Wanderings in India, and Other Sketches of Life in Hindostan

Here the Lieutenant informed me of the particulars relating to the mission of Pertab Singh, which was simply to excite the native troops to mutiny and to kill their officers; but the plot was happily discovered by the information given by the Sepoys of the 16th Grenadiers. "There was an investigation, but the government deemed it best to treat the whole affair as a farce, and Pertab Singh was looked upon as a fool and a madman, and eventually set at liberty. It was said that the Sepoys who gave the information were to receive an order of merit; they had no reward at all, however, beyond some expressions of praise from the authorities."

Suddenly, the treasure party halted, and all the Sepoys were speedily congregated beneath a mango tree.

"What is the matter?" cried the Lieutenant.

"Adjutant Bargow Sahib's grave," said Maun Singh. "Do you not remember the spot?"

"I did not, in this light," said the Lieutenant, alighting from the buggy, followed by myself and Maun Singh. "Yes; here he rests, poor fellow – one of the best and bravest beings that ever breathed. He died suddenly one morning when we were encamped here. He was a great favourite with the men, as you may judge from the respect paid by those now present to the spot where his ashes repose."

One of the Sepoys suddenly began to call down curses on the head of some sacrilegious thief. He had discovered that the piece of marble which had been let into the head of the chunam (plaster) tomb, and on which was cut the name, age, and regiment of the deceased, had been abstracted.

"Ah! that of course," said the Lieutenant. "It is always the case. They steal the bit of marble to make a currystone – a stone on which they grind the ingredients for a curry. It was not worth more than a shilling, intrinsically; but if it had only been worth one anna, or a quarter of an anna – half a farthing – they would have carried it away all the same, just as they steal pieces of iron and lead from the stone bridges, and thus do immense mischief. All along the Grand Trunk Road you will find the stones used for headstones carried away from the graves."

The march, thirteen miles, occupied us five hours, so slowly did the bullocks crawl along with the treasure. It was about four o'clock when we came to the ground – the hour at which, in strictness, the Lieutenant should have started; but he informed me that when on separate duty, he took a good deal of responsibility on himself, and without detriment to the interests of government, suited his own convenience and that of his men. He therefore preferred making night work of the business, and having the whole day at his own disposal.

"Send your bearers away, and spend the day with me," said the lighthearted Lieutenant. "You can get other bearers at any of the villages in the neighbourhood; or, if you are not in a violent hurry, march the whole distance to Agra with me. I can stick your palkee and boxes on the top of the treasure, you know."

I accepted the invitation with pleasure, and entered the tent, where we found tea and biscuits ready. After partaking of this refreshment we threw ourselves down on charpoys (native bedsteads), and soon fell fast asleep.

We slept till ten, when we arose, had breakfast, consisting of – the old story – grilled fowl, curried fowl, and eggs, with beer instead of tea; and then we went out and sat under the mango trees, which formed a dense shade over the encampment. The Lieutenant had with him a pellet bow, and was shooting at the squirrels, which abound in the Upper Provinces of India. While he was thus employed a Sepoy – a Brahmin – called out: "Sahib, you have no right to do that. It is written in the general orders that you must respect the religious feelings of the Hindoos, and here are you wantonly destroying the life of animals in our presence. I shall report this to the Colonel Sahib, when we return to the regiment."

From the tone in which the Sepoy spoke, I thought he was in earnest. The Lieutenant, however, assured me that he was only ridiculing one of those absurd general orders which frequently appear, but of which bad and discontented Sepoys often take advantage. Ere long this Brahmin, observing that the light of the Lieutenant's cheroot was extinguished, brought him some fire. The Lieutenant gravely shook his head, and said – "No; it is written in general orders that no officer shall employ for his own purposes a Sepoy who is a soldier and not a servant, and that any officer so offending will subject himself to be tried by a court martial." Then, taking the fire from the hand of the Brahmin, he remarked to me – "The consequence of that order, for which there never was the slightest occasion, is simply this: those men who are willing to oblige their officers laugh at it, while the disaffected will insolently quote it if required only to pick up a glove or a walking-stick. Many an officer has been severely reprimanded for asking a Sepoy to carry a letter for him to the post office."

