One of the most surprising of these personal adventures was that which overtook the Deputy Commissioner of Delhi, Sir T. Metcalfe. Wilberforce, in his “Unrecorded Chapter of the Indian Mutiny,” tells the tale, and says he heard it twice over from Sir T. Metcalfe’s own lips—though Wilberforce’s stories sometimes are vehemently suspected to belong to the realm of fiction rather than of sober history. His account of Metcalfe’s adventure, however, is at least _ben trovato_. Metcalfe escaped from Delhi on horseback, hotly pursued by some native cavalry. His horse broke down, and in despair Metcalfe appealed to a friendly-looking native to conceal him from his pursuers. The man led him to a cave, told him he would save him if possible, and, striking his horse on the flank, sent it galloping down the road, while Metcalfe crept through the black throat of the cave into concealment. Presently Metcalfe heard his pursuers ride up, fiercely question his protector, and finally propose to search the cave. On this my friend burst out laughing, and, raising his voice so that I must hear, he said, “Oh yes, search the cave. Do search it. But I’ll tell you what you will find. You will find a great red devil in there; he lives up at the end of the cave. You won’t be able to see him, because the cave turns at the end, and the devil always stands just round the turn, and he has got a great long knife in his hand, and the moment your head appears round the corner he will slice it off, and then he will pull the body in to him and eat it. Go in; do go in—the poor devil is hungry. It is three weeks since he had anything to eat, and then it was only a goat. He loves men, does this red devil; and if you all go in he will have such a meal!” Metcalfe guessed that he was intended to hear this speech and act upon it. The cave, a short distance from the entrance, turned at right angles. He stood with his sword uplifted just round the corner, while a line of dismounted cavalry, in single file, one daring fellow leading, came slowly up the cave. As soon as the leader put his head in the darkness round the corner, Metcalfe smote with all his strength. The fellow’s head rolled from his body, and his companions, with a yell of terror, and tumbling one over another in the darkness, fled. “Did you see him?” demanded Metcalfe’s friend outside. “Do go back; he wants more than one.” But the rebel cavalry had had enough. The men who had gone up the cave declared that they had actually seen the red fiend, and been scorched by the gleam of his eyes; and, mounting their horses, they fled.