Monday, Dec. 17th, 1838.

THE Maharajah asked G. to go with him on Sunday afternoon to look at his fort of Govindghur, in which he keeps all his treasures; and it is certain that whoever gets hold of Govindghur at his death will also get hold of his kingdom. He never allows anybody to enter it, and E. says, that in all the thirteen years he has been with him he has never been able to get a sight of it, and he was convinced that Runjeet would either pretend to be ill, or to make some mistake in the hour, so that he would not really show G. even the outside of it. It was rather late before Kurruck Singh came to fetch G.; however, they soon met the Maharajah, and went towards the fort. An officer came to ask his ‘hookum,’ or orders, and he told him to have the gates opened, and desired G. to take in all the officers of his escort, even any engineers. Then he led him all over the fort, showed him where the treasure was kept, took him up to the roof, where there was a carpet spread, and two gold chairs, and there sat and asked questions about cannons and shells, and mines, and forts in general. The Europeans were all amazed; but they say the surprise of Runjeet’s own sirdars was past all concealment; even the common soldiers began talking to B. about it, and said that they now saw that the Sikhs and English were ‘to be all one family, and to live in the same house.’ It certainly is very odd how completely the suspicious old man seems to have conquered any feeling of jealousy, and it is entirely his own doing, against the wishes and plans of his prime ministers, and of most of his sirdars; but he has taken his own line, and says he is determined to show how complete his confidence is.

Whenever he dies, this great kingdom, which he has raked together, will probably fall to pieces again. His prime minister, Dhian Singh, will probably take Cashmere and the hill provinces, and, they say, is strong enough to take all the rest. But the people generally incline to the foolish son Kurruck Singh, and he will have the PunjÂb. The army is attached to our dear friend Shere Singh; but Runjeet has deprived him of most of his income, or it is just possible his dear fat head will be chopped off, unless he crosses to our side of the river.

Wednesday, Dec. 19th.

We marched yesterday from Umritzir, and are to make four marches to Lahore.

The maids were quite delighted with an adventure they had in the morning’s march. Several mounted soldiers stopped their elephant, and said that Shere Singh’s wife wanted to see them. She came up in a dhoolie covered with gold curtains, in which there was a slit, through which she protruded one finger and then presented an eye. After a long study of Jones, she told her bearers to carry her round to the other side of the elephant, and desired Wright to put up her veil, that she might have a good look at her. Then she told them that she had never seen any white women before, and that they must come to her tent. An hour after breakfast one of her guards arrived and carried off the hirkaru who had been with the maids, and took him to Shere Singh’s camp, where the lady spoke to him from behind the purdah, and said she must have a visit from the maids, and that she was going to take a bath and dress herself, and then they were to come. I wrote to Major E. for his advice, and he made all the necessary enquiries, but unluckily ascertained that this was not one of the four legitimate Mrs. Sheres, who are visitable, and indeed the most exemplary wives in the world. This woman is all very well in her way, and for many years has been the reigning favourite, but he thought they had better not go to see her. The difficulty was to make an excuse, as she is always accustomed to have her own way, but G. managed it somehow. I was rather sorry he was so prudish, for it would have been a great treat for the maids, and something quite new. Shere Singh and his boy dined with us. He made a long whispered confidence to Mr. A. in the evening, and then went off to the other table, that Mr. A. might whisper it to me, and it was to the effect that his wife (that improper word natives cannot bear to mention) had heard from her little boy that we had been kind to him, and was longing to see us, and had prepared presents for us; and he hoped we would go to his palace at Lahore.

Shalimar, Thursday, Dec. 20th.

