Chapter II: Part 2

We have no record of Dr. Ticklemore's short tale. All we know of it is that it amused the ladies very much; and of course, being approved by the fairer half of the creation, the gentlemen were in a manner compelled to applaud too. The next morning the Captain appeared to be specially occupied with his maps and charts, and two of the boats, each in charge of a junior officer, were sent out to take soundings, while the _Elephanta_ scarcely moved on her way. The Captain suspected that an under-current had carried the vessel several points to leeward, and, if this were not seen to in time, we should not make Suez so nicely as he wished. Leaving the Captain, who was not only a thorough seaman, but a most careful officer, to attend to these matters, the party on board occupied themselves according to their inclinations: the ladies brought up their work, as there was a fair breeze, which under the awning was pleasant enough; and the gentlemen either wrote, or read, or chatted, or made arrangements for the evening with the ladies who sang or played. 'I wish I was a vocalist,' said Lady Jervois. 'Do you?' said Captain Trevanion; 'tell me why.' 'Oh, everyone wishes to be accomplished as a musician, and I can do nothing in that way but play over the lessons I learned at school.' 'Suppose it be so, it is not too late to learn. When at home you will find numberless ladies capable and willing to help you to cultivate music.' 'Ah, Captain Trevanion, they can't give me a voice.' 'But how do you know that you have no voice?' 'Oh, they told me so at school, and I feel I have no voice.' 'You must not set things down against yourself; don't give up till you have had the opinion of a first-rate master, and, if I may advise, I should say, go about and hear as much good music and singing as you can.' 'I think I'll take your advice; it is at all events very agreeable, should it not eventually help me.' 'Ah, but I think it will!' said Marston, who had been standing by during the whole colloquy. 'And now, Lady Jervois, if you will go with us to the piano, and do us the honour to listen to our practice for the evening, you will, as it were, be taking the first step in your projected course of study, only under amateur musicians instead of masters. Mrs. Smythe will, I am sure, feel highly complimented by your attention to the practice. Here she comes.' 'Dear Mrs. Smythe,' said Lady J., 'will you permit an untaught ignorant creature like myself the pleasure and advantage of hearing your practice?' 'Dear Lady Jervois,' returned Mrs. Smythe, 'your presence at the practice will give us all sincere pleasure, and be esteemed a great compliment, too.'

Thus Lady J. became a regular attendant on the morning practice of the musical party, and of course became more intimate with them than she had been before. When the practice was over the party dispersed--some to chess, some to read, and some to play at the old game of 'Crambo' (in which they all eventually joined); and though they might not manage so well as Queen Elizabeth and Sir W. Raleigh did, still it caused some amusement.

When the din of tongues, and the mutual raillery and the laughing consequent on the game at 'Crambo' had subsided, Captain Ward and Trevanion sat down to a game at chess. They selected for their opening move that subtle one known as the Evans Gambit. They had scarcely begun when Lady J. came to the table, and seated herself near enough to watch the game. She said, 'Don't mind me; I promise not to speak a word; but though a very indifferent player, I am fond of the game.' After a tough battle it ended in a draw.

'I did not know you were a chess player, Lady J., or I should long since have asked for a game.' 'I fear you are laughing at me; I am not at all strong enough to contend with you.' 'But you will give proof, I hope, as I am one of those stiff-necked people who take nothing on trust.' 'Oh, you may take my word for that--on trust.' 'But will you not give me proof?' 'Certainly, to-morrow morning, if you like. It is too late to-day to begin a game.' 'But it is not too late, if you do not know it, to show you Philidor's legacy.' 'I do not; yet I should like to know it.' 'It arose in this way. It is admitted that you cannot give checkmate with _two_ knights.' 'I think I have heard so.' 'In one of the cafés of Paris, and in Philidor's presence, this was strongly insisted on. He heard all that was said, and then asserted that he would give checkmate with one knight, and without any other piece or pawn to assist it. One of the speakers said in reply, "I'll bet you £1,000 you don't." "Very well, I take your bet," said Philidor. "Mind, you are not to have any piece or pawn to help you." "The checkmate shall be perfect and complete by the move of one knight alone," returned Philidor.' 'And, pray, how was it accomplished?' inquired Lady J. 'That I shall now have the pleasure of showing you,' said Trevanion. And to the lady's no small delight he showed how the checkmate with one knight was brought about. (I see since this was written that the final position in Philidor's legacy is published in one of the periodicals of the day as a problem, but without giving the credit to the famous old master, whose ingenuity and skill in playing the game so as to arrive at the position in question seems almost beyond human power to conceive.)

