[41] An intoxicating leaf.
The Mahratta Chief.
CHAPTER I.
A cavalcade was on its way to Madura through one of those deep gorges with which the Western Ghauts abound. Evening had already set in, and thickened by the dense shadows of the mountains which intercept the sun’s rays as he verges towards the horizon, the darkness was intense. The evening hour had been chosen by the travellers for the renewal of their journey, in order to escape the scorching heat of the sun, which in the daytime, when reflected from the bare sides of the hills, is so great as to be scarcely endurable. The night was lovely. The glen through which the party were passing was a profound hollow; above the mountains rose on either side, sloping upwards from the base, and thus presenting the form of a funnel. The sky, seen from this pitchy glen, appeared of uncommon brilliancy, and was so thickly studded with stars, that the light seemed to percolate through the entire expanse: but it reached not the bosom of the ravine through which the travellers were passing, being repelled by the ponderous shadows of the surrounding hills.
In the midst of the cavalcade was a palankeen of costly construction, borne upon the shoulders of four sturdy Hindoos. Round it hung a rich silk drapery which entirely enclosed and concealed the person within. Whining a dull monotonous chant, the hamauls[42] proceeded at a slow but steady pace, on account of the inequalities of the ground. A guard of a hundred and fifty soldiers followed close behind them. The murmurs of their voices as they chatted to beguile the tediousness of their journey was multiplied by the slumbering echoes of the hills, which were awakened at their approach, and appeared to mock them with their own hilarity.
They came at length to a gloomy pass between two huge masses of rock that seemed to have been cast there by some mighty convulsion of the earth. Here the strait was so exceedingly narrow that there was scarcely room to force the palankeen through. Two men could not go abreast. When the hamauls were just about to emerge from this mountain gorge, they found their progress opposed by a troop of armed men. Cowardly at all times, and rendered doubly so by their confined position, they would have cast down their burthen and fled; but as this was impossible from the nature of the passage, they fell upon their knees with the palankeen still resting on their shoulders, and implored mercy of the armed strangers.
Little ceremony was used in reply to their supplications. The palankeen was lifted from their shoulders and taken possession of, together with its burthen, and the bearers were ordered to make the best of their way back through the passage, upon pain of summary chastisement. This was no easy matter to accomplish, as the troops followed so closely behind that several were already in the gorge. With some difficulty the passage was at length cleared; but when the guards learned what had taken place, they pushed forward to recover their charge, and in a few moments the strait was again filled. The foremost man, however, was thrust through the body with a lance the moment he reached the end of the strait.
“Advance another step,” said a voice, in a tone that showed it had been practised in command, “and you die. We are in force sufficient to slaughter you like so many wild conies coming out of a burrow. Remain patiently where you are for a few minutes, and your march shall be no further impeded.”
“Where is the palankeen?” demanded the guard.
“Where it and its gentle occupant will be well attended to. We know our prize. She must lack refreshment amid the rugged passes of these hills, and we are prepared to afford her a specimen of our hospitality.”