With the Connaught Rangers

by Edward Herbert Maxwell

‘So you dined with the Queen?’ said one of these untravelled ladies to some general officer lately returned from Britain. ‘I suppose that at Her Majesty’s table there was nothing but tinned provisions.’

It is some years since the charming lady I allude to made this remark. The constant communication between England and India must have enlightened even those who have never left the country. In the hot weather Sundays mark that the weeks are passing; there is little else to do so. Divine service was at six in the evening, and the pale congregation gathered under punkahs to follow the clergyman, who, under his special punkah, read the service and preached a sermon. How very much hotter he must have been than we, who were melting, I can answer for, as I frequently officiated as clergyman in various quarters of India, owing to the absence, from sickness or other cause, of the padré sahib.

I remember on one occasion the clerk whispering that there were banns of marriage to be proclaimed, and he only handed me the names of the pair. I utterly forgot the words of the form to do this, and could not find the place in the prayer-book; then, with startling distinctness, the old Scotch formula came to my mind, which I had often heard in the days of my boyhood: ‘There is a purpose of marriage between So-and-so, of this parish, &c.,’ announcing the same, to the considerable entertainment of some of my hearers. Occasionally, when the heat seemed to have reached its highest pitch, the bearer would appear, and ask leave to roll up the outside verandah chicks, as a storm was coming. The air felt thick and heavy, and the breathless stillness was overpowering. In a moment all was changed, and a raging tempest was upon us. A dust-storm is a terrible sight—the whole atmosphere a red mass, a whirlwind of dust, and all as dark as night around. I have stood at the window looking out into the darkness, and felt that there was some one beside me, without being able to distinguish who it was. Then the rain came down in torrents—we sallied forth always with an expectation of finding it cooler, but the sensation is that of a hot vapour bath.

CHAPTER XVI.
OUR FINAL JOURNEY.

INDIAN HOSPITALITY—REMINISCENCES OF HINDOSTAN—MY BEARER—A SPINSTER IN A DILEMMA—DEOLLALEE—OUR FINAL JOURNEY—BOMBAY—VOYAGE IN THE JUMNA—ESCAPE OF A MINAR—LOSS OF A PARROT—RETURN TO ENGLAND—ESCAPADE OF A YOUNG OFFICER—ANECDOTE.

CHAPTER XVI.

On the 6th of November, 1870, the head-quarters of the Connaught Rangers left Agra by train for Bombay. It was our last journey in India. I had passed many pleasant years in the country, and I had received great kindness from friends, many of whom I most probably would never see again. Indian hospitality has not been over-rated. I have been told that now-a-days there are so many railways that hotels take the place of dāk bungalows; but in my time it was different, and at the various halting-places the burra-sahib of the place generally came himself to welcome any wanderer to his own house, and to show him all the attention he possibly could think of. When I look back at the days passed in Hindostan, the names of Lind, the Commissioner, and Judge Spankie, of the High Court, stand out among a crowd of others, and recall to my memory very happy days. So it was with mingled feelings that I bid adieu to the burning plains.

At Allahabad I had to part with my bearer. I am certain it was with mutual regret we went our different ways. I see now his erect figure marching away out of the railway-station, laden, as usual, with his beloved copper cooking-pots. He was a Hindoo, but more attentive to his devotions than many an enlightened Christian. An honest, good man like him, although a heathen, must surely have his reward. We were five nights in the train before we reached Deollalee, from whence the final departure for home is made. The train pulled up during the heat of the day, and was put into a siding, while the men got their meals cooked.

Our first halt was at Allahabad. We spent the day with my friend, Judge Spankie. Our last experience of Indian hospitality was in the house of a friend whose unvarying kindness I shall never forget. Some of the places we stopped at were merely railway-sidings; tents were standing for the accommodation of the regiments. Our cook, who travelled down country with us, always managed to give us a tolerable dinner, making up a little mud fire-place beside the train, and, as a matter of course, going through all the ordinary dishes.

Jubbulpore is a large station, and there we got into the hotel, which was very full. A large party, newly arrived from home, were going up country, among them half a dozen pretty, fresh, English girls. When we were quartered at a certain station in India, there was only one ‘spin’ in the place, and she, poor thing, received such overwhelming attention that quite inadvertently she was engaged to two men at the same time. Deollalee, where our last few days in India were spent, was an immense erection of wooden barracks and huts. Regiments newly arrived from home were halted here, as well as those about to leave the country, and the respective arrangements were made between the various departments of the in-coming and out-going corps. The servants who had accompanied us down country now left us, taking service with the new-comers.