A military execution must be, under all circumstances and to all
persons, an awful and striking exhibition; but seen for the first time,
it makes on the young mind a peculiarly deep and painful impression. An
European soldier of one of the regiments at the station had, in a fit of
passion and disappointment, attempted the life of his officer, and,
agreeably to the necessarily stern provisions of military law, was
sentenced to be shot. I witnessed the execution;[53] a solemn scene it
was, and one which will never be effaced from my memory.
The troops of various arms, European and native, were drawn up when I
reached the parade, and formed in three sides of an immense square,
facing inwards. The arms were “ordered,” and a portentous silence
prevailed, broken only occasionally by the clank of a mounted officer’s
sword, and the tramp of his horses hoofs as he rode slowly down the
ranks. The morning mists were beginning to disperse, and the bright sun
was darting his long and almost level rays across the parade ground, and
gleaming brightly on a forest of steel and dazzling accoutrements—the
last sunrise the unhappy criminal was ever destined to behold.
The roll of the dram now announced his arrival, and soon the procession,
in which he occupied a conspicuous position, rounded the flank of one of
the sides of the square.
First marched, at a slow pace, a party bearing the coffin of the
condemned, followed by the execution-party; then the band, playing the
_Dead March_ in Saul: it was a frightful scene, and sent a damp to my
heart—what must have been its effects on the unhappy man himself?
Last in the melancholy procession came a litter (doolie), borne on the
shoulders of men; and in it, with a white cap on his head, and a face
calm and resigned, but deadly pale, sat the unfortunate soldier, for
whom, I confess, I felt most deeply. By his side, arrayed in full
canonicals, walked the chaplain, his book open in his hand, reading
those prayers and promises—speaking of pardon and hope—which are
calculated to cheer the parting hour, and to soften the bitterness of
death.
The procession having passed slowly along the front of each regiment,
which, from the great extent of the square, occupied a considerable
time, now drew off to the centre of what, if complete, would have
constituted the fourth side of the parallelogram: there it halted.
The coffin-bearers placed their burden on the ground and retired; the
execution-party drew up at some distance from it. The prisoner left his
doolie, and, accompanied by the clergyman, walked slowly and with a firm
step towards the coffin; on this they both knelt, with their faces
towards the troops, and prayed with uplifted hands.
Profound was the silence. A soul was preparing for eternity! Being a
spectator at large, I selected my position, and being close to the spot,
saw all distinctly.
After some time had been occupied in prayer, the chaplain retired, when
the judge advocate, on horseback, came forward, and, drawing forth the
warrant for the prisoner’s execution, read it with a firm and audible
voice; at the conclusion, the chaplain once more advanced, and, kneeling
on the coffin, again, with uplifted hands, and deep and impressive
fervour, imparted the last spiritual consolations to the condemned.
What feelings must have torn the bosom of that unhappy being at that
moment! Set up as a spectacle before thousands—an ignominious death
before him—and perhaps the thoughts of those he loved, of kindred and of
home, never more to be seen, adding another drop to his cup of
bitterness! But yet he quailed not—no muscle trembled—and a stern
determination to die like a man was stamped upon his care-worn and
marbly countenance.
The tragedy was now drawing to a close. The chaplain, with apparent
reluctance, rose and retired, and at the same moment the sergeant of the
execution-party advanced and bound a handkerchief over the prisoner’s
eyes, also pinioning his arms. Still not a muscle moved; there were no
signs of weakness, though the situation might well have excused them,
and the chest was thrown out and squared to receive the leaden
messengers of death.
The “make ready!” and the crack of the muskets as they were brought to
the “recover,” were startling notes of preparation, and fell with
sickening effect on my ear. I could scarcely believe it possible I was
looking on a scene of reality—a fellow-creature about to be shot down,
however deservedly, in cold blood, like a very dog.
“Present!”—“fire!” and all was over. A mass of halls, close together,
pierced his heart—over he went like a puppet—fell on his back, and never
moved a limb. Life seemed borne away on the balls that went through him,
and to have vanished with the speed of an electric spark.
There he lay, like fallen Hassan, “his back to earth, his face to
heaven,” his mouth open, as if to put forth a cry which had died unborn
with the passing pang; one blood-red spot on his cheek, where a bullet
had entered, lending its frightful contrast to the marbly hue of his
features; the heel of one foot rested on the coffin, the other on the
ground; his hands open and on their backs.
