, a
Deputy-Commissioner possibly, a dapper, fair man and a lady, a nurse, a
fair child, and a fox terrier; in the shadow of some trees I see an
escort of lancers and some foot soldiers waiting. We wonder who they can
be, getting out in such a measureless, monotonous tract of level
country. They seem so fair and isolated in this vast country of dark
people.

... The afternoon passes, and as the sun goes down the shadows of our
carriages spread wider over the plain. The sky becomes faint rose in the
zenith, over the cerulean above the horizon, and the white clothes of
the shepherds become golden, and the reds, yellows, and blues of the
women's draperies become very vivid. We pass herds of cattle as finely
bred as antelopes, all blurred into the glow of the late afternoon and
the red soil. Then comes almost desert, flat as water, red gravel with
bushes with few green leaves, and here and there a tree with its white
stem gleaming against a long-drawn shadow. Over the horizon two hill
tops show purple and red, then for ten minutes all flushes ruddy,
burning gold, and vermilion, and the light goes out; and there follows a
cold blackish violet that almost chills us, till the moon comes in full
strength and glorifies the desert with its frosted silvery illumination.
Little fires begin to burn alongside the railway, and we see groups of
shepherds warming themselves and cooking. The third class passengers at
the stations are tucking their chins between their knees and pulling
their draperies, most of them scarlet, over their heads, and with the
lamplight from above and the smoke of the hubble-bubble that floats over
them they make very warm, soft masses of colour.

We stiffer people spread ourselves out over a space ten natives could
sit in, and get under our blankets and feel uncommonly comfortable, take
one more look at the blurr of moonlight on the silent waste, and address
ourselves to sleep, fondly hoping we will remember a little of the
beauty of the night 'gainst the "dark days made for our searching."

... The night passes, hour after hour--jogging south; at times we hear a
voice calling in the wilderness the name of a station, which we do not
know, and do not care to know; and there's a whiff perhaps of burning, a
little like peat, from the fuel they burn here, which at home the
farmers spread on their fields to make them "bring forth unnatural
fruit."[13]

[13] Josephus.

CHAPTER XVI

BANGALORE

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