"I confess my ignorance," said I, "and am ashamed to put any more questions to you about them, so shall believe henceforward that all I have heard are lies." Yet I longed at the same time to ask more about their drinking scenes, and the meaning of the words, "Hip! hip! hip!" which I fully believed to be of mystic import.
It was late when we separated; but before we did so we agreed to travel in company, and to pass our evenings together. This was what we wanted; our success was inevitable should we succeed in getting him on one or two marchesfurther, as the villagers there knew us, were our friends, and for a small consideration would keep themselves to their houses, and allow us to do what we liked. I have not mentioned this before, Sahib, for you very well know that it is the case. We have friends wherever we go; we bribe all we can, and have our agents in every part of the country in the disguise of Fakeers or merchants. Some zemindars fear us, others bully us and extort large sums from us, but they are generally faithful; and without their help and connivance do you think we could effect anything? We could not. In the Nizam's country particularly we are well aided. Many of the zemindars have Thugs in regular pay, whom they have been in the habit of sending out on the road; some are content with a certain sum a year; others, who fear so close a connexion with us, now and then pretend to arrest us, and get as much as they can; and as there is no police of any kind, they are not afraid of their dealings being brought to light. I myself know but little of how these matters are managed there,—I mean from personal experience; but I have heard from others, and in particular from Motee, who led a gang of Thugs for some years all over the Huzoor's dominions, and told me, that so long as he paid the potails of villages, the zemindars, and the revenue servantshandsomely, he had no obstruction; that hundreds of others did the same, and practised their profession so openly, that they often never took the trouble of burying the bodies of those they destroyed. You know that this is truth, Sahib, and therefore I need hardly mention it. But to my story.
We reached the village we wished to gain—a miserable hamlet called Biseynee; but the Potail was in our interest, and a present of twenty rupees now and then, with sometimes a new turban, gained us his silence and co-operation. I say co-operation, for he often gave over passengers to Thugs, by declaring that his village was unsafe, and that they must go and encamp outside with the rest—who were the Thugs. He knew well what would become of them; but he was, as I have said, paid for his treachery.
Well, we reached Biseynee. I had purchased for the worthy Potail a handsome turban and waistband, and had prepared for him a number of other articles, one of which was an English pistol, which he had sent word by a Thug that I was to purchase for him. As soon as I arrived, I went into the village to him, and in his own house tied the turban on his head, presented him with the gifts I had prepared, and added a purse of twenty rupees.
"Ha!" said he, "what now, Meer Sahib? you are not used to be so liberal. What bunij have you, that you are come with it to my poor place, to give it a worse name than it has already?"
"Oh, none," said I, carelessly; "you know I have not been this way for some years, and these are to prove that I have not forgotten you."
"Thanks for your kindness; may your condescension increase," said he; "but the bunij, Meer Sahib? You are a cunning gentleman; I know you of old. Who is he in the tents yonder? and why have so many Thugs collected here? You cannot conceal your designs from me."
"Nor do I wish it," said I; "but remember our old compact."
"I do—I do," said he, hurriedly; "but times are changed, and with them my masters. Know you not that this country belongs to the Sahib-logue?"
"And what of that, Potailjee?" said I; "what difference does it make?"
"None," he replied, "tome; but have you not seen the horsemen?"
"What horsemen?" cried I.
"Six," said he, "and a Duffadar. My poor village, it seems, has a bad name for thieves; and they have sent a party here to guard it. Alla help us, and keep the bread in our mouths!"
"And the Duffadar, what is he like?"
"He is a Hindoo," said the Potail, "and a Bhojpooree; he is called Hittah Singh; his men, too, are all of his tribe."
"Bhojpoorees!" said I; "then I dare say they are Thugs. What Bhojpooree was ever an honest man?"
"No, they are not Thugs, Meer Sahib, for I have tried them with the password. But, between you and me, I think my friend Hittah Singh only wants an opportunity to be as great a rascal as I am myself,—may Alla pardon me!"
"I have no doubt of it," said I. "Where is he?"
"Shall I call him?"
"Do so," said I. "If I cannot persuade him, I will bully him; and, if the worst comes to the worst, you know we are more than three hundred to six, and they would have but little chance."
"True, Meer Sahib; but no violence, I pray; have some consideration for my good name. If the Europeans heard of violence having been done, they would turn me out of my place."
"And you would turn Thug, I suppose. But quick, Potailjee, call the man here."
He was absent for a short time, and returned with a short mean-looking fellow; and I could plainly see that rascal was written on his countenance. You know the old proverb—"Chor ke daree men, tinka" (there is always a straw in a thief's beard). Salutations were exchanged, and I came to the point at once.
"Look you, Duffadar Sahib," said I to him, "you may have guessed what we are?" He nodded assent. "This is good," I continued, "as perhaps you may have guessed at our object."
"Partly," said he; "but what do I know about you?"
"Exactly," said I—"the very thing I want; you need know nothing, and you will have nothing to tell if you are ever asked. Take my advice, and remain quietly within your village; and if the earth turns upside down you are not to stir out. For this you shall be well paid. But if you molest us, remember we are three hundred to seven—fearful odds, my friend."
"Nay, I am wise," said he; "what Bhojpooree is not? Nor do I wish to interfere. Do what you like; neither I nor my men will stir a foot."
"Can you depend on them?" said I; "can they be close?"
"As close as you wish them to be, Jemadar; but we must be paid."
"Certainly," said I; "I would not have it otherwise: but the reward depends on what we get."
"Say two hundred rupees," said the fellow; "it is worth your while."
"Well, it is a bargain, Duffadar," I replied, "and the Potail is witness. And now I will give you further advice, which is, that you are to know nothing and see nothing, if even the lord Sahib were to ask you. You are to know only that travellers came and departed, and you kept no account of them."
"Of course," said the fellow; "I know this of old. I have met parties of your people in my own country, and have no reason to be dissatisfied with them: they have always behaved like men of honour, and kept their words with me."
"Then we are agreed?" said I.
"Certainly; you will see nought of us, and I will come to you at night for my money."
"You had better come now, Duffadar, as I think we shall move on after it is all over."
"Do you go, Potailjee; it would not look well for me to go with the Syud Sahib. Do you go, and bring the money."
"Come then," said I, "we are losing time."
"Shall you return soon?" asked the Duffadar of me.
"I know not," I replied; "but it is probable. At any rate, as this country always produces good booty for us, you will see us here pretty often."
"The oftener the better," said he; "and I must continue to keep my station here; it would be hard to lose such good friends. You, Potailjee, can help me to a few low caste rascals from time to time, to send in as thieves we have caught."
"Certainly," said the Potail—"there are plenty of Gonds and Dhérs in the country; every one knows they are thieves; and if they may not immediately have committed any robberies, they have been engaged in them some time or other, so that it is all the same. I will get you a few from time to time, as you want them."
"Now and then I shall require a few," said he, "just to keep up my character and appearances, and a few years in irons will do none of them any harm—the government will take care of them."
I could not help laughing heartily at the cool manner in which this was proposed and accepted. But it was the truth; and I know that it was, and is now, a matter of every-day occurrence. Many a Duffadar of police has won a good name with his officers in this way, and for one guilty man he has seized a dozen innocent people. Who cares about Mangs and Dhérs?—they are always villains and robbers.