A short pause now ensued, which was soon followed by a stir of mounted
officers galloping to and fro, and the loud command to “wheel back into
open column,” and “march!”
In this order the whole force advanced, the bands of the several
regiments playing in succession, as they marched past the corpse, the
deep and solemn strains of the _Adeste Fideles_, or Portuguese Hymn, a
dirge-like air, admirably adapted for such occasions, and which breathes
the very soul of melancholy.
As the flanks of each company passed, almost touching the dead man, it
was curious to observe the various expressions in the countenances of
the soldiers, European and sepoy, as they stole their almost scared and
sidelong glances at it.
The non-military reader will be a little surprised, as I am sure I was,
when I tell him that each regiment, after having passed the body a few
hundred yards, changed the slow to quick march, and diverged to their
several lines, playing “The girl I left behind me,” or some similar
lively air, with a view, I presume, to dissipate the recent impression.
The wisdom of such a proceeding is by no means self-evident; it seems
indecent, to say the least of it: to be consistent, we should always
ring a merry peal after a funeral, or a gallopade home from church.
Bidding adieu to my friend the major, and duly equipped for the march, I
left Cawnpore for Futtyghur, and the following was the composition of my
rather patriarchal turn-out—hating the red coats and muskets of my
escort: a naick and six sepoys of Nizamut, or militia; we might have
passed pretty well for the section of a nomade tribe on the move in
search of clearer streams and greener pastures.
A two-bullock hackery or country cart, a very primitive lumbering
locomotive, whose wheels, utter strangers to grease, emitted the most
excruciating music, conveyed my tent, trunks, and hen-coops, with the
dobie’s lady and family perched a-top of all.
Then there was a bangy-burdah, with two green petaras, containing my
breakfast and dinner apparatus, whilst Ramdial, my sirdar, trudged on,
bearing the bundle containing my change of linen, and dragging my
milch-goat (for Nanny did not approve of marching) after him, _nolens
volens_.
Nunco led my dogs in a leash; to wit, Teazer, and a nondescript
substitute for the bull, with a few evanescent shades of the greyhound,
which I had purchased at Cawnpore. I named this animal, rather
ironically, “Fly,” which Nunco manufactured into “Pillai.”
Fyz Buccas, kidmutgar, trudged along, driving before him a knock-kneed
shambling tatoo, which I verily thought he would have made a spread
eagle of, laden with his wife, two children, and sundry bags, pots,
pans, &c. Whether Mrs. Fyz Buccas was a beauty or not I cannot
positively say, though, if I might judge from the sample of one
coal-black eye, of which, through the folds of her hood I occasionally
had a glimpse, I should decidedly say she was.
I generally rode ahead of the procession, armed _cap-à-pie_, and shone
the very _beau idéal_ of griffinish chivalry. My syce always carried my
gun, to be ready for a shot at a passing wolf or jackal, and with one or
two other servants, viz., a classee, or tent-pitcher, bhistee, &c., with
my guard, we constituted a rather numerous party.
In the above order I left Cawnpore, for a small village on the road to
Furruckabad, where, in an extensive mango grove, I for the first time in
my life slept under canvas.
It is the almost invariable custom in India to march in the early part
of the morning, so as to reach the halting-ground before the sun has
attained much power; but I was either ignorant, of the practice, or
thought it would be preferable to reverse the system; certain it is,
that for some time I always marched in the evenings, arriving at my
ground sometimes after dark; by that means I was enabled to rise at my
own hour comfortably the next morning, and had the whole day till about
sunset for my amusement.
About that time I would seat myself on a chair under a tree, with my
kulian in my hand, and superintend the striking and loading my tent, &c.
About half an hour after they were fairly off, I would rise like a giant
refreshed, mount my steed, whilst my syce obsequiously held my stirrup,
and, fairly seated, would follow the baggage.
I love to recall in imagination those days, the opening ones of my
independent existence. How vividly can I recall the scene which this
march so often presented! the waning sunlight of the cold winter
evenings, a few bright streaks just tinging the horizon, my hackery
slowly wending its way over the plain, and my scattered servants
crawling behind it, in a cloud of dust; the mango groves—villages—mud
huts, and all the accompaniments of a country life in Upper India!
