Griffin on Landing besieged by Baboos.
“Masters name, I think, will be Mr. Gernon”—the rascal had read it on my box,—“same gentleman as was expect by Rottenbeam-i-castle?”
“Yes, it is indeed,” said I, astonished to find myself known; “but how the devil came you acquainted with it?”
“Oh,” he replied, “we always ver well know whin military gentilmen are expected at pris’dency from ship; beside—I not know, but I think, master will have some relation this country—face all same—one gentleman I know, only more young—leetle more handsome.”
I interposed with “Stuff! none of your blarney; but, perhaps, you mean, my uncle, Colonel Gernon,” rather pleased to meet so soon after landing with one even amongst the natives who had probably known a relative: young people hear so much of their uncles and grandfathers, &c., at home, that they enter life with an idea that all the world must know something about them.
“What!” exclaimed Chattermohun—who was a thorough Don Raphael in his way,—and with well-dissembled pleasure, “What Connel Gernon Sahib master uncle? I think that all same time. Connel very good gentilman, my bist of frind—always he impeloy me when he come Calcutta. Connel command Europan rig’ment, I think, at Danapoor?”
“Oh, no,” I rejoined; “you mistake; my uncle has been some time dead, and I think was never in a European regiment.”
“That I know, Sar, ver well,” continued Chattermohun briskly, and not at all disconcerted; “but when live, I mean, belong native rig’ment (I make small obliteration before) that some time was that place.”
“Yes, yes; he was in the native infantry, certainly,” said I; “but where stationed is more than I can tell. And so you really knew my uncle, did you, eh? And think me like him? Perhaps, too, you have heard of another relation of mine here in India—Mr. Duggins?”
“What Mr. Duggin, what was civil sarvice?”