The Star of India

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

In pushing toward Delhi, the palanquin bearers had been changed several times. Luchman was what is known as a bearer, that is a sort of valet or body escort who had accompanied Avery all the way from Calcutta, whither he was sent by the missionary, Mr. Hildreth, for that purpose.

It was this fact which led the occupant of the palanquin to look upon the native with special liking, though he could not free himself of a certain distrust, when the serpent-like eyes of Luchman that were fixed upon him, darted aside with lightning quickness as the sahib turned toward him. What strange thoughts were stirring within that bronzed skull were known only to the sepoy, who took care that they should be known to no one else.

Luchman had been a high caste Hindoo, who, converted through the labors of the missionary, prayed the latter to take him into his service. He was tall, thin to emaciation, very dark, with a long curved mustache, which, like his eyes, was of intense blackness. He was muscular and agile, and it seemed to Avery was inclined to be moody and sullen.

The dress of Luchman was of a mongrel character. He wore the dhotee, consisting of a single breadth of muslin, folded in heavy pleats around the loins, and descending gracefully to the ankles. The upper part of the body was almost entirely covered with a coat of muslin. Despite the blistering sun of India, many of the Bengalis go bare headed, but Luchman was never without his turban, gathered and folded with a skill scarcely admitting of description.

In obedience to a feeling that this converted Hindoo was to play an important part in near events, Dr. Avery tried hard to gain his confidence. He was a master of the English tongue, and the surgeon offered him a liberal sum to instruct him in Hindustani. The proud fellow refused the proposition with something like scorn, and was so sparing of his words that the Englishman learned more from the other natives than from him.

It would have been better for the surgeon's peace of mind had he been entirely ignorant of the Hindustani language, for now and then he caught an expression among the palanquin bearers which bore some relation to the coming trouble in India, but it was impossible to hear or rather to understand enough to discover what was meant. Had he known more he would have learned something definite; had he known less, he would not have been alarmed; as it was, he was exasperated because of his helplessness.

The sun still flamed with unbearable splendor, when early in the morning the palanquin was set down at the side of the highway leading to Delhi, it being the purpose of Dr. Avery to follow his usual custom of resuming his journey in the evening. Not unnaturally, the nearer he approached the home of his betrothed the greater became his haste. He made his way into the bungalow or rest house furnished by the government for travelers, and enjoyed a refreshing bath. Breakfast was furnished by the khansaman, who, on observing the palanquin in the distance, had hurriedly seized two of the fowls that were dozing contentedly in the shade of the veranda, wrung their necks, plunged them into a pot of boiling water, and by the time the sahib was ready, placed them before him in a most savory dish.

Avery now reclined lazily in a long wicker chair, on the veranda, from which the scorching wind was shut out by heavy grass tatties, completely inclosing the three sides and softening the glare in a way that was conducive to a siesta. He was sinking in that state of delicious languor in which he cared little for what was going on around him, and yet all his senses were at an unusual tension. In the dim twilight by which he was infolded, he became aware that another person was on the veranda, and standing within a few paces of him. He had not heard him approach, though he was sure he would have detected the gliding of a serpent over the parched grass outside.

In the same second that the figure of a man took shape in the faint light before him, Avery became as wide awake as when hunting tigers in the jungle. He saw that the intruder was Luchman, who was standing motionless and looking intently at him. Without opening his eyes any wider and without any start or sign of fright, the surgeon moved his hand in a lazy accidental way to his side, until it rested on the handle of his revolver at his hip. Then he felt safe.

The native might leap upon him with the quickness of a serpent, but Avery would meet him half way with a bullet from his pistol. No untamed cowboy from the plains of Texas could "get the drop" on an antagonist more promptly than could the surgeon.