Beyond the bridge we could see through the gathering dusk many house-boats
of the sahibs clustering under a group of magnificent chenars, over whose
dark masses the moon was just rising, full orbed. The piers of the bridge
seemed to be set in foliage, large willows having grown up from their
bases, giving a most curious effect. We marked with some apprehension the
swiftness of the oily current which came swirling round the piers, and
soon we found ourselves stuck fast about half-way under the bridge,
apparently unable to force our boat another inch against the stream which
boiled past. An appalling uproar was caused by the coolies and the
unemployed upon the bridge, who all, as usual, gave unlimited advice to
every one else as to the proper management of affairs under the existing
circumstances, but did nothing whatever in support of their theories. The
situation was becoming quite interesting, and the "mem-sahib" and I,
sitting on the roof of our boat, were speculating as to what would happen
next when the Gordian knot was cut by the unexpected energy and courage of
the first-lieutenant, who boldly slapped an argumentative coolie in the
face, while the admiral dashed promiscuously into the shikara,
and--yelling "Hard-a-starboard!--Full speed ahead!--Sit on the
safety--valve!"--boldly shot into an overhanging mulberry tree, wherein
our tow-rope was much entangled. The rope was cleared, the crew poled
like fury, the coolies hauled for all they were worth, every one yelled
himself hoarse, and we forged ahead.
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