the country, and
was going at random. I halted at the next village, got hold of the
chowkeydar, and by a promise of backsheesh, prevailed on him to
accompany us and show us the way. We turned off from the direct
northerly direction in which we had been going, and made straight for
the river, which we could see in the distance, looking chill and grey
in the fast fading twilight. We now got on the sandbanks, and had to
go cautiously for fear of quicksands. By the time we reached the ghat
it was quite dark and growing very cold.

We were quite close to the hills, a heavy dew was falling, and I found
that I should have to float down the liver for a mile, and then pole
up stream in another channel for two miles before I could reach camp.

I got my horse into the boat, ordering the elephant driver to travel
all night if he could, as I should expect my things to be at camp
early in the morning, and the boatmen pushed off the unwieldy
ferry-boat, floating us quietly down the rapid 'drumly' stream. All is
solemnly still and silent on an Indian river at night. The stream is
swift but noiseless. Vast plains and heaps of sand stretch for miles
on either bank. There are no villages near the stream. Faintly, far
away in the distance, you hear a few subdued sounds, the only
evidences of human habitation. There is the tinkle of a cow-bell, the
barking of a pariah dog, the monotonous dub-a-dub-dub of a
timber-toned tom-tom, muffled and slightly mellowed by the distance.
The faint, far cries, and occasional halloos of the herd-boys calling
to each other, gradually cease, but the monotonous dub-a-dub-dub
continues till far into the night.

It was now very cold, and I was glad to borrow a blanket from my peon.
At such a time the pipe is a great solace. It soothes the whole
system, and plunges one into an agreeable dreamy speculative mood,
through which all sorts of fantastic notions resolve. Fancies chase
each other quickly, and old memories rise, bitter or sweet, but all
tinged and tinted by the seductive influence of the magic weed. Hail,
blessed pipe! the invigorator of the weary, the uncomplaining faithful
friend, the consoler of sorrows, and the dispeller of care, the
much-prized companion of the solitary wayfarer!

Now a jackal utters a howl on the bank, as our boat shoots past, and
the diabolical noise is echoed from knoll to knoll, and from ridge to
ridge, as these incarnate devils of the night join in and prolong the
infernal