I have told you of my popularity among the Thugs, and when it became known that a new expedition was planned, and would set out after the Dussera, so many men offered themselves that I was obliged to reject numbers, and select those whom I knew, from experience and character, would be likely to behave best. Among them were a few who were excellent musicians and singers. I had before, on many occasions, felt the want of such men, to amuse travellers with whom I had fallen in; and these were particularly acceptable to me at the present time, as the expedition was a large one; and the country being quieter and more settled than it had been for some years, we were assured that the roads would be full of persons of rank and consequence travelling to and from their homes. In order that our band might have the greater appearance of respectability, I begged of my father to accompany us; for his venerable appearance and polished manners would, I was certain, do more to insure us success than all our most cunning stratagems.

Nor was I neglectful of the Rajah; from time to time I visited his durbar, and was always received with the greatest civility and attention, as indeed I deserved; for not only was I a good servant to him, but as numbers of Thugs had settled around me in different villages, the revenue they paid for his protection and connivance at our work amounted to a handsome sum yearly; and I need not say it was punctually paid, for upon this mainly depended our concealment. In the last expedition, however, I had pleaded poverty on my return, and though I could have well spared five thousand rupees from my own share, I was content with presenting as my nuzzur a gun I had purchased in Bombay for two hundred rupees, and a small string of pearls which I had found among the treasure of the Rokurreas; and he seemed satisfied; but it was merely the feigned content which precedes a violent outbreak of discontent or passion. He was our bitter, deadly enemy, though he cloaked his designs under the garb of friendship, and was gradually perfecting his schemes for our destruction.

We set out. I have nothing new or interesting to relate to you of the manner in which our preparations were made and completed. Azima too, poor soul, never dreamed of what we were: it was enough for her to know that every new expedition brought her new ornaments and better clothes, and enabled her to live in a higher and more expensive manner. I had been enabled to add greatly to my house, and it was now as comfortable and spacious as I could desire. She knew too that, with increased wealth, she could look for a higher alliance for our daughter, our only child; and she had even now received proposals of marriage for her, some of which were in every way advantageous, and with persons unconnected with our profession, of which I was glad; for, knowing full well that one mischance, or one traitor among us, would hurl me at once from my prosperity, I was desirous of marrying her to some one who could protect her, and be free from any dangers similar to those I was myself exposed to.

I however bade Azima wait, because (as I told her) the journey I was about to undertake would be infallibly prosperous, and a fresh addition to our already ample means would enable us to have the marriage ceremony performed in a manner fitting or perhaps exceeding our pretensions. She readily acceded to my request; for if there be one thing more than another about which a matron of Hindostan is solicitous, it is the marriage of her child; not as regards happiness I must own, though perhaps there may be a lurking wish that she may be happy; but the main matter is, that her clothes shall be of the best and richest materials, her jewels many and of value, and the whole of the establishment which she takes to her new lord of the most substantial description; that they may last her for years, and procure for her mother the goodwill of the female members of her husband's family. Nothing is productive of more quarrels among the females than that anything should appear indifferent; remarks are made, and reproaches are bandied about between the united families; and out of these soon grows an enmity which never cools. Many a marriage, which promised well at its outset, has been marred in its joyous termination by fault being found with the equipments of the bride, which are always submitted for inspection to her female relations before they become her own property for ever.

But I am digressing, and must return to my own adventures. We left Jhalone as before, upwards of three hundred Thugs, under my father, Ganesha, Peer Khan, and myself. We gave out along the road that we were servants of the Nizam, and were returning to our service at Hyderabad after our periodical leave of absence; this was necessary, for our numbers without it would have provoked suspicion.

Never shall I forget the first matter we took in hand; not that there was anything remarkable in the destruction of four men, but it was attended by a sad result, which damped the spirits of the party for many days afterwards, and from which one never recovered. Peer Khan had a nephew, a boy of about ten years old, a noble little fellow, beautiful in his features, and intelligent beyond his years. As you may imagine, he was a great favourite among us all, and I had repeatedly asked Peer Khan to allow me to adopt him as my son, to supply the place of the child I had lost: but he would not hear of it, for the child was the son of a beloved sister who was dead; the boy's father had also died about two years before, and Peer Khan had taken him to his home, and loved him as his own.