I must not here omit to mention that, prior to my leaving Cawnpore, I
received a letter from my friend and patron Captain Marpeet, with whom I
occasionally corresponded; it was couched in his usual frank and
half-bantering style, and informed me that his regiment was on the eve
of marching to Delhi, and that he anticipated great pleasure in meeting
me there. Thus it concluded:—
“Recollect, my dear boy, I shall have a room at your service, and that
you put up with me on your arrival; you are not fit to take care of
yourself yet, and require a little more of my drilling and paternal
care. Give me a few lines from Futtyghur, and mention when I may expect
you. A friend of mine, Judge Sympkin, is now out in the district through
which you will pass, on some Mofussil business. I enclose you a few
lines of introduction, and have written to tell him he may expect you.
He is a princely fellow, a first-rate sportsman, and lives like a
fighting-cock, as a Bengal civilian should do. Hoping soon to shake you
by the hand,
“I am, worthy Griff,
“Yours, &c.,
“J. MARPEET.”
A few days brought me to Futtyghur, of which I have nothing particular
to record, excepting that the adjoining town of Furruckabad is
celebrated for the manufacture of tent cloth and camp equipage, and as
the scene of the defeat of Holkar’s cavalry by our dragoons in Lord
Lake’s war.
By the way, an officer who was in that action told the relator, that the
Brummagem swords of the troopers would make little or no impression on
the quilted jackets and vests of the Mahrattas, and that he saw many of
them dismount and take the well-tempered blades of the natives they had
pistoled, and use them instead of their own. The keen razor-like swords
of the East give those who wield them a fearful advantage over men armed
with our mealy affairs. The former will split a man down from the “nave
to the chine,” or slice off his head with infinite ease (_sauf karna_,
“to shave him clean,” is the Indian phrase), whilst ours require immense
physical force to produce such a result.
The author once met some troopers of the 4th Regiment of Native Cavalry,
some squadrons of which were dismissed for turning tail when ordered to
charge the ex-rajah of Kotah’s body-guard, and asked them how they came
to disgrace themselves. The answer of one of them was,—
“Why, what chance, sir, have we with men in chain armour, and wielding
swords of such a temper that they will cut down horse and man at a
single blow?”
I mention this as hearing on recent acts and discussions, not in
justification of the men, but as affording a probable clue to the
backwardness of our cavalry on some occasions. I think we are prone to
rely too much on the power of disciplined troops acting _en masse_, to
the neglect of those matters calculated to increase individual prowess.
Good arms are a first-rate consideration, not only for the superior
execution they do, but on account of the confidence with which they
inspire the soldier.
At Futtyghur my tent was besieged by the venders of cloth, &c., and one
man brought a number of tulwars (swords) made at Rampore, in Rohilcund,
a place celebrated for them, for sale. After some higgling, I purchased
one, a keen and well-poised blade, for the small sum of Rs. 4. I longed
to try it upon some neck or other, and, as luck would have it, soon had
the desired opportunity, on a felonious pariar dog, which had made free
with a portion of my dinner.
I had advanced some four or five marches beyond Furruckabad, each day
diversified by some novelty in the scenery—some fresh object, in the
shape of travellers, pilgrims, buildings, and the like—but still
beginning to feel the want of a companion whose language was the same as
my own, when one morning, as I was strolling, with my pellet-bow in my
hand (for I had resumed it, in spite of the crack on the thumb), I
observed at a distance a horseman slowly approaching.
As he came nearer, I observed he was mounted on a tall Rosinante-looking
steed, with a flowing tail and mane; his head-stall was of a sort of red
bell-rope-looking cord; a bunch of red cloth, something like a
handkerchief, dangled under his horse’s chin, from whence a standing
martingale passed between his legs. Amulets and chains were round his
animal’s neck, and the saddle (or cushion, rather) was covered with a
square broad cloth of red and yellow chequers.
The cavalier himself, a dark-bearded Mahomedan, was a fine specimen of
the Hindoostanee irregular horseman. His _chupkun_, or vest, of yellow
broad cloth, reached to his knee, and his legs were encased in long
wrinkled boots, something like Jack Sheppard’s, and which would not have
been the worse for a touch of Day and Martin.
On his head he wore a cylindrical Cossack-looking cap of black felt or
lambskin. A long matchlock was poised on his shoulder; a tulwar, or
scimitar, was stuck in his cummerbund or girdle, and a circular black
shield, of buffalo’s hide, swung on his shoulders.
Altogether, though I was brought up in the orthodox belief that one
Englishman is equal to three Frenchmen, and of course, to an indefinite
number of blacks, I cannot say I should have liked to encounter him upon
my tatoo. However, his was a mission of peace, as I soon discovered.
