The rajah was very silent for a time, and it struck me that he was leaving me to my own thoughts, so that I might be impressed by the martial spectacle, as I looked back from time to time at the wild barbaric pageant, with the torches in a long train, lighting up the dark faces of the rajah’s followers, flashing from their arms, and sending back a ruddy cloud of smoke which formed like a canopy above our heads. It was impossible to keep down a feeling of proud exultation, and I could not for the time being think of anything else but the night march across what spread out like an endless plain, while the stars above us spangled what looked like a vast dome of purple black.
I was used to the motion of an elephant, and, after my long inaction, enjoyed the swaying of the howdah as the monster of his kind shuffled along at a great rate, keeping the footmen at a sharp run, and the horses at a gentle trot; and, as I listened to the jingle of the accoutrements, I could not help wishing that I had been mounted on my Arab, gripping the saddle between my knees, instead of being seated there.
About this I asked myself what I should have done.
The only answer that would come was: clap my spurs to his sides, and make him fly over the plain; and in imagination I saw myself tearing over the wide space, pursued by a cloud of sowars and mounted chiefs.
And then I sighed, for I knew that escape would have been impossible, and also that I was too weak even then to sit a horse for long.
“Tired, Gil?” said the rajah, as he heard my sigh.
“Yes,” I said; “I suppose so. It is an exciting time, after being a prisoner so long.”
“Hardly a prisoner,” he said, with a little laugh. “Only a wounded man.”
“Have we very far to go?” I asked.
“We shall be nearly two hours yet, but the people expect us; and after we have passed through the forest that lies right before us, you will be able to see the lights of the city. We are rather late.”