I had now been about twelve days a visitor with my hospitable friend,
the indigo planter—a period, as the reader has seen, fertile in
events—when I began to think of returning, and a letter or two which I
received served to hasten my departure. One was from an old friend and
schoolfellow, Tom Rattleton, a good deal my senior, and whom I had not
seen or heard of for four or five years. It ran thus:—
MY DEAR FRANK,
It was by the merest chance that I heard from a Captain Marpeet, who
has been staying here, in his way up, of your arrival in India. How I
missed seeing your “well-known” name in the papers or General Orders I
really cannot imagine. Marpeet says, you only want a little more of
his tuition to become a _ne plus ultra_—in short, I must not tell half
the handsome things he has said of you; but in all I could not fail to
recognize, clearly and distinctly, my old class-mate and companion of
the third form.
How I long, my dear fellow, to have a good dish of chat with you about
school-days, and all the fun and frolic we have had together in times
past! Do you recollect lame Tomkins, the pieman, and your unsuccessful
attempt to prove to him, synthetically and dialectically, that long
credit and great gains were preferable, as a mercantile principle, to
small profits and quick returns, to which logic many an empty pocket
sent forth, doubtless, a confirmatory echo? But oh, that stony-hearted
man! Orpheus himself could not have moved him—no eloquence, no
wiles—nought but the _ipsa pecunia_, the money’s chink.
My regiment has lately arrived here from Berhampore. I have been for
some time out of my griffinage, and though but a “jolly ensign,” like
yourself, and not very deep in the mysteries of the _Hindee Bolee_,
have lately obtained the command of a company—we being rather
deficient in old hands. This works me a good deal, but I like my new
powers, and if I could but understand the fellows, I should get on
famously.
I have a small bungalow near the river, and am comfortable enough, all
things considered, so you must come and spend a month with me at
least. Why not get to do duty with our regiment at once? it can be
easily managed. I hope you enjoy life amongst the “True Blues” in the
Mofussil. I have had some experience of them myself, and a
kinder-hearted and more hospitable set of fellows, taking them in a
body, does not exist.
Give me a few lines to say on what day I may expect you here, and I
will ride out and meet you (if you dawk it) and have breakfast ready.
So for the present adieu—_au revoir_.
Your friend and schoolfellow,
T. RATTLETON.
P.S.—By-the-bye, do you recollect your changing old Thwackem’s
digestive pill, daily deposited at the corner of his desk, for a pea
rolled in flour (or a bolus of your own manufacture), and how
unsuspectingly the old boy would gulp it down, preparatory to locking
up his cane and descending from his awful elevation? Many a good laugh
I’ve had at this piece of _friponnerie_ of yours.
This letter delighted me, and Mr. Capsicum, to whom I read it, seemed
also a good deal amused. I felt an intense longing to see my friend Tom
again, and in fact fell into such a fidgety and excited state, that I
could take an interest in nothing. Old Time, instead of flying, seemed
to me all of a sudden to have lost the power of locomotion altogether.
Battleton and I were the Castor and Pollux of the school, sworn
brothers—backers and abettors of each other in all fights, scrapes, and
difficulties, of which we generally had _quantum suff._ on hand.
School was truly a black passage in my life, in which the happiness was
to the misery in about the proportion of honest Jack Falstaff’s bread to
his quantum of Sherris sack.
“_Ah, chien de livre, tu ne me fera plus répandre de pleurs!_” exclaimed
the enraged Scipio of Le Sage, as he wreaked his vengeance on the
“_maudite grammaire_,” the passive instrument of all his sufferings.
I can too well understand the feelings which actuated, on this occasion,
the little son of the honest usher of St. Hermandad, for never to this
day do I enter a school-room, or my eye light on a grammar, dictionary,
or other buff-coloured associate of the long-past days of my pupilage,
but a host of painful and degrading recollections rush on my mind, of
the hundred thwackings, confinings, mortifications, of which they were
the proximate cause, as nauseous to the feelings as the remembrance of a
black dose, or James’s powder, “grating harsh music” through its
envelopment of black-currant jelly. And as I look at a pedagogue, I have
such a lively idea of a caning, that I am glad to get out of his way.
