KANIYAJEE AND THE GOPEES.
From an Original Hindoo Painting
فاني پارکس
Title: Wanderings of a pilgrim in search of the picturesque, Volume 2 (of 2)
During four-and-twenty years in the east; with revelations of life in the zenāna
Author: Fanny Parkes Parlby
Release date: July 15, 2024 [eBook #74043]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Pelham Richardson, 1850
Credits: ellinora and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
Transcriber’s Note: This book was published in two volumes, of which this is the second. The first volume was released as Project Gutenberg ebook #74042, available at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/74042.
KANIYAJEE AND THE GOPEES.
From an Original Hindoo Painting
فاني پارکس
WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM,
IN SEARCH OF
The Picturesque,
DURING FOUR-AND-TWENTY YEARS IN THE EAST;
WITH
REVELATIONS OF LIFE
IN
THE ZENĀNA.
BY
فاني پارکس
ILLUSTRATED WITH SKETCHES FROM NATURE.
“Let the result be what it may, I have launched my boat.”
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PELHAM RICHARDSON, 23, CORNHILL.
1850.
LONDON:
GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.
| PAGE | |
| CHAPTER XXXIX. THE MAHRATTA CAMP AND ZENĀNA. 1835, April 6th. |
|
| Arrived at Fathīghar—The Sitar versus the Dital Harp—The Mahratta Camp—Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī—Jankee Rāo—The Gaja Rājā Sāhib—Visit to the Ex-Queen—Dress of the Mahrattas—The Sword of Scindia—The English Side-saddle—Pān and Atr—Departure—The Arab at the Zenāna Gates—Her Highness a good judge of a Horse—Absurdity of a Side-saddle—The Gaja Rajah’s Horsemanship—A Challenge—The Kurk—The Pilgrim receives a Title—The Idols—The six Wives of Appa Sāhib—Oppression of the Laws with respect to Widows—Recipe for Hooqŭ Cakes—Superstitions of the Natives—Lucky and Unlucky Marks on Horses—Tiger-claw Charms—To tame vicious Horses—Assam Coins | 1 |
| CHAPTER XL. THE NAWAB HAKĪM MENHDĪ, AND CITY OF KANAUJ. 1835, April 15th. |
|
| Zenāna of the Nawab of Fathīghar—The Nawab Hakīm Menhdī—His Attire and Residence—Shawl Manufactory—The Muharram—Visit to the Zenāna of the Nawab—Lord Brougham—Molineux and Tom Cribb—The Burkā—Departure from Fathīghar—Return to Allahabad—Voyage on the Ganges—The Legend of Kurrah—Secunder-al-Sānī—The Satī—A Squall—Terror of the Sarang—The Kalā Nadī—Ruins of Kanauj—The Legend—Ancient Coins—Rose-water—Burning the Dead—Arrival at Fathīghar | 16[iv] |
| CHAPTER XLI. THE MAHRATTA CAMP AND SCENES IN THE ZENĀNA. 1835, September 8th. |
|
| Mutiny in Camp—Murder of the Prisoners—The Mutiny quelled by the Military—Visit to the Zenāna—The Swing of the Gaja Rājā—The Seagull in Parda—The Bā’ī Visits the Pinnace—How to dress a Camel—The Vicious Beast—Lucky and Unlucky Days—Her Highness ordered to Benares | 32 |
| CHAPTER XLII. THE MAHRATTAS AT ALLAHABAD. 1835, October. |
|
| Zenāna of the Nawāb of Farrukhabad—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī—Hidden Treasures—The Jak—Dāk to Cawnpore—The Nawāb of Banda—Returned Home in the Seagull—Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor, quitted the Station—Arrival of Mr. Ross—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent to Allahabad—Arrival of her Highness—Parties in the Mahratta Camp—Opium-Eating—Marriage Ceremonies of the Hindoos—Procession in Parda—The Bride—Red Gold—The Ex-Queen’s Tents at the Tribeni—The Bathing—Presents to the Brahmans—Arrival of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Sohobut Melā—Illness of the Gaja Rājā Sāhib—Murder of Mr. Frazer—The Bāiza Bā’ī a State Prisoner—The Power of Magic | 40 |
| CHAPTER XLIII. TŪFĀNS IN THE EAST. 1836, June 28th. |
|
| A Storm on the Jumna—An Amazonian Mahratta Lady—Putlī Coins—The Mint at Gwalior—East India Company’s Rupees—Departure of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Murder of two Ladies in a Zenāna—The Steamer and Tug—Rajmahal Tiger—Cotton Seed—Nagapanchmee—Wreck of the Seagull—A Fierce Tūfān—Arrival of Sir Henry Fane—Visit to the Bāiza Bā’ī—River Voyage to Calcutta—Chunar—The God Burtreenath—Ghāt of Appa Sāhib—Ghāt of the Bāiza Bā’ī—Her Treasury seized by the Government—The Chiraghdanīs—The Minarets—Native Merchants—Kimkhwāb Manufactory—The Junéoo—House of the Bāiza Bā’ī—The Iron Chests of Gold Mohurs—Rooms full of Rupees, of Copper Coins, and of Cowries—Vishwŭ-Kŭrma, the Architect of the Gods | 53[v] |
| CHAPTER XLIV. THE SPRING-BOW. 1836, November 21st. |
|
| Ghāzīpūr—Tomb of Lord Cornwallis—Palace of the Nāwab of Ghāzīpūr—Beerpūr—Satīs—The Murda Ghāt—Buxar—The Stud—Bulliah Melā—Blue Waters of the Soane—Swimming an Elephant—A Day too late for the Fair—Hājīpūr—The Gunduc River—Thieves—Futwa—Tarie-trees—Monghir—The Seeta Khoond—Janghīra—Mosque and Graves—Rocks of Kuhulgaon—Desertion of the Dāndees—Sikrī-galī—An Adventure in the Hills of Rajmahal—Tiger Tracks—The Spring-bow—By’ā Birds—The Hill-man—Poisoned Arrows— The Thumb-ring—Bauhinia Scandens | 65 |
| CHAPTER XLV. THE RUINS OF GAUR. 1836, December 4th. |
|
| Sporting at Rajmahal—Ruins of the Palace of the Nawāb—Brahmanī Ducks—The Ruins of Gaur—The Dakait—An Adventure—Beautiful Ruins—Pān-gardens—The Kadam Sharīf—Curious Coins—Jungle Fever—Casowtee Stone—Fields of the Mustard Plant—Ancient Bricks—Fakīrs tame Alligators—Salt Box—An Account of the Ruin of Gaur | 79 |
| CHAPTER XLVI. SKETCHES IN BENGAL—THE SUNDERBANDS. 1836, December 9th. |
|
| Toll at Jungipūr—Bengālee Women—Palace of the Nawāb of Moorshadabad—Mor-pankhī—Snake Boats—Kāsim Bazār—Berhampūr—Cintra Oranges—Cutwa Cloth—Culna—The Timber Raft—Chandar-nagar—Sholā Floats—The Hoogly—Chinsurah—Barrackpūr—Serampūr—Corn Mills—The Shipping—Chandpaul Ghāt—River Fakīrs—M. le Général Allard—Assam Leaf-insect—The Races—Kalī Mā’ī—Dwarkanath Tagore—The Foot of a Chinese Lady—Quitted Calcutta—The Steamer and Flat—The Sunderbands—Mud Islands—Tigers—The Wood-cutters—Kaloo-rayŭ—Settlements—Culna—Commercolly—Rājmahal—Monghir—Coolness of a Native—Pleasures of Welcome—The Vaccine Department—The Gaja Rājā performs Pūja as a Fakīr—The Eclipse—The Plague—The Lottery—Conversations in the Zenāna—The Autograph—Delicacy of Native Ladies—Death of the King of Oude—The Padshah Begam—Moona Jāh—The King’s Uncle Raised to the Throne | 97[vi] |
| CHAPTER XLVII. RADHA KRISHNŬ—SPORTING IN ASSAM. 1837, August. |
|
| Festival of the Birthday of Krishnŭ—The Rās—The Rākhī—Krishnŭ or Kaniyā—Sports of the Gopīs—The Elephant—The Horse—Gopalŭ—Gopī Nat’hŭ—Radha Krishnŭ—Krishnŭ destroying the Serpent—Monotony of Life in India—The Holy Monkey—Sporting in Assam—Buffalo Shooting—Tiger Hunting on Foot—The Baghmars—The Spring-bow—An Earthquake—Risk of Life in the Bhagmar Department—The Burying-Ground at Goalparah | 116 |
| CHAPTER XLVIII. THE FAMINE AT KANAUJ. 1837, August. |
|
| Partiality of the Natives for English Guns—Solitary Confinement—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī—Bad Omens—A Slight Mistake—Bhūsā—The Padshah Begam and Moona-jah—The Bāiza Bā’ī visits a Steamer—Arrival of Lord Auckland—Visit of the Governor-General and the Hon. the Misses Eden to her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A March up the Country—The Camp at Fathīpūr—The Line of March—Death of the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī—The Heir-apparent of Oude gives a Breakfast to the Governor-General—H. R. H. Prince Henry of Orange and the Misses Eden visit Lucnow—Resignation of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Chobīpūr—Thieves—Urowl—The Famine—The Pilgrim buys a Cocky-olli Bird—Merunkee Sarā’e—Ancient Hindū Ruin at Kanauj—Famine in the Bazār—Interment of Mahadēo and Pārvatī—The Legend of Kanauj | 134 |
| CHAPTER XLIX. THE HINDU TRIAD. |
|
| The 330,000,000 Gods of the Hindū Pantheon—The Janéo—Brŭmhŭ—The Trinity—Brahma—Vishnŭ—Shivŭ—The Ten Avatars—The Fish—The Tortoise—The Boar—The Man-lion—Vamana the Dwarf—Parashu-Rāma—Rāma-Chandra—Bala-Rāma—Booddhŭ—Kalkī—Krishnŭ—Radha—Rukmeni—Jagana’th—Kama-deva—Mahadēo—Pārvatī—Gănésh—Kartikeya—Lachhmī—Saraswatī—Durgā—Satī—The Purānas—The Mundane Egg of the Hindūs—The Vedas—Ascension of the God Buddha | 147[vii] |
| CHAPTER L. PLEASANT DAYS IN CAMP. 1838, January 8th. |
|
| Jellalabad—Menhdī Bridge—The Resident of Gwalior—Difficulty of Crossing the Sands of the Ganges—Imrutpūr—Marching under the Flag of the Resident of Gwalior—Khāsgunge—The Tombs of Colonel Gardner and his Begam—Mulka Begam—Style of March—Pleasure of a Life in Tents—The Fort of Alligarh—The Racers—The 16th Lancers present a Shield to Mr. Blood—The Monument—The Kos-Minār—Koorjah and Solitude—Meeting of Old Friends—Meerut—The Officers of the Artillery give a Ball to the Governor-General and his Party—The Sūraj Kūnd—The Buffs add to the Gaiety of the Station—The Artillery Theatre—The Pilgrim Tax abolished at Allahabad | 182 |
| CHAPTER LI. RUINS OF DELHI. 1838, February. |
|
| Happiness of being alive—March from Meerut to Delhi—Method of Stealing a Camel—Delhi—The Church—Monument erected to William Frazer, Esq., B.C.S.—The Canal of Paradise—Mimic Warfare—Tomb of Humaioon—Fort of Feroze Shāh—Masjid of Zeenut al Nissa—Masjid of Roshan-ool-Dowla—Datisca Cannabina—Mimosa Scandens—Washing by Steam—The Kutab Minār—Ancient Colonnades—Kutab kí Lāt—Unfinished Minār | 191 |
| CHAPTER LII. ANCIENT DELHI—THE ZENĀNA GHĀR. 1838, February 22nd. |
|
| Ancient Delhi—The Bā’olī—Tombs of Shah’ālam, Bahādur Shah, and Akbar Shah—The Zenāna Ghār—Extent of the Ruins—The Observatory—Palace of Shāhjahānabad—The Zenāna—Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam—Poverty of the Descendants of Tamurlane—The Effect of a Zenāna Education on Man and Woman—Death of Prince Dara Bukht—The Dewanī Am—The Dewanī Khas—The Palace—The Shah-burj—Gardens of Shalimar—Ruins of Palaces and Baths—The Modern City—Tees Huzzari Bagh—The Madrissa—The Jama Masjid—The Kala Masjid—Plan of the City of Delhi—Quitted Delhi, and returned to Meerut—Tomb of Pīr Shah | 207[viii] |
| CHAPTER LIII. DEPARTURE FOR THE HILLS—LANDOWR. 1838, March 16th. |
|
| First View of the Snowy Ranges—Saharanpūr—Mohunchaukī—An Adventure—The Keeree Pass—Rajpūr—Motī—The Gūnth—Hill-men—A Jampan—Ascent to Landowr—Hill Flowers—Purity of the Air—View of the Himalaya—The Khuds—Mussoorī—Rhododendron Trees—Mr. Webb’s Hotel—Curious Soap—The Landowr Bazār—Schools in the Hills—Cloud End—The White Rhododendron—Storm in the Hills—Hill Birds—Fever in the Hills—Newlands—Death of Major Blundell | 224 |
| CHAPTER LIV. PICTURESQUE SCENES IN THE HILLS. 1838, April 17th. |
|
| Jerrīpānī—The Cicalas—View from the Pilgrim’s Banglā—A Fall over a Precipice—The Glow-worm—Wild-beast Track—The Scorpion—Mules—Karral Sheep—Wet Days—Noisy Boys—Conical Hills—The Khuds—Earthquake at Cloud End—The Waterfall—Fall of a Lady and Horse over a Precipice—Kalunga—General Gillespie—The Kookree—The Ghoorkas—The Korah—The Sling—Ben Oge—Danger of Exposure to the Mid-day Sun—An Earthquake—A Spaniel seized by a Leopard—A Party at Cloud End—A Buffer encounters a Bear—Hills on Fire—Botanical Gardens—Commencement of the Rains—Expedition to the Summit of Bhadráj—Magnificence of the Clouds—Storms in High Places—Danger of Narrow Roads during the Rains—Introduction of Slated Roofs in the Hills | 236 |
| CHAPTER LV. LIFE IN THE HILLS. 1838, June 29th. |
|
| Kharītā of her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A Mountain Storm—An Adventure—Asses carried off by Leopards—Bear’s Grease—Dēodar Oil—Apricot Oil—Hill Currants—Figs and Tar—The Cholera—Sacrifice of a Kid to the Mountain Spirit—Absurdity of the Fear of a Russian Invasion—Plague of Fleas—The Charmed Stone—Iron-stone—Khobarah, the Hill Dog—Sheep-stealing—Booteah Chharrā—Flexible Stone—A Fearful Storm—A Doomed Banglā—Leaf Butterflies—Bursting of the Mahratta Bāndh at Prāg—Similarity of the Singular Marriages in the Hills with those of the Ancient Britons—Honesty of the Paharīs, i.e. Mountaineers | 250[ix] |
| CHAPTER LVI. ELEVATION OF THE HIMALAYA. 1838, September. |
|
| The Great Peak of Bhadrināth—No Glaciers in the Snowy Ranges—Ceremonies performed on visiting Holy Places—Kedarnāth—Moira Peak—Gangoutrī—The Jaunti Peak—Jumnotrī—The Himalaya Range formed by Mahadēo—Palia Gadh—The Dewtas—Bandarponch—Hŭnoomān—The Cone—Height of the Himalayas | 260 |
| CHAPTER LVII. DEPARTURE FROM THE HILLS. 1838, September 8th. |
|
| Family Sorrows—The Snowy Ranges after the Rains—Hill Birds—The Park—Hill Boundaries—Stables on Fire—Opening of the Keeree Pass—Danger of passing through it—Dēobund—Return to Meerut—The Tomb of Jaffir Sāhib—Chiri-mārs—Country Horses—The Theatre of the 16th Lancers—Colonel Arnold’s Farewell Ball—His Illness—Opinions respecting the War—The Lancers ordered to Afghānistan—Ghurmuktesur Ghāt—Country Boats—Khobarah, the Hill Dog—Sancho—A Dilemma—Gūnths—Knocked over by a Buffalo—Fathīgarh—Dhobīs—Cawnpore—Sāl and Teak Trees—Deism—Points of Faith—The Power of the Brahmāns—A Converted Hindū—Sneezing an Ill Omen—The Return of the Pilgrim | 271 |
| CHAPTER LVIII. DEPARTURE FROM ALLAHABAD—THE THREE WISHES. 1838, November. |
|
| Arrival at Allahabad—Visit to the Mahratta Camp—The Three Wishes—The Ticca Wife—The Farewell of her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī—How to dispose of a Wife—The Būndelās—Price of Children—The Pillar in the Fort—Voyage down the River—Arwarī Fish—A Lady Overboard—An Accident—The Sīta Khūnd—The Army of the Indus—Meeting of the Governor-General and Runjeet Singh—The Camel Battery—Lord Auckland’s Visit to Runjeet’s Camp—The Koh-i-nūr—The Rajpūt Tray—A Paharī Dress—The Ayha’s Stratagem—An Escape on the River—Natives afraid of Cadets—The Panchāyāt—Fear of Poison—Berhampūr—The Nawāb, the Merchant, and the Palkī—Quitted Berhampūr | 291[x] |
| CHAPTER LIX. ARRIVAL IN CALCUTTA—THE “MADAGASCAR.” 1839, January 1st. |
|
| Cutwa—Bracelets of the Sankh Shell—Anchor-making at Culwa—The Dying Bengalī—The Skull—The Tides—The “Madagascar”—Mal-de-Mer—A Man Overboard—Mountains of Africa—Wrecks—Wineburgh—Constantia—A South-easter—Return to the Ship—Emancipation of the Slaves—Grapes—A Trip into the Interior—Captain Harris—St. Helena—Prices at Mr. Solomon’s Shop—The Tomb of the Emperor—Longwood—St. Helena Birds—Our Indian Wars—General Allard—Letter from Jellalabad—Death of Colonel Arnold—The Afghāns—Mausoleum of Shah Mahmoud—The Gates of Somnaut—The Remains of the Ancient City of Ghuznee | 308 |
| CHAPTER LX. DEPARTURE FROM ST. HELENA. 1839, March 19th. |
|
| Quitted St. Helena—The Polar Star—Drifting Sea-weed—The Paroquets—Worship of Birds—A Gale—The Orange Vessel—The Pilot Schooner—Landing at Plymouth—First Impressions—A Mother’s Welcome—The Mail Coach—The Queen’s Highway—Dress of the English—Price of Prepared Birds—The Railroads—The New Police—English Horses—British Museum—Horticultural Show—Umberslade—Tanworth—Conway Castle—Welsh Mutton—Church of Conway—Tombstone of Richard Hookes, Gent.—The Menai Bridge—Dublin—Abbeyleix—Horns of the Elk—Penny Postage—Steam Engines—Silver Firs—Moonāl Pheasants—The Barge run down—Chapel of Pennycross—The Niger Expedition—Schwalbach—Family Sorrows—Indian News—The Birth of the Chimna Rājā Sāhib—Captain Sturt’s Sketches—Governor Lin—The Bāiza Bā’ī consents to reside at Nassuk—Fire in her Camp—Death of Sir Henry Fane—Church built by Subscription at Allahabad—Governor Lin’s Button—The ex-Queen of Gwalior marches to Nassuk—Price of a Gentleman—Death of the Old Shepherd from Hydrophobia—Pedigree of Jūmnī, the Invaluable | 327 |
| CHAPTER LXI. VOYAGE TO THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE. 1843. |
|
| Family Sorrows—Departure from England—The “Carnatic”—A Gale—The Spirit of the Storm—Sunsets—Peak of Teneriffe—The Trade Wind—A most Magnificent Comet—Phosphoric Lights—Visit of Neptune declined—Scarcity of Provisions—Spray Bows—Albatross caught—Arrival at the Cape of Good Hope | 346[xi] |
| CHAPTER LXII. RESIDENCE AT CAPE TOWN. 1843, May. |
|
| View from the Sea—Wrecks—Cape Town—The Fish Market—The Seasons—Slavery—Washerwomen on the Mountain—Target Practice—Beautiful Flowers—Cape Sheep—The Bushwoman—Green Point—Shells—The Honey-bush—Bracelets of Ivory—High Price of Curiosities—Auctions—Robberies—Camp’s Bay—Fine Aloes—Effect of the Fog-wreaths on the Lion Mountain—The Lion’s Rump—Enormous Bulbs—The Botanical Gardens—Remarkable Trees and Shrubs—The Hæmanthus—Poisoned Arrows—The Puff-Adder—The Melaleuca—Curious Trees—The Plaat Clip, or Flat Stone—The Solitary Ruin | 355 |
| CHAPTER LXIII. SCENES AT THE CAPE—THE TEMPLE OF JAGANĀTH. 1843, August. |
|
| A Kafir Warrior—The Kaross—Vegetable Ivory—Shells—Changeable Weather—The Races—Dutch Beauties—Newlands—Cape Horses—The Arum—The Aloe—Servants at the Cape—Pedigree of a Malay—The Cook—The Washerwoman—Africanders—Shops in Cape Town—The “Robarts”—View from the Ship in the Bay—The Muharram—The Southern Cross—The Sailor and the Shark—Madras—Katmirams—Masulla Boats—The New Lighthouse—The Mint—She-Asses—Donies—Descendants of Milton—The Globe-Fish—Pooree—The Surf—Temple of Jaganāth—The Swing—The Ruth—Death of Krishna—The Architect of the Gods—Jaganāth—The Trinity—The Seal—Ancient City near Pooree—Dangerous Shore—The Floating Light—The Sandheads—Anchored at Baboo Ghāt, Calcutta—Wilful Burning of the “Robarts” | 369 |
| CHAPTER LXIV. SKETCHES ON THE RIVER FROM CALCUTTA TO COLGONG. 1844, April 1st. |
|
| Calcutta—Mango Fish—Lord Ellenborough recalled—Fall of Fish—The Hoogly—The Bore—Quitted Calcutta—Ishapūr—Chagdah—Happiness of Dying in Sight of the Ganges—Quitted the Tropics—Cutwa—Plassey—Berhampūr—Morus Indica—Jungipūr—Quitted the Bhagirathī—Night Blindness—Sikrī-galī—Herd of Buffaloes—Patturgatta Hill—Rocks of Colgong—An Ajgar—A Wild and Singular Scene | 389[xii] |
| CHAPTER LXV. SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM COLGONG TO DINAPŪR. 1844, November 5th. |
|
| Bhagulpūr—Rock and Temple of Janghīra—Cytisus Cajan—Force of the Current—Monghir—An Aërolite—Bairāgī Temples—Dwakanath Tagore—Rosaries—Vases—Sūraj-garha—Bar—Beggars and Swine—Benīpūr—Bankipūr—Azīmabad—Sūraj Pūja—Patna—The Golā— Deegah—Havell’s Farm—Dinapūr | 401 |
| CHAPTER LXVI. SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM DINAPŪR TO BENARES. 1844, November 20th. |
|
| The Soane River—Chuppra—Revelgunge—The Fair at Bulleah—Bamboos—The Wreck—Buxar—The Peepul Tree and Temple of Mahadēo—Barrah—Satī Mounds—Kurum-nassa River—Palace of the Nawāb of Ghazipūr—The Native Town—The Gigantic Image—Three Satīs and a Mandap or Hindū Temple—Eight-and-Twenty Satīs—The Fate of Women—The Kalsās—Station of Ghazipūr—The Stalking Horse—Booraneepūr—Kankār Reefs—Seydpūr—Burning the Dead—Rites for the Repose of the Soul—Brahmanī Bulls—Funeral Ceremonies of the Romans—Raj Ghāt, Benares | 412 |
| CHAPTER LXVII. SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM BENARES TO BINDACHUN. 1844, December 5th. |
|
| Benefits arising from a Residence in the Holy City of Kāshī—Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ—The Snake-Charmers—Gigantic Image of Hunoomān—Brahmanī Bulls—The Ghāts from the River—Bhīm Singh—Tulsī Altars—Ruins of the Ghāt of the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A Corpse—Young Idolaters—State Prisoners—The City—Sultanpūr—Chunar—Picturesque Tree near the Ghāt—Singular Ceremonies—The Deasil—Turnbull Gunge—Mirzapūr—Beautiful Ghāts and Temples—Carpet Manufactory— Bindachun | 435 |
| CHAPTER LXVIII. SKETCHES ON THE RIVER FROM BINDACHUN TO ALLAHABAD 1844, December 11th. |
|
| Bindachun—Devī Ghāt—The Temple of Bhawānī—Bhagwān—The Thugs—The Hajjam—The Tashma-baz Thugs—The Pleasure of Wandering—Sirsya—Munyah Ghāt—Arail—Arrival at Allahabad—Native Sugar-Mills | 448[xiii] |
| CHAPTER LXIX. RESIDENCE AT PRĀG, AND RETURN TO CALCUTTA. 1844, December 18th. |
|
| The Sibylline Temple—Mr. Berrill’s Hotel—A Barouche drawn by Camels—The Murdār-khor—A Kharīta from the Bāiza Bā’ī—Marriage of the Chimna Raja—Sultan Khusrū’s Garden—The Tombs—Tamarind Trees—The Sarā’e—The Bāolī—Tattoos used for Palanquins—Reasons for the Murder of a Wife and Child—The Lāt—A Skilful Swordsman—An Eclipse—Tufāns—Death of Mr. James Gardner—Quitted Allahabad—The Ganges—A Wreck—A Storm—Indian Corn—Colgong—Terīyāgalī Hills and Ruins—Nuddea—Suspension Bridge—Prinsep Ghāt at Calcutta—Engaged a Passage in the “Essex” | 461 |
| CHAPTER LXX. SKETCHES AT SEA. 1845, September 1st. |
|
| The “Essex”—The “James and Mary”—Steering a Ship at Anchor—A Waterspout—The Andamans—Acheen Point—A Squally Trade Wind—Rodorigos—A Gale—The Whirlwind—The Stormy Petrel—A Day of Repose—A Remarkable Sunrise | 474 |
| CHAPTER LXXI. SKETCHES AT SEA—MOUNTAINS OF AFRICA—THE FAREWELL. 1845, October 29th. |
|
| The Buffalo—The Quoin—Cape Aguilhas—Hangclip—Capo-del-Tornados—Robbin Island—Table Bay—Cape Town—Green Point—The Lion Mountain—St. Helena—Flying-fish—Blue-fish—Island of Ascension—Funeral at Sea—A Sailor’s Grave—A Chinese Calculation—Waterspouts—The Western Isles—St. Michael’s—Pico—Fayal—Christmas Eve—The Good Ship “Essex”—Arrival in England—The Pilgrim’s Adieu | 485 |
| No. | To face page | |
| 29. | Frontispiece—Kaniyā-jee and the Gopīs, to face the Title | |
| 30. | Superstitions of the Natives | 9 |
| 31. | The Spring-Bow | 73 |
| 32. | Kaniyā-jee and the Gopīs | 121 |
| 33. | Ancient Hindū Ruin | 143 |
| 34. | The Hindū Triad | 147 |
| 35. | Plan of Delhi | 193 |
| 36. | View from the Pilgrim’s Banglā | 237 |
| 37. | The Kharīta | 250 |
| 38. | Pennycross Chapel | 341 |
| 39. | The Bushwoman | 360 |
| 40. | A Kafir Warrior | 369 |
| 41. | The Southern Cross | 375 |
| 42. | Jaganāth | 384 |
| 43. | Three Satīs and a Mandap near Ghazīpūr | 419 |
| 44. | Kalsās | 421 |
| 45. | The Temple of Bhawānī | 449 |
| 46. | Bhagwān | 450 |
| 47. | Native Sugar Mills | 457 |
| 48. | Waterspouts | 493 |
| 49. | Pico | 494 |
| 50. | Elevation of the Himalaya. | |
“FOR WHOM SHALL I STAIN MY TEETH AND BLACKEN MY EYELASHES?—THE MASTER IS TURNED TO ASHES[1].”
Arrived at Fathīghar—The Sitar versus the Dital Harp—The Mahratta Camp—Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī—Jankee Rāo—The Gaja Rājā Sāhib—Visit to the Ex-Queen—Dress of the Mahrattas—The Sword of Scindia—The English Side-saddle—Pān and Atr—Departure—The Arab at the Zenāna Gates—Her Highness a good judge of a horse—Absurdity of a Side-saddle—The Gujja Rajah’s Horsemanship—A Challenge—The Kurk—The Pilgrim receives a Title—The Idols—The six Wives of Appa Sāhib—Oppression of the Laws with respect to Widows—Recipe for Hooqŭ Cakes—Superstitions of the Natives—Lucky and unlucky marks on Horses—Tiger-claw charms—To tame vicious Horses—Assam Coins.
1835, April 6th.—I arrived at Fathīghar, at the house of a relative in the Civil Service, the Judge of the Station, and agent to the Governor-general. After a hot and dusty dāk trip, how delightful was the coolness of the rooms, in which thermantidotes and tattīs were in full force! As may be naturally supposed, I could talk of nothing but Khāsgunge, and favoured the party with some Hindustanī airs on the sitar, which I could not persuade them to admire; to silence my sitar a dital harp was presented to me; nevertheless, I retained a secret fondness for the native instrument, which recalled the time when the happy slave girls figured before me.
Having seen Musulmānī ladies followers of the Prophet, how great was my delight at finding native ladies were, at Fathīghar, worshippers of Ganesh and Krishnjee!
Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, the widow of the late Mahārāj Dāolut Rāo Scindia, was in camp at this place, under the care of Captain Ross. Dāolut Rāo, the adopted son and grand-nephew of Mahadajee Scindia, contested with the Duke of Wellington, then Sir Arthur Wellesley, the memorable field of Assaye. On the death of Scindia, by his appointment, the Bāiza Bā’ī, having become Queen of Gwalior, ruled the kingdom for nine years. Having no male issue, her Highness adopted a youth, called Jankee Rāo, a distant relative of Scindia’s, who was to be placed on the masnad at her decease.
A Rajpoot is of age at eighteen years: but when Jankee Rāo was only fourteen years old, the subjects of the Bā’ī revolted, and placed the boy at the head of the rebellion. Had her Highness remained at Gwalior she would have been murdered; she was forced to fly to Fathīghar, where she put herself under the protection of the Government. Her daughter, the Chimna Rājā Sāhib, a lady celebrated for her beauty, and the wife of Appa Sāhib, a Mahratta nobleman, died of fever, brought on by exposure and anxiety at the time she fled from Gwalior, during the rebellion. It is remarkable, that the ladies in this family take the title of Rājā, to which Sāhib is generally affixed. Appa Sāhib joined the Bāiza Bā’ī, fled with her, and is now in her camp at Fathīghar. The rebellion of her subjects, and her Highness being forced to fly the kingdom, were nothing to the Bā’ī in comparison to the grief occasioned her by the loss of her beloved daughter, the Chimna Rājā.
Her grand-daughter, the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, is also living with her; she has been married two years, but is alone, her husband having deserted her to join the stronger party.
The Bā’ī, although nominally free, is in fact a prisoner; she is extremely anxious to return to Gwalior, but is prevented by the refusal of the Government to allow her to do so; this renders her very unhappy.
8th.—The Brija Bā’ī, one of her ladies, called to invite the lady with whom I am staying to visit the Mahārāj in camp; and gave me an invitation to accompany her.
12th.—When the appointed day arrived, the attendants of[3] her Highness were at our house at 4 A.M., to escort us to the camp.
It is customary for a visitor to leave her shoes outside the parda, when paying her respects to a lady of rank; and this custom is always complied with, unless especial leave to retain the shoes has been voluntarily given to the visitor, which would be considered a mark of great kindness and condescension.
We found her Highness seated on her gaddī of embroidered cloth, with her grand-daughter the Gaja Rājā Sāhib at her side; the ladies, her attendants, were standing around her; and the sword of Scindia was on the gaddī, at her feet. She rose to receive and embrace us, and desired us to be seated near her. The Bāiza Bā’ī is rather an old woman, with grey hair, and en bon point; she must have been pretty in her youth; her smile is remarkably sweet, and her manners particularly pleasing; her hands and feet are very small, and beautifully formed. Her sweet voice reminded me of the proverb, “A pleasant voice brings a snake out of a hole[2].” She was dressed in the plainest red silk, wore no ornaments, with the exception of a pair of small plain bars of gold as bracelets. Being a widow, she is obliged to put jewellery aside, and to submit to numerous privations and hardships. Her countenance is very mild and open; there is a freedom and independence in her air that I greatly admire,—so unlike that of the sleeping, languid, opium-eating Musalmānīs. Her grand-daughter, the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, is very young; her eyes the largest I ever saw; her face is rather flat, and not pretty; her figure is beautiful; she is the least little wee creature you ever beheld. The Mahratta dress consists only of two garments, which are, a tight body to the waist, with sleeves tight to the elbow; a piece of silk, some twenty yards or more in length, which they wind around them as a petticoat, and then, taking a part of it, draw it between the limbs, and fasten it behind, in a manner that gives it the effect both of petticoat and trowsers; this is the whole dress, unless, at times, they[4] substitute angiyas, with short sleeves, for the tight long-sleeved body.
The Gaja Rājā was dressed in purple Benares silk, with a deep gold border woven into it; when she walked she looked very graceful, and the dress very elegant; on her forehead was a mark like a spear-head, in red paint; her hair was plaited, and bound into a knot at the back of her head, and low down; her eyes were edged with surma, and her hands and feet dyed with hinnā. On her feet and ancles were curious silver ornaments; toe-rings of peculiar form; which she sometimes wore of gold, sometimes of red coral. In her nostril was a very large and brilliant n’hut (nose-ring), of diamonds, pearls, and precious stones, of the particular shape worn by the Mahrattas; in her ears were fine brilliants. From her throat to her waist she was covered with strings of magnificent pearls and jewels; her hands and arms were ornamented with the same. She spoke but little,—scarcely five words passed her lips; she appeared timid, but was pleased with the bouquet of beautiful flowers, just fresh from the garden, that the lady who presented me laid at her feet on her entrance. These Mahrattas are a fine bold race; amongst her ladies in waiting I remarked several fine figures, but their faces were generally too flat. Some of them stood in waiting with rich Cashmere shawls thrown over their shoulders; one lady, before the Mahārāj, leaned on her sword, and if the Bā’ī quitted the apartment, the attendant and sword always followed her. The Bā’ī was speaking of horses, and the lady who introduced me said I was as fond of horses as a Mahratta. Her Highness said she should like to see an English lady on horseback; she could not comprehend how they could sit all crooked, all on one side, in the side-saddle. I said I should be too happy to ride into camp any hour her Highness would appoint, and show her the style of horsemanship practised by ladies in England. The Mahārāj expressed a wish that I should be at the Mahratta camp at 4 A.M., in two days’ time. Atr, in a silver filagree vessel, was then presented to the Gaja Rājā; she took a portion up in a little spoon, and put it on our hands. One of the attendants presented us with pān, whilst another sprinkled us most copiously[5] with rose-water: the more you inundate your visitor with rose-water, the greater the compliment.
This being the signal for departure, we rose, made our bahut bahut adab salām, and departed, highly gratified with our visit to her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior.
14th.—My relative had a remarkably beautiful Arab, and as I wished to show the Bā’ī a good horse, she being an excellent judge, I requested him to allow me to ride his Arab; and that he might be fresh, I sent him on to await my arrival at the zenāna gates. A number of Mahratta horsemen having been despatched by her Highness to escort me to the camp, I cantered over with them on my little black horse, and found the beautiful Arab impatiently awaiting my arrival.
Leetle Paul’s description of his “courser proud” is beautiful; but his steed was not more beautiful than the Arab, who, adorned with a garland of freshly-gathered white double jasmine flowers, pawed impatiently at the gates. I mounted him, and entering the precincts of the zenāna, found myself in a large court, where all the ladies of the ex-Queen were assembled, and anxiously looking for the English lady, who would ride crooked! The Bā’ī was seated in the open air; I rode up, and, dismounting, paid my respects. She remarked the beauty of the Arab, felt the hollow under his jaw, admired his eye, and, desiring one of the ladies to take up his foot, examined it, and said he had the small, black, hard foot of the pure Arab; she examined and laughed at my saddle. I then mounted, and putting the Arab on his mettle, showed her how English ladies manage their horses. When this was over, three of the Bāiza Bā’ī’s own riding horses were brought out by the female attendants; for we were within the zenāna, where no man is allowed to enter. The horses were in full caparison, the saddles covered with velvet and kimkhwab and gold embroidery, their heads and necks ornamented[6] with jewels and chains of gold. The Gaja Rājā, in her Mahratta riding dress, mounted one of the horses, and the ladies the others; they cantered and pranced about, showing off the Mahratta style of riding. On dismounting, the young Gaja Rājā threw her horse’s bridle over my arm, and said, laughingly, “Are you afraid? or will you try my horse?” Who could resist such a challenge? “I shall be delighted,” was my reply. “You cannot ride like a Mahratta in that dress,” said the Princess; “put on proper attire.” I retired to obey her commands, returning in Mahratta costume, mounted her horse, put my feet into the great iron stirrups, and started away for a gallop round the enclosure. I thought of Queen Elizabeth, and her stupidity in changing the style of riding for women. En cavalier, it appeared so safe, as if I could have jumped over the moon. Whilst I was thus amusing myself, “Shāh-bāsh! shāh-bāsh!” exclaimed some masculine voice; but who pronounced the words, or where the speaker lay perdu, I have never discovered.
“Now,” said I to the Gaja Rājā, “having obeyed your commands, will you allow one of your ladies to ride on my side-saddle?” My habit was put on one of them; how ugly she looked! “She is like a black doctor!” exclaimed one of the girls. The moment I got the lady into the saddle, I took the rein in my hand, and riding by her side, started her horse off in a canter; she hung on one side, and could not manage it at all; suddenly checking her horse, I put him into a sharp trot. The poor lady hung half off the animal, clinging to the pummel, and screaming to me to stop; but I took her on most unmercifully, until we reached the spot where the Bāiza Bā’ī was seated; the walls rang with laughter; the lady dismounted, and vowed she would never again attempt to sit on such a vile crooked thing as a side-saddle. It caused a great deal of amusement in the camp.
The Mahratta ladies live in parda, but not in such strict seclusion as the Musalmānī ladies; they are allowed to ride on horseback veiled; when the Gaja Rājā goes out on horseback, she is[7] attended by her ladies; and a number of Mahratta horsemen ride at a certain distance, about two hundred yards around her, to see that the kurk is enforced; which is an order made public that no man may be seen on the road on pain of death.
The Hindoos never kept their women in parda, until their country was conquered by the Muhammadans; when they were induced to follow the fashion of their conquerors; most likely, from their unveiled women being subject to insult.
The Bāiza Bā’ī did me the honour to express herself pleased, and gave me a title, “The Great-aunt of my Grand-daughter,” “Gaja Rājā Sāhib ki par Khāla.” This was very complimentary, since it entitled me to rank as the adopted sister of her Highness.
A part of the room in which the ex-Queen sits is formed into a domestic temple, where the idols are placed, ornamented with flowers, and worshipped; at night they are lighted up with lamps of oil, and the priests are in attendance.
The Mahratta ladies are very fond of sailing on the river, but they are equally in parda in the boats as on shore.
The next day the Bāiza Bā’ī sent down all her horses in their gay native trappings, for me to look at; also two fine rhinoceroses, which galloped about the grounds in their heavy style, and fought one another; the Bā’ī gave five thousand rupees (£500) for the pair; sweetmeats and oranges pleased the great animals very much.
When Captain Ross quitted, her Highness was placed under the charge of the agent to the Governor-general. I visited the Bā’ī several times, and liked her better than any native lady I ever met with.
A Hindoo widow is subject to great privations; she is not allowed to wear gay attire or jewels, and her mourning is eternal. The Bāiza Bā’ī always slept on the ground, according to the custom for a widow, until she became very ill from rheumatic pains; after which she allowed herself a hard mattress, which was placed on the ground; a charpāī being considered too great a luxury.
She never smoked, which surprised me: having seen the[8] Musalmānī ladies so fond of a hooqŭ, I concluded the Mahratta ladies indulged in the same luxury.
The Mahratta men smoke the hooqŭ as much as all other natives, and the Bā’ī had a recipe for making tobacco cakes, that were highly esteemed in camp. The cakes are, in diameter, about four inches by one inch in thickness; a small quantity added to the prepared tobacco usually smoked in a hooqŭ imparts great fragrance; the ingredients are rather difficult to procure[3].
Speaking of the privations endured by Hindoo widows, her Highness mentioned that all luxurious food was denied them, as well as a bed; and their situation was rendered as painful as possible. She asked me how an English widow fared?
I told her, “An English lady enjoyed all the luxury of her husband’s house during his life; but, on his death, she was turned out of the family mansion, to make room for the heir, and pensioned off; whilst the old horse was allowed the run of the park, and permitted to finish his days amidst the pastures he loved in his prime.” The Hindoo widow, however young, must not marry again.
The fate of women and of melons is alike. “Whether the melon falls on the knife or the knife on the melon, the melon is the sufferer[4].”
We spoke of the severity of the laws of England with respect to married women, how completely by law they are the slaves of their husbands, and how little hope there is of redress.
You might as well “Twist a rope of sand[5],” or “Beg a husband of a widow[6],” as urge the men to emancipate the white slaves of England.
“Who made the laws?” said her Highness. I looked at her with surprise, knowing she could not be ignorant on the subject. “The men,” said I; “why did the Mahārāj ask the question?” “I doubted it,” said the Bā’ī, with an arch smile, “since they only allow themselves one wife.”
“England is so small,” I replied, “in comparison with your[9] Highness’s Gwalior; if every man were allowed four wives, and obliged to keep them separate, the little island could never contain them; they would be obliged to keep the women in vessels off the shore, after the fashion in which the Chinese keep their floating farm-yards of ducks and geese at anchor.”
SUPERSTITIONS OF THE NATIVES
فاني پارکس
“Is your husband angry with you?” asked the Brija, the favourite attendant of her Highness. “Why should you imagine it?” said I. “Because you have on no ornaments, no jewellery.”
The Bāiza Bā’ī sent for the wives of Appa Sāhib to introduce them to me. The ladies entered, six in number; and walking up to the gaddī, on which the Bā’ī was seated, each gracefully bowed her head, until her forehead touched the feet of her Highness. They were fine young women, from fifteen to twenty-five years old. The five first wives had no offspring; the sixth, who had been lately married, was in expectation of a bābā.
Appa Sāhib is the son-in-law of the ex-Queen; he married her daughter, the Chimna Bā’ī, who died of fever at the time they were driven out of Gwalior.
The natives are extremely superstitious respecting the lucky and unlucky marks on horses. The following are some of the marks best known, respecting which their ideas are curious:
The favourable marks are the deōband, the bhora, and the panch kalian.
The unlucky marks or aiibs are the sampan, siyah-tālū, small eyes, and a star of a particular sort on the forehead.
The deōband is the feather on the chest: this mark is very rare, and the best of all marks. If a horse have the deōband, it is the rok or antidote to the sampan and all other bad marks.
The bhorahs are the two feathers, one on each side of the neck, just under the mane. If there be two bhorahs turning towards the ears of the horse it is favourable, a very good sign. If there be only one bhora it is tolerably good. If the feather turn towards the rider it is called the sampan; a bhora on one[10] side and a sampan on the other neutralizes both bad and good qualities.
The panch kalian. The natives admire a panch-kalian, as they call it, very much, that is, a horse with five marks, as follows:—all four legs white to the knees, stockings as they are called, and a white muzzle with a white blaze from the muzzle up the forehead. According to my idea, such a horse in appearance is only fit for a butcher’s tray. Nevertheless, the natives admire them, and I have seen many good horses of this description.
The sampan. When the feather on the neck of a horse on either side turns towards the rider, it is called sampan; this is a very bad mark, indeed the worst; but, if there be two sampans, one on each side the neck, have nothing to say to the animal, he is an Harām-zāda, given to rearing and squalling; is vicious, and will be the death of his rider.
The siyah-tālū or black palate is a very bad sign; such horses are regularly bad, and are never to be depended upon: no native will purchase an animal having, as it is usually called, the shatāloo.
Small eyes are the sign of a sulky horse.
The star on the forehead. No native will purchase a horse if he can cover the star on the forehead with the ball of his thumb. And in buying a horse from a native, look to that mark, as they take the white hairs out with a certain application. A large star is a good sign. No star at all is of no consequence; but a few white hairs proclaim a bad horse, and no native will buy him.
With respect to the colour of horses, they are fanciful. Greys are admired: black horses are also considered handsome: bays are good: chestnuts very bad.
With regard to Arabs, they are extremely particular as to the perfect straightness of the forehead, from the top of it down to the nose; the slightest rise on that part proving in their ideas a want of perfect pedigree. The deep hollow under the jaw is absolutely necessary; the small mouth, and the open, large, thin-skinned nostrils; the eyes large and fine; the hoof small, black, and hard; and the long tail. These points attract the[11] particular attention of the natives. “Bay in all his eight joints[7].” Horses of that colour are esteemed hardy and active.
The prophet judged shicàl bad in a horse: shicàl is, when a horse has the right hind-foot and the left fore-foot, or the right fore-foot and the left hind-foot, white.
The amble of a native horse is a quiet, quick pace, but not agreeable at first to one accustomed to the paces of horses broken in by Europeans: the Mahratta bit is extremely sharp, and throws a horse well on his haunches.
I have seen a young horse, being taught to amble, with a rope tied to each fetlock; it made him take short steps, moving the two legs of the same side at the same time; it is a natural pace to a horse over-loaded.
Horses in India are usually fastened with two ropes to the head stall, and the two hind-legs have a rope fastened on each fetlock, which rope is secured to a stake behind the animal, long enough to allow of his lying down: these are called āgārī-pichhārī.
In Shakespear’s Dictionary, hirdāwal is mentioned as the name of a defect in horses, and its being a feather or curling lock of hair on the breast, which is reckoned unlucky for the rider.
It is written, speaking of the Prophet Mohammud, “There was nothing his Highness was so fond of, after women, as horses; and after horses as perfumes; and the marks of good horses are these: the best horses are black, with white foreheads, and having a white upper lip; next to that, a black horse, with white forehead and three white legs; next to this is a bay horse of these marks: a bay, with white forehead, white fore and hind legs, is best; and a sorrel with white fore and hind legs is also good. Prosperity is with sorrel horses. I heard the Prophet say, ‘Do not cut the hair of your horses’ foreheads, nor of their necks, nor of their tails; because verily horses keep the flies off with their tails, and their manes cover their necks, and blessings are interwoven with the hair of their[12] foreheads,’ ‘Tie up your horses and make them fat for fighting, and wipe off the dust from their foreheads and rumps; and tie bells to their necks.’”
This latter command is curious, as in the “Rites of Travelling” it is mentioned, “The angels are not with that party with which is a dog, nor with that party with which is a bell.” “A bell is the devil’s musical instrument.” “Kill black dogs having two white spots upon their eyes; for verily this kind of dog is the devil.”
The natives cannot understand why Europeans cut off the tails of their horses, and consider it a disgusting and absurd practice. An officer in the artillery related a story of having sold an old Persian horse, with a tail sweeping the ground, to a friend at Fathīghar. When the sā’īs returned, Captain A⸺ asked him how the horse was liked, and if he was well. “Ahi, Sāhib!” said the sā’īs, “I had no sooner delivered him up than they cut off his tail, and the poor old horse was of such high caste that he could not bear such an indignity, and next morning he died of shame!” “Sharmandī ho mar-gayā.” The English may be a very civilized nation, but this cutting off the tails of their horses, nicking the bone, and scoring fish alive, savour somewhat of barbarism: all that can be urged in its defence is, it is the custom (dastūr).
The natives are extremely superstitious, and delight in incantations. “God save you, uncle!” is the address of a Hindoo to a goblin, of which he is afraid, to prevent its hurting him[8].
Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, having heard of the great fame of my cabinet of curiosities, requested some tigers’ claws for the Gaja Rājā. I wrote to a friend in Assam, who sent me a quart of tigers’ claws! regretting he was unable to procure more. If you kill a tiger, the servants steal his claws as quickly as possible to send to their wives to make into charms, which both the women and children wear around their necks. They avert the evil eye and keep off maladies. The Gaja Rājā was pleased at having procured the claws, and her horse’s neck was[13] adorned with some five-and-twenty ornaments or more strung together, each made like the one appended to the chain in the sketch; it must have been valuable, being formed of pure gold.
The charm, No. 1 in the sketch, I had made by my own workman in the bazār, in solid silver, a copy from a necklace worn by the wife of one of my servants Dilmīr Khān. “Not one, but seventy misfortunes it keeps off[9].” The tiger’s claws are tipped and set in silver; the back opens with a hinge, and the Jadu-ke-Bāt, a written charm, is therein concealed, the efficacy of which, added to the claws, ensures certain prosperity to the possessor, and averts the evil eye. No lady in India can wear any thing so valueless as silver, of which the ornaments made for her servants are composed. Whether Musalmānī or Hindoo, the women are delighted with the claws of the tiger. When an amulet, in form like No. 2 in the sketch, is made for a child, two of the teeth of the crocodile are put into it in lieu of tigers’ claws. To-day a child in the Fort met its death by accident. The natives say, “How could it be lucky when it wore no charm to protect it?” Baghnā is the name for the amulet consisting of the teeth and claws of a tiger, which are hung round the neck of a grown-up person or of a child.
The Prophet forbids the use of certain amulets, saying, “Verily, spells, and tying to the necks of children the nails of tearing animals, and the thread which is tied round a wife’s neck, to make her husband love her, are all of the way of the polytheists.”
“It is the custom in Hindoostan to keep a monkey in or near a stable, to guard the horses from the influence of evil eyes. In Persia, the animal so retained is a hog; and in some parts of England, a goat is considered a necessary appendage to a stable, though, possibly, from some other equally fanciful motive.”
The owl is considered an unlucky bird. “One-eyed men have a vein extra[10];” and are supposed to be more knowing than others. And I have before mentioned that an opinion prevails in wild and mountainous parts of India, that the spirit of a man[14] destroyed by a tiger sometimes rides upon his head, and guides him from his pursuers.
I have never seen it done in India, but I have heard from very good authority, that there are men who profess to be able to tame the most vicious horse by whispering into his ear; a man will go up to a violent animal, whisper to it, and the creature will become tranquil. Catlin, in his account of the North American Indians, says: “After having caught a wild horse with a lasso, the Indian gradually advances until he is able to place his hand on the animal’s nose, and over its eyes, and at length to breathe in its nostrils; when it soon becomes docile and conquered, so that he has little else to do than to remove the hobbles from its feet, and lead or ride it into camp.” And in another part of the work, Catlin says: “I have often, in concurrence with a known custom of the country, held my hands over the eyes of the calf, and breathed a few strong breaths into its nostrils; after which I have, with my hunting companions, rode several miles into our encampment, with the little prisoner busily following the heels of my horse the whole way, as closely and as affectionately as its instinct would attach it to the company of its dam! This is one of the most extraordinary things I have met with in this wild country; and although I had often heard of it, and felt unable exactly to believe it, I am now willing to bear testimony to the fact, from the numerous instances I have witnessed since I came into the country.”
In explanation of the coin, marked No. 9, in the plate entitled “Superstitions of the Natives,” I must give an extract from the letter of a friend:—
“To entertain that amenity so requisite for the obtaining a note from you, I send, under the seal wherewith I seal my letter, ‘a little money,’ as a first instalment. The form of the coin is meant to be octagonal; that form is more evident on those that are larger. Now for the coin’s explanation: It bears the seal of Rajah Gowrinath Singh, who succeeded his father Luckhishingh, in Assam, 1780; he was of a hot temper, and a liberal. After reigning five years, he was expelled by Bhurrethi Moran Rajah of Bengmoran. Gowrinath Singh fled to Gowhatty, and having[15] got the Company to take his part, Captain Wallis was sent with an armed force to reinstate him on the throne; this was performed, but at the cost of incredible destruction of towns, villages, cultivation, and all that sort of thing. Since those days, Assam has been a jungle. Finding Rungpore, his capital, depopulated, Gowrinath caused a palace to be built on the banks of the Deshoi, where he lived in tranquillity ten years; the place became populous, and though the palace has fallen into ruins, it still exists as a town, under the name of Deshoi Khote. Gowrinath Singh died in 1795, having reigned in Assam fifteen years. I will send you his inscription, which is in part only on the coin enclosed; but I must get it from my learned Pundit. Other and older coins are found, both of gold and silver, but of no baser metal; copper appears to have been unknown for that purpose.”
No. 10 is the larger octagonal coin mentioned in the above extract, and was forwarded to me as a second instalment from Assam.
Zenāna of the Nawab of Fathīghar—The Nawab Hakīm Menhdī—His Attire and Residence—Shawl Manufactory—The Muharram—Visit to the Zenāna of the Nawab—Lord Brougham—Molineux and Tom Crib—The Burkā—Departure from Fathīghar—Return to Allahabad—Voyage on the Ganges—The Legend of Kurrah—Secunder-al-Sānī—The Satī—A Squall—Terror of the Sarang—The Kalā Nadī—Ruins of Kannouj—The Legend—Ancient Coins—Rose-water—Burning the Dead—Arrival at Fathīghar.
1835, April 15th.—I received an invitation to pay my respects to the Begam Moktar Mahal, the mother of the Nawab of Fathīgar; she is connected with Mulka Begam’s family, but very unlike her, having none of her beauty, and not being a lady-like person. Thence we went to the grandmother of the Nawab, Surfuraz Mahal, in the same zenāna. They were in mourning for a death in the family, and wept, according to dastūr (custom), all the time I was there: they were dressed in plain white attire, with no ornaments; that is their (mátim) mourning. The young Nawab, who is about twelve years old, is a fine boy; ugly, but manly and well-behaved.
The Nawab Mootuzim Adowlah Menhdī Ali Khan Bahādur, commonly called Nawab Hakīm Menhdī, lives at Fathīgar; he was unwell, and unable to call, but he sent down his stud to be shown to me, my fondness for horses having reached his ears.
22nd.—I visited a manufactory for Indian shawls, lately established by the Hakīm to support some people, who, having come from Cashmir, were in distress; and as they were originally shawl manufacturers, in charity he gave them employment.[17] This good deed is not without its reward; three or four hundred workmen are thus supported; the wool is brought from Cashmir, and the sale of the shawls gives a handsome profit. I did not admire them; they are manufactured to suit the taste of the English, and are too heavy; but they are handsome, and the patterns strictly Indian. Colonel Gardner’s Begam said to me one day, at Khāsgunge, “Look at these shawls, how beautiful they are! If you wish to judge of an Indian shawl, shut your eyes and feel it; the touch is the test of a good one. Such shawls as these are not made at the present day in Cashmir; the English have spoiled the market. The shawls made now are very handsome, but so thick and heavy, they are only fit for carpets, not for ladies’ attire.”
26th.—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī called, bringing with him his son, a man about forty years of age, called “The General.” He invited me to pay him and the Begam a visit, and wished to show me his residence.
29th.—We drove to the Nawāb’s house, which is a good one; he received us at the door, and took my arm, instead of giving me his. He is a fine-looking old man, older than Colonel Gardner, whom in style he somewhat resembles; his manners are distinguished and excellent. He wore an embroidered cap, with a silver muslin twisted like a cord, and put around it, as a turban; it was very graceful, and his dress was of white muslin. The rooms of his house are most curious; more like a shop in the China bazār, in Calcutta, than any thing else; full of lumber, mixed with articles of value. Tables were spread all down the centre of the room, covered with most heterogeneous articles: round the room were glass cases, full of clocks, watches, sundials, compasses, guns, pistols, swords; every thing you can imagine might be found in these cases.
The Hakīm was making all due preparation for celebrating the Muharram in the most splendid style; he was a very religious man, and kept the fast with wonderful strictness and fortitude. A very lofty room was fitted up as a Taziya Khāna, or house of mourning; from the ceiling hung chandeliers of glass of every colour, as thickly as it was possible to place them, all the length[18] of the spacious apartment; and in this room several taziyas, very highly decorated, were placed in readiness for the ceremony. One of them was a representation of the Mausoleum of the Prophet at Medina; another the tomb of Hussein at Karbala; a third, that of Kasīm; and there was also a most splendid Burāk, a fac-simile of the winged horse, on which the Prophet made an excursion one night from Jerusalem to Heaven, and thence returned to Mecca. The angel Gabriel acted as celestial sā’īs on the occasion, and brought the animal from the regions above. He must have been a fiery creature to control that winged horse; and the effect must have been more than picturesque, as the Prophet scudded along on a steed that had the eyes and face of a man, his ears long, his forehead broad, and shining like the moon; eyes of jet, shaped like those of a deer, and brilliant as the stars; the neck and breast of a swan, the loins of a lion, the tail and the wings of a peacock, the stature of a mule, and the speed of lightning!—hence its name Burāk.
In front of the taziyas and of the flying horse were a number of standards; some intended to be fac-similes of the banner (’alam) of Hussein: and others having the names of particular martyrs. The banners of Alī were denominated, “The Palm of the Hand of Alī the Elect;” “The Hand of the Lion of God;” “The Palm of the Displayer of Wonders;” and “The Palm of the Disperser of Difficulties.” Then there was the “Standard of Fatima,” the daughter of the Prophet, and wife of Alī; also that of Abbās-i-’alam-dār, the standard-bearer; with those of Kasīm, Alī-akbar, and others; the banner of the twelve Imāms; the double-bladed sword of Alī; and the nal-sāhib. There was also the neza, a spear or lance dressed up with a turban, the ends flying in the air, and a lime fixed at the top of it; emblematic, it is said, of Hussein’s head, which was carried in triumph through different cities, by the order of Yuzeed, the King of Shawm.
The nal-sāhib is a horse-shoe affixed to the end of a long pole; it is made of gold, silver, metals, wood, or paper, and is intended as an emblem of Hussein’s horse.
The ’Alam-i-Kasīm, or Standard of Kasīm the Bridegroom, is[19] distinguished by its having a little chatr in gold or silver, fixed on the top of it. All these things were collected in the long room in the house of the Nawāb, ready for the nocturnal perambulations of the faithful.
After the loss of the battle of Kraabaallah, the family of Hussein were carried away captive with his son Zein-ool-Abaīdīn, the only male of the race of Alī who was spared, and they were sent to Medina. With them were carried the heads of the martyrs; and that of Hussein was displayed on the point of a lance, as the cavalcade passed through the cities. In consequence of the remonstrances and eloquence of Zein-ool-Abaīdīn, the orphan son of Hussein, the heads of the martyrs were given to him; and forty days after the battle they were brought back to Kraabaallah, and buried, each with its own body; the mourners then returned to Medina, visited the tomb of the Prophet, and all Medina eventually became subject to Zein-ool-Abaīdīn.
Alī, the son-in-law of Muhammad, was, according to the Shī’as, the direct successor of the Prophet; they not acknowledging the other three caliphs; but, according to the Sunnīs, he was the fourth Khalifa, or successor of Muhammad.
The Muharram concludes on the fortieth day, in commemoration of the interment of the martyrs at Kraabaallah, the name of a place in Irāk, on the banks of the Euphrates, which is also—and, perhaps, more correctly—called Karbalā. At this place the army of Yuzeed, the King, was encamped; while the band of Hussein, including himself, amounting only to seventy-two persons, were on the other side of an intervening jungle, called Mareea.
The Nawāb is a very public-spirited man, and does much good; he took me over a school he founded, and supports, for the education of native boys; showed me a very fine chīta (hunting leopard), and some antelopes, which were kept for fighting. For the public benefit, he has built a bridge, a ghāt, and a sarā’e, a resting-place for travellers; all of which bear his name.
The Begam, having been informed that I was with the Nawāb,[20] sent to request I would pay a visit to the zenāna, and a day was appointed in all due form.
May 3rd.—The time having arrived, the Nawāb came to the house at which I was staying, to pay me the compliment of escorting me to visit the Begam. The Muharram having commenced, all his family were therefore in mourning, and could wear no jewels; he apologized that, in consequence, the Begam could not be handsomely dressed to receive me. She is a pretty looking woman, but has none of the style of James Gardner’s Begam; she is evidently in great awe of the Hakīm, who rules, I fancy, with a rod of iron. The rooms in the zenāna are long and narrow, and supported by pillars on the side facing the enclosed garden, where three fountains played very refreshingly, in which golden fish were swimming. The Begam appeared fond of the fish, and had some beautiful pigeons, which came to be fed near the fountains; natives place a great value upon particular breeds of pigeons, especially those obtained from Lucnow, some of which bring a very high price. It is customary with rich natives to keep a number of pigeons; the man in charge of them makes them manœuvre in the air by word of command, or rather by the motions of a long wand which he carries in his hand, and with which he directs the flight of his pigeons; making them wheel and circle in the air, and ascend or descend at pleasure. The sets of pigeons consist of fifty, or of hundreds; and to fly your own in mock battle against the pigeons of another person is an amusement prized by the natives.
Several large glass cases were filled in the same curious manner as those before mentioned; and the upper panes of the windows were covered with English prints, some coloured and some plain. The Hakīm asked me if I did not admire them? There was Lord Brougham; also a number of prints of half-naked boxers sparring; Molineux and Tom Cribb, &c., in most scientific attitudes; divers characters of hunting celebrity; members of Parliament in profusion; and bright red and blue pictures of females, as Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter:—a most uncouth collection to be displayed around the walls of a zenāna! I was surprised to see pictures in the house of a man[21] considered to be so religious as the Nawāb; because the Prophet said, “Every painter is in hell-fire, and God will appoint a person at the day of resurrection, for every picture he shall have drawn, to punish him in hell. Then, if you must make pictures, make them of trees, and things without souls.” “And whoever draws a picture will be punished, by ordering him to blow a spirit into it; and this he can never do; and so he will be punished as long as God wills.”
“The angels do not enter the house in which is a dog, nor into that in which are pictures.”
I spent an hour in the zenāna, talking to the old Nawāb; the Begam scarcely ventured to speak. He took me over her flower garden, and made me promise I would never pass Fathīghar without paying him a visit. I told him that when the rains arrived, I should come up in the pinnace, having promised to revisit my relatives, when I should have the pleasure of seeing him and the Begam again. He pressed me to stay and see the ceremonies of the Muharram; I regretted extremely I was obliged to return home, being very anxious to see the mourning festival celebrated in all state.
I happened to wear a ferronnière on my forehead; it amused the Begam very much, because it somewhat resembled the tīka worn by the women of the East.
His first Begam, to whom he was much attached, died: he sent her body to Mekka: it went down at sea. This was reckoned a great misfortune, and an omen of ill luck. Four years afterwards he married the present Begam, who was slave girl to the former.
Between the pauses in conversation the Nawāb would frequently have recourse to his rosary, repeating, I suppose, the ninety-nine names of God, and meditating on the attributes of each. In the Qanoon-e-islam it is mentioned, “To read with the use of a tusbeeh (or rosary) is meritorious; but it is an innovation, since it was not enjoined by the prophet (the blessing and peace of God be with him!) or his companions, but established by certain mushaeks (or divines). They use the chaplet in repeating the kulma (confession of faith) or durood[22] (blessing), one, two, or more hundred times.” On the termination of my visit to the zenāna, the Nawāb re-escorted me to the house of the friend with whom I was staying.
For the first time, I saw to-day a person in a burkā walking in the street; it was impossible to tell whether the figure was male or female; the long swaggering strut made me suppose the former. A pointed crown was on the top of the head, from which ample folds of white linen fell to the feet, entirely concealing the person. Before the eyes were two holes, into which white net was inserted; therefore the person within could see distinctly, while even the colour of the eyes was not discernible from without. The burka’-posh, or person in the burka’, entered the house of the Nawāb. The dress afterwards was sent me to look at, and a copy of it was taken for me by my darzī (tailor). It is often worn by respectable women, who cannot afford to go out in a palanquin, or in a dolī.
The Hakīm was fond of writing notes in English, some of which were curious. When the office of Commissioner was done away with, he thought the gentleman who held the appointment would be forced to quit Fathīghar. The old Hakīm wrote a singular note, in which was this sentence: “As for the man who formed the idea of doing away with your appointment, my dear friend, may God blast him under the earth.” However, as the gentleman remained at Fathīghar, and the Government bestowed an appointment equally good upon him, the Hakīm was satisfied. On my return to Allahabad, he wrote to me, and desired me “not to bury his friendship and affection in oblivion.”
4th.—Paid a farewell visit to her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior, in the Mahratta Camp, and quitted Fathīghar dāk for Allahabad. A brain fever would have been the consequence, had I not taken shelter during the day, as the hot winds were blowing, and the weather intensely oppressive; therefore I only travelled by night, and took refuge during the day.
5th.—I stopped during the day at the house of a gentleman at Menhdī Ghāt, which was built by the Nawāb, as well as the sarā’e at Naramhow, which also bears his name. From this place I sent[23] to Kannouj for a quantity of chūrīs, i.e., rings made of sealing-wax, very prettily ornamented with gold foil, beads, and colours: the old woman, who brought a large basketful for sale, put a very expensive set on my arms; they cost four ānās, or three pence! The price of a very pretty set is two ānās. My host appeared surprised; he must have thought me a Pakka Hindostanī. Kannouj is famed for the manufacture of chūrīs. I wore the bracelets for two days, and then broke them off, because the sealing-wax produced a most annoying irritation of the skin.
6th.—I spent the heat of the day with some kind friends at Cawnpore, and the next dāk brought me to Fathīpoor. The day after, I spent the sultry hours in the dāk bungalow, at Shāhzadpoor; and the following morning was very glad to find myself at home, after my long wanderings. The heat at times in the pālkee was perfectly sickening. I had a small thermometer with me, which, at 10 A.M., often stood at 93°; and the sides of the palanquin were hot as the sides of an oven. The fatigue also of travelling so many nights was very great; but it did me no harm.
I found Allahabad greatly altered; formerly it was a quiet station, it had now become the seat of the Agra Government, and Mr. Blunt, the Lieut.-Governor, was residing there. I had often heard Colonel Gardner speak in high praise of this gentleman, who was a friend of his. My time was now employed in making and receiving visits, and going to parties.
13th.—At the house of Mr. F⸺ I met the Austrian traveller, Baron H⸺; he requested to be allowed to call on me the next day to see my collection of curiosities. He pronounced them very good, and promised to send me some idols to add to them. I gave him a set of Hindoo toe-rings, the sacred thread of the Brahmans, and a rosary, every bead of which was carved with the name of the god Rām. Men were deceivers ever; the promised idols were never added to my collection. The Lieut.-Governor’s parties, which were very agreeable, rendered Allahabad a very pleasant station.
Aug. 2nd.—I went to the melā (fair) held within the grounds[24] at Papamhow. To this place we had sent the pinnace, the Seagull; and on the 10th of the month my husband accompanied me two days’ sail on my voyage, to revisit my relations at Fathīghar, after which, he returned to Allahabad, leaving me and the great spaniel Nero to proceed together. The daily occurrences of this voyage may be omitted, only recording any adventure that occurred during the course of it. The stream is so excessively powerful, that at times, even with a fine strong breeze and thirteen men on the towing-line, we are forced to quit the main stream, and proceed up some smaller branch, which occasions delay.
Aug. 14th.—Arrived at Kurrah, a celebrated place in former days, I wished to go on shore to see the tomb of Shaikh Karrick, and to have a canter on the black pony, who was to meet me there; but was obliged to give up the idea, because we were compelled to go up the other side of the river in consequence of the violence and rapidity of the stream.
In A.D. 1295, Alla, the son of Feroze, the second King of Delhi, was Governor of Kurrah and Subadar of Oude. Alla made an expedition into the Deccan, and returned laden with spoil. Six hundred mŭn of pure gold; seven mŭn of pearls; two mŭn of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires; one thousand mŭn of silver, and four thousand pieces of silk, &c.
The King of Delhi, wishing to share in his nephew’s plunder, came down to Kurrah. Alla met him when his boat touched the bank of the river; and, after the fondest greetings, made a sign to two men, who came forward and murdered the king on the spot.
They relate, that when Alla visited a celebrated sage, Shaikh Karrick, who is buried at Kurrah, and whose tomb is held sacred to this day, he rose from his pillow, and repeated an extempore verse to the following purport:—“He cometh, but his head shall fall in the boat, and his body in the Ganges,” which, they say, was explained an hour afterwards by the death of the King Feroze, whose head was thrown into the boat on that occasion. One of the assassins died of a horrible leprosy, which dissolved the flesh piecemeal from his bones; the other[25] went mad, and incessantly cried out that Feroze was cutting off his head.
This detestable Alla seized the throne of Delhi, and reigned under the title of Alla the First. He proposed, like Alexander the Great, to undertake the conquest of the world. In consequence of this project, he assumed the title of Sekunder al Sānī (Alexander the Second), which was struck upon the currency of the empire. The silver coins represented in the sketch (Fig. 6.) which I procured at Fathīpoor, were found in a field five miles from Kurrah; they were inscribed A.D. 1313, Sekunder al Sānī. Never was there such a wretch as this Alla the First. He died A.D. 1316. I consider the coins as great a curiosity as the gentleman considers one of Thurtell’s ears, which he has preserved in spirits!
16th.—Anchored at Maigong in rather a picturesque spot, close to a satī mound. By the side of the mound I saw the trunk of a female figure beautifully carved in stone. The head, arms, and part of the legs had been broken off. They said it was the figure of a satī. At the back of the mound was a very ancient banyan-tree; and the green hills and trees around were in all the freshness and luxuriance of the rainy season.
The next morning, to my surprise, on going into the large cabin to breakfast, there was the figure of the headless satī covered with flowers, and at the spot where feet were not, offerings of gram, boiled rice, &c., had been placed by some of the Hindoo dāndees. “How came you possessed of the satī?” said I. “The mem sāhiba admired her, she is here.” “Chorī-ke-mal nā’īch hazm hota,” “Stolen food never digests,” i.e., “Ill deeds never prosper, the poor people will grieve for the figure; tell the sarang to lower sail and return her to them.” “What words are these?” replied the sarang, “we are miles from the spot; the satī has raised the wind.” The headless lady remained on board.
As we passed the residence of Rājā Budannath Singh, he came out with his family on three elephants to pay his respects, thinking my husband was on board. The ladies were peeping[26] from the house-top. The pinnace passed in full sail, followed by ten immense country boats full of magazine stores, and the cook boat. Being unable at night to cross those rivers, we anchored on the Oude side. I did not much admire being in the domains of the King of Lucnow instead of those of the Company; they are a very turbulent set, those men of Oude, and often pillage boats. The vicinity of the Rājā’s house was some protection. Rām Din had the matchlocks of the sipahī guard fired off by way of bravado, and to show we were armed; the lathīs (bamboos) were laid in readiness, in case of attack: the watch was set, and, after these precautions, the mem sāhiba and her dog went to rest very composedly.
22nd.—Not a breath of air! a sun intensely hot; the river is like a silver lake; but over its calm the vessel does not glide, for we are fast on a sandbank! Down come the fiery beams; several of the servants are ill of fever. Heaven help them; I doctor them all, and have killed no one as yet! My husband will fret himself as he sits in the coolness of the house and thinks of me on the river. The vessel was in much difficulty this morning; the conductor of some magazine boats sent forty men and assisted her out of it. Lucky it was that chance meeting with the conductor in this Wilderness of Waters! One is sure to find some one to give aid in a difficulty, no doubt through the power of the satī, whom they still continue to adorn with fresh flowers.
25th.—After a voyage of fifteen days and a half I arrived at Cawnpore; coming up the reach of the Ganges, in front of Cantonments, a powerful wind was in our favour. The Seagull gallantly led the way in front of the twelve magazine boats: a very pretty sight for the Cawnporeans, especially as a squall overtook us, struck us all into picturesque attitudes, and sunk one of the magazine boats, containing 16,000 rupees worth of new matchlocks. When the squall struck the little fleet, they were thrown one against another, the sails shivered, and the centre boat sank like a stone. Being an eye-witness of this scene, I was afterwards glad to be able to bear witness, at[27] the request of the conductor, to his good conduct, and the care he took of the boats, when called upon by the magistrate of the place.
28th.—Anchored off Bittoor on the opposite side. I regretted being unable to see the place and Bajee Row, the ex-Peshwā, who resides there on an allowance of eight lākh per annum. In 1818, he submitted to the Company, abdicated his throne, and retired to Bittoor for life. It would have given me pleasure to have seen these Mahrattas; but the channel of the stream forced me to go up the other side of the river.
The Government wish the Bāiza Bā’ī to live at Benares on six lākh a year; but the spirited old lady will not become a pensioner, and refuses to quit Fathīghar. She has no inclination, although an Hindoo, to be satisfied with “A little to eat and to live at Bunarus[11],” especially as at this place she is no great distance from her beloved Gwalior.
Sept. 2nd.—A day of adventures. Until noon, we battled against wind and stream: then came a fair wind, which blew in severe squalls and storms. Such a powerful stream against us; but it was fine sailing, and I enjoyed it very much. At times the squalls were enough to try one’s courage: We passed a vessel that had just broken her mast: the stream carried us back with violence, and we ran directly against her; she crushed in one of the Venetian windows of the cabin, and with that damage we escaped. Two men raising the sail of another vessel were knocked overboard by the squall, and were carried away with frightful velocity, the poor creatures calling for help: the stream swept them past us, and threw them on a sandbank—a happy escape!
Anchored at Menhdī ghāt; the moon was high and brilliant, the wind roaring around us, the stream, also, roaring in concert, like a distant waterfall; the night cold and clear, the stars bright and fine; but the appearance of the sky foretold more wind and squalls for the morrow. I had no idea, until I had tried it, how much danger there was on the Gunga, during the height of the rains; in this vessel I think myself safe, but[28] certainly I should not admire a small one. All the vessels to-day were at anchor; not a sail was to be seen but the white sails of the Seagull, and the dark ones of the cook boat, the latter creeping along the shore, her mānjhī following very unwillingly.
My sarang says the quantity of sail I oblige him to carry during high winds, has turned “his stomach upside down with alarm.”
3rd.—For some hours the next morning the gale continued so violently, we could not quit the bank; a gentleman came on board, and told me, by going up a stream, called the Kalī Nadī, I should escape the very powerful rush of the Ganges; that I could go up the Nadī twenty miles, and by a canal, cut in former days, re-enter the Ganges above.
I asked him to show me the ruins of Kannouj; we put off; it was blowing very hard: at last we got out safely into the middle of the stream. About a mile higher up, we quitted the roaring and rushing waters of the Ganges, and entered the placid stream of the Kalī Nadī. Situated on a hill, most beautifully wooded, with the winding river at its feet, stands the ancient city of Kannouj; the stream flowing through fine green meadows put me in mind of the Thames near Richmond. In the Ganges we could scarcely stem the current, even though the wind, which was fair, blew a gale; in the Nadī we furled every sail, and were carried on at a good rate, merely by the force of the wind on the hull of the vessel, and the non-opposition of the gentle stream. My friend told me he had once thrown a net across the Kalī Nadī, near the entrance, and had caught one hundred and thirty-two great rhoee fish. On the hill above stands the tomb of Colonel ⸺; who, when Lord Lake’s army were encamped here on their road to Delhi, attempted on horseback to swim the Nadī, and was drowned.
In the history of Kannouj, it is said, “Rustum Dista, King of the Persian province of Seistan, conquered India; he, for his great exploits, is styled the Hercules of the East; unwilling to retain so distant an empire as a dependent on Persia, he placed a new family on the throne. The name of the Prince raised to the empire by Rustum was Suraja, who was a man of great[29] abilities, and restored the power of the empire. This dynasty commenced about 1072 years before the Christian æra, and it lasted two hundred and eighty-six years. It is affirmed by the Brahmins, that it was in the time of this dynasty that the worship of emblematical figures of the Divine attributes was first established in India.”
The Persians, in their invasions, they say, introduced the worship of the sun, fire, and the heavenly bodies; but the mental adoration of the Divinity, as the one Supreme Being, was still followed by many.
The great city of Kannouj was built by one of the Surajas, on the banks of the Ganges; the circumference of its walls is said to have been nearly one hundred miles. It contained thirty thousand shops, in which betel-nut was sold; and sixty thousand bands of musicians and singers, who paid a tax to Government. In A.D. 1016, the King of Ghizni took Kannouj, “a city which, in strength and structure, might justly boast to have no equal, and which raised its head to the skies.” It is said, “The Hindostanee language is more purely spoken in Kannouj than in any other part of India.”
We anchored; and after tiffin, Mr. M⸺ accompanied me to see the tombs of two Muhammadan saints, on the top of the hill. Thence we visited a most singular Hindoo building, of great antiquity, which still exists in a state of very tolerable preservation; the style of the building, one stone placed on the top of another, appeared to me more remarkable than any architecture I had seen in India. A further account of this ancient building, with a sketch annexed, will be given in a subsequent chapter.
The fort, which is in ruins, is on a commanding spot; the view from it all around is beautiful. The people sometimes find ancient coins amongst the ruins, and jewels of high value; a short time ago, some pieces of gold, in form and size like thin bricks, were discovered by an old woman; they were very valuable. The Brahmans brought to us for sale, square rupees, old rupees, and copper coins; but none of them were Hindoo; those of copper, or of silver, not being more than three hundred years old, were hardly worth having. I commissioned them to[30] bring me some gold coins, which are usually genuine and good. A regular trade is carried on at this place in the fabrication of silver and copper coins, and those of a mixed metal. The rose-water of Kannouj is considered very fine; it was brought, with other perfumed waters, for sale; also native preserves and pickles, which were inferior. To this day the singers of Kannouj are famous. I am glad I have seen the ruins of this old city, which are well worth visiting; I did not go into the modern town; the scenery is remarkably pretty. I must revisit this place on my black horse; there are many parts too distant from each other for a walk; I returned very much fatigued to the pinnace. A great many Hindoo idols, carved in stone, were scattered about in all directions, broken by the zeal of the Muhammadans, when they became possessed of Kannouj. I shall carry some off should I return this way.
5th.—A hot day, without a breath of air, was followed by as hot a night, during which I could not close my eyes; and a cough tore my chest to pieces.
When we lugāoed, I saw two fires by the side of the stream; from one of which they took up a half-burned body, and flung it into the river. The other fire was burning brightly, and a Hindoo, with a long pole, was stirring it up, and pushing the corpse of his father, or whoever the relation was, properly into the flames, that it might all consume. The nearest relation always performs this ceremony. The evening had gathered in darkly; some fifteen black figures were between us and the sunset, standing around the fire; the palm-trees, and some huts, all reflected in the quiet stream of the Kalī Nadī, had a good effect; especially when the man with the long pole stirred up his bāp (father), and the flames glowed the brighter.
I was glad to get away, and anchor further on, the smell on such occasions being objectionable; it is a horrible custom, this burning the corpse; the poor must always do it by halves, it takes so much wood to consume the body to ashes.
The sirdar-bearer of an officer died; the gentleman desired a small present might be given to his widow, in aid of the funeral. At the end of the month, when the officer’s accounts[31] were brought to him for settlement, he found the following item, “For roasting sirdar-bearer, five rupees!”
Some Hindoos do not burn their dead; I saw a body brought down to the river-side this evening, by some respectable-looking people; they pushed the corpse into the stream, and splashed handfuls of water after it, uttering some prayer.
6th.—After fighting with the stream all day, and tiring the crew to death on sandbanks, and pulling against a terribly powerful current, we were forced back to within two miles of our last night’s anchorage; we have happily found a safe place to remain in during the night; these high banks, which are continually falling in, are very dangerous. Fortunately in the evening, assisted by a breeze, we arrived at the canal; and having passed through it quitted the Kalī Nadī, and anchored in the deep old bed of the Ganges.
7th.—With great difficulty we succeeded in bringing the pinnace to within three miles of Fathīghar, where I found a palanquin in waiting for me; the river being very shallow, I quitted the vessel, and, on my arrival at my friend’s house, sent down a number of men to assist in bringing her up in safety.
Mutiny in Camp—Murder of the Prisoners—The Mutiny quelled by the Military—Visit to the Zenāna—The Swing of the Gaja Rājā—The Seagull in Parda—The Bā’ī visits the Pinnace—How to dress a Camel—The vicious Beast—Lucky and Unlucky Days—Her Highness ordered to Benares.
1835, Sept. 8th.—A deputation arrived from her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, claiming protection from the Agent to the Government, on account of a mutiny in her camp. She was fearful of being murdered, as her house was surrounded by three hundred and fifty mutinous soldiers, armed with matchlocks and their palitas ready lighted. The mutineers demanded seven months pay; and finding it was not in her power to give it to them, they determined to have recourse to force, and seized her treasurer, her paymaster, and four other officers. These unfortunate men they had made prisoners for seven days, keeping them secured to posts and exposed the whole day to the sun, and only giving them a little sherbet to drink. The Agent to the Government having called out the troops, marched down with them to the Mahratta Camp, where they seized the guns.
The mutineers would not come to terms, or lay down their arms. The troops spent the night in the Camp; at daybreak they charged into the zenāna compound, killed eight mutineers, and wounded nine: the guns were fired at the Mahratta horsemen, who were outside; after which the men laid down their arms, and tranquillity was restored.
The magistrate of the station, who had gone in with the troops,[33] was engaged with two of the mutineers, when all three fell into a well; a Mahratta from above having aimed his spear at him, an officer struck the weapon aside and killed the assailant; the spear glanced off and only inflicted a slight wound. The moment Colonel J⸺ charged the mutineers in the zenāna compound, they murdered their prisoners, the treasurer and the paymaster, in cold blood; the other four officers escaped in the tumult. The greater part of her Highness’s troops being disaffected, they could not be trusted to quell the mutiny; she was therefore compelled to ask for assistance. It was feared her troops, which amounted to eighteen hundred, might attempt to plunder the city and station, and be off to Gwalior; and there being only two hundred of the Company’s troops, and three guns at Fathīghar, the military were sent for from other stations, and a large body of police called out. The Bāiza Bā’ī despatched a lady several times to say she wished me to visit her; this was during the time she was a prisoner in her house, surrounded by the mutineers with their matches lighted. The agent for the Government would not allow me to go, lest they should seize and keep me a prisoner with the Bā’ī’s officers. I was therefore obliged to send word I could not obey the commands of her Highness on that account.
Emissaries from Gwalior are at the bottom of all this. The camp was in great ferment yesterday: it would be of no consequence, if we had a few more troops at the station; but two hundred infantry are sad odds against eighteen hundred men, one thousand of whom are horsemen; and they have three guns also.
17th.—Infantry have come in from Mynpooree and cavalry from Cawnpore, therefore every thing is safe in case the Mahrattas should mutiny again.
24th.—The Governor-General’s agent allowed me to accompany him to the camp. He took some armed horsemen from the police as an escort in case of disturbance. The Bāiza Bā’ī received me most kindly, as if I were an old friend. I paid my respects, and almost immediately quitted the room, as affairs of state were to be discussed. The Gaja Rājā took me into a pretty little room, which she had just built on the top of the[34] house as a sleeping-room for herself. Her charpāī (bed) swung from the ceiling; the feet were of gold, and the ropes by which it swung were covered with red velvet and silver bands. The mattress, stuffed with cotton, was covered with red and blue velvet: the cases of three large pillows were of gold and red kimkhwab; and there were a number of small flat round pillows covered with velvet. The counterpane was of gold and red brocade. In this bed she sleeps, and is constantly swung during her repose. She was dressed in black gauze and gold, with a profusion of jewellery, and some fresh flowers I had brought for her were in her hair. She invited me to sit on the bed, and a lady stood by swinging us. The Gaja Rājā has a very pretty figure, and looked most fairy-like on her decorated bed. When the affairs of state had been settled, we returned to the Bā’ī. Rose-water, pān, and atr of roses having been presented, I took my leave.
28th.—I was one of a party who paid a visit of state to her Highness. Nothing remarkable occurred. As we were on the point of taking our departure, the Bā’ī said she had heard of the beauty of my pinnace, and would visit it the next morning. This being a great honour, I said I would be in attendance, and would have the vessel anchored close to the Bā’ī’s own ghāt, at which place she bathes in the holy Ganges. On my return home, a number of people were set hard to work, to fit the vessel for the reception of the Bā’ī. Every thing European was removed, tables, chairs, &c. The floors of the cabins were covered with white cloth, and a gaddī placed in each for her Highness.
29th.—The vessel was decorated with a profusion of fresh flowers; she was drawn up to the ghāt, close to a flight of steps; and the canvas walls of tents were hung around her on every side, so that no spectators could see within. The sailors all quitted her, and she was then ready to receive the ladies of the Mahratta camp. Although I was at the spot at 4 A.M., the Bā’ī and hundreds of her followers were there before me. She accompanied me on board with all her ladies, and on seeing such a crowd in the vessel, asked if the numbers would not sink her. The Bā’ī admired the pinnace very much; and observing[35] the satī, which stood in one corner of the cabin, covered with flowers, I informed her Highness I had brought the headless figure to eat the air on the river; that Ganges water and flowers were daily offered her; that her presence was fortunate, as it brought an easterly wind. The Bā’ī laughed; and, after conversing for an hour, she quitted the vessel, and returned to her apartment on the ghāt. The Gaja Rājā and her ladies went into the inner cabin; Appa Sāhib, the Bā’ī’s son-in-law, came on board with his followers, the vessel was unmoored, and they took a sail on the river. The scene was picturesque. Some hundreds of Mahratta soldiers were dispersed in groups on the high banks amongst the trees; their elephants, camels, horses, and native carriages standing near the stone ghāts, and by the side of white temples. The people from the city were there in crowds to see what was going forward. On our return from the excursion on the river, I accompanied the Gaja Rājā to the Bā’ī; and, having made my salām, returned home, not a little fatigued with the exertion of amusing my guests. During the time we were on the water, Appa Sāhib played various Hindostanee and Mahratta airs on the sitar. It must have been a great amusement to the zenāna ladies, quite a gaiety for them, and a variety in their retired mode of life. They were all in their holiday dresses, jewels, and ornaments. Some wore dresses of bright yellow, edged with red, with black Cashmere shawls thrown over their shoulders; this costume was very picturesque. The Gaja Rājā wore a dress of black and gold, with a yellow satin tight body beneath it; enormous pearls in profusion, ornaments of gold on her arms, and silver ornaments on her ankles and toes; slippers of crimson and gold.
Oct. 2nd.—The Ganges at Farrukhabad is so full of sandbanks, and so very shallow, that fearing if I detained the pinnace, I might have some chance of being unable to get her down to Cawnpore, I sent her off with half the servants to that place to await my arrival; I shall go dāk in a palanquin, and the rest of the people can float down in the cook boat.
7th.—I called on the Bā’ī; and while she was employed on state affairs, retired with the Gaja Rājā to the pretty little room[36] before mentioned. There I found a Hindoo idol, dressed in cloth of gold, and beads, lying on the floor on a little red and purple velvet carpet. Two other idols were in niches at the end of the room. The idol appeared to be a plaything, a doll: I suppose, it had not been rendered sacred by the Brahmans. An idol is of no value until a Brahman dip it, with divers prayers and ceremonies, into the Gunga; when this ceremony has been performed, the spirit of the particular deity represented by the figure enters the idol. This sort of baptism is particularly expensive, and a source of great revenue to the Brahmans. The church dues fall as heavily on the poor Hindoo, as on the people of England; nevertheless, the heads of the Hindoo church do not live in luxury like the Bishops.
The fakīr, who from a religious motive, however mistaken, holds up both arms, until they become withered and immovable, and who, being, in consequence, utterly unable to support himself, relies in perfect faith on the support of the Almighty, displays more religion than the man, who, with a salary of £8000 per annum, leaves the work to be done by curates, on a pittance of £80 a year.
The Gaja Rājā requested me to teach her how to make tea, she having been advised to drink it for her health; she retired, changed her dress, returned, took her tea, and complained of its bitter taste.
“I am told you dress a camel beautifully,” said the young Princess; “and I was anxious to see you this morning, to ask you to instruct my people how to attire a sawārī camel.” This was flattering me on a very weak point: there is but one thing in the world that I perfectly understand, and that is, how to dress a camel.
“I hope you do not eat him when you have dressed him!” said an English gentleman.
My relative had a fine young camel, and I was not happy until I had superintended the making the attire, in which he—the camel, not the gentleman—looked beautiful! The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī, having seen the animal, called, to request he might have similar trappings for his own sawārī camel; and[37] the fame thereof having reached the Mahratta camp, my talents were called into play. I promised to attend to the wishes of the Gaja Rājā; and, returning home, summoned twelve mochīs, the saddlers of India, natives of the Chamār caste, to perform the work. Whilst one of the men smokes the nārjīl (cocoa-nut pipe), the remainder will work; but it is absolutely necessary that each should have his turn every half-hour, no smoke,—no work.
Five hundred small brass bells of melodious sound; two hundred larger ditto, in harmony, like hounds well matched, each under each; and one large bell, to crown the whole; one hundred large beads of imitative turquoise; two snow-white tails of the cow of Thibet; some thousands of cowries, many yards of black and of crimson cloth, and a number of very long tassels of red and black worsted. The mochīs embroidered the attire for three days, and it was remarkably handsome. The camel’s clothing being ready, it was put into a box, and the Gaja Rājā having appointed an hour, I rode over, taking it with me, at 4 A.M.
In the court-yard of the zenāna, I found the Bā’ī, and all her ladies; she asked me to canter round the enclosure, the absurdity of sitting on one side a horse being still an amusing novelty.
The Bā’ī’s riding horses were brought out; she was a great equestrian in her youthful days, and, although she has now given up the exercise, delights in horses. The ladies relate, with great pride, that, in one battle, her Highness rode at the head of her troops, with a lance in her hand, and her infant in her arms!
A very vicious, but large and handsome camel was then brought in by the female attendants; he knelt down, and they began putting the gay trappings upon him; his nose was tied to his knee, to prevent his injuring the girls around him, whom he attempted to catch hold of, showing his great white teeth; if once the jaw of a camel closes upon you, he will not relinquish his hold. You would have supposed they were murdering, not dressing the animal; he groaned and shouted as if in great pain, it was piteous to hear the beast; and laughable, when you remembered it was the “dastūr;” they always groan and moan[38] when any load is placed on their backs, however light. When the camel’s toilet was completed, a Mahratta girl jumped on his back, and made him go round the enclosure at a capital rate; the trappings were admired, and the bells pronounced very musical.
They were eager I should mount the camel; I thought of Theodore Hook. “The hostess said, ‘Mr. Hook, will you venture upon an orange?’ ‘No, thank you, Ma’am, I’m afraid I should tumble off.’” C’est beau çà, n’est pas? I declined the elevated position offered me, for the same reason.
The finest young sawārī camels, that have never been debased by carrying any burthen greater than two or three Persian cats, are brought down in droves by the Arabs from Cabul; one man has usually charge of three camels; they travel in single file, the nose of one being attached to the crupper of another by a string passed through the cartilage. They browse on leaves in preference to grazing. It was a picturesque scene, that toilet of the camel, performed by the Mahratta girls, and they enjoyed the tamāshā.
I mentioned my departure was near at hand; the Bā’ī spoke of her beloved Gwalior, and did me the honour to invite me to pay my respects there, should she ever be replaced on the gaddī. She desired I would pay a farewell visit to the camp three days afterwards. After the distribution, as usual, of betel leaves, spices, atr of roses, and the sprinkling with rose-water, I made my salām. Were I an Asiatic, I would be a Mahratta.
The Mahrattas never transact business on an unlucky day; Tuesday is an unfortunate day, and the Bā’ī, who was to have held a durbār, put it off in consequence. She sent for me, it being the day I was to take leave of her; I found her looking grave and thoughtful, and her sweet smile was very sad. She told me the Court of Directors had sent orders that she was to go and live at Benares, or in the Deccan; that she was to quit Fathīghar in one month’s time, and should she refuse to do so, the Governor-General’s agent was to take her to Benares by force, under escort of troops that had been sent to Fathīghar for that purpose. The Bā’ī was greatly distressed, but spoke on the[39] subject with a command of temper, and a dignity that I greatly admired. “What must the Mahāraj do? Cannot this evil fate be averted? Must she go to Benares? Tell us, Mem sāhiba, what must we do?” said one of the ladies in attendance. Thus called upon, I was obliged to give my opinion; it was an awkward thing to tell an exiled Queen she must submit,—“The cudgel of the powerful must be obeyed[12].” I hesitated; the Bā’ī looked at me for an answer. Dropping the eyes of perplexity on the folded hands of despondency, I replied to the Brija, who had asked the question, “Jiska lāthī ooska bhains,”—i.e. “He who has the stick, his is the buffalo[13]!” The effect was electric. The Bāiza Bā’ī and the Gaja Rājā laughed, and I believe the odd and absurd application of the proverb half reconciled the Mahāraj to her fate.
I remained with her Highness some time, talking over the severity of the orders of Government, and took leave of her with great sorrow; the time I had before spent in the camp had been days of amusement and gaiety; the last day, the unlucky Tuesday, was indeed ill-starred, and full of misery to the unfortunate and amiable ex-Queen of Gwalior.
Zenāna of the Nawāb of Farrukhabad—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī—Hidden Treasures—The Jak—Dak to Cawnpore—The Nawāb of Banda—Returned home in the Seagull—Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor, quitted the Station—Arrival of Mr. Ross—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent to Allahabad—Arrival of her Highness—Parties in the Mahratta Camp—Opium-Eating—Marriage Ceremonies of the Hindoos—Procession in Parda—The Bride—Red Gold—The Ex-Queen’s Tents at the Tribeni—The Bathing—Presents to the Brahmans—Arrival of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Sohobut Melā—Illness of the Gaja Rājā Sāhib—Murder of Mr. Frazer—The Bāiza Bā’ī a State Prisoner—The power of Magic.
1835, Oct.—One day I called on the Begam, the mother of the young Nawāb of Farrukhabad, and found her with all her relations sitting in the garden; they were plainly dressed, and looked very ugly. For a woman not to be pretty when she is shut up in a zenāna appears almost a sin, so much are we ruled in our ideas by what we read in childhood of the hoorīs of the East.
One morning, the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī called; his dress was most curious; half European, half Asiatic. The day being cold, he wore brown corduroy breeches, with black leather boots, and thick leather gloves; over this attire was a dress of fine white flowered Dacca muslin; and again, over that, a dress of pale pink satin, embroidered in gold! His turban was of gold and red Benares tissue. He carried his sword in his hand, and an attendant followed, bearing his hooqŭ; he was in high spirits, very agreeable, and I was quite sorry when he rose to depart.[41] In the evening, he sent down a charming little elephant, only five years old, for me to ride; which I amused myself with doing in the beautiful grounds around the house, sitting on the back of the little beauty, and guiding him with cords passed through his ears.
The next evening the Nawāb sent his largest elephant, on which was an amārī,—that is, a howdah, with a canopy,—which, according to native fashion, was richly gilt, the interior lined with velvet, and velvet cushions; the elephant was a fast one, his paces very easy, and I took a long ride in the surrounding country.
The Muhammadans have a fondness for archery, for which the following extract accounts:—“There was an Arabian bow in the hand of the Prophet, and he saw a man with a Persian one, and said, ‘Throw away the Persian bow, and adopt the Arabian, and appropriate arrows and spears; because God verily will assist with them in religion, and will make you conquerors of cities.’” “Verily, God brings three persons into Paradise, on account of one arrow; the first, the maker of it, being for war; the second, the shooter of it in the road of God; the third, the giver of the arrow into the hands of the archer.”
“His Highness entered Mecca on the day of taking it with his sword ornamented with gold and silver; and he had two coats of mail on the day of the battle of Oh’ud, and wore one over the other; the Prophet had two standards, one large, the other small; the large one was black, and the small one white; verily, the Prophet came into Mecca with a white ensign.”
We were speaking to-day of the practice of burying money, so much resorted to by the natives, when a gentleman remarked,—“It is a curious circumstance, that when a native buries treasure, in order to secure it, the only persons who know the secret are a low, debased caste, called Chamārs; these men are faithful to their employer; they will bury lākhs of rupees, and never betray the spot; they dig the ground, and guard it; as long as their employer lives they keep the secret; the moment of his death, they dig up, and are off with the money; they consider they have a right to it in that case, and they would not[42] give it up to his son.” This is a curious fact, and accounts for their strict secrecy during the life of the owner.
Buried treasures, consisting of jewels, as well as the precious metals, to the extent of lākhs and lākhs, are supposed to exist in the East; the inhabitants in ancient, and even in modern times, being in the habit of thus securing their property from plunder in wars and invasions; but they have not sufficient faith in their Mother Earth to leave their valuables in her care without the aid of necromancy (jādū); and, as before mentioned, the Akbarābādee, or square gold mohur, as represented by Fig. 7 in the plate entitled “Superstitions of the Natives,” is had recourse to, and buried with the treasure. Those who are not fortunate enough to possess a square gold mohur, substitute an Akbarābādee rupee, Fig. 5; or a square eight ānā piece, Fig. 4. It is also stated that an animal, sometimes a man, is killed, and buried with it as a guard; this animal is called jak, and receives orders to allow no one else to take up the treasure. It is not surprising the natives should behold the researches of English antiquaries with a jealous eye; and it must be some consolation to them that they believe a fatality awaits the appropriation, by the discoverer, of a hidden treasure.
15th.—Having despatched the pinnace to await my arrival at Cawnpore, I started dāk for that place, which I reached the next day, after a most disagreeable journey; I was also suffering from illness, but the care of my kind friends soon restored me to more comfortable feelings.
22nd.—I accompanied them to dine with the Nawāb Zulfecar Bahādur, of Banda. The Nawāb is a Muhammadan, but he is of a Mahratta family, formerly Hindoos; when he changed his religion, and became one of the faithful, I know not. Three of his children came in to see the company; the two girls are very interesting little creatures. The Nawāb sat at table, partook of native dishes, and drank sherbet when his guests took wine. The next day, the Nawāb dined with the gentleman at whose house I was staying, and met a large party.
24th.—I quitted Cawnpore in the Seagull, and once more found myself on the waters of the Gunga: a comet was plainly[43] visible through a glass; its hazy aspect rendered it a malignant-looking star. The solitude of my boat is very agreeable after so much exertion.
25th.—Anchored off a ship-builder’s yard, and purchased six great trees; sal, shorea robusta, and teak (tectona grandis); what they may turn out I can scarcely tell; I bought them by torch-light, had them pitched into the river, and secured to the boats; the teak trees to make into tables and chairs; the sal for a thermantidote; we have one at home, but having seen one very superior at Fathīghar, induced me to have the iron-work made at that place; I have brought it down upon the boats, and have now purchased the wood for it, en route, timber being reasonable at Cawnpore.
26th.—Here are we,—that is, the dog Nero and the Mem sāhiba,—floating so calmly, and yet so rapidly, down the river; it is most agreeable; the temples and ghāts we are now passing at Dalmhow are beautiful; how picturesque are the banks of an Indian river! the flights of stone steps which descend into the water; the temples around them of such peculiar Hindoo architecture; the natives, both men and women, bathing or filling their jars with the water of the holy Gunga; the fine trees, and the brightness of the sunshine, add great beauty to the scene. One great defect is the colour of the stream, which, during the rains, is peculiarly muddy; you have no bright reflections on the Ganges, they fall heavy and indistinct.
28th.—Lugāoed the pinnace in the Jumna, beneath the great peepul in our garden, on the banks of the river.
31st.—Dined with Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor; and the next day a lancet was put into my arm, to relieve an intolerable pain in my head, brought on by exposure to the sun on the river.
Nov. 6th.—The Lieutenant-Governor gave a farewell ball to the Station, on resigning the appointment to Mr. Ross. The news arrived that her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, having been forced to quit Fathīghar, by order of the Government, is on her march down to Benares; at which place they wish her to reside. Una Bā’ī, one of her ladies, having preceded her to Allahabad,[44] called on me, and begged me to take her on board the Calcutta steam-vessel, an object of great surprise to the natives.
9th.—The gentlemen of the Civil Service, and the military at the Station, gave a farewell ball to the Lieutenant-Governor; I was ill, and unable to attend. Oh! the pain of rheumatic fever! The new Lieutenant-Governor arrived; he gave a few dinners, and received them in return; after which Allahabad subsided into its usual quietude, enlivened now and then by a Bachelor’s Ball.
1836, Jan. 16th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī arrived at Allahabad, and encamped about seven miles from our house, on the banks of the Jumna, beyond the city. A few days after, the Brija Bā’ī, one of her ladies, came to me, to say her Highness wished to see me; accordingly I went to her encampment. She was out of spirits, very unhappy and uncomfortable, but expressed much pleasure at my arrival.
Feb. 5th.—Her Highness requested the steam-vessel should be sent up the river, opposite her tents; she went on board, and was much pleased, asked a great many questions respecting the steam and machinery, and went a short distance up the river. Capt. Ross accompanied her Highness to Allahabad, and remained there in charge of her, whilst her fate was being decided by the Government.
9th.—The Bā’ī gave a dinner party at her tents to twenty of the civilians and the military; in the evening there was a nāch, and fireworks were displayed; the ex-Queen appeared much pleased.
There is a very extensive enclosure at Allahabad, called Sultan Khusrū’s garden; tents had been sent there, and pitched under some magnificent tamarind trees, where a large party were assembled at tiffin, when the Bā’ī sent down a Mahratta dinner, to add to the entertainment. In the evening, her two rhinoceroses arrived; they fought one another rather fiercely; it was an amusement for the party. Captain Ross having quitted Allahabad, Mr. Scott took charge of her Highness.
March 1st.—The Brija Bā’ī called to request me to assist them in giving a dinner party to the Station, for which the[45] Bāiza Bā’ī wished to send out invitations; I was happy to aid her. The guests arrived at about seven in the evening; the gentlemen were received by Appa Sāhib, her son-in-law; the ladies were ushered behind the parda, into the presence of her Highness. I have never described the parda which protects the Mahratta ladies from the gaze of the men: In the centre of a long room a large curtain is dropped, not unlike the curtain at a theatre, the space behind which is sacred to the women; and there the gaddī of the Bā’ī was placed, close to the parda; a piece of silver, about six inches square, in which a number of small holes are pierced, is let into the parda; and this is covered on the inside with white muslin. When the Bā’ī wished to see the gentlemen, her guests, she raised the bit of white muslin, and could then see every thing in the next room through the holes in the silver plate—herself unseen. The gentlemen were in the outer room, the ladies in the inner. Appa Sāhib sat close to the parda; the Bā’ī conversed with him, and, through him, with some of the gentlemen present, whom she could see perfectly well.
Dancing girls sang and nāched before the gentlemen until dinner was announced. Many ladies were behind the parda with the Bāiza Bā’ī, and she asked me to interpret for those who could not speak Urdu. I was suffering from severe rheumatic pain in my face; her Highness perceiving it, took from a small gold box a lump of opium, and desired me to eat it, saying, she took as much herself every day. I requested a smaller portion; she broke off about one-third of the lump, which I put into my mouth, and as it dissolved the pain vanished; I became very happy, interpreted for the ladies, felt no fatigue, and talked incessantly. Returning home, being obliged to go across the country for a mile in a palanquin, to reach the carriage, the dust which rolled up most thickly half choked me; nevertheless, I felt perfectly happy, nothing could discompose me; but the next morning I was obliged to call in medical advice, on account of the severe pain in my head, from the effect of the opium.
The table for dinner was laid in a most magnificent tent, lined with crimson cloth, richly embossed, and lighted with numerous[46] chandeliers. The nāch girls danced in the next apartment, but within sight of the guests; her Highness and her grand-daughter, from behind the parda, looked on. About two hundred native dishes, in silver bowls, were handed round by Brahmans; and it was considered etiquette to take a small portion from each dish. On the conclusion of the repast, the Governor-General’s agent rose, and drank her Highness’s health, bowing to the parda; and Appa Sāhib returned thanks, in the name of the Bā’ī. The dinner and the wines were excellent; the latter admirably cooled. Fireworks were let off, and a salute was fired from the cannon when the guests departed. Her nephew was there in his wedding dress—cloth of gold most elaborately worked. The Bā’ī expressed herself greatly pleased with the party, and invited me to attend the wedding of her nephew the next day, and to join her when she went in state to bathe in the Jumna. I was very glad to see her pleased, and in good spirits.
March 4th.—This being the great day of the wedding, at the invitation of the Bā’ī we took a large party to the camp to see the ceremonies in the cool of the evening. Having made our salām to her Highness, we proceeded with the Gaja Rājā Sāhib to the tents of the bride, which were about half a mile from those of the bridegroom. The ceremony was going on when we entered. The bridegroom, dressed in all his heavy finery, stood amongst the priests, who held a white sheet between him and the bride, who stood on the other side, while they chanted certain prayers. When the prayers were concluded, and a quantity of some sort of small grain had been thrown at the lady, the priest dropped the cloth, and the bridegroom beheld his bride. She was dressed in Mahratta attire, over which was a dopatta of crimson silk, worked in gold stars; this covered her forehead and face entirely, and fell in folds to her feet. Whether the person beneath this covering was man, woman, or child, it was impossible to tell: bound round the forehead, outside this golden veil, was a sihrā, a fillet of golden tissue, from which strings and bands of gold and silver fell over her face. The bridegroom must have taken upon trust, that the woman he[47] wished to marry was the one concealed under these curious wedding garments. It was late at night; we all returned to the Bā’ī’s tent, and the ladies departed, all but Mrs. Colonel W⸺ and myself; the Gaja Rājā having asked us to stay and see the finale of the marriage. The young Princess retired to bathe, after which, having been attired in yellow silk, with a deep gold border, and covered with jewels, she rejoined us, and we set out to walk half a mile to the tents of the bride; this being a part of the ceremony. The Gaja Rājā, her ladies, and attendants, Mrs. W⸺, and myself, walked with her in parda; that is, the canvas walls of tents having been fixed on long poles so as to form an oblong inclosure, a great number of men on the outside took up the poles and moved gently on; while we who were inside, walked in procession over white cloths, spread all the way from the tent of the Bā’ī to that of the bride. It was past 10 P.M. Fireworks were let off, and blue lights thrown up from the outside, which lighting up the procession of beautifully dressed Mahratta ladies, gave a most picturesque effect to the scene. The graceful little Gaja Rājā, with her slight form and brilliant attire, looked like what we picture to ourselves a fairy was in the good old times, when such beings visited the earth. At the head of this procession was a girl carrying a torch; next to her a nāch girl danced and figured about; then a girl in the dress of a soldier, who carried a musket and played all sorts of pranks. Another carried a pole, on which were suspended onions, old shoes, and all sorts of queer extraordinary things to make the people laugh. Arrived at the end of our march, the Gaja Rājā seated herself, and water was poured over her beautiful little feet. We then entered the tent of the bride, where many more ceremonies were performed. During the walk in parda, I looked at Mrs. W⸺, who had accompanied me, and could not help saying, “We flatter ourselves we are well dressed, but in our hideous European ungraceful attire we are a blot in the procession. I feel ashamed when the blue lights bring me out of the shade; we destroy the beauty of the scene.”
I requested permission to raise the veil and view the countenance[48] of the bride. She is young, and, for a Mahratta, handsome. The Bā’ī presented her with a necklace of pure heavy red gold; and told me she was now so poor she was unable to give her pearls and diamonds. New dresses were then presented to all her ladies. We witnessed so many forms and ceremonies, I cannot describe one-fourth of them. That night the bridegroom took his bride to his own tents, but the ceremonies of the wedding continued for many days afterwards. I returned home very much pleased at having witnessed a shādī among the Hindoos, having before seen the same ceremony among the Muhammadans.
The ex-Queen had some tents pitched at that most sacred spot, the Treveni, the junction of the three rivers; and to these tents she came down continually to bathe; her ladies and a large concourse of people were in attendance upon her, and there they performed the rites and ceremonies. The superstitions and the religion of the Hindoos were to me most interesting subjects, and had been so ever since my arrival in the country. Her Highness was acquainted with this, and kindly asked me to visit her in the tents at the junction whenever any remarkable ceremony was to be performed. This delighted me, as it gave me an opportunity of seeing the worship, and conversing on religious subjects with the ladies, as well as with the Brahmans. The favourite attendant, the Brija Bā’ī never failed to call, and invite me to join their party at the time of the celebration of any particular rite. At one of the festivals her Highness invited me to visit her tents at the Treveni. I found the Mahratta ladies assembled there: the tents were pitched close to the margin of the Ganges, and the canvas walls were run out to a considerable distance into the river. Her Highness, in her usual attire, waded into the stream, and shaded by the kanāts from the gaze of men, reached the sacred junction, where she performed her devotions, the water reaching to her waist. After which she waded back again to the tents, changed her attire, performed pooja, and gave magnificent presents to the attendant Brahmans. The Gaja Rājā and all the Mahratta ladies accompanied the ex-Queen to the sacred junction, as they[49] returned dripping from the river, their draperies of silk and gold clung to their figures; and very beautiful was the statue-like effect, as the attire half revealed and half concealed the contour of the figure.
15th.—The hot winds have set in very powerfully; to-day I was sent for by the Bāiza Bā’ī, who is in tents; great sickness is prevalent in the camp, and many are ill of cholera.
22nd.—Sir Charles Metcalfe arrived to reside at Allahabad, on his appointment to be Lieutenant-Governor of Agra. The hot winds are blowing very strongly; therefore, with tattīs, the house is cool and pleasant; while, out of doors, the heat is excessive. Her Highness, having been unable to procure a house, still remains encamped; the heat under canvas must be dreadful.
May 1st.—She sent for me, and I found the Gaja Rājā ill of fever, and suffering greatly from the intense heat.
May 9th.—Was the Sohobut Melā, or Fair of Kites, in Alopee Bāgh; I went to see it; hundreds of people, in their gayest dresses, were flying kites in all directions, so happily and eagerly; and under the fine trees in the mango tope, sweetmeats, toys, and children’s ornaments, were displayed in booths erected for the purpose. It was a pretty sight, that Alopee ke Melā.
The kites are of different shapes, principally square, and have no tails; the strings are covered with mānjhā, a paste mixed with pounded glass, and applied to the string, to enable it to cut that of another by friction. One man flies his kite against another, and he is the loser whose string it cut. The boys, and the men also, race after the defeated kite, which becomes the prize of the person who first seizes it. It requires some skill to gain the victory; the men are as fond of the sport as the boys.
