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Wanderings in India, and Other Sketches of Life in Hindostan

by John Lang · English · Gutenberg #43997 · 590,319 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Wanderings in India, and Other Sketches of Life in Hindostan

Author: John Lang


        
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WANDERINGS IN INDIA, AND OTHER SKETCHES OF LIFE IN HINDOSTAN ***

    WANDERINGS IN INDIA.




    WANDERINGS IN INDIA:
    And other Sketches
    OF
    LIFE IN HINDOSTAN.

    By JOHN LANG,
    AUTHOR OF "EX-WIFE," "WILL HE MARRY HER?"

    LONDON:
    ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, & ROUTLEDGE,
    FARRINGDON STREET;

    NEW YORK: 56, WALKER STREET.

    1861.

    [_The Author reserves the right of Translation._]




PREFACE.


    The greater part of the Papers which form this Volume
    have appeared in "HOUSEHOLD WORDS;" and the Author has to
    acknowledge his thanks to Mr. DICKENS for sanctioning a reprint
    of them.

    LONDON, _July 15th, 1859_.




CONTENTS.


                                      PAGE
    THE HIMALAYA CLUB                    1
    THE MAHOMMEDAN MOTHER               30
    BLACK AND BLUE                      59
    THE RANEE OF JHANSI                 84
    TIRHOOT, LUCKNOW, BHITOOR, ETC      97
    THE UPPER PROVINCES                120
    MARCHING                           143
    THE MARCH CONTINUED                173
    THE INDIAN SOCIETY                 200
    THE UPPER PROVINCES                226
    CHURCHYARDS, ETC                   251
    THE HIMALAYAS                      286
    RETURNING                          315
    MISCELLANEOUS                      341
    FORWARD                            360
    MILITARY MATTERS; SIMLAH, &c       377
    TANTIA TOPEE                       410




WANDERINGS IN INDIA.


THE HIMALAYA CLUB.


It is some eighteen years since this institution was founded, at
Mussoorie, one of the chief sanataria in the Himalaya mountains. Here
all those who can obtain leave, and who can afford the additional
expense, repair to escape the hot weather of the plains. The season
begins about the end of April, and ends about the first week in
October. The club is open to the members of the civil and military
services, to the members of the bar, the clergy, and to such other
private gentlemen as are on the Government House list, which signifies,
"in society." The club-house is neither an expensive nor an elegant
edifice, but it answers the purposes required of it. It has two large
rooms, one on the ground-floor, and the other on the upper story. The
lower room, which is some sixty feet long by twenty-five wide, is the
dining-room, breakfast-room, and reception-room. The upper room is the
reading and the ball-room. The club has also its billiard-room, which
is built on the ledge of a precipice; and its stables, which would
astonish most persons in Europe. No horses except those educated in
India, would crawl into these holes cut out of the earth and rock.

Facing the side-door is a platform about forty yards long by fifteen
feet wide; and from it, on a clear day, the eye commands one of the
grandest scenes in the known world. In the distance are plainly visible
the eternal snows; at your feet are a number of hills, covered with
trees of luxuriant foliage. Amongst them is the rhododendron, which
grows to an immense height and size, and is, when in bloom, literally
covered with flowers. On every hill, on a level with the club, and
within a mile of it, a house is to be seen, to which access would seem
impossible. These houses are, for the most part, whitened without as
well as within; and nothing can exceed in prettiness their aspect as
they shine in the sun.

From the back of the club-house, from your bed-room windows (there
are twenty-three sets of apartments) you have a view of Deyrah Dhoon.
It appears about a mile off. It is seven miles distant. The plains
that lie outstretched below the Simplon bear, in point of extent
and beauty, to the Indian scene, nothing like the proportion which
the comparatively pigmy Mont Blanc bears to the Dewalgiri. From an
elevation of about seven thousand feet the eye embraces a plain
containing millions of acres, intersected by broad streams to the
left, and inclosed by a low belt of hills, called the Pass. The Dhoon,
in various parts, is dotted with clumps of jungle, abounding with
tigers, pheasants, and every species of game. In the broad tributaries
to the Ganges and the Jumna, may be caught (with a fly) the mâhseer,
the leviathan salmon. Beyond the Pass of which I have spoken, you see
the plains of Hindoostan. While you are wrapped in a great coat, and
are shivering with the cold, you may see the heat, and the steam it
occasions. With us on the hills, the thermometer is at forty-five; with
those poor fellows over there, it is at ninety-two degrees. We can
scarcely keep ourselves warm, for the wind comes from the snowy range;
they cannot breathe, except beneath a punkah. That steam is, as the
crow flies, not more than forty miles from us.

We are all idlers at Mussoorie. We are all sick, or supposed to be
so; or we have leave on private affairs. Some of us are up here for a
month between musters. We are in the good graces of our colonel and our
general--the general of our division, a very good old gentleman.

Let us go into the public room, and have breakfast; for it is half-past
nine o'clock, and the bell has rung. There are not more than half
a dozen at the table. These are the early risers who walk or ride
round the Camel's Back every morning: the Camel's Back being a huge
mountain, encircled about its middle by a good road. The majority of
the club's members are asleep, and will defer breakfast until tiffin
time--half-past two. At that hour the gathering will be great. How
these early risers eat, to be sure! There is the major, who, if you
believe him, has every complaint mentioned in "Graham's Domestic
Medicine," has just devoured two thighs (grilled) of a turkey, and is
now asking Captain Blossom's opinion of the Irish stew, while he is
cutting into a pigeon-pie.

Let us now while away the morning. Let us call on some of the grass
widows. There are lots of them here, civil and military. Let us go
first to Mrs. Merrydale, the wife of our old friend Charley, of the two
hundredth and tenth regiment. Poor fellow! He could not get leave, and
the doctors said another hot summer in the plains would be the death of
his wife. They are seven hundred pounds in debt to the Agra bank, and
are hard put to it to live and pay the monthly instalments of interest.
Charley is only a lieutenant. What terrible infants are these little
Merrydales! There is Lieutenant Maxwell's pony under the trees, and
if these children had not shouted out, "Mamma! Mamma! here is Captain
Wall, Sahib!" I should have been informed that Mrs. Merrydale was
not at home, or was poorly, which I should have believed implicitly.
(Maxwell, when a young ensign, was once engaged to be married to Julia
Dacey, now Mrs. Merrydale, but her parents would not hear of it, for
some reason or other.) As it is, we must be admitted. We will not
stay long. Mrs. Merrydale is writing to her husband. Grass widows in
the hills are always writing to their husbands, when you drop in upon
them, and your presence is not actually delighted in. How beautiful she
looks! now that the mountain breezes have chased from her cheeks the
pallor which lately clung to them in the plains; and the fresh air has
imparted to her spirits an elasticity, in lieu of that languor by which
she was oppressed a fortnight ago.

Let us now go to Mrs. Hastings. She is the wife of a civilian, who
has a salary of fifteen hundred rupees (one hundred and fifty pounds)
per mensem, and who is a man of fortune independent of his pay.
Mrs. Hastings has the best house in Mussoorie. She is surrounded by
servants. She has no less than three Arab horses to ride. She is a
great prude, is Mrs. Hastings. She has no patience with married women
who flirt. She thinks that the dogma--

    When lovely women go astray,
    Their stars are more in fault than they--

is all nonsense. Mrs. Hastings has been a remarkably fine woman; she
is now five-and-thirty, and still good looking, though disposed to
_embonpoint_. She wearies one with her discourses on the duties of a
wife. That simpering cornet, Stammersleigh, is announced, and we may
bid her good morning.

The average rent for a furnished house is about five hundred rupees
(fifty pounds) for the six months. Every house has its name. Yonder
are Cocky Hall, Belvidere, Phoenix Lodge, the Cliffs, the Crags, the
Vale, the Eagle's Nest, &c. The value of these properties ranges from
five hundred to fifteen hundred pounds. The furniture is of the very
plainest description, with one or two exceptions, and is manufactured
chiefly at Bareilly, and carried here on men's shoulders the entire
distance--ninety miles.

Where shall we go now, for it wants an hour to tiffin time? Oh! here
comes a janpan! (a sort of sedan-chair carried by four hill men,
dressed in loose black clothes, turned up with red, yellow, blue,
green, or whatever colour the proprietor likes best). And in the janpan
sits a lady--Mrs. Apsley, a very pretty, good-tempered, and well-bred
little woman. She is the grand-daughter of an English peer, and is
very fond of quoting her aunts and her uncles. "My aunt Lady Mary
Culnerson," "my aunt the Countess of Tweedleford," "my uncle, Lord
Charles Banbury Cross," &c. But that is her only weakness, I believe;
and, perhaps, it is ungenerous to allude to it. Her husband is in the
Dragoons.

"Well, Mrs. Apsley, whither art thou going? To pay visits?"

"No. I am going to Mrs. Ludlam's to buy a new bonnet, and not before I
want one, you will say."

"May I accompany you?"

"Yes, and assist me in making a choice."

There is not a cloud to be seen. The air is soft and balmy. The wild
flowers are in full bloom, and the butterfly is on the wing. The
grasshopper is singing his ceaseless song, and the bees are humming a
chorus thereto.

We are now at Mrs. Ludlam's. The janpan is placed upon the ground, and
I assist Mrs. Apsley to step from it.

Mrs. Ludlam is the milliner and dressmaker of Upper India, and
imports all her wares direct from London and Paris. Everybody in this
part of the world knows Mrs. Ludlam, and everybody likes her. She
has by industry, honesty of purpose, and economy, amassed a little
fortune; and has brought up a large family in the most respectable and
unpretending style. Some people say that she sometimes can afford to
sell a poor ensign's wife a bonnet, or a silk dress, at a price which
hardly pays. What I have always admired in Mrs. Ludlam is that she
never importunes her customers to buy her goods; nor does she puff
their quality.

The bonnet is bought; likewise a neck-scarf for Jack. And we are now
returning: Mrs. Apsley to her home, and I to the club. Mrs. Apsley
invites me to dine with them; but that is impossible. It is public
night, and I have two guests. One of them is Jack, who does not belong
to the club, because Mary does not wish it.

Mrs. Apsley says she wants some pickles, and we must go into Ford's
shop to purchase them. Ford sells everything; and he is a wine, beer,
and spirit merchant. You may get anything at Ford's--guns, pistols,
swords, whips, hats, clothes, tea, sugar, tobacco. What is this
which Ford puts into my hand? A raffle paper! "To be raffled for, a
single-barrelled rifle, by Purdey. The property of a gentleman hard-up
for money, and in great difficulties. Twenty-five chances at one gold
mohur (one pound twelve shillings) each."

"Yes, put my name down for a chance, Ford."

"And Captain Apsley's, please," says the lady.

After promising Mrs. Apsley most faithfully that I will not keep Jack
later than half-past twelve, and taking another look into those sweet
eyes of hers, I gallop away as fast as the pony can carry me. I am
late; there is scarcely a vacant place at the long table. We have
no private tables. The same board shelters the nether limbs of all
of us. We are all intimate friends, and know exactly each other's
circumstances. What a clatter of knives and forks! And what a lively
conversation! It alludes chiefly to the doings of the past night.
Almost every other man has a nickname. To account for many of them
would indeed be a difficult, if not a hopeless task.

"Dickey Brown! Glass of beer?"

"I am your man," responds Major George, N. I. Fencibles.

At the other end of the table you hear the word "Shiney" shouted out,
and responded to by Lieutenant Fenwick of the Horse Artillery.

"Billy! Sherry?"

Adolphus Bruce of the Lancers lifts his glass with immense alacrity.

It is a curious characteristic of Indian society that very little
outward respect is in private shown to seniority. I once heard an
ensign of twenty years of age address a civilian of sixty in the
following terms: "Now then, old moonsiff, pass that claret, please."

The tiffin over, a gool, or lighted ball of charcoal, is passed round
the table in a silver augdan (fire-holder). Every man present lights
a cigar, and in a few minutes there is a general move. Some retire to
the billiard-room, others cluster round the fireplace; others pace the
platform; and two sets go up-stairs into the reading-room to have a
quiet rubber--from three till five. Those four men seated at the table
near the window have the reputation of being the best players in India.
The four at the other table know very little of the game of whist. Mark
the difference! The one set never speak, except when the cards are
being dealt. The other set are finding fault with one another during
the progress of the hand. The good players are playing high. Gold mohur
points--five gold mohurs on the rub--give and take five to two after
the first game. And sometimes, at game and game, they bet an extra
five. Tellwell and Long, who are playing against Bean and Fickle, have
just lost a bumper--twenty-seven gold mohurs--a matter of forty-three
pounds four shillings.

In the billiard-room, there is a match going on between four officers
who are famed for their skill, judgment, and execution. Heavy bets are
pending. How cautiously and how well they play! No wonder, when we
consider the number of hours they practise, and that they play every
day of their lives. That tall man, now about to strike, makes a revenue
out of billiards. I shall be greatly mistaken if that man does not
come to grief some day. He preys upon every youngster in every station
he goes to with his regiment. He is a captain in the Native Infantry.
His name is Tom Locke. He has scored forty-seven off the red ball.
His confederate, Bunyan, knows full well that luck has little to do
with his success. He, too, will come to grief before long. Your clever
villains are invariably tripped up sooner or later, and ignominiously
stripped of their commissions and positions in society.

It is five o'clock. Some thirty horses and as many ponies are saddled
and bridled, and led up and down in the vicinity of the club. Everybody
will be on the mall presently. The mall is a part of the road round
the Camel's Back. It is a level of about half a mile long and twelve
feet broad. A slight fence stands between the riders and a deep
khud (precipice). To gallop along this road is nothing when you are
accustomed to it; but at first it makes one very nervous even to
witness it. Serious and fatal accidents have happened; but, considering
all things, they have been far fewer than might have been expected.

The mall is crowded. Ladies and gentlemen on horseback, and ladies
in janpans--the janpanees dressed in every variety of livery. Men in
the French grey coats, trimmed with white serge, are carrying Mrs.
Hastings. Men in the brown clothes, trimmed with yellow serge, are
carrying Mrs. Merrydale. Jack Apsley's wife is mounted on her husband's
second charger. "Come along, Captain Wall," she calls out to me, and
goes off at a canter, which soon becomes a hard gallop. I follow her of
course. Jack remains behind, to have a quiet chat with Mrs. Flower, of
his regiment; who thinks--and Jack agrees with her--that hard riding
on the mall is a nuisance, and ought to be put a stop to. But, as we
come back, we meet the hypocrite galloping with a Miss Pinkerton, a new
importation, with whom--much to the amusement of his wife--he affects
to be desperately in love. The mall, by the way, is a great place for
flirtations.

Most steady-going people, like Mrs. Flower, not only think hard riding
on the mall a nuisance, but make it the theme of letters to the editors
of the papers; and sometimes the editors will take the matter up, and
write leading articles thereon, and pointedly allude to the fact--as
did the late Sir C. J. Napier in a general order--that beggars on
horseback usually ride in the opposite direction to heaven. But these
letters and leaders rarely have the desired effect; for what can a man
do when a pretty woman like Mrs. Apsley says, "Come along; let us have
a gallop."

Why are there so very many people on the mall this evening? A few
evenings ago it was proposed at the club that a band should play twice
a week. A paper was sent round at once, and every one subscribed a
sum in accordance with his means. Next morning the required number
of musicians was hunted up and engaged. Two cornets, two flutes, two
violins, a clarionet, a fife, and several drums. It is the twenty-ninth
of May--a day always celebrated in "this great military camp," as Lord
Ellenborough described British India. At a given signal, the band
strikes up "God save the Queen." We all flock round the band, which has
taken up a position on a rock beetling over the road. The male portion
of us raise our hats, and remain uncovered while the anthem is played.
We are thousands of miles distant from our fatherland and our Queen,
but our hearts are as true and as loyal as though she were in the midst
of us.

This is the first time that the Himalaya mountains have listened to the
joyous sound of music. We have danced to music within doors; but never,
until this day, have we heard a band in the open air in the Himalaya
mountains. How wonderful is the effect! From valley to valley echo
carries the sound, until at last it seems as though

    Every mountain now had found a band.

Long after the strain has ceased with us, we can hear it penetrating
into and reverberating amidst regions which the foot of man has never
yet trodden, and probably will never tread. The sun has gone down, but
his light is still with us.

Back to the club! Dinner is served. We sit down, seventy-five of us.
The fare is excellent, and the champagne has been iced in the hail
which fell the other night, during a storm. Jack Apsley is on my
right, and I have thrice begged of him to remember that he must not
stay later than half-past twelve; and he has thrice responded that
Mary has given him an extension of leave until daylight. Jack and I
were midshipmen together, some years ago, in a line-of-battle ship
that went by the name of the House of Correction. And there is Wywell
sitting opposite to us--Wywell who was in the frigate which belonged to
our squadron--the squadron that went round the world, and buried the
commodore, poor old Sir James! in Sydney churchyard. Fancy we three
meeting again in the Himalaya mountains!

The cloth is removed, for the dinner is over. The president of the
club--the gentleman who founded it--rises. He is a very little man of
seventy years of age--fifty-three of which have been spent in India. He
is far from feeble, and is in full possession of all his faculties. His
voice is not loud, but it is very distinct, and pierces the ear.

They do not sit long after dinner at the club. It is only nine, and the
members are already diminishing. Some are off to the billiard-room,
to smoke, drink brandy-and-water, and look on at the play. The whist
parties are now at work, and seven men are engaged at brag. A few
remain; and, drawing their chairs to the fireplace, form a ring and
chat cosily.

Halloa! what is this? The club-house is heaving and pitching like a
ship at anchor in a gale of wind. Some of us feel qualmish. It is a
shock of an earthquake; and a very violent shock. It is now midnight.
A thunderstorm is about to sweep over Mussoorie. Only look at that
lurid forked lightning striking yonder hill, and listen to that
thunder! While the storm lasts, the thunder will never for a second
cease roaring; for, long before the sound of one peal has died away, it
will be succeeded by another more awful. And now, look at the Dhoon!
Those millions of acres are illuminated by incessant sheet lightning.
How plainly we discern the trees and the streams in the Dhoon, and
the outline of the pass which divides the Dhoon from the plains. What
a glorious panorama! We can see the black clouds descending rapidly
towards the Dhoon, and it is not until they near that level land that
they discharge the heavy showers with which they are laden. What a
luxury would this storm be to the inhabitants of the plains; but it
does not extend beyond the Dhoon. We shall hear the day after to-morrow
that not a single drop of rain has fallen at Umballah, Meerut, or
Saharunpore.

The party from the billiard-room has come up to have supper, now that
the storm is over. They are rather noisy; but the card-players take no
heed of them. They are too intent upon their play to be disturbed. Two
or three of the brag party call for oyster-toast to be taken to the
table, and they devour it savagely while the cards are dealt round,
placing their lighted cheroots meanwhile on the edge of the table.

And now there is singing--comic and sentimental. "Isle of Beauty" is
followed by the "Steam Leg," the "Steam Leg" by the "Queen of the May,"
the "Queen of the May" by the facetious version of "George Barnwell,"
and so on. Jack Apsley--who has ascertained that dear Mary is quite
safe, and not at all alarmed--is still here, and is now singing "Rule,
Britannia," with an energy and enthusiasm which are at once both
pleasing and ridiculous to behold. He has been a soldier for upwards
of sixteen years; but the sailor still predominates in his nature;
while his similes have invariably reference to matters connected with
ships and the sea. He told me just now, that when he first joined his
regiment, he felt as much out of his element as a live dolphin in a
sentry-box, and he has just described his present colonel as a man
who is as touchy as a boatswain's kitten. Apsley's Christian name is
Francis, but he has always been called Jack, and always will be.

It is now broad daylight, and high time for a man on sick-leave to
be in bed. How seedy and disreputable we all look, in our evening
dresses and patent-leather boots. And observe this carnation in my
button-hole--the gift of Mrs. Apsley; she gave it to me on the mall.
The glare of the lights, and the atmosphere of smoke in which I have
been sitting part of the night, have robbed it of its freshness, its
bloom, and perfume. I am sorry to say it is an emblem of most of us.

Go home, Apsley! Go home, reeking of tobacco-smoke and
brandy-and-water--with your eyes like boiled gooseberries, your hair in
frightful disorder--go home! You will probably meet upon the mall your
three beautiful children, with their rosy faces all bloom, and their
breath, when they press their glowing lips to those feverish cheeks
of yours, will smell as incense, and make you ashamed of yourself. Go
home, Jack. I will tiff with you to-day at half-past two.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two young gentlemen were victimized last night at the brag party. The
one, a lieutenant of the N. I. Buffs, lost six thousand rupees; the
other, a lieutenant of the Foot Artillery, four thousand. The day after
to-morrow, the first of the month, will be settling day. How are they
to meet these debts of honour? They have nothing but their pay, and
must borrow from the banks. That is easily managed. The money will
be advanced to them on their own personal security, and that of two
other officers in the service. They must also insure their lives. The
premium and the interest together will make them forfeit fourteen per
cent. per annum on the sum advanced. The loan will be paid off in three
years, by monthly instalments. The paymaster will receive an order from
the bank secretary to deduct for the bank so much per mensem from their
pay. For the next three years they will have to live very mildly indeed.

