*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74043 ***
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.
[Illustration: 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.
CONTENTS TO VOL. II.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
LIST OF PLATES
TO
VOL. II.
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.
WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE MAHRATTA CAMP AND ZENĀNA.
“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 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 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 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.
“With the champèd bit, and the archèd crest,
And the eye of a listening deer,
And the spirit of fire that pines at its rest,
And the limbs that laugh at fear.”
_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 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.
“Qui vit sans folie n’est pas si sage qu’il croit.”
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 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 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 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.”
[Illustration: 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.
SUPERSTITIONS OF THE NATIVES.
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 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 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 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 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 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 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.
CHAPTER XL.
THE NAWAB HAKĪM MENHDĪ, AND CITY OF KANNOUJ.
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. 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 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 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, 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 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 (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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.
CHAPTER XLI.
THE MAHRATTA CAMP AND SCENES IN THE ZENĀNA.
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, 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.
CHAPTER XLII.
THE MAHRATTAS AT ALLAHABAD.
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. 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 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 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, 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 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 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 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
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 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
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 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!
CHAPTER XLIII.
TŪFĀNS IN THE EAST.
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
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, 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 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
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 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 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 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 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; 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.
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE SPRING-BOW.
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 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 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 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 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 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 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.
[Illustration: 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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.
CHAPTER XLV.
THE RUINS OF GAUR.
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 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, for having
offended one of the Hindū divinities in days of yore; whence—
“Chakwā chakwī do jane ... in mat māro ko,e;
Ye māre kartār ke ... rain bichhorā ko,e.”
(Let no one kill the male or female chakwā;
They, for their deeds, are doomed to pass their nights in separation.)
“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:—
“Chākwī, maïn ā, ūn? Nahīn nahīn, chakwā.
Chakwā, maïn ā, ūn? Nahīn nahīn, chakwī.”
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, 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
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 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, 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 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
(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 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 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 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 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 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 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
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.
CHAPTER XLVI.
SKETCHES IN BENGAL—THE SUNDERBANDS.
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,
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 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; 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
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 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 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 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 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 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. 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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, 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.)
CHAPTER XLVII.
RADHA KRISHNŬ—SPORTING IN ASSAM.
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 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 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.
KRISHNŬ OR KANIYĀ.
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, 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 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.
[Illustration: 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.
GOPALŬ.
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.
GOPĪ NAT’HŬ.
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.
RADHA KRISHN.
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 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.
SPORTING IN ASSAM.
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 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 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 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.”
TIGER HUNTING ON FOOT.
“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 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 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 BĀGHMARS.
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, 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. 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.”
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE FAMINE AT KANAUJ.
“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, 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, 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 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,
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.
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, 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 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 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 fast enough to supply the demand, until it was
discovered they were _painted sparrows_!
[Illustration: 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.
ANCIENT HINDŪ RUIN.
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.
“For they were dead and buried and embalm’d,
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled:
Antiquity appears to have begun
Long after their primæval race was run.”
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
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 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.
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE HINDŪ 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—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 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.
[Illustration: 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.
BRŬMHŬ.
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, 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.
BRAHMA, THE CREATOR.
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 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, THE PRESERVER.
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_, 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.
SHIVŬ, THE DESTROYER.
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 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 TEN AVATARS.
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.
1. MACH, MACHCHHA, OR THE FISH.
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 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 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.”
2. KURMA, OR THE TORTOISE.
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 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.
3. BARĀH OR VARĀHA, THE BOAR.
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 the shape
of a boar, killed him with his tusks, and replaced the earth in its
original situation.
4. NARA-SINGHA, OR THE MAN-LION.
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.
5. VAMANA, OR THE DWARF.
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 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, 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.
6. PARASHU-RĀMA.
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 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.
7. RĀMA-CHANDRA.
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 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.
8. BALA-RĀMA.
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 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.”
9. BUDDHA.
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_.” 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 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 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 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 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 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.
10. KALKĪ, OR THE HORSE.
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 DESCENT OF VISHNŬ AS KRISHNA.
The Preserver appeared on earth in the form of Krishna, 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 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 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.
KAMA-DEVA, THE GOD OF LOVE.
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 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!”
JAGANA’TH, OR JAGANAT’HA.
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.
SHIVŬ, THE DESTROYER.
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 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 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 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.
MAHADÉO, OR MAHĀ-DEVA.
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 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.
GANESH.
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.
KARTIKEYA.
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.
LACHHMĪ.
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 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.
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 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.
DŪRGA.
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, 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 PURĀNAS.
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 VEDAS.
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 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].
CHAPTER L.
PLEASANT DAYS IN CAMP.
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 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 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 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 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 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.
“Ha’thi par howda
Ghore par zīn
Jaldí bhāgīya
Gen’ral Monsīn.”
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 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.”
CHAPTER LI.
RUINS OF DELHI.
“VEDI NAPOLI, E POI MORI.”
[Illustration: “_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.
[Illustration: Palace and Fort of Delhi.
فاني پارکس]
_18th._—Marched into Delhi: the first sight of the city from 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 would it be clear that the _us_
in the epitaph proceeds from the lions:—
“Deep beneath this marble stone
A kindred spirit to our own
Sleeps in death’s profound repose,
Freed from human cares and woes;
Like _us_ his heart, like _ours_ his frame,
He bore on earth a gallant name.
Friendship gives to _us_ the trust
To guard the hero’s honour’d dust.”
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 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 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 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.
MAUSOLEUM OF HUMAIOON.
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 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.
KOTĪLA OF FEROZE SHĀH.
_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 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.
MASJID OF ROSHAN-OOL-DOWLA.
We observed with great interest the gilded domes of the mosque of
Roshan-ool-Dowla, at one end of the Chandnī 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 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.
THE KUTAB MINĀR.
I had seen many drawings of this famous minār, and imagined 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
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.
KUTAB KÍ LĀT.
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
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.
CHAPTER LII.
ANCIENT DELHI—THE ZENĀNA GHĀR.
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, 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.”
THE OBSERVATORY.
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 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, 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.
THE ZENĀNA.
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 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 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 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:—
“The spider hath woven his web in the royal palace of the Cæsars,
The owl standeth sentinel on the watch-towers of Afrasiab!”
_Sadi._
“The lonely spider’s thin grey pall
Waves slowly widening o’er the wall;
The bat builds in his harem bower;
And, in the fortress of his power,
The owl usurps the beacon-tower;
The wild dog howls o’er the fountain’s brim,
With baffled thirst, and famine, grim;
For the stream has shrunk from its marble bed,
Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread.”
_Byron._
“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, 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 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.
THE JĀMA MASJID.
_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, 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 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 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.
CHAPTER LIII.
DEPARTURE FOR THE HILLS.—LANDOWR.
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 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 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 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.” 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; 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 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 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: 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 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.
CHAPTER LIV.
PICTURESQUE SCENES IN THE HILLS.
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.
“The clematis, the favoured flower,
That boasts the name of Virgin’s Bower,”
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 transparently-winged beetle: the sounds are like what
we might fancy the notes would be of birds gone crazy.
“The shrill cicalas, people of the pine,—
Making their summer lives one ceaseless song,
Were the sole echoes, save my steed’s and mine.”
[Illustration: 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.
VIEW FROM THE PILGRIM’S BANGLĀ.
_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 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:—
“The mind that broods o’er guilty woes
Is like the scorpion girt by fire,—
In circle narrowing as it glows,
The flames around their captive close,
Till, inly search’d by thousand throes,
And maddening in her ire,
One sad and sole relief she knows,
The sting she nourish’d for her foes,
Whose venom never yet was vain,
Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,
And darts into her desperate brain.”
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 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 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 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, 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 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 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 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 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; 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, 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.
CHAPTER LV.
LIFE IN THE HILLS.
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.
THE KHARĪTĀ
_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 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.
[Illustration: 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 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,
“These cursed fleas, they bite and skip so,
In this Island of Calypso!”
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 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 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 sides. My fair friend laughed, in
spite of her alarm, when I repeated the old verses:—
“Ellen, from lightning to secure her life,
Draws from her pocket the attractive knife;
But all in vain, my fair, this cautious action,
For you can never be without attraction.”
