diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/65561-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65561-0.txt | 4533 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 4533 deletions
diff --git a/old/65561-0.txt b/old/65561-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ff448d3..0000000 --- a/old/65561-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4533 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jungle Tales, by Bithia Mary Croker - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Jungle Tales - -Author: Bithia Mary Croker - -Release Date: June 7, 2021 [eBook #65561] - -Language: English - -Produced by: MWS, SF2001, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUNGLE TALES *** - - - - - -JUNGLE TALES - -OPINIONS OF THE PRESS - - -“Mrs. Croker has already achieved a secure foothold in that temple of -Anglo-Indian fiction whereof Mr. Rudyard Kipling is the high-priest. -Her tales have a freshness and piquancy that are all their own.... -So long as the author of ‘Diana Barrington’ can produce works of the -quality of ‘Village Tales and Jungle Tragedies,’ she will assuredly not -lack an audience.”--_Athenæum._ - -“These tales are really original and excellent work. Mrs. Croker knows -her India minutely, and proves her knowledge by a thousand delicate -touches.”--_Woman._ - -“Mrs. Croker writes of India as one knowing it well, and with deep -sympathy for the people among whom her time was spent, for the village -sorrows and tragedies she was able to share. And in a considerable -measure she succeeds in bringing home to readers at home the daily life -of the East.”--_Glasgow Herald._ - -“The stories are all written from a peculiar knowledge of the life -they describe, and with a lively eye directed to its picturesqueness. -They make an interesting and entertaining book, which will be heartily -enjoyed by every one who reads it.”--_Scotsman._ - -“The magician’s car of fiction next transports us to India, the -magician being that very competent and attractive writer Mrs. B. M. -Croker. Her ‘Village Tales’ are so good that they bracket her, in our -judgment, with Mrs. F. A. Steel in comprehension of native Indian life -and character.”--_Times._ - -“Mrs. Croker makes the tales interesting and attractive, and her ready -sympathy with the Indian people, whom we are gradually coming to know -through the interpretation of some of our very best writers, strikes -the reader afresh in this volume.”--_World._ - -“Mrs. Croker shows once more a pretty talent, and her volume is -replete with sentiment and romance. Her animal stories are really -touching.”--_Globe._ - -“Mrs. Croker’s volume is bright and readable. She has done good work -already in other fields; one expects a story of hers to be at any rate -pleasant reading. These Indian tales are no exception.”--_North British -Mail._ - -“Mrs. Croker’s stories show her grasp of Indian character, and her -realisation of the nameless charm which casts its glamour over the -East and its peoples.... ‘Two Little Travellers,’ the last story, is -exquisitely pathetic.”--_Star._ - -“The stories are among the best of their kind. The author knows equally -well how to write of Anglo-Indian or purely native life.”--_Morning -Post._ - -“Mrs. Croker, who knows India exceptionally well, and is a practised -writer, has handled this variety of subjects in a spirited and -entertaining style.”--_Literary World._ - -“A prettily got-up book containing seven Indian tales, well told, -with abundant evidence of a thorough knowledge of the country and its -people.... There is not a dull line in the book, and in its perusal the -desire for more keeps growing, even to the end of the last beautiful -tale of Indian life.”--_Asiatic Quarterly Review._ - -“Mrs. Croker’s seven little tales of native India are such very quick -and easy reading that many persons will probably overlook the skill -to which the result is due. The authoress evidently knows both what a -short story ought to be, and how to make one.”--_Graphic._ - -“Brilliant pictures of Indian life and manners. Mrs. Croker possesses -the pen of a ready writer united to the imagination of a true -artist.”--_Liberal._ - -“The tales are simple in themselves and plainly told, with an -unmistakable atmosphere of truth and reality about them.”--_Guardian._ - -“The quality of Mrs. Croker’s work is at this time sufficiently well -known, and it is enough to say that in her last volume are to be found -all those qualities which have secured for its predecessors a welcome -at the hands of the public.”--_Tablet._ - - - - -[Illustration: HER BLACK EYES BLAZED WITH EXCITEMENT.] - - - - - JUNGLE TALES - - BY B. M. CROKER - - - _Author of_ - - ‘_Pretty Miss Neville_,’ - ‘_Diana Barrington_,’ - ‘_The Spanish Necklace_,’ - ‘_In Old Madras_,’ - _etc._ - - - A NEW IMPRESSION WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY JOHN CHARLTON - - LONDON HOLDEN & HARDINGHAM 1913 - - - - - “Ah! what a warning for thoughtless man, - Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, - Show to his eye an image of the pangs - Which it hath witnessed!” - Wordsworth. - - - - - THESE TALES ARE INSCRIBED - TO - OLD FRIENDS - IN THE CENTRAL AND NORTH-WEST PROVINCES - IN MEMORY OF - MANY PLEASANT HOURS IN CAMP AND CANTONMENT. - B. M. C. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - A Free-Will Offering 1 - “The Missus.” A Dog Tragedy 37 - The Betrayal of Shere Bahadur 63 - “Proven or not Proven?” The True Story of Naim Sing, Rajpoot 96 - An Outcast of the People 124 - An Appeal to the Gods 146 - Two Little Travellers 166 - - - - - VILLAGE TALES - AND - JUNGLE TRAGEDIES. - - - - -A FREE-WILL OFFERING. - - -“Kismiss,” as the natives call it, is anything but a jovial and merry -season to me, and I heartily sympathize with those prudent souls who -flee from the station or cantonment, and bury themselves afar off -in the jungle, until the festive season has been succeeded by the -practical New Year! Christmas in India is an expensive anniversary to -a needy subaltern such as I am. Putting aside the necessary tips to -the mess-servants, the letter-corporal, and colour-sergeant, I have my -own retinue (about ten in number), who overwhelm me with wreaths and -flowers culled from my garden, and who expect, in return, solid rupees -of the realm. This is reasonable enough; but it passes the limits of -reason and patience when other peopled body-servants, peons, syces, -and all the barrack dhobies, and every “dog” boy in the station, lie -in ambush in order to thrust evil-smelling marigolds under my nose, -with expectant salaams! Last Christmas cost me nearly the price of a -pony--this Christmas, I resolved to fly betimes with my house-mate, -Jones of the D.P.W. We would put in for a week’s leave, and eat our -plum-pudding at least sixty miles from Kori. - -Alas! my thrifty little scheme was knocked on the head by a letter -from my cousin Algy Langley. He is the eldest son of an eldest son; -I am the younger son of a second son: and whereas I am a sub. in an -infantry regiment, grilling on the plains of India, and working for my -daily bread, Algy has run out for one cold weather, merely in search of -variety and amusement. - -“Why on earth should relations think it necessary to meet on one -particular day, in order to eat a tasteless bird and an indigestible -pudding?” - -I put this question to Jones, as we sat in our mutual verandah, opening -the midday dâk. - -“Just look at this; it’s a beastly nuisance!” and I handed him Algy’s -note, which said-- - - “Dear old Perky (my Christian name is Perkin),--This is to give notice - that I am coming to eat my Christmas dinner with you. I arrive on the - 21st, per mail train.--Yours, - “A. Langley.” - -“What is your cousin like?” inquired Jones. - -“Oh, a regular young London swell, who has never roughed it in his -life. I suppose I shall have to turn out of my room,” I grumbled; “and -I must borrow Robinson’s bamboo cart to meet him, for I believe he -would faint if I put him in a bullock tonga at first--he must arrive at -that by degrees!” - -“Is there no chance of our getting off to Karwassa? Wouldn’t he come -and have a try for the man-eater?” urged Jones. - -“Not he!” I rejoined emphatically; “he is a lady-killer--that is his -only kind of sport. I’m glad I have not put in for my leave; you and I -will go later--the tiger will wait.” - -“Yes, he has waited a good while,” retorted Jones, sarcastically; -“nearly three years, and about a dozen shikar parties have been got up -for his destruction, and still he keeps his skin! But, somehow, I have -a presentiment that _we_ shall get him.” - - * * * * * - -The next day Jones and I met Algy at the station. He had brought three -servants, a pile of luggage, and looked quite beautiful as he stepped -out on the platform, wearing a creaseless suit, Russia-leather boots, -gloves, and a white gauze veil to keep off the dust. His handkerchief -was suggestive of the most “up-to-date” delicate scent, as he passed -it languidly over his forehead, and gave directions to have his late -compartment cleared. - -As books, an ice-box, fruit, a fan, cushions, and a banjo, were handed -out one by one, I gathered, from Jones’s expressive glance, that he -granted that my cousin was a hopeless subject for the jungle. - -“Well, Perky,” he said, slapping me on the back, “I’ve got everything -now--what are you waiting for?” - -“Your lady’s-maid,” I promptly answered, as I nodded at the banjo, -pillows, and fan. - -“I like to be comfortable,” he confessed. “One may as well take one’s -ease as not; it has an excellent and soothing effect on the temper.” - -But I noticed that he caught sight of Jones’s grin, and coloured -deeply--whether with rage or shame, I could not guess. As I drove my -guest up to our lines, I secretly marvelled as to what had brought him -to our little Mofussil station, a two days’ railway journey through -the flattest, ugliest country. He had been staying at Government -House, Calcutta, at various splendid Residencies, and had had every -opportunity of seeing India from the most commanding and luxurious -point of view. Why had he sought _me_ out? - -Later on, as we sprawled in long chairs in my portico overlooking a -sun-baked compound,--with a view chiefly consisting of the back of my -neighbour’s stables, and Jones’s little brown bear, mowing and moping, -under a scraggy mango tree,--I put the inevitable question: - -“Well, Algy, what do you think of India?” - -“Not much,” he answered. “It is not a bit like what I have expected: -it is not as Eastern as Egypt. The scenery that I have seen consists -of bushes, boulders, and terra-cotta plains. I don’t care about ruins -and buildings; what I want to come at are the people and customs of the -land--so far, it’s all England, not India: England at the sea-side, -dressing, dancing, racing, flirting; clothes are thinner, manners are -easier; but it’s England--England--England!” - -I did what I could for him. I took him to a garden-party, to call on -the beauty of the station, to write his name in the general’s book, -to mess, to a soldier’s sing-song; and still he was discontented. He -had been faintly amused with our “pot” gardens and trotting bullocks; -nevertheless, he continued to grumble in this style-- - -“Your band plays the last new coster song, your ladies believe that -they wear the latest fashions, your men read the latest news not two -days old, your servants speak English and speak it fluently. Your -butler plays the fiddle, and he told me this morning that my banjo was -‘awfully nice.’ I desire that you will introduce me (if you can) to -India without European clothes--stripped and naked. I want to get below -the surface, below officialdom, and general orders, and precedence; -scrape the skin, and show me Hindostan.” - -“Show me something out of the common.” This was his querulous -parrot-cry. - -“Would you care to come out into the jungle sixty miles away,” I -ventured, “to a place that has no English attributes, and help to shoot -a notorious man-eating tiger? There is a reward of five hundred rupees -for his skin. For the last two years he has devastated the country.” - -“Like it!” cried Algy, suddenly, sitting erect, “why, it’s the very -thing. I’ll go like a shot. I am ready to start to-night. What’s the -name of the place?” - -“Karwassa. This man-eater has killed, they say, more than a hundred -people, and if we shoot him, we cover ourselves with glory; if we fail, -we are no worse than half the regiment, and most of the station.” - -Algy figuratively leapt at the idea; he was out of his chair, pacing -the verandah, long ere I had ceased to speak. - -“How soon could we start?” - -“As soon as I obtained leave,” I replied. - -“Oh, bother leave!” he retorted, impatiently. - -“Still, it is a necessary precaution,” I answered. “If I go without it -I shall be cashiered, and _that_ would be a bother.” - -“All right; put in for it at once. The sooner we are off the better,” -cried Algy. “Let us get the first shikari in the province, and if he -puts us fairly on the tiger, the five hundred rupees shall be his. I -pay all expenses.” - -“But Jones wants----” - -“Yes, Jones, by all means,” he interrupted; “you had better lay your -heads together without delay. He told me he was a born organizer, so -you might, perhaps, leave the transport and commissariat in his hands, -whilst you secure leave, and the keenest and best shikari. Money _no_ -object.” - -“You are keen enough, Algy,” I remarked; “but, of course, you have no -experience of big game. _Can_ you shoot?” - -“I can hit a stag, and I’ve accounted for crocodile, but I have never -seen a tiger in a wild state.” - -“Ah! and you’ll find a tiger is quite another pair of shoes,” I assured -him impressively. - -The day before Christmas we started in the highest spirits. Algy wore a -serviceable shikar suit, strong blue putties, and shooting-boots, and -looked as workmanlike as possible. Our destination, Karwassa, lay sixty -miles due north, and we travelled forty-five miles along the smooth -trunk road in a dogcart, with relays of horses, and arrived early in -the afternoon at Munser Dâk Bungalow--a neat white building, in a -neat little compound, that was almost swallowed up by the surrounding -jungle. Here we experienced our first breakdown. Jones prided himself -on doing everything on a “system”--but the system failed ignominiously. -Our luggage and servants were fifteen miles behind, and we could not -proceed that night, so we resigned ourselves into the hands of the -Dâk bungalow khansamah, who slew the usual Dâk bungalow dinner for -our behoof. There was a fair going on in the village, and we strolled -across to inspect it. A fair of the kind was no novelty to me; but -Algy was childishly delighted with all he witnessed, and stood gazing -in profound amazement at the stalls of Huka heads, pewter anklets, -bangles, and coarse, bright native cloths for turbans and sarees; the -money was chiefly copper pice and cowrie shells--the shell currency -was a complete revelation to our Londoner, as was a tangle-haired, -ash-bedaubed fakir, with his head thrust through a square iron frame, -so devised that rest was impossible. He could never lean back, never -lie down, never know ease. He had worn this instrument of torture for -twelve years, and was a most holy man--so Nuddoo, the shikari, informed -us. - -“But what is the good of it?” demanded Algy. “What the dickens does he -do it for?” - -“For a vow,” was the solemn reply. - -“I’d rather be dead than have to wear an iron gate round my neck,” -rejoined Algy. “But I suppose he thinks he is doing the right thing, -and probably he is a good sort.” - -And he gave the good sort five rupees. - -Next morning we started in real earnest, for the real jungle--each on -a separate little cart or chukrun, drawn by a pair of small trotting -bullocks; the driver rode on the pole, and behind him there was just -room for one person, if he curled himself up, and sat cross-legged. We -formed quite a long procession, as we passed down the village street, -and all the population came out to speed the sahibs, “who were going -to try and shoot the Karwassa man-eater.” Judging by their looks, they -were by no means sanguine of our success. - -Our road was a mere track, up and down the sides of shallow -water-courses, across the dry beds of great rivers, over low hills, -and through heavy jungle. The country grew wilder and wilder; here and -there we scared a jackal, here and there a herd of deer; villages were -very few and far between, and we had passed two that were absolutely -deserted: melancholy hamlets, with broken chatties, abandoned ploughs, -and grass-grown hearths--now the abode of wild dogs. We were gradually -approaching our destination, a cattle country, below a long range of -densely wooded hills; having halted at midday to rest our animals for a -few hours, we then set out again. But twenty miles is a long distance -for a little trotting bullock, especially if his head be turned from -home. The eager canter, or brisk trot, had now become a mere spasmodic -crawl; for the last mile Algy--the most keen and energetic of the -party--had been belabouring and shouting at his pair. What a sight for -his club friends, could they have beheld him, the elegant Algy, hoarse, -coatless, and breathless! In spite of his desperate exertions, his -cattle came to a full stop, and suddenly lay down--an example promptly -followed by others. “Darkness was coming,” urged Nuddoo, pointing to -the yellow sunset. “We were near an evil country, and it was about -_his_ usual time. Karwassa was two koss further, and we had best camp -and light fires, and spend the night where we had halted. The sahibs -could sleep under the carts, their servants were in waiting, also their -food--all would be well.” - -I must honestly confess that I thought this a most sensible -proposition; but Algy, who had suddenly developed an entirely new -character, would not listen to it. During his short sojourn in India, -he had picked up a wonderful amount of useful Hindostani words, -which he strung together recklessly, and by means of some of them, -accompanied by frantic gesticulation, he informed all present that -“_he_ was not going to sleep under a cart, but was resolved to spend -the night at Karwassa. He would walk there.” - -After a short, but stormy, altercation, my cousin carried his point, -and set out, accompanied (with great reluctance) by Jones, Nuddoo the -shikari, and myself. Algy took command of the party, and got over -the ground at an astonishing pace. The yellow light faded and faded, -and was succeeded by a grey deathly pallor that rapidly settled down -upon the whole face of nature. We marched two and two, along the -grass-grown, neglected roads, glancing askance at every bush, at every -big tuft of elephant grass (at least, I speak for myself). At last, -to my intense relief, the smoke and fires of a village came in view. -It proved to be Karwassa--Karwassa strongly entrenched behind its mud -walls and a bamboo palisade. After some parley we were admitted by the -chowkidar (or watchman), and presently surrounded by the villagers, a -poverty-stricken crew, with a depressed, hunted look. - -“Once more a party of sahibs come to shoot the man-eaters,” they -exclaimed. “Ah, many sahibs had come and come and gone, and naught -availed them against the Bagh. He was no Janwar--but an evil spirit.” - -“But two days ago,” said the Malgoozar, or head-man--a high-caste -Brahmin, with a high-bred face--“he had taken a boy from before his -mother’s eyes, as she tilled the patch of vegetables; the screams of -the child--he had heard them himself. Ah, ye-yo!” - -And he shook his enormous orange turban, and his handsome dignified -head, in a truly melancholy fashion. “Moreover, the tiger had taken the -woman’s husband--there was not a house in the village that had not lost -at least one inmate.” - -“Why did they not go away?” I asked. - -“Yea--truly, others had abandoned their houses and lands, and fled--but -to what avail? The thing was not a Janwar, but a devil.” - -A murmur of assent signified that the villagers had accepted their -scourge, with the apathetic fatalism of their race. We were presently -conducted to an empty hut, provided with broad string beds--and a -light. Our Christmas dinner was simple; it consisted of chuppatties -and well water, and our spirits were in keeping with our fare; the -surrounding misery had infected us. We were even indebted for our -present lodgings to the tiger--he had dined upon its former tenant -about a month previously. By all accounts he was old, and lame of one -hind leg, and had discovered that a human being is a far easier prey -than nimble cattle, or fleeting deer. He had studied the habits of his -victims, and would stalk the unwary, or the loiterer, like a great -cat. Alas! many were the tragedies; with success he had grown bolder, -and even broad noonday, and the interior of the village itself, now -afforded no protection from his horrible incursions. - -The next morning our carts arrived, and we unpacked (the salt, tea, -and corkscrew had been forgotten). Afterwards we set out to explore, -first the vegetable patches, then the meagre crops, and finally we were -shown the dry river bed, the tiger’s high-road to Karwassa. We tracked -him easily in the soft, fine, white sand; there were his three huge -paws, and a fainter impression of the fourth. Also, there were marks of -something dragged, and several dark brown splashes; it was here that he -had carried off the wife of one of our present guides, who had looked -on,--being powerless to save her. - -Needless to say, we were filled with a raging thirst for the blood of -this beast--Algy especially. He jawed, he bribed, he gesticulated, he -held long conferences with the villagers, with Nuddoo the shikari--an -active, leather-skinned man, with a cast in his left eye, who spoke -English fluently, and wore a tiger charm. Algy accommodated himself to -circumstances with astonishing facility. Most of the night we sat up -in a machan, or platform in a tree, over a fat young buffalo, hoping -to tempt the man-eater after dark. Subsequently Algy slept soundly on -his native charpoy, breakfasted on milk and chuppatties, and sallied -forth, gun on shoulder, to tramp miles over the surrounding country. -He was indefatigable, and easily wore _me_ out. As I frankly explained, -I could not burn the candle at both ends, and sit curled up in a -tree till two o’clock in the morning, and then walk down game that -self-same afternoon. He never seemed to tire, and he left the champagne -and whisky to us, and shot on milk or cold cocoa. His newly acquired -Spartan taste declined our imported dainties (tinned and otherwise), -and professed to prefer, in deference to our surroundings, a purely -vegetable diet. - -It was an odd fancy, which I made no effort to combat. Naturally there -was more truffled turkey and _pâté de foie gras_ and boar’s head for -_us_! Algy was a successful shot, and reaped the reward of his energy -in respectable bags of black buck, hares, sand grouse, chickhira, -bustard, peacock--no, though sorely tempted, he refrained from bagging -the bird specially sacred to his hosts. Days and nights went by, and -so far we were as unsuccessful as our forerunners. In spite of our -fat and enticing young buffalo, whom we sometimes sat over from sunset -until the pale wintry dawn glimmered along the horizon, we never caught -one glimpse of the object of our expedition. Algy was restless, Nuddoo -at his wits’ end, whilst Jones had given up the quest as a bad job! - -One evening we all gathered round the big fire in the village “chowk” -(for the nights were chilly), having a “bukh” with the elders, and, -being encompassed by a closely investing audience of the entire -population--including, of course, infants in arms--our principal topic -was the brute that had so successfully eluded us. - -“He will never be caught save by one bait,” remarked a venerable man, -wagging his long white beard. - -“And what is that, O my father?” I asked. - -“A man or a woman,” was the startling reply; “and those we cannot give.” - -“Yea, but we can!” cried a shrill voice. There was a sudden movement -in the crowd, and a tall female figure broke out of the throng, and -pushed her way into the open space and the full light of the fire. -She wore the usual dark red petticoat, short-sleeved jacket, and blue -cloth or veil over her head. This she suddenly tossed aside, and, as -she stood revealed before us, her hair was dishevelled, her black -eyes blazed with excitement; but she was magnificently handsome. -No flat-faced Gond this, but a Marathi of six-and-twenty years of -age--supremely beautiful. - -“Protectors of the poor,” she cried, flinging out her two modelled -arms, jingling with copper bangles, “here am _I_. I am willing, and -thou shalt give _me_. The shaitan has slain my man and my son. When the -elephant is gone, why keep the goad? This devil of tigers has eaten -more than one hundred of our people, and I gladly offer my life in -exchange for his. Cattle! no”--with scorn. “He seeks not our flocks; -he seeks _us_! Have we not learned that, above all, he prefers women -folk and young? Therefore, behold I give myself”--looking round with a -dramatic gesture of her hand--“to save all these.” - -“It is Sassi,” muttered the Malgoozar, “the widow of Gitan. Since seven -days her mind hath departed. She is mad.” - -“Nay, my father, but I am wise! Truly, it is the sahib’s shikari who is -foolish, and of but little wit. He knows not the ground. There is the -stream close to the forest and the crops. The sahibs shall sit above -in the old bher tree, with their guns. They shall tie me up below. -Lo, I will sing, yea, loudly, and perchance the tiger will come. He -is now seven days without food from our village. Surely he must be -an-hungered. I will sing, and bring him to the great lords’ feet--even -to his death and mine. Then will my folk be avenged, and my name -remembered--Sassi the Marathi, who gave her life for her people!” - -She paused, and every eye was fixed upon her as she stood amidst a -breathless silence, awaiting our answer, as immovable as a statue. - -“Truly, what talk is so foolish as the talk of a woman?” began the -Malgoozar, fretfully. “Small mouth, big speech----” - -“Nay, my father,” interrupted Nuddoo, eagerly, “but she speaks words -of wisdom, and ’tis I that am the fool. The lord sahib returns in two -days’ time--and we have done naught.” - -As he spoke, his best eye was fixed on Sassi with an expression of -ravenous greed not to be described. Apparently he saw the five hundred -rupees now within a measurable distance! - -“She can lure him, she shall stand on the stack of Bhoosa that pertains -to Ruckoo, the chowkidar; she will sing--the nights are still. The Bagh -will hear, he will come, and, ere he can approach, the sahibs will -shoot him. After all”--with a contemptuous shrug--“it is but a mad -woman and a widow.” - -“Nuddoo,” shouted Algy, “if I ever hear you air those sentiments again, -I’ll shoot you. We don’t want that sort of bait; and, if we did, I -would sooner tie _you_ up, than a woman and a widow.” - -Nuddoo’s eager protestations, and Algy’s expostulations, were loud and -long, and during them a stern-faced old hag placed her hand on Sassi’s -shoulder, drew her out of the crowd, and the episode was closed. - -Our expedition that night was, as usual, fruitless. We climbed into -our tree platform, the now accustomed buffalo dozed in his place -undisturbed. Evidently Algy’s mind dwelt on the recent scene at the -chowk, and he harangued me from