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# The Jungle Fugitives/The Jungle Fugitives/Chapter 11

CHAPTER XI.
A COLLISION.
Although the two physicians were deeply interested in the question of toxicology they could not forget their situation and its perils. The craft had nearly completed its half mile to the mouth of the tributary which it was intended to ascend, when the polemen, pausing for a moment's rest, whispered that they heard the sound of paddles again.
"There they are!"
It was Jack Everson who uttered the exclamation, loud enough for all to hear. He pointed down stream as he spoke, and every one perceived the dreaded boat returning.
Although nearer at hand than before, it seemed to be following the course of the river, and there was hope that it would again pass without discovering the shrinking ones so near land.
When first observed the other boat was fifty yards out and not quite so far down stream. Moving against the current its progress was slower than before, but its advance was plainly perceptible. The craft of the white people had lost the momentum imparted by the poling, and was now controlled only by the current, which was so sluggish close to the land that the motion was hardly noticeable.
The hopes of our friends steadily rose until the other boat was almost directly abreast. It would seem that if the occupants intended attacking they would have veered inward before this, but there could be no assurance so long as they remained visible.
Every one started when the gaunt, sloping figure suddenly became upright at the prow of the boat and stood motionless. He had ceased using the pole that he had been plying with so much vigor. At the same moment the noise of the paddles ceased, proving that the men controlling them had also stopped work. What could it mean?
No one of the white people stirred or whispered. Could they have done so they would have checked the beating of their hearts through fear of being betrayed. Surely something had awakened the suspicion of the natives.
Suddenly some one spoke on board the craft. The voice was audible, but the doctor, who was a master of Hindoostanee, could not catch what was said. At the same instant a splash was heard, and the lank form bent over, as he pressed the long pole against the bottom of the river and resumed his slow walking toward the stern. The noise of paddles, too, was heard again. The craft had resumed its progress, and for an instant every one believed it was about to pass by. Then Jack Everson said:
"By heaven! they're coming for us!"
All saw that the boat was swinging around so as to head toward them.
"Into the cabin, quick!" commanded the doctor, and the women quickly scrambled out of sight, while the men lay down, so as to screen their bodies as much as possible.
"It won't do to let them come too near," added the physician. "Try to make every shot tell."
As he spoke he took the best aim he could and fired. Jack Everson was but a moment behind him, and Anderson discharged his gun almost simultaneously.
# The Jungle Fugitives/The Jungle Fugitives/Chapter 10

