Chapter 10: In which our hero arrives in the Golden East, and Mr. Digglepresents him to a native prince.
About midday a light breeze sprang up from the northwest. The twoIndiamen and the uninjured grab, being the first to catch it, gained afull mile before the Good Intent, under topgallant sails, studding sails,royal and driver, began to slip through the water at her best speed. But,as the previous day's experience had proved, she was no match in sailingcapacity for the pursuers. They gained on her steadily, and the grab hadcome almost within cannon range when the man at the masthead shouted:
"Sail ho! About a dozen sail ahead, sir!"
The captain spluttered out a round dozen oaths, and his dark face grewstill darker. So many vessels in company must surely mean the king'sships with a convoy. The French, so far as Captain Barker knew, had nosuch fleet in Indian waters, nor had the Dutch or Portuguese. If theywere indeed British men-o'-war he would be caught between two fires, forthere was not a doubt that they would support the Company's vessels.
"We ought to be within twenty miles of the coast, Mr. Toley," saidCaptain Barker.
"Ay, sir, and somewhere in the latitude of Gheria."
"Odds bobs, and now I come to think of it, those there vessels may besailing to attack Gheria, seeing as how, as these niggers told us,they've bust up Suwarndrug."
"Guess I'll get to the foretop myself and take a look, sir," said Mr.Toley.
He mounted, carrying the only perspective glass the vessel possessed. Thecaptain watched him anxiously as he took a long look.
"What do you make of 'em?" he shouted.
The mate shut up the telescope and came leisurely down.
"I count fifteen in all, sir."
"I don't care how many. What are they?"
"I calculate they're grabs and gallivats, sir."
The captain gave a hoarse chuckle.
"By thunder, then, we'll soon turn the tables! Angria's gallivats--eh,Mr. Toley? We'll make a haul yet."
But Captain Barker was to be disappointed. The fleet had been descriedalso by the pursuers. A few minutes later the grab threw out a signal,hauled her wind and stood away to the northward, followed closely by thetwo larger vessels. The captain growled his disappointment. Nearly adozen of the coast craft, as they were now clearly seen to be, went inpursuit, but with little chance of coming up with the chase. Theremaining vessels of the newly-arrived fleet stood out to meet the GoodIntent.
"Fetch us that Maratha fellow," cried the captain, "and hoist a whiteflag."
When the Maratha appeared, a pitiable object, emaciated for want of food,Captain Barker bade him shout as soon as the newcomers came withinhailing distance. The white flag at the masthead, and a loud, long-drawnhail from Hybati, apprised the grab that the Good Intent was no enemy,and averted hostilities. And thus it was, amid a convoy of Angria's ownfleet, that Captain Barker's vessel, a few hours later, sailed peacefullyinto the harbor of Gheria.
Desmond looked with curious eyes on the famous fort and harbor. On theright, as the Good Intent entered, he saw a long, narrow promontory, atthe end of which was a fortress, constructed, as it appeared, of solidrock. The promontory was joined to the mainland by a narrow isthmus ofsand, beyond which lay an open town of some size. The shore was fringedwith palmyras, mangoes and other tropical trees, and behind the strawhuts and stone buildings of the town leafy groves clothed the sides of agentle hill.
The harbor, which forms the mouth of a river, was studded with Angria'svessels, large and small, and from the docks situated on the sandyisthmus came the busy sound of shipwrights at work. The rocky walls ofthe fort were fifty feet high, with round towers, long curtains, and somefifty embrasures. The left shore of the harbor was flat, but to the southof the fort rose a hill of the same height as the walls of rock. Such wasthe headquarters of the notorious pirate Tulaji Angria, the last of theline which had for fifty years been the terror of the Malabar coast.
The Good Intent dropped anchor off the jetty running out from the docksnorth of the fort. Captain Barker had already given orders that no shoreleave was to be allowed to the crew, and as soon as he had stepped intothe longboat, accompanied by Diggle, the men's discontent broke forth inangry imprecations, which Mr. Toley wisely affected not to hear.
No time was lost in unloading the portion of the cargo intended forAngria. The goods were carried along the jetty by stalwart Marathas cladonly in loincloths, and stored in rude cabins with penthouse roofs. AsDesmond knew, the heavy chests that taxed the strength of the bearerscontained for the most part muskets and ammunition. The work went on forthe greater part of the day, and at nightfall neither the captain norDiggle had returned to the vessel.
