Camp of the Nepaulee chief.--Quicksands.--Elephants crossing rivers.
--Tiffin at the Nepaulee camp.--We beat the forest for tiger.--Shoot
a young tiger.--Red ants in the forest.--Bhowras or ground bees.--The
_ursus labialis_ or long-lipped bear.--Recross the stream.--Florican.
--Stag running the gauntlet of flame.--Our bag.--Start for factory.
--Remarks on elephants.--Precautions useful for protection from the
sun in tiger shooting.--The _puggree_.--Cattle breeding in India, and
wholesale deaths of cattle from disease.--Nathpore.--Ravages of the
river.--Mrs. Gray, an old resident in the jungles.--Description of her
surroundings.
Next morning we started beating due east, setting fire to the jungle
as we went along. The roaring and crackling of the flames startled the
elephant on which Captain S. was riding, and going away across country
at a furious pace, it was with difficulty that it could be stopped. We
crossed the frontier line a short distance from camp, and entered a
dense jungle of thorny acacia, with long dry grass almost choking the
trees. They were dry and stunted, and when we dropped a few lights
amongst such combustible material, the fire was splendid beyond
description. How the flames surged through the withered grass. We were
forced to pause and admire the magnificent sight. The wall of flame
tore along with inconceivable rapidity, and the blinding volumes of
smoke obscured the country for miles. The jungle was full of deer and
pig. One fine buck came bounding along past our line, but I stopped
him with a single bullet through the neck. He fell over with a
tremendous crash, and turning a complete somersault broke off both his
horns with the force of the fall.
We beat down a shallow sandy watercourse, and could see the camp of
the old Major on the high bank beyond. Farther down the stream there
was a small square fort, the whitewashed walls of which flashed back
the rays of the sun, and grouped round it were some ruinous looking
huts, several snowy tents, and a huge shamiana or canopy, under which
we could see a host of attendants spreading carpets, placing chairs,
and otherwise making ready for us. The banks of the stream were very
steep, but the guide at length brought us to what seemed a safe and
fordable passage. On the further side was a flat expanse of seemingly
firm and dry sand, but no sooner had our elephants begun to cross it,
than the whole sandbank for yards began to rock and tremble; the water
welled up over the footmarks of the elephants, and S. called out to
us, Fussun, Fussun! quicksand, quicksand! We scattered the elephants,
and tried to hurry them over the dangerous bit of ground with shouts
and cries of encouragement.
The poor animals seemed thoroughly to appreciate the danger, and
shuffled forward as quickly as they could. All got over in safety
except the last three. The treacherous sand, rendered still more
insecure by the heavy tread of so many ponderous animals, now gave way
entirely, and the three hapless elephants were left floundering in the
tenacious hold of the dreaded fussun. Two of the three were not far
from the firm bank, and managed to extricate themselves after a short
struggle; but the third had sunk up to the shoulders, and could
scarcely move. All hands immediately began cutting long grass and
forming it into bundles. These were thrown to the sinking elephant. He
rolled from side to side, the sand quaking and undulating round him in
all directions. At times he would roll over till nearly half his body
was invisible. Some of the Nepaulese ventured near, and managed to
undo the harness-ropes that were holding on the pad. The sagacious
brute fully understood his danger, and the efforts we were making for
his assistance. He managed to get several of the big bundles of grass
under his feet, and stood there looking at us with a most pathetic
pleading expression, and trembling, as if with an ague, from fear and
exhaustion.
The old Major came down to meet us, and a crowd of his men added their
efforts to ours, to help the unfortunate elephant. We threw in bundle
after bundle of grass, till we had the yielding sand covered with a
thick passage of firmly bound fascines, on which the hathee,
staggering and floundering painfully, managed to reach firm land. He
was so completely exhausted that he could scarcely walk to the tents,
and we left him there to the care of his attendants. This is a very
common episode in tiger hunting, and does not always terminate so
fortunately. In running water, the quicksand is not so dangerous, as
the force of the stream keeps washing away the sand, and does not
allow it to settle round the legs of the elephant; but on dry land, a
dry fussun, as it is called, is justly feared; and many a valuable
animal has been swallowed up in its slow, deadly, tenacious grasp.
