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.
"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:--