time to time, in an excited whisper, on -the subject of Sassi’s heroism, her wonderful beauty, and Nuddoo’s base -suggestion. He was still whispering, when I fell asleep. And now it -had come to our last day but one. Jones looked upon further effort as -supreme folly. He wanted, for once, a night’s unbroken rest, and at six -o’clock we left him lying on his string bed, on the flat of his back, -smoking cigarettes and reading a two-shilling novel--a novel dealing -with smart folk in high life--a book that carried his thoughts far, far -from a miserable mud village in the C.P. and its living scourge. How I -envied Jones! I would thankfully have excused myself, but Algy was _my_ -cousin; he had taken command of the trip, and of me, ever since we had -quitted the great trunk road--and I was entirely under his orders. - -Nuddoo was not above accepting a hint; this time our machan was lashed -into a big pepul tree on the border of the forest, and the edge of a -stream that had its home in the hills. We were about two miles from -Karwassa as the crow flies, and, as we were rather early, we had -ample time to look about us; the scene was a typical landscape in -the Central Provinces. To our left lay the hills, covered with dense -woodlands, from whose gloomy depths emerged the now shallow river, -which trickled gently past us over its bed of dark blue rock and -gravel. Beyond the stream, and exactly facing us, lay a vast expanse of -grain--_jawarri_, _gram_, and vetches--as far as the eye could reach, -the monotonous stretch being broken, here and there, by a gigantic and -solitary jungle tree. To the right, and on our side of the bank, was -an exquisite sylvan glade, a suitable spot to which the forest fairies -might issue invitations to the neighbouring elves to “come and dance -in the moonbeams.” Between the great trees, the waving crops, and the -murmuring brook, I could almost have imagined myself in the midlands -of England--save for certain tracks in the sand beneath our tree. Its -enormous roots were twisted among rocks and boulders, and, where a spit -of gravel ran out into the clear water, were many footprints, which -showed where the bear, hyena, tiger, and jackal had come to slake their -thirst. I noticed that Nuddoo seemed restless and strange, and that his -explanations and answers were incoherent, not to say foolish. - -“This looks a likely enough place,” said Algy, with the confidence of -a man who had been after tiger for years. “But, I say, Nuddoo, where’s -the chap with the buffalo--where is our tie-up?” - -“Buffalo never started yet--plenty time--coming by-and-by, at -moonrise,” stammered Nuddoo; and, as I climbed into the machan, and he -took his place next me, with our rifles, it struck me that Nuddoo was -not sober. He smelt powerfully of raw whisky--our whisky--his lips were -cracked and dry, and his hand shook visibly. What had he been doing? - -“It will be an awful sell if there is no tie-up, and the tiger happens -to go by,” said Algy, irritably. - -“The gara will be here without fail, your honour’s worship. It will be -all right, I swear it by the head of my son. Moreover, we will get the -tiger--to-night he touches his last hour.” - -There was no question that Nuddoo, for the first time in my experience, -was very drunk indeed. Presently the full moon rose up and illuminated -the lonely landscape, the haunted jungle, the crops, the glade, and -turned the forest stream to molten silver. It was nine o’clock, and, -whilst Nuddoo slumbered, Algy and I held our breath, as we watched -a noble sambur stag come and drink below us. He was succeeded by an -old boar, next came a hyena; it was a popular resort; in short, every -animal appeared but the one we wanted--and _he_ was undoubtedly in the -neighbourhood, for the deer seemed uneasy. - -It was already after ten, and Algy was naturally impatient, and eagerly -looking out for our devoted “gara.” He and I were bending forward, -listening anxiously; the forest behind us seemed full of stealthy -noises, but we strained our ears in vain for the longed-for sound of -buffalo hoofs advancing from the front. Nuddoo still slept soundly, and -at last Algy, in great exasperation, leant over and shook him roughly. - -“Ay,” he muttered, in a sleepy grunt, “it is all right, sahib, the gara -will come without fail.” - -Even whilst he spoke, we heard, not fifty yards away, the voice of a -woman singing in the glade, and Nuddoo now started up erect, and began -to tremble violently. - -It was light as day, as we beheld Sassi advancing slowly in our -direction, singing in a loud clear voice an invocation to Mahadeo the -Destroyer! - -When she had approached within earshot she halted, and, raising her -statuesque face to her namesake the moon, chanted-- - - “O great lords in the pepul tree, whereto Nuddoo, the drunkard, - hath led you, - Behold, according to my promise, lo! I have come. - I sing to my gods, and perchance I will bring the tiger to your - honours’ feet.” - -For the space of three heart-beats, we remained motionless--paralyzed -with horror,--and then Nuddoo, who was gibbering with most mysterious -terror, gave me a sudden and an involuntary push. - -There, to the left, was _something_ coming rapidly through the crops! -The grain parted and waved wildly as it passed; in a moment a huge -striped animal, the size of a calf, had crossed the river with a -hurried limp. - -“Kubberdar! Bagh! Bagh!” roared Algy to the woman. To me, “You’ve got -him!” - -Undoubtedly it was _my_ shot, but I was excessively flurried--it was -new to me to have a human life hanging on my trigger; as he sprang -into the open glade I fired--and missed. I heard my cousin draw in -his breath hard; I saw the woman turn and face us. The tiger’s spring -and Algy’s shot seemed simultaneous; as the echo died away, there -was not another sound--the great brute lay dead across the corpse -of his victim. I was now shaking as much as Nuddoo; my bad aim had -had a frightful result. Before I could scramble down, Algy, with -inconceivable rashness, was already beside the bodies, where they lay -in the middle of the glade--the monster stretched above his voluntary -prey. - -The news spread to the village in some miraculous manner. Had the -birds of the air carried the great tidings? The entire community were -instantly roused by the intelligence. Man, woman, yea, and child, came -streaming forth, beating tom-toms and shouting themselves hoarse with -joy. They collected about the tiger--who was evidently of far more -account than the woman--they kicked him, cursed him, spat on him, and -secretly stole his whiskers for a charm against the evil eye. They -thrummed the tom-toms madly as they marched round and round Algy--the -hero of the hour. - -Nuddoo had now entirely forgotten his tremors, he was almost delirious -with excitement; the five hundred rupees were his, he could live on -them--and on his reputation as the slayer of the great Karwassa -man-eater--for the remainder of his existence. He talked till he -frothed at the corners of his mouth, he boasted here, he boasted -there. He declared that “_he_ had encouraged Sassi, and given her an -appointment as the gara, or tie-up. Yea, she had spoken truly--there -was no other means!” - -Released from his honours and the transports of the tom-toms, these -fatal words fell on Algy’s ears, and he went straight for Nuddoo. What -he said or did, I know not, but this I know, that from that moment I -never saw Nuddoo again until weeks later, when he came to me by stealth -in Kori, exceedingly humble and sober, and received, according to -Algy’s instructions, “five hundred rupees; but if he asks you for a -chit,” wrote Algy, “kick him out of the compound.” - -The tiger was big and heavy, he required twenty coolies to carry him -back to Karwassa--for his last visit. Sassi was borne on the frame of -our machan--ere she was placed there, an old hag covered the beautiful -dead face with her veil, and slipped off her sole ornaments, the copper -bangles, in a business-like fashion. - -“Give me one of those,” said Algy, who was standing by. “I will pay you -well. Were you her mother?” - -“Her grandmother,” replied the crone. “She was mad. Lo, now she is -gone, I shall surely starve!” and she began to whimper for the first -time. Truly, she knew this sahib was both rich and open-handed. - -Algy and I slept soundly for the remainder of that eventful night; -but it is my opinion that the villagers never went to rest at all. -The moment we set foot in the street the next morning, a vast crowd -surged round my cousin; every one of them carried a string of flowers -or--highest compliment--a gilded lime. Women brought their children, -from the youngest upwards, and Algy was soon the centre of the village -nursery. All these little people were solemnly requested “to look well -upon that honoured lord, and to remember when they were old, and to -tell it to their children, that their own eyes had rested on the great -sahib who had killed the shaitan of Karwassa.” - -Algy was loaded with honours and flowers; I must confess that he bore -them modestly, and he, on his side, paid high tribute to Sassi the -Marathi. He commanded that she should have a splendid funeral. The -most costly pyre that was ever seen in those parts was erected, the -memory of the oldest inhabitant was vainly racked to recall anything -approaching its magnificence. The village resources, and the resources -of three other hamlets, were strained to the utmost tension to provide -sandal-wood, oil, jewels, and dress. If Algy’s London “pals” could hear -of him spending fifty pounds on the burning of a native woman, how they -would laugh and chaff him! I hinted as much, and got a distinctly nasty -reply. He was quite right; roughing it _had_ a bad effect upon his -temper. At sundown the whole population assembled by the river bank to -witness the obsequies of Sassi the widow of Gitan; they marvelled much -(and so did I) to behold my cousin standing by, bare-headed, during the -entire ceremony. - -We set out on our return journey that same evening--travelling by -moonlight had no dangers now! Algy distributed immense largesse among -his friends, viz. the entire community (he also paid all our expenses -like a prince). He and the inhabitants of Karwassa parted with many -good wishes and mutual reluctance; indeed, a body of them formed a -running accompaniment to us for nearly a dozen miles. Our spoil, the -tiger’s skin, was a poor specimen. The stripes had a dull, faded -appearance; but it measured, without stretching, a good honest ten -feet from nose to tip of tail. Once we were out of the jungle, and -back in the land of bungalows, daily posts, and baker’s bread, Algy -relapsed from a keen and intrepid sportsman into an indolent, drawling -dandy. The day after our return to Kori, he took leave of me in these -remarkable words-- - -“Well, good-bye, Perky. You are not a bad sort, though you are not much -of a chap to shoot or rough it. However, I have to thank you for taking -me off the beaten track, and showing me something which I shall never -forget,--and that was entirely out of the common.” - - - - -“THE MISSUS.” - -A DOG TRAGEDY. - - -When the Royal British Skirmishers were quartered in Bombay, their -second in command was Major Bowen, a spare, grizzled, self-contained -little soldier, who lived alone in one of those thatched bungalows -that resemble so many monstrous mushrooms, bordering the racecourse. -“The Major,” as he was called _par excellence_, was best described by -negatives. He was not married. He was not a ladies’ man. Nor was he -a sportsman; nor handsome, young, rich, nor even clever--in short, -he was not remarkable for anything except, perhaps, his dog. No one -could dispute the fact that Major Bowen was the owner of an uncommon -animal. He and this dog had exchanged into “the Skirmishers” from -another regiment six years previously, and though the pair were at -first but coldly received, they adapted themselves so admirably to -their new surroundings that ere long they had gained the esteem and -goodwill of both rank and file; and, as time wore on, there actually -arose an ill-concealed jealousy of their old corps, and a disposition -to ignore the fact that they had not always been part and parcel of -the gallant Skirmishers. Although poor, and having but little besides -his pay, the Major was liberal--both just and generous; and if he was -mean or close-fisted with any one, that person’s name was Reginald -Bowen. He had an extremely lofty standard of honour and of the value of -his lightest word. He gave a good tone to the mess, and though he was -strict with the youngsters, they all liked him. Inflexible as he could -look on parade or in the orderly-room, elsewhere he received half the -confidences of the regiment; and many a subaltern had been extricated -from a scrape, thanks to the little Major’s assistance--monetary and -otherwise. He was a smart officer and a capital horseman, and here was -another source of his popularity. He lent his horses and ponies, with -ungrudging good faith, to those impecunious youths who boasted but -the one hard-worked barrack “tat;” and many a happy hour with hounds, -or on the polo-ground, was spent on the back of the Major’s cattle. -Major Bowen did not race or hunt, and rarely played polo; in fact, he -was not much interested in anything--although upwards of forty, he was -supremely indifferent to his dinner!--the one thing he really cared -about was his _dog_: a sharp, well-bred fox-terrier, with bright eyes -and lemon-coloured ears,--who, in spite of the fact that her original -name was “Minnie,” had been known as “the Missus” for the last five -years. This name was given to her in joke, and in acknowledgment of her -accomplishments; the agreeable manner in which she did the honours of -her master’s bungalow, and the extraordinary care she took of him, and -all his property. It was truly absurd to see this little creature--of -at most sixteen pounds’ weight--gravely lying, with crossed paws, in -front of the Major’s sixteen hands “waler,” whilst he was going round -barracks, or occupied in the orderly-room. Her pose of self-importance -distinctly said, “The horse and syce are in _my_ charge!” - -She went about the compound early every morning, and rigorously turned -out vagrants, suspicious-looking visitors to the servants’ quarters, -and all dogs and goats! She accompanied her master to mess, and fetched -him home, no matter how late the hour--and through the rains (and they -are no joke in Bombay) it was just the same; there was the chokedar, -with his mackintosh and lantern; and there was also, invariably, the -shivering, sleepy little Missus. It was of no avail to tie her up at -home; not only were her heartrending howls audible for a quarter of a -mile, but on one occasion she actually arrived under the dinner-table, -chain and all, to the discomfort of the Colonel’s legs, the great -scandal of the mess-sergeant, and her own everlasting disgrace! So -she was eventually suffered--like wilful woman--to have her way. -Her master’s friends were her friends, and took the Missus quite -seriously--but she drew the line at dogs. It must be admitted that her -manners to her own species were--not nice. She had an unladylike habit -of suddenly sitting down when she descried one afar off, and sniffing -the, so to speak, tainted air, that was nothing more nor less than a -deliberate insult to any animal with the commonest self-respect; many a -battle was fought, many a bite was given and received. The Missus was -undeniably accomplished; she fetched papers and slippers, gave the paw, -and in the new style--on a level with her head, walked briskly on her -hind legs, could strum on the piano, and sing, accompanying herself to -a clear, somewhat shrill, soprano. There was a little old pianette in -the Major’s sitting-room, on which she performed amid great applause. -It was _not_ true that the instrument had been purchased solely for her -use, or that she practised industriously for two hours a day. No--the -pianette had been handed over to her master by a young man (who had -subsequently gone to the dogs) as the only available payment of a sum -the Major had advanced for him. Battered old tin kettle as it was, that -despised piano had cost one hundred pounds! But no one dreamt of _this_ -when they laughed at its shortcomings. The Missus was passionately fond -of music, and escorted her owner to the band; but she escorted him -almost everywhere--to the club, round the barracks, the racecourse, -to church--here she was ignominiously secured in the syce’s “cupra,” -as she had a way of stealthily peeping in at the various open doors, -and endeavouring to focus her idol, which manœuvre--joined with her -occasional assistance in the chanting--proved a little trying to the -gravity of the congregation. Of course she went to the hills--where she -had an immense acquaintance; she had also been on active service on the -Black Mountain, and when one night a prowling Afridi crept on his hands -and knees into the Major’s tent, he found himself unexpectedly pinned -by a set of sharp teeth,--he carried the mark of that bite to his grave. - -Major Bowen was not the least ashamed of his affection for his dog. -She was his weak point--even the very Company’s dhobies approached him -through her favour. He was president of the mess, and in an excellent -manner had officiated for years in that difficult and thankless -office; a good man of business--prompt, clear-headed, methodical, and -conscientious. No scamping of accounts, no peculations overlooked, a -martinet to the servants, and possibly less loved than feared. But -this is a digression from the Missus. Her master was foolishly proud of -her good looks--very sensitive respecting her little foibles (which he -clumsily endeavoured to conceal), and actually touchy about her age! - -When the Missus had her first, and only, family, it was quite a great -local event. The Major’s establishment was turned completely upside -down; there was racing and chasing to procure two milch goats for -the use of the infants and their mother, and a most elegant wadded -basket was provided as a cradle. But, alas! the Missus proved a most -indifferent parent. She deserted her little encumbrances at the end -of one day, and followed her master to the Gymkana ground. He was -heartily ashamed of her, and positively used to remain indoors for the -sake of keeping up appearances. He could not go to the club, and have -the Missus waiting conspicuously outside with the pony, when all the -world knew that she had no business to be there, but had four young -and helpless belongings squealing for her at home! She accorded them -but little of her company, and appeared to think that her nursery cares -were entirely the affair of the two milch goats! One of her neglected -children pined, and dwindled, and eventually died, was placed in a -cigar-box, and buried in a neat little grave under a rose-bush in the -compound, whilst its unnatural mamma looked on from afar off, a totally -uninterested spectator! The three survivors were handsome puppies, and -the Major exhibited them with pride to numerous callers, and finally -bestowed them among his friends (entirely to please their mother, -whom they bored to death). They were gratefully accepted, not merely -on their own merits, but also as being a public testimonial of their -donor’s high opinion and esteem. - - * * * * * - -It was towards the end of the monsoon, when the compound was almost -afloat, and querulous frogs croaked in every corner of the verandahs, -that Major Bowen became seriously ill with low malarious fever. He had -been out ten years--“five years too long,” the doctor declared; “he -must go home at once, and never return to India.” This was bad news for -the regiment, and still worse for the invalid, who helped a widowed -sister with all he could spare from his colonial allowances. There -would not be much margin on English pay! - -He was dangerously ill in that lofty, bare, whitewashed bedroom in -Infantry Lines. He would not be the first to die there. No,--not by -many. His friends were devoted and anxious. The Missus was devoted and -distracted. She lay all day long at the foot of his cot, watching and -listening, and following his slightest movement with a pair of agonized -eyes. - -At length there was a change--and for the better. The patient was -promoted into a cane lounge in the sitting-room, to solids, and to -society--as represented by half the regiment. He looked round his -meagrely furnished little room with interested eyes. There was not -a speck of dust to be seen, everything was in its place, to the -letter-weight on the writing-table, and the old faded photos in their -shabby leather frames. Missus’s basket was pushed into a far corner. -She had not used it for weeks. He and Missus were going home, and would -soon say good-bye for ever to the steep-roofed thatched bungalow, -the creaking cane chairs, the red saloo purdahs, to the verandahs, -embowered in pale lilac “railway” creeper, to the neat little -garden--to the regiment--to Bombay. Their passages were taken. They -were off in the _Arcadia_ in three days. - - * * * * * - -That afternoon, the Major had all his kit and personal property paraded -in his sitting-room, in order that the packing of his belongings (he -was a very tidy man) should take place under his own eyes. The bearer -was in attendance, and with him his slave and scapegoat--the chokra. - -The bearer was a stolid, impassive-looking Mahomedan, with a square -black beard, and a somewhat sullen eye. - -“Abdul,” said his master, as his gaze travelled languidly from one -neatly folded pile of clothes to another--from guns in cases to -guns not in cases, to clocks, revolvers, watches, candlesticks--the -collection of ten years, parting gifts, bargains, and legacies--“you -have been my servant for six years, and have served me well. I have -twice raised your wages, and you have made a very good thing out of me, -I believe, and can, no doubt, retire and set up a ticca gharry, or a -shop. I am going away, and never coming back, and I want to give you -something of mine as a remembrance--something to remember me by, you -understand?” - -The bearer deliberately unfolded his arms, and salaamed in silence. - -“You may choose anything you like out of this room,” continued the -Major, with unexampled recklessness. - -Abdul’s eyes glittered curiously--it was as if a torch had suddenly -illumined two inky-black pools. - -“Sahib never making joke--sahib making really earnest?”--casting on -him a glance of almost desperate eagerness. The glance was lost on his -master, whose attention was fixed on a discarded gold-laced tunic and -mess-jacket. - -“Of course,” he said to himself, “Abdul will choose them,” for gold -lace is ever dear to a native heart, it sells so well in the bazaar, -and melts down to such advantage. - -“Making earnest!” repeated the invalid, irritably. “Do I ever do -otherwise? Look sharp, and take your choice.” - -“Salaam, sahib,” he answered, and turned quickly to where the Missus -was coiled up in a chair. “I take my choice of anything in this room. -Then I take--the--dog.” - -“The--_dog_!” repeated her owner, with a half-stupefied air. - -“Verily, I am fond of Missy. Missy fond of master. The dog and I will -remember the sahib together, when he is far away.” - -The sahib felt as if some one had suddenly plunged a knife in his -heart. In Abdul’s bold gaze, in Abdul’s petition, he, too late, -recalled the solemn (but despised) warning of a brother-officer: - -“That bearer of yours is a vindictive brute; you got his son turned out -of the mess, and serve him right, for a drunken, thieving hound! But -sleek as he looks, Abdul will have it in for you yet;” and this was -accomplished, when he said, “The dog and I, sahib, will remember you -together.” - -Major Bowen was still desperately weak, and he had just been dealt -a crushing blow; but the spirit that holds India was present in -that puny, wasted frame, and, with a superhuman effort, he boldly -confronted the two natives--the open-mouthed, gaping chokra, the -respectfully exultant bearer--and said, “Atcha” (that is to say, -“good”), “it is well;” and then he feebly waved to the pair to depart -from him, for he was tired. - -Truly it was anything but “good.” It seemed the worst calamity that -could have befallen him. He was alone, and face to face with a terrible -situation. He must either forfeit his word, or his dog,--which was it -to be? - -In all his life, to the best of his knowledge, he had never broken his -faith, and now to do it to a native!--that was absolutely out of the -question. But his dog--his friend--his companion--with whom he never -meant to part, as long as she lived (for _she_ had given her to him). -He sat erect, and looked over at the Missus, where she lay curled up; -her expressive eyes met his eagerly. - -Little, O Missus, do you guess the fatal promise that has just been -made, nor how largely it concerns _you_. Her master lay back with -a groan, and turned his face away from the light, a truly miserable -man! His faithful Missus!