'Up the Country': Letters Written to Her Sister from the Upper Provinces of IndiaEden, Emily
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'Up the Country': Letters Written to Her Sister from the Upper Provinces of India
Eden, Emily
Eden, Emily, 1797-1869 -- Correspondence; India -- Description and travel
Captain D. went to live with his brother, who has a bungalow here, which
he very kindly offered me. It is pouring so again to-night that I wish I
had taken it; but then if I had carried off the cook and the
dining-tables and the lamps, &c., I thought the aides-de-camp would be
wretched, and L. E. is not well enough to go out; but to be sure, these
tents! If it were not for the real misery to so many people, the
incidents of the day would have been rather amusing. There is not of
course a tent for the servants, so they are living in the khenauts (the
space between the outer covering and the lining of our three tents), and
there are thirty sleeping in my outer room, if room it may be called.
The difficulties went on increasing. W.'s greyhounds, ten of them, were
standing where his tent (now at Hissar) usually is, and the men said
they would die, so we put them in the khenauts and told the dogs that
they must not bark and the men that they must not cough, and hitherto
they have been very quiet. My syce came to tell P. that my horse was not
used to stand out all day in the rain, and that if it did Mr. Webb would
kill him. I should assist at the execution, though how the poor syce
could help it I don't quite see. I would have given Orelio my own
blankets willingly and put him to bed with my own nightcap on, but
unluckily the bed did not come till the afternoon, and was then a
perfect sponge. However, we lodged the horse somehow. Then F. had two
Barbary goats, which she had ordered on the lemur's death, thinking they
were pretty, soft, hairy things, instead of which there arrived two days
ago, large, smooth, _bleak_-looking English goats. However, she told me
to take the greatest care of them when they came up. At twelve, a coolie
without a stitch of clothes on, walked in with a Barbary kid on his
back, stiff and stark. No interpreter at hand, so where the mother was
remained a mystery. F. might have fancied to her dying hour that I had
let her Barbary goats die--nobody ever thinks their children or pets are
properly taken care of; so I set off rubbing, and made my two boys,
Soobratta and Ameer, rub the kid too, and we poured hot things down its
throat. We should have been worth millions to the Humane Society, but
the kid would not come to. Then I made them dig a hole in the outer tent
and put charcoal in it, and when it was quite hot we took out the
charcoal and put in the kid--just like singeing a pig; but it was a
bright idea, and quite cured it. Just as we had got the little brute on
its legs, the mother was brought in, and we went through the same
process with her. When they were quite well, they were also sent to
sleep in the khenauts.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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