This is a modern-English version of Wanderings of a pilgrim in search of the picturesque, Volume 2 (of 2) : During four-and-twenty years in the east; with revelations of life in the zenāna, originally written by Parlby, Fanny Parkes. It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling, and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.

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KANIYAJEE AND THE GOPEES.
KANIYAJEE AND THE GOPEES.

From an Original Hindoo Painting
From an original Hindu painting

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
فاني پارکس

[i]

WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM,
IN SEARCH OF
The Picturesque,
DURING FOUR-AND-TWENTY YEARS IN THE EAST;
WITH
REVELATIONS OF LIFE
IN
THE ZENĀNA.

PILGRIM'S JOURNEY,
Searching for
The Scenic
DURING TWENTY-FOUR YEARS IN THE EAST;
WITH
REVELATIONS OF LIFE
IN
THE ZENĀNA.

BY
‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

BY
‎‏Vani Parks‎‏

ILLUSTRATED WITH SKETCHES FROM NATURE.

ILLUSTRATED WITH NATURE SKETCHES.

“Let the result be what it may, I have launched my boat.”

“Whatever the outcome, I have set my boat in motion.”

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. 2.

LONDON:
PELHAM RICHARDSON, 23, CORNHILL.
1850.

[ii]

LONDON:
GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.

[iii]

CONTENTS
TO
VOL. 2.

	PAGE
CHAPTER XXXIX. THE MAHRATTA CAMP AND ZENĀNA. 1835, April 6th.
Arrived at Fathīghar—The Sitar versus the Dital Harp—The Mahratta Camp—Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī—Jankee Rāo—The Gaja Rājā Sāhib—Visit to the Ex-Queen—Dress of the Mahrattas—The Sword of Scindia—The English Side-saddle—Pān and Atr—Departure—The Arab at the Zenāna Gates—Her Highness a good judge of a Horse—Absurdity of a Side-saddle—The Gaja Rajah’s Horsemanship—A Challenge—The Kurk—The Pilgrim receives a Title—The Idols—The six Wives of Appa Sāhib—Oppression of the Laws with respect to Widows—Recipe for Hooqŭ Cakes—Superstitions of the Natives—Lucky and Unlucky Marks on Horses—Tiger-claw Charms—To tame vicious Horses—Assam Coins	1
CHAPTER XL. THE NAWAB HAKĪM MENHDĪ, AND CITY OF KANAUJ. 1835, April 15th.
Zenāna of the Nawab of Fathīghar—The Nawab Hakīm Menhdī—His Attire and Residence—Shawl Manufactory—The Muharram—Visit to the Zenāna of the Nawab—Lord Brougham—Molineux and Tom Cribb—The Burkā—Departure from Fathīghar—Return to Allahabad—Voyage on the Ganges—The Legend of Kurrah—Secunder-al-Sānī—The Satī—A Squall—Terror of the Sarang—The Kalā Nadī—Ruins of Kanauj—The Legend—Ancient Coins—Rose-water—Burning the Dead—Arrival at Fathīghar	16[iv]
CHAPTER XLI. THE MAHRATTA CAMP AND SCENES IN THE ZENĀNA. 1835, September 8th.
Mutiny in Camp—Murder of the Prisoners—The Mutiny quelled by the Military—Visit to the Zenāna—The Swing of the Gaja Rājā—The Seagull in Parda—The Bā’ī Visits the Pinnace—How to dress a Camel—The Vicious Beast—Lucky and Unlucky Days—Her Highness ordered to Benares	32
CHAPTER XLII. THE MAHRATTAS AT ALLAHABAD. 1835, October.
Zenāna of the Nawāb of Farrukhabad—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī—Hidden Treasures—The Jak—Dāk to Cawnpore—The Nawāb of Banda—Returned Home in the Seagull—Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor, quitted the Station—Arrival of Mr. Ross—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent to Allahabad—Arrival of her Highness—Parties in the Mahratta Camp—Opium-Eating—Marriage Ceremonies of the Hindoos—Procession in Parda—The Bride—Red Gold—The Ex-Queen’s Tents at the Tribeni—The Bathing—Presents to the Brahmans—Arrival of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Sohobut Melā—Illness of the Gaja Rājā Sāhib—Murder of Mr. Frazer—The Bāiza Bā’ī a State Prisoner—The Power of Magic	40
CHAPTER XLIII. TŪFĀNS IN THE EAST. 1836, June 28th.
A Storm on the Jumna—An Amazonian Mahratta Lady—Putlī Coins—The Mint at Gwalior—East India Company’s Rupees—Departure of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Murder of two Ladies in a Zenāna—The Steamer and Tug—Rajmahal Tiger—Cotton Seed—Nagapanchmee—Wreck of the Seagull—A Fierce Tūfān—Arrival of Sir Henry Fane—Visit to the Bāiza Bā’ī—River Voyage to Calcutta—Chunar—The God Burtreenath—Ghāt of Appa Sāhib—Ghāt of the Bāiza Bā’ī—Her Treasury seized by the Government—The Chiraghdanīs—The Minarets—Native Merchants—Kimkhwāb Manufactory—The Junéoo—House of the Bāiza Bā’ī—The Iron Chests of Gold Mohurs—Rooms full of Rupees, of Copper Coins, and of Cowries—Vishwŭ-Kŭrma, the Architect of the Gods	53[v]
CHAPTER XLIV. THE SPRING-BOW. 1836, November 21st.
Ghāzīpūr—Tomb of Lord Cornwallis—Palace of the Nāwab of Ghāzīpūr—Beerpūr—Satīs—The Murda Ghāt—Buxar—The Stud—Bulliah Melā—Blue Waters of the Soane—Swimming an Elephant—A Day too late for the Fair—Hājīpūr—The Gunduc River—Thieves—Futwa—Tarie-trees—Monghir—The Seeta Khoond—Janghīra—Mosque and Graves—Rocks of Kuhulgaon—Desertion of the Dāndees—Sikrī-galī—An Adventure in the Hills of Rajmahal—Tiger Tracks—The Spring-bow—By’ā Birds—The Hill-man—Poisoned Arrows— The Thumb-ring—Bauhinia Scandens	65
CHAPTER XLV. THE RUINS OF GAUR. 1836, December 4th.
Sporting at Rajmahal—Ruins of the Palace of the Nawāb—Brahmanī Ducks—The Ruins of Gaur—The Dakait—An Adventure—Beautiful Ruins—Pān-gardens—The Kadam Sharīf—Curious Coins—Jungle Fever—Casowtee Stone—Fields of the Mustard Plant—Ancient Bricks—Fakīrs tame Alligators—Salt Box—An Account of the Ruin of Gaur	79
CHAPTER XLVI. SKETCHES IN BENGAL—THE SUNDERBANDS. 1836, December 9th.
Toll at Jungipūr—Bengālee Women—Palace of the Nawāb of Moorshadabad—Mor-pankhī—Snake Boats—Kāsim Bazār—Berhampūr—Cintra Oranges—Cutwa Cloth—Culna—The Timber Raft—Chandar-nagar—Sholā Floats—The Hoogly—Chinsurah—Barrackpūr—Serampūr—Corn Mills—The Shipping—Chandpaul Ghāt—River Fakīrs—M. le Général Allard—Assam Leaf-insect—The Races—Kalī Mā’ī—Dwarkanath Tagore—The Foot of a Chinese Lady—Quitted Calcutta—The Steamer and Flat—The Sunderbands—Mud Islands—Tigers—The Wood-cutters—Kaloo-rayŭ—Settlements—Culna—Commercolly—Rājmahal—Monghir—Coolness of a Native—Pleasures of Welcome—The Vaccine Department—The Gaja Rājā performs Pūja as a Fakīr—The Eclipse—The Plague—The Lottery—Conversations in the Zenāna—The Autograph—Delicacy of Native Ladies—Death of the King of Oude—The Padshah Begam—Moona Jāh—The King’s Uncle Raised to the Throne	97[vi]
CHAPTER XLVII. RADHA KRISHNŬ—SPORTING IN ASSAM. 1837, August.
Festival of the Birthday of Krishnŭ—The Rās—The Rākhī—Krishnŭ or Kaniyā—Sports of the Gopīs—The Elephant—The Horse—Gopalŭ—Gopī Nat’hŭ—Radha Krishnŭ—Krishnŭ destroying the Serpent—Monotony of Life in India—The Holy Monkey—Sporting in Assam—Buffalo Shooting—Tiger Hunting on Foot—The Baghmars—The Spring-bow—An Earthquake—Risk of Life in the Bhagmar Department—The Burying-Ground at Goalparah	116
CHAPTER XLVIII. THE FAMINE AT KANAUJ. 1837, August.
Partiality of the Natives for English Guns—Solitary Confinement—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī—Bad Omens—A Slight Mistake—Bhūsā—The Padshah Begam and Moona-jah—The Bāiza Bā’ī visits a Steamer—Arrival of Lord Auckland—Visit of the Governor-General and the Hon. the Misses Eden to her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A March up the Country—The Camp at Fathīpūr—The Line of March—Death of the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī—The Heir-apparent of Oude gives a Breakfast to the Governor-General—H. R. H. Prince Henry of Orange and the Misses Eden visit Lucnow—Resignation of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Chobīpūr—Thieves—Urowl—The Famine—The Pilgrim buys a Cocky-olli Bird—Merunkee Sarā’e—Ancient Hindū Ruin at Kanauj—Famine in the Bazār—Interment of Mahadēo and Pārvatī—The Legend of Kanauj	134
CHAPTER XLIX. THE HINDU TRIAD.
The 330,000,000 Gods of the Hindū Pantheon—The Janéo—Brŭmhŭ—The Trinity—Brahma—Vishnŭ—Shivŭ—The Ten Avatars—The Fish—The Tortoise—The Boar—The Man-lion—Vamana the Dwarf—Parashu-Rāma—Rāma-Chandra—Bala-Rāma—Booddhŭ—Kalkī—Krishnŭ—Radha—Rukmeni—Jagana’th—Kama-deva—Mahadēo—Pārvatī—Gănésh—Kartikeya—Lachhmī—Saraswatī—Durgā—Satī—The Purānas—The Mundane Egg of the Hindūs—The Vedas—Ascension of the God Buddha	147[vii]
CHAPTER L. PLEASANT DAYS IN CAMP. 1838, January 8th.
Jellalabad—Menhdī Bridge—The Resident of Gwalior—Difficulty of Crossing the Sands of the Ganges—Imrutpūr—Marching under the Flag of the Resident of Gwalior—Khāsgunge—The Tombs of Colonel Gardner and his Begam—Mulka Begam—Style of March—Pleasure of a Life in Tents—The Fort of Alligarh—The Racers—The 16th Lancers present a Shield to Mr. Blood—The Monument—The Kos-Minār—Koorjah and Solitude—Meeting of Old Friends—Meerut—The Officers of the Artillery give a Ball to the Governor-General and his Party—The Sūraj Kūnd—The Buffs add to the Gaiety of the Station—The Artillery Theatre—The Pilgrim Tax abolished at Allahabad	182
CHAPTER LI. RUINS OF DELHI. 1838, February.
Happiness of being alive—March from Meerut to Delhi—Method of Stealing a Camel—Delhi—The Church—Monument erected to William Frazer, Esq., B.C.S.—The Canal of Paradise—Mimic Warfare—Tomb of Humaioon—Fort of Feroze Shāh—Masjid of Zeenut al Nissa—Masjid of Roshan-ool-Dowla—Datisca Cannabina—Mimosa Scandens—Washing by Steam—The Kutab Minār—Ancient Colonnades—Kutab kí Lāt—Unfinished Minār	191
CHAPTER LII. ANCIENT DELHI—THE ZENĀNA GHĀR. 1838, February 22nd.
Ancient Delhi—The Bā’olī—Tombs of Shah’ālam, Bahādur Shah, and Akbar Shah—The Zenāna Ghār—Extent of the Ruins—The Observatory—Palace of Shāhjahānabad—The Zenāna—Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam—Poverty of the Descendants of Tamurlane—The Effect of a Zenāna Education on Man and Woman—Death of Prince Dara Bukht—The Dewanī Am—The Dewanī Khas—The Palace—The Shah-burj—Gardens of Shalimar—Ruins of Palaces and Baths—The Modern City—Tees Huzzari Bagh—The Madrissa—The Jama Masjid—The Kala Masjid—Plan of the City of Delhi—Quitted Delhi, and returned to Meerut—Tomb of Pīr Shah	207[viii]
CHAPTER LIII. DEPARTURE FOR THE HILLS—LANDOWR. 1838, March 16th.
First View of the Snowy Ranges—Saharanpūr—Mohunchaukī—An Adventure—The Keeree Pass—Rajpūr—Motī—The Gūnth—Hill-men—A Jampan—Ascent to Landowr—Hill Flowers—Purity of the Air—View of the Himalaya—The Khuds—Mussoorī—Rhododendron Trees—Mr. Webb’s Hotel—Curious Soap—The Landowr Bazār—Schools in the Hills—Cloud End—The White Rhododendron—Storm in the Hills—Hill Birds—Fever in the Hills—Newlands—Death of Major Blundell	224
CHAPTER LIV. PICTURESQUE SCENES IN THE HILLS. 1838, April 17th.
Jerrīpānī—The Cicalas—View from the Pilgrim’s Banglā—A Fall over a Precipice—The Glow-worm—Wild-beast Track—The Scorpion—Mules—Karral Sheep—Wet Days—Noisy Boys—Conical Hills—The Khuds—Earthquake at Cloud End—The Waterfall—Fall of a Lady and Horse over a Precipice—Kalunga—General Gillespie—The Kookree—The Ghoorkas—The Korah—The Sling—Ben Oge—Danger of Exposure to the Mid-day Sun—An Earthquake—A Spaniel seized by a Leopard—A Party at Cloud End—A Buffer encounters a Bear—Hills on Fire—Botanical Gardens—Commencement of the Rains—Expedition to the Summit of Bhadráj—Magnificence of the Clouds—Storms in High Places—Danger of Narrow Roads during the Rains—Introduction of Slated Roofs in the Hills	236
CHAPTER LV. LIFE IN THE HILLS. 1838, June 29th.
Kharītā of her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A Mountain Storm—An Adventure—Asses carried off by Leopards—Bear’s Grease—Dēodar Oil—Apricot Oil—Hill Currants—Figs and Tar—The Cholera—Sacrifice of a Kid to the Mountain Spirit—Absurdity of the Fear of a Russian Invasion—Plague of Fleas—The Charmed Stone—Iron-stone—Khobarah, the Hill Dog—Sheep-stealing—Booteah Chharrā—Flexible Stone—A Fearful Storm—A Doomed Banglā—Leaf Butterflies—Bursting of the Mahratta Bāndh at Prāg—Similarity of the Singular Marriages in the Hills with those of the Ancient Britons—Honesty of the Paharīs, i.e. Mountaineers	250[ix]
CHAPTER LVI. ELEVATION OF THE HIMALAYA. 1838, September.
The Great Peak of Bhadrināth—No Glaciers in the Snowy Ranges—Ceremonies performed on visiting Holy Places—Kedarnāth—Moira Peak—Gangoutrī—The Jaunti Peak—Jumnotrī—The Himalaya Range formed by Mahadēo—Palia Gadh—The Dewtas—Bandarponch—Hŭnoomān—The Cone—Height of the Himalayas	260
CHAPTER LVII. DEPARTURE FROM THE HILLS. 1838, September 8th.
Family Sorrows—The Snowy Ranges after the Rains—Hill Birds—The Park—Hill Boundaries—Stables on Fire—Opening of the Keeree Pass—Danger of passing through it—Dēobund—Return to Meerut—The Tomb of Jaffir Sāhib—Chiri-mārs—Country Horses—The Theatre of the 16th Lancers—Colonel Arnold’s Farewell Ball—His Illness—Opinions respecting the War—The Lancers ordered to Afghānistan—Ghurmuktesur Ghāt—Country Boats—Khobarah, the Hill Dog—Sancho—A Dilemma—Gūnths—Knocked over by a Buffalo—Fathīgarh—Dhobīs—Cawnpore—Sāl and Teak Trees—Deism—Points of Faith—The Power of the Brahmāns—A Converted Hindū—Sneezing an Ill Omen—The Return of the Pilgrim	271
CHAPTER LVIII. DEPARTURE FROM ALLAHABAD—THE THREE WISHES. 1838, November.
Arrival at Allahabad—Visit to the Mahratta Camp—The Three Wishes—The Ticca Wife—The Farewell of her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī—How to dispose of a Wife—The Būndelās—Price of Children—The Pillar in the Fort—Voyage down the River—Arwarī Fish—A Lady Overboard—An Accident—The Sīta Khūnd—The Army of the Indus—Meeting of the Governor-General and Runjeet Singh—The Camel Battery—Lord Auckland’s Visit to Runjeet’s Camp—The Koh-i-nūr—The Rajpūt Tray—A Paharī Dress—The Ayha’s Stratagem—An Escape on the River—Natives afraid of Cadets—The Panchāyāt—Fear of Poison—Berhampūr—The Nawāb, the Merchant, and the Palkī—Quitted Berhampūr	291[x]
CHAPTER LIX. ARRIVAL IN CALCUTTA—THE “MADAGASCAR.” 1839, January 1st.
Cutwa—Bracelets of the Sankh Shell—Anchor-making at Culwa—The Dying Bengalī—The Skull—The Tides—The “Madagascar”—Mal-de-Mer—A Man Overboard—Mountains of Africa—Wrecks—Wineburgh—Constantia—A South-easter—Return to the Ship—Emancipation of the Slaves—Grapes—A Trip into the Interior—Captain Harris—St. Helena—Prices at Mr. Solomon’s Shop—The Tomb of the Emperor—Longwood—St. Helena Birds—Our Indian Wars—General Allard—Letter from Jellalabad—Death of Colonel Arnold—The Afghāns—Mausoleum of Shah Mahmoud—The Gates of Somnaut—The Remains of the Ancient City of Ghuznee	308
CHAPTER LX. DEPARTURE FROM ST. HELENA. 1839, March 19th.
Quitted St. Helena—The Polar Star—Drifting Sea-weed—The Paroquets—Worship of Birds—A Gale—The Orange Vessel—The Pilot Schooner—Landing at Plymouth—First Impressions—A Mother’s Welcome—The Mail Coach—The Queen’s Highway—Dress of the English—Price of Prepared Birds—The Railroads—The New Police—English Horses—British Museum—Horticultural Show—Umberslade—Tanworth—Conway Castle—Welsh Mutton—Church of Conway—Tombstone of Richard Hookes, Gent.—The Menai Bridge—Dublin—Abbeyleix—Horns of the Elk—Penny Postage—Steam Engines—Silver Firs—Moonāl Pheasants—The Barge run down—Chapel of Pennycross—The Niger Expedition—Schwalbach—Family Sorrows—Indian News—The Birth of the Chimna Rājā Sāhib—Captain Sturt’s Sketches—Governor Lin—The Bāiza Bā’ī consents to reside at Nassuk—Fire in her Camp—Death of Sir Henry Fane—Church built by Subscription at Allahabad—Governor Lin’s Button—The ex-Queen of Gwalior marches to Nassuk—Price of a Gentleman—Death of the Old Shepherd from Hydrophobia—Pedigree of Jūmnī, the Invaluable	327
CHAPTER LXI. VOYAGE TO THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE. 1843.
Family Sorrows—Departure from England—The “Carnatic”—A Gale—The Spirit of the Storm—Sunsets—Peak of Teneriffe—The Trade Wind—A most Magnificent Comet—Phosphoric Lights—Visit of Neptune declined—Scarcity of Provisions—Spray Bows—Albatross caught—Arrival at the Cape of Good Hope	346[xi]
CHAPTER LXII. RESIDENCE AT CAPE TOWN. 1843, May.
View from the Sea—Wrecks—Cape Town—The Fish Market—The Seasons—Slavery—Washerwomen on the Mountain—Target Practice—Beautiful Flowers—Cape Sheep—The Bushwoman—Green Point—Shells—The Honey-bush—Bracelets of Ivory—High Price of Curiosities—Auctions—Robberies—Camp’s Bay—Fine Aloes—Effect of the Fog-wreaths on the Lion Mountain—The Lion’s Rump—Enormous Bulbs—The Botanical Gardens—Remarkable Trees and Shrubs—The Hæmanthus—Poisoned Arrows—The Puff-Adder—The Melaleuca—Curious Trees—The Plaat Clip, or Flat Stone—The Solitary Ruin	355
CHAPTER LXIII. SCENES AT THE CAPE—THE TEMPLE OF JAGANĀTH. 1843, August.
A Kafir Warrior—The Kaross—Vegetable Ivory—Shells—Changeable Weather—The Races—Dutch Beauties—Newlands—Cape Horses—The Arum—The Aloe—Servants at the Cape—Pedigree of a Malay—The Cook—The Washerwoman—Africanders—Shops in Cape Town—The “Robarts”—View from the Ship in the Bay—The Muharram—The Southern Cross—The Sailor and the Shark—Madras—Katmirams—Masulla Boats—The New Lighthouse—The Mint—She-Asses—Donies—Descendants of Milton—The Globe-Fish—Pooree—The Surf—Temple of Jaganāth—The Swing—The Ruth—Death of Krishna—The Architect of the Gods—Jaganāth—The Trinity—The Seal—Ancient City near Pooree—Dangerous Shore—The Floating Light—The Sandheads—Anchored at Baboo Ghāt, Calcutta—Wilful Burning of the “Robarts”	369
CHAPTER LXIV. SKETCHES ON THE RIVER FROM CALCUTTA TO COLGONG. 1844, April 1st.
Calcutta—Mango Fish—Lord Ellenborough recalled—Fall of Fish—The Hoogly—The Bore—Quitted Calcutta—Ishapūr—Chagdah—Happiness of Dying in Sight of the Ganges—Quitted the Tropics—Cutwa—Plassey—Berhampūr—Morus Indica—Jungipūr—Quitted the Bhagirathī—Night Blindness—Sikrī-galī—Herd of Buffaloes—Patturgatta Hill—Rocks of Colgong—An Ajgar—A Wild and Singular Scene	389[xii]
CHAPTER LXV. SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM COLGONG TO DINAPŪR. 1844, November 5th.
Bhagulpūr—Rock and Temple of Janghīra—Cytisus Cajan—Force of the Current—Monghir—An Aërolite—Bairāgī Temples—Dwakanath Tagore—Rosaries—Vases—Sūraj-garha—Bar—Beggars and Swine—Benīpūr—Bankipūr—Azīmabad—Sūraj Pūja—Patna—The Golā— Deegah—Havell’s Farm—Dinapūr	401
CHAPTER LXVI. SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM DINAPŪR TO BENARES. 1844, November 20th.
The Soane River—Chuppra—Revelgunge—The Fair at Bulleah—Bamboos—The Wreck—Buxar—The Peepul Tree and Temple of Mahadēo—Barrah—Satī Mounds—Kurum-nassa River—Palace of the Nawāb of Ghazipūr—The Native Town—The Gigantic Image—Three Satīs and a Mandap or Hindū Temple—Eight-and-Twenty Satīs—The Fate of Women—The Kalsās—Station of Ghazipūr—The Stalking Horse—Booraneepūr—Kankār Reefs—Seydpūr—Burning the Dead—Rites for the Repose of the Soul—Brahmanī Bulls—Funeral Ceremonies of the Romans—Raj Ghāt, Benares	412
CHAPTER LXVII. SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM BENARES TO BINDACHUN. 1844, December 5th.
Benefits arising from a Residence in the Holy City of Kāshī—Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ—The Snake-Charmers—Gigantic Image of Hunoomān—Brahmanī Bulls—The Ghāts from the River—Bhīm Singh—Tulsī Altars—Ruins of the Ghāt of the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A Corpse—Young Idolaters—State Prisoners—The City—Sultanpūr—Chunar—Picturesque Tree near the Ghāt—Singular Ceremonies—The Deasil—Turnbull Gunge—Mirzapūr—Beautiful Ghāts and Temples—Carpet Manufactory— Bindachun	435
CHAPTER LXVIII. SKETCHES ON THE RIVER FROM BINDACHUN TO ALLAHABAD 1844, December 11th.
Bindachun—Devī Ghāt—The Temple of Bhawānī—Bhagwān—The Thugs—The Hajjam—The Tashma-baz Thugs—The Pleasure of Wandering—Sirsya—Munyah Ghāt—Arail—Arrival at Allahabad—Native Sugar-Mills	448[xiii]
CHAPTER LXIX. RESIDENCE AT PRĀG, AND RETURN TO CALCUTTA. 1844, December 18th.
The Sibylline Temple—Mr. Berrill’s Hotel—A Barouche drawn by Camels—The Murdār-khor—A Kharīta from the Bāiza Bā’ī—Marriage of the Chimna Raja—Sultan Khusrū’s Garden—The Tombs—Tamarind Trees—The Sarā’e—The Bāolī—Tattoos used for Palanquins—Reasons for the Murder of a Wife and Child—The Lāt—A Skilful Swordsman—An Eclipse—Tufāns—Death of Mr. James Gardner—Quitted Allahabad—The Ganges—A Wreck—A Storm—Indian Corn—Colgong—Terīyāgalī Hills and Ruins—Nuddea—Suspension Bridge—Prinsep Ghāt at Calcutta—Engaged a Passage in the “Essex”	461
CHAPTER LXX. SKETCHES AT SEA. 1845, September 1st.
The “Essex”—The “James and Mary”—Steering a Ship at Anchor—A Waterspout—The Andamans—Acheen Point—A Squally Trade Wind—Rodorigos—A Gale—The Whirlwind—The Stormy Petrel—A Day of Repose—A Remarkable Sunrise	474
CHAPTER LXXI. SKETCHES AT SEA—MOUNTAINS OF AFRICA—THE FAREWELL. 1845, October 29th.
The Buffalo—The Quoin—Cape Aguilhas—Hangclip—Capo-del-Tornados—Robbin Island—Table Bay—Cape Town—Green Point—The Lion Mountain—St. Helena—Flying-fish—Blue-fish—Island of Ascension—Funeral at Sea—A Sailor’s Grave—A Chinese Calculation—Waterspouts—The Western Isles—St. Michael’s—Pico—Fayal—Christmas Eve—The Good Ship “Essex”—Arrival in England—The Pilgrim’s Adieu	485

[xiv]

[xv]

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.

[1]

WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM.

CHAPTER XXXIX.
The Maratha Camp and Zenana.

“FOR WHOM SHALL I STAIN MY TEETH AND BLACKEN MY EYELASHES?—THE MASTER IS TURNED TO ASHES[1].”

“FOR WHOM SHOULD 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.

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 is 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 regarding 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.

1835, April 6th.—I arrived at Fathīghar, staying at the home of a relative in the Civil Service, the Judge of the Station, and agent to the Governor-general. After a hot and dusty dāk journey, how refreshing it was to be in the cool rooms, where fans and bamboo screens were working hard! As you might expect, I couldn’t stop talking about Khāsgunge and entertained the group with some Hindustanī tunes on the sitar, which they didn’t seem to appreciate. To quiet my sitar, I was given a dital harp; however, I still had a secret fondness for the native instrument, as it reminded me of the happy slave girls who once danced 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!

Having seen Muslim women who follow the Prophet, how thrilled I was to discover that native women at Fathīghar worship Ganesh and Krishna!

[2]

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.

Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, the widow of the late Mahārāj Dāolut Rāo Scindia, was in camp at this location, under the care of Captain Ross. Dāolut Rāo, the adopted son and grand-nephew of Mahadajee Scindia, fought alongside the Duke of Wellington, then Sir Arthur Wellesley, at the notable battle of Assaye. After Scindia's death, by his appointment, the Bāiza Bā’ī became Queen of Gwalior and ruled the kingdom for nine years. Since she had no male heirs, her Highness adopted a young man named Jankee Rāo, a distant relative of Scindia, who was to be placed on the throne after her passing.

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.

A Rajput comes of age at eighteen, but when Jankee Rao was just fourteen, the subjects of Bā’ī revolted and put the boy in charge of the rebellion. If her Highness had stayed in Gwalior, she would have been killed; she had to escape to Fathīghar, where she sought protection from the Government. Her daughter, Chimna Rājā Sāhib, known for her beauty and the wife of Appa Sāhib, a Mahratta nobleman, died of fever, which was brought on by exposure and stress as she fled from Gwalior during the rebellion. It's noteworthy that the women in this family hold the title of Rājā, usually followed by Sāhib. Appa Sāhib joined Bāiza Bā’ī and fled with her; he's currently in her camp at Fathīghar. The subjects' rebellion and her Highness's flight from the kingdom meant little to Bā’ī compared to the heartbreak of losing her beloved daughter, 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.

Her granddaughter, the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, is also living with her; she has been married for two years, but is alone, her husband having left her to join the stronger faction.

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.

The Bā’ī, though technically free, is actually a prisoner; she is very anxious to go back to Gwalior, but the Government won't let her, which makes her quite 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.

8th.—The Brija Bā’ī, one of her ladies, called to invite the woman I’m staying with to visit the Mahārāj in camp; and she gave me an invitation to join her.

12th.—When the appointed day arrived, the attendants of[3] her Highness were at our house at 4 A.M., to escort us to the camp.

12th.—When the scheduled day came, the attendants of[3] her Highness were at our house at 4 AM, to take 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.

It’s common for a visitor to leave her shoes outside the parda when paying respects to a woman of high status. This practice is always followed, unless the visitor is specifically allowed to keep her shoes on, which would be seen as a sign of great kindness and condescension.

We found her Highness seated on her gaddī of embroidered cloth, with her grand-daughter the Gaja Rājā Sāhib at her side; the ladies, her attendants, were standing around her; and the sword of Scindia was on the gaddī, at her feet. She rose to receive and embrace us, and desired us to be seated near her. The Bāiza Bā’ī is rather an old woman, with grey hair, and en bon point; she must have been pretty in her youth; her smile is remarkably sweet, and her manners particularly pleasing; her hands and feet are very small, and beautifully formed. Her sweet voice reminded me of the proverb, “A pleasant voice brings a snake out of a hole[2].” She was dressed in the plainest red silk, wore no ornaments, with the exception of a pair of small plain bars of gold as bracelets. Being a widow, she is obliged to put jewellery aside, and to submit to numerous privations and hardships. Her countenance is very mild and open; there is a freedom and independence in her air that I greatly admire,—so unlike that of the sleeping, languid, opium-eating Musalmānīs. Her grand-daughter, the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, is very young; her eyes the largest I ever saw; her face is rather flat, and not pretty; her figure is beautiful; she is the least little wee creature you ever beheld. The Mahratta dress consists only of two garments, which are, a tight body to the waist, with sleeves tight to the elbow; a piece of silk, some twenty yards or more in length, which they wind around them as a petticoat, and then, taking a part of it, draw it between the limbs, and fasten it behind, in a manner that gives it the effect both of petticoat and trowsers; this is the whole dress, unless, at times, they[4] substitute angiyas, with short sleeves, for the tight long-sleeved body.

We found her Highness sitting on her embroidered gaddī, with her granddaughter, the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, by her side; her lady attendants were standing around her, and Scindia's sword was on the gaddī at her feet. She got up to greet and embrace us and asked us to sit near her. The Bāiza Bā’ī is quite an elderly woman, with gray hair and a bit plump; she must have been pretty in her youth. Her smile is incredibly sweet, and her manners are particularly charming; her hands and feet are very small and beautifully shaped. Her lovely voice reminded me of the saying, “A pleasant voice brings a snake out of a hole[2].” She was dressed in simple red silk, without any jewelry except for a pair of small, plain gold bracelets. As a widow, she has to set aside jewelry and endure various restrictions and hardships. Her face is very gentle and open; there’s a sense of freedom and independence about her that I admire greatly—it’s so different from the sleepy, languid, opium-using Musalmānīs. Her granddaughter, the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, is very young; her eyes are the largest I’ve ever seen; her face is somewhat flat and not particularly pretty, but her figure is beautiful; she is the tiniest little creature you could ever imagine. The Mahratta dress consists of just two pieces: a fitted top that goes to the waist, with tight sleeves up to the elbow; and a long piece of silk, around twenty yards or more, which they wrap around themselves as a petticoat, then take part of it, draw it between their legs, and secure it behind, creating a look that resembles both a petticoat and trousers. That’s the entire outfit, unless, at times, they substitute angiyas with short sleeves for the long-sleeved top.

The Gaja Rājā was dressed in purple Benares silk, with a deep gold border woven into it; when she walked she looked very graceful, and the dress very elegant; on her forehead was a mark like a spear-head, in red paint; her hair was plaited, and bound into a knot at the back of her head, and low down; her eyes were edged with surma, and her hands and feet dyed with hinnā. On her feet and ancles were curious silver ornaments; toe-rings of peculiar form; which she sometimes wore of gold, sometimes of red coral. In her nostril was a very large and brilliant n’hut (nose-ring), of diamonds, pearls, and precious stones, of the particular shape worn by the Mahrattas; in her ears were fine brilliants. From her throat to her waist she was covered with strings of magnificent pearls and jewels; her hands and arms were ornamented with the same. She spoke but little,—scarcely five words passed her lips; she appeared timid, but was pleased with the bouquet of beautiful flowers, just fresh from the garden, that the lady who presented me laid at her feet on her entrance. These Mahrattas are a fine bold race; amongst her ladies in waiting I remarked several fine figures, but their faces were generally too flat. Some of them stood in waiting with rich Cashmere shawls thrown over their shoulders; one lady, before the Mahārāj, leaned on her sword, and if the Bā’ī quitted the apartment, the attendant and sword always followed her. The Bā’ī was speaking of horses, and the lady who introduced me said I was as fond of horses as a Mahratta. Her Highness said she should like to see an English lady on horseback; she could not comprehend how they could sit all crooked, all on one side, in the side-saddle. I said I should be too happy to ride into camp any hour her Highness would appoint, and show her the style of horsemanship practised by ladies in England. The Mahārāj expressed a wish that I should be at the Mahratta camp at 4 A.M., in two days’ time. Atr, in a silver filagree vessel, was then presented to the Gaja Rājā; she took a portion up in a little spoon, and put it on our hands. One of the attendants presented us with pān, whilst another sprinkled us most copiously[5] with rose-water: the more you inundate your visitor with rose-water, the greater the compliment.

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 was quite elegant. On her forehead was a mark like a spearhead, done in red paint. Her hair was braided and tied into a knot at the back of her head, low down. Her eyes were lined with kohl, and her hands and feet were stained with henna. She wore unique silver ornaments on her feet and ankles—toe rings of unusual shapes, which she sometimes wore in gold and sometimes in red coral. In her nostril was a large, stunning nose ring, made of diamonds, pearls, and precious stones, in the style particular to the Mahrattas. She also had fine earrings. From her throat to her waist, she was adorned with strings of magnificent pearls and jewels; her hands and arms were decorated in the same way. She spoke very little—barely five words escaped her lips. She seemed shy but was pleased with the bouquet of fresh flowers that the lady who welcomed me laid at her feet. The Mahrattas are a bold and impressive group; among her ladies in waiting, I noticed several striking figures, although most had rather flat faces. Some stood by with rich Cashmere shawls draped over their shoulders; one lady leaned on her sword in front of the Mahārāj, and whenever the Bā’ī left the room, the attendant and the sword followed her. The Bā’ī was discussing horses, and the lady who introduced me said I loved horses just as much as a Mahratta. Her Highness mentioned that she would like to see an English lady on horseback; she couldn’t understand how they managed to ride side-saddle, all crooked on one side. I replied that I would be delighted to ride into camp at any hour she chose and show her the style of riding practiced by ladies in England. The Mahārāj expressed a wish for me to be at the Mahratta camp at 4 A.M. in two days. Then, atr was presented to the Gaja Rājā in a silver filigree vessel; she took a bit on a small spoon and placed it in our hands. One of the attendants offered us pān, while another sprinkled us generously with rose water: the more you drenched your guest in 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.

This was the sign for us to leave, so we got up, gave our respectful greetings, and left, feeling very pleased 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.

14th.—My relative had an incredibly beautiful Arabian horse, and since I wanted to impress the Bā’ī, who was a great judge of horses, I asked if I could ride his Arab. To keep the horse fresh, I had him sent ahead to wait for me at the zenāna gates. A group of Mahratta horsemen had been sent by her Highness to escort me to the camp, so I rode along with them on my little black horse and found the stunning Arabian eagerly waiting for me.

“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[6] with jewels and chains of gold. The Gaja Rājā, in her Mahratta riding dress, mounted one of the horses, and the ladies the others; they cantered and pranced about, showing off the Mahratta style of riding. On dismounting, the young Gaja Rājā threw her horse’s bridle over my arm, and said, laughingly, “Are you afraid? or will you try my horse?” Who could resist such a challenge? “I shall be delighted,” was my reply. “You cannot ride like a Mahratta in that dress,” said the Princess; “put on proper attire.” I retired to obey her commands, returning in Mahratta costume, mounted her horse, put my feet into the great iron stirrups, and started away for a gallop round the enclosure. I thought of Queen Elizabeth, and her stupidity in changing the style of riding for women. En cavalier, it appeared so safe, as if I could have jumped over the moon. Whilst I was thus amusing myself, “Shāh-bāsh! shāh-bāsh!” exclaimed some masculine voice; but who pronounced the words, or where the speaker lay perdu, I have never discovered.

Little Paul’s description of his “proud steed” is beautiful; but his horse wasn't more beautiful than the Arabian, who, decorated with a garland of freshly-picked white double jasmine flowers, pawed impatiently at the gates. I got on him, and entering the area of the zenāna, I found myself in a large courtyard, where all the ladies of the ex-Queen were gathered, eagerly looking for the English lady who would ride awkwardly! The Bā’ī was seated outdoors; I rode up, dismounted, and paid my respects. She noticed the beauty of the Arabian, felt the hollow under his jaw, admired his eyes, and, asking one of the ladies to pick up his foot, examined it and said he had the small, black, hard hoof of a pure Arabian; she looked at and laughed at my saddle. I then mounted, and pushing the Arabian, showed her how English ladies handle their horses. After that, 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 fully decorated, the saddles covered with velvet and gold embroidery, their heads and necks adorned with jewels and gold chains. The Gaja Rājā, in her Mahratta riding outfit, got on one of the horses, and the other ladies got on the rest; they cantered and pranced around, showcasing the Mahratta style of riding. When they dismounted, 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’d be delighted,” I replied. “You can’t ride like a Mahratta in that outfit,” said the Princess; “put on proper attire.” I went to follow her orders, returning in Mahratta costume, mounted her horse, put my feet into the large iron stirrups, and took off for a gallop around the enclosure. I thought of Queen Elizabeth and her foolishness in changing the style of riding for women. On horseback, it felt so safe, as if I could jump over the moon. While I was enjoying myself, “Shāh-bāsh! shāh-bāsh!” exclaimed some masculine voice; but who said it, or where the speaker was hiding, I never found out.

“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.

“Now,” I said to the Gaja Rājā, “having followed your orders, will you let one of your ladies ride in my side-saddle?” I helped one of them into the saddle; she looked so unattractive! “She looks like a black doctor!” one of the girls exclaimed. The moment I got the lady settled, I took the reins and started her horse off into a canter. She leaned to one side and couldn’t manage it at all; suddenly pulling her horse to a stop, I got him into a sharp trot. The poor lady hung halfway off the horse, clinging to the front, and screamed at me to stop; but I continued on mercilessly until we reached the spot where the Bāiza Bā’ī was seated. The walls echoed with laughter; the lady got off and declared she would never again try to ride such a terrible, crooked thing as a side-saddle. It caused a lot 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[7] attended by her ladies; and a number of Mahratta horsemen ride at a certain distance, about two hundred yards around her, to see that the kurk is enforced; which is an order made public that no man may be seen on the road on pain of death.

The Mahratta women follow parda, but not as strictly as the Muslim women; they can ride horses while veiled. When the Gaja Rājā goes out on horseback, she is[7] accompanied by her ladies. Several Mahratta horsemen ride about two hundred yards away from her to ensure that the kurk is followed, which is a public order stating that no man can be seen on the road under penalty 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 Hindus never kept their women in purdah until their country was conquered by the Muslims, when they were influenced to adopt the customs of their conquerors; probably because their unveiled women were vulnerable to insults.

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.

The Bāiza Bā’ī honored me by expressing her pleasure and gave me a title, "The Great-aunt of my Grand-daughter," "Gaja Rājā Sāhib ki par Khāla." This was very flattering, as it meant I could be regarded 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.

A section of the room where the former Queen sits is set up like a home temple, with idols decorated with flowers and honored. At night, they're illuminated with oil lamps, and the priests are present.

The Mahratta ladies are very fond of sailing on the river, but they are equally in parda in the boats as on shore.

The Mahratta women really enjoy sailing on the river, but they maintain the same level of modesty in the boats as they do on land.

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.

The next day, the Bāiza Bā’ī sent down all her horses in their colorful native gear for me to see; she also brought two fine rhinoceroses that ran around the grounds in their heavy way and battled each other. The Bā’ī spent five thousand rupees (£500) for the pair; the big animals really enjoyed the sweets and oranges.

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.

When Captain Ross left, her Highness was put under the care of the agent to the Governor-General. I visited the Bā’ī several times and liked her more than any local woman I had ever met.

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.

A Hindu widow faces significant hardships; she cannot wear bright clothes or jewelry, and her mourning lasts forever. The Bāiza Bā’ī always slept on the floor, as was customary for widows, until she became very ill from rheumatic pain; after that, she permitted herself a firm mattress placed on the ground, as a charpāī was deemed too extravagant.

She never smoked, which surprised me: having seen the[8] Musalmānī ladies so fond of a hooqŭ, I concluded the Mahratta ladies indulged in the same luxury.

She never smoked, which surprised me: having seen the[8] Muslim women so fond of a hookah, I assumed the Mahratta women enjoyed 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].

The Mahratta men smoke the hookah just like all other locals, and the Bā’ī had a recipe for making tobacco cakes that were really popular in camp. The cakes are about four inches in diameter and one inch thick; just a small amount added to the tobacco usually smoked in a hookah gives off a great fragrance. The ingredients are pretty hard to find.

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?

Speaking of the hardships faced by Hindu widows, her Highness mentioned that they were denied all indulgent food, as well as a bed; and their situation was made as difficult as possible. She asked me how an English widow was treated?

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.

I told her, “An English woman lived in luxury in her husband’s home while he was alive; but after he died, she was kicked out of the family house to make space for the heir and given a pension, while the old horse was allowed to roam the park and enjoy the pastures he loved in his prime.” The Hindu widow, no matter how young, cannot remarry.

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].”

The fate of women and melons is the same. “Whether the melon falls on the knife or the knife falls on the melon, the melon is the one that suffers[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.

We talked about how harsh the laws in England are when it comes to married women, how entirely by law they are controlled by their husbands, and how unlikely it is for them to find any relief.

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.

You might as well “Twist a rope of sand[5],” or “Beg a husband of a widow[6],” as try to get the men to free 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.”

“Who made the laws?” asked her Highness. I looked at her, surprised, knowing she couldn’t be unaware of the issue. “The men,” I replied; “why did the Mahārāj ask that?” “I was skeptical,” said the Bā’ī with a mischievous smile, “since they only permit themselves one wife.”

“England is so small,” I replied, “in comparison with your[9] Highness’s Gwalior; if every man were allowed four wives, and obliged to keep them separate, the little island could never contain them; they would be obliged to keep the women in vessels off the shore, after the fashion in which the Chinese keep their floating farm-yards of ducks and geese at anchor.”

“England is really small,” I replied, “compared to your[9] Highness’s Gwalior; if every man were allowed four wives and had to keep them separate, the tiny island couldn’t hold them all; they would have to keep the women on boats offshore, like the way the Chinese keep their floating farms of ducks and geese anchored.”

SUPERSTITIONS OF THE NATIVES
Natives' Superstitions

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
‏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.”

“Is your husband upset with you?” asked Brija, the favorite attendant of her Highness. “Why would you think that?” I replied. “Because you’re not wearing any ornaments or jewelry.”

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.

The Bāiza Bā’ī called for the wives of Appa Sāhib to meet me. Six ladies came in and approached the gaddī, where the Bā’ī was seated. Each of them gracefully bowed her head until her forehead touched the feet of her Highness. They were beautiful young women, ranging from fifteen to twenty-five years old. The first five wives had no children; the sixth, who had recently married, was expecting a baby.

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.

Appa Sāhib is the ex-Queen's son-in-law; he married her daughter, Chimna Bā’ī, who died of a fever when they were expelled from 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 locals are really superstitious about the lucky and unlucky markings on horses. Here are some of the most well-known marks, and their beliefs about them are quite interesting:

The favourable marks are the deōband, the bhora, and the panch kalian.

The favorable 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 unlucky marks or aiibs are the sampan, siyah-tālū, small eyes, and a specific type of star 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 deōband is the feather on the chest: this mark is very rare, and it's the best of all marks. If a horse has the deōband, it is the rok or antidote to the sampan and all other bad marks.

The bhorahs are the two feathers, one on each side of the neck, just under the mane. If there be two bhorahs turning towards the ears of the horse it is favourable, a very good sign. If there be only one bhora it is tolerably good. If the feather turn towards the rider it is called the sampan; a bhora on one[10] side and a sampan on the other neutralizes both bad and good qualities.

The bhorahs are the two feathers, one on each side of the neck, just below the mane. If both bhorahs point towards the horse's ears, it’s a positive sign, very favorable. If there’s only one bhora, it’s considered fairly good. If the feather points towards the rider, it’s called a sampan; having a bhora on one side and a sampan on the other cancels out both bad and good traits.

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 panch kalian. The locals really admire a panch-kalian, as they refer to it, which is a horse with five distinctive markings: all four legs are white up to the knees, known as stockings, plus a white muzzle with a white stripe running from the muzzle up the forehead. In my opinion, such a horse looks only suitable for the butcher's counter. Still, the locals appreciate them, and I've seen many good horses that fit 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 sampan. When the feather on the neck of a horse on either side turns towards the rider, it's called a sampan; this is a very bad sign, indeed the worst; but if there are two sampans, one on each side of the neck, don’t go near the animal, it’s an Harām-zāda, prone to rearing and bucking; it’s vicious and will endanger its 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.

The siyah-tālū or black palate is a really bad sign; horses with this are usually unreliable and cannot be trusted. No local person will buy an animal that has what they commonly refer to as the shatāloo.

Small eyes are the sign of a sulky horse.

Small eyes indicate 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.

The star on the forehead. No local will buy a horse if he can cover the star on its forehead with the ball of his thumb. And when buying a horse from a local, pay attention to that mark, as they can remove the white hairs with a specific method. A large star is a good sign. No star at all doesn't matter; however, a few white hairs indicate a bad horse, and no local will buy it.

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.

When it comes to horse colors, people have their favorites. Greys are admired; black horses are also seen as attractive; bays are okay; chestnuts are not preferred at all.

With regard to Arabs, they are extremely particular as to the perfect straightness of the forehead, from the top of it down to the nose; the slightest rise on that part proving in their ideas a want of perfect pedigree. The deep hollow under the jaw is absolutely necessary; the small mouth, and the open, large, thin-skinned nostrils; the eyes large and fine; the hoof small, black, and hard; and the long tail. These points attract the[11] particular attention of the natives. “Bay in all his eight joints[7].” Horses of that colour are esteemed hardy and active.

With regard to Arabs, they are very particular about having a perfectly straight forehead, from the top down to the nose; even the slightest bump in that area suggests, in their view, a lack of pure lineage. A deep hollow under the jaw is absolutely essential; they prefer a small mouth and large, open, thin-skinned nostrils; the eyes should be large and striking; the hooves small, black, and durable; and a long tail is favored. These characteristics draw the
[11] attention of the locals. “Bay in all his eight joints[7].” Horses of that color are considered tough and nimble.

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 prophet considered shicàl bad in a horse: shicàl is when a horse has a white right hind foot and a left front foot, or a white right front foot and a left hind foot.

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.

The walk of a native horse is a smooth, fast pace, but it may not feel comfortable at first for someone used to the movements of horses trained by Europeans: the Mahratta bit is very sharp and makes a horse lean back on its 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.

I’ve seen a young horse being taught to walk smoothly, with a rope tied to each ankle; it made him take short steps, moving both legs on the same side at the same time; it’s a natural pace for a horse that’s overloaded.

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.

Horses in India are typically tied with two ropes to the head stall, and each of their hind legs has a rope attached to the fetlock, which is secured to a stake behind the animal, allowing enough length for it to lie 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.

In Shakespeare's Dictionary, hirdāwal is noted as a term for a defect in horses, referring to a tuft or curl of hair on the chest, which is considered bad luck for the rider.

It is written, speaking of the Prophet Mohammud, “There was nothing his Highness was so fond of, after women, as horses; and after horses as perfumes; and the marks of good horses are these: the best horses are black, with white foreheads, and having a white upper lip; next to that, a black horse, with white forehead and three white legs; next to this is a bay horse of these marks: a bay, with white forehead, white fore and hind legs, is best; and a sorrel with white fore and hind legs is also good. Prosperity is with sorrel horses. I heard the Prophet say, ‘Do not cut the hair of your horses’ foreheads, nor of their necks, nor of their tails; because verily horses keep the flies off with their tails, and their manes cover their necks, and blessings are interwoven with the hair of their[12] foreheads,’ ‘Tie up your horses and make them fat for fighting, and wipe off the dust from their foreheads and rumps; and tie bells to their necks.’”

It is written, speaking of the Prophet Muhammad, “There was nothing he loved more, after women, than horses; and after horses, perfumes. The characteristics of good horses are these: the best horses are black, with white foreheads and a white upper lip; next is a black horse with a white forehead and three white legs; following that is a bay horse with these markings: a bay with a white forehead and white fore and hind legs is best; and a sorrel with white fore and hind legs is also good. Prosperity comes with sorrel horses. I heard the Prophet say, ‘Do not cut the hair on your horses’ foreheads, necks, or tails; because horses use their tails to keep the flies away, and their manes protect their necks, and blessings are woven into the hair of their foreheads,’ ‘Tie up your horses and feed them well for fighting, and wipe off the dust from their foreheads and rumps; and put bells on 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.”

This latter command is interesting, as in the “Rites of Traveling” it is mentioned, “The angels are not with the group that has a dog, nor with the group that has a bell.” “A bell is the devil’s musical instrument.” “Kill black dogs that have two white spots on their eyes; for truly, 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 locals can't understand why Europeans cut off their horses’ tails and find it a disgusting and ridiculous practice. An artillery officer shared a story about selling an old Persian horse with a tail that brushed the ground to a friend in Fathīghar. When the sā’īs returned, Captain A⸺ asked him how the horse was doing. “Oh, Sāhib!” said the sā’īs, “As soon as I delivered him, they cut off his tail, and the poor old horse was of such high status that he couldn't handle such an humiliation, and the next morning he died of shame!” “Sharmandī ho mar-gayā.” The English might be a very civilized nation, but cutting off their horses’ tails, nicking the bone, and scoring fish alive still feels a bit barbaric: all that can be said in defense of it is that it’s 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].

The locals are very superstitious and take pleasure in chants. “God save you, uncle!” is what a Hindu says to a goblin he fears, hoping to keep it from harming him. [8].

Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, having heard of the great fame of my cabinet of curiosities, requested some tigers’ claws for the Gaja Rājā. I wrote to a friend in Assam, who sent me a quart of tigers’ claws! regretting he was unable to procure more. If you kill a tiger, the servants steal his claws as quickly as possible to send to their wives to make into charms, which both the women and children wear around their necks. They avert the evil eye and keep off maladies. The Gaja Rājā was pleased at having procured the claws, and her horse’s neck was[13] adorned with some five-and-twenty ornaments or more strung together, each made like the one appended to the chain in the sketch; it must have been valuable, being formed of pure gold.

Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, upon learning about the great reputation of my collection of curiosities, asked for some tiger claws for the Gaja Rājā. I contacted a friend in Assam, who sent me a quart of tiger claws! He regretted he couldn't send more. When a tiger is killed, the servants quickly grab its claws to give to their wives to turn into charms, which both the women and children wear around their necks. These charms are said to ward off the evil eye and prevent illness. The Gaja Rājā was pleased to receive the claws, and her horse's neck was adorned with about twenty-five ornaments or more strung together, each resembling the one attached to the chain in the sketch; it must have been valuable, being made 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 charm, No. 1 in the sketch, was made by my own craftsman in the bazaar, out of solid silver, a replica of a necklace worn by the wife of one of my servants, Dilmīr Khān. “It keeps off not one, but seventy misfortunes[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 hidden inside, which, along with the claws, guarantees prosperity for the owner and wards off the evil eye. No woman in India can wear anything as insignificant as silver, which is what her servants' ornaments are made of. Whether Musalmānī or Hindoo, women are thrilled with the tiger claws. When an amulet, like No. 2 in the sketch, is created for a child, two crocodile teeth replace the tiger claws. Today, a child in the Fort died in an accident. The locals say, “How could it be lucky when it had no charm to protect it?” Baghnā is the term for the amulet featuring the teeth and claws of a tiger, which are worn around the neck of an adult or 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.”

The Prophet prohibits the use of certain amulets, stating, “Truly, charms, placing the claws of slaughtered animals around children’s necks, and tying a thread around a wife’s neck to make her husband love her, are all practices of 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.”

“It’s a common practice in India to keep a monkey in or near a stable to protect the horses from the effects of the evil eye. In Persia, they use a pig for this purpose; and in some areas of England, a goat is seen as an essential part of a stable, although it might originate from some equally whimsical reason.”

The owl is considered an unlucky bird. “One-eyed men have a vein extra[10];” and are supposed to be more knowing than others. And I have before mentioned that an opinion prevails in wild and mountainous parts of India, that the spirit of a man[14] destroyed by a tiger sometimes rides upon his head, and guides him from his pursuers.

The owl is thought to be an unlucky bird. “One-eyed men have an extra vein;” and are believed to be more knowledgeable than others. I also mentioned earlier that in the wild and mountainous regions of India, there is a belief that the spirit of a man killed by a tiger sometimes rides on his head and helps him evade 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.”

I’ve never seen it happen in India, but I’ve heard from reliable sources that there are people who claim they can tame even the fiercest horse by whispering in its ear. A person approaches a wild animal, whispers to it, and the creature calms down. Catlin, in his account of the North American Indians, writes: “After catching a wild horse with a lasso, the Indian gradually moves closer until he can touch the animal’s nose and cover its eyes, and eventually breathes into its nostrils; then it quickly becomes gentle and submissive, allowing him to simply remove the hobbles from its feet and lead or ride it back to camp.” In another part of his work, Catlin adds: “I have often, following a local custom, held my hands over a calf's eyes and breathed a few strong breaths into its nostrils; after that, I’ve ridden several miles back to our camp with the little calf happily following my horse, as closely and affectionately as its instincts would allow it to stay with its mother! This is one of the most remarkable things I’ve encountered in this wild land; even though I’ve heard about it many times and found it hard to believe, I’m now ready to testify to the truth of it, based on the many instances I’ve observed since arriving here.”

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:—

In explaining the coin labeled No. 9 in the section titled “Superstitions of the Natives,” I need to include an excerpt from a friend's letter:—

“To entertain that amenity so requisite for the obtaining a note from you, I send, under the seal wherewith I seal my letter, ‘a little money,’ as a first instalment. The form of the coin is meant to be octagonal; that form is more evident on those that are larger. Now for the coin’s explanation: It bears the seal of Rajah Gowrinath Singh, who succeeded his father Luckhishingh, in Assam, 1780; he was of a hot temper, and a liberal. After reigning five years, he was expelled by Bhurrethi Moran Rajah of Bengmoran. Gowrinath Singh fled to Gowhatty, and having[15] got the Company to take his part, Captain Wallis was sent with an armed force to reinstate him on the throne; this was performed, but at the cost of incredible destruction of towns, villages, cultivation, and all that sort of thing. Since those days, Assam has been a jungle. Finding Rungpore, his capital, depopulated, Gowrinath caused a palace to be built on the banks of the Deshoi, where he lived in tranquillity ten years; the place became populous, and though the palace has fallen into ruins, it still exists as a town, under the name of Deshoi Khote. Gowrinath Singh died in 1795, having reigned in Assam fifteen years. I will send you his inscription, which is in part only on the coin enclosed; but I must get it from my learned Pundit. Other and older coins are found, both of gold and silver, but of no baser metal; copper appears to have been unknown for that purpose.”

“To provide the necessary courtesy for receiving a note from you, I’m sending, with the seal on my letter, ‘a little money’ as my first installment. The shape of the coin is supposed to be octagonal; that shape is more obvious on the larger ones. Now, for the explanation of the coin: It has the seal of Rajah Gowrinath Singh, who took over from his father Luckhishingh in Assam in 1780; he was known for his quick temper and generosity. After ruling for five years, he was driven out by Bhurrethi Moran Rajah of Bengmoran. Gowrinath Singh escaped to Gowhatty, and with the Company’s support, Captain Wallis was sent with a military force to restore him to the throne; this was successful, but it resulted in immense destruction of towns, villages, farms, and everything similar. Since then, Assam has become a jungle. Finding Rungpore, his capital, deserted, Gowrinath had a palace built on the banks of the Deshoi River, where he lived peacefully for ten years; the area became populated, and even though the palace has fallen into ruins, it still exists as a town named Deshoi Khote. Gowrinath Singh died in 1795, having ruled in Assam for fifteen years. I will send you his inscription, which is only partially visible on the enclosed coin; but I need to obtain it from my knowledgeable Pundit. Other older coins have been found, made of gold and silver, but not of any lesser metal; copper seems 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.

No. 10 is the bigger octagonal coin mentioned in the previous excerpt, and it was sent to me as a second installment from Assam.

[16]

CHAPTER XL.
THE NAWAB HAKĪM MENHDĪ AND THE 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.

Zenana of the Nawab of Fathigarh—The Nawab Hakim Mehndi—His Outfit and Home—Shawl Factory—The Muharram—Visit to the Zenana of the Nawab—Lord Brougham—Molineux and Tom Crib—The Burqa—Leaving Fathigarh—Back to Allahabad—Trip on the Ganges—The Legend of Kurrah—Secunder-al-Sani—The Sati—A Storm—Fear of the Sarang—The Kala Nadi—Ruins of Kannauj—The Legend—Ancient Coins—Rose-water—Cremation—Arrival at Fathigarh.

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.

1835, April 15th.—I got an invitation to visit Begam Moktar Mahal, the mother of the Nawab of Fathīgar. She’s related to Mulka Begam’s family but is very different from her—she doesn’t have her beauty and isn’t very refined. Afterward, we went to see the Nawab’s grandmother, Surfuraz Mahal, who is in the same zenāna. They were mourning a death in the family and cried, as is their custom, the entire time I was there. They wore simple white clothes with no jewelry; that’s their (mátim) mourning. The young Nawab, who is about twelve years old, is a nice boy; not attractive, but very manly and well-mannered.

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.

The Nawab Mootuzim Adowlah Menhdī Ali Khan Bahādur, commonly known as Nawab Hakīm Menhdī, lives in Fathīgar. He wasn't feeling well and couldn't meet with me, but he sent his horses down to be shown to me, since he heard about my love for them.

22nd.—I visited a manufactory for Indian shawls, lately established by the Hakīm to support some people, who, having come from Cashmir, were in distress; and as they were originally shawl manufacturers, in charity he gave them employment.[17] This good deed is not without its reward; three or four hundred workmen are thus supported; the wool is brought from Cashmir, and the sale of the shawls gives a handsome profit. I did not admire them; they are manufactured to suit the taste of the English, and are too heavy; but they are handsome, and the patterns strictly Indian. Colonel Gardner’s Begam said to me one day, at Khāsgunge, “Look at these shawls, how beautiful they are! If you wish to judge of an Indian shawl, shut your eyes and feel it; the touch is the test of a good one. Such shawls as these are not made at the present day in Cashmir; the English have spoiled the market. The shawls made now are very handsome, but so thick and heavy, they are only fit for carpets, not for ladies’ attire.”

22nd.—I visited a factory producing Indian shawls, recently set up by the Hakīm to help some people who had come from Cashmir and were in need. Since they were originally shawl makers, he generously gave them jobs.[17] This kind act has its rewards; three or four hundred workers are supported this way, the wool is sourced from Cashmir, and selling the shawls generates a good profit. I wasn't impressed by them; they are made to cater to English tastes, which makes them too heavy. However, they are attractive, and the designs are distinctly Indian. Colonel Gardner’s Begam told me once in Khāsgunge, “Look at these shawls, aren’t they beautiful? If you want to evaluate an Indian shawl, close your eyes and feel it; the texture is the true test of quality. Shawls like these aren't made anymore in Cashmir; the English have ruined the market. The shawls produced now are very pretty, but they are so thick and heavy that they are only suitable for carpets, not for women's clothing.”

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.

26th.—Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī came by with his son, a man around forty years old known as “The General.” He invited me to visit him and the Begam, and wanted to show me his home.

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.

29th.—We drove to the Nawāb’s house, which is quite nice; he welcomed us at the door and took my arm instead of offering his. He’s a handsome older man, older than Colonel Gardner, whom he somewhat resembles in style; his manners are refined and excellent. He wore an embroidered cap with a silver muslin twisted like a cord around it as a turban; it looked very elegant, and his outfit was made of white muslin. The rooms in his house are really interesting; they remind me more of a shop in the China bazār in Calcutta than anything else, filled with a mix of clutter and valuable items. Tables ran down the center of the room, covered with a wide variety of things: around the room were glass cases filled with clocks, watches, sundials, compasses, guns, pistols, swords; everything you could think of might be found in those cases.

The Hakīm was making all due preparation for celebrating the Muharram in the most splendid style; he was a very religious man, and kept the fast with wonderful strictness and fortitude. A very lofty room was fitted up as a Taziya Khāna, or house of mourning; from the ceiling hung chandeliers of glass of every colour, as thickly as it was possible to place them, all the length[18] of the spacious apartment; and in this room several taziyas, very highly decorated, were placed in readiness for the ceremony. One of them was a representation of the Mausoleum of the Prophet at Medina; another the tomb of Hussein at Karbala; a third, that of Kasīm; and there was also a most splendid Burāk, a fac-simile of the winged horse, on which the Prophet made an excursion one night from Jerusalem to Heaven, and thence returned to Mecca. The angel Gabriel acted as celestial sā’īs on the occasion, and brought the animal from the regions above. He must have been a fiery creature to control that winged horse; and the effect must have been more than picturesque, as the Prophet scudded along on a steed that had the eyes and face of a man, his ears long, his forehead broad, and shining like the moon; eyes of jet, shaped like those of a deer, and brilliant as the stars; the neck and breast of a swan, the loins of a lion, the tail and the wings of a peacock, the stature of a mule, and the speed of lightning!—hence its name Burāk.

The Hakīm was getting ready to celebrate Muharram in style; he was very religious and fasted with impressive dedication and strength. A spacious room was set up as a Taziya Khāna, or house of mourning; chandeliers of every color hung from the ceiling, packed as tightly as possible throughout the large space; and in this room, several elaborately decorated taziyas were arranged for the ceremony. One was a replica of the Prophet’s Mausoleum in Medina; another was the tomb of Hussein in Karbala; a third was that of Kasīm; and there was also a stunning Burāk, a replica of the winged horse that the Prophet rode one night from Jerusalem to Heaven and back to Mecca. The angel Gabriel served as the celestial guide for the occasion and brought the creature from above. He must have been quite a fiery being to handle that winged horse; and the scene must have been more than picturesque, as the Prophet raced along on a steed with a human’s eyes and face, long ears, a broad forehead that shone like the moon, jet-black eyes shaped like a deer’s and bright like stars; the neck and chest of a swan, the legs of a lion, the tail and wings of a peacock, the height 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.

In front of the taziyas and the flying horse were several flags; some meant to mimic the banner (’alam) of Hussein, and others displaying the names of specific martyrs. The banners of Ali were called “The Palm of the Hand of Ali the Chosen,” “The Hand of the Lion of God,” “The Palm of the Miracle Maker,” and “The Palm of the Overcomer of Obstacles.” There was also the “Standard of Fatima,” the daughter of the Prophet and wife of Ali; along with the one for Abbas the standard-bearer, and those for Qasim, Ali Akbar, and others; the banner of the twelve Imams; the double-bladed sword of Ali; and the nal-sahib. Additionally, there was the neza, a spear or lance decorated with a turban, with the ends fluttering in the air and a lime fixed at the top; said to symbolize Hussein’s head, which was triumphantly paraded through various 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 nal-sāhib is a horseshoe attached to the end of a long pole; it's made of gold, silver, metal, wood, or paper, and serves as a symbol of Hussein's horse.

The ’Alam-i-Kasīm, or Standard of Kasīm the Bridegroom, is[19] distinguished by its having a little chatr in gold or silver, fixed on the top of it. All these things were collected in the long room in the house of the Nawāb, ready for the nocturnal perambulations of the faithful.

The ’Alam-i-Kasīm, or Standard of Kasīm the Bridegroom, is[19] characterized by a small chatr in gold or silver placed on top of it. All of these items were gathered in the long room of the Nawāb's house, prepared for the nighttime walks 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.

After losing the battle of Kraabaallah, Hussein's family was taken captive, along with his son Zein-ool-Abaīdīn, the only surviving male descendant of Alī, and they were sent to Medina. They carried with them the heads of the martyrs; Hussein's head was displayed on the tip of a lance as the procession moved through the cities. Because of Zein-ool-Abaīdīn's passionate protests and pleas, the heads of the martyrs were handed over to him. Forty days after the battle, they were returned to Kraabaallah and buried with their respective bodies. The mourners then went back to Medina, visited the tomb of the Prophet, and eventually, all of Medina came under the influence of 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.

Alī, Muhammad's son-in-law, was considered by the Shī’as to be the direct successor of the Prophet, not recognizing the other three caliphs; however, 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 Muharram ends on the fortieth day, marking the burial of the martyrs at Kraabaallah, a location in Iraq along the Euphrates River, which is also—and maybe more accurately—known as Karbalā. At this site, King Yuzeed's army was set up, while Hussein and his group, which consisted of just seventy-two people, were on the opposite side of a nearby 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 Nawab is a very community-oriented man and does a lot of good; he showed me a school he founded and supports for the education of local boys; he also showed me a beautiful cheetah and some antelopes that were kept for fighting. For the benefit of the public, he has built a bridge, a ghat, and a sarai, a resting place for travelers; all of which bear his name.

The Begam, having been informed that I was with the Nawāb,[20] sent to request I would pay a visit to the zenāna, and a day was appointed in all due form.

The Begam, having heard that I was with the Nawāb,[20] sent a message asking me to visit the zenāna, and a day was officially set for the meeting.

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.

May 3rd.—When the time came, the Nawāb visited the house where I was staying to honor me by escorting me to visit the Begam. Since Muharram had started, his family was in mourning and couldn’t wear any jewelry; he apologized that, because of this, the Begam wouldn’t be dressed elegantly to receive me. She is an attractive woman, but doesn’t have the same style as James Gardner’s Begam; she clearly respects the Hakīm a lot, who seems to rule with an iron fist. The rooms in the zenāna are long and narrow, supported by pillars on the side facing the enclosed garden, where three fountains played refreshingly, with golden fish swimming in them. The Begam seemed fond of the fish and had some beautiful pigeons that came to be fed near the fountains; locals place a high value on certain breeds of pigeons, especially those from Lucknow, some of which fetch very high prices. It’s common for wealthy locals to keep many pigeons; the handler makes them perform aerial maneuvers by command, or rather by the movement of a long wand he carries, which he uses to guide their flight; making them turn and circle in the air and ascend or descend at will. The groups of pigeons consist of fifty or even hundreds; flying your own pigeons in mock battles against those of another person is a popular pastime among the locals.

Several large glass cases were filled in the same curious manner as those before mentioned; and the upper panes of the windows were covered with English prints, some coloured and some plain. The Hakīm asked me if I did not admire them? There was Lord Brougham; also a number of prints of half-naked boxers sparring; Molineux and Tom Cribb, &c., in most scientific attitudes; divers characters of hunting celebrity; members of Parliament in profusion; and bright red and blue pictures of females, as Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter:—a most uncouth collection to be displayed around the walls of a zenāna! I was surprised to see pictures in the house of a man[21] considered to be so religious as the Nawāb; because the Prophet said, “Every painter is in hell-fire, and God will appoint a person at the day of resurrection, for every picture he shall have drawn, to punish him in hell. Then, if you must make pictures, make them of trees, and things without souls.” “And whoever draws a picture will be punished, by ordering him to blow a spirit into it; and this he can never do; and so he will be punished as long as God wills.”

Several large glass cases were filled in a similarly curious way as those mentioned before, and the upper panes of the windows were covered with English prints, some in color and some plain. The Hakīm asked me if I didn't admire them. There was Lord Brougham, along with a number of prints of half-naked boxers sparring, like Molineux and Tom Cribb, in various scientific poses; different characters known for hunting; many members of Parliament; and bright red and blue images of women representing Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter:—a rather strange collection to display around the walls of a zenāna! I was surprised to see pictures in the home of a man considered to be as religious as the Nawāb, because the Prophet said, “Every painter is in hell-fire, and God will appoint someone on the Day of Resurrection for every picture they have drawn, to punish them 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 being ordered to blow a spirit into it; and this they can never do; and so they 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.”

“The angels do not enter a house that has a dog, nor one that has 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 spent an hour in the women's quarters, chatting with the old Nawab; the Begum barely spoke up. He showed me her flower garden and made me promise that I would never pass through Fathigarh without stopping by to see him. I told him that when the rains came, I would come up in the small boat, having promised to visit my relatives, when I would have the pleasure of seeing him and the Begum again. He urged me to stay and witness the Muharram rituals; I truly regretted that I had to return home, as I was very eager to see the mourning festival celebrated in all its grandeur.

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.

I happened to wear a forehead chain; it amused the Begam a lot because it looked a bit like the tika worn by women in 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.

His first Begam, to whom he was very devoted, passed away: he sent her body to Mecca: it sank in the sea. This was considered a significant misfortune and a sign of bad luck. Four years later, he married the current Begam, who had been a slave girl to the former.

Between the pauses in conversation the Nawāb would frequently have recourse to his rosary, repeating, I suppose, the ninety-nine names of God, and meditating on the attributes of each. In the Qanoon-e-islam it is mentioned, “To read with the use of a tusbeeh (or rosary) is meritorious; but it is an innovation, since it was not enjoined by the prophet (the blessing and peace of God be with him!) or his companions, but established by certain mushaeks (or divines). They use the chaplet in repeating the kulma (confession of faith) or durood[22] (blessing), one, two, or more hundred times.” On the termination of my visit to the zenāna, the Nawāb re-escorted me to the house of the friend with whom I was staying.

Between breaks in the conversation, the Nawāb often turned to his rosary, probably reciting the ninety-nine names of God and reflecting on the characteristics of each. The Qanoon-e-Islam states, “Reading while using a tusbeeh (or rosary) is commendable; however, it is considered an innovation since it was not commanded by the prophet (may peace and blessings be upon him!) or his companions, but was established by certain scholars (or divines). They use the chaplet to repeat the kulma (confession of faith) or durood[22] (blessing), doing so one, two, or many hundreds of times.” At the end of my visit to the zenāna, the Nawāb escorted me back to the home of the friend I was staying with.

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.

For the first time today, I saw someone in a burqa walking down the street; it was impossible to tell if the person was male or female; the long, confident stride made me think it was a man. A pointed crown sat on the head, from which long folds of white fabric draped down to the feet, completely covering the person. There were two openings for the eyes, into which white netting was inserted, allowing the person inside to see clearly, while the color of their eyes remained hidden from the outside. The burqa wearer entered the Nawab's house. Later, I was sent the dress to examine, and my tailor took a copy of it for me. It's often worn by respectable women who can't afford to go out in a palanquin or a doli.

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.”

The Hakīm enjoyed writing notes in English, some of which were quite interesting. When the position of Commissioner was eliminated, he thought the person holding the job would have to leave Fathīghar. The old Hakīm wrote a notable note, which included this line: “As for the person who came up with the idea of getting rid of your position, my dear friend, may God bury him in the ground.” However, since the gentleman stayed at Fathīghar and the Government gave him an equally good position, the Hakīm was pleased. When I returned to Allahabad, he wrote to me and asked me “not to let his friendship and affection be forgotten.”

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.

4th.—Paid a goodbye visit to her Highness, the former Queen of Gwalior, at the Mahratta Camp, and left Fathīghar dāk for Allahabad. I would have ended up with a severe headache from the heat if I hadn’t found shelter during the day, as the hot winds were blowing and the weather was extremely oppressive; so I only traveled at night and stayed indoors during the day.

5th.—I stopped during the day at the house of a gentleman at Menhdī Ghāt, which was built by the Nawāb, as well as the sarā’e at Naramhow, which also bears his name. From this place I sent[23] to Kannouj for a quantity of chūrīs, i.e., rings made of sealing-wax, very prettily ornamented with gold foil, beads, and colours: the old woman, who brought a large basketful for sale, put a very expensive set on my arms; they cost four ānās, or three pence! The price of a very pretty set is two ānās. My host appeared surprised; he must have thought me a Pakka Hindostanī. Kannouj is famed for the manufacture of chūrīs. I wore the bracelets for two days, and then broke them off, because the sealing-wax produced a most annoying irritation of the skin.

5th.—I stopped during the day at a gentleman's house in Menhdī Ghāt, which was built by the Nawāb, as well as the sarā’e at Naramhow, which also bears his name. From this place I sent[23] to Kannouj for a bunch of chūrīs, i.e., rings made of sealing wax, very nicely decorated with gold foil, beads, and colors. 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! A nice set costs two ānās. My host looked surprised; he must have thought I was a true Hindostanī. Kannouj is known for making chūrīs. I wore the bracelets for two days and then took them off because the sealing wax caused a really annoying irritation on my 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.

6th.—I spent the hottest part of the day with some good friends in Cawnpore, and the next dāk took me to Fathīpoor. The following day, I spent the sweltering hours in the dāk bungalow at Shāhzadpoor; and the next morning, I was really happy to be back home after my long travels. The heat in the pālkee was sometimes unbearable. I had a small thermometer with me that often read 93° at 10 AM, and the sides of the palanquin felt as hot as an oven. The exhaustion from traveling for so many nights was significant, but it didn’t hurt me.

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.

I found Allahabad greatly changed; it used to be a quiet station, but now it had become the hub of the Agra Government, and Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant Governor, was living there. I had often heard Colonel Gardner speak highly of this man, who was his friend. I spent my time making and receiving visits and attending 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.

13th.—At Mr. F⸺'s house, I met the Austrian traveler, Baron H⸺; he asked if he could visit me the next day to see my collection of curiosities. He said they were quite impressive and promised to send me some idols to add to my collection. I gave him a set of Hindu toe rings, the sacred thread of the Brahmins, and a rosary, every bead of which was carved with the name of the god Rām. Men have always been deceivers; the promised idols were never added to my collection. The Lieutenant Governor's gatherings, which were very enjoyable, made Allahabad a very pleasant place to be.

Aug. 2nd.—I went to the melā (fair) held within the grounds[24] at Papamhow. To this place we had sent the pinnace, the Seagull; and on the 10th of the month my husband accompanied me two days’ sail on my voyage, to revisit my relations at Fathīghar, after which, he returned to Allahabad, leaving me and the great spaniel Nero to proceed together. The daily occurrences of this voyage may be omitted, only recording any adventure that occurred during the course of it. The stream is so excessively powerful, that at times, even with a fine strong breeze and thirteen men on the towing-line, we are forced to quit the main stream, and proceed up some smaller branch, which occasions delay.

Aug. 2nd.—I went to the fair held on the grounds[24] at Papamhow. We had sent the small boat, the Seagull, there; and on the 10th of the month, my husband traveled with me for two days on my journey to visit my relatives in Fathīghar. After that, he went back to Allahabad, leaving me and the large spaniel, Nero, to continue on our own. I won’t mention the daily happenings of this voyage, only noting any adventures that came up along the way. The river is so incredibly strong that sometimes, even with a good strong breeze and thirteen men on the towing-line, we have to leave the main river and take a smaller branch, which causes delays.

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.

Aug. 14th.—I arrived at Kurrah, a famous place from the past. I wanted to go ashore to see the tomb of Shaikh Karrick and take a ride on the black pony that was supposed to meet me there, but I had to abandon the idea because we had to go up the other side of the river due to the strong current and quick pace of the water.

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.

In CE 1295, Alla, the son of Feroze, the second King of Delhi, was the Governor of Kurrah and the Subadar of Oude. Alla led a campaign into the Deccan and came back with a lot of loot. He brought back 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, etc.

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.

The King of Delhi, wanting to get in on his nephew’s loot, came down to Kurrah. Alla met him when his boat reached the riverbank; and after the warmest greetings, he signaled to two men, who stepped forward and killed the king right there.

They relate, that when Alla visited a celebrated sage, Shaikh Karrick, who is buried at Kurrah, and whose tomb is held sacred to this day, he rose from his pillow, and repeated an extempore verse to the following purport:—“He cometh, but his head shall fall in the boat, and his body in the Ganges,” which, they say, was explained an hour afterwards by the death of the King Feroze, whose head was thrown into the boat on that occasion. One of the assassins died of a horrible leprosy, which dissolved the flesh piecemeal from his bones; the other[25] went mad, and incessantly cried out that Feroze was cutting off his head.

They say that when Alla visited a famous sage, Shaikh Karrick, who is buried in Kurrah and whose tomb is still considered sacred today, he got up from his pillow and spontaneously recited a verse that meant: “He comes, but his head will fall in the boat, and his body in the Ganges.” It’s said that this was later interpreted as predicting the death of King Feroze, whose head was indeed thrown into the boat during that event. One of the assassins ended up dying from a terrible leprosy that slowly ate away his flesh from his bones; the other [25] went insane and kept screaming that Feroze was chopping 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!

This awful Alla took the throne of Delhi and ruled as Alla the First. He aimed, like Alexander the Great, to conquer the world. Because of this plan, he took on the title of Sekunder al Sānī (Alexander the Second), which was stamped on the empire's currency. The silver coins shown in the illustration (Fig. 6.) that I got in Fathīpoor were found in a field five miles from Kurrah; they are marked CE 1313, Sekunder al Sānī. There has never been a more contemptible figure than this Alla the First. He died CE 1316. I find the coins as much of a curiosity as the gentleman finds one of Thurtell’s ears, which he has kept 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.

16th.—We anchored at Maigong in a pretty spot, right next to a satī mound. Next to the mound, I saw the trunk of a beautifully carved stone figure of a woman. The head, arms, and part of the legs were missing. They said it was a satī. Behind the mound was a very old banyan tree, and the green hills and trees around were lush and vibrant from 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.

The next morning, to my surprise, when I walked into the large cabin for breakfast, there was the figure of the headless satī covered in flowers, and at the spot where there were no feet, offerings of gram, boiled rice, etc., had been left by some of the Hindoo dāndees. “How did you come to have the satī?” I asked. “The mem sāhiba admired her; she is here.” “Chorī-ke-mal nā’īch hazm hota,” “Stolen food never digests,” meaning “Bad deeds never succeed; the poor people will mourn for the figure; tell the sarang to lower the sail and return her to them.” “What do you mean?” replied the sarang, “we are miles away from where it was; the satī has stirred up the wind.” The headless lady stayed on board.

As we passed the residence of Rājā Budannath Singh, he came out with his family on three elephants to pay his respects, thinking my husband was on board. The ladies were peeping[26] from the house-top. The pinnace passed in full sail, followed by ten immense country boats full of magazine stores, and the cook boat. Being unable at night to cross those rivers, we anchored on the Oude side. I did not much admire being in the domains of the King of Lucnow instead of those of the Company; they are a very turbulent set, those men of Oude, and often pillage boats. The vicinity of the Rājā’s house was some protection. Rām Din had the matchlocks of the sipahī guard fired off by way of bravado, and to show we were armed; the lathīs (bamboos) were laid in readiness, in case of attack: the watch was set, and, after these precautions, the mem sāhiba and her dog went to rest very composedly.

As we passed Rājā Budannath Singh's home, he came out with his family on three elephants to pay his respects, thinking my husband was on board. The ladies were peeking from the rooftop. The boat sailed by with its sails full, followed by ten huge country boats loaded with supplies, along with the cook boat. Since we couldn't cross the rivers at night, we anchored on the Oude side. I didn't particularly enjoy being in the King of Lucnow's territory instead of that of the Company; those men from Oude are very unruly and often raid boats. The area around the Rājā's house provided some safety. Rām Din had the sipahī guard fire their matchlocks for show, signaling that we were armed; the lathīs (bamboo sticks) were ready in case of an attack: the watch was set, and after these precautions, the mem sāhiba and her dog went to bed very peacefully.

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.

22nd.—Not a breath of air! The sun is blazing hot; the river looks like a silver lake, but the boat doesn’t move because we’re stuck on a sandbank! The sun's rays are beating down; several of the servants are sick with fever. I hope they’ll be okay; I'm treating all of them and haven’t lost anyone yet! My husband will be anxious as he sits in the cool house thinking about me on the river. The boat had a lot of trouble this morning; the captain of some cargo boats sent forty men to help us out. It was lucky to run into the captain in this Wilderness of Waters! You can always find someone to help in a tough spot, probably thanks to the satī, who they continue to decorate with fresh flowers.