--to have to part with her to one of the -regiment would have been grief enough; but to a Mahomedan, with their -unconcealed scorn of dogs! He must have been mad when he made that rash -offer; but then, in justification, his common sense urged, “How was -he to suppose that Abdul would choose anything but a silver watch, a -gun, or the worth of fifty rupees?” Major Bowen was far from being an -imaginative man, but as he lay awake all night long, and listened to -the wild roof-cats stealing down the thatch, and heard them pattering -back at dawn, one mental picture stood out as distinctly as if he was -looking at it with his bodily sight, and it was actually before him. - -A low, squalid mud hut in a bazaar; a native string bed, and tied to -it by a cord--_the Missus_. “The Missus,” with thin ribs, a staring -coat, and misery depicted on her little face, the sport of the children -and the flies--starved, forlorn, heartbroken--dumbly wondering what had -happened to her master, and why he had so cruelly deserted her! Oh, -when was he coming to fetch her? Not knowing, she was at least spared -_this_--that he would never come. - -What an insane promise! As he recalled it, he clenched his hands in -intolerable agony. Why did he not _offer_ his watch--his rifle? he -would give Abdul a thousand rupees, gladly, to redeem the dog, but his -inner consciousness assured him that Abdul, thanks to him, was already -well-to-do, and that his revenge was worth more to him than money. This -would not be the case with most natives, but he knew, to his cost, that -Abdul’s was a stern, tenacious, relentless nature. At one moment, he -had decided to poison the Missus with his own hands--prussic acid was -speedy; at another, he had resolved to remain in India, doctors or no -doctors. - -“And sacrifice your life?” again breathed common sense. “Die for a -dog!” True, but the dog was not a dog to him. She was his comrade, -his sympathizer, his friend. Meanwhile, the object of all these -mental wrestlings and agonies slept the sleep of the just, innocent, -and ignorant; but in any case, it is a question if a dog’s anxieties -ever keep it awake. Her master never closed his eyes; he saw the dawn -glimmer through the bamboo chicks; he saw Abdul, the avenger, appear -with his early tea, and Abdul found him in high fever; perhaps Abdul -was not greatly surprised! - -Friends and brother-officers flocked in that day, and sat with the -Major, and they noted with concern that he looked worse than he had -done at any period of his illness. His naturally pinched face was -worn and haggard to a startling degree. Moreover, in spite of the -news of the high prices his horses had fetched, he was terribly -“down,” and why? A man going home, after ten years of India, is -generally intolerably cheerful. They did their best to enliven him, -these good-hearted comrades, and--unfailing topic of interest--they -discoursed volubly and incessantly of the Missus. - -“She is looking uncommonly fit,” said young Stradbrooke, the owner of -one of her neglected children. “She knows she is going to England. She -was quite grand with me just now! She hates boating like the devil! I -wonder how she will stand fourteen days at sea?” - -There was a perceptible silence after this question, and then the Major -said in a queer voice-- - -“She is--not--going.” - -“Not going?” An incredulous pause, and then some one exclaimed: “Come, -Major, you know you would just as soon leave your head behind.” - -“All the same--I am leaving her----” - -“And which of us is to have her?” cried the Adjutant. “Take notice, -all, that I speak first. You won’t pass over me, sir. Missus and I -were always very chummy, and I want her to look after my chargers and -servants, fetch my slippers, bring me home from mess--and to take care -of me and keep me straight.” - -“I have already given her away to----” the rest of the sentence seemed -to stick in the Major’s throat, and his face worked painfully. - -“Away to whom?” repeated young Stradbrooke. “Say it’s to _me_, sir. -I’ve one of the family already--and Missus likes me. I know her pet -biscuits, and there are heaps of rats in my stables--such whoppers!” - -“Given her--to the bearer--Abdul,” he answered, stoutly enough, though -there was still a little nervous quivering of the lower lip. - -If the ceiling had parted asunder and straightway tumbled down on -their heads, the Major’s audience would not have been half so much -dumfoundered. For a whole minute they sat agape, and then one burst -out-- - -“I say, Major, it’s a joke--you would not give her out of the regiment; -she is on the _strength_.” - -“She is promised,” replied the Major, in a sort of husky whisper. - -Every one knew that the Major’s promises were a serious matter, and -after this answer there ensued a long dismayed silence. The visitors -eventually turned the topic, and tried to talk of other matters--the -last gazette, the new regimental ribbon, of anything but of what every -mind was full, to wit, “the Missus.” - -The news respecting her bestowal created quite a sensation that evening -at the mess--far more than that occasioned by a newly announced -engagement, for there was an element of mystery about _this_ topic. Why -had the Missus been given away? - -“Bowen must be off his chump,” was the general verdict, “poor old chap, -to give the dog to that rascal Abdul, of all people!” (One curious -feature in Anglo-Indian life, is the low opinion people generally -entertain of their friends’ servants.) “The proper thing was, of -course, to buy the dog, and keep her in the regiment; and when the -Major came to his right senses, how glad he would be, dear old man!” - -The Adjutant waylaid Abdul in the road, and said, curtly-- - -“Is this true, about the dog?--that your sahib has given her to you?” - -Abdul salaamed. How convenient and non-committal is that gesture! - -“What will you take for her?” - -“I never selling master’s present,” rejoined the bearer, with superb -dignity. - -“What does a nigger want with a dog?” demanded the officer, scornfully. -“Well, then, swop her--_that_ won’t hurt your delicate sense of honour. -I’ll get you an old pariah out of the bazaar, and give you fifty rupees -to buy him a collar!” - -“I have refused to-day one thousand rupees for the Missy,” said Abdul, -with increased hauteur. - -“You lie, Abdul,” said the officer, sternly; “or else you have been -dealing with a stark, staring madman.” - -“I telling true, Captain Sahib. I swear by the beard of the Prophet.” - -“Who made the offer?” - -“Major Bone”--the natives always called him “Major Bone.” - -“Great Scott! Poor dear old chap” (to himself): “I had no idea he was -so badly touched. It is well he is going home, or it would be a case of -four orderlies and a padded room. So much for this beastly country!” -Then to Abdul, “Look here; don’t say a word about that offer, and come -over to my quarters, and I’ll give you some dibs--the sun has been too -much for your sahib--and mind you be kind to the Missus; if not, I’ll -come and shoot her, and thrash you within an inch of your life.” - -“Gentlemen Sahib never beating servants. Sahib touch me, I summon in -police-court, and I bring report to regimental commanding officer. -Also, I going my own country, Bareilly, and I never, never selling kind -master’s present.” - -“I know lots of Sahibs in a pultoon (_i.e._ regiment) at Bareilly, and -I shall get them to look out for you and the dog, Mr. Abdul. You treat -‘kind master’s present’ well, and it will be well with you,--if not, by -Jove, you will find that I have got a long arm. I am a man of my word, -so keep your mouth shut about the Major. To-night my bearer will give -you ten rupees.” And he walked on. - -“Bowen must be in a real bad way, when he gives his beloved dog to a -native, and next day wants to buy it back for a thousand rupees,” said -Captain Young to himself. “I thought he looked queer yesterday, but I -never guessed that he was as mad as twenty hatters.” - - * * * * * - -The hour of the Major’s departure arrived; he had entreated, as a -special favour, that no one would come to see him off. This request -was looked upon as more of his eccentricity, and not worthy of serious -consideration; he would get all right as soon as he was at sea, and -the officers who were not on duty hurried down to see the last of -their popular comrade. He drove up late, looking like death, his -face so withered, drawn, and grey, and got out of a gharry, promptly -followed by Abdul, carrying the Missus. The steam-launch lay puffing -and snorting at the steps--the other passengers were aboard--there was -not a moment to lose. The Major bade each and all a hurried farewell; -he took leave of the Missus last. She was still in Abdul’s arms, and -believed in her simple dog mind that her master was merely bound for -one of those detestable sails up the harbour. As she offered him an -eager paw, little did she guess that it was good-bye for ever, or that -she was gazing after him for the last time, as he feebly descended the -steps and took his place in the tender that was to convey him to the P. -and O. steamer. - -He watched the crowd of friends wildly waving handkerchiefs; but he -watched, above all, with a long, long gaze of inarticulate grief, a -dark turbaned figure, that stood conspicuously apart, with a small -white object in his arms: watched almost breathlessly, till it faded -away into one general blur. The Bengal civilian who sat next to Major -Bowen in the tender, stared at him in contemptuous astonishment. He -had been twenty-five years in the country (mitigating his exile with -as much furlough--sick, privilege, and otherwise--as he could possibly -obtain), and this was the first time he had seen a man quit the shores -of India--with _tears in his eyes_! - - - - -THE BETRAYAL OF SHERE BAHADUR. - - -I am merely the wife of a British subaltern, whereas my aunt Jane is -the consort of a commissioner. One must go to India, to realize the -enormous and unfathomable gulf which yawns between these two positions. - -Take, for instance, that important difference--the difference in pay. -On the first of each month, Aunt Jane’s lord and master receives -several thousand and odd rupees--a heavy load for two staggering peons -to carry from the treasury--whereas my husband’s poor little pittance, -of two hundred and fifty-six rupees and odd annas, our bearer swings in -a lean canvas bag, and in one hand, with an air of jaunty contempt! - -At dinner-parties and other grand functions, I see my aunt’s -round-shouldered back, and well-known yellow satin, leading the van, -with her hand on the host’s arm, whilst I humbly bring up the rear--one -of the last joints in the tail of precedence. - -Afterwards--after coffee, conversation, and music--not a woman in -the room may venture to stir, until my little fat relative has “made -the move” and waddled off to her carriage. Mr. Radcliffe, my uncle -by marriage, rules over a large district; he is a stout, puffy, -imposing-looking man, attended by much pomp and circumstance, and many -scarlet-clad chuprassis. His wife rules him--as well as the station; -manages every one’s affairs, acts as the censor of public morals, and -may be implicitly relied upon to utter the disagreeable things that -_ought_ to be said, but that no one but herself is willing to say. The -Radcliffes have no family, and therefore she has ample time to indulge -her fine powers of observation, organization, and conversation. When I -married, and was about to come to India, a year ago, my people remarked -on an average once a week-- - -“If you are going to Luckmee, you will be quite close to your aunt Jane -at Rajapore, and only think how delightful that will be for you!” but I -was by no means so confident of this supreme future joy. Rajapore is a -large mixed military and civil station; Luckmee is on the same line of -rail, a run of a couple of hours; a small and insignificant cantonment, -which looks up to Rajapore as its metropolis, and does all its shopping -there. No, I did not find it at all delightful, being within such easy -hail of Aunt Jane. She made unexpected descents--as a rule, early in -the morning--driving up from the station in a rickety “ticca gharry,” -to spend what she called “a good long day.” First of all, she went -over the bungalow precisely as if it was to let furnished, and she was -the incoming tenant; then she cross-examined me closely, read my home -letters, looked at my bazaar account, sniffed at my new frocks, snubbed -my friends, and departed by the last train in the highest spirits, -leaving me struggling with the idea that I was _still_ a rather -troublesome schoolgirl in short frocks and a pig-tail. Now and then -I returned the visit--by command--drove with Aunt Jane in her state -barouche, in which she sat supported by a pair of rather faded Berlin -wool cushions, great eyesores to my critical English taste, which -largely discounted the fine carriage, big bay walers, fat coachman (an -Indian Jehu of any pretension must be corpulent), the running syces, -and splendid silver-mounted chowries or yâk tails. - -I also was present at various heavy tiffins and dinners, in the -capacity of deputy assistant hostess and niece. I had come in now, to -wait upon Aunt Jane and “take leave,” as she was just off to England, -and had imperatively summoned me to report myself ere she started. I -found the great square white bungalow externally gay with _Bignonia -vinusta_, internally in the utmost confusion. The hall was littered -with straw and bits of newspapers, the drawing-room was full of -packing-cases, half the contents of the cellar were paraded on the -floor, and dozens of tins of “Europe” stores were also on review, all -being for sale. Aunt Jane was seated at a writing-table, revising lists -with a rapid pen. - -“You discover me,” she exclaimed, offering a plump cheek, “sitting like -Marius among the ruins of Carthage.” - -I was dumb. I had no idea until now that Marius was a stout little -elderly woman, wearing a shapeless grey wide-awake and blue spectacles. - -“I feel almost fit for the poggle khana (mad-house),” she continued. -“Just look here! Here is my list of furniture, come back from -making the round of the station, and all that has been taken is a -watering-pot, six finger-glasses, and a pie-dish!” (The truth was -that people were tired of my aunt’s lists.) “And here are dozens -of servants clamouring for chits--and a man waiting to buy the -cows. I wish to goodness some one would buy your uncle’s shikar -camel,”--reading aloud from list,--“‘young, strong, easy trot and walk, -with saddle, Rs. 200.’ Your uncle is going to chum with Mr. Jones. He -does not intend shooting this season--even _he_ finds it an expensive -pursuit,” this in a significant parenthesis. “I’ve not put away the -ornaments, nor sold off my stores, nor packed one of my own things.” - -I muttered some sympathetic remark, but I knew that Aunt Jane enjoyed -these “earthquakings” immensely. She was constantly uprooting her -establishment, and taking what she called “a run home.” - -“And you go on Monday?” I inquired. - -“Yes, child; though I don’t believe I shall ever be ready. Your mother, -of course, will want to know how you are? I must candidly tell her that -you are looking dreadfully pasty. Ah! I see you have got a parcel.” - -“Only a very little one,” I pleaded apologetically. - -“Well, well, I suppose I must _try_ and take it; and now what are your -plans?” - -“Tom has got two months’ leave, and Charlie is coming up from Madras; -we are going away on a trip into the real jungle.” - -“For what?” she asked tartly. - -“Well, to see something different from the routine of cantonment life, -something different from the band-stand and D.W.P. pattern church--to -see _real_ India.” - -“What folly! Real India, indeed!” she snorted; “as if you would _ever_ -see it! It makes me wild to hear of people talking, and worse still, -writing about India, as if one person could grasp even a small corner -of it. Here am I, twenty-five years in the country, speaking the -language fluently, and what do I know?” she paused dramatically. “The -bazaar prices, the names of the local trees and flowers, the rents of -the principal houses up at Simla.” (I have reason to believe that my -aunt did herself gross injustice; she knew the private affairs of half -the civilians in the provinces, and was on intimate terms with their -“family skeletons.”) “As to the character of the people! I cannot even -fathom my own ayah, and she is with me eleven years.” - -“I believe some people know a great deal about India,” I ventured to -protest. - -“Stuff!” she interrupted. “One person may know a little of one part -of the continent, but there are twenty Indias!--all different, with -different climates, customs, and people. What resemblance is there -between a Moplah on the west coast and a Leucha from Darjeeling, a -little stunted Andamanese and a Sikh; a Gond from the C.P. and a Pathan -from the frontier; a Bengali Baboo and a bold Rohilla?” (Aunt Jane -was now mounted on her hobby, and I had nothing to do but to look and -listen.) “Every one thinks his own little corner is India. You, as an -officer’s wife--the wife of a subaltern in a marching regiment”--(she -always insisted on the prefix “marching”)--“have better chances than a -civilian, for they live in one groove; you are shot about from Colombo -to Peshawar. However, much good it will do you, for you are naturally -dull, and have no talent for observation.” - -“No, not like _you_, Aunt Jane,” I ventured with mild sarcasm: was she -not going home? - -“And where are you bound for?” she pursued. - -“About a hundred miles out, due north.” - -“That is the Merween district, I know it well. We were in that division -years ago. Had you consulted _me_, before making your plans, your uncle -might have arranged about elephants for you. It’s too late now,” with a -somewhat triumphant air. - -“But we don’t want elephants,” I protested; “we have our ponies.” - -“Id----” correcting herself, “simpleton! I meant for shooting from. -The district is full of long grass. Tom will get no deer, nor indeed -any game on foot. You may have the shikar camel, if you like, for his -keep, and the Oontwallah’s pay--no?” as I shook my head emphatically. -“Well, I can give you one tip: take plenty of tinned stores; the -villages are scattered, and Brahmin. You won’t get an egg, much less -a fowl--at most a little ghee and flour; but I strongly advise you to -take your own poultry, and a couple of milch goats, also _plenty_ of -quinine and cholera mixture; parts of the country are very marshy and -unhealthy. I suppose you have tents? _We_ cannot lend you any.” - -“Yes, we have three, thank you.” - -“And so your brother Charles is going with you! Tell him that _I_ think -he had much better have stayed quietly with his regiment, and worked -for the higher standard--a boy only out two years. Of course _you_ are -paying his expenses?” - -I nodded. Tom was moderately well off; though we were not rich, we were -not exactly poor, and I always had a firm conviction that Aunt Jane -would have liked me _much_ better if I had been a pauper! As it was, -she considered me dangerously independent. - -“Of course you think you know your own business best!” removing her -spectacles as she spoke, “but mark my words, you will find this trip -a great deal more costly than you imagine. With us civilians it is -different, a sort of royal progress; but with you--well, well,” shaking -her head, “you must buy your own experience!” - -A week later we had set forth, Tom, Charlie, and myself. We took Aunt -Jane’s advice (it was all she had given us), and despatched our tents -and carts twenty-four hours’ ahead, so as to give them a good start. -We cantered out after them, a fifteen-mile ride, the following day. -It was my first experience of camp life, and perfectly delightful; -the tent under the trees felt so cool and fresh, in comparison with a -sun-baked bungalow. Our servants, who appeared quite at home, had built -a mud fireplace, and were cooking the dinner; the milch goats were -browsing, and the poultry picking about in the adaptable manner of an -Indian bazaar fowl. Our next halt was to be twenty miles farther on, at -an engineer’s bungalow, which was splendidly situated between a forest -swarming with game and a river teeming with fish. Here we intended -to remain for some time; we should be in the territory of the Rajah -of Betwa, and were bearers of a letter asking for his assistance, in -the way of procuring provisions in the villages. At midday we halted -for several hours in a mango tope, the home of thousands of monkeys, -and went forward again about four o’clock. Our road was bordered at -either side by a golden sea of gently waving crops, for we were in the -heart of a great wheat country. Presently we passed through the town -of Betwa, which chiefly consisted of a long dirty bazaar, an ancient -fort, and a high mud wall, enclosing the palace of the rajah. About a -mile beyond the outskirts, we beheld a cloud of yellow dust rapidly -approaching. - -“I’ll bet ten to one it’s the rajah,” said Tom, as he abruptly pulled -up his pony. - -I felt intensely excited. I had never seen a real live rajah in my -life; and I held myself in readiness for any amount of pomp and -splendour, from milk-white arabs with gold trappings, to a glass coach. -But what was this that I beheld, as we drew respectfully to one side? -I could scarcely believe my own eyes, as there thundered by a most -dilapidated waggonette, drawn by one huge bony horse and a pony, truly -sorry steeds; the harness was tied up with rope, and even rags! Seated -in front was a spare dark man, with a disagreeable expression, dressed -in a stuff coat, the colour of Reckitt’s blue, and a gold skull-cap. -He salaamed to us in a condescending manner, and was presumably the -rajah. A fat pock-marked driver held the reins; in the body of the -waggonette were six men (the suite), and their united weight gave the -vehicle a dangerous tilt backwards. The equipage was accompanied by -four ragamuffins, with long spears, riding miserable old screws with -bell-rope bridles. They kept up a steady tittuping canter, raising a -cloud of suffocating dust, in which they presently vanished. - -“I can’t believe that _that_ is a rajah, much less _our_ rajah,” I -remarked to my companions. - -“I can,” said Tom, emphatically. “He looks what he is--an unmitigated -scoundrel, and a miser. Did you notice how close his eyes were -together? He is a rich man, too; is lord of the soil as far as your -eyes can see. His grandfather owned a great deal more before the -Mutiny, but it was shorn from him, and he was thankful to be left with -an acre--or his life.” - -“Why?” asked Charlie and I in a breath. - -“He came out of that bad business very badly. When the inhabitants of -Luckmee were surprised, they sent their women and children to him for -protection, he being, as they supposed, their very good friend; but -he simply bundled them all out, and they were every one massacred. The -rajah then believed that the mutineers would carry everything before -them, but after the fall of Delhi he changed his tune, and sent on a -charger the head of the chief leader in these parts--his own nephew, -as it happened, but this is a detail--in order to make his peace. Of -course, he saved his skin, but he had a bad record, and his grandson is -a chip of the old block.” - -“Who told you all this?” I inquired. - -“The collector. He says this man grinds down the ryots shamelessly, and -does many a queer thing that ought to land him in a court of law. Here -is the forest, and here, thank goodness, is _the_ bungalow at last.” - -Our halting-place proved to be a thatched stone cottage, containing -three rooms, and bath-rooms; there was a deep verandah all round, -excellent servants’ quarters and stables--in short, it was the beau -idéal of a jungle residence. One verandah looked towards the forest, -with its cool, dark recesses, the other commanded the river, and beyond -it, faintly on the sky line, glimmered the snows. - -The bungalow was surrounded by about twenty acres of park-like pasture, -through which ran a public road leading to a fine bridge. We took in -these details as we lounged about in the moonlight after dinner, and -unanimously agreed that our present quarters were quite perfect in -every respect. - -The next day we fished--a nice, lazy, unexciting occupation. I -sauntered home early in the afternoon--not being a particularly -enthusiastic angler--and disposed myself in a comfortable deep straw -chair in the verandah, in order to enjoy a novel and what I considered -a well-earned cup of tea. As I reclined at my ease, devouring fiction -and cake, sandwich fashion, my attention was arrested by a sound of -loud crashing and smashing of branches in the usually death-like -stillness of the forest. I sat erect, gazing intently at the violent -storm among the leaves, expecting to see emerge a deer, a pig, or, at -the very worst, a peacock! But after staring steadily for some time, I -found that I was looking at the back of a remarkably tall elephant. - -The ayah, who was also watching, pointed and called out, “Hathi, mem -sahib, burra hathi,” as if I did not know an elephant when I saw one! - -Presently I descended the steps, strolled across the green, and pushed -aside the bushes. There I beheld a lean native, all ribs and turban, -busily engaged in baking his chupatties over a fire of sticks--a little -wizened man, with a sharp cruel face, and close behind him stood a -huge gaunt elephant, or rather the framework of one, for the animal -was shockingly thin. Its poor backbone was as sharp as a razor; its -skin hung in great wrinkles; its eye--an elephant’s eye is small and -ugly--this beast’s eye gave expression to its whole body, and had a -woful look of inarticulate misery, of almost desperate, human -appeal. - -The mahout stood up and salaamed, and forthwith he and I began to -converse--that is to say, we made frantic endeavours to understand one -another--the ayah, whose curiosity had dragged her forth, now and then -throwing in a missing word. - -“By my favour, it was the rajah’s state elephant; he had also three -others; he sent them into the forest to feed and to rest, when he did -not require them. This, Shere Bahadur (brave lion), was the great -processional elephant, and had a superb cloth-of-gold canopy that -covered him from head to tail.” - -(“Poor brute!” I said to myself, “otherwise he would be a terribly -distressing spectacle.”) - -“Why is he so thin?” I demanded anxiously. - -“Because he is old,” was the ready answer, “more than one hundred -years. He had been, so folk said, a war-elephant taken in battle. He -was worth thousands and thousands of rupees once. He knew no fear, and -no fatigue. Moreover, he was a great shikar elephant--many tigers had -he faced”--and here the mahout proudly showed me the traces of some -ancient scars--“even now the Sahib Log borrowed him as an honour.” - -“And what had he to eat?” I inquired. - -“More than he could swallow--twelve large chupatties twice a day--this -size”--holding his skinny arms wide apart--“also ghoor, and sugar-cane, -and spice.” - -I looked about. I saw no sign of anything but a few branches of neem -tree, and the preparations for the mahout’s own meagre meal. - -“Hazoor, he has had his khana--he has dined like a prince,” reiterated -the mahout. “Kuda ka Kussum,” that is to say, “so help me God.” - -Nevertheless I remained incredulous. I went over to the bungalow and -brought out a loaf, to the extreme consternation of our khansamah--we -being forty miles from the nearest bazaar bakery--this I broke in two -pieces, and presented it to Shere Bahadur, who seized it ravenously. Of -course it was a mere crumb, and the wrinkled eager trunk was piteously -held out for more; but more I dared not give, for I was in these days -entirely under the yoke of my domestics! I related my little adventure -during dinner--small episodes become great ones in the jungle, where -we had no news, no dâk. Afterwards we took our usual stroll in the -moonlight, and Charlie and I went to visit my new acquaintance. He was -alone. The mahout was away, probably smoking at a panchayet in the -nearest village. In a short time we were joined by Tom, who, as he came -up, exclaimed-- - -“By Jove, he _is_ thin! I’ve just been hearing all about the beast -from the shikarri; he knows him well. He was a magnificent fellow in -his day. The rajah has not the heart to feed him in his old age, and -turns him out to pick up a living, or starve--whichever he likes. -_He_ is not going to pay for his keep, and so the poor brute is dying -by inches. Every now and then, when there is a ‘tamasha,’ he is sent -for--for a rajah without elephants is like a society woman without -diamonds.” - -“And the twelve chupatties, and spices, and sugar?” I exclaimed. - -“All moonshine!” was the laconic reply. - -I thought a great deal of that miserable famishing animal. He preyed on -my mind, in the watches of the night: I could hear him through the open -window, moving restlessly among the bushes. I was sorely tempted to -rise and steal my own loaves, and give him every crumb in the larder! - -Next morning I boldly commanded four enormous cakes to be made, and -took them to him myself. He seemed to know me, and swallowed them down -with wolfish avidity. - -When we were fishing that same evening I noticed the elephant down -in the shallows of the river, standing knee-deep in the rushes; his -figure, in profile against the orange sunset, looked exactly like the -arch of a bridge, so wasted was he. - -In the course of a day or two we had firmly cemented our acquaintance. -Shere Bahadur came up to the verandah for sugar-cane and bread, and -salaamed to me ostentatiously whenever we met. - -“As we are feeding the beast, we may as well make use of him,” remarked -Tom, one morning. “The mahout declares that the rajah will let us have -him for his keep, and his own wages--six rupees a month. We can have a -howdah, and the elephant will be very useful