Lord William, who of course had the arranging of all this sort of functions, told this professor his entertainment must not last more than twenty minutes; this he strongly objected to, declaring it would entirely spoil his show, did not give him a chance, and so on, he would require at least an hour. While expressing his sorrow at causing so much annoyance and disappointment, Lord Bill stuck to his point and said not more than twenty minutes could possibly be allowed; he evidently saw defiance in the man’s attitude, and made his arrangements accordingly.
The performance began, Lord William looking on, watch in hand. At the end of a quarter of an hour the British magician was warned he had only five minutes more. He took no notice, and continued his lofty way. At the end of twenty minutes he was told to stop. Still he took no notice, continuing his tricks and patter, when at a sign from Lord William a native conjurer, who had been watching huddled up in a corner, bounded into the middle of the floor with a tom-tom and commenced a most deafening and unearthly noise. A tom-tom, it should be explained, is a rattling sort of thing rather like a drum gone wrong. The native had been waiting for the sign of command, watching the conjurer much as a terrier watches a rat, waiting to be told to “Go.” This indignity was too much for the white performer, he collapsed, and the native then proceeded to make mango trees grow in a few seconds out of stones and from under flower-pots, etc. Those present were much tickled at the whole proceeding.
One more of Lord William’s gentle reproaches. This time it was addressed to a youth fresh out from home, where he had been much spoilt; he was complaining about the disrespectful way the regiment he had just joined treated him, he was not accustomed to be treated in such a manner. The poor lad was learning that painful but wholesome lesson, his value in public opinion, and he did not like it. Thinking he had a sympathetic listener in Lord William, and not knowing him as well as some of us did, the twinkle in his eye did not act as a warning, and at last the lad worked himself up to such a pitch of feeling over his wrongs that he said he should write to his mother and tell her he should return home at once. No words had come from Lord Bill, who appeared to be full of interest and sympathy, but when he was told that the unhappy youth meant to return to his mother, he said sweetly and quietly, “But, my dear chap! think what a disappointment it would be to her!” Even then the young lad did not at first grasp what was meant, but when Lord Bill added, “After fixing you up with new shirts and pocket handkerchiefs, to have you back on her hands so soon.”
Lord William, seeing the boy was nearly tearful, walked off with him, arm-in-arm, talked it all over quietly, gave some good advice, and, I understand, left the poor boy happier and probably much wiser.
What a number of Irishmen have ruled in India and been famous there. Lord Mayo, born in Dublin, who in 1868 succeeded Lord Lawrence. I should think he was the only Governor-General who had farmed for his livelihood, and be it noted made enough to live upon. When he came of age he was Mr. Bourke. His father, whose eldest brother was then living, could not afford him any sort of allowance, but rented one of his farms to him to try and make what he could out of it, and I have been given to understand he did make it pay, which is more than many gentlemen farmers do, methinks!
Lord Mayo is reported to have said, “And many a long day have I stood in the market selling my beasts.”
Then there was Lord Connemara, Governor of Madras, responsible for the well-being and happiness of thirty million souls; Lord Lansdowne, a Kerry nobleman; Lord Roberts, a Waterford hero of Kandahar fame; Lord William Beresford, V.C., the unequalled Military Secretary and patron of the turf; Sir George White, V.C., who brought Burmah into order; Sir David Barbour, a perfect juggler in figures, who brought the much feared and dreaded financial deficit of the country to a considerable surplus, and many more if there were time and space to recount them.
The Annandale Racecourse was now enlarged and levelled. It had cost large sums of money, but was satisfactory, and the races now began to draw horses from Umballa and Meerut. The lotteries on the first day’s racing after the new course was “declared open,” as they say at bazaars, amounted to 20,000 rupees, so Lord William hoped it would not be long before the debt on the ground was paid off. A little lady, who was one of Lord William’s most devoted admirers (aged six), was crying one day at Simla when he happened to look in on the way down to one of the gymkhanas, and when he asked her what was the matter and took her on his knee, she threw her arms round his neck weeping salt tears down his collar, saying, “Mover won’t let me go and see you run in your pyjamas.” This required a little explanation. He gathered she had heard her mother and friends talking about some race they hoped he would win at the coming gymkhana. Not having been very long in the country she had got a little mixed between gymkhana and pyjamas. Lord Bill pleaded so hard for his little friend to be allowed to go to the meeting, consent was at last given, and he said he could see in the child’s eyes how disappointed she was that he did not appear in pyjamas after all.
In October the usual exodus took place, and Lord Bill found time to see some of his horses win races at the November 1889 Lucknow meeting. Blitz, beautiful Blitz, won the Dilkoosha Stakes; Nellie the Little Go Chase, FitzWilliam the Bar Cup, Betsy the Standard Plate. At Dehra, Meerut and Umballa he won four races. He rode in the Meerut Charger Race himself, winning on Jim. At Pindi he rode one of the races, winning on Landshart II; the other two were won by Daphne and Ensign. Four races in one day to the credit of his stable.
A little later, at the Calcutta 1889-90 races his Euclid seemed to be losing form, but Pennant was going strong and won the Trials; Chester also won the Pony Cup.