I.
he moonlight lay in soft brilliance over the land of Burmah. Its rays pierced the small slit windows in the cell of the fanatic An-we-lota, and lighted up the fierce faces of the dacoits and desperate men, who from time to time stealthily entered, until a close-packed band had collected. Near and far a message had reached these malcontents that an attack would be made on some of the British outposts scattered here and there over the newly conquered territory, and held by English officers and a brave force of Sikhs and Pathans.
'We are as nothing,' said An-we-lota; 'these Ingalay' (Englishmen) 'have taken our country, and are now setting up their camps everywhere among us, for these men to spy on us. They say the glorious King Theebaw is dead. Know we not well that he will come again and reign over us? I am myself possessed of magic power. I have swallowed the all-powerful mercury, which makes me proof against bullet and steel, which turn to water as they touch me. Have I not also the coins of invulnerability bound in the flesh and blood of my arm?' and the fanatic stripped up the sleeve of his yellow robe and showed his bare, skinny upper arm, where the edges of buried coins were visible in deep cuts. 'I am king as well as priest; I am the Prince Setkia Muntna, who was drowned in the Irrawaddy seventy years ago. I have come to life again—behold, I am he.'
Dusky hands were raised in salutation, and one evil-looking warrior stepped forward: 'I am also proof against bullets. Was I not Theebaw's chief "Boh"?' (head warrior). 'I am ready to lead any expedition against these robbing English. See, we are all armed.'
The moonlight flashed on the murderous-looking 'dah' knives raised for an instant from the folds of the garments of the assembled men.
'Our first attack,' said An-we-lota, 'shall be on the Sardu Station. Our scout, Al Met, has brought word that much of their force has been called away to quell the Wahs. Our attack shall be swift and sure, and with our band here we shall outnumber them, and exterminate the whole while they are sleeping. When shall we start?'
'No time like the present,' was the cry, and the dahs flew out again and were uplifted.
In a few minutes the cell was emptied, and the stealthy march began, by rock and jungle and secret paths, to the doomed outpost station.
The hours passed, and the early morning light showed pale on the blazing huts of Sardu Fort, and on dead and dying scattered about. Where the dead were thickest lay a young English officer gasping, 'Inez, my darling, we shall meet again soon, and our little son——'
Close at hand lay the fanatic, An-we-lota, dead, his magic coins and mercury-fed body no proof against British steel.
From the distance there came the tread of a returning force—too late!—and in the deepest shades of the jungle a native woman, with horror-stricken face, pressed forward through tangle and thorn, with a living, wailing bundle clasped close to her breast.
How many days she spent in weary wandering over well-nigh a hundred miles of jungle and plain, helped by log-boat up strange waters, ever heading for the homes of her people, the Karens—a bourne she was never to reach—who can say?
It was early morning. The first faint streaks of dawn were chasing the night shadows from hill and valley. Early risers in a little jungle village far distant from Fort Sardu shivered as they rose from their sleeping-places, and pushing aside the curiously woven mats, hung from the eaves of the sloping roofs, descended to the waking world outside. The native dogs howled hideously as they were unceremoniously driven from the still smouldering embers of last night's fires.
Maung Yet, one of the first astir, twisted the folds of his waist-cloth closer round him, and looked forth upon the morning. The rising sun was turning into gold and bronze the ripening paddy fields close at hand, glorifying the reed roofs of the native huts under the feathery palms, and gilding the distant belt of jungle, stretching away to the horizon.
The huts of the Tounghi tribe were raised breast-high on stout posts, as protection against wild beasts and snakes. Many dark-skinned natives moving around in busy preparation showed that the labours of the day would be beginning early.
It was the time of the Burmese harvest, and the first of the ripe paddy fields would be gathered in that day. Already might be heard the hoarse voice of crows, and the screams of hundreds of bright-hued parrakeets, descending for their feast on the precious grain. At the sound, many of the village youths ran up quickly, and with cries and rude bird-clappers scared the birds away, only to set to work again at some more distant spot.
