TWENTY-FIVEMID-AFTERNOON of the first day’s journey after the first night’s stop, the dooly-bearers stopped chanting of the joys of good food and faithful wives and sang a song about me. One after another made up a verse, then all joined in the refrain.
The memsahib is a small memsahib, as memsahibs go;
She is not much taller and fatter than a Bengali virgin,
That the rajah buys when he is old and feeble.
Jog along, jog along, down the long road.
Food and rest are waiting for us, Hai!
This morning she got out of the dooly and rode her horse,
But we were fresh then, and hardly missed her burden.
Tomorrow I hope she will ride in the afternoon.
Jog along, jog along, down the long road.
Food and rest are waiting for us, Hai!
What has the memsahib eaten since her breakfast?
It is mo