The string of a kite caught tightly round the tail of my horse Trelawny, and threatened to carry away horse and rider tail foremost into mid-air! The more the kite pulled and danced about, the more danced Trelawny, the more frightened he became, and the tighter he tucked in his tail; the gentleman who was on the horse caught the string, and bit it in two, and[50] a native disengaged it from the tail of the animal. A pleasant bite it must have been, that string covered with pounded glass! Yah! yah! how very absurd! I wish you had seen the tamāshā. In the evening we dined with Sir Charles Metcalfe; he was residing at Papamhow. He told me he was thinking of cutting down the avenue of nīm trees (melia azadirachta), that led from the house to the river; I begged hard that it might be spared, assuring him that the air around nīm trees was reckoned wholesome by the natives, while that around the tamarind was considered very much the contrary. In front of my rooms, in former days, at Papamhow, was a garden, full of choice plants, and a very fine young India-rubber tree; it was pleasant to see the bright green of the large glossy leaves of the caoutchouc tree, which flourished so luxuriantly. In those days, many flowering trees adorned the spot; among which the katchnar (bauhinia), both white and rose-coloured and variegated, was remarkable for its beauty. Sir Charles had destroyed my garden, without looking to see what trees he was cutting down; he had given the ruthless order. I spoke of and lamented the havoc he had occasioned; to recompense me, he promised to spare the avenue; which, when I revisited it years afterwards, was in excellent preservation.
14th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent for me in great haste; she was in alarm respecting the Gaja Rājā, who was ill of epidemic fever. Having lost her daughter, the Chimna Bā’ī, of fever, when she was driven out of Gwalior by her rebellious subjects, she was in the utmost distress, lest her only remaining hope and comfort, her young grand-daughter, should be taken from her. I urged them to call in European medical advice; they hesitated to do so, as a medical man might neither see the young Princess, nor feel her pulse. I drove off, and soon returned with the best native doctress to be procured; but, from what I heard at the consultation, it may be presumed her skill is not very great.
The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī is very ill; I fear his days are numbered.
The murder of Mr. Frazer, by the Nawāb Sumshoodeen, at Delhi, who bribed a man called Kureem Khan to shoot him, took place when I was at Colonel Gardner’s; no one could believe it[51] when suspicion first fell upon the Nawāb; he had lived on such intimate terms with Mr. Frazer, who always treated him like a brother. The Nawāb was tried by Mr. Colvin, the judge, condemned and executed. The natives at Allahabad told me they thought it a very unjust act of our Government, the hanging the Nawāb merely for bribing a man to murder another, and said, the man who fired the shot ought to have been the only person executed. On Sunday, the 13th March, 1835, Kureem Khan was foiled in his attempt on Mr. Frazer’s life, as the latter was returning from a nāch, given by Hindoo Rāo, the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī. He accomplished his purpose eight days afterwards, on the 22nd of the same month. In the Hon. Miss Eden’s beautiful work, “The Princes and People of India,” there is a sketch of Hindoo Rāo on horseback; his being the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī is perhaps his most distinguishing mark; I have understood, however, he by no means equals the ex-Queen of Gwalior in talent.
June 7th.—Sir Charles Metcalfe gave a ball to the station: in spite of all the thermantidotes and the tattīs it was insufferably hot; but it is remarkable, that balls are always given and better attended during the intense heat of the hot winds, than at any other time.
9th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent word she wished to see me ere her departure, as it was her intention to quit Allahabad and proceed to the west: a violent rheumatic headache prevented my being able to attend. The next morning she encamped at Padshah Bāgh, beyond Allahabad, on the Cawnpore road, where I saw her the next evening in a small round tent, entirely formed of tattīs. The day after she quitted the ground and went one march on the Cawnpore road, when the Kotwal of the city was sent out by the magistrate to bring her back to Allahabad, and she was forced to return. Her grand-daughter is very ill, exposed to the heat and rains in tents. I fear the poor girl’s life will be sacrificed. Surely she is treated cruelly and unjustly. She who once reigned in Gwalior has now no roof to shelter her: the rains have set in; she is forced to live in tents, and is kept here against her will,—a state prisoner, in fact.
The sickness in our farm-yard is great: forty-seven gram-fed sheep and lambs have died of small-pox; much sickness is in the stable, but no horse has been lost in consequence.
25th.—Remarkably fine grapes are selling at one rupee the ser; i.e., one shilling per pound. The heat is intolerable; and the rains do not fall heavily, as they ought to do at this season. The people in the city say the drought is so unaccountable, so great, that some rich merchant, having large stores of grain of which to dispose, must have used magic to keep off the rains, that a famine may ensue, and make his fortune!
A Storm on the Jumna—An Amazonian Mahratta Lady—Putlī Coins—The Mint at Gwalior—East India Company’s Rupees—Departure of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Murder of two Ladies in a Zenāna—The Steamer and Tug—Rajmahal Tiger—Cotton Seed—Nagapanchmee—Wreck of the Seagull—A fierce Tūfān—Arrival of Sir Henry Fane—Visit to the Bāiza Bā’ī—River Voyage to Calcutta—Chunar—The God Burtreenath—Ghāt of Appa Sāhib—Ghāt of the Bāiza Bā’ī—Her Treasury seized by the Government—The Chiraghdanīs—The Minarets—Native Merchants—Kimkhwāb Manufactory—The Junéoo—House of the Bāiza Bā’ī—The Iron Chests of Gold Mohurs—Rooms full of Rupees, of Copper Coins, and of Cowries—Vishwŭ-Kŭrma, the Architect of the Gods.
1836, June 28th.—A hurricane has blown ever since gun-fire; clouds of dust are borne along upon the rushing wind; not a drop of rain; nothing is to be seen but the whirling clouds of the tūfān. The old peepul-tree moans, and the wind roars in it as if the storm would tear it up by the roots. The pinnace at anchor on the Jumna below the bank rolls and rocks; the river rises in waves, like a little sea. Some of her iron bolts have been forced out by the pressure of the cables, and the sarang says, she can scarcely hold to her moorings. I am watching her unsteady masts, expecting the next gust will tear her from the bank, and send her off into the rushing and impetuous current. It is well it is not night, or she would be wrecked to a certainty. I have not much faith in her weathering such a tūfān at all, exposed as she is to the power of the stream and the force of the tempest. High and deep clouds of dust come rushing along the ground, which, soaring into the highest heaven, spread[54] darkness with a dull sulphureous tinge, as the red brown clouds of the tūfān whirl swiftly on. It would almost be an inducement to go to India, were it only to see a hurricane in all its glory: the might and majesty of wind and dust: just now the fine sand from the banks of the river is passing in such volumes on the air, that the whole landscape has a white hue, and objects are indistinct; it drives through every crevice, and, although the windows are all shut, fills my eyes and covers the paper. It is a fearful gale. I have been out to see if the pinnace is likely to be driven from her moorings. The waves in the river are rolling high with crests of foam; a miniature sea. So powerful were the gusts, with difficulty I was able to stand against them. Like an Irish hurricane it blew up and down. At last the falling of heavy rain caused the abatement of the wind. The extreme heat passed away, the trees, the earth, all nature, animate and inanimate, exulted in the refreshing rain. Only those who have panted and longed for the fall of rain can appreciate the delight with which we hailed the setting in of the rains after the tūfān.
3rd.—This morning the Bā’ī sent down two of her ladies, one of whom is a celebrated equestrian, quite an Amazon: nevertheless, in stature small and slight, with a pleasant and feminine countenance. She was dressed in a long piece of white muslin, about eighteen yards in length; it was wound round the body and passed over the head, covering the bosom entirely: a part of it was brought up tight between the limbs, so that it had the appearance of full trousers falling to the heels. An embroidered red Benares shawl was bound round her waist; in it was placed a sword and a pistol, and a massive silver bangle was on one of her ancles. Her attendants were present with two saddle horses, decked in crimson and gold, and ornaments of silver, after the Mahratta fashion. She mounted a large bony grey, astride of course, and taking an extremely long spear in her hand, galloped the horse about in circles, performing the spear exercise in the most beautiful and graceful style at full gallop; her horse rearing and bounding, and showing off the excellence of her riding. Dropping her spear,[55] she took her matchlock, performing a sort of mimic fight, turning on her saddle as she retreated at full gallop, and firing over her horse’s tail. She rode beautifully and most gracefully. When the exhibition was over, we retired to my dressing-room: she told me she had just arrived from Juggernāth, and was now en route to Lahore to Runjeet Singh. She was anxious I should try the lance exercise on her steed, which I would have done, had I possessed the four walls of a zenāna, within which to have made the attempt.
What does Sir Charles Metcalfe intend to do with the poor Bā’ī? what will be her fate? this wet weather she must be wretched in tents. The Lieutenant-Governor leaves Allahabad for Agra, in the course of a day or two.
In the evening I paid my respects to her Highness. I happened to have on a long rosary and cross of black beads; she was pleased with it, and asked me to procure some new rosaries for her, that they might adorn the idols, whom they dress up, like the images of the saints in France, with all sorts of finery.
She showed me a necklace of gold coins, which appeared to be Venetian: the gold of these coins is reckoned the purest of all, and they sell at a high price. The natives assert they come from the eastward, and declare that to the East is a miraculous well, into which, if copper coins be thrown, they come out after a time the very purest of gold. In the sketch entitled “Superstitions of the Natives,” No. 8 represents a coin of this enchanted well: they are called Putlī, and the following extract makes me consider them Venetian:—
“It was in the reign of John Dandolo, 1285, that gold zecchini (sequins) were first struck in Venice. But before they could be issued, the Doge had to obtain the permission of the Emperor and the Pope. These zecchini bore the name and image of the Doge, at first seated on a ducal throne, but afterwards he was represented standing; and, finally, in the latter times of the Republic, on his knees, receiving from the hands of St. Mark the standard of the Republic.”
The necklace, which was a wedding present to the bride, consisted of three rows of silken cords, as thickly studded with[56] these coins as it was possible to put them on, the longest string reaching to the knees: it was very heavy, and must have been valuable. Another Mahratta lady wore a necklace of the same description, but it consisted of a single row, which reached from her neck to her feet: people less opulent wear merely one, two, or three putlīs around the neck.
An old Muhammadan darzī of the Shī’ā sect asked me one morning to be allowed to go to the bazār to purchase a putlī (a doll) to bind upon his forehead, to take away a violent pain in his head. This request of his puzzled me greatly: at the time I was ignorant that putlī was also the name of the charmed coin, as well as that of a doll. He told me he had recovered from severe headache before in consequence of this application, and believed the remedy infallible. The Bā’ī mentioned that she struck mohurs and half mohurs at Gwalior, in her days of prosperity. I showed her some new rupees struck by the East India Company, with the king’s head upon them, which, having examined, she said, “These rupees are very paltry, there is so little pure silver in them.”
5th.—The ladies of the station held a fancy fair at the theatre for the benefit of the Blind Asylum, which realized one hundred and eighty pounds.
8th.—Sir Charles quitted this station for Agra, leaving Allahabad to return to its usual routine of quietness. The thermantidotes have been stopped, rain has fallen plentifully, the trees have put on their freshest of greens, and the grass is springing up in every direction. How agreeable, how pleasant to the eye is all this luxuriant verdure!
The report in the bazār is, that a native of much wealth and consideration went into his zenāna tents, in which he found two of his wives and a man; the latter escaped; he killed both the women. A zenāna is a delightful place for private murder, and the manner in which justice is distributed between the sexes is so impartial! A man may have as many wives as he pleases, and mistresses without number;—it only adds to his dignity! If a woman take a lover, she is murdered, and cast like a dog into a ditch. It is the same all the world over; the women, being the[57] weaker, are the playthings, the drudges, or the victims of the men; a woman is a slave from her birth; and the more I see of life, the more I pity the condition of the women. As for the manner in which the natives strive to keep them virtuous, it is absurd; a girl is affianced at three or four years old, married, without having seen the man, at eleven, shut up and guarded and suspected of a wish to intrigue, which, perhaps, first puts it into her head; and she amuses herself with outwitting those who have no dependence upon her, although, if discovered, her death generally ends the story.
27th.—How weary and heavy is life in India, when stationary! Travelling about the country is very amusing; but during the heat of the rains, shut up in the house, one’s mind and body feel equally enervated. I long for a bracing sea breeze, and a healthy walk through the green lanes of England; the lovely wild flowers,—their beauty haunts me. Here we have no wild flowers; from the gardens you procure the most superb nosegays; but the lovely wild flowers of the green lanes are wanting. Flowering trees are planted here on the sides of the roads, and I delight in bringing home a bouquet.
A steamer comes up every month from Calcutta; she tows a tug, that is, a large flat vessel, which carries the passengers. The steamers answer well; but what ugly-looking, mercantile things they are!
I must give an extract from the letter of a friend, describing an adventure, such as you would not meet with in the green lanes of Hampshire:—“The boat was getting on slowly, and I went into the hills at Rajmahal, to get a deer or peacock or jungle-fowl, in fact, something for the kitchen. Some way in the interior I heard a queer noise, which one of my servants said was a deer; as I could not draw the shot in my gun (which is a single barrel flint) to substitute a ball, having only a make-shift ramrod, I consoled myself that the shot was large, and pushed on in the direction of the noise, which still continued. As I came on the upper end of a hollow in the side of the hill, filled with jungle and long grass, some animal jumped up at about fifteen yards in front; he was evidently large, and what[58] the great composers of the ‘Sporting Magazine’ term, of a fulvous colour; he was decidedly, in the opinion of the beaters, a very heavy deer, of three or four mŭns. Hark forward! was now the word, as the same great composers would again say; we crossed a hollow road, entered the jungle on the opposite side, a little below the direction the animal had taken, and had not gone fifteen yards when up rose, without hurry, a handsome large tiger, just out of arm’s length, and a little from behind me; his gait was slunk and shuffling; I saw at once that he was going from me, and, owing to that circumstance, I passed in review his sleeky flank and black stripes with much pleasure. I was a good deal excited, it being my first wild beast sight au naturel; I almost felt an inclination to slap my shot at him.”
The sketch, entitled “The Spring Bow,” was taken in the Rajmahal hills, not far from the jungle in which my friend saw the tiger; the bête sauvage represented in it might perhaps have been the very one whose sleeky flank and black stripes he viewed with so much pleasure.
August.—The cows are now in the finest order possible; they are fed on Lucerne grass and cotton seed, and go out grazing. The cotton seed is considered very fattening for cattle; it is separated, by the aid of a very simple machine, from the fine white cotton in which it is immersed in the cells of the capsule; and this work is usually performed by women. Butter is made every morning and evening; and, now and then, a cream cheese. The butter is very fine, of a bright yellow colour, and the cream cheese excellent. The extra butter having been clarified, and sealed down in jars, keeps good for twelve months.
9th.—Nagapanchmee: This day is sacred to the demigods, in the form of serpents; the natives smear the doors of their houses with cow-dung and nīm-leaves, to preserve them from poisonous reptiles. Nīm-leaves are put amongst shawls and clothes, and also in books, to defend them from moths and insects.
23rd.—During the night it began to blow most furiously, accompanied by heavy rain and utter darkness; so fierce a tūfān I never witnessed before. It blew without cessation, raining[59] heavily at intervals; and the trees were torn up by their roots. At 4 A.M. the storm became so violent, it wrecked twenty large native salt boats just below our house; the river roared and foamed, rising in high waves from the opposition of the wind and stream. Our beautiful pinnace broke from her moorings, was carried down the stream a short distance, driven against the broken bastions of the old city of Prag, which have fallen into the river, and totally wrecked just off the Fort; she went down with all her furniture, china, books, wine, &c., on board, and has never been seen or heard of since; scarcely a vestige has been discovered. Alas! my beautiful Seagull; she has folded her wings for ever, and has sunk to rest! We can only rejoice no lives were lost, and that we were not on board; the sarang and khalāsīs (sailors) swam for their lives; they were carried some distance down the stream, below the Fort, and drifted on a sandbank. The headless image of the satī, that graced the cabin, had brought rather too much wind. When the sarang lamented her loss, I could only repeat, as on the day he carried off the lady, “Chorī ke mal nā’īch hazm hota,”—stolen food cannot be digested: i.e. ill deeds never thrive.
The cook-boat was swamped. On the going down of the river, although she was in the mud, with her back broken, she was sold, and brought the sum we originally gave for her when new;—such was the want of boats, occasioned by the numbers that were lost in the storm! The next morning, three of the Venetians and the companion-ladder of the pinnace were washed ashore below the Fort, and brought to us by a fisherman. We were sorry for the fate of the Seagull; she was a beautifully built vessel, but not to be trusted, the white ants had got into her. The mischief those white ants do is incalculable; they pierce the centre of the masts and beams, working on in the dark, seldom showing marks of their progress outside, unless during the rains. Sometimes a mast, to all appearance sound, will snap asunder; when it will be discovered the centre has been hollowed by the white ants, and the outside is a mere wooden shell. Almost all the trees in the garden were blown down by the gale.
Sept. 6th.—I visited the Mahratta camp, to witness the celebration of the anniversary of the birth of Krishnŭ; an account of the ceremonies and of the life of Kaniyā-jee shall be given in a separate chapter.
Oct. 19th.—The Commander-in-Chief, Sir Henry Fane, arrived; his tents are pitched before the Fort, on the side of the Jumna; the elephants, the camels, and the horses in attendance form a picturesque assemblage, much to my taste.
21st.—The station gave a ball to Sir Henry and his party; he is a magnificent-looking man, with good soldier-like bearing, one of imposing presence, a most superb bow, and graceful speaking. I admire his appearance, and think he must have merited his appellation, in olden times, of the handsome aide-de-camp.
27th.—Sir Henry Fane reviewed the troops of the station, and a ball took place in the evening, at the house of Mr. Fane, the brother of the Commander-in-Chief. A few days afterwards, the ladies of his family requested me to accompany them to visit her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, which I did with much pleasure, and acted as interpreter.
Nov. 3rd.—We dined with Sir Henry in camp, and he promised to show me tiger-shooting in perfection, if I would accompany his party to Lucnow.
7th.—Some friends anchored under our garden, on their way to Calcutta; the sight of their little fleet revived all my roaming propensities, and, as I wished to consult a medical man at the Residency, in whom I had great faith, I agreed to join their party, and make a voyage down the river. The Bāiza Bā’ī was anxious to see my friends; we paid her a farewell visit; she was charmed with Mr. C⸺, who speaks and understands the language like a native, and delighted with the children.
13th.—Our little fleet of six vessels quitted Allahabad, and three days afterwards we arrived at Mirzapore, famous for its beautiful ghāts and carpet manufactories.
17th.—Anchored under the Fort of Chunar, a beautiful object from the river; it was not my intention to have anchored there, but the place looked so attractive, I could not pass by[61] without paying it a visit. The goats and sheep, glad to get a run after their confinement in the boat, are enjoying themselves on the bank; and a boy, with a basket full of snakes (cobra di capello), is trying to attract my attention. In the cool of the evening we went into the Fort, which is situated on the top of an abrupt rock, which rises from the river. The view, coming from Allahabad, is very striking; the ramparts running along the top of the rising ground, the broad open river below; the churchyard under the walls, on the banks of the Gunga, with its pretty tombs of Chunar stone rising in all sorts of pointed forms, gives one an idea of quiet, not generally the feeling that arises on the sight of a burial-place in India; the ground was open, and looked cheerful as the evening sun fell on the tombs; the hills, the village, the trees, all united in forming a scene of beauty. We entered the magazine, and visited the large black slab on which the deity of the Fort is said to be ever present, with the exception of from daybreak until the hour of 9 A.M., during which time he is at Benares. Tradition asserts that the Fort has never been taken by the English, but during the absence of their god Burtreenath. We walked round the ramparts, and enjoyed the view. The church, and the houses which stretch along the river-side for some distance, and the Fort itself, looked cheerful and healthy; which accounted for the number of old pensioners to be found at Chunar, who have their option as to their place of residence.
As you approach Benares, on the left bank of the river, stands the house of the Rājā of Benares, a good portly looking building. The appearance of the Holy City from the river is very curious, and particularly interesting. The steep cliff on which Benares is built is covered with Hindoo temples and ghāts of all sizes and descriptions; the first ghāt, built by Appa Sāhib, from Poona, I thought handsome; but every ghāt was eclipsed by the beauty of the one which is now being built by her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī; the scale is so grand, so beautiful, so light, and it is on so regular a plan, it delighted me; it is the handsomest ghāt I have seen in India; unfinished as it is, it has cost her Highness fifteen lākh; to finish it will cost twenty lākh[62] more; should she die ere the work be completed it will never be finished, it being deemed unlucky to finish the work of a deceased person. The money, to the amount of thirty-seven lākh, which the Bā’ī had stored in her house at Benares, to complete the ghāt, and to feed the Brahmāns, whose allowance was two hundred rupees, i.e. £20 a day, has been seized by the Government, and put into the Company’s treasury, where it will remain until the point now in dispute is settled; that is, whether it belong to the Bā’ī or to her adopted son, the present Mahārāj of Gwalior, who forced her out of the kingdom. Several Hindoo temples are near this ghāt; a cluster of beauty. Two chiraghdanīs, which are lighted up on festivals, are curious and pretty objects; their effect, when glittering at night with thousands of little lamps, must be beautiful, reflected with the temples, and crowds of worshippers on the waters below; and great picturesque beauty is added to the scene by the grotesque and curious houses jutting out from the cliff, based on the flights of stone steps which form the ghāts. How I wished I could have seen Benares from the river during the Dewalī, or Festival of Lights! At sunset we went up the Minarets, built by Aurunzebe; they are considered remarkably beautiful, towering over the Hindoo temples; a record of the Muhammadan conquest.
On my return to my budjerow, a number of native merchants were in waiting, hoping to dispose of their goods to the strangers; they had boxes full of Benares turbans, shawls, gold and silver dresses, kimkhwāab, and cloth of gold. This place is famous for its embroidery in gold, and for its tissues of gold and silver. I purchased some to make a native dress for myself, and also some very stiff ribbon, worked in silk and gold, on which are the names of all the Hindoo deities; the Hindoos wear them round their necks; they are holy, and called junéoo. The English mare and my little black horse met me here, en route to Calcutta.
The Bāiza Bā’ī told me by no means to pass Benares without visiting her ghāt and her house; some of her people having come down to the river, I returned with them to see the house;[63] it is very curiously situated in the heart of the city. Only imagine how narrow the street is which leads up to it; as I sat in my palanquin, I could touch both the sides of the street by stretching my arms out, which I did to assure myself of its extreme narrowness. All the houses in this street are five or six stories high. We stopped at the house of the Bā’ī; it is six stories high, and was bought by her Highness as a place in which to secure her treasure. It is difficult to describe a regular Hindoo house such as this; which consists of four walls, within and around which the rooms are built story above story; but from the foundation to the top of the house there is a square in the centre left open, so that the house encloses a small square court open to the sky above, around which the rooms are built with projecting platforms, on which the women may sit, and eat the air, as the natives call it, within the walls of their residence. I clambered up the narrow and deep stone stairs, story after story, until I arrived at the top of the house; the view from which was unique: several houses in the neighbourhood appeared much higher than the one on which I was standing, which was six stories high. The Mahratta, who did the honours on the part of her Highness, took me into one of the rooms, and showed me the two chests of cast iron, which formerly contained about eighteen thousand gold mohurs. The Government took that money from the Bā’ī by force, and put it into their treasury. Her Highness refused to give up the keys, and also refused her sanction to the removal of the money from her house; the locks of the iron chests were driven in, and the tops broken open; the rupees were in bags in the room; the total of the money removed amounted to thirty-seven lākh. Another room was full of copper coins; another of cowries; the latter will become mouldy and fall into dust in the course of time. One of the gentlemen of the party went over the house with me, and saw what I have described. Atr and pān were presented, after which we took our leave and proceeded to the market-place. The braziers’ shops were open, but they refused to sell any thing, it being one of the holidays on which no worker in brass is allowed to sell goods.
The worship of Vishwŭ-kŭrma, the son of Brŭmha, the architect of the gods, was perhaps being performed. On that day blacksmiths worship their hammer and bellows; carpenters, the mallet, chisel, hatchet, saw, &c.; washermen, their irons; and potters, the turning-wheel, as the representative of this god. The festival closes with singing and gaiety, smoking and eating.
19th.—The hour was too early, and but few shops were open, which gave a dull look to this generally crowded and busy city.
The air is cool and pleasant; we float gently down the river; this quiet, composed sort of life, with a new scene every day, is one of great enjoyment.
I must not forget to mention that, after a considerable lapse of time, the treasure that was detained by the Government on behalf of the young Mahārāj of Gwalior, was restored to her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī.
Ghāzīpūr—Tomb of Lord Cornwallis—Palace of the Nāwab of Ghāzīpūr—Beerpūr—Satīs—The Murda Ghāt—Buxar—The Stud—Bulliah Melā—Blue Waters of the Soane—Swimming an Elephant—A Day too late for the Fair—Hājīpūr—The Gunduc river—Thieves—Futwa—Tarie-trees—Monghir—The Seeta Khoond—Janghīra—Mosque and Graves—Rocks of Kuhulgaon—Desertion of the Dāndees—Sikrī-galī—An Adventure in the Hills of Rajmahal—Tiger Tracks—The Spring-bow—By’ā Birds—The Hill-man—Poisoned Arrows—The Thumb-ring—Bauhinia Scandens.
1836, Nov. 21st.—Arrived early at Ghāzīpūr, the town of Ghāzī, also called, as the Hindūs assert, Gādhpūr, from Gādh, a Rājā of that name. We went on shore to view the tomb of a former Governor-General, the Marquis Cornwallis, who lies buried here, aged sixty-seven. The sarcophagus is within a circular building, surmounted by a dome, and surrounded by a verandah; it is of white marble, with appropriate figures in half relief by Flaxman; in front is a bust of the Marquis; the coronet and cushion surmount it; the iron railings are remarkably handsome and appropriate; the whole is surrounded by a plantation of fine young trees, and kept in excellent order; in front is a pedestal, intended, I should imagine, for a statue of the Marquis. The view from the building is open and pretty; it is situated in the cantonment on the banks of the Ganges. There are four figures in mourning attitudes on the tomb, in half relief; that of a Brahmān is well executed. The pakka houses of the European residents at Ghāzīpūr, stretching along the river’s side, have a pleasing effect.
The ruins of the palace of the Nawāb of Ghāzīpūr are situated on a high bank, in front of which the rampart, with four bastions, faces the river. The house is falling into ruins. I admired it very much, the plan on which it is built is charming; what a luxurious abode during the hot winds! It is situated on a high bank overlooking the Gunga; in the centre is an octagonal room; around this, four square rooms alternate with four octagonal rooms, which are supported on light and handsome arches. There are no walls to the rooms, but each is supported on arches. Around the centre room is a space for water, and a great number of fountains played there in former times. Between the arches hung rich pardas; how delightfully suited to the climate! Imagine the luxury of sitting in the centre room, all the air coming in cooled by the fountains, and screened from the glare by the rich pardas! One of the octagonal rooms has fallen in completely. A gentleman of our party, not finding any game in the surrounding fields, shot five anwarī fish that were sporting about on the surface of the river. Rose-water and cloth was brought for sale in abundance. The fields by the river-side are in parts a perfect Golgotha, strewn with human skulls. The Company’s stud is here, but we did not visit it.
Off the village of Beerpūr I saw from ten to twenty satī mounds, under some large trees by the river-side; the idea of what those wretched women must have suffered made me shudder.
Off Chounsah I was most thoroughly disgusted; there is on the bank of the river a murda ghāt, or place for burning the dead bodies of the Hindūs; about twenty charpāīs (native beds) were there cast away as unclean, the bodies having been carried down upon them. Some of the bodies had hardly been touched by the fire, just scorched and thrown into the water. The dogs and crows were tearing the flesh from the skeletons, growling as they ate, to deter other dogs that stood snarling around from joining in the meal. A gentleman fired at them, drove off some of the dogs, and killed others; you have no idea how fierce and hungry the wretches were; a bullet from a musket only scared them for a moment, and then they returned to the corpse. I[67] was glad to get beyond the murda ghāt; the sight and smell of such horrors made me ill.
Anchored at Buxar, and visited the stud; the only stable I went into was a most admirable one, lofty, airy, ventilated, clean, and spacious. It contained two hundred horses, all looking clean, and in excellent condition; the horses in this stable are all three years old, remarkably fine young animals. You may have the choice of the stable for £100, i.e. 1000 rupees; these horses ought to be good, they come from the best imported English, Arab, and Persian horses, and are reared with great care. The animals stand in a long line, without any separation or bar between them in the stable; the head is tied to the manger, the heels at liberty, no heel-ropes. They appear perfectly quiet, although they stand so close to each other. About six hundred horses are at Buxar, and more on the other side of the river; I derived much pleasure from seeing the stud at this place, and regret I did not visit that at Ghāzīpūr. Every day, from 7 to 8 A.M., the whole of the young horses are turned loose into a paddock, to run and gallop about at pleasure; it must be a pretty sight.
23rd.—The melā at Bulliah is held on this day, the last of the month of Kartik. The scene for five miles was very gay; a great Hindū fair and bathing day; boats full of people going to the fair, numbers on the cliff, and crowds in the river, at their devotions,—an animated scene. The gentlemen are firing ball at the great crocodiles, as they lie basking on the sandbanks; they have killed a very large one. When crocodiles are cut open, silver and gold ornaments are sometimes found in the interior; the body of a child—the whole body—was found in a crocodile, a short time ago, at Cawnpore.
25th.—This morning our little fleet passed the Soane river at its junction with the Ganges; I went on deck to look at the kala panī, the black water, as the natives call it, on account of the deep blue tinge of the Soane, which forms a strong contrast to the dingy milky hue of the stream of the Gunga. In this river, agates, amethysts, cornelians, &c., are found. Crossing the river, which was considerably agitated by a very powerful wind, to go to the fair[68] at Hājīpūr, I saw a man apparently standing on the waters in the centre of the river; it was blowing a stiff gale; the man stood in an erect and easy position. On coming nearer I perceived he was standing on the back of an elephant; the whole of the animal’s body, with the exception of his head, was under water; he put up the end of his trunk every now and then, and was swimming boldly and strongly forward directly across the enormous river. The wind blew so heavily, it was surprising the man could keep his balance; he held a string in one hand, the other contained the ankus, with which the mahāwat drives his elephant; the string was, perhaps, the reins fastened in the animal’s ears, with which they often guide them.
On the evening of the 25th we arrived at Hājīpūr; it was very provoking to see all the tents being struck, and the vessels going down the stream, as we were rowing up it,—a day too late for the fair. Hājīpūr is situated at the junction of the Gunduc with the Ganges; the Gunduc is such a rapid stream, it is hardly possible to stem it, at least with a foul wind, such as we had at the time of our arrival. We went on shore, and procured provisions; returning, we crossed the Gunduc in a boat hollowed out of the stem of a tree,—not a very safe sort of concern, but very common on the Ganges.
What an uncomfortable night I spent! awakened every half-hour by the falling in of the sandbank to which my budgerow was moored; I feared my cook boat would have been swamped. In the middle of the night a great cry was raised of “Chor, Chor!” and a number of people rushed down to seize a thief, who was floating down the rapid Gunduc, with a gharā (an earthen pot) over his head; a trick common to thieves, that they may pass unperceived. I got up, hearing the noise, and looked out of the cabin window; seeing a man in the water close under the window, and imagining him to be one of the sailors, I said, “What is all this noise about?” The thief, for it was he, finding he was not concealed by the shadow of the vessel, swam off; and, although a boat pursued him, he escaped by either crossing the Ganges or floating down it. These thieves are most wonderfully skilful, and infest the great fairs of India; my servants say he[69] had a large box with him in the water, and floated down upon it; it was stolen from the tent of a rich native.
Off the village of Futwa I purchased a quantity of Patna tablecloths, napkins, and cloth; the manufactory is at this place; and the people bring their goods off to the passing vessels.
The whole way from Allahabad to Patna the fan palm trees (borassus flabelliformis) are extremely scarce; immediately below Patna the river’s bank is covered with them. The natives call them tar or tarie trees; the juice is used as leaven for bread, also as urruk. A single leaf is sufficient to form the large hand pankhās used by the bearers, and paper is also manufactured from the tarie tree. They add greatly to the picturesque and Eastern beauty of the scene.
29th.—Arrived at Monghir: the place looks very well from the river with its old Fort. On anchoring we were assailed by a number of people, all anxious to sell their goods,—chairs, work-tables, boxes, straw bonnets and hats, birds in cages, forks, knives, guns, pistols, baskets, kettles; and to the noise of such a collection of people, all howling and shouting, was added the whining of a host of beggars.
We went on shore, and walked through the bazār, buying a number of queer things. After tiffin we proceeded in palkees to the Seetā Khoond, about five miles from Monghir, the road very good, date and palm trees in abundance; and the country around Seetā’s Well makes one imagine that one is approaching the sea-shore; there is a remarkably volcanic appearance in the rocks. The Seetā Khoond is a brilliantly clear spring of boiling hot water, which bubbles and boils up most beautifully, and is enclosed in a large space, with steps descending to the water. I never saw so beautiful a spring, or such living water! There are four springs close to it, but they are all of cold water, and have none of the clearness or beauty of Seetā’s Well. The water is contained in an enclosure of stone, in which it rises up sparkling and bubbling from its rocky bed. The steps on which you stand are very hot, and a hot steam rises from the surface; the water is so clear you can see the points at which it springs up from its bed of rock. The stream from the Seetā Khoond is constantly[70] flowing into the jheel below in a little rivulet, that gradually widens, and in which the presence of the hot water is perceptible in a cold morning for about one hundred yards from the spring.
Several years ago, an artilleryman attempted for a wager to swim across the basin, and although he succeeded in getting over, it was necessary to convey him to an hospital, where he died within a few hours from the effect of the hot water; not having tested it by a thermometer, I cannot tell the precise heat. The Brahmāns say, so holy is the well, by the power of the goddess Seetā, that, although boiling, it performs the miracle of keeping rice and eggs thrown into it in an uncooked state. I saw a great quantity of rice which remained unswollen in the water; not being a pious Hindū, I conclude the water to be below the boiling point.
A pretty Hindū temple has been erected close to the spring, dedicated to Seetā, in which are four idols; one of the god Rām, his beloved Seetā, his brother Lutchman, and their champion the monkey god Hoonumān; in the verandah is also a statue of Hoonumān. I put the points of my fingers into the water, but the heat was too near the scalding point to allow of my putting in my hand; the view from the spring is remarkably beautiful; in front is a jheel, a large space of shallow water, bounded by the Kurrukpūr mountains at various distances; these mountains are rather rocks than mountains, and the stones took all sorts of grotesque forms as the sun declined behind them. On the right and left of the spring were rocks, which appeared to have been thrown up by an earthquake. The jheel looking like a place in which snipe and wild ducks would be plentiful, one of the party took his gun and shot over it, but had no sport; the morning is the time for finding birds there. I walked half-way down the jheel: looking back towards the Khoond, the white temples at the spring, with the dark green mango tope behind, and the wild-looking, rocky scenery on either side, had a pleasing effect. The palkee-bearers told me, in the centre of the opposite mountains, the Kurrukpūr, about six miles from the Seetā Khoond, there is a hot spring, called[71] Reeçee Khoond, which, from being in the jungles, is little known; that every third year a fair is held there, when people assemble to bathe and do pooja. My friends filled many bottles at the spring; it is necessary to bring corks, as they are not procurable at Monghir. The water is so pure, it keeps like the Bristol water on a long voyage; people returning to England make a point of stopping here on that account.
30th.—We anchored at the Fakīr’s rock at Janghīra. The abode of the Fakīr is on a high bold rock, rising abruptly in the midst of the stream, completely isolated; the temple is placed on the very summit; there are four small temples also a little below; some large trees spring from the crevices of the rock: the whole reflected in the Ganges, with the village of Janghīra beyond, and the mountains of Karrak in the distance, form a good subject for the pencil. On the outside, carved on the solid rock, are a great number of Hindoo images; amongst them, one of Narasingh is very conspicuous, tearing open the bowels of the king who disbelieved the omnipresence of the Deity. We passed over in a little boat to see this temple; the fakīrs showed it with great good will, and gained a small reward. There is a remarkably fine tree, the plumeria alba, springing from the side of the rock, the goolachin or junglee champa, as the natives call it. On our return to the main land, we climbed a cluster of rocks, just opposite Janghīra; on the summit of these rocks, which are well wooded, stand the ruins of an ancient mosque; no one inhabits the place; the view from the platform is remarkably good. The graves of the Kāzī Biskermee’s family are there; the Kāzī formerly lived there, but I could not gain much information from our guide on the subject. The little burial-ground, with its eleven graves, looked so quiet, and afar from the turmoil of the world, I took a fancy to the spot. There must, or there ought to be, some little history attached to this picturesque mosque and its ruined graves; it stands on a high rock, well wooded, rising abruptly from the Ganges.
Dec. 1st.—We quitted the Janghīra rocks ere daybreak, with a fair wind, and floated down the stream most agreeably; in the evening we arrived at Colgong, which presents much picturesque[72] beauty; four rocky islands of considerable height, rock piled on rock, rise and stretch across the centre of the Ganges. As we sailed past them, I saw five or six of the smallest, lightest, and most fairy-looking little boats gliding about the rocks, in which men were fishing; the fish are large, excellent, and abundant. No one resides on these rocks. The village of Kuhulgaon, commonly called Colgong, is situated under some hills, and prettily wooded. The cook boat not having arrived, one of the gentlemen fired his gun off, to direct the men where to find us; the sound was returned from the rocks four times, distinctly and loudly, with an interval of four or five seconds between each echo. We took a walk in the evening; Mr. ⸺ killed a flying fox, or vampire bat, such a curious-looking animal, with a most intelligent little face; the body was covered with hair; its leathern wings measured from tip to tip three feet eight inches and a half.
No one ought to take up-country dāndees; they ensure much plague and trouble. The Bengalees having their homes in Calcutta, do not desert going down the river. At Monghir the mānjhī and six dāndees deserted to their homes; this detained and annoyed us.
2nd.—Early in the evening we anchored at Sickrī-galī, a place close upon the Rajmahal Hills, and went out shooting. The dāndees, with long poles, accompanied us to beat the bushes. The people say wild beasts often come to this place at night, and a few miles below there is good tiger shooting; we found no game, being too near the village: had we proceeded further into the hills, we must have had some sport in the wild country around them. Night came on ere we regained the boats.
THE SPRING BOW.
On Stone by Major Parlby.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس
3rd.—Mr. ⸺ sallied forth with his beaters to try the marshy plain under the hills of the Sickrī-galī Pass. The cool morning tempted me out, and the first person whom I saw was an indigo planter standing near his bungalow, the only European dwelling-house at the place. On asking him where good shooting was to be found, he said the road the gentleman had taken was one in which game of all sorts abounded, but that on account of tigers it was dangerous. He showed me the marks[73] of tiger’s paws in his garden. His account rather gave me a curiosity to see the sort of plain where such animals may be found; and with a chaprāsī, and a bearer carrying a large chatr, I took the road to the rocks. After a very long walk, we came to a most suspicious-looking spot, surrounded by very high jungle-grass, beyond which stretched the deep woods and hills of Rajmahal. “In this direction,” said my chaprāsī, “is the very spot frequented by tigers, here they may be found;” and we pushed through the heavy jungle grass from nine to twelve feet in height, and so thick it was almost impenetrable. “Here is some water,” said the man, “and here, on its edge, the prints fresh on the marshy soil of the feet of a tiger! Look, look, mem sāhiba, it is true, it is true, here they are!” I forced a passage for myself through the grass, and saw the foot-marks. “He who has never seen a tiger, let him look at a cat; and he who has never seen a thief, let him look at a butcher[14].”
My anxiety to see a bête sauvage, a royal Bengal tiger, in his native wilderness, making me forgetful that his presence might prove dangerous, induced me to scan the jungle on every side. “Are we likely to see a tiger?” said I to the man. “Not at this hour, mem sāhiba, see, the sun is high in heaven;” pointing to the hill, “they are up there in the recesses of the mountain, in the shade of the deep forests; when the shadows of evening fall, if the mem sāhiba will return to this spot she will be sure to see the tigers, at that hour they come down to quench their thirst at this water.” At night, on my return to the boats, I remembered the words of the chaprāsī, but did not feel inclined to go out on such a “will-you-come-and-be-killed” expedition.
On this spot the baghmars, (tiger killers,) set up the spring-bow with a poisoned arrow: the bow is made of strong bamboo, supported on two cross sticks, to one end of which a string is fastened that crosses the wild beast’s track; as soon as the tiger touches the cord in crossing it to the water’s edge, it releases the bow-string, and the arrow, being immediately discharged with great force, enters the body of the beast just about the[74] height of his heart. A poisoned arrow was thus set for a tiger in Assam, who was found dead sixty yards from the spot—so quickly does the deadly poison take effect. A further account of this bow will be found in a subsequent chapter. The place was one of great interest; the water was surrounded by the high grass; on one side was a cluster of forest trees, and beneath them the slight and delicate bābul. The By’ā birds were flitting about; they delight in placing their long nests on the extreme end of the slight branches of the bābul, pendant over a stream or pool for security. For a further account of these sagacious little birds, see vol. i. page 220.
The bright sunshine, the deep reflections on the water, the idea that there was danger lurking around, all combined to render this picturesque and secluded spot one of great interest.
The dāndees from the boats that anchor at Sikrī-galī, go up the hills in gangs to cut wood for firing, and bring it down in great quantities. Following their track, I soon joined the party who were shooting snipes in the marsh at the foot of the hills, and at the moment of my arrival, Mr. ⸺ was busily pulling the leeches off his ancles, which had stuck to them in passing through the water. Being fagged with the walk, I got a hackery from a village; it is a sort of cart made of bamboos with small, heavy, clumsy, wooden wheels, drawn by two bullocks. Seated in this conveyance, I desired the man to drive me into the hills. My bones were half dislocated, bumping up and down in such a jungle of a place, over high stones that all but upset the cart, or through the marsh in which the bullocks sometimes being unable to keep on their feet, took six or seven steps on their knees; it was a marvel how the little animals got on, or through such places as we crossed. I went deep into the hills, admiring the beautiful climbers that were in the greatest profusion, and the bearer gathered all the novelties, which made me quite happy in my cart, surrounded by specimens new to me. At last the driver said he could proceed no further; therefore I walked up the hill some distance until I was fagged: the view was very pleasing, looking down the valley over the plain to the Ganges, where the vessels were sailing past. At a bright running stream[75] I gladly quenched my thirst, having taken no breakfast, and it being now nearly eleven A.M. Mounted on my bone-breaking cart, I rejoined my friend, who had only killed five snipe and another bird. He saw but one black partridge, no deer; the game was very scarce.
Elephants here are absolutely necessary to enable a man to enjoy shooting amidst the high grass and thorny thickets. The place is so much disturbed by the people who go into the hills for wood, that the game retreat farther into the jungle. Had we had an elephant, we might have found a tiger; until I have seen one in his own domains, I shall not sleep in peace. The khidmatgārs arrived on a cart with bread, meat, tea, and wine. It being one P.M., and the sun powerful, we seated ourselves under a tree, and made an excellent breakfast, which was most refreshing after such a ramble.
As we were tossing the bones to the little spaniels, we met with an adventure, which, bringing for the second time in my life uncivilized beings before me, quite delighted me. The footpath from the interior of the hills led to the place where we were seated. Down this path came a most delightful group, a family of savages, who attracted my attention by the singularity of their features, the smallness and activity of their bodies, their mode of gathering their hair in a knot on the top of their heads, and their wild-looking bows and arrows. We called these good-natured, gay-looking people around us; they appeared pleased at being noticed, and one of the women offered me some young heads of Indian corn, which she took from a basket she carried on her head containing their principal provision, this boiled and mashed Indian corn. She also carried a child seated astride upon her hip. A child is rarely seen in a woman’s arms, as in Europe. The same custom appears to have existed amongst the Jews: “Ye shall be borne upon her sides, and dandled upon her knees.”—Isaiah.
The party consisted of a man and three boys, apparently eight, twelve, and sixteen years of age, two women, and a little girl. The man said he had come from a place four coss within the hills, by our calculation eight miles, but hill measurement[76] of distance being generally liberal, I should suppose it double that distance. Their descent at this time to the plains, was to help in gathering in the present crop of uncut rice, for which purpose the owners of the fields had asked them to come down. The man appeared to be about five feet in height, remarkable for lightness and suppleness of limb, with the piercing and restless eye that is said to be peculiar to savages. His countenance was round and happy; the expression had both cunning and simplicity; the nose depressed between the eyes, and altogether a face that one laughed to look at. His black hair drawn tight up in a knot on the very top of the head, the ends fastened in with a wooden comb. His only clothing a small piece of linen bound around his middle. He carried a bow of hill bamboo, the string of which was formed out of the twisted rind of the bamboo, and the four arrows were of the common reed, headed with iron barbs of different shapes; one of the barbs was poisoned. The hill-man said he had bought the poison into which the barb had been dipped of a more remote hill tribe, and was ignorant of its nature: he begged us not to handle the point. The natives will not mention the name of the plant from which the poison is procured; it appears to be a carefully-guarded secret. On each arrow were strips of feather from the wing of the vulture. The boy was similarly dressed, and armed. The woman, who carried the child, appeared to be the favourite from the number of ornaments on her person. She was extremely small in stature, but fat and well-looking. Unlike the women of the plains, she wore no covering on her head, and but little on her body. Two or three yards of cloth were around her waist, and descended half way below the knees; whilst a square of the same was tied over her shoulders like a monkey mantle; passed under the left arm it was drawn over the bosom, and the ends tied on the shoulder of the right arm. Her hair was tied up in the same fashion as the man’s. Around the rim of each ear were twenty-three thin ear-rings of brass; and three or four necklaces of red and white beads hung down to her waist in gradations. Her nose-ring was moderately large in circumference, but very heavy, pulling[77] down the right nostril by its weight; it was of silver, with four large beads, and an ornament of curious form. She had thick purple glass rings on her arms, called churees, of coarse manufacture, and other ornaments which I forget, something of the same sort.
She talked openly and freely. I took the man’s bow, and shot an arrow after the English fashion; at which the whole family laughed excessively, and appeared to think it so absurd that I should not draw a bow in the style of a mountaineer. I begged the man to show me the proper method; he put a sort of ring on my thumb, placed my right forefinger straight along the arrow, and bid me draw it by the force of the string catching on the thumb-ring. I did so, and shot my arrow with better aim than when pursuing the English method. His happiness was great on my giving him a rupee for a bow, two arrows, one of which was the poisoned one, and the thumb-ring. He said his employment consisted principally in shooting animals at night by laying in wait for them. He crouched down on the ground to show the way of laying in wait for wild hogs. On seeing a hog near, he would immediately spring to his feet and shoot his arrow, drawing it quite to the head. Sometimes they kill hogs with poisoned arrows; nevertheless they feed upon the animals, taking care to cut out the flesh around the arrow the instant the hog falls. He told us he had but one wife, his tirī, the hill-man’s name for wife, whom he had left at home; perhaps the tirī was an abbreviation of istirī, or tiriyā, wife.
After our long conversation with the savages we bade them adieu, and my parting present was a pink silk handkerchief for his tirī in the Hills. We returned at two P.M. to the boats, completely fagged, with the accompaniment of headaches from the heat of the sun: unmoored the vessels, and with a good breeze reached Rajmahal at dark. During our absence some hill-men came to the boats, and offered bows to the dāndees, begging in exchange a piece of linen. They parted with them afterwards for one halfpenny a piece. I must not omit to mention the magnificent wild climber, the Cachnár, Bauhinia scandens, which I gathered in the pass. The leaves are of immense size, heart-shaped,[78] and two lobed: they collapse during the night. It is called Bauhinia from two botanical brothers, John and Caspar Bauhin, who, like its leaves, were separate and yet united. The Cachnár at Allahabad is a beautiful tree, but its leaves are not so luxuriantly large as those of the wild creeper of the Rajmahal Hills. A cold bath and a late dinner restored me to comfortable feelings, and thus ended my adventures, and a happy day in the Hills of the Sikrī-galī Pass.
Sporting at Rajmahal—Ruins of the Palace of the Nawāb—Brahmanī Ducks—The Ruins of Gaur—The Dakait—An Adventure—Beautiful Ruins—Pān-gardens—The Kadam Sharīf—Curious Coins—Jungle Fever—Casowtee Stone—Fields of the Mustard Plant—Ancient Bricks—Fakīrs tame Alligators—Salt Box—An Account of the Ruins of Gaur.
1836, Dec. 4th.—Early this morning Mr. S⸺ crossed the river opposite Rajmahal, with his beaters and two little spaniels; he killed six brace of birds, but was unable to secure more than seven of them, from the jungly nature of the ground; the birds are partridges of a particular sort, only found, sportsmen say, at Rajmahal and one other place in India, the name of which I forget. At one spot the beaters were uncertain whether they saw a stranded boat or an alligator; it was a magar, the snub-nosed alligator. Mr. S⸺ put a bullet into his body about the fore-paw, the animal turned over in the river with a great splash, beating up the mud with his tail in his agony, and disappeared under the water. The magars are bold and fierce, the crocodiles timid, and it is supposed they do not venture to attack mankind; nevertheless, young children have been found in their bodies when caught.
During this time I rambled over the ruins of the old palace, which is fast falling into the river; the principal rooms still[80] standing now contain a quantity of coal, the warehouse of the steamers; it must have been a handsome building in former days; the marble floor of the mosque remains, and a fine well. My guide told me that at Gaur is a fine place, belonging to this Nawāb, now in ruins. All around Rajmahal is a beautiful jungle of magnificent bamboos; such fine clumps, interspersed with date palm trees, overshadowing the cottages, around which were a number of small cows, and fowls of a remarkably good breed; every thing had an air of comfort. The walks in all directions were so cool and pleasing, that it was very late ere I could induce myself to return to breakfast. The inhabitants of this pleasant jungle are accounted great thieves; an idea quite the contrary is given from the comfortable appearance of their cottages under the clumps of bamboos, close to the river, which is covered with vessels passing up and down.
5th.—The ruins of the ancient city of Gaur are laid down as at no very great distance from the Ganges. We were very anxious to visit the place, and therefore, quitting the Ganges, entered the little river, the Baugruttī sotā, up which, at the distance of half a mile, is the village of Dulalpūr: off the latter place we moored our vessels, being unable to proceed higher up from the shallowness of the water.
We explored the nālā in a dinghee, a small boat, and seeing two wild fowl (murghābī), I requested my companion to shoot one. “They are Brahmanī ducks, I do not like to kill them,” he replied; I persisted; he fired, and shot the male bird, the chakwā, it fell into the nālā, close to the boat; the hen bird, utterly unmindful of the gun, flew round and round the dinghee, uttering the most mournful cries over the dead body of her mate; poor bird, with merciful cruelty we let her live;—never again will I separate the chakwā, chakwī. The following is an extract from Forbes’ Hindūstanī Dictionary:—“Duck (wild) chākwī, chakaī. This is the large duck or goose, well known in India by the name of Brahmanī goose or duck, and in the poetry of the Hindūs, is their turtle-dove, for constancy and connubial affection, with the singular circumstance of the pair having been doomed for ever to nocturnal separation,[81] for having offended one of the Hindū divinities in days of yore; whence—
“According to the popular belief, the male and female of these birds are said to occupy the opposite banks of a water or stream regularly every evening, and to exclaim the live-long night to each other thus:—
The dārogha, the head man of the adjacent village, came down to the boats to make salām, and offered me the use of two horses for visiting Gaur; and a gentleman from the indigo factory of Chandnī Kothī, two miles distant, had the kindness to say he would lend me an elephant.
Dec. 6th.—Early in the morning a man was seen watching and lurking about the boats; therefore I desired the khidmatgār to put as few spoons and forks on the breakfast-table as possible, lest the sight of silver might bring thieves to the boats at night: the suspicious-looking man carried in his hand a long and peculiarly shaped brass lota, a drinking-vessel.
The dārogha sent the horses, and the elephant arrived, with an invitation to our party to go to the factory, where we found Mr. S⸺ very weak, recovering from jungle fever; but his friend, Mr. M⸺, promised to show us the ruins. They detained us to tiffin at 3 P.M., after which, my side-saddle having been put on one of the horses, I was ready to start; when Mr. M⸺ recommended my going on the elephant, on account of the deepness of the swamps we should have to pass over. Accordingly I mounted the elephant; a number of men attended us, amongst whom were three hill-men, with their bows and arrows; Mr. M⸺ mounted his horse; we went on, and lost sight of him. The factory is situated in the midst of jungle,[82] the ground park-like around, good trees, a great number of tanks of fine water, and a large space of morass in different directions, filled with high jungle grass. My companion took his gun, he is an excellent shot; nevertheless, on account of the unusual motion on a pad, from the back of the elephant he missed his game most strangely. We started by far too late, in spite of which we saw eight wild boars, three hog deer, one black partridge, two snipe, and nine or ten monkeys. Mr. M⸺ did not join us, and we marvelled at his non-appearance. On our return he assisted me as I descended the ladder from the back of the kneeling elephant, and said he had been almost murdered. He related that he quitted the house, and having gone half a mile, was looking for us, when a man tending cows called to him, and said, “A party on an elephant are gone that way.” Mr. M⸺ turned his horse to the point indicated, when the cowherd struck him two blows with a stick, which almost knocked him from his horse; as the fellow aimed the third blow, Mr. M⸺ wrenched the stick from his hand, and cut his forehead open with a blow over the eye. The dākait, or dākū, for he was a robber by profession, ran away; the gentleman followed. The dākait, who had a brass vessel full of water in his hand, swung it round most dexterously from the end of a string, not suffering the water to escape, and sent it right at Mr. M⸺; it missed him, and fell on the horse’s head. The robber then seized him by the collar, and pulled him from his horse; they struggled together, trying to throttle each other, and the dākū hit him severely in several places; at last Mr. M⸺ made him a prisoner, returned to the factory, and having bound his arms, he secured him to a pillar in the verandah, tying his long hair also to the post, to prevent his escape. We returned from the shooting expedition just after all this had happened, and found the ground at the man’s feet covered with blood; he appeared to be a daring and resolute character. On being questioned as to his motives by the gentlemen, he pretended not to understand Hindūstanī, and to be an idiot. I went alone into the verandah: “O, my grandmother, my grandmother! Nānī Ma, Nānī Ma, save me!” exclaimed the man; “did I not bring you milk this[83] morning?” “Yes,” said my bearer, “that is true enough; I know the man by the peculiar shape of his brass lota; he was lurking about the vessel, and when spoken to said he had brought milk; the khidmatgār took it for his own use, refusing to give me a portion.” This was the man I had observed in the morning; he was remarkably well formed, light and active, with muscles well developed; the beauty of his form was not hidden by any superfluous clothing, having merely a small portion of linen around his loins; his body was well oiled, and slippery as an eel,—a great advantage in a personal struggle, it being scarcely possible to retain hold on a well-oiled skin. He told me he had been sent by an indigo-planter from the other side of the river, to take Mr. M⸺’s life. On mentioning this to the gentlemen, I found the men of his factory on the opposite side the river had quarrelled about a well with the men of another factory, and in the affray, one of Mr. M⸺’s hill-men had run the head man of the opposite party right through the body with an arrow; it was unknown whether it had proved fatal, and Mr. M⸺ had crossed the river, awaiting the result of the unfortunate affair. It was supposed the dākait had been on the watch for some time, prowling about the place as a cowherd, and attacked the indigo-planter, finding him alone and far from his servants, the latter having proceeded with the party on the elephant. The robber tending the cows was serving under the orders of the dārogha of the village, who had lent me the horses; I was informed the latter was a regular dākait, and was recommended to remove my boats from the vicinity of his village, which, I understand, is full of robbers, and close to Dulalpūr. We returned to our boats; this most disagreeable adventure made me nervous; the guns and pistols were looked to, that they might be in readiness in case of attack; it was late at night, and I proposed crossing to the other side of the Ganges; but the manjhī assured me there was more to be feared from the violence of the stream, if we attempted to cross the river during the darkness of the night, than from the vicinity of the dākaits.
7th.—We breakfasted at the factory, and then, having mounted a fine tractable male elephant, well broken in for[84] sporting, and showing very large tusks, we proceeded towards Gaur, visiting all the ruins en route, and shooting from the back of the elephant as game arose in the thick jungle and amongst the fine trees which surrounded the tanks in every direction. The country around one of the principal ruins is remarkably beautiful; the ruin stands on a rising ground, covered with the silk cotton tree, the date palm, and various other trees; and there was a large sheet of water, covered by high jungle grass, rising far above the heads of the men who were on foot.
On the clear dark purple water of a large tank floated the lotus in the wildest luxuriance; over all the trees the jungle climbers had twisted and twined; and the parasitical plants, with their red flowers, were in bunches on the branches. The white granite pillars in some parts of the ruin were erect, in others prostrate; a number of the pillars were of black stone.
The Mahāwat, as we were going over this ruin, told us, “This is the favourite resort of tigers, and in the month of Bysak they are here in considerable number; now you may meet with one, but it is unlikely.” My curiosity so far overcame any fear, I could not help looking with longing eyes into the deep jungle-grass, as we descended into and crossed the water, half-hoping, half-fearing, to see a tiger skulking along.
The Sonā Masjid, or Golden Mosque, most particularly pleased me; its vastness and solidity give the sensation one experiences in the gloomy massive aisles of a cathedral. I will not particularly describe the ruins, but will add a description I was allowed to copy, written by Mr. Chambers, an indigo-planter, who, having lived at Gaur for thirty-six years, has had the opportunity of more particularly inspecting them than was in my power. I brought away many of the ornamented bricks, and those glazed with a sort of porcelain, something like Dutch tiles.
The gateway of the fort, with its moat below, is fine; the ramparts are covered with large trees. Lying in a field beyond the ramparts is a tombstone of one single block of black marble, an enormous mass of solid marble. At 5 P.M. the khidmatgārs informed us that two chakor (perdix chukar) and a wild duck, having been roasted in gipsy fashion under the trees,[85] dinner was ready; we seated ourselves near one of the ruins, and partook of refreshment with infinite glee. No sooner was it ended, than, remounting the elephant, we went to the ruins of a hunting tower: approaching it from every point, it is a beautiful object seen above the woods, or through the intervals between the trees. Akbar beautified the city, and may probably have built this circular tower,—a column of solid masonry, within which winds a circular stair. At Fathīpūr Sicrī is a tower, somewhat of a similar description, built by Akbar, and used as a hunting tower; people were sent forth to drive the game from every part towards the minār, from the top of which the emperor massacred his game at leisure. This tower at Gaur, much more beautifully situated, with a greater command of country, may have been used for a similar purpose. The building is on a larger scale, and much handsomer than the one at Fathīpūr Sicrī.
My companion mounted the hunting tower; climbing up the broken stones, a feat of some difficulty, he went up to the dome, which is now in ruins, though its egg shape may be clearly traced. The view pleased him: he was anxious I should ascend; but I was deterred by the difficulty of climbing up to the entrance porch, which is of carved black stone and very handsome.
There is one thing to observe with relation to the buildings: judging from the exterior ornaments on the stones, they would be pronounced Muhammadan; but, on taking out the stones, the other side presents Hindoo images; as if the conquerors had just turned and ornamented the stones according to their own fashion. The Hindoo idols around Gaur have generally been broken; the interior of the buildings, presenting pillars of massive stone, appear to me Hindoo: this point I leave to the learned, and rest content myself with admiring their fallen grandeur. The peepul tree and the banyan spring from the crevices, twisting their roots between the masses of stone, destroying the buildings with great rapidity; the effect, nevertheless, is so picturesque, one cannot wish the foliage to be destroyed. Crossing a bridge, we saw what I supposed to be the dry trunk of a tree; it was a large alligator asleep on the edge of a morass. Mr. S⸺ fired, the ball struck him just[86] below the shoulders, and from the paralyzed appearance of the animal must have entered the spine; he opened his enormous jaws and uttered a cry of agony. A second bullet missed him; he made an effort, and slipped over into the water, which became deeply dyed with his blood. Every tank is full of alligators. He sank to the bottom, and the dāndees lost a meal, by them considered very agreeable. I roamed on the elephant until it was very dark, when I got into the palanquin; one of the party rode by its side, and amused himself by catching fire-flies in his hand, and throwing them into the palkee. How beautifully the fire-flies flitted about over the high jungle grass that covered the morasses! As they crossed before the dark foliage of the trees, they were seen in peculiar brilliancy.
In the jungle, I saw several pān gardens, carefully covered over. Pān (piper betel), a species of pepper plant, is cultivated for its leaves; the vine itself is perennial, creeping, very long, and rooting at all the joints; the leaves have an aromatic scent and pungent taste. In India, of which it is a native, it is protected from the effect of the weather by screens made of bamboo. The root of the pān, called khoolinjān, as a medicine, is held in high estimation, and is considered an antidote to poison.
In one of the buildings you are shown the kadam sharīf, or the prints of the honoured feet of the prophet; over which is a silken canopy. The door is always fastened, and a pious Musalmān claps his hands three times, and utters some holy words ere he ventures to cross the threshold. This ceremony omitted, is, they say, certain and instantaneous death to the impious wretch: but this penalty only attaches itself to the followers of the prophet, as we found no ill effect from the omission. In the Qanoon-e-islam the history of the kadam-i-rasūl, the footstep of the prophet, is said to be as follows: “As the prophet (the peace and blessing of God be with him!), after the battle of Ohud (one of the forty or fifty battles in which the prophet had been personally engaged), was one day ascending a hill, in a rage, by the heat of his passion the mountain softened into the consistence of wax, and retained, some say eighteen, others forty impressions of his feet. When the angel Gabriel[87] (peace be unto him!) brought the divine revelation that it did not become him to get angry, the prophet (the peace! &c.) inquired what was the cause of this rebuke. Gabriel replied, ‘Look behind you for a moment and behold.’ His excellency, when he perceived the impressions of his feet on the stones, became greatly astonished, and his wrath immediately ceased. Some people have these very impressions, while others make artificial ones to imitate them. Some people keep a qudum-e-russool, footstep of the prophet, or the impression of a foot on stone in their houses, placed in a box, and covered with a mahtabee or tagtee covering; and this, they say, is the impression of the foot of the prophet (the peace! &c.).
“On this day (the bara-wufât) such places are elegantly decorated. Having covered the chest with moqeish and zurbaft, they place the qudum-e-moobarik (blessed foot) on it, or deposit it in a taboot; and place all round it beautiful moorch’huls or chawn-urs; and as at the Mohurrum festival, so now, they illuminate the house, have music, burn frankincense, wave moorch’huls over it. Five or six persons, in the manner of a song or murseea, repeat the mowlood, dorood Qoran, his mowjeezay (or miracles), and wafat nama (or the history of his death); the latter in Hindostanee, in order that the populace may comprehend it, and feel for him sympathy and sorrow.”
Some Muhammadan tombs are also shown here: the place is embowered in fine trees, on the branches of which are hundreds of monkeys flinging themselves from branch to branch in every direction. The fakīr in charge of the kadam-i-mubārak, the blessed foot, asked alms; which I promised to bestow, if he would bring me some of the old rupees, or any coin dug up in Gaur. Coins in great numbers are continually found, but the poor people are afraid of showing any treasure in their possession, for fear of being made to give it up to the Company. I was unable to procure any; still I hope, through my friends at the factory, to get a few. The silver coins are very large and thin. A curiosity of carved sandal-wood was shown in the building of the Kadam Sharīf: its name I forget.
After this long day spent in exploring the ruins, we stopped[88] at the factory. Mr. S⸺ blamed us highly for having remained so late in the jungle, on account of the fever, so likely to be caught after sunset. With him we found Mr. Chambers, also an indigo-planter, who gave me a specimen taken out of a casowtee stone. In boring the stone for some water in the factory, a portion, which appeared to consist of gold and silver, incorporated with the stone, fell out. The casowtee stone is esteemed very valuable; its colour is black: this was dug up in the Rakabud Mosque at Gaur. Having thanked our new acquaintances for their great attention and hospitality, we returned to the boats. I was much over-fatigued, and ached in every limb from the motion of the elephant, one accounted exceedingly rough. The former night the fear of robbery had rendered me sleepless; that night I was so much fatigued, a dākait would have had hard work to awaken me.
The country around Gaur is very open, interspersed with innumerable fine tanks, surrounded by large trees. The fields present one sheet of golden colour in every direction; the sarson was in full flower, its yellow flowers looking so gay amidst the trees, the old ruins, and the sheets of water. The sarson (sinapis dichotoma) is one of the species of mustard plant cultivated in Bengal in great quantities on account of the oil extracted from the seeds, which is used for burning in lamps and in Hindustanī cookery. The bricks of which the buildings are composed are very small and thin, very strongly burned, and very heavy, united with lime alone, no mortar having been used with it, which accounts for the durability of the ruins, and the great difficulty of detaching a brick from any part, so firm is the cement.
I am told the tanks are full of alligators; the crocodile is in the Ganges, but not in the tanks at Gaur; and these fierce snub-nosed alligators in some tanks are quite tame, coming up at the call of the fakīrs, and taking the offerings of living kids from their hands: cattle are often seized and devoured by them.
8th.—I awoke much too weary to attempt hog-hunting, although the elephants were attired on the bank. Close to, and on the right of Dulalpūr, hares, black partridge, and peacocks[89] were numerous. In the marshes were wild hogs in droves of from two to three hundred; and little pigs squeaking and running about were seen with several of the droves.
The gentleman who went out on the elephant returned, bringing with him two large wild boars and a young hog. We had the tusks extracted, and gave the meat to the servants, I being too much a Musalmanī myself to eat hogs’ flesh of any sort or description. The Rajpūts will eat the flesh of the wild boar, although they abhor the flesh of domesticated swine.
Mr. Chambers came down to the river, where he had eight boats containing indigo to the value of two lakh. He showed me some fine old casowtee stones covered with Hindoo images, dug up in Gaur, and gave me some specimens of the Gaur bricks; the stones he is sending home to the owner of the factory, Lord Glenelg. From the hill-men in charge of the indigo boats, I procured what is used by them as a salt-box, and was of their own making; merely one joint of a thick bamboo curiously carved and painted, in the hollow of which they carry their salt. They gave me also an arrow for bruising, with a head of iron like a bullet. Thus ended a most interesting visit; and to this account I will add Mr. Chambers’ description of the place, copied from his manuscript.
“THE RUINS OF GAUR.
“The ancient city of Gaur, said to have been the capital of Bengal, seven hundred and fifty years before the commencement of the Christian era, is now an uninhabited waste. It is situated on the east side of the Ganges, and runs nearly in a direction with it from S.E. to N.N.W., about twenty-five miles below Rajmahal. It lies in N. lat. 24° 53′, and in E. long. 88° 14′, and is supposed by Rennell to be the Gangia regia of Ptolemy. It has borne various names; it was formerly called Lutchmavutee or Lucknowtee, as well as Gaur; and when repaired and beautified in 1575, by the great Akbar, who is said to have been particularly attached to this city, it received from him the name of Zennuttabad, from his fancying it a kind of terrestrial Paradise. The extent of the city appears, from the old embankments which[90] enclosed it on every side, to have been ten miles long and two miles broad. These banks were sufficiently capable of guarding it from floods during the rising of the Ganges, when the rest of the country was inundated, as well as defending the place from an enemy, as there are mounds of earth from thirty to forty feet in height, and from one to two hundred feet broad at the base, the removal of the earth forming deep broad ditches on the outside of the banks. Some of these embankments were defended by brickwork. On the outside, the city has two embankments two hundred feet wide, running parallel to each other, at five hundred and eighty feet asunder, probably for greater security against a large lake to the eastward, which in strong weather drives with great violence against it during the season of the inundations. The principal passes through these banks to the city had gateways, two of which, one at the south end, and the other at the north end, are still standing, and the remains of others that have been destroyed are visible. The suburbs extended (there being sufficient vestiges of them to be traced) at least to a distance of four miles from each of those gates. Two grand roads led through the whole length of the city, raised with earth and paved with bricks, terminating with the gate at the south end. Where drains and canals intersected the roads, are the remains of bridges built over them.
“The buildings and mosques must have been very numerous; the rubbish and stones of which still left, point out the places where they stood. The two called golden mosques, and the Nuttee Musjeed, are doubtless the best buildings of that kind.
“In the midst of the city stood a fort, nearly square, and extending about a mile on every side, which had a bank or rampart forty feet high: there is a wall now remaining nearly a quarter of a mile in extent, and in some places between seventy and eighty feet in height, which surrounds a space many feet long and wide, parted into three divisions, and is supposed to have surrounded the king’s palace. The gates leading to the fort, and another to Shah Husain’s tomb are partly left, but covered with trees, and as full of bats and reptiles as the ditches are of alligators.
“The whole of this extensive boundary, including the fort and city, contains innumerable tanks and ponds of various sizes. The Saugur-dighee tank is a mile in length, by half a mile in breadth; three or four others, with this, are the best and largest cisterns of water in the place.
“At one of the tanks the Musselmāns make offerings to the alligators, which has made them so tame, they come to the shore and take away what is offered.
“The following observations on the ruins which still remain sufficiently entire, commence with the great
“GOLDEN MOSQUE.
“This noble building appears to stand nearly in the centre of this ancient capital. It is built of brick, but is ornamented on all sides with a kind of black porphyry stone. This mosque appears to have been surrounded with a wall, which, on the east side of the building, formed a court about three hundred feet in length and two hundred and fifty in breadth. The mosque itself formed a building one hundred and seventy feet in length from north to south, and one hundred and thirty in breadth. These dimensions are easily ascertained, as the north and south doors of the mosque, which mark its length, remain entire, and the breadth is easily computed from the one range and the ruins of the rest which yet remain. Its height within is about sixty feet, but it is probable that the spires of its lofty domes rose to the height of one hundred feet from the ground. Its internal structure presents a singular appearance. Its breadth is divided into six ranges resembling the aisles of a church. These aisles are in breadth twelve feet; and as they extend the whole length of the building from north to south, they are somewhat better than a hundred and fifty feet in length.
“The six walls which once divided them and supported the roof were eight feet in thickness, built of brick, and covered with black porphyry to a considerable height. These ranges of aisles are not formed of solid masonry; each of them is intersected by eleven openings from east to west, of somewhat more than six feet in breadth. This, in reality, divided the wall[92] which supports the roof of each range into twelve massy columns of eight feet square, so that the whole building contained seventy-two of these columns, eight feet both in length and breadth, of which the six outer ones on the two sides north and south adhering to the outside wall, left sixty within to support the roof. These rows of columns closed over each aisle, and thus formed six semicircular roofs, covering and extending the whole length of each aisle. It was, however, only that part furnished by each column which formed the arches of these six semicircular roofs; the eleven spaces which intersect each range, were formed above into domes about eleven feet in diameter within, and terminating in a point without. Of these six ranges or aisles, only one, that on the east side, is now entire, although traces of the other five are still visible. Of the domes in this range, the roofs of five are entire; those of two more are merely open at the top; in three more the roof has entirely fallen in; and the roofs on the rest having half fallen, seem to threaten the spectator with instant destruction, should any part of the mouldering ruin fall whilst he is walking underneath.
“The outward walls are nine feet in thickness. They are built of small bricks, extremely hard, and with excellent cement. The whole building seems to have suffered far less from depredation than from the numerous shrubs and trees which grow upon it, and which, insinuating their roots into the breaches of the walls, threaten the whole with unavoidable and speedy dissolution.
“Proceeding about a mile distant from the above-mentioned mosque, there is a large
“OBELISK,
“which stands alone, completely separate from any other building. It is supposed to have been erected for an observatory, or for the sake of calling the inhabitants to the regular performance of their daily devotions. It contains four stories, with a staircase within. The first story, about twelve feet from the ground, must be entered by a ladder. The wall is marked by many small windows placed over each other in a perpendicular[93] line. The top is now completely open, but appears to have been formerly surmounted by a dome. On the wall within is discerned the vestiges of numerous former visitors, and their initials cut in the stones with the date annexed. Many of these names were identified: directing attention to the most ancient, to discover, if possible, how long this has been the resort of European visitors, we traced ‘W. Harwood, April 17th, 1771;’ ‘G. Grey, 1772;’ ‘I. Henchman;’ ‘G. W.;’ ‘H. C.;’ and many others: inspecting more narrowly the initials ‘M. V., 1683,’ are deciphered. This was the remotest date ascertained: this reaches into the middle of the famous Aurunzebe’s reign, and it may easily be supposed that the place had fallen into decay at least a hundred and eighty years, if not more. Who this European traveller could have been is a matter of conjecture; but it is agreed that he was some gentleman from Holland or Portugal. This date, if Gaur had fallen into decay previous to his visit, might ascertain the time of its having been abandoned.
“If the Emperor of Delhi, Akbar, who was contemporary with our Elizabeth, repaired and beautified it, the period between this visit and the meridian glory of Gaur could not have been more than ninety years.
“The height of the upper story from the ground is seventy-one feet. When to this is added the height of the cupola, &c., it seems probable that one hundred feet was the original height of the building. The diameter of the area in the upper story is precisely ten feet: as the extreme diameter at the bottom is only twenty-one feet, if the thickness of the two walls is reckoned at about three and a half, the extreme diameter of the upper story will be seventeen feet, so that in a height of seventy feet, its diameter has lessened little more than three feet, a circumstance which reflects the highest credit both on the architect and the materials of the building, as it has resisted the strongest hurricanes for so many hundred years. The steps of the staircase, which remain entire, are about fifty, but in many instances the intermediate ones are worn away. The windows are formed of black porphyry, which appears to have been intended for support as well as ornament, as the stones about[94] two feet in length and one in breadth, and nearly a foot in thickness, support each other by means of tenons formed in the stone itself; and they, in several instances, stand firm, although the brickwork has fallen from them, whilst they are really firm; however, they assume so threatening an aspect from their appearing loose, that the visitor is almost afraid of being crushed beneath them.
“To the southward, about half a mile beyond the obelisk, is the
“NUTTEE MUSJEED,
“by some Europeans termed the China mosque, from the bricks of which it is built being ornamented with various colours. This building, however, has nothing of the mosque beyond some little resemblance in its external appearance, nor is there any thing within it corresponding with the internal appearance of the great Golden Mosque; it appears evidently intended for purposes of amusement. It is the most entire of any structure now remaining at Gaur. Its extreme length from east to west is about seventy-two feet, its breadth about fifty-four feet, and its height about seventy feet. The outer walls, nine feet in thickness, are formed of bricks, extremely small, not exceeding four inches in length, three in breadth, and one inch and a half in thickness; but these bricks are so well made, and the cement is so firm, that the building has almost the solidity of stone. The surface of these bricks is painted and glazed, yellow, white, green, and blue in alternate succession; and the whole appears to have been finished with a neatness approaching to finery. The east, the north, and the south sides have three doors, forming nine in the whole; on the west side it is closed. The arch of the middle door on each side is about eleven feet in height, the other two about nine feet high. The breadth is somewhat about six feet. On entering the east door, a partition wall presents itself, forming a space twelve feet in extent, and the whole breadth of the building. This marks the east as having been the front entrance, as this formed a kind of porch to the vestibule, in which probably servants remained.
“The space within this forms a beautiful room, about thirty-six feet square, the four walls closing above, and forming a majestic dome. The height of this spacious room we had no means of ascertaining exactly, but, from its appearance, it may be from forty to fifty feet. So spacious and lofty a room, without a pillar, beam, or rafter, is a real curiosity; and when the antiquity of the building, the smallness of the bricks which compose it, and its present high state of preservation are considered, it seems evident that the art of building, as far as durability is considered, was far better understood in Bengal formerly than is indicated now by any modern edifice in the metropolis of India. Are European science and skill completely distanced by the former knowledge of a nation deemed only half-civilized?
“THE SOUTH GATE
formed the southern boundary of the city; its majestic arch still remains, it is thirty-five feet wide; on each side is a piece of masonry sixty feet square, and in height nearly equal to the outside of the arch surmounting the gateway, which is somewhat better than sixty feet. The masonry is united both on the east and west side by a rampart of earth, which is also sixty feet high, and is covered with trees of various kinds. This rampart, however, would have formed but a feeble defence against an army of Europeans, whatever it might have been esteemed against an Indian army.
“Many mosques, and the remains of old buildings, as well as a great number of fine stone pillars which once supported splendid edifices, are to be seen entangled by jungle and high grass, completely covered up in some places, and in other places prostrate, the foundations having been excavated for bricks and stones. The towns of Malda, Rajmahal, and Moorshadabad have been supplied with building materials from Gaur, which to this day are continually carried to the populous adjacent towns and villages, to build native dwellings.
“In passing through so large an extent of that which was once a scene of human grandeur, nothing presents itself but these few remains; trees and grass now fill up the space, giving[96] shelter to a variety of wild creatures; buffaloes, deer, wild hogs, monkeys, peacocks, and the common fowl, now become wild; the roar of the tiger, the cry of the peacock, the howls of the jackals, with the company of bats and troublesome insects, soon become familiar to those inhabiting the neighbourhood.”
Extracts from an old work on India.
‘India was first discovered by the Portuguese in 1497, at which time, and even at the commencement of the reign of the Emperor Akbar, in 1556, Gaur was a flourishing city.’
From the History of Portuguese Asia.
‘Gaur, the principal city in Bengal, is seated on the banks of the Ganges, three leagues in length, containing 1,200,000 families, and well fortified. Along the streets, which are wide and straight, rows of trees shade the people, who are so very numerous, that sometimes many are trodden to death.’
“To the contemplative mind, what a striking example must a review of Gaur present of the uncertain state of sublunary things!”
“The Ruins of Gaur,” with eighteen coloured plates, was published in 1817, in one volume quarto, from the manuscript and sketches of the late H. Creighton, Esq.; it is a scarce and interesting work.
Toll at Jungipūr—Bengālee Women—Palace of the Nawāb of Moorshadabad—Mor-pankhī—Snake Boats—Kāsim Bazār—Berhampūr—Cintra Oranges—Cutwa Cloth—Culna—The Timber Raft—Chandar-nagar—Sholā Floats—The Hoogly—Chinsurah—Barrackpūr—Serampūr—Corn Mills—The Shipping—Chandpaul Ghāt—River Fakīrs—M. le Général Allard—Assam Leaf Insect—The Races—Kalī Mā’ī—Dwarkanath Tagore—The Foot of a Chinese Lady—Quitted Calcutta—The Steamer and Flat—The Sunderbands—Mud Islands—Tigers—The Wood-cutters—Kaloo-rayŭ—Settlements—Culna—Commercolly—Rājmahal—Monghir—Coolness of a Native—Pleasures of Welcome—The Vaccine Department—The Gaja Rājā performs Pooja as a Fakīr—The Eclipse—The Plague—The Lottery—Conversations in the Zenāna—The Autograph—Delicacy of Native Ladies—Death of the King of Oude—The Padshah Begam—Moona Jāh—The King’s Uncle raised to the Throne.
1836, Dec. 9th.—Arrived at Jungipūr, where a toll was levied of six rupees on my bajrā, usually called budjerow, and two rupees on the cook boat,—a tax for keeping open a deep channel in the river. During the hour we anchored there, and the servants were on shore for provisions, I was much amused watching the women bathing; they wade into the stream, wash their dresses, and put them on again all wet, as they stand in the water; wash their hair and their bodies, retaining all the time some part of their drapery, which assumes the most classical appearance. They wear their hair fastened behind in the Grecian fashion, large silver nose-rings, a great number of white ivory churees (bracelets) on their arms, with a pair of very large silver bangles on the wrists,[98] and massive ornaments of silver on their ankles; their drapery white, with, perhaps, an edge of some gay colour; bright brass vessels for water (gāgrī), or of porous red earthenware (gharā), in which they carry back the river water to their dwellings. Having bathed, they repeat their prayers, with their hands palm to palm raised to their faces, and turning in pooja to particular points. After sipping the water a certain number of times, taking it up in their hands, they trip away in their wet drapery, which dries as they walk. The skin of the women in Bengal is of a better tinge than that of the up-country women; they are small, well-formed, and particularly graceful in their movements.
10th.—The Bhaugruttī, as you approach Moorshadabad, is remarkably picturesque, and presents a thousand views that would make beautiful sketches. At this moment we are passing the Nawāb’s residence, or rather the palace that is building for him; it is situated on the side of the river, which presents a beautiful expanse of water, covered with vessels of all sorts and sizes, of the most oriental and picturesque form. A fine breeze is blowing, and the vessels on every side, and all around me, are in every sort of picturesque and beautiful position. The palace, which is almost quite completed, is a noble building, an enormous and grand mass of architecture, reared under the superintendence of Colonel Macleod.
The mor-pankhī, a kind of pleasure boat, with the long neck and head of a peacock, most richly gilt and painted, and the snake boats, used on days of festival, are fairy-like, picturesque, fanciful, and very singular. Pinnaces for hire are here in numbers. The merchant-boats built at this place are of peculiar and beautiful form, as if the builder had studied both effect and swiftness; the small boats, over which rafts are fastened to float down wood; the fishermen’s little vessels, that appear almost too small and fragile to support the men, and which fly along impelled only by one oar; the well-wooded banks, the mosques, and the mut’hs (Hindoo temples), mixed with curiously built native houses;—all unite in forming a scene of peculiar beauty. Kasīm bazār adjoins Moorshadabad; both are famous for silk of every sort. In the evening we anchored at Berhampūr; the[99] budgerow was instantly crowded with people, bringing carved ivory toys, chess-men, elephants, &c., for sale, and silk merchants, with handkerchiefs and Berhampūr silk in abundance; all asking more than double the price they intended to take. Four more dāndees having deserted, I have been obliged to apply to the Judge Sāhib to procure other men.
The most delicious oranges have been procured here, the rinds fine and thin, the flavour excellent; the natives call them “cintra;” most likely they were introduced by the Portuguese. The station extends along the side of the river, which is well banked, and offers a cool and refreshing evening walk to the residents. I was tempted to buy some of the carved ivory chess-men, an elephant, &c., all very cheap, and well carved in good ivory; nor could I resist some silk nets for the horses.
12th.—At Cutwa cotton cloth was offered for sale; I bought some, but the purchase gave more trouble than the cloth was worth. The men asked eighteen sicca-rupees for each piece of eighteen yards, and took eleven Furrukhabad rupees; the mosquito curtains, for which they asked five rupees each, they sold for three.
14th.—Arrived at Culna, to which place the tide comes up. Here we anchored, to buy charcoal and clarified butter for my own consumption, and rice for the dāndees. We have passed a great many timber rafts that are floating down to Calcutta, with wood, for sale; the timber is cut in the hills. The stems of two large trees are lashed across a boat, and, passing over the sides to a considerable distance, support a number of trees, which float on the water, fastened along both sides of the boat; on the boat itself is a thatched shed. On each raft are two hill-men, their black bodies and heads completely shaved; with no clothing but a bit of cloth passed between the limbs, and supported by a string tied round the waist. They have a wild look as they row with their bamboo oars the unwieldy rafts, three or four of which are fastened together;—a picture in itself is the wild and strange-looking timber raft. A small canoe, hollowed out of a single tree, is always the accompaniment to a raft; I saw four men in a canoe of this sort crossing the river;[100] one man steered by using an oar, while the other three, by leaning forward, made use of their hands alone as paddles; you may therefore imagine how narrow the boat was, when a man could use a hand at each side at the same time in the water, to paddle her forward. The men were laughing and shouting most happily. They cut the timber in the hills, and come down with it for scarcely any payment, merely just enough to feed them.
When the boats have delivered their wood in Calcutta, they take up one boat, and put it into another, and in this way the double boats return to the hills; for this reason two men alone come with one boat down the stream, but in returning, more men are required to track against it; the two boats being put one on the other, the four men suffice to take them back again.
15th.—This evening we anchored at Chandar-nagar, the town of Chandar, the moon, commonly called Chander-nagore, and took a walk to see a Bengālee temple, which looked well from the river. The building consisted of a temple in the centre, containing an image of the goddess Kalī, and five smaller temples on each side, each containing an image of Mahadēo; a little further on were two images, gaily dressed in tarnished silk and tinsel; the one a female figure, Unapurna, the other Mahadēo, as a Bairāgī or religious mendicant. The village was pretty. I stopped at a fisherman’s, to look at the curiously-shaped floats he used for his very large and heavy fishing nets; each float was formed of eight pieces of sholā, tied together by the ends, the four smaller within the four larger. When this light and spongy pith is wetted, it can be cut into thin layers, which, pasted together, are formed into hats; Chinese paper appears to be made of the same material. The banks of the river, the whole distance from Hoogly to Chinsurah and Chandar-nagar, presents a view of fine houses, situated in good gardens, and interspersed with the dwellings of the natives. There is a church at Chandar-nagar, where there are also cantonments; and the grand depôt for the wood from the up-country rafts appears to be at this place; the river-side was[101] completely covered with timber for some distance. The natives were amusing themselves as we passed, sending up small fire balloons, and brilliantly blue sky rockets.
The view is beautiful at Barrackpūr; the fine trees of the park stretching along the side of the river; the bright green turf that slopes gently down to the water; the number of handsome houses, with their lawns and gardens; the Government-house and the buildings around it, stuccoed to resemble white stone; the handsome verandahs which surround the houses, supported by pillars; and the great number of boats gliding about, render it peculiarly pleasing.
In front, on the opposite side of the river, is the Danish settlement of Serampūr; its houses, which are large and handsome, are two or three stories high. We are floating gently down with the tide; I can scarcely write, the scenery attracts me so much,—the Bengālee mandaps (places of worship) close to the water, the fine trees of every description, and the pretty stone ghāts. We have just passed a ruined ghāt, situated in the midst of fine old trees; at the top of the flight of steps are the ruins of two Hindoo temples of picturesque form; an old peepul tree overshadows them; its twisted roots are exposed, the earth having been washed away during the rains. A number of women are bathing, others carrying water away in gharās poised on their heads: the men take it away in water vessels, which are hung to either end of a split bamboo, called a bahangī, which is carried balanced on the shoulder. We fly past the objects with the ebbing tide; what an infinity of beauty there is in all the native boats! could my pencil do justice to the scenery, how valuable would be my sketch-book!
The Governor-General, Lord Auckland, lives partly in Calcutta, and partly at the Government-house at Barrackpūr. At Cassipūr is the house of the agent for gunpowder, its white pillars half-hidden by fine trees. At Chitpore is a high, red, Birmingham-looking, long-chimnied building, with another in the same style near it; the high chimneys of the latter emitting a dark volume of smoke, such as one only sees in this country pouring from the black funnel of a steamer: corn is here ground in[102] the English fashion, and oil extracted from divers seeds. The establishment cost a great sum of money, and I think I have heard it has failed, owing to each native family in India grinding their own corn, in the old original fashion of one flat circular mill-stone over another, called a chakkī.
From this point I first caught a view of the shipping off Calcutta: for ten years I had not beheld an English vessel: how it made me long for a glimpse of all the dear ones in England! “The desire of the garden never leaves the heart of the nightingale[15].”
Passing through the different vessels that crowd the Hoogly off Calcutta, gave me great pleasure; the fine merchant-ships, the gay, well-trimmed American vessels, the grotesque forms of the Arab ships, the Chinese vessels with an eye on each side the bows to enable the vessel to see her way across the deep waters, the native vessels in all their fanciful and picturesque forms, the pleasure-boats of private gentlemen, the beautiful private residences in Chowringhee, the Government-house, the crowds of people, and vehicles of all descriptions, both European and Asiatic,—form a scene of beauty of which I know not the equal.
We anchored at Chandpaul ghāt, amidst a crowd of vessels. The river-beggars fly about in the very smallest little boats in the world, paddled by one tiny oar: a little flag is stuck up in the boat, and on a mat at the bottom, spread to receive offerings, is a collection of copper coins, rice and cowries, thrown by the pious or the charitable to these fakīrs; who, if fame belie them not, are rascals. “A gooroo at home, but a beggar abroad[16].” I forgive them the sin of rascality, for their picturesque appearance; the gifts they received were very humble. “A kuoree is a gold mohur to a pauper[17].”
There not being room that night for our party at Spence’s hotel, I was forced to sleep on board the budjerow, off Chandpaul ghāt. What a wretched night it was! The heat was intolerable. I could not open a window because the budjerows[103] on either side were jammed against mine: the heat, the noise, the mooring and unmooring, according to the state of the tide, rendered it miserable work. I wished to anchor lower down, but the answer was, “Budjerows must anchor here; it is the Lord Sāhib’s hukm (order).”
17th.—I took possession of apartments in Spence’s hotel: they were good and well furnished. Since I quitted Calcutta, a great improvement has taken place: a road has been opened from the Government-house to Garden Reach, by the side of the river; the drive is well watered, the esplanade crowded with carriages, and the view of the shipping beautiful.
M. le Général Allard, who had just returned from France, and was in Calcutta en route to rejoin Runjeet Singh, called on me; he is the most picturesque person imaginable; his long forked beard, divided in the centre, hangs down on either side his face; at dinner-time he passes one end of his beard over one ear, and the other end over the other ear. The General, who was a most agreeable person, regretted he had not seen me when he passed Allahabad, but illness had prevented his calling and delivering, in person, the bows and arrows entrusted to his charge.
I was much delighted with the General: he asked me to visit Lahore, an invitation I told him I would accept with great pleasure, should I ever visit the Hills, and he promised to send an escort for me. The General took with him to Europe some fine jewels, emeralds, and other valuable stones; he brought them back to India, as they were of less value in Europe than in the East.
I could have remained contentedly at the hotel myself, but my up-country servants complained there was no comfort for them; therefore I took a small house in Chowringhee, and removed into it the furniture from the budjerow. It was comfortable also to have my horses, which had arrived, in the stables.
Went to a ball given in the English style by a rich Bengālee Baboo, Rustam-jee Cowsajee. The Misses Eden were there, which the Baboo ought to have thought a very great honour.
1837, Jan. 1st.—Mr. H⸺ arrived from Assam, suffering[104] from the effects of one of the terrific fevers of that country: he brought me a leaf insect,—a great curiosity.
5th.—Made my salām at the Government-house, as in duty bound.
9th.—The first day of the races: drove to the stand at seven A.M., through a deep, white, thick fog, so usual in the early morning in Calcutta, which did my sore throat and cold no good.
11th.—The second day of the races; the Auckland Cup was to be given to the winner. The cup was of silver, the design remarkable, and very beautiful. It was sketched by Miss Eden, and executed in good style by Messrs. Pittar and Co., jewellers, in Calcutta. The winning horse came in well: twenty yards beyond the post, as the jockey attempted to pull him up, the horse dropped and died instantly. The cup was awarded to the dead horse. It was a piteous sight.
15th.—Accompanied Mr. W⸺ and a party over his racing stables: the sight of the racers all ready for the contest in the morning was pleasing. We then visited a number of imported English and Cape horses that were for sale.
In the evening I drove to see the far-famed Bengālee idol, Kalī Mā’ī, to which, in former times, human sacrifices were publicly offered; and to which, in the present day, and in spite of the vigilance of the magistrate, I believe, at times, a human being is offered up;—some poor wretch who has no one likely to make inquiries about him. The temple is at Kalī Ghāt, about two miles from Calcutta. The idol is a great black stone cut into the figure of an enormous woman, with a large head and staring eyes; her tongue hangs out of her mouth, a great broad tongue, down to her breast. The figure is disgusting. I gave the attendant priests a rupee for having shown me their idol, which they offered with all reverence to Kalī Mā’ī. The instruments with which, at one stroke, the priest severs the head of the victim from the trunk are remarkable.
16th.—A cup of silver, given by a rich Bengālee, Dwarkanath Tagore, was run for: the cup was elaborately worked, and the workmanship good; but the design was in the excess of bad[105] taste, and such as only a Baboo would have approved. It was won by Absentee, one of the horses I had seen in the stable the day before, contrary to the calculation of all the knowing ones in Calcutta.
17th.—The inhabitants of Calcutta gave a ball to the Miss Edens. I was too ill to attend.
30th.—Dined with an old friend at Alipūr, some two miles from Calcutta. The coachman being unable to see his way across the maidān (plain), stopped. The sā’īses, who were trying to find out where they were, ran directly against the walls of the hospital; the fog was so dense and white, you could not see a yard before you; it made my cough most painful, and the carriage was two hours returning two miles.
Feb. 4th.—I spent the day at the Asiatic Society. A model of the foot of a Chinese lady in the collection is a curiosity, and a most disgusting deformity. The toes are crushed up under the foot, so as to render the person perfectly lame: this is a less expensive mode of keeping a woman confined to the house, than having guards and a zenāna—the principle is the same.
Having bid adieu to my friends in Calcutta, I prepared to return to Allahabad, and took a passage in the Jellinghy flat. The servants went up the river in a large baggage boat, with the stores, wine, and furniture. I did not insure the boat, insurance being very high, and the time of the year favourable. The horses marched up the country.
March 6th.—I went on board the Jellinghy flat, established myself and my ayha in a good cabin, and found myself, for the first time, located in a steamer. She quitted Calcutta in the evening, and as we passed Garden Reach, the view of handsome houses in well-wooded grounds, which extend along the banks of the river, was beautiful. The water being too shallow at this time of the year for the passage of the steamer up the Bhaugruttī, or the Jellinghy, she was obliged to go round by the sunderbands (sindhū-bandh). The steamer herself is not the vessel in which the passengers live; attached to, and towed by her, is a vessel as large as the steamer herself, called a flat, built expressly to convey passengers and Government treasure. It is divided into[106] cabins, with one large cabin in the centre, in which the passengers dine together.
7th.—We quitted the Hoogly and anchored in the sunderbands. The sunderbands is a large tract of low muddy land, covered with short thick jungle and dwarf trees. It is an assemblage of islands, the tides flowing between them. A more solitary desolate tract I never beheld. We anchored where three streams met, flowing in from between these low mud islands. When the tide turned in the middle of the night, the steamer swung round on the flat with a crash; several times the two vessels were entangled in this manner; the steamer drove in one of the cabin windows, and it was some time ere every thing was right again. Exposed to the power of the three streams, she was never quiet, never at rest: the children cried, the ducks did not like to be killed, and the vessels were wrestling together for hours—an unquiet night.
8th.—The mud islands are under water at high tide. At this moment we are passing through a very narrow passage; on each side the thick, low, impenetrable jungle comes down to the water’s edge. Not a tree of any size to be seen; not a vessel, not an animal. During the whole of this day I have only seen two paddy birds, and one deer. The thick jungle is full of tigers; so much so, that the Hindoos on board are not allowed to go on shore to cook their food on that account. Going along with the tide in our favour, the swiftness of the steamer is terrific; the velocity with which we pass the banks makes me giddy. We have just passed a spot on which an oar is stuck up on end. The captain of the flat pointed it out to me as a sign that a native had been carried off at that spot by a tiger. It is the custom to leave an oar to point out the spot, or to stick up a bamboo with a flag attached to it—as in Catholic countries a cross is erected on the spot where a murder has been committed.
“Kaloo-rayŭ is a form of Shivŭ: the image is that of a yellow man sitting on a tiger, holding in his right hand an arrow, and in his left a bow. A few of the lower orders set up clay images of this god, in straw houses, and worship them at pleasure.[107] The wood-cutters in the eastern, western, and southern forests of Bengal, in order to obtain protection from wild beasts, adopt a peculiar mode of worshipping this idol. The head boatman raises elevations of earth, three or four inches high, and about three feet square, upon which he places balls of clay, painted red; and, amongst other ceremonies, offers rice, flowers, fruits, and the water of the Ganges carried from the river Hoogly, keeping a fast: the god then directs him in a dream where to cut wood free from danger. There is no authority for this worship in the shastrŭs. Dŭkshina-rayŭ is another god, worshipped in the same manner, and by the same class of persons[18].”
9th.—Last night two boats full of wood-cutters passed us; they said several of their men had been carried off by tigers. We have only overtaken four boats all this time in the sunderbands. During the hot weather people dare not come through this place; fevers are caught from the malaria: at the present time of the year it is safe enough. There are no inhabitants in these parts, the people finding it impossible to live here. We have a very pleasant party on board, most of whom are going to Allahabad. The vessel is a good one; the accommodation good, the food also. It is very expensive, but as it saves one a dāk trip in this hot weather, or a two or three months’ voyage in a country vessel, it is more agreeable. The heat in these vile sunderbands is very great; during the day, quite oppressive; when we enter the Ganges we shall find it cooler. As we were emerging from the sunderbands and nearing the river, the banks presented a scene which must resemble the back settlements in America. Before this time we had scarcely met with a good-sized tree. Here the trees partook of the nature of forest: some people were burning the forest, and had made a settlement. Barley was growing in small portions, and there were several dwarf cows. The scene was peculiar; a little bank of mud was raised to prevent the overflow of the tide; the stumps of the burned and blackened trees remained standing, with the exception of where they had been rooted out, and a paddy field[108] formed. Places for look out erected on high poles were numerous, and thatched over: there a man could sit and watch all night, lest a tiger should make his appearance. There were a few miserable huts for the men, no women were to be seen; nothing could be more primitive and more wretched than these young settlements in the sunderbands. On the morning of the 10th we quitted this vile place, and anchored at Culna to take in a fresh supply of coals.
12th.—We arrived at Commercolly; anchored close to the bank, to take in more coal: it was very oppressive, but the evening was beautiful; the sky studded with stars, and the new moon just visible. I sat on deck enjoying the coolness: we anchored very late, not until it was impossible to see the proper course to steer on the river. We had at last gained the Ganges.
13th.—Passed a great number of boats that were out fishing, and ran over one of them containing four men, three were picked up immediately, the fourth passed under the steamer, from her bows to her stern; he was taken up exhausted, but uninjured. Some of the passengers are playing at chess, others reading novels; some asleep, some pacing the deck under the awning, all striving to find something wherewith to amuse themselves.
14th.—We arrived off Gaur; I looked with pleasure on its woods in the distance, recalled to mind the pleasant days I had passed there, and thought of the well-oiled dākait who had called on me as his grandmother to save him. It was just at this place that coming down the river we turned to the right, and went a short cut down the Bhaugruttī, instead of pursuing the course of the Ganges. A prize this day fell to my share in a lottery, in Calcutta, of a silver vase enamelled in gold; but more of this lottery hereafter.
16th.—I got up early and went on shore at Rājmahal, roamed in the bamboo jungle and amongst the ruins, until the ringing of the bell on board the steamer announced the coals were on board, and the vessel ready to start. Of all the trees in India, perhaps the bāns, bamboo, is the most useful, as well as the most graceful. What can be more picturesque, more beautiful[109] than a clump of bamboos? From Calcutta to Allahabad, the common route by the river is eight hundred miles; round by the sunderbands the distance is nearly eleven hundred.
18th.—Passed the Janghiera rock, and anchored at Monghir: bought lāthīs, that is, solid bamboos, walking-sticks, sixty for the rupee. The male bamboo is solid, the female hollow. I bought them for the use of the beaters when M. mon mari goes out shooting.
20th.—The strong westerly wind sent the fine sand from the banks in clouds all over the vessel, filling the eyes and ears most unpleasantly.
25th.—Anchored at Benares: the steamer started again at 8 A.M.; the view of the ghāts as we passed was beautiful; the number of persons bathing, their diversified and brilliantly coloured dresses, rendered the scene one of great interest and beauty.
26th.—Passed Chunar;—the place had lost much of the beauty it displayed during the rains. A khidmatgār fell overboard, passed under the vessel from head to stern, and was picked up by the boat just as he was on the point of sinking. The skin was torn off the old man’s scalp; he received no further injury. The next day, to my astonishment, he was in attendance on his master at dinner-time, and seemed to think nothing of having been scalped by the steamer!
27th.—Received fruit and vegetables from an old friend at Mirzapore. I am weary of the voyage, the heat for the last few days has been so oppressive: very gladly shall I return to the quiet and coolness of my own home. Aground several times on sandbanks.
29th.—Started early, and arrived within sight of the Fort; were again fixed on a sandbank; the river is very shallow at this time of the year. With the greatest difficulty we reached the ghāt on the Jumna, near the Masjid, and were glad to find ourselves at the end of the voyage. My husband came down to receive and welcome me, and drive me home. The great dog Nero nearly tore me to pieces in his delight. Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī sent her people down to the ghāt to make[110] salām on my landing, to welcome and congratulate me on my return, and to say she wished to see me.
It was pleasant to be thus warmly received, and to find myself once more in my cool and comfortable home on the banks of the Jumna-jee after all the heat and fatigue of the voyage.
The Brija Bā’ī, one of the Mahratta ladies, was delighted to see me once again, and performed a certain sort of blessing called balaiyā lenā, or taking all another’s evils on one’s self; which ceremony she performed by drawing her hands over my head, and cracking her fingers on her own temples, in token of taking all my misfortunes upon herself. This mode of blessing I have many times seen performed both by men and women, our dependents and servants, both towards my husband and myself, on our bestowing any particular benefit upon them; it expressed the depth of their gratitude.
April 6th.—The small-pox is making great ravages; some of our friends have fallen victims. Lord William Bentinck did away with the vaccine department, to save a few rupees; from which economy many have lost their lives. It is a dreadful illness, the small-pox in this country. People are in a fright respecting the plague; they say it is at Palee, and has approached the borders of the Company’s territories; we have fevers, cholera, and deadly illnesses enough, without the plague; it is to be trusted that will not be added to the evils of this climate.
The Palee plague, they say, after all, is not the genuine thing: it has not as yet entered our territories; however, the Government of Agra have very wisely adopted preventive measures, and have established boards of health, cordons, and quarantine, with the usual measures as to fumigations and disinfectants. It would be really too bad to give this stranger a playground, in addition to our old friends fever and cholera, already domesticated.
15th.—The first time of using the thermantidote was this morning: how delightful was the stream of cool air it sent into the hot room! how grateful is the coolness and darkness of the house, in contrast to the heat and glare on the river!
15th.—This day is the anniversary of the birthday of the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, and she has sent me an invitation to accompany her to the Trivenī, the sacred junction of the rivers, to see her perform a vow, made for her by her mother. The young Princess from her birth was very sickly, and the mother, fearing the death of her infant, vowed to Mahadēo that if the god would preserve her life, she should do pooja as a fakīr, at the shrine, on each anniversary of her natal day. The time having arrived, the young Mahratta Princess will perform the vow in the evening. How much I regret I am unable to attend; unfortunately illness prevents my quitting the house. Picture to yourself the extraordinary scene. The young Princess doing pooja before the shrine of Mahadēo, a descent on earth of Shivŭ the destroyer. Her delicate form covered from head to foot with a mixture of ashes and Ganges mud; her long black hair matted with the same, and bound round her head like a turban; her attire the skin of a tiger; her necklace of human bones, a rosary in her hand, and a human skull for an alms-dish,—a religious mendicant; or making discordant music on a sort of double-headed hand-drum used by fakīrs, and wandering about within the canvas walls of the zenāna tent like a maniac! The skull borne by religious mendicants is to represent that of Brŭmha. Shivŭ, in a quarrel, cut off one of Brŭmha’s five heads, and made an alms-dish of it. As the Gaja Rājā appeared as a religious mendicant, the form in which the lord of the Bhōōtŭs appeared on earth, I hope some of the ladies represented the latter, a number of whom always attended Shivŭ. The Bhōōtŭs are beings partly in human shape, though some of them have the faces of horses, others of camels, others of monkeys, &c.; some have the bodies of horses, and the faces of men; some have one leg, and some two; some have only one ear, and others only one eye. They would have made charming attendants on the little Princess, who, wrapped in a tiger’s skin, and wandering like a maniac, performed, before the shrine of Mahadēo, the vow made in her name by her mother at her birth!
The Hon. Miss Frances Eden has been with a party at[112] Moorshadabad, tiger shooting; they had indifferent sport, and only killed five tigers, one of which had the happiness of dying before the eyes of the fair lady. They have returned to Calcutta. It must have been warm work in the jungles after the tigers; but when one has an object in view, one is apt to forget the power of an Indian sun, until a good fever reminds one of the danger of exposure.
21st.—Last night, at midnight, the moon was completely eclipsed, and darkness fell over the land. The natives are horror-struck; they say it foretels sickness, disease, and death to a dreadful extent. It is not unlikely their fears may be verified: the plague is raging at Palee; it is expected it will spread ere long to the Company’s territories. Then, indeed, will the natives believe in the direful presages of the eclipse, forgetting the plague was the forerunner not the follower of the signs of wrath in the heavens. Sir Charles Metcalfe has issued all necessary orders to prevent the intercourse of persons from the infected cities, with those of the surrounding country. The small-pox is carrying off the young and the healthy; in every part of the country you hear of its fatal effects.
The Brija Bā’ī, one of the favourite attendants on the Bāiza Bā’ī, came to see me; I showed her a prize I had won in a lottery at Calcutta; a silver vase beautifully enamelled in gold, value £40. She was much pleased with it, and anxious to procure tickets in the next lottery for mechanical curiosities.
22nd.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent to me to say she had put into a lottery, and feared, having only taken seven tickets, she might not gain a prize, and her people would say she was unlucky. Therefore, to avert the evil of being called an unlucky person, she wished to procure the whole of the tickets which remained unsold. I tried to persuade her that she had tickets in abundance; nevertheless she sent for thirty more. How curiously superstitious the natives are! She is as much pleased as a child at this little bit of gambling for mechanical curiosities and jewellery.
24th.—The Brija came to request I would visit the camp to show them how to use a magic-lantern; I did so, but it[113] was a failure, being dim and indistinct. In the course of conversation, wishing to remember a circumstance related by one of the ladies in attendance, I noted it in my pocket-book, on a little slate of white china. Her Highness, who observed the action, asked for the pocket-book, examined it, admired the delicately white china, and asking for a pencil wrote her own name upon it. She appeared surprised at my being able to read and write, accomplishments possessed by herself, but uncommon among the Mahratta ladies, who are seldom able to attain them, it being the system of eastern nations to keep their women in ignorance, imagining it gives them greater power over them. They are taught to consider it unfit for ladies of rank, and that it ought to be done for them by their writers and mūnshīs; nevertheless, they were proud of the accomplishments possessed by the Bāiza Bā’ī.
Her Highness returned me the pocket-book, which I received with pleasure, and value highly for the sake of the autograph, of which, in the plate entitled “The Kharīta,” the writing on the right-hand side is a fac-simile.
All the needlework is done by women in the zenāna: to allow a tailor to make your attire would be considered indelicate, and their clothes are never allowed to be shown to men, lest they should thus be able to judge of the form of the lady purdanishīn, i.e. behind the curtain. Imagine the disgust an Asiatic lady would feel if placed in Regent Street, on beholding figures displayed in shop windows, intended to represent English ladies in corsets, bustles, and under petticoats, turning round on poles, displaying for the laughter and criticism of the men the whole curious and extraordinary arcana of the toilet of an European!
May 5th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī was unable to get the thirty tickets she sent for in the lottery; eighteen were all that were unsold, and these were taken by her. She was very fortunate, and won two prizes; one was an ornament in diamonds attached to a necklace of two strings of pearls, and a pair of diamond ear-rings, valued at 2000 rupees, i.e. £200; the second a clock, valued at 400 rupees, £40: my own ticket proved a blank. The clock is placed on a rock in the picture, on which are trees,[114] a town, and a fort. In front is the sea, on which float a three-decker and a cutter, which roll upon the waves moved by mechanism. The Mahrattas were charmed with it: it is a good specimen, but they will spoil it in a month.
Copy from a native Akhbar (Court Newspaper).
July 7th.—“The King of Oude, Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur, died this morning; he had been unwell for some days, but not very ill: he took some medicine, and expired almost immediately, not without some suspicion of having been poisoned. Colonel Lowe, the Resident, went to the palace, and was proceeding to place the late King’s uncle on the throne, by name Nusseer-ood-Deen, when the Padshah Begam, the late King’s mother, attended by fifteen hundred soldiers and two elephants, came to the palace, bringing a boy whom she vowed was the late King’s son, with the intention of putting him on the throne. Finding the palace-gates shut, she ordered them to be burst open by the elephants, entered, placed the boy Moona Jāh (Feredooa Buckht) on the throne, and desired the Resident to do him homage. In the mean time, Colonel Lowe had sent for the troops; on their arrival, he insisted on the Begam’s quitting the palace; this she would not do. The troops were ordered to dislodge her party. The Begam and Moona Jāh were taken prisoners, and sent under a guard to Cawnpore. The soldiers were dispersed, with the loss of about sixty lives on the Begam’s side, and two or three sepoys on the Company’s. Mr. Paton, Assistant to the Resident, was much hurt in the affray. Colonel Lowe placed the King’s uncle on the throne, and proclaimed him King of Oude. It is said the throne was plundered of its jewels to a great amount, and much treasure was carried off by different persons; some of which was recaptured a few miles from the city. Since the arrival of the Padshah Begam and the boy at Cawnpore, every thing has been quiet in Lucnow; she is to be sent a state prisoner to Chunar. It is believed the boy is not the late King’s son, but was made a tool of for the purposes of the Begam.”
By referring to Chapter the Eighteenth it will be observed, that,[115] on the 30th January, 1831, Khema Jāh and Moona Jāh were presented with khil’ats (dresses of honour) by his Majesty, who declared the former to be his heir, and both of them his sons; the latter, the Moona Jāh, now en route to prison, alone was believed to be the son of the King. It is rumoured that his Majesty disowned the boys in the hope that his lately-acquired wife, Kurchia-Mahal, as he styled her, might present him with a son, whom he might raise to the throne. Moona Jāh remained at Chunar until his death in 1846. The King’s uncle, Muhammad Ulee Shah, an old man, was placed on the masnad; and Mossem-ood-Dowla, the grandson of Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur, and son of his daughter, was deprived of his inheritance.—(See the pedigree of the Kings of Oude, Chapter the Eighteenth, page 186.)
Festival of the Birthday of Krishnŭ—The Rās—The Rākhī—Krishnŭ or Kaniyā—Sports of the Gopīs—The Elephant—The Horse—Gopalŭ—Gopī Nat’hŭ—Radha Krishnŭ—Krishnŭ destroying the Serpent—Monotony of Life in India—The Holy Monkey—Sporting in Assam—Buffalo Shooting—Tiger Hunting on Foot—The Baghmars—The Spring-bow—An Earthquake—Risk of Life in the Bhagmar Department—The Burying-Ground at Goalparah.
