I have often been ashamed in India, when called a Christian, to see an officer or a man under the influence of liquor. Both Mahomedans and Hindoos are very abstemious—never touching anything that intoxicates. I had now more proof of this than at any other time, there being so many attendants allowed soldiers, indeed as many followers as men, I could well judge their aversion to drink. Of all the native cooks, belt-wallas, scyses for horses, and grass-cutters, I never knew one to drink ask them, they grimace and turn away.
During the time we were recruiting our strength the Hindoos had a festival called the Mahoram. They assemble by thousands from all parts, with richly dressed elephants and camels, and gorgeously dressed Princes and Nabobs. The common folk go through a sort of sham-fight with bladders. A large image made of wicker work and filled with combustibles is elevated some seventy feet high. Two beautiful children are drawn in a car richly dressed by two sacred bulls. These children fire two arrows each at the image, and are then taken to the Temple, and, as I was informed, sacrificed in the evening amid a great display of fire-works.
Shooting sand-geese, ducks, etc.
All the natives sleep during the great heat of the day, and are up all night around the fires made of horse and cow manure, which keep off mosquitoes. They make a horrid din, beating a drum called tum, tum, and singing, so that with the noise all through the bazaars, the drumming and the mosquito chorus, a foreigner has little rest. Our men enjoyed plenty of shooting, sand-geese, ducks, parrots, and peacocks; although dangerous to shoot the latter, the Hindoos holding them as sacred. We had almost everything to beguile our time; drill and field-days at early morning, besides a good library, ball-alley, racket, quoits, cricket, and a theatre, named the Victoria.
Returning to quarters one evening, after a shooting excursion, and the day having been intensely hot, many were enjoying a cool nap on the cot outside the door of the camp. Apart from all the rest, by himself, was an old crusty sergeant, nicknamed "Old Nick,"—a bath, there being plenty about for the use of the men, stood near him, and after a moment's consultation, as he snored away, we decided to play him a trick. Our party being all of the same rank, (four sergeants) even if we were discovered, it would not be deemed so bad as if it were done by inferiors, but this we thought nothing of. Lifting him very carefully, and so gently as not to disturb his heavy snoring, we conveyed our friend "Old Nick" to the bath, laid him evenly and gently as possible, looking round seeing each our way clear for a good run—let go, and soused he fell into the water. Splutter, splutter, occasionally as we ran, a fierce yell and a curse. We were in bed in five minutes, in fact before he had time to properly shake himself, and although enquiry and enquiry was made, and a reward for the miscreants offered by himself, no one ever learned who did it for years after.
We were not to remain long at peace, war broke out again on the death of Shah-Soojah. Akbar Khan had seized the reins of government of Afghanistan, shot Mr. McNaughton, the agent, had prevailed on General Elphinstone to retire, who was weak enough to do so, instead of holding his position until aid arrived; and as soon as Akbar got him into the Guddulock Pass, commenced an indiscriminate massacre. The 44th Regiment was almost cut to pieces; some were taken prisoners with the officers' wives, including Lady Sale; some few escaped to Jellelabad, at the entrance of the Kyber Pass, where General Sale, Colonel Denny, and Major Havelock were with the 13th Light Infantry. When the winter was far enough advanced to march, Akbar wanted to attack Sale, but he, not wishing to be caught, marched out and met him in battle, and fully routed him and his army. Poor Colonel Denny being killed, Havelock then assumed the command.
Doctor Brydon—his miraculous escape.
In the early spring General Pollock was pushed on with a force from Bengal.
Before I proceed farther I will here give the following incident which occurred at the time of the massacre in the Guddulock Pass, in 1842:—
When the slaughter was nearly complete, a Doctor Brydon endeavoured to escape; among the survivors was a native assistant, who, seeing Brydon sorely pressed, called to him, saying, "Doctor Saib, I cannot possibly escape, I am dying of cold and hunger, take my pony and do the best you can for yourself." Brydon tried to encourage him, but no, he was dying. Brydon mounted, and through the confusion, forced his way to the front. Reaching all safe, he found a group of mounted officers, who knowing they were just at the end of the Pass where it opens on the plain where Jellelabad stands, determined to make a bold push for life. Seeing Brydon on a wretched pony, they declared they could not wait for him, mounted as he was, and any delay would be sure to cause their immediate destruction. On they went, leaving Brydon slowly toiling after them. The Afghans saw the group advancing at full swing, met them and slew them every man, and thinking no one else was coming, went back to the hills; just then Brydon jogged past unobserved. News of Elphinstone's force was anxiously waited for at Jellelabad. Towards evening one man slowly riding a worn-out pony was descried at the entrance of the Pass,—cavalry were immediately sent to bring him in—it was Brydon. As he entered the gate he fell senseless from fatigue. When restoratives were applied, at least such as were at hand, he revived, and the first question he asked was about his pony, the pony that had saved his life—it was dead. Brydon was with General Sale during the gallant defence of Jellelabad, and lived to take part in the defence of Lucknow.