The little fellow rode a spirited pony which I had given him, was always in the van of the party, and amused us by his mimic feats of horsemanship and by his intelligent prattle: he could never be kept behind; and when the time came that the four men were to meet their fate, we had given him in charge to those who brought up the rear, with strict orders that on no account was he to be permitted to come on after us. Peer Khan also had desired him to keep with these people, as he was going off the road to a village at some distance; and he had promised obedience. Yet all our precautions were of no avail;—how could they be, when what followed had evidently been written in his destiny?

I had just given the jhirnee, and the four miserable men were writhing in the agonies of death, one of them too was shrieking, when, Ya Alla! who should come galloping up but Alum Khan, the boy I have mentioned. His first exclamation was of triumph that he had caught us; but how can I tell the look of horror to which his countenance was instantly changed when he saw what was going on! His eyes became fixed, and were wide open, his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, he uttered no sound, but clasped his hands in agony; and before I could dismount, or even Peer Khan, who was superintending the work, he had fallen from his pony insensible.

"What shall we do?" cried I to Peer Khan, as we raised him up and strove to comfort him. "Speak to him; a word from you may arouse him."

"My child, my child!" cried Peer Khan, in accents of terror and misery; "oh speak to me! one word only—you are killing your parent. Ya Alla!" continued he, raising his hands to heaven, "grant that this swoon may pass away, and that he may speak; I will feed a hundred Fakeers in thy name, O merciful Prophet! if thou wilt but intercede and grant my prayer." But it was of no avail; the poor boy lay senseless, though his eyes were fixed and staring, and not a word could he utter. The Thugs, too, had left the dead, and were all around us. There was a rivulet close by, in which the bhil had been prepared; I thought of water, and bid one of the men run for some. It was brought, and I poured it into his mouth. "He revives,—his lips move!" cried Peer Khan, in an ecstasy of delight, "He speaks!" And the poor boy did speak.

"Where am I, uncle?" said he, in a faint voice. "Where am I? What have I seen?" And he passed his hands over his eyes.

"Nothing, nothing," cried his uncle; "you have fallen from your pony, that is all. You should not ride so hard, my child; you might have been killed."

"No, no," said the boy; "I did not fall. I saw—Alla save me! save me, uncle! Oh, look at their eyes and faces—there they lie. Oh, kill me, I cannot bear it! I shall die."

Unhappy child! he had again seen their faces,—we had never thought of the dead. One of the bodies lay close to us, the distorted features grinning horribly; and it had fallen against a bank, so that he saw it sitting half upright—a dreadful spectacle for a child.

"Take it away, take it away!" he shouted, in his infant voice. "I shall die! Oh, bury me! I shall never forget the face and the eyes—they will be ever before me!"

"Away with them!" cried I; and as I turned again to the child, he had sunk on his face in the sand of the road, and was endeavouring to hide himself in it,—he was in strong convulsions.

"Alla! Alla! what shall I do!" cried Peer Khan. "Oh, Meer Sahib, by your soul, by your mother's honour, do something! Save that child, and I will be your slave till the end of my days; I will serve you on my knees,—I will be your menial."

"What can be done?" said I. "All we can do is to stay with him, and comfort him when the paroxysm is past. He will revive soon and forget all."

Poor boy, how he strove in his convulsions! He could not speak intelligibly; he foamed at the mouth; his lips grew livid and contracted; his eyes, when he opened them, seemed sunk into his head. I had never seen such terror before, nor could I have believed that it would have had such an effect on any one. We carried him to the edge of the stream, and by dint of bathing his face, and forcing water into his mouth, he partly revived. He had just opened his eyes again, when, by a miserable chance, they fell upon one of the turbans of the dead men, with which I had been wiping his face. It had an instantaneous effect on him; his screams broke out afresh, nothing could console him, and we were in dreadful alarm about him. What to do we knew not; we were far away from any human habitation; and even had we been near one, we dared not have called in any hukeem to see him, for his incoherent ravings would have too truly exposed our doings. We sat by the boy in fearful apprehensions that every throe and convulsion would cause his death; at last we raised him up and placed him on his pony, and had succeeded in conveying him about a coss while he was in a state of insensibility; but it was of no avail. Again he awoke from his temporary unconsciousness, and we were obliged to take him down, and lay him on a bank at the side of the road, while we fanned his face and endeavoured to compose him.