1837, Aug.—The first few days in this month we were blessed with cooling and heavy rain. On the 6th, the annual festival of the Jenem, or birthday, and the sports of Krishnŭ, the Bāiza Bā’ī invited me to the camp: on my arrival I found her Highness seated under a large mango tree; from one of its boughs a swing was suspended, in which the Gaja Rājā and another lady were amusing themselves. This festival, in celebration of the sports of the most popular of the Hindoo deities, was held in all due form by the Mahrattas; it took place by torch-light, in the cool of the evening. In the forests on the banks of the Yamuna Krishnŭ passed his time, playing on the flute, swinging under the trees, dancing, and sporting with the gopīs. The young Princess was therefore amusing herself in the swing as a necessary ceremony; after which, some sixty or eighty Mahratta women came forward, and performed several dances sacred to the season, singing as they moved on the turf, in a circular dance called the rās, in imitation of the gopīs; and the “Songs of Govinda,” as addressed by Kaniyā to Radha and her companions, were rehearsed at this festival, with a scenic representation[117] of Kaniyā and the gopīs. “The listener could not depart after once hearing the sound of the flute, and the tinkling of the gopias’ feet; nor could the birds stir a wing; while the pupils of the gopias’ eyes all turned towards Creeshna.”
Her Highness presented a rich dress of yellow silk, embroidered with gold, and a pair of Indian shawls of the same colour, to the Gaja Rājā, and to many of the ladies in attendance; yellow being the favourite and distinguishing colour of the attire of the beloved of the gopīs. On the arms of the young Mahratta Princess and another lady, the rākhī was bound at the desire of the Bāiza Bā’ī; the rākhī is also commemorative of Krishnŭ: the gift is esteemed a high honour, and the mark of the greatest favour. The value of so distinguished an honour may be better estimated by the following extract from Colonel Tod’s “Annals of Mewar.”
“The festival of the bracelet (rākhī) is in spring; and whatever its origin, it is one of the few when an intercourse of gallantry of the most delicate nature is established between the fair sex and the cavaliers of Rajast’han. Though the bracelet may be sent by maidens, it is only on occasions of urgent necessity or danger. The Rajpūt dame bestows with the rākhī the title of adopted brother; and while its acceptance secures to her all the protection of a ‘cavalière servente,’ scandal itself never suggests any other tie to his devotion. He may hazard his life in her cause, and yet never receive a smile in reward; for he cannot even see the fair object, who, as brother of her adoption, has constituted him her defender. But there is a charm in the mystery of such a connexion never endangered by close observation, and the loyal to the fair may well attach a value to the public recognition of being the Rākhī-bund Bha’e, the ‘bracelet-bound brother’ of a Princess. The intrinsic value of such a pledge is never looked to, nor is it requisite that it should be costly, though it varies with the means and rank of the donor, and may be of flock silk and spangles, or gold chains and gems. The acceptance of the pledge and its return is by the katchli or corset of simple silk or satin, or gold brocade and pearls. In shape or application there is nothing similar in[118] Europe, and, as defending the most delicate part of the structure of the fair, it is peculiarly appropriate as an emblem of devotion.”
The rākhī is not exclusively bestowed upon men; a woman may be distinguished by the honour, and would be publicly acknowledged and considered as the “bracelet-bound sister” of the donor.
The evening closed with the performances of some Mahratta nāch girls, after which I was allowed to depart, having first partaken of some sweetmeats, which they presented to me with a jar of dahī (curdled milk); the latter was excellent, and usually presented at this festival as the favourite food of the gopīs. I returned home late at night, accompanied as usual by the horsemen and torch-bearers of the Bāiza Bā’ī.
I have many idols, images of Krishnŭ, in divers forms; a description of which, with a sketch of his life, will be the best explanation of the scenes commemorated at the festival. He has many names, Krishnŭ, Heri, Kaniyā, and is worshipped under many forms; the idols represent this popular god through many of the events of his life.
Vishnŭ the Preserver descended on earth in the form of this god, for the purpose of bringing peace and happiness to all the world. Krishnŭ is the most celebrated form of Vishnŭ, or, rather, Vishnŭ himself; and is distinct from the ten avatars or incarnations. Many of the Hindū gods govern their worshippers by fear; the dread of the vengeance of the deity ensures obedience. Krishnŭ is the god of love and good-will: to bless mankind caused his descent from heaven; and after many years’ sojourn upon earth for that holy purpose, he suddenly disappeared.
Such was his power over the affections, that no woman ever beheld Kaniyā-jee, but she left home and husband and children, and followed him throughout the world; no eye gazed upon him that loved him not; and to this day, the beautiful, warlike,[119] and amorous Krishnŭ is the most popular deity, and especially revered by Hindūstanī women.
His parents were Vasudeva and Dewarkī; but he was brought up in the house of Nanda and Gosodā. In his infant days his life was sought: to preserve the child, and to conceal him from the tyrant Kansa, to whom it had been predicted that a child, the eighth of his family, would destroy him, his uncle fled with him to the banks of the Jumna: the pursuers were at his heels, escape was impossible; the infant god commanded the waters to open a passage for him; the waters heard and obeyed the command, they stood like a wall on the right side and on the left; Krishnŭ was carried across by his relative; on reaching the opposite bank, the waters flowed on as before, and cut off the pursuit of his enemies.
The city of Mathurā is celebrated as the birth-place of Krishnŭ. In the family of Nanda he passed his youth amidst the gopas and gopīs. During his childhood he vanquished the serpent Kāliya, and slew many giants and monsters: afterwards he put the tyrant Kansa to death, and kindled the mahā-bārat or Great War. He is the Apollo of the Hindūs, and is supposed by Colonel Wilford to have lived about thirteen hundred years before Christ. Krishnŭ is a terrestrial god, and is represented by the image in black marble that stands on the right of Ganesh, in the frontispiece of the first volume; I procured it at Allahabad during the great fair; it came from Jeypore. The Hindoo deity is represented playing on the flute, an amusement to which he was prone when in the forests, surrounded by the gopīs or milkmaids, who were his ardent admirers and followers; amongst them he had 16,000 lady-loves, besides his lawful wives. The Hindoo code allows of two helpmates, but the laws of man extend not to the gods, and Krishnŭ took unto himself eight wives, each of whom bore him ten sons; also Radha, the beloved, the wife of another, to say nothing of the 16,000 gopīs, each of whom also bore him ten sons. Nevertheless, it is asserted, his life was one of purity, and whatever may tend to give contrary ideas on the subject is all māyā or illusion.
The Bhagavat Purana gives the following:—“In this happy[120] season did Creeshna bestow joy and satisfaction on all living creatures, and often as he touched his flute in the presence of the adoring gopias, one exclaimed, ‘Happy animals, inhabiting Berjeben, who enjoy the sight of Creeshna!’ Another said, ‘O favoured stream of Jumna, and other transparent pools and fountains, whence Creeshna deigns to drink!’ Another exclaimed, ‘Melodious above all is the flute which resides for ever on his lip!’ Another said, ‘O happy trees of this wood, under whose thick shade Creeshna delights to slumber!’ Another said, ‘Honoured above all existing animals are these cattle which the Creator himself leads to pasture!’ Thus did the gopias plunge into the fathomless ocean of love, and admire him who had on a yellow robe, a peacock’s feather on his head, a brilliant rosary round his neck, and a flute on his lip; and they said to each other, ‘How happy are we whom he condescends to love!’ In short, by their purity of faith, and zeal of attachment, their hearts at length became illuminated, and they knew and comprehended that Creeshna was the Creator of the World.”
The Bhagavat Purana gives this personal description:—“He (Akroon) saw also, standing by him, more distinctly, the form of Creeshna, of a black colour, wearing a yellow robe, beautiful to behold; with ruby lips, his neck smooth as white coral, his arms very long and slender, his breast high and bold, his waist of elegant proportion, his legs beautiful beyond expression, his foot like the lotus flower, and his nails red. He had a jewel of inestimable value in his crown, a chowder round his waist, a zennar upon his shoulder, a string of flowers round his neck, a splendid koondel in his ear, the kowstek-men on his arm, and the shankhe, chakra, geda, and kemel, in his hands.”
The work containing the history of this god is very interesting: some of the songs are beautiful, especially those in honour of him who, to the Hindūs, brought peace and happiness upon earth. In many respects the history is thought by Maurice, in his “Indian Antiquities,” to resemble that of our Saviour; on which subject more will be said as we consider another form of Krishnŭ, as the destroyer of the serpent.
KANIYĀ-JEE AND THE GOPĪS.
فاني پارکس
The dreadful shell panchajanya, of the great shankhe, or shellfish, whose roar re-echoed from earth to heaven, was used by Krishnŭ as his trumpet.
So devoted were the gopīs to Krishnŭ the beloved, that if he wished to ride an elephant, the lovely ladies, with most extraordinary dexterity, assumed the shape of the animal and bore him off in triumph. The frontispiece to the second volume, entitled “Kaniyā-jee and the Gōpia,” is a fac-simile of an old Hindoo painting commemorative of this feat: the style in which the figures are grouped is very clever, and does much credit to the artist; the original is as highly finished as a miniature painting. The chatr, the emblem of royalty, is borne over his head; peacock’s feathers form the ornament for his forehead; and in his hand is the ankus (the elephant goad) and a lotus flower. The gopīs carry with them their musical instruments; they are adorned with jewels, and the tail of the animal shows the beauty and length of their hair.
The second plate of Kaniyā-jee represents the victorious Heri on a steed formed of the gopīs, bounding and capering beneath their precious burden, while their musical instruments and songs enliven his triumphal career. This is also a fac-simile of an old Hindoo painting, finished with wonderful delicacy and minuteness.
I have a third painting, Krishnŭ, represented in a palanquin formed of the gopīs, in which the arrangement and grouping of the sportive damsels is graceful and elegant. At the festival of the Huli, which is particularly dedicated to Kaniyā, images of the god are carried about on elephants, on horses, and in palanquins, doubtless in commemoration of his sports with the gopīs; in fact, there was no end to their fooleries and diversions at Brindāban, the forest Brindā in the vicinity of Mathurā on the banks of the Jumna. Krishnŭ is always represented of a dark cerulean blue colour (nila), hence his name Nila-nath, and he bears a lotus in his hand. Under the title of Heri, in funeral lamentations, his name only is invoked, and Heri-bol! Heri-bol! is emphatically pronounced by those bearing a corpse to its final destination.
This small brazen idol, fig. 4 in the plate entitled “Jugunnathu,” represents him in his childhood, kneeling on one knee, and holding a pera, sweetmeat, in his right hand, while he petitions his mother, saying, “Mā, mā, mīthā’ī, do;” “Mother, mother, give me sweetmeats.” In this form he is worshipped as gāo, a cow, and palŭ, nourished. These brazen images are particularly in favour, and some, being small and well made, are used as household gods. Sometimes the head of Gopalŭ is surrounded with a crown of glory, as in the sketch; and in drawings, the head of Krishnŭ is generally represented encircled by rays.
This form represents him peculiarly as the god of the gopīs. Gopī, the wife of a cowherd, and Nat’hŭ, a lord; a young man dancing amongst the wives of the cowherds, the 16,000 gopīs, who ever attended him, and were the companions of his sports.
Of all his numerous loves and wives, none had power over his affections equal to Radha, a gopī, whom he carried off from her husband. So great was her influence, that in pūja the preference is given to her, and the two images are worshipped together as “Radha Krishn,” and not as Krishn Radha.
The figure represents the god playing on his flute; and, at his side, the image of Radha, which has one hand extended, and the other turned downwards. Their affection has passed into a proverb: “Apne Radha ko yad ker[19].” As Krishnŭ always thought of Radha, so they say, “Attend to your own Radha,” either in anger or laughingly. The shrine of Radha Krishn has many worshippers; but it is remarkable that none of the lawful wives of Krishnŭ are worshipped with him.
Another figure of Kaniyā-jee in my possession, represents him under a tree playing on his flute; at the back is one of the cows of the sacred herd, whom Krishnŭ attended, for by caste he was a gaōwalla, or cowherd.
Of all the images in my collection the most remarkable is a brazen one, in which this god is represented killing a serpent by crushing it with his foot. The Hindoos affirm there is enmity between the serpent and Krishnŭ. His having his foot on the head of the cobra di capello, which is evident from the expanded hood, is singular, as few Hindoos would kill the holy serpent. This similarity between the Saviour and Krishnŭ is considered by Maurice as worthy of remark.
A sketch of this idol is given, fig. 3, in the plate entitled “Jugunnathu,” where, as the destroyer of Kali-nag, “The black serpent,” which infested the blue waters of the Yamuna or Jumna, he is represented as bruising him with his foot. He had, however, many battles with his adversary ere he conquered him.
The following extract is very poetical:—“One day, in Dwaraka, which is a second Vaicontha, Creeshna was enjoying himself with his relations, and sons, and grand-children, and his 16,000 wives, and all his wealth: his elephants, his horses, his carriages without number, were arranged in order. In the midst of his golden castle extended his apartments on all the four sides. His gardens were of golden earth, wherein were trees of Paradise full of variegated fruits. Peacocks, and cocelas (Indian nightingales), and other birds, were sporting therein. Creeshna, on that day, was surrounded by his 16,000 wives, as lightning with a cloud, and they gathered innumerable flowers as offerings to Creeshna, like the Devatas presenting flowers to Eendra; and, in all the licence of joy, they and Creeshna were sporting together, and throwing flowers at each other. In the garden was a river, whose banks were all gold and jewels, the water of which, from the reflections of rubies, appeared red, though perfectly white; it was the water of life; and thousands of lotuses floated on its surface, among which innumerable bees were humming and seeking their food. In[124] this river they bathed and played, Creeshna always in the midst of them. At length, in the very height of all their revels and enjoyments, he suddenly disappeared! His principal wives, which were the eight nayega, remained for some time in profound astonishment: then they all burst out into the most passionate exclamations, crying, ‘Whither is he gone?’ One demanded of the birds if they had seen him, wondering they could sing until he returned. Another asked of the four-footed beasts why they made such loud moanings, as if Creeshna had left and deceived them too. One addressed the sea, ‘Thou ocean! who art night and day roaring, hath not Creeshna taken thy fourteen reten, or precious things, also, as well as our hearts, and is it not therefore thou grievest?’ Another addressed the moon, ‘O thou lord of the stars! why dost not thou draw on the world the veil of darkness? Art thou not affected by his absence? at which every one must be heartless, like us wretched creatures, who know not what is our fault to be thus forgotten and forsaken.’ Another spake to the passing clouds, ‘Ye, too, are impressed with the colour and figure of Creeshna; and, as he has taken his departure, so ye also are ever on the wing; and ye, like us mourning for his absence, overspread every quarter with gloom.’”
In the chapter entitled Jugunnathu will be found an account of the death of Krishnŭ, and the effect it produced upon the eight nayega and the 16,000 gopīs.
15th.—A heavy flight of locusts passed over Allahabad; some were caught and preserved. Why should I keep a journal? there is nothing to relate in the monotony of an Indian life at home. The weary heavy day, the hot and sleepless night, the excessive heat of the weather, the relaxation of the body, the heaviness of mind, the want of interest in every thing, the necessity of a colder air and colder climate to restring nerves that are suffering from fifteen years’ residence in India;—all this I feel most strongly, and must either return to England or go to the hills to recruit my weary frame. There is a great deal of pūja going on in the camp; the Bā’ī wishes me to see the tamāshā, but I am too unwell for exertion.
The only monkey I ever saw in my life that I did not think disgusting was one which Mr. H⸺ brought from Assam. A little fellow perfectly jet black, with white eyebrows—a curiosity. His master went up dāk to Agra, leaving the monkey, baggage, and servants to follow in a boat. The monkey was provided with four goats to furnish him with milk on the voyage; and some tea and sugar, as it was his custom to take tea every morning. In a storm the boat went down: the khidmatgār in charge of it said, “I saved the monkey and my children with difficulty: what would the master have said had Jackoo been drowned?” Poor Jackoo’s four goats were drowned, and with him the khidmatgār called on me at Allahabad to assist in procuring others. How could a monkey exist without milk to his tea? His beauty attracted great admiration. He was a high caste and most holy monkey. Coming down the river from Assam, he used to sit on the mast-head leaning on his hand. The natives followed the boat for miles making sālām to him. I believe the creature came from the Garrows: some are black, others of a cream colour. They are most affectionate animals, leaving their food to caress one. They hang for great part of the day by their long arms from a bough or a bamboo running crossways.
Besides these monkeys the Garrow Hills possess many curiosities; birds, plants, &c. Amongst the birds is a pheasant of a grey colour, covered over with eyes like those on the peacock’s tail, but smaller: it is very beautiful.
Alluding to that part of the country induces me to insert extracts from some letters dated from Goalparah, giving an account of buffalo shooting and sporting in that part of the country.
“This letter is taken up with Shikār in obedience to your wishes. You have at heart a large share of the hunting principle, supposed to characterize mankind in a wild state. I have seen you in your excursion at Gaur, very anxious where the covert had a likely look, and so attentive when the game was started as not to be conscious of the thunder and lightning of[126] the pestilent gun, which is such an object of horror in your hours of ease. I recall these recollections as an excuse to myself for making a long story of a late shooting excursion.
“In the dawn of last Friday morning nine buffaloes were discovered in the river making for our hill, two were killed in the water by villagers in boats, and three on shore by the men of the detachment; the remaining four took to the conical rising ground, at the southern extremity of our ridge, which is uninhabited, and covered with low tree and shrub jungle; a few trees a little larger rise through this undergrowth, and form the pathway that surrounds the cone, the finest peepul I have ever seen. This pathway branches off at the point, where the cone, or rather the detached hill, begins to rise from the main ridge, going entirely round it at the height of about four hundred feet above the level of the river. My havaldar, who took upon himself the ordering of the hunt, sent five men with muskets round by the left to establish themselves in the high trees that look into the jungle supposed to contain the buffaloes. A Mr. F⸺ and myself, with three or four sepoys and the havaldar, all with guns, proceeded by the right to some rocks, where, in perfect safety, we commanded the road, at the back of the hill, by which it was expected the buffaloes would arrive when dislodged by the left-hand party. After some time in this post, in a hot sun,—it was a clear day, and 2 P.M.,—we heard a shot from the party on the other side of the hill; and then, after an interval, two more; we looked eagerly for the buffaloes along the pathway, but still they did not come; and Mr. F⸺ getting tired, descended from our place of safety on the rocks, and proposed going round to where the shots were fired. As it was possible that the men in the trees might mistake us for buffaloes, I told a sepoy to call out that we were coming. I advanced a little way and saw two, one large, the other a calf; they were standing, and about to turn to go away. I aimed my large gun at the head of the calf and fired, without effect; I turned round to exchange my large gun for the double barrel that was loaded, when I found that, except my orderly, who only carried powder and ball, and the havaldar who was a little way beyond him, every[127] one had fled. The havaldar passed on the call for my double gun, and the man who held it put it into my hand in time; for the two buffaloes I had seen, either irritated by my dogs, or alarmed by the party in their rear, made a dash down the road, the large one leading, with its head at the charge near the ground, and snorting at the dogs that were flying before it. When I changed my gun the head brute was not eight feet from me: firing both barrels in a hurry and flurry, I jumped down to the right into the jungle; it was the affair of a moment, and my dexterity in escape, like Falstaff’s at Gads-hill, was upon instinct. When I looked along the road in the line of the charge, I perceived it was completely cleared; all within sight had made the same jump as myself—the orderly, a little behind me, the havaldar about ten yards further back; the former had a loaded gun, and told me afterwards, that he had not fired because my sacred person happened to be in a line with the buffaloes,—a civility for which I felt thankful. The men from the trees had killed an old buffalo, which I found lying across the road, another still remained in the jungle near the top of the conical hill. I began to ascend through wet shrubs and over slippery ground; when half-way up I was joined by Mr. F⸺, who said he had run for our post on the rock the instant he heard the buffaloes, and only gained it just in time to see them pass by: blood was flowing from the shoulder of the leading one; he himself fired without any effect. We now gained the top of the hill on which there is an open spot, overgrown with a coarse jungle grass used in thatching; a small house had formerly stood upon the place, and the jungle grass probably sprung up from grass-seed fallen from the chhappar; the thatched roof. The sepoys, except two with my guns, and my orderly, whom I trusted, owing to his late steadiness, to hand me my double gun, took to the trees, and Mr. F⸺ followed their example. The men on foot began beating the bushes, directed by the corps of observation in the trees. At length a full-grown buffalo emerged from the surrounding jungle, and stood before me on the open space. Instantly every tree opened its fire; a single grazing shot was the only result; this appeared to decide[128] him, lowering his horns to the charge (to speak poetically), his hoofs swallowed up the space between us; at my feet was the least possible swell of the ground, and as he reached it I stopped him in mid career. A ball from my large gun had entered his head, between the horns,—a little to the right as facing me, a little to the left as regarded himself. He fell at about six feet from me.
“You must now never mention Mr. B⸺’s exploit, since an ordinary mortal has done as much; for my part, I see little cause of fear from buffaloes. In the cold weather, the usual shooting season, they are only found in large plains, and no person with a trustworthy gun has an excuse for failing to kill in such a situation, where he must have long notice of the charge. Nothing in Friday’s experience (not man Friday’s) will deter me from going after very large-horned old ones, or the young calves, whose heads make excellent soups and stews. The manner in which I got my gun, and the haste I was obliged to make in firing, account for my not killing the leading buffaloes in the road. If they had meditated malice, instead of only making a rush to get away, I might have been in a jeopardy. These two buffaloes were brought in during the day by the sepoys, and all the personages of my story—the nine buffaloes are, you see, accounted for;—and the tragedy might be represented on the stage, if nothing but the unities of time and place were requisite.”
“A tiger having taken refuge in our hill, I was anxious to beat him up; the sepoys being eager to join me I told the men the hunt was quite optional, and that the volunteer party might take as many muskets as they pleased. We started at 1 P.M., and soon fell in with his immense footprints, taking the direction of the untenanted and jungly hill. A curious sort of feeling is suggested by following traces of this kind, that are to abut you know not how soon upon the grim precursor; going on is like being caught in the rapid leading to a cataract. We were stationed at the old post of vantage on the rocks, the[129] sepoys began beating from the opposite part of the hill; a man in a tree communicated that the tiger was roused, and our expectation of his coming towards us was for a time intense. Keeping to the jungle of the hill above the pathway, he turned back in the direction from which we had come, and avoided the line of beaters. We quitted the rocks, and placed ourselves in the pathway beyond the part of the jungle the tiger had taken to, and the beating by the men bringing round the left of the line recommenced towards us. Scarcely a minute seemed to have elapsed before we heard an ugh-ugh from the tiger, though we were in ignorance at the time it was the roar with which he accompanied his spring on one of the sepoys, for at that time we got no sight of the tiger; but the news of a man being knocked down soon reached us, and a sepoy carried him down upon his back; a few scratches were visible on the shoulders, but the extent of the principal injury, which was on the head, was concealed by the turban, almost completely stained with blood.
“I heard afterwards that he was a-head of the others, crouching down, and looking into the jungle grass on the top of the hill, at the edge of the tree jungle, for traces of the tiger, when the animal sprung on him from behind, lighting with his fore-paws on his shoulders; and that the wounds inflicted on the scalp were from a bite, the teeth luckily slipping over the surface of the skull. Mr. M⸺ and I took a more advantageous position on the slope of the rising ground, facing the conical hill, and at about sixty yards from the place where we afterwards saw the tiger emerge. An havaldar put himself at the head of those men who had brought guns, and continued the hunt, much incensed against the tiger; he at length exposed his whole flank at about sixty yards to Mr. M⸺ and myself. Mr. M⸺ fired a little before me, and striking the tiger, caused him to turn round and escape the heavier bullet from my gun. The havaldar shortly after shot him again a little in front of the hip; Mr. M⸺’s shot was behind the shoulder. We left the tiger for that day; the next evening we beat the whole hill, but he was not to be found; probably he[130] was dead, for an unusual collection of crows, vultures, and adjutants perching or flying very low, seemed to give token of his death. The wounded sepoy is doing very well; and the present of some rupees has made him consider himself a lucky fellow.”
The following extract must not be omitted, since it elucidates the sketch of “The Spring-bow,” vol. ii. p. 73.
“I must tell you of a tiger that Lieutenant M⸺ and I went out to kill, and only succeeded in wounding. Some days ago, a cow was killed on this our hill of Goalpara, and tigers’ footprints were in beautiful freshness and preservation on the footpath around that remote conical hill that has been before mentioned. Captain Davidson’s assistant got two elephants for beating the jungle, and with a number of sepoys with muskets, I went out again, and did what was most prudent, by remaining on some rocks to receive the tiger when he should clear the jungle, and be driven towards me. The jungle was beat, but no tiger appeared, and the sepoys, getting tired of waiting, went into the jungle to beat instead of the elephants; as this was really dangerous I advised them against it, but uselessly; they seemed quite unconcerned, and to think it an affair of luck. I told the little havaldar, who is a leader on these occasions, that the tiger would kill him; he said, ‘Yes, he would if I were to let him;’ and this was not the least the bravado it would have been in the mouth of an European, but the man’s plain meaning. It is his opinion of the tiger that he is a beast possessed of great hikmat, cunning, but little heart or liver; and if you oppose him resolutely, like the devil he will flee from you. The beaters went cutting down the jungle and shouting; and, to put you out of suspense, no tiger was found, though the edges of his footprints were still fresh and crumbling.
“The enterprize of bringing in the tiger was resigned to some bhagmar people, professional tiger-killers, a party of whom happened to be in Goalpara, for the purpose of receiving payment for heads they had collected.
“Have you ever seen the bow they set for tigers[20]? It is laid on one side the animal’s track, and is of stronger and rather larger proportions than a bahangī bamboo; the joint force of two or three men draws the string back when the arrow is to be set; the poisoned head of the arrow, which is carried separate, is fitted on, and a piece of very thin twine laid from the bow across the animal’s path; the least touch on this string discharges the arrow in the same line with deadly precision. This bow was laid the night after our battue, and the next morning, about 9 A.M., I got the news that the tiger was lying dead upon the hill-side, and a number of prisoners were about to carry it to Captain Davidson’s; from him it was brought to me. It was a fine female, killed with its dinner of cow, and without any wound but that which killed it;—good proof that it was not the tiger we saw, who was twice wounded, as was shown by heavy clots of blood fallen on leaves over which he retreated. The arrow had buried itself only to the depth of its head, just behind the left shoulder: the mere wound could not have caused death, but the poison did; and the tiger was found about sixty yards from the spot where it came in contact with the string. The poison is the same in appearance as that on the arrow you got at Rajmahal; the tiger-killers told me they got it from the inhabitants of Bhotan, but whether these last make or retail it I do not know: its efficacy is tremendous.
“I have observed, and the same remark must have occurred to you, that these Sebundies, and natives generally who live in the constant vicinity of wild beasts, show a fearlessness of them that puts to shame the courage of an European on the same point. To beat through thick jungle, containing a tiger that had just struck down one of their party, some with only sticks in their hands, is what no European will do excepting on compulsion.
“I put the question to my havaldar, a man capable of answering it from personal courage and experience in such matters, whether the buffalo charges blindly forward in his first direction,[132] so as to allow of a person’s escaping by stepping aside? ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘the buffalo will turn with you.’
“The two that charged me were making a rush to escape, and were going along a narrow footpath; by jumping aside, I disappeared into the jungle growing below me on the face of the hill.
“It is morning, and I am drinking tea; and an instant ago the shock of an earthquake shook the table at which I am sitting, making my teacup and saucer rattle together like castanets. I was in the act of putting my pen on the paper when our hill began shaking, and then you would have had letters contorted by earthquake,—rather an out-of-the-way fact in familiar correspondence. I hope we are not to have three shocks complete, and according to the degrees of comparison; though such is said to be the custom of our Mother Earth. Far be it from me, who hold her in mythological reverence, to wish that she should forego any pet habits on my account; the only condition I pray for is the standing of the house I am in.
“The tiger-killers (bhagmar) are a strange set of people; the trade, like all trades in this country, descends from father to son, and is, as far as I can compute, a very indifferent livelihood. Say that a set of men get twenty heads during the year (this is nearly twice the common average), the reward for this number is one hundred rupees; which, divided by twelve and seven, gives each individual of the party one rupee three ānās a month. Seven were in the set to which my informant belonged, including, probably, three women. Two of the tiger-killers lately arrived have good marks from the gentlemen whose heads they traffic in; according to them all there is only one portion of their labours attended with danger, and that is, when seeking the tiger after the bow has been sprung. If the arrow lodges fairly in the side, the animal is found dead; should he be less fully hit, he is found, as they call it, in a state of drunkenness. They then approach him with hand-bows to finish him. This is the dangerous portion of their work. From the marks on one of these men, I should think the tiger must have been in a state of great weakness when he seized him.[133] The different places in which he is scored show him to have been fairly in the tiger’s grip, and yet the amount of injury was small. The other has suffered more severely; and three men, they say, were killed outright during this year.
“This is the trade that men will take up for the chance of half an ānā a day! I do not think the Sadr ’Adālat people would enter the bhagmar department if their salaries were to be doubled. This shows that the work of the service could be done for four ānās a day, being three and a half ānās for the respectability. ‘Two bobs for the vartue, and a sice for the larning!’
“For the first time, I have visited the burying-ground. Your friend’s place of rest is more remarkable than solemn. A small circular enclosure of upright slips of bamboo, precisely similar to the defence of a young tree, would seem to indicate to the traveller, the existence in these savage regions of a race believing in a vegetable resurrection.”
“HEALTH ALONE IS EQUAL TO A THOUSAND BLESSINGS[21].”
Partiality of the Natives for English Guns—Solitary Confinement—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī—Bad Omens—A Slight Mistake—Bhūsā—The Padshah Begam and Moona-jah—The Bāiza Bā’ī visits a Steamer—Arrival of Lord Auckland—Visit of the Governor-General and the Hon. the Misses Eden to her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A March up the Country—The Camp at Fathīpūr—The Line of March—Death of the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī—The Heir-apparent of Oude gives a Breakfast to the Governor-General—H. R. H. Prince Henry of Orange and the Misses Eden visit Lucnow—Resignation of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Chobīpūr—Thieves—Urowl—The Famine—The Pilgrim buys a Cocky-olli Bird—Merunkee Sarā’e—Ancient Hindū Ruin at Kanauj—Famine in the Bazār—Interment of Mahadēo and Pārvatī—The Legend of Kanauj.
1837, Aug.—A gentleman who had been paying us a visit quitted us for Agra just before his baggage boat arrived, in which were two immense German dogs, one striped like a tiger,—most warlike animals; they eyed me fiercely, and pulled impatiently on their chains when brought into the verandah; they will be good guards at night, but their arrival at Agra will be a little too late;—like locking the door when the steed has been stolen. Mr. H⸺ went out to dinner, and did not return home that night: some thieves took out a pane of glass, opened the door, carried off his two gun-cases and a writing-desk. A short distance from the house they broke open the cases, which they threw away, and made off with the guns, a gold watch,[135] three seals, and a guard-chain. No traces have been discovered of the thieves, and our friend must resign himself to the loss, with the comfort of remembering that I told him several times he would lose his guns, unless he locked them up in some heavy, unwieldy chest, that could not readily be carried away.
Solitary confinement in the Fort of Allahabad, a punishment inflicted on rebellious sipahīs, is dreaded by them more than any other. The cells for prisoners in the Fort of Chunar are really solitary; you can neither see out of the window nor hear the sound of a human voice; both of which they contrive to do at Allahabad; therefore Chunar is held in all due horror.
Sept.—The fever, which, like the plague, carried off its thousands at Palee, has disappeared; the cordons are removed, the alarm is at an end, the letters are no longer fumigated, and the fear of the plague has vanished from before us.
On the 22nd of July, this year, the river had only risen eight feet above the usual mark; last year, at the same period, late as the rains were in setting in, the Jumna had risen twenty-four feet above the usual level; showing the great deficiency of rain this season.
24th.—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī has been reappointed minister in Oude; how happy the old man must be! He has been living at Fathīgar, pining for a restoration to the honours at Lucnow. The Nawāb quitted for Oude; on the first day of his march, the horse that carried his nakaras (state kettle-drums) fell down and died, and one of his cannon was upset;—both most unlucky omens. The Camp and the Minister were in dismay! To us it is laughable, to the natives a matter of distress. The right to beat kettle-drums, and to have them carried before you, is only allowed to great personages. Therefore the omen was fearful; it will be reported at Lucnow, will reach the ears of the King, and perhaps produce a bad effect on his mind;—the natives are so superstitious.
The Maharaj of Gwalior, the Bāiza Bā’ī’s adopted son, who drove her out of the kingdom, announced a few days ago that a son and heir was born unto him. The Resident communicated the happy news to the Government; illuminations took place,[136] guns were fired, every honour paid to the young heir of the throne of Gwalior. The Bā’ī sent her grand-daughter on an elephant, in an amārī (a canopied seat), attended by her followers on horseback, to do pooja in the Ganges, and to give large presents to the Brahmāns. As the Gaja Rājā passed along the road, handfuls of rupees were scattered to the crowd below from the seat on the elephant. Six days after the announcement of the birth of a son, the King sent for the Resident, and, looking very sheepish, was obliged to confess the son was a daughter! The Resident was much annoyed that his beard had been laughed at; and, in all probability, the King had been deceived by the women in the zenāna: perhaps a son had really been born, and having died, a girl had been substituted;—the only child procurable, perhaps, at the moment, or approved of by the mother. A zenāna is the very birth-place of intrigue.
30th.—I am busy with preparations for a march; perhaps, in my rambles, I shall visit Lucnow, see the new King, and my old friend the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī in all his glory. I should like very much to visit the zenāna, for, although the King be about seventy, there is no reason why he may not have a large zenāna, wives of all sorts and kinds,—“the black, the blue, the brown, the fair,”—for purposes of state and show.
Oct. 3rd.—At this moment a large fire is blazing away, and throwing up volumes of smoke at no great distance from our house. In this country they chop up straw very finely, as food for bullocks; an Hindū having collected a large quantity of bhūsā (this chopped straw), has of late been selling it at a very high price; in consequence, some one has set fire to the heap, and has destroyed some hundred mŭns. My khansaman, looking at it, said very quietly, “He has of late sold his bhūsā at an unfairly high price, therefore they have secretly set it on fire; of course they would, it is the custom.” The natives have curious ideas with respect to justice.
12th.—Called on the Bāiza Bā’ī;—really, the most agreeable visits I pay are to the Mahratta Camp.
17th.—The Padshah Begam and Moona-jah, the young Prince of Oude, whom she attempted to put on the throne, have[137] arrived at Allahabad, state prisoners; they remained a day or two, their tents surrounded by double guards night and day. The Begam wished to remain here, but she was forced to march at last, and has proceeded to Chunar, where she is to remain a prisoner of state.
The preparations for a march up the country to visit my friends are nearly completed; my new tents have just arrived from Cawnpore, they are being pitched and examined, that I may have no trouble en route.
The Camp going to meet Lord Auckland at Benares passed through Allahabad yesterday; two hundred and fifty elephants, seven hundred camels, &c.,—a beautiful sight; they encamped very near our house, on the banks of the Jumna.
Nov. 23rd.—The Bāiza Bā’ī came down to go on board the steamer, which she was anxious to see. The vessel was drawn up to the ghāt, and enclosed with kanats (the canvas walls of tents). A large party of English ladies attended the Bā’ī, and several English gentlemen went on board with Appa Sāhib, after the return of her Highness, who appeared greatly pleased.
Dec. 1st.—The Governor-General Lord Auckland, the Hon. the Misses Eden, and Captain Osborne, arrived at Allahabad with all their immense encampment. The gentlemen of the Civil Service and the military paid their respects. Instead of receiving morning visits, the Misses Eden received visitors in the evening, transforming a formal morning call into a pleasant party,—a relief to the visitors and the visited.
7th.—I made my salām to Miss Eden at her tents; she told me she was going to visit her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī with the Governor-General, asked me to accompany her, and to act as interpreter, to which I consented with pleasure.
8th.—The Gaja Rājā Sāhib went on an elephant in state, to bring the Misses Eden to call on the Bāiza Bā’ī. They arrived with Lord Auckland in all due form: his Lordship and Appa Sāhib sat in the outer room, and conversed with her Highness through the parda. I introduced the Misses Eden to the Bāiza Bā’ī and her grand-daughter, with whom they appeared pleased and interested. Twenty-two trays, containing pairs of shawls,[138] pieces of cloth of gold, fine Dacca muslin, and jewels, were presented to the Governor-General; and fifteen trays, filled in a similar manner, to each of the Misses Eden. They bowed to the presents when they were laid before them, after which the trays were carried off, and placed in the treasury for the benefit of the Government.
15th.—I quitted Allahabad on my road to the Hills, under the escort of our friend Mr. F⸺, near whose tents my own were to be pitched: the country was swarming with robbers; they follow the camp of the Governor-General, wherever it may be.
16th.—Arrived at my tents at Fathīpūr; the scene in the camp was very picturesque; the troops were drawn out before the tents of the Governor-General, and all was state and form, for the reception of the Chiefs of Bandelkhand; the guns were firing salutes; it was an animated and beautiful scene.
18th.—I mounted my black horse, and rode at daybreak with some friends. From the moment we left our tents, we were passing, during the whole march, by such numbers of elephants, so many strings of camels, so many horses and carts, and so many carriages of all sorts, attendant on the troops, and the artillery of the Governor-General and his suite, that the whole line of march, from the beginning to the end, was one mass of living beings. My tents were pitched near the guns of the artillery, outside the camp at Mulwah: a Rājā came to call on Lord Auckland, a salute was fired; my horses, being so near, became alarmed; the grey broke from his ropes, fell on the pegs to which he was picketed, and lamed himself; another broke loose; a camel lamed himself, and we had some difficulty in quieting the frightened animals.
19th.—I was unwell from over-fatigue, most uncomfortable. In the evening I roused myself to dine with Lord Auckland to meet Prince Henry of Orange. His Royal Highness entered the navy at eight years of age, and has been in the service ten years, in the “Bellona” frigate. Accompanied by his captain, he came up dāk to spend a few days with Lord Auckland.[139] The Prince is a tall, slight young man, and, apparently, very diffident.
21st.—Arrived at Cawnpore, and paid a long promised visit to a relative. As the Misses Eden were at home in the evening, I accompanied Major P⸺ to pay my respects. We lost our way in the ravine from a dense fog: when we reached the tents the whole station was assembled there, quadrilles and waltzing going forward.
25th.—On Christmas-day the old Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī, the minister of Oude, of whom I have so often spoken, breathed his last at Lucnow. His death was announced to me in a very original note from his nephew and heir, the General Sāhib:—
“Dear Madam,—I have to inform you that my poor uncle Nawāb Moontuzim-ood-Dowlah Bahadur departed this life at the decree and will of Providence, at half-past three o’clock A.M., the day before yesterday, Monday, the 25th inst., after a short illness of six days only; consequently seeing him any more in this world is all buried in oblivion. The Begam Sāhiba tenders her kind remembrances to you. With best wishes, believe me to be, dear Madam, yours very faithfully, Ushruff-ood-Dowla Ahmed Ally Khan Bahadur.”
I was sorry to hear of the death of the Nawāb. How soon it has followed on the bad omens of his march!
26th.—Received an invitation to breakfast with the son of the King of Oude (who had arrived from Lucnow), to meet the Governor-General’s party: went there on an elephant: an immense party were assembled in a very fine tent. Shortly after, breakfast was announced: when it was over we returned to the former tent, when the presents were brought forth; they consisted of a fine elephant, with a howdah on his back, and the whole of the trappings of red cloth and velvet richly embroidered in gold. Two fine horses next appeared, their housings of velvet and gold; and the bridles were studded with rows of turquoise. A golden palanquin was next presented. On the ground, in front of the party, were twenty-three trays, the present to Lord Auckland; they were filled with Cashmere shawls in pairs, pieces of kimkhwāb, and necklaces of pearls,[140] emeralds, and diamonds. Fifteen trays of shawls and cloth of gold, with fine pieces of Dacca muslin, were presented to each of the Misses Eden; two of the trays contained two combs set in superb diamonds, and two necklaces of diamonds and emeralds, such as are hardly ever seen even in India. All these fine things were presented and accepted; they were then carried off and placed in the Government treasury. The Government make presents of equal value in return.
26th.—The station gave a ball to the Governor-General and the Misses Eden; the next day Prince Henry of Orange, the Misses Eden, and Captain Osborne, went over to Lucnow for a few days, leaving Lord Auckland at Cawnpore; they returned on the 30th, when the Prince quitted the party, and went off with the Captain of “the Bellona” to visit Agra.
1838, Jan. 1st.—Sir Charles Metcalfe, who had arrived from Agra, resigned his power into Lord Auckland’s hands, and departed for England.
I am very comfortable, every thing being en règle, having a double set of tents, two horses for the buggy, two Arabs for riding, ten camels to carry the baggage, and two bullock-carts for the women. The men servants march with the camels: every thing is required in duplicate. One tent, with the people, starts in the evening, and is pitched at the end of the march, and breakfast is there ready for me early the next morning.
3rd.—A cold day with a high wind: my tents are pitched on a dusty plain, without a blade of grass, the wind and dust careering up and down. My little tent is quite a pearl in the desert, so white and fresh: small as it is, it is too large to take to the hills, and I have this day written for two hill tents and a ghoont (a hill pony) to be bought for me, that they may be ready on my arrival.
4th.—Quitted Chobīpūr, and arrived early at the end of the march; found the tent only half pitched, no breakfast ready; in fact, the servants, leaving every thing about in every direction, had gone to sleep. The thieves, who are innumerable all over the country, taking advantage of their idleness, had carried off my dital harp with the French blankets and the pillows from[141] my charpāī. These things were under the sentry, but he was asleep on his post. The box was found in a field, near the tent, but the dital harp was gone. I had always made a point of pitching my tents near the great camp, for the sake of the protection it afforded. “It is dark under the lamp[22],” was exemplified;—a proverb used when crimes are committed near the seat of authority. Strict orders were of course issued to my people to be more on the alert in future. “When the wolf has run away with the child the door is made fast[23].” In the evening I dined with the Governor-General, and was much gratified with the sight of some of Miss Eden’s most spirited and masterly sketches.
5th.—Arrived at Urowl. Here the famine began to show itself very severely; I had heard it talked about, but had never given it much thought, had never brought the image of it before my mind’s eye. No forage was to be procured for the camels or bullocks, therefore they went without it; it was not to be had for money, but gram was procurable, of which they had a meal. The horses got gram, but no grass; the country was so completely burnt up, scarcely a blade or rather a root of grass could be cut up, and every thing was exceedingly expensive.
6th.—At six A.M., when I quitted my tent to mount my horse, it was bitterly cold; the poor starving wretches had collected on the spot which my horses had quitted, and were picking up the grains of gram that had fallen from their nose-bags; others were shivering over a half-burned log of wood my people had lighted during the night. On the road I saw many animals dead from over-exertion and famine; carts overturned; at one place a palanquin garī had been run away with, the wheels had knocked down and passed over two camel drivers; one of the men was lying on the road-side senseless and dying.
On reaching the Stanhope, which had been laid half way for me, the horse gave some annoyance while being put into harness; when once in, away he went, pulling at a fearful rate, through[142] roads half way up the leg in sand, full of great holes, and so crowded with elephants, camels, artillery, cavalry, and infantry, and all the camp followers, it was scarcely possible to pass through such a dense crowd; and in many places it was impossible to see beyond your horse’s head from the excessive dust. Imagine a camp of 11,000 men all marching on the road, and such a road!
Away rushed the horse in the Stanhope, and had not the harness been strong, and the reins English, it would have been all over with us. I saw a beautiful Persian kitten on an Arab’s shoulder; he was marching with a long string of camels carrying grapes, apples, dates, and Tusar cloth for sale from Cabul. Perched on each camel were one or two Persian cats. The pretty tortoise-shell kitten, with its remarkably long hair and bushy tail, caught my eye;—its colours were so brilliant. The Arab ran up to the Stanhope holding forth the kitten; we checked the impetuous horse for an instant, and I seized the pretty little creature; the check rendered the horse still more violent, away he sprang, and off he set at full speed through the encampment which we had just reached. The Arab thinking I had purposely stolen his kitten, ran after the buggy at full speed, shouting as he passed Lord Auckland’s tents, “Dohā’ī, dohā’ī, sāhib! dohā’ī, Lord sāhib!” “Mercy, mercy, sir! mercy, Governor-General!” The faster the horse rushed on, the faster followed the shouting Arab, until on arriving at my own tents, the former stopped of his own accord, and the breathless Arab came up. He asked ten rupees for his kitten, but at length, with well-feigned reluctance, accepted five, declaring it was worth twenty. “Who was ever before the happy possessor of a tortoise-shell Persian cat?” The man departed. Alas! for the wickedness of the world! Alas! for the Pilgrim! She has bought a cocky-olli-bird!
The cocky-olli-bird, although unknown to naturalists by that name, was formerly sold at Harrow by an old man to the boys, who were charmed with the brilliancy of its plumage,—purple, green, crimson, yellow, all the colours of the rainbow united in this beautiful bird; nor could the wily old fellow import them[143] fast enough to supply the demand, until it was discovered they were painted sparrows!
ANCIENT HINDŪ RUIN AT KANAUJ.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس
The bright burnt sienna colour of the kitten is not tortoise-shell, she has been dyed with hinnā! her original colour was white, with black spots; however, she looks so pretty, she must be fresh dyed when her hair falls off; the hinnā is permanent for many months. The poor kitten has a violent cold, perhaps the effect of the operation of dyeing her: no doubt, after having applied the pounded menhdī, they wrapped her up in fresh castor-oil leaves, and bound her up in a handkerchief, after the fashion in which a native dyes his beard. Women often take cold from putting hinnā on their feet.
My tents were pitched near Merunkee Sarā’e: in the evening, as I was riding into Kanauj, at the tomb of Bala Pīr, I met Captain C⸺ on an elephant, and accompanied him to see the remains of a most ancient Hindū temple. Of all the ruins I have seen this appears to me the most remarkable and the most ancient: the pillars are composed of two long roughly-hewn stones, placed one upon the other, and joined by a tenon and mortise; no cement of any sort appears to have been used. The style of the building is most primitive, and there is a little carving—and but a little—on some of the stones; the structure is rapidly falling into decay. I regret exceedingly I cannot remember the marvellous stories that were related to me connected with this ruin and its inhabitants.
On my return to the tents, my ayha complained bitterly of the annoyance she had experienced on the long march of thirteen miles and a half, over bad roads; she had been upset in her bailī, a native carriage, drawn by two bullocks, and her serenity was sadly discomposed.
7th.—This day, being Sunday, was a halt,—a great refreshment[144] after toil; and Divine Service was performed in the tent of the Governor-General; after which, at 3 P.M., I went, on an elephant, to see two most ancient and curious specimens of Hindū sculpture, the figures of Rām and Lutchman, which are about five feet in height, carved on separate stones, and surrounded by a whole heaven of gods and goddesses: the stones themselves, which are six or seven feet high, are completely covered with numerous images; and a devi (goddess), rather smaller, is on one side.
Passing through the bazār at Kanauj was a fearful thing. There lay the skeleton of a woman who had died of famine; the whole of her clothes had been stolen by the famished wretches around, the pewter rings were still in her ears, but not a rag was left on the bones that were starting through the black and shrivelled skin; the agony on the countenance of the corpse was terrible. Next to her a poor woman, unable to rise, lifted up her skinny arm, and moaned for food. The unhappy women, with their babies in their arms, pressing them to their bony breasts, made me shudder. Miserable boys, absolutely living skeletons, pursued the elephant, imploring for bread: poor wretches, I had but little money with me, and could give them only that little and my tears: I cannot write about the scene without weeping, it was so horrible, and made me very sick. Six people died of starvation in the bazār to-day. Lord Auckland daily feeds all the poor who come for food, and gives them blankets; five or six hundred are fed daily;—but what avails it in a famine like this? it is merciful cruelty, and only adds a few more days to their sufferings; better to die at once, better to end such intolerable and hopeless misery: these people are not the beggars, but the tillers of the soil. When I was last at Kanauj the place was so beautiful, so luxuriant in vegetation,—the bright green trees, the river winding through low fields of the richest pasture: those fields are all bare, not a blade of grass. The wretched inhabitants tear off the bark of the wild fig tree (goolèr), and pound it into food; in the course of four or five days their bodies swell, and they die in agonies. The cultivators sit on the side of their fields, and, pointing to their naked bodies, cry, “I am dying of hunger.” Some pick[145] out the roots of the bunches of coarse grass, and chew them. The people have become desperate; sometimes, when they see a sipahī eating they rush upon him to take his food; sometimes they fall one over the other as they rush for it, and having fallen, being too weak to rise, they die on the spot, blessed in finding the termination of their sufferings. The very locusts appear to have felt the famine; you see the wings here and there on the ground, and now and then a weak locust pitches on a camel. Every tree has been stripped of its leaves for food for animals. The inhabitants of Kanauj, about a lākh of people, have fled to Oogein and to Saugar. The place will be a desert; none will remain but the grain merchants, who fatten on the surrounding misery. There is no hope of rain for five months; by that time the torments of these poor wretches will have ended in death;—and this place is the one I so much admired from the river, with its rich fields, and its high land covered with fine trees and ruins!
I returned to the ancient Hindū building that had so much interested me, to sketch it at leisure, and was thus employed, when I was surrounded by numbers of the starved and wretched villagers. I performed my task as quickly as possible, and whatever errors there may be in the performance, must be attributed to the painful scene by which I was surrounded; some of the poor people flung themselves on the ground before me, attempting to perform pā-bos, that is, kissing the feet; wildly, frantically, and with tears imploring for food; their skeleton forms hideously bearing proof of starvation; the very remembrance makes me shudder. I quitted the ruin, and returned to my tents. To-morrow we quit Kanauj, thank God! It is dreadful to witness and to be unable to relieve such suffering.
I picked up a curious piece of ancient sculpture, Mahadēo, with Pārvatī in the centre, and a devi on each side, which I brought to my tent on the elephant. Considering it too heavy to carry about on the march, we buried it at night under a peepul tree, and shall take it away on our return home, if it will please to remain there.
At this place I learned the following legend. In the olden time, Kanauj was a great city. There were giants in those days, men of enormous stature, who dwelt at Kanauj, and with three steps could accomplish the distance hence to Fathīgarh. En passant, be it remarked, it took the feeble mortals in the camp of the Governor-General three long marches, during three long days, to pass over the same ground. The women were also very powerful; on brushing their houses of a morning, it was their custom to pitch the dirt a stone’s throw from the door. Now, the women being as strong as the men, the dirt was thrown as far as Fathīgarh in a heap; and on the rising ground produced by these dirt-throwing damsels was afterwards erected the Fort of Fathīgarh.
The 330,000,000 Gods of the Hindū Pantheon—The Janéo—Brŭmhŭ—The Trinity—Brahma—Vishnŭ—Shivŭ—The Ten Avatars—The Fish—The Tortoise—The Boar—The Man-lion—Vamana the Dwarf—Parashu-Rāma—Rāma-Chandra—Bala-Rāma—Booddhŭ—Kalkī—Krishnŭ—Radha—Rukmeni—Jagana’th—Kama-deva—Mahadēo—Pārvatī—Ganesh—Kartikeya—Lachhmī—Saraswatī—Durgā—Satī—The Purānas—The Mundane Egg of the Hindūs—The Vedas—Ascension of the God Buddha.
My journal is a constant source of pleasure; it not only amuses me to record passing events, but in writing it I perform a promise given ere I quitted England. Letters from home assure me of the delight with which it is received, of the pleasure with which they follow me through my wanderings, and of the interest they feel in all those scenes that pass before me. The religion of the Hindūs, who are perhaps the most extraordinary people on the face of the earth, is to my friends as interesting as to me; they wish for more information on the subject, therefore, however difficult the task, it must be performed. Performed!—“Aye, there’s the rub,” but how? shall I send them, pour commencer au commencement, a catalogue of the deities in the Hindū Pantheon, amounting to three hundred and thirty millions of gods and goddesses? 330,000,000, “Taintīs karor déotā!”—The nomenclature would be somewhat difficult.
Shall I send them the names of the three hundred gods which are interwoven in silk and gold on the janéo I wear around my neck, to which is appended the key of my cabinet? I have[148] three of these sacred janéos, purchased at Benares; unlike the Brahmanical thread, which bears the same name, but which is merely thread tightly twisted, these janéos are thick strong ribbons made of red, black, yellow, and white silk, interwoven in which are the names of the gods. They are worn over the right shoulder and under the left arm on particular days of pūja, and are esteemed very holy. On one in my possession, formed of red and different coloured silk, the names of three hundred of the gods are interwoven; the letters are in the Sanscrit character; the breadth of the band one inch. On a second, formed of black and coloured silk, and rather narrower, at intervals in several places on the sacred band is woven in the same character, “Srī Radha Krishn.” The third is still narrower, and similarly ornamented. The janéo is considered to possess many virtues: some that I saw at Benares were from two to three inches in breadth, of rich silk, and the names interwoven in gold and silver thread; they were handsome and very expensive.
The Hindoo Triad.
فاني پارکس
In my youthful days I devoted much time to drawing out the pedigree of my own family, a task that to me was one of pleasure, on revient toujours à ses premiers amours; in lieu of a dry catalogue of the three hundred and thirty millions of Hindū deities, I will form a short pedigree, if such a term be applicable to it, to assist my own memory, and for the amusement and edification of the beloved one to whom this my journal is dedicated.
The Hindūs worship God in unity, and express their conceptions of the Divine Being and his attributes in the most awful and sublime terms. God, thus adored, is called Brŭmhŭ, “One Brŭmhŭ without a second,” the one eternal mind, the self-existent, incomprehensible spirit, the all-pervading, the divine cause and essence of the world, from which all things are supposed to proceed, and to which they return; the spirit, the soul of the universe. Amongst the Hindūs the ignorant address themselves to idols fashioned by the hand of man; the sage worships God in spirit. Of that infinite, incomprehensible,[149] self-existent spirit, no representation is made: to his direct and immediate honour no temples rise; nor dare an Hindū address to him the effusions of his soul, otherwise than by the mediation of a personified attribute, or through the intervention of a priest; who will teach him that gifts, prostration, and sacrifice, are good, because they are pleasing to the gods; not as an unsophisticated heart must feel, that piety and benevolence are pleasing to God because they are good. But although the Hindūs are taught to address their vows to idols and saints, these are still but types and personifications of the deity, who is too awful to be contemplated, and too incomprehensible to be described. The Hindū erects no altar to Brŭmhŭ “Of him, whose glory is so great, there is no image” (Veda), and we must proceed to the consideration of the personified attributes of that invisible, incomprehensible Being, “which illumines all, delights all, whence all proceeded; that by which they live when born, and that to which all must return” (Veda).
Brŭmhŭ, the one god without a second, became a trinity, and the three emanations or parts of one Brŭmhŭ, are Brahma, Vishnŭ, and Shivŭ. The first presided over Creation, the second over Preservation, and the third over Destruction. The three principal goddesses are, Durgā, Lachhmī, and Saraswatī.
In mythology, Brahma is the first of the Hindū Triad, the three great personified attributes of Brŭmhŭ, or the Supreme Being; but his name is not so often heard of in India as either of the other two great powers of Preservation and Destruction. He is called the first of the gods, the framer of the universe. From his mouth, arm, thigh, and foot, proceeded severally the priest, the warrior, the trader, and the labourer; these, by successive reproduction, people the earth: the sun sprung from his eye, and the moon from his mind.
Brahma is usually represented with four faces, said to represent the four quarters of his own work; and said, sometimes, to refer to a supposed number of elements of which he composed[150] it; and to the sacred Vedas, one of which issued from each mouth. Red is the colour supposed to be peculiar to the creative power: we often see pictures of Brahma of that colour; which also represents fire, and its type the sun. Images are made representing Brahma, but none of Brŭmhŭ, the one eternal God.
Brŭmhŭ, or the Supreme One, say the Brahmāns, has been pleased to manifest himself in a variety of ways from age to age in all parts of the habitable world. When he acts immediately, without assuming a shape, or sending forth a new emanation, or when a divine sound is heard from the sky, that manifestation of himself is called acasavani, or an ethereal voice: when the sound proceeds from a meteor or a flame, it is said to be agnipuri, or formed of fire: but an avatara is a descent of the deity in the shape of a mortal; and an avantara is a similar incarnation of an inferior kind, intended to answer some purpose of less moment. The Supreme Being, and the celestial emanations from him, are niracara, or bodiless; in which state they must be invisible to mortals; but when they are pratyacsha, or obvious to the sight, they become sacara, or embodied, and expressive of the divine attributes, as Krishnŭ revealed himself to Arjun, or in a human form, which Krishnŭ usually bore; and in that mode of appearing the deities are generally supposed to be born of a woman, but without any carnal intercourse. Those who follow the Purva Mimansa, or the philosophy of Jamini, admit no such incarnations of deities; but insist that the devas (gods) were mere mortals, whom the Supreme Being was pleased to endow with qualities approaching to his own attributes: and the Hindūs in general perform acts of worship to some of their ancient monarchs and sages, who were deified in consequence of their eminent virtues.
All the principal, and several of the secondary deities, or incarnations of the principal, have wives assigned them, who are called sacti; and, except in sex, exactly represent their respective lords, being their energy or active power, the executors of their divine will. The sacti of Brahma is Saraswatī, the goddess of harmony and the arts.
Many deities have vehicles or vahans allotted to them: that of Brahma and of his sacti is the swan or goose, called hanasa; but he is not so frequently seen mounted on it, as other deities are on theirs: he is represented with his swan or goose in the cave of Elephanta. Saraswatī, the goddess of learning, is sometimes represented as the daughter of Brahma, and wife of Vishnoo; and as the latter I have placed her in the annexed plate.
Brahma is represented as a man with four faces, of a gold colour, dressed in white garments, riding on a goose; in one hand he holds a stick, and in another a kŭmŭndŭloo or alms-dish. He is never adopted as a guardian deity.
Vishnŭ is the second person in the Hindū triad; he is a personification of the preserving power, and has on the whole a greater number of adorers than any other deity or attribute.
I have a brazen image representing Vishnŭ reposing on a serpent with seven heads; perhaps intended to represent Sesha, the vast thousand-headed serpent, or ananta, as the serpent, as well as Vishnŭ, is sometimes named; meaning endless or infinite. Vishnŭ is represented as he is described in the Scanda Purana, asleep in the bosom of the waters, when a lotus arose from his body, which soon reached the surface of the flood. Brahma sprung from the flower, and looking round without seeing any creature on the boundless expanse, imagined himself to be the first-born. Vishnŭ denied his primogeniture; they had an obstinate battle, which lasted until Mahadēo cut off one of Brahma’s five heads, which settled the affair, and the image of Brahma bears only four heads. Nothing can be more luxurious than this image, the god floating on the water-lily, and the serpent, whose outspread heads afford him shade during his repose; while two celestial beings, sitting at his feet, shampoo him during his slumber. The one is his sacti, Lachhmī, the goddess of beauty, who was produced with the chowda ratny,[152] or fourteen gems, at the churning of the sea; the other, another sacti, Saraswatī, the goddess of literature and harmony, the daughter of Brahma.
Vishnŭ and Shivŭ are said each to have a thousand names; they are strung together in verse, and repeated on certain occasions by Brahmāns as a sort of litany, accompanied sometimes with the rosary. Images of Vishnŭ, either representing him in his own person, or in any of his avataras or incarnations, may be generally distinguished from those of other deities by a shell (chank), and a sort of wheel or discus, called chakra. The chank is the large buccinum, sometimes seen beautifully coloured like a pheasant’s breast. The chakra is a missile weapon, very like our quoit, having a hole in its centre, on which it is twirled on the forefinger, and thrown at the destined object; it has a sharp edge, and irresistible fire flames from its periphery when whirled by Vishnŭ. Two other attributes appertain to him; the gadha, a mace or club; and the padma, a lotus. The god is represented four-handed, and wears on his head a high cap of singular form, called mugut. At the back of this brazen idol lotus-leaves form a sort of glory, crowned by the head of a bird, perhaps intended as an emblem of his vahan Garuda. Vishnŭ is sometimes seen mounted on an eagle, or rather on an animal composed of an eagle and a man, cleaving the air, and soaring to the skies. Vishnŭ is represented in the form of a black man, with yellow garments.
The third personage in the Hindū trinity is Shivŭ, the Destroyer: he is represented as a silver-coloured man, with five faces; an additional eye and a half-moon grace each forehead; he has four arms; he sits on a lotus, and wears a tiger-skin garment. Nandi is the epithet always given to the white bull, the vehicle of Shivŭ, on which he is frequently seen riding; in his temple it is represented sometimes of great dimensions, couchant, and it is commonly met with in brass. The Nandi is often represented couchant, bearing the particular emblem the type of Shivŭ, crowned by the five heads of the god; the trident, called[153] trisula, is his usual accompaniment. Durgā and Satī are his consorts.
Having thus given a brief account of the Hindū trinity, or emanations of the “One Brŭmhŭ without a second,” let me return to Vishnŭ, the second personage of the triad, and trace him through his various descents.
The word itself, in strictness, means a descent; but, in its more extended signification, it means an incarnation of a deity in the person of a human being. Such incarnations have been innumerable; however, speaking of the avatars, it is generally meant to be confined to the ten avatars of Vishnŭ, which are thus usually arranged and named:—l. Mach, Machchha, or the Fish. 2. Kurma, or the Tortoise. 3. Varaha, or the Boar. 4. Nara-singha, or the Man-lion. 5. Vamana, or the Dwarf. 6. Parashu-Rāma, the name of the favoured person in whom the deity became incarnate. 7. Rāma-Chandra, the same. 8. Bala-Rāma, the same. 9. Buddhŭ, the same. 10. Kalkī, or the Horse. Of these, nine are past; the tenth is yet to come.
I have a curious and highly-illuminated Hindū painting of this first avatar, representing Vishnŭ as a black man, with four arms, issuing erect from the mouth of a large fish, which is represented in the water, surrounded by flowers of the lotus. The head of the Preserver is encircled by rays of glory, and he appears in the act of destroying the demon Hayagriva, whom he has seized by the hair with one hand, while, on the fingers of another hand, he is whirling round the disk with which to destroy the evil spirit. The demon is represented as a red man, issuing from a shell; on his forehead are two golden horns, and in his hands one of the vedas, the sacred books. On the right of the picture stands Brahma, a pale-coloured man, with four arms and four heads, each of which has a long white beard: three of the vedas are in his hands, and the fourth is in one of the four hands of Vishnŭ. The following is a literal translation[154] from the Bhagavata, and the particular cause of this first or fish avatar is described as follows:—“At the close of the last calpa there was a general destruction, occasioned by the sleep of Brahma; whence his creatures in different worlds were drowned in a vast ocean. Brahma, being inclined to slumber, desiring repose after a lapse of ages, the strong demon Hayagriva came near him, and stole the vedas which had issued from his lips. When Heri, the Preserver of the Universe, discovered this deed of the Prince Danavas, he took the shape of a minute fish called Saphari. A holy king, named Satiyaurata, then reigned, a servant of the spirit which moved on the waves, and so devout that water was his only sustenance. As this pious king was making a libation in the river, the preserving power, under the form of the fish Saphari, appeared to him, at first under a very minute form, but gradually assuming a larger bulk, at length became a fish of immense magnitude.” The astonished king concludes a prayer by expressing his anxiety that the lotus-eyed deity should inform him why he assumed that shape. The Lord of the Universe returned the following answer: “‘In seven days from the present time, O thou tamer of enemies, the three worlds will be plunged in an ocean of death; but in the midst of the destroying waves, a large vessel, sent by me for thy use, shall stand before thee. Then shalt thou take all medicinal herbs, all the variety of seeds, and accompanied by seven saints, encircled by pairs of all brute animals, thou shalt enter the spacious ark, and continue in it, secure from the flood, on one immense ocean, without light, except the radiance of thy holy companions. When the ship shall be agitated by an impetuous wind, thou shalt fasten it with a large sea-serpent on my horn; for I will be near thee: drawing the vessel with thee and thy attendants, I will remain on the ocean, O chief of men, until a day of Brahma (a year) shall be completely ended.’” He spake and vanished from his sight. Satiyaurata humbly and devoutly waited the awful event, and while he was performing grateful services to Heaven, the sea, overwhelming its shores, deluged the whole earth: and it was soon perceived to be augmented by showers from immense clouds. He, still meditating on the command[155] of Bhagavat, saw the vessel advancing, and entered it with the chief of Brahmāns, having carried into it the medicinal plants, and conformed to the directions of Heri. Alarmed at the violence of the waves, and the tossing of the vessel, the pious king invoked the assistance of the preserving power, “when the god appeared again distinctly on the vast ocean, in the form of a fish, blazing like gold, extending a million of leagues, with one stupendous horn; on which the king, as he had before been commanded by Heri, tied the ship with a cable made of a vast serpent, and, happy in his preservation, stood praising the destroyer of Madhu. When the monarch had finished his hymn, the primeval male Bhagavat, who watched for his safety on the great expanse of water, spoke aloud to his own divine essence, pronouncing a sacred purana; the substance of which was an infinite mystery, to be concealed within the breast of Satyaurata; who, sitting in the vessel with his saints, heard the principle of the soul, the Eternal Being, proclaimed by the preserving power. Then Heri, rising together with Brahma from the destructive deluge, which was abated, slew the demon Hayagriva, and recovered the sacred books. Satyaurata, instructed in all divine and human knowledge, was appointed in the present calpa, by the favour of Vishnŭ, the seventh menu, surnamed Vaivaswata; but the appearance of a horned fish to the religious monarch was all maya or delusion.”
The second grand avatara of Vishnŭ, called the Tortoise, evidently, like that of the fish, refers to the Deluge. Of this I have an illuminated painting, representing Kurma-Rājā, the king of the tortoises, on whose back the mountain Mandara is poised; and just above it, Lachhmī, the goddess of beauty, is seated on the flower of the water-lily. This avatar was for the purpose of restoring to man some of the comforts and conveniences that were lost in the flood. The vast serpent, Vasoky, is represented coiled round the mountain, serving as a rope; the head of the serpent is held by two of the soors (demons), represented as men with two horns on their heads; the tail of the animal is[156] held by Brahma, distinguished by his four heads, and the Vedas, the sacred books, in two of his hands; and next to him assisting in the operation is the blue form of Mahadēo, a form of Vishnŭ, his head surrounded by a circle of glory. They now pull forth the serpent’s head repeatedly, and as often let it go, thus violently whirling round the mountain, they churned the ocean, for the recovery of the amrita, or beverage of immortality; Vasoky serving as a rope to the mountain, which was supported on the back of the tortoise. Presently there arose out of the troubled deep, fourteen articles, usually called the fourteen gems, or in common language chowda ratny.—1. The moon, Chandra, with a pleasing countenance, shining with ten thousand beams of gentle light;—2. Srī, or Lachhmī, the goddess of fortune and beauty, whose seat is the white lily of the waters;—3. Sura, wine; or Suradevi, the goddess of wine;—4. Oochisrava, a horse with eight heads, and as swift as thought;—5. Kustubha, a jewel of inestimable value, that glorious sparkling gem worn by Narayen on his breast;—6. Parajata, the tree of plenty, that spontaneously yielded every thing desired;—7. Surabhi, a cow, similarly bountiful;—8. Dhanwantara, a physician;—9. Iravat, the elephant of Indra with three proboscides;—10. Shank, a shell conferring victory on whomsoever should sound it;—11. Danashu, an unerring bow;—12. Bikh, poison, or drugs;—13. Rhemba, the Aspara, a beautiful and amiable woman;—14. Amrita, the beverage of immortality, which was brought forth when the physician Dhanwantara appeared, holding in his hand a white vessel filled with the immortal juice Amrita.
I have a painting of this avatara, representing Vishnŭ in human shape, with the head of a boar, on one of whose tusks the earth is lifted up, which is represented as mountains; on which is a Hindoo temple, with a flag. Vishnŭ himself is in the ocean, his feet trampling on a gigantic demon who had rolled up the earth into the form of a shapeless mass and carried it down into the abyss, whither Vishnŭ followed him in[157] the shape of a boar, killed him with his tusks, and replaced the earth in its original situation.
Hirinakassap, the younger brother of the gigantic demon, who in the third avatar rolled up the earth and carried it down to the abyss, succeeded him in his kingdom over the inferior world, and refused to do homage to Vishnŭ. His son Pralhaud, who disapproved of his father’s conduct, was persecuted and banished; his father sought to kill him, but was prevented by the interposition of heaven, which appeared on the side of Pralhaud. At length, Hirinakassap was softened, and recalled his son to his court; where, as he sat in full assembly, he began to argue with him against the supremacy of Vishnŭ, boasted that he himself was lord of all the visible world, and asked, “What Vishnŭ could pretend to more?” Pralhaud replied, “That Vishnŭ had no fixed abode, but was present every where.” “Is he,” said his father, “in that pillar?” “Yes,” returned Pralhaud. “Then let him come forth,” said the king; and rising from his seat, struck the pillar with his foot; upon which Vishnŭ, in the form of Nara-singha, that is to say, with a body like a man, but a head like a lion, came out of the pillar and tore Hirinakassap in pieces. Vishnŭ then fixed Pralhaud on the throne, and his reign was a mild and virtuous one. I have a Hindoo painting commemorative of this avatar, in which the man-lion is represented seated in the centre of a pillar that has been burst open, while, with his hands, he is tearing out the bowels of the impious king, who lies howling and kicking across the knees of Nara-singha. On the right of the picture a Hindūstanī woman stands, with the palms of her hands pressed together; and to the left, is a man, apparently a dwarf, standing in the same attitude.
Maha-Beli, by severe religious austerities, had obtained from Brahma the sovereignty of the universe, or the three regions of the Sky, the Earth, and Patala. He was a generous and magnificent[158] monarch, but was so much elated by his grandeur, that he omitted the essential ceremonies and offerings to the deities; and Vishnŭ, finding it necessary to check the influence of such an example, resolved to mortify and punish the arrogant Rājā. He therefore assumed the form of a wretched Brahmān dwarf; and appearing before the king, asked a boon, which being promised, he demanded as much as he could pace in three steps: nor would he desire further, although urged by Beli to demand something more worthy of him to give. Vishnŭ, on obtaining the king’s promise, required a ratification of it, which is performed by the pouring out of water from a vessel upon the hand of the person to whom it is given. The monarch, although warned of the consequences, disdaining to deviate from his word, confirmed his promise with the required oath; and bidding the dwarf stretch forth his hand, poured out upon it the sacred wave that ratified the promise. As the water in a full stream descended from his extended hand, the form of the Vamana gradually increased in magnitude, until it became of such enormous dimensions that it reached up to heaven. Then, with one stride, he measured the vast globe of the earth; with the second, the ample expanse of heaven; and with the third, was going to compass the regions of Patala; when Beli, convinced that it was even Vishnŭ himself, fell prostrate and adored him; yielding him up without farther exertion, the free possessions of the third region of the universe. However, Vishnŭ left Maha-Beli, for the remainder of his life, possession of Patala, or the infernal regions. In this character Vishnŭ is sometimes called the three-step-taker. I have an illuminated painting of this avatar, in which the king, whose head is surrounded with rays of glory, is holding in his hands a spouted vessel, while just before him Vishnŭ in the character of a dwarf, but with rays also around his head, is standing with clasped hands. Behind the king an Hindūstanī woman is waving the chaunrī, the white tail of the yak, above his head; and behind the dwarf stands Sukra, called the one-eyed and evil counsellor. The ratifying stream was the river Gunga, which, falling from the hand of the dwarf Vishnŭ, descended thence to his foot,[159] whence, gushing as a mighty river, it was received on the head of Shiva, and flowed on in the style commonly seen through the cow’s mouth.
The epithet parashu, distinguishingly prefixed to the name of this Rāma, means a battle-axe. Among the avataras of Vishnŭ are recorded three favoured personages, in whom the deity became incarnate, all named Rāma,—Parashu-Rāma, Bala-Rāma, and Rāma-Chandra, and who are all famed as great warriors, and as youths of perfect beauty. Parashu-Rāma was born near Agra; his parents were Jamadagni, whose name appears as one of the Rishis, and Runeka. Jamadagni, in his pious retirement, was entrusted by Indra with one of the fourteen gems of the ocean, the wonderful boon-granting cow, Kam-dhenū or Surabhi; and on one occasion he regaled the Raja Diruj, who was on a hunting party, in so magnificent a manner as to excite his astonishment, until he learned the secret of the inestimable animal possessed by his host. Impelled by avarice, the cow was demanded from the holy Brahmān; and, on refusal, he attempted to carry her away by force, but the celestial cow, rushing on the Raja’s troops, gored and trampled the greatest part of them, put the rest to flight, and then, before them all, flew up triumphantly to heaven. The enraged tyrant immediately marched another army to the spot, and Kam-dhenū being no longer on earth to defend the hermit, the holy man was massacred, and his hut razed to the ground. Runeka, collecting together from the ruins whatever was combustible, piled it in a heap, on which she placed her husband’s mangled body; then, ascending it herself, set fire to it, and was consumed to ashes. The prayers and imprecations of a satī are never uttered in vain: ere she mounted the funeral pile, to strengthen the potency of her imprecations on the Raja, she performed also the ceremony of Naramedha, or the sacrifice of a man; thereby rendering her solicitation to the avenging deities absolutely irresistible.
Kam-dhenū, on her journey to Paradise, stopped to inform Parashu-Rāma, who was under the care of Mahadēo, of the cruel[160] conduct of the Raja to his parents; to whose aid he immediately flew, but arrived only time enough to view the smoking embers of the funeral pile. The tears rushed down his lovely face, and he swore by the waters of the Ganges that he would never rest until he had exterminated the whole race of the Khettris, the raja-tribe of India. Armed with the invincible energy of an incarnate god, he commenced his career of vengeance by seeking and putting to death, with his single arm, the tyrant, with all the forces that surrounded him; he then marched from province to province, every where exerting the unerring bow Dhanuk, and devoted the whole of the military race of Khettri to death. After a life spent in mighty and holy deeds, Rāma gave his whole property in alms, and retired to the Kokan, where he is said to be still living on the Malabar coast.
I have an illuminated picture of this avatar representing a single combat between Parashu-Rāma and the tyrant Diruj: the Raja is represented with twenty-two arms, three of which, having been cut off by Rāma, have fallen to the ground, the remaining nineteen he is brandishing about. In the upper part of the picture is represented the cell of the hermit, in front of which Jamadagni lies dead, and the holy cow with golden horns and golden wings is flying through the clouds.
Rāma-Chandra, son of Dasarathu, and conqueror of Lankā or Ceylon, was the seventh avatar; when the deity descended for the purpose of destroying Rāvana, who having obtained (for his devotion) a promise from Brahma that he should not suffer death by any of the usual means, was become the tyrant and pest of mankind. The Devatās came in the shape of monkeys, as Rāvana had gained no promise of safety from them; hence, Hanumāna was Rāma’s general. Rāma-Chandra’s mother’s name was Kaushalyā. His younger brother, Bharata, was son of Kekayī, who was the cause of Rāma’s going to the desert to perform devotions on the banks of the Pampa-nadī, insisting that her son should reign the fourteen years that Rāma employed in the devotion. It was while performing his devotion (or during[161] his stay in the forests) in company with Lakshmana (his brother by Sumitrā) that, while he was absent hunting, Rāvana appeared as a beggar, and enticed away Sītā, which gave rise to the war detailed in the Rāmayana. Sītā was daughter of Rājā Janaka, who had promised to give her to any person who could bend a certain bow, which was done by Rāma-Chandra. When in the forest, he drew a circle round Sītā, and forbad her to go beyond it, and left Lakshmana to take care of her; but Lakshmana hearing some noise which alarmed him for his brother, left her to seek him: then it was that Rāvana appeared, and enticed her out of the circle (gandī), and carried her off in his flying chariot. In the air Rāvana was opposed by the bird Jatāgu, whose wings he cut and escaped. Rāma-Chandra reigned in Awadh (Ayodhyā) before Christ 1600.
Vol. I. page 108, contains an account of the Ram Leela Festival, and of Hŭnoomān and his army of monkeys, most important personages in the history of Rāma-Chandra; the grief of the warrior when roaming the world in search of the beloved Sītā is described Vol. I. page 342. As the offspring of Shivŭ, Hŭnoomān is sometimes represented five-headed. Sītā is described as “endued with youth, beauty, sweetness, goodness, and prudence; an inseparable attendant on her lord, as the light on the moon; the beloved spouse of Rāma, dear as his own soul, formed by the illusion of the deva; amiable, adorned with every charm.” She is also a favourite in descriptive poetry, and is held forth as an example of conjugal affection.
I have an illuminated picture of Sītā, Rām, and Hŭnoomān. The happy pair are seated on a couch of silver and velvet, while Hŭnoomān, on the ground before them, is gravely employed shampooing one foot of the god; behind them stands an attendant, waving a chaunrī of peacock’s feathers over their heads.
Bala-Rāma, although a warrior, may, from his attributes, be esteemed a benefactor of mankind; for he bears a plough, and a pestle for beating rice; and he has epithets derived from the[162] names of these implements, viz.: Halayudha, plough-armed; and Masali, as bearing a musal or rice-beater. His name, Bala, means strength, and he is sometimes seen with the skin of a lion over his shoulders. A full account of the three Ramas is given in the Rāmayana, a great epic poem, so highly venerated that the fourth class of Hindūs, the Sudra, is not permitted to read it. At the end of the first section, a promise is made of great benefit to any individual of the first three tribes who shall duly read that sacred poem:—“A Brahman, in reading it, acquires learning and eloquence; a Kshettria will become a monarch; a Vaisya will obtain vast commercial profits; and a Sudra, hearing it, will become great.”
Such Hindūs as admit Buddha to be an incarnation of Vishnŭ agree in his being the last important appearance of the deity on earth; but many among the Brahmans and other tribes deny their identity; and the Buddhists, countenanced by the rahans their priests, do, in general, likewise assert the independent existence, and, of course, paramount character, of the deity of their exclusive worship.
Buddha opposed the sanguinary sacrifices of the Brahmans, and consequently, in a degree, the holy vedas themselves which enjoined them: in India, therefore, there has always been a sect who are violently hostile to the followers of Buddha, denominating them atheists, and denying the genuineness of his avatar. A rock altar is sacred to him throughout Asia; and he himself was often represented by a huge columnar black stone, black being among the ancients a colour emblematical of the inscrutable nature of the deity. His fame and the mild rites of his religion have been widely diffused; the Indian Buddha is the Deva-Buddha of the Japanese, whose history and superstitious rites are detailed at great length by Kœmpfer: among other circumstances, he relates, that, “in the reign of the eleventh Emperor from Syn Mu, Budo came over from the Indies into Japan, and brought with him, upon a white horse, his religion and doctrine.”[163] I have an illuminated painting, which I purchased at Prāg, representing Mahadēo as a black man, with a crown of glory, leading a white horse, on which is a high native saddle, with a large bag pendant from each side, and above the saddle an umbrella (chatr), the emblem of royalty, and more especially indicative of Buddha, is fixed: the legs of the animal are dyed with menhdī up to the chest, and about a foot of the end of his tail is also dyed red: the horse is ornamented in the usual oriental style with jewellery and gold. It is evident that this is not a painting of the tenth or Kalkī avatar, as the horse has no wings; the saddle-bags, which, we may suppose, contain the doctrines which he brought with him upon a white horse, and the chatr, assign it to Buddha; the figure of the man has only two arms.
“From the most ancient times,” says Abu’l Fazel, “down to the present, the learning and wisdom of Hindūstan has been confined to the Brahmans and the followers of Jaina; but, ignorant of each other’s merits, they have a mutual aversion; Krishna, whom the Brahmans worship as god, these consider as an infernal slave; and the Brahmans carry their aversion so far as to say, that it is better to encounter a mad elephant than to meet a man of this persuasion.”
The Buddhism of Hindūstan appears formerly to have had its central seat in Buddha Gaya, a town in Bengal, as it had at Buddha Bamiyan, the northern metropolis of the sect. Ceylon appears its present refuge. Buddhism is orthodoxy in China and its tributary nations; and in the states and empires of Cochin China, Cambodia, Siam, Pegu, Ava, Assam, Thibet, Budtan, many of the Tartar tribes, and generally all parts east of the Ganges, including many of those vast and numerous islands in the seas eastward and southward of the farther Indian promontory, whose inhabitants have not been converted to Islamism.
Jayadeva, in the Gita Govinda, thus addresses Buddha (or rather Vishnŭ or Krishna, so incarnated), in his series of eulogy on each of the avatars:—“9. Thou blamest (O wonderful!) the whole veda, when thou seest, O kind-hearted! the slaughter of[164] cattle prescribed for sacrifice.—O Kesava! assuming the body of Buddha. Be victorious, O Heri, lord of the universe!”
The three sects of Jina, Mahiman, and Buddha, whatever may be the difference between them, are all named Buddhas; and as the chief law, in which, as the Brahmans assert, they make virtue and religion consist, is to preserve the lives of all animated beings, we cannot but suppose that the founder of their sect was Buddha, in the ninth avatar, the benevolent, the tender-hearted.
Moor remarks:—“In very ancient sculptures and excavations we find the image of Buddha among other deities of Brahmanical superstition. The cave of Gharipuri, called by us Elephanta, an island in Bombay Harbour, is an instance of this; and this temple in itself may be called a complete pantheon; for among the hundreds—I may, perhaps, say thousands—of figures there sculptured, every principal deity is found. I noticed the following: Brahma, Vishnŭ, Siva, Buddha, Ganesa, and Indra; and these are, in fact, all that are, by their forms or attributes or vehicles, unequivocally distinguishable. The figure of Buddha, in the temple of Gharipuri, is immediately on your left at entering.” Moor supposes the temple is dedicated to the One Supreme Being; but as no representations are made of that being, his three principal powers or attributes, Brahma, Vishnŭ, and Siva, are united in the most conspicuous place, immediately fronting the entrance, and forming a gigantic triune bust of the trimūrtī, the Hindū triad. The native account of this avatar is, that Buddha descended from the region of souls, and was incarnate in the body of Mahamaya, the wife of the Raja of Kailas. Five days after his birth, the pandits prophesied that, as he had marks on his hands resembling a wheel, he would at length become a Raja Chacraverti, and arrive at the dignity of avatar. He was named Sacya, and on one occasion Brahma descended, and held a canopy over his head. His wife was Vasutara, the daughter of a Raja.
I have many images of Buddha, which were brought from Ava, in gold, silver, and in bronze. The common posture is that of sitting cross-legged on a throne, with his left hand[165] resting on his right foot, which is placed over his left knee, and his right hand hanging over his right knee. I have two images of Buddha in bronze, which came from Ava, in which he is represented in this posture, sitting with his back against a plantain tree, the leaves of which spread out above his head, and adorn the image. These images were accompanied by several other figures apparently engaged in worship, wearing high conical caps; the hands of one figure are clasped in prayer; another holds in both hands, placed upon the knees, a plate containing four balls; and another, in the same attitude, holds in both hands something that has the appearance of a circular box. I have also various dragons and bells, formed of bronze, which also came from Ava. An umbrella, made of iron, and gilt, is fixed on the tops of the temples, round the border of which some persons suspend bells; the sound has a pleasing effect when they are put in motion by the wind. Bells of various size are sometimes hung near a temple; and images of lions, and monsters of various descriptions, facing the four quarters, or on each side the gateway, are attached to most temples. Umbrellas, and stone-vessels, in imitation of those used by Goutŭmŭ or Buddha as a mendicant, are also placed near the places of worship. When Buddha was one month old, his nurses “caused him to be laid under a white umbrella upon an adorned pleasure-abounding bed.” At the age of sixteen, Buddha practised the greatest austerities; the King, his father, became alarmed and dejected; and the destiny-foretelling Brahmans assured him, that unless he put the unfortunate horses to the unfortunate chariot, and carried his son out, and buried him in a square hole, that they perceived three evils might happen:—“One to the King’s life, another to the white umbrella, another to the Queen.” Buddha was carried forth; he manifested his divinity to the driver of the unfortunate horses in the unfortunate chariot, escaped from meditated death, and fixed himself as a religious mendicant in the forest, where he practised the greatest austerities. I have an illuminated painting of Mahadēo under a rock in a jungle, seated upon a tiger’s skin, with his arms raised above his head in penance. A sage leading a white horse stands in front, in the act of worship, and by the side of the river is a[166] large tiger: and here it may be remarked, that, among works of the highest merit, one is the feeding of an hungry infirm tiger with a person’s own flesh, and the highest state of glory is absorption. The following may explain the painting:—In the midst of a wild and dreary forest, flourishing with trees of sweet-scented flowers, and abounding in fruits and roots, infested with lions and tigers, destitute of human society, and frequented by the munis (virtuous and mighty sages), resided Buddha, the author of happiness, and a portion of Narayana. Once upon a time, the illustrious Amara, renowned amongst men, coming here, discovered the place of the Supreme Being in the great forest. He caused an image of the supreme spirit Buddha to be made, and he worshipped it as the incarnation of a portion of Vishnŭ: “Reverence be unto thee, in the form of Buddha;—thou art he who rested upon the face of the milky ocean, and who lieth upon the serpent Sesha; thou art Trivikrama, who at three strides encompassed the earth. I adore thee, who art celebrated by a thousand names, and under various forms, in the shape of Buddha, the god of mercy.” The illustrious Amara-Deva then built the holy temple of Buddha Gaya, and set up the divine foot of Vishnŭ.
“The forefathers of him who shall perform a sradda (funeral obsequies in honour of ancestors) at this place, shall obtain salvation; a crime of an hundred-fold shall be expiated by a sight thereof; of a thousand-fold, by a touch thereof; and of a hundred thousand-fold, from worshipping thereof.”
The image of white marble, which the mūnshī at Allahabad informed me is that of Parisnāth, see Vol. i. p. 324, is six inches high; the position differs slightly from that of Buddha, the right palm is laid over the left, and the soles of the feet are shown, one on each side the hands; the head is raised conically; the hair is straight on the crown, and the woolly portion is so managed as to resemble a fillet of beads round the temple. A raised and quadrated lozenge is on the breast, and in the palm of the hand is a small ball. In the centre of the pedestal on which the image is seated is a crescent. The lobes of the ears are elongated to reach the shoulders. Moor informs us that in the[167] museum at the India House, is an image “about fourteen inches high, of a whitish, and I think calcareous, sort of stone: an inscription is on the pedestal, under the crescent, but it is not easily to be made out or copied. This image is, I think, of a very singular and curious description: its curly hair, thick lips, and position mark it decidedly of Buddhaic origin, while its seven heads refer it to a sect of Sauras: hence the appellation of Surya Buddha, appropriately applied to it. The quadrated lozenge on the breast and in the palm of this image, is also unaccounted for, and singular.”
The image of Parisnāth agrees perfectly with the above description, with the exception that it has only one head, and there is no inscription on the pedestal.
Buddha signifies a wise man, and sacya, his other title, means a feeder upon vegetables; he inculcated a total subjugation of sense, and an utter annihilation of passion. According to the religion of Buddha, there are no distinctions of caste. Polygamy is not forbidden by the Buddha doctrine, and it is not uncommon for a man to have a plurality of wives. Priests are forbidden to marry; they are to live by mendicity; are to possess only three garments, a begging dish, a girdle, a razor, a needle, and a cloth to strain the water which they drink, that they may not devour insects. To account for the short, crisp hair on the head of the idol, resembling that of an African, it is said that Buddha, on a certain occasion, cut his hair with a golden sword, and its appearance in consequence was meant to be represented on his images.
There is a tradition among the Cingalese, that one of the kings of Hindūstan, immediately after Buddha’s death, collected together five hundred learned ascetics, and persuaded them to write down on palmyra leaves, from the mouth of one of Buddha’s principal disciples, all the doctrines taught by Buddha in his lifetime. The Cingalese admit they received their religion from the hands of a stranger. The Burmans believe that a Brahman was deputed to Ceylon to copy the histories of the incarnations of Buddha; and it is fabled that the iron stile with which he copied this work, was given him by an heavenly[168] messenger. With the images of Buddha from Ava, were also presented to me four leaves of the palmyra-tree, twenty-three inches in length by two and a half in breadth, on both sides of which are engraved with a stile the religious doctrines of the Burmese. The leaves are held together by two pieces of ribbon passed through holes in them, and are a portion of a work of about three or four inches in thickness. In the plate entitled “Pūja of the Tūlsī,” the Brahman is reading from palmyra leaves of the same description.
The Kalkī, or final avatar, is yet to come; in which Vishnŭ will appear incarnate in a human form, for the purpose of dissolving the universe. The Kalkī will be incarnate in the house of the Brahman Bishenjun, the apparent offspring of the sage by his wife Awejsedenee, and will be born in the city of Sambal, towards the close of the Kalī period or Yug, in the month Vaisach, the scorpion. In one hand he is represented bearing aloft a “cimetar, blazing like a comet,” to destroy all the impure, who shall then inhabit the earth; and in the other he displays a circular ornament or ring, the emblem of cycles perpetually revolving, and of which the existing one is on the point of being finally terminated. The Kalkī is represented leading a white horse, richly caparisoned, adorned with jewels, and furnished with wings. The horse is represented standing on three feet only, holding up, without intermission, the right fore-leg; with which, say the Brahmans, when he stamps with fury upon the earth, the present period shall close, and the dissolution of nature take place. Jayadeva thus describes the tenth avatar: “For the destruction of all the impure thou drawest thy cimetar, blazing like a comet: (how tremendous!) O Kesava, assuming the body of Kalkī: Be victorious, O Heri, lord of the universe!”
End of the Kalī-yug, or fourth Indian period, and of the history of the ten avatars.
The Preserver appeared on earth in the form of Krishna,[169] who is regarded as Vishnŭ himself, and distinct from the ten avatars. For the history of this god I refer you to page 118, in which, under the title of Krishnŭ, or Kaniya, is given the history of his life, up to the time that he disappeared from amidst the gopīs, and left them mourning for his absence.
Here, it may be as well to remark, in consequence of an error in that part of my journal, that Dewarkī, the mother of Krishnŭ, was the daughter of the tyrant Kansa; and that Vasudeva, who carried him across the Jumna, was his father.
The death of Krishna, which happened some time afterwards, and his ascension to the heavens, is thus related:—“Balhadur met his fate on the banks of the Jumna, and when Krishna saw that his spirit had finally departed, he became exceedingly sorrowful. Near where he stood there was a jungle or brake, into which he entered; and leaning his head on his knees, sat absorbed in the deepest melancholy. He reflected within himself that all the effect of Kanharee’s curse had now fully taken place on the Yadavas, and he now called to remembrance these prophetic words, which Doorsava had once uttered to him:—‘O Krishna! take care of the sole of thy foot; for if any evil come upon thee, it will happen in that place.’ Krishna then said to himself, ‘Since all the Kooroos and the whole of the Yadavas are now dead and perished, it is time for me also to quit the world.’ Then, leaning on one side, and placing his feet over his thighs, he summoned up the whole force of his mental and corporeal powers, while his hovering spirit stood ready to depart. At that time, there came thither a hunter, with his bow and arrow in his hand; and seeing from a distance Krishna’s foot, which he had laid over his thigh, and which was partly obscured by the trees, he suspected it to be some animal sitting there: applying, therefore, to his bow and arrow, the point of the latter of which was formed from the very iron of that club which had issued from Sateebe’s body, he took aim, and struck Krishna in the sole of his foot. Then, thinking he had secured the animal, he ran up to seize it; when, to his astonishment, he beheld Krishna there, with four hands, and drest in yellow habiliments. When the hunter saw that the wounded object[170] was Krishna, he advanced, and, falling at his feet, said, ‘Alas, O Krishna! I have, by the most fatal of mistakes, struck you with this arrow; seeing your foot at a distance, I did not properly discern my object, but thought it to be an animal; Oh, pardon my involuntary crime!’ Krishna comforted him to the utmost of his power, saying, ‘It was no fault of thine; depart, therefore, in peace.’ The hunter then humbly kissed his foot, and went sorrowing away. After the hunter was gone, so great a light proceeded from Krishna, that it enveloped the whole compass of the earth, and illuminated all the expanse of heaven. At that instant, an innumerable tribe of devatas, and other celestial beings, of all ranks and denominations, came to meet Krishna; and he, luminous as on that night when he was born in the house of Vasudeva, by that same light pursued his journey between heaven and earth, to the bright Vaikontha or Paradise, whence he had descended. All this assemblage of beings, who had come to meet Krishna, exerted the utmost of their power to laud and glorify him. Krishna soon arrived at the abode of Indra, who was overjoyed to behold him, accompanied him as far as Indra-Loke reached, and offered him all manner of ceremonious observances. When Krishna had passed the limits of Indra’s territory, Indra said to him, ‘I have no power to proceed any farther, nor is there any admission for me beyond this limit;’ so Krishna kindly dismissed him, and went forward alone.”
Arjoon, the friend of Krishna, went to Dwaraka, to see in what state Krishna himself might be; when he beheld the city in the state of a woman whose husband is recently dead; and finding neither Krishna nor Balhadur nor any other of his friends there, the whole place appeared in his eyes as if involved in a cloud of impenetrable darkness; nor could he refrain from bursting into tears. The sixteen thousand wives of Krishna, the moment they set their eyes on Arjoon, burst also into a flood of tears, and all at once began the most bitter lamentations; and, in truth, the whole city was so rent with uproar and distraction, that it surpasses description. A few days from this time, Vasudeva, the father of Krishna, died, while fourteen of[171] his wives were standing around him, four of whom burnt themselves on his funeral pile. Arjoon made search also for the earthly portions of what once was Krishna and Balhadur: these also he solemnly committed to the flames. Five of Krishna’s wives burnt themselves; while Sete-Bame, with some others, investing themselves with the habits of Sanyassi’s, and, forsaking the world, retired into the deserts to pass their lives in solitude and prayer.
Of the eight wives of Krishna it is unnecessary to give a detailed account; the history of Radha has been mentioned before, but Rukmeni must not be forgotten, who, with several other of his wives, became satī, in the hope of an immediate reunion with her lord in the heaven of Vaikontha.
Rukmeni bore to Krishna a son, who was named Pradyamna, and was no other than Kama, the God of Love. He was stolen by Sambara, a Rājā, cast into the sea, and swallowed by a fish; which being caught and presented to the Rājā, was opened by his cook, Reti, who discovered and preserved the child. A talisman was given which rendered the infant invisible at pleasure. He was nurtured by Kam-dhenū, the holy cow, one of the fourteen gems of the ocean. The god of Love attained manhood, and delusion (maya) being removed, he was restored to his delighted mother, Rukmeni.
He is represented as a beautiful youth, sometimes conversing with his mother and consort in the midst of his gardens and temples; sometimes riding by moonlight on a parrot or lory, and attended by dancing girls or nymphs, the foremost of whom bears his banner, a fish on a red ground. His favourite place of resort was a tract of country around Agra, and the plains of Matra; where Krishna also, and the Gopia, usually spent the night singing and dancing. Pushpa-dhanva, the god with the flowery bow, is one of his many appellations. His bow is represented of flowers, or of sugar-cane, with a string formed of bees, and his five arrows, each pointed with an Indian blossom of love-inspiring quality.
“Hail, god of the flowery bow; hail, warrior, with a fish on[172] thy banner; hail, powerful divinity, who causest the firmness of the sage to forsake him, and subduest the guardian deities of the eight regions!
“Glory be to Madana; to Kama; to him who is formed as the god of gods; to him by whom Brahma, Vishnŭ, Siva, Indra, are filled with emotions of rapture!”
On the festival of the Rat’ha-jattra, or the festival of the Chariot, the images of Krishna and Bala-Rāma are borne about in a car by day: on this occasion Krishna is worshipped as Jagana’th, or Lord of the Universe. At the temple of that name the concourse of people is very great: the rising of the moon is the sign of the commencement of the feast, which must end when it sets. A legend is given of Krishna having hid himself in the moon, in consequence of a false accusation of stealing a gem from Prasena, who had been killed by a lion. To see the moon on the fourth day after full, and the fourth day after new, of the month Bhadra, is hence deemed inauspicious; and is consequently avoided by pious Vaishnavus, or followers of Vishnŭ. Further particulars relative to this deity will be found in the chapter that records my visit to the far-famed temple of Jagana’th.
Having thus traced Vishnŭ the Preserver through the various forms he assumed on earth in the ten avatars, in his appearance as Krishna, and the latter in the form of Jaganat’ha, let us return to the third personage of the Hindū triad.
This god is generally ranked as the third power or attribute of the deity, he personifies destruction; and in the obvious arrangement of the three grand powers of the Eternal One, Creation and Preservation precede Destruction. His most usual accompaniment is a trident, or tri-forked flame, called trisula; his colour is white, that of his hair light or reddish. He is sometimes seen with two hands, sometimes with four, eight, or ten; and with five faces. He has a third eye in his forehead, pointing up and down; this distinction is peculiar to him, his children, and[173] Avataras. As the god of Justice, which character he shares with Yama and other deities, he rides a bull, the symbol of divine justice. As emblems of immortality, serpents are common to many deities, but this god is abundantly decked with them, and snakes are his constant attendants. A crescent on his forehead, or in his hair, is common in pictures and images of Mahadeva or Shivŭ. Serpents, emblems of eternity, form his ear-rings, called Naug Kundala: his pendant collar of human heads (Mund mala) marks his character of Destruction, or Time; and his frontal crescent points at its most obvious measurement, by the phases of the moon. He holds what has been considered as a small double hand-drum, shaped like an hour-glass, called damaru, probably a sand gheri. Shivŭ is called “the three-eyed god,” and “the auspicious deity with uneven eyes.” Sometimes he is represented with a battle-axe (gadha, or parasha), and an antelope (mirg) in his superior hands: and in many plates of the deity his loins are wrapped in a tiger’s skin, and the goddess Gunga (the Ganges) flows from his mugut or head-piece. The followers of Vishnŭ assert, that the blessed river flowed originally out of heaven, from the foot of Vishnŭ, and, descending upon Kailasa, the terrestrial paradise of Mahadēo, fell on the head of Shivŭ. Each sect is desirous of tracing the source of the sacred river to the head or foot of its own deity. The stream is sometimes seen issuing from the head of Shivŭ, and sometimes she afterwards issues from a cow’s mouth. It is said, that high up towards its source the river passes through a narrow rocky passage, which pilgrims, who visit the sacred cleft, imagine resembles a cow’s mouth. This spot is hence called Gawmuki, and is a place greatly resorted to by pilgrims.
Viswaswara is the name by which Shivŭ is invoked at a beautiful and famous temple of that name in Kashi, or Benares; and it is said in the Purānas, that “The Vedas and Shastrs all testify that Viswaswara is the first of Devas, Kashi the first of cities, Gunga the first of rivers, and charity the first of virtues.” Nandi is the epithet always given to the vehicle of Siva, the white bull: in his temples it is usually represented couchant.
Here I will mention some of the animals appropriated as[174] vehicles to Hindū mythological personages. Brahma, the swan, Hanasa—Vishnŭ, the eagle, Garuda—Shivŭ, the bull, Nandi—Ganesh, the rat—Kartikeya, a peacock—Indra, the elephant, Travati—Varuna, the genius of the waters, bestrides a fish, as doth also Gunga, the prime goddess of rivers. Kama, the god of Love, is carried by a lory, or parrot; Agni, god of Fire, by a ram. The Sactī, or consorts of these deities, have the attendant animal or vahan of their respective lords. Bhavani is, however, oftener seen on a lion or a tiger than on a bull, the vahan of Shivŭ. Avataras of deities ride a bull, horse, &c.
Of Garuda, the man-eagle or bird-god, I have a small and curious brazen image; representing him with folded wings, sitting in an attitude of adoration, on the back of a nondescript animal, which I have been told is a rhinoceros, but it has no horn.
Another brazen image which I procured, as well as the former, at Prāg, represents the bird-god in an attitude of adoration on one knee, supporting on the top of his head a broadly-expanded cup, edged with leaves, perhaps intended to represent an expanded lotus; a vessel of this sort is used in pūja.
The title deva is very comprehensive, meaning generally a deity; devī is its feminine, but it is applied mostly to Bhavani, consort of Mahadeva, which name of Shivŭ is, literally, great god. But, as the title of deva is given to other gods, superior and inferior, so that of devī is, as hath been before stated, occasionally bestowed similarly on other goddesses. Devata is the plural of deva; by some writers spelled dewtah.
The antelope (mirg) that Shivŭ holds in one hand, alludes to a sacrifice, when the deer, fleeing from the sacrificial knife, took refuge with him. Five lighted lamps are used in pūja to this god.
Dūrgā is the consort of Shivŭ; this goddess is also known under the name of Bhŭgŭvŭtēē, which title is also given to the cow, which is regarded by the Hindūs as a form of Dūrgā. He was also married to Satī, the daughter of King Dukshu.
Mahā-kāla is another form in which Shivŭ is worshipped in the character of the destroying deity. The image is of a smoke-coloured[175] boy, with three eyes, clothed in red garments. His hair stands erect; his teeth are very large; he wears a necklace of human skulls, and a large turban of his own hair; in one hand he holds a stick, and in another the foot of a charpāī; his body is swollen, and his appearance terrific. Images of this form of Shivŭ are not made in Bengal, but a pan of water, or an emblem of Mahadēo, are substituted; before which bloody sacrifices are offered. Except before this image, such sacrifices are never offered to Shivŭ.
Shivŭ appeared on earth in the form of a naked mendicant, with one head, two arms, and three eyes, and was acknowledged as Mahadēo, the great god: when he was about to be married to Pārvatī, the daughter of the Himalaya, her friends treated the god in a scurrilous manner, and cried out, “Ah! ah! ah! this image of gold, this most beautiful damsel, the greatest beauty in the three worlds, to be given in marriage to such a fellow,—an old fellow, with three eyes, without teeth, clothed in a tiger’s skin, covered with ashes, encircled with snakes; wearing a necklace of human bones; with a human skull in his hand; with a filthy jŭta—that is, hair matted about his head in form of a tiara; who chews intoxicating drugs, has inflamed eyes, rides naked on a bull, and wanders about like a madman. Ah! they have thrown this beautiful daughter into the river!” The asoca is a shrub consecrated to Mahadēo, and is planted near his temples. The biloa, otherwise called Malura, is also sacred to him; he alone wears a chaplet of its flowers, and they are offered in sacrifice to no other deity; and if a pious Hindū should see any of its flowers fallen on the ground, he would remove them reverently to a temple of Mahadēo. The Hindū poets call it Srīphul, the flower of Srī.
I have a beautiful image in white marble, highly gilt and ornamented, representing Mahadēo as a white man, young and handsome, sitting on a platform, with Pārvatī on his left knee. His hair is braided into the shape of a conical turban around his head, about which a serpent is twisted; and from the top of his[176] head flows Gunga, in a heavy stream, to the ground. His moustache is brilliantly jet black, and his forehead adorned with the triple eye in the centre of a crescent. Below Mahadēo in the centre of the platform, is a small image of his son Ganesh, on whose right is the Nandi, the white bull couchant, and on his left, below Pārvatī, is a yellow tiger. Mahadēo is represented with four hands, one bearing the tri-forked flame, another a warlike weapon, a third a short rosary of beads, the fourth, the hand-drum, the form of which is like an hour-glass. His hands and feet are dyed with hinnā; his dress is yellow; a large snake is around his neck, and his body profusely adorned with jewels.
The history of Ganesh, the son of Mahadēo and Pārvatī, having been fully detailed in the Introduction, is here omitted. This god is the guardian to the entrance of the heaven of Shivŭ. Vishnŭ, in the form of Parashu-Rāma, wished to have an interview with Shivŭ, which was denied him by Ganesh; upon which a battle ensued, and Parashu-Rāma tore out one of his tusks. No public festivals are held in honour of Ganesh in Bengal; many persons, however, choose him as their guardian deity. Stone images of Ganesh are worshipped daily in the temples by the side of the Ganges, at Benares, and at Allahabad.
The second son of Mahadēo and Pārvatī is the god of war, and commander of the celestial armies; he is represented as six-headed, six-armed, six-mothered, and sometimes riding a peacock.
An account of the three great gods of the Hindū triad having been given, I will add a short description of the three principal goddesses, Lachhmī, Saraswatī, and Dūrga.
This goddess is the consort of Vishnŭ, and is esteemed by his followers as the mother of the world. When the sea was being agitated for the production of the immortal beverage, and the[177] fourteen gems of the ocean; “after a long time appeared the great goddess, inhabiting the lotus, clothed with superlative beauty, in the first bloom of youth, covered with ornaments, and bearing every auspicious sign; adorned with a crown, with bracelets on her arms, her jetty locks flowing in ringlets, and her body, which resembled burning gold, adorned with ornaments of pearl. This great goddess appeared with four arms, holding a lotus in her hand; her countenance of incomparable beauty. Thus was produced the goddess Padma or Srī, adored by the whole universe; Padma by name. She took up her abode in the bosom of Padma-nabha, even of Heri.” Vol. I. page 206, is an account and a sketch of this goddess of beauty and of prosperity. I have a very ancient and time-worn brazen image, representing Lachhmī seated on an elephant; she has four hands, the two superior hands are raised as high as her head; one holds a lotus-bud, the other something not unlike one; each hand also supports an elephant; their trunks unite above her head, and from two water-vessels they are pouring water on an emblem of Mahadēo, which rests on the crown of the head of the goddess. The lower hands are empty, the palm of one is raised, the other turned downwards. This image is very ancient and most singular: she is the goddess who presides over marriage, and, as the deity of prosperity, is invoked also for increase of children, especially male children. She bears the title of Rembha, as the sea-born goddess of beauty.
Moor gives a drawing, much resembling the above, of a cast in brass, which he considers to be Devi, the goddess, a form of Durgā.
Saraswatī, the daughter of Brahma, and wife of Vishnŭ, is represented as a white woman, playing on a sitar. She is adored as the patroness of the fine arts, especially music and rhetoric; as the inventress of the Sanscrit language, of the Devanagry character, and of the sciences which writing perpetuates. This goddess was turned into a river by the curse of a Brahman, and, at the Trivenī, the river Saraswatī is supposed to join the[178] Ganges and Jumna underground. On the 5th day of the month Magha, Saraswatī or Srī, the goddess of arts and eloquence, is worshipped with offerings of flowers, perfumes, and dressed rice: the worship is performed before her image, or a pen, inkstand, and book; the latter articles are supposed to form a proper substitute for the goddess. On this day the Hindūs neither read nor write, it is the command of the shastr. Implements of writing, and books, are treated with respect, and are not used on this holiday. Of an eloquent man the Hindūs say, “Saraswatī sits on his tongue.”
I have a picture of the goddess of eloquence, having an interview with Ganesh, the patron of literature; with whom she is exchanging written scrolls, probably the vedas. Saraswatī is mounted, astride, upon a most singular looking bird; it is not a swan, neither is it a peacock; its legs are long, so is its neck; it is painted red; can it be intended for the sarasŭ, what we call cyrus, or Siberian crane? In one of her superior hands she bears the vina, or been, a musical instrument; in the second is a lotus and a scroll of paper with writing upon it; the other two hands also bear written scrolls. She is represented as a white woman, with one head, on which is a red and yellow coronet; her attire is of various colours, and she is adorned with jewellery, as well as with a long string or garland of flowers. Ganesh is represented sitting on a lotus, and standing behind him is a woman employed in fanning him with a chaunrī, made of the white tail of the yak; the black rat, the constant attendant of Ganesh, is sitting before him.
The consort of Shivŭ derives her name from the giant Doorgŭ, whom she slew. A short account of the Dasera, a festival held in honour of this goddess, has been given in Vol. I. p. 34. Dūrga has a thousand names, and has assumed innumerable forms, among which are Kalī, the black goddess, worshipped at Kalī Ghat; Bhŭvanī, the wife of Shivŭ; Pārvutī, the Daughter of the Mountain; the Inaccessible, the Terrible, the Mother of the Universe. Kalī, under the name of Phŭlŭ-Hŭrēē,[179] is described in Vol. I. p. 164; and Dūrga, as Bhagwan, will be hereafter mentioned. I have an ancient and curious brazen image of Dūrga, with ten arms, which I procured at Prāg. Also numerous images of Anna-Purna Devi, the goddess who fills with food, a very common household deity; most families in the Mahratta country include her among their Dii penates. She is represented as a woman sitting cross-legged, and holding a spoon with both hands across her lap.
Pārvatī, Bhavani, Dūrga, Kali, and Devi, or the Goddess, are names used almost indiscriminately in the writings and conversations of the Hindūs. The history of Satī has been given in Vol. I. p. 94.
The first Indian poet was Valmiki, author of the Ramayana, a complete epic poem; and Vyasa, the next in celebrity, composed the Mahabarat. To him are ascribed the sacred Purānas, which are called for their excellence, the Eighteen: they comprise the whole body of Hindū Theology; and each Purāna treats of five topics especially; i.e. the creation, the destruction, and renovation of the worlds; the genealogy of gods and heroes; the reigns of the Manus; and the transactions of their descendants. The Purānas are, 1. Brŭmhŭ; 2. Padma, or the Lotus; 3. Brahmānda, or the egg of Brahmā, the Hindū Mundane egg; 4. Agni, or fire; 5. Vishnŭ; 6. Garuda, the bird god, the vehicle of Vishnŭ; 7. Brahmavaivartā, or transformation of Brahmŭ; 8. Shivŭ; 9. Linga; 10. Naruda, son of Brahma; 11. Skanda, son of Shivŭ; 12. Mārkendeya, so called from a sage of that name; 13. Bhavishyat, future or prophetic; 14. Matsya, or the fish; 15. Varāha, or the boar; 16. Kūrma, or the tortoise; 17. Vāmaha, or the dwarf; and 18. The Bhāgavat, or life of Krishnŭ. The Purānas are reckoned to contain four hundred thousand stanzas. There are, also, eighteen upapurānas, or similar poems of inferior sanctity and different appellations; the whole constituting the popular or poetical creed of the Hindūs, and some of them, or particular parts of them, being very generally read and studied.
