I suppose everybody--everybody who has been in India, at least--has
heard the name of Bobbachy Bahawder: it is derived from the two
Hindustanee words--bobbachy, general; bahawder, artilleryman. He
had entered into Holkar's service in the latter capacity, and had,
by his merit and his undaunted bravery in action, attained the
dignity of the peacock's feather, which is only granted to noblemen
of the first class; he was married, moreover, to one of Holkar's
innumerable daughters; a match which, according to the Chronique
Scandaleuse, brought more of honour than of pleasure to the poor
Bobbachy. Gallant as he was in the field, it was said that in the
harem he was the veriest craven alive, completely subjugated by his
ugly and odious wife. In all matters of importance the late
Bahawder had been consulted by his prince, who had, as it appears
(knowing my character, and not caring to do anything rash in his
attack upon so formidable an enemy), sent forward the unfortunate
Pitan to reconnoitre the fort; he was to have done yet more, as I
learned from the attendant Puneeree Muckun, who was, I soon found
out, an old favourite with the Bobbachy--doubtless on account of
his honesty and love of repartee.

"The Bahawder's lips are closed," said he, at last, trotting up to
me; "has he not a word for old Puneeree Muckun?"

"Bismillah, mashallah, barikallah," said I; which means, "My good
friend, what I have seen is not worth the trouble of relation, and
fills my bosom with the darkest forebodings."

"You could not then see the Gujputi alone, and stab him with your
dagger?"