Lady J. had not attended the morning practice longer than a fortnight, when the benefit derived from it was perceptible, not only to herself, but to others. In order to gain courage and to strengthen her voice, she sang at first in unison with Mrs. Smythe a number of sweet and admired airs: 'Oh! come to me when daylight sets'; 'You shall walk in silk attire'; 'Oft in the stilly night,' and a great many simple melodies. Finding that she could remember these airs and sing them to herself gave great pleasure to Lady J. and to her friends too; she found that her voice was gaining power, and Mrs. Smythe declared that her ear was true, and that if the voyage had lasted another month she would have been able to take part in glees and duets. 'I fear you are flattering me too much,' returned Lady J.; 'but I certainly shall persevere.' 'I told you long ago that you were wrong to set the thing down against yourself, did I not?' said Trevanion. 'And I threw in my little help, did I not?' said Marston. 'You both did, and so encouraged me, that I am now hopeful of myself.' 'When we get home, and you meet with a good teacher, I'll bet a dozen pairs of gloves that in less than six months you take part in any of the duets or glees we are practising now.' 'I will not venture on a bet, but really, I do feel infinitely more hopeful than I was!'

The _Elephanta_ was now at Suez, and as usual the weather was so dreadfully hot that no pastimes nor amusements could be thought of; to exist was a difficulty, and it was the same all through the Red Sea, and so it continued till the party reached Alexandria. Then came the bustle and trouble of transhipment to the steamer for England, and the delightful change of the Mediterranean breeze and cool climate for the dreadful heat of the Red Sea. All the passengers enjoyed the change immensely; the walking the deck was so enjoyable that it superseded all other modes of passing time. Trevanion and Lady J. were indefatigable in taking this exercise. This attracted the notice of Miss Perkins and her friend Miss Wiseman; the former observed that she perceived that the widow was a great general. 'She first flirted with Captain Ward, but finding that was of no use, she took up the singing line, and that seems to have answered much better. Trevanion is evidently spoony.' 'I thought so too, when I saw them walking the deck morning and evening.' 'The truth is, my dear, that there is no being up to a widow--no, they come over a man when he's not thinking of anything.' 'That's just it, they take him altogether unawares. Now, to think of that cunning creature pretending to want to learn to sing, merely to get on terms of intimacy with that spoon Trevanion, and he so dull and so besotted with his music that he does not see it.' Much more in the same strain was said, which it is not worth while to put down.

The new steamer, the _Bucephalus_, tore along at a great rate, and passed some of the most interesting and storied scenes the world has to show. As the Pillars of Hercules were passed, and the noble vessel pointed towards old England, the anxiety to get the first glimpse of the dear land was so great that some of the passengers sat up all night. At last the ship came in sight of the blessed shore, and shortly afterwards anchored off Southampton. When the ladies were safely landed, and with their luggage installed in the Grand Hotel, the gentlemen, after seeing that their own goods and chattels were all right, adjourned with the whole party to the breakfast-room.

The breakfast was scarcely finished, when two strangers appeared to take charge of Mrs. Smythe and Mrs. Forbes; one of them a brother of the first-named lady, the other first-cousin of the latter. These gentlemen, anxious not to lose the train for Scotland, scarcely allowed the two ladies time to say good-bye to their friends who had been their late shipmates. This was, however, at last accomplished, with promises of corresponding, the gentlemen vociferating, 'Come, or you will lose the train!' and they were off to the land of cakes. Shortly after breakfast was over, down came Lady J. dressed for travelling. 'You go, I think,' said Trevanion, 'to your aunt, Lady Drummond, in Eaton Square?' 'Yes,' replied Lady J.; 'and you go to the Army and Navy Club?' 'Yes,' said Trevanion. 'And I,' said Marston, 'am bound for the Selwyns' in Devonshire.' 'I think I have heard a whisper that there are certain bright eyes in Devon that are irresistible on this occasion.' 'Ah, Trevanion,' said Marston, looking a little red and conscious, 'you have been a traitor! I see how L. J. has become possessed of my secret.' 'I really could not help it,' said Trevanion, laughing. 'Let me say,' said Lady J., 'though I have never seen the fair young creature, that with all my heart I wish you every success, Mr. Marston, and every future happiness.' 'Hearty and sincere thanks,' returned the young gentleman, blushing deeply, in spite of himself; 'and may I shortly be in a position to congratulate you, Lady Jervois?' It was now the lady's turn to look down to her feet, as a blush mantled over her beautiful features. 'Well, Marston,' said Trevanion, coming to the lady's assistance, 'when shall we see you in town again? But, perhaps that is not a fair question, as it will probably depend on another's will.' 'Come, come, you shut up! It's a comfort to think that there are a pair of us. Now let me shake hands, and bid good-bye to Lady Jervois.'

When Marston was gone, only Miss Perkins and Miss Wiseman, beside themselves, were left of all the party which had landed that morning. Lady J., with her usual kindness, asked them if they were bound for London; they said they were. Then said Lady J., 'You had better come with us; Trevanion and I have secured a first-class carriage to London, therefore your doing so will put us to no expense, and no inconvenience.' 'How can you say so!' whispered Trevanion. 'I reckoned on the privacy of our ride to say a great many things that I could not so well say before. But you, you wicked creature, have entirely spoilt my plan.' 'And did you not deserve it, sir, for planning anything so deliberately wicked?' And as she said this her eyes sparkled and danced with sportive malice, and Trevanion was more hopelessly in love than ever.