It was a very pretty scene, that encampment. The tents; the arms piled in front of them; the horse under a tree, and his syce seated near him; the old buggy and harness not far off; the Sepoys in groups employed in cooking their food for the mid-day meal; the numbers of brass vessels lying about in all directions; the score of squirrels hopping from branch to branch, or running up and down the trunks of the trees; the crows, the minars, and the sparrows on the look out for crumbs; the bullocks taking their rest after the fatigues of the past night; and then, before as well as after the meal, the men crowding round the well, and washing themselves from head to foot, and washing also their under garments, which are speedily dried in the sun of that climate. It is impossible to witness and not admire this part of the Hindoo and Mussulman religions.

After one o'clock, when every man had enjoyed his smoke, there was scarcely a soul, except myself and the Lieutenant, awake in the encampment. All were fast asleep in the open air. The Asiatic must sleep after his mid-day meal, if it be only for half an hour. The loss of this little sleep is a very severe privation.

At three o'clock the encampment was again all life. Some of the Sepoys wrestled, and exhibited amazing skill and strength in the art. To an European it is a mystery how men who live upon nothing but farinaceous food can be so muscular and powerful. Others smoked their pipes (small hookahs), and played at a native game called puchesee, resembling lotto; while a goodly number congregated around a Mussulman, who was reading aloud the Bagh-o-Bahar, a Hindoostanee work of great celebrity. Two or three of the company were musical, and played alternately on the sitarre (native guitar or violin), accompanied by the tom-tom (native drum), and the voices of those who were disposed and able to sing. As for the Lieutenant and myself we beguiled the time in conversation and with écarté. Towards sunset a palkee dâk carriage was reported to be in sight, coming down the road. "Hooray!" cried the Lieutenant; "come along! let us board him. I am in want of a few small matters."

It was not long before the dâk carriage was abreast of the encampment.

"Stop!" shouted the Lieutenant to the driver, who instantly pulled up. "Whom have you got inside?"

Before the driver had time to reply, the door was slided open, and an elderly gentleman, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, put out his night-capped head, and exclaimed:

"Hulloa!"

"What! have we woke you out of your sleep, old boy?" said the Lieutenant, laughing.

"Yes," replied the old boy, very good-humouredly, "what do you want?"

"Only to ask you how you are."

"I'm pretty well," was the reply, "but half choked with the dust."

"What's taking you down the country?"

"Urgent private affairs."

"Going to be married, I suppose?"

"Well, you have just guessed it."

"Make my most respectful salaam to your intended, will you?"

"By all means."

"When do you expect to reach Cawnpore?"

"To-morrow, at three p. m."

"And how do you stand affected for liquors and weeds? Do you want anything, old boy? Brandy, beer, soda-water? Say the word."

"Nothing; I have more in the well here than I shall be able to consume."

"Then I'll trouble you for the surplus; for I am very short, and cannot get anything till I reach Agra, while you can replenish at every station, you know."

"All right, my child," exclaimed the old boy; and, with the greatest cheerfulness, he alighted and began to unpack his stores. From these, the Lieutenant took six bottles of beer, two bottles of brandy, a dozen of soda-water, and three hundred Manilla cheroots. This done, the old boy expressed a desire to push on; but the Lieutenant detained him for at least ten minutes with a series of questions, several of which (I thought), were somewhat impertinent; for instance, he inquired his intended's name? whether she was tall, short, or of the middle height? what was the colour of her hair and eyes? good-looking, and accomplished? And to all these questions, the old boy responded with as serious an air as if the Lieutenant had a perfect right to put them.

At last the old boy proceeded on his journey.

"Do you know him?" I inquired of the Lieutenant, as the carriage rolled away.

"Oh, yes," was the reply; "he is a Major commanding a native infantry regiment at Banda. He is a very good fellow, and has heaps of property; but a frightful fool, except in the way of money-making, and at that he is awfully clever. I first made his acquaintance in Affghanistan. He was then in the commissariat department, and was only taken out of that department about a year ago, when he attained his majority. He knows nothing whatever of soldiering, having been in staff employ ever since he was an ensign. All the Sepoys, as well as his officers, laugh at him as he comes on the parade ground and attempts to handle the regiment; and, after the farce is over, he laughs with them. For thirty years he was employed in commissariat duties, in which he is very efficient. At the expiration of that period, he became a Major; and then, according to the rules of the service, he was withdrawn from staff employ, and appointed to command a corps!"

