1 82 Indian Racing Reminiscences. 



by a small crowd, while the whole stand is radiantly 

 expectant. The Confederate doffs his coat and girds up 

 his loins. The gallant and noble No. i comes up to- 

 mount. ' Take off your coat,' says the Confederate. It 

 is done. ' Your waistcoat.' It is removed. ' Your 

 collar,' 'Well, I don't see the use of that,' replies the 

 other. ' Then book up,' retorts the Confederate. ' Carry 

 me first, if you can,' insists No. i, whose friend with the 

 best of stop watches is standing gravely by. ' Not a bit 

 of it,' replies the Southerner. ' I backed myself to carry 

 you, but not one stitch of your clothes ; and here I am 

 waiting to do it.' And amid a roar of laughter the Con- 

 federate opened the champagne /r^ bono publico. It may 

 be an old sell, but it was new to us." 



Colonel Turnbull's father was in the Bengal Civil 

 Service, and rose to be the judge of the High Court. 

 Four of his sons went to India, and became brilliant 

 representatives of the Civil Service, Artillery, Engineers, 

 and Cavalry. The Engineer brother died at his post 

 from fever contracted on duty on the Jumna Canal. The 

 brave Gunner was killed in the Indian Mutiny, and 

 Colonel Turnbull and his brother the judge returned to- 

 England together, after, respectively, thirty-nine and 

 thirty- six years of honourable and faithful service. My 