On the ancient sculptures and medals, allusive to the cosmogony, these hieroglyphic symbols, the egg and the serpent, perpetually occur in very great variety, single and combined; that famous representation of the Mundane egg, encompassed by the folds of the Agathodaimon, or good serpent, and suspended aloft in the temple of Hercules at Tyre, is well known to antiquaries. The Deus lunatus ovatus Heliopolitanus, or the divine egg with the lunar crescent, adored at Heliopolis, in Syria, is another relic of this ancient superstition. The most remarkable, however, of these symbolical devices is that erected, and at this day to be seen in one of the temples of Japan. The temple itself, in which this fine monument of oriental genius is elevated, is called Daibod, and stands in Meaco, a great and flourishing city of Japan. The principal image in this design displays itself in the form of a vast bull, butting with its horns against the egg, which floated on the waters of the abyss. The statue of the bull itself is formed of massy gold, with a great knob on its back, and a golden collar about its neck, embossed with precious stones. The fore-feet of the animal are represented as resting on that egg, and his hinder feet are immersed amidst stone and earth mixed together, the symbol of a chaotic mass, under which and the egg appears a considerable quantity of water, kept in a hollow stone. The basis of the whole is a square altar, the foot of which is engraved with many ancient Japanese characters; and round that foot, in M. D’Hancarville’s engraving, are two natives of that country prostrate, and adoring it.
The Hindūs believe that the original veda was revealed by Brahma, and was preserved by tradition until it was arranged in its present form by a sage, who thence obtained the name of Vyasa, or Veda-vyasa; that is, compiler of the vedas. He distributed the Indian scriptures into four parts, each of which bears the common denomination of veda. The veda, collectively, is the body of Hindū scripture. The most popular idea of their origin is, that they (the four vedas) issued from[181] the four mouths of Brahma. Brahma, as we have seen, had once five heads; and there is a supplement to the Hindū scriptures, which some affirm to constitute a fifth veda. A mysterious set of books, called Agama, proceeded from the mouth of Shivŭ.
In Ceylon is a high mountain, on which is the print of a foot, still visible; the natives worship this sacred footstep as that of the god Buddha, who from that eminence ascended to his native skies.
It has been offered, as a probable conjecture, that the Buddha superstition was the ancient religion of India, and that the followers of Buddha were driven out of Hindūstan by the superior interest of the Brahmans at the courts of the Hindū monarchs. The priests of Buddha insist that the Brahmans came with their religion from Egypt; while, by others, it is conversely maintained that the Egyptians derived their doctrines and science from India. The religion of Buddha was, heretofore, and probably also about the era of Christianity, indisputably of extensive prevalence, as is evinced by many stupendous monuments. In Ava, where Buddhism is orthodoxy, the idea is upheld that it was equally prevalent in the same form throughout India until about the second century before Christ, when the Brahmans are stated to have introduced themselves and their rites.
This short account of the Hindū triad and their incarnations will give some idea of the mythology of the Hindūs; but to understand the subject more fully it would be necessary to refer to the authorities I have quoted in this abstract[24].
Jellalabad—Menhdī Bridge—The Resident of Gwalior—Difficulty of crossing the Sands of the Ganges—Imrutpūr—Marching under the Flag of the Resident of Gwalior—Khāsgunge—The Tombs of Colonel Gardner and his Begam—Mulka Begam—Style of March—Pleasure of a Life in Tents—The Fort of Alligarh—The Racers—The 16th Lancers present a Shield to Mr. Blood—The Monument—The Kos-minār—Koorjah and Solitude—Meeting of old Friends—Meerut—The Officers of the Artillery give a Ball to the Governor-General and his Party—The Sūraj Kūnd—The Buffs add to the gaiety of the Station—The Artillery Theatre—The Pilgrim Tax abolished at Allahabad.
1838, Jan. 8th.—Arrived at Jellalabad without any adventures. Went to hear the band in the evening, but felt weary from not having slept the night before on account of the yells of the packs of jackals in every direction round the tent, and the noise of the sentries keeping off the people from Kanauj. We were in a complete jangal: a wolf came up to my tent at mid-day, then trotting over to the opposite tent, carried off my neighbour’s kid.
9th.—Early this morning I overtook Colonel M⸺, who was marching with his regiment, and rode with him some miles: we passed over a most curiously built suspension bridge, thrown over the Kala-nadī by the late Nawab Hakīm Menhdī; the pillars through which some part of the workmanship passes are remarkable. The sight of the river put me in mind of the excellence and large size of the arwarī fish it contains. Afterwards, speaking of this sort of mullet to Captain O⸺, he told me he had sent out a man to shoot arwarī fish, who had[183] returned quite sick from having seen a hundred and thirty dead bodies choking up the river.
10th.—Arrived at Fathīgarh.
12th.—Dined with Major Sutherland, the Resident of Gwalior, who was in attendance on the Governor-General. A number of friends were assembled; a bright fire blazed in the tent; our host was the life of the party; the dinner was excellent. I have seldom passed a more agreeable evening.
13th.—Crossed the river on a bridge of boats that had been erected for the accommodation of the Lord Sāhib, as the natives call the Governor-General.
They say there are about eleven thousand people with the camp, and elephants and camels innumerable, which, added to the Body guard, Artillery, and Infantry, form an immense multitude. It is said his Lordship’s marching about the country costs the Government 70,000 rupees a month; the encampment encroaching on fields of grain often costs from 300 to 400 rupees a day to make up the loss sustained by the peasants. On the other side the bridge, the road was marked out by little flags,—and a most heartbreaking road it was; entirely through the dry bed of the river, nearly axle deep in fine sand: the day was bitterly cold, the wind very high, and the flying sand filled our eyes and mouths. I was too unwell to mount my horse, and the result was that the two greys had to drag me the whole way in the Stanhope. The first thing I discovered was my ayha in her cart fixed in the sand, and quite immovable. Some soldiers came forward and helped her out of her difficulty. All the Company’s hackeries had come to an anchor. The soldiers, finding the bullocks had no power to extricate them from the sand, took out the animals, and harnessed themselves, some thirty or forty men to each cart, and dragged it until it reached better ground.
I came up to my tent at Imrutpūr, and found it was pitched close to the lines of the camp of the Governor-General; this could not be altered at the time, the other tent not having come up, and being ill I laid down to rest. The other tent did not come up until it was too late to pitch it; and in the evening I was annoyed at finding I was within the rules of the[184] camp, within the sentries, which I had given strict orders to avoid, and which my people had disobeyed by mistake when pitching the tent during the night. Indeed, the long march over the sand of the river had harassed them, and when it is particularly cold, the natives are more stupid than usual.
14th.—I was quite ill, and much inclined to give up my journey altogether, but as my tent was pitched within the rules, I got up very early, had the other tent pitched without the rules, went into it, and struck the former. Captain C⸺ wrote to mention it had been observed that the tent had been pitched within the line of sentries, and to request I would give orders to my khalasīs to prevent the recurrence of the circumstance. I therefore determined to change my route; and a note having come from Mrs. H⸺, saying their party having quitted the great camp were going to Alligarh, and requesting me to join them, I accepted the invitation with great pleasure.
19th.—Finished a march of fifteen miles before half-past eight A.M.; halted at Nawabgunge; breakfasted with my friends; a most kind welcome, a bright fire, and an excellent breakfast, made me quite happy. The formality of the great camp I had just quitted formed a strong contrast to the gaiety and cheerfulness of marching under the flag of the Resident of Gwalior.
23rd.—We arrived at Khāsgunge, and encamped in the Mango Tope just beyond the village. After breakfast, I drove four miles to see Mr. James Gardner, who had succeeded to his father’s property, and was living at his house. I found the place quite deserted; Mr. Gardner was at one of his villages some miles off, but his wife, Mulka Begam, was at home. I sent word I would pay my respects to her if she could receive me. In the mean time I went into the garden, and visited all those spots where I had so often enjoyed the society of my dear friend Colonel Gardner. The pavilion in the centre of the garden, in which I had nursed him when he was so ill, recalled to mind the conversation we then had, which ended in his taking me to the tomb of his son just beyond the garden; we sat on that tomb, and the dear old man said, pointing to the spot, “I wish to be buried there, by the side of my son; another year will not pass ere I shall be[185] placed there; you are very kind in trying to persuade me, my dear daughter, that I have still many years before me, but I feel I am going, my constitution is gone; it is well that with old age we feel all these pains and the ills that accompany it; were it not so, we should never be willing to quit this world.” Our conversation lasted some time, afterwards he took my arm, and we returned slowly to the house. I visited his grave: his son had raised a tomb on the spot selected by his father; it was not quite finished. I knelt at the grave of my kind, kind friend, and wept and prayed in deep affliction. His Begam had only survived him a few days. She was buried in the same tomb, with her head to Mecca, towards which place the face of a true believer is always turned when laid in the grave. The corpse of a Muhammadan is laid on its back in the grave, with the head to the north and feet to the south, turning its face towards the kibla (or Mecca, i.e. west). The Shī’as make their tombs for men of the same shape as the Sunnīs make those for females; and for women like those of the Sunnīs for men, but with a hollow, or basin, in the centre of the upper part.
Mulka Begam received me very kindly; she showed me her little girl, the youngest, about two years old, whom she said was reckoned very like me. The child was shy, and clung to her ayha, frightened at a stranger; I could scarcely catch a glimpse of her face. The eldest boy was from home with his father; the second son, William Linnæus, so called after his grandfather, was at home; he is a very fine, intelligent boy. I requested leave to bring Mrs. H⸺ to pay her a visit that evening, and then asking permission to depart, I returned to the tents. In the evening, our party set off for Khāsgunge: we walked in the garden, and visited the tomb. Major Sutherland spoke of Colonel Gardner as a most gallant officer, and recorded several most dashing actions in which he had distinguished himself in many parts of the country; gallantry that had not met the recompense due to it from Government;—the value of a spirit such as Colonel Gardner’s had not been properly appreciated by the rulers of the land.
When the evening closed in, the gentlemen went into the outer[186] house, and I took Mrs. H⸺ into the zenāna: as dark beauties always look best by candle-light, I had selected a late hour to visit the Begam; she was sitting on her gaddī when we went in, surrounded by her three beautiful children, and was in herself a picture. The little girl, my likeness, had lost all her shyness, and was figuring about like a dancing girl; on remarking the extraordinary change from shyness to such violent spirits, Mulka said, “She has had some opium, that makes her so fearless.” We sat an hour with the Begam, and then took our leave. We found the gentlemen in the outer house, sitting over a warm fire, and an excellent dinner of native dishes was ready; having dined, we returned by torch-light to the tents.
My friends were much gratified with their visit to Khāsgunge; I had spoken so warmly of the beauty of Mulka Begam, that I was pleased to find Mrs. H⸺ admired equally both her person and manners.
25th.—Our morning march was thus: Mr. H⸺, Major Sutherland and myself on horseback; Mrs. H⸺ in a palanquin-carriage, that rivalled Noah’s ark; it held herself, three children, three ayhas, two dogs, and packages without number; four good Arab horses had hard work to pull it six miles over such roads: the rest of the march was performed in buggies, with a relay of horses on the road. Major Sutherland, on his beautiful Arab, used to fly over the country in true Pindaree style; some of his Arabs I coveted exceedingly. In the evening the gentlemen took their guns; no game was to be found,—the land was generally perfectly bare, not a blade of grass,—the game had perished for want of food. The whole country around Zezaree was very flat and uninteresting; the only picturesque object we could find during these evening rambles was an old well; these wells we used to seek out and peer into as if we belonged to the Thuggee department, and were searching for dead bodies. Our life in tents was very agreeable, and I believe the whole party were sorry the next march would bring us to Alligarh, and once more into the form and stupidity of life in a house; for myself, the idea of having any roof over my head but that of a[187] tent fell like a nightmare on my spirits; and the giving up hunting for old wells was a complete sacrifice.
26th.—Arrived at Alligarh; were kindly welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. H⸺, and pitched our tents in the Compound; in the evening we visited the fort, rendered famous for the gallant style in which it was taken, in Lord Lake’s time, from General Perron. The fort was strong, and surrounded by a fine ditch; to have approached it in a regular manner would have taken a month. A party of the ⸺ regiment had a skirmish with some of the men belonging to the fort; as these men retreated over the first bridge the English fought with, and entered the first gate with them. When within the gate they were exposed to a heavy fire on every side; just under a large peepul tree, close to the gate, six of the officers were killed; the rest crossed the second bridge, and fixed their ladders on the wall; but by their own ladders the enemy descended upon them. After dreadful slaughter, the second gate was entered, and the English took possession of the fort.
General M⸺ was wounded in the assault, and obliged to retire; it was fortunate for his memory he was an actor in one scene of gallantry, for his after-conduct gave rise to a song that is known to every sepahī in the service.
The English lowered the walls of the fort, but left one small portion standing, to show their great original height. The fort formerly had but one entrance, which opened on the ditch; the English built another gate on the opposite side, and another bridge across the ditch; the place was kept in repair for a short time, but is now in ruins. Within the fort, on the right, is a model of the ground plan. I only regret I cannot very well remember all that was told me at the time in the most animated manner by Major Sutherland, who, himself a distinguished officer, was greatly interested in the Fort of Alligarh.
27th.—Our party drove to the race-stand, to see the horses that are in training for the races: certainly, Botanist and Faustus, two very fine Arabs, belonging to Mr. B⸺, are beautiful creatures. In the evening we visited a house and garden, formerly the property of General Perron, now in the possession of Major Derridon, who married his sister.
Major Cureton, of the 16th Lancers, dined with us; we had a long conversation about the old regiment; he told me the 16th had sent Mr. Blood a present of a silver shield. How much the old man will feel and value the honour conferred upon him by his regiment!
28th.—Visited Mr. B⸺’s stud to see his beautiful Arabs: in the evening we went to the tomb of the officers who fell at the taking of the Fort; eight of them are buried there, and a monument is erected to their memory. Thence we went to a Masjid, situated on a hill in the town,—a very picturesque object from a distance. At its side is the ruin of a very old Kos Minar, which is remarkable. Rain threatened, the clouds were black and heavy, the thunder rolled, but only a few, a very few drops descended. Without rain all the crops now above ground will perish, and the famine will continue.
29th.—With regret I separated this day from the party, to pursue my route alone to Meerut, they to take the opposite direction to Muttra, Gwalior, and Agra: Mr. H⸺ and Miss B⸺ accompanied me the first six miles on the march. How curious appeared the solitude of my tents away from the happy party I had quitted! yet I enjoyed the quiet, the silence, and the being alone once more.
30th.—Encamped at Koorjah; a tufān of wind and sand all day; no grass to be had or seen, the earth all dried up. In the Faquir’s Bāghīcha is a picturesque tomb and ruined mosque.
31st.—Encamped at Bulandsher; quitted the good Delhi road to turn to Meerut; the wind very high, and miserably cold, the sand flying like dust, covering every thing in the tent, and filling my eyes. The servants annoyed me by disobeying orders; the food was bad,—the Arab’s saddle wrung his back,—every[189] thing went wrong. What a distance I have marched! how generally barren, flat, and uninteresting the country has been! I saw a very fine banyan tree a day or two ago, but the general face of the country is a sandy plain, interspersed with a few green fields near the wells, and topes of mango trees: in one of these topes my tent is pitched to-day. My beautiful dog Nero is dead. What folly in this climate to be fond of any thing!—it is sure to come to an untimely end.
Feb. 3rd.—Encamped at Kerkowdah; at this spot my relative, Capt. E. S⸺, met me, to conduct me to his house at Meerut. How changed we were! our first impulse was to laugh at each other; when last we met we were happy young creatures, playing at games of every sort on the lawn at Somerford Booths. Our voices, the expression of our countenances, were, perhaps, the same; in other respects the alteration was so great, how could we help laughing at each other?
4th.—Arrived at Meerut, pitched my tents in the Compound, i.e. the grounds around the house.
6th.—The Governor-General and the Camp arrived.
7th.—Attended a ball given by the officers of the artillery to the Governor-General; Lord Auckland and the Misses Eden were gracious, and had I not been suffering from illness, I should have enjoyed the party.
9th.—Drove to the Sūraj Kūnd, or Spring of the Sun, a remarkably large tank; a little further on are a great number of satī mounds of peculiar construction. In the evening attended a ball, given by the station to the Governor-General and his party.
12th.—Dined with General and Mrs. R⸺ to meet the Governor-General and his party; the dinner was given in one great tent, which held eighty guests at table. In the evening the party went to a ball given by the Buffs to the Governor-General; the room was gay and well-lighted, ornamented with rays of steel, formed of bayonets and ramrods; a sort of throne was decorated with the colours of the regiment for the Governor-General. The dancing was carried on with spirit; the finale an excellent supper.
Mr. W⸺ invited me to Lahore, to witness the meeting of the Governor-General and Runjeet Singh. I promised to accept the invitation, if in that part of the world in November, but I fear I shall be far distant. Captain O⸺ sent me three Italian greyhound pups; they dart about in the most amusing manner. I hope the little delicate creatures will live. Wishing to view the ruins of Delhi, I sent off my tents one march to await me. In the evening I went to the theatre, to see the performance of the privates of the artillery. The men built their own theatre, painted their own scenes, and are themselves the performers. The scenery is excellent, the house crowded; the men acted remarkably well; and the ladies, strapping artillery men, six feet high, were the cause of much laughter. A letter from Allahabad informed me, “the 12th of January was one of the great bathing days, the river and its banks were covered with the pilgrims; for days and days we saw them passing in one almost continued line, very few rich people amongst them, principally the lower orders. There is no tax now levied by the Government, but an officer is sent down with a guard as usual. There was a storm in the morning, and the rain had been pouring ever since. The poor creatures now on their way in thousands for to-morrow’s bathing will suffer dreadfully, and all their tamāshā be spoiled.”
“VEDI NAPOLI, E POI MORI.”
“I’ll thank you for your name, Sir.”
Happiness of being alive—March from Meerut to Delhi—Method of Stealing a Camel—Delhi—The Church—Monument erected to Wm. Frazer, Esq., B.C.S.—The Canal of Paradise—Mimic Warfare—Tomb of Humaioon—Fort of Feroze Shāh—Masjid of Zeenut al Nissa—Masjid of Roshan-ool-Dowla—Datisca Cannabina—Mimosa Scandens—Washing by Steam—The Kutub Minār—Ancient Colonnades—Kutub kā Lāt—Unfinished Minār.
1838, Feb.—With the Neapolitan saying, “Vedi Napoli, e poi mori,” I beg leave to differ entirely, and would rather offer this advice,—“See the Tājmahal, and then—see the Ruins of Delhi.” How much there is to delight the eye in this bright, this beautiful world! Roaming about with a good tent and a good Arab, one might be happy for ever in India: a man might possibly enjoy this sort of life more than a woman; he has his dog, his gun, and his beaters, with an open country to shoot over, and is not annoyed with—“I’ll thank you for your name, Sir.” I have a pencil instead of a gun, and believe it affords me satisfaction equal, if not greater than the sportsman derives from his Manton.
On my return from the theatre I sought my charpāī, and slept—Oh, how soundly!—was dressed, and on my horse by 6 A.M., having enjoyed four hours and a half of perfect rest. “Sleep is the repose of the soul[25].” I awoke from my slumber perfectly refreshed, and my little soul was soon cantering away on the back of an Arab, enjoying the pure, cool, morning breeze. Oh! the pleasure of vagabondizing over India!
16th.—We rode part of the distance, and drove the remainder of the march, sixteen miles; found the tents ready, and the khidmatgārs on the look out. Took a breakfast such as hungry people eat, and then retired to our respective tents. The fatigue was too much; the novel dropped from my hand, and my sleepy little soul sank to repose for some hours.
When the sun was nearly down, we roamed over the fields with the gentlemen and their guns, but found no game. Thus passed the day of the first march on the road to Delhi at Begamabad.
17th.—Arrived early at Furrudnagar, another long distance; a high wind, clouds of dust, and a disagreeable day. During the night the servants were robbed of all their brass lotas and cooking utensils. A thief crept up to my camels, that were picketed just in front of the tent, selected the finest, cut the rope and strings from his neck; then, having fastened a very long thin rope to the animal, away crept the thief. Having got to the end of the line, the thief gave the string a pull, and continued doing so until he rendered the camel uneasy; the animal got up,—another pull—he turned his head, another—and he quietly followed the twitching of the cord that the thief held; who succeeded in separating him from the other camels, and got him some twenty yards from the tent; just at this moment the sentry observed the camel quietly departing, he gave the alarm, the thief fled, and the animal was brought back to the camp;—a few yards more the thief would have been on his back, and we should have lost the camel.
Palace and Fort of Delhi.
فاني پارکس
18th.—Marched into Delhi: the first sight of the city from[193] the sands of the Jumna is very imposing; the fort, the palace, the mosques and minarets, all crowded together on the bank of the river, is a beautiful sight. “In the year of the Hijerah, 1041 (A.D. 1631-2), the Emperor Shāhjahān founded the present city and palace of Shāhjahānabad, which he made his capital during the remainder of his reign. The new city of Shāhjahānabad lies on the western bank of the Jumna, in latitude 28° 36′ North. The city is about seven miles in circumference, and is surrounded on three sides by a wall of brick and stone; a parapet runs along the whole, but there are no cannon planted on the ramparts. The city has seven gates: viz., Lahore gate, Delhi gate, Ajimere gate, Turkoman gate, Moor gate, Cabul gate, Cashmere gate; all of which are built of freestone, and have handsome arched entrances of stone, where the guards of the city kept watch.”
We entered the town by the Delhi gate: during the rains, when the river flows up to and by the walls of the city, the view from a boat must be beautiful; at present the river is shallow, with great sandbanks in the centre. We crossed a bridge of boats, and encamped in front of the church.
The church was built by Colonel Skinner, planned by Colonel S⸺; I do not like the design: it was put into execution by Captain D⸺. The dome appears too heavy for the body of the church, and in the inside it is obliged to be supported by iron bars,—a most unsightly affair. A man should visit the ruins of Gaur, and there learn how to build a dome, ere he attempt it. Colonel Skinner is a Christian; the ladies of his family are Musalmanīs, and for them he has built a mosque opposite the church. In the churchyard is the tomb of Mr. William Frazer, who was murdered by the Nawab Shumsheodin: Colonel Skinner has erected a monument to the memory of his friend; it is of white marble, in compartments, which are inlaid with green stones, representing the weeping willow; the whole was executed at Jeypore, and cost, it is said, 10,000 rupees. On the top is a vase, and, in a compartment in front of the church is a Persian inscription. Below are these lines, and in front of the lines are two lions reposing: to none but an Irishman[194] would it be clear that the us in the epitaph proceeds from the lions:—
On the other side the monument is another inscription, also written by Colonel Skinner.
THE REMAINS
INTERRED BENEATH THIS MONUMENT
WERE ONCE ANIMATED
BY AS BRAVE AND SINCERE
A SOUL
AS WAS EVER VOUCHSAFED TO MAN
BY HIS
Creator!
A BROTHER IN FRIENDSHIP
HAS CAUSED IT TO BE ERECTED,
THAT, WHEN HIS OWN FRAME IS DUST,
IT MAY REMAIN
AS A
MEMORIAL
FOR THOSE WHO CAN PARTICIPATE IN LAMENTING
THE SUDDEN AND MELANCHOLY LOSS
OF ONE
DEAR TO HIM AS LIFE.
WILLIAM FRAZER
DIED MARCH 22ND, 1835.
In the evening the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī, Hindū Rāo, sent me an elephant, and Colonel Skinner sent another; on these we mounted, and went through all the principal streets of the city. Dehlī or Dillī, the metropolis of Hindūstān, is generally called by Musalmāns Shāhjahān-ābād, and, by Europeans, Delhi. The Chāndnī chauk, a very broad and handsome street, is celebrated; it has a canal that runs through and down the centre of it; but such is the demand for water, that not a drop[195] now reaches Delhi, it being drawn off for the irrigation of the country, ere it arrive at the city. This fine stream is called Nahr-i-Bihísht, or “Canal of Paradise.” “In the reign of Shāhjahān, Ali Merdan Khan, a nobleman, dug, at his own expense, a canal, from the vicinity of the city of Panniput, near the head of the Doo-ab, to the suburbs of Delhi;—a tract of ninety miles in extent. This noble canal is called by the natives the ‘Canal of Paradise,’ and runs from north to south, in general about ten miles distant from the Jumna, until it joins that river nine miles below the city of New Delhi: it yielded formerly fourteen lākh of rupees per annum. At present it is out of repair, and in many places almost destroyed.”
As we went round the Jáma Masjid, a fine mosque, I thought of the words of the Prophet,—“Masjids are the gardens of Paradise, and the praises of God the fruit thereof.” On the high flight of steps leading to the mosque were hundreds of people in gay dresses, bargaining for cloth, sweetmeats, &c.
The inhabitants of Delhi appear to delight in dresses of the gayest colours, and picturesque effect is added to every scene by their graceful attire. Native gentlemen of rank, attended by large sawārīs (retinues) on horseback, on elephants, or on camels, are met at every turn, rendering the scene very amusing and animated. Nevertheless, in spite of all this apparent splendour, a proverb is used to express the vanity and indigence prevalent in that city:—“Dillī ke dilwālī munh chiknā pet khālī;” “The inhabitants of Dihlī appear to be opulent, when, in fact, they are starving.” A little beyond the Jáma Masjid is the wall of the palace,—a most magnificent wall; I was delighted with it and its gateways. Shortly afterwards we turned our elephants towards the tents, and returned, considerably fatigued, to dinner.
19th.—This morning we had decided on visiting the tomb of Humaioon, but, on mounting our horses, hearing firing at a distance, we rode off to see what amusement was going forward, leaving the visit to the tomb for another day. It was lucky we did so, I would not on any account have missed the scene. We galloped away, to save time, and found Lord Auckland and his[196] party at a review; after looking at the review a short time, Captain S⸺, himself an engineer, took me to see a very interesting work: the sappers and miners had erected a mud-fort; trenches were regularly formed in front of the fort, to cover the attacking party, and mines were formed underground to a considerable distance. We walked through the long galleries, which were all lighted up, and Captain S⸺ explained the whole to me. On our return, Lord Auckland came up, examined the fort, and walked through the miners’ galleries. The attack commenced, the great guns blazed away at the bastion, which was blown up in good style by the miners; the soldiers mounted the breach and took the fort, whilst, on the right, it was scaled by another party. This mimic war was very animated; I like playing at soldiers, and it gave me an excellent idea of an attack, without the horror of the reality: another mine was sprung, and the warfare ended. The sun was high and very hot,—we rode home as fast as our horses could carry us,—only stopping on the top of a rocky hill near the late Mr. Frazer’s house, to admire the view of Delhi, which lay below a mass of minarets and domes, interspersed with fine trees. Near this spot Mr. Frazer was shot. The house was bought by Hindū Rāo for 20,000 rupees. Out of this rocky hill a sort of red gravel is dug, which forms the most beautiful roads.
After breakfast we struck our tents, and came to stay with a friend, who has a fine house in beautiful grounds, with a garden filled to profusion with the gayest flowers, situated just beyond the Cashmere gate of the city. Colonel Edward Smith, of the engineers, deserves great credit for the style and good taste he has displayed in the architecture of this gate of Delhi, and for several other buildings which were pointed out to me as of his design in other parts of the city. We found the tents very hot within the walls, with flies innumerable, like the plague of Egypt; at least, they must be quite as bad during the hot season. In the evening we went to a ball, given by Mr. Metcalfe to the Governor-General and his party.
20th.—The ball gave me a headache, and I was suffering a good deal of pain, when a native lady came to see me, on the[197] part of the Nawāb Shah Zamānee Begam, the Emperor’s unmarried sister, from whom she brought a complimentary message, and a request that I would call upon her at the palace. The lady, finding me in pain, most kindly shampooed and mulled my forehead so delightfully, that my headache was charmed away;—shampooing is the great luxury of the East.
In the evening we drove through the ruins of old Delhi to the tomb of the Emperor Humaioon. The drive is most interesting; you cannot turn your eye in any direction but you are surrounded by ruins of the most picturesque beauty. The tomb of Humaioon is a fine massive building, well worth visiting: it is kept in good repair. There are several monuments within the chambers of the mausoleum that are of carved white marble. The tomb of the Emperor is very plain, and without any inscription. On the terrace is a very elegant white marble monument, richly carved, of peculiar construction, over the remains of a Begam. The different and extensive views from the terrace over the ruins of old Delhi are very beautiful.
Captain William Franklin gives the following description of this mausoleum:—
“The tomb of Humaioon, the son of Baber, the second of the imperial house of Timur, was erected by his son Akbar, on the western bank of the Jumna, in the old city of Delhi.
“The terrace, which is of red stone, is two thousand feet in circumference. The mausoleum, which is also of red stone, rises from this terrace. It is of circular form, surmounted by a stupendous dome of white marble. Conspicuous from its dimensions, this dome is seen from a great distance. Four minarets of red and white marble support the extremities of the building. These are crowned with octagonal pavilions of red stone, having marble cupolas. I judge the height to be about one hundred and twenty feet. A winding staircase of red stone leads to a terrace, which encircles the exterior of the dome: hence you have a noble prospect, both of old and new Delhi.
“The principal room below is paved with large slabs of white[198] marble. It contains the tomb of Humaioon, of the common size, but elegantly decorated with chisel work. It bears no inscription. Adjoining to this room are other apartments, in which are interred several princesses of the house of Timur.
“Upon the terrace before-mentioned are the graves of five princes of the royal family; viz., Darah Shekoah, who was put to death by the order of his brother Aurunzebe; 2nd, Mooizadeen, or Jahandar; 3rdly, Shah Furrukseir, put to death by the Seyuds; 4thly, Beedar Bukht; and 5thly, Azim Shah, son of Aurunzebe. Near them is the grave of the late emperor, the second Aulumgeer.
“About two hundred yards from this mausoleum, is that of the famous Khan Khanan, prime minister of Jehangeer, and son of the renowned Byram Khan, remarkable for contributing in so great a degree, during the successive reigns of Humaioon, Akbar, and Jehangeer, to establish the house of Timur on the throne of Hindostan. The tomb resembles, both in size and shape, that of the Nawāb Suftar Jung.”
On our return, we visited the old Fort of Delhi. The guide pointed out to us a building, which he called a khwāb khāna, or sleeping apartment; from this building Humaioon fell by accident, and was killed.
The mosque in the Fort attracted our admiration; it is a beautiful building. Passing out at the other gate brought us opposite to the Lall Durwaza, the carriage was in waiting, and I returned home.
Feb. 21st.—We mounted our horses and rode to a ruin, beyond the Delhi Gate, called the Kotīla of Feroze Shāh. This is an old Fort completely in ruins. In the centre some arches still remain, on the top of which is a platform, on which is erected a lāt, a pillar of a single stone of great height, which is said to be of granite; a number of inscriptions are on the pillar. It measures at the base upwards of twelve feet in circumference. The top is broken, apparently shivered by lightning.
The following extracts, from Captain William Franklin’s Memoirs of Mr. George Thomas, and his Visit to Delhi in 1793, are interesting:—
“A mile to the southward of the city are the remains of the fort, palace, and mosque of the Patan emperor, the first Feroze. These ruins embrace a considerable extent. The walls of the fort are of immense thickness, and the prodigious quantity of granite, with other stones, spread in heaps over the whole of the interior of the inclosure, denote it to have been a grand and splendid edifice. This fort was built Anno Hijirah 755, and was destroyed by the Mogul conqueror Timoor, in his invasion of Hindostan. Toward the centre of the place, is a building, of an ancient style, flanked with round pillars, and crowned with turrets of three stories. At the top of this building, on an ample terrace of stone, about forty feet in height, is a column of brown granite. On this column is an inscription, in the ancient character before-mentioned, as discernible on the pillar in the Fort of Allahabad, and composed of the same materials. This pillar is called by the natives Feroze Cotelah, the staff of Feroze; and from the construction of the building on which it is placed, I should conjecture it has been a monument of Hindoo grandeur prior to the irruptions of the Musulmans. Adjoining to the Cotelah is a very large building, differing in the style of its architecture from those mosques built subsequent to the establishment of the Moguls. This mosque is square, has four extensive aisles, or cloisters, the roofs of which are stone, and supported by two hundred and fifty columns of stone, about sixteen feet high. The length of the cloisters gives a grand appearance to the building. An octangular dome of stone and brickwork, about twenty-five feet high, rises from the centre of the mosque. In the western cloister, is a kibla, or niche in the wall, in the direction of Mecca. Of this mosque, the Emperor Timoor took a model, and carrying it with him on his return to Samarcand, his capital, accompanied at the same time by artificers and workmen of every description, he, shortly after his arrival, built a magnificent temple.
“In the northern aisle of this mosque, at the upper end, is a[200] small window, from which was thrown the body of the late Emperor Allumgeer, who had been assassinated at the instigation of his Vizier, Gaziodeen Khan. The assassins were two Mahomedan devotees, whom he had invited under the pretence of their working miracles. The body of this unfortunate prince, unburied, for two days lay on the sands of the Jumna. At last it was taken up by the permission of Gaziodeen, and interred in the sepulchre of Humaioon. To me it appears that the style of building in this mosque refers to a period in the architecture of the Hindoos prior to the Mogul conquests. The mosque at Paniput, erected by the Emperor Baber, may be looked upon as the model of all the succeeding Mogul buildings.”
The Akbārābādee Masjid, which we next visited, is a large mosque, not very remarkable; perhaps this is the Masjid of the Akbārābādee Begam, whose tomb is near the Tāj at Agra.
Thence we went to the Zeenut-al-Masjid, on the side of the Jumna, erected by a daughter of Aurangzeb, by name Zeenut-al-Nissa; it is a very beautiful mosque, the minarets remarkably elegant, and two of the pillars in front of the entrance, beautifully carved, are of elegant form. “It is of red stone, with inlayings of marble, and has a spacious terrace in front, with a capacious reservoir, faced with marble. The princess who built it, having declined entering into the married state, laid out a large sum of money in the above mosque; and on its completion, she built a sepulchre of white marble, surrounded by a wall of the same, in the west corner of the terrace. Here she was buried, in the year of the Hijerah 1122, corresponding to the year of Christ, 1710.”
We called on Colonel Skinner, and saw his sister, an old lady very like her brother, with a dark complexion and white hair. The Chandnī Chauk is a fine street, and its bazār the best in the city; we rode through it about 4 P.M.; it was filled with crowds of gaily-dressed natives.
We observed with great interest the gilded domes of the mosque of Roshan-ool-Dowla, at one end of the Chandnī[201] Chauk; it is of the common size, built of red stone, and surmounted by three domes. The King of Persia took Delhi, A.D. 1739. Nadir Shah, on hearing of a tumult that broke out in the great market-place, in which two thousand Persians were slain, marched out at night with his men as far as this Masjid; here he thought it prudent to halt until daylight. When daylight began to appear, a person from a neighbouring terrace fired upon the king, and killed an officer by his side. Nadir Shah was so much enraged, that although the tumult had by this time totally subsided, he sent out his soldiers, and ordered a general massacre of the inhabitants. This order was executed with so much rigour, that before 2 P.M., above one hundred thousand, without distinction of age, sex, or condition, lay dead in their blood, although not above one-third part of the city was visited by the sword. Nadir Shah sat during this dreadful scene in the Masjid of Roshan-ool-Dowla; none but slaves dared approach him. At length the unfortunate Emperor of Delhi, attended by a number of his chief omrah, ventured before him with downcast eyes. The omrah who preceded the king, bowed their foreheads to the ground. Nadir Shah sternly asked them what they wanted? They cried out with one voice, “Spare the city.” Muhammad said not a word, but the tears flowed fast from his eyes. The tyrant, for once touched with pity, sheathed his sword, and said, “For the sake of the prince Muhammad I forgive.” The massacre was instantly stopped.
Since that dreadful carnage, this quarter of Delhi has been but very thinly inhabited.
An auction of the presents that had been made to the Government having been advertised to take place at a Europe shop in Delhi, I went to the place, and desired them to purchase several articles for me, among others a single sheet of paper that measured forty feet in length by nineteen feet and a half in breadth. It is made, they tell me, from the fibres of the leaf, or the bark of a tree, and is brought from Almorah and other parts of the hills. Some of the sheets are very large and rather coarse, others are smaller and very fine; insects do not attack shawls that are wrapped in this sort of paper. An Amadou[202] made from the same fibre is also brought from Almorah. I may here mention that many years afterwards I saw, at the Asiatic Society in London, a similar piece of paper ticketed, “A single sheet of paper measuring sixty feet by twenty-five, made in Kumaon, from the inner fibres of the Set Burrooah, or Daphne-Cannabind-tree; presented to the Asiatic Society by G. W. Traill, Esq., 1839.” Datisca cannabina, Hemp-like Datisca, Loudon.
I also saw there an enormous pod of the mimosa scandens, a wild creeper; the seed is called gela, and is used by natives chiefly for washing the hair. The dhobīs cut a hole in the centre of this seed, and by rubbing it up and down on the muslin sleeves of native dresses, produce a sort of goufré, that is admired and worn by opulent men. Speaking of washermen, it appears to me a most extraordinary thing that the English have never adopted the Asiatic method of steaming the clothes in lieu of boiling them. The process of washing by steam is very simple, gives but little trouble, and produces the most delicate whiteness. The washermen place the clothes in the evening over the most simple steam apparatus in the world, leave them all night to steam, by the next morning they are clean and fit to be removed; when all that is necessary is to rinse them in the river, dry, and iron them. What a saving of expense, time, and trouble it would be if this method were to be adopted in the public washing-houses in England!
21st.—Drove to Sir David Auchterlony’s house; there was but little to see there. Attended a ball given by the station to the Governor-General; remained an hour, and returned early to be ready for our expedition the next morning.
22nd.—Mounted our horses at daybreak, and started for the Kutab. Passed the observatory without visiting it; stopped to view the tomb of Munsoor Ali Khan Sufter Jung, Wuzeer of the Emperor Ahmud Shah, who died in 1753—1167; it is a handsome edifice.
I had seen many drawings of this famous minār, and imagined[203] I had a perfect idea of what I was to behold. The reality far exceeded my expectations, on account of its grandeur, its enormous height, and the beauty of the building. Around the Kutab are the ruins of the most magnificent arches I should think in the world. Only one of these arches is entire, its proportions are very fine; a few years,—another year, perhaps,—and this beautiful arch will give way; the upper part is tottering to its fall even now. The Kutab Minār is perhaps so called from Kutb the polar star, as being particularly distinguished and attractive of general attention; or after the conqueror of Delhi, Kutab-ud-din-Ibek, the polar star of religion; or after the famous saint, Kutb-ud-din, whose tomb lies about half a mile S.W. of the column.
Inscriptions on the Kutab Minār, transcribed and translated by Walter Ewer, Esq.
“Kutub-ud-din-Ibek, on whom be the mercy of God, constructed this mosque.”
“In the name of the most merciful God.—The Lord has invited to Paradise, and brings into the way of righteousness, him who wills it.—In the year 592 this building was commenced by the high command of Moez-ud-dunyā-ul-din Mahomad Beni Jam-Nasir Amir Mominin.”
“The Sultan Shems-ul-Hak-wa-ud-din Altamsh erected this building.”
“In the year 907 this minār, having been injured by lightning, by the aid of, and favour of God, Firoz-mund Yamani restored whatever was needed by the building. May the Lord preserve this lofty edifice from future mischance!”
“The erection of this building was commanded in the glorious time of the great Sultan, and mighty King of kings and Master of mankind, the Lord of the monarchs of Turkistan, Arabia, and Persia; the Sun of the world and religion, of the faith and the faithful; the Lord of safety and protection; the Heir of the kingdom of Suliman Abul Muzeffer Altamsh Nasir Amin-ul-Mominin.”
“The prophet, on whom be the mercy and peace of God, has[204] declared, ‘Whosoever erects a temple to the true God on earth, shall receive six such dwellings in Paradise.’—The Minār, the dwelling of the king of kings, Shems-ul-dunyā-wa-ud-din, now in peace and pardon,—(be his tomb protected, and his place assigned in Heaven!)—was injured by lightning in the reign of the exalted monarch, Secunder, the son of Behlol—(may his power and empire last for ever, and his reign be glorious!): and therefore his slave, Futteh Khan, the son of Musnud Ali, the liberal of liberals, and the meritorious servant of the king, repaired it according to command, the 13th of Rubi-ul-Akber, in the year 909.”
March 30th, 1825.
Franklin’s account of this pillar is as follows:—“The Coottub Minar is situated near, and derives its name from, the tomb of Khaja Cuttubadeen. His disciple, Shemsadeen, of the family of Ghazi, erected this column, anno Hijira, 770. The column has a most stupendous appearance: conceive a shaft of sixty feet diameter, composed partly of red stone, partly of white marble, rising to the height of two hundred and fifty feet.
“Ascending this pillar, relief is afforded by four projecting galleries of red stone; tapering towards the summit, it was crowned with an octagonal pavilion, which perhaps would have contained at least a dozen persons. Each of the galleries are most richly, though differently, ornamented: the column is relieved and rendered strikingly bold by convex and angular projections.
“Within this grand tower is a circular staircase of three hundred and eighty steps of red stone; there are, at intervals, landing-places, which communicate with the windows; from the octagon on the summit the view is strikingly grand. Inscriptions in several parts twelve inches in breadth, embrace the column; these contain verses from the khoran, in the Arabic character. The galleries are supported by sculptured ornaments, of which the richness is greatly heightened by a profusion of frieze-work.”
On the night of the 31st of August, 1803, the minār was shattered from the foundation by an earthquake; the injury occasioned by it has been lately repaired by Colonel Edward Smith, of the engineers, who conducted the work with great judgment, having to remove and refix some of the large stones at the base of the tower. His judgment and taste failed when repairing the top of the edifice; even from a distance the sort of pavilion which he erected on the top appears heavy, and unfitted to the proportions of the rest of the minār, which is fine by degrees, and beautifully less. Not content with this, he placed an umbrella of Chinese form on the top of the pavilion; it was not destined to remain,—the lightning struck it off, as if indignant at the profanation. The minār is covered with Arabic inscriptions and the most elaborate workmanship.
The colonnades around the Kutab are very remarkable; some of them are of the same style of architecture as the old Hindū ruin at Kanauj, of which I have given a sketch; one large long stone placed upright upon another of the same description, without any mortar. Some of the colonnades are almost perfectly plain, others richly sculptured; they appear to be very ancient.
West of the Kutab, about fifty yards, and in the middle of the colonnaded court in front of the exquisite arch I mentioned before, stands an iron column about twenty feet high, called “Kutab kí Lāt,” or “Kutab’s Staff.” It is covered with inscriptions, some of which are said to be in an unknown character, and are nearly effaced by time. The more recent are in Persian and Hindī characters. It is said that this iron column was raised by the grandfather of Raja Pittourah, on the representation of the Brahmans, who assured him that the sceptre would never depart from his posterity as long as this pillar stood. Raja Pittourah, however, was killed in the eighth battle fought near Delhi by Kutab-u-dīn-Abek, who, to show his contempt for the prophecy of the Brahmans, and to evince its[206] failure, allowed the column to remain. The pillar is dented near the top by a cannon-shot fired at it by Gholam Kadir.
Near the Kutab is the foundation of another minār, which was commenced on a larger scale, but was never finished.
Extracts from Colonel John Luard’s “Views in India”—“The Cutteb Minar Dhelie.”⸺“This wonderful pillar derives its name from Cutteb-ud-din (the pole-star of religion) who having come from Turkistan as a slave, was purchased by the Emperor Mahomed Ghori—rose in his favour,—became a general,—and ultimately succeeded to the throne,—and was the first of the Patan, or Afghan sovereigns. In the year 589 Hegira, 1193 A.D., he took the fort of Merut, and the city of Dhelie, from the family of Candy Rai, and established the seat of his government there, and obliged all the districts around to acknowledge the Mussalman faith. To commemorate this and other successes over the infidels, this pillar was commenced about the year 1195 A.D. The circumference at the base is 143 feet;—height of the first balcony, 90 feet—the second, 140—the third, 180—the fourth, 203.—Total height in 1826 was 243 feet. The original sketch was made in 1823.”
“Shumse-ud-din-Altumsh married a daughter of Cuttub-ud-din-Ibek. Like his father-in-law, he was formerly a slave, and was purchased for 50,000 pieces of silver. He became a great general, and succeeded to the imperial throne of Dhelie in 607 Hegira, 1210 A.D. He was an able, enterprising, and good prince—reigned twenty-six years,—died in 1235 A.D., and is buried in this elaborately ornamented building, placed about 200 yards from the Cutteb Minar, which he assisted in constructing. His tomb is built of white marble and red granite.”
Having roamed around the tower and colonnades the whole morning, we retired to our tents to dine during the heat of the day.
Ancient Delhi—The Bā’olī—Tombs of Shah’ālam, Bahādur Shah, and Akbar Shah—The Zenāna Ghār—Extent of the Ruins—The Observatory—Palace of Shāhjahānabad—The Zenāna—Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam—Poverty of the Descendants of Tamurlane—The Effect of a Zenāna education on Man and Woman—Death of Prince Dara Bukht—The Dewani Am—The Dewani Khas—The Palace—The Shah-burj—Gardens of Shalimar—Ruins of Palaces and Baths—The Modern City—Tees Huzzari Bagh—The Madrissa—The Jama Masjid—The Kala Masjid—Plan of the City of Delhi—Quitted Delhi, and returned to Meerut—Tomb of Pīr Shah.
1838, Feb. 22nd.—In the cool of the evening we mounted our horses, and rode to Ancient Delhi, or Indrapesta, now called Marowlie, the capital of the former Rajas. At this place, many houses were pointed out to us as having belonged to the mighty dead; but my attention was arrested by a bā’olī, an immense well. From the top of the well to the surface of the water the depth is sixty feet, and the depth of water below forty feet; just above the surface of the water the side of the well opens on a flight of stone steps, which lead to the upper regions. I peered over the well to see the water, and shuddered as I looked into the dark cold depth below; at that instant a man jumped from the top into the well, sank a great depth, rose again, and, swimming to the opening, came up the steps like a drenched rat; three more immediately followed his example, and then gaily claimed a “bakshish,” or reward, begging a rupee, which was given: we did not stay to see the sport repeated, at which the jumpers appeared disappointed.
Quitting the bā’olī, we visited the tombs of the three last emperors of Delhi,—Bahādur Shah, Shah’ālam, and Akbar Shah. The latter had been placed there within a few weeks; the tomb of Shah’ālam is of white marble, and about eighteen inches distant from that of the Emperor Bahādur Shah, over whose tomb flourishes a white jasmine. How are the mighty fallen! I had visited the tomb of Humaioon, and the still grander monument of Akbar at Secundra; had admired the magnificent building, its park and portal. The last Akbar reposes side by side with the two former emperors. Three marble tombs, prettily sculptured, in a small open court, the walls of which are of white marble, is all that adorns the burial-place of the descendants of Tamurlane!
The building that most interested me was the Royal Zenāna Ghār. At certain times of the year the Emperor of Delhi used to retire to this spot with all his ladies; the place is prettily situated amidst rocks and trees: there, seated at ease on his cushions of state, his amusement was to watch the sports of the ladies of the zenāna, as they jumped from the roof of a verandah into the water below, and then came up to jump in again. On the other side is another tank, with a sloping bank of masonry; on this slope the ladies used to sit, and slide down into the tank. In the water, amidst the trees, the graceful drapery of the Musulmanī and Hindū ladies clinging to their well-formed persons must have had a beautiful effect. During these sports guards were stationed around, to prevent the intrusion of any profane eye on the sacredness of the zenāna.
At 9 P.M. we revisited the minār: the night was remarkably fine, no moon, but a dark blue, clear star-light. The minār is fine by day, its magnitude surprising; but, by night, a feeling of awe is inspired by its unearthly appearance. If you ask a native, “Who built the Kutab?” his answer will generally be,—“God built it;—who else could have built it?” And such is the feeling as you stand at the base, looking up to the top of the column of the polar star, which appears to tower into the skies: I could not withdraw my eyes from it; the ornaments, beautiful as they are by day, at night, shadowed as they were into the mass of building,[209] only added to its grandeur. We roamed through the colonnades, in the court of the beautiful arches, and returned most unwillingly to our tents.
23rd.—Quitted the Kutab without revisiting Tuglukabad, our time not admitting of it; and I greatly regretted not having the power of visiting the tombs that surrounded us on every side the ruins of Ancient Delhi. The extent of these ruins is supposed not to be less than a circumference of twenty miles, reckoning from the gardens of Shalimar, on the north-west, to the Kutab Minār, on the south-east, and proceeding thence along the centre of the old city, by way of the mausoleum of Nizam-al-Deen, the tomb of Humaioon, which adjoins, and the old fort of Delhi, on the Jumna, to the Ajmeer gate of Shāhjahānabad. The environs to the north and west are crowded with the remains of the spacious gardens and country houses of the nobility, which in former times were abundantly supplied with water, by means of the noble canal dug by Ali Merdan Khan.
Franklin remarks,—“Ancient Delhi is said by historians to have been erected by Rajah Delu, who reigned in Hindūstan prior to the invasion of Alexander the Great: others affirm it to have been built by Rajah Pettouvar, who flourished at a much later period. It is called in Sanscrit Indraput, or the Abode of Indra, one of the Hindū deities, and is thus distinguished in the royal diplomas of the Chancery office.”
On our road home, about a mile and a half from the present city of Delhi, we stopped to visit the Observatory, Jantr-Mantr, a building well worthy the inspection of the traveller. The name of Jayasinha, the Rajah of Ambhere, or Jayanagar, and his astronomical labours, are not unknown in Europe; but yet the extent of his exertions in the cause of science is little known; his just claims to superior genius and zeal demand some enumeration of the labours of one whose name is conspicuous in the annals of Hindūstan. Jey-sing or Jayasinha succeeded to the inheritance of the ancient Rajahs of Ambhere in the year of Vicramadittya 1750, corresponding to 1693 of the Christian[210] æra. His mind had been early stored with the knowledge contained in the Hindū writings, but he appears to have peculiarly attached himself to the mathematical sciences, and his reputation for skill in them stood so high, that he was chosen by the Emperor Mahommed Shah to reform the calendar, which, from the inaccuracy of the existing tables, had ceased to correspond with the actual appearance of the heavens. Jayasinha undertook the task, and constructed a new set of tables; which, in honour of the reigning prince, he named Zeej Mahommedshahy. By these, almanacks are constructed at Delhi, and all astronomical computations made at the present time.
The five observatories, which were built and finished by Jayasinha, still exist in a state more or less perfect; they were erected at Jeypoor, Matra, Benares, Oujein, and Delhi.
The next observatory, in point of size and preservation, is that at Oujein; it is situated at the southern extremity of the city, in the quarter called Jeysingpoorah, and where are still the remains of a palace of Jayasinha, who was subahdar of Malwa in the time of Mahommed Shah. The observatory at Oujein has since been converted into an arsenal and foundry of cannon.
At Matra, the remains of the observatory are in the fort which was built by Jayasinha on the banks of the Jumna.
The observatory at Delhi is situated without the wall of the city, at the distance of one mile and a quarter. It consists of several detached buildings:—
1. A large equatorial dial: its form is pretty entire, but the edges of the gnomon, and those of the circle on which the degrees were marked, are broken in several places. This is the instrument called by Jayasinha semrat-yunter (the prince of dials). It is built of stone, but the edges of the gnomon, and of the arches where the gradation was, were of white marble; a few small portions of which only remain.
2. At a little distance from this instrument, towards the north-west, is another equatorial dial; more entire, but smaller and of a different construction. In the middle stands a gnomon,[211] which, as usual in these buildings, contains a staircase up to the top. On each side of this gnomon are two concentric semicircles, having for their diameters the two edges of the gnomon; it is evident that they represent meridians. On each side of this post is another gnomon, equal in size to the former; and to the eastward and westward of them are the arches on which the hours are marked.
3. The north wall of this building connects the three gnomons at their highest end; and on this wall is described a graduated semicircle, for taking the altitudes of bodies that lie due east, or due west, from the eye of the observer.
4. To the westward of this building, and close to it, is a wall, in the plane of the meridian, on which is described a double quadrant, having for the centres the two upper corners of the wall, for observing the altitudes of bodies passing the meridian, either to the north or south of the zenith.
5. To the southward of the dial are two buildings, named Ustuánah. They exactly resemble one another, and are designed for the same purpose, which is, to observe the altitude and azimuth of the heavenly bodies. They are two in number, on purpose that two persons may observe at the same time, and so compare and correct their observations.
These buildings are circular; and in the centre of each is a pillar, of the same height as the building itself, which is open at top. From this pillar to the height of about three feet from the bottom, proceed radii of stone, horizontally, to the circular wall of the building.
6. Between these two buildings and the great equatorial dial is an instrument called shamlah. It is a concave hemispherical surface, formed of mason work, to represent the inferior hemisphere of the heavens.
The best and most authentic account of the labours of Jayasinha for the completion of his work and the advancement of astronomical knowledge, is contained in his own preface to the Zeej Mahommedshahy; from which the following extract is a literal translation:—
“To accomplish the exalted command which he had received, he (Jey-sing) bound the girdle of resolution about the loins of his soul, and constructed here (at Delhi) several of the instruments of an observatory, such as had been erected at Samarcand, agreeably to the Musalman books: such as Zat-ul-huluck, of brass, in diameter three guz of the measure now in use (which is nearly equal to two cubits of the Koran), and Zat-ul-shobetein, and Zat-ul-suchetein, and Suds-Fukheri, and Shamlah. But finding that brass instruments did not come up to the ideas that he had formed of accuracy, because of the smallness of their size, the want of division into minutes, the shaking and wearing of their axes, the displacement of the centres of the circles, and the shifting of the planes of the instruments; he concluded that the reason why the determinations of the ancients, such as Hipparchus and Ptolemy, proved inaccurate, must have been of this kind; therefore he constructed in Dar-ul-kheláfet, Shah-Jehanabad, which is the seat of empire and prosperity, instruments of his own invention, such as Jey-per-gàs and Ram-junter, and Semrat-junter, the semi-diameter of which is eighteen cubits, and one minute on it is a barleycorn and a half, of stone and lime, of perfect stability, with attention to the rules of geometry and adjustment to the meridian, and to the latitude of the place, and with care in the measuring and fixing of them; so that the inaccuracies from the shaking of the circles, and the wearing of their axes, and displacement of their centres, and the inequality of the minutes, might be corrected.
“Thus an accurate method of constructing an observatory was established; and the difference which had existed between the computed and observed places of the fixed stars and planets, by means of observing their mean motions and aberrations with such instruments, was removed. And, in order to confirm the truth of these observations, he constructed instruments of the same kind in Sewaī Jeypoor, and Matra, and Benares, and Oujein.”
After this most interesting visit to the Observatory, we returned to Delhi.
During my visit at Khāsgunge, Mr. James Gardner gave me an introduction to one of the princesses of Delhi, Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam, the aunt of the present, and sister of the late king. Mr. James Gardner is her adopted son. The princess sent one of her ladies to say she should be happy to receive me, and requested me to appoint an hour. The weather was excessively hot, but my time was so much employed I had not an hour to spare but one at noon-day, which was accordingly fixed upon.
I was taken in a palanquin to the door of the court of the building set apart for the women, where some old ladies met and welcomed me. Having quitted the palanquin, they conducted me through such queer places, filled with women of all ages; the narrow passages were dirty and wet,—an odd sort of entrance to the apartment of a princess!
Under a verandah, I found the princess seated on a gaddī, of a green colour. In this verandah she appeared to live and sleep, as her charpāī, covered with a green razā’ī, stood at the further end. She is an aged woman; her features, which are good, must have been handsome in youth; now they only tell of good descent. Green is the mourning worn by the followers of the prophet. The princess was in mourning for her late brother, the Emperor Akbar Shah. Her attire consisted of trowsers of green satin, an angiya, or boddice of green, and a cashmere shawl of the same colour: jewels are laid aside during the days of mātam (mourning). I put off my shoes before I stepped on the white cloth that covered the carpet, and advancing, made my bahut bahut adab salām, and presented a nazr of one gold mohur. The princess received me very kindly, gave me a seat by her side, and we had a long conversation. It is usual to offer a gold mohur on visiting a person of rank; it is the homage paid by the inferior to the superior: on the occasion of a second visit it is still correct to offer a nazr, which may then consist of a bouquet of freshly-gathered flowers. The compliment is graciously received, this homage being the custom of the country.
I had the greatest difficulty in understanding what the Begam said, the loss of her teeth rendering her utterance imperfect. After some time, she called for her women to play and sing for my amusement. I was obliged to appear pleased, but my aching head would willingly have been spared the noise. Her adopted son, the son of the present King Bahadur Shah, came in; he is a remarkably fine, intelligent boy, about ten years old, with a handsome countenance. Several other young princes also appeared, and some of their betrothed wives, little girls of five and six years old: the girls were plain. The princess requested me to spend the day with her; saying that if I would do so, at 4 P.M. I should be introduced to the emperor (they think it an indignity to call him the king), and if I would stay with her until the evening, I should have nāches for my amusement all night. In the mean time she desired some of her ladies to show me the part of the palace occupied by the zenāna. Her young adopted son, the heir-apparent, took my hand, and conducted me over the apartments of the women. The ladies ran out to see the stranger: my guide pointed them all out by name, and I had an opportunity of seeing and conversing with almost all the begams. A plainer set I never beheld: the verandahs, in which they principally appeared to live, and the passages between the apartments, were mal propre. The young prince led me through different parts of the palace, and I was taken into a superb hall: formerly fountains had played there; the ceiling was painted and inlaid with gold. In this hall were three old women on charpāīs (native beds), looking like hags; and over the marble floor, and in the place where fountains once played, was collected a quantity of offensive black water, as if from the drains of the cook rooms. From a verandah, the young prince pointed out a bastion in which the king was then asleep, and I quitted that part of the palace, fearing the talking of those who attended me, and the laughing of the children, might arouse his majesty from his noon-day slumbers.
On my return to the princess I found her sister with her, a good-humoured, portly-looking person. They were both seated on chairs, and gave me one. This was in compliment, lest the[215] native fashion of sitting on the ground might fatigue me. The heat of the sun had given me a violent headache. I declined staying to see the king, and requested permission to depart.
Four trays, filled with fruit and sweetmeats, were presented to me; two necklaces of jasmine flowers, fresh gathered, and strung with tinsel, were put round my neck; and the princess gave me a little embroidered bag filled with spices. It is one of the amusements of the young girls in a zenāna to embroider little bags, which they do very beautifully; these they fill with spices and betel-nut, cut up into small bits; this mixture they take great delight in chewing. An English lady is not more vain of a great cat and kitten with staring eyes, worked by herself in Berlin wool, than the ladies behind the parda of their skill in embroidery. On taking my departure the princess requested me to pay her another visit; it gave her pleasure to speak of her friends at Khāsgunge. She is herself a clever, intelligent woman, and her manners are good. I had satisfied my curiosity, and had seen native life in a palace; as for beauty, in a whole zenāna there may be two or three handsome women, and all the rest remarkably ugly. I looked with wonder at the number of plain faces round me.
When any man wishes to ascend the minarets of the Jāma Masjid, he is obliged to send word to the captain of the gate of the palace, that the ladies may be apprised, and no veiled one may be beheld, even from that distance: the fame of the beauty of the generality of the women may be continued, provided they never show their faces. Those women who are beautiful are very rare, but then their beauty is very great; the rest are generally plain. In England beauty is more commonly diffused amongst all classes. Perhaps the most voluptuously beautiful woman I ever saw was an Asiatic.
I heard that I was much blamed for visiting the princess, it being supposed I went for the sake of presents. Natives do not offer presents unless they think there is something to be gained in return; and that I knew perfectly well. I went there from curiosity, not avarice, offered one gold mohur, and received in[216] return the customary sweetmeats and necklaces of flowers. Look at the poverty, the wretched poverty of these descendants of the emperors! In former times strings of pearls and valuable jewels were placed on the necks of departing visitors. When the Princess Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam in her fallen fortunes put the necklace of freshly-gathered white jasmine flowers over my head, I bowed with as much respect as if she had been the queen of the universe. Others may look upon these people with contempt, I cannot; look at what they are, at what they have been!
The indecision and effeminacy of the character of the emperor is often a subject of surprise. Why should it be so? where is the difference in intellect between a man and a woman brought up in a zenāna? There they both receive the same education, and the result is similar. In Europe men have so greatly the advantage of women from receiving a superior education, and in being made to act for, and depend upon themselves from childhood, that of course the superiority is on the male side; the women are kept under and have not fair play.
One day a gentleman, speaking to me of the extravagance of one of the young princes, mentioned he was always in debt, he could never live upon his allowance. The allowance of the prince was twelve rupees a month!—not more than the wages of a head servant.
With respect to my visit, I felt it hard to be judged by people who were ignorant of my being the friend of the relatives of those whom I visited in the zenāna. People who themselves had, perhaps, no curiosity respecting native life and manners, and who, even if they had the curiosity, might have been utterly unable to gratify it, unless by an introduction which they were probably unable to obtain.
It is a curious fact, that a native lady in a large house always selects the smallest room for her own apartment. A number of ladies from the palace at Delhi were staying in a distant house, to which place a friend having gone to visit them, found them all in the bathing-room, they having selected that as the smallest apartment in which they could crowd together.
I will here insert an extract from the Delhi Gazette of Jan. 13th, 1849.
“On Thursday morning, departed this life, Prince Dara Bukht, heir-apparent to the throne of Delhi, and with him, we have some reason to believe, all the right of the royal house to the succession, such having been guaranteed to him individually, and to no other member of the family. We sincerely trust that such is really the case, and that our Government will now be in a position to adopt steps for making efficient arrangements for the dispersion, with a suitable provision, of the family on the death of the present king. The remains of the deceased prince were interred near Cheeragh Delhi within a few hours of his death. It is a curious fact, that nearly all the native papers have long since omitted the designation of ‘Padshah’ when alluding to the King of Delhi, styling him merely ‘Shah.’”
It was too hot for me to venture round the walls of the palace, and I only paid a flying visit to the Dīwān-i-am, or Hall of Public Audience, and to the Dīwān-i-khāss, or Hall of Private Audience. The latter is built of white marble, beautifully ornamented, and the roof is supported on colonnades of marble pillars. In this hall the peacock throne stands in the centre; it is ascended by steps, and covered with a canopy, with four artificial peacocks at the four corners. Around the exterior of the Dīwān-i-khāss, in the cornice, is the well-known inscription, in letters of gold, upon a ground of white marble: “If there be a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this[26].” The terrace of this building is composed of large slabs of white marble, and the building is crowned at the top with four pavilions or cupolas of the same materials.
The palace is 3000 feet long, 1800 broad, and at one time would have held 10,000 horse: the building it is said cost about £1,000,000 sterling.
The royal baths, a little to the northward of the Dīwān-i-khāss, consist of three very large rooms, surmounted by domes of white marble: adjoining to the baths is a fine mosque.
In the royal gardens is a very large octagonal room, facing[218] the Jumna, called Shah Burj, or the Royal Tower, which is lined with marble. Through the window of this room Prince Mirza Juwaun Bukht made his escape in 1784, when he fled to Lucnow. The Rohillas, who were introduced by Gholaum Cadir Khan, stripped many of the rooms of their marble ornaments and pavements.
It was my intention to have gone round the walls in the cool of the evening, with my relative, but I was so much disgusted with the ill-natured remarks I had heard, I would not enter the place again.
The gardens of Shalimar are worthy of a visit, from which the prospect to the south, towards Delhi, as far as the eye can reach, is covered with the remains of extensive gardens, pavilions, mosques, and burial-places. The environs of this once magnificent city appear now nothing more than a heap of ruins, and the country around is equally desolate and forlorn:—
“Within the city of New Delhi are the remains of many splendid palaces, belonging to the great omrahs of the empire; among the largest are those of Cummer-o’-deen Cawn, vizier to Mahmud Shah; Ali Merdan Khan, the Persian; the Nawab Gazooddeen Cawn; Seftur Jung’s; the garden of Coodseah Begam, mother of Mahmud Shah; the palace of Sadut Khan; and that of Sultan Darah Shekoah.”
“The baths of Sadut Khan are a set of beautiful rooms, paved,[219] and lined with white marble; they consist of five distinct apartments, into which light is admitted by glazed windows at the top of the domes. Sefdur Jung’s Teh Khana consists of a set of apartments, built in a delicate style; one long room, in which is a marble reservoir the whole length, and a smaller one raised and balustraded on each side; both faced throughout with white marble. Adjoining the palace is the fort of Selīm, Selīm-garh; it communicates by a bridge of stone, built over an arm of the river, and is now entirely in ruins.
“The modern city of Shāhjahānabad is rebuilt, and contains many good houses, chiefly of brick; the streets are in general narrow, as is usual in most of the large cities of Asia; but there were formerly two very noble streets, the first leading to the palace gate, through the city, to the Delhi gate, in a direction north and south. This street was very broad and spacious, having handsome houses on each side of the way, and merchants’ shops, well furnished with a variety of the richest articles. Shāhjahān caused an aqueduct of red stone to be made, which conveyed the water the whole length of the street, and thence, by a reservoir underground, into the royal gardens. Remains of this aqueduct are still to be seen, but it is in most parts choked up with rubbish. The second grand street entered in the same manner from the palace to the Lahore gate; it lay east and west, and was equal in all respects to the former; but, in both of them, the inhabitants have spoiled the beauty of their appearance by running a line of houses down the centre; and, in other places, across the street; so that it is with difficulty a person can discover, without narrowly inspecting, their former position.”
“In the neighbourhood of the Cabul gate is a garden, called Tees Huzzari Bagh, in which is the tomb of the Queen Malika Zemani, wife of the Emperor Mahmud Shah. On a rising ground near this garden, whence there is a fine prospect of the city, are two broken columns of brown granite, eight feet high, and two and a half in breadth, on which are inscriptions in ancient characters.”
Near the Ajimere gate is a Madrasa, or college, erected by Gazooddeen Cawn, nephew of Nizam-ool-Mooluk; it is built of[220] red stone, and situated in the centre of a spacious quadrangle, with a fountain, lined with stone. At the upper end of the area is a handsome mosque, built of red stone, and inlaid with white marble. This college is now uninhabited.
Modern Delhi has been built upon two rocky eminences; the one where the Jāma Masjid is situated, named Jujula Pahar; and the other called Bejula Pahar; from both of these you have a commanding view of the rest of the city.
24th.—We visited this noble masjid,—the finest I have seen; no difficulty was made in allowing us to inspect it. “The gate of the house of God is always open[27]:” not only literally, but also to converts.
“This mosque is situated about a quarter of a mile from the royal palace; the foundation of it was laid upon a rocky eminence, named Jujula Pahar, and has been scarped on purpose. The ascent to it is by a flight of stone steps, thirty-five in number, through a handsome gateway of red stone. The doors of this gateway are covered throughout with plates of wrought brass, which Mr. Bernier imagined to be copper. The terrace on which the mosque is situated is a square, of about fourteen hundred yards of red stone; in the centre is a fountain, lined with marble, for the purpose of performing the necessary ablutions previous to prayer.
“An arched colonnade of red stone surrounds the whole of the terrace, which is adorned with octagonal pavilions for sitting in. The mosque is of an oblong form, two hundred and sixty-one feet in length, surmounted by three magnificent domes of white marble, interspersed with black stripes, and flanked by two minarets of black marble and red stone alternately, rising to the height of an hundred and thirty feet. Each of these minarets has three projecting galleries of white marble, having their summits crowned with light octagonal pavilions of the same. The whole front of the building is faced with large slabs of beautiful white marble; and along the cornice are ten compartments,[221] four feet long, and two and a half broad, which are inlaid with inscriptions in black marble, in the Nishki character; and are said to contain the greater part, if not the whole, of the Koran. The inside of the mosque is paved throughout, with large slabs of white marble, decorated with a black border, and is wonderfully beautiful and delicate; the slabs are about three feet in length, by one and a half broad. The walls and roof are lined with plain white marble; and near the kibla is a handsome taak, or niche, which is adorned with a profusion of frieze-work. Close to this is a mimbar or pulpit of marble, which has an ascent of four steps, balustraded. Kibla literally implies compass, but here means a small hollow or excavation in the walls of Muhammadan mosques, so situated on the erection of the buildings as always to look towards the city of Mecca.
“The ascent to the minarets is by a winding staircase of an hundred and thirty steps of red stone; and, at the top, the spectator is gratified by a noble view of the King’s Palace, the Cuttub Minar, the Hurran Minar, Humaioon’s Mausoleum, the Palace of Feroze Shah, the Fort of old Delhi, and the Fort of Loni, on the opposite bank of the river Jumna. The domes are crowned with cullises of copper, richly gilt; and present a glittering appearance from afar off. This mosque was begun by the Emperor Shāhjahān, in the fourth year of his reign, and completed in the tenth. The expenses of its erection amounted to ten lākh of rupees; and it is in every respect worthy of being the great cathedral of the empire of Hindūstan.”—Franklin.
Exclusive of the mosques before described, there are in Shāhjahānabad and its environs above forty others; most of them of inferior size and beauty, but all of them of a similar fashion. In the evening, we drove to the Turkoman gate of the city, to see the Kala Masjid or Black Mosque. We found our way with difficulty into the very worst part of Delhi: my companion had never been there before, and its character was unknown to us; he did not much like my going over the mosque, amid the wretches that surrounded us; but my curiosity carried the day. The appearance of the building from the entrance is most singular[222] and extraordinary; it would form an excellent subject for a sketch. You ascend a flight of stone steps, and then enter the gateway of the masjid: the centre is a square; the pillars that support the arches are of rude construction,—stone placed upon stone, without mortar between; there are twelve or fifteen small domes on three sides of the square. I wished to sketch the place, but my relative hurried me away, fearful of insult from the people around. The masjid was built four hundred and fifty years ago, before the building of the modern Delhi. The tradition of the place is this:—
In former times the masjid was built of white stone. A father committed a horrible crime within its walls. The stones of the masjid turned from white to black. It obtained the name of the black mosque. No service was ever performed there, and the spot was regarded as unholy: none but the lowest of the people now frequent the place; and any stranger visiting it might as well take a barkindāz as a protection against insult. Hindoo Rāo, the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī, lives near Delhi, in the house of the late Mr. Frazer; he came in his curricle to call on Captain S⸺: I saw him; he is a short, thick-set, fat Mahratta, very independent in speech and bearing. After some conversation, he arose to depart, shook hands with me, and said, “How do you do?” thinking he was bidding me “good night.” This being all the English he has acquired, he is very fond of displaying it. Some young officer, in a fit of tamāshā (i.e. fun) must have taught him his “How do you do.”
There is no guide-book to conduct a stranger over the city of Delhi, or to point out the position of its numerous gates; I have therefore added a plan of the city, which we found very useful when arranging our excursions, and I have made numerous extracts from Franklin to point out places worthy of a visit[28].
25th.—Quitted Delhi, and encamped the first march at Furrudnagar on our return to Meerut; it was too hot for tents.
26th.—Encamped at Begamabad: I was very unwell; the[223] annoyance of thieves around my tent, and the greater plague of fever, kept me awake all night.
27th.—Was driven into Meerut the whole march, being unable to sit on my horse; called in medical aid, and was confined for six days to my charpāī, unable to rise from fever, influenza, and severe cough.
March 11th.—Just able to creep about. Captain A⸺ drove me to see the tomb of Aboo, a very fine one near the prison at Meerut: its history I forget, and I was too ill to attempt to sketch it.
Thence we drove to the tomb of Pīr Shāh, near the gate of the city. It is in ruins; the verandah that once ornamented it has fallen to the ground. The tomb is peculiar, the dome has only been raised two feet and so finished: this has been so left purposely, that the sunshine and the dews of heaven may fall on the marble sarcophagus of the saint who sleeps within the building. Around the tomb are a number of the graves of the faithful. Perhaps the exertion of taking a drive made me ill again; and the relative with whom I was staying not admiring this return of fever, determined to take me instantly to the hills.
First View of the Snowy Ranges—Saharanpūr—Mohunchaukī—An Adventure—The Keeree Pass—Rajpūr—Motī—The Gūnth—Hill-men—A Jampan—Ascent to Landowr—Hill Flowers—Purity of the Air—View of the Himalaya—The Khuds—Mussoorī—Rhododendron Trees—Mr. Webb’s Hotel—Curious Soap—The Landowr Bazār—Schools in the Hills—Cloud End—The White Rhododendron—Storm in the Hills—Hill Birds—Fever in the Hills—Newlands—Death of Major Blundell.
1838, March 16th.—We drove out twenty miles, to the place where the palanquins awaited us, travelled dāk all night, found a buggy ready for us at the last stage, and reached our friend’s house at Saharanpūr the next morning by 8 A.M. On the road, about five o’clock in the morning, I was much delighted with the first view of the snowy ranges; I never anticipated seeing mountains covered with snow again, and, as I lay in my palanquin, watching the scene for miles, breathing the cool air from the hills, and viewing the mountains beyond them, I felt quite a different being, charmed and delighted. Mr. and Miss B⸺ received us very kindly; and I had the pleasure of meeting an old friend, Captain Sturt, of the engineers;—the man whose noble conduct distinguished him so highly, and who was shot during the fatal retreat of the army in Afghānistan. In the evening we visited the Botanical Garden; it is an excellent one, and in high order; some tigers were there, fiercely growling over their food, several bears, and a porcupine. The garden is well watered by the canal, which passes through it. The Governor-General[225] broke up his camp at Saharanpūr, and quitted, with a small retinue, for Mussoorī, the day before we arrived.
14th.—We took leave of our friends, and resumed our dāk journey at 4 P.M.; during the night we passed Lord Auckland’s camp, which was pitched in a very picturesque spot at Mohunchaukī: the tents, the elephants, and the camels formed beautiful groups among the trees, and I stopped the palanquin a short time to admire them. We passed through a forest,—or sāl jangal, as they call it,—in which wild elephants are sometimes found, and met with a little adventure: a tiger was lying by the road-side; the bearers put down the palanquin, waved their torches, and howled and screamed with all their might: the light and noise scared the animal,—he moved off. I got out of the palanquin to look at a tiger au naturel, saw some creature moving away, but could not distinguish what animal it was; the bearers were not six feet from him when they first saw him; it was a fine, clear, moonlight night. The jangal looked well, and its interest was heightened by the idea you might now and then see a wild beast. A number of fires were burning on the sides of the hills, and running up in different directions; these fires, they tell me, are lighted by the zamīndars, to burn up the old dry grass; when that is done, the new grass springs up, and there is plenty of food for the cattle; the fires were remarkable in the darkness of the night. For some miles up the pass of Keeree, our way was over the dry bed of a river; on both sides rose high cliffs, covered with trees; the moonlight was strong, and the pass one of great interest; here and there you heard the noise of water, the pleasing sound of a mountain stream turning small mills for grinding corn, called Panchakkī. In the morning we arrived at the Company’s bungalow at Rajpūr.
Rajpūr is situated at the foot of the Hills: I was delighted with the place; the view from the bungalow put me in mind of Switzerland. We went to Mrs. Theodore’s hotel, to see her collection of stuffed birds and beasts; a complete set costs 1600 rupees (£160). At the bottom of the valley between the Hills I heard the most delightful sound of rushing waters: taking a servant with me, I went down the steep footpath, irresistibly[226] attracted by the sound, and found the mountain rill collected into a mill-dam, from which, rushing down, it turned several mills; and one of the streams was turned off into the valley, forming the little cascade, the sound of which had attracted me. How bright, clear, cold, and delicious was the water! Being too unwell to bear the fatigue of climbing the hill, I sent for a hill-pony, called a gūnth; he was brought down; the little fellow never had a woman on his back before, but he carried me bravely up the sheep-path, for road there was none. Motī, the name of the handsome gūnth, is an iron-grey hill-pony,—more like a dwarf-horse than a pony; he has an exceedingly thick, shaggy mane, and a very thick, long tail;—the most sure-footed sagacious animal; he never gets tired, and will go all day up and down hill; seldom fights, and is never alarmed when passing the most dangerous places. Give your gūnth his head, and he will carry you safely. Horses are dangerous,—even the most quiet become alarmed in the hills. Captain S⸺ bought this gūnth at the Hurdwar fair; he came from Almorah, cost 160 rupees (£16); and 300 rupees have been refused for him.
The following history was related to me concerning the gūnth:—Colonel P⸺, to whom the animal was lent, took him to the Snowy Ranges; “In some pass, by some accident, the gūnth fell down a precipice, and was caught upon an oak tree. There he swung; one struggle would have sent him to the bottom, and to certain death; he never moved. Colonel P⸺, who was walking at the time, got some people, who descended to the place where the gūnth hung, dug out a standing-place in the side of the hill, just big enough to hold the pony, and contrived to get him off his tree into the spot: the gūnth was so much alarmed, that they left him to recover from his fright on this spot the whole night; and the next morning got him up the precipice in safety to the road.” Any horse would have struggled and have been killed; these gūnths appear to understand that they must be quiet, and their masters will help them. He is a queer-tempered little fellow; he kicked my sā’īs over one day, and always kicks at me if I attempt to pat him; but[227] he carries me capitally: nevertheless, he is “vicious as he is little[29].”
The whole day I roamed about Rajpūr; the Paharīs (the Hill-men), who had come down to bring up our luggage, were animals to stare at: like the pictures I have seen of Tartars,—little fellows, with such flat ugly faces, dressed in black woollen coarse trowsers, a blanket of the same over their shoulders; a black, greasy, round leather cap on their heads, sometimes decorated all round their faces with bunches of Hill-flowers, freshly gathered; a rope round their waists. Their limbs are stout, and the sinews in the legs strongly developed, from constantly climbing the Hills. They are very honest and very idle; moreover, most exceedingly dirty. Such were the little Hill fellows we met at Rajpūr.
16th.—This morning the gūnth came to the door for my companion to ride up the Hills: I was to be carried up in a jampān. A jampān is an arm-chair, with a top to it, to shelter you from the sun or rain; four long poles are affixed to it. Eight of those funny little black Hill fellows were harnessed between the poles, after their fashion, and they carried me up the hill. My two women went up in dolīs, a sort of tray for women, in which one person can sit native fashion; these trays are hung upon long poles, and carried by Hill-men. The ascent from Rajpūr is seven miles, climbing almost every yard of the way. The different views delighted me: on the side of the Hills facing Rajpūr the trees were stunted, and there was but little vegetation; on the other side, the northern, we came upon fine oak and rhododendron trees—such beautiful rhododendrons! they are forest trees, not shrubs, as you have them in England. The people gathered the wild flowers, and filled my lap with them. The jangal pear, in full blossom, the raspberry bushes, and the nettles delighted me; I could not help sending a man from the plains, who had never seen a nettle, to gather one; he took hold of it, and, relinquishing his hold instantly in excessive surprise, exclaimed,—“It has stung me; it is a scorpion plant.”[228] Violets were under every rock; and the wild, pleasing notes of the Hill birds were to be heard in every direction. The delicious air, so pure, so bracing, so unlike any air I had breathed for fifteen years,—with what delight I inhaled it! It seemed to promise health and strength and spirits: I fancied the lurking fever crept out of my body as I breathed the mountain air; I was so happy, so glad I was alive; I felt a buoyancy of spirit, like that enjoyed by a child.
The only bungalow we could procure was one on the top of the hill of Landowr; it was an uncomfortable one, but a roof was not to be despised in such cold weather: we had a fire lighted instantly, and kept it burning all day. Where now was the vile fever that had bowed me down in the plains? It had vanished with the change of climate, as if by magic. The Hill air made me feel so well and strong, we set off on our ponies in the evening to visit Mr. E⸺’s house; it is beautiful, built with great taste, and highly finished; its situation is fine, on a hill, at the further end of Landowr. Thence we went to Colonel P⸺’s bungalow, a good house, well situated, but very far from supplies; he offered it to me for the season for 1200 rupees—i.e. £120 for seven months. From the barracks, at the top of Landowr, the view of the Snowy Ranges is magnificent. In any other country these hills would be called mountains; but, being near the foot of the Himalaya, that in the distance tower above them, they have obtained the title of “The Hills.” Landowr, Bhadráj, Ben Oge, are covered with oak and rhododendron trees; the valleys between them, by the Hill people called khuds, are extremely deep: at the bottom of these khuds water is found in little rills, but it is very scarce. About two thousand feet below Landowr water is abundant, and there are some waterfalls. The Hills are very grand, but have not the picturesque beauty of the valley of Chamouni:—and yet it is unfair to make the comparison at Landowr; Chamouni is at the foot of Mont Blanc: to compare the two, one ought to proceed to the foot of the Snowy Ranges, where their solitary grandeur would overpower the remembrance of Mont Blanc. I long to go there: the difficulties and privations would be great;[229] I could not go alone, and the fatigue would be excessive; nevertheless, I long to make a pilgrimage to Gangotrī, the source of the Ganges.
17th.—Started on our ponies at 7 A.M. to ride to Mussoorī, which is only a short distance from Landowr. The scenery at that place is of a tamer cast; the southern side of the hill, on which most of the houses are situated, puts me in mind of the back of the Isle of Wight, but on a larger scale; the projecting rocks and trees, with gentlemen’s houses in every nook, all built on the side of the hill, give the resemblance. The northern side is called the Camel’s Back, from a fancied resemblance of the hill to the shape of that animal; there the scenery differs entirely. The southern side, on which Mussoorī is situated, has few trees, and looks down on the valley of the Dhoon; the northern side is covered with fine trees, the hills abrupt; a wildness and grandeur, unknown on the southern side, is all around you; the valleys fearfully deep, the pathway narrow, and in some parts so bad, only one foot in breadth is left for a pony. At first I felt a cold shudder pass over me, as I rode by such places; in the course of a week I was perfectly accustomed to the sort of thing, and quite fearless. A pathway three feet in width at its utmost breadth, is a handsome road in the Hills; a perpendicular rock on one side, and a precipice, perhaps three or four hundred feet deep, may be on the other. It is all very well when the road is pretty open; but when you have to turn the sharp corner of a rock, if looking over a precipice makes you giddy, shut your eyes, and give your gūnth the rein, and you will be sure to find yourself safe on the other side. The little rascals never become giddy; and after a short time you will turn such corners at a canter, as a thing of course. I was delighted with the wildness of the scenery,—it equalled my expectations. In front of Mussoorī you are in high public, the road called the Mall is from eight to ten feet wide, covered with children, nurses, dogs, and sickly ladies and gentlemen, walking about gaily dressed. I always avoid the Mall; I go out for enjoyment and health, and do not want to talk to people. The children! it is charming to see their rosy faces; they look as well and as[230] strong as any children in England; the climate of the Hills is certainly far superior to that of England. Not liking my bungalow, I changed it for another half way up the hill of Landowr.
17th.—Lord Auckland and the Misses Eden arrived to-day, and took up their residence at Colonel Young’s, a little below, on the hill of Landowr.
From my bungalow the view is beautiful, and we have as much air as man can desire. The first thing was to get pardas, stuffed with cotton, for every window and door; the next, to hire a set of Hill-men, to cut and bring wood from the khuds, and water and grass for the ponies. A long ride round Waverly was the evening’s amusement; then came a dinner of excellent Hill-mutton, by the side of a blazing fire of the beautiful rhododendron wood! The well-closed doors kept out the cold, and my kind relative congratulated me on having lost my fever, and being so comfortable in the Hills.
Visited Mr. Webb’s hotel for families; it is an excellent one, and very commodious. There is a ball-room, and five billiard tables with slate beds; these slate beds have only just arrived in India, and have very lately been introduced in England.
19th.—During the time I was waiting for my relative, who had accompanied Lord Auckland, to show him the hospital and the different buildings at Landowr, which were under his charge, my attention was arrested by a great number of Hill-men, carrying large bundles of moss down to the plains; they grind up the moss with barley-meal, and use it as soap; it is in great repute at weddings.
Rode my little black horse, but found him not so pleasant in the Hills as a gūnth, and more fatiguing. At the foot of Landowr there is an excellent bazār: every thing is to be had there,—Pâtée foie gras, bécasses truffés, shola hats covered with the skin of the pelican, champagne, bareilly couches, shoes, Chinese books, pickles, long poles for climbing the mountains, and various incongruous articles. Many years ago, a curious little rosary had been brought me from the santa casa of our Lady of Loretto;—a fac-simile of the little curiosity was lying for sale in the Landowr bazār, amongst a lot of Hindūstanī shoes!
The Governor-General and his party quitted Landowr, and returned to Rajpūr, on their march to Simla, up the valley of the Deyra Doon.
In the evening I rode out to see Ben Oge and Bhadráj: at the foot of Ben Oge is a boys’ school; a number of little fellows were out at play. There is also a girls’ school at Mussoorī. Here English children can receive some education in a fine climate.
20th.—Rainy; thermometer in the verandah at noon, 56°; at 3 o’clock P.M. 54°.
21st.—The Hills covered and hidden by deep clouds; thunder and lightning, with some rain. Thermometer, 8 A.M. 46°; evening fine, heavy rain at night.
23rd.—Captain E. S⸺ has an estate in the Hills, called Cloud End,—a beautiful mountain, of about sixty acres, covered with oak trees: on this spot he had long wished to build a house, and had prepared the plan, but his duties as an engineer prevented his being long enough at a time in the Hills to accomplish the object. I offered to superintend the work during his absence, if he would mark out the foundation: a morning’s ride brought us to his estate, situated between a hill, called “the Park,” and Ben Oge, with Bhadráj to the west; the situation is beautiful,—the hills magnificent and well-wooded. Having fixed on the spot for the house,—the drawing-room windows to face a noble view of the Snowy Ranges,—the next thing was to mark a pathway to be cut into the Khud, a descent of two miles, for the mules to bring up water.
The plan of the house was then marked out, and a site was selected for my hill-tent, commanding a view of the Himalaya: this little tent was made to order at Fathīgarh,—it is twelve feet square, the walls four feet high, and has two doors. A stone wall is to be built around it, a chimney at one end, and a glass door at the other; a thatch will be placed over it, and this will be my habitation when I go to Cloud End, or when I make excursions into the Hills; my kitchen will be an old oak tree. The Hills are so steep, a single pole tent of the usual size can be pitched in very few places. Under an old oak, on a rock covered[232] with wild flowers, I sat and enjoyed the scene: the valley of the Doon lay stretched before me, and the Hills around me. There is a rhododendron tree on this estate that bears white flowers,—it is a great rarity, and highly prized; all the flowers of the other rhododendron trees are of a magnificent crimson. The Hill-men are fond of sucking the juice from the petals, which, it is said, possesses an intoxicating quality.
Stormy-looking clouds were rolling up from the valley towards the Hills: returning home, we were caught in as fine a storm as I almost ever beheld; it was a glorious sight,—the forked lightning was superb, the thunder resounded from hill to hill, the hail and rain fell heavily: for about two hours the storm raged. We took shelter in a Europe shop; towards night it decreased; wrapped in black blankets, which we procured from the bazār, we got home in safety; the rain could not penetrate the black blankets, the wool of which is so oily. The storm raged with violence during the night, but I heard it not: in the morning the Hill-tops were covered with snow: at 7 A.M. the thermometer 38° in the verandah; in the room at noon with a fire it stood at 57°.
25th.—My relative left me, taking back all useless servants, and the camels from Rajpūr.
Visited the Hospital, of which Mr. Morrow is the steward, to see his collection of birds. The specimens are very well preserved with arsenical soap, and they sell well on that account: he had two pair of the Moonāl pheasants alive, their plumage bright and beautiful. The collection was large; I selected only a few specimens, as follows:—
The Golden Eagle of the Himalaya: a bird I have often seen flying around Landowr; and a remarkably fine one. Also the Black Eagle of these mountains.
The Loonjee, or Red Pheasant, from the deep forests of the Himalaya: a bird rare and valuable; the skin on the neck is peculiar; in confinement they are timid and quiet, but the light annoys them, from being accustomed to the shade of the forests.
The Moonāl, Duffeah, or Blue Pheasant of the Himalaya:[233] these birds are brought from the interior; they are seldom found so far down as Landowr; nevertheless, one was shot at Cloud End, Bhadráj; they are timid at first in confinement,—after a few days, they will eat wheat in your presence, and show no signs of alarm. The eggs they lay when in cages might be brought to England; why should they not thrive in our climate, since they are inhabitants of a cold region? The hen-bird, although less splendid in plumage than the cock, is very game.
The Koklás Pheasant, common in the Hills, is also a very game-looking bird.
The Callinge Pheasant, with its peculiar top-knot, is, as well as those before mentioned, excellent food. Other pheasants are found in the Himalaya, of which I was unable to procure specimens.
Black Partridges: the most beautiful in the world are found in most parts of India; they are a great delicacy.
The Chakor, or Red-legged Partridge: very similar to the French Partridge; excellent food: they may be rendered so tame, they will run about the house and garden. Chakor, the Bartavelli, or Greek Partridge (Perdix chukar, Gould.; Perdix rufa, Lath): said to be enamoured of the moon, and to eat fire at the full of the moon. This bird is also called ātash-khwār (fire-eater), a variety of Tetrao rufus, Lin.; called, in Hindī, Chakor. It is also denominated “Moon Bird,” and “Minion of the Moon.” The common grey partridge is coarse and inferior.
Bush Quail and Rock Quail: beautiful and delicious. When buying a number of quail, which are caught in nets, you will rarely find a cock bird, if caught near Lucnow, or any native court; they are taken out, and sold as fighting birds. Quail are numerous all over India, and generally sold twenty-five per rupee.
A Jangal Cock and Hen: the wild cock and hen of the woods, common over all India; the stock to which all common fowls owe their origin. There are various kinds of fowls in India; the ghāgas are large, fine, and very long legged, like game birds; the chatgaiyān are fine also; the karaknāth are considered very delicate by the natives, but the purple colour of their bones has a disagreeable appearance.
Green Pigeons: beautiful birds. Blue Pigeons: which inhabit the wells; it is said the fare of an aide-de-camp is “hard work and blue pigeons!”
The Barbet, the Blackbird, the Blue-winged Jay, the Long-tailed Blue Jay, the Woodpecker, Humming Birds, the Shah Humming Bird, the Mocking Bird, and the Cuckoo, whose note is delightful in the Hills, recalling thoughts of early youth and home.
The Chand Chuck, the King Crow: a most courageous little fellow, who fights and bullies all the crows in admirable style: hence his name, King Crow.
Flycatchers, Dhobī Birds, Magpies, and the Rana Chiriyā: the colour of the cock is a brilliant scarlet; that of the ranee, the hen-bird, is a bright yellow. They appear during the hot winds.
The Mango Bird: so called as they are seen during the mango season.
The Rocket Bird: with the most elegant long white feathers in its tail.
The birds brought from the interior by the Paharīs must have the moss taken out with which they are stuffed, and be prepared with arsenical soap; otherwise, the feathers will fall off.
28th.—Some Hill-men brought me two pair of the Moonāl pheasants alive; I bought them. They eat wheat, and live very quietly in their cages.
31st.—Spent the day at Cloud End, overlooking the workmen. The mountain on which they are building the house will supply almost all the materials: the stones, which are cut out of it for the walls of the house, are at first so soft, they appear to be rotten; but exposure to the air will harden them in a fortnight. The beams are from the old oak trees; the lime is burned from the stones; but the slates are to be brought from a neighbouring mountain; and the frames for the doors and windows will be procured, ready-made, from Rajpūr.
The day was very hot, but the breeze delightful: returning home, I was seized with illness, and my pulse being one hundred[235] and twenty, called in medical aid. It is not agreeable to be suffering from illness, on the top of a mountain, far away from all one’s friends,—depressed, and out of spirits, with nothing to amuse one but the leeches, hanging, like love-locks, from one’s temples.
A recovery from illness is a pleasant state, where you have around you beautiful scenery and pure air. The Hills have all that secret treasury of spots, so secluded, that you seem to be their first discoverer; lonely glens and waterfalls, on which the sun’s rays scarcely rest one hour in the twenty-four; cold hidden basins of living water; and all so shut out from intrusion of the human race, that, in spirit, you become blended with the scene.
April 16th.—Spent the day at Mr. E⸺’s: in the evening, as we were going down the hill, which is exceedingly steep, I was so nervous, from recent fever, that I could not ride down the descent; therefore the gūnth was led, and I walked. The pathway, or rather sheep-track, not one foot in breadth, is covered with loose stones, and on the edge of a precipice. Miss B⸺ rode down perfectly unconcerned. From the bottom of the Khud I rode up the next hill, to see a house, called Newlands; which has been struck and burned three times by lightning. The hill is said to contain a quantity of iron, which attracts the electric fluid. A lady and her ayha were killed there by the lightning. On my return I rode up the hill I had not had the courage to ride down; even that was enough to make me nervous, after having suffered from recent fever so many days. A short time ago, as Major Blundell was going to that very house, Newlands, by some accident, his gūnth fell over the precipice, and they were both dashed to pieces. At one place I dismounted, and climbed the side of the bank, whilst the servants held the gūnths during the time three mules had to pass them. The passing was effected with great difficulty, and one of the mules was nearly over the precipice, so narrow was the pathway.
Jerrīpānī—The Cicalas—View from the Pilgrim’s Banglā—A Fall over a Precipice—The Glow-worm—Wild-beast Track—The Scorpion—Mules—Karral Sheep—Wet Days—Noisy Boys—Conical Hills—The Khuds—Earthquake at Cloud End—The Waterfall—Fall of a Lady and Horse over a Precipice—Kalunga—General Gillespie—The Kookree—The Ghoorkas—The Korah—The Sling—Ben Oge—Danger of Exposure to the Mid-day Sun—An Earthquake—A Spaniel seized by a Leopard—A Party at Cloud End—A Buffer encounters a Bear—Hills on Fire—Botanical Gardens—Commencement of the Rains—Expedition to the Summit of Bhadráj—Magnificence of the Clouds—Storms in High Places—Danger of Narrow Roads during the Rains—Introduction of Slated Roofs in the Hills.
1838, April 17th.—Started on my gūnth, the day being cloudy and cold, to make a call some miles off down the hill, at Jerrīpānī. The elevation of Jerrīpānī is much less than that of Landowr, and the difference in the vegetation remarkable: here, the young leaves of the oaks are just budding,—there, they are in full leaf; here, the raspberry is in flower,—there, in fruit.
was at Jerrīpānī in beautiful profusion, sometimes hanging its white clusters over the yellow flowers of the barbery. The woodbine delighted me with its fragrance, and the remembrance of days of old; and the rhododendron trees were in full grandeur. Near one clump of old oaks, covered with moss and ivy, I stopped to listen to the shrill cries of the cicala, a sort of[237] transparently-winged beetle: the sounds are like what we might fancy the notes would be of birds gone crazy.
VIEW FROM THE PILGRIM’S BANGLĀ.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس
The road was remarkably picturesque, the wind high and cold—a delightful breeze, the sky cloudy, and the scenery beautiful: I enjoyed a charming ride, returned home laden with wild flowers, and found amusement for some hours, comparing them with Loudon’s Encyclopedia. A pony, that was grazing on the side of Landowr close to my house, fell down the precipice, and was instantly killed: my ayha came to tell me that the privates of the 16th Lancers and of the Buffs ate horseflesh, for she had seen one of them bring up a quantity of the pony’s flesh in a towel;—I ventured to observe, the man might have dogs to feed.
19th.—The view from the verandah of my banglā or house is very beautiful: directly beneath it is a precipice; opposite is that part of the hill of Landowr on which stands the sanatorium for the military, at present occupied by the invalids of the 16th Lancers and of the Buffs. The hill is covered with grass, and the wild potato grows there in profusion; beyond is a high steep rock, which can only be ascended by a very precipitous path on one side of it; it is crowned by a house called Lall Tība, and is covered with oak and rhododendron trees. Below, surrounded with trees, stands the house of Mr. Connolly; and beyond that, in the distance, are the snow-covered mountains of the lower range of the Himalaya. The road—if the narrow pathway, three feet in breadth, may deserve so dignified an appellation—is to the right, on the edge of a precipice, and on the other side is the perpendicular rock out of which it has been cut. This morning I heard an outcry, and ran to see what had happened; just below, and directly in front of my house, an accident had occurred: an officer of the Buffs had sent a valuable horse down[238] the hill, in charge of his groom; they met some mules laden with water-bags, where the path was narrow, the bank perpendicular on the one side, and the precipice on the other; the groom led the horse on the side of the precipice, he kicked at the mules, his feet descended over the edge of the road, and down he went—a dreadful fall, a horrible crash; the animal was dead ere he reached a spot where a tree stopped his further descent: the precipice is almost perpendicular.
22nd.—Found a glow-worm of immense size on the side of the hill: a winged glow-worm flew in, and alighted on the table; it is small, not a quarter the size of the other.
23rd.—During the night, some animal came into the verandah, killed one of the Moonāl hen pheasants, and wounded the cock bird so severely that he will die. There is a wild-beast track on the side of the hill opposite my house, along which I have several times seen some animal skulking in the dusk of the evening.
25th.—Accompanied some friends to breakfast in my cottage-tent at Cloud End. We laid out a garden, and sowed flower seeds around the spot where my little tent is pitched, beneath the trees; while thus employed, I found a scorpion among the moss and leaves where I was sitting, which induced me to repeat those lines of Byron:—
My memory was a source of woe to the scorpion at Bhadráj; they surrounded him with a circle of fire; as the heat annoyed him he strove to get over the circle, but the burning charcoal drove him back; at last, mad with pain, he drove his sting into[239] his own back; a drop of milk-white fluid was on the sting, and was left on the spot which he struck; immediately afterwards the scorpion died: Mr. R⸺ saw him strike the sting into his own back. When it was over we felt a little ashamed of our scientific cruelty, and buried the scorpion with all due honour below the ashes that had consumed him: a burnt sacrifice to science. In a note in “the Giaour,” the idea is mentioned as an error, of the scorpion’s committing suicide, but I was one of the witnesses to the fact.
29th.—Saw a fine mule for sale for £10, and bought him immediately for my own riding; mules are generally very safe on these dangerous roads. Also purchased two smaller ones for the estate for £9, water-bags and all. A man brought a number of fine fat Karral sheep, fit for table, from the interior, where they are fattened on acorns; I purchased four of them for twenty-four rupees eight ānās; the mutton is delicious; they have short tails and large horns, are very strong, and their fleeces, long and warm, are suited to their own hill climate.
30th.—The weather constantly fine, cool, and pleasant; we have a little fire lighted merely in the morning and evening. Purchased Sancho, a handsome retriever, from a private in the Lancers.
May 1st.—My friend Mrs. B⸺ and her four children have arrived; I invited them to come and stay with me; the children are most interesting,—nevertheless, their noise drives me half crazy; my life has been so perfectly quiet and solitary of late, the change makes my head ache.
Sunday, 6th.—Unable to go to church at Mussoorī; constant rain, very cold and chilly; the clouds are hanging over the mountains in white heavy masses, or drifting on this powerful wind up the valleys, or rather between the ridges of the Hills. I went into the verandah, to see if the Italian greyhounds were warmly housed, and could not help exclaiming, “How delicious is this coldness in the Hills!—it is just as wet, windy, and wretched as in England:” thus mingling the recollected misery of a wet, raw day in England, and the delight of a cold day in India. The boys are calling me to have a game of marbles[240] with little apples,—the small sweet apples we get from Meerut.
My mule, who has been christened Don Pedro, carries me beautifully; we canter and trot up and down hill at an excellent pace; he has but one fault,—a dangerous one in the Hills,—that of shying; he would be worth two hundred rupees if he were not timid.
The conical form of The Hills is their great peculiarity; in order to gain sufficient level ground, on which to build the house at Bhadráj, it was necessary to cut off the top of the hill,—a work of labour and expense. A khud is a valley between two hills, which is generally very narrow, so much so, that a horse might leap across the bottom of several of the khuds I have seen near Landowr. The building of the house at Cloud End has proceeded at a great rate; five hundred Hill-coolies are constantly employed under the eye of an European, to keep them at their work. The house has been roofed in, and my relative has come up from Meerut, to have the slates put on after some peculiar hikmat (fashion) of his own.
7th.—The storm of yesterday rendered the air so pure and clear, it was most refreshing; I mounted my mule, and went to spend the day at Bhadráj. The Snowy Ranges were distinct and beautiful, the wild flowers lovely on every rock; the ride was one of great enjoyment. The wild notes of the Hill birds were heard in every direction, and the cuckoo was sending forth its old familiar note. On my arrival I found one of the ponies at the estate had been killed by a fall over the precipice when bringing up water from the khud.
14th.—Capt. S⸺ says, a very severe earthquake was felt at his estate during the storm the other night: he was asleep in the outer building, and was awakened by the shock, which threw down the gable end of it; fortunately, the large stones fell outwards, or he would have been killed on his bed; he ran out, and took refuge in the little tent. The shock also split open the stone wall of the mule-shed. Although his estate is only six miles off, we did not feel the earthquake at Landowr.
18th.—My fair friend and myself having been invited to a[241] pic-nic at a waterfall, about two thousand feet below Landowr, we started on our gūnths at 5 A.M.; the tents, servants, and provisions had gone on the day before; none of us knew the way, but we proceeded, after quitting the road, by a footpath that led up and down the steepest hills; it was scarcely possible for the gūnths to go over it. At 8 A.M. we arrived, completely tired, and found an excellent breakfast ready. The waterfall roared in the khud below, and amidst the trees we caught glimpses of the mountain torrent chafing and rushing along. After breakfast the gentlemen went out to explore the path to the waterfall; we soon grew too impatient to await their return, and followed them.
We descended into the khud, and I was amusing myself jumping from rock to rock, and thus passing up the centre of the brawling mountain stream, aided by my long paharī pole of rous wood, and looking for the picturesque, when my fair friend, attempting to follow me, fell from the rocks into the water,—and very picturesque and very Undine-like she looked in the stream! We returned to the tents to have her garments dried in the sun, and while the poor little lady was doing penance, I wandered down the stream, of which the various waterfalls are beautiful; and, although there was a burning sun on the top of the Hills, down below, by the water, it was luxuriously cool. The path I took was straight down the torrent; I wandered alone for three hours, refreshing myself with wild strawberries, barberries, raspberries, and various other Hill fruits that hung around the stream on every side. The flowers were beautiful, the wild ferns luxuriant, the noise of the torrent most agreeable,—in fact, all was charming. On my return, I found the party at the foot of a beautiful waterfall, eighty feet in height; the spot was lovely, it was overhung with trees, from the topmost boughs of which gigantic climbers were pendant. How gaily did we partake of excellent wine and good fare on that delicious spot! It was nearly sunset ere we mounted our gūnths, and took the path through the village of Būttah.
This village is inhabited by Hill people; I saw a very good-looking woman at a cottage door, in a very picturesque dress,[242] and wished to go and speak to her, but was deterred from so doing, as the Hill-men appeared to dislike the gentlemen passing near the village: I must go alone some day, and see her again. By mistake we lost the path, and got into paddy fields, where we were obliged to dismount, and take the ponies down the most dangerous places. My fair companion was on a mare from the plains; we were obliged to tie a rope to the animal, and leap her down those places over which the ponies scrambled; we went down the dry bed of a torrent for some distance, and it was most curious to see how the gūnths got over and down the rocks. Walking fatigued me to excess; I mounted my gūnth, and rode up some frightful places, up the bed of a small torrent, where there was no path; the gūnth clambered up the rocks in excellent style. Presently Mrs. B⸺ thought she would do the same; she had not been on the mare ten minutes when I heard a cry, “The mem sāhiba has fallen into the khud!” Her horse had refused to clamber up a rocky ascent, I suppose she checked him, he swerved round, and fell down the khud; fortunately he fell on his right side, therefore her limbs were above him, and they slipped down together, the horse lying on his side, until, by the happiest chance, his downward course was stopped by a tree. The sā’īses ran down, pulled her off, and brought her up the Hill; afterwards they got the horse up again in safety. But for the tree, the lady and her steed would have been dashed to pieces; she was bruised, but not much hurt. Her scream alarmed me,—I thought it was all over. We returned completely tired; but the day had been one of great delight, the scenery lovely, and the air delicious.
From Landowr, looking towards Hurdwar, the isolated Hill of Kalunga or Nālāpanī, with its table-land and Fortress on the highest extremity, is visible. When the steady coolness and bravery of the Ghoorkas, united with insurmountable obstacles, compelled our troops to fall back, General Gillespie determined to carry the place; and, at the head of three companies of the 53rd Regiment, reached a spot within thirty yards of a wicket defended by a gun; there, as he was cheering the men,—waving his hat in one hand, and his sword in the other, he was shot[243] through the heart, and fell dead on the spot. Thus died as brave and reckless a cavalier as ever put spur on heel; his sword is one of the interesting relics of my museum. I never meet a hardy, active little Ghoorka, with a countenance like a Tartar, and his kookree at his side, but I feel respect for him, remembering the defence of Kalunga. The women showed as much bravery as the men; showers of arrows and stones were discharged at the enemy: the women threw the stones dexterously,—severe wounds were inflicted by them; and they undauntedly exposed themselves to the fire of the enemy; they acted with the natural courage inherent in us all, never having been taught that it was pretty and interesting to be sweet, timid creatures! Perhaps, after all, the noble conduct of these Ghoorka women may be traced to a reason given by a modern European author, who covertly asserts, that women, not having souls as men have, are guided in all their actions by instinct! The Hindūs are equally complimentary, and assert,—“A woman cannot be kept in due subjection, either by gifts, or kindness, or correct conduct, or the greatest services, or the laws of morality, or by the terror of punishment,—for she cannot discriminate between good and evil!”
The kookree is a semicircular, long, heavy knife, always carried by the Ghoorkas; sometimes the sheath is curiously embroidered with strips from the quill of the peacock’s feather: two small crooked knives are generally in the same sheath. The kookree is used for war as well as for all domestic purposes.
The sword used by the Ghoorka officers called a “korah,” or a “bughalee,” is also used by the executioners in China for decapitation, with a back-handed drawing cut.
The sling used by Hill-men is made of a thick long cord of worsted, having a little breadth in the centre, in which, having placed the stone, they whisk the sling round, and launch it. Specimens of all these weapons I brought from the Hills. The sling above described was doubtless used by the Ghoorka women at Kalunga.
22nd.—We mounted our gūnths so early we were at Cloud[244] End by 7 A.M. to breakfast. Ben Oge, the hill adjoining, is the highest point at Mussoorī. The day was bright and clear. Captain S⸺ asked us to ride to the summit; he accompanied us on foot. The view from the top of Ben Oge was beautiful: the Snowy Ranges were so clear and distinct, you could see every peak. I thought of Captain Skinner’s journal as I looked at the peaks of Jumnotrī, the source of the Jumna, and traced the river as it wound below through the khuds at the foot of the mountains, its course doubling like a hare. Beyond was the Peak of Gangotrí, from which the Ganges rises. I longed to march into the interior, to behold the grandeur of the scenery of the Himalaya. Ben Oge is quite treeless at the summit, but the ground was covered with wild lavender, thyme, and various mountain flowers of great beauty, while numberless butterflies flitted over them. My relative found the breeze very chilly, but the sun was so hot it made my head spin; we returned to his house: he was seized with cholera, from the heat of his body being suddenly checked by the cold air, and the sun pouring on his head; he was very ill, and in great pain for two hours. We returned home, determined not to ascend another hill during the heat of the day.
26th.—My little widow and I were out riding at seven in the morning; on our return we were surprised to find a very severe earthquake had been experienced at Landowr and Mussoorī, which had frightened all the people; there were three distinct shocks. We on our gūnths did not feel the shocks; there are but few hours in the day in which an earthquake could catch us off our ponies.
I have never put on a bonnet since I came to the Hills; like the steeds in the “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” which “stood saddled in stable day and night,” so am I saddled in my hat and riding-habit, always on my pony; my visits are made on horseback. I have a jampan, (a sort of chair, with poles, carried by Hill-men,) but this is a disagreeable kind of conveyance; and I like the independence of my pony much better. The earthquake was charming; we seem to have all the eccentricities of nature around us. A Landowr Ætna or Vesuvius would figure well[245] in my journal, could we be lucky enough to discover a burning mountain in these Snowy Regions.
28th.—I gave a pic-nic party by the side of a mountain stream, in a deep khud at Jerrīpānī: the barberries were quite ripe, in shape much thicker than the English, in colour black, very good in taste. The wild dog-rose hung its clusters of white flowers from almost every tree in the richest profusion;—it is a beautiful climber.
June 1st.—The weather is hot during the middle of the day, the thermometer 70°; one cannot go out with comfort, unless the day be cloudy or stormy; it is very hot for the Hills.
5th.—A very hot day;—the Hills covered with a fog-like smoke, occasioned by the burning of the jangal in the valley below; hot and smoky air comes up in volumes. Mrs. M⸺ was riding this evening, when a leopard seized her spaniel, which was not many yards in front of her pony; the shouts of the party alarmed the animal, and he let the dog drop; however, the poor spaniel died of his wounds. Some officers laid wait for the leopard, and shot it; I saw it, coming up the Hill, fastened on a bamboo, to be stuffed and prepared with arsenical soap.
7th.—Mr. D⸺ invited us to a pic-nic at Bhadráj; we selected a spot under a fine oak tree on the estate at Cloud End; numberless amusements were provided for us: a champagne tiffin was pleasant under the old oak tree; and a dinner, rich and rare, finished the amusements of the day. When the moon arose we mounted our gūnths; and, as the road lay through the dark shade of trees, and on the edge of precipices, we determined to be careful, and agreed to muster three times on our journey of six miles, to see that none of the party had fallen into the khud. Away we cantered through the beautiful moonlight, almost racing our ponies. At the last muster, Mr. H⸺ was thrown by his mule; but as he was scarcely hurt, it was only a laughing matter. We reached home at half-past eleven, after a beautiful ride and a pleasant day.
10th.—One of the officers of the Buffs met a bear the other day, and was glad to get off unhugged; bears as well as leopards[246] abound in the Hills. I must not take my pet dog out riding with me; at this time of the year wild beasts are numerous, and render it dangerous.
We have a great number of visitors every day in the Hills; people have nothing to do but to run about calling and amusing themselves. A third earthquake has taken place; but, as usual, I on my gūnth was unconscious of the quaking of the earth. A storm of thunder, lightning, and hail has cooled the air, and it is very pleasant weather. The Hills look so beautiful at night, when they are on fire; the fire never spreads, but runs up to the top of the Hill; they fire them below in several places at once, to burn the old long grass, and make way for the new to sprout up.
11th.—A letter from Allahabad tells me, a most severe storm took place there on the third of this month,—more severe than the one in which the Seagull was wrecked; it only lasted an hour. It blew down one of the verandahs of our house, unroofed the cow-house, the meat-house, the wild-duck-house, the sheep-house, &c.: the repairs will not cost us less than seven hundred rupees (£70).