25th.—After a voyage of fifteen days and a half I arrived at Cawnpore; coming up the reach of the Ganges, in front of Cantonments, a powerful wind was in our favour. The Seagull gallantly led the way in front of the twelve magazine boats: a very pretty sight for the Cawnporeans, especially as a squall overtook us, struck us all into picturesque attitudes, and sunk one of the magazine boats, containing 16,000 rupees worth of new matchlocks. When the squall struck the little fleet, they were thrown one against another, the sails shivered, and the centre boat sank like a stone. Being an eye-witness of this scene, I was afterwards glad to be able to bear witness, at[27] the request of the conductor, to his good conduct, and the care he took of the boats, when called upon by the magistrate of the place.

25th.—After a journey of fifteen and a half days, I arrived at Cawnpore. As we approached the section of the Ganges in front of the Cantonments, we had a strong tailwind in our favor. The Seagull bravely led the way ahead of the twelve magazine boats, creating a lovely scene for the people of Cawnpore, especially when a squall hit us. It threw everyone into dramatic poses and caused one of the magazine boats, which carried 16,000 rupees worth of new matchlocks, to sink. When the squall hit our small fleet, the boats crashed into each other, the sails flapped violently, and the center boat sank like a rock. Having witnessed this event firsthand, I was relieved later to be able to confirm, at[27] the request of the conductor, his excellent handling of the situation and his care for the boats when asked by the local magistrate.

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.

28th.—We anchored off Bittoor on the other side. I regretted not being able to visit the place and see Bajee Row, the former Peshwa, who lives there on an annual allowance of eight lakh. In 1818, he submitted to the Company, gave up his throne, and retired to Bittoor for good. I would have loved to meet these Mahrattas, but the river's current made it necessary for me to go up the opposite bank.

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.

The government wants the Bāiza Bā’ī to live in Benares with an annual stipend of six lakhs, but the determined old lady refuses to be a pensioner and won't leave Fathīghar. Even though she is Hindu, she doesn't want to settle for "a little to eat and live in Benares," especially since she's not far 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!

Sept. 2nd.—A day full of adventures. Until noon, we fought against the wind and current; then a nice breeze kicked in, bringing some intense squalls and storms. The current was really strong against us, but it was great sailing, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. At times, the squalls tested our bravery: we passed a ship that had just lost its mast. The current violently pushed us back, and we nearly collided with it; we smashed one of the Venetian windows in the cabin, and thankfully, that was our only damage. Two guys raising the sail on another boat were knocked overboard by the squall and were swept away with terrifying speed, crying out for help. The current carried them past us and dumped them on a sandbank—a lucky escape!

Anchored at Menhdī ghāt; the moon was high and brilliant, the wind roaring around us, the stream, also, roaring in concert, like a distant waterfall; the night cold and clear, the stars bright and fine; but the appearance of the sky foretold more wind and squalls for the morrow. I had no idea, until I had tried it, how much danger there was on the Gunga, during the height of the rains; in this vessel I think myself safe, but[28] certainly I should not admire a small one. All the vessels to-day were at anchor; not a sail was to be seen but the white sails of the Seagull, and the dark ones of the cook boat, the latter creeping along the shore, her mānjhī following very unwillingly.

Anchored at Menhdī ghāt, the moon was bright and high, the wind howling around us, and the stream roaring along with it, like a distant waterfall. The night was cold and clear, and the stars were bright and sharp, but the look of the sky hinted at more wind and squalls for tomorrow. I had no idea, until I experienced it, how much danger there was on the Ganga during the height of the rainy season; in this vessel, I feel safe, but[28] I definitely wouldn't want to be in a smaller one. All the vessels today were at anchor; there wasn't a single sail in sight except for the white sails of the Seagull and the dark ones of the cook boat, the latter drifting along the shore, her mānjhī following very reluctantly.

My sarang says the quantity of sail I oblige him to carry during high winds, has turned “his stomach upside down with alarm.”

My love says that the amount of sail I make him carry during strong 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.

3rd.—The next morning, the storm raged on for several hours, preventing us from leaving the riverbank. A man came on board and informed me that if I went up a river called the Kalī Nadī, I could avoid the strong current of the Ganges. He said I could travel twenty miles up the Nadī, and then, using an old canal, re-enter the Ganges upstream.

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.

I asked him to show me the ruins of Kannouj; we delayed; it was really windy: finally, we made it safely into the middle of the stream. About a mile upstream, we left the roaring and rushing waters of the Ganges and entered the calm waters of the Kalī Nadī. The ancient city of Kannouj sits on a beautifully wooded hill, with the winding river at its base; the stream flowing through lush green meadows reminded me of the Thames near Richmond. In the Ganges, we could barely make headway against the current, even though the wind, which was favorable, was blowing hard; in the Nadī, we took down all the sails and were carried along at a good speed, just by the force of the wind on the hull of the boat and the gentle flow of the river. My friend mentioned that he once cast a net across the Kalī Nadī, near the entrance, and caught one hundred and thirty-two great rhoee fish. On the hill above, there's the tomb of Colonel ⸺; who, while Lord Lake’s army was camped here on their way to Delhi, tried to swim across the Nadī on horseback and drowned.

In the history of Kannouj, it is said, “Rustum Dista, King of the Persian province of Seistan, conquered India; he, for his great exploits, is styled the Hercules of the East; unwilling to retain so distant an empire as a dependent on Persia, he placed a new family on the throne. The name of the Prince raised to the empire by Rustum was Suraja, who was a man of great[29] abilities, and restored the power of the empire. This dynasty commenced about 1072 years before the Christian æra, and it lasted two hundred and eighty-six years. It is affirmed by the Brahmins, that it was in the time of this dynasty that the worship of emblematical figures of the Divine attributes was first established in India.”

In the history of Kannouj, it is said, “Rustum Dista, King of the Persian province of Seistan, conquered India; he is referred to as the Hercules of the East due to his great achievements. Not wanting to keep such a distant empire as merely a territory of Persia, he installed a new family on the throne. The name of the Prince who was elevated to the empire by Rustum was Suraja, a man of great abilities who restored the empire's power. This dynasty began around 1072 years before the Christian era and lasted two hundred eighty-six years. The Brahmins claim that it was during this dynasty that the worship of symbolic representations 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 Persians, during their invasions, are said to have introduced the worship of the sun, fire, and celestial bodies; however, the intellectual reverence for the Divine as the one Supreme Being was still practiced 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.”

The great city of Kannouj was built by one of the Surajas on the banks of the Ganges; its walls are said to have been nearly one hundred miles around. It had thirty thousand shops selling betel nut and sixty thousand bands of musicians and singers who paid taxes to the government. In A.D. 1016, the King of Ghizni took Kannouj, “a city that, in strength and structure, could justly claim to have no equal and which reached high into the skies.” It is said, “The Hindostanee language is spoken more purely in Kannouj than anywhere else in 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.

We anchored, and after lunch, Mr. M⸺ went with me to see the tombs of two Muslim saints at the top of the hill. After that, we visited a very unusual Hindu building, which is quite old but still in decent condition. The way the building was constructed, with one stone stacked on top of another, seemed more striking to me than any architecture I had seen in India. A more detailed description of this ancient building, along with a sketch, will be provided in a later chapter.

The fort, which is in ruins, is on a commanding spot; the view from it all around is beautiful. The people sometimes find ancient coins amongst the ruins, and jewels of high value; a short time ago, some pieces of gold, in form and size like thin bricks, were discovered by an old woman; they were very valuable. The Brahmans brought to us for sale, square rupees, old rupees, and copper coins; but none of them were Hindoo; those of copper, or of silver, not being more than three hundred years old, were hardly worth having. I commissioned them to[30] bring me some gold coins, which are usually genuine and good. A regular trade is carried on at this place in the fabrication of silver and copper coins, and those of a mixed metal. The rose-water of Kannouj is considered very fine; it was brought, with other perfumed waters, for sale; also native preserves and pickles, which were inferior. To this day the singers of Kannouj are famous. I am glad I have seen the ruins of this old city, which are well worth visiting; I did not go into the modern town; the scenery is remarkably pretty. I must revisit this place on my black horse; there are many parts too distant from each other for a walk; I returned very much fatigued to the pinnace. A great many Hindoo idols, carved in stone, were scattered about in all directions, broken by the zeal of the Muhammadans, when they became possessed of Kannouj. I shall carry some off should I return this way.

The fort, now in ruins, is situated in a dominant location; the view from it is stunning all around. People occasionally find ancient coins among the rubble, along with valuable jewels; recently, an old woman discovered some pieces of gold, shaped and sized like thin bricks, which were quite precious. The Brahmans offered us for sale square rupees, old rupees, and copper coins; however, none were Hindu; the copper and silver coins, being less than three hundred years old, didn't hold much value. I asked them to[30] bring me some gold coins, which are generally authentic and of good quality. There’s a regular trade here in making silver and copper coins, as well as those made of mixed metal. The rose-water from Kannouj is highly regarded; it was brought here, along with other fragrant waters, for sale, as well as local preserves and pickles, which weren’t as good. The singers of Kannouj are still famous today. I’m glad I visited the ruins of this old city, which are well worth seeing; I didn’t go into the modern town; the scenery is exceptionally beautiful. I must return to this place on my black horse; there are many areas too far apart to walk. I returned very tired to the pinnace. Numerous Hindu idols, carved in stone, were scattered everywhere, destroyed by the zeal of the Muhammadans when they took over Kannouj. I might take some with me if I pass this way again.

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.

5th.—A scorching day, with not a single breeze, was succeeded by an equally sweltering night, during which I couldn’t sleep at all; and a cough was breaking my chest apart.

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.

When we reached the area, I spotted two fires by the stream. From one, they pulled out a half-burned body and tossed it into the river. The other fire was blazing brightly, and a Hindu man was using a long pole to poke at it, pushing his father's corpse—or whoever the relative was—properly into the flames so it could burn completely. The closest relative always carries out this ritual. The evening had darkened around us; about fifteen dark figures stood between us and the sunset, gathered around the fire. The palm trees and some huts, all reflected in the calm waters of the Kalī Nadī, created a striking scene, especially when the man with the long pole stirred his bāp (father) and the flames flared up even more.

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.

I was happy to get away and anchor farther out, as the smell during these times was unpleasant; burning the body is an awful custom. The poor always have to do it in a half-hearted way since it takes so much wood to turn a body into ashes.

The sirdar-bearer of an officer died; the gentleman desired a small present might be given to his widow, in aid of the funeral. At the end of the month, when the officer’s accounts[31] were brought to him for settlement, he found the following item, “For roasting sirdar-bearer, five rupees!”

The officer's sirdar-bearer passed away, and the officer wanted to give his widow a small gift to help with the funeral costs. At the end of the month, when it was time for him to settle his accounts[31], he saw the following charge: "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.

Some Hindus don’t cremate their dead; I saw a body brought down to the riverbank this evening by some respectable-looking people. They pushed the corpse into the water and splashed handfuls of water after it, saying a 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.

6th.—After struggling against the current all day, exhausting the crew on sandbanks, and battling a really strong flow, we were forced to head back within two miles of where we anchored last night. Fortunately, we found a safe spot to stay for the night; these steep banks that keep collapsing are quite hazardous. Luckily, in the evening, with the help of a breeze, we made it to the canal; after passing through it, we left the Kalī Nadī and anchored in the deep, ancient 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.

7th.—After a lot of effort, we managed to get the small boat about three miles from Fathīghar, where I found a palanquin waiting for me. Since the river was quite shallow, I left the boat, and once I arrived at my friend’s house, I sent several men to help safely bring it up.

[32]

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.

Mutiny in Camp—Murder of the Prisoners—The Mutiny put down by the Military—Visit to the Women's Quarters—The Swing of the Gaja Raja—The Seagull in Purdah—The Bai visits the Boat—How to dress a Camel—The vicious Animal—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.

1835, Sept. 8th.—A delegation arrived from her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, asking for protection from the Government Agent due to a mutiny in her camp. She was scared for her life, as her house was surrounded by three hundred and fifty rebellious soldiers, armed with matchlocks and their palitas ready to go. The mutineers demanded seven months' pay, and since she couldn't give it to them, they decided to use force and captured her treasurer, her paymaster, and four other officers. These unfortunate men were held captive for seven days, tied to posts and exposed to the sun all day, with only a little sherbet to drink. The Government Agent called in the troops and marched 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 mutineers refused to negotiate or surrender. The troops stayed in the Camp overnight; at dawn, they stormed the zenāna compound, killing eight mutineers and injuring nine. The cannons were fired at the Mahratta horsemen outside, after which the men surrendered, and peace was restored.

The magistrate of the station, who had gone in with the troops,[33] was engaged with two of the mutineers, when all three fell into a well; a Mahratta from above having aimed his spear at him, an officer struck the weapon aside and killed the assailant; the spear glanced off and only inflicted a slight wound. The moment Colonel J⸺ charged the mutineers in the zenāna compound, they murdered their prisoners, the treasurer and the paymaster, in cold blood; the other four officers escaped in the tumult. The greater part of her Highness’s troops being disaffected, they could not be trusted to quell the mutiny; she was therefore compelled to ask for assistance. It was feared her troops, which amounted to eighteen hundred, might attempt to plunder the city and station, and be off to Gwalior; and there being only two hundred of the Company’s troops, and three guns at Fathīghar, the military were sent for from other stations, and a large body of police called out. The Bāiza Bā’ī despatched a lady several times to say she wished me to visit her; this was during the time she was a prisoner in her house, surrounded by the mutineers with their matches lighted. The agent for the Government would not allow me to go, lest they should seize and keep me a prisoner with the Bā’ī’s officers. I was therefore obliged to send word I could not obey the commands of her Highness on that account.

The station magistrate, who had gone in with the troops,[33] was dealing with two of the mutineers when all three fell into a well. A Mahratta above shot his spear at him; an officer knocked the weapon aside and killed the attacker, but the spear just grazed him, causing only a minor wound. As soon as Colonel J⸺ charged at the mutineers in the zenāna compound, they coldly murdered their prisoners, the treasurer and the paymaster. The other four officers managed to escape in the chaos. Most of her Highness’s troops were discontented and couldn't be relied upon to put down the mutiny, so she had to request help. There was concern that her troops, numbering about eighteen hundred, might try to loot the city and station and then flee to Gwalior. With only two hundred of the Company’s troops and three guns at Fathīghar, reinforcements were called in from other stations, and a large contingent of police was mobilized. Bāiza Bā’ī sent a lady several times to say she wanted me to visit her; this was while she was a prisoner in her house, surrounded by mutineers with their matches lit. The Government's agent wouldn’t permit me to go, fearing they might capture me and hold me prisoner with the Bā’ī’s officers. I had to send word that I couldn’t comply with her Highness’s request for that reason.

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.

Emissaries from Gwalior are behind all this. The camp was in chaos yesterday: it wouldn't matter so much if we had a few more troops at the station; but two hundred infantry are a tough match against eighteen hundred men, a thousand of whom are cavalry; and they also have three guns.

17th.—Infantry have come in from Mynpooree and cavalry from Cawnpore, therefore every thing is safe in case the Mahrattas should mutiny again.

17th.—Infantry have arrived from Mynpooree and cavalry from Cawnpore, so everything is secure in case the Mahrattas decide to mutiny again.

24th.—The Governor-General’s agent allowed me to accompany him to the camp. He took some armed horsemen from the police as an escort in case of disturbance. The Bāiza Bā’ī received me most kindly, as if I were an old friend. I paid my respects, and almost immediately quitted the room, as affairs of state were to be discussed. The Gaja Rājā took me into a pretty little room, which she had just built on the top of the[34] house as a sleeping-room for herself. Her charpāī (bed) swung from the ceiling; the feet were of gold, and the ropes by which it swung were covered with red velvet and silver bands. The mattress, stuffed with cotton, was covered with red and blue velvet: the cases of three large pillows were of gold and red kimkhwab; and there were a number of small flat round pillows covered with velvet. The counterpane was of gold and red brocade. In this bed she sleeps, and is constantly swung during her repose. She was dressed in black gauze and gold, with a profusion of jewellery, and some fresh flowers I had brought for her were in her hair. She invited me to sit on the bed, and a lady stood by swinging us. The Gaja Rājā has a very pretty figure, and looked most fairy-like on her decorated bed. When the affairs of state had been settled, we returned to the Bā’ī. Rose-water, pān, and atr of roses having been presented, I took my leave.

24th.—The Governor-General’s agent let me join him at the camp. He took some armed police officers with him for safety in case of any trouble. The Bāiza Bā’ī welcomed me warmly, as if I were an old friend. I paid my respects and quickly left the room since they were going to discuss state matters. The Gaja Rājā took me into a charming little room she had just built on the top of the [34] house for her own sleeping quarters. Her charpāī (bed) hung from the ceiling; the feet were made of gold, and the ropes swinging it were covered with red velvet and silver bands. The mattress, stuffed with cotton, was draped in red and blue velvet, while the cases of three large pillows were made from gold and red kimkhwab. There were also several small flat round pillows covered in velvet. The counterpane was made of gold and red brocade. In this bed, she sleeps and is continuously rocked during her rest. She was dressed in black gauze and gold, adorned with jewelry, and some fresh flowers I had brought for her were in her hair. She invited me to sit on the bed while a lady stood by swinging us gently. The Gaja Rājā has a lovely figure and looked very enchanting on her beautifully decorated bed. Once the state matters were settled, we returned to the Bā’ī. After being offered rose-water, pān, and rose oil, 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.

28th.—I was part of a group that paid a formal visit to her Highness. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Just as we were about to leave, the Bā’ī mentioned that she had heard about the beauty of my boat and would come to see it the next morning. This was a great honor, so I said I would be there and would have the boat anchored near the Bā’ī’s own ghāt, where she bathes in the holy Ganges. On my way home, a number of people were hard at work preparing the boat to welcome the Bā’ī. Everything European was removed—tables, chairs, etc. The cabin floors were covered with white cloth, and a gaddī was placed in each for her Highness.

29th.—The vessel was decorated with a profusion of fresh flowers; she was drawn up to the ghāt, close to a flight of steps; and the canvas walls of tents were hung around her on every side, so that no spectators could see within. The sailors all quitted her, and she was then ready to receive the ladies of the Mahratta camp. Although I was at the spot at 4 A.M., the Bā’ī and hundreds of her followers were there before me. She accompanied me on board with all her ladies, and on seeing such a crowd in the vessel, asked if the numbers would not sink her. The Bā’ī admired the pinnace very much; and observing[35] the satī, which stood in one corner of the cabin, covered with flowers, I informed her Highness I had brought the headless figure to eat the air on the river; that Ganges water and flowers were daily offered her; that her presence was fortunate, as it brought an easterly wind. The Bā’ī laughed; and, after conversing for an hour, she quitted the vessel, and returned to her apartment on the ghāt. The Gaja Rājā and her ladies went into the inner cabin; Appa Sāhib, the Bā’ī’s son-in-law, came on board with his followers, the vessel was unmoored, and they took a sail on the river. The scene was picturesque. Some hundreds of Mahratta soldiers were dispersed in groups on the high banks amongst the trees; their elephants, camels, horses, and native carriages standing near the stone ghāts, and by the side of white temples. The people from the city were there in crowds to see what was going forward. On our return from the excursion on the river, I accompanied the Gaja Rājā to the Bā’ī; and, having made my salām, returned home, not a little fatigued with the exertion of amusing my guests. During the time we were on the water, Appa Sāhib played various Hindostanee and Mahratta airs on the sitar. It must have been a great amusement to the zenāna ladies, quite a gaiety for them, and a variety in their retired mode of life. They were all in their holiday dresses, jewels, and ornaments. Some wore dresses of bright yellow, edged with red, with black Cashmere shawls thrown over their shoulders; this costume was very picturesque. The Gaja Rājā wore a dress of black and gold, with a yellow satin tight body beneath it; enormous pearls in profusion, ornaments of gold on her arms, and silver ornaments on her ankles and toes; slippers of crimson and gold.

29th.—The boat was adorned with a lot of fresh flowers; it was pulled up to the steps at the ghāt, surrounded by canvas walls of tents on all sides, so that no one could see inside. The sailors all left, and it was ready to welcome the ladies from the Mahratta camp. Although I arrived at 4 AM, the Bā’ī and hundreds of her followers were already there. She came on board with all her ladies, and upon seeing the large crowd in the boat, she jokingly asked if we would sink it. The Bā’ī was very impressed with the boat and noticed the satī, which was in one corner of the cabin, covered in flowers. I told her Highness that I had brought the headless figure to enjoy the breeze on the river; that Ganges water and flowers were offered to her daily; and that her presence was lucky, as it brought an easterly wind. The Bā’ī laughed, and after chatting for an hour, she left the boat and returned to her place at the ghāt. The Gaja Rājā and her ladies went into the inner cabin; Appa Sāhib, the Bā’ī’s son-in-law, boarded the boat with his followers, they untied the boat, and set sail on the river. The scene was beautiful. Hundreds of Mahratta soldiers were gathered in groups on the high banks among the trees; their elephants, camels, horses, and native carriages stood near the stone ghāts and beside white temples. The people from the city were there in crowds to see what was happening. When we returned from the river trip, I accompanied the Gaja Rājā to the Bā’ī; after greeting her, I went home, feeling quite exhausted from entertaining my guests. While we were on the water, Appa Sāhib played various Hindostanee and Mahratta tunes on the sitar. It must have been great fun for the zenāna ladies, a lively change from their quiet lives. They were all dressed in their festive outfits, adorned with jewels and ornaments. Some wore bright yellow dresses trimmed with red, sporting black Cashmere shawls draped over their shoulders; this attire was very striking. The Gaja Rājā wore a black and gold outfit, with a tight yellow satin bodice underneath; she had huge pearls everywhere, gold ornaments on her arms, and silver decorations on her ankles and toes; her slippers were 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.

Oct. 2nd.—The Ganges at Farrukhabad has so many sandbanks and is so shallow that I worried if I held back the boat, I might not be able to get her to Cawnpore. So, I sent her off with half the staff to wait for me there. I will travel by palanquin, and the rest of the crew can ride down in the cook boat.

7th.—I called on the Bā’ī; and while she was employed on state affairs, retired with the Gaja Rājā to the pretty little room[36] before mentioned. There I found a Hindoo idol, dressed in cloth of gold, and beads, lying on the floor on a little red and purple velvet carpet. Two other idols were in niches at the end of the room. The idol appeared to be a plaything, a doll: I suppose, it had not been rendered sacred by the Brahmans. An idol is of no value until a Brahman dip it, with divers prayers and ceremonies, into the Gunga; when this ceremony has been performed, the spirit of the particular deity represented by the figure enters the idol. This sort of baptism is particularly expensive, and a source of great revenue to the Brahmans. The church dues fall as heavily on the poor Hindoo, as on the people of England; nevertheless, the heads of the Hindoo church do not live in luxury like the Bishops.

7th.—I visited the Bā’ī, and while she was busy with state matters, I went with the Gaja Rājā to the charming little room mentioned earlier[36]. There, I saw a Hindu idol dressed in gold fabric and beads, lying on the floor on a small red and purple velvet carpet. Two other idols were in niches at the back of the room. The idol looked like a toy, almost like a doll; I assume it hadn’t been made sacred by the Brahmans. An idol has no value until a Brahman dips it, with various prayers and rituals, into the Ganges; once this ceremony is done, the spirit of the specific deity represented by the idol enters it. This type of baptism is quite costly and a major source of income for the Brahmans. The church fees weigh just as heavily on poor Hindus as they do on the people of England; however, the leaders of the Hindu church don’t 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 fakir, who for a misguided religious reason holds up both arms until they become withered and unable to move, and who, as a result, is completely unable to support himself, relies entirely on the support of the Almighty and shows more faith than the man who, with a salary of £8,000 a year, lets curates do the work for a meager £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.

The Gaja Rājā asked me to teach her how to make tea since it was recommended for her health. She left, changed her clothes, came back, had her tea, and complained about 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’ve heard you dress a camel beautifully,” said the young Princess; “and I was eager to see you this morning to ask you to teach my people how to outfit a sawārī camel.” This was flattering me about a very weak point: there is only 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.

“I hope you don’t eat him after you’ve cooked him!” said an English gentleman.

My relative had a fine young camel, and I was not happy until I had superintended the making the attire, in which he—the camel, not the gentleman—looked beautiful! The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī, having seen the animal, called, to request he might have similar trappings for his own sawārī camel; and[37] the fame thereof having reached the Mahratta camp, my talents were called into play. I promised to attend to the wishes of the Gaja Rājā; and, returning home, summoned twelve mochīs, the saddlers of India, natives of the Chamār caste, to perform the work. Whilst one of the men smokes the nārjīl (cocoa-nut pipe), the remainder will work; but it is absolutely necessary that each should have his turn every half-hour, no smoke,—no work.

My relative had a lovely young camel, and I wasn't satisfied until I had overseen the creation of its beautiful attire—I'm talking about the camel, not the gentleman! The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī saw the animal and asked for similar decorations for his own sawārī camel; and[37] when the word got to the Mahratta camp, my skills were in demand. I promised to meet the Gaja Rājā's requests and, after getting back home, called twelve mochīs, the saddlers of India from the Chamār caste, to do the job. While one of the guys smokes the nārjīl (coconut pipe), the rest will work, but it's crucial that they each get their turn every thirty minutes—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.

Five hundred small brass bells that sound beautiful; two hundred larger ones that harmonize, like perfectly matched hounds, each resting on the other; and one large bell to complete the set; one hundred large beads that imitate turquoise; two pure white tails from a cow in Tibet; thousands of cowrie shells, several yards of black and red fabric, and a number of very long tassels made of red and black wool. The mochīs spent three days embroidering the outfit, and it turned out to be quite stunning. Once the camel's clothing was ready, it was placed in a box, and the Gaja Rājā scheduled a time, so I rode over with it at 4 AM

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.

In the courtyard of the women’s quarters, I found the Bā’ī and all her ladies; she asked me to ride around the enclosure, the silliness of sitting on one side of a horse still being 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!

The Bā’ī’s horses were brought out; she was an amazing rider in her younger days, and even though she no longer rides, she still loves horses. The ladies proudly share that, in one battle, her Highness led her troops while holding a lance in one hand and her baby in the other!

A very vicious, but large and handsome camel was then brought in by the female attendants; he knelt down, and they began putting the gay trappings upon him; his nose was tied to his knee, to prevent his injuring the girls around him, whom he attempted to catch hold of, showing his great white teeth; if once the jaw of a camel closes upon you, he will not relinquish his hold. You would have supposed they were murdering, not dressing the animal; he groaned and shouted as if in great pain, it was piteous to hear the beast; and laughable, when you remembered it was the “dastūr;” they always groan and moan[38] when any load is placed on their backs, however light. When the camel’s toilet was completed, a Mahratta girl jumped on his back, and made him go round the enclosure at a capital rate; the trappings were admired, and the bells pronounced very musical.

A very aggressive but large and good-looking camel was brought in by the female attendants. He knelt down as they started putting colorful decorations on him; his nose was tied to his knee to stop him from injuring the girls around him, whom he tried to grab, showing off his big white teeth. Once a camel's jaw locks onto you, it won’t let go. You might think they were killing him, not just dressing him up; he groaned and yelled as if he were in severe pain, which was sad to hear from the animal, and kind of funny when you remembered it was the “dastūr”; they always groan and moan when any burden, no matter how light, is placed on their backs. When the camel was all dressed up, a Mahratta girl jumped on his back and made him walk around the enclosure at a great pace; the decorations were admired, and the bells were considered 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.

They were eager for me to get on the camel; I thought of Theodore Hook. “The hostess said, ‘Mr. Hook, will you take an orange?’ ‘No, thank you, Ma’am, I’m afraid I would fall off.’” Isn’t that charming? I turned down the elevated position they 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.

The finest young sawārī camels, which have never been burdened with anything heavier than two or three Persian cats, are herded in large groups by the Arabs from Kabul; usually, one person is in charge of three camels. They travel in single file, with the nose of one camel tied to the back of another by a string threaded through the cartilage. They prefer to munch on leaves rather than grazing. It was a beautiful sight to see the Mahratta girls tending to the camels, and they enjoyed the spectacle.

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.

I mentioned that my departure was coming soon; the Bā’ī talked about her beloved Gwalior and honored me with an invitation to visit there if she were ever replaced on the throne. She asked me to pay a farewell visit to the camp three days later. After the usual distribution of betel leaves, spices, rose oil, and the sprinkling of rose water, I said my farewell. If I were from Asia, I would be a Mahratta.

The Mahrattas never transact business on an unlucky day; Tuesday is an unfortunate day, and the Bā’ī, who was to have held a durbār, put it off in consequence. She sent for me, it being the day I was to take leave of her; I found her looking grave and thoughtful, and her sweet smile was very sad. She told me the Court of Directors had sent orders that she was to go and live at Benares, or in the Deccan; that she was to quit Fathīghar in one month’s time, and should she refuse to do so, the Governor-General’s agent was to take her to Benares by force, under escort of troops that had been sent to Fathīghar for that purpose. The Bā’ī was greatly distressed, but spoke on the[39] subject with a command of temper, and a dignity that I greatly admired. “What must the Mahāraj do? Cannot this evil fate be averted? Must she go to Benares? Tell us, Mem sāhiba, what must we do?” said one of the ladies in attendance. Thus called upon, I was obliged to give my opinion; it was an awkward thing to tell an exiled Queen she must submit,—“The cudgel of the powerful must be obeyed[12].” I hesitated; the Bā’ī looked at me for an answer. Dropping the eyes of perplexity on the folded hands of despondency, I replied to the Brija, who had asked the question, “Jiska lāthī ooska bhains,”—i.e. “He who has the stick, his is the buffalo[13]!” The effect was electric. The Bāiza Bā’ī and the Gaja Rājā laughed, and I believe the odd and absurd application of the proverb half reconciled the Mahāraj to her fate.

The Mahrattas never do business on an unlucky day; Tuesday is considered unlucky, so the Bā'ī postponed the durbār. She called for me on the day I was supposed to say goodbye; when I arrived, she looked serious and thoughtful, and her usually sweet smile was tinged with sadness. She informed me that the Court of Directors had ordered her to move to Benares or the Deccan; she had to leave Fathīghar in a month, and if she refused, the Governor-General’s agent would forcibly take her to Benares with the escort of troops that had been sent to Fathīghar for that purpose. The Bā'ī was very distressed but addressed the situation with calm and dignity, which I greatly admired. “What can the Mahāraj do? Can this unfortunate fate be changed? Does she really have to go to Benares? Please, Mem sāhiba, tell us what we should do?” asked one of the ladies present. Faced with this question, I had to give my opinion; it was difficult to tell an exiled Queen that she needed to comply—“The powerful must be obeyed.” I hesitated as the Bā'ī looked at me for an answer. Lowering my eyes from the perplexity to her despondent hands, I responded to the Brija who had asked the question, “Jiska lāthī ooska bhains,”—i.e., “He who has the stick, his is the buffalo!” The reaction was immediate. The Bāiza Bā'ī and the Gaja Rājā laughed, and I believe the strange and ridiculous application of the proverb helped the Mahāraj come to terms with 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.

I stayed with her Highness for a while, discussing the harshness of the government's orders, and said goodbye to her with deep sadness. The time I had spent in the camp had been filled with fun and joy; however, the last day, the unfortunate Tuesday, was truly doomed and brought a lot of suffering to the unfortunate and kind ex-Queen of Gwalior.

[40]

CHAPTER XLII.
The Marathas in 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.

Zenana of the Nawab of Farrukhabad—The Nawab Hakim Mehndi—Hidden Treasures—The Jak—Dak to Kanpur—The Nawab of Banda—Returned home on the Seagull—Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor, left the station—Arrival of Mr. Ross—The Baiza Bai sent to Allahabad—Arrival of her Highness—Parties in the Maratha camp—Opium-Eating—Marriage ceremonies of the Hindus—Procession in Parda—The Bride—Red Gold—The Ex-Queen’s tents at the Tribeni—The bathing—Presents to the Brahmins—Arrival of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Sohobut Mela—Illness of the Gaja Raja Sahib—Murder of Mr. Frazer—The Baiza Bai 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.

1835, Oct.—One day I visited the Begam, the mother of the young Nawāb of Farrukhabad, and found her with all her family sitting in the garden; they were dressed simply and didn't look very attractive. For a woman not to be beautiful while being confined in a zenāna seems almost like a sin, as our views are so influenced by what we read in our childhood about the hoorīs of the East.

One morning, the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī called; his dress was most curious; half European, half Asiatic. The day being cold, he wore brown corduroy breeches, with black leather boots, and thick leather gloves; over this attire was a dress of fine white flowered Dacca muslin; and again, over that, a dress of pale pink satin, embroidered in gold! His turban was of gold and red Benares tissue. He carried his sword in his hand, and an attendant followed, bearing his hooqŭ; he was in high spirits, very agreeable, and I was quite sorry when he rose to depart.[41] In the evening, he sent down a charming little elephant, only five years old, for me to ride; which I amused myself with doing in the beautiful grounds around the house, sitting on the back of the little beauty, and guiding him with cords passed through his ears.

One morning, Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī came by; his outfit was really interesting, a mix of European and Asian styles. Since it was a cold day, he wore brown corduroy pants, black leather boots, and thick leather gloves. Over that, he had on a fine white flowered Dacca muslin dress, and on top of that, a pale pink satin coat embroidered in gold! His turban was made of gold and red Benares fabric. He held his sword in one hand, and an attendant followed him with his hooqŭ. He was in a great mood and very pleasant to be around, and I genuinely felt sad when he got ready to leave.[41] In the evening, he sent a charming little elephant, just five years old, for me to ride. I had a blast riding it around the beautiful grounds of the house, sitting on the back of that little beauty and guiding him with cords 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 next evening, the Nawāb sent his biggest elephant, carrying an amārī—that is, a howdah with a canopy—which was beautifully gilded in the traditional style, with the interior lined in velvet and plush velvet cushions. The elephant moved quickly and had a smooth gait, so I enjoyed a long ride through the surrounding countryside.

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.”

The Muslims have a passion for archery, as illustrated by the following excerpt:—"The Prophet held an Arabian bow and noticed a man with a Persian one. He said, ‘Get rid of the Persian bow and use the Arabian one, along with arrows and spears, because God will surely support you in your faith and help you conquer cities.’” “Indeed, God brings three people into Paradise because of one arrow: the first is the maker of it for warfare; the second is the one who shoots it in the name of God; and the third is the one who gives the arrow to 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.”

“His Highness entered Mecca on the day it was conquered, with his sword decorated in gold and silver; and he wore two suits of armor on the day of the Battle of Uhud, one on top of the other; the Prophet carried two flags, one large and one small; the large one was black, and the small one was white; indeed, the Prophet came into Mecca with a white banner.”

We were speaking to-day of the practice of burying money, so much resorted to by the natives, when a gentleman remarked,—“It is a curious circumstance, that when a native buries treasure, in order to secure it, the only persons who know the secret are a low, debased caste, called Chamārs; these men are faithful to their employer; they will bury lākhs of rupees, and never betray the spot; they dig the ground, and guard it; as long as their employer lives they keep the secret; the moment of his death, they dig up, and are off with the money; they consider they have a right to it in that case, and they would not[42] give it up to his son.” This is a curious fact, and accounts for their strict secrecy during the life of the owner.

We were talking today about the practice of burying money, something that many locals do, when a gentleman pointed out, “It's interesting that when a local buries treasure to keep it safe, the only people who know the secret are a low, disadvantaged group called Chamārs. These men are loyal to their employer; they will bury lakhs of rupees and never reveal the location. They dig the hole and protect it; as long as their employer is alive, they keep the secret. The moment he dies, they dig it up and take the money; they believe they have a right to it in that case, and they wouldn't give it to his son.” This is an intriguing fact and explains their strict secrecy while the owner is alive.[42]

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.

Buried treasures, made up of jewels and precious metals worth lakhs and lakhs, are believed to exist in the East. Historically, locals have often buried their valuables to protect them from theft during wars and invasions; however, they lack enough faith in their Mother Earth to trust her with their treasures without some form of magic (jādū). As previously mentioned, the Akbarābādee, or square gold mohur, as shown in Fig. 7 in the plate titled “Superstitions of the Natives,” is commonly buried with the treasure. Those who can’t afford a square gold mohur use an Akbarābādee rupee, Fig. 5, or a square eight ānā piece, Fig. 4, instead. It’s also said that an animal, sometimes a human, is killed and buried with the treasure as a guard; this animal is called jak and is believed to be instructed to allow no one else to claim the treasure. It’s not surprising that locals view the explorations of English antiquarians with suspicion, and it must be somewhat reassuring for them to believe that a curse awaits whoever uncovers 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.

15th.—After sending the small boat ahead to meet me at Cawnpore, I set out on my journey there, which I completed the following day after a really unpleasant trip. I was also feeling unwell, but the support of my caring friends quickly made me feel much better.

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.

22nd.—I went with them to have dinner with Nawāb Zulfecar Bahādur of Banda. The Nawāb is a Muslim, but he's from a Mahratta family that used to be Hindu; I don't know when he converted and became one of the faithful. Three of his kids came in to meet everyone; the two girls are really charming little kids. The Nawāb joined us at the table, ate local dishes, and drank sherbet while his guests had wine. The next day, the Nawāb had dinner with the gentleman I was staying with and met a big group of people.

24th.—I quitted Cawnpore in the Seagull, and once more found myself on the waters of the Gunga: a comet was plainly[43] visible through a glass; its hazy aspect rendered it a malignant-looking star. The solitude of my boat is very agreeable after so much exertion.

24th.—I left Cawnpore on the Seagull and found myself back on the Gunga River: a comet was clearly[43] visible through a telescope; its hazy appearance made it look like a sinister star. The solitude of my boat is really pleasant after so much effort.

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.

25th.—We anchored off a shipyard and bought six large trees: sal, shorea robusta, and teak (tectona grandis). I'm not sure what they'll end up being used for. I bought them by torchlight, had them thrown into the river, and secured them to the boats. I'm planning to use the teak for tables and chairs, and the sal for a thermantidote. We have one at home, but after seeing a much better one at Fathīghar, I decided to have the ironwork made there. I've brought it down on the boats and just purchased the wood for it, en route, since timber is reasonably priced in 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.

26th.—Here we are—the dog Nero and I—floating so peacefully, yet so swiftly, down the river; it’s quite enjoyable. The temples and ghāts we’re passing at Dalmhow are stunning; how picturesque the banks of an Indian river are! The stone steps that lead down into the water, the temples with their unique Hindu architecture, and the locals, both men and women, bathing or filling their jars with the holy Ganges water, all add to the visual appeal. The lovely trees and the bright sunshine enhance the beauty of the scene. One major downside is the color of the water, which is particularly murky during the rainy season; there are no bright reflections on the Ganges, just heavy and indistinct shadows.

28th.—Lugāoed the pinnace in the Jumna, beneath the great peepul in our garden, on the banks of the river.

28th.—I set up the small boat in the Jumna, under the big peepul tree in our garden, along the riverbanks.

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.

31st.—Had dinner with Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor; and the next day a needle was put into my arm to ease an unbearable headache caused by being out in the sun by the river.

Nov. 6th.—The Lieutenant-Governor gave a farewell ball to the Station, on resigning the appointment to Mr. Ross. The news arrived that her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, having been forced to quit Fathīghar, by order of the Government, is on her march down to Benares; at which place they wish her to reside. Una Bā’ī, one of her ladies, having preceded her to Allahabad,[44] called on me, and begged me to take her on board the Calcutta steam-vessel, an object of great surprise to the natives.

Nov. 6th.—The Lieutenant-Governor hosted a farewell ball for the Station before resigning the position to Mr. Ross. We received news that her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, being ordered by the Government to leave Fathīghar, is on her way to Benares, where they want her to live. Una Bā’ī, one of her ladies, arrived in Allahabad ahead of her and asked me to help her board the Calcutta steamship, which surprised the locals a lot.

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.

9th.—The Civil Service officials and the military at the Station hosted a farewell ball for the Lieutenant-Governor; I was sick and couldn’t go. Oh, the agony of rheumatic fever! The new Lieutenant-Governor arrived; he held a few dinners and was invited to some in return; after that, Allahabad returned to its typical calm, occasionally brightened 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.

1836, Jan. 16th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī arrived in Allahabad and set up camp about seven miles from our house, along the banks of the Jumna, outside the city. A few days later, Brija Bā’ī, one of her ladies, came to tell me that her Highness wanted to see me; so I went to her camp. She seemed down, very unhappy and uncomfortable, but was very pleased to see me.

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.

Feb. 5th.—Her Highness requested that the steamboat be sent up the river, right across from her tents; she boarded the vessel, was quite pleased, asked many questions about the steam and machinery, and traveled a short distance up the river. Capt. Ross accompanied her Highness to Allahabad and stayed there in charge of her while the Government decided her fate.

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.

9th.—The Bā’ī hosted a dinner party in her tents for twenty civilians and military personnel; in the evening there was a dance, and fireworks were set off; the former Queen looked very happy.

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.

There is a large enclosure in Allahabad known as Sultan Khusrū’s garden. Tents were set up there under some impressive tamarind trees, where a big group had gathered for lunch when the Bā’ī sent down a Mahratta dinner to enhance the festivities. In the evening, her two rhinoceroses showed up; they fought each other quite fiercely, providing entertainment for the group. After Captain Ross left Allahabad, Mr. Scott took over her Highness's care.

March 1st.—The Brija Bā’ī called to request me to assist them in giving a dinner party to the Station, for which the[45] Bāiza Bā’ī wished to send out invitations; I was happy to aid her. The guests arrived at about seven in the evening; the gentlemen were received by Appa Sāhib, her son-in-law; the ladies were ushered behind the parda, into the presence of her Highness. I have never described the parda which protects the Mahratta ladies from the gaze of the men: In the centre of a long room a large curtain is dropped, not unlike the curtain at a theatre, the space behind which is sacred to the women; and there the gaddī of the Bā’ī was placed, close to the parda; a piece of silver, about six inches square, in which a number of small holes are pierced, is let into the parda; and this is covered on the inside with white muslin. When the Bā’ī wished to see the gentlemen, her guests, she raised the bit of white muslin, and could then see every thing in the next room through the holes in the silver plate—herself unseen. The gentlemen were in the outer room, the ladies in the inner. Appa Sāhib sat close to the parda; the Bā’ī conversed with him, and, through him, with some of the gentlemen present, whom she could see perfectly well.

March 1st.—The Brija Bā’ī called to ask me to help them host a dinner party for the Station, for which the [45] Bāiza Bā’ī wanted to send out invitations; I was glad to assist her. The guests arrived around seven in the evening; the men were welcomed by Appa Sāhib, her son-in-law; the women were escorted behind the parda, into the presence of her Highness. I haven't described the parda that protects Mahratta women from men's eyes: In the center of a long room, a large curtain is drawn, similar to a theater curtain, creating a sacred space for the women; and there, the gaddī of the Bā’ī was placed close to the parda; a silver piece, about six inches square, with several small holes pierced in it, is set into the parda; and it’s covered on the inside with white muslin. When the Bā’ī wanted to see the gentlemen, her guests, she would lift the bit of white muslin, allowing her to see everything in the next room through the holes in the silver plate—without being seen herself. The gentlemen were in the outer room, the ladies in the inner. Appa Sāhib sat close to the parda; the Bā’ī talked with him, and, through him, with some of the gentlemen present, whom she could see very clearly.

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.

Dancing girls sang and performed for the gentlemen until dinner was announced. Many ladies were behind the curtain with the Bāiza Bā’ī, and she asked me to interpret for those who couldn’t speak Urdu. I was dealing with intense rheumatic pain in my face; noticing it, her Highness took a lump of opium from a small gold box and told me to take it, saying she took the same amount every day. I asked for a smaller piece; she broke off about a third of the lump, which I put in my mouth, and as it dissolved, the pain disappeared; I felt very happy, interpreted for the ladies, experienced no fatigue, and talked nonstop. On the way home, I had to travel a mile across the countryside in a palanquin to get to the carriage, and the thick dust nearly suffocated me; however, I felt completely happy, and nothing could upset me. But the next morning, I had to call for medical help because of the severe headache from the effects of the opium.

The table for dinner was laid in a most magnificent tent, lined with crimson cloth, richly embossed, and lighted with numerous[46] chandeliers. The nāch girls danced in the next apartment, but within sight of the guests; her Highness and her grand-daughter, from behind the parda, looked on. About two hundred native dishes, in silver bowls, were handed round by Brahmans; and it was considered etiquette to take a small portion from each dish. On the conclusion of the repast, the Governor-General’s agent rose, and drank her Highness’s health, bowing to the parda; and Appa Sāhib returned thanks, in the name of the Bā’ī. The dinner and the wines were excellent; the latter admirably cooled. Fireworks were let off, and a salute was fired from the cannon when the guests departed. Her nephew was there in his wedding dress—cloth of gold most elaborately worked. The Bā’ī expressed herself greatly pleased with the party, and invited me to attend the wedding of her nephew the next day, and to join her when she went in state to bathe in the Jumna. I was very glad to see her pleased, and in good spirits.

The dinner table was set up in a stunning tent, lined with rich red fabric and lit by lots of chandeliers. The nāch girls danced in the next room, visible to the guests; her Highness and her granddaughter observed from behind the curtain. About two hundred local dishes were served in silver bowls by the Brahmans, and it was polite to take a little from each one. After the meal, the Governor-General’s agent stood up and toasted her Highness, bowing to the curtain; Appa Sāhib expressed gratitude on behalf of the Bā’ī. The dinner and wines were excellent; the wines were perfectly chilled. Fireworks went off, and cannon fire saluted the guests as they left. Her nephew was present in his wedding attire—elaborately designed gold cloth. The Bā’ī said she was very pleased with the event and invited me to attend her nephew’s wedding the next day and to join her for a ceremonial bath in the Jumna. I was really happy to see her in good spirits.

March 4th.—This being the great day of the wedding, at the invitation of the Bā’ī we took a large party to the camp to see the ceremonies in the cool of the evening. Having made our salām to her Highness, we proceeded with the Gaja Rājā Sāhib to the tents of the bride, which were about half a mile from those of the bridegroom. The ceremony was going on when we entered. The bridegroom, dressed in all his heavy finery, stood amongst the priests, who held a white sheet between him and the bride, who stood on the other side, while they chanted certain prayers. When the prayers were concluded, and a quantity of some sort of small grain had been thrown at the lady, the priest dropped the cloth, and the bridegroom beheld his bride. She was dressed in Mahratta attire, over which was a dopatta of crimson silk, worked in gold stars; this covered her forehead and face entirely, and fell in folds to her feet. Whether the person beneath this covering was man, woman, or child, it was impossible to tell: bound round the forehead, outside this golden veil, was a sihrā, a fillet of golden tissue, from which strings and bands of gold and silver fell over her face. The bridegroom must have taken upon trust, that the woman he[47] wished to marry was the one concealed under these curious wedding garments. It was late at night; we all returned to the Bā’ī’s tent, and the ladies departed, all but Mrs. Colonel W⸺ and myself; the Gaja Rājā having asked us to stay and see the finale of the marriage. The young Princess retired to bathe, after which, having been attired in yellow silk, with a deep gold border, and covered with jewels, she rejoined us, and we set out to walk half a mile to the tents of the bride; this being a part of the ceremony. The Gaja Rājā, her ladies, and attendants, Mrs. W⸺, and myself, walked with her in parda; that is, the canvas walls of tents having been fixed on long poles so as to form an oblong inclosure, a great number of men on the outside took up the poles and moved gently on; while we who were inside, walked in procession over white cloths, spread all the way from the tent of the Bā’ī to that of the bride. It was past 10 P.M. Fireworks were let off, and blue lights thrown up from the outside, which lighting up the procession of beautifully dressed Mahratta ladies, gave a most picturesque effect to the scene. The graceful little Gaja Rājā, with her slight form and brilliant attire, looked like what we picture to ourselves a fairy was in the good old times, when such beings visited the earth. At the head of this procession was a girl carrying a torch; next to her a nāch girl danced and figured about; then a girl in the dress of a soldier, who carried a musket and played all sorts of pranks. Another carried a pole, on which were suspended onions, old shoes, and all sorts of queer extraordinary things to make the people laugh. Arrived at the end of our march, the Gaja Rājā seated herself, and water was poured over her beautiful little feet. We then entered the tent of the bride, where many more ceremonies were performed. During the walk in parda, I looked at Mrs. W⸺, who had accompanied me, and could not help saying, “We flatter ourselves we are well dressed, but in our hideous European ungraceful attire we are a blot in the procession. I feel ashamed when the blue lights bring me out of the shade; we destroy the beauty of the scene.”

March 4th.—Today is the big day of the wedding. At the Bā’ī's invitation, we brought a large group to the camp to watch the ceremonies in the cool of the evening. After greeting her Highness, we went with the Gaja Rājā Sāhib to the tents of the bride, which were about half a mile away from the bridegroom’s. The ceremony was underway when we arrived. The bridegroom, dressed in all his elaborate finery, stood among the priests, who held a white sheet between him and the bride standing on the other side while they chanted prayers. When the prayers ended and some grain was thrown at the bride, the priest dropped the cloth, allowing the bridegroom to see his bride for the first time. She was dressed in Mahratta attire, topped with a crimson silk dopatta embroidered with gold stars that covered her forehead and face entirely, cascading down to her feet. It was impossible to tell if the person behind this covering was a man, woman, or child. Around her forehead, outside the golden veil, was a sihrā, a band of golden tissue adorned with strings and bands of gold and silver that hung over her face. The bridegroom must have trusted that the woman he wanted to marry was the one hidden beneath these intricate wedding garments. It was late at night when we all went back to the Bā’ī’s tent, and the ladies began to leave, except for Mrs. Colonel W⸺ and me. The Gaja Rājā asked us to stay and see the conclusion of the wedding. The young Princess went to bathe, and after dressing in yellow silk with a deep gold border and adorned with jewels, she rejoined us. We set out to walk half a mile to the bride’s tents, as part of the ceremony. The Gaja Rājā, her ladies and attendants, Mrs. W⸺, and I walked with her in parda; the canvas walls of tents had been set up on long poles to create an enclosed area, while numerous men outside lifted the poles and moved gently along. We, inside, walked in procession over white cloths spread all the way from the Bā’ī's tent to the bride’s. It was past 10 P.M. Fireworks went off, and blue lights were launched from outside, illuminating the procession of beautifully dressed Mahratta ladies and creating a stunning visual effect. The graceful little Gaja Rājā, with her delicate figure and bright attire, looked like what we imagine a fairy to be from the old tales when such beings graced the earth. Leading the procession was a girl carrying a torch; next to her, a nāch girl danced around; then came a girl dressed as a soldier, carrying a musket and performing various antics. Another girl carried a pole with onions, old shoes, and all sorts of funny items to amuse the crowd. When we reached the end of our march, the Gaja Rājā sat down, and water was poured over her beautiful little feet. We then entered the bride's tent, where many more ceremonies took place. During the walk in parda, I glanced at Mrs. W⸺, who was with me, and couldn’t help but remark, “We think we look good, but in our ugly European, ungraceful clothes, we’re a eyesore in the procession. I feel embarrassed when the blue lights highlight us; we ruin the beauty of the scene.”

I requested permission to raise the veil and view the countenance[48] of the bride. She is young, and, for a Mahratta, handsome. The Bā’ī presented her with a necklace of pure heavy red gold; and told me she was now so poor she was unable to give her pearls and diamonds. New dresses were then presented to all her ladies. We witnessed so many forms and ceremonies, I cannot describe one-fourth of them. That night the bridegroom took his bride to his own tents, but the ceremonies of the wedding continued for many days afterwards. I returned home very much pleased at having witnessed a shādī among the Hindoos, having before seen the same ceremony among the Muhammadans.

I asked for permission to lift the veil and see the bride’s face[48]. She is young and, for a Mahratta, attractive. The Bā’ī gave her a necklace made of pure, heavy red gold and mentioned that she was now so poor she couldn't give her pearls and diamonds. New dresses were then given to all her ladies. We saw so many different forms and ceremonies that I can't even describe a quarter of them. That night, the groom took his bride to his own tents, but the wedding festivities continued for many days after. I went home really happy to have witnessed a shādī among the Hindoos, having previously seen the same ceremony among the Muhammadans.

The ex-Queen had some tents pitched at that most sacred spot, the Treveni, the junction of the three rivers; and to these tents she came down continually to bathe; her ladies and a large concourse of people were in attendance upon her, and there they performed the rites and ceremonies. The superstitions and the religion of the Hindoos were to me most interesting subjects, and had been so ever since my arrival in the country. Her Highness was acquainted with this, and kindly asked me to visit her in the tents at the junction whenever any remarkable ceremony was to be performed. This delighted me, as it gave me an opportunity of seeing the worship, and conversing on religious subjects with the ladies, as well as with the Brahmans. The favourite attendant, the Brija Bā’ī never failed to call, and invite me to join their party at the time of the celebration of any particular rite. At one of the festivals her Highness invited me to visit her tents at the Treveni. I found the Mahratta ladies assembled there: the tents were pitched close to the margin of the Ganges, and the canvas walls were run out to a considerable distance into the river. Her Highness, in her usual attire, waded into the stream, and shaded by the kanāts from the gaze of men, reached the sacred junction, where she performed her devotions, the water reaching to her waist. After which she waded back again to the tents, changed her attire, performed pooja, and gave magnificent presents to the attendant Brahmans. The Gaja Rājā and all the Mahratta ladies accompanied the ex-Queen to the sacred junction, as they[49] returned dripping from the river, their draperies of silk and gold clung to their figures; and very beautiful was the statue-like effect, as the attire half revealed and half concealed the contour of the figure.

The former Queen had some tents set up at the sacred spot, the Treveni, where the three rivers meet; she frequently came down to bathe there, attended by her ladies and a large crowd of people, while they performed the rituals and ceremonies. The superstitions and religion of the Hindus were really interesting to me, and had been ever since I arrived in the country. Her Highness knew this and kindly invited me to join her in the tents at the junction whenever a significant ceremony was taking place. I was thrilled because it gave me a chance to observe the worship and discuss religious topics with the ladies and the Brahmans. Her favorite attendant, Brija Bā’ī, always made sure to invite me to their gatherings during any special rite. At one of the festivals, Her Highness invited me to visit her tents at the Treveni. I found the Mahratta ladies gathered there: the tents were set up right by the Ganges, and the canvas walls extended quite far into the river. Her Highness, dressed as usual, waded into the water, sheltered by the kanāts from the male gaze, and reached the sacred junction, where she offered her prayers with the water up to her waist. Afterward, she waded back to the tents, changed her clothes, performed pooja, and gave lavish gifts to the attending Brahmans. The Gaja Rājā and all the Mahratta ladies accompanied the former Queen to the sacred junction, and as they returned dripping from the river, their silk and gold draperies clung to their bodies; it created a striking, statue-like effect as their attire both revealed and concealed their shapes.

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.

15th.—The hot winds have kicked in strongly; today I was called by the Bāiza Bā’ī, who is in tents; there is a serious outbreak of illness in the camp, and many people are suffering from 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.

22nd.—Sir Charles Metcalfe arrived to live in Allahabad after being appointed as Lieutenant-Governor of Agra. The hot winds are blowing strongly, so the house is cool and comfortable with tattīs, while outside, the heat is intense. Her Highness, unable to find a house, is still staying in her camp; the heat inside a tent must be unbearable.

May 1st.—She sent for me, and I found the Gaja Rājā ill of fever, and suffering greatly from the intense heat.

May 1st.—She called for me, and I found the Gaja Rājā sick with fever and enduring a lot of discomfort from the extreme 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.

May 9th.—It was the Sohobut Melā, or Kite Festival, in Alopee Bāgh; I went to check it out. Hundreds of people, dressed in their brightest outfits, were flying kites in all directions, filled with joy and excitement. Under the beautiful trees in the mango grove, sweet treats, toys, and children's decorations were set up in booths for sale. It was a lovely 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 kites come in different shapes, mainly square, and they don’t have tails. The strings are coated with mānjhā, a paste mixed with crushed glass, which helps them cut the strings of other kites by friction. One person flies their kite against another, and the loser is the one whose string gets cut. The boys, along with the men, chase after the defeated kite, which becomes a prize for whoever grabs it first. It takes some skill to win; the men enjoy the sport just as much as the boys do.

The string of a kite caught tightly round the tail of my horse Trelawny, and threatened to carry away horse and rider tail foremost into mid-air! The more the kite pulled and danced about, the more danced Trelawny, the more frightened he became, and the tighter he tucked in his tail; the gentleman who was on the horse caught the string, and bit it in two, and[50] a native disengaged it from the tail of the animal. A pleasant bite it must have been, that string covered with pounded glass! Yah! yah! how very absurd! I wish you had seen the tamāshā. In the evening we dined with Sir Charles Metcalfe; he was residing at Papamhow. He told me he was thinking of cutting down the avenue of nīm trees (melia azadirachta), that led from the house to the river; I begged hard that it might be spared, assuring him that the air around nīm trees was reckoned wholesome by the natives, while that around the tamarind was considered very much the contrary. In front of my rooms, in former days, at Papamhow, was a garden, full of choice plants, and a very fine young India-rubber tree; it was pleasant to see the bright green of the large glossy leaves of the caoutchouc tree, which flourished so luxuriantly. In those days, many flowering trees adorned the spot; among which the katchnar (bauhinia), both white and rose-coloured and variegated, was remarkable for its beauty. Sir Charles had destroyed my garden, without looking to see what trees he was cutting down; he had given the ruthless order. I spoke of and lamented the havoc he had occasioned; to recompense me, he promised to spare the avenue; which, when I revisited it years afterwards, was in excellent preservation.

The string from a kite got wrapped tightly around the tail of my horse, Trelawny, and almost pulled both of us up into the air! The more the kite pulled and twirled, the more Trelawny jumped around, getting more scared and tucking his tail in tighter. The guy riding the horse grabbed the string and bit it in two, and a local quickly freed it from the horse's tail. That must have been a nasty bite, considering that string was covered in ground glass! Wow! That was so ridiculous! I wish you could have seen the show. In the evening, we had dinner with Sir Charles Metcalfe, who was living at Papamhow. He mentioned he was thinking of cutting down the avenue of nim trees (melia azadirachta) that led from his house to the river. I strongly urged him to keep them, telling him that the locals believed the air around nim trees was healthy, while the air around tamarind trees was the opposite. In the past, in front of my rooms at Papamhow, there was a garden full of special plants, including a beautiful young rubber tree. It was lovely to see the bright green, glossy leaves of the caoutchouc tree flourishing so wonderfully. Back then, many flowering trees decorated the area, with the katchnar (bauhinia), in both white and rose colors, standing out for its beauty. Sir Charles had destroyed my garden without even checking which trees he was cutting down; he had issued the brutal order. I expressed my sadness about the damage he had caused, and to make up for it, he promised to spare the avenue. Years later, when I returned, it was in great shape.

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.

14th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī called for me urgently; she was worried about the Gaja Rājā, who was suffering from an epidemic fever. After losing her daughter, the Chimna Bā’ī, to fever when she was forced out of Gwalior by her rebellious subjects, she was deeply distressed at the thought of losing her only remaining hope and comfort, her young granddaughter. I urged them to seek European medical help; they hesitated because a doctor might not be allowed to see the young Princess or check her pulse. I left and quickly returned with the best native female doctor available, but from what I heard during the consultation, it seems her skills may not be very impressive.

The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī is very ill; I fear his days are numbered.

The Nawab Hakim Menhdi is very sick; I’m afraid his days are limited.

The murder of Mr. Frazer, by the Nawāb Sumshoodeen, at Delhi, who bribed a man called Kureem Khan to shoot him, took place when I was at Colonel Gardner’s; no one could believe it[51] when suspicion first fell upon the Nawāb; he had lived on such intimate terms with Mr. Frazer, who always treated him like a brother. The Nawāb was tried by Mr. Colvin, the judge, condemned and executed. The natives at Allahabad told me they thought it a very unjust act of our Government, the hanging the Nawāb merely for bribing a man to murder another, and said, the man who fired the shot ought to have been the only person executed. On Sunday, the 13th March, 1835, Kureem Khan was foiled in his attempt on Mr. Frazer’s life, as the latter was returning from a nāch, given by Hindoo Rāo, the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī. He accomplished his purpose eight days afterwards, on the 22nd of the same month. In the Hon. Miss Eden’s beautiful work, “The Princes and People of India,” there is a sketch of Hindoo Rāo on horseback; his being the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī is perhaps his most distinguishing mark; I have understood, however, he by no means equals the ex-Queen of Gwalior in talent.

The murder of Mr. Frazer by Nawāb Sumshoodeen in Delhi, who paid a man named Kureem Khan to shoot him, happened while I was at Colonel Gardner's place; initially, no one could believe it[51] when suspicion first fell on the Nawāb. He had been on such close terms with Mr. Frazer, who always treated him like a brother. The Nawāb was put on trial by Mr. Colvin, the judge, found guilty, and executed. The people in Allahabad told me they thought it was very unfair of our Government to hang the Nawāb just for bribing someone to kill another man and said that the person who actually fired the shot should have been the only one executed. On Sunday, March 13, 1835, Kureem Khan's first attempt on Mr. Frazer's life failed while Mr. Frazer was returning from a nāch hosted by Hindoo Rāo, the brother of Bāiza Bā’ī. He succeeded eight days later, on the 22nd of that same month. In the Hon. Miss Eden’s beautiful book, “The Princes and People of India,” there’s a drawing of Hindoo Rāo on horseback; his relation to Bāiza Bā’ī is probably his most notable feature, though I've heard that he doesn’t come close to the ex-Queen of Gwalior in terms of 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.

June 7th.—Sir Charles Metcalfe hosted a ball at the station: despite all the cooling measures and fans, it was unbearably hot; however, it's interesting that balls are always held and have better attendance during the extreme 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.

9th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent word that she wanted to see me before she left, as she planned to leave Allahabad and head west. Unfortunately, a severe rheumatic headache kept me from attending. The next morning, she set up camp at Padshah Bāgh, past Allahabad, along the Cawnpore road. I saw her the following evening in a small round tent made entirely of tattīs. The day after, she left that location and marched further down the Cawnpore road, but the city Kotwal was sent out by the magistrate to bring her back to Allahabad, and she was forced to return. Her granddaughter is very sick, exposed to the heat and rain in tents. I fear for the poor girl’s life. She is being treated cruelly and unfairly. Once she ruled in Gwalior, and now she has no roof over her head: the rains have started; she’s living in tents and is being kept here against her will—a state prisoner, in fact.

[52]

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.

The illness on our farm is serious: forty-seven grain-fed sheep and lambs have died of smallpox; there is a lot of sickness in the stable, but no horses have been lost as a result.

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!

25th.—Really good grapes are selling for one rupee per ser; i.e., one shilling per pound. The heat is unbearable, and the rains aren’t coming down heavily like they should at this time of year. The people in the city say the drought is so strange and severe that some wealthy merchant, with a lot of grain to sell, must be using magic to keep the rains away so that a famine can happen and make him rich!

[53]

CHAPTER XLIII.
STORMS 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.

A storm on the Jumna—An Amazonian Mahratta woman—Putlī coins—The mint at Gwalior—East India Company’s rupees—Departure of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Murder of two women in a Zenāna—The steamer and tug—Rajmahal tiger—Cotton seed—Nagapanchmee—Wreck of the Seagull—A fierce storm—Arrival of Sir Henry Fane—Visit to Bāiza Bā’ī—River voyage to Calcutta—Chunar—The god Burtreenath—Ghāt of Appa Sāhib—Ghāt of Bāiza Bā’ī—Her treasury seized by the government—The Chiraghdanīs—The minarets—Native merchants—Kimkhwāb manufactory—The Junéoo—House of Bāiza Bā’ī—The iron chests of gold mohurs—Rooms filled with rupees, copper coins, and cowries—Vishwŭ-Kŭrma, the architect of the gods.

1836, June 28th.—A hurricane has blown ever since gun-fire; clouds of dust are borne along upon the rushing wind; not a drop of rain; nothing is to be seen but the whirling clouds of the tūfān. The old peepul-tree moans, and the wind roars in it as if the storm would tear it up by the roots. The pinnace at anchor on the Jumna below the bank rolls and rocks; the river rises in waves, like a little sea. Some of her iron bolts have been forced out by the pressure of the cables, and the sarang says, she can scarcely hold to her moorings. I am watching her unsteady masts, expecting the next gust will tear her from the bank, and send her off into the rushing and impetuous current. It is well it is not night, or she would be wrecked to a certainty. I have not much faith in her weathering such a tūfān at all, exposed as she is to the power of the stream and the force of the tempest. High and deep clouds of dust come rushing along the ground, which, soaring into the highest heaven, spread[54] darkness with a dull sulphureous tinge, as the red brown clouds of the tūfān whirl swiftly on. It would almost be an inducement to go to India, were it only to see a hurricane in all its glory: the might and majesty of wind and dust: just now the fine sand from the banks of the river is passing in such volumes on the air, that the whole landscape has a white hue, and objects are indistinct; it drives through every crevice, and, although the windows are all shut, fills my eyes and covers the paper. It is a fearful gale. I have been out to see if the pinnace is likely to be driven from her moorings. The waves in the river are rolling high with crests of foam; a miniature sea. So powerful were the gusts, with difficulty I was able to stand against them. Like an Irish hurricane it blew up and down. At last the falling of heavy rain caused the abatement of the wind. The extreme heat passed away, the trees, the earth, all nature, animate and inanimate, exulted in the refreshing rain. Only those who have panted and longed for the fall of rain can appreciate the delight with which we hailed the setting in of the rains after the tūfān.

1836, June 28th.—A hurricane has been blowing ever since the gunfire; clouds of dust are being swept along by the fierce wind; there’s not a drop of rain; all you can see are the swirling clouds from the storm. The old peepul tree groans, and the wind howls through it as if the storm wants to uproot it. The small boat anchored on the Jumna below the bank is rolling and rocking; the river rises in waves like a small sea. Some of her iron bolts have been pushed out by the pressure of the cables, and the boatman says she can barely stay moored. I’m watching her unsteady masts, anticipating that the next gust will push her away from the bank and send her into the rushing current. It’s fortunate it’s not nighttime, or she would surely be wrecked. I have little confidence that she can survive such a storm at all, given how exposed she is to the power of the river and the force of the tempest. Thick clouds of dust rush along the ground, soaring up into the sky, darkening everything with a dull, sulfurous tint as the reddish-brown clouds of the storm whirl by. It might even tempt someone to visit India, just to witness a hurricane in all its splendor: the might and majesty of wind and dust. Right now, the fine sand from the riverbanks is blowing through the air in such quantities that the whole landscape looks white and objects are hard to distinguish; it rushes through every crack, and even though all the windows are shut, it fills my eyes and covers the paper. It’s a terrifying gale. I went out to see if the boat is at risk of breaking free. The waves in the river are rolling high with foamy crests, like a mini sea. The gusts were so powerful that I could barely stand against them. It was like an Irish hurricane, blowing every which way. Finally, the heavy rain started to fall, calming the wind. The intense heat faded, and the trees, the earth, all of nature, both living and non-living, rejoiced in the refreshing rain. Only those who have longed and waited for rain can truly appreciate the joy with which we welcomed the arrival of the rains after the storm.

3rd.—This morning the Bā’ī sent down two of her ladies, one of whom is a celebrated equestrian, quite an Amazon: nevertheless, in stature small and slight, with a pleasant and feminine countenance. She was dressed in a long piece of white muslin, about eighteen yards in length; it was wound round the body and passed over the head, covering the bosom entirely: a part of it was brought up tight between the limbs, so that it had the appearance of full trousers falling to the heels. An embroidered red Benares shawl was bound round her waist; in it was placed a sword and a pistol, and a massive silver bangle was on one of her ancles. Her attendants were present with two saddle horses, decked in crimson and gold, and ornaments of silver, after the Mahratta fashion. She mounted a large bony grey, astride of course, and taking an extremely long spear in her hand, galloped the horse about in circles, performing the spear exercise in the most beautiful and graceful style at full gallop; her horse rearing and bounding, and showing off the excellence of her riding. Dropping her spear,[55] she took her matchlock, performing a sort of mimic fight, turning on her saddle as she retreated at full gallop, and firing over her horse’s tail. She rode beautifully and most gracefully. When the exhibition was over, we retired to my dressing-room: she told me she had just arrived from Juggernāth, and was now en route to Lahore to Runjeet Singh. She was anxious I should try the lance exercise on her steed, which I would have done, had I possessed the four walls of a zenāna, within which to have made the attempt.

3rd.—This morning the Bā’ī sent down two of her women, one of whom is an impressive rider, quite the warrior: however, she is small and slender in stature, with a lovely and feminine face. She was dressed in a long piece of white muslin, around eighteen yards long; it was wrapped around her body and draped over her head, completely covering her chest: part of it was pulled tight between her legs, making it look like full trousers that fell to her heels. An embroidered red Benares shawl was tied around her waist; in it was a sword and a pistol, and she wore a heavy silver bangle on one of her ankles. Her attendants were with two saddle horses, adorned with crimson and gold, and silver decorations, in the Mahratta style. She mounted a large, bony grey horse, riding astride, and took a very long spear in her hand, galloping the horse in circles while performing the spear exercise in the most beautiful and graceful way at full speed; her horse rearing and bounding, showcasing the skill of her riding. Dropping her spear, [55] she grabbed her matchlock, engaging in a kind of mock battle, turning on her saddle as she rode away at full gallop, firing over her horse’s back. She rode beautifully and with great grace. When the display was over, we went to my dressing room: she told me she had just arrived from Juggernāth and was now en route to Lahore to see Runjeet Singh. She was eager for me to try the lance exercise on her horse, which I would have done if I had the privacy of a zenāna to practice in.

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.

What does Sir Charles Metcalfe plan to do with poor Bā’ī? What will happen to her? In this rainy weather, she must be miserable in the tents. The Lieutenant-Governor is leaving Allahabad for Agra in 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.

In the evening, I paid my respects to her Highness. I happened to be wearing a long rosary and a cross made of black beads; she liked it and asked me to get her some new rosaries so they could adorn the idols, which are dressed up like the images of saints in France with all kinds of decorations.

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:—

She showed me a necklace made of gold coins that looked like they were from Venice. The gold in these coins is considered the purest, and they sell for a lot of money. The locals claim these coins come from the east and say there's a miraculous well there. If you toss in copper coins, after a while, they come out as the purest gold. In the sketch titled “Superstitions of the Natives,” No. 8 depicts a coin from this enchanted well. They are referred to as Putlī, and the following excerpt makes me think they are 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.”

“It was during the reign of John Dandolo in 1285 that gold zecchini (sequins) were first minted in Venice. However, before they could be released, the Doge needed to get permission from the Emperor and the Pope. These zecchini featured the name and image of the Doge, initially depicted seated on a ducal throne, but eventually he was shown standing; and finally, in the later years of the Republic, on his knees, receiving the standard of the Republic from St. Mark.”

The necklace, which was a wedding present to the bride, consisted of three rows of silken cords, as thickly studded with[56] these coins as it was possible to put them on, the longest string reaching to the knees: it was very heavy, and must have been valuable. Another Mahratta lady wore a necklace of the same description, but it consisted of a single row, which reached from her neck to her feet: people less opulent wear merely one, two, or three putlīs around the neck.

The necklace, a wedding gift for the bride, had three layers of silky cords, densely adorned with[56] coins as much as possible, with the longest strand reaching down to her knees: it was quite heavy and must have been valuable. Another Mahratta woman wore a similar necklace, but it was a single strand that extended from her neck to her feet: less wealthy people usually wear just one, two, or three putlīs around their necks.

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.”

An old Muslim tailor from the Shia sect asked me one morning if he could go to the bazaar to buy a putli (a doll) to put on his forehead to relieve a severe headache he was having. This request confused me a lot; at the time, I didn’t know that putli was also the name of a magical coin, not just a doll. He told me he had previously gotten rid of a bad headache with this method and believed it was foolproof. The lady mentioned that she used to strike mohurs and half mohurs in Gwalior during her prosperous days. I showed her some new rupees minted by the East India Company, featuring the king’s head, and after examining them, she said, “These rupees are very low quality; there’s hardly any 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.

5th.—The women at the station hosted a charity fair at the theater to support the Blind Asylum, which raised 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!

8th.—Sir Charles left this station for Agra, allowing Allahabad to resume its typical calm. The heaters have been turned off, rain has fallen abundantly, the trees are flaunting their freshest greens, and the grass is sprouting everywhere. How delightful and pleasing to the eye all this lush greenery is!

The report in the bazār is, that a native of much wealth and consideration went into his zenāna tents, in which he found two of his wives and a man; the latter escaped; he killed both the women. A zenāna is a delightful place for private murder, and the manner in which justice is distributed between the sexes is so impartial! A man may have as many wives as he pleases, and mistresses without number;—it only adds to his dignity! If a woman take a lover, she is murdered, and cast like a dog into a ditch. It is the same all the world over; the women, being the[57] weaker, are the playthings, the drudges, or the victims of the men; a woman is a slave from her birth; and the more I see of life, the more I pity the condition of the women. As for the manner in which the natives strive to keep them virtuous, it is absurd; a girl is affianced at three or four years old, married, without having seen the man, at eleven, shut up and guarded and suspected of a wish to intrigue, which, perhaps, first puts it into her head; and she amuses herself with outwitting those who have no dependence upon her, although, if discovered, her death generally ends the story.

The talk in the market is that a wealthy and influential local man went into his zenāna tents, where he found two of his wives and another man; the man got away, and he ended up killing both women. A zenāna is a perfect place for a private murder, and the way justice is meted out to the genders is so fair! A man can have as many wives as he wants and countless mistresses—it only enhances his status! If a woman takes a lover, she is killed and tossed like a dog into a ditch. It’s the same everywhere; women, being the weaker sex, are the playthings, the workers, or the victims of men; a woman is a slave from the moment she is born; and the more I experience life, the more I feel sorry for women's plight. As for how the locals try to keep them virtuous, it’s ridiculous; a girl is engaged at three or four years old, married without having met the man by eleven, locked away, watched, and suspected of wanting to flirt, which might be what first puts the idea in her head. She finds ways to outsmart those who have no control over her, but if she’s caught, her death usually wraps up 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.

27th.—How exhausting and burdensome life in India feels when you're stuck in one place! Traveling around the country is really enjoyable; but during the intense rainy season, being cooped up in the house makes both my mind and body feel drained. I yearn for a refreshing sea breeze and a nice walk through the green paths of England; the beautiful wildflowers— their charm lingers in my thoughts. Here, we don’t have wildflowers; you can get the most stunning bouquets from the gardens, but the lovely wildflowers of the green paths are missing. There are flowering trees planted along the roads, and I love 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!

A steamer arrives every month from Calcutta; it tows a tug, which is a large flat boat that carries the passengers. The steamers perform well, but they're such unattractive, commercial-looking vessels!

I must give an extract from the letter of a friend, describing an adventure, such as you would not meet with in the green lanes of Hampshire:—“The boat was getting on slowly, and I went into the hills at Rajmahal, to get a deer or peacock or jungle-fowl, in fact, something for the kitchen. Some way in the interior I heard a queer noise, which one of my servants said was a deer; as I could not draw the shot in my gun (which is a single barrel flint) to substitute a ball, having only a make-shift ramrod, I consoled myself that the shot was large, and pushed on in the direction of the noise, which still continued. As I came on the upper end of a hollow in the side of the hill, filled with jungle and long grass, some animal jumped up at about fifteen yards in front; he was evidently large, and what[58] the great composers of the ‘Sporting Magazine’ term, of a fulvous colour; he was decidedly, in the opinion of the beaters, a very heavy deer, of three or four mŭns. Hark forward! was now the word, as the same great composers would again say; we crossed a hollow road, entered the jungle on the opposite side, a little below the direction the animal had taken, and had not gone fifteen yards when up rose, without hurry, a handsome large tiger, just out of arm’s length, and a little from behind me; his gait was slunk and shuffling; I saw at once that he was going from me, and, owing to that circumstance, I passed in review his sleeky flank and black stripes with much pleasure. I was a good deal excited, it being my first wild beast sight au naturel; I almost felt an inclination to slap my shot at him.”

I have to share an excerpt from a friend's letter, describing an adventure you wouldn’t find in the green lanes of Hampshire:—“The boat was moving slowly, so I ventured into the hills at Rajmahal to hunt for a deer or a peacock or some jungle-fowl—basically, something for dinner. Deep in the woods, I heard a strange noise, which one of my servants claimed was a deer. Since I couldn't swap out the shot in my single-barrel flint gun for a ball—only having a makeshift ramrod—I told myself the shot was big and pushed toward the sound, which kept going. As I reached the top of a hollow in the hillside, filled with jungle and long grass, something leaped up about fifteen yards in front of me. It was definitely big, and what the great writers of the ‘Sporting Magazine’ would call a tawny color; the beaters were sure it was a very heavy deer, three or four mŭns. “Hark forward!” was the command, as those great writers would again put it; we crossed a hollow road, entered the jungle on the other side a bit below the direction the animal had gone, and hadn’t moved fifteen yards when up rose a beautiful large tiger, just out of arm’s reach and a bit behind me. He was walking in a sneaky, shuffling manner; I noticed right away that he was moving away from me, and because of that, I took in his sleek flank and black stripes with great pleasure. I was quite excited, being my first real sighting of a wild beast in the wild; I almost felt like firing a 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.

The sketch, called “The Spring Bow,” was done in the Rajmahal hills, not far from the jungle where my friend spotted the tiger; the bête sauvage shown in it might have been the exact one whose shiny side and black stripes he admired so much.

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.

August.—The cows are currently in great shape; they are fed Lucerne grass and cottonseed, and go out to graze. The cottonseed is thought to be very fattening for cattle; it is separated, with the help of a simple machine, from the fine white cotton in which it is found within the capsule's cells; this task is usually done by women. Butter is made every morning and evening, and occasionally, cream cheese is made as well. The butter is very nice, bright yellow, and the cream cheese is excellent. The extra butter, once clarified and sealed in jars, stays 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.

9th.—Nagapanchmee: This day is dedicated to the demigods in the form of serpents. People decorate their doorways with cow dung and nīm leaves to protect their homes from poisonous snakes. Nīm leaves are placed among shawls, clothes, and even in books to keep them safe from moths and insects.

23rd.—During the night it began to blow most furiously, accompanied by heavy rain and utter darkness; so fierce a tūfān I never witnessed before. It blew without cessation, raining[59] heavily at intervals; and the trees were torn up by their roots. At 4 A.M. the storm became so violent, it wrecked twenty large native salt boats just below our house; the river roared and foamed, rising in high waves from the opposition of the wind and stream. Our beautiful pinnace broke from her moorings, was carried down the stream a short distance, driven against the broken bastions of the old city of Prag, which have fallen into the river, and totally wrecked just off the Fort; she went down with all her furniture, china, books, wine, &c., on board, and has never been seen or heard of since; scarcely a vestige has been discovered. Alas! my beautiful Seagull; she has folded her wings for ever, and has sunk to rest! We can only rejoice no lives were lost, and that we were not on board; the sarang and khalāsīs (sailors) swam for their lives; they were carried some distance down the stream, below the Fort, and drifted on a sandbank. The headless image of the satī, that graced the cabin, had brought rather too much wind. When the sarang lamented her loss, I could only repeat, as on the day he carried off the lady, “Chorī ke mal nā’īch hazm hota,”—stolen food cannot be digested: i.e. ill deeds never thrive.

23rd.—During the night, the wind picked up violently, accompanied by heavy rain and complete darkness; I've never seen a storm this fierce before. It blew continuously, with heavy rain at intervals, and the trees were uprooted. At 4 AM, the storm became so intense that it destroyed twenty large local salt boats just below our house; the river roared and churned, rising in high waves due to the clash between the wind and the current. Our beautiful boat broke free from its moorings, got carried down the river a short distance, and crashed into the shattered remains of the old city of Prag, which had fallen into the water, completely destroying it just off the Fort; it went down with all its furniture, china, books, wine, etc., on board, and it has never been seen or heard from since; not even a trace has been found. Alas! my beautiful Seagull; she has folded her wings forever and has sunk to rest! We can only be grateful that no lives were lost and that we weren’t on board; the sarang and khalāsīs (sailors) swam for their lives; they were carried quite a distance downstream, below the Fort, and washed up on a sandbank. The headless statue of the satī, which adorned the cabin, had brought a bit too much wind. When the sarang mourned her loss, I could only echo, as on the day he took the lady, “Chorī ke mal nā’īch hazm hota,”—stolen food cannot be digested: i.e. ill deeds never prosper.

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.

The cook boat got swamped. As the river went down, even though she was stuck in the mud and had a broken back, she was sold for the same amount we originally paid for her when she was new—such was the shortage of boats due to the number 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 felt sorry for the Seagull; she was a beautifully built boat, but not reliable since the termites had gotten into her. The damage those termites cause is enormous; they eat away at the center of the masts and beams, working in the dark, rarely leaving visible signs of their damage on the outside unless it’s raining. Sometimes a mast that looks completely fine will suddenly snap, and it turns out the center has been eaten out by the termites, leaving the outside as just a hollow wooden shell. Almost all the trees in the garden were blown down by the storm.

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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.

Sept. 6th.—I visited the Mahratta camp to see the celebration of the anniversary of Krishnŭ's birth; a detailed account of the ceremonies and the life of Kaniyā-jee will be provided 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.

Oct. 19th.—The Commander-in-Chief, Sir Henry Fane, has arrived; his tents are set up in front of the Fort, by the side of the Jumna. The elephants, camels, and horses accompanying him create a striking scene that I really like.

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.

21st.—The station hosted a party for Sir Henry and his group; he is a striking man with a strong, soldierly demeanor, an impressive presence, an excellent bow, and graceful speech. I admire how he looks and believe he must have earned his old nickname, 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.