The young mind may, in truth, be likened to the notes of an instrument,
from which a harmonious result can only be extracted by the hand of a
master, acquainted with their respective powers; whilst a bungler may
thump away at them to the end of the chapter, and nothing but discord,
or the instrument irretrievably put out of tune, will be the
consequence. In fact, the art of developing, governing and improving
“the young idea,” the most important of all, is yet in its infancy,
particularly as regards the moral training.
But to curb my erratic vein, and proceed with my narrative.
A period having been fixed for my departure, Mr. Augustus asked me in
what manner I proposed to return. I told him, that was a matter I had
not considered, but that I should be entirely guided by him.
“Well,” said he, “there’s the boat you came in at your service; but the
Sunderbunds are roundabout, and I’d strongly recommend your going by
dawk; you’ll find it pleasanter, as you’re alone, and you’ll reach your
destination much sooner.”
“Very well,” I replied, “let it be so; but may I ask what mode of
transport this said dawk is of which I have heard such frequent mention
made—’tisn’t any sort of animal, is it?”
“Animal!” exclaimed my friend in astonishment, and laughing heartily,
“why you are a greater griffin than I took you for: this beats your
spearing the village pig. A dawk is a relay of bearers at stages of ten
or twelve miles apart, to carry you, at the rate of four or five miles
an hour, to your journey’s end.”
“Thank you,” said I, “for the information; but not possessing intuitive
knowledge, you see, one can’t be expected to know all things until told
of them.”
Augustus admitted that there was reason in the observation.
Well, it was decided that I was to proceed to Barrackpore on the second
night after the day on which this conversation took place; so I wrote at
once to my friend Tom, to tell him that he might expect me immediately.
The last day of my stay, De la Chasse and his _fidus Achates_ dined with
us, and we all appeared depressed at the prospect of separation, for our
short acquaintance had already ripened into a friendly feeling.
Like towns in an ill-governed country, where, owing to the absence of
sound laws and honest administrators of them, every one is afraid of his
neighbour, hearts, in artificial England, are too often petty
fortresses, in which pride, caution, and suspicion are incessantly on
the watch to guard against surprise, and to break down these barriers
and effect a lodgment is frequently the work of years; but in India,
amongst Anglo-Indians, the case is reversed; the gates are thrown wide
open, and intimacies and cordial (though, perhaps, not always lasting)
feelings are generally the result of a few day’s acquaintance.
Both extremes are bad, as all extremes are; but it is indubitably far
pleasanter to live amongst those, the approaches to whose confidence and
kindness are supinely, rather than too rigorously guarded; the one
system, ’tis my belief, shuts out more good than the other admits of
evil.
“_Sahib, ka daktiar hyr_,” said a servant entering the apartment some
time after dark, on the day of which I am speaking.
“Gernon,” observed Mr. Augustus, “the best of friends must part: your
palankeen is ready outside, and only waits your orders.”
I arose, walked to the terrace, and there was my equipage. The
sentimental St. Pierre, with all the _accuracy_ of a Frenchman, thus
describes the equipage of his truth-seeking doctor, who, if as subject
to blundering as himself, might have been a long time in discovering
that valuable treasure.
“The Company’s superintendent of Calcutta furnished the doctor with
everything necessary for his journey to Juggernauth, consisting of a
palankeen, the curtains of which were of crimson silk, wrought with
gold; two relays, of four each, of stout coolies or bearers; two common
porters; a water-bearer; a juglet-bearer, for his refreshment; a
pipe-bearer; an umbrella-bearer, to shade him from the sun; a nuslogee
(!) or torch-bearer, for the night; a wood-cutter; two cooks; two camels
and their leaders, to carry his provisions and luggage; two pioneers, to
announce his approach; four sepoys, mounted upon Persian horses, to
escort him; and a standard-bearer, bearing the arms of England!”
