"Oh! rice ka la! come!Oh! rice ka la! come!Mee Meht calls you, come, come!"
"Oh! rice ka la! come!Oh! rice ka la! come!Mee Meht calls you, come, come!"
The rice grain gleamed white as pearls from among the dusky chaff as she worked; and ever and anon, with some joke from one or the other, the girlish voices bubbled over into a merry laugh.
"They seem happy," said Ralph.
"Ay, they do," Kirke replied, "but they are like animals,—theydo not 'look before and after.'"
Neither a boat in which to descend the river, nor a bullock-cart in which to reach its banks, were to be hired until the harvest was ready, so there was nothing for it but patience.
Neither Kirke nor Ralph felt themselves quite strong enough to be inclined for excessive haste. Kirke's illness, and Denham's sufferings in the jungle, made a little further rest still desirable before running the risk of more danger and new fatigues. They therefore remained quietly in the village contentedly enough, learning to know each other and like each other better every day.
They had long conversations, discussions of every subject which occurred to them. Each had undergone a training so different from the other that they never saw any matter in exactly the same light, and their opposite experiences were mutually valuable. Kirke's deep and dark knowledge of life was a warning to Denham; his own boyish lightness and gaiety were encouraging to his friend.
Meantime the rice ripened, was cut, and put up in stooks, ready for the threshing floor, in true scriptural fashion; for the manner of husking it by hand, as before described, was too slow and costly to be practised upon large quantities; neither was the paddy grained at all for mercantile purposes, as machinery was so much more convenient for the purpose.
Much rice, indeed, is brought to England in the form of paddy; and cleaned there by steam mills, of which there are many in Liverpool and elsewhere.
In the valley where Ralph and Kirke found themselves, it was a prosperous year. The people had been able to buy a sufficiency of excellent young plants, the weather had been favourable to their growth, the yield was good—the strangers had brought them luck.
But was it good or bad luck that the report of their riches should have gone forth over the land, and created envy in the hearts of some among their neighbours—idler, poorer, less fortunate than they?
But so it was. Down from the wild hillside came a party of four or five men from a neighbouring outlying village, armed with guns and pistols. They crept along, hidden by boulder and rock; crawling through gulley, and channels of dried-up streamlets, to reconnoitre; to judge of the wealth in the village, and the exact moment when it could be seized upon to the greatest advantage.
Dacoity, as it is called, is the great curse of the hill and jungle parts of Burma. The Burman hates hard work—it is so much easier to help himself to his neighbour's rice than to grow it for himself. If his crop fails, why should another man have more than he wants? Down he comes in the night, sets the village on fire, kills the men, carries off the maidens, and appropriates the property.
The English law is severe upon the dacoit, but, at the time when Ralph Denham was wandering about in these wild regions, British Burma consisted only of a long strip of seaboard, backed by a mountain-range which divided it from Siam, and of the rice-growing lands in Pegu, formed by the widespread delta of the Irriwaddy River.
It was very easy for ill-doers to escape over the borders of the British possessions either to the east or north, andEnglish law could not reach them. Law and order elsewhere was conspicuous by its absence, therefore the dacoit flourished.
The English authorities set a price upon these robbers' heads, so it was short shrift for them if caught. To avoid this unpleasantness, they killed their enemies whenever they found that this procedure suited their convenience; and, in order to deter pursuit, they endeavoured to strike terror into the hearts of those who might seek to apprehend them, by a peculiar refinement of cruelty in the manner of killing them. Thus they were not nice people to meet with—far from it.
The two young men were sitting together, in the cool of the evening, upon the raised platform which ran round their hut, and formed a verandah, roofed with thekkee,—a kind of dried grass,—but open on every side to the air. There had been a magnificent sunset, whose gorgeousness had yet hardly faded from the western sky. They had been talking, but the soothing influence of the hour was upon them and they were silent now.
Soft curls of smoke wafted away from Kirke's cheroot; and Ralph sat on a mat, leaning against the bamboo support of the verandah, gazing dreamily over the landscape before him.
Ralph's vision was very keen, and he now became aware of three or four men, dimly perceptible among the gathering shadows, creeping along the river-bank, stooping low to be thus better concealed by the reeds which grew upon it.
Their movements were suspicious, and he quietly called Kirke's attention to them. Kirke could not see them, and thought that Ralph had imagined their presence.
"No," said Denham, "it is not imagination; they move a short way, and then keep quite still for a full minute or more. It is that which makes me think that they are upto mischief. Fix your eye upon that clump of reeds the farthest to the left of four. Now, there, don't you see something come out from behind it?"
"Ah! I do," exclaimed Kirke. "One, two, three, four, five things. They are men's heads, as sure as a gun! Ralph, it strikes me that this means dacoity."
"I believe it does," replied Ralph. "There is a large sledge there laden with paddy. The beggars are after that to a certainty."
"Have at them!" cried Kirke. "Don't let us allow their knavish tricks to succeed."
"Halt," replied Ralph. "Those fellows have guns, and long swords or daggers. There are other things stuck into their waistbelts, which are either pistols or knives, perhaps both. Have we weapons at hand? There are five of them, we two could do little against them alone; we had better call up old Shway Poh, and some of the villagers, to help."
"Moung Shway Poh won't be of much use. He will talk resignedly of those scamps being the 'five enemies,' or the 'five duties,' or the 'five great acts of sacrifice.' That rice is not his, he will be perfectly resigned to the thieves annexing it."
"We must use a little gentle force then, to persuade him that one of the ten precepts is to preserve your neighbour's goods when you accept authority over him. Shway Poh did not get this village to eat just to keep his own rice safe, or his own skin either. But, Kirke, it is not only that lot of rice which the beggars want. They may be short of food, and mean to have that, but what they arereallyafter is the village wealth, the ornaments which the women wear, the money in the monastery, the valuables generally. The important thing is to beat them off there, before they creep into the village to find out what the people have."