Many and various were the sounds echoing around Maung Yet, and ever and anon he seemed to distinguish from among them a sound like a human cry. Once more it came, and Maung stood keenly listening. Yes, a cry for help, certainly, and a dog's strange, shrill bark, too—and both from the far-off jungle. Maung Yet trembled. Was it the cry, perchance, of some robber luring him to destruction, or was it really a fellow-creature's cry for help?
The Burman, like all his race, was very superstitious, and avoided the jungle as being haunted; but his heart was kind. Arming himself with his primitive sickle, he beckoned to Lan Wee, his young brother, who was squatting on the ground eating a huge mass of rice, and set off at full speed towards the spot whence the cries proceeded, attracted onward against his will by the voice of misery. The youth followed him closely, his eyes wide open with fear, as they neared the dreaded jungle. In its dark shadows who could say what dangers lurked? They pressed on, however, through trails of prickly foliage, clinging undergrowth, and fallen timber, which lay like so many traps for unwary feet. The cry had sunk to a moan, but the dog's whine was shriller and more urgent as they neared the end of their quest.
Both Burmen were tattooed over breast and shoulders with a glorious blazonry of red—a decoration performed with religious rites as a protection against 'evil spirits.' Few Burmen would face the jungle unless thus fortified. Maung felt a few qualms even in spite of his tattoo, but invoking the 'aing-sohn' (the good spirits), he and his young companion, breathless and panting, struggled on, and came to what they sought at last.
Half resting against a fallen tree-trunk lay an apparently dead native woman, reduced to almost a skeleton. Her bare feet told of long, rough journeying, and from wrist to elbow of the left arm was a half-healed wound, such as Maung Yet knew well the keen 'dah' could leave. From her neck was slung a baby, and standing fiercely on guard, a lean, whitish dog.
With the curious canine instinct, divining rightly friend or foe, the dog allowed the approach of the two Burmen. Maung knelt and raised the prostrate woman; the weak head fell heavily on his shoulder, then stirred uneasily, the eyes opened, and the dying lips tried again and again to find utterance. Broken words at last whispered faintly over and over again, 'Bébé Ingalay—Mah Kloo! Thakin Missee Bébé!' Then the wasted hands tried to remove the baby. Maung understood, and signed to the youth to lift it from her neck. The movement woke the child, and it uttered a thin cry. The sound roused the flickering life of the dying woman for an instant; with a last movement she lightly touched the wee dark head, smiled faintly, and died.
"Maung and his young companion came to what they sought at last."
A shallow grave was hastily dug. A pouch in the tattered garments contained a few coins of money and a curious small gold cross. Maung Yet touched his tattoo anxiously as he took the latter: it must be, he thought, some strange charm. Then he placed the coins in the mouth of the dead woman, in the belief that this provided ferry-hire over the death river, and he and Lan Wee lifted the woman into the grave. Then, with all speed, the two Burmen left the hated jungle, carrying the tiny infant, the lean dog following closely.
THE BOY TRAMP.
[(Continued from page 61.)]
"She looked a little suspiciously at my muddy legs."
The cyclist was a good-looking, short, but well-built man, clad in a light, home-spun suit, with knickerbockers and a Panama hat. On the frame of his bicycle was an ordinary mackintosh haversack, and, strapped behind the saddle, a paint-box, a folding sketching-stool, and a good-sized sketching-block. Fixing the pump, he knelt down to inflate the tyre; but the pump was rather small, the sun was hot (as I felt, having no hat), and the man seemed soon to weary of his job. He had glanced once or twice in my direction, and now he rose, blew out his cheeks, and cried: "Hi, boy! do you want to earn a copper?"
'Rather!' I answered, thinking of breakfast.
'Just pump up this tyre for me, then,' he said; and, going down on my knees by the roadside, I began to pump with a will, while he took out a pipe and began to fill it. 'Think that's all right?' he asked, as I rose to my feet.
'It feels pretty hard,' I answered.
'Well, here's twopence for you,' he cried.
'Thanks, awfully,' I said, putting out my hand.
Holding his machine, on the point of wheeling it into the middle of the road, he paused, staring into my face.
'Where are you bound for?' he inquired.