Next day a large quantity of Indian produce was taken on board. Desmondnoticed that as the bales and casks reached the deck, some of the crewwere told off to remove all marks from them.
"What's that for?" repeated Bulger, in reply to a question of Desmond's."Why, 'cos if the ship came to be overhauled by a Company's vessel, itwould tell tales if the cargo had Company's marks on it. That wouldn't doby no manner o' means."
"But how should they get Company's marks on them?"
Bulger winked.
"You're raw yet, Burke," he said. "You'll know quite as much as is goodfor you by the time you've made another voyage or two in the GoodIntent."
"But I don't intend to make another voyage in her. Mr. Diggle promised toget me employment in the country."
"What? You still believes in that there Diggle? Well, I don't want tohurt no feelin's, and I may be wrong, but I'll lay my bottom dollarDiggle won't do a hand's turn for you."
The second day passed, and in the evening Captain Barker, who hadhitherto left Mr. Toley in charge, came aboard in high humor.
"I may be wrong," remarked Bulger, "but judgin' by cap'n's face, he'vebeen an' choused the Pirate--got twice the valley o' the goods he'slanded."
"I wonder where Mr. Diggle is?" said Desmond.
"You en't no call to mourn for him, I tell you. He's an old friend of thePirate, don't make no mistake; neither you nor me will be any the worsefor not seein' his grinnin' phiz no more. Thank your stars he've left youalone for the last part of the voyage, which I wonder at, all the same."
Next day all was bustle on board in preparation for sailing. In theafternoon a peon {messenger} came hurrying along the jetty, boarded thevessel, and handed a note to the captain, who read it, tore it up, anddismissed the messenger. He went down to his cabin, and coming up a fewminutes later, cried:
"Where's that boy Burke?"
"Here, sir," cried Desmond, starting up from the place where, in Bulger'scompany, he had been splicing a rope.
"Idling away your time as usual, of course. Here, take this chit {note}and run ashore. 'Tis for Mr. Diggle, as you can see if you can read."
"But how am I to find him, sir?"
"Hang me, that's your concern. Find him, and give the chit into his ownhand, and be back without any tomfoolery, or by thunder I'll lay a ropeacross your shoulders."
Desmond took the note, left the vessel, and hurried along the jetty.After what Bulger had said he was not very well pleased at the prospectof meeting Diggle again. At the shore end of the jetty he was accosted bythe peon who had brought Diggle's note on board. The man intimated bysigns that he would show the way, and Desmond, wondering why the Indianhad not himself waited to receive Captain Barker's answer, followed himat a rapid pace on shore, past the docks, through a corner of the townwhere the appearance of a white stranger attracted the curious attentionof the natives, to an open space in front of the entrance to the fort.
Here they arrived at a low wall cut by an open gateway, at each side ofwhich stood a Maratha sentry armed with a matchlock. A few words wereexchanged between Desmond's guide and one of the sentries; the twoentered, crossed a compound dotted with trees, and passing through theprincipal gateway came to a large, square building near the center of thefort. The door of this was guarded by a sentry. Again a few words werespoken. Des
mond fancied he saw a slight smile curl the lips of thenatives; then the sentry called another peon who stood at hand, and senthim into the palace.
Desmond felt a strange sinking at heart. The smile upon these dark facesawakened a vague uneasiness; it was so like Diggle's smile. He supposedthat the man had gone in to report that he had arrived with the captain'sanswer. The note still remained with him; the Marathas apparently knewthat it was to be delivered personally; yet he was left at the door, andhis guide stood by in an attitude that suggested he was on guard.
How long was he to be kept waiting? he wondered. Captain Barker hadordered him to return at once; the penalty for disobedience he knew onlytoo well; yet the minutes passed, and lengthened into two hours withoutany sign of the man who had gone in with the message. Desmond spoke tothe guide, but the man shook his head, knowing no English. Becoming moreand more uneasy, he was at length relieved to see the messenger come backto the door and beckon him to enter. As he passed the sentries they madehim a salaam in which his anxious sensitiveness detected a shade ofmockery; but before he could define his feelings he reached a third doorguarded like the others, and was ushered in.
He found himself in a large chamber, its walls dazzling with barbaricdecoration--figures of Ganessa, a favorite idol of the Marathas, ofmonstrous elephants, and peacocks with enormously expanded tails. Thehall was so crowded that his first confusion was redoubled. A path wasmade through the throng as at a signal, and at the end of the room he sawtwo men apart from the rest.