But he was greatly reduced in strength, his moans were feebler and feebler; and though he now opened his eyes and gazed calmly around him, it was but too plain to us that the delicate flower had been blighted, and was fast withering under the terror which possessed him. Peer Khan was in a dreadful state; he raved, he entreated, he prayed; he knelt down beside the poor sufferer, and bedewed his face with his tears, which were fast falling; but no mercy was shown him. We sat thus till long past mid-day; numerous travellers passed us, all commiserating the child's state of suffering, but they shook their heads as they left us, with a firm conviction that he must die.

And he did die! towards evening the pure spirit fled from the suffering body, and we were left alone in the wild waste with the dead.

"It is of no use lamenting now," said I to Peer Khan, as he sat, his hands clasped in anguish, rocking himself to and fro, and moaning and sobbing as though his spirit would break. "It is of no use, brother, the boy is dead, and we must carry the body on to the stage, which is not very far distant."

"Do as you will," he replied: "as for me my heart is broken; I shall never look up again. He was the life of my soul, and without him what shall I do? what shall I do?"

But we raised the body up, and at times carrying it, at others placing it before us on our horses, we conveyed it to the camp. Our absence had been known; but as its cause was also known, none of the Thugs had come out to meet us. We laid down our sad burden in my tent, a grave was quickly dug, and it was buried by torch-light, amidst the tears and lamentations of the whole band; for the boy was beloved by all.

Peer Khan came to me in the dead of the night, and awoke me from a restless slumber, in which the dreams of the sad scene had fearfully mingled. I was glad that he had come, but not for what followed.

"Meer Sahib," said he, after a long silence, "I am not what I was,—I never shall be again; I am broken in spirit, and am no longer fit for my profession. My fate too points against it, and after this dreadful catastrophe I should be useless to you; permit me therefore to depart. You see I am calm and composed, and I do not say what I now urge on you in passion or grief; therefore let me depart. I will go to my home, and in solitude endeavour to make the remainder of my life acceptable to Alla, who has visited me with this affliction. Nor will it be long ere the earth covers me; I feel that this blow has shaken me to my soul, and it will bow me down to the grave."

I saw it was useless to argue with him: his features were stamped with despair, and to contravene a man's fate is impossible. It is the will of Alla, and what mortal can oppose it? It must have its course.

"Go," said I, "Peer Khan; may peace be with you, and the blessing of the Prophet! I feel for you. I shall ever grieve with you; but if, in after-times, your inclination leads you to join me, I need not say how gladly I shall avail myself of your services. We have been friends and brothers, and we part such, I hope, after years of a sincere and mutual affection."

He could not reply to me—he wrung my hands, while the big tears rolled from his eyes over his manly features: he made attempts to address me, but the words stuck in his throat; and at length throwing himself at my feet, he kissed them, and embraced my knees: he then arose, and after gazing on me for a moment, with features working under the effects of suppressed emotion, he rushed from my presence for ever—ay, for ever! When we returned to Jhalone he was dead; his grief had killed him!

He had been more to me than any of my other companions, and deeply I sorrowed over his untimely fate. I said this event threw a gloom over our party, which did not pass away for many days; but gradually the men assumed their wonted cheerfulness, and again the song, the jest, and the tale were heard in our merry and light-hearted camp. Nor was the more serious part of our object neglected. Within a march or two of Jubbulpoor, we had heard that a Moonshee, stated to be a man of great wealth, was travelling before us to Nagpoor, and we made an effort to overtake him. We effected this march from Jubbulpoor, on the Nagpoor side, and were now entering on our best ground; I say our best, as there were but few inhabitants in that miserable country.

We overtook the Moonshee; but had it not been that we were nearly three hundred Thugs in number, we should have hesitated to attack so large a party as his. He had two good-sized tents, horses, camels, a palankeen and bearers, and servants; and we deliberated long over the matter. The omens, however, having been consulted, were found to be favourable, and therefore we hesitated no longer, but now laid our plans to effect an object which promised so much plunder.

We encamped close to the Moonshee for two days; of course this led to intercourse. Hearing that we were respectable persons, he sent to my father and myself to come to him on the second evening, and we went. The Moonshee was in the employment of the Europeans; he had served with the force at Jalna, under General Doveton, though we could not make out whether he was a servant of that officer or not; but he spoke of him in such terms as led us to suppose he was. He told us that now the country was settled, he had obtained leave to go to Hindostan, and was returning with his wife and child. We spent a pleasant evening with him, for he was a man of extensive information, and amused us with many anecdotes and accounts of the Feringhees, of whom he spoke in terms of the highest praise, and undeceived us as to many particulars we had heard of them, and materially removed many of our prejudices against them. I respected them more from what he said than I had ever done before; for though every one acknowledged they were good and brave soldiers, it was said they were vicious, and debauched, and drunken. At one or two questions of mine the Moonshee laughed immoderately. I asked him once why the Europeans eat with knives and forks, and spoons, instead of with their fingers, which God had given them.