On seeing me, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks, and was soon
beside me. Throwing himself off, he saluted me with an off-handed
_salaam_, in which _hauteur_ and civility were oddly blended, and then,
taking off his cap, he extracted therefrom a letter, somewhat
pinguinized and sudorificated, which he respectfully placed in my hands.
It was addressed to “Ensign Francis Gernon, on his march to Delhi,” and
ran thus:—
“MY DEAR SIR,
“Our mutual friend Marpeet has apprized me of your approach; I write,
therefore, to say that, as a friend of his, it will give me great
pleasure if you can spare me a day or two, if not pressed to join.
Your Colonel Bobbery I know well, and will undertake to mollify him if
necessary. The sowar, the bearer of this, will conduct you at once to
my encampment, and you can instruct your people to follow in the
morning. I have a spare tent and cot at your service.
“Hoping soon to see you,
“I am yours truly,
“AUGUSTUS SYMPKIN.”
“That will do,” I inwardly ejaculated, as, after examining the seal and
superscription, I conveyed the letter to my pocket. I instantly ordered
my pony, and girding on my spit, wherewith to destroy any chance giants
or dragons I might encounter on the way, I gave the signal, and the
sowar and I were soon in a long canter for the judge’s tents.
After a ride of about eight miles, the turn of the road exhibited to my
view the judge’s encampment, in which were tents and people enough for
nearly a regiment of five hundred men.
Under a spreading banyan-tree were a couple of elephants, eating
branches of trees for their tea, as we do water-cresses, and sundry
camels bubbling[54] and roaring, and uprearing their lofty necks by the
well-side, where, from the force of association, I almost looked for
Jacob and the fair Rebecca, as represented in those Scripture prints
which in infancy we love to dwell upon, and whence probably originates
that exquisite charm, that, through our future life, is ever interwoven
with Eastern scenes and customs.
Under a couple of tamarind trees, four or five beautiful horses were
picketed; amongst them a milk-white Arab, with a flowing tail. This was
the judge’s favourite steed. “Pretty well all this,” thought I, “for one
man, and he, too, perhaps, the son of some small gentleman.”
My arrival caused a considerable stir at the large tent. Two or three
chupprassies, or silver-badge men, darted in to announce me; the hearer
caught up the huge red umbrella or chattah, to be prepared for the great
man’s _exit_, and to guard his honoured cranium from the rays of the now
declining sun. One or two others held aside the purdahs, or chicks, and
Mr. Sympkin, a well-compacted, hearty, jolly, but withal gentlemanly
man, of forty-five or fifty, or thereabouts, stood forth to view; he was
followed by a fat squabby man, of the colour of yellow soap or saffron,
who, though attired in something like the European garb, did not,
nevertheless, in other respects, seem to belong to our quarter of the
globe.
The judge shook me heartily by the hand, and was at once so smiling and
cordial, that I began to fancy I must certainly have known him somewhere
before, and that this could never be the first of our acquaintance. It
was true downright goodness of heart, bursting through the cobwebs of
ceremony, and going slap-bang to its purpose.
“Well, Mr. Gernon, I’m happy to see you here sound and safe. I hope my
sowar piloted you well; how far off have you left your tents?”
Having replied to these queries, he again resumed.
“When did you hear last from our friend Marpeet? not since I did, I dare
say. Come, give your pony to that man, and he’ll take care of him for
you.”
I resigned my tatoo, who was led off.
The judge’s servants smiled, and exchanged significant glances, as my
little jaded rat, with accoutrements calculated for a horse of sixteen
hands high, was marched away. I confess, for the first time, I felt
perfectly ashamed of him.
“Come in,” said the judge, “we will dine somewhat earlier on your
account; but, in the meantime, as you must be fatigued, a glass of wine
will refresh you. _Qui hye? sherry-shrob lou._ By-the-bye,” said he,
recollecting himself, as we turned to enter the tent, “I had nearly
forgotten to introduce you to a fellow-traveller. Ensign Gernon, the
Rev. Mr. Arratoon Bagram Sarkies; Mr. Sarkies, Mr. Gernon.”
The little fat man smiled benignantly, as with a look betokening that my
youth and deportment had made a pleasing impression upon him, he, in a
manner half-Asiatic, tendered me his hand, as if he felt himself bound
in duty to back the judge’s cordiality.
I was sorely puzzled to divine who this amiable little personage could
be, and to what portion of the church universal his reverence belonged.
