Strangely enough, as I thought at the time, she burst out weeping when I
took my leave of her, and seemed almost as if she had some secret to
impart to me. This, at least, showed an interest in me, and I walked to
my home with high presumptuous thoughts.
As I passed a certain group of rocks, in a lonely uncultivated district,
while the grey of evening was falling, I heard a low whistle. The place
had a bad reputation, being thought to be haunted. Perhaps I had
unconsciously imbibed some of the superstitions of the natives, for I
started in alarm.
Then I heard an unmistakably British voice cry, in a suppressed tone,
"Hi!"
The underwood rustled, and I beheld, to my astonishment, the form, the
crawling and abject form, of William Bludger!
Since the day of his landing we had never once met, William having been
sent off to a distant part of the island.
"Hi!" he said again, and when I exclaimed, naturally, "Hullo!" he put his
finger on his lips, and beckoned to me to join him. This I did, and
found that he was lurking in a cavern under the group of grey weather-
worn stones.
When I entered the cave, Bludger fell a-trembling so violently that he
could not speak. He seemed in the utmost alarm, his face quite ashen
with terror.
"What is the matter, William Bludger?" I asked; "have you had a Call, or
why do you thrust yourself on me?"
"Have _you_ sich a thing as a chaw about ye?" he asked in tremulous
accents. "I'm _that_ done; never a drop has passed my lips for three
days, strike me dead; and I'd give anything for a chaw o' tobacco. A sup
of drink you have _not_ got, Capt'n Hymn-book, axing your pardon for the
liberty?"
"William," I said, "even in this benighted island, you set a pitiful
example. You have been drinking, sir; you are reaping what you have
sown; and only temperance, strict, undeviating total abstinence rather,
can restore your health."
"So help me!" cried the wretched man, "except a drop of Pramneian {76} I
took, the morning I cut and run,--and that was three days ago,--nothing
stronger than castor-oil berries have crossed my lips. It ain't that,
sir; it ain't the drink. It's--it's the Thargeelyah. Next week, sir,
they are going to roast us--you and me--flog us first, and roast us
after. Oh Lord! Oh Lord!"