“It’s very like a whale,” replied Courtenay.
At this moment one of the herd, startled at the near approach of the cavalcade, rose from the stagnant pool, where he had been lying, and presented his immense carcass, covered with mud, to Prose’s wondering eyes.
“Lord, Molly, what a fish!” exclaimed Courtenay, with affected surprise, alluding to an old standing naval joke.
“Now, is that a fish?” cried Prose, a little alarmed. “Well, I do declare! I say, Mr Interpreter, what is that thing?”
“Call him buffalo, sar.”
“Well, I do declare! I always thought that buffaloes were animals that lived on shore.”
“Nothing like travelling, Mr Prose,” observed Courtenay; “you’ll know a buffalo, now, if ever you happen to hook one, when you are fishing out of the fore-chains.”
“And you’ll remember a high-caste monkey, if ever you meet with one again,” added Seymour.
“That I shall, all the days of my life.”
The country, as they proceeded inland, materially altered its features. Forests of large trees and fragments of rocks met their view, instead of the paddy-fields, which they had left behind; and Macallan now wished to descend, that he might collect geological specimens. Explaining his reasons, he desired the interpreter to order the elephant to stop.