"Perhaps you are right. Some of those girls wearreally magnificent jewellery at their festivals; and it seems to me that they sport more and more of late. Even that little Sunshine child came out the other day in a pair of ruby earrings that might make a duchess' mouth water. So here goes. I bought these guns only last week for our journey. They are not first-rate ones, but serviceable. And here is a good bowie-knife for you, and one for me. Now for Mr. Golden Grandfather."
They found the head man of the village, who rejoiced in that lovely name, squatted with his family around a huge tray of rice and chillies, flavoured with oil and salt. He was shovelling his supper into his mouth with vast relish, and was extremely averse to exertion, having already gobbled up so much as to make movement inconvenient.
"The Englishman mistakes," he said. "Dacoits never come here. They know well that I am a Friday's child, fierce and passionate as the tusked elephant which protects my soul. They dare not incur my wrath. The village is safe as long as I am its chief."
"Youfierce and passionate?" cried his wife contemptuously. "So you may be, but your fierceness is like the flame of a chaff fire, it flares up easily and is out again in one minute. Did we slave and labour for our beautiful jewels simply to give them to the thief? No indeed. Show me, golden[1]youth, where the dacoits are to be seen. Will they be content with one sledge full if they are down upon us, Poh Pyin?[2]Answer me that."
She went out into the verandah, but the house was situated behind a grove of trees which hid the rice-sledge from her sight.
"We must go in the boats," said she.
"Then go armed," implored Ralph, "for the robbers are armed to the teeth."
"You are sure?" asked she.
"Quite sure," said Ralph.
She called up some of the men; and the village chief having now plucked up a little energy, a boat was prepared, and put off across the stream.
So much time was lost, however, that the robbers had already linked two sledges together, and were punting them away with all speed. Upon seeing the villagers' boat, which was impelled by six men, gaining rapidly upon them, and followed by two more, they pointed their guns at the foremost.
"Stand back!" they cried, "or we fire."
"We had better return," whispered the fat old Shway Poh.
"Coward!" hissed out Kirke, thirsting for the fray. "What! they are but five."
"They are desperate men," whined Shway Poh.
"If we lose our rice, there is nothing but dacoity before us, ourselves, next winter," said one of the men.
The boat shot ahead, and tried to run athwart the first sledge. The dacoits fired. Had five guns really been able to kill six men? There were five rowers, and Shway Poh steering. Ralph had the sixth oar, and Kirke's gun rang out in response to the attack, but only he and Denham remained steady at their posts. All the Burmans were bowled over. Strange that the dacoits' shots should have hit them all, and missed Kirke's broad figure standing erect in the bows. Did he bear a charmed life?
There was another explanation of the mystery. He who fights and runs away, may always live to fight another day. The six Burmans were all prostrate at the bottom of the boat, and the shots had passed harmlessly above them. Neither had they been taken with very true aim, for all had gone wide of the mark.
A kick from Kirke aroused the man nearest to him.
"Get up, you scoundrel!" thundered the young man. "What are you funking there for? Seize them before they can reload!"
He threw himself out of the boat, which had now crossed the stream, and tore the pole from the hands of one dacoit. Ralph followed, and seized another by the throat, but the fellow's body was thickly besmeared with cocoanut oil, rendering him so slippery that he actually slid through his hands, and Denham's foot slipped, throwing him down.
Up he sprang in an instant, and tried to grasp the fellow's garments; but, with a wriggle and a twist, he was out of the coiled cloth in one moment, leaving it in Ralph's hands, while he stood for the space of a second, free of all impedimenta, then bounded into the jungle.
Ralph gave chase, but had no chance against the lithe limbs of the Burman, well used to such encounters, and almost as supple as a snake. After a short pursuit, he turned back to assist his friends, seeing the undesirability of separating their party into single units.
He found himself needed. Upon the report of firearms, the natives in the other two boats held aloof, and were now returning to the village, towing, however, the rice sledges with them; and the valorous Mr. Golden Grandfather was in the act of stepping into their own, with evident purpose of following in their wake.
Kirke had knocked down one of the dacoits, who was either killed or lay senseless on the ground. Using his long pole as a quarter-staff, and whirling it round his head in true old English style, he was making play against another, who, wholly unused to this style of thing, was defenceless in his hands.
But the fourth was in the act of coming up behind Kirkewith a knife in his muscular hands,—a long curved knife of deadly power—and actually had it raised in air, ready to plunge into the young man's back, beneath the shoulderblade. Ralph caught his own dagger from his cummerbund, and dashed upon the enemy's rear, with a cry of "'Ware, Kirke!"
Kirke turned, saw his danger, and faced it. Ralph plunged his dagger at the dacoit, who raised his arm to protect his head, and received the blow in the fleshy part of it. The fifth robber crawled up through the long grass, and wounded Ralph in the leg, bringing him to the ground; but Ralph caught his first opponent by the ankle as he lay, holding him there with a grasp of iron, and brought him down over him.
Kirke's guns had been left in the boat, unfortunately; but the two English lads had given the dacoits no time to reload theirs, so that the fight was pretty equal. Now, however, Mr. Grandfather, regarding himself as tolerably safe, began to blaze away from the boat to the assistance of his guests, and the tide of battle turned.
The dacoits evidently thought this too long odds, and fled, leaving one of their number behind. Kirke turned him over with his foot, as the others disappeared, and found him quite dead,—an ugly sight, with his dark, evil, scowling face set in the ashy hue of death.
"Pah!" cried Kirke. "What carrion!"