_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 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 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.
CHAPTER LVI.
ELEVATION OF THE HIMALAYA.
“Not vainly did the early Persian make
His altar the high places, and the peak
Of earth-o’ergazing mountains, and thus take
A fit and unwall’d temple, there to seek
The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak,
Uprear’d of human hands. Come, and compare
Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek,
With nature’s realms of worship, earth and air,
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer!”
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 GREAT PEAK OF BHADRINĀTH.
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. 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. 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—
“⸺Andes, giant of the western star,
With meteor-standard to the winds unfurl’d,
Looks from his throne of clouds o’er half the world.”
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 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.
KEDARNĀTH.
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
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 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 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.
JUMNOTRĪ.
Bandarponch is 23,916 feet above the sea, and the Peaks of 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 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; 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 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.”
CHAPTER LVII.
DEPARTURE FROM THE HILLS.
“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:
“Look through nature up to nature’s God:”
“Commune with thine own heart, and be still.” Let none be 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
“⸺ dewy morn, and od’rous noon, and even
With sunset, and its gorgeous ministers?”
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?
“My altars are the mountains and the ocean,
Earth, air, stars,—all that springs from the great Whole,
Who hath produced and will receive the soul.”
“I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Every thing almost
Which is nature’s, and may be
Untainted by man’s misery.”
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, and enjoy those solemn feelings of natural piety with
which the spirit of solitude imbues the soul.
“Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part
Of me and of my soul, as I of them?
Is not the love of these deep in my heart
With a pure passion?”
“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.”
“Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains,
They crown’d him long ago,
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
With a diadem of snow.”
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,
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:—
“‘Here stands a post.’—‘Who put it there?’
‘A better man than you, touch it if you dare.’”
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 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
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 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, 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 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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 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 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.
CHAPTER LVIII.
DEPARTURE FROM ALLAHABAD—THE THREE WISHES.
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 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 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 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 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 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 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; 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 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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
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!
CHAPTER LIX.
ARRIVAL IN CALCUTTA—THE “MADAGASCAR.”
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
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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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. 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 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 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 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. 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 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 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, 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 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.”
CHAPTER LX.
DEPARTURE FROM ST. HELENA.
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 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 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; 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 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 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 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 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 remarkably fine, the wall-flowers most
fragrant. Irish ivy is however larger and finer. The well-known lines—
“On a rock whose haughty brow
Frowns o’er old Conway’s foaming flood”
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
[Illustration]
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 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 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 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
“⸺Swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o’er the unbending corn, and skims along the main:”
—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. 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.
[Illustration: 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. 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 me turn from your
grave to the duties that are before me, and strive to act in a manner
worthy of your child.
INDIAN NEWS.
_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 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 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, 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!
CHAPTER LXI.
VOYAGE TO THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.
“Here’s a sigh for those who love me,
And a smile for those who hate;
And whatever sky’s above me,
Here’s a heart for any fate.
“Though the ocean roar around me,
It still shall bear me on;
Though a desert should surround me,
It has springs that may be won.”
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 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 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. At night I was
sitting Hindūstanī fashion on my sofa, playing on the guitar, and singing—
“Du, du, liegst mir im Herzen,
Du, du, liegst mir im Sinn.”
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 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′.
“The moon is up, but yet it is not night,—
Sunset divides the sky with her.”
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 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 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 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.
CHAPTER LXII.
RESIDENCE AT CAPE TOWN.
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 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 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 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 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, 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 BUSHWOMAN.
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 sketch, still the peculiarity of the figure
and the style of countenance stamp them of the same race.
[Illustration: 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.
‘⸺Wither’d and wild in her attire,
She look’d not like a habitant of earth,
And yet was on it.’
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 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 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, 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 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) 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 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
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.
CHAPTER LXIII.
SCENES AT THE CAPE.—THE TEMPLE OF JAGANĀTH.
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.”
A KAFIR WARRIOR.
_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 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.
[Illustration: 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 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 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 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 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 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.
THE SOUTHERN CROSS.
_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 il crusero di che Dante parlò nel principio
del Purgatorio _con spirito profetico_, dicendo,
“Io mi volsi a man destra, e posi mente
All’ altro polo, e vidi quattro stelle
Non viste mai, fuor ch’alla prima gente.
Goder pareva’l ciel di lor fiammelle.
O settentrïonal vedovo sito,
Poichè privato se’di mirar quelle!”
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.
[Illustration: 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 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; 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, 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 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.
THE TEMPLE OF JAGANĀTH.
_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 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 seven times), Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ married her, and
to bring down her monstrous height, he fastened a ploughshare to her
shoulders.
JAGANĀTH.
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 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.
[Illustration: 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 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 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 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._
CHAPTER LXIV.
SKETCHES ON THE RIVER FROM CALCUTTA TO COLGONG.
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 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.
_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,
“Rather I’d choose laboriously to bear
A weight of woes, and breathe the vital air,
A slave to some poor hind that toils for bread,
Than reign the scepter’d monarch of the dead.”
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 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 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 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 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 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,
“Voilà Madame, qui arrive
Pour encore visiter mes tigres!”
Walked on a short distance to have a view of the Hills, and 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 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: 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.
CHAPTER LXV.
SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM COLGONG TO DINAPŪR.
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 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. 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.
CHAPTER LXVI.
SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM DINAPŪR TO BENARES.
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 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 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 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 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 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 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.
[Illustration: THREE SATĪS and a MANDAP near GHĀZĪPŪR.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس]
THREE SATĪS AND A MANDAP NEAR GHAZIPŪR.
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 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.
[Illustration: 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
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.
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 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.
FUNERAL RITES.—BURNING THE DEAD.
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 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 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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,
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.
CHAPTER LXVII.
SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM BENARES TO BINDACHUN.
“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 the shastrŭ during his residence there,
Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ at death grinds him betwixt two mill-stones.”
THE SNAKE-CHARMERS.
_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, 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 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 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 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 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 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. 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.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
SKETCHES ON THE RIVER FROM BINDACHUN TO ALLAHABAD.
“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,
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.
THE TEMPLE OF BHAWĀNĪ.
[Illustration: 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 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,
“I give thee all, I have no more,
Though poor the offering be.”
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, account for the kangan offered to Bhagwān, the patroness of
satīs.
[Illustration: 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, 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 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 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 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.
“Oh! it settles the spirits, when nothing is seen
But a pig on a common, a goose on a green.”
_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 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 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.
NATIVE SUGAR MILLS.
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.
[Illustration: 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 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, 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 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.”
CHAPTER LXIX.
RESIDENCE AT PRĀG, AND RETURN TO CALCUTTA.
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 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.
“In questa casa troverte
Tout ce qu’on peut souhaiter,
Vinum, panem, pisces, carnes,
Coaches, chaises, horses, harness.”
_23rd._—We quitted the boats, and went up to stay with our 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 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._ 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.
CHAPTER LXX.
SKETCHES AT SEA.
“The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were brutish and irrational;
But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues,
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.”
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 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 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 “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 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 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 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 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.
“But where of ye, O tempests, is the goal?
Are ye like those within the human breast?
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?”
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 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!
CHAPTER LXXI.
SKETCHES AT SEA—MOUNTAINS OF AFRICA—THE FAREWELL.
“An adieu should in utterance die,
Or if written but faintly appear;
Only heard in the burst of a sigh,
Or seen in the drop of a tear.”
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
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, 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 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 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 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; 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 bright wave dashing o’er me, and the pure air above, to the
heavy sod and the crowded churchyard.
[Illustration: 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.
WATERSPOUTS.
_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; 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.
PICO.
_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 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.
[Illustration: 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.
THE FAREWELL.
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!
FOOTNOTES
[1] Oriental Proverbs and Sayings, No. 101.
[2] Oriental Proverbs, No. 102.
[3] Appendix, No. 30.
[4] Oriental Proverbs, No. 103.
[5] Ibid. No. 104.
[6] Ibid. No. 105.
[7] Oriental Proverbs, No. 106.
[8] Oriental Proverbs and Sayings, No. 107.
