In most of the large stations, where European troops are quartered—such stations as Meerut, Agra, Umballah, Cawnpore, Lahore—the non-commissioned officers and men of the regiments get up theatrical performances, which are attended by the society, And very creditably, too, do they perform. I have seen a sergeant of the 8th Foot (Colonel Greathead's regiment) play, at Agra, the character of Doctor O'Toole, in The Irish Tutor, in a style and with a racy humour which reminded me more of the late Mr. Power than any actor on the metropolitan or provincial boards in England ever did. And at Umballah, I have seen a corporal of the Third Dragoons act the part of The Stranger in a way that moved an audience, "unused, albeit to the melting mood," in the literal sense of the phrase, to involuntary tears. But by far the best actor (I am speaking of non-professionals) that I ever listened to, considering the range of characters that he played, was a private in the 9th Lancers. I would have gone night after night, to see him in tragedy, comedy, or farce; or even to hear him sing a sentimental or a comic song. He was a younger brother of an intelligent, influential, rich, and deservedly respected London tradesman, whose name is known in every quarter of the world where the English language is spoken. It behoves me to say that these three men (who, by the way, are all dead) were possessed of great general ability, and had, respectively, received a good education.
It is not for a wanderer and an interloper like myself to make any suggestions to an enlightened (I use the word advisedly) Government; but I do hope that when order is restored throughout our Eastern dominions, when the affairs of the country are a matter of local consideration, the health, comfort, and recreation of the British soldier in those hot plains will command more attention than has hitherto been bestowed upon them. I hope to see barracks in which the men can live in comparative comfort—barracks lofty and spacious, and fitted with punkahs, and other conveniences such as are required for the climate, and such as one always finds in the abodes of officers and gentlemen. I hope to see separate sleeping apartments for the married couples, and separate sleeping apartments for the mass of children above seven and eight years of age. I hope never again to see men, women, young girls, and boys, and infant children, so huddled together that those who escaped demoralization ought to have been exhibited as curiosities of the human species. I hope never again to behold white children, girls of thirteen years of age, the offspring of British soldiers, married, in order that they might remain in the regiment.
"Surely," I once remarked to the Colonel of a Royal regiment in India, who made some remarks on the painful topic last alluded to—"Surely this might be obviated?"
"Yes, my good sir," was his reply. "But it would cost this Government an outlay of a few thousands of rupees. A little while ago I had a battle with the Government. I insisted on having punkahs hung up in the barracks, and I spoke in a tone so decided that even the frowsy military board—composed of several very old and feeble Company's officers of the last century—was frightened into something like activity. Well, sir, the punkahs were suspended, and I fancied that I had gained an immense triumph; but I was very much mistaken. It was a case of 'There are your punkahs, and now let your men pull them, or employ the natives to do so!' So that the punkahs, after all, instead of promoting a current of fresh air, impeded it, and served only as perches for the flies, and cobweb-booms for the spiders. The idea of the poor men paying for punkah coolies!"
"What would it cost to punkah the whole regiment during the hot season?" I asked.
"I can tell you exactly," said the colonel: "for I have made a correct estimate. The cost for the five hot months would be under three hundred pounds; and by laying out this sum the Government would save some three thousand or four thousand pounds a-year, at the very least."
"How so?"
"Many men cannot bear the heat of these barrack rooms, crowded as they are, and left without punkahs. The consequence is, that they become ill, go into hospital and die there, or spend the greater part of their time there. I should say that if the men had better accommodation, and the same means as we officers have of keeping their apartments cool, we should save in every regiment fifty lives annually. Now, every recruit who comes from home and joins a regiment in the Upper Provinces, to fill up a death or casualty in the ranks, costs the Indian Government a hundred and ten pounds sterling. I have pointed all this out; but it is of no use."
"I would report it to the Horse Guards," said I.