I, being no philosopher, and bound on a less important mission, could
pretend to none of this splendour; my turn-out consisted of a palankeen,
eight or ten cahars or bearers (for in my time, whatever may have been
the case in the doctor’s, it was not usual to carry the palankeens upon
coolies); a bangby, or two baskets, containing my immediate necessaries,
slung on an elastic bamboo; and a mussaulchee, or link-bearer; the torch
carried by the latter being formed of rags rolled about an iron spindle,
and looking something like a bandaged stump.
I thought there would have been no end to the handshaking and last
“adieus,” with the repeated injunctions not to forget that I should
always find a knife and fork and a hearty welcome at the Junglesoor
Factory.
At last, however, I “broke away,” as the fox-hunters say, I believe, and
threw myself into the palankeen; the bearers, with a groan, lifted their
burthen on their shoulders; the mussaulchee poured oil on his link from
its long-spouted receptacle, which, flaring up, brought out the whole
scene, house, trees, and congregated group on the terrace, with a wild
and spectral glare. I waved my hand, half-closed the doors of my
palankeen, threw myself back:—the curtain had dropped on act the second
of my griffinage, and I was soon on my journey to Barrackpore.
On we went, through the murky gloom of night, dispelled for fifty yards
around by the glare of the mussaul; sometimes on a fair and beaten
track, at others, splashing through wet rice-fields, or traversing with
infinite caution some causeway or embankment, as perilous as the bridge
of Al Sirat.
The monotonous _Urree-hy-he-haw_ chant of the bearers soon sent me off
into a doze, from which I was only aroused occasionally by blundering
attempts to put me and my palankeen on board a boat, in crossing some
lazy river, on which occasions, the torch-light, the red glare on the
water, and the dark figures on board, would bring old Charon and his
Stygian ferry to my imagination; or the disturbance arose when they set
me down, not over gently, on the skirts of some village or thannah,
preparatory to a change of bearers.
At the end of the first stage, one of my active bipeds opened the doors
of my palankeen, popped in his greasy frontispiece, reeking with oil and
perspiration, and, with a grin, said something I did not understand, but
in which the word _buckshish_ (presents) was remarkably distinct.
“Go to the d——l,” exclaimed I; “boxes, no _sumjha_[20] boxes.”
My friend now tried it on another tack, and, placing the finger of one
hand in the palm of the other, with a knowing look, repeated the word
“rupee.”
Oh, thought I, are you there? I see your drift; but, knowing they had
already been paid, I abruptly closed the doors and the conversation at
once, with thundering “_Jow-jehanum!_”[21] a phrase I had picked up
(without knowing the precise meaning of it) from Capt. Marpeet, who, in
his intercourse with the natives, made frequent use of it, as a sort of
receipt in full.
I passed the greater part of the following day with a planter on the
road, a friend of Mr. Capsicum’s, and started again in the evening.
The fresh air of the morn aroused me after my second nocturnal journey,
and I looked out. We were in a rich, flat, and luxuriant country; all
nature seemed smiling; the ryot was moving out to his work, and ruddy
streaks appeared through the tall, tufted stems of coco-nut and
taree-palms, blushing Aurora truly looking out of the barred casements
of the East.
I calculated that I must now be nearly at the end of my journey; and
this supposition was, in a few minutes, most agreeably confirmed by a
young officer, in a red raggie and hunting-cap, riding up on a pony, and
addressing a few words to my bearers in Hindostanee.
I looked hard at him, and in an instant recognized the well-known
features of my schoolfellow, Tom Rattleton. The recognition was mutual,
and electrical the effect; out I rolled, _sans chapeau_; off he tumbled
from his tattoo, and we were soon locked in a close embrace—aye, I say
in a close embrace; true affection, like true courage, is a desperate
grappling affair, and a mere handshaking would have been high treason to
the feelings which at that moment swelled our bosoms.
