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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
I WAS very weary, after a long day’s work in the scorching, blinding sun among the tea-bushes, and my limbs ached with that dull pain which is the common precursor of malarious fever. I would gladly have slept; but the wind, which had sprung up at sunset, had grown fainter and more faint, and now the air was still and heavy with the damp oppressive heat which foretells a storm. Great banks of black cloud slowly piled themselves in the western sky and blotted out the light of the stars. As I lay before the open door which led into the wide veranda in front of the bungalow, I watched the threatening masses growing higher and higher over the dark belt of forest which formed the boundary of my tea-garden. Outside, I could see wheeling swarms of fireflies lighting up the tea-bushes with fantastic illumination. Within, all round me was the monotonous murmur of countless mosquitoes. From their venomous sting I was protected by the gauze-net which hung round my bed; but their faint drone dwelt with unwonted persistency upon my overstrung nerves, and effectually dispelled all hope of slumber. Now and again—a hideous relief to the hateful singsong of the mosquitoes—howled a chorus of jackals, now near, now far, but always jarring upon my nerves with a shock of surprise.
I lighted my lamp and tried to read; but my eyes were dazed with the shadeless glare of the day, and my head felt hot and feverish. The words chased each other across the pages, or mixed themselves incoherently with my own wandering thoughts. I felt inclined to wake one of my servants; but the effort of rising was more than I cared to undertake. It seemed easier to lie and watch the storm gathering, to see the distant hills and the brown frothing current of the stream in which the long black masses of the tea-boats were moored, lighted up by lurid flashes of lightning. Save myself, there was not a single soul in the bungalow. It is usual in Indian households for one or two of the servants to lay their simple bedding in one of the doorways or verandas, and there enjoy the sleep which comes so readily to the average oriental by night or day. But my bungalow had the reputation, among the servants and the coolies in the lines, of being haunted. I had not troubled myself to discover the details and the origin of the story. It is enough for an innocent screech-owl to establish herself among the convenient rafters of an Indian roof, to confer a superstitious horror upon the house; and I had not only repressed any faint curiosity I might have felt as to the particular demon or ghost which frightened my servants, but had indulged their wish to keep out of its way. That night, however, my nerves were unstrung; and in spite of repeated efforts to recall my mind to a more rational mood, I felt a sense of solitude and discomfort which hardly amounted to positive terror, but still weighed heavily upon my spirits. I felt vaguely that this unwonted depression of nervous energy, and the dull physical aching which accompanied it, were due to an incipient attack of fever; and, half unconsciously, got up and helped myself to a dose of quinine from my medicine chest. As I walked across the room I looked automatically in the corner where my spaniel Ponto habitually lay. He was not there; and it was a moment or two before my confused brain remembered that he had been sent away to the native doctor's hut in the lines to be treated for cancer in the ear, a pest to which dogs of his kind are much subject in India, His absence pressed strangely upon my already disordered nerves, and I felt more than ever desirous of some kind of human society.
Meanwhile, the slowly gathering storm seemed to have gathered its strength for the final onset. Far away in the distant woods I heard the sound of rain and wind, growing louder and nearer, and vivid flashes of lightning were followed by deafening rolls of thunder. A cooler air poured through the open door and caused my lamp to flicker and waver. Suddenly the rain and the wind burst upon the bungalow; great drops pattered on the thatched roof, and there was sound of rushing sluicing water round the eaves. The open doors began to bang and beat to and fro, and the lamp went out. Outside and inside the bungalow was pitchy darkness, momentarily rent asunder by the piercing whiteness of the flashes of lightning; and in the sudden glare the drops falling from the thatch seemed to stand still. I felt that I ought to get up and close the doors; but in spite of the comparative coolness of the air, which brought with it a revivifying odour of moist earth, I felt loth to stir, and I drew a light quilt over me and languidly watched the lightning. The storm gradually passed its height, and the rushing wind gave place to a steady and strenuous sound of pouring rain. I cursed the foolish fear which prevented my servants from coming to close the jalousies, and listened, in spite of myself, to ascertain if any of them should pluck up courage to come to my aid with a lantern. At last I heard the sound of feet in the veranda at the back and heard the boards creak. I called out, but received no reply. The steps approached my room, and with them, strange to say, I heard the faint clank of a chain. Again I called aloud and again got no reply. The steps came nearer, nearer, and suddenly I felt a heavy weight on my chest, a hot breathing in my face, and the glare of two green eyes close to mine; and then I fainted.
When I came to myself, the lamp was lighted, and my bearer was treading cautiously about the room. Poor Ponto, he said, had been frightened by the storm and had broken loose from his confinement in the doctor's quarters. And then I noticed that Ponto was under my bed, licking my hand as it lay over the edge.
As some excuse for the scare I experienced, I must explain that it was followed by a very severe attack of jungle fever, which compelled me and Ponto to take a change of air and scene. As for my bearer, he believes more firmly than ever that the bungalow is haunted, and has invented a theory that had not Ponto, warned by an instinct keener than human wisdom, come to my aid, his master would have been slain outright by a gigantic and ghastly bhut.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.