In the meantime the two young ladies were profuse in their acknowledgments of Lady J.'s kindness and generosity. And so the party managed to get to London, where the young ladies made their adieux; and then Trevanion, having ordered a close carriage to take them to Eaton Square, looked exultingly at Lady J.; but she was peremptory, and then an open carriage was ordered. I am quite at a loss to guess why she was so determined as to these arrangements, but, nevertheless, the ride was very delightful. Trevanion held Lady J.'s hand in his all the way, and this rewarded him for everything! There was a sweet long pressure of hands ere the two parted, and the look of tenderness that stole from Lady J.'s eyes overcame Trevanion so entirely that he hardly knew what he was doing or saying. Lady Drummond sent out the most kindly invitation to Trevanion, which he did not accept, begging to be excused till the next day; he then bade adieu to Lady J., and as he did so felt more depressed than he had ever felt in his life, and as if all around was gloom; he felt truly that the sun of his life was gone.

The next day, about two p.m., Trevanion called in Eaton Square, and to his great mortification found that the ladies had gone out; he left a card for each of them, and tried to console himself as best he could. He then went to look at a horse that Colonel Brisbane, who was about to return to India, wished to dispose of; a very handsome creature, warranted to be sound in wind and limb, for which eighty guineas was to be paid. 'Well,' said Trevanion, 'I'll try him in the "Row" this evening, and if he suits me, I'll buy him.' The horse went beautifully, and seemed to feel at once that he had a rider on his back, and the rider was so pleased with him, that he made up his mind to take him; and after he had been round the Row, he was enjoying an easy canter, when he was obliged to rein up by a stylish pony phaeton, drawn by a pair of silver grays not quite fourteen hands high, but very lovely. Two ladies sat in the front, and the younger one was driving; a groom sat behind. The recognition between Trevanion and the younger lady was instantaneous, and immediately after the introduction to Lady Drummond had taken place, she said that she regretted she was out when he called, but they did not think he would have chosen so early an hour, and thought that they should be at home in time to see him.

'Ah!' said Trevanion, 'all this arises from those vile Indian customs I have got used to, but I shall become more civilized by-and-by.' 'No, no,' said the lively old lady; 'it arises from your formality and stiffness in refusing my invitation yesterday.' 'You are exceedingly kind to say so,' returned Trevanion. 'I suppose you'll adhere to it now by refusing my invitation for this evening?' 'No, Lady Drummond, I accept it with great pleasure, but as I have no groom with me, I must ride back with the horse to Colonel Brisbane's stables, and return for the evening; he won't be mine till the Colonel has got his price.' Both the ladies were loud in their praises of the horse, and were glad that he was to become Trevanion's property. 'And now,' said the gentleman, 'I must go and dress, and I have no time to spare.' 'Now, mind you are there in time--eight p.m. precisely.' 'I will be punctual, depend upon it, Lady Drummond.' 'Well, I do in some sort depend upon it, for reasons I don't think it necessary to mention just now,' and away went the ladies, and away went Trevanion, after the bows and _au revoirs_ had been duly paid.

As he anticipated, he spent a most pleasant evening. He found Lady Drummond a very agreeable, sensible, and frank old lady, and consequently found himself at home at once. The presence of Lady J., a real personification of grace and beauty, whose quiet happiness beamed in every glance, insensibly enhanced the enjoyment and pleasure of all three, the two ladies and their visitor. Trevanion, in fact, reckoned this evening as one of the white periods of his life.

It will be neither amusing nor instructive to trace the progress of a courtship where everything was in favour of the lovers. The consent of friends, mutual inclination, and ample means, made everything smooth. The one cloud was the necessity of going to India for some years. At this time cards from Mr. and Mrs. Marston reached our friends, with letters in which M. declared that he would stay at home to the last possible day, his Clara not liking the thought of India, though the darling was willing to go anywhere with him. Trevanion wrote back to say that his marriage was finally arranged, and would shortly come off, which it did on the 10th of the following month, when Captain Trevanion and Lady Jervois were made one. They spent their honeymoon at a pretty old ivy-covered place called the Priory, which was lent to them for the occasion by a friend of Lady Drummond's. When the honeymoon was over, they went to Italy, where they spent some time. They visited Juliet's reputed tomb in Verona; then they passed on to Venice and read Shakespeare and Otway with redoubled zest, 'swam in gondolas' daily while there, then returned on their footsteps, stayed a few days at Fiorenza, and did not forget to see and admire 'the statue that enchants the world.' They then determined on a short stay at Rome, where the wonders of the Vatican delighted them greatly. The exquisitely expressed agony of the Laocoon, the matchless, manly beauty of the Apollo, the resolute endurance and suffering of the Dying Gladiator, indelibly impressed themselves on their remembrance. To use their own words, these marvels spoke in stone. Nor were the masterpieces of Michael Angelo, Raphael, and others overlooked, but the bare enumeration of them would take up too much of our space and time.