“My dear Frank!”
“My dear Tom!”
“How glad I am to see you!”
“How you are grown! but I should have known you anywhere, old fellow.”
“So should I you, old boy.”
“Well—eh—and how goes it?”
Thus we exploded a volley of queries and interjections, which escaped by
fitful jerks, like water from bottles suddenly inverted. There was no
acting here, but a hearty burst of honest nature—fresh as the morning
air we were breathing.
The warmth of our greeting a little subsided, I resumed my recumbent
position in the palankeen, and on went the bearers, jolting along at a
rattling pace, having apparently caught all our animation, with revived
hopes of “_buckshish_.” Rattleton trotted alongside, talking
incessantly, and in a short time the military cantonment of Barrackpore
broke in view.
We crossed the parade, where all was life and animation; soldiers
drilling, recruits on one leg doing the goose-step, drums beating,
drill-sergeants shouting, and bugles sounding.
We passed through the lines, thronged with sepoys in their graceful
undress, and were soon at my friend’s bungalow, in which, after
dismissing my bearers, I entered to take up my quarters. Rattleton gave
me another shake, as if he had been working a pump handle and cordially
bidding me welcome.
A certain writer, who laid the scene of a romance in India, when not
quite so well known as at present, describes our hero, I have been told,
as sailing in a bungalow on the broad and placid surface of the Ganges,
which, by a slight geographical error, is made to traverse the vale of
Kashmere. Now, though I give my reader credit for knowing something more
of the matter than this, a slight description of a bungalow may not be
unacceptable, nevertheless.
The houses occupied by Europeans in India are of two descriptions; the
_pucka_ house—_havilee_, or _kottee_—and the bungalow. The former of
brick or stone, is flat roofed, and, excepting in Calcutta, almost
always of one story; _i.e._ the rooms are all on the ground floor,
though considerably raised from the ground; they have green Venetian
windows, and are encompassed, wholly or partially, by a terrace, covered
with cement, shaded by a verandah or awning.
The bungalow partakes more of the cottage, or, I should perhaps rather
say, the barn, being, in nineteen cases out of twenty, covered with a
ponderous thatch, requiring frequent renewal, the operations of the
white ants and periodical rains soon converting it into a cake of mud,
through which pactolean rills frequently find their way to the interior,
meandering down the walls.
The bungalow is invariably of one story, and constructed on the
principle of a single or double-poled tent, or routie, according to the
size; the resemblance to tents occupied by officers is indeed striking,
though which is the original and which the copy I cannot say. It has
usually double walls, though in some cases that which answers to the
outer is little more than a range of pillars.
The space between, called the verandah, is occupied by master’s
palankeen, camp equipage, &c.; there, too, the bearers, or _cahars_, lie
and snore during the sultry hours, till roused from their slumbers by a
kick from master’s foot; there, too, the patient _dirgee_, or snip, sits
cross-legged, hard at work on the beebee sahib’s ball-dress, or the
sahib’s nether garments, which he holds on with his great toe and the
next one to it with all the skill of the Order _Quadrumana_, to the
astonishment of the griffinish beholder.
Talk of our “light fantastic toes,” indeed; what are they to a black
fellow’s,—adorned, too, with a fine silver great-toe-ring to boot! _Mais
revenons_. The ceilings, instead of lath and plaster, are composed of
coarse cotton cloth, whitewashed, and tied with numerous tags or strings
to a framework of bamboo running round the apartment, and concealed from
view by the projecting cornice; between this and the rafters is a dark
void, the airy hall of the rats and bandicoots, who sometimes hold their
_soirées dansantes_ and _conversazione_ in it, careering over the cloth
with lively and varied squeakings. _Purdahs_, _chicks_ (blinds), and
_jhamps_ (frames of straw and bamboo), and sometimes glass doors, serve
to close the entrances; the latter are, indeed, pretty common, except at
very uncivilized and out-of-the-way stations.
