Jones of the 64th: A Tale of the Battles of Assaye and LaswareeBrereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
General
Jones of the 64th: A Tale of the Battles of Assaye and Laswaree
Brereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
Maratha War, 1803 -- Juvenile fiction
"You will find it invaluable," said Mr. Parkins, a gentleman of middle
age, a servant of the great John Company, who was returning to India
from leave. "When I first went to India I found myself constantly
hampered by my ignorance, and, in fact, did not rise as quickly as I
might have done. We shall take three months to reach Calcutta, and by
then you should have made fine progress."
To Owen's amazement, and to the delight of Mr. Parkins, he made even
more rapid advancement than could have been expected. The language came
to him not so much as an entirely strange tongue, but as one which he
had partially known before, and which he had forgotten.
"Which proves Mr. Halbut's assertion that you have been in India, and
were born there," said Mr. Parkins. "No one else could pick up
Hindustani so rapidly. We have been at our studies for barely three
weeks, and here you are able to converse a little. Now I will give you a
piece of advice. There are numbers of natives amongst this crew, and if
I were you I would spend some time amongst them every day, chatting with
them. Perhaps you will find one who is a little more intelligent than
his fellows, and from him you may be able to learn some dialect which is
not very different from the language you are studying, but which may be
of very great advantage to you."
Owen took the advice seriously, and thereafter went every morning
forward to the quarters of the crew. Nor was it long before he came upon
one of the men who was of very different character from his comrades. He
could speak English tolerably, and soon told his story.
"I am not like these other lascars, who are men of low caste," he said,
with every sign of disdain. "I come from Bhurtpore, and am a Mahratta by
birth. There I lived with my father till ten years ago, when I fled for
my life. It is a little tale, which is of no great interest, sahib, but
here it is. It happened that there was a girl, the daughter of a
neighbouring farmer, to whom I was to be married, and should have been
but for my half-brother. He acted like a cur. He stole her from me, and
then killed her with his cruelty. In a fit of rage one day I slew him,
and fled from the punishment which would have followed. That is why I am
here now. Some day, perhaps, I shall return to my home."
"And in the meanwhile I want you to talk to me every day, Mulha,"
answered Owen. "One of these days I may find it useful, and if you have
the time to spare I shall be glad. I will pay you a rupee a week for the
service."
"I gladly accept, sahib," was the answer.
Thereafter Owen spent many hours forward in the early morning, while in
the later part of the day he and Mr. Parkins tramped the narrow deck, or
lay under the awnings, talking in Hindustani, till our hero was really
very proficient.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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