One of them, standing a little back from the other, was Diggle; theother, a tall, powerful figure in raiment as gaudy as the paintedpeacocks around him, his fingers covered with rings, a diamond blazing inhis headdress, was sitting cross-legged on a dais. Behind him, againstthe wall, was an image of Ganessa, made of solid gold, with diamonds foreyes, and blazing with jewels. At one side was his hookah, at the other atwo-edged sword and an unsheathed dagger. Below the dais on either handtwo fierce-visaged Marathas stood, their heads and shoulders covered witha helmet, their bodies cased in a quilted vest, each holding a straighttwo-edged sword. Between Angria and the idol two fan bearers lightlyswept the air above their lord's head with broad fans of palm leaves.
Desmond walked towards the dais, feeling woefully out of place amid thebrilliant costumes of Angria's court. Scarcely two of the Marathas weredressed alike; some were in white, some in lilac, others in purple, buteach with ornaments after his own taste. Desmond had not had time beforeleaving the Good Intent to smarten himself up, and he stood there a tall,thin, sunburnt youth in dirty, tattered garments, doing his best to facethe assembly with British courage.
At the foot of the dais he paused and held out the captain's note. Diggletook it in silence, his face wearing the smile that Desmond knew so welland now so fully distrusted. Without reading it, he tore it in fragmentsand threw them upon the floor, at the same time saying a few words to theresplendent figure at his side.
Tulaji Angria was dark, inclined to be fat, and not unpleasant infeature. But it was with a scowling brow that he replied to Diggle.Desmond was no coward, but he afterward confessed that as he stood therewatching the two faces, the dark, lowering face of Angria, the smiling,scarcely less swarthy face of Diggle, he felt his knees tremble underhim. What was the Pirate saying? That he was the subject of theirconversation was plain from the glances thrown at him; that he was at acrisis in his fate he knew by instinct; but, ignorant of the tongue theyspoke, he could but wait in fearful anxiety and mistrust.
He learned afterwards the purport of the talk.
"That is your man?" said Angria. 'You have deceived me. I looked for aman of large stature and robust make, like the Englishmen I already have.What good will this slim, starved stripling be in my barge?"
"You must not be impatient, huzur {lord}," replied Diggle. "He is astripling, it is true; slim, certainly; starved--well, the work on boardship does not tend to fatten a man. But give him time; he is but sixteenor seventeen years old, young in my country. In a year or two, under yourregimen, he will develop; he comes of a hardy stock, and already he canmake himself useful. He was one of the quickest and handiest on board ourship, though this was his first voyage."
"But you yourself admit that he is not yet competent for the oar in mybarge. What is to recompense me for the food he will eat while he isgrowing? No, Diggle sahib, if I take him I must have some allowance offthe price. In truth, I will not take him unless you send me from yourvessel a dozen good muskets. That is my word."
"Still, huzur--" began Diggle, but Angria cut him short with a gesture ofimpatience.
"That is my word, I say. Shall I, Tulaji Angria, dispute with you? I willhave twenty muskets, or you may keep the boy."
Diggle shrugged and smiled.
"Very well, huzur. You drive a hard bargain; but it shall be as you say.I will send a chit to the captain, and you shall have the muskets beforethe ship sails."
Angria made a sign to one of his attendants. The man approached Desmond,took him by the sleeve, and signed for him to come away. Desmond threw abeseeching look at Diggle, and said hurriedly:
"Mr. Diggle, please tell me--"
But Angria rose to his feet in wrath, and shouted to the man who hadDesmond by the sleeve. Desmond made no further resistance. His head swamas he passed between the dusky ranks out into the courtyard.
"What does it all mean?" he asked himself.
His guide hurried him along until they came to a barn-like building underthe northwest angle of the fort. The Maratha unlocked the door, signed toDesmond to enter, and locked him in. He was alone.
He spent three miserable hours. Bitterly did he now regret having cast inhis lot with the smooth-spoken stranger who had been so sympathetic withhim in his troubles at home. He tried to guess what was to be done withhim. He was in Angria's power, a prisoner, but to what end? Had he runfrom the tyranny at home merely to fall a victim to a worse tyranny atthe hands of an oriental? He knew so little of Angria, and his brain wasin such a turmoil, that he could not give definite shape to his fears.