Furniture harbours reptiles and is expensive to carry about; officers’
bungalows are, consequently, but slenderly supplied with moveables. A
couch, one or two tables, half a dozen chairs, a book-shelf, a
_settrinjie_ (or cotton carpet, with blue and white stripes, and which
also serves for the tent when marching), and a few wall-shades &c.,
generally constitute the adornments of an Indian officer’s residence.
In the abodes of civilians, whose lots are cast in pleasanter places,
and who lead less erratic lives than the military, and have far longer
purses, things approximate more nearly to the English standard of luxury
and comfort.
At military stations, puckha flat-roofed houses are rare, and generally
occupied by the general commanding, or some other exalted functionary in
the receipt of large allowances.
My friend’s bungalow was a regular Indian sub’s abode, and fell wofully
below my standard of comfort, though in his opinion, formed on more
experienced views of Indian life, it was quite as it should be.
In the first place, the grand _salon_, or _salle à manger_, contained
one square camp-table, two chairs and a half, a footstool of basket
work, in the shape of a devil (the thing played with two sticks, I
mean); his hog-spear and gun occupied one corner, and hard by hung
suspended his library; not quite so large as the Bodleian, to be sure,
but containing, nevertheless, some very good cut-and-come-again sort of
books.
First, there was a family Gibbon, properly docked and curtailed, a
present from his grandmother; Gilchrist’s Grammar; Williamson’s _Vade
Mecum_, and Taplin’s Farriery; the _Tota Kuhanee_,[22] Mother Glass’s
Cookery, and a ponderous _tome_, which I at first took for a Family
Bible with explanatory notes, but which turned out to be an abridgment
of the rules and regulations of the Bengal army, monuments of the
legislative skill of all the commanders-in-chief and governors-general
from the time of Clive downwards.
Tom’s dormitory was still more scantily furnished: it contained a small
camp-cot, on which, much at its ease, reposed a terrier bunnow—own
brother to Teazer, I could have sworn—a chair, a washhand stand, or
chillumchee, a cracked looking-glass, two camel trunks, and as many
_pataras_; whilst on a peg hung what he sometimes jocularly termed his
badges of slavery—to wit, a sword, a sash, and shoulder-belt.
The third apartment in the bungalow, small and bare, was assigned to me,
and Rattleton good-naturedly sent a servant off to the fort to bring up
the things I had left there in a _paunchway_.
After showing me the interior, we proceeded to the shady side of the
bungalow, where, on a terrace, stood a chair, a teapoy, a small carpet,
and other preparations for my friend’s second toilet. After parade or
the morning’s ride, it is the invariable custom to dress again, an
operation which, in the hot seasons, is repeated sometimes two or three
times in the course of the day.
We should be rather surprised to see gentlemen in England sitting _al
fresco_ on the lawns, barring a short pair of drawers, as naked as
gladiators; but, as I said before, the sun makes a very considerable
difference in our perceptions of things in general.
Prior to dressing, it is usual to take a bath, which is effected by the
_bhistee’s_ (water-carrier’s) sluicing over you the frigid contents of a
_mussack_, or tanned sheepskin bag. This braces the whole system, and
adds a fresh edge to the appetite, already sharpened by the ride in the
morning air. Breakfast is, consequently, attacked with a degree of
vigour and determination not often seen even in our hyperborean clime.
After a comfortable meal, and disposing of a vast quantity of fish,
rice, and muffins, Rattleton cocked his legs on the table, bade me do
the same, and make myself quite at home. The pipeman brought the hookha,
and the bearer pulled the punka, and we proceeded to discuss a plan of
proceeding for the morning.