There were also two victims (both youngsters) to billiards. One lost
three thousand rupees in bets, another two thousand five hundred by
bad play. They too, will have to fly for assistance to the banks.
Captains Locke and Bunyan won, between them, last night, one thousand
four hundred pounds. There was but little execution done at whist. Not
more than one hundred and fifty pounds changed hands. Those four men
who play regularly together, and who never exceed their usual bets,
have very little difference between them at the end of each month--not
thirty pounds either way. This will not hurt them; for they have all
good appointments, and have private property besides.

I find, on going to tiffin at Jack Apsley's, that Mrs. Jack has heard
all about the winnings and losings at the club. Some man went home and
told his wife, and she has told everybody whom she has seen. In a short
time the news will travel to head-quarters at Simlah, and out will come
a general order on gambling, which general order will be read aloud at
the Himalaya Club, with comments by the whole company--comments which
will be received with shouts of laughter. Some youngsters will put the
general order into verse, and send it to a newspaper. This done, the
general order will be converted into pipe-lights. This is no doubt very
sad; but I have no time to moralize. My duty is simply to paint the
picture.

Mrs. Apsley is not angry with her husband for staying up till daylight.
She thinks a little dissipation does him good; and it is but a very
little that Jack indulges in, for he is a good husband and a good
father. Jack has a severe headache, but he won't confess it. He says
he never touched the champagne, and only drank two glasses of brandy
and water. But who ever did touch the champagne, and who ever did drink
any more than two glasses of brandy and water? Jack came home with
his pockets filled with almonds, raisins, prunes, nutcrackers, and
two liqueur glasses; but how they got there he has not the slightest
idea--but I have. Wywell, from a sideboard, was filling his pockets all
the while he was singing "Rule, Britannia."

"Mrs. Apsley, I have some news for you."

"What is it, Captain Wall?"

"The club gives a ball on the 7th of June."

"You don't say so."

"And what is more, a fancy ball."

The tiffin is brought in. Mulligatawny soup and rice, cold lamb and
mint sauce, sherry and beer. The Apsleys are very hospitable people;
but Mary, who rules the household, never exceeds her means for the sake
of making a display.

The soup and a glass of wine set Jack up; and he becomes quite chirpy.
He proposes that he and I and Wywell shall go to the fancy ball as
middies, and that Mary shall appear as Black-eyed Susan. Then, darting
off at a tangent, he asks me if I remember when we were lying off Mount
Edgecombe, just before sailing for South America? But he requires a
little more stimulant, for the tears are glistening in his soft blue
eyes when he alludes to the death of poor Noel, a middy whom we buried
in the ocean a few days before we got to Rio. In a very maudlin way
he narrates to his wife the many excellent qualities of poor Noel.
She listens with great attention; but, observing that his spontaneous
emotion is the result of the two over-night glasses of brandy--plus
what he cannot remember drinking over-night--she suggests that Jack
shall make some sherry cobbler. What a jewel of a woman art thou, Mrs.
Apsley! Several of the men who returned home, as Jack did, none the
better for their potations, have been driven by their wives' reproaches
to the club, where they are now drinking brandy and soda-water to
excess; while here is your spouse as comfortable as a cricket on a
hearth; and now that he confesses he was slightly screwed, you, with
quiet tact, contradict his assertion.

For the next week the forthcoming fancy ball to be given by the club
will be the chief topic of conversation amongst the visitors at
Mussoorie. Mrs. Ludlam is in immense demand. She knows the character
that each lady will appear in; but it is useless to attempt to extract
from her the slightest particle of information on that head. This ball
will be worth seven hundred and fifty rupees to Mrs. Ludlam.

Let us keep away from the club for a few days; for, after several
officers have been victimized at play, their friends are apt to talk
about the matter in an unpleasant manner. This frequently leads to a
quarrel, which I dislike to witness.

Where shall we go? To the Dhoon. It is very hot there; but never mind.
No great-coat, no fires, an hour hence; but the very lightest of
garments and a punkah. The thermometer is at eighty-five degrees there.
The Dhoon is not a healthy place in the summer. It must have been the
bed of an enormous lake, or small inland sea. Its soil being alluvial,
will produce anything: every kind of fruit, European and tropical. You
may gather a peach and a plantain out of the same garden. Some of the
hedges in this part of the world are singularly beautiful, composed
of white and red cluster roses and sweetbriers. There is an excellent
hotel in the Dhoon, where we are sure to meet people whom we know.

Sure enough, I find a Party of five at the hotel; all club men, and
intimate friends of mine. They, too, have come down to avoid being
present on the first settling day; for if there should be any duelling,
it is just possible that some of us might be asked to act as second.

We must dine off sucking-pig in the Dhoon. The residents at Mussoorie
used to form their pig-parties in the Dhoon, just as the residents of
London form their whitebait banquets at Greenwich. I once took a French
gentleman, who was travelling in India, to one of these pig-parties,
and he made a very humorous note of it in his book of travel, which he
showed to me. Unlike most foreigners who travel in English dominions,
he did not pick out and note down all the bad traits in our character;
but gave us credit for all those excellent points which his experience
of mankind in general enabled him to observe.

The Governor-General's body-guard is quartered just now in the Dhoon,
and there is a Goorkha regiment here. The Dhoon will send some twenty
couples to the fancy ball on the 7th. Every lady in the place has
at this moment a Durzee (man tailor) employed in her back verandah
dress-making. We are admitted to the confidence of Mrs. Plowville, who
is going as Norma. And a very handsome Norma she will make; she being
rather like Madame Grisi--and she knows it.

We return to the club on the 2nd of June. There has been a serious
dispute, and a duel has been fought; but happily, no blood shed.
The intelligence of the gambling at the club has reached the
Commander-in-Chief at Simlah; and he has ordered that the remainder of
the leave granted to Captains Locke and Bunyan be cancelled, and that
those officers forthwith join their respective regiments. The victims
also have been similarly treated; yet every one of these remanded
officers came up here on medical certificate.

It is the morning of the 7th of June. The stewards of the ball are
here, there, and everywhere, making arrangements. Several old hands,
who hate and detest balls, and who voted against this ball, are walking
about the public room, protesting that it is the greatest folly they
ever heard of. And in their disgust they blackball two candidates for
admission who are to be balloted for on the 10th instant. They complain
that they can get no tiffin, no dinner, no anything. But the stewards
only laugh at them.

The supper has been supplied by Monsieur Emille, the French
restaurateur, and a very splendid supper it is. It is laid out in the
dining-room. Emille is a great artist. He is not perhaps equal to
Brazier--that great man whom Louis Philippe gave to his friend, Lord
William Bentinck, when Lord William was going out to govern India--but
Emille, nevertheless, would rank high even amongst the most skilful of
cuisiniers in Europe.

It is a quarter past nine, and we of the club are ready to receive
our guests. The ladies come in janpans; their husbands following them
on horseback or on foot. It is a beautiful moonlight night. We are
always obliged to wait upon the moon when we give a ball in Mussoorie.
Before ten o'clock the room is crowded. There are present one hundred
and thirty-six gentlemen, and seventy-five ladies. Of the former
nine-tenths are soldiers, the remainder are civilians. Of the latter,
seventy are married; the remaining five are spinsters.

Here we all are in every variety of costume--Turks, Greeks, Romans,
Bavarian broom-girls, Medoras, Corsairs, Hamlets, Othellos, Tells,
Charles the Seconds, and Quakers. Many have not come in fancy costume,
but in their respective uniforms; and where do you see such a variety
of uniforms as in an Indian ball-room? Where will you meet with so
great a number of distinguished men? There is the old general: that
empty sleeve tells a tale of the battle of Waterloo. Beside him is a
general in the Company's service, one who has recently received the
thanks of his country. He has seen seventy, but there is no man in the
room who could at this very time endure so great an amount of mental
or bodily fatigue. That youngster to the right of the general is to
be made a brevet-major and a C.B. as soon as he gets his company.
He is a hero, though a mere boy. That pale-faced civilian is a man
of great ability, and possesses administrative talents of the very
highest order. Seated on an ottoman, talking to Mrs. Hastings, is the
famous Hawkins, of the Third Dragoons. Laughing in the side doorway
is the renowned William Mumble. He is the _beau ideal_ of a dashing
soldier. Yonder is Major Starcross, whose gallantry in Affghanistan
was the theme of admiration in Europe. And there is Colonel Bolt, of
the Duke's Own. All of these men have been under very hot fire--the
hottest that even Lord Hardinge could remember. All of them are
decorated with medals and ribbons. Where will you see handsomer women
than you frequently meet in a ball-room at Mussoorie or Simlah? Amongst
those now assembled there are three who, at any court in Europe, would
be conspicuous for their personal attractions--Mrs. Merrydale, Mrs.
Plowville, and Mrs. Banks. Mrs. Apsley is a pretty little woman; but
the three to whom I have alluded are beautiful.

The dancing has commenced, and will continue until four o'clock, with
an interval of half-an-hour at supper-time. The second supper--the
ladies being gone--will then commence, and a very noisy party it will
be. Unrestrained by the presence of the fair sex, the majority of
those who remain will drink and smoke in earnest, and the chances are,
there will be several rows. Ensign Jenks, when the brandy and water
inflames him, will ask young Blackstone, of the Civil Service, what he
meant by coming up and talking to his partner during the last set of
quadrilles. Blackstone will say, the lady beckoned to him. Jenks will
say, "It is a lie!" Blackstone will rise to assault Jenks. Two men
will hold Blackstone down on his chair. The general will hear of this,
for Captain Lovelass (who is himself almost inarticulate) has said to
Jenks, "Cossider self unarrest!" Jenks will have to join his regiment
at Meerut, after receiving from the general a very severe reprimand.

While talking over the past ball, an archery meeting or a pic-nic
is sure to be suggested. It must originate at the club; without the
countenance of the club, which is very jealous of its prerogative,
no amusement can possibly be successful. A lady, the wife of a
civilian, who prided herself on her husband's lofty position, had
once the temerity to try the experiment, and actually sent round a
proposal-paper in her own handwriting, and by one of her own servants.
She failed of course. All the club people wrote the word "seen"
opposite to their names; but withheld the important word "approved."
Even the tradespeople at Mussoorie acknowledge the supremacy of the
Himalaya Club.

       *       *       *       *       *

The season is over. The cold weather has commenced in the plains. It is
the 5th of October, and everybody at Mussoorie is on the move--going
down the hill, as it is called. Every house which was lately full
is now empty, and will remain so till the coming April. The only
exceptions will be the schools for young ladies and for little boys;
the convent, the branch of the North-West Bank, and the Post-Office.
Invalided officers who reside at the sanatarium during the summer will
go down the hill, and winter in Deyrah Dhoon. In another month the
mountains will be covered with snow, and it would be dangerous to walk
out on these narrow roads, few of which are railed in.

Let us sum up the events of the season. Four young men were
victimized--two at cards and two at billiards. Two duels were fought
on the day after the ball. In one of these duels an officer fell dead.
In another the offending party grievously wounded his antagonist. Four
commissions were sacrificed in consequence of these encounters. There
were two elopements. Mrs. Merrydale went off with Lieutenant Maxwell,
leaving her children under the care of the servants, until her husband
came to take them away. Mrs. Hastings, who used to bore us about the
duties of a wife, carried off that silly boy Stammersleigh. These
elopements led to two actions in H.M. Supreme Court of Calcutta, and
seven of us (four in one case and three in the other) had to leave our
regiments or appointments, and repair to the Supreme Court to give
evidence. Some of us had to travel fourteen hundred miles in the month
of May, the hottest month in India.

There was another very awkward circumstance connected with that
season at Mussoorie. The reader knows that Captains Locke and Bunyan
were ordered to join their regiments, the unexpired portion of
their leave having been cancelled by order of his Excellency the
Commander-in-Chief. In the hurry of his departure from the hills, Locke
had left in the drawer of a table a letter from Bunyan, containing a
proposal to victimize a certain officer--then in Mussoorie--in the
same manner that they had victimized one Lord George Straw; namely, to
get him to their rooms, and play at brag. Lord George Straw had lost
to these worthies eighteen hundred pounds on one eventful night. The
general opinion was, touching a very extraordinary fact connected with
the play, that Lord George had been cheated. This letter from Bunyan
to Locke was found by the servant of the officer who now occupied
the apartments recently vacated by Locke. The servant handed it to
his master, who, fancying that it was one of his own letters, began
abstractedly to read it. Very soon, however, he discovered his mistake.
But he had read sufficient to warrant his reading the whole, and he did
so. A meeting of gentlemen at the club was called; and, before long,
Locke and Bunyan left the army by sentence of a general court-martial.
I have since heard that Locke lost his ill-gotten gains in Ireland,
and became eventually a marker at a billiard-room; and that Bunyan, who
also came to poverty, was seen driving a cab for hire in Oxford-street.

It behoves me, however, to inform the reader that, recently, the tone
of Anglo-Indian society during the hot seasons is very much improved.
Six or seven years ago there never was a season that did not end as
unhappily as that which I have attempted to describe; but it is now
four years since I heard of a duel in the Upper Provinces--upwards
of four years since I heard of a victim to gambling, and nearly
three since there was an elopement. It is true that the records of
courts-martial still occasionally exhibit painful cases; but, if we
compare the past with the present, we must admit that the change is
very satisfactory. I do not attribute this altered state of things
to the vigilance of commanding officers, or the determination of the
commanders-in-chief to punish severely those who offend. It is due
chiefly to the improved tone of society in England, from which country
we get our habits and manners. The improvement in the tone of Indian
society has been very gradual. Twenty years ago India was famous for
its infamy. Ten years ago it was very bad. It is now tolerable. In
ten years from this date, if not in less time, Indian society will be
purged entirely of those evils which now prey upon it, and trials for
drunkenness and other improper conduct will happen as rarely as in
England. Year by year this communication between our fatherland and
the upper part of India will become more speedy and less expensive;
and thus will a greater number of officers be enabled to come home on
furlough for a year or two. Nothing does an Indian officer so much
good as a visit to Europe. When a man has once contracted bad habits
in India, he cannot reform in India. To be cured he must be taken away
for a while from the country. There have been instances of officers who
have had strength of mind to alter their course of life without leaving
the East; but those instances are very few.

The East India Company should do all in its power to encourage young
officers to spend a certain time every seven years in Europe. Instead
of six months' leave to the hills--which six months are spent in utter
idleness, and too frequently in dissipation--give them nine months'
leave to Europe. This would admit of their spending six months in
England, or on the Continent, where they would improve their minds and
mend their morals, as well as their constitutions.

The East India Company should also bring the Peninsular and Oriental
Company to reasonable terms for the passage of officers to and from
India. A lieutenant who wishes to come home, cannot at present get
a passage from Calcutta to Southampton under one hundred and twenty
pounds. So that he gives up more than four months' pay for being "kept"
thirty-six days on board of a steamer. Three pounds ten shillings per
diem for food and transit!




THE MAHOMMEDAN MOTHER.


Mussoorie and Landour, situated in the lower range of the Himalaya
mountains, form the favourite sanitarium of the upper part of India.
The scenery is more beautiful than that of Simlah; for Mussoorie and
Landour command a view of Dehra Dhoon, which resembles (except that
the Dhoon is grander and more extensive) the plains of Italy as seen
from the ascent of the Simplon. The mall of Mussoorie is crowded every
evening with visitors; some on horseback, some on hill ponies, some
on foot, and some in the janpan (something like a sedan-chair carried
by four hill men). A gayer scene it would be impossible to conceive.
Every one knows his neighbour; and, in passing along the narrow road,
stoppages are frequent. Compliments must be exchanged, and the news or
scandal of the day gossiped about. Every now and then you hear a cry of
"What a shame!" from a terrified lady in a janpan, while a couple of
lovers gallop past on spirited Arabs at full speed. Sometimes a shriek
from a nervous mamma reverberates through the valleys, when she beholds
her children in the way of the heedless pair.

Accidents sometimes occur. A few years ago, a lady and a gentleman
were riding round a place called the Camel's Back; the road gave way,
and they fell down a precipice several hundred feet. The horses were
killed, but the riders miraculously escaped with only a few severe
bruises. On another occasion, a gentleman of the civil service was
taking his evening walk, when one of his dogs ran between his legs, and
precipitated him. He was killed on the spot.

On the mall every evening was to be seen a native woman standing by the
side of the road, near a large rock, watching those who passed by. She
was well dressed, and her face was concealed, according to the custom
of persons of her apparent station in life. There she stood, attracting
general attention. She was a woman of slight, but graceful figure, and
rather tall. Many persons were curious to know who she was, and to
see her face; but she took care that in this respect none should be
gratified. Sometimes she would go away early; at other times she would
remain until it was quite dark. Some suspected--and I was amongst the
number--that she was the native wife of some European officer who had
divorced himself, and visited the "Hills," whither the woman, to annoy,
had followed him; and there was no small amount of speculation as to
whose wife she could be. Some of the guesses, if they were seriously
made, were extremely ungenerous, for they included several elderly
officials, who could not by any possibility have been married to this
mysterious lady. I was determined to know who she was; and one night,
when most people were thronged around the band, I approached her, and
inquired if I could be of any service to her. She replied (her face
closely covered), "Yes; by going away." She had a very sweet voice, and
its sorrowful tones inspired me with pity, when she added, "I am a poor
woman; my heart is crushed; do not add to my misery by remaining near
me." I obeyed her, after apologizing for having intruded. Several other
persons had attempted to extract some particulars from the lady, and
had received the same sort of reply as that she had given to me.

The rains were about to commence, and storms were not unfrequent. The
mall was less frequented; only a few--those who cared little about
hearing "heaven's artillery thunder in the skies," or being pelted by
hailstones as large as marbles--ventured out; but amongst that few was
the native lady, who, punctual as the light of day, visited that huge,
dismal-looking rock, and gazed upon the road.

I have seen a storm on the heights of Jura--such a storm as Lord Byron
describes. I have seen lightning and heard thunder in Australia; I
have, off Terra del Fuego, the Cape of Good Hope, and the coast of
Java, kept watch in thunderstorms which have drowned in their roaring
the human voice, and made every one deaf and stupified; but these
storms are not to be compared with a thunderstorm at Mussoorie or
Landour.

In one of these storms of thunder, lightning, wind, and hail, at about
five o'clock in the afternoon, I laid a wager with a friend that the
native lady would be found as usual standing near the rock. Something
secretly assured me that she was there at that moment, looking on
unmoved, except by the passions which had prompted her pilgrimage. How
were we to decide it? "By going to the spot," I suggested. My friend
declined; but declared that, as far as the bet was concerned, he would
be perfectly satisfied with my word, either one way or the other;
namely, whether I had won or lost.

I set off upon my journey. The rock was at least three-quarters of a
mile distant from my abode. My curiosity was so much aroused--albeit
I felt certain the woman was there--that I walked through the storm
without heeding it. Every now and then I saw the electric fluid descend
into a valley; then heard that strange noise which huge pieces of
rock make when they bound from one precipice to another, tearing up
trees, and carrying large stones and the earth along with them in their
headlong career; but still my mind was intent on the woman, and nothing
else.

Was she there?

Yes; there she sat, drenched to the skin; but I could not pity her wet
and cold condition, for I could see that she cared no more about it
than I cared about my own. She drew her garment so closely over her
face, that the outline of her features was plainly discernible. It was
decidedly handsome; but still I longed to see her eyes, to confirm my
impression. I sat beside her. The storm still raged, and presently the
lady said, "The heaven is speaking, Sahib." I answered, "Truly; but the
lightning, the parent of that sound which I now hear, I cannot see."
She understood me, and gave me a glimpse of her eyes. They were not
like the eyes of a native; they were of a bluish hue, almost grey. I
said to her, in Hindoostanee, "You are not a native; what do you do
here in a native dress?"

"I would I were an European," she answered me. "My feelings, perhaps,
would be less acute, and I should be sitting over a bright fire. Oh,
how loudly the heaven is speaking! Go home, Sahib, you will catch cold!"

"Why do _you_ not go home?" I asked. "You will see no one to-day.
No--not even your beloved. I am the only being who will venture out in
a storm like this; and I do so only for your sake."

"My heart is as hard as this rock," she said, flipping her finger
against the granite, "to all except one being--a child. Oh, how the
heaven is speaking, Sahib!"

"Do you not fear the lightning and the hail?" I asked her.

"I did once," she replied. "I trembled whenever it came near; but
now, what does it signify? _Bidglee_ (lightning), come to me," she
cried, beckoning to a streak of fluid which entered the ground within a
hundred yards of us. "_Bidglee_, come here, and make a turquoise of my
heart."