'London,' I replied. 'Can you tell me which is the road?'
He stared again for what seemed a long time, and it was evident that I caused him a little perplexity.
'Of course,' he muttered, half to himself; 'it must be the holidays just now.'
'They began last month,' I answered.
'Yet I am sure you are running away,' he cried.
Somewhat alarmed, in consequence of my recent experiences, I thought it time to get on my way.
'Don't be in a hurry,' he said. 'I think you and I ought to have a little talk.'
'I want to get along,' I retorted.
'Where to?'
'To get some breakfast,' I replied.
'Hungry, eh?' he asked.
'A little.'
With that he looked at his watch; then, saying that it was nearly twelve, he took from a side pocket of his jacket a tin case, packed with tempting-looking sandwiches.
'Just put yourself outside those,' he said, handing me the tin.
'But—but,' I suggested with an effort, 'won't you want them?'
'I am all right,' he said, with a laugh; 'you needn't bother about me. Sit down and start.'
Needing no further persuasion, I sat down on the grass by the way-side, and steadily emptied the sandwich tin. Before this was accomplished, however, he produced a flask, pouring some of its contents into a small cup which fitted on to one end. It seemed to put fresh life into me.
'Feel better?' he inquired, as he replaced the flask in his pocket.
'Ever so much,' I answered.
'Well, then, suppose you tell me all about yourself.'
'I would much rather not,' I insisted.
'Why?'
'Because you—you might try to take me back!'
'Think for a moment, and don't be stupid,' he said. 'How can I take you back if you don't tell me where you have come from? Besides, you would be as much as I could carry with my bike, you know. So fire away,' he added, and I sat on the grass and once more told my story from the beginning, except that this time I omitted to mention Mr. Turton's name or address.
'When you reach London,' he asked after I had become silent, 'what are you going to do?'
'Other fellows have been able to do things,' I answered.
'But, you know,' he said, with a kind sort of smile, 'you have not even got a cat.'
'I believe I shall be all right if only I get there,' I persisted. 'If you would not mind telling me the way to the main road.'
'Well,' he said, 'all roads lead to London.'
'Any one will do for me,' I answered, and upon that he wheeled his machine into the middle of the road.
'Ever ridden on a step?' he asked.
'Rather!'
'Then get up behind me, only don't upset my baggage.'
He mounted as he spoke, and in a second I was standing on the step behind him. In spite of the circumstances, I thoroughly enjoyed that eight miles ride, and felt sincerely sorry when it ended. Now we coasted down a hill, now we both dismounted to walk up one, and, after one such walk, my companion stopped, unfastened his haversack, and took out a cloth cap.
'Think you could wear that?' he asked, and, trying it on, I found it was only slightly too big.
'Thank you most awfully,' I said as we rode on again, and then we did not stop until we reached four cross-roads. Seeing the word 'Polehampton' on a finger-post, I perceived that I had returned to the road from Castlemore to London, which I had left to cross the fields in my futile endeavour to avoid the tramp. It was true that I had made a fairly wide circuit, for my new friend told me I should still have five miles to walk to Polehampton.
'I am immensely obliged to you for the lift and—and everything,' I said, as he seemed to be on the point of starting. I felt extremely reluctant to part from him.
'That is all right,' he answered, thrusting his hand in his knickerbocker pocket. 'This may help you on your way.' He put something into my hand as he pressed it, then, without another word, mounted his bicycle and rode away. Opening my hand, I found five two-shilling pieces. For the next few yards I did not see things very clearly, for I felt too thankful.
After looking back once or twice until he was out of sight, I set out in a business-like manner to walk the five miles to Polehampton. The events of the morning had filled me with fresh courage, and now that my face was once set towards London, earlier hopes began to reawaken. I should have liked to know my companion's name, to keep in my memory with that of Mr. Baker and Eliza, but I never saw or heard of him again. Still, I have not forgotten him or the good turn he did me, and I wish that this story might come into his hands to show that I am not ungrateful.
Having passed through so much in a short time, I was inclined to expect every mile to bring forth its own peculiar adventure, but Polehampton came into sight without any remarkable occurrence. I scarcely enjoyed the walk, as my legs ached more than ever, and I rested many times by the roadside.