"Yes," said my father, "old as I am I have never been able to find this out. Tell us, for you know, as you have yourself seen them eat."

"Tell me what you have heard," said the Moonshee, "and I will give you an answer."

"It appears so extraordinary," said I, "that I can hardly believe it; for why should not all men be the same? Nevertheless, I have heard, and from what I thought to be good authority, that their finger-nails contain poison, and therefore they dare not risk the chance of their drawing blood, nay more, of touching their food."

How he laughed! I thought he would never have ended; and I felt nettled that my remark should have given rise to such immoderate mirth. I could hear, too, from the tittering behind the division of the tent, that the women were also provoked to merriment at my expense. At last he said,—"No, no, Meer Sahib, this is folly. Who could have told you such a lie? What if their skins be white and their faces ruddy, are they not the same flesh and blood as we are? They eat with spoons and knives because it is the custom of their country, and because they do not like to soil their hands; besides, their style of cookery is different to ours; for instance, they roast half a sheep and eat it, and how could they do so without the implements they use?"

"I confess my ignorance," said I, "and am ashamed to put any more questions to you about them, so shall believe henceforward that all I have heard are lies." Yet I longed at the same time to ask more about their drinking scenes, and the meaning of the words, "Hip! hip! hip!" which I fully believed to be of mystic import.

It was late when we separated; but before we did so we agreed to travel in company, and to pass our evenings together. This was what we wanted; our success was inevitable should we succeed in getting him on one or two marches further, as the villagers there knew us, were our friends, and for a small consideration would keep themselves to their houses, and allow us to do what we liked. I have not mentioned this before, Sahib, for you very well know that it is the case. We have friends wherever we go; we bribe all we can, and have our agents in every part of the country in the disguise of Fakeers or merchants. Some zemindars fear us, others bully us and extort large sums from us, but they are generally faithful; and without their help and connivance do you think we could effect anything? We could not. In the Nizam's country particularly we are well aided. Many of the zemindars have Thugs in regular pay, whom they have been in the habit of sending out on the road; some are content with a certain sum a year; others, who fear so close a connexion with us, now and then pretend to arrest us, and get as much as they can; and as there is no police of any kind, they are not afraid of their dealings being brought to light. I myself know but little of how these matters are managed there,—I mean from personal experience; but I have heard from others, and in particular from Motee, who led a gang of Thugs for some years all over the Huzoor's dominions, and told me, that so long as he paid the potails of villages, the zemindars, and the revenue servants handsomely, he had no obstruction; that hundreds of others did the same, and practised their profession so openly, that they often never took the trouble of burying the bodies of those they destroyed. You know that this is truth, Sahib, and therefore I need hardly mention it. But to my story.

We reached the village we wished to gain—a miserable hamlet called Biseynee; but the Potail was in our interest, and a present of twenty rupees now and then, with sometimes a new turban, gained us his silence and co-operation. I say co-operation, for he often gave over passengers to Thugs, by declaring that his village was unsafe, and that they must go and encamp outside with the rest—who were the Thugs. He knew well what would become of them; but he was, as I have said, paid for his treachery.

Well, we reached Biseynee. I had purchased for the worthy Potail a handsome turban and waistband, and had prepared for him a number of other articles, one of which was an English pistol, which he had sent word by a Thug that I was to purchase for him. As soon as I arrived, I went into the village to him, and in his own house tied the turban on his head, presented him with the gifts I had prepared, and added a purse of twenty rupees.

"Ha!" said he, "what now, Meer Sahib? you are not used to be so liberal. What bunij have you, that you are come with it to my poor place, to give it a worse name than it has already?"

"Oh, none," said I, carelessly; "you know I have not been this way for some years, and these are to prove that I have not forgotten you."

"Thanks for your kindness; may your condescension increase," said he; "but the bunij, Meer Sahib? You are a cunning gentleman; I know you of old. Who is he in the tents yonder? and why have so many Thugs collected here? You cannot conceal your designs from me."

"Nor do I wish it," said I; "but remember our old compact."