"That is a Bhula Admee (a respectable man)," said I to the Potail, as he walked to our camp; "he suits my purpose exactly."
"He has been on the look-out for some of you," said he, "for a long time. We have never spoken openly on the subject, but he has hinted as much many times. And I suspect he chose this post, if he had any choice in the matter, because he was likely to meet Thugs here. If you pay him well, he will help you materially."
"Do you think I have given enough?" said I.
"Quite," he replied: "I don't think he expected you would agree to so much."
"It is certainly a large sum," said I; "but it is the first, and the money is well spent."
"But you have forgotten me, Meer Sahib: am I not to partake of your bounty?"
"Of course, Potailjee. What I brought was only a trifle—I have more for you in the camp; you shall have your share."
"How much, Meer Sahib? I want money; my rents are in arrears, and I am in distress."
"Thirty rupees," said I.
"Make it fifty, I beseech you. You know not in what a strait I am; I cannot borrow the money, and you have been sent by Alla for my deliverance. You will lend me the money if you will not give it me? and you will have good bunij in this business."
"Well," said I, "you shall have it, but on one condition. We may not be on the road when some people whom we are looking out for pass this place: they are Dacoos; they have some Tattoos with them, and great wealth. If they pass either way, you must send men after us with a letter."
"I will send my own sons, well mounted," replied he; "they will easily find you out, and you may depend on me. Where will these fellows come from?"
"They have gone to Hyderabad now," said I, "and will return by Nagpoor. If we meet them, all very well; but they may escape us."
"They shall not, by Alla!" said the Potail. "I will watch for them myself, and if you get them I shall hope for a handsome present."
"I will not forget you. But here we are at the camp: take care no one sees the money as you carry it away."
"Trust an old hand for that," said he, with a knowing wink. "I must go after I have got it to the Moonshee, who has sent for me about fodder for his horses. I should like to see him, too—to see a man whose breath is in his nostrils. And he has a wife too."
"Yes," said I, "there is no getting her out of the way, so she must die, which is a pity. He has a child also, about, four years old, which I want myself: he is a pretty boy, and I have no son to bless me; he will never know the difference between me and his father after a few days."
I paid the money, and dismissed him. Ganesha came to me. "I have been looking at the ground," said he, "and there is a hole near the Moonshee's tent, which has been dug for some purpose or other, apparently the commencement of a well; it will save us the trouble of digging; the earth, too, lies close to it, and will only have to be filled in."
"Have the Lughaees seen it?" said I.
"Yes," he replied; "I took Bhowanee with me; he says it is the very thing."
"Now, Ganesha," said I, "how shall we manage?"
"Oh, do you take the tent-work, and leave the rest to me; I will settle all outside. You have a smooth tongue, and the Moonshee is alone; I will be close at hand in case of anything going wrong; but I do not apprehend anything."
"Nor I either. None of the Saeeses or camel men must escape; there are many of them."
"Sixteen in all; I have counted them: let me see—eight bearers, two camel men,—one of them has a wife,—two Khidmutgars, one female servant, and four Saeeses; how many is that?"——"Eighteen," said I.
"Ah, well, it does not matter; towards evening I will surround the whole; most of them will be listening to the songs, and the rest we must overpower in the best way we can. The night will be dark too, which is in our favour."
I then told him of the horsemen in the village, and what I had done. He knew Hittah Singh, the Duffadar, and told me that in his excursions into the district of Arrah, in Bengal, he had met with him; and that on one occasion, when he had been arrested for murder, this Hittah Singh had got him off, by swearing to the collector that he knew him, and by being security for him to a large amount. "He is a good fellow for a Bhojpooree," said Ganesha, "but requires to be well paid, and you have given him enough to keep him quiet."
The evening came. My father and I went to the Moonshee's, but after the evening prayer time; he had his son on his knee, and a noble little fellow he was. How I shall love that boy! said I, inwardly, as I looked on his fair and beautiful features and expressive eyes. He came to me readily, and I fondled him, and displayed to his admiring eyes my beautiful sword and dagger. Azima too will love him, thought I, and he will supply the place of our daughter when she is married and gone from us.
"You have no children?" said the Moonshee; "or perhaps I ought not to ask, you may have lost them; your brow darkens at the question."
"One," replied I, "a daughter. A son, the counterpart of the Sahib Zada, it pleased Allah to take from me, when he was about his age."
"It is indeed his will," said the Moonshee; "there is no striving against fate. This boy is my only offspring; for many years I had been married, and my case was somewhat like that of the Sultan in the 'Story of the Parrot;' grey hairs were coming, and I despaired; but at last Alla was gracious, and you see the boy."
"May God grant he live a hundred years, and be prosperous," said I, "I have no hope myself."
We conversed together for some time, and on a message being given from without, I said, "You have been so pleased with the singing of some of my men, Moonshee Sahib, that they have arranged a little masque, after the manner of the Byroopeas, which they are anxious to perform before you. It will be absurd enough, I dare say, yet it will serve to pass the evening, and your son too may be amused."
"By all means," said he; "anything in the jungle is acceptable; but for your company, Meer Sahib, we should have had a dull march. I will prepare those within, so pray call in the performers."
The men came, six stout fellows dressed fantastically, two of them as women, with sitars and drums in their hands; they personated a body of Goosaeens, and danced and sang in a ridiculous manner. Where they had learned their parts, I know not, but the whole was well done, and the Moonshee's little son laughed immoderately. As we had expected, the whole of the Moonshee's people gathered round the tent, which was open on one side to admit of their seeing the Tumasha; and I observed with secret exultation that every man had two or three Thugs close to him, and one in particular behind each of them. All was ready, as I thought, and I was about to give the signal, when one of the Thugs called to me that I was wanted without. What it could be I knew not, but, excusing myself for a moment, I went out.
"What shall we do?" said Ganesha to me, in a voice full of alarm and apprehension; "Meer Sahib, the Feringhees are upon us!"
"The Feringhees!"——"Yes," he replied; "and what can we do? this goodbunij will escape us. Of course the Moonshee will join them, and we may then as well think of strangling the king of Delhi, as of getting him."
"But how," said I, "how are the Feringhees upon us? Have you seen them?"
"No," said Ganesha, "but I have seen their people. A long string of camels have just arrived, with I know not how many red-coated sepoys to guard them—my curse be on them all!"
"And where are they?"
"Why, they are gone into the village. They wanted this ground, but I told them I would not give it up; that the Moonshee was a gentleman of rank, and could not be disturbed, and that there was better ground on the other side of the village."
"Then never fear," said I; "the work must be done immediately. I will go in and give the jhirnee; and if any of those prying rascals the Lascars come about us, you know what to do. But I fear not; the Potail will help us, and Hittah Singh too, and there need be no great noise. My father will have to personate the Moonshee for a while if necessary; but that does not matter."
"Good," said Ganesha; "but be quick, Meer Sahib, I shall be in a torment of apprehension until the whole are fairly under the ground."
I left him, and, carelessly playing with my roomal, again entered the tent. "What is it?" asked the Moonshee.
"Oh, nothing," I replied; "only some Sahib-logues' tents which have arrived. Their servants wanted this ground to encamp on, but, seeing us here, the Lascars have taken them to the other side of the village. The troops will be here early to-morrow."