Mr. Sympkin seemed, I thought, to enjoy my gaping looks of astonishment,
but took an opportunity of informing me, very shortly afterwards, that
Mr. Sarkies was an Armenian missionary, proceeding to Guzerat with a
camel load of tracts, in divers Eastern languages, for the purpose of
converting the natives.
At the same time that he gave me this information, he proposed, if
agreeable to me, that we should keep each other company for the few
marches during which our route would lie together. To this proposal I
joyfully assented, for though the good missionary was not exactly the
sort of companion I should have selected, had a choice been given me,
nevertheless, an associate of any kind who could speak my own language
was, under present circumstances, a great acquisition.
Dinner soon made its appearance in the tent, which was fitted up with
carpets, glass shades, attached by clasps to the poles, and, in short,
everything that could render it comfortable and luxurious, and make us
forget that we were in the wilds of Hindostan.
The viands, which in excellence could not be surpassed by anything
procurable, of their several kinds, at the most fashionable hotel or
club-house at the west end of the town, were served in burnished silver.
The wines and ales, of the most delicious kinds, were cooled _à
merveille_, and we were waited upon by fine, proud-looking domestics, in
rich liveries, who seemed fully sensible of the lustre they borrowed
from their master’s importance; in short, I found myself all at once
revelling in luxury, and was made to feel, though in the pleasantest
possible way, the vastness of the gap which separates a griffin going to
join from the judge of a zillah court.
Mr. Sarkies, too, though his occupation referred more immediately to the
other world, seemed, like myself, by no means insensible to the comforts
of this mundane state of existence, paying very marked attention to the
mock-turtle, the roast saddle of mutton, maccaroni, and other “tiny
kickshaws” that followed in abundance.
In spite, however, of this little trait of the “old man Adam,” the
missionary appeared a most kind-hearted and benevolent creature; there
was a childlike simplicity about him, evincing a total absence of all
guile, which at once inspired a feeling of affection and regard, adding
a proof, were it wanting, of the power of truthfulness and virtue, in
whatever form it may appear. It was obvious, at a glance, that the
Padre’s heart was overflowing with benevolence and love of his kind, and
that no one harsh or unamiable feeling harboured there.
The judge, though evidently of a jovial and bantering turn, and not at
all likely to turn missionary himself, seemed clearly to entertain a
mingled feeling of respect and esteem for his single-hearted, but
somewhat eccentric guest, who, I found, owed his introduction to him to
a somewhat similar chance to that to which I was indebted for mine—a
feeling that, in a great degree, restrained the inclination which, in a
good-natured way, would every now and then peep out, to crack a joke at
his expense.
After a very pleasant evening, I retired to a comfortable cot, which my
host ordered to be prepared for me; and next morning Mr. Sympkin, who
was engaged on some special business in the district, left us after
breakfast to attend to his duties and proceed to his cuchery tent,
around which were assembled horses and ponies gaily caparisoned, and a
concourse of native zumeendars, with their attendants, hosts of
villagers, witnesses, and the various native functionaries in the
judge’s suite, who in India bear the collective appellation of the
“omlah.”
At tiffin he joined us, as full of spirits as a boy just let out of
school, rubbing his hands in a gleeful way, and asked me if I was
disposed for a day’s shooting, for if so, he should be happy to show me
some excellent sport, the neighbourhood abounding in game. I need hardly
say that I was not backward in accepting his offer.
The day following was a most propitious one for sport, the air clear and
bracing, and the sun, as is the case in this latitude and season,
possessed of little power. Breakfast over, the judge ordered his gun to
be laid on the table, and at the same time asked me how I was provided
in that way. I told him I was possessed of a gun, but I dared say he
would not deem it a first-rate piece of ordnance.
“Allow me to look at it,” said he; “I’ll send a man to your tent for
it;” and with this he despatched a servant to my routee.
The judge clicked my locks, turned the piece about, took a peep at the
muzzles, which were in rather fine order for cutting wadding, in the
absence of the instrument usually employed for that purpose, shook his
head, and returned it to me.
“Come,” said he, “I think we can set you up with a better piece than
that for the day; though,” added he, archly, “it appears to have seen a
little service too;” and so saying, he put together a splendid Joe
Manton, the locks of which spoke eloquently as he played them off, and
he placed it in my hands. “Have you ever shot off an elephant?”
“Never, sir,” said I, “though I have ridden upon one more than once.”
“Well, then, you must make your first essay to-day; it is no easy
matter; you must allow for the rise and fall of the animal, and take
care you don’t bag any of the black fellows alongside of you.”