27th.—Sir Henry Fane inspected the troops at the station, and there was a party in the evening at Mr. Fane's house, who is the brother of the Commander-in-Chief. A few days later, the women in his family asked me to join them on a visit to her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, which I happily did, serving as the 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.

Nov. 3rd.—We had dinner with Sir Henry in camp, and he promised to show me how to shoot tigers perfectly if I would join his group to Lucknow.

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.

7th.—Some friends anchored near our garden on their way to Calcutta; seeing their little fleet stirred up all my wanderlust, and since I wanted to consult a doctor at the Residency, whom I really trusted, I decided to join them on their trip down the river. The Bāiza Bā’ī was eager to see my friends; we stopped by to say goodbye, and she was really impressed with Mr. C⸺, who speaks and understands the language like a local, and she was also delighted by the kids.

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.

13th.—Our small fleet of six ships left Allahabad, and three days later, we arrived at Mirzapore, known for its beautiful riverfronts and carpet factories.

17th.—Anchored under the Fort of Chunar, a beautiful object from the river; it was not my intention to have anchored there, but the place looked so attractive, I could not pass by[61] without paying it a visit. The goats and sheep, glad to get a run after their confinement in the boat, are enjoying themselves on the bank; and a boy, with a basket full of snakes (cobra di capello), is trying to attract my attention. In the cool of the evening we went into the Fort, which is situated on the top of an abrupt rock, which rises from the river. The view, coming from Allahabad, is very striking; the ramparts running along the top of the rising ground, the broad open river below; the churchyard under the walls, on the banks of the Gunga, with its pretty tombs of Chunar stone rising in all sorts of pointed forms, gives one an idea of quiet, not generally the feeling that arises on the sight of a burial-place in India; the ground was open, and looked cheerful as the evening sun fell on the tombs; the hills, the village, the trees, all united in forming a scene of beauty. We entered the magazine, and visited the large black slab on which the deity of the Fort is said to be ever present, with the exception of from daybreak until the hour of 9 A.M., during which time he is at Benares. Tradition asserts that the Fort has never been taken by the English, but during the absence of their god Burtreenath. We walked round the ramparts, and enjoyed the view. The church, and the houses which stretch along the river-side for some distance, and the Fort itself, looked cheerful and healthy; which accounted for the number of old pensioners to be found at Chunar, who have their option as to their place of residence.

17th.—We anchored under the Fort of Chunar, which looked stunning from the river. I hadn’t planned to stop here, but the spot was so appealing that I couldn't just sail past[61] without checking it out. The goats and sheep, thrilled to finally stretch their legs after being cooped up on the boat, were having a great time on the bank. A boy was trying to get my attention with a basket full of snakes (cobra di capello). In the cool of the evening, we went into the Fort, perched on a steep rock that rises from the river. The view from Allahabad was impressive; the ramparts running along the top of the hill and the wide river below made for a beautiful scene. The churchyard beneath the walls by the Ganges, with its charming Chunar stone tombs in various pointed shapes, created a sense of peace, not usually how one feels at a burial site in India. The area was open and looked bright as the evening sun lit up the tombs; the hills, village, and trees all came together to form a lovely landscape. We explored the magazine and visited the large black slab where the deity of the Fort is said to be present, except from daybreak until 9 AM, when he’s in Benares. According to tradition, the Fort has never been captured by the English, except during the absence of their god Burtreenath. We walked around the ramparts and enjoyed the view. The church and the houses along the riverbank, as well as the Fort itself, looked lively and healthy, which explains why so many retired pensioners choose to live in Chunar.

As you approach Benares, on the left bank of the river, stands the house of the Rājā of Benares, a good portly looking building. The appearance of the Holy City from the river is very curious, and particularly interesting. The steep cliff on which Benares is built is covered with Hindoo temples and ghāts of all sizes and descriptions; the first ghāt, built by Appa Sāhib, from Poona, I thought handsome; but every ghāt was eclipsed by the beauty of the one which is now being built by her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī; the scale is so grand, so beautiful, so light, and it is on so regular a plan, it delighted me; it is the handsomest ghāt I have seen in India; unfinished as it is, it has cost her Highness fifteen lākh; to finish it will cost twenty lākh[62] more; should she die ere the work be completed it will never be finished, it being deemed unlucky to finish the work of a deceased person. The money, to the amount of thirty-seven lākh, which the Bā’ī had stored in her house at Benares, to complete the ghāt, and to feed the Brahmāns, whose allowance was two hundred rupees, i.e. £20 a day, has been seized by the Government, and put into the Company’s treasury, where it will remain until the point now in dispute is settled; that is, whether it belong to the Bā’ī or to her adopted son, the present Mahārāj of Gwalior, who forced her out of the kingdom. Several Hindoo temples are near this ghāt; a cluster of beauty. Two chiraghdanīs, which are lighted up on festivals, are curious and pretty objects; their effect, when glittering at night with thousands of little lamps, must be beautiful, reflected with the temples, and crowds of worshippers on the waters below; and great picturesque beauty is added to the scene by the grotesque and curious houses jutting out from the cliff, based on the flights of stone steps which form the ghāts. How I wished I could have seen Benares from the river during the Dewalī, or Festival of Lights! At sunset we went up the Minarets, built by Aurunzebe; they are considered remarkably beautiful, towering over the Hindoo temples; a record of the Muhammadan conquest.

As you approach Benares, on the left side of the river, you see the house of the Rājā of Benares, a rather stout-looking building. The view of the Holy City from the river is quite striking and very interesting. The steep cliff where Benares is situated is filled with Hindu temples and ghāts of all sizes and types; I found the first ghāt, built by Appa Sāhib from Poona, to be attractive, but every ghāt pales in comparison to the one currently being built by her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī; its grandeur, beauty, and elegant design captivated me; it’s the most beautiful ghāt I’ve seen in India. Even though it’s unfinished, it has already cost her Highness fifteen lākh; finishing it will require another twenty lākh[62]. If she dies before the work is completed, it will never be finished, as it’s considered bad luck to complete the project of someone who has passed away. The thirty-seven lākh that the Bā’ī had saved in her house at Benares for completing the ghāt and providing for the Brahmāns, who were to receive two hundred rupees, i.e., £20 a day, has been seized by the Government and placed in the Company’s treasury, where it will stay until the current dispute is resolved; specifically, whether it belongs to the Bā’ī or to her adopted son, the present Mahārāj of Gwalior, who forced her out of the kingdom. There are several Hindu temples near this ghāt, a lovely cluster. Two chiraghdanīs, which are lit up during festivals, are charming and curious; the sight of them glowing at night with thousands of tiny lamps must be beautiful, reflecting with the temples and crowds of worshippers on the waters below. The scene is further enhanced by the quirky and interesting houses that protrude from the cliff, supported by the stone steps that make up the ghāts. I wished I could have seen Benares from the river during the Dewalī, or Festival of Lights! At sunset, we climbed the Minarets built by Aurunzebe; they are considered exceptionally beautiful, standing tall above the Hindu temples, serving as a reminder 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.

On my way back to my budjerow, several local merchants were waiting, hoping to sell their goods to the visitors. They had boxes filled with Benares turbans, shawls, gold and silver clothing, kimkhwāab, and fabric made of gold. This place is known for its gold embroidery and golden and silver fabrics. I bought some to make a traditional outfit for myself and also some stiff ribbon, embroidered with silk and gold, featuring the names of all the Hindu deities; Hindus wear these around their necks, as they are sacred and called junéoo. The English mare and my little black horse met me here on the way to Calcutta.

The Bāiza Bā’ī told me by no means to pass Benares without visiting her ghāt and her house; some of her people having come down to the river, I returned with them to see the house;[63] it is very curiously situated in the heart of the city. Only imagine how narrow the street is which leads up to it; as I sat in my palanquin, I could touch both the sides of the street by stretching my arms out, which I did to assure myself of its extreme narrowness. All the houses in this street are five or six stories high. We stopped at the house of the Bā’ī; it is six stories high, and was bought by her Highness as a place in which to secure her treasure. It is difficult to describe a regular Hindoo house such as this; which consists of four walls, within and around which the rooms are built story above story; but from the foundation to the top of the house there is a square in the centre left open, so that the house encloses a small square court open to the sky above, around which the rooms are built with projecting platforms, on which the women may sit, and eat the air, as the natives call it, within the walls of their residence. I clambered up the narrow and deep stone stairs, story after story, until I arrived at the top of the house; the view from which was unique: several houses in the neighbourhood appeared much higher than the one on which I was standing, which was six stories high. The Mahratta, who did the honours on the part of her Highness, took me into one of the rooms, and showed me the two chests of cast iron, which formerly contained about eighteen thousand gold mohurs. The Government took that money from the Bā’ī by force, and put it into their treasury. Her Highness refused to give up the keys, and also refused her sanction to the removal of the money from her house; the locks of the iron chests were driven in, and the tops broken open; the rupees were in bags in the room; the total of the money removed amounted to thirty-seven lākh. Another room was full of copper coins; another of cowries; the latter will become mouldy and fall into dust in the course of time. One of the gentlemen of the party went over the house with me, and saw what I have described. Atr and pān were presented, after which we took our leave and proceeded to the market-place. The braziers’ shops were open, but they refused to sell any thing, it being one of the holidays on which no worker in brass is allowed to sell goods.

The Bāiza Bā’ī insisted that I shouldn't leave Benares without visiting her ghāt and her house. Since some of her people had come down to the river, I went back with them to see the house;[63] it's very interestingly located right in the heart of the city. Just picture how narrow the street is that leads up to it; while I sat in my palanquin, I could touch both sides of the street just by stretching out my arms, which I did to confirm how extremely narrow it was. All the houses on this street are five or six stories tall. We stopped at the Bā’ī's house; it's six stories high and was purchased by her Highness to securely store her treasure. It's hard to describe a typical Hindu house like this; it has four walls, and the rooms are built one above the other. However, from the foundation to the roof, there's an open square in the center, which makes a small courtyard open to the sky, with rooms built around it featuring projecting platforms where the women can sit and "eat the air," as the locals put it, while staying within the confines of their home. I climbed up the narrow, deep stone stairs, story after story, until I reached the top of the house. The view from there was unique: several nearby houses looked much taller than the one I was on, which was six stories high. The Mahratta, who was hosting me on behalf of her Highness, took me into one of the rooms and showed me two cast iron chests that once held about eighteen thousand gold mohurs. The Government seized that money from the Bā’ī by force and put it into their treasury. Her Highness refused to hand over the keys or approve the removal of the money from her home; the locks of the iron chests were pried open, and the tops were broken off; the rupees were in bags in the room, and the total amount taken was thirty-seven lākh. Another room was filled with copper coins, and yet another with cowries, which will eventually become moldy and turn to dust over time. One of the gentlemen in the group toured the house with me and saw what I’ve just described. Atr and pān were offered to us, and after that, we took our leave and headed to the market square. The braziers' shops were open, but they refused to sell anything since it was one of the holidays when no brass worker is allowed to sell their goods.

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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.

The worship of Vishwŭ-kŭrma, the son of Brŭmha, the architect of the gods, was probably taking place. On that day, blacksmiths honor their hammer and bellows; carpenters celebrate the mallet, chisel, hatchet, saw, etc.; washermen, their irons; and potters, the turning wheel, as symbols of this god. The festival ends with singing and joy, 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.

19th.—It was too early, and only a few shops were open, which made this usually crowded and busy city look kind of dull.

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.

The air is cool and nice; we drift lazily down the river; this calm, collected way of living, with a different view each day, is really enjoyable.

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.

I can’t forget to mention that, after a long time had passed, the treasure that the Government was holding for the young Maharaja of Gwalior was returned to Her Highness, the Baiza Bai.

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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.

Ghāzīpūr—Tomb of Lord Cornwallis—Palace of the Nawab of Ghāzīpūr—Beerpūr—Satīs—The Murda Ghat—Buxar—The Stud—Bulliah Mela—Blue Waters of the Soane—Swimming with 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.

1836, Nov. 21st.—Arrived early in Ghāzīpūr, the town of Ghāzī, also known as Gādhpūr, according to the Hindūs, after a Rājā of that name. We went ashore to see the tomb of a former Governor-General, the Marquis Cornwallis, who is buried here at the age of sixty-seven. The sarcophagus is inside a circular building topped with a dome and surrounded by a verandah; it’s made of white marble, featuring suitable figures in relief by Flaxman. In front is a bust of the Marquis, complete with a coronet and cushion above it; the iron railings are very elegant and fitting; the entire area is surrounded by a grove of young trees, well-maintained. There’s a pedestal in front that I assume is meant for a statue of the Marquis. The view from the building is open and attractive; it’s located in the cantonment along the banks of the Ganges. There are four figures in mourning positions on the tomb, molded in relief; the figure of a Brahmān is particularly well done. The solid houses of the European residents in Ghāzīpūr, lining the riverbank, have a charming appearance.

[66]

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.

The ruins of the Nawab of Ghazipur's palace are located on a high bank, with a rampart featuring four bastions facing the river. The house is falling apart. I found it fascinating; the layout is beautiful; what a luxurious place to be during the hot winds! It's perched on a high bank overlooking the Ganges; in the center is an octagonal room, and around it, four square rooms alternate with four octagonal rooms, all supported by elegant and lightweight arches. The rooms don’t have walls, but each is propped up by arches. There’s a space for water surrounding the central room, and many fountains used to play there. Rich curtains hung between the arches; how perfectly suited they were for the climate! Just picture the luxury of sitting in the central room, with all the air coming in cooled by the fountains and shielded from the sun by the beautiful curtains! One of the octagonal rooms has completely collapsed. A member of our group, not finding any game in the nearby fields, shot five anwari fish that were swimming on the river's surface. Rosewater and fabric were brought for sale in plenty. The fields by the river are partly a real Golgotha, scattered with human skulls. The Company's stud is here, but we didn’t go to 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 the village of Beerpūr, I saw between ten and twenty satī mounds, under some large trees by the riverbank; the thought of what those unfortunate women must have endured made me shudder.

Off Chounsah I was most thoroughly disgusted; there is on the bank of the river a murda ghāt, or place for burning the dead bodies of the Hindūs; about twenty charpāīs (native beds) were there cast away as unclean, the bodies having been carried down upon them. Some of the bodies had hardly been touched by the fire, just scorched and thrown into the water. The dogs and crows were tearing the flesh from the skeletons, growling as they ate, to deter other dogs that stood snarling around from joining in the meal. A gentleman fired at them, drove off some of the dogs, and killed others; you have no idea how fierce and hungry the wretches were; a bullet from a musket only scared them for a moment, and then they returned to the corpse. I[67] was glad to get beyond the murda ghāt; the sight and smell of such horrors made me ill.

Off Chounsah, I was completely disgusted; there’s a cremation site on the riverbank where they burn the bodies of Hindus. About twenty native beds were thrown aside as unclean, having been used to carry the bodies. Some of the bodies barely touched the flames, just scorched and dumped into the water. Dogs and crows were tearing at the flesh from the skeletons, growling as they ate to keep other dogs that were snarling nearby from joining in. A man shot at them, chased off a few dogs, and killed others; you wouldn’t believe how fierce and hungry they were. A musket shot only scared them off for a moment before they returned to the corpses. I[67] was relieved to leave the cremation site behind; the sight and smell of such horrors made me feel sick.

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.

Anchored at Buxar, I visited the horse stable; the only stable I went into was an impressive one—tall, airy, well-ventilated, clean, and spacious. It housed two hundred horses, all looking clean and in great condition; these horses are all three years old and are exceptionally fine young animals. You can choose from the stable for £100, i.e. 1000 rupees; these horses should be good as they come from the best imported English, Arab, and Persian breeds and are raised with great care. The animals stand in a long line without any separation between them; their heads are tied to the mangers while their heels are free, without any heel-ropes. They seem perfectly calm even though they are standing so close together. There are about six hundred horses at Buxar, with more on the other side of the river; I really enjoyed seeing the horses at this place and regret not visiting the one at Ghāzīpūr. Every day from 7 to 8 AM, all the young horses are let loose into a paddock to run and gallop around freely; it must be a beautiful 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.

23rd.—The fair at Bulliah takes place on this day, the last day of the month of Kartik. The scene stretched for five miles and was very lively; it was a big Hindu fair and a day for bathing. Boats filled with people were heading to the fair, many were standing on the cliffs, and crowds were gathered in the river, engaged in their rituals—such a vibrant atmosphere. The men are shooting at the large crocodiles basking on the sandbanks; they've managed to kill a really big one. When crocodiles are opened up, silver and gold jewelry is sometimes discovered inside; recently, the entire body of a child was found in a crocodile at Cawnpore.

25th.—This morning our little fleet passed the Soane river at its junction with the Ganges; I went on deck to look at the kala panī, the black water, as the natives call it, on account of the deep blue tinge of the Soane, which forms a strong contrast to the dingy milky hue of the stream of the Gunga. In this river, agates, amethysts, cornelians, &c., are found. Crossing the river, which was considerably agitated by a very powerful wind, to go to the fair[68] at Hājīpūr, I saw a man apparently standing on the waters in the centre of the river; it was blowing a stiff gale; the man stood in an erect and easy position. On coming nearer I perceived he was standing on the back of an elephant; the whole of the animal’s body, with the exception of his head, was under water; he put up the end of his trunk every now and then, and was swimming boldly and strongly forward directly across the enormous river. The wind blew so heavily, it was surprising the man could keep his balance; he held a string in one hand, the other contained the ankus, with which the mahāwat drives his elephant; the string was, perhaps, the reins fastened in the animal’s ears, with which they often guide them.

25th.—This morning our small fleet crossed the Soane River where it meets the Ganges. I went on deck to check out the kala panī, the black water, as the locals call it because of the deep blue tint of the Soane, which sharply contrasts with the dull milky color of the Gunga. This river contains agates, amethysts, cornelian, etc. As we crossed the river, which was pretty rough due to a strong wind, heading to the fair[68] at Hājīpūr, I saw a man seemingly standing on the water in the middle of the river. The wind was blowing hard, yet he stood upright and relaxed. As we got closer, I realized he was standing on the back of an elephant; most of the animal’s body, except for its head, was submerged. The elephant occasionally raised its trunk and swam confidently and strongly across the vast river. The wind was so strong it was shocking the man could maintain his balance; he held a string in one hand, while the other gripped the ankus, the tool the mahāwat uses to guide his elephant. The string was likely the reins attached to the animal’s ears for guiding 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.

On the evening of the 25th, we arrived at Hājīpūr. It was really frustrating to see all the tents being taken down and the boats moving downstream while we were trying to row upstream—just a day too late for the fair. Hājīpūr is located where the Gunduc meets the Ganges; the Gunduc is such a fast-moving river that it's nearly impossible to go against it, especially with the strong headwind we had when we got there. We went ashore to get food, and when we returned, we crossed the Gunduc in a boat made from the trunk of a tree—definitely not the safest option, but quite common on the Ganges.

What an uncomfortable night I spent! awakened every half-hour by the falling in of the sandbank to which my budgerow was moored; I feared my cook boat would have been swamped. In the middle of the night a great cry was raised of “Chor, Chor!” and a number of people rushed down to seize a thief, who was floating down the rapid Gunduc, with a gharā (an earthen pot) over his head; a trick common to thieves, that they may pass unperceived. I got up, hearing the noise, and looked out of the cabin window; seeing a man in the water close under the window, and imagining him to be one of the sailors, I said, “What is all this noise about?” The thief, for it was he, finding he was not concealed by the shadow of the vessel, swam off; and, although a boat pursued him, he escaped by either crossing the Ganges or floating down it. These thieves are most wonderfully skilful, and infest the great fairs of India; my servants say he[69] had a large box with him in the water, and floated down upon it; it was stolen from the tent of a rich native.

What an uncomfortable night I had! I woke up every half-hour because of the sandbank my budgerow was tied to collapsing; I was worried my cook boat would get swamped. In the middle of the night, there was a loud shout of “Chor, Chor!” and a bunch of people rushed down to catch a thief who was floating down the fast-moving Gunduc with a pot on his head; it’s a common trick thieves use to go unnoticed. I got up when I heard the commotion and looked out of the cabin window. Seeing a man in the water close to the window, I thought he was one of the sailors and asked, “What’s all this noise about?” The thief, realizing he wasn’t hidden by the shadow of the boat, swam away, and even though a boat chased him, he got away by either crossing the Ganges or drifting down it. These thieves are incredibly skilled and often show up at the big fairs in India; my servants said he had a large box with him in the water and floated down on it; it was taken from the tent of a wealthy local.

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.

Off the village of Futwa, I bought a bunch of Patna tablecloths, napkins, and fabric; the factory is located here, and the locals bring their products to the passing ships.

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.

The entire route from Allahabad to Patna has very few fan palm trees (borassus flabelliformis); right below Patna, the riverbank is lined with them. The locals refer to them as tar or tarie trees; their juice is used as a leavening agent for bread and also to make urruk. One leaf is enough to create the large hand panchas used by bearers, and paper is also made from the tarie tree. They greatly enhance the picturesque and Eastern beauty of the landscape.

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.

29th.—We arrived at Monghir: the place looks pretty nice from the river with its old fort. As we anchored, we were overwhelmed by a bunch of people eager to sell their goods—chairs, work tables, boxes, straw bonnets and hats, caged birds, forks, knives, guns, pistols, baskets, kettles; and the noise from this huge crowd, all yelling and shouting, was mixed with the whimpering of a bunch of beggars.

We went on shore, and walked through the bazār, buying a number of queer things. After tiffin we proceeded in palkees to the Seetā Khoond, about five miles from Monghir, the road very good, date and palm trees in abundance; and the country around Seetā’s Well makes one imagine that one is approaching the sea-shore; there is a remarkably volcanic appearance in the rocks. The Seetā Khoond is a brilliantly clear spring of boiling hot water, which bubbles and boils up most beautifully, and is enclosed in a large space, with steps descending to the water. I never saw so beautiful a spring, or such living water! There are four springs close to it, but they are all of cold water, and have none of the clearness or beauty of Seetā’s Well. The water is contained in an enclosure of stone, in which it rises up sparkling and bubbling from its rocky bed. The steps on which you stand are very hot, and a hot steam rises from the surface; the water is so clear you can see the points at which it springs up from its bed of rock. The stream from the Seetā Khoond is constantly[70] flowing into the jheel below in a little rivulet, that gradually widens, and in which the presence of the hot water is perceptible in a cold morning for about one hundred yards from the spring.

We went ashore and strolled through the bazaar, picking up some unique items. After lunch, we traveled in palanquins to Seetā Khoond, which is about five miles from Monghir. The road was excellent, lined with date palms and trees; the area around Seetā’s Well gives the impression of nearing the seaside, with a striking volcanic look to the rocks. Seetā Khoond is a stunning, crystal-clear spring of boiling hot water that bubbles up beautifully and is surrounded by a large area with steps leading down to the water. I’ve never seen such a beautiful spring or such lively water! There are four other springs nearby, but they all have cold water and lack the clarity and beauty of Seetā’s Well. The water in Seetā’s Well is held in a stone enclosure, where it sparkles and bubbles up from its rocky bed. The steps where you stand are very hot, and steam rises from the surface; the water is so clear that you can see where it bubbles up from the rock bed. The stream from Seetā Khoond continuously flows into the jheel below in a little rivulet that gradually widens, and you can sense the warmth of the hot water about a hundred yards from the spring on a cold morning.

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.

Several years ago, a soldier made a bet to swim across the basin. He managed to cross, but he had to be taken to a hospital, where he died a few hours later from the hot water. I didn’t measure the temperature, so I can't tell you exactly how hot it was. The Brahmins say that the well is so sacred, thanks to the power of the goddess Seetā, that even though it's boiling, it miraculously keeps rice and eggs thrown into it uncooked. I saw a lot of rice that stayed unmoved in the water; since I’m not a religious Hindu, I assume the water is below boiling point.

A pretty Hindū temple has been erected close to the spring, dedicated to Seetā, in which are four idols; one of the god Rām, his beloved Seetā, his brother Lutchman, and their champion the monkey god Hoonumān; in the verandah is also a statue of Hoonumān. I put the points of my fingers into the water, but the heat was too near the scalding point to allow of my putting in my hand; the view from the spring is remarkably beautiful; in front is a jheel, a large space of shallow water, bounded by the Kurrukpūr mountains at various distances; these mountains are rather rocks than mountains, and the stones took all sorts of grotesque forms as the sun declined behind them. On the right and left of the spring were rocks, which appeared to have been thrown up by an earthquake. The jheel looking like a place in which snipe and wild ducks would be plentiful, one of the party took his gun and shot over it, but had no sport; the morning is the time for finding birds there. I walked half-way down the jheel: looking back towards the Khoond, the white temples at the spring, with the dark green mango tope behind, and the wild-looking, rocky scenery on either side, had a pleasing effect. The palkee-bearers told me, in the centre of the opposite mountains, the Kurrukpūr, about six miles from the Seetā Khoond, there is a hot spring, called[71] Reeçee Khoond, which, from being in the jungles, is little known; that every third year a fair is held there, when people assemble to bathe and do pooja. My friends filled many bottles at the spring; it is necessary to bring corks, as they are not procurable at Monghir. The water is so pure, it keeps like the Bristol water on a long voyage; people returning to England make a point of stopping here on that account.

A beautiful Hindu temple has been built near the spring, dedicated to Sita, containing four idols: one of the god Ram, his beloved Sita, his brother Lakshman, and their protector, the monkey god Hanuman; there’s also a statue of Hanuman on the verandah. I dipped my fingers into the water, but it was too hot to put my hand in; the view from the spring is stunning. In front is a jheel, a large area of shallow water, surrounded by the Kurrukpur mountains at various distances; these mountains are more like rocks than actual mountains, and the stones took on all sorts of strange shapes as the sun set behind them. On both sides of the spring were rocks that seemed to have been pushed up by an earthquake. The jheel looked like a spot where snipe and wild ducks would be abundant, so one of the group took his gun and shot over it, but didn't have any luck; morning is the best time to find birds there. I walked halfway down the jheel: looking back towards the Khoond, the white temples at the spring, along with the dark green mango grove behind, and the wild, rocky scenery on either side created a lovely sight. The palanquin bearers told me that in the middle of the nearby Kurrukpur mountains, about six miles from the Sita Khoond, there’s a hot spring called [71] Reechee Khoond, which is not well known because it’s in the jungle; every three years, a fair is held there where people gather to bathe and perform pooja. My friends filled several bottles at the spring; it's necessary to bring corks since they can’t be found in Monghir. The water is so pure it lasts like Bristol water on a long journey; people traveling back to England often stop here for that reason.

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.

30th.—We anchored at the Fakīr’s rock in Janghīra. The Fakīr's dwelling sits on a high, steep rock that juts up in the middle of the stream, completely isolated; the temple is right at the top, with four smaller temples a bit lower down. Some large trees grow from the crevices of the rock: the entire scene is reflected in the Ganges, with the village of Janghīra in the background and the Karrak mountains in the distance, making a perfect subject for a painting. On the outside, carved into the solid rock, are numerous Hindu images; among them, one of Narasingh stands out, dramatically tearing open the king's belly who doubted the omnipresence of the Deity. We crossed over in a small boat to visit this temple; the fakīrs showed it with great enthusiasm and received a small tip. There’s a remarkable tree, the plumeria alba, growing from the side of the rock, known locally as goolachin or junglee champa. On our way back to the mainland, we climbed a cluster of rocks directly opposite Janghīra; atop these well-wooded rocks are the ruins of an ancient mosque; no one lives there anymore, and the view from the platform is quite stunning. The graves of the Kāzī Biskermee’s family are nearby; the Kāzī used to live here, but I couldn’t get much information from our guide about that. The small burial ground, with its eleven graves, appeared so peaceful, far removed from the chaos of the world, and I found the place charming. There must be some history tied to this picturesque mosque and its crumbling graves; it stands on a high, wooded rock that rises sharply from the Ganges.

Dec. 1st.—We quitted the Janghīra rocks ere daybreak, with a fair wind, and floated down the stream most agreeably; in the evening we arrived at Colgong, which presents much picturesque[72] beauty; four rocky islands of considerable height, rock piled on rock, rise and stretch across the centre of the Ganges. As we sailed past them, I saw five or six of the smallest, lightest, and most fairy-looking little boats gliding about the rocks, in which men were fishing; the fish are large, excellent, and abundant. No one resides on these rocks. The village of Kuhulgaon, commonly called Colgong, is situated under some hills, and prettily wooded. The cook boat not having arrived, one of the gentlemen fired his gun off, to direct the men where to find us; the sound was returned from the rocks four times, distinctly and loudly, with an interval of four or five seconds between each echo. We took a walk in the evening; Mr. ⸺ killed a flying fox, or vampire bat, such a curious-looking animal, with a most intelligent little face; the body was covered with hair; its leathern wings measured from tip to tip three feet eight inches and a half.

Dec. 1st.—We left the Janghīra rocks before dawn, with a nice breeze, and floated down the river quite enjoyably; by evening, we reached Colgong, which has a lot of picturesque beauty. Four tall, rocky islands, stacked on top of each other, rise in the middle of the Ganges. As we passed them, I noticed five or six of the smallest, lightest, and most fairy-like little boats moving around the rocks, where men were fishing; the fish here are large, tasty, and plentiful. No one lives on these rocks. The village of Kuhulgaon, often called Colgong, is located under some hills, amid pretty woodlands. Since the cook boat hadn’t arrived, one of the gentlemen fired his gun to signal the men where to find us; the sound echoed back from the rocks four times, clearly and loudly, with a four or five-second pause between each echo. We took a walk in the evening; Mr. ⸺ shot a flying fox, or vampire bat, such a fascinating animal with a very intelligent-looking face; its body was covered in fur, and its leathery wings measured three feet eight and a half inches from tip to tip.

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.

No one should take up-country dāndees; they cause a lot of problems and trouble. The Bengalees living in Calcutta don’t stop traveling down the river. In Monghir, the mānjhī and six dāndees left for home; this held us up and frustrated 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.

2nd.—Early in the evening, we anchored at Sickrī-galī, a spot near the Rajmahal Hills, and set out to go shooting. The dāndees, with their long poles, joined us to flush out the bushes. People say that wild animals often come to this area at night, and a few miles downstream, there’s good tiger hunting; however, we didn't find any game since we were too close to the village. If we had ventured further into the hills, we probably would have had some exciting encounters in the wild terrain around them. Night fell before we made it back to the boats.

THE SPRING BOW.
The Spring Bow.

On Stone by Major Parlby.
On Stone by Major Parlby.

Sketched on the Spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched on the Spot by Fanny Parkes

3rd.—Mr. ⸺ sallied forth with his beaters to try the marshy plain under the hills of the Sickrī-galī Pass. The cool morning tempted me out, and the first person whom I saw was an indigo planter standing near his bungalow, the only European dwelling-house at the place. On asking him where good shooting was to be found, he said the road the gentleman had taken was one in which game of all sorts abounded, but that on account of tigers it was dangerous. He showed me the marks[73] of tiger’s paws in his garden. His account rather gave me a curiosity to see the sort of plain where such animals may be found; and with a chaprāsī, and a bearer carrying a large chatr, I took the road to the rocks. After a very long walk, we came to a most suspicious-looking spot, surrounded by very high jungle-grass, beyond which stretched the deep woods and hills of Rajmahal. “In this direction,” said my chaprāsī, “is the very spot frequented by tigers, here they may be found;” and we pushed through the heavy jungle grass from nine to twelve feet in height, and so thick it was almost impenetrable. “Here is some water,” said the man, “and here, on its edge, the prints fresh on the marshy soil of the feet of a tiger! Look, look, mem sāhiba, it is true, it is true, here they are!” I forced a passage for myself through the grass, and saw the foot-marks. “He who has never seen a tiger, let him look at a cat; and he who has never seen a thief, let him look at a butcher[14].”

3rd.—Mr. ⸺ headed out with his beaters to explore the marshy plain under the hills of the Sickrī-galī Pass. The cool morning lured me outside, and the first person I met was an indigo planter standing by his bungalow, the only European house in the area. When I asked him where I could find good shooting, he mentioned that the road the gentleman had taken was known for abundant game, but that it was dangerous due to tigers. He pointed out the tiger paw prints in his garden. His remarks sparked my curiosity about the type of plain where such animals might be found; so, accompanied by a chaprāsī and a bearer carrying a large chatr, I made my way to the rocks. After a lengthy walk, we reached a rather suspicious-looking area, surrounded by very tall jungle grass, beyond which lay the deep woods and hills of Rajmahal. “In this direction,” said my chaprāsī, “is the very spot where tigers often go; they can be found here.” We pushed through the thick jungle grass, which rose from nine to twelve feet high and was almost impenetrable. “Here is some water,” the man said, “and right at its edge, the fresh prints of a tiger’s feet on the marshy soil! Look, look, mem sāhiba, it’s true, it’s true, here they are!” I managed to make a way for myself through the grass and spotted the footprints. “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.

My eagerness to see a bête sauvage, a royal Bengal tiger, in its natural habitat made me forget how dangerous it could be, so I started scanning the jungle all around. “Are we likely to see a tiger?” I asked the man. “Not at this hour, mem sāhiba, look, the sun is high in the sky;” he pointed to the hill, “they are up there in the depths of the mountain, in the shade of the dense forests; when evening falls, if the mem sāhiba returns to this spot she will definitely see the tigers, that’s when they come down to drink from this water.” That night, as I headed back to the boats, I remembered the chaprāsī’s words but wasn’t keen on going on a “will-you-come-and-be-killed” kind of adventure.

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 bright sunshine, the deep reflections on the water, and the notion that danger was lurking nearby all came together to make this beautiful and hidden spot really fascinating.

The dāndees from the boats that anchor at Sikrī-galī, go up the hills in gangs to cut wood for firing, and bring it down in great quantities. Following their track, I soon joined the party who were shooting snipes in the marsh at the foot of the hills, and at the moment of my arrival, Mr. ⸺ was busily pulling the leeches off his ancles, which had stuck to them in passing through the water. Being fagged with the walk, I got a hackery from a village; it is a sort of cart made of bamboos with small, heavy, clumsy, wooden wheels, drawn by two bullocks. Seated in this conveyance, I desired the man to drive me into the hills. My bones were half dislocated, bumping up and down in such a jungle of a place, over high stones that all but upset the cart, or through the marsh in which the bullocks sometimes being unable to keep on their feet, took six or seven steps on their knees; it was a marvel how the little animals got on, or through such places as we crossed. I went deep into the hills, admiring the beautiful climbers that were in the greatest profusion, and the bearer gathered all the novelties, which made me quite happy in my cart, surrounded by specimens new to me. At last the driver said he could proceed no further; therefore I walked up the hill some distance until I was fagged: the view was very pleasing, looking down the valley over the plain to the Ganges, where the vessels were sailing past. At a bright running stream[75] I gladly quenched my thirst, having taken no breakfast, and it being now nearly eleven A.M. Mounted on my bone-breaking cart, I rejoined my friend, who had only killed five snipe and another bird. He saw but one black partridge, no deer; the game was very scarce.

The woodcutters from the boats that anchor at Sikrī-galī head up the hills in groups to gather firewood and bring it back in large quantities. Following their trail, I quickly joined a group that was hunting snipe in the marsh at the base of the hills, and when I arrived, Mr. ⸺ was busy pulling leeches off his ankles that had latched onto him while he was walking through the water. Tired from the walk, I hired a hackery from a nearby village; it’s a type of cart made of bamboo with small, heavy, awkward wooden wheels, pulled by two bullocks. Sitting in this cart, I asked the driver to take me into the hills. My body felt nearly dislocated, bouncing up and down in such a rough area, over large rocks that nearly tipped the cart, or through the marsh where the bullocks sometimes struggled to stay upright, taking six or seven steps on their knees; it was amazing how the little animals managed to navigate through such terrain. I ventured deep into the hills, admiring the beautiful climbing plants that were everywhere, and the bearer collected several interesting specimens, making me quite happy in my cart, surrounded by new finds. Eventually, the driver said he couldn’t go any further; so I walked up the hill for a bit until I grew tired. The view was lovely, looking down the valley towards the plain and the Ganges, where boats were sailing by. At a lively stream[75], I happily quenched my thirst, having skipped breakfast, and it was now nearly eleven AM. Back on my jarring cart, I rejoined my friend, who had only shot five snipe and another bird. He had spotted only one black partridge and no deer; the game was quite 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.

Elephants are essential for a person to enjoy hunting in the tall grass and thorny bushes. The area is so disrupted by people going into the hills for firewood that the animals retreat deeper into the jungle. If we had an elephant, we might have spotted a tiger; I won't be at peace until I've seen one in its natural habitat. The servants arrived on a cart with bread, meat, tea, and wine. It was 1 PM, and with the sun shining down, we settled under a tree and had a fantastic breakfast, which was really refreshing after our hike.

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.

As we were throwing the bones to the little spaniels, we had an adventure that, for the second time in my life, brought uncivilized beings before me, which really amused me. The path from the hills led to where we were sitting. Down this path came a charming group, a family of savages, who caught my eye with their unique features, the smallness and agility of their bodies, their way of tying their hair in a knot on top of their heads, and their wild-looking bows and arrows. We invited these cheerful, good-natured people to come closer; they seemed happy to be noticed, and one of the women offered me some young ears of corn that she took from a basket on her head containing their main food, which was boiled and mashed corn. She also had a child sitting on her hip. It's rare to see a child in a woman's arms like it is in Europe. The same custom seems to have existed among the Jews: “Ye shall be borne upon her sides, and dandled upon her knees.”—Isaiah.

The party consisted of a man and three boys, apparently eight, twelve, and sixteen years of age, two women, and a little girl. The man said he had come from a place four coss within the hills, by our calculation eight miles, but hill measurement[76] of distance being generally liberal, I should suppose it double that distance. Their descent at this time to the plains, was to help in gathering in the present crop of uncut rice, for which purpose the owners of the fields had asked them to come down. The man appeared to be about five feet in height, remarkable for lightness and suppleness of limb, with the piercing and restless eye that is said to be peculiar to savages. His countenance was round and happy; the expression had both cunning and simplicity; the nose depressed between the eyes, and altogether a face that one laughed to look at. His black hair drawn tight up in a knot on the very top of the head, the ends fastened in with a wooden comb. His only clothing a small piece of linen bound around his middle. He carried a bow of hill bamboo, the string of which was formed out of the twisted rind of the bamboo, and the four arrows were of the common reed, headed with iron barbs of different shapes; one of the barbs was poisoned. The hill-man said he had bought the poison into which the barb had been dipped of a more remote hill tribe, and was ignorant of its nature: he begged us not to handle the point. The natives will not mention the name of the plant from which the poison is procured; it appears to be a carefully-guarded secret. On each arrow were strips of feather from the wing of the vulture. The boy was similarly dressed, and armed. The woman, who carried the child, appeared to be the favourite from the number of ornaments on her person. She was extremely small in stature, but fat and well-looking. Unlike the women of the plains, she wore no covering on her head, and but little on her body. Two or three yards of cloth were around her waist, and descended half way below the knees; whilst a square of the same was tied over her shoulders like a monkey mantle; passed under the left arm it was drawn over the bosom, and the ends tied on the shoulder of the right arm. Her hair was tied up in the same fashion as the man’s. Around the rim of each ear were twenty-three thin ear-rings of brass; and three or four necklaces of red and white beads hung down to her waist in gradations. Her nose-ring was moderately large in circumference, but very heavy, pulling[77] down the right nostril by its weight; it was of silver, with four large beads, and an ornament of curious form. She had thick purple glass rings on her arms, called churees, of coarse manufacture, and other ornaments which I forget, something of the same sort.

The group consisted of a man and three boys, who looked to be about eight, twelve, and sixteen years old, two women, and a little girl. The man said he came from a place four coss over the hills, which we calculated to be around eight miles, but since hill measurements are usually generous, I’d guess it was actually double that distance. They had come down to the plains to help harvest the uncut rice crop, as the field owners had invited them. The man looked about five feet tall, notably lightweight and flexible, with a sharp, restless gaze typical of tribesmen. His face was round and cheerful, with an expression that combined cleverness and innocence; his nose was flat between his eyes, creating a face that made one smile. His black hair was tightly tied in a knot at the top of his head, secured with a wooden comb, and he wore a small piece of linen wrapped around his waist. He carried a bow made of hill bamboo, with a string made from the twisted bark of the bamboo, and four arrows made of common reed, each with differently shaped iron tips; one of the tips was poisoned. The hill man mentioned he had bought the poison used on the tip from a more distant hill tribe and didn’t know what it was made from; he asked us not to touch it. The locals won’t name the plant that produces the poison, as it seems to be a closely guarded secret. Each arrow had strips of vulture feathers attached. The boy was dressed and equipped similarly. The woman carrying the child appeared to be favored due to the number of ornaments she wore. She was very short but plump and healthy-looking. Unlike the women in the plains, she had no head covering and wore little clothing. A couple of yards of cloth were wrapped around her waist, falling halfway below her knees, while a square piece was draped over her shoulders like a shawl, passing under her left arm, covering her chest, and tied on her right shoulder. Her hair was styled like the man’s. Each ear was adorned with twenty-three thin brass earrings, and three or four necklaces made of red and white beads hung down to her waist in layers. Her nose ring was fairly large but very heavy, tugging down on her right nostril; it was made of silver and featured four large beads and an unusual ornament. She wore thick purple glass bangles called churees on her arms, made from coarse materials, along with other similar decorative items that I can't recall.

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.

She spoke openly and confidently. I took the man's bow and shot an arrow in the English style, which made the whole family laugh a lot, as they found it ridiculous that I didn’t shoot like a mountain person. I asked the man to show me the right technique; he put a type of ring on my thumb, placed my right forefinger straight along the arrow, and told me to pull it back using the string caught on the thumb ring. I did that and shot my arrow with better aim than when I used the English method. He was very happy when I gave him a rupee for a bow, two arrows, one of which was poisoned, and the thumb ring. He said he mainly worked at shooting animals at night by waiting for them. He crouched down to demonstrate how to wait for wild boars. When he spotted a boar nearby, he would immediately jump up and shoot his arrow, pulling it back all the way to the tip. Sometimes they kill boars with poisoned arrows; however, they eat the animals, making sure to cut out the flesh around the arrow as soon as the boar falls. He told us he had only one wife, his tirī, which is what hill men call their wives, whom he had left at home; perhaps tirī is a short form of istirī or tiriyā, meaning wife.

After our long conversation with the savages we bade them adieu, and my parting present was a pink silk handkerchief for his tirī in the Hills. We returned at two P.M. to the boats, completely fagged, with the accompaniment of headaches from the heat of the sun: unmoored the vessels, and with a good breeze reached Rajmahal at dark. During our absence some hill-men came to the boats, and offered bows to the dāndees, begging in exchange a piece of linen. They parted with them afterwards for one halfpenny a piece. I must not omit to mention the magnificent wild climber, the Cachnár, Bauhinia scandens, which I gathered in the pass. The leaves are of immense size, heart-shaped,[78] and two lobed: they collapse during the night. It is called Bauhinia from two botanical brothers, John and Caspar Bauhin, who, like its leaves, were separate and yet united. The Cachnár at Allahabad is a beautiful tree, but its leaves are not so luxuriantly large as those of the wild creeper of the Rajmahal Hills. A cold bath and a late dinner restored me to comfortable feelings, and thus ended my adventures, and a happy day in the Hills of the Sikrī-galī Pass.

After our long conversation with the locals, we said goodbye, and I gave him a pink silk handkerchief for his time in the Hills. We returned to the boats at 2 P.M., completely exhausted and with headaches from the heat of the sun. We unmoored the vessels and, with a good breeze, reached Rajmahal by nightfall. During our absence, some hill people came to the boats and offered bows to the dāndees in exchange for pieces of linen. They later sold them for half a penny each. I can't forget to mention the magnificent wild climber, the Cachnár, Bauhinia scandens, which I gathered in the pass. The leaves are huge, heart-shaped,[78] and have two lobes: they close up at night. It's named Bauhinia after the two botanical brothers, John and Caspar Bauhin, who, like its leaves, were distinct yet connected. The Cachnár at Allahabad is a beautiful tree, but its leaves aren't as large and lush as those of the wild creeper in the Rajmahal Hills. A cold bath and a late dinner made me feel comfortable again, and thus ended my adventures and a happy day in the Hills of the Sikrī-galī Pass.

[79]

CHAPTER XLV.
GAUR RUINS.

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.

Sporting at Rajmahal—Ruins of the Palace of the Nawab—Brahmani Ducks—The Ruins of Gaur—The Dacoit—An Adventure—Beautiful Ruins—Pan Gardens—The Kadam Sharif—Curious Coins—Jungle Fever—Casowtee Stone—Fields of Mustard—Ancient Bricks—Fakirs Taming Alligators—Salt Box—A Report on 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.

1836, Dec. 4th.—Early this morning, Mr. S⸺ crossed the river opposite Rajmahal with his beaters and two little spaniels. He shot six pairs of birds but could only retrieve seven due to the dense terrain. The birds are a specific type of partridge, only found, according to hunters, at Rajmahal and one other place in India, the name of which I can't recall. At one point, the beaters were unsure whether they spotted a stranded boat or an alligator; it was a magar, the snub-nosed alligator. Mr. S⸺ shot it near the front paw, and the animal rolled over in the river with a huge splash, stirring up mud with its tail in pain, and vanished beneath the water. Magars are bold and aggressive, while crocodiles are timid and are thought not to attack humans; however, young children have occasionally been found inside them when caught.

During this time I rambled over the ruins of the old palace, which is fast falling into the river; the principal rooms still[80] standing now contain a quantity of coal, the warehouse of the steamers; it must have been a handsome building in former days; the marble floor of the mosque remains, and a fine well. My guide told me that at Gaur is a fine place, belonging to this Nawāb, now in ruins. All around Rajmahal is a beautiful jungle of magnificent bamboos; such fine clumps, interspersed with date palm trees, overshadowing the cottages, around which were a number of small cows, and fowls of a remarkably good breed; every thing had an air of comfort. The walks in all directions were so cool and pleasing, that it was very late ere I could induce myself to return to breakfast. The inhabitants of this pleasant jungle are accounted great thieves; an idea quite the contrary is given from the comfortable appearance of their cottages under the clumps of bamboos, close to the river, which is covered with vessels passing up and down.

During this time, I wandered through the ruins of the old palace, which is quickly sinking into the river. The main rooms that are still standing now hold a lot of coal, the storage for the steamers. It must have been a beautiful building back in the day; the marble floor of the mosque remains, along with a nice well. My guide told me that in Gaur there is a nice place that belonged to this Nawāb, now in ruins. All around Rajmahal is a stunning jungle filled with magnificent bamboos, with lovely clusters interspersed with date palm trees, casting shade over the cottages. Nearby, there were a few small cows and some remarkably good-looking chickens; everything had a cozy vibe. The paths in every direction were so cool and enjoyable that it was very late before I could convince myself to head back for breakfast. The people living in this lovely jungle are said to be great thieves; this perception contrasts sharply with the comfortable appearance of their cottages beneath the clusters of bamboos, close to the river, which is busy with boats traveling 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.

5th.—The ruins of the ancient city of Gaur are located not far from the Ganges. We were eager to visit the site, so we left the Ganges and entered the small river, the Baugruttī sotā. Half a mile up that river is the village of Dulalpūr. We anchored our boats there because we couldn’t go any further due to the shallow water.

We explored the nālā in a dinghee, a small boat, and seeing two wild fowl (murghābī), I requested my companion to shoot one. “They are Brahmanī ducks, I do not like to kill them,” he replied; I persisted; he fired, and shot the male bird, the chakwā, it fell into the nālā, close to the boat; the hen bird, utterly unmindful of the gun, flew round and round the dinghee, uttering the most mournful cries over the dead body of her mate; poor bird, with merciful cruelty we let her live;—never again will I separate the chakwā, chakwī. The following is an extract from Forbes’ Hindūstanī Dictionary:—“Duck (wild) chākwī, chakaī. This is the large duck or goose, well known in India by the name of Brahmanī goose or duck, and in the poetry of the Hindūs, is their turtle-dove, for constancy and connubial affection, with the singular circumstance of the pair having been doomed for ever to nocturnal separation,[81] for having offended one of the Hindū divinities in days of yore; whence—

We explored the nālā in a dinghy, a small boat, and when we spotted two wild fowl (murghābī), I asked my friend to shoot one. “They’re Brahmanī ducks, I don’t want to harm them,” he replied. I insisted, he fired, and shot the male bird, the chakwā, which fell into the nālā, right next to the boat. The female bird, completely unaware of the gunshot, flew around the dinghy, making the most mournful cries over her dead mate. Poor thing, with reluctant kindness, we let her live;—I will never again separate the chakwā and chakwī. The following is an excerpt 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 Hindu poetry, it represents their turtle-dove for its loyalty and deep affection, with the unique situation of the pair being cursed to always be separated at night,[81] because they offended one of the Hindu deities long ago; hence—

“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:—

“According to popular belief, the male and female of these birds are said to occupy opposite banks of a river or stream every evening and call out to each other throughout the night like this:—”

“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.

The dārogha, the head of the nearby village, came down to the boats to greet me and offered me the use of two horses to visit Gaur. A gentleman from the indigo factory at Chandnī Kothī, two miles away, was kind enough 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.

Dec. 6th.—Early in the morning, a man was spotted watching and lurking around the boats; so I asked the servant to set out as few spoons and forks on the breakfast table as possible, in case the sight of silver attracted thieves to the boats at night. The suspicious-looking man was holding a long and oddly shaped brass lota, a drinking vessel.

The dārogha sent the horses, and the elephant arrived, with an invitation to our party to go to the factory, where we found Mr. S⸺ very weak, recovering from jungle fever; but his friend, Mr. M⸺, promised to show us the ruins. They detained us to tiffin at 3 P.M., after which, my side-saddle having been put on one of the horses, I was ready to start; when Mr. M⸺ recommended my going on the elephant, on account of the deepness of the swamps we should have to pass over. Accordingly I mounted the elephant; a number of men attended us, amongst whom were three hill-men, with their bows and arrows; Mr. M⸺ mounted his horse; we went on, and lost sight of him. The factory is situated in the midst of jungle,[82] the ground park-like around, good trees, a great number of tanks of fine water, and a large space of morass in different directions, filled with high jungle grass. My companion took his gun, he is an excellent shot; nevertheless, on account of the unusual motion on a pad, from the back of the elephant he missed his game most strangely. We started by far too late, in spite of which we saw eight wild boars, three hog deer, one black partridge, two snipe, and nine or ten monkeys. Mr. M⸺ did not join us, and we marvelled at his non-appearance. On our return he assisted me as I descended the ladder from the back of the kneeling elephant, and said he had been almost murdered. He related that he quitted the house, and having gone half a mile, was looking for us, when a man tending cows called to him, and said, “A party on an elephant are gone that way.” Mr. M⸺ turned his horse to the point indicated, when the cowherd struck him two blows with a stick, which almost knocked him from his horse; as the fellow aimed the third blow, Mr. M⸺ wrenched the stick from his hand, and cut his forehead open with a blow over the eye. The dākait, or dākū, for he was a robber by profession, ran away; the gentleman followed. The dākait, who had a brass vessel full of water in his hand, swung it round most dexterously from the end of a string, not suffering the water to escape, and sent it right at Mr. M⸺; it missed him, and fell on the horse’s head. The robber then seized him by the collar, and pulled him from his horse; they struggled together, trying to throttle each other, and the dākū hit him severely in several places; at last Mr. M⸺ made him a prisoner, returned to the factory, and having bound his arms, he secured him to a pillar in the verandah, tying his long hair also to the post, to prevent his escape. We returned from the shooting expedition just after all this had happened, and found the ground at the man’s feet covered with blood; he appeared to be a daring and resolute character. On being questioned as to his motives by the gentlemen, he pretended not to understand Hindūstanī, and to be an idiot. I went alone into the verandah: “O, my grandmother, my grandmother! Nānī Ma, Nānī Ma, save me!” exclaimed the man; “did I not bring you milk this[83] morning?” “Yes,” said my bearer, “that is true enough; I know the man by the peculiar shape of his brass lota; he was lurking about the vessel, and when spoken to said he had brought milk; the khidmatgār took it for his own use, refusing to give me a portion.” This was the man I had observed in the morning; he was remarkably well formed, light and active, with muscles well developed; the beauty of his form was not hidden by any superfluous clothing, having merely a small portion of linen around his loins; his body was well oiled, and slippery as an eel,—a great advantage in a personal struggle, it being scarcely possible to retain hold on a well-oiled skin. He told me he had been sent by an indigo-planter from the other side of the river, to take Mr. M⸺’s life. On mentioning this to the gentlemen, I found the men of his factory on the opposite side the river had quarrelled about a well with the men of another factory, and in the affray, one of Mr. M⸺’s hill-men had run the head man of the opposite party right through the body with an arrow; it was unknown whether it had proved fatal, and Mr. M⸺ had crossed the river, awaiting the result of the unfortunate affair. It was supposed the dākait had been on the watch for some time, prowling about the place as a cowherd, and attacked the indigo-planter, finding him alone and far from his servants, the latter having proceeded with the party on the elephant. The robber tending the cows was serving under the orders of the dārogha of the village, who had lent me the horses; I was informed the latter was a regular dākait, and was recommended to remove my boats from the vicinity of his village, which, I understand, is full of robbers, and close to Dulalpūr. We returned to our boats; this most disagreeable adventure made me nervous; the guns and pistols were looked to, that they might be in readiness in case of attack; it was late at night, and I proposed crossing to the other side of the Ganges; but the manjhī assured me there was more to be feared from the violence of the stream, if we attempted to cross the river during the darkness of the night, than from the vicinity of the dākaits.

The officer sent the horses, and the elephant arrived, along with an invitation to our group to go to the factory, where we found Mr. S⸺ very weak, recovering from jungle fever; however, his friend, Mr. M⸺, offered to show us the ruins. They delayed us for a light meal at 3 P.M., after which, with my side-saddle on one of the horses, I was ready to leave; when Mr. M⸺ suggested I ride the elephant because of the deep swamps we would have to cross. So, I got on the elephant; several men accompanied us, including three hill men with bows and arrows; Mr. M⸺ mounted his horse; we continued and lost sight of him. The factory is located in the middle of the jungle, [82] surrounded by park-like grounds with good trees, numerous tanks of clean water, and large areas of marsh filled with high jungle grass. My companion took his gun; he’s an excellent shot; however, because of the unusual motion while riding the elephant, he missed his target quite oddly. We left far too late, but despite that, we spotted eight wild boars, three hog deer, one black partridge, two snipe, and nine or ten monkeys. Mr. M⸺ did not join us, and we were puzzled by his absence. On our return, he assisted me as I climbed down from the elephant's back, saying he had nearly been killed. He explained that after leaving the house and walking half a mile looking for us, a man tending cows called out to him, saying, “A group on an elephant went that way.” Mr. M⸺ turned his horse towards the direction indicated, when the cowherd hit him twice with a stick, almost knocking him off his horse; as the man prepared to swing again, Mr. M⸺ managed to grab the stick and struck him over the eye, causing a cut on his forehead. The robber, or dākait, ran away; Mr. M⸺ pursued him. The dākait, holding a brass vessel full of water, skillfully swung it from a string, preventing water from spilling, and aimed it at Mr. M⸺; it missed him and splashed onto the horse’s head. The robber then grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off his horse; they struggled, trying to choke each other, and the dākait struck him hard in various places; eventually, Mr. M⸺ subdued him, returned to the factory, and after tying his arms, secured him to a pillar in the verandah, also tying his long hair to the post to prevent escape. We arrived back from our shooting trip just after all this had occurred and found the ground at the man’s feet covered in blood; he seemed to be brave and resolute. When questioned about his motives, the man pretended not to understand Hindūstanī and acted like he was mentally challenged. I went alone into the verandah: “Oh, my grandmother, my grandmother! Nānī Ma, Nānī Ma, save me!” yelled the man; “Did I not bring you milk this [83] morning?” “Yes,” my bearer replied, “that’s true; I recognize him by the unusual shape of his brass pot; he was lurking around the vessel, and when asked, claimed he brought milk; the servant took it for himself, refusing to share with me.” This was the same man I noticed in the morning; he was remarkably fit, light, and nimble, with well-defined muscles; his body was not obscured by excessive clothing, only wearing a small piece of cloth around his waist; his skin was well-oiled, making him slippery—an advantage in a struggle, as it’s nearly impossible to grip a well-oiled body. He told me he was sent by an indigo-planter from the other side of the river to kill Mr. M⸺. When I mentioned this to the gentlemen, I learned that his workers across the river had quarreled over a well with another group, and during the fight, one of Mr. M⸺’s hill men had fatally shot the opposing leader with an arrow; it was unknown whether he had died, and Mr. M⸺ had crossed the river, waiting for news from the unfortunate incident. It appeared that the dākait had been lurking for some time, disguising himself as a cowherd, and attacked the indigo-planter when he was alone and far from his workers, who had gone with the group on the elephant. The cowherd was under the orders of the village officer, who had lent me the horses; I was informed that this officer was a regular dākait and was advised to move my boats from his village, which is known for being filled with robbers and close to Dulalpūr. We returned to our boats; this very unpleasant encounter made me anxious; we checked the guns and pistols to ensure they were ready in case of an attack; it was late at night, and I suggested crossing to the other side of the Ganges; but the boatman assured me that the river's current posed more risk at night than the nearby dākaits.

7th.—We breakfasted at the factory, and then, having mounted a fine tractable male elephant, well broken in for[84] sporting, and showing very large tusks, we proceeded towards Gaur, visiting all the ruins en route, and shooting from the back of the elephant as game arose in the thick jungle and amongst the fine trees which surrounded the tanks in every direction. The country around one of the principal ruins is remarkably beautiful; the ruin stands on a rising ground, covered with the silk cotton tree, the date palm, and various other trees; and there was a large sheet of water, covered by high jungle grass, rising far above the heads of the men who were on foot.

7th.—We had breakfast at the factory, and then, after getting on a well-trained male elephant that was great for sport and had impressive tusks, we headed toward Gaur, stopping to check out all the ruins [84] along the way, shooting from the elephant's back whenever game appeared in the thick jungle and among the beautiful trees surrounding the tanks in every direction. The area around one of the main ruins is incredibly beautiful; the ruin is on an elevated piece of land covered with silk cotton trees, date palms, and various other trees; and there was a large body of water, topped with tall jungle grass, rising well above the heads of the men 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.

On the clear, deep purple water of a large tank floated the lotus in its fullest glory; the jungle vines had twisted and wrapped around all the trees; and the parasitic plants, with their red flowers, bloomed in clusters on the branches. The white granite pillars in some areas of the ruins stood tall, while in others they lay broken; a number of the pillars were made 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 Mahāwat, while we were exploring this ruin, said to us, “This is a favorite hangout for tigers, and in the month of Bysak, they come in significant numbers; you might encounter one, but it’s not very likely.” My curiosity outweighed my fear, and I couldn’t help but gaze eagerly into the thick jungle grass as we went down and crossed the water, half-hoping, half-fearing, that we’d spot a tiger sneaking around.

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 Sonā Masjid, or Golden Mosque, impressed me the most; its size and sturdiness create a feeling similar to that experienced in the dark, grand aisles of a cathedral. I won't go into detail about the ruins, but I will include a description I was allowed to copy, written by Mr. Chambers, an indigo planter who, after living in Gaur for thirty-six years, has had the chance to inspect them more thoroughly than I could. I took home several of the decorated bricks, including those with a glazed finish similar to Dutch tiles.

The gateway of the fort, with its moat below, is fine; the ramparts are covered with large trees. Lying in a field beyond the ramparts is a tombstone of one single block of black marble, an enormous mass of solid marble. At 5 P.M. the khidmatgārs informed us that two chakor (perdix chukar) and a wild duck, having been roasted in gipsy fashion under the trees,[85] dinner was ready; we seated ourselves near one of the ruins, and partook of refreshment with infinite glee. No sooner was it ended, than, remounting the elephant, we went to the ruins of a hunting tower: approaching it from every point, it is a beautiful object seen above the woods, or through the intervals between the trees. Akbar beautified the city, and may probably have built this circular tower,—a column of solid masonry, within which winds a circular stair. At Fathīpūr Sicrī is a tower, somewhat of a similar description, built by Akbar, and used as a hunting tower; people were sent forth to drive the game from every part towards the minār, from the top of which the emperor massacred his game at leisure. This tower at Gaur, much more beautifully situated, with a greater command of country, may have been used for a similar purpose. The building is on a larger scale, and much handsomer than the one at Fathīpūr Sicrī.

The fort's entrance, with its moat below, looks great; the walls are lined with tall trees. Beyond the walls, in a field, lies a gravestone made from a single block of black marble, an immense piece of solid marble. At 5 PM, the attendants told us that two chukar partridges and a wild duck, roasted in a Gypsy style under the trees,[85] were ready for dinner; we settled near one of the ruins and enjoyed our meal with great joy. As soon as we finished, we got back on the elephant and headed to the ruins of a hunting tower: from every angle, it's a stunning sight above the trees or through the gaps between them. Akbar enhanced the city and might have built this circular tower—a solid masonry column with a spiral staircase inside. There is a tower at Fathīpūr Sicrī that is somewhat similar, built by Akbar, and used as a hunting tower; people were sent out to drive the game toward the minaret, where the emperor leisurely hunted from the top. This tower at Gaur, situated even more beautifully with a better view of the landscape, may have served a similar purpose. The structure is larger and much more attractive 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.

My friend climbed up the hunting tower; navigating the jagged stones, which was quite challenging, he made it to the dome, now in ruins but still showing its egg shape clearly. He enjoyed the view and wanted me to come up too, but I hesitated because of the difficulty of getting to the entrance porch, which is made of beautifully carved black stone.

There is one thing to observe with relation to the buildings: judging from the exterior ornaments on the stones, they would be pronounced Muhammadan; but, on taking out the stones, the other side presents Hindoo images; as if the conquerors had just turned and ornamented the stones according to their own fashion. The Hindoo idols around Gaur have generally been broken; the interior of the buildings, presenting pillars of massive stone, appear to me Hindoo: this point I leave to the learned, and rest content myself with admiring their fallen grandeur. The peepul tree and the banyan spring from the crevices, twisting their roots between the masses of stone, destroying the buildings with great rapidity; the effect, nevertheless, is so picturesque, one cannot wish the foliage to be destroyed. Crossing a bridge, we saw what I supposed to be the dry trunk of a tree; it was a large alligator asleep on the edge of a morass. Mr. S⸺ fired, the ball struck him just[86] below the shoulders, and from the paralyzed appearance of the animal must have entered the spine; he opened his enormous jaws and uttered a cry of agony. A second bullet missed him; he made an effort, and slipped over into the water, which became deeply dyed with his blood. Every tank is full of alligators. He sank to the bottom, and the dāndees lost a meal, by them considered very agreeable. I roamed on the elephant until it was very dark, when I got into the palanquin; one of the party rode by its side, and amused himself by catching fire-flies in his hand, and throwing them into the palkee. How beautifully the fire-flies flitted about over the high jungle grass that covered the morasses! As they crossed before the dark foliage of the trees, they were seen in peculiar brilliancy.

There’s one thing to notice about the buildings: judging by the decorative carvings on the stones, they seem to be of Muhammadan style. However, if you flip the stones over, the other side reveals Hindu images, almost as if the conquerors just turned the stones and decorated them in their own way. The Hindu idols around Gaur are mostly broken; the insides of the buildings, with their massive stone pillars, seem Hindu to me. I’ll leave that point to the experts and content myself with appreciating their fallen grandeur. The peepul and banyan trees are growing through the cracks, twisting their roots among the stone masses, quickly destroying the buildings. Yet the effect is so picturesque that you can’t want the greenery gone. While crossing a bridge, I thought I saw a dry tree trunk; it turned out to be a large alligator sleeping at the edge of a swamp. Mr. S⸺ fired a shot, hitting it just below the shoulders, and it seemed to have entered its spine because the animal looked paralyzed. It opened its massive jaws and let out a cry of pain. A second bullet missed, and it made an effort to slip into the water, which quickly turned red with its blood. Every tank is filled with alligators. It sank to the bottom, and the dāndees missed a meal they found quite enjoyable. I wandered on the elephant until it got very dark, then I got into the palanquin, while one of our group rode alongside, entertaining himself by catching fireflies in his hand and tossing them into the palkee. How beautifully the fireflies flitted about over the tall jungle grass that covered the swamps! As they passed in front of the dark foliage of the trees, they shone with a unique brightness.

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 the jungle, I saw several pān gardens, carefully covered. Pān (piper betel), a type of pepper plant, is grown for its leaves; the vine is a perennial creeper, very long, and roots at every joint; the leaves have a fragrant aroma and a sharp taste. In India, its native land, it is shielded from the weather by bamboo screens. The root of the pān, known as khoolinjān, is valued as a medicine and considered an antidote to poison.

In one of the buildings you are shown the kadam sharīf, or the prints of the honoured feet of the prophet; over which is a silken canopy. The door is always fastened, and a pious Musalmān claps his hands three times, and utters some holy words ere he ventures to cross the threshold. This ceremony omitted, is, they say, certain and instantaneous death to the impious wretch: but this penalty only attaches itself to the followers of the prophet, as we found no ill effect from the omission. In the Qanoon-e-islam the history of the kadam-i-rasūl, the footstep of the prophet, is said to be as follows: “As the prophet (the peace and blessing of God be with him!), after the battle of Ohud (one of the forty or fifty battles in which the prophet had been personally engaged), was one day ascending a hill, in a rage, by the heat of his passion the mountain softened into the consistence of wax, and retained, some say eighteen, others forty impressions of his feet. When the angel Gabriel[87] (peace be unto him!) brought the divine revelation that it did not become him to get angry, the prophet (the peace! &c.) inquired what was the cause of this rebuke. Gabriel replied, ‘Look behind you for a moment and behold.’ His excellency, when he perceived the impressions of his feet on the stones, became greatly astonished, and his wrath immediately ceased. Some people have these very impressions, while others make artificial ones to imitate them. Some people keep a qudum-e-russool, footstep of the prophet, or the impression of a foot on stone in their houses, placed in a box, and covered with a mahtabee or tagtee covering; and this, they say, is the impression of the foot of the prophet (the peace! &c.).

In one of the buildings, you see the kadam sharīf, or the prints of the honored feet of the prophet, which are covered by a silken canopy. The door is always secured, and a devout Muslim claps his hands three times and says some sacred words before he dares to step inside. They say that skipping this ceremony ensures immediate death for the impious person, but this penalty only applies to the followers of the prophet, as we experienced no negative effects from not following it. In the Qanoon-e-Islam, the history of the kadam-i-rasūl, the footprint of the prophet, goes like this: “After the Battle of Uhud (one of the many battles the prophet personally fought), the prophet (peace and blessings of God be upon him!) was climbing a hill one day, and in his rage, the mountain became as soft as wax, leaving behind, as some say, eighteen, while others say forty footprints. When the angel Gabriel (peace be upon him!) conveyed the divine message that it was not suitable for him to be angry, the prophet (peace, etc.) asked why he was being reprimanded. Gabriel responded, ‘Look behind you for a moment and see.’ When he saw the impressions of his feet on the rocks, he was greatly astonished, and his anger immediately dissipated. Some people have these actual impressions, while others make fake ones to imitate them. Some people keep a qudum-e-russool, a footprint of the prophet, or the imprint of a foot on stone in their homes, placed in a box and covered with a mahtabee or tagtee covering; and they claim this is the footprint of the prophet (peace, etc.).

“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.”

“On this day (the bara-wufât), such places are beautifully decorated. They cover the chest with moqeish and zurbaft, place the qudum-e-moobarik (blessed foot) on it, or put it in a taboot; and surround it with lovely moorch’huls or chawn-urs; just like during the Mohurrum festival, they light up the house, play music, burn frankincense, and wave moorch’huls over it. Five or six people, in a style similar to a song or murseea, recite the mowlood, dorood Qoran, his mowjeezay (or miracles), and wafat nama (or the history of his death); the latter in Hindostanee so that the people can understand it and feel sympathy and sorrow for him.”

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.

Some Muslim tombs are also visible here: the area is surrounded by beautiful trees, and on the branches are hundreds of monkeys jumping from branch to branch in every direction. The fakir in charge of the kadam-i-mubārak, the blessed foot, asked for alms; I promised to give some if he would bring me some of the old rupees or any coin dug up in Gaur. Coins are often found in large quantities, but the locals are scared to show any treasure they have, fearing they’ll be made to hand it over to the Company. I couldn't get any coins; however, I hope to acquire a few through my friends at the factory. The silver coins are quite large and thin. A carved sandalwood curiosity was displayed in the building of the Kadam Sharīf; I can't remember its name.

After this long day spent in exploring the ruins, we stopped[88] at the factory. Mr. S⸺ blamed us highly for having remained so late in the jungle, on account of the fever, so likely to be caught after sunset. With him we found Mr. Chambers, also an indigo-planter, who gave me a specimen taken out of a casowtee stone. In boring the stone for some water in the factory, a portion, which appeared to consist of gold and silver, incorporated with the stone, fell out. The casowtee stone is esteemed very valuable; its colour is black: this was dug up in the Rakabud Mosque at Gaur. Having thanked our new acquaintances for their great attention and hospitality, we returned to the boats. I was much over-fatigued, and ached in every limb from the motion of the elephant, one accounted exceedingly rough. The former night the fear of robbery had rendered me sleepless; that night I was so much fatigued, a dākait would have had hard work to awaken me.

After spending a long day exploring the ruins, we stopped[88] at the factory. Mr. S⸺ was quite upset with us for staying out so late in the jungle, worrying about the malaria that can easily be caught after sunset. There, we met Mr. Chambers, another indigo planter, who showed me a piece taken from a casowtee stone. While boring the stone for water in the factory, a bit that looked like gold and silver mixed in with the stone fell out. The casowtee stone is considered very valuable; it’s black in color and was dug up at the Rakabud Mosque in Gaur. After thanking our new friends for their kindness and hospitality, we headed back to the boats. I was completely exhausted and ached all over from the rough ride on the elephant. The night before, I couldn’t sleep because I was scared of getting robbed; but that night, I was so tired that a dākait would have had a hard time waking 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.

The area around Gaur is very open, dotted with countless beautiful tanks and large trees. The fields stretch out in a brilliant golden hue in every direction; the mustard plants were in full bloom, their bright yellow flowers looking vibrant against the backdrop of trees, ancient ruins, and bodies of water. The mustard plant (sinapis dichotoma) is one of the varieties grown in Bengal in large amounts for the oil extracted from its seeds, which is used for lighting lamps and in Indian cooking. The bricks used in the buildings are quite small and thin, well-fired, and heavy, bonded only with lime—no mortar has been used—making the ruins very durable and creating a challenge to remove any brick, due to how solidly they are held together.

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.

I'm told the tanks are filled with alligators; the crocodile is in the Ganges, but not in the tanks at Gaur; and these fierce, snub-nosed alligators in some tanks are pretty tame, coming up when the fakīrs call them and taking live kids offered by their hands: cattle are often caught and eaten by them.

8th.—I awoke much too weary to attempt hog-hunting, although the elephants were attired on the bank. Close to, and on the right of Dulalpūr, hares, black partridge, and peacocks[89] were numerous. In the marshes were wild hogs in droves of from two to three hundred; and little pigs squeaking and running about were seen with several of the droves.

8th.—I woke up feeling too tired to go hog-hunting, even though the elephants were just on the bank. Nearby, to the right of Dulalpūr, there were plenty of hares, black partridge, and peacocks[89]. In the marshes, there were wild hogs in groups of two to three hundred, and little piglets squeaking and scurrying around could be seen with some of the groups.

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.

The man who went out on the elephant came back, bringing two large wild boars and a young pig with him. We had the tusks removed and gave the meat to the servants, as I was too much of a Muslim myself to eat any type of pork. The Rajputs will eat wild boar meat, but they refuse to eat domesticated pigs.

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.

Mr. Chambers came down to the river, where he had eight boats filled with indigo worth two lakh. He showed me some beautiful old casowtee stones covered with Hindu images that were dug up in Gaur, and gave me some samples of the Gaur bricks; the stones he is sending back home to the factory owner, Lord Glenelg. From the hill-men in charge of the indigo boats, I got what they use as a salt-box, which they made themselves; it was just one section of a thick bamboo, intricately carved and painted, in which they carry their salt. They also gave me an arrow for bruising, with an iron tip like a bullet. Thus ended a really interesting visit; and to this account, I will add Mr. Chambers’ description of the place, copied from his manuscript.

“THE RUINS OF GAUR.

"THE RUINS OF GAUR."

“The ancient city of Gaur, said to have been the capital of Bengal, seven hundred and fifty years before the commencement of the Christian era, is now an uninhabited waste. It is situated on the east side of the Ganges, and runs nearly in a direction with it from S.E. to N.N.W., about twenty-five miles below Rajmahal. It lies in N. lat. 24° 53′, and in E. long. 88° 14′, and is supposed by Rennell to be the Gangia regia of Ptolemy. It has borne various names; it was formerly called Lutchmavutee or Lucknowtee, as well as Gaur; and when repaired and beautified in 1575, by the great Akbar, who is said to have been particularly attached to this city, it received from him the name of Zennuttabad, from his fancying it a kind of terrestrial Paradise. The extent of the city appears, from the old embankments which[90] enclosed it on every side, to have been ten miles long and two miles broad. These banks were sufficiently capable of guarding it from floods during the rising of the Ganges, when the rest of the country was inundated, as well as defending the place from an enemy, as there are mounds of earth from thirty to forty feet in height, and from one to two hundred feet broad at the base, the removal of the earth forming deep broad ditches on the outside of the banks. Some of these embankments were defended by brickwork. On the outside, the city has two embankments two hundred feet wide, running parallel to each other, at five hundred and eighty feet asunder, probably for greater security against a large lake to the eastward, which in strong weather drives with great violence against it during the season of the inundations. The principal passes through these banks to the city had gateways, two of which, one at the south end, and the other at the north end, are still standing, and the remains of others that have been destroyed are visible. The suburbs extended (there being sufficient vestiges of them to be traced) at least to a distance of four miles from each of those gates. Two grand roads led through the whole length of the city, raised with earth and paved with bricks, terminating with the gate at the south end. Where drains and canals intersected the roads, are the remains of bridges built over them.

“The ancient city of Gaur, believed to have been the capital of Bengal seven hundred and fifty years before the start of the Christian era, is now an uninhabited wasteland. It is located on the east side of the Ganges and runs almost parallel to it from S.E. to Northeast Northwest, about twenty-five miles south of Rajmahal. It sits at N. lat. 24° 53′ and E. long. 88° 14′, and is thought by Rennell to be the Gangia regia mentioned by Ptolemy. The city has had several names; it was previously called Lutchmavutee or Lucknowtee, as well as Gaur. When it was restored and beautified in 1575 by the great Akbar, who is said to have been particularly fond of this city, he named it Zennuttabad, believing it to be a kind of earthly Paradise. The city's size, based on the old embankments that surrounded it on all sides, appears to have been ten miles long and two miles wide. These banks were effective in protecting it from floods during the rise of the Ganges, even when the surrounding areas were submerged, as well as defending the city from enemies, featuring mounds of earth that rise thirty to forty feet high and measure one to two hundred feet wide at the base, leaving deep, broad ditches on the outside. Some of these embankments were reinforced with brickwork. On the outside, the city has two embankments, each two hundred feet wide, running parallel to one another, spaced five hundred and eighty feet apart, likely for added protection against a large lake to the east that aggressively pushes against it during flood season. The main entrances through these banks to the city had gates, two of which, one at the south end and another at the north end, are still standing, and remnants of others that have been destroyed can still be seen. The suburbs extended—enough remnants exist to trace—at least four miles from each of those gates. Two major roads ran the entire length of the city, raised with earth and paved with bricks, ending at the gate on the south end. Where drains and canals crossed the roads, the remains of bridges were 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.

“The buildings and mosques must have been very numerous; the debris and stones that remain still indicate where they stood. The two mosques known as the golden mosques and the Nuttee Musjeed are definitely the best examples 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.

“In the middle of the city stood a fort, almost square, extending about a mile on each side, featuring a bank or rampart that was forty feet high. There is now a wall remaining that spans nearly a quarter of a mile, and in some spots, it reaches between seventy and eighty feet in height. This wall surrounds a large area that is divided into three sections and is believed to have enclosed the king’s palace. The gates leading to the fort and another to Shah Husain’s tomb are partially intact but overgrown with trees and filled with bats and reptiles, just like the ditches are filled with alligators.”

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“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.

“The entire boundary, which includes the fort and city, has countless tanks and ponds of different sizes. The Saugur-dighee tank is a mile long and half a mile wide; along with three or four others, it is one of the best and largest water cisterns in the area.”

“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.

“At one of the tanks, the Muslims make offerings to the alligators, which has made them so tame that 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

The following observations on the ruins that still remain largely intact begin with the great

“GOLDEN MOSQUE.

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.

“This impressive building seems to stand almost at the center of this ancient capital. It’s constructed from brick but decorated on all sides with black porphyry stone. This mosque appears to be surrounded by a wall, which, on the east side of the building, creates a courtyard about three hundred feet long and two hundred and fifty feet wide. The mosque itself measures one hundred and seventy feet in length from north to south and one hundred and thirty feet in width. These dimensions can be easily determined, as the north and south doors of the mosque, which mark its length, are still intact, and the width can be approximately calculated from one range and the ruins of the others that still stand. Its interior height is about sixty feet, but it's likely that the tops of its tall domes reached a height of one hundred feet from the ground. The inside layout has a unique appearance. The width is split into six sections resembling the aisles of a church. These aisles are twelve feet wide; as they extend the entire length of the building from north to south, they measure slightly over one hundred and fifty feet long.”

“The six walls which once divided them and supported the roof were eight feet in thickness, built of brick, and covered with black porphyry to a considerable height. These ranges of aisles are not formed of solid masonry; each of them is intersected by eleven openings from east to west, of somewhat more than six feet in breadth. This, in reality, divided the wall[92] which supports the roof of each range into twelve massy columns of eight feet square, so that the whole building contained seventy-two of these columns, eight feet both in length and breadth, of which the six outer ones on the two sides north and south adhering to the outside wall, left sixty within to support the roof. These rows of columns closed over each aisle, and thus formed six semicircular roofs, covering and extending the whole length of each aisle. It was, however, only that part furnished by each column which formed the arches of these six semicircular roofs; the eleven spaces which intersect each range, were formed above into domes about eleven feet in diameter within, and terminating in a point without. Of these six ranges or aisles, only one, that on the east side, is now entire, although traces of the other five are still visible. Of the domes in this range, the roofs of five are entire; those of two more are merely open at the top; in three more the roof has entirely fallen in; and the roofs on the rest having half fallen, seem to threaten the spectator with instant destruction, should any part of the mouldering ruin fall whilst he is walking underneath.

The six walls that once separated them and supported the roof were eight feet thick, made of brick, and covered with black porphyry to a significant height. These aisles aren't made of solid masonry; each one has eleven openings running from east to west, each just over six feet wide. This effectively divided the wall[92] that supports the roof of each aisle into twelve massive columns, each eight feet square, so the entire building contains seventy-two of these columns, eight feet long and wide, with the six outer ones on the north and south sides attached to the exterior wall, leaving sixty inside to support the roof. These rows of columns topped each aisle, creating six semicircular roofs that covered and extended the full length of each aisle. However, only the portions provided by each column formed the arches of these six semicircular roofs; the eleven spaces that intersect each aisle were shaped above into domes about eleven feet in diameter inside, tapering to a point outside. Of these six aisles, only the one on the east side is still intact, though remnants of the other five are still visible. Of the domes in this aisle, five roofs are complete; two are just open at the top; three have completely collapsed; and the roofs of the others have partially fallen, seemingly threatening anyone beneath with imminent collapse if any part of the crumbling ruin were to fall while they were 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.

“The outer walls are nine feet thick. They're made of small, very hard bricks, bonded with excellent cement. The entire structure appears to have endured much less damage from looting than from the many shrubs and trees growing on it, which, by pushing their roots into the cracks in the walls, pose a serious threat to the whole thing, leading to its inevitable and rapid breakdown.”

“Proceeding about a mile distant from the above-mentioned mosque, there is a large

“Proceeding about a mile away from the above-mentioned mosque, there is a large

“OBELISK,

“Obelisk,"

“which stands alone, completely separate from any other building. It is supposed to have been erected for an observatory, or for the sake of calling the inhabitants to the regular performance of their daily devotions. It contains four stories, with a staircase within. The first story, about twelve feet from the ground, must be entered by a ladder. The wall is marked by many small windows placed over each other in a perpendicular[93] line. The top is now completely open, but appears to have been formerly surmounted by a dome. On the wall within is discerned the vestiges of numerous former visitors, and their initials cut in the stones with the date annexed. Many of these names were identified: directing attention to the most ancient, to discover, if possible, how long this has been the resort of European visitors, we traced ‘W. Harwood, April 17th, 1771;’ ‘G. Grey, 1772;’ ‘I. Henchman;’ ‘G. W.;’ ‘H. C.;’ and many others: inspecting more narrowly the initials ‘M. V., 1683,’ are deciphered. This was the remotest date ascertained: this reaches into the middle of the famous Aurunzebe’s reign, and it may easily be supposed that the place had fallen into decay at least a hundred and eighty years, if not more. Who this European traveller could have been is a matter of conjecture; but it is agreed that he was some gentleman from Holland or Portugal. This date, if Gaur had fallen into decay previous to his visit, might ascertain the time of its having been abandoned.

