“That was the least of the wonder, for no man dies before his time. I have seen Sydney, I have seen London, and twenty great ports, but”—Peroo looked at the damp, discoloured shrine under the peepul—“never man has seen that we saw here.” “What?” “Has the Sahib forgotten; or do we black men only see the Gods?” “There was a fever upon me.” Findlayson was still looking uneasily across the water. “It seemed that the island was full of beasts and men talking, but I do not remember. A boat could live in this water now, I think.” “Oho! Then it is true.‘When Brahm ceases to dream, the Gods die.’ Now I know, indeed, what he meant. Once, too, the _guru_ said as much to me; but then I did not understand. Now I am wise.” “What?” said Findlayson, over his shoulder. Peroo went on as if he were talking to himself. “Six—seven—ten monsoons since, I was watch on the fo’c’sle of the _Rewah_—the Kumpani’s big boat—and there was a big _tufan_, green and black water beating, and I held fast to the life-lines, choking under the waters. Then I thought of the Gods—of Those whom we saw tonight”—he stared curiously at Findlayson’s back, but the white man was looking across the flood. “Yes, I say of Those whom we saw this night past, and I called upon Them to protect me. And while I prayed, still keeping my lookout, a big wave came and threw me forward upon the ring of the great black bowianchor, and the _Rewah_ rose high and high, leaning towards the lefthand side, and the water drew away from beneath her nose, and I lay upon my belly, holding the ring, and looking down into those great deeps. Then I thought, even in the face of death: If I lose hold I die, and for me neither the _Rewah_ nor my place by the galley where the rice is cooked, nor Bombay, nor Calcutta, nor even London, will be any more for me. ‘How shall I be sure,’ I said, that the Gods to whom I pray will abide at all?’ This I thought, and the _Rewah_ dropped her nose as a hammer falls, and all the sea came in and slid me backwards along the fo’c’sle and over the break of the fo’c’sle, and I very badly bruised my shin against the donkey-engine: but I did not die, and I have seen the Gods. They are good for live men, but for the dead. . . They have spoken Themselves. Therefore, when I come to the village I will beat the _guru_ for talking riddles which are no riddles. When Brahm ceases to dream the Gods go.” “Look up-stream. The light blinds. Is there smoke yonder?” Peroo shaded his eyes with his hands. “He is a wise man and quick. Hitchcock Sahib would not trust a rowboat. He has borrowed the Rao Sahib’s steam launch, and comes to look for us. I have always said that there should have been a steam-launch on the bridge works for us.”