13th.—Accompanied Mr. R⸺ to see the Botanical Garden, which is small, but interesting: I ate cherries from Cashmere, saw a very fine Hill lily from the interior, and gathered many beautiful flowers. Some peaches, from the Dhoon valley, very large and fine, like English peaches, were sent me to-day.
18th.—Our party being engaged to dine at Cloud End to-day, under the old oak tree, we got up at 6 A.M., when we found the Hills covered with thick white clouds from the bottom of the khuds to their summits; the clouds were so thick, and we were so completely in the midst of them, you could not see beyond the verandah; the thunder rolled, and the sheeted lightning flashed. After a while the wind blew off the clouds, and the Hills re-appeared, but only for a few moments, when fresh clouds rolled up from the valley, and every thing was again hidden in the white foggy cloud. The rain fell heavily, straight down from the heavens: I trust the rains have set in this day; without them the famine, and the sickness which is raging in the plains below, will continue.
This specimen of what the rains will prove has quite horrified my fair friend, and she is wishing herself back again at Meerut. I—who am fond of storm and tempest—have enjoyed the day; I like these hurly-burly scenes; too frequent repetition might perhaps render them annoying, and the dampness might be productive of rheumatism. Thermometer 1 P.M. 69°.
19th.—At half-past 7 A.M. our party were at Cloud End, seated on the rocks under the old oak, enjoying breakfast after the ride. The delicious mountain air made me feel so well, I proposed to Captain A⸺ to visit the summit of Bhadráj, seven miles off. The rest of the party thought the exertion too great, and would not join us. On quitting the made road we entered a track on the side of the mountain, overhanging a deep precipice. We lost our way, and found we could neither turn our mules round, nor proceed any further. We dismounted; Captain A⸺, with some difficulty, turned my mule; he then attempted to do the same to his own,—the animal became skittish, and, slipping from his hand, went down the side of the hill; how he kept his feet was wonderful. The mule looked quietly up at us from below; to have attempted to catch him would have sent him down the rock to certain death, we therefore walked off, leaving this most beautiful mule, for which £20 had just been paid, to his fate. As we expected, when he found the other mule had gone off, he ascended the rock with the utmost caution, and rejoined his companion; I was glad to see his bridle in his master’s hand again.
After much toil we arrived at the flag-staff on the top of the hill; thence the view was such as is seldom seen in such perfection, even in these mountains:—looking down towards the plain of the Deyra Dhoon, instead of the beautiful valley in all its emerald green, intersected by rivers pouring down from the Hills,—instead of this, white clouds entirely filled the plain, giving it the appearance of being filled with hills covered with snow; beyond were the dark hills of the Lower Range; the next minute the clouds changed their appearance, and rushed up the Hills on a strong wind, covering several mountains at a time in a most extraordinary manner with volumes of white cloud;[248] then, driving on, left them bright in the sunshine. The river Jumna, in the khud or valley, at times visible, at times concealed by clouds, wound its tortuous course below. I have seen the Hills under almost all forms, but the grandeur of the view on this stormy day exceeded any thing I had before beheld, and well repaid the fatigue. At times it rained a little, at times there was a scorching sunshine, then came gusts of wind and clouds, wrapping every object around us in dense white vapour. A little further on we found a Hindū idol, rudely cut in stone; this idol is now neglected, but was formerly much worshipped. Near it is a large stone, on which is chiselled, “Lady Hood, 1814:” on speaking of this to the political agent, he laughed and said, “You were more enterprising than Lady Hood; you visited the spot,—she only sent a man to chisel out her name, and that of Colonel B⸺ on the top of Bhadráj; she never visited the place in person.” We returned to dinner at Cloud End: how glad we were of a glass of champagne after our fatigues! and how glad we were we had brought the beautiful mule back in safety! After tea, remounting our steeds, we returned to Landowr: I rode in the course of that day twenty-six miles, up and down hill,—a pretty good distance for a lady;—but who can feel fatigue in the bracing, most enjoyable air of these delightful mountains?
21st.—At twenty-two minutes after 4 P.M., an earthquake shook the ground and the house; I was sitting at table and felt the shocks, which were very powerful. Rain, rain, storms, storms, thunder and lightning daily: truly, saith the proverb, “There are storms in high places.”
24th.—A delightful day! How fine, how beautiful are the Snowy Ranges! In consequence of the heavy rain the roads have become very rotten and dangerous; in many parts, half the road has fallen into the khud; and where the path is often not three feet in width, it leaves but a small space for a man on his gūnth. Mr. T⸺, of the artillery, met with a serious accident this morning; the road was much broken, and as he attempted to ride over it, it gave way; he and his pony went down the precipice. Mr. T⸺ was stopped in his descent,[249] after he had gone one hundred feet, by a tree, was brought up, and carried to a surgeon. He was much hurt in the head, but is expected to recover in two or three weeks; no bones were broken: the pony went down two hundred and fifty feet, and was found alive!
One of my men was brought in for medical aid, he had been employed in charge of a gang of Hill-men, cutting slates for the roof of the new house, in a deep khud, and had caught a fever. The slates found in the Hills are very good, but more brittle than those of Europe. The houses formerly were all thatched at Landowr; a thatched roof is dangerous on account of the lightning which so often strikes and sets fire to it. Captain S⸺ introduced slated roofs, and several people have followed the good example he has set them.
Kharītā of her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A Mountain Storm—An Adventure—Asses carried off by Leopards—Bear’s Grease—Dēodar Oil—Apricot Oil—Hill Currants—Figs and Tar—The Cholera—Sacrifice of a Kid to the Mountain Spirit—Absurdity of the Fear of a Russian Invasion—Plague of Fleas—The Charmed Stone—Iron-stone—Khobarah, the Hill Dog—Sheep-stealing—Booteah Chharrā—Flexible Stone—A Fearful Storm—A doomed Banglā—Leaf Butterflies—Bursting of the Mahratta Bāndh at Prāg—Similarity of the Singular Marriages in the Hills with those of the Ancient Britons—Honesty of the Paharīs, i.e. Mountaineers.
1838, June 29th.—Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī did me the honour to send me a kharītā, that is, a letter enclosed in a long bag of kimkhwāb, crimson silk, brocaded with flowers in gold, contained in another of fine muslin: the mouth of the bag was tied with a gold and tasselled cord, to which was appended the great seal of her Highness,—a flat circular mass of sealing-wax, on which her seal was impressed. Two smaller bags were sent with it, as represented in the plate, each containing a present of bon-bons. The kharītā, as well as one of the small bags, is represented divested of its outer case of transparent muslin; the other little bag has on its white cover, and the direction is placed within the transparent muslin. The autograph of the Bāiza Bā’ī is on the right hand side of the page; the letter was written in Urdū (the court language), in the Persian character, by one of her Highness’s mūnshīs, and signed by the Bā’ī herself: the paper is adorned with gold devices. The letter commenced in the usual complimentary style; after which her[251] Highness writes, that—“The light of my eyes—the Gaja Rājā—has been very ill; she has recovered, and her husband, Appa Sāhib Kanulka, having heard of her illness, has come from Gwalior to see her.” Kharītās of this sort pass between the mighty men of the East, and between them and the public functionaries of Government.
THE ḴH̱ARĪṬA.
فاني پارکس
July 3rd.—I rode over to Cloud End, inspected the new house, and trained young convolvulus plants over the bamboo hedge around the garden: the rain descended in torrents; it was very cold and uncomfortable. At 7 P.M., being anxious to get home before dark, although it was still raining, I ordered my gūnth; my relative wrapped me up in his military cloak, and put a large Indian-rubber cape above it; in this attire I hoped to keep myself dry during my ride home of seven miles. I had not proceeded a mile from the estate when the storm came on in the fearful style of mountain tempests; the thunder burst roaring over my head, the lightning spread around in sheets of flame, and every now and then the flashes of forked lightning rendered me so blind I could not see the path for some minutes. I had two servants with me; they walked before the gūnth, but were unable very often to trace the road, it was so dark amidst the trees, and the whole time the rain fell in torrents. I saw a dark space in front of the horse, and asked, “What is that?” “Oh, nothing,” said the sā’īs, “ride on.” But I stopped, and sent him forward. At this spot three or four trees had been thrown across a precipice; over these earth had been laid to some depth to form a road; the earth had been entirely washed away by the force of a stream of water, produced from the heavy rain, and had fallen into the precipice:—the darkness was the hollow produced by the chasm! I dismounted; the trees were still below, across the hollow; with difficulty I clambered down, got over the trunks, and up the other side; it was almost perfectly dark. I called the gūnth; the cunning little fellow looked at the hollow, stamped his fore-feet on the ground as if he disliked it, sprang up the bank on the other side, and was in safety by me. I remounted him and proceeded,—an act that required a good deal of quiet courage.
“The darkness of the night is a collyrium to the eyes of the mole[30].” It certainly was not to mine: after I had been out two hours I found that I had advanced four miles on a path that was covered by high trees on every side, rendering it the more dangerous; the lightning was very vivid, and I saw a flash strike the roof of a house; suddenly a faintness came over me, with difficulty I kept in my saddle, and feeling ill, I desired the servant to lead the gūnth to the first gentleman’s house he came near. As soon as we arrived at a bungalow we went up to the verandah, when an officer, hearing a lady was exposed to such a storm, and wished for shelter, came out and took me into the house: I was so much exhausted, the tears ran down my face, and I almost fainted away. They gave me wine, and took off the Indian-rubber cloak, which, most likely, was the cause of the extreme oppression that overcame me.
The lady and gentleman in whose house I had taken refuge were very kind; dry clothes soon replaced my wet habit, and they gave me a bed; however, I was far too much excited to go to sleep, and was disturbed by queer sounds in an outhouse, not far from my sleeping room. I got up, opened my door, wished to call my host, but not knowing his name, lay down again and listened. In the morning the mystery was explained: a lady staying at the house had two she-asses for her baby, which were in an outhouse near my room; the night before my arrival a leopard had broken into the outhouse in which the donkeys were fastened, and had killed them both; they were found dead with their halters on. The night I was there the leopard came again, tore one of the carcases from the halter, and carried it down the khud;—this was the strange noise that prevented my sleeping. Quite a night of adventures. The carcases had been left on purpose, and some of the officers of the Buffs were to have laid wait for the leopard that night, but the storm prevented their quitting their houses.
Captain S⸺ came to Landowr the next day: he was surprised at my having passed the broken road in the darkness of[253] the storm; even by daylight, he passed over it with difficulty—perhaps the darkness aided me, as it prevented my being giddy.
11th.—Rode to the Botanical Gardens; observed several young tea plants, which were flourishing. The bright yellow broom was in full flower; it put me in mind of the country by the sea-side at Christchurch, Hants, where the broom is in such luxuriance. We feasted on Cashmere apricots, which, though not to be compared to those of Europe, were agreeable to the taste.
12th.—Storms, storms,—rain, rain,—day by day,—night by night: thermometer at noon, 66°.
17th.—A bear having been killed, I procured several bottles of bear’s grease. Apricot oil was recommended also for the hair.
I bought some Dēodar oil, made from the white cedar; the smell is vile; it is good for rheumatic pains; if rubbed in too much it will produce a blister.
Baskets full of currants were brought for sale; they were only fit for tarts. Fresh figs, pretty good, were sent me, also some tolerable pears of good size. Tar, called cheer-ke-tel, is excellent in the Hills.
25th.—Was persuaded to go to a ball given by the bachelors of Landowr and Mussoorī, an event in my quiet life. Cholera has appeared in the bazār: the Hill-men are so much alarmed that they run away from service. My paharīs came to request I would let them all depart and pay them their wages: this I refused to do: they pleaded their fear of the cholera. At length they agreed to remain, if I would give them a kid to sacrifice to the angry goddess who resides in the mountain, and whom they believe has brought the illness amongst them—they are extremely superstitious. What can you expect from uneducated men? “If grass does not grow upon stones, what fault is it in the rain[31]?”—i.e. it is unreasonable to expect learning from him who has not the means or capacity to acquire it.
August 17th.—As to our military movements, something will be done, and danger is to be anticipated; but Russia will not be so foolish as to enter heartily into the quarrels of Persia. As for the Persians,—bah! I spit upon them, as Hājī Baba tells us they say of us. I was amused by a letter in the paper to-day, which, speaking of the Russian Invasion, says, “We are being hemmed in all round like a pocket-handkerchief, and like it coming to blows.” Are they afraid the bloodthirsty and ambitious Nicholas should push us from our stools and rob us of our salt? Eating the Company’s salt is the native mode of expression for their wages of labour done under it.
Preparations for war are going on. Fifteen thousand men from Bengal, and ten thousand from Bombay are to march to Cabul, and defend that part of India in case of an attack from Russia and Persia. Burmah and Nepaul are looking hostile; we shall have war in abundance shortly. The Mahrattas talk about the “Russes;” indeed the whole bazār at Allahabad is full of it; they would have even a worse time with these Cupidons du Nord, as the French called the Cossacks, than even with us, resumption regulations included.
20th.—For the last three weeks we have had rain night and day; sometimes it has cleared in the evening for two hours; any thing more unpleasant you cannot well imagine; certainly the rains are very disagreeable in the Hills.—Another plague.—The houses swarm with fleas. At first they did not attack me; for the last few nights I have hardly closed my eyes on account of their sharp fierce bites; they will worry me into a fever. To counterbalance this plague we have no musquitoes; and the climate is too cold to render a pankha necessary. How often have I remembered a poetical epistle of Mr. W. S. Rose’s, beginning,
The Hill-men say there is a certain stone which possesses a charm and keeps away fleas; this stone they put into their beds, and vow it keeps off the biters. My ayha tells me she[255] borrowed the charm, and put it into her bed, the fleas were nevertheless as ravenous as ever; she says the stone has the smell of a peach.
“What are you doing?” said I to my darzī, who was one day groping about the floor with something in his hand, “Trying to find my needle with this iron-stone; there is plenty of it in the Hills.” Shortly afterwards the needle, attracted by the magnetic qualities of the iron-stone, stuck to it; and the darzī brought it to me in triumph. Sang-i-miknātīs is the native name for loadstone.
21st.—Two of my fat sheep have been stolen: an officer in the engineers has given me a fine Hill dog, by name Khobarah; he must be chained in the sheep-house.
22nd.—Another fat sheep has disappeared: according to the shepherd, carried off by an hyena,—according to my belief, sold to the butcher.
23rd.—We are blessed with a gleam of sunshine, and the man is off with his net to catch butterflies; this fine day will tempt them forth.
A Hill-man brought in a basket of fresh kajgee, walnuts; they were a novelty; we cracked them, Hill fashion, between the door and the sill, and found them excellent, sweet, and fresh.
The paharīs brought down curious-looking white stones, which they called booteah chharrā, and used as shot. According to their account these stones are found in a waterfall, and brought from Almorah. On first inspection they have the appearance of being a mineral crystallization, but on more minute examination, it will be found that the number of faces or flattened sides is irregular, some having eight, others nine, ten, or eleven faces. On splitting one open as shown in the plate entitled “Jugunnath,” Fig. 7, which represents the two halves, a beautiful little round kernel presents itself, enclosed in the outer case. It is very probable, therefore, that they are the ripe seeds or berries of some tree or plant in the vicinity, which, falling into, or being washed by the rains into some water highly impregnated with carbonate of lime, become petrified, and entirely changed into this substance, which frequently happens[256] under the supposed circumstances. The little flattened faces may thus be accounted for, by the pressure of the grains in their conglomerated state against one another, at the time the berries are either in a soft or ripe state; at any rate, they are now simple carbonate of lime, completely dissolving in diluted muriatic acid, with evolution of carbonic acid, and without sediment.
In the plate above mentioned (Fig. 6) the grains are represented en masse, about half their proper size. Fig. 8 represents them exactly the size of the original; one is split open, showing the centre of the rays. Fig. 7 is a grain split open, showing the beautiful little white polished berry,—if berry it be.
I have numerous specimens of leaves and branches of trees from Almorah, petrified in the waterfalls, covered with a thick white or brownish crust, through which the fibres of the leaves can be distinctly traced.
Amongst other curiosities in the Hills, I must not omit the flexible stone; Major S⸺ showed me a large specimen, which was decidedly flexible. Since I have applied myself to lithography, it appears to me that the stone we cut out of his mountain at Cloud End, Landowr, with which his house was built, had greatly the appearance of the German lithographic stone; I well remember thinking it rotten when first cut out, and finding it hardened completely on exposure to the air in ten days or a fortnight: I know not if this peculiarity belong to the lithographic stone. The latter dissolves completely in muriatic acid, and water, leaving no sediment.
31st.—A most fearful storm during the night,—one that was sufficient to make me quit my bed, to look after my little widow and the bābās, i.e., children. The paharīs informed me a few days ago that the banglā or thatched house in which I am living has been three times struck by lightning, and twice burned to the ground!—an agreeable reminiscence during so violent a storm. As the lightning, if it strike a house, often runs round the walls of a room, from the iron of one wall shade to that of another, and then pursuing its course down to the grate, tears out the bars, and descends into the earth, we took the precaution of sitting in the centre of the room, avoiding the[257] sides. My fair friend laughed, in spite of her alarm, when I repeated the old verses:—
Sept. 1st.—A most delightful day,—sunshine, absolute sunshine,—the Hills so gay and beauteous after the deluge of so many weeks: the ponies came to the door, and we enjoyed the day to its fullest extent. Some leaf butterflies were caught and brought to me; they are very large and curious,—the back of the wing is like two autumnal leaves laid upon one another. It is said that every month the appearance of the leaf butterfly changes, varying with the leaves. Those that were caught for me were like autumnal leaves, and were of two kinds. I made a large collection of butterflies, both at Allahabad and in the Hills; in the latter place many rare and valuable sorts are found. The Map butterfly, so called from the map-like tracery on its wings, is difficult to catch, it flies so high; it is very beautiful. The large black butterfly, that has four brilliant purple eyes on its wings, is perhaps as handsome as any; but it has a rival in the emerald green long-tailed one, whose under wings are dashed with purple, and edged with rose-coloured spots. There is also a long-tailed black butterfly, the upper wings of which exhibit stripes of black and white, while the under ones have seven rose-coloured spots and four white marks in the centre. I am told the most valuable are the small purple ones with long tails. It were too long a task to enumerate the various beautiful specimens procured for me of these “insect queens of eastern spring.” The privates of the Lancers and Buffs added to my collection, and were very anxious to give their butterflies in return for the beer brewed in the Hills; which, though it cannot be compared to Bass’s or Allsopp’s Pale Ale, is very fair, when you consider it is country made.
5th.—A letter informed me of the bursting of the Mahratta Bāndh at Allahabad: the Ganges poured through the gap, inundating[258] the whole country, until it reached the Jumna just above the Fort, leaving the latter completely insulated. Our house, being close to the bank of the Jumna, escaped, but was on every side surrounded by water. M. mon mari had two large boats anchored near, to receive himself, his horses, his flocks, and his herds, should the river rise any higher. The Bāndh burst on the 23rd of August; it swept away the villages of Kyd and Mootī Gunge, carrying away all the thatched huts, the brick houses alone escaping. The Jumna rose to within seven feet of the top of the very high bank on which the chabūtara (terrace) in our garden is placed. The damage done to the crops and villages is estimated at four lākh; besides this, the force of the water rushing upon the bastion of the Fort has caused it to fall in; it will cost forty or fifty thousand rupees to repair the bastion.
6th.—Ill: my ayha is so kind and so careful of me: what a good servant I find her! Apropos—grain is at present very dear at Landowr; gram, twelve seer per rupee.
“One wife is enough for a whole family[32].” “Where do you live?” said I to one of my servants, a Paharī (mountaineer), who had just deposited his load of rhododendron wood, or, as he calls it, flower wood, in the verandah. “Three days’ journey from this, in the pahar (mountain,)” said the man. “Are you married?” said I. The man looked annoyed; “Who will marry me? How can I have a wife? there are but three of us.” Having heard of the singular customs of the Paharīs with regard to marriage, I pursued my interrogation. “Why cannot you marry?” “We are only three brothers; if there were seven of us we might marry, but only three, who will marry us?” The greater the number of the family the more honourable is the connexion, the more respected is the lady. “But who claims the children?” “The first child belongs to the eldest brother, the second to the second brother, and so on, until the eighth child is claimed by the eldest brother, if there be a family of seven.”
I have heard that the Hill women destroy their female[259] offspring, thinking the lot of woman too hard to endure. The price of a wife is high, from the scarcity of women, and may account for the disgusting marriages of the Paharīs.
Mr. Vigne, in his travels in Cashmir, remarks,—“My classical companion pointed out to me the following passage of Cæsar’s Commentaries, showing that a similar custom existed amongst the Ancient Britons:—‘Uxores habent deni duodenique inter se communes, et maxime fratres cum fratribus, et parentes cum liberis. Sed si qui sunt ex his nati, eorum habentur liberi, a quibus primùm virgines quæque ductæ sunt.’”—Cæsar, de Bello Gallico, lib. v. cap. 14.
I am told that honesty was the distinguishing characteristic in former times of the Paharīs, but intercourse with civilized Europeans has greatly demoralized the mountaineers.
The Great Peak of Bhadrināth—No Glaciers in the Snowy Ranges—Ceremonies performed on visiting Holy Places—Kedarnāth—Moira Peak—Gangoutrī—The Jaunti Peak—Jumnotrī—The Himalaya Range formed by Mahadēo—Palia Gadh—The Dewtas—Bandarponch—Hŭnoomān—The Cone—Height of the Himalayas.
1838, Sept.—You wish me to send home some sketches from the Hills; I will strive to comply with the request, and in the mean time will forward you a map, copied from a portion of a survey: it will show you the elevation of the Himalaya, and give you a definite idea of the shape of the mountains.
The highest peak, that of Bhadrināth, 23,441 feet above the Sea, is a conspicuous object from the summit of Landowr. Some of the mountains of the Snowy Ranges display high, rocky, sharp peaks, covered with snow—smooth, hard, unbroken, and glittering white; others are cut into fantastic shapes.[261] There are no glaciers, because, in all probability, an uniform cold—below the freezing point—prevails in so elevated a region. Bhadrināth is a noted place of pilgrimage, and during my stay in the Hills some of my Hindū servants requested leave of absence to visit it.
“The Hindūs have a way to heaven without dying: if the person who wishes to go this way to heaven, through repeating certain incantations survive the cold, he at last arrives at Himalŭyŭ, the residence of Shivŭ. Such a person is said ‘to go the Great Journey:’ Yoodhist’hirŭ, according to the puranŭs, went this way to heaven; but his companions perished by the cold on the mountain: this forms another method in which the Hindūs may meritoriously put a period to their existence; it is also one of the Hindū atonements for great offences.” The ceremonies performed on visiting holy places are as follows:—“When a person resolves to visit any one of these places, he fixes upon an auspicious day, and, two days preceding the commencement of his journey, has his head shaved; the next he fasts; the following day he performs the shraddhŭ (funeral obsequies) of the three preceding generations of his family on both sides, and then leaves his house. If a person act according to the shastrŭ he observes the following rules:—First, till he returns to his own house, he eats rice which has not been wet in cleansing, and that only once a day; he abstains from anointing his body with oil, and from eating fish. If he ride in a palanquin or in a boat he loses half the benefits of his pilgrimage; if he walk on foot he obtains the full fruit. The last day of his journey he fasts. On his arrival at the sacred spot, he has his whole body shaved, after which he bathes, and performs shraddhŭ: if the pilgrim be a woman, she has only the breadth of two fingers of her hair behind cut off; if a widow, her whole head is shaved. It is necessary that the pilgrim stay seven days at least at the holy place; he may continue as much longer as he pleases. Every day during his stay he bathes, pays his devotions to the images, sits before them, and repeats their names, and worships them, presenting such offerings as he can afford. In bathing, he makes kooshŭ grass images of his relations, and bathes them.[262] The benefits arising to relations will be as one to eight, compared with that of the person bathing at the holy place. When he is about to return, he obtains some of the offerings which have been presented to the idol or idols, and brings them home to give to his friends and neighbours; these consist of sweetmeats, toolŭsee leaves, the ashes of cow-dung, &c. After celebrating the shraddhŭ he entertains Brahmāns, and presents them with oil, fish, and all those things from which he abstained: having done this he returns to his former course of living. The reward promised to the pilgrim is, that he shall ascend to the heaven of that god who presides at the holy place he has visited.”
The mighty Bhadrināth towers far above Chimboraco, although—
At Gangoutrī, the source of the most sacred branch of the Ganges, Mahadēo sits enthroned in clouds and mist, amid rocks that defy the approach of living thing, and snows that make desolation more awful. But although Gangoutrī be the most sacred, it is not the most frequented shrine, access to it being far more difficult than to Bhadrināth; and, consequently, to this latter pilgrims flock in crowds, appalled at the remoteness and danger of the former place of worship. This may pretty fully account for the superior riches and splendour of Bhadrināth. The town and temple of Bhadrināth are situate on the west bank of the Alacknunda, in the centre of a valley; the town is built on the sloping bank of the river, and contains only twenty or thirty huts, for the accommodation of the Brahmāns and other attendants on the deity: the æra of its foundation is too remote to have reached us even by tradition.
A hot spring, issuing from the mountain by a subterraneous passage, supplies the Tapta-Kund; it has a sulphureous smell: Surya-Kund is another hot spring issuing from the bank. The principal idol, Bhadrināth, is placed in artificial obscurity in the temple, and is dressed in gold and silver brocade; above his[263] head is a small looking-glass, and two or three glimmering lamps burn before him, exhibiting the image in a dubious light. This temple has more beneficed lands attached to it than any other sacred Hindū establishment in this part of India. A large number of servants of every description are kept, and during the months of pilgrimage the deity is well-clothed, and fares sumptuously every day; but as soon as winter commences, the priests take their departure, leaving him to provide for his own wants until the periodical return of the holy season. The treasures and valuable utensils are buried in a vault under the temple.
The pilgrims assemble at Hurdwar, and as soon as the fair is concluded they visit Bhadrināth, often to the amount of forty-five to fifty thousand, the greater part of whom are fakīrs.
The next remarkable peak is that of Kedarnāth, 23,062 feet above the sea; and the supposed source of the Ganges is placed below it at the elevation of 13,800 feet.
The temple of Kedar-Nāth is situated at the source of the Kalī-Gunga; it is of indefinite antiquity, not lofty, but of some extent, and sacred to Mahadēo, or Shiva, under the name of Kedar. There are several dhrum-salas erected for the accommodation of the pilgrims who resort to the shrine, and who are pretty numerous every year. There are many kunds or springs near it.
The Moira peak is 22,792 feet above the sea.
Gangoutrī (Ganga avatari) marked 10,319 feet above the sea, is the celebrated place of pilgrimage, near to which the river Ganges issues; its course has not been traced beyond Gangoutrī, for the stream, a little farther, is entirely concealed under a glacier or iceberg, and is supposed to be inaccessible. The small mandap here is of stone, and contains small statues of Bhagiratha, Ganga, and other local deities: it stands on a piece of rock, about twenty feet higher than the bed of the Ganges, and[264] at a little distance there is a rough wooden building to shelter travellers. Notwithstanding the great efficacy attributed to this pilgrimage, Gangoutrī is but little frequented. The accomplishment of it is supposed to redeem the performer from many troubles in this world, and ensure a happy transit through all the stages of transmigration he may have to undergo. A trifle is paid to the Brahmān for the privilege of taking the water, which the Hindūs believe is so pure, as neither to evaporate or become corrupted by being kept and transported to distant places. The Ganges enters the plains at Hurdwar, flows on to Prāg, where it is joined by the Jumna; and, after receiving various rivers in its course, it passes through that labyrinth of creeks and rivers called the Sunderbands into the sea.
Captain J. A. Hodgson thus describes Gangoutrī:—
“A most wonderful scene: the B’hàgirat’hí or Ganges issues from under a very low arch at the foot of the grand snow-bed. The river is here bounded to the right and left by high snow and rocks; but in front, over the Debouche, the mass of snow is perfectly perpendicular; and from the bed of the stream to the summit we estimate the thickness at little less than three hundred feet of solid frozen snow, probably the accumulation of ages; it is in layers of some feet thick, each seemingly the remains of a fall of a separate year. From the brow of this curious wall of snow, and immediately above the outlet of the stream, large and hoary icicles depend; they are formed by the freezing of the melted snow-water of the top of the bed, for in the middle of the day the sun is powerful, and the water produced by its action falls over this place in cascade, but is frozen at night. The Gangoutrī Brahmin who came with us, and who is only an illiterate mountaineer, observed, that he thought these icicles must be Mahádéva’s hair, whence, as he understood it is written in the sha’stra, the Ganges flows. I cannot think of any place to which they might more aptly give the name of Cow’s Mouth than this extraordinary Debouche.
“We were surrounded by gigantic peaks, entirely cased in snow, and almost beyond the regions of animal and vegetable life; and an awful silence prevailed, except when broken by the[265] thundering peals of falling avalanches. Nothing met our eyes resembling the scenery in the haunts of men; by moonlight all appeared cold, wild, and stupendous, and a Pagan might aptly imagine the place a fit abode for demons. We did not even see bears, or musk deer, or eagles, or any living creature, except small birds. The dazzling brilliancy of the snow was rendered more striking by its contrast with the dark blue colour of the sky, which is caused by the thinness of the air; and at night the stars shone with a lustre which they have not in a denser atmosphere.” “It falls to the lot of few to contemplate so magnificent an object as a snow-clad peak rising to the height of upwards of a mile and a half, at the horizontal distance of only two and a half miles.”
“She is called Ganga on account of her flowing through Gang, the earth: she is called Jahnavi, from a choleric Hindū saint: she is called Bhagirathi, from the royal devotee Bhagiratha, who, by the intensity and austerity of his devotions, brought her from heaven to earth, whence she proceeded to the infernal regions, to reanimate the ashes of his ancestors: and lastly, she is called Triputhaga, on account of her proceeding forward in three different directions, watering the three worlds—heaven, earth, and the infernal regions,—and filling the ocean, which, according to the Brahmanical mythology, although excavated before her appearance, was destitute of water.”
Hurdwar, at which place the Ganges issues on the plains, is put down on the map.
The impracticable deserts of snow and rocks in these lofty regions alone prevent the pilgrim from going directly from one place to another. Thus, eleven days’ journey are spun out from Gangoutrī to Kedarnāth; while seven or eight days are expended in reaching Bhadrināth from the latter place.
On the map a beautiful range of mountains now appear, crowned with the Jaunti Peak, 21,940 feet; next is Sir Kanta, and then the pass of Bamsera.
Bandarponch is 23,916 feet above the sea, and the Peaks of[266] Jumnotrī, 20,120. Jumnotrī itself, the source of the Jumna, is marked below in the map at the elevation of 10,849 feet.
At Jumnotrī the snow, which covers and conceals the stream, is about sixty yards wide, and is bounded to the right and left by mural precipices of granite; it is forty feet five and a half inches thick, and has fallen from the precipices above. In front, at the distance of about five hundred yards, part of the base of the Jumnotrī mountain rises abruptly, cased in snow and ice, and shutting up and totally terminating the head of this defile, in which the Jumna originates. Captain Hodgson says, “I was able to measure the thickness of the bed of snow over the stream very exactly, by means of a plumb-line let down through one of the holes in it, which are caused by the steam of a great number of boiling springs which are at the border of the Jumna.” The range of springs, which are extensive, are in the dark recesses, and in the snow caverns. The following is related concerning the origin of these hot springs:—“The spirits of the Rikhs, or twelve holy men, who followed Mahadēo from Lunka to the Himalaya (after the usurpation of the tyrant Rawan), inhabit this rock, and continually worship him. Here the people bathe, the Brahmān says prayers, receives his dues, and marks the pilgrims with the sacred mud of the hot springs. The people, out of respect, put off their shoes long before they reach Jangotrī, and at this place there is no shelter for them during the night. Jumna prefers simple worship at the foot of her own and natural shrine, and has forbidden the erection of temples to her honour.”
Noble rocks of varied hues and forms, crowned with luxuriantly dark foliage, and the stream foaming from rock to rock, form a foreground worthy of Jumnotrī. When Mahadēo retired from Lunka, disgusted with the rebellion of his son Rawan, the tyrant and usurper of Lunka, he formed Kylās, or the Himalaya range, for his retreat; and Soomeroo Purbat, or Roodroo Himālā, with its five peaks, rugged and inaccessible as it is, for his own dwelling. The Bhagiruttee and Alacknunda are there said to have sprung from the head of Mahadēo. Twelve holy Brahmāns, denominated the twelve Rikhs, left Lunka in search[267] of Mahadēo, and penetrated to Bhyramghattee, where the J’hannevie meets the Bhagiruttee, but could not find him. Eleven of them, in despair, went to Cashmire, but the twelfth, named Jum-Rekhī, remained at Bhyramghattee, sitting on a huge rock in the course of the stream Bhagiruttee, which, instead of flowing on as usual, was absorbed in the body of the saint and lost, while the J’hannevie flowed on. The goddess of the stream (Bhagiruttee) herself was at Gungotrī, worshipping Mahadēo, and making her prostrations on the stone on which the present temple is founded. When she felt the course of the stream was stopped, she went in wrath to Bhyramghattee, clave Jum-Rekhī in two, and gave a free passage to the river. One-half of the Rekhī she flung to the westward, and it became the mountain Bandarponch: from his thigh sprang the Jumna, and from his skull arose the hot springs of Jumnotrī. They still show the large rock which the Rikh sat upon, and which was divided in two by the same fatal cut. It is a very large block of granite, which appears to have fallen from the cliff, above the point of union of the two rivers, and is curiously split in two.
The name of Bandarponch applies properly only to the highest peaks of this mountain. Jumnotrī has reference to the sacred spot, where worship is paid to the goddess and ablution performed.
Frazer, speaking of a glen about three days’ journey from Jumnotrī, says, “Having reached the top of the ascent, we looked down upon a very dark and deep glen, called Palia Gadh, which is the outlet to the waters of one of the most terrific and gloomy valleys I have ever seen. It would not be easy to convey by any description a just idea of the peculiarly rugged and gloomy wildness of this glen: it looks like the ruins of nature, and appears, as it is said to be, completely impracticable and impenetrable. Little is to be seen except dark rocks, wood only fringes the lower parts and the water’s edge: perhaps the spots and streaks of snow, contrasting with the general blackness of the scene, heighten the appearance of desolation. No living thing is seen; no motion but that of the waters; no sound but their roar. Such a spot is suited to engender superstition;[268] and here it is accordingly found in full growth. Many wild traditions are preserved, and many extravagant stories related of it. On one of these ravines there are places of worship, not built by men, but natural piles of stones, which have the appearance of small temples. These are said to be the residence of the dewtas, or spirits, who here haunt and inveigle human beings away to their wild abodes. It is said that they have a particular predilection for beauty in both sexes, and remorselessly seize on any whom imprudence or accident may have placed within their power, and whose spirits become like theirs, after they are deprived of their corporeal frame. Many instances were given of these ravishments: on one occasion a young man, who had wandered near their haunts, being carried in a trance to the valley, heard the voice of his own father, who some years before had been thus spirited away, and who now recognized his son. It appears that paternal affection was stronger than the spell that bound him, and instead of rejoicing in the acquisition of a new prey, he recollected the forlorn state of his family deprived of their only support: he begged and obtained the freedom of his son, who was dismissed under the injunction of strict silence and secrecy. He, however, forgot his vow, and was immediately deprived of speech; and, as a self-punishment, he cut out his tongue with his own hand. This man was said to be yet living, and I desired that he should be brought to me; but he never came, and they afterwards informed me that he had very lately died. More than one person is said to have approached the spot, or the precincts of these spirits, and those who have returned, have generally agreed in the expression of their feelings, and have uttered some prophecy. They fall, as they say, into a swoon, and between sleeping and waking hear a conversation, or are sensible of certain impressions, as if a conversation were passing which generally relates to some future event. Indeed, the prophetic faculty is one of the chiefly remarkable attributes of these spirits, and of this place. The awe, however, which the natives feel of this place is great and remarkable. The moment that Bhisht and Kishen Sing came in sight of the place, they commenced[269] prostrations, and the forms of worship, with many prayers and much apparent fervency, to the spirits of the glen. They assert that no man ever ascended the valley to any considerable height; and that natural, as well as supernatural, obstacles are too great to be overcome; that of the few who have attempted it, none ever returned, or ever enjoyed his reason again: and I believe that the former of these obstacles may be nearly paramount, for a survey with the glass showed the difficulty to be at least very great; and certainly, ascending the hill to the top would be altogether impossible.”
There are said to be four peaks which form the top of Bandarponch, and in a cavity, or hollow, contained between them tradition places a lake or tank of very peculiar sanctity. No one has ever seen this pool, for no one has ever attempted to ascend any of these prodigious peaks. Bandarponch signifies “monkey’s tail.” It is said that Hŭnoomān, after his conquest of Lunkā, or Ceylon, in the shape of a monkey, when he had set that island on fire by means of a quantity of combustible matter tied to his tail, being afraid of the flame reaching himself, was about to dip it in the sea (sumunder) to extinguish it; but the sea remonstrated with him, on account of the probable consequence to the inhabitants of its waters: whereupon Hŭnoomān plunged his burning tail into this lake, which has ever since retained the name. The Zemindars aver, that every year, in the month P’hagun, a single monkey comes from the plains, by way of Hurdwar, and ascends the highest peak of this mountain, where he remains twelve months, and returns to give room to another; but his entertainment must be very indifferent and inhospitable, as may be inferred from the nature of the place; for he returns in very bad plight, being not only reduced to a skeleton, but having lost his hair and a great part of his skin.
Nalāpanī and the level of the Dehra Dūn are marked in the map below the source of the Jumna.
The Cone is a most remarkable peak; the elevation of Parkyal and Kaldung is conspicuous among the lower mountains over which they tower. The Nulgoon Pass is marked below them in the map.
Extracts from the papers.
“Height of the Himalayas.—The Great Trigonometrical Survey has determined the elevations of the great peaks of the Himalaya range. The highest (supposed to be the highest spot on the surface of the globe) is Kunchinginga, West Peak, 28,176 feet; the East Peak is 27,825 feet. The following are the elevations of other peaks:—Junnoo, 25,311; Kabroo, 24,004; Chumalari (in Tibet), 23,929.”
“At a meeting of the Asiatic Society on the 6th November, a paper by Col. Waugh, surveyor-general, was read, giving the result of that officer’s operations to determine the height of several Himalayan peaks in the neighbourhood of Darjeeling. Col. Waugh appears to have satisfactorily ascertained that the western peak of Cutchinchinga was 28,176 feet high, and the eastern 27,825—thus claiming for that mountain the greatest altitude on the earth yet known. 1848.”
“HE ONLY IS DEAD WHOSE NAME IS NOT MENTIONED WITH RESPECT[33].”
“THE DAYS OF DISTRESS ARE BLACK[34].”
Family Sorrows—The Snowy Ranges after the Rains—Hill Birds—The Park—Hill Boundaries—Stables on Fire—Opening of the Keeree Pass—Danger of passing through it—Dēobund—Return to Meerut—The Tomb of Jaffir Sāhib—Chiri-mars—Country Horses—The Theatre of the 16th Lancers—Colonel Arnold’s Farewell Ball—His Illness—Opinions respecting the War—The Lancers ordered to Afghānistan—Ghurmuktesur Ghāt—Country Boats—Khobarah, the Hill Dog—Sancho—A Dilemma—Gūnths—Knocked over by a Buffalo—Fathīgarh—Dhobīs—Cawnpore—Sāl and Teak Trees—Deism—Points of Faith—The Power of the Brahmāns—A Converted Hindū—Sneezing an Ill Omen—The Return of the Pilgrim.
1838, Sept. 8th.—I made arrangements with my relative to march across the mountains to Simla, a journey of fifteen days from Landowr, and was looking forward with delight to all the adventures we should meet with, and the crossing the river in a basket suspended on a rope fastened across the stream; but he, an old mountaineer, would not permit me to begin the journey until the khuds—which are unwholesome during the rains, and full of fever—should be fit to pass through. A friend had given me the use of a house for some months beyond Simla, and I was anxious to visit that part of the country. In the interval we formed a party to see the mountains at the back of Landowr, and I sent out my hill tents to the interior.
In the evening I was riding alone at Mussoorī, when I met Captain L⸺; there was an embarrassment and distress in his manner that surprised me: he quitted his party, and led my pony away from the walk, where the people were in crowds, and when we were alone informed me of the death of my beloved father. I had received no letters from home: this melancholy event had been known some days at Mussoorī, but no one had had the courage to tell his child. With what pain I reflected on having so long postponed my return home! Letters from Allahabad confirmed the melancholy news, and my kind husband urged my return to England instantly, to see my remaining and widowed parent.
I recalled my tents and people from the interior; and from that moment the thoughts of home, and of what time it would take from the Himalaya to Devonshire, alone filled my thoughts. It was decided I should sail from Calcutta the next cold season.
The weather had become most beautiful; the rains had passed away, and the most bracing air was over the Hills. I spent my time chiefly in solitude, roaming in the Hills at the back of Landowr; and where is the grief that is not soothed and tranquillized by the enjoyment of such scenery? The rains had passed away, and had left the air clear and transparent; the beauty of the Snowy Ranges, whose majestic heads at intervals flushed brightly with the rose-tints that summer twilight leaves upon their lofty brows,—or rising with their snowy peaks of glittering whiteness high above the clouds, was far greater than I ever beheld before the departure of the rains.
Look at the outline of the highest range of the Himalaya, and picture to yourself its grandeur and its beauty, which are not to be fully enjoyed in the society of others, in the midst of the gaiety of a party. Seek the highest point of the lone mountains, and the shade of the deep forests, whose beautiful foliage is varied by majestic pines, ever-green oaks, and brilliant rhododendrons. In solitude gaze on the magnificence of such a scene:
“Commune with thine own heart, and be still.” Let none be[273] near to break the reverie: look on those mountains of eternal snow,—the rose-tints linger on them, the white clouds roll below, and their peaks are sharply set upon a sky of the brightest, clearest, and deepest blue. The rushing wing of the black eagle—that “winged and cloud-cleaving minister, whose happy flight is highest into heaven,”—may be heard above. The golden eagle may be seen below, poised on his wing of might, or swooping over a precipice, while his keen eye pierces downward, seeking his prey, into the depths of the narrow valley between the mountains. The sweet notes of the Hill birds are around you; and the gay butterflies, enamoured of the wild flowers, hover over their blossoms.
Who may describe the solitary loveliness, the speaking quietude, that wraps these forest scenes? Who may tell how beautiful they are? Who that loves solitude does not enjoy the
Who can look unmoved on the coronets of snow that crown the eternal Himalaya? Who can gaze without delight on the aërial mountains that pour down the Ganga and Yamuna from their snow-formed caves?
There, indulge in solemn vision and bright silver dream, while “every sight and sound from the vast earth and ambient air” sends to your heart its choicest impulses: gaze on those rocks and pinnacles of snow, where never foot of common mortal trod, which the departing rose-tints leave in colder grandeur,[274] and enjoy those solemn feelings of natural piety with which the spirit of solitude imbues the soul.
“On accuse l’enthousiasme d’être passager; l’existence serait trop heureuse si l’on pouvait retenir des émotions si belles; mais c’est parce qu’elles se dissipent aisément qu’il faut s’occuper de les conserver.”
Gazing on the Snowy Ranges, Mont Blanc sinks into insignificance in comparison with the elevation of the eternal Himalaya.
12th.—Anxious to attain a stock of health, to enable me to bear my homeward journey, I commenced early rising, and was daily on my gūnth at 5 A.M.; it was very cold in the early morning, so much so that I often preferred walking. Captain Sturt, who is an excellent draughtsman, promised me a sketch of the Hills ere my departure; this pleased me greatly, as, perhaps, there is no country of which it is more difficult to give a correct idea than that around Landowr. Two fine eagles were brought to me, a golden and a black one; these I added to my collection,—rather large birds to carry, but I shall have so much luggage, it matters but little, a few chests more or less; every thing belonging to the mountains is so interesting. These birds are continually seen, especially at the back of Landowr. A pair of the Loonjee, the red, or Argus pheasants of the Himalaya, have been given me: the bird has a black top-knot, and the neck below has a most peculiar skin over it; beyond which are crimson feathers, bright as gold; the breast is covered with feathers, half red, half black, and in the centre of the black,[275] which is at the end of the feather, is a white eye. The feathers on the back are of a game brown, tipped with black, in which is also the white spot: these birds are very rare and very valuable. I also received a fine hawk, and some small birds of brilliant feather: also the heads and horns of four gooral, the small wild deer of the Hills.
20th.—First met Colonel Arnold, of the 16th Lancers; we talked of the old regiment. Nothing pleases me so much as the kindness and affection with which my relatives, who were in this gallant corps, are spoken of by the old 16th.
22nd.—Not having forgotten the Hill woman I saw on our return from the waterfall, I rode alone to Būttah, hoping to catch sight of her, but was disappointed: en route, my dog Sancho put up a nide of Kallinge pheasants; they rose with a phurr,—as the natives call the noise of a bird,—as of a partridge or quail suddenly taking wing.
23rd.—Colonel Everest has a fine estate near Bhadráj, called “The Park;” I rode over with a most agreeable party to breakfast there this morning, and to arrange respecting some boundaries, which, after all, we left as unsettled as ever; it put me in mind of the child’s play:—
Boundaries in the Hills are determined, not by landmarks, but by the fall of the rain; in the division of a mountain, all that land is yours down which the rain water runs on your side, and on the opposite side, all the land is your neighbour’s over which the water makes its way downwards.
Colonel Everest is making a road—a most scientific affair; the obstacles to be conquered are great,—levelling rocks, and filling up khuds. The Park is the finest estate in the Hills.
25th.—I was fortunate in being able to procure camels, and sent off my baggage from Rajpūr in time to allow the animals to return to Meerut to be in readiness to march with the army there collecting for Afghānistan.
26th.—A sā’īs cooking his dinner by accident set fire to my stables, in which were five gūnths: the privates of the Lancers and Buffs, whose barracks are a little higher up the Hill, were with us in a moment; they saved the ponies, but the stable, which was formed of bamboo, mats, and straw, was reduced to ashes. A few days afterwards our house was set on fire; the men, who were always on the alert, put it out immediately.
29th.—Having ascertained that the water in the Keeree Pass had subsided, and that it had been open for three days, we determined to quit Landowr for Meerut: accordingly a dāk and horses having been laid for us, our party went down this morning to Rajpūr. It was a beautiful ride, but when we reached the foot of the Hill the heat became most unpleasant: such a sudden change from fires and cold breezes, to the hot winds—for such it felt to us at Rajpūr—when we took refuge at Mrs. Theodore’s hotel. She has stuffed birds for sale; her Moonāl pheasants are very dear, sixteen rupees a pair; but they are not reckoned as well prepared as those of Mr. Morrow, the steward at the hospital. Our party being too large to proceed dāk in a body, it was agreed I should lead the way, with Captain L⸺ as my escort. At 4 P.M. we got into our palanquins, and commenced the journey: crossing the Deyra Dhoon it was hot, very hot, and the sides of the palanquin felt quite burning. As the sun sank we entered the Keeree Pass, where I found the air very cold; and it struck so chillily upon me that I got out of the palanquin, intending to walk some distance. The Pass is the dry bed of a mountain torrent, passing through high cliffs, covered with fine trees and climbers; a stream here and there crosses the road. During a part of the year it is impassable, but the water having subsided, the road had been open three days.
It was a beautiful night, and a beautiful scene; I enjoyed it extremely, and walked some distance, aided by my long paharī pole. Wishing my escort to partake in the pleasure to be derived from such romantic and picturesque scenery, I asked him if he would walk. He partially opened the doors of his palanquin, and looking out, expressed his astonishment at the[277] madness of my walking in the Pass; said the malaria was so great he had shut the doors of the palkī, and lighted a cigar to secure himself from its influence, begged I would get into my palanquin, and keep the doors closed as long as I was in the Pass. I followed his advice, but the moonlight night often tempted me to open the doors, and I became completely ill at times from the chill that fell upon my chest, like the deadly chill of a vault, in spite of having wrapped myself up in a blanket. At first I was unwilling to attribute it to the effect of the air of the Keeree Pass, but having arrived at the end of it, these uncomfortable feelings instantly disappeared.
An instance of the danger of the Pass is, that Mrs. T⸺ was detained for two hours at the entrance of it, for want of bearers,—she took a fever and died. The wife of the behishti, who was with our servants, was detained at the same place,—she took the fever, and it killed her. To sleep in the Pass one night is to run the pretty certain chance of fever, perhaps death: there is something in the air that almost compels one to sleep. With the very greatest difficulty I kept my eyes open, even when in pain from a chilly sickness that had crept over me: I thought of Corinne and the Pontine Marshes, in passing which she could scarcely resist the spell that induced her to long for sleep, even when she knew that sleep would be the sleep of death. Quitting the Pass, we entered on the plains, where the sun was burningly hot—how fierce it was! We did not arrive at Dēobund, where we were to take shelter, until noon the next day; I felt sick and faint from the excessive heat, and was very glad to gain the shelter of a roof.
30th.—At 4 P.M. our palanquins were ready; getting into them was like going into an oven. We had taken the precaution of having no dinner during the heat of the day; in the cool of the evening refreshment was welcome, in the shade of the jangal by the road-side. The bearers were good, and at 2 A.M. we arrived at the spot, to which a buggy had been sent, and horses laid on the road: how gladly I left the hot palanquin for the cool air in the buggy! The roads were so bad, they were absolutely dangerous, and the moonlight so puzzling, we could not see the holes into which the buggy was continually going bump bump, to the[278] infinite hazard of breaking the springs; nevertheless, we arrived in safety at Meerut.
Oct. 2nd.—The first thing necessary was to enjoy a good canter in the plains after having been obliged to ride a gūnth so many months in the Hills. On the well-watered course, of an evening, the band of the Lancers was an attraction; they played well, and the instruments were good. The band came out with us in the “Marchioness of Ely,” and I recognised some faces amongst them. Fearing to encounter the intense heat in a boat at this season of the year, and hearing that cholera was at some of the stations on the river, I determined to prolong my stay at Meerut.
8th.—Accompanied Colonel Arnold and Sir Willoughby Cotton to a review of the 16th Lancers; I was much pleased with the review, and the fine appearance of the men.
10th.—Revisited the tomb of Jaffir Sāhib,—one I particularly admire, because the dome is open at the top, that the dews of heaven and the sunshine may fall upon the marble sarcophagus, wherein repose the ashes of the saint. A tomb like this is preferable to weeping flowers, or votive cypress wreath; and such an one, canopied by the vault of heaven alone, would the pilgrim desire, as the lone couch of her everlasting rest. It is a ruin, but must formerly have been a beautiful building.
Returning home we saw two chiri-mārs (bird-catchers). Their game is snared in a novel fashion: they carry a sort of shield, made of light split bamboo, entwined with green boughs; they crouch to the ground, bearing this verdant shield before them, like a stalking horse, at the same time putting through it a very long thin bamboo, the end of which is covered with bird-lime; with this they touch a small bird, and then carefully drawing the bamboo back to the boughs, put a hand through the shield, and secure the game. This style of bird-catching is simple and ingenious; I never saw it before.
What vicious brutes the native horses are!—In the evening I was riding on the course with two gentlemen: Captain A⸺’s horse, a vicious, intemperate, great black animal, attacked mine, and lashed out most furiously. I threw my feet on my horse’s mane: luckily for me they were out of the way in time, for the[279] horse’s heels cut through my habit, and would have broken my limbs had I not been sitting monkey fashion.
My companions were alarmed:—“My God, he has broken her legs!” was the first exclamation, followed by a laugh on seeing my position, and “at least if he has not kicked your habit, he has a habit of kicking.” The escape pleased me, and I refused to ride again in company with so dangerous a horse. He was a fine strong animal, and carried his gallant master nobly through all the hardships of the ensuing Afghānistan campaign. The country horses are horribly savage, and a frightful accident occurred at Allahabad. Serjeant Percival, who was riding with Serjeant Cunningham, dismounted to drink at a well, giving his horse to a cooly to hold; the horse broke from the cooly and attacked Serjeant Cunningham; tore his hand severely, broke his leg in several places, pulled him off his horse, shook him as a dog does a rat, knelt upon him, and tore him with his teeth: at length the horse was driven off, and the serjeant was carried to a hospital, where he died a few hours afterwards. When the 16th Lancers first arrived at Cawnpore, the privates as Waterloo men considered themselves superior to the 11th Dragoons, and when a man of the latter ventured to differ in opinion with the former, he was cut short by “When were you at Waterloo?” The enmity occasioned by this was done away with one day on parade. A Lancer, who was riding a vicious country horse, was thrown; the beast knelt upon the man and bit him fiercely. The Lancers looked on with astonishment; the 11th Dragoons, accustomed to such little accidents, had recourse to bamboos; they drove the horse away, and as one of them picked up the mangled Lancer, “Did you ever see the like of that at Waterloo?” said the Dragoon.—Thus was harmony established between the privates of the two regiments. The Lancers have a very good theatre: the plays are encouraged by the officers, and the privates have the whole management of it: the scenes, which are painted by the men, are very well done; their acting is good, and the band a great addition. The privates performed the “Iron Chest,” and “The Middy Ashore:” the delight of the men, and the enthusiastic manner in which they applauded their comrades,[280] when any thing pleased them, was quite amusing. After the play, the performers came forward, and sang “God save the Queen.” By way of adding to the effect, on either side the stage was placed a Lancer in full uniform, leaning on his sword, with his lance in one hand. This was a fancy of the privates. The two men might have stood for pictures of manly beauty; their attitudes were excellent, the effect was good, and their comrades were so much delighted, they gave them a round of applause. The management of a theatre is an excellent occupation for soldiers in a hot climate.
13th.—Crossing a nālā this morning during an excursion in search of the picturesque, my horse got into a hole, and we were very nearly thrown over, both together, into the stream. I gave him his head, and let him extricate himself, waiting patiently the result of his sagacity. He carried me out completely soaked, and strained his hind leg in gaining the bank.
17th.—Colonel Arnold gave a farewell ball to his friends at Meerut. The Lancers are to march for Afghānistan on the 30th. His house is built after his own fancy: from without it has the appearance of Hindoo temples that have been added to a bungalow; nevertheless, the effect is good. The interior is very unique. The shape of the rooms is singular; the trellis work of white marble between them, and the stained glass in the windows and over the doors give it an Eastern air of beauty and novelty. Fire-balloons were sent up, fireworks displayed; the band was good, and the ball went off with great spirit.
18th.—The evening after this fête, during the time Colonel Arnold was at dinner, and in the act of taking wine with Sir Willoughby Cotton, he burst a blood-vessel on his lungs, and was nearly choked. Medical aid was instantly called in; he was in extreme danger during the night, and was bled three times. A hope of his recovery was scarcely entertained: never was more interest or more anxiety felt by any people than by those at Meerut for Colonel Arnold. He had just attained the object of his ambition, the command during the war of that gallant regiment the 16th Lancers; and he was beloved both by the officers and the men. At 3 A.M. he parted with the guests in his ball-room[281] in high health and spirits: at seven that evening he lay exhausted and apparently dying. When at Waterloo he was shot through the lungs, and recovered. It was one of those remarkable instances of recovery from a severe gun-shot wound, and as that had gone through the lungs, the breaking of the blood-vessel was a fearful occurrence.
21st.—Colonel Arnold is still in great danger, but his friends indulge in hopes of his recovery. Two field-officers called to take leave of me. I asked, “What is this war about, the fear that the Russians and Persians will drive us into the sea?” Colonel Dennie answered, “The Government must have most powerful reasons, of which we are ignorant; it is absurd to suppose that can be the reason of the war; why send us there? let them fag themselves out by coming to us; we shall get there easily enough, but how shall we return? We may be cut up to a man.” His companion agreed with him, and this was the general opinion of the military men of my acquaintance. The old 16th marched from Meerut on the 30th October. Never was there a finer body of men under the sun. Their route is marked out across a desert, where all the water they will get for man or beast for three days they must carry with them in skins. Why they have been ordered on such a route the secret and political department alone can tell—the men ask if it be to take the shine out of them: there is another road, said to be good, therefore it is difficult to understand the motive of taking them across the desert to Shikarpore.
My boats being ready at Ghurmuktesur Ghāt, I started dāk to join them; on my arrival a fine breeze was blowing, a number of vessels of every description were at anchor; the scene was picturesque, and my people were all ready and willing to start. Messrs. Gibson and Co. of Meerut have furnished me with two large flat-bottomed country boats, on each of which a house is built of bamboo and mats, which is well thatched; the interior of the one in which I live is divided into two large rooms, and has two bathing-rooms; the floor is of planks, covered with a gaily-coloured sutrāengī, a cotton carpet; and the inside is fitted up with white cloth—sometimes the rooms are fitted up with the[282] coloured chintz used for tents. The other large boat contains the servants, the horses, and the dogs. The sort of boat generally used for this purpose is called a surrī, which is a patelī that draws very little water, and is generally rowed from the top of the platform above the roof, on which the dāndīs live.
23rd.—Started from Ghurmuktesur Ghāt the moment it became possible to see the way down the river, and to avoid the sandbanks. At 3 P.M. the thermometer was 82°,—a most oppressive heat for one just arrived from the Hills. Lugāoed on a sandbank, and walked with the dogs until ten at night, when I went to rest and dreamed of thieves, because this part of the Ganges is dangerous, and I have no guard on board the boats. From a fisherman on the bank I have purchased fish enough for myself and all the crew, a feast for us all, and a piece of good luck.
Taking a walk with the dogs puts me in mind of the kennel I had in the Hills, and of Khobarah, the magnificent dog of the Himalaya, of whom his former master told me this anecdote:—“Sitting one night in my tent, the dog at my feet, a bearer, in a state of intoxication, entered and spoke to me; the voice of the drunken man was loud and angry: the dog seized him instantly by the throat, bore him to the ground, and held him there. He did not injure the man: it being night, I suppose the creature thought me menaced with danger. He quitted him the instant I bade him do so.”
I gave this dog on quitting the Hills to a relative, desiring him to chain him up until he had made his acquaintance and ensured his friendship. My relative came to me a week afterwards highly amused, and said,—“The moment your dog was unchained he took possession of the verandah of my house. He is walking up and down lashing himself into fury; he keeps us all at bay, and I cannot enter the house; perhaps when he sees you he will become more composed, and allow me to go in to breakfast.”
In 1844, Khobarah, the Hill dog, was still in prime health, taking care of the cows at night at Cloud End, near Landowr. The fate of my dog Sancho was pitiable: he was in the Hills[283] with a small spaniel I had given my relative,—a sharp cry from the dog brought the gentleman to the door; a short distance from the house he saw the spaniel in the mouth of a leopard, who carried him down the khud. Sancho was on the ground, having had his side cut open by a blow from the paw of the wild beast; the poor dog crawled to the feet of my friend, he took him up, and tried in vain to save his life—poor Sancho died.
A fine litter of spaniel pups once placed me in a dilemma: a friend thus settled the point. “It is as much a duty to cut a dog’s tail according to his caste, as it is to have drawn the superfluous teeth of a young Christian. This answer to the question respecting the tails of the young pups must be sent at once, lest time and the habit of wearing a whole tail should attach them, the pups, too strongly to the final three-quarters of an inch, which I think they should lose: the object with a spaniel is not so much to reduce the length as to obviate the thin and fish-hooky appearance of the natural tail. There is no cause to mourn such severe kindness to these pups; grieve not for them! theirs is an age when pain passes with the moment of infliction, and if, as some crying philosopher has observed, ‘We know no pleasure equal to a sudden relief from pain,’ the cutting and firing will be all for the good of the little dogs.” The price of a gūnth is from sixty to a hundred rupees: a good Almorah gūnth will fetch a hundred and sixty, or a fancy price of three hundred rupees. The common gūnths are used for fetching water from the khuds, but such is the dangerous nature of the mountain paths they descend, they are often killed by a fall over a precipice. The only animals fit for such work are mules, which may be bought at the Hurdwar fair, at a reasonable price. The beautiful gūnth Motī, whom I have before mentioned, was sent on an emergency to bring water from the khud: he fell over in returning with the heavy water bags and was smashed in the khud below—smashed! that is not my word, but picked up in intercourse with men, and is as shocking as a phrase I once made use of, “knocked over by a buffalo!”
This is too technical and gentlemanlike an expression; in[284] such cases one should sacrifice brevity in favour of the “I hope you may obtain it style,” (i.e. the feminine of “I wish you may get it,”) and say, you will be thrown down or hurt by a buffalo’s running against you. The rules of female education, both of the governess and of after life, prevent a lady’s knowing whether such an out-of-door animal as a buffalo attacks people with his head or tail, and a lady should betray no nearer acquaintance with the horrible creature than that implied in the form of speech above appointed for adoption. Our language affords a table-land of communication between lady and gentleman, where the technical difficulties on either side the hill are out of sight. If the lady is to speak of a fashion she will leave out scientific terms, as will the gentleman if he is talking of a race; and I see no objection to the language of the man and woman being exactly similar. Any affectation, such as extreme delicacy and timidity, is vulgar, and suited to novel-reading ladies’ maids and milliners’ apprentices. Every term or word turned from its common and general meaning to a particular meaning, is what I consider technical. Such are not only words employed in any art or science in a sense differing from their common acceptation, but, also, such words used in an uncommon sense by a particular set of people, schoolboys, or fashionables. To “cut over with a stone” is a school expression, which of course cannot be referred to the general meaning of the words. Any thing being in good or bad taste is a technicality of good society. Some expressions of this nature, when original, are rather to be considered as bon-mots. Such as Sydney Smith’s saying that a clergyman next him at dinner had a ten-parson power of boring. To make use of French words, unless cleverly selected, comes under my ban, but the practice of good society is against me, I believe, in this. A schoolboy’s word like that of “being knocked over,” can be used with very good effect in fun. A lady may talk to a man of having a lark, or use any such word,—but it must not be used as her own word, but as if she were to say, “as you would call it.” I will give the rest of this essay another time, for fear of knocking over the patience of the dear ones around the hearth of my childhood’s home.
25th.—A fine breeze—the horse boat has just passed alongside—one of the horses looked out of the window and neighed loudly. I like to hear a horse neigh: poor boy, he would sooner be galloping with me on his back over the green sward of the race-course, than be cabined, cribbed, confined, in the boat; nevertheless, both the horses eat, drink, and lie down to sleep like old soldiers.
Another burning day. How good my health must be to stand such heat without much inconvenience! The constant confinement to a boat is very irksome and disagreeable; and this life of quietude after so much exercise is enough to make me ill. Would that I were once more enjoying the morning breeze, cantering against it! The early breeze on the river is damp and unwholesome, therefore I remain idly on my charpāī until half-past 7 A.M. The banks are low and ugly, the river broad and shallow, and full of great sandbanks, between which we glide.
There is little on this part of the river to afford amusement; here and there a flock of wild birds rises from the sands, and alligators basking in the sun have the appearance of logs of wood.
26th.—To-day we have reached the district in charge of Mr. H⸺ S⸺, and the head man of the village off which we have moored, has come on board to offer his services in procuring watchmen for the night, food for the horses, &c. All the way down we have lugāoed on sandbanks in wild out-of-the-way spots: how pleasant it is to have quitted the jangal! In this district I feel at home, and chaukidars have come to guard the boats.
27th.—Arrived at Fathīgarh, and drove to the house of my relative; the grounds were just as beautiful, as full of flowers and flowering trees, and just as fresh as ever; the house cool and pleasant. On my return to my boat in the evening, I found the heat excessive, which, added to the bites of the musquitoes, kept me awake until 4 A.M., at which time the washermen came down to the river-side and made a great noise; their method of washing is to dip a garment into the water,[286] then to lay it on a piece of flat board and soap it, after which they whirl the garment above their heads, and down it comes on the flat board with a loud sound, to which is added a most peculiar noise, like a pavior’s grunt, given by the dhobīs, when the garment strikes the board, as if the exertion exhausted them; this whirling and beating is continued for a short time, when the clothes are taken to the man’s house, put over a most simple steam apparatus, which completely cleans them, after which they are rinsed, dryed, and ironed.
29th.—Quitted the Fort Ghāt; after a good run of forty miles anchored at Kanauj, where the people cooked and ate their dinners; after which we cast the boats off into the middle of the stream, allowing them to float down just at the pleasure of the current, whilst the people slept; but their slumbers were occasionally disturbed by the boat running aground on a sandbank or on shore, when they were roused up to get her off again.
31st.—Reached Bitoor at breakfast time; a large fair was being held on the banks of the river. Here we nearly lost the horse-boat; a strong wind carried the boats against a high bank, which was falling in every second; just as the horse-boat ran foul of it the bank fell in; the chaprasī on deck cut the towing-line with his sword, and the boat swerved off from the bank; she was filled with earth, and all but swamped. The horses, feeling the violent rocking of the vessel, neighed loudly several times, as if conscious of danger, and willing to remind us of their existence. The boat righted, and was got off with some difficulty.
On our arrival at Cawnpore we were detained by the bridge of boats, which was closed, and would not be opened until noon the next day.
Nov. 1st.—Rose early, and went on shore to buy two toon-wood trees, and one of sāl. It is nearly noon; I wish the bridge of boats would open, and let us pass through; waiting on this hot sandbank is very tiresome, and the wind is favourable. I have had much plague with the mānjhī of the horse-boat; n’importe,—a lonely pilgrim must expect a little annoyance on the[287] road at times. At noon the bridge opened, and we passed through; anchored on the other side, to get the timber trees off the bank into the river. The sāl tree, very heavy wood, twenty-two cubits in length, and two feet six inches in diameter, was lying on a high pile of trees; with the greatest difficulty it was moved, it was so wedged in amongst the rest; about twenty men were in the river below the tree, pulling at a rope fixed to a beam as a lever; all of a sudden the tree got loose, and down it thundered, rolling over on its side into the river below. I am not a coward, but when I saw what appeared inevitable death to five or six of my own men, I covered my eyes with my hands, expecting to see them crushed to death, and lying under the tree in the water; however, the cry of “By the blessing of God and the mem Sāhiba’s good luck they have escaped,” was indeed welcome: they had all sprung aside quick as lightning, and not a man was hurt. We then proceeded down the river, taking our sāl tree, lashed to the side of my boat, which made her all on one side; therefore I purchased two toon-wood trees at another timber-yard, and lashed them on the other side, which righted the boat, the toon being lighter wood than the sāl: by the time this was over it was 8 P.M. I paid the men well who had worked so hard, and gave the crews of both boats sweetmeats enough to last for four days; all were in good humour, and I sought my couch completely fagged. But sleep was driven away by the musquitoes; I killed hundreds of the vile tormentors. Every night we drift down with the stream after the people have had their food on shore.
4th.—On the top of the thatch of the house which is built on my boat, is a platform on which the people sit; when the wind is in a particular direction all that is said above is plainly heard in the cabin below. A most theological discourse has amused me for the last hour carried on between my khidmatgār, one of the Faithful, and a staunch Hindū, one of my chaprasīs. The question under consideration was, whether God made Hindūs or Musalmāns first; and whether you ought to say “By the blessing of Allah,” or “By the blessing of Vishnŭ.” These points the Musalmān undertook to explain. The questions of[288] the Hindū were simple, but most puzzling; nor could the man refrain from a laugh now and then, when some curious point of faith was explained to him by the follower of the prophet. It ended by the khidmatgār saying, “If you do not believe in Allah and the kurān, they will take you by that Hindū top-knot of yours, hold you by it whilst they fill your mouth with fire, and pitch you to Jahannam.” I laughed,—the people heard me, and being aware that their conversation was overheard, dropped the subject. The follower of Muhammad worked so hard and so earnestly to gain a convert, it was unfortunate his opponent should have been so utterly incapable of understanding what he considered the true faith.
The Musalmāns are anxious for converts; the Hindūs will neither make proselytes, nor be converted themselves. Deism is the religion of well-educated Hindūs, they leave idolatry to the lower orders. When conversing with a lady one evening, the priest’s bell was heard; she said, “I must attend,—will you come with me?” Accordingly we entered the small room which contained the idols; they were lighted up, and the Brahmāns in attendance. The worship proceeded: I said to the lady, “Is it possible that you can believe in the power of brazen images, the work of men’s hands?” She answered, “I believe in one great and eternal God; as for these images, it is the custom of the country to worship them; the lower orders believe in their power.” “Why do you attend such pooja?” said I. She looked at the Brahmāns as if she feared our conversation might be overheard, and answered, “Their power is great; if I were not to appear it would soon be over; they⸺” she ceased speaking, and drew her forefinger across her throat with a significant gesture. The conversation dropped; and I observed the Brahmāns “cast camel’s glances[35]” both on her and me.
The clergyman at Allahabad converted a Hindū to the Christian faith; consequently, the man became an outcast,—he could neither eat, drink, nor smoke with his own family; he complained to the clergyman, and was taken into service. His[289] attendance at church was constant. His patron died: the man was never seen afterwards at Divine Service. The newly appointed clergyman inquired the reason, and this answer was returned:—“I received eight rupees a month from your predecessor; if you will give me the same I will go to church every Sunday!”—So little did the man comprehend his adopted religion, or the kindness that induced the Clergyman to support him!
Passed Manucpūr with a fine breeze and a powerful stream in our favour; lugāoed below Kurrah, where the people cooked on shore, and as soon as the moon was high we turned the boat into the current, and allowed her to drift; the helmsman ties the rudder up in the centre, and usually lies down to sleep by its side; if the vessel run ashore, he starts up, and marvels at the occurrence. We drifted the whole night by moonlight; at one time I told them to anchor, but the bank kept falling in in so fearful a manner we were obliged to put off again.
Just as we came to the bank to lugāo the men suddenly shoved the boat back into the stream, saying, “Some one has sneezed, we cannot anchor here at present.” A few moments afterwards they anchored. They are superstitious respecting a sneeze, and by waiting for a short time fancy the evil influence passes away. “After sneezing you may eat or bathe, but not go into any one’s house[36]:” because it is considered an omen of ill luck.
A fair breeze is springing up; we are near home, and they will be looking for the return of the wanderer. We are off Papamhow; the river is very shallow and very broad. We passed the ghāt, and moored while the people ate their dinners. I would have proceeded by moonlight, but was deterred from doing so by the advice of the fishermen on the banks, who said it would be very dangerous then to go on, as the stream was very fierce and shallow below.
6th.—Arrived at Raj-ghāt, at which place the carriage was waiting for me; but I found it impossible to reach the ghāt, the[290] force of the current drove us off; therefore, taking the crew of the horse-boat to aid our own, we dropped down into the Jumna below the Fort; in doing this, we ran against another vessel, and did our own some damage. At this moment we are making our way slowly and with difficulty up the stream against the current of the Jumna, just below the Fort; the view is interesting, and the pilgrim will reach the landing-place, below her own old peepul-tree, within an hour. I have at this moment but little energy left wherewith to pursue my homeward voyage, but my promise is yours, my beloved mother, and your child would not disappoint you for all the wealth of Ormus or of Ind. She who ventures on the waters must take patience, and await the good pleasure of the wind and tides; but there is the Fort and the great Masjid, and the old peepul-tree, and the mem sāhiba’s home, and the chabūtara[37] on the bank of the river, which is crowded with friends on the look out for the pilgrim, and ready to hail her return with the greatest pleasure.
Arrival at Allahabad—Visit to the Mahratta Camp—The Three Wishes—The Ticca Wife—The Farewell of Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī—How to dispose of a Wife—The Būndelās—Price of Children—The Pillar in the Fort—Voyage down the River—Arwarī Fish—A Lady Overboard—An Accident—The Sīta Khūnd—The Army of the Indus—Meeting of the Governor-General and Runjeet Singh—The Camel Battery—Lord Auckland’s Visit to Runjeet’s Camp—The Koh-i-Nūr—The Rajpūt Tray—A Paharī Dress—The Ayha’s Stratagem—An Escape on the River—Natives afraid of Cadets—The Panchāyāt—Fear of Poison—Berhampūr—The Nawāb, the Merchant, and the Palkī—Quitted Berhampūr.
1838, Nov.—On my first arrival at Allahabad I thought I should never get through all the arrangements necessary before my departure for England; so many farewell visits were to be paid to my old friends, and so many preparations were to be made for the voyage. Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī was still at Allahabad, and she sent for me. One of the Italian greyhounds given me by Captain Osborne having died, I took the other two, and presented them to the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, the young princess having expressed a wish to have one: I gave her also a black terrier, and one of King Charles’s spaniels.
One day a Mahratta lady came to my house, riding, en cavalier, on a camel, which she managed apparently with the greatest ease; she told me her Highness requested I would call immediately upon her. On my arrival in camp, after the ceremony of meeting had passed, the Bāiza Bā’ī said, “You are going to[292] England,—will you procure for me three things? The first is, a perfectly high caste Arabian mare; secondly, a very, very little dog, just like a ball, covered with long hair, perfectly white, and having red eyes; and thirdly, a mechanical figure, that, standing on a slack rope, with a pole in its hand, balances itself, and moves in time to the music that plays below it.”
I thought of the fairy tales, in which people are sent to roam the world in search of marvellous curiosities, and found myself as much perplexed as was ever knight of old by the commands of a fairy. The Bā’ī added, “You know a good Arab, I can trust your judgment in the selection; the little dogs, they say, come from Bombay: you can bring them all with you in the ship on your return.”
I informed her Highness that very few Arabs were in England; that in her Majesty’s stud there were some, presents from Eastern Princes, who were not likely to part with the apple of their eyes: that I did not think an Arab mare was to be had in the country. With respect to the little powder-puff dog with the red eyes, I would make enquiries: and the mechanical figure could be procured from Paris.
A few days after this visit one of her ladies called on me, and the following conversation ensued:—
Mahratta Lady—“You are going to England,—you will be absent eighteen months or two years,—have you arranged all your household affairs? You know how much interest I take in your welfare; I hope you have made proper arrangements.”
I assured her I had.
“Yes, yes, with respect to the household, that is all very well; but with respect to your husband, what arrangement have you made? It is the custom with us Mahrattas, if a wife quit her husband, for her to select and depute another lady to remain with him during her absence;—have you selected such a one?”
“No,” said I, with the utmost gravity; “such an arrangement never occurred to me;—will you do me the honour to supply my place?”
She laughed and shook her head. “I suppose you English[293] ladies would only select one wife; a Mahratta would select two to remain with her husband during her absence.”
I explained to her the opinions of the English on such subjects: our ideas appeared as strange to her as hers were to me; and she expressed herself grieved that I should omit what they considered a duty.
27th.—I called on the ex-Queen of Gwalior, and took leave in all due form; the dear old lady was very sorry to part with me,—the tears ran down her cheeks, and she embraced me over and over again. I was sincerely grieved to part with her Highness, with whom and in whose camp I had passed so many happy hours, amused with beholding native life and customs, and witnessing their religious ceremonies. The next day she sent me the complimentary farewell dinner, which it is the custom to present to a friend on departure: I partook of some of the Mahratta dishes, in which, to suit my taste, they had omitted musk or assafœtida; the cookery was good; pān, atr, and rose-water, as usual, ended the ceremony.
Those ladies who are kind enough to support and educate the orphan children of natives, are startled at times by curious occurrences. A lady at this station lately married one of her orphans to a drummer in the 72nd regiment, and gave twenty rupees as a portion; the man was drunk for about a week; in a fortnight he made over his wife to another drummer, and in a month came to the lady, saying, “If you please, Ma’am, I should like to marry again.” “Why, John Strong, you were married a few days ago!” “Yes, Ma’am, but I made over she to my comrade.” Imagine the lady’s amazement and horror! The man John Strong went away, and told his officers he thought he had been very ill-used. The man was a half-caste Christian, the girl a converted native.
The famine in the north-western provinces has been occasioned by the almost entire failure of the usual rains. Government has done much in giving employment to those who can work, and food and medical aid to the sick; and more than a lākh of rupees has already been raised by private subscription on our side of India, and they are subscribing for the same purpose[294] very liberally in the Bombay Presidency. Allahabad luckily has escaped, but every sort of grain is very dear, and large farm-yards like ours are somewhat costly. During the time of the famine the natives sold their children in order to save their lives; and large numbers of the unfortunate Būndelās, the natives of Būndel-khand, arrived at Allahabad, famished and dying; subscriptions were raised, and the poor wretches were supported by charity. A most excellent and religious lady at the station proposed sending to the up-country, where the famine raged the most severely, and purchasing ten young girls; these girls she undertook to bring up in the Christian religion, to teach them reading, writing, and needlework, and on their attaining a suitable age, to put them into service as ayahs to European ladies. The ladies at the station entered into her plans, and I agreed to buy and support two girls as my share. A calculation was then entered into as to the expense that would be incurred; I told her, “The other day, a Būndelā woman came to my door with twins in a basket, which she offered for sale for two rupees! I was greatly surprised; the little naked creatures sprawling in the basket were in good condition, but their mother was a skeleton. ‘Two rupees!’ said I, ‘that is a high price; I will give you one rupee for the twins, if you give me the basket into the bargain.’ The poor woman, delighted at having found a purchaser on any terms, laid her children at my feet, and making many salāms, thanked me for having saved them from death. I took them into the room where my husband was sitting, and laid them on the table as a present for him: he laughed, and gave me some money for the woman. I returned the twins, and sent her to the place where the Būndelās are supported by the contributions of the station.”
Having heard this history, my friend wrote to a clergyman up the country, who purchased for us ten girls, all under eleven years of age, and sent them down; the market for children was looking up; he charged us the enormous price of ten rupees apiece! They were placed in a comfortable house, with a school-mistress to instruct them; every care was taken of them, and the ladies of the station attended the school, and superintended[295] their morals. It certainly flourished to a very great degree; they studied the commandment, “increase and multiply and replenish the earth,” with so much assiduity, that in a short time all the little girls were in a fair way of becoming mammas;—a circumstance perfectly inexplicable, unless they had eaten the seeds of the peepul-tree:—a peasant girl in Hampshire declared the same effect was produced by eating water-cresses. It was an annoying failure, that experimental school of ours. Speaking to an officer in the 16th Lancers, of the care that had been taken of these girls, of the religious instruction that had been bestowed upon them, and the disheartening finale of our charitable labours, he said, “In that dreadful famine hordes of wretched famished Būndelās flocked into Cawnpore, and very liberal subscriptions were collected to feed them; great numbers, however, perished from hunger, and mothers offered their children for sale for one rupee each: several were bought by very well-intentioned persons, to be educated, and converted to Christianity. Some little time after the Būndelās had disappeared from the station, I happened to be dining with an old friend, who, in the evening, asked if I would accompany her in her drive to the bungalow where these children were being educated to form ladies’ maids, as she had a favour to ask of me, that I would that evening stand godfather to twenty-two of these children; I declined the honour, and some months afterwards heard that these children would shortly require godfathers and godmothers for their own offspring, should they bring them up as Christians.”
The enormous pillar now prostrate near the entrance gate of the Fort at Allahabad is to be set up on a pedestal, on an ascent of steps, and surmounted by a lion couchant. Colonel Edward Smith is entrusted with the performance of the work. The natives call it Bhīm Singh kí lāt—that is, Bhīm Singh’s walking-stick. The hajjām (the barber), whom I consulted on the subject, says he was a great pahalwān (wrestler): further I know not.
Seneca says, “It is harder to judge and examine than to take opinions upon trust; and therefore the far greater part of the[296] world borrow from others those which they entertain concerning all the affairs of life and death.” In the present instance, like the world in general, I take my opinion of the pillar upon trust, and firmly believe in all the barber asserts; more especially, as some of the inscriptions on the lāt are in unknown characters; those of the mighty dead, who have disappeared from the earth, leaving records imperishable but incomprehensible. The Bāiza Bā’ī was very anxious to erect this pillar at her own expense, and I believe made the offer to the Lieutenant-Governor. She also wished to build a fine ghāt at the Trivenī, which, in conjunction with the magnificent one she was then building at Benares, might have carried her name to posterity.
28th.—My friend Mrs. B⸺ and her four children arrived; she is to accompany me to Calcutta: and a Manis has been sent me to add to my collection.
Dec. 1st.—We quitted Allahabad, and proceeded down the river, calling on those friends en passant of whom I wished to take leave. At Mirzapore the head of a ravine deer was given me. Off Patna a quantity of arwarī fish were brought alongside for breakfast; they were delicious; the remainder we had smoked in shakar and chokar—that is, coarse sugar and wheat bran: let no one neglect this economical luxury,—the smoked arwarī are delicious.
17th.—Both the boys being very ill of fever, we hastened on for medical assistance. At night, as Mrs. B⸺ was quitting my boat to go to her own, passing down the plank, it upset, and she was thrown into the river; it was as deep as her waist; the night was dark, and the stream strong; she was saved by a bearer’s catching her gown as she was sinking; fortunately the bearer was in attendance, carrying a lantern. The rest of the people were on the shore eating their dinners, which they had just cooked. I called to the dāndīs to assist, not a man would stir; they were not six yards from her, and saw her fall into the river. I reprimanded them angrily, to which they coolly answered,—“We were eating our dinners, what could we do?” Natives are apathetic with respect to all things, with the exception of rupees and khānā-pīnā—that is, “meat and drink.”
18th.—To avoid the return of the accident of yesterday, this evening our vessels were lashed together; I went to my friend’s boat to see the poor boys, who were delirious; on my return I did not see that the hold of my boat was open; the shadows deceived me in the uncertain light, and meaning to jump from the railing of her vessel upon the deck of my own, I took a little spring, and went straight down the hold: falling sideways with my waist across a beam, the breath was beaten out of my body for a moment, and there I hung like the sign of the golden fleece. The people came to my assistance, and brought me up again; it was fortunate the beam stopped my further descent. I was bathed with hot water, and well rubbed with dēodar oil, which took off the pain and stiffness very effectually.
19th.—Anchored at Monghir; sent to the Sītā Khūnd, and bottled off a quantity of water for use on board ship; it keeps good for ever, that bright, beautiful, sparkling water from Sītā’s well; we had the precaution to bring corks with us.
The interview between Runjeet Singh and the Governor-General has taken place,—it must have been a fine sight; had I not been going to England I would have seen the meeting. Miss Eden presented Runjeet Singh with a picture of the Queen, painted by herself.
Extract from a letter dated December 3rd, 1838.
“I will endeavour to give you some idea of what is going forward in the grand army of the Indus. The day after our arrival Lord Auckland held a durbār, at which Runjeet Singh paid his visit; my squadron was on escort duty, so that I saw nothing, and was nearly crushed by the line of elephants. I heard two guns were drawn up in one of the tents to be presented to the Maharāj; between them shrapnell shot were piled so awkwardly, that Sir Henry and Runjeet stumbled over them, and very nearly pitched on their noses, and this will doubtless be considered a bad omen. On the 30th Lord Auckland returned the visit; our Regiment and the 2nd Cavalry formed the escort: we crossed the Sutlej over a bridge of boats to the Seik encampment, where 40,000 men are collected. The disposition[298] of Runjeet’s troops was most judicious; the road was first lined with his regular cavalry, tall men, but miserably mounted; these were all dressed in scarlet, and looked tawdry and ridiculous: at the termination of this line of cavalry, which extended about a quarter of a mile, was a sandbank sufficiently high to obstruct all further view, except of the Zamburuks, who were placed on the elevation, and fired a salute from their camels as the Governor-General passed. Having ascended the bank, the view was indeed magnificent, and I question if such a pageant has been seen since the decline of the Moguls. The road was now lined with infantry to the arch leading to Runjeet’s tents, and before which the Maharāj’s line of elephants was drawn up magnificently caparisoned. The infantry were dressed in scarlet, with red turbans, three deep on one side, and two deep on the other: these are the tallest body of men I ever saw. I think in the front rank there could not have been a man under six feet, and several must have been four and six inches higher; some of the standard-bearers were perfect giants in height, the officers were superbly dressed, and I saw more than one wearing pearl epaulets. Only think of that; for the life of me I could not help wishing to let the right squadron amongst them for one little half hour. In the centre of this line of infantry, extending more than a quarter of a mile, the Governor-General and Runjeet met, and, after embracing, proceeded to the durbār. Having passed through the arch, we found ourselves in an enclosure formed by khanāts of about four acres, and in this Runjeet’s body-guard were assembled, dressed in new Kincab dresses, and as magnificent as silk, and gold, and embroidery, and sumptuous arms could make them. The tents were beautiful, made of the finest fabric of Cashmere, and such as could only belong to the lord of that enchanting valley. Runjeet differed much in appearance from what I had been led to expect. He is a little man, and appeared less from being seated between two such very tall men as Lord Auckland and Sir Henry Fane; he is very dark for a Seik, his face is rather full than otherwise, his beard grey, but far from white, the expression of his countenance is that of great cunning and intelligence, and constantly varying;[299] and if you did not know his character, I think you would say there was no outward sign of determination.
“Runjeet was the only plainly-dressed man in his court; he wore a dress and turban of dark red, without jewels or ornaments of any description whatever, whilst his nobles were cased in superb cuirasses and choice armour, and were literally glittering with jewels, and oh! such shawls! no lady patroness of Almack’s in her wildest dreams ever imagined such a collection. Amongst the presents Runjeet has given to Lord Auckland is a gold bed,—may he sleep on it as sound as I do on my little charpoy!
“We have just returned from a grand review of the whole of the troops for Lord Auckland and Runjeet; all very fine, I hear, and we surpassed ourselves in a charge—Shavash! Shavash! Cawnpore is a water-meadow to this place, the clouds of dust would be incredible if we did not know we are advancing to Dust Mohamed’s country.
“This day week, it is said, we are to continue our march, but there are no supplies on the road for us. Shah Sūjah’s Contingent have advanced, and I fully expect to see them some fine morning coming back with at least a flea in their ear. Nobody knows what is to be done, only the first division under Sir W. Cotton marches forward, the second remains here as a reserve. No one seems to imagine there will be any fighting, but we shall march down to Shikarpore, and, I suppose, having secured the safe and free navigation of the Indus, march through Candahar, if the ruler of Cabul will not listen to the reasoning of our Government.
“The crowd at the durbār before mentioned, which took place on the 30th, was beyond bearing, and the band-master, who must be a wag, played ‘We met, ’twas in a crowd;’ and this was by far the best thing that transpired at the visit of the Lion of the Punjab, and the Governor-General of India.
“On returning from the durbār, Runjeet stopped at the flank of the troops lining the road, and had Major Pew’s camel battery paraded for his inspection, and he seemed much pleased with it. Major Pew may well be proud of having first adapted[300] the powers of the camel to the artillery service, for its success has exceeded the highest expectations that were formed of it. Several of Runjeet’s parade horses were drawn up opposite my squadron, they were all large, fat, northern horses, and appeared highly broke; they were most sumptuously caparisoned.
“I forgot to mention that Major Pew’s camel battery had accompanied us from Delhi. Four camels are attached to each gun, in strong and well-constructed harness; and in no instance was there any delay on the road. There can be no doubt whatever of the camel being a better beast of draught than the bullock; and in this country, unless where very rapid manœuvres are to be effected, I think superior to the horse. A driver is seated on each camel; the animal requires comparatively little care or breaking, and thrives upon scanty food; he walks along at the rate of nearly—if not quite—four miles an hour, and the team will trot away with a gun at eight, and keep this pace up for a distance if required.
“The guard I before mentioned at the gate of the durbār were superbly dressed in yellow silk (the favourite colour of the Seiks), some of them in curious and delicate chain armour, and all most sumptuously armed. There was some little difficulty in persuading this magnificent guard to allow us ingress; at length, however, this was permitted, and I found myself in a square of about four acres, artificially laid out as a garden with shrubs and flowers, which must have been brought from a considerable distance. This space was enclosed with canvas walls seven feet high, and in it were collected the body-guard, all armed with sword and matchlock, the stock curiously inlaid with gold, or silver, or ivory. There was no mistaking Runjeet Singh, from the loss of his left eye; he is not emaciated, as I had been led to expect, from debauchery; and has not the hooked nose usually found among the Seiks. The Lion of the Punjab was by far the most plainly-attired man in his court; he wore the same dress he appeared in when he visited Lord Auckland; he had not decked himself in any of the jewels of immense value which he has in his possession, and I was disappointed at not getting a glimpse of the Koh-i-Nūr, which he generally[301] exhibits on his person on great occasions. I fear Shah Sūjah has little chance of ever recovering this inestimable diamond,—who knows, in a few years, in whose possession it may be found? Shah Sūjah’s ancestors plundered it from the treasure of Nadir Shah after he was assassinated, and Nadir Shah extorted it from the great Mogul after the massacre at Delhi.
“Those of the Seik court who were admitted to the durbār were most superbly dressed, some in flowing yellow or bright red silk dresses, their kummerbunds always a Cashmere shawl of very great value; some in high-polished cuirasses, and others in choice and glittering armour; and all appeared decked in jewels of immense value. I should mention, Runjeet has wrested Cashmere from the rule of Cabul, and will, perhaps, restore the unequalled valley to Shah Sūjah with the Koh-i-Nūr; however, at the Seik court, under a tent, formed, as it were, of immense shawls, seemed to be collected the very choicest fabrics of that heavenly country; whilst all that superb armour, jewels of inestimable value, silks of the richest manufacture, ornaments of pure and elaborately wrought gold, shawls of the finest texture and most beautiful colours and patterns, and embroidery curiously worked on cloth of velvet, here met the eye. Even those in the retinue who were very far too inferior to gain admittance to the durbār, or hardly to the presence of those who appeared there, wore shawls of such beauty, as would have excited the envy of our richest ladies. Immediately in front of the Maharaj and Lord Auckland, the never-failing nāch was exhibited; the singer was covered with jewels, and wore a dark green dress, very tastefully embroidered in silver, and she modulated her voice sufficiently, not to make herself very disagreeable. The presents were now handed round, and we took our leave. The Seiks, like a sensible people, never shave the face, and would almost as soon cut their throats as their beards. I did not get back to my tents until late, but returned very highly gratified with the superb pageant I had witnessed; it would be difficult to picture a more magnificent spectacle.”
My correspondent here mentions, that the presents given by[302] the Seiks were handed round on trays;—a far less military style than that adopted by the Rajpūt, whose shield always forms the tray which contains his offerings.
20th.—When in the Hills, roaming in the interior, I met with an accident, a fall: coming down a rock, my long silk gown having caught on a projecting part of it, I was thrown headlong down; therefore I made a dress more suited for such expeditions, a black Paharī dress, somewhat resembling Turkish attire. My fair companion admired it exceedingly, and made one for herself after the same fashion; large round sailor-looking straw hats completed the costume: they were comfortable dresses on the river. My ayha, who accompanied me to the bazār last night, told me the natives said to her, “Ayha, ayha, is that a man or a woman?”—“A man.” “Ayha, tell the truth, is it a man or a woman?”—“A man.” “Then why are you with him?”—“Oh, the sāhib brought me to bargain for things in the bazār.” I asked her why she had said I was a man? She replied, “They are great thieves, and if they think you a man they are less likely to attempt to rob the boats.” Her stratagem amused me. The purchases I made were certainly not feminine, consisting of sixty-five bamboos and some shot; and I superintended the fixing of some brass work on a musket that was out of repair.
We are at this moment surrounded by a great number of boats; the people belonging to them are singing and playing on all sorts of uncouth instruments; such a hum, and such a din!—it will be useless to attempt to rest until these perturbed spirits have sung themselves to sleep.
22nd.—Off Pointy, where the river is rapid and dangerous, we saw two vessels that had been just wrecked. The owner of the land (the jamīndar) was taking up the cargo from the wrecks; half becomes his share, and the owners of the vessels have only the remainder.
25th.—A stormy day; during a lull we attempted to cross the river; half-way over a heavy wind rendered my boat unmanageable, and we were driven by the wind upon a clump of bamboo stumps that were just above water in the middle of[303] the stream: the crew were alarmed, and shouted “Rām! rām! āh’e Khudā! āh’e Khudā!” Fortunately, the boat being strong and new, she did not split open, and after a time we got her off again; the wind then drove us up a creek, and we lugāoed on a sandbank. The gale separated me from my fair friend, whose boat was driven to the opposite side of the river; her people were calling to know if I were safe; it was impossible to rejoin her; she heard the answering shouts of my men in the distance, and was satisfied. We were like the Brahmanī ducks, the chakwā chakwī, separated by the river, and calling through the live-long night “ā’o, ā’o,” “come, come.”
26th.—We anchored below the village of Downapūr, which had been washed away into the river during the last rains, by the force of the current having undermined its banks. My fair friend and I roamed in the beautiful moonlight by ourselves, attired in our Paharī dresses and straw hats, to a village at some distance. The women took us for cadets, and ran away in a great fright; nor was it for a length of time we could bring an ugly old hag to a parley; at last we succeeded, and bought a Bengalee goat and kid; the villagers were excessively afraid of us, and with great difficulty we persuaded them to bring the goats to the vessel. They asked my companion where her regiment was stationed; and imagined my wife was parda nishīn on board the boats. We did not undeceive them with respect to our manhood.
On my return I asked the sentry on my boat, “What hour is it?” The man answered, “When Honey is perpendicular over the mast it is midnight; it must now be eleven.” His Honey are the three stars in Orion’s belt.
27th.—Anchored below Sooty on the Bhagirathī. I was awakened from my sleep at 10 P.M. by the servants saying my cook had been missing since 7 in the evening; his age is twenty; and he had never quitted the boats before. We looked over all the boats, and searched the jāngal for miles around, and we began to fear a tiger might have taken him off, knowing that gentlemen are in the habit of coming to this part of the country tiger-shooting. My friend became uneasy, and was anxious to go to[304] the opposite side of the river; to this I objected, offering to keep a bonfire blazing before the boats all night, but refusing to quit the spot until the boy’s fate was ascertained. At last he was discovered on the top of my boat, hanging over the side as if he had fallen there; on moving him he groaned as if in severe agony, and appeared senseless; his jaw was locked, his eyes were fixed, and turned up under the lids. The poor fellow had been exposed in this state to the dews of a Bengal night for three hours. They brought him into my cabin, he fell into the most violent convulsions, and appeared dying. All the remedies for fits were applied; we placed him in a warm bath; after three hours and a half his jaw relaxed, his eyes moved as if the pressure was off them, and being better, the servants carried him, still apparently senseless, into the cook-boat. I had been up with him four hours in a damp foggy night, anxious for his recovery; his father was our cook, and this young native had been with us eleven years under his father. Mrs. B⸺ said, “I heard a native hint to another that the boy is not in a fit; and I have heard natives will sham illness, and deceive any body.” I called a servant, and asked him if it were true. The man, standing on one leg, with the palms of both hands clasped together, said, “What can I say? will you forgive me? If you were my master I would tell you; but how can I utter such words of shame to my mistress? Say you will forgive me for uttering such words, and I will tell you, if you order me to do so.” He then related what had passed, and said, the boy, hearing himself called, became alarmed, hid himself, and, on being discovered, shammed illness.
I desired the chaprasī to take a little riding whip in his hand, and accompany me into the cook-boat; the boy was better, but had not recovered from his fit,—the violent convulsions had gone off. I ordered the head man to cut off his hair, and apply leeches to his head; during the operation the itching of his head made him put up his hand and scratch it. I saw from his countenance he was angry, for the shaving of the head is, I believe, the sign of complete slavery with a native, and he found it difficult to sham illness. The operation over, the khalāsī gave him a sharp cut with the whip over his hand, desired him to[305] leave off shamming, and come on deck. Finding his imposition was discovered, he got up, and in the most impudent manner said, “What fault have I committed?—what have I done that is wrong?” When I told a chaprasī to take charge of him, and take him to the nearest magistrate, the cook fell at my feet, confessed his crime, and begged I would not send him away; requesting a panchāyāt might be held on his conduct, or that I would punish him according to my pleasure. I told the people to hold a panchāyāt according to their own customs, to report the sentence to me, and it should be carried into execution. The whole of the people assembled in council under a sacred tree on the bank, and deliberated on the case: at the termination of the consultation the elders came to me saying they had decided as follows:—The cook was to receive twenty-two lashes, that he was to lose caste, and to have his hukka panī bāndh—that is, they would no longer allow him to associate with themselves, eat or smoke with them, or worship with the faithful. They requested I would turn him out of the boats, that they should be allowed to take him on shore, put him on an ass with his face to the tail of the animal, and followed by drums, and the hooting of the rabble, they should lead the donkey through the village, and then turn him off for ever. This was a severe sentence, and showed how angry the people of his own caste had become: they gave him the twenty-two lashes, he lost caste, and was not allowed to worship on deck as usual. I would not turn him out of service, knowing it would be his ruin, and I felt compassion for his pretty young wife, whom he had left at Allahabad; nor would I allow them to parade him on an ass. The panchāyāt took into consideration the conduct of the under-woman; the servants had told her if she had hidden the cook any where, if she would tell he should be released, and nothing should be said about it: that they would not awaken me; they only wanted to find him. She swore she had not seen him at all; she was present during the four hours he was pretending to be ill,—she saw how much alarmed I was,—also that during this time I was exposed to the night air; and she aided in the deception. They condemned her according to law,[306] but as the sentence was very severe, I only allowed a part of it to be put into execution. She was obliged to blacken her own face with soot and oil as she sat on deck; all the servants came round her,—they laughed, hooted, and complimented her on her beauty; she cried bitterly,—the punishment was severe enough; she was afraid she should be paraded on the donkey, and was very glad to find I would not allow it. The next day she wanted the cook to marry her, and make her a Musalmanī, saying, her husband on her return would cut off her nose, and break into the zenāna of the cook. However, she was disappointed in her wish of becoming a follower of the Prophet, it being discovered she had another lover: this extra lover also lost caste, and had his hukka panī bāndh.
Knowing the natives are apt to administer poison in revenge, I mentioned the circumstance to my khansaman, and said, “It is immaterial to me, but, in case of my death, you will be answerable to the sāhib.” The man made his salām, saying, “On my head be it: you have punished the man justly; there is nothing to fear: had he been punished unjustly he might have revenged himself by putting poison in your food.” “Very well,” said I, “it is your concern, not mine;”—and I finished my dinner.
29th.—Arrived at Berhampūr, at which place a bearer of mine related the following history:—
“In former times, when the English first came to Kalkut (Calcutta), a very rich merchant resided at Moorshedabad, by name Jugger Seit: this man was a great harām-zāda (rascal), never obeyed the orders of the Nawāb, was very rich, and had two hundred soldiers as a body-guard. One day he boasted that he could day by day dethrone such a Nawāb as the one at Moorshedabad, and daily place a new one on the throne: these words having been reported to the Nawāb, he sent two soldiers to seize the merchant. While the man was bathing in the river, away from his attendants, the soldiers fell upon him; and one of them having stabbed him in the side, they carried him before the Nawāb. He offered as his ransom to strew the road from Moorshedabad to Delhi with gold mohurs; but the Nawāb was[307] inflexible. The merchant was fastened into a palanquin, placed in a small boat, carried out into the river in front of the Nawāb’s house, and thrown palkī and all into the stream, where of course he was drowned.” So ends the tale of the Nawāb, the Merchant, and the Palkī.
30th.—Remained at Berhampūr, to write letters, buy silks, also figures of men and animals beautifully carved in ivory, and to procure food.
31st.—Quitted Berhampūr. I have suffered so much during the last twelvemonth from the death of relatives and friends, that I now bid adieu to the past year without regret. May the new one prove happier than the last!
Cutwa—Bracelets of the Sankh Shell—Anchor-making at Culwa—The Dying Bengalī—The Skull—The Tides—The “Madagascar”—Mal de Mer—A Man Overboard—Mountains of Africa—Wrecks—Wineburgh—Constantia—A South-easter—Return to the Ship—Emancipation of the Slaves—Grapes—A Trip into the Interior—Captain Harris—St. Helena—Prices at Mr. Solomon’s Shop—The Tomb of the Emperor—Longwood—St. Helena Birds—Our Indian Wars—General Allard—Letter from Jellalabad—Death of Colonel Arnold—The Afghāns—Mausoleum of Shah Mahmoud—The Gates of Somnaut—The Remains of the Ancient City of Ghuznee.
1839, Jan. 1st.—We flew down the river on a powerful wind, until we reached Cutwa, where we moored, to purchase a gāgrā, a brass vessel for holding water; gāgrās and lotas are manufactured at this place, as are also churīs, bracelets made of the sankh, the conch shell which the Hindūs blow. These churīs are beautifully white, very prettily ornamented, and are worn in sets: above them, some of the women wore immense bracelets of silver or of pewter, according to the rank of the wearer; those bracelets stand up very high, and the pewter ones shine like silver, from being scrubbed with sand daily in the river. At this place a number of people were bathing; one of the Bengalī women was remarkably well formed, my attention was attracted by the beauty of her figure; her skin was of a clear dark brown, with which her ornaments of red coral well contrasted; her dress, the long white sarī, hanging in folds of graceful drapery around her; but her face was so ugly, it was[309] quite provoking;—so plain a face united to so well-formed a figure.
2nd.—At Nuddea the tide was perceptible, and the smell of the burnt bodies on the opposite side of the river most annoying.
3rd.—Anchored at Culwa, to get the wooden anchor filled with mud and bound up with ropes; the process was simple and curious, but it took five hours to accomplish the work. Bamboos were tied to the cross of the anchor, which was of heavy wood,—a bit of old canvas was put inside, and filled with lumps of strong clay,—the bamboos were then pressed together, and the whole bound with ropes; a very primitive affair. I had a new cable made before quitting Prāg,—a necessary precaution; for unless you have it done beforehand they will detain you at Culwa to do it, as the hemp is a little cheaper there than in the up-country, and the mānjhīs do not care for the annoyance the detention of three or four days may occasion. At Culwa I saw a shocking sight: a dying Bengalī woman was lying on a mat by the river side, her head supported by a pillow, and a woman sitting at her side was fanning her with a pankha. At a certain time the body is laid in the water up to the waist, prayers are repeated; and at the moment of dying the mud of the holy Ganges is stuffed into the nose and mouth, and the person expires in the fulness of righteousness. My people told me that, if the woman did not die by night-time, it was very likely they would stuff her nose and mouth a little too soon with the holy mud, and expedite her journey rather too quickly to another world! The Hindūs, up-country men, who were with me, were disgusted with the Bengalee customs, and violent in their abuse. Should she recover she will take refuge, an outcast in the village of Chagdah.
We anchored at Santipūr. The water of the river at the ghāt was covered with drops of oil, from its being a bathing-place, and the Bengalīs having the custom of anointing their bodies daily with oil.
A chaprasī of mine, seeing a skull, struck it with a bamboo and cursed it.
“Why did you strike and curse the skull?” said I.
“It is a vile Bengalī skull; and those sons of slaves, when we ask a question, only laugh and give no answer.”
“Perhaps they do not understand your up-country language.”
“Perhaps not, that may be the reason; but we hate them.”
6th.—Two miles above Calcutta:—the day was fine, the wind very heavy, but favourable: the view of the shipping beautiful; I enjoyed it until I remembered my crew were up-country men, from Hurdwar, who had never seen the sea, and knew not the force of the tides. We drifted with fearful velocity through the shipping; they threw the anchor overboard, but it would not hold; and away we went, our great unwieldy boat striking first one ship then another; at length a gentleman, seeing our danger as we were passing his pinnace, threw a rope on board, which the men seized, and having fastened it, brought up the vessel. All this time I was on deck, under a burning sun, and we did not anchor until 12 at noon; consequently, that night I was very ill, the beating in my head fearfully painful, and I fainted away three times; but it was of no consequence, I was in the hands of a kind friend, and soon recovered.
9th.—The ships lie close to the drive near the Fort, and visiting them is amusement for a morning. I went on board the “Earl of Hardwicke,”—she could not accommodate me; thence I proceeded to the “Madagascar,” and took one of the lower stern cabins for myself, for which I was to give 2500 rupees; and a smaller cabin, at 1300 rupees, for my friend’s three children, who were to accompany me to England. At the same time I engaged an European woman to attend upon me and the young ones. Going to sea is the only chance for the poor boys, after the severe fever they had on the river, from the effects of which they are still suffering.
The larboard stern cabin suits me remarkably well; it is very spacious, sufficient to contain a number of curiosities; and before the windows I have arranged a complete forest of the horns of the buffalo, the stag, and the antelope.
20th.—A steamer towed the “Madagascar” down the river, and the pilot quitted us on the 22nd, from which moment we[311] reckoned the voyage actually commenced; it is not counted from Calcutta, but from the Sandheads, when the pilot gives over the vessel to the captain, and takes his departure. Suddu Khān, my old khansaman, who had accompanied me thus far, now returned with the pilot: the old man must have been half-starved, he would eat nothing on board but a little parched grain, and slept outside my cabin-door; he is an excellent servant, and says he will take the greatest care of the sāhib until my return.
I suffered severely at the Sandheads from mal de mer, on account of the heavy ground-swell; perhaps no illness is more distressing,—to complain is useless, and only excites laughter; no concern on the subject is ever felt or expressed. Why is blind man’s buff like sympathy[38]?
Let no one be tempted to take a lower stern cabin; mine was one of the largest and best, with three windows and two ports; nevertheless it was very hot, the wind could not reach it; it was much less comfortable than a smaller cabin would have been on the poop.
30th.—Very little wind in the early morning; during the day a dead calm,—very hot and oppressive. How a calm tries the temper! Give me any squall you please, but spare me a calm.
31st.—The ship rolling and pitching most unmercifully; there is scarcely wind enough to move her; she lies rolling and pitching as if she would send her masts overboard; thermometer 87°—the heat is most distressing,—no wind: caught a shark and a sucking fish.
Feb. 1st.—Thermometer 87°, the heat is distressing: a return voyage is much hotter than one from England. Captain Walker is very attentive to his passengers; he keeps an excellent table, and every thing is done to render them comfortable. We have sixty invalids on board,—wretched-looking men; one of them, when the ship was going seven knots an hour, threw himself overboard; a rope was thrown out, to which he clung, and they drew him in again; he came up sober[312] enough, which it was supposed he was not when he jumped overboard. Fortunate was it for the man that the voracious shark we afterwards caught, whose interior was full of bones, did not make his acquaintance in the water.
March 4th.—The morning was fine, the sea heavy, and we came in delightfully towards the Cape: the mountains of Africa were beautiful, with the foaming breakers rushing and sounding at their base. The lighthouse and green point, with its white houses, were pleasing objects. The view as you enter the Cape is certainly very fine: the mountains did not appear very high to my eye, accustomed to the everlasting snows of the Himalaya, but they are wild, bold, and picturesque, rising directly from the sea,—and such a fine, unquiet, foaming, and roaring sea as it is! The Devil’s Peak, the Lion, and Table Mountain, were all in high beauty; not a cloud was over them. The wreck of the “Juliana” lay near the lighthouse; and the “Trafalgar” was also there, having been wrecked only a week before.
5th.—Breakfasted at the George Hotel; fresh bread and butter was a luxury. Drove to Wineburgh to see a friend, and not finding him at home, we consoled ourselves with making a tiffin—that is, luncheon,—on the deliciously fine white water grapes from his garden. Proceeded to Constantia, called on a Dutch lady, the owner of the vineyard, whose name I forget; she, her husband, and daughter were very civil, and offered us refreshment. We walked over the vineyard; the vines are cut down to the height of a gooseberry bush, short and stumpy; the blue grapes were hanging on them half dried up, and many people were employed picking off the vine leaves, to leave the bunches more exposed to the sun; the taste of the fruit was very luscious, and a few grapes were sufficient, they were too cloying, too sweet. They told us it took an amazing quantity of grapes to make the Constantia, so little juice being extracted, in consequence of their first allowing the bunches to become so dry upon the vine; but as that juice was of so rich a quality, it rendered the Constantia proportionably expensive. The old Dutchman took us up a ladder into an oak tree, in which benches were[313] fixed all round the trunk; he took great pride in the breadth of it, and the little verdant room formed of the branches was his favourite place for smoking. The acorns I picked up were remarkably large, much larger than English acorns. Oaks grow very quickly at the Cape, three times as fast as in England; but the wood is not so good, and they send to England for the wood for the wine-casks, which is sent out ready to be put together; they think their wine too valuable for the wood at the Cape. There was no wine-making going on at the time, but the lovers of Constantia may feel some disgust at knowing that the juice is pressed out by trampling of the grapes in a tub;—an operation performed by the naked feet of the Africanders, who are not the most cleanly animals on earth.
How much the freshness of the foliage and the beauty of the country through which we drove delighted me! The wild white geranium and the myrtle were both in flower in the hedges. After a sea-voyage we devoured the vegetables, the fish, and the fruit, like children turned loose amongst dainties.
Our voyage from Calcutta to the Cape had been a very fine one—forty-two days; the shortest period in which it has been accomplished was thirty-one days, by a French vessel. The mal de mer that had made me miserable from the time the pilot quitted us never left me until we were within four or five days’ sail of the Cape; then image to yourself the delight with which I found myself on shore. Eatables—such as sardines, anchovies, &c.,—are more reasonable than in Calcutta; one shilling is equivalent to a rupee. Visited a shop where there is a good collection of stuffed birds; bought a Butcher bird,—it catches its prey, sticks it upon a thorn, and devours it at leisure: small birds are one shilling each; but I know not if they are prepared with arsenical soap, like those to be purchased at Landowr. No good ostrich feathers were to be had at the Europe shops: there is a shop, kept by a Dutchwoman, near the landing-place, where the best—the uncleaned ostrich feathers—are sometimes to be bought; the price about five guineas per pound. My man-servant gave twenty shillings for[314] eighteen very fine large long feathers in the natural state, and he told me he made a great profit by selling them in town.
6th.—I was just starting to dine with an old friend, when I was told a South-easter was coming on, and I must go on board at once; there had been no South-easter for some time, and it was likely to blow three days. The Table Mountain was covered with a white cloud, spread like a table-cloth over the summit, and the wind blew very powerfully. My friend hurried me off, saying instances had been known of ships having been blown off the land during a South-easter, leaving the passengers on shore, and their not being able to return for them. A gentleman offered the boatman who brought us on shore five pounds to take us to the “Madagascar,”—she was lying three miles from land; the man did not like the wind, and would not go. A boatman with a small boat said he would take six of the party for thirty shillings. When we got fairly from land the little boat pitched and tossed, and the waves broke over her, running down our backs; it was a very dark evening, we made the wrong vessel, and as we got off from her side I thought we should have been swamped; then there was the fear of not making our own ship, and being blown out to sea. Very glad was I when we were alongside, and still more so when my feet were on her deck,—the little boat rose and sunk so violently at the side of the vessel. How the wind roared through the rigging! The South-easter blew all night, and abated in the morning, when those who had been left on shore came on board.