In crossing sand, the heaviest and slowest elephants should go first,
preceded by a light, nimble pioneer. If the leading elephant shows
signs of sinking, the others should at once turn back, and seek some
safer place. In all cases the line should separate a little, and not
follow in each other's footsteps. The indications of a quicksand are
easily recognised. If the surface of the sand begins to oscillate and
undulate with a tremulous rocking motion, it is always wise to seek
some other passage. Looking back, after elephants have passed, you
will often see what was a perfectly dry flat, covered with several
inches of water. When water begins to ooze up in any quantity, after a
few elephants have passed, it is much safer to make the remainder
cross at some spot farther on.
In crossing a deep swift river, the elephants should enter the water
in a line, ranged up and down the river. That is, the line should be
ranged along the bank, and enter the water at right angles to the
current, and not in Indian file. The strongest elephants should be up
stream, as they help to break the force of the current for the weaker
and smaller animals down below. It is a fine sight to see some thirty
or forty of these huge animals crossing a deep and rapid river. Some
are reluctant to strike out, when they begin to enter the deepest
channel, and try to turn back; the mahouts and 'mates' shout, and
belabour them with bamboo poles. The trumpeting of the elephants, the
waving of the trunks, disporting, like huge water-snakes, in the
perturbed current, the splashing of the bamboos, the dark bodies of
the natives swimming here and there round the animals, the unwieldy
boat piled high with how-dahs and pads, the whole heap surmounted by a
group of sportsmen with their gleaming weapons, and variegated
puggrees, make up a picturesque and memorable sight. Some of the
strong swimmers among the elephants seem to enjoy the whole affair
immensely. They dip their huge heads entirely under the current, the
sun flashes on the dark hide, glistening with the dripping water; the
enormous head emerges again slowly, like some monstrous antediluvian
creation, and with a succession of these ponderous appearances and
disappearances, the mighty brutes forge through the surging water.
When they reach a shallow part, they pipe with pleasure, and send
volumes of fluid splashing against their heaving flanks, scattering
the spray all round in mimic rainbows.
At all times the Koosee was a dangerous stream to cross, but during
the rains I have seen the strongest and best swimming elephants taken
nearly a mile down stream; and in many instances they have been
drowned, their vast bulk and marvellous strength being quite unable to
cope with the tremendous force of the raging waters.
When we had got comfortably seated under the shamiana, a crowd of
attendants brought us baskets of fruit and a very nice cold collation
of various Indian dishes and curries. We did ample justice to the old
soldier's hospitable offerings, and then betel-nut, cardamums, cloves,
and other spices, and pauri leaves, were handed round on a silver
salver, beautifully embossed and carved with quaint devices. We lit
our cigars, our beards and handkerchiefs were anointed with attar of
roses; and the old Major then informed us that there was good khubber
of tiger in the wood close by.
The trees were splendid specimens of forest growth, enormously thick,
beautifully umbrageous, and growing very close together. There was a
dense undergrowth of tangled creeper, and the most lovely ferns and
tropical plants in the richest luxuriance, and of every conceivable
shade of amber and green. It was a charming spot. The patch of forest
was separated from the unbroken line of morung jungle by a beautifully
sheltered glade of several hundred acres, and further broken in three
places by avenue-looking openings, disclosing peeps of the black and
gloomy-looking mass of impenetrable forest beyond.
In the first of these openings we were directed to take up a position,
while the pad elephants and a crowd of beaters went to the edge of the
patch of forest and began beating up to us. Immense numbers of genuine
jungle fowl were calling in all directions, and flying right across
the opening in numerous coveys. They are beautifully marked with black
and golden plumes round the neck, and I determined to shoot a few by
and bye to send home to friends, who I knew would prize them as
invaluable material in dressing hooks for fly-fishing. The crashing of
the trees, as the elephants forced their way through the thick forest,
or tore off huge branches as they struggled amid the matted
vegetation, kept us all on the alert. The first place was however a
blank, and we moved on to the next. We had not long to wait, for a
fierce din inside the jungle, and the excited cries of the beaters,
apprised us that game of some sort was afoot. We were eagerly
watching, and speculating on the cause of the uproar, when a very fine
half-grown tiger cub sprang out of some closely growing fern, and
dashed across the narrow opening so quickly, that ere we had time to
raise a gun, he had disappeared in some heavy jhamun jungle on the
further side of the path.
We hurried round as fast as we could to intercept him, should he
attempt to break on ahead; and leaving some men to rally the mahouts,
and let them know that there was a tiger afoot, we were soon in our
places, and ready to give the cub a warm reception, should he again
show his stripes. It was not long ere he did so. I spied him stealing
along the edge of the jungle, evidently intending to make a rush back
past the opening he had just crossed, and outflank the line of beater
elephants. I fired and hit him in the forearm; he rolled over roaring
with rage, and then descrying his assailants, he bounded into the
open, and as well as his wound would allow him, came furiously down at
the charge. In less time however than it takes to write it, he had
received three bullets in his body, and tumbled down a lifeless heap.
