My first step from the tufts of
dried grass showed me how utterly futile was any hope of escape; for, as I put
my foot down, I felt an indescribable drawing, sucking motion of the sand
below. Another moment and my leg was swallowed up nearly to the knee. In the
moonlight the whole surface of the sand seemed to be shaken with devilish
delight at my disappointment. I struggled clear, sweating with terror and
exertion, back to the tussocks behind me and fell on my face.
My only means of escape from the semicircle was protected with a quicksand!
How long I lay I have not the faintest idea; but I was roused at last by the
malevolent chuckle of Gunga Dass at my ear. "I would advise you, Protector of
the Poor" (the ruffian was speaking English) "to return to your house. It is
unhealthy to lie down here. Moreover, when the boat returns, you will most
certainly be rifled at." He stood over me in the dim light of the dawn,
chuckling and laughing to himself. Suppressing my first impulse to catch the
man by the neck and throw him on to the quicksand, I rose sullenly and
followed him to the platform below the burrows.
Suddenly, and futilely as I thought while I spoke, I asked--"Gunga Dass, what
is the good of the boat if I can't get out anyhow?" I recollect that even in
my deepest trouble I had been speculating vaguely on the waste of ammunition
in guarding an already well protected foreshore.
Pages:
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242