Besides these varieties of Curumbers there are various other wild tribes I do not now mention, as they are not concerned in what I have to relate.

I had on my estate near Ootacamund a gang of young Badagas, some 30 young men, whom I had had in my service since they were children, and who had become most useful handy fellows.  From week to week I missed one or another of them, and on inquiry was told they had been sick and were dead!

One market-day I met the Moneghar of the village to which my gang belonged and some of his men, returning home laden with their purchases.  The moment he saw me he stopped, and coming up to me, said, “Mother, I am in great sorrow and trouble, tell me what I can do!” “Why, what is wrong?” I asked.  “All my young men are dying, and I cannot help them, nor prevent it; they are under a spell of the wicked Curumbers who are killing them, and I am powerless.”  “Pray explain,” I said; “why do the Curumbers behave in this way, and what do they do to your people?” “Oh, Madam, they are vile extortioners, always asking for money; we have given and given till we have no more to give.  I told them we had no more money and then they said,—­All right—­as you please; we shall see.  Surely as they say this, we know what will follow—­at night when we are all asleep, we wake up suddenly and see a Curumber standing in our midst, in the middle of the room occupied by the young men.”  “Why do you not close and bolt your doors securely?” I interrupted.  “What is the use of bolts and bars to them? they come through stone walls....  Our doors were secure, but nothing can keep out a Curumber.  He points his finger at Mada, at Kurira, at Jogie—­he utters no word, and as we look at him he vanishes!  In a few days these three young men sicken, a low fever consumes them, their stomachs swell, they die.  Eighteen young men, the flower of my village, have died thus this year.  These effects always follow the visit of a Curumber at night.”  “Why not complain to the Government?” I said.  “Ah, no use, who will catch them?” “Then give them the 200 rupees they ask this once on a solemn promise that they exact no more” “I suppose we must find the money somewhere,” he said, turning sorrowfully away.

A Mr. K—–­is the owner of a coffee estate near this, and like many other planters employs Burghers.  On one occasion he went down the slopes of the hills after bison and other large game, taking some seven or eight Burghers with him as gun carriers (besides other things necessary in jungle-walking—­axes to clear the way, knives and ropes, &c.).  He found and severely wounded a fine elephant with tusks.  Wishing to secure these, he proposed following up his quarry, but could not induce his Burghers to go deeper and further into the forests; they feared to meet the “Mula Curumbers” who lived thereabouts.  For long he argued in vain, at last by dint of threats and promises he induced them to proceed, and as they