In a railway train several Punjabee ladies sat on the lower berths
of a second class compartment, laughing and talking gaily. They
were, with one exception, all richly dressed and each of them wore a
quantity of jewels. The exception was a capable, good-looking woman,
of about twenty-five. Her short hair, neck and arms bare of jewellery,
and plain white saree, proclaimed her a widow. But like the others
she chatted merrily, and a listener would have learned from their
conversation that they had been attending a wedding, and were now
on their way home. Witty remarks about the guests, criticism of the
looks of the bride, and comparisons of this wedding with others,
passed from one to another, and whiled away the hours of the journey
as the train sped onwards.
Night fell, and the ladies became silent. They rested against each
other and dozed at intervals. The widow sat on a trunk at the end of
the carriage and silently told her beads. The train slowed down and
stopped at a little station. Then the bell clanged and once again
they were on their way. The little station had not been left far
behind when a dark figure appeared on the foot-board of the ladies'
carriage, and a man's head was thrust in at one of the windows. A
startled exclamation from one of the party drew the attention of all
to the intruder, who was pulling himself up into the carriage. He
was very fierce-looking, wore a huge turban, and had a bushy black
beard. In one hand he held a knife and with the other he assisted
himself into the compartment, in spite of the ladies' protestations.
Some of them began to cry but one or two bolder spirits ventured to
argue with him. In answer to their questions and objections, he said
roughly: "It is a long while before you will reach another station. I
have come for your jewels. If you give them to me quietly, I will
not hurt any of you; but if not--" and he looked very expressively
at the knife in his hand.
After some few minutes, the ladies, who were inclined to oppose him,
yielded to the tearful advice of their more timid sisters, and one by
one they began to unclasp necklaces and belts and hand them over to
the dacoit together with bracelets, bangles and rings. The ruffian,
finding them docile, did not hustle them in any way but stood leisurely
receiving the spoil. Then he carefully folded all in a rich saree
and was knotting the ends together when the train suddenly stopped,
and an Englishman pushed open the door of the ladies' compartment
and sprang at him with the exclamation, "You scoundrel!"
The sudden surprise and assault threw the robber off his feet, and
he fell sprawling on the carriage floor, with the Englishman on top
of him. In the meantime, the guard and others arrived and the thief
was secured and his hands and feet were bound together with his own
pugree, and he was removed to the guard's van.
The widow was the heroine of the adventure. As soon as she saw the
man entering the carriage, she realised his purpose. Slipping into
the lavatory she climbed through the window there on to the footboard,
and pulled herself along by the carriage rods to the next compartment
where the solitary occupant, an Englishman, sat reading.
He was amazed to see a woman clinging to the window of his carriage,
but fortunately he understood the language; and when she said "Help,
thief in the next carriage", he opened the door and got her into his
carriage without any delay. In a few words, she acquainted him with
what was happening in the next compartment. He immediately pulled
the alarm cord to stop the train, and hurried along the footboard to
the assistance of the ladies. They were profuse in their expressions
of gratitude to him, but he insisted that they owed their lives and
their jewels to their courageous friend.