What pretty feet! She had kicked off her shoes, which were saturated
and spoiled.

"Go home, Sahib" (such was the refrain of her conversation); "you will
catch cold!"

By degrees I had an opportunity of seeing all her features. She was
most beautiful, but had evidently passed the meridian of her charms.
She could not have been less than twenty-four years of age. On the
forefinger of her left hand she wore a ring of English manufacture, in
which was set a red cornelian, whereon was engraved a crest--a stag's
head.

I took her hand in mine, and said, "Where did you get this?" pointing
to the ring.

She smiled and sighed, and then answered, "Jee (sir), it belonged to an
Ameer (a great man)."

"Where is he?"

"Never mind."

"Do you expect to see him soon?"

"No; never."

"Is he old?"

"No; not older than yourself. How the heaven is speaking!"

"Let me see you to your home."

"No. I will go alone."

"When do you intend to go?"

"When you have left me."

"You are very unkind thus to repulse my civility."

"It may be so; but my heart's blood is curdled."

I bade her farewell; and through the storm, which still raged, I went
home and won my wager.

I could not rest that night. The beautiful face of the native woman
haunted me. In vain I tried to sleep, and at last I arose from my bed,
and joined a card-party, in the hope that the excitement of gambling
would banish her from my brain. But to no purpose. I knew not what I
was playing, and ere long I left off in disgust.

Almost every one who visits the Hills keeps a servant called a
_tindal_. His duty is to look after the men who carry your janpan, to
go errands, to keep up the fire, and to accompany you with a lantern
when you go out after dark. These tindals, like the couriers on the
Continent, are a peculiar race; and, generally speaking, are a very
sharp, active, and courageous people. I summoned my tindal, and
interrogated him about the native lady who had caused so much sensation
in Mussoorie. The only information he could afford me was, that she had
come from a village near Hurdwar; that she was rich, possessed of the
most costly jewels, kept a number of servants, moved about in great
state on the plains, and, for all he knew, she might be the wife or
slave of some Rajah.

Could she, I wondered, be the famous Ranee Chunda, the mother of
Dulleep Singh, and the wife of Runjeet?--the woman who, disguised
as a soldier, had escaped from the fort of Chunar, where she had
been imprisoned for disturbing, by her plots, the imagination of Sir
Frederick Currie, when he was Resident at Lahore? The woman I had seen
and spoken to "answered to the description" of the Ranee in every
respect, excepting the eyes. Dulleep Singh was living at Mussoorie, and
he not unfrequently rode upon the mall. Ranee Chunda had a satirical
tongue, and a peculiarly sweet-toned, but shrill voice, and she had
remarkably beautiful feet, and so had this woman. Ranee Chunda had
courage which was superhuman; so had this woman. Ranee Chunda had a
child--an only child; so had this woman.

I asked the tindal where the lady lived. He replied, that she occupied
a small house near the bazaar, not very far from my own abode. "She is
in great grief," the tindal yawned, "about something or other."

"Endeavour to find out the cause of her misfortunes," said I, "and you
shall be rewarded according to your success."

Next day the tindal reported to me that I was not the only Sahib who
was deeply interested in the native lady's affairs; that many wished
to make her acquaintance, and had sent their tindals to talk to her;
but that she had firmly and laconically dismissed them all, just as she
had dismissed him--"Tell your master that the sufferings of an object
of pity, such as I am, ought not to be aggravated by the insulting
persecution of gay and light-hearted men."

The day after the storm brought forth the loveliest afternoon that
can be imagined. The sun shone out brightly, the clouds were lifted
from the Dhoon, and the vast panorama resembled what we read of in
some fairy tale. All Mussoorie and Landour turned out. The mall was so
crowded, that it was difficult to thread one's way through the throng.

Was the lady at the rock? Yes; there she stood, as usual, watching
those who passed. The Maharajah with his suite appeared. I was
convinced that the woman was the Maharajah's mother; but I did not
breathe my suspicions, lest I might cause her to be arrested. When it
became dusk, and the visitors were taking their departure, I again
approached the lady, and made my "salaam," in that respectful phrase
which is always adopted when addressing a native woman of rank. She at
once recognised me as the person who had spoken to her during the storm
on the previous afternoon, for she alluded to its fury, and said she
had taken a wrong road, had lost her way after I had left her, and did
not reach home till nearly midnight. She concluded her little speech
with a hope that I had been more fortunate.

"You should have allowed me to escort you," said I. "I would have
helped to carry your load of sorrow."

She looked at me, and suddenly and abruptly said, "Your name is
Longford."

"You are right," said I.

"About three or four years ago you stayed for several days with a
friend in a tent near Deobund? You were on your way to these mountains?"

"I did."

"You had a little dog with you, and you lost it at Deobund?"

"I did lose my dog, and made a great noise about it. But how do you
know all this?"

She smiled and sighed.

I was bewildered. My belief that she was the Ranee Chunda was almost
confirmed. It was close to the encampment of the Ranee, when she was
on her way to Chunar, that my dog was lost, and my servants and the
officers of police declared that it must have been some of the Ranee's
people who had stolen the favourite.

"The dog is still alive," said the lady; "and if you will come
to-morrow, at twelve o'clock, to my house, you shall see him; but you
will promise not to take him from me?"

"Of course I will not take him from you. But let me see him to-night,
and tell me how he came into your possession. I will see you to your
home."

"No, Sahib; be patient. I will tell you all to-morrow; and, when you
have heard my story, you will perhaps do me a kindness. It is in your
power to assist me. Tell me where you live, and I will send my brother
to you at eleven o'clock. He will conduct you to my house. Salaam,
Sahib."

I returned her salaam, and left her.

I did not go to bed till two o'clock the next morning, and when my
tindal aroused me at eleven, and informed me that a young man wished to
see me, I was disposed to believe that my engagement at twelve had been
made in my dreams.

I ordered the young man to be admitted. He came to my bedside, and
said in a confidential tone of voice: "The lady has sent me to wait
your commands." I got up, made a hasty toilet, drank a cup of very hot
tea, and followed the young man, who led me to the little house near
the theatre, at the top of the Bazaar. I entered the abode, and found
the lady sitting, native fashion, on a carpet on which was strewed
marigold and rose leaves. Her silver kulean (small hookah) was beside
her; and, sure enough, there was my long-lost terrier, Duke, looking as
sleek, fat, lazy, and useless as a native lady's dog could be. After
expressing my thanks to the lady for her condescension in granting
me the interview, I spoke to my former favourite, Duke, but he only
stretched himself, and yawned in reply.

"And you have still that ring with the blue stone in it," said the
lady, taking my hand, and smiling while she looked at the ring. "I
remember observing this when I saw you asleep, one morning, on a couch
in the tent at Deobund. Had I noticed it when you addressed me during
the storm, I would not have spoken so rudely to you."

"I do not remember having seen you previous to the other evening," said
I; "and if I had, I should never have forgotten it. Where have we met?"
I repeated.

"Where I had opportunities of seeing you, but where you could not see
me."

There was an old serving woman, whom she called mother, attending upon
her, and the young man whom she called brother, a soldier-like looking
youth, was still standing in the room to which he had conducted me. The
lady desired them both to withdraw, and then begged me to bring the
mora (or stool) upon which I was sitting close to her side. I obeyed
her. She placed her finely-formed head in the palms of her hands, and
gave vent to a violent flood of tears. I suffered her to weep without
interruption. Grief appeared to relieve her rather than to increase her
pain. At length she dried her eyes, and said:--

"My father was a _Moolvee_ (Mahommedan law officer), attached to the
Sudder Court, in Agra. I am his only daughter. He was absent from home
all day. Why should he not be? He was paid for it; he ate the Company's
salt. Well, when I was about fifteen years of age I was enticed away
from my home by the _Kotwall_ (native police officer). He sent an old
woman, who had silver on her tongue and gold in her hand. She told
me long stories about love; and promised me that if I left my home I
should marry the _Kotwall's_ son, who was young and handsome. I was
but a child and very foolish. The servants who had charge of me were
all bribed heavily. One received three hundred rupees, another two
hundred, a third one hundred. These people encouraged me in the idea
that to marry the _Kotwall's_ son would be the most prudent thing in
the world; and, one day, when my father had gone to the Court at about
ten o'clock, I eloped with the old woman whom the _Kotwall_ had sent to
talk me over.

"We travelled all day in a _bylee_ (native carriage), guarded by two
sowars. I asked the old woman several times where she was taking me,
but her only reply was, 'Set your heart at rest, child, and eat some
sweetmeats.' The _pawn_ which she gave me must have been drugged, for
shortly after eating it I fell asleep. How long I slept I cannot say,
but when I awoke I found myself in the house of a Sahib. The old woman
was there also. I became alarmed, but my fears were quieted by the old
woman's tongue. She told me I was close to Agra, but the truth was, I
was one hundred koss (two hundred miles) distant. Nautch girls were
sent for, and they danced before me. I had this hookah given to me,
and these bangles. A boy very handsomely dressed waited upon me, and
brought my food. Parrots, minahs, and doves were purchased for me to
play with. Whatever my childish fancy dictated the old woman instantly
procured.

"I was so constantly amused, I had no time or inclination to think of
my home. My father was a bad-tempered man, and I was only too glad to
be out of hearing of the quarrels in which he constantly engaged with
his servants and dependents. One evening the old woman said to me,
'_Baba_ (child), order a Nautch this evening, and let me, in your name,
invite the Sahib to witness it.' I had never seen an Englishman--an
European--except at a distance. The idea of being in the room with
one inspired me with terror. I had been taught to despise the Kafir,
whom my father said he was compelled to serve. I objected; but the old
woman's eloquence again prevailed.

"The night came; I was seated on my _fureesh_ (carpet) just as I am
now, and dressed in clothes of the gayest description. I was like a
little queen, and felt as proud as was Noor Jehan. I was then very
handsome. If I had not been, much trouble would have been spared; and
my flesh was firm--not as it is now. At about ten o'clock the Sahib
made his appearance. When he came into the room I was ready to faint
with alarm, and, turning my head away, I clung to the old woman, and
trembled from head to foot. '_Dhuro mut_' (do not fear), said the
Sahib; and then he reproved, but in a gentle voice, the Nautch girls
who were laughing loudly at me. The old woman, too, bade me banish my
fears. After a while, I ventured to steal a look at the Sahib; and
again averted my face, and clung to the old woman. The Sahib, after
remaining a brief while, during which he praised my beauty, retired,
and I was once more happy. 'There,' said the old woman, when he was
gone; 'you see the Sahib is not a wild beast out of the jungles, but as
gentle as one of your own doves.'

"On the following day I heard the Sahib talking in the next room;
I peeped through the keyhole of the door, and saw him seated at a
table. The _nazir_ (head clerk) was standing beside him, reading.
There was a man in chains surrounded by _burkandâzes_ (guards) at the
other end of the room, and a woman was there giving her evidence. The
Court-house was undergoing some repairs, and the Sahib was carrying on
his magisterial duties in his dining-room. The man in chains began to
speak, and deny his guilt. The Sahib called out, '_Choop!_' (Silence!)
in a voice so loud, that I involuntarily started back and shuddered.
The prisoner again addressed the Sahib, and one of the _burkandâzes_
dealt him a severe blow on the head, accompanied by the words, '_Suer!
Chor!_' (Pig! Thief!) The case was deferred until the following day,
and the court closed at about four o'clock in the afternoon, when the
Sahib again paid me a visit.

"I was now afraid to show my fears, lest the Sahib should order me to
be killed; and I therefore put on a cheerful countenance, while my
heart was quivering in my breast. The Sahib spoke to me very kindly,
and I began to dread him less.

"In this way I spent a fortnight; and, at the end of that time, I
ventured to talk to the Sahib as though I were his equal. It afforded
me great amusement to watch the administration of justice through the
keyhole; and, young as I was, I imbibed a desire to have a share in the
arbitrary power which was daily exercised.

"One day, when the Sahib came into my room, I began to talk to him
about a case of which he had just disposed. He laughed, and listened to
my views with great patience. I told him that the evidence upon which
the prisoner had been convicted was false from beginning to end. He
promised me that he would reverse the sentence of imprisonment; and, in
the ecstasy of my joy at finding that I really had some power, I was
intoxicated and unconscious of what I was doing. I suffered the Sahib's
lips to touch mine. No sooner had I done so than I felt a degraded
outcast, and I cried more bitterly than I have words to describe. The
Sahib consoled me, and said that his God and his Prophet should be
mine; and that in this world and the next our destinies should be the
same.

"From that day I was a wife unto him. I ruled his household, and I
shared his pleasures and his sorrows. He was in debt; but, by reducing
his expenses, I soon freed him, for his pay was fifteen hundred rupees
a month. I suffered no one to rob him, and caused the old woman, who
was a great thief and cheat, to be turned away. I loved him with all
my soul. I would rather have begged with him than have shared the
throne of Ackbar Shah. When he was tired, I lulled him to sleep; when
he was ill, I nursed him; when he was angry, I soon restored him to
good-humour; and, when I saw him about to be deceived by subordinates,
I put him on his guard. That he loved me I never had any reason to
doubt. He gave me his confidence, and I never abused his trust."

"Who was the man?" I inquired; for I was in doubt, although I suspected.

"Be patient, Sahib," she replied, and then resumed. "At the end of two
years I became a mother."

Here she gave vent to another flood of tears.

"The Sahib was pleased. The child seemed to bind us more closely
together. I loved the child; I believe it was because it bore such a
strong likeness to its father. When the Sahib was away from me on duty
in the district, he seemed still by my side, when I looked at the boy,
who was as white as you are."

"Is the child dead?" I asked.

"Be patient, Sahib. When you passed through Deobund, and stayed in the
tent with your friend, my child was two years old. I was the mistress
of that encampment at Deobund, and the wine you drank was given out
with this hand."

"How little do men know of each other!" I exclaimed; "even those who
are the most intimate! I had not the least idea there was a lady in the
camp, I assure you."

"How angry with you was I," said she, "for keeping the Sahib up so
late. You talked together the whole night long. Therefore I had no
remorse when I took your dog. Well, as you are aware, soon after that
the Sahib was seized with fever, from which he recovered; but he was so
shattered by the attack that he was compelled to visit Europe, where
you know--" She paused.

A native woman will never, if she can avoid it, speak of the death of
a person whom she has loved. I was aware of this, and bowed my head,
touching my forehead with both hands. The father of her child had died
on his passage to England.

"Before he left me," she continued, "he gave me all that he possessed;
his house and furniture; his horses, carriage, plate; his shares in
the bank; his watch, his dressing-case, his rings;--everything was
given to me, and I own all to this hour. When I heard the sad news I
was heartbroken. Had it not been for the child I would have starved
myself to death; as it was, I took to opium and smoking _bhung_
(hemp). While I was in this state, my Sahib's brother--the Captain
Sahib--came, and took away the boy; not by violence. I gave it to him.
What was the child to me then? I did not care. But the old woman whom
you heard me call my mother, who now attends me, gradually weaned
me from the desperation in which I was indulging; and, by degrees,
my senses returned to me. I then began to ask about my child, and a
longing to see him came over me. At first they told me he was dead;
but when they found I was resolved to destroy myself by intemperance,
they told me the truth; that the child was living, and at school in
these hills. I have come hither to be near my child. I see him almost
every day, but it is at a distance. Sometimes he passes close to where
I stand, and I long to spring upon him and to hug him to my breast,
whereon in infancy his head reposed. I pray that I could speak to him,
give him a kiss, and bless him; but he is never alone. He is always
playing with, or talking to, the other little boys at the same school.
It seems hard that he should be so joyous while his own mother is so
wretched. Of what use to me is the property I have, when I cannot touch
or be recognised by my own flesh and blood. You know the master of the
school?"

"Yes."

"Could you not ask him to allow my child to visit you? I could then
see him once more, and speak to him. You were a friend of his father,
and the request would not seem strange."

I felt myself placed in a very awkward position, and would make no
promise; but I told the woman I would consider the matter, and let her
know on the following day, provided she would stay at home, and not
visit that rock upon the road any more. She strove hard to extract from
me a pledge that I would yield to her request; but, difficult as it was
to deny her anything--she was still so beautiful and so interesting--I
would not commit myself, and held to what I had in the first instance
stated.

       *       *       *       *       *

I paid a visit to the school at which my friend's child had been placed
by his uncle, a captain in the East India Company's service. I saw
some thirty scholars, of all colours, on the play-ground; but I soon
recognised the boy whom I was so curious to see. He was indeed very
like his father, not only in face and figure, but in manner, gait, and
bearing. I called to the little fellow, and he came and took my hand
with a frankness which charmed me. The schoolmaster told me that the
boy was very clever, and that, although only six years old, there were
but few of his playmates whom he did not excel. "His father was an old
friend of mine," I said. "Indeed our acquaintance began when we were
not older than this child. Would you have any objection to allow the
boy to spend a day with me?"

"I promised his uncle," was the schoolmaster's reply, "that he should
not go out, and that I would watch him closely; but of course he will
be quite safe with you. Any day that you please to send for him he
shall be ready."

"Does he know anything of his mother?" I inquired.

"Nothing," said the schoolmaster. "He was very young when he came to
me. I have no idea who, or what, or where the mother is, for his uncle
did not enter into the particulars of his parentage. The mother must
have been very fair, if she were a native, the boy is so very slightly
touched with the tar-brush."

I went home, and sent for the mother. She came; and I entreated her to
forego her request, for the child's sake. I represented to her that
it might unsettle him, and cause him to be discontented. I assured
her that he was now as happy and as well taken care of as any mother
could desire her offspring to be. On hearing this the poor woman
became frantic. She knelt at my feet and supplicated me to listen to
her entreaty--a sight of her child, a few words with him, and a kiss
from his lips. She said she did not wish him to know that she was his
mother; that if I would have him brought into my house, she would dress
in the garb of a servant woman, or _syce's_ (groom's) wife, and talk
to the boy without his being aware that she was the person who had
brought him into the world.

"And you will not play me false?" said I, moved by her tears. "You will
not, when you have once got hold of the boy, decline to relinquish
that hold, and defy his friends--as mothers _have_ done--to take him
from you, except by an order of Court? Remember, Dooneea (that was her
name), that I am running a great risk; and am, moreover, deceiving the
schoolmaster, and behaving badly to the boy's uncle, by allowing myself
to be swayed by your tears and my own feelings. Consider what disgrace
you will bring upon me, if you fail to keep your word in this matter."
She bound herself by an oath that she would do all I required, if I
would only give her the longed-for interview.

"To-morrow, at twelve," said I, "you may come here. At that hour, in
this room, the child shall be with me. Come in the dress of a poor
woman, and bring an infant with you. Let your excuse be that you have
come to complain of the ill-treatment you have received from your
husband, who is in my service. This will give me an opportunity of
bidding you remain until justice be done, and meanwhile you will see
the boy; and when I go out of the room, which will be only for a short
time, you can talk to him. Do you know your part, Dooneea?"

"Yes, Sahib."

"To-morrow, at twelve. Salaam, Dooneea!"

"Salaam, Sahib." She went away with a cheerful countenance.

There are no such actors in the world as the people of Hindostan.
The boy came to me a little before twelve, and was reading to me,
when Dooneea, with a child in her arms, and dressed in the shabbiest
apparel, rushed into the room, and commenced an harangue. She said she
had been beaten unmercifully by her husband, for no cause whatever;
that he had broken one of her fingers, and had attempted to stab her;
but she had saved her life by flight. All this she accompanied with
gesticulations and tears, according to the custom of complainants in
the East. I feigned to be very angry with the husband, and hastily left
the room, as if to make inquiry and to send for him.

I ran round to an outer door, and peeped in upon Dooneea and her
boy. She was repeating the same tale to the child, and the child was
imploring her not to cry. It was a strange scene. The tears she was now
shedding were not mock tears. The boy asked her how her husband came to
beat her? She began thus:--"I was sitting near the fire talking to my
eldest boy, and had my arm round his waist--there, just as I put my arm
round your waist--and I said to the boy, 'It is getting very late and
you must go to sleep,' and I pulled him to my breast--like this--and
gave him a kiss on his forehead, then on his eyes--there--just as
gently as that, yes, just like that. Well, the boy began to cry--"

"Why did he cry? Because you told him to go to bed?"

"Yes," said Dooneea; "but his father came in, and thought I was teasing
the child. He abused me and then he beat me."

The woman gazed at her child; and, having a good excuse for weeping in
her alleged wrongs, she did not scruple to avail herself of it. From
behind the screen which concealed me from her sight, and that of the
boy, I, too, shed tears of pity.

I returned to the room, and said, "Dooneea, since you are afraid of
your life, do not leave this house until I tell you to do so; but give
your infant to the sweeper's wife to take care of. I do not like your
children in my house."

How thankful she was! She placed her head upon my feet, and cracked her
knuckles over my knees.

