"Well spoken!" cried a dozen of the men; "Mahomed is a sure hand at a story--let us have it."
Mahomed, after stuffing a large quantity of pan-leaf and tobacco into his mouth, crunched it several times between his teeth, and after a copious discharge of red saliva, settled himself upon his heels, and, addressing my father, spoke, as nearly as I can remember, as follows:--
"I was born at Boree, which is a small village in the Nagpoor territory: my father was a Thug, as you all know, and my ancestors were the same for generations before. Tales of their feats have been handed down in our family from father to son, and they are worth relating, but they have nothing to do with my story. They had been prosperous, however, and had saved money enough to give a large sum at the court of Nagpoor for the office and lands of the Patelship (chief magistracy) of our village; nevertheless they pursued their profession of Thuggee. My grandfather, Kasim, as many of you know, was as notorious a leader of Thugs as any one has been since he died; and my father, who was then young, succeeded to his property and situation. Long he held it, and none arose to dispute his claim.
"But his prosperity was not fated to last. Well do I remember the day when some soldiers, sent by order of the peshkar of the court, arrived at the village with an order to bring him to 'the Presence.' My father vainly endeavoured to learn from them the reason of this sudden call for him, as he was regular in his payments to the government; and finding reasoning would not avail, he strove to bribe the leader of the party into conniving at his absence. But all would not do; he was obliged to accompany them, and he took me with him at my earnest entreaty. I was then a young man, probably about the age of the Sahib-zada there. We reached Nagpoor after some long marches, and on our arrival we were cast into a vile prison, our legs loaded with irons, and we were denied the commonest comforts. We had no paun or tobacco, no clean clothes, were not allowed to see any one, and were given the coarsest and most wretched food to eat. In this manner we passed four long months. My father in vain entreated to know what he was accused of, or who was his accuser; and equally in vain were his attempts to have his situation made known to his family and friends. We wearied ourselves in our lonely prison with conjectures as to what the cause of the misfortune could be, but without success. At last, one day that wretch Brij Lall, who died last night by my hand, came into our prison attended by soldiers. My father gave himself up for lost, and thought his hour of death had arrived; but recovering, he appeared to recognise Brij Lall, and instantly assailed him with imprecations and abuse.