“which stands alone, completely separate from any other building. It is thought to have been built for an observatory or to call the inhabitants to their daily prayers. It has four stories, with a staircase inside. The first story, about twelve feet off the ground, must be accessed by a ladder. The wall features many small windows stacked vertically. The top is now completely open but seems to have once had a dome. Inside, you can see the remnants of many past visitors, with their initials carved into the stones along with the date. Many of these names were recognized; focusing on the oldest, we found ‘W. Harwood, April 17th, 1771;’ ‘G. Grey, 1772;’ ‘I. Henchman;’ ‘G. W.;’ ‘H. C.;’ and several others. Looking closely, we deciphered the initials ‘M. V., 1683.’ This was the earliest date found, reaching back into the middle of the famous Aurunzebe’s reign, and it’s easy to assume that the place had been in decline for at least one hundred eighty years, if not longer. Who this European traveler might have been is a matter of speculation, but it's generally believed he was a gentleman from Holland or Portugal. If Gaur had already fallen into disrepair before his visit, this date might indicate when it was 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.

“If the Emperor of Delhi, Akbar, who was a contemporary of our Elizabeth, restored and enhanced it, the time between this visit and the peak glory of Gaur could not have been more than ninety years.

“The height of the upper story from the ground is seventy-one feet. When to this is added the height of the cupola, &c., it seems probable that one hundred feet was the original height of the building. The diameter of the area in the upper story is precisely ten feet: as the extreme diameter at the bottom is only twenty-one feet, if the thickness of the two walls is reckoned at about three and a half, the extreme diameter of the upper story will be seventeen feet, so that in a height of seventy feet, its diameter has lessened little more than three feet, a circumstance which reflects the highest credit both on the architect and the materials of the building, as it has resisted the strongest hurricanes for so many hundred years. The steps of the staircase, which remain entire, are about fifty, but in many instances the intermediate ones are worn away. The windows are formed of black porphyry, which appears to have been intended for support as well as ornament, as the stones about[94] two feet in length and one in breadth, and nearly a foot in thickness, support each other by means of tenons formed in the stone itself; and they, in several instances, stand firm, although the brickwork has fallen from them, whilst they are really firm; however, they assume so threatening an aspect from their appearing loose, that the visitor is almost afraid of being crushed beneath them.

The height of the upper story from the ground is seventy-one feet. Adding the height of the cupola, it's likely that the original height of the building was one hundred feet. The diameter of the area in the upper story is exactly ten feet; since the maximum diameter at the bottom is only twenty-one feet, and if the thickness of the two walls is about three and a half feet, the maximum diameter of the upper story will be seventeen feet. This means that over a height of seventy feet, its diameter has decreased by just over three feet, which really highlights the skill of the architect and the quality of the materials used, as they have withstood the strongest hurricanes for so many years. The staircase, which is still intact, has about fifty steps, but many of the intermediate ones have worn away. The windows are made of black porphyry, which seem to have been designed for support as well as decoration, as the stones, about two feet long, one foot wide, and nearly one foot thick, interlock with each other through tenons formed in the stone itself. In several cases, they remain stable even though the brickwork has crumbled away, creating a precarious look that makes visitors fear being crushed beneath them.

“To the southward, about half a mile beyond the obelisk, is the

“To the south, about half a mile past the obelisk, is the

“NUTTEE MUSJEED,

"NUTTEE MOSQUE,"

“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.

“by some Europeans called the China mosque, due to the colorful bricks used in its construction. However, this building has little more in common with a mosque than a slight resemblance in its exterior design, and there’s nothing inside that matches the interior of the grand Golden Mosque; it clearly seems designed for entertainment purposes. It is the best-preserved structure still standing at Gaur. Its total length from east to west is about seventy-two feet, its width approximately fifty-four feet, and its height around seventy feet. The outer walls, which are nine feet thick, are made from very small bricks, measuring no more than four inches long, three inches wide, and one and a half inches thick; yet these bricks are so well-crafted, and the cement is so strong, that the building almost has the stability of stone. The surfaces of these bricks are painted and glazed in alternating colors of yellow, white, green, and blue, and the whole structure appears to have been finished with a level of neatness approaching elegance. The east, north, and south sides each have three doors, totaling nine in all; the west side is sealed off. The arch of the middle door on each side is about eleven feet high, while the other two are around nine feet tall. The width is roughly six feet. Upon entering through the east door, a partition wall comes into view, creating a space twelve feet deep and extending across the entire width of the building. This indicates that the east was meant to be the front entrance, as it formed a sort of porch leading to the vestibule, where servants likely waited.”

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“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 space inside this creates a beautiful room, about thirty-six feet square, with four walls that rise up and form a grand dome. We couldn't measure the height of this roomy space exactly, but it looks like it's between forty to fifty feet. A room this large and tall, without any pillars, beams, or rafters, is truly remarkable; and when you consider the age of the building, the small size of the bricks used, and its well-preserved condition, it becomes clear that the art of building in Bengal was understood much better in the past in terms of durability than what any modern structure in the capital of India shows today. Has European science and skill really been surpassed by the earlier knowledge of a nation seen as only half-civilized?”

“THE SOUTH GATE

"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.

formed the southern boundary of the city; its impressive arch still stands, thirty-five feet wide; on each side is a block of masonry measuring sixty feet square, and its height is nearly equal to that of the arch above the gateway, which is just over sixty feet. The masonry connects on both the east and west sides by an earthen rampart, also sixty feet high, and it’s covered with various types of trees. However, this rampart would have provided only weak defense against a European army, no matter how it was viewed 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.

“Many mosques, along with the ruins of old buildings and a large number of beautiful stone pillars that once held up magnificent structures, can be found tangled in jungle and tall grass, completely covered in some spots and lying flat in others, as their foundations were dug up for bricks and stones. The towns of Malda, Rajmahal, and Moorshadabad have been supplied with building materials from Gaur, which are still regularly taken to the nearby towns and villages to construct local homes.”

“In passing through so large an extent of that which was once a scene of human grandeur, nothing presents itself but these few remains; trees and grass now fill up the space, giving[96] shelter to a variety of wild creatures; buffaloes, deer, wild hogs, monkeys, peacocks, and the common fowl, now become wild; the roar of the tiger, the cry of the peacock, the howls of the jackals, with the company of bats and troublesome insects, soon become familiar to those inhabiting the neighbourhood.”

“In traveling through such a vast area that used to be a place of human greatness, all that remains are these few remnants; trees and grass now cover the ground, providing shelter for various wild animals; buffalo, deer, wild pigs, monkeys, peacocks, and domesticated chickens that have now gone wild; the roar of the tiger, the call of the peacock, the howls of the jackals, along with the presence of bats and pesky insects, quickly become familiar to those living nearby.”

Extracts from an old work on India.

Excerpts from an old book about 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.’

‘India was first discovered by the Portuguese in 1497, and at that time, even when Emperor Akbar began his reign in 1556, Gaur was a thriving 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.’

‘Gaur, the main city in Bengal, is located on the banks of the Ganges, stretching three leagues in length, with 1,200,000 families, and is well fortified. The streets are wide and straight, lined with trees that provide shade for the huge number of people, so many that sometimes individuals get trampled to death.’

“To the contemplative mind, what a striking example must a review of Gaur present of the uncertain state of sublunary things!”

“To a thoughtful person, what a striking example must a review of Gaur present of the uncertain state of earthly matters!”

“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.

“The Ruins of Gaur,” featuring eighteen color plates, was published in 1817, in a single quarto volume, based on the manuscript and sketches of the late H. Creighton, Esq.; it is a rare and intriguing work.

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CHAPTER XLVI.
Sketches in Bengal—The Sundarbans.

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.

Toll at Jungipūr—Bengali Women—Palace of the Nawab of Murshidabad—Peacock Feathers—Snake Boats—Kasimbazar—Berhampore—Citra Oranges—Cutwa Cloth—Culna—The Timber Raft—Chandernagore—Shola Floats—The Hooghly—Chinsurah—Barrackpore—Serampore—Corn Mills—The Shipping—Chandpal Ghat—River Fakirs—M. le Général Allard—Assam Leaf Insect—The Races—Kali Ma—Dwarkanath Tagore—The Foot of a Chinese Lady—Left Calcutta—The Steamer and Flat—The Sundarbans—Mud Islands—Tigers—The Wood-cutters—Kaloo-rayu—Settlements—Culna—Commercially—Rajmahal—Monghyr—Coolness of a Native—Pleasures of Welcome—The Vaccine Department—The Gaja Raja performs Pooja as a Fakir—The Eclipse—The Plague—The Lottery—Conversations in the Zenana—The Autograph—Delicacy of Native Ladies—Death of the King of Oudh—The Padshah Begum—Moona Jah—The King’s Uncle raised to the Throne.

1836, Dec. 9th.—Arrived at Jungipūr, where a toll was levied of six rupees on my bajrā, usually called budjerow, and two rupees on the cook boat,—a tax for keeping open a deep channel in the river. During the hour we anchored there, and the servants were on shore for provisions, I was much amused watching the women bathing; they wade into the stream, wash their dresses, and put them on again all wet, as they stand in the water; wash their hair and their bodies, retaining all the time some part of their drapery, which assumes the most classical appearance. They wear their hair fastened behind in the Grecian fashion, large silver nose-rings, a great number of white ivory churees (bracelets) on their arms, with a pair of very large silver bangles on the wrists,[98] and massive ornaments of silver on their ankles; their drapery white, with, perhaps, an edge of some gay colour; bright brass vessels for water (gāgrī), or of porous red earthenware (gharā), in which they carry back the river water to their dwellings. Having bathed, they repeat their prayers, with their hands palm to palm raised to their faces, and turning in pooja to particular points. After sipping the water a certain number of times, taking it up in their hands, they trip away in their wet drapery, which dries as they walk. The skin of the women in Bengal is of a better tinge than that of the up-country women; they are small, well-formed, and particularly graceful in their movements.

1836, Dec. 9th.—I arrived in Jungipūr, where they charged six rupees for my bajrā, commonly known as budjerow, and two rupees for the cook boat—this was a fee for maintaining a deep channel in the river. While we anchored there for an hour and the staff went ashore to get supplies, I was entertained watching the women bathing; they wade into the water, wash their clothes, and put them back on while they're still wet, standing in the stream. They wash their hair and bodies while keeping part of their drapery, which takes on a very classical look. They style their hair fastened at the back like the Greeks, wear large silver nose rings, many white ivory churees (bracelets) on their arms, a pair of oversized silver bangles on their wrists,[98] and heavy silver ornaments on their ankles; their garments are white, possibly trimmed with a bright color; they carry bright brass water vessels (gāgrī) or porous red earthenware pots (gharā) to bring water back home. After bathing, they pray with their hands together, raised to their faces, and turn in pooja towards specific directions. After sipping the water a certain number of times, taking it in their hands, they walk away in their wet clothes, which dry as they move. The skin of the women in Bengal has a better tone than that of the women from the interior; they are petite, well-proportioned, and especially elegant 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.

10th.—As you approach Murshidabad, the Bhaugruttī is stunningly beautiful and offers countless views that would make amazing sketches. Right now, we’re passing the Nawab's residence, or rather, the palace that’s being built for him; it’s located by the river, which has a lovely stretch of water dotted with all kinds of vessels, each with their own charming and exotic designs. A nice breeze is blowing, and the boats all around me are in various picturesque and beautiful positions. The palace, which is nearly finished, is an impressive structure, a huge and grand piece of architecture built under the supervision of Colonel Macleod.

The mor-pankhī, a kind of pleasure boat, with the long neck and head of a peacock, most richly gilt and painted, and the snake boats, used on days of festival, are fairy-like, picturesque, fanciful, and very singular. Pinnaces for hire are here in numbers. The merchant-boats built at this place are of peculiar and beautiful form, as if the builder had studied both effect and swiftness; the small boats, over which rafts are fastened to float down wood; the fishermen’s little vessels, that appear almost too small and fragile to support the men, and which fly along impelled only by one oar; the well-wooded banks, the mosques, and the mut’hs (Hindoo temples), mixed with curiously built native houses;—all unite in forming a scene of peculiar beauty. Kasīm bazār adjoins Moorshadabad; both are famous for silk of every sort. In the evening we anchored at Berhampūr; the[99] budgerow was instantly crowded with people, bringing carved ivory toys, chess-men, elephants, &c., for sale, and silk merchants, with handkerchiefs and Berhampūr silk in abundance; all asking more than double the price they intended to take. Four more dāndees having deserted, I have been obliged to apply to the Judge Sāhib to procure other men.

The mor-pankhī, a type of pleasure boat, has a long neck and head shaped like a peacock, beautifully gilded and painted, while the snake boats, used during festivals, are enchanting, picturesque, fanciful, and quite unique. There are plenty of pinnaces available for hire. The merchant boats made here have a distinct and beautiful design, as if the builders focused on both appearance and speed; the smaller boats, which have rafts attached to carry wood; the fishermen's tiny vessels, which seem almost too delicate to hold the men and move swiftly with just one oar; the lush banks, the mosques, and the mut’hs (Hindu temples), mixed in with uniquely built native houses—together, they create a scene of distinctive beauty. Kasīm bazār is next to Moorshadabad, both of which are known for their various types of silk. In the evening, we anchored at Berhampūr; the[99] budgerow quickly attracted a crowd, with people selling carved ivory toys, chess pieces, elephants, etc., along with silk merchants offering handkerchiefs and plenty of Berhampūr silk; all of them asking more than double the prices they actually expected to get. With four more dāndees having deserted, I had to ask Judge Sāhib to help me find more 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.

The tastiest oranges are available here, with thin and fine peels and excellent flavor; the locals call them “cintra,” likely introduced by the Portuguese. The station runs along the riverbank, which is nicely maintained, making it a pleasant and refreshing evening stroll for the residents. I felt drawn to buy some intricately carved ivory chess pieces, an elephant, etc., all very affordable and well-made from good ivory; I also couldn't resist picking up 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.

12th.—At Cutwa, cotton cloth was available for sale; I bought some, but the purchase caused more hassle than it was worth. The vendors asked for eighteen sicca-rupees for each piece of eighteen yards and accepted eleven Furrukhabad rupees; the mosquito curtains, which they originally wanted five rupees each for, were sold for three.

14th.—Arrived at Culna, to which place the tide comes up. Here we anchored, to buy charcoal and clarified butter for my own consumption, and rice for the dāndees. We have passed a great many timber rafts that are floating down to Calcutta, with wood, for sale; the timber is cut in the hills. The stems of two large trees are lashed across a boat, and, passing over the sides to a considerable distance, support a number of trees, which float on the water, fastened along both sides of the boat; on the boat itself is a thatched shed. On each raft are two hill-men, their black bodies and heads completely shaved; with no clothing but a bit of cloth passed between the limbs, and supported by a string tied round the waist. They have a wild look as they row with their bamboo oars the unwieldy rafts, three or four of which are fastened together;—a picture in itself is the wild and strange-looking timber raft. A small canoe, hollowed out of a single tree, is always the accompaniment to a raft; I saw four men in a canoe of this sort crossing the river;[100] one man steered by using an oar, while the other three, by leaning forward, made use of their hands alone as paddles; you may therefore imagine how narrow the boat was, when a man could use a hand at each side at the same time in the water, to paddle her forward. The men were laughing and shouting most happily. They cut the timber in the hills, and come down with it for scarcely any payment, merely just enough to feed them.

14th.—Arrived at Culna, where the tide comes up. Here we anchored to buy charcoal and clarified butter for myself, and rice for the dāndees. We passed many timber rafts floating down to Calcutta with wood for sale; the timber is cut in the hills. Two large tree trunks are tied across a boat, extending out to a considerable distance, supporting several trees that float alongside, secured on both sides of the boat; on the boat itself is a thatched shelter. Each raft has two hill men, their black bodies and heads completely shaved, wearing nothing but a piece of cloth between their legs, held up by a string tied around their waist. They have a wild look as they paddle the bulky rafts with bamboo oars, three or four of which are tied together; the sight of the wild and uniquely shaped timber raft is striking. A small canoe, carved from a single tree, is always with a raft; I saw four men in one of these canoes crossing the river; one man steered with an oar while the other three leaned forward, using their hands as paddles; you can imagine how narrow the boat was if a man could use a hand on each side to paddle it forward. The men were laughing and shouting joyfully. They cut the timber in the hills and come down with it for very little pay, just enough to eat.

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.

When the boats deliver their wood in Calcutta, they take one boat and put it into another, allowing the double boats to head back to the hills. That’s why only two men come down the stream with one boat, but more men are needed to pull it back upstream. With one boat stacked on top of another, four men are enough to take them back.

15th.—This evening we anchored at Chandar-nagar, the town of Chandar, the moon, commonly called Chander-nagore, and took a walk to see a Bengālee temple, which looked well from the river. The building consisted of a temple in the centre, containing an image of the goddess Kalī, and five smaller temples on each side, each containing an image of Mahadēo; a little further on were two images, gaily dressed in tarnished silk and tinsel; the one a female figure, Unapurna, the other Mahadēo, as a Bairāgī or religious mendicant. The village was pretty. I stopped at a fisherman’s, to look at the curiously-shaped floats he used for his very large and heavy fishing nets; each float was formed of eight pieces of sholā, tied together by the ends, the four smaller within the four larger. When this light and spongy pith is wetted, it can be cut into thin layers, which, pasted together, are formed into hats; Chinese paper appears to be made of the same material. The banks of the river, the whole distance from Hoogly to Chinsurah and Chandar-nagar, presents a view of fine houses, situated in good gardens, and interspersed with the dwellings of the natives. There is a church at Chandar-nagar, where there are also cantonments; and the grand depôt for the wood from the up-country rafts appears to be at this place; the river-side was[101] completely covered with timber for some distance. The natives were amusing themselves as we passed, sending up small fire balloons, and brilliantly blue sky rockets.

15th.—This evening we anchored at Chandar-nagar, the town of Chandar, the moon, commonly known as Chander-nagore, and took a walk to see a Bengali temple, which looked impressive from the river. The main structure featured a temple in the center with a statue of the goddess Kali, and there were five smaller temples on each side, each housing a statue of Mahadeo; a bit further on were two figures, dressed in faded silk and tinsel; one was a female figure, Annapurna, and the other was Mahadeo, depicted as a Bairagi or religious beggar. The village was charming. I stopped by a fisherman’s to check out the uniquely shaped floats he used for his large and heavy fishing nets; each float was made of eight pieces of shola, tied together at the ends, with the four smaller pieces inside the four larger ones. When this light and spongy material gets wet, it can be sliced into thin sheets, which, when glued together, are shaped into hats; Chinese paper seems to be made from the same substance. The riverbanks, stretching all the way from Hoogly to Chinsurah and Chandar-nagar, showcase fine houses set in beautiful gardens, mixed with the homes of locals. There’s a church in Chandar-nagar, which also has military quarters; the main depot for wood from the up-country rafts seems to be located here, with the riverside completely covered with timber for some distance. The locals were enjoying themselves as we passed by, sending up small fire balloons and brightly colored 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.

The view at Barrackpūr is stunning; the tall trees in the park line the river, the bright green grass gently slopes down to the water, and there are many beautiful houses with their lawns and gardens. The Government House and the surrounding buildings are covered in stucco to look like white stone, and the lovely verandas around the houses are supported by pillars. Plus, there are plenty of boats gliding around, making it especially enjoyable.

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!

In front, on the other side of the river, is the Danish settlement of Serampūr; its houses, which are large and attractive, are two or three stories high. We are floating gently down with the tide; I can hardly write because the scenery captivates me so much—the Bengali mandaps (places of worship) by the water, the beautiful trees of every kind, and the lovely stone ghāts. We just passed a ruined ghāt, located among stunning old trees; at the top of the steps are the remnants of two Hindu temples in picturesque shapes; an old peepul tree casts shade over them; its twisted roots are exposed, as the rain has washed away the earth. Several women are bathing, while others are carrying water away in gharās balanced on their heads: the men transport water in vessels hung on either end of a split bamboo, called a bahangī, which is balanced on their shoulders. We glide past the sights with the receding tide; there’s an endless beauty in all the native boats! If only my pencil could capture the scenery, my sketchbook would be immensely valuable!

The Governor-General, Lord Auckland, lives partly in Calcutta, and partly at the Government-house at Barrackpūr. At Cassipūr is the house of the agent for gunpowder, its white pillars half-hidden by fine trees. At Chitpore is a high, red, Birmingham-looking, long-chimnied building, with another in the same style near it; the high chimneys of the latter emitting a dark volume of smoke, such as one only sees in this country pouring from the black funnel of a steamer: corn is here ground in[102] the English fashion, and oil extracted from divers seeds. The establishment cost a great sum of money, and I think I have heard it has failed, owing to each native family in India grinding their own corn, in the old original fashion of one flat circular mill-stone over another, called a chakkī.

The Governor-General, Lord Auckland, lives partly in Calcutta and partly at the Government House in Barrackpūr. In Cassipūr, there's the house of the gunpowder agent, with its white pillars partially hidden by nice trees. At Chitpore, there's a tall, red building that looks like it's from Birmingham, along with another building in the same style nearby; the tall chimneys of the latter are puffing out a dark cloud of smoke that you only see in this country coming from a steamer's black funnel. Here, corn is ground in the English way, and oil is extracted from various seeds. The setup cost a lot of money, and I've heard it has failed because each native family in India prefers to grind their own corn using the traditional method with one flat circular millstone 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].”

From this point, I finally saw the ships near Calcutta: I hadn’t seen an English vessel in ten years. It made me yearn for a sight of all my loved ones back in England! “The longing for 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.

Passing through the various boats that fill the Hoogly River near Calcutta was a real delight; the impressive merchant ships, the vibrant, well-kept American boats, the unusual shapes of the Arab vessels, the Chinese ships with eyes on both sides of the bows to help them navigate the deep waters, the local boats in all their creative and colorful designs, the pleasure boats of private citizens, the stunning private homes in Chowringhee, the Government House, and the bustling crowds and vehicles of all kinds, both European and Asian—create a beautiful scene like no other I’ve seen.

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].”

We anchored at Chandpaul ghāt, surrounded by a crowd of boats. The river beggars zip around in the tiniest boats, paddled with a single small oar: a little flag is raised in the boat, and on a mat at the bottom, spread out to collect offerings, is a mix of copper coins, rice, and cowrie shells, tossed in by the kind-hearted or those with faith for these fakīrs, who, if we believe the rumors, are up to no good. “A guru at home, but a beggar abroad[16].” I overlook their trickery because of their charming appearance; the gifts they received were quite modest. “A kuoree is a gold mohur to a pauper[17].”

There not being room that night for our party at Spence’s hotel, I was forced to sleep on board the budjerow, off Chandpaul ghāt. What a wretched night it was! The heat was intolerable. I could not open a window because the budjerows[103] on either side were jammed against mine: the heat, the noise, the mooring and unmooring, according to the state of the tide, rendered it miserable work. I wished to anchor lower down, but the answer was, “Budjerows must anchor here; it is the Lord Sāhib’s hukm (order).”

There wasn't enough space for our group at Spence’s hotel that night, so I had to sleep on the budgerow, off Chandpaul ghat. What a terrible night it was! The heat was unbearable. I couldn't open a window because the budgerows[103] on either side were pressed against mine: the heat, the noise, and the constant mooring and unmooring due to the tide made it a miserable experience. I wanted to anchor further down, but the response was, “Budgerows must anchor here; it is the Lord Sahib’s 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.

17th.—I moved into a room at Spence’s hotel: it was nice and well-furnished. Since I left Calcutta, there have been a lot of improvements: a road has been built from the Government House to Garden Reach along the river; the drive is well-maintained, the esplanade is filled with carriages, and the view of the ships is stunning.

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.

M. le Général Allard, who had just returned from France and was in Calcutta on his way to rejoin Runjeet Singh, dropped by to see me; he is the most colorful person you can imagine. His long, forked beard, split in the middle, hangs down on either side of his face. At dinner, he drapes one end of his beard over one ear and the other end over the other ear. The General, who was very pleasant to be around, expressed his regret for not being able to see me when he was in Allahabad, as an illness had stopped him from visiting and delivering, in person, the bows and arrows that had been entrusted to him.

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 was really pleased with the General: he invited me to visit Lahore, and I told him I would happily accept the invitation if I ever went to the Hills. He promised to send an escort for me. The General took some beautiful jewels, emeralds, and other valuable stones with him to Europe; he brought them back to India because they were worth more in the East than in Europe.

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.

I could have happily stayed at the hotel, but my local servants complained that there was no comfort for them. So, I rented a small house in Chowringhee and moved the furniture from the budgerow. It was also nice 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.

Went to a ball held in the English style by a wealthy Bengali Baboo, Rustam-jee Cowsajee. The Misses Eden were there, which the Baboo should have considered a huge honor.

1837, Jan. 1st.—Mr. H⸺ arrived from Assam, suffering[104] from the effects of one of the terrific fevers of that country: he brought me a leaf insect,—a great curiosity.

1837, Jan. 1st.—Mr. H⸺ arrived from Assam, suffering[104] from the effects of one of the awful fevers from that country: he brought me a leaf insect,—a fascinating find.

5th.—Made my salām at the Government-house, as in duty bound.

5th.—Gave my greetings at the Government House, as I was obligated to do.

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.

9th.—The first day of the races: I drove to the stand at seven AM, through a thick, white fog, which is so common in the early mornings in Calcutta, and it didn't help my sore throat and cold.

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.

11th.—The second day of the races; the Auckland Cup was up for grabs for the winner. The cup was made of silver, had a unique and beautiful design. It was designed by Miss Eden and crafted in fine style by Messrs. Pittar and Co., jewelers in Calcutta. The winning horse crossed the finish line strong: twenty yards past the post, as the jockey tried to slow him down, the horse suddenly collapsed and died on the spot. The cup was awarded to the deceased horse. It was a heartbreaking 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.

15th.—I went with Mr. W⸺ and a group to see his racing stables: it was nice to see the racehorses all set for the competition in the morning. After that, we checked out several imported English and Cape horses that were up 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.

In the evening, I drove to see the famous Bengali idol, Kalī Mā’ī, to which, in the past, human sacrifices were publicly offered; and today, despite the magistrate's efforts, I believe that sometimes a human being is still sacrificed—a poor soul who no one would miss. The temple is at Kalī Ghāt, about two miles from Calcutta. The idol is a large black stone carved into the shape of a massive woman, with a big head and wide-open eyes; her tongue hangs out of her mouth, a broad tongue that reaches down to her chest. The figure is repulsive. I gave the attending priests a rupee for showing me their idol, which they presented with great respect to Kalī Mā’ī. The tools used by the priest to behead the victim in one swift motion are quite remarkable.

16th.—A cup of silver, given by a rich Bengālee, Dwarkanath Tagore, was run for: the cup was elaborately worked, and the workmanship good; but the design was in the excess of bad[105] taste, and such as only a Baboo would have approved. It was won by Absentee, one of the horses I had seen in the stable the day before, contrary to the calculation of all the knowing ones in Calcutta.

16th.—A silver cup, donated by a wealthy Bengali, Dwarkanath Tagore, was contested: the cup was intricately crafted, and the workmanship was good; however, the design was in extremely poor taste, something only a Baboo would appreciate. It was won by Absentee, one of the horses I had seen in the stable the day before, which surprised all the experts in Calcutta.[105]

17th.—The inhabitants of Calcutta gave a ball to the Miss Edens. I was too ill to attend.

17th.—The people of Calcutta hosted a ball for the Miss Edens. I was too sick to go.

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.

30th.—Had dinner with an old friend in Alipūr, about two miles from Calcutta. The driver couldn't see the way across the plain, so he stopped. The attendants, who were trying to figure out where we were, ended up bumping into the hospital walls; the fog was so thick and white that you couldn't see a yard ahead of you. It made my cough really painful, and the carriage took two hours to cover those 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.

Feb. 4th.—I spent the day at the Asiatic Society. There's a model of a Chinese woman's foot in the collection that’s both intriguing and really disturbing. The toes are curled under the foot, making the person completely unable to walk. This is a cheaper way to keep a woman homebound than hiring guards and a zenāna—the idea 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.

Having said goodbye to my friends in Calcutta, I got ready to go back to Allahabad and booked a spot on the Jellinghy flat. The servants traveled up the river on a big baggage boat, taking the supplies, wine, and furniture with them. I didn’t insure the boat since insurance was quite expensive, and this time of year was favorable. The horses were taken up country.

March 6th.—I went on board the Jellinghy flat, established myself and my ayha in a good cabin, and found myself, for the first time, located in a steamer. She quitted Calcutta in the evening, and as we passed Garden Reach, the view of handsome houses in well-wooded grounds, which extend along the banks of the river, was beautiful. The water being too shallow at this time of the year for the passage of the steamer up the Bhaugruttī, or the Jellinghy, she was obliged to go round by the sunderbands (sindhū-bandh). The steamer herself is not the vessel in which the passengers live; attached to, and towed by her, is a vessel as large as the steamer herself, called a flat, built expressly to convey passengers and Government treasure. It is divided into[106] cabins, with one large cabin in the centre, in which the passengers dine together.

March 6th.—I boarded the Jellinghy flat, settled myself and my ayha into a nice cabin, and found myself, for the first time, on a steamer. It left Calcutta in the evening, and as we passed Garden Reach, the view of beautiful houses set in well-wooded grounds along the riverbanks was stunning. The water was too shallow at this time of year for the steamer to travel up the Bhaugruttī or the Jellinghy, so it had to go around via the sunderbands (sindhū-bandh). The steamer itself isn’t where the passengers stay; attached to and towed by it is a vessel just as large as the steamer, called a flat, built specifically to carry passengers and Government treasure. It is divided into[106] cabins, with one large cabin in the center where 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.

7th.—We left the Hoogly and anchored in the Sundarbans. The Sundarbans is a vast area of low, muddy land, covered with thick short jungle and small trees. It’s a collection of islands with tides flowing between them. I've never seen a more lonely, desolate place. We anchored where three streams met, flowing in from between these low mud islands. When the tide changed in the middle of the night, the steamer lurched around on the flat surface with a crash; several times the two vessels got tangled up like that; the steamer smashed one of the cabin windows, and it took a while before everything was back to normal. Subject to the force of the three streams, she was never still, never at rest: the children cried, the ducks didn’t want to be killed, and the vessels struggled against each other for hours—it was a restless 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.

8th.—The mud islands are submerged at high tide. Right now, we’re navigating a very narrow passage; on both sides, the dense, low, impenetrable jungle reaches the water’s edge. There’s not a single substantial tree to see; no boats, no animals. All day, I’ve only spotted two paddy birds and one deer. The thick jungle is teeming with tigers; so much so that the Hindus on board aren’t allowed to go ashore to cook their food because of it. With the tide in our favor, the speed of the steamer is incredible; the pace at which we pass the banks makes me dizzy. We’ve just passed a spot where an oar is stuck up vertically. The captain of the flat pointed it out to me as a marker indicating that a native had been taken from that spot by a tiger. It’s customary to leave an oar to mark the location, or to place a bamboo pole with a flag on it—similar to how a cross is erected in Catholic countries at the site of a murder.

“Kaloo-rayŭ is a form of Shivŭ: the image is that of a yellow man sitting on a tiger, holding in his right hand an arrow, and in his left a bow. A few of the lower orders set up clay images of this god, in straw houses, and worship them at pleasure.[107] The wood-cutters in the eastern, western, and southern forests of Bengal, in order to obtain protection from wild beasts, adopt a peculiar mode of worshipping this idol. The head boatman raises elevations of earth, three or four inches high, and about three feet square, upon which he places balls of clay, painted red; and, amongst other ceremonies, offers rice, flowers, fruits, and the water of the Ganges carried from the river Hoogly, keeping a fast: the god then directs him in a dream where to cut wood free from danger. There is no authority for this worship in the shastrŭs. Dŭkshina-rayŭ is another god, worshipped in the same manner, and by the same class of persons[18].”

“Kaloo-rayŭ is a form of Shivŭ: the image shows a yellow man sitting on a tiger, holding an arrow in his right hand and a bow in his left. Some of the lower classes create clay figures of this god in straw huts and worship them as they please.[107] The wood-cutters in the eastern, western, and southern forests of Bengal have a unique way of worshipping this idol to protect themselves from wild animals. The head boatman makes small mounds of earth, about three or four inches high and around three feet square, where he places red-painted clay balls. As part of the rituals, he offers rice, flowers, fruits, and water from the Ganges brought from the river Hoogly, while observing a fast. In return, the god guides him in a dream on where it's safe to cut wood. There is no endorsement for this practice in the shastrŭs. Dŭkshina-rayŭ is another god that is worshipped in the same way by the same group of people.[18].”

9th.—Last night two boats full of wood-cutters passed us; they said several of their men had been carried off by tigers. We have only overtaken four boats all this time in the sunderbands. During the hot weather people dare not come through this place; fevers are caught from the malaria: at the present time of the year it is safe enough. There are no inhabitants in these parts, the people finding it impossible to live here. We have a very pleasant party on board, most of whom are going to Allahabad. The vessel is a good one; the accommodation good, the food also. It is very expensive, but as it saves one a dāk trip in this hot weather, or a two or three months’ voyage in a country vessel, it is more agreeable. The heat in these vile sunderbands is very great; during the day, quite oppressive; when we enter the Ganges we shall find it cooler. As we were emerging from the sunderbands and nearing the river, the banks presented a scene which must resemble the back settlements in America. Before this time we had scarcely met with a good-sized tree. Here the trees partook of the nature of forest: some people were burning the forest, and had made a settlement. Barley was growing in small portions, and there were several dwarf cows. The scene was peculiar; a little bank of mud was raised to prevent the overflow of the tide; the stumps of the burned and blackened trees remained standing, with the exception of where they had been rooted out, and a paddy field[108] formed. Places for look out erected on high poles were numerous, and thatched over: there a man could sit and watch all night, lest a tiger should make his appearance. There were a few miserable huts for the men, no women were to be seen; nothing could be more primitive and more wretched than these young settlements in the sunderbands. On the morning of the 10th we quitted this vile place, and anchored at Culna to take in a fresh supply of coals.

9th.—Last night, two boats filled with woodcutters passed by; they mentioned that several of their men had been taken by tigers. So far, we've only caught up with four boats in the Sundarbans. People generally avoid this area during the hot season due to fevers caused by malaria; however, at this time of year, it's safe enough. There are no inhabitants around here, as it's nearly impossible to live in these conditions. We have a pleasant group on board, most of whom are headed to Allahabad. The boat is nice, the accommodations are good, and so is the food. It's quite expensive, but it saves us a dāk trip in this heat or a two to three-month journey on a slower boat, making it a more enjoyable option. The heat in these terrible Sundarbans is intense; it's especially oppressive during the day, but we’ll find it cooler once we hit the Ganges. As we were leaving the Sundarbans and approaching the river, the banks presented a scene reminiscent of the backwoods in America. Until now, we had barely come across a decent-sized tree. Here, the trees began to look more like a forest: some people were burning it for land and had set up a settlement. There were small patches of barley growing, and several dwarf cows were around. The scene was unique; a small embankment had been built to prevent flooding, and the stumps of charred trees stood in various places where they hadn’t been uprooted, alongside a paddy field[108]. There were numerous lookout posts perched on tall poles with thatched roofs, where a man could sit and watch all night for the appearance of a tiger. A few sad huts were built for the men, and there were no women in sight; nothing seemed more primitive and miserable than these emerging settlements in the Sundarbans. On the morning of the 10th, we left this dreadful place and anchored at Culna to take on a fresh supply of coal.

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.

12th.—We got to Commercolly and anchored near the bank to take on more coal. It was really hot, but the evening was lovely; the sky was filled with stars, and the new moon was just peeking out. I sat on deck enjoying the cool breeze. We anchored quite late, when it was already too dark to see the right path on the river. We had finally reached 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.

13th.—We passed a lot of boats that were out fishing and accidentally ran over one with four men in it. Three of them were rescued right away, but the fourth went under the steamer from the front to the back; he was pulled up exhausted but unharmed. Some of the passengers are playing chess, others are reading novels; some are sleeping, and some are walking the deck under the awning, all trying to find something to entertain 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.

14th.—We reached Gaur; I happily gazed at its distant woods, remembering the enjoyable days I had spent there, and thought about the clever dākait who had approached me like his grandmother to ask for help. It was right at this spot that, coming down the river, we turned right and took a shortcut through the Bhaugruttī instead of continuing along the Ganges. That day, I won a silver vase enamelled in gold in a lottery in Calcutta; I'll share more about this lottery later.

16th.—I got up early and went on shore at Rājmahal, roamed in the bamboo jungle and amongst the ruins, until the ringing of the bell on board the steamer announced the coals were on board, and the vessel ready to start. Of all the trees in India, perhaps the bāns, bamboo, is the most useful, as well as the most graceful. What can be more picturesque, more beautiful[109] than a clump of bamboos? From Calcutta to Allahabad, the common route by the river is eight hundred miles; round by the sunderbands the distance is nearly eleven hundred.

16th.—I woke up early and went ashore at Rājmahal, explored the bamboo forest and the ruins, until the bell on the steamer rang to signal that the coal was loaded and the ship was ready to depart. Out of all the trees in India, the bāns, or bamboo, is probably the most useful as well as the most elegant. What could be more picturesque or more beautiful[109] than a cluster of bamboos? The usual river route from Calcutta to Allahabad is eight hundred miles; taking the longer route through the sundarbans is nearly eleven hundred miles.

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.

18th.—Passed the Janghiera rock and anchored at Monghir: bought lāthīs, which are solid bamboos or walking sticks, sixty for one rupee. The male bamboo is solid, while the female is hollow. I got them for the beaters to use when my husband 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.

20th.—The strong westerly wind blew fine sand from the banks in clouds all over the ship, getting into our eyes and ears in the most unpleasant way.

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.

25th.—Anchored at Benares: the steamer set off again at 8 AM; the view of the ghâts as we went by was stunning; the many people bathing, their varied and brightly colored outfits, made the scene both fascinating and beautiful.

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!

26th.—We passed Chunar; the place had lost a lot of its beauty since the rains. A servant fell overboard, went under the boat from front to back, and was picked up just as he was about to sink. The old man had the skin torn off his scalp but didn’t suffer any other injuries. The next day, to my surprise, he was serving his master at dinner and seemed totally unfazed by 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.

27th.—I got some fruit and veggies from an old friend in Mirzapore. I'm really tired of this journey; the heat has been unbearable for the past few days. I can't wait to go back to the peace and coolness of my own home. I’ve run aground several times on sandbanks.

29th.—Started early, and arrived within sight of the Fort; were again fixed on a sandbank; the river is very shallow at this time of the year. With the greatest difficulty we reached the ghāt on the Jumna, near the Masjid, and were glad to find ourselves at the end of the voyage. My husband came down to receive and welcome me, and drive me home. The great dog Nero nearly tore me to pieces in his delight. Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī sent her people down to the ghāt to make[110] salām on my landing, to welcome and congratulate me on my return, and to say she wished to see me.

29th.—We set out early and finally saw the Fort ahead; we got stuck on a sandbank again since the river is really shallow this time of year. With a lot of effort, we made it to the ghat on the Jumna, close to the Masjid, and were relieved to be at the end of our journey. My husband came down to greet me and take me home. The big dog Nero nearly knocked me over with joy. Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī sent her people to the ghat to greet me as I arrived, to welcome and congratulate me on my return, and to express that she wanted 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.

It was nice to be greeted like this and to be back in my cool and cozy home by the banks of the Jumna-jee after all the heat and exhaustion of the trip.

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.

The Brija Bā’ī, one of the Mahratta women, was really happy to see me again and performed a special blessing called balaiyā lenā, which means taking on someone else's troubles. She did this by moving her hands over my head and cracking her fingers on her own temples, symbolizing that she was taking all my misfortunes onto herself. I've seen this kind of blessing performed many times by both men and women, our dependents and servants, when my husband and I did something nice for them; it showed just how grateful they were.

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.

April 6th.—Smallpox is causing a lot of damage; some of our friends have died from it. Lord William Bentinck got rid of the vaccine department to save a bit of money; that decision has cost many their lives. Smallpox is a terrible disease in this country. People are scared about the plague; they say it’s in Palee and is getting close to the borders of the Company’s territories. We already have enough fevers, cholera, and deadly diseases without adding the plague; let's hope that won't be another problem in 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.

The Palee plague, they say, isn't the real deal: it hasn't crossed into our lands yet; however, the Government of Agra has smartly taken preventive steps, setting up health boards, cordons, and quarantine, along with the usual fumigations and disinfectants. It would be truly too bad to give this newcomer a chance to settle in, alongside our familiar foes, fever and cholera, who are already at home here.

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 morning, I used the thermantidote for the first time: how refreshing was the cool air it brought into the hot room! The coolness and shade of the house are so welcome compared to the heat and brightness by the river!

[111]

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!

15th.—Today marks the birthday of Gaja Rājā Sāhib, and she has invited me to join her at the Trivenī, the sacred confluence of the rivers, to witness her fulfill a vow made for her by her mother. The young Princess was quite fragile since birth, and her mother, fearing for her life, promised Mahadēo that if the god spared her child, she would perform pooja like a fakīr at the shrine every year on this day. Now that the time has come, the young Mahratta Princess will carry out the vow this evening. I deeply regret that I cannot attend; illness is keeping me from leaving the house. Just imagine the extraordinary scene: the young Princess performing pooja before Mahadēo's shrine, representing Shivŭ the Destroyer. Her delicate body is completely covered in a mixture of ashes and mud from the Ganges; her long black hair is matted with the same and wrapped around her head like a turban; she wears a tiger skin; her necklace is made of human bones, and she holds a rosary in one hand, using a human skull as her alms-dish—truly a religious mendicant; or creating jarring sounds on a double-headed hand-drum that fakīrs use, wandering about within the canvas walls of the zenāna tent like someone unhinged! The skull that spiritual mendicants carry is meant to symbolize that of Brŭmha. In a fight, Shivŭ cut off one of Brŭmha’s five heads and turned it into an alms-dish. As Gaja Rājā appeared as a religious mendicant, in the same form as the lord of the Bhōōtŭs when he came to earth, I hope some of the women dressed as these beings, who traditionally accompanied Shivŭ. The Bhōōtŭs are creatures that are part human, but some have horse faces, others have camel faces, some resemble monkeys, and so on; some have horse bodies with human faces, some have one leg, and some have two; some have just one ear, while others have only one eye. They would have made charming companions for the little Princess, who, draped in a tiger skin and wandering like a madwoman, fulfilled the vow made in her name by her mother at her birth before the shrine of Mahadēo!

The Hon. Miss Frances Eden has been with a party at[112] Moorshadabad, tiger shooting; they had indifferent sport, and only killed five tigers, one of which had the happiness of dying before the eyes of the fair lady. They have returned to Calcutta. It must have been warm work in the jungles after the tigers; but when one has an object in view, one is apt to forget the power of an Indian sun, until a good fever reminds one of the danger of exposure.

The Hon. Miss Frances Eden has been with a group at[112] Moorshadabad, hunting tigers; they didn’t have much luck and only killed five tigers, one of which happily died in front of the lovely lady. They have returned to Calcutta. It must have been intense in the jungles after the tigers; but when you have a goal, you tend to overlook the strength of the Indian sun until a nasty fever reminds you of the risks of being exposed.

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.

21st.—Last night, at midnight, the moon was completely eclipsed, and darkness covered the land. The locals are terrified; they say it predicts illness, disease, and a dreadful amount of death. It’s quite possible their fears could come true: the plague is rampant in Palee, and it’s expected to spread soon to the Company’s territories. Then, indeed, the locals will believe in the terrible signs of the eclipse, forgetting that the plague was the precursor, not the consequence, of the ominous signs in the sky. Sir Charles Metcalfe has issued all necessary orders to prevent movement between the infected cities and the surrounding areas. Smallpox is taking the young and healthy; everywhere in the country, you hear about its deadly 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.

The Brija Bā’ī, one of the favorite attendants of the Bāiza Bā’ī, came to visit me; I showed her a prize I had won in a lottery in Calcutta: a silver vase beautifully enameled in gold, worth £40. She was very pleased with it and eager to buy tickets for 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.

22nd.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent word that she had entered a lottery and was worried that, having only bought seven tickets, she might not win a prize, and her people would think she was unlucky. To avoid being labeled as unfortunate, she wanted to buy all the remaining unsold tickets. I tried to convince her that she had plenty of tickets already; still, she ordered thirty more. It's interesting how superstitious the locals are! She's just as happy as a child about this little gamble for gadgets and jewelry.

24th.—The Brija came to request I would visit the camp to show them how to use a magic-lantern; I did so, but it[113] was a failure, being dim and indistinct. In the course of conversation, wishing to remember a circumstance related by one of the ladies in attendance, I noted it in my pocket-book, on a little slate of white china. Her Highness, who observed the action, asked for the pocket-book, examined it, admired the delicately white china, and asking for a pencil wrote her own name upon it. She appeared surprised at my being able to read and write, accomplishments possessed by herself, but uncommon among the Mahratta ladies, who are seldom able to attain them, it being the system of eastern nations to keep their women in ignorance, imagining it gives them greater power over them. They are taught to consider it unfit for ladies of rank, and that it ought to be done for them by their writers and mūnshīs; nevertheless, they were proud of the accomplishments possessed by the Bāiza Bā’ī.

24th.—The Brija asked me to come to the camp to show them how to use a magic lantern; I did, but it[113] didn’t go well, as it was dim and unclear. During our conversation, wanting to remember something one of the ladies said, I wrote it down in my pocketbook, on a small piece of white china. Her Highness, who noticed what I was doing, asked for the pocketbook, examined it, admired the delicately white china, and asked for a pencil to write her own name on it. She seemed surprised that I could read and write, skills she had but were rare among Mahratta ladies, who usually weren’t educated, as it’s customary in eastern cultures to keep women uninformed, thinking it grants them more control. They are taught that education is not suitable for women of high status and that their writers and mūnshīs should handle it for them; still, they were proud of the skills the Bāiza Bā’ī possessed.

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.

Her Highness gave me back the pocketbook, which I accepted gladly, and I treasure it because of the autograph, of which, in the plate titled “The Kharīta,” the writing on the right side is a replica.

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!

All the needlework is done by women in the zenāna: having a tailor make your clothes would be seen as inappropriate, and their garments are never allowed to be shown to men, so they can't judge the figure of the lady purdanishīn, i.e. behind the curtain. Just imagine the disgust an Asian lady would feel if she found herself on Regent Street, seeing figures in shop windows that are meant to represent English ladies in corsets, bustles, and under petticoats, turning on poles, exposing for the amusement and critique of men the entire curious and unusual secrets of European fashion!

May 5th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī was unable to get the thirty tickets she sent for in the lottery; eighteen were all that were unsold, and these were taken by her. She was very fortunate, and won two prizes; one was an ornament in diamonds attached to a necklace of two strings of pearls, and a pair of diamond ear-rings, valued at 2000 rupees, i.e. £200; the second a clock, valued at 400 rupees, £40: my own ticket proved a blank. The clock is placed on a rock in the picture, on which are trees,[114] a town, and a fort. In front is the sea, on which float a three-decker and a cutter, which roll upon the waves moved by mechanism. The Mahrattas were charmed with it: it is a good specimen, but they will spoil it in a month.

May 5th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī couldn't get the thirty tickets she requested in the lottery; only eighteen were left unsold, and she took all of those. She was quite lucky and won two prizes; one was a diamond ornament attached to a two-string pearl necklace and a pair of diamond earrings, worth 2000 rupees, i.e. £200; the second was a clock, worth 400 rupees, £40: my own ticket turned out to be a loser. The clock is displayed on a rock in the picture, surrounded by trees,[114] a town, and a fort. In front of it is the sea, where a three-decker and a cutter sail on the waves powered by a mechanism. The Mahrattas loved it: it’s a nice piece, but they’ll ruin 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.”

July 7th.—“The King of Oude, Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur, died this morning; he had been feeling unwell for a few days but wasn’t seriously ill. He took some medicine and quickly passed away, raising some suspicion of poisoning. Colonel Lowe, the Resident, went to the palace and was about to put the late King’s uncle, also named Nusseer-ood-Deen, on the throne when the Padshah Begam, the late King’s mother, arrived with fifteen hundred soldiers and two elephants, bringing a boy she claimed was the late King’s son, intending to have him crowned. Finding the palace gates locked, she ordered them to be burst open by the elephants, entered, placed the boy Moona Jāh (Feredooa Buckht) on the throne, and demanded that the Resident pay him his respects. Meanwhile, Colonel Lowe called for the troops; upon their arrival, he insisted that the Begam leave the palace, which she refused to do. The troops were ordered to remove her party. The Begam and Moona Jāh were captured and sent under guard to Cawnpore. The soldiers were dispersed, with about sixty losses on the Begam’s side and a couple of sepoys on the Company’s side. Mr. Paton, the Assistant to the Resident, was injured in the clash. Colonel Lowe placed the King’s uncle on the throne and proclaimed him King of Oude. It's reported that the throne was stripped of its jewels, and a significant amount of treasure was taken by various individuals, some of which was later recovered a few miles from the city. Since the Padshah Begam and the boy's arrival in Cawnpore, everything has been quiet in Lucnow; she is to be sent as a state prisoner to Chunar. It is believed the boy is not the late King’s son but was used as a pawn by the Begam.”

[116]

CHAPTER XLVII.
Radha Krishnu—Sports 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.

Festival of the Birthday of Krishna—The Rās—The Rākhī—Krishna or Kaniyā—Activities of the Gopīs—The Elephant—The Horse—Gopal—Gopī Nat’h—Radha Krishna—Krishna defeating the Serpent—The Monotony of Life in India—The Holy Monkey—Sports in Assam—Buffalo Shooting—Tiger Hunting on Foot—The Baghmars—The Spring-bow—An Earthquake—Risk of Life in the Bhagmar Department—The Cemetery at Goalparah.

1837, Aug.—The first few days in this month we were blessed with cooling and heavy rain. On the 6th, the annual festival of the Jenem, or birthday, and the sports of Krishnŭ, the Bāiza Bā’ī invited me to the camp: on my arrival I found her Highness seated under a large mango tree; from one of its boughs a swing was suspended, in which the Gaja Rājā and another lady were amusing themselves. This festival, in celebration of the sports of the most popular of the Hindoo deities, was held in all due form by the Mahrattas; it took place by torch-light, in the cool of the evening. In the forests on the banks of the Yamuna Krishnŭ passed his time, playing on the flute, swinging under the trees, dancing, and sporting with the gopīs. The young Princess was therefore amusing herself in the swing as a necessary ceremony; after which, some sixty or eighty Mahratta women came forward, and performed several dances sacred to the season, singing as they moved on the turf, in a circular dance called the rās, in imitation of the gopīs; and the “Songs of Govinda,” as addressed by Kaniyā to Radha and her companions, were rehearsed at this festival, with a scenic representation[117] of Kaniyā and the gopīs. “The listener could not depart after once hearing the sound of the flute, and the tinkling of the gopias’ feet; nor could the birds stir a wing; while the pupils of the gopias’ eyes all turned towards Creeshna.”

1837, Aug.—In the first few days of this month, we enjoyed some much-needed cooling and heavy rain. On the 6th, for the annual festival of Jenem, or birthday, the Bāiza Bā’ī invited me to the camp. When I arrived, I found her Highness sitting under a large mango tree; from one of its branches hung a swing, where the Gaja Rājā and another lady were having fun. This festival, celebrating the activities of the most beloved Hindu deity, was properly organized by the Mahrattas; it took place by torchlight in the evening cool. In the forests along the banks of the Yamuna, Krishnŭ spent his time playing the flute, swinging under the trees, dancing, and having fun with the gopīs. The young Princess was, therefore, enjoying herself in the swing as part of the celebration; afterward, about sixty to eighty Mahratta women came forward to perform several dances dedicated to the season, singing as they moved on the grass in a circular dance called the rās, imitating the gopīs. The “Songs of Govinda,” as sung by Kaniyā to Radha and her friends, were performed at this festival, along with a dramatic representation[117] of Kaniyā and the gopīs. “The listener couldn’t leave after hearing the sound of the flute and the tinkling of the gopias’ feet; nor could the birds flap their wings, 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.”

Her Highness presented a beautiful yellow silk dress, embroidered with gold, along with a pair of Indian shawls in the same color, to the Gaja Rājā and many of the ladies present; yellow being the favorite and signature color of the beloved of the gopīs. The rākhī was tied on the arms of the young Mahratta Princess and another lady at the request of the Bāiza Bā’ī; the rākhī also honors Krishna: this gift is regarded as a great honor and a sign of the highest favor. The significance of such a prestigious honor can be better understood through the following excerpt from Colonel Tod's “Annals of Mewar.”

“The festival of the bracelet (rākhī) is in spring; and whatever its origin, it is one of the few when an intercourse of gallantry of the most delicate nature is established between the fair sex and the cavaliers of Rajast’han. Though the bracelet may be sent by maidens, it is only on occasions of urgent necessity or danger. The Rajpūt dame bestows with the rākhī the title of adopted brother; and while its acceptance secures to her all the protection of a ‘cavalière servente,’ scandal itself never suggests any other tie to his devotion. He may hazard his life in her cause, and yet never receive a smile in reward; for he cannot even see the fair object, who, as brother of her adoption, has constituted him her defender. But there is a charm in the mystery of such a connexion never endangered by close observation, and the loyal to the fair may well attach a value to the public recognition of being the Rākhī-bund Bha’e, the ‘bracelet-bound brother’ of a Princess. The intrinsic value of such a pledge is never looked to, nor is it requisite that it should be costly, though it varies with the means and rank of the donor, and may be of flock silk and spangles, or gold chains and gems. The acceptance of the pledge and its return is by the katchli or corset of simple silk or satin, or gold brocade and pearls. In shape or application there is nothing similar in[118] Europe, and, as defending the most delicate part of the structure of the fair, it is peculiarly appropriate as an emblem of devotion.”

“The festival of the bracelet (rākhī) happens in spring, and regardless of its origins, it's one of the few times a delicate interaction of chivalry is established between women and the knights of Rajasthan. Although the bracelet can be sent by young women, it's usually only during urgent situations or danger. The Rajput woman bestows the title of adopted brother with the rākhī; and while his acceptance secures her all the protection of a ‘cavalière servente,’ even gossip doesn't suggest any other connection to his loyalty. He may risk his life for her, yet he might never get a smile in return; he can't even see the lovely one who, as his adopted sister, has made him her protector. But there's a charm in the mystery of such a connection, never threatened by close scrutiny, and those loyal to the fair can value the public acknowledgment of being the Rākhī-bund Bha’e, the ‘bracelet-bound brother’ of a Princess. The inherent value of such a promise isn't important, nor does it need to be expensive, though it varies by the resources and status of the giver; it could be made of flock silk and spangles or gold chains and gems. The acceptance of the promise and its return involves the katchli or corset, made of simple silk or satin, or gold brocade with pearls. There’s nothing similar in[118] Europe, and since it protects the most delicate part of a woman's attire, it serves as a particularly fitting symbol 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 rākhī isn't just given to men; a woman can also receive this honor, and she would be publicly recognized and regarded as the “bracelet-bound sister” of the person who gave it.

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.

The evening ended with performances by some Mahratta dance girls, after which I was allowed to leave, having first enjoyed some sweets they offered me along with a jar of dahī (curdled milk); the latter was fantastic and typically served at this festival as the favorite food of the gopīs. I returned home late at night, as usual accompanied 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.

I have many idols of Krishna, in various forms; a description of them, along with a brief overview of his life, will be the best way to explain the events celebrated at the festival. He goes by many names, Krishna, Hari, Kaniya, and is worshipped in many forms; the idols depict this beloved god in many of the key moments 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.

Vishnu the Preserver came down to Earth as this god to bring peace and happiness to everyone. Krishna is the most famous form of Vishnu, or, in fact, Vishnu himself, and is different from the ten avatars or incarnations. Many Hindu gods control their followers through fear; the fear of the deity's wrath ensures obedience. Krishna is the god of love and goodwill: his mission to bless humanity led to his arrival from heaven, and after many years spent on Earth for that sacred purpose, he suddenly vanished.

Such was his power over the affections, that no woman ever beheld Kaniyā-jee, but she left home and husband and children, and followed him throughout the world; no eye gazed upon him that loved him not; and to this day, the beautiful, warlike,[119] and amorous Krishnŭ is the most popular deity, and especially revered by Hindūstanī women.

Such was his charm that no woman ever saw Kaniyā-jee without leaving her home, husband, and children to follow him everywhere; no one looked at him without feeling love; and even today, the beautiful, fierce, and passionate Krishnŭ is the most beloved deity, especially by Hindūstanī women.[119]

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.

His parents were Vasudeva and Devaki, but he was raised in the home of Nanda and Yashoda. When he was a baby, there was a plot to take his life. To protect him and keep him hidden from the tyrant Kansa, who had been warned that a child, the eighth in his family, would bring about his downfall, his uncle fled with him to the banks of the Yamuna River. His pursuers were right behind them, and escape seemed impossible. The infant god commanded the waters to part for him; the waters obeyed and formed walls on either side. Krishna was carried across by his relative, and once they reached the other side, the waters returned to normal, cutting off the chase from 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 city of Mathurā is known as the birthplace of Krishna. He spent his youth in the family of Nanda, surrounded by the gopas and gopīs. In his childhood, he defeated the serpent Kāliya and killed many giants and monsters; later, he killed the tyrant Kansa and sparked the great war known as the mahā-bārata. He is considered the Apollo of the Hindus and, according to Colonel Wilford, is believed to have lived around thirteen hundred years before Christ. Krishna is a terrestrial god, represented by the black marble image that stands to the right of Ganesh in the frontispiece of the first volume; I obtained it in Allahabad during the big fair, and it came from Jeypore. The Hindu deity is depicted playing the flute, which he enjoyed while in the forests, surrounded by the gopīs or milkmaids, who were his devoted admirers and followers; among them, he had 16,000 lovers, in addition to his legal wives. The Hindu code allows for two partners, but the laws of man do not apply to the gods, and Krishna had eight wives, each of whom bore him ten sons, along with Radha, who was beloved and married to someone else, not to mention the 16,000 gopīs, each of whom also had ten sons with him. Despite this, it is said that his life was one of purity, and anything suggesting otherwise is merely māyā or illusion.

The Bhagavat Purana gives the following:—“In this happy[120] season did Creeshna bestow joy and satisfaction on all living creatures, and often as he touched his flute in the presence of the adoring gopias, one exclaimed, ‘Happy animals, inhabiting Berjeben, who enjoy the sight of Creeshna!’ Another said, ‘O favoured stream of Jumna, and other transparent pools and fountains, whence Creeshna deigns to drink!’ Another exclaimed, ‘Melodious above all is the flute which resides for ever on his lip!’ Another said, ‘O happy trees of this wood, under whose thick shade Creeshna delights to slumber!’ Another said, ‘Honoured above all existing animals are these cattle which the Creator himself leads to pasture!’ Thus did the gopias plunge into the fathomless ocean of love, and admire him who had on a yellow robe, a peacock’s feather on his head, a brilliant rosary round his neck, and a flute on his lip; and they said to each other, ‘How happy are we whom he condescends to love!’ In short, by their purity of faith, and zeal of attachment, their hearts at length became illuminated, and they knew and comprehended that Creeshna was the Creator of the World.”

The Bhagavat Purana mentions:—“In this joyful[120] season, Krishna brought happiness and fulfillment to all living creatures. Whenever he played his flute in front of the adoring gopis, one of them exclaimed, ‘Happy animals living in Berjeben, who get to see Krishna!’ Another said, ‘Oh, cherished stream of Yamuna, and other clear pools and fountains, from where Krishna sips!’ Another exclaimed, ‘The flute that rests forever on his lips is the most melodious of all!’ Another said, ‘Oh, lucky trees in this forest, under whose thick shade Krishna loves to rest!’ Another said, ‘These cattle, led to pasture by the Creator himself, are honored above all other animals!’ In this way, the gopis dove deep into the boundless ocean of love, admiring the one dressed in yellow, wearing a peacock feather on his head, a gleaming necklace around his neck, and a flute at his lips. They said to each other, ‘How fortunate are we that he chooses to love us!’ Ultimately, through their pure faith and passionate devotion, their hearts became illuminated, and they realized that Krishna 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 Bhagavat Purana provides this personal description:—“He (Akroon) saw more clearly, standing next to him, the figure of Krishna, with dark skin, dressed in a yellow robe, and truly beautiful to look at; with ruby lips, a neck as smooth as white coral, long and slender arms, a broad and noble chest, a waist perfectly proportioned, legs that were stunningly beautiful, feet like lotus flowers, and red nails. He had an incredibly valuable jewel in his crown, a belt around his waist, a scarf draped over his shoulder, a string of flowers around his neck, a gorgeous earring in his ear, an arm ornament, and held in his hands the conch shell, discus, club, and lotus.”

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.

The work that tells the story of this god is really interesting: some of the songs are beautiful, especially those honoring him who, to the Hindūs, brought peace and happiness to the world. In many ways, Maurice thinks the history resembles that of our Savior in his “Indian Antiquities”; more will be discussed about this as we look at another version of Krishnŭ, as the destroyer of the serpent.

KANIYĀ-JEE AND THE GOPĪS.
Kaniyā-Jee and the Gopis.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
فاني باركس

[121]

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.

The terrible shell panchajanya, from the great shankhe, or shellfish, whose roar echoed from earth to heaven, was used by Krishna 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.

So devoted were the gopīs to Krishna, the beloved, that if he wanted to ride an elephant, the lovely ladies would skillfully transform into the animal and carry him off triumphantly. The frontispiece to the second volume, titled “Kaniyā-jee and the Gōpia,” features a replica of an old Hindu painting celebrating this achievement: the way the figures are arranged is very clever and speaks well of the artist; the original is as intricately detailed as a miniature painting. The chatr, a symbol of royalty, is held over his head; peacock feathers adorn his forehead; and in his hand, he holds the ankus (elephant goad) and a lotus flower. The gopīs bring their musical instruments with them; they are adorned with jewels, and the tail of the animal showcases 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.

The second plate of Kaniyā-jee shows the triumphant Heri on a horse made of the gopīs, jumping and dancing under their precious load, while their musical instruments and songs celebrate his victory. This is also a replica of an old Hindu painting, completed with amazing detail and precision.

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.

I have a third painting, Krishnŭ, shown in a palanquin made of the gopīs, where the arrangement and grouping of the playful maidens is graceful and elegant. At the Huli festival, which is specifically dedicated to Kaniyā, images of the god are paraded on elephants, on horses, and in palanquins, likely to celebrate his antics with the gopīs; in fact, their playful mischief and entertainment at Brindāban, the forest Brindā near Mathurā by the banks of the Jumna, seemed endless. Krishnŭ is always depicted in a dark cerulean blue color (nila), which is why he is called Nila-nath, and he holds a lotus in his hand. During funeral lamentations, he is referred to as Heri, and the phrase Heri-bol! Heri-bol! is loudly called out by those carrying a corpse to its final resting place.

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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.

This small brass idol, fig. 4 in the plate titled “Jugunnathu,” depicts him as a child, kneeling on one knee, and holding a pera, a sweet treat, in his right hand, while he asks his mother, saying, “Mom, mom, please give me sweet treats.” In this form, he is worshipped as gāo, a cow, and palŭ, nourisher. These brass images are particularly popular, and some, being small and well-crafted, are used as household gods. Sometimes, the head of Gopalŭ is adorned with a crown of glory, as shown in the sketch; and in illustrations, the head of Krishnŭ is usually depicted surrounded 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.

This form uniquely depicts him as the god of the gopīs. Gopī, the wife of a cowherd, and Nat’hŭ, a lord; a young man dancing among the wives of the cowherds, the 16,000 gopīs, who always accompanied him and were the companions of his playful activities.

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.

Of all his many loves and wives, none had as much hold on his heart as Radha, a gopī, whom he took away from her husband. Her influence was so great that in worship, she is given preference, and the two figures are honored together as “Radha Krishn,” 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.

The figure shows the god playing his flute, with Radha beside him, one hand raised and the other pointing down. Their love has become a saying: “Remember your own Radha.” Just as Krishna always thought of Radha, people say, “Focus on your own Radha,” whether in anger or with a laugh. The shrine of Radha Krishna has many devotees; however, it's interesting that none of Krishna's legal wives are worshipped alongside him.

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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.

Another figure of Kaniyā-jee that I have shows him under a tree playing his flute; behind him is one of the cows from the sacred herd that Krishnŭ took care of, as he was a gaōwalla, or cowherd, by caste.

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.

Of all the images in my collection, the most striking one depicts a bold scene where this god is shown killing a serpent by crushing it with his foot. The Hindus believe there is a rivalry between the serpent and Krishna. His foot is on the head of the cobra, as shown by the expanded hood, which is unusual since few Hindus would kill the sacred serpent. Maurice points out that this resemblance between the Savior and Krishna is noteworthy.

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.

A drawing of this idol is shown in fig. 3, in the plate titled “Jugunnathu,” where, as the destroyer of Kali-nag, “The black serpent,” which plagued the blue waters of the Yamuna or Jumna, he is depicted as crushing him with his foot. He fought many battles with his opponent before he finally defeated him.

The following extract is very poetical:—“One day, in Dwaraka, which is a second Vaicontha, Creeshna was enjoying himself with his relations, and sons, and grand-children, and his 16,000 wives, and all his wealth: his elephants, his horses, his carriages without number, were arranged in order. In the midst of his golden castle extended his apartments on all the four sides. His gardens were of golden earth, wherein were trees of Paradise full of variegated fruits. Peacocks, and cocelas (Indian nightingales), and other birds, were sporting therein. Creeshna, on that day, was surrounded by his 16,000 wives, as lightning with a cloud, and they gathered innumerable flowers as offerings to Creeshna, like the Devatas presenting flowers to Eendra; and, in all the licence of joy, they and Creeshna were sporting together, and throwing flowers at each other. In the garden was a river, whose banks were all gold and jewels, the water of which, from the reflections of rubies, appeared red, though perfectly white; it was the water of life; and thousands of lotuses floated on its surface, among which innumerable bees were humming and seeking their food. In[124] this river they bathed and played, Creeshna always in the midst of them. At length, in the very height of all their revels and enjoyments, he suddenly disappeared! His principal wives, which were the eight nayega, remained for some time in profound astonishment: then they all burst out into the most passionate exclamations, crying, ‘Whither is he gone?’ One demanded of the birds if they had seen him, wondering they could sing until he returned. Another asked of the four-footed beasts why they made such loud moanings, as if Creeshna had left and deceived them too. One addressed the sea, ‘Thou ocean! who art night and day roaring, hath not Creeshna taken thy fourteen reten, or precious things, also, as well as our hearts, and is it not therefore thou grievest?’ Another addressed the moon, ‘O thou lord of the stars! why dost not thou draw on the world the veil of darkness? Art thou not affected by his absence? at which every one must be heartless, like us wretched creatures, who know not what is our fault to be thus forgotten and forsaken.’ Another spake to the passing clouds, ‘Ye, too, are impressed with the colour and figure of Creeshna; and, as he has taken his departure, so ye also are ever on the wing; and ye, like us mourning for his absence, overspread every quarter with gloom.’”

The following extract is very poetical:—“One day, in Dwaraka, which is a second Vaicontha, Krishna was enjoying himself with his family, his sons, and grandsons, and his 16,000 wives, along with all his wealth: his elephants, his numerous horses, and his countless chariots were all arranged in order. In the middle of his golden palace, his rooms extended on all four sides. His gardens were made of golden soil, filled with trees from Paradise bursting with colorful fruits. Peacocks, nightingales, and other birds were playing around. On that day, Krishna was surrounded by his 16,000 wives, like lightning with a cloud, and they gathered countless flowers as offerings to Krishna, like the divine beings presenting flowers to Indra; and, in all the freedom of joy, they and Krishna were playing together, throwing flowers at each other. In the garden was a river, its banks lined with gold and jewels, and the water, reflecting rubies, appeared red, although it was perfectly white; it was the water of life; and thousands of lotuses floated on its surface, where countless bees buzzed around seeking their food. In[124] this river they bathed and played, with Krishna always in the middle of them. Finally, at the height of all their festivities, he suddenly disappeared! His chief wives, the eight principal ones, were left in deep astonishment for a moment: then they all burst into passionate exclamations, crying, ‘Where has he gone?’ One asked the birds if they had seen him, wondering how they could sing until he returned. Another asked the four-legged creatures why they were moaning so loudly, as if Krishna had left and deceived them too. One spoke to the sea, ‘O ocean! you who roar night and day, has Krishna not taken your fourteen treasures, or precious things, just as he has taken our hearts, and is that why you grieve?’ Another spoke to the moon, ‘O lord of the stars! why do you not cover the world in darkness? Are you not affected by his absence? Must every being be heartless like us wretched souls, who don't know what we did to be forgotten and forsaken?’ Another addressed the passing clouds, ‘You are also marked with the color and shape of Krishna; and as he has left, so you too are always on the move; and like us, mourning for his absence, you spread gloom everywhere.’”

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.

In the chapter titled Jugunnathu, you'll find a description of Krishnŭ's death and the impact it had on 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.

15th.—A large swarm of locusts flew over Allahabad; some were caught and preserved. Why should I keep a journal? There’s nothing to write about in the monotony of life in India at home. The long, exhausting days, the hot, sleepless nights, the sweltering weather, the tiredness of my body, the heaviness in my mind, the lack of interest in everything, the need for cooler air and a different climate to revive nerves that have suffered from fifteen years in India;—I feel all this very deeply, and I must either return to England or head to the hills to recharge my worn-out body. There’s a lot of pūja happening in the camp; the Bā’ī wants me to see the tamāshā, but I’m too unwell to make the effort.

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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.

The only monkey I ever saw in my life that I didn’t find disgusting was one that Mr. H⸺ brought from Assam. A little guy, perfectly jet black, with white eyebrows—a real curiosity. His owner went up dāk to Agra, leaving the monkey, baggage, and servants to follow in a boat. The monkey was given four goats to provide him with milk on the trip, along with some tea and sugar since he had tea every morning. During a storm, the boat sank: the khidmatgār in charge said, “I saved the monkey and my kids with difficulty: what would the master have said if Jackoo had drowned?” Poor Jackoo’s four goats drowned, and the khidmatgār came to me in Allahabad to help get him some more. How could a monkey survive without milk in his tea? His beauty drew a lot of admiration. He was a high caste and very holy monkey. Coming down the river from Assam, he would sit on the mast, leaning on his hand. The locals followed the boat for miles, bowing to him. I believe he came from the Garrows: some are black, while others are cream-colored. They are very affectionate animals, often leaving their food just to cuddle. They spend a lot of the day hanging from a branch or a bamboo pole.

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.

Besides these monkeys, the Garrow Hills have many interesting things like birds, plants, etc. One of the birds is a gray pheasant, decorated with eye patterns similar to those on a peacock's tail, but smaller. It's really 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.

Alluding to that part of the country makes me want to include excerpts from some letters dated from Goalparah, sharing details about buffalo hunting and sports in that area.

“This letter is taken up with Shikār in obedience to your wishes. You have at heart a large share of the hunting principle, supposed to characterize mankind in a wild state. I have seen you in your excursion at Gaur, very anxious where the covert had a likely look, and so attentive when the game was started as not to be conscious of the thunder and lightning of[126] the pestilent gun, which is such an object of horror in your hours of ease. I recall these recollections as an excuse to myself for making a long story of a late shooting excursion.

"This letter is about hunting, as you requested. You have a genuine passion for the thrill of the hunt, which is thought to be a core instinct of humans in their natural state. I remember seeing you during your trip to Gaur, very eager when there was a promising spot to look for game, and completely focused when the game was flushed out, completely ignoring the deafening roar of the dreaded gun, which you find so frightening during your relaxing moments. I bring up these memories to justify my lengthy account of a recent hunting trip."

“In the dawn of last Friday morning nine buffaloes were discovered in the river making for our hill, two were killed in the water by villagers in boats, and three on shore by the men of the detachment; the remaining four took to the conical rising ground, at the southern extremity of our ridge, which is uninhabited, and covered with low tree and shrub jungle; a few trees a little larger rise through this undergrowth, and form the pathway that surrounds the cone, the finest peepul I have ever seen. This pathway branches off at the point, where the cone, or rather the detached hill, begins to rise from the main ridge, going entirely round it at the height of about four hundred feet above the level of the river. My havaldar, who took upon himself the ordering of the hunt, sent five men with muskets round by the left to establish themselves in the high trees that look into the jungle supposed to contain the buffaloes. A Mr. F⸺ and myself, with three or four sepoys and the havaldar, all with guns, proceeded by the right to some rocks, where, in perfect safety, we commanded the road, at the back of the hill, by which it was expected the buffaloes would arrive when dislodged by the left-hand party. After some time in this post, in a hot sun,—it was a clear day, and 2 P.M.,—we heard a shot from the party on the other side of the hill; and then, after an interval, two more; we looked eagerly for the buffaloes along the pathway, but still they did not come; and Mr. F⸺ getting tired, descended from our place of safety on the rocks, and proposed going round to where the shots were fired. As it was possible that the men in the trees might mistake us for buffaloes, I told a sepoy to call out that we were coming. I advanced a little way and saw two, one large, the other a calf; they were standing, and about to turn to go away. I aimed my large gun at the head of the calf and fired, without effect; I turned round to exchange my large gun for the double barrel that was loaded, when I found that, except my orderly, who only carried powder and ball, and the havaldar who was a little way beyond him, every[127] one had fled. The havaldar passed on the call for my double gun, and the man who held it put it into my hand in time; for the two buffaloes I had seen, either irritated by my dogs, or alarmed by the party in their rear, made a dash down the road, the large one leading, with its head at the charge near the ground, and snorting at the dogs that were flying before it. When I changed my gun the head brute was not eight feet from me: firing both barrels in a hurry and flurry, I jumped down to the right into the jungle; it was the affair of a moment, and my dexterity in escape, like Falstaff’s at Gads-hill, was upon instinct. When I looked along the road in the line of the charge, I perceived it was completely cleared; all within sight had made the same jump as myself—the orderly, a little behind me, the havaldar about ten yards further back; the former had a loaded gun, and told me afterwards, that he had not fired because my sacred person happened to be in a line with the buffaloes,—a civility for which I felt thankful. The men from the trees had killed an old buffalo, which I found lying across the road, another still remained in the jungle near the top of the conical hill. I began to ascend through wet shrubs and over slippery ground; when half-way up I was joined by Mr. F⸺, who said he had run for our post on the rock the instant he heard the buffaloes, and only gained it just in time to see them pass by: blood was flowing from the shoulder of the leading one; he himself fired without any effect. We now gained the top of the hill on which there is an open spot, overgrown with a coarse jungle grass used in thatching; a small house had formerly stood upon the place, and the jungle grass probably sprung up from grass-seed fallen from the chhappar; the thatched roof. The sepoys, except two with my guns, and my orderly, whom I trusted, owing to his late steadiness, to hand me my double gun, took to the trees, and Mr. F⸺ followed their example. The men on foot began beating the bushes, directed by the corps of observation in the trees. At length a full-grown buffalo emerged from the surrounding jungle, and stood before me on the open space. Instantly every tree opened its fire; a single grazing shot was the only result; this appeared to decide[128] him, lowering his horns to the charge (to speak poetically), his hoofs swallowed up the space between us; at my feet was the least possible swell of the ground, and as he reached it I stopped him in mid career. A ball from my large gun had entered his head, between the horns,—a little to the right as facing me, a little to the left as regarded himself. He fell at about six feet from me.

“In the early hours of last Friday morning, nine buffaloes were spotted in the river heading towards our hill. Villagers in boats killed two in the water, and three more were taken down on the shore by our detachment. The remaining four headed for a conical rise at the southern end of our ridge, which is uninhabited and covered with low trees and shrub jungle. A few larger trees rise through this undergrowth, forming a path that surrounds the cone, the finest peepul I’ve ever seen. This path branches off at the point where the cone, or rather the detached hill, starts to rise from the main ridge, circling it at about four hundred feet above the river level. My havaldar, who took charge of the hunt, sent five men with muskets around to the left to position themselves in the tall trees overlooking the jungle where the buffaloes were believed to be. A Mr. F⸺ and I, along with three or four sepoys and the havaldar, all armed with guns, moved to the right to some rocks where we could safely watch the road behind the hill, expecting the buffaloes to come from the left-hand party's disturbances. After some time in our hot spot—under a clear sky at 2 P.M.—we heard a shot from the other side of the hill; then, after a bit, two more shots followed. We eagerly looked along the path for the buffaloes, but they didn’t appear. Mr. F⸺, getting restless, decided to come down from our safe spot on the rocks and suggested we head around where the shots had been fired. Since it was possible that the men in the trees might mistake us for buffaloes, I instructed a sepoy to shout that we were coming. I advanced a little and spotted two buffaloes, one large and one a calf, standing ready to flee. I aimed my big gun at the calf’s head and fired, but missed. I turned to switch my large gun for the double barrel that was loaded, only to discover that everyone had run away except for my orderly, who carried only powder and ball, and the havaldar, who was a short distance from him. The havaldar called for my double gun, and the man holding it passed it to me just in time; the two buffaloes I had seen, either agitated by my dogs or alarmed by the group behind them, took off down the road with the large one leading, lowering its head and snorting at the dogs in its path. When I switched my gun, the charging buffalo was less than eight feet away from me: I quickly fired both barrels in a rush and jumped down to the right into the jungle; it all happened in an instant, and my quick escape, much like Falstaff’s at Gadshill, was purely instinctive. When I looked along the path where the buffalo had charged, I saw that it was completely clear; all within view had taken the same leap as I had—the orderly a bit behind me and the havaldar about ten yards farther back; the former had a loaded gun and later told me he didn’t fire because I happened to be in line with the buffaloes—a nice courtesy for which I was grateful. The men from the trees had taken down an old buffalo, which I found lying across the road, while another was still in the jungle near the top of the conical hill. I began climbing through wet shrubs and over slippery ground; halfway up, I was joined by Mr. F⸺, who said he had dashed for our position on the rocks the moment he heard the buffaloes, only arriving just in time to see them pass by. Blood was running from the shoulder of the lead buffalo, and he had fired without hitting it. We finally reached the top of the hill, which has an open spot overgrown with coarse jungle grass used for thatching; a small house previously stood there, and the grass likely sprouted from seeds dropped by the thatch. The sepoys, except for two with my guns and my orderly—who I trusted due to his recent calmness to hand me my double gun—took to the trees, and Mr. F⸺ followed suit. The men on foot began beating the bushes, guided by the observers in the trees. Eventually, a full-grown buffalo emerged from the jungle, standing before me in the open area. Instantly, every tree opened fire; just a grazing shot was the only result, which seemed to provoke him as he lowered his horns to charge (to put it poetically). His hooves quickly closed the distance between us; at my feet was a slight rise in the ground, and as he reached it, I stopped him in mid-charge. A bullet from my big gun found its way into his head, between the horns—slightly to the right from my perspective, a touch to the left from his. He fell 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.”

“You must never mention Mr. B's feat now, since an ordinary person has accomplished the same; as for me, I don’t see much to be afraid of from buffaloes. In cold weather, which is the usual hunting season, they’re typically found in large plains, and anyone with a reliable gun has no excuse for missing in such a scenario, where there’s plenty of time before they charge. Nothing from Friday’s experience (not Man Friday’s) will stop me from going after the very large-horned old buffaloes or the young calves, whose heads make great soups and stews. The way I got my gun and the rush I had to make while shooting explains why I didn’t take down the lead buffaloes on the path. If they had been intending harm, instead of just rushing to escape, I could have been in serious trouble. These two buffaloes were brought in during the day by the sepoys, and all the characters in my story—the nine buffaloes are all accounted for; and the drama could be portrayed on stage if only the unities of time and place were required.”

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[129] sepoys began beating from the opposite part of the hill; a man in a tree communicated that the tiger was roused, and our expectation of his coming towards us was for a time intense. Keeping to the jungle of the hill above the pathway, he turned back in the direction from which we had come, and avoided the line of beaters. We quitted the rocks, and placed ourselves in the pathway beyond the part of the jungle the tiger had taken to, and the beating by the men bringing round the left of the line recommenced towards us. Scarcely a minute seemed to have elapsed before we heard an ugh-ugh from the tiger, though we were in ignorance at the time it was the roar with which he accompanied his spring on one of the sepoys, for at that time we got no sight of the tiger; but the news of a man being knocked down soon reached us, and a sepoy carried him down upon his back; a few scratches were visible on the shoulders, but the extent of the principal injury, which was on the head, was concealed by the turban, almost completely stained with blood.

A tiger had taken refuge in our hill, and I was eager to track it down; the soldiers were excited to join me, so I told them that joining the hunt was completely up to them, and that the volunteers could grab as many muskets as they wanted. We set off at 1 P.M., and quickly came across its huge footprints, heading towards the unoccupied and dense jungle of the hill. Following tracks like this brings a strange feeling, knowing that you may soon encounter the menacing creature; continuing feels like being swept into a swift current leading to a waterfall. We settled at an old lookout point on the rocks, and the soldiers began making noise from the opposite side of the hill; a man in a tree signaled that the tiger was alerted, and we were intensely hopeful that it would come toward us. Staying within the jungle above the path, it turned around and headed back the way we came, avoiding the beaters. We left the rocks and positioned ourselves along the path beyond the area the tiger had gone into, and the men starting moving again from the left toward us. It barely felt like a minute had passed when we heard the tiger make a ugh-ugh sound, though we didn’t realize at the time it was the roar accompanying its leap onto one of the soldiers, as we hadn't spotted the tiger yet. But soon we got the news that a soldier had been knocked down, and another soldier carried him on his back; a few scratches were visible on his shoulders, but the main injury, which was to his head, was hidden by his turban, almost completely soaked in blood.