I laughingly assured him I would endeavour to avoid that mistake.
“Come along, then,” said he; “I think we are now ready.”
The judge had two noble shekarrie, or hunting elephants, trained to face
the tiger, and for sport in general, which stood ready caparisoned, with
their flaming red _jhools_, or housings, in front of the tent. In the
howdah of one of them I took my seat, whilst the judge occupied that of
the other.
Duly seated, guns secured, brandy and lunch stowed away in the _khowas_
or dicky, the stately brutes rose at the command of the drivers from
their recumbent postures; the orderly Cossack-looking horsemen mounted;
the troop of beaters shouldered their long laties or poles, and we were
instantly bearing away in full swing for the sporting-ground. This lay
at the distance of three or four miles from our encampment, and
consisted of a long shallow jheel or lake, skirted by tracks of rank
grass, terminating in cultivation, villages, and groves of trees.
The elephant moves both legs at one side simultaneously, consequently
the body rises and falls, and his motion is that of a ship at sea, and I
felt before I tried it that I should make nothing of my first attempt to
shoot off one.
We now formed line, the judge’s elephant at one extremity, or pretty
nearly so, and mine at the other, and advanced.
“Keep a good look-out, Gernon,” cried my host; “we shall have something
up immediately.”
He had scarcely uttered the words, when up flustered a huge bird from
under the elephants feet, towering perpendicularly overhead; his
burnished throat, golden hues, and long sweeping tail, proclaimed him at
once a wild peacock. I endeavoured to cover him, but all in vain, my
gun’s muzzles, like the poet’s eye, were alternately directed “from
earth to heaven,” through the up-and-down motion of the elephant.
However, I blazed away both barrels, but without touching a feather. On
attaining a certain elevation, he struck off horizontally, wings
expanded, cleaving the air like a meteor; but, passing to the rear of my
companion, he, with the greatest _sang-froid_, rose, turned round in his
howdah, and dropped him as dead as a stone, amidst cries of _lugga
lugga_ (“hit”)! _mara_ (“killed”)! and _wau, wau_ (“bravo”)!
It is not considered very sportsmanlike to shoot the full-grown peacock
in India; the chicks are, however, capital eating, and are often bagged.
In this instance, the judge had evidently brought down the peacock for
my gratification; this I inferred from his immediately sending it to me
by one of his horsemen, who hoisted it up into the howdah at the end of
his spear.
As we advanced farther into the long grass, evidences of the deserved
character of the spot began to thicken around us; black partridges rose
every moment, and the judge tumbled them over right and left, but not a
feather could I touch.
Our line now made a sweep, with a view to emerging from the grass, and
immediately a beautiful sight presented itself; it was a whole herd of
antelopes, roused by our beaters from their repose, and which went off
before us, bounding with the grace of Taglioni. Two sharp cracks, and
_lugga, lugga!_ proclaimed that Mr. Sympkin had laid an embargo on one
or more of them. This proved to be the case, and a fine black buck
antelope, with spiral horns and a white streak down his side, and a fawn
about half-grown, were soon seen dangling from the broad quarters of the
elephant.
On approaching the very verge of the long grass, a cry of _sewer,
sewer!_ was followed by a wild hog’s bolting. I fired at him, and put a
few shots in the hindquarters of one of the judge’s horses, who thereat
reared and plunged, jerked off his rider’s cap, and had nearly
dismounted the rider himself, whom I could hear muttering a few curses
at my awkwardness. The judge also discharged a brace of barrels at him,
but he got off, and we saw him for a great distance scouring across the
plain.
Having issued from the grass, the judge drove his elephant alongside of
mine.
“Well, how do you get on? I fear you found what I said correct, eh? You
haven’t hit much?”
“Much! I haven’t hit anything, sir, except one of your sowars’ horses, I
am sorry to say: it is most tantalizing! I doubt if ever I should
succeed in striking an object from an elephant.”
“Oh, yes, you would,” said my host, smiling; “a little practice makes
perfect; but come, we’ll try on foot, on your account, after we have
taken some refreshment; we will confine ourselves to the skirts of the
grass and bajrakates,[55] where we can see about us.”
Having refreshed ourselves with a glass of ale and some cold ham and
fowl, we proceeded to try our luck on foot, and I now had the
satisfaction of killing my fair share of game.
“You have never, I presume, seen the mode in which the hog-deer is taken
in this part of the world?”