when we get among the long -grass and the deer.” - -“Yes, do let us have him,” I gladly agreed. I could not endure to leave -him behind, to return to his ration of neem leaves and semi-starvation. -Tom therefore despatched a “chit” by the mahout to the rajah, and the -next day Shere Bahadur came shuffling back, carrying a howdah and his -owner’s sanction, also a paper which Tom was requested to sign. - -This document (written on the leaf of a copy-book, in English, with -immense flourishes) set forth--“That Tom would guarantee to hand Shere -Bahadur back, in good condition, at the end of two months, and that -if anything happened to the elephant, short of natural death, Tom was -responsible for the value of the animal, and the sum of two thousand -rupees.” - -“Well,” said Tom, “it is fair enough, though I doubt if the poor old -bag of bones is worth two hundred rupees. He will be well fed, and -returned in good case, and if he dies now on our hands, after living a -century, it will be a base piece of ingratitude for all your kindness; -however, there is life in the old boy yet. You and he are great chums. -He is a splendid shikar elephant, though a bit slow. I think it is a -capital bunderbast.” And he signed. - -The mahout (now our servant) was full of zeal and zest, and came and -laid his head on my feet, and assured me that “I was his father and his -mother, and that he was my slave.” - -I took care to see Shere Bahadur fed daily. He now really received a -dozen thick chupatties, and plenty of sugar-cane and ghoor, and his -expression lost its look of anguish and famine, though it was early -days to expect any improvement in his figure. When we marched, he -accompanied us, and I rode in the howdah and enjoyed it. He picked his -way so cleverly, and thrust branches aside from our path so carefully, -and seemed (though this may be a wild flight of imagination) to _like_ -to work for me. He was capital at going through jungle, or over rough -ground, but in marshy places the poor dear old gentleman seemed to have -great difficulty in getting along, and to have but little power in his -hind quarters. - -Six weeks of our leave had melted away, as it were--time had passed -but too rapidly. Shere Bahadur proved invaluable out shooting. Thanks -to him, Tom had got a fine tigress, and Charlie some splendid head of -deer. They looked so odd in the high elephant grass--no elephant to -be seen, but merely two men, as it were sailing along in a howdah. Our -last days were, alas! drawing near; our stores were becoming perilously -low. It was the end of March, the grass and leaves were dry as tinder -and brittle as glass, as the hot winds swept over them. Yes, it was -imperative to exchange these charming tents for the thick cat-haunted -thatch of our commonplace bungalow. We were all sunburnt, happy, and -somewhat shabby. I had contrived to see something of India, after all. -I knew the habits of some of the birds and beasts--the names of flowers -and trees. I had gazed at my own reflection in lonely forest pools, -that were half covered with water-lilies, and from whose sedgy margin -flocks of bright-plumaged water-fowl had flashed. - -I had met the peacock and his wives leisurely sauntering home after a -night of pillage in the grain fields. I had seen, in a sunny glade, a -wild dog playing with her puppies. I had watched the big rohu turning -lazily over in the river; the sly grey alligator lying log-like on the -bank; the blue-bull, or nilgai, dashing through the undergrowth. In -short, I had seen a good deal, though I _was_ dull. - -Twice a day I visited my dear friend Shere Bahadur. I had become quite -attached to him, and I firmly believe that he loved me devotedly. -One evening I arrived rather earlier than usual on my rounds, and -discovered the mahout in deep converse with another man, a stranger, -who brought his visit to an abrupt close, and said, as he hurried away, -“Teen Roze” (_i.e._ “three days”), to which the mahout responded, -“Bahout Atcha” (_i.e._ “good”). - -“It is my Bhai,” he explained. Every one seems to be every one else’s -brother, especially suspicious-looking acquaintances. “He has come a -long journey with a message from my father--my father plenty sick, -calling for me.” An every-day excuse for “taking leave,” only second -to the death of the delinquent’s grandmother. - -On the afternoon of the third day we found it too hot to go out early, -and were sitting in our dining-room tent fanning ourselves vigorously -and playing “spoof,” when we suddenly heard a great commotion--a sound -of shouting and running and trumpeting. A tiger, or a “must” elephant, -was my first idea. Yes, there it was! A cry of “The elephant! the -elephant!” It was an elephant--_my_ elephant. We hurried to where a -crowd of all our retainers had collected. A quarter of a mile away -there was a sudden dip in the ground, a half-dried-up pool of water, -covered with a glaze of dark blue scum, surrounded by an expanse of -black oozy mud, fringed with rushes and great water-reeds,--the sort of -place that was the sure haunt of malarious fever--and struggling in the -midst of the quagmire was Shere Bahadur. He had already sunk up to his -shoulders, whilst his mahout lay on the bank tearing his hair, beating -his head upon the ground, and shrieking at intervals, “My life is -departing! my life is departing!” Tom angrily ordered him to arise, and -get to his place on the animal’s back, and endeavour to guide him out -at the safest part; but it appeared to be all quagmire, and quivered -for yards at every movement of the elephant. The mahout gibbered, and -sobbed, but complied. He scrambled on to Shere Bahadur’s neck, and -yelled, gesticulated, urged, and goaded. No need; the poor brute was -aware of the danger--he was labouring now, not for other people’s -profit or pleasure, but for his own life. Every one ran for wood, -wine-cases, or branches, and flung them to the elephant; and it was -pitiful to see how eagerly he snatched at them, and placed them beneath -him, and endeavoured to build himself a foothold. After long and -truly desperate exertions, he got his forelegs right up on the sound -ground, ropes were thrown to him, but, alas! it was all of no avail; -the morass was a peculiarly bad one, and his powerless hind quarters -were unable to complete the effort and land him safely. No, the cruel -quagmire slowly, surely, and remorselessly sucked him down; and, after -a most determined effort on the part of the spectators, and a frenzied -but impotent struggle on his own, Tom turned to me and exclaimed-- - -“Poor old boy! it’s not a bit of good; he will have to go!” - -“Go where?” I cried. “He can be saved; he must be saved,” I added, -hysterically. - -“Impossible; he has not sufficient power to raise himself; the ground -is a sort of quicksand. If there was another elephant here, we might -manage to haul him out; but, as it is, it is a mere question of -time--he will be gone in half an hour.” - -I wept, implored, ran about like one demented, begging, bribing, -entreating the natives to help. And, I must confess, they all did -their very best, nobly led by Tom and Charlie. But their efforts were -fruitless. Shere Bahadur’s hour had come. He had escaped bullets, -grape-shot, and tiger, to be gradually swallowed down by that slimy -black quagmire, and--horrible thought--buried alive! At the end of -a quarter of an hour he had sunk up to his ears, and had ceased to -struggle. His trunk was still above the mud. His poor hidden sides!--we -could hear them going like the paddle-wheels of a steamer. It appeared -to me that his eye sought mine! - -Oh, I could endure the scene no longer. I left the crowd to see the -very end, rushed back to the tent, flung myself on my bed, covered -up my head, and wept myself nearly blind. It seemed hours and -hours--twenty-four hours--before Tom came in, and said, as solemnly as -if he were announcing the death of a friend, “It is all over.” - - * * * * * - -The detestable mahout over-acted his part; at first he simulated -frenzy, his grief far surpassed mine, he gibbered, wept, and beat -his breast, and rolled upon the ground at our feet in a paroxysm of -anguish, as he assured us that the rajah was a ruthless lord, and -that when he returned to Betwa without the Hathi he would certainly -be put to torture, and subsequently to death. And then Tom suddenly -bethought himself of the terms of the agreement. The elephant had _not_ -died a natural death. No, he had “gone down quick into the pit.” He -was dead, and Tom was bound to pay two thousand rupees (about £150). -He looked exceedingly glum, but there was no other alternative; yes, -he must pay--even if he could not contrive to look pleasant. He most -reluctantly sent the rajah a cheque for the amount on the Bank of -Bengal, and the mahout departed with somewhat suspicious alacrity, -leaving the howdah behind him. - -Afterwards, we became acquainted with two extraordinary facts. One was -that the rajah had carefully arranged for the death of the elephant, -even before we left our first camp; that the mahout’s so-called -brother was simply a special messenger, who had been despatched to -“hurry up” the tragedy. Discovery the second, that the mahout had been -seen by our shikarri and several other men deliberately goading and -urging the elephant into the quagmire. The wise animal had at first -steadily resisted, but putting implicit faith in his rider--who had -driven him for years--and being the most docile of his race, he had -ultimately yielded, and obediently waded in to his death. At first we -indignantly refused to credit these stories, and declared that they -were merely the ordinary malicious native slander; but subsequently a -slip of copy-book paper was discovered in the pocket of the howdah, -which, being interpreted by Tom, read as follows-- - -“Make no delay. Bad quagmire. Give fifty rupees.--Betwa.” - -And Shere Bahadur was betrayed for that sum. - -We received in due time an effusive letter from the Rajah of Betwa, -written, as usual, on the leaf of a copy-book, and inscribed with -numerous ornamental flourishes. He also enclosed a formal stamped -receipt, which is on my bill-file at the present moment, and is not the -least remarkable of the many curious documents there impaled. It says-- - -“Received from Mister Captain Thomas Hay, the sum of two thousand -government rupees, the value of one War elephant--lost!” - - - - -“PROVEN OR NOT PROVEN?” - -THE TRUE STORY OF NAIM SING, RAJPOOT. - - -Look around, and above, with your mind’s eye, and behold high hills -and deep narrow valleys--valleys overflowing with corn, and hills -speckled with flocks; no, these are not the Alps,--nor yet the Andes; -the sturdy brown people have the Tartar type of face, their stubborn, -shaggy ponies are of Thibetan breed. You stand on the borders of -Nepaul, and among the lower slopes of the great Himalayas--a remote -district, but tolerably populated and prosperous. There are many -snug, flat-roofed houses scattered up and down the niches in these -staircase-like heights, encompassed with cowsheds, melon gardens, -groves of walnut trees, and a few almost perpendicular acres of murga -(grain); their proprietors are well-to-do, their wants inconsiderable, -the possession of a pony, half a dozen goats, and a couple of milch -buffaloes, constitutes a man of means, who is as happy in his way as, -perhaps happier than, the English or Irish owner of a great landed -estate. Moreover, this pastoral life has its pleasures: there are -holy festivals, fairs, feasts, wrestling-matches,--and occasionally a -little gambling and cock-fighting. But even in these primitive mountain -regions, life is not _all_ Arcadian simplicity; there are black spots -on the sun of its existence, such as envy, hatred, malice, jealousy, -false-witness, and murder. - -Peaceful, even to sleepiness, as the district appears, serene and -immovable as the grand outline of its lofty white horizon, nevertheless -this remote corner of the world has been the scene of a renowned -trial--a trial which outrivalled many a notorious case in far-away -Europe for exciting violent disputes, disturbances, and bloodshed--a -trial which convulsed Kumaon, Kali Kumaon, and Gurwalh--whose effects, -as it were the ripples from a stone cast into still waters, are -experienced to the present hour in the shape of curses, collisions, and -feuds. At the root of the trouble was, as usual, a woman. - -Durali (which signifies ‘darling’) was the grandchild and only -surviving relative of Ahmed Dutt, a thriftless, shrivelled old -hill-man, who smoked serrus (or Indian hemp) until he brought himself -into a condition of imbecility, and suffered his worldly affairs to -go to ruin; his hungry cattle and goats strayed over his neighbours’ -lands, he cared not for crops, nor yet for wor-hos (boundary marks), -he cared for nought but his huka, and his warm padded quilt, and -abandoned the beautiful Durali, like the cattle, to her own devices. -Now, according to Durali, these devices were supremely innocent: she -spun wool, kept fowl, laboured somewhat fitfully in the fields, and -tended the jungle of dahlias and marigolds which threatened to swallow -up the little slab-roofed dwelling--that was all. So said Ahmed Dutt’s -granddaughter, but public opinion held a different view; it lifted -up its voice (in a shrill treble), and declared that Durali, being -by general consent the most beautiful woman in Kumaon, had wrung the -hearts of half the young--ay, and old--men in the province; that of a -truth her suitors were legion; but that she turned her back on all of -them--as she would have fools to believe--no! - -Her grandfather was indigent, as who could deny? Whence, then, the rich -silver necklet, the bangles, the great belt of uncut turquoise, blue -as the spring sky--whence the strong Bhootia pony? Had Ahmed Dutt been -otherwise than a smoke-sodden idiot and a dotard, he had, according -to custom, sold this valuable chattel a full year ago, and received -as her price three hundred rupees, yea, and young asses, perchance, -and buffaloes. As it was, Durali ruled him tyrannically, flouted all -humble pretenders for her hand, and at eighteen years of age was her -own mistress, fancy-free, poor, ambitious, and beautiful--miraculously -beautiful! since her wondrous loveliness stirred even the leathern -hearts of these hill-men; and she possessed a face, figure, craft, and -coquetry, amply warranted to set the whole of Kumaon in a blaze. Yea, -the saying that “to be her friend was unfortunate, to be her suitor -beckoned death,” deterred but few. It was undeniable that Farid Khan -had fallen over the khud, on the bad road to Pura; do not his bones -lie, to this day, unburied and bleaching, at the foot of that awful -precipice? _Who_ said that his rival, Jye Bhan, had pushed him in the -dark? Who could prove it? At any rate, he was no more. As was also -Kalio Thapa, carried away by a mighty flood in the Sardah river--how -it befell, who could say? And there was, moreover, Phulia, who had -certainly hanged himself because Durali had spurned him. - -Many were her adorers, and exceedingly bitter the hatred they bore to -one another. - -Durali was tall, erect, and Juno-like, with a skin like new wheat, -features of a bold Greek type, abundant jet-black hair, and a pair -of magnificent eyes. Other women declared that there was magic in -these--certainly they spoke with tongues, they commanded, exhorted, -entreated, dazzled, and bewitched. - -But Durali owed nothing to the fine feathers which enhance the -attractions of so many fine birds. She wore a dark-blue petticoat and -short cotton jacket, a few bangles and a copper charm--the ordinary -attire of an ordinary Pahari girl; dress could add but little to her -superb personality. - -The handsome granddaughter of Ahmed Dutt was well known by reputation -in the surrounding villages, her name was in every one’s mouth, her -fame had penetrated even as far as Almora itself. At the sacred feast -of the Dusserah, where crowds assemble to behold the yearly sacrifice, -there Durali appeared for the first time, and in gala costume, wearing -a short-sleeved red velveteen bodice, an enviable silver necklet, and -a flower behind each ear. The eyes of half the multitude were riveted -on the hill beauty--instead of the devoted buffalo, which had been tied -up for days, at the quarter guard of the Ghoorkas, and now innocently -awaited its impending fate. - -Yes, people actually thronged, and pressed, and pushed, and strove, -in order to obtain a good look at the famous Durali, for whom men had -contended, and fought--ay, and died. - - * * * * * - -There was a sudden lull in the loud hum of voluble Pahari tongues, -and all attention was concentrated on a renowned athlete, who stepped -forward with the huge Nepaulese sacrificial knife in his hand, and with -one swift dexterous blow severed the buffalo’s ponderous head from his -body. Immediately ensued a frenzied rush on the part of the spectators, -in order to dip a piece of cloth in the smoking blood. There was also -a determined, nay, a ferocious struggle between two young men, as to -which should have the privilege of plunging Durali’s handkerchief, on -her behalf, into the holy stream. This coveted office fell to Naim -Sing, who wrung the cloth from the feebler grasp of Johar, the son of -Turroo. This contest over a blood-stained rag was noted at the time. -It was an evil omen, and more than one old crone shook her grey head, -as she muttered, “Mark ye, my sisters, there will be yet more trouble -between the strivers--yea, bloodshed.” - -The victor was the son of Bhowan Sing, who lived in the village of -Beebadak, and cultivated a considerable amount of fertile land. He had -three sons--Umed Sing, Rattan Sing, and Naim Sing; the latter was the -Benjamin of the family, a handsome youth, with a lithe, symmetrical -figure, bold eloquent grey eyes, and crisp black locks, the champion -wrestler of his pergunnah (and of the district); possessed not merely -of an active and powerful body, but an active and powerful mind. His -appearance, his age, and his stronger character, were not the only -reasons that made him looked up to by his brethren and neighbours, -and a ruler in his father’s house; some two years previously, whilst -digging a well, he had discovered a pot of coins, and was now the owner -of twenty pairs of pearls, fifty gold mohurs, four ponies, and a herd -of milch buffaloes. Happy the woman whom Naim Sing would take to wife! - -Johar, the son of Turroo, was a sturdy, square-faced youth, honest and -cheerful, who had nought to cast into the balance against prowess, -ponies, and pearls, save one slender accomplishment, and his heart--he -played somewhat skilfully on a whistle, which was fashioned out of the -thigh-bone of a man, and profusely studded with great rough turquoises. -He was in much request at all the revellings within thirty miles--that -is to say, Johar with his whistle. - -Not long after the Dusserah, the venerable Ahmed Dutt smoked himself -peacefully out of this world, and was duly burnt, with every necessary -formality. His granddaughter being left forlorn, now took an old woman -to live with her in the little stone house under the edge of the Almora -road, as you go to Loher Ghât. Durali was in straitened circumstances; -the murga crop had failed, three of her lean kine were dead, but she -was befriended by Naim Sing, who evinced much sympathy for her desolate -condition; and it was a matter of whispered gossip that Johar was also -secretly performing acts of kindness--secretly, indeed, for none dared -to put themselves into competition with the formidable Naim Sing,--and -it was believed that he was the favoured suitor. - -At harvest-time, Naim Sing was compelled to be absent for ten days, -on an urgent mission to the foot of the hills. Immediately on his -return, he hastened to Durali’s hut, and found her absent. Wearied by a -rapid march of thirty miles, he cast himself down among the long rice -stalks at the foot of a choora tree, and there impatiently awaited the -reappearance of his divinity. As he lay half dozing in the heat, his -practised ear heard steps and voices, and looking through the rice -stalks he beheld a couple leisurely approaching. The man was playing on -a bone whistle, and the woman carried sheaves of wheat upon her stately -head. There was no difficulty in recognizing Durali and Johar. The -jealous watcher lay still, listening eagerly with quick-coming breath. -It appeared to him that the beguiling Durali by no means discouraged -her companion’s advances, which were couched in the usual flowery -terms of Oriental flattery. “Oh, woman, thou hast sheaves on thy head, -but they appear like clusters of pomegranates on thy shoulders. There -is none like thee. The light of thy beauty hath illumined my soul! -As for Naim Sing, he is a seller of dog’s flesh! an owl, the son of -an owl; he is vain as the sandpiper, who sleeps with his legs up, in -order to support the sky at night. Listen, O core of my heart! it hath -come to mine ears, that trade and barter have nought to do with his -hasty excursions to the plains--he hath a wife at Huldwani--hence his -journeys.” - -This was too much for the endurance of his enraged listener, who, -leaping furiously upon Johar, clove his head with his heavy tulwar -(sword). Johar staggered, blinded with blood, and defenceless, then, -turning, ran for his life; but his infuriated enemy, flinging the -shrieking girl to one side, swiftly pursued the wounded wretch to -where he had sought refuge in a cowshed, dashed in the frail door, -and there despatched him. Presently he returned, fierce-eyed, savage, -blood-stained, to confront the horror-stricken and trembling Durali. - -“Woman,” he cried hoarsely, “I have slain him--thine the sin. His -death be on thy head!” - -But she, with many tears and vows, vociferously protested her -innocence, and in a surprisingly short time appeased Naim Sing’s wrath. -Now that the rage of his jealousy and vengeance had been satisfied, he -began to realize the result of his passion; he had slain a man--not -the first who had met his death at his hands. He had once killed -an antagonist in a wrestling-match--that was a misadventure; this -was--well, the Sirkar would call it--murder. - -The shades of evening had not yet fallen, and until then he dared not -set about concealing the corpse. He found Durali a cunning adviser and -an unscrupulous accomplice. Men die hard, especially wiry hill-men, and -Johar had not passed away in silence; his expiring groans were heard by -Bucko, the old woman, and Naim Sing was therefore compelled to admit -her into the secret. - -When the moon rose, the three conspirators bound up the body and -carried it down to one of the fields, there they carefully uprooted -each stalk, each distinct plant, growing over the surface of what was -to form the future grave, which was next excavated, and Johar, the son -of Turroo, was dropped into the hole, his whistle flung contemptuously -after him, and both were presently covered up with earth--and wheat. - -The burying-party returned to the hut, where Naim Sing inflicted a -small wound on his leg with a cut of his tulwar, in order to support -the statement he proposed making to the authorities, that Johar had -attacked him with murderous intent, and, having failed in his effort, -fled. Next morning Naim Sing called on the Tehel-seldhar and made his -report, and the Tehel-seldhar despatched a tokdar (responsible official -for a cluster of villages) to take steps for the capture of Johar, the -son of Turroo. But Johar was not to be found, or even heard of, and -his own family became seriously alarmed, and suspected foul play. If -he had fled and departed on a long journey, wherefore had he left his -boots, clothes, and money behind? The connections of Naim Sing were -powerful, their pirohet, or family priest, his personal friend--rumour -and suspicion were strangled--but there were grave whispers round the -fires in the huts, all over the hills: what had befallen Johar, the son -of Turroo? - -However, a murder was a common event. Blood-feuds were acknowledged, -and soon the circumstance was allowed to fade into oblivion by all but -Rateeban, a lame man, Johar’s twin brother, who took a solemn oath -at Gutkoo temple to avenge him. He suspected Durali; he watched her -and her house by stealth. Why was one small corner of the wheat-field -uncut? He made her overtures of friendship, he flattered, he fawned; -by dint of judicious questions, and even more judicious information, -Rateeban gained his end. Oh, false love! Oh, treachery! Oh, woman! it -was the beautiful Durali who led Rateeban to his brother’s grave, -who showed him the blood splashes on the cowshed walls, who told him -the truth. Yes, jealousy is doubtless as cruel as the grave. Durali -had capitulated and given her long-beleaguered heart wholly to Naim -Sing--his eloquence, good looks, prowess,--ay, and presents,--had -carried the citadel, and lo! the dead man’s words were verified. Naim -Sing had already a wife at Huldwani, a bold dark woman of the plains, -to whom he was secretly wed by strictest and securest ceremonial. - -To the amazement and indignation of himself and his kinsmen, Naim Sing -was arrested and carried to Almora jail, there to await his trial; his -friends and connections (who were many and powerful) made a desperate -attempt to secure his release; bribes, and even threats, were used; but -what could avail against the evidence of the treacherous Durali?--and -the evidence of the dead body? Yes, Naim Sing, the champion wrestler, -the leading youth in his district, handsome, popular, rich, in the -full zenith of his days and vigour, was bound to be despatched to -the dark muggy shores of the Salween river, and end his existence -ingloriously in Moulmein jail. Never again would he take part in a -wrestling-match, or breast his native mountains and chase the ibex -and makor; his beloved hills, and his ancestral home, would know him -no more. Rateeban, Johar’s lame brother, would have preferred the -blood of his enemy, but was fain to be contented with his sentence, -“Transportation for life.” He exulted savagely in his revenge, and -actually accompanied the gang of wretched prisoners the whole march of -ninety miles to the railroad--on foot--in order that he might enjoy the -ecstasy of gloating over his foe in chains! Each day at sundown, when -the party halted, Rateeban came and stood opposite to Naim Sing, and, -leaning on his stick, mocked him. It was rumoured that Rateeban was -not the sole voluntary escort, but that a woman, veiled, and riding a -stout grey pony, stealthily followed the party afar off! It was Durali, -who, when it was too late, was distracted with penitence and anguish. -Her remorse was eating away her very heart--but to what avail now? - -Huldwani is a large, populous native town on the edge of the Terai, -a few miles from the foot of the hills, and here a frantic creature -awaited the prisoners, or rather the prisoner Naim Sing. She tore -her hair, she beat her head upon the ground, and Naim Sing was not -unmoved--no. Then she lifted up her hands and her voice, and cursed -with hideous screaming curses “that woman who had wrought this great -shame and wickedness--that other woman on the hills!” And the other -woman, having heard with her ears and seen with her eyes, turned back -and retraced those weary ninety miles, _now_ more in anger than in -sorrow,--for such is human nature. - -In less than twelve months, the news came to the hills that Naim Sing -had died in Moulmein prison, the death certificate said of atrophia, -but his father and brethren called it a broken heart. “He was ever too -wild a bird for a cage,” proclaimed his kinsmen and friends; and within -a short time he was as completely forgotten as Johar, whom he had -slain, and Durali, whom he had deceived, and who had disappeared. - - * * * * * - -After a lapse of twenty years, two men belonging to the village where -Rateeban lived, returned from a pilgrimage, and announced that at the -great fair at Hardwar, on the Ganges, they had seen _Naim Sing_--who -had saluted them as Brahmins. He had with him three horses, and a -woman--his wife--and looked in good health, and prosperous. Rateeban, -at first angrily incredulous, finally determined to investigate -this matter in person, and once more travelled the wearisome ninety -miles which lay between his home and the railway. Though every step -was painful, he heeded it not, such is the power of hate! With -inexhaustible patience, he followed clue after clue; he searched for -nearly three months, and was at last rewarded by success. Back up -to the hills, to a distant village in Gurwalh, among the spectators -at a great wrestling-match, he tracked and found Naim Sing!