[9] Oriental Proverbs and Sayings, No. 108.
[10] Ibid. 109.
[11] Oriental Proverbs, No. 110.
[12] Oriental Proverbs, No. 111.
[13] Ibid. No. 112.
[14] Oriental Proverbs, No. 113.
[15] Oriental Proverbs, No. 114.
[16] Ibid. No. 115.
[17] Ibid. No. 116.
[18] Ward, on the Religion of the Hindoos.
[19] Oriental Proverbs, No. 49.
[20] See the sketch entitled “The Spring-bow,” Vol. ii. p. 73.
[21] Oriental Proverbs, No. 117.
[22] Oriental Proverbs, No. 118.
[23] Ibid. No. 119.
[24] Vide Appendix, No. 31.
[25] Oriental Proverbs, No. 120.
[26] Oriental Proverbs and Sayings, No. 121.
[27] Oriental Proverbs, No. 122.
[28] Appendix, No. 32.
[29] Oriental Proverbs and Sayings, No. 123.
[30] Oriental Proverbs, No. 124.
[31] Oriental Proverbs, No. 125.
[32] Oriental Proverbs, No. 126.
[33] Oriental Proverbs, No. 127.
[34] Ibid. No. 128.
[35] Oriental Proverbs and Sayings, No. 129.
[36] Oriental Proverbs and Sayings, No. 130.
[37] A terrace to sit and converse on.
[38] Appendix, No. 33.
[39] Appendix, No. 34.
[40] See the two leaves of this bulb in the foreground of the portrait of
the Bushwoman.
[41] Oriental Proverbs and Sayings, No. 131.
[42] Ibid. No. 132.
[43] Ibid. No. 133.
[44] Oriental Proverbs, No. 134.
[45] Oriental Proverbs, No. 135.
[46] Oriental Proverbs, No. 136.
[47] Oriental Proverbs, No. 137.
[48] See the Plate entitled “Kalsās,” Fig. 3.
[49] Oriental Proverbs, No. 138.
[50] Oriental Proverbs, No. 139.
[51] Oriental Proverbs, No. 140.
[52] Oriental Proverbs, No. 141.
[53] Oriental Proverbs, No. 142.
[54] Oriental Proverbs, No. 143.
[55] Classically _Mare_—therefore feminine.
[56] Written at St. Leonard’s-on-Sea.
[57] Oriental Proverbs, No. 144.
[58] Ibid. No. 145.
[59] Ibid. No. 146.
[60] Ibid. No. 147.
APPENDIX.
No. I.—_Copy of the inscription in the church of Tanworth,
Warwickshire._—Vol. i. p. 58.
“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 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.
No. II.—_To freeze ice cream in an English freezing pail, enough for a
large party._
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
cream ice is as hard as real ice itself. Properly stirred it resembles
hard snow, after the fashion of the Parisian ice cream.
No. III.—_Strawberry or raspberry 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.
No. IV.—_Freezing mixture._
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.
No. V.—_To freeze two quarts of strawberry cream in a native kulfī._
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 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.)
Nos. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X.—See G. A. Jarrin’s Italian Confectioner, pp.
123-133. Also p. 229, _for colouring ice with cochineal_, _i.e._ kirmīz i
farangī.
No. XI.—_To lacquer boxes._—Vol. i. p. 113.
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_.
No. XII.—_Karand patthar, corundum stone, or adamantine spar._—Vol. i. p.
114.
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.
No. XIII.—_Indian method of washing the hair._—Vol. i. p. 136.
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_.
No. XIV.—Take seven _gelās_ (seed of mimosa scandens), break and put the
kernels into a _chhattak_ of water for a night; pound them, and strain
through muslin; add the juice of four or five limes, and the yolks of two
or three eggs; wash the hair with the mixture.
No. XV.—_Ink for taking impressions off Hindūstanī seals._—Vol. i. p. 142.
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.
No. XVI.—_To recover the ink of faded writing._—Vol. i. pp. 175, 176.
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.
No. XVII.—Vol. i. p. 114.
Because a woman is a _she-wālā_ (_wālā_, a fellow).
No. XVIII.—_Treatment of cholera._—Vol. i. p. 203.
Our medical adviser said, he considered the best treatment was, “to
give forty _measured_ drops of laudanum in a glassful of brandy and
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.”
No. XIX.—_To prepare skeleton peepul leaves._—Vol. i. p. 218.
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.
No. XX.—_To copy drawings with talk_—i.e. talc.—Vol. i. p. 219.
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 may be copied in this manner: of course every thing is reversed.
Ivory black will not answer.
No. XXI.—_To take off the impression from leaves and flowers._—Vol. i. p.
219.
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.
No. XXII.—_To arrange a turban._—Vol. i. p. 234.
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,
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.
No. XXIII.—_The Coles, the Bheels, the Gonds, the Khonds, &c._—Vol. i. p.
236.
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 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. 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.”
No. XXIV.—_Bengal coins._—Vol. i. p. 273.
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.
No. XXV.—_Easy method of preserving small birds._—Vol. i. p. 289.
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.
No. XXVI.—_Antiseptic paste._
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.
No. XXVII.—_Arsenical soap._—Vol. i. p. 289.
Powdered arsenic one pound, white Marseilles soap one pound, 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.
No. XXVIII.—_Dye for the moustache._—Vol. i. p. 319.
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.
No. XXIX.—_To dye the beard and moustache._—Vol. i. p. 320.
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.
No. XXX.—_Perfumed tobacco cakes._—Vol. ii. p. 8.
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
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.
No. XXXI.—_Authorities quoted in the Work._—Vol. ii. p. 181.
“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.”
No. XXXII.—_Extracts from “The History of Delhie, and adjacent Ruins;” a
manuscript, by Colonel Franklin._—Vol. ii. p. 222.
“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 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.”
No. XXXIII.—Vol. ii. p. 311.
“Because it is a fellow-feeling for a fellow-creature.”
No. XXXIV.—Vol. ii. p. 333.
Mr. Greville, zoological artist, 85, New Bond Street, charges for
specimens as follows:—A cock moonal, or blue pheasant, 5_l._; a hen do.,
1_l._, a pair of the red Argus pheasants, 3_l._; a flying squirrel, 1_l._
5_s._; a flying fox, 5_s._; a vulture, 2_l._ Although the price of birds
for sale (not set up) is so high, he would give but little for them, and
appeared to think 3_l._ 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, 1_l._; one pair of pheasants, 10_s._; one
pair, ditto, smaller, 7_s._; one brace of birds, still smaller, 5_s._;
one pair of humming birds, 4_s._
INDEX.
A.
Aboo, tomb of, vol. ii. 223.
Abrus precatorius, i. 315.
Acacia Arabica, i. 221; ii. 74.
Achibut chamber, i. 213.
⸺, sacred, i. 214.
Adansonia digitata, i. 116-118, 225.
Æschynomene grandiflora, i. 316.
⸺ paludosa, i. 286.
Āghā Meer, i. 165.
Agra, great gun at, i. 276.
Akbar Shāh, tomb of, at Secundra, i. 374.
Albatross, i. 8, 9; ii. 354.
Ali Merdan Khan, palace of, ii. 218.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, his canal of paradise, ii. 194.
Allahabad, arrival at, i. 71.
⸺, residence at, i. 77.
⸺, sātī at, i. 91.
⸺, temple of Bhawānī at, i. 95.
⸺, pillar in the fort at, i. 309; ii. 295, 468.
⸺, city of, i. 309.
⸺, garden, caravan-sarā’e, and great well at, ii. 465-467.
Alligarh, fortress of, ii. 187.
Alligators, tame, ii. 88.
⸺ in their own wildernesses, i. 328.
Alms, necessity of giving, i. 465, 466.
Amaranthus Gangeticus, i. 314, 315.
⸺ Tricolor, i. 314.
Amazonian Mahratta lady, ii. 54, 55.
Amherst, Lord, i. 58.
Andaman Islands, i. 18; ii. 476.
Anna, Purna-Devi, ii. 179.
Ants, strange notion of the Muhammadans respecting, i. 314.
⸺, white, i. 145, 146, 312, 313.