CHAPTER X.
ALONG SHORE.
The curious incident served to lift for a brief time the oppression that rested upon all. The remarkable part of it was how Miss Marlowe could believe she had left her revolver in her home when it was in the pocket of her dress, where, it would seem, she ought to have felt it while walking across the lawn to the boat, even if she had forgotten to examine that most natural receptacle for it when she first missed the weapon.
"It is the most stupid thing I ever did," she declared. "I meant to keep it in my hand while coming from the house, and, awaking to the fact that it was not there, did not stop to examine my pocket. It is too bad."
"We have gained an additional means of defense," observed Mr. Turner, "and that may be decisive before we are through with this business."
Now that all were together again each was impatient to be on the move. Wharton and Turner began using the poles with the skill shown some time before, and once more the unwieldy craft swung slowly down the Ganges, with all on board alert for the first sign of their enemies. The women were advised to remain in the small cabin, where they would be safe against stealthy shots.
As the boat crept under the shadows along shore the spirits of all improved, for it seemed that with every rod placed behind, them the danger was diminished, and by and by would vanish altogether.
"That, however, cannot be," said the doctor to Jack Everson, as they sat a little apart from the rest, near the bow of the craft. "In truth, I see but one possible escape for this party."
"What is that?"
"I have already referred to it. It will take us weeks to reach Calcutta on the east or Bombay on the west, and between us and each of these points the hell fire will rage for months to come. To go south is equally suicidal, since it would take us into the heart of the insurrection. I repeat that there is but one thing to be done: that is to push northward, as I said, until we reach a people too far removed to be affected by this deviltry."
"To find a simple people where our knowledge of medicine will cause us to be looked upon as superior beings. I have discovered a remedy for the bite of a cobra which will stand one in good stead, should a native be bitten. They believe, you know, as does the rest of the world, that the bite of this serpent is certain death. But I have discovered a remedy, the necessary drugs of which I carry in this case," touching the leather case strapped to his back.
"Beyond all doubt. You have tested this remedy of yours?"
"I have, twice."
"Upon man or brute?"
"Upon both."
# The Jungle Fugitives/The Jungle Fugitives/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII.
A WHITE MAN'S VICTORY.
It was clear that the reception was a stunning surprise to the Asiatics in the other boat. In times of confusion and terror strong men often sit dazed and meekly submit to massacre when sturdy resistance would leave a far different tale to tell. Such was the case at Meerut, at Delhi, at Cawnpore, at Lucknow and scores of places where the human fiends revelled in massacre and crime.
But here, where evidently the same submissiveness was expected, the miscreants were fired upon before they had discharged a single shot themselves. Not only that, but the Caucasians kept the thing up. This was contrary to all rule and precedent.
If, however, the white men did not wait to be slain, neither did the dusky barbarians sit still and allow themselves to be shot down. They ceased paddling and appealed to their guns, whose bullets began whistling about the heads of the defenders in the other boat.
Who of our friends did it will never be known, but one of them perforated the gaunt scoundrel who, with his form bent over, was pushing the pole while he stalked the length of the boat, returning again to the prow to repeat the performance. The fellow emitted a screech like a wounded tiger and leaped several feet in air, coming down on the gunwale, over which he toppled into the water and was seen no more. It was the spirited defiance of the white men that told. Screening themselves as best they could they continued firing, Jack Everson occasionally adding a shot from his revolver by way of variety. The conformation of the other boat and its crowded condition prevented the natives from sheltering themselves as did those who were using them as targets. In short, the wretches were getting the worst of the business, and it did not take them long to learn the fact. Left without control, their boat began drifting with the current, which being stronger than along shore gradually carried it down stream and out of sight. So long, however, as it was visible its occupants continued firing, while the white people did still better, for they sent several shots after their enemies when they could see nothing and fired wholly by guess.
There could be no question that the promptness of Dr. Marlowe and the vigor of the resistance threw their foes into a sort of panic from which they did not recover until beyond range. They had been taught a lesson that they were sure to remember for a long time; though, when our friends came to think the matter over, after finding no one of them had been hurt, they could not escape the belief that the consequences were certain to be of the most serious nature to themselves, and in this conclusion, sad to say, they were not mistaken.
# The Jungle Fugitives/The Jungle Fugitives

An American family is caught in India during the Indian Rebellion of 1857. Luckily enough, the daughter's suitor, a crack shot American, is there, too.
THE JUNGLE FUGITIVES
* I. In the Spring of 1857
* II. On an Afternoon
* III. Yankee Marksmanship
* IV. Flight
* V. Companions in Flight
* VI. On the Ganges
* VII. An Unexpected Meeting
* VIII. Mustad
* IX. Scouting
* X. Along Shore
* XI. A Collision
* XII. A White Man's Victory
* XIII. Under the Bank
* XIV. The Sound of Firing
* XV. Gone!
* XVI. A Shadowy Pursuit
* XVII. Almos
* XVIII. Doctor and Patient
* XIX. Asiatic Honor
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Nidadavole and Nuzvid, Zamindar of; Venkatadri Appa Rao Garu

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​Nidadavole and Nuzwid, Zamindar of; Venkatadri Appa Rao Garu; a.s. of late Raja Rangaih Appa Rao Bahadur Garu. Address: Nidadavole, Nuzvid, Kistna district, Madras Presidency, India.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Nihal Singh, Saini

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​Nihal Singh, Saini, Journalist; belongs to a respectable Sikh family; passionately fond of literature, economics, history and poetry; made up his mind, even as a boy, to travel abroad and see life for himself; secretly left his house and started on a journey in India; left for Japan where he formed acquaintance in high quarters; proceeded to America, and there took up the cause of the Indian Imigrants; was some time Managing Editor of Bohimian Magazine in the United States; went to England in 1910, and remained in London for three months and formed acquaintance of men like Sir Robert Risley, Sir Theodore Morrison, etc.; married an American lady who accompanied him on all his tours acting as his Private Secretary, and who like himself, is a journalist. Publications: ‘Essays on India’, ‘Messages of Uplift to India’, and “Glimpses of the Orient To-Day”, a few books in the Punjab language and a large number of contributions to various Indian and European Newspapers, Magazines, etc.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Newmarch, Alexander

