pave the way to amicable relations. bottle of whisky with me-to course, are mere religious impostors and charlatans,-men of the same kidney as the rascally dervish in 'Hajji Baba.' But they are good value even so. And I have no false pride. the rock, false pride. Before now I've fraternised with a gentleman clad in little beyond a coat of ashes, and found him extraordinarily entertaining. "The shrine itself turned out to be a disappointing sort of place, for it was merely an open cavity in the rock, about ten feet above the level of the stream. It was faced with a low mud wall, and contained nothing but a few tawdry decorations of feathers and a heap of vermilionsmeared stones, representing the female counterpart of the Lingam. "But by the cave-mouth two Yogis 1 were seated in the shadow. They presented a marked contrast to one another. The one was a slim fair-complexioned man, with finely-modelled features and slightly cocoanut-shaped head, -a typical Brahman olad in spotless white. His body seemed wasted by his vigils, and his eyes were sunken like those of a corpse; it was a a marvel to me how he had ever crawled as far as Nani Mai. I put him down as one of those speechless mystics who, by long suppression of their breath, think to pass into unearthly union with the godhead Siva. But the other was a very different sort of fellow; a bullet-headed beetlebrowed ruffian, with an unkempt shook of brick-red hair and naked body smeared with ashes. "Now these ascetios and yogis fascinate me intensely. A large percentage of them, of "But this time I let myself in for a rebuff, for, much to my surprise, the two Yogis would have no truck with me whatever. The Speechless Mystio, it's true, seemed lost to all mundane affairs—a state perhaps partly accounting for his lack of cordiality. But, as for his shock-headed companion, Strewal Peter, he was actively offensive. For he glared at me with insolent bloodshot eyes, contemptuously waved aside my offering of Best Old Scotch, and spat loudly as I turned to go. A most unpleasant fellow altogether, I thought. were "We had decided to stay for some days in our camp below the shrine, for I wanted another shot at that big ibex. A few evenings later, as we coming down from shooting, our way took us past the shrine. One of the periodical parties of pilgrims had turned up that day; but the enthusiasm of my welcome was distinctly damped by the fact that they were now busy washing away their sins in my water-supply, while the stream ran red with the blood of sacrificial goats. "They were a queer mixture, 1 Professional saints and mystics. There are thirteen different brands that worship Siva. these pilgrims. Among them were sleek money-lenders from the bazaars of Indian cities, who had trudged the weary miles of sand to acquire the merit needful to balance their many extortions, and aristeoratio Brahmans from Holy Kashi1 on the distant Ganges, holding aloof from the vulgar orowd; barren wives in quest of heirs, and mothers more successful giving thanks for the fruits of a previous pilgrimage; virgins brought by doting parents, and everyday citizens by the score. "But these were the respectable elements. There must have been olose on a thousand pilgrims altogether; and it was the Yogis who caught one's eye-by their picturesque dress or lack of it. For I noticed naked figures smeared with ashes from the funeral pile and tricked out in necklaces of human skulls, and mystios wrapped in meditation clasping their gourds and beggingbowls; jugglers with performing goats, and other saints whose stook-in-trade was a miniature merry-go-round of rope and pole, about which they would whirl skewered through the muscles of their shoulders; penitents who took their ease upon a bed of nails, and all the miscellaneous rascals of á religious fair. "And one there was, too, his naked body seamed with scars of self-inflicted wounds,-a ghoulish figure brandishing a chain with which to flagellate himself in the frenzy of re ligious eostasy; when we have mentioned him we have touched the bed-rock of bestiality, for he was an Aghoria devourer of carrion and human corpses. "Strewal Peter seemed to be holding some sort of indignation meeting as I passed, for he was standing at the cavemouth with a crowd collected beneath him in the stream-bed. He was too far off for me to hear what he said, but he pointed and shouted some obviously insulting remark. The crowd turned to stare, and one or two of them waved their pilgrim staves threateningly; so I hurried on to avoid a scene. "This incident gave me to think quite a lot. For the crowd was unmistakably hostile; but I couldn't for the life of me think why, though I felt sure that Strewal Peter was at the root of the trouble. Ismal didn't like the look of things a bit either, and was all for our moving camp. But I wasn't going to give up that ibex to please any naked gentleman in need of a hairout. So we stayed on where we were, taking care to avoid the neighbourhood of the shrine. Still, the men were pretty jumpy, and I think we all had a feeling of impending trouble. "This feeling was heightened two days later. A camel had strayed up the gorge, and one of the camelmen went to fetch it. But he was set upon and stoned by a party of pilgrims, 1 Benares. and came back to camp very badly soared. "And that evening the storm burst. I was sitting in my tent after dinner writing my diary. Outside all was silent save for a subdued murmuring where Ismal and the camelmen were busy cooking their evening meal, and a vertical moon was pouring into the gorge making it as bright as day. Then suddenly the silence was shattered, and I found myself outside my tent staring towards the shrine. "Have you ever unwittingly disturbed a swarm of bees in the jungle? Well, then, you will know what I mean: one moment there was stillness absolute, and the next—a orash of angry sound almost as sudden and as startling as the bursting of a shell. It's a nasty noise, isn't it-the hum of the angry swarm thirsting for blood? But there is one nastier: the roar of a orowd that is hunting man. That was the sound that I was listening to now; worst of all, I had a more than shrewd suspicion that I was their man. It was altogether a horrid sound. I, what a fool I shall feel if they aren't after me after all; I'm damned if I'll be scared by the howlings of a pack of Bedlamite fanatics. The second course I hardly considered. For, if once you start shooting, you must go on, or you are for it; and even with a