"Surely you are jesting?"

"On my honour, I am serious. That is a part of our military system, sir."

Here our conversation was interrupted by the approach of the Soubadhar – native commissioned officer – who pronounced in a deep, sonorous, but feeble and inarticulate voice, that familiar word "Sahib!" or, as more commonly pronounced, "Sarb!"

"Well, old man, what is the matter?" said the Lieutenant to the almost imbecile native veteran, who had served in the time of Lord Lake, and who ought to have been pensioned many years previously, despite any remonstrances against such a measure. The old man forthwith began to detail a string of grievances, which the Lieutenant faithfully (?) promised to see remedied, albeit he could understand but a few words the old man said – so very indistinct was his speech, from sheer old age, and the loss of his teeth.

"A grievance, real or imaginary, is quite necessary for that old man's existence," said the Lieutenant; "and if he can't find one for himself (which is a very rare circumstance), he will concoct one for the Sepoys. To make grievances is the end and object of that old man's life; and, I am sorry to say, that he is a perfect representative of the entire body of native commissioned officers, who are, generally speaking, despised by the men of the regiment, as well as by the European officers. These are the gentlemen who brew or ferment all the mischief that occasionally occurs in native regiments. They suggest to the men to make all sorts of extortionate demands, just as a regiment is on the point of marching. That old man's present grievance, as far as I could collect, is that the water is very bad here, at this encampment ground, and that government ought to have a new well sunk. He happens just now to be suffering severely from one of the very many ailments consequent on his time of life, and he attributes it to the water."

"Which happens to be very good," I remarked.

"Precisely so. These native officers, of every rank and grade, are, in my opinion, the curse of the native service. Many very clear-headed and experienced officers have recommended doing away with them, and appointing in their stead more European officers; but the advice has never been heeded, and never will be, I fear."

It was not until midnight that the little camp was broken up, and we resumed the march towards Agra. During the drive, the Lieutenant entertained me by relating a number of stories connected with the war in Affghanistan. Several of them interested me exceedingly; one, in particular. It was this; which I now give in the Lieutenant's own words, as nearly as I can recollect them.

"About a year ago," said he, "I was passing through Meerut, on my way from the Hills, whither I had been on sick certificate, and was putting up for a few days with my friend Richards, of the Light Cavalry – a man whom I had known during that disastrous campaign to which this narrative has reference. One morning, after breakfast, there came to the bungalow of my friend an Affghan, who was a dealer in dried fruits – such as grapes, apples, and pomegranates, – and inquired if the Sahib or mem Sahib was in want of any of these commodities, which he had just brought from Caubul. My friend's wife, who had also been in Affghanistan, and spoke the mongrel Persian current in that country, replied in the affirmative, and the Affghan was admitted to the verandah to exhibit his specimens and declare his prices. To talk to these dealers is rather amusing at times, especially when you know their habits, and customs, and peculiarities, as well as their language. To people who have been in their country, it is like meeting with an old friend, and one lingers as long as possible over the business of the bargain and sale. And so was it this morning. We had him for at least an hour in the verandah before my friend's wife would decide upon what she would take. This matter concluded, the Affghan inquired if the lady would buy a kitten – a Persian kitten; kittens being also a commodity with these travelling Affghans.

"'Yes; where are the kittens?' said the lady.

"'Here,' said the merchant, putting his hand into a huge pocket at the back of his chogah (a sort of gaberdine), and withdrawing, one by one, no less than sixteen of these little animals (all males). For more than the hour which was consumed in negotiating about the fruit, and talking on other subjects, this living bustle had remained perfectly motionless, and had not uttered a single sound; but now, when they saw the light, and were placed upon all-fours, they ran about and mewed – bushy tails on end – after the most vigorous fashion imaginable. There they were! Kittens as black as the blackest ink, kittens white as the whitest snow, kittens as yellow as the yellowest gold, and kittens piebald, brindled, and grey.

"'There, mem Sahib; take your choice. Twenty rupees (two pounds) each.'