They returned home saturated with admiration and enthusiasm for Italian sculpture and painting. Nor did they come home altogether empty-handed. They brought with them some lovely specimens of Italian work as presents for friends and relatives. These were too many to be separately noticed, but a Hercules destroying two centaurs was particularly admired, and was much prized by Lady Drummond, to whom it was given; and a Theseus delivering Ariadne from the sea monster, which was sent to Mrs. Marston, was so much thought of by that lady and her friends, that she declared it to be the most beautiful specimen of sculpture she had ever seen, and she wrote such a charming letter to Lady Trevanion on the subject, that it gave rise to a kind and affectionate correspondence between the two ladies, though they had never seen each other. However, in the spring Mrs. Marston, with her little boy, arrived in town, and there the ladies became almost inseparable. The last we heard of them was, that they were the two special attractions at a grand ball given by Lady D. just before Captain and Lady Trevanion sailed for India. Mr. and Mrs. Marston remained at home another year, then reluctantly embarked for the land of the East.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] The author is quite aware of the anachronism, but hopes it may be pardoned for the sake of its applicability.

No. II.

CAPTAIN WHISTLER, AND LIFE IN CANTONMENT AT SECUNDERABAD.

In the year 18--, the ---- Regiment, Madras N.I., marched for the cantonment of Secunderabad. The march was accomplished in the average number of days without any more serious mishap or sickness than was usual in those days, owing to the wise precautions taken by the officer in command, in communication with the doctor of the regiment. The length of each march being known, the hour of rising and commencing it was so fixed as to enable the men to reach the ground appointed before the sun was powerful; this, on an average, fell out between six and seven a.m. No encamping ground whereon any large party of human beings, or any other regiment, had halted was ever made use of for their purpose, experience having shown that the poison of cholera dwells in such places long after the people have departed from them, and in some cases even when (as reported) the former sojourners had not been afflicted with this terrible disease. The débris which they leave, and other foul matters, appear to generate the plague when fresh men occupy the ground, if such incautious reoccupation occurs within the period of twenty or thirty days. The camp was always pitched as far from the villages as convenience would permit, and placed, wherever possible, on high open ground. The reward of these precautions was that the regiment reached Secunderabad without losing a man.

We had escaped the cholera, but as we approached the Kistnah we became unpleasantly acquainted with another of the pests of India. It is true that tigers are found more or less frequently all over the country, but wherever there is much low jungle, high grass, reeds and rushes, these monstrous striped cats are very numerous. The complete cover afforded by this kind of vegetation encourages their increase greatly, and then they become so formidable that no one dares singly, or, indeed, without a strong escort, to pass or repass through such places. They will even, if they are hungry, attack a whole regiment, which, with the families of the Sepoys and followers, will scarcely number less than 4,000 or 5,000 souls--men, women, and children; accompanied by some hundreds of animals--horses, dogs, donkeys, and bullocks, and sometimes also by elephants and camels. The noise and hubbub of such a camp, the lights and fires at night, would, it might be imagined, be sufficient to keep these beasts at a distance, but it is not always so. Even before eight p.m., when silence is (in well-regulated camps) imposed on all, as all are supposed to retire to rest at this hour in order to rise for the early march, the tiger will spring into the midst of men and animals, tents, etc., seize an unfortunate tatoo, or donkey, or man, and bound with his prey over all impediments. But more commonly he defers his attack till all is quiet, and most of the lights and fires are extinguished or reduced to a few glowing embers here and there, and when nothing is heard but the sentry's 'All's well!' Then is the time when this ferocious animal is most to be feared, especially if the moon is up, as it affords him light enough to select his victim, but does not give the latter time or opportunity to provide against it, neither can others follow in pursuit, the robber being generally lost to sight in a few seconds; but even in this case the rule is not absolutely without exception, as I shall shortly show.

The loss sustained from these feline thieves during our march was first that of a draught bullock, which was taken out of the midst of the camp, or out of that part of it occupied by the camp followers. There was a great noise of men and dogs, and some Shikaries, who were with the camp, sent a few shots after the thief, but he was so soon lost to sight that they may have been fired less from sight than from guess. The second capture occurred on the night following that on which the bullock was carried off: it was of an unfortunate tatoo (pony) belonging to a Jemadar, who could ill afford to lose it, as he was an old man not well able to march. He had not long, however, to overtax his strength by marching, as the officers of his company subscribed twenty rupees to enable him to buy another pony, which he soon did, rejoicing that the tiger had taken his former one away, as, by the generosity of the officers, he had secured a much younger and better one.

The next march brought the regiment to the banks of the Kistnah, one of the large rivers of India; there the officers and men had an opportunity of seeing those round boats which we read of in Herodotus, and which we are told were used in the days of Semiramis. They certainly answered the purposes for which they were used exceedingly well. They are made of pieces of split bamboo and bamboo mats, and externally they are covered with bullock hides sewed together and stretched whilst moist over the bamboo frame-work, to which they are securely fastened. It is astonishing what weights these round boats will carry when they are new and well made. Guns, with their carriages, every kind of cart, besides men and animals, go safely across deep and broad rivers. This, however, we did not practically know till the next morning, when, in obedience to orders, the regiment crossed the Kistnah on these primitive machines, and without difficulty or accident.