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​Newmarch, Alexander, Officiating Accountant-General, Burma; educ: at Haileybury College; joined service as Assistant Comptroller, India Treasuries, 1891; Assistant Accountant General. U.P., 1902; Comptroller Hyderabad, 1905; Accountant General, Madras, 1910; of Burma. 1912. Address; Rangoon, Burma.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Newmarch, Sir Oliver Richardson

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​Newmarch, Sir Oliver Richardson, K.C.S.I. (1894), Indian Army, (retired); s. of late Dr. Newmarch; b. 1834; educ: Charterhouse; Merton College, Oxford; entered Indian Army in Bengal, 1855; m. 1st, Mary Isabella (d. 1867), (d. of Major Parke of 61st Regiment, 1858; 2nd, Agnes Mary, d. of late James Norman, 1874; served in the Indian Mutiny (medal); Military Secretary, Government of India, 1884; retired 1887; Military Secretary, India Office, 1889-99. Address: c/o India Office, London. Club: United Service.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Nicholson, Sir Frederick Augustus

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​Nicholson, Sir Frederick Augustus, C.I.E. (1890), K.C.I.E. (1903), I.C.S. (retired); s. of late Brinsley William H. Nicholson, M.D.; b. 1846; educ: Royal Medical College, Epsom, and Lincoln College, Oxford; m. Catherine, d. of Rev. Lechler, 1875; joined I.C.S., in Madras. 1869; passed through various lower grades; Collector and Magistrate, 1889; Member, Imperial Legislative Council, 1897; 1st Member, Board of Revenue, Madras, 1889; Member, Legislative Council, Madras, 1902; special duty in connection with Madras Fisheries, 1902-04; retired, 1904; made extensive enquiries and submitted elaborate proposals for the establishment of Agricultural Banks in India; Member, Indian Famine Commission, 1901. Publication: District Manual of Coimbatore. Address; Bentley, Egham Hill, Franklingham, Suffolk.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Nisbet, Colonel Robert Parry

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​Nisbet, Colonel Robert Parry, F.R.S., C.I.E., (1885), Indian Army,, (retired); s. of late Harry Nisbet of Clifton; b. 1839; educ: King’s College, London; m. Anne Claxton; y.d. of late John D. Wilson of Milford House, Hants; called to Bar (Middle Temple), 1872; joined Indian Army (Bengal Infantry), 1859; posted as Deputy Commissioner, Lahore, 1873; Superintendent, Simla Hill States, 1877-81; Commissioner of Delhi, 1884; Rawalpindi and Peshawar, 1885 and 1886, respectively; Resident at Kashmir. 1888-92; promoted to the rank of Colonel, 1889; retired, 1892; Fellow, London University. Address: 220, Cromwell Mansions, Cromwell Road S.W. Club: United Service.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Nityanand Prasad Sinha, Raja

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​Nityanand Prasad Sinha, Raja; b. 1882; educ: Queen’s Collegiate School, Benares; succeeded to estate, 1904; belongs to a family closely connected with the Seths of Murshidabad; is a Buniah of the Osval sub-division; the estate lies within Benares and Gorakhpur; title of Raja made hereditary, 1887. Address: Mohulla Raja Dal Chandka-Phatak, Benares City, U.P., India.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Nilakanta, R. M.