"The lady selected one of the white and one of the black kittens, and for the two he was induced to accept thirty-five rupees (three pounds ten shillings). This may seem a large sum of money to give for a brace of young cats; but it must be remembered that they came from Bokhara, and were of the purest breed that could possibly be procured.

"The Affghan dealer took his leave, and promised to send the fruits in the course of the day. He fulfilled his promise; at tiffin-time there came a boy of about eleven years of age, bearing the basket containing them upon his head, which was shawled after the fashion of the Affghan people. The boy was admitted to the room. No sooner was he shown in, than his exceedingly beautiful countenance, and its peculiar expression, riveted the attention of all of us, and we put to him a variety of questions which he answered with great intelligence, and in a tone of voice so soft and silvery that even the guttural sounds he uttered came like music on the ear.

"'Look into that boy's face,' said the lady to her husband and myself; 'observe his every feature, and his teeth, – regard especially his smile, – yes, and even the shape of his fingers, and then tell me of whom he is the very image.'

"'I know,' said my friend.

"'So do I,' exclaimed your humble servant.

"'Stay!' said the lady, energetically. 'Do not speak; but let each of us write the name on a slip of paper, and see if we agree;' and tearing up an envelope and taking a tiny pencil-case from her watch-chain, she wrote a name upon one slip, and then handed to me and to her husband, respectively, a slip and the pencil-case. When we had each written a name, we compared them, – and they did not agree exactly. My friend and his wife had written Captain Percy – , and I had written Mrs. Percy – . That the boy was the offspring of that unfortunate couple (cousins), who perished in that campaign, and of whose young child no one ever knew what had become, we were all quite satisfied; and our reflections became extremely melancholy.

"We questioned the boy as to his parentage, his relation to the Affghan dealer in cats and fruit, and on a variety of other matters. His replies were simply to the effect that he was an orphan and a slave; that he knew not the place of his birth, but believed it was Affghanistan; that he was a Mahommedan, and that his earliest recollections were associated with Caubul.

"Whilst we were thus interrogating the boy, the Major of my friend's regiment, accompanied by his wife, drove up to the door. They had come to pay a visit. When asked to look at the boy, and say to whom he bore a resemblance, they at once declared, 'Poor Percy – !' Several officers of the regiment were sent for. They came, and immediately on seeing the boy expressed an opinion that he was the child of the unfortunate officer whose name has been partially recorded. The poor boy, meanwhile, exhibited some anxiety to return to his master. But he was detained and further questioned as to the manner in which he was treated. He confessed that his master was rather severe, but withal a very good man.

"It was resolved to summon the Affghan dealer and make him render an account of the boy, and of how he became possessed of him. For this purpose a messenger was dispatched, and enjoined to make haste.

"The Affghan dealer came, and was cautioned that he must speak the truth; whereupon – as is the custom in India from one end to the other – he declared that he never spoke falsely, and that he would rather have his tongue torn out. This little preliminary over, the examination (which was conducted by the Major of the regiment, a very shrewd and clever man, and who, by the way, was distantly related to the unfortunate couple to whom the boy bore such a strong resemblance) commenced: —

"'Who is this boy?'

"'He belongs to me.'

"'Your son?'

"'No.'

"'Any relation of yours?'

"'No.'

"'Your slave?'

"'Yes.'

"'You bought him?'

"'Yes.'

"'Where?'

"'Caubul.'

"'When?'

"'Four years ago.'

"'From whom did you buy him?'

"'A merchant.'

"'His name?'

"'Usuf Ooddeen.'

"'What did you give for him?'

"'Three camels.'

"'Of what value?'

"'Thirty rupees (3l.) each.'

"'The boy was cheap, then?'

"'No.'

"'How so?'

"'He was young and sickly.'

"'Did Usuf say where he got him from?'

"'Yes.'

"'Then tell me.'

"'From a woman.'

"'What woman?'

"'A native of Hindostan.'

"'An ayah?'

"'Yes.'

"'Was she his mother?'

"'No.'

"'Is she living?'

"'No.'

"'When did she die?'

"'Eight years ago.'

"'Where?'

"'In Caubul.'

"'Now tell us all you know about this boy.'

"'I have answered all the Sahib's questions; will the Sahib answer a few of mine?'

"'Yes.'

