winds and speak openly of a grim day coming for the British; he would
be checked instantly by wiser men, but not before Ali Partab had heard
enough to add to his private store of information.

Priests came from a dozen cities to the eastward, all nominally after
pilgrims for the sacred places, but all strangely indifferent to their
quest. They preferred, it would seem, to sit in rings with chance-met
ruffians--with believers and unbelievers alike--even with men of no
caste at all--and talk of other things than pilgrimages.

"Next year, one hundred years ago the English conquered India.
Remember ye the prophecy? One hundred years they had! This, then, is
the last year. Whom the gods would whelm they first deprive of reason;
mark ye this! The cartridges they serve out to the sepoys now are
smeared with the blended fat of cows and pigs. Knowing that we Hindoos
hold the cow a sacred beast, they do this sacrilege--and why? They
would make us bite the cartridges and lose our caste. And why again?
Because they would make us Christians! That is the truth! Else why
are the Christian missionaries here in Howrah?"

The listeners would nod while the little red fires glowed and purred
above the pipes, and others not included in the circle strained forward
through the dark to listen.

"The gods get ready now! Are ye ready?"

Elsewhere, a hadji--green-turbaned from the pilgrimage to Mecca--
would hold out to a throng of true believers.

"Ay! Pig's fat on the cartridges! The new drill is that the sepoy