or two more. Well, they could all be accounted for in Bombay but you. John Burton-he suspected it, bless you, but he's a true-hearted fellow, and wouldn't let out till we made him-confessed you said you were off to Goa. Now we knowed you couldn't leave for Goa without the harbour-police knowing it; they didn't know it, so we soon picked up your trail, and here we are. Bless you we've watched you this week past, but we didn't want to nab you until

"I know. You wanted to catch Clicker," broke in Seagrave, now utterly reckless: "D-n him! it was he tempted me to do this. I hope you have caught him."

"No doubt he's nabbed in Bombay by this time. Your fellow with the hare, and the message neatly done up inside its throat, with this mornin's Omrawuttee prices, was followed from the moment he left this till he got to Clicker's office, and there they'd nab the old bird at once. Now we'll just strike this pretty little green tent of yours, pack up box, dice, and everything, and just walk coolly down to the next station to get the train for Bombay. But before we start just-ah! would you?" Seagrave had tried to grasp his gun, but in a second he was handcuffed, and lying powerless on the ground.

In a few brief hours the miserable young criminal

R

was in Bombay, locked up, with Jabez Clicker in the next cell, on a charge of cutting the telegraph wires, and intercepting valuable mercantile messages (which he had sewed up in pretended presents of game), that his worthless employer made use of for his own purposes. They had determined that this second attempt should be the last, but as we have seen they were detected before they could complete their purpose.

There

They were tried before the next High Court. was absolutely no defence to the case, and Jabez Clicker was sentenced to five years' penal servitude, while his wretched young accomplice was let off with two years, on account of his youth.

"WHO SHOT THE KAFFIRS?"

CHAPTER I.

A LUNCHEON AND A YARN.

EW Year's Day, 1852, and the thermometer at

NE

120 degrees in the shade! Where, it will naturally be asked, was this abnormal state of heat to be found in Her Majesty's possessions? The answer is as simple as the question. It was in Graham's Town, the principal military station of Albany, on the frontiers of Kaffraria in south-east Africa, in which portion of the globe the hot weather comes in what we at home call the winter months. It was very hot : stifling hot would perhaps be the more correct expression. The streets of the little colonial capital were crowded with a confused mass of men of many nations, all labouring under great excitement, and all clamouring (in a dozen languages) for arms, as well as for competent commanders to lead them forth against the savage Kaffirs, who early in the preceding month had broken out into rebellion, or warfare rather, and were now plundering and devastating the whole

country round. At first the news of the outbreak had been discredited even by those in the highest places in the colony; but it soon gained head so rapidly that further self-deception was impossible; and at the date given above, the governor, Sir Harry Smith, was shut up with a handful of troops in a frontier station called Fort Cox; while his right hand man, General Somerset, found himself in a very similar position in Fort Hare, only a short distance from the first named place. Having the two British commanders thus first caught, as it were, in traps, the rebels became very bold in their conduct of the war. They murdered, plundered, burnt, and drove away cattle to their hearts content; they left hardly a distant English or Dutch kraal unmolested; they swept the whole province-in small guerilla bands which it was almost impossible to overtake or bring to a stand-up fight-with fire and sword; and they even attacked the English in their posts and strong places with, in several instances, great success. In reality they were quite masters of the situation; so much so, that they had no difficulty in inducing the whole Hottentot population, who had hitherto been our faithful allies in every former war with these very Kaffirs, to side with them; they persuaded the native soldiers (police) to desert en masse, taking with them their arms and

accoutrements; and they even successfully carried disaffection into the ranks of the Cape Mounted Rifles, many of whom seized the first opportunity of joining their rebellious countrymen. The whole province was in a fearful and most dangerous state, and at one time it seemed very probable that the English would be completely driven out of Kaffraria, and the life of every soldier be taken by the dark-skinned victors. The settlers, those of them at least who had managed to preserve their lives, came thronging into Graham's Town with such of their families and stock as had been saved; the environs of the station were crowded with the tents and cattle of those for whom there was no room in the place; and round this outer ring wandered swarms of bloodthirsty natives, watching their opportunity for pillage and murder (affairs that took place nearly every other hour) and barely turning aside into the bush, such was their daring, from the few scattered bands of mounted volunteers formed out of the younger or more active sons of the settlers, who worked day and night for the protection of their countrymen, and, in a secondary degree, of their herds. But these volunteers, willing and brave as they were, found themselves quite unable to cope with the hosts of the invader; their numbers were too scanty; their horses, who hardly ever knew six hours' consecutive