Arwarī fish, i. 393; ii. 182, 295.
Apathy of the natives, i. 296.
Appa Sāhib, his six wives, ii. 9.
Archer, Lord, i. 58.
Architect of the gods, ii. 64.
Arrak, i. 147, 148.
Arrows, poisoned, ii. 73-76, 366.
⸺, whistling, i. 235.
⸺ of the Coles, i. 236.
⸺, Persian and Arabian, ii. 41.
Artocarpus integrifolia, i. 233.
Arzumund Bānū, account of, i. 350, 351.
Asclepias gigantea, i. 275.
⸺ rosea, i. 311.
Asiatic Society of Calcutta, ii. 105.
Asoca, a shrub sacred to Mahadēo, ii. 175.
Assam leaf insect, ii. 104.
Auckland, Lord, arrival of, at Allahabad, ii. 137.
⸺, Lord, and the Misses Eden visit the ex-Queen of Gwalior, ii.
137, 138.
Avatars, the ten, ii. 153-168.
Ayha, revenge of an, i. 137.
⸺ and durwān, i. 142, 143.
B.
Baboo Ramohun Roy, i. 29.
Bāghmars, tiger-killers, ii. 130-133.
Bāgh-sira, i. 290.
Bāiza Bā’ī, her Highness the, ii. 2-9, 22, 32-39, 43-52, 54-56,
61-63, 109-113, 116-118, 135-138, 291-293, 296, 342-344, 465.
Balaiyā lenā, ceremony of, ii. 110.
Bandarponch, the mountain, ii. 265-269.
Banglā of the pilgrim, view from the, ii. 237.
Barāh or Varāha, the third avatar, ii. 156.
Barkandāz, i. 67, 135, 299.
Barrackpūr, i. 38; ii. 101.
Basil.—_See_ Tulsī.
Bassia longifolia, i. 122.
Baths, steam, i. 86, 100, 368, 419.
Bauhinia scandens, ii. 77, 78.
Bazār, Barā, i. 57.
Beauty, female, notions of, entertained by the natives of India, i.
385.
Beetle-wings used in embroidery, i. 67.
Beggars, river, ii. 102.
Ben Oge, ii. 244.
Benares, i. 66-68; ii. 61, 435, 470.
Bengālī woman, i. 60; ii. 97.
Berhampūr, ii. 98, 99.
Bhadráj, expedition to the summit of, ii. 248.
Bhadrināth, great peak of, ii. 260, 261.
⸺, town and temple of, ii. 262, 263.
Bhagwān, or Bhawānī, the goddess, ii. 450.
⸺, temple of, ii. 449.
⸺, a form of Dūrgā, ii. 179.
⸺, temple in Alopee Bagh, i. 95, 96.
Bhardoajmun, temples of, i. 216.
Bhoodder Ram, the dwarf, i. 224.
Bhora, a lucky mark, ii. 9.
Bhŭgŭvŭtēē, the cow, a form of Dūrgā, ii. 174.
Bhurtpore, i. 55.
Bihishtī, i. 299.
Biloa, or Malura, a shrub, ii. 175.
Bird-catchers, i. 338.
⸺, Chiri-mārs, peculiar method of snaring their game, ii. 278.
Birds, worshipped by the Hindūs, ii. 328.
⸺, springes for, i. 338.
⸺, Indian, ii. 232, 234.
Blundell, Major, death of, ii. 235.
Board of works, i. 111-114.
Bojesmāns, ii. 360, 362.
Bombax ceiba, i. 341.
Booteah Chharrā, used as shot, ii. 255.
⸺, probable origin of, ii. 255, 256.
Borassus flabelliformis, ii. 69.
Bore, the, ii. 391.
Boundaries, how determined in the Hills, ii. 275.
Bow, charmed, i. 237.
⸺, pellet, i. 236, 237, 312.
⸺ of the Coles, i. 236.
⸺, a, reversed, i. 297.
⸺ of the Hill-men, ii. 76, 77.
⸺, the spring, ii. 73.
Bower, of the pilgrim, i. 310-312.
Bracelet-bound brother and sister, ii. 117, 118.
Brahma, the creator, ii. 149-151.
⸺, the first personage of the Hindū triad, ii. 149.
Brahmanī bull, i. 66; ii. 427.
⸺ ducks (anas cæsarca), i. 341; ii. 80, 417.
Brahmanical thread, i. 304, 305.
Bricks, ancient, ii. 88.
Britons, ancient, resemblance between them and the Hindūs, i. 218;
ii. 259.
Brŭmhū, or Brahm, the one god without a second, ii. 148, 149.
Buddha, history of, the ninth avatar, ii. 162-168.
Buffaloes, curious manner of crossing rivers, i. 161.
Bulliah, the fair at, ii. 67, 413.
Bunce, little Jack, i. 118, 222.
Būndelā, children, sale of, ii. 294, 295.
Bungalow, or banglā, i. 137.
Burāt, the day of, i. 437-446.
Burtreenath, the god, his residence, ii. 61.
Butea frondosa, i. 309.
⸺ superba, i. 310.
Buxar, the stud at, ii. 67.
By’ā birds, i. 220, 221; ii. 74.
Byragies, i. 256.
C.
Cachnár, ii. 77, 78.
Cairipūr, ruins of an ancient fort near, i. 38.
Calcutta, i. 20, 21.
Camel, how to dress a, ii. 36.
⸺, curious method of stealing a, ii. 192.
⸺ battery, Major Pew’s, ii. 299, 300.
⸺ camelus bactrianus, i. 224.
Cape hen, battle of one with a terrier, i. 10.
Carāites, hymn of the, i. 269, 270.
Carnicobar, i. 14-18.
Casowtee stone, ii. 88, 89.
Cassia fistula, i. 317.
Cawnpore, i. 121.
Chak-chakkī wālās, i. 299.
Chakwā.—_See_ Brahmanī Ducks.
Champa, i. 274.
Chandar-nagar, ii. 100.
Chāotree, i. 447.
Chapel at Pennycross, ii. 341.
Chārpāī, description of, i. 387.
Chaunrīs, i. 239.
Cheetā hunting, i. 398, 399.
Chinsurah, ii. 100.
Chiraghdanīs, ii. 62.
Chitpore, corn-mills at, ii. 101.
Cholera, dread of, entertained by the natives, ii. 253.
⸺, insanity cured by the fear of, i. 202.
⸺, remarkable method of frightening it away, i. 281.
Chounsah, its murda-ghāt, or place for burning the dead, ii. 66, 67.
Chowringhee, i. 20.
Christians, native, i. 175; ii. 293-295, 288.
Christmas, presents at, i. 120, 171.
Churīs, or bracelets, i. 388; ii. 308.
Chŭrŭk Pūja, i. 26-28.
Cicalas, ii. 236, 237.
Cintra oranges, ii. 99.
Cloud-end, ii. 231.
Cocky-olli bird purchased by the pilgrim, ii. 142.
Coins, Assam, ii. 14, 15.
⸺, ancient, found at Kannouj, ii. 29, 30.
⸺ ⸺, of Secunder-al-Sānī, i. 133.
⸺, Putlī, ii. 55, 56.
⸺ ⸺, conjectured to be Venetian, ii. 55.
Coles, the bow and quiver of the, i. 236.
⸺, war hatchet of the, ib.
Colgong, rocks of, ii. 71, 72.
Combermere, Lord, i. 75.
Commission, curious, given to the pilgrim by the Bāiza Bā’ī, ii. 291,
292.
Constantia wine, why so expensive, ii. 312.
Conway, inscription on a tombstone in the church of, ii. 336.
Coodseah Begam, garden of, ii. 218.
Cornwallis, Marquis, his tomb, ii. 65.
Coronation of the king of Oude, anniversary of the, i. 87-90.
Corpses, Hindū, horrible appearance of, in the river, i. 167.
Corruption of words by the natives, i. 278.
Cotton plant, i. 341.
⸺, Bourbon, ib.
⸺ tree, ib.
⸺ seed, i. 58.
Cow, the, a form of Dūrgā or Bhawānī, i. 157, 158.
⸺ tails, i. 238, 239.