“I heard afterwards that he was a-head of the others, crouching down, and looking into the jungle grass on the top of the hill, at the edge of the tree jungle, for traces of the tiger, when the animal sprung on him from behind, lighting with his fore-paws on his shoulders; and that the wounds inflicted on the scalp were from a bite, the teeth luckily slipping over the surface of the skull. Mr. M⸺ and I took a more advantageous position on the slope of the rising ground, facing the conical hill, and at about sixty yards from the place where we afterwards saw the tiger emerge. An havaldar put himself at the head of those men who had brought guns, and continued the hunt, much incensed against the tiger; he at length exposed his whole flank at about sixty yards to Mr. M⸺ and myself. Mr. M⸺ fired a little before me, and striking the tiger, caused him to turn round and escape the heavier bullet from my gun. The havaldar shortly after shot him again a little in front of the hip; Mr. M⸺’s shot was behind the shoulder. We left the tiger for that day; the next evening we beat the whole hill, but he was not to be found; probably he[130] was dead, for an unusual collection of crows, vultures, and adjutants perching or flying very low, seemed to give token of his death. The wounded sepoy is doing very well; and the present of some rupees has made him consider himself a lucky fellow.”

“I heard later that he was ahead of the others, crouched down, looking into the jungle grass at the top of the hill, near the edge of the jungle, searching for signs of the tiger, when the animal leaped on him from behind, landing with its front paws on his shoulders; the wounds on his scalp were from a bite, with the teeth fortunately sliding over the surface of his skull. Mr. M⸺ and I took a better position on the slope of the rising ground, facing the conical hill, about sixty yards from where we later saw the tiger emerge. A havaldar led the men who had brought guns and continued the hunt, very angry at the tiger; eventually, the tiger exposed its whole side at about sixty yards to Mr. M⸺ and me. Mr. M⸺ shot a moment before I did, hitting the tiger and causing it to turn around and dodge my heavier bullet. The havaldar then shot it again just in front of the hip; Mr. M⸺’s shot hit behind the shoulder. We left the tiger for the day; the next evening we searched the entire hill, but couldn’t find it; it had probably died, as an unusual gathering of crows, vultures, and adjutants resting or flying low seemed to indicate its death. The wounded sepoy is recovering well; a gift of some rupees has made him feel quite lucky.”

THE BĀGHMARS.

The following extract must not be omitted, since it elucidates the sketch of “The Spring-bow,” vol. ii. p. 73.

The following extract must not be left out, as it clarifies the outline 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.

“I need to tell you about a tiger that Lieutenant M⸺ and I went out to hunt, but we only managed to wound it. A few days ago, a cow was killed on our hill in Goalpara, and there were fresh and clear tiger footprints on the footpath around that remote conical hill I mentioned earlier. Captain Davidson’s assistant brought in two elephants to drive through the jungle, and with a group of sepoys armed with muskets, I went out again. I made the smart choice to stay on some rocks to wait for the tiger to come out of the jungle towards me. The jungle was pushed, but no tiger showed up, and the sepoys, getting impatient, decided to go into the jungle to beat it instead of the elephants. I warned them against this because it was quite dangerous, but they brushed me off, thinking it was just a matter of luck. I told the little havaldar, who leads these efforts, that the tiger would kill him; he replied, ‘Yes, he would if I let him.’ This wasn’t bravado like it might have sounded from a European, but a straightforward expression of his belief. He sees the tiger as a creature with great hikmat, clever but lacking in courage; and if you stand up to him firmly, like the devil, he will run away. The beaters were cutting down the jungle and shouting; and to relieve your curiosity, no tiger was found, even 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.

“The task of bringing in the tiger was given to some bhagmar people, who are professional tiger-killers. A group of them happened to be in Goalpara to collect payment for the heads they had gathered.”

[131]

“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.

“Have you ever seen the bow they use for tigers[20]? It’s set to one side of the animal’s track and is stronger and larger than a bahangī bamboo. The combined strength of two or three men draws the string back when the arrow is about to be set. The poisoned arrowhead, which is kept separate, is attached, and a very thin piece of twine is placed across the animal’s path; even the slightest touch on this string releases the arrow with deadly accuracy. This bow was set the night after our battue, and the next morning, around 9 AM, I received word that the tiger was dead on the hillside, and several people were about to carry it to Captain Davidson’s; from there, it was brought to me. It was a fine female, killed while eating a cow, with no wounds except for the one that killed it—proof that it wasn’t the tiger we had seen, which was shot twice, as evidenced by heavy clots of blood on the leaves it had passed through. The arrow had embedded itself just to the depth of its head, right behind the left shoulder: the wound alone couldn’t have caused death, but the poison did; and the tiger was found about sixty yards from where it touched the string. The poison looks the same as the one on the arrow you got at Rajmahal; the tiger hunters told me they got it from the people of Bhotan, but I don’t know if they make it or just sell it: its effectiveness is incredible.

“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’ve noticed, and I’m sure you’ve seen it too, that these Sebundies and the locals who live near wild animals show a fearlessness towards them that makes the bravery of a European in the same situation look weak. Charging through dense jungle where a tiger has just taken down one of their group, some armed only with sticks, is something no European would do unless forced to.”

“I put the question to my havaldar, a man capable of answering it from personal courage and experience in such matters, whether the buffalo charges blindly forward in his first direction,[132] so as to allow of a person’s escaping by stepping aside? ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘the buffalo will turn with you.’

“I asked my havaldar, a guy who had the guts and experience to answer, if a buffalo charges straight ahead the first time, giving someone a chance to get away by stepping aside. ‘Oh no,’ he replied, ‘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.

“The two that charged at me were trying to flee, and were moving along a narrow footpath; by jumping to the side, I vanished into the jungle that was growing below me on the hillside.”

“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.

“It’s morning, and I’m drinking tea; just a moment ago, an earthquake shook the table I’m sitting at, making my teacup and saucer rattle like castanets. I was about to write when our hill started shaking, and you would have seen letters warped by the quake—quite an unusual occurrence in everyday letters. I hope we don’t have three shocks in total, according to the usual pattern; though that’s apparently what Mother Earth likes to do. I would never want to disrupt her habits since I hold her in mythological reverence; I only ask that the house I’m in remains standing.”

“The tiger-killers (bhagmar) are a strange set of people; the trade, like all trades in this country, descends from father to son, and is, as far as I can compute, a very indifferent livelihood. Say that a set of men get twenty heads during the year (this is nearly twice the common average), the reward for this number is one hundred rupees; which, divided by twelve and seven, gives each individual of the party one rupee three ānās a month. Seven were in the set to which my informant belonged, including, probably, three women. Two of the tiger-killers lately arrived have good marks from the gentlemen whose heads they traffic in; according to them all there is only one portion of their labours attended with danger, and that is, when seeking the tiger after the bow has been sprung. If the arrow lodges fairly in the side, the animal is found dead; should he be less fully hit, he is found, as they call it, in a state of drunkenness. They then approach him with hand-bows to finish him. This is the dangerous portion of their work. From the marks on one of these men, I should think the tiger must have been in a state of great weakness when he seized him.[133] The different places in which he is scored show him to have been fairly in the tiger’s grip, and yet the amount of injury was small. The other has suffered more severely; and three men, they say, were killed outright during this year.

The tiger hunters (bhagmar) are an unusual group of people. Like all trades in this country, it gets passed down from father to son and, as far as I can tell, provides a pretty mediocre living. If a group of men manages to kill twenty tigers in a year (which is almost double the average), they earn one hundred rupees for that. Split between twelve and seven, that means each person in the group gets about one rupee and three ānās a month. There were seven in the group my informant was part of, probably including three women. Two of the newly arrived tiger hunters have received good references from the people whose heads they trade in; according to them, there is only one part of their work that comes with danger, and that’s when they go after the tiger after the bow has been released. If the arrow hits its mark in the side, the tiger is usually found dead. If it doesn't hit just right, the tiger is found, as they put it, in a state of drunkenness. They then approach it with hand-bows to deliver the final blow. This is the risky part of their job. Based on the scars on one of these men, I’d guess the tiger was pretty weak when it attacked him. The different marks show he was firmly in the tiger's grip, yet the injuries were minor. The other man has been hurt worse; they've said three men were killed outright this year.[133]

“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!’

“This is the job that people will take for the chance of half a penny a day! I don't think the Sadr ’Adālat folks would join the bhagmar department even if their pay was doubled. This shows that the work could be done for four pennies a day, with three and a half pennies just for respectability. ‘Two shillings for the virtue, and a sixpence for the learning!’”

“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.”

“For the first time, I visited the graveyard. Your friend’s resting place is more striking than it is somber. A small circular area made up of upright bamboo sticks, just like the protection around a young tree, seems to suggest to the traveler that in these wild areas, there’s a culture that believes in a plant-like resurrection.”

[134]

CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE FAMINE IN KANAUJ.

“HEALTH ALONE IS EQUAL TO A THOUSAND BLESSINGS[21].”

“Health alone is worth 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.

Partiality of the Natives for English Guns—Solitary Confinement—Nawab Hakim Menhdi—Bad Omens—A Minor Mistake—Bhusa—The Padshah Begam and Moona-jah—The Baiza Bai Visits a Steamer—Arrival of Lord Auckland—Visit of the Governor-General and Honorable Misses Eden to Her Highness, the Ex-Queen of Gwalior—A March Up Country—The Camp at Fathipur—The March Route—Death of Nawab Hakim Menhdi—The Heir-apparent of Awadh Hosts Breakfast for the Governor-General—H.R.H. Prince Henry of Orange and the Misses Eden Visit Lucknow—Resignation of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Chobipur—Thieves—Urowl—The Famine—The Pilgrim Buys a Cocky-olli Bird—Merunkee Sarai—Ancient Hindu Ruin at Kanauj—Famine in the Bazaar—Burial of Mahadeo and Parvati—The Legend of Kanauj.

1837, Aug.—A gentleman who had been paying us a visit quitted us for Agra just before his baggage boat arrived, in which were two immense German dogs, one striped like a tiger,—most warlike animals; they eyed me fiercely, and pulled impatiently on their chains when brought into the verandah; they will be good guards at night, but their arrival at Agra will be a little too late;—like locking the door when the steed has been stolen. Mr. H⸺ went out to dinner, and did not return home that night: some thieves took out a pane of glass, opened the door, carried off his two gun-cases and a writing-desk. A short distance from the house they broke open the cases, which they threw away, and made off with the guns, a gold watch,[135] three seals, and a guard-chain. No traces have been discovered of the thieves, and our friend must resign himself to the loss, with the comfort of remembering that I told him several times he would lose his guns, unless he locked them up in some heavy, unwieldy chest, that could not readily be carried away.

1837, Aug.—A gentleman who had been visiting us left for Agra just before his baggage boat arrived, which had two huge German dogs on board, one striped like a tiger—very fierce animals; they glared at me aggressively and tugged eagerly on their chains when brought into the verandah. They’ll make good guard dogs at night, but their arrival in Agra will be a bit too late—like locking the door once the horse has been stolen. Mr. H⸺ went out for dinner and didn’t come back that night: some thieves removed a pane of glass, opened the door, and stole his two gun cases and a writing desk. A short distance from the house, they broke open the cases, which they discarded, and made off with the guns, a gold watch,[135] three seals, and a guard chain. No traces of the thieves have been found, and our friend has to come to terms with the loss, finding little comfort in the fact that I had warned him multiple times he would lose his guns unless he secured them in some heavy, cumbersome chest that couldn’t easily be taken.

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.

Solitary confinement in the Fort of Allahabad, a punishment given to rebellious soldiers, is feared by them more than anything else. The cells for prisoners in the Fort of Chunar are truly isolating; you can’t see outside the window or hear any human voices, while in Allahabad, they manage to allow both; that's why Chunar is so widely dreaded.

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.

Sept.—The fever, which, like the plague, took thousands in Palee, has disappeared; the quarantines are lifted, the panic is over, the letters are no longer sanitized, and the fear of the plague has faded away.

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.

On July 22nd of this year, the river had only risen eight feet above the normal level; last year, around the same time, even with the late onset of the rains, the Jumna had risen twenty-four feet above the usual level, highlighting the significant lack of rainfall 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.

24th.—Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī has been reappointed as minister in Oude; he must be so happy! He’s been living in Fathīgar, longing to be restored to his honors in Lucnow. The Nawāb left for Oude; on the first day of his march, the horse carrying his nakaras (state kettle-drums) collapsed and died, and one of his cannons tipped over—both very unlucky signs. The camp and the minister were in shock! For us, it's amusing, but for the locals, it's a source of distress. The right to play kettle-drums and have them carried in front of you is reserved for important figures. So, this omen was quite alarming; it will be reported in Lucnow, reach the King, and could negatively influence his mindset—locals are extremely superstitious.

The Maharaj of Gwalior, the Bāiza Bā’ī’s adopted son, who drove her out of the kingdom, announced a few days ago that a son and heir was born unto him. The Resident communicated the happy news to the Government; illuminations took place,[136] guns were fired, every honour paid to the young heir of the throne of Gwalior. The Bā’ī sent her grand-daughter on an elephant, in an amārī (a canopied seat), attended by her followers on horseback, to do pooja in the Ganges, and to give large presents to the Brahmāns. As the Gaja Rājā passed along the road, handfuls of rupees were scattered to the crowd below from the seat on the elephant. Six days after the announcement of the birth of a son, the King sent for the Resident, and, looking very sheepish, was obliged to confess the son was a daughter! The Resident was much annoyed that his beard had been laughed at; and, in all probability, the King had been deceived by the women in the zenāna: perhaps a son had really been born, and having died, a girl had been substituted;—the only child procurable, perhaps, at the moment, or approved of by the mother. A zenāna is the very birth-place of intrigue.

The Maharaj of Gwalior, the Bāiza Bā’ī’s adopted son, who banished her from the kingdom, announced a few days ago that he had welcomed a son and heir. The Resident shared this joyful news with the Government; there were celebrations with lights, gunfire, and all honors were bestowed upon the young heir of the Gwalior throne. The Bā’ī sent her granddaughter on an elephant, in an amārī (a canopied seat), accompanied by her attendants on horseback, to perform pooja in the Ganges and to give generous gifts to the Brahmins. As the Gaja Rājā moved along the road, handfuls of rupees were thrown to the crowd below from the elephant’s seat. Six days after announcing the birth of a son, the King called for the Resident and, looking quite embarrassed, had to admit that the child was actually a daughter! The Resident was pretty upset that his reputation had been mocked; likely, the King had been misled by the women in the zenāna: perhaps a son was indeed born, but after he died, a girl was presented as a substitute—possibly the only child available at that moment, or one that the mother approved of. A zenāna is the very center 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.

30th.—I’m busy getting ready for a march; maybe, during my travels, I’ll drop by Lucknow, meet the new King, and catch up with my old friend the Nawab Hakim Mehndi in all his splendor. I’d really like to check out the zenana because, even though the King is around seventy, there’s no reason he can't have a large zenana, with wives of all types—“the black, the blue, the brown, the fair”—for the sake of state and appearances.

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.

Oct. 3rd.—Right now, there's a large fire burning nearby, producing a lot of smoke not far from our house. Here, they chop straw very finely to feed the cattle. A Hindu has gathered a big supply of bhūsā (this chopped straw) and has been selling it for a very high price lately; as a result, someone set fire to the pile and destroyed several hundred mŭns of it. My khansaman, watching the fire, calmly remarked, “He’s been selling his bhūsā at an unfairly high price lately, so they secretly set it on fire; of course they would, it’s the custom.” The locals have some interesting views on justice.

12th.—Called on the Bāiza Bā’ī;—really, the most agreeable visits I pay are to the Mahratta Camp.

12th.—Visited Bāiza Bā’ī;—honestly, the most enjoyable visits I have are to the Mahratta Camp.

17th.—The Padshah Begam and Moona-jah, the young Prince of Oude, whom she attempted to put on the throne, have[137] arrived at Allahabad, state prisoners; they remained a day or two, their tents surrounded by double guards night and day. The Begam wished to remain here, but she was forced to march at last, and has proceeded to Chunar, where she is to remain a prisoner of state.

17th.—The Padshah Begam and Moona-jah, the young Prince of Oude, whom she tried to put on the throne, have[137] arrived in Allahabad as state prisoners. They stayed for a day or two, with their tents surrounded by double guards day and night. The Begam wanted to stay here, but she was eventually compelled to move on and has gone to Chunar, where she will remain a state prisoner.

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 plans for a trip upcountry to see my friends are almost finished; my new tents just arrived from Cawnpore, and they are being set up and checked so I won't have any issues 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.

The camp going to meet Lord Auckland at Benares passed through Allahabad yesterday; two hundred and fifty elephants, seven hundred camels, etc.—a stunning sight; they set up camp quite close to 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.

Nov. 23rd.—The Bāiza Bā’ī came down to board the steamer, which she was eager to see. The ship was docked at the ghāt and surrounded by kanats (the canvas walls of tents). A big group of English ladies accompanied the Bā’ī, and several English gentlemen went on board with Appa Sāhib after her Highness returned, looking very 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.

Dec. 1st.—The Governor-General Lord Auckland, the Hon. Misses Eden, and Captain Osborne arrived at Allahabad with their huge encampment. The men from the Civil Service and the military came to pay their respects. Instead of morning visits, the Misses Eden welcomed guests in the evening, turning a formal morning call into a fun gathering—a welcome change for both the visitors and the hosts.

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.

7th.—I greeted Miss Eden at her tents; she informed me that she was going to visit her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī with the Governor-General and invited me to join her as the interpreter, which I happily agreed to.

8th.—The Gaja Rājā Sāhib went on an elephant in state, to bring the Misses Eden to call on the Bāiza Bā’ī. They arrived with Lord Auckland in all due form: his Lordship and Appa Sāhib sat in the outer room, and conversed with her Highness through the parda. I introduced the Misses Eden to the Bāiza Bā’ī and her grand-daughter, with whom they appeared pleased and interested. Twenty-two trays, containing pairs of shawls,[138] pieces of cloth of gold, fine Dacca muslin, and jewels, were presented to the Governor-General; and fifteen trays, filled in a similar manner, to each of the Misses Eden. They bowed to the presents when they were laid before them, after which the trays were carried off, and placed in the treasury for the benefit of the Government.

8th.—The Gaja Rājā Sāhib rode in style on an elephant to bring the Misses Eden to visit the Bāiza Bā’ī. They arrived with Lord Auckland in a formal manner: his Lordship and Appa Sāhib sat in the outer room and spoke with her Highness through the curtain. I introduced the Misses Eden to the Bāiza Bā’ī and her granddaughter, with whom they seemed pleased and interested. Twenty-two trays filled with pairs of shawls,[138] pieces of gold cloth, fine Dacca muslin, and jewels were presented to the Governor-General; and fifteen trays, filled in a similar way, were given to each of the Misses Eden. They bowed to the gifts when they were presented to them, after which the trays were taken away and placed in the treasury for the Government’s benefit.

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.

15th.—I left Allahabad on my way to the Hills, accompanied by our friend Mr. F⸺, near whose tents mine were to be set up: the area was filled with robbers; they trail the camp of the Governor-General wherever it goes.

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.

16th.—I arrived at my tents in Fathīpūr; the camp looked amazing; the troops were lined up in front of the Governor-General's tents, and everything was formal for the reception of the Chiefs of Bandelkhand; the cannons were firing salutes; it was a lively and beautiful sight.

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.

18th.—I got on my black horse and rode out at dawn with some friends. From the moment we left our tents, we saw so many elephants, strings of camels, horses and carts, and various carriages accompanying the troops and the artillery of the Governor-General and his entourage, that the entire march felt like one massive crowd of living beings. My tents were set up near the artillery guns, outside the camp at Mulwah: a Rājā came to visit Lord Auckland, a salute was fired; my horses, being so close, got startled; the grey broke free from his ropes, fell on the pegs he was tied to, and injured himself; another horse broke loose; a camel hurt itself, and we had some trouble calming the panicked animals.

19th.—I was unwell from over-fatigue, most uncomfortable. In the evening I roused myself to dine with Lord Auckland to meet Prince Henry of Orange. His Royal Highness entered the navy at eight years of age, and has been in the service ten years, in the “Bellona” frigate. Accompanied by his captain, he came up dāk to spend a few days with Lord Auckland.[139] The Prince is a tall, slight young man, and, apparently, very diffident.

19th.—I was feeling unwell from being overly tired, quite uncomfortable. In the evening, I pushed myself to go to dinner with Lord Auckland to meet Prince Henry of Orange. He started his naval career at eight years old and has been serving for ten years on the "Bellona" frigate. Accompanied by his captain, he came up dāk to spend a few days with Lord Auckland.[139] The Prince is a tall, slender young man and seems to be quite shy.

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.

21st.—I arrived in Cawnpore and finally visited a relative I'd promised to see for a long time. Since the Misses Eden were home in the evening, I went with Major P⸺ to pay our respects. We got lost in the ravine because of a thick fog; when we got to the tents, the whole station was gathered there, with quadrilles and waltzing happening.

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:—

25th.—On Christmas Day, the old Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī, the minister of Oude, whom I've mentioned many times, passed away in Lucnow. His death was communicated to me in a very unique note from his nephew and heir, 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.”

“Dear Madam, I regret to inform you that my dear uncle Nawāb Moontuzim-ood-Dowlah Bahadur passed away at the will of Providence, at half-past three o’clock AM, the day before yesterday, Monday, the 25th, after a brief illness of only six days. Therefore, we can no longer see him in this world. The Begam Sāhiba sends her warm regards to you. With best wishes, I remain, dear Madam, yours sincerely, 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!

I was sorry to hear about the Nawāb's death. It came so soon after the bad signs during his march!

26th.—Received an invitation to breakfast with the son of the King of Oude (who had arrived from Lucnow), to meet the Governor-General’s party: went there on an elephant: an immense party were assembled in a very fine tent. Shortly after, breakfast was announced: when it was over we returned to the former tent, when the presents were brought forth; they consisted of a fine elephant, with a howdah on his back, and the whole of the trappings of red cloth and velvet richly embroidered in gold. Two fine horses next appeared, their housings of velvet and gold; and the bridles were studded with rows of turquoise. A golden palanquin was next presented. On the ground, in front of the party, were twenty-three trays, the present to Lord Auckland; they were filled with Cashmere shawls in pairs, pieces of kimkhwāb, and necklaces of pearls,[140] emeralds, and diamonds. Fifteen trays of shawls and cloth of gold, with fine pieces of Dacca muslin, were presented to each of the Misses Eden; two of the trays contained two combs set in superb diamonds, and two necklaces of diamonds and emeralds, such as are hardly ever seen even in India. All these fine things were presented and accepted; they were then carried off and placed in the Government treasury. The Government make presents of equal value in return.

26th.—I got an invitation to breakfast with the son of the King of Oude (who had come from Lucknow) to meet the Governor-General’s group: I went there on an elephant. A huge crowd was gathered in a really nice tent. Shortly after, breakfast was served. When it finished, we went back to the first tent where the gifts were shown; they included a beautiful elephant with a howdah on its back, and all the decorations were made of red cloth and velvet, richly embroidered in gold. Two gorgeous horses then appeared, adorned with velvet and gold coverings, and their bridles were studded with rows of turquoise. Next, a golden palanquin was presented. In front of the group, there were twenty-three trays meant for Lord Auckland; they were filled with pairs of Cashmere shawls, pieces of kimkhwab, and necklaces made of pearls, emeralds, and diamonds.[140] Fifteen trays of shawls and gold fabric, along with exquisite pieces of Dacca muslin, were given to each of the Misses Eden; two of the trays included two combs set in incredible diamonds, and two necklaces made of diamonds and emeralds, which are rarely seen even in India. All these beautiful items were presented and accepted; they were then taken away and put in the Government treasury. The Government gives gifts 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.

26th.—The station hosted a ball for the Governor-General and the Misses Eden; the next day, Prince Henry of Orange, the Misses Eden, and Captain Osborne went to Lucknow for a few days, leaving Lord Auckland in Cawnpore. They returned on the 30th, when the Prince left the group 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.

1838, Jan. 1st.—Sir Charles Metcalfe, who had come from Agra, handed over his authority to Lord Auckland and left 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.

I feel quite at ease, everything being in order, with a double set of tents, two horses for the buggy, two Arabian horses for riding, ten camels to carry the luggage, and two bullock carts for the women. The male servants walk along with the camels: everything is needed in duplicates. One tent, with the crew, leaves in the evening and is set up at the end of the journey, and breakfast is 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.

3rd.—It’s a chilly day with strong winds: my tents are set up on a dusty plain, with no grass in sight, and the wind and dust are swirling around. My little tent is like a gem in the desert, so white and clean: although it’s small, it’s too big to take up into the hills, so today I’ve written to arrange for two hill tents and a ghoont (a hill pony) to be bought for me, so they’ll be ready when I get there.

4th.—Quitted Chobīpūr, and arrived early at the end of the march; found the tent only half pitched, no breakfast ready; in fact, the servants, leaving every thing about in every direction, had gone to sleep. The thieves, who are innumerable all over the country, taking advantage of their idleness, had carried off my dital harp with the French blankets and the pillows from[141] my charpāī. These things were under the sentry, but he was asleep on his post. The box was found in a field, near the tent, but the dital harp was gone. I had always made a point of pitching my tents near the great camp, for the sake of the protection it afforded. “It is dark under the lamp[22],” was exemplified;—a proverb used when crimes are committed near the seat of authority. Strict orders were of course issued to my people to be more on the alert in future. “When the wolf has run away with the child the door is made fast[23].” In the evening I dined with the Governor-General, and was much gratified with the sight of some of Miss Eden’s most spirited and masterly sketches.

4th.—Left Chobīpūr and arrived early at the end of the march; found the tent only half set up, and no breakfast was ready. The servants had left everything scattered around and had gone to sleep. Meanwhile, the countless thieves throughout the country took advantage of their laziness and stole my dital harp, along with the French blankets and the pillows from [141] my charpāī. These items were supposed to be under guard, but the sentry was asleep at his post. The box was found in a field near the tent, but the dital harp was missing. I had always insisted on pitching my tents close to the main camp for the protection it offered. The saying "It is dark under the lamp[22]," came to mind; it’s a proverb used when crimes happen close to those in power. Of course, strict orders were given to my people to be more vigilant in the future. "When the wolf has run away with the child the door is made fast[23]." In the evening, I had dinner with the Governor-General and was very pleased to see some of Miss Eden’s most lively and impressive 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.

5th.—Arrived at Urowl. Here, the famine started to hit really hard; I had heard people talking about it, but I never thought much of it and had never pictured it in my mind. No food could be found for the camels or oxen, so they went without; it wasn’t available for money, but we could get gram, which they had for a meal. The horses got gram as well, but there was no grass; the land was so completely scorched that barely a blade or even a root of grass could be cut, and everything was extremely 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.

6th.—At six AM, when I left my tent to get on my horse, it was freezing cold; the poor starving people had gathered where my horses had been, trying to collect the grains of feed that had fallen from their nose-bags; others were huddled around a half-burned log my team had lit during the night. Along the road, I saw many animals that had died from exhaustion and hunger; carts were overturned; at one point, a palanquin had been stolen, and the wheels had run over two camel drivers; one man was lying on the side of the road, unconscious and dying.

On reaching the Stanhope, which had been laid half way for me, the horse gave some annoyance while being put into harness; when once in, away he went, pulling at a fearful rate, through[142] roads half way up the leg in sand, full of great holes, and so crowded with elephants, camels, artillery, cavalry, and infantry, and all the camp followers, it was scarcely possible to pass through such a dense crowd; and in many places it was impossible to see beyond your horse’s head from the excessive dust. Imagine a camp of 11,000 men all marching on the road, and such a road!

On arriving at the Stanhope, which had been prepared for me, the horse was a bit difficult while I was putting on the harness; but once he was harnessed, he took off at an alarming speed, tearing through[142] roads that were halfway buried in sand, full of deep holes, and packed with elephants, camels, artillery, cavalry, infantry, and all the camp followers. It was nearly impossible to navigate through such a dense crowd; in many spots, the dust was so thick that you couldn’t see beyond your horse's head. Just picture a camp of 11,000 men all marching down that road, and what a road it was!

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!

Away rushed the horse in the carriage, and if the harness hadn't been sturdy and the reins proper, we would have been in trouble. I spotted a beautiful Persian kitten on an Arab’s shoulder; he was walking with a long line 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 exceptionally long hair and bushy tail, caught my eye; its colors were so vibrant. The Arab ran up to the carriage, holding out the kitten; we quickly pulled back the eager horse for a moment, and I grabbed the adorable little creature. The sudden stop made the horse even more restless, and off he dashed at full speed through the encampment we had just arrived at. The Arab, thinking I had intentionally taken his kitten, ran after the buggy at full speed, shouting as he passed Lord Auckland’s tents, “Dohā’ī, dohā’ī, sir! dohā’ī, Lord sir!” “Mercy, mercy, sir! Mercy, Governor-General!” The faster the horse ran, the faster the shouting Arab followed, until we reached my own tents, where the horse stopped on its own, and the breathless Arab caught up. He asked for ten rupees for his kitten, but eventually, with a show of hesitation, accepted five, claiming it was worth twenty. “Who has ever been the lucky owner of a tortoise-shell Persian cat?” The man left. Alas! for the wickedness of the world! Alas! for the Pilgrim! She has bought a cocky-olli-bird!

The cocky-olli-bird, although unknown to naturalists by that name, was formerly sold at Harrow by an old man to the boys, who were charmed with the brilliancy of its plumage,—purple, green, crimson, yellow, all the colours of the rainbow united in this beautiful bird; nor could the wily old fellow import them[143] fast enough to supply the demand, until it was discovered they were painted sparrows!

The cocky-olli-bird, although not recognized by naturalists under that name, used to be sold at Harrow by an old man to the boys, who were captivated by its stunning feathers—purple, green, crimson, yellow, all the colors of the rainbow blended in this beautiful bird. The clever old man couldn’t import them[143] quickly enough to meet the demand, until it was found out that they were actually painted sparrows!

ANCIENT HINDŪ RUIN AT KANAUJ.
Ancient Hindu Ruin in Kanauj.

Sketched on the Spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched on the Spot by Fanny Parks

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.

The bright burnt sienna color of the kitten isn't actually tortoiseshell; she has been dyed with henna! Her original color was white, with black spots. However, she looks so pretty that she must have been freshly dyed when her fur fell out; the henna lasts for many months. The poor kitten has a bad cold, probably a result of the dyeing process. No doubt, after applying the ground henna, they wrapped her up in fresh castor oil leaves and tied her up in a handkerchief, just like how a local dyes his beard. Women often catch colds from applying henna to 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.

My tents were set up near Merunkee Sarā’e. In the evening, as I rode into Kanauj, I met Captain C⸺ on an elephant at the tomb of Bala Pīr, and I joined him to check out the remains of a very ancient Hindu temple. Of all the ruins I've seen, this one seems the most remarkable and the oldest. The pillars are made of two long, roughly-hewn stones stacked on top of each other and connected with a tenon and mortise; there’s no sign of any kind of cement being used. The building's style is very primitive, and there’s a little bit of carving—just a little—on some of the stones; the structure is quickly falling apart. I deeply regret that I can't remember the amazing stories that were told to me about this ruin and its people.

“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.

On my way back to the tents, my ayha complained loudly about the frustration she had gone through during the long trek of thirteen and a half miles on rough roads; she had been shaken up in her bailī, a local carriage pulled by two oxen, and her calm was seriously disturbed.

7th.—This day, being Sunday, was a halt,—a great refreshment[144] after toil; and Divine Service was performed in the tent of the Governor-General; after which, at 3 P.M., I went, on an elephant, to see two most ancient and curious specimens of Hindū sculpture, the figures of Rām and Lutchman, which are about five feet in height, carved on separate stones, and surrounded by a whole heaven of gods and goddesses: the stones themselves, which are six or seven feet high, are completely covered with numerous images; and a devi (goddess), rather smaller, is on one side.

7th.—Today, being Sunday, was a break—a much-needed refreshment[144] after hard work; a Divine Service was held in the Governor-General's tent. Afterwards, at 3 PM, I took an elephant to see two very old and interesting examples of Hindu sculpture, the figures of Rām and Lutchman, which are about five feet tall, carved on separate stones, and surrounded by a whole crowd of gods and goddesses. The stones themselves, which are six or seven feet high, are completely covered with countless images; and a smaller goddess is on one side.

Passing through the bazār at Kanauj was a fearful thing. There lay the skeleton of a woman who had died of famine; the whole of her clothes had been stolen by the famished wretches around, the pewter rings were still in her ears, but not a rag was left on the bones that were starting through the black and shrivelled skin; the agony on the countenance of the corpse was terrible. Next to her a poor woman, unable to rise, lifted up her skinny arm, and moaned for food. The unhappy women, with their babies in their arms, pressing them to their bony breasts, made me shudder. Miserable boys, absolutely living skeletons, pursued the elephant, imploring for bread: poor wretches, I had but little money with me, and could give them only that little and my tears: I cannot write about the scene without weeping, it was so horrible, and made me very sick. Six people died of starvation in the bazār to-day. Lord Auckland daily feeds all the poor who come for food, and gives them blankets; five or six hundred are fed daily;—but what avails it in a famine like this? it is merciful cruelty, and only adds a few more days to their sufferings; better to die at once, better to end such intolerable and hopeless misery: these people are not the beggars, but the tillers of the soil. When I was last at Kanauj the place was so beautiful, so luxuriant in vegetation,—the bright green trees, the river winding through low fields of the richest pasture: those fields are all bare, not a blade of grass. The wretched inhabitants tear off the bark of the wild fig tree (goolèr), and pound it into food; in the course of four or five days their bodies swell, and they die in agonies. The cultivators sit on the side of their fields, and, pointing to their naked bodies, cry, “I am dying of hunger.” Some pick[145] out the roots of the bunches of coarse grass, and chew them. The people have become desperate; sometimes, when they see a sipahī eating they rush upon him to take his food; sometimes they fall one over the other as they rush for it, and having fallen, being too weak to rise, they die on the spot, blessed in finding the termination of their sufferings. The very locusts appear to have felt the famine; you see the wings here and there on the ground, and now and then a weak locust pitches on a camel. Every tree has been stripped of its leaves for food for animals. The inhabitants of Kanauj, about a lākh of people, have fled to Oogein and to Saugar. The place will be a desert; none will remain but the grain merchants, who fatten on the surrounding misery. There is no hope of rain for five months; by that time the torments of these poor wretches will have ended in death;—and this place is the one I so much admired from the river, with its rich fields, and its high land covered with fine trees and ruins!

Passing through the bazaar in Kanauj was terrifying. There lay the skeleton of a woman who had died of starvation; all her clothes had been taken by the starving people around her. The metal rings were still in her ears, but there was nothing left on the bones that were showing through her black, shriveled skin; the pain on the corpse's face was horrific. Next to her, a poor woman, unable to stand, raised her thin arm and moaned for food. The miserable women with their babies clinging to their bony chests made me shudder. Miserable boys, looking like living skeletons, chased after the elephant, begging for bread. I had very little money with me and could only give them that little and my tears: I can't write about the scene without crying, it was so awful and made me feel very sick. Six people died of starvation in the bazaar today. Lord Auckland feeds all the poor who come for food every day and gives them blankets; five or six hundred are fed daily;—but what good does that do in a famine like this? It’s an act of cruel mercy that only prolongs their suffering for a few more days; it’s better to die quickly, better to end such unbearable and hopeless misery. These people are not beggars; they are the farmers. When I was last in Kanauj, the place was beautiful, lush with greenery—the bright green trees, the river winding through rich pastures: those fields are now bare, not a single blade of grass. The desperate inhabitants strip the bark from the wild fig tree (goolèr) and pound it into food; within four or five days, their bodies swell, and they die in agony. The farmers sit by their fields, pointing to their emaciated bodies, crying, “I am dying of hunger.” Some dig up the roots of coarse grass and chew them. The people have become desperate; sometimes, when they see a soldier eating, they rush at him to grab his food; sometimes they collapse on top of each other in their frenzy, too weak to get up, dying on the spot, at least relieved from their suffering. Even the locusts seem to feel the famine; you see wings scattered on the ground, and occasionally a weak locust lands on a camel. Every tree has been stripped of its leaves for animal feed. The people of Kanauj, about a hundred thousand, have fled to Oogein and Saugar. The place will turn into a desert; only the grain merchants, who profit from the surrounding misery, will remain. There’s no hope for rain for five months; by then, the suffering of these poor souls will have ended in death;—and this is the place I once admired from the river, with its rich fields and high ground covered with beautiful 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 went back to the ancient Hindu building that had fascinated me so much, to sketch it at my own pace, and while I was busy with that, I found myself surrounded by many starving and miserable villagers. I did my best to finish the sketch quickly, and any mistakes I made can be blamed on the heartbreaking scene I was witnessing; some of the poor people threw themselves on the ground in front of me, trying to perform pā-bos, which means kissing the feet, desperately and tearfully begging for food. Their skeletal bodies horrifically showed the signs of starvation; just remembering it makes me shudder. I left the ruins and went back to my tents. Tomorrow we leave Kanauj, thank God! It’s awful to see such suffering and not be able to help.

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.

I picked up an interesting ancient sculpture, Mahadēo, with Pārvatī in the center and a goddess on each side. I brought it to my tent on the elephant. Since it was too heavy to carry around while marching, we buried it at night under a peepul tree and plan to take it with us when we head back home, if it stays put.

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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.

At this place, I heard the following legend. In ancient times, Kanauj was a magnificent city. Back then, there were giants—men of incredible height—who lived in Kanauj, and they could cover the distance to Fathīgarh in just three steps. En passant, it’s worth noting that it took the weak mortals in the Governor-General's camp three exhausting marches over three long days to cover the same ground. The women were also incredibly strong; when they cleaned their houses in the morning, they would toss the dirt a stone's throw from the door. Because the women were as strong as the men, they would throw the dirt all the way to Fathīgarh in a heap; it was this pile of dirt, generated by these strong women, that later became the site for the Fort of Fathīgarh.

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CHAPTER XLIX.
Hindu Trinity.

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.

The 330,000,000 Gods of the Hindu Pantheon—The Janéo—Brahma—The Trinity—Brahma—Vishnu—Shiva—The Ten Avatars—The Fish—The Tortoise—The Boar—The Man-lion—Vamana the Dwarf—Parashurama—Rama Chandra—Balarama—Buddha—Kalki—Krishna—Radha—Rukmini—Jagannath—Kamadeva—Mahadeva—Parvati—Ganesh—Kartikeya—Lakshmi—Saraswati—Durga—Sati—The Puranas—The Mundane Egg of the Hindus—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.

My journal is a constant source of joy; it not only entertains me to record daily events, but by writing it, I fulfill a promise I made before I left England. Letters from home assure me of the joy it brings them, of the pleasure they derive from following my adventures, and of the interest they have in all the scenes I experience. The religion of the Hindus, who are perhaps the most remarkable people on the planet, fascinates my friends as much as it fascinates me; they want to know more about it, so I have to take on this challenge, no matter how tough it is. The challenge!—“Ah, there’s the problem,” but how? Should I send them, pour commencer au commencement, a list of the gods in the Hindu Pantheon, which totals three hundred and thirty million gods and goddesses? 330,000,000, “Taintīs karor déotā!”—The naming would be a bit tricky.

Shall I send them the names of the three hundred gods which are interwoven in silk and gold on the janéo I wear around my neck, to which is appended the key of my cabinet? I have[148] three of these sacred janéos, purchased at Benares; unlike the Brahmanical thread, which bears the same name, but which is merely thread tightly twisted, these janéos are thick strong ribbons made of red, black, yellow, and white silk, interwoven in which are the names of the gods. They are worn over the right shoulder and under the left arm on particular days of pūja, and are esteemed very holy. On one in my possession, formed of red and different coloured silk, the names of three hundred of the gods are interwoven; the letters are in the Sanscrit character; the breadth of the band one inch. On a second, formed of black and coloured silk, and rather narrower, at intervals in several places on the sacred band is woven in the same character, “Srī Radha Krishn.” The third is still narrower, and similarly ornamented. The janéo is considered to possess many virtues: some that I saw at Benares were from two to three inches in breadth, of rich silk, and the names interwoven in gold and silver thread; they were handsome and very expensive.

Should I send them the names of the three hundred gods that are woven in silk and gold on the janéo I wear around my neck, which has the key to my cabinet attached? I have[148] three of these sacred janéos, bought in Benares; unlike the Brahmanical thread, which shares the same name but is just tightly twisted thread, these janéos are thick, strong ribbons made of red, black, yellow, and white silk, woven with the names of the gods. They're worn over the right shoulder and under the left arm on specific pūja days and are considered very holy. One I have, made of red and different colored silk, has the names of three hundred gods woven into it; the letters are in Sanskrit. The width of the band is one inch. The second one, made of black and colored silk and a little narrower, has “Srī Radha Krishn” woven at intervals in the same character on the sacred band. The third is even narrower and similarly decorated. The janéo is believed to have many virtues: some I saw in Benares were between two to three inches wide, made of rich silk, with names woven in gold and silver thread; they were beautiful and very expensive.

The Hindoo Triad.
The Hindu Triad.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
فاني باركس

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.

In my younger days, I spent a lot of time tracing my family tree, which I found enjoyable; you always return to your first loves. Instead of a boring list of the three hundred and thirty million Hindu deities, I’ll create a brief family tree, if that’s the right term, to help my memory and to entertain and enlighten the dear person I’m dedicating this journal to.

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,[149] self-existent spirit, no representation is made: to his direct and immediate honour no temples rise; nor dare an Hindū address to him the effusions of his soul, otherwise than by the mediation of a personified attribute, or through the intervention of a priest; who will teach him that gifts, prostration, and sacrifice, are good, because they are pleasing to the gods; not as an unsophisticated heart must feel, that piety and benevolence are pleasing to God because they are good. But although the Hindūs are taught to address their vows to idols and saints, these are still but types and personifications of the deity, who is too awful to be contemplated, and too incomprehensible to be described. The Hindū erects no altar to Brŭmhŭ “Of him, whose glory is so great, there is no image” (Veda), and we must proceed to the consideration of the personified attributes of that invisible, incomprehensible Being, “which illumines all, delights all, whence all proceeded; that by which they live when born, and that to which all must return” (Veda).

The Hindus worship God as one, expressing their understanding of the Divine and its qualities in the most awe-inspiring ways. The God they revere is called Brahma, “One Brahma without a second,” the eternal mind, the self-existent, incomprehensible spirit, the all-encompassing divine cause and essence of the universe, from which everything is believed to originate and to which they eventually return; the spirit, the soul of the universe. Among Hindus, the uninformed worship idols made by human hands; the wise worship God in spirit. No representation can capture that infinite, incomprehensible, self-existent spirit; no temples are built in His honor, nor would a Hindu dare to express the feelings of his soul directly to Him without going through a personified attribute or a priest. The priest teaches him that offerings, humbling oneself, and sacrifices are good because they please the gods, rather than recognizing, as a sincere heart might, that piety and kindness are pleasing to God because they are inherently good. Although Hindus are encouraged to direct their prayers to idols and saints, these are merely representations of the deity, who is too magnificent to be perceived and too unfathomable to be described. A Hindu does not build an altar for Brahma: “Of Him, whose glory is so great, there is no image” (Veda), and we must move on to consider 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.

Brŭmhŭ, the one god without a second, became a trinity, and the three aspects or parts of one Brŭmhŭ are Brahma, Vishnŭ, and Shivŭ. The first oversees Creation, the second oversees Preservation, and the third oversees Destruction. The three main 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.

In mythology, Brahma is the first of the Hindu Triad, the three main personified aspects of Brahman, or the Supreme Being; however, his name isn’t heard as often in India as the other two great powers of Preservation and Destruction. He is referred to as the first of the gods and the creator of the universe. From his mouth came the priest, from his arm the warrior, from his thigh the trader, and from his foot the laborer; these roles, through their generations, populate the earth: the sun emerged from his eye, and the moon from his mind.

Brahma is usually represented with four faces, said to represent the four quarters of his own work; and said, sometimes, to refer to a supposed number of elements of which he composed[150] it; and to the sacred Vedas, one of which issued from each mouth. Red is the colour supposed to be peculiar to the creative power: we often see pictures of Brahma of that colour; which also represents fire, and its type the sun. Images are made representing Brahma, but none of Brŭmhŭ, the one eternal God.

Brahma is typically shown with four faces, which are said to represent the four directions of his creation; sometimes, they are thought to refer to the various elements he used to create the universe[150] and to the sacred Vedas, with one Veda coming from each mouth. Red is considered the color associated with creative power, so we often see images of Brahma in that color; it also symbolizes fire, and its representative, the sun. There are representations of Brahma made, 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.

Brŭmhŭ, or the Supreme One, according to the Brahmāns, has chosen to reveal himself in various forms throughout the ages in all parts of the inhabited world. When he acts directly, without taking on a form or sending out a new emanation, or when a divine sound is heard from the sky, that manifestation is called acasavani, or an ethereal voice: when the sound comes from a meteor or flame, it is referred to as agnipuri, or formed of fire: but an avatara is a descent of the deity in the form of a mortal; and an avantara is a similar manifestation of a lesser kind, meant to fulfill a specific purpose of lesser significance. The Supreme Being and the divine beings that emanate from him are niracara, or bodiless; in this state, they must be invisible to humans; but when they are pratyacsha, or obvious to the sight, they become sacara, or embodied, and exhibit divine qualities, as Krishnŭ did when he revealed himself to Arjun, or in the human form that Krishnŭ typically assumed; in this way of appearing, the deities are generally thought to be born of a woman, but without any physical relationship. Those who adhere to the Purva Mimansa, or the philosophy of Jamini, do not accept such incarnations of deities; they argue that the devas (gods) were simply humans whom the Supreme Being chose to bless with qualities similar to his own attributes: and Hindūs, in general, worship some of their ancient kings and sages, who were deified due to their remarkable 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.

All the main deities, as well as some of the lesser ones who are incarnations of the main gods, have wives assigned to them, known as sacti; and, aside from their gender, they perfectly represent their respective partners, embodying their energy or active power, and carrying out their divine will. The sacti of Brahma is Saraswatī, the goddess of harmony and the arts.

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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.

Many gods have vehicles or vahans assigned to them: Brahma’s vehicle, along with his sacti, is a swan or goose, known as hanasa; however, he is not seen riding it as often as other gods are seen with theirs. He is depicted with his swan or goose in the cave of Elephanta. Saraswatī, the goddess of learning, is sometimes depicted as the daughter of Brahma and the wife of Vishnu; as such, I have illustrated her in the attached 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.

Brahma is depicted as a man with four faces, in golden color, wearing white clothes, riding a goose; in one hand, he holds a stick, and in the other, a kŭmŭndŭloo or alms-dish. He is never taken 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.

Vishnu is the second figure in the Hindu triad; he represents the preserving power and has overall more worshippers than any other deity or quality.

I have a brazen image representing Vishnŭ reposing on a serpent with seven heads; perhaps intended to represent Sesha, the vast thousand-headed serpent, or ananta, as the serpent, as well as Vishnŭ, is sometimes named; meaning endless or infinite. Vishnŭ is represented as he is described in the Scanda Purana, asleep in the bosom of the waters, when a lotus arose from his body, which soon reached the surface of the flood. Brahma sprung from the flower, and looking round without seeing any creature on the boundless expanse, imagined himself to be the first-born. Vishnŭ denied his primogeniture; they had an obstinate battle, which lasted until Mahadēo cut off one of Brahma’s five heads, which settled the affair, and the image of Brahma bears only four heads. Nothing can be more luxurious than this image, the god floating on the water-lily, and the serpent, whose outspread heads afford him shade during his repose; while two celestial beings, sitting at his feet, shampoo him during his slumber. The one is his sacti, Lachhmī, the goddess of beauty, who was produced with the chowda ratny,[152] or fourteen gems, at the churning of the sea; the other, another sacti, Saraswatī, the goddess of literature and harmony, the daughter of Brahma.

I have a striking statue of Vishnu lying on a serpent with seven heads, possibly meant to represent Sesha, the enormous thousand-headed serpent, or ananta, which means "endless" or "infinite." Vishnu is depicted as he is described in the Scanda Purana, asleep in the depths of the waters, from which a lotus grew from his body and soon surfaced. Brahma appeared from the flower and, seeing no creature in the endless expanse, thought he was the first-born. Vishnu contested his claim, and they engaged in a stubborn battle until Mahadeo cut off one of Brahma's five heads, which resolved the dispute, leaving Brahma with only four heads. This image is incredibly luxurious, with the god floating on a water lily while the serpent's spread-out heads provide him shade as he rests; meanwhile, two celestial beings at his feet massage him as he sleeps. One is his sacti, Lakshmi, the goddess of beauty, who was born with the chowda ratny, or fourteen gems, during the churning of the sea; the other is another sacti, Saraswati, 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.

Vishnu and Shiva are each said to have a thousand names; they are compiled in verse and recited on certain occasions by Brahmins as a kind of litany, sometimes accompanied by a rosary. Vishnu's images, whether depicting him in his own form or in any of his avatars or incarnations, can generally be identified from those of other deities by a conch shell (shank) and a wheel or discus called chakra. The shank is the large buccinum, often beautifully colored like a pheasant’s breast. The chakra is a projectile weapon similar to our discus, featuring a hole in the center that allows it to be spun on the forefinger and thrown at a target; it has a sharp edge, and when Vishnu spins it, fire bursts from its edge. Two other attributes associated with him are the gada, a mace or club, and the padma, a lotus. The god is depicted with four arms and wears a uniquely shaped high cap called a mukut. At the back of this bronze idol, lotus leaves form a sort of halo, topped by the head of a bird, which might symbolize his vahan, Garuda. Vishnu is sometimes shown riding an eagle, or rather a creature that is part eagle and part human, cutting through the air and soaring into the skies. Vishnu is often represented as a dark-skinned man clad in 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[153] trisula, is his usual accompaniment. Durgā and Satī are his consorts.

The third figure in the Hindu trinity is Shiva, the Destroyer: he is depicted as a silver-colored man with five faces; an extra eye and a half-moon adorn each forehead; he has four arms; he sits on a lotus and wears a tiger-skin garment. Nandi is the name given to the white bull, the vehicle of Shiva, on which he is often seen riding; in his temple, Nandi is sometimes shown in large dimensions, couchant, and is commonly found in brass. Nandi is frequently depicted couchant, bearing the emblem of Shiva, crowned by the five heads of the god; the trident, called [153] trisula, is his usual companion. Durga and Sati 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.

Having given a quick overview of the Hindu trinity, or the manifestations of the “One Brŭmhŭ without a second,” let me return to Vishnŭ, the second figure in the triad, and follow him through his various incarnations.

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.

The word itself, strictly speaking, means a descent; but in a broader sense, it refers to an incarnation of a deity in the form of a human. There have been countless such incarnations; however, when talking about avatars, it usually refers specifically to the ten avatars of Vishnu, which are commonly listed and named as follows: 1. 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 favored 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. Out of these, nine have already occurred; 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[154] from the Bhagavata, and the particular cause of this first or fish avatar is described as follows:—“At the close of the last calpa there was a general destruction, occasioned by the sleep of Brahma; whence his creatures in different worlds were drowned in a vast ocean. Brahma, being inclined to slumber, desiring repose after a lapse of ages, the strong demon Hayagriva came near him, and stole the vedas which had issued from his lips. When Heri, the Preserver of the Universe, discovered this deed of the Prince Danavas, he took the shape of a minute fish called Saphari. A holy king, named Satiyaurata, then reigned, a servant of the spirit which moved on the waves, and so devout that water was his only sustenance. As this pious king was making a libation in the river, the preserving power, under the form of the fish Saphari, appeared to him, at first under a very minute form, but gradually assuming a larger bulk, at length became a fish of immense magnitude.” The astonished king concludes a prayer by expressing his anxiety that the lotus-eyed deity should inform him why he assumed that shape. The Lord of the Universe returned the following answer: “‘In seven days from the present time, O thou tamer of enemies, the three worlds will be plunged in an ocean of death; but in the midst of the destroying waves, a large vessel, sent by me for thy use, shall stand before thee. Then shalt thou take all medicinal herbs, all the variety of seeds, and accompanied by seven saints, encircled by pairs of all brute animals, thou shalt enter the spacious ark, and continue in it, secure from the flood, on one immense ocean, without light, except the radiance of thy holy companions. When the ship shall be agitated by an impetuous wind, thou shalt fasten it with a large sea-serpent on my horn; for I will be near thee: drawing the vessel with thee and thy attendants, I will remain on the ocean, O chief of men, until a day of Brahma (a year) shall be completely ended.’” He spake and vanished from his sight. Satiyaurata humbly and devoutly waited the awful event, and while he was performing grateful services to Heaven, the sea, overwhelming its shores, deluged the whole earth: and it was soon perceived to be augmented by showers from immense clouds. He, still meditating on the command[155] of Bhagavat, saw the vessel advancing, and entered it with the chief of Brahmāns, having carried into it the medicinal plants, and conformed to the directions of Heri. Alarmed at the violence of the waves, and the tossing of the vessel, the pious king invoked the assistance of the preserving power, “when the god appeared again distinctly on the vast ocean, in the form of a fish, blazing like gold, extending a million of leagues, with one stupendous horn; on which the king, as he had before been commanded by Heri, tied the ship with a cable made of a vast serpent, and, happy in his preservation, stood praising the destroyer of Madhu. When the monarch had finished his hymn, the primeval male Bhagavat, who watched for his safety on the great expanse of water, spoke aloud to his own divine essence, pronouncing a sacred purana; the substance of which was an infinite mystery, to be concealed within the breast of Satyaurata; who, sitting in the vessel with his saints, heard the principle of the soul, the Eternal Being, proclaimed by the preserving power. Then Heri, rising together with Brahma from the destructive deluge, which was abated, slew the demon Hayagriva, and recovered the sacred books. Satyaurata, instructed in all divine and human knowledge, was appointed in the present calpa, by the favour of Vishnŭ, the seventh menu, surnamed Vaivaswata; but the appearance of a horned fish to the religious monarch was all maya or delusion.”

I have an intriguing and beautifully detailed Hindu painting of this first avatar, showing Vishnu as a black man with four arms, emerging from the mouth of a large fish depicted in the water, surrounded by lotus flowers. The Preserver's head is surrounded by rays of light, and he is seen in the act of defeating the demon Hayagriva, whom he has grabbed by the hair with one hand, while he spins a disk in another hand to vanquish the evil spirit. The demon is shown as a red figure emerging from a shell, with two golden horns on his forehead and one of the Vedas, the sacred texts, in his hands. To the right of the painting stands Brahma, a pale man with four arms and four heads, each sporting a long white beard: he holds three of the Vedas in his hands, while the fourth is in one of Vishnu's four hands. The following is a literal translation[154] from the Bhagavata, describing the specific reason for this first or fish avatar: “At the end of the last kalpa, there was a great destruction caused by Brahma's sleep; as a result, his creatures in various worlds were drowned in a vast ocean. Brahma, feeling sleepy and wanting rest after a long time, had the strong demon Hayagriva approach him and steal the Vedas that had come from his lips. When Heri, the Preserver of the Universe, learned of this act by the Prince of the Danavas, he transformed into a tiny fish called Saphari. At that time, a holy king named Satiyaurata ruled, devoted to the spirit which moved on the waves, and so pious that water was his only food. While this devoted king was making an offering in the river, the preserving power, in the form of the fish Saphari, appeared to him, first as a very small fish but gradually growing larger until it became a massive fish.” The amazed king concluded his prayer by expressing his hope that the lotus-eyed deity would reveal why he took that form. The Lord of the Universe replied: “‘In seven days from now, O you who tame enemies, the three worlds will be engulfed in an ocean of death; but amidst the destructive waves, a large vessel, sent by me for your use, will be there for you. You will take all medicinal herbs, all sorts of seeds, and with seven saints, surrounded by pairs of all kinds of animals, you shall enter the spacious ark, remaining inside, safe from the flood, on one vast ocean, with no light except for the glow of your holy companions. When the ship is tossed by a violent wind, you will tie it with a large sea serpent to my horn; for I will be near you: pulling the vessel with you and your attendants, I will remain on the ocean, O leader of men, until a day of Brahma (a year) has entirely passed.’” He spoke and vanished from sight. Satiyaurata humbly and devoutly awaited the grim event, and while he was performing grateful services to Heaven, the sea, overwhelming its shores, flooded the whole earth: it soon became clear it was worsened by showers from immense clouds. Still contemplating the command[155] of Bhagavat, he saw the vessel approaching and entered it with the chief of Brahmins, having brought with him the medicinal plants and followed Heri's instructions. Alarmed by the turbulent waves and the ship's tossing, the devout king called for the help of the preserving power, “when the god appeared again distinctly on the vast ocean, in the form of a fish, shining like gold, stretching a million leagues, with one enormous horn; to which the king, as he had been commanded by Heri, tied the ship with a cable made from a huge serpent, and, grateful for his safety, praised the destroyer of Madhu. After the monarch finished his hymn, the primordial being Bhagavat, who watched for his safety on the vast waters, spoke aloud to his own divine essence, delivering a sacred purana; the content of which was an infinite mystery to be kept hidden within the heart of Satiyaurata; 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 receding deluge, which had lessened, defeated the demon Hayagriva and reclaimed the sacred texts. Satiyaurata, enlightened in all divine and human wisdom, was appointed in this current kalpa, by the grace of Vishnu, the seventh Manu, known as Vaivaswata; but the appearance of a horned fish to the devout king was all maya or illusion.”

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[156] held by Brahma, distinguished by his four heads, and the Vedas, the sacred books, in two of his hands; and next to him assisting in the operation is the blue form of Mahadēo, a form of Vishnŭ, his head surrounded by a circle of glory. They now pull forth the serpent’s head repeatedly, and as often let it go, thus violently whirling round the mountain, they churned the ocean, for the recovery of the amrita, or beverage of immortality; Vasoky serving as a rope to the mountain, which was supported on the back of the tortoise. Presently there arose out of the troubled deep, fourteen articles, usually called the fourteen gems, or in common language chowda ratny.—1. The moon, Chandra, with a pleasing countenance, shining with ten thousand beams of gentle light;—2. Srī, or Lachhmī, the goddess of fortune and beauty, whose seat is the white lily of the waters;—3. Sura, wine; or Suradevi, the goddess of wine;—4. Oochisrava, a horse with eight heads, and as swift as thought;—5. Kustubha, a jewel of inestimable value, that glorious sparkling gem worn by Narayen on his breast;—6. Parajata, the tree of plenty, that spontaneously yielded every thing desired;—7. Surabhi, a cow, similarly bountiful;—8. Dhanwantara, a physician;—9. Iravat, the elephant of Indra with three proboscides;—10. Shank, a shell conferring victory on whomsoever should sound it;—11. Danashu, an unerring bow;—12. Bikh, poison, or drugs;—13. Rhemba, the Aspara, a beautiful and amiable woman;—14. Amrita, the beverage of immortality, which was brought forth when the physician Dhanwantara appeared, holding in his hand a white vessel filled with the immortal juice Amrita.

The second major incarnation of Vishnu, known as the Tortoise, clearly relates to the Deluge, just like the fish incarnation. I have an illuminated painting depicting Kurma-Raja, the king of the tortoises, with the mountain Mandara resting on his back; above it, Lachhmi, the goddess of beauty, sits on a water-lily flower. This avatar was meant to restore to humanity some of the comforts and conveniences that were lost during the flood. The great serpent, Vasoky, is shown coiled around the mountain, acting as a rope; the serpent’s head is held by two demons, depicted as men with two horns on their heads; the tail is held by Brahma, who is recognized by his four heads, with the Vedas, the sacred texts, in two of his hands. Assisting him is the blue form of Mahadeo, another form of Vishnu, with his head crowned in a halo of glory. They repeatedly pull on the serpent's head and then let it go, violently turning the mountain and churning the ocean in the quest for amrita, the beverage of immortality, with Vasoky serving as the rope for the mountain supported by the tortoise's back. Soon, from the disturbed depths, fourteen items, commonly referred to as the fourteen gems or in everyday language chowda ratny, emerged: 1. The moon, Chandra, with a beautiful face, shining with ten thousand beams of gentle light; 2. Sri, or Lachhmi, the goddess of fortune and beauty, who sits on the white water-lily; 3. Sura, wine; or Suradevi, the goddess of wine; 4. Oochisrava, a horse with eight heads, as swift as thought; 5. Kustubha, an incredibly valuable jewel, the sparkling gem worn by Narayan on his chest; 6. Parajata, the wish-fulfilling tree that grants all desires; 7. Surabhi, a cow that is just as generous; 8. Dhanwantara, a physician; 9. Iravat, Indra's elephant with three trunks; 10. Shank, a conch shell that grants victory to whoever blows it; 11. Danashu, an unfailing bow; 12. Bikh, poison or drugs; 13. Rhemba, the beautiful and kind Apsara; 14. Amrita, the drink of immortality, which was brought forth when the physician Dhanwantara appeared, holding 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[157] the shape of a boar, killed him with his tusks, and replaced the earth in its original situation.

I have a painting of this avatar, showing Vishnu in human form with the head of a boar. He is lifting the earth, depicted as mountains, on one of his tusks, on top of which stands a Hindu temple with a flag. Vishnu himself is in the ocean, with his feet crushing a giant demon who had rolled up the earth into a formless mass and taken it down into the abyss. Vishnu followed him in the shape of a boar, killed him with his tusks, and restored the earth to its original place.[157]

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.

Hirinakassap, the younger brother of the massive demon, who in the third incarnation rolled up the earth and took it down to the abyss, took over his kingdom in the underworld and refused to acknowledge Vishnu. His son Pralhaud, who disagreed with his father’s actions, faced persecution and exile; his father tried to kill him, but was stopped by divine intervention, which sided with Pralhaud. Eventually, Hirinakassap changed his mind and brought his son back to his court. While sitting in a full gathering, he began to debate with Pralhaud about Vishnu's supremacy, boasting that he himself was lord of all the visible world, and asked, “What more could Vishnu claim?” Pralhaud responded, “That Vishnu has no fixed residence but is present everywhere.” “Is he,” asked his father, “in that pillar?” “Yes,” Pralhaud replied. “Then let him come out,” the king commanded; and rising from his seat, he struck the pillar with his foot. At that moment, Vishnu appeared as Nara-singha, which means having a body like a man but a head like a lion, emerged from the pillar and tore Hirinakassap apart. Vishnu then placed Pralhaud on the throne, and his reign was just and virtuous. I have a Hindu painting commemorating this avatar, where the man-lion is depicted sitting in the center of a pillar that has been broken open, while with his hands, he is ripping out the intestines of the wicked king, who lays there howling and kicking across Nara-singha's knees. To the right of the painting, a Hindu woman stands with her palms pressed together; to the left, there's a man, seemingly a dwarf, adopting the same posture.

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[158] monarch, but was so much elated by his grandeur, that he omitted the essential ceremonies and offerings to the deities; and Vishnŭ, finding it necessary to check the influence of such an example, resolved to mortify and punish the arrogant Rājā. He therefore assumed the form of a wretched Brahmān dwarf; and appearing before the king, asked a boon, which being promised, he demanded as much as he could pace in three steps: nor would he desire further, although urged by Beli to demand something more worthy of him to give. Vishnŭ, on obtaining the king’s promise, required a ratification of it, which is performed by the pouring out of water from a vessel upon the hand of the person to whom it is given. The monarch, although warned of the consequences, disdaining to deviate from his word, confirmed his promise with the required oath; and bidding the dwarf stretch forth his hand, poured out upon it the sacred wave that ratified the promise. As the water in a full stream descended from his extended hand, the form of the Vamana gradually increased in magnitude, until it became of such enormous dimensions that it reached up to heaven. Then, with one stride, he measured the vast globe of the earth; with the second, the ample expanse of heaven; and with the third, was going to compass the regions of Patala; when Beli, convinced that it was even Vishnŭ himself, fell prostrate and adored him; yielding him up without farther exertion, the free possessions of the third region of the universe. However, Vishnŭ left Maha-Beli, for the remainder of his life, possession of Patala, or the infernal regions. In this character Vishnŭ is sometimes called the three-step-taker. I have an illuminated painting of this avatar, in which the king, whose head is surrounded with rays of glory, is holding in his hands a spouted vessel, while just before him Vishnŭ in the character of a dwarf, but with rays also around his head, is standing with clasped hands. Behind the king an Hindūstanī woman is waving the chaunrī, the white tail of the yak, above his head; and behind the dwarf stands Sukra, called the one-eyed and evil counsellor. The ratifying stream was the river Gunga, which, falling from the hand of the dwarf Vishnŭ, descended thence to his foot,[159] whence, gushing as a mighty river, it was received on the head of Shiva, and flowed on in the style commonly seen through the cow’s mouth.

Maha-Beli, through strict religious practices, had received from Brahma the rule over the universe, including the three realms of Sky, Earth, and Patala. He was a generous and impressive monarch, but his pride in his power led him to neglect the important rituals and offerings to the deities. Seeing the need to curb the impact of such behavior, Vishnu decided to humble and punish the arrogant king. He took the form of a pitiful Brahmin dwarf and appeared before the king, asking for a boon. After receiving a promise, he requested as much land as he could cover in three steps and refused to ask for anything more, even when Beli encouraged him to claim something greater. Once the king agreed, Vishnu required the promise to be sealed, which involved pouring water from a vessel onto the person’s hand to signify the agreement. Despite being warned about the ramifications, the king, unwilling to go back on his word, confirmed his promise with the necessary oath and had the dwarf stretch out his hand as he poured the sacred water on it to validate the promise. As the water flowed from the king's hand, Vishnu's form began to grow until he became so large that he reached the heavens. With one step, he measured the vast expanse of the Earth; with the second step, he covered the heavens; and with the third step, he was about to conquer Patala when Beli, realizing he was actually facing Vishnu, fell to the ground in worship, surrendering to him without further struggle the ownership of the third realm of the universe. However, Vishnu allowed Maha-Beli to keep Patala, or the underworld, for the rest of his life. In this form, Vishnu is known as the three-step-taker. I have a beautiful painting of this avatar, depicting the king, his head surrounded by rays of light, holding a spouted vessel, while before him stands Vishnu as a dwarf, also radiating light, with his hands clasped. Behind the king, a Hindustani woman waves the chaunri, the white tail of a yak, above his head, and behind the dwarf stands Sukra, the one-eyed and evil advisor. The water used to seal the promise was the Ganges River, which flowed from the hand of the dwarf Vishnu to his foot and then gushed forth as a mighty river, eventually being received on Shiva's head and flowing out in a manner commonly observed through a 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.

The name "Parashu," attached to this Rāma, means "battle-axe." Among the incarnations of Vishnu, three notable figures named Rāma—Parashu-Rāma, Bala-Rāma, and Rāma-Chandra—are recognized for being great warriors and strikingly handsome. Parashu-Rāma was born near Agra to parents Jamadagni, one of the Rishis, and Runeka. In his peaceful life, Jamadagni was given a special gift by Indra, one of the fourteen gems of the ocean, which was a miraculous wish-granting cow named Kam-dhenū or Surabhi. On one occasion, he hosted Raja Diruj, who was hunting, in such a lavish way that it astonished him until he discovered the secret of the extraordinary cow owned by his host. Driven by greed, the Raja demanded the cow from the holy Brahman; when Jamadagni refused, the Raja tried to take her by force. The celestial cow fiercely charged at the Raja’s army, causing massive casualties and sending the rest running in fear before she ascended triumphantly to heaven. Furious, the tyrant marched another army to the scene, and without the cow to protect him, the holy man was killed, and his hut was destroyed. Runeka, gathering whatever could burn from the ruins, piled it up and placed her husband’s mangled body on top. Then, she climbed onto the pile and set it on fire, choosing to be consumed in the flames. The prayers and curses of a satī are never ignored: before she stepped onto the funeral pyre, to enhance the power of her curses against the Raja, she performed the Naramedha ceremony, or the sacrifice of a man, making her pleas to the vengeful deities utterly irresistible.

Kam-dhenū, on her journey to Paradise, stopped to inform Parashu-Rāma, who was under the care of Mahadēo, of the cruel[160] conduct of the Raja to his parents; to whose aid he immediately flew, but arrived only time enough to view the smoking embers of the funeral pile. The tears rushed down his lovely face, and he swore by the waters of the Ganges that he would never rest until he had exterminated the whole race of the Khettris, the raja-tribe of India. Armed with the invincible energy of an incarnate god, he commenced his career of vengeance by seeking and putting to death, with his single arm, the tyrant, with all the forces that surrounded him; he then marched from province to province, every where exerting the unerring bow Dhanuk, and devoted the whole of the military race of Khettri to death. After a life spent in mighty and holy deeds, Rāma gave his whole property in alms, and retired to the Kokan, where he is said to be still living on the Malabar coast.

Kam-dhenū, on her way to Paradise, stopped to tell Parashu-Rāma, who was being looked after by Mahadēo, about the cruel treatment of the Raja toward his parents. He immediately rushed to help them, but he got there just in time to see the smoking ashes of the funeral pyre. Tears streamed down his beautiful face as he vowed by the waters of the Ganges that he would not rest until he had wiped out the entire Khettri race, the royal tribe of India. Armed with the unstoppable force of a god in human form, he began his quest for revenge by tracking down and killing the tyrant along with all his forces. He then traveled from province to province, skillfully using the unerring bow Dhanuk, and condemned the entire Khettri military race to death. After a lifetime dedicated to great and noble deeds, Rāma gave away all his possessions as alms and withdrew to the Kokan, where it is said he still lives 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.

I have a vivid image of this avatar showing a fight between Parashu-Rāma and the tyrant Diruj: the Raja is depicted with twenty-two arms, three of which, having been severed by Rāma, are lying on the ground, while the remaining nineteen he is waving around. At the top of the image, there's the hermit's cell, in front of which Jamadagni lies dead, and the sacred cow with golden horns and golden wings is soaring 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[161] his stay in the forests) in company with Lakshmana (his brother by Sumitrā) that, while he was absent hunting, Rāvana appeared as a beggar, and enticed away Sītā, which gave rise to the war detailed in the Rāmayana. Sītā was daughter of Rājā Janaka, who had promised to give her to any person who could bend a certain bow, which was done by Rāma-Chandra. When in the forest, he drew a circle round Sītā, and forbad her to go beyond it, and left Lakshmana to take care of her; but Lakshmana hearing some noise which alarmed him for his brother, left her to seek him: then it was that Rāvana appeared, and enticed her out of the circle (gandī), and carried her off in his flying chariot. In the air Rāvana was opposed by the bird Jatāgu, whose wings he cut and escaped. Rāma-Chandra reigned in Awadh (Ayodhyā) before Christ 1600.

Rāma-Chandra, the son of Dasarathu and conqueror of Lankā (or Ceylon), was the seventh avatar; he appeared to defeat Rāvana, who, after earning a promise from Brahma that he wouldn’t die by any usual means due to his devotion, became a tyrant and a burden on humanity. The gods took the form of monkeys since Rāvana hadn’t received a promise of safety from them, which is why Hanumāna was Rāma’s general. Rāma-Chandra’s mother was named Kaushalyā. His younger brother Bharata was the son of Kekayī, who was responsible for Rāma’s exile to the desert to meditate by the banks of the Pampa-nadī, insisting that her son should rule during the fourteen years Rāma spent in devotion. While Rāma was meditating (or during his time in the forests) with his brother Lakshmana (son of Sumitrā), Rāvana appeared as a beggar, lured Sītā away, which led to the conflict described in the Rāmayana. Sītā was the daughter of Rājā Janaka, who promised her hand to anyone who could lift a specific bow, which Rāma-Chandra succeeded in doing. In the forest, he created a circle around Sītā and told her not to leave it, leaving Lakshmana to guard her. However, when Lakshmana heard a noise that worried him about Rāma, he went to check on him, and that’s when Rāvana appeared and lured Sītā out of the circle (gandī), taking her away in his flying chariot. In the air, Rāvana was confronted by the bird Jatāgu, who he injured before escaping. Rāma-Chandra ruled in Awadh (Ayodhyā) around 1600 BC.

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.

I have a bright picture of Sītā, Rām, and Hŭnoomān. The happy couple is sitting on a couch made of silver and velvet, while Hŭnoomān, on the ground in front of them, is seriously busy massaging one of the god's feet; behind them, there's an attendant waving a fan made of peacock feathers above 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[162] names of these implements, viz.: Halayudha, plough-armed; and Masali, as bearing a musal or rice-beater. His name, Bala, means strength, and he is sometimes seen with the skin of a lion over his shoulders. A full account of the three Ramas is given in the Rāmayana, a great epic poem, so highly venerated that the fourth class of Hindūs, the Sudra, is not permitted to read it. At the end of the first section, a promise is made of great benefit to any individual of the first three tribes who shall duly read that sacred poem:—“A Brahman, in reading it, acquires learning and eloquence; a Kshettria will become a monarch; a Vaisya will obtain vast commercial profits; and a Sudra, hearing it, will become great.”

Bala-Rāma, though a warrior, can be seen as a benefactor of humanity because he carries a plow and a pestle for pounding rice. He has titles that come from these tools, such as Halayudha, meaning plow-armed, and Masali, referring to the rice beater. His name, Bala, signifies strength, and he is sometimes depicted wearing a lion's skin over his shoulders. A detailed account of the three Ramas is found in the Rāmayana, a revered epic poem that the fourth class of Hindus, the Sudras, are not allowed to read. At the end of the first section, it promises significant benefits to any member of the first three tribes who reads this sacred text: “A Brahman gains knowledge and eloquence from reading it; a Kshettria will become a king; a Vaisya will achieve great wealth in trade; and a Sudra, by listening to 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.

Hindus who accept Buddha as an incarnation of Vishnu agree that he is the last significant appearance of the deity on Earth; however, many Brahmins and other groups deny this connection. Buddhists, supported by their priests, the rahans, generally maintain that their worshiped deity exists independently and, of course, is of the highest importance.

Buddha opposed the sanguinary sacrifices of the Brahmans, and consequently, in a degree, the holy vedas themselves which enjoined them: in India, therefore, there has always been a sect who are violently hostile to the followers of Buddha, denominating them atheists, and denying the genuineness of his avatar. A rock altar is sacred to him throughout Asia; and he himself was often represented by a huge columnar black stone, black being among the ancients a colour emblematical of the inscrutable nature of the deity. His fame and the mild rites of his religion have been widely diffused; the Indian Buddha is the Deva-Buddha of the Japanese, whose history and superstitious rites are detailed at great length by Kœmpfer: among other circumstances, he relates, that, “in the reign of the eleventh Emperor from Syn Mu, Budo came over from the Indies into Japan, and brought with him, upon a white horse, his religion and doctrine.”[163] I have an illuminated painting, which I purchased at Prāg, representing Mahadēo as a black man, with a crown of glory, leading a white horse, on which is a high native saddle, with a large bag pendant from each side, and above the saddle an umbrella (chatr), the emblem of royalty, and more especially indicative of Buddha, is fixed: the legs of the animal are dyed with menhdī up to the chest, and about a foot of the end of his tail is also dyed red: the horse is ornamented in the usual oriental style with jewellery and gold. It is evident that this is not a painting of the tenth or Kalkī avatar, as the horse has no wings; the saddle-bags, which, we may suppose, contain the doctrines which he brought with him upon a white horse, and the chatr, assign it to Buddha; the figure of the man has only two arms.

Buddha rejected the bloody sacrifices of the Brahmans, and as a result, to some extent, the sacred Vedas that commanded them. In India, there has always been a group that is strongly opposed to Buddha’s followers, calling them atheists and questioning the authenticity of his incarnation. A rock altar is sacred to him across Asia; he is often depicted as a large black stone column, with black symbolizing the unknowable nature of the deity in ancient times. His reputation and the gentle practices of his religion have spread widely; the Indian Buddha is known as the Deva-Buddha in Japan, and his history and rituals are extensively documented by Kœmpfer. Among other details, he mentions that “in the reign of the eleventh Emperor from Syn Mu, Budo came over from the Indies into Japan, bringing with him, on a white horse, his religion and doctrine.”[163] I have a vibrant painting that I bought in Prāg, showing Mahadēo as a black man with a crown of glory, leading a white horse equipped with a high native saddle and large bags hanging from each side. Above the saddle, there is an umbrella (chatr), a symbol of royalty and especially associated with Buddha. The horse's legs are dyed with menhdī up to its chest, and the end of its tail is dyed red. The horse is adorned in the usual ornate style with jewelry and gold. It’s clear this is not a depiction of the tenth or Kalkī avatar, as the horse has no wings; the saddle-bags, which probably contain the teachings he brought with him on a white horse, and the chatr, confirm this is Buddha; the person only has 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.”

“Since ancient times,” says Abu’l Fazel, “up until now, the knowledge and wisdom of Hindustan have been limited to the Brahmans and the followers of Jaina; however, unaware of each other’s strengths, they have a mutual dislike. Krishna, whom the Brahmans worship as a god, is regarded by them as a hellish servant; and the Brahmans take their disdain so far as to say that it’s better to face a wild elephant than to meet someone of this belief.”

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.

The Buddhism of Hindustan seems to have once been centered in Bodh Gaya, a town in Bengal, and in Bamiyan, the northern hub of the sect. Today, it appears to find refuge in Ceylon. Buddhism is the dominant belief in China and its surrounding nations; it is also present in the states and empires of Cochin China, Cambodia, Siam, Pegu, Ava, Assam, Tibet, Bhutan, many of the Tartar tribes, and generally all areas east of the Ganges, including many of the vast islands in the seas to the east and south of the farthest Indian promontory, where the inhabitants have not converted to Islam.

Jayadeva, in the Gita Govinda, thus addresses Buddha (or rather Vishnŭ or Krishna, so incarnated), in his series of eulogy on each of the avatars:—“9. Thou blamest (O wonderful!) the whole veda, when thou seest, O kind-hearted! the slaughter of[164] cattle prescribed for sacrifice.—O Kesava! assuming the body of Buddha. Be victorious, O Heri, lord of the universe!”

Jayadeva, in the Gita Govinda, addresses Buddha (or rather Vishnu or Krishna, in that incarnation), in his series of praises for each of the avatars:—“9. You criticize (Oh amazing one!) the entire veda, when you see, Oh compassionate one! the killing of[164] cattle directed for sacrifice.—Oh Kesava! taking on the form of Buddha. Be triumphant, Oh 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.

The three sects of Jina, Mahiman, and Buddha, regardless of their differences, are all referred to as Buddhas; and since the main principle, which the Brahmans claim defines virtue and religion, is to preserve the lives of all living beings, we can only assume that the founder of their sect was Buddha, in the ninth avatar, the compassionate, the kind-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.

Moor notes:—“In very old sculptures and excavations, we find the image of Buddha alongside other deities of Brahmanical beliefs. The cave of Gharipuri, which we call Elephanta, an island in Bombay Harbour, is an example of this; and this temple itself can be considered a complete pantheon; for among the hundreds—I might even say thousands—of figures carved there, every main deity is represented. I observed the following: Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, Buddha, Ganesha, and Indra; and these are, in fact, all that can be clearly recognized by their forms, attributes, or vehicles. The figure of Buddha in the temple of Gharipuri is immediately to your left as you enter.” Moor believes the temple is dedicated to the One Supreme Being; however, since no representations of that being are made, his three principal powers or attributes, Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, are united in the most prominent position, directly in front of the entrance, forming a gigantic triune bust of the trimūrti, the Hindu triad. The local account of this incarnation is that Buddha descended from the realm of souls and was born in the body of Mahamaya, the wife of the Raja of Kailas. Five days after his birth, the pandits predicted that since he had marks on his hands resembling a wheel, he would eventually become a Raja Chacraverti and attain the status of an avatar. He was named Sachya, and on one occasion, Brahma descended and held a canopy over his head. His wife was Vasutara, the daughter of a Raja.