"That will suit me exactly," said he; "I will stay with them, and bid you gentlemen farewell; but that is no reason why we should be the less merry. I warrant these good fellows have another song or two in store. Have you?" he asked of them.
"A hundred," replied one of them; "but perhaps the next will be rather a noisy one."
"Never mind," said he, "play on; you shall have as good a reward as I can afford to bestow."
I waited till the noise was at its height to give the jhirnee, yet I had not the opportunity I wished for. The Moonshee sat with his back to the kanât, and to get behind him was impossible: one of the Thugs saw my embarrassment, and relieved it by begging him to rise and advance a few paces.
"What are they going to do?" asked he.
"I know not," I replied, "but you had as well comply."
He arose, and I slipped behind him. "Now!" I shouted; "bring the pan!" and my hand was on the Moonshee's neck. One wild shriek he gave, and fell. His wife had been looking on through a hole in the kanât; she had seen the work, and rushed out into the midst of us, with her boy in her arms. I shall never forget her—never: I shall never forget her wild look and her screams. I tore the boy from her arms, and left her in the midst of the Thugs; I ran out into the air, and the first person I met was Ganesha, his face flushed with triumph, which I saw by the glare of the torches from the tent.
"All is done!" cried he; "they have all fallen. Two I killed myself. Where are the Lughaees? we must be quick."
He ran on; and I stood in the open space before the tent. Parties of Thugs passed rapidly to and fro, bearing the bodies of the dead, which were one by one thrown into the hole. But the singing and music went on as merrily as ever, and looking into the tent I saw my father sitting in the place which had been occupied by the ill-fated Moonshee.
My little charge was crying terribly, imploring me, in tones and words that would have moved any one's heart but mine, to take him to his mother. I soothed him as well as I could, and was going to my tent; but curiosity impelled me to return and see the hole in which the business of interment was going on. I went to the edge; Ganesha was standing by it encouraging the Lughaees; he saw the boy in my arms.
"What folly is this, Meer Sahib?" said he; "you are not going to spare thatboy, when we are even now in such danger!—it will be madness. Give him to me; I will silence the crying wretch, and send him with his parents."
"Never!" cried I; "the boy is mine; you may have all the spoil, but give him up to death I will not. Have I not lost a son, and is it not lawful to adopt a child of this age?"
"Madness! madness!" cried Ganesha, "the boy must die. Are you a fool, Meer Sahib, to risk such a chance?"
"He will never find out the difference between us and his parents," said I; "and I will not be interfered with."
"Fool!" said Ganesha, setting his teeth, "I spared a child once, and will never spare another; I have sworn it on the pickaxe."
"I care not for a thousand oaths," I cried; "the boy is mine, and you had better not oppose me if you wish to avoid a quarrel;" and I was going away.
He caught me by the arm. "Let me go," I exclaimed, and I felt for my dagger, "or by Alla! I will strike this steel into you."
"Boy," cried he, "you are mad; I fear you not; talk of daggers to others than Ganesha; he has seen too much of you to fear you. Give me the child, I say, his very cries will alarm the sepoys."
I felt for my dagger or sword, but I had left them in the tent; I tried if pity could move him. "Have you no compassion?" I said more gently: "Ganesha, have you no pity for a child? Can you bear to kill him?"
I was off my guard, and he saw his opportunity. Quicker than thought he had rudely snatched the child from my arms, and as he hurled him into the pit, he cried scornfully, "Pity! no, I know it not. Now go and cry, Meer Sahib, for the loss of your plaything."
I started forward, and leaned over the edge of the hole, which was being rapidly filled; the poor boy lay senseless and dead at the bottom—one shriek alone had escaped him as he was dashed with passionate force into it. I gazed for an instant to satisfy myself that he was dead, and some of the earth which was being thrown in hid him almost instantly from my view.
I turned to Ganesha in savage anger. "Dog!" cried I, "and son of a dog! you shall answer for this. Had I my sword now with me, I would cut you in two pieces."
"An idle threat, and one befitting what I have heard of you," said he. "Go, Meer Sahib, you are a boy and a fool: I do not fear you."
Stony-hearted villain, he had destroyed my son. Situated as I was I could then do nothing, but I was determined to have my revenge: and I took it too. I mentioned what had occurred to my father and to three of my intimate associates; they were determined to stick by me whenever I chose to attack Ganesha, and would fain have done so the next day; but this did not suit me, though his words rankled in my heart, and the deed he had done made me hate him more than ever. I deferred my revenge to the last moment, but I took it, as you shall hear.
We stayed on the ground that night; the palankeen had been broken in pieces and thrown into the hole, but my father personated the Moonshee the next morning as we rode through the camp of the Feringhees, which had been pitched so near us, that indeed I have often wondered they heard not the cries of the party as we despatched them. But we had taken good precautions. The noise of the drums, and the confusion occasioned by letting loose two of the Moonshee's horses, which were here and there pursued by a number of Thugs, shouting and screaming after them, had drowned the cries of our victims, and we had effected the whole without suspicion. Our good friends, the Potail and the Duffadar, had kept the sepoys in conversation, and they had not noticed the noise, beyond hazarding a passing remark as to its cause.
Again, therefore, we were on the road. We had not got all the booty we expected, it did not indeed amount to three thousand rupees, and we earnestly looked out for the Dacoos, who were we hoped to be our next bunij. We went on to Nagpoor, and sold the Moonshee's camels and horses. Here the gang divided; one part under a Jemadar named Emom Buksh, took our old road towards Oomraotee, and through the valley of Berar to Khândésh and Boorhanpoor; the rest of us returned by the road we had come, after staying four days in the city of Nagpoor. On our second or third march homewards weovertook the Dacoos. They had been seen by our spies the moment we entered the village we had encamped at; and as much caution was requisite in managing them, my father at once proposed to be alone the Sotha, or inveigler.
"I shall feign to be a Hindoo," said he; "these rascals will suspect me if I go by my own name, and indeed they would know me. I will be a Rajpoot Jemadar, come from Hyderabad, and you shall see I have not forgotten my old trade."
Accordingly he painted his forehead and breast after the fashion of the Hindoos, covered his eyes with wood ashes, put on a waistcloth and dress he borrowed from one of the men, and attended by another, went into the village.
How anxiously I expected his return! I feared he would fail in his mission, but Ganesha was confident. "He never fails," said he to me; "he is one of Bhowanee's own favourites; nothing he ever did failed. Would that I had his luck."
But he was absent so long that I became apprehensive for his safety, and was on the point of setting out to gain tidings of him, when to my great joy I saw him approaching. I ran to meet him. "What news?" cried I; "oh, my father, my liver has been burnt during your absence. Why did you stay so long?"
"Never mind, my son," said he, when he had dismounted, "you would have been wrong to come after me. But ah, the owls! I have entrapped them—they are ours."
"Ul-humd-ul-illa!" cried I, "this is rare news; but how did you manage it?"