On the day before the crossing was effected, a man was taken out of the very midst of the camp shortly before eight a.m., and that although everyone was on the alert and watchful, knowing that they were in near vicinity to high grass and jungles abounding with tigers, and bearing in mind, besides, the warnings which they had received on the two preceding nights. In consequence of this state of watchfulness, scarcely two minutes elapsed before a strong party of men and officers were in hot pursuit of the man-eater, aided by several dogs. The beast was, as heretofore, almost immediately lost to sight, but the dogs showed the track the tiger had taken, so the men were able to continue the chase. The sagacity of the dogs in following up was very remarkable, either instructed by the experience of the two preceding nights or by their natural intelligence. Though following the scent continually, they were very careful not to go farther than a few yards in advance of their masters, seeming to be quite aware that they would be wholly unable to cope with the enemy they were in pursuit of. This prudence on their part was noticed by the men and the officers, and was encouraged by them.

Suddenly the dogs halted, barked, and uttered a plaintive cry; the officers brought their rifles forward, but, not perceiving the tiger, they carefully walked forward, ready to fire on the instant. At this moment a Shikari called out that there was something on the road, and the next instant that it was the man who had been carried off. All then hastened up to him, and found him weltering in a pool of blood, which, on interrogating him, they found was not his own; it was almost entirely that of the tiger. The poor fellow had been so shaken and exhausted that at first he could scarcely explain himself; however, a small dose of brandy, the sense of safety, and the encouragement he received from all round him, soon restored him sufficiently to enable him to explain how he had effected his marvellous escape. It further appeared, both by his own statement and that of the surgeon (who was one of those who had gone in pursuit), that though his side was torn and lacerated by the teeth of the beast, he had sustained no broken bones, nor, indeed, any actual injury.

His story was this: at first he was so stunned by the shock of the tiger's spring that he was hardly conscious of the grip that fastened on him, or of the spring which carried him out of the camp; his first feeling of consciousness informed him of his position, and that he was being rapidly carried along to be devoured at leisure. The prospect was so unpleasant that he bethought him whether there was any possible mode of extrication. He had his bayonet with him, having, when seized, just come off guard. This 'Koodah-ki-fuzzul sey,' as he said, put it into his head to attempt to get free. The skin and flesh of his left side was in the tiger's mouth, and his right hand and arm were free. With his hand he felt for the heart of the tiger, then slowly drawing his bayonet out, he placed the point of it between the animal's ribs, just opposite the beat. Having thus prepared matters, he drove in the point with his whole strength, and with such effect that the tiger, making a spring and a cry at the same time, let his prey fall, and after limping a step or two fell down, himself bleeding copiously. He, however, rallied so far as to be able to crawl on farther, but, added the little hero (a Sepoy, five feet one inch in height), 'I am certain he cannot go far.'

On hearing this, the pursuit was immediately resumed; the doctor, greatly to his annoyance, was ordered to remain by the side of the sepoy, who, as soon as a dhooly could be got, was carried in a sort of cradle back to the camp. His story was so wonderful, and his escape so extraordinary, that had not the doctor's orders been peremptory, the poor little fellow would have had no sleep all the night; such numbers were anxious to see him, and to hear him repeat the narrative of his defeat of the 'burrah bhague.' Indeed, it is said that for a week after he was out of hospital he was still called on occasionally to tell the story.

The party who went after the wounded beast, by the aid of dogs, lanterns, flambeaus, and the stain of blood, soon tracked the foe (it was a female tigress) to a cave near at hand, where they found her dying, and three splendid little cubs about two months old, which they lost no time in taking possession of. They were very desirous of making acquaintance with the proprietor of the cave, but this gentleman, it would seem, was absent from home. His anxious friends spent an hour in searching for him, but without success. This probably was fortunate for them, as it was a very imprudent thing to search for such a customer by torchlight. The officer commanding, indeed, positively forbade any repetition of that kind of search, for which he properly thought the daylight was essential. One of the party, before they left the cave, gave the tigress a bullet, which put an end to her lingering struggles.

So far is simply Lieutenant B.'s story just as it was told to me; but the sequel I can positively affirm to be true, from my own knowledge. When I landed at Madras in 18--, the little hero of the tiger incident was on guard at the entrance of the Adjutant-General's Office in the fort, and was really the best show of the place. The little Sepoy who had come off victorious after being in the jaws of the tiger was the lion of the fort, and it was customary for every new-comer, to whom he was presented, to give him a rupee. Thus the little man reaped, independent of his pension, a revenue which, to him, was very considerable, and the Government was exempted, or conceived itself to be exempted, from making any special provision for him. What finally became of this wonderful small man I do not know. I suppose, in the language of a great conqueror of another race, _ivit ad plures_. 'The paths of glory lead but to the grave,' so sings the poet and the moralist; and probably poor little Ram Sing was no exception to the rule.