Cows, manner of doing pūja to, i. 307.
Cross, the Southern, ii. 375.
Crossing the line, i. 5.
Crows, whimsical mode of frightening, practised by the natives, i.
220.
Cummer-o’-deen, Cawn, palace of, ii. 218.
Curamnassa river, i. 65.
Cusu or kooshŭ grass, i. 307; ii. 425.
D.
Dākait, adventures of one at Gaur, ii. 82, 83.
Darah Shekoah, palace of, ii. 218.
Darzī, native tailor, i. 141.
Dasturī, what, i. 22.
Datura, species of, i. 148.
Dead, burning the, i. 167; ii. 424, 432.
Death, indifference of the Hindoos concerning, i. 331.
Debts, interest on, i. 37.
Deer, mouse, i. 40.
⸺, spotted, ib.
Delhi, first view of, very imposing, ii. 192, 193.
⸺, plan of the fort and palace of, ii. 193.
⸺, church at, ib.
⸺, the throne of the padshāh, i. 368.
Dēodar oil, ii. 253.
Devi, the goddess, an appellation applied particularly to Dūrga, ii.
177.
Devotee, Indian, singular vow of one, i. 227.
Dewālī, festival of the, i. 162.
Dewtas, or deotās, the mountain spirits of the Himalaya, ii. 268.
Dhrumsālā, description of a, i. 116.
Dhul Dhul, i. 298.
Dil-Kushā, park of, i. 181.
Diseases, native, method of transmitting through flowers, i. 223.
Dishes, ready dressed, i. 65.
Dispute, theological, between a Musalmān and a Hindū, ii. 287, 288.
Dividend, satisfactory, i. 273.
Dīwān-i-am, ii. 217.
Dīwān-i-khāss, ib.
Dolīs, for carrying women, ii. 227.
Domnī, i. 426, 427.
Dūb-grass, i. 232.
Ducks, wild, curious method of catching, i. 228.
Dŭkshina-rayŭ, the god, ii. 107.
Dūrga, the goddess, i. 34; ii. 178.
Dūrga-pūja, i. 34, 35.
Durwān, door-keeper, i. 142.
E.
Earthquake at Prāg, i. 222, 285.
⸺ in the Hills, ii. 240, 244, 248.
⸺ in Assam, ii. 132.
Eating the air, i. 140.
Eclipse of the moon, horror of the natives at, ii. 112.
Eed, festival of the, i. 353.
Egg, mundane, of the Hindoos, ii. 180.
Ektara, musical instrument so called, i. 251.
Elephant Minār, i. 407.
⸺ -fights, i. 176.
⸺, -swimming, an, i. 159; ii. 68.
Elephantiasis, i. 26.
Etmad-od-Doulah, tomb of, i. 372.
F.
Fakīr near Barrackpore, i. 38.
⸺ at Prāg, his cruel treatment by thieves, i. 306.
⸺’s rock at Janghira, ii. 71.
Fakīrs, their character of dishonesty, i. 64.
⸺, libertinism of, i. 258.
Famine at Kanauj, ii. 144, 145.
Fan palm, ii. 69.
Fane, Sir Henry, arrival of at Allahabad, ii. 60.
Fathīghar, ii. 1.
Fathīpoor Sicri, i. 401.
⸺ ⸺, pilgrimage of Akbar Shāh to, i. 402.
Fevers, Indian, i. 82, 83.
Ficus Indica, i. 214.
Fights, buffalo, i. 178.
⸺, elephant, i. 176.
⸺, horse and tiger, i. 178.
⸺, quail, i. 74, 75.
⸺, ram, i. 178.
⸺, rhinoceros, i. 177.
⸺, tiger, i. 178.
Fish, flying, i. 4; ii. 491.
⸺, order of the, i. 458, 459.
Foot of a Chinese lady, model of the, ii. 105.
Forgery, i. 145.
Fortune-tellers, precepts of Muhammad concerning, i. 282.
Fox, flying, i. 307.
France, Isle of, i. 138.
⸺ ⸺, visionary old man at, i. 139.
Frazer, murder of Mr. Wm., ii. 50, 51.
⸺, Wm. tomb of, at Delhi, ii. 193.
Frontispiece, description of the, i. 263-266.
Fulbertus Sagittarius, i. 59.
G.
Gaja Rājā Sāhib, ii. 3, 4, 6.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺ performs pūja at the shrine of Mahadēo, ii. 111.
Ganesh, history of, in the Introduction to Vol. I.
⸺, description of plate of, i. 263.
⸺ gigantic image of, on the banks of the Ganges, i. 68.
⸺, his battle with Parashu-Rāma, ii. 176.
Ganges, happiness of dying in sight of the, ii. 392.
Gangoutrī, Captain Hodgson’s description of, ii. 264, 265.
⸺, peak of, ii. 244.
Gardner, Colonel, i. 90, 181, 183, 229-231, 251, 408, 418, 420-428.
⸺ ⸺, death of, and of his begam, i. 458.
⸺ ⸺ and his begam, their tombs, ii. 185.
Garuda, the Man-Eagle, or Bird-God, _see_ Gŭroorŭ, ii. 174.
Gaur, the ruins of, ii. 84-87.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, Chambers’ description of, ii. 89-96.
Gazooddeen Cawn, madrasa, or college of, ii. 219, 220.
Ghāzīpūr, palace of the Nawāb of, ii. 65, 418.
Ghirgit, the, why held accursed by the Muhammedans, i. 300, 301.
Ghurī, description of the, i. 250.
Ghuznee, remains of the ancient city of, ii. 325, 326.
Gillespie, Gen., death of, ii. 242, 248.
Goat, balancing, i. 273.
Goats, Bengālī, i. 77.
⸺, Jumnapar, ib.
Goblin, address of a Hindū to a, ii. 12.
Gods, 330,000,000 in the Hindū Pantheon, ii. 147.
⸺, pedigree of the, ii. 148-181.
Gooltura, i. 317.
Goorz, Goorzmar, i. 465.
Gopalŭ, ii. 122.
Gopī Nat’hŭ, ib.
Gosain, detection of theft by a, i. 102, 103.
⸺, his temple, i. 104, 105.
Gosseina, i. 193, 194.
Gossypium herbaceum, i. 341.
Govinda, songs of, ii. 116, 117.
Gram-grinder, description of a, i. 232, 233.
Grass-cutter, i. 231.
Grasshoppers, enamelled, i. 275.
Great gun at Agra, account of the, i. 276-278.
Gumuki, i. 267.
Gunduc river, the rapidity of its stream, ii. 68.
Gūnth, or Hill pony, description and character of one, ii. 226.
Gŭroorŭ, the vahan of Vishnŭ, description of, ii. 328.
⸺ invoked by the Hindoos to obtain protection from snakes, ii.
328.
Gynee club, i. 251.
H.
Hæmanthus toxicaria, ii. 366.
Hanasa, the swan, the vahan of Brahma, ii. 174.
Hail, tremendous storm of, i. 291.
Hair, washing the, i. 136.
Hanging one’s self for spite, i. 249.
Harrow boys, i. 53.
Hastings, Lord, death of, i. 71.
Heat, prickly, i. 5.
Heber, Bishop, death of, i. 60.
Hebrew hymn, i. 270.
Hessing, Colonel, tomb of, i. 418.
Hibiscus cannabinus, i. 316.
⸺ Indica, ib.
⸺ longifolius, i. 315.
⸺ mutabilis, ib.
⸺ sabdariffa, i. 316.
Hill people, ii. 75-77.
Hills on fire, ii. 246.
Himalaya mountains, elevation of, ii. 260-270.
Hindostanī song, i. 133, 134.
Hindū triad, ii. 147.
Hindūs will neither make converts or be converted, ii. 288.
Hoogly river, ii. 102.
⸺ ⸺, introduction of steam boats on the, i. 32.
Hooqŭ cakes, ii. 8.
Horrors, bottle of, i. 243.
Horseradish tree, i. 314.
Horse, Skinner’s, i. 76.
Horses, lucky and unlucky marks on, ii. 9-11.
⸺, native, extremely vicious, ii. 279.