He paced up and down the hot, stuffy shed, awaiting, dreading, he knewnot what. Through the hole that served for a window he saw men passing toand fro across the courtyard, but they were all swarthy, all alien; therewas no one from whom he could expect a friendly word.
Toward evening, as he looked through the hole, he saw Diggle issue fromthe door of the palace and cross towards the outer gate.
"Mr. Diggle! Mr. Diggle!" he called. "Please! I am locked up here."
Diggle looked round, smiled, and leisurely approached the shed.
"Why have they shut me up here?" demanded Desmond. "Captain Barker said Iwas to return at once. Do get the door unlocked."
"You ask the impossible, my young friend," replied Diggle through thehole. "You are here by the orders of Angria, and 'twould be treason in meto pick his locks."
"But why? what right has he to lock me up? and you, why did you let him?You said you were my friend; you promised--oh, you know what youpromised."
"I promised? Truly, I promised that, if you were bent on accompanying meto these shores, I would use my influence to procure you employment withone of my friends among the native princes. Well, I have kept my word;firmavi fidem, as the Latin hath it. Angria is my friend; I have used myinfluence with him; and you are now in the service of one of the mostpotent of Indian princes. True, your service is but beginning. It may bearduous at first; it may be long ab ovo usque ad mala; the egg may behard, and the apples, perchance, somewhat sour; but as you become inuredto your duties, you will learn resignation and patience, and--"
"Don't!" burst out Desmond, unable to endure the smooth-flowing periodsof the man now self-confessed a villain. "What does it mean? Tell meplainly; am I a slave?"
"Servulus, non servus, my dear boy. What is the odds whether you serveDick Burke, a booby farmer, or Tulaji Angria, a prince and a man ofintelligence? Yet there is a difference, and I would give you a word ofcounsel. Angria is an oriental, and
a despot; it were best to serve himwith all diligence, or--"
He finished the sentence with a meaning grimace.
"Mr. Diggle, you can't mean it," said Desmond. "Don't leave me here! Iimplore you to release me. What have I ever done to you? Don't leave mein this awful place."
Diggle smiled and began to move away. At the sight of his malicious smilethe prisoner's despair was swept away before a tempest of rage.
"You scoundrel! You shameless scoundrel!"
The words, low spoken and vibrant with contempt, reached Diggle when hewas some distance from the shed. He turned and sauntered back.
"Heia! contumeliosae voces! 'Tis pretty abuse. My young friend, I mustwithdraw my ears from such shocking language. But stay! if you have anymessage for Sir Willoughby, your squire, whose affections you have sodiligently cultivated to the prejudice of his nearest and dearest, itwere well for you to give it. 'Tis your last opportunity; for those whoenter Angria's service enjoy a useful but not a long career. And before Ireturn to Gheria from a little journey I am about to make, you may havejoined the majority of those who have tempted fate in this insalubriousclime. Horae momento cita mors yen it--you remember the phrase?"
Diggle leaned against the wooden wall, watching with malicious enjoymentthe effect of his words. Desmond was very pale; all his strength seemedto have deserted him. Finding that his taunts provoked no reply, Digglewent on:
"Time presses, my young friend. You will be logged a deserter from theGood Intent. 'Tis my fervent hope you never fall into the hands ofCaptain Barker; as you know, he is a terrible man when roused."
Waving his gloved hand, he moved away. Desmond did not watch hisdeparture. Falling back from the window, he threw himself upon theground, and gave way to a long fit of black despair.
How long he lay in this agony he knew not. But he was at last roused bythe opening of the door. It was almost dark. Rising to his feet, he saw anumber of men hustled into the shed. Ranged along one of the walls, theysquatted on the floor, and for some minutes afterwards Desmond heard theclank of irons and the harsh grating of a key. Then a big Maratha came tohim, searched him thoroughly, clapped iron bands upon his ankles, andlocked the chains to staples in the wall. Soon the door was shut, barred,and locked, and Desmond found himself a prisoner with eight others.
For a little they spoke among themselves, in the low tones of men utterlyspent and dispirited. Then all was silent, and they slept. But Desmondlay wide awake, waiting for the morning.
The shed was terribly hot. Air came only through the one narrow opening,and before an hour was past the atmosphere was foul, seeming the morehorrible to Desmond by contrast with the freshness of his life on theocean. Mosquitoes nipped him until he could scarcely endure the intenseirritation. He would have given anything for a little water; but thoughhe heard a sentry pacing up and down outside, he did not venture to callto him, and could only writhe in heat and torture, longing for the dawn,yet fearing it and what it might bring forth.
