This extraordinary tenacity of life is common to all reptiles and cold-blooded creatures, though not in all to an equal degree; it is very remarkable in the turtle of the Indian rivers, which I have known to scuttle off to the water _minus_ their heads, when cut off by the enraged _piscator_, as the shortest way of getting the hooks out of their mouths. As I watched the dying throes of the alligator, after so long resisting all attempts to extinguish his vital spark, under every circumstance of advantage to his assailants, I could not help feeling in all its length and breadth the utter state of impotency to which the lord of the creation—man—would be reduced, however well supplied with weapons, offensive and defensive, when once fairly grappled by him in his native element. Humiliating thought! A _post mortem_ examination of the alligator showed us Mr. Augustus’s ball firmly wedged into the thick part of the tail; and an analysis of the contents of the stomach brought to light two legs, half an arm, and sundry rings and silver bangles, which had once adorned the slender limbs of some hapless village maiden. Having now gratified our curiosity, and performed our duty to the public, the inquest broke up—verdict, of course, “justifiable _alligatricide_”—and we returned home. One morning, a few days after this—the most eventful, as will be seen in the sequel, which had occurred to me since I had trodden Indian ground—we were seated at table after breakfast, my host drowsily smoking his hookha and conning the Calcutta paper, I concocting a despatch for home, when suddenly a confused and distant noise was heard, including the rapid beat of a _doog-doogie_, or small native drum. My host laid down his paper and listened; for a moment it died away, then again rose on the wind; there was a hubbub of voices—of flying footsteps—and lastly, of one or two dropping shots. “By heavens! there’s something wrong,” said Augustus, half-rising from his chair, and still intently listening. “_Quon hye?_” (‘who waits?’) The words were scarcely uttered, when, wild with alarm, a servant rushed in followed by one or two others, exclaiming, in almost frantic tones, “Sahib! sahib! _dacka! dacka!_” My host turned pale, started from his chair, and rapidly interrogated the affrighted men, who answered him all clamorously at once, and with the most animated gesticulations. “In the name of all that’s good,” said I, thunderstruck at the scene, “what on earth is the matter?” “Matter! my dear fellow, the dacoits—that’s all; the robbers are upon us; we must defend our lives; there is not a moment to be lost.” The plot now began to thicken: three burkundauzes rushed in, with a confirmation of the intelligence that Ramsunker and his gang were close at hand, bent on fulfilling their recent threats, and that they had already plundered two or three neighbouring hamlets.