The great land of Hindustan has doubled its teeming population and increased its prosperity out of all comparable reckoning during the fifty years that have passed since the Mutiny. Many of the descendants of men who fought against the British Raj are now its trusted servants, and there is not in India to-day a native gentleman of any importance who would not assist the Government with his life and fortune to save his country from the lawless horrors of any similar outbreak.
But these are matters for the politician and the statesman. It is more fitting that this story of the lives and fortunes of a few of the actors in a great human drama should conclude with such particulars of their subsequent history as have filtered through time’s close-woven meshes of half a century.
One day in February, not so long ago, a young officer of the Guides, who had come to Lucknow for “Cup” week, was standing in the porch of the Mohamed Bagh Club when he heard a young lady bewailing fate in the shape of a tikka-gharry which had brought her there. Her “people” were at the Chutter Munzil Club, miles away, for Lucknow is a big place, and she was already late for tea.
Being a nice young man, the said officer of the Guides could not bear to see a nice young woman in distress.
“My dog-cart is just coming up,” he said, “and I am going to the Chutter Munzil. Won’t you let me drive you there?”
She blushed and hesitated and of course agreed.
On the way, to maintain a polite conversation, he pointed out several historic buildings.
“You are stationed here, I suppose?” she said.