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​Nilakanta, R. M., B.A., LL.B., Rao Bahadur, (1911); Pleader and Vice-chairman, Ahmedabad Municipality; b. 1S68; s. of Rao Sahib Rajaram Nilakanta Mahipathiram, C.I.E.; educ: at Ahmedabad and Bombay; joined service as a clerk but resigned it after some time; Editor of the monthly Journal, ‘Jnan Sudha’. Address: Cliphant Road, Ahmedabad, Bombay Presidency, India. Club: Guzarat Club.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Nixon, Lieut.-General Sir

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​Nixon, Lieut.-General Sir John Eccles, K.C.B., (1911); b. 1857; s. of Major-General J. P. Nixon; educ: at Wellington; m. Amy Louisa, y.d. of James Wilson of Gratwicka, Billingshurst; one s.; served in the Afghan War, 1879-80; Mahsud-Waziri Expedition, 1881; Chitral Relief ​Force as D.A.Q.M.G. Brevet-Lieutenant Colonel; Chief Staff Officer, Tirah Expedition, 1837-98; commanded a Brigade in S. Africa, 1901-03; commanding Bangalore Brigade, 1903-06; Inspector-General of Cavalry in India, 1906-08; Chief of Meerut Division, 1908-10; Peshawar Division, 1910-12; Commanding Southern Army, India, 1912; since retired. Publications: Military Notes on Tactics; ‘Law’ and ‘Staff Officers on Field Service’. Address; Ootacamund, Madras Presidency, India. Club: Junior Service.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Nicholas, Hon’ble Mr. William Underwood

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​Nicholas, Hon’ble Mr. William Underwood; elected Member, Legislative Council, Bombay, India.
# The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems (Markham, Pyle, 1900)/The Joy of the Hills

The Joy of the Hills
I ride on the mountain tops, I ride; I have found my life and am satisfied. Onward I ride in the blowing oats, Checking the field-lark's rippling notes— Lightly I sweep From steep to steep: Over my head through the branches high Come glimpses of a rushing sky; The tall oats brush my horse's flanks; Wild poppies crowd on the sunny banks; A bee booms out of the scented grass; A jay laughs with me as I pass.
​I ride on the hills, I forgive, I forget Life's hoard of regret— All the terror and pain Of the chafing chain. Grind on, O cities, grind: I leave you a blur behind. I am lifted elate—the skies expand: Here the world's heaped gold is a pile of sand. Let them weary and work in their narrow walls: I ride with the voices of waterfalls!
I swing on as one in a dream—I swing Down the airy hollows, I shout, I sing! The world is gone like an empty word: My body's a bough in the wind, my heart a bird!
# The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems (Markham, Pyle, 1900)/The Last Furrow

The Last Furrow
The Spirit of Earth, with still restoring hands, 'Mid ruin moves, in glimmering chasm gropes, And mosses mantle and the bright flower opes; But Death the Ploughman wanders in all lands, And to the last of Earth his furrow stands. The grave is never hidden; fearful hopes Follow the dead upon the fading slopes, And there wild memories meet upon the sands.
When willows fling their banners to the plain, When rumor of winds and sound of sudden showers ​Disturb the dream of winter—all in vain The grasses hurry to the graves, the flowers Toss their wild torches on their windy towers; Yet are the bleak graves lonely in the rain.
# The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems (Markham, Pyle, 1900)/The Man under the Stone

The Man Under the Stone
When I see a workingman with mouths to feed, Up, day after day, in the dark before the dawn, And coming home, night after night, through the dusk, Swinging forward like some fierce silent animal, I see a man doomed to roll a huge stone up an endless steep. He strains it onward inch by stubborn inch, Crouched always in the shadow of the rock.... See where he crouches, twisted, cramped, misshapen! ​He lifts for their life; The veins knot and darken— Blood surges into his face.... Now he loses—now he wins— Now he loses—loses—(God of my soul!) He digs his feet into the earth— There's a moment of terrified effort.... Will the huge stone break his hold, And crush him as it plunges to the gulf?
The silent struggle goes on and on, Like two contending in a dream.
# The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems (Markham, Pyle, 1900)/The New Comers

The New-Comers
Two swallows—each preening a long glossy feather; Now they gossip and dart through the silvery weather; Oh, praise to the Highest—two lovers together— Free, free, in the fathomless world of air.
No fate to oppose and no fortune to sunder; Blue sky overhead—green sea breaking under; And their home on the cliff in the midst of the wonder, Hung high beyond fear on the gray granite stair.
# The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems (Markham, Pyle, 1900)/The Flying Mist