But we are digressing, and it is necessary to resume Lieutenant B.'s account of the _march_. The very word 'march,' while sitting by a comfortable fire in a nicely-carpeted room, is fearful. The getting up at one or two a.m.; those dreadful taps (striking the tent pegs), and the tents falling about one's ears--the whole is appalling--_horresco referens_--and yet, instead of the gout and other infirmities of age, how gladly would I face it over again, with the untold privations, fatigue, and sun superadded, could I but feel again the elasticity, the glow of health, youthful energy, courage, and confidence in my own strength and endurance, which I once possessed; but _nunquam retrorsum_ is the banner of existence, and all must submit to it. I return, therefore, to Lieutenant B.'s account of the march of his regiment to the cantonment of Secunderabad. The only incident deserving of any notice during progress through this part of the Deccan was, on more than one occasion, a difficulty about supplies. Who was to blame no one could clearly make out, opposing statements being freely made use of; it was an old disputed responsibility, but there could be no dispute that the Sepoys suffered. They were reduced to short commons several times. On one occasion there were absolutely _no_ supplies to be had when the men arrived on the encamping-ground. The poor fellows had already marched fourteen miles, and had done it well, reaching the ground before seven a.m. They had started at half-past two a.m., and were just congratulating themselves at having got over the march before the sun was very powerful. Their congratulation was, however, short-lived, as they soon learned from the quartermaster that they must go on to the next village, _i.e._, another fourteen miles, to obtain food. The sun was then quite hot enough in all conscience, and to proceed another fourteen miles under progressively increasing heat was appalling; but there was no help for it, the peril must be faced.

The officers at that time wore those horrid little forage-caps covered on line of march with black oilskin. To ride fourteen miles with such a covering to the head, under a burning sun, was infinitely worse than being exposed to the hottest fire. My informant, the doctor, assured me that if he had not devised a special defence he must have fallen from his horse from sunstroke. His plan was this: he arranged with the regimental puckally (that is, the man who attends with a bullock carrying two mushues, or bullock-hides, filled with water) to be always close at hand during the march. Nothing but this could have saved him. He utilized the mushues in this way: before starting on the second march he had taken out two towels, which the puckally kept constantly soaked with water. One, well-soaked, was placed under the forage-cap, and as soon as it got heated it was replaced by the other. All the officers resorted to the use of wet cloths, but no one carried out the plan so systematically as the doctor did, and he escaped as well as any of them, though he had previously suffered from sunstroke.

At last the second march was accomplished, but the men were so tired and exhausted that they had taken five hours and a half to do it, though they had performed the first fourteen miles in little more than four hours. Both men and officers were so dead-beat that, on reaching the ground, everyone wanted to throw himself down where he stood; but necessary duties had to be attended to. Luckily some Bamans, Bunganies, as they were called, had halted at this stage, and readily supplied the men with the various grains they wanted; and large mango-tops afforded shelter from the sun, and gradually food and rest were obtained. By-and-by palanquins, tents, and carts arrived, and the officers got better shelter and their usual food; and as there was a halt for the next day, all things gradually fell into working order. On the morning after the halt, the march was resumed, and in a week the regiment reached the cantonment of Secunderabad.

To give a full account of the European mode of life in cantonment, even at the largest station, would scarcely repay any reader. The reveille, the parade, or sham-fight, the general's concluding remarks to the men and officers, the march home, the conversation on reaching the barracks, the disencumbrance of the war-paint, the chatty bath, breakfast, and the edifying chat respecting dogs, horses, guns, or billiards; he must indeed be fond of pipe-clay who can be entertained by such things. And when the coffee and tea and toast, the eggs, the grilled moorgey (a sudden death, and accordingly as tough as need be), with the curry, chutnee, etc., have been discussed--as well as Ensign A.'s wonderful leap, or Captain B.'s splendid shot, or Major C.'s grand display at the billiard match, have all been served up, and duly commented on; or arrangements made for a shikar-party--nothing is left but to adjourn to the billiard-room. All this is the very embodiment of Shakespeare's twice-told tale, 'stale, flat, and unprofitable.' It is repeated at every station year after year, and it has besides been given in detail so well and so often in works of fiction relating to India, that it would be no less foolish than impertinent to reproduce it here. The same may be said of the occupations of the fairer half of the creation: wherever it may be, it is the same thing--the morning exercise on horseback, the ball, the breakfast, the toilet, the staying at home to receive visitors, or going out to pay visits, the remarks on the last party, or the one that is expected; Mrs. W.'s dress, and Miss L.'s good looks, Miss M.'s engagement, and a thousand other topics of equally overpowering importance. These, and the all-imperative duty of leaving cards for everyone, which, if neglected, or even postponed, is an offence that nothing can expiate, an offence never forgiven, and one that has probably, in this land of the sun, produced more quarrels, more heart-burning, and more bad feeling than any other cause that can be named. Mrs. General D. goes in her carriage to pay Mrs. Ensign Smith a visit, and never omits to leave her card. Mrs. Captain G. goes in her palanquin-coach to pay a visit to whom you please, and scrupulously leaves her card. Mrs. Quartermaster goes in her bullock-coach to visit the ladies of the regiment, and never fails to leave cards wherever she stops. The system is indeed so universal, and so well understood, that even the bullocks themselves have adopted it, as all those who know the habits of these animals can testify. It is indeed a positive fact that, whenever the owner of the coach stops at anyone's door, the polite creatures never fail to leave a S.P.C.--strange, no doubt, but nevertheless true.

