We had not long left Vindar’s house, before we saw a short fat man in the suburbs, preparing to climb to the top of a plane tree, on which there was one of the tail feathers of a sort of flamingo.  He was surrounded by attendants and servants, to whom he issued his commands with great rapidity and decision, occasionally intermingling with his orders the most threatening language and furious gesticulations.  Some offered to get a ladder, and ascend, and others to cut down the tree; all of which he obstinately rejected.  He swore he would get the feather—­he would get it by climbing—­and he would climb but one way, which way was on the shoulders of his men.  His plan was to make a number of them form a solid square, and interlock their arms; then a smaller number to mount upon their shoulders, on whom others were in like manner placed, and so on till the pyramid was sufficiently high, when he himself was to mount, and from the shoulders of the highest pluck the darling object of his wishes.  He had in this way, I afterwards learnt, gathered some of the richest flowers of the bignonia scarlatina, as well as such fruits as had tempted him by their luscious appearance, and at the same time frightening all the birds from their nests, which he commonly destroyed:  and although some of his attendants were occasionally much hurt and bruised in this singular amusement, he still persevered in it.  He had continued it for several years, with no intermission, except a short one, when he was engaged in breaking a young llana in the place of an old one, which had been many years a favourite, but was now in disgrace, because, as he said, he did not think it so safe for going down hill, but in reality, because he liked the figure and movements of the young one better.

I could not see this rash Glonglim attempt to climb that dangerous ladder, without feeling alarm for his safety.  At first all seemed to go on very well; but just as he was about to lay hold of the gaudy prize, there arose a sudden squall, which threw both him and his supporters into confusion, and the whole living pyramid came to the ground together.  Many were killed—­some were wounded and bruised.  Polenap himself, by lighting on his men, who served him as cushions, barely escaped with life.  But he received a fracture in the upper part of his head, and a dislocation of the hip, which will not only prevent him from ever climbing again, but probably make him a cripple for life.

The Brahmin and I endeavoured to give the sufferers some assistance; but this was rendered unnecessary, by the crowd which their cries and lamentations brought to their relief.  I thought that the author of so much mischief would have been stoned on the spot; but, to my surprise, his servants seemed to feel as much for his honour as their own safety, and warmly interfered in his behalf, until they had somewhat appeased the rage of the surrounding multitude.

CHAPTER IX.