‘What was that?’ said Madar.
‘Nothing, fool,’ said the other; ‘the wind, I dare say,’
It was not—it was the roaring of the mighty river, as it poured down beyond the sharp turn above the Fort—a wall of water three feet high—foaming, boiling, roaring, dashing high into the air—a vast brown, thick, muddy mass, overwhelming everything in its course. Madar fled at once to the bank.
Jaffar cursed aloud; the bundles had been tied up with scrupulous care, lest the money should fall out, and it was hard to lose all after years of toil. He tugged desperately at the knots—they would not come untied; he drew his sword and cut fiercely at them, bars of gold fell out; he seized as much as he could hold in his hands, and turned to fly. Some men were on the shore with Madar hallooing to him; he could not hear their words, but he thought they pointed to a rock higher than the rest; he got upon it, or in another instant the roaring flood would have overwhelmed him. He was safe for a minute; the waters were rising gradually but fearfully fast; he clutched the rock, he screamed, he prayed wildly; the rush of the boiling waters appeared to increase; his brain grew dizzy; then he tried to scramble up higher—to stand upright. In attempting this his foot slipped; those on the bank saw him toss his arms wildly into the air, and the next instant he was gone! The fearful tide rolled on in its majesty, but there was no sign of a living thing upon its turbid waters.
Herbert did not long wait at Bangalore. Letters to England had now preceded him more than a month; they had gone in a ship of war, which was some guarantee for their safe arrival. There was danger on the seas, but he thought not of that. Home—Amy was before him, more vividly than it is possible for us to paint; the days seemed to pass as weeks, as the gallant fleet sailed along, for home bounded their prospect; ere five months had passed they anchored at the Nore. Philip Dalton and Charles were soon to follow.
It was on a bright warm day, early in December, that a travelling carriage, with four horses, was seen driving at desperate speed into the town of——; it stopped at the inn.
‘Horses on to my father’s—to Alston,’ cried a gentleman within; ‘quick, quick!’ The landlord looked at him for a moment; it was not Mr. Compton’s son, the clergyman; no, this was a darker, taller, handsomer person than him; he looked again, and then exclaimed, ‘It cannot be!—surely it cannot be Captain Compton?’
‘Yes, I am he,’ was the reply; ‘but pray be quick!’
‘Hurrah!’ cried the jolly landlord, throwing up his cap into the air; ‘hurrah for the Captain! three cheers for Captain Compton, and God bless him! You shall have a barrel of ale, my lads, to-day, for this joy. I little thought to have ever seen you alive again, sir.’
‘Thank you, thank you,’ said Herbert; ‘I will come soon and see you; now drive on, boys, at full speed;’ and away they dashed.