The monotony of cantonment life is not unfrequently varied, I regret to say, by scandals, and stories circulated to the detriment of this or that lady. They may be true, or they may be false, but as a rule there is generally some imprudence or want of due circumspection on the part of the lady pointed at; and if her fault is of the most venial nature, her female friends are sure to attribute the worst to her; their own virtue is so pure and perfect that they cannot bear the remotest suspicion of the reverse in any of their friends. A curious and instructive instance of this noble, amiable, and highly moral disposition occurred at the house of Mrs. O'N. Lady G. entered just as a lady who had paid her a visit got up to leave. Mrs. O'N. offered Lady G. the seat her former visitor had vacated, which was refused in this way: 'Was not the person who left the room Mrs. S.?' 'Yes,' said the hostess. 'Then,' returned Lady G., 'pray give me any other chair.' Her wish was complied with, and she paid her visit without suffering the contamination she dreaded. When Lady G. departed Mrs. O'N. indulged in a hearty laugh, which she explained to another visitor by telling her of Lady G.'s horror at the thought of sitting on a chair that had been occupied by a questionable character. 'She was herself so chaste, my dear,' said Mrs. O'N., 'that she couldn't bear the idea of anything of that kind.'

Scandal runs riot in all small societies, and therefore perhaps the scandals in Indian cantonments are, to a certain extent, merely _en regle_. But at the same time it must not be forgotten that after breakfast, for several hours, both sexes have nothing to do. The ladies dress and receive visitors as often as not when their husbands are away on shikar parties, or are amusing themselves at the billiard-table. These morning visits are sanctioned by custom. But in India they are not altogether without danger. First, both sexes, when they mingle in society, have nothing to occupy or amuse them but philandering, _i.e._, paying compliments or listening to them; and this, though innocent enough, it may be, in the beginning, is by no means so when often repeated by the same individuals. 'What a nice little creature Mrs. So-and-so is; I wonder how Captain B. can occupy himself so much away from home; he is always away on some shikar party, or at the billiard-room, or at the racquet-court, or on duty, or attending court-martial duty. I know if she was my wife I wouldn't leave her to herself or to others as ---- does.' By-and-by something of this oozes out, and then there is a laugh, the young gentleman is roasted by his male friends in a gentle, or even an encouraging way. Something perhaps like the following will occur:

'What, Jack, are you getting spoony about Mrs. B.? She is an enticing creature, I must confess; but take care of B.: if he finds out that you're too sweet with his wife, he'll have you out as sure as fate.' 'Oh! I don't fear B.'s turning rusty; he knows very well I often make morning calls, and he often invites me to dinner.' 'The more fool he, especially as he leaves the lady at home so much.' 'I'll tell you what it is,' says another of these young philanderers, 'if a fellow won't stay at home to look after his own property, he must expect that other fellows will try and supply his absence. I know I should be dooced glad if the chance was mine.' And really you can't blame the petticoat much if she shows that she likes the attentions of one who gives her to understand, in every way he can, how he adores her and worships her, etc.; and though he may be only leading her into what is called a 'fools' paradise,' she doesn't know that until it is too late and she has disgraced herself, thrown away her good name, and made a serious scandal; or she is sent home and a divorce is obtained, or the husband calls out the Lothario and shoots him, or gets shot himself.

I have in my experience known a young gentleman pray heartily that the injured man would call him out, as then, being a good shot, he should certainly hit him, and in all probability put him out of the way, which would make all things smooth for him and Emma. These and unnumbered other results, more or less serious, arise from the want of occupation and the system of calling.