“In the first place, we must call on the colonel this morning,” said
Rattleton; “he is a very good sort of man, takes matters easily, and
patronizes me especially, but is rather tenacious of having proper
respect paid to him; then, after that, I’ll introduce you to the
general, and some of the other officers of the corps and station, and in
the evening we’ll drive you out in the park, where you’ll see all the
beauty and fashion of Barrackpore. By the way, Frank, there are some
devilish nice spins just now here, which, perhaps, you’ll not be sorry
to hear.”
“Certainly not,” I replied; “but I hope, Tom, you’re not thinking of
committing matrimony just yet, are you?”
“Why, I don’t exactly know,” said Tom; “there’s a very sweet little girl
here, who has made a sad hole in my heart; such a pair of eyes as she
has—oh! Frank—but you’ll see. I have made a hundred resolutions against
being spliced, but one glance of those death-dealing orbs sends them all
to shivers in a minute. I am like a moth flitting about a candle, and
shall go plump into the mischief at last, I see that very plainly.
Perhaps, though, Frank, as you are not a bad-looking fellow, you may
keep down or divert a little of the fire of that terrible artillery.”
“Why, I don’t know,” said I, laughing; “it is not so easy to create a
diversion in these cases, and not over safe; besides, who knows, if
successful, but that the fire of your love may be changed into that of
jealousy, and that you may be opening another sort of battery on me! But
seriously, I can feel for you, Tom, for already my poor heart has been
amazingly riddled by a charming young lady we left at Madras, and more
recently by a widow. ’Pon my life, I begin to think the Orientals do
wisely in locking up their women.”
[Illustration: Tom Rattleton receiving the Morning Report of the “Fat
Lord” and the “Red Lion.”]
“I begin to think so too,” said Tom, with a sigh: “they do a confounded
deal of mischief; at all events, those radiant and Mokannah-visaged
dames should be closely veiled with good opaque stuff, as you muzzle
dangerous dogs.”
“What a simile, Tom! But your plan would be of no avail; a mere masking
of the battery, which, upon fit occasions, would open upon us with more
deadly effect.”
Whilst we were thus chatting, the blind of the room was drawn aside, and
Cherby Khan and Loll Sing (which translated mean “the fat lord” and “the
red lion”), the subadar and lance-naick or corporal of my friend’s
company, marched in to make their morning’s report.
A native of Hindostan, well off in the world, and with a mind at ease,
fattens as regularly and surely as a pig or a stall-fed ox. The subadar
was consequently a punchy, adipose little fellow, something of the cut
and build of “_Mon oncle Gil Perez_.” The naick, on the contrary, was
tall and spare, and a very proper and handsome man of his inches.
On entering (stiff as a ramrod), the little subadar, who showed a good
civic rotundity in front, threw out his right arm horizontally, with a
jerk, which might have almost dislocated it from the shoulder-joint, and
then bringing up his hand to his cap, saluted in a most military style,
and reported that “all was well,” “_sub ucha_” in the company of the
“_Gurreeb Purwar_,” or “protector of the poor,” for so he designated my
friend Tom.
This was the statement in the gross, with which, however, it appeared
there was little correspondence in the items; these proved, I afterwards
understood from Tom, to be—two men dead, five gone to hospital, three
deserted, a musket lost, and sundry other mishaps.
The “red lion” now stepped briskly forward, as if going to knock Tom
down; recovered his arms with a crack, which made me almost jump out of
my chair, and proceeded at once to “unfold a tale” of considerable
length, to which my friend replied, “_Ucha_,”[23] and “_Bhote
khoob_,”[24] though it was pretty clear, from his perplexed look and
embarrassed air, that he did not understand one-third of it. In point of
fact, the aforesaid statement was evidently one which involved some
knotty point for “the protector of the poor’s” decision, and requiring
something more tangible in the way of comment than the aforesaid “_Bhote
khoob_.”