⸺, poisoning of, by the natives, i. 138.
Horses, stud of, marks on, i. 161.
House, pakka, what, i. 137.
Houses, Indian, style of, i. 21.
Hukāk, i. 113.
Humaioon, mausoleum of, at Delhi, ii. 197, 198.
Humming birds, i. 311.
Hŭnoomān, the Monkey-god, account of, i. 109.
⸺, temple of, i. 115.
⸺, his fiery tail, ii. 269.
Hurdwar, ii. 265.
Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam, the pilgrim’s visit to, ii. 213, 214.
Hymn, Hebrew, i. 270.
I. J.
Jagana’th, a form of Krishna, ii. 172.
⸺ made of the vertebra of an animal, i. 262.
⸺, temple of, ii. 381.
⸺, the idol, ii. 384.
⸺, the swing of, ii. 382.
⸺.—_See_ Krishna.
Jahānārā Begam, tomb of, i. 371, 372.
Jahāngīrī Mahul, i. 361.
Jama Khānas, i. 354.
Jamh O Deen Muhammad, visit from, i. 33.
Jampān, description of a, ii. 227.
Janao, or sacred thread, i. 304, 305; ii. 62.
Jasmine, double Arabian, i. 274.
Jasminum sambac pleno, ib.
Ice, consumption of American, i. 287.
⸺ pits at Allahabad, i. 78, 222.
Ichneumon, i. 314.
Idiot son of a Brahman, i. 225.
Jellinghy flat, vessel so called, ii. 105.
Jerrīpānī, ii. 236.
Jodh Bā’ī, tomb of, i. 407; ii. 465.
Illness, singular mode of getting rid of, believed in by the natives,
i. 223.
⸺, feigned, punishment of, ii. 303.
Imām-Bārā, i. 179.
Imāms, leaders of the faithful, i. 293-295.
John Strong, the drummer, presents his wife to a comrade, and
desires to contract a second matrimonial alliance, ii. 293.
Ipomæa quamoclit, i. 310.
⸺ speciosa, i. 311.
Ishk-pechā, i. 310.
Jumna, storm on the, ii. 53, 54.
Jumnotrī, peaks of, ii. 265.
Jungipūr, toll at, ii. 97.
Jŭtayoo, a bird worshipped by the Hindoos, ii. 328.
K.
Kadam-i-rasūl, history of the, ii. 86, 87.
Kadam Sharīf, footprints of the prophet, at Gaur, ii. 86.
Kafir warrior, ii. 369.
Kailās, the mountain, ii. 266.
Kaldung, the mountain, ii. 269.
Kalī, a name of Dūrga, ii. 178.
Kalī Mā’ī, temple of, at Kalī Ghāt, ii. 104.
Kalī Nadī river, ii. 28.
Kalkī, or the horse, the tenth and final avatar yet to come, ii. 168.
Kaloo-rayŭ, a form of Shivŭ, ii. 106, 107.
Kalsās, i. 96; ii. 417-421.
Kalunga, brave defence of, by the Ghoorkas, ii. 242, 243.
Kam-dhenū, the cow of plenty, ii. 159.
Kama-Deva, the god of love, ii. 171, 172.
Kanauj, ruins of, ii. 29, 30.
⸺, legend of, ii. 146.
⸺, ancient Hindū ruin at, ii. 143.
Kanwar Wālā, i. 260.
Kartikeya, the god of war, ii. 176.
Kasīm bazār, ii. 98.
Kedernāth, peak of, ii. 263.
⸺, temple of, ib.
Keeree pass, ii. 276, 277.
Kharīta of her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, ii. 250.
Khud, a narrow valley between two hills, so called, ii. 240.
Khŭnjŭnŭ, the wagtail, a form of Vishnŭ, ii. 329.
Kimkhwāb, manufactory of, ii. 62.
Kodalee, the Thugs’ pickaxe, i. 153.
Kookree of the Ghoorkas, description of, ii. 243.
Korah, or bughalee, of the Ghoorka officers, ii. 243.
Kos Minār, i. 377; ii. 188.
Kotīla of Feroze Shāh, ii. 198.
Krishn, or Kaniyā-jee, history of, ii. 118-24.
⸺ and the 16,000 gopīs, sporting as elephants, horses, &c.. ii.
121.
⸺ as gopalū and gopī nat’hŭ, ii. 122.
⸺ Radha, i. 263, 264; ii. 116, 122.
Krishn, descent of Vishnŭ as, ii. 168-171.
⸺ the bones of, and history, ii. 381-385.
Kurma, the tortoise, the second avatar, ii. 155.
Kutab Kí Lāt, ii. 205, 206.
Kutab Minār, ii. 202-205.
Kutcherry, a, i. 122.
Kywan Jah, Prince, i. 73.
L.
Lachhmī, the goddess of beauty, i. 42, 206, 207.
⸺, the wife of Vishnŭ, ii. 176, 177.
Ladies, native, their amusements in the zenāna, i. 230, 231.
La Martinière, i. 179.
Landowr, ii. 229.
Lāthī, what, i. 132.
Leaf-grasshopper, i. 242.
Leprosy, Arabian, i. 204-206.
Line, ceremonies of crossing the, i. 5-7.
Light, phosphoric, of the waves; description of the animal causing,
ii. 353.
Lights, festival of, i. 162, 163.
Locusts, i. 288, 289.
Lucnow, visit to, i. 73.
⸺, second visit to, i. 175.
M.
Mach, Machchha, the Fish, or first avatar, ii. 153-155.
Magellan clouds, ii. 353, 375.
Magic, temple of, i. 404.
Mahabarat, a poem composed by Vyasa, ii. 179.
Mahadēo, or Mahā-Dēva, a form of Shivŭ, ii. 175, 176.
Mahratta Camp, ii. 32, 33.
Map of Delhi, ii. 222.
“Marchioness of Ely,” voyage in the, i. 2.
Marriage of a nīm to a peepul, i. 72.
⸺ of Susan Gardner to Unjun Sheko, i. 420-448.
Martine, General Claude, i. 179.
⸺, his magnificent tomb, ib.
Martynia, proboscidea, i. 319.
Masjid Jāma, the great mosque at Delhi, ii. 220, 221.
⸺ Kala, or black mosque, ii. 221, 222.
⸺ Akbārābādee, ii. 200.
⸺ of the Princess of China, i. 373, 374.
⸺, the Golden, ii. 84.
⸺, Motī, the mosque of pearl, i. 360.
Mats, Calcutta, i. 313.
Meerunke Sarā’e, ii. 143.
Melaleuca Kȳ’a-pootie, i. 317.
Mem Sāhiba, speech of the, i. 334.
Menagerie at Lucnow, i. 182.
⸺ at Barrackpūr, i. 39.
Mendicants, religious, i. 39.
⸺, account of, i. 256-260.
Menhdī, day of, i. 430-435.
Metcalfe, Sir Charles, arrival of, at Allahabad, ii. 49.
Mher-ul-Nissa, or Noormahul, or Noor-jahān, history of, i. 361-364.
Michelia champaca, i. 274.
Milton, descendants of, ii. 380.
Mint at Gwalior, ii. 56.
Miriam Zumanī, tomb of, i. 377.
Monghir, ii. 69.
Monkey, holy, ii. 125.
⸺, one kept in or near a stable, and why, ii. 13.
Moorshadabad, palace of the Nawāb at, ii. 98.
Mor-pankhī, a kind of pleasure-boat so called, ib.
Mountain storm, ii. 251.
Moustache, to dye the, i. 320.
Muhammad, the prophet, i. 107, 293-301, 453, 454, 459-466.
⸺, anecdotes concerning, i. 248, 282.
Muharram, account of the, i. 295-300; ii. 17-21, 374.
Mulka Begam, i. 381.
⸺ ⸺, divorce of, from Mirza Selīm, and marriage to Mr. James.
Gardner, i. 382.
Mulka Zumanī, i. 192, 193.
Mŭndodŭrēē, the wife of the giant Ravuna, i. 110.
Murder of two ladies in a zenāna, ii. 56.
N.
Nāch girls, i. 29, 30, 391, 427-429, 431.
