This stuff, signed by the functionary aforesaid,
but doubtless concocted without his privity by one of his graceless
subordinates, I knew to be the only satisfaction I was to look for. A
request for revision of judgment would have been received with silent
scorn, and appeal there was none. Digesting my disgust as best I
could, I lighted my cheroot with the mendacious foolscap and blushed
for my species.
Let us pass on to the beginning of 1851. Having then been stationary
at Benares for a whole year, I was longing for a little variety. Oude,
deservedly called the Garden of India, was, by all accounts, well
worth visiting. I resolved to visit it. But not merely was independent
exploration in that kingdom attended with risk: in strict propriety,
one had no business there except by royal authority, which royal
authority, as concerned a traveler, strongly recommended itself to
respectful consideration from including a guard, and that free of
expense. An acquaintance of mine wrote a letter for me to the Resident
at Lucknow, Sir Henry Sleeman. The royal authority was obtained, and
the guard inclusive was to meet me on the Oude frontier. Tents were
borrowed; servants and camels were hired; long consultations were held
with old stagers in the marching line. The canvas which was to shelter
me for six weeks was built up in front of my house, and already I felt
myself half a nomad.
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