CHAPTER THE FIRST. CONTENTS. "The reader is cautioned not to be too curious.-If the fruit be good, it matters “little from what tree it has been gathered.-A Soldier of fortune described.—Life "and death, or the old and new city,-Oriental self-introduction.—The road to a “Monarch's favor.-Roses are not to be gathered without encountering thorns.” "The old Sirdar "Holds for his court a high durbār ; From an unpublished Poem. "When Pathân and Sikh engage Ditto. Who was my father, or who my mother, signifies little enough, that after some stirring experiences in other quarters of the world, I found myself, on the 5th May, 1830, a Colonel in the service of Maharajah Ranjit Singh. My rise was sudden, and my military experience perhaps scarcely entitled me to command men old enough to be my father; but, with the Maharajah, as with more civilized Monarchs, rank did not go by proved merit. It matters not a straw to my readers, who or what I am; but I will let them into one secret, that I am not what I call myself. If, for personal or family reasons, I adopt a nom de guerre," what is that to the world? And, if all my facts are not found to be sober realities take my word for it they have a deeper foundation in truth than the narratives of most travellers. With this brief preface I beg the reader to know me as Colonel Bellasis, a gentleman travelling for recreation and excitement, but not above taking service should a favourable opening offer one who, however adverse his fortunes may have been, feels that nature intended him for something, and who sees no reason, after George Thomas (a) made for himself a principality, and Perron, De Boigne and others, rode over princes, why a nook in the temple of Fame should not be accessible to him; or why, while ready to take his chance in the roughest sea, some rude but friendly blast should not lodge him in a haven. To win such fortune, I bore about one of the most powerful talismans, for I was reckless of chance, and no misgiving or calculation ever withheld me from seizing what seemed a favorable juncture. To aspire was my nature, and I was ready to perish rather than fall. When my story commences, I was a tall, erect figure, standing six feet in my shoes; and if I wanted beard and moustache to win me favor with the Sikhs, still I had broad shoulders, a slender waist, and a dauntless air. I moreover, could use a sword and manage a horse, with any man these were natural tastes, cultivated as qualifications for the course in which I delighted to pass my days. Where I had been born and educated, I mean to keep to myself; I have not been a soldier of fortune without learning that least said is soonest mended; and among orientals secrecy and gravity are the prime elements of wisdom; nor is a dash of mystery without its interest all over the world. On entering the Panjâb, I introduced myself as a " Wilâytî," a word of pretty wide signification, especially among a people who are not very nice geographers. Aware of the consequence of a first impression, I made my entrèe at Lâhaur, mounted on an excellent horse, whose every nerve and fibre was of iron; defying all other controul, he was gentle as a lamb in my hands, obeying the slightest monition of voice or limb; Chândâ had been my companion in many an hour of labour and peril, and had stood my friend in many a time of need; after the rough simple habits we had been used to, my steed must have felt almost as much surpris ed as myself, at his own gay saddle-cloth, and the rich mantle that I had thrown round me, though it was one of the hottest months in the year. My suite was small, but complete, each of my attendants was mounted on a stout yabû; five horse-keepers ran by our side, and all bore the air of ease, good care and plenty. Our arms were plain, but all, especially my own, well finished and handy. Such was the impression caused by our appearance, that as we entered Lâhaur by the Tuksâl gateway, we were greeted with shābāsh!” “wah! Farangi!” 66 jewan!" many a changa ghoda !" khub My way (6), or rather the loss of my way, led me through the whole town; for though I had enquired what entrance conducted most directly to the suburb I was bound for, no one that I asked seemed to know. Indeed, throughout the Panjâb, there is this ignorance or apathy as to the route to be pursued no one appears acquainted with the direct road, if that term be applicable to the pathways that intersect the country; and the loss of an hour in finding one's way in a single march, seems a matter of no account. The entrance of the Town from the north-west is picturesque and pleasing; even at the commencement of the hot season there was a green hue about the banks of the Râvî, contrasting strongly with the huge town in its immediate vicinity. Within the city there is little novel to those who have sojourned in the east; but with all its pomp and wealth, and it has both, there is a mushroom aspect about it, bespeaking rather the entrenched camp, than the city built for duration. In fact it is only the second halting place of the Sikh hordes who have over-run the Panjâb; Amritsir being their head-quarters. Long before their time, however, Lâhaur was a town of note. Thrice has it been desolated; Nâdir and Ahmad Shah each in turn carried destruction through its ancient halls, its dwellings of centuries; and the merciless Sikhs completed the work, so that