THE DACOIT'S HEAD
The search now proceeded with fresh spirit. Taking the spot where lay
the tiger's carcase as a centre, the party closely examined every exit
from it, but quite fruitlessly. It was tolerably easy to perceive from
which side the shot had been fired,--where Denham must have been
standing at that moment,--they proceeded first in that direction.
A little breakage among some succulent plants betrayed a slight farther
progress there; then this trace ceased wholly. A wall of thick foliage
interposed,--a purple flower bedecking it with rare beauty, but it
turned them back. A long stalk of _Amherstia_ lay on the ground at a
short distance, as if it might have been broken off short in an attempt
to mount a tree by its aid, but this clue also failed them.
The glade narrowed at one side to a tiny track, possible to penetrate.
They advanced along it in single file, now climbing over fallen
tree-trunks all smothered in ferns, then stooping beneath loops and
trails of _Dendrobiums_, and a variety of plants, matted together with
convolvuli, and tendrils of many kinds.
It opened out upon a blackened vista over which the jungle fire had
swept, burning away every trace of animal life; a desolate track of
waste and ruin, among such super-abundant life, as was strange to see.
Stranger still to observe a glorious butterfly--a fragile, delicate
creature, just emerged from its chrysalis tomb--spreading its painted
wings, yet damp from its new birth, in the warmth of the sun as it
streamed down upon the scorched grass. It was a living allegory of Life
after Death which could not fail to strike every soul.
"It is your friend's 'leyp bya,'" said one of the Burmans. "It must have
been out upon a ramble when the fire overtook him in his sleep, and it
cannot now find its home again in him."
The charred scrub no longer presented further difficulties in the way of
search. It was comparatively easy to penetrate in almost any direction;
and the party separated, scattering themselves over the cleared space,
and closely examining every rood of ground. Not a sign of man was to be
found. Would any such exist after so fierce a flame had swept over it?
Could it have been expected?
Mr. Brudenel laid his hand upon Gilchrist's shoulder.
"It is useless, my friend," said he. "The boy has gone, and left no
trace. You must bear it like a man. If he yet should have escaped both
fire and wild beast, he will be heard of in time. He can find us, but we
cannot find him."
"Oh, do not say that I must abandon hope!" cried Gilchrist in agonised
tones. "There must be something yet to be done."
"Offer a reward to any Burman who may bring in the smallest trace,"
suggested Osborn. "Those fellows have their network of connections all
over the land. Make it worth their while to bring in anything that they
may find. The stock of his rifle might be burnt, but the barrel must be
there in some form. So must his hunting-knife, and many little things,
as buttons, buckles, and such like, on his clothes. No wild beast could
eat up thiccee neither."
"I will give any reward which Mr. Brudenel thinks likely to succeed,"
cried Gilchrist eagerly.
"Not too fast," remonstrated the police officer. "Offer too liberal a
sum, and, should he live, some of our worthy neighbours will murder him
for sake of it. Leave that to me, I will manage that."
He had really no hope whatever that Denham lived, but was too kindly at
heart to say so in plain words.
"Stay with me awhile, till we feel that we have turned every stone to
find the lad," he suggested. "You will have every facility for search
with us, and a rest will do yourself no harm after all you have gone
through. Your old man will not be fit to move yet, either. Let my wife
coddle him up into good health again first, and I can give you some
sport the while."
Mr. Gilchrist readily accepted the invitation, for he could not bear the
idea of relinquishing all hope of Ralph.
They returned sadly and silently to the station, where every comfort
awaited them, but which they could not enjoy from a haunting dread of
what Ralph might be suffering in some lonely spot,--perhaps burned and
bruised, yet living, and beyond help. The nice dinner choked Mr.
Gilchrist, he could not swallow the dainties which Mrs. Brudenel, in the
pride of her young housekeeping, had laid before them; sleep forsook his
pillow; he had no apparent answer to his prayers; gloom took possession
of his soul.
With gentle wile did Mrs. Brudenel try to cheer her visitor, and
distract his thoughts from constant brooding over the inevitable.
She succeeded with him better than her husband did, though he was as
kind as he knew how to be; but he was accustomed to rougher experiences,
and used to losing his comrades by death under many phases. His wife
walked in the verandah with her afflicted guest; she told him of Wills'
state, which steadily improved. She consulted him as to the garden,
which she was anxious to make very beautiful, and how to grow the
plants which she admired most, and which were all new to her experience.