"Why," replied he, "it was done easily enough, though I feared for my success when I saw that one of the Dacoos was a fellow I had known a long time ago; however, he did not recognize me, thanks to my white beard and these marks of the infidels; he never thought I was Ismail Thug. I sat and conversed with their leader, who told me very gravely he was a servant of the English, going to Hindostan on leave of absence. I said I was one also, and had come from Jalna, where I was a collector of duties on spirits. We then became intimate, and the upshot of the whole was, that we agreed to travel together; and, by Alla! if the omens are good, they shall die to-morrow. Delay is useless with these fellows, for they evidently think (from the signs I saw them making among themselves, which are known to me), that we are certain bunij to them, and if we do not attack them, they will fall upon us."
"We shall need good hands," said I; "and I will take the leader."
"I will be a Bhuttote also," said Ganesha; "I never killed a Dacoo. Are they stout fellows?"
"Very," answered my father; "but, like all their tribe, they are heavily armed, and can do but little against us, if we manage properly."
"We had better fall on them with our swords," I observed.
"Not so, my son; but we will surround them, and if there is not a good opportunity, the men can use their weapons."
We were soon agreed on this point; and in the morning the Dacoos joined us as we moved round the village into the main road. They were twenty-five in number, stout, but heavy-looking men, armed to the teeth, with their heads enveloped in folds of cloth. They had with them thirteen tattoos, heavily laden; and it was well that they had this encumbrance, as it served to separate them, as each tattoo required a man to drive it. Had they kept in a body, we could have made but little impression on them, and dared hardly to have attacked them.
"Now, look out!" said my father to the men; "if you see them leaving their beasts, and collecting in two and threes, fall on them at once, or they will attack us: they know well enough who we are, though they pretend they do not."
We journeyed on in company; after I had ridden for some distance I dismounted, and walking beside the leader, I entered into conversation with him. He did not recognize me in the least, and very gravely began telling me how he had met with Thugs on his way down; how he had fought with and overpowereda large band, and carried off their plunder, amounting to some thousand rupees.
I could have struck him on the mouth with my shoe, but I refrained; yet it was enough to have provoked me, being so barefaced a lie. Still I applauded his bravery, and he continued: "Yes, Meer Sahib, these Thugs are the greatest villains unhung; and I praise the Prophet that I have gained some information about them, which I will give to my masters the Europeans. The fool of a Thug, or rather one of his people, told me they belonged to Jhalone; I am going that way, and if I do not tell the Rajah of their being in his city, call me an owl, and a father of jackasses. I expect, too, he will reward me handsomely."
Ay, you will tell him, thought I; but you must get there first, my friend. Mashalla! words are one thing, but deeds are another.
"And were they such fools?" I asked; "all the world say that Thugs are never to be taken in."
The fellow laughed scornfully. "Never taken in!" said he; "did not I deceive them? They are swine, they are asses; they murder poor travellers, but they have no wit, not so much as children. Their fool of a Jemadar tried to deceive me by wrapping his face in a cloth; but I saw him, dark as it was, and could swear to him among a thousand."
"What was he like?" inquired I; "I am curious to know, if it were only to avoid him in future, especially as I am a constant traveller on this road: but you said you attacked them?"
"Yes," said he; "I am an old traveller too, and as we were a large body, and the Thugs not more than treble our number, I said to my companions, that though I knew we were with Thugs, they ought not to fear, and if they would only watch me, we might attack and disperse them, and get their plunder: and by Alla! we did Sahib. Late at night we rose on them, killed some, and the rest ran away, among them the cowardly Jemadar. We got enough, too, to take us to Hyderabad comfortably."
So we had a narrow escape, thought I; these fellows would have attacked us, I doubt not, had we not gone on that night. But the lie, Sahib, was it not an impudent one? Yet I could not help laughing heartily at his relation, which he swore was true, by Alla and the Prophet, by my beard, and by every saint in his calendar.
We trudged on till we came in sight of two trees on the road, on which travellers hung bits of rag as offerings to the guardian saint of the place. I saw very plainly that this was their bhil; one by one they began to forsake their tattoos and collect. More delay on our part would have been fatal, and my father saw this. He was as prompt as I could have desired: he had seen their movements, and just as I had disengaged my roomal from my waist, he gave the jhirnee. Eleven of the Dacoos fell at the same moment; the leader by my hand. I had my roomal round his throat, and before I gave the fatal wrench, I shouted in his ear that I was Ameer Ali, the leader of the Thugs he had met, and thatthenI had sworn to kill him, and had done it. The rest were cut down with swords: my men were prepared, they were not, and were heavily encumbered. Yet had we delayed for another three or four hundred paces, they would have fallen upon us; and I think, Sahib, the Thugs would have run away. As it was, however, we were victorious; we threw the bodies as they were into the jungle, and pushed on, laughing heartily, and in the highest spirits at the issue of our adventure. The booty, too, was good—thirteen thousand rupees worth of gold, silver, and ready money met our admiring eyes, when the packages of the loaded tattoos were opened for our inspection.
Well, Sahib, we had proceeded as far as Sehora on our return, when we fell in with a great European, who was also travelling. We did not fear him, but on the contrary determined to keep with him, because we well knew that he had many travellers in his train who profited by the protection of his troops; so we divided into two parties, one under myself and my father, the other under Ganesha. Our object was to separate the travellers from him, and we hoped, by representing the inconvenience they were put to by delay on account of his slow marches, and the scarcity of provisions they would experience on the road, to induce them to accompany us. I need not follow theadventure further, for it differed not from the rest; suffice it to say, that after a few marches a large party of travellers had joined with us. We left the high-road to proceed by footpaths through the jungles, and near the village of Shirkarpoor we selected the bhil. The place was a favourite one, and well known to our party. The travellers fell, twenty-nine men, some women and children; all were buried in one grave, for the spot where they were killed was a desolate one. The deed was done in the night, but by the light of as fair a moon as ever shone on us. One child I saved from the general slaughter; Ganesha was not present to oppose me; and though the boy was a Hindoo, yet I determined to adopt him as my own, and to bring him up in the holy faith I professed myself, and this would enhance the merit of having spared him. But when his mother died, I could not force him away from the body; he clung to it, young as he was, with frantic force—he screamed and kicked whenever I attempted to lay hold of him, and bit me in the arms and the hands. I thought if the body was removed from his sight he would be quiet and submit to his fate; but no—when it was gone, he grew worse and worse; nothing would pacify or tranquillize him, and I fairly grew impatient and angry. I drew my sword, and threatened him but he was insensible to his danger; he reviled me, he spat at me with a child's virulence. I once more raised him up in my arms, but it was of no use; he seized my ear in his teeth and bit it till the blood came. In the agony of the pain and in my rage I knew not what I did. Sahib, how shall I tell you what followed! it was the worst act of my life but one, which I have yet to tell you of.
You killed him, I suppose, Ameer Ali, said I.
Yes, Sahib, I killed him; but oh, how did I do it! it was the devil's work, not mine. I never was cruel, but now the Shitan possessed me.
Here Ameer Ali put his hands to his eyes, and finding my heart sicken, I begged him to refrain from reciting the dreadful particulars. After a pause he continued.
Wretch that I was, I did this. No one was near me but the Thug who held my horse, and even he was horror-struck, and uttered a loud scream of terror. I silenced him, and leaving the mangled body, I mounted my horse and galloped after my party.
Yes, Sahib, I deserved to be hanged for that deed, had I never done another; but I was spared for a different fate.
