INDIANS CROSSING THE BOW RIVER.

The pond rous hammer swing; The furnace and the crucible Inglorious metals fuse, And silver, seven times refined, May shine for Temple use ;But ere another day may dawn, The toil of earth may cease! And He may reign whose right it isThe holy Prince of Peace. Then shall He fill His Temple fair With glory through and through! O careless one! arise, and seek That "thou mayest add thereto!" CLARA THWAITES.

attentive worshippers, and at the school mothers and even grandmothers might be seen side by side with their own children, learning the first simple lessons of Scripture. The desire for instruction had spread for miles around. One day a chief from fifteen miles distance came for a slate. "What can you want it for?" was the natural question. "I want to write," he replied; I have learnt from a young man in my own village, who was once in the Bay of Islands."

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We must bear in mind that all this was going on in the midst of continual petty wars and bloodshed, among the surrounding tribes. They were perpetually shedding each other's blood, murdering and massacring, for the most trivial excuses, so that the time and strength of the missionaries was continually taxed to prevent an outbreak of fresh hostilities, or rescue some innocent victim. Indeed, hopeful as its commencement had been, it was found best after a while to move the mission settlement from Puriri to Hauriki and Maraetai, some miles lower

down the River Thames. Here it was permanently established, and some six years after their first arrival amongst them the missionaries could report of nearly 1,000 natives taught to read, and eighty amongst them baptized, whose consistent lives testified to the reality of the work in their hearts.

BAIJNATH'S STORY.

E. D.

The Autobiography of a Young Santâl.* [Translated by the Rev. F. T. Cole from the original account written down by Baijnath himself.]

T the time of the Santâl Rebellion (1855) I was about seven years old. We were then very well off, and had plenty of land, flocks and herds, and wanted for nothing. I had one sister older than myself who used to stay at home whilst I amused myself out in the fields with other shepherd boys. My parents were very kind to me, giving me plenty of sweetmeats and baked Indian corn.

We boys used to milk the goats, drinking the milk. At other times we would allow the milk to curdle and then eat it. We used to make walls of dirt and call them our houses, in these we placed heaps of sand which we called rice. The village girls used to play with us: they would stay in the house and pretend to cook the dinner, while we boys used to tie sticks together and pretend to plough the fields, choosing two small boys to act

as oxen.

At breakfast time the girls would bring us mud in plates made by themselves by tacking together several leaves with grass stalks. This mud we pretended to eat. Afterwards they brought us water with which to wash our hands and faces. After breakfast the girls would go to the fields which we had pretended previously to plough, and plant the rice, grass doing duty for young rice plants. Then we would build other houses, which were intended for the newly married. When the houses were completed we performed the marriage ceremony amidst great feasting and rejoicing. Afterwards we would go to the jungle with our bows and arrows and have a grand hunt. Sometimes we knocked over a sparrow or caught a rat. These we would roast and eat with great glee, dividing equally to all the hunters, and if any other boys or girls came, we would meet them with the Santal salutation and offer them some beer in a leaf cup. We had a large round stone which we called the beer jug, and from this we pretended to pour out for our friends. They would pretend to be drunk, and this we considered great fun. In this manner we used to pass our days.

eat us.

One day reports reached us that some soldiers were coming to seize and We were terribly frightened, and our parents used to hide us in the fields of Indian corn during the day. The corn was very high then, and afforded us a capital hiding-place. By degrees the panic subsided, and again we acquired courage to play in the open air. Soon after this, reports spread that the Santals were about to expel the Hindus and English from

*We would remind some of our readers that the Santâls are one of the non-Hindu hill-tribes of India. See GLEANER, Jan., 1875; April, 1877; and Mr. Storrs's letters in the volume for 1879. "Baijnath's Story" gives a vivid picture of the actual life of a poor peasant in India, such as we very rarely get.

the country. A secret order was sent by the leaders of the rebellion to every Santal village to kill off every pig and fowl, and a threat that if they refused to do so, they themselves should be killed in the insurrection. We had at that time a fine pig, which we killed and ate.