To-day being Friday, I determined, on the strength of my ten shillings, to look for a cheap temperance hotel, or some place of the kind, and make a bargain with the proprietor to stay over Saturday and Sunday. This would give me time to rest and make myself a little more presentable, because, in my present muddy condition, I knew that it would be impossible to obtain any kind of work.
For that was what I intended to do. Instead of hoping to reach London in six days, as at first, I would try to earn a little money by the way, because I perceived that it would be no use entering in such a condition as I was at present.
Polehampton appeared to be even a smaller place than Broughton, and by no stretch of imagination could it be described as a town. Still, it felt pleasant to see a few people about; and noticing a clean-looking whitewashed cottage, with a few bottles of sweets and ginger-beer in the window, I entered, sitting down on an empty box while a white-haired, round-backed old woman opened a bottle of ginger-beer, and a spaniel came from a back room and began to lick my hands. Having paid my penny, I sat sipping the ginger-beer, when it occurred to me that it would be a capital place to lodge, if only the old woman would take me.
'I say,' I exclaimed, 'do you know where I could get a lodging?'
She looked a little suspiciously at my muddy legs.
'For yourself?' she inquired.
'Yes.'
'How long for?'
'Till Monday morning,' I answered. 'You see, I want to know how much it would cost for a bed and food until then.'
'That is three nights,' she said, thoughtfully. 'There is a small room I might make up a bed in, on the floor, if that would suit you, and there will be a joint of pork for Sunday.'
'To-day's only Friday,' I hinted.
'There is a bit of cheese and a bit of bacon,' she explained. 'Till Monday morning, you say? I should not think five shillings would hurt you.'
So I gave her five shillings, thus leaving only five and a penny in my pocket; but so sorely at that moment did I feel the need of rest that I did not hesitate. The old woman—Mrs. Riddles—lived alone with her old brown spaniel. There was a room behind the shop, which served the purpose of a kitchen, a sitting-room, and a wash-house. In one corner stood a step-ladder, leading to one bedroom and a kind of cupboard, without either window or fireplace, or any furniture but one bottomless chair. This I discovered was intended for my own use, and, indeed, so long as I might lie down in it, I cared about little else.
After an early supper, consisting of bread, some very fat cold streaky bacon, and cheese, Mrs. Riddles put a sofa-cushion, a pillow, two thin blankets, and a sheet on the cupboard floor, and advising me to leave the door open for the sake of air, retired to her own room. It was a vastly different kind of bed from that which had been given to me by Eliza at Mr. Baker's farmhouse, but at least it did not prevent me from sleeping the moment my head touched the pillow. I did not reopen my eyes until Mrs. Riddles brought me a can of cold water and a basin, with soap and a towel, on Saturday morning.
'It is seven o'clock,' she said, 'and breakfast is ready when you are.' For Mrs. Riddles' credit I must confess that I have seldom enjoyed a breakfast more. It consisted of dry bread, oatmeal porridge, and coffee. Oddly enough, the coffee was delicious, and the porridge was equally good, so that, thoroughly refreshed by a long night's sleep and an ample breakfast, I brushed my knickerbockers, cleaned my boots, and went forth into the main street of Polehampton feeling fit for anything that might happen.
THE GENEROUS BAKERS!
A deputation of a guild of bakers once presented themselves before the chief magistrate, asking for permission to raise the price of bread, which in those days was regulated by the corporation. When the time came for leaving, one of the deputies dexterously left upon the table a bag containing six hundred pounds in money. Some days afterwards they came again, fully believing that the purse had pleaded very powerfully for them. But the magistrate said to them, 'Gentlemen, I have weighed your reasons in the scales of justice, and have not found them of sufficient weight. It has not seemed just to me to make an entire town suffer by an advance so ill-understood. Besides, I have had distributed between the two hospitals in the town the money which you left me, not doubting that you would wish it to be put to such a use. I also believe that, being rich enough to make similar alms, you cannot be losing in your trade as you say.'
W. Yarwood.