--Naim -Sing, surprisingly little changed. Where were the signs of convict -labour, the marks of irons, and of that life that burns into a man’s -soul? He looked somewhat older, his temples were bald, but his figure -was as upright, his foot as firm, his eye as keen as ever. Rateeban -swore to him, with fervour, as an escaped convict, and had him -instantly arrested. There was no doubt of his identity; there was the -self-inflicted scar on his leg, the bone in his arm which had been -broken by wrestling. The criminal was brought back to Almora, in order -to be arraigned for unlawful return from transportation, and tried -under section 226 of the Indian Penal Code. - -The tidings of the resurrection and return of Naim Sing was passed by -word of mouth from village to village. His father and brethren, his -friends and relations, and those of Johar and Rateeban, and, in short, -everybody’s friends, flocked into Almora to attend the trial. The case -was heard in the court-house, which stands within the old fort; and -not only was the court itself crammed to suffocation, but the crowds -overflowed the surrounding enclosure, even down the narrow stone steps, -and away into the streets. Thousands and thousands were assembled, -and as the days went on the interest quickened, and the case became a -matter of furious contention between two factions--for and against: -the party who declared the culprit was indeed the real, true, and only -Naim Sing, and the party who swore that he was _not_. Fierce feuds were -engendered, torrents of abuse and angry blows were exchanged,--blood -was freely shed. - -All Kumaon and Gurwalh had encompassed Almora like an invading army, -and Kumaon, Gurwalh, and the respectable Goorka station itself, were in -an uproar, and seething like a witches’ cauldron. - -The prisoner stood up boldly, as befitted the namesake of the lion, -and confronted his accusers with a haughty and impassive mien. But -surely--surely those keen grey eyes were the eyes of Naim Sing! - -“I am not the criminal,” he declared. “Who is this Naim Sing--this -murderer? and what hath he to do with me? Behold I am Krookia, and -my father is Rusool Sing, who lives in the village of Tolee; my star -is Jeshta and Ras, and my horoscope is with Gunga Josh, if he be yet -alive.” - -Moreover, he brought witnesses, and the certificate of Naim Sing’s -death in Moulmein jail. - -“The people of the pergunnah, which you aver that you belong to, do not -know you,” said the Crown prosecutor. “But Rateeban recognized you; how -can you explain that?” - -“There be two Rateebans,” was the glib answer, “and one is mine enemy.” - -“Strange that Rateeban, the enemy of Naim Sing, is your enemy also.” - -“I doubt not that the lame dog--may his race be exterminated!--hath -many foes. I know him not. He hath been the means of sending one man to -prison for life, and now, behold, he would despatch another. It is a -vicious ambition. As for the people of my village, lo! many years ago, -I found a treasure, and my neighbours quarrelled and beat and robbed -me. They have no desire to recall their own black deeds, nor my face. I -fled to the plains, where I have taken road contracts for the Sirkar, -and prospered.” - -“Naim Sing also found a treasure,” said the advocate. “Does the land in -these hills yield so many of these crops?” - -“By your honour’s favour, I cannot tell. I found one treasure, to my -cost. Money is a man-slayer.” - -Many witnesses recognized or repudiated the prisoner, and there was -hard swearing on both sides. - -At length a young Baboo from Allahabad was put forward--a keen, -intelligent, brisk-looking youth, wearing a velvet cap and patent -leather boots, embellished with mother-of-pearl buttons. - -“Twenty years ago I dwelt in Bareilly,” he said. “There were four of -us children, my mother, and my father, who was sick unto death. The -jail daroga, who was his kinsman, came to him privily one night, and -whispered long. I was awake, being an-hungered, and heard all that was -said. - -“‘Lo! Gunesheb, thou art my kinsman. Thou art poor and sick, thy days -are numbered; wouldst thou die a rich man?’ - -“‘Would I die in Paradise?’ said my father. - -“‘A gang of convicts pass here to-morrow, on their way to Calcutta -and Moulmein beyond the sea. Wilt thou take the place of one of them? -Thou art his size and height; thou hast not long to live, he has a -strong young life; and in return for thy miserable body he will give -four hundred rupees, ten pairs of pearls, one pair of gold bangles, and -three ponies.’ - -“My father went forth that same hour with the jail daroga, and returned -no more. Next day my mother wept sore; yea, even though she had gold -bangles on her arms, very solid, and pearls and silver in a cloth; -also there were three ponies, strong and fat, in our yard. Later, she -took us to see when the convicts passed along the road, and we rode -on the ponies beside them for two days. She told the warders she had -a brother, falsely accused, who was in the gang. He wore a square cap -pulled far over his eyes, and he coughed as he marched. As we left, -he embraced me tenderly, by favour of the warders. I knew he was my -father. Afterwards we went south, and returned to Bareilly no more.” - -Thus Gunesheb had bartered away his few remaining months of life for -the benefit of his family, and Naim Sing had spread a bold free wing, -and enjoyed his liberty for twenty years! He had the ceaseless craving -of a born hill-man to return to the mountains. The line of snows edging -the burnt-up plains had drawn him like a magnet. Slowly but surely, -becoming reckless with time and impunity, he had cast fear and caution -to the winds, as once more the smell of the pine-needles and of the -wood smoke crept into his blood! - -As he sat in the dock, the prisoner deliberately scanned every face -with an air of lofty indifference. He swore to the last that “he -was Krookia, the son of Rusool Sing,” but no respectable land-owner -identified him under that name. Moreover, the wife of Naim Sing had -been recognized at her native place wearing her rings and bangles, sure -and certain token that her husband was _alive_; and in the face of -overwhelming evidence, the culprit was sentenced for the second time on -the same spot to be transported beyond the seas for the term of his -natural life. - -Then Naim Sing arose, tall and erect, a dignified and impressive -figure, carrying his two-score years with grace, and made a most -powerful and thrilling appeal in his own defence--an appeal for an -innocent man, who was about to be banished for ever from his home -and country, because, forsooth, his features had the ill fortune to -resemble those of a dead murderer! - -During his speech, one could almost hear a leaf fall outside the court. -The previous quiet had now changed to what resembled a hush of awe. -The audience within and without--the windows and doors stood wide, and -exhibited an immense sea of human heads--hung with avidity on each -sonorous syllable. Not a gesture, not a glance was lost. So stirring -and impassioned was his eloquence, that every heart was shaken, and -many were moved to tears. But the condemned man pleaded his cause in -vain; in fact, his silver tongue afforded but yet another proof of his -identity. His fate was sealed. Fearing a public tumult, he was removed -secretly ere dawn, marched down the mountain sides for the last time, -despatched to the Andamans,--and there he died. - -So ended a trial that lasted many days, that was more discussed and -fought over than any law-suit of the period; a case which is fiercely -argued and hotly debated even to the present hour; a cause which has -divided scores of households and separated chief friends. For there are -some who declare that the real Naim Sing expired in Moulmein jail khana -nineteen years previously, and that the vengeance of Rateeban demanded -two lives for one; also that the heavily bribed son of Gunesheb had -borne black false witness, his father having died in his own house; and -that, of a truth, an innocent man was condemned to transportation and -death: but there be some who think otherwise. - - - - -AN OUTCAST OF THE PEOPLE. - - “Pushed by a power we see not, and struck by a hand unknown, - We pray to the trees for shelter, and press our lips to a stone.” - Sir A. Lyall. - - -Jasoda was seventeen years of age, and fair as a sunrise on the snows. -She dwelt in a district not far from the Goomptee river, among the -wheat and poppy fields that are scattered over Rohilcund. - -As a little girl, all had gone well with her; she was petted and -caressed; she played daily in the sun with other village children, -erecting palaces and temples with dust and blossoms; her hair was -carefully plaited and plastered with cocoanut oil; she wore a big -nose-ring, anklets, and bangles--not brass or pewter, but real silver -ones, for she was married to the heir of a rich thakur, a delicate, -puny boy of her own age. But one rains he died, and there was sore, -sore lamentation. Had Jasoda realized what his death signified to her, -she would have wailed ten times louder than any paid mourner; but -ignorance was surely bliss, and she was not _very_ sorry, for Sapona -had been greedy, fretful, and tyrannical. He had often struck her, -pinched her, and pulled her long plaits, or run screaming with tales -to his mother--a fat woman with a shrill tongue and a heavy arm--whom -Jasoda feared. - -But after Sapona had been carried away to the burning ghâut, all -seemed changed; every one appeared to hate Jasoda, yea, even her own -grandmother. Her ornaments were taken off, her head was shorn, her -cloth, though white, was coarse and old; there were no more games under -the tamarind trees, and no more sweets. Jasoda’s life was blighted -in the bud, for, at the tender age of six, she was that miserable -outcast, a Braminee widow. Poor pariah! she would stand aloof, with -wide-open wistful eyes (ostentatiously shunned by the other children -in the courtyard), and wonder what it all meant. She would piteously -inquire of her grandmother, as the crone sat spinning cotton, “What she -had done. Wherefore might she not eat with her, and why did Jooplee -push her, and strike her, if she approached her? and wherefore did -her mother-in-law, and other women, hold aside their clothes lest she -should touch them as she passed?” - -“The shadow of a widow is to be dreaded, and--it is the custom, it -is our religion,” muttered the old woman, as if speaking to herself. -No doubt the days of suttee were better; then the girl had one grand -hour, applauded by the world; she was holy and sanctified, and hers was -a glorious triumph as she walked in procession behind the tom-toms, -whilst thousands looked on with awe, and the devout pressed forward to -touch her garments. Was not a moment like that worth years of drudgery -and misery, blows and scorn? True, at the end of the march, there was -the funeral pyre under the peepul tree; but if there was oil among -the faggots, and the wood was not too green, and the priests plied -the suttee with sufficient bhang, it was nought! And her screams were -always drowned in the shouting and the tom-toms. She herself had seen -a suttee; yes, and the girl was forced into it. She had no spirit; she -wept, and shrieked, and struggled,--so people had whispered,--but her -relations drove her to the faggots, for the family of a suttee are held -in much esteem! Truly it were better for Jasoda, this child with the -beautiful face, to have died for the honour of her people than to live -to be their scapegoat and their slave! - -As years went on, and hot weather, monsoon, and cold season passed, -and crops were sown and cut, and there were births and marriages and -deaths, Jasoda grew up. She was now seventeen, and very fair to see. -Her mother-in-law hated her, as did also her brother; and, more than -all, her brother’s wife, and her sisters-in-law. In spite of their fine -silk sarees and gold ornaments, they were but little stars, whilst this -accursed girl was as the sun at noonday! - -Jasoda was the drudge of the family,--a large clan, dwelling, as -is customary, within the same enclosure. These courtyards, built -irregularly, somewhat resemble a child’s house of cards; narrow -footpaths between the mud walls compose the village streets. You may -steer your way among these beaten tracks, and beneath these sun-baked -entrenchments, and never see a single house; merely various postern -doors which enclose a space, possibly containing ten hovels, and as -many families. One of the largest courtyards in the village belonged -to Padooram, the brother of Jasoda; he was the richest man in the -whole pergunnah, owned land and cattle and plough bullocks, and had -no bunnia’s claims to disquiet his sleep. His wife, a fat, pock-marked -woman, boasted real gold bangles, and a jewelled nose-ring, and was -the envy of her sex. There was Jasoda’s father and mother-in-law, and -Monnee and Puthao, their married daughters; her younger brother; his -wife and family; also her old grandmother; and Jasoda was the servant -of them all. Truly they were hard masters and merciless mistresses. -She, their slave, arose at dawn. She drew water till her arms ached. -She ground meal, and cooked, and polished the brass cooking-vessels; -she carried the clothes of these households to the ghât, and washed -them; she minded the children, and milked the buffaloes, and herded -the cattle. More than this, when one of the plough bullocks was sick, -her brother placed the yoke on Jasoda’s shoulders, and drove her as -companion to the spotted ox, up and down the long furrows, and in the -sight of all people. To them it was as nought; no one cried shame, -or pitied her--she was only a _widow_. In the harvest season there -was much to do, from daylight till dusk, cutting cane and corn, and -carrying and stacking, and working at the sugar-press. Sometimes, -strong girl as she was, Jasoda wept from sheer weariness. Yet, for all -this toil, she barely got enough to keep her from semi-starvation. She -was flung the scraps that were left from meals, as well as the rags of -the family. Nor did she ever receive one kind word or look, not even -from her grandmother. However, she was amply compensated for this cruel -indifference from another source. Many were the kind words and looks -bestowed on her by the young men of the village; but Jasoda was proud. -Jooplee, her sister-in-law, famed for the most evil mind and wicked -tongue within many koss, even _she_ could find no cause of offence in -her drudge, save that she was the fairest maiden in all the taluka, and -this fault she punished with the zeal and vigour of an envious and ugly -woman! Jasoda was desperately unhappy. What had she done to men or -gods, to be treated thus cruelly? And there was nothing to look forward -to, even in twenty years’ time. Her present lot would only be altered -by death--and after death? There was no future existence for such as -_she_. Many a time she crept away, and poured out all her wrongs to -the squat stone idol daubed with red paint, whose temple was the shade -of the peepul tree. She asked him, “Why women were ever born into the -land?” and besought his help with tears and passionate pleadings. In -vain she cried, “Ram, ram,” and took him offerings of flowers, and -gashed her arm with a sickle, and shed her hot young blood before him. -He maintained his habitual placid pose, his vacant stare, his graven -grin, and gave no sign. No, at the end of six weary moons there was -still no answer to her prayers. Heart-sick, Jasoda now went and gazed -longingly at the river. She stole away to visit it whilst her relations -took their midday rest in the cane-fields. Alas! it was very low, and -fat muggers lay upon its grey mud banks, as lazy as so many logs of -wood, though their evil little eyes were active enough--watching for -floating corpses. No, no; a big rapid torrent in the rains, with a -strong flood, fed by the far-away snows, rushing boldly onward, bearing -great blocks of foam on its brown bosom,--into _that_ she could cast -herself, but not into one of these slow, slimy channels, creeping past -greasy banks, whereon ravenous alligators would battle for her body. - -As time advanced, the tyranny of the family became more oppressive, -and Jasoda threw patience to the winds--indeed, it had long been -threadbare. To be sent five or six koss in the burning June sun, to -gratify the momentary whim of Taramonnee, a child, or, rather, imp -of five, was beyond endurance, and represented the proverbial “last -straw.” The domestic martyr being hopeless and desperate, now turned -on her tormentors, as a leopardess at bay. Why should she be as an -ox, a beast of burthen, all her days? She gave shrill invective for -invective, accepted curses and blows with sullen indifference, and -refused to work beyond a certain portion. Yea, they might kill her, if -they so willed; it would be all the better; and she oscillated between -fits of hot passion and moods of cold obstinacy. Her aged grandmother -could not imagine what had happened to the household slave. She was -usually so long-suffering, so easily driven and abused. The hag and -the other women put their heads together and took counsel, whilst the -rebel sat aloof in a dark corner of her hut, like some wild animal in -its den, her fixed dark eyes staring out on the glaring white courtyard -with an expression of intense, hopeless despair. She hated every one. -She felt that she could almost kill them. Truly she had been born in an -evil hour and under an evil star, and she cursed both hour and planet. -There were Junia and Talloo, girls who had played with her: each had -a husband and babies and bangles; yea, and cows of their own. Why was -she beaten and half starved, and treated like a stray pariah dog? She -was handsomer than either. Isa, the son of Ganga, had told her that her -eyes were stars, her teeth as seed pearls, and her lips like the bud -of the pomegranate; yet these fat, ugly women slept at ease on their -charpoys, whilst she toiled in the cold grey dawn or in the scorching -noonday heat! - -Above all creatures who breathed, she detested Jooplee, her -sister-in-law, the mother of Taramonnee; and next to her, Taramonnee, -a shrill-voiced, malignant imp, who pinched and bit her secretly, and -who once--when she was tied up and beaten--danced before her, and made -mouths at her and mocked her, clapping her hands with fiendish ecstasy. - -For many months a great fire had been smouldering in Jasoda’s -heart, and woe be to the hand that stirred it! Once more it was the -cane-cutting season, and she was toiling hard all day, reaping and -carrying and stacking. She was very very weary, and whilst the carts -lumbered villagewards with the last load, she sat down under a peepul -tree to rest. It was the soft hour of sunset, the cattle were going -home, bats were flickering to and fro, the low evening smoke lay like -a pale blue veil over the land: smoke from fires where many hungry -people were baking the universal chupatti. Jasoda fell fast asleep, and -dreamt. Her dreams were pleasant, for she dreamt that she was dead. -Suddenly she was rudely awoke by an agonizing pain. No, it was not a -snake-bite; it was a pinch from the sharp strong fingers of Jooplee’s -daughter, who, gazing intently into her face, cried with malicious -glee-- - -“Ah, lazy one, arise and work! I shall tell of thee, and to-night thou -shalt be beaten. The neighbours refuse to believe that father beats -thee, because thou dost not scream. Mother said so. But thou shalt -scream to-night, so that thy cries can be heard as far as the bunnia’s -shop. Get up, pig!” And she pushed her with her foot. - -It needed but a touch like this to rouse the sleeping flame. Instantly -Jasoda sprang erect, rage in her heart and murder in her eye. At least -she would rid herself of this insect, and, snatching up a stone, she -dashed it at the child with all the force of a muscular arm, and -with the fury of years of repressed passion. The aim was true, and -Taramonnee fell. For a second her limbs twitched convulsively, and then -she lay still--oh, tragically still. - -“Rise!” screamed Jasoda. “Rise! and may thine eyes be darkened, thou -little devil!” - -But there was no movement; Taramonnee was evidently stunned. Jasoda -stooped and raised her, whilst a terrible fear crept over her. The -child’s head fell back, her hand dropped. Was it possible? Could she -be _dead_? Yes, she was dead, though she had not meant to kill her; -and, since she could not bring her to life, what was she to do? She -gazed with horror at this awful, motionless thing, whose life she -herself had taken, oh, how easily! She could no longer endure those -staring, glazing eyes, she must put them out of her sight. Raising -the limp body with a supreme effort, she carried it in her arms to a -dry well at some distance, and then averting her face, she threw it -down. It struck against the sides, with a dull muffled sound, and fell -to the bottom with a hideous crash that made her shudder. As Jasoda -went slowly homewards, she was conscious that she was now the same as -Moola, the son of Maldhu, who had cut his wife’s throat with a sickle; -or the city girl, who drowned her baby in the tank in the Mango tope. -She cooked the evening meal as usual, and heard Jooplee inquire for -Taramonnee, and send to seek her at a neighbour’s; presently she became -anxious, talked of snakes, hyenas, and devils, and even went herself -to each postern door, and called, “Taramonnee, Taramonnee;” but she -never once thought of inquiring about her from the sullen girl who was -washing the cooking-pots. The old grandmother said soothingly, “Surely -she hath gone with Almonee, who lives across the river.” But this did -not satisfy her anxious parent, and the neighbourhood was summoned, and -a great search made. It was full moon--a splendid harvest moon--and -bright as day. All night long Jasoda lay awake, watching the moonbeams -and listening to the melancholy howl of the jackals, and the heavy thud -of the ripe banka fruit as it fell in the courtyard. Should she run -away or stay? she asked herself. She debated the vital question long, -and finally resolved that she would abide and await her fate! She was -weary of life. Why prolong it? The river was low; best perish by the -rope, and thus end all. At least she would have rest and peace, and -perhaps a new and better life in another world. - -At daybreak, the body of Taramonnee was brought in and laid before her -mother, who tore her hair in a frenzy, and beat her head against the -wall. The hakim was summoned, and solemnly declared that the child had -not met her death by accident. No; behold, there was the blow on her -temple; of a surety, she had been murdered,--and by whom? Jooplee read -the answer in Jasoda’s eyes. - -“Yes, I struck her,” admitted the girl boldly. “She came to me by the -cane-field, and pinched me sorely when I was asleep. I am _glad_ she is -dead.” - -She repeated the same story to four police, who arrived at noon, -and bound her arms, and led her away to jail. She suffered it to be -believed that she had murdered the child in cold blood, and thrown -her down the well. Jasoda’s case was unusually simple; there was but -a brief trial. The culprit offered no defence, and had apparently no -friends. It was known that she had always hated Taramonnee and her -mother; she had found the former alone, had slain her,--and was glad. -Her own mouth destroyed her. The village was in a ferment. The court -was crowded; Jooplee and her people were ravening for revenge. As for -Jasoda’s kindred, they knew she must be hanged--which thing was worse -than suttee--disgrace instead of glory would cover them! When asked if -she had aught to say, Jasoda stood up before the judge, a beautiful -young creature, with the passionate dark eyes and the regular features -of her race, and the form of a Grecian nymph, and answered distinctly-- - -“No, my lord sahib, I care not for my life; and, if it is the will of -the sirkar, let them take it.” To herself she said, “Better this end -than the other; the river is low.” - -As Jasoda lay under sentence of death, her venerable grandmother -bestirred herself to save her. She was a shrivelled, hideous old hag, -with a ragged red chuddah over her head, and she sat at the gate of the -judge’s compound daily, and cried for the space of two hours without -ceasing. - -“Do hai! Do hai! Do hai!” _i.e._ “Mercy! mercy! mercy!” She then -adjourned to the cantonment magistrate’s abode, and shrieked the same -prayer outside his gates; and finally to the civil surgeon’s, who -was also the jail superintendent; and to him, for this reason, she -devoted one hour extra, and her voice never once failed. Thus much for -being the scold of the village! There was intense excitement in the -neighbourhood as the day of execution drew nigh, and lo! one evening, -when a great gallows was raised on the maidan, there were already -collected thousands of people, precisely as if it were some holy spot, -a scene of pilgrimage--all attracted by the same desire--to see a woman -hanged! - -It was indeed a grand tamasha. The crowds far surpassed in numbers -those who assembled at the yearly feast. The local inhabitants noted -with complacency the hundreds of total strangers who came for many -miles on foot, on ponies, or in ekkas. Old Sona ceased now to scream -and beat her breast. She felt like one of the actors in a tremendous -tragedy, and was the object of a certain amount of curiosity and -attention--a position that was entirely novel, and--alas! alas! that -it must be chronicled--secretly enjoyed. The sun rose on the fatal -day--the last sunrise Jasoda would ever see--the great prison gates -opened, and a body of police marched slowly forth. Then came Jasoda, -walking between two warders. There was a murmur among the throng. She -was surprisingly fair to behold, and for once in her life she wore a -dress like girls of her class. A wealthy and eccentric woman in the -city had sent it to her. Yes, she was as fair as the newly risen dawn. -She stood and steadily surveyed the immense expectant multitude. She -recognized the eyes of many people from her own village fixed upon her -with a mixture of interest and awe. She beheld her old grandmother, -and her brother, and Moonee, and Pathoo, and Jai Singh, the son of -Herk Singh, who had