"I'm glad to tell you, Burke, that
I got a letter from Mr. Watts this morning, saying that my wife and
daughter are on their way down the river with Mrs. Watts and her
children. They've got Mr. Warren Hastings to escort them: trust 'em to
find a handsome man! The road follows the river, and if you look out I
dare say you will see them. You'll recognize our livery. Introduce
yourself if you meet 'em. You have your letter from Mr. Watts? That's all
right. Goodby, and good luck to you."
The party set off. The old road by which they were to travel ran at a
short distance from the left bank of the Hugli, passing through an
undulating country, interspersed with patches of low wood and scattered
trees. The scenery was full of charm for Desmond: the rich vegetation;
antelopes darting among the trees; flamingoes and pelicans standing
motionless at the edge of the slow-gliding river; white-clad figures
coming down the broad steps of the riverside ghats to bathe; occasionally
the dusky corpse of some devotee consigned by his relations to the bosom
of the holy river.
The first halt was called at Barrackpur, where, amid a luxuriant grove of
palms and bamboos, stood some beautiful pagodas, built of the unburnt
brick of the country, and faced with a fine stucco that gleamed in the
sunlight like polished marble. Here, under the shade of the palms,
Desmond lay through the hot afternoon, watching the boats of all shapes
and sizes that floated lazily down the broad-bosomed stream.
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