A friend came to say farewell, and brought me a large hamper full of the finest grapes, pears, and apples,—a most charming present. I and the three children feasted upon them for ten days: how refreshing fine grapes were at breakfast! and such grapes! I never tasted any so fine before. From a Newfoundland ship near us I purchased several baskets of shells.
There was a little squadron of fishermen’s boats all out together, and hundreds of birds were following the boats, resting on the water at times, and watching for the bits of bait thrown[315] away by the fishermen, which they picked up—it was a pretty sight.
The mountains certainly are very wild and beautiful; there is vegetation to the top of Table Mountain, 3500 feet. Landowr, on which I formerly lived, is 7500 feet above the sea; and that is covered with fine trees, and vegetation of all kinds, all over the summit.
At Constantia, at Mr. Vanrennon’s vineyard, his wife complained greatly of the emancipation of the slaves: some of them were unwilling to be free, some of them were glad that freedom procured them idleness; their wages being high and food cheap, the emancipated people will only work now and then. The slaves collect in Cape Town, they work for a week, the wages of seven days will supply them with rice and fish for a length of time; and until forced by necessity, they will not work again. They will prepare the land, but when the harvest is to be cut, they will not cut it unless you give them a sum far beyond their wages; and if you refuse to submit to the imposition, the crops must rot on the ground. The thatching on the houses at Constantia is most beautifully done, so correct and regular, and every thing there looks neat, and clean, and happy.
There are several sorts of grapes at the Cape, the purple, and the white Pontac grape, of which the Constantia wine is made. The white sweet pod, a long grape; the sweet water, a round white grape; and a round purple grape;—they are all very fine. The medical men prescribe nothing to old Indians but grapes, grapes, as many as they can eat; that is the only medicine recommended, and the best restorative after calomel and India. The Hindoos, as they call us Indians at the Cape, approve highly of the prescription. The Cape horses, which are fine, and the cows, delighted me; there were some excellent and strong mules also. The delights of shore after having been cooped up in a ship, only those who have made a long voyage and have suffered from mal de mer can understand; or the pleasure of roaming at large on the quiet, firm earth, the sweet smell of the fields, no bilge water, no tar, no confinement.
A friend of mine, a Bengal civilian, gave a good account of[316] an expedition he made into the interior for about three hundred miles from the frontier with a Madras civilian. They got deer in abundance, zebra, and Guinea fowls, and saw lions in flocks. Fancy twelve of the latter gambling together near a small pool of water. They travelled in a waggon drawn by twenty bullocks, and took three Hottentot boys with them as servants, and fifteen horses, of which they lost all but one by theft or accident. He did not go, by many hundred miles, as far into the interior as Mr. Harris, not, in fact, into the hunting ground for elephants and camelopards: he spoke of Harris’s work, which is very interesting: he knew Mr. Harris, says he is a fine fellow, and from what he saw believes his accounts to be unexaggerated. What a brilliant country for sport!
One of the gentlemen of this party broke his collar-bone: they met with some Italians who came to them for protection; they also met with twelve lions, upon which they made off and got home again as fast as they could. My tale is a lame one; I have forgotten their adventures, but suppose the twelve lions did not eat the twenty bullocks, or how could the party have got home again?
7th.—Quitted Cape Town on a fine and powerful wind; we were all in good spirits; the change had done us good, and we had gathered fresh patience—the worst part of the voyage was over—for a man in bad health what a trial is that voyage from Calcutta to the Cape!
12th.—Very cold weather: this frigate-built ship is going nine knots an hour, and rolling her main chains under water. In the evening, as I was playing with the children on deck at oranges and lemons, we were all thrown down from the ship having rolled heavily; her mizen-top-gallant mast and the main-top-gallant mast both broke; one spar fell overboard, and the broken masts hung in the rigging.
18th.—At 8 A.M. we arrived at St. Helena: the view of the island is very impressive; it rises abruptly from the sea—a mass of wild rocks, the heavy breakers lashing them; there appears to be no shore, the waves break directly against the rocks. The highest point is, I believe, two thousand feet; the[317] island appears bare and desolate as you approach it. A white heavy cloud hung over the highest part of the mountain; the morning was beautiful, and many vessels were at anchor. I sketched the island when off Barn’s Point. The poles of the flagstaffs still remain, on which a flag was hoisted whenever the emperor appeared, that it might tell of his whereabouts, giving him the unpleasant feeling that spies were perpetually around him. I went on shore in a bumboat that had come alongside with shells. Landing is difficult at times when the waves run high; if you were to miss your footing on the jetty from the rising and sinking of the boat, you would fall in, and there would be little chance of your being brought up again. There are only two points on the island on which it is possible to land, namely, this jetty and one place on the opposite side, both of which are strongly guarded by artillery. Batteries bristle up all over the rock like quills on a porcupine. The battery on the top of Ladder Hill may be reached by the road that winds up its side, or by the perpendicular ladder of six hundred and thirty-six steps. We went to Mr. Solomon’s Hotel, and ordered a late dinner; the prices at his shop and at the next door are very high: he asked twelve shillings for articles which I had purchased for five at the Cape.
Procured a pass for the tomb, and a ticket for Longwood, for which we paid three shillings each. Next came a carriage drawn by two strong horses, for which they charged three pounds. We ascended the hill from James’s Hotel; from the summit, as you look down, the view is remarkably beautiful; the town lying in the space between the two hills, with the ocean in front, and a great number of fine vessels at anchor. The roads are good, and where they run by the side of a precipice, are defended by stone walls.
The tomb of the emperor is situated in a quiet retired spot at the foot of and between two hills. Three plain large flag-stones, taken from the kitchen at Longwood, cover the remains of Napoleon: there is no inscription, nor does there need one; the tomb is raised about four inches from the ground, and surrounded by an iron palisade formed at the top into spearheads.[318] Within the palisade is still seen a geranium, planted by one of the ladies who shared his exile. The old willow has fallen, and lies across the railing of the tomb, withered, dead, and leafless. Many young willows reared from the old tree shade the tomb, and every care is taken of the place by an old soldier, who attends to open the gate, and who offers to visitors the water from the stream which now flows out of the hill by the side of the tomb. Its course was formerly across the spot where the tomb is now placed; it was turned to the side to render it less damp: the water is remarkably pure, bright, and tasteless. It was under these willows, and by the side of this little clear stream that Buonaparte used to pass his days in reading, and this spot he selected as his burial-place.
A book is here kept in which visitors insert their names: many pages were filled by the French with lamentations over their emperor, and execrations upon the English. Many people have made a pilgrimage from France to visit the tomb, and on their arrival have given way to the most frantic grief and lamentations.
Having pleased the old soldier who has charge of the tomb, with a present in return for some slips of the willow, we went to a small and neat cottage hard-by for grapes and refreshment. It is inhabited by a respectable widow, who, by offering refreshment to visitors, makes a good income for herself and family. We had grapes, peaches, and pears, all inferior, very inferior to the fruit at the Cape. After tiffin we proceeded to Longwood, and passed several very picturesque points on the road. Around Longwood there are more trees, and the appearance of the country is less desolate than in other parts of the island. We were first taken to the old house in which the emperor lived; it is a wretched place, and must ever have been the same. The room into which you enter was used as a billiard-room: the dining-room and the study are wretched holes. The emperor’s bed-room and bath is now a stable. In the room in which Buonaparte expired is placed a corn-mill! I remember having seen a picture of this room: the body of the emperor was lying near the window from which the light fell upon the face of the[319] corpse. The picture interested me greatly at the time, and was vividly brought to my recollection as I stood before the window, whilst in imagination the scene passed before me. How great was the power of that man! with what jealous care the English guarded him! No wonder the women used to frighten their children into quietness by the threat that Buonaparte would come and eat them up, when the men held him in such awe. Who can stand on the desolate and picturesque spot where the emperor lies buried, and not feel for him who rests beneath? How much he must have suffered during his sentry-watched rambles on that island, almost for ever within hearing of the eternal roar of the breakers, and viewing daily the vessels departing for Europe!
In the grounds by the side of the house are some oak-trees planted by his own hands; there is also a fish-pond, near which was a birdcage. The emperor used to sit here under the firs, but as he found the wind very bleak, a mud wall was raised to protect the spot from the sharp gales of the sea. After the death of Napoleon the birdcage sold for £175.
We quitted the old house and went to view the new one, which was incomplete at the time of the death of the emperor; had he lived another week he would have taken possession of it. The sight of this house put me into better humour with the English; in going over the old one, I could not repress a feeling of great disgust and shame. The new house is handsome and well finished; and the apartments, which are large and comfortable, would have been a proper habitation for the exiled emperor. The bath daily used by him in the old dwelling has been fitted up in the new; every thing else that could serve as a relic has been carried away.
In the grounds were some curious looking gum-trees covered with long shaggy moss. The heat of the day was excessive; we had umbrellas, but I had never before been exposed to such heat, not even in India. The sea-breeze refreshed us, but the sun raised my skin like a blister; it peeled off after some days quite scorched.
We returned to dinner at Mr. Solomon’s Hotel. Soup was[320] placed on the table. Dr. G⸺ said, “This soup has been made of putrid meat.” “Oh no, Sir,” said the waiter, “the soup is very good; the meat smelt, but the cook took it all out before it came to table!” A rib of beef was produced with a flourish; it was like the soup,—we were very glad to send it out of the room. We asked to see the landlord; the waiter said he was over at the mess: we desired him to be sent for, of course supposing he was sending up dinner to the officers of a Scotch regiment, whose bagpipe had been stunning our ears, unaccustomed to the silver sound. What was our surprise when we found the hotel and shopkeeper was dining with the officers of the regiment! King’s officers may allow of this, but it would never be permitted at the mess of a regiment of the Honourable Company; perhaps his being sheriff formed the excuse. It was too late to procure dinner from another house; the boatmen would wait no longer, and our hungry party returned on board to get refreshment from the steward.
The night was one of extreme beauty—the scene at the jetty under the rocks was delightful; the everlasting roar of the breakers that at times dash over the parapet wall, united with the recollections awakened by the island, all produce feelings of seriousness and melancholy. There is a cavern in the rock which is nearly full at high water, and the rush into and retreat of the waves from that hollow is one cause of the great noise of the breakers.
19th.—Birds were offered for sale in the street; they appeared very beautiful; the St. Helena red birds, the avadavats, Cape sparrows, and green canaries were to be purchased. I dislike birds in a cage, although I took home four parrots from Calcutta, two of which died off the Cape during the rolling and pitching of that uneasy sea. Quitted St. Helena at 10 A.M.
Our Indian wars, propped up by the old bugbear of a Russian invasion, and the discovery of one thing, at least, the intrigues of Russian emissaries, seem to have excited more than usual interest in England, Her Most Gracious Majesty having been[321] pleased to notice our preventive movements to the north-west in her speech on the prorogation of the House. The 16th Lancers are amongst the fortunate who are actually to return. All speak of the campaign as most distressing from climate and privation of all sorts, and the popular king, the beloved of his subjects, turns out to be as popular as Louis le Desiré. In February 1839, M. le Général Allard, that most agreeable and gentlemanlike man, died at Peshawar. How much I regretted that circumstances prevented my accepting his escort and invitation to visit Lahore! I should have enjoyed seeing the meeting between the Governor-General and the old Cyclops Runjeet Singh.
We have received a letter from a friend in the 16th Lancers; he says, the thermometer is 108° in tents; that they have suffered greatly, both man and horse, for want of supplies; that camp followers are on quarter, and the troops on half allowance, receiving compensation for the deficit. The army set out on their march from our provinces in the highest spirits, dreaming of battle, promotion, and prize-money,—they are now to a man heartily sick of a campaign which promises nothing but loss of health—no honour, no fight, no prize-money, no promotion.
The following are interesting extracts:—
“Jellalabad, Oct. 28th, 1839.
“Soon after the army left Shikerpūr in the end of February, our difficulties commenced; and we no sooner got on the limits of what is laid down in the maps as a marshy desert, than we suffered from a very great scarcity of water, and were obliged to make long and forced marches to get any: through the Bolan Pass we got on tolerably well; the road winds a great part of the way up the shingly bed of a river, and the halting places were like the sea-beach. But no sooner had we arrived at Quetta, in the Valley of Shawl, than the native troops and camp followers suffered in earnest; the former were placed on an allowance of half a seer, and the latter of a quarter daily; and grain was selling at two seers for a rupee.[322] In this manner, proceeding more like a beaten army than an advancing one, the cavalry not supplied with any grain, and falling by tens and twenties daily, we reached Candahar. It has always appeared to me a mercy that we had up to this point no enemy to oppose us. We remained two months in Candahar, where we recruited a good deal in the condition of our horses, but the heat was excessive, 110° in our tents, and the men became unhealthy. From Candahar to Ghuznee we got on better, and the storm and capture of that fort had a wonderful effect on our spirits. Ghuznee, naturally and by art made a very strong fortification, was most gallantly carried, and with very trifling loss; the cavalry of course had nothing to do, nor have we through the campaign, though we have been harassed and annoyed more than at any period of the Peninsular War. As to the country we have passed through from the Sir-i-Bolan to the boundary of the hot and cold countries, two marches from this nearer Cabul, there is a great sameness, with the exception of the outline of the mountain scenery, which has always been wild, rugged, and magnificent; but the total absence of trees, and almost entire want of vegetation, excepting near the towns of Quetta, Candahar, and Cabul, and some very few villages situated near a stream, give an appearance of desolation to the whole country we have passed through. It may be described, with a few excepted spots, as a howling wilderness. With the people I have been much disappointed: from what I had read in Elphinstone and Burnes, I had expected to meet a fine brave patriotic race, instead of which, to judge from what we have seen, they are a treacherous, avaricious, and cowardly set of people; even as bands of robbers and murderers they are cowardly, and in the murders of poor Inverarity of ours, and Colonel Herring, it appears they did not venture an attack, though both were unarmed, till they had knocked their victims down with stones. If these rascals had been endowed with courage and patriotism, we never should be here. I should describe the Afghāns as mean, avaricious, treacherous, cowardly, filthy, generally plunderers and thieves, and universally liars, and withal extremely religious. No one has ever visited Cabul[323] without speaking with delight of its streams, and mountains, and gardens extending for miles, and the endless quantities of delicious fruit and flowers displayed in shops through the bazārs, with a degree of taste that would be no discredit to a Covent Garden fruiterer. Cabul itself is situated in a valley, or rather a hole in a valley, surrounded on three sides by hills; the scenery in all directions is beautiful, but least so towards Hindostan. In the city there are four pakka bazārs, arched, and the interior decorated with paintings of trees and flowers so as almost to resemble fresco. The surrounding country is prodigiously fertile and excellently cultivated; the fields are divided by hedges of poplar and willow-trees; and for the first time since leaving England, I have seen the European magpie. On the 20th of August we lost Colonel Arnold, who had long remained almost in a hopeless state: his liver weighed ten pounds; I do not think he ever recovered the attack he had when you were at Meerut. At Colonel Arnold’s sale, sherry sold at the rate of 212 rupees a dozen; bottles of sauce for 24 rupees each, and of mustard for 35 rupees. At Colonel Herring’s sale, 1000 cigars, or about 1 lb., sold for upwards of one hundred guineas!—this will tell you how well we have been off for such little luxuries. We left Cabul on the 15th inst., and the following morning, passing through a defile, was as cold a one as I ever felt in my life; from the splashing of a stream the ice formed thickly on our sword scabbards and the bottoms of our cloaks; and now the heat is as great in the day as at Meerut,—such are the vicissitudes of climate in this country!
“The Afghāns, in their own traditions, claim descent from Saul, King of Israel, and the ten tribes; they invariably allow the beard to grow, and shave a broad stripe down the centre of the head; the beard gives an appearance of gravity and respectability to the lowest of the people. The Afghāns are good horsemen, and appear to have fine hands on their bridle; and they never tie their horses’ heads down with a martingale. In this country there is a strong useful description of horse, which reins up well, and appears to go pleasantly, but the best of these are brought from Herat. Here they shoe their horses with[324] a broad plate of iron, covering the whole sole of the foot, with the exception of the frog.
“What I have said of the Afghāns of Candahar will apply to all we have seen; but perhaps at Cabul the men may be shorter and more thickly set. I have never seen a more hardy, sturdy-looking, or more muscular race, and the deep pomegranate complexion gives a manly expression to the countenance. Of the women we have seen nothing, but hear they are beautiful; those taken at Ghuznee were certainly not so; they are frequently met walking in the city, or riding on horseback seated behind a man, but universally so closely veiled that you cannot detect a feature of the face, or in the slightest degree trace the outline of the figure. It is a pity Dost Muhammad was not selected as our puppet king, for Shah Sūjah is neither a gentleman nor a soldier, and he is highly unpopular among his subjects, who—but for our support—would soon knock him off his perch.
“My squadron was on picquet near a village surrounded with gardens, with a clear rapid stream of water running through it; and in this village, between two or three miles north-east of Ghuznee, is the tomb of the great Shah Mahmoud, which has stood upwards of eight hundred years, and which is an object of particular veneration to all true believers. The entrance from the village is by a low coarse doorway, which leads to a small garden; a paved footway conducts to an arched building, undeserving of notice: on either side the footpath are hollowed figures of sphinxes in white marble, and seemingly of great antiquity, and through these sphinxes water used to flow from the mouth; above them also, there were other small fountains. From the building I have mentioned, a rudely constructed vault or passage—a kind of cloister—leads to another small garden, at the end of which stands the mausoleum of the Sultan Mahmoud, the doors of which are said to have been brought by the Sultan as a trophy from the famous Hindoo temple of Somnaut, in Guzerat, which he sacked in his last expedition to India; they are of sandal-wood, curiously carved, and, considering their very great age, in fine preservation,[325] although they have in two or three places been coarsely repaired with common wood. These doors are, I should think, about twelve feet high and fifteen feet broad; and are held in such estimation, though it is upwards of eight hundred years since they were removed from Guzerat, that, it is said, Runjeet Singh made it one of his conditions to assist Shah Sūjah in a former expedition, that he should give up the sandal-wood gates; but this was indignantly rejected. In truth, I saw nothing particular about these doors, and if I had not been told of their age, and of their being of sandal-wood, I should have passed, taking them for deal, and merely observed their carving. Over the doors are a very large pair of stag’s horns (spiral), and four knobs of mud, which are the wonder of all true Musalmāns, who firmly believe in the miracle of their having remained uninjured and unrepaired for so many centuries. The mausoleum itself can boast of no architectural beauty, and is very coarsely constructed. The tombstone is of white marble, on which are sculptured Arabic verses from the korān, and various coloured flags are suspended over it, so as to protect it from dust. Against the wall at the head of the tomb is nailed up the largest tiger’s skin I ever saw, though it had evidently been stretched lengthwise. When the picquet was relieved I rode into Ghuznee by the Cabul road, by the side of which, at some distance from each other, are two lofty minarets,—one, I should think, one hundred, and the other one hundred and twenty feet in height: these are built of variously-shaped bricks, elaborately worked in various devices: the base of both these pillars is octangular, and rises to half the height, looking as if it had been built round the pillar itself, which is circular; or as if the pillar had been stuck into this case: the easternmost pillar is the highest and most elaborately decorated. I think I before observed that these minarets at a distance look like prodigious eau-de-cologne bottles. The mausoleum of Sultan Mahmoud, and these minarets, are now the only remains of the ancient city of Ghuznee; and nothing further exists to show the magnificence of the Ghuznee kings, or to mark the former site[326] of a city which eight centuries ago was the capital of a kingdom, reaching from the Tigris to the Ganges, and from the Jaxartes to the Persian Gulf. The present town is computed to contain about six hundred miserable houses. So much for greatness!—Such in the East is the lapse of mighty empires.”
Quitted St. Helena—The Polar Star—Drifting Sea-weed—The Paroquets—Worship of Birds—A Gale—The Orange Vessel—The Pilot Schooner—Landing at Plymouth—First Impressions—A Mother’s Welcome—The Mail Coach—The Queen’s Highway—Dress of the English—Price of Prepared Birds—The Railroads—The New Police—English Horses—British Museum—Horticultural Show—Umberslade—Tanworth—Conway Castle—Welsh Mutton—Church of Conway—Tombstone of Richard Hookes, Gent.—The Menai Bridge—Dublin—Abbeyleix—Horns of the Elk—Penny Postage—Steam-Engines—Silver Firs—Moonāl Pheasants—The Barge run down—Chapel of Pennycross—The Niger Expedition—Schwalbach—Family Sorrows—Indian News—The Birth of the Chimna Rājā Sāhib—Captain Sturt’s Sketches—Governor Lin—The Bāiza Bā’ī consents to reside at Nassuk—Fire in her Camp—Death of Sir Henry Fane—Church built by Subscription at Allahabad—Governor Lin’s Button—The ex-Queen of Gwalior marches to Nassuk—Price of a Gentleman—Death of the old Shepherd from Hydrophobia—Pedigree of Jūmnī, the Invaluable.
1839, March 19th.—A fine and favourable breeze bore the “Madagascar” from St. Helena, and gave us hopes of making the remainder of the voyage in as short a space of time as that in which the first part had been accomplished. The only really good fruit we got at James’s Town was the plantain. Some mackerel was baked and pickled on board, but we were recommended not to eat it after the first day, as the St. Helena mackerel, if kept, is reckoned dangerous.
April 11th.—How glad I was to see the polar star, visible the first time this evening! I thought of my dear mother, and how often we had watched it together; and the uncertainty of what[328] might have occurred during my voyage to the dear ones at home rendered me nervous and very unhappy. The southern hemisphere does not please me as much as the northern; the stars appear more brilliant and larger in the north.
18th.—The ship was passing through quantities of sea-weed, supposed to be drifted from the Gulf of Mexico; it is always found in this latitude. The children amused themselves with writing letters to their mother, and sending them overboard, corked up in empty bottles.
May 7th.—Polidorus, the great pet parrot, died; the pitching of the vessel and the cramp killed the bird, in spite of the warmth of flannel: of our four birds one only now survived; and very few remained of twenty-four paroquets brought on board by the crew. A flight of paroquets in India, with their bright green wings and rose-coloured necks, is a beautiful sight.
The education of a paroquet is a long and a serious affair; a native will take his bird on his finger daily, and repeat to it incessantly, for an hour or two at a time, the name of the deity he worships, or some short sentence, until the bird—hearing the same sounds every day for weeks or months together—remembers and imitates them. If in a cage, it is covered over with a cloth, that the attention of the birds may not be diverted from the sounds: sometimes a native will let the bird down a well for an hour or two, that it may be in darkness, while, lying on the top of the well, he repeats the daily lesson.
Many birds are worshipped by the Hindūs, of which the principal is Gŭroorŭ, whose feathers are of gold, with the head and wings of a bird, and the rest of his body like a man, the vahan of Vishnŭ, who rides on his back; and at times, the bird god, in the shape of a flag, sits on the top of Vishnŭ’s car,—the lord of the feathered tribe, the devourer of serpents. When the Hindūs lie down to sleep they repeat the name of Gŭroorŭ three times, to obtain protection from snakes.
The bird Jŭtayoo is the friend of Rama, and is worshipped at the same festival with him.
The Shŭnkŭrŭ Chillŭ, the eagle of Coromandel, the white-headed kite, commonly called the Brahmanī kite, is considered[329] an incarnation of Dūrga, and is reverenced by the Hindūs, who bow to it whenever it passes them.
Khŭnjŭnŭ, the wagtail, is a form of Vishnŭ, on account of the mark on its throat, supposed to resemble the Shalgrama. The Hindūs honour it in the same way they do the eagle of Coromandel.
The peacock, the goose, and the owl, are worshipped at the festivals of Kartikŭ, Brŭmha, and Lukshmēē. If, however, the owl, the vulture, or any other unclean bird, perch upon the house of an Hindū, it is an unlucky omen, and the effect must be removed by the performance of an expiatory ceremony.
8th.—A heavy gale with squalls,—it continued three days; we were under storm-sails, the sea washing over the guns. It was a beautiful sight, the waves were like a wall on one side of the ship, the wind was contrary, and the wearing round the vessel in a heavy sea was extremely interesting to me, from not having been at sea so long. While the storm was blowing I thought of all the idols in the hold,—of Ganesh, and Ram, and Krishnjee, and felt a little alarm lest the “Madagascar” in a fit of iconoclastic fury, should destroy all my curiosities. In such a gale, to appear on deck in the attire usually worn by an English lady was impossible—delicacy forbad it; therefore I put on my Pahārī dress, and went out to enjoy the gale. As I passed on to the poop I overheard the following remarks: “I say, Jack, is that ere a man or a woman?” to which the sailor replied, “No, you fool, it’s a foreigner.” On another man’s asking “Who is it?” he received for answer, “That ere lancer in the aft-cabin.” The black velvet cap, somewhat in appearance like a college or lancer cap, perhaps inspired the bright idea, as the dress itself is particularly feminine and picturesque, and only remarkable on account of its singularity.
11th.—The gale abated, leaving a strong contrary wind and a heavy sea. We passed a small vessel,—merely a large boat battened down; she was from Lisbon, bound to London; the men wore high leather boots reaching above their knees; every wave broke over her, and ran out on the other side,—it was a fearful sea for such a little vessel. Four men were on board;[330] they hailed us to know the latitude and longitude, and found their calculations erroneous. The captain invited the master on board; they threw overboard a cockle-shell of a boat, in which the master and one of the men came alongside: it was beautiful and fearful to see that little boat on the waves,—they were still so tempestuous. The two men came on deck; the master was the finest specimen of the veteran sailor I ever beheld,—a strong, fine man, weather-beaten until his face looked like leather, frank and good-humoured,—he pleased us all very much. They had been beating about where they then were for the last fortnight, and had had hard work of it. We exchanged spirits and tobacco for delicious Lisbon oranges, and all parties were pleased. The old sailor returned in the cockle-shell to the larger boat, and we all watched his progress with interest; they pulled her in, and we soon bade adieu to the orange vessel.
13th.—For some time we had been busy arranging for going on shore, which I determined to do if possible at Plymouth; therefore my packages of curiosities were got up,—at least as many as I thought I could take with me, being nine chests; and all the buffalo and stags’ horns were in readiness. About thirty-five miles from Plymouth a pilot vessel came alongside, and we calculated on landing in her in four hours. At 5 P.M., having taken leave of the captain, who had shown us the greatest attention during the voyage, we went—a large party—on board the pilot vessel: no sooner did we enter her than the wind changed, the rain fell, it was very cold; we were forced to go below into a smoky cabin, the children squalled, and we all passed a most wretched night.
14th.—We arrived at 6 A.M. May-flowers and sunshine were in my thoughts. It was bitterly cold walking up from the boat,—rain, wind and sleet, mingled together, beat on my face. I thought of the answer of the French ambassador to one of the attachés, who asked why the Tower guns were firing,—“Mon ami, c’est peut-être qu’on voit le soleil.”
Every thing on landing looked so wretchedly mean, especially the houses, which are built of slate stone, and also slated down the sides; it was cold and gloomy;—no wonder on first[331] landing I felt a little disgusted. I took a post-chaise, and drove to the house of that beloved parent for whose sake I had quitted the Hills, and had come so far. The happiness of those moments must be passed over in silence: she laid back the hair from my forehead, and looking earnestly at me, said,—“My child, I should never have known you,—you look so anxious, so careworn!” No wonder,—for years and anxiety had done their work.
The procession from the Custom House was rather amusing; the natural curiosities passed free, and as the buffalo and stag-horns were carried through the streets, the people stopped to gaze and wonder at their size. Having left my young friends in the “Madagascar,” it was necessary to go to town to receive them. I went up in the mail from Devonport; its fine horses pleased me very much, and at every change I was on the look out for the fresh ones. We went on an average ten miles an hour. One gentleman was in the mail. I was delighted with the sides of the hedges covered with primroses, heatherbells, and wild hyacinths in full bloom; nor could I repress my admiration; “Oh! what a beautiful lane!” “A lane!” said the man with frowning astonishment, “this is the Queen’s highway.” I saw the error I had committed; but who could suppose so narrow a road between two high banks covered with primroses, was the Queen’s highway? Every thing looked on so small a scale; but every thing brought with it delight. When the gruff gentleman quitted the mail, he gathered and gave me a bunch of primroses; with them and a bouquet of lilies of the valley I was quite happy, flying along at the rate of a mile in five minutes. In the cold of the raw dark morning they took me out of the mail thirty miles from London, and placed me in a large coach, divided into six stalls, somewhat like those of a cathedral: a lamp was burning above, and in a few minutes we were going through a long, dark, dreary tunnel. It was very cold, and I felt much disgusted with the great fearful-looking monster of a thing called a train: in a short time we were at the end of the thirty miles, and I found myself once again in London. On my arrival I was exceedingly fatigued; all the way from Landowr[332] I had met with nothing so overcoming as that day and night journey from Devonport to town. To every person on a return from India, all must appear small by comparison. Devonshire, that I had always heard was so hilly, appeared but little so; and although I was charmed with a part of the drive from Devonport to Exeter, with the richness of the verdure, and the fine cows half hidden in rich high grass, and the fat sheep, still I was disappointed—Devon was not as hilly a country as I had fancied. Oh the beauty of those grass fields, filled as they were with buttercups and daisies! During seventeen years I had seen but one solitary buttercup! and that was presented to me by Colonel Everest in the Hills. The wild flowers were delightful, and the commonest objects were sources of the greatest gratification. I believe people at times thought me half mad, being unable to understand my delight.
At the time I quitted England it was the fashion for ladies to wear red cloaks in the winter,—and a charming fashion it was: the red or scarlet seen at a distance lighted up and warmed the scenery;—it took from a winter’s day half its dulness. The poor people, who always imitate the dress of those above them, wore red, which to the last retained a gay and warm appearance, however old or threadbare. On my return all the women were wearing grey, or more commonly very dark blue cloaks. How ugly, dull, dingy, and dirty, the country people generally looked in them! even when perfectly new they had not the pleasant and picturesque effect of the red garment.
In Wales I was pleased to see the women in black hats, such as men usually wear, with a white frilled cap underneath them: it was national, but not a red cloak was to be seen.
What can be more ugly than the dress of the English? I have not seen a graceful girl in the kingdom: girls who would otherwise be graceful are so pinched and lashed up in corsets, they have all and every one the same stiff dollish appearance; and that dollish form and gait is what is considered beautiful! Look at the outline of a figure; the corset is ever before you. In former days the devil on two sticks was a favourite pastime. The figure of the European fair one is not unlike that toy. Then[333] the bustle,—what an invention to deform the shape! It is a pity there is no costume in England as on the Continent for the different grades in society. Look at the eyes of the women in church,—are they not generally turned to some titled fair one, or to some beautiful girl, anxious to catch the mode of dressing the hair, or the tye of a ribbon, that they may all and each imitate the reigning fashion, according to the wealth they may happen to possess? This paltry and wretched mimickry would be done away with if every grade had a fixed costume.
I went to Mr. Greville’s, Bond Street, to look at some birds, and took a list of his prices, which I have annexed, with those of Mr. Drew, a bird-stuffer at Plymouth[39]. My scientific friends preferred the birds in the state in which they came from India, therefore they remain in statu quo.
Of all the novelties I have beheld since my return, the railroads are the most surprising, and have given me the best idea of the science of the present century. The rate at which a long, black, smoking train moves is wonderful; and the passing another train is absolutely startling. The people at the stations are particularly civil; there is no annoyance, all is pleasant and well conducted. From the velocity with which you move, all near objects on the side of the railroad look like any thing turned quickly on a lathe,—all long stripes; you cannot distinguish the stones from the ground, or see the leaves separately, all run in lines from the velocity with which at full speed you pass near objects. The New Police, now so well regulated, also attracted notice; their neat uniform renders them conspicuous; a wonderful improvement on the watchmen of former days. The beautiful flowers, the moss-roses, and the fine vegetables in town were most pleasing to the eye. The height of the carriage horses in the Park attracted my attention; they are fine, powerful animals, but their necks are flat, and their heads generally appeared very coarse. They wanted the arched neck and the fire of the horses of India.
Visited the British Museum; the new rooms that have been added are handsome, and well filled with Egyptian curiosities; mummies in crowds, and very fine ones. The Elgin marbles, in a handsome hall, are also shown to great advantage. My collection of Hindoo idols is far superior to any in the Museum; and as for Gunesh, they never beheld such an one as mine, even in a dream! Nor have they any horns that will compare with those of my buffalo, or birds to vie with my eagles, which are superb. I was in town when a fog came on at 10 A.M. in the month of October, which rendered candles, or gas-lights necessary; it was as deep as the yellow haze that precedes a tūfan in the East.
At the horticultural show at Plymouth, I was glad to see the kulga (amaranthus tricolor), which not only ornamented my garden in the East, but was used as spinach, sāg. How often have we shot off the head of this plant with a pellet ball, not only for amusement, but to improve it, as all the lower heads then increased in size, became variegated, and the plant improved in beauty. The kala datura, and the datura metel, were also there; and my old friends, the oleanders, looking slender and sickly. I went to the place alone, and the people expressed their surprise at my having done so—how absurd! as if I were to be a prisoner unless some lady could accompany me—wah! wah! I shall never be tamed, I trust, to the ideas of propriety of civilized Lady Log.
Oct. 26th.—Visited Umberslade; this ancient seat of the Archer family is about fifteen miles from Leamington in Warwickshire. The view of the house and grounds is good from the obelisk; the latter leans fearfully, and totters to its fall. The mansion is a fine old handsome square building, cased in stone, and balustraded around the flat roof with the same material. We proceeded to the church of Tanworth, and inspected the monuments of the family. Thence we visited “The Butts;” a farm-house is now called by that name, of course; the place was formerly the archery ground.
My love of beautiful scenery, the faint remembrance I retained[335] of the mountains of Wales, and the wandering propensities inherent in my nature, added to a desire to revisit Conway, because the pilgrim was born within the walls, induced me to go into Wales.
Dec. 4th.—The entrance to Conway from a distance is very beautiful; it has finer hills around it than you would be led to suppose, judging by the views generally taken of the castle; the suspension-bridge is handsome, and in keeping with the ancient building. I visited the old ruin, which afforded me the greatest pleasure, and went over the ancient walls that encompass the town; there are fifty picturesque points of view in Conway.
Darkness coming on, I took refuge at the Castle Inn, a good, comfortable, and very clean house: my dinner consisted of a leg of the most delicious Welsh mutton, for which Conway is especially famed, and which is more like our gram fed mutton in the East, than any I have tasted: the English sheep are generally large, fat, and very coarse; and the mutton is decidedly inferior to that of India. A troutlet fresh from the river was excellent; the Welsh ale good, and the cheerful fire was most agreeable.
5th.—I discovered William Thomas, an old servant, who formerly lived with my grandmother; he keeps a small inn: the man was very glad to see one of the family, and he became my escort to the house in which I was born, which having been sold by my father, is now the property of the Castle Inn. I went over it: in the room formerly my nursery were a couple of twins, and the landlady wished me to take lodgings there, saying they would be very cheap in the winter. I could not find a harper in Conway; it being the winter season, the only one they appear to have had quitted the place; he is there during the summer, when visitors are plentiful. Nor could I even see a Welsh harp, which they tell me differs from all other instruments of the same kind. With great pleasure I revisited the old castle, admired the great hall, and the donjon keep; the pilgrim was not born in the latter, but in “the flanking walls that round it sweep,” that is, within the walls of Conway. The ivy which covers the castle walls in the richest profusion is[336] remarkably fine, the wall-flowers most fragrant. Irish ivy is however larger and finer. The well-known lines—
present to the imagination an idea of a grandeur of rock and waterfall that you do not find near the castle. Old Conway’s “foaming flood” is a small river flowing close to the rocky site on which the castle is built; the rock is of slate stone, and in digging for slate some hundred years ago the foundation of one of the old towers was undermined, and a part fell in; the work was stopped, and the old castle is still in fine preservation. The oriel window in the Queen’s tower is to be admired, and the banquet-hall must have been very handsome. Quitting the castle I went to the church,—a very handsome old one, if viewed from within, and very old and curious if viewed externally. It contains some ancient and curious monuments: on a flat stone in the chancel the name of Archer attracted my attention; on it is this inscription:—
Here lyeth yᵉ body of
Richᵈ Hookes of Conway
Gent—who was the 41ˢᵗ child
of his father Wᵐ Hookes
Esqʳᵉ by Alice his wife
and yᵉ father of 27 children
who died yᵉ 20 day of march
1631
N.B. This stone was revived
in the year 1720
att yᵉ charge of john
Hookes Esqʳᵉ
and since by Thoˢ
Bradley and Wᵐ Archer Esqʳᵉˢ
I find this Richard Hookes was a relation of the Archers, which accounts for their care in reviving this curious account of the number of his family. In the street, a little above the Hotel, is a large and handsome house, called the Plas nwyd, or[337] new palace; the arms of the family to whom it belongs are carved on the chimney-pieces, and on the ceilings. On going down to the quay I found it was high tide; several small vessels were there. The walls of Conway, and the castle, and the suspension bridge, look well from this point. Next to the gateway is a large house, the property of the Erskines: the library is in the tower of the gateway; it is now deserted, and falling to decay, but must have been a pleasant residence.
Quitted Conway on my road to Ireland. Aber Conway, as I passed it, appeared to me very beautiful; the bridge with its single arch, the mountains in front, the church to the left, the stream and the trees, would form a lovely subject for a sketch.
The high road is fine—excellent, it is cut through, and winds round a high rock close to the sea-shore, towards which a good stone wall forms a rampart, and prevents any one feeling nervous. The views in North Wales pleased me very much; the mountains are low, but the heaviness of the atmosphere causes clouds to hang upon their summits, to which their height appears scarcely to entitle them. Penrith Castle is handsome, and the stone quarries appear large and valuable. I passed over and admired the Menai Bridge, and crossed Anglesea in darkness. They tell me the pretty and small black cattle, so common in Wales, come from Anglesea,—the breed of the island. There are no wild goats in Wales, and I only saw two or three tame ones.
6th.—Arrived in Dublin, and proceeded to Knapton. The country around Dublin is hilly, pretty, and has some trees; further inland it is flat, very flat and uninteresting. The towns swarm with beggars, who look very cold, and of an unhealthy white, as if much illness were added to their poverty: the Irish cabins appear abodes of wretchedness, some of them being without a chimney, the smoke making its exit through the door; the pigs and the naked-legged children rolling together; and the roof looking as if its original thatching of straw was turned into mud, so covered is it with green moss, and the black hue of dampness. The potatoes are piled in ridges in the fields, covered over with a few inches of earth neatly beaten down,—the[338] only specimen of neatness that I saw was in these potato ridges; they are left unguarded in the field, and the Irish say, the last thing they would think of stealing would be the potatoes. The hay-ricks are on the same small scale as the Welsh, but not put together nor thatched with Welsh neatness; but the stacks of turf looked very Irish, and they were tolerably neat. The police, who are dressed in a dark-coloured uniform, are armed, which they are not in England. The sight of a turf-fire has an odd appearance at first; the smell is oppressive, and it does not appear to send out the heat of a coal-fire. The park of Abbeyleix, with its fine trees, is a pleasing object, surrounded as it is by a flat country of bog and swamp, and the walks within it are delightful. I wish I had had some of the young rhododendron trees from Landowr to plant there; I might have brought some home in glass cases, impervious to the sea air; a great many cases of that sort, containing rare plants, came to England on the poop of the “Madagascar;” several of the plants were in bloom on board, and they were all healthy on their arrival. The hall at Abbeyleix is decorated with the skull and horns of an enormous elk, found in one of the bogs,—a great curiosity; there is also a woodcock, with a young one and an egg, which were found in the grounds, and are considered a rarity.
We passed a woman who appeared to be very poor from the scantiness of her clothing; she wore her cloak over her head instead of over her shoulders,—a fashion purely Irish; but she did not ask for charity. My companion gave her some money; she threw herself on her knees to thank him, and on our asking her history, she said, “My husband is a Roman, sure it’s myself’s the bad Protestant:” she added that she had eight children, four of whom were dead, and the Lord be thanked; and she wished the Lord would take the others, for they were starving. I gave her a little money, which I made her promise to spend in potatoes and buttermilk, because she said she would lay it out in tea for the children. This new love of tea, to the abolition of potatoes and buttermilk, adds much to the starving state of the Irish poor; if you give them money, it is said, their[339] priests take one-third of it; besides which, O’Connell levies a tribute on the poor creatures.
28th.—This morning, a fine frost being on the ground, which from its peculiar whiteness and brilliancy the Irish denominate a black frost, the party at Abbeyleix and Knapton sallied forth to shoot the woods: the keepers beat the woods for woodcocks much in our Indian fashion of beating the jangal. During the day I walked to the enclosed garden in Lord de Vesci’s grounds, to see the tomb of Malichus O’More, the son of Roderick O’More; the strong ice that was upon it rendered the inscription difficult to decipher: it stood formerly within a few yards of its present situation; Lord de Vesci built a hot-house on the spot, and at the same time he removed the coffin, which is of stone, and contains bones of gigantic size.
1840, Jan. 10th.—To-day the penny postage commenced: a great crowd collected at the post-office, putting in letters,—which were in vast number, as people had refrained from writing, awaiting the opening of the penny post. The band was playing in front of the office.
13th.—Quitted Liverpool in the train: you commence your journey through an immense tunnel, and when a train is going through notice is given at the other end by a whistle. The engines puff and blow in such an angry fashion, one can scarcely fancy they are not animated; and when they want water, by a very simple contrivance, they whistle of themselves to get it. Their names delight me: the “Oberon” or the “Camilla” puff by you—puff, puff, like enraged animals. The
—road ought to be added, were it not for the rhyme, but must be understood.
23rd.—Rode with a friend to Clumber, the seat of the Duke of Newcastle; the grounds are fine and extensive; the house appeared an immense mass of heavy building: the interior may be handsome, but the exterior is heavy and dreary-looking.[340] I admired the lake very much, and the canter we took in the park was delightful.
29th.—Visited Mr. Waljambe’s museum of British birds; it is most excellent; and I was charmed with the silver firs in the grounds at Osburton,—they are most beautiful and magnificent trees.
Feb. 3rd.—The following speech made by a gentleman at tiffin amused me:—“Lord Brougham says, ‘Mankind are divided into two classes, those who have seen my house in Italy, and those who have not:’—now, I divide mankind into those who have seen my Moonāl pheasants, and those who have not. Lady William Bentinck gave them to me, and they are the most beautiful birds I ever saw.”
11th.—A steamer ran against a merchant vessel that was at anchor in the river; down she went headlong, all her crew with her, down in a moment. At low tide four barges were brought and fixed to her with strong chains and cables. She was then left until the tide rose, at which time the pressure on the ropes increased. Hundreds of people assembled to see her drawn up—the tide rose higher and higher—the struggle was great—“Now mud,”—“Now barges,” was the cry: the mud held her tenaciously, the barges pulled more and more—the anxiety was great: at last, like a cork drawn from a bottle, she rose from the suction, came up to the surface, and was immediately taken to the shore: some of her crew, who were asleep when she went down, were found dead in their beds.
1841, April 20th.—At the little chapel of Pennycross in Devon, my beloved father was buried. It is situated on a hill covered with fine trees, and commands a beautiful view,—just such a quiet, holy, retired spot as one would select for a last resting place. I could not summon courage to go there before, but now I feel an anxiety to revisit it again and again.
May 1st.—Revisited the chapel of Pennycross, and took a drawing of the tomb of my father.
PENNYCROSS CHAPEL.
Sketched on the spot by فاني پارکس
12th.—Went on board the “Wilberforce” steamer, which is going with the “Albert” and “Santon” on the Niger expedition.[341] She has two engines, each of thirty-five horse power. The “Santon” has only one engine: the “Wilberforce” is flat-bottomed, but has a double keel, they tell me, that may be drawn up at pleasure. She is ventilated, but will be horribly hot in a warm climate—like an iron furnace. The life-buoy appeared a good invention. One of the officers showed me an absurd affair,—a small lantern to strap upon the chest of a man, to purify the air he breathes when he is exposed to a pestilential atmosphere. They showed me a number of bibles and testaments, which they said were in the Arabic character: judging from the slight glimpse I caught, it appeared to me to be beautifully printed Persian. The two Ashantee princes came on board with their tutor: they are intelligent, good-humoured, ugly Africanders, with large blubber lips and up-turned flat noses, and dressed like young Englishmen: how soon they will discard their tight trowsers and small sleeves when they get back to their own country! The crockery on board is shown to the lady visitors, who are expected to weep on beholding the appropriate design printed upon it:—a negro dancing with broken chains in his hands! It made me laugh, because there is much humbug in the whole affair—but it is the fashion. I was rather inclined to weep when I thought what would be the probable fate of the men then around, who were going out on the expedition to such a dreadful climate.
July 21st.—Having been recommended to visit the baths of Schwalbach in Germany, on account of my health, I started per steamer for Rotterdam and proceeded up the Rhine: after a most agreeable stay at Schwalbach, and my health having received benefit from its chalybeate waters, I returned to England.
Dec. 8th.—This day is over—I am once more alone—and what a day of agony it has been to me—my birthday! On this day I first beheld my beloved mother; on this day I have placed her in her grave!—have parted with her in this world for ever. My beloved mother has been placed in my father’s vault in the churchyard of that quiet and beautiful little chapel at Pennycross,—a tranquil and holy spot. O my mother! let[342] me turn from your grave to the duties that are before me, and strive to act in a manner worthy of your child.
Overland letters brought me the following intelligence:—
“1839, March 25th.—Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī sent a kharita to give me the glad tidings of the safety of the Gaja Rajā Sāhib, and the birth of a daughter; they are both very weak and thin, and her Highness is most anxious about her grand-daughter, as she can scarcely take any nourishment. They have named the child the Chimna Rajā, after the wife of Appa Sāhib.”
Holding rank by courtesy, as “Aunt of my grand-daughter the Gaja Rajā,” this newly-arrived young princess must be my great grand-niece, for which reason perhaps she honoured me by coming into the world on the anniversary of my wedding-day. It is remarkable the ladies of that family are oddly enough styled Rajā, and Rajā Sāhib.
Dec. 15th.—My relative at Landowr wrote to me, saying, “I had a very interesting letter lately from our friend Sturt, of the engineers, from Cabul: he has been appointed engineer to Shah Sūjah, and gets 1000 rupees a month: he had not heard of your being in England; but he begged to be kindly remembered to you. Here is an extract: ‘Give my best salām; I promised her a sketch of the Hills, which I have not forgotten, but never did one to my fancy; but she shall have one of Candahar, Ghuznee, and Cabul, and any thing else this place affords: would she like a lady’s dress? if so, I shall be obliged by her accepting it from me.’ I told Sturt you were at home, but would, I was sure, be delighted to get the sketches.”
How often after the death of Captain Sturt, who distinguished himself so highly, did I regret never having received the promised sketches, and concluded they were lost during the disastrous retreat from Cabul! In 1848, Mr. Hullmandel showed me the work published by General Sale, and told me the lithographs were from sketches by Captain Sturt; that the portfolio[343] was lost during the retreat of the army, but was afterwards discovered and given to Lady Sale. With how much interest I looked over the drawings!—in all probability they were from the very sketches he had taken for me.
“1840, Feb. 15th.—We have just received the news of Lord Auckland’s having been created an Earl and Sir John Keane a Baron: what an unlucky wight Sir Henry Fane has been, to have missed prize-money and a peerage, and having nearly been killed by the only thing he got in the country,—a pukka fever!
“There is no doubt as to the expedition to China, and ‘Teas is riz.’ It will be a short affair of a year, perhaps less; the whole will fall on the shoulders of poor Governor Lin, who may lose his head in addition to his two buttons.”
“July 1st.—The Bombay Government have consented to the Bāiza Bā’ī’s residing at a place called Nassuk, on the banks of the Godavery, not far removed from the Poona district, her own country. Four lākh a year are to be granted her; she is to live there on the same terms as people of her station reside at Benares, or other places in the British territories; but it is clearly understood that her followers are to be subject to the rules and regulations of the country.
“2nd.—We have heard of Sir Henry Fane’s death, for which we were sincerely sorry—poor fellow, his youthful good fortune did not attend his last career. In the Peninsular war he was styled ‘Main de fer.’
“August.—The Bā’ī has been unfortunate, having had a fire in her camp which destroyed her house, shawls, &c., and property to the amount of four or five lākh: it was occasioned by a Mahratta girl’s setting fire accidentally to the parda.”
“Dec.—The Gaja Rajā has recovered from a very severe illness, and the little princess, the Chimna Rajā, is well.
“A subscription was circulated in 1835 at Allahabad for building a church. Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor, subscribed 1000 rupees. The building was to be done, provided the funds were sufficient, by Colonel Edward Smith, of the engineers. In February, 1841, the church was consecrated by the Bishop: it does honour to the architect, being a handsome building, and[344] well adapted to the climate. The erection of so expensive a church by so small a society shows great zeal in the cause of religion in the inhabitants of Allahabad.
“We have just received the news of the renewal of hostilities with China, at which I am glad. The celestials will be forced to learn the power of the enemy they have drawn upon them. The new Commissioner, Lin’s successor, is to be made over to the Board of Punishment, and the admiral has been deprived of his button. There is nothing new under the sun; our expression of having ‘a soul above buttons’ must be derived from the Chinese. A great man, for instance, like Admiral Kwang, bearing bravely up against loss of dignity (button) and honour.”
“1841, Feb. 15th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī has crossed over to the opposite side of the Jumna, where she remains until after the eclipse of to-morrow. Appa Sāhib is in Sultan Khusrū’s garden, and will not move, it is said, until some arrangement is first made for him by the Bā’ī or the Government, if not, he says, he will turn fakīr.”
“May.—Captain Fitzgerald, who has charge of the Bāiza Bā’ī, and her Highness, were heard of at Nagpore; she gave no trouble, but was dilatory on the march, the weather being frightfully hot.”
“1842.—A kharita was received from Nassuk, some forty or fifty kos from Bombay. The Brija Bā’ī, one of her Highness’s ladies, was very magrā, i.e. discontented with the hawā pāni, ‘the air and water’ of the place, and complained that she saw no sāhib log (gentlemen), as when at Allahabad.
“How little a man can estimate his real value! The last accounts from Cabul informed us our friend Captain B⸺ was a prisoner, and to be sold for 200 rupees! The price having been paid, he was released from captivity.”
Let me record the death of a faithful servant: on quitting Calcutta, a lame shepherd applied to be taken into employ; the old man had been a sipahī, was wounded in action, and ever after remained lame. When he offered himself as bherī-wālā (shepherd) an objection arose on account of his lameness,[345] it being imagined he could never take the goats five hundred miles up the country. “I am so lame I shall never overdrive them,” said the man;—the reason was unanswerable, he was taken into service.
The old male goat of the flock very often upsets the shepherd; though they are always at war they are great friends.
Poor old Bulwan, our lame shepherd, was bitten by a mad dog, which attacked him when he was driving it off from one of the goats—my favourite black Bengalī, which I had commended to his especial care; he died four days afterwards: he was sent to the hospital, but it was too late. There seems to be no cure but that of cutting out the bitten part, and cauterizing the wound. We gave his son eight rupees to bury him, and shall keep him in his father’s place if he is steady. We regret the old man very much; we used to give him a rupee occasionally to cheer him. Every shepherd knows his own sheep;—and my old man not only knew his own sheep, but had a name for each of his goats, forty-five in number. Like Dandy Dinmont’s terriers, Pepper and Mustard, and Mustard and Pepper, the old man derived the name of all his goats from one, his prime favourite, a beautifully spotted Delhi goat, by name Jūmnī,—“Jūmnī’s daughter,” “Jūmnī’s grandson’s grand-daughter’s son,” “Jūmnī’s nephew’s grandchild,”—every kid in the flock was traced by some means or other to the invaluable Jūmnī: the pedigree of a race-horse was nothing in comparison to the pedigree of the kids!
Family Sorrows—Departure from England—The Carnatic—A Gale—The Spirit of the Storm—Sunsets—Peak of Teneriffe—The Trade Wind—A most Magnificent Comet—Phosphoric Lights—Visit of Neptune declined—Scarcity of Provisions—Spray Bows—Albatross caught—Arrival at the Cape of Good Hope.
1843.—I will pass over my wanderings in France, Belgium, and Germany without comment. My absence from India was prolonged far beyond the time originally allotted me, by the deep and numerous afflictions that fell upon me. One by one all those I loved had sunk into the grave: mental suffering, united to anxiety and bodily exertion, brought on severe illness, and that buoyancy of spirit which had hitherto supported me was gone. How can I express my gratitude to those dear friends who nursed me with such unwearied care and affection during a long and painful illness of nearly three months’ duration, with which I had to struggle; until, with health regained, my[347] happy spirits began to resume their empire? It is a blessed dispensation of Providence, that, “with returning health returns that energy, without which the soul were given to us in vain; and which enables us calmly to face the evils of our being, and resolutely to fulfil its objects: there is but one philosophy (though there are a thousand schools), and its name is fortitude. To bear is to conquer our fate.”
On my recovery, contrary to the advice of my medical advisers, I determined to sail immediately for the Cape, and rejoin my husband, who had been compelled by illness to quit India, and proceed, for the benefit of his health, to Southern Africa. Having engaged the larboard stern cabin on the poop of the “Carnatic,” a vessel of Captain I⸺’s, for £110 to the Cape; and having secured the services of an ayha, to wait upon me during the voyage, I took leave of my friends, and went to Portsmouth, to await the arrival of the ship.
Feb. 8th.—Sailed from Portsmouth at noon; it was stormy, and blew hard, but the wind was fair; the thermometer 46°—most bitterly cold. I suffered greatly from mal de mer, and was most completely wretched, so miserably cold and uncomfortable.
10th.—In the Bay of Biscay we encountered a confusion of seas, all huddled and jostling together; a strong following wind sent the vessel swiftly along, the waves roaring after her, whilst, every now and then, a sea struck her fearfully. I was too ill to quit my couch.
14th.—A heavy gale came on, and blew incessantly with frightful force for two days and nights! How the ship pitched and rolled! she groaned as if all her timbers were being wrenched asunder; this would continue ten minutes, and then came a pause—perfect silence for a few seconds, after which the groaning of the timbers recommenced, and the same dead silence at intervals; it gave me the idea that the vessel beneath me was crazy in every beam, not sea-worthy.
16th.—Foul wind and rain; even that was better than the state of the vessel during the gale, which abated a little this morning. The pitching and rolling, added to the groans of the timbers, allowed of no rest night or day; it was to me a life of[348] great suffering, added to which, the ship was badly provisioned, and the cook a very bad one.
17th.—The captain of the vessel told me he was never out in such a gale before; the first officer asserted the same. His course lay outside Madeira, but the foul wind and heavy sea, in which the captain said the ship could not live, forced him to decide on taking the course within the islands.
18th.—A wild wind and heavy sea, the waves striking the ship, and pouring over her in fearful style; the galley was washed away, the live-stock under the large boat was nearly all destroyed, and seven of the pigs were killed. The deck presented a scene of marvellous confusion; the sailors, attempting to save the live-stock, were thrown down on the deck, and the steward, lying in the water that rushed over it, was holding on to a pig; the animal bit his hand, the steward let go, and the pig was washed overboard by the next roll of the ship. With the vessel in such a state the passengers were left to shift for themselves, and very badly off they were. At dinner-time I crept out to get some food, my ayha having been unable to procure any thing for me during the whole day from the steward; the captain apologised for the dinner on table, on account of the galley having been washed away: it consisted merely of one great cheese, and each person was supplied with a biscuit! Nineteen hungry cadets were there; how the boys ate!—the great cheese quickly disappeared. Every one was in good humour, and glad of biscuit and cheese; but the news of the loss of so much of the live-stock was far from agreeable.
21st.—From the time we quitted Portsmouth until this day I have been miserably ill with mal de mer, added to which, I have scarcely been able to sleep at night, the weather has been so constantly bad; as for the poor creatures below, they must be nearly stifled,—the waves, which are pouring in on the one side of the deck and out on the other, force them to keep the hatches closed.
The wind was strong and against us; in the evening I saw a beautiful meteor on the starboard bow, shooting down the sky.[349] At night I was sitting Hindūstanī fashion on my sofa, playing on the guitar, and singing—
The sea was very heavy, it blew a little hurricane; the wind suddenly changed, and the “Carnatic” was taken aback; how she pitched and rolled! There was an uproar on deck, but I went on with my song,—it was useless to disturb myself for a storm; certainly the time of the music varied as the heavy pitching sent me backwards and forwards on the sofa.
The next morning the chief officer said, “I was astonished last night when the ship was taken aback, I heard you singing as quietly as possible all the time; I did not like it,—it sounded like the spirit of the storm.” This remark put me in mind of Long Tom Coffin, who, hearing a midshipman singing during a heavy gale, requested that the captain would call him from the gun on which he was seated, adding, “For I know, from having followed the seas my natural life, that singing in a gale is sure to bring the wind down upon a vessel the heavier; for He who rules the tempests is displeased that man’s voice shall be heard when He chooses to send His own breath on the water.”
23rd.—A quiet day, a pleasant evening, and the first tranquil night since I have been on board in which I have been able to get the refreshment of a sound sleep; we are now within the shelter of the islands.
24th.—Another quiet day, a beautiful evening, and a quiet night;—what a luxury! A glorious sunset: the purple clouds stood up from the deep blue ocean like a wall, above were two brilliant streaks of vivid green, other streaks of crimson hue were surrounded by purple clouds, and above all a sky of mottled deep ultramarine blue clouds, of which the edges were of burnished molten gold, like the brilliant dyes on the back of the mackarel. A glorious sunset after such wild gales and drenching rains.
25th.—A nautilus and a tortoise seen. Another sunset, less wild than that of the evening before, but the finale was[350] brilliant. The clouds drew back, and the sun—a perfect world of fire—sank in burning brilliancy into the deep blue sea, which did not appear to catch one tint from its vivid beams, but remained a deep, cold, clear blue, whilst every cloud around caught and returned the rays. In these latitudes, at sea, a sunset is indeed a glorious sight: and what, after the evening shades have fallen around, and the deck is quiet and nearly forsaken, can be more calm and refreshing than the star-light night, and the cool and delightful breeze?—luxurious hours of dreamy contemplation.
26th.—At 6 A.M. I saw the Peak of Teneriffe: when the sun came out in power the Peak became beautiful,—its snowy head ridged with furrows, and glistening like silver in the sun; deep shadows were over the island, the shape could be traced, but with an uncertain effect that gave it the appearance of fairy-land; while, above the shadows, contrasted with and relieved by the unclouded blue sky, the silvery Peak was a beautiful object. The sea was almost perfectly calm, and a number of the nautilus were around us.
27th.—A beautiful day, almost a calm,—Teneriffe and Palma appear to advantage. Several Portuguese men-of-war near the ship.
March 1st.—The trade-wind fine and steady, making us all happy and contented: thermometer 67°,—a most agreeable temperature. My cot came down by the run; the double-jointed brass screws on which it hung, having had too much work from the pitching and rolling of the vessel, broke short off; the old-fashioned common iron screws are far better, give less motion than the double-jointed brass ones, and will not break.
4th.—Lat. N. 17° 57′, long. W. 20° 47′.
A magnificent scene was presented when the sun had disappeared below the horizon; a most brilliant rose tint overspread both sea and sky; clouds of the deepest neutral tint were finely contrasted with others of burning crimson, and two vivid streaks[351] of the brightest green mixed with the warm glow of sunset. While the waves were still bright with the rose tints, and two crimson clouds still lingered amidst those of the darkest hue, the crescent moon arose with the old moon in her arms, and a beautiful lunar bow was brightly visible, silver-tinted like the moon. The captain of the ship remarked it was an uncommon and curious circumstance; the bow remained visible some time. The horizon darkened, meteoric lights played around the ship, illuminating the waves with flashes of silver light, and sparkling stars, the glow-worms of the deep. The trade-wind was blowing, the night was fresh and pure, and most agreeable.
5th.—Lat. N. 15° 12′, long. W. 21° 5′.—Some beautiful flying fish were caught in the shrouds; the captain ruthlessly ordered them to be dressed for breakfast, the flavour was delicate and delicious. Divine service was performed for the first time. A shark seen, and the lunar bow was in the same position as the night before.
6th.—Lat. 12° 43′, long. 21° 8′.—The lunar bow visible at the same hour, brighter and of greater length; it has the appearance of an enormously lengthy comet. The trade-wind good.
7th.—Lat. 11° 8′, long. 20° 40′.—Light winds; the comet or lunar bow, whichever it may be, visible as usual.
8th.—Lat. 9° 21′, long. 20° 55′.—The comet-like appearance very decided, and with a telescope the star at the head was visible. The comet appeared at twenty minutes past six P.M.—disappeared at eight P.M. The light of the tail was of a brilliant silver colour, and it was very much expanded at the end. The crescent moon still brilliant, the sea calm.
9th.—Lat. 7° 46′, long. 20° 53′.—The comet is very distinct, and of enormous size; it appeared in full splendour this evening, was visible a little later than it was yesterday evening, and disappeared about the same time as before. It was a beautiful night, the moon, in her third quarter, was brilliant; Orion shone forth in the deep sky, Aldebaran, the Pleiades, and α Arietis were in full splendour, and Canopus was beautiful.
10th.—This morning two of the young men amused themselves[352] with swimming by the ship’s side during the calm into which we have gradually fallen. The captain remonstrated with them; and a shark was caught, which will prevent such folly in future. Thermometer 85°—very warm. The comet appeared about six, and set about eight P.M.—not so bright this evening as usual. A waveless ocean.
11th.—A deep calm—the sunrise very beautiful, foreboding a very warm day. In the evening the comet, although visible, was obscured by clouds—a squall, and fresh gale at night.
12th.—Lat. 4° 28′, long. 20° 10′.—At break of day this morning, on looking out of the port, the glory of the scene spread before me rendered me speechless with admiration. Who can describe the grandeur, the glorious colours of that sunrise? The burning crimson clouds deeply streaked with the darkest and fullest neutral tints, spread above deep fantastically shaped clouds that rose like mountains from the sea. Above the burnished crimson was a bright gleam of greenish blue sky, and above that was a profusion of clouds, in tones of still deeper and more burning crimson, mixed with the darkest neutral ones, spread upon a sky of the most vivid and deep ultramarine colour—the purple waves rose and swelled glowing with the richest rose tints. On the left, also, deep neutral clouds stood up from the sea like a dark mountain, with streams of crimson light thrown upon its head, in front of which the softest, fullest, and most brilliantly white clouds contrasted with the dark blue sea, on which they appeared to rest. The man who dedicated the dim religious gloom and the crimson-tinted lights of a cathedral to the service of the Almighty must have taken the idea from the feelings inspired by such a scene, where a gorgeous profusion of solemn tints bows the soul to Him who hath “spread His glory in the heavens.”
This sunrise has repaid the toil and trouble of the voyage: the sunsets are magnificent; but who shall describe the glory of the rising sun, the depth of shade, the burning light;—a scene that can never be forgotten, a glory that can never pass from the memory, even to the last. Heavy rain in the evening, the clouds numerous, the comet invisible.
14th.—Rainy and uncomfortable. At night under the stern of the vessel the phosphoric light was beautiful: wishing to see what produced it, I desired the steward to throw out the bucket: he brought up a curious white jelly-like substance, two inches and a quarter in length, and three-quarters of an inch in width, at the thickest end, and shaped somewhat like a finger, covered with rings of small globules emitting a phosphoric light of a brilliantly transparent emerald colour. It extinguishes and resumes the light at pleasure. I put it into a tumbler-full of sea-water: any agitation of the water brought forth a powerful light. By daylight the next morning it had somewhat the appearance of a thinly haired dirty-white caterpillar, and its rounded form had become flat; in this state it weighed one dram one scruple; it was innocuous to the touch, it emitted no light, and was dead.
18th.—Neptune wished to come on board, but his company not being considered agreeable, the visit was declined, and a present promised to him at the end of the voyage.
19th.—The stars very bright—a lovely night in the trade winds—the comet very high, much more vertical; the end of the tail appeared some distance beyond Rigel in Orion—the stars hid their diminished heads as it passed over them—it set at a quarter past 9 P.M.; its enormous magnitude was astonishing.
22nd.—The calm continued—the weather very warm—eight vessels around us wind-bound, as well as ourselves. To amuse the younger passengers, and pass away the time, which hung wearily on their hands, theatricals were commenced, concerts were given, and a newspaper was established and continued weekly, entitled “The Comet.”
23rd.—The Magellan clouds visible—the southern cross, with its pointers very brilliant—the whole sky gemmed with stars—the moon, Vesta, and Mars, remarkably beautiful.
April 1st.—A glorious sunset over Trinidada and Martin Vas rocks.
4th.—Lat. S. 24° 39′, long. W. 29° 24′. The comet, which has been gradually diminishing in brightness, was invisible this evening, and we never beheld it again. The stock of water is[354] very low; of the live-stock very little remains, and there appears small chance of getting on more quickly with the voyage.
9th.—Another calm: are we ever to arrive at the Cape? The water is nearly expended; of the live-stock alone remain three sheep, two pigs, four fowls, and one goose. The captain talks of watering the vessel at Tristan d’Acunha. The stock is in a melancholy condition, and the solitary lean goose has fallen a victim to the rapacious jaws of nineteen hungry cadets.
14th.—A heavy sea; shipping water in large quantities, rolling and pitching heavily; a sharp wind and strong breeze. On the high foaming waves astern, the spray bows, as they call them, are most remarkably beautiful,—like small rainbows on the waves, four or five sometimes visible at the same time; I watched them with great pleasure from the stern-windows.
15th.—The sea calmer; eight albatross and numerous small birds astern; in the evening they collected close to the vessel, following it, and picking the bait off the hooks thrown out to catch them.
16th.—Three albatross caught: the smaller one measured nine feet from tip to tip of its wings. A gentleman had the kindness to prepare it for me with arsenical soap, and I brought it to England.
26th.—Anchored at 10 A.M. in Table Bay, after a voyage of seventy-eight days from Portsmouth, and eighty-nine from the Docks.
My arrival was unexpected, and therefore, I trust, only the more welcome.
View from the Sea—Wrecks—Cape Town—The Fish Market—The Seasons—Slavery—Washerwomen on the Mountain—Target Practice—Beautiful Flowers—Cape Sheep—The Bushwoman—Green Point—Shells—The Honey-bush—Bracelets of Ivory—High Price of Curiosities—Auctions—Robberies—Camp’s Bay—Fine Aloes—Effect of the Fog-wreaths on the Lion Mountain—The Lion’s Rump—Enormous Bulbs—The Botanical Gardens—Remarkable Trees and Shrubs—The Hæmanthus—Poisoned Arrows—The Puff-adder—The Melaleuca—Curious Trees—The Plaat Clip, or Flat Stone—The Solitary Ruin.
1843, May.—Cape Town, when viewed from the sea, is beautiful and singular; the white houses are close to the shore, surrounded by mountains; the Devil’s Peak, the Table, and the Lion Mountain form a fine picture, enlivened by the number of vessels in the bay, lying close to the town. From the New Jetty, where you land, in the early morning of a clear day, the Blue Mountains, to the right of Robin’s Island, on the opposite side of the bay, are very beautiful. From the Old Jetty under the Table Mountain you see, to the right, the wreck of the “Abercrombie Robertson,” and that of the “Reform;” these lie near together. At the same place the “Waterloo” went on shore, but being rotten, instantly went to pieces, and disappeared. A little to the right, nearer the castle, are two other wrecks, now fast disappearing.
The castle and the barracks are close to this jetty; the latter was formerly the storehouse of the Dutch merchants. The principal street in Cape Town is the Heerengracht, which runs up from the shore: the George Hotel—the best hotel in the[356] place, is in this street: we went there, it was quite full, and the passengers from the “Carnatic” found a difficulty in procuring rooms; from its being the race-week the place was full.
I found my husband residing in the house of a French lady in Roeland-street, close under Table Mountain. This house is reckoned amongst the most respectable houses of the class, and its situation at the farthest end of the town is desirable; you have quiet and fresh air. Had I arrived in the summer season at the Cape I should have preferred a house at Wynberg; during the winter time, Wynberg being damp, the inhabitants generally come into Cape Town. In a boarding-house there are many inconveniences, but you are saved the trouble of house-keeping, which to an Indian is a most vile affair; therefore I was content to remain. The terms at a boarding-house are seven shillings and sixpence a day for each person, which includes one bed-room, food and wine; the food is good; the wine, which is Cape, is only drinkable for those accustomed to it; and the Cape beer I did not venture to taste. House-rent is very cheap, and food also; meat, threepence per pound; an enormous fish costs twopence; a great craw-fish one penny; a fine fowl, thirteen-pence halfpenny; a small cart of fire-wood, seven shillings and sixpence.
The reports I heard in Cape Town respecting house-keeping in the country were not favourable; they say the houses in the country are generally leaky, and the landlords will not repair them; that the servants are thieves and liars, and, moreover, extremely dirty, requiring constant overlooking in the kitchen. The houses in Cape Town are infested with myriads of fleas—and such fleas!—perfect monsters! They have also a fair proportion of bugs.
10th.—I went to the fish market, a square-walled enclosure near the Old Jetty. The scene was curious and animated; Malays, Hottentots, Bushmen, and queer-looking people of all sorts, ages, and tribes, dressed out in their gayest colours, and grinning like so many monkeys, were all huddled together selling or buying fish. Cartloads of the most enormous craw-fish lay on the ground, crawling about and fighting each other; and on[357] the ground near to them were heaps of silver-fish, and quantities of Cape salmon, and fish without scales, with long thin bodies and pointed heads, which were sold for one penny each,—good when salted and smoked; and there were also a number of queer-looking fish, of all sorts and sizes, with unpronounceable names. The porters who attend the market carry the fish away in baskets slung to each end of a long pole balanced on the shoulder;—and such creatures as these porters are! I bought a gielbeck or yellow beak, for which I paid twopence; the palate of the gielbeck is yellow, whence its name. A Malay porter carried it to the house on a stick through its gills, for which his pay was also twopence,—a great price for a very short distance, compared with the price of the fish, which was a very large one. One day I met a Bush-boy dragging off a fish as long as himself; he had a great stick over his shoulder, the end of which was passed through one of the gills of the fish, whilst the tail of the creature swept the ground. The high cheek-boned little black monster laughed and grinned as I could not repress an exclamation at his exceeding and picturesque ugliness.
16th.—The year, they tell me, is divided into two parts, the dry and the wet,—nine months of dry weather, and three months of rain; June, July, and August being the cold and rainy months. This day, the 16th of May, it is very cold, and may be reckoned a winter month; the thermometer in my bed-room at noon 58°. Since my arrival on the 26th April we have had daily showers, and some few days of rain; still, between the heavy showers the sun bursts forth, and a walk is delightful.
At breakfast-time a gentleman related to me an extraordinary history respecting slavery at the Cape; the particulars are as follow:—“The ‘Cleopatra’ has seized a Brazilian vessel—the ‘Progresso;’ she is a slaver. The ‘Cleopatra’ has taken from her thirteen prisoners and forty-eight slaves; with these people she has arrived at Pappendosh, a place near Cape Town, where the slaves have been landed; the rest of the slaves will follow in the ‘Progresso:’ she has not come in at present; she was taken in the Mozambique Channel. The slaves will now be examined and classed according to their ages,—the age is arbitrarily[358] settled. They generally arrive branded; and as without some distinguishing mark they cannot be known, it is supposed those who may happen to have no mark will be branded by the authorities at the Cape. Blank indentures are to be drawn out, in which the age of the slave, his marks, &c., will be shown forth. The slaves are generally young, and they, supposing the age to be about ten years, will be bound to the purchaser of the indenture until the age of twenty-one; these indentures are to be sold by auction on the Parade at Cape Town to the highest bidder. The slaves who may be more aged are to be bound for a certain term of years to the person who buys them, so that their slavery may be the same with those of earlier years. These proceedings are under the authority of the Government; the motive is to conciliate the Dutch, who are generally the purchasers of the slaves.”
As the English hold forth that they abolish slavery, these proceedings appear curious, and I will go, if possible, to see the slaves sold on the parade. Although we do not originally capture the slaves we capture the vessels when carrying them away, take them into the Cape, and sell them for our own profit for a certain term of years to the highest bidder at public auction. It is mentioned in the indentures that the slaves are to be brought up in the Christian religion. It is said the slaves generally have no religion at all, and their masters leave them in utter ignorance.
The Table Mountain is to me a source of constant enjoyment; I delight in its varied appearance: at times a dense white vapour is spread over it,—when that passes away, the deep clear ultramarine blue of the sky, covered with bright clouds, forms a background to the dark mountain, whilst, every now and then, a stormy grey cloud passes over all, and gives a beautiful effect of light and shade.
I roamed the other day up the mountain by the side of the torrent, the bed of which is filled with large stones, over which the stream gurgles and runs with velocity. Hundreds of women and some few men were all employed washing clothes by beating them upon the stones in the stream: some of the women, with their[359] infants tied upon their backs, were washing away, and the whole side of the mountain was covered with linen drying on the grass. How many of the groups would have formed an admirable picture, in spite of the ugliness of these Malay and Hottentot animals! They ask four shillings and sixpence, or three and sixpence a dozen for washing clothes, but will generally take two shillings and sixpence, including large and small. For the ship passengers they wash very badly; for people resident in Cape Town they wash well.
We accompanied a gentleman and his family up the mountain under the Devil’s Peak; he was going to teach his boys to fire at a target. They produced a great heavy old pair of flint pistols, and with these they amused themselves. I was enrolled amongst the Tyros; the two gentlemen were the best shots,—I took rank as the third; my success charmed me, although I was afraid of the pistol,—the crazy old weapon was so heavy I could scarcely take aim. A few evenings afterwards a pretty young French lady accompanied the party, and fired remarkably true.
25th.—The sun during the day is very powerful; it does not answer in these latitudes to expose one’s self to its rays during the noontide heat. At 4 P.M. we went on the mountain to practise pistol-shooting; we found that after sunset there was scarcely any twilight, and warned by the very cold, sharp exhalations from the wet ground, we quitted the spot quickly, but not before we had all taken cold.
June 11th.—The thermometer in my room at noon 53°, the air sharp and very cold. Rambled up Table Mountain, beyond the mill, from which place the narrow pathway is surrounded by flowers, even at this early season. I gathered great branches of what is called in England the Duke of York’s geranium; it was not in flower, but the scent of the leaves was delicious; it grew there most luxuriantly; when in blossom the flower is lilac and white. The purple and white prickly heath, and the white heath, were abundant; the deep orange-coloured aromatic azalia, the bossistroph or honey-plant, the fine white arum, and the tall slender Ixia, with its pendant crimson and graceful blossom, and its small bulb, which shot up every here and there,[360] delighted me with their beauty. These plants, cultivated with so much care in England, were growing wild in every direction surrounding the little stony sheep-path I was ascending.
They say mechanics use the oil from the tip of the tail of the Cape sheep for their machinery, and that it does not become foul in the works. Five pounds’ weight of the tips of the tails of the sheep costs two shillings and sixpence, and produces two quarts and a half of fine clear oil, after having been melted over the fire and strained through a flannel bag. Animals in southern Africa appear to run to tail: see the enormous size of the tail of the sheep into which all the fat of the body appears to be collected: see the pretty mousehunt (a sort of fox), the Hottentot women in Cape Town, and the Bushwomen; all these have the beauty of the Hottentot Venus. Some of the Malays, both men and women, are handsome: the Africanders are too universally well known to need description.
The Bojesmāns or Bushmen are a most remarkable race. In one of my solitary rambles on Table Mountain, I came suddenly upon three of these people, who were squatting round a small fire in a cleft of the rock. Curiosity induced me to stop and look at them; they appeared to dislike my presence and scrutiny, and, as far as I could judge from the angry tone of their words and their suspicious glances, they were glad when I walked on.
The speech of the Bojesmāns is a most remarkable and extraordinary clack clack—unlike any other language under the sun, something resembling the striking together of harsh castanets. The sketch represents a Bushwoman; it is a portrait; she has a bunch of bulbs in her hand: they principally feed on roots and vegetables. Her attire is of leather; coloured beads are around her neck, her ear-rings are of ivory, a curious ornament is in front of her body, and her kraal or hut is in the distance.
In 1847, I saw four Bojesmāns who were exhibited at the Egyptian Hall; they were handsome specimens of their kind; the women were younger than the one represented in the[361] sketch, still the peculiarity of the figure and the style of countenance stamp them of the same race.
A BUSHWOMAN.
On Stone by فاني پارکس
The following extract from Harris’s “Wild Sports of Southern Africa,” contains a most interesting description of the Bushmen:—
“At Kramers-fontein the next day, a horrible spectacle presented itself to us in the form of an emaciated old Bushwoman, who had come down from her kraal, five miles distant, to fill two ostrich eggs with water. ‘Grim misery had worn her to the bones,’ and it is no exaggeration to say that her attenuated form appeared a skeleton covered with a wet cloth. Those rounded proportions, which are given to the human form divine, had no existence in her. Her skin resembled wrinkled leather; and I can compare her legs and arms to nothing but straightened sticks, knobbed at the joints. Her body was actually crawling with vermin, with which she was constantly feeding a little half-inanimate miniature of herself in arms.
We were glad to bribe her to depart by a present of tobacco; and the wretched creature’s countenance evinced thankfulness at our liberality.
“The pigmy race, of which this woman was a characteristic specimen, usually reside in holes and crannies of rocks, and sometimes in wretched huts, incapable of protecting them from the inclemency of the seasons. These, their constant fear of discovery induces them to erect in secluded spots at a great distance from water: a precaution to which they are further prompted by a desire to leave the pools open for wild animals, which they occasionally shoot from an ambush with poisoned arrows, and devour on the spot. They possess neither flocks nor herds—are unacquainted with agriculture—and the most wealthy can boast of no property beyond his weapons and his starving dog. With no cares beyond the present moment, they[362] live almost entirely upon bulbous roots, locusts, reptiles, and the larvæ of ants, with the habitations of which latter the country is in many places thickly strewed. Not a trace of their hovels could be seen from the road; and a traveller might even pass through their country without seeing a human being, or suspecting that it was inhabited. Such is their general distrust of visitors, that the males would never willingly approach us, evincing great trepidation when forced to do so—no object being more unwelcome to their sight than a troop of horsemen on the plain.
“The women, who were much less shy, and who never failed to follow the tracks of our waggons when they happened to come upon them, with the hope of obtaining tobacco in exchange for ostrich eggs, are of small and delicate proportions, with hands and feet of truly Lilliputian dimensions. Their footprints reminded us of Gulliver’s adventures, and are not larger than those of a child. When young, they have a pleasing expression of countenance, which they take care to render as captivating as possible by bedaubing their flat noses and prominent cheek-bones with a mixture of red-ochre and fat. The toilets of many were made with scrupulous attention, the effect of the paint being enhanced by necklaces composed of the fresh entrails of wild beasts—a few cowrie shells, old bones, and buttons being also interwoven with their matted hair; but the life they lead, their frequent long abstinence, and constant exposure to the wind and glare of light in a dry open country, soon inducing the habit of keeping their naturally small eyes more than half closed, their comeliness is very ephemeral, and never extends beyond youth. The females possess much greater volubility and animation of gesture than the men; but the sounds they utter are a succession of claps of the tongue produced by forcing that unruly member against different parts of the teeth and palate: and whilst the enunciation is thus rendered troublesome and full of impediment, it resembles rather the chattering of monkeys than the language of human beings.”
18th.—Thermometer at noon 52°.—Sharp and very cold: the scarlet fever in Cape Town.
19th.—Walked to Green Point, and gathered shells beyond[363] the second lighthouse, which is situated on a rocky shore, where vessels are frequently wrecked, both accidentally and, it is said, intentionally. The waves break beautifully over the rocks that run out far into the sea. The sand on the shore glitters like silver, being composed of fragments of pounded shells: there are numerous shells to be found, but generally broken by the ruggedness of the coast. The people dig for them here, and procure them in great quantities out of the sand, which they sift; they are sold to burn for lime, which is made at a less cost from the shells than from the limestone quarries, as on the latter a duty is levied by the municipality.
The rocks are covered with limpets of all sorts, and cockles: the great ear shell (haliotis) is common, the coat-of-mail shell (chiton) and other species are also numerous. The great ear shells I have seen carried about for sale in Cape Town at twopence each; the people consider the contents good food.
In Camp’s Bay, and other bays, I understand fine and perfect specimens of a great variety of shells are found where the shore is less rugged and the sand good. The enormous size of the sea-weed is quite surprising, its great stem is of such length and thickness. On removing a clump of the sea-weed, the sand is alive with millions of wood-lice, at least I think they are so called; they make great bounds by rolling themselves up in a ball, and suddenly opening, the strength of the scales and the breadth of the tail sending them on at a surprising rate. It brought to my mind those early days in which a mouse, with a tail turned under the body, and fixed with a bit of cobbler’s wax, was made to jump about the room to my great delight.
21st.—Heavy rain—thermometer 56° at noon; the rain has taken away the great sharpness of the cold, which was too cutting to be pleasant. In these slightly-built houses, when the thermometer was 52° under the mountain, the air was very cold and clear, and peculiarly sharp and crisp. I roamed as usual up the mountain; it is covered with honey bush, at present in full flower, both the red and the white; the protea, a sort of honey bush, is now also in flower. As I made my way along, myriads of small sugar birds started from the bushes,[364] where, fluttering over the flowers, they had been dipping their long slender beaks into the sweet juice below. The people collect the juice which flows in great abundance from the flower of the honey bush; they warm it, and sell it in quart bottles at three shillings a piece to the druggists, who recommend it for coughs.
23rd.—Bought four rings of ivory, which the Kaffirs wear as bracelets and anklets, formed after a very simple fashion. From the hollow end of the elephant’s tusk, where it is three-quarters of an inch in thickness, a circle is cut off one inch in breadth; in this rude state it is worn as an ornament, three or four on each leg and arm. Purchased a pair of bullocks’ horns, well polished, for four shillings; but the enormous price asked for specimens in Cape Town deterred me from making as many purchases as I should otherwise have done.
July 5th.—Heavy rain and very unpleasant weather: the people are suffering from colds and sore throats; which illness, they say, has been brought by the wind that blows over from the sea between Table Mountain and the Lion’s Head.
6th.—An illness, called by the Capers the Sinkings, is very prevalent; it appears to be a swelling or inflammation of the glands of the throat.
7th.—The middle of the Cape winter. Auctions are conducted on a curious principle, the lowest bidder being the purchaser: it is a Dutch practice, and rather difficult to comprehend.
9th.—Walked beyond the hospital on the shore, where several wrecks lie scattered—found some pretty shells. Robberies are daily committed during the night in Cape Town by the Malays. At this time of the year it is their custom to make presents to their priests: the presents must be made, whether the men have it in their power to offer them or not. In the latter case they commit robbery to satisfy the demands of their spiritual advisers—several houses have been broken into.
14th.—Walked towards Camp’s Bay over the Lion Mountain; sketched some Cape aloes which were growing most luxuriantly on the road-side, where they had been planted as a hedge—the[365] stem was of the most brilliant crimson tint—the prickly pear in full bloom, with its white and crimson flower, and its deep crimson buds mixed beautifully with the aloes in the foreground; and in the distance beyond lay the sea and the Blueberg Mountains. I found a great variety of the most beautiful heaths, also a number of bulbs. The Africander was in bloom, as well as those bulbs that give forth their scent at sunset. The Malays are extremely partial to these sweet night-scented flowers, and collect them by the handful.
17th.—From the foot of the Devil’s Peak I sketched the Lion Mountain; it was covered with a deep driving fog that hung in wreaths not unlike a mane around it; the fog covered the shipping that was just visible below it, and the town looked indistinct: it was a most cold and unwholesome day; but I gathered beautiful flowers; the arums and prickly pears were in full bloom.
29th.—Ascended the Lion’s Rump, and arrived at the signal-post in time to see a magnificent sunset: took a sketch of the Lion’s Head, to the right of which was the back of Table Mountain, and the Southern Ocean to the left. The town and the bay from this mountain are seen to great advantage; the regularity of the plan on which the town was built by the Dutch is excellent. The walk this evening delighted me; my young companions and I sat down many times, and employed ourselves with digging up the bulbs with which the mountain is literally covered. The size of some of the bulbous roots is surprising, one weighed three pounds and a quarter, and measured in circumference twenty inches and a half; the height of the bulb was five inches and a half, and the leaves were eleven inches long. The fragrance of the flowers of the night-scented bulbs became delicious as we descended the mountain very late in the evening; it is rich in fine grass, and bulbs innumerable.
Aug. 4th.—Visited the Botanical Garden under the Lion’s Head; a number of trees and plants from Australia are collected there. The most brilliant African plant in blossom was the Strelitzia regina, with its orange and purple blossom, and its long wand-like leaves. The Kaffir bread-tree (Zamia horrida)[366] and the Zamia longifolia are very remarkable; grass trees from Australia were there, but they had perished from the cold. When on the Lion’s Head we saw a very curious bulb, the hæmanthus or blood-flower; the bulb is of large size, and produces only two leaves, which turn back and lie open upon the ground; they have no stalk, and lie close upon the earth, the colour a bright green; some of this class have spotted leaves. The gardener told me that the Bushmen use the juice of the spotted hæmanthus as poison for their arrows; and my young companions said, when they were on the frontier they saw a Bushman stick his arrow between the two leaves down into the bulb, and he told them, in that manner the Bushmen poisoned their weapons[40].
In India the Hill-men from Rajmal use poison on their arrows; it is most powerful and fatal, but they will not disclose from what plant they obtain it. The Hill-men at Almorah preserve the same secrecy on the subject. The hæmanthus toxicaria has spotted leaves; of these plants there were many in the garden, newly placed there, and they had not been there long enough to flower.
Harris, in speaking of African poisons, says:—“The Bechuana, with what truth I know not, are said occasionally to domesticate this stately bird (the ostrich) for equestrian purposes; and the puny Bushman avails himself of the disguise afforded by its skin to mix with a troop of wild animals, and select his victim. At the twang of his tiny bow away scours the herd in dire consternation, and, more alarmed than all, off scuds the impostor with them, again propelling a shaft as soon as the panic has subsided. The destruction committed in this manner is incredible: a slender reed, only slightly barbed with bone or iron, but imbued with a subtle poison, and launched with unerring dexterity, being sufficient to destroy the most powerful animal.
“The principal ingredient of this deadly bane is said, by[367] Pringle, to consist of the venom of the most dangerous serpents that infest the desert. In seizing and extracting the poison from beneath the fangs of the fatal puff-adder, or the cobra-di-capello, the despised African displays the most wonderful dexterity and boldness; simply placing his naked foot on the neck of the writhing reptile, and not unfrequently closing the exhibition of his intrepidity by fearlessly swallowing the contents of the bag he has extracted, as a supposed antidote, or rather as an effectual charm against the deleterious consequence of the venom, should it ever be accidentally brought into contact with his blood. Being of itself too thin and volatile to retain its powers long unimpaired, this animal poison is skilfully concocted into a black glutinous substance, by the due admixture of powerful vegetable and mineral poisons; the former being generally obtained from the root of a species of amaryllis, called by the colonists the gift-bol, or poison-bulb; whilst the latter is an unctuous or bituminous substance, which is said to exude from certain rocks and caverns that exist in particular parts of the Bushman’s country.”
On the mountain we found the ornithogalum, the star of Bethlehem, in abundance; it was like a weed in the garden. The ferania was there, with its spider-like flower; and the oxalis (woodsorrel), with its most brilliant pink flowers; the name of the enormous bulb I was unable to discover. The Australian pine was in great beauty in the garden; also the melaleuca kȳápootie, with its most curious bark. When you tear off a part of it you may separate it into layers as fine as gold-beaters’ skin, and it is of the same colour. Another sort has a coarser bark, and is used to cover hooqŭ snakes in India; fire-screens are made of this bark in America, and ingeniously ornamented with beads. The Zamia longifolia and the grass tree are distorted-looking productions, holding in outward appearance the same place amongst plants as a man afflicted with elephantiasis does amongst human beings. The bottle brush tree was in full bloom. The garden is very well worth visiting; the gardener is civil and intelligent.
5th.—I started to walk to the Plaat Clip, or flat stone; it is[368] half-way up Table Mountain; a favourite place of resort for parties from Cape Town. It is a beautiful spot: over the broad top of a bare rock a stream of water pours down with great velocity, and rushes down the side, forming a beautiful but small waterfall. Trees ornament the spot, and luxuriant bunches of the arum in full bloom are dotted amongst the rocks with picturesque effect. The ruin of a house stands there; its history appears unknown,—divers romantic tales were told me concerning this ruin. It is situated on a lovely and picturesque spot, very attractive to a person fond of solitude. After a long walk and much clambering among the rocks, we returned laden with flowers. Nothing can be more agreeable than spending the day at the Plaat Clip.
A Kafir Warrior—The Kaross—Vegetable Ivory—Shells—Changeable Weather—The Races—Dutch Beauties—Newlands—Cape Horses—The Arum—The Aloe—Servants at the Cape—Pedigree of a Malay—The Cook—The Washerwoman—Africanders—Shops in Cape Town—The “Robarts”—View from the Ship in the Bay—The Muharram—The Southern Cross—The Sailor and the Shark—Madras—Katmirams—Masulla Boats—The New Lighthouse—The Mint—She-Asses—Donies—Descendants of Milton—The Globe-Fish—Pooree—The Surf—Temple of Jaganāth—The Swing—The Rath—Death of Krishna—The Architect of the Gods—Jaganāth—The Trinity—The Seal—Ancient City near Pooree—Dangerous Shore—The Floating Light—The Sandheads—Anchored at Baboo Ghāt, Calcutta—Wilful Burning of the “Robarts.”
1843, Aug.—The portrait of the Kafir warrior in the sketch represents him with his shield of leather, of which the proper height when placed on the ground is to reach to the chin; his assegai or spear is in his hand, high feathers adorn his head, and we will suppose he has left his kaross in his hut, it being the only, and the garment usually worn by the Kafirs. This sketch of an African Warrior may prove acceptable, as the war now being carried on excites so much interest in England. I heard that the dragoons were much disgusted at being forced to ride down and shoot the Kafirs; who,—although they fight well,—if they are overtaken in flight, throw themselves on the ground, and plead for life. They are tall, fine, and powerful men, and their[370] colour a good clear brown. I have heard it asserted that the Kafirs never eat salt; if it be true, it is a most remarkable singularity. The only garment worn by them is the kaross: for one made of the skin of the wild-cat, consisting of fourteen skins, they demand in Cape Town three pounds fifteen shillings; for one of the skin of the red jackal, containing sixteen skins, and very large, four pounds. A riding-whip of the rhinoceros or hippopotamus hide, called a sjambok, costs three shillings and sixpence, which, considering that the price on the frontier is fourpence halfpenny, is a tolerably good per centage. At least, this is the price demanded from Indians, who appear to be the natural prey of the people at the Cape, who are leagued together to pluck the Hindūs. There is one price for the English, one for the Dutch, and one for the Africanders.
A KAFFIR WARRIOR.
On Stone by فاني پارکس
The manner in which the skins of the red jackals are prepared by the Kafirs is remarkable; the skin, which is originally very thick and coarse, is rubbed down with a stone until it becomes very thin, soft, and delicate; and the way in which the skins are sewed together to form the kaross or mantle is excellent, the workmanship is so neat and so good. The Kafir wears the fur of this garment next to his own skin during the winter, and in the summer he wears the fur outside for the sake of coolness.
The corassa nut, or vegetable ivory, is unknown in Cape Town. In London they told me it was brought from America, and also from the Cape; I took a specimen with me and showed it to the people, but found it was utterly unknown there.
13th.—Very cold, rainy, and windy weather,—the middle of the Cape winter—thermometer 53°,—very sharp and bitter, after heavy rains for some days; rheumatic and nervous complaints prevalent.
19th.—Collected shells off the second lighthouse at Green Point; sea eggs, of all colours and most brilliant tints, were in large quantities; the waves beat beautifully over the rocks, and the shore was delightful.
21st.—Very much warmer weather, quite the heat of an Indian hot wind,—by far too hot to venture out in the sun.
22nd.—What can be more suddenly changeable than the[371] weather at the Cape? yesterday a burning sun, to-day a south-east wind covering the mountain with a shroud, the wind howling and roaring round the house, a heavy gale blowing, and the street filled every minute with blinding clouds of dust and fine stones, that, whirling up, cut against your face, as with shut eyes you strive to make your way. The houses are thinly built, unfitted for the climate; the chimneys smoke, and nothing can be more disagreeable than a residence here at present. The ships in the harbour had need look well to their anchors, to prevent their being driven out to sea in such a fierce gale.
26th.—A quiet day, after a south-easter that has blown for three days.
Sept. 28th.—Went to the races, which took place by the lighthouse at Green Point. Having heard a great deal respecting the beauty of the Dutch girls, I was induced to go to the race-ball to see them, and was much disappointed in my expectations.
Oct. 7th.—We quitted Cape Town, and went to reside at Newlands. This place was formerly the residence of Lord Charles Somerset, the Governor of the Cape: the house is situated in the midst of fine woods, and noble avenues of oak; the roses and geraniums are most luxuriant. The Table Mountain, seen through the avenues at the back of the house, is calm and beautiful: the view in front extends across fine woods, terminated by the Blueberg Mountains. This is a delightful place,—the avenues offer perpetual shade, and the flowers are a luxury. Newlands is well situated as a residence; the walks around are numerous and beautiful,—I enjoyed those especially around the back of the Table Mountain, where there are a profusion of wild flowers. On the road to Paradise the view of the opposite mountains and Simon’s Bay to the right is very interesting; there is still a garden at Paradise, but the house is in ruins.
11th.—The rides are most agreeable; how happy I am to be on horseback again! I look with regret on the months I lost by spending them in Cape Town, shut up in Roeland-street; it is so delicious in the country,—we are about six or seven miles[372] from the town, an agreeable distance. Bought two handsome Cape riding horses; they carried me pleasantly at times, but were both very timid; they tell me timidity is the general fault of the horses at the Cape,—it was absurd the trouble these horses gave ere you could induce them to pass a flock of sheep. They would make a handsome pair for a carriage, and would sell well as such in Calcutta, besides paying their passage.
Nov. 26th.—Drove to Wynberg; saw an arum in Mrs. Usher’s garden that I thought remarkable. On the large bright green leaf were white transparent marks; the length of the flower thirty inches, the breadth eight inches; the inside of the flower was of a deep, beautiful, and rich claret colour. How profuse of beauty is nature to the flowers at the Cape! There was also an aloe at the same place of such enormous size, it was quite a sight,—a gigantic plant. I regret very much I did not sketch or measure it; it was the finest aloe I ever beheld.
Never did I meet with such servants as those at the Cape,—drunkards, thieves, and liars,—the petty annoyances these people give are enough to destroy the pleasure of living in this fine climate and beautiful country; had it not been for the plague of the servants I should have felt sorrow in quitting Africa. A Malay man-servant of ours, speaking of his family, said, “My father was only a lieutenant, but the father of my wife’s eldest son, he was a very great man!—he was a colonel! he gave her the cottage. Though the son is but a boy he has so much English spirit in him, that I am afraid of beating him; don’t you think the other children are very like me? The friends of many women are only captains or lieutenants; my wife’s friend was a colonel!—we are all like this!”
In India, if a man is ashamed of his poor relations, the following is applied to him: “The mule was asked, ‘Who is your father?’ He said, ‘The horse is my maternal uncle[41].’”
My Malay servant had no shame at all: “There is no physic for false ideas[42].” To have attempted to have enlightened his mind on the subject in which he took pride, would have been as[373] useless as “To pound water in a mortar[43]”—that is, it would have been labour in vain.
We were supplied from Wynberg with most excellent bread, very good mutton and poultry, vegetables, and fruits.
1844, Jan. 6th.—For the last week we have had days of burning heat—almost Indian heat, with very chilly evenings after sunset; heavy rain has cooled the air to-day, and rendered the atmosphere delicious. Newlands is at present the property of a Dutch gentleman, Mr. Crugwagen.
The servants are very cool at the Cape; my Malay cook came to me in Christmas week, to say she could not dress my dinner on three days in the coming week, as she was going out to dinner parties herself at the houses of some of her friends. I objected to going without dinner to oblige her, and at last was forced to dine on those days at an early hour, that she might be off at 4 P.M. to her parties.
Two of my white muslin gowns came from the wash with the sleeves split open, and a very deep tuck in the skirt; I found they had been lent or hired out to an Africander, who was shorter than myself, and had very robust arms. The people are extremely fond of balls and gaieties, which they attend dressed out in the gayest colours; and you sometimes see a fine French cambric handkerchief bordered with deep lace in the black fist of a floor-scrubbing Hottentot, as she walks grinning along to join a dancing party. The Africanders are very dirty in their persons, and they rub their bodies with a vile-smelling oil; the presence of a musk-rat is quite as agreeable as that of a Hottentot in a room. They appear to have a taste for music, judging from the correct manner in which I have heard the children singing various airs on the mountain.
I do not particularly admire the shops in Cape Town. I was taken to a store, as they call it, and bought a quantity of Irish linen; as soon as the linen was washed, after having been made into jackets, it fell into holes and was useless. At a shop in the Heerengratch I purchased two pieces of mousseline-de-laine; it was[374] quite rotten, and soon became like tinder. Perhaps the people buy damaged goods at auction, and retail them in the shops. Certainly, the Hindūs—as they here denominate gentlemen from India—meet with little mercy from the Capers of a certain class.
8th.—The “Robarts” having arrived, we determined to sail in her, and came into Cape Town, to prepare for our departure; what a contrast was the extreme heat of the town to the shade, the quiet, the coolness of the country!
11th.—Having secured the stern poop cabin below and the cabin next to it, we came on board; we were much pleased with the ship, and more so with the captain and officers,—they were anxious to render us every assistance, and save us all trouble and annoyance.
12th.—At 5 P.M. a breeze sprang up, and we quitted Table Bay. The view of the bay was beautiful, the mountains were darkly set against a bright sky, the sun streaming between the Lion’s Head and the Table Mount, shone with yellow and red gleams upon the hot dust that enveloped Cape Town; the mountains were dark and misty, the sea a deep blue, with white-crested waves; and the houses near the water standing out of a brilliant white. The wind was high, the sun bright, the clouds were flying quickly, and the white sheet was beginning to gather on the mountain.
27th.—Unpleasant weather: I cannot get over this mal-de-mer, and the attendant miserable feelings.
30th.—The native sailors celebrated the Muharram with single-stick playing, dances, and songs; Captain Elder gave them a fat sheep and a bag of rice to add to their repast, and awarded prizes of gaily-coloured handkerchiefs to the best performers. The crew were Lascars, the officers European.
Feb. 2nd.—It is very rainy and most uncomfortable; the deep sea fog creeps into every bone; long faces are in all directions.
3rd.—A most lovely day: a fair wind, which was also cold and bracing,—bright sunshine, good spirits, and happy looks around us.
4th.—Since I entered the “Robarts” I have never had cause[375] to utter one complaint; Captain Elder is most attentive and kind to all his passengers, and the officers follow his example. The servants are attentive, the dinners and breakfasts excellent, and the steward sends to any one who is inclined to remain in their cabin all and every little luxury so acceptable to a sick person at sea. All this is done willingly and cheerfully,—no pretext that the articles are in the hold, no delay, and no grumbling. The cook is excellent; he bakes the bread, which is also excellent, and in profusion; and every plate and knife is as clean and bright as on shore,—a good proof of a good steward, who will allow of no neglect in those who are under his orders. After the miserable dirtiness and half-starvation of the former vessel, the neglect when ill, and the discomfort, I cannot sufficiently admire the excellent regulations and order on board the “Robarts.”
8th.—A calm. A native jumped overboard, and caught an albatross that was feeding on some pork; the boat was lowered, and the passengers shot five fine albatross that were in large numbers round the vessel.
9th.—Passed near the islands of Amsterdam and St. Paul’s.
10th.—Lat. S. 35° 54′, long. E. 79° 28′. I was called on deck at 10 P.M. to witness an extraordinary appearance at the rising of the moon: it was very dark,—a heavy black cloud spread along the horizon, in the midst of which the half-moon on the edge of the sea shone forth of an ominous dark red colour in the fog, and was reflected on the waves. One solitary bird alone broke the darkness of the sea. Above, in the deep blue sky, the Southern Cross shone in beauty; the Pointers in Centaurus were brilliant, and the black Magellan cloud was distinctly visible between the stars in the Cross, looking like a hollow in the sky. Alluding to the Cross of the South:—“Una croce maravigliosa, e di tanta bellezza,” says Andrea Corsali, a Florentine, writing to Giuliano Medicis, in 1515, “che non mi pare ad alcuno segno celeste doverla comparare. E sío non mi inganno credo che sia questo[376] il crusero di che Dante parlò nel principio del Purgatorio con spirito profetico, dicendo,
It is still sacred in the eyes of the Spaniards: “Un sentiment religieux les attache à une constellation dont la forme leur rapelle ce signe de la foi planté par leurs ancêstres dans les déserts du nouveau monde.”
A lantern was held for me by the chief officer while I took the sketch, to enable me, as he said, to see the stars.
THE SOUTHERN CROSS.
Sketched on the spot by فاني پارکس
20th.—The thermometer 81° in my cabin, and 84° in the stern cabin above. The new moon was most beautiful. Venus looked of surprising size, and threw her light across the sea like a moon light.
21st.—The trade wind blows calmly and sweetly; we only make about 100 knots a day, and the heat is oppressive; but the starry nights are brilliant, and the air at that time is most luxuriously cool, fresh, and soft.
23rd.—Thermometer 82°—A calm—the boats were lowered, and a purse made for a boat race for the native crew, which afforded amusement—the heat at night was intense.
25th.—Calm again—how much patience is requisite during a voyage at sea!
29th.—A dead calm—the heat excessive, quite overpowering, far beyond the heat of India. Heavy rain, a waterspout seen—a little breeze in the evening—re-crossed the line during the night.
March 1st.—The heat renders all exertion, mental or bodily, almost impossible. A heavy squall at noon, with powerful thunder and lightning followed by a calm. No sooner are we refreshed by a breeze, than torrents of rain fall and the calm returns. When shall we pick up the monsoon?—we creep along at a weary pace.
3rd.—The evening brought the north-east monsoon; it blew very gently, the air was soft and sweet, and the ship in perfect quietude moved beneath the soft moonlight; it was one of those delicious evenings peculiar to the trade winds.
4th.—Almost perfectly calm—the boat was lowered, and a blue shark was caught; it measured nine feet and a half,—a most ferocious-looking beast. This shark was most curiously caught in a noose by the third mate. The captain had a bait over the boat, of which the shark was shy; but seeing the naked arms of the mate in the water, he darted towards him and was caught in the noose he had laid for him. After the sailors had dined, a man of the name of Stewart having had too much grog, went in the boat to catch another shark with the third officer and some cadets. The shark took the bait, Stewart gave him a pull towards the boat, the beast gave a spring, Stewart renewed his pull, and into the bows of the boat plunged the shark headlong. The cadets had fired four balls into him, which was fortunate, the creature was rather stunned, but Stewart held him, with the hook in one hand, the fingers of the other hand in his eye, and the body of the fish between his legs! In this fearful position the drunken man and the fish struggled together, the man calling out, “Poor creature, don’t hurt him!” however, in spite of his outcry, the mate chopped off the tail of the shark, which disabled him, after which they pitched him out of the boat and towed him to the ship: he measured six feet. Several sucking fish fell off the shark into the boat: this scene I saw from my port, the boat was but a stone’s throw from the ship. Thermometer 86°—not a breath of air, and a dead calm—a lovely moonlight, and we were cheered at night by the freshening of the monsoon.
10th.—Anchored off Madras about 11 A.M.—On approaching Madras, a range of low hills are first seen, the land lies very low; after a time the town appears at a distance. On the left the church in the fort is visible, the signal staff and the old lighthouse, beyond which is the new lighthouse, and in front of the latter is the evening drive on the beach. A post-office Masulla boat, with her flag flying, was coming off to the ship[378] for the letter bags. The sea was as calm as possible; hundreds of katmirams, or as they are usually called catamarans, were in every direction out fishing. The appearance was most singular; the catamarans sunk in the water were invisible from a distance, and the natives on them appeared to be standing or sitting on the sea—reminding me of the mahout as he appeared when swimming his elephant in the Ganges, standing erect on his back, and guiding him by the strings in his ears.
Some of the catamarans contained only one man, some two; their dark bodies were almost perfectly naked, and their heads adorned by a white or red cloth bound around them.
Three or four rough logs lashed together is all that forms a catamaran: in some a few bits of wood fastened in front form a low bow—very original and simple concerns. Sometimes these singular contrivances carry a triangular sail stuck on a pole. Very good models of Masulla boats and catamarans are to be purchased on the shore at Madras. The Masulla boat is a large high unwieldy boat consisting of thin planks sewed together with cocoa-nut fibres, and the seams filled up inside with the same: they offer little resistance when run on shore through the surf. The crew consists of twelve men. Rafts are employed to bring off carriages to vessels. The accommodation boat, a superior sort of Masulla boat, is fitted up with seats in the stern, and an awning to protect passengers from the surf when landing, as well as from the sun. The crew do not encumber themselves with too much attire; their dresses are generally white, ornamented with some gaily-coloured edging, a vandyke of red or blue. The boats are unsightly, awkward concerns, standing high and clumsily out of the water.
The half-revolving light of the new lighthouse is splendid, flashing and twinkling, appearing in great brilliancy, and then dying away to a speck, then bursting forth again in all its radiance. A light no mariner could mistake.
12th.—A number of boats are alongside with curiosities for sale; the deck is covered with a marvellous collection of extraordinary things, shells, monkeys, parroquets, and ill-stuffed fishes;[379] and there is a great noise created from landing horses and discharging cargo.
13th.—Our friend Mr. R⸺ came in an accommodation boat to take us on shore. The day was quite calm, but the surf, even little as there was of it, was surprising to a stranger; nothing would form a better subject for a picture than landing in the surf at Madras. The Masulla boat went bumping on shore, and her side having been hauled to the beach, the passengers were put into chairs, and landed by the men. The drives are good, and there is much open space around Madras. At the end of three miles, we reached our destination—most glad was I to be out of the ship! The house appeared to rock for some hours after our arrival, which was singular, as the ship we had quitted was perfectly still, and at anchor. Here we enjoyed the luxury of fish, cucumbers, and fresh butter. At Madras they appear only to use the pankha at the time of meals. The fresh sea breeze comes in most agreeably, nevertheless, a pankha constantly going would be very acceptable.
14th.—The evening drive round the island, as it is called, and along the sea-shore, is pleasant; the fine cool sea breeze carries off all the languor produced by the heat of the day. The statue of Sir Thomas Munro, on the Mount road, in the island, is a handsome object: the roads are never watered at Madras, and the carriages appear inferior to those in Calcutta.
16th.—Visited the Mint, and was much interested in the process of coining and assaying. We quitted our friends after sunset, and were taken in a Masulla boat very cleverly through the three ranges of surf, perfectly unwetted, to the “Robarts.” The days are very hot, the evenings cool and delicious: to-night there is not a ripple on the sea.
The fresh sea breeze blowing in upon me made me sleep delightfully, and I was free from the annoyance of musquitoes, whose bites worried me on shore. When we reach Calcutta, how much we shall miss the evening breeze from the sea, which is so delightful at Madras!
17th.—Sunday,—crowds of natives on board, Sunday being the great day of business with them: they brought grapes,[380] which were delicious. I purchased a saw-fish, a sting-ray, or bat-fish, a sea-porcupine, a halfmoon-fish, and some others.
“Mem want some she-asses?” “What?” “She-asses, Mem; many got, Mem buy, I bring she-asses.” They turned out to be sea-horses, which appear to be abundant at Madras, as well as all sorts of monstrous and queer fish. A juggler on board was displaying some of his tricks. He finished by sitting down on the deck, when he passed the blade of a sword down his throat, as far as the hilt, and during the time the blade was in his body, he let off fireworks, which were on the four corners of two pieces of wood that were fixed in the form of a cross on the hilt of the sword, and which spun round upon it. It was a disgusting sight, and an unpleasant one, as it sometimes causes the death of the juggler. Some of the passengers, on their return to the “Robarts,” complained much of the heat, and of the musquitoes on shore, also of the badness of the inns, which are not sufficiently good to aspire to the name of hotels. The daunās or donies, as we call them, are numerous at Madras; they are country vessels, coasters, and traders, and are commanded by a sarhang, who wears the undress of the katmiram men; the crews are native—the vessels are short, thick, clumsy, and marvellously ugly.
It is interesting to trace the descendants of Milton; his grandson was parish-clerk of Fort St. George, at a very remote period. Milton’s youngest and favourite daughter Deborah married a Mr. Clarke; she is said to have been a woman of cultivated understanding, and not unpleasing manners; known to Richardson and patronized by Addison, who procured a permanent provision for her from Queen Caroline. Her only son Caleb Clarke went to Madras in the first years of the eighteenth century, and it appears from an examination of the Parish Register of Fort St. George that he was parish-clerk there from 1717 to 1719, and was buried there on the 26th of October of the latter year.
22nd.—Captain Elder, finding the wind would not answer for getting out beyond the shipping, turned the head of the “Robarts” in shore, and cut through a crowd of donies, country[381] vessels, in great style. We sailed from Madras with a delightful breeze, and were glad to resume our voyage. The captain brought me a present of a remarkably large globe-fish, a globular fish, covered with very sharp prickles; it has the beak of a parrot, and is, I understand, also called the parrot-fish.
23rd.—The ship going nearly ten knots an hour, and as steady as if she were at anchor: how I enjoy the sea breeze! what health, strength, and spirits it gives me!
24th.—At sunset we passed close to Vizagapatam, the range of distant blue mountains was very beautiful, contrasted with the red volcanic-looking hills on the sea-shore.
25th.—Anchored off Pooree: the view of the station from the sea is remarkable: on the left the temple of Jaganāth stands a high and conspicuous object. The houses are built along the shore on the sands, and close to the beach, where the surf rolls for ever with great violence. It is a beautiful sight to watch a Masulla boat rising and sinking as she comes over and through the surfs, of which there appear to be three regular ranges, and which roll with greater violence than the surf at Madras. Few vessels ever anchor at Pooree. I think they told me a ship had not been there for three years. The “Robarts” anchored there to land Colonel and Mrs. G⸺; they went on shore in a Masulla boat, their carriage and horses were landed on a raft.
