The carts creaked along with painful slowness; the
wheels halfway to the axles in dust; now stopping altogether, now rocking
like ships in a stormy sea.
With his arrival and the promise of liberal bakshish the hackeriwallahs
urged the laboring oxen with their cruel goads till Desmond, always
tender with animals, could hardly endure the sight. By nine o'clock the
morning had become stiflingly hot. There was little or no breeze, and
Desmond, unused of late to active exercise, found the heat terribly
trying. But Bulger suffered still more. A stout, florid man, he toiled
along, panting, streaming with sweat, in difficulties so manifest, that
Desmond, eying him anxiously, feared lest a stroke of apoplexy should
bring him to an untimely end.
The country was so flat that a string of carts could not fail to be seen
from a long distance. If noticed from the towers of Hugli across the
river, curiosity, if not suspicion, would be aroused, and it would not
take long to send over by a ford a force sufficient to arrest and capture
the party. To escape observation it was necessary to make wide detours.
At several small hamlets on the route Desmond managed to get fresh oxen,
but not enough for complete changes of team.
So, through all the broiling heat of the day, at hours when no other
Europeans in all Bengal were out of doors, the convoy struggled on,
making its own road, crossing the dry beds of pools, skirting or laboring
over rugged nullahs.
At nightfall Desmond learned from one of the drivers that they were still
six miles short of being opposite to Hugli.
Pages:
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354