Gilchrist tried, for sake of her kindness, to take interest in her
pleasures, despite his heavy heart.
"I fear," said he to her, "that we give you much trouble, and are sadly
in your way."
"Oh no, no! far from that!" cried she eagerly. "You are such pleasant
company for my husband, to whom it is such a treat to have English faces
about him; and you tell me so nicely how to manage the orchids, of which
I am anxious to have a good collection. Yours is just the help I wanted;
and if you want any drawings of specimens, I may be of some assistance
to you, for I am fond of drawing."
"Fetch some of your pictures, wifey," said Mr. Brudenel. "See,
Gilchrist, is not that thing nice, it looks just as if it were growing
there. I have ordered a carved frame for it, from a fellow here who does
that sort of thing admirably."
"It is indeed an excellent drawing of the specimen," said Gilchrist;
"but, excuse me, madam, you have copied the blossom from one plant and
the foliage from another."
"I did," said Mrs. Brudenel, surprised. "I only had the flower, which
was brought to me cut from its stem, so I put in the leaves from that
one which grows in the verandah."
"And that one, which is not yet in bloom, will bear a blossom of white
and lemon colour, whereas this is purple streaked."
"Oh, Mr. Gilchrist!" cried she, in pretty dismay, "what can be done? Can
I alter it and put it right?"
"It would be best to do so, certainly," said he, unpacking a tin case of
his own sketches; which, though less finished than the lady's drawings,
were far more accurate as botanical specimens. But among them were some
of Ralph's hasty schoolboy productions; one done in a merry mood, when
he had contrived to introduce the semblance of a grotesque human face
among the convolutions of the plant. Mr. Gilchrist came upon this
unexpectedly, in his search for the one which he wanted, and broke down
completely over it, as it brought so forcibly before him the boy's
laughing eyes and bright expression as he had held it up for inspection,
with some harmless nonsense.
Oh, Ralph! Was that smiling face cold and set in death already? Were
those pleasant eyes closed for ever, those jocund lips pale and grim?
Was that dear brave boy lying scorched and blackened by the jungle
flame, or torn limb from limb by the tiger? Had he gone through so much
by sea and land, for his fate to remain an unsolved mystery for
evermore; a secret--a dreadful haunting secret--only to be divulged on
the last day?
Mrs. Brudenel put her kind hand upon Gilchrist's shoulder.
"Do not despair, my friend," said she gently; "do not abandon yourself
to despair. God is very good,--very merciful. Perhaps Ralph is safe yet.
No sign of him has been found, and had the tiger killed him there surely
would have been some. Let us seek for faith."
"I do not know how to have faith, dear lady," groaned Mr. Gilchrist.
"There seems no ground for faith."
"Ah, my dear sir," was her innocent reply, "faith would not be faith
were there ground for it. It is simple trust in our Father's goodness."
Gilchrist could not reply. He knew that she was right; he knew that she
was nearer to God than he; he felt rebuked, though she was far from
having intended to administer rebuke,--it did not occur to her that she
had done so.
There was silence for a few minutes, then she began again.
"Tell me about Ralph, he must be about the age of my brother Sydney."
"Not seventeen," replied Mr. Gilchrist.
"And what a hero he is! how much bravery he has shown! Sydney would be
so envious of him. He is very high-spirited and daring too. He is going
to be a soldier,--papa is a soldier, you know."
"Yes, madam?"
"I have heard papa say that the hardest thing soldiers have to do is to
_wait_ until they are wanted. When they are charging down upon an enemy,
and fighting, they are carried on by the excitement, and forget
everything but the work in hand. When they are standing still, doing
nothing but keeping steady, and seeing the battle carried on by others
on every hand, it is a very hard thing for them to hold themselves in."
"Waiting is always hard," said Mr. Gilchrist, sighing.
"Yes. Papa had to do it the very first time when he was in an
engagement. It was in some Indian skirmish with native troops, and
papa's company was one held in reserve to pour in fresh when the rebels
were tired, and meantime to hold a pass and prevent them from moving
round to the rear of the English. I believe," continued she, with a
smile, "that I am expressing myself badly, like an ignorant girl, but
perhaps you understand what I mean?"
"Yes, madam, your meaning is perfectly clear to me."