26th.—Mr. S⸺ came off to the “Robarts,” and we returned with him in the Masulla boat to his house, where we breakfasted and enjoyed fresh strawberries. The sun was extremely powerful, but I could not resist going in a palanquin to see the temple of Jaganāth. It is built of stone, and surrounded by a very high wall of the same material, enclosing a large space of ground, and it has four great gateways. In front of the grand entrance is a column of one entire piece of stone, and elegant in form. Two monsters frown on either side the gateway. A wheel ornaments the top of the dome, surmounted by a staff, on which three flags are flying; the staff was bent during a hurricane. I got out of the palanquin, and went into[382] the gateway to look at the temple; the Brahmans were extremely afraid my unholy footstep might profane the place, and would scarcely allow me even to look into the interior, otherwise I would have sketched it. A number of those idle rascals were about, and they appeared annoyed when I expressed a wish to enter the enclosure, which is around the temple.
One of the Hindoo poets, in answer to the question, “Why has Vishnŭ assumed a wooden shape?” (alluding to the image of Jaganāth) says, “The troubles of his family have turned Vishnŭ into wood: in the first place he has two wives, one of whom (the goddess of Learning) is constantly talking, and the other (the goddess of Prosperity) never remains in one place: to increase his troubles, he sits on a snake; his dwelling is in the water, and he rides on a bird. All the Hindoos acknowledge it is a great misfortune for a man to have two wives; especially if both live in one house.”
Krishnŭ is a descent of Vishnŭ, and the bones of Krishnŭ are Jŭgŭnat’hŭ.
I made the circuit of the wall, and then visited the swing of the idol. Once a year Jaganāth is brought forth, and put into this swing. The arch is of black marble, and has the appearance of richly-carved bronze: the ropes are supported by iron rings fixed into the arch. It stands on a platform, to which you ascend by a flight of steps, which are crowned by two monsters, couchant. From the temple I returned to tiffin, and on my way I thought of the description of the plains covered with human sculls; therefore, I kept a sharp look out for them, but not one could I see. The god was shut up in his temple; we were not fortunate enough to land there during the celebration of the rites, or when he is brought forth once a year at the festival called Rat’-ha-jattra, or the festival of the Chariot. The height of the ruth is forty-two feet, supported on sixteen wheels; the four horses in front of it are of wood: ropes are attached to the bars below, and the car, with the monstrous idol within it, is drawn by 20,000 frantic devotees. On this occasion Krishnŭ is worshipped as Jaganāth’ha, or Lord of the universe: the Lord of the World, from jugŭt, the world, and nat’hu, lord.
“In some period of Hindū history he was accidentally killed by a hunter, who left the body to rot under the tree where it fell. Some pious person, however, collected the bones of Krishnŭ, and placed them in a box, where they remained: a king, who was performing religious austerities, to obtain some favour of Vishnŭ, was directed by the latter to form the image of Jŭgŭnnathŭ, and put into its belly these bones of Krishnŭ, by which means he should obtain the fruit of his religious austerities. The king inquired who should make this image; and was commanded to pray to Vishnŭ-kŭrmŭ the architect of the gods. He did so, and obtained his request; but the architect at the same time declared, that if any one disturbed him while preparing the image, he would leave it in an unfinished state. He then began, and in one night built a temple upon the blue mountain in Orissa, and proceeded to prepare the image in the temple; but the impatient king, after waiting fifteen days, went to the spot; on which the architect of the gods desisted from his work, and left the god without feet or hands. The king was very much disconcerted; but on praying to Brŭmha, he promised to make the image famous in its present shape. The king now invited all the gods to be present at the setting up of this image: Brŭmha himself acted as high priest, and gave eyes and a soul to the god, which completely established the fame of Jŭgŭnnathŭ. This image is said to lie in a pool near the present temple of Jŭgŭnnathŭ in Orissa.” After many ceremonies have been performed within the temple, the god is drawn forth in his car; at the expiration of eight days he is conveyed back to the place from which he came. The festival is intended to celebrate the diversions of Krishnŭ and the Gopīs, with whom he used to ride out in his chariot. The image of Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ the brother of Jŭgŭnnat’hŭ almost always accompanies him. Some place the image of Révŭtee by the side of her husband, Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ; she was a singular personage, that maiden lady, for at the time of her marriage she was 3,888,000 years old! Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ saw her for the first time when ploughing; notwithstanding her immense stature (which reached as high as a sound ascends in clapping the hands[384] seven times), Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ married her, and to bring down her monstrous height, he fastened a ploughshare to her shoulders.
At this festival all castes eat together: the pilgrims to this shrine endure excessive hardships from fatigue, want of food, and exposure to the weather; sometimes a devotee will throw himself under the wheels of the car, and be crushed to death, believing, if he sacrificed his life through his faith in Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, the god would certainly save him. Every third year they make a new image, when a Brahman removes the original bones of Krishnŭ from the inside of the old image to that of the new one; on this occasion he covers his eyes, lest he should be struck dead for looking on such sacred relics. The Rajah of Burdwan expended twelve lākh of rupees in a journey to Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, including two lākh paid as a bribe to the Brahmans to permit him to see these bones; but he died six months afterwards for his temerity. A number of women belong to the temple, whose employment is to dance and sing before the god. Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, his brother, Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ, and their sister, Soobhŭdra, are placed together in the car.
In the plate entitled Jaganāth is a brass idol, (Fig. 5,) which was given me at Pooree; it may probably represent the three personages above mentioned; but why the brother and sister should have stumps instead of arms, and why they should have no legs, I cannot imagine. Is Jaganāth in himself a trinity, as this idol would lead one to suppose?
Fig. 1, in the same plate, is a fac-simile of a little wooden model of the god; it has no legs, and only stumps as arms; the head is very large, as are also the great circular eyes. At the festivals the Brahmans adorn Jaganāth with silver or golden hands; and an offering of a pair of golden hands to the image is considered an act of great devotion. This model was presented to me at Pooree, as was also the seal (Fig. 2), with which the priests stamp the worshipper on the breast and on the arms; it is covered with various holy emblems: the tika of bhabūt or ashes[385] is also placed on the forehead of the pilgrim by the ministering Brahman. The Uchchat tilak is the ceremony of putting a few grains of boiled rice on the forehead of an image when addressed, or of a Brahman when invited to an entertainment.
JUGUNNATHU.
On Stone by Major Parlby.
فاني پارکس
The āsan, the sacred mat, used by the Hindūs in worship, is made of the kashŭ grass (saccharum spontaneum), and sold at different prices, from a penny to one rupee each.
I saw a small model of the ruth, or car, which was ornamented with flags and red linen. At Allahabad I wished to inspect one which was passing along the road, but was deterred from so doing, being told it was covered with indelicate paintings.
During the melā, or great fair, at the sacred junction of the rivers at Allahabad, I have often seen worship performed before an image of Jaganāth, as described Vol. I. page 262.
A carved stone was presented to me, brought from the ruins of a city of great extent, about forty miles from Pooree; its name has escaped my memory, but it appeared from the account I received to be full of curiosities; few persons, however, had ventured to visit the ruined city, deterred by the probability of taking a fever, in consequence of the malaria produced by the thick jangal by which it is surrounded. The stone is white, and upon it is carved the figure of some remarkable personage, above which is an emblem of Mahadēo. A very fine tiger’s skin was also added to my collection. I carried off my prizes with great delight, and they now adorn my museum.
In the evening our party returned on board in a Masulla boat through a very fine surf that flung the boat right on end, and carried her back many times towards the beach ere we could make our way through it; the foam dashed over the boat as every surf rolled upon her; it was a beautiful sight,—I enjoyed extremely the passing through those magnificent surfs. The countenance of the captain of the “Robarts,” who was with us, was grave and anxious; he eyed the horizon intently, and appeared not to like the look of the sky. He weighed anchor instantly on reaching the ship, and said to me afterwards, “I did not like the appearance of the weather as we came on board, and was thinking whether I should lay my bones there.” With[386] a wind on shore a ship off Pooree must be in an awkward position.
27th.—At 8 P.M. arrived off the floating light, a brig, anchored at the Sandheads; it was a beautiful night,—our signal-lights burnt brightly, and we were guided from time to time as we approached the vessel by the half-hour lights burnt on board her; the last light we had seen had been pretty distant, and steering by it, we suddenly perceived the brig on our quarter, about one hundred yards off,—her sails, masts, cordage, and hull glancing out in the darkness, and from the deep shadow, by the lurid glare of her blue light; the sight was beautifully spectral. A pilot came immediately on board; with a fine breeze and a press of sail we proceeded towards Saugor, anchored, and reported our arrival at the Sandheads.
28th.—A fine breeze bore us on until we anchored off the Bishop’s Palace, at which time a north-wester came on, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and heavy rain.
29th.—Arrived off Baboo Ghāt, Calcutta, after a most agreeable voyage from the Cape, which, I believe, was enjoyed by every one on board.
The “Robarts” was a fine vessel, one of the old teak Indiamen. With regret we saw the following extract in a newspaper in 1847:—
Wilful burning of an Indiaman.
“Considerable surprise has within the last day or two existed in the underwriters’ room at Lloyd’s, in consequence of the receipt of intelligence of the loss of another East India trader by fire, under circumstances that have justified the officers under whose command she was placed in apprehending the greater part of the crew on a charge of having maliciously occasioned the destruction of the ship. She was the ‘Robarts,’ of London, part the property of Messrs. Havisides and Co., of Cornhill, and was one of the old-fashioned teak-built Indiamen, of nearly 1,000 tons’ burden. She was deeply laden with cotton and other merchandize, which had been shipped at Calcutta, as well as a number of passengers, and was on the point of sailing[387] when the calamity happened. The immense losses by fire that merchants and shipowners have within the last two years sustained in that port—for we believe no fewer than five large ships have been totally destroyed during that time—have led to every precaution on their part. The cargo of the ‘Robarts’ underwent a strict scrutiny before it was taken on board, and the ship’s hold was carefully overhauled, besides which extra lookers-on were appointed to watch the conduct of the crew. With the exception of the officers, the crew were composed of Lascars, nearly seventy in number; and here it is proper to mention, that in all instances where they are engaged to navigate a vessel, whether to England or elsewhere, they are entitled by the laws of that country to six months’ pay in advance. This has led to the disasters spoken of; the Lascars firing the ships to defraud the owners of their services, all the ships being destroyed a night or so before the day of their appointed sailing. The ‘Robarts’ dropped down the river on the 28th of June, and the passengers having come on board she sailed on the following day, the 29th, for China. The succeeding night saw the destruction of the vessel in the river. The passengers and most of the officers were buried in slumber when they were startled by the cries of ‘fire,’ and on their reaching the deck were not a little alarmed at finding such to be the case, for smoke was rolling up in dense volumes from the fore part of the vessel. The captain and chief officer went down to ascertain its locality, and finding the bulk of the fire apparently behind the starboard-chain box, or locker, water in copious quantities was immediately thrown down, the pumps being also got to work; notwithstanding, however, no effect was produced, but the smoke and heat increased, and the stench clearly showed the fire had extended to the cotton in the hold. The exertions were continued, but at four o’clock, four hours after the alarm was raised, Captain Elder seeing there was not the least chance of saving the ship, ordered the boats to be lowered, and having seen all hands and the passengers safe in them abandoned her to her fate. Fortunately for them another vessel, named the ‘Fatima,’ was coming[388] down the channel, and took them on board to Kedgeree, where they were landed. It is unnecessary to observe that in a few hours the ‘Robarts’ was totally destroyed. The men who were charged with setting fire to the ship have undergone an examination, and are remanded. The result of the second day’s examination has not yet been received. The loss of the vessel and cargo is said to exceed £30,000. It is covered by insurances.”—Observer.
Calcutta—Mango Fish—Lord Ellenborough recalled—Fall of Fish—The Hoogly—The Bore—Quitted Calcutta—Ishapūr—Chagdah—Happiness of Dying in Sight of the Ganges—Quitted the Tropics—Cutwa—Plassey—Berhampūr—Morus Indica—Jungipūr—Quitted the Bhagirathī—Night Blindness—Sikrī-galī—Herd of Buffaloes—Patturgatta Hill—Rocks of Colgong—An Ajgar—A Wild and Singular Scene.
1844, April 1st.—We took a house in Chowringhee, and found soon after that the cholera and small-pox were prevalent in Calcutta: how ill the dampness and the heat of this Bengal climate render me!—they destroy all energy. Calcutta is famous for its tapsi machhī (mango fish), in this month they are in perfection. “Mangoes and fish meet of necessity[44];” they come in at the same season, and the unripe mango is also used in cooking fish: the dāndīs bring them in small baskets fresh from the boats to the Course of an evening, and sell them twenty for a rupee, at the time a khansaman charges his master one rupee for five of them. Parties are made, to Fulta and Budge-Budge, down the river, to eat mango fish,—after the fashion of white-bait parties in town; they are excellent—smoked in the same manner as anwarī fish—for breakfast.
28th.—A fine fall of rain,—perhaps it will clear the air, and drive off the cholera, which is raging strongly at present.
May 24th.—Mango fish fifty per rupee. The weather very hot, the nights most oppressive, from the heavy mist and great heat. We left our horses at the Cape, which we regretted on our arrival in Calcutta; we have been looking out for a pair of carriage horses for some time. This is the cheapest season of the year in which to make the purchase, but they are very dear; those for sale at eight hundred rupees are vile, those at one thousand indifferent,—you cannot get a good pair under fourteen or sixteen hundred rupees; it would not answer to bring riding horses from the Cape for sale, but carriage horses would answer well, they are in such great demand in Calcutta.
29th.—Rain having fallen on the Queen’s birthday, the display of fireworks was postponed until to-day; it was a failure, with the exception of one bouquet, which was good. They would not bear a comparison with the jeux d’artifices that I witnessed in Paris on the day of the King’s fête; I never saw any colours that equalled those in brilliancy and variety. The last firework, a bouquet of rockets of divers colours, was superb; and sometimes a composition was burnt, that threw a red glare over the landscape; then came a glare of blue lights, casting a spectral appearance on the houses, the river, and the sky, after which another tint was thrown forth, and the effect was excellent.
June 16th.—Lord Ellenborough recalled,—deposed by the Court of Directors.
July 18th.—Visited the livery stables to see some fresh Arabs, among which some very good ones were pointed out to me. There was not a horse that I would have selected for my own riding whose price was less than from twelve to sixteen hundred rupees; and for those likely to turn out good racers they asked two and three thousand.
31st.—Lord Ellenborough quitted Calcutta, and returned to England.
Aug. 22nd.—A very heavy gale, and a deep fall of rain; the next day the natives were catching fish all over the maidān in front of the Government House; they say the fish fell with the rain, which is now a foot deep on the ground.
Oct. 1st.—It being our intention to proceed by the river to[391] Allahabad, and the weather becoming daily cooler, we hired a pinnace budgerow for ourselves, a large olāk for the baggage, and a cook-boat, sent them to Prinsep’s Ghāt, and prepared for the voyage.
That branch of the Ganges that quits the main stream at Gopalgunj, flowing by Sooty to Moorshedabad, is called the Bhagirathī until it reaches Nuddea, at which place it is joined by the Jellinghy, and they flow on, passing Calcutta, to the island of Sāgor, under the name of the Hoogly. Only that part of the Ganges which lies in a line from Gangoutrī to Sāgor island is considered holy by the Hindūs, and named the Ganga or Bhagirathī. The Hoogly river, therefore, of Europeans, is considered as the true Ganges.
The Bore commences at Hoogly Point, Sāgor, where the river first contracts itself, and is perceptible above the town of Hoogly: so quick is its motion, that it scarcely employs four hours in running up from the one to the other, although the distance is nearly seventy miles. It does not run on the Calcutta side, but along the opposite bank; whence it crosses at Chitpūr, about four miles above Fort William, and proceeds with great violence. On its approach boats must immediately quit the shore, and go for safety into the middle of the river; at Calcutta it sometimes occasions an instantaneous rise of five feet. The tide is perceptible as far as Nuddea.
10th.—Quitted Calcutta with a foul wind and heavy rain,—damp, gloomy, and rheumatic weather.
11th.—Started with a fair wind, bought two milch goats for thirteen rupees eight ānās,—a great prize on the river. Moored the vessels at Ishapūr, in order to visit a friend who has charge of the powder-works at that place; his house, which is large and excellent, is situated on the banks of the river; every thing is so cool and fresh around it; it is delightful to be in the country once more.
14th.—The fast of the Muharram ended to-day; the followers of the prophet amongst our servants, wishing to have a great feast, petitioned to be allowed to stay till noon, to worship and to stuff pillāo. Quitted Hoogly with the tide at half-past one P.M.[392]
15th.—Passed the village of Chagdah, on the left bank of the Matabangah, forty-six miles from Calcutta; a village of corpses,—the inhabitants of which, having been brought by their relatives to the river’s side, to die before their time, prefer a debased existence to a righteous end, agreeing therein with the highest authorities. Pope’s Homer makes Achilles in the Elysian fields say,
Solomon deems it better to be a live dog than a dead lion; and Job, called by Byron “the Respectable,” says, “Why should a living man complain?” to which Byron adds, “For no reason that I can see, except that a dead man cannot.” In the face of these grave authorities, as far as I am concerned, I cannot help being of a different opinion: the proverb agrees with my view of the subject,—“It is better to die with honour than live with infamy[45].” These unfortunate people, outcasts from their homes and families, on account of their unexpected recovery, after having been exposed by their relatives to die on the banks of the river, have taken refuge in this village, and are its sole inhabitants.
“The Hindūs are extremely anxious to die in sight of the Ganges, that their sins may be washed away in their last moments. A person in his last agonies is frequently dragged from his bed and friends, and carried, in the coldest or in the hottest weather, from whatever distance, to the river-side, where he lies, if a poor man, without a covering day and night, until he expires. With the pains of death upon him, he is placed up to the middle in water, and drenched with it; leaves of the toolsee plant are also put into his mouth, and his relations call upon him to repeat, and repeat for him, the names of Ramŭ, Hŭree, Narayŭnŭ, Brŭmha, Gŭnga, &c. In some cases the family[393] priest repeats some incantations, and makes an offering to Voitŭrŭnēē, the river over which the soul, they say, is ferried after leaving the body. The relations of the dying man spread the sediment of the river on his forehead or breast, and afterwards, with the finger, write on this sediment the name of some deity. If a person should die in his house, and not by the river-side, it is considered as a great misfortune, as he thereby loses the help of the goddess in his dying moments. If a person choose to die at home, his memory becomes infamous.”
This part of the river is flat and uninteresting; anchored a little below Culna, which is sixty-six miles by water, fifty-two by land, from Calcutta. At night the insects, attracted by the brilliant light of the Silvant lamps, came into the cabin in swarms—like the plagues of Egypt they fall into the wine-cups and fill the plates; they are over my hands, and over the paper on which I am writing, and are a complete pest.
16th.—Very hot during the middle of the day; thermometer 86°. Passed the Dhobah sugar-works, seventy-two miles by water from Calcutta; left the Jellingee river on the right, and anchored at Nuddea, eighty-three by water, and sixty-four by land. The steamers generally arrive at the Dhobah sugar-works in one day, but still we think we have come on quickly in the Budgerow! We did not land to visit the long range of temples on the bank of the river. To this place the Calcutta Sircars come, to eat the air.
At Meertulla, half-way between Nuddea and Dumdumma, we crossed the Tropic of Cancer, which made us fancy ourselves in a cooler climate, in spite of the extreme heat. At noon-day it is almost intolerable, and very oppressive, but the early mornings are cool, and the nights also; moored off Dumdumma.
18th.—Lugāoed on a dry sandbank beyond Dewangunge, one hundred and eighteen miles from Calcutta; it has a large mart, and a fine indigo factory.
19th.—Arrived early in the day off Cutwa, situated on the right bank of the Bhagirathī, five miles from Dewangunge; anchored to procure fowls, fish, and vegetables; it has a coal depôt for steamers. Cutwa is on the Adgar-nālā: found nothing[394] in the bazār but eggs and plantains, fowls and byguns (solanum melongena). Purchased twelve sticks of shola, or sola, as it is commonly called, for one paisā; the dāndīs use it as a tinder-box, and strike fire into the end of a sola stick with a flint and steel. A cooler day; the river very uninteresting; moored on a nameless sandbank.
20th.—Passed the Field of Plassey, sixteen miles above Cutwa, on the left bank; memorable for the defeat of Suraja Dowla, by the British forces under Colonel Clive, June 23rd, 1757. This battle decided the fate of Bengal, and ultimately of India. Anchored on a fine cool sandbank near the Company’s fīl-khāna (elephant establishment), on the left bank, eight miles above Plassey.
21st.—Arrived at Rangamattī, a village on the right bank, with steep red banks; the Company’s silk manufactories were here formerly. The place is celebrated for sajjī-mattī, or fuller’s earth: it is six miles from Berhampūr, one hundred and sixty from Calcutta, and seventy-seven from Jellingee. Lugāoed at the civil station of Berhampūr, which looks quite deserted; nothing is going forward; no crowds of natives on the bank with various articles for sale, and no picturesque boats on the river.
22nd.—Sent letters to the Dāk—laid in a store of fowls, bread, butter, charcoal, limes, &c., to help us on to Rajmahāl, as provisions are only to be procured at the large stations.
23rd.—Passed the palace of the Nawāb of Moorshedabad: admired the fanciful boats he uses on state occasions, and the snake boats; the latter fly with great swiftness when rowed by twenty men, from their amazing length and extreme narrowness. The state boats are highly gilt, and ornamented very tastefully with colours and gold; they are light and airy in the extreme. The river is very shallow; we have great difficulty in finding the deep parts; in consequence, our progress is slow, but the scenery is very beautiful. Moored off a small bastī (village) on the right bank.
24th.—A little fleet of small boats filled with fire-wood has[395] passed us; never was there any thing so neatly and regularly stowed away as the wood. The weather is becoming sensibly cooler and more pleasant: moored below Jungipūr on a field covered with the tūt, (morus Indica, Indian mulberry,) a shrub which is planted and cultivated in great quantities as food for the silkworms which are reared in the neighbouring villages. My goats luxuriated for some hours by moonlight in the fields of tūt, enjoying the fresh shrubs; they have been cut down, and the young sprouts are now only about a foot high.
25th.—Passed Jungipūr; paid the toll which is levied for keeping open the entrance of the Bhagirathī; anchored at Kamalpūr, a straggling picturesque village: cows are here in the greatest abundance—the village swarms with them; they swim the cows over the river in herds to graze on the opposite bank, and swim them back again in the evening; a couple of men usually accompany the herd, crossing the river by holding on to the tail of a cow: the animals take to the water as a thing of course; on their arrival at the cottages, they are tied up with food before them, and a smouldering fire is kept up near them all night: the cows enveloped in the smoke are free from the worrying of the insects. Mr. Laruletta has a large silk manufactory at Jungipūr; he lives in the Residency, which he purchased from the Government; it is forty-two miles above Berhampūr. The villages of Gurka and Kidderpūr are on the opposite bank.
26th.—Quitted the Bhagirathī and entered on the Ganges: stopped at a place famous for bamboos, consisting of a few huts built of mats on the river-side, where bamboos and ardent spirits are sold. My mānjhī bought nine very large newly-cut bamboos for one rupee five ānās, and complained of their being very dear! Crossed the river, and anchored above the village of Konsert, at the Luckipūr indigo factory, a most melancholy looking place, the bungalow in ruins—the owner resides on the opposite side of the river. There is a very fine banyan tree on the Ghāt, at Konsert, and two very fine silk cotton trees (bombax heptaphyllum) in front of the factory. The kajūr (phœnix dactylifera, common date palm,) flourishes here,—it[396] is remarkable for its lofty trunk, rugged on account of the persistent vestiges of the decayed leaves.
27th.—Passed Dulalpūr and saw the factory of Chandnī Kotī in the distance, where I met with so much hospitality on my expedition to the ruins of Gaur. Heard of Mr. Sinclair’s death, which took place about a year ago, most likely from the jungle fever. After a pleasant sail with a fair wind, had the first sight of the Hills; anchored on a cool, clear, and fresh sandbank in the middle of the Ganges—the moon high, the night quiet and agreeable. I took a camera lucida on deck, and was much amused with the delight of the crew when they looked into it. They called it a Kompās, and were very anxious to have their own likenesses taken.
28th.—Thermometer 82° in the cabin at noon; not a breath of air, the river very broad and shallow; it is hardly possible to find water enough to float the budgerow. We are just passing a steamer with a cargo flat in tow; she has grounded, and there she is in the midst of the river burning with heat, whilst the little pilot boats are trying to find some channel deep enough for her. Like the hare and the tortoise in the fable, we shall reach the goal first. Imagine the heat of the iron steamer, the bright river giving back the sun’s rays, and looking like unruffled glass around her; the inside of the vessel must resemble a well-heated iron oven. Lugāoed off Husseinpūr. The woolāk (baggage-boat) came up late; for the second time she has run foul of the budgerow, and has done her some damage. The mānjhī of the woolāk cannot see after sunset, having what the natives call rāt andhā, or night blindness: he can see well enough during the day time;—this is rather a disagreeable affliction for the master of a vessel.
29th.—Passed the steamer and flat with passengers for Calcutta—very hot and oppressive—arrived near Rajmahāl, and found a large portion of the bank of the river had fallen in;—it was a little land-slip. The palm-trees on the fallen land were in most picturesque disorder. Moored off the ancient palace of Rajmahāl: the river, which formerly washed its walls, has deserted it, and the deep current is on the opposite side, leaving[397] an almost dry bed before the ruins. Visited the old baolī (well), which is beautified by age: down the centre of it hang long pendant shoots of the banyan, and the roots of trees: thence I proceeded to the tombs of the Europeans, and to the gateway. Several cows were quietly ruminating under the black marble arches of the verandah of the palace that overlooks the river. The steamers take in their coal a mile below, and therefore do not destroy the beauty of the old ruins with their smoke, and steam, and Birmingham appearance. The Hills are distant about five miles inland. Myriads of minute insects are in great number; they fill my nose like snuff, and get into my eyes and ears, and torment me so much, I find it almost impossible to write; they fill my teacup, and absolutely are giving forth a vile odour from the numbers that have found death around the flame of the candle.
30th.—The early morning was delightful—the weather much cooler and more agreeable. Laid in fresh stores—found remarkably fine fowls and good yams—sailed at 4 P.M., lugāoed at 7, on a sandbank—here the insects are but few, and do not annoy me as they did last night. Crocodiles abound, and are showing themselves continually, swimming low in the water. We passed near this place a village full of a caste of people who live on crocodile flesh. My dāndīs say they understand it smells rank, and is very hard. Twice this evening I heard a shrill peculiar scream, and on remarking it to the men, they said it was the cry of the crocodile. Twenty-one miles above Rajmahāl and two miles below Sikrī-galī Hill and Point, says the “Calcutta Directory,” is the beautiful Mootee Jhurna waterfall; it is visible on the eastern side of the Hills. I neither saw nor visited it.
31st.—Anchored at sunset at Sikrī-galī—landed and walked to the bungalow. The French indigo planter had quitted the place; the house was uninhabited; had he been there, he would have exclaimed,
Walked on a short distance to have a view of the Hills, and[398] to recall the memory of the Hill-man and his terī (wife): saw some beautiful goats in the village, which the people refused to sell, although I bribed them high. Wood and charcoal was cheap and plentiful; nothing else was to be procured. A number of jackals were roaming and howling in the village. The point of Sikrī-galī is very picturesque from the river. The indigo factor’s bungalow would be an excellent shooting box. It is said the Jharna waterfall and the Himalaya mountains are visible at times from Rajmahāl; I have never seen either. Bears, tigers, rhinoceroses, leopards, hogs, deer of all kinds, abound here, and feathered game in the Hills. Steamers pass in ten days and a half in the dry season from Calcutta.
Nov. 1st.—Quitted Sikrī-galī early; the river very rapid, nothing but dreary sandbanks, with a distant view of the Hills. Porpoises gambolling in plenty.
2nd.—Fish in abundance for sale on the bank at Kantnagar; a dreary day; anchored on a sandbank,—insects detestable,—the thermometer at ten A.M. only 70°.
3rd.—Saw a herd of buffaloes swimming the river—about one hundred head; the men swam with them, each holding on by a buffalo’s tail, with his clothes carried high in the air in one hand. Some of the men had bamboos, with which they beat and urged the animals to swim. When I first caught sight of them I took them for a reef of low black rocks, the black heads were so numerous and so mixed together. Late in the evening saw the rocks of Colgong; tracked up the left bank of the river, aided by a good breeze; the force of the stream here is excessive, and it was a great piece of good fortune we had a fair wind to aid us; anchored in darkness about a mile below Kuhulgaon—that is, Colgong.
The “Directory” says, “Fifty-eight miles above Rajmahāl, on the left bank of the river, is the junction of the Koosie river. On the Nepaul part of the Himalaya, nearly opposite, is the Patturgatta Hill, with one or two temples, and is noted in native tradition for a cave (only a small hole), into which, it is said, a Rajah, with an immense suite, and one lakh of torch-bearers, entered, and never returned;—such is the story of the attending[399] fakīr. Hence are beautiful views of isolated hills, and the tips of the Colgong Rocks. The Southern or Patturgatta passage up to Colgong has some very dangerous rocks, where, if a boat touches, not a soul can be saved.”
4th.—At daybreak arose to get a view of the rocks; made the mānjhī cross over to the Colgong side, to enable me to take a sketch from that bank. These rocky islands are very singular and beautiful, and there are four of them; rocks on rocks, covered with fine foliage, they rise straight out of the centre of the river, which runs like a mill-sluice, and is here extremely broad; we came up the left passage, which is navigable after the rains. They say no one lives upon these rocks; that a fakīr formerly took up his abode there, but having been eaten by a snake (an ajgar), one of enormous size, and an eater of human flesh, the people became alarmed, and no holy or unholy person has since taken up their residence on these rocky islands. Here we bought two very fine rohū fish (cyprinus denticulatus) for six ānās, but could not procure any of the rock fish: small boats were under the rocks fishing, and snakes, they say, abound upon them.
“The village of Colgong is sixty-eight miles above Calcutta, and eighteen below Bhagulpūr; it is on the right bank of the river, has a fine nālā and shelter for boats: it is a coal depôt for steamers. The left passage should never be attempted by either steamers or boats in the rains, as the currents and eddies between the main and the rocks make it certain loss for any native boats, and too dangerous for steamers; boats, in attempting it, must be careful to have very strong tracking lines low down on their prows, with plenty of trackers, and two bowlines as guys to the bank, and he kept close in. Rock fish are procurable here, also fowls, kids, eggs, &c.”
I longed to have a gun fired, to awaken the echoes, and to startle the myriads of birds that inhabit these singular rocks. We have just passed a most enormous crocodile; it was basking in the sun on a sandbank, looking like the stem of a dry tree, and, but for a peculiar shine and polish, and the shade cast on the bank, you would not have supposed it a living animal:[400] some dāndīs, tracking near it, aroused the enormous beast, and it took refuge in the river; it was one of the largest I ever saw. Birds were around in innumerable flights. The river presents a singular picture; the expanse of water is very great, interspersed with low sandbanks in every direction. Three crocodiles are on the banks,—one at full length out of the river, on the top of the bank, the other two half out of the water, and lying flat upon it. One of the native charpāīs, on which a corpse has been brought down to be burned, and which, from being reckoned unclean, is always left on the spot, is on a sandbank; it is upset, the feet in the air, and seated inside is an enormous vulture, gorged from his horrible feast. Storks, with their long legs and white bodies, are numerous in the water; and some very soft-plumed birds, looking like large doves, are on the sands; whilst countless birds, in flocks, are flying in every direction. We anchored on a fine open clean sandbank, and enjoyed the coolness of the evening and the quietude around us; no human habitations were to be seen,—nothing but the expanse of the broad river, and its distant banks.
Bhagulpūr—Rock and Temple of Janghīra—Cytisus Cajan—Force of the Current—Monghir—An Aërolite—Bairāgī Temples—Dwakanath Tagore—Rosaries—Vases—Sūraj-garha—Bar—Beggars and Swine—Benīpūr—Bankipūr—Azīmabad—Sūraj Pūja—Patna—The Golā—Deegah—Havell’s Farm—Dinapūr.
1844, Nov. 5th.—At noon we moored off the Civil station of Bhagulpūr. The river-side has been very picturesque the whole distance from Colgong. Procured mutton, fowls, yams, &c., from the bazār; and purchased some pieces of silk and some imitation Scotch plaid, that was brought for sale to the budgerow. Accompanied the Judge to see the new church, the building of which he superintends; saw the monument which was erected in honour of Mr. Cleveland, of the Civil Service, by the Zamīndars, and was told, that at the other end of the station is another monument erected to him by the Government. He brought the Hill people into subjection, by whom he was styled the “Father of their Country.” Bhagulpūr is eighteen miles above Colgong; it is two hundred and sixty-eight miles by land from Calcutta,—by water, from the same place, three hundred and forty-eight miles in the rains, and six hundred and thirty-six in the dry season,—and the dāk runs in two days and a quarter. Steamers take nine and a half or eleven days to[402] arrive here. A light kind of silk, called tasar, is sold in this bazār, also, shot silks of various colours, useful for razāīs and native wear, and a kind of cloth called bāftas. Here are a few Hill rangers and a sepahī station.
6th.—A pleasant and cool sail, the wind being fair at times; lugāoed off a sandbank. But few insects, there being no trees near us.
7th.—To-day, to my sorrow, I was unable to pay the Rock and Temple of Janghīra a visit, in consequence of the deep stream being on the other side the river; still, I was near enough to sketch it,—and very pretty and picturesque is its situation. It is twenty-five miles above Bhagulpūr; the rocky point on which the old ruined mosque stands, close to Janghīra, with the mountains beyond, would form a good subject for a picture. Just above the rock we met a large fleet of pinnaces, budgerows, and country boats, of all sorts and sizes, conveying the Buffs from Allahabad to Calcutta, for embarkation for England; I counted sixty-four vessels. On account of their coming down with the stream the sight was not as picturesque as it would have been had they been going up the river. All vessels put up very small low masts and scarcely any sail when going with the stream, on account of its extreme velocity; but ascending the river they carry very high masts, and an overpowering quantity of sail. The last time I saw the Buffs was at a ball they gave at Meerut,—a farewell on going to Afghanistān.
The weather is now most agreeable, delightfully cool,—a sharp, clear, pure air; we use a pankha at dinner-time, hung from the ceiling of the cabin, but do not require it during the rest of the day; the nights are cold. We have moored; and the poor goats, who for three days have been on a barren sandbank of an evening, have now a fine field of urur (cytisus cajan) to browse upon. The people have cut some, and the goats will therefore be happy to-morrow; this is a theft, but allowable on the banks of the river, because a less rent is paid for land subject to the visits of depredators from the Ganges.
8th.—A large white house on the hill at Monghir is visible.[403] I was charmed with the scene when I went on deck at half-past seven this morning: the river in this part is extremely broad and very shallow, with a stream running like a mill-sluice; a fair wind was blowing, and we were in the midst of about five hundred vessels, which had been detained there in consequence of the force of the stream. With this fine wind, however, they all set sail; the lighter vessels with great difficulty passed the bad part of the river, the larger and heavier craft got up to a certain point, and beyond that they could not proceed, but one by one lowered their sails, and fell back on a sandbank, where they lay all in a row, like a line of soldiers. I amused myself with watching the vessels as they came up to the testing point, and went forward triumphantly, or fell back into the line of the hopeless. The cook-boat, with our assistance, was brought up with great difficulty; the budgerow bravely made way against the fierce current; the woolāk, unable to stem the stream, fell back, took some other passage, and parted company. Late at night we anchored on one of those fine, hard, cool, clean sandbanks; the sand is mixed with such a quantity of mica (talc), that at night, by the light of a candle, it shines as if sprinkled with silver-dust. We expected to have reached Monghir to-day, but the winding of the river and the force of the stream have prevented us.
9th.—Arrived at Monghir. The river-side was covered with boats of all sorts as thickly planted as possible: the bazār extends all along the edge of the river, and some good houses belonging to the gentlemen at the station are on the higher ground; the churchyard is beyond, and the Old Fort at the point. The moment we anchored we were assailed with hundreds of beggars; their clamour and cries were most annoying, they were a complete pest,—driving them away was useless. The people selling pistols, necklaces, bathing-chairs, baskets, toys, shoes, &c., raised such a hubbub, it was disgusting; we had all the Venetians shut on that side, and the people had the impudence to get down into the water and peep through them; the chaprasīs drove them off, but they were back again the next minute like a swarm of bees.
I may here insert a paragraph I saw in the papers:—
“The Asiatic Society has obtained an aërolite, or a mass of meteoric iron, found imbedded in the soil on the top of the Kurruckpore Hills, near Monghyr, which had been exhumed and worshipped by the natives for many years. It is a block, weighing about 160lbs., of a somewhat conical, oviform, disk shape, standing on a sort of foot, and slightly truncated at both ends; it contains iron, nickel, cobalt, chromium, silica, alumina, and traces of arsenic and selenium.”
10th.—The next day we started. The Fort is a good object from this side, but, on turning the corner, how much was I charmed to see the most picturesque cluster of bairāgī temples imaginable! The maths are surrounded by fine trees, the ruined bastion of the old fort juts out into the river, and has fragments of rock at its base. The high spires of the white temples seen among the trees, the slender bamboos with their bright red or white flags, and a sort of Hindū altar in front, are beautifully grouped. On a large stone in the river, just in front of the temples, shaded from the sun by an immense chatr (umbrella) made of straw, sat two Hindū priests, who were a picture in themselves; upright at their side was a very high thin bamboo, crowned with the branch of some holy tree, from which a lota was suspended in the air. The whole was reflected in the Ganges, and the vessels and distant land finished the picture. It came upon me by surprise: had I known of the temples that were hidden from my view by the bastion of the fort, I should have walked there the evening before. The “Directory” tells you of the articles in the bazār, but omits these gems of oriental beauty, which are invaluable to a lover of the picturesque. Beyond this stretch the walls of the old fort, which are of very great extent, and the view of Monghir is good from this part of the Ganges. Mr. D⸺ told us, that in coming up the river during the last rains, the current at Colgong was terrific; on the left bank was a whirlpool that set directly on the rocks, and it would have been certain destruction to any boat attempting that passage; and on the right bank was another whirlpool, of such force, that, in tracking to a certain point, the dandīs[405] jumped into the river, and fixed a hawser to prevent the vessel being carried round and round by the current, and dashed upon the rocks; with care this passage was navigable, but the other was not to be attempted. From this gentleman’s house on the hill at Monghir the view across the river was bounded by the horizon, as at sea, the waters were so high and the expanse so great.
Dwakanath Tagore is going to Europe for two years, and is to visit the King of France. The magnet that attracts the Wise Man of the East is the beauty of the opera-dancers, and the delight above all others that he has at the opera in Paris, seeing, as he says, three hundred of the most beautiful women in the world all together;—the baboo is rather beside himself on the subject.
According to the steam regulations, the Civil station of Monghir is half-way from Calcutta,—one hundred and thirty-three miles above Rajmahāl, and twenty-five above the rock of Janghīra. Among the articles manufactured here, the black vases for flowers, turned in white wood, and lacquered whilst on the lathe with sealing-wax, are pretty. The necklaces and bracelets in imitation of jet, at two or three rupees the set, are beautifully made; necklaces of St. Agnes’s beads, monkeys, chameleons, and male bamboos,—every thing is forthcoming in the bazār, with the exception of ducks. The steamer’s passage is from ten to fourteen days to this place,—three hundred and ninety-eight miles by the Bhagirathī, six hundred and eighty-six by Sunderbands, and three hundred and four by dāk; the latter runs in two days and three-quarters. On arrival here the collector’s and the magistrate’s book is sent on board, for entry of all passengers’ names. Two miles S.W. by W. of Monghir are some rocks, with a mark on them,—they were formerly in the steamer’s track, but are now buried in an immense sandbank; steamers stop here three or four hours for coals. Moored off the village of Husseingunge.
11th.—At noon passed the large village of Sūraj-garha, twenty miles above Monghir, with a small river that runs down from the hills; fowls and kids are procurable here, through the[406] jāmadār’s assistance, for boat travellers. Lugāoed off a sandbank; the weather has become very cold,—the thermometer this evening 72°, with a sharp wind.
12th.—The river very uninteresting; the villages dirty and disgusting, filled with pigs and most noisy beggars: moored the boats as far away from a village as we could, and were even then obliged to drive off the beggars, whose incessant noise left us neither peace nor quiet.
13th.—Passed a remarkably fine banyan-tree, the roots of which are exposed, from the river having washed away the earth; would have stopped to sketch it, but could not venture on shore amidst such a crowd of clamorous beggars and filthy swine,—such pigs! so lank and lean, and long-legged and thin-flanked, with staring bristles, all busily employed in turning up the earth with their unringed noses! Old wretched beggar-women, with their skeleton bodies and long white hair, are pursuing the budgerow, uttering their monotonous cries for charity. There is a tope of tamarind-trees that looks most inviting at Bar, and the tar or fan palms are remarkably fine—the natives say they are fifty cubits high. There are many spreading banyan-trees near this place, and the scenery of the interior looks very inviting. The large town and mart of Bar is on the right bank of the river, sixty miles above Monghir, and fifty below Dinapūr, a bye depôt for steamers’ coals; for twenty miles above and below, all this bank of the river is noted for piggery villages and saltpetre manufactories. Lugāoed a little above Bar.
14th.—After a most uninteresting day among shallows and sandbanks, moored off Benīpūr: walked towards a light I saw at a distance, and found a police-station. At the side was a burial-ground of the Faithful; some Mahomedan saint was there entombed. The light was burning in the niche of the pillar at the head of the tomb. It was under a most magnificent old banyan-tree, growing on a bank; the river had washed away the ground from its roots, and they were starting forth in all picturesque forms. Four large suckers having fallen to the ground, had each taken root, and had attained the size of a tree—the great branches[407] spread in every direction. Next to it was a remarkably fine old tamarind-tree: two or three tombs were around under the shadow of these and other trees; the lamp in the tomb rendered them visible, and the young moon shed a bright light between the boughs, but not sufficient to dispel the deep darkness around. One of the banyan-trees to the left was so old, all its branches had fallen off, and its trunk was cleft, open, and hollow. It measured thirty feet in circumference: these ancient trees and tombs would be a beautiful subject for a picture. I asked a native at the spot to tear off a small branch of the banyan-tree: he said, “You can gather a bough yourself, if you like, but I cannot break one off from the tree that shades the tomb of a Pīr,”—a saint.
15th.—The “Directory” says, on the right bank, eighty-seven miles above Monghir, and nine miles below the Patna, or rather Bankipūr station, is a large native town, with a river on its upper or western end that flows from the Hills, and has a pukka, i.e. brick or stone bridge, over it. As we passed Futwa early, some fat merchants, who were bathing in the river, asked if we wanted any tablecloths or towels, for which the place is famous. We anchored at a holy spot; the tomb of a saint is there; both the tomb and the pillar are built of mud: it is raised on a high platform of earth, which is well secured from the inroads of the river by a palisade of the trunks of trees, the outside being covered with old planks from vessels. The priest showed it with great glee, and said, “It is the command that the river shall never touch this holy tomb, which has stood here for seven hundred years. You see it is built of mud; the river overflows all the villages around, but this place is untouched. It is the command that the tomb is never to be built of stone.” On my remarking the strength of the palisades, he was much inclined to be abusive, and demanded alms with the outcries and whine of a beggar.
16th.—The first glance on the river this morning delighted me: we were off an old ruined bastion which had partly fallen into the stream; on its top was a beautiful burj (turret)—there was another bastion a little further on, and then some temples and two[408] more burūj. We had now arrived at Azīmabad, as the ancient city of Patna is called by the Muhammadans, which extends a great distance along the bank of the river, and is supposed to have been, among others, the site of the ancient Palibothra; the Hindoo appellation is Sri Nagar.
“The hypocrites of Bhagulpūr, the footpads of Kuhulgaon, and the bankrupts of Patna, are all famous[46].” The Hindoos were coming down in large parties, preceded by tom-toms (native drums), and musical instruments of all sorts, to bring their offerings to the river. They carried baskets filled with fruits or vegetables to the river-side, and great bunches of plantains, and washed them in the river. The Brahmans poured water on the offerings, prayers were repeated, the people bathed and returned home.
It was the festival of the Sun—the Sūraj Pūja. The dresses of the people were of the most brilliant colours. Flags of a bright crimson colour, bearing the image of Hŭnūmān blazoned in white upon them, were flying at the end of long slender bamboos.
Advancing higher up the river, near the old fort, there are picturesque houses of all sorts, intermixed with Hindoo temples, fine trees, and distant masjids. A sandbank in the centre of the Ganges was covered with temporary huts of straw, where the devout were bathing and offering flowers and fruits; it was a beautiful scene, that animated multitude on the sandbank and in the river, with the high bank on the opposite side covered with the houses and the temples of the city. The pinnaces and vessels of all sorts were decked with flags. Large parties of women, dressed in the gayest attire and the most various colours, were doing pūja, bathing in the river, or presenting their offerings of fruit, flowers, &c., to the attendant Brahmans. “While bathing, the Hindoos repeat certain incantations, in order to bring the waters of all the holy places in the heaven of Sōōryŭ into the spot where they are standing, and thus obtain the merit of bathing, not only in Gunga, but in all the sacred rivers, &c., in the[409] heaven of the Sun-god. After bathing, too, the Hindoos make their obeisance to this god in a standing posture; the more devout draw up their joined hands to their forehead, gaze at the sun, make prostrations to him, and then turn round seven times, repeating certain forms of petition and praise. On these occasions they hold up water in their joined hands, and then pour out a drink-offering to the sun.” The number of boats off Patna is quite surprising. There is a boat-builder’s on the opposite sandbank, and a great number of vessels with large timber-trees are off the place. Passing Hadjipūr, we were not tempted to go on shore, although the fair was being held there, not requiring elephants, horses, or shawls. The bungalow and race-course are on the left bank of the Gunduk that runs from the Nepaul Hills; the large native town is on the right bank. People flock from all parts of India to its annual fair, which will last this month as long as the moon shines. We anchored on a sandbank in the middle of the river, nearly opposite the Golā or Gol-ghar. The “Directory” says, Patna, the Civil station of Bankipūr, extends about ten miles along the right bank, fourteen miles below Dinapūr. It is noted for opium, gram, and wax candles, and is a very large mart. Seventeen hundred boats of burden have been counted lying here at one time. It is the residence of a Nawāb, and a Sadr and Civil station. The Government establishments are at Bankipūr, or the upper extreme of Patna, where there are some handsome houses, also a very large and noted granary built like a dome, with two flights of steps outside, to ascend to its top, on which is a large circular hole, to admit air into the building, and to start grain into; it has only one door, and was built for a depôt in case of famine. It is a very massive building, noted for its numerous, clear, and strong echoes, and is at present used as a guardhouse.
Steamers seldom stop here: sometimes not being able to get within a mile or two, passengers can land at the lower end and get ekhas, or hackeries, (a native one-horse conveyance,) to take them up to Bankipūr or Dinapūr, fourteen miles distant, by way of a change or novelty, where they can inspect the golā[410] or granary by the road-side. The road is very good up to the military cantonments at Dinapūr.
17th.—Landed to go to Havell’s farm at Deegah; found his widow there—a very old half-caste personage. The establishment must have been a fine one formerly; now the sheds are all empty, and scarcely any thing is done there. Ordered some beef brawn and Chili vinegar, both of which proved good. On our arrival at Dinapūr my mānjhī wished to anchor under the flag-staff, to which I objected, on account of the crowd of boats there: had to go on the distance of a kos, until we were past the Lines, to the ghāt opposite the native hospital,—a very uncomfortable place.
18th.—Bought a mŭn of six-inch wax candles of Kinnoo Lall, price eighty rupees. Much disgusted with the annoyance of being obliged to procure fresh dāndīs for the woolāk, and having to send a chaprāsī with the manjhī to fetch them from the other side of the river.
19th.—The sardar-bearer here informed us he intended to quit us; this was troublesome; indeed, the homes of the people being often near Dinapūr, the servants select this place for quitting their masters and going home, with or without warning, just as it may suit their own convenience. At 4 P.M. the fresh dāndīs arrived for the woolāk; how glad I shall be to get away from this place!
Dinapūr is a large European and military station, where the steamers stop by the cantonment flag-staff to take in coals and passengers. It is considered as two-thirds of the passage upwards. It is on the right bank of the Ganges, distant from Calcutta by steamer’s route, viâ Bhagirathī, five hundred and eight miles; viâ Sunderbands, seven hundred and ninety-six; by land, three hundred and seventy-six. The letter dāk takes three and a half days. Mutton, beef, fowls, eggs, bread, butter, fruits of various kinds, and grapes in May and June are procurable; also tablecloths, napkins, towels, cotton handkerchiefs, sola hats, muslin and cotton cloth, shoes, harness, Patna wax candles, gram, wild fowl, &c. European shopkeepers are here. Plays are performed and auctions held. Passengers for Arrah and[411] Tirhoot land here. Quitted Dinapūr with great pleasure, and came to very agreeable moorings off Chittenniaw—a great relief after the annoyance of being near the ghāt of a large station. The people with us will now be well behaved, and give no more trouble to the end of the voyage; i.e., until we arrive at Allahabad.
The Soane River—Chuppra—Revelgunge—The Fair at Bulleah—Bamboos—The Wreck—Buxar—The Peepul Tree and Temple of Mahadēo—Barrah—Satī Mounds—Kurum-nassa River—Palace of the Nawāb of Ghazipūr—The Native Town—The Gigantic Image—Three Satīs and a Mandap or Hindū Temple—Eight-and-Twenty Satīs—The Fate of Women—The Kalsās—Station of Ghazipūr—The Stalking Horse—Booraneepūr—Kankār Reefs—Seydpūr—Burning the Dead—Rites for the Repose of the Soul—Brahmanī Bulls—Funeral Ceremonies of the Romans—Raj Ghāt, Bunarus.
1844, Nov. 20th.—To-day the scenery has been most uninteresting; nothing to be seen but sandbanks; the river is full of shallows, and there is no wind. Lugāoed on a fine open space in the middle of the river; it is really a good-sized island of fine and beautifully white sand. Four miles above Dinapūr is the junction of the Soane with the Ganges.
21st.—Sandbanks and shallows the whole day: we have advanced very little, and have moored as usual on a bank. Looking around me, I see nothing but a wilderness of sandbanks in the midst of the broad river, only terminating with the horizon—not a tree, not a house to be seen; here and there a distant sail. There is something very pleasing in this monotonous solitude; the only sound the roar of the sandbanks, as they give way and fall into the stream, with a noise like distant thunder. These high sandbanks are undermined by the strong[413] current, and fall in in great masses—very dangerous to small vessels passing near them.
22nd.—“Twenty-two miles above Dinapūr,” says the “Directory,” “on the left bank, is the Civil station of Chuppra, the capital of the Sarun district. Steamers seldom touch here, even in the rains. Passengers for this place should arrange to land at Revelgunge, above it, where there is a steam agent. The latter place, which is twenty-seven miles by water above Dinapūr, on the left bank, is a very large grain and saltpetre mart, and noted for boat-building. An annual fair is held there. Steamers touch only to land passengers and a few packages to the steam agent’s care. Thence up to Ghazipūr the villagers are said to be uncivil and dishonest.”
We had a view of Chuppra from a distance, and then passed Revelgunge. The tents of a Rāja were pitched on the side of the Ganges, with the khanats extending on both sides into the river to screen the Rāja from the eyes of the curious, as he sat under a shamiyana (awning) in the centre. His camp contained several elephants, one most remarkably large, a number of fine horses and camels, and all the retinue of a wealthy native. Moored a little above Revelgunge.
23rd.—A fair wind. Lugāoed off a small bastī (village).
24th.—A fair wind. Anchored off Bulleah: a large fair was being held there on the banks of the river; we moored two miles away from it, but the din and uproar, even at that distance, was like the sound of waves breaking on a distant shore. I walked to the fair; it was late in the evening, and nothing was to be seen but thousands of people sitting in groups on the ground cooking their dinners, or lying there asleep. Some groups of people were watching the performance of nāch girls, go’ālā log, and dancing boys: every man had a long heavy bamboo in his hand, as a defence, and a walking staff.
The fakīrs had erected altars of mud, on the top of each of which was stuck a long bamboo, decorated with a flag. These holy personages, entirely naked, were sitting on the ground under some freshly-gathered boughs that were stuck up on one side. If one could but learn the real history of one of these[414] men, it would give one a curious insight into human nature. A fakīr of this description is looked upon with respect by the natives; “No one inquires his caste or tribe; he has put on the string, and is therefore a Brahman[47].”
These men sit up all night by a fire, smoking ganja, an intoxicating herb, eating sweetmeats and ghī, and drinking milk. They never put on any sort of clothing, and never sleep under shelter. They say they do not feel the cold, and they eat the offerings that are made to them. They must receive very large sums; the bearers give from one to four paisā to these fellows, and a rich Hindū gives a rupee. Groups of people were sitting together singing and playing on tom-toms; the din was excessive, and the smoke very annoying from the innumerable fires around the pathway. To-morrow will be the last day of the fair.
25th.—From 7 A.M. until 11 o’clock we were striving to get the boats past the fair, which extended for miles along the bank of the river. It being the early morning, the people were bathing by thousands; the bank for miles was covered with moving figures ascending and descending the steep cliff in masses as thick as they could move. The river below was alive with the devout. Hindūs of all and every class were bathing and performing their devotions. The budgerow was stopped some time from the difficulty of passing her gūn, (tracking line,) over the tops of so many high masts; some persons cut the gūn, and they ran away with part of it, which theft detained us some time. The manner in which, by the aid of a bamboo, the tracking rope is carried to the top of a mast and thrown over it, is curious.
By the side of the river I saw several fakīrs bathing; they had thick heads of hair and enormous beards. One man had his hand and arm erect: it was only partly withered, his vow must therefore have been recently made, or the arm would have been withered to the bone and immovably fixed in its position. His body was covered with ashes, and his long elf locks, matted[415] with cow-dung and yellow clay, hung down like so many rusty yellow tails. Hundreds of boats were bringing more people to the fair. The morning being cold, the people, wrapped up in great white sheets, were huddled together in the boats, as many as it was possible to cram together; and at a distance the vessels looked as if they were filled with bales of cotton.
Cows were numerous, and were undergoing the usual pūja. Sometimes a Brahman was seen seated on a charpāī with a chatr over his head, the charpāī supported on four bamboos that were erected in the river, and a fine triangular red flag flying from each end of the four bamboos. The effect was very picturesque: red and also white flags were in profusion, denoting the abiding place of a fakīr. Beauty was extremely scarce amongst the women. Some of the men had fine features—the skin of some of the latter was almost of a transparent black, that of others of a dark brown hue, and some exhibited a bright terra di sienna tint. I saw no lepers, which is remarkable; it is usual to see one of the pink-coloured lepers amongst any great multitude bathing; and that leprosy not being catching, the people are not driven from the society of their fellows, as are those who are afflicted with the Arabian leprosy.
I think the number of people collected at this fair appears greater than the number I ever saw collected at Prāg; the cliff for miles was covered with a countless multitude. Perhaps the people were more conspicuous on the cliffs than on the flat sands at the Tribeni. A number of respectable-looking Hindoo women were in boats covered with an awning. This large native village of Bulleah is seventy-four miles above Dinapūr, on the left bank: it is a dārogah station, noted for the fair annually held there, as also for a grain mart.
This is the most dangerous part of the Ganges for quicksands and shifting banks: the stream is very strong, boats being sometimes detained from four to six weeks, waiting for water and a favourable breeze. The people carry away the Ganges water from this place in sealed bottles, as they do from Prāg, and sell it in distant parts of the country at a high price. We had a hard day’s work tracking amidst the sandbanks against a rapid stream, and[416] did not anchor until the sun had set for an hour and a half, and the full moon was high. I was very glad to see the moon; we were in a dilemma on a bad spot in the river; however, after much labour we got off, and lugāoed on a comfortable sandbank. A large vessel belonging to a Mirzapūr merchant was wrecked here a month ago; I visited the wreck,—they have recovered all but fourteen bales of linen, which they are digging out,—they lie twelve feet under the sand. In the evening the manjhī of my boat was preparing a bamboo to use for pushing the budgerow onwards; I measured it as it lay on the ground; it was sixty feet in length, and most beautifully tapered; he said he had some spare ones on board much longer; for nine of these bamboos he only paid one rupee, and he bought them at the spot where the Bhagirathī branches off from the Ganges. At Prāg such a bamboo would have cost eight ānās. A chaukidār has erected a hut close to the wreck with her fragments; there he and his people keep guard over her; in front is an image of Mahadēo, made in mud, and ornamented with fresh green plantain trees stuck into the sand around the idol.
26th.—Anchored early at Buxar, just under the fort. When walking to see the fort I was attracted to the left by the beauty of a most remarkably fine old peepul-tree, which overshadows a temple dedicated to Mahadēo, whose image is within the building; on the outer wall is an image of Hūnūmān. The temple is beautifully overshadowed, and the stems of the peepul-tree—for it is divided into many—are old and picturesque, and the smallness of the leaves denotes the antiquity of the tree. On the bank of the river there is also an old peepul-tree,—its long branching roots are exposed to view, the river having laid them bare by washing away the bank. Buxar on the right, and Kuruntadee on the left bank, are eighty-eight miles above Dinapūr, and are noted as being the Honourable Company’s stud establishment: there is a small fort here where the battle was fought.
27th.—Quitted Buxar early, and were forced to anchor for a time at Chounsah Beerboom, on account of a very heavy wind, which made old Gunga rise in waves, and rocked the budgerow[417] like a sea: started at 4 P.M. and arrived at the Kurum-nassa river; it is a shallow, melancholy-looking, small stream, with nothing to be seen on its banks but fishermen’s nets. Hilsā fish are here caught in great numbers, and the rahū also; I purchased one of the latter, and some quail, which were twenty-five per rupee.
Lugāoed at Barrah, a small village on the right bank: climbed the cliff in the evening; a fisherman who resided there showed me two satī mounds on the top of it,—the one built of stone sacred to a Brahmān, the other of mud in honour of a Kyiatt. A kalsā is the ornament on the top of a dome; there were two of stone, without any points on the satī mound of the Brahmān; and two of mud, decorated with points, and one small image, on that of the Kyiatt[48].
I gave a small present to the people, and took away one of the kalsās of mud as a curiosity: a number of broken idols in black stone had been dug up, and placed on the satī mound of the Brahmān,—I was anxious to have two of them, and determined to ask the fisherman to give them to me. The old man told me with great pride that one of his family had been a satī, and that the Brahmāns complained greatly they were not allowed to burn the widows, as such disconsolate damsels were ready and willing to be grilled; he told me that a great number of mounds are on the left bank of the river, just opposite at Beerpūr, and that there are several about two miles higher up the stream.
The Brahmānī ducks are calling to one another from the opposite banks of the river,—there must be several pairs of them from the ā’o! ā’o! that I hear; this is only the second time during this voyage that I have heard the chakwā. The wind is down, there is a soft and brilliant moonlight,—the weather is really charming, and the moonlight nights delicious; from the high bank by the satīs one can see the stream of the Ganges below, glittering in its beams.
“Eight miles above Buxar, on the right bank of the river, is[418] the junction of the Kurum-nassa: the touch of its waters is considered as one of the direst mishaps that can happen to a Hindū, as it is said it debars him admittance into heaven. There is a bridge over it, built by a Rajah; this part of the country is noted for decoits.” The bridge, which is some distance up the river, is not visible from the junction.
Ten P.M.; I have just returned from the satī mound, accompanied by the old fisherman, who brought with him two of the idols of black stone from the Brahmān’s mound, on which there were about twenty; the old man gave them to me the moment I asked for them; I gave him a present afterwards, therefore he did not sell his gods; but he requested to be allowed to bring them to the boats during the darkness of the night. He and his family are now the sole inhabitants of a little hamlet of five houses, which was formerly inhabited by himself and his four brothers; they are dead, and their houses, which are in ruins, are close to the mounds; the old man lives in the centre, with one young son and two daughters, and keeps his dwelling of mud in comfortable condition. They tell me fowls and chakor (the red-legged partridge) are abundant there; I was unable to procure the latter.
29th.—Stopped the budgerow for a few minutes off the ruins of the palace of the Nawāb of Ghazipūr. The fort-like bastions rise from the Ganges, and the palace is built above; the ghāt is of stone, wide and good: this ruined palace has been before described in this volume, page 66. The native town of Ghazipūr is full of picturesque beauty; the mut’hs are numerous, but their architectural beauty is disfigured by whitewash and edges of dark red paint. There is a gigantic image in mud smeared with paint, which lies upon its back close to the water’s edge, and has a curious effect: a little further on an old well has fallen into the river, on account of the high cliff within which it was sunk having been washed away; the cliff, which is of sand, and very high, is covered with native houses, small temples, and trees, from the top to the bottom.
THREE SATĪS and a MANDAP near GHĀZĪPŪR.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس
Lugāoed close to a small and very pretty mandap or Hindū temple. I went up to see it; the Brahmān opened the door, and showed me his idols with much pleasure. They consisted of Seeta, Rām, and Lutchman, painted red, and decked with bits of gold and silver tinsel, and pieces of coloured cloth. Hūnoomān was displayed on the wall painted red, and decked also with red linen. The Brahmān gave me a ball of sweetmeat, which he said was the usual offering at the shrine. Two fine peepul-trees, which had been planted together, are on the high bank above the temple, and within their shade are three satīs, built of stone, of octagonal form, and surmounted by a dome: the point of the dome is ornamented with a kalsā formed like a crown with a hole in the centre, and on each of its points or horns, on certain days, a lighted lamp is placed. The cenotaph is hollow below; and there is a little arch, through which the relatives also on particular days place a small lamp, and offerings of flowers within the cavity of the little building, and in the same place the two sīr are deposited. The kalsās differ in form from those at Barrah; and the satīs are also of higher caste, being of stone and well built. If the moon rise in time, I will sketch the spot, but I am very much fatigued, and my head aches, not only from exposure to the sun, but from a blow I received upon it from the tracking rope this morning. The insects do not molest us now at night, with the exception of the musquitoes, which are very troublesome.
On the rising of the moon I went on shore to take the sketch, and was attracted by what appeared to be the figure of a man watching from under a tree on a high cliff. On going up to it I found a satī, which had fallen to ruin; the remains were whitewashed, and a large kalsā had been placed on the top, which being also whitewashed, at a distance produced the deception. See fig. 2, which is a sketch of this kalsā; the satī herself, partially wrapped in her sarī, is seated upon it; it is adorned with points, and made of mud. I brought the kalsā away with me; it will be replaced by the kumhār, or potter of the village, whose duty it is to restore all kalsās. On the other side[420] of the old tree was another satī mound, and small lotās, earthen drinking vessels, were hung around the tree to receive the offerings of the devout. I had the curiosity to put my hand into one of them, and found one betel-nut which had been placed there as an offering. Peeping over a high bank, I saw an open space of ground, on which were some fine trees, and I could scarcely believe the number of mounds that met my eye were those of victimized women. By a little détour I found the entrance to this place of cenotaphs, and was shocked on counting eight-and-twenty satīs. I was alone; had a Hindū been with me, he would have made salām to each of them.
One was large and somewhat in the shape of a grave, after the form of the satī of the Brahmān at Barrah. The others were of various forms; the richer ones were of stone, of an octagonal shape, and surmounted by a dome; some were so small and low, they were not higher than one foot from the earth, like a little ant hill, but ornamented with a kalsā, which quite covered the little mound. Those of stone were from six to eight feet high, and of various forms. There is a hollow space within the satī, into which, through the little arch, the offerings are placed; and there also are deposited the two sīr, as they call them, which are made of stone, and are like a cannon ball split in halves. See the plate of the kalsās, fig. 1. One very old satī tomb, in ruins, stood on the edge of the high cliff above the river, shaded by a clump of bamboos. The spot interested me extremely. It is very horrible to see how the weaker are imposed upon; and it is the same all over the world, civilized or uncivilized—perhaps some of these young married women, from eleven to twenty years of age, were burnt alive, in all the freshness of youth; it may be with the corpse of some decrepit sickly old wretch to whom their parents had given them in marriage.
The laws of England relative to married women, and the state of slavery to which those laws degrade them, render the lives of some few in the higher, and of thousands in the lower ranks of life, one perpetual satī, or burning of the heart, from which they have no refuge but the grave, or the cap of liberty,—i.e. the widow’s, and either is a sad consolation.
KULSAS.
Sketched on the spot and on Stone by فاني پارکس
“It is this passive state of suffering which is most difficult to endure, and which it is generally the fate of women to experience. It is too commonly their lot to be deceived into a belief, that as they are the gentler sex, so they ought to be the weakest. Alas, it is far otherwise; the soldier covered with wounds of glory, the mariner warring with the elements, the sage consuming his strength with the midnight oil, or the bigot wearing life away with fanatical zeal in false devotion, require not the unshrinking firmness, the never-failing patience, the unbending fortitude which is expected from almost every woman.”
The river has encroached so much upon the cliff, and so much ground has fallen in, that, probably, the place of the satīs was of much larger extent; next year, most likely, those that are now tottering on the edge of the cliff will fall into the depth below. From this place I returned to the mandap, and sketched the satīs I had first seen. Their kalsās had figures upon them, meant to represent the husband and wife; I brought three of these ornaments away,—they have received all the honours; their foreheads have been marked with red paint, lamps have been lighted and placed upon their points, and offerings have been laid before them. Pretty well fagged with my moonlight expedition, I returned to the boats and slept quietly,—a great blessing.
THE KALSĀS.
Fig. 1. The two sīr.
2. A kalsā taken from under an old tree on the banks of the Ganges, in front of the temple, in the sketch of “Three Satīs and a Mandap near Ghazipūr.”
3. A kalsā from the satī mound of the Kyiatt at Barrah.
4 and 5. These kalsās were taken from the satī ground at Ghazipūr, where there were twenty-eight cenotaphs, and which was only a short distance from the three satīs represented in the other plate. On both of them are curious representations of the husband and wife sitting side by side.
6. This kalsā differs from the rest, being hollow at the top, and the upper part of the dome of the cenotaph passed through[422] it; on the points of its horns, the Brahmān said, lights were placed on particular days. It was taken off the top of the satī in the foreground of the sketch, over which two lotas are suspended to receive the offerings of the pious. Each of these kalsās had four horns; they were much damaged by time, and some of the horns were broken off; they were formed of coarse red pottery.
7. The topī-wālā kalsā from Allahabad,—see Vol. I. p. 96.
8. The kalsā from a satī by the temple of Bhawanī Alopee Bāgh, Allahabad,—Vol. I. p. 96.
9. The crescent and half-moon of the above kalsā.
10. The kalsā without the points, to show the manner in which it is made. It is the duty of the kumhārs, or potters of the village, to place new kalsās as the old ones are broken, or decay, or are taken away.
30th.—Quitted the satī ground, and came up to the Cantonment ghāt just below the tomb of the Marquis Cornwallis. We are now in the north-western provinces, in which my husband holds his appointment under the Lieutenant-Governor of Agra, and have announced our arrival in due form.
The Civil and Military station of Ghazipūr is one hundred and nineteen miles above Dinapūr, or thirty-one miles above Buxar on the left bank of the river. The native town is built on precipices; the European inhabitants reside on a large plain about the centre of the station; the cantonments form the upper part, and the European hospital is at the other extreme. Between the Civil and Military lines are the chapel and the tomb. It is noted for its opium manufactory, and Government stud establishment, where horses can be purchased, as also for its rose-water, atr of roses, and other perfumed oils. Provisions of all sorts may be purchased here, also European articles and millinery. Its distance from Calcutta, viâ Bhagirathī, is six hundred and twenty-seven miles, viâ Sunderbunds nine hundred and fifteen, and by land four hundred and thirty-one. The dāk runs in four days—steamer’s passage, from seventeen to twenty days: they remain here for passengers, cargo, and coal.[423] Passengers for Ghoruckpūr should land here. This is the lower extreme of the North-Western Provinces, or Agra Presidency, and is a great place of trade; it is also the lowest station for the Agra flat-boats. Kankarī banks, a sort of stony gravel, commence here, and run hence upwards. At this station we purchased game; a man came to our boats, and offered two wild geese and three wild ducks for sale; he carried a long native matchlock, and led a cow by a string; this cow he used as a stalking horse, the birds being so shy it would otherwise be impossible to get within shot distance.
Dec. 1st.—A good day, having had but little contrary wind; lugāoed off Booraneepūr. On the edge of the high cliff stood a little temple and a large peepul-tree, very picturesque, which induced me to climb the rough kankarī bank, and to find my way to the temple through a deserted village; there were a great number of ruined huts, and very few inhabitants; the village dogs barked most fiercely at a distance, and skulked away at my approach. This is the fall of the leaf, and the large peepul-tree was nearly leafless, which showed off its long and peculiar branches; one branch, at the height of about eight feet from the ground, stretched out in a horizontal direction to the length of sixty feet: although it is now winter for the peepul, in three weeks more it will be covered with fresh green leaves. At the foot of the tree was a large satī mound of mud; it was so much neglected that no pious hand had placed even a kalsā on the top, and not a flower had been offered there, nor a lamp burned in pūja. A little Hindoo temple of octagonal form stood on the extreme edge of the cliff, some fragments of idols were placed against its side; no Brahmān was there, and the place looked cold and desolate; a young banyan tree formed the background, and the Ganges spread its broad waters to the far horizon.
The “Directory” says,—“Eight miles above Ghazipūr is the dangerous kankār reef that strikes directly across the river. Twenty-three miles above Ghazipūr is Chochookpore stone ghāt and temple, noted for the numerous monkeys that resort there. Two miles above Chochookpore, on the right bank of the river, is the sunken rock, opposite to a palm-tree just below[424] Sanotie.” All the difficulties and dangers, monkeys and all, we have passed to-day, without being conscious of their existence; the monkeys and temples I was sorry I did not see,—we passed without observing them. The river has been very uninteresting, nothing to look at, and very few vessels: moored on a most solitary and insulated sandbank.
“Thirty miles above Ghazipūr by Kucharee, on the left bank, is a difficult channel with a dangerous sunken reef. Six miles above it is Seydpūr, a large native town, with a tahsīldār and a dārogha: and two miles above Seydpūr is the junction of the Goomtie river, that goes up to Lucnow, said to be a very intricate and rocky stream, too shallow for the smallest boats in the dry season. The Ganges, from above Kucharee reef, past Seydpūr, up to the Goomtie, a distance of eight miles, is a very difficult passage, with various bad patches of kankar rock, on which native boats and budgerows split instantaneously.
“Five miles above the Goomtie is Chandroutī, with a white temple. In mid-channel is a very dangerous pakka platform, on kankar, with the ruins of an old temple on it, and no passable channel on its north-west or Zinhore side, and very dangerous for downward-bound boats, as the current sets directly upon it.” At Seydpūr is a very elaborately carved mandap or Hindū temple, of elegant form.
As our boats passed slowly along, we had an opportunity of witnessing the funeral rites of the Hindūs: the burning of a corpse was being performed just at the base of the cliff on the edge of the river. The nearest relative, as is the custom, was stirring up the body, and pushing it well into the flames with a long pole: much oil and ghī must have been expended and poured over the wood, as it burnt fiercely. The face of the corpse looked cold and pale and fixed, as the wind blew aside the flames and smoke, and enabled me to behold a scene that shocked me: in all probability the son was performing the ceremony. We read of the Romans burning their dead, regard it in a classical light, and think of it without disgust,—but when[425] you see the ceremony really performed it is very painful: nevertheless, a sort of absurdity was mixed with it in my mind, as “stir him up with the long pole” flashed across my memory. A group of relatives were sitting by the river-side, watching the ceremony; on its conclusion they will bathe and return to their homes.
The kapāl-krīyā, a ceremony among Hindūs, is, that when a dead body is burning, and nearly reduced to ashes, the nearest relation breaks the skull with the stroke of a bamboo, and pours ghī (clarified butter) into the cavity. Hence kapāl-krīyā karna, to think intensely, to beat or cudgel one’s brains.
The charpāī on which the corpse had been carried, being reckoned unclean, had been thrown into the river, and the broken lota that had contained ghī was at its side. The scene was reflected in the Ganges. From the quantity of wood and ghī consumed the departed must have been a rich man: the relatives of the very poor scarcely do more than scorch the body, and throw it into the river, where it floats swollen and scorched—a horrible sight.
“The burning of the body is one of the first ceremonies the Hindūs perform for the help of the dead in a future state. If this ceremony have not been attended to, the rites for the repose of the soul cannot be performed. If a person be unable to provide wood, cloth, clarified butter, rice, water-pans, and other things, besides the fee for the priest, he must beg among his neighbours. If the body be thrown into the river, or burnt, without the accustomed ceremonies, as is sometimes the case, the ceremonies may be performed over an image of the deceased made of kooshŭ grass. Immediately after death the attendants lay out the body on a sheet, placing two pieces of wood under the head and feet; after which they anoint the corpse with clarified butter, bathe it with the water of the Ganges, put round the loins a new garment, and another over the left shoulder, and then draw the sheet on which the body lies over the whole. The heir-at-law next bathes himself, puts on new garments, and boils some rice, a ball of which and a lighted brand he puts to the mouth of the deceased, repeating incantations. The pile[426] having been prepared he sets fire to it, and occasionally throws on it clarified butter and other combustibles. When the body is consumed he washes the ashes into the river; the attendants bathe, and presenting a drink-offering to the deceased, return home: before they enter the house, however, each one touches fire and chews some bitter leaves, to signify that parting with relations by death is an unpleasant task.”
The rites for the repose of the soul, the offerings made in a person’s name after his decease, and the ceremonies which take place on the occasion, are called his shraddhŭ; which the Hindūs are very anxious to perform in a becoming manner. The son who performs these rites obtains great merit; the deceased is satisfied, and by gifts to the Brahmāns in his name he obtains heaven.
The Hindū shastrŭs teach that after death the soul becomes prétŭ, a departed ghost,—namely, takes a body about the size of a person’s thumb, and remains in the custody of Yŭmŭ, the judge of the dead. At the time of receiving punishment the body becomes enlarged, and is made capable of enduring sorrow. The performance of the rites for the repose of the soul, delivers the deceased at the end of a year from this state, and translates him to the heaven of the Pitrees, where he enjoys the reward of his meritorious actions, and afterwards in another body, enters into that state which the nature of his former actions assign to him. If the shraddhŭ be not performed the deceased remains in the prétŭ state, and cannot enter another body.
There are three shraddhŭs for the dead: one, eleven days after the death; another, every month; and another, at the close of a year after a person’s decease. During the ten days of mourning the relatives hold a family council, and consult on the means of performing the shraddhŭ; on the last of these days, after making an offering for the dead by the side of the river, they are shaved. On the next day after the performance of numerous ceremonies, and offerings made to the priests, the son goes into the house, and placing a Brahmān and his wife on a seat, covers them with ornaments, worships them, and adding a large present of money, dismisses them. After this the son of the[427] deceased requests five Brahmāns to offer a male calf, in doing which they take two cloths each, four poitas, four betel-nuts, and some kourees, and go with the company to a spot where an altar has been prepared, one cubit high, and four cubits square. Four of the Brahmāns sit on the four sides of the altar, and there worship certain gods, and offer a burnt sacrifice. Near the altar are placed the shalgramŭ, four female calves, a male calf, and a vilwŭ post. The fifth Brahmān reads a portion of a poorană, to drive away evil spirits. The female calves are tied to four vilwŭ posts, and the male calf to a post called vrishŭ post. To the necks of the cow-calves four small slender baskets are suspended, in which are placed, among other things, a comb, and the iron instrument with which Hindū women blacken their eyelids. A sheet of metal is placed under the belly of the bull-calf,—on the back a sheet of copper: the hoofs are covered with silver, and the horns with gold, if the shraddhŭ be performed by a rich man. On the hips of the bull-calf marks of Shivŭ’s trident are impressed with a hot iron. After this the son of the deceased washes the tail of the bull-calf, and with the same water presents a drink-offering to his deceased ancestors: and afterwards marries the bull-calf to the four cow-calves, repeating many formulas, in which they are recommended to cultivate love and mutual sympathy. The son next liberates the cow-calves, forbidding any one to detain them, or partake of their milk in future. In liberating the male calf, he says, “I have given thee these four wives, live with them! Thou art the living image of Yŭmŭ; thou goest upon four legs. Devour not the corn of others, &c.” The cow-calves are generally taken by Brahmāns, the bull-calf is let loose, to go where he pleases: these bulls wander about, and are treated by the Hindūs with great respect; no one can claim any redress for the injury they do, and no Hindū dare destroy them. The English call them “Brahmanī bulls.” There are various other rites too numerous to detail, and the sums are enormous which at times are spent on the shraddhŭ.
The funeral rites of the Romans and those of the Hindūs are not very dissimilar. The Romans paid the greatest attention to[428] them, because they believed that the souls of the unburied were not admitted into the abodes of the dead; or at least wandered a hundred years along the river Styx, before they were allowed to cross it; for which reason, if the bodies of their friends could not be found, they erected to them an empty tomb (cenotaphium), at which they performed the usual solemnities; and to want the due rites was esteemed the greatest misfortune. The nearest relation closed the eyes and mouth of the deceased, and when the eyes were closed they called upon the deceased by name several times at intervals: the corpse was then laid on the ground, bathed, and anointed with perfumes. The body, dressed in the best attire which the deceased had worn when alive, was laid on a couch in the vestibule, with the feet outwards; the couch was sometimes decked with leaves and flowers. A small coin (triens vel obolus) was put in his mouth, which he might give to Charon for his freight. The Romans at first usually interred their dead, which is the most ancient and most natural method. They early adopted the custom of burning (cremandi vel comburendi) from the Greeks, which is mentioned in the laws of Numa, and of the twelve tables, but it did not become general till towards the end of the republic. Numa forbade his own body to be burned, according to the custom of the Romans, but he ordered it to be buried near Mount Janiculum, with many of the books which he had written. Sylla was the first of the Patrician branch of the gens Cornelia that was burnt; which is supposed to have been in accordance with his wishes; for, having ordered the remains of Marius to be taken out of his grave, and thrown into the river Anio, he was apprehensive of the same insult. Sylla died A.D. 78. Pliny ascribes the first institution of burning among the Romans to their having discovered that the bodies of those who fell in distant wars were dug up by the enemy. Under the emperors it became almost universal, but was afterwards gradually dropped upon the introduction of Christianity, so that it had fallen into disuse about the end of the fourth century. On the day of the funeral, when the people were assembled, the body was carried out with the feet foremost on a couch, covered with rich cloth, and supported[429] commonly on the shoulders of the nearest relations of the deceased or of his heirs. Poor citizens were carried to the funeral pile in a plain bier or coffin, usually by four bearers: the funeral couches were sometimes open and sometimes covered. Torches were used both at funerals and marriages. The funeral procession was regulated by a person called Designator, attended by lictors, dressed in black, with their fasces inverted; sometimes, also, by the officers and troops, with their spears pointing to the ground. First, went musicians of various kinds,—then, mourning women, hired to lament and sing the funeral song; next came players and buffoons, who danced and sang; one of them, called Archimimus, supported the character of the deceased, imitating his words and actions while alive; then followed the freedmen. Before the corpse were carried images of the deceased, and of his ancestors, on long poles or frames, but not of such as had been condemned for any heinous crime, whose images were broken. Behind the corpse walked the friends of the deceased in mourning,—his sons with their heads veiled, and his daughters with their heads bare, and their hair dishevelled, contrary to the ordinary custom of both; the magistrates without their badges, the nobility without their ornaments. The nearest relations sometimes tore their garments, and covered their hair with dust, or pulled it out; the women, in particular, who attended the funeral, beat their breasts and tore their cheeks, although this was forbidden by the twelve tables. At the funeral of an illustrious citizen the corpse was carried through the forum, where the procession stopped, and a funeral oration (laudatio) was delivered in praise of the deceased from the rostra, by his son, or by some near relation or friend. The honour of a funeral oration was decreed also to women, old or young, married or unmarried. From the forum the corpse was carried to the place of burning or burial, which the law of the twelve tables ordered to be without the city,—Hominem mortuum in urbe ne sepelito, neve urito,—according to the customs of other nations; the Jews, the Athenians, and others. The Romans prohibited burning or burying in the city, both from sacred and civil considerations,[430] and that the air might not be infected. The vestal virgins were buried in the city, and some illustrious men, which right their posterity retained, but did not use.
The funeral pile (rogus vel pyra) was built in the form of an altar, with four equal sides; hence called ara sepulchri, funeris ara, of wood which might easily catch fire, as fir, pine, cleft oak, unpolished, according to the law of the twelve tables, rogum ascia ne polito, but not always so; also stuffed with paper and pitch, made higher or lower according to the rank of the deceased (hence rogus plebeius), with cypress-trees set around to prevent the noisome smell, and at the distance of sixty feet from any house. On the funeral pile was placed the corpse, with the couch; the eyes of the deceased were opened; the nearest relations kissed the body with tears, and then set fire to the pile with a lighted torch, turning away their faces (aversi) to show that they did it with reluctance. They prayed for a wind to assist the flames, as the Greeks did, and when that happened it was thought fortunate. They threw into the fire various perfumes (odores), incense, myrrh, cassia, &c.; also cups of oil and dishes (dapes vel fercula), with titles marking what they contained: likewise the clothes and ornaments, not only of the deceased, but their own; every thing, in short, that was supposed to be agreeable to the deceased while alive; all these were called munera vel dona. If the deceased had been a soldier, they threw on the pile his arms, rewards, and spoils. At the funeral of an illustrious commander the soldiers made a circuit (decurrebant) three times round the pile, from right to left (orbe sinistro), with their ensigns inverted, and striking their weapons on one another to the sound of the trumpet, all present accompanying them, as at the funeral of Sylla, and of Augustus, which custom seems to have been borrowed from the Greeks, was used also by the Carthaginians, and was sometimes repeated annually at the tomb. As the manes were supposed to be delighted with blood, various animals, especially such as the deceased had been fond of, were slaughtered at the pile, and thrown into it; in ancient times, also men, captives, or slaves, to which Cicero alludes. Afterwards instead of them, gladiators, called bustuarii, were made to[431] fight; so amongst the Gauls, slaves and clients were burnt on the piles of their masters; among the Indians and Thracians, wives on the piles of their husbands: thus also, among the Romans, friends testified their affection; as Plotinus to his patron, Plautius to his wife Orestilla, soldiers to Otho, Mnester, a freed-man, to Agrippina.
Instances are recorded of persons who came to life again on the funeral pile after it had been set on fire, so that it was too late to rescue them; and of others, who having revived before the pile was kindled, returned home on their feet. When the pile was burnt down, the fire was extinguished, and the embers soaked with wine; the bones were gathered (ossa legebantur) by the nearest relations, with loose robes, and sometimes barefooted. We also read of the nearest female relations who were called funeræ vel funereæ, gathering the bones in their bosom.
The bones and ashes, besprinkled with the richest perfumes, were put into a vessel called urna, an urn, made of earth, brass, marble, silver, or gold. Sometimes, also, a small glass vial full of tears, called by the moderns a lachrymatory, was put in the urn, and the latter was solemnly deposited in the sepulchre.
When the body was not burnt, it was put into a coffin (arca vel loculus) with all its ornaments, usually made of stone, as that of Numa, so of Hannibal; sometimes of Assian stone, from Asses, or -us, a town in Troas or Mysia, which consumed the body in forty days, except the teeth, hence called sarcophagus, which word is also put for any coffin or tomb. The coffin was laid in the tomb on its back; in what direction among the Romans is uncertain; but among the Athenians, looking to the west. When the remains of the deceased were laid in the tomb, those present were three times sprinkled by a priest with pure water (aqua pura vel lustralis), from a branch of olive or laurel (aspergillum), to purify them. Then they were dismissed by the præfica, or some other person, pronouncing the solemn word ilicet, i.e. ire licet, you may depart. At their departure, they used to take a last farewell, by repeating several times vale, or salve æternùm; adding, nos te ordine, qua natura permiserit, cuncti sequemur. The friends, when they returned home, as a[432] further purification, after being sprinkled with water, stepped over a fire (ignem supergrediebantur), which was called suffitio. The house itself was also purified, and swept with a certain kind of broom. There were certain ceremonies for the purification of the family, when they buried a thumb, or some part cut off from the body before it was burnt, or a bone brought home from the funeral pile, on which occasion a soldier might be absent from duty. On the ninth day after the funeral, a sacrifice was performed, called novendiale, with which these solemnities were concluded.
Oblations or sacrifices to the dead (inferiæ, vel parentalia,) were afterwards made at various times, both occasionally and at stated periods, consisting of liquors, victims, and garlands; these oblations were to appease;—to revenge, an atonement was made to their ghosts.
The sepulchre was then bespread with flowers, and covered with crowns and fillets: before it, there was a little altar, on which libations were made, and incense burnt, and a keeper was appointed to watch the tomb, which was frequently illuminated with lamps. A feast was added, called silicernium, both for the dead and the living. Certain things were laid on the tomb, commonly beans, lettuces, bread, and eggs, or the like, which it was supposed the ghosts would come and eat; hence cœna feralis; what remained was burnt; for it was thought mean to take away any thing thus consecrated, or what was thrown into the funeral pile. The Romans commonly built tombs for themselves during their lifetime; if they did not live to finish them, it was done by their heirs, who were often ordered by the testament to build a tomb. The highest honours were decreed to illustrious persons after death. The Romans worshipped their founder Romulus as a god, under the name of Quirinus. Hence afterwards the solemn consecration of the emperors, by a decree of the senate, who were thus said to be ranked in the number of the gods, also of some empresses: temples and priests were assigned to them—they were invoked with prayers—men swore by their name or genius, and offered victims on their altars.
The entrance to the Goomtie river is very narrow, and a bridge of sixteen boats is placed across it. At Chandroutī is a white temple much carved—the platform in the centre of the stream stands out about two feet high—a bamboo was stuck upon it, and several birds were perched on the stones. The ruins of the temple must have fallen into the river I suppose, as no ruins are there, only a very few stones:—this is to be lamented. It must have been very picturesque, and it also must have pointed out the dangerous spot to vessels. The navigation is perplexing, but we came through it without any mischance, and, after a great deal of annoyance, anchored at 10 P.M. off a village; our time to lugāo the boats has usually been four hours earlier. The Hindūs, who have had no dinner to-day, must be sick and weary; we could not get to the bank, on account of the shallowness of the water until this hour. The Musalmān crew of the budgerow cook and eat on board; the crews of the woolāk and cook-boat, being Hindūs, cook and eat on the river-side, that they may not defile the sacred Gunga.
If you lugāo near a village the chaukidārs come down and guard your boats; if you anchor on a sandbank you guard your own boats, and are generally distant from robbers; nevertheless, care is required through the night, and a watch should be set on each vessel during the dark hours.
Five miles above Chandroutī is Bullooah ghāt and ferry on the right bank,—the banks are formed of kankar rock. Exactly opposite the ferry, the budgerow struck on a sunken bank, which was very deep in the water; we were detained upwards of two hours ere she could be got off; the rudder was unshipped by the manjhī, and after great labour we were once again afloat, without having sustained much damage. The river is very shallow, and to find the deep stream is difficult in a budgerow.
“Fifty miles above Ghazipūr, or eight above Bullooah ghāt, on the right bank of the river, is Kye, and its sunken kankar reef—scarcely avoidable in some dry seasons. Thence due west over the right bank you may observe the Benares minarets—distant nine miles.” A little wind aided us, and we lugāoed at 6 P.M. at Rāj ghāt, Benares. A number of temples and tombs,[434] with the minarets beyond, looked well in the distance as we approached; but the smoke of the evening fires on the bank, and the red glare of the setting sun, rendered all objects indistinct. I walked to see a tomb on the top of the high cliff a little below Rāj ghāt; it is enclosed by stone walls in a garden, and is a handsome monument; many tombs are on the outside by the ravine. It is a very picturesque spot. Thus closed the evening at Rāj ghāt.
“AT BUNARUS YOU SHOULD BE ON YOUR GUARD AGAINST THE WOMEN, THE SACRED BULLS, THE STAIRS, AND THE DEVOTEES[49].”
Benefits arising from a Residence in the Holy City of Kāshī—Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ—The Snake-Charmers—Gigantic Image of Hunoomān—Brahmanī Bulls—The Ghāts from the River—Bhīm Singh—Tulsī Altars—Ruins of the Ghāt of the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A Corpse—Young Idolaters—State Prisoners—The City—Sultanpūr—Chunar—Picturesque Tree near the Ghāt—Singular Ceremonies—The Deasil—Turnbull Gunge—Mirzapūr—Beautiful Ghāts and Temples—Carpet Manufactory—Bindachun.
1844, Dec. 5th.—A friend accompanied me this morning to view Benares, or, as it is more correctly called, Bunarus: nothing pleases me more than driving about this city,—the streets, the houses, and the people are so well worth seeing. “A little to eat, and to live at Bunarus,” is the wish of a pious Hindū; but a residence at this place is rather dangerous to any one inclined to violate the laws, as the following extract will testify:—“Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ is a naked Shivŭ, smeared with ashes; having three eyes, riding on a dog, and holding in one hand a horn, and in another a drum. In several places in Bengal this image is worshipped daily. Shivŭ, under this name, is the regent of Kāshī (Bunarus). All persons dying at Benares are entitled to a place in Shivŭ’s heaven; but if any one violate the laws of[436] the shastrŭ during his residence there, Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ at death grinds him betwixt two mill-stones.”
6th.—Some of these people came down to the river-side, and displayed their snakes before the budgerow; they had two boa constrictors, one of which was of enormous size; the owner twined it about his neck after the fashion in which a lady wears her sable boa; the other, which was on the ground, glided onwards, and the man pulled it back, as it appeared to be inclined to escape into the water. They had a number of the cobra di capello, twenty or more, which, being placed on the ground, reared themselves up, and, spreading out their hoods, swayed themselves about in a fashion which the men called dancing, accompanied by the noise of a little hand-drum. The snake-charmers struck the reptiles with their hands, and the snakes bit them repeatedly on their hands, as well as on their arms, bringing the blood at each bite; although the venomous fangs have been carefully removed, the bite itself must be disagreeable; nevertheless, the natives appear not to mind it in the least. There was no trick in the case; I saw a cobra bite his keeper five or six times on his hand and arm, the man was irritating it on purpose, and only desisted when he found I was satisfied that there was no deception. At the conclusion of the exhibition they caught the cobras, and crammed them all into gharās (earthen vessels); the boas were carried off in a basket.
In the evening I walked to a dhrumsāla or alms-house on the bank of the river, a little above Rāj ghāt; it is situated on the top of a high flight of steps, and is very picturesque. On the steps of the stone ghāt below is a gigantic image of Hunoomān, made of mud, and painted according to the most approved fashion. The natives were very civil, showing me the way to different places, and yet the Benares people have a bud nām (bad name) in that respect, being reckoned uncivil to strangers.
On the steps of the ghāt I met a very savage Brahmanī bull; the beast was snorting and attacking the people,—he ran at me,[437] but some men drove him off; there were numbers of them in the bazār, but this was the only savage one I encountered; the rest were going quietly from gram-stall to gram-stall, apparently eating as much as they pleased. The merchants would be afraid to drive the holy bulls away with violence.
7th.—Quitted Rāj ghāt early, and tracked slowly past Benares, stopping every now and then to take a sketch of those beautiful ghāts. The minārs rear their slender forms over the city, and it is not until you attempt to sketch them that their height is so apparent, and then you gaze in astonishment at them, marvelling at the skill that has reared structures of such height and elegance, and at the honesty of the workmen, who have given such permanent cement to the stones.
A little farther on is a cluster of Hindū temples of extreme beauty and most elaborate workmanship, with a fine ghāt close to them; one of these temples has been undermined by the river, and has fallen—but not to the ground; it still hangs over the stream,—a most curious sight. How many temples the Ganges has engulphed I know not; some six or seven are now either deeply sunk in, or close to the water, and the next rains will probably swell the river, and undermine two or three more. A fine ghāt at the side of these has fallen in likewise.
Above this cluster of falling temples is a very beautiful ghāt, built of white stone,—I know not its name; but I sketched it from the boats. It is still uninjured by time, and is remarkable for the beauty of its turrets, over the lower part of which a palm-tree throws its graceful branches in the most picturesque manner. On the top of a small ghāt, just higher than the river, at the bottom of a long flight of steps, two natives were sitting, shaded from the sun by a large chatr; groups of people in the water were bathing and performing their devotions,—many were passing up and down the flight of stone steps,—whilst others, from the arched gallery above, were hanging garments of various and brilliant colours to dry in the sun. On the outside of some of the openings in the bastions straw mats were fixed to screen off the heat.
Just above this fine structure, on a small ghāt, a little beyond[438] the minarets, is a gigantic figure in black stone of Bhīm Singh, a deified giant, of whom it is recorded that he built the fortress of Chunar in one day, and rendered it impregnable. The giant is represented lying at full length on his back, his head, adorned with a sort of crown, is supported on raised masonry; at his right side is erected a small altar of mud, of conical form, bearing on its top a tulsī plant; the natives water these plants, and take the greatest care of them. The tulsī had formerly the same estimation amongst the Hindūs, that the misletoe had amongst the ancient Britons, and was always worn in battle as a charm; on which account a warrior would bind a mala of tulsī beads on his person. The scene was particularly picturesque; below the ghāt, on which reposed the gigantic hero, were some native boats; and near them was a man dipping a piece of cloth embroidered in crimson and gold into the water; while, with a brilliant light and shade, the whole was reflected in the Ganges.
A little distance beyond I observed a number of small ghāts rising from the river, on each of which a similar conical tulsī altar was erected, and generally, at the side of each, the flag of a fakīr was displayed from the end of a long thin bamboo. A man who appeared to be a mendicant fakīr, came down to the river-side, carrying in one hand a long pole, and in the other one joint of a thick bamboo, which formed a vessel for holding water, and from this he poured some of the holy stream of the Ganges on the little shrub goddess the tulsī.
In the midst of hundreds and hundreds of temples and ghāts, piled one above another on the high cliff, or rising out of the Ganges, the mind is perfectly bewildered; it turns from beauty to beauty, anxious to preserve the memory of each, and the amateur throws down the pencil in despair. Each ghāt is a study; the intricate architecture, the elaborate workmanship, the elegance and lightness of form,—an artist could not select a finer subject for a picture than one of these ghāts. How soon Benares, or rather the glory of Benares—its picturesque beauty—will be no more! Since I passed down the river in 1836 many temples and ghāts have sunk, undermined by the rapid stream.
The Bāiza Bā’ī’s beautiful ghāt has fallen into the river,—perhaps[439] from its having been undermined, perhaps from bad cement having been used. Her Highness spared no expense; probably the masons were dishonest, and that fine structure, which cost her fifteen lākh to rear a little above the river, is now a complete ruin.
The ghāt of Appa Sāhib is still in beauty, and a very curious one at the further end of Benares, dedicated to Mahadēo, is still uninjured; a number of images of bulls carved in stone are on the parapet of the temple, and forms of Mahadēo are beneath, at the foot of the bastions.
We loitered in the budgerow for above six hours amongst the ghāts, which stretch, I should imagine, about three miles along the left bank of the Ganges.
At the side of one of the ghāts on the edge of the river sat a woman weeping and lamenting very loudly over the pile of wood within which the corpse of some relative had been laid; the friends were near, and the pile ready to be fired. I met a corpse yesterday in the city, borne on a flat board; the body and the face were covered closely with bright rose-coloured muslin, which was drawn so tightly over the face that its form and features were distinct; and on the face was sprinkled red powder and silver dust; perhaps the dust was the pounded talc, which looks like silver.
How soon the young Hindūs begin to comprehend idolatry! A group of children from four to seven years old were at play; they had formed with mud on the ground an image of Hunoomān, after the fashion of those they had seen on the river-side; and they had made imitations of the sweetmeat (pera) in balls of mud, to offer to their puny idol.
I was at Benares eight years ago (in November, 1836); the river since that time has undermined the ghāts, and has done so much damage, that, in another ten years, if the Ganges encroach at an equal rate, but little will remain of the glory of the most holy of the Hindū cities. The force of the stream now sets full upon the most beautiful cluster of the temples on its banks; some have been engulphed, some are falling, and all will fall ere long; and of the Bāiza Bā’ī’s ghāt, which was so beautiful[440] when last I visited the place, nothing now remains but the ruins! Her Highness objected greatly to the desire of the Government, to force her to live in this holy city: poor lady! her destiny exemplifies the following saying—“He who was hurt by the bel (its large fruit falling on his head) went for refuge to the bābūl, (the prickles of which wounded his feet,) and he that was hurt by the bābūl fled to the bel[50].”
The Rajah of Sattara resides a state prisoner at Bunarus.
A buggy is to be hired at Secrole for four rupees eight ānās a day, which is preferable to a palanquin: in visiting the city the better way is to quit your buggy, and proceed in a tānjān, if you wish to see the curious and ancient buildings to advantage.
I am so much fagged with the excitement of the day, gazing and gazing again, that I can write no more, and will finish this account with an extract from the “Directory.” “Benares on the left bank is considered as the most holy city in India, and is certainly one of the most handsome when viewed at a distance on the river, there being such numerous stone ghāts and temples, some of which cost seventeen lākh of rupees. It is the residence of some native princes, pensioners of the Hon. East India Company, but their dwellings are divided into so many little chambers or pigeon-holes, that the internal part of the city has the appearance of a mass of mean buildings, piled up without any regard to order and appearance, and narrow filthy lanes instead of streets.
“There is a large enclosed mart, called a chauk, which opens at 5 P.M., where trinkets, toys, birds, cloth, and coarse hardware are exposed for sale. It has a large well in it, and is also a resort for native auctions. Close to the chauk is the principal alley or mart for gulbadan, a very fine silk of various patterns worn by natives as trowsers; also fine caps with tinselled crowns, and very elegant gold and silver embroidery; also scarfs and turbans, and pieces for fancy head-dresses. There is likewise a traveller’s chauk, or native inn, and a large horse mart, where very fine horses, of the Turkī, Persian, and Cabul breeds are[441] procurable,—as high as eight, ten, or fifteen thousand rupees,—that are brought here by the fruit-carriers, who bring grapes and pears from those countries. Here are several miniature painters, and also venders of miniatures on ivory, said to be likenesses of different native princes, their queens, and nāch girls; and also true likenesses of native servants in costume, tradesmen, and beggars. Delhi jewellery of the best gold is brought on board the steamers by sending for the dealers. Here is also an old observatory, and two very high and slender minarets, one of which has a slight inclination; travellers ascending them are expected to give to the keeper the fee of a rupee. From their tops is a fine view of the city, the adjacent country, and the river,—so gratifying a sight should not be passed over by any traveller. Provisions are procurable; partridges, quail, and wild ducks of all sorts, are to be obtained. Steamers remain at Rāj ghāt to take in passengers, to discharge and take in packages, and to receive coals. The civil and military station is about four miles inland, direct from Rāj ghāt, where reside the commissioner, the judge, the magistrates, the collectors, the general, and all the officers of the native regiments quartered here, and some European artillery.
“Letters must be sent for to the post-office, as they are not forwarded, which is very inconvenient. The city is about two miles long: the natives are very uncivil to strangers. Numerous fanatics are here, who drown themselves, believing that the holy Ganga and the city of the most holy secures them eternal happiness. Benares is from Calcutta, viâ Bhagirathī, 696 miles; viâ Sunderbands, 984; and by land or dāk, 428. Letters take four days, banjhīs seven days. Palanquins are procurable here, but they are infested with vile vermin.”
So much for the “Directory,” from which I differ. So far from the distant view of the city giving you the best idea of it,—it is not until you are in the midst of and close to the various and beautiful ghāts and temples just beyond the minārs that you can have an idea of the beauty of Benares. The best conveyance in which to visit and sketch the ghāts is a small boat with an awning.
We passed the residence of the Raja of Benares at Ramnagar, one mile and a half above the city; it is a handsome native palace.
8th.—Passed Chhotā Kalkata, or Sultanpūr-Benares: it is a native cavalry station, seventeen miles above Benares on the left bank of the river. Steamers bring to here occasionally, for a few minutes, to land passengers. It has a kankarī or rocky point, that is very awkward for native boats,—as also for steamers, owing to a narrow channel and strong currents; the point is off the cavalry stables, which are called Little Calcutta.
On our arrival at Chunar we moored the boats at the request of the sarhang, as the dandīs wished to go on shore to buy and sell in the bazār; they carry on a regular traffic at all the stations up the river, and gain a heavy profit on their Calcutta lanterns, pankhas, bundles of cane, cheeses, pickles, and a variety of articles. Chunar is famous for its tobacco, and the men were anxious to lay in a stock for sale at other places.
At a short distance from the landing-place, and to the left of it, is a fine peepul-tree (Ficus religiosa), at the foot of which are a number of idols in stone, placed in an erect position, supported by the trunk. A native woman placed some flowers upon the idols, and poured Ganges water over them from an earthen vessel (a gharā), which she carried on her head. Another was performing a religious and superstitious ceremony, called pradakshina,—that is, she was walking a certain number of times round and round the peepul-tree, with the right hand towards it, as a token of respect, with appropriate abstraction and prayers, in the hope of beautiful offspring. For this reason, also, the Ficus indica is subject to circumambulation. The same ceremony is mentioned in the “Chronicles of the Canongate:” the old sibyl, Muhme, says to Robin Oig, “So let me walk the deasil round you, that you may go safe into the far foreign land, and come safe home.” “She traced around him, with wavering steps, the propitiation, which some have thought has been derived from the Druidical mythology. It consists, as is well known, in the person who makes the deasil walking three times[443] round the person who is the object of the ceremony, taking care to move according to the course of the sun.” Near the peepul-tree was an Hindū temple built of stone, but most excessively disfigured by having been painted red; and next to it was a smaller one of white stone. The whole formed a most picturesque subject for the pencil. Thence I proceeded to the Fort of Chunar, and walked on the ramparts: the little churchyard below was as tranquil as ever, but the tombs having become dark and old, the beauty of the scene was greatly diminished. The Ganges is undermining even the rock on which the fortress is built. The birds’-nests, formed of mud, built under the projections of the black rock on which it stands, are curious; and on some parts of the rock, just above the river, small Hindū images are carved. The “Directory” gives the following account of the place:—“On the right bank, about four miles above Sultanpūr, is Chunar, an invalid station, with a fortification, on an isolated rocky hill, which projects into the river, forming a very nasty point to pass in the rains. It completely commands the river, and is used as a place of confinement for state prisoners. There are several detached rocky hills or stone quarries here. It is a very sickly place, owing to the heat arising from the stone, which causes fever and disease of the spleen. This is a great place for snakes. A little above the fort is a temple: tradition states it to contain a chest, which cannot be opened unless the party opening it lose his hand,—four thieves having so suffered once in an attempt upon it. Very fine black and red earthenware may be purchased here,—such as wine coolers, which, being filled with water after the bottle is inserted, and set out in the draft of the hot easterly winds (none other serves the purpose), in the shade, cools the confined liquor as much as iceing it: the cooler must be dried daily. Also, red sandy water-holders or suries, which keep water very cool; black butter pots, with a casing for water, very neatly finished; and large black double urns, to contain bread, and keep it moist. Steamers seldom stop here more than ten minutes.”
The Padshah Begam, the Queen of Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur, and Moona Jāh, are in this fortress state prisoners.
Moored our vessels off Turnbull Gunge. Of all the native villages I have seen this is the most healthy-looking; it consists of one very long broad road or street, with houses on each side, built after the native fashion, but on a regular plan; and on each side the road a line of fine trees shade the people as they sit selling their goods in the verandahs of their houses.
The Gunge was built by a Mr. Turnbull, a medical man, who made a large fortune in India when medical men were allowed to trade; the place bears his name, and is situated about two miles higher up the river than Chunar.
9th.—A little beyond Turnbull Gunge is a white mandāp (temple), on the right bank; the top of the spire has been broken off, and it stands by a fine peepul-tree. Just in front of it a bank of hard red mud runs out into the river; the budgerow ran upon it with such violence that many things in the cabin were upset; after this little fright we proceeded very well. The dandīs were particularly miserable on account of the rain; almost every man had clothed himself in a red jacket; for these cast-off military jackets they had given a rupee apiece; they were very proud of them, and afraid of getting them wetted. They wore below the usual native dhotī—i.e. a piece of linen, in lieu of trowsers, above which the European red coat had a curious effect. Anchored on a very fine sandbank in the midst of the river; here we found a chaukidār under a straw thatch, ready for vessels.
10th.—“Seven miles above Chunar, on the right bank, is the village of Kutnac, with rocky bottom and hard lumps of earth in the river; a little above is a ravine, which is to be avoided by all boats.”
“Fourteen miles above Chunar is the crossing ferry of the Benares grand road, and of Kitwa and Bhundoolee to Mirzapūr; thence to the latter place is a fine road, distance seven miles and a half by land, and sixteen by water.
“Ten miles above the ferry, and seven below Mirzapūr, on the left bank, is Bhajoan, with a white tomb and a patch of kankar in the river, on which many boats are lost: hence the cantonments of Mirzapūr are visible.
“Mirzapūr, a military cantonment, is two miles below the city and the civil station: the judge’s, the magistrates’, and the collector’s offices are one mile below the city. The steamer stops at the agency ghāt at the lower end of the city. This place is noted for a cotton mart and cotton manufactory; as likewise for shell lac, lac dye, and hardware in a small way. Many boats are here at all seasons. The city is very confined, dirty, and subject to great sickness: there are two or three very fine stone ghāts here, and some small temples and minarets: bread, butter, eggs, mutton, lamb, kid, veal, and fowls, are procurable. Mirzapūr is from Calcutta, viâ Bhagirathī, 748 miles; viâ Sunderbands, 1036 miles; and by dāk route, 455. The dāk takes five days, and banjhī eight days to run. Steamers having plenty of cargo to land are generally detained here four or five hours.”
The river has given us some trouble to-day, and we have grounded many times. The white houses of the Mirzapūr cantonments stretch along the right bank on a very high cliff; the church, a very elegant building, was planned by Colonel Edward Smith,—the spire rises just above the ghāt of the civil station. The manjhī of our vessel wished to anchor there, but we pushed on to the city, and lugāoed on the other side the river, close to a fine house, the residence of the Raja of Ramnager. We did not like to anchor at the stone ghāt of the city, on account of the noise, smoke, and heat produced by a crowd of native boats: this will be pleasant: I can be up top dāghī (gun-fire) to-morrow morning, and sketch the ghāts. In the mean time the sandbank by which we are moored is cool, pleasant, and quiet. Now for English letters!
11th.—We found we ought to have stopped at the ghāt off Cantonments, as there bread, butter, meat, &c., could be procured; but what cared I for such creature comforts when I saw the ghāts in the early morning? We crossed the river, and I went out to sketch them. There are two fine ones, built of stone, that lie close together, and a number of temples are upon them,—placed at intervals upon the cliff, from the river to the top of the high bank, and very beautiful they are.
The first sketch comprehended the ghāts that rise out of the river; on their steps of stone, multitudes of people, in the gay attire of the East, were ascending and descending for pūja and bathing, and to bring water up for domestic purposes; the scene was particularly animated. On the steps of the ghāt was a large awning, formed of mats, and supported by bamboos, under which the natives were sitting and conversing, while it screened them from the sun. Upon the river-side were several square platforms erected on four bamboos, with great stones beneath to support them; and on the top of the poles were large jhāmps—that is, mats of straw, which protected the people sitting inside from the rays of the sun; these platforms were used as booths, and in them sweetmeats were displayed for sale. Half-way up the cliff were three small temples, with fine trees in the background, in front of which stretched the high bank along the side of the Ganges.
The second sketch of the same ghāt was taken half-way up the cliff; on the right are the three small temples above alluded to, which form part of a group of singular beauty and varied form. A large shiwala or temple dedicated to Mahadēo is next to them, and a smaller, separated only by an archway, adjoins it; on the portico of the latter a fakīr’s staff and flag were erected. The branches of fine trees were in the background, the cliffs were abrupt, and the vessels on the Ganges were in the distance. In front of the doorway of the larger temple the holy bull, (the vehicle of Mahadēo,) was couchant on a small ghāt erected for the purpose.
The third sketch was taken from the top of the cliff looking up the river: it consists of a large shiwala or temple of Mahadēo, with a second in front which forms a portico, beneath which Nandi the holy bull reposes couchant; to the side is the spire of a temple that rises from below. The Ganges adds to the beauty of the scene, and some branches of large trees in the background adorn the temple. No mandāp have I ever seen so elaborately carved or so beautiful; from the basement to the pinnacle it is a mass of intricate sculpture, united with great elegance of design. It is covered with images of the gods, carved in stone.[447] A little kid, which had just been offered to the idol, was frisking about the temple, unconscious of how soon he would be served up as a feast for the Brahmāns. Kid is eaten by Hindūs at particular times, and the priests consider the offerings as holy food.
There is another handsome stone ghāt a little further up the river, with nine temples upon it; and many are the picturesque spots along the banks of the Ganges. Mirzapūr is famous for its manufactory of carpets, which are often sent to England; and large vessels in hundreds were off the city. We proceeded on our voyage, and lugāoed at Bindachun.
“IF YOU BELIEVE, IT IS A GOD; IF NOT, PLASTER DETACHED FROM A WALL[51].”
Bindachun—Devī Ghāt—The Temple of Bhawānī—Bhagwān—The Thug—The Hajjam—The Tashma-baz Thugs—The Pleasure of Wandering—Sirsya—Munyah Ghāt—Arail—Arrival at Allahabad—Native Sugar-cane Mills.
