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Mahomed Omer Ali Khan, a Prince of India. (New York World.) A egenial Mahometan prince, Ma homed Omer Ali Khan, whose ances tors for 400 years have been Nawabs of Basoda, went to the Astor house last Sunday night. He had arrived with his servant, Dalsher Khan, and his chaperon, W. Mackinnon, of the India office, on the St. Louis. His Nawabship does not speak English, but his face beamed with pride when he showed The World reporter a letter from the India Office, which began: “The bearer hereof is a very intelligent Mahometan gentleman.” “What is Basoda’?’ asked the re porter. The official chaperon set his jaws in motion—it sounded as though he was cracking nuts—and a look of intelli gence came into the Nawab’s face. “He says,” replied the interpreter, “that Basoda is a tiny state in the in terior of India. It has 12,000 inhabit ants. They are mostly farmers. The Nawab is boss, as you call it here.” The Nawab’s face was a study. He could not understand a word of what his companion was saying, yet he seemed to fear that Mackinnon might make a mistake. And he frowned and smiled at once, and leaned over the table with his eyes glued to his com panion’s lips. “He's a bright old chap,”’ Mr. Mackin non went on, as though he was still translating, “and he’s got lots of money, but I'm glad I don’t have to travel all around the world with him. After we get through with this country I take him back to London.” Dalsher Khan, the servant, a bony fellow with bare feet and a fez on his head, stood propped against the wall, grinning. “What's the man grinning about?” “He's always grinning.” In the corner of the room was the baggage—awfully dirty. The Nawab leaned forward, showed two rows of gleaming teeth, and enunciated with painful distinctness—“Meestahr Vob? Then he smiled, and Mr. Mackinnon explained, ‘‘He’s talking English.” As the Nawab seemed to expect an answer, Mr. Mackinnon asked him what he wanted. When the rolling-mill had been set in operation intelligence dawned in the chaperon’s face, “He wants to know if you know Mr. Webb. “Meestahr Wob,” repeated the Newab, nodding vigorously. “Who is he?’ “He’s the American chap who went to India and became a Mussulman, and now he's preaching Islam in this coun try.” “Oh, yes, Alexander Russell Webb.” “The Nawab wants to know what he’s doing.” The reporter could not say. “The Nizam of Hyderabad,” Mr. Mac kinnon went on, translating what the Nawab was saying, “gave him a great deal of money. So did other princes. The Nawab did not give him anything because he did not like the man. Now he wants to get some information about him.” The Nawab of Basaia will go to Phil adelphia today. From there he will go to Chicago. Although he is a de vout Mohametan, he doesn’t carry his religion to the extent of having his servant prepare his food. The former Nawabs of Basoda did that, but this Nawab is up to date.
Newspaper Details
Goshen Daily News
Goshen, Indiana, US
Mon, Dec 02, 1895
Page 3
Full Page
Clipped by
Muhammed A.
USA 19 Feb 2026
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