when Maharajah Ranjit Singh made it the seat of his Government, he had almost to found the city anew. Out of thirty-six of the old town divisions only six now remain : they are encircled by a strong and handsome wall, enclosing also some new ground, and forming a sweep of four kos-an arm ed enclosure not often rivalled. This wall is throughout the greater part of its extent, fronted by a fausse braye and a deep, though narrow ditch; there are twelve gates and as many wickets, each of the former having a double entrance, so that if any adversary did force the outer gate, he must pass through a flanking fire before reaching the second. The parapets of the main work could be easily knocked over, but those of the fausse braye, having no command, could scarcely be battered, except from the crest of the glacis. This rough sketch of the works I by no means profess to be strictly accurate, though it is not intentionally otherwise. I give my impressions as received on that first morning of my entrance, when, in fact, I saw as much if not more of the town, than in all my future service. Emerging from the narrow streets, (not quite so narrow, however, as those of Kâbul or Hêrât) I left the city by the Mochî gate; and what a change of scene! Before me lay a ruined mass of Mosques, Palaces, and Tombs, relics of a former age; their mutilated fragments looking even more grim, from the grotesque intermixture of Indo-European buildings and gardens, the residences of foreigners in Ranjît's service. But if I go on much longer describing, the reader will be as weary as I was. While I continued to thread my way under a burning sun, to a garden house, which, through the kindness of a native friend, had been placed at my service, I almost unconsciously uttered aloud the thoughts that the scene suggested, a day or an hour sufficed to destroy all this, but even the genius of the wonderful man, who reigns in the Panjâb, has not been able in twenty years to restore the appearance of vitality, much less to put breath and strength into the ruined capital." My soliloquy was interrupted by a little, good natured, pert-looking Moslem, who civilly saluted me as he rode along side. “Ah, Sahib, you are an Amîr, I perceive it by your thoughts; you cannot look unmoved on the scene before you. But you call our ruler a great man; is it greatness to destroy the shelter of the poor man, in order to build up lofty abodes for the rich ? All that you have seen in the new town is the produce of plunder, of oppression, of doubly-dyed tyranny. The cost of the walls had been defrayed at the expense of one wealthy merchant of Amritsir, whose hoards have been taken, nominally to pay the workmen, but in fact to fill the purses of the supervisors." What you say, my friend," replied I, can hardly be true; but at any rate, who made you or me the Maharajah's judge? He is vicegerent here, and will have to answer hereafter to him who made him Monarch. -Sâdî says, the smoke of the poor man's heart goes up tö heaven,' and so it is; fifty years will level all distinctions, and then, as the same Poet says,' what matters it to die on a silken pillow, or on the cold earth ?'" "The Sahib is a poet and a philosopher," replied my friend; " if my lord will permit his servant, he will be in attendance, and, perchance, may make himself useful." I liked the man's alert, intelligent air, and as we now had reached the garden house I was in search of, I desired him, as I alighted, to attend at the third watch of the day. Having seen to my good horse's fare, and the comfort of my faithful followers, I refreshed myself with bathing, and then breakfasted on a thick, dry chapātī, and a cup of Eau Sucrée, sherbet a beverage which in my travels had with me taken the place of every other. I then dispatched my principal attendant with a flowery epistle, accompanied with the offering of a handsome gold watch, to faqir Azîzûdîn (c) one of the favourites of the Maharajah. Scarcely had I done this, and stretched myself on the charpai to rest, when my friend of the morning, who now made himself known as Chând Khân was announced. He was mounted on a horse of good blood, which he managed with a half-jaunty, halfmilitary air. His whole appearance gave me the idea of what I can fancy Amir Khân's (d) Sirdars to have been, half-gentleman, half-rogue, mingling in his person both the accomplishments of the soldier and civilian. Chând Khân wore a tightly-fitting but high turban of white muslin, paijāmahs of Multân silk, red with a white stripe-a vest of white flowered muslin, and a dopatta of the yellow Bahâwulpoor Khes, or twilled silk. He accosted me with“ salām alaīkūm, ahwāl bukhair ast ?” and his air had all the affection of a friend and familiarity of an old acquaintance. I was not prepared for this, and looked rather puzzled. "The Sahib is surprised, the master of favour is not displeased at his servant?" "No my friend; but we of the west do not give our confidence on an hour's acquaintance." 'My lord says truly; every country has its customs; and the men of Kâbul, among whom I perceive by his accoutrements and speech my lord has dwelt, are ready with a word or a blow. Their hearts, like those of their mistresses, are easily excited to good or evil.” speech is strange, my friend," I replied, Your who, or what are you?" In a word, my lord, I am an adventurer, free of the world; I am |