On we went, through the murky gloom of night, dispelled for fifty yards around by the glare of the mussaul; sometimes on a fair and beaten track, at others, splashing through wet rice-fields, or traversing with infinite caution some causeway or embankment, as perilous as the bridge of Al Sirat.
The monotonous Urree-hy-he-haw chant of the bearers soon sent me off into a doze, from which I was only aroused occasionally by blundering attempts to put me and my palankeen on board a boat, in crossing some lazy river, on which occasions, the torch-light, the red glare on the water, and the dark figures on board, would bring old Charon and his Stygian ferry to my imagination; or the disturbance arose when they set me down, not over gently, on the skirts of some village or thannah, preparatory to a change of bearers.
At the end of the first stage, one of my active bipeds opened the doors of my palankeen, popped in his greasy frontispiece, reeking with oil and perspiration, and, with a grin, said something I did not understand, but in which the word buckshish (presents) was remarkably distinct.
“Go to the d——l,” exclaimed I; “boxes, no sumjha[[20]] boxes.”
My friend now tried it on another tack, and, placing the finger of one hand in the palm of the other, with a knowing look, repeated the word “rupee.”
Oh, thought I, are you there? I see your drift; but, knowing they had already been paid, I abruptly closed the doors and the conversation at once, with thundering “Jow-jehanum!”[[21]] a phrase I had picked up (without knowing the precise meaning of it) from Capt. Marpeet, who, in his intercourse with the natives, made frequent use of it, as a sort of receipt in full.
I passed the greater part of the following day with a planter on the road, a friend of Mr. Capsicum’s, and started again in the evening.
The fresh air of the morn aroused me after my second nocturnal journey, and I looked out. We were in a rich, flat, and luxuriant country; all nature seemed smiling; the ryot was moving out to his work, and ruddy streaks appeared through the tall, tufted stems of coco-nut and taree-palms, blushing Aurora truly looking out of the barred casements of the East.
I calculated that I must now be nearly at the end of my journey; and this supposition was, in a few minutes, most agreeably confirmed by a young officer, in a red raggie and hunting-cap, riding up on a pony, and addressing a few words to my bearers in Hindostanee.
I looked hard at him, and in an instant recognized the well-known features of my schoolfellow, Tom Rattleton. The recognition was mutual, and electrical the effect; out I rolled, sans chapeau; off he tumbled from his tattoo, and we were soon locked in a close embrace—aye, I say in a close embrace; true affection, like true courage, is a desperate grappling affair, and a mere handshaking would have been high treason to the feelings which at that moment swelled our bosoms.