I answered in the negative.
“Well, then,” resumed Mr. Sympkin, “if disposed to vary your sport, we
have yet time before dinner. My people have the nets, and I’ll show you
how it is done; this will be something to put in the next letter you
write home to astonish them all.”
Having mounted horses, which were in attendance, we proceeded at a smart
amble to a pretty extensive tract of reeds lying at the distance of a
mile; into this tract, which terminated rather abruptly at some
distance, a line of men was placed, with here and there a horseman.
At the extremity of the tract of reeds, but in the open plain, two ranks
of men, with intervals of forty or fifty paces between each man, were
placed, in prolongation of the sides of the patch of reeds. These two
lines converged, and were terminated at the apex of the cone by a row of
nets, formed of stout tarred cords, slightly propped up by stakes.
The first-mentioned line now advanced with cries and shouts, and as it
approached the confines of the bank of reeds, two fine hog-deer broke
cover. The men composing the two lines above mentioned, whose termini
appuyed on the nets, now squatted down close to the earth, and as the
animals approached, they raised their heads successively; this alarming
them, and preventing every attempt to quit the street in which they were
confined.
In this clever way they forced the deer, edging them on at full speed
into the nets, into which they tumbled headlong, rolling over and over,
completely manacled in the toils. I never saw anything so cleverly
managed; the fellows did everything with wonderful coolness and tact,
and seemed perfectly masters of their craft.
Laden with game, after a most interesting day’s sport, we returned to
Mr. Sympkin’s tent, where we found our smiling little friend, the Padre,
with his ever-ready hand extended, and prepared to receive and to
congratulate us.
After passing another day with our princely host, we took our leave and
commenced our journey. Our tents had been sent overnight, and after an
abundant breakfast, Ensign Gernon, the Griffin, and the Rev. Arratoon
Bagram Sarkies, soon found themselves jogging along, discussing things
in general in as cosy dialogues as those recorded to have taken place
between the renowned knight of La Mancha and his valorous squire. The
good missionary, I was flattered to observe, took a warm and
affectionate interest in me, which he manifested by a strong effort to
impress upon me the deep importance of his religious views.
One afternoon, as the missionary and I were sitting outside our tents,
my attention was attracted towards a group of sepahis engaged under a
banyan-tree playing the game of back-sword. As the mode in which this
exercise is conducted may be new to the reader, I shall describe it.
The first who entered the lists or circle of spectators were two
handsome and well-formed Rajpoots, who would have served for models of
Apollo, and who in this exercise display uncommon agility and suppleness
of limb; they were naked to the loins, round which, the hips, and upper
part of the thighs, was tightly wound the _dotee_, or waistcloth, which
sustains and strengthens the back—the “girding of the loins,” so often
mentioned in Scripture, &c. Each of the men held in his left hand a
diminutive leathern shield or target, less than a foot in diameter,
whilst his right grasped a long wooden sword, covered also with leather,
and padded and guarded about the handle.
Having exchanged salutes, one of them, holding his weapon at the
recover, and planting himself in a firm attitude, bent a stern gaze on
his adversary, which seemed to say, “Now do your worst.”
The other now commenced those ludicrously grotesque antics which,
amongst the Hindoostanee athletæ, are always the prelude to a _set-to_.
He first, with the air of a _maître de ballet_, took two or three
sweeping steps to the right, eyed his opponent for an instant, and then
kicking up his foot behind, so as almost to touch the small of his back,
he twirled round on his heel, and with his chest expanded and thrown
proudly out, made another grave and prancing movement in the other
direction; he now approached nearer, struck the ground with his sword,
dared his adversary to the onset, and again retreated with two or three
long back-steps to the utmost verge of the circle formed by the
spectators. Like cautious enemies, however, neither seemed to like to
commit himself until sure of a palpable hit.
At last, however, he who had been standing on the defensive, following
with his hawk’s eye the other’s strutting gyrations, perceiving an
advantage, levelled a blow at his adversary with the rapidity of
lightning, which was caught on the target and returned as quick as
thought. A rapid and animated exchange of strokes now took place,
accompanied by the most agile bounds and movements; most of these blows
rattled on the targets; head and shoulders, nevertheless, came in for an
ample share of ugly hits.
The fight at length ceased, and the breathless and exhausted combatants
rested from their gladiatorial exhibition, amidst many “_wau, waus_” and
“_shabases_” (“bravos”)! resigning their weapons to two others anxious
to display their prowess.