compared her to Parbutti herself and to the new -moon. It seemed to her that to be the centre of interest to so vast a -throng was almost as fine as a suttee! The last moment arrived, and the -superintendent asked her if she had anything to say, any bequests to -make. - -“Bequests!” and she almost laughed. “Truly I have nothing in the world -save a few rags. But thou mayest give my body to my grandmother; she -seems sorry. I have nothing to say. The child hurt me, and I struck -her. I meant not to kill her; nevertheless, she died; that is all. She -is dead, and I shall soon be dead also.” - -Jasoda’s fortitude did not fail her--no, not when her arms were -pinioned, her petticoats tied about her feet, the cap drawn over her -face. She never once quailed or trembled. - - * * * * * - -When the body had been cut down, and the crowd had dispersed, the -superintendent sent for the old grandmother, who came, dry-eyed and -fierce. - -“It is somewhat against rules,” he said, “but I am going to grant you -the girl’s only request: she said you were to have her body--take it -away, and burn it!” - -“I!” shrieked the harridan. “_I_ touch her after the dones (hangmen) -have laid their hands on her! _I_, a high-caste Braminee! Do with the -carrion as thou wilt!” and she spat on the ground and went her way. -Thus, after death, neglect and scorn pursued poor hot-tempered Jasoda, -even to the grave. - -Nevertheless, had she but known it, her wrongs were most amply avenged. -Who was there to do the work of the family--nay, of five families? -She who had been their slave for years was sorely missed. The lazy, -useless womenkind had now to cook and bake, draw water and feed cows, -and grumbled loudly and quarrelled savagely among themselves--yea, even -to blows--though the task of one was now portioned among so many. The -patient, graceful figure, toiling to and from the well, or laden with -wood or fodder, was no longer to be met, and was missed by more than -her own household. - -“She was the fairest girl in all the district,” said Gopal, the -bunnia’s son. “There was no joy in her life, she seemed glad to die. -Truly her execution was a grand tamasha, and brought many strangers -from afar.” - -This was her epitaph. - -Jasoda’s name is still green in the memory of the villagers of -Sharsheo; not that they acknowledge any special claim on her part -to beauty, virtue, or martyrdom, but simply because it is not easy -to forget that Jasoda, the daughter of Akin-alloo, and the widow of -Sapona, was hanged. - - - - -AN APPEAL TO THE GODS. - - “We be the gods of the East, - Older than all; - Masters of mourning and feast, - How shall we fall?” - - -Within forty miles of where the Himalayas rise from the plains, -and the sunrise unveils the blushing snows--and precisely half a -koss from the Kanāt river--lies the hamlet of Haru, surrounded by -a tangle of castor-oil plants, mango trees, and tamarinds, and -standing in the midst of a fertile tract of cane, corn, and poppy. The -scarlet-and-white poppies, the stiff, green cane, the waving yellow -wheat, also the village (which boasted nine hundred souls at the last -census), were the joint property of two wealthy zemindars. The northern -part of Haru--including the crops sown for the opium department--was -the inheritance of Durga Pershad, a tall, dark, gaunt man, with an -unpleasant and sinister expression. The wheat, cane, and southern -end of the town belonged to Golab Rai Sing, who bore but a scant -resemblance to his name--“the King of Roses;” he was, in fact, a stout, -smiling, pock-marked person, with a glib tongue, and a close fist. -These two zemindars hated one another as thoroughly as men in their -position were not only bound, but born to do. They had not merely been -bequeathed adjoining lands, and a whole village between them, but a -venerable blood feud, which had been conscientiously handed down from -generation to generation. - -In good old days--days within living memory--there had been desperate -outbreaks, dacoities, and murders, attended with the usual sequel: -hanging or imprisonment beyond the seas. Now, in more civilized times -(although the vital question of the well by the temple was yet in -abeyance, passed on from collector to collector), the rival factions -were content with pounding each other’s cattle, burning each other’s -fodder, and blackening each other’s characters. Both had a large -following of tenants, relations, parasites; and he who brought tidings -that evil had befallen the enemy was a truly welcome guest! When the -great men met, they simply scowled and passed on their way, and their -women-folk laid every sin to the charge of their neighbours that it is -possible for the depraved imagination of a practised native slanderer -to conceive. - -Golab Rai Sing was the richer of the two zemindars, though Durga -Pershad owned a larger extent of ground; but it was whispered that he -had lost much money in a law-suit, and that Muttra Dass (the soucar) -held a mortgage on his best crops; nevertheless, he carried his head -high, and his wife had real silver tyres to the wheels of her ekka! - -It was the first moon in the new year, and the collector’s camp was -pitched under the mango tope, between the village and the river; he -had but recently returned from two years’ furlough, and from the whirl -of politics and the turmoil of life at high pressure; also, he was new -to the district. - -As he stood meditating on the river bank at dawn, and saw the snows -rise on the horizon with the sun, watched the strings of cattle soberly -threading their way to pasture, heard the doves cooing in the woods, -and the rippling of the river through the water plants, he said to -himself, “Here at least is rest and peace.” Casting his eyes toward the -red-roofed houses, half concealed among bananas and cachar trees,--with -their exquisite purple flowers-- - -“I am not sure that these people have not six to four the best of -it,” he remarked aloud (no one but his dog received this startling -confidence), as he gazed enviously at a group of lean brown Brahmins -who were dipping piously in the Kanāt, and pouring water from their -brass lotahs; he thought of his own tailor’s and other bills, his -wife’s insane extravagance, her flirtations, his hard work, his years -of enforced exile. - -“Yes,” he continued, “_we_ know nothing about it. We wear ourselves -out running after phantoms. Here is contentment, assurance of future -happiness, and present peace.” - -But then, you see, he was a new man--a visionary--and was totally -ignorant of the internal condition of this picturesque and primitive -hamlet. - -The same day, as in duty bound, the two zemindars, each mounted on a -pony, and followed by a crowd of retainers, waited upon the collector -sahib, apparently on the most amicable terms. Just once a year they -were compelled to masquerade as friends, though when they had the -collector’s ear in private audience, their mutual complaints were both -numerous and bitter. They bore, as offerings, fruit and wreaths of -evil-smelling marigolds (that noxious flower so amazingly dear to the -native of India); also Golab Rai Sing carried with him one thing which -his rival lacked, and that was his son and only child, Soonder--_i.e._ -“the beautiful”--a lively boy of five years, who was gaily attired -in a rose-coloured satin coat, and wore a purple velvet cap and gold -bangles. He was a sharp and unquestionably spoiled urchin. He sat with -his father and friends, or with his mother and her associates, and -listening open-eared, like the proverbial little pitcher, heard many -things that were not good for his morals--heard perpetual ridicule and -abuse of the enemy of his house; therefore, when he encountered Durga -Pershad in fields or byways, he made hideous grimaces at him, squinted -significantly, and called him “dog,” “pig,” “robber”--behaviour that -naturally endeared him to Pershad, who yearned with irrepressible -craving to find him alone! Subsequently the heir of Golab Rai Sing -would return to his fond parents, boast of his performance, and receive -as reward and encouragement lumps of sticky cocoanut and deliciously -long, wormy native sweets. - -On the supreme occasion of the yearly reception, the child Soonder was -as prettily behaved and hypocritical as his elders. The collector’s -lady noticed him--and that publicly. She knew better than to say he -was a handsome boy (for, if she had no fear of the evil eye, it was -otherwise with her audience), but she gave him a picture paper, and -a battledore and shuttlecock, and his father swelled, beamed, and -literally shone with pride--for was not the presentation made in the -face of childless Durga Pershad, and all the elders of the people? -And greater glory was yet in store for this fortunate zemindar. The -collector, having looked over various papers, and heard witnesses (many -false), actually deigned to visit the well in person, and concluded -what he considered a shamefully procrastinated case, and finally made -over the Kooah well, and all its rights, to Golab Rai Sing and his -heirs for ever! - -That night Golab made a great feast to all his followers, and bitter -were the thoughts of his defeated rival, as he lay sleepless on his -string charpoy, listening to the devilish exultation implied by the -ceaseless tom-toms. - -As days went on, his thoughts became still more poignant; it seemed -to him that his friends were showing defection. Golab Rai had fine -crops, on which there was no lien; he had a son to light the torch of -his funeral pyre; he had the well. Of a truth, he had _too_ much! And -he, Pershad, had been flung in the dust, like a broken gurrah. Thus he -reflected as he sat brooding on the river-bank at sundown. The cattle -were strolling home through the marshes, the cranes were wheeling -overhead, close by a fierce, lean, black pariah gnawed some mysterious -and ghastly meal among the rushes, and on a sandbank lay three huge -alligators--motionless as logs of wood--crafty as foxes, voracious as -South Sea sharks. Durga Pershad glanced indifferently at the cattle, -at the cranes, but as his eyes fell on the alligators they kindled, -they blazed with a truly sinister flash--the alligators had offered him -an idea! - - * * * * * - -It was the feast of lights or lanterns, the festival of Lucksmi, wife -of Vishnu, and the goddess of festival. She, however, brought naught -but sore misfortune to the house of Golab Rai, for since sundown the -child was missing--was gone, without leaving a trace. Amongst the busy -excitement of preparing the illuminations and decorations, he had -vanished. His mother supposed he was with his father, and his father -believed him to be with his mother. Every house, byre, and nook--yea, -even the well, was searched in vain. Durga Pershad was humbly appealed -to, as he sat on his chabootra stolidly smoking his huka. - -“Why question me?” he replied. “How should I know aught of the brat? -What child’s talk is this?” - -A whole day--twenty-four long hours--elapsed, and suspicion pointed a -steady finger at Durga Pershad. Of late it was noticed that he and the -child had been friends--that he had given Soonder sweets--yea, and a -toy. One man averred that he saw a pair resembling them going towards -the river about sundown. The child was jumping for joy, and had a green -air-balloon in his hand. - -This, Durga Pershad swore, was a black lie; he had never left the -village; his kinsman could speak. - -“For how much?” scoffed the other side. “What fool will credit a man’s -relations?” - -Four days passed, and Golab Rai had aged by twenty years. His round, -fat face was drawn and shrivelled; he was bent like an aged man, and -tottered as he walked. - -As for his wife, she had almost lost her senses, though both she and -her husband clung wildly to hope, and he had lavished money unsparingly -in rewards and horse-flesh. As a last resource, the miserable mother -of Soonder came and cast her dishevelled person at the feet of Durga -Pershad--Durga Pershad, whom all her life she had mocked, reviled, and -figuratively spat upon. - -“Take all I possess!” she cried--“my jewels, my eyes, my very life; but -tell me what thou hast done with him? Doth he yet live? My life, all -thou wilt, for his!” - -As she spoke, a little cap was brought--a velvet cap, soaking with -water. It had been found by a fisherman three miles down the river. - -This was sufficient answer to the question, “Doth he yet live?” The -child was no more, his cap bore witness; and Gindia, his mother, -swooned as one that was dead. - -Yes, Soonder had been thrown to the alligators, without doubt; cast -into their jaws, like a kid or a dog. In their mind’s eye, the -villagers beheld the hideous scene, they heard the shriek, saw the -splash, and the ensuing scuffle. What death should Durga Pershad die? - -The whole place was in an uproar; excitement was at fever heat. The -police were sent for to Hassanpore, the nearest large station, and the -suspected zemindar was marched away, and lodged in the Jail Khana; even -his own people were dumb. - -Durga Pershad stoutly avowed his innocence by every oath under a -Hindoo heaven. He engaged, at enormous expense, an English pleader -from Lucknow. He paid much money elsewhere. There was no case. If one -man swore he met him with the child at sundown on the feast of lights, -there were five unshaken witnesses who had seen him at the same hour in -the village. - -Therefore Durga Pershad was acquitted; and, moreover, in the words of -the Sudder judge, “without a stain on his character!” - -Nevertheless, matters were not made equally agreeable for him at -home. His own partisans--save his tenants--held aloof with expressive -significance, and those who were wont to assemble on his chabootra of -an evening to smoke, argue, and bukh, were reduced by more than half. - -But he held his head as high as ever, whilst that of his enemy lay low, -even to the dust. Of what avail now to Golab Rai were his crops, his -rents, his great jars of “ghoor” (coarse sugar), even his well, when he -had no longer a child--a son and heir? - -The immediate effects of the tragedy gradually faded away; it had -ceased to be the sole daily topic, and it was again winter-time. One -chill, starlight evening, as Durga Pershad was riding home alone among -the cane-fields, he was suddenly set upon by a number of men, who had -lain in ambush in the crops. A cloth was thrown over his head, he -was dragged off his pony, and hustled into a doolie, which set off -immediately, and at great speed. There were many riding and running -beside it--the terrified prisoner heard the sound of steps and hoofs -and muttered voices. It seemed to him that he travelled for days; but, -in truth, he had only journeyed twenty hours, when he was suddenly -set down, the sliding door was pushed back, and he was hauled forth. -He found himself standing in a temple (an unknown temple), and by the -light of blazing torches he recognized at least one hundred familiar -faces, including those of Golab Rai and the priest of the village of -Haru. He was so cramped and dazed that at first he could only stagger -and blink; but as his hands were untied, he found his voice. - -“What foul deed is this?” he demanded hoarsely. “Where am I?” - -“Thou art within the most holy temple of Gola-Gokeranath,” answered -the priest, impressively. “We have appealed to man for justice--and in -vain. Therefore, we now approach the gods! Is it not so, my brothers?” - -The reply was a prolonged murmur of hoarse assent from the quiet, -fierce-eyed crowd. - -“Behold the image of Mahadeo, the destroyer!” continued the priest, -pointing to a conical stone in the middle of the temple, on which -the holy Ganges water dripped without ceasing. “Here is the mark of -Hanuman’s thumb, where he rested on his way to Ceylon to war against -the great giant Ravan.” - -A venerable Mahant, or high-priest of the Gosains, now advanced, and -said, in a voice tremulous with age-- - -“Lay thy hand upon this spot, O Durga Pershad, and swear as I shall -speak.” - -Durga Pershad held back instinctively, but the pressure of fifty arms -constrained him, and he yielded. - -“If I have had part or lot in the death of Soonder, the son of Golab -Rai Sing----” - -There was an expressive pause for a full moment, and no sound was -audible save the slow, monotonous dripping of the sacred stream. - -Durga Pershad shuddered, but repeated the sentence somewhat unsteadily. - -“--I call upon Mahadeo, the most holy, the destroyer, to smite me with -the black leprosy in the sight of all men, and that within three -moons. May I die in torture, and by piecemeal. May I be abhorrent -alike to men and gods, and after death, may I hang by my feet for one -thousand years above a fire of chaff.” - -Durga Pershad echoed this hideous sentence with recovered composure. -Truly, it was a vast relief to find that his end was not yet--his life -in no present danger. - -Here was a weird and ghostly scene! The dark, damp temple, at dead of -night, the crowd of stern, accusing countenances, lit up by flashes -of torchlight, the austere high-priest in his robe of office, and -the haggard culprit, the central figure, glaring defiance, with his -uplifted hand upon the cold wet stone! There seemed to the wretched -accused some accursed power in this holy image; the stone clung -tenaciously to his trembling flesh, and he was sensible of an awful, -death-like chill that penetrated to the very marrow of his bones. - - * * * * * - -In a few minutes the lights were extinguished, the wolfish-faced crowd -had melted away, and Durga Pershad found himself alone. He stumbled -out of the shrine, and by the cold, keen starlight descried the edge -of a large tank, which was surrounded by temples. He had never visited -the place of his own free will, but he recognized it from description -as undoubtedly the most holy Gola, where two hundred thousand pilgrims -flocked to worship once a year. - -At daybreak he made his way to the bazaar, and there sold a silver -chain,--for he had no money. It might be imagination, but he believed -that people looked upon him with suspicious eyes. Three days later, he -was at home once more. He told no one that he had been kidnapped--no, -not even his mother or his wife. - -By the end of a month, Durga Pershad had become an altered man. He -looked wofully lean and haggard, he scarcely ate, slept, or smoked, and -appeared dreadfully depressed. He now cared nought for taxes, rents, -or crops, and complained of a strange numbness in his limbs. Much to -the surprise of his household, he undertook a pilgrimage to Hurdwar, -the source of the Ganges (some one had suggested most holy Gola--some -one ignorant of Durga’s enforced expedition). He had barely returned -from Hurdwar when, as if possessed by a fever of piety, he set forth -for Badrinath, in the Himalayas. After that long and arduous journey, -he passed rapidly down to Benares. From thence, concluding an absence -of four months, he returned finally to Haru, and shut himself up within -his own courtyard and in his own house, refusing to see even his -nearest of kin. And now it began to be whispered about from ear to ear -that Durga Pershad, the son of Govindoo Pershad, was smitten with the -kôrh--or black leprosy. - -Yes, the grasp of that terrible disease was upon him. His features -altered, thickened, and took the fatal and unmistakable leonine look. -In a surprisingly short time he had lost the fingers of both hands. -To show himself abroad would simply be to proclaim his guilt, and the -judgment of Mahadeo--whose wrath he had invoked. For weeks and weeks he -successfully evaded his enemies, fortified within his own house, and -protected by his wife and mother, whose shrill tongues garrisoned it -effectually. - -When it became known that the hours of Durga Pershad were numbered, -a body of the elders, led by the village priest, came and sternly -demanded an entrance. They would take _no_ denial. After frantic -clamour and frenzied resistance, they gained admittance--admittance to -the very presence of the leper, who lay in a darkened room, huddled up -on a string bed. - -“Behold,” cried the priest in a sonorous voice, “the finger of Mahadeo, -and the punishment of the slayer of a child! Speak, ere your tongue rot -away, and declare unto us what befell the boy at thy hands, O Durga -Pershad, leper!” - -“Begone!” screamed his wife. “Depart, devil, born with the evil eye, -come to mock at the afflicted of the gods!” - -“When he hath spoken, we will go our ways,” answered a solemn voice; -“but otherwise, we remain until the end.” - -Durga Pershad raised himself laboriously on his charpoy; his head was -muffled up in a brown blanket, he was nearly blind, and cried aloud, in -a shrill, piercing falsetto-- - -“Yea, here is the answer--the god’s answer”--and he thrust out a -leprous arm--“I did it.” - -“How? Hasten to speak, O vile one!” - -“I long desired his life,” he panted. “He came with me to the -river-bank of his own accord, for I had promised him a rare spectacle. -My heart was hot within me--yea, as a red-hot horse-shoe. Even as he -clamoured for my promise, I flung him to the alligators. It was over in -a minute--but--I hear his scream now!” - -Then Durga Pershad covered his face, and lo! as he turned to the wall, -he died. - - - - -TWO LITTLE TRAVELLERS. - - -CHAPTER I. - -Gram had fallen to nine seers for the rupee, which affected the -sahibs who kept horses and polo ponies; and rice was down to eight -measures--this affected the villagers and ryots. The rains due at -Christmas had failed. There was talk of a great scarcity and a sore -famine in the land, especially among the sleek, crafty bunnias, who -bought up every ounce of grain in the district when it was cheap, -and at the first whisper of failing crops--often a rumour started by -themselves--locked it up relentlessly, in hopes of starvation prices, -refusing to sell save at exorbitant rates. - -What is a road coolie to do under these conditions?--a man whose daily -wage never exceeds one anna and a half, no matter how markets may -fluctuate. Three rupees’ worth of grain will keep him alive for twenty -days; but how is he to exist for the remainder of the month? How is he -to feed his children, to pay his tiny rental, and the village tax? - -This was a problem that Chūnnee pondered over, as he sat on a heap of -stones at the side of the road, with his empty basket at his feet, -and a look of despair upon his handsome, and usually good-humoured, -countenance. - -Alas! Chūnnee had been born under an evil star. Scorpio was his -constellation, and all the luck had ebbed from him, as surely as it had -flowed towards his half-brother Zālim Sing. - -Now, Zālim Sing was prosperous and well-to-do, the proprietor of a good -mud house, a patch of castor oil, and two biggahs of land, planted -in rape and linseed; he also owned a huge milch buffalo, a pair of -plough bullocks, and the only ekka within three koss. Yes, an ekka that -came to him with his wife, all lavishly decorated with brass knobs and -ornamental work, an ekka that had yellow curtains, and was drawn by -a bay tat (a bazaar pony), with six rows of blue beads round her ewe -neck. Zālim Sing was prouder of his turn-out than any parvenu’s wife -with her first equipage; and perhaps it was on the strength of this, -more than his store of linseed and his plot of land, that the village -elders hearkened to him with respect. He was a lean, shrewd-looking -man, with a cast in his eye and a halt in his gait. Nevertheless, he -had prospered, and the world had gone well with him, whereas it had -gone ill with his half-brother. - -But Chūnnee was not wise in his generation; he had bartered away his -share of the ancestral home for two cows, a grindstone, and some brass -cooking-pots. The cows had died the rains before last, the cooking-pots -were pawned to the local soucar; his crop of one mango tree had -failed, he had no capital except his sturdy frame, two horny hands, and -his coolie basket. - -In his hovel there were his children--Girunda, a boy aged ten, and -Gyannia, a girl of four. There was also a mat, an old charpoy, a -reaping-hook, a couple of earthen pots, and a white cat. This was all -that Chūnnee possessed in the wide world. It might have sufficed, had -he had wisdom like his brother; but, alas! he had no brains. There he -sat, on the kunker heap, that glaring February afternoon. The land was -still covered with cane crops; the barley was green, and in the ear; -dry leaves were whirling along the road; the banka tree was dropping -red flowers from its grey, leafless branches; the mango tree was in -blossom. Yes, the hot weather, the time of parching and scarcity, would -be on them soon. Suddenly he heard a rattling, and felt a cloud of -warm yellow dust. It was his brother’s ekka. Zālim Sing and a friend -tore past at a gallop, and scarcely noticed the coolie on the side of -the road, beyond a hoarse laugh of derision. Why had fortune been kind -to one brother and cruel to another? Why had his cows died?