Twice Lost

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Returning to the camp, we made up the fire, and then went in search of Pullingo and his friends. After some time we found them, crouching down together in the hollow of a tree some way on the other side of the camp. Either they were very much alarmed, or they pretended to be so: their teeth were chattering, their limbs shaking, as they all clung together, holding each other’s hands, and looking out of their hole with staring eyeballs; even their hair appeared to have assumed an upright position, as if it was standing on end. If not really frightened, they certainly acted their parts very cleverly. Calling Paddy, who had now recovered, and seemed rather ashamed of himself, we got him to persuade Pullingo and his friends to come with us to the fire; round which they sat down in their usual fashion, as if nothing had happened. I observed, however, that they looked every now and then in the direction in which the figure had appeared, and occasionally cast suspicious glances behind them. But a couple of roast parrots which we divided among them contributed to restore their spirits.

By dint of cross-questioning Pullingo, we learned from him that the karakul was, as we suspected, a sorcerer—a being with unlimited power over the lives of all who offend him. He produces the death of his victim in a very extraordinary fashion, by means of a small bone extracted from the body of a dead man, which by his magical power he can send into the heart of any one whom he wishes to destroy. He obtains this bone by his enchantments. On the death of a native, he goes to the grave the night after the funeral, and going through certain magical performances, he afterwards lies on the top of it. At the precise moment that a certain star appears in the heavens the dead man comes forth, summoned by these incantations, and introduces within the skin of the karakul, without causing him more pain or inconvenience than does the bite of an ant, a minute bone taken from his own skeleton. The bone thus obtained remains concealed under the enchanter’s skin till the moment that he requires to use it. He then, by magical power, orders the mysterious bone to go out of his own body and plant itself in that of the person he intends to destroy: it immediately enters the heart of his unhappy victim, who quickly dies in great agony.

The enchanter, however, pretends not only to kill people, but to cure them. When he cannot do so by his incantations, he tries rubbing and various passes, much in the fashion of a mesmeriser. When these fail, he burns the arms and legs of his patients, bleeds them behind the ear, or hangs them up by an arm to the branch of a tree; if they are wounded, he covers up their wounds with an ointment of mud. If after the application of these remedies the patient does not get better, the karakul declares that it is his own fault, and washes his hands of it.

“We have good reason to stand in awe of these powerful enchanters,” observed Pullingo; at all events, that was what we understood him to say, as far as we could comprehend his gestures and words. When I came to know more about the natives, I found that his account was perfectly correct. He told us a good many other curious things relating to the superstitions of his countrymen; but I do not remember all of them. He told us that the natives are firmly convinced no person ever dies from natural causes; and that if not killed by his fellow-creatures, or destroyed by the spells of magicians, he would live on for ever without growing old or exhausting his physical powers.

“Come, we’ve had enough of this stuff,” said Mudge at last. “Tell your friends to turn in again and go to sleep; and you do the same, Master Pullingo, or you will not be fit for your duty to-morrow.”

Burton and one of the men relieved Mudge and me; but though they kept a look-out for the karakul, the magician did not think fit to return to his post: possibly the gleam of the fire on their muskets as they walked round the camp may have shown him that the experiment would be dangerous.

We talked over the matter the next morning, and came to the conclusion that, for some reason or other, the natives were anxious to prevent us continuing our journey. Of course, we settled to take no notice; and as soon as breakfast was over we packed up our traps and got ready to start, telling Pullingo to lead the way. He hesitated, and finally declared that he could not venture in the direction where the karakul had appeared.

“You may go any way you like,” observed Mudge; “but we shall go straight forward, and you may join us on the other side.”

Naggernook and his attendants had been watching our proceedings, and when they saw that we were advancing in the direction of the mound they bolted off, crying out, “Karakul! karakul!” We replied with shouts of laughter. Mudge fired a shot ahead to make them understand that that would clear the way of all foes. It was a hint which they were well capable of understanding, and, we hoped, would prevent their countrymen from molesting us. Our great object was to avoid coming into collision with them, for if blood was once shed we could not tell where it might end. It was important to show the natives our power, and that we did not entertain the slightest fear of them.

We marched forward in our usual order, and soon left the “sorcerer’s hillock,” as we called it, far behind. Whether he and his associates were following us we could not tell; though, of course, knowing the country, they might be advancing in the same direction on either side of us, and still keeping carefully out of sight.