Alive in the Jungle: A Story for the Young

by Mary Hazelton Blanchard Wade

  *CHAPTER IX.*

  _*OLIVER AND HIS UNCLE.*_

  When Mr. Desborough returned to fetch his wife and children, he foundhis little fairy half a head taller and twice as strong as at thenever-to-be-forgotten singing-lesson the night before he left.

  "Well! and what have you been doing?" he asked, when he found himselfseated once more, with a child on each knee. "Setting traps to catchthe sunbeams to give away, eh, my precious?" he continued.

  "But I think Racy got them all," Kathleen answered.

  "_Via_ Racy is one of the best of roads to reach mamma," smiled herfather, as he stroked her hair fondly, and turned to his boy, who wasclamorously demanding all his attention.

  A game at horses round the white-washed sitting-room assured Mr.Desborough that Kathleen's traps had not been set in vain. Horace wasriding triumphant on his father's shoulder, shouting at him after thefashion of the native drivers, in high glee, when the card of an Englishgentleman was brought in by Bene Madho.

  Who should it be but the deputy-judge, who was going on circuit, and hadjust arrived to hold a "bed of justice," as the natives say, in theneighbourhood of Nataban.

  "Well set to work, Desborough!" he exclaimed. "Have I followed my bit ofpasteboard too quickly?"

  "No, no," retorted Mr. Desborough warmly. "We are going away to-morrow.There are rooms enough here to accommodate all for a night."

  "My fellows can sleep anywhere," continued the deputy, chucking Kathleenunder her chin, and pointing to his train of servants, who werechattering without. "I and my nephew will do our best not to interferewith the ladies' comfort. Only say the word, and we will make quickwork here, and hurry forward to our next station."

  "Oliver!"

  Mr. Desborough scrambled to his feet, and with Horace still tugging athis watch-chain, held out his hand to the boy without recognizing him;but Kathleen knew him again in a moment.

  "Mr. Desborough has forgotten you, my boy," whispered the deputy. "Donot refresh his memory; it will only revive a painful recollection."

  Oliver nodded; and they all went in together to congratulate Mrs.Desborough on the improvement in her children.

  When old neighbours meet there is no lack of conversation. Thegentlemen sat long over the dinner, discussing the recent rains, thepresent attitude of Russia, and the success of the government schoolsfor Hindu boys, in which the deputy was greatly interested. Kathleen satbeside her father, forgetting to eat. At the first movement she glidedround to her mother's chair with a breathless request.

  "May I show my bird to Oliver? and may we go for a walk--a long walk?"she asked.

  "Certainly, my love, if he wishes," answered Mrs. Desborough.

  Kathleen tripped on. A gentle pull at Oliver's sleeve made him lookround. He was too good-natured to decline the shy invitation.

  Life was very free and easy at the little hill-station. The whitewashedbungalow was neither inn nor lodging-house, but something between. Whenone party went away, there was usually another waiting to take theirplace, so that the servants who were stationary there were notdisconcerted by the deputy's arrival. They were laughing and singing asthey hurried about, contriving to make an unusual hubbub, as a sort oftribute to the dignity of the Stunt Sahib, as they called the deputy.

  Some of the newly-arrived were seated in groups, cross-legged, on thegrass, smoking a friendly pipe with their old acquaintances of aprevious year. Oliver would willingly have lingered to watch them, so hedivided his attentions between them and Kathleen's wonderful bird.

  It was crying so like a child as they drew near its cage, Oliver waslooking about for some squalling baby among the dusky smokers. Then itchanged its note, and imitated the soft musical tinkle of the templebell, where Rattam and Aglar went to see the sacrifices to theiridol-gods. Oliver was enchanted. "It beats the parrots hollow!" heexclaimed. "It is something like a bird."

  "I have not much left to give away," said Kathleen, thinking a littleregretfully of all the toys she had bestowed upon the young princes;"but I'll give you my beauty mina, if you will take me for a walk, avery long walk."

  "You!" he repeated in astonishment. "Which way do you want to go?"

  She tripped down the veranda steps, and pointing to the wilder part ofthe ground, ran eagerly forward, looking back every now and then to seeif Oliver would follow.

