to do, as years went on, to provide for
the sustenance of the family, and to keep
in order that little Mussulman Pickle, the
young Lutfullah. His mother's dowry
consisted of jewels to the modest value of
four hundred rupees (forty pounds), and the
sale of these warded off actual starvation.
Meanwhile, the uncle transcribed manuscripts
for sale, and attended carefully to the shrine.
One source of profit this pious family of
Synds enjoyed, which illustrates strangely
the morality of India beyond the reach of
British power. Those were the palmy days
of Pindhareeism. Vast bodies of horsemen
used to assemble two or three times a year,
but generally at the end of the rainy season,
to make a lubhar, or foray, across the richest
and most undefended provinces. Any chief
of name and energy could raise an army in a
month. The Pindharees had no baggage;
they had no cannon; they had no infantry.
Avoiding battles, shunning difficult
mountains, they swept over India like a besom,
and destroyed as much or more than they
carried away. On their unshod horses they
often accomplished eighty miles in a single
day. The terror they spread, the damage
they did, were only to be equalled by the
difficulty of catching them. Our heavily
accoutred light horse pursued them in vain.
Our native sowars flinched from the sight of
their forests of spears. Infantry could never
reach them, except by surprise or ambuscade.
Their cruelty equalled their cunning. Every
torture, from the nose-bag full of hot ashes
to the torments of Regulus, was used to
extort money, though often the stubbornness of
the Hindoo prevailed; the merchant died
under the infliction, and the knowledge of his
hoard died with him. Yet, these fierce
marauders, being chiefly Moslems, not only
respected the relatives of Lutfullah, but gave
them presents.

Meanwhile, the little Lutfullah grew up, a
clever and mischief-loving imp. He went
through the approved course of a believer's
education, though not many Mahommedans
learn as much as he did, who was a Moulah's
son, and almost a priest from the cradle.
Koran chanting, to read and write Hindustani
and Persian, with the rudiments of Arabic (for
the Koran is learned by rote) were his
accomplishments. But he played sundry pranks,
which he relates with infinite glee. He sorely
singed and blew up with gunpowder the white
beard of a holy man, Sheikh Nusrullah, and
for this he was beaten by his uncle and
schoolmaster; while his mother threatened
to burn him with red-hot pincers if he sinned
again. He did sin again by hocussing his
schoolmaster's coffee. Soon after this his
envious cousins, who were well-grown lads,
invited him to bathe, decoyed him into the
deepest part of a tank, in front of a ruinous
Hindoo temple, and left him to drown.
He was saved by a benevolent Hindoo, the
priest in charge of the pagan temple, one
Rajaram, who hung him, head downwards,
from a tree, and, in fact, tormented him in
exactly the good old English fashion of
recovering half-drowned persons. But Rajaram
tended the child well, protected him from his
cruel cousins, and refused all recompense,
though he lived on alms. Lutfullah's health
next became precarious; his relations told
him that to eat meat was to die; he at once
longed for meat, ate it, and recovered. He
was then recommended to addict himself to
the hookah. It would do him good, would
be a tonic, an antidote, everything. So, at
eight years of age Lutfullah became a smoker.

Not long after, the child accompanied his
uncle to Baroda, where for the first time he
saw some of those wonderful Europeans,
whom he had so often heard abused or
ridiculed as absurd unbelievers, marvelled at as
white or "skinless" men, and reluctantly
praised for the one quality of inflexible justice.
The dress of the Europeans, tight fitting and
unoriental, much offended Lutfullah's young
eyes. To him it seemed ungraceful and
indelicate. In after times this impression wore
off in part; but in part only. In the course
of a second journey, his mother was persuaded
to marry a second time. Lutfullah's step-father
was a dark and portly man, an officer
of the Mahratta Prince, Scindiah, but of
course a Mahommedan, or he would not have
been thought worthy a Synd's widow.
Lutfullah never liked the subahdar, who,
however, was kind to him at first, and taught
him to ride and to handle arms. Soon after,
the subahdar fell into disgrace, a guard was
sent to secure his person and property, and
nothing but Lutfullah's address and boyish
cleverness saved his stepfather's life and
money-bags. The subahdar rose again in his
prince's favour; but soon after he had
settled at Gwalior, as one of Scindiah's body-
guards, and young Lutfullah had received a
handsome mare, sword, spear, and shield,
and was becoming a little soldier, times
changed. The subahdar became cruel and
exacting, and finally gave his stepson a
merciless beating. The boy's mother was
absent, his spirit was high, and he ran away,
carrying with him a loaf of bread, a rupee or
two, his little scimitar, and a beautiful copy
of Hafiz, which was a gift from the
Maharajah.

There is something strange and touching
in the notion of the lonely little Moslem boy
threading the jungle paths, and venturing out
into the world alone. His first encounter was
with a kind shepherd, who gave him milk;
his second was with a pretty Rajpoot maiden,
drawing water, who gave him to drink, but
could not suffer a Mussulman to touch her
pitcher. His third acquaintance was a Thug,
named Jumaa, or Friday, who tried to
induce the boy to join his murderous gang.
It is very rare for a Thug to be found quite
alone like this Jumaa; who was probably
the decoy-duck, or Sothae, of a band. The