the fifth day that we suddenly came upon a
party of dusty, weary-looking natives, who at a glance were seen not to
be villagers, for they wore the aspect of being domestic servants, and,
as we approached, they made no attempt to imitate the action of the
villagers on our route by taking flight, but drew up on one side to let
us pass.

Brace halted, and signed to Dost to approach and act as interpreter.

But there was no need, for one of the party, a venerable-looking,
grey-headed man in a white turban, salaamed, and then waited with
crossed arms to be questioned.

"Salaam, sahib," he said humbly.

"Where are you from?" said Brace.

"Arbagh, sahib. You come too late."

"Too late? What is their trouble, then?"

"Trouble, sahib? The mem sahibs, and the little children and their
fathers--"

He did not finish, but groaned.

"Speak out. What is it?"

"All slain."

"But there was a regiment there--a whole regiment of foot."

"Yes, sahib; but they were called away to fight the budmashes, and the
evildoers from the bazaar at Miapore; and when they had marched away the
budmashes came. The sahibs strengthened one of the houses, and fought
bravely for two days, but they were only few in number, and there was
neither food nor water at last."

"And then?"

The old man shook his head, and uttered a low groan.

"And the wretches who have done all this?" cried Brace.

"They are there, sahib, with two regiments who have risen up against
their officers. It is not safe to go. The white sahibs have marched to
Miapore, away yonder to the west."

"And where are you going?" asked Brace, who looked suspiciously at the
people behind their spokesman.

But they were unarmed, and carried no plunder. The words of the old man
were evidently the truth, as he said--

"To be at peace, and away from those who rob and slay. To Rajgunge,
sahib."

"Turn back," said Brace. "You are going to where there are worse
troubles, man. Better follow us."

There was a low moan from the little group, for Brace's words filled
them with consternation.

"But you will not go on to Arbagh, sahib?" said the old man, who seemed
to have been the native butler to some family.

"Yes; to drive these wretches out," was the reply; and the march was
resumed. "Yes, we must drive these scoundrels out, Gil," he said again.
"We need have no compunction about firing now. Likely enough our
friends the sowars may be there. They headed for the