Hindoo-Rao died in eighteen hundred and fifty-four. His funeral was thus described to me by a friend who witnessed it: "They dressed up the old gentleman's corpse in his most magnificent costume, covered his arms with jewelled bracelets of gold, with costly necklaces of pearls and diamonds hanging down to his waist, placed him in a chair of state, sat him bolt upright--just as he used to sit when alive--and thus, attended by his relations, friends, and suite he was carried through Delhi to the banks of the Jumna, where the body was burnt with the usual rites, and the ashes thrown into the river."
Mr. Skinner also is dead. He died in eighteen hundred and fifty-five. When I think of him I am rejoiced that he did not survive to be brutally massacred, as his brothers have been; or to see his house (near the Cashmere Gate) which was always the scene of good-fellowship and good-feeling, turned into a battery by the rebels; or the church, built by his father, burned and destroyed by the people who had for years and years paid, or affected to pay, unqualified respect and devotion to his family.
I made the acquaintance of another personage at Delhi, for whom I had a very great liking and regard. This was Mirza Futteh Allee Shah Bahadoor, the heir apparent to the throne of Delhi. He was a very amiable and intelligent prince, and had an extraordinary thirst for knowledge. Amongst other things that he was curious to learn was the history of steam power, railroads, and the electric telegraph. For hours together he would encourage me--nay, importune me, to talk with him on these matters. _Apropos_ of this prince and his family--while I was at Delhi the festival of the Eed came to pass, and there was an omen which was variously interpreted. The King, in other words the Great Moghul, sacrifices a camel. The King kills (or used to kill) the camel with his own hand, by driving a spear into the breast of the animal. On the occasion to which I now refer, the King, being extremely old and feeble, was assisted by two attendants, and, in attempting to drive the spear, it broke in two pieces. That was the omen. The friends of Mirza Futteh Allee Shah Bahadoor interpreted it as prognosticating the King's death and the speedy succession of the heir apparent to the throne. Others, however, said that it prognosticated the downfall of the King and of his throne for ever. Mirza died about a year ago of an attack of cholera; and it may not be premature perhaps to say that the throne of the Great Moghul will not in future be recognised. There was another curious prophecy connected with the throne of Delhi, and current for many years in the Punjab. It was implicitly believed that the Sikh soldiery would one day or other, and before long, sack Delhi; and, in eighteen hundred and forty-five, when the Sikh army crossed our frontier, Delhi was its destination. This prophecy has to some extent been fulfilled. The Sikh soldiers have tasted of the plunder of Delhi. But who could ever have dreamed that their entry into the city of the Great Moghul would be in company with British soldiers? It is as though, and quite as incredible as if, some one had predicted in eighteen hundred and sixteen that, in eighteen hundred and fifty-five, the Queen of England, a grand-daughter of George III., would be a guest at the Tuileries of an Emperor of the French, and a nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte; and that such Queen would be led upon the arm of such Emperor to visit the tomb of the Prisoner of St. Helena.