"Poor wretch," said the gentler Denham, "I am very sorry for him."
"Dacoit will revenge this upon some of us," said Mr. Golden Grandfather. "This is a bad job for us."
"Nonsense, old fellow," said Kirke lightly. "The dacoits have had enough of us for one while, and we will be prepared for them before they come again. The rice is safe at anyrate, that is one good thing. You must get it downto the creek with all speed. It would be the best way to set off to-morrow with morning light."
"Yes, paya, you speak truth; but this bad job," reiterated Moung Shway Poh.
The party returned silently to the village, there was no exultation over their victory, all were exhausted now the excitement was over, several had been more or less knocked about, and Ralph had lost a good deal of blood from a flesh wound in his leg.
One of the women dressed it with some healing leaves, binding it up, and they all retired to rest, but the women as well as the men were inclined to look darkly upon the transactions of the evening, under the belief that though their treasures were the original inducement for the dacoits' arrival, those scoundrels would now never rest until they had avenged blood by blood.
Moung Shway Poh retired to his virtuous sleeping-mat, and sought peaceful oblivion among his family. The other villagers also separated, each to his place, and the two English lads went to their hut.
"Do you think there is anything in what the grandfather says, Kirke?" asked Ralph anxiously.
"I have no doubt but what the dear old sinner's experience of his kind is exhaustive, and the ladies seem to echo his idea," replied Kirke. "But I should think that the beggars had got enough for to-night. They will want to pull themselves a little together before they make a fresh attack. We may sleep the sleep of the just for a few hours, my boy."
"It would be just as well to load the guns, and see that our other things are all to hand, though," said Ralph.
"Careful and provident youth! Perhaps you are right," quoth Kirke.
Accordingly they examined their weapons, prepared and laid them to hand, ate their suppers, and stretched themselves on their mats. Kirke was asleep in five minutes, but Ralph's wound began to throb and ache, and the distress from it kept him awake. He was feverish too, and twisted and turned on his bed, unable to find ease in any posture. Now he thought he heard stealthy movements around him;then he lost consciousness for a few moments, and awoke with a start, fancying that a snake was crawling over him, or that he was once again confronted by a leopard's glaring eyes.
He told himself over and over again that the sounds were but the soft rustling of bats' wings, the scramble of rats along the rafters of the hut, or the whirr of mosquitoes in the damp night air.
It was of no use, sleep forsook his eyes, although he was so tired that he longed for its balminess. Instead of finding its refreshment, he was haunted by all the stories of dacoits which he had heard at Moulmein and elsewhere.
He thought of one young lady who was said to have been gently lifted from her bed, the mattress removed from beneath her and appropriated, while she was replaced upon the framework without being awakened.
He remembered how a gentleman, fancying he heard sounds in the house, got up, and entangled his feet in garments belonging to his wife lying about on the floor.
"What is that untidy ayah of yours about, to leave your things scattered on the ground like this?" scolded he.
"She did not throw them down," said the lady; "I saw her lay that habit on the chest of drawers, ready for me to put on in the morning."
Her husband by this time had struck a light, and found the whole chest of drawers gone. The servants were called up, a search instituted, and the piece of furniture discovered in the compound, rifled of all its contents.
He laughed to himself, for the fiftieth time, over the remembrance of the doctor's wife, who awoke in the night to see a dusky figure stooping over a nice, carefully-locked mahogany box, in the act of lifting it to carry it away.
Being a brave woman, she sprang up into a sitting posture, clapping her hands with a sudden sharp sound.The robber dropped his booty, leapt over the verandah, swarmed down one of the posts which supported it, and vanished in a moment. By this act of presence of mind, she saved her husband's stomach-pump.
Other more gruesome anecdotes recurred to his memory in wearisome procession, and murdered sleep as effectually as Macbeth had ever done.
Hour passed after hour in this manner, but yet surely it could not be daylight already? The sun was given to springing rapidly up in these regions, but not with so sudden a glow as this, nor with so brilliantly red a colour. What was it?
Conviction flashed upon him at once, there was fire somewhere.
"Kirke! Kirke!" he cried. "Up, man, the dacoits are firing the village!"
Up sprang Kirke, and the two rushed out of their hut, to see half a dozen of the pretty slight houses around them blazing like torches, while demon figures leapt and howled around, flinging burning brands upon the inflammable roofs of palmy thekkee leaves, and in at the open doorways of the slender bamboo and matted walls.
The wretched villagers, caught like rats in so many traps, must either be burnt with their houses, or be chopped down by the dahs carried by the merciless robbers. Man, woman, and child,—all alike murdered in cold blood by their unsparing hands.
The assassins were but a gang of four, therefore, probably, was the same band as that which the villagers had beaten off in the evening, with the loss of one; for the dacoit generally works in parties of five.
It might well be supposed that a whole village, consisting perhaps of fifty men, with women and young people, could easily have repelled an attack from so small a party as that;but it must be understood that, to preserve the people from the floods in the wet season, and the fear of wild animals at all times, the houses were raised upon high piles; each, therefore, being isolated completely from its neighbour.
When the floods were out, one lady would take her boat even to borrow a cheroot from her nearest friend; the population lived in boats almost wholly; their houses were little more than shelters in which to eat and sleep. They contained no effects to induce a love for "home," in the Englishman's understanding of the word,—few appliances for occupation or pleasure. A chest or box for containing the best clothes and ornaments; a sufficiency of mats and rugs for beds; a "byat," or wooden dish, lacquered, from which they eat their rice; a few little bowls to hold small quantities of more tasty articles for flavouring the tasteless staple of their food; and half a dozen earthen pots or jars,—these form the sum total of a Burman's Lares and Penates; and there is nothing among them to create "house-pride" among the ladies, or a love for home-keeping in the gentlemen. All their amusements and pleasures are taken out of doors, in public.