Charles Lamb says that the children of the poor are adults from
infancy. The same may be said of the children of the rich in India.
Dooneea's little boy discussed the conduct of the cruel husband, and
sympathised with the ill-used wife, as though he had been called upon
to adjudicate the affair in a court of justice. He even went so far as
to say, "What a wicked man to beat such a dear looking woman!" and he
gave Dooneea the rupee which I had given to him on the day previous
when I saw him at the school. With what delight did Dooneea tie up that
piece of coin, from the child's hand, in the corner of her garment.
It seemed far more precious to her than all the jewels which his dead
father had presented to her in days gone by. It was a gift from her
own child, who was living, but to her, dead. Dooneea spoke Persian--a
language the boy did not understand. His father had taught Dooneea that
language in order that their servants might not know the tenor of their
discourse. In that language Dooneea now spoke to me, in the boy's
presence.

"Is he not very like his father?" she said.

"Very," I replied.

"Will he be as clever?"

"He is too young for any one to judge of that."

"But he will be as generous" (she pointed to the coin), "and he will be
as tall, as good-looking, as passionate, as gentle, and as kind."

The boy's boots were muddy. Dooneea observed this, and with her own
little hands cleaned them; and smiling, she asked him for a present, in
that tone and manner which the poorest menial in Hindostan adopts when
addressing the most haughty superior.

The boy blushed, and looked at me.

"Have you nothing to give her?" said I.

"Nothing," said he; "I gave her my rupee."

"Give her that pretty blue ribbon which is round your neck, and I will
give you one like it," said I.

He took the ribbon from his neck and gave it to Dooneea.

Dooneea twisted the ribbon in her hair, and began to weep afresh.

"Do not cry, you silly woman," said I; "I will see that your husband
does not beat you again."

She understood me, and dried her tears.

Dooneea again spoke to me in Persian. "Sahib," said she, "they do not
wash the children properly at that school. Order me to do this."

"Charley, why did you come to me in this state, with your neck
unwashed?" I asked the boy.

"We only wash in warm water once a week; on Saturdays," he replied.
"This is Thursday."

"But I cannot allow you to dine with me in this state," said I, in
Hindostanee. "You must be well washed, my boy. Dooneea, give the child
a bath."

With reluctant steps, the child followed his mother to my bathing-room.
I peeped through the purdah; for I began to fear that I should have
some trouble in parting the mother from her child, and half repented
that I had ever brought them together. While Dooneea was brushing the
child's hair, she said, "_Toomara mama kahan hai?_--Where is your
mother?"

The boy answered, "I do not know."

I began to cough, to inform Dooneea that I was within hearing, and that
I objected to that strain of examination. She ceased immediately.

I had an engagement to ride with a lady on the Mall. My horse was
brought to the door; but I was afraid to leave Dooneea alone with the
boy, notwithstanding her solemn promise that she would not run off
with him. Yet I did not like to hurry that eternal separation on earth
which, for the boy's sake, I was determined their separation should be.

I walked up and down my verandah for some time, meditating how I
could part them. At last it occurred to me that I would send the boy
away to his school by stratagem, and trust to chance how I might best
explain to Dooneea that he would not return. I ordered a _syce_ (groom)
to saddle a little pony that I possessed, and told Dooneea that I
wished the boy to take a ride with me, and that while we were absent,
she ought to take some food. It stung me to the soul to witness how
innocent she was of my intentions; for she seemed pleased that I should
show her child so much attention as to be seen in public with him.

As soon as we were out of sight of my house, I took the road for
Landour, delivered the boy over to his schoolmaster, told my groom
to keep the pony out till after dark, cantered to the Mall, kept my
engagement, and returned to my home at about half-past seven o'clock.
There was Dooneea waiting for us in the verandah.

"Where is the boy?" she inquired, on finding me return alone.

I gave her no reply; but dismounted and approached her. Taking hold of
her wrists, I said, in the gentlest voice, "Dooneea, I have fulfilled
my promise. You have seen your child, you have spoken to him, you have
kissed him. Enough. He has now gone back to school. You must not see
him again, if you really love him."

She trembled in my grasp, looked piteously in my face, gasped several
times for breath, as though she longed to speak, and swooned at my
feet. I lifted her, carried her into the house, and laid her upon
my bed; then sent for servants, and for a doctor, who lived near my
bungalow. The doctor came. While he felt her pulse, and placed his
hand over her heart, I briefly explained to him what had taken place.
He still kept his finger on the vein, and gazed on Dooneea's beautiful
face. Blood began to trickle from her nostrils, and from her ears,
staining the bed linen and the squalid garments in which she had
attired herself. In a few minutes the doctor released his hold of her
wrist. "Poor thing!" he ejaculated. "Her troubles are over! She is at
rest!"

    ---- Never more on her
    Shall sorrow light, or shame.

She was dead.

       *       *       *       *       *

The old woman whom Dooneea called "mother," and the soldier-like
looking youth whom she called "brother," decamped with her jewels and
moveables, including my dog, "Duke;" but the house near Hurdwar,
and the bank shares--property to the value of about four thousand
pounds--remain invested in the names of trustees for the benefit of the
boy; who will, I trust, make good use of his little fortune, when he
becomes of age.




BLACK AND BLUE.


Forty years ago there went out to India, in the good ship _Globe_,
Ensign the Honourable Francis Gay, a younger son of the Right
Honourable the Earl of Millflower. The ensign was in his nineteenth
year, and was proceeding to join his regiment, which was stationed at
Chinsurah.

Lord Millflower, in his heart, hoped that his son would never return:
he was so great a disgrace to his family. There was no vice with which
this youth was unfamiliar. He had been expelled from no fewer than
seven schools. In two instances his offence was theft. His conduct had
so preyed upon the mind of Lady Millflower that she lost her reason.
At seventeen, he committed several forgeries of his eldest brother's,
Lord Larkspeare's name; and he took a similar liberty with the name
of his father's steward. But these offences were hushed up. He was
also guilty of a deed of violence, for which his life would have been
forfeited had the case been tried, instead of compromised; for in
those days such a deed of violence was a capital offence. His family
were in constant fear lest he should be transported as a felon, or
hanged at Newgate. It was, therefore, some satisfaction to them when
the Honourable Francis consented to hold a commission and join his
regiment in India. Lord Millflower's other sons, four in number, were
all steady, well-conducted, and rather dull beings, while Francis
was remarkably gifted, as well as remarkably vicious. He had both
talent and genius, humour and wit; and, much as he had neglected his
education, he was well read and well informed for his time of life. In
personal appearance, also, the reprobate had the advantage over his
brethren. None of them were even good-looking except Francis, who was
really very handsome, well proportioned, and tall. His manners also,
always frank, were, when he pleased, dignified and courteous, and his
bearing peculiarly graceful. What he wanted was feeling, to regulate
his passions. Of feeling, he was in his youth, wholly destitute.

Lord Millflower had taken the precaution of writing to the colonel
of the regiment his son was about to join, and of at the same time
enclosing a sum of money for the purpose of freeing Francis from any
pecuniary difficulty. Colonel Role himself had the misfortune to have
a very bad boy, and he, therefore, sympathized deeply with the worthy
nobleman, and resolved to do all in his power to reform the Honourable
Francis.

After a passage of four months, the _Globe_ arrived at Calcutta,
and the Honourable Francis Gay proceeded to Chinsurah and joined.
For several weeks he conducted himself with (for him) wonderful
propriety. It is true, that he drank and played at billiards and
cards, and sometimes an oath would escape his lips, but he indulged
in no excesses. The officers of the regiment, indeed, thought the
ensign a great acquisition, for he was not only a very pleasant but an
entertaining companion.

But, by degrees, the Honourable Francis fell off; and ere long, so far
from having a friend in the regiment, there was no one who would speak
to him. Even the colonel was compelled to forbid him his house. Many,
very many acts, unbecoming the character of an officer and a gentleman,
had been looked over by his seniors; but it was resolved that, on the
very next occasion of his transgressing, the Honourable Ensign should
be brought to a court-martial and dismissed the service. This resolve
was communicated to the ensign by the colonel, who had become tired of
lecturing him.

"The next time you are intoxicated on the parade ground, or the next
time you use bad language in the mess-room, or the next time you
publicly insult a brother officer, provoking him to quarrel with you,
you will forfeit your commission." Being the son of an earl, he was
entitled--many colonels think--to every possible chance of redemption.
Had he been the son of a commoner, he would, most probably, have been
court-martialled and cashiered for the very first offence.

"Thank you, sir," replied the ensign, with a low bow; "I will be more
cautious in future."

He kept his word. From this time he did his duty extremely well; and,
to all outward appearance, was a reformed character. The officers
observing this, generously made advances with a view to resuming their
former relations with him. But the Honourable Francis repulsed their
advances. The whole regiment had thought proper to cut him; and he now
thought proper to cut the whole regiment.

Several months passed, and during that period the ensign applied
himself to Hindostanee and Persian. He encouraged the natives to come
to his bungalow, to talk with him, and by night and by day pursued his
studies. The result was, that he soon conversed with perfect ease and
accuracy. He now began to live like a native--a Mahommedan; and, except
when he had to attend to his regimental duties, he wore the native
costume, and abstained from drink entirely. With truth, he might have
said with Conrad,--

    The grape's gay juice my bosom never cheers;
    I'm more than Moslem when the cup appears.

His food was rice, milk, vegetables, and fruit; the bed upon which he
slept was hard and mean; such as the natives use. The whole of his
European furniture he sold by auction.

His desire--the desire of a doubtfully reformed reprobate--to convert
to Christianity a young Mahommedan girl, astonished all those who
became acquainted with this desire. The girl was the daughter of a
water-carrier (Bheestie). She was not like the natives of India, but
more like those of Africa. She was coal black, and had thick lips and
wavy hair. She was short for her age--fourteen years--but thickset,
with powerful limbs. The girl's father told the servants belonging to
other officers of the regiment, and the curious whim of Gay's became a
topic of conversation.

Jehan, the bheestie's daughter, was a virtuous girl, and Francis Gay
had never approached her with a view to undermining her virtue. It was
no easy matter to persuade her to change her religion; but, strange to
say, he at length succeeded, and Noor Jehan was baptized as Ellen by a
missionary who journeyed to Chinsurah for the purpose of performing the
ceremony. The sanity or otherwise of the ensign was now very generally
discussed in the regiment, and the prevalent opinion was that he was
a lunatic. But the good colonel was a little angry at the surmise.
"Surely," he said, "you do not accuse a man of being a maniac because
he has converted an infidel."

The regiment was ordered to march to Cawnpore, whither Ellen and her
father also proceeded. Cawnpore was then the chief station in the
upper provinces of India. Five thousand troops were quartered there.
A regiment of dragoons, a regiment of native cavalry, a regiment of
British infantry, and two of native infantry. Besides horse and foot
there were companies of artillery, and sappers and miners.

Very shortly after the regiment was settled in Cawnpore, the Honourable
Francis Gay paid a visit to the chaplain, and intimated a desire to be
married. The chaplain of course replied that he should be most happy,
and there and then a day and hour was appointed for the performance
of the rite; but, when the reverend gentleman came to hear who was
to be the Honourable Ensign's bride--the black daughter of a native
water-carrier--he could not help remarking:

"I am sorry, Mr. Gay, that I cannot with sincerity offer you my
congratulations."

To which the ensign responded:

"My good sir, I did not ask them." And retired with a bow.

The chaplain drove to the house of Colonel Role, and told him of the
interview which had just taken place between himself and Ensign the
Honourable Francis Gay. The colonel called upon the young man, and
entreated him to reflect. "I _have_ reflected, sir," was the ensign's
reply. The colonel then went to the general, and the general sent for
Mr. Gay to attend at his bungalow. Mr. Gay obeyed the summons, and
listened with attention and much calmness to a long and violent speech.
When it was ended, however, Mr. Gay, with extreme courtesy, and in the
quietest of tones, spoke thus:

"General, you had a right to command my attendance here upon any
military matter, but not upon any civil matter. However, I waive that,
because I believe your intention to be a good one. You, general, have
arrived at the years of discretion--perhaps at something beyond those
years. You have, at all events, arrived at a time of life when the
tumultuous passion of youth can no longer be pleaded in extenuation of
certain follies. Now tell me, general, which of us, think you, sins
the most, and sets the worst example to the men, European and native,
in this station?--I, who wish to marry this good Christian girl; or
you, who have in your house----" Mr. Gay then made mention of two very
discreditable members of the general's establishment. "This is a
question which I shall put to the commander-in-chief, if you abide by
your threat to report me to his excellency."

That night the general and Colonel Role held a consultation. The
colonel still doubted the ensign's insanity. It had become a fixed idea
in the regiment that Gay was insane. The general caught at this, and a
committee of doctors was appointed to examine the ensign. They reported
that Ensign the Honourable Francis Gay was not only of sound mind, but
one of the most intellectual young men in the station; and that he had
explained to their entire satisfaction certain conversations which he
had frequently held with himself in Chinsurah, at the mess-table.

The wedding-day had been put off in consequence of these proceedings;
but the parties now met in the church, which was crowded with
officers, including nearly the entire medical staff, who were curious
to witness the spectacle. There stood the tall and handsome English
aristocrat, and beside him his coal-black bride, dressed in garments of
red silk, trimmed with yellow and gold tinsel. The ensign acted as the
interpreter, and explained to Ellen in Hindoostanee the vows she was
required to take. This made the ceremony a very long one. When it was
concluded, the bride got into her palanquin and was carried home. The
bridegroom mounted his pony, and rode by her side.

Ellen--now the Honourable Mrs. Gay--was a girl of great natural
ability, of an excellent disposition, and was blessed with an excellent
temper. She had, moreover, a very sweet voice. After her marriage she
was never seen by any European in Cawnpore, except her husband. It was
believed that the ensign saved more than two-thirds of his pay, which
Ellen, who had an excellent idea of business, used to lend out in small
sums to people in the bazaar at the rate of fifty per cent. per mensem.
If she lent a rupee (two shillings), she would get back at the end of
the month a rupee and eight annas (three shillings) by way of interest.

A year passed away, and a son and heir was born to the Honourable
Francis Gay. The child had light blue eyes, exactly like those of his
father; but his complexion was quite as black as his mother's. When
the child was three months old, it was brought to the church, and
publicly christened, Mr. Gay and the pay-sergeant of the company he
belonged to being the godfathers, and Ellen the godmother. The names
given to the infant were Ernest Augustus George Francis Frederick--such
being the names respectively of Lord Millflower's sons. Ernest was the
eldest, Augustus the second, George the third, Francis the fourth,
and Frederick the fifth and youngest. Not long after the birth of his
son, Ensign Gay obtained his promotion to the rank of lieutenant, and
received, of course, an increase of pay.

Fever became prevalent, and cholera. Several of the captains and senior
lieutenants fell victims; and, in less than three years, Lieutenant Gay
got his company (the regiment was now at Meerut), and retired from the
army by the sale of his captain's commission. It was supposed that he
was worth a great deal of money--a lac of rupees (ten thousand pounds)
at the very least. Whither he went no one knew, and no one cared. One
of the servants, whom he discharged previous to leaving the station of
Meerut, said he believed that his master had gone either to Affghanistan
or to Lahore.

Let us now return to Europe. A few years after Captain Gay had sold
out of the army, his eldest brother, Lord Larkspeare, was killed while
grouse-shooting, by the accidental discharge of his gun; his second
brother, Augustus, a captain in the army, was lost in a vessel which
was bringing him home from Canada; his third brother, George, died
of small-pox three days after he had taken his father's second title.
Of his son Francis's marriage, Lord Millflower had been informed, and
also of the birth of the black child, the Honourable Ernest Augustus
George Francis Frederick Gay. Colonel Role had deemed it his duty not
to withhold these facts, albeit they were disagreeable to communicate
to the noble earl. Lord Millflower begged of Colonel Role to institute
an inquiry into the fate of his Francis, and the Colonel did so, but
without success. No clue to his whereabout could be discovered, nor
could any one say what had become of him. Under these circumstances
it was taken for granted that he was dead. Another five years passed
away, and the Earl of Millflower departed this life. He was, of course,
succeeded in his titles and estates by his son Frederick.

Now let us return to Francis. He became a dealer in precious stones,
and travelled over the whole of India, under the name of Mustapha Khan,
visiting the various native courts. Every tour that he made occupied
him three years. Constantly moving about in the sun had tanned his once
fair face; and neither from his appearance--for he was dressed as a
native--nor from his speech, could the natives themselves detect that
he was an European. He gave out that his birthplace was Nepaul, where
the natives are sometimes born with blue eyes. He bought and sold,
and was apparently very happy in his occupation. His wife and son
invariably accompanied him in his travels. He had never written to his
family since his arrival in India, and had not received letters from
any member thereof. India he loved, England he detested, and would not
have taken up his father's title if it had been a dukedom. He never
approached the abode of an European, and never saw a newspaper. He was
not likely, therefore, to hear of the changes that had taken place at
home. In the bazaar at Delhi Captain Gay had a small house, in which
were deposited his effects, a few boxes filled with clothes, books,
&c., his sword, and the uniform he used formerly to wear. These were
under the care of a man-servant, a sweeper. The bulk of his worldly
wealth he invariably carried about his person, as many natives of India
do.

Ernest Gay was now twelve years of age. He was usually called by his
parents Chandee, a word signifying silver. Chandee was clever and
cunning, and had a wonderful talent for calculating numbers. In less
than a minute, by counting on his fingers, he would tell you the
interest due on such sums as three rupees, five annas, and seven pic,
for twenty-one days, at forty-one three-fourth per cent. English he
had never heard spoken; and as he had never been taught that language,
he did not understand a single word of it. Nor could he read or write
Hindoostanee, although he spoke it in all its purity and elegance.

There was about to take place a marriage in the family of the Rajah
of Pulbecala. Mustapha Khan (Francis Gay) journeyed from Delhi to the
Rajah's court, to exhibit his jewels. He had diamonds, rubies, and
emeralds of great price, and some of these he hoped to dispose of to
advantage. The Rajah, however, had already provided himself with these
matters, and therefore confined his purchases to a large cat's-eye
ring, for which he paid Mustapha fifty gold mohurs (eighty pounds).
On his way back to Delhi, at a place called Kunda Ka Serai, a band of
robbers attacked the jewel-merchant. They hacked him to pieces with
their swords, but they spared his wife and the boy. The whole of their
treasures were stolen; even the rings from Ellen's ears and fingers,
and the gold bangles which Chandee wore upon his arms.

When her senses were restored to her, Ellen, with the assistance of
her son, dug a grave in the sand, and buried her butchered husband.
The bearers who carried the palanquins ran away as soon as the robbers
attacked the party, and were no more seen. Most probably they had some
small share of the booty, the value of which the Sirdar estimated
at four lacs of rupees (forty thousand pounds). Whatever had been
Francis Gay's vices when a youth--and they were great enough in all
conscience--he had been a kind and affectionate husband to Ellen, and
she most bitterly deplored his loss; violent was the grief of Chandee,
who was devotedly fond of his father.

They heaped stones over the grave of the dead man, to mark the spot
where he was laid, and, after their own fashion, offered up prayers for
the repose of his soul.

The murder having been committed within the dominions of an independent
prince, Ellen knew that her wrongs were not likely to be redressed if
she complained; and that the British Government would not interfere,
unless she made known that her husband was an Englishman. This she felt
would be contrary to the wishes of the dead. Hopeless and helpless,
she and her son made the best of their way to Delhi, where, having
collected a few debts that were due to them, they established a small
shop for the sale of native sweetmeats. They carried on this business
for three or four years, when Chandee grew weary of it, and set up in
the world as a box-waller, or pedler. His box contained pens, ink,
and paper, needles, pins, knives, scissors, soap, eau de Cologne,
tooth-brushes, matches, and so forth. His customers were the European
officers, who gave him the name of Black and Blue, from the colour
of his eyes and skin. A box-waller is always a great cheat--as great
a rascal as was Autolycus himself; Black and Blue, if the truth must
be told, was not an exception to the rule or race. But no one could
grudge him his profits when the cuffs and kicks which were playfully
administered to him by the young lieutenants and ensigns are taken
into consideration. Black and Blue always took the rough usage of his
customers in excellent part; and would generally make some such appeal
as this (he had picked up a little English by this time): "Ah, well! I
know! You rich white gentlemans--I poor black devil. I pray all day all
night that ensign be made leeft'nunt; leeft'nunt, capitaine; capitaine,
capitain-meejor; meejor, kunnull; kunnull, meejor-jinneral; and then
God bless your father and mother, and brother and sister; and then, for
all that pray, I get so much kick and so many bad words. God make us
all--black and white; all equal right up above. You want blacking? Here
you are. Very good blacking--quite genuine; only one rupee a bottle. I
suppose you not got ready money! Very well, I wait till pay-day come.
I very poor man. You my master. Khuda Lord Kuren." The meaning of this
expression, with which most natives wind up a speech to an European,
signifies, May God make you a lord!