We raised a cheer which brought the beaters and elephants quickly to
the spot. In coming through a thickly wooded part of the forest, with
numerous long and pliant creepers intertwisted into a confused tangle
of rope-like ligaments, the old Juddeah elephant tore down one of the
long lines, and dislodged an angry army of venomous red ants on the
occupants of the guddee, or cushioned seat on the elephant's pad. The
ants proved formidable assailants. There were two or three Baboos or
native gentlemen, holding on to the ropes, chewing pan, and enjoying
the scene, but the red ants were altogether more than they had
bargained for. Recognising the Baboos as the immediate cause of their
disturbance, they attacked them with indomitable courage. The mahout
fairly yelled with pain, and one of the Baboos, smarting from the
fiery bites of the furious insects, toppled clean backwards into the
undergrowth, showing an undignified pair of heels. The other two
danced on the guddee, sweeping and thrashing the air, the cushion, and
their clothes, with their cummerbunds, in the vain effort to free
themselves of their angry assailants. The guddee was literally covered
with ants; it looked an animated red mass, and the wretched Baboos
made frantic efforts to shake themselves clear. They were dreadfully
bitten, and reaching the open, they slid off the elephant, and even on
the ground continued their saltatory antics before finally getting rid
of their ferocious assailants.
In forest shooting the red ant is one of the most dreaded pests of the
jungle. If a colony gets dislodged from some overhanging branch, and
is landed in your howdah, the best plan is to evacuate your stronghold
as quickly as you can, and let the attendants clear away the invaders.
Their bite is very painful, and they take such tenacious hold, that
rather than quit their grip, they allow themselves to be decapitated
and leave their head and formidable forceps sticking in your flesh.
Other dreaded foes in the forest jungle are the Bhowra or ground bees,
which are more properly a kind of hornet. If by evil chance your
elephant should tread on their mound-like nest, instantly an angry
swarm of venomous and enraged hornets comes buzzing about your ears.
Your only chance is to squat down, and envelope yourself completely in
a blanket. Old sportsmen, shooting in forest jungle, invariably take a
blanket Avith them in the howdah, to ensure themselves protection in
the event of an attack by these blood-thirsty creatures. The thick
matted creepers too are a great nuisance, for which a bill-hook or
sharp kookree is an invaluable adjunct to the other paraphernalia of
the march. I have seen a mahout swept clean off the elephant's back by
these tenacious creepers, and the elephants themselves are sometimes
unable to break through the tangle of sinewy, lithe cords, which drape
the huge forest trees, hanging in slender festoons from every branch.
Some of them are prickly, and as the elephant slowly forces his way
through the mass of pendent swaying cords, they lacerate and tear the
mahout's clothes and skin, and appropriate his puggree. As you crouch
down within the shelter of your howdah, you can't help pitying the
poor wretch, and incline to think that, after all, shooting in grass
jungle has fewer drawbacks and is preferable to forest shooting.
One of the drivers reported that he had seen a bear in the jungle, and
we saw the earth of one not far from where the young tiger had fallen;
it was the lair of the sloth bear or _Ursus labialis_, so called from
his long pendent upper lip. His spoor is very easily distinguished
from that of any other animal; the ball of the foot shows a distinct
round impression, and about an inch to an inch and a half further on,
the impression of the long curved claws are seen. He uses these
long-curved claws to tear up ant hills, and open hollow decaying
trees, to get at the honey within, of which he is very fond. We went
after the bear, and were not long in discovering his whereabouts, and
a well-directed shot from S. added him to our bag. The best bear
shooting in India perhaps is in CHOTA NAGPOOR, but this does not come
within the limits of my present volume. We now beat slowly through the
wood, keeping a bright look out for ants and hornets, and getting fine
shooting at the numerous jungle fowl which flew about in amazing
numbers.
The forest trees in this patch of jungle were very fine. The hill
seerees, with its feathery foliage and delicate clusters of white
bugle-shaped blossom; the semul or cotton tree, with its wonderful
wealth of magnificent crimson flowers; the birch-looking sheeshum or
sissod; the sombre looking sal; the shining, leathery-leafed bhur,
with its immense over-arching limbs, and the crisp, curly-leafed
elegant-looking jhamun or Indian olive, formed a paradise of sylvan
beauty, on which the eye dwelt till it was sated with the woodland
loveliness.