magazine rifle one man has precious little chance against a mob. So I plumped for the third alternative. For after all the Englishman in India finds it hard to believe that the Indian will ever dare to lay profane hands upon his sacred person; even in these democratio days of race equality, there is sort of sanctity that hedges him about. "So I told Ismal that it would be 'all right on the night,' and that there was to be no shooting. Then I got up on a big rock in the bed of the gorge, and hoped for the best. All this time, the noise was getting nearer and nearer-it was the worst five minutes I've ever spent. Then, with a crash, round a bend in the gorge the yelling pack came into view. ash "The leading hound was "I did some pretty quick that Aghori-naked, thinking in the next few smeared, horrible-brandishmoments; appreciated the ing his length of chain. situation as they say in the Close on his heels crowded promotion examinations. It seemed to me that there were three courses open: to out and run; to shoot; or to try the power of the human eye. Ismal & Co. were all for the first, and frankly it appealed to me much the most strongly. But then, thought the remainder-fat worthy citizens, fanatics, impostorsa panting, screaming mob; but now in the eyes of one and all gleamed the same lust for blood. I looked about everywhere for Strewal Peter, expeoting to find him taking a leading part; but much to my surprise there was no sign of him among the crowd. "But he is a queer fellow, your Indian; you never know how you have him. All his life he may have been your best friend, capable of aots of extraordinary devotion, yet one fine day some one works upon his feelings and he tries to cut your throat. Hysteria, that's what it is. Why, there was a stout banker there in the forefront of the mob. Now, in the ordinary way, he was the sort of fellow to be content to make his 60 per cent all his days and to end up a Rai Bahadur1; but to-night he was a madman. And I could see that, for the moment, all that he longed for in life was to sink his nails into my flesh. "The height of the rook that I was on had prevented the first wave from swamping me; and as the pack caught sight of me they bunched together, and their music ceased for a moment. That gave me my one chance. I talked, and I believe I might have held them even then. "Then that damned fool Ismal went and spoilt the show. For all of a sudden his old matehlook went off with a rear in the background, and some one yelped and fell. That was the end of that. With a bellow of rage the orowd swept forward and lapped over my rock. I got that fat banker one on the point of the ehin, and then I went down-but not till I had caught a glimpse of poor old Jock as he jumped for the throat of a naked ruffian, only to be spitted on an iron trident. "I don't know much about the immediate subsequent happenings; an Indian orowd doesn't handle one nicely. But one memory will ever lingerof the fetid stench of sweating humanity; that bouquet peculiar to the Indian, combined of garlic and hot black-lead. There were too many of them on top of me at once-that was the only thing that saved me. And, just as I felt that life was being squeezed out of me, suddenly the pressure lightened, and I realised in a dazed sort of way that the Aghori was beating off my most intimate assailants with his chain. It worked like a charm - that chain; soon I found myself lying in a battered heap below the rook, while the Aghori harangued the frantic pack, leaping and baying round us in a circle. "I suppose I'd had a knock on the head. Anyway, all this time a queer kink of memory kept some verses buzzing through my brain. Unpleasantly appropriate verses they were, too. Do you remember your 'Ingoldsby Legends'?"They have pulled you down flat on your back! Bloudie Jacke, And they smack and they thwack, "Bloudie Jacke had never before had his proper meed of sympathy from me. 1 An honorary title, "Then I vaguely realised that the stragglers from the pack were improving the shining hour by breaking up my tent. For, crash! out came my 'X' bed-closely followed by all my other most cherished possessions. And again memory automatically supplied the rhythm. I found myself repeating "In your tower there's a pretty to-do; Bloudie Jacke; In your tower there's a pretty to-do. "Gradually, as my senses came back to me, I began to grasp what the Aghori was saying. And then I get a nasty shook. For he wasn't urging the mob to meroy, but merely to utilise my vile body according to his views. The goddess apparently was hungry for human sacrifice-long de nied her; and he pleasantly suggested that I filled the rôle to perfection. His motion was carried unanimously. With shouts of 'Chandragup! Chandragup! Throw him in, and the Terrible One will answer,' they hustled me to my feet, and bundled me down the gorge towards the shore. "It was seven miles to Chandragup. More dead than alive, I was half-dragged half-oarried in the centre of the mob. And every now and then some one would catch me a buffet to speed me on my way, er spit into my face at point-blank range. But by this time I was past worrying much about what VOL. CCVIII.-NO. MCCLVII. happened, and all hope was pretty nearly gone. "Then suddenly, in the sea of faces round me, I picked out one I knew. It was the Speechless Mystie's. He had looked more dead than alive when I had seen him at the shrine, but now he was legging it like a two-year-old. In faet, he was one of my most energetic persecutors, and it was his persistent proddings with his pilgrim's staff that now drew my attention to him. "Then a most unexpected thing happened. For, as he bent right over me as though to give me a particularly vicious poke, to my utter amazement I caught a hasty whisper in English, 'Watch me and try to keep your head; I am a friend.' Next moment, it's true, he had begun again to belabour me with the best of them. Still, his blows, I noticed, hadn't much weight behind them. So I began to have just one faint ray of hope. "We reached Chandragup at last, standing cold, white, and silent in the moonlight. The pack had tailed out a bit, but the check up the slope closed them up again, and we reached the top fairly well together. And there on the slippery brink they threw me down. The Aghori still dominated the proceedings. With his chain he beat the others down the slope, and he and I were left alone beside the orater. "Then began a weird dance of death. For round and round the narrow slippery path the D |