and spurred him on, panting, bewildered,—without
food or veapons—into a region
only trodden by robbers and wild animals.

Lutfullah, even if he had been an expert
Shikaree, had no gun or other weapon, than
a pellet-bow, which an old Bheel had given
him, and which the boys of the tribe use
against feathered game with amazing skill.
These pellet-bows are shaped like an ordinary
European bow, but have two strings,
between which a slip of network sustains a
pellet of hard clay, about the size of a school-
boy's marble. This curious contrivance
requires a peculiar twist at the moment of
discharging, to prevent the pellet's hitting
the sportsman's hand, and Lutfullah missed
every shot, until he gave up the hope of
maintaining himself by the chace. Luckily
there were sufficient wild figs and other fruit,
hanging from the dense boughs he threaded
his way among, to preserve him from absolute
starvation. Water, too, was often to be
procured. But he suffered much from fatigue;
for, if he sank down for awhile to rest or to
snatch a little sleep, the horrid war-cries of
the Bheels were in his ears, and fancy
represented every rustling leaf as the tread of an
enemy. Lutfullah, therefore, pushed on,
among clouds and crags, and through
thickets, until evening came on. With
the darkness new fears assailed him. The
long, whining howl of the jackal, and the
snarl of the dholes, or wild dogs, reminded
him that he was an involuntary trespasser
on the domains of the wild beasts.

The pellet-bow at length brought down
three sparrows and a parrot. The sparrows
were lawful food, but the parrot—the parrot
was an unhallowed thing! Necessity has
no law, and parrot, after all, is not pork;
so poor Poll was plucked, roasted, and eaten.
Glad was Lutfullah Khan when he caught
sight of human forms and faces once more.
But, as Robinson Crusoe, after longing for
communion with his kind, was yet obliged
to shrink away from his first savage visitors,
so Lutfullah felt very ill at ease as he
approached a party of poor men and women,
of the Bheel race, gathering firewood. To
his great joy, after some miles of marching,
he beheld the gardens and roofs of a civilised
community. The village was Hasilpoor, and
Lutfullah found food and shelter with that
identical Sheikh Nusrullah whose beard he
had, in his boyish mischief, so wantonly
singed. But the good old Mussulman bore
no malice, and tended and fed his guest, very
poorly, it is true, but to the best of his power.
Here evil news greeted him. His step-father,
the subahdlar, had quarrelled, at Holkar's capital
of Indore, with his brother-in-law. The
two robbers had fought, and the subahdar was
killed on the spot; his murderer being shot
by one of the persons who tried to apprehend
him. Then followed one of those memorable
sentences, so common among native governments,
and which the admirers of Oriental
justice would do well to notice. As the two
brothers-in-law had broken the peace, and
died in a quarrel, the widows and children
of the deceased were deprived of all their heritage,
and all the property was seized by the
peons of Government. Lutfullah found his
mother impoverished and dying. Physicians
were consulted: the sufferer was removed to
her native town; her son tended her with
anxiety and affection; but she died soon after
her arrival at Ujjain, leaving her little boy
to Lutfullah's care. Lutfullah's purse ran dry
at the end of the funeral ceremonies, and he
was very thankful to obtain the postmastership
of a village called Dharampoor, at the foot of
the Sindua Pass. Thus, for the first time,
Lutfullah ate the salt of the English Government.
But in four months the post ceased
to traverse Dharampoor, and Lutfullah's
employment was at an end.

Finding his way to different European
stations, he procured employment of a nature
suited to his abilities, becoming a Moonshee,
or language-master, to various European
officers. He continued, with a few
interruptions, to give instruction in the Oriental
languages until the year eighteen hundred
and thirty-five. At Surat he learned our
language, which he styles the most difficult in
the world, after eight years' study of it. He
dived with eagerness among the treasures of
our literature, enjoyed our poets, was
enlightened by our philosophers, and even
translated part of Goldsmith's Natural
History into Persian. Sometimes he was the
instructor of some young officer in Hindustani,
sometimes a clerk or translator in the
Company's pay, sometimes the confidential
servant of a titular Nawab or Mahratta
Rajah. He never failed, however, to tire
speedily of the meanness and depravity of
his native employers, and to return to his
favourite masters, the English. Under
British protection he marched with armies,
explored almost untrodden mountains, made
repeated sea voyages, and shared, as a
non-combatant, in several campaigns.

Lutfullah's first experience of actual war
was in a skirmish between the detachment
he accompanied and a body of Scindians.
The latter were surprised and signally
defeated; but turned out afterwards to be
friends, and, in fact, allies, whom a crafty
native had avenged some old grudge upon
by pointing them out as enemies to the
British. The second expedition was against
the revolted islanders of two sacred places,
Dwarka and Bet. Here Lutfullah beheld
some sharp fighting, for the idolaters
possessed cannon and a strong fort. The place
was taken, but the garrison died sword in
hand, showing the most stubborn courage.
On exploring the sacred islands, Lutfullah
was surprised and affected at discovering the
shrine of a Mahommedan saint, one Pir
Patta, of beatified memory, "a light of
Islam," as he says, " shining lustrously in the