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.