So I cast about for a shop where I might buy a
little food with my few coppers, and seeing a confectioner spreading out
his wares, I went near and took stock of the queer balls of flour and
sugar, and strange oily-looking sweetmeats. Having selected what I
thought would be within my modest means, I addressed the shopkeeper to
call his attention, though I knew he would not understand me, and I
touched with my hand the article I wanted, showing with the other some
of the small coins I had. As soon as I touched the sweetmeats the man
became very angry, and bounding from his seat called his neighbours
together, and they all shouted and screamed at me, and called a man I
thought to be a soldier, though he looked more like an ape in his long
loose trousers of dirty black, and his untidy red turban, under which
cumbrous garments his thin and stunted frame seemed even blacker and
more contemptible than nature had made them. I afterwards discovered him
to be one of the Bombay police. He seized me by the arm, and I, knowing
I had done no wrong, and curious to discover, if possible, what the
trouble was, accompanied him whither he led me. After waiting many hours
in a kind of little shed where there were more policemen, I was brought
before an Englishman. Of course all attempts at explanation were
useless.
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