I have many images of Buddha, which were brought from Ava, in gold, silver, and in bronze. The common posture is that of sitting cross-legged on a throne, with his left hand[165] resting on his right foot, which is placed over his left knee, and his right hand hanging over his right knee. I have two images of Buddha in bronze, which came from Ava, in which he is represented in this posture, sitting with his back against a plantain tree, the leaves of which spread out above his head, and adorn the image. These images were accompanied by several other figures apparently engaged in worship, wearing high conical caps; the hands of one figure are clasped in prayer; another holds in both hands, placed upon the knees, a plate containing four balls; and another, in the same attitude, holds in both hands something that has the appearance of a circular box. I have also various dragons and bells, formed of bronze, which also came from Ava. An umbrella, made of iron, and gilt, is fixed on the tops of the temples, round the border of which some persons suspend bells; the sound has a pleasing effect when they are put in motion by the wind. Bells of various size are sometimes hung near a temple; and images of lions, and monsters of various descriptions, facing the four quarters, or on each side the gateway, are attached to most temples. Umbrellas, and stone-vessels, in imitation of those used by Goutŭmŭ or Buddha as a mendicant, are also placed near the places of worship. When Buddha was one month old, his nurses “caused him to be laid under a white umbrella upon an adorned pleasure-abounding bed.” At the age of sixteen, Buddha practised the greatest austerities; the King, his father, became alarmed and dejected; and the destiny-foretelling Brahmans assured him, that unless he put the unfortunate horses to the unfortunate chariot, and carried his son out, and buried him in a square hole, that they perceived three evils might happen:—“One to the King’s life, another to the white umbrella, another to the Queen.” Buddha was carried forth; he manifested his divinity to the driver of the unfortunate horses in the unfortunate chariot, escaped from meditated death, and fixed himself as a religious mendicant in the forest, where he practised the greatest austerities. I have an illuminated painting of Mahadēo under a rock in a jungle, seated upon a tiger’s skin, with his arms raised above his head in penance. A sage leading a white horse stands in front, in the act of worship, and by the side of the river is a[166] large tiger: and here it may be remarked, that, among works of the highest merit, one is the feeding of an hungry infirm tiger with a person’s own flesh, and the highest state of glory is absorption. The following may explain the painting:—In the midst of a wild and dreary forest, flourishing with trees of sweet-scented flowers, and abounding in fruits and roots, infested with lions and tigers, destitute of human society, and frequented by the munis (virtuous and mighty sages), resided Buddha, the author of happiness, and a portion of Narayana. Once upon a time, the illustrious Amara, renowned amongst men, coming here, discovered the place of the Supreme Being in the great forest. He caused an image of the supreme spirit Buddha to be made, and he worshipped it as the incarnation of a portion of Vishnŭ: “Reverence be unto thee, in the form of Buddha;—thou art he who rested upon the face of the milky ocean, and who lieth upon the serpent Sesha; thou art Trivikrama, who at three strides encompassed the earth. I adore thee, who art celebrated by a thousand names, and under various forms, in the shape of Buddha, the god of mercy.” The illustrious Amara-Deva then built the holy temple of Buddha Gaya, and set up the divine foot of Vishnŭ.

I have many images of Buddha that were brought from Ava, made of gold, silver, and bronze. The common pose 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 bronze images of Buddha from Ava in this posture, sitting with his back against a banana tree, the leaves of which spread out above his head and embellish the image. These images are accompanied by several other figures seemingly engaged in worship, wearing tall conical hats; one figure has its hands clasped in prayer; another holds a plate with four balls in both hands resting on its knees; and another figure, in the same position, holds something that looks like a circular box. I also have various bronze dragons and bells that came from Ava. An iron umbrella, gilded, is fixed on the tops of the temples, around which some people hang bells; the sound is pleasing when they sway in the wind. Bells of various sizes are sometimes hung near a temple; and images of lions and various monsters, facing the four directions, are attached to most temples. Umbrellas and stone vessels, mimicking those used by Gautama or Buddha as a beggar, are also placed near the places of worship. When Buddha was one month old, his nurses laid him under a white umbrella on an adorned bed of pleasure. At sixteen, Buddha practiced extreme austerities; the King, his father, became worried and sad; and the fate-predicting Brahmins warned him that unless he placed the unfortunate horses in the unfortunate chariot, took his son out, and buried him in a square hole, they foresaw three dangers: “One to the King's life, another to the white umbrella, and another to the Queen.” Buddha was taken away; he showed his divine nature to the charioteer of the unfortunate horses in the unfortunate chariot, escaped from planned death, and dedicated himself as a wandering ascetic in the forest, where he practiced severe austerities. I have a beautifully illuminated painting of Mahadeva under a rock in a jungle, seated on a tiger's skin, with his arms raised above his head in penance. A sage leading a white horse stands in front, worshiping, and beside the river is a large tiger. Here it’s worth noting that among the highest acts of merit is feeding a hungry, frail tiger with one’s own flesh, and the highest state of glory is absorption. The painting can be explained as follows: In the midst of a wild and desolate forest filled with sweet-smelling flowers, rich with fruits and roots, inhabited by lions and tigers, lacking human society, and frequented by the munis (virtuous and powerful sages), lived Buddha, the source of happiness, and a part of Narayana. Once, the illustrious Amara, renowned among men, discovered the place of the Supreme Being in this great forest. He had an image of the supreme spirit Buddha made and worshiped it as a manifestation of a part of Vishnu: “Reverence to you, in the form of Buddha; you are he who rested upon the face of the milky ocean and who lies upon the serpent Sesha; you are Trivikrama, who encompassed the earth in three strides. I adore you, who are celebrated by a thousand names, and in various forms, as Buddha, the god of mercy.” The illustrious Amara-Deva then built the holy temple of Buddha Gaya and established the divine foot of Vishnu.

“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 ancestors of the person who carries out a sradda (funeral rites to honor ancestors) at this location will achieve salvation; a sin weighing a hundred times will be atoned for by simply seeing it; a sin weighing a thousand times will be atoned for by touching it; and a sin weighing a hundred thousand times will be forgiven through worship of it.”

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.

The image of Parisnāth matches the description above perfectly, except 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.

Buddha means a wise person, and sacya, another name for him, means a person who eats vegetables; he taught complete control over the senses and total elimination of passion. In Buddha's teachings, there are no caste distinctions. Polygamy is not prohibited by Buddha's doctrine, and it's not unusual for a man to have multiple wives. Priests are not allowed to marry; they are to survive by begging and can only own three garments, a begging bowl, a belt, a razor, a needle, and a cloth to filter the water they drink so they don't consume insects. To explain the short, neat hair on the idol, which resembles that of an African, it is said that Buddha once cut his hair with a golden sword, and this appearance was intended to be depicted in his statues.

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!”

The Kalkī, or final avatar, has yet to come; in which Vishnu will appear in human form to dissolve the universe. The Kalkī will be born in the house of the Brahmin Bishenjun, who is thought to be the son of the sage and his wife Awejsedenee, in the city of Sambal, toward the end of the Kali period or Yug, in the month of Vaisach, which is associated with the scorpion. In one hand, he will hold a “cimetar, blazing like a comet,” to destroy all the impure beings living on the earth; and in the other, he will display a circular ornament or ring, symbolizing the perpetually revolving cycles, of which the current one is about to come to an end. The Kalkī is depicted riding a white horse, magnificently adorned with jewels and equipped with wings. The horse is shown standing on three legs, continually lifting its right fore-leg; the Brahmins say that when it stomps furiously on the earth, the current age will end, leading to the dissolution of nature. Jayadeva describes the tenth avatar as follows: “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.

End of the Kali Yuga, or the fourth Indian era, and of the history of the ten avatars.

THE DESCENT OF VISHNŬ AS KRISHNA.

The Preserver appeared on earth in the form of Krishna,[169] who is regarded as Vishnŭ himself, and distinct from the ten avatars. For the history of this god I refer you to page 118, in which, under the title of Krishnŭ, or Kaniya, is given the history of his life, up to the time that he disappeared from amidst the gopīs, and left them mourning for his absence.

The Preserver appeared on earth as Krishna,[169] who is considered to be Vishnu himself, separate from the ten avatars. For the story of this god, I direct you to page 118, which shares the history of his life under the title of Krishna, or Kaniya, up until the moment he vanished from the gopīs, leaving them grieving 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.

Here, it might be good to point out, due to a mistake in that section of my journal, that Dewarkī, the mother of Krishnŭ, was the daughter of the tyrant Kansa; and that Vasudeva, who took him across the Jumna, was his father.

The death of Krishna, which happened some time afterwards, and his ascension to the heavens, is thus related:—“Balhadur met his fate on the banks of the Jumna, and when Krishna saw that his spirit had finally departed, he became exceedingly sorrowful. Near where he stood there was a jungle or brake, into which he entered; and leaning his head on his knees, sat absorbed in the deepest melancholy. He reflected within himself that all the effect of Kanharee’s curse had now fully taken place on the Yadavas, and he now called to remembrance these prophetic words, which Doorsava had once uttered to him:—‘O Krishna! take care of the sole of thy foot; for if any evil come upon thee, it will happen in that place.’ Krishna then said to himself, ‘Since all the Kooroos and the whole of the Yadavas are now dead and perished, it is time for me also to quit the world.’ Then, leaning on one side, and placing his feet over his thighs, he summoned up the whole force of his mental and corporeal powers, while his hovering spirit stood ready to depart. At that time, there came thither a hunter, with his bow and arrow in his hand; and seeing from a distance Krishna’s foot, which he had laid over his thigh, and which was partly obscured by the trees, he suspected it to be some animal sitting there: applying, therefore, to his bow and arrow, the point of the latter of which was formed from the very iron of that club which had issued from Sateebe’s body, he took aim, and struck Krishna in the sole of his foot. Then, thinking he had secured the animal, he ran up to seize it; when, to his astonishment, he beheld Krishna there, with four hands, and drest in yellow habiliments. When the hunter saw that the wounded object[170] was Krishna, he advanced, and, falling at his feet, said, ‘Alas, O Krishna! I have, by the most fatal of mistakes, struck you with this arrow; seeing your foot at a distance, I did not properly discern my object, but thought it to be an animal; Oh, pardon my involuntary crime!’ Krishna comforted him to the utmost of his power, saying, ‘It was no fault of thine; depart, therefore, in peace.’ The hunter then humbly kissed his foot, and went sorrowing away. After the hunter was gone, so great a light proceeded from Krishna, that it enveloped the whole compass of the earth, and illuminated all the expanse of heaven. At that instant, an innumerable tribe of devatas, and other celestial beings, of all ranks and denominations, came to meet Krishna; and he, luminous as on that night when he was born in the house of Vasudeva, by that same light pursued his journey between heaven and earth, to the bright Vaikontha or Paradise, whence he had descended. All this assemblage of beings, who had come to meet Krishna, exerted the utmost of their power to laud and glorify him. Krishna soon arrived at the abode of Indra, who was overjoyed to behold him, accompanied him as far as Indra-Loke reached, and offered him all manner of ceremonious observances. When Krishna had passed the limits of Indra’s territory, Indra said to him, ‘I have no power to proceed any farther, nor is there any admission for me beyond this limit;’ so Krishna kindly dismissed him, and went forward alone.”

The death of Krishna, which occurred sometime later, and his ascent to the heavens, is described as follows: “Balhadur met his end on the banks of the Jumna, and when Krishna saw that his spirit had finally left, he became extremely sad. Nearby, there was a thicket, into which he entered; and leaning his head on his knees, he sat lost in deep sorrow. He reflected that the effects of Kanharee’s curse had fully played out on the Yadavas, and he remembered the prophetic words that Doorsava had once spoken to him: ‘O Krishna! Take care of the sole of thy foot; for if any evil comes upon you, it will happen in that place.’ Krishna then thought to himself, ‘Since all the Kooroos and all the Yadavas are now dead, it is time for me to leave this world as well.’ Then, leaning to one side and placing his feet over his thighs, he summoned all of his mental and physical strength while his spirit hovered, ready to depart. At that moment, a hunter arrived with his bow and arrow. From a distance, he saw Krishna’s foot, which was resting on his thigh and partially hidden by the trees, and thought it was an animal sitting there. So, he readied his bow and arrow, the tip of which was made from the very iron of that club that had come from Sateebe’s body, aimed, and struck Krishna in the sole of his foot. Believing he had caught the animal, he ran over to grab it; to his astonishment, he found Krishna there, with four arms, dressed in yellow garments. When the hunter realized that the wounded figure was Krishna, he approached, fell at his feet, and said, ‘Alas, O Krishna! I have, through the most tragic mistake, shot you with this arrow; seeing your foot from a distance, I did not identify my target correctly, but thought it was an animal; oh, forgive my unintentional crime!’ Krishna comforted him as best as he could, saying, ‘It was not your fault; go in peace.’ The hunter then humbly kissed Krishna's foot and left sorrowfully. After the hunter had gone, a brilliant light emanated from Krishna, enveloping the entire earth and illuminating the heavens. At that moment, countless deities and celestial beings of all kinds gathered to meet Krishna; and he, shining as brightly as he did the night he was born in the house of Vasudeva, journeyed between heaven and earth to the bright Vaikontha or Paradise, from where he had descended. All the beings who had come to welcome Krishna used their utmost strength to praise and glorify him. Krishna soon reached Indra's abode, where Indra was overjoyed to see him, accompanied him as far as Indra-Loke, and offered him various ceremonial honors. When Krishna reached the boundary of Indra’s territory, Indra said to him, ‘I cannot go any further, nor am I allowed beyond this point;’ so Krishna kindly dismissed him and continued forward alone.”

Arjoon, the friend of Krishna, went to Dwaraka, to see in what state Krishna himself might be; when he beheld the city in the state of a woman whose husband is recently dead; and finding neither Krishna nor Balhadur nor any other of his friends there, the whole place appeared in his eyes as if involved in a cloud of impenetrable darkness; nor could he refrain from bursting into tears. The sixteen thousand wives of Krishna, the moment they set their eyes on Arjoon, burst also into a flood of tears, and all at once began the most bitter lamentations; and, in truth, the whole city was so rent with uproar and distraction, that it surpasses description. A few days from this time, Vasudeva, the father of Krishna, died, while fourteen of[171] his wives were standing around him, four of whom burnt themselves on his funeral pile. Arjoon made search also for the earthly portions of what once was Krishna and Balhadur: these also he solemnly committed to the flames. Five of Krishna’s wives burnt themselves; while Sete-Bame, with some others, investing themselves with the habits of Sanyassi’s, and, forsaking the world, retired into the deserts to pass their lives in solitude and prayer.

Arjoon, Krishna's friend, went to Dwaraka to find out how Krishna was doing. When he saw the city looking like a woman whose husband has just died, he realized that neither Krishna, Balhadur, nor any of their friends were there. The whole place seemed to him to be shrouded in a thick, dark cloud; he couldn't hold back his tears. The moment Krishna's sixteen thousand wives saw Arjoon, they also broke into tears and began to wail bitterly. The entire city was filled with such chaos and grief that it was beyond description. A few days later, Vasudeva, Krishna's father, passed away while fourteen of his wives stood around him, four of whom committed suicide on his funeral pyre. Arjoon also searched for the remains of Krishna and Balhadur and solemnly set them aflame. Five of Krishna's wives chose to self-immolate, while Sete-Bame and some others dressed as Sanyassi’s, left the world behind, and retreated into the wilderness to live 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.

Of Krishna's eight wives, there's no need to go into details; we've already discussed Radha's story, but we shouldn't forget Rukmeni, who, along with several of his other wives, became a satī, hoping for an immediate reunion with her husband in the paradise 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.

Rukmeni gave birth to a son named Pradyumna, who was actually Kama, the God of Love. He was kidnapped by Sambara, a king, tossed into the sea, and swallowed by a fish. When the fish was caught and presented to the king, his cook, Reti, opened it and discovered the child inside. A talisman was given that made the baby invisible at will. He was raised by Kam-dhenū, the sacred cow, one of the fourteen treasures of the ocean. The God of Love grew up, and once his illusions were lifted, he was joyfully reunited with his 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.

He is depicted as a handsome young man, sometimes talking with his mother and partner in the middle of his gardens and temples; other times riding by moonlight on a parrot or lory, accompanied by dancing girls or nymphs, the chief of whom carries his banner, a fish on a red background. His favorite hangout was an area around Agra and the plains of Matra, where Krishna and the Gopis often spent the night singing and dancing. Pushpa-dhanva, the god with the flowery bow, is one of his many names. His bow is shown as being made of flowers or sugar cane, with a string made of bees, and his five arrows, each tipped with an Indian flower that inspires love.

“Hail, god of the flowery bow; hail, warrior, with a fish on[172] thy banner; hail, powerful divinity, who causest the firmness of the sage to forsake him, and subduest the guardian deities of the eight regions!

“Hail, god of the flowery bow; hail, warrior, with a fish on[172] your banner; hail, powerful deity, who makes the resolve of the wise waver, and conquers the guardian spirits 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!”

“Glory to Madana; to Kama; to the one who is shaped like the god of gods; to the one through whom Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, Indra, are filled with feelings of joy!”

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.

On the festival of Rat'ha-jattra, or the Chariot Festival, the statues of Krishna and Bala-Rāma are carried around in a cart during the day. On this day, Krishna is honored as Jagana'th, or Lord of the Universe. The crowd at the temple of that name is very large. The sighting of the moon marks the start of the feast, which must end when it sets. There's a legend that Krishna hid in the moon due to a false accusation of stealing a gem from Prasena, who had been killed by a lion. Seeing the moon on the fourth day after a full moon, and the fourth day after a new moon in the month of Bhadra, is considered bad luck; therefore, pious Vaishnavas, or followers of Vishnu, avoid it. More details about this deity can be found in the chapter that recounts my visit to the famous 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.

Having traced Vishnu the Preserver through the various forms he took on earth in the ten avatars, including his appearance as Krishna and later as Jagannatha, let's go back to the third figure of the Hindu 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[173] Avataras. As the god of Justice, which character he shares with Yama and other deities, he rides a bull, the symbol of divine justice. As emblems of immortality, serpents are common to many deities, but this god is abundantly decked with them, and snakes are his constant attendants. A crescent on his forehead, or in his hair, is common in pictures and images of Mahadeva or Shivŭ. Serpents, emblems of eternity, form his ear-rings, called Naug Kundala: his pendant collar of human heads (Mund mala) marks his character of Destruction, or Time; and his frontal crescent points at its most obvious measurement, by the phases of the moon. He holds what has been considered as a small double hand-drum, shaped like an hour-glass, called damaru, probably a sand gheri. Shivŭ is called “the three-eyed god,” and “the auspicious deity with uneven eyes.” Sometimes he is represented with a battle-axe (gadha, or parasha), and an antelope (mirg) in his superior hands: and in many plates of the deity his loins are wrapped in a tiger’s skin, and the goddess Gunga (the Ganges) flows from his mugut or head-piece. The followers of Vishnŭ assert, that the blessed river flowed originally out of heaven, from the foot of Vishnŭ, and, descending upon Kailasa, the terrestrial paradise of Mahadēo, fell on the head of Shivŭ. Each sect is desirous of tracing the source of the sacred river to the head or foot of its own deity. The stream is sometimes seen issuing from the head of Shivŭ, and sometimes she afterwards issues from a cow’s mouth. It is said, that high up towards its source the river passes through a narrow rocky passage, which pilgrims, who visit the sacred cleft, imagine resembles a cow’s mouth. This spot is hence called Gawmuki, and is a place greatly resorted to by pilgrims.

This god is usually ranked as the third power or attribute of the deity, personifying destruction; and in the clear arrangement of the three major powers of the Eternal One, Creation and Preservation come before Destruction. He’s commonly associated with a trident or tri-forked flame known as trisula; his color is white, and his hair is light or reddish. Sometimes he has two hands, other times four, eight, or ten; and he has five faces. He has a third eye in his forehead, pointing up and down; this feature is unique to him, his children, and[173] Avataras. As the god of Justice, a role he shares with Yama and other deities, he rides a bull, which symbolizes divine justice. While serpents symbolize immortality for many deities, this god is adorned with them, and snakes are his constant companions. A crescent on his forehead or in his hair is common in pictures and images of Mahadeva or Shivŭ. Serpents, symbols of eternity, form his ear-rings, called Naug Kundala; his pendant collar made of human heads (Mund mala) signifies his nature of Destruction or Time; and his frontal crescent marks its most clear measurement, through the phases of the moon. He holds what is considered a small double hand-drum shaped like an hourglass, called damaru, possibly a sand gheri. Shivŭ is referred to as “the three-eyed god” and “the auspicious deity with uneven eyes.” Sometimes, he’s depicted with a battle-axe (gadha or parasha) and an antelope (mirg) in his upper hands; and in many depictions of the deity, his waist is wrapped in a tiger's skin, with the goddess Gunga (the Ganges) flowing from his mugut or headpiece. Followers of Vishnŭ claim that the blessed river originally flowed from heaven, from Vishnŭ's foot, and, upon descending onto Kailasa, the earthly paradise of Mahadēo, fell on Shivŭ's head. Each sect wants to trace the source of the sacred river to the head or foot of its own deity. The stream is sometimes shown flowing from Shivŭ's head, and other times she later emerges from a cow's mouth. It’s said that high up towards its source, the river flows through a narrow rocky passage, which pilgrims, who visit the sacred cleft, believe resembles a cow’s mouth. This location is therefore called Gawmuki, and it is a popular destination for 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.

Viswaswara is the name used to call upon Shiva at a beautiful and well-known temple of that name in Kashi, or Varanasi. It is stated in the Purānas that “The Vedas and Shastras all confirm that Viswaswara is the foremost among the Devas, Kashi is the top city, Ganga is the greatest river, and charity is the highest virtue.” Nandi is the term commonly used for Shiva's vehicle, the white bull: in his temples, he is usually depicted lying down.

Here I will mention some of the animals appropriated as[174] vehicles to Hindū mythological personages. Brahma, the swan, Hanasa—Vishnŭ, the eagle, Garuda—Shivŭ, the bull, Nandi—Ganesh, the rat—Kartikeya, a peacock—Indra, the elephant, Travati—Varuna, the genius of the waters, bestrides a fish, as doth also Gunga, the prime goddess of rivers. Kama, the god of Love, is carried by a lory, or parrot; Agni, god of Fire, by a ram. The Sactī, or consorts of these deities, have the attendant animal or vahan of their respective lords. Bhavani is, however, oftener seen on a lion or a tiger than on a bull, the vahan of Shivŭ. Avataras of deities ride a bull, horse, &c.

Here I will mention some of the animals associated with Hindu mythological figures. Brahma rides a swan, Hanasa—Vishnu rides an eagle, Garuda—Shiva rides a bull, Nandi—Ganesh has a rat, Kartikeya has a peacock—Indra rides an elephant, Travati—Varuna, the water god, rides a fish, just like Ganga, the primary goddess of rivers. Kama, the god of Love, is carried by a parrot; Agni, the god of Fire, rides a ram. The Shakti, or consorts of these deities, each have their own animal or vahan that corresponds to their respective lords. However, Bhavani is more often depicted riding a lion or a tiger than a bull, which is Shiva’s vahan. The avatars of deities can be seen riding a bull, horse, etc.

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.

Of Garuda, the man-eagle or bird-god, I have a small and interesting brass statue; it shows him with his wings folded, sitting in a pose of worship, on the back of an unidentifiable animal, which I’ve been told is a rhinoceros, but it doesn’t have a 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.

Another bold image that I obtained, like the previous one, at Prāg, shows the bird-god in a position of worship on one knee, holding a wide cup topped with leaves on his head, which might be meant to symbolize a blooming lotus; a vessel like this 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 title deva is quite broad, generally meaning a deity; devī is the feminine form, but it's mostly used for Bhavani, the wife of Mahadeva, which literally means great god in reference to Shivŭ. However, just as the title deva is given to various gods, both higher and lower, the title devī is sometimes similarly used for other goddesses, as mentioned earlier. Devata is the plural of deva; some writers spell it as 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.

The antelope (mirg) that Shivŭ holds in one hand refers to a sacrifice, where the deer, escaping from the sacrificial knife, sought refuge with him. Five lit 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.

Durgā is the wife of Shiva; this goddess is also known as Bhuguvutee, which name is also given to the cow, viewed by Hindus as a form of Durgā. He was also married to Sati, the daughter of King Daksha.

Mahā-kāla is another form in which Shivŭ is worshipped in the character of the destroying deity. The image is of a smoke-coloured[175] boy, with three eyes, clothed in red garments. His hair stands erect; his teeth are very large; he wears a necklace of human skulls, and a large turban of his own hair; in one hand he holds a stick, and in another the foot of a charpāī; his body is swollen, and his appearance terrific. Images of this form of Shivŭ are not made in Bengal, but a pan of water, or an emblem of Mahadēo, are substituted; before which bloody sacrifices are offered. Except before this image, such sacrifices are never offered to Shivŭ.

Mahā-kāla is another form of Shivŭ who is worshipped as the deity of destruction. The image features a smoke-colored[175] boy with three eyes, dressed in red clothing. His hair is standing upright, his teeth are very large, and he wears a necklace made of human skulls along with a big turban made from his own hair. In one hand, he holds a stick, and in the other, the foot of a charpāī; his body appears swollen, and his overall look is terrifying. Statues of this form of Shivŭ are not created in Bengal; instead, a pan of water or an emblem of Mahadēo is used as a substitute, in front of which bloody sacrifices are made. Such sacrifices are only offered to Shivŭ before this image.

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.

Shivŭ appeared on earth as a naked wanderer, with one head, two arms, and three eyes, and was recognized as Mahadēo, the great god. When he was about to marry Pārvatī, the daughter of the Himalayas, her friends treated the god in a disrespectful way, shouting, “Ah! ah! ah! This golden idol, this most beautiful girl, the greatest beauty in the three worlds, is to be married to such a guy—a decrepit guy, with three eyes, no teeth, dressed in a tiger skin, covered in ashes, surrounded by snakes; wearing a necklace made of human bones; holding a human skull; with tangled hair forming a crown; who chews drugs, has fiery eyes, rides bare on a bull, and wanders around like a madman. Ah! They’ve thrown this lovely daughter into the river!” The asoca is a shrub dedicated to Mahadēo, planted near his temples. The biloa, also known as Malura, is sacred to him as well; he is the only one who wears a garland of its flowers, and they are offered in sacrifice to no other deity. If a devoted Hindu sees any of its flowers fallen on the ground, he would respectfully pick them up and take them to a temple of Mahadēo. Hindu poets refer to it as Srīphul, the flower of Srī.

I have a beautiful image in white marble, highly gilt and ornamented, representing Mahadēo as a white man, young and handsome, sitting on a platform, with Pārvatī on his left knee. His hair is braided into the shape of a conical turban around his head, about which a serpent is twisted; and from the top of his[176] head flows Gunga, in a heavy stream, to the ground. His moustache is brilliantly jet black, and his forehead adorned with the triple eye in the centre of a crescent. Below Mahadēo in the centre of the platform, is a small image of his son Ganesh, on whose right is the Nandi, the white bull couchant, and on his left, below Pārvatī, is a yellow tiger. Mahadēo is represented with four hands, one bearing the tri-forked flame, another a warlike weapon, a third a short rosary of beads, the fourth, the hand-drum, the form of which is like an hour-glass. His hands and feet are dyed with hinnā; his dress is yellow; a large snake is around his neck, and his body profusely adorned with jewels.

I have a stunning statue made of white marble, richly gilded and decorated, showing Mahadēo as a young and handsome white man sitting on a platform, with Pārvatī on his left knee. His hair is styled into a conical turban shape, wrapped with a serpent, and from the top of his[176] head, Gunga flows down in a heavy stream. His moustache is a striking jet black, and his forehead features the triple eye in the center of a crescent. Below Mahadēo, in the middle of the platform, is a small statue of his son Ganesh, with the Nandi, the white bull, on his right, and a yellow tiger on his left, beneath Pārvatī. Mahadēo is depicted with four arms, one holding a tri-forked flame, another a weapon, a third a short rosary of beads, and the fourth holding a hand-drum shaped like an hourglass. His hands and feet are stained with henna; he wears yellow clothing, has a large snake around his neck, and his body is lavishly 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.

The history of Ganesh, the son of Mahadeo and Parvati, is covered in the Introduction and is not repeated here. This god guards the entrance to the heaven of Shiva. Vishnu, in the form of Parashu-Rama, wanted to meet Shiva, but Ganesh denied him that request, leading to a battle in which Parashu-Rama broke off one of Ganesh's tusks. No public festivals are celebrated in honor of Ganesh in Bengal; however, many people choose him as their guardian deity. Stone images of Ganesh are worshipped daily in temples alongside the Ganges, in Benares, and in 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.

The second son of Mahadēo and Pārvatī is the god of war and the leader of the heavenly armies; he is depicted as six-headed, six-armed, six-mothered, and occasionally 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.

An account of the three great gods of the Hindū triad has been provided, so I will add a brief description of the three main goddesses, Lachhmī, Saraswatī, and Dūrga.

LACHHMĪ.

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.

Moor presents a drawing, quite similar to the one above, of a brass cast, which he believes 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[178] Ganges and Jumna underground. On the 5th day of the month Magha, Saraswatī or Srī, the goddess of arts and eloquence, is worshipped with offerings of flowers, perfumes, and dressed rice: the worship is performed before her image, or a pen, inkstand, and book; the latter articles are supposed to form a proper substitute for the goddess. On this day the Hindūs neither read nor write, it is the command of the shastr. Implements of writing, and books, are treated with respect, and are not used on this holiday. Of an eloquent man the Hindūs say, “Saraswatī sits on his tongue.”

Saraswati, the daughter of Brahma and wife of Vishnu, is depicted as a fair woman playing a sitar. She's revered as the patroness of the fine arts, especially music and rhetoric; credited with the invention of the Sanskrit language, the Devanagari script, and the sciences that writing preserves. This goddess was transformed into a river by a Brahmin's curse, and it's believed that at the Triveni, the Saraswati River joins the Ganges and Yamuna underground. On the 5th day of the month Magha, Saraswati, or Sri, the goddess of arts and eloquence, is honored with offerings of flowers, perfumes, and cooked rice: the worship is conducted in front of her image or alongside a pen, ink holder, and book; these items are considered suitable substitutes for the goddess. On this day, Hindus refrain from reading or writing, following the command of the shastras. Writing tools and books are treated with respect and are not used on this holiday. When referring to an eloquent person, Hindus say, “Saraswati 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.

I have a picture of the goddess of eloquence having a meeting with Ganesh, the patron of literature, where they are exchanging written scrolls, probably the Vedas. Saraswati is sitting on a very unusual-looking bird; it’s neither a swan nor a peacock. Its legs and neck are long, and it’s painted red. Could it be a sarasŭ, what we call a cyrus or Siberian crane? In one hand, she holds a vina, or been, a musical instrument; in another, a lotus and a scroll of paper with writing on it; her other two hands also hold written scrolls. She is depicted as a white woman with one head, wearing a red and yellow crown; her clothing features various colors, and she is adorned with jewelry, along with a long string or garland of flowers. Ganesh is shown sitting on a lotus, and behind him stands a woman fanning him with a chaunrī made from the white tail of a yak; the black rat, Ganesh's constant companion, is sitting in front of him.

DŪRGA.

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.

The first Indian poet was Valmiki, who wrote the Ramayana, a full epic poem; and Vyasa, who followed closely in fame, composed the Mahabharata. He's credited with the sacred Purānas, known for their quality as the Eighteen: these cover the entire scope of Hindu theology, with each Purāna focusing on five main topics: i.e. the creation, destruction, and renewal of worlds; the lineage of gods and heroes; the reigns of the Manus; and the stories of their descendants. The Purānas are: 1. Brahmā; 2. Padma, or the Lotus; 3. Brahmānda, or the egg of Brahmā, the Hindu Mundane egg; 4. Agni, or fire; 5. Vishnu; 6. Garuda, the bird god and vehicle of Vishnu; 7. Brahmavaivarta, or the transformation of Brahmā; 8. Shiva; 9. Linga; 10. Narada, son of Brahma; 11. Skanda, son of Shiva; 12. Markandeya, named after a sage; 13. Bhavishyat, future or prophetic; 14. Matsya, or the fish; 15. Varāha, or the boar; 16. Kūrma, or the tortoise; 17. Vāmana, or the dwarf; and 18. The Bhāgavata, or life of Krishna. The Purānas are said to contain four hundred thousand stanzas. There are also eighteen upapurānas, or similar poems of lesser importance and different names; together, they make up the popular or poetic beliefs of the Hindus, with some of them, or certain parts, being widely read and studied.

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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.

On the ancient sculptures and medals that reference the creation of the universe, these hieroglyphic symbols—the egg and the serpent—are found in many variations, both alone and together. The famous depiction of the Mundane Egg, surrounded by the coils of the Agathodaimon, or good serpent, and hanging high in the temple of Hercules at Tyre, is well-known among historians. The divine egg with the lunar crescent, worshipped at Heliopolis in Syria, is another artifact of this ancient belief. However, the most notable of these symbols is found in a temple in Japan. The temple, which houses this impressive example of Eastern artistry, is called Daibod and is located in Meaco, a large and thriving city in Japan. The main feature of this design takes the shape of a massive bull, attacking the egg that floats in the waters of the abyss. The statue of the bull is made of solid gold, with a large knob on its back and a golden collar around its neck, decorated with precious stones. The bull's front feet rest on the egg, while its back feet are sunk in a mixture of stone and earth, symbolizing chaos, beneath which and alongside the egg is a significant amount of water held in a hollow stone. The base of the entire structure is a square altar, whose foot is engraved with many ancient Japanese characters; around that foot, in M. D’Hancarville’s engraving, are two local figures prostrating and worshipping 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[181] the four mouths of Brahma. Brahma, as we have seen, had once five heads; and there is a supplement to the Hindū scriptures, which some affirm to constitute a fifth veda. A mysterious set of books, called Agama, proceeded from the mouth of Shivŭ.

The Hindus believe that the original Veda was revealed by Brahma and preserved through tradition until it was organized into its current form by a sage known as Vyasa, or Veda-vyasa; meaning compiler of the Vedas. He divided the Indian scriptures into four parts, each collectively referred to as Veda. The Veda as a whole is the collection of Hindu scripture. The most widely accepted idea about their origin is that the four Vedas came from[181] the four mouths of Brahma. As we've noted, Brahma once had five heads, and there is a supplement to the Hindu scriptures that some claim constitutes a fifth Veda. A mysterious set of texts known as Agama came from the mouth of Shivū.

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.

In Ceylon, there's a high mountain with a visible footprint that the locals revere as the sacred step of the god Buddha, who ascended to the heavens from that peak.

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.

It has been suggested, as a likely theory, that Buddhist beliefs were the ancient religion of India, and that the followers of Buddha were expelled from Hindustan by the stronger influence of the Brahmins at the courts of Hindu kings. Buddhist priests claim that the Brahmins brought their religion from Egypt; while others argue that the Egyptians got their beliefs and knowledge from India. The religion of Buddha was, until now, and likely around the time of Christianity, clearly very widespread, as shown by many magnificent monuments. In Ava, where Buddhism is the mainstream belief, it is believed that it was equally widespread in the same form throughout India until about the second century before Christ, when the Brahmins are said to have come with their practices.

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].

This brief overview of the Hindu trinity and their incarnations will provide some insight into Hindu mythology; however, to understand the subject more comprehensively, it would be essential to refer to the sources I have cited in this summary[24].

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CHAPTER L.
Good times at 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.

Jellalabad—Menhdī Bridge—The Resident of Gwalior—Challenges 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—Marching Style—The Joy of Living 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—Reunion of old Friends—Meerut—The Officers of the Artillery host a Ball for the Governor-General and his Party—The Sūraj Kūnd—The Buffs contribute to the fun of the Station—The Artillery Theatre—The Pilgrim Tax dropped 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.

1838, Jan. 8th.—Arrived at Jellalabad without any incidents. Went to listen to the band in the evening, but felt tired from not sleeping the night before because of the howling jackals all around the tent and the noise of the sentries keeping the people from Kanauj away. We were in a total jungle: a wolf came up to my tent at noon, then trotted over to the tent across from mine and took my neighbor's goat.

9th.—Early this morning I overtook Colonel M⸺, who was marching with his regiment, and rode with him some miles: we passed over a most curiously built suspension bridge, thrown over the Kala-nadī by the late Nawab Hakīm Menhdī; the pillars through which some part of the workmanship passes are remarkable. The sight of the river put me in mind of the excellence and large size of the arwarī fish it contains. Afterwards, speaking of this sort of mullet to Captain O⸺, he told me he had sent out a man to shoot arwarī fish, who had[183] returned quite sick from having seen a hundred and thirty dead bodies choking up the river.

9th.—Early this morning, I caught up with Colonel M⸺, who was marching with his regiment, and rode with him for a few miles. We crossed a really interesting suspension bridge built over the Kala-nadī by the late Nawab Hakīm Menhdī; the pillars involved in the construction are impressive. Looking at the river reminded me of the excellent and large arwarī fish found there. Later, while talking about this type of mullet with Captain O⸺, he mentioned that he had sent someone to catch arwarī fish, but the person returned feeling very ill after seeing a hundred and thirty dead bodies blocking 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.

12th.—Had dinner with Major Sutherland, the Resident of Gwalior, who was attending the Governor-General. Several friends gathered; a warm fire crackled in the tent; our host was the life of the party; the dinner was fantastic. I can hardly remember a more enjoyable 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.

13th.—Crossed the river on a bridge of boats set up to accommodate the Lord Sāhib, as the locals refer to 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.

They say there are about eleven thousand people with the camp, along with countless elephants and camels, which, combined with the bodyguard, artillery, and infantry, create an enormous crowd. It's said that his Lordship's travels around the country cost the government 70,000 rupees a month; the encampment encroaching on grain fields often incurs losses of 300 to 400 rupees a day for the peasants. On the other side of the bridge, the road was marked with little flags—and it was a truly heartbreaking route; completely through the dry riverbed, nearly axle-deep in fine sand. The day was bitterly cold, the wind was strong, and the blowing sand filled our eyes and mouths. I was too unwell to ride my horse, so the two gray horses had to pull me the whole way in the Stanhope. The first thing I noticed was my ayha in her cart stuck in the sand and completely immovable. Some soldiers came over and helped her out. All the Company’s hackery carts had come to a standstill. The soldiers, finding that the oxen couldn't pull them out of the sand, removed the animals and harnessed themselves, with about thirty or forty men to each cart, and dragged it until it reached firmer ground.

I came up to my tent at Imrutpūr, and found it was pitched close to the lines of the camp of the Governor-General; this could not be altered at the time, the other tent not having come up, and being ill I laid down to rest. The other tent did not come up until it was too late to pitch it; and in the evening I was annoyed at finding I was within the rules of the[184] camp, within the sentries, which I had given strict orders to avoid, and which my people had disobeyed by mistake when pitching the tent during the night. Indeed, the long march over the sand of the river had harassed them, and when it is particularly cold, the natives are more stupid than usual.

I arrived at my tent in Imrutpūr and noticed it was set up close to the edge of the Governor-General’s camp. At that moment, I couldn’t change it since the other tent hadn’t arrived yet, and feeling unwell, I lay down to rest. The other tent didn’t show up until it was too late to set it up, and by evening, I was frustrated to realize I was within the rules of the[184] camp, inside the sentries—something I had given strict orders to avoid, which my team accidentally ignored when they set up the tent at night. The long march across the sandy river had worn them out, and when it gets particularly cold, the locals tend to be more sluggish 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.

14th.—I was feeling pretty sick and seriously thought about canceling my trip, but since my tent was set up according to the rules, I got up early, had another tent pitched outside the rules, moved into that one, and took down the first tent. Captain C⸺ wrote to inform me that it had been noticed my tent was set up within the line of sentries and asked me to instruct my khalasīs to prevent this from happening again. So, I decided to change my route. I received a note from Mrs. H⸺ saying that their group had left the main camp to go to Alligarh and invited me to join them, which I gladly accepted.

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.

19th.—Completed a fifteen-mile march before 8:30 AM; stopped at Nawabgunge; had breakfast with my friends; their warm welcome, a cozy fire, and a fantastic breakfast made me really happy. The formality of the big camp I had just left contrasted sharply with the fun and cheerfulness of marching under the flag of the Resident of Gwalior.

23rd.—We arrived at Khāsgunge, and encamped in the Mango Tope just beyond the village. After breakfast, I drove four miles to see Mr. James Gardner, who had succeeded to his father’s property, and was living at his house. I found the place quite deserted; Mr. Gardner was at one of his villages some miles off, but his wife, Mulka Begam, was at home. I sent word I would pay my respects to her if she could receive me. In the mean time I went into the garden, and visited all those spots where I had so often enjoyed the society of my dear friend Colonel Gardner. The pavilion in the centre of the garden, in which I had nursed him when he was so ill, recalled to mind the conversation we then had, which ended in his taking me to the tomb of his son just beyond the garden; we sat on that tomb, and the dear old man said, pointing to the spot, “I wish to be buried there, by the side of my son; another year will not pass ere I shall be[185] placed there; you are very kind in trying to persuade me, my dear daughter, that I have still many years before me, but I feel I am going, my constitution is gone; it is well that with old age we feel all these pains and the ills that accompany it; were it not so, we should never be willing to quit this world.” Our conversation lasted some time, afterwards he took my arm, and we returned slowly to the house. I visited his grave: his son had raised a tomb on the spot selected by his father; it was not quite finished. I knelt at the grave of my kind, kind friend, and wept and prayed in deep affliction. His Begam had only survived him a few days. She was buried in the same tomb, with her head to Mecca, towards which place the face of a true believer is always turned when laid in the grave. The corpse of a Muhammadan is laid on its back in the grave, with the head to the north and feet to the south, turning its face towards the kibla (or Mecca, i.e. west). The Shī’as make their tombs for men of the same shape as the Sunnīs make those for females; and for women like those of the Sunnīs for men, but with a hollow, or basin, in the centre of the upper part.

23rd.—We arrived at Khāsgunge and set up camp in the Mango Grove just beyond the village. After breakfast, I drove four miles to visit Mr. James Gardner, who had taken over his father's estate and was living in his house. I found the place completely empty; Mr. Gardner was away at one of his villages several miles off, but his wife, Mulka Begam, was at home. I sent a message saying I would like to pay my respects if she could see me. In the meantime, I went into the garden and visited all those places where I had often enjoyed the company of my dear friend Colonel Gardner. The pavilion in the center of the garden, where I had cared for him during his illness, brought back memories of our conversation at that time, which ended with him 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, next to my son; another year won't pass before I am[185] laid to rest there; you are very kind to try to persuade me, my dear daughter, that I have many years ahead of me, but I feel I am leaving; my health is failing; it’s a blessing that with old age we feel all these pains and ailments; if we didn’t, we would never want to leave this world.” Our conversation lasted for a while, and then he took my arm, and we slowly returned to the house. I visited his grave: his son had erected a tomb at the spot chosen by his father; it wasn’t quite finished. I knelt at the grave of my kind, kind friend, and wept and prayed in deep sorrow. His Begam had only lived a few days after him. She was buried in the same tomb, with her head towards Mecca, to which a true believer's face is always turned when laid to rest. A Muslim's body is placed on its back in the grave, with the head to the north and feet to the south, facing the qibla (or Mecca, i.e. west). The Shī’as design their tombs for men in a shape similar to those the Sunnīs make for women, and for women like those the Sunnīs make for men, but with a hollow, or basin, in the center 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.

Mulka Begam welcomed me warmly; she showed me her youngest daughter, about two years old, who she said looked a lot like me. The child was shy and clung to her caregiver, afraid of a stranger; I could barely see her face. The eldest boy was away with his father; the second son, William Linnæus, named after his grandfather, was at home. He is a very bright and intelligent boy. I asked if I could bring Mrs. H⸺ to visit that evening, and after getting permission to leave, I returned to the tents. In the evening, our group set out for Khāsgunge: we walked in the garden and visited the tomb. Major Sutherland spoke of Colonel Gardner as a very brave officer and recounted several daring actions where he had made a name for himself in various parts of the country; his bravery had not received the recognition it deserved from the Government; the value of a spirit like Colonel Gardner’s had not been fully appreciated by the rulers of the land.

When the evening closed in, the gentlemen went into the outer[186] house, and I took Mrs. H⸺ into the zenāna: as dark beauties always look best by candle-light, I had selected a late hour to visit the Begam; she was sitting on her gaddī when we went in, surrounded by her three beautiful children, and was in herself a picture. The little girl, my likeness, had lost all her shyness, and was figuring about like a dancing girl; on remarking the extraordinary change from shyness to such violent spirits, Mulka said, “She has had some opium, that makes her so fearless.” We sat an hour with the Begam, and then took our leave. We found the gentlemen in the outer house, sitting over a warm fire, and an excellent dinner of native dishes was ready; having dined, we returned by torch-light to the tents.

When the evening came, the men went into the outer[186] house, and I took Mrs. H⸺ into the zenāna. Since dark beauties always look best by candlelight, I chose a late hour to visit the Begam. She was sitting on her gaddī when we entered, surrounded by her three beautiful children, and looked like a picture. The little girl, who resembles me, had lost all her shyness and was moving around like a dancer. Noticing the remarkable shift from shyness to such lively energy, Mulka said, “She has had some opium, that makes her so fearless.” We spent an hour with the Begam and then said our goodbyes. We found the men in the outer house, sitting by a warm fire, and an excellent dinner of local dishes was ready. After dining, we returned to the tents by torchlight.

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.

My friends were very pleased with their visit to Khāsgunge; I had spoken so highly of the beauty of Mulka Begam that I was glad to see that Mrs. H⸺ admired both her looks and her personality just as much.

25th.—Our morning march was thus: Mr. H⸺, Major Sutherland and myself on horseback; Mrs. H⸺ in a palanquin-carriage, that rivalled Noah’s ark; it held herself, three children, three ayhas, two dogs, and packages without number; four good Arab horses had hard work to pull it six miles over such roads: the rest of the march was performed in buggies, with a relay of horses on the road. Major Sutherland, on his beautiful Arab, used to fly over the country in true Pindaree style; some of his Arabs I coveted exceedingly. In the evening the gentlemen took their guns; no game was to be found,—the land was generally perfectly bare, not a blade of grass,—the game had perished for want of food. The whole country around Zezaree was very flat and uninteresting; the only picturesque object we could find during these evening rambles was an old well; these wells we used to seek out and peer into as if we belonged to the Thuggee department, and were searching for dead bodies. Our life in tents was very agreeable, and I believe the whole party were sorry the next march would bring us to Alligarh, and once more into the form and stupidity of life in a house; for myself, the idea of having any roof over my head but that of a[187] tent fell like a nightmare on my spirits; and the giving up hunting for old wells was a complete sacrifice.

25th.—Our morning march went like this: Mr. H⸺, Major Sutherland, and I were on horseback; Mrs. H⸺ traveled in a palanquin-carriage that was as big as Noah’s ark. It held her, three kids, three ayhas, two dogs, and countless packages; four strong Arab horses struggled to pull it six miles over rough roads. The rest of the march was done in buggies, swapping out horses along the way. Major Sutherland, riding his stunning Arab, would zip across the countryside in true adventurous style; I really envied some of his Arabs. In the evening, the men took their guns, but there was no game to hunt—the land was mostly completely bare, not a blade of grass in sight—the game had died off due to lack of food. The whole area around Zezaree was very flat and dull; the only interesting thing we found on our evening strolls was an old well. We would look for these wells and peer into them like we were part of the Thuggee department on a quest for dead bodies. Life in tents was quite enjoyable, and I think the whole group felt sad that the next march would take us to Alligarh, and back to the monotony of living in a house; for me, the thought of having any roof over my head but that of a [187] tent felt like a nightmare; giving up the search for old wells was a real loss.

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.

26th.—We arrived in Alligarh and received a warm welcome from Mr. and Mrs. H⸺, setting up our tents in the Compound. In the evening, we explored the fort, famous for the bold way it was captured during Lord Lake’s time from General Perron. The fort was strong and surrounded by a deep ditch; approaching it in an organized way would have taken a month. A group from the ⸺ regiment had a skirmish with some of the fort's defenders; as they retreated over the first bridge, the English engaged them and entered through the first gate along with them. Once inside the gate, they faced heavy fire from all sides; six officers were killed right under a large peepul tree near the gate. The others crossed the second bridge and set their ladders against the wall; however, the enemy came down on them using their own ladders. After a bloody battle, they finally entered the second gate and secured 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.

General M⸺ was injured in the attack and had to pull back; it was lucky for his reputation that he played a part in one moment of bravery, as his later actions inspired a song that every soldier in the service knows.

“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.

The English tore down the walls of the fort but left a small section standing to showcase its original height. The fort used to have only one entrance, which faced the ditch; the English added another gate on the opposite side and a new bridge across the ditch. The site was maintained for a short period but is now in ruins. Inside the fort, on the right, there’s a model of the ground plan. I only wish I could clearly recall everything Major Sutherland shared with me at the time in such an engaging way. He was a notable officer and had a deep interest in the Fort of Alligarh.

[188]

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.

27th.—Our group drove to the racetrack to check out the horses that are training for the races: Botanist and Faustus, two stunning Arabians owned by Mr. B⸺, are truly beautiful animals. In the evening, we visited a house and garden that used to belong to General Perron, which is now owned by 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!

Major Cureton, from the 16th Lancers, had dinner with us; we talked a lot about the old regiment. He mentioned that the 16th sent Mr. Blood a silver shield as a gift. The old man will really appreciate and cherish the honor given to 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.

28th.—Visited Mr. B’s horse farm to check out his beautiful Arabian horses. In the evening, we went to the memorial for the officers who died during the capture of the Fort; eight of them are buried there, and there's a monument honoring their sacrifice. After that, we headed to a mosque located on a hill in the town—a very picturesque sight from afar. Next to it are the ruins of an ancient Kos Minar, which is quite remarkable. It looked like it might rain; the clouds were dark and heavy, and we could hear thunder, but only a few drops actually fell. Without rain, all the crops currently growing will die, and the famine will persist.

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.

29th.—With regret, I parted ways with the group today to travel alone to Meerut, while they headed in the opposite direction to Muttra, Gwalior, and Agra. Mr. H⸺ and Miss B⸺ joined me for the first six miles of the journey. How strange it felt to be in the solitude of my tents, far from the cheerful company I had left behind! Yet, I appreciated the peace, the silence, and the chance to be alone once again.

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.

30th.—Settled at Koorjah; a storm of wind and sand the whole day; no grass in sight, the ground completely parched. In the Faquir’s Bāghīcha is a scenic tomb and an old mosque.

31st.—Encamped at Bulandsher; quitted the good Delhi road to turn to Meerut; the wind very high, and miserably cold, the sand flying like dust, covering every thing in the tent, and filling my eyes. The servants annoyed me by disobeying orders; the food was bad,—the Arab’s saddle wrung his back,—every[189] thing went wrong. What a distance I have marched! how generally barren, flat, and uninteresting the country has been! I saw a very fine banyan tree a day or two ago, but the general face of the country is a sandy plain, interspersed with a few green fields near the wells, and topes of mango trees: in one of these topes my tent is pitched to-day. My beautiful dog Nero is dead. What folly in this climate to be fond of any thing!—it is sure to come to an untimely end.

31st.—We set up camp at Bulandsher after leaving the decent Delhi road to head towards Meerut. The wind was really strong and freezing, with sand blowing everywhere, covering everything in the tent and getting in my eyes. The servants frustrated me by not following orders; the food was terrible—my Arab saddle hurt his back—everything just seemed to go wrong. I've covered a huge distance! The land has mostly been barren, flat, and totally uninteresting! A couple of days ago, I saw a really impressive banyan tree, but overall, the land is a sandy plain, dotted with a few green fields near the wells and clusters of mango trees. My tent is pitched in one of those clusters today. My beloved dog Nero has died. How foolish it is to get attached to anything in this climate! It’s bound to meet an unfortunate 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?

Feb. 3rd.—Camped at Kerkowdah; here my relative, Capt. E. S⸺, met me to take me to his home in Meerut. How much we've changed! Our first instinct was to laugh at each other; the last time we met, we were carefree young people, playing all kinds of games on the lawn at Somerford Booths. Our voices and the looks on our faces might have been the same, but in so many other ways we were so different that we couldn't help but laugh at each other.

4th.—Arrived at Meerut, pitched my tents in the Compound, i.e. the grounds around the house.

4th.—Arrived at Meerut, set up my tents in the Compound, i.e. the grounds around the house.

6th.—The Governor-General and the Camp arrived.

6th.—The Governor-General and the Camp showed up.

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.

7th.—Went to a ball hosted by the artillery officers for the Governor-General; Lord Auckland and the Misses Eden were charming, and if I hadn't been feeling unwell, I would have really 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.

9th.—Drove to the Sūraj Kūnd, or Spring of the Sun, a very large tank; a bit further on are many satī mounds of unique design. In the evening, I went to a ball hosted by the station for the Governor-General and his group.

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.

12th.—Had dinner with General and Mrs. R⸺ to meet the Governor-General and his group; the dinner was hosted in a large tent that accommodated eighty guests. In the evening, the group attended a ball hosted by the Buffs for the Governor-General; the room was lively and well-lit, decorated with steel accents made of bayonets and ramrods; a throne was adorned with the regiment’s colors for the Governor-General. The dancing was energetic, and the evening ended with a fantastic supper.

[190]

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.”

Mr. W⸺ invited me to Lahore to see the meeting between the Governor-General and Runjeet Singh. I promised to accept his invitation if I'm in that part of the world in November, but I’m afraid I’ll be far away. Captain O⸺ sent me three Italian greyhound puppies; they run around in the most entertaining way. I hope the little delicate creatures survive. Wanting to see the ruins of Delhi, I had my tents sent ahead to wait for me. In the evening, I went to the theater to watch the performance by the artillery privates. The men built their own theater, painted their own sets, and performed themselves. The scenery was impressive, the audience was packed, the men acted incredibly well, and the tall lady artillerymen, all six feet tall, caused quite a bit of laughter. A letter from Allahabad informed me that “the 12th of January was one of the major bathing days; the river and its banks were filled with pilgrims. For days, we saw them passing in an almost continuous line, with very few wealthy people among them, mostly from the lower classes. There's no tax imposed by the Government now, but an officer is still sent with a guard as usual. There was a storm in the morning, and the rain has been pouring ever since. The poor souls making their way in thousands for tomorrow’s bathing will suffer terribly, and all their festivities will be ruined.”

[191]

CHAPTER LI.
Delhi Ruins.

“VEDI NAPOLI, E POI MORI.”

"See Naples, and then die."

“*I’ll thank you for your name, Sir.*”
*I’d like to know 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.

Happiness of being alive—March from Meerut to Delhi—How to Steal a Camel—Delhi—The Church—Monument dedicated to Wm. Frazer, Esq., B.C.S.—The Canal of Paradise—Mock Battles—Tomb of Humayun—Fort of Feroze Shah—Mosque of Zeenut al Nissa—Mosque of Roshan-ool-Dowla—Datisca Cannabina—Mimosa Scandens—Washing with Steam—The Qutub Minar—Ancient Columns—Qutub ka Laat—Unfinished Minar.

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.

1838, Feb.—I completely disagree with the Neapolitan saying, “See Naples and then die,” and would rather suggest this advice—“See the Tāj Mahal, and then—check out the Ruins of Delhi.” There’s so much beauty in this bright, stunning world! Exploring with a good tent and a solid Arab guide could make someone happy forever in India: a guy might enjoy this lifestyle more than a woman; he has his dog, his gun, and his helpers, with plenty of open land to hunt on, without the annoyance of being asked, “May I have your name, sir?” I have a pencil instead of a gun, and I believe it brings me equal, if not greater, satisfaction than the sportsman gets from his Manton.

[192]

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!

On my way back from the theater, I looked for my charpāī and fell asleep—oh, how deeply!—woke up, got dressed, and was on my horse by 6 AM, having had four and a half hours of complete rest. “Sleep is the peace of the soul[25].” I woke up completely refreshed, and my little soul was soon galloping away on the back of an Arab, enjoying the fresh, cool morning breeze. Oh! the joy of wandering around 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.

16th.—We rode part of the way and drove the rest of the trip, sixteen miles; found the tents set up and the attendants waiting for us. Had a breakfast that hungry people enjoy, and then went back to our tents. I was too tired; the novel slipped from my hand, and I fell asleep for a few 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.

When the sun was almost down, we wandered through the fields with the guys and their guns, but didn’t find any game. So, the day of the first march on the road to Delhi at Begamabad came to an end.

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.

17th.—Arrived early at Furrudnagar, another long journey; there was a strong wind, dust clouds, and it was an unpleasant day. During the night, the servants had all their brass lotas and cooking utensils stolen. A thief crept up to my camels, which were tied just in front of the tent, picked out the best one, cut the rope and strings from its neck; then, with a long thin rope attached to the camel, the thief slipped away. Once at the end of the line, he tugged on the rope, continuing to pull until the camel became restless; the animal got up—another tug—turned its head, another—and it quietly followed the movements of the rope that the thief was holding; he managed to separate it from the other camels and got it about twenty yards from the tent; just then, the sentry noticed the camel calmly leaving, raised the alarm, the thief ran off, and the animal was brought back to the camp;—a few more yards and the thief would have been on its back, and we would have lost the camel.

Palace and Fort of Delhi.
Delhi Palace and Fort.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Vani Parks

18th.—Marched into Delhi: the first sight of the city from[193] the sands of the Jumna is very imposing; the fort, the palace, the mosques and minarets, all crowded together on the bank of the river, is a beautiful sight. “In the year of the Hijerah, 1041 (A.D. 1631-2), the Emperor Shāhjahān founded the present city and palace of Shāhjahānabad, which he made his capital during the remainder of his reign. The new city of Shāhjahānabad lies on the western bank of the Jumna, in latitude 28° 36′ North. The city is about seven miles in circumference, and is surrounded on three sides by a wall of brick and stone; a parapet runs along the whole, but there are no cannon planted on the ramparts. The city has seven gates: viz., Lahore gate, Delhi gate, Ajimere gate, Turkoman gate, Moor gate, Cabul gate, Cashmere gate; all of which are built of freestone, and have handsome arched entrances of stone, where the guards of the city kept watch.”

18th.—Marched into Delhi: the first view of the city from[193] the sands of the Jumna is quite impressive; the fort, palace, mosques, and minarets, all clustered together by the riverbank, create a stunning scene. “In the year of the Hijerah, 1041 (CE 1631-2), Emperor Shāhjahān established the current city and palace of Shāhjahānabad, making it his capital for the rest of his reign. The new city of Shāhjahānabad is located on the western bank of the Jumna, at a latitude of 28° 36′ North. The city has a circumference of about seven miles and is encircled on three sides by a wall of brick and stone; a parapet runs along the entire length, but there are no cannons stationed on the ramparts. The city features seven gates: Lahore gate, Delhi gate, Ajimere gate, Turkoman gate, Moor gate, Cabul gate, and Cashmere gate; all of which are made of freestone and have elegant arched stone entrances where the city's guards stood 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.

We entered the town through the Delhi gate: during the rainy season, when the river rises to the walls of the city, the view from a boat must be stunning; right now, the river is shallow, with large sandbanks in the middle. We crossed a bridge made of boats and set up camp in front of the church.

The church was built by Colonel Skinner, planned by Colonel S⸺; I do not like the design: it was put into execution by Captain D⸺. The dome appears too heavy for the body of the church, and in the inside it is obliged to be supported by iron bars,—a most unsightly affair. A man should visit the ruins of Gaur, and there learn how to build a dome, ere he attempt it. Colonel Skinner is a Christian; the ladies of his family are Musalmanīs, and for them he has built a mosque opposite the church. In the churchyard is the tomb of Mr. William Frazer, who was murdered by the Nawab Shumsheodin: Colonel Skinner has erected a monument to the memory of his friend; it is of white marble, in compartments, which are inlaid with green stones, representing the weeping willow; the whole was executed at Jeypore, and cost, it is said, 10,000 rupees. On the top is a vase, and, in a compartment in front of the church is a Persian inscription. Below are these lines, and in front of the lines are two lions reposing: to none but an Irishman[194] would it be clear that the us in the epitaph proceeds from the lions:—

The church was built by Colonel Skinner and designed by Colonel S⸺; I'm not a fan of the design. It was carried out by Captain D⸺. The dome looks too heavy for the structure of the church, and inside, it has to be supported by iron bars, which is quite unattractive. A person should visit the ruins of Gaur and learn how to build a dome before attempting one. Colonel Skinner is a Christian, while the women in his family are Musalmanīs, and he constructed a mosque for them right across from the church. In the churchyard lies the tomb of Mr. William Frazer, who was murdered by Nawab Shumsheodin. Colonel Skinner built a monument in memory of his friend; it’s made of white marble with compartments inlaid with green stones shaped like weeping willows. It was made in Jeypore and reportedly cost 10,000 rupees. On top is a vase, and in front of the church, there’s a Persian inscription. Below are these lines, with two lions resting in front: to no one but an Irishman[194] would it be obvious that the us in the epitaph comes 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.

On the other side of 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.

THE REMAINS
BURIED UNDER THIS MONUMENT
BELONGED TO A PERSON
WITH A COURAGEOUS AND GENUINE
SPIRIT
UNMATCHED BY ANY OTHER
IN HUMAN HISTORY
Creator!
A FRIEND HAS HAD THIS BUILT
SO THAT, WHEN HIS BODY IS NO LONGER,
IT MAY STAND
AS A
MEMORIAL
FOR THOSE WHO CAN MOURN
THE SUDDEN AND SORROWFUL LOSS
OF SOMEONE
HE HELD DEAR AS LIFE.
WILLIAM FRAZER
DIED MARCH 22, 1835.

In the evening the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī, Hindū Rāo, sent me an elephant, and Colonel Skinner sent another; on these we mounted, and went through all the principal streets of the city. Dehlī or Dillī, the metropolis of Hindūstān, is generally called by Musalmāns Shāhjahān-ābād, and, by Europeans, Delhi. The Chāndnī chauk, a very broad and handsome street, is celebrated; it has a canal that runs through and down the centre of it; but such is the demand for water, that not a drop[195] now reaches Delhi, it being drawn off for the irrigation of the country, ere it arrive at the city. This fine stream is called Nahr-i-Bihísht, or “Canal of Paradise.” “In the reign of Shāhjahān, Ali Merdan Khan, a nobleman, dug, at his own expense, a canal, from the vicinity of the city of Panniput, near the head of the Doo-ab, to the suburbs of Delhi;—a tract of ninety miles in extent. This noble canal is called by the natives the ‘Canal of Paradise,’ and runs from north to south, in general about ten miles distant from the Jumna, until it joins that river nine miles below the city of New Delhi: it yielded formerly fourteen lākh of rupees per annum. At present it is out of repair, and in many places almost destroyed.”

In the evening, the brother of Bāiza Bā’ī, Hindū Rāo, sent me an elephant, and Colonel Skinner sent another. We climbed onto these elephants and traveled through all the main streets of the city. Dehlī, or Dillī, the capital of Hindūstān, is usually referred to by Musalmāns as Shāhjahān-ābād and by Europeans as Delhi. The Chāndnī chauk is a very wide and beautiful street that’s famous; it has a canal running through the center of it. However, due to high demand for water, not a drop now reaches Delhi, as it is diverted for irrigation before reaching the city. This beautiful stream is called Nahr-i-Bihísht, or "Canal of Paradise." “During the reign of Shāhjahān, a nobleman named Ali Merdan Khan dug a canal at his own cost, extending from the vicinity of Panniput, near the head of the Doo-ab, to the suburbs of Delhi—a distance of ninety miles. This grand canal is known by locals as the ‘Canal of Paradise’ and runs from north to south, generally about ten miles away from the Jumna, until it merges with the river nine miles below New Delhi. It used to yield fourteen lākh of rupees annually, but now it is in disrepair and nearly destroyed in many areas.”

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.

As we walked around the Jáma Masjid, a beautiful mosque, I remembered the Prophet's words: "Mosques are the gardens of Paradise, and praising God is the fruit of it." On the large staircase leading to the mosque, there were hundreds of people in colorful clothing, haggling over cloth, sweets, and more.

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.

The people of Delhi seem to love wearing brightly colored clothes, and their stylish outfits add to the beauty of every scene. Well-to-do local men, accompanied by large entourages on horses, elephants, or camels, can be seen everywhere, making the atmosphere lively and entertaining. However, despite all this apparent splendor, there's a saying that highlights the superficiality and poverty in the city: “Dillī ke dilwālī munh chiknā pet khālī;” which means “The people of Delhi look wealthy, but in reality, they are starving.” Just past the Jáma Masjid is the palace wall—an absolutely stunning wall; I was impressed by it and its gates. Soon after, we steered our elephants back to the tents and returned, feeling quite tired, for dinner.

19th.—This morning we had decided on visiting the tomb of Humaioon, but, on mounting our horses, hearing firing at a distance, we rode off to see what amusement was going forward, leaving the visit to the tomb for another day. It was lucky we did so, I would not on any account have missed the scene. We galloped away, to save time, and found Lord Auckland and his[196] party at a review; after looking at the review a short time, Captain S⸺, himself an engineer, took me to see a very interesting work: the sappers and miners had erected a mud-fort; trenches were regularly formed in front of the fort, to cover the attacking party, and mines were formed underground to a considerable distance. We walked through the long galleries, which were all lighted up, and Captain S⸺ explained the whole to me. On our return, Lord Auckland came up, examined the fort, and walked through the miners’ galleries. The attack commenced, the great guns blazed away at the bastion, which was blown up in good style by the miners; the soldiers mounted the breach and took the fort, whilst, on the right, it was scaled by another party. This mimic war was very animated; I like playing at soldiers, and it gave me an excellent idea of an attack, without the horror of the reality: another mine was sprung, and the warfare ended. The sun was high and very hot,—we rode home as fast as our horses could carry us,—only stopping on the top of a rocky hill near the late Mr. Frazer’s house, to admire the view of Delhi, which lay below a mass of minarets and domes, interspersed with fine trees. Near this spot Mr. Frazer was shot. The house was bought by Hindū Rāo for 20,000 rupees. Out of this rocky hill a sort of red gravel is dug, which forms the most beautiful roads.

19th.—This morning, we had planned to visit the tomb of Humayun, but after mounting our horses and hearing some distant firing, we decided to ride off and check out what was happening instead, postponing the tomb visit for another day. It turned out to be a lucky decision, as I wouldn’t have wanted to miss the scene. We galloped off to save time and found Lord Auckland and his[196] party at a military review. After watching the review for a bit, Captain S⸺, who’s an engineer, took me to see something really interesting: the sappers and miners had built a mud fort. Trenches were dug in front of the fort to protect the attacking team, and there were mines planted underground reaching quite a distance. We walked through the long, lit galleries, and Captain S⸺ explained everything to me. On our way back, Lord Auckland came over, checked out the fort, and walked through the miners’ galleries. The attack began, and the big guns fired at the bastion, which was successfully blown up by the miners; the soldiers climbed the breach and captured the fort, while another team scaled it from the right. This mock battle was very exciting; I enjoy playing soldier, and it gave me a great idea of what an attack looks like, without the horror of real warfare. Another mine was detonated, and the battle wrapped up. The sun was high and scorching—we rode home as fast as our horses could go, stopping only at the top of a rocky hill near the late Mr. Frazer’s house to admire the view of Delhi below, with its mix of minarets and domes scattered among beautiful trees. Mr. Frazer was shot near this spot. The house was purchased by Hindū Rāo for 20,000 rupees. From this rocky hill, a kind of red gravel is extracted, which makes for 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.

After breakfast, we packed up our tents and went to stay with a friend who has a beautiful house set in lovely grounds, complete with a garden overflowing with colorful flowers, located just beyond the Cashmere gate of the city. Colonel Edward Smith, from the engineers, deserves a lot of credit for the stylish and tastefully designed architecture of this gate in Delhi, as well as several other buildings he designed around the city. We found the tents really hot inside the walls, swarming with countless flies, like the plague of Egypt; they must be just as bad during the hot season. In the evening, we attended a ball hosted by Mr. Metcalfe for the Governor-General and his guests.

20th.—The ball gave me a headache, and I was suffering a good deal of pain, when a native lady came to see me, on the[197] part of the Nawāb Shah Zamānee Begam, the Emperor’s unmarried sister, from whom she brought a complimentary message, and a request that I would call upon her at the palace. The lady, finding me in pain, most kindly shampooed and mulled my forehead so delightfully, that my headache was charmed away;—shampooing is the great luxury of the East.

20th.—I had a headache from the ball and was in quite a bit of pain when a local woman came to visit me, on behalf of Nawāb Shah Zamānee Begam, the Emperor’s unmarried sister. She brought a friendly message and an invitation for me to visit her at the palace. Seeing that I was in pain, the lady kindly massaged and soothed my forehead so wonderfully that my headache disappeared;—massage is one of the great luxuries 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.

In the evening, we drove through the ruins of old Delhi to the tomb of Emperor Humayun. The drive is fascinating; no matter where you look, you’re surrounded by ruins of incredible beauty. The tomb of Humayun is a grand, impressive building that’s definitely worth a visit; it’s well-maintained. Inside the mausoleum, there are several monuments made of carved white marble. The emperor's tomb is quite simple and has no inscription. On the terrace, there's a very elegant, intricately carved white marble monument marking the resting place of a Begum. The views from the terrace over the ruins of old Delhi are stunning.

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 tomb of Humayun, the son of Babur, the second of the imperial house of Timur, was built by his son Akbar on the western bank of the Yamuna 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 terrace, made of red stone, has a circumference of two thousand feet. The mausoleum, also constructed from red stone, rises from this terrace. It has a circular shape and is topped with a massive dome made of white marble. This dome, notable for its size, can be seen from far away. Four minarets of red and white marble support the corners of the building. These are topped with octagonal pavilions made of red stone, featuring marble domes. I estimate the height to be around one hundred and twenty feet. A winding staircase of red stone leads to a terrace that surrounds the outside of the dome; from there, you get a stunning view of both old and new Delhi.”

“The principal room below is paved with large slabs of white[198] marble. It contains the tomb of Humaioon, of the common size, but elegantly decorated with chisel work. It bears no inscription. Adjoining to this room are other apartments, in which are interred several princesses of the house of Timur.

The main room below has large white marble slabs on the floor.[198] It holds the tomb of Humayun, which is of standard size but beautifully detailed with carvings. There are no inscriptions. Next to this room are other chambers, where several princesses from the Timur dynasty are buried.

“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.

“On the terrace mentioned earlier are the graves of five princes from the royal family: first, Darah Shekoah, who was executed by his brother Aurunzebe; second, Mooizadeen, or Jahandar; third, Shah Furrukseir, who was killed by the Seyuds; fourth, Beedar Bukht; and fifth, Azim Shah, son of Aurunzebe. Close by 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.”

“About two hundred yards from this mausoleum is the tomb of the famous Khan Khanan, prime minister of Jahangir and son of the renowned Byram Khan. He was notable for his significant contributions during the reigns of Humayun, Akbar, and Jahangir, helping to establish the house of Timur on the throne of Hindostan. The tomb is similar in size and shape to that of Nawab 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.

On our way back, we visited the old Fort of Delhi. The guide showed us a building he referred to as a khwāb khāna, or sleeping room; from this building, Humayun accidentally fell 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.

The mosque in the Fort caught our attention; it’s a stunning building. Exiting through the other gate brought us in front of the Lall Durwaza, where the carriage was waiting, and I went 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.

Feb. 21st.—We saddled up our horses and rode to a ruin, just outside the Delhi Gate, known as the Kotīla of Feroze Shāh. This old fort is completely in ruins. In the middle, some arches still stand, and atop them is a platform where there’s a lāt, a tall pillar made from a single piece of stone, rumored to be granite; there are several inscriptions on the pillar. It measures over twelve feet in circumference at the base. The top is broken, apparently shattered by lightning.

[199]

The following extracts, from Captain William Franklin’s Memoirs of Mr. George Thomas, and his Visit to Delhi in 1793, are interesting:—

The following excerpts, from Captain William Franklin’s Memoirs of Mr. George Thomas, and his Visit to Delhi in 1793, are intriguing:—

“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.

“A mile south of the city are the remains of the fort, palace, and mosque of the Patan emperor, the first Feroze. These ruins cover a significant area. The walls of the fort are incredibly thick, and the huge piles of granite and other stones scattered throughout the interior show that it was once a grand and impressive structure. This fort was built in 755 AH and was destroyed by the Mogul conqueror Timoor during his invasion of Hindostan. At the center of the site is a building in an ancient style, flanked by round pillars and topped with three-story turrets. On the roof of this building, on a large stone terrace about forty feet high, stands a column of brown granite. This column has an inscription, in the ancient script mentioned earlier, which is also found on the pillar in the Fort of Allahabad and is made from the same materials. This pillar is known by the locals as Feroze Cotelah, the staff of Feroze; and from the design of the building it sits on, I would guess it was a monument of Hindu splendor before the invasions of the Muslims. Next to the Cotelah is a very large building with a different architectural style than the mosques built after the Moguls came to power. This mosque is square and has four large aisles or cloisters, with stone roofs supported by two hundred and fifty columns of stone, each about sixteen feet high. The length of the cloisters gives a grand look to the building. At the center of the mosque rises an octagonal dome made of stone and brick, about twenty-five feet high. In the western cloister is a kibla, or niche, in the wall that points toward Mecca. This mosque served as a model for Emperor Timoor, who took it back with him to Samarkand, his capital, along with craftsmen and workers of all kinds, and shortly after his return, he built a magnificent temple.”

“In the northern aisle of this mosque, at the upper end, is a[200] small window, from which was thrown the body of the late Emperor Allumgeer, who had been assassinated at the instigation of his Vizier, Gaziodeen Khan. The assassins were two Mahomedan devotees, whom he had invited under the pretence of their working miracles. The body of this unfortunate prince, unburied, for two days lay on the sands of the Jumna. At last it was taken up by the permission of Gaziodeen, and interred in the sepulchre of Humaioon. To me it appears that the style of building in this mosque refers to a period in the architecture of the Hindoos prior to the Mogul conquests. The mosque at Paniput, erected by the Emperor Baber, may be looked upon as the model of all the succeeding Mogul buildings.”

“In the northern aisle of this mosque, at the upper end, is a[200] small window, through which the body of the late Emperor Allumgeer was thrown after he was assassinated by the orders of his Vizier, Gaziodeen Khan. The assassins were two Muslim devotees, whom he had invited under the guise of performing miracles. The body of this unfortunate prince lay unburied on the sands of the Jumna for two days. Eventually, it was recovered with Gaziodeen's permission and buried in the tomb of Humaioon. To me, it seems that the design of this mosque reflects an architectural style from the Hindus before the Mogul conquests. The mosque at Paniput, built by Emperor Baber, can be seen as the model for all subsequent 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.

The Akbārābādee Masjid, which we visited next, is a large mosque that isn't particularly noteworthy; maybe this is the mosque of the Akbārābādee Begam, whose tomb is close to the Tāj in 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.”

Then we went to the Zeenut-al-Masjid, by the bank of the Jumna River, built by a daughter of Aurangzeb named Zeenut-al-Nissa. It’s a stunning mosque, with remarkably elegant minarets, and two beautifully carved pillars at the entrance that are strikingly designed. “It’s made of red stone with marble inlays, and it has a spacious terrace in front, complete with a large reservoir, also faced with marble. The princess who built it chose not to marry and invested a significant amount of money into the mosque; upon its completion, she erected a white marble tomb surrounded by a wall of the same material in the west corner of the terrace. She was buried here in the year 1122 of the Hijerah, which corresponds to the year 1710 of Christ.”

We called on Colonel Skinner, and saw his sister, an old lady very like her brother, with a dark complexion and white hair. The Chandnī Chauk is a fine street, and its bazār the best in the city; we rode through it about 4 P.M.; it was filled with crowds of gaily-dressed natives.

We visited Colonel Skinner and met his sister, an elderly woman who resembled her brother, with a dark complexion and white hair. Chandnī Chauk is a beautiful street, and its market is the best in the city; we rode through it around 4 PM; it was bustling with crowds of brightly dressed locals.

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[201] Chauk; it is of the common size, built of red stone, and surmounted by three domes. The King of Persia took Delhi, A.D. 1739. Nadir Shah, on hearing of a tumult that broke out in the great market-place, in which two thousand Persians were slain, marched out at night with his men as far as this Masjid; here he thought it prudent to halt until daylight. When daylight began to appear, a person from a neighbouring terrace fired upon the king, and killed an officer by his side. Nadir Shah was so much enraged, that although the tumult had by this time totally subsided, he sent out his soldiers, and ordered a general massacre of the inhabitants. This order was executed with so much rigour, that before 2 P.M., above one hundred thousand, without distinction of age, sex, or condition, lay dead in their blood, although not above one-third part of the city was visited by the sword. Nadir Shah sat during this dreadful scene in the Masjid of Roshan-ool-Dowla; none but slaves dared approach him. At length the unfortunate Emperor of Delhi, attended by a number of his chief omrah, ventured before him with downcast eyes. The omrah who preceded the king, bowed their foreheads to the ground. Nadir Shah sternly asked them what they wanted? They cried out with one voice, “Spare the city.” Muhammad said not a word, but the tears flowed fast from his eyes. The tyrant, for once touched with pity, sheathed his sword, and said, “For the sake of the prince Muhammad I forgive.” The massacre was instantly stopped.

We watched with great interest the gilded domes of the mosque of Roshan-ool-Dowla, at one end of the Chandnī[201] Chauk; it's a standard size, made of red stone, and topped with three domes. The King of Persia took Delhi in A.D. 1739. Nadir Shah, upon hearing about a riot that broke out in the main market square, where two thousand Persians were killed, marched out at night with his troops to this mosque; he thought it wise to wait until morning. As daylight began to break, someone from a nearby rooftop shot at the king, killing an officer next to him. Enraged, Nadir Shah, even though the riot had completely died down by then, sent out his soldiers and ordered a mass killing of the residents. This order was carried out so ruthlessly that by 2 PM, over one hundred thousand people, regardless of age, gender, or status, lay dead in their blood, even though only about a third of the city was affected. Nadir Shah remained in the mosque of Roshan-ool-Dowla during this horrific scene; only slaves dared to approach him. Eventually, the unfortunate Emperor of Delhi, accompanied by several of his chief omrah, ventured in front of 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 collectively, “Spare the city.” Muhammad said nothing, but tears streamed down his face. The tyrant, for once moved by compassion, sheathed his sword and said, “For the sake of Prince Muhammad, I forgive.” The massacre was immediately halted.

Since that dreadful carnage, this quarter of Delhi has been but very thinly inhabited.

Since that terrible massacre, this part of Delhi has been barely populated.

An auction of the presents that had been made to the Government having been advertised to take place at a Europe shop in Delhi, I went to the place, and desired them to purchase several articles for me, among others a single sheet of paper that measured forty feet in length by nineteen feet and a half in breadth. It is made, they tell me, from the fibres of the leaf, or the bark of a tree, and is brought from Almorah and other parts of the hills. Some of the sheets are very large and rather coarse, others are smaller and very fine; insects do not attack shawls that are wrapped in this sort of paper. An Amadou[202] made from the same fibre is also brought from Almorah. I may here mention that many years afterwards I saw, at the Asiatic Society in London, a similar piece of paper ticketed, “A single sheet of paper measuring sixty feet by twenty-five, made in Kumaon, from the inner fibres of the Set Burrooah, or Daphne-Cannabind-tree; presented to the Asiatic Society by G. W. Traill, Esq., 1839.” Datisca cannabina, Hemp-like Datisca, Loudon.

An auction of the gifts that had been donated to the Government was announced to take place at a Europe shop in Delhi. I went there and asked them to buy several items for me, including a single sheet of paper that was forty feet long and nineteen and a half feet wide. They told me it's made from the fibers of a tree's leaf or bark and comes from Almorah and other hilly areas. Some of the sheets are very large and a bit coarse, while others are smaller and very fine; insects don’t bother shawls wrapped in this type of paper. An Amadou[202] made from the same fiber is also sourced from Almorah. I should mention that many years later, I saw a similar piece of paper at the Asiatic Society in London, labeled, “A single sheet of paper measuring sixty feet by twenty-five, made in Kumaon, from the inner fibers 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!

I also saw there a huge cluster of mimosa scandens, a wild vine; the seed is called gela and is primarily used by locals for washing their hair. The dhobīs cut a hole in the center of this seed, and by rubbing it up and down on the muslin sleeves of traditional dresses, they create a sort of goufré that’s admired and worn by wealthy men. Speaking of washermen, I find it quite surprising that the English have never picked up the Asian method of steaming clothes instead of boiling them. The steam washing process is very straightforward, requires little effort, and results in the most delicate whiteness. The washermen place the clothes in the evening over the simplest steam setup imaginable, leave them all night to steam, and by the next morning, they’re clean and ready to be taken out; then all that’s needed is to rinse them in the river, dry, and iron them. What a significant saving in cost, time, and hassle it would be if this method were adopted in public laundries 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.

21st.—Drove to Sir David Auchterlony’s house; there wasn't much to see there. Attended a ball hosted by the station for the Governor-General; stayed for an hour and went back early to prepare for our trip 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.

22nd.—We got on our horses at dawn and set off for the Kutab. We rode past the observatory without stopping to visit it; we paused to take a look at the tomb of Munsoor Ali Khan Sufter Jung, the Wuzeer of Emperor Ahmud Shah, who passed away in 1753—1167; it’s a beautiful building.

THE KUTAB MINĀR.

I had seen many drawings of this famous minār, and imagined[203] I had a perfect idea of what I was to behold. The reality far exceeded my expectations, on account of its grandeur, its enormous height, and the beauty of the building. Around the Kutab are the ruins of the most magnificent arches I should think in the world. Only one of these arches is entire, its proportions are very fine; a few years,—another year, perhaps,—and this beautiful arch will give way; the upper part is tottering to its fall even now. The Kutab Minār is perhaps so called from Kutb the polar star, as being particularly distinguished and attractive of general attention; or after the conqueror of Delhi, Kutab-ud-din-Ibek, the polar star of religion; or after the famous saint, Kutb-ud-din, whose tomb lies about half a mile S.W. of the column.

I had seen many drawings of this famous minaret and imagined[203] I had a clear picture of what I was about to see. The reality far surpassed my expectations, thanks to its grandeur, its immense height, and the beauty of the structure. Surrounding the Qutub are the ruins of what I would guess are some of the most magnificent arches in the world. Only one of these arches is intact, and its proportions are stunning; in a few years—maybe just one more year—and this beautiful arch will collapse; the upper part is already precariously close to falling. The Qutub Minar is possibly named after Kutb, the polar star, as it is particularly distinguished and draws general attention; or after the conqueror of Delhi, Kutab-ud-din-Ibek, the polar star of religion; or after the renowned saint, Kutb-ud-din, whose tomb is located about half a mile S.W. of the column.

