During the time that I was Garrison Sergeant-Major of Allahabad, a portion of my duty was to superintend the Hindoo pilgrims entering the Fort for the purpose of worshipping at the before-mentioned Shrine. I had but little trouble with them, excepting in the month of January and beginning of February in each year.
On one occasion, having to go to the Bank of Bengal, some of the native clerks asked me if I would kindly pass them into the Fort if they came up, without their having to wait at the gate, as they said sometimes they had to wait for hours before they could get in. My instructions were to allow only a certain number in at a time. I told them that when on duty I showed neither partiality nor favour to any; but, as friends, if they would follow my instructions, they should not have to wait. I gave them a note to the Sergeant of the Guard, instructing him to admit them as my friends, and, directed them, when once in the Fort, to drive to my quarters, and not to attempt to go near the Shrine, but to leave the remainder to me. Accordingly, a few days afterwards, they drove up just before sunset. I entertained them as friends and regaled them with sherry, waiting until the greater portion of the pilgrims had cleared out, as none were allowed in after sunset. Knowing that they were all supposed to be intelligent men, I commenced questioning them as to whether they believed all the silly nonsense about the “bleeding tree.” They answered me in the affirmative; and one or two of them got slightly ruffled to think I should cast any reflection on their truthful priests. I could scarcely keep from calling the priests a lot of lying scamps whose sole object was pice! pice! pice!—money! money! money! The following was the dialogue that took place, before we went near the Shrine:—
Sergeant-Major.—Do you believe in this bleeding tree as you call it, that grows underground, budding and sprouting every year for the benefit of your sins?
Intelligent Natives.—Yes; we do. What we can see we do believe. Now, sir, as you have chosen to broach the subject of religion, we would ask you a few questions. Do you believe in your Bible?
Sergeant-Major.—I do.
Natives.—Then why don’t you act upon it?
I must acknowledge that I was almost dumb-foundered, and hardly knew how to answer them; but I told them I did not profess anything. I went on to say that if they would allow me, I could clearly prove to them that they were jilted by their priests. I then went to my writing desk, and took an order therefrom which I had prepared for the Sergeant of the Guard, and which ran as follows:—
Sergeant of the Guard. Pass these people (the priests) into the Port between the hours of 12 and 2 a.m., with a new tree for the Shrine, and pass them out of it with an old one.
By order, T. Gowing, Sergeant-Major.