s position in the wall. Perhaps they were stolen, perhaps
they were worn away by constant polishing, who can say? They have passed
beyond the realm of fact to that of legend. Suffice it to say that the
Kolis firmly believe the whole story, and add that Zuran Patel's house
was the only real strong-house in Bombay at that epoch, the walls being
built upon a framework of iron girders and the cellar, containing
the piles of silver, being stouter than a modern safe. It seems not
improbable that the old cellars of Mandvi Kolivada were originally the
colouring-ponds of the fishermen, which, as building progressed and
crowding set in, were enclosed with tiles and brick and mortar and
utilised as store-rooms.

Such is the history of the quaint ballad of the English Governor, the
Parsi millionaire, and the Koli Patel. It seems to us to crystallise the
honourable connection and friendship which has existed from the earliest
days of British rule in Bombay between the aboriginal-fishermen, the Parsi
pioneers of commerce and the English Government in the person of its
highest representative. It recalls to us the days of siege and warfare
when the Governor of the struggling settlement sought the help of the
sturdy fishermen and when Rustom Dorabji put himself at their head, formed
them into a rudely-drilled corps, and drove the Sidi off the island. It
recalls the action of the Honourable Thomas Hodges in their behalf a
century and a half ago, and the subsequent confirmation of their ancient
rights by Sir James Fergusson and Sir Bartle Frere. And lastly it
represents a belief, which has attained almost the sanctity of religion
in the heart of Kolidom, that between themselves and the King's
representative in Bombay there exists a bond of good-feeling and respect
which dating as it does from 1675 has been welded firm by time and
shall never be broken.

[Illustration: A Koli.]

* * * * *

XVII.

THE TRIBE ERRANT.

[Illustration: A Deccani Fruit-seller.]

In the more thickly-populated quarters of the city of Bombay--quarters that
are rarely explored by the European, a succession of criers and hawkers
pass through the streets from morn till eve and sometimes far into the
night. In the early morning, before the house-sparrow has chirped himself
and his family into wakefulness, you catch the doleful and long-drawn cry
of the early Fakir or Mahomedan beggar, whose object is not so much to wake
the Fait