Year: 1874

A NIGHTIN AN INDIAN JUN


GLE.


1t was close upon one o'clock il
the morning, and the moon shone
brightly at times through the fieecy
clouds that were gliding swiftly
across the disk, before the northeast
monson. One of our torch-bearers
had vanished, and the other had al
lowed his torch to 90 out, from care
lessness or fright, but this did not
much signify, as there was sufficient
moonlight for the bearers to see the
road; that is to say, if a rutty track
through the jungle could with any
sense of propriety be termed a road.
1t was a beautiful bamboo jungle
that Jack Waldron and | were travel
ing through, and for a long time |
gave myself up to watching, with
much interest, the graceful waving
clumps of that gigantic cane, as we
passed them slowly, the bearers STUN
bling and kicking their way over
ruts and stones with dOleful groans,
and grunts full of misery. thought
to myself what a fine place for pea
fowl we must be7n; and then reflect
ing that pea-fowl and tigers are not
uncommonly found together. l be-
gan to wonder if there were any-of
the striped gentry prowling in the
forest; for, although the word jungle
is here used in the common accepta-
ton of the Indian term, which EN-
braces everything aborescent, from
the mightiest forests to the most in-
significant brushwood, it was, in fact,
a bamboo forest we were in, with for
est glades to the right and left of the
road, and having canes of extraordi-
nary girth and loftiness, even for that
part of India. Smoking and looking
out of the palanquin window, in the
faint hope of discovering some wild
animal crossing the glades in the
moonlight, | must have almost un-
consciously got pretty good idea
of the road, for | remembered it gen
orally distinct enough afterward,
when / had to travel it under less
comfortable circumstances. But there
were no wild animals to be seen of the
kind | was looking for. Jackals
raised their unearthly cry now and
then in the recesses of the jungle, and
the great horned owl fitted across the
road from one patch of bamboo to
another; but of tigers there was no
sign, which was just as well consider
ing that we had left our guns and
rifles at kindly, waiting our return,
and had not even q pistol between us.
1t was hard to get any information
out of the bearers regarding the
character of the road, for they spoke
Telegu, and had but very slight ac-
quaintance with Hindustani, and,
besides this, they were sulky, so that
having tried to get some information
from them in vain l gave it up as a
bad job, and throwing away the end
of my cheroot composed myself to
sleep.


l don't think / could have slept
more than half an hour when l was
awakened this time by the renewed
clamor of the bearers, who, crowding
about the door of my palanquin,
which they had allowed to fall rough
" on the ground, chattering alto
gether with surprising volubility and
excitement. At first half-asleeep as |
was, / could not make out what they
wanted; but when l gathered that
nv friend Waldron was seized with
the cholera l was alarmed indeed,
and crawled out of the palanquin as
speedily as l could to render him as
sistance. The bearers were all as
frightened and helpless as flock OF
sheep with a wolf in their midst, and
/ could see that they were perfectly
panic stricken. On reaching Wal
dron's palanquin, which was hun
dred yards or so ahead of mine, L
found my friend, as thought, very
ill, and, as he family assured me,
suffering from all the symptoms of
cholera. What was to be done?
We had no medicine but quinine,
and it was vain to look for any.
Fortunately we had brandy, without
which an Indian traveller rarely jour
neys, and of this l made Waldron
swallow a considerable quantity neat.
Then l ran back to call the bearers
to proceed without an instant's de-
lay, but imagine my dismay when l
discovered that they had one and all
Disappeared / shouted and called
without effect. There was no an
swer. l ran back upon our road for
some distance at my best speed, but
could see no one. l shouted again
and again, threatened and entreated
by turns, but only to the trees of the
forests for not a bearer was to be
seen. At last / was obliged to own
to myself that we were deserted and
with no little CONSERVATION returned
to nv sick friend. He was apparent
" worse and could scarcely speak;
and vet Icould do nothing for him.
Suddenly the thought flashed across
my mind that l might return to the
village we had left, and with the aid
of the head man and the bungal0