When Black and Blue was no more than five years old, he was playing
one morning in his father's compound (enclosure--the land around the
bungalow), when a pariah dog rushed in and mangled him very severely.
The dog was rabid. Captain Gay called in the doctor of a native cavalry
regiment, who lived in the next bungalow, who cauterized the wounds.
The child was bitten on the arms, legs, and chest, and was under the
doctor's treatment for upwards of five weeks. On several occasions when
he visited his patient, the doctor saw and conversed with Ellen, who
was naturally very anxious touching the child's safety. This doctor was
one of the number who witnessed the marriage of Ensign Gay at Cawnpore,
and was also present when his offspring was christened.

Shortly after the recovery of the little boy, the doctor had been
appointed a presidency surgeon, and had charge of one of the hospitals
in Calcutta, where he remained for upwards of twenty years. He was then
appointed superintending surgeon of the Meerut division. He had a son
at Delhi, a lieutenant in the foot artillery, and occasionally went
over (the distance is only forty miles from Meerut) to pay him a visit.

On one of these occasions, Black and Blue, who had been sent for, made
his appearance with his box, sat down on the carpet cross-legged, and
opened out his treasures. There were several young officers in the
bungalow, chums of the lieutenant; and, while the bargaining was going
on, they began to tease Black and Blue. One removed his turban with
the point of a stick; another sprinkled him with his eau de Cologne;
a third touched the tip of his great toe (he had left his shoes, out
of respect, in the verandah) with the lighted end of a cheroot. Black
and Blue howled with pain, whereupon the two roared with laughter. The
doctor, who was reading a paper, begged the young men to desist, and,
somewhat angrily, expostulated with his son for treating a native so
cruelly; for he was touched with poor Black and Blue's appeal--"God
make us all. When fire burns black man, black man feels as much pain as
white man. In hell, you rich gentlemans sing out just as much as poor
box-waller."

"Black and Blue is used to it, governor," said the lieutenant.

"Stuff, Robert!" said the doctor; "I address myself to you, and not to
these gentlemen, when I say that I have no patience with such flippant
cruelty."

"Sahib," said Black and Blue, looking up at the doctor, "you are very
good gentlemans--very kind man, and very handsome. May God make you
a lord; may your throne be perpetual, and may your end be peace; but
do not be angry with these gentlemen. They play tricks with Black
and Blue; but they are no enemies. If enemies, what for send to buy
Black and Blue's property? Sir, you greatly oblige Black and Blue
if you smile once more on these gentlemans. Sir, do you want any
violent (violet) powder, or one small patent corkiscrew (corkscrew)?
All men born equal; God's rain wet black man and white man all the
same. Devil's fire burn, too, both the same." Here he laughed at the
lieutenant. "Take one packet of violent-powder. Every one rupee a
packet. Well, then, take two for one, twelve. That can't hurt anybody.
Less than prime cost, I give you my solemn word. Handsome sir, don't be
angry."

The doctor, his attention attracted by those light blue eyes, set in
that very black skin, stared at Black and Blue for several minutes
after he had finished the speech above quoted. He had never before
seen such a peculiar expression as that on the face of the box-waller.
Suddenly he recollected an instance of black skin and light blue eyes;
but in that case the boy was half-European, the child of the Honourable
Francis Gay.

Black and Blue had occasion to change his position; and, in doing so,
exposed the calves of his legs. On one of them was a scar, quite round,
and about the size of a shilling.

"Good God!" exclaimed the doctor, who became both surprised and
agitated, and allowed the newspaper to fall from his hand.

"What is the matter, governor?" asked the lieutenant.

"Nothing--nothing!" said the doctor, still staring at Black and Blue,
whose countenance was no longer strange to him. "How did you come by
that mark?" he at length asked, pointing to the scar.

"I don't know, Sahib."

"But did not your parents ever tell you?"

"No, Sahib. Parents used to say that it come of itself."

This was no doubt true.

"Have you another mark like that on your right arm--just here?"

The doctor placed his finger on the sleeve of the man's dress.

"Yes. But bigger mark that one. How you know that, Sahib?" He pulled up
his sleeve and exhibited a scar the size of half-a-crown.

"And another here--on your hip--and another here, on your ribs?"

"Yes. All them marks got, sir. How you know that, Sahib?"

The doctor was quite satisfied that Black and Blue was no other than
his little patient of former years, and consequently the heir to the
Earldom of Millflower. Could it be possible, he thought, that Captain
Gay eventually abandoned his black wife and child! If not, how came
it that the boy (now a man of two or three and twenty) should be a
miserable pedler, living in the Bazaar at Delhi? When Black and Blue
had sold all that the young officers wanted to buy--when no amount of
coaxing and flattering would induce them to take anything more--he
was about to take his departure; but the doctor desired him to stay,
and intimated to his son that he wished to have some conversation in
private with Black and Blue.

"Where is your father?" the doctor asked.

"He dead, Sahib."

"When did he die?"

"Long time ago--ten or twelve year ago."

"Where did he die?"

"Mans--robber mans--kill him with sword."

"And your mother?"

Black and Blue told the doctor the whole of their history since the
death of Captain Gay, and his statements were substantially true. Black
and Blue, however, declared most positively that his father was a
native, and no European.

"Do you think," the doctor inquired, "that your mother would see me, if
I went down to her home?"

"O yes--why not? Come along, Sahib. I will show where she live. You
call for palanquin and get on. I run alongside."

The doctor's curiosity was very strong, and he could not resist the
desire to satisfy it at once. He accepted Black and Blue's invitation,
and went to the house occupied by Ellen. Habited as a native, she was
sitting on a coarse mat, smoking, and at the same time mending an old
garment of her son's.

The doctor recognised Ellen immediately, albeit she was now aged.
But at first she did not recognise him. He was altered very much in
appearance. His hair and whiskers had become very grey, and he no
longer wore a moustache.

Ellen parried all the questions that were put to her, and affected to
be as much surprised by them as by the doctor's visit. The statement of
her son she supported, that her husband was a native of India.

"O, but surely," said the doctor, "this was the boy whom I attended at
Meerut, many years ago, when you and your Sahib were living near the
Begum's bridge?"

The poor woman looked at him for a moment, then repeated his name, and
burst into tears. Her recollections crowded before her too thickly to
admit of her dissembling any further with her visitor; and she admitted
that she was the widow of Captain Gay, of her Majesty's ---- Regiment
of Foot.

The doctor was under no promise to Ellen to keep his discovery secret;
and feeling at liberty to speak of it, did so publicly as well as in
private. The peerages were looked into, and Black and Blue's pedigree
examined. There were the names of all the late lord's sons, and sure
enough there was Francis's name above that of Frederick's, the present
earl; opposite to the name of Francis were the letters signifying,
"died unmarried." Black and Blue of course became an object of great
curiosity. His right to a title did not induce him to alter his prices
in any way, and hence he was kicked and cuffed, and abused as much as
ever, by the young lieutenants and ensigns, who, by-the-bye, always
addressed him as "my lord," and "your lordship."

"Pomatum, my lord! Pomatum, did you say? Yes! But let me smell it.
O! your lordship calls this pomatum! I call it hog's lard washed in
sandalwood water. How much? One rupee! O, you villanous peer of the
realm! are you not ashamed of yourself?"

Another would thus address him:

"Look here, Lord Black and Blue. Why don't you go home and upset your
uncle? Turn him out of his title and estates--eh? You would be sure to
marry some beautiful girl."

To this Black and Blue would respond:

"What do I want with title and beautiful gal! This is my home, and I
got good business, good many friends, and two or three very beautiful
gal."

"Where, Black and Blue?"

"Ah! that is my business."

"Well, what will you sell your title for?"

"Well, what you offer?"

"One hundred rupees" (10_l._)

"Say one hundred and twenty-five."

"No."

"Well, take it--there. Give money, and I give receipt. You write it
out; I sign it. Sold one title to Ensign Matheson for a hundred rupees."

"But there are two titles, you ass; one an earldom, and the other a
viscounty."

"Well, you take the two; give two hundred rupees for both."

"No. The one I have already bought is the biggest and of the best
quality; the other is the small one, and of inferior quality."

"Well, I make reduction in price; take one with the other, and give me
one hundred and seventy-five rupees. That can't hurt anybody that wants
a title."

Would any of these lads, who had nothing in the world beyond their
pay, have consented to an union between Black and Blue and one of
their sisters, after he had come into what were his rights? No! Would
the poorest and most unprincipled officers--civil and military--in
the whole of India? No! Would any European girl of respectability who
had lived in India, to say nothing of the daughters of gentlemen and
ladies, have wedded the black heir to the title and estates of the Earl
of Millflower? No. Not in India could his sable lordship have found a
virtuous white woman to accept his hand!

In due course the story of Black and Blue's birth crept into the
columns of one of the Calcutta newspapers, and ere long an attorney
of the Supreme Court paid a visit to the imperial city, and had
an interview with Black and Blue. He proposed to the box-waller
to take him to England, and establish his claim to the estates,
which he truthfully represented as worth more than half a million
sterling--fifty lacs of rupees. He, the attorney, would pay all
expenses of the suit, and in the event of success, which was certain,
would receive only five per cent. or fifty thousand pounds, leaving
Black and Blue a balance of forty-five lacs.

Black and Blue, who loved and adored money, on hearing such a sum
spoken of, rolled his blue eyes and red tongue, and almost fainted. But
then, to cross the black water!--as the natives call the ocean--that
thought made him shudder and shake his head.

The attorney represented to him that he should live in great comfort
during the voyage; that the best cabin in the ship should be taken for
him; that he should have servants about him; and drawing forth a number
of prints of English beauties, he exhibited them to the gaze of Black
and Blue.

Black and Blue said he would consult his European friends. He did so,
and many of those friends dissuaded him from going to England. Not
that they had any doubt as to the issue of his claim, if it should be
disputed; but upon the reasonable ground that he was very happy where
he was. Others advised him to go by all means, and take up his title
and the wealth that pertained to it. His mother entreated him not to
leave her. But in the end the voice of the attorney prevailed, and
Black and Blue declared himself ready to accompany him.

Ten thousand rupees (one thousand pounds) were given to Ellen for her
support during the temporary absence of her son, who was to return as
soon as he had realized his forty-five lacs (four hundred and fifty
thousand pounds). It was said that a mercantile firm in Calcutta, in
which an illustrious native gentleman was a partner, advanced the means
required for the purpose of establishing the black man's right to the
earldom.

The attorney possessed himself of the proofs. He had the papers of
the Honourable Francis Gay, amongst which were letters from the late
Lord Millflower to his eldest brother, Lord Larkspeare. He also, in
the presence of credible witnesses, received from the hands of Ellen
the dead man's uniform; secondly, he had the deposition on oath of
the superintending surgeon, and of several other officers who were
cognizant of every particular. Many gave these depositions with
reluctance, but felt bound to speak the truth when interrogated. In a
word, the attorney got his case up remarkably well.

Black and Blue and the attorney left Calcutta in one of the large
passenger ships, and in the month of April landed at Gravesend, whence
they journeyed to London. Here Black and Blue was prevailed upon to
wear Christian clothes. In his snow-white muslin dress, his pink
turban, and his red slippers covered with gold embroidery, Black and
Blue had looked an aristocratic native, notwithstanding he was so very
black. [Colour is no criterion of high caste or rank in India. The
late Maharajah Rooder Singh, of Darbungah, whose family--to borrow a
phrase from "Burke's Peerage"--is one of stupendous antiquity, had
the complexion of an African; while his younger brother, Basdeo, who
now sits on the throne, is far fairer than his Highness the Maharajah
Dulleep Singh.] But in his black trousers, black waistcoat, black
surtout coat, white neckcloth, black beaver hat, and Wellington boots,
poor Black and Blue looked truly hideous; while his slouching Indian
gait would have led most people to conclude that he was intoxicated.
Poor Black and Blue had never tasted anything stronger than water in
the whole course of his life.

The attorney had an interview with Frederick Earl of Millflower. He
wrote to the firm in Calcutta to that effect, and he further stated
that the Earl had set him at defiance, and that he was about to
institute a suit in the proper court.

This was the last that was ever heard in India of Black and Blue, or of
the attorney. Inquiries were instituted, but with no avail. There were
many conjectures; the one most generally entertained was, that poor
Black and Blue and his undoubted claim were disposed of by the attorney
for a sum which satisfied him, and that Black and Blue was secretly led
into indulgences in some foreign country and died of their effects. But
his mother, who is still living, will not believe that he is dead, and
feels convinced that some day or other he will turn up and be restored
to her.

"What on earth became of that black earl?" is a question very often put
by many who were acquainted with his strange history.




THE RANEE OF JHANSI.


About a month after the order had gone forth for the annexation of the
little province of Jhansi (in 1854), and previous to a wing of the 13th
Native Infantry occupying the country, I received a letter in Persian,
written upon "gold paper," from the Ranee, begging me to pay her a
visit. The letter was brought to me by two natives of rank. One had
been the financial minister of the late Rajah. The other was the head
vakeel (attorney) of the Ranee.

The revenues of Jhansi were some six lacs (60,000_l._) a year, and
after disbursing the expenses of government, and paying the troops in
the late Rajah's service, the balance was some two lacs and a half
(25,000_l._) profit. The "troops" were not numerous, under 1000 in all,
and they were chiefly horsemen. The arrangement, when the country was
annexed, was simply this: that the Ranee should receive a pension of
6000_l._ a year, to be paid monthly.

The Ranee's object in asking me to visit her at Jhansi was to consult
me as to the possibility of getting the order for annexation annulled,
or reversed. I should mention that the Ranee had applied to me at the
instance of a gentleman of the Civil Service, who had once been the
Resident, or Governor-General's agent, at a native court in the upper
provinces; a gentleman who, in common with many other officials of
rank in India, regarded the annexation of Jhansi--"a trumpery state
after all"--not only as impolitic, but unjust and without excuse. The
facts were briefly these:--The late Rajah had no issue by his only wife
(the woman who caused our countrymen and countrywomen and children
to be put to death in the fort, and who, according to late advices,
has been killed), and some weeks previous to his death, being "sound
of mind, though infirm in body," he publicly adopted an heir, and
gave notice to the Government of having done so through the proper
channel--namely, the Governor-General's representative then stationed
at Jhansi. In short, all the forms required by the Government to
prevent fraud in such cases, had been complied with. The child was
taken into the Rajah's lap, in the presence of his assembled people,
and in the presence of the Governor-General's representative, and he,
moreover, signed a document, duly attested, reciting his act and deed.
The Rajah was a Brahmin; the adopted boy was a near relative of his.

The Jhansi Rajah had been particularly faithful to the British
Government, and Lord William Bentinck had presented the brother of the
late Rajah with a British ensign, and a letter giving him the title
of "Rajah," and assuring him that that title, and the independence
attached to it, would be guaranteed by the British Government to him,
the Rajah, and his heirs and _successors_ (by adoption). That that
treaty (for such it purported to be) of Lord William Bentinck was
violated, without the slightest shadow of a pretence, there cannot
be any sort of doubt. In the time of the Peishwah, the late Rajah of
Jhansi was simply a large zemindar (landholder), and had he remained
untitled there can be no question that his last wishes, so far as the
disposition of his property was concerned, would have been attended to.
It was the acceptance of the "Rajahship" which led to the confiscation
of his estates, and the exchange of 6000_l._ a year for 25,000_l._
a year. Strange as that assertion may seem to the reader, it is
nevertheless true.

I was at Agra when I received the Ranee's letter, and Agra is two days'
journey. Even as I travelled from Jhansi, I sympathized with the woman.
The boy whom the Rajah had adopted was only six years old, and during
his minority, that is to say, until he had attained his eighteenth
year, the Ranee--so the Rajah willed--was to have been the Regent,
and the boy's guardian; and it is no small matter for a woman--a
native woman of rank, too--to give up such a position and become a
pensioner, even on 6000_l._ a year. Let me detail the particulars of
my journey to the residence of the Ranee of Jhansi. I got into my
palanquin at dusk, and on the following morning, at daylight, arrived
at Gwalior. The Rajah of Jhansi had a small house about a mile and
a half from the cantonment, which was used as a halting-place, and
thither I was taken by the minister and the vakeel who accompanied
me. At ten o'clock, after I had breakfasted and smoked my hookah, it
was proposed that we "go on at once." The day was very warm, but the
Ranee had sent a large and comfortable palanquin carriage; in short,
it was more like a small room than a carriage, fitted up as it was
with every convenience, including even a punkah, which was pulled from
the outside by a servant, who sat upon a foot-board. In the carriage,
beside myself and the minister and vakeel, was a khansamah, or butler,
who, with the apparatus between his knees, kept on cooling water, and
wine, and beer, in order that, whenever I felt thirsty, I might be
supplied at a moment's notice. This enormous carriage was drawn by a
pair of horses of immense strength and swiftness. Each stood about
seventeen hands high. The late Rajah had imported them from France at
a cost of 1500_l._ The road was rather rough in many places, but, on
the average, we got over it at the rate of about nine miles an hour. At
about two o'clock in the day we entered the Jhansi territory, having
changed horses twice, and we had now some nine miles to drive. Hitherto
we had been escorted only by four sowars (horsemen), but now our escort
amounted to about fifty, each horseman carrying an immense spear, and
dressed much in the same way as the Irregular Cavalry in the pay of the
East India Company. And along the road, at intervals of a few hundred
yards, were horsemen drawn up, and as we passed, they joined the
cavalcade; so that by the time we came in sight of the fortress--if
those old weak walls, surmounted by some nine pieces of old ordnance
of inferior calibre, deserved the name--the whole strength of the
Jhansi cavalry was in attendance. The carriage was driven to a place
called "the Rajah's garden," where I alighted, and was conducted by the
financial minister and the vakeel and other servants of state, to a
large tent, which was pitched beneath a clump of gigantic mango trees.
The tent, which was that in which the late Rajah used to receive the
civil and military officers of the British Government, was elegantly
fitted up, and carpeted; and at least a dozen domestic servants were
ready to do my bidding. I must not omit to mention that the companions
of my journey--the minister and the vakeel--were both men of good
ability and pleasing manners. They were, moreover, men of learning, so
that my time upon the road had been beguiled very agreeably.

The Ranee had consulted one of the many Brahmins who were supported by
her as to the most propitious hour for me to come to the purdah behind
which she sat; and the Brahmins had told her that it must be between
the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon, which was then near
her full; in other words, between half-past five and half-past six
o'clock.

This important matter having been communicated to me, I expressed
myself perfectly satisfied with the time of the appointment, and
ordered dinner accordingly. This done, the financial minister, after
betraying some embarrassment, intimated that he wished to speak to me
on a rather delicate subject, and that, with my permission, he would
order all the menial servants in attendance on me, including my own
sirdar-bearer (valet), to leave the tent and stand at a distance. I
complied, of course, and presently found myself alone with only the
"officials" (eight or nine in number) of the little native state of
Jhansi. What the finance minister wished to ask me was this--Would
I consent to leave my shoes at the door when I entered the Ranee's
apartment? I inquired if the Governor-General's agent did so. He
replied that the Governor-General's agent had never had an interview
with the Ranee; and that the late Rajah had never received any European
gentleman in the private apartments of the palace, but in a room set
apart for the purpose, or in the tent in which we were conversing. I
was in some difficulty, and scarcely knew what to say, for I had a few
years previously declined to be presented to the King of Delhi, who
insisted on Europeans taking off their shoes when they entered his
presence. The idea was repugnant to my mind, and I said as much to the
minister of the late Rajah of Jhansi; and I asked him whether he would
attend a levée at the palace of the Queen of England, if informed that
he must enter her Majesty's presence with his head uncovered, as did
all her subjects, from the lowest to the highest. To this question he
would not give me a direct answer, but remarked, "You may wear your
hat, Sahib; the Ranee will not mind that. On the contrary, she will
regard it as an additional mark of respect towards her." Now this
was what I did not want. My desire was, that she should consider the
wearing of my hat, supposing I consented to take off my shoes, as a
species of compromise on her part as well as on my part. But I was so
amused with this bargaining, as it were, that I consented; giving them
distinctly to understand, however, that it was to be considered not
as a compliment to her rank and dignity, but to her sex, and her sex
alone. That great point settled, I partook of a very sumptuous repast
that was prepared for me, and awaited patiently the setting of the sun
or the rising of the moon, determined, however, that I would wear my
hat--a black "wide-awake," covered with a white turban.

The hour came, and the white elephant (an Albino, one of the very few
in all India), bearing on his immense back a silver houdah, trimmed
with red velvet, was brought to the tent. I ascended the steps, which
were also covered with red velvet, and took my place. The mahoot, or
elephant-driver, was attired in the most gorgeous manner. The ministers
of state, mounted on white Arabs, rode on either side of the elephant;
the Jhansi cavalry lining the road to the palace, and thus forming an
avenue. The palace was about half a mile distant from my encampment
ground.