Subsequent experience of them has convinced me that a finer body of men
is hardly to be found than the sepoys of Hindostan, particularly in
their own country; for, taken out of it into a climate where the food,
water, &c., disagree with them, they lose much of their spirit and
stamina.
Our countryman, the British soldier, possesses an unrivalled energy and
bull-dog courage, which certainly, when the tug of war—the hour of real
danger—comes, must, as it ever has done, bear everything before it; but
justice demands the admission that, in many other respects, the sepoy
contrasts most favourably with him—temperate, respectful, patient,
subordinate, and faithful—one of his highest principles being “fidelity
to his salt,” he adds to no ordinary degree of courage every other
requisite of a good soldier.
A judicious policy towards these men, based on a thorough knowledge of
their peculiar characteristics, may bind them to us for ages yet to
come, by the double link of affection and interest, and enable us, as an
Indian power, to laugh alike at foreign foes and domestic enemies;
whilst a contrary course, and leaving their feelings and customs to be
trifled with by inexperienced innovators, may, ere long, produce an
opposite effect, and cause them, if once alienated, to shake us off
“like dew-drops from the lion’s mane.”
Serais, or places of entertainment for wayfarers—well known to all
readers of Eastern tales as caravan-serais—I frequently met with at
towns on my march, and sometimes encamped within or near the walls. The
serais, like the generality of buildings in India, are almost always in
a ruinous state, it being nobody’s business to keep them in a state of
repair.
These structures, some of them the fruits of the piety and munificence
of former times, are a great public benefit; their construction is
generally similar, and consists of four walls of brick, stone, or mud,
sometimes battlemented, forming a parallelogram, having gateways at two
opposite sides, through which the high road usually passes. Small cells
or apartments, with arched entrances, run round the interior, in any one
of which the weary traveller may spread his mat, smoke his pipe, and
enjoy his repose as long as he pleases.
Each serai has its establishment of attendants, _bunyahs_ (shopkeepers),
_bhistees_ and _mehturs_ (water-carriers and sweepers), who ply their
several occupations, and administer to the traveller’s wants.
What a motley and picturesque assemblage do these serais sometimes
exhibit! In one part saunters a group of fair and athletic Afghans from
Cabul or Peshawur, proceeding with horses, greyhounds, dried fruits, and
the like, to sell in the south; their fearless bearing and deep voices
proclaim them natives of a more invigorating climate. In another, a
drove of bunjarra bullocks repose amongst piled sacks of grain, and
quietly munch the cud, whilst their nomade drivers smoke or snore
around.
Under the shade of yon drooping tamarind-tree, on a branch of which his
sword and shield are suspended, a Mahomedan traveller has spread his
carpet, and with his face towards Mecca (his _kibla_), his head hanging
on his breast, and his arms reverentially folded, he offers up his
evening’s devotions; near him, on the little clay terrace, is to be seen
the high-caste bramin, his body marked with ochres and pigments, and,
surrounded by his religious apparatus of conch, flowers, and little
brazen gods, he blows his shell, tinkles his bell, and goes through all
his little mummeries, with the full conviction that he is fulfilling the
high behests of Heaven.
Groups of camels, tatoos, or the gaunt steed of some roaming
cavalier—some Dugald Dalgetty of the East, seeking employment for his
jaws and sword, or rather for his sword and jaws, for such is the
order—serve to fill up the little picture I have been describing, and
which in my griffinish days, and since, I have contemplated with
pleasure.
In a day or two we reached Allyghur, where my good friend the missionary
and I were destined to part, his route lying to the southward towards
Agra, mine in a more northerly direction to Delhi. Here I received a few
lines from Marpeet, saying that he was looking for my arrival with great
pleasure. “You had better push on as fast as you can, my dear Gernon,
for your commandant, who is a crusty old fellow, and a very tight hand,
has been heard to express his surprise at your not having long since
made your appearance.”
This letter rather damped the buoyancy of my spirits. The following
morning I took leave of my good friend the missionary; his eyes filled
with tears as he clasped my hands in both of his, and whilst pressing
them to his bosom, pronounced a prayer and a blessing over me.
If it indeed be true, and we have no reason to doubt it, that the prayer
of the righteous man “availeth much,” that prayer was deeply to be
valued. Short as was the time of our acquaintance, I felt as if I had
known him all my life, and was, consequently, much affected at parting.
Half-choking as he rode off, I waved him a sorrowful, and what has
proved a last, adieu.