Worn and haggard after his sleepless night, Desmond had scarcely spiritenough to look with curiosity on his fellow prisoners when the shed wasfaintly lit by the morning sun. But he saw that the eight men, allnatives, were lying on crude charpoys {mat beds} along the wall, each manchained to a staple like his own. One of the men was awake; and, catchingDesmond's lusterless eyes fixed upon him, he sat up and returned hisgaze.
"Your Honor is an English gentleman?"
The words caused Desmond to start: they were so unexpected in such aplace. The Indian spoke softly and carefully, as if anxious not to awakenhis companions.
"Yes," replied Desmond. "Who are you?"
"My name, sir, is Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti. I was lately a clerk in theemploy of a burra {great} sahib, English factor, at Calcutta."
"How did you get here?"
"That, sahib, is a moving tale. While on a visit of condolence to myrespectable uncle and aunt at Chittagong, I was kidnapped by Sandarbandpiratical dogs. Presto!--at that serious crisis a Dutch ship makesapparition and rescues me; but my last state is more desperate than thefirst. The Dutch vessel will not stop to replace me on mother earth; sheis for Bombay, across the kala pani {black water}, as we say. I am not aswimmer; besides, what boots it?--we are ten miles from land, to saynothing of sharks and crocodiles and the lordly tiger. So I perforceremain, to the injury of my caste, which forbids navigation. But see theissue. The Dutch ship is assaulted; grabs and gallivats galore swarm uponthe face of the waters; all is confusion worse confounded; in a brace ofshakes we are in the toils. It is now two years since this untowardcatastrophe. With the crew I am conveyed hither and eat the bitter crustof servitude. Some of the Dutchmen are consigned to other forts inpossession of the Pirate, and three serve here in his state barge."
Desmond glanced at the sleeping forms.
"No, sir, they are not here," said the Babu {equivalent to Mr.; appliedby the English to the native clerk}, catching his look. "They shareanother apartment with your countrymen--chained? Oh, yes! These, mybedfellows of misfortune, are Indians, not of Bengal, like myself; twoare Biluchis hauled from a country ship; two are Mussulmans from Mysore;one a Gujarati; two Marathas. We are a motley crew--a miscellany, noless."
"What do they do with you in the daytime?"
"I, sir, adjust accounts of the Pirate's dockyard; for this I amqualified by prolonged driving of quill in Calcutta, to expressedsatisfaction of Honorable John Company and English merchants. But myposition, sir, is of Damoclean anxiety. I am horrified by conviction thatone small error of calculation will entail direst retribution. Videlicet,sir, this week a fellow captive is minus a finger and thumb--and all foroversight of six annas {the anna is the 16th part of a rupee}. But I hearthe step of our jailer; I must bridle my tongue."
The Babu had spoken throughout in a low monotonous tone that had notdisturbed the slumbers of his fellow prisoners. But they were allawakened by the noisy opening of the door and the entrance of theirjailer. He went to each in turn, and unlocked their fetters; then theyfiled out in dumb submission, to be escorted by armed sentries to thedifferent sheds where they fed, each caste by itself.
When the eight had disappeared the jailer turned to Desmond, and, takinghim by the sleeve, led him across the courtyard into the palace. Here, ina little room, he was given a meager breakfast of rice; after which hewas taken to another room where he found Angria in company with a bigMaratha, who had in his hand a long bamboo cane. The Pirate was no longerin durbar {council, ceremonial} array, but was clad in a long yellow robewith a lilac-colored shawl.
Conscious that he made a very poor appearance in his tatters, Desmondfelt that the two men looked at him with contempt. A brief conversationpassed between them; then the Maratha salaamed to Angria and went fromthe room, beckoning Desmond to follow him. They went out of the precinctsof the palace, and through a part of the town, until they arrived at thedocks. There the laborers, slaves and free, were already at work. Desmondat the first glance noticed several Europeans among them, miserableobjects who scarcely lifted their heads to look at this latest newcomerof their race. His guide called up one of the foremen shipwrights, andinstructed him to place the boy among a gang of the workmen. Then he wentaway. Scarcely a minute had elapsed when Desmond heard a cry, and lookinground, saw the man brutally belaboring with his rattan the bare shouldersof a native. He quivered; the incident seemed of ill augury.