We were in full march on the third day after this happened, when we saw a body of horsemen coming after us. My mind misgave me when I observed them, and I hastened to collect the straggling Thugs, and form them into a close body, in case the horsemen should prove to be enemies, or make any hostile demonstration. On they came, shouting and abusing us in every term of vile reproach their tongues could utter. There were about forty of them; and I verily believe that, had I not been at the head of the band, they would have fled as one man: however, I cheered them up, and was determined to show a good front in my retreat. I knew there was a village in our interest within a few coss, which possessed a worthy Potail like him I have told you of; and that if we could but reach it, we might man the walls and towers, and bid defiance to our pursuers.
"Be not afraid," cried I to my men; "let the best of ye come behind with me, and we will stop these marauding rascals. I know they are Pindharees, and the veriest cowards in existence. Only be firm; you who have matchlocks take good aim, and when they are near enough, every one mark his man, and see if as many saddles are not emptied."
On they came. Fortunately the road was narrow, and had thick thorny brushwood on each side of it, so that they could not pass us. They were within speaking distance, and I shouted, "Are ye friends or enemies? If the former, keep behind us; if enemies, begone, in the name of the Prophet, my friends, or ye are likely to get a sharp reception."
"Stop!" shouted the leader of the party; "who among you is leader? I would speak to him."
"I am leader," said I. "Come out alone, and I will meet you; but if any of ye stir, by Alla we will fire on you." The fellow advanced, and seeing that nonefollowed him, I rode out in front of my men. "If there is treachery," said I to them, "fire,—never mind me."
"Jemadar," said the man, "our Thakoor has sent for you, you may possibly have guessed why. You had better come; you will only have to pay a fine, and will be released; I swear this to you on the faith of a Rajpoot."
"I will neither trust you nor your master," said I; "you are a parcel of vagabond Pindharees. I laugh at you, and spit on your beards. If you want us, come and take us; but of our own accord we come not. Are we fools? are we asses? Oh, man! artthouone to talk thus? Go back to him that sent thee, and say the man is yet unborn who will take Ameer Ali Thug, so long as he has a weapon in his hand, or a few gallant fellows by his side. Have you no shame to deliver such a message!"
He made no answer, but urged his horse and cut at me with his sword. Fool! he did not think that a Thug could fight, and still less that he had engaged one whom no one had ever yet defeated. I caught the blow on my shield, and returned it on his head as he passed me; the fellow fell front his horse a dead man.
My own men set up a shout, and discharged their matchlocks—one horseman and a horse fell wounded, and struggled in the dust. Had only my own good companions in the Pindharee affairs been with me, I would have charged them, and put them to flight; but I could do nothing alone. We had checked them, however, and retired slowly, followed by the troop, who kept out of shot, but evidently waiting for a piece of level and fair ground to charge us. In this way we retreated till the welcome walls of the village, whither I had directed the main body, appeared to our view. We redoubled our efforts to gain the shelter they would afford us, and the men were in some disorder as we passed over a level plain in front of the village; they were even beginning to run, but I checked them. "For the love of Alla!" cried I, "for your own sakes keep together, and have brave hearts; so long as we are firm they will not dare to come near us; but if once we separate, we are lost. See, even now they are preparing to charge, as a hawk stoops on his quarry."
And down they came, thundering along, brandishing their spears, and reviling us. Some of my men fled at their utmost speed to the gate, but most of them stood. Again I dashed at one of our enemies, and wounded him; but the odds were against us; one of my own men fell, pierced through the breast to the backbone by a spear; another was wounded; but they could not take further advantage of us. Those who had fled, joined by others of my men and some villagers, headed by my brave old father, issued from the gate, which the horsemen seeing, they drew off, and we got within the village in safety. They kept hovering about till mid-day, but out of the reach of our shot; and soon after noon, they all departed, and we saw no more of them. We had to pay for our shelter handsomely, however, for the Potail shut the gates of his village, and declared we should not pass out without having paid him a thousand rupees. I was for attacking him, plundering his village, and burning it after the Pindharee fashion; and we could have done it easily. But my father would not hear of it. "The country would rise on us," he said; "and besides, it would ill requite the Potail's hospitality and protection, even though we had to pay for it." So he paid the money; and, after a thousand protestations of mutual goodwill, we left the village in the evening, intending to push on as far as we could, to be beyond the reach of pursuit.
Nor were we followed; though this exploit made a noise in the country, and was known far and wide, we were not molested. We heard afterwards that the Thakoor flew into a furious passion when he heard of his men's defeat, and dismissed them from his service as a parcel of cowards, as indeed they were. Moreover, he swore he would be revenged upon every Thug he might ever catch afterwards; and I believe he kept his word, and put some to death. But we laughed at his beard; and many a merry jest had we over the adventure afterwards.
It seems, the day after, some herdsmen were passing the spot where the travellers had been killed and they saw the body of the lad lying in the road: all the remains were discovered, and information was given to the ruler of thevillage and tract of country in which the deed had been done. We pursued our route. Ganesha, too, had been fortunate; he had decoyed a large body of travellers, consisting of a Jemadar who had lost an arm, and his family, with some others, along the by-paths in another direction, and he had killed them all.
You know, Sahib, that it is forbidden to us to kill persons who may in any way be deformed. I was amused afterwards to hear the accounts which were given of the deliberations made upon the Jemadar's fate by Ganesha and his gang: he told them to me himself when we met.
"Some, indeed most of the men," said he, "hesitated as to whether he should be strangled or not. There was no means of separating him from the party, and they said the whole ought to be abandoned on his account, as he had lost an arm, and therefore was not a fit sacrifice to Bhowanee. I replied that he was not deformed, that if he had lost an arm, he had had one once, and the losing of it was not the work of Alla but of man, and that when he died he would appear in the form in which he had been created; therefore he was not forbidden, but was true bunij; and I asked them how they would show their faces to you and to their brethren at the rendezvous with no deed to boast of, and, more than all, no plunder. I prevailed; the whole were strangled; the Jemadar by my own hand, for no one else would touch him, despite of all I said to convince them there was no harm in it. The worst of all was, however, that there were two young girls of a marriageable age, the daughters of the Jemadar. Two of my men took a fancy to them, and would fain have carried them off to be their wives, but they would not consent, and they were strangled with the rest."
We were now somewhat at a loss for a route, or whither to go. The omens were consulted at Saugor, which was our place of rendezvous; and as they pointed to the northward, we struck off the high-road to the north at Saugor, and took that to Seronje. But my father returned to Jhalone. We divided into two bodies, each a day's march from the other, for we were fearful of being suspected if we travelled in large numbers; and since the Europeans had got a footing in the country, we found that we were asked more questions at the different posts and guards than we had used to be. Besides, large bodies of travellers had disappeared in various directions by the hands of other bands of Thugs, and the authorities were suspicious and inquisitive to a degree. However, now with bullying, now with bribes, we contrived to pass on, leaving our fruit as we went in many a sly place, which the Choukedars never suspected; and although we got no large booty, yet scarcely a day passed but one, two, or more travellers met their death at our hands. It was at the village of Ekléra, in Holkar's dominions (alas! I shall never forget it), that our Sothas brought us word they had secured a small party of travellers, who they had heard were about to proceed to a village a few coss distant.