But the family retires, at "sky shutting-in time," for sleep; and the dacoit who means mischief can take them practically one by one, burning the edifice, and destroying, or watching, the means of descent from the little platform upon which it is erected.
As Kirke and Ralph rushed out from their hut, they saw the ground at the foot of the next one strewn with the bleeding corpses of the father and three sons who dwelt there, while the aged grandmother crouched shuddering among the blazing rafters, and pretty little Miss Sunshine, the gay, merry child who had played a hundred tricks upon them, and laughed with them so often, clung to the kingpost,shrieking with terror, while the dacoits chopped and mangled the bodies of her nearest and dearest friends, and leapt up howling to reach her, and sweep her into the same holocaust.
"Oh, paya, paya, save me!" she implored, stretching her little hands towards them, the tears coursing down her painted cheeks.
"My God!" cried Kirke; "the bloodthirsty scoundrels!"
He caught up his gun and fired, but the dacoits were never still; they danced from place to place; they seemed to be ubiquitous, there was no taking aim at any one of them.
Well was it for the English lads that Ralph had loaded the guns, and laid their pistols to hand. The steady fire maintained by Kirke kept the dacoits at bay, they retired to a little distance; and Ralph descended from their verandah on the dark side, and put up a rough ladder for the girl and old woman to come down.
Sunshine sprang quickly to it, but the old woman was paralysed by fear and could not move.
"Escape, my pretty, into the jungle," whispered the boy hurriedly to his little playmate, who needed no second bidding to disappear into the darkness; while he ascended the ladder, protected by Kirke's gun, took the aged crone on his back, and essayed to return by the same means.
The charred bamboos crashed down as he seized the woman; the burning thekkee on the roof set her clothes on fire; she was a burden too heavy for his strength, he could not carry her. The dacoits came running and howling up once more,—once more did Kirke's gun roar out its protecting voice, and a robber fell.
His companions rushed forward, and drew him back,—he was hit in the thigh, and could not stand; the others raged at a safe distance.
All this took but a few minutes of time, and some of the villagers now hurried up, and formed a circle around the supports of Kirke's house; while one, another son of the old woman, rushed up the ladder, and helped Ralph to bring his mother down and seat her on the damp ground beneath the verandah.
Several other women were brought in there also, the ring of men encircling the place, prepared to fire or strike at the dacoits if they ventured within reach. The long dahs,—sharp-edged swords,—worn by the dacoits down their backs, and drawn by both hands over the right shoulders, proved to be deadly weapons, and the battle raged long, with horrid outcry, and many a gaping wound; but the enemy was beaten off at last, bleeding, baffled and exhausted, scorched, maimed, and yet howling with rage and pain.
A second man of their party had been killed.
Ralph had forgotten his wounded leg in the recent excitement; it was but a flesh wound, though a deep one. With care and rest it would have been quite healed in a few days, but the exertion which he had taken inflamed it much.
It might be that the weapon with which he received the hurt had rust, or some deleterious matter upon its blade; but, however that might be, the place assumed a very ugly appearance, and suppurated.
Kirke washed it well with warm water, applied fresh leaves and bandages—what else to do he did not know, but felt very uneasy, for in spite of the large quantity of blood which his friend had lost, he grew so feverish at night.
The villagers who had been burnt out were dispersed among the huts left standing. Kirke set a watch, and went round from time to time to see that the watchmen did not sleep at their posts. He had taken the command of the hamlet, all appearing willing to submit to the leader whohad shown so much daring and courage; but his own heart was heavy within him. Except Denham, he had no trust in any one of his followers. The Burmese can be fierce by spasmodic fits, but their natural temper is easy, pleasure-loving, inert. There is in them none of the elements which constitute a good soldier. They would rather fly than fight at any time. If Denham were going to be seriously ill, he had no reliance upon anyone, no friend to back him up.
He believed that the dacoits would certainly return for vengeance, if not for the treasures. What would be the end of it all?
He went his rounds, having to awaken one or two of his watchers every time; he returned, to bathe Ralph's brow, change the healing leaves, give him drink, and observe him anxiously; then he went his rounds again. What a weary, weary day it was, he could not keep up the strain long; and, oh horror! suppose that Denham had been wounded by apoisonedsword.
It was dark again; every hour full of danger. How could he meet it? how overcome it?
However, about dawn Ralph's fever lessened, his skin became cool and moist, and he fell asleep. That fear was off his mind for the time, but the peril in which they stood had by no means lessened.
No, the peril was none the less to any of the villagers, and greatly increased to the Englishmen, for the natives began to look darkly at them.
Kirke had made them all leave their inflammable houses, perched like dovecots high upon poles, and had encamped in a little clearance at the edge of the jungle.
This he insisted upon enlarging to the best of their ability, cutting down all cover beneath which the dacoits could steal upon them unperceived. So dense was the scrub that this was hard work, and the Burman hates hard work.
Kirke, with British energy, set the example himself, hacking, hewing, and felling, with promptitude which was far from being seconded. He caused the débris to be built up around a circle, within which he entrenched the women and children, with all the household effects that could be gathered together, and would fain have thrown up earthworks to the best of his ability, but the Burmans would not dig them out.
He insisted upon the houses which remained being cut down from their elevations, lest the dacoits should succeed in mounting to them, and firing down upon the camp; and this annoyed the short-sighted owners more than anything else.
"Why should we destroy our houses?" they said. "Thedacoits are gone now. We have given them the fire to eat, and they have had enough of it. We wear the charm against fire and sword, the blessed nats will protect us, ours are stronger than theirs; and the houses must be put up again before the next flood-time comes."