In recrossing the dhar or water-course, we took care to avoid the
quicksands, and as we did not expect to fall in with another tiger, we
indulged in a little general firing. I shot a fine buck through the
spine, and we bagged several deer, and no less than five florican;
this bird is allied to the bustard family, and has beautiful drooping
feathers, hanging in plumy pendants of deep black and pure white,
intermingled in the most graceful and showy manner. The male is a
magnificent bird, and has perhaps as fine plumage as any bird on the
border; the flesh yields the most delicate eating of any game bird I
know; the slices of mingled brown and white from the breast are
delicious. The birds are rather shy, generally getting up a long way
in front of the line, and moving with a slow, rather clumsy, flight,
not unlike the flight of the white earth owl. They run with great
swiftness, and are rather hard to kill, unless hit about the neck and
head. There are two sorts, the lesser and the greater, the former also
called the bastard florican. Altogether they are noble looking birds,
and the sportsman is always glad to add as many florican as he can to
his bag.
We were now nearing the locality of the fierce fire of the morning; it
was still blazing in a long extended line of flame, and we witnessed
an incident without parallel in the experience of any of us. I fired
at and wounded a large stag; it was wounded somewhere in the side, and
seemed very hard hit indeed. Maddened probably by terror and pain, it
made straight for the line of fire, and bounded unhesitatingly right
into the flame. We saw it distinctly go clean though the flames, but
we could not see whether it got away with its life, as the elephants
would not go up to the fire. At all events, the stag went right
through his fiery ordeal, and was lost to us. We started numerous
hares close to camp, and S. bowled over several. They are very common
in the short grass jungle, where the soil is sandy, and are frequently
to be found among thin jowah jungle; they afford good sport for
coursing, but are neither so fleet, nor so large, nor such good eating
as the English hare. In fact, they are very dry eating, and the best
way to cook them is to jug them, or make a hunter's pie, adding
portions of partridge, quail, or plover, with a few mushrooms, and a
modicum of ham or bacon if these are procurable.
We reached camp pretty late, and sent off venison, birds, and other
spoils to Mrs. S. and to Inamputte factory. Our bag shewed a diversity
of spoil, consisting of one tiger, seven hog-deer, one bear _(Ursus
labialis)_, seventeen jungle fowl, five florican, and six hares. It
was no bad bag considering that during most of the day we had been
beating solely for tiger. We could have shot many more deer and jungle
fowl, but we never try to shoot more than are needed to satisfy the
wants of the camp. Were we to attempt to shoot at all the deer and pig
that we see, the figures would reach very large totals. As a rule
therefore, the records of Indian sportsmen give no idea of the vast
quantities of game that are put up and never fired at. It would be the
very wantonness of destruction, to shoot animals not wanted for some
specific purpose, unless indeed, you were raging an indiscriminate war
of extermination, in a quarter where their numbers were a nuisance and
prejudicial to crops. In that case, your proceedings would not be
dignified by the name of sport.
After a few more days shooting, the incidents of which were pretty
much like those I have been describing, I started back for the
factory. I sent my horse on ahead, and took five elephants with me to
beat up for game on the homeward route. Close to camp a fine buck got
up in front of me. I broke both his forelegs with my first shot, but
the poor brute still managed to hobble along. It was in some very
dense patair jungle, and I had considerable difficulty in bringing him
to bag. When we reached the ghat or ferry, I ordered Geerdharee Jha's
mahout to cross with his elephant. The brute, however, refused to
cross the river alone, and in spite of all the driver could do, she
insisted on following the rest. I got down, and some of the other
drivers got out the hobbles and bound them round her legs. In spite of
these she still seemed determined to follow us. She shook the bedding
and other articles with which she was loaded off her back, and made a
frantic effort to follow us through the deep sand. The iron chains cut
into her legs, and, afraid that she might do herself an irreparable
injury, I had her tied up to a tree, and left her trumpeting and
making an indignant lamentation at being separated from the rest of
the line.
The elephant seems to be quite a social animal. I have frequently seen
cases where, after having been in company together for a lengthened
hunt, they have manifested great reluctance to separate. In leaving
the line, I have often noticed the single elephant looking back at his
comrades, and giving vent to his disappointment and disapproval, by
grunts and trumpetings of indignant protest. We left the refractory
hathee tied up to her tree, and as we crossed the long rolling billows
of burning sand that lay athwart our course, she was soon lost to
view. I shot a couple more hog-deer, and got several plover and teal
in the patches of water that lay in some of the hollows among the
sandbanks. I fired at a huge alligator basking in the sun, on a
sandbank close to the stream. The bullet hit him somewhere in the
forearm, and he made a tremendous sensation header into the current.