Inscriptions on the Kutab Minār, transcribed and translated by Walter Ewer, Esq.

Inscriptions on the Qutub Minar, transcribed and translated by Walter Ewer, Esq.

“Kutub-ud-din-Ibek, on whom be the mercy of God, constructed this mosque.”

“Kutub-ud-din-Ibek, may God have mercy on him, built 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.”

“In the name of the most merciful God.—The Lord has invited to Paradise and guides anyone who wants it toward the path of righteousness.—In the year 592, this building began under 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.”

“The Sultan Shems-ul-Hak-wa-ud-din Altamsh built this structure.”

“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!”

“In the year 907, this minaret, which was damaged by lightning, was restored as needed by Firoz-mund Yamani, with the help and favor of God. May the Lord protect this great structure from future misfortune!”

“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 construction of this building was ordered during the glorious era of the great Sultan, the powerful King of kings and Master of mankind, the ruler of the monarchs of Turkistan, Arabia, and Persia; the Sun of the world and religion, of the faith and the faithful; the Lord of safety and protection; the Heir of the kingdom of Suliman Abul Muzeffer Altamsh Nasir Amin-ul-Mominin.”

“The prophet, on whom be the mercy and peace of God, has[204] declared, ‘Whosoever erects a temple to the true God on earth, shall receive six such dwellings in Paradise.’—The Minār, the dwelling of the king of kings, Shems-ul-dunyā-wa-ud-din, now in peace and pardon,—(be his tomb protected, and his place assigned in Heaven!)—was injured by lightning in the reign of the exalted monarch, Secunder, the son of Behlol—(may his power and empire last for ever, and his reign be glorious!): and therefore his slave, Futteh Khan, the son of Musnud Ali, the liberal of liberals, and the meritorious servant of the king, repaired it according to command, the 13th of Rubi-ul-Akber, in the year 909.”

“The prophet, may God’s mercy and peace be upon him, has[204] declared, ‘Whoever builds a temple to the true God on earth will receive six such homes in Paradise.’—The Minār, the home of the king of kings, Shems-ul-dunyā-wa-ud-din, now in peace and forgiveness,—(may his tomb be protected, and may he find his place in Heaven!)—was damaged by lightning during the reign of the esteemed monarch, Secunder, the son of Behlol—(may his power and empire endure forever, and may his reign be glorious!): and thus his servant, Futteh Khan, the son of Musnud Ali, the most generous of the generous, and the worthy servant of the king, restored it as commanded, on the 13th of Rubi-ul-Akber, in the year 909.”

March 30th, 1825.

March 30, 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.

Franklin’s account of this pillar is as follows:—“The Coottub Minar is located near the tomb of Khaja Cuttubadeen, from which it gets its name. His disciple, Shemsadeen, from the Ghazi family, built this column in the year 770 of the Hijra. The column looks incredibly impressive: imagine a shaft with a diameter of sixty feet, made partly of red stone and partly of white marble, soaring to a 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.

“Climbing this pillar, you find relief from four jutting galleries of red stone; narrowing at the top, it was topped with an octagonal pavilion that could possibly hold at least a dozen people. Each of the galleries is richly, though uniquely, decorated: the column stands out and is made strikingly bold by rounded and angled 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.”

“Inside this grand tower, there's a circular staircase with three hundred and eighty steps made of red stone. At various points, there are landings that connect to the windows. From the octagon at the top, the view is impressively grand. Inscriptions in several places, each twelve inches wide, wrap around the column; these include verses from the Quran in Arabic script. The galleries are held up by beautifully carved ornaments, which are made even more striking by an abundance of frieze-work.”

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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.

On the night of August 31, 1803, the minaret was shattered from the foundation by an earthquake; the damage caused by it has recently been repaired by Colonel Edward Smith of the engineers, who managed the work with great skill, having to remove and reattach some of the large stones at the base of the tower. His skill and taste failed, however, when fixing the top of the structure; even from a distance, the type of pavilion he built on top looks heavy and doesn't match the proportions of the rest of the minaret, which elegantly tapers and is beautifully slim. Not satisfied with this, he added a Chinese-style umbrella on top of the pavilion; it wasn't meant to stay—lightning struck it off, as if outraged by the desecration. The minaret is adorned with Arabic inscriptions and the most intricate craftsmanship.

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.

The colonnades around the Kutab are quite impressive; some share the same architectural style as the old Hindu ruins at Kanauj, which I’ve sketched. They feature large stones stacked upright on top of one another without any mortar. Some of the colonnades are almost completely plain, while others are richly carved; they seem to be very old.

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[206] failure, allowed the column to remain. The pillar is dented near the top by a cannon-shot fired at it by Gholam Kadir.

West of the Kutab, around fifty yards away, in the middle of the colonnaded courtyard in front of the beautiful arch I mentioned earlier, stands an iron column about twenty feet tall, known as “Kutab kí Lāt,” or “Kutab’s Staff.” It’s covered with inscriptions, some of which are said to be in an unknown script and are mostly worn away by time. The newer ones are in Persian and Hindi scripts. It’s said that this iron column was erected by the grandfather of Raja Pittourah, based on the advice of the Brahmans, who assured him that the scepter would never leave his descendants as long as this pillar stood. However, Raja Pittourah was killed in the eighth battle fought near Delhi by Kutab-u-dīn-Abek, who, to show his disregard for the Brahmans' prophecy and to demonstrate its[206] failure, allowed the column to remain. The pillar is dented near the top from 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.

Near the Kutab is the base of another minaret, which was started on a larger scale but was never completed.

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.”

Extracts from Colonel John Luard’s “Views in India”—“The Cutteb Minar Dhelie.”⸺“This amazing pillar is named after Cutteb-ud-din (the pole-star of religion), who came from Turkistan as a slave, was bought by Emperor Mahomed Ghori, gained favor, became a general, and eventually ascended to the throne as the first of the Patan, or Afghan rulers. In the year 589 Hegira, 1193 CE, he captured the fort of Merut and the city of Dhelie from the Candy Rai family, establishing his government there and forcing all the surrounding districts to accept the Mussalman faith. To honor this and other victories over non-believers, the construction of this pillar began around the year 1195 CE. The circumference at the base is 143 feet; the height of the first balcony is 90 feet—the second, 140 feet—the third, 180 feet—and the fourth, 203 feet. The 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.”

“Shumse-ud-din-Altumsh married the daughter of Cuttub-ud-din-Ibek. Like his father-in-law, he was originally a slave and was bought for 50,000 silver coins. He became a great general and took the imperial throne of Delhi in 607 Hegira, 1210 CE. He was an able, ambitious, and good ruler—reigning for twenty-six years—died in 1235 CE, and is buried in this intricately decorated building located about 200 yards from the Qutub Minar, which he helped construct. His tomb is made 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.

Having explored the tower and colonnades all morning, we went back to our tents to have lunch during the hottest part of the day.

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CHAPTER LII.
ANCIENT DELHI—THE ZENANA HOUSE.

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.

Ancient Delhi—The Baoli—Tombs of Shah Alam, Bahadur Shah, and Akbar Shah—The Zenana Ghar—Extent of the Ruins—The Observatory—Palace of Shahjahanabad—The Zenana—Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam—Poverty of the Descendants of Timur—The Effect of Zenana education on Men and Women—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 Madrassa—The Jama Masjid—The Kala Masjid—Plan of the City of Delhi—Left Delhi and returned to Meerut—Tomb of Pir 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.

1838, Feb. 22nd.—In the cool of the evening, we got on our horses and rode to Ancient Delhi, or Indrapesta, now called Marowlie, the capital of the former Rajas. Here, many houses were pointed out to us as having belonged to the mighty dead; but my attention was caught by a bā’olī, a huge well. From the top of the well to the water's surface, the depth is sixty feet, and the water itself is forty feet deep; just above the water, the side of the well has a flight of stone steps that leads up to the surface. I leaned over the well to look at the water and shuddered as I gazed into the dark, cold depths below; at that moment, a man jumped from the top into the well, sank down a great distance, resurfaced, and swam to the opening, climbing the steps like a soaked rat; three more quickly followed him and then cheerfully asked for a “bakshish,” or reward, begging for a rupee, which was given to them. We didn’t stay to watch the trick again, and the jumpers seemed disappointed.

[208]

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!

Quitting the bā’olī, we went to visit the tombs of the last three emperors of Delhi—Bahādur Shah, Shah’ālam, and Akbar Shah. The latter had just been laid to rest a few weeks ago; the tomb of Shah’ālam is made of white marble and is about eighteen inches away from that of Emperor Bahādur Shah, which is surrounded by flourishing white jasmine. How the mighty have fallen! I had previously visited the tomb of Humaioon and the even grander monument of Akbar at Secundra; I admired the stunning building, its park, and entrance. The last Akbar lies next to the two earlier emperors. Three beautifully sculpted marble tombs in a small open courtyard, with walls of white marble, are all that marks the resting place of the descendants of Tamerlane!

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.

The building that caught my attention the most was the Royal Zenāna Ghār. At certain times of the year, the Emperor of Delhi would retreat to this spot with all his ladies; it’s beautifully located among rocks and trees. There, comfortably seated on his cushions, he enjoyed watching the ladies of the zenāna as they jumped from the roof of a verandah into the water below and then came back up to jump in again. On the other side, there’s another tank with a sloping masonry bank; the ladies would sit there and slide down into the tank. In the water, surrounded by trees, the graceful drapery of the Muslim and Hindu ladies clinging to their well-formed bodies must have looked stunning. During these activities, guards were stationed around to prevent any uninvited eyes from intruding on the privacy of the zenāna.

At 9 P.M. we revisited the minār: the night was remarkably fine, no moon, but a dark blue, clear star-light. The minār is fine by day, its magnitude surprising; but, by night, a feeling of awe is inspired by its unearthly appearance. If you ask a native, “Who built the Kutab?” his answer will generally be,—“God built it;—who else could have built it?” And such is the feeling as you stand at the base, looking up to the top of the column of the polar star, which appears to tower into the skies: I could not withdraw my eyes from it; the ornaments, beautiful as they are by day, at night, shadowed as they were into the mass of building,[209] only added to its grandeur. We roamed through the colonnades, in the court of the beautiful arches, and returned most unwillingly to our tents.

At 9 P.M., we went back to the minaret: the night was stunning, with no moon, just a deep blue sky filled with clear starlight. The minaret looks impressive during the day, its size surprising; but at night, it inspires a sense of awe with its otherworldly look. If you ask a local, “Who built the Qutb?” they’ll usually reply, “God built it; who else could have done it?” That’s the feeling you get as you stand at the base, gazing up at the top of the column that seems to reach towards the stars: I couldn’t take my eyes off it. The decorations, beautiful as they are during the day, at night feel even more majestic, hidden in the shadows of the structure,[209] enhancing its grandeur. We wandered through the colonnades, in the courtyard of the lovely arches, and reluctantly headed back 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.

23rd.—Left the Kutab without going back to Tuglukabad, as we didn’t have time for it; I really regretted not being able to visit the tombs that were all around us in the ruins of Ancient Delhi. The extent of these ruins is thought to cover at least a twenty-mile circumference, starting from the gardens of Shalimar in the northwest to the Kutab Minār in the southeast, and then moving through the center of the old city, passing the mausoleum of Nizam-al-Deen, the nearby tomb of Humaioon, and the old fort of Delhi by the Jumna, up to the Ajmeer gate of Shāhjahānabad. The areas to the north and west are filled with the remnants of the large gardens and country houses of the nobility, which in the past were well supplied with water through the impressive 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.”

Franklin notes, "Historians say that ancient Delhi was founded by Rajah Delu, who ruled in Hindustan before Alexander the Great invaded. Others claim it was built by Rajah Pettouvar, who lived much later. In Sanskrit, it's called Indraput, meaning the Abode of Indra, one of the Hindu gods, and is recognized as such in the royal documents from 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[210] æra. His mind had been early stored with the knowledge contained in the Hindū writings, but he appears to have peculiarly attached himself to the mathematical sciences, and his reputation for skill in them stood so high, that he was chosen by the Emperor Mahommed Shah to reform the calendar, which, from the inaccuracy of the existing tables, had ceased to correspond with the actual appearance of the heavens. Jayasinha undertook the task, and constructed a new set of tables; which, in honour of the reigning prince, he named Zeej Mahommedshahy. By these, almanacks are constructed at Delhi, and all astronomical computations made at the present time.

On our way home, about a mile and a half from what is now Delhi, we stopped to visit the Observatory, Jantr-Mantr, a place definitely worth checking out. The name of Jayasinha, the Rajah of Ambhere, or Jayanagar, and his work in astronomy are not unknown in Europe; however, the breadth of his contributions to science is not well recognized. His rightful claims to exceptional talent and dedication deserve some acknowledgment of the efforts of someone whose name is prominent in the history of Hindustan. Jey-sing or Jayasinha inherited the legacy of the ancient Rajahs of Ambhere in the year Vicramadittya 1750, which corresponds to 1693 in the Christian calendar.[210] He had early on gained knowledge from the Hindu scriptures, but he seemed particularly drawn to the mathematical sciences, and his reputation for skill in these subjects was so high that he was appointed by Emperor Mahommed Shah to reform the calendar, which had become misaligned with the actual positions of the stars due to the inaccuracies of existing tables. Jayasinha took on the task and created a new set of tables, which he named Zeej Mahommedshahy in honor of the reigning prince. These tables are still used today in Delhi to create almanacs and perform all astronomical calculations.

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 five observatories, completed by Jayasinha, still exist in pretty good condition; they were built in Jaipur, Mathura, Varanasi, Ujjain, 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.

The next observatory, in terms of size and condition, is the one in Oujein; it’s located at the southern edge of the city, in the area known as Jeysingpoorah, where the ruins of a palace belonging to Jayasinha can still be found. He was the governor of Malwa during the reign of Mahommed Shah. The observatory in Oujein has since been turned into an arsenal and cannon foundry.

At Matra, the remains of the observatory are in the fort which was built by Jayasinha on the banks of the Jumna.

At Matra, the leftover parts of the observatory are in the fort that Jayasinha built along 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:—

The observatory in Delhi is located just outside the city wall, about a mile and a quarter away. It includes several separate 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.

1. A large equatorial dial: its shape is mostly intact, but the edges of the gnomon and the circle marking the degrees are damaged in several spots. This is the instrument referred to by Jayasinha as semrat-yunter (the prince of dials). It is made of stone, but the edges of the gnomon and the arches where the markings were, were made of white marble; only a few small pieces of that remain.

2. At a little distance from this instrument, towards the north-west, is another equatorial dial; more entire, but smaller and of a different construction. In the middle stands a gnomon,[211] which, as usual in these buildings, contains a staircase up to the top. On each side of this gnomon are two concentric semicircles, having for their diameters the two edges of the gnomon; it is evident that they represent meridians. On each side of this post is another gnomon, equal in size to the former; and to the eastward and westward of them are the arches on which the hours are marked.

2. A little distance from this instrument, towards the northwest, is another equatorial sundial; it’s more complete, but smaller and built differently. In the center stands a gnomon,[211] which, like in these structures, has a staircase leading up to the top. On each side of this gnomon are two concentric semicircles, with the two edges of the gnomon as their diameters; it's clear that they represent meridians. On each side of this post is another gnomon, equal in size to the first; and to the east and west of them are the arches showing the hours.

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.

3. The north wall of this building links the three gnomons at their highest point; and on this wall is marked a graduated semicircle for measuring the altitudes of objects located directly east or directly west from the observer's viewpoint.

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.

4. To the west of this building, and right next to it, there's a wall aligned with the meridian, on which a double quadrant is marked. The two upper corners of the wall serve as the centers for observing the heights of objects crossing the meridian, whether 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.

5. To the south of the dial are two buildings called Ustuánah. They look identical and are meant for the same purpose: to track the altitude and azimuth of celestial bodies. There are two of them so that two people can observe at the same time and compare and correct their findings.

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.

These buildings are circular, and in the center of each is a pillar that is the same height as the building itself, which is open at the top. From this pillar, radiating out horizontally are stone beams that extend about three feet from the bottom 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.

6. Between these two buildings and the large equatorial dial is a device called shamlah. It has a concave hemispherical surface made of masonry, designed to represent the lower hemisphere of the sky.

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:—

The best and most authentic account of Jayasinha's efforts to complete his work and advance astronomical knowledge is found in his own preface to the Zeej Mahommedshahy; from which the following excerpt is a direct translation:—

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“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.

“To fulfill the important task he was given, he (Jey-sing) gathered his resolve and built several instruments for an observatory here (at Delhi), similar to those established in Samarcand, in line with the Musalman texts: these included Zat-ul-huluck, made of brass, measuring three guz in diameter (which is roughly two cubits from the Koran), as well as Zat-ul-shobetein, Zat-ul-suchetein, Suds-Fukheri, and Shamlah. However, he realized that brass instruments didn’t meet his standards for precision due to their small size, lack of minute divisions, instability of their axes, misalignment of the center points, and shifting of the instrument planes. He concluded that the inaccuracies found in the works of ancient scholars like Hipparchus and Ptolemy might have stemmed from these issues; thus, he created instruments of his own design in Dar-ul-kheláfet, Shah-Jehanabad, the center of power and prosperity, including Jey-per-gàs, Ram-junter, and Semrat-junter, with a semi-diameter of eighteen cubits, where one minute equals a barleycorn and a half, constructed from stone and lime, ensuring perfect stability, adhering to geometrical rules, aligned with the meridian and the latitude of the site, and carefully measured and fixed; so that the issues caused by circle shaking, axis wear, center misalignment, and minute inconsistencies could be rectified.”

“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.”

“Thus, an accurate way to build an observatory was established, eliminating the discrepancy between the calculated and observed positions of fixed stars and planets by observing their average movements and aberrations with these instruments. To validate these observations, he also built similar instruments in Sewaī Jeypoor, Matra, Benares, and Oujein.”

After this most interesting visit to the Observatory, we returned to Delhi.

After this fascinating visit to the Observatory, we went back to Delhi.

[213]

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.

During my visit to Khāsgunge, Mr. James Gardner introduced me to one of the princesses of Delhi, Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam, who is the aunt of the current king and sister of the late one. Mr. James Gardner is her adopted son. The princess sent one of her attendants to say she would be happy to receive me and asked me to choose a time. The weather was extremely hot, but I was so busy that I only had one hour to spare, which I scheduled for noon.

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!

I was carried in a palanquin to the entrance of the women's section of the building, where some older ladies greeted me. After getting out of the palanquin, they guided me through strange areas, crowded with women of all ages; the narrow hallways were dirty and damp—an unusual way to enter 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.

Under a verandah, I found the princess sitting on a gaddī that was green. In this verandah, she seemed to live and sleep, as her charpāī, covered with a green razā’ī, was at the far end. She is an older woman; her features, which are nice, must have been beautiful in her youth; now they only hint at her good lineage. Green is the color of mourning worn by the followers of the prophet. The princess was in mourning for her late brother, Emperor Akbar Shah. Her outfit included green satin trousers, a green angiya (bodice), and a cashmere shawl in the same color: she set aside her jewels during the days of mātam (mourning). I took off my shoes before stepping onto the white cloth covering the carpet, and as I approached, I made my bahut bahut adab salām and presented a nazr of one gold mohur. The princess welcomed me warmly, offered me a seat beside her, and we had a long conversation. It’s customary to offer a gold mohur when visiting someone of high rank; it’s a sign of respect from the lesser to the greater: on a second visit, it’s still appropriate to offer a nazr, which can then be a bouquet of freshly picked flowers. The compliment is graciously accepted, as this gesture is the tradition of the country.

[214]

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.

I had a really hard time understanding what the Begam was saying because the loss of her teeth made her speech unclear. After a while, she called for her women to play and sing for my entertainment. I had to act pleased, but my aching head would have preferred the peace and quiet. Her adopted son, the child of the current King Bahadur Shah, came in; he's a really impressive, smart boy, about ten years old, with a good-looking face. Several other young princes showed up, along with some of their fiancées, little girls around five or six years old: the girls were not very attractive. The princess invited me to spend the day with her, saying that if I did, at 4 P.M., I would be introduced to the emperor (they think it's disrespectful to call him the king), and if I stayed with her until the evening, I would have dance performances for my entertainment all night. In the meantime, she asked some of her ladies to show me the part of the palace where the zenāna is located. Her young adopted son, the heir-apparent, took my hand and guided me through the women's quarters. The ladies came out to see the stranger; my guide pointed all of them out by name, and I got a chance to see and talk with almost all the begams. I never saw a plainer group: the verandahs, where they mainly seemed to spend their time, and the hallways between the rooms were mal propre. The young prince led me through different parts of the palace, and I entered a magnificent hall: it used to have fountains playing there; the ceiling was painted and gilded. In this hall, there were three elderly women on charpāīs (native beds), looking like hags; and there was a bunch of disgusting black water pooled on the marble floor where the fountains once were, as if it came from the kitchen drains. From a verandah, the young prince pointed out a bastion where the king was currently sleeping, and I left that part of the palace, worried that the chatter of my attendants and the laughter of the children might wake his majesty from his afternoon nap.

On my return to the princess I found her sister with her, a good-humoured, portly-looking person. They were both seated on chairs, and gave me one. This was in compliment, lest the[215] native fashion of sitting on the ground might fatigue me. The heat of the sun had given me a violent headache. I declined staying to see the king, and requested permission to depart.

On my way back to the princess, I found her sister with her, a cheerful, plump-looking woman. They were both sitting in chairs and offered me one too. This was a nice gesture, so I wouldn't have to sit on the ground, which might tire me out. The sun had given me a terrible headache. I decided not to stay and see the king, and I asked for permission to leave.

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.

Four trays filled with fruit and sweets were presented to me; two necklaces made of freshly picked jasmine flowers and adorned with tinsel were placed around my neck; and the princess gave me a small embroidered bag filled with spices. One of the pastimes of the young women in a zenāna is to beautifully embroider little bags, which they fill with spices and small pieces of betel nut; they really enjoy chewing this mixture. An English lady is no more proud of a great cat and kitten with wide eyes that she stitched herself in Berlin wool than the women behind the parda are of their embroidery skills. When I was leaving, the princess asked me to visit her again; she enjoyed talking about her friends in Khāsgunge. She is a clever, intelligent woman with good manners. I had satisfied my curiosity and experienced native life in a palace; as for beauty, in a whole zenāna there might be two or three attractive women, while the rest were notably plain. I was amazed by the number of ordinary faces around 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.

When a man wants to go up the minarets of the Jāma Masjid, he has to inform the gate captain of the palace so that the ladies can be notified, ensuring that no veiled woman can be seen, even from a distance. The reputation of the beauty of the majority of women can be preserved as long as they never reveal their faces. Women who are beautiful are quite rare, but their beauty is striking; most are generally plain. In England, beauty is more evenly spread across all social classes. Perhaps the most stunningly beautiful woman I've ever seen was of Asian descent.

I heard that I was much blamed for visiting the princess, it being supposed I went for the sake of presents. Natives do not offer presents unless they think there is something to be gained in return; and that I knew perfectly well. I went there from curiosity, not avarice, offered one gold mohur, and received in[216] return the customary sweetmeats and necklaces of flowers. Look at the poverty, the wretched poverty of these descendants of the emperors! In former times strings of pearls and valuable jewels were placed on the necks of departing visitors. When the Princess Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam in her fallen fortunes put the necklace of freshly-gathered white jasmine flowers over my head, I bowed with as much respect as if she had been the queen of the universe. Others may look upon these people with contempt, I cannot; look at what they are, at what they have been!

I heard that people were blaming me for visiting the princess, thinking I was only after gifts. The locals only give gifts if they expect something in return, and I knew that very well. I went there out of curiosity, not greed, offered one gold mohur, and received the usual sweet treats and flower necklaces in return. Just look at the poverty, the awful poverty of these descendants of emperors! In the past, departing guests were adorned with strings of pearls and precious jewels. When Princess Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam, in her fallen state, placed a necklace of freshly picked white jasmine flowers around my neck, I bowed with as much respect as if she were the queen of the universe. Others may look down on these people, but I can’t; just consider who they are and what they once were!

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.

The indecision and weakness of the emperor's character often surprises people. Why is that? What’s the difference in intelligence between a man and a woman raised in a zenāna? There, they both get the same education, and the outcome is similar. In Europe, men have a significant advantage over women because they receive a better education and are encouraged to act independently and rely on themselves from a young age, which clearly gives them an edge; women are kept down and don’t have a fair chance.

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.

One day, a man was talking to me about the extravagance of one of the young princes, saying that he was always in debt and could never make ends meet with his allowance. The prince's allowance was twelve rupees a month!—not more than what a head servant earns.

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.

With regard to my visit, I found it difficult to be judged by people who were unaware that I was friends with the relatives of those I visited in the zenāna. These were individuals who might not have been interested in native life and customs, and even if they were curious, they likely wouldn't have been able to satisfy that curiosity without an introduction they probably couldn't get.

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.

It’s an interesting thing that a native woman in a big house always chooses the smallest room for her own space. A group of women from the palace in Delhi were staying in a faraway house, and when a friend went to visit them, she found them all in the bathroom since they had picked that as the smallest room where they could all fit together.

[217]

I will here insert an extract from the Delhi Gazette of Jan. 13th, 1849.

I will now include an excerpt from the Delhi Gazette dated January 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.’”

“On Thursday morning, Prince Dara Bukht, the heir-apparent to the throne of Delhi, passed away, and with him, we have some reason to believe, any claim to the royal family's succession, as this right was guaranteed to him individually and to no other family member. We genuinely hope that this is true, and that our Government will now be able to take steps to make effective arrangements for the distribution, with appropriate provisions, of the family after the current king's death. The remains of the deceased prince were buried near Cheeragh Delhi within a few hours of his passing. Interestingly, nearly all the local newspapers have long stopped using the title ‘Padshah’ when referring to the King of Delhi, calling him simply ‘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.

It was too hot for me to walk around the palace walls, so I only made a quick stop at the Dīwān-i-am, or Hall of Public Audience, and the Dīwān-i-khāss, or Hall of Private Audience. The latter is made of white marble, beautifully decorated, with a roof supported by marble pillar colonnades. In this hall, the peacock throne sits in the center; it's accessed by steps and covered with a canopy, featuring four artificial peacocks at the corners. Around the outside of the Dīwān-i-khāss, on the cornice, is the famous inscription in gold letters on a white marble background: “If there be a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this[26].” The terrace of this building is made of large white marble slabs, and the building is topped with four pavilions or cupolas made from 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 palace is 3,000 feet long, 1,800 feet wide, and once could accommodate 10,000 horses; the construction is said to have cost about £1,000,000.

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.

The royal baths, located just north of the Dīwān-i-khāss, have three large rooms topped with white marble domes. Next to the baths is a beautiful mosque.

In the royal gardens is a very large octagonal room, facing[218] the Jumna, called Shah Burj, or the Royal Tower, which is lined with marble. Through the window of this room Prince Mirza Juwaun Bukht made his escape in 1784, when he fled to Lucnow. The Rohillas, who were introduced by Gholaum Cadir Khan, stripped many of the rooms of their marble ornaments and pavements.

In the royal gardens, there’s a large octagonal room facing[218] the Jumna, known as Shah Burj, or the Royal Tower, which is lined with marble. Through the window of this room, Prince Mirza Juwaun Bukht escaped in 1784 when he fled to Lucnow. The Rohillas, who were brought in by Gholaum Cadir Khan, removed many of the marble decorations and floors from the rooms.

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.

It was my plan to walk around the walls in the cool of the evening with my relative, but I was so disgusted by the rude comments I had heard that I wouldn't go back there 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 gardens of Shalimar are definitely worth visiting. From there, you can see south towards Delhi, stretching as far as the eye can see, filled with remnants of vast gardens, pavilions, mosques, and burial sites. The area surrounding this once-great city now looks like just a pile of ruins, and the countryside around it feels equally barren and abandoned:—

“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.”

“Within the city of New Delhi are the remains of many magnificent palaces, belonging to the great nobles of the empire; among the largest are those of Cummer-o’-deen Cawn, the vizier to Mahmud Shah; Ali Merdan Khan, the Persian; Nawab Gazooddeen Cawn; Seftur Jung’s; the garden of Coodseah Begam, mother of Mahmud Shah; the palace of Sadut Khan; and that of Sultan Darah Shekoah.”

“The baths of Sadut Khan are a set of beautiful rooms, paved,[219] and lined with white marble; they consist of five distinct apartments, into which light is admitted by glazed windows at the top of the domes. Sefdur Jung’s Teh Khana consists of a set of apartments, built in a delicate style; one long room, in which is a marble reservoir the whole length, and a smaller one raised and balustraded on each side; both faced throughout with white marble. Adjoining the palace is the fort of Selīm, Selīm-garh; it communicates by a bridge of stone, built over an arm of the river, and is now entirely in ruins.

“The baths of Sadut Khan are a collection of stunning rooms, paved and lined with white marble. They include five separate spaces that receive light through glazed windows at the top of the domes. Sefdur Jung’s Teh Khana features a series of finely designed rooms, including a long space with a marble reservoir that runs the entire length, and a smaller, elevated one with balustrades on each side, both covered in white marble. Next to the palace is the fort of Selīm, Selīm-garh; it is connected by a stone bridge that crosses an arm of the river and is now completely 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.”

The modern city of Shāhjahānabad has been rebuilt and features many nice houses, mostly made of brick. The streets are generally narrow, typical of most large cities in Asia. However, there used to be two very impressive streets. The first ran from the palace gate through the city to the Delhi gate, oriented north and south. This street was wide and spacious, lined with beautiful houses on either side and merchants' shops stocked with a variety of luxurious items. Shāhjahān had an aqueduct made of red stone that carried water the entire length of the street, and from there, it went into an underground reservoir before reaching the royal gardens. Remnants of this aqueduct can still be seen, but it's mostly blocked by debris. The second main street similarly connected the palace to the Lahore gate and ran east and west, being just as impressive as the first. Unfortunately, in both streets, residents have marred their beauty by building houses down the center and, in other places, across the street. As a result, it's difficult for someone to recognize their former layout without closely inspecting them.

“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.”

“In the area around the Cabul gate, there is a garden called Tees Huzzari Bagh, which contains the tomb of Queen Malika Zemani, the wife of Emperor Mahmud Shah. On a hill near this garden, where there is a great view of the city, stand two broken columns made of brown granite, eight feet tall and two and a half feet wide, with inscriptions in ancient script.”

Near the Ajimere gate is a Madrasa, or college, erected by Gazooddeen Cawn, nephew of Nizam-ool-Mooluk; it is built of[220] red stone, and situated in the centre of a spacious quadrangle, with a fountain, lined with stone. At the upper end of the area is a handsome mosque, built of red stone, and inlaid with white marble. This college is now uninhabited.

Near the Ajimere gate is a Madrasa, or college, built by Gazooddeen Cawn, the nephew of Nizam-ool-Mooluk. It’s made of[220] red stone and located in the center of a large courtyard, featuring a stone-lined fountain. At the far end of the area is an impressive mosque made of red stone, decorated with white marble. This college is now unoccupied.

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.

Modern Delhi has been built on two rocky hills; one where the Jāma Masjid is located, called Jujula Pahar; and the other known as Bejula Pahar. From both of these, you get a great 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.

24th.—We visited this impressive mosque—the best I've seen; we were easily allowed to explore it. “The gate of the house of God is always open[27]:” not just literally, but also to new believers.

“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.

“This mosque is located about a quarter of a mile from the royal palace; it was built on a rocky hill called Jujula Pahar, which has been leveled for this purpose. You reach it by a set of thirty-five stone steps, through an impressive red stone gateway. The doors to this gateway are covered with plates of ornate brass, which Mr. Bernier mistakenly thought were made of copper. The terrace where the mosque stands is a square area of about fourteen hundred yards made of red stone; at the center, there's a fountain lined with marble for performing the necessary ablutions before prayer.”

“An arched colonnade of red stone surrounds the whole of the terrace, which is adorned with octagonal pavilions for sitting in. The mosque is of an oblong form, two hundred and sixty-one feet in length, surmounted by three magnificent domes of white marble, interspersed with black stripes, and flanked by two minarets of black marble and red stone alternately, rising to the height of an hundred and thirty feet. Each of these minarets has three projecting galleries of white marble, having their summits crowned with light octagonal pavilions of the same. The whole front of the building is faced with large slabs of beautiful white marble; and along the cornice are ten compartments,[221] four feet long, and two and a half broad, which are inlaid with inscriptions in black marble, in the Nishki character; and are said to contain the greater part, if not the whole, of the Koran. The inside of the mosque is paved throughout, with large slabs of white marble, decorated with a black border, and is wonderfully beautiful and delicate; the slabs are about three feet in length, by one and a half broad. The walls and roof are lined with plain white marble; and near the kibla is a handsome taak, or niche, which is adorned with a profusion of frieze-work. Close to this is a mimbar or pulpit of marble, which has an ascent of four steps, balustraded. Kibla literally implies compass, but here means a small hollow or excavation in the walls of Muhammadan mosques, so situated on the erection of the buildings as always to look towards the city of Mecca.

An arched colonnade of red stone surrounds the entire terrace, which is decorated with octagonal pavilions for seating. The mosque has an elongated shape, measuring two hundred and sixty-one feet in length, topped with three magnificent domes made of white marble, accented with black stripes. It is flanked by two minarets, alternating between black marble and red stone, rising to a height of one hundred and thirty feet. Each minaret features three projecting galleries of white marble, crowned with light octagonal pavilions of the same material. The entire front of the building is faced with large slabs of beautiful white marble, and along the cornice are ten compartments, [221] each four feet long and two and a half feet wide, inlaid with inscriptions in black marble, written in the Nishki style; these are said to contain most, if not all, of the Koran. The interior of the mosque is paved throughout with large slabs of white marble, edged with a black border, creating a stunning and delicate atmosphere; the slabs are approximately three feet long and one and a half feet wide. The walls and roof are lined with simple white marble, and near the kibla is an elegant taak, or niche, adorned with intricate frieze-work. Close by is a marble mimbar, or pulpit, which has four steps leading up, surrounded by a balustrade. Kibla literally means compass, but here it refers to a small hollow or indent in the walls of Muhammadan mosques, positioned so that it always faces 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.

“The climb to the minarets is via a winding staircase of one hundred thirty steps made of red stone; and at the top, visitors are treated to a stunning view of the King’s Palace, the Qutub Minar, the Humayun’s Tomb, the Palace of Feroze Shah, the Fort of Old Delhi, and the Fort of Loni on the opposite bank of the Yamuna River. The domes are topped with copper embellishments, beautifully gilded, giving them a sparkling look from a distance. This mosque was initiated by Emperor Shah Jahan in the fourth year of his reign and finished in the tenth. The total cost of its construction reached ten lakh rupees; and in every way, it is deserving of being the grand cathedral of the Hindustan empire.” —Franklin.

Exclusive of the mosques before described, there are in Shāhjahānabad and its environs above forty others; most of them of inferior size and beauty, but all of them of a similar fashion. In the evening, we drove to the Turkoman gate of the city, to see the Kala Masjid or Black Mosque. We found our way with difficulty into the very worst part of Delhi: my companion had never been there before, and its character was unknown to us; he did not much like my going over the mosque, amid the wretches that surrounded us; but my curiosity carried the day. The appearance of the building from the entrance is most singular[222] and extraordinary; it would form an excellent subject for a sketch. You ascend a flight of stone steps, and then enter the gateway of the masjid: the centre is a square; the pillars that support the arches are of rude construction,—stone placed upon stone, without mortar between; there are twelve or fifteen small domes on three sides of the square. I wished to sketch the place, but my relative hurried me away, fearful of insult from the people around. The masjid was built four hundred and fifty years ago, before the building of the modern Delhi. The tradition of the place is this:—

Excluding the mosques previously mentioned, there are over forty others in Shāhjahānabad and the surrounding area; most are smaller and less beautiful, but they all have a similar design. In the evening, we drove to the Turkoman gate of the city to see the Kala Masjid, or Black Mosque. We had a hard time navigating into the worst part of Delhi: my companion had never been there before, and we were unfamiliar with its atmosphere; he wasn't too keen on my exploring the mosque amid the destitute people surrounding us, but my curiosity won out. The view of the building from the entrance is quite unique and striking; it would make a great subject for a drawing. You first go up a flight of stone steps, and then you enter the mosque's gateway: the center is a square; the pillars that hold up the arches are poorly built—stones stacked upon each other without any mortar between them; there are twelve or fifteen small domes on three sides of the square. I wanted to sketch the place, but my relative urged me to leave quickly, worried about potential trouble from the nearby people. The mosque was built four hundred and fifty years ago, before modern Delhi was established. 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.”

In the past, the mosque was made of white stone. A father committed a terrible crime within its walls. The stones of the mosque turned from white to black. It became known as the Black Mosque. No services were ever held there, and the site was considered cursed: only the lowest people go there now; any stranger visiting it might as well carry a baton to protect against insults. Hindoo Rāo, the brother of Bāiza Bā’ī, lives near Delhi in the house of the late Mr. Frazer; he drove over in his carriage to visit Captain S⸺: I saw him; he is a short, stocky, overweight Mahratta, very confident in his speech and demeanor. After chatting for a while, he got up to leave, shook hands with me, and said, “How do you do?” thinking he was saying “good night.” This is all the English he has learned, and he enjoys showing it off. Some young officer, trying to have a laugh, 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].

There’s no guidebook to help a newcomer navigate the city of Delhi or to show the location of its many gates. So, I’ve included a map of the city, which we found very helpful when planning our outings, and I’ve made several quotes from Franklin to highlight places worth visiting[28].

25th.—Quitted Delhi, and encamped the first march at Furrudnagar on our return to Meerut; it was too hot for tents.

25th.—Left Delhi and set up camp on our first march at Furrudnagar on our way back to Meerut; it was too hot for tents.

26th.—Encamped at Begamabad: I was very unwell; the[223] annoyance of thieves around my tent, and the greater plague of fever, kept me awake all night.

26th.—Camped at Begamabad: I was feeling really sick; the[223] annoyance of thieves near my tent, and the bigger issue 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.

27th.—I was driven into Meerut the entire way, as I couldn't sit on my horse; I called for medical help and was stuck in bed for six days, unable to get up due to fever, flu, and a bad 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.

March 11th.—Just able to move around a bit. Captain A⸺ took me to see the tomb of Aboo, which is a really impressive one close to the prison in Meerut: I can't remember its history, and I was feeling too unwell to try 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.

Then we drove to the tomb of Pīr Shāh, near the city gate. It’s in ruins; the porch that used to adorn it has collapsed. The tomb is unique; the dome has only been raised two feet and that’s it: it was left this way deliberately so that the sunlight and dew from the heavens can touch the marble sarcophagus of the saint resting inside. Surrounding the tomb are several graves of the faithful. Maybe the effort of taking a drive made me sick again, and my relative, not pleased with my fever returning, decided to take me straight to the hills.

[224]

CHAPTER LIII.
Heading to 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[225] broke up his camp at Saharanpūr, and quitted, with a small retinue, for Mussoorī, the day before we arrived.

1838, March 16th.—We drove out twenty miles to where the palanquins were waiting for us, traveled all night, found a buggy ready for us at the last stop, and arrived at our friend's house in Saharanpūr the next morning by 8 AM On the way, around five o'clock in the morning, I was thrilled to see the snowy mountains; I never expected to see snow-covered peaks again, and as I lay in my palanquin watching the scenery for miles, breathing the cool air coming from the hills and gazing at the mountains beyond, I felt like a completely different person, enchanted and delighted. Mr. and Miss B⸺ welcomed us warmly, and I was happy to see an old friend, Captain Sturt of the engineers—the man whose remarkable bravery set him apart and who was tragically killed during the disastrous retreat of the army in Afghanistan. In the evening, we visited the Botanical Garden; it's a fantastic place and very well-maintained. There were some tigers growling fiercely over their food, several bears, and a porcupine. The garden is well-irrigated by the canal that runs through it. The Governor-General[225] broke up his camp at Saharanpūr and left for Mussoorī with a small group 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.

14th.—We said goodbye to our friends and resumed our dāk journey at 4 PM; during the night we passed Lord Auckland’s camp, which was set up in a very picturesque spot at Mohunchaukī: the tents, elephants, and camels formed beautiful groups among the trees, and I stopped the palanquin for a moment to admire them. We passed through a forest—or sāl jangal, as they call it—where wild elephants are sometimes found, and had a little adventure: a tiger was lying by the roadside; the bearers put down the palanquin, waved their torches, and howled and screamed at the top of their lungs: the light and noise scared the animal—it moved off. I got out of the palanquin to see a tiger au naturel, noticed some creature moving away, but couldn’t make out what animal it was; the bearers were barely six feet from him when they first spotted him; it was a clear, bright, moonlit night. The jangal looked beautiful, and its appeal was heightened by the thought that you might occasionally see a wild beast. Numerous fires were burning on the hillsides, spreading in different directions; these fires, I’ve been told, are started by the zamīndars to burn off the old dry grass; once that’s burned, new grass grows, providing plenty of food for the cattle; the fires stood out vividly in the darkness of the night. For several miles up the pass of Keeree, we traveled over the dry riverbed; on both sides, high cliffs rose, covered with trees; the moonlight was strong, and the pass was truly fascinating; here and there you could hear the sound of water, the pleasant noise of a mountain stream turning small mills for grinding corn, called Panchakkī. In the morning, we arrived at the Company’s bungalow at Rajpūr.

Rajpūr is situated at the foot of the Hills: I was delighted with the place; the view from the bungalow put me in mind of Switzerland. We went to Mrs. Theodore’s hotel, to see her collection of stuffed birds and beasts; a complete set costs 1600 rupees (£160). At the bottom of the valley between the Hills I heard the most delightful sound of rushing waters: taking a servant with me, I went down the steep footpath, irresistibly[226] attracted by the sound, and found the mountain rill collected into a mill-dam, from which, rushing down, it turned several mills; and one of the streams was turned off into the valley, forming the little cascade, the sound of which had attracted me. How bright, clear, cold, and delicious was the water! Being too unwell to bear the fatigue of climbing the hill, I sent for a hill-pony, called a gūnth; he was brought down; the little fellow never had a woman on his back before, but he carried me bravely up the sheep-path, for road there was none. Motī, the name of the handsome gūnth, is an iron-grey hill-pony,—more like a dwarf-horse than a pony; he has an exceedingly thick, shaggy mane, and a very thick, long tail;—the most sure-footed sagacious animal; he never gets tired, and will go all day up and down hill; seldom fights, and is never alarmed when passing the most dangerous places. Give your gūnth his head, and he will carry you safely. Horses are dangerous,—even the most quiet become alarmed in the hills. Captain S⸺ bought this gūnth at the Hurdwar fair; he came from Almorah, cost 160 rupees (£16); and 300 rupees have been refused for him.

Rajpūr is located at the base of the Hills: I loved the place; the view from the bungalow reminded me of Switzerland. We visited Mrs. Theodore’s hotel to check out her collection of stuffed birds and animals; a complete set costs 1600 rupees (£160). At the bottom of the valley between the Hills, I heard the most wonderful sound of rushing water: taking a servant with me, I followed the steep footpath, drawn in by the sound, and discovered a mountain stream collected into a mill-dam, which fed several mills; one of the streams was diverted into the valley, creating a little cascade, the sound of which had caught my attention. How bright, clear, cold, and refreshing the water was! Feeling too unwell to manage the climb back up the hill, I called for a hill pony, known as a gūnth; he was brought down; the little guy had never had a woman on his back before, but he carried me up the sheep-path without complaint, since there was no actual road. Motī, the name of the handsome gūnth, is an iron-grey hill pony—more like a dwarf horse than a pony; he has a very thick, shaggy mane and a long, bushy tail; he’s the most sure-footed and clever animal; he never gets tired and can go all day up and down the hills; he rarely fights and stays calm even in the most dangerous spots. Just let your gūnth lead, and he will take you safely. Horses can be risky—even the calmest can get spooked in the hills. Captain S⸺ bought this gūnth at the Hurdwar fair; he came from Almorah, cost 160 rupees (£16); and he has been refused offers of 300 rupees.

The following history was related to me concerning the gūnth:—Colonel P⸺, to whom the animal was lent, took him to the Snowy Ranges; “In some pass, by some accident, the gūnth fell down a precipice, and was caught upon an oak tree. There he swung; one struggle would have sent him to the bottom, and to certain death; he never moved. Colonel P⸺, who was walking at the time, got some people, who descended to the place where the gūnth hung, dug out a standing-place in the side of the hill, just big enough to hold the pony, and contrived to get him off his tree into the spot: the gūnth was so much alarmed, that they left him to recover from his fright on this spot the whole night; and the next morning got him up the precipice in safety to the road.” Any horse would have struggled and have been killed; these gūnths appear to understand that they must be quiet, and their masters will help them. He is a queer-tempered little fellow; he kicked my sā’īs over one day, and always kicks at me if I attempt to pat him; but[227] he carries me capitally: nevertheless, he is “vicious as he is little[29].”

The following story was shared with me about the gūnth:—Colonel P⸺, who borrowed the animal, took him to the Snowy Ranges. “In some pass, due to some accident, the gūnth fell down a cliff and got caught on an oak tree. There he hung; one more 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 to descend to where the gūnth was hanging, dug out a little spot in the side of the hill, just big enough for the pony to stand on, and managed to get him off the tree and into the safe spot. The gūnth was so scared that they let him chill there the whole night to recover from his fright; the next morning, they safely brought him back up the cliff to the road.” Any horse would have panicked and been killed; these gūnths seem to understand that they need to stay calm and their owners will help them. He’s a bit of a temperamental little guy; he kicked my sā’īs one day, and always tries to kick me if I reach out to pet him; but[227] he carries me like a champ. Still, 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.

All day I wandered around Rajpūr; the Paharīs (the Hill-people), who had come down to bring our luggage, were quite a sight: like the pictures I’ve seen of Tartars—short guys with flat, unattractive faces, wearing coarse black wool trousers, and a matching blanket draped over their shoulders; a greasy, round leather cap on their heads, often adorned with freshly picked Hill-flowers around their faces; and a rope tied around their waists. Their bodies are sturdy, and their leg muscles are well-defined from constantly climbing the hills. They are very honest yet quite lazy; in addition, they are extremely dirty. Such were the little Hill guys we encountered in Rajpūr.

16th.—This morning the gūnth came to the door for my companion to ride up the Hills: I was to be carried up in a jampān. A jampān is an arm-chair, with a top to it, to shelter you from the sun or rain; four long poles are affixed to it. Eight of those funny little black Hill fellows were harnessed between the poles, after their fashion, and they carried me up the hill. My two women went up in dolīs, a sort of tray for women, in which one person can sit native fashion; these trays are hung upon long poles, and carried by Hill-men. The ascent from Rajpūr is seven miles, climbing almost every yard of the way. The different views delighted me: on the side of the Hills facing Rajpūr the trees were stunted, and there was but little vegetation; on the other side, the northern, we came upon fine oak and rhododendron trees—such beautiful rhododendrons! they are forest trees, not shrubs, as you have them in England. The people gathered the wild flowers, and filled my lap with them. The jangal pear, in full blossom, the raspberry bushes, and the nettles delighted me; I could not help sending a man from the plains, who had never seen a nettle, to gather one; he took hold of it, and, relinquishing his hold instantly in excessive surprise, exclaimed,—“It has stung me; it is a scorpion plant.”[228] Violets were under every rock; and the wild, pleasing notes of the Hill birds were to be heard in every direction. The delicious air, so pure, so bracing, so unlike any air I had breathed for fifteen years,—with what delight I inhaled it! It seemed to promise health and strength and spirits: I fancied the lurking fever crept out of my body as I breathed the mountain air; I was so happy, so glad I was alive; I felt a buoyancy of spirit, like that enjoyed by a child.

16th.—This morning the gūnth came to the door for my companion to ride up the Hills, while I was to be carried up in a jampān. A jampān is an armchair with a top to protect you from the sun or rain; it has four long poles attached. Eight of those amusing little black Hill men were harnessed between the poles in their own way, and they carried me up the hill. My two women went up in dolīs, which are like trays for women, allowing one person to sit in a traditional manner; these trays are hung on long poles and carried by Hill men. The climb from Rajpūr is seven miles, going up almost every step of the way. The different views amazed me: on the side of the Hills facing Rajpūr, the trees were small and there was little vegetation; on the other, the northern side, we found beautiful oak and rhododendron trees—such stunning rhododendrons! They’re forest trees, not shrubs like you have in England. The people picked wildflowers and filled my lap with them. The jangal pear was in full bloom, the raspberry bushes were lovely, and I couldn’t resist sending a man from the plains, who had never seen a nettle, to pick one; he grabbed it, quickly let go in shock, and exclaimed, “It stung me; it’s a scorpion plant.”[228] Violets were under every rock, and the cheerful sounds of Hill birds filled the air from every direction. The delicious air, so clean, invigorating, and unlike any I had breathed in fifteen years—how I relished it! It felt like a promise of health, strength, and good spirits: I imagined the lingering fever leaving my body as I inhaled the mountain air; I was so happy, so glad to be alive; I felt a lightness of spirit, like that of a child.

The only bungalow we could procure was one on the top of the hill of Landowr; it was an uncomfortable one, but a roof was not to be despised in such cold weather: we had a fire lighted instantly, and kept it burning all day. Where now was the vile fever that had bowed me down in the plains? It had vanished with the change of climate, as if by magic. The Hill air made me feel so well and strong, we set off on our ponies in the evening to visit Mr. E⸺’s house; it is beautiful, built with great taste, and highly finished; its situation is fine, on a hill, at the further end of Landowr. Thence we went to Colonel P⸺’s bungalow, a good house, well situated, but very far from supplies; he offered it to me for the season for 1200 rupees—i.e. £120 for seven months. From the barracks, at the top of Landowr, the view of the Snowy Ranges is magnificent. In any other country these hills would be called mountains; but, being near the foot of the Himalaya, that in the distance tower above them, they have obtained the title of “The Hills.” Landowr, Bhadráj, Ben Oge, are covered with oak and rhododendron trees; the valleys between them, by the Hill people called khuds, are extremely deep: at the bottom of these khuds water is found in little rills, but it is very scarce. About two thousand feet below Landowr water is abundant, and there are some waterfalls. The Hills are very grand, but have not the picturesque beauty of the valley of Chamouni:—and yet it is unfair to make the comparison at Landowr; Chamouni is at the foot of Mont Blanc: to compare the two, one ought to proceed to the foot of the Snowy Ranges, where their solitary grandeur would overpower the remembrance of Mont Blanc. I long to go there: the difficulties and privations would be great;[229] I could not go alone, and the fatigue would be excessive; nevertheless, I long to make a pilgrimage to Gangotrī, the source of the Ganges.

The only bungalow we could get was one on top of the hill at Landowr; it was uncomfortable, but having a roof was a blessing in this cold weather. We had a fire lit right away and kept it going all day. Where was that awful fever that had me down in the plains? It disappeared with the change in climate, as if by magic. The hill air made me feel so good and strong that we set off on our ponies in the evening to visit Mr. E⸺'s house; it’s beautiful, built with great taste and finished to a high standard; its location is lovely, on a hill at the far end of Landowr. From there, we went to Colonel P⸺'s bungalow, a nice house, well positioned 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 since they are near the base of the Himalayas, which tower over them in the distance, they are called “The Hills.” Landowr, Bhadráj, and Ben Oge are covered with oak and rhododendron trees; the valleys between them, called khuds by the Hill people, are extremely deep: at the bottom of these khuds, water is found in small streams, but it's very scarce. About two thousand feet below Landowr, water is abundant, and there are some waterfalls. The Hills are very impressive, but they don’t have the picturesque beauty of the Chamouni valley; yet it’s unfair to compare them to Landowr; Chamouni is at the foot of Mont Blanc. To really compare the two, one should go to the foot of the Snowy Ranges, where their solitary grandeur would overshadow the memory of Mont Blanc. I really want to go there: the challenges and hardships would be significant; [229] I couldn’t go alone, and the fatigue would be intense; nevertheless, I’m eager to make a pilgrimage to Gangotrī, the source of the Ganges.

17th.—Started on our ponies at 7 A.M. to ride to Mussoorī, which is only a short distance from Landowr. The scenery at that place is of a tamer cast; the southern side of the hill, on which most of the houses are situated, puts me in mind of the back of the Isle of Wight, but on a larger scale; the projecting rocks and trees, with gentlemen’s houses in every nook, all built on the side of the hill, give the resemblance. The northern side is called the Camel’s Back, from a fancied resemblance of the hill to the shape of that animal; there the scenery differs entirely. The southern side, on which Mussoorī is situated, has few trees, and looks down on the valley of the Dhoon; the northern side is covered with fine trees, the hills abrupt; a wildness and grandeur, unknown on the southern side, is all around you; the valleys fearfully deep, the pathway narrow, and in some parts so bad, only one foot in breadth is left for a pony. At first I felt a cold shudder pass over me, as I rode by such places; in the course of a week I was perfectly accustomed to the sort of thing, and quite fearless. A pathway three feet in width at its utmost breadth, is a handsome road in the Hills; a perpendicular rock on one side, and a precipice, perhaps three or four hundred feet deep, may be on the other. It is all very well when the road is pretty open; but when you have to turn the sharp corner of a rock, if looking over a precipice makes you giddy, shut your eyes, and give your gūnth the rein, and you will be sure to find yourself safe on the other side. The little rascals never become giddy; and after a short time you will turn such corners at a canter, as a thing of course. I was delighted with the wildness of the scenery,—it equalled my expectations. In front of Mussoorī you are in high public, the road called the Mall is from eight to ten feet wide, covered with children, nurses, dogs, and sickly ladies and gentlemen, walking about gaily dressed. I always avoid the Mall; I go out for enjoyment and health, and do not want to talk to people. The children! it is charming to see their rosy faces; they look as well and as[230] strong as any children in England; the climate of the Hills is certainly far superior to that of England. Not liking my bungalow, I changed it for another half way up the hill of Landowr.

17th.—We set off on our ponies at 7 AM to ride to Mussoorī, which is just a short distance from Landowr. The scenery there is much more subdued; the southern side of the hill, where most of the houses are located, reminds me of the back of the Isle of Wight, but on a larger scale. The jutting rocks and trees, with homes nestled in every nook, all built on the hillside, create that similarity. The northern side is known as the Camel’s Back because the hill resembles that animal's shape; the scenery there is completely different. The southern side, where Mussoorī sits, has few trees and overlooks the valley of the Dhoon; the northern side, however, is covered with beautiful trees, and the hills are steep. There’s a wild grandeur here that you won’t find on the southern side; the valleys are incredibly deep, the paths are narrow, and in some places, there’s barely one foot of space left for a pony. At first, I felt a chill run through me as I rode by such areas; but within a week, I was completely used to it and felt fearless. A three-foot-wide path is considered a nice road in the Hills; there’s a sheer rock on one side and a drop of maybe three or four hundred feet on the other. It’s fine when the road is fairly open, but when you have to turn around a sharp corner of a rock, if looking over a cliff makes you dizzy, just close your eyes, let your pony have its head, and you’ll find yourself safe on the other side. Those little ponies never get dizzy; after a short while, you’ll be making those turns at a canter as if it’s no big deal. I was thrilled with the wildness of the scenery—it met all my expectations. In front of Mussoorī, you’re in a bustling public area; the road called the Mall is eight to ten feet wide, filled with children, nurses, dogs, and ailing ladies and gentlemen, all dressed nicely and enjoying their time. I tend to steer clear of the Mall; I go out for enjoyment and health, and I don't want to socialize. The children! It’s delightful to see their rosy faces; they look just as healthy and strong as any children in England. The climate in the Hills is definitely much better than England’s. Not being happy with my bungalow, I swapped it for another one halfway 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.

17th.—Lord Auckland and the Misses Eden arrived today and settled in at Colonel Young’s place, just down the hill in 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.

From my bungalow, the view is stunning, and we have as much fresh air as anyone could want. The first task was to get cotton-stuffed curtains for every window and door; next, I hired some local men to cut and bring wood from the hills, as well as water and grass for the ponies. A long ride around Waverly was the evening's entertainment; then we enjoyed a dinner of delicious Hill-mutton by the warm glow of a blazing fire made from beautiful rhododendron wood! The tightly shut doors kept out the cold, and my thoughtful relative congratulated me on finally being free from my fever and feeling 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.

Visited Mr. Webb’s family hotel; it’s a great place and very spacious. There’s a ballroom and five billiard tables with slate beds; these slate beds have only just arrived in India and have only recently 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.

19th.—While I was waiting for my relative, who had gone with Lord Auckland to show him the hospital and the various buildings at Landowr that were his responsibility, I noticed a lot of Hill-men carrying big bundles of moss down to the plains. They grind the moss with barley flour and use it as soap; it’s quite popular 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!

I rode my little black horse, but I found him less enjoyable in the Hills than a gūnth, and definitely more tiring. At the base of Landowr, there's an amazing bazār: you can find just about anything there—Pâtée foie gras, bécasses truffés, shola hats made from pelican skin, champagne, Bareilly couches, shoes, Chinese books, pickles, long poles for climbing mountains, and all sorts of random items. Many years ago, I received a curious little rosary from the santa casa of our Lady of Loretto;—a replica of that little curiosity was for sale in the Landowr bazār, right among a bunch of Hindūstanī shoes!

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The Governor-General and his party quitted Landowr, and returned to Rajpūr, on their march to Simla, up the valley of the Deyra Doon.

The Governor-General and his group left Landowr and went back to Rajpūr on their way to Simla, traveling 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.

In the evening, I went out to visit Ben Oge and Bhadráj: at the base of Ben Oge, there’s a boys’ school where several young kids were playing outside. There’s also a girls’ school in Mussoorī. Here, English children can get some education in a great climate.

20th.—Rainy; thermometer in the verandah at noon, 56°; at 3 o’clock P.M. 54°.

20th.—It was rainy; the thermometer on the verandah at noon read 56°; at 3 o’clock PM it was 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.

21st.—The hills were shrouded in thick clouds; there was thunder and lightning, accompanied by some rain. Thermometer, 8 AM 46°; the evening was nice, but there was 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.

23rd.—Captain E. S⸺ owns a property in the Hills called Cloud End—a stunning mountain covering about sixty acres, filled with oak trees. He had long wanted to build a house there and had even prepared a plan, but his job as an engineer kept him from staying long enough in the Hills to get it done. I offered to oversee the construction while he was away, as long as he outlined the foundation. A morning ride brought us to his estate, located between a hill known as "the Park" and Ben Oge, with Bhadráj to the west; the location is beautiful—the hills are magnificent and well-wooded. After selecting the spot for the house—with the drawing-room windows facing a breathtaking view of the Snowy Ranges—the next step was to mark a path to be cut into the Khud, a two-mile descent for the mules to bring up water.

The plan of the house was then marked out, and a site was selected for my hill-tent, commanding a view of the Himalaya: this little tent was made to order at Fathīgarh,—it is twelve feet square, the walls four feet high, and has two doors. A stone wall is to be built around it, a chimney at one end, and a glass door at the other; a thatch will be placed over it, and this will be my habitation when I go to Cloud End, or when I make excursions into the Hills; my kitchen will be an old oak tree. The Hills are so steep, a single pole tent of the usual size can be pitched in very few places. Under an old oak, on a rock covered[232] with wild flowers, I sat and enjoyed the scene: the valley of the Doon lay stretched before me, and the Hills around me. There is a rhododendron tree on this estate that bears white flowers,—it is a great rarity, and highly prized; all the flowers of the other rhododendron trees are of a magnificent crimson. The Hill-men are fond of sucking the juice from the petals, which, it is said, possesses an intoxicating quality.

The layout of the house was then outlined, and a spot was chosen for my hill tent, which overlooks the Himalayas. This little tent was custom-made in Fathīgarh; it measures twelve feet square, with walls four feet high, and has two doors. A stone wall will be built around it, a chimney will be on one end, and a glass door will be on the other; a thatched roof will be put over it, and this will be my home when I go to Cloud End or take trips into the Hills; my kitchen will be an old oak tree. The hills are so steep that a standard single-pole tent can only be set up in very few places. Under an old oak tree, on a rock covered with wildflowers, I sat and enjoyed the view: the valley of the Doon lay spread out before me, with the hills surrounding me. There’s a rhododendron tree on this estate that produces white flowers—it’s very rare and highly valued; all the other rhododendron trees have magnificent crimson blooms. The hill people enjoy sucking the juice from the petals, which is said to have an intoxicating effect.

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°.

Stormy clouds were rolling up from the valley towards the Hills. On our way home, we got caught in one of the wildest storms I’ve ever seen; it was a breathtaking sight—the forked lightning was incredible, the thunder echoed from hill to hill, and the hail and rain came down heavily. The storm lasted about two hours. We took shelter in a shop; as night approached, the storm began to calm. Wrapped in black blankets we got from the market, we made it home safely; the rain couldn’t soak through the black blankets because the wool is so oily. The storm raged all night, but I didn't hear it. In the morning, the hilltops were covered in snow; at 7 AM, the thermometer read 38° on the verandah, and in the room with a fire at noon, it was 57°.

25th.—My relative left me, taking back all useless servants, and the camels from Rajpūr.

25th.—My family member left, taking back all the unnecessary 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:—

Visited the hospital where Mr. Morrow is the steward to check out his bird collection. The specimens are really well preserved with arsenical soap, and they sell well for that reason: he had two pairs of live Moonāl pheasants, their plumage bright and stunning. The collection was large; I picked 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 Golden Eagle of the Himalayas: a bird I've often seen soaring around Landowr; and it's really impressive. 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 Loonjee, or Red Pheasant, from the deep forests of the Himalayas: a rare and valuable bird; the skin on its neck is unique; in captivity, they are shy and calm, but they are bothered by light since they’re used to the shade of the forests.

The Moonāl, Duffeah, or Blue Pheasant of the Himalaya:[233] these birds are brought from the interior; they are seldom found so far down as Landowr; nevertheless, one was shot at Cloud End, Bhadráj; they are timid at first in confinement,—after a few days, they will eat wheat in your presence, and show no signs of alarm. The eggs they lay when in cages might be brought to England; why should they not thrive in our climate, since they are inhabitants of a cold region? The hen-bird, although less splendid in plumage than the cock, is very game.

The Moonāl, Duffeah, or Blue Pheasant of the Himalayas:[233] these birds are brought from the interior; they are rarely found as far down as Landowr; however, one was shot at Cloud End, Bhadráj. They are shy at first when kept in captivity, but after a few days, they will eat wheat in front of you and show no signs of fear. The eggs they lay in cages could be sent to England; why shouldn’t they do well in our climate, since they come from a cold region? The hen, while not as colorful as the male, is very tough.

The Koklás Pheasant, common in the Hills, is also a very game-looking bird.

The Koklás Pheasant, which is common in the Hills, is also a really striking-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.

The Callinge Pheasant, with its unique crest, is, like those mentioned previously, great for food. Other pheasants can be found in the Himalayas, but I couldn't get any specimens.

Black Partridges: the most beautiful in the world are found in most parts of India; they are a great delicacy.

Black Partridges: the most beautiful in the world are found in many areas of India; they are a real 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.

The Chakor, or Red-legged Partridge: very similar to the French Partridge; great to eat: they can become so tame that they roam around the house and garden. Chakor, the Bartavelli, or Greek Partridge (Perdix chukar, Gould.; Perdix rufa, Lath): believed to be in love with the moon and to eat fire during the full moon. This bird is also known as ātash-khwār (fire-eater), a type of Tetrao rufus, Lin.; in Hindi, it's called Chakor. It’s also referred to as the “Moon Bird” and “Minion of the Moon.” The common grey partridge is rough and lesser quality.

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.

Bush Quail and Rock Quail: beautiful and tasty. When you buy several quail, which are caught in nets, you will seldom find a male bird if they were caught near Lucknow or any local market; they are removed and sold as fighting birds. Quail are plentiful throughout India and usually sold at 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.

A Jangal Cock and Hen: the wild rooster and hen of the woods, found all over India; the breed from which all domestic chickens originate. There are several types of chickens in India; the ghāgas are large, impressive, and very long-legged, similar to game birds; the chatgaiyān are also fine; the karaknāth are viewed as very delicate by locals, but the purple color of their bones is off-putting.

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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!”

Green Pigeons: beautiful birds. Blue Pigeons: that live in the wells; it’s said the job 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 Barbet, the Blackbird, the Blue-winged Jay, the Long-tailed Blue Jay, the Woodpecker, Hummingbirds, the Shah Hummingbird, the Mockingbird, and the Cuckoo, whose song is lovely in the hills, bringing back memories 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.

The Chand Chuck, the King Crow: a really brave little guy who fights and intimidates all the crows with impressive flair; that's why he's called 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.

Flycatchers, Dhobī Birds, Magpies, and the Rana Chiriyā: the male has a bright red color; the female is a vibrant yellow. They show up during the hot winds.

The Mango Bird: so called as they are seen during the mango season.

The Mango Bird: named because they are spotted during the mango season.

The Rocket Bird: with the most elegant long white feathers in its tail.

The Rocket Bird: with the sleekest 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.

The birds brought from the interior by the Paharīs need to have the moss that they're stuffed with removed and should be treated 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.

28th.—Some people from the hills brought me two live pairs of Moonāl pheasants; I bought them. They eat wheat and stay very calm 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.

31st.—Spent the day at Cloud End, watching the workers. The mountain where they’re building the house will provide almost all the materials: the stones that are cut from it for the walls are initially so soft they seem to be crumbling, but they’ll harden after a couple of weeks of exposure to the air. The beams come from the old oak trees, the lime is made from the stones, but the slates will be sourced from a nearby mountain, and the frames for the doors and windows will be bought pre-made from Rajpūr.

The day was very hot, but the breeze delightful: returning home, I was seized with illness, and my pulse being one hundred[235] and twenty, called in medical aid. It is not agreeable to be suffering from illness, on the top of a mountain, far away from all one’s friends,—depressed, and out of spirits, with nothing to amuse one but the leeches, hanging, like love-locks, from one’s temples.

The day was really hot, but the breeze was refreshing: on my way home, I became ill, and my pulse was one hundred and twenty, so I called for medical help. It's not fun being sick on top of a mountain, far away from all your friends—feeling down and discouraged, with nothing to entertain you but the leeches, dangling like love-locks from your temples.[235]

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.

A recovery from illness feels great, especially when you're surrounded by beautiful scenery and fresh air. The Hills have this secret treasure of secluded spots that make you feel like you’re the first to discover them; quiet glens and waterfalls where the sun barely shines for an hour a day; cold hidden pools of fresh water; all so isolated from human activity that you feel connected with the landscape.

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.

April 16th.—Spent the day at Mr. E⸺’s: in the evening, as we were going down the hill, which is really steep, I was so anxious from my recent fever that I couldn't ride down the slope; so the gūnth was led, and I walked. The pathway, or rather sheep track, barely one foot wide, is covered with loose stones and runs along the edge of a cliff. Miss B⸺ rode down completely unfazed. 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 have a lot of iron, which attracts electricity. A lady and her ayha were killed there by lightning. On my way back, I rode up the hill I hadn’t had the courage to ride down; even that was enough to make me anxious after dealing with my fever for so many days. Not long ago, as Major Blundell was heading to that very house, Newlands, his gūnth fell over the cliff by accident, and they both were killed. At one point, I got off and climbed up the bank while the servants held the gūnths as three mules had to pass by. It was really difficult, and one of the mules nearly went over the edge because the path was so narrow.

[236]

CHAPTER LIV.
Scenic views 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.

Jerrīpānī—The Cicadas—View from the Pilgrim’s Lodge—A Fall over a Cliff—The Glow-worm—Wild Animal Trail—The Scorpion—Mules—Karral Sheep—Rainy Days—Loud Boys—Cone-shaped Hills—The Cliffs—Earthquake at Cloud End—The Waterfall—A Woman and Horse Fall over a Cliff—Kalunga—General Gillespie—The Kookree—The Ghoorkas—The Korah—The Sling—Ben Oge—Risk of Sun Exposure at Midday—An Earthquake—A Spaniel Attacked by a Leopard—A Gathering at Cloud End—A Buffoon Encounters a Bear—Hills Burning—Botanical Gardens—Start of the Rains—Expedition to the Summit of Bhadráj—Beauty of the Clouds—Storms in High Places—Hazard of Narrow Roads during the Rains—Introduction of Slate Roofs in the Mountains.

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.

1838, April 17th.—I began my journey on my gūnth, with the day being cloudy and cold, to visit some miles away down the hill at Jerrīpānī. The altitude of Jerrīpānī is significantly lower than that of Landowr, and the change in vegetation is striking: here, the young oak leaves are just starting to bud—there, they are fully grown; here, the raspberry is blooming—there, it’s bearing 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[237] transparently-winged beetle: the sounds are like what we might fancy the notes would be of birds gone crazy.

was at Jerrīpānī in beautiful abundance, sometimes draping its white clusters over the yellow flowers of the barberry. The honeysuckle thrilled me with its fragrance and memories of the past; and the rhododendron trees were in full bloom. Near a group of old oaks, covered in moss and ivy, I paused to listen to the shrill calls of the cicada, a type of[237]transparently-winged beetle: the sounds are like what we might imagine the notes of birds gone wild would be.

“The shrill cicalas, people of the pine,—

Making their summer lives one ceaseless song,

Were the sole echoes, save my steed’s and mine.”

VIEW FROM THE PILGRIM’S BANGLĀ.
VIEW FROM THE PILGRIM’S LODGE.

Sketched on the Spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched on the Spot by Fanny Parks

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.

The road was incredibly scenic, with strong, cold winds creating a refreshing breeze. The sky was overcast, and the landscape was stunning: I had a lovely ride home, carrying a bunch of wildflowers, and spent a few hours having fun comparing them to Loudon’s Encyclopedia. A pony grazing on the edge of Landowr near my house fell off the cliff and was killed instantly. My housekeeper came to tell me that the soldiers from the 16th Lancers and the Buffs were eating horsemeat because she saw one of them bringing up a lot of the pony's flesh in a towel; I couldn't help but suggest that the man might just 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[238] the hill, in charge of his groom; they met some mules laden with water-bags, where the path was narrow, the bank perpendicular on the one side, and the precipice on the other; the groom led the horse on the side of the precipice, he kicked at the mules, his feet descended over the edge of the road, and down he went—a dreadful fall, a horrible crash; the animal was dead ere he reached a spot where a tree stopped his further descent: the precipice is almost perpendicular.

19th.—The view from the porch of my house is really beautiful: directly below it is a cliff; across from it is the part of the Landowr hill where the military sanatorium stands, currently occupied by the soldiers of the 16th Lancers and the Buffs. The hill is covered in grass, and wild potatoes grow freely there; beyond it is a steep rock, which you can only climb up one very steep path on one side; it's topped by a house called Lall Tība and is filled with oak and rhododendron trees. Below, surrounded by trees, is Mr. Connolly's house; and further back, in the distance, are the snow-covered mountains of the lower range of the Himalayas. The road—if you can call the narrow path, just three feet wide, such a thing—is to the right, on the edge of a cliff, and on the other side is the vertical rock that has been carved out of it. This morning, I heard a commotion and rushed to see what was going on; just below, right in front of my house, an accident had happened: an officer of the Buffs had sent his valuable horse down the hill with his groom; they ran into some mules loaded with water bags, where the path was narrow, with a vertical bank on one side and a cliff on the other; the groom led the horse on the cliff side, it kicked at the mules, its feet went over the edge of the path, and down it went—a terrible fall, a horrifying crash; the horse was dead before it reached a spot where a tree finally stopped its descent: the cliff is almost vertical.

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.

22nd.—Came across a huge glow-worm on the hillside: a winged glow-worm flew in and landed on the table; it’s small, not even 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.

23rd.—Last night, an animal came onto the verandah, killed one of the Moonāl hen pheasants, and injured the rooster so badly that he’s going to die. There’s a wild animal trail on the hillside across from my house, where I’ve seen an animal lurking in the evening shadows several times.

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:—

25th.—I went to breakfast in my cottage-tent at Cloud End with some friends. We set up a garden and planted flower seeds around the area where my little tent is set up, under the trees. While we were working, I discovered a scorpion among the moss and leaves where I was sitting, which made me recall those lines by 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[239] his own back; a drop of milk-white fluid was on the sting, and was left on the spot which he struck; immediately afterwards the scorpion died: Mr. R⸺ saw him strike the sting into his own back. When it was over we felt a little ashamed of our scientific cruelty, and buried the scorpion with all due honour below the ashes that had consumed him: a burnt sacrifice to science. In a note in “the Giaour,” the idea is mentioned as an error, of the scorpion’s committing suicide, but I was one of the witnesses to the fact.

My memory was a source of pain for the scorpion at Bhadráj; they surrounded him with a ring of fire. As the heat bothered him, he tried to leap over the circle, but the burning coals pushed him back. In the end, driven mad by the agony, he stung his own back. A drop of milky fluid was left on the spot where he stung himself, and shortly after, the scorpion died: Mr. R⸺ saw him do it. Once it was over, we felt a bit guilty about our scientific cruelty and buried the scorpion with all the proper honors beneath the ashes that had consumed him: a burnt sacrifice to science. In a note in “the Giaour,” it’s mentioned that the idea of the scorpion committing suicide is a mistake, but I was one of the witnesses to the event.

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.

29th.—I saw a great mule for sale for £10, so I bought him right away for my own riding; mules are usually very reliable on these risky roads. I also got two smaller ones for the estate for £9, including water-bags and everything. A guy brought a bunch of nice, fat Karral sheep, perfect for eating, from the interior, where they’re fattened on acorns; I bought four of them for twenty-four rupees eight ānās; the mutton is amazing; they have short tails and big horns, are very strong, and their long, thick fleeces are great for the chilly 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.

30th.—The weather is consistently nice, cool, and pleasant; we just have a small fire going in the morning and evening. Bought Sancho, a beautiful retriever, from a soldier 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.

May 1st.—My friend Mrs. B⸺ and her four kids have arrived; I invited them to come and stay with me. The kids are really interesting, but their noise is driving me a little crazy. My life has been so quiet and solitary lately that this change is giving me a headache.

Sunday, 6th.—Unable to go to church at Mussoorī; constant rain, very cold and chilly; the clouds are hanging over the mountains in white heavy masses, or drifting on this powerful wind up the valleys, or rather between the ridges of the Hills. I went into the verandah, to see if the Italian greyhounds were warmly housed, and could not help exclaiming, “How delicious is this coldness in the Hills!—it is just as wet, windy, and wretched as in England:” thus mingling the recollected misery of a wet, raw day in England, and the delight of a cold day in India. The boys are calling me to have a game of marbles[240] with little apples,—the small sweet apples we get from Meerut.

Sunday, 6th.—Couldn’t make it to church in Mussoorī; it's been pouring rain, very cold and chilly. The clouds are clinging to the mountains in heavy white masses or getting blown up the valleys by this strong wind, mostly between the hills. I stepped out onto the verandah to check if the Italian greyhounds were warm enough, and I couldn’t help but say, “How refreshing is this chill in the hills!—it’s just as wet, windy, and miserable as in England,” blending the remembered misery of a damp, bleak day in England with the pleasure of a cold day in India. The boys are calling me to join them for a game of marbles[240] with the 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.

My mule, named Don Pedro, carries me wonderfully; we canter and trot up and down hills at a great pace. He has just one flaw—a risky one in the Hills—and that’s being skittish. He would be worth two hundred rupees if he weren't so 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.

The conical shape of The Hills is their main feature; to create enough flat space for the house at Bhadráj, they had to cut off the top of the hill, which was a labor-intensive and costly task. A khud is a narrow valley between two hills, often so narrow that a horse could jump across the bottom of several khuds I've seen near Landowr. Construction of the house at Cloud End is progressing quickly; five hundred laborers from the hills are always working under the supervision of a European to keep them on task. The house has been roofed, and my relative has come up from Meerut to put on the slates in a unique style 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.

7th.—Yesterday’s storm made the air so fresh and clear, it felt amazing; I got on my mule and headed to Bhadráj for the day. The Snowy Ranges were sharp and stunning, and the wildflowers were beautiful on every rock; the ride was a lot of fun. The wild calls of the hill birds echoed from all around, and the cuckoo was singing its familiar tune. When I arrived, I found out that one of the ponies on the estate had been killed after falling off a cliff while 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.

14th.—Capt. S⸺ reported that a very strong earthquake was felt at his estate during the storm the other night. He was asleep in the outer building when the shock woke him, causing the gable end to come down. Fortunately, the large stones fell outward; otherwise, he would have been killed in his bed. He ran outside and took shelter in the small tent. The shock also cracked the stone wall of the mule-shed. Even though his estate is only six miles away, we didn't feel the earthquake at Landowr.

18th.—My fair friend and myself having been invited to a[241] pic-nic at a waterfall, about two thousand feet below Landowr, we started on our gūnths at 5 A.M.; the tents, servants, and provisions had gone on the day before; none of us knew the way, but we proceeded, after quitting the road, by a footpath that led up and down the steepest hills; it was scarcely possible for the gūnths to go over it. At 8 A.M. we arrived, completely tired, and found an excellent breakfast ready. The waterfall roared in the khud below, and amidst the trees we caught glimpses of the mountain torrent chafing and rushing along. After breakfast the gentlemen went out to explore the path to the waterfall; we soon grew too impatient to await their return, and followed them.

18th.—My dear friend and I were invited to a[241] picnic at a waterfall, about two thousand feet below Landowr. We set off on our gūnths at 5 AM; the tents, servants, and food had gone ahead the day before. None of us knew the way, but we continued after leaving the road by a footpath that navigated the steepest hills; it was barely possible for the gūnths to manage it. By 8 AM we arrived, completely exhausted, and found a wonderful breakfast waiting for us. The waterfall roared in the khud below, and through the trees, we caught glimpses of the mountain torrent churning and rushing along. After breakfast, the gentlemen went out to explore the path to the waterfall; we quickly became too impatient to wait for 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.

We went down into the ravine, and I was having fun jumping from rock to rock, navigating the center of the rushing mountain stream with my long paharī pole made of rous wood, while enjoying the scenery. My pretty friend tried to follow me but slipped from the rocks and fell into the water, looking very picturesque and almost like a fairy in the stream! We went back to the tents to dry her clothes in the sun, and while the poor girl was having a tough time, I strolled down the stream, where the different waterfalls were beautiful. Even though it was blazing hot on the hills, it was wonderfully cool by the water. I took the direct path down the torrent and wandered alone for three hours, enjoying wild strawberries, barberries, raspberries, and other mountain fruits that were growing all around the stream. The flowers were stunning, the wild ferns lush, and the sound of the rushing water was delightful—everything was charming. On my way back, I found the group at the base of a gorgeous waterfall that was about eighty feet high; the place was lovely, shaded by trees, with giant vines hanging down from the highest branches. We cheerfully enjoyed some excellent wine and delicious food in that beautiful spot! It was nearly sunset by the time we got back on our gūnths and took the path through the village of Būttah.

This village is inhabited by Hill people; I saw a very good-looking woman at a cottage door, in a very picturesque dress,[242] and wished to go and speak to her, but was deterred from so doing, as the Hill-men appeared to dislike the gentlemen passing near the village: I must go alone some day, and see her again. By mistake we lost the path, and got into paddy fields, where we were obliged to dismount, and take the ponies down the most dangerous places. My fair companion was on a mare from the plains; we were obliged to tie a rope to the animal, and leap her down those places over which the ponies scrambled; we went down the dry bed of a torrent for some distance, and it was most curious to see how the gūnths got over and down the rocks. Walking fatigued me to excess; I mounted my gūnth, and rode up some frightful places, up the bed of a small torrent, where there was no path; the gūnth clambered up the rocks in excellent style. Presently Mrs. B⸺ thought she would do the same; she had not been on the mare ten minutes when I heard a cry, “The mem sāhiba has fallen into the khud!” Her horse had refused to clamber up a rocky ascent, I suppose she checked him, he swerved round, and fell down the khud; fortunately he fell on his right side, therefore her limbs were above him, and they slipped down together, the horse lying on his side, until, by the happiest chance, his downward course was stopped by a tree. The sā’īses ran down, pulled her off, and brought her up the Hill; afterwards they got the horse up again in safety. But for the tree, the lady and her steed would have been dashed to pieces; she was bruised, but not much hurt. Her scream alarmed me,—I thought it was all over. We returned completely tired; but the day had been one of great delight, the scenery lovely, and the air delicious.

This village is home to Hill people; I saw a very attractive woman at a cottage door, dressed beautifully,[242] and wanted to go speak to her, but I hesitated because the Hill-men seemed to disapprove of strangers passing nearby: I must go alone someday to see her again. We accidentally lost the path and ended up in paddy fields, where we had to get off and lead the ponies down some pretty risky spots. My lovely companion was riding a mare from the plains; we had to tie a rope to the horse and leap it down the places where the ponies climbed. We made our way down the dry bed of a stream for a while, and it was fascinating to see how the gūnths navigated the rocks. Walking exhausted me completely; I got on my gūnth and rode up some terrifying spots, along the bed of a small stream where there was no trail; the gūnth scrambled up the rocks quite impressively. Soon, Mrs. B⸺ decided to try the same; she hadn’t been on the mare for ten minutes when I heard a shout, “The mem sāhiba has fallen into the khud!” Her horse wouldn’t climb a rocky slope, and I guess she pulled back on the reins, causing him to turn and tumble down the khud; luckily, he fell on his right side, so her limbs were above him, and they slid down together, the horse lying on his side until, by pure chance, a tree stopped their fall. The sā’īses ran down, pulled her off, and brought her back up the Hill; later they managed to get the horse up safely. If it hadn’t been for the tree, both the lady and her horse would have been seriously injured; she was bruised, but not badly hurt. Her scream startled me—I thought it was all over. We returned completely worn out, but it had been a wonderful day; the scenery was beautiful, and the air was refreshing.