"True," argued Kirke, "but meantime you may be all killed. The dacoits are certain to return, perhaps in much greater force. They will come determined to avenge the deaths of their friends, and they also wear charms. You must take measures for your own safety. Cannot you get help from any neighbours strong enough to protect you? Is there no English station within reach? Could no scout be sent to any British police-station, to tell them of our need and beg assistance? There must be some such place. Cannot we send word to Rangoon?"
The Burmans looked at each other. They knew well enough that there was a police-station within twenty miles of them, but they had concealed the fact from Kirke because they wanted his money. He had brought prosperity to them, and they did not want to lose him. He had proved to be a perfect godsend to them hitherto; but it was plain to them that the reputation of this very prosperity had partly caused the dacoits to assail them.
Would it be best for them now to keep the Englishmen with them longer, and fight the robbers themselves, or to make capital out of helping them to return to their friends, who, out of gratitude, would come and kill the dacoits for them?
The question was hotly debated in the village conclave.
Moung Shway Poh was jealous of Kirke's ascendency. He felt his authority tottering on its throne. Kirke spoke to him in a dictatorial tone, and ordered him about just as if he had been the veriest child, still untattooed; and the old man hated him.
"We have the strangers with us," said he, "just as much as if we sent to the station and had the officers, who would bring good guns, big guns, kill the thieves, and save our houses. They would give us rewards for helping their countrymen; pay for the dacoits' heads—be a revenue to us for all next year. We should have plenty of rice, plenty of smoke, plenty of everything from them. This man has spent all he has now, he cannot have much left; and the boy has nothing at all, though he must eat and be clothed."
But the other side was represented by the sons of the man who was cut down and mutilated by the cruel dahs of the dacoits,—by the children of the poor woman who, with her infant, had shared in her husband's fate, and whose grandmother and little sister had been saved by Ralph.
Other victims had also fallen, and their relations thirsted to avenge blood by blood. They were eager to kill the dacoits themselves. To them, in that case, would belong the glory; to them would the butterfly spirits of the victims be grateful; to them would the price of the dacoits' heads be paid, which would be lost to them if the police shot them instead.
Kirke, having superintended all the defences which he could prevail upon the Burmans to make, sat by the side of Ralph, who was sleeping profoundly on his mat, and watched the council—debating at a little distance—with great anxiety.
He knew well what issues were under discussion; he had gauged the characters of these men accurately during his residence with them, and was convinced that they would treat him like an orange which had been sucked dry, and of which the rind was only flung away.
He could have escaped by himself, and his resources,though nearly exhausted, were not yet quite at an end. He had enough left to hire or purchase a tat,[3]or pay for a passage in the big rice boat, and so make his way to an English settlement, where he could take his chance of punishment for his conduct on board thePelican, and await remittances from home.
Since meeting with Denham, his apprehensions of the consequences of his crime had dwindled down. No lives had been lost, much time had elapsed, and he had been of material service to Ralph. He was assured by Ralph that Mr. Gilchrist wished him no harm, and would prove placable.
But it would be better for him to give himself up, rather than to be taken prisoner by English police; he would much prefer making his own way to Rangoon to being sent there as a captive.
Yet he could not abandon Ralph, who was in no state for a hurried journey taken under the difficulties which must attend an escape. Even now the boy was muttering and rambling in his sleep, the fever was rising higher with the approach of nightfall, and the wound in his leg was terribly inflamed. Kirke changed the dressing, bathed it and Ralph's head and face with cool water, and changed his hot pillow. Ralph looked gratefully up at him as he woke up completely.
"You are very good to me, old fellow," said he. "I am sorry to be such a nuisance; but, somehow, I feel very stiff and queer, and my head rages."
"All right," said Kirke, a lump rising in his throat as he gazed upon his friend, so dear to him now. "All right, we will win through this worry soon. You are better."
"Yes, I'm better," said Ralph, with a mighty effort at cheerfulness.
"Drink this," said Kirke, offering some water to him; "go to sleep again, there is nothing else to be done, and I'm watching."
Ralph drank the water, and soon fell into a calmer, more refreshing, slumber.
Kirke went to examine his store of ammunition, and became graver than ever, for he found that it was running extremely short. There was no method by which he might replenish his powder; but the dacoits, with the whole country behind them, could get practically inexhaustible supplies.
Kirke heaved a sigh, and sat down once more by the sleeping boy.
It was growing dark, but the council still argued and disputed at a little distance from the circle entrenched, and words were running high among its members.
All at once a shot was heard, and a bullet tore its way from the gloom of the trees, crashed through Kirke's stockade, and buried itself in the ground.
"Ameh!" shrieked the women, springing to the farthest corners.
The men leapt from their haunches, upon which they were crouching, and jumped over into the circle, glad enough now of the protection afforded them by Kirke's foresight, and once more willing to accept his gallant leadership.
Whiz!—ping!—went a second shot; followed by a third—a fourth. Kirke caught up his gun, and blazed back a return fire, aimed in the direction from which the assault came. "But," thought he, "this is of little avail, for we cannot take aim at the wretches, whereas the blaze of our lamps makes us so many marks to them."
But the firm resistance offered had an effect; the dacoits' shots lessened, then ceased. What did this mean? They must have some new scheme on foot.
The besieged stood in line, facing the jungle, with the women and children behind. Suddenly, wild shrieks from them announced danger. Two of the dacoits had crept around, under cover of the long grass, crawling like snakes close to the ground, and were prepared to leap into the fence, dahs in hand.