From the agitation in the water, he seemed not to appreciate the
leaden message which I had sent him.
We found the journey through the soft yielding sand very fatiguing,
and especially trying to the eyes. When not shooting, it is a very
wise precaution to wear eye-preservers or 'goggles.' They are a great
relief to the eyes, and the best, I think, are the neutral tinted.
During the west winds, when the atmosphere is loaded with fine
particles of irritating sand and dust, these goggles are very
necessary, and are a great protection to the sight.
Another prudent precaution is to have the back of one's shirt or coat
slightly padded with cotton and quilted. The heat prevents one wearing
thick clothes, and there is no doubt that the action of the direct
rays of the burning sun all down the back on the spinal cord, is very
injurious, and may be a fruitful cause of sunstroke. It is certainly
productive of great lassitude and weariness. I used to wear a thin
quilted sort of shield made of cotton-drill, which fastened round the
shoulders and waist. It does not incommode one's action in any
particular, and is, I think, a great protection against the fierce
rays of the sun. Many prefer the puggree as a head-piece. It is
undeniably a fine thing when one is riding on horseback, as it fits
close to the head, does not catch the wind during a smart trot or
canter, and is therefore not easily shaken off. For riding I think it
preferable to all other headdresses. A good thick puggree is a great
protection to the back of the head and neck, the part of the body
which of all others requires protection from the sun. It feels rather
heavy at first, but one gets used to it, and it does not shade the
eyes and face. These are the two gravest objections to it, but for
comfort, softness, and protection to the head and neck, I do not think
it can be surpassed.
After crossing the sand, we again entered some thin scrubby acacia
jungle, with here and there a moist swampy nullah, with rank green
patair jungle growing in the cool dank shade. Here we disturbed a
colony of pigs, but the four mahouts being Mahommedans I did not fire.
As we went along, one of my men called my attention to some footprints
near a small lagoon. On inspection we found they were rhinoceros
tracks, evidently of old date. These animals are often seen in this
part of the country, but are more numerous farther north, in the great
morung forest jungle.
A very noticeable feature in these jungles was the immense quantity of
bleached ghastly skeletons of cattle. This year had been a most
disastrous one for cattle. Enormous numbers had been swept off by
disease, and in many villages bordering on the morung the herds had
been well-nigh exterminated. Little attention is paid to breeding. In
some districts, such as the Mooteeharree and Mudhobunnee division,
fine cart-bullocks are bred, carefully handled and tended, and fetch
high prices. In Kurruchpore, beyond the Ganges in Bhaugulpore
district, cattle of a small breed, hardy, active, staunch, and strong,
are bred in great numbers, and are held in great estimation for
agricultural requirements; but in these Koosee jungles the bulls are
often ill-bred weedy brutes, and the cows being much in excess of a
fair proportion of bulls, a deal of in-breeding takes place; unmatured
young bulls roam about with the herd, and the result is a crowd of
cattle that succumb to the first ailment, so that the land is littered
with their bones.
The bullock being indispensable to the Indian cultivator, bull calves
are prized, taken care of, well nurtured, and well fed. The cow calves
are pretty much left to take care of themselves; they are thin,
miserable, half-starved brutes, and the short-sighted ryot seems
altogether to forget that it is on these miserable withered specimens
that he must depend for his supply of plough and cart-bullocks. The
matter is most shamefully neglected. Government occasionally through
its officers, experimental farms, etc., tries to get good sire stock
for both horses and cattle, but as long as the dams are bad--mere
weeds, without blood, bone, muscle, or stamina, the produce must be
bad. As a pretty well established and general rule, the ryots look
after their bullocks,--they recognise their value, and appreciate
their utility, but the cows fare badly, and from all I have myself
seen, and from the concurrent testimony of many observant friends in
the rural districts, I should say that the breed has become much
deteriorated.
Old planters constantly tell you, that such cattle as they used to get
are not now procurable for love or money. Within the last twenty years
prices have more than doubled, because the demand for good
plough-bullocks has been more urgent, as a consequence of increased
cultivation, and the supply is not equal to the demand. Attention to
the matter is imperative, and planters would be wise in their own
interests to devote a little time and trouble to disseminating sound
ideas about the selection of breeding stock, and the principles of
rearing and raising stock among their ryots and dependants. Every
factory should be able to breed its own cattle, and supply its own
requirements for plough and cart-bullocks. It would be cheaper in the
end, and it would undoubtedly be a blessing to the country to raise
the standard of cattle used in agricultural work.