Of course our men told them of the danger of travelling alone, of the alarms there were of Thugs, and begged of them to accompany our large party for safety, which had collected for the same purpose, and they consented. The Sothas offered to introduce them to me as the leader of the Kafila; and accordingly, at sunset, one of them returned to the bazar, and brought two of the men to me. I received them cordially, repeated the same stories as my men had done, and frightened them quite sufficiently for my purpose.
"Listen," said one; "though I have never seen a Thug, nor know of any existing in this part, yet that they have been here there is no doubt. My wife's father was killed by them."
"How!" said I; "it is horrible to think on; how did this happen? know you aught of the particulars?"
"No," replied he, "none but what I have heard from others. I was a boy at the time, but the old men of the village know them well, and often speak of them even to this day. I will introduce you to my father-in-law, as I justly call him, and he shall tell you the tale himself. Mashalla! he tells it with much spirit, and 'tis worth hearing."
I confess I was interested; why I should have been so at a common tale of Thuggee was more than I can imagine. I rose and followed the man to his house, determined to hear the whole story from his father-in-law's mouth.
I have said it was yet day; the sun was setting and the village was a scene of bustle and noise, as is always the case in an evening; the herds which had been out to graze were pouring in at the gates, raising clouds of dust, through which the walls were but dimly seen. Yet still as I advanced I fancied them familiar to me; I imagined I knew the names of different places near them,—one in particular, the abode of a Fakeer, around which was a small garden. I almost started when I approached it, for it seemed like the face of a familiar friend one meets after a long, long absence, when one hesitates to accost him by name, though almost assured of his identity. But in spite of my desire to know the name of the garden I walked on, for it would not have suited my purpose to have appeared to recognize any object, having represented myself to be an utter stranger. As we passed through the gate, objects more and more familiar to my eyes presented themselves,—the bazar, the little Mosque, the Kotwal's Chowree, the temple of Mahadeo. I could have named them all, and one house in particular,—my heart leaped within me as I passed it. There was nothing remarkable in it: but it seemed unaccountably fresh to me,—as though I had but left it yesterday.
Still I walked on silently, and my companion did not notice the agitation and surprise which must have been depicted on my features. We reached the house, a respectable one in appearance; and desiring me to be seated, he left me to bring the old man of whom we had spoken. When we entered, Alla! Alla! I could have called him too by name, though his features were shrunken and withered. I was almost about to exclaim, Rheim Khan! but I checked myself; and, as he was presented to me under another name, Futih Mahomed Khan, I was silent.
The whole, after this, thought I, must be a wild dream, or I may have visited the place in my wanderings, perhaps stayed a few days at it, and it is thus familiar to me. After some desultory conversation, my new friend stated what he had told me, and requested his father-in-law to relate the story of Peer Khan with all its particulars.
The old man returned my salutations cordially; and when we were fairly seated, and the hookah had passed round, he related the sad history of the parents of the girl he had adopted. His version of the tale differed little from that of my new acquaintance; and indeed the whole affair appeared to have been as successful a piece of Thuggee as I had ever listened to. I wonder who they were, thought I; I will mention the story to my father; perhaps he may have heard of it, and can give me some clue to the boy whose fate is buried in uncertainty. Yet the lad may even now be among us; and as this thought flashed across my mind, a half conviction forced itself upon me that I was the man! But I checked it,—it was a foolish thought, such as one harbours sometimes upon the slightest cause, and dismisses after a moment's reflection.
"And you never heard aught of them afterwards, nor of the boy?" I asked.
"Never," said the old man; "never; years have passed since then, and the lad, if he lives, is about your own age, Meer Sahib; and—Ya Alla!" cried he, gazing on me, as a gust of wind caused the lamp to flare towards me, "those features are familiar to me!—speak, man! thou art not the son of him who was murdered?"
I confess that his earnest gaze and manner, with my previous convictions that the village was familiar to me, almost overpowered me; but I was too old an adept in deceit to be long staggered by a suspicion which he had no means of confirming, and I replied carelessly and with a laugh: "No, no, that cannot be; my father still lives, though my mother is dead; indeed I have but little remembrance of her. Besides we are pure Syuds by descent, and reside in a distant country, and you spoke of your old friend as a Pathan."
"It cannot be then," said the old man, turning away with an air of disappointment; "yet the resemblance is very striking, and I pray you, MeerSahib, to pardon an old man's mistake; it may be that my eyes are failing me. Yet look at him, my son, and say, does he not resembleher?"
"He does so certainly," replied the other, "and I was struck with the similarity of features, when I first saw him; but it must be imaginary, or it is, perhaps, one of those unaccountable resemblances, which one often sees without being able to discover any cause why it should exist."
"But you spoke of a coin," said I, "which you hold to be possessed of peculiar virtues."
"I did, Meer Sahib, and my father will tell you that I have not overrated its efficacy."
"Nor has he," said the other; "many charms have I seen, but none equal to it: when around the neck of the wearer, no evil comes to her, no disease attacks her, and the eye of the malevolent or envious rests in vain upon her. Assuredly it possesses wonderful virtues, for if it is ever absent from her, she suffers from disease, or is unquiet in mind."
"Alla ke Qoodrut!" I exclaimed; "it is the work of God. Such charms are indeed precious, and lucky is the possessor of them. I had once a son,—he became the victim of an evil glance cast by a Fakeer to whom alms were denied; he cursed my house, and the boy pined and died. I was absent from my home, and you may judge, sirs, of my agony when I arrived and learned my boy was dead. I have never been blessed with another; but a girl still survives, upon whom every care is lavished, and no charm is offered for sale by the wandering Fakeers, Moslem or Hindoo, but it is eagerly purchased, and hung around her neck. In this manner I have spent much money, but as yet without effect; for my child is delicate, and afflicted with dreams which disturb her rest and disquiet her gentle spirit; and I would to Alla I could become the possessor of some charm similar to the one you mention."
"Keep a stout heart, Meer Sahib," said the old man; "you have bought your experience with sorrow, to be sure, yet a constant attention to the wants of the holy wanderers will no doubt have its effect in the end, and their prayers will be offered for the health of your child and her long life."
"May Alla listen to them;" said I fervently, for my heart was then with my child and my loved wife. I arose to take my leave, and as my new friend insisted on accompanying me to our camp, we walked thither.
"You will be ready, then, at the first dawn," observed I; "we travel early for the sake of the cool morning air, and my companions bestir themselves as soon as the first blush of light spreads over the east."
"Depend on me," said he, "I will not keep you waiting: we have a long stage before us."
He left me. I will have the charm, thought I, as I lay down to rest; my child shall be protected by its extraordinary virtue, and there will be an end of the constant searchings for amulets, which do no good, and cost much money: besides, I could not bring Azima a gift she would prize more highly, better far in her eyes than strings of pearls or costly jewels. Thus musing, my thoughts wandered to my home: my treasures were before me in imagination, and I compared this my wild and exciting life with the peaceful moments I enjoyed when I was there with them—Azima lying beside me, and our child amusing us with her innocent gambols. The contrast was forcible, and appealed to my best feelings.