With one bound, Kirke sprang to that side with clubbed gun, and struck one man down from a swinging blow on the head. Ralph was at his side in the same instant, with a native spear in his hand, the first weapon which he could catch up. One of the women, who was engaged in cooking the supper, flung the pot of boiling rice at the intruders in the same moment of time. It hit another fellow right in his face, and the scalding contents ran down all his naked body, at which he uttered a demoniacal howl of pain.
"Bravo, Miss Pretty!" called out Kirke. "Have at them! There's a plucky girl."
Were it not for the women, who came gallantly to the aid of the men, the fight would have been a short and hopeless one, for the dacoits evidently had been reinforced in numbers. They assailed the little camp on all sides,—there was no spot from which a terrible face did not gleam and disappear. They tore at the defences with their hands,—they tugged at the stakes with feet and teeth,—they hurled darts, they fired shots,—now from this side, now from that. The villagers fought like wild animals,—both they and the dacoits uttering fierce yells and shrieks; only the two young Englishmen set their teeth, and silently struggled, side by side, with their doom. One—two dacoits more fell dead, but the rest were fiercer than ever.
The ammunition was exhausted, their strength failing them, it was but desperation which enabled them to maintain the combat, but they fought on and on.
Daylight broke at last; the short night was over, andthe assailants retreated once more beneath the cover of the jungle. Kirke reckoned up his men.
Two of them were wounded seriously, one by a cut on the head from a dah, the other by a gun-shot in the chest. One of the girls was thrust through the shoulder by a spear, and a child had been killed.
All the powder was gone, but there were spears, dahs, and clubs in sufficient quantity,—also food,—and there were a good many musket balls still left.
Moung Shway Poh had found a shelter beneath the thickest part of the stockade, where he was found, squatted on his heels, under the shade of the strongest umbrella that had been saved.
"You old coward!" cried Kirke. "I missed you in the night, and wasted compassion upon you, fearing you were wounded or killed. Have you been hiding there all this time, while we others have been fighting for you?"
"Don't be rude, Englishman," said the old sinner, with all the dignity which he could assume; "what would have become of my people if their grandfather were hurt. It was for their sake that I took care of myself; the royal self's lord should think what would become of all without the experience of my years to guide them."
"Bosh!" cried the irreverent Kirke. But perhaps the ancient Burman did not understand English vernacular language.
There was one missing whose disappearance caused both the young men much concern. Little Miss Sunshine, the pretty little village belle, the merry child of whom both had made such a pet, was nowhere to be found.
They searched up and down, they called, they questioned everyone, but all fruitlessly. No one had seen her since Ralph had helped her to escape from the blazing hut. So imminent had been the peril, so hot the fighting, so muchhad there been to do in the intervals, so anxious was Kirke about Ralph, that it was not until he put the people into a sort of review, and counted them over, that the little girl was missed.
It was Ralph who thought of her then. "Where is Miss Sunshine?" asked he.
No one knew, no one had seen her, no one had thought about her. That she had fallen a victim to the dacoits in their ambush among the jungle was the most likely fate to have befallen her. She was gone, and had left no sign.
With heavy hearts Kirke and Ralph set themselves to prepare for the inevitable renewal of the enemy's attack when darkness once more covered their approach.
Kirke sharpened the spears and knives, and Ralph caused the women to tie up musket balls at either end of long pieces of cloth, such as they wore girded around their loins for clothing. These made excellent weapons, and the Burmese quickly mastered the knack of using them.
Rice was prepared, water-pots refilled, fuel brought in, stones piled in heaps,—some of the people slept while others watched. All was put into the best order possible.
A sorrowful event occurred in the course of the day, which fired the English breasts with indignation.
One of the children in the village owned a pretty cat, which was the beloved of her heart, and responded to the petting which it received with all the love a cat can feel and show.
The house in which this child lived was one of those destroyed by fire, and, though the inhabitants had escaped the intended massacre, no one had thought of the household pet. Little Golden-leaf had sobbed herself to sleep, fretting for its loss the night before; and her mother consoled her by saying that pussie had gone mousing into the jungle, and would come home when she had caught enough.
About the middle of the day, a prolonged feline wail was heard, and the little one called out, "My puss, my puss, I hear her crying for me!"
In another moment the poor cat was seen limping painfully along, leaving a track of blood along its path. Each of her four paws was cut off, and the wretched creature was trying to crawl back to its friends upon its stumps of legs, with the fillet from a dacoit's head tied to its neck, to which a sharp stone was attached. It made its tortured way through a tiny gap in the stockade, and tried to rub itself against its little mistress's legs in the old affectionate manner, in joy at having found her again.
Little Golden-leaf burst into pitiful grief.
"Your father will put it out of its pain," said her mother.
"No, no, no!" sobbed the child, "he shall not put his soul in danger for me or my puss. The good Englishman will cure my puss, and its little paws shall grow again. Won't they?" cried she, turning to Ralph.
"No, my pretty; it would be kinder to kill poor pussie at once," said he.
"No, no!" reiterated the tender-hearted little girl,—"No, no! I cannot bear it. Make pussie well, good kind man."
Ralph had not the heart to distress her further. He felt very sick as he looked at the maimed animal, and thought what the message with which it had been sent might mean.
What had been the fate of pretty Little Miss Sunshine, when the wretches could have exercised such cruelty upon a helpless dumb animal! He tied up the mangled legs of the poor cat, and it tried to purr as it lay in its little friend's arms while the operation went on. The child then carried it to the fire, and sat down to nurse and cuddle it, while Kirke built up a sort of rampart over and around her, to serve as a shelter as well as possible.
"They meant that as a hint of what they will do to any of us if they catch us alive," said he to Ralph.
"Theymustcatch none of us alive," replied Denham.
"May God help us all," sighed Kirke.
"In Him do I put my trust," replied Ralph firmly.
