As we advanced, we learnt from the villagers that the body of the dacoits (too large to move unobserved) had proceeded in the direction of a certain ferry on the river. Thither we bent our course, and learnt from the ferry people that they had recently crossed and were close at hand. The remainder of the adventure I shall sum up in a few words. The dacoits were soon overtaken; like Cæsar, we came, and saw—would I could add, we conquered! but in that, the most essential point, the parallel with the great Roman’s despatch unhappily fails. On approaching the dingy array of the dacoits, they halted and showed a bold front. Augustus and De la Chasse marshalled their men, and addressed what were intended for some spirit-stirring exhortations to them. Tupper and I took the flanks, and doubtless felt (I can speak for myself) rather queer. We advanced; the dacoits, sword and spear in hand, came forward doggedly to meet us—our line wavered—in vain we screamed and exhorted; the dacoits dashed in—cut down three or four; _sauve qui peut_ was the word, and away flew our men over the plain. After a little irregular cutting and slashing, we followed, and with difficulty saved ourselves by the speed of our cattle. I will leave the reader to imagine the rage of Mr. Augustus, the vehement _pestes_ and _sacres_ of the Gaul, and the downright straightforward abuse of the stiff little mate, elicited by this shameful misbehaviour of our troops; the censures, reports, &c., arising out of it; and the uneasiness felt, after we had got back to the factory, of another visit from the exasperated Ramsunker. Fortunately, however, he came not; and from fugitives and others we learn that, satisfied with putting us to the rout, he had made off with his gang and booty to a distant part of the country. All this, of course, formed matter for animated discussion and commentary amongst us four at the factory, De la Chasse and his friend remaining for a couple of days to afford us their countenance and protection. We had a very merry time of it—shooting and boating in the day, and a rubber of whist or a song at night.[19] CHAPTER XV. I had now been about twelve days a visitor with my hospitable friend, the indigo planter—a period, as the reader has seen, fertile in events—when I began to think of returning, and a letter or two which I received served to hasten my departure. One was from an old friend and schoolfellow, Tom Rattleton, a good deal my senior, and whom I had not seen or heard of for four or five years. It ran thus:— MY DEAR FRANK,