The first thing was to purchase a nag, and the major in this undertook to assist me—and thereby hangs a tale. He intimated to one of his regimental functionaries that a young gentleman wanted a pony; and straightway a rare assortment of Rosinantes in miniature made their appearance in the compound. I never beheld the phrase of “raw head and bloody bones” so completely reduced to matter-of-fact before as in some of these _biting_ satires on the equine race, most of them grass-cutters’ tatoos—the quintessence of vice and deformity—a breed peculiar to India, and the very pariar of horses.[52] “Try this fellow, Gernon,” said the major, laughing; “I think he’ll do for you.” The major little thought how near he was to the mark. On his so saying, I mounted, or rather threw my leg over a very angular backbone, and seizing a primitive bridle of string or cord, solicited an onward movement with a “gee-up.” Now, whether it was that I touched a “tender point,” or being of greater specific gravity than a bundle of grass, I know not; but certainly I was no sooner in a “fix,” as the Yankees say, than the little devil emitted an appalling scream, clapped back his ears, and commenced a rapid retrograde movement, backing me into the midst of “seven devils” worse than himself. In a moment, I had double that number of heels in full play around me, spite of the tatoo owners’ attempts to drive off their animals. A thundering broadside in the ribs of my Bucephalus, which damaged my leg considerably, and other notes of battle sounding around, convinced me speedily that the sooner my friend and I parted company the better. I consequently rolled off, and scrambled out of the _mêlée_, receiving, in retreating, an accelerator in the shape of another kick on or about the region of the _os coccygis_. As for the major, he was almost in convulsions. “Confound it, major, that’s too bad of you,” said I, “to get me on the back of that imp, and now to laugh at my misfortunes.” “Oh! then, by dad, you must forgive me,” said he, his eyes still streaming; “but if it was my father himself I could not resist;” and again he laughed till he gave up through exhaustion. This over, I proceeded to a more cautious selection, and finally bought a tolerably decent-looking animal for Rs. 25, and who, bating that his fore-feet were in the first position, was worth the money. A small tent, in India termed a routee, rather the worse for wear, I bought for Rs. 60, and this, with a Cawnpore-made saddle and bridle, a hackery, two bullock-trunks, and a pair of bangy baskets, constituted my turn-out for the march. My friend the major kindly took me with him to messes and wherever he was invited.