“Acha, sahib” (“All right”). Even at that distance, we could tell that it was the humble voice of a timid Hindu coolie.
A speck of light moved down to the level of the river; then, rising and falling in regular time as if someone were carrying a torch, it came steadily nearer. We waited eagerly; yet half an hour passed before there appeared a flat-bottomed sampan rowed by three struggling Hindus whose brown skins gleamed in the light of a dickering lantern. Evidently they thought we were railway officials. While two wound their arms around the bushes to hold the boat steady, the third sprang ashore with a respectful greeting, and, picking up our knapsack, dropped into the boat behind us.
With a shout the others let go of the bushes, and the three grasped their oars and pulled with all their strength. The racing current carried us far down the river; but we swung at last into more quiet water under the shadow of a bluff, and, creeping slowly up the stream, reached the other side. A boatman stepped out with our bundle, and, zigzagging up the side of the hill, dropped the bag on the veranda of a bungalow at the top, shouted a “sahib hai,” and fled into the night.
The next moment an Englishman flung open the door with a bellow of delight. He was a noisy, good-hearted giant, who insisted on our stopping at his bungalow for the night. I dropped my bespattered knapsack on the top step and followed my companion inside. When our thirst had been quenched, we followed the Englishman to the bath-room, where we plunged our heads and arms into great bowls of cool water, and, greatly refreshed, took our places at the table.
We learned that our host was an engineer of the new line, a soldier of fortune who had “mixed” in everything from railway building to battles and wars on three continents, and who knew more geography than can be found in an atlas. His bungalow was a palace in the wilderness; he said that he earned his money to spend, and that he paid four rupees a pound for Danish butter without wasting a thought on it.
We slept on the veranda high above the river, and, in spite of the thirty-two miles in our legs and the fever that fell upon James during the night, we rose with the dawn, eager to be off. As we took our leave the engineer held out to us a handful of rupees.
“Just to buy your chow on the way, lads,” he smiled.
“No, no!” protested James, edging away. “We’ve taken enough from you already.”
“Nonsense!” cried the adventurer. “Don’t be a dunce. We’ve all been in the same boat, and I’m only paying back a little of what’s fallen to me.”
When we still refused to take it, he called us cranks and no true soldiers of fortune, and took leave of us at the edge of the veranda.