It is a saying as old as the hills, that a very prying inquisitive old gentleman always finds work for idle hands, and certainly Indian experience does not discredit the truth of it. The kind of morality that obtains in these matters amongst young men in general is not very exalted, whatever vocation or profession they follow, and amongst army men it is proverbially not very strict. I might put it the other way, but let it pass; they have a great deal more idle time than most other young men, therefore, according to the postulate above given, they are more likely to do wrong. Well, an idle young fellow pays a young married lady a morning visit; she may be very attractive both in manner and in person; she may possess a pretty face, may possess much intelligence, and may be an accomplished musician, may ride and dance well; and if she possesses these various attractions, or some of them, is it natural that an inconsiderate young fellow, who may also be clever, good-looking, gentleman-like, and withal a finely-figured man, one who may also be a vocalist, and a good dancer--is it natural, I say, that these two young people should spend an hour together without being more or less prepossessed in each other' s favour? This result is inevitable; the gentleman soon repeats his visit, he admires the lady more than before, and does not fail to let her see it; she, on the other hand, begins to think that Lieutenant ---- is really a very pleasant and agreeable young man. So much being admitted, the frequent repetition of these morning calls, and perhaps some invitations to tiffin, or dinner, or to spend the evening, from the husband, who, all unsuspicious of mischief and danger, instead of being displeased, is rather proud that other men admire his wife, lead up to a footing of great intimacy. This, again, leads to morning rides, to engagements for partnership at dances, and to every kind of employment or pastime wherein the parties can be coupled together. This stage in the affair naturally excites the observation of the bystanders, the lookers-on, and they not only take note of the intimacy between Mrs. ---- and Mr. So-and-so, but without more ado set down Mrs. So-and-so not as guilty of imprudence, and the indulgence of a little vanity, but of an improper and disgraceful intimacy, which up to this time has perhaps never been thought of, at all events has not been yielded to. Thus the lady, being at this time innocent, is rendered indignant, violent, and to some extent reckless, at being falsely accused, and she, in consequence of this state of feeling, unwisely and perversely argues thus: 'Oh! if society chooses to accuse and condemn me for nothing, what does its opinion signify? I am sure I am not going to give up my friends to please society. I have done nothing wrong, and I am not going to do anything wrong.' And perhaps she means what she says, and really thinks she has done nothing wrong, and perhaps truly means that she does not intend to do wrong; which, being expressed in plain English, means that she does not intend to commit adultery; and she may honestly mean to keep her word. Her really doing so is quite a different thing. After she has overstepped all the barriers, or almost all, that society, etiquette, and high moral feeling have established to restrain the intimacy between the opposite sexes, it is very questionable whether a lady has it in her power to say to herself: 'Thus far shalt thou go and no further.' From the hour that she admitted any exceptional degree of intimacy, from that hour she has placed herself on an inclined plane, and the further she descends on it the greater is the difficulty for her to draw back. In the very large majority of such cases, the truth of the French axiom is made painfully manifest: _C'est le premier pas qui coute_, and in those few cases where shame does not succeed to such intimacies, the escape is due to accidental causes. These appear to me to be simply the teachings of experience; but it would be altogether one-sided not to add that men, who, from unbounded reliance on the virtue of their wives, permit any continued attentions (however harmless) from any other man, are in a great measure responsible for the consequences. Nor should they leave their wives too much to themselves; if they do, other men will endeavour to step into their places, and it is a husband's duty to protect his wife against such endeavours. There are, no doubt, cases which of necessity involve long and continued absence. Military and naval men are specially exposed to these risks when on active service. In these cases the lady's honour, principle, and sense of religion should be her defence. In cases in which, from duty, office-work, or business, the husband is absent during the day, the lady should be able, if she is honest and true, to defend herself.

But these exceptions give no just warrant for a married man to go alone for weeks or months on tours of pleasure, of sport in distant lands, or fishing in distant seas, and, for such reasons, to leave a young wife without protection; nor are unhappy cases wanting to show the bitter fruits of such neglect.

Details of any intimacies such as those referred to here will scarcely prove interesting to the majority of readers, and if they were, my pen would feel too much disgust and sorrow to become the means of chronicling such unhappy doings. Neither do I think that the ordinary humdrum details of Indian life in cantonment would repay perusal. I therefore say nothing of the sensation created in the cantonment of Secunderabad by the arrival of Mrs. ----'s new dress, made in the latest mode by the French milliner at Madras, nor of the new carriage that reached its destination but last week from Simpson's for the Colonel's wife, nor of the pretty Arab that Captain S. sent down from Bombay for his wife. All, no doubt, tremendously important and absorbing events to those concerned, but not quite so much so to the general reader.

The only event that I will chronicle is Captain W.'s persevering and ultimately successful search for a man-eating tiger. All those who have been at Secunderabad know that there is a clump or collection of the ordinary gneiss rocks about a mile and a half from the cantonment, and on the opposite side to that on which the Hussain Sanger Tank is situated. These rocks have, time out of mind, been famed and feared by the natives as the abode of tigers; and sporting men, when stationed here, have, at different times, made raids, or shikar parties, with the view of destroying or driving away these deadly tenants of the rock-built towers and caves that Nature had made ready for them. The effects of these efforts, however successful for the time, have never been very long continued. Occasionally a royal beast has been killed by some lucky or well aimed bullet, and sometimes some of the beaters have been carried off in spite of numbers, guns, and determined foemen, and sometimes the beast and his family relinquished for a time their chosen lair; but ordinarily, unless some sporting men were at hand, a sort of compact or sufferance on the part of the natives existed, much after this fashion. At one time a native riot, or cultivator, lost a bullock, or a sheep, or a donkey; another time some other person lost one of such animals, or tatoos, and on a third occasion some other individual was the sufferer, and so on. As the injury was, as it were, distributed with something like equality, and as they did not, generally speaking, suffer in their own persons, they began to look on the infliction as a sort of necessary evil; it was their fate, their 'hickmut,' 'ickbal,' etc., and they bore it patiently, and with resignation. Indeed, so long as they were not themselves devoured, they rarely made any exertion to rid themselves of their enemy.

This passive state of affairs, however, only lasted so long as the striped gentleman kept his paws off human victims. If by dint of hunger or failure of other prey, he chanced to get the taste of human flesh, the fastidious beast would never, if he could get it, feed on any other. At first the villagers round about were struck with terror and grief. After the first man had been taken, not many days passed before another was carried off, and so on till fourteen had been seized and made away with. The poor people were in great dismay; they had made two attempts, by setting baits, and watching at night, to slay the marauder, but without avail. The baits were taken, but the wounds inflicted by the men were not, so it appeared, much thought of by the tiger, for he bounded off with his prey in spite of them. The villagers were in despair; they did not dare to go into the fields, or scarcely to appear outside their doors. All sorts of sacrifices were made to Muniah, and donations to the Fakeers and Brahmins, but nothing availed.