To return from this digression. We plodded on and on, weary, hot, and
thirsty, expecting every moment to see the ghat and my waiting horse.
But the country here is so wild, the river takes such erratic courses
during the annual floods, and the district is so secluded and so
seldom visited by Europeans or factory servants, that my syce had
evidently lost his way. After we had crossed innumerable streams, and
laboriously traversed mile upon mile of burning sand, we gave up the
attempt to find the ghat, and made for Nathpore.
Nathpore was formerly a considerable town, not far from the Nepaul
border, a flourishing grain mart and emporium for the fibres, gums,
spices, timbers, and other productions of a wide frontier. There was a
busy and crowded bazaar, long streets of shops and houses, and
hundreds of boats lying in the stream beside the numerous ghats,
taking in and discharging their cargoes. It may give a faint idea of
the destructive force of an Indian stream like the Koosee when it is
in full flood, to say that this once flourishing town is now but a
handful of miserable huts. Miles of rich lands, once clothed with
luxuriant crops of rice, indigo, and waving grain, are now barren
reaches of burning sand. The bleached skeletons of mango, jackfruit,
and other trees, stretch out their leafless and lifeless branches, to
remind the spectator of the time when their foliage rustled in the
breeze, when their lusty limbs bore rich clusters of luscious fruit,
and when the din of the bazaar resounded beneath their welcome shade.
A fine old lady still lived in a two-storied brick building, with
quaint little darkened rooms, and a narrow verandah running all round
the building. She was long past the allotted threescore years and ten,
with a keen yet mildly beaming eye, and a wealth of beautiful hair as
white as driven snow, neatly gathered back from her shapely forehead.
She was the last remaining link connecting the present with the past
glories of Nathpore. Her husband had been a planter and Zemindar.
Where his vats had stood laden with rich indigo, the engulphing sand
now reflected the rays of the torrid sun from its burning whiteness.
She shewed me a picture of the town as it appeared to her when she had
been brought there many a long and weary year ago, ere yet her step
had lost its lightness, and when she was in the bloom of her bridal
life. There was a fine broad boulevard, shadowed by splendid trees, on
which she and her husband had driven in their carriage of an evening,
through crowds of prosperous and contented traders and cultivators.
The hungry river had swept all this away. Subsisting on a few
precarious rents of some little plots of ground that it had spared,
all that remained of a once princely estate, this good old lady lived
her lonely life cheerful and contented, never murmuring or repining.
The river had not spared even the graves of her departed dear ones.
Since I left that part of the country I hear that she has been called
away to join those who had gone before her.
I arrived at her house late in the afternoon. I had never been at
Nathpore before, although the place was well known to me by
reputation. What a wreck it presented as our elephants marched
through. Ruined, dismantled, crumbling temples; masses of masonry half
submerged in the swift-running, treacherous, undermining stream; huge
trees lying prostrate, twisted and jammed together where the angry
flood had hurled them; bare unsightly poles and piles, sticking from
the water at every angle, reminding us of the granaries and godowns
that were wont to be filled with the agricultural wealth of the
districts for miles around; hard metalled roads cut abruptly off, and
bridges with only half an arch, standing lonely and ruined half way in
the muddy current that swept noiselessly past the deserted city. It
was a scene of utter waste and desolation.
The lady I mentioned made me very welcome, and I was struck by her
unaffected cheerfulness and gentleness. She was a gentlewoman indeed,
and though reduced in circumstances, surrounded by misfortunes, and
daily and hourly reminded by the scattered wreck around her of her
former wealth and position, she bore all with exemplary fortitude, and
to the full extent of her scanty means she relieved the sorrows and
ailments of the natives. They all loved and respected, and I could not
help admiring and honouring her.
She pointed out to me, far away on the south-east horizon, the place
where the river ran in its shallow channel when she first came to
Nathpore. During her experience it had cut into and overspread more
than twenty miles of country, turning fertile fields into arid wastes
of sand; sweeping away factories, farms, and villages; and changing
the whole face of the country from a fruitful landscape into a
wilderness of sand and swamp.
My horse came up in the evening, and I rode over to Inamputte,
leaving my kindly hostess in her solitude.