About three weeks after the Fort had fallen, two men, one driving a heavily-laden pony, passed out of the gate of the Fort, and took their way towards the river; the rain had fallen much during that and the previous day, but there was as yet no more water than usual in the river.
‘Come on, Madar!’ said one whom our readers will easily recognise; ‘that beast goes as slow as if he had an elephant’s load; come on! we are lucky to get across, for there is no water in the river.’
‘I tell thee the brute will never travel, Jaffar; the load is too heavy. Why wouldst thou not buy the other?’
‘I could not afford it,’ he said; ‘one is enough; come on!’
The pony was laden with gold and silver bars and heavy stuffs, cloth of gold and silver, the plunder of years, and more especially of that night when the Sultaun was killed, for Jaffar knew the places where the silver and gold utensils were kept, and he had laden himself with the spoil.
‘He! he! he!’ said he chuckling, ‘we will go to Madras and live with the kafir Feringhees; no one will know us there, and we can trade with this money.’
‘Good!’ said Madar, ‘it is a wise thought; may your prosperity increase!’
They were now on the edge of the river. Opposite the Fort it is broad, and the bed, one sheet of rock, has been worn into thousands of deep holes and gulleys by the impetuous stream. It was no easy matter to get the over-laden beast across these, and he often stumbled and fell against the sharp rocks.
‘The curses of the Shitan light on thee!’ cried Jaffar to the animal, as it lay down at last, groaning heavily, and he screwed its tail desperately to urge it on. ‘Wilt thou not get up? Help me, Madar, to raise it.’
They did so by their united strength, but ere it had gone a few paces it fell again. Jaffar was in despair. There was no resource but to unload it, and carry the burden piece by piece to the bank. They were doing this when a loud roaring was heard.