At Assansol, which we reached at 5 a.m., we had _chota-hazri_. Tea and
toast, and most diminutive eggs, which we had to hold in our fingers
as there were no egg-cups.

Simultala was my destination, and about eleven o'clock we reached it.
Underneath the trees a few yards away from the little station we found
a bullock-cart, which the Russels had sent for my luggage, and a
doolie for myself. A doolie is a kind of string-bed hung on a pole,
with a covering to keep off the sun. It is carried by four men, and
two others run alongside to relieve their companions at intervals. I
had sixteen miles to travel in this thing. I looked at Boggley very
doubtfully, and he tried to encourage me.

"It is really quite comfortable," he said (and when he said so he
lied), "and the men go very fast. You will be there in no time." So
I bundled in somehow, said a wistful good-bye to Boggley, and we
started. I can't honestly say I like a doolie. I would rather have
been my luggage and gone in the bullock-cart. Whichever way I lay I
very soon got an ache in my back. The conduct, too, of the coolies
filled me with uneasiness. They kept up a continued groaning. One
said, "Oh--oh--oh!" and the other replied, "Oo--oo--oo!" and you can't
think what a depressing sound it was. (I know now that doolie-coolies
always make that noise when on duty. It seems to keep up their hearts,
so to speak, and cheer them on.) Feeling guiltily that it was my
weight that made them groan, I lay perfectly still, and was even
holding my breath in an effort to make myself lighter, when, for no
apparent reason, we left the road, such as it was, and started across
the trackless plain. There was nothing to be seen except an infrequent
bush, no trace of a human habitation--nothing but the wind blowing and