The Flying Mist
I watch afar the moving Mystery, The wool-shod, formless terror of the sea— The Mystery whose lightest touch can change The world God made to phantasy, death-strange. Under its spell all things grow old and gray As they will be beyond the Judgment Day. All voices, at the lifting of some hand, Seem calling to us from another land. Is it the still Power of the Sepulcher That makes all things the wraiths of things that were?
It touches, one by one, the wayside posts, And they are gone, a line of hurrying ghosts. It creeps upon the towns with stealthy feet, And men are phantoms on a phantom street. It strikes the towers and they are shafts of air, Above the spectres passing in the square. ​The city turns to ashes, spire by spire; The mountains perish with their peaks afire. The fading city and the falling sky Are swallowed in one doom without a cry.
It tracks the traveler fleeing with the gale, Fleeing toward home and friends without avail; It springs upon him and he is a ghost, A blurred shape moving on a soundless coast. God! it pursues my love along the stream, Swirls round her and she is forever dream. What Hate has touched the universe with eld, And left me only in a world dispelled?
# The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems (Markham, Pyle, 1900)/The Goblin Laugh

The Goblin Laugh
When I behold how men and women grind And grovel for some place of pomp or power, To shine and circle through a crumbling hour, Forgetting the large mansions of the mind, That are the rest and shelter of mankind; And when I see them come with wearied brains Pallid and powerless to enjoy their gains, I seem to hear a goblin laugh unwind.
And then a memory sends upon its billow Thoughts of a singer wise enough to play, Who took life as a lightsome holiday: Oft have I seen him make his arm a pillow, Drink from his hand, and with a pipe of willow Blow a wild music down a woodland way.
# The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems (Markham, Pyle, 1900)/The Man with the Hoe

The Man with the Hoe
Written after seeing Millet's World-Famous Painting
God made man in His own image, in the image of God made He him.—Genesis.
Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back the burden of the world. Who made him dead to rapture and despair, ​A thing that grieves not and that never hopes, Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox? Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw? Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow? Whose breath blew out the light within this brain? Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave To have dominion over sea and land; To trace the stars and search the heavens for power; To feel the passion of Eternity? Is this the Dream He dreamed who shaped the suns And marked their ways upon the ancient deep? Down all the stretch of Hell to its last gulf There is no shape more terrible than this— More tongued with censure of the world s blind greed— More filled with signs and portents for the soul— More fraught with menace to the universe.
What gulfs between him and the seraphim! Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades? What the long reaches of the peaks of song, The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose? ​Through this dread shape the suffering ages look; Time's tragedy is in that aching stoop; Through this dread shape humanity betrayed, Plundered, profaned and disinherited, Cries protest to the Judges of the World, A protest that is also prophecy.
O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, Is this the handiwork you give to God, This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched? How will you ever straighten up this shape; Touch it again with immortality; Give back the upward looking and the light; Rebuild in it the music and the dream; Make right the immemorial infamies, Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes?
O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, How will the Future reckon with this Man? How answer his brute question in that hour When whirlwinds of rebellion shake the world? How will it be with kingdoms and with kings— With those who shaped him to the thing he is— When this dumb Terror shall reply to God, After the silence of the centuries?
# The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems (Markham, Pyle, 1900)/The Elf Child

The Elf Child
I am a child of the reef and the blowing spray, And all my heart goes wildly to the sea. I am a changeling: can you follow me Through hill and hollow on the wind's dim way? Yes, at the break of a tempestuous day They bore me to the land through starless storm And laid me in the pillow sweetly warm And broken by the first one's little stay.
The elf kings found me on an ocean reef, A lyric child of mystery and grief. Then need I tell you why the trembling start— Why in my song the sound of ocean dwells— Why the quick gladness when the billow swells, As though remembered voices called the heart?
# The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems (Markham, Pyle, 1900)/The Hidden Valley

The Hidden Valley
I stray with Ariel and Caliban: I know the hill of windy pines—I know Where the jay's nest swings in the wild gorge below: Lightly I climb where fallen cedars span Bright rivers—climb to a valley under ban, Where west winds set a thousand bells ablow— An eerie valley where in the morning glow I hear the music of the pipes of Pan.
Mysterious horns blow by on the still air— A satyr steps—a wood-god's dewy notes Come faintly from a vale of tossing oats— But, ho! what white thing in the canyon crossed? Gods! I shall come on Dian unaware, Look on her fearful beauty and be lost.