sugary coating of Eastern politeness.

His own linguistic abilities being unequal to the occasion, he sends off
somewhere for a dusky Hindostani, who shortly arrives and, in obedience
to orders, forthwith begins jabbering at me in his own tongue. Of this I,
of course, know literally nothing, and, ever swayed by suspicion, it is
easily perceivable that their first impression of my being a Russian spy
is in a measure revived by my ignorance of Hindostani. They seem to think
it inconsistent that one could be an Englishman and not understand the
language of a native of India. After the interview the twelve red-jackets
that appear to constitute the Governor's bodyguard are detailed to
conduct me to a walled garden--outside the city. Before departing,
however, I give the strange assembly of Afghan warriors an exhibition of
riding around the compound. The guard, under the leadership of the
officer with the bull-dog phiz, fix bayonets and form into a file on
either side of me as I trundle back through the same street traversed
upon my arrival. Accompanying us is a man on a gray horse whom everybody
addresses respectfully as "Kiftan Sahib" (Captain), and another
individual afoot in a bottle-green roundabout, a broad leathern belt, a
striped turban, white baggy pantalettes, and pointed red shoes. Kiftan
Sahib looks more like an English game-keeper than an Afghan captain; he
wears a soiled Derby hat, a brown cut-away coat, striped pantaloons, and
Northampton-made shoes without socks; his arms are a cavalry sabre and a
revolver.

Outside the gate, at the suggestion of the young man in the bottle-green
roundabout, I mount and ride, wheeling slowly along between the little
files of soldiers. The soldiers are delighted at the novelty of their
duty, and they swing briskly along as I pedal a little faster. They smile
at the exertion necessary to keep up, and falling in with their spirit of
amusement, I gradually increase my speed, and finally shoot ahead of them
entirely. Kiftan Sahib comes galloping after me on the gray, and with
good-humored anxiety motions for me to stop and let the soldiers catch
up. He it is upon whom the commander-in-chief has saddled the
responsibility for my safe-keeping, and this little display of levity and
my ability to so easily out-distance the soldiers, awakens in him the
spirit of apprehension at once. One can see that he breathes easier as
soon as we are safely inside the garden gate.

A couple of lit