(making all due allowance for fatigue and
clumsy rowing), before daybreak.

On reaching our port, I there learnt, for the
first time, the reason my three passengers had
for seizing their opportunity of escaping from
the ship. I could only make the same statement
to the authorities which I have made
here. They considered me to blame for allowing
the discipline of the vessel to be relaxed.
I have expressed my regret on this score to
them, and to my owners. Since that time,
nothing has been heard, to my knowledge, of
the three Hindoos. I have no more to add to
what is here written.

III.

THE STATEMENT OF MR. MURTHWAITE, (1850).

(In a Letter to Mr. Bruff.)

Have you any recollection, my dear sir, of a
semi-savage person whom you met out at dinner,
in London, in the autumn of 'forty-eight? Permit
me to remind you that the person's name
was Murthwaite, and that you and he had a
long conversation together after dinner. The
talk related to an Indian Diamond, called The
Moonstone, and to a conspiracy then in
existence to get possession of the gem.

Since that time, I have been wandering in
Central Asia. Thence, I have drifted back to
the scene of some of my past adventures in the
north and north-west of India. About a
fortnight since, I found myself in a certain, district
or province (but little known to Europeans)
called Kattiawar.

Here, an adventure befel me, in which
(incredible as it may appear) you are personally
interested.

In the wild regions of Kattiawar (and how
wild they are you will understand, when I tell
you that even the husbandmen plough the land
armed to the teeth), the population is fanatically
devoted to the old Hindoo religion—to the
ancient worship of Brahmah and Vishnu. The
few Mahommedan families, thinly scattered
about the villages in the interior, are afraid to
taste meat of any kind. A Mahommedan even
suspected of killing that sacred animal, the
cow, is, as a matter of course, put to death
without mercy in these parts, by the pious
Hindoo neighbours who surround him. To
strengthen the religious enthusiasm of the
people, two of the most famous shrines of
Hindoo pilgrimage are contained within the
boundaries of Kattiawar. One of them is
Dwarka, the birthplace of the god Krishna.
The other is the sacred city of Somnauth—
sacked and destroyed, as long since as the
eleventh century, by the Mahommedan
conqueror, Mahmoud of Ghizni.

Finding myself, for the second time, in these
romantic regions, I resolved not to leave
Kattiawar, without looking once more on the
magnificent desolation of Somnauth. At the
place where I planned to do this, I was (as
nearly as I could calculate it) some three days
distant, journeying on foot, from the sacred
city.

I had not been long on the road, before I
noticed, that other people—by twos and threes
—appeared to be travelling in the same direction
as myself.

To such of these as spoke to me, I gave myself
out as a Hindoo-Booddhist, from a distant
province, bound on a pilgrimage. It is needless to
say that my dress was of the sort to carry out
this description. Add, that I know the
language as well as I know my own, and that I am
lean enough and brown enough to make it no
easy matter to detect my European origin
and you will understand that I passed muster
with the people readily: not as one of
themselves, but as a stranger from a distant part of
their own country.

On the second day, the number of Hindoos
travelling in my direction, had increased to
fifties and hundreds. On the third day, the
throng had swollen to thousands; all slowly
converging to one point—the city of
Somnauth.

A trifling service which I was able to render
to one of my fellow-pilgrims, during the third
day's journey, proved the means of introducing
me to certain Hindoos of the higher caste.
From these men I learnt that the multitude
was on its way to a great religious ceremony,
which was to take place on a hill at a little
distance from Somnauth. The ceremony was
in honour of the god of the Moon; and it was
to be held at night.

The crowd detained us, as we drew near to
the place of celebration. By the time we
reached the hill, the moon was high in the
heavens. My Hindoo friends possessed some
special privileges which enabled them to gain
access to the shrine. They kindly allowed me
to accompany them. When we arrived at the
place, we found the shrine hidden from our
view, by a curtain hung between two
magnificent trees. Beneath the trees, a flat
projection of rock jutted out, and formed a species
of natural platform. Below this, I stood, in
company with my Hindoo friends.

Looking back down the hill, the view
presented the grandest spectacle of Nature and
Man, in combination, that I have ever seen.
The lower slopes of the eminence melted
imperceptibly into a grassy plain, the place of the
meeting of three rivers. On one side, the
graceful winding of the waters stretched away,
now visible, now hidden by trees, as far as the
eye could see. On the other, the waveless
ocean slept in the calm of the night. People
this lovely scene with tens of thousands of
human creatures, all dressed in white, stretching
down the sides of the hill, overflowing
into the plain, and fringing the nearer banks
of the winding rivers. Light this halt of the
pilgrims, by the wild red flames of cressets and
torches, streaming up at intervals from every
part of the innumerable throng. Imagine the
moonlight of the East, pouring in unclouded
glory over all—and you will form some idea of