"I do—I do," said he, hurriedly; "but times are changed, and with them my masters. Know you not that this country belongs to the Sahib-logue?"

"And what of that, Potailjee?" said I; "what difference does it make?"

"None," he replied, "to me; but have you not seen the horsemen?"

"What horsemen?" cried I.

"Six," said he, "and a Duffadar. My poor village, it seems, has a bad name for thieves; and they have sent a party here to guard it. Alla help us, and keep the bread in our mouths!"

"And the Duffadar, what is he like?"

"He is a Hindoo," said the Potail, "and a Bhojpooree; he is called Hittah Singh; his men, too, are all of his tribe."

"Bhojpoorees!" said I; "then I dare say they are Thugs. What Bhojpooree was ever an honest man?"

"No, they are not Thugs, Meer Sahib, for I have tried them with the password. But, between you and me, I think my friend Hittah Singh only wants an opportunity to be as great a rascal as I am myself,—may Alla pardon me!"

"I have no doubt of it," said I. "Where is he?"

"Shall I call him?"

"Do so," said I. "If I cannot persuade him, I will bully him; and, if the worst comes to the worst, you know we are more than three hundred to six, and they would have but little chance."

"True, Meer Sahib; but no violence, I pray; have some consideration for my good name. If the Europeans heard of violence having been done, they would turn me out of my place."

"And you would turn Thug, I suppose. But quick, Potailjee, call the man here."

He was absent for a short time, and returned with a short mean-looking fellow; and I could plainly see that rascal was written on his countenance. You know the old proverb—"Chor ke daree men, tinka" (there is always a straw in a thief's beard). Salutations were exchanged, and I came to the point at once.

"Look you, Duffadar Sahib," said I to him, "you may have guessed what we are?" He nodded assent. "This is good," I continued, "as perhaps you may have guessed at our object."

"Partly," said he; "but what do I know about you?"

"Exactly," said I—"the very thing I want; you need know nothing, and you will have nothing to tell if you are ever asked. Take my advice, and remain quietly within your village; and if the earth turns upside down you are not to stir out. For this you shall be well paid. But if you molest us, remember we are three hundred to seven—fearful odds, my friend."

"Nay, I am wise," said he; "what Bhojpooree is not? Nor do I wish to interfere. Do what you like; neither I nor my men will stir a foot."

"Can you depend on them?" said I; "can they be close?"

"As close as you wish them to be, Jemadar; but we must be paid."

"Certainly," said I; "I would not have it otherwise: but the reward depends on what we get."

"Say two hundred rupees," said the fellow; "it is worth your while."

"Well, it is a bargain, Duffadar," I replied, "and the Potail is witness. And now I will give you further advice, which is, that you are to know nothing and see nothing, if even the lord Sahib were to ask you. You are to know only that travellers came and departed, and you kept no account of them."

"Of course," said the fellow; "I know this of old. I have met parties of your people in my own country, and have no reason to be dissatisfied with them: they have always behaved like men of honour, and kept their words with me."

"Then we are agreed?" said I.

"Certainly; you will see nought of us, and I will come to you at night for my money."

"You had better come now, Duffadar, as I think we shall move on after it is all over."

"Do you go, Potailjee; it would not look well for me to go with the Syud Sahib. Do you go, and bring the money."

"Come then," said I, "we are losing time."

"Shall you return soon?" asked the Duffadar of me.

"I know not," I replied; "but it is probable. At any rate, as this country always produces good booty for us, you will see us here pretty often."

"The oftener the better," said he; "and I must continue to keep my station here; it would be hard to lose such good friends. You, Potailjee, can help me to a few low caste rascals from time to time, to send in as thieves we have caught."

"Certainly," said the Potail—"there are plenty of Gonds and DhÉrs in the country; every one knows they are thieves; and if they may not immediately have committed any robberies, they have been engaged in them some time or other, so that it is all the same. I will get you a few from time to time, as you want them."

"Now and then I shall require a few," said he, "just to keep up my character and appearances, and a few years in irons will do none of them any harm—the government will take care of them."

I could not help laughing heartily at the cool manner in which this was proposed and accepted. But it was the truth; and I know that it was, and is now, a matter of every-day occurrence. Many a Duffadar of police has won a good name with his officers in this way, and for one guilty man he has seized a dozen innocent people. Who cares about Mangs and DhÉrs?—they are always villains and robbers.