Shalimar is the garden where Dr. D. and W. lived when they suffered so much from heat last year. We are encamped close by it. I believe it is the real Shalimar where Lalla Rookh recognised Feramorz, but we do not happen to have a ‘Lalla Rookh’ at hand. Shere Singh came to my tent to sit for his picture—such a gorgeous figure! all over diamonds and emeralds; and as it was a first private visit, he brought a bag of rupees, which he waved round and threw on the ground, and of which it is indelicate to take the least notice. It is still more indelicate taking them at all, I think, but it cannot be helped. He made a very good picture. He was extremely curious about the arrangement of our tents, and poked about, looking into every book and box; and as he went away, he made A. and W. take him round to F.’s tent to look at everything there. I believe nothing can equal the shock it is to the Sikhs in general to see F. and me going about in this way. They come in crowds to ask for an explanation from the native servants. It is unpleasant being considered so disreputable; but ‘conscious worth, patient merit,’ and all that sort of thing, serve to keep us up, to say nothing of not understanding what they say. F. and I went to sketch in the gardens in the afternoon. They are a thick grove of orange and limes, so that they are cool at all times. G. settled that he would go too and take a quiet walk and look about him, with only an aide-de-camp. Deluded creature! Inexperienced traveller! The instant he got on his elephant, bang went a gun. Shere Singh and Lehna Singh with their trains appeared, a troop of Sikhs wheeled up and began playing ‘God save the Queen,’ with every other bar left out, which makes rather a pretty air. Mr. C. was sent for to interpret. His lordship went on to the gardens, where we saw him debark, and a train of devoted gardeners met him with baskets of fruit. We made him a sign not to come and interrupt our sketching, but from the opposite walk there debouched Kurruck Singh, and Ajeet Singh, and the old fakeer, sent by Runjeet to see that all was right. The brothers Kurruck and Shere don’t speak, and G. said it was horrible to see the agitation with which Shere Singh clutched hold of him, and Kurruck laid hold of the other hand, and they handed him along towards us, oversetting our tonjauns, and utterly discomposing our perspective. G. bears a real ceremony beautifully when he has made up his mind to it, and indeed rather likes it; but when he has made up his mind the other way, and wishes to see any curious sight quietly, he becomes frantic with bore if he is interrupted.

Lahore, Friday, Dec. 21.

Yesterday evening Runjeet gave us a party in the Shalimar Gardens, which were illuminated in every direction. The party was like all the others, except that it was less crowded, and there was an introduction of Afghans. The brother of our enemy Dost Mahomed, who is not fettered by foolish feelings of family affection, has come over to us. He and his sons and followers were rather picturesque, with their enormous coarse turbans and cloth gaberdines, and great jack-boots, amongst all those jewelled Sikhs. Runjeet was extremely civil to them. I thought one of the amusing incidents of the evening would be, that I should topple over backwards, chair and all, into the garden below the sort of open summer-house in which we were sitting. Runjeet is particular in the arrangement of his circle—and also rather peculiar. He and G. were seated just in a corner of the open arch, so as to have a side view of the fireworks, and my chair was put next to Runjeet’s in the middle of the arch, with no ledge to the floor and my back to the garden. I moved off, on pretence that I could see nothing, but he sent for me back again, and I think must have been disappointed at the precision with which I sat bolt upright. I always try to flirt a little with Kurruck Singh, the heir-apparent, who is supposed to be a goose, but ‘a great parti,’ as C. would say; but I think the Maharajah sees through me, for he always says to C., ‘What’s that?’ and then answers for his son. I wish he would not—I think my Kurruck would be pleasant, if they ever let him open his lips. I asked him if he had ever tasted any English wine, and he said he never drank any wine at all, upon which Runjeet immediately gave him his own little glass full of spirits, and laughed with the greatest delight at his son’s taking it. F. and I came away very early.

Most of the camp came in procession with G. and the Maharajah through the town, which F. says was very dirty and not odoriferous. Runjeet led them in and out and round about for two hours. I cannot stand much elephant, so I came across the country in the tonjaun, with Captain E. and Mr. A., who rode. The Sikh guards led us right through the fields, where there was no shade, but it was rather nice, and gave one a reminiscence of Shottesbrooke and partridge shooting. We saw in the distance the dust of our moving camp, and blessed ourselves. It was only four miles by this route from one camp to the other. Of course, Shere Singh and PertÂb came to dinner. The little boy is quite set on learning English, and he says, in such a droll voice, ‘Chance, sit up,’ ‘plate,’ ‘glass,’ and a few other words he has picked up. To fill up the evenings, we have taught him that game of soldiers by making round dots on a piece of paper, which he and W. play at; and before dessert was over, he asked whether it was not time to go into the next room. He wanted to kill Dost Mahomed with his pencil.

