Chapter VI
The night was far advanced and the moon just overhead. It was not a full moon and the light she threw was not very bright and lighted in a very indifferent way an extensive plain. In the dim light that was there, you could not discern the other side of the field nor say who or what was there. The whole thing looked like a lonely and limitless abode of fear. Through it lay the road from Murshidabad to Calcutta with a little hill beside. On the hill were plenty of mango and other trees whose tops hissed and shone glistening in the moon light. The dark shadows on the black rock shivered in response. The celebate stood upon the hill-top silently listening,—to what, we cannot say. There was not a sound to be heard in the all but endless plain save the murmur of leaves. Near the bottom of the hill was a little jungle between the hill above and the road below. We cannot say what he could hear from that spot, but the celebate went that way. Getting into dense forest he saw in the thick darkness under the trees, rows of men—tall, black and fully armed,—their clean arms glistening in the straggling moonbeams that came through breaks in the foliage. Two hundred such men were sitting there and not one did speak. The celebate slowly came among them and made a sign. No one rose, no one spoke, and no one made a sound. He walked along the line in