"'Do you believe this boy to be of European birth?'

"'Yes.'

"'Do you think you know who were his parents?'

"'Yes.'

"'Were they people of a distinguished family?'

"'Yes.' (This question was answered rather proudly.)

"'Of pure blood?'

"'Yes.'

"'But is the Sahib certain that this boy is the child of certain parents?'

"'Yes.'

"'Then will the Sahib take him?'

"'Yes.'

"Here the poor boy placed his hands together and supplicated the Major to let him remain where he then was, in the service of the Affghan dealer. Heedless of this interruption, which was soon silenced, the examination – or rather the conversation, as it now became – was continued: —

"'What will you give for him?'

"'What do you ask?'

"'You must speak, Sahib.'

"'One hundred rupees.'

"'He cost me nearly that when he was very young and sickly.'

"'Well, two hundred rupees.'

"'No; Sahib. Half a lac of rupees would not purchase him.'

"'But, my good man, slavery is not permitted in the British dominions, and we will detain the boy.'

"'Against his will?'

"'Yes.'

"'On suspicion that he is born of European parents of distinction?'

"'Yes.'

"'Then I will give the boy his liberty; and if he then wishes to follow me, and you detain him, he is your prisoner instead of my slave.'

"Here the boy again entreated the Major to spare him.

"'Never mind that.'

"'But suppose that I could prove to you that he is the child of a sergeant of the Queen's 13th Regiment of Foot, and of his wife? What then? Would you take the boy?'

"'Yes.'

"'You would?'

"'Yes.'

"'Then you shall have the boy. Many of your questions I answered falsely, on purpose. The true history of the child I will recount to you, and produce such proofs as I have in my possession. I vowed to God and to the Prophet that I would never sell the child, and I have kept my word. It will be a bitter grief to me to part with him; but, for his own sake, I will endure it.

"'Usuf Ooddeen was my elder brother. He kept a shop in the bazaar at Caubul. This child was brought to him by a woman of Hindostan, who not only deposited with him the child, but a sum of money in gold mohurs and rupees; likewise a quantity of English jewellery, and her own gold and silver bangles. She represented to my brother that the child's parents had been killed, and that she was afraid every European in Affghanistan would share their fate. My brother knew the woman, that is to say, she had been a customer at his shop, and had purchased from him sundry articles of warm clothing for her employers and herself. After leaving the child, and the money, and the jewellery, in all to the value of about four thousand rupees, she went her way, and never returned. It is most likely that she died suddenly of cold, like very many of the native servants of Hindostan, both male and female. The frost settled about their hearts, and they slept their lives away; or, if they escaped death, they lost their toes, fingers, ears, or noses.

"'When the British army was victorious, and affairs were in a somewhat settled state, my brother was most anxious to deliver up the child, the money, and the jewels, to the British authorities; but a number of his friends dissuaded him from so doing, on the ground that the bare possession of the child would place my brother's life in jeopardy, by inducing a conclusion that he was the affrighted accomplice of murderers, assassins, and thieves. I confess that I was one who entertained this opinion, and I shook my head whenever my brother repeated his desire. Four or five years ago, my brother died, and I, a wandering dealer, became the guardian of this boy (for whom I have a great affection), and the holder of his money, for which I care not, and which I have no desire to retain. He has travelled thousands and thousands of miles with me. He has been to Bokhara, to Cashmere, all over the Punjab, to Mooltan, Scinde, all through the north-west provinces down to Calcutta, to Simlah, Mussooree – wherever the English have settled themselves in India; and I have done all in my power to expose him, in a quiet way, to the gaze of ladies and gentlemen, in the hope that some day he would be recognised and restored to his proper position in life. Never, until now, has any one been struck with his countenance, beyond casually remarking to me that he was a very pretty boy; certainly, no one ever seemed to have the slightest idea that he was born of European parents, and is a Christian; for he is not a Mussulman – though he thinks he is a Mussulman, and says his prayers, and is very constant to all the observances of the Mussulman faith. Gentleman, I am a wandering dealer from Affghanistan, but I am not destitute of good feeling and integrity, little as you may credit my assertions in this respect. Give me a proof that you know who were the child's parents, and I am willing to restore him, and all that rightfully belongs to him, to your custody.'