Heera Singh, Runjeet’s favourite, came to my tent to sit for his picture, but there was some difficulty about his coming, so he arrived late, and it was too dark to draw him well. Runjeet sent word that he considered him ‘his best-beloved son,’ and hoped somebody of consideration would be sent to fetch him. Dhian Singh, the prime minister, and the ruler of one-third of the PunjÂb, was coming at the same time to see G. in a private manner. He is Heera Singh’s father, but Runjeet sent ‘the best-beloved son’ with quantities of elephants, and two regiments, to take care of him, while Dhian Singh came on horseback, with only four soldiers riding behind him. He is a very striking-looking man, and his manners are much more pleasing than his son’s.

Sunday, Dec. 23.

We went yesterday afternoon to a review of Runjeet’s goocherras. His grandson, Noor Nahal, my friend Kurruck’s son, and the probable heir, was there. He very nearly died of cholera ten days ago, so we had not seen him. Runjeet treated him with great distinction. He was very interesting-looking, like young Lord E., with enormous black eyes, very sallow, as all Sikh natives are, and he was propped up with cushions and covered with jewels. He was very popular a year ago, but they say has turned out ill since he has been his own master.

The first show of the day was Runjeet’s private stud. I suppose fifty horses were led past us. The first had on its emerald trappings, necklaces arranged on its neck and between its ears, and in front of the saddle two enormous emeralds, nearly two inches square, carved all over, and set in gold frames, like little looking-glasses. The crupper was all emeralds, and there were stud-ropes of gold put on something like a martingale. Heera Singh said the whole was valued at 37 lacs (370,000l.); but all these valuations are fanciful, as nobody knows the worth of these enormous stones; they are never bought or sold. The next horse was simply attired in diamonds and turquoises, another in pearls, and there was one with trappings of coral and pearl that was very pretty. Their saddle-cloths have stones woven into them. It reduces European magnificence to a very low pitch.

Runjeet has got a fit of curiosity about our religion, from our having declined engagements for Sundays and for Christmas-day; and he has sent the fakeer twice to Mr. Y. to say he wants to have translations of what it is, he says to the Lord Sahib every Sunday; and to-day, after the review, he stopped Mr. Y. and asked him a great many questions about our prayers, &c.

The review was picturesque, but rather tiresome; however, I did not much care, for I changed places with E., and got a quiet corner from which I could sketch Runjeet. I was on his blind side, but they said he found it out, and begged I might not be interrupted. One of his native painters was sketching G., and if my drawing looked as odd to him as his did to me, he must have formed a mean idea of the arts in England. They put full eyes into a profile, and give hardly any shade. They paint their own people with European complexions, from coxcombry, so that ours are a great puzzle to them, because we are so white. They had given G. light red hair. I made a great addition to my stock of curiosities yesterday in an agate dagger and cup, and I had a great miss this morning of some trays and cups japanned in Cashmere. A man brought them to my tent, and I would not buy them because it was Sunday; upon which W. O., who does not keep the Sunday so well as I do, immediately snapped them up. This place is full of Cashmerees. G., and the camp in general, went across the river to see the ruins of Noorjhem’s tomb. I went with X. to an enamelled mosque in the city, which must have been splendid in the Mussulman days, but the Sikhs keep up nothing of that sort. However, it is still very beautiful, and would have been charming sketching, but the crowd was so enormous the guards were of no use. It is not an uncivil crowd, all things considered—we merely threw them one and all into genuine fits of laughter; but X., who understands their language, says they did not say anything meant for impertinence, only they had never seen a European woman before, and ‘what an odd thing it was to be so white!’ And then my Leghorn bonnet was a great subject of wonder and dispute.