THE
M I S S I O N A R Y :
AN
Indian Tale.
BY
MISS OWENSON.
WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
FOURTH EDITION.
VOL. III:
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. J. STOCKDALE,
NO. 41, PALL MALL.
1811.
| CHAPTER XIII., XIV., XV., XVI., XVII., CONCLUSION. |
THE MISSIONARY,
&c.
CHAPTER XIII.
ON the second day of their wandering, the deep shade of the forestscenery, in which they had hitherto been involved, softened into a lessimpervious gloom, the heights of the black rock of Bembhar rose on theirview, and the lovely and enchanting glen which reposes at its northernbase, and which is called the Valley of Floating Islands, burst upontheir glance. These phenomena, which appear on the bosom of the Behat,are formed by the masses of rock, by the trees and shrubs which thewhirlwind tears from the summits of the surrounding mountains, and whichare thus borne away by the fury of the torrents, and plunged into thetranquil waters beneath; these rude fragments, collected by time andchance, cemented by the river Slime, and intermixed by creeping plants,and parasite grasses, become small but lovely islets, covered withflowers, sowed by the vagrant winds, and skirted by the leaves andblossoms of the crimson lotos, the water-loving flower of Indian groves.This scene, so luxuriant and yet so animating, where all was light, andharmony, and odour, gave a new sensation to the nerves, and a new toneto the feelings of the wanderers, and their spirits were fed withbalmier airs, and their eyes greeted with lovelier objects, than hope orfancy had ever imaged to their minds.—Sometimes they stood together onthe edge of the silvery flood, watching the motion of the arbours whichfloated on its bosom, or pursuing the twinings of the harmless greenserpent, which, shining amidst masses of kindred hues, raised gracefullyhis brilliant crest above the edges of the river bank. Sometimes frombeneath the shade of umbrageous trees, they beheld the sacred animal ofIndia breaking the stubborn flood with his broad white breast, andgaining the fragrant islet, where he reposed his heated limbs; his mildcountenance shaded by his crooked horns, crowned by the foliage in whichhe had entangled them; thus reposing in tranquil majesty, he lookedlike some river-deity of antient fable.
Flights of many-coloured perroquets, of lorys, and of peacocks,reflected on the bosom of the river the bright and various tints oftheir splendid plumage; while the cozel, the nightingale of Hindoobards, poured its song of love from the summit of the loftiestmergosa, the eastern lilac. It was here they found the Jama, or roseapple-tree, bearing ambrosial fruit—i