Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/647

 640 back upon tins of preserved meats. A cooly speedily returned with a horse-load of salmon, haricot mutton, Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits, Bass’s ale, brandy and cheroots. David, my appoo or head servant, laid in a stock of rice, plaintains and sweet potatoes; he was almost as excited as I was, as he was mortally sick of the jungle and knew the officers would bring their servants, with whom he would have his chat and fun. In four days all was ready, so I wrote a dispatch to Dan (his name was Richard, but being a cousin or connection of the Great Liberator, we always called him Dan) O’Morris, and Will Jephson his chum, to say that if they liked to take the chance of roughing it, the sooner they came the better.

Now as this history is intended to be neither philanthropic nor didactic, but simply descriptive of a remarkable colony of this world’s strange inhabitants which I once had the luck to visit, we will not digress upon the arrival of my friends, their shouting as they galloped up the jungle path—and all their wonder at the location in which they found me. I will say scarcely a word as to how they stared at the talipot-walls, laughed at the beds I had contrived, and asked a thousand questions, I confess rather anxiously, about the snakes and other varmint. Everything from the civilised world was news to me, and changes during the short space of three months, and which I should never have noted separately, staggered me when poured upon me in the aggregate. I must pass by all this, even though, on the first evening’s chat, I could write a volume, so joyous was my tongue at finding itself again at liberty; nor will I even be tempted to describe their delight in plunging into the foaming river, beneath the shadow of a clump of bamboos, which in form like a giant wheatsheaf, hung pendulous over the rocky torrent. Nor how we roamed the wood for the green pigeons, and shot enough for a curry by great good fortune; and tried to pot the monkeys on the top branches of the tall trees, but without much success, for the guns were only smooth-bores. Nor will I digress about Dan’s wonder at seeing the Government elephants lay the stones for the bridge over the torrent with their feet and foreheads as accurately as any mason with his plumb and line. That at least must be an old story to the erudite readers of, and we must try and cater something better for their amusement.

David excelled himself in the culinary department, at which I felt greatly relieved; and what I owe to Huntley and Palmer—their biscuits—I never shall forget. We had done ample justice to their joint bill of fare on the third evening of this memorable week, and had drawn out chairs upon the sward outside the little bungalow to enjoy our cheroots in the bright moonlight. It was a delicious tropical night; the trees and shrubs were thickly studded with the sparkling jewels of insect life, the cool air was laden with the hyacinthian odour of the datura or devil’s trumpet, which here covered many of the hedges; and the distant murmur of the river was soothingly suggestive of the time for quiet and drowsy contemplation. It was never heard in the day; then it was drowned in the sound of millions of insects which, in the depths of the forest, seemed ever building ships which were never launched, and houses which none but fairy eyes have ever seen. But now all this was hushed, the very “knife-grinders” had stopped their busy wheels, and ceased the jarring which Canning might and would have damned, as he did the politics of the trade they so perfectly imitated. The influence of the moment, aided by the plentiful supply of curry and madeira, made itself felt, and we watched the wreaths of smoke as they curled away towards the forest with silent satisfaction.

I believe I was half asleep when Jephson said:

“How late the crows fly home in this part of the world,—there goes another.”

“Crows!” replied Dan, “are there any here?”

“Look across the moon’s light, you may see them flying—one, two, three. I almost fancy I saw or heard them settle in the trees close by.”

Dan appealed to me with a kick of his foot.

“Are those crows? Come, wake up.”

“You’re as good a judge as I am. I never thought about it; but here comes the Doctor to make his evening report. We’ll ask him.” Doctor Cleveland, a Malabar, dressed in the usual white flowing robes, slippers, and a turban on his head, came up and made his salaam. He was as black as a ripe mulberry, with European features, quite regular and soft, kept his head always clean shaved, and was as gentle in manner as an English lady; spoke our language perfectly and without any accent. He had been educated at Calcutta as a surgeon, and knew very well what he was about in the healing art.

“Doctor,” said I, rousing, “what are those black things flying across every now and then?”

“Flying-foxes,” he replied. “Some of them are very large.”

“Indeed!” said I, quite startled that I never heard of them before, and feeling rather small,

“Flying-foxes!” exclaimed Dan, “by the powers I’d like to have a crack at them,”

“So you may, sir,” said the Doctor, “there is an immense colony of them, so the natives say, about six miles away. I know some men who live close by. If you like we can send for them and go to-morrow.”

I could have hugged the Doctor; here was sport and amusement of which I had never thought. It was arranged in five minutes that we should make an expedition to the City of the Flying-Fox, and the Doctor made his farewell salaam. He must have been quite flattered by the hearty maimer in which my guests returned his salutation and bid him goodnight.

“Sensible fellow that,” said Jephson, when he was out of hearing.

“Very intelligent, I should say,” said Dan. “I wonder he wears those slops about his legs and heels; the turban’s well enough.”

“Why, you see he’s a high-caste man, and dare not compromise himself; but you’d think nothing of that, if you knew some of their other customs and superstitions—there’s one we might sensibly adopt among ourselves, at least a good many Englishmen would think so, I suspect.”

“What is it?—washing?”