Inside it is probably lined or probably not
lined – it is certainly not padded. It has two
seats, and the space between the two is
usually occupied by luggage, the top being
covered by a cushion; so that the traveller
extends himself with his feet up during the
entire journey, and has just room to lie at
full length if he feels so disposed. The well,
as we should call it in respect to an Irish
car, is usually devoted to the provisions;
and the top of the gharree (this is the
local name for a carriage), is piled with
trunks, or as many of them as one is not
obliged to send by another conveyance – by a
stray servant or two, it may be, and by the
coachman. But the loading of the outside is
not half so important a matter as the fitting up
of the inside. On each portion of the walls of
the gharree not occupied by the windows, there
are pockets, where those articles are stowed
which are in most constant requisition.
Some soda-water is a very desirable article,
as the water on the road, especially if
brought at night, may not be clean ; and
even if it is clean, one prefers not to take it
from a brass chillumchee, which is usually
devoted to lavatory purposes. Some brandy
or sherry is also a desirable thing to place in
one of the pockets, and the corkscrew
should always be deposited in one of the
near ones, although the point is apt to cut
through its covering, and run into your
shoulder. In the corresponding pocket to
that of the corkscrew, I would recommend
that you place your Colt's revolver, a precaution
which many Indian travellers neglect.
Since the Santal rebellion, however, I fancy
that few will be so unwise as to do so. The
biscuits should also be in an accessible
place; and if you are travelling alone,
or with a companion of your own sex,
you must have a five hundred box of
Manillas (I recommend number two) placed at
your feets, in that little economical space
which is saved under the seat of the driver;
but you need not kick this about too much
in your sleep. If your are travelling up with
the object of your matrimonial affetion, I
see now reason – unless she does – why you
should not have the same box, because there
are many opportunities when you may make
it mutually agreeable for your to sit up with the
coachman, and improve your mind and
Hindostanee by converse with that not always
uninteresting individual.

But all this time we are forgetting to start.
The coachman is quite accustomed to wait
hour after hour for his passengers : and, if
they chose to delay, would, I feel assured,
wait at least a fortnight, occasionally smoking
his hookah, and once a-day asking to go
off to his khana (dinner) without
manifesting any symptom of impatience. But
the period having arrived, and the horse –
to whom your delay has been so much
distinct gain – having been put in, there is no
longer any excuse, in anybody's case, for not
starting. The real difficulty of starting now
in all probability, commences, though the first
horse is generally a very favourable specimen
of those you are likely to get on the
road.

The horse generally commences his
performances in the following manner. First,
he won't go – and the uninitiated traveller
begins to think that the authorities have
made a mistake, and that the wrong
horse has been put into the wrong
place. A simple inquiry, however,
dissipates this delusion ; and it is found
that not to go at first is the regular thing.
The traveller accordingly sinks back upon the
pillows which he has carefully stowed under
his shoulders, and surrenders himself to our
old friend Circumstances, over which he has
no control. The principal circumstance in
question – that is, the horse – having declared
that he won't go in the beginning, is not
disposed to change his mind in a hurry. He
backs inevitably, rears probably, snorts
contingently, and evinces other symptoms of
having a will of his own, and not being
disposed to add a codicil to it. The driver, who
is now fairly launched into the demands of
the crisis, twitches at the reins in as uncoach-
manlike a style as is demanded by the very
unprofessional conduct of the animal – slashing
away with a leather-thonged whip, and
accompanying its conduct with
remonstrances. He is reinforced by a dozen natives,
who seize the wheels, two or three of them
at each, while others push on from behind,
with a chorus of guttural exclamations,
intended partly as a private gratification, partly
as an encouragement to the Circumstance.
He owns no medium. Then he does move,
he moves with a vengeance. He commences a
mad gallop, which swings the gharree from side
to side, the traveller's apprehensions being
drowned by the notes of a demoniacal post-horn
which the driver considers it his duty to sound
upon all great occasions. A mile is soon
traversed in this manner, and then the Circumstance
shows itself amenable to human control,
and gets into his ordinary pace, which, after
this, is not too quick to be alarming.

And now comes on the dead night, and
the desolation of the journey. We look
intently at nothing for a little time, through the
windows listening to the rattle of the vehicle
which becomes familiar to our ears. Then we
make a start on a sudden, and find we have
been to sleep. It is the stopping of the
vehicle which wakes us. We have done
the first stage – only six miles – and have
arrived at a "chokee" station. Here is a
miserable little hut, and a conglomeration
of partitions formed of mud, in which
the horses are stalled, destitute of roofs,
and apparently of beds. It is a hideous
place, like a huge dunghill, with little
mouldering fires here and there, from one of
which a chance stranger – native and naked –
gets you, after a great deal of fruitless