At Cawnpore I put up with the major, who, the reader may remember, was one of our passengers in the _Rottenbeam Castle_. He was a most worthy, gentlemanly fellow, as great a griffin as myself, though likely to continue so to the end of the chapter, for two very good reasons: one, because he had passed that age after which, as I have before stated, in an early part of these memoirs, the process of accommodation to Indian habits becomes an exceedingly difficult one; and secondly, because he had the honour to belong to one of H.M.’s regiments, in which it must be sufficiently obvious, without my troubling the reader or myself with an elaborate explanation, that a knowledge of Indian manners, language, and customs is not so likely to be acquired as in a sepoy corps, where a European is brought into constant contact with the natives. The major, who was accustomed to the best society of England, had a considerable admixture of the exquisite in his composition; but it sat so easily upon him he did not know it, and being natural, was consequently agreeable. I would not have it inferred, exactly, that I think all things which are genuine must necessarily please, but that nature is always a redeeming feature, and when associated with what is in itself excellent, it constitutes the master-charm. The major gave me a room in his bungalow, to which I soon had all my valuables transferred from the bolio. The same day the manjee came up to make his salaam, and demand the balance of what was due to him for his boat. He was accompanied by his sable crew, jolly fellows, who had carried me on their shoulders over many a nullah, and plunged many a time and oft in the Ganges for me, to pick up a bird. There they were, “four-and-twenty blackbirds all in a row,” in the major’s verandah, squatted on their hams, and dressed in their best attire. Every face had become familiar to me; I knew most of their names, their peculiar _fortes_, from the purloiner _en passant_ of _kuddoos_[51] and cucumbers, the thief in ordinary to the mess, to the instructor of the paroquets, and the cook to the crew, and associated one or more of their names with almost every sporting adventure or exploit in which I had been engaged on my way up—a long four months’ trip. It is true I subjected them occasionally to the rigorous discipline of the Marpeetian code; in other words, thrashed them soundly when they hesitated to plunge into an alligatorish-looking pool after a wounded dabchick, or capsized my griffinship, as happened once or twice, when staggering with me Scotch-cradle fashion, gun and all, through the shallows, to my bolio; but the good-natured, placable creatures soon forgot it, and we were on the whole very good friends. I believe they knew I was a griffin, and, cognizant of the infirmities of that singular animal, made allowances for me, particularly as I gave them sometimes, by way of compensation, a rupee or a feed of _metais_ (sweetmeats).