I fell asleep; nor did I awake until the bustle of preparation for the journey warned me that it was time to rise. Having performed my ablutions, I repeated the morning prayer and thanksgiving, and issuing from my little tent, I saw the band was in readiness to move on; but my new acquaintance and his family were as yet not with us.
"Shall we move on?" asked Laloo,—who was now my confidant, being the second of the Bhuttotes,—as I stood near my horse, prepared to mount.
"Not yet," said I; "I expect some bunij from the village; they promised not to be late, yet the day advances. Send some one to hurry them."
"Ay, our friends of last night, I suppose, Meer Sahib. Of course we will wait for them, and I will send a fellow to quicken them: know you how many there will be to deal with?"
"Not I," I replied; "there are a man and his wife, but how many more I know not. We shall soon see, however."
Our messenger returned almost immediately. "They come," said he; "I had not reached the village gate when I saw them issue forth."
"And how many are there?" I asked.
"There are two women on ponies, one old one on foot, and three men armed with sword and matchlock."
"Six in all," said I; "do you Laloo tell off the Bhuttotes: if we find a good place to-day I will give the jhirnee; if not, the business can be done to-morrow."
"True, Meer Sahib," he replied; "but we had better put it off to-day. To tell you the truth, there was an objectionable omen this morning, and you know there is no need of risking anything."
"Certainly not; we can send on the Bélhas to-night, and things are best done which are conducted regularly."
The village party now approached us, and salutations were exchanged; we stayed not, but pushed on at as rapid a pace as allowed the villagers to keep up with us; and we travelled thus to the end of the stage. I saw no likely place for the deed on our way, for the country was thickly peopled and the villages were close to each other. But I heard with inward satisfaction from my acquaintance, that the next march was through a lonely tract, and I was urged by him to be on the alert and careful, for that robbers were plentiful, and we might be attacked.
They rested in our camp that day and night. I watched eagerly to see, if it were possible, the face of the woman who bore the prize I so eagerly coveted, but I could not discern it, she was strictly secluded, or if she moved out of the temporary screen her husband had erected, she was enveloped in a thick wrapper, which defied my utmost attempts to discover her countenance. But she wasmine, and I gloried in the thought that ere another day should pass over me, she would have fallen under my hand, and the charm would be mine also. You, Sahib, will perhaps wonder at my eagerness to possess it; but you know us not, if you do. What mother is there in Hindostan, ay, or father, who does not covet a potent charm against the evil eye for his child or for his wife, far more than riches, nay the commonest necessaries or comforts of life? A child falls sick, the glance of some of one is declared to have rested on it, ceremonies are performed without number, pepper is burned, mustard-seed placed in the room, and other things done which you would laugh at were I to relate them all; and hence comes the necessity of charms. Holy men are besought to give them, and are paid for them highly: Fakeers are implored to pronounce mystic words over the suffering infant; and women will sell anything they possess, even their jewels, to purchase an amulet which is said to be efficacious. Sahib, I had lost one child; another, my sole offspring, was constantly ailing, and we were tormented by a thousand miserable anticipations regarding her. Within my reach was a sovereign remedy for all, so at least I firmly believed. Can you wonder at my eagerness, my impatience to possess it?
Laloo came to me, and with him the chief of the Bélhas. "We are to go on, I suppose, as soon as we can?" said the latter.
"Certainly," replied I; "I hear the road lies through a lonely tract, which commences a few coss from here. See that you choose a good place, and that the grave will hold six bodies."
"Jo hookum!" rejoined the fellow; "but I hope the information is correct about the road, and that it is not like the last stage, cultivated ground from first to last. I would have defied the best Belha that ever drew breath to have selected a spot free from a chance of interruption."
"Rest content," said I; "the information is good, I had it from our fellow-travellers, who have passed that way a hundred times."
"Then I will start by sunset," continued he; "I suppose the nearer to this the place is selected, consistently with security, the better."
"Certainly," said I. "Go; you have your leave."
Midnight soon arrived: we had arisen, and had proceeded about three cosson our way; we had passed every village, and entered on the desolate tract I have mentioned. The hot night wind still sighed over the waste, and through the thorny bushes by which it was thinly covered. No sound broke the silence, save a shrill neigh from one of our baggage-ponies at intervals, or the wild and melancholy note of the plover, as it piped its song to its mate, and was answered again from afar. Once or twice the half shriek, half howl of a hyæna might be heard, and so like was the cry to that of a wretch under the knife of an assassin, that my blood curdled in my veins as the sound thrilled through me. I rode on, first of the party, eagerly looking for the Belha, who should give the welcome intelligence that the grave was ready, and that we were secure from interruption; nor had I long to wait for this. At a turning in the road I saw the trusty messenger seated; and as he espied me and arose, I hastened to meet him.
"Bhil manjeh?" I asked in our slang language.
"Manjeh," was the reply: "'tis ready, Meer Sahib."
"And how far, Gopal?"
"Scarcely a cannon-shot from hence, a dry nulla with a sandy bed crosses the road; and a tributary streamlet's course, between high and narrow banks, was the best place we could find."
"Good," said I, "you are always careful; now keep near me, and hold my horse when I dismount: I have a share in this affair which I would not trust to another."
I slackened my horse's pace, and the party soon overtook me. I stopped as they came up, and dismounted. "A plague on these roads of yours, Khan," said I to my acquaintance; "my horse has lost a shoe, and his foot is somewhat tender; so I will walk a coss or two to ease him of my weight. Surely there cannot be much more of this stony track."
"Not much; a coss or two perhaps: we ought to be near a dry nulla, if I am not mistaken, and from thence the next village is a coss and a half; after that the road is good."
"Let the Meer Sahib ride on my tattoo," said a voice like music; "I am cramped and stiff, and I shall be glad to walk awhile." It was that of my victim! she who was to die under my hand ere a quarter of an hour elapsed. She must be beautiful with that voice, thought I; but I shall see.
"No, no, Khan," said I, "that must not be; I am soldier enough to walk when I have no horse. Mashalla! my limbs are strong and supple, and I would not mind trying you at a long stage."
"As you will, Meer Sahib, but you have only to say the word, and she dismounts. Alla knows 'tis a small recompense for your safe protection over this dreary tract, which never man yet passed but with fear and apprehension. The nulla too, we shall reach it soon—they say many a brave fellow's blood has moistened its sand."
I saw the woman shudder at her husband's speech, and I checked him. "Shame on you, Khan!" said I; "think who hears you: women's ears are not fitted to listen to tales of blood, save when they are of a battle-field, and of scenes in which honour is gained and fame won at the sword's point. Here you are safe; no rascally Dacoo would dare to meddle with a kafila like ours, and we shall pass the nulla, as we have those behind us, without a thought of its dangers or what has ever happened in it. But what was that?" I eagerly asked, as something crossed our path close to my feet.
"Nothing but a hare," said the Khan; "some prowling jackal has scared her from her form, and she seeks another hiding-place."
"A hare!" I repeated, the current of my blood seeming to be suddenly arrested, as I thought on the fearful omen to a Thug,—one that could not be disregarded, or, if disregarded, was certain to be followed by the most dire calamities, nothing less than death or long imprisonment.
"Yes, Meer Sahib, a hare. Why should it astonish you?"
"But across my very path," I muttered involuntarily.
"'Twas chance," said the man; "what of it?"