--his wife -been bitten by a “karite” as she cut vetches, and expired at sundown in -agonies? Ah, Junia was a loss--nigh as great as the cows. She cooked, -and minded the children; she earned one anna a day for reaping; she was -fortunate to die young; she had never lived to know hunger. Why had -some people stores and treasures, to whom they were of no use, whilst -others lacked a morsel to keep them from perishing? - -Chūnnee sat for half an hour with his arms loosely folded on his -breast, and pondered this question in his heart. Presently he arose, -and picked up his basket, and took the path towards his village, where -its brown mud walls and straw roofs stood out in strong relief against -a noble tope of mango trees; but these mangoes were the property of the -sirkar (government). Many an envious eye had been cast on them and -their fine yearly harvests. Despite bazaar rumours about scarcity, it -was surely what is called a bunnia’s famine; for this hungry, handsome -Rajpoot, with the form and sinews of some Greek god, made his way -homewards between marvellous crops at either side of the well-beaten -path. The self-same rich land was yielding gram, rape, linseed; whilst -barley towered high above all. Where else will the earth yield four -harvests with little manure or care? But not an inch of this fertile -soil called Chūnnee master! And what to him was all this fertility? -As he strode along, a fierce temptation kept pace with his steps, and -whispered eagerly in his ear-- - -“There is old Turroo, thy great-uncle; he is nigh ninety years of age, -and rich; his head was grey in the mutiny year. True, he favours Zālim -Sing. They say he hath even advanced him money for seeds, because he -is prosperous; and he will not look at thee, because thou art poor, -much less suffer thee to cross his threshold. They declare he hath -a treasure buried--some that he came upon in the mutiny year. What -avails it to him? He hath his huka and his opium, his warm bedding, and -brass cooking-pots. He only enjoys money when he looks at it--and thy -children are starving. They say that thousands of rupees are hidden -under his floor, and one hundred rupees would make thee a rich man. -Thou mightest till that plot of ground near the big baal tree, and buy -two plough bullocks for twenty-five rupees. Krisna would then lend -thee his plough. Set grain--not linseed, having no mill--grain at even -twelve seers next year, and thou wilt be a wealthy man; yea, and better -than Zālim Sing, who will no longer scoff at thee or cover thee with -dust. Thou wilt have no need to go out as coolie. Thou wilt have plenty -of flour, and dál, and fresh tobacco in thy huka. It is easy--as easy -as breathing. But to rob--to rob an old man?” inquired conscience. -“True; but thine own kinsman, who cannot carry his money to the -burning ghâut, it ought to be thine some day. Thou art his heir, though -he hates thee--men often hate their next-of-kin. His hoarding--it is of -no use to him--it will save thee and thine from death.” - -“But how--how can I take it?” inquired Chūnnee of the tempter. - -“Behold, the nights are dark, the moon doth not rise till morn; thou -hast thy krooplie still; dig through the mud wall. They say the box is -buried near the hearth; open it, and carry away what thou wilt in thy -cloth. The old man sleeps as though a corpse--he drinks opium. He has -no one in the house, no dog. It is so easy; truly, it is a marvel he -hath not been robbed before! Take it; be bold. Truly, it is half thine. -Thou canst keep a pony, too, and buy silver bangles for Gyannia.” - -“But how can I account for this sudden wealth? All the world knows that -I am but a beggar.” - -“Carry it forth and hide it, bury it in a hole far away; for doubtless -there will be a great search. Some weeks later, take a few rupees, and -go by rail to Lucknow; and come back, and say thy wife’s grandmother -hath died, and left thee one hundred rupees. The gold and jewels thou -wilt take in a roll of bedding to Lucknow, and sell. It will all be -easy; have no fear.” - -As these ideas were working in his brain, and he was the sport of two -conflicting feelings, Chūnnee was rapidly approaching his little hovel, -which lay on the outskirts of the village of Paroor. It was a small -hamlet of mud houses, huddled together most irregularly. There was no -main street, nor even an attempt at one; no chief entrance--merely half -a dozen footpaths running into the village from various directions. -There would be a high mud wall and doorway leading into an enclosure, -containing twenty small huts, and as many families, all connected; -here were also ponies, calves, fowl, the property of the clan, and -perchance a bullock-cart or a sugar-press. These enclosures were set -down indiscriminately, and joined together; the only village street, an -irregular path, that threaded its way between them. There were “sets” -even here, as in higher circles; inmates of one mud courtyard, who -owned a sugar-press, looked down on the inmates of those who had none. - -Most people looked down on Chūnnee, the coolie--even the women, -although he was a handsome, well-made fellow. What are looks, when a -man has not a pice, and owns nought save two crying children? Chūnnee -made his way past a crowd collected round a khooloo, or sugar-mill--a -rude, wooden affair, turned by two bullocks, fed with bits of raw cane, -which it squeezes into a receptacle in the ground, and subsequently -empties into another vat indoors, where the sugar is boiled, and -finally poured off into huge jars (similar to those which contained the -forty thieves), and sent to middlemen, who thereby reap much profit. -Paroor was in the midst of a sugar country, and boasted half a dozen -of these rude sugar-mills. - -Chūnnee passed through the scattered strips of cane, basket in -hand--there were no greetings for him--and, turning a corner, dived -between two mud walls into a small hut that stood by itself. A slim, -nearly naked lad ran out to meet him, with a look of expectation on his -intelligent face, but, alas! his father was empty-handed. On the mat -lay a little girl with curly hair and a fair but puny face. She was -fast asleep, holding in her arms a miserably thin bazaar kitten--or it -might be a full-grown cat stunted in size. - -“She was hungry; I fetched her some banka fruit from cows--now she is -asleep,” explained the boy. “There is a little barley--the last--I made -it,” and he pointed to a cake, a very small one, baking on some embers. - -“Father, what shall we do to-morrow?” he asked, as his father devoured -the only food he had seen that day. - -“There is still the reaping-hook.” - -“Gunesh offers two annas for it.” - -“And it cost a rupee and a half.” - -“I went to-day to old Turroo, to ask him for a few cowries, or a bit -of a chupatti for Gyannia--she was crying with hunger, and calling for -food.” - -“And what did he give thee?” - -“He smote me a blow on the back with his staff”--pointing to a weal on -his shoulder. “He said I was a devil’s spawn, good for nothing; like -thee--a beggar.” - -“I would not be as I am, but I have never had a chance--never one -chance.” And, ravenous as he was, Chūnnee the famished yielded half his -cake in answer to his son’s wistful and expectant eyes. - -When darkness had fallen on the village, the inhabitants went to bed -like the birds--it saved oil--though there were a few budmashes who sat -up all night and gambled; each visiting the other’s house in turn, and -providing light and drink. Yes, drink--drink, from the fatal mowra -tree. The fever of gambling seemed to be all over the land. Some -gambled away their money, clothes, tools, cattle, but this gang kept -their proceedings secret--yea, even from their nearest neighbours. -Chūnnee had never gambled. - -As, by degrees, the children were called in, and the houses shut, the -village grew dark and quiet. About twelve o’clock, Chūnnee rose, and -felt for his krooplie (a mattock with a short handle); then he opened -the door and looked forth; there was not a sound to be heard, save the -breathing of the children and the distant howling of a pack of jackals. -There were the clear cold stars in the sky, showing above the opposite -wall. Should he do it? Oh, if Heaven would but send him a sign! It -seemed to him that his devout wish was instantly fulfilled, for at that -moment Gyannia turned in her sleep, moaning her frequent and pitiful -cry when awake, “I am hungry.” - - -CHAPTER II. - -Chūnnee had now received his answer; he stole forth, and crept like a -shadow from wall to wall, down a series of narrow paths, till he came -to a house standing alone in an open space--a notable abode, for a tree -grew through the roof. There was no gate to the outer yard, no dog. The -door was closed--needless to try it; he must work his way through the -mud wall at the back, and crawl in. The baking of many seasons’ suns -had effectually hardened this impediment, and he strove for an hour, -listening for sounds with intense trepidation, whilst the sweat poured -down his face. At last he had scraped a sufficiently large aperture--he -was slender to leanness. He crept through, but his usual bad luck -pursued him; his head came violently against a brass chattie that fell -with a clang enough to waken the dead. It effectually aroused the old -man, who awoke and struck a match, and showed Chūnnee that he had come -too late! - -The light displayed a deep hole in the floor, an empty hole. The door -was ajar; the treasure was already stolen; and Chūnnee stood there, -krooplie in hand, with the cavity in the wall to speak for him--the -convicted thief! - -Old Turroo’s piercing shrieks of “murder” and “dacoity” assembled -a dozen people in less than three minutes. Yea, truly, he had -been robbed! A box lay outside empty, and Chūnnee the coolie, the -ne’er-do-well, had come to this! - -He was caught like a rat in a trap! There was the opening in the -wall, the muddy krooplie in his grasp; he stood plainly convicted. -The criminal hung his head--of what avail to speak, and aver his -innocence?--he was not innocent! Others had got the booty, he would -suffer for them. As he had been toiling and labouring they had been -within, and had carried off what he too had come to seek. - -Perhaps he was served rightly; but he never got a chance--no, not even -to rob. - -Meanwhile old Turroo literally rent his clothes, and tore his scanty -white beard, and howled, cursed, and gesticulated like a madman. Zālim -Sing stood foremost amongst sympathizers (for the venerable relative -still possessed a house, cattle, and lands), and said “that truly it -did not surprise him to find that the thief was his blood-brother.” - -Nevertheless, it did astonish most of the assembly, for Chūnnee, if -miserably poor, had ever been known to be scrupulously honest. They -were amazed, moreover, that he should _begin_ on such a large scale! -Chūnnee offered no resistance; he was led away, and shut up in a -cowhouse, whilst Zālim Sing’s brother-in-law, full of zeal, ran all the -way to Bugwa to fetch the police. - -The police arrived at daybreak--two men and an inspector, in their -blue tunics and red turbans--all looking excessively wise; but their -searching and cross-examining, discovered nothing beyond the empty box. -How had Chūnnee spirited away the treasures? Who was his accomplice? - -“Let him be beaten till he speaks,” implored the venerable creature -who had been ravished of his treasure. “Let the soles of his feet be -roasted until he opens his mouth. Where hath he hidden them?”--and he -shouted to the whole assembled village--“the two bags of rupees, the -golden bangles, the anklets, the strings of pearls--forty pair without -blemish? If he will only give me the pearls!”--and the old man lifted -up his voice and wept. - -A dirty, half-naked old man, how strange it seemed, to behold him -weeping for his pearls! Now, had it been a young and lovely woman, the -grief would have seemed natural. And who would have believed that old -Turroo had such treasures? Ay, he was a sly fox. - -“Give me my pearls, yea, and my gold mohurs. Thou mayst keep the rest, -and go free,” he declared magnanimously. - -But Chūnnee could not give what he had not got, and therefore held his -peace. His children screamed when they saw their father’s arms pinioned -with ropes, the iron things on his hands, and heard he was going away -to the Jail Khana--screamed from fear and hunger. - -Meanwhile old Turroo howled and raved like one possessed, and, pointing -to his grand-nephew, besought the police to put him to torture by fire, -then and there. In former days strange things were done under the -mantle of the law; but in these enlightened times no policeman dare -venture, even for a large bribe, to practise the question by torture. - -So Chūnnee was led away captive, followed as far as the high-road by -fully half the village; and for more than a mile along that dusty -track, two little weeping creatures pattered behind him. At length the -girl could go no further, and fell exhausted. Her father halted between -his guard, and said-- - -“Girunda, take care of thy sister. Go to thy uncle; he will feed thee -till I come back. Go now, ere nightfall.” - -And if he doth not receive them, what is to become of them? was a -thought that harassed him all the weary march. At a turn of the road he -turned and looked back, and saw the two small forlorn figures standing -in the straight, white highway, watching him to the last. - -Chūnnee was brought up before the magistrate that day. He had been -taken red-handed, and had not denied his guilt. He was silent with -respect to the treasure. It had been a most daring dacoity, but, as -it was his first offence, he would be only sentenced to two years’ -imprisonment in Shahjhanpur jail. - -“And his two children?” he ventured to ask. “Who would care for them? -How were they to live?” (There are no poor-houses in India.) - -“Oh, the neighbours, or your relations,” said the Sudder judge, knowing -how immensely generous, good, and charitable the very poorest are to -one another. “You have a brother, of course--he will take them.” - -Chūnnee was by no means so sanguine on this point. - -He was sent on foot to jail--a distance of sixty miles--and there put -in leg-irons, and a convict sacking-coat, with a square cap to cover -his shaven head. He was set to work to pick oakum. He worked steadily, -though with a face and air of dogged despair. But what was the good -of giving trouble? What was the good of anything? The jail fare was -not jail fare to him--it was better than he had at home; and now that -he had sufficient to eat, he grew strong. But how were his children -faring? Were they starving? Other convicts--robbers, gamblers, -dacoits--thought Chūnnee proud and sullen, he was so silent; or surely -he was in for some great crime? - -Luckily for him, the jail daroga liked him, and promoted him to -basket-making, and thence to the vegetable garden. His percentage on -his earnings he did not take out in money, or even in the Sunday smoke. -No; all went to the remission of his sentence. Truly, life was not so -bad, save for the hangings--every convict was forced to attend--and -these executions were not infrequent, for Shahjhanpur was in the centre -of a district notorious for murders. It was a veritable case of “Satan -finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.” - -When all the grain of this most fertile tract is harvested, and the -sugar-cane brakes have been cut and carried away on bullock-carts, when -the linseed is pressed, and the sugar sold, and the wheat threshed and -ground, it is the hot weather; no sowing or ploughing can be done. -People must wait for the first burst of the rains, to soften the -stone-like ground. And, oh, how sweet to the nostrils is the smell of -earth after the first wild downpour! - -Meanwhile, they have money in their hands--the fruit of their labour. -They have long, hot, idle days, and no occupation, so they rake up old -land-feuds, old blood-feuds, old jealousies, and the result is but too -frequently a man’s body found in a nullah, killed by a sickle or a -lathi (heavy stick), or a woman’s corpse drawn out of some abandoned -well. - -The jail gardens supplied all the vegetables to the station, and -the mem sahibs, when the vegetable “doli” came late, knew well the -reason--there had been a hanging. - -Chūnnee attended the first execution with apparently more trepidation -than the criminal himself, who walked to his fate with a jaunty air, -and on being asked if he had arranged all his affairs said-- - -“By your favour, yea;” and then, on second thoughts, added, with -amazing vivacity, “There is one small brass lotah which I forgot. I -desire that it be given to my sister-in-law.” And so, singing a song to -Nirvana, he ascended the gallows and calmly met his fate. - -Another young man’s demeanour was outrivalled by that of his own father -and the kinsfolk who had come to take leave of him. - -The execution was at half-past six, and the official in charge--a -tender-hearted gentleman--stood waiting till the farewells were over, -watch in hand. Time was up, but he would give this vigorous young -Brahmin yet a few more minutes of life. He was engaged in eager -conversation with his relatives, and it was commonly reported and -suspected that he had actually confessed to the crime, and sacrificed -himself in order to save a near kinsman. The official glanced at his -watch once more, and was astounded to catch the eye of the culprit’s -father, and hear him say, in a most matter-of-fact tone-- - -“Yea, truly, my son, time is up. Thou hadst better go at once, for, -remember, we have fifteen koss to carry thee to the Ganges to burn--and -we shall not get home till dark, and the moon is old!” - -The son, without a word, salaamed to this more than Roman parent, and -then turned to meet his fate without an instant’s hesitation. Chūnnee -had beheld many heroes of this type, but he had also seen others who -had not had it in them to encounter death with similar fortitude. He -had noted the wandering, terrified eye, the ashen lips drawn back from -the chattering teeth, the twitching knee-caps, as the man was led -forth to die like a dog; he had seen it, and the sight had made his -heart melt like wax within him, and his limbs shake as if he had been -stricken with palsy. It was his one horror, to be warned to attend an -execution. - -And then there was the ever-haunting fear about his two desolate, -helpless children--were they well or ill, alive or dead? He was -seventy-six miles from his own pergunnah--no one ever visited him with -tidings from home, no one came to see him, and brought him bazaar -news, and sweets, a tin pot to drink from, or even a bit of a wheaten -chupatti. No, he had no friends, either within the jail, or beyond its -walls. - - -CHAPTER III. - -Meanwhile the desolate little couple had toiled painfully back to -Paroor, and halted outside their uncle’s enclosure. They dared not -venture in, and they crouched timidly without the battered wooden -doorway, whilst Zālim Sing laid down the law, expounded his own -virtues, and denounced Chūnnee to more than half the village. He -had always been secretly jealous of his good-looking brother, who, -moreover, was the father of a son, whilst his wife had borne him, -instead of the much-desired heir, no fewer than seven daughters, of -whom four survived; and Zālim’s enemies said among themselves that -his sins must be many, or he would never have been punished with -seven girls! He talked freely, knowing there was no one to defend the -absent, and the starving pair heard that their father was a liar, -a dacoit, a budmash, a thief, and the most ungrateful kinsman to a -noble-hearted brother that ever drew the breath of life--one cannot -talk for ever; and as the listeners gradually dropped off, notice -was naturally attracted by the two wretched little beggars in the -lane--what was to become of them?--their home was empty, save for a -reaping-hook, a charpoy, and a cat. - -Zālim Sing pulled his beard, and scowled; his crooked eye rolled -fiercely, till a woman in the crowd exclaimed in a loud clear voice-- - -“Since thou sayest thou art a benevolent man, and the most generous of -kinsmen, why dost thou stare at the starving ones, instead of taking -them in?” - -Their dusty feet and hunger-stricken faces touched the crowd--as easily -swayed as the branch of a tree to this side and that, by whatever wind -may blow. - -There was a hoarse murmur, which the crafty Zālim quickly interpreted; -now was the time to pose as a noble benefactor--or never; and he drew -the two children over the threshold of the door, and shut himself in -with his detested encumbrances. - -He gave them some coarse food and water, and showed them a sort of shed -where they might sleep. “But thou mayst not enter my house,” he said, -“or play with my children; thy father is a wicked man, therefore ye are -pariahs, but I and my children are good.” - -The next day he went to his brother’s abode and sold the old charpoy, -reaping-hook, and house for the sum of seven rupees; but he could -neither sell nor kill the cat--she sat serenely aloft in a neem tree, -far out of his reach. Presently she discovered her old owners, or they -discovered her; they hid her secretly in their miserable shelter, and -begged a little milk in the village. Alas! she was their only friend. -Their cousins--four sallow, ugly children, two of whom had inherited -their parent’s violent squint, and all of whom were laden with anklets -and bangles, and a vast sense of their own importance--condescended -to come and patronize the two wicked beggars who lived in the old -goat-shed in a corner of the enclosure. They experienced an intense -and novel delight in patronizing, teasing, pinching, and threatening -these little pariahs, who were better fun, and afforded more scope -for amusement, than any of their usual games, and their sense of -their own superiority swelled to enormous proportions. They visited -the unfortunates at all hours; but the cat knew their voices, and -hid hastily among the thatch. Bazaar cats are wonderfully active and -cunning, they are also marvellous thieves, and the cat throve. - -Presently Zālim Sing’s wife discovered that Girunda was old enough to -be of use. She set him to do the work of two servants, or one pony. He -had to draw water and carry it home from the well, to grind corn, to -cut fodder, whilst his little sister cried herself to sleep alone, -for she dared not leave the cat, lest her ever-prying cousins should -discover it and throw it down the well. Certainly its appearance was -against it; it was lean and long and dirty-white, with a thin rat tail; -and a sharp-pointed face--a pure village type--hungry, and careless of -its appearance, a merciless mouser, but a faithful adherent. - -Poor Girunda now toiled early and late, he received nought but blows, -abuse, and the coarsest fare. Much of his utility was unknown to his -uncle--who was frequently from home--but who scowled every time that -his glance fell upon him. - -Affairs were not going quite as smoothly as hitherto with Zālim -Sing. The prices had risen in everything, save in his own particular -commodity, linseed. There was the prospect of an unusually hot, scarce -season, and his pony was sick. He vented all his ill humour on the two -oppressed children “within his gates”--a most excellent, comprehensive, -and Eastern expression--meaning within the mud or stone enclosure, -where the master is supreme, where he can shut out all the world save -his household, his oxen, and servants--shut it out by merely closing -to the street an iron-knobbed wooden door. Within Zālim’s gates his -nephew became a slave; he was made to tend the furnace in the wall, at -the other side of which boiled an enormous receptacle of linseed oil. -This duty was murderous in the glaring, breathless month of April; -it was worse than a fireman’s work in June in the Red Sea--and the -fireman is relieved at his post; no one ever relieved Girunda--the name -signified “thick bread;” but of any bread his share was small--and then -he fell sick. For two days he lay in his shed, burning with fever, his -uncle beat him repeatedly with a thick stick for his laziness--beat -him savagely too--but the boy made no moan, only his little sister -screamed, and the screams attracted the neighbours. - -“He is a lazy, idle, good-for-nothing pig!” explained the uncle to -an eager inquirer; “he will not work aught save his teeth. And she is -half-witted.” - -“True,” said the listener; “and it is only a charitable man like -thyself, O Zālim Sing, who would keep the beggar’s brats, and with a -dearth in the land, too; and wheat rising every week.” - -Then she went back to her spinning of coarse country cloth; Girunda lay -and buried his head in his hands, and Gyannia sobbed in a corner; but -his tormentor went into the house, to confer with his wife. - -“If the boy would not work, neither should he eat. Was _he_ himself to -mind the furnace?” he demanded angrily. - -“The boy is sickening,” said the woman. “I have seen it coming--it is -something bad--maybe the cholera, maybe the smallpox. It is surely some -heavy sickness.” - -“And he may die?” - -“Yea, having given it to us and ours. What shall we do?” - -“Behold, to-night, when the village is quiet, I will take the two of -them, and set them on the high-road. Thou canst bake some chupattis, -and I will give them four annas, and tell them to begone, to return -here no more, for if they do, of a surety I will kill them.” - -“They will believe thee!” said his wife with a laugh. - -“Yea. Why should they not beg, as others do? And soon the boy can work, -and earn an anna a day.” - -“Yea, he will soon be able to work,” agreed this treacherous woman. - -The children were surprised to be left in peace till sunset, and then -to receive some fried beans and a chupatti--most sumptuous fare for -them! But when it was dark, save for a dying moon, Zālim Sing entered -their hut, staff in hand, and awoke them roughly. - -“Arise quickly, and come with me; thou shalt no more remain under my -roof. I have fed thee for three moons, now thou mayst go forth and -feed thyselves. I will set thee on the road, and give thee food for -two days and a little money; get thee to some town, and appeal to the -charitable. Return here, and I will slay thee.” - -The children rose trembling; they had not much delay in dressing, -but Gyannia smuggled the cat under her bit of blue cloth (once her -mother’s), and without one word the wretched pair meekly followed their -uncle across the enclosure, past the oil-press, the sleeping bullocks, -out of the postern, and through the silent village, then away to the -high-road. Their kinsman walked along behind them in the powdery-white -dust, stick in hand, for nearly two miles. It was nigh dawn; already -the yellow light glimmered in the east; he must return; so he halted -abruptly, and gave the boy some chupattis rolled in plantain leaves, -and a four-anna piece (five-pence), and then said, “There lieth thy -road out into the world; get thee gone, and never let me behold thy -face again,” and turning, he walked rapidly homewards. - -The soft tap of his stick gradually died away, and then the children -were quite alone. They sat down, and began to whisper. It was not a -dream; their uncle had come to them in the middle of the night, and -brought them along the high-road in the dark, and given them food, and -told them to begone, and never let him see them again. - -After their first feeling of astonishment had abated, they devoured -a chupatti, sharing it with the cat; and then, as the dawn of light -showed red along the horizon, they rose and went forward. - -“If they had to walk, best make the journey now,” thought the boy, who -was wonderfully sensible for his years. - -“Brother, whither are we going?” asked Gyannia presently. - -“We have no one to go to but father,” he replied. “We will go to -him--to the Jail Khana.” - -But he did not tell her, nor would she have understood, that the -jail in which their father lay imprisoned was seventy miles away. -Hand-in-hand the two outcasts went slowly along the shadeless white -roads; several villagers on the way to their work met them, and halted -and stared at the party--a ragged little boy and girl, with a bazaar -cat running after them. - - -CHAPTER IV. - -That day Girunda and Gyannia walked five miles, resting in a nullah, -under tufts of high grass, in the heat of the sun from nine till -six--during which time the fierce hot winds roared over the land, and -swept the roasted leaves up and down the roads, and shook the branches -of the cork trees. How hot it was--every living thing seemed to have -secured some shelter, save these forlorn children. The air was like -a blast from a furnace, the very stones were scorching to the touch, -and in the shallows, where a great river had rushed in the rains, -there were now but a few shrunken pools in a stony bed; in these pools -wallowed blue buffaloes (their hideous noses scarcely above water), -enjoying a sort of tepid relief. - -That night the travellers halted in a village; a gwali’s (cowherd’s) -wife was surprised to see an exhausted-looking boy carrying on his -back a little girl, the little girl in her turn carrying a cat. She -invited them in, and gave them milk, and asked from whence they came. - -“Paroor,” replied Girunda. - -“Paroor? Lo! it is six koss away. Do thy people know?” She eyed him -with suspicion. - -“Yea; our uncle hath turned us out to beg.” - -“And where art thou going?” - -“To Shahjhanpur, where our father dwells.” - -“Shahjhanpur!” with a scream; “why, it is nigh thirty koss, and thou -canst not walk there.” - -“There is no other means.” - -“Hast thou any money?” - -Girunda untied a rag, and proudly displayed his precious four-anna bit. -He had never possessed such a sum in his life. - -“It may maintain thee for two or three days,” said the woman dubiously. - -“What work is thy father doing in Shahjhanpur?” - -“Some one said he was making matting,” rejoined the boy, simply. “He is -in jail.” - -“In jail! Oh, ye fathers!” - -“Yea; he went three months ago.” - -“And what hath he done?