“I do.”
“Well, that’s one of my out-factories; there I’ve ordered some of my people to be in waiting with horses, or an elephant, to take us on to my shop, which is about six miles inland.”
“An elephant!” I ejaculated, as I mentally rubbed my hands.
The boatman plied their oars with redoubled vigour, their cheerful songs and shouts bespeaking that buoyancy of hearts which an approach to “home” ever inspires amongst all mankind.
We now neared the white building, which proved to be a small temple, crowning a little ghaut or flight of steps, running down to the water’s edge, backed by something like an old ruined fort or factory, overshaded by masses of foliage of the banyan and peepul trees, growing out of fissures of the walls.
On the crest of the ghaut stood an elephant caparisoned with his bright red jhoul and howdah[[18]] fanning himself with the branch of a tree; hard by him were a couple of horses, saddled, and held by their syces or grooms, each of whom bore a hog-spear; whilst near and around, groups of villagers, factory servants, and followers of Mr. Augustus, in various picturesque costumes and attitudes, some squatting in masses, some standing, others reclining on the steps or abutments of the ghaut, were all impatiently awaiting the arrival of the boat.
These groups, backed by the ruined walls, the massive banyan with its twining roots, and a little sort of bungalow, or summer-house, on the projecting bastion, which stood out in strong relief against the evening sky, all constituted, when viewed in the mellow sunlight of the rich Claude-like repose of the hour, a scene well worthy of the pencil of a Daniell.
The boat moored, a lively meeting and embracing took place between those on board and their friends at the factory, for the Indians, I have observed, though in some thing apathetic, are remarkably affectionate to their relatives.
Augustus himself now stepped ashore with all the dignity of a monarch returning from exile to his dominions, amidst the bows and prostrations of his rejoicing subjects. Great were the salaamings, and manifold the signs of life, which his arrival caused in the group. The syces tightened the girths of the horses; two stately greyhounds rose from a recumbent posture, whilst a couple of little pepper and mustard terriers ran yelping and wagging their tails to greet their master; the mahout dug his ankous, or goad, into the elephant’s head, to rouse him from his drowsy state of abstraction, exciting a loud trumpeting scream, as he drove down towards the boat. The gomastah, or manager, a Bengalee, in flowing muslin robes, now advanced with dignified salaam, and made a report of how things had gone on in his absence, whilst a Portuguese, of the complexion of charcoal, with a battered hat and white jacket, named Alfonso da Silva, also had a great deal to say touching the recent operations connected with the manufacture of his master’s indigo.
“Now, Mr. Gernon,” said Augustus, “these matters settled, which are you for, a gallop, or a ride on the elephant? take your choice.”