My friend, however, dismissed him with a “_Peechee hookum_,” “orders
deferred,” a sort of “call again to-morrow” phrase, much used in India,
when time is sought to be gained. Another salute from the subadar,
another formidable crack of the fusee from Loll Sing, and both wheeled
on their heels, and _exeunt_. “_Buggy lou juldee_” (“bring quick the
gig”), “_Jal kreech do_” (and “give me my sash and sword”), shouted
Rattleton.
A sort of whiskey, which my friend sported on his ensign’s pay, was soon
at the door. He was duly equipped, and in we both stepped, and drove off
to the bungalow of Colonel Lollsaug, the commandant of my friend’s
regiment, which I shall call the 95th N.I., or “_Zubberdust
Bullumteers_.”
We were ushered in, and found the colonel smoking his hookha, with a
sneaker of cold tea before him, a sort of prolongation of the breakfast
almost universal in India. He rose as we entered, and shook hands with
Tom, who presented me as his friend recently arrived.
The colonel was a gaunt figure of six feet two, or thereabouts, with
sallow sunken cheeks, and two little tufts of grizzled whisker near the
corner of his mouth; he was dressed in a not uncommon morning
dishabille, consisting simply of a shirt and red camlet jacket, a pair
of immense _pajammas_, or native trousers, tied with a silken string at
the waist, whilst an immense pair of spangled Indian slippers, with
curly toes as long as rams’ horns, adorned his feet; an embroidered
velvet scull-cap was perched on the top of his head: and altogether he
was as striking a specimen of the epicene gender of the Orientalized
European as I had as yet seen.
The colonel asked me if I had recently arrived? how I liked India? what
the folks were doing at home? if St. Paul’s stood where it used to do?
and sundry other questions of a like nature, to all of which I gave
suitable replies.
Rattleton told him we were old schoolfellows, and that I had a strong
desire to do duty with his corps for a month, if it could be so
arranged. The colonel kindly undertook to manage the matter, and told
Tom to introduce me to the adjutant, who would have me instructed in the
drill, and manual and platoon, with some other young men then with the
regiment.
The colonel now asked my friend if he had been at the grand ball an
evening or two before, and how it went off?
Tom said he had, and they had a very pleasant evening, second supper,
lots of dancing, and some good songs, and that there were strong
suspicions that the general was a little “_fou_.”
“Well,” said the colonel; “that’s all right, but was _she_ there?”
“Who, sir?” asked my friend, very innocently.
“Come, come, that won’t do, Mr. Slyboots,” said the colonel; “I know all
about it; ha! ha! ha!”
“’Pon my honour, sir,” said Rattleton, blushing, “you are too
enigmatical for me.”
“Capital,” said the colonel, who was in a bantering humour; “why,
Prattle tells me it’s all settled, license written for, and that you are
going to cart her[25] immediately—ha! ha! ha!”
I saw, of course, that all this had reference to the spinster with the
fine eyes. Though my friend affected ignorance of the matter, he was
evidently flattered by being made the subject of such an agreeable _on
dit_.
Whilst this was going on, I was startled and surprised by seeing the
head of a very pretty Indian lady, with jet black locks, large gazelle
eyes, and a huge gold ring in her nose, pop from behind the _purdah_, or
curtain, and the owner of which exclaimed, at the top of a very shrill
voice, “_Urree Dhyya Paundaunneelou_.”[26]
The colonel said something rather sharply.
“_To vau_,” pettishly exclaimed the apparition, and the head and a
pretty be-ringed hand were withdrawn, and immediately from an opposite
door an elderly black duenna, with a pair of wrinkled trousers, or
_pajammas_, and half-concealed by a cowl-like sort of muslin robe,
marched in a stately manner, _sans cérémonie_, her anklet bells
jingling, right across the apartment, with a huge metal box under her
arm, which I afterwards learnt was a betel-box, and which it seems was
the article which the colonel’s sultana stood in need of.
Egad, thinks I to myself, they order things in the East rather
differently from what they do in the West.
After a little more conversation we took our leave, having previously
received an invitation to dine the next evening with the quaint
commandant.