"Nothing," replied I; "nothing,—we have an old superstition about it in my country, but 'tis an old woman's tale, I dare say."
I paced on in silence. Ya Alla! what a conflict was raging in my heart! Ihave told you I disregarded omens: I cared not for them, only as they were the soul of Thuggee as far as my men were concerned; and to humour them I feigned to be particular in their observance. But my soul quailed when I was put to the proof. Every tale I had heard of the vengeance of Bhowanee at a conscious neglect of her commands and omens flashed in rapid succession across my mind,—how one had died, eaten by worms; another been overtaken by what the world called justice; how another had lost his wife or children,—and I too had yet a child! I say I quailed in mental terror for awhile; but mine was a stout heart, a noble spirit; and it roused at my call, like that of a good steed, which worn and weary with travel, yet at the approach of strife or danger bears his master as gallantly as though he were fresh from his stall. Yes, my soul rallied. Away with such idle tales, fit only to be bugbears to children, said I mentally; Ameer Ali is not to be frightened by them. And to lose the charm,—the object of my anxiety, when almost within my grasp! I laughed aloud.
"You are merry, Meer Sahib," cried Laloo, who I saw was at his place; "tell us your thoughts, that we may laugh too; and by Alla! we need it, for a more unsainted country I never saw."
"'Twas but a thought," said I. "Know you where my hookah is?"
"I do not," he replied, "but I will call for it." And the word was passed by those who followed us for it to be brought.
This was the preparatory signal. Every one heard it and took his post. The place could not be far, and with my last words had passed away every chance of life to our companions. Nor was it far off; a few moments' walking brought us to the brink of the nulla. I first descended into it, and disengaged my roomal. I was ready; one by one the others followed me, and we were now in the middle of the dry and sandy bed, mingled together, the victims and their destroyers. I saw the time was come, and I gave the jhirnee.
They fell,—ay all! and almost at the same time. There was no sound, no cry, all that I heard was a faint gurgling noise from the husband of the woman, who had writhed in her death-agony under my fatal grip; a few convulsive throes and she was dead! I tore away the bodice which covered her bosom; I thrust my hands into it, and groped upon the still warm breast for the prize I had so earnestly longed for. I found it tied to a silk cord,—which defied my utmost efforts to break; but I unsheathed my dagger and cut it, and I hugged the treasure to my heart in a frenzy of exultation. One look at the face, thought I, and the Lughaees may do their work; and I gazed on it. It was beautiful, very beautiful; but the expression and the eyes—, Sahib! why did I look at it? I might have spared myself years of torment had I not done so. That face, of all that I have ever seen in death, haunts me still, and will ever haunt me, sleeping or waking.
Not that it had any particular effect on me then. No, it was afterwards, as you shall hear, and when I had discovered what I had done. Yes, she was beautiful, fair as my own Azima, as delicate and faultless in form. The Lughaees shall not behold these beauties, thought I, nor could I listen to their coarse remarks; so I covered up the bosom, folded the body decently in the sheet which had been around her, and sat down by it to await their coming.
"How, Jemadar Sahib!" said Gopal, as he came up to me, "have you not stripped the body? But let me do so; yonder sheet is worth two rupees."
"Let it alone!" cried I; "touch her not; she is too fair for the like of you to look on. And hark ye, my friend, let her be buried as you see her now. Whatever the others may say, tell them that it is my order; and for your own share, you shall have a new sheet when we reach Jhalone."
"Jo hookum," said the man, "you shall be obeyed. But have you searched for jewels?"
"I have; she had none. Away with her, and see that I am obeyed. Yet stay, I will accompany you."
I went with him. The grave was where they had described it, between the high and narrow banks of a small watercourse; it was deep, and already contained some bodies. I saw that of the fair girl laid carefully down over them, and I prevented their mutilating it with their knives as they had done theothers. I waited till all had been finished, and the grave covered in; and collecting my scattered party we pursued our journey. It was well we had been so expeditious, for scarcely half a coss from the spot we met a large party of travellers, who, confident in their numbers, had pushed on by night as we had done. Short greetings were exchanged between us, a few inquiries as to the road, whether water was to be had, and where, and we passed on.
Our booty was small enough, as you may conceive,—about forty rupees, a few changes of raiment, the tattoo of the deceased, and the few and simple ornaments of the women, worth perhaps a hundred rupees, were all we got. But I had the real prize, worth in my eyes thousands of rupees. No one knew I had it, and I kept it hung round my own neck, and close to my heart. A thousand times I took it out and gazed at it; there was something about it which had a mysterious effect on me,—many times I thought I had seen it before, and I fancied its old and battered surface was familiar to me. But my mind gave me no clue to the idea, and I attributed the effect I have described to the influence of the charm itself, and I was assured of its potency. How Azima will prize it! thought I. In itself valueless, yet a treasure in her eyes and mine, for it will protect our child, and many an envious eye is upon her.
We were still far from Jhalone, and the season admitted of farther wanderings; but I was sated. Strange to say, I no longer thirsted for adventure; and though it came, and men were delivered into our hands, yet I sought not for them. Those we destroyed were casual travellers who joined our party, and whose destruction was unavoidable.
We held a general deliberation at a village on the confines of Malwa; and though some were for travelling northward as far as Agra, and thence to Jhalone, I overruled this, and, indeed, had the majority on my side, who were satisfied with what we had got, and longed for their homes as I did. "However, my friends," said I, "our proceeding homewards need not bring us worse booty than we should get by going north. Roads are roads, and travellers will surely be on them wherever we go. Let us not relax in our vigilance, and do you trust in the lucky fortune of Ameer Ali. Victory has always followed him, and his star is still high in the ascendant. Above all, let us consult the omens, and by them be guided; if it is our fate soon to see our homes, they will determine our actions and proceedings."
My speech was received with plaudits; the omens were consulted; and though none remarkable were observed, yet, in the opinion of the best-informed Thugs, we were justified in holding our present direction, till it should be changed either by meeting with new adventures or adverse omens. Accordingly we pursued our route.
I forget how many days it was afterwards, but we were encamped at Tearee, a large town in Bundelkhund, and had been there two days in the hope of bunij. We had been unlucky in not meeting with any till then; but our Tilhaees were actively employed, and I was determined not to quit the town without an adventure, as it was the last place on the road to Jhalone where we could hope to meet with any of consequence. The Sothas and Tilhaees, however, returned in the afternoon with downcast faces, declaring they could meet with no one, except miserable creatures hardly worth the trouble of destroying; and all were for moving off the next morning.
I was piqued at our ill luck, I know not why. "Stay, however," said I to them all, "for the morrow; something tells me it will be a lucky day, and one is not of much consequence." My will was of course law to them, and early the next day I dressed myself in my best clothes, armed myself with my most showy weapons, and taking some of the Thugs with me, as it were a personal escort, I rode into the town, causing my horse to caracole as I went, in order to show off my admirable horsemanship. Twice did I ride up and down the bazar and the principal streets, but without meeting with any hope of adventure or bunij. At last, observing three respectable-looking Mahomedans seated on a chubootra, or terrace, under the shade of a large peepul-tree, I rode up to them, and inquired whether they could direct me to the abode of any dealer in pearls or precious stones, as I wished to purchase some.