"Well, papa found it so hard to stand still, with nothing to do, that he
took up a bit of stick and whittled it to keep himself steady. When the
call to charge was sounded, he put the half-peeled stick and the handful
of chips into his pocket; he never knew why, or even that he had done
so, until mamma found them there long afterwards, and asked him why he
kept such things. Then the sight of them called up the whole scene to
him more plainly than anything else, he said: the dark-faced rebels,
with evil looks and angry eyes; the glare and flashing guns and smother
of smoke; and the poor creatures shot down before his face, and lying
howling and bleeding on the ground, among plunging horses and shouting
men; and some lying still who had been so raging just before, and the
set determined look upon the Englishmen.
"Mamma has those chips now, put away among her treasures, and shows them
to us sometimes on a Sunday evening, when we have been reading the Bible
to her, and talking about being resolute, and such things."
"Your story reminds me of the poet's words, 'Those also serve, who only
stand and wait,'" said Mr. Gilchrist.
"Yes, does it not," cried she, her sweet face kindling. "I do so like
those lines."
Mr. Brudenel here returned from his morning duties, and invited
Gilchrist to take a turn in the verandah with him.
"No news yet, I am sorry to say," said he.
Mr. Gilchrist turned to Mrs. Brudenel, "I will try to 'stand and wait,'
patiently," said he.
Some excitement was here observed among the natives and servants. A man
had arrived, carrying something large and round, tied up in a
gaily-coloured handkerchief, which he swung carelessly in his hand as he
approached.
The little crowd pressed closely about him, all eagerly talking at once.
Some words attracted Mr. Brudenel's ear, that of "dacoit" prominent
among them. He rose hastily, and marched down to the excited group.
"Oh," cried Mrs. Brudenel, "perhaps the man has brought news of your
friend! let us hasten to hear what he says. What can he have in that
handkerchief?"
She rose, and almost ran through the compound; in her eagerness quite
outstripping Mr. Gilchrist, who longed, yet dreaded, to hear the news
which he felt had come at last.
Mr. Brudenel lifted his hand in warning to his wife, but she did not
perceive his caution; nor, in the babble of Burmese tongues, catch his
desire that she should not be present.
"What have you there?" asked she in her excitement, airing one of the
few phrases of the language which had been so recently taught to her.
Quite proud to be addressed by the English lady, and pleased with
himself, his burden, and the news which he had to impart, the Burman
untied his bundle with an amiable grin of delight, and out rolled, to
the horrified girl's feet, the ghastly, gory, head of a dacoit chief,
with its fierce expression set in death upon the parted blackened lips,
and in the deep lines around the sunken eyes.
With blanched face, she recoiled in terror; and her husband, hurrying
forward, passed his stalwart arm around her for protection, while she
hid her face on his breast.
The Burman, meantime, was pouring out a flood of explanations, and the
history of his having watched the robber, seen him possessed of English
things, followed, tracked him from place to place, and, finally, set
upon him in a lonely spot, killed him, searched him, and found upon
him--this!--holding up a silver watch.
It was Ralph Denham's watch, Mr. Gilchrist knew it well. Moreover, it
had R. D. engraved upon it on the back. It had been a present to him
from his mother before he sailed, he valued it extremely, and had it
upon him when the _Pelican_ was abandoned, being almost the only thing
of value which he had saved. Indeed, it was nearly the only trinket
which he had ever possessed.
How it had fallen into the robber's hands could not now be ever known,
for the man was dead. Had poor Denham escaped the tiger, been spared
from the fire, to fall a prey at last to a fellow-man? Had he been the
victim of other perils, and had the dacoit only found the watch in the
jungle and appropriated it? Was the fellow even venturing to bring it in
for the reward, and could he have told more of the gallant lad's fate?
Who could say now?
Mr. Brudenel questioned the Burman closely, seeking confirmation of the
story in its every detail of place and time. The man knew nothing of
Denham, nor as to how the watch had fallen into the hands of the dacoit,
who was one of a band of robbers that was harrying the mountain villages
at a little distance. The watch was useless to him evidently. It had run
down, and was silent. Either he had not possessed the key, or did not
understand how to use it; and he had worn it round his neck as an
ornament in a conspicuous manner, which had attracted the Burman's
notice.
Mr. Gilchrist paid the offered reward in silence, carried the watch into
the house, and, laying it down, broke into a passion of grief which, for
a time, admitted of no consolation.