“1842.—A kharita was received from Nassuk, some forty or fifty kos from Bombay. The Brija Bā’ī, one of her Highness’s ladies, was very magrā, i.e. discontented with the hawā pāni, ‘the air and water’ of the place, and complained that she saw no sāhib log (gentlemen), as when at Allahabad.
“How little a man can estimate his real value! The last accounts from Cabul informed us our friend Captain B⸺ was a prisoner, and to be sold for 200 rupees! The price having been paid, he was released from captivity.”
Let me record the death of a faithful servant: on quitting Calcutta, a lame shepherd applied to be taken into employ; the old man had been a sipahī, was wounded in action, and ever after remained lame. When he offered himself as bherī-wālā (shepherd) an objection arose on account of his lameness, it being imagined he could never take the goats five hundred miles up the country. “I am so lame I shall never overdrive them,” said the man;—the reason was unanswerable, he was taken into service.
The old male goat of the flock very often upsets the shepherd; though they are always at war they are great friends.
Poor old Bulwan, our lame shepherd, was bitten by a mad dog, which attacked him when he was driving it off from one of the goats—my favourite black Bengalī, which I had commended to his especial care; he died four days afterwards: he was sent to the hospital, but it was too late. There seems to be no cure but that of cutting out the bitten part, and cauterizing the wound. We gave his son eight rupees to bury him, and shall keep him in his father’s place if he is steady. We regret the old man very much; we used to give him a rupee occasionally to cheer him. Every shepherd knows his own sheep;—and my old man not only knew his own sheep, but had a name for each of his goats, forty-five in number. Like Dandy Dinmont’s terriers, Pepper and Mustard, and Mustard and Pepper, the old man derived the name of all his goats from one, his prime favourite, a beautifully spotted Delhi goat, by name Jūmnī,—“Jūmnī’s daughter,” “Jūmnī’s grandson’s grand-daughter’s son,” “Jūmnī’s nephew’s grandchild,”—every kid in the flock was traced by some means or other to the invaluable Jūmnī: the pedigree of a race-horse was nothing in comparison to the pedigree of the kids!
CHAPTER LXI.
VOYAGE TO THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.
“Here’s a sigh for those who love me,
And a smile for those who hate;
And whatever sky’s above me,