  The ground around the house was partially gardened, but the further theywent the wilder it grew. All path was lost. Arrowroot and ginger plantssprang up spontaneously. By one of their tall green sheaths, with itsdroop of snow-white bells like a magnified Solomon's seal, Kathleenpaused panting until her companion overtook her.

  Off she started again.

  "Is it a jolly game at hare-and-hounds or follow-my-leader that you arestarting?" asked Oliver. "You are not quite right for either. We boysnever played just so. In the first place, you should start fair."

  "It is not play at all," answered Kathleen, slipping her hand into hisand looking up beseechingly. "You do not mind, do you?"

  "Not a bit," he retorted, holding back a mimosa bush to let her pass.She had led him on to a dangerous spot, where the ground sloped steeplydown to the bottom of a ravine.

  Dark shadows of bushes and plants unknown to him obscured its depths. Asound of gurgling water met his ear, but the gloom was so profound hecould distinguish nothing.

  "Is not that a place where the wild beasts sleep? Now will you take meas far down as you can?" asked Kathleen.

  "No," answered Oliver bluntly--"no, indeed; you must be crazy!"

  She drew her hand away, and leaning over the edge of the precipice,called, "Carl, Carl, are you there?"

  Oliver caught hold of her dress and pulled her back. "You absurd littlecreature, you'll slip and fall if you do so!"

  "Oh, never mind that. If I could make him hear me--if I could but makehim hear!" she wailed. "But I am not to talk about the wolves--I'm notto talk."

  "Yes, you may to me; you may say anything you like to me," interposedOliver, resolutely turning her round and walking back towards the house.

  "Do you speak the truth?" asked Kathleen.

  "I tell you what, young lady: I don't admire your ways one bit. If youhad only been a boy, I'd have bowled you over for that in less than aminute. What do you mean by asking me such a question?" he retorted inhot indignation.

  "Then I may believe what you tell me, and you said he was alive in thejungle!" she exclaimed.

  Oliver gave a long-drawn "Oh!" adding slowly, in a considerate tone,"Yes, I did. I said so because I thought so."

  "And the milkmaid thought so!" she cried. Then for the fiftieth timeshe pictured the dusky face, with its rags and beads, and repeated thesoft Indian words until the white walls of the bungalow were once againin sight.

  "Now we must not talk any more," she exclaimed, "for fear mamma shouldhear us. There she is!"

  Oliver looked up, and saw Mrs. Desborough seated on one of the fallentrees, talking to his uncle. The ayah was taking Horace for his eveningwalk. Being new to Indian life, Oliver stared in astonishment at thestrange way in which she carried the child. Instead of taking him in herarms, as an English nurse would do, she had a nice little soft saddlestrapped round her waist, on which he was riding. Her arm was roundhim, to keep him from falling, whilst his own clasped her neck, and hislittle feet were kicking her back and front. For Horace was as restlessand fidgety as a young elephant, which every mahout (elephant-driver)knows never is at peace a single moment. It is always shaking itsflapping ears, or switching its tail, twisting and untwisting its trunk,or stamping with one or other of its big feet. But the ayah waspatience itself in her untiring devotion to her white baby.

  "Look at that nephew of mine," laughed the deputy. "I shall have tostart him off again to England, for a couple of years at the East IndiaCollege, before I put him into harness. But Iffley has taken to himwonderfully. Now his sister--"

  But Bona's perfections we
re cut short by a squall from Horace. TheRana's peon was approaching with renewed invitations to the whole party.

  "We must go," said the deputy, who was bent upon cultivating friendlyintercourse between himself and his dusky neighbours.

  He had won their respect by his uprightness--perhaps even their esteem;"but to get a step beyond that beats me," he declared. "You must knowas well as I do, Desborough, how these Orientals hedge in their privatelife with their ceremonies and formalities, and keep us all at adistance. Here I have been coaxing them out of their shyness andreserve for years. What way have I made? One-half the pains I've takenwould have brought these monkeys from the woods around me as tame andaffectionate as the kitten in your veranda at home. Now you ladies havea chance. The door of the zenana opens to you. That is why I want myniece. I want her to take her share in the Englishwoman's mission toher dusky sisters. You will go with us, Mrs. Desborough?"