1844, Dec. 11th.—We lugāoed early in the evening four miles above Mirzapūr at the far-famed Bindachun. The first remarkable object on approaching the place is the ghāt of the Devī (goddess) which stands out into the river; it is adorned with six bastions, which present a very fort-like appearance, and just above it we moored our boats. Taking an old bearer with me, whilst our people were preparing their evening meal, I hastened up to see the famous temple of Bhawānī, the place of resort of the Thugs, where they meet and take the vows. I ascended the steps of the ghāt of which there are about eighty, and very steep; from their summit you enter the bazār. This is a most curious place, and it is so narrow it can scarcely be called a street, being not more than six feet in the widest part, and in many places the breadth does not exceed three or four. It is lined on both sides with native shops, as thick as possible,[449] and paved throughout with flag-stones. The people from the shops called out to me, “Will you not buy a garland for the goddess, or a tāgah?” “Will you not buy sweetmeats for the shrine?” Garlands of fresh flowers were in profusion for sale.
TEMPLE OF BHAWANI.
Sketched on the Spot and on stone by فاني پارکس
I encountered a man who happened to be an hajjām, a cupper and scarifier. Now, in all Eastern stories a personage of this description appears to be a necessary appendage, and mine, who was also a barber and an Hindū, offered to show me the way to the temple of the Devī. The road, which is straight through the narrow paved alley of the bazār, must be half a mile or more in length: in time we arrived at the temple; three flags were flying from an old peepul-tree, and the noise of the bells which the Brahmāns were tinkling for worship told of the abode of the goddess. The temple, which is built of stone, is of rectangular form, surrounded by a verandah, the whole encompassed by a flight of five steps. The roof is flat, and the pillars that support it of plain and coarse workmanship. On the left is the entrance to the Hindū holy of holies. The Brahmāns begged me to take off my shoes, and said I might then enter and see the face of the goddess. I thought of the Thugs, and my curiosity induced me to leave my shoes at the door, and to advance about three yards into the little dark chamber. The place was in size so small, that when six people were in it, it appeared quite full; the walls were of large coarse stones. The worshippers were turned out of the apartment, and they gave me a full view of the Devī, the great goddess, the renowned Bhagwān!
The head of the figure is of black stone with large eyes, the whites of which are formed of plates of burnished silver: these glaring eyes attract the admiration of the Hindūs:—“Look at her eyes!” said one. Thrown over the top of her head, strings of white jasmine flowers (the double sweet-scented chumpa) took the place of hair, and hung down to the shoulders. If you were to cut a woman off just at the knees, spread a red sheet over her, as if she were going to be shaved, hiding[450] her arms entirely with it, but allowing her feet to be seen at the bottom, making the figure nearly square—you would have the form of the goddess. The two little black feet rested on a black rat, at least they called it so, and a small emblem of Mahadēo stood at the side. Six or eight long chaplets of freshly-gathered flowers hung from her neck to her feet festooned in gradation,—they were formed of the blossoms of the marigold, the chumpa, or white jasmine, and the bright red pomegranate. The figure stood upon a square slab of black stone. It was about four feet in height, and looked more like a child’s toy than a redoubtable goddess. The Brahmān or the Thug, whichever he might be, (for at this shrine all castes worship,) took a white flower, and gave it to me as a present for the goddess, at the same time requesting a rupee as an offering at the shrine. I had no money, but the old bearer had five paisā (about one penny three farthings), which he gave to the Brahmān, who said, “This is not enough to buy a sweetmeat for the goddess!” I made answer,
The man saw it was the truth, and was satisfied. The old bearer then requested me to hold my sketch-book for a few moments whilst he went in and put up a prayer: this I did, and the old man returned very quickly, much pleased at having seen the Devī.
I sketched the goddess when before the shrine, the Brahmān holding the lamp for me. Over her head was suspended from the ceiling an ornament of white flowers, and a lamp like that in the robber’s cave in “Gil Blas” was also hanging from the roof. There was also a lamp on the black slab, which had the appearance of a Roman lamp. Ornaments worn on the wrists of Hindū women, called kangan, formed of a small hank of red, or rather flame-coloured cotton, intermixed with yellow, were offered to the Devī: the Brahmāns put them on her shoulders, as arms she had none. Why and wherefore the kangan is offered, I know not. Before a satī ascends the funeral-pile, some red cotton is tied on both wrists. This may, probably,[451] account for the kangan offered to Bhagwān, the patroness of satīs.
BHAGWĀN.
Sketched in the Temple and on Stone by فاني پارکس
I thought of the Thugs, but mentioned not the name in the temple; it is not wise “to dwell in the river and be at enmity with the crocodile[52].” In the verandah of the temple were two massive bells of a metal looking like bronze.
I can fancy terror acting on the Hindoos when worshipping the great black hideous idol, Kalī Ma, at Kalī-ghāt, near Calcutta; but this poor stump of a woman, with quiet features, staring eyes of silver, and little black feet, inspires no terror:—and yet she is Bhagwān—the dreaded Bhagwān!
The temple was crowded by men and women coming and going, as fast as possible, in great numbers. The month of Aghar is the time of the annual meeting; it begins November 15th, and ends the 13th of December; therefore Bindachun must be full of rascals and Thugs at this present time, who have come here to arrange their religious murders, and to make vows and pūja.
This visit to Bindachun interested me extremely; the style of the temple surprised me; it is unlike any of the Hindoo places of worship I have seen, and must be of very ancient date. The pillars are of a single stone without ornament, rough and rude. Some of the shops in the bazār, like the one on the right where sweetmeats are sold, are of curious architecture; stone is used for all the buildings, quarries being abundant in this part of the country.
The people crowded around me whilst I was sketching the exterior of the temple, but were all extremely civil: the Brahmāns and beggars clamoured for paisā (copper coins), but were civil nevertheless. It is a disreputable neighbourhood: I hope they will not rob the boats to-night, as all the rascals and murderers in India flock to this temple at the time of the annual fair, which is now being held. Having made my salām to the great goddess, I was guided by the barber to another idol, which he said was worshipped by very few people. It was a female figure,[452] very well executed in stone, with four or five figures around it, carved on the same block. I was much inclined to carry it off; it is one of the handsomest pieces of Hindū sculpture I have seen. A few flowers were lying withered before it in the hovel where it stood, placed there, it may be, by the piety of the barber. Even my husband was induced to climb the steps of the ghāt, and to walk through the bazār to the temple, but he did not enter it. A number of idols were under a peepul-tree in the bazār; they were a great temptation, but in this high place of superstition it might be dangerous to carry off a god.
This wandering life is very delightful; I shall never again be content “to sit in a parlour sewing a seam,” which the old song gives forth as the height of feminine felicity! Much sooner would I grope through a dark alley idol hunting—Apropos, by the idols under the peepul-tree was a satī mound, broken and deserted, not even a kālsa was there to claim the passing salām of the Hindū, nor a flower to mark the spot: perhaps the great goddess draws off the worshippers from the deified mortal, although all satīs are peculiarly under her protection.
THE TASHMA-BAZ THUGS.
“Thuggee and Meypunnaism are no sooner suppressed than a new system of secret assassination and robbery is discovered, proving the truth of Colonel Sleeman’s remark, that ‘India is a strange land; and live in it as long as we may, and mix with its people as much as we please, we shall to the last be constantly liable to stumble upon new moral phenomena to excite our special wonder.’ As anticipated, at least one set of new actors have to be introduced to the public, and these are the Tashma-baz Thugs.
“The Thugs formerly discovered went forth on their murderous expeditions under the protection of a goddess, the Tashmabazes have for their genius a European! Who in England would be prepared to credit that the thimble-riggers of English fairs have in India given rise to an association that, in the towns, bazārs, and highways of these provinces, employs the game of stick and garter as the lure for victims destined to[453] be robbed or murdered? Yet this is the simple fact. The British had hardly gained possession of this territory before the seeds of the flourishing system of iniquity, brought to light almost half a century afterwards, were sowed in 1802 by a private soldier in one of his majesty’s regiments stationed at Cawnpore. The name of this man was Creagh. He initiated several natives into the mysteries of the stick and garter, and these afterwards appeared as the leaders of as many gangs, who traversed the country, gambling with whomsoever they could entrap to try their luck at this game. It consists of rolling up a doubled strap, the player putting a stick between any two of its convolutions, and when the ends of the strap are pulled, it unrolls, and either comes away altogether, or is held at the double by the stick, and this decides whether the player loses or wins. A game requiring apparently no peculiar skill, and played by parties cleverly acting their parts as strangers to each other,—being even dressed in character,—readily tempted any greedy simpleton to try his luck, and show his cash. If he lost, he might go about his business; if he won, he was induced to remain with the gamblers, or was followed, and as opportunity offered was either stupified with poisonous drugs, or by any convenient method murdered. Many corpses found from time to time along the vicinity of the Grand Trunk road, without any trace of the assassins, are now believed to have been the remains of the Tashmabazes’ victims; and distinct information has been obtained from their own members of murders committed by them. The merest trifle, it seems, was sufficient inducement to them to commit the crime, there being one case of three poor grass-cutters murdered by those miscreants in a jungle, merely for the sake of their trifling personal property. Indeed, these gangs seem to have been of a more hardened character than any other yet discovered, for their sole aim was gain, however it might be secured, without the plea of religious motive which regulated the proceedings of the other fraternities. Parties of them used to visit all the chief towns and stations of the Doab and its neighbourhood, and established themselves in the thoroughfares leading to the principal cities. Under the guise[454] of gamblers, they were often brought to the notice of the authorities, and subjected to the trifling punishments due to minor offences; but this was the very thing that lulled suspicion as to their real character. They were constantly in the power of many dangerous acquaintances; but these were bribed to silence out of their abundant spoils. The police almost every where seem to have been bought over. In the city of Gwalior, the kotwal got one-fourth of their profits; and in the British territory, five rupees a day have been paid as hush-money to the neighbouring thannah. Amongst their friends was the mess khansaman of a regiment at Meerut, the brother of one of their chiefs, and an accomplice. Gold and silver coin, and ornaments of pearl and coral, formed part of the remittances that used to be sent to their head-quarters at Cawnpore. Indeed, they seem to have carried on a very safe and lucrative business, until the magistrates of Boolundshuhr and Cawnpore pounced upon them in the beginning of this year. Mr. Montgomery followed up their apprehension by a full report to Government, when the matter was taken up by the Thuggee Department, the sifting machinery of which, in the hands of Major Graham, soon brought to light all the facts necessary to establish that the gang formed a hitherto unknown class of Thugs.”—Agra Messenger, Dec. 2, 1848.
12th.—One mile above Bindachun are the dangerous granite rocks of Seebpūr. After a very quiet day and very little difficulty, we anchored off the village of Bhoghwa, where we were informed by the chaukidār, that turkeys, fowls, and birds were abundant.
The exertion of yesterday quite fagged me; I was up and sketching from six in the morning to eleven A.M., at Mirzapūr, and again in the evening at the temple of Bhawānī,—a day of over-fatigue, but a very agreeable one. How I love this roaming life on the river, with the power of stopping at any picturesque spot!—Even tracking against the stream is most delightful to one who, like Dr. Syntax, is in search of the picturesque. My husband objects to accompanying me through the bazārs, because[455] such a crowd collect after me;—he goes along quietly, but with me it is different:—the moment I stop to sketch, a crowd collects, and the attendants are obliged to drive them off to enable me to see the object. I have a great sympathy for Dr. Syntax, and perfectly comprehend the delight he took even in a picturesque horsepond. India would have driven him wild;—it is the country of the picturesque. How I love this life in the wilderness! I shall never be content to vegetate in England in some quiet country place.
13th.—After an uninteresting passage with monotonous scenery, we moored off Poorooā, a village on the left bank. Wild ducks, geese, and Brahmanī ducks are numerous on the river-side: it is very cold, so much so that I shall be glad to retire to rest to keep myself warm.
14th.—No wind—a warmer day, and no difficulty on the river. Anchored at a bastī (village) about three miles below Sirsya. The Directory says, “Twenty-eight miles above Mirzapūr, on the left bank of the river, is Suttamaree. Passengers generally land in the cold season, and have a walk across the neck of land in a W.N.W. direction, two miles wide to Taila, and rejoin the steamer off that place, she having to go a détour of twenty-one miles round the point. Two miles above Suttamaree is Deega-kunkur Spit, with a deep bight.
“Letchyagurree and its ravine on the left bank of the river is twenty-two miles above Deega, noted for its robbers, when it was attached to the Oude territories.”
We have now arrived within a very short distance of Allahabad; I shall be quite sorry to end my voyage, and feel the greatest reluctance to returning into society.
15th.—“Sirsya is a large cotton mart on the right bank; it is sixty miles above Mirzapūr and twenty-three miles below Allahabad, to which place there is a good road. There are several pakka (brick) houses here, and two very fine tanks at the back of it, and an old mud fort; thence to Prāg, the river is very[456] intricate and shallow. Iron work in a small way can be done for boats at this place. Turkeys and guinea-fowls abound.”
We passed Sirsya early, and found that the Queen’s 40th regiment had just quitted the place. No fowls or provisions were to be had,—the 40th, like a flight of locusts, had devoured every thing around the spot on which they descended; some hilsā fish alone were to be procured, and most delicious they proved,—not only when fresh, but also when cured with tamarinds and vinegar. There is a house, some temples, and a peepul-tree on the cliff, that would make a good sketch, if taken looking up the river a little below the spot. In consequence of the shallowness of the stream we have had much trouble all day, and were unable to lugāo until half-past seven P.M.—cold and misty.
16th.—Arrived at Munyah ghāt, on the right bank, at noon,—eight miles from Prāg. The river is so intricate, and the navigation so difficult, we shall be a length of time going those eight miles.
The “Directory” says,—“Allahabad is eighty-three miles above Mirzapūr; its fort is at the junction of the Ganges and Jumna. The steamers put up at the Jama Masjid, half a mile inside the Jumna. The native military cantonments, and the place where most of the civilians and officers live, are from three to four miles inland. State prisoners are kept here in the fort. There is also a large stone pillar, said to have been erected by Alexander the Great to mark his conquests. This is the seat of the Sadr Dewanī, or principal court of justice; it was formerly the seat of the Presidency. Bread, butter, eggs, beef, mutton, lamb, kids, fowls, pigeons, turkeys, guinea-fowl, quail, partridge, teal, wild ducks, and wild geese, are procurable here: Europe shops are at the station, and auctions are held. About two miles from the ghāt is the chauk or market, where all sorts of cloth, European and native, are procurable. Shawl-men board the steamers, if sent for, with every kind of Cashmere shawl, waistcoating, caps, gloves, socks, and Afghanistān woollen cloths: as also Delhi jewellers, and manufacturers of cotton carpeting, of various colours, showy on rooms, and[457] rather durable. A little beyond the chauk is the native sarā’e, where beautiful horses are at times to be purchased, of the Persian, Cabul, and Tūrkī breeds. You must send for your letters to the post-office.
“The distance from Calcutta, viâ Bhagirathī, is 831 miles; viâ Sunderbands, 1186; and by dāk route, 504 miles.
“Steamer’s regulated distance is 800 miles. Steamers remain here three entire days, when they depart on their return, taking passengers and cargo. Apply to the agent there, or to the commander, for passage downwards.”
In 1844 the Sadr Board of Revenue and the Criminal and Civil Court, or Sadr Dewanī, were removed to Agra.
At half-past one, P.M., we caught the first sight of the fort and the telegraph. The flags were flying at the junction of the rivers, and the road from the sands over the Mahratta Band was plainly visible. Near Arail, just below the ferry, the river is intricate; and the passage being difficult, we lugāoed off the ferry.
17th.—The Fort of Allahabad had an imposing appearance from the river, and as we approached nearer we observed the flags flying at the bathing-place in great numbers, although the fair was not set. It was delightful once again to see old Prāg, the Jama Masjid, the old well, surmounted by the temple—so like that of the Sibyl, where dwells the Gossein,—the shrine of Mahadēo a little above it, our old friend’s bungalow beyond, and the fine peepul-tree on the high bank of the Jumna, that almost hides the house and chabūtara, where we had passed so many years. Our old acquaintances are flocking down to welcome our return: we are once more at Allahabad, once more lugāoed in the blue waters of the Jumna, off the steamer ghāt.
The following account of the sugar mills, given me by Major Parlby, will elucidate the annexed sketch, which was taken by him on the spot.
THE SUGAR MILLS AT BELASPORE.
Sketched on the spot, and on Stone by Major Parlby.
“As the sugar-cane is usually cultivated all over India, and the produce of its juice, in some form or other, is universally[458] used, and constitutes a valuable article of export from India when converted into sugar, it may not be out of place to describe the construction and use of the patriarchal and simple form of mill represented in the drawing, which is at the village of Belaspore, on the left bank of the Ganges, near Mirzapore, about thirty miles below Allahabad.
“It is supposed that sugar has been known and used in India and China from the earliest ages; and historians say that it was not introduced into the western world until after the conquest of Alexander the Great. This construction of mill is common in many parts of India; and, rude and simple as it is, it is found to succeed in expressing the juice from the sugar-cane more perfectly than the rude cylinder mills which are used in other places. The villagers knew nothing more of its origin than that their fathers and grandfathers had used the same mills without alteration, except the occasional renewing and repairs of the wood-work, as required.
“Some writers,—and amongst the rest, Colonel Sleeman,—in describing this construction of mill, term it the “Pestle and Mortar sugar mill:” but this name is improperly applied, for the vertical beam has no reciprocating up-and-down motion, as the pestle of a common mortar has, but merely turns round in the cavity of the bed, as the bullocks walk round in their circular course. The bed of the mill is formed of a large mass of stone, of as hard a nature as can be procured in the locality, and free from any mixture of limestone, on which, probably, the action of the acid of the expressed juice of the cane might be injurious.
“The beds are cylindrical, ornamented externally with figures, emblematical or religious, which are cut in relief.
“The upright beam of the mill is generally selected from a tree, the wood of which is heavy, hard, tough, and durable; and for this purpose the trunk of the babūl, which is indigenous in these parts, is well suited, and is generally chosen.
“The bark is stripped off, one end is rounded, and the other is cut to a point; the rounded end works in the hollow bed of the mill, and on the pointed end is hitched the end of a stay,[459] properly formed for the purpose, the other end of which is attached to a horizontal beam, generally formed from a strong crotched piece of wood, which is cut at the crotched end to fit into a groove cut on the outside of the bed in which it traverses round, and the bullocks are yoked to the end of this beam. The stay leading from the top of the vertical beam is generally made of two pieces, which are capable of adjustment, so that the horizontal beam to which the bullocks are yoked may be kept at a proper distance from the ground.
“The short pieces of cane, as they are supplied by a native, are bruised and squeezed against the internal sides of the mortar as the vertical beam moves round, the expressed juice running off by the channel which is cut from the bottom, opposite to which is an earthen pan let into the ground to receive it, a small piece of bamboo generally serving to connect them.
“The driver sits on a frame or seat upon the end of the horizontal beam, his own weight increasing the bruising power of the mill, which is also assisted by adding a weight of stones, if necessary. As the process of bruising the cane takes place in the cold season, in December, the driver sometimes keeps himself warm by a pan of hot embers placed on the frame.
“To each of these mills at Belaspore there were six bullocks, forming three reliefs: they work night and day as long as the cane is cutting, three hours at a time; and in three hours about four seer or eight pounds of juice are expressed. The juice, as the pan fills, is immediately taken to the hut, whence the smoke is seen escaping at the door; and there, in a boiler fixed on a rude furnace, the process of boiling the juice to concentrate it is carried on; it is boiled down until it becomes a substance called goor, much thicker than treacle; and in this state is carried to the neighbouring market of Mirzapūr, where it is sold at the rate of eighteen seer for the rupee. Sixteen seer, or thirty-two pounds of goor are obtained from one maund of cane (eighty pounds).
“In the foreground of the sketch are three heaps of sugar-cane, cut into pieces of six or eight inches long, ready to be supplied to the mill. A native carries the pieces of sugar-cane in a[460] basket, and charges the mill by occasional supplies, as represented in the drawing; and he also takes out the bruised cane, from which the juice has been sufficiently expressed, and carries it to the hut, to assist, with a mixture of oplā (dried cow-dung) in making the fire for the boiling process. The sugar-cane is slightly wetted when put into the mill, about two pints of water being used to moisten about eighty pounds’ weight of it. The goor is purchased by the sugar-refiner, who dissolves and refines it again in the process of making sugar. But goor is also used for several purposes,—as in preparing tobacco for smoking, and by masons, to mix with lime in forming hard cements for floors, terraces, baths, &c., for which the Indian masons are celebrated.
It is impossible to contemplate the scene in the drawing without being struck with the strong contrast it bears to any mechanical process in our own country. The sketch was taken from life, and there was a quietude and apathy in all the persons engaged, which was remarkable: even the bullocks are urged round at a very slow pace, hardly two miles an hour, by the voice, more than by the short whip occasionally used by the driver. Thus it is ever in climates where the necessaries of life, shelter, food, and clothing are cheap, and easily procured; in more severe climates the expenses attendant on the social state call forth the more active energies of human nature. ‘God gives sugar to him who eats sugar[53],’—i.e. He provides for His creatures in proportion to their wants.”
The Sibylline Temple—Mr. Berrill’s Hotel—A Barouche drawn by Camels—The Murdār-khor—A Kharīta from the Bāiza Bā’ī—Marriage of the Chimna Raja—Sultan Khusrū’s Garden—The Tombs—Tamarind Trees—The Sarā’e—The Bāolī—Tattoos used for Palanquins—Reasons for the Murder of a Wife and Child—The Lāt—A Skilful Swordsman—An Eclipse—Tufāns—Death of Mr. James Gardner—Quitted Allahabad—The Ganges—A Wreck—A Storm—Indian Corn—Colgong—Terīyāgalī Hills and Ruins—Nuddea—Suspension Bridge—Prinsep Ghāt at Calcutta—Engaged a passage in the “Essex.”
1844, Dec. 18th.—The whole day was employed in receiving visits from our old acquaintances at the station, the mūnshī, the ’amala of the office, and the natives whom we formerly employed. The pleasure they testified at our return was very gratifying; and the delight of Lutchman, my old Barha’ī mistree (carpenter), was so genuine, it brought tears from my eyes, as well as from his own. We have moored the boats just below an old būrj (bastion) of the ancient city of Prāg; there is a gateway below,—the water-gate, perhaps, of the old Fort: the Sibylline temple crowns it. The old gossein who lives in the temple came this evening to make salām; he reminded me of my having given him a present of sixteen rupees for having aided in recovering two hundred, that had been stolen from me; he was young, and good-looking then, now he is old and wily: he brought his son, a fine young Brahmān, to introduce to me. Many are the strange stories related respecting this old Brahmān and his solitary temple; and I have before mentioned its curious resemblance to that of the Sibyl. Having defended the truth and faithfulness of my pencil[462] in England, I was glad of an opportunity of again particularly observing the Ionic style of architecture of this little building; and while pondering on its singular appearance, Colonel Edward Smith came on board, and solved the mystery by mentioning that General Ouchterlony, finding the Jama Masjid seldom used as a place of worship, took possession of it as his dwelling-place, and formed magnificent rooms between the arches. He built the temple of the Sibyl on the top of the ancient water-gate of the old city. The Muhammadans, some years afterwards, petitioned Government not to allow the mosque to be used as a dwelling-place; it was therefore restored to them, and is now used as a masjid.
A pretty little modern building,—a small temple, dedicated to Mahadēo, is near the ancient well of the water-gate.
I am quite fatigued with seeing old faces, and saying kind words to the poor people. To my surprise an old woman, with a basket full of worsted balls, came to make salām; she was fat and well,—I had left her a poor wretched creature; she used to make worsted balls for my dog Nero to fetch and carry. How many ānās a month the poor old woman got from Nero; she used to throw her ball to the dog, and then come to ask for payment; she was in fact a pensioner. The beautiful dog is dead; and the wretched old hag is fat and well, and makes worsted balls as usual. She got her little present, and went off quite happy.
The ghāt off which we are moored has been recently made by the Steam Agency; and just above is an hotel, which has been established for the convenience of the passengers from the steamers, and is well conducted by Mr. Berrill. This little hotel on the banks of the Jumna-jee is well described in the following curious lines, which were written in four languages on the window of an inn in Russia.
23rd.—We quitted the boats, and went up to stay with our[463] friends, Mr. and Mrs. M⸺; they received us with all that kindness and hospitality for which India is renowned; their bungalow, a very fine one, is well situated at the other end of the station. We met a barouche drawn by two camels, harnessed like horses; they went along at a fine pace, and I envied the possessor that pair of well broken-in carriage camels: in double harness they look well; in single harness,—especially in a Stanhope, or any other sort of buggy,—the animal appears too large for the carriage.
1845, Jan. 11th.—Saw a small comet, the nucleus of which was more distinct than that of the immense comet I saw when at sea, although the tail was so small, that it looked not unlike the thin switch tail of a horse.
18th.—Finding it necessary to remain up the country for a time, we dug a tank and made a house for the wild ducks, and turned sixty-five birds into it. It was amusing to see the delight with which the murghabīs splashed into the water when freed from the baskets in which they had been brought from the jangal, and such a confabulation as there was amongst them!
I omitted to mention that during my former residence at this station, the jamadar came to tell me that a murdār-khor (an eater of carrion), who had lately arrived, was anxious to perform before us. The man did not ask for money, but requested to have a sheep given him; he said he would eat the whole at one meal, body and entrails, leaving only the horns and the skin, which he wished to carry away; the wretch said that he would kill the sheep by tearing open its throat with his teeth, and would drink the blood. This feat they told me he had performed before in the bazār. I saw the man at a distance, and was so much disgusted that I ordered him to be turned out of the compound (the grounds around the house). In Colonel Tod’s “Travels in Western India” there is a most interesting account of the murdi-khor, or man-eaters; he made an attempt to visit the shrine of Kalka, the dread mother, whose rites are performed by the hideous Aghori, whose patroness she is, as Aghoriswara Mata. At one time they existed in those regions, but were only found in the wildest retreats, in the mountain-cave, or the dark[464] recesses of the forest. Colonel Tod saw a man perform pūja at the shrine of Goraknāth, whom he had every reason to believe was one of these wretched people,—but whether he was a murdi-khor he could not determine; although, as he went off direct to the Aghori peak, said to be frequented only by his sect, it is probable that he belonged to the fraternity. It appears that the murdār-khor (the carrion-eater) is almost the same as the ādam-khor or cannibal.
24th.—This life is very monotonous, and the only variety I have is a nervous fever now and then.
March 1st.—During a visit at the house of a friend I received a kharīta from her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, and was greatly pleased to see the signature of the dear old lady, and also felt much flattered by her remembrance. After I quitted Allahabad for England her Highness remained there some time; at last, on her positive refusal to live at Bunarus, it was agreed that she should reside at Nassuk, a holy place, about one hundred miles from Bombay. She quitted the Upper Provinces, marched across the country, and established herself at Nassuk. Having heard from some of her people of my return to India, and arrival at Prāg, her Highness did me the honour to write to me, and after the usual compliments with which a native letter always commences, the Bāiza Bā’ī added, “I received your letter in which you acknowledged the receipt of mine; but I have not since heard from you, and therefore beg you will write and tell me how you and the sāhib are; do not be so long again without writing, because it makes me anxious.”
I sent in answer a letter of thanks to her Highness for her kindness in having borne me in remembrance; it was written by a mūnshī in the Persian character, and enclosed in a kharīta. At the same time I sent a bunch of the most beautiful artificial flowers to the Gaja Raja, to testify my respect; it would have been incorrect to have sent the flowers to the Bā’ī. They were Parisian, and remarkably well made; the Gaja Raja, being fond of flowers, will be pleased. I gave the letter and bouquet to one of her attendants, Bulwunt Rāo, who promised to send them across the country to Nassuk. The title of Gaja, i.e.[465] elephant, is curiously applied to the young Princess, her form being fragile, delicate, and fairy-like.
In 1848 I received a letter from a friend at Gwalior, mentioning that the Chimna Raja, the daughter of the Gaja Raja Sāhib, who was born at Allahabad, and who was then about eight years of age, had been betrothed by her great grandmother, the Bāiza Bā’ī, to Jhankī Rāo, the Maharaj of Gwalior; after which ceremony the young bride returned to Oojein with the ex-Queen. This intelligence pleased me greatly, because the marriage of the great grand-daughter of Dāolut Rāo Scindia with the reigning sovereign of the Mahrattas will give great satisfaction to her Highness; and the wandering Hājī rejoices that her great grand-niece (by courtesy) will share the throne of her ancestors with the Maharaj of Gwalior.
5th.—This evening, while cantering at a sharp pace round the Mahratta Bandh, my horse fell, and my companion thus described the accident in a letter to his brother. “Kābul came down upon his nose and knees; nineteen women out of twenty would have been spilt. The Mem Sāhiba sat her horse splendidly, and pulled him up like a flash of lightning. The infernal brute must have put his foot in a hole. The evening passed hearing music, and talking philosophy.”
9th.—I was invited to spend the day at Sultan Khusrū’s garden, to which place a tent had been sent, which was pitched under the fine tamarind trees in a most picturesque place. The garden is a large space of ground, enclosed by a high wall, containing tombs and some very fine trees: the entrance is through a lofty gateway. There are three tombs, and a Baithak-khāna or pavilion. The first and largest monument is that of Sultan Khusrū, in which he is buried; it is a handsome building, and within it is deposited a beautifully illuminated kurān, which the dārogha showed us with great pride. Sultan Khusrū married a daughter of the Wuzeer Azim Khan; he was the son of Jahāngīr, and his mother was the daughter of the Rajpūt Prince Bagwandas of Amber. The next monument is that of the Jodh Bā’ī, but in honour of which lady of that name I know not. Akbar married a Jodh Bā’ī, the daughter of Oodi[466] Singh, of Jodpoor; she was the mother of Jahāngīr, and was buried on the Chand-maree, near Fathīpūr Sicri. Jahāngīr married a Jodh Bā’ī, the daughter of Rae Singh, of Bickaner; she was the mother of Shāhjahān, and her tomb is at Secundra. I forget to whose memory the tomb in Sultan Khusrū’s bāghīcha (garden) was erected.
There is also a third mausoleum, which is not so handsome as the two before mentioned; and the fourth building is a pavilion, in which visitors are allowed to live for a short time during a visit to the garden. Around the tombs are some of the largest tamarind trees I ever beheld: the imlī, as the natives call the tamarind tree, is one of the finest and most beautiful in the world; and they are generally found around or sheltering the tombs of revered or sacred characters. The sherbet prepared from the fruit is excellent; the leaves and fruit are used medicinally. The natives are impressed with a notion that it is dangerous to sleep under the tamarind tree, especially during the night; grass or vegetation of any kind is seldom seen growing in such situations, and never with luxuriance. In times of scarcity the seeds are eaten by the poor; they resemble a common field bean.
Part of Sultan Khusrū’s garden has been cultivated English fashion, that is, for vegetables; seeds are given to the mālīs, (gardeners), and rewards for the first, second, third, and fourth best dālī—that is, basket of vegetables: this is good; the highest prize is fifty rupees, which will be to natives worth the contest. The mālī in charge, kneeling on one knee, presented me with a bouquet of flowers; it was not ungracefully done,—nevertheless, it was bad taste to teach a man an European style of reverence, which in gracefulness is far inferior to the salām of the native.
The sarā’e (caravansary), with its gateways, and the handsome one through which you pass to the garden, are well worth visiting; on the doors of the latter a number of horse-shoes are nailed for good luck, and the variety in shape and size is so great it is absolutely curious.
Just beyond the gates of the sarā’e is a bāolī, a magnificent[467] well, with underground apartments; it is a most remarkable and curious place, and the well is a noble one. The top of the bāolī is level with the ground, from which place water can be drawn up, as also from the underground apartments, which open on the well. You descend by a long broad flight of stone steps to the water’s edge, where there is an arch, ornamented with two large fish, the arms of Oude. Half way down is a pathway of stone that juts out from the wall, and communicates with the third apartment, from which you ascend by small circular staircases to the top. A nervous person might object to the walk along the pathway, it being very narrow, and having no defence—no parapet on the inner side. Parties of natives resort here during the hot winds, and spend the hours in the coolness of the bāolī.
March 15th.—Hired a large bungalow of a very respectable native for eighty rupees a month, garden included, and removed into it.
20th.—My husband received permission from Government to visit England on furlough. A friend quitted us for the up-country in a palanquin placed on a truck, and drawn by a tattoo (a pony), with relays on the road. In former times a palanquin was always carried by bearers,—by the present method a dāk trip is performed much more quickly than it was formerly by relays of natives.
26th.—The other day a native was brought before Mr. R. M⸺, the magistrate of Allahabad, charged with the murder of his wife and daughter. The man confessed to having cut their heads off with his sword; he said he had reason to believe his wife unfaithful, therefore he killed her; and as he supposed the magistrate would murder him for the act, and, as in that case, his young daughter would have no one to marry her, and would be obliged to beg her bread, he killed her also. “But,” said he to Mr. M⸺, “beware how you murder me for having killed my wife. If the women find their husbands are hung for killing them should they be unfaithful, what man will be safe?” I know not the name of the frail fair one who fell a sacrifice to jealousy; doubtless it was soft and pleasing, for although her[468] husband did not attend to the words of the Hindū sage, who says, “Strike not even with a blossom a wife guilty of a hundred faults!” still, in all probability, her parents bestowed an harmonious name upon her, in obedience to the directions of Menu, who suggests that “the names of women should be agreeable, soft, clear, captivating the fancy, auspicious, ending in long vowels, resembling words of benediction.” He also says, “Let mutual fidelity continue to death: this, in few words, may be considered as the supreme law between husband and wife.” The conjugal duties of the Rajpūts are comprehended in that single text.
30th.—When I was formerly at Allahabad the Bāiza Bā’ī was anxious to have leave from Government to erect a most remarkable pillar of stone, that was prostrate in the Fort, near the gateway. This lāt, as before mentioned, is covered with inscriptions in unknown characters, that puzzle the learned. The design of her Highness was not carried into execution, and the lāt was afterwards erected in the Fort at the expense of the Asiatic Society, by Colonel Edward Smith, C.B. We drove to see it in the evening, admired it very much, and thought it erected with great judgment: it is highly ornamental to the Fort. Whilst we were examining the pillar, the buggy horse took fright, became very violent, upset five of the small stone pillars that support the chains that surround the lāt, and broke his harness in divers places. The scene was good.
April 1st.—I fell by accident on the stones in the verandah with considerable force, and fainted away; the blow which I received on my left shoulder was severe; painful and useless my arm hangs by my side,—I have no power to move a finger.
The oriental proverb, that “A sharp sword will not cut raw silk[54],” does not apply to silk when manufactured; as I this morning saw a gentleman place a silk handkerchief upon his sword, and, with one skilful drawing cut, divide it exactly and diagonally.
27th.—Divine service was performed in the new church, that[469] has been erected at Allahabad at the expense of the inhabitants; it formerly took place in the Circuit Bungalow, or in the Fort. The church is a very handsome one, and the internal arrangements are good.
29th.—About 3 P.M. a tufān came on,—rain in torrents, with heavy hail,—dust in whirlwinds; in the course of a quarter of an hour the thermometer fell ten degrees, from 88° to 78°. It was fine to witness such a commotion. The roof of our house was under repair,—streams of water came pouring into every room from all parts of the roof, until the house was full of it; much damage was done to the pictures; and we were obliged to quit the place, and take refuge at the house of a friend.
May 11th.—The ice-pits opened, the allowance to each subscriber eight seer per diem,—about sixteen pounds’ weight daily. The thermometer is 89°. There being no wind, the tattīs are useless, and in spite of the thermantidote the heat is overpowering; we begin to long for the fresh breezes of England; I shall rejoice when we are on board a good vessel and out at sea again.
21st.—About half-past 9 P.M. the moon was almost completely eclipsed, and the night was so dark I could not see the way as I was driving home. The natives were making offerings of rice, fruit, vegetables, &c., to restore the light quickly, and to ward off impending calamities.
22nd.—A tufān or a storm of dust blew furiously at night, succeeded the next morning by heavy rain, thunder, and lightning; the day after it was oppressively hot,—another storm cleared the atmosphere, and the thermantidote became quite delicious, it poured in such a volume of cold air.
31st.—Went to the Bandh in the evening, but soon returned; the air was so hot, it was like breathing liquid fire.
June 1st.—The heat in church was so oppressive, I will not venture there again; pankhas and thermantidotes are in full play during the time of Divine service,—but even with their aid in cooling the air, the heat is intolerable.
26th.—The rains appear to have set in, accompanied with thunder and lightning. The darkness was so great to-day at[470] 4 P.M. that we were obliged to dine by lamp-light; the evening is dull and heavy, the rain is falling in torrents, and the darkness is relieved at intervals by forked lightning; the thunder is distant.
30th.—Very hot during the day, and very oppressive; this damp heat is worse for the health than the dry heat of the hot winds. Heard with regret of the death of Mr. James Gardner, at Khāsgunge.
July 8th.—Engaged a fourteen-oared pinnace, a woolāk of 900 mŭns, a pataila of 600, and a small cook-boat, to take us down to Calcutta.
20th.—We quitted dear old Prāg at 6 A.M. under heavy rain and a contrary wind. I bade adieu to a place in which I had spent so many happy days with much sorrow, and without any prospect of ever revisiting the spot.
22nd.—Anchored at Rāj ghāt, Benares: the ghāts have lost much of their picturesque beauty from the height of the river, the water having covered the steps. The Hindū temples that have partially fallen merely show their spiral domes above the waters; and the Ganges is as full of mud as a river may well be; the water is quite thick, of a muddy colour, and a small quantity in a tumbler gives a most marvellous sediment.
24th.—A heavy wind against us; the waves were so high on the Ganga, and the boats rolled so violently, that the natives on deck were quite overcome by sea-sickness, and I was also suffering from mal de mer.
31st.—Picked up a large heavy chest afloat from some wreck. It contained fifty boxes of G. Davis’ Chinsurah cheroots, and was marked Jan Mahomed Shah, in the Persian character: the cheroots were all destroyed from having been in the water. Soon afterwards we picked up another chest of the same size and description, with the bottom stove in; also a box of cigars that was floating by the side of it, evidently from the same wreck. Lugāoed off the bāstī of Tipperiah, in the midst of an expanse of water. About 8 P.M. the strong easterly wind, which had been blowing all day, veered and sunk; a deep silence fell around—the whole canopy of heaven was covered with a pall[471] of black clouds: there was not a gleam of light excepting on the horizon in one part, where there was one low gleam of whitish pale light, in form like a bow. The muddy colour of the interminable river assumed an inky blackness, and united with the horizon all around: a few minutes afterwards the light on the horizon disappeared, and all was intense darkness,—a rushing sound then arose, and the rain fell in torrents, the drops were of great size, it more resembled the fall of sheets of water; soon afterwards the lightning blazed over the river, and some peals of thunder like the roar of cannon and the sharp discharge of fire-arms, added to the stormy scene. During this time the wind rose, and suddenly changed to the opposite quarter of the heavens. I made the dandīs look well to their moorings, as we were fastened on a wet field, covered by the river, so that there was a fear the bamboos would be torn out of the wet earth by the force of the wind acting on the vessel, and that she would be carried down the fierce stream; however, she stood it well, being in rather slack water, therefore I went to bed and slept quietly through the gale, after I had sufficiently enjoyed the first part of it.
August 1st.—The rock of Dolepaharry, with its temple and beautiful trees standing far distant inland and of very great height, was a beautiful object—it is near Janghīra—the latter rock sank into insignificance and appeared very low, in consequence of the height to which the Ganges had risen. The whole country is overflowed—the river appears like one vast sea with a number of fine trees in it—their trunks rising out of the water, and the earth completely hidden.
Passed Sultangunge and anchored on a wet bank, just on the entrance of that branch of the river that leads to Bhagulpūr. The Hindūs must go without their dinners to-night; they will not cook on board, and in the wet swamp they cannot make a fire: this is a wretched anchorage, and here comes the rain in torrents again. Stolen goods cannot be digested, or never thrive, and so it proved with a boy employed to pull the pankha. He stole a great quantity of Indian corn; it was not ripe, but of full size; abounding in milk, sweet, and tempting to eat when[472] raw; but when fried in butter, with pepper and salt, it is delicious. In spite of the caution given by an old havildār, to whom the field belonged, the boy ate a great quantity—his body swelled, he became in great pain, and is now ill with fever.
3rd.—Last night the distant roar of the waters as they rushed past the rocks of Colgong lulled me to sleep. This morning, about 7 A.M., we came up to the rocks, the stream was rushing past at a fearful rate, and forming very large and powerful whirlpools. Two large patailas were on before us; the first was twirled round by the eddy and carried back against the other; they became entangled, and both were carried back with great velocity for about three hundred yards. Our pinnace was flying along aided by the cars on board, and also by the towing of her little boat; but the powerful eddy turned the vessel straight across the stream, and there she was stopped, the eddy pulling one way and the men the other—just at this moment an immense pataila of about two thousand mŭns, heavily laden with gram, was coming down upon us with full force, borne on by the violent stream; it was a disagreeable sight, it appeared as if the shock must sink the pinnace: fortunately a woolāk was between us and the monster vessel; she came with great force first upon the woolāk, and drove her against the pinnace in front of herself; the pinnace reeled with the shock, but it saved us greatly, and the large vessel, disengaging herself from us, went on shoving our stern right round in her impetuous course. I ran on deck, having a dislike to be drowned in a cabin, but escaped with only a fright. The dandīs recommenced their exertions, and in a short time we were out of the eddies and whirlpools around the rocks, and in calm water. Colgong is very beautiful, both during the rains and the cold weather, and this is perhaps the most beautiful part of the Ganges. At 11 A.M. passed the Terīyāgalī Hills. The dandīs say there are fine ruins in the jangal on the largest hill, but no road to them; and they speak of the immense doorways—entrances; I should like to explore the place.
8th.—At 1 P.M. passed Nuddea, eighty-two and a half miles from Calcutta; at this spot the Jellingee unites with the[473] Bhagirathī, and they flow forward under the name of the Hoogly: the tide is perceptible at Nuddea, it just comes so far.
9th.—Anchored at Nyaserai to prepare anchors for the tide, which detained us one hour and a half. Nyaserai is on the entrance of the old Damooda river, over which there is a light iron suspension bridge. An Up-country boy who was pulling the pankha told me it made his blood run cold to see the people crossing on such a slight bridge; that his father had never visited Calcutta, nor he himself, but that his grandfather had made the voyage. He was charmed with some Ooria singers on the bank, and thought they would make their fortunes if they were to visit Prāg:—what a budget of wonders the boy will have to unfold on his return to the Up-country! Moored off the residence of a friend at the powder-works at Eeshapūr.
10th.—Arrived in Calcutta—anchored off Prinsep ghāt, from which place you have a fine view of the river and of the shipping, all the large vessels lie just off the ghāt. Visited the “Madagascar” and the “Essex” in the evening.
19th.—Took our passage to England in the “Essex;” the price of the larboard stern cabin on the poop was 2500 rupees, for ourselves, an ayha, and my curiosities.
28th.—Having settled all our affairs we came on board; fortunately the ship will not sail until to-morrow—I am killed with fatigue.
The “Essex”—The “James and Mary”—Steering a Ship at Anchor—A Waterspout—The Andamans—Acheen Point—A squally Trade Wind—Rodorigos—A Gale—The Whirlwind—The Stormy Petrel—A Day of Repose—A Remarkable Sunrise.
Sept. 1st.—At 8 A.M., while we were in tow of the steamer, the “Essex” ran upon a sandbank; she fell over very disagreeably on her side, was thus carried by the violence of the tide over the obstacle, and righted in deep water; the accident broke the hawsers that united the two vessels. After some little difficulty and much delay we proceeded on our voyage. The pilot was much surprised, as a fortnight before that part of the river was all clear; he said we had run upon the end of the tail of the “James and Mary” sandbank, which had become lengthened, and he despatched a notice thereof to Calcutta. Where the Hoogly is joined by the Roopnarrain at Hoogly Point, a very large sheet of water is formed, but it has many shoals; and as it directly faces the approach from the sea, while the Hoogly turns to the right, it occasions the loss of many vessels, which are carried up the Roopnarrain by the force of the tide. The eddy caused by the bend of the Hoogly has, at this place, formed a most dangerous sand, named the “James and Mary,” around which the channel is never the same for a[475] week together, requiring frequent surveys. The Bore commences at Hoogly Point. The musquitoes were very troublesome; we found it cooler than on shore, but nevertheless very hot.
2nd.—Passed Mud Point, and felt rather nervous on the occasion; the heat was intense, and there was not a breath of air. Employed myself writing farewell letters to friends in India, which were sent to Calcutta by the Saugor dāk boat. This evening the tide ran with such violence that after the vessel had anchored, it was necessary for a man to remain at the helm. This steering an anchored vessel had a curious and novel effect.
3rd.—The pilot quitted us at the Sandheads, and took my husband’s official letters with him. A calm came on, and we were just preparing to anchor again, when a breeze sprang up and carried us out to sea.
4th.—A number of native sailors (khalāsīs) came down the river with us to assist the men on board the “Essex.” Seven of the English sailors are ill from fever; no marvel with extra grog and hard work under such a terrific sun: the musquitoes and prickly heat alone, are enough with such intense heat to bring on fever.
I saw a waterspout—it commenced like a great funnel hanging from a dark cloud that was the basis of a fine white one: the point of the funnel having descended about half way attracted the sea-water, which bubbled and rose up in a point until it united with the end of the spout; having accomplished this union, the spout thickened, and became of the same size from the top to the bottom. After a time it appeared to become lighter, for it bent with the wind and formed a slight curve. The spout became still less and less, and eventually so thin that the wind carried it along almost horizontally. It appeared to sever from the sea, and having become as thin as a ribbon, disappeared. It was of a dull rainy colour—some bright blue sky was above the white cloud formerly mentioned, and the whole had a vapoury appearance.
8th.—The weather cooler; for the last few days we have had heavy squalls, accompanied with thunder, lightning, and rain[476] in torrents. Ill from mal de mer: I know not when I have suffered so severely; the ship has a cargo of sugar, which is packed in hides: the rain has fallen in torrents, in sheets of water, as rain only falls, I think, in the bay of Bengal, a perfect deluge:—the hatches having been closed in consequence, a horrible effluvium has ascended to the cuddy: how people can live below deck is a miracle, in the heat and steam of those sweating hides! fortunately, no passengers are below, and sailors, poor fellows, endure and shrink not. An huppoo was seen to-day making its way to the ship, but weary from its long flight, and overpowered by the strong squall, it sank in the waters screaming. A flying-fish came on board, and one of the most elegantly-formed birds I ever saw, which they called a whale-bird, was caught in the rigging; its head beautifully marked, the body slight, its slender and powerful wings very long.
11th.—Off Madras.
13th.—Opposite Centinel Island in the Andamans,—very little wind. It is remarkable, with the exception of a few squalls, how calmly we have come down the Bay; at this time of the year we expected to encounter fierce weather. The weather still hot, although very different from what it was before,—nevertheless it renders any exertion a great toil.
14th.—The moonlight evenings on the poop are beautiful. A fine breeze, with a steady ship; she is deeply laden, goes on quietly and steadily, and seldom rolls at all. What a contrast to that wretched “Carnatic!” Apropos, I am told she was condemned in Calcutta as not sea-worthy; therefore I had a good escape in her.
15th.—We are anxious to get to the western side of the Bay, but the winds force us in a contrary direction; we are near the Nicobars, running down the side of the islands. I should like to go on shore to see Lancour, and the rest of my friends, the Carnicobar-barians, once more.
16th.—To-day we are only fifty miles from the great Nicobar, and shall soon get away from the islands, which will be pleasant; should a squall come on their vicinity is to be avoided. The[477] “Essex” has been very unfortunate this voyage: in coming out she lost her captain at the Cape; in Calcutta she lost her third mate, the cook, and six seamen. The property of the deceased seamen will be sold by auction on deck this evening.
17th.—We have passed the Great Nicobar, and are on a level with Acheen Point. The vessel is going steadily through the water about six knots an hour.
18th.—A squall came on during the night, and snapped the flying jib-boom right in halves: my slumber was broken by being nearly pitched out of my sea sofa. This being an unfavourable time of the year for a voyage to England, we have only two passengers besides ourselves on board,—fortunately they are most agreeable people. We have now two cabins on the poop, the larboard stern cabin, and the one next to it, and are therefore very comfortable.
19th.—We are creeping away to the south; there is a swell, and we are looking out for the trade wind.
20th.—Rain and calm,—what an annoyance! Oh! for a gale to carry us with double-reefed topsails over the Line, as we had in the “Madagascar!” Any thing would be better than this vile calm. What does it matter if a few spars are snapped, and a few more sails split asunder, if we do but make way! We must now be exactly upon the Line: the musquitoes have not yet quitted my cabin, they plague me greatly. As if in accordance with my wish, at 4 P.M. a squall came on, and carried us over the Line.
21st.—A fine favourable breeze,—we flatter ourselves it may be the trade.
24th.—Squalls and calms.
26th.—A heavy squall, which continued with lightning and rain in torrents from noon throughout the night: we are quite dispirited.
28th.—With joy this morning I saw the stunsails were set, and a fine sun was drying the deck: now I really believe we have fallen in with the trade.
Oct. 3rd.—Never was there so unpleasant a wind as this south-east trade. It is very strong and constant, but is a succession[478] of squalls, both night and day. The ship lies over very much, and the waves burst upon her in a very disagreeable fashion; we have made 200 or 225 miles for some days, but these constant squalls are detestable. There comes the water rushing into the cuddy at this minute!—we are now about 400 miles from Madagascar.
5th.—I do not mention that Divine service was always performed on Sundays,—that took place, of course, unless prevented by a gale. During the night, passed the Island of Rodorigos, to the north; I did not see the land, distant only seven miles, my port being shut, on account of having shipped a sea, which rendered the cabin cold and wet.
Horsburgh remarks, “Hurricanes are liable to happen here from the beginning of November till the end of March; in some years there are two, but generally only one, and sometimes none. They blow with great violence, commencing from southward, and veering round to east, north-east, and north-west, where they gradually decrease, after continuing about thirty-six hours. The fish caught here in deep water with hook and line are poisonous; whereas, those got by the net in shore are good and wholesome.” The land is high and uneven, reefs and shoals encompass it; the harbour is called Maturin’s Bay. The remarkable peak answers as a guide.
8th.—Passed the Mauritius, and were opposite Bourbon, about two hundred miles south.
9th.—Crossed the Tropic.
10th.—Off Madagascar we were caught about noon in the tail of a whirlwind; fortunately it was only the tail,—the sailors said, had we fallen into the centre of it, and the vessel had been unprepared, it would have carried the masts overboard. Rain fell in torrents; a waterspout was seen for a short time,—and the wind, hitherto fair, became completely contrary.
15th.—This has proved a most uninteresting voyage as far as it has gone, nothing to be seen; one solitary albatross appears now and then, and a few Cape pigeons. The other day I saw a sperm whale blowing at a distance. There is nothing to look at but the boundless ocean; even the sunsets and sunrises[479] have not been remarkably fine,—no groups of glorious tints such as I beheld from the “Carnatic” on the other side the Line.
22nd.—Cold and dreary. Saw a fin-back whale close astern; two fine albatross and four Cape pigeons were floating on the waters; some stormy petrels were cutting about, and dipping their wings in the waves every moment; and there were also two black Cape hens. The flight of the Cape pigeon is very elegant, and the albatross skims along in the most dignified style.
23rd.—Lat. S. 33° 56′, Long. E. 29° 6′. A most stormy sunset: the sun, of a burning gold colour, descended behind a heavy bank of dark clouds,—its rays were fiercely bright: shortly afterwards a few spaces of deep fiery red alone remained visible, surrounded by heavy black clouds; on every side the grey clouds rose thick and foggy from the horizon, without any break,—dull and ominous. We were off Cape Hood, Cape of Good Hope. A strong gale arose, accompanied by sharp squalls; there was an immense swell upon the sea, the heavy waves rolled up with great violence, their heads covered with foam, breaking and roaring as they dashed against the ship, and the wind blew in furious gusts. The “Essex” was about two hundred miles from the land when the gale began,—it continued all night without intermission; the dead-lights were put into the poop stern windows, and into all the ports. Early in the morning I saw that my husband had quitted his couch in the stern cabin, and was sitting in a chair, apparently unable to cross the cabin, from the violence of the pitching; he had left his couch because it had become unsafe, the lashings and the cleets having given way. I assisted him into my cabin, and he lay down on the sofa; he was quite ill,—so cold and wretched, from exposure during the night. His kindness and consideration had prevented his calling me, being unwilling to awake me, imagining I was asleep, and unconscious of the heavy gale that was raging around us. My ayha, who usually got up before daybreak, to smoke her hooqŭ in the galley, made an effort to quit the cabin; I desired her not to attempt to move, or she would be thrown down from the pitching and[480] rolling of the vessel; but the moment my eye was off her away she went: she met another ayha in the passage, who said, “Are you mad, that you want to go and smoke in such a gale as this?” My ayha, who would sell her soul for half a dozen whiffs of tobacco, persisted in going; she had not got half way through the cuddy when she fell, and I heard a violent scream. The cuddy servants ran to her assistance, and found she had broken her leg just above the ankle; the bone was through the flesh, and the wound bled very much. The medical man set her leg, and with great difficulty we had her removed into the stern cabin, where we secured her as well as we were able, but not until some time had passed, as the large heavy toon-wood couch in the stern cabin had started from its moorings, and, turning over topsy-turvy, had dashed across the cabin, breaking and throwing down the table, and carrying away the trunks. Never was there such confusion as the furniture made in the cabin, pitching from side to side with the roll of the vessel. At length the carpenter secured the frisky couch, bound up the wounds of the table, and relashed them all. By this time the sea was breaking over the stern windows, and dashing into the cabin, in spite of the dead-lights, and into the quarter-gallery; much damage was done on the poop. The medical man, knowing that leeches sold at the Cape for half-a-crown apiece, on account of there being none but those that are imported, on which a heavy duty is paid, took 10,000 of them from Calcutta, secured in large earthen pots (gharās) full of soft mud, which were all placed on the poop, in a small boat called “Little Poppet.” The water cistern gave way, and dashing against “Little Poppet,” upset her, broke all the gharās, and the sea-water killed the leeches. The cutter that hung over the quarter was turned up on one side by the force of the wind, dashed against the side of the “Essex,” was greatly injured, and rendered utterly useless; three of her oars fell into the sea, and were borne away, but the sailors secured the boat.
By noon on the 24th (Lat. S. 33° 45′, Long. E. 28°), the current had carried the vessel one hundred and twenty miles nearer the land, which was now only eighty miles distant; we were[481] driving almost under bare poles, the violence of the wind not allowing any sail but one small one; another, which they wished to set, was twice blown to pieces, and could not be carried. The waves were striking the vessel in the most frightful manner, roaring in concert with the gale, and jostling and rolling against the ship as if they were ready to engulf her. Nevertheless the “Essex” bore bravely on; her captain put her about, and we ran down the side of the land for some distance. To sleep—to rest, with so furious a gale blowing, was impossible; and how the time passed I hardly remember, for day and night it was the same—pitch, pitch, roll, roll,—and the same roar: all night long two seamen were baling out the water from our cabins,—the waves poured constantly into the cuddy ports on one side, and rolled out on the other. We sat down to dinner, a plate of food was brought to each person, and we held on and ate as we could; every now and then an officer came down for ten minutes, took his food as hastily as possible, and returned instantly to the poop,—it was an anxious time.
About 4 P.M. on the second day, the thunder rolled heavily, the lightning was very vivid, and hail fell in heavy showers. The chief officer, having caught up a handful of the large hail, gave it to me in a plate at the cuddy door, where I amused myself with eating it, and watching the scene. About this time the situation of the vessel became critical: the first officer desired the captain to observe what was coming down on the weather side; he could not tell what it was, never having seen any thing of the kind before. The foam of the sea was caught up by the wind, and whirled round and round in thick masses like smoke; it blew heavily, and the spray beat with such violence into the faces of the officers, that at times they could not see. Not a minute elapsed ere the whirlwind struck the vessel on her weather side, and the blast was perfectly hot! The captain[482] called to the men to hold on; they were prepared,—and well for them they were so: with a tremendous roll the vessel was pitched over almost on her beam-ends; the thing was so sudden, and the officers were so blinded by the spray and wind, that they could not tell whether the whirlwind passed by the stern or the head of the vessel. Almost as quickly as the wind struck her on the weather side it was round to the other, and the ship was taken aback, or brought by the lee.
The mountainous waves were foaming, breaking, and dashing against her; one great sea broke off the knees of the vessel, drew out two or three of the long iron bolts, and loosened the cutwater. The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed, and every five minutes the hail beat on the decks like the pitching down of myriads of marbles. At length the horizon cleared, and the gallant ship, rising over the surge, went on her way rejoicing. Still the original gale continued with unabated violence, and the heavy swelling sea was a glorious although an appalling sight. A lesson of composure might have been read from a trifling circumstance: during the time that the wind was blowing furiously, and the waves were mountains crested with foam, on the lee side of the vessel I saw a stormy petrel, ever such a little wee bird, floating on the billows, rising and falling with them so quietly, calmly, and composedly, it appeared wonderful that the wind did not tear it off the wave and sink it in the waters; but there the little bird floated and floated, and rose and sank, and was too wise to unfold her wings for a second, or to attempt to fly.
25th.—We beat out to sea in the face of the north-wester; it was trying work both for the ship and the men; they succeeded in getting a proper distance from the land, and we tacked opposite Algoa Bay. The wind moderated, the sea went down, merely a long swell continued,—the palpitation of the bosom of the ocean after the rage into which she had been pleased to throw herself[55].
Unless in mountains like the Himalaya there is nothing in nature so beautifully grand as a storm at sea.
How much delight may be experienced during a storm! How animating, how beautiful is the scene! Who can gaze on swiftly flying clouds, or on rushing waves crested with foam, without emotions of pleasure? Who can breathe the pure and bracing air of a stiff gale, and not feel their spirits rise within them? All those feelings, commonly ridiculed as romantic, which, shrinking from the eye of the world, hide themselves in the depths of the heart, are called forth during such a scene. The memory presents all that is charming in poetry, all that delights in song, all that best suits with the wild weather: the spirits rise, and there is perhaps nothing in this world that can be more fully enjoyed than a storm at sea.
The confidence sailors have in their own skill and resources, their patience, good spirits, and good humour in days of trial, impart a portion of their own spirit to those in their society. I felt more inclined to enjoy the gale than to fear it when on deck with the officers, but when at night, in the darkness of my own cabin, with the water dashing in, and the wax-light dimly burning, I must acknowledge I thought what a wretched sensation the first dash into one of those roaring waves would give me, the cold plunge, and the jaw of the shark!
We were in His hands who stilleth the raging of the waves; I thought of the composure of the little bird, and never allowed any expression of fear to find its way to my lips, or to appear on my countenance. The officers were now able to get a little rest; they must have been exhausted, as they had scarcely quitted the poop for a moment night or day; their eyes were red and starting,—how they must have slept when they were able to turn in! I could have enjoyed the storm, but that my unfortunate ayha distressed me,—with her broken leg, it was a fearful thing to be tossed about in such a gale, although every care and attention was given her. I did not suffer from mal-de-mer, and was moving about all day and night.
26th.—This was a day of calm, and of repose for the wearied; also a day for the repair of the damage done by the gale. And deep I believe was the gratitude felt by all on board for the protection afforded us during the storm.
27th.—Our course regained, the “Essex” sailed quietly on.
28th.—At sunrise I was summoned in haste to the poop, to see a remarkable effect in the sky. Just above the spot where the sun was struggling to appear from behind a bank of reddish grey clouds, there was thrown across the bright blue sky a long white cloud, exactly in shape and twist like an Archimedes screw; I added it, with the sunset of the night before the gale, to my collection of “Sketches at Sea.” Should I ever live to be old—or rather, older, how pleasantly these sketches will recall the memory of the past!
The Buffalo—The Quoin—Cape Aguilhas—Hangclip—Capo-del-Tornados—Robbin Island—Table Bay—Cape Town—Green Point—The Lion Mountain—St. Helena—Flying-fish—Blue-fish—Island of Ascension—Funeral at Sea—A Sailor’s Grave—A Chinese Calculation—Waterspouts—The Western Isles—St. Michael’s—Pico—Fayal—Christmas Eve—The good Ship “Essex”—Arrival in England—The Pilgrim’s Adieu.
1845, Oct. 29th.—At 9 A.M. I was called on deck to look at the mountains of Africa. The Buffalo, or rather its high peak, soared black and distinct over the white clouds that rolled below, covering the whole length of the mountains: here and there a summit might be distinguished, and the land and hummocks below the clouds were tolerably clear. The sky was of the brightest, purest tint of cobalt blue, the white clouds were crossing it in all directions; the clouds themselves were borne along by the wind to the right, while their tops were carried back towards the left, as if they encountered a contrary current of air aloft. Soon after I had sketched the Buffalo’s most peculiar black peak, a mist spread over the mountains, the wind changed, we went further out to sea, and the line of mountains became too indistinct to afford subject for the pencil. The deep sea line brought up small shells in considerable quantity.
Nov. 1st.—The Quoin lay distant twelve miles from the “Essex,” E. by N., ½ N., and fifty-seven miles from the Cape—Sandy Bay lies between the two points. The Gunner’s Quoin is three or four leagues from Cape Aguilhas, which it resembles. Cape Aguilhas, or Lagullas, was called by its discoverers, the Portuguese, Aguilhas, or Needle’s Cape, because the magnetic needle had no variation there at the time:—the Portuguese name has been corrupted by the English sailors into Lagullas, or Lagullus. Hangclip was the next remarkable object. Horsburgh remarks, “False Bay is formed by the Cape of Good Hope on the west side and Cape False to the eastward, the latter being a steep Bluff, resembling a Quoin, which may be seen at eight leagues’ distance, and appears to lean over to the west when viewed from the southward, from which, probably, it was called Hangclip by the Dutch, but sometimes Hottentot’s Point.”
The outline of the Mountains of Africa was very peculiar as we approached the Capo-del-Tornados, or Cape of Storms, as the Cape of Good Hope was called by its first discoverers, the Portuguese, who afterwards changed the name to that of Capo del Buon Esperanza. At the distance of sixteen miles we beheld the Capo-del-Tornados itself, next to it was the Peak; the high land in False Bay was remarkable, and in the distance, between these points, you caught a view of the back of Table Mountain. The scene was very interesting as we sailed along the range of Mountains, and the fineness of the day allowed us to see them to advantage. Hout’s Bay was very picturesque; deep shadows were around the base of the mountains, and the warm light of the setting sun gilded their summits.
Sunday, 2nd.—At sunrise the scene was beautiful; we gazed on the Lion Mountain opening Green Point,—the Table Mountain was of a very dark plum colour, in strong contrast with the glowing brilliancy of the rising sun, and a dark cloud hung upon the flat surface of the mountain-top. On the opposite side, as we entered Table Bay, lay Robbin or Penguin Island, with breakers to the left,—the Whale also, a sunken rock over which the[487] waves constantly break. The dark Blueberg Mountains to the right finished the picture.
Anchored in Table Bay during a deep cold fog at 10 A.M.—took apartments in an hotel in the Heerengracht,—found the rooms intensely hot at night, and very disagreeable after the pure sea air. We drove in the evening to a friend’s house in the Camp Ground, and gathered a beautiful bouquet from his garden.
My first thought on arriving in Southern Africa was of the Mountain, the next of the flowers. A strelizia was brought to me; it is an indigenous bulb in Africa, and as one flower dies away another bursts forth. On our return to the ship, I took the strelizia on board, and watched the bursting forth of the fresh flowers for some days. A very good sketch of Cape Town may be taken in the Heerengracht, just below Messrs. Dickson and Burnie’s; it gives George’s Hotel, now kept by a man of the name of Duke, the large trees in front, the Dutch Reform Church, and the Table Mountain beyond. Another good point is the Market Square, with its pump in the centre, St. George’s Church, the Town Hall, and the Dutch and Hottentot venders of fruit and vegetables at their stands in the Green Market, as they call it.
Mr. Robertson, a stationer in the Heerengracht, has some admirable water-colour drawings for sale, portraits of the natives of Africa.
7th.—Drove to Green Point with the captain of the “Essex,” to see the lighthouse. I climbed up to the roof through a narrow pigeon-hole, and was well rewarded for my trouble by the beauty of the view. The beach was covered with shells, broken into the smallest fragments by the rolling surf. The view from the rocks, at the end of Green Point, looking over Camp’s Bay, is very beautiful.
10th.—Visited my ayha, whom I had been obliged to send to the hospital on account of the accident which she met with on board, and found her quite comfortable. The poor woman was very glad to see me, and I arranged for her return to Calcutta. I bought a kaross of eighteen heads, as it is technically called,[488] the sole garment worn by the Kafirs, for four pounds; it is very large and handsome, consisting of skins of the red jackal. With the exception of the kaross the Kafir is entirely unincumbered with clothing; these skins are much sought after by officers on service, which is perhaps the reason they are so expensive in Cape Town.
The “Essex” was detained at the Cape in consequence of the repairs that were necessary on account of the damage she received during the gale; to-day, on her being reported fit for sea, we repaired on board.
11th.—At 10 A.M. the “Essex” quitted Table Bay. It was a beautiful day—the white clouds from a south-easter that was blowing were rising over the Table Land,—the sea was a bright transparent green, with white breakers on every wave, and the sky was the colour of the purest cobalt blue.
As you pass Robbin or Penguin Island, the Lion Mountain assumes in a considerable degree the form of a lion reposing, from which appearance it derives its name:—the rump of the lion is formed of the mountain on which the telegraph stands. The scene would have made an excellent sketch, representing the back of the Table Mountain, with the Devil’s Peak to the right, the Lion in front; and Robbin Island at the side. The latter is a low, long, sandy island, with some few houses upon it, and it looks very desolate. Made a run of two hundred and nine miles.
18th.—Rolling down to St. Helena with a fair breeze in most agreeable style.
21st.—A most beautiful and brilliant day. Went on deck about 11 A.M. to see St. Helena in the distance: sketched the island from the forecastle, and paid for my footing. The island then lay N.N.W. distant eight miles: Diana’s Peak, two thousand six hundred and ninety-two feet high, appeared to be nearly in the centre: the Needles and Speery were very distinct, as was also Sandy Bay Point.
St. Helena was discovered by the Portuguese in 1508, on the festival of St. Helena, the mother of the Emperor Constantine the Great. It was taken from the Dutch in 1674 by Admiral[489] Munden, and presented to the East India Company by Charles II.; and it was given up by the Hon. Company to the English Government for the residence of the Emperor Buonaparte. Length of the island, ten miles and a half; breadth, six and three-quarters; circumference at the water’s edge, thirty miles; twelve hundred miles west of Africa, and eighteen hundred east of America. Whales are found off the island. It contains four thousand inhabitants, and thirty thousand acres of arable and pasture land. The air is salubrious, the valleys are fruitful, and flocks of wild goats browze on the hills.
The island rises a mass of rocks from the sea; the only two points for landing are at St. James’s Town, the capital, and at Sandy Bay. When St. Helena lay five miles S.W. the view presented was particularly good: you could see George’s Island, as well as Hercules Island, the flag—staff, Barn Point, the Sugar-loaf Hill, and the plantation at Longwood. The pointed summits of the rocks in the distance, whose peaks turn from each other, are very remarkable.
There is another good view of the island when in front of Barn Cliff, so called from its fancied resemblance to a great barn. Sugar-loaf Hill derives its name from its conical shape. I was told that Sandy Bay was well worth visiting, its scenery being beautiful,—which I can well imagine, from the wild form of the rocks around it, when viewed from a distance.
Opening St. Helena Bay, at the base of the Sugar-loaf, are three batteries, called Buttermilk and Bank’s Upper and Lower Batteries, at a small distance from each other. We came to anchor off James’s Town, near the high perpendicular rock of Ladder Hill, surmounted by its battery and telegraph, above which, in the distance, High Knoll is to be seen. Diana’s Peak, the highest point in the island, is two thousand six hundred and ninety-two feet high; High Peak, or High Knoll, a conical hill, south-west, is about fifty feet less elevated than the former. The rock rises eight hundred feet perpendicular from the sea, with a heavy battery of guns upon it, that command the south-west entrance to the valley and anchorage. James’s Valley is also protected by a high wall and strong line of cannon close to[490] the sea. The Ladder contains six hundred and seventy steps. The flag-staff is in the Government gardens, above the battery. Munden’s Fort and Batteries command the side of James’s Valley, and Rupert’s Battery is at the bottom of a valley of that name.
We anchored a little before 5 P.M.: it was very cold, from the wind rushing down the valley directly upon the anchorage. The sunset was fine, in the midst of dark clouds, contrasted with others of a burning crimson; and to the right the dark rock of St. Helena rose abruptly from the sea. The more I gaze on this desolate-looking and rocky island, the deeper becomes my pity for, and the interest I feel in, the fate of Buonaparte.
The young officers are in high glee, fishing off the poop; they have just caught two small silver mackarel. The gun fires at 9 P.M., after which time no boat will quit the island, and no person is permitted to land. I fear I shall be unable to visit Sandy Bay, on the other side of the island; an officer of the “Winchelsea” told me not to miss seeing that bay on any account; he gave us sixty-two days from the Cape to England, and eleven to St. Helena; we arrived here in ten days and a quarter. The captain of the “Essex” came on deck just before we anchored, he appeared very, very ill,—in my opinion, fearfully so.
22nd.—A rainy and cold morning; it cleared about noon, when I went on shore, and climbed the steps of Ladder Hill for some distance,—they are almost perpendicular; want of time prevented my ascending to the summit of the six hundred and seventy steps. Admired the pretty church just within the gateway, and visited the market; beef and mutton, ten pence to one shilling per pound; grapes, just in, at two shillings and sixpence per pound; the peaches are bad, the loquats the same, and but few vegetables; beet-root and cabbage good; articles of every sort very dear.
A good sketch of the town may be taken from the upper end of the principal street, looking towards the sea. Walked over the Government gardens, in which is a cenotaph, in memory of the officers and men who died in the “Waterwitch” off different[491] parts of the coast of Africa. In a hut near the beach I saw a dried flying-fish, sixteen or eighteen inches in length,—offered the man a shilling for it, which he refused; they are found now and then in the boats off the rocks, into which they sometimes happen to fly or fall; the largest found at St. Helena are twenty-four inches in length, and are very delicate food.
Went down to the foot of the cliff under Ladder Hill, where the breakers were dashing over a fine reef of rocks that run out into the sea in most picturesque style; an old anchor was cast on one of them, and beyond it lay a cannon,—the effect of the anchor cast away on the rocks was good. Several boys were fishing there; they brought me some blue fish, which are very beautiful, of a brilliant deep purplish blue colour, interspersed with crimson streaks,—they are considered great delicacies. They showed me some beautiful fish, spotted with red,—these are also very good for food. I picked up some black sea eggs, young crabs, and limpets; the latter are eaten by the French. Returned on board, much against my will,—I could have spent the day very happily on the rocks which jut out below the great cliff on which the Ladder is built. At 5 P.M. the “Essex” fired a gun; the anchor was raised, which appeared to be hard work in such deep water, and we once more set sail for old England.
23rd.—The captain dangerously ill.
26th.—Since we quitted St. Helena we have made excellent runs daily in a direct line for Ascension, and the vessel has been so steady we have scarcely felt any motion.
27th.—Passed Ascension about 6 P.M.: the island has the appearance of a cluster of mountains of a conical form. One small eminence, Cross Hill, is so called from the cross that surmounts it. Green Mountain is the highest point in the island,—viewed from some points it has a double peak.
30th.—Divine service. Crossed the line with a seven and a half knot breeze. One of the officers reminded me that he was in the “Madagascar” with me when we re-crossed the line under reefed topsails.
Dec. 1st.—A fine favourable breeze. The captain is very ill;[492] I fear he is sinking into his grave. He was in delicate health before the gale, and the exertion he underwent at that time was too much for him; there is but faint hope of his recovery.
5th.—Picked up the north-east trade. The captain’s illness increased at night, and about ten o’clock he expired.
6th.—At 10 A.M. the funeral took place: the corpse having been sewed up in canvas was placed on the main hatch, with the colours spread over it: when the ceremony of the burial of the dead commenced, the body was placed with the feet to the open gangway, on a plank, in a sloping position; the colours had been thrown over it, but you could trace the form of the corpse through them. When the words, “We commit this body to the deep,” were pronounced, the men who stood by the corpse launched it forwards into the sea, and it sank immediately. The chief officer read the service,—he was deeply affected; the captain had been his friend, and he had attended him during his illness with the greatest solicitude; he read the service in a broken and trembling voice,—the tears rolling down his cheeks,—he could scarcely master his agony. It is a fearful sight to witness such a struggle in a firm and powerful man. He was performing the request of his departed friend: a few days before, when he informed the captain of his danger; the latter looked surprised, and said, “Well, B⸺, my good fellow, I have but one request to make,—give me a sailor’s grave.” The next day he arranged his worldly affairs, and was employed in devotion. Mr. B⸺ bore up during the life of his friend, but to part with him,—to commit his body to the deep,—to read the service over him,—must have been a bitter trial. The crew were all present, and tears ran down many a hardy sunburnt face; the captain was greatly beloved both by the officers and men. The passengers appeared in mourning at the funeral. The day was a most lovely one,—the bright waves flew by the ship as the trade wind bore her onwards, and the breeze tempered the heat of the sun. I thought of the festering and air-poisoning churchyards of London, and felt, as far as I am concerned, how much I should prefer a sailor’s grave,—the[493] bright wave dashing o’er me, and the pure air above, to the heavy sod and the crowded churchyard.
WATERSPOUTS.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس
7th.—And now once more for England. Saw a schule of whales—the fin-back; one of them was near the ship, blowing up the water, about six feet high; the large Greenland whale spouts much higher.
A Chinese calculation was shown us in the evening, which is worthy the trouble of discovering: take a pack of cards,—the ace counts as one, knave, queen, king, as ten each; look at the top card (suppose it be an ace), lay it with its face upon the table, and add to it as many cards as will make the number twelve,—that is, eleven cards on the back of the ace; then take the next card from the pack (suppose it be a knave), place it face downwards, count it as ten, and add to the back of it two cards, which will make it twelve; then take the next card (suppose it a four), place it in the same manner, and add eight cards to it, which will make it twelve, counting each card as one. In this manner dispose of the whole pack; there may be some cards over, lay them aside. The conjurer will then see the number of the packs, and the number of cards remaining over, and will be able by calculation to tell the amount of the pips on the bottom cards, which he has not seen, that are with their faces downwards on the table. This calculation is ingenious, and may be discovered by algebra.
14th.—The nine-knot breeze continues, which we have had for the last two days; and the “SX” pitches so much I can scarcely write.
17th.—Lat. N. 32° 15′, long. W. 27° 55′. At noon heavy clouds were around us, and a waterspout appeared astern; it was at a considerable distance. The sea whirled, and rose up to meet it to a great height; it continued for about twenty minutes, and was too far astern to do us any injury. The trade was strong, and we were going nine knots an hour. At the same time another waterspout appeared about three miles off, on the starboard,—it was coming towards the ship from the south-east;[494] it was of considerable size, and whirled and foamed very distinctly; fortunately it passed astern until it gained the point where the first waterspout had been seen, of which a portion above was still visible. Captain B⸺ fired a cannon at it, which appeared to have little or no effect: very heavy clouds were all around the vessel, but as soon as the spouts disappeared in the south-west, the sun came out brilliant as usual. I sketched the second spout just as it came astern, and a remnant of the upper part of the former waterspout was in the distance.
21st.—Passed St. Michael’s to the westward, of which we had a distant view.
22nd.—At 7 A.M. we had a good view of the Island of Pico, with its most remarkable peak above the clouds, and an hour afterwards we had a still clearer glimpse of its bell-shaped summit, which is eleven thousand feet above the sea. The smoke of fires burning on the mountain was visible.
At 10 A.M. we were off Fayal, the white buildings of the town appeared to rise from the dark waters, and the effect was most singular. The lookouts are on the cliff. The distant blue land, of which we caught a sight behind the town, is St. George’s Island. Passing along Fayal, the Convent, which is situated nearly in the centre of the island, was distinctly visible; there appeared to be some painting on the outside walls. The vineyards looked green and luxuriant.
At the end of the Island of Fayal is a curious and insulated rock; the turbulent sea has worn a deep cavern in this rock, through which the light is visible. Above, on the main land, are steep perpendicular cliffs; some are of the colour of burnt terra di sienna, others of a bright deep reddish brown: the shadows were heavy, and a brilliant light was caught upon the cliffs—a tremendous swell from the north-east was dashing in breakers half-way up the lofty cliff. I think I never saw breakers rise so high before—on the horizon was a fog-bank—the cavern bearing east four or five miles. The day was beautiful and most favourable: I was delighted with this passing[495] view of the Western Isles, very much gratified; the air was sharp and cold, the sunshine brilliant; and I believe every one on board enjoyed the scene.
PICO.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس
23rd.—The Western Isles invisible.
24th.—The day was cold and raw, nearly a calm. At night the sailors sent off a tar-barrel with a fire in it, which went blazing along; a nautical method of celebrating Christmas Eve.
25th.—A cold raw day, with rain and fog. Divine service was performed in the cuddy. The sea almost a calm.
31st.—With a fine wind we are going nine knots off the Lizard, and looking forward to the termination of our voyage; but I cannot quit the vessel without expressing how much we have been satisfied with all the arrangements on board, which reflect great credit on the owners of the ship; and how much the attention of the commanding officer to our wishes and accommodation has removed the annoyances that old Indians necessarily must experience during a sea voyage: the vessel is well manned, her provisions are excellent and abundant, every attention is shown to the passengers, and the “Essex” is a good ship.
1846, Jan. 1st.—At 6 P.M., off Portland Race, it was bitterly cold, and I began to speculate if it were possible to exist in England.
2nd.—Off Folkstone, at 2 P.M.—I quitted the “Essex” in a Deal boat, over which the waves danced, and the wind was bitterly cold; landed at Folkstone in about four hours, half starved, cold, and hungry, and took refuge at the Pavilion Hotel, where a good dinner and the luxuries of native oysters and fresh butter made us forget all the ills that flesh is heir to.
3rd.—Started per train at 7 A.M., and found ourselves once more in London.
And now the pilgrim resigns her staff and plucks the scallop-shell from her hat,—her wanderings are ended—she has quitted the East, perhaps for ever:—surrounded in the quiet home of her native land by the curiosities, the monsters, and the idols that accompanied her from India, she looks around and dreams of the days that are gone.
The resources she finds in her recollections, the pleasure she derives from her sketches, and the sad sea waves[56], her constant companions, form for her a life independent of her own life.
“THE NARRATION OF PLEASURE IS BETTER THAN THE PLEASURE ITSELF[57].”
And to those kind friends, at whose request she has published the history of her wanderings, she returns her warmest thanks for the pleasure the occupation has afforded her. She entreats them to read the pilgrimage with the eye of indulgence, while she remembers at the same time that,
“HAVING PUT HER HEAD INTO THE MORTAR, IT IS USELESS TO DREAD THE SOUND OF THE PESTLE[58].”
To her dear and few surviving relatives,—and to her friends of many years,—the Pilgrim bids adieu:
“THE BLESSING OF HEAVEN BE UPON THEIR HEADS[59].”
“Āp ki topīyan par salāmat rahī.”
“THE PEN ARRIVED THUS FAR AND BROKE ITS POINT[60].”
i.e. It is finished.
SALĀM! SALĀM!
[18] Ward, on the Religion of the Hindoos.
[20] See the sketch entitled “The Spring-bow,” Vol. ii. p. 73.
[24] Vide Appendix, No. 31.
[37] A terrace to sit and converse on.
[40] See the two leaves of this bulb in the foreground of the portrait of the Bushwoman.
[55] Classically Mare—therefore feminine.
[56] Written at St. Leonard’s-on-Sea.
“Heu Pietas! heu prisca Fides!”
“Sacred to the memory of Andrew Lord Archer, Baron of Umberslade, who died April 25th, 1778, ætatis forty-one, and lies interred in the family vault beneath. He was the last male descendant of an ancient and honourable family that came over with William the Conqueror, and settled in the county of Warwick in the reign of King Henry the Second, from whom his ancestors obtained grants of land in the said county. He married Sarah, the daughter of James West, Esquire, of Alscot, by whom he has left four daughters.
“To perpetuate his fair fame this monument is erected by her who knew and loved his virtues.”
In the Peerage of England by Arthur Collins, Esq., vol. vii. p. 359, 4th edition, is the following account:—
“This family, one of the most ancient in Warwickshire, came out of Normandy, where some of the name, bearing the same arms, are yet existing. In Stow’s Annals, printed in 1615, is a list taken from a table anciently in Battle Abbey, of those who came into England with William Duke of Normandy, in which the name of Archer is inserted; also in an ancient roll, cited by Stow, of the names of the chief noblemen, &c. who, in 1066, accompanied William the Conqueror into England, collected by Thomas Scriven, Esq., the name of Archer occurs.”
Edward Gwynn, Esq., a learned antiquary in the reign of King James the First, demonstrates very clearly, that Fulbert l’Archer, with his son Robert, came into England with William the Conqueror; and that the said Fulbert was in England, and of eminent degree, is apparent, by his being witness to several concessions of Geffery de[498] Clinton, a Norman, who was treasurer and lord chamberlain to King Henry the First, and founder of the monastery of Kenilworth in Warwickshire.
Mr. Gwynn in his dissertation further recites, that Robert l’Archer also accompanied his father Fulbert into England with William the Conqueror; and was in such estimation for his learning, that the said king appointed him to instruct his son, King Henry the First (then prince), who, to his tutor’s credit, was (as Gemmeticencis saith) “Justitiæ ac pacis sectator, religionis amator, iniquorum, et furum ferventissimus punitor, inimicorum suorum, non solum excellentium Principum, et Comitum, verum et nominatissimorum Regum fælicissimus Triumphator.” How well he deserved the respect and esteem of the said prince, and how well he was rewarded by him, when he came to be king, the following grant fully manifests: “Henricus, Dei Gratia, &c. Sciatis Nos dedisse et concessisse, Roberto l’Archer, magistro meo, et hæred. suis, &c. Manor de Aldermanson, Fynchampsted, Coletrope, Speresholt, Chewlewe, &c. in com. Berks.” Which manors and lands thereunto belonging King Henry II. confirmed to William l’Archer, his son. King Henry I.’s estimation of the said Robert l’Archer, and the account he made of his service, may be conceived in vouchsafing to call him his master, also by his liberal donations to him.
The freezing pail should always be of pewter,—those from England are the best. The natives make them of a composition that answers well, but it is necessary to be careful in this respect, lest, having a portion of lead in them, the ice should be rendered poisonous from the effect of the lime-juice. The lid of the freezing pail ought to be made with a catch to prevent its coming off when the pail is turned round by the hand in the bucket of ice. The freezing pail should be of pewter, because it prevents the contents of the vessel from congealing too quickly, and there is time to mix them thoroughly; for on this, in a great measure, depends the excellence of the ice: if it be made of tin, the congelation is too rapid, and the materials have not time enough to allow of their being well mixed.
When an article is iced, it does not lose its sweetness; no additional sugar or syrup is requisite; the loss of sweetness arises from the materials not being properly mixed or worked with a bamboo or spaddle when in the freezing pail. The natives do not open the freezing pail and stir the mixture with a spaddle; on the contrary, they fasten the lid down securely by putting paste all round the edges: consequently, their[499] cream ice is as hard as real ice itself. Properly stirred it resembles hard snow, after the fashion of the Parisian ice cream.
Cream three-fourths, fresh milk one-fourth, five large table-spoonfuls of jam; two ditto of fresh lime-juice, one ditto of colouring mixture. If you find it not sweet enough, add a little syrup or melted sugar, not pounded sugar. Beat the cream, milk, and jam through a hair sieve, and mix them well; add the lime-juice and the colouring mixture; stir it well, and put it into the freezing pail. The pail holds about two quarts. Take a deep ice basket, lay a bazār blanket inside, place within it a clean dry bucket, put the freezing pot into the bucket.
Half ser nowshādar (sal ammoniac), one ser common salt, one ser saltpetre, with eight or ten ser of ice. The saltpetre and salt should be previously roughly pounded. Mix the whole of this together quickly in a blanket; put the mixture into the bucket until it is nearly up to the top and all round the freezing pail; turn the freezing pail round and round in the mixture, holding it by the handle for ten minutes, then leave it for a quarter of an hour, cover the top with ice; cover up all inside with the blanket, and put on the cover of the ice basket; do not let it stand near a tattī. In the course of ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, open the freezing pail, stir the cream round with a long wooden spoon, or a bit of bamboo, cut flat, or a spaddle. You will find it has congealed on the sides, but not in the centre; remove the spoon, put on the lid, turn the pail round for a short time, and cover it up again; this must be repeated until the cream is properly frozen, when it is fit for use. Should the cream not have frozen properly, the freezing mixture, if any remain over, or more ice, may be put into the bucket. In about an hour, or a little more, the cream ice will be ready. It should not be made until just before it is required for use.
Cream ices may be made with strawberry, raspberry, or any other jam in the above manner. The jam imported from France is finer and more reasonable than that sent from England.
The khānsāmāns make ice in a pewter vessel, called a kulfī; it contains a quart, and ought to have a removable lid. The bottom of the kulfī should be a fixture. For two kulfīs of this size take eight chhattaks of saltpetre, eight ditto salt, four ditto nowshādar (sal ammoniac); mix them together, having first pounded them separately. Mix these ingredients[500] with ice sufficient to fill an earthenware pan, that with a broad mouth will hold two kulfīs standing erect in it. Having put your kulfīs in the jar, surround them with ice nearly to the rim; put the remainder of the ice into a napkin, and lay it over the top of the kulfīs; then cover over the whole with an earthenware cover. Open the kulfīs in a quarter of an hour, and stir the cream with a flat bamboo, which is a better thing than a spoon for the purpose; cover them up; open again in another quarter of an hour, stir, and leave them for four hours; no fresh ice need be added.
For one kulfī half the quantity of the mixture, and a smaller earthenware pan.
To keep the whole from the effect of the air and the tattī, it is better to place a bazār blanket in an ice-basket, then put in the earthenware pan, and having done all as above directed, cover the whole up with the blanket, and put on the cover of the ice-basket. (See Ice-pits, Vol. i. pp. 76-84.)
Make your coloured wax of the best, clearest, and picked Chuppra lakh, only adding the colour necessary; whilst the box is on the lathe, having put a bit or two of lighted charcoal under it, turn the lathe, press the wax upon the box, the wax will come off and lacquer it; polish and smooth it with the dried leaf of the ālū.
The cheapness and abundance of emery in Europe, and its being nearly equal to corundum in hardness, have, perhaps, prevented the Indian corundum from being brought home; but there appears every probability that the substance which has been lately sold at a high price in small quantities, under the name of diamond powder, said to be from the diamond mines of India, and applied to the purpose of sharpening razors and other cutlery, is nothing else than corundum reduced to a fine powder. The common karand patthar of India, the corundum or adamantine spar, so named from its hardness, will cut and polish all stones except the diamond. By the natives it is used with oil for removing rust from steel, after which the steel is re-polished with buffalo horn and a semicircular steel instrument.
A quarter of a ser of basun, the yolks of two large eggs (no whites), the juice of two or three limes; mix the whole in a basin with cold water, add some hot water, strain it through a towel. Rub it well into the roots of the hair, and wash it out by pouring warm water over the head, until the hair is perfectly clean. The operation is most agreeably performed in a hummām. In a bathing-room it is necessary to have ready prepared six kedgerī pots of boiling water, which can be mixed afterwards with cold. Having thoroughly dried the hair, put a small quantity of oil upon it. Use no soap. Basun is the pounded and sifted meal of gram, i.e. chanā.
Lampblack, one paisā, gond, (i.e. gum of the babūl, or gum Arabic,) two chhattaks. Having ground both, dry the whole on a plantain leaf. Mix two paisā of water with one of the mixture; boil, and strain it for use. If not good add one grain of salt. Lampblack made in unglazed pans is better than any other. The ink should be put on the seal with the point of the finger. It should be very black, and thick; but put on very thinly. The paper to be wetted with water on a bit of muslin, and just patted down before the seal is pressed on the spot. If the paper come off on the seal the former is not damp enough. Use thick Chinese paper, or common writing paper.
Fill up one quarter of a pint bottle with pounded gall nuts, add spirits of wine or gin to fill the bottle. Put the letter in a plate, and cover it with the mixture; after a short time the writing will become visible.
Because a woman is a she-wālā (wālā, a fellow).
Our medical adviser said, he considered the best treatment was, “to give forty measured drops of laudanum in a glassful of brandy and[502] water every time the bowels are moved, which is preferable to giving a greater quantity, as that would produce drowsiness. You give opium to abate pain and stop the sickness, not to dull the senses, which are too dull already. After the first few evacuations, all that follow are like pipeclay and water,—one of the signs of cholera.”
Spirits of hartshorn in water we found very beneficial to the natives. Colonel Gardner said, “Half a wine glass of the juice of onions, rubbed up with ginger, red and black pepper, and garlic, I have seen administered in desperate cases of cholera with great success.”
Put a quantity of the fresh and finest leaves of the peepul into a pan, containing two or three quarts of water. Leave the pan in some distant part of the garden until the water wastes away, and the green of the leaves is corrupt. In ten days’ time take up a leaf, and if the green comes off, leaving the fibres perfect, it is time to remove the leaves; but if any of the green still adhere, replace the leaf, and let the whole remain in the dirty water for another ten days; after which take them out, wash them with pure water, and with a soft toothbrush gently brush off any part of the green that may still adhere to the fibres. Leave them in clean water for some days, and brush them daily, very gently, separately, and carefully, until the skeleton is quite perfect. If not of a good colour bleach them by exposure to the sun, and pour water over them now and then during the exposure.
First make your lampblack in this manner: Put a cotton wick into an earthen saucer, such as are put under flower-pots, put common oil into the saucer, light the wick, and place over it another earthen saucer, so that the flame may blacken it; in a few hours a quantity of lampblack will collect on the upper saucer, which is of the very best sort. Mix a little of this lampblack with fine linseed oil, dip your pen into it, and trace on the talk with it, having first put your talk over the drawing you wish to copy. When you take off the talk, if you put white paper beneath it, you will see if any part require to be darkened: touch the distances lightly, and the foregrounds strongly. Be careful not to put too much oil with the lampblack, or it will run, and spoil the drawing. Having finished your tracing, damp a piece of China paper with a sponge, put it on the talk while it is very damp, take care not to stir it, put another piece of paper over it, and pass your hand steadily over all, when the impression will come off good and clear. Patterns for work[503] may be copied in this manner: of course every thing is reversed. Ivory black will not answer.
Make your lampblack as above directed. Make two balls, about the size of your fist, with wool and wash-leather; put a bit of stick into the centre of each, to serve as a handle, and tie the leather tight upon it; flatten it to the shape of a printer’s ball; the top of a white leather long glove will do, or chamois leather. With a spatula mix some lampblack with a little linseed oil, put it on the balls, rub both balls together until it is all smooth and even, put a freshly-gathered leaf between the balls, pat the leaf on both sides, put it between two sheets of paper, rub your finger carefully over the leaf; take up the paper, and you will have two beautiful impressions. Stalks and flowers may be done in the same way, and corrected with a pen and some of the oil and lampblack. The Chinese books sold in the burā bazār, Calcutta, are excellent for this purpose.
The turban should be of fine India muslin, twenty-one yards in length, by fourteen inches and a half in breadth. Take one end, put it over your head, allowing a quarter of a yard to hang down your back; twist the muslin in front of your forehead, so that it may form a sort of skull cap on the top of your head; after which, begin to bind the turban round your head, and go on, until, in fanciful bands, you have used up the whole. Take the little end hanging down your back, turn it up, and stick it under one of the folds. This turban, when properly put on, is not at all large. Should it not set out enough, you must first bind a smaller and coarser turban around your head, and put the fine one over it. A Benares gold turban, or a Bengal muslin, spotted in gold, should be worn over a turban of this sort; they are too flimsy to set properly of their own accord. A long fine Cashmere shawl forms into a beautiful turban.
Another method.—Turbans are more generally put on in this manner than in the preceding: Take the middle of the cloth, put it over the front of the head, and pass the two ends behind. Take one end, and pass it round and round your head until it is all used up; after which take the other end, and pass it round in some different fashion; when you have used it all up it ought to set properly.
Almost all turbans are thus put on, with the exception of stiff turbans,[504] which are made over a bamboo frame; they are formal, and want the graceful and fanciful ease of a turban formed of a strip of muslin hastily thrown around the head.
Some are formed on a light wicker frame; others, made up by regular turban makers in the bazār, are formed on blocks, and the muslin is plaited and put on in a very exact and regular style. Some turbans appear as if formed of coloured rope, so tightly do they twist the muslin into a cord ere it is wound round the head.
AN EXTRACT FROM “THE TIMES,” NOV. 23, 1847.
“Our readers are aware that the Hindoos are not the aboriginal inhabitants of India. Arriving from the north-west, they first occupied that moiety of the peninsula to the north of the Nerbudda called emphatically Hindostan, and subsequently crossed that river into the Deccan, or ‘south’ portion of the country, where they dispossessed the natives as before. There are reasons for concluding that this expulsion of the early inhabitants by the Brahminical Hindoos was characterized by great ferocity on the part of the invaders. The inferior tribes, however, were by no means exterminated. Under the various denominations of Bheels, Coles, Gonds, Khonds, &c., they still exist in the peninsula, to the number, it is computed, of at the least two or three millions. Whether they are branches of the same family or not appears hardly ascertained, but they all possess features in common, and are altogether distinct, not only from the Hindoo, but also from the Thibetan varieties of native tribes near the Himalayan range. They are small, dark, and active, with a peculiarly quick and restless eye, highly barbarous, and owning only a few importations of Hindoo superstitions or civilization. They have little clothing, few arms but bows and arrows, and no ordinary food beyond berries or game. They have no repugnance to killing or eating oxen, and bury their dead instead of burning them. Their religious rites involve much greater barbarism than the Brahminical precepts; indeed, it is alleged by the advocates of Hindoo excellence that the most objectionable practices attributed to the disciples of Brahma have either been imported from these tribes at a late period, or erroneously related by writers who confused the identity of the nations. This is said to have been particularly the case with human sacrifices, which had no place in the original code of the Vedas, while they were so inveterately established among these older tribes, that the disturbances of the present day have actually originated in the defence[505] of the rite. The main retreat of these people from the persecution of the invaders was in the hills, which, under the names of the Vindhya and Santpoora ranges, rise on each bank of the Nerbudda, and form the barrier between the Deccan and Hindostan. At the eastern extremity these hills expand into a lofty mountain rampart on the confines of Orissa and Berar, forming, with the contiguous districts, the most barbarous and unreclaimed portion of the whole peninsula. Much of it, in fact, is unexplored to this day, as may be seen by a glance, in any map, along the western frontier of Orissa. Such are the actors, and such the scene of the present disturbances. A few words more will explain their origin and character.
“The eastern coast of India between the Delta of the Ganges and the mouths of the Kistna came into our possession by successive instalments. In 1765 the sagacity of Lord Clive demanded, and his power obtained, the cession of that maritime province known by the name of the Northern Circars, previously attached to the Government of the Deccan, but readily and cheaply yielded by the emperor to the request of the victorious general. This carried the Madras presidency along the coast nearly up to the confines of Bengal; the sole interruptions to a continuity of English territory being the Southern Sircar of Guntoor at the lower end, still depending on the Deccan, and the province of Cuttack at the upper, claimed by the Mahratta Prince of Berar. The former, after considerable turmoil on both sides, was surrendered by Nizam Ali in 1788, and the latter by Bhonslay at the end of the first great Mahratta war of 1803. The contiguous districts, forming part of the ceded territories, were restored by the policy of Sir G. Barlow, and did not finally return to us till the conclusion of the war of 1818, when the inveterate hostility of Apa Saheb was punished by the demand of these peculiar territories on the Nerbudda, solely valuable as opening a communication between Bengal and Bombay. We found the eastern country in the hands of petty Rajahs of ancient standing, and some consideration amongst their subjects, though they were not of the aboriginal race, but individual families (apparently Rajpoots) of the invading nation who had contrived to establish themselves in hereditary power amongst the savages. As long as we were content to allow these people their ancient licence, to accept a small uncertain subsidy by way of rent, and leave them to their own privileges and habits, things went well enough; but as soon as the more scrupulous civilization of later times introduced or attempted reforms, disturbances at once ensued. A settlement of a fixed, though not extortionate, rent was imposed upon the Rajahs, and when this fell seriously in arrear they were dispossessed. Police were introduced in some of the villages, and civil courts established.[506] The consequences were speedily visible. In 1816 the Goomsoor people rose in arms to demand an ejected Rajah; and though a force of 3000 men in the country repressed these outbreaks, yet they could not be prevented from aiding a similar insurrection in Cuttack immediately afterwards, nor was peace entirely restored for three long years, and then only after some conciliatory abolitions of the obnoxious institutions.
“In the present case the rebellion (in Goomsoor) is based on our interference with their Meriah sacrifices, in observance of which rite they store, fatten, butcher, and dissect some hundreds of children annually, distributing the fragments, as a propitiatory offer to the local Ceres, over the surface of their fields, and the old cry for their indulgent Rajahs is again raised. The Khonds—the precise tribe who gave us so much trouble in 1816—are again the chief insurgents, though common cause is eagerly made by all their neighbours. Their method of fighting is to lurk in their tangled thickets and shoot their arrows from the ambuscade. Recently, too, they exchanged a herd of bullocks which they captured, for some fire-arms, and they are said now to possess some 700 or 800 matchlocks. This, of course, does not make them less noxious, but their offensive warfare forms but a small part of the dangers of the campaign. The tracts about which they roam are, beyond all comparison, the most pestilential in India. The air of Shikarpoor is bracing and salubrious compared with the atmosphere of these territories. The malaria of their jungles is almost certain death, and a bivouac in the bush will cause far more havoc in an invading force than a battery of cannon. In addition to this, beasts of prey swarm in every cave and forest, numerous and ravenous enough to give a clean account of all stragglers. The ordinary briefness of an Indian campaign is here so far circumscribed, that there are very few weeks in the year when an inroad would even be attempted, and at this moment not 200 men of the regiment employed there are fit for duty.
“The Khonds are in nowise disaffected to us, nationally. On the contrary, when Sir G. Barlow surrendered their country again to Berao, against our compact and their entreaties, he was forced in decency to offer a home in Cuttack to those who chose still to live under English rule, and the struggle between the latter wish and the reluctance to quit their birthplaces produced some very tragical scenes. Towards the west, too, the Bheels are enrolled in local corps in the Company’s service, and conduct themselves with very great credit. The only rebellion is that of a hardy, barbarous, and inaccessible race, against masters whose supremacy they gladly own, but whose civilization they are averse to borrowing.”
| 4 | kaurīs | = | 1 gunda. |
| 20 | gundas | = | 1 pun. |
| 4 | puns | = | 1 ānā. |
| 4 | ānās | = | 1 kāhan, 1280 kaurīs, or about one quarter of a rupī. |
Kaurīs, small white glossy shells, are made use of for small payments in the bazār. They rise and fall according to the demand there is for them, and the quantity in the market.
Accounts are kept in rupīs, with their subdivisions.
| 3 | pie | = | 1 pāisa. |
| 4 | pāisa | = | 1 ānā. |
| 16 | ānās | = | 1 rupī. |
| 16 | rupīs | = | 1 gold muhr. |
| 100,000 | ” | = | 1 lākh. |
| 100 | lākh | = | 1 karor, or 100,000,000 rupīs. |
Birds to the size of a pigeon may be preserved from putrefaction by an easy process, and by a method which will effectually guard them against the attacks of insects. Carefully remove the abdominal viscera at the vent, by means of a wire bent to a hook at one end; then introduce a small piece of the antiseptic paste, and afterwards as much clipped cotton or tow as may be thought sufficient, with some of the paste mixed with it; remove the eyes and fill the orbits with cotton imbued with the paste; draw out the tongue, which remove, and pass a wire from the mouth into the cavity of the cranium, merely to give the antiseptic access to the brain; bind a piece of thread round the rostrum, another piece round the body and wings; then hang it up by the legs, and pour in at the vent from half an ounce to two ounces, according to the size of the bird, of alcohol; let it be hung in an airy situation, and it will soon dry without any unpleasant smell.
Antiseptic paste is made by mixing eight parts of finely-powdered white arsenic, four parts of Spanish soap, three parts of camphor pulverized in a mortar, with a few drops of alcohol, and one part of soft soap. If it become too dry add a little spirits of wine.
Powdered arsenic one pound, white Marseilles soap one pound,[508] powdered camphor three ounces; fine lime, in powder, three ounces; salt of tartar, six ounces; keep it corked in a jar. Melt the soap, and gradually mix the other ingredients. When required to be used, take a little out, mix it with water until it is of the consistence of thick cream; spread on the skin thinly with a brush. By using too much you render the skin brittle—put a little cotton wool on the part when done. Useful for the skins of quadrupeds, large birds, and also for insects, moths, and butterflies.
Mix one ser of large hurs (hura, ink-nut, myrobalan chebulic) with half a pāisa weight of ghī, fry them until they are quite black and split, take them out and cover them over with red-hot charcoal ashes at night. Wipe them clean, and separate the pulp, which reduce to a subtile powder in an iron mortar; add to every tolā of the above powder three-fourths of a masha of tūtiyā tā’ūsi, and half a masha of salt.
When you wish to dye your hair, take some of the powder, mix it with water so as to form an unctuous paste, and grind it very fine in an iron mortar; apply it to the hair, and tie it up with fresh-gathered castor oil leaves. Should the hair not be dyed as required, wet the hair with water, as also the leaves, and tie it up again, as the dye will not have the desired effect if the hair be not kept moist with it. The mortar must be of iron, or the mixture will be spoiled.
Eight rattīs (seed of abrus precatorius) make one masha, twelve and a half mashas one tolā or sicca rupī weight.
Boil four or five anolas (myrobalan emblic, Lin.) for a short time in water, till they impart their colour to it. Grind up indigo leaves (busmuh) on a sil (a rough slab of stone, with a stone roller), with the above decoction, and use the preparation as a dye, after having exposed it to the sun for a short time. This receipt was given me by Seyd Husain, an old peshkār at Prāg.
Tobacco, one mŭn, gurh (thick sugar), one mŭn; gulkand (gūlabī) conserve of roses, ten sers; gulkand (séo), five sers; paurī, three tolās; musk, one tolā, amber, one ditto; ugur, pāo bur, i.e. a quarter of a tolā; tugger, one quarter of a tolā.
The tobacco and gour to be mixed, and left in a gharā for five days, the other ingredients to be then added, and the whole buried for ten days before use. One of the cakes is sufficient for a quart bottle of[509] rose-water, into which it is to be broken; and in this state of solution it is sufficient to impregnate with its flavour a mŭn of tobacco. This receipt was procured from one of the attendants on her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī.
“Moor’s Hindū Pantheon;” “Ward, On the Religion, &c., of the Hindoos;” “Wilford’s Dissertation on Egypt and the Nile;” “Asiatic Researches;” “Maurice’s Indian Antiquities;” “Frazer’s Tour through the Himalaya Mountains;” “Capt. J. A. Hodgson’s Survey of the Ganges and Jumna;” “Adam’s Roman Antiquities;” “Mishcat ul Masabih;” “Dow’s History of Hindostan;” “Tod’s Annals and Antiquities of Rajah’stan,” and “Travels in Western India;” “Herklot’s Qunoon-e-islam;” “Franklin’s Shah Alum,” and “Life of George Thomas;” “The Ku’rān;” “Ainslie’s Materia Medica;” “Louden’s Encyclopedia of Plants.”
“The tomb of Imām Mirmaun is a lofty building of red granite, close to the Kutb Minar. This saint is said to have lived in the reign of Altumush.”
“The mausoleum of the monarch Altumush is about four hundred yards south-west of the Kutb Minar. The walls are of granite, the tomb of plain marble, and there is no dome to the building.”
“Near this is an octagonal building, the tomb of Adam Khan, a Pathan nobleman, who was high in the confidence of Altumush.”
“The tomb of the saint Kutb-u-Dīn is of white marble, and a fine mosque of red granite adjoins it. The court of the mosque contains the tombs of the Emperor Bahadur Shah, who died in 1707, and the Emperor Alum Shah, deceased 1807; and also that of the last Emperor, Akbar Shah.”
“Connected with these tombs is a small marble mosque, built by Aurangzēb, the father of Bahadur Shah. The marble enclosure where the body of saint Kutb reposes was built by Ferocksher, who was assassinated by the Syuds of Burrah, in 1713. Zabtah Khan, father of the infamous Gholam Khadir Ali Bahadur, and a number of other nobles, with many of the royal family, are interred in the area. It is reported that three hundred thousand martyrs to the Muhammadan faith are buried in this vicinity; in the number must be included those who fell in the eight battles fought with Rājā Pittourah, by Kutb-u-Dīn Abeck.”
“Tuglukabad was built by the Patan Emperor, Yeas-u-Dīn Tugluk Shah, who died in 1324. The place is a mass of ruins; the palace was large and extensive; four massive bastions still remain. On a detached rock, connected with the palace by a causeway, is the tomb of Tugluk Shah; the rock is enclosed by a rampart of stone, with circular bastions. To the east of Tuglukabad few ruins are to be seen, but thence to beyond the Shalimar gardens, to the west, a distance of about twenty-five miles, the whole face of the country is one sheet of ruined palaces, gardens, streets, and tombs.”
“The Kutb Minar is about twelve miles south-east of Delhi, and half-way is the mausoleum of Munsoor Alī Khan Sufdar Jung, Wuzeer of the Emperor Ahmad Shah, who died 1753. It is a fine edifice raised on a terrace.”
“The tomb that contains the body of Sufdar Jung is on the ground-floor; the marble cenotaph is in the apartment above it. To the east the entrance is through a noble gateway, to the north of which is the mosque.
“About two hundred yards from this is the mausoleum of the great Byram Khan, khān-khānān and guardian to Mahomed Akbar. The colours of the enamel of the inside of the dome over Secunder Shah, one of the Pathan dynasty, deceased 1275, are as fresh as ever. This mausoleum is a very fine one; it lies about half a mile north-west of Sufdar Jung’s.”
“The tomb of the saint Nizam-u-Dīn, who lived in the reign of Secunder Shah, lies about half a mile east-south-east of Humaioon’s; and adjoining is the tomb of the Princess Jahānārā, as well as that of the Emperor Mahomed Shah, deceased 1748. Here also is the tomb of the famous poet Chusero, who flourished 1280; it is of red granite, small and plain. A Persian nobleman, Tuckee Khan, here lies interred; as also his son, Azim Khan. They attended Humaioon on his return from Persia. Azim Khan’s tomb in the centre of the building is surrounded by others of his family. From the tomb of Nizam-u-Deen two roads lead to modern Delhi, the upper through the Pathan city, a heap of ruins; and the lower by the river-side, and Secunder Shah’s Fort, (1297,) which contains a superb mosque. West, are the ruins of the palace of Feroze Shah (1351).”
“The old lall Darwaza, or red gate of the Pathan city, is about four hundred yards east of the Delhi Gate of the modern city. It is lofty, and built of red granite.
“The palaces and mosques are numerous. The palace of Sultan Dara Sheko, eldest son of Shahjahan, is now the Magazine. The palace of the minister of the late Shah Alum is now the Residency. The[511] palace of Ali Murdan Khan is near the Cashmere Gate; that of Sadut Khan is at the Cabul Gate; and in the Adjmeer street are the ruins of the palace of the Wuzeer of Mahomed Shah.
“Connected with the palace at Delhi by a stone bridge is the Fort of Selīm Garb, built on a rock in the river: it was formerly used as a prison for the Empress.
“Outside the Cashmere Gate, on the bank of the river, is the Koodsiya Bagh, built by Shahjahan; it is now in ruins. From this garden, and encircling the city, is Mogul Parrah, a most extensive town, now a mass of ruins. Outside the Ajmeer Gate is the tomb of Ghazi-o-dīn, and appertaining to it are the ruins of a college. On the opposite side of the road are the tombs of Kummeer-u-Dīn, his father and his daughter, which are worthy of a visit.
“About three miles from the city is the royal garden, named Toal ka Tourah. Of the famous garden of Shalimar, about ten miles from the city, on the road leading to Kurnaul, there are no remains.
“Near the tomb of Zeenut-al Nissa is that of Malaka Zemanī, one of the widows of the Emperor Mahomed Shah. She was implicated in the rebellion of Ghoolam Khadir. A small mosque of red granite is near the tomb.
“Leading out of a postern south of the Lahore Gate, is a mosque called the Kuddum Roosool, or foot of the Prophet, in memory of the Arabian prophet, ‘Nubbee Kurreem,’ Mahummud himself,—no other person has this appellation of ‘the Prophet of Beneficence.’” A number of tombs of men of rank are in the area, and on the outside: this is deemed a holy spot, and as sacred as Nizam-u-Dīn’s, or Kutb-u-Dīn’s.
“The Subzy Mundee, or vegetable market, is about three miles from the city on the road to Kurnaul, and beyond this, on both sides of the road, are the ruins of houses and gardens, reaching far beyond Shalimar: a number also lay on the west of Kudsīya Bagh, beyond the range of hills that rise about four miles west of the city, take a semicircular sweep, and extend in the shape of a semicircle to Tuglukabad east, forming an amphitheatre, the whole extent of which is covered with ruins.”
“Because it is a fellow-feeling for a fellow-creature.”
Mr. Greville, zoological artist, 85, New Bond Street, charges for specimens as follows:—A cock moonal, or blue pheasant, 5l.; a hen do., 1l., a pair of the red Argus pheasants, 3l.; a flying squirrel, 1l. 5s.; a[512] flying fox, 5s.; a vulture, 2l. Although the price of birds for sale (not set up) is so high, he would give but little for them, and appeared to think 3l. for a pair of moonal pheasants, cock and hen, would be a very great sum. The charges for setting up are extra.
Mr. Drew, a bird-stuffer at Plymouth, charged for setting up birds as follows:—A pair of eagles, 1l.; one pair of pheasants, 10s.; one pair, ditto, smaller, 7s.; one brace of birds, still smaller, 5s.; one pair of humming birds, 4s.
Transcriber’s Note: Links to vol. i. will only work if you have internet access!
THE END.
Gilbert & Rivington, Printers, St. John’s Square, London.
Transcriber’s Note: This image is clickable for a larger version.
Elevation of the Himālāyā Mountains.