I have no recollection as to the quarter in which the rebellion began. This only I remember, that a number of Santâl families came and settled down at the entrance to our village, and made for themselves small huts of branches, and they remained with us about a month. After this there was such a panic amongst the people that village after village became deserted, and the inhabitants with their flocks and herds hid themselves in the thickest parts of the jungles. We, seeing what others did, became so frightened, that we, oue and all, forsook our homes and followed them. Some took off their belongings in carts, others tied them in bundles and took them away on the backs of oxen, while others again, having no other means of conveyance, carried their children on their hips and their bundles on their heads and fled. When we reached what seemed to be a place of safety, we halted and hid ourselves in the jungle, and never attempted to show ourselves by day, lest we should be discovered and killed by the soldiers. The children were not allowed to cry; the younger ones to be kept quiet were nursed by their mothers, the elder ones were either bribed or threatened.

We remained crouching in the jungle for about a fortnight, and as by that time the soldiers had not made their appearance, the men and boys of our party ventured to go into the neighbouring villages to pluck some Indian corn which was then ripening. I cannot say how long we remained in that place, but fresh reports having reached our ears, we thought it safer to go farther away; so we set off, and after resting at several places on the way, we arrived at Kusumba, a village near Dumka. Here most of our cattle died from exposure and wet. We moved on, a short distance from the village to a small hill; here we were beyond reach of the floods. By the side of the hill was a small cave: into this we crept and thus were saved from much cold and wet; our carts and cattle we were obliged to leave in the open air, and my father had to watch them day and night. In this cave we remained for some time in comparative comfort, whilst other poor creatures had to sleep under their carts, exposed continually to the rain; but we also were in danger from large snakes and wild cats, which often frightened us, so much so, that at last we preferred to live in the open air and endure the same privations as

the rest.

Soon after this we moved on to Kusumba, and then built a small house for ourselves from the remains of the deserted village. We subsisted on Indian corn and jungle fruits. It was most distressing to see the amount of suffering, people and animals dying by scores. I well remember one morning passing four fat buffaloes feeding; in the evening when we returned they were all lying dead, having been left to take care of themselves, and thus they perished from exposure.

Several weeks passed away, when suddenly cholera broke out amongst us. My eldest sister and other relatives were among the victims; numbers also of the villagers died. We were in such fear that we determined at once to return to our old home and take the consequences. We could but die; we might be saved. On our way home we were attacked with fever, and could not go on with the other villagers. They said, "Come with us," but my father answered, “We are all so done up with fever that we cannot move a step farther." So they went on without us. In that village we had some relations, but they had no pity for us, they would not give us even a night's lodging. After a time the fever left us, and we hired ourselves out as day labourers. Our food was all gone, and we were content to work all day for an evening meal. The goats we brought with us were all stolen. We thought ourselves fortunate if sometimes we got a meal of cooked leaves and roots; a plate of cooked rice was indeed a luxury.

Again we set out to return to our home, but on the way my father was again seized with fever. We could do nothing for him; he lay all day in a field, and we feared he was dying. It was a most anxious time for us, strangers as we were, and far from home or friends. My brother and sisters were very young, and my mother tired and weak. However, towards evening my father, being slightly better, managed to drag his aching limbs to the nearest village. My mother carried on her head a basket, containing all our worldly goods, and my father, with the aid of a

stout stick, managed to creep along to the village. We were very much frightened by its becoming suddenly dark, for there were many robbers about in search of plunder.

The next day we were going on to another village when we met two Mars (a race of Paharis who live in the plains). They said to my father, "Give us some tobacco." My father replied that he had none, and moved on. They said, "Stop, we wish to speak to you." My father told them that he could not stop, he must go on. Then one of the men struck my father on his back, but not enough to disable him. He turned round, and with his stick felled the man to the ground. A hue and cry was then raised by the other Pahari, upon which a number of Paharis came flocking to the spot. They seized my father and bound him, while I rushed behind a tree shrieking. Then he was bound with a rope that they found in our basket, and dragged away to their village. I need hardly say they appropriated all our belongings, leaving us completely destitute. Finding upon inquiry that we had relatives near there, they carried off my mother and us children to their village. One of the men was very kind to me, carrying me on his shoulder because he found I was

tired. My father was left bound in the Pahari's house. A little rice was given him, but, as his hands were bound, he was unable to cook it. My grandmother visited him daily, and cooked for him. It so happened that one day he was not bound very securely, so he managed to get his hands free, and then he unfastened the other cords and escaped to the jungle. The Paharis then seized my mother and grandmother, and accused them of setting him free, which they denied, telling them that they did not know even where he was. The men determined to kill them, but God kept them from their purpose. They were allowed then to go to their relative's house.