In a few minutes Desmond found himself among a gang of men who wereworking at a new gallivat in process of construction for Angria's ownuse. He received his orders in dumb show from the foreman of the gang.Miserable as he was, he would not have been a boy if he had not beeninterested in his novel surroundings; and no intelligent boy could havefailed to take an interest in the construction of a gallivat. It was alarge rowboat of from thirty to seventy tons, with two masts, the mizzenbeing very slight. The mainmast bore one huge sail, triangular in form,its peak extending to a considerable height above the mast. The smallergallivats were covered with a spar deck made of
split bamboos, theirarmament consisting of pettararoes fixed on swivels in the gunwale. Butthe larger vessels had a fixed deck on which were mounted six or eightcannon, from two to four pounders; and in addition to their sail they hadfrom forty to fifty oars, so that, with a stout crew, they attained arate of four or five miles an hour.
One of the first things Desmond learned was that the Indian mode of shipbuilding differed fundamentally from the European. The timbers werefitted in after the planks had been put together; and the planks were puttogether, not with flat edges, but rabbited, the parts made to correspondwith the greatest exactness. When a plank was set up, its edge wassmeared with red lead, and the edge of the plank to come next was presseddown upon it, the inequalities in its surface being thus shown by themarks of the lead. These being smoothed away, if necessary several times,and the edges fitting exactly, they were rubbed with da'ma, a sort ofglue that in course of time became as hard as iron. The planks were thenfirmly riveted with pegs, and by the time the work was finished the seamswere scarcely visible, the whole forming apparently one entire piece oftimber.
The process of building a gallivat was thus a very long and tedious one;but the vessel when completed was so strong that it could go to sea formany years before the hull needed repair.
Desmond learned all this only gradually; but from the first day, making avirtue of necessity, he threw himself into the work and became veryuseful, winning the good opinion of the officers of the dockyard. Hisfeelings were frequently wrung by the brutal punishments inflicted by theoverseer upon defaulters. The man had absolute power over the workers. Hecould flog them, starve them, even cut off their ears and noses. One ofhis favorite devices was to tie a quantity of oiled cotton round each ofa man's fingers and set light to these living torches.
Another, used with a man whom he considered lazy, was the tank. Betweenthe dockyard and the river, separated from the latter only by a thinwall, was a square cavity about seven feet deep covered with boarding, inthe center of which was a circular hole. In the wall was a small orificethrough which water could be let in from the river, while in the oppositewall was the pipe and spout of a small hand pump. The man whom theoverseer regarded as an idler was let down into the tank, the coveringreplaced, and water allowed to enter from the river. This was a potentspur to the defaulter's activity, for if he did not work the pump fastenough the water would gradually rise in the tank, and he would drown.Desmond learned of one case where the man, utterly worn out by his lifeof alternate toil and punishment, refused to work the pump and stood insilent indifference while the water mounted inch by inch until it coveredhis head and ended his woes.
Desmond's diligence in the dockyard pleased the overseer, whose name wasGovinda, and he was by and by employed on lighter tasks which took himsometimes into the town. Until the novelty wore off he felt a livelyinterest in the scenes that met his eye--the bazaars, crowded withdark-skinned natives, the men mustachioed, clad for the most part inwhite garments that covered them from the crown of the head to the knee,with a touch of red sometimes in their turbans; the women with bare headsand arms and feet, garbed in red and blue; the gosains, mendicants withmatted hair and unspeakable filth; the women who fried chapatis {small,flat, unleavened cakes} on griddles in the streets, grinding their mealin handmills; the sword grinders, whetting the blades of the Marathatwo-edged swords; the barbers, whose shops had a never-ending successionof customers; the Brahmans, almost naked and shaved bald save for a smalltuft at the back of the head; the sellers of madi, a toddy extracted fromthe cocoanut palm; the magicians in their shawls, with high stiff redcap, painted all over with snakes; the humped bullocks that were employedas beasts of burden, and when not in use roamed the streets untended;occasionally the basawa, the sacred bull of Siva, the destroyer, and therath {car} carrying the sacred rat of Ganessa. But with familiarity suchscenes lost their charm; and as the months passed away Desmond felt moreand more the gnawing of care at his heart, the constant sadness of aslave.
In Clive's Command: A Story of the Fight for India Page 12