Nāg-panchamī, i. 308.
Nalāpanī, ii. 269.
Nara-Singha, or the Man-Lion, the fourth avatar, ii. 157.
Native servants, ludicrous quarrels of, i. 146, 147.
Nauclea gambir, i. 318.
⸺ Orientalis, ib.
Nawāb, the, the Merchant, and the Palkī, ii. 306, 307.
⸺, a Muhammadan title of honour, singularly bestowed also on the
ladies of the family of the Emperor of Delhi, i. 394, 415, 458.
⸺ Hakīm Menhdī, his house and zenāna, ii. 17-20.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, reappointed minister in Oude, ii. 135.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, his death, ii. 139.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, suspension-bridge of, ii. 182.
Newlands, ii. 235, 371.
Nicobar, islands of, i. 14; ii. 476.
Nicumbha the fiend, i. 35.
Nīm tree, i. 71, 72, 112.
Nobutpoor, i. 65.
Noor-jahān, history of, i. 361-364.
⸺, turret of, i. 364.
Nose-ring, i. 385.
“Not at home,” Indian expression equivalent to, i. 388.
Nulgoon Pass, ii. 269.
Nusseer-ood-Deen-Hydur, death of, ii. 114.
Nut Log, or wandering gipsies, account of, i. 272.
Nyctanthes the sorrowful, i. 312.
Nymphæa, the, i. 311.
O.
Oats, i. 223.
Obelisk at Gaur, ii. 92-94.
Observatory near Delhi, ii. 209-212.
Ocymum album, i. 217.
⸺ pilosum, ib.
Oleander, i. 78.
Omens, bad, during the march of the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī, ii. 135.
One-eyed men supposed to be more knowing than others, ii. 13.
Oomeid Thug, narrative of, i. 243-246.
Orange, H.R.H. Prince Henry of, and the Hon. the Misses Eden visit
Lucnow, ii. 140.
Oude, heir apparent of, ii. 139.
⸺, King of, Ghazee-ood-Deen Hyder, i. 173.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, his meeting with the Governor-General, i. 174.
P.
Pachīsī-board, i. 405, 406.
Padshah Bāgh, the, i. 180.
Paganini of the East, i. 251.
Paharīs, or Hill-men, description of, ii. 227.
⸺, curious customs of the, relating to marriage, ii. 259.
Palanquins, i. 24.
Palia Gadh, glen of, ii. 267.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺, wild legends connected with the, ii. 268.
Palma, island of, i. 3, 4; ii. 350.
Pān and Atr, ii. 4, 5, 445.
⸺ Gardens, ii. 86.
Panchāyāt, or native court of justice, ii. 305.
Pandanus odoratissimus, i. 318.
Pankhā, i. 25.
Paper, sheets of, immense, ii. 201, 202.
Paradise, canal of, ii. 195.
Parda of the Mahrattas, ii. 45.
⸺, procession in, ii. 46, 47.
Parisnāth, temple of, i. 324; ii. 166.
Parkyal, ii. 269.
Parswanáth, the god, Budhist or Jain, i. 325; ii. 166.
Pārvutī, ii. 145, 175.
Pathan, barbarous treatment of a, i. 284.
Peacock, goose, and owl, the, worshipped by the Hindoos, ii. 329.
Pebbles from the Soane and Cane rivers, i. 113, 114.
Pedigree of the gods, ii. 147, 148.
⸺ of Col. Wm. L. Gardner, i. 420.
⸺ of the kings of Oude, i. 186.
Peepul tree, i. 217, 221, 222.
⸺ ⸺, remarkable quality of its seeds, ii. 295.
⸺ ⸺, its skeleton leaves, i. 218.
Pheasant, red, ii. 232.
⸺, blue, of the Himalaya, ii. 232.
Phŭlŭ-Hŭrēē, i. 164, 165.
Pico, the island of, ii. 494.
Pigeon, Cape, i. 8.
Pilgrim, the, and another lady, are mistaken for cadets, ii. 302, 303.
⸺ the, taken for a foreigner; also for a lancer, ii. 329.
Pintado, i. 8.
Pīr Shāh, tomb of, ii. 223.
Plague, alleged appearance of, at Palee, ii. 110.
Poinciana pulcherrima, i. 317.
Poison, African, and poison-bulb, ii. 366, 367.
Polyanthus tuberosa, i. 318.
Porto Santo, island of, i. 3.
Powder works and rocket manufactory, i. 225, 226.
Punica granatum, i. 317.
Punishment, brutal, inflicted by the King of Oude, i. 169.
Punishments of the grave, Muhammadan notions concerning the, i.
464-466.
Purānas, the sacred, ii. 179.
Q.
Quail shooting, i. 229.
⸺, pitched battle of, i. 74, 75.
Quarrel, laughable, between an ayha and an abdār, i. 140, 141.
Qui hys, old Indians why so called, i. 145.
Quicksand, accident in a, i. 247.
R.
Radha Krishn, ii. 122.
Rājā, a Hindū sovereign; a title bestowed also most singularly upon
the ladies of Scindia’s family, ii. 342, 465.
Rāj ghāt, Allahabad, i. 114.
Rākhī, or bracelet, festival of the, ii. 117, 118.
Rāma, or Rām, descriptions of, i. 263.
⸺ Parashu, the sixth avatar, ii. 159.
⸺ Chandra, the seventh avatar, ii. 160, 161.
⸺ Bala, the eighth avatar, ii. 161.
⸺ Sīta, i. 342; ii. 161.
⸺ Leela festival, i. 108.
Ranayana, an epic poem, ii. 179.
Rās, sacred dance so called, ii. 116.
Rat, the vahan of Ganesh, ii. 174.
Rat’s granary, ii. 241.
⸺, Bandicote, i. 51.
Ravuna, the giant, i. 109, 110.
Reeçee Khoond, warm spring at, ii. 71.
Reflection of distant objects, extraordinary power of seeing the, i.
139.
Rhododendron, white, ii. 232.
⸺ ⸺, juice of the petals of the, alleged to have an intoxicating
quality, ii. 232.
Rice, trial by, i. 40.
Riding, style of, practised by the Mahratta ladies, ii. 5, 6.
Roasting a sirdar-bearer, charge for, ii. 30.
Rockets, i. 225.
Roomal, or handkerchief of the Thugs, i. 156.
Roomee Durwāza, i. 179.
Rosaries, i. 258-260, 267.
Runjeet Singh, meeting of Lord Auckland with, ii. 297.
Rupees, recovery of the stolen, i. 102.
S.
Saadut Ulee Khan, tomb of, i. 182.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, baths of, ii. 218, 219.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, palace of, ii. 218.
Sāchak, day of, i. 428.
Saharanpūr, botanical garden at, ii. 224.
Sā’īs, whimsical complaint of a, i. 234.
Salt-box, peculiar kind of, used by the Hill-men, ii. 89.
Salvia Bengalensis, i. 315.
Saraswatī, the goddess of learning, science, and the fine arts, ii.
177, 178.
⸺, picture of, riding on a peacock, on the cover of Vol. I.
⸺ the river, i. 213.
Sarson, a species of mustard plant, ii. 88.
Sāti without a head, stolen and brought on board the pinnace, ii. 25.
⸺ at Allahabad, i. 91.
⸺ at Nobutpoor, i. 65.
⸺ at Ghazīpūr, ii. 419.
⸺ abolished, i. 161.
⸺ mounds in Alopee Bagh, i. 95.
⸺ ⸺ at Beerpūr, ii. 66.
School, experimental, fecundity of the young ladies in, ii. 293-295.
Scorpion, the fact of its self-destruction when tormented by fire,
ii. 238, 239.
“Seagull,” the pinnace, description of, i. 322.
⸺, loss of the, ii. 59.
Sefder Jung, palace of, ii. 218.
Sekunder al Sānī, ii. 25.
⸺, inscriptions on coins of, i. 133.
Selīm Ghar, i. 364.
⸺, Shaik, of Cheestie, tomb of, i. 403.
Sensitive plant, i. 315.
Serampūr, ii. 101.
Servants, list of, i. 209.
