Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/253

240 and three sous. Not wishing to take francs to England, I entered an exchange shop on the quay. There was an old woman at the counter—a hard-looking, money-scraping woman. The exchange, she said, was twenty-five francs and four sous for each sovereign—nothing less—not a centime less. At this rate I could only purchase two sovereigns, and still be saddled with twenty-four francs. I explained the exact state of the funds—she was obdurate; I expended my best French in arguments—she was inflexible. The packet bell was ringing—I was leaving the shop. There were some violets in the window, white and blue. I thought of Sterne’s story. “Would Madame give me two or three of those lovely violets as a souvenir of the most beautiful country in the world?” It was magic. She handed me the whole bunch and three sovereigns, and I now believe the story of Sterne’s respectable beggar.

some days’ good sport in the way of “pig-sticking,” i.e., wild-boar hunting, in which I am bound to say that my friend H and I maintained our characters as sportsmen of the first water, we moved our camp to a place called Belaspoor, where there was a bungalow built by a sporting Collector of the district, known by the soubriquet of “Tiger Tom,” not because his disposition at all resembled that crafty and ferocious animal, but from the number of them he had killed.

One month every year—generally in April—Tiger Tom used to make up a party, and come to this bungalow, that he might pursue his favourite sport without having far to go in search of it. These entertainments were much enjoyed by his friends, for Tiger Tom was a facetious fellow, told capital stories, and always had an unlimited supply of Bass or Allsopp.

For some time back the bungalow had been unoccupied and neglected, Tiger Tom having been carried off, not by one of his opponents, but by an equally dangerous foe—jungle fever. Now and then it was occupied for a few days by sportsmen from the neighbouring stations, but very rarely; and it certainly presented a very desolate appearance as we rode up to it.

Long-neglected houses suffer in any country; but in this climate, with its moist soil, hot sun, and heavy rainy seasons, vegetation spreads with inconceivable speed, and the jungle had grown up to the very walls on the east and south sides. The house seemed to be stuck on the edge of a very dense jungle which stretched in the quarters I have mentioned, as far as the eye could reach; and one could not look at it without thinking of tigers and serpents, and all manner of wild beasts.

A number of huts—or rather remains of them—that had been erected for the numerous retinue of the collector and his friends, added to the sombre aspect of the place, for they were roofless and doorless, the villagers in the neighbourhood (there were none, however, nearer than a koss, or two miles), having doubtless carried off all available parts of them. They did not dare, however, to touch the house itself, having probably, a wholesome dread of the Collector’s myrmidons, a police-station not being far off.

Riding to our tent, which was pitched under a tree at some distance from the bungalow, we bathed, dressed, and had our breakfast, and then strolled over to take a closer look at the place. To our surprise we found it occupied, for, on our approach, a mongrel cur, half-pariah and half-bulldog, set up a furious barking, and brought out a European sergeant, his half-caste wife, and a couple of children.

He told us in an unmistakeably Irish accent that his name was Murphy,—that he was in charge of a salt-station some dozen or so of miles away; that he had come there that very morning for a little shooting, and had brought his family for a change and “divarsion,” not knowing that the bungalow was so dangerously near the jungle.

We dismounted and examined the place, and then the following colloquy was held:

“But how did you travel, Sergeant Murphy; and where are your servants and traps?”

“Och! yer honors, the natives (bad luck to the dirty spalpeens!) who druve the cart and attinded my powney, were frightened for wild bastes, and wouldn’t stay at no price; so I sent them to a village two miles off, where they’re to wait till I sind for them. Only that chap,” pointing to a servant in the verandah, “agreed to stay till evening to cook for us.”

“Well, my good fellow,” I said, “it does look like a place for wild beasts, and I feel pretty sure your bullocks and pony, and perhaps the natives, would have been devoured by tigers if you had attempted to keep them here. I would recommend you leaving the place, too, without delay, as your wife and children are not safe even in the day-time,—there may be lots of snakes about these ruins.”

“Oh, we’ll take care of ourselves, yer honour; and I’ve a nate gun here, that’ll astonish the wake minds of the craturs if they come nigh us. I’ll sind yer honours a haunch of vinison that I’m expecting to git, if ye’ll condishind to accept it.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they are hatched, Murphy,” said H, laughing, “deer are not so easily shot in this thick jungle; and I would advise you to take care, for you may come upon a tiger quite as readily.”

Sergeant Murphy declared he was not afraid, but we would not leave him without a promise—his wife joining her entreaties to ours—that he would keep very near the house and on the skirts of the jungle.

At dinner-time we sent over some things to help out the commissariat of the sergeant and his family, which we suspected would not be super-abundant.

On looking out just before going to bed, I saw a light glimmering in the bungalow, which was about a quarter of a mile distant, but there was no sound to disturb the still night.

After paying a visit to our horses, and warning the saises and grass-cutters to watch by turns, and keep up a good fire (the materials for which had been collected in the afternoon), in case of nocturnal visits, we turned in.