"Well, I wish you a good journey," said Mr. Merriman, who appeared to be in better spirits than for many a day. "I’m glad to tell you, Burke, that I got a letter from Mr. Watts this morning, saying that my wife and daughter are on their way down the river with Mrs. Watts and her children. They’ve got Mr. Warren Hastings to escort them; trust ’em to find a handsome man! The road follows the river, and if you look out I dare say you will see them. You’ll recognize our livery. Introduce yourself if you meet ’em. You have your letter for Mr. Watts? That’s all right. Good-bye, and good luck to you." The party set off. The old road by which they were to travel ran at a short distance from the left bank of the Hugli, passing through an undulating country, interspersed with patches of low wood and scattered trees. The scenery was full of charm for Desmond: the rich vegetation; antelopes darting among the trees; flamingoes and pelicans standing motionless at the edge of the slow-gliding stream; white-clad figures coming down the broad steps of the riverside ghats to bathe; occasionally the dusky corpse of some devotee consigned by his relations to the bosom of the holy river. The first halt was called at Barrakpur, where, amid a luxuriant grove of palms and bamboos, stood some beautiful pagodas, built of the unburnt brick of the country, and faced with a fine stucco that gleamed in the sunlight like polished marble. Here, under the shade of the palms, Desmond lay through the hot afternoon, watching the boats of all shapes and sizes that floated lazily down the broad-bosomed stream. In the evening the march was resumed, the party crossed the river by a ford at Pulta Ghat, and following the road on the other bank came at sundown to the outskirts of the French settlement at Chandernagore. There they camped for the night. Desmond was for some time tormented by the doleful yells of packs of jackals roaming abroad in search of food. Their cries so much resembled those of human beings in dire agony that he shivered on his mattress; but falling asleep at length, he slept soundly and woke with the dawn. He started again soon after sunrise. Just beyond Chandernagore Bulger pointed out the stripped spars of the _Good Intent_, lying far up a narrow creek. "Wouldn’t I just like to cut her out?" said Bulger. "But ’spose we can’t stop for that, sir?" "Certainly not. And you’d have the French about our ears."