering fakirs, who enjoyed an

immense reputation for holiness and wisdom. The people would go to them

from great distances for charms or predictions, and believed in their

power with implicit faith.

“At the time when we were at Jubbalpore there was one of these fellows

whose reputation altogether eclipsed that of his rivals, and nothing

could be done until his permission had been asked and his blessing

obtained. All sorts of marvelous stories were constantly coming to our

ears of the unerring foresight with which he predicted the termination

of diseases, both in men and animals; and so generally was he believed

in that the colonel ordered that no one connected with the regiment

should consult him, for these predictions very frequently brought about

their own fulfillment; for those who were told that an illness would

terminate fatally, lost all hope, and literally lay down to die.

“However, many of the stories that we heard could not be explained on

these grounds, and the fakir and his doings were often talked over

at mess, some of the officers scoffing at the whole business, others

maintaining that some of these fakirs had, in some way or another,

the power of foretelling the future, citing many well authenticated

anecdotes upon the subject.

“The older officers were the believers, we young fellows were the

scoffers. But for the well known fact that it is very seldom indeed that

these fakirs will utter any of their predictions to Europeans, some of

us would have gone to him to test his powers. As it was, none of us had

ever seen him.

“He lived in an old ruined temple, in the middle of a large patch of

jungle at the foot of the hills, some ten or twelve miles away.

“I had been at Jubbalpore about a year, when I was woke up one night

by a native, who came in to say that at about eight o'clock a tiger had

killed a man in his village, and had dragged off the body.