Ere long we arrived at the gates, at which the attendants on foot
began to knock violently. A wicket was opened, and closed hastily.
Information was then sent to the Ranee; and, after a delay of about
ten minutes, the "hookum" (order) came to open the gates. I entered
on the elephant, and alighted in a court-yard. The evening was very
warm, and I fancied that I should be suffocated by the crowd of natives
(retainers) who flocked around me. Observing my discomfiture, the
minister imperiously commanded them to "stand back!" After another
brief delay, I was asked to ascend a very narrow stone staircase,
and on the landing was met by a native gentleman, who was some
relative to the Ranee. He showed me first into one room and then into
another. These rooms (six or seven), like all rooms of the kind, were
unfurnished, save and except that the floors were carpeted; but from
the ceiling punkahs and chandeliers were suspended, and on the walls
were native pictures of Hindoo gods and goddesses, with here and there
a large mirror. At length I was led to the door of a room, at which the
native gentleman knocked. A female voice from within inquired, "Who is
there?"

"Sahib," was the reply. After another brief delay, the door was opened
by some unseen hand, and the native gentleman asked me to enter,
informing me, at the same time, that he was about to leave me. A
brief delay now occurred upon my part. It was with great difficulty
that I could bring myself to take off my shoes. At length, however, I
accomplished it, and entered the apartment in "stocking feet." In the
centre of the room, which was richly carpeted, was an arm-chair of
European manufacture, and around it were strewn garlands of flowers
(Jhansi is famous for its beautiful and sweet-smelling flowers). At
the end of the room was a purdah or curtain, and behind it people were
talking. I sat myself down in the arm-chair, and instinctively took
off my hat; but recollecting my resolve, I replaced it, and rather
firmly--pulling it well down, so as completely to conceal my forehead.
It was a foolish resolve, perhaps, on my part, for the hat kept the
breeze of the punkah from cooling my temples.

I could hear female voices prevailing upon a child to "go to the
Sahib," and could hear the child objecting to do so. Eventually, he
was "launched" into the room; and upon my speaking kindly to the
child, he approached me--but very timidly. His dress and the jewels
on his person, satisfied me that the child was the adopted son of the
late Rajah, and the rejected heir to the little throne of Jhansi.
He was rather a pretty child, but very short for his years, and
broad-shouldered--like most of the Mahratta children that I have seen.

Whilst I was speaking to the child, a shrill and discordant voice
issued from behind the purdah, and I was informed that the boy was
the Maharajah, who had just been despoiled of his rights by the
Governor-General of India. I fancied that the voice was that of some
very old woman--some slave or enthusiastic retainer, perhaps; but the
child having imagined that he was spoken to, replied, "Maharanee!" and
thus I was told the error of my conclusion.

And now the Ranee, having invited me to come closer to the purdah,
began to pour forth her grievances; and, whenever she paused, the
women by whom she was surrounded, set up a sort of chorus--a series of
melancholy ejaculations--such as "Woe is me!" "What oppression!" It
reminded me somewhat of a scene in a Greek tragedy--comical as was the
situation.

I had heard from the vakeel that the Ranee was a very handsome woman,
of about six or seven and twenty years of age, and I was very curious
indeed to get a glimpse of her; and whether it was by accident, or by
design on the Ranee's part, I know not, my curiosity was gratified.
The curtain was drawn aside by the little boy, and I had a good view
of the lady. It was only for a moment, it is true; still I saw her
sufficiently to be able to describe her. She was a woman of about
the middle size--rather stout, but not too stout. Her face must have
been very handsome when she was younger, and even now it had many
charms--though, according to my idea of beauty, it was too round. The
expression also was very good, and very intelligent. The eyes were
particularly fine, and the nose very delicately shaped. She was not
very fair, though she was far from black. She had no ornaments, strange
to say, upon her person, except a pair of gold ear-rings. Her dress
was a plain white muslin, so fine in texture, and drawn about her in
such a way, and so tightly, that the outline of her figure was plainly
discernible--and a remarkably fine figure she had. What spoilt her was
her voice, which was something between a whine and a croak. When the
purdah was drawn aside, she was, or affected to be, very much annoyed;
but presently she laughed, and good-humouredly expressed a hope that
a sight of her had not lessened my sympathy with her sufferings nor
prejudiced her cause.

"On the contrary," I replied, "if the Governor-General could only be as
fortunate as I have been, and for even so brief a while, I feel quite
sure that he would at once give Jhansi back again to be ruled over by
its beautiful Queen."

She repaid this compliment, and the next ten minutes were devoted to an
interchange of such matters. I told her that the whole world resounded
with the praises of her beauty and the greatness of her intellect; and
she told me that there was not a corner of the earth in which prayers
for my welfare remained unsaid.

We then returned to the point--her "case." I informed her that the
Governor-General had no power to restore the country, and recognise
the claim of the adopted son, without a reference to England, and
that the most prudent course for her to adopt would be to petition
the throne, and meanwhile draw the pension of 6000_l._ a year, under
protest that it was not to prejudice the right of the adopted son. At
first she refused to do this, and rather energetically exclaimed: "Mera
Jhansi nahin dengee" (I will not give up my Jhansi). I then pointed out
to her, as delicately as possible, how futile would be any opposition;
and told her, what was the truth, that a wing of a native regiment and
some artillery were within three marches of the palace; and I further
impressed upon her that the slightest opposition to its advance would
destroy her every hope, and, in short, jeopardize her liberty. I did
this because she gave me to understand--and so did her attorney (and my
impression is that they spoke the truth)--that the _people_ of Jhansi
did not wish to be handed over to the East India Company's rule.

It was past two o'clock that night before I left the palace; and ere
I took my departure, I had talked the lady into my way of thinking,
except that she would not consent to draw any pension from the British
Government.

On the following day I returned to Gwalior, _en route_ to Agra. The
Ranee presented me with an elephant, a camel, an Arab, a pair of
greyhounds of great swiftness, a quantity of silks and stuffs (the
production of Jhansi), and a pair of Indian shawls. I accepted these
things with great reluctance, but the financial minister entreated me
to take them, insomuch as it would wound the Ranee's feelings if I
refused. The Ranee also presented me with a portrait of herself, taken
by a native, a Hindoo.

The state of Jhansi was not restored to the rule of the Ranee, and
we know that she afterwards rivalled that fiend Nena Sahib, whose
"grievance" was identical with her own. The Government would not
recognise Nena Sahib as the adopted son and heir of the Peishwah;
the Ranee of Jhansi sought to be recognised as the Regent during the
minority of the late Rajah's adopted son and heir.




TIRHOOT, LUCKNOW, BHITOOR, ETC.


It is some years since I first landed in Calcutta. I was in no way
connected with the Government, and was consequently an "interloper"
or "adventurer." These were the terms applied by certain officials to
European merchants, indigo-planters, shopkeepers, artisans, barristers,
attorneys, and others.

It was not long before I made up my mind to become a wanderer in the
East. I had no occupation, was my own master, and had a large tract of
country to roam about in. My first step was to acquire a knowledge of
Hindostanee and of Persian. By dint of hard study, at the end of six
months I found myself capable, not only of holding a conversation, but
of arguing a point in either of these languages: and with a light heart
I took my departure from the City of Palaces, and proceeded to Monghyr,
on the Ganges.

The chief civilian of that district had invited me to spend a month
with him. Every day I accompanied my friend to his court, and thereby
got some insight into the administration of justice in India, both
civil and criminal. Here, too, I first made acquaintance with Thugs.
Several most notorious characters of that tribe were at Monghyr--not
imprisoned, but permitted to move about. They had been pardoned on
condition that they would become informers, and, to a certain extent,
detectives, in the suppression of Thuggee in the British dominions.
It was a curious feeling to be in conversation with men who had each
committed his ninety or a hundred murders--to see the fingers that
had strangled so many victims--to watch the process, for they were
good-natured enough to act it. There was the unsuspecting traveller
with his bundle; the decoy Thug, who engaged him in conversation; the
two men, who, at the given signal, were to seize; the executioner,
standing behind with the handkerchief, ready to strangle the victim.
They even went through the operation of searching the "deceased,"
upon whom they found nothing in this case; but they assured me this
frequently happened in reality. The reader is of course aware that it
is a part of the Thug's religion not to rob a live body. The crime of
murder must precede that of theft. The play--the tragedy--over (to
these domesticated demons it was a mere farce), they laughed at the
solemn expression which, I doubt not, was stamped upon my features.

These Thugs were permitted to have their families at Monghyr; and
one morning when I strolled down to their camp, an old man made five
children, the eldest boy not more than eight years old, go through
the business of strangling and robbing a victim. In one respect these
urchins outdid their progenitors in the acting. They not only went
through the ceremony of searching the dead body, but, that done, they
dragged it by the legs to a well, and, in dumb show, threw it down, and
then uttered a prayer to Heaven.

"Was that good?" said one of the children, running up to me for
applause and a reward. I scarcely knew what to reply. Before I had time
to give any answer, the child's father said, "No; it was not good.
You used the handkerchief before the signal was given. Go through it
again, and remember, this time, that you must have patience." The boys
began again, much in the same spirit that an actor and actress would
go through the strangling scene in "Othello," to please a fastidious
manager.

Approaching a very interesting-looking woman, of about two-and-twenty
years of age, I said to her, "What do you think of this?"

She replied in a proverb: "The mango always falls beneath the shade of
the parent tree."

"But the crime?" said I. "What think you of that?"

She looked up with as lovely a pair of eyes as ever saw the light,
smiled, and responded:

"Heaven will hold us all, Sahib!"

I was about to reason with her, but her husband, with an expression of
pride, interfered, and informed me that she had taken eighteen lives.

"Twenty-one!" she exclaimed.

"Eighteen only!" said he.

"Twenty-one!" she persisted, and ran them over counting on her fingers
the places and the dates when the murders were committed. Her husband
then admitted that she was in the right, and, turning to me, remarked:

"She is a very clever woman, Sahib."

"Were your victims men or women?" I said to her.

"All women," she answered me. "Some old and some young."

I was tempted to ask her to show me how it was done; and after
considerable coaxing she complied with my wishes. To my surprise
she was the only actor in the scene, except the victim, with whom
she went through the process of strangling with a piece of cord.
The victim, another Thuggess, was supposed to be sleeping when the
operation was performed, and I could not help admiring--horrible as
the sight was--the accuracy with which she performed the throes and
agony of death. To borrow an idea from Junius, "None but those who had
frequently witnessed such awful moments could describe them so well."

At the house of my Monghyr friend I met a French gentleman, an
indigo-planter of Tirhoot, in Behar. He invited me to pay him a visit,
and to accompany him in his boat. He was about to sail on the following
day. I say "sail," for at that time (the month of August), the country
was inundated, and it would have been impossible to travel by land.
I accepted the invitation, and we sailed from Monghyr to Hajeepore
without going near the Ganges for several days.

Monsieur Bardon, the French planter, was one of the most accomplished
and agreeable men I had ever met, and in truth one of the greatest
characters. The hospitality of the Tirhoot planters is proverbial in
India, and I believe I might have lived in that Garden of the East, as
it is called, from that day to this, as a welcome guest of the various
planters, if I had chosen still to be their guest. As it was, I was
eight months in the district, and then had very great difficulty in
getting away. A now celebrated officer, at that time commanding the
Irregular Cavalry at Segowlie, induced me to visit him; and after
leaving his abode, I went to the Bettiah Rajah, who initiated me into
the mysteries of tiger-shooting. It was in the dominions of this small
chief that my hands and face were so browned that I became far less
fair than many natives of the country. Before leaving Tirhoot, however,
I paid a visit to Rooder Singh, the Rajah of Durbungah, the richest
native perhaps in all India. He has two hundred thousand pounds a year
net revenue; and in a tank in his palace there is lying, in gold and
silver, upwards of a million and a half sterling. Chutter Singh, the
father of the Rajah of Durbungah, was a firm friend of the British
Government during the Nepal war. He raised a regiment of horse and
provisioned it. When asked by the authorities for his bill, he replied
that the Government owed him nothing.

After leaving the Bettiah Rajah, I proceeded to Lucknow, where I
improved myself greatly in Hindostanee. In this city, and in Delhi,
the purest is spoken. At Lucknow I made the acquaintance of Ally Nucky
Khan (the prime minister of the King of Oude, who is now imprisoned in
Fort William), of Wuzy Ally Khan (a celebrity of Oude, who is since
dead), and of Rugburdiall, the eldest son of the late Shah Beharee
Lall, one of the richest bankers in India. Shah Beharee Lall is said to
have died worth seven millions in cash; but I have reason to believe
that three millions sterling was the utmost that he died possessed of.
Rugburdiall held the office of treasurer to the King of Oude. Ally
Nucky Khan gave me the idea of a man of small mental capacity, but of
immense cunning and inordinate vanity. The late Mr. Beechy, the King of
Oude's portrait-painter, must have taken at least a score of likenesses
of Ally Nucky, who, to say the truth, is a remarkably good-looking
personage. Wuzy Ally Khan was a tall and handsome man of about
five-and-forty. His manners were refined, his address charming, and his
bearing altogether that of a well-bred gentleman. Of his talents there
could be no question; and he was, moreover, a learned and well-informed
man. There could be no doubt that Wuzy Ally Khan, in point of fact,
ruled the kingdom. The conversational powers of this man were immense,
and he was both witty and humorous. A more agreeable companion it
would be difficult to meet with in any country. When I first made his
acquaintance, he was in great favour with the then resident at the
court of Oude; but, on the appointment of Colonel Sleeman, he fell
into disrepute with the British officials and continued so up to the
time of his death, which occurred about two years ago. I was five
months in Oude, and, during that period, spoke nothing but Hindostanee
or Persian. I made a point of avoiding my own countrymen, and of
associating only with the natives of India.

Previous to leaving Lucknow, a letter was despatched to Nena Sahib,
informing him that a gentleman of distinction, a most intimate friend
of the Governor-General, and related by birth or marriage to every
member of the council in Calcutta, as well as a constant guest of the
Queen of England, was travelling through Hindostan in disguise, and
would most probably, by his presence, illumine the abode of Maharajah
Bahadoor, and it was hoped that every respect would be paid to the
dignity of the Sahib's exalted position, &c., &c. When the draft of
this epistle was read aloud by the moonshee, who had written it from
dictation, I expostulated, on the ground that the contents were not
in accordance with the truth. My scruples, however, were eventually
overcome, and I took leave of my Lucknow friends, after being provided
with all that I should require on my journey (of about forty-five
miles), and an escort of fifteen sowars (horsemen); for the road, at
that time, between Lucknow and Cawnpore, was infested by robbers. About
a mile from Bhitoor my palkee was placed upon the ground. I was asleep,
but awoke, and inquired, "Kia hua?" (What is the matter?)

I was informed by the bearers of my palkee that the Maharajah Peishwa
Bahadoor had sent out an escort in honour of my approach, and presently
there appeared at the door of my palkee a soldier-like looking Hindoo,
who made me a very respectful salaam. The escort consisted of eight
foot-soldiers with drawn swords, and four sowars. The former, running
by the side of my palkee, encouraged the bearers to make haste; while
the latter caused their horses to curvet and prance, and thus kick up
a frightful dust. At the abode of the Maharajah Bahadoor, I was met by
several of his musahibs (courtiers), who were exceedingly polite, and
conducted me to a suite of apartments which had apparently been made
ready for my reception; and so far as servants were concerned, I was
literally surrounded. A sirdar bearer (personal attendant, or Indian
valet) took charge of my two boxes which contained my wearing apparel.
A khansamah (butler), followed by three khidmutghars (table servants),
asked me if I would take some iced water, and in the same breath
informed me that every kind of European drink was at hand. Brandy, gin,
champagne, claret, sherry, port, beer, cherry-brandy, and soda-water.
And what would I take for dinner? Whatever the Sahib's heart might
desire, was in readiness. Turkey? goose? duck? fowl? beefsteak?
mutton-chop? ham and eggs? And here the khansamah (a venerable
Mussulman) informed me, sotto voce, that the Maharajah was constantly
in the habit of entertaining European gentlemen; and that, although
his highness was himself a strict Hindoo, he had no kind of prejudice,
so that if I preferred beef to any other kind of meat, I had only to
give the order. I assured the khansamah that since my arrival in India,
I had never tasted beef, or hog's flesh, and that if he would have
prepared for me, as speedily as possible, some rice and vegetables, I
should be quite satisfied. With a profound salaam the khansamah took
his departure, followed by the khidmutghars. The sirdar bearers, and
four other men, then approached me reverentially, and begged to conduct
me to my sleeping apartment and the bathing-rooms.

There is something peculiarly quaint about the arrangement of European
furniture in the house of a native gentleman. In the house of an
European, the servants are, of course, taught how to arrange tables,
chairs, and beds, according to European ideas; but it is otherwise with
the servants of a rajah, or native gentleman. The consequence is that
in the dining, or drawing-room, you will find a wash-hand stand, and a
chest of drawers, and a toilet-table, while in the bed-room you will,
perhaps, discover an old piano, an organ, a card-table, or cheffonier.
The furniture has, for the most part, been purchased at various sales,
and has belonged to officers of all grades, civil and military. There
are the tent-table and the camp-stool of the dead ensign, in the same
room with the marble-topped table and crimson damask covered easy chair
of some luxurious judge. On the mantelpiece you will find a costly
clock of the most elegant design and workmanship, and on each side
of it, a pair of japan candlesticks, not worth half-a-crown. In this
way are arranged the pictures on the walls. Immediately underneath
a proof print of Landseer's "Bolton Abbey," or "Hawking," you will
observe a sixpenny coloured print of the Duke of Wellington or Napoleon
Bonaparte. The pictures, also, have been bought indiscriminately
at various sales, and have been as indiscriminately suspended on
the walls. There are the print-shop ballet girls intermingled with
engravings of the most serious character. Fores's sporting collection
with the most classical subjects. Foot-stools, musical-boxes, and
elegantly bound books, writing-desks, work-boxes, plated dishes,
sugar-basins, and teapots, are arranged in the most grotesque fashion
imaginable. Upon an elegant mahogany sideboard you will find decanters
and glasses of every description and quality. Upon another sideboard,
in the drawing-room, you will find a variety of dinner-services, and
earthen fragments thereof, all mixed. There was but one set of rooms
at Bhitoor for the reception of "Sahib logue," and this was the set
that I then occupied.

I had scarcely made myself comfortable, when the khansamah informed me
that dinner was on the table. This was welcome intelligence, for I had
not tasted food since morning, and it was half-past five P.M. I sat
down to a table twenty feet long (it had originally been the mess table
of a cavalry regiment), which was covered with a damask table-cloth
of European manufacture, but instead of a dinner-napkin there was a
bed-room towel. The soup--for he had everything ready--was served up
in a trifle-dish which had formed part of a dessert service belonging
to the 9th Lancers--at all events, the arms of that regiment were upon
it; but the plate into which I ladled it with a broken tea-cup, was of
the old willow pattern. The pilao which followed the soup, was served
upon a huge plated dish, but the plate from which I ate it, was of the
very commonest description. The knife was a bone-handled affair; the
spoon and the fork were of silver, and of Calcutta make. The plated
side-dishes, containing vegetables, were odd ones; one was round, the
other oval. The pudding was brought in upon a soup-plate of blue and
gold pattern, and the cheese was placed before me on a glass dish
belonging to a dessert service. The cool claret I drank out of a richly
cut champagne glass, and the beer out of an American tumbler, of the
very worst quality.

I had not yet seen "the Maharajah." It was not until past eight that
a moonshee came and inquired if I would have an interview with his
highness. I replied that it would give me great joy, and was forthwith
conducted through numerous narrow and gloomy passages to an apartment
at the corner of the building. Here sat the Maharajah on a Turkey
carpet, and reclining slightly on a huge bolster. In front of him were
his hookah, a sword, and several nosegays. His highness rose, came
forward, took my hand, led me to the carpet, and begged of me to be
seated on a cane-bottomed arm-chair, which had evidently been placed
ready for my especial ease and occupation. After the usual compliments
had passed, the Maharajah inquired if I had eaten well. But, perhaps,
the general reader would like to know what are "the usual compliments."

Native Rajah. "The whole world is ringing with the praise of your
illustrious name."

Humble Sahib. "Maharaj. You are very good."

Native Rajah. "From Calcutta to Cabul--throughout the whole of
Hindoostan--every tongue declares that you have no equal. Is it true?"

Humble Sahib (who, if he knows anything of Asiatic manners and customs,
knows that he must not contradict his host, but eat his compliments
with a good appetite). "Maharaj."

Native Rajah. "The acuteness of your perceptions, and the soundness of
your understanding, have, by universal report, became as manifest as
even the light of the sun itself." Then, turning to his attendants of
every degree, who, by this time, had formed a circle round me and the
Rajah, he put the question, "Is it true, or not?"