  "Yes," she replied. "I had intended to do so; but," she added, turningto Mr. Desborough, "we must take the children with us." The fact was,she dare not leave them behind.

  "No objection to that, as far as I can see," returned the deputy; and soit was settled.

  As Oliver was falling asleep that night, he seemed to hear nothing butthe little sister's passionate cry, "Carl, Carl, come back!" How shehad clung to the lingering hope his words had implanted! He almostwished he had never said them. Did he and Bona love each other likethat? He saw nothing but the fluttering of Kathleen's sash and theflapping of her broad sun-hat as she rushed before him to the very edgeof the precipice. How she must have longed to get there! and it wassuch a dangerous place. Oh the innocence of the thought! The brave,faithful heart! Yes, that was it. Oliver hated himself for havingspoken those misleading words. "But then I believed it after what oldGobur had said."

  He tossed and slept, and dreamed of Romulus and Remus, and the old Romanfable of the she-wolf. When he waked at last, the day was well begun,and everybody around him was busy preparing for the visit to the Rana'scastle. He wished his schoolbooks had not all been left behind him inanother hemisphere. There was no Roman history to be found in the hillbungalow, or he would have refreshed his memory about that old-worldtale of the founders of Rome. His uncle thought him unusually moody ashe mounted his little pony and rode after him. It was a gloriousmorning. Mrs. Desborough's bearers were chanting gaily. Mr.Desborough, who rode behind her, turned his head to make some remarkupon the indigo crops to the deputy, who was still descanting about"that fog-bank which always rises between us and the people of the land,do what we will."

  Oliver yawned, feeling quite sure beforehand he should detest a fat boywho ate nothing but butter and sugar, and wouldn't and couldn't run arace if it were to save his life, whatever his colour might be. He wasthinking of Major Iffley's impatient interruptions, when his unclestarted his favourite topic before him.

  "Let the natives alone, St. Faine. They are the most exclusive set onearth. It is all labour in vain, I tell you."

  The road by which they reached the Rana's castle was very picturesque,shaded here and there by grand old forest trees and great clumps ofwaving bamboos. The village houses were very low, and their peakedthatched roofs covered with a climbing plant with melon-like leaves.Clusters of tamarind trees secured the necessary shade. Two men wereploughing in a field, and three more were idly watching their work.Several women were scouring their brass pans; at their feet lay theirbabies, cooing or fretting. Some graceful girls were drawing water atthe village well. There was a native musician with his sitar, and agroup of listeners round him, some smoking, and others playing a nativegame with little bits of wood.

  They lifted up their eyes and saw the English party approaching. Thewomen snatched up their infants and ducked under the mats, which servefor doors to their huts, as if to be seen were to be killed. The girlsby the trickling water under the tamarind trees muffled up their facesand waddled away as fast as they could. To walk like a goose is a Hindugirl's desire. The very children, intent upon the manufacture ofdust-pies, jumped up and hid themselves; whilst the men started, gave apull at their clothes, pushed the sitar out of sight, threw away theirpipes, and stood in a row, bowing like so many machines, humble, shy,and mute.

  The deputy's benevolent face wore nothing but smiles; but the poorcreatures had received little but cruelty from the hands of foreignersfor so many generations, they could hardly believe in a stranger'skindness. The headman of the village had bustled off to put on hiscompany clothes, which he kept very carefully for state occasions.

  He looked as if he had wrapped himself in a clean sheet; all his dignitylay in his belt, which had served his grandfather before him. However,he had found his tongue, as the children say, and came to meet thedeputy with a string of compliments as extravagant as they weremeaningless. Just then the long-drawn, quavering notes of some hugehorns, drawing nearer and nearer, announced the approach of the Rana,who was coming to meet his visitors. Presently they saw him sweepingdown the castle hill in his bullock-chariot, all brightness and gilding.Four of his men were holding over his head a huge scarlet umbrella withlong glittering fringes; several more were running by his side. A smallband of horsemen preceded this stately chariot, sounding their big brasstrumpets from time to time; and behind it came a motley procession ofhis chief followers and relations. In the midst of them Oliver detectedthat fat boy he was so certain he must dislike.