incarnate, the natives of this country will not be able to cope with him.”
According to Amyatt’s orders, two Englishmen by name Galstaun and Johnson accompanied Bakaullah armed.
When they were about to start Galstaun asked Bakaullah————
“Had you ever been inside the house?”
“No,” said Bakaullah.
Then addressing Johnson, Galstaun said, "In that case take some candles and matches with you. Hindus do not burn oil for expense.”
Johnson took some candles and matches in his pocket.
Then they began to step the public highway in the solemn tramp of a British march. No one spoke a word. Four sepoys, the sergeant and Bakaullah, brought up the rear. The city watchman shrank away in fear on their appearance. Galstaun and Johnson together with the sepoys silently approached Protap’s house and gave low knocks on the door. Ramcharan got up and came to answer the door.
Ramcharan was a peerless servant. In shampooing, in anointing the oil, he was a finished hand. In plaiting the wearing cloth, in getting up the toilet, he was extremely clever. In looking after the lights and furniture, he had no match. In striking a bargain, the like of him was rare. But these were his minor qualifications. He was well-known all over Murshidabad for weilding the club; many Hindus and Mussalmans had measured the ground under the charm of his arm. How quick he was with his gun, and of what unerring aim, had been written with the blood of Foster on the waters of the Ganges.