"If anything goes wrong with me," resumed Kirke, after a few moments, "you will send word to my father, won't you, Denham? and tell him I wish I had been a better son to him, and a better man, which I would have tried to be had I been spared."
"I will," said Ralph, "if I am spared myself, but there is little chance for either of us."
"I fear not," said Kirke; and neither of them spoke more for a long time.
Kirke insisted upon Ralph's wound being redressed at intervals all through that dreadful day, whatever else was being done.
"What's the use?" said Ralph, with a quaint smile.
"I don't mean to leave a stone unturned," replied Kirke. "Somehow, I feel as ifyouhad a future before you whatever comes to the rest of us. You have nine lives, like that poor cat, which really seems content in the little one's lap after all its suffering."
Ralph gave a short laugh, with a ring of bitterness in it. "While there is life there is hope, you think," said he.
"Just so," replied Kirke.
Again the day wore on, and the sun sank in the west.
"It must soon be decided now," said Kirke. "Shake hands, old fellow, I am glad we met here, whatever befalls."
"God for the right!" exclaimed Ralph, as their hands met. They then separated, for they had agreed each to command at one edge of the circle, and it was time to assume their places.
None too soon, either, for, directly that the dusk made all things obscure, the attack once more began.
It was probable that the dacoits themselves had run shortof powder on the previous evening, and had utilised the day by going to their homes to fetch more, for again they commenced by blazing away at long range.
But Kirke made the people crouch low, and had, through the day, considerably strengthened his defences, so that the firing caused few casualties for a long time. The besieged could only have returned the attack by stone throwing, which would have been of little use as long as the enemy remained under cover, and at a distance, while it would have betrayed the exhaustion of their ammunition.
He therefore counselled a passive endurance of the firing, hoping by this means to lure the dacoits out of their cover into closer quarters; and this subterfuge took effect.
The dusky figures crept out from behind the trees, and advanced stealthily.
Kirke waited until they were within a couple of yards of the stockade, then sprang suddenly to his feet, and shouted—
"Now, my friends!"
A pelting shower of stones seconded his cry; the enemy's advance was checked, the line wavered, broke, and began to retreat, when a shot rang out from the jungle,—a fatal, too well-directed shot, aimed at Kirke's tall commanding figure, and he fell.
With a cry of dismay, Ralph sprang to the side of his friend, but the dacoits took fresh courage, and dashed at the defences in a body, like a dark wave pouring over a rocky shore.
The flimsy barriers rocked and gave way before them, and all were inextricably mixed up at once in a deadly hand-to-hand warfare.
Ralph, standing astride the body of his friend, fought like a madman. The ground beneath his feet grew slipperywith blood; one—two dacoits fell beneath the desperate blows of his clubbed gun, over which he found that his hands took a better purchase than over the shaft of a spear; but his strength was deserting him, his adherents were falling around him, his head reeled, his sight began to fail him, and the sickness of a fainting fit nearly overpowered him. He believed his last moment was come, when—what sound met his ear? He must be delirious, mad—it could not be an English cheer! It could never be the gallop of horses' feet—many horses, tearing madly along the forest path?
But again it came, nearer and nearer. "Hallo! hallo! Hurrah! There they are!" and a party of horsemen in white uniform dashed upon the scene.
The tide of battle was turned, the dacoits tried to fly; the English police officers rode them down, shot them down, struck them down;—no mercy was shown. The robbers fought like demons, desperate in their turn, but all were killed or taken prisoners in half an hour, bound, cowed, conquered, and the fray was over.
The English officer came up to shake his rescued countrymen by the hand, with frank, hearty greeting on his lip, but Ralph had thrown himself down on the ground, his face buried on the breast of his dead friend, choking with sobs.
Mr. Brudenel, for it was he, felt a moisture arise to his own eyes at the sight. He turned aside, and brushed his hand across them, then knelt by Ralph's side, and laid a kindly hand upon his shoulder.
"I am very sorry," said he; "would to God that I had been here but one hour sooner."
"But one hour, but one little hour," moaned the boy. "Oh, my friend! my dear, true friend!"
"It was the fortune of war, sir," said the officer. "It was the will of God. Be a man, sir; your friend did not suffer."
"No," said Ralph, rising, "it was all in one minute. Oh, Kirke, Kirke! I cannot yet believe it that you are gone."
He sank down again, for he could really not stand. The excitement which had given him fictitious strength was over, and all his powers were exhausted.
Brudenel signed to his men to lift and carry him to a short distance, where they laid him down upon a mat, cast water on his face, and poured some drops of stimulant into his mouth.
Some of the Burmese women drew round and fanned him, others brought all they had which they fancied might be of service.
Leaving him to the best among these, Mr. Brudenel turned to his other duties. The wounded must be attended to, the dead buried, the surviving dacoits marched off to prison.
Moung Shway Poh, who seemed to bear a charmed life, for he had come out of the affray unharmed, was clamouring a farrago of boastful explanations, servile gratitude, and accounts of his own great bravery in defending the countrymen of his royal lord's self. Fatigued by the clamour, of which he believed nothing, Mr. Brudenel swore at him for a noisy nuisance, and Mr. Grandfather turned to bestow his eloquence upon one of the native policemen, whose politeness was greater.
All was done at last, some sort of order restored, the dead were buried, and Brudenel engaged to send assistance to the villagers in rebuilding their houses. Two or three of his men were left as a guard, with plenty of powder andshot, and the little encampment made as comfortable as circumstances permitted for the present.
A hasty litter was prepared for Ralph, and carried by four of the villagers, hired for the purpose; and the horsemen mounted for their return journey.
