A week later we had set forth, Tom, Charlie, and myself. We took Aunt Jane’s advice (it was all she had given us), and despatched our tents and carts twenty-four hours’ ahead, so as to give them a good start. We cantered out after them, a fifteen-mile ride, the following day. It was my first experience of camp life, and perfectly delightful; the tent under the trees felt so cool and fresh, in comparison with a sun-baked bungalow. Our servants, who appeared quite at home, had built a mud fireplace, and were cooking the dinner; the milch goats were browsing, and the poultry picking about in the adaptable manner of an Indian bazaar fowl. Our next halt was to be twenty miles farther on, at an engineer’s bungalow, which was splendidly situated between a forest swarming with game and a river teeming with fish. Here we intended to remain for some time; we should be in the territory of the Rajah of Betwa, and were bearers of a letter asking for his assistance, in the way of procuring provisions in the villages. At midday we halted for several hours in a mango tope, the home of thousands of monkeys, and went forward again about four o’clock. Our road was bordered at either side by a golden sea of gently waving crops, for we were in the heart of a great wheat country. Presently we passed through the town of Betwa, which chiefly consisted of a long dirty bazaar, an ancient fort, and a high mud wall, enclosing the palace of the rajah. About a mile beyond the outskirts, we beheld a cloud of yellow dust rapidly approaching. “I’ll bet ten to one it’s the rajah,” said Tom, as he abruptly pulled up his pony. I felt intensely excited. I had never seen a real live rajah in my life; and I held myself in readiness for any amount of pomp and splendour, from milk-white arabs with gold trappings, to a glass coach. But what was this that I beheld, as we drew respectfully to one side? I could scarcely believe my own eyes, as there thundered by a most dilapidated waggonette, drawn by one huge bony horse and a pony, truly sorry steeds; the harness was tied up with rope, and even rags! Seated in front was a spare dark man, with a disagreeable expression, dressed in a stuff coat, the colour of Reckitt’s blue, and a gold skull-cap. He salaamed to us in a condescending manner, and was presumably the rajah. A fat pock-marked driver held the reins; in the body of the waggonette were six men (the suite), and their united weight gave the vehicle a dangerous tilt backwards. The equipage was accompanied by four ragamuffins, with long spears, riding miserable old screws with bell-rope bridles. They kept up a steady tittuping canter, raising a cloud of suffocating dust, in which they presently vanished. “I can’t believe that _that_ is a rajah, much less _our_ rajah,” I remarked to my companions.