The second day, in the middle of the night, my father secretly paid us a visit, staying only a few minutes. Every day the Paharis would come and ask my mother, "Has your husband returned? Do you know where he is?" When they could not find him they laid hands on everything that remained to us, we could keep nothing; we durst not refuse them. My father remained in the jungle, and when the villagers were fast asleep he would creep stealthily into the house. We gave him food, and he would appoint a meeting-place for the next day. Every day at noon, when people were resting, my mother would take him some food,

and every day he would appoint a different meeting-place lest he should be discovered. My mother when she went to him made a pretence of fetching firewood, and thus no one suspected her errand. This continued for some time, and it made my father so nervous that he said to me, "My boy, come and stay with me; I fear they will find and kill me one of these days. If you stay with me I shall be happier; it is so dreary all alone in the jungle. I see no one, I feel as if I had no one belonging to me. Come and live with me." I stayed with him, and we both used to visit mother and sisters every night, and creep away before dawn. In the day-time we dug up roots, and at night we took them with us to my mother, who would cook them and have them ready for us by the time of our next visit.

So we went on for some time, till my father at last said, "We are dying of hunger, and are in danger of losing our lives, let us leave the place." Our cows and buffaloes had been left with our relatives, and now we intended taking them away, but when we untied the calves there was such a noise that all the villagers turned out to see what was going on. Our relatives told us therefore to leave them with them for the present,

promising to return them to us after the rebellion was over. We managed, however, to take with us two buffaloes, and afterwards lent them to some friends, but we never saw them again, for they were overtaken by the soldiers, who dispersed them and left the animals to their fate. We used to travel by night for fear of the soldiers, and one night we were caught in a heavy rain, and I was so tired and hungry that I fainted, and became so stiff and cold that my father told my grandmother, who was carrying me, to throw me into the jungle, thinking I was dead. My grandmother told him that she would not give me up, but would carry me till it was light and then Thus we went on through the jungle until we came to an open spot, when my father said, "Wait here till I can find a place for you, there is a village close by, I will go and see if we can find shelter there." He soon returned, and took us with him to a distant relation's. I was placed before the fire and rubbed vigorously, and then I revived.

see.

We reached our old home about July, and had nothing to eat and no money; but the villagers who had returned before we did helped us a little, though they, too, were in trouble. We found that our crops had been taken by others who imagined we should not return. However, afterwards they restored the land to us, but being the hot season it was not the time for harvest, and therefore the land was useless to us. We were in great trouble, having no oxen for ploughing and no seed for sowing. So when the rents were collected we had nothing to pay. The man who had reaped the fields paid the rent and made use of the land afterwards, and when we wished to cultivate the fields he refused to give them up, saying the land had been given to him. Our relatives, too, behaved most unkindly to us; my uncle would not ask us to sit down when we visited him, nor did he ever show us the smallest kindness. Thus we were obliged to earn our dinner by working all day for it, and if no one would hire us we subsisted on leaves, and sometimes on the husks of rice. At harvest time we fared better, for we gained a good deal by gleaning, and lived in comparative plenty for about a month. My parents left us every day at dawn and returned after dark with the proceeds of their day's work. I being the eldest had to take care of my three brothers and sister, to keep them quiet and to wash them. I also cooked for them in the day-time and fetched wood from the jungles for my mother when she returned late in the evening. My mother afterwards told us what a joy it was to her, when they came

home, to find us safe and sound. Many during that trying year succumbed to famine: nearly every family lost one or more members from jungle fever and cholera.

About this time my parents quarrelled, which led to a separation. My father took me, and my mother took the other children; she went to live with an uncle. My father and I, after going far away from home, found work in a newly opened coal mine, which had been the bed of a river. My father obtained good wages in this employment, and we managed to live very well. I used to stay in the hut and collect fuel and fetch water whilst my father was working in the mine. One day a lump of coal fell on a boy who was working, and his whole body, in consequence, swelled and afterwards turned into sores. This circumstance so frightened the Santâls that they left en masse; some returned to their homes, whilst others, and amongst them my father, went to work on a road then being made in the district. After working there for some time my father said, "Let us return home, I am tired of this life."

