I soon perceived the bulky outline of my elephant ahead, and on coming up, found that my men had come too far up the river, had missed the ghat to which I had sent my spare horse, and were now making for another ferry still higher up.  My horse was jaded, so I got on the elephant, and made one of the peons lead the horse behind.  It was rapidly getting dark, and the mahout, or elephant driver, a miserable low caste stupid fellow, evidently knew nothing of the country, and was going at random.  I halted at the next village, got hold of the chowkeydar, and by a promise of backsheesh, prevailed on him to accompany us and show us the way.  We turned off from the direct northerly direction in which we had been going, and made straight for the river, which we could see in the distance, looking chill and grey in the fast fading twilight.  We now got on the sandbanks, and had to go cautiously for fear of quicksands.  By the time we reached the ghat it was quite dark and growing very cold.

We were quite close to the hills, a heavy dew was falling, and I found that I should have to float down the liver for a mile, and then pole up stream in another channel for two miles before I could reach camp.

I got my horse into the boat, ordering the elephant driver to travel all night if he could, as I should expect my things to be at camp early in the morning, and the boatmen pushed off the unwieldy ferry-boat, floating us quietly down the rapid ‘drumly’ stream.  All is solemnly still and silent on an Indian river at night.  The stream is swift but noiseless.  Vast plains and heaps of sand stretch for miles on either bank.  There are no villages near the stream.  Faintly, far away in the distance, you hear a few subdued sounds, the only evidences of human habitation.  There is the tinkle of a cow-bell, the barking of a pariah dog, the monotonous dub-a-dub-dub of a timber-toned tom-tom, muffled and slightly mellowed by the distance.  The faint, far cries, and occasional halloos of the herd-boys calling to each other, gradually cease, but the monotonous dub-a-dub-dub continues till far into the night.

It was now very cold, and I was glad to borrow a blanket from my peon.  At such a time the pipe is a great solace.  It soothes the whole system, and plunges one into an agreeable dreamy speculative mood, through which all sorts of fantastic notions resolve.  Fancies chase each other quickly, and old memories rise, bitter or sweet, but all tinged and tinted by the seductive influence of the magic weed.  Hail, blessed pipe! the invigorator of the weary, the uncomplaining faithful friend, the consoler of sorrows, and the dispeller of care, the much-prized companion of the solitary wayfarer!