"By the bye," said Mr. Brudenel, turning back in the saddle as he prepared to start,—"By the bye, my wife has taken good care of that brave child, and she shall return in the bullock-bandy which will bring you the things I have promised to send you, along with your friends here who are carrying this gentleman."
"Child,—brave child? Who do you mean, paya?"
"Why, the brave little maid who came alone through the jungle to send us to your assistance. You must make much of her, for it was the deed of a heroine. You would not find many, much older than she, who would have done so brave a thing."
Ralph raised himself upon his elbow. "Oh!" cried he, "was it Sunshine, the little maid whom we missed?"
"I did not ask her name," replied Brudenel. "She said that the white boy had saved her life, and that of her grandmother; and she had walked twenty miles, over mountains and through jungle paths, to fetch us. She was quite exhausted on her arrival, and Mrs. Brudenel kept her to rest and recruit. You all owe your lives to her."
"God bless her!" murmured Ralph.
Yes, it was little Miss Sunshine to whom they had all owed their rescue. She knew of what the dacoits were capable; she was very fond of both Kirke and Ralph, who had petted her, taught her many things, given her many little treasures, ingeniously contrived after English fashion.
They had played with her, and been always courteous to her—as gentlemen should ever be. No sooner had Ralphfetched her down from the blazing hut, than she hid herself in the jungle to watch the course of events. She saw the repulse of the dacoits, and tracked them to their lair in the jungle afterwards.
There, understanding their speech so thoroughly, she discovered that the leader was the terrible Moung Nay Nya, the tiger, the terrible robber who was tattooed by the "Bandee-tha," and carried a ghastly "beloo" upon his chest, inoculated with a preparation compounded of dead men's flesh, which he had also chewed during the whole time that the operation had lasted.
The "beloo" nature had thus entered into him, and given him the strength and ferocity of a wild beast itself. Sunshine had often heard of him, and shuddered, from the place of her concealment, to observe the marks which she had so often heard described.
There was the horrible demon face on the man's broad muscular chest, with tail wound in voluminous folds around it, and claws extended beneath. There were the square-shaped charmed indentations which prevented bullet or sword-thrust from injuring the tiger-man, tattooed in both red and blue; there was a row of charmed stones let in beneath the skin of his neck, each of which endowed him with some wizard power or ensured him safety in combats.
She noticed the long lean arms, the powerful hands, the muscular body, the sunken cheeks and cruel determined mouth, and trembled in every limb to think of his seizing her. She softly slipped farther and farther back under the shadow of the trees, and thought.
Did this terrible tiger-man succeed in capturing her dear English boy, what tortures might he not inflict upon him were the ransom which he would certainly demand not paid! She could not bear to think of it. The taleswhich she had been told might have been exaggerated, but many of them were too true, nor did the appearance of the man belie them. Sunshine believed them all.
While she hesitated, uncertain what to do, little Golden-leaf's pet cat came crying up to her, telling, in its own fashion, its story of fright and trouble, and glad to meet with a well-known friend. But, fearful lest the little creature should betray her whereabouts to the dacoits, she turned and fled, followed for a little way by the cat, but soon beyond the boundaries familiar to it, and it turned back to meet with the cruelty which the girl escaped.
She ran and ran till she was tired, then sat down to rest, and cry. All at once, a resolution entered her mind. She would make her way to the police-station, where she would be safe, and whence aid for her friends would certainly be sent to them.
She wished that she had thought of it before. The day was bright now, she knew in which direction the station lay, but she did not know how far off it was.
Bravely did she set out, walking on, on, on; climbing steep hills, wading through marshy places, cutting her bare feet with stones,—hungry, tired, and disheartened, but persistent. She had to rest many times, and the day wore away and night fell.
She struggled on to a pagoda which she saw on the side of a hill, and where she thought that she would pass the dark hours safely. She did not expect to find shelter there, for she knew that these erections were solid blocks of bricks, not buildings with chambers and apartments in which people lived. This one was deserted and ruinous. It had been a pious work to build it, but, the original founder having long been dead, it was not the business of anyone else to repair it as it became dilapidated under the influenceof wind and weather. The piety which might have induced such a proceeding would not be counted to the score of the man who repaired, but to that of the first builder, in the other world.
"Let everyone take care of himself," the Burman says, and leaves his father's good deeds to fall into decay, while he ensures his own salvation by putting up another showy building.
Sunshine made her way to this place, holy in her simple eyes; and there, climbing up a pile of fallen bricks, found a fairly comfortable and sheltered seat, where she crouched all night long.
At first she clasped her arms around her knees, and looked out upon the dim landscape, the winding stream shining in the valley beneath her, the brilliant stars in the deep blue sky above,—seeing nothing of the beauty of nature, but deeply impressed by its mystery, gazing straight before her with wide-open eyes of awe and distrust. But gradually fatigue overpowered her, and, leaning her head back against the stones, she fell asleep.
Her sleep lasted long, and she woke when the sun was already high; arising stiff, hungry, and thirsty, to another toiling journey. First she would go down to the stream and drink. As she stooped, she saw a troop of horsemen cantering along the farther bank, taking their morning exercise. She knew the British dress—these were the people whom she was seeking; she stumbled through the stream, limped up to Mr. Brudenel, and implored him to ride fast to the rescue of her friends.
"Oh, paya! paya!" she cried, "the dacoits burn our village, they murder all,—ride quickly and save my father. There are Englishmen there, they will murder them too,—ride fast, fast to save them!"
Mr. Brudenel put quick questions to her; eliminated the chief features of the case; ordered one of the men to take the poor weary girl up to the station, and ask Mrs. Brudenel to look after her; galloped back for arms and reinforcements; and, on fresh horses, headed his troop for the rapid ride to the scene of action; arriving, as we have seen, when the besieged had come to their last gasp, and not in time to save all.