We then went on till we reached our village. The place was so much changed we could hardly recognise it. Of a number of beautiful pipal trees there was nothing left but the trunks. We heard that thousands of soldiers had been encamped there, and every branch that could be found had been cut down to supply their elephants and camels with food. The villagers told us how that they all cleared out as soon as they saw the red coats with guns and swords.

By this time my father and mother were again reconciled. We now lived with them again. As day servants they managed to save a rupee or two, with which they bought a young sow, who soon after presented us with some little pigs; these were entrusted to my care to shepherd. When they were grown up two of them were sold, and with the proceeds we purchased a cow. Not long afterwards we hired a pair of bullocks, with which we ploughed up a piece of land and planted it; we gradually acquired more land, one field at a time, till we were able to live quite comfortably on our own farm.

About this time a number of schools were established in the Santâl country by the Rev. E. Droese. A teacher was sent to our village, and my father promised to send my younger brother to school. He, however, did not care to learn, and wanted to become a servant, so my father said to me, "Baijnath, would you like to go to school?" I jumped at the idea, and accordingly my name was enrolled. We used to sit in the open street for school, the ground being swept and smoothed, and we were taught to write large letters on the dry ground. We had no books at first, and were thought wonderfully clever when we could read and write our own names. Our native teacher forbade us to eat animals that had died of themselves, as we had been accustomed to do. In consequence of this, many of the boys left the school. I was anxious to get on, so promised to do as I was bid in this matter, which made the boys very angry with me, and I was much persecuted in consequence. Our

teacher was very strict also, and as we Santals were not fond of being kept in order, he had no little trouble in dealing with us. He sometimes thrashed the boys; this soon thinned the school. He never thrashed me, but one day he twisted my ears most unmercifully for playing the truant. There had been a Hindoo feast held in a neighbouring village with sports; to this I had gone without leave, and therefore richly deserved what I got.

About two years I remained in this school. At the end of that time the Rev. E. Puxley visited all the village schools, and examined us; seven of us passed, and he took us and our teacher to Taljhari, for the purpose of training us as teachers. I was entered in the second class, and after a month was promoted to the first. I was obliged to stay in school longer than the rest on account of my youth. Mr. Puxley said to me, "I cannot make you a teacher, you are so short, the boys would not mind you," so I stayed on several years longer in the school. I well remember my surprise upon seeing some Santâl and Pahari boys eating with the Hindoos; in our eyes this was considered a great sin. We seven Santâl boys used to cook together, and were very careful that the other boys should not touch our food. One day a teacher took up our hookah and smoked it; we immediately broke it and threw it away, thinking that if we smoked it afterwards we should lose our caste. It was very long before these prejudices wore away; but seeing others, and reading in school, we became more enlightened, and gradually became lax in those matters.

The teacher tried daily to impress upon us the importance of becoming Christians; we read the Gospels, but they made no impression upon us; we were convinced of the truth of Christianity, but we had no desire to become Christians. At length my parents believed and were baptized; this had so much influence on me that I soon followed their example. The prominent thought in my mind had been: If I become a Christian how shall I get a wife? (there being scarcely any Christian Santâl women at that time)-and I shall not be allowed to dance or drink; all men, too, will snub me, calling me a Christian. I used to go to church, but did not understand the meaning of what I heard. The preacher told us to "ask our minds" (conscience). I said to myself, "How can my mind speak? I never heard a voice speaking in me. It is all nonsense thinking one's mind can speak." Before becoming a Christian I thought that if I believed that God saw me, and that Jesus died for me, surely I should never sin. I used to wonder how those who called themselves Christians could do so many

wrong things. Now I know

by experience how very difficult it is to lead a holy and a godly life.

At the time when we were very poor, no one would invite us to their houses, or have anything to do with us, but God has watched over us and protected us from death and all other evils. We have reason to thank and to praise Him for raising us to our present position. God's book is very true, and what He says He is sure to perform. He makes small the