--murder--robbery?” - -“He hath done naught. They just took him.” - -“But surely he must have robbed or plundered?” - -“Nay; he was always very poor. He had nothing to leave us but a sickle -and this cat; but old Turroo Sing had all his money stolen.” - -“I see. And now it is buried somewhere,” she added significantly. “How -long will thy father be in jail?” - -“Two years.” - -“A great time! Well, thou art weary, and must need rest. Lie here on -this mat, and to-morrow I will give thee food to take thee on for a -day or two--money I have none--and God will do the rest.” - -The next morning the children fared well. That good Samaritan, the -gwali’s wife, secured them seats in a passing bullock-hackery, and thus -they accomplished a considerable distance. - -The following day they met no friends, and the heat was frightful--the -air like a flame. Nevertheless, Girunda tottered doggedly forward, with -his sister on his back, for five miles, with long, long rests; and at -sunset they were nearing a large native town--at any rate, it seemed -large to them. They were sent to the serai--a resting-place for native -wayfarers. There was a great entrance gate leading into a wide enclosed -space, with plenty of accommodation for camels, ekkas, and horses, -and little niches, or rooms, all around, for the travellers. This -was indeed a new life to Girunda--his sister was asleep. He went and -watched the hairy Punjaubi dealers watering and feeding their ponies; -the bearded camel-men giving fodder to their screaming, bubbling, -discontented animals; the “purda nashins,” women, hidden behind a -kind of screen in a corner, from whence came much shrill laughing and -chattering. Tired as he was, he was still more curious, and crept -forward and tried to peep, but was rewarded with a stinging blow and -a volume of abuse from a hideous old hag. “They were all ugly,” so he -assured a hawker, who laughed at his discomfiture. - -This serai, with its crowds of travellers, and groups of animals, and -imposing entrance, was truly a most novel and wonderful scene to this -ignorant village lad. - -A woman, woman-like, once more took pity on the party--the queer little -group of a boy and a girl and a cat, with no one belonging to them, and -not even possessing a bundle of clothes. In reply to their petition, “O -mother, will you help us?” she gave them a ride on her jingling ekka -for about eight miles. Girunda and Gyannia had never been in (to them) -such a splendid equipage before, and were extremely happy as the wiry -chesnut animal between the shafts, who tasted naught but bad grass -or roadside nibblings, kept up a steady canter mile after mile. But, -alas! the ekka’s owner was going in a different direction from theirs, -and at a certain bridge she set them down, and took leave of them, -turning away into a “cutcha” track. - -They were now in a different country, where the road ran quite straight -between lines of neem trees, and was bounded with burnt-up, rusty -grass. The landscape was desolate; there were no villages peeping out -of the clumps of trees, no houses by the roadside: but these are always -rare in India. - -They halted at sundown, and crept under the arches of a bridge over a -dry watercourse, and ate raw rice and drank water. It was plain that -they must pass the night where they were, and as they were very tired, -they were not long in falling asleep. Gyannia, infant-like, slept -soundly till dawn, but not so her brother. At midnight he was awoke by -a cold, damp nose being poked into his face; he started up trembling, -and a few minutes later he heard his visitor’s melancholy cry--it was -only a prowling jackal. As he sat and stared into the grey light, -his sharpened ears heard another sound that made his heart beat very -fast--the “haunk--haunk” of a hyena. The cat, too, sat up and listened. -If it came their way, he had no weapon; and stories of children -devoured by hyenas were a common topic among the crones of Paroor -village. He had several times seen a hyena skulking round, when he was -driving home the cow--a hideous, high-shouldered, shuffling brute; but -then his father had been near, and he was not afraid. Now, alas! his -father was miles away, and he was almost sick with terror. The cry came -nearer and nearer--oh, fearfully near--now it was directly overhead! -What intense relief! the brute was on the high-road right above them; -yes, and the “haunk--haunk” was dying gradually away in the distance; -but Girunda slept no more that night. Supposing it should come back? -The cat, too, appeared to have anxieties; she did not curl up, but sat -bolt erect beside him. She was a queer animal, attached to people and -not to a place, though the first day she had followed them in a devious -and uncertain manner, uttering low mews of expostulation, and even -sitting down in the middle of the road, and thus remonstrating from -afar, till they were almost out of sight, but subsequently joining them -like a whirlwind, with a long white tail. Lately she had been carried, -and had had “lifts” in the bullock-cart and ekka; so the cat was much -the freshest of the party, and seemed to have become reconciled to the -journey, though she evidently did not approve of sleeping out at night -in the neighbourhood of hyenas. - -It was the end of June, just before the rains broke; the sky was -like molten brass, the earth like stone. Who would travel in such a -time?--who but two homeless unfortunates, who must press forward or -else lie down and perish! Girunda staggered along, carrying his sister, -at the rate of three koss a day. The four annas were long exhausted, -and they now openly begged their bread! Some gave them a few handsful -of rice,--which they ate raw--some a few cowries, which they spent at -the little bunnia shops; they could barely keep body and soul together! -Yes, they were like the mendicants that had come to their own door in -the good times Girunda remembered, when his mother was alive--and the -cow. - -His mother--he could recollect her well. She had pretty white teeth, -and she laughed often; but one day she came back from the fields -between two women. She was weeping, and so were they, and they sent him -across the river to play; and when he returned, a boy in the village -ran shouting to meet him, and cried, “Thy mother is dead; a snake bit -her.” - -Sometimes Girunda thought he would die too; he was so hot, and so -tired, and his feet were so sore. If only he could reach his father -first! But how long the miles had become! How he strained his eyes to -catch sight of the next milestone! and what an enormous time it seemed -before it came into view! The road never varied--never turned to the -right hand or the left; sometimes, as he toiled on, his poor tired -brain imagined that it had taken the form of a great grey serpent, -and was coming towards him to swallow him up. They were now within -five miles of Shahjhanpur city--would he ever reach it? There were -fine trees lining the route; there were plenty of ekkas and ponies; -there was a loud-puffing fire-devil going yonder over a bridge (he -had heard of it), with a lot of black boxes behind it; and still he -was three miles from Shahjhanpur--now two. Oh, he could never arrive -there--never! - - -CHAPTER V. - -About half-past six o’clock the next morning a gang of convicts -were working on the road near the jail, carrying stones with much -chain-clanking, all obtrusively industrious for the moment, as the keen -black eye of the jail burkundaz was fixed upon them; but presently his -gaze was attracted by a little group that approached him: a policeman -escorting two ragged children. - -“What are these?” he inquired. - -“They were found last night near the police thana on the Futupore Road. -The boy had fainted on the wayside, and I kept them till dawn, when I -brought them in on a passing hackery. They come, they say, from Paroor, -a village seventy miles off. The boy has walked all the way, carrying -the girl on his back--so he says.” - -“Truly, but it is a fable! Of a surety, they are beggars from our own -city.” - -“We can easily prove them. They have come hither to seek their father, -who is in prison here; they aver that his name is Chūnnee Sing, of -Paroor.” - -The convicts lagged to listen, and one whispered to another, “It is the -tall man, who never smiles.” - -“Such a one is here for dacoity--two years’ sentence.” - -“Where is he?” inquired the burkundaz of one of the gang. - -“Working in the jail-garden gang, hazoor” (_i.e._ your highness). - -An order was given to fetch him at once. - -“They had a cat, too,” continued the policeman; “I left it at the -thana. What do these beggars with a cat?” - -Meanwhile a large crowd had collected round the children--the -curly-haired, pretty little girl, and the miserably emaciated boy, with -his lacerated feet tied up in rags--a number of market coolies and -officers’ servants; and the convicts dawdled near--as closely as they -dared. - -In a very short time the warder returned, preceded by a tall convict. -The children stared with wistful, questioning eyes; they did not -recognize Chūnnee, at first glance, in the close-fitting cap drawn -well over his ears, his loose dress, and chains; but after a pause of -breathless amazement he cried, “Array khoda! Girunda and Gyannia, my -children, how came you here?” - -They rushed to him at the sound of that familiar voice, and broke into -loud cries and sobs--sobs of joy and relief. - -“I walked,” panted the boy presently, “and carried her. Uncle thrust -us forth one night; he said he would kill us if we ever went back, so -we came to thee. We will abide with thee; we will never leave thee,” -sobbed the boy, clinging to his hands, whilst Chūnnee took the girl up -in his arms and fondled her. - -“We are so tired and hungry, father; may we not go to thy house and -rest?” and Gyannia dropped her head on his shoulder. - -The jail official was much perplexed--here was a most unusual case: two -children clamouring for admittance into an establishment which every -one else was averse to entering. - -What was he to do with them? Were they to be left at the gates, to be -sent back to Paroor? One thing was positively certain--they could not -be received inside the jail. - -A great multitude had now gathered to behold the convict’s boy, who -had walked seventy miles with his sister on his back. It takes but -little at any time to attract an Indian audience. The crowd was about -to be dispersed by the police, when the jail superintendent drove up -in his brougham for his morning inspection, and alighted, and asked in -amazement the reason of the tumult. - -In five minutes he was in possession of all the facts--the thread of -the story--much delayed by constant exclamations and additions from -excited women in the throng. - -“So these are thy children?” said the superintendent to Chūnnee. - -“Yes, my lord; and it was for the sake of these that I tried to commit -that theft.” - -“And thy brother hath turned them out?” - -“So they say; and it was like him.” - -“Why hath he done so?” - -“How can I tell thee, protector of the poor, save that he is a bad man? -His name of Zālim Sing fits him but too well; truly he is a tyrannical -lion. If the bountiful sirkar would only feed my children!” - -“You cannot, of course, have these children with you; but I will look -after them for you, at any rate, for the present. You shall see them -again to-morrow. Here, burkundaz; send these children down to my house -on an ekka, and let this crowd disperse.” - -As soon as the two objects of curiosity had been rattled off in charge -of a warder, the assembly melted away, each to his own avocation. - -The superintendent’s wife was a charitable, gentle lady, and accepted -the weary, half-starved wayfarers into her household. A servant--one of -their own caste--shared his “go-down” with them, and they were bathed, -fed, and their sores attended to. In a short time they looked totally -different--such is the effect of kindness. They went to visit their -father at stated periods, and when Girunda related his life of toil and -blows at his uncle’s hands, Chūnnee’s straight brows grew very black. - -The charitable lady who had given them a shelter did more than feed -and clothe them; they were included among her servants’ children, who -learnt from a munshi, and were taught at her expense. The munshi, with -his blue spectacles, sat in the midst of them, and every week there -were prizes of fruit, and twice a year of clothes. They were also -permitted to pick withered leaves in the lady’s lovely garden, and -Girunda was proud when he was allowed to carry a pot; and sometimes -their father worked there also, with a few other favoured convicts. -And oh, what a garden that was!--even to a _blasé_ European eye, an -exquisite spot; how much more to two ignorant native children, who have -never seen any flowers but marigolds? The steps from the house led down -into a great spreading lawn, green and smooth as velvet, and surrounded -by wide walks, bordered with bushes of magnificent roses. Beyond the -lawn, and leading straight out of it, lay an avenue of loquat trees, -which was lined with stands of maiden-hair ferns, orchids, arum lilies, -jheel plants--a truly fairy-like scene. There were long alleys overhung -with fruit trees and flowers; there were enormous bushes of yellow -roses--in one tree a pair of bulbuls had their nest--a large, square -plot covered with a dense crop of variegated sweet peas. There was, -moreover, a big vinery, a quantity of fruitful peach trees, a cote of -pigeons, with nearly two hundred in the branches of a mango tree, and -a house full of white rabbits with ruby eyes! Truly, when they were -permitted to enter this garden, Girunda said to his sister, “Behold, -this must be the place the preaching moola meant when he spoke of the -garden of Paradise!” - -The wheel of fortune turns, and strange events do occur at times, even -in a mud village, in an obscure locality. - -Old Turroo Sing had been wise in his generation; he had not grudged to -offer a considerable reward for news of, or the recovery of, his lost -treasure. For eight weary months no tidings reached him, and he had -almost prepared to await the coming of death, a broken-hearted man, -when, lo! one day six gay policemen--I allude to their red turbans, -yellow trousers, and blue tunics--were once more seen approaching the -village. The inspector had come to see Turroo, to confer with him -privately. When the door was closed fast, the inspector drew forth a -heavy gold bangle, and placed it in the old man’s withered, trembling -hands. - -“Is this yours?” he asked. - -“It is; it is; it is! Where are the rest?” clamoured Turroo. - -“Patience! This was offered for sale in Delhi, and was about to be -melted down. The man who sold it is in the village. He is Goora Dutt, -the brother-in-law of thy nephew, Zālim Sing.” - -“May every curse light on him!” screamed the venerable Turroo. - -“He was caught and convicted; he hath confessed. Thou wilt get nearly -all thy property back, my father; but thou wilt be liberal to the -police?” - -“As I live, I will give much buchseesh, I swear it on the cow’s tail!” - -“There is a gang of gamblers here in Paroor. We have known it long. -Goora Dutt is the chiefest among them. They were--for all things are -known to the police--without money; they were in debt, and their -creditors were hungry; therefore they agreed to rob thee, and they -did. They carried off thy money and jewels. Though Chūnnee Sing was -convicted and sentenced for the same, he never fingered a tolah of gold -nor one rupee.” - -“And where is it? where is it? Oh, speak!” - -“It is buried by a neem tree near Goora Dutt’s garden. They had no time -to carry it farther, and it is convenient to their houses. The rupees -are gone, but the gold and pearls and carbuncles are still mostly -there. They feared to sell them, for the size and number and marks were -known.” - -In half an hour’s time Turroo Sing’s treasure, which was buried in a -kerosene-oil tin (oh, to how many uses are those tins put!), was dug -up in the presence of the entire village, and shown to its owner, who -wept with joy as he tore open the parcel and counted his pearls--his -forty pairs without blemish. But there were some very glum faces in the -crowd--four families were implicated in the robbery--and when Zālim -Sing had come to overwhelm his grand-uncle with felicitations, that -fierce old person had spat at him--like an infuriated toddy cat. - -“Thou hadst a hand in it, oh, badmash, son of lies!” he screamed, -foaming at the mouth. “Thy brother-in-law, Goora Dutt, is thy shadow. -’Twas he fetched the police for Chūnnee, who hath languished in jail -for thy sins. Take this robber, and release Chūnnee Sing.” - - * * * * * - -Zālim Sing’s popularity had been on the wane for a considerable -time. He had assured his neighbours in his most plausible manner, -that Girunda and Gyannia had run away, ungrateful wretches that they -were--just like their father, the jail-bird. But the neighbours -believed a wholly different tale. A ryot, living in the nearest -village, had met Zālim, one dark night, driving a pair of children -before him. People began to whisper, and then to talk openly, of -screams heard from Zālim’s house; of the boy Girunda being seen -carrying loads as heavy as a pony’s--and now, after all these months, -public opinion set in, in full tide, in favour of Chūnnee. - -Zālim Sing had a presentiment that his good days were leaving him when -he saw his friend Goora Dutt and four other men led away between the -crops, with handcuffs on their wrists; and many a curious glance was -cast at Zālim himself. - -“How came his wife to wear a pearl nose-ring? How came he to possess -_four_ bullocks and a Waterbury watch and a pistol? Could any one give -an honest reason? Could his crops have sold at double the rates of -ours?” his neighbours asked one another. Truly, he was as great a thief -as any; but his accomplices had been staunch to him, and had held their -peace. - -Of course Chūnnee was released, much to his own surprise. His ragged -coat was restored to him one morning, with a “hookum,” to say that he -was free. His first duty was to return thanks to the benevolent lady -who had rescued his starving children. He laid his head at her feet, -and touched the hem of her gown; and there was a mist in his eyes as -he said, “Now I understand why God suffered me to be put in the Jail -Khana. It was that my children might know you. Eshwar, Eshwar will -bless you always.” - -“And where will you go, Chūnnee?” she inquired, ere he took leave. - -“Home,” he answered: a native returns to his ancestral village as a -Swiss turns to the mountains. “Back to Paroor and my house. It is true -that I have no friends; but I have no friends anywhere. I was born -there; also my father and grandfather. It is my country, and there will -I die.” - -“It is more to the purpose, how will you live, once you are there?” - -“I have good-conduct money. I shall hire a little bit of land, and dig -it, and buy seeds. Girunda is growing big, he can help me.” - -He was not to be deterred by offers of employment in the city. No, his -heart was set upon Paroor--only Paroor; and his kind patroness fitted -out the children with clothes and food, and they bade farewell to her, -and her enchanted garden, with many bitter tears. - -Most of the journey was made by rail, and in the delightful novelty of -the motion of a railway carriage they soon forgot their sorrows. The -last twenty miles had to be accomplished on foot. Girunda stepped out -manfully beside his father, who carried Gyannia. All _he_ had to carry -was the cat; and, moreover, he had now a pair of shoes and a stick. - -They reached Paroor at nightfall, and Chūnnee went straight to his own -hut. It was occupied by an old crone, who had bought it from Zālim Sing -for six rupees, and who felt herself a proprietress of some importance. -She thrust him out with a lighted brand, and Chūnnee and his family -passed the night under a stack of straw. - -The following morning he went and rapped boldly at his brother’s door, -and confronted him sternly. - -“So thou art back, badmash! I wonder thou hast come here!” cried Zālim, -with ill-simulated scorn. - -“How daredst thou sell my house?” rejoined the other. - -“I sold it to pay for thy children’s food.” - -“Speak not of the children you worked as slaves, and beat, and turned -out at night to perish. Restore the money and the house, O villain!” - -Hearing loud and angry voices, the inevitable crowd collected. There -was Chūnnee, looking quite well-to-do, and actually speaking in a -commanding tone to his once all-powerful brother! - -“Behold, he hath sold my poor hovel, and hath kept the money,” -explained Chūnnee, turning to the eager audience. “He hath beaten and -starved my children, and hath thrust them out to die. Why do ye suffer -such a sinner among you?” - -The crowd began to clamour and howl, and Zālim Sing withdrew and barred -his door; but the angry neighbours beat upon it till it shook on its -rusty hinges, and Zālim Sing was forced to shout, “Go! thou shalt have -thy house, O badmash.” And for the first time in all his life, Chūnnee -was beholden to the force of public opinion. - - -CHAPTER VI. - -Old Turroo had heard of Chūnnee’s arrival. Everything is known in -a short time in a small community, save such matters as robbery and -gambling, practised under the cover of darkness. - -He sent for his grand-nephew--much to that grand-nephew’s surprise--and -beckoning him in with a long, claw-like finger, commanded him to close -the door, and be seated on a charpoy. He then pushed his huka towards -him, and coughed, and said-- - -“Thou art back, and I have much to say unto thee. How dost thou mean to -live, and keep thy children, O Chūnnee Sing?” - -“I hope to hire that plot of land near Ram Lall’s garden, and till it -by hand, and sow it with cotton, jawarri, and dál. I have recovered my -house which Zālim Sing sold.” - -“Wouldst thou leave that dog-kennel, and come and abide here with me?” - -“Here--with thee!” he echoed incredulously; he could not believe his -ears. - -“Yea. Hearken to me, Chūnnee, the son of Duloo Sing. It is in my mind -to make thee mine heir. Thou hast suffered wrongfully for my treasure; -it shall be thine one day.” - -“I did not take the money or jewels, it is true, O Turroo Sing, but -it is true that I desired to steal them--not from love of lucre and -gold, or the vice of robbery, but for the sake of my children, who were -perishing. All that day the little ones tasted naught but cow’s food. -The boy asked thee for a few cowries, and thou gavest him blows; and -an evil spirit tempted me as I walked in the fields at even, and said -in mine ear, ‘Turroo is rich--yea, very rich. He hath a house and land -and cattle, and warm bedding, and brass cooking-pots, and a store -of grain laid up in his granary for many seasons. Moreover, he hath -a great treasure buried beneath his floor, which is of no profit to -him, save to handle and to count. Behold, some of this useless silver -will feed my children and me. I will dig through the wall, and steal, -under the cover of darkness. The man is old; he sleeps fast. I shall -take one hundred rupees, and be happy.’ But I failed, as thou knowest. -Nevertheless, I was guilty.” - -“Thou wert hungry, and thy children were crying for food; but Zālim -Sing had no such excuse--he is a shaitan, the son of a she ass. Thou -shalt take his place, and come after me; thou shalt live here now with -thy children. Surely a strong man, with a lathi, is better than an aged -chokedar and a dog! I may be robbed again; with thee I am safe; for -doubtless thou wilt guard thine own. Let the old hag remain in thine -hut, and bring thy children hither.” - -So, to the amazement of the village, Chūnnee, the pauper and the -prisoner, was elevated to the right hand of the richest man in Paroor, -and rose proportionately in every one’s estimation. He tilled the land, -and sold the crops, and cut the cane, whilst Girunda spent his time -between the fields and the village munshi--as befitted a boy who would -rise in the world, and perchance go to college! - -His grand-uncle was proud of him, and never tired of boasting of -Girunda’s seventy-mile march with his sister on his back. - -Gyannia now wears a gold nose-ring, silver bangles, and a chain--which -gauds comprise most of her toilette. She is a happy infant, and passes -her four sallow cousins in the narrowest lane, with her head in the air. - -Her cousins and their father have resorted to every description of -clever intrigue to get on terms with their lucky relatives, but in -vain. It is the dream of Zālim Sing’s life to bestow one of his -sallow daughters in marriage on Girunda, and thus keep the fortune in -the family; but it is not probable that the boy--who retains a lively -recollection of the ladies’ nips and blows and floutings--will ever -meet his wishes. Moreover, Turroo has already a bride in view. - -The cat prospers, though as lanky and grimy as of old; she must be a -cat of some breeding, or of Chinese extraction, for when, after all -her vicissitudes, she found herself once more in her native village, -she did not exhibit the least surprise--she merely stretched out her -long body, and strolled over and sharpened her claws in the bark of -a familiar tree. She has accepted the transformation from poverty to -wealth with complete equanimity, and sits washing her face outside -Turroo’s door, or surveys the village from the tree that grows through -his roof, as if she had never lived elsewhere; she has also implanted a -wholesome fear of her displeasure in the breast of Chondi the pariah. -But then she is a cat who has travelled and seen the world, and he is -but a common village cur! - -Who would recognize Chūnnee Sing now? He wears a handsome turban, and -coolies salaam to him, and address him as “ap.” He rides on a white -horse--yes, a horse, not a pony--with a long pink tail, and is the -leading man in those parts; for all he takes in hand appears to thrive. - -As he passes through the villages, coquettish glances from pretty dark -eyes are cast at him, and he is greeted with playful remarks. Chūnnee -is as much sought after now as he was formerly shunned. It is a matter -of common talk that a rich thakur would gladly give him his daughter to -wife; but Chūnnee appears satisfied with his present lot, and shows no -signs of changing his condition. - -Our story is ended, and we will now take leave of Chūnnee and his -charger, of Gyannia and her ferret-faced cat, of Girunda--who is -almost as precious to Turroo as the forty pairs of pearls again buried -beneath the floor--of the envious, adder-tongued family of Zālim -Sing--and cast a final glance on the sleepy patriarchal village, where -it lies among its waving crops on the hillside, within sight of a glint -of the sacred Ganges. - -THE END. - - -PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - - -Archaic spellings have been retained. - -A number of typographical errors have been corrected silently. - -Gadrinath was changed to Badrinath. Badrinath is a well known holy city -and no place by the name of Gadrinath could be located. - -The following word pairs were normalized to one spelling by -majority vote: - - “Chunnee” to “Chūnnee” - “copybook” to “copy-book” - “cocoa-nut” to “cocoanut” - “deathlike” to “death-like” - “hillman” to “hill-man” - “pockmarked” to “pock-marked” - “race-course” to “racecourse” - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUNGLE TALES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |