. Our troubles in Poona and the Deccan by Arthur Crawford. With numerous illus. by Horace Van Ruith . sera. The plinth faces east—Sir Richard mounted it,and we all stood around him while he made a heart-stir-ring recitation. I see the scene now vividly before myeyes—seem to hear his very words. He first described thewild Mawalis, and Hedkaris and Pathans armed to theteeth, with shield, spear, sword and dagger, gathered inthe Durbar hall and on the steps—bales of spoil scatteredabout—gold and silver—jewels—rich clothing—and cashgalore. The great warrior Chiefs gathered in a semi-circlearound th
. Our troubles in Poona and the Deccan by Arthur Crawford. With numerous illus. by Horace Van Ruith . sera. The plinth faces east—Sir Richard mounted it,and we all stood around him while he made a heart-stir-ring recitation. I see the scene now vividly before myeyes—seem to hear his very words. He first described thewild Mawalis, and Hedkaris and Pathans armed to theteeth, with shield, spear, sword and dagger, gathered inthe Durbar hall and on the steps—bales of spoil scatteredabout—gold and silver—jewels—rich clothing—and cashgalore. The great warrior Chiefs gathered in a semi-circlearound the Founder of the Mahratta Empire, who, gor-geously arrayed, his good sword Bhowanee lying ready tohis hand, sat on the kincob cushions of the throne, award-ing praise or blame as seemed meet. A shortish, wiryman with looks of unusual intelligence, his visage generallydisplaying frank rough humour—his long ape-like arms(which Grant Duff tells us are thought a great beautyamong the Mahratta race)—folded on his knees or held upin gesticulation. The whole scene mayhap was lit by the. < IDJ?< o W rc H a;w H< o < G U o w LOOK HERE, UPON THIS PICTURE, & ON THIS. 105 rays of the rising sun, dispelling the masses of fleecy cloudsin the valleys beneath. Or, more likely still, a nocturnalDurbar lit up by waving torches, the back distance all ingloom, cross lights glinting ofif the polished shields andglittering spoil,—fierce faces appearing and disappearing—the tocsin resounding with enthusiastic cries of Jey! SiwajeeMaharaj Jey! An embroidered purdah (curtain) stretchedacross the back of the hall, from which ever and anonpeeped faces of the wives and female members of thefamily—exultant in the tumult. In the rear—fittest placefor them—a few white-clad Brahmins, like snakes in thegrass—subservient, humble, treacherous, as was theirwont. Anon, declaimed Sir Richard, the scene great Siwajee is dead and burnt on that plateau. Itis the cra
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