Bengal Dacoits and Tigers | Page 9

a high machan--a huge bamboo shelf made like a raft and suspended from the roof and reached by a moveable ladder, used for storing all sorts of things.
On this machan were some old blankets. "Here, conceal yourself in these" said the policeman. The Deputy Magistrate needed no second bidding. He climbed up and rolled himself in one of the blankets and heaped the others in front of him. The policeman carried the ladder away, right out of the house. Then he shut the door and returned to the office.
After a time there came the noise of the dacoits. They soon entered the police station and shouted: "Give up that Deputy Saheb. We know he is here."
"Deputy, what Deputy? I cannot understand. Where is he?" answered the policeman.
"Don't be shamming," returned the dacoits contemptuously, "thou knowest well whom we mean. Produce him if you value your own life."
In vain the policeman pleaded ignorance. His trembling limbs and shaking voice belied his words. The dacoits bound him, searched the police office, and then proceeded to hunt the house. "He is not here. Let us not waste further time," said one. "Let's look well," said another, "and search every place." Some climbed the machan and discovered their victim. It did not take them long to drag him down, and beat him mercilessly with their long sticks, till he became unconscious. The policeman too was severely chastised. Him they left lying there; but rolled the offending Magistrate in an old mat, bound him tightly with a rope and carried him away to the river.
As he was borne on their shoulders through the night air, he gradually came to his senses but kept silent and listened to his captors. By this time it was dawn, and they were at the river. The majority were for re-crossing and burning him, dead or alive. One dissentient voice struck him with surprise. It was his father-in-law's! Clearly he was one of the gang! But scruples had overtaken him and he pleaded that he might not be a witness of the projected murder of his son-in-law. "Spare me! spare me!" he cried.
Some jeered: "Ho! Ho! you still have a soft corner in your heart for your son-in-law." At last they agreed that he might absent himself and he apparently turned back.
The others now put their burden into a boat and crossed the river. They were laughing at the father-in-law's weakness, and as they approached the ghat failed to observe a Government budgerow anchored there. It was the Divisional Commissioner's. He was out on tour. The paharawalla on deck checked them: "Do not make such a noise. The Saheb sleeps."
They answered rudely and the watchman retorted angrily. The dacoits loudly abused the man.
The noise woke up the Commissioner, and he got out on deck with a loaded revolver in his hand. The dacoits jumped from their dinghy and ran up the bank. It was evident who they were and the Commissioner fired, aiming at their legs. One man fell with a scream of pain but scrambled to his feet and ran on.
Nothing was to be gained by chasing them through the still dark jungle. The Commissioner turned his attention to the boat. "Search it" he ordered his watchmen. His quick eyes detected legs protruding from a mat, and he was not surprised when his chaprassi called: "Saheb, a dead man lies in it."
The Deputy murmured feebly: "I am not dead. I live." The chaprassi amended the first statement: "Saheb, he speaks." The Commissioner jumped into the dinghi, cut the ropes that bound the unfortunate man, and discovered the Deputy Magistrate. It did not take him long to recover and pour his tale of woe into his Chief's ears.
By sunrise they were all after the dacoits. Blood-drops marked the way and, near by, they found the wounded man who, only able to hobble, had hidden himself in a thicket. The Deputy Magistrate's father-in-law was arrested. He was one of the leaders of the band. It did not take long to capture the others. And after this, for a time, this part of the Dacca district enjoyed peace from dacoits.

All for Nothing
A young and very high-caste Bengali lady was married to the son of a rich man who lived near Hooghly, a small town within a short distance of Calcutta.
Some years passed, but there was no sign of a son and heir. The parents-in-law were fond of the girl. She had won her way into their hearts and they sympathised with her. Yet they longed to see the old name being carried down the years, and whisperings grew into talk of a second marriage for their son. The girl's parents were anxious and distressed.
Then a kindly Providence intervened, and after months of expectation a little son lay in her arms, and both