sniffled, as yet it was but two, at two-thirty some
tonga would be somewhere, and then it might be
possible to get it ; he did not know when it would start ;
some time, probably ; it always did start, meanwhile it
was raining h a rd ” ; like a dream creature he
vanished, darkness and damp swallowed him up, and
I was left limply holding my dressing-box in one hand,
rug in the other; no star to brighten my dark world!
A sound of wheels was heard, and I attempted talk
with the driver—a difficult process when addresser’s
bât (talk) is none of the most fluent, and addressee
has enveloped both ears in a comforter.
The latter was, however, understood to say that “ it
might be my tonga, how should a poor Kochwan know ?
he was paid to drive Sahibs, any Sahibs ; undoubtedly
he would start when all had arrived,” he ended with
a sniff expressive of many emotions—boredom, cold, and
a general want of comprehension, and mistrust of all
Sahib log. I grunted contemplatively ; it might be the
right vehicle, anyway it would afford some shelter, and
at the worst one could but be turned out; having'
decided, in I clambered; the cold was intense, rain
continued to fall in sheets, I felt I was reaching the
“ Promised Land I via Mount Ararat and the Deluge.
Presently I heard my dialogue being repeated between
the coachman and another anxious passenger. Like
myself he decided shelter was more necessary than
security of possession, and he clambered into the front, a
small terrier scuttling under the seat, where it whimpered.
Life must have appeared to him a limp and
sodden thing, and warmth a forgotten joy. Time passed,
Kochwan grunting, hound whining, front passenger
snoring, then another altercation and a sound of
unfriendly adjectives hurled at Kochwan, Babu, the
rain, things in general, and the third passenger got in
beside me. Blessed man, he had a rug and no pets,
so the former was shared, bundles adjusted, ponies
violently castigated, and after fierce jerks and many
efforts we were actually off moving through space
apparently, for the darkness was so great not the
slightest outline of passing objects could be seen.
The road was encumbered with many country carts
and flocks; so I gathered from the hoarse shoutings and
sleepy answers that arrived through the outside gloom,
usually preceding much jolting and banging, in the
course of which I and my partner nearly succeeded in
changing places like tennis balls. We slept uneasily
at intervals, with a strange impression of being the
victims of gnomes who hustled and bullied their prey,
as with wheels lifted high over casual boulders, or
dragged through rocky “ nullahs,” we received the
elbows of our neighbours in our side, or were hurtled by
moving baggage.
Crash! this time something really had happened,
shoutings rent the darkness, and cracks and the
snappings of shafts could be heard. We were soon wide
awake, and taking part in the general difference of
opinion that seemed to prevail. Fortunately we were
only spectators of the smash. The tonga carrying
the mails had attempted to pass between the culvert
of a bridge and a country cart, with the result that
when we appeared, having in the general obscurity
driven into the debris,- the bridge was carpeted with
mail bags, two “ ekkas ” were lying in drunken fashion
prone on the ground, and darkness itself was riven by
the remarks of the principals, to which the mutterings