'Transactions of the Bombay Geographical Society, from January 1847 to May 1849. Edited by the Secretary. Volume VIII.' [‎283] (392/496)

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and confusion, for no doubfc existed as to the cause of their absence in
this disturbed district. Horses were re-saddled, and a large number of
armed men, headed by the Khan himself, issued forth on the search for
the missing party. Sleep was now out of the question, if, indeed, the
numerous tormentors which infested our clothing would have otherwise
permitted it. In a short time one of the missing servants, a Christian
of the name of Sarkies, half dead from excessive fear, rushed in, and com
menced a serio-comic harangue by disavowing his own identity, franti
cally exclaiming, “ I am not Sarkies ”—“ This is not Sarkies that you
see,” and followed the sentences up with a copious burst of tears. This
conduct in a stout, thick-set fellow, armed to the teeth, as he then was,
was too ridiculous to be borne, and, moreover, it prevented our obtain
ing any information as to the disaster. The production of the “ Fellek,”
used in bastinadoing, soon operated as a sedative, and the threatened ad
ministration of that wonderful medicine instantly restored his scattered
senses. It appears from his account, that, anxious to have a place ready
for his master’s reception, he was induced to push on ahead of
the party, particularly as a fine open plain was then before him. Two
other servants followed his example. They had not gone far when dusk
set in, and, coming upon a branch road, they stopped at a village near
at hand to enquire their way. The artful villagers, ever ready for plun
der, purposely misled them, and three individuals, said to belong to a
strange tribe, who happened then to be stopping at the village, mounted
in pursuit. The party was soon overtaken, and, as a matter of course,
abandoned their mules as soon as the horrible yell of the pursuers
reached their ears : without waiting to observe the numerical strength of
the foe, which in this instance exceeded not that of their own party, and
were by no means so well armed, the prudent Sarkies beat an ignomini
ous retreat, and, luckily, in the dark stumbled on the party sent out in
search. On being questioned as to why he wore arms, he candidly
avowed that a desire of distinction had made him vain enough to equip
himself in martial guise, but he had learnt from the experience of this
eventful night that the hero became him not, and discreetly enough deter
mined for the future to abjure so perilous a pursuit. He was dismissed
after an admonitory caution; and, heaving a long-drawn sigh, congratu
latory of his escape from broken bones, he retired crest-fallen to his
lair, and no doubt mentally pondering
“ On the dangers that environ
The man who meddles with cold iron.”
The night was passed in hearing the numerous conflicting reports
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