Confessions of a Thug

by Meadows Taylor

"Where is the cord?" he cried; "he will not die in this manner; where is the cord? pass it about his neck, and let two of you pull."

"No, no!" I exclaimed, "he is nearly finished; let me alone, this work is my own, no one shall interfere." Fortunately, having thrown the man on his face, I was able to kneel on his back, and he was soon past the ability to use his dagger. At last there was one convulsion stronger than the previous ones, and he lay still—he was also dead—my second victim! I arose, breathless and exhausted; and as I looked on the prostrate corpse before me, I felt indeed that there had been danger—that I had escaped from a deadly struggle, and that my art had triumphed over strength. Almost beside the body lay that of the man who had aided me, who had received a desperate wound. All had been so occupied with me, that they had overlooked the poor sufferer; he was lying with his face to the ground groaning.

"For God's sake," said I, "turn him round, the wound is in his stomach: can nothing be done for him?"

Some of the men accordingly turned him, but it was plain to see that there was no hope of life; the blood poured in a stream both from the wound and from his mouth; he made several attempts to speak, but in vain; he died almost instantly. While I was engaged in the struggle, I several times fancied that the Rajpoot's dagger had reached me, as I endeavoured to avoid it by screwing my body as far away from him as possible; but the excitement was too great for me to feel the wound, if there was any. Yet now on putting my hand to my side, I found, by the blood on my garment, that I was wounded; the blood too was observed by my father.

"Protection of God! he is wounded!" he cried. "My son, my son, did I not warn thee? Did I not bid thee beware of that Rajpoot? Thou wast no match for him, my son; and now thou art wounded, and what can be done?" and my father sat down, fairly overpowered with his emotions. I felt that the wounds were but scratches, and hastened to open my vest. "There," said I, showing the wounds, "I said he would do me no harm; and what are these? A thorn from a hedge would have caused a deeper and more painful one."

"Shookur Khoda!" exclaimed my father; "you are not hurt after all" (and the old man's eyes fairly ran over with tears as he looked at the wounds); "but I had feared the worst after that horrid sight. Ai, Mahomed! thou wast a faithful servant."

The bodies of the merchant and the Rajpoot were instantly stripped, and removed to the grave which had long before been prepared for them; it was made inside a small tent, where my father, myself, and some others slept, and where it was secure from observation. I never was more struck with the despatch and ingenuity of the Lughaes than on this occasion. I had but delayed to have my slight wounds dressed, and to bathe and cleanse myself from the blood I was covered with, when I went to see the grave, thinking to find it still open. I was perfectly astonished—there was no sign of the earth having been disturbed; the place where the hole had been dug had been carefully beaten down, plastered over with mud; and, but that it was wet, no one could have told that it had been touched by the hand of man. My father's sleeping carpet and mine were then laid over the place.

"Now," said I to Bhudrinath, "let us put on our best clothes and visit the Hakim. Will you come too, my father?"

"No, Béta (no, my son), I have enough to do to keep all quiet here: some one must remain; and you and Bhudrinath have deserved your amusement, so go and take it. And here," cried he to some of the Thugs, "take your shields and swords, and accompany my son; and see that you look like soldiers, and not like Thugs, for the night."

Six or eight were soon ready, dressed in clean clothes and armed; and by this time, the moon having risen, and it being the hour appointed by the Kotwal for the evening durbar, we set off to the town. Truly, dressed as we were in the handsomest clothes we could select, we looked not only soldiers but handsome fellows. Each of us had given a knowing cock to his turban; and mine, of the richest gold tissue, passing several times under my chin, set off my face, by giving me a particularly martial appearance. My arms were of the richest description; a sword with a hilt inlaid with gold, its scabbard covered with crimson velvet, with a ferrule to it of silver, of an open pattern, which covered nearly half of it. In my girdle, which was a Cashmere shawl, were a pesh-kubs or knife, with an agate handle, inlaid also with gold, and a small jumbea or Arab dagger, also highly ornamented with gold and silver. I carried too a shield of rhinoceros hide, the manufacture of Sylhet, and painted and gilt in the beautiful manner of Hindostan, the bosses being of silver, richly chased and ornamented. My dress was of the finest muslin, which showed my shape through it to the greatest advantage; and rich cloth of gold trowsers completed a dress at once elegant, and calculated not only to impress an observer with my correct taste, but to convince him that I was a person, if not of rank, of respectability.