Shah’ālam, tomb of, ii. 208.
Shah Burj, the royal tower, ii. 218.
⸺ Kubbeer-oo-deen Ahmud, i. 65.
Shahjahan, i. 349.
Shāhjahānabad, modern city of, ii. 193.
Shalgramŭ, description of the, i. 43-45.
Shalimar, gardens of, ii. 218.
Shark, blue, i. 8.
Shawl, looking-glass, i. 239, 240.
Sheep, Doomba, i. 78.
⸺, Karral, ii. 239.
Sher Afgan, i. 361.
Shield, silver, presented to Mr. Blood by the 16th Lancers, ii. 188.
Shīsha-mahal, or house of glass, i. 365, 366.
Shivŭ, the destroyer, the third personage of the Hindū triad, ii.
172, 173.
Sholā floats (com. sola), ii. 100.
Shooting season on the ocean, i. 9, 10.
Shubbeah Begam, i. 422.
Sikrī Gālī, ii. 72, 397.
Simundee Begam, tomb of, i. 358.
Sircar, or Sarcar, i. 21, 22.
Sīta Khūnd, boiling spring of, ii. 69, 70.
Sitar, description of a, i. 250.
Sitee Khānam, i. 359.
Skip-jacks, i. 5.
Slang, essay on, ii. 283, 284.
Slavery at the Cape, extraordinary story relative to, ii. 357.
Sling, peculiar, used by the Hill-men, ii. 243.
Small pox, ravages of, ii. 110.
Snake-boats, ii. 98.
⸺ charmers, ii. 436.
⸺ ⸺, imposture of a, i. 108.
⸺ sea, i. 12.
Snakes, directions of Mohummud relative to, i. 107, 108.
⸺, dread of, not innate in man, i. 302.
Sneezing, Hindū superstitions relative to, ii. 289.
Snowy ranges of the Himalaya, first view of the, ii. 224.
Soane, blue waters of the, ii. 67.
Soap stone, i. 343.
Sola, hats and other articles made of, i. 286; ii. 100.
Sonahlā Mahal, or chamber of gold, i. 375, 377.
Song, Hindostanī, i. 134.
Sorcery, practised with a charmed bow, i. 237.
Spider, the, why held sacred by the Muhammedans, i. 300, 301.
Spirit of a man destroyed by a tiger, superstition relating to the,
ii. 13, 14.
Sporting in Assam, ii. 125-133.
Spring-bow, ii. 73, 74, 131.
Squirrel, Jack Bunce the, i. 18.
Srīphul, or the flower of Srī, the poetic name of the biloa, ii. 175.
Stars, falling, Mahomedan philosophy of i. 248.
St. Helena, ii. 316-320.
Stone, flexible, ii. 256.
Stones, those used in the Mosaic of the Tāj, i. 357.
Storm, the spirit of the, ii. 349.
Strelitzia regina, ii. 365.
Sugar mills, ii. 457-460.
Sunderbands, ii. 106.
Superstitions of the natives, ii. 9.
Surya-Kund, hot spring of, ii. 262.
Sutherland, Major, Resident of Gwalior, ii. 183, 184, 186-188.
T.
Tailors not allowed to make clothes for Hindū ladies, ii. 113.
Tāj Mahul, i. 348-359.
⸺ ⸺, ground plan of the, i. 356.
Taziya, what, i. 296.
Temple of the Gosain, i. 104.
Theatre, Artillery, at Meerut, ii. 190.
Theodore, Mrs., her collection of stuffed birds and beasts, ii. 225.
Thermantidote, i. 199, 208.
Thief detected by a Gosā’īn, i. 102, 103.
Thieves, domestic, i. 101-104.
Thug, confessions of a, i. 123-131.
⸺, escape of a gentleman from a, i. 168.
Thugs, execution of eleven, i. 151, 152.
⸺, ⸺ ⸺ twenty-five, i. 201, 202.
⸺, customs of the, i. 153-158.
⸺, dice, i. 151.
⸺, slang terms used by the, i. 130.
Tiger, _au naturel_, ii. 225.
⸺ hunting on foot, ii. 128-130.
⸺ tracks, ii. 72, 73.
⸺ claws, charms made of, ii. 12, 13.
Tīka, ornament so called, description of the, i. 254.
Timber rafts, ii. 99, 100.
Title conferred on the pilgrim by her Highness the ex-Queen of
Gwalior, ii. 7.
Toddy, injurious, i. 147, 148.
Tongue, protrusion of the, an expression of shame among the Hindū
women, i. 165.
Tooth-brushes regarded with horror, i. 462.
Travati the Elephant, the vahan of Indra, ii. 174.
Treasures, hidden, ii. 41, 42.
Triveni, what, i. 213.
⸺, pilgrimage to the, i. 212, 213.
⸺, the Gāja Rājā and all her ladies bathe at the, ii. 48.
Tulsī, pūja of the, i. 42.
⸺, sweet, ib.
⸺, various sorts of, i. 217.
Turban, arrangement of a, i. 234.
U.
Ubruk (talc) applied to many uses, i. 219.
Unicorn, alleged existence of the, in the Himalaya, i. 239.
Up-Country men, their hatred of the Bengalīs curiously exemplified,
ii. 309, 310.
Ussuf-ood-Dowla, his tomb, i. 179.
V.
Vaccine department done away with, evils resulting therefrom, ii. 110.
Valmiki, the first Indian poet, ii. 179.
Vamana, or the Dwarf, the seventh avatar, ii. 157-159.
Vase, silver, a prize gained by the pilgrim in a lottery, ii. 112.
Vedas, the, ii. 180, 181.
Vessel, spirit of a, i. 345.
Viasa, an Indian poet, compiler of the Vedas, ii. 179.
Vishnŭ the Preserver, the second personage of the Hindū triad, i. 27,
42-45; ii. 151, 152.
Visionary old man, the, i. 139.
Voyage on the Ganges, vessels for, i. 31.
W.
Waterspouts, ii. 475, 493.
Wax of the human ear, i. 177.
Wax, sealing, i. 309.
Widows, Hindū, the privations to which they are subjected, ii. 7, 8.
Wind raised by a sāti, ii. 25.
Wolff, the Rev. Joseph, i. 268-272.
Women, Bengālī, ii. 97, 98.
⸺, their great influence over men in India, i. 140.
Wood-cutters of Bengal, their peculiar mode of worshipping
Kuloo-rayŭ, ii. 107.
Y.
Yāk, or cow of Thibet, tail of, i. 238, 239.
Yam, rut aloe, (dioscorea sativa,) i. 316.
Z.
Zamia horrida, ii. 365, 366.
⸺ longifolia, ib.
Zeenut-al-Masjid, ii. 200.
Zenāna or zanāna of a Calcutta baboo, i. 60.
⸺ of the king of Oude, i. 87-90, 192-195.
⸺, revelations of life in the zenāna of a Timoorian princess, i.
379.
⸺, life in the, and chīta hunting, i. 391.
⸺, marriage in the zenāna, i. 421
⸺ of the Nāwab Hakim Menhdi, ii. 19, 20.
⸺ of Nāwab of Fathīgarh, ii. 16.
Zenāna-ghar, ii. 208.
Zoffani, picture painted by, i. 181.
Zumanī Miriam, tomb of, i. 377.
THE END.
GILBERT & RIVINGTON, Printers, St. John’s Square, London.
[Illustration: Elevation of the Himālāyā Mountains.]
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74043 ***
Wanderings of a pilgrim in search of the picturesque, Volume 2 (of 2)
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WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM,
IN SEARCH OF
The Picturesque,
DURING FOUR-AND-TWENTY YEARS IN THE EAST;
WITH
REVELATIONS OF LIFE...
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Book Information
- Title
- Wanderings of a pilgrim in search of the picturesque, Volume 2 (of 2)
- Author(s)
- Parlby, Fanny Parkes
- Language
- English
- Type
- Text
- Release Date
- July 15, 2024
- Word Count
- 197,402 words
- Library of Congress Classification
- DS
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- Browsing: Biographies, Browsing: Culture/Civilization/Society, Browsing: History - General, Browsing: Travel & Geography
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