The attendants, one and all, declare that it was true; and inquire
whether it could be possible for a great man like the Maharajah to say
that which was false.

Native Rajah. "The Sahib's father is living?"

Humble Sahib. "No; he is dead, Maharaj."

Native Rajah. "He was a great man?"

Humble Sahib. "Maharaj. You have honoured the memory of my father, and
exalted it in my esteem, by expressing such an opinion."

Native Rajah. "And your mother? She lives?"

Humble Sahib. "By the goodness of God, such is the case."

Native Rajah. "She is a very handsome woman?"

Humble Sahib. "On that point, Maharaj, I cannot offer an opinion."

Native Rajah. "You need not do so. To look in your face is quite
sufficient. I would give a crore of rupees (one million sterling) to
see her only for one moment, and say how much I admired the intelligent
countenance of her son. I am going to England next year. Will the Sahib
favour me with her address?"

Humble Sahib. "Maharaj."

Here the Native Rajah calls to the moonshee to bring pen, ink,
and paper. The moonshee comes, sits before me, pen in hand, looks
inquiringly into my eyes, and I dictate as follows, laughing inwardly
all the while: "Lady Bombazine, Munnymunt, ka uper, Peccadilleemee,
Bilgrave Isqueere, Sunjons wood-Cumberwill;" which signifies this:
"Lady Bombazine, on the top of the Monument, in Piccadilly, Belgrave
Square, St. Johns Wood, Camberwell." This mystification must be excused
by the plea that the Rajah's assertions of his going to Europe are as
truthful as Lady Bombazine's address.

The Maharajah then gives instructions that that document shall
be preserved amongst his most important papers, and resumes the
conversation.

Native Rajah. "The Sahib has eaten well?"

Humble Sahib. "Maharaj."

Native Rajah. "And drunk?"

Humble Sahib. "Maharaj."

Native Rajah. "The Sahib will smoke hookah?"

Humble Sahib. "The Maharajah is very good."

A hookah is called for by the Rajah; and then at least a dozen voices
repeat the order: "Hookah lao, Sahib ke waste." (Bring a hookah for
the Sahib.) Presently the hookah is brought in. It is rather a grand
affair, but old, and has evidently belonged to some European of
extravagant habits. Of course, no native would smoke out of it (on the
ground of caste), and it is evidently kept for the use of the Sahib
logue.[1]

While I am pulling away at the hookah, the musahibs, or favourites of
the Rajah, flatter me, in very audible whispers. "How well he smokes!"
"What a fine forehead he has!" "And his eyes! how they sparkle!" "No
wonder he is so clever!" "He will be Governor-General some day."
"Khuda-kuren!" (God will have it so.)

Native Rajah. "Sahib, when you become Governor-General, you will be a
friend to the poor?"

Humble Sahib (speaking from the bottom of his heart). "Most assuredly,
Maharaj."

Native Rajah. "And you will listen to the petition of every man, rich
and poor alike."

Humble Sahib. "It will be my duty so to do."

Native Rajah (in a loud voice). "Moonshee!"

Moonshee (who is close at hand). "Maharaj, Protector of the Poor."

Native Rajah. "Bring the petition that I have laid before the
Governor-General."

The moonshee produces the petition, and at the instance of the Rajah,
reads, or rather sings it aloud. The Rajah listens with pleasure to
its recital of his own wrongs, and I affect to be astounded that so
much injustice can possibly exist. During my rambles in India I have
been the guest of some scores of rajahs, great and small, and I never
knew one who had not a grievance. He had either been wronged by the
government, or by some judge, whose decision had been against him. In
the matter of the government, it was a sheer love of oppression that
led to the evil of which he complained; in the matter of the judge,
that functionary had been bribed by the other party.

It was with great difficulty that I kept my eyes open while the
petition--a very long one--was read aloud. Shortly after it was
finished, I craved permission to retire, and was conducted by a bearer
to the sleeping-room, in the centre of which was a huge bedstead,
a four-poster, but devoid of curtains. On either side were large
looking-glasses in gilt frames, not suspended on the walls, but placed
against them. Over the bed was a punkah, which was immediately set
in motion. The movement of the punkah served a double purpose; it
cooled the room, and drove away the musquitoes. Having thrown myself
on the bed, the bearer, who was in attendance, inquired if I would be
shampooed. This was a luxury to which I was always partial, and, having
signified that I desired it, four men were shouted for. Each took an
arm or a leg, and began to press it, and crack the knuckle-joints of my
fingers and toes. This continued until I had fallen asleep. I did not
wake until eight o'clock on the following morning, when I was waited
upon by the khansamah, who wished to know my pleasure with respect to
breakfast. He informed me that he had "Futnum and Meesum's," Yorkshire
pie, game pie, anchovy toast, mutton-chop, steak, sardines--in short,
all that the Sahib logue were accustomed to take.

My breakfast over, and my hookah smoked, I lighted a cheroot, and
walked out into a verandah, where I was soon joined by some of the
Maharajah's favourites and dependents, who poured into my ear a
repetition of the flattery to which I had listened on the previous
night. It is not very tedious when you become used to it, and know
that it is a matter of course, and is applied to every European guest
of any real or supposed importance. Whilst thus engaged, smoking and
listening, I was joined by the Maharajah, who held in his hand the
Delhi Gazette, the Mofussilite, and the Calcutta Englishman. Of their
entire contents he had been made acquainted by a half-caste, whom he
kept (so he informed me) for the sole purpose of translating, orally,
into Hindostanee, the Indian journals and the government gazettes,
published in the English language. There was no occasion for me to
read these papers, for the Maharajah gave me a very accurate resumé of
them; having done this, he asked me to play a game of billiards. I am
not a bad billiard-player; on the contrary, I have the vanity to think
that I play remarkably well; but it was quite evident to me that the
Maharajah did not play his best, and that he suffered me to beat him as
easily as I did, simply out of what he considered to be politeness. All
the while we were playing the favourites or courtiers of the Maharajah
were praising us both. Neither of us made a stroke, good or bad, that
did not bring down a shower of compliments. My impression is, that if I
had run a cue, and cut the cloth at the same time, the bystanders would
have shouted in praise of my skill and execution. I had already seen
enough of native character to know exactly how I was to act. I feigned
to be charmed with my success--childishly charmed. Whilst I was thus
(to the delight of my host) ostensibly revelling in my triumph, the
marker--a native, a Hindoo--took up a cue, and began to knock the balls
about. He cannoned all over the table, went in off the red and white,
screwed back under the cushion, and, in short, did whatever he pleased,
and with perfect ease.

I could not help expressing to the Rajah my astonishment at the Hindoo
marker's skill; whereupon, he informed me that, when he was a mere boy,
he had been taught by the best player (an officer in the Light Cavalry)
that ever came to India, and that for several years past he had been
marker at various mess-rooms where billiards were played. The name of
this Hindoo Jonathan was Runjeet. He was six-and-twenty years of age,
about five feet five in height, remarkably slim, had a very handsome
face, and eyes full of fire and spirit. He was for a long time marker
to the Horse Artillery mess at Meerut, where I once saw him play a game
with an officer celebrated for his skill. Runjeet gave his adversary
sixty points out of a hundred, and won easily. What with his pay, or
salary, the presents he received from gentlemen to whom he taught the
game, and the gold mohurs that he occasionally had given to him when he
won bets for his backers, Runjeet was in possession of some six hundred
pounds a-year; but he was so extravagant in his habits, that he spent
every anna, and died, I was told, "not worth money enough to buy the
wood to burn him."

The Maharajah, on leaving the billiard-room, invited me to accompany
him to Cawnpore. I acquiesced, and the carriage was ordered. The
carriage was English-built--a very handsome landau--and the horses
were English horses; but the harness! It was country-made, of the
very commonest kind, and worn out, for one of the traces was a piece
of rope. The coachman was filthy in his dress, and the whip that he
carried in his hand was an old broken buggy-whip, which some European
gentleman must have thrown away. On the box, on either side of the
coachman, sat a warlike retainer, armed with a sword and a dagger. In
the rumble were two other retainers, armed in the same manner. Besides
the Rajah and myself there were three others (natives and relatives of
the Rajah) in the vehicle. On the road the Rajah talked incessantly,
and amongst other things that he told me was this, in reference to the
praises that I bestowed on his equipage.

"Not long ago I had a carriage and horses very superior to these. They
cost me twenty-five thousand rupees; but I had to burn the carriage and
kill the horses."

"Why so?"

"The child of a certain Sahib in Cawnpore was very sick, and the Sahib
and the mem-Sahib were bringing the child to Bhitoor for a change of
air. I sent my big carriage for them. On the road the child died; and,
of course, as a dead body had been in the carriage, and as the horses
had drawn that dead body in that carriage, I could never use them
again." The reader must understand that a native of any rank considers
it a disgrace to sell property.

"But could you not have given the horses to some friend--a Christian or
a Mussulman?"

"No; had I done so, it might have come to the knowledge of the Sahib,
and his feelings would have been hurt at having occasioned me such a
loss."

Such was the Maharajah, commonly known as Nena Sahib. He appeared to
me not a man of ability, nor a fool. He was selfish; but what native
is not? He seemed to be far from a bigot in matters of religion;
and, although he was compelled to be so very particular about the
destruction of his carriage and horses, I am quite satisfied that he
drank brandy, and that he smoked hemp in the chillum of his hookah.

It was half-past five o'clock when we arrived at Cawnpore. The
officers, civil and military, and their wives, were just coming out
for their evening drive on the mall. Some were in carriages, some in
buggies, some on horseback. Every soul saluted the Maharajah; who
returned the salute according to Eastern fashion--raising the hands
to the forehead. Several gentlemen approached the carriage when it
was drawn up near the band-stand, and inquired after the Maharajah's
health. He replied that it was good and then introduced me to them
in the following manner, and in strict accordance with the letter he
had received from Lucknow: "This Sahib who sits near me is a great
friend of the Governor-General, and is a relation of all the members
of Council--a constant guest of the Queen of England" (then came
this addition of his own) "and of both Houses of Parliament." I need
scarcely say that I wished my Lucknow friends had not covered me with
such recommendations; for, wherever we went, and to whomsoever we
spoke--no matter whether it was an European shopkeeper or an official
magnate of Cawnpore--I was doomed to hear, "This Sahib who sits (or
stands) near me is a great friend," &c., &c. Having exhibited me
sufficiently in Cawnpore, the heads of the horses were turned towards
Bhitoor, and we were dragged along the road at a slow pace, for the
animals were extremely fatigued. The natives of India have no mercy
on their cattle, especially their horses. During the ride back, I was
again bored with the Rajah's grievance; and, to quiet him--for he
became very much excited--I was induced to promise that I would talk
to the Governor-General and the Council on the subject; and that if
I did not succeed in that quarter, I would, on my return to England,
take the earliest opportunity "some day, quietly, after dinner" (this
was his suggestion), of representing to her Majesty the exact state
of the case, and that an adopted son of a Hindoo was entitled to all
the rights and privileges of an heir born of the body. I furthermore
promised him most solemnly that I would not speak to the Board of
Control, or to the Privy Council on the subject; for the Maharajah
assured me that he had the most positive proof that both these
institutions had eaten bribes from the hand of the East India Company
in respect of his claim. On probing him, however, I discovered that
this positive proof was a letter from a villanous agent in England,
who had written to him to say that "the Company had bribed the Board
of Control and the Privy Council, and that if his Highness expected to
succeed, he must bribe over the head of the Company. Three lacs (thirty
thousand pounds) would do it all."

The Maharajah gave a nautch (native dance by women) that night.

On the following morning I awoke with a very bad headache, and in a
philosophic mood. The various perfumes which had been sprinkled over
my dress had somewhat overpowered me, and it may have been that the
story told me in whispers by one of the three slaves who came to sing
me to sleep had disordered my imagination. I was told that two women of
rank were kept in a den not far from my apartments, and treated like
wild beasts; and a third--a beautiful young creature--had recently been
"bricked up in a wall," for no other fault than attempting to escape.

After breakfast, the Rajah showed me his elephants, his camels, his
horses, his dogs, his pigeons, his falcons, his wild asses, his apes,
his aviary full of birds, and all the rest of his curiosities. Then he
exhibited his guns and pistols--by Purdey, Egg, and other celebrated
makers--his swords, and his daggers, of every country and age, and when
he had observed that he was very happy, under the influence of some
stimulant recently imbibed, I took an opportunity of discoursing on the
vanity of human wishes, and especially with reference to his Highness's
grievance. I translated many sentiments of Juvenal and Horace into
Hindoostanee; but, I regret to say, they had no effect on Nena Sahib.


FOOTNOTE:

[1] The word "logue" simply signifies people; but, when applied as
above, it is nothing more than a plural. "Sahib logue" (sahibs) "mem
logue" (ladies), "baba logue" (children).




THE UPPER PROVINCES.


It is impossible for an English gentleman to take his departure from
the house of a native of India without giving a number of testimonials,
in the shape of "letters of recommendation" addressed to no one in
particular. Nena Sahib had a book containing the autographs of at
least a hundred and fifty gentlemen and ladies, who had testified in
writing to the attention and kindness they had received at the hands
of the Maharajah during their stay at Bhitoor. Having expressed my
satisfaction as emphatically as possible in this book, the khansamah
(house steward) demanded a certificate, which I gave him. Then came
the bearer, the men who guarded my door, the coachman, the grooms,
the sweeper. For each and all of these I had to write characters,
and recommend them to such of my friends as they might encounter by
accident or otherwise. It is a fearful infliction, this character
writing; but every one is compelled to go through it.

I was now on my road to Agra, to pay a visit to a schoolfellow, who was
then in the civil service, and filling an appointment in the station.
It was in the month of September that I made the journey--the most
unhealthy season of the year. Opposite to the first dâk bungalow, some
twelve miles from the station of Cawnpore, I was stopped by a set of
twelve palkee bearers, who informed me that a Sahib whom they were
taking to Allyghur had been seized with cholera, and was dying in the
bungalow. I hastened to the room and there found, stretched upon the
couch, a young officer of about nineteen years of age.

His face was ashy pale, and a profuse cold perspiration stood upon his
forehead. His hands and feet were like ice, and he was in very great
pain. The only person near him was the sweeper, who kept on assuring
me that the youth would die. As for the youth himself he was past
speech, and I was disposed to think with the sweeper, that he was
beyond cure. I administered, however, nearly a teaspoonful of laudanum
in a wine-glass half-full of raw brandy, and then took a seat near
the patient, in order to witness the effect. Ere long the severe pain
was allayed, and the youth fell into a profound sleep, from which, I
began to fear, he would never awake. To have administered a smaller
dose at that stage of the disease would have been useless, for the
body was on the very verge of collapse. Nevertheless, I began to feel
the awkwardness of the responsibility which I had taken upon myself.
Presently a palanquin carriage, propelled by bearers, came to the
bungalow. An elderly lady and gentleman alighted, and were shown into
a little room which happened to be vacant [A dâk bungalow has only two
little rooms.] To my great joy I discovered that the new arrival was a
doctor of a regiment, who, with his wife, was journeying to Calcutta. I
was not long in "calling in" the doctor; and I had the satisfaction of
hearing him pronounce an opinion that the young ensign was "all right,"
and that the dose I had administered had been the means of saving his
life. How readily, to be sure, do people in India accommodate each
other. Although the doctor and his wife were hurrying down the country,
and albeit the youth was pronounced out of danger, they remained with
me until the following afternoon; when, having dined, we all took our
departure together--the youth and I travelling northward, the doctor
and his wife in the opposite direction.

The night was pitchy dark; but the glare from the torches rendered
every object near to us distinctly visible. The light, shining
on the black faces of the palkee bearers, they appeared like so
many demons--but very merry demons; for they chatted and laughed
incessantly, until I commanded them to be silent, in order that, while
we moved along the road, I might listen to the ensign's story, which he
told me in the most artless manner imaginable.

"I have only been six weeks in India," he began, "and at present only
know a few words of the language. How I came into the Bengal army
was this. My father was in the civil service of the Company, in the
Madras Presidency; and, after twenty-one years' service, retired on his
pension of one thousand pounds a year, and his savings, which amounted
to twenty thousand pounds, and which were invested in five per cent.
government securities, so that his income was two thousand a year.
We lived during the winter near Grosvenor-square: a house of which
my father bought the lease for twenty years, and the summer we used
to spend at a little place in Berkshire which he had bought. It was
only a good sized cottage, and the land about it did not exceed three
acres. But it was a perfect gem of a residence, and quite large enough
for our family, which consisted of my father and mother, myself, and a
sister who is a year and a half older than I am. I was at Harrow. My
father intended that I should go to Oxford, and eventually be called
to the bar. My sister had a governess, a very clever and accomplished
girl, and the most amiable creature that ever lived. We were not an
extravagant family, and saw very little company; but we had every
comfort that a reasonable heart could desire, and I fancy that we lived
up to the two thousand pounds a year. You see the education of myself
and my sister was a heavy item. The governess had a hundred pounds a
year, and then there was a singing-master and a drawing master. About
two years ago my father died, and my mother became almost imbecile from
the excess of her grief. She lost her memory; and, for days together,
knew not what she was doing. Under my father's will she was entitled
to all that he died possessed of, and was appointed his sole executrix.
The house in South-street was given up, the unexpired portion of the
lease disposed of, and the little place in Berkshire became our only
home. My father's pension of course expired when he died, and we, the
family, had now to live on the interest of the government securities.
My mother, who was as ignorant as a child on all matters of business,
was recommended to sell her government securities, and invest the
proceeds in a joint-stock bank which was paying, and for more than a
year did pay, eight per cent. But, alas, one wretched day the bank
failed, and we were reduced suddenly from comparative affluence to
poverty. The cottage, furniture, and all that my mother possessed, was
seized, and sold. This happened only two years ago. Fortunately for
me, my school education was pretty well completed; but of course the
idea of my going to Oxford, and subsequently to the bar, was at once
abandoned. My sister was obliged to take a situation as governess, in
the family of a director of the East India Company: and through that
gentleman's influence I obtained an ensigncy in the Native Infantry.
The loss of her fortune, the parting with my sister (who is now on
the Continent with the director's family) and myself, had such an
effect upon my mother, that it was deemed necessary to place her in an
asylum; where at all events she will be taken care of and treated with
kindness. But I have my plans!" exclaimed the young man, who had just
escaped the jaws of death. "In ten years I will save enough to take me
home to them; for, if I study hard--and I will do so--I may get a staff
appointment, and----"

Here the bearers of my palkee informed me that two other travellers
were coming down the road. They saw the light in the distance, more
than a mile off, and they--the bearers--began to talk loudly and argue,
that it was impossible for me to hear what the ensign was saying,
and all attempts to silence them were vain. They were discussing,
as they carried us along, whether they would exchange burdens with
the down-coming bearers, insomuch as they were nearly midway between
the stages. This is very often done by arrangement between them, and
thus, in such cases, they get back more speedily to their homes. It
was decided that the exchange should take place, if the other party
were agreeable; for, on the down-coming travellers nearing us, the
bearers of us--the up-going travellers--called a halt. Forthwith the
four palkees were gently lowered till they rested on the ground. And
now the chattering of the bearers became something awful. A native
of Hindostan can settle nothing without a noise; and, as each palkee
had twelve men attached to it besides the torch-bearers and those who
carried our boxes, the number of voices, whooping, shouting, asserting,
contradicting, scolding, and soothing, exceeded sixty. I and my
companion, the ensign, shout to them to "go on!" At length I got out of
my palkee in a rage, and not only screamed at, but shook several of the
black disputants. Whilst thus engaged, the doors of one of the downward
palkees were opened, and a voice--that of a lady--thus greeted me, very
good humouredly.

"My good sir, depend upon it that you are retarding your own progress,
and ours, by attempting, so violently, to accelerate it. Pray let them
settle their little affair amongst themselves."

"I believe you are quite right," I replied.

"Have you any idea of the hour?" she asked.

"Yes. It is about a quarter to twelve," said I.

"I have lost the key of my watch; perhaps the key of yours would fit
it."

I hastened to my palkee, brought forth from beneath the pillow my watch
and chain; and, taking them to the door of the lady's palkee, presented
them through the opening.

"Thanks," said the lady, after winding up her watch, "thanks. It does
very well," and she returned the watch and chain. I saw, by the light
of the torch, not only her hand--which was very small and pretty--but
her face, which was more bewitching still, being lovely and young.

"Is there anything else you require?" I asked.

"Nothing. Unless you happen to have with you some fresh bread. My
children, who are asleep in the other palkee, are tired of biscuits,
and I imagine we shall not reach Cawnpore before mid-day to-morrow."

It happened that I had a loaf in my palkee, and, with all the pleasure
of which the heart of man is capable, placed it in the hands of the
fair traveller. On this occasion she opened the doors of her palkee
sufficiently wide to admit of my having a really good gaze at her
beautiful features. She was enveloped in a white dressing-gown, and
wore a hood made of black silk, and lined with pink. Her hair was
brushed back off the forehead; but the long dark tresses came from
behind the ears, and rested on her covered shoulders.

"Are you going to Agra?" she inquired.

"Yes," I replied.

"Perhaps you would be good enough to return two books for me to the
wife of the assistant magistrate. They will, no doubt, afford you as
much amusement on your journey as they have afforded me. I finished
them this afternoon, and they are now an encumbrance." With these words
she handed me the volumes, which I faithfully promised to return. By
this time the bearers had settled their affair, and were ready to
lift the palkees. I bade the fair traveller "good night, and a safe
journey." We shook hands.

The reader may ask, "Who was your friend?" I did not know at the time.
It was not until I had arrived at Agra that I was informed on this
head. The books which she entrusted to my care I had not read; and,
after parting with the ensign at the dâk bungalow at Bewah, they were,
indeed, most agreeable companions. I have mentioned this little episode
in my journey, not because there is anything in it worth recording, or
because there is anything romantic therewith connected; but simply to
show how readily we (Christians) in India obliged one another, albeit
utter strangers, and how gladly we assist each other, whenever and
wherever we meet. Such an episode in the journey of a traveller in
India is one of its most commonplace incidents.

Since the news of the recent deplorable disasters has reached this
country, many persons have expressed their surprise that a lady should
be suffered to travel alone with her children, or be accompanied by no
more than one female servant. The fact is, or rather was, that, on any
dangerous road, a lady utterly unprotected was safer than a gentleman.
The sex was actually its own protection. During my stay in India, I
knew of at least a score of instances in which officers and civilians
were stopped upon the roads, plundered, assaulted, and in one or two
cases murdered, in the Upper Provinces; but I can only bring to mind
two instances of European ladies having been molested. This is not
to be attributed to any ideas of gallantry or chivalry on the part
of marauders in the East; but simply to the fact that they knew the
perpetrators of an offence committed against a lady would be hunted
down to the death, while the sympathies entertained for the sufferings
of a Sahib would be only those of an ordinary character, and soon
"blow over." Even the palkee-bearers knew the amount of responsibility
that attached to them, when they bore away, from station to station, a
female burden; and, had the lady traveller been annoyed or interrupted
by an European traveller, they would have attacked and beaten him, even
to the breaking of his bones and the danger of his life, had he not
desisted when commanded by the lady to do so. This has happened more
than once in the Upper Provinces of India.

In December, eighteen hundred and forty-nine, the road between
Saharumpore and Umballah was infested by a gang of thieves. Several
officers had been stopped, robbed, and plundered of their money and
valuables. I had been invited to Lahore, to witness the installation
of Sir Walter Gilbert and Sir Henry Elliot as Knights Commanders of
the Bath. The danger, near a place called Juggadree, was pointed out
to me by a mail contractor, who, finding me determined to proceed,
recommended me to dress as a lady for a couple of stages. I did so. I
borrowed a gown, a shawl, and a nightcap; and, when I came near the
dangerous locality, I put them on, and commanded the bearers to say
I was a "mem-Sahib," in the event of the palkee being stopped. Sure
enough, the palkee was stopped, near Juggadree, by a gang of ten or
twelve armed men, one of whom opened the door to satisfy himself of the
truth of the statement made by the bearers. The moment the ruffian
saw my nightcap--a very prettily-frilled one it was, lent to me by a
very pretty woman--likewise a small bolster, which, beneath my shawl,
represented a sleeping baby, he closed the door, and requested the
bearers to take up the palkee, and proceed; ay, and what was more, he
enjoined them to be "careful of the mem-Sahib!"

I have incidentally spoken of the installation of Sir Walter Gilbert
and Sir Henry Elliot, in December, eighteen hundred and forty-nine.
Eight years have not yet elapsed, and how many of the principal
characters in that magnificent spectacle have departed hence! Sir
Walter is dead; Sir Henry is dead. Sir Charles Napier and Sir Dudley
Hill, who led them up to Lord Dalhousie, are dead. Colonel Mountain,
who carried the cushion on which was placed the insignia of the order
is dead. And Sir Henry Lawrence is dead; and poor Stuart Beatson. Alas!
how many of that gay throng, men and women, husbands, fathers, wives,
and daughters, who had assembled to witness the ceremony, have perished
during the recent revolt in the Upper Provinces of India! Those who
were present on that sixth of December eighteen hundred and forty-nine,
and who, in eighteen hundred and fifty-seven, quietly reflect on what
has occurred since, will scarcely believe in their own existence. It
must appear to them--as it often appears to me--as a dream; a dream
in which we saw Sir Charles Napier, with his spare form, his eagle
eyes, his aquiline nose, and long grey beard, joking Sir Dudley Hill
on his corpulence and baldness, and asking him what sort of figure he
would cut now, in leading a forlorn hope? and Sir Dudley, proudly and
loudly replying, that he felt a better man than ever. Presently, a meek
civilian, in a white neckcloth, and ignorant of Sir Dudley's early
deeds, was so unfortunate as to put the question:--

"_Did_ you ever lead a forlorn hope, Sir Dudley?" a query which induced
Sir Dudley Hill to groan, previously to exclaiming--

"Such is fame! A forlorn hope, my dear sir! I have led fifty!"

This was, of course, an exaggeration; but I believe that Sir Dudley
Hill had, in the Peninsular War, led more forlorn hopes than any other
officer in the British army.

I have wandered away from the high road to Agra, and must return to
it. I parted with the ensign at Bewah, and commenced reading the books
which the then unknown lady had entrusted to my care. The day, towards
noon, became hot, damp, and extremely oppressive; and there was no dâk
bungalow, or other abode, within nine miles of me. Before long, I heard
thunder in the distance, and presently the bearers communicated to me
that a heavy storm was approaching, and that, in order to escape its
fury, they wished to halt at a village just a-head of us. I consented,
and was now hurried along the road at the rate of five miles an hour.
My palkee was placed beneath a shed, and the bearers congregated around
it. One of the number lighted his pipe (hubble-bubble), and passed it
to his neighbour; who, after three whiffs, passed it to the next; who,
after three whiffs, sent it on, until each had partaken of the smoke.

The little village, which was a short distance from the road, contained
about sixty or seventy inhabitants, and about double that number of
children of various ages. My presence excited no small degree of
curiosity, and the whole of the villagers approached the shed, to have
a look at me. The men and women, of course, were not alarmed, and
looked on simply with that stupidity which is characteristic of the
cultivators of the soil in the Upper Provinces of India. But it was
otherwise with the more youthful, the children. They held aloof, and
peeped from behind their parents, as if I had been some dangerous wild
animal. My bearers wished to drive them all away; but I forbade this,
partly because I had no desire to deprive the villagers of whatever
pleasure a long inspection of me might afford them, and partly because
I wished to sketch the group and listen to their remarks, which were
chiefly of a personal character, and for the most part complimentary,
or intended so to be.

A vivid flash of lightning, and an awfully loud clap of thunder,
accompanied by a few large drops of rain, speedily dispersed the crowd,
and I was left to myself and my bearers, who now huddled themselves
together for warmth's sake. The air had become chilly, and even I was
compelled to wrap my cloak and my blanket about my thinly-clad limbs.
Another vivid flash of lightning, and another awful clap of thunder;
then down came such hailstones as I had never seen before, and have
never seen since in the plains of Hindostan. In size and weight they
equalled those which sometimes fall in the Himalaya mountains in June
and July. With these storms the rains usually "break up," and then the
cold weather sets in, and with this season of the year, what climate
in the world is superior to that of the Upper Provinces of India? When
the thunder, lightning, and hail had ceased, and their continuance did
not exceed fifteen minutes, the sun came out, and the face of heaven
was as fair as possible, but the earth gave evidence of the severity
of the storm. Not only was the ground covered with leaves and small
branches, intermingled with the hail, but cattle and goats had been
killed by the furious pelting of the huge stones; whilst the electric
fluid had descended on one of the mud huts of the village in which I
had taken refuge, and had stretched out in death an old man and two
of his grandchildren, a boy of six years of age, and a girl of four.
The parents of these children were absent from the village, and were
not expected to return until the evening. On being informed of the
accident, I expressed a desire to see the bodies, and was conducted
by several of the villagers to the hut in which they were lying. I
recognised at once the features of the old man who was a prominent
figure in my sketch, and of one of the children, the little girl
who held the old man so tightly by the hand while she peeped at me.
The face of the boy had not struck me. There they were lying dead,
but still warm, and their limbs, as yet, devoid of rigidity. The
matter-of-fact way in which the natives of India regard the death of
their relations or friends is something wonderful to behold. It is not
that their affections are less strong than ours, or their feelings less
acute. It is that fatality is the beginning and end of their creed.
They are taught from their childhood to regard visitations of this
character as direct and special acts of God--as matters which it is
not only futile, but improper to bewail. None of the villagers--men,
women, or children, exhibited any token of grief while gazing on the
lifeless bodies they surrounded. And, on asking my bearers whether the
parents of the children would weep when they returned, and found their
offspring thus suddenly cut off, they replied, rather abruptly, "Why
should they weep at God's will?"

As I was preparing to leave the village, a middle-aged woman came up to
me, and said:--

"Sahib, the parents of the dead children are very poor, and the expense
of burning their remains will press very hard upon them. The wood
for the old man will cost eight annas, and the fuel for each of the
children four annas; in all, one rupee."

I placed the coin in the woman's hand, and left, besides, a donation
for the bereaved parents who were absent; having previously called
several of the villagers to witness the proceeding. This I did at the
suggestion of the palkee bearers, who entertained some doubts of the
woman's honesty. We had not proceeded far, when I descried a small
encampment beneath a clump of mango trees. It consisted of an officer's
tent, and two long tents for native soldiers--Sepoys. One of these long
tents was for the Hindoos, the other for the Mussulmans. When we came
opposite to the encampment, I desired the bearers to stop, and to put
some questions to a Sepoy who was standing near the road. I gleaned
from him that the encampment was that of "a treasure party," consisting
of a Lieutenant, and a company of native infantry, proceeding from
Mynpoorie to Agra.

"Won't you go and see the Sahib?" asked the Sepoy.

"I don't know him," said I.

"That does not signify," said the Sepoy. "Our Sahib is glad to see
everybody. He is the most light-hearted man in Hindostan. His lips are
the home of laughter, and his presence awakens happiness in the breast
of the most sorrowful. His body is small, but his mind is great; and,
in his eyes, the Hindoo, the Mussulman, and the Christian, are all
equal."

This description, I confess, aroused my curiosity to see so
philosophical a Lieutenant, and it was not long before my curiosity was
gratified; for he made his appearance at the door of his tent; and,
observing my palkee, bore down upon it.

The Lieutenant wore a pair of white pyjamahs, which were tucked up to
his knees, no shoes or stockings; a blue shirt, no coat, no jacket;
a black necktie, and a leather helmet with a white covering, such as
one sees labelled in the shop-windows "for India." His person was very
small certainly, and the calves of his legs not bigger than those of
a boy of twelve years of age. In his mouth he had a huge (number one)
cheroot, and in his hand, a walking-stick, with a waist nearly as big
as his own. Resting his chest upon this walking-stick, and looking me
full in the face, perfectly ignorant, and seemingly indifferent, as to
whether I might be a secretary to the government, or a shopkeeper, he
thus familiarly accosted me:--

"Well, old boy, how do you feel after the shower?"

"Very well, I thank you."

"Come in and have a cup of tea, and a round of toast, if you are not in
a hurry to get on. It will set you up, and make you feel comfortable
for the night." This offer was so tempting, and so cordially made, that
I was induced to accept it.

"Bring the Sahib into my tent, in the palkee," said Lieutenant Sixtie
to my bearers; and then addressing me, he remarked--"Don't get out.
You'll wet your slippers."

The bearers followed the Lieutenant, and put down my palkee upon two
tiers of small boxes, which were spread over the space of ground
covered by the tent.

"I was obliged to resort to this box dodge," said my host, "or I should
have been drowned. I wish I owned only a quarter of this rhino we are
treading on. If I did, catch me at this work any longer, my masters!"
It was the treasure that the boxes contained, in all about twenty-five
thousand pounds. "Look here, old boy. Forego, like a good fellow, the
tea and the toast. My servants will have such a bother to get a fire
and boil water. Have some biscuits and cold brandy-and-water instead.
You should never drink tea while travelling. It keeps you awake; and,
what is more, it spoils the flavour of your cheroots. By the bye, have
one of these weeds."

I thanked my host; and, without any sort of pressing, yielded to his
every wish--even unto playing _écarté_ with him, while smoking his
cheroots and drinking his brandy-and-water. The stakes were not very
high. Only a rupee a game. During the deals, my host would frequently
exclaim:

"By Jove! what a godsend it is to have some one to talk to for a few
hours! I have been out for five days; and, during that time, have not
uttered a word in my own language. Haven't had the luck to come across
a soul. This escorting treasure is the most awful part of an officer's
duty, especially at this season of the year."

"But it must be done," I suggested.

"Yes. But why not by native officers?"

"Would the treasure be safe with them?"

"Safe? Just as safe as it is now, if not safer; for, although I am
responsible for the money in these boxes, I don't know that the whole
amount is here. I didn't count it; and, if there was any deficiency,
I should say so. Now, a native officer would satisfy himself on the
subject before he took charge. Don't you see?"

Here our conversation was interrupted by a havildar (native sergeant),
who appeared at the door of the tent, saluted the Lieutenant, and
uttered in a deep and solemn tone of voice the word Sa-hib!

"Well. What's the matter?" said the Lieutenant.

"Maun Singh Sipahee is very ill."

"What ails him?"

"He has fever."

"Then I will come and see him in one moment." With these words the
Lieutenant threw down his cards, and invited me to accompany him to the
tent wherein the patient was lying.

Maun Singh Sipahee was a powerful Brahmin, who stood upwards of six
feet two. He was a native of Oude, and had a very dark skin. When
we entered the tent, he attempted to rise from the charpai (native
bedstead) on which he was reclining; but the Lieutenant told him to be
still, then felt the sick man's pulse, and placed his small white hand
across the broad black forehead of the soldier.

"Carry him into my tent. The ground is too damp for him here," said
the Lieutenant; and forthwith the bedstead was raised by half-a-dozen
of the man's comrades. In the tent medicine was administered--a small
quantity of tartar emetic dissolved in water, and given in very small
doses, until nausea was produced, and a gentle perspiration stood upon
the skin of the patient.

"You are all right, now, Maun Singh," said the Lieutenant.

"No, Sahib, I am dying. Nothing can save me."

"Then you know better than I do?"

"Forgive me, Sahib."

"Listen. Lie very quiet; and, before we march, I will give you another
sort of medicine that will set you up."

The Sepoy covered his head over with his resaiee (counterpane), and lay
as still as possible.

"They always fancy they are going to die, if there is anything the
matter with them," said the Lieutenant to me. "I have cured hundreds of
fever cases by this treatment. The only medicines I ever use in fever,
sir, are tartar emetic and quinine. He has taken the one, which has had
its effect; the other he shall have by and bye. I wouldn't lose that
man on any account. His death would occasion me the greatest grief."

"Is he a great favourite?" I asked.

"Not more than any of the rest of them who were with the regiment
at Affghanistan, where they not only proved themselves as brave as
the European soldiers, but where they showed themselves superior to
prejudices most intimately connected with their religion--their caste.
That man, whom you see lying there, is a Brahmin of the highest caste;
yet, I have seen him, and other Brahmins now in my regiment, bearing
upon their shoulders the remains of an officer to the grave. Of course,
you are aware that to do a thing of that kind--to touch the corpse of
an unbeliever--involves a loss of caste?"

"Yes."

"Well, sir, these fellows braved the opinion and the taunts of every
Hindoo in the country, in order to pay respect to the memory of those
officers whose dangers and privations they had cheerfully shared. You
are aware, perhaps, that at last the government found it necessary
to issue a general order to the effect that any Sepoy of any other
regiment who insulted the men of this regiment, by telling them they
had lost their caste, would be severely punished and dismissed the
service? Such was the case, sir; and many courts-martial were held in
various stations for the trial of offenders against this order; and
many Hindoo Sepoys and Mussulman native officers were very severely
dealt with. And the thing was put down, sir; and now-a-days there is
nothing more common than for the Hindoo Sepoys, in all the regiments,
to ask permission to carry the remains of a popular officer to the
grave. Indeed, ladies are often thus honoured, and children. They seem
to have agreed amongst themselves that this does not involve a loss of
caste. So much for caste, if it can be got over by an understanding
amongst themselves! Caste! More than four-fifths of what they talk
about it is pure nonsense and falsehood, as any straightforward native
will confidentially confess to you. I don't mean to say that some
Hindoos are not very strict. Many, indeed, are so. But I mean to say
that a very small proportion live in accordance with the Shasters, and
that when they cry out, "if we do so and so we shall lose our caste,"
it is nothing more than a rotten pretext for escaping some duty, or
for refusing to obey a distasteful order. There are hypocrites in all
countries, but India swarms with them more thickly than any country in
the world. And the fact is that we foster hypocrisy. Our fellows, and
most of them Brahmins, released a good many cats from the bag, when
they were taunted with having lost their caste! If you are not in a
frightful hurry to get on, stay till we march, and go with us; and I'll
tell you and show you something more about caste. You can send on your
palkee and bearers to the next encampment ground, and I'll drive you in
my old trap of a buggy. It is not a remarkably elegant affair, but it
is very strong and roomy. By the bye, we shall have to travel 'three in
a gig;' for I must put Maun Singh, my sick Sepoy, between us; and you
will find him a very intelligent fellow, I can tell you, and the dose I
intend giving him will make him as chirpy as possible."

The conversation and the manners of the Lieutenant--free and easy as
were the latter--had fascinated me, and I accepted his invitation.




MARCHING.


The small but heavy boxes containing the rupees were placed upon the
hackeries (native carts), and the treasure party was now ready to
march to the next encampment. The night was warm, and the Sepoys in
what might strictly be termed half-dress. They wore their red cloth
coats and their chacos; but their lower clothing was purely native;
a dhotee (narrow strip of thick calico) wound round their loins, and
falling in graceful folds about and below the knees. Some sat upon
the boxes of treasure: others, not in line or military order, walked
by the side thereof. The Lieutenant, Maun Singh, and myself brought
up the rear. A syce (native groom) led the horse, and thus saved the
Lieutenant the trouble of driving. The buggy was not, certainly, a very
elegant affair. It was of very ancient construction, and the lining
was entirely worn out; nor had the panels been painted for some years.
The Lieutenant told me that he had bought this vehicle at a sale, five
years previously, for the sum of five pounds, and that since that time
it had travelled (marched, was the word he used) all over Bengal. The
harness was of Cawnpore make; and, when new, had cost only two pounds
ten shillings. Cawnpore, until recently, was chiefly famous for its
harness, boots and shoes, bottle-covers, cheroot-cases, helmets, and
other articles made of leather. A nest of Chinese settled in the bazaar
many years ago and introduced the manufacture of such matters. The
horse which drew the buggy had been a caster; that is to say, a horse
considered no longer fit for the cavalry or horse artillery, and sold
by public auction, after being branded with the letter R (signifying
rejected) on the near shoulder. He was a tall, well-bred animal; and,
according to the Lieutenant's account, had won no end of races since
the day he had been knocked down to the Lieutenant for sixteen rupees,
or one pound twelve shillings. The fault, or rather the misfortune, for
which this animal had been dismissed the Company's service, was total
blindness of one eye, and an inability to see much out of the other.

"But, he is a ripper, nevertheless," said the Lieutenant, touching the
animal very gently with the whip, and making him hold his head up; "and
will put some more money in my pocket next cold weather, I hope. He is
entered for the Merchant's Plate, gentlemen riders, sir, and I am his
jockey." I expressed a hope that he would be successful.

It was a moonlight night, and slow as was the pace at which we
proceeded, I never so much enjoyed a ride in my life. The scene
altogether was highly picturesque, and, as far as I was concerned,
had the wonderful charm of novelty; while it was impossible not to
be extremely entertained by the volubility and lightheartedness of my
military friend, who, notwithstanding he had extracted from me that I
did not belong to the civil service or the army, had refrained from
inquiring my name or pursuit, and invariably addressed me as Old Boy,
albeit my years were certainly not in excess of his own.

"Well, Maun Singh!" cried the Lieutenant, "how do you feel now?"

"Quite well, but very weak," was the Sepoy's reply.

"Then you must have a little drop of weak brandy-and-water. Hold hard,
syce, and give me the suraiee (water-bottle)."

The brandy-and-water was mixed in a silver tumbler, and handed to
Maun Singh, who, _as soon as the groom went again to the horse's
head_, applied it to his lips, and drank, without any scruple. On the
contrary, it struck me that he liked the liquor.

"You have lost your caste," said 

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