From Landowr, looking towards Hurdwar, the isolated Hill of Kalunga or Nālāpanī, with its table-land and Fortress on the highest extremity, is visible. When the steady coolness and bravery of the Ghoorkas, united with insurmountable obstacles, compelled our troops to fall back, General Gillespie determined to carry the place; and, at the head of three companies of the 53rd Regiment, reached a spot within thirty yards of a wicket defended by a gun; there, as he was cheering the men,—waving his hat in one hand, and his sword in the other, he was shot[243] through the heart, and fell dead on the spot. Thus died as brave and reckless a cavalier as ever put spur on heel; his sword is one of the interesting relics of my museum. I never meet a hardy, active little Ghoorka, with a countenance like a Tartar, and his kookree at his side, but I feel respect for him, remembering the defence of Kalunga. The women showed as much bravery as the men; showers of arrows and stones were discharged at the enemy: the women threw the stones dexterously,—severe wounds were inflicted by them; and they undauntedly exposed themselves to the fire of the enemy; they acted with the natural courage inherent in us all, never having been taught that it was pretty and interesting to be sweet, timid creatures! Perhaps, after all, the noble conduct of these Ghoorka women may be traced to a reason given by a modern European author, who covertly asserts, that women, not having souls as men have, are guided in all their actions by instinct! The Hindūs are equally complimentary, and assert,—“A woman cannot be kept in due subjection, either by gifts, or kindness, or correct conduct, or the greatest services, or the laws of morality, or by the terror of punishment,—for she cannot discriminate between good and evil!”

From Landowr, looking towards Hurdwar, the isolated Hill of Kalunga or Nālāpanī, with its flat top and fortress at the highest point, is visible. When the steady coolness and courage of the Ghoorkas, combined with unassailable obstacles, forced our troops to retreat, General Gillespie resolved to take the place. Leading three companies of the 53rd Regiment, he reached a point just thirty yards from a gate defended by a cannon; there, while he was encouraging the soldiers—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 one of the bravest and most daring knights ever to ride into battle; his sword is one of the fascinating relics in my museum. I can't help but feel respect for every tough, active little Ghoorka I meet, with a face like a Tartar and his kookree at his side, remembering the defense of Kalunga. The women displayed as much bravery as the men; they launched showers of arrows and stones at the enemy: they skillfully threw the stones—inflicting serious wounds; and they boldly exposed themselves to enemy fire, showing the natural courage we all possess, never having been taught that it was charming and interesting to be delicate, timid creatures! Perhaps the noble actions of these Ghoorka women can be linked to a claim made by a modern European author, who subtly suggests that women, lacking souls like men, are guided by instinct in all they do! The Hindūs are equally flattering, stating—“A woman cannot be kept in proper subjection by gifts, kindness, good behavior, great services, moral laws, or the fear of punishment—because she cannot tell the difference 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 kookree is a long, heavy, semicircular knife that the Ghurkhas always carry. The sheath is often intricately embroidered with strips from a peacock’s feather. Two small curved knives usually fit in the same sheath. The kookree is used for both combat and everyday tasks.

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 sword used by the Ghoorka officers, known as a “korah” or a “bughalee,” is also used by 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.

The sling used by Hill people is made of a thick, long cord of wool, with a wider section in the center. They place a stone in it, whip the sling around, and launch it. I brought examples of all these weapons from the Hills. The sling I just described was definitely used by the Ghoorka women at Kalunga.

22nd.—We mounted our gūnths so early we were at Cloud[244] End by 7 A.M. to breakfast. Ben Oge, the hill adjoining, is the highest point at Mussoorī. The day was bright and clear. Captain S⸺ asked us to ride to the summit; he accompanied us on foot. The view from the top of Ben Oge was beautiful: the Snowy Ranges were so clear and distinct, you could see every peak. I thought of Captain Skinner’s journal as I looked at the peaks of Jumnotrī, the source of the Jumna, and traced the river as it wound below through the khuds at the foot of the mountains, its course doubling like a hare. Beyond was the Peak of Gangotrí, from which the Ganges rises. I longed to march into the interior, to behold the grandeur of the scenery of the Himalaya. Ben Oge is quite treeless at the summit, but the ground was covered with wild lavender, thyme, and various mountain flowers of great beauty, while numberless butterflies flitted over them. My relative found the breeze very chilly, but the sun was so hot it made my head spin; we returned to his house: he was seized with cholera, from the heat of his body being suddenly checked by the cold air, and the sun pouring on his head; he was very ill, and in great pain for two hours. We returned home, determined not to ascend another hill during the heat of the day.

22nd.—We got on our horses so early that we reached Cloud[244] End by 7 Morning. for breakfast. Ben Oge, the nearby hill, is the highest point in Mussoorī. The day was bright and clear. Captain S⸺ asked us to ride to the top; he joined us on foot. The view from the summit of Ben Oge was stunning: the Snowy Ranges were so clear and distinct that you could see every peak. I thought of Captain Skinner’s journal as I gazed at the peaks of Jumnotrī, the source of the Jumna, and traced the river as it wound below through the valleys at the foot of the mountains, its path curving like a hare. Beyond that was the Peak of Gangotrí, where the Ganges originates. I yearned to venture further in to witness the grandeur of the Himalayan scenery. The top of Ben Oge is quite barren, but the ground was covered with wild lavender, thyme, and various beautiful mountain flowers, while countless butterflies flitted about. My relative found the breeze to be very cold, but the sun was so hot it made my head spin; we returned to his house where he was struck by cholera, caused by his body cooling down suddenly from the cold air after being overheated by the sun; he was very ill and in great pain for two hours. We went home, resolved not to climb 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.

26th.—My little widow and I went out riding at seven in the morning; on our way back, we were surprised to hear that a serious earthquake had occurred in Landowr and Mussoorī, which had scared everyone; there were three noticeable shocks. We on our horses didn’t feel the tremors; there are only a few hours in the day when an earthquake could catch us off our ponies.

I have never put on a bonnet since I came to the Hills; like the steeds in the “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” which “stood saddled in stable day and night,” so am I saddled in my hat and riding-habit, always on my pony; my visits are made on horseback. I have a jampan, (a sort of chair, with poles, carried by Hill-men,) but this is a disagreeable kind of conveyance; and I like the independence of my pony much better. The earthquake was charming; we seem to have all the eccentricities of nature around us. A Landowr Ætna or Vesuvius would figure well[245] in my journal, could we be lucky enough to discover a burning mountain in these Snowy Regions.

I haven't worn a bonnet since I arrived in the Hills; like the horses in the “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” which “stood saddled in the stable day and night,” I'm always in my hat and riding outfit, constantly on my pony. I make my visits on horseback. I do have a jampan (a kind of chair with poles carried by local men), but it’s a really uncomfortable way to get around, and I prefer the freedom of my pony much more. The earthquake was amazing; we seem to be surrounded by all the oddities of nature. An Aetna or Vesuvius would look great[245] in my journal if we were lucky enough to discover a volcano 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.

28th.—I hosted a picnic party by a mountain stream in a deep ravine at Jerrīpānī. The barberries were fully ripe, thicker than English ones, black in color, and very tasty. The wild dog-rose draped its clusters of white flowers from almost every tree in abundant beauty; it’s a lovely 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.

June 1st.—The weather is really hot in the middle of the day, the temperature is 70°F; you can't go out comfortably unless it's cloudy or stormy; it's pretty 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.

5th.—It was a really hot day; the hills were covered in a fog-like smoke caused by the burning brush in the valley below; thick, hot, smoky air was rising in clouds. Mrs. M⸺ was riding this evening when a leopard grabbed her spaniel, which was just a few yards in front of her pony. The shouts from the group scared the animal, and it dropped the dog; unfortunately, the poor spaniel died from its injuries. Some officers lay in wait for the leopard and shot it; I saw it later coming up the hill, tied to a bamboo, ready to be stuffed and preserved 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.

7th.—Mr. D⸺ invited us to a picnic at Bhadráj; we chose a spot under a lovely oak tree on the estate at Cloud End. Countless activities were arranged for us: enjoying champagne and snacks was delightful under the old oak tree, and a rich and special dinner wrapped up the day's fun. When the moon rose, we got on our horses, and since the road went through dark tree cover and along the edges of cliffs, we decided to be cautious and agreed to gather three times during our six-mile journey to make sure everyone was safe and hadn’t fallen into the ravine. We galloped through the beautiful moonlight, nearly racing our ponies. At the final gathering, Mr. H⸺ was thrown off his mule, but since he was hardly hurt, it became a laughing matter. We got home at half-past eleven, after a lovely ride and a great day.

10th.—One of the officers of the Buffs met a bear the other day, and was glad to get off unhugged; bears as well as leopards[246] abound in the Hills. I must not take my pet dog out riding with me; at this time of the year wild beasts are numerous, and render it dangerous.

10th.—One of the officers of the Buffs encountered a bear the other day and was relieved to escape without being attacked; bears as well as leopards[246] are common in the Hills. I shouldn't take my pet dog with me when I go riding; at this time of year, there are a lot of wild animals around, making it unsafe.

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.

We have a lot of visitors every day in the Hills; people just run around, chatting and having fun. There’s been a third earthquake, but as usual, I was completely oblivious to the shaking. A storm with thunder, lightning, and hail has cooled things down, and the weather is really nice. The Hills look stunning at night when they’re ablaze; the fire never spreads, it just climbs to the top of the Hill. They ignite several spots down below at the same time to burn the old long grass and make room for the new to grow.

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).

11th.—A letter from Allahabad informs me that a very severe storm happened there on the third of this month—more intense than the one that wrecked the Seagull; it lasted only an hour. It blew down one of the verandas of our house, tore the roof off the cow-shelter, the meat-shelter, the wild-duck shelter, the sheep shelter, etc.: the repairs will cost us at least 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.

13th.—I went with Mr. R⸺ to check out the Botanical Garden, which is small but interesting. I had some cherries from Cashmere, admired a lovely Hill lily from the interior, and picked many beautiful flowers. I also received some very large and nice peaches from the Dhoon valley today, similar to English peaches.

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.

18th.—Our group was scheduled to have lunch at Cloud End today, under the old oak tree, so we woke up at 6 Morning. When we got up, we found the Hills blanketed in thick white clouds from the bottom of the ravines to their peaks; the clouds were so dense, and we were so completely surrounded by them, we couldn't see beyond the verandah. Thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed all around. Eventually, the wind blew the clouds away, and the Hills appeared again, but only for a moment before new clouds rolled in from the valley, hiding everything again in the white fog. The rain poured down heavily from the sky: I hope the rains have finally started today; without them, the famine and the sickness spreading in the plains below will continue.

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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°.

This example of what the rains will bring has really upset my lovely friend, and she's wishing she were back in Meerut. I—who love storms and wild weather—have enjoyed the day; I like these chaotic scenes. If they happened too often, they might become annoying, and the dampness could lead to 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.

19th.—At 7:30 AM our group was at Cloud End, sitting on the rocks under the old oak, enjoying breakfast after the ride. The fresh mountain air made me feel great, so I suggested to Captain A⸺ that we hike to the summit of Bhadráj, seven miles away. The rest of the group thought it was too much effort and decided not to join us. Once we left the paved path, we took a trail along the mountainside, which overlooked a steep drop. We lost our way and realized we could neither turn our mules around nor move forward. We got off our mules; Captain A⸺ managed, with some difficulty, to turn my mule; then he tried the same with his own—his mule got skittish and slipped from his grip, heading down the hill; it was amazing how it managed to stay on its feet. The mule looked up at us calmly from below; trying to catch it would have sent it tumbling down the rocks to certain death, so we walked away, leaving this beautiful mule, for which £20 had just been paid, to its fate. As we expected, once he noticed the other mule was gone, he carefully climbed back up the rocks and rejoined his companion; I was relieved to see his bridle back in his master’s hands.

After much toil we arrived at the flag-staff on the top of the hill; thence the view was such as is seldom seen in such perfection, even in these mountains:—looking down towards the plain of the Deyra Dhoon, instead of the beautiful valley in all its emerald green, intersected by rivers pouring down from the Hills,—instead of this, white clouds entirely filled the plain, giving it the appearance of being filled with hills covered with snow; beyond were the dark hills of the Lower Range; the next minute the clouds changed their appearance, and rushed up the Hills on a strong wind, covering several mountains at a time in a most extraordinary manner with volumes of white cloud;[248] then, driving on, left them bright in the sunshine. The river Jumna, in the khud or valley, at times visible, at times concealed by clouds, wound its tortuous course below. I have seen the Hills under almost all forms, but the grandeur of the view on this stormy day exceeded any thing I had before beheld, and well repaid the fatigue. At times it rained a little, at times there was a scorching sunshine, then came gusts of wind and clouds, wrapping every object around us in dense white vapour. A little further on we found a Hindū idol, rudely cut in stone; this idol is now neglected, but was formerly much worshipped. Near it is a large stone, on which is chiselled, “Lady Hood, 1814:” on speaking of this to the political agent, he laughed and said, “You were more enterprising than Lady Hood; you visited the spot,—she only sent a man to chisel out her name, and that of Colonel B⸺ on the top of Bhadráj; she never visited the place in person.” We returned to dinner at Cloud End: how glad we were of a glass of champagne after our fatigues! and how glad we were we had brought the beautiful mule back in safety! After tea, remounting our steeds, we returned to Landowr: I rode in the course of that day twenty-six miles, up and down hill,—a pretty good distance for a lady;—but who can feel fatigue in the bracing, most enjoyable air of these delightful mountains?

After a lot of effort, we reached the flagpole at the top of the hill; from there, the view was something rarely seen in such perfection, even in these mountains. Looking down towards the Deyra Dhoon plain, instead of seeing the beautiful valley in its vibrant emerald green, crisscrossed by rivers coming down from the hills, we only saw white clouds completely filling the plain, making it look like it had hills covered in snow. Beyond that were the dark hills of the Lower Range. In the next moment, the clouds changed shape and swept up the hills in a strong wind, covering several mountains at once with thick volumes of white cloud; then, as they moved on, they left the mountains shining in the sunshine. The Jamuna River, in the valley below, was sometimes visible and sometimes hidden by clouds, winding its twisty path below. I’ve seen the hills in almost every form, but the grandeur of the view on this stormy day was greater than anything I had seen before and totally made up for the fatigue. At times it drizzled, at times there was blazing sunshine, and then came gusts of wind and clouds, wrapping everything around us in dense white mist. A little further on, we stumbled upon a Hindu idol, roughly carved from stone; it’s now neglected but was once heavily worshipped. Nearby, there’s a large stone with the inscription, “Lady Hood, 1814.” When I mentioned this to the political agent, he laughed and said, “You were more adventurous than Lady Hood; you visited the spot—she only sent someone to carve her name and that of Colonel B⸺ on the top of Bhadráj; she never came here herself.” We returned to dinner at Cloud End, so grateful for a glass of champagne after our exertions! And we were so relieved to have brought the beautiful mule back safely! After tea, we got back on our horses and rode to Landowr: I covered twenty-six miles that day, up and down hills—a pretty good distance for a lady—but who can feel tired in the refreshing, delightful air of these amazing 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.”

21st.—At 4:22 PM, an earthquake shook the ground and the house; I was sitting at the table and felt the strong tremors. Every day brought rain, storms, thunder, and lightning: truly, as the saying goes, “There are storms in high places.”

24th.—A delightful day! How fine, how beautiful are the Snowy Ranges! In consequence of the heavy rain the roads have become very rotten and dangerous; in many parts, half the road has fallen into the khud; and where the path is often not three feet in width, it leaves but a small space for a man on his gūnth. Mr. T⸺, of the artillery, met with a serious accident this morning; the road was much broken, and as he attempted to ride over it, it gave way; he and his pony went down the precipice. Mr. T⸺ was stopped in his descent,[249] after he had gone one hundred feet, by a tree, was brought up, and carried to a surgeon. He was much hurt in the head, but is expected to recover in two or three weeks; no bones were broken: the pony went down two hundred and fifty feet, and was found alive!

24th.—What a wonderful day! The Snowy Ranges are so stunning and beautiful! Because of the heavy rain, the roads have become really bad and dangerous; in many places, half the road has crumbled into the ravine, and where the path is often less than three feet wide, there’s barely enough room for a person on their gūnth. Mr. T⸺ from the artillery had a serious accident this morning; the road was very rough, and when he tried to ride over it, it gave way; he and his pony fell down the cliff. Mr. T⸺ was stopped in his fall,[249] after dropping about a hundred feet, by a tree, which caught him, and he was taken to a surgeon. He sustained significant head injuries but is expected to recover in two or three weeks; luckily, no bones were broken. The pony fell 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.

One of my guys was brought in for medical help; he had been in charge of a crew of local laborers, cutting slates for the roof of the new house, down in a deep ravine, and had come down with a fever. The slates found in the hills are really good, but they're more brittle than those from Europe. All the houses used to have thatched roofs in Landowr; a thatched roof is risky because of the lightning that frequently strikes and sets it on fire. Captain S⸺ introduced slate roofs, and several people have followed his good example.

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CHAPTER LV.
LIFE IN THE MOUNTAINS.

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.

Kharītā of her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A Mountain Storm—An Adventure—Donkeys taken by Leopards—Bear Grease—Dēodar Oil—Apricot Oil—Hill Currants—Figs and Tar—Cholera—Sacrifice of a Kid to the Mountain Spirit—Unreasonable Fear of a Russian Invasion—Flea Infestation—The Charmed Stone—Iron Stone—Khobarah, the Hill Dog—Sheep Stealing—Booteah Chharrā—Flexible Stone—A Terrifying Storm—A Doomed Bungalow—Leaf Butterflies—The Breaching of the Mahratta Bāndh at Prāg—Resemblance of Unique Marriages in the Hills to those of 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[251] Highness writes, that—“The light of my eyes—the Gaja Rājā—has been very ill; she has recovered, and her husband, Appa Sāhib Kanulka, having heard of her illness, has come from Gwalior to see her.” Kharītās of this sort pass between the mighty men of the East, and between them and the public functionaries of Government.

June 29, 1838.—Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī honored me by sending a kharītā, which is a letter enclosed in a long bag made of kimkhwāb, a bright red silk decorated with gold flowers, wrapped in another layer of fine muslin. The opening of the bag was tied with a gold tasselled cord, which had her great seal attached—a flat circular piece of sealing wax with her seal stamped on it. Two smaller bags were included, as shown in the illustration, each containing a gift of sweets. The kharītā and one of the small bags are shown without their outer transparent muslin cover; the other small bag retains its white cover, with the address inside the transparent muslin. The Bāiza Bā’ī’s autograph is on the right side of the page; the letter was written in Urdū (the court language), using the Persian script, by one of her Highness’s mūnshīs, and personally signed by the Bā’ī herself: the paper is embellished with gold designs. The letter started with the usual polite greetings, and then her Highness wrote, “The light of my eyes—the Gaja Rājā—has been very ill; she has recovered, and her husband, Appa Sāhib Kanulka, has come from Gwalior to see her.” Kharītās like this are exchanged among the powerful figures of the East, as well as between them and governmental officials.

THE ḴH̱ARĪṬA.
THE KHARITA.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Vani Parks

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.

July 3rd.—I rode over to Cloud End, checked out the new house, and trained young morning glory plants along the bamboo hedge surrounding the garden: the rain was coming down in buckets; it was really cold and uncomfortable. At 7 PM, wanting to get home before dark, even though it was still raining, I called for my gūnth; my relative wrapped me in his military cloak and threw a large rubber cape over it; with this getup, I hoped to stay dry during my seven-mile ride home. I had barely gone a mile from the estate when the storm hit like a crazy mountain tempest; the thunder crashed above me, lightning spread across the sky in sheets of flame, and every now and then the jagged lightning was so bright I couldn’t see the path for a few minutes. I had two servants with me; they walked ahead of the gūnth but often struggled to find the road because it was so dark among the trees, and it kept pouring. I saw a dark area in front of the horse and asked, “What is that?” “Oh, it’s nothing,” the sā’īs replied, “just keep going.” But I stopped and sent him ahead. At that spot, three or four trees had fallen across a drop-off; dirt had been piled up to create a path, but the force of the rain had washed the dirt away, leaving a void:—the darkness was the hole left by the gap! I got off; the trees were still below, lying across the chasm; I carefully scrambled down, got over the trunks, and climbed back up the other side; it was almost pitch black. I called for the gūnth; the clever little guy looked at the hole, stomped his front feet on the ground like he didn’t like it, then jumped up the bank on the other side and was safely by my side. I got back on and continued—an act that took a fair bit of quiet courage.

[252]

“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 darkness of the night is like a balm to the eyes of the mole[30].” It definitely wasn’t for me: after being out for two hours, I realized I had only walked four miles on a path surrounded by tall trees, making it even more dangerous; the lightning was really intense, and I saw a flash hit the roof of a house. Suddenly, I felt faint and struggled to stay on my horse. Feeling unwell, I asked the servant to take the horse to the nearest gentleman’s house. Once we reached a bungalow, we went up to the verandah, where an officer, hearing that a lady was caught in the storm and needed shelter, came out and brought me inside. I was so exhausted that tears streamed down my face, and I almost passed out. They offered me wine and removed the rubber cloak, which was probably what caused the overwhelming discomfort I felt.

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.

The couple whose home I had taken refuge in were very kind; they quickly provided me with dry clothes and offered me a bed. However, I was too excited to sleep and was disturbed by strange sounds coming from an outbuilding not far from my room. I got up, opened my door, wanted to call my hosts, but not knowing their names, I lay back down and listened. In the morning, the mystery was explained: a lady staying at the house had two female donkeys for her baby, which were kept in an outbuilding near my room; the night before I arrived, a leopard had broken into where the donkeys were tied and had killed them both; they were found dead with their halters still on. The night I was there, the leopard returned, tore one of the carcasses from the halter, and carried it down the ravine—that was the strange noise that kept me awake. Quite a night of adventures. The carcasses had been left intentionally, and some officers from the Buffs were supposed to ambush the leopard that night, but the storm kept them from leaving their homes.

Captain S⸺ came to Landowr the next day: he was surprised at my having passed the broken road in the darkness of[253] the storm; even by daylight, he passed over it with difficulty—perhaps the darkness aided me, as it prevented my being giddy.

Captain S⸺ arrived in Landowr the next day and was surprised that I had managed to navigate the damaged road in the dark during the storm. Even in daylight, he found it challenging to get over it—maybe the darkness helped me by keeping me from getting dizzy.

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.

11th.—Rode to the Botanical Gardens; saw several young tea plants that were thriving. The bright yellow broom was in full bloom; it reminded me of the area by the seaside at Christchurch, Hants, where the broom grows so abundantly. We enjoyed Cashmere apricots, which, although not as good as those from Europe, were still tasty.

12th.—Storms, storms,—rain, rain,—day by day,—night by night: thermometer at noon, 66°.

12th.—Storms, storms,—rain, rain,—day after day,—night after 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.

17th.—After a bear was killed, I got several bottles of bear grease. Apricot oil was also suggested 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.

I bought some Dēodar oil, made from the white cedar; the smell is awful; it’s good for rheumatic pain; if you rub it in too much, it will cause 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.

Baskets filled with currants were brought for sale; they were only good for tarts. Fresh figs, which were pretty decent, were sent to me, along with some decent-sized pears. Tar, known as cheer-ke-tel, is great 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.

25th.—I was convinced to attend a party hosted by the bachelors of Landowr and Mussoorī, a rare event in my otherwise quiet life. Cholera has shown up in the market, and the local men are so scared that they are running away from work. My paharīs asked if I could let them leave and pay them their wages, but I refused. They insisted it was due to their fear of cholera. Eventually, they agreed to stay if I would provide them with a kid to sacrifice to the angry goddess who lives in the mountains, whom they believe is responsible for the disease—they are very superstitious. What can you expect from uneducated people? “If grass doesn’t grow on rocks, what’s the fault of the rain[31]?”—i.e. it’s unreasonable to expect knowledge from someone who doesn’t have the means or ability to gain it.

[254]

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.

August 17th.—Regarding our military movements, actions will take place, and we should expect danger; however, Russia won't be silly enough to fully engage in the conflicts of Persia. As for the Persians—ugh! I scoff at them, just as Hājī Baba tells us they scoff at us. I found it amusing to read a letter in the paper today that, discussing the Russian invasion, states, “We are being hemmed in on all sides like a pocket-handkerchief, and like it coming to blows.” Are they really worried that the bloodthirsty and greedy Nicholas will push us off our seats and take away our salt? "Eating the Company’s salt" is the local way of referring to the wages for labor done under their authority.

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.

Preparations for war are underway. Fifteen thousand men from Bengal and ten thousand from Bombay are set to march to Cabul to protect that part of India in case of an attack from Russia and Persia. Burmah and Nepaul seem hostile; we’ll soon be facing plenty of battles. The Mahrattas are discussing the “Russes;” in fact, the whole market in Allahabad is buzzing with it; they would have an even tougher time with these Cupidons du Nord, as the French referred to the Cossacks, than they have with us, 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,

20th.—For the past three weeks, it’s been raining day and night; sometimes it clears up in the evening for a couple of hours; you can't imagine anything more unpleasant; the rain is definitely very irritating in the Hills.—Another problem.—The houses are filled with fleas. At first, they didn’t bother me; but for the last few nights, I've barely been able to sleep because of their sharp, painful bites; they’re driving me to the brink of madness. On the plus side, we don’t have any mosquitoes, and the climate is too cold for a fan to be needed. How often I’ve thought of a poetic letter from Mr. W. S. Rose that starts,

“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[255] borrowed the charm, and put it into her bed, the fleas were nevertheless as ravenous as ever; she says the stone has the smell of a peach.

The Hill-men say there’s a special stone that has a charm and keeps fleas away; they place this stone in their beds and swear it keeps the pests off. My ayha tells me she borrowed the charm and put it in her bed, but the fleas were still just as hungry as before; she says the stone smells like 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.

“What are you doing?” I asked my tailor, who was groping around on the floor with something in his hand. “I'm trying to find my needle with this iron-stone; there's a lot of it in the Hills.” Shortly after that, the needle, drawn by the magnetic properties of the iron-stone, stuck to it, and the tailor brought it to me proudly. Sang-i-miknātīs is the local 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.

21st.—Two of my fat sheep have been stolen: an officer in the engineers has given me a great Hill dog named Khobarah; he needs to be kept on a chain 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.

22nd.—Another fat sheep has gone missing: the shepherd claims it was taken by a hyena, but I believe it was 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.

23rd.—We’re lucky to have a bit of sunshine, and the guy is out with his net to catch butterflies; this lovely day will definitely bring them out.

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.

A Hill-man came in with a basket of fresh kajgee walnuts; they were something new to us. We cracked them open, Hill style, between the door and the sill, and found them delicious, sweet, and fresh.

The paharīs brought down curious-looking white stones, which they called booteah chharrā, and used as shot. According to their account these stones are found in a waterfall, and brought from Almorah. On first inspection they have the appearance of being a mineral crystallization, but on more minute examination, it will be found that the number of faces or flattened sides is irregular, some having eight, others nine, ten, or eleven faces. On splitting one open as shown in the plate entitled “Jugunnath,” Fig. 7, which represents the two halves, a beautiful little round kernel presents itself, enclosed in the outer case. It is very probable, therefore, that they are the ripe seeds or berries of some tree or plant in the vicinity, which, falling into, or being washed by the rains into some water highly impregnated with carbonate of lime, become petrified, and entirely changed into this substance, which frequently happens[256] under the supposed circumstances. The little flattened faces may thus be accounted for, by the pressure of the grains in their conglomerated state against one another, at the time the berries are either in a soft or ripe state; at any rate, they are now simple carbonate of lime, completely dissolving in diluted muriatic acid, with evolution of carbonic acid, and without sediment.

The paharīs brought back some strange-looking white stones, which they called booteah chharrā, and used as ammunition. According to them, these stones are found in a waterfall and come from Almorah. At first glance, they look like mineral crystals, but upon closer inspection, you'll see that the number of flat sides or faces is uneven, with some having eight, others nine, ten, or eleven faces. When you split one open, as seen in the plate titled “Jugunnath,” Fig. 7, a beautiful little round kernel is revealed, sitting inside the outer shell. It’s likely that these are the ripe seeds or berries of some nearby tree or plant that fell into or got washed into water saturated with carbonate of lime during the rains, causing them to petrify and transform into this substance, which often occurs under such conditions[256]. The little flat faces can be explained by the pressure of the grains pressing against each other in their combined state while the berries are either soft or ripe. In any case, they are now just carbonate of lime, fully dissolving in diluted muriatic acid, which releases carbon dioxide without leaving any residue.

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.

In the plate mentioned above (Fig. 6), the grains are shown en masse, at about half their actual size. Fig. 8 shows them exactly the same size as the original; one is split open, revealing the center of the rays. Fig. 7 is a grain that’s split open, displaying the beautiful little white polished berry—if it can be called a berry.

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.

I have many samples of leaves and branches from trees in Almorah, fossilized in the waterfalls, coated with a thick white or brownish layer, through which the fibers of the leaves can be clearly seen.

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.

Among other interesting things in the Hills, I can't forget the flexible stone; Major S⸺ showed me a large piece that was definitely flexible. Since I've started working with lithography, it seems to me that the stone we took from his mountain at Cloud End, Landowr, which was used to build his house, looked a lot like the German lithographic stone. I remember thinking it was rotten when it was first cut, but it hardened completely after being exposed to the air for ten days or a couple of weeks. I'm not sure if this feature is typical of lithographic stone. The latter completely dissolves in muriatic acid and water, leaving no residue.

31st.—A most fearful storm during the night,—one that was sufficient to make me quit my bed, to look after my little widow and the bābās, i.e., children. The paharīs informed me a few days ago that the banglā or thatched house in which I am living has been three times struck by lightning, and twice burned to the ground!—an agreeable reminiscence during so violent a storm. As the lightning, if it strike a house, often runs round the walls of a room, from the iron of one wall shade to that of another, and then pursuing its course down to the grate, tears out the bars, and descends into the earth, we took the precaution of sitting in the centre of the room, avoiding the[257] sides. My fair friend laughed, in spite of her alarm, when I repeated the old verses:—

31st.—A really scary storm hit during the night, strong enough to get me out of bed to check on my little widow and the kids. The paharīs told me a few days ago that the banglā, or thatched house, I’m living in has been struck by lightning three times and has burned down twice!—not the best thing to remember during such a violent storm. Since lightning can often travel around the walls of a room, bouncing from the iron of one wall to another before heading down to the grate, where it can rip out the bars and go into the ground, we decided to play it safe by sitting in the center of the room, away from the sides. My lovely friend laughed, despite her fear, when I recited 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.

Sept. 1st.—It’s such a wonderful day—pure sunshine— the hills look bright and beautiful after weeks of rain. The ponies came right up to the door, and we made the most of the day. Some leaf butterflies were caught and brought to me; they’re really large and interesting—the backs of their wings look like two autumn leaves stacked together. It’s said that the appearance of the leaf butterfly changes every month, matching the leaves around it. The ones that were caught for me looked like autumn leaves and came in two varieties. I built up a large collection of butterflies both in Allahabad and in the hills; in the latter, you can find many rare and valuable types. The Map butterfly, named for its map-like patterns on its wings, is hard to catch since it flies so high; it’s very pretty. The large black butterfly with four bright purple spots on its wings is probably one of the most beautiful ones, but it has competition from the emerald green long-tailed one, which has purple splashes and rose-colored edges on its underwings. There’s also a long-tailed black butterfly with stripes of black and white on the upper wings and seven rose-colored spots along with four white marks in the center on the underside. I've heard that the small purple butterflies with long tails are the most valuable. It would take too long to list all the beautiful specimens collected for me of these “insect queens of eastern spring.” The privates of the Lancers and Buffs added to my collection and were eager to trade their butterflies for the beer brewed in the hills; which, while it doesn’t hold a candle to Bass’s or Allsopp’s Pale Ale, is pretty decent considering it’s locally made.

5th.—A letter informed me of the bursting of the Mahratta Bāndh at Allahabad: the Ganges poured through the gap, inundating[258] the whole country, until it reached the Jumna just above the Fort, leaving the latter completely insulated. Our house, being close to the bank of the Jumna, escaped, but was on every side surrounded by water. M. mon mari had two large boats anchored near, to receive himself, his horses, his flocks, and his herds, should the river rise any higher. The Bāndh burst on the 23rd of August; it swept away the villages of Kyd and Mootī Gunge, carrying away all the thatched huts, the brick houses alone escaping. The Jumna rose to within seven feet of the top of the very high bank on which the chabūtara (terrace) in our garden is placed. The damage done to the crops and villages is estimated at four lākh; besides this, the force of the water rushing upon the bastion of the Fort has caused it to fall in; it will cost forty or fifty thousand rupees to repair the bastion.

5th.—I received a letter informing me about the collapse of the Mahratta dam at Allahabad: the Ganges rushed through the opening, flooding[258] the entire area until it reached the Jumna just above the Fort, completely isolating it. Our house, located close to the bank of the Jumna, was safe but surrounded by water on all sides. My husband had two large boats anchored nearby to accommodate him, his horses, his flocks, and his herds if the river rose any higher. The dam broke on August 23rd; it swept away the villages of Kyd and Mootī Gunge, destroying all the thatched huts, with only the brick houses surviving. The Jumna rose to within seven feet of the top of the very high bank where the chabūtara (terrace) in our garden is located. The damage to crops and villages is estimated at four lakh; in addition, the force of the rushing water has caused part of the Fort's bastion to collapse; repairing it will cost around forty or fifty thousand rupees.

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.

6th.—I'm sick: my ayha is really kind and takes great care of me; she's such a good servant! By the way—grain is currently very expensive in Landowr; gram is 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.”

“One wife is enough for an entire family[32].” “Where do you live?” I asked one of my servants, a Paharī (mountaineer), who had just dropped off his load of rhododendron wood, which he refers to as flower wood, in the veranda. “Three days’ journey from here, in the pahar (mountain),” the man replied. “Are you married?” I asked. The man looked irritated; “Who would marry me? How can I have a wife? There are only three of us.” Having heard about the unique marriage customs of the Paharīs, I continued my questioning. “Why can’t you marry?” “We are only three brothers; if there were seven of us, we might marry, but with only three, who would marry us?” The larger the family, the more respectable the connection, and the more honored the woman. “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 is a family of seven.”

I have heard that the Hill women destroy their female[259] offspring, thinking the lot of woman too hard to endure. The price of a wife is high, from the scarcity of women, and may account for the disgusting marriages of the Paharīs.

I’ve heard that the Hill women get rid of their female[259] children, believing that being a woman is too difficult to bear. The cost of a wife is steep due to the shortage of women, which might explain the terrible 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.

Mr. Vigne, while traveling in Kashmir, notes, “My classical companion pointed out the following passage from Caesar’s Commentaries, which shows that a similar custom existed among the Ancient Britons: ‘They have wives in common, ten or twelve among themselves, especially brothers with brothers, and parents with their children. But if any are born from these, they are considered the children of those from whom the women were first taken.’”—Caesar, 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.

I’ve heard that honesty used to be a defining trait of the Paharīs, but their interactions with civilized Europeans have significantly corrupted the mountaineers.

[260]

CHAPTER LVI.
Himalaya Elevation.

“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.

The Great Peak of Bhadrināth—No glaciers in the snowy mountains—Ceremonies held when visiting holy sites—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.

1838, Sept.—You want me to send back some sketches from the Hills; I will do my best to fulfill your request, and in the meantime, I will send you a map, copied from part of a survey: it will show you the height of the Himalayas and give you a clear 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.[261] There are no glaciers, because, in all probability, an uniform cold—below the freezing point—prevails in so elevated a region. Bhadrināth is a noted place of pilgrimage, and during my stay in the Hills some of my Hindū servants requested leave of absence to visit it.

The highest peak, Bhadrināth, stands at 23,441 feet above sea level and is clearly visible from the summit of Landowr. Some of the mountains in the Snowy Ranges have high, rocky, sharp peaks that are blanketed in snow—smooth, solid, unbroken, and shining white; others have been eroded into strange shapes.[261] There are no glaciers, likely due to the consistently cold temperatures—below freezing—that dominate this high-altitude area. Bhadrināth is a well-known pilgrimage site, and during my time in the hills, some of my Hindu staff requested time off to visit it.

“The Hindūs have a way to heaven without dying: if the person who wishes to go this way to heaven, through repeating certain incantations survive the cold, he at last arrives at Himalŭyŭ, the residence of Shivŭ. Such a person is said ‘to go the Great Journey:’ Yoodhist’hirŭ, according to the puranŭs, went this way to heaven; but his companions perished by the cold on the mountain: this forms another method in which the Hindūs may meritoriously put a period to their existence; it is also one of the Hindū atonements for great offences.” The ceremonies performed on visiting holy places are as follows:—“When a person resolves to visit any one of these places, he fixes upon an auspicious day, and, two days preceding the commencement of his journey, has his head shaved; the next he fasts; the following day he performs the shraddhŭ (funeral obsequies) of the three preceding generations of his family on both sides, and then leaves his house. If a person act according to the shastrŭ he observes the following rules:—First, till he returns to his own house, he eats rice which has not been wet in cleansing, and that only once a day; he abstains from anointing his body with oil, and from eating fish. If he ride in a palanquin or in a boat he loses half the benefits of his pilgrimage; if he walk on foot he obtains the full fruit. The last day of his journey he fasts. On his arrival at the sacred spot, he has his whole body shaved, after which he bathes, and performs shraddhŭ: if the pilgrim be a woman, she has only the breadth of two fingers of her hair behind cut off; if a widow, her whole head is shaved. It is necessary that the pilgrim stay seven days at least at the holy place; he may continue as much longer as he pleases. Every day during his stay he bathes, pays his devotions to the images, sits before them, and repeats their names, and worships them, presenting such offerings as he can afford. In bathing, he makes kooshŭ grass images of his relations, and bathes them.[262] The benefits arising to relations will be as one to eight, compared with that of the person bathing at the holy place. When he is about to return, he obtains some of the offerings which have been presented to the idol or idols, and brings them home to give to his friends and neighbours; these consist of sweetmeats, toolŭsee leaves, the ashes of cow-dung, &c. After celebrating the shraddhŭ he entertains Brahmāns, and presents them with oil, fish, and all those things from which he abstained: having done this he returns to his former course of living. The reward promised to the pilgrim is, that he shall ascend to the heaven of that god who presides at the holy place he has visited.”

"The Hindus have a way to reach heaven without dying: if a person who wants to take this path can survive the cold by repeating certain incantations, they eventually arrive at the Himalayas, the home of Shiva. This person is said to go on the 'Great Journey.' Yudhishthira, according to the Puranas, took this route to heaven, but his companions died from the cold on the mountain. This is another way Hindus can honorably end their lives; it's also a form of atonement for serious offenses. The ceremonies performed when visiting holy places are as follows: when someone decides to visit one of these sites, they choose an auspicious day and shave their head two days before the journey starts. The next day, they fast, and the day after that, they perform the shraddha (funeral rites) for the three generations of their family on both sides before leaving their home. If someone follows the Shastras, they must observe these rules: first, until they return home, they eat only rice that hasn’t been washed and only once a day; they avoid anointing their body with oil and eating fish. If they ride in a palanquin or a boat, they lose half the benefits of their pilgrimage; if they walk on foot, they receive the full reward. On the last day of their journey, they fast. Upon arrival at the sacred site, they shave their entire body, then bathe and perform the shraddha. If the pilgrim is a woman, she only cuts off a two-finger breadth of hair at the back; if she is a widow, her whole head gets shaved. The pilgrim must stay at the holy place for at least seven days, though they can stay longer if they wish. Every day during their stay, they bathe, pay their respects to the images, sit in front of them, repeat their names, and worship them, offering whatever they can afford. While bathing, they create images of their relatives from kusa grass and bathe these as well. The benefits to relatives will be one eighth as compared to those received by the person bathing at the holy site. When they are ready to return, they take some of the offerings made to the idols back home to share with friends and neighbors; these often include sweets, tulsi leaves, and cow dung ashes. After performing the shraddha, they host Brahmins and offer them fish, oil, and all the foods they previously abstained from. After this, they return to their regular way of living. The reward promised to the pilgrim is that they will ascend to the heaven of the deity who presides over the holy place they have visited."

The mighty Bhadrināth towers far above Chimboraco, although—

The mighty Bhadrināth rises far above Chimborazo, 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.

At Gangoutrī, the source of the holiest branch of the Ganges, Mahadēo sits surrounded by clouds and mist, among rocks that resist any living creatures, and snows that intensify the desolation. However, even though Gangoutrī is the most sacred, it’s not the most visited shrine, as getting there is much harder compared to Bhadrināth. As a result, many pilgrims flock to Bhadrināth, intimidated by the isolation and dangers of the former worship site. This likely explains the greater wealth and grandeur of Bhadrināth. The town and temple of Bhadrināth are located on the west bank of the Alacknunda, right in the middle of a valley; the town is built on the sloping riverbank and consists of only twenty or thirty huts for the Brahmāns and other attendants of the deity: the exact time of its foundation is too far back to have been passed down through tradition.

A hot spring, issuing from the mountain by a subterraneous passage, supplies the Tapta-Kund; it has a sulphureous smell: Surya-Kund is another hot spring issuing from the bank. The principal idol, Bhadrināth, is placed in artificial obscurity in the temple, and is dressed in gold and silver brocade; above his[263] head is a small looking-glass, and two or three glimmering lamps burn before him, exhibiting the image in a dubious light. This temple has more beneficed lands attached to it than any other sacred Hindū establishment in this part of India. A large number of servants of every description are kept, and during the months of pilgrimage the deity is well-clothed, and fares sumptuously every day; but as soon as winter commences, the priests take their departure, leaving him to provide for his own wants until the periodical return of the holy season. The treasures and valuable utensils are buried in a vault under the temple.

A hot spring, coming from the mountain through an underground passage, feeds the Tapta-Kund; it has a sulfur smell. Surya-Kund is another hot spring that flows from the bank. The main idol, Bhadrināth, is placed in artificial darkness within the temple and is dressed in gold and silver brocade. Above his[263] head is a small mirror, and two or three flickering lamps burn in front of him, casting the image in a dim light. This temple has more endowed lands associated with it than any other sacred Hindu site in this region of India. A large number of staff of all kinds are employed, and during the pilgrimage months, the deity is well-dressed and enjoys lavish meals every day; but as soon as winter arrives, the priests leave, leaving him to fend for himself until the next holy season. The treasures and valuable items are stored in a vault beneath the temple.

The pilgrims assemble at Hurdwar, and as soon as the fair is concluded they visit Bhadrināth, often to the amount of forty-five to fifty thousand, the greater part of whom are fakīrs.

The pilgrims gather at Haridwar, and as soon as the festival ends, they head to Badrinath, often numbering between forty-five and fifty thousand, most of whom are monks.

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 next notable peak is Kedarnāth, 23,062 feet above sea level, and the presumed source of the Ganges is located below it at an 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 Kedar-Nāth temple is located at the source of the Kalī-Gunga river. It’s ancient and not very tall but has a decent size, dedicated to Mahadēo, or Shiva, known here as Kedar. There are several dharamshalas built to accommodate the many pilgrims who come to the shrine each year. There are also many kunds or springs nearby.

The Moira peak is 22,792 feet above the sea.

The Moira peak is 22,792 feet above sea level.

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[264] at a little distance there is a rough wooden building to shelter travellers. Notwithstanding the great efficacy attributed to this pilgrimage, Gangoutrī is but little frequented. The accomplishment of it is supposed to redeem the performer from many troubles in this world, and ensure a happy transit through all the stages of transmigration he may have to undergo. A trifle is paid to the Brahmān for the privilege of taking the water, which the Hindūs believe is so pure, as neither to evaporate or become corrupted by being kept and transported to distant places. The Ganges enters the plains at Hurdwar, flows on to Prāg, where it is joined by the Jumna; and, after receiving various rivers in its course, it passes through that labyrinth of creeks and rivers called the Sunderbands into the sea.

Gangotri (the source of the Ganges) is located at 10,319 feet above sea level and is a well-known pilgrimage site near where the Ganges River begins. Its path has not been traced beyond Gangotri because, a bit further along, the stream is completely hidden beneath a glacier or ice, making it believed to be unreachable. There's a small stone shelter here with statues of Bhagiratha, Ganga, and other local deities; it's built on a rock about twenty feet higher than the riverbed of the Ganges. [264] A short distance away, there's a basic wooden structure to provide shelter for travelers. Despite the significant spiritual benefits people associate with this pilgrimage, Gangotri is not heavily visited. Completing this pilgrimage is thought to free the participant from many struggles in life and ensure a smooth transition through all stages of reincarnation they may face. A small fee is given to the Brahmin for the right to collect the holy water, which Hindus believe is so pure that it neither evaporates nor spoils even when stored and transported far away. The Ganges enters the plains at Haridwar, continues to Prayag, where it meets the Yamuna, and, after picking up several rivers along its journey, winds through the complex network of creeks and rivers known as the Sundarbans before reaching the sea.

Captain J. A. Hodgson thus describes Gangoutrī:—

Captain J. A. Hodgson describes Gangoutrī this way:—

“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.

“A truly amazing scene: the B’hàgirat’hí or Ganges flows out from under a very low arch at the foot of the grand snowpack. The river is flanked on both sides by high snow and rocks; but directly ahead, over the Debouche, the mass of snow is completely vertical; and from the riverbed to the top, we estimate the thickness to be just under three hundred feet of solid frozen snow, likely built up over ages; it is in layers several feet thick, each seemingly the remnants of a snowfall from a separate year. From the edge of this curious snow wall, right above the outlet of the stream, large, weathered icicles hang down; they form from the melting snow water at the top, since the sun is strong during the day, and the water that results cascades over this spot, but freezes at night. The Gangoutrī Brahmin who traveled with us, and who is just a simple mountain dweller, remarked that he thought these icicles must be Mahádéva’s hair, from which, as he understood from the sha’stra, the Ganges flows. I can't think of a place that could more fittingly be called Cow’s Mouth than this remarkable Debouche.

“We were surrounded by gigantic peaks, entirely cased in snow, and almost beyond the regions of animal and vegetable life; and an awful silence prevailed, except when broken by the[265] thundering peals of falling avalanches. Nothing met our eyes resembling the scenery in the haunts of men; by moonlight all appeared cold, wild, and stupendous, and a Pagan might aptly imagine the place a fit abode for demons. We did not even see bears, or musk deer, or eagles, or any living creature, except small birds. The dazzling brilliancy of the snow was rendered more striking by its contrast with the dark blue colour of the sky, which is caused by the thinness of the air; and at night the stars shone with a lustre which they have not in a denser atmosphere.” “It falls to the lot of few to contemplate so magnificent an object as a snow-clad peak rising to the height of upwards of a mile and a half, at the horizontal distance of only two and a half miles.”

“We were surrounded by towering peaks, completely covered in snow, and almost beyond the realms of animal and plant life; and an eerie silence hung in the air, only interrupted by the[265] thundering sounds of falling avalanches. Nothing in sight resembled the landscapes familiar to humans; by moonlight, everything looked cold, wild, and breathtaking, and a pagan might well think this place was suited for demons. We didn’t even see bears, musk deer, eagles, or any living creature, except for a few small birds. The dazzling brightness of the snow was even more striking against the dark blue of the sky, a result of the thin air; and at night, the stars shone with a brilliance that they lack in denser atmospheres.” “Few are fortunate enough to witness such a magnificent sight as a snow-covered peak reaching over a mile and a half high, only two and a half miles away.”

“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.”

“She is called Ganga because she flows through the land; she is called Jahnavi, named after a hot-tempered Hindu saint; she is called Bhagirathi, after the royal devotee Bhagiratha, who, through intense and austere devotion, brought her down from heaven to earth, where she then went to the underworld to revive the ashes of his ancestors. Lastly, she is called Triputhaga because she moves in three different directions, nourishing the three worlds—heaven, earth, and the underworld—and filling the ocean, which, according to Brahmanical mythology, though dug out before her arrival, was empty of water.”

Hurdwar, at which place the Ganges issues on the plains, is put down on the map.

Hurdwar, where the Ganges flows onto the plains, is marked 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.

The unpassable snowy deserts and rocky terrains in these high areas are what stop travelers from moving straight from one spot to another. As a result, it takes eleven days to travel from Gangotri to Kedarnath, and about seven or eight days to get to Badrinath from there.

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.

On the map, a stunning range of mountains now appears, capped by Jaunti Peak at 21,940 feet; next is Sir Kanta, followed by the pass of Bamsera.

JUMNOTRĪ.

Bandarponch is 23,916 feet above the sea, and the Peaks of[266] Jumnotrī, 20,120. Jumnotrī itself, the source of the Jumna, is marked below in the map at the elevation of 10,849 feet.

Bandarponch is 23,916 feet above sea level, and the Peaks of[266] Jumnotrī, 20,120 feet. Jumnotrī itself, which is the source of the Jumna, is shown on the map below at an 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.”

At Jumnotrī, the snow that covers and hides the stream is about sixty yards wide, bordered on both sides by towering granite cliffs. It measures forty feet five and a half inches thick and has fallen from the cliffs above. In front, roughly five hundred yards away, the base of the Jumnotrī mountain rises steeply, covered in snow and ice, completely blocking off the head of the gorge where the Jumna river begins. Captain Hodgson mentions, “I was able to measure the thickness of the snow over the stream very precisely, using a plumb line dropped through one of the holes caused by the steam from many boiling springs at the edge of the Jumna.” The extensive range of springs is located in the dark crevices and snow caves. It is said that these hot springs originated from, “the spirits of the Rikhs, or twelve holy men, who followed Mahadēo from Lunka to the Himalaya (after the tyrant Rawan took over), inhabit this rock and worship him continuously. People come here to bathe, the Brahmān says prayers, collects his offerings, and marks the pilgrims with the sacred mud from the hot springs. Out of respect, people remove their shoes long before they reach Jangotrī, and there’s no shelter for them at night. Jumna prefers simple worship at the foot of her own natural shrine and has prohibited the building of temples in her honor.”

Noble rocks of varied hues and forms, crowned with luxuriantly dark foliage, and the stream foaming from rock to rock, form a foreground worthy of Jumnotrī. When Mahadēo retired from Lunka, disgusted with the rebellion of his son Rawan, the tyrant and usurper of Lunka, he formed Kylās, or the Himalaya range, for his retreat; and Soomeroo Purbat, or Roodroo Himālā, with its five peaks, rugged and inaccessible as it is, for his own dwelling. The Bhagiruttee and Alacknunda are there said to have sprung from the head of Mahadēo. Twelve holy Brahmāns, denominated the twelve Rikhs, left Lunka in search[267] of Mahadēo, and penetrated to Bhyramghattee, where the J’hannevie meets the Bhagiruttee, but could not find him. Eleven of them, in despair, went to Cashmire, but the twelfth, named Jum-Rekhī, remained at Bhyramghattee, sitting on a huge rock in the course of the stream Bhagiruttee, which, instead of flowing on as usual, was absorbed in the body of the saint and lost, while the J’hannevie flowed on. The goddess of the stream (Bhagiruttee) herself was at Gungotrī, worshipping Mahadēo, and making her prostrations on the stone on which the present temple is founded. When she felt the course of the stream was stopped, she went in wrath to Bhyramghattee, clave Jum-Rekhī in two, and gave a free passage to the river. One-half of the Rekhī she flung to the westward, and it became the mountain Bandarponch: from his thigh sprang the Jumna, and from his skull arose the hot springs of Jumnotrī. They still show the large rock which the Rikh sat upon, and which was divided in two by the same fatal cut. It is a very large block of granite, which appears to have fallen from the cliff, above the point of union of the two rivers, and is curiously split in two.

Noble rocks of different colors and shapes, topped with thick dark foliage, and the stream rushing over the rocks, create a stunning view worthy of Jumnotrī. When Mahadēo left Lunka, frustrated with his son Rawan, the tyrant and usurper of Lunka, he created Kylās, or the Himalaya range, as his retreat. He chose Soomeroo Purbat, or Roodroo Himālā, with its five peaks, rough and hard to reach, as his personal dwelling. It is said that the Bhagiruttee and Alacknunda originated from Mahadēo's head. Twelve holy Brahmāns, known as the twelve Rikhs, left Lunka looking for Mahadēo and made their way to Bhyramghattee, where the J’hannevie meets the Bhagiruttee, but they couldn’t find him. Eleven of them, in despair, went to Cashmire, but the twelfth, named Jum-Rekhī, stayed at Bhyramghattee, sitting on a massive rock in the stream of Bhagiruttee, which instead of flowing normally, was absorbed into the saint's body and vanished, while the J’hannevie continued on. The goddess of the stream (Bhagiruttee) was at Gungotrī, worshipping Mahadēo and bowing on the stone where the current temple stands. When she noticed the stream’s flow was blocked, she angrily rushed to Bhyramghattee, split Jum-Rekhī in two, and cleared a path for the river. One half of the Rekhī was thrown westward, becoming the mountain Bandarponch; from his thigh sprang the Jumna, and from his skull came the hot springs of Jumnotrī. They still show the large rock that the Rikh sat on, which was split in two by the same fatal strike. It’s a huge block of granite that looks like it rolled down from the cliff above where the two rivers meet and is oddly split in half.

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.

The name Bandarponch specifically refers to the tallest peaks of this mountain. Jumnotrī relates to the sacred site where people worship the goddess and perform rituals for purification.

Frazer, speaking of a glen about three days’ journey from Jumnotrī, says, “Having reached the top of the ascent, we looked down upon a very dark and deep glen, called Palia Gadh, which is the outlet to the waters of one of the most terrific and gloomy valleys I have ever seen. It would not be easy to convey by any description a just idea of the peculiarly rugged and gloomy wildness of this glen: it looks like the ruins of nature, and appears, as it is said to be, completely impracticable and impenetrable. Little is to be seen except dark rocks, wood only fringes the lower parts and the water’s edge: perhaps the spots and streaks of snow, contrasting with the general blackness of the scene, heighten the appearance of desolation. No living thing is seen; no motion but that of the waters; no sound but their roar. Such a spot is suited to engender superstition;[268] and here it is accordingly found in full growth. Many wild traditions are preserved, and many extravagant stories related of it. On one of these ravines there are places of worship, not built by men, but natural piles of stones, which have the appearance of small temples. These are said to be the residence of the dewtas, or spirits, who here haunt and inveigle human beings away to their wild abodes. It is said that they have a particular predilection for beauty in both sexes, and remorselessly seize on any whom imprudence or accident may have placed within their power, and whose spirits become like theirs, after they are deprived of their corporeal frame. Many instances were given of these ravishments: on one occasion a young man, who had wandered near their haunts, being carried in a trance to the valley, heard the voice of his own father, who some years before had been thus spirited away, and who now recognized his son. It appears that paternal affection was stronger than the spell that bound him, and instead of rejoicing in the acquisition of a new prey, he recollected the forlorn state of his family deprived of their only support: he begged and obtained the freedom of his son, who was dismissed under the injunction of strict silence and secrecy. He, however, forgot his vow, and was immediately deprived of speech; and, as a self-punishment, he cut out his tongue with his own hand. This man was said to be yet living, and I desired that he should be brought to me; but he never came, and they afterwards informed me that he had very lately died. More than one person is said to have approached the spot, or the precincts of these spirits, and those who have returned, have generally agreed in the expression of their feelings, and have uttered some prophecy. They fall, as they say, into a swoon, and between sleeping and waking hear a conversation, or are sensible of certain impressions, as if a conversation were passing which generally relates to some future event. Indeed, the prophetic faculty is one of the chiefly remarkable attributes of these spirits, and of this place. The awe, however, which the natives feel of this place is great and remarkable. The moment that Bhisht and Kishen Sing came in sight of the place, they commenced[269] prostrations, and the forms of worship, with many prayers and much apparent fervency, to the spirits of the glen. They assert that no man ever ascended the valley to any considerable height; and that natural, as well as supernatural, obstacles are too great to be overcome; that of the few who have attempted it, none ever returned, or ever enjoyed his reason again: and I believe that the former of these obstacles may be nearly paramount, for a survey with the glass showed the difficulty to be at least very great; and certainly, ascending the hill to the top would be altogether impossible.”

Frazer, talking about a glen about three days' journey from Jumnotrī, says, “After reaching the top of the climb, we looked down into a very dark and deep glen called Palia Gadh, which leads to one of the most terrifying and gloomy valleys I have ever seen. It's hard to accurately describe the uniquely rugged and gloomy wildness of this glen: it looks like nature's ruins and is said to be completely impossible to navigate or enter. Little can be seen except dark rocks, with trees only lining the lower parts and the water's edge: perhaps the patches and streaks of snow, contrasting with the overall darkness of the scene, amplify the sense of desolation. No living thing can be spotted; there’s no movement except for the waters; no sound except their roar. This place is perfect for fostering superstition; and indeed, that belief thrives here. Many wild traditions are preserved, and countless extravagant stories are told about it. On one of these ravines, there are places of worship, not made by humans, but natural piles of stones that look like small temples. These are believed to be the homes of the dewtas, or spirits, who lure humans away to their wild abodes. They’re said to have a special preference for beauty in both men and women, and they mercilessly seize anyone whom carelessness or chance may have put in their reach, whose spirits become like theirs after they lose their physical bodies. There are many stories of these abductions: once, a young man who wandered near their haunts was carried off in a trance to the valley, where he heard the voice of his father, who had been spirited away years before, and who now recognized his son. It seems that paternal love was stronger than the spell that held him, and instead of being thrilled at the chance to acquire a new victim, he remembered the desperate state of his family, left without their only support: he pleaded and got his son released, who was sent back with a strict order of silence and secrecy. However, he forgot his vow and immediately lost his ability to speak; as a form of self-punishment, he cut out his own tongue. This man was said to be still alive, and I asked for him to be brought to me; but he never came, and later I was told that he had recently died. More than one person is said to have gotten close to the area of these spirits, and those who returned generally agreed in expressing their feelings and shared some kind of prophecy. They say they fall into a stupor, and between sleeping and waking, they hear a conversation or have certain impressions, as if a discussion is taking place about some future event. Indeed, the ability to prophesy is one of the most notable attributes of these spirits, and of this place. The fear that the locals feel for this place is profound and striking. As soon as Bhisht and Kishen Sing caught sight of the area, they began prostrating themselves and performing rituals, with many prayers and much evident sincerity, to the spirits of the glen. They claim that no man has ever climbed the valley to any great height; that both natural and supernatural barriers are too significant to overcome; that of the few who have tried, none have returned, or ever regained their sanity: and I believe that the first of these obstacles is nearly insurmountable, for a closer look showed the difficulty to be at least very great; and most definitely, scaling the hill to the summit would be completely 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.

There are said to be four peaks that make up the top of Bandarponch, and in a hollow area between them, tradition places a lake or tank of unique sacredness. No one has ever seen this pool because no one has ever tried to climb any of these massive peaks. Bandarponch means “monkey’s tail.” It’s said that Hŭnoomān, after defeating Lunkā, or Ceylon, in the form of a monkey, set that island on fire using flammable material tied to his tail. Fearing the flames would reach him, he planned to dip it in the sea (sumunder) to put it out; however, the sea protested, concerned about the impact on its inhabitants. So, Hŭnoomān plunged his burning tail into this lake, which has been known by that name ever since. The Zemindars claim that every year, in the month of P’hagun, a single monkey comes from the plains via Hurdwar and climbs to the highest peak of this mountain, where he stays for twelve months before returning to make space for another. However, his experience must be pretty awful and unwelcoming, as suggested by the nature of the place; he comes back in terrible condition, reduced to a skeleton and having lost his hair and much of his skin.

Nalāpanī and the level of the Dehra Dūn are marked in the map below the source of the Jumna.

Nalāpanī and the elevation of Dehra Dūn are indicated 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.

The Cone is a truly impressive peak; the heights of Parkyal and Kaldung stand out among the shorter mountains they dominate. The Nulgoon Pass is shown below them on the map.

[270]

Extracts from the papers.

Excerpts 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.”

“Height of the Himalayas.—The Great Trigonometrical Survey has measured the heights of the major peaks in the Himalaya range. The highest peak, believed to be the tallest point on Earth, is Kunchinginga, West Peak, at 28,176 feet; the East Peak is 27,825 feet. Here 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.”

“At a meeting of the Asiatic Society on November 6th, a paper by Colonel Waugh, the surveyor general, was presented, detailing the results of his efforts to measure the height of several Himalayan peaks near Darjeeling. Colonel Waugh seems to have successfully determined that the western peak of Cutchinchinga is 28,176 feet high, and the eastern peak is 27,825 feet—thereby asserting that this mountain holds the record for the highest elevation on Earth known to date. 1848.”

[271]

CHAPTER LVII.
Leaving the hills.

“HE ONLY IS DEAD WHOSE NAME IS NOT MENTIONED WITH RESPECT[33].”

“THE ONLY PERSON WHO IS TRULY DEAD IS THE ONE WHOSE NAME IS NO LONGER SPOKEN WITH RESPECT.”

“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.

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 about the War—The Lancers sent to Afghanistan—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 Brahmins—A Converted Hindu—Sneezing as 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.

1838, Sept. 8th.—I made plans with my relative to trek across the mountains to Simla, a journey of fifteen days from Landowr. I was eagerly looking forward to all the adventures ahead, including crossing the river in a basket hung on a rope stretched across the stream. However, he, an experienced mountaineer, wouldn’t let me start the journey until the khuds—which are unsafe during the rainy season and prone to causing fever—were safe to pass through. A friend had lent me a house for a few months beyond Simla, and I was keen to explore that area. In the meantime, we put together a group to check out the mountains behind Landowr, and I arranged to send my hill tents into the interior.

[272]

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.

In the evening, I was riding alone in Mussoorī when I ran into Captain L⸺. His manner was filled with embarrassment and distress, which surprised me. He separated from his group and led my pony away from the crowded path. Once we were alone, he told me that my beloved father had passed away. I hadn’t received any letters from home; this sad news had been known in Mussoorī for a few days, but no one had the courage to tell me. I felt so much pain reflecting on how I had delayed my return home for so long. Letters from Allahabad confirmed the tragic news, and my caring husband urged me to return to England immediately to see my remaining 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.

I remembered my tents and the people from the interior; and from that point on, thoughts of home and how long it would take to get from the Himalayas to Devonshire occupied my mind. It was decided that I would sail from Calcutta the following 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.

The weather had turned absolutely beautiful; the rain was gone, and the refreshing air filled the hills. I mostly spent my time alone, exploring the hills behind Landowr; and where is the sadness that isn’t eased and calmed by enjoying such scenery? The rain had cleared, leaving the air fresh and clear; the beauty of the Snowy Ranges, whose majestic peaks occasionally glowed with the rosy hues of summer twilight on their high summits—or those snowy peaks shining brightly above the clouds—was far more stunning than anything I’d ever seen before the rain left.

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 at the outline of the highest peaks of the Himalayas, and imagine their grandeur and beauty, which can’t be fully appreciated in the company of others or during a lively gathering. Aim for the highest point of the solitary mountains and the shade of the deep forests, where the beautiful leaves are mixed with majestic pines, evergreen oaks, and vibrant rhododendrons. In solitude, take in 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[273] near to break the reverie: look on those mountains of eternal snow,—the rose-tints linger on them, the white clouds roll below, and their peaks are sharply set upon a sky of the brightest, clearest, and deepest blue. The rushing wing of the black eagle—that “winged and cloud-cleaving minister, whose happy flight is highest into heaven,”—may be heard above. The golden eagle may be seen below, poised on his wing of might, or swooping over a precipice, while his keen eye pierces downward, seeking his prey, into the depths of the narrow valley between the mountains. The sweet notes of the Hill birds are around you; and the gay butterflies, enamoured of the wild flowers, hover over their blossoms.

“Take a moment to connect with yourself and find peace.” Let no one be[273] near to disturb your thoughts: gaze at those mountains of eternal snow—the rose hues linger on them, the white clouds roll below, and their peaks stand sharply against a sky of the brightest, clearest, and deepest blue. You can hear the swift wing of the black eagle—that “winged and cloud-cleaving messenger, whose joyful flight reaches the highest heaven”—above you. The golden eagle can be seen below, hovering on his mighty wings or diving over a cliff, while his sharp eye searches downward, hunting for prey in the depths of the narrow valley between the mountains. The sweet songs of the hill birds surround you, and the colorful butterflies, enchanted by the wildflowers, flutter over their blossoms.

Who may describe the solitary loveliness, the speaking quietude, that wraps these forest scenes? Who may tell how beautiful they are? Who that loves solitude does not enjoy the

Who can capture the lonely beauty, the silent calm that surrounds these forest scenes? Who can explain just how beautiful they are? Who loves solitude that doesn't appreciate 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?

Who can look away from the snow-capped peaks that top the eternal Himalayas? Who can gaze without joy at the majestic mountains that send the Ganga and Yamuna flowing from their icy 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,[274] and enjoy those solemn feelings of natural piety with which the spirit of solitude imbues the soul.

There, immerse yourself in serious reflection and vivid dreams, while “every sight and sound from the wide earth and surrounding air” sends its best feelings to your heart: look at those rocks and snowy peaks that no ordinary person has ever walked on, which the fading rose-tints leave in a cooler majesty,[274] and embrace those deep feelings of respect for nature that the spirit of solitude fills your soul with.

“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.”

“People say that enthusiasm is fleeting; life would be too joyful if we could hold onto such beautiful emotions; but it’s precisely because they fade so easily that we need to focus on preserving them.”

“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.

Gazing at the Snowy Ranges, Mont Blanc seems insignificant next to the height of the eternal Himalayas.

12th.—Anxious to attain a stock of health, to enable me to bear my homeward journey, I commenced early rising, and was daily on my gūnth at 5 A.M.; it was very cold in the early morning, so much so that I often preferred walking. Captain Sturt, who is an excellent draughtsman, promised me a sketch of the Hills ere my departure; this pleased me greatly, as, perhaps, there is no country of which it is more difficult to give a correct idea than that around Landowr. Two fine eagles were brought to me, a golden and a black one; these I added to my collection,—rather large birds to carry, but I shall have so much luggage, it matters but little, a few chests more or less; every thing belonging to the mountains is so interesting. These birds are continually seen, especially at the back of Landowr. A pair of the Loonjee, the red, or Argus pheasants of the Himalaya, have been given me: the bird has a black top-knot, and the neck below has a most peculiar skin over it; beyond which are crimson feathers, bright as gold; the breast is covered with feathers, half red, half black, and in the centre of the black,[275] which is at the end of the feather, is a white eye. The feathers on the back are of a game brown, tipped with black, in which is also the white spot: these birds are very rare and very valuable. I also received a fine hawk, and some small birds of brilliant feather: also the heads and horns of four gooral, the small wild deer of the Hills.

12th.—Eager to get in shape for my trip home, I started waking up early and was out on my gūnth by 5 A.M.; it was really cold in the mornings, so I often preferred to walk. Captain Sturt, who is a great artist, promised me a drawing of the Hills before I left; this made me very happy because it’s hard to accurately capture the beauty of the area around Landowr. I received two beautiful eagles, a golden one and a black one; I added them to my collection. They’re pretty big to carry, but with all my luggage, a few extra chests won’t matter much; everything related to the mountains is so fascinating. These eagles are often spotted, particularly behind Landowr. I also got a pair of Loonjee, the red or Argus pheasants from the Himalayas: one has a black top-knot, and the skin on its neck is quite unusual; beyond that are crimson feathers bright as gold. The breast is half red and half black, with a white eye at the end of the black section of the feather. The back feathers are a gamey brown, tipped with black, and they also have a white spot. These birds are really rare and valuable. Additionally, I received a fine hawk and some small birds with brilliant feathers, plus 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.

20th.—I first met Colonel Arnold from the 16th Lancers; we talked about the old regiment. Nothing makes me happier than the warmth and affection with which my relatives, who served in this brave corps, are remembered by the veterans of the 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.

22nd.—Still thinking about the Hill woman I spotted on our way back from the waterfall, I rode alone to Būttah, hoping to see her, but I was let down: on the way, my dog Sancho flushed a bunch of Kallinge pheasants; they took off with a phurr,—as the locals describe the sound a bird makes,—like a partridge or quail suddenly taking flight.

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:—

23rd.—Colonel Everest has a beautiful estate near Bhadráj, called “The Park;” I went over with a really nice group to have breakfast there this morning and to discuss some boundary issues, which we ended up leaving just as unresolved as before; it reminded me of 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.

Boundaries in the Hills are defined, not by landmarks, but by where the rain falls; for a divided mountain, all the land where the rainwater flows down on your side belongs to you, and on the other side, all the land where the water flows belongs to your neighbor.

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.

Colonel Everest is building a road—it's quite a technical project; the challenges to overcome are significant—smoothing out rocks and filling in ravines. The Park is the best property 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.

25th.—I was lucky enough to get camels and sent my luggage from Rajpūr in time for the animals to go back to Meerut to be ready to march with the army gathering for Afghanistan.

[276]

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.

26th.—A stable worker accidentally caught my stables on fire while cooking his dinner. Inside were five ponies: the soldiers from the Lancers and Buffs, who were stationed a bit higher up the hill, rushed over right away; they managed to save the ponies, but the stable, made of bamboo, mats, and straw, was completely burned down. A few days later, our house also caught fire; fortunately, the men, always alert, quickly extinguished it.

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.

29th.—After confirming that the water in the Keeree Pass had gone down and that it had been open for three days, we decided to leave Landowr for Meerut. So, with a dāk and horses arranged for us, our group went down to Rajpūr this morning. It was a lovely ride, but when we reached the base of the Hill, the heat became quite uncomfortable—what a sudden shift from the cold breezes and fires to the hot winds we felt at Rajpūr, where we took shelter at Mrs. Theodore’s hotel. She has stuffed birds for sale; her Moonāl pheasants are quite expensive, priced at sixteen rupees per pair, but they’re not considered as well done as those of Mr. Morrow, the steward at the hospital. Since our group was too large to travel dāk together, it was decided that I would lead the way, with Captain L⸺ as my escort. At 4 PM, we got into our palanquins and started the journey: crossing the Deyra Dhoon was extremely hot, and the sides of the palanquin felt almost scalding. As the sun set, we entered the Keeree Pass, where I found the air very chilly; it struck me so cold that I got out of the palanquin, planning to walk a bit. The Pass is the dry bed of a mountain torrent, surrounded by tall cliffs and lush trees and vines; a stream occasionally crosses the road. During part of the year, it’s impassable, but with the water receded, the road had been open for three days.

It was a beautiful night, and a beautiful scene; I enjoyed it extremely, and walked some distance, aided by my long paharī pole. Wishing my escort to partake in the pleasure to be derived from such romantic and picturesque scenery, I asked him if he would walk. He partially opened the doors of his palanquin, and looking out, expressed his astonishment at the[277] madness of my walking in the Pass; said the malaria was so great he had shut the doors of the palkī, and lighted a cigar to secure himself from its influence, begged I would get into my palanquin, and keep the doors closed as long as I was in the Pass. I followed his advice, but the moonlight night often tempted me to open the doors, and I became completely ill at times from the chill that fell upon my chest, like the deadly chill of a vault, in spite of having wrapped myself up in a blanket. At first I was unwilling to attribute it to the effect of the air of the Keeree Pass, but having arrived at the end of it, these uncomfortable feelings instantly disappeared.

It was a beautiful night and a stunning scene; I enjoyed it immensely and walked quite a distance with the help of my long staff. Wanting my escort to also enjoy the romantic and picturesque surroundings, I asked him if he would like to walk. He partially opened the doors of his palanquin, looked out, and expressed his surprise at my walking in the Pass, saying the malaria was so intense that he had shut the doors of the palkī and lit a cigar to protect himself from its effects. He urged me to get into my palanquin and keep the doors closed while I was in the Pass. I followed his suggestion, but the moonlit night often tempted me to open the doors, and I occasionally became sick from the chill that enveloped my chest, like the deadly cold of a tomb, even though I had wrapped myself in a blanket. At first, I was hesitant to believe it was due to the air of the Keeree Pass, but as soon as I reached the end of it, those uncomfortable feelings immediately vanished.

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.

An example of the dangers of the Pass is that Mrs. T⸺ was held up for two hours at the entrance because there weren’t enough bearers—she caught a fever and died. The wife of the behishti, who was with our servants, was stuck in the same place—she also caught the fever, and it killed her. Spending just one night in the Pass puts you at a pretty high risk of getting fever, maybe even dying: there’s something in the air that almost forces you to sleep. I struggled to keep my eyes open, even when I was in pain from the chill sickness that had overtaken me: I thought of Corinne and the Pontine Marshes, where she could barely resist the urge to sleep, even knowing it could mean death. After leaving the Pass, we entered the plains, where the sun was blazing hot—what a fierce heat it was! We didn’t reach Dēobund, where we planned to take shelter, until noon the next day; I felt sick and faint from the extreme heat and was very relieved to finally have a roof over my head.

30th.—At 4 P.M. our palanquins were ready; getting into them was like going into an oven. We had taken the precaution of having no dinner during the heat of the day; in the cool of the evening refreshment was welcome, in the shade of the jangal by the road-side. The bearers were good, and at 2 A.M. we arrived at the spot, to which a buggy had been sent, and horses laid on the road: how gladly I left the hot palanquin for the cool air in the buggy! The roads were so bad, they were absolutely dangerous, and the moonlight so puzzling, we could not see the holes into which the buggy was continually going bump bump, to the[278] infinite hazard of breaking the springs; nevertheless, we arrived in safety at Meerut.

30th.—At 4 P.M., our palanquins were ready; getting into them felt like stepping into an oven. We made sure not to have dinner during the hottest part of the day; the cool evening breeze was a welcome relief as we rested in the shade of the jangal by the roadside. The bearers were reliable, and by 2 AM, we reached the location where a buggy had been sent, with horses ready on the road. I was so relieved to leave the hot palanquin for the refreshing air in the buggy! The roads were in such poor condition that they were truly dangerous, and the moonlight made it confusing; we could barely see the holes that the buggy kept hitting, bumping continuously and risking breaking the springs. Despite that, we made it safely to 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.

Oct. 2nd.—The first thing I needed was to have a nice ride in the plains after being stuck riding a gūnth for so many months in the Hills. In the evenings, the Lancers' band was a nice attraction; they played well, and the instruments were good. The band joined us on the “Marchioness of Ely,” and I recognized some familiar faces among them. Worried about facing the extreme heat in a boat at this time of year, and hearing that cholera was present at some of the stations along the river, I decided to extend my stay in 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.

8th.—I went with Colonel Arnold and Sir Willoughby Cotton to watch a review of the 16th Lancers; I was really impressed by the review and the great look of the soldiers.

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.

10th.—Visited the tomb of Jaffir Sāhib again—one I really admire because the dome is open at the top, allowing the dew and sunlight to touch the marble sarcophagus that holds the ashes of the saint. A tomb like this is better than sad flowers or offerings of cypress wreaths; a place sheltered only by the sky would be what a pilgrim wishes for as their eternal resting spot. It’s a ruin now, but it must have once been a stunning structure.

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.

Returning home, we saw two chiri-mārs (bird-catchers). They trap birds in a unique way: they carry a kind of shield made of lightweight split bamboo covered with green branches; they crouch down, holding this leafy shield in front of them like a stalking horse, while also using a very long, thin bamboo stick with bird-lime on the end. They touch a small bird with this stick and then carefully pull it back to the branches, reaching through the shield to secure their catch. This method of bird-catching is simple and clever; I had never seen it before.

What vicious brutes the native horses are!—In the evening I was riding on the course with two gentlemen: Captain A⸺’s horse, a vicious, intemperate, great black animal, attacked mine, and lashed out most furiously. I threw my feet on my horse’s mane: luckily for me they were out of the way in time, for the[279] horse’s heels cut through my habit, and would have broken my limbs had I not been sitting monkey fashion.

What vicious brutes the native horses are! In the evening, I was riding on the track with two guys: Captain A's horse, a nasty, unruly, large black animal, attacked mine and kicked out fiercely. I threw my feet onto my horse’s mane; luckily, I got them out of the way just in time, as the[279] horse’s hooves tore through my riding habit and would have broken my legs if I hadn't been sitting like a monkey.

My companions were alarmed:—“My God, he has broken her legs!” was the first exclamation, followed by a laugh on seeing my position, and “at least if he has not kicked your habit, he has a habit of kicking.” The escape pleased me, and I refused to ride again in company with so dangerous a horse. He was a fine strong animal, and carried his gallant master nobly through all the hardships of the ensuing Afghānistan campaign. The country horses are horribly savage, and a frightful accident occurred at Allahabad. Serjeant Percival, who was riding with Serjeant Cunningham, dismounted to drink at a well, giving his horse to a cooly to hold; the horse broke from the cooly and attacked Serjeant Cunningham; tore his hand severely, broke his leg in several places, pulled him off his horse, shook him as a dog does a rat, knelt upon him, and tore him with his teeth: at length the horse was driven off, and the serjeant was carried to a hospital, where he died a few hours afterwards. When the 16th Lancers first arrived at Cawnpore, the privates as Waterloo men considered themselves superior to the 11th Dragoons, and when a man of the latter ventured to differ in opinion with the former, he was cut short by “When were you at Waterloo?” The enmity occasioned by this was done away with one day on parade. A Lancer, who was riding a vicious country horse, was thrown; the beast knelt upon the man and bit him fiercely. The Lancers looked on with astonishment; the 11th Dragoons, accustomed to such little accidents, had recourse to bamboos; they drove the horse away, and as one of them picked up the mangled Lancer, “Did you ever see the like of that at Waterloo?” said the Dragoon.—Thus was harmony established between the privates of the two regiments. The Lancers have a very good theatre: the plays are encouraged by the officers, and the privates have the whole management of it: the scenes, which are painted by the men, are very well done; their acting is good, and the band a great addition. The privates performed the “Iron Chest,” and “The Middy Ashore:” the delight of the men, and the enthusiastic manner in which they applauded their comrades,[280] when any thing pleased them, was quite amusing. After the play, the performers came forward, and sang “God save the Queen.” By way of adding to the effect, on either side the stage was placed a Lancer in full uniform, leaning on his sword, with his lance in one hand. This was a fancy of the privates. The two men might have stood for pictures of manly beauty; their attitudes were excellent, the effect was good, and their comrades were so much delighted, they gave them a round of applause. The management of a theatre is an excellent occupation for soldiers in a hot climate.

My friends were shocked: “Oh my God, he’s broken her legs!” was the first reaction, followed by laughter at my situation, and “at least if he didn’t kick your habit, he has a habit of kicking.” I was relieved to escape, and I refused to ride with such a dangerous horse again. He was a strong animal and carried his brave rider well through all the challenges of the upcoming Afghanistan campaign. The local horses are incredibly wild, and a terrible accident happened in Allahabad. Sergeant Percival, who was riding with Sergeant Cunningham, got off to drink at a well and handed his horse to a cooler to hold; the horse broke free and attacked Sergeant Cunningham, severely injuring his hand, breaking his leg in multiple places, pulling him off his horse, shaking him like a dog shakes a rat, kneeling on him, and biting him. Eventually, the horse was driven away, and the sergeant was taken to a hospital, where he died a few hours later. When the 16th Lancers first arrived in Cawnpore, the privates, as Waterloo men, thought they were better than the 11th Dragoons, and whenever a man from the latter disagreed with one of the former, he was cut off with, “When were you at Waterloo?” This rivalry was resolved one day during a parade. A Lancer, who was riding a nasty local horse, was thrown; the horse knelt on him and bit him fiercely. The Lancers watched in disbelief; the 11th Dragoons, used to these little accidents, grabbed bamboos, drove the horse away, and as one of them picked up the injured Lancer, he said, “Did you ever see anything like that at Waterloo?” — and thus harmony was restored between the privates of the two regiments. The Lancers have a really nice theater: the plays are supported by the officers, and the privates manage it all: the sets, which are painted by the soldiers, are very well done; their acting is good, and the band adds a lot. The privates performed “The Iron Chest” and “The Middy Ashore;” the joy of the men and the enthusiastic way they cheered for their comrades when something impressed them was pretty funny. After the play, the performers came forward and sang “God Save the Queen.” To add to the effect, on either side of the stage stood a Lancer in full uniform, leaning on his sword, with his lance in one hand. This was a creative touch by the privates. The two men could have been models of manly beauty; their poses were great, the effect was nice, and their comrades were so pleased that they gave them a round of applause. Managing a theater is a great way for soldiers to spend their time 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.

13th.—This morning while crossing a stream on an outing to find some beautiful scenery, my horse stepped into a hole, and we almost fell into the water together. I let the horse take charge and waited patiently to see what he would do. He managed to get us out, but I ended up completely soaked, and he strained his back leg while getting to 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.

17th.—Colonel Arnold hosted a farewell party for his friends at Meerut. The Lancers are set to leave for Afghanistan on the 30th. His house is designed to his liking: from the outside, it looks like Hindu temples added to a bungalow; however, the effect is appealing. The interior is quite unique. The shape of the rooms is unusual; the white marble lattice work between them, along with the stained glass in the windows and above the doors, adds an Eastern charm of beauty and novelty. Fire balloons were released, fireworks were displayed; the band was excellent, and the party was filled with excitement.

18th.—The evening after this fête, during the time Colonel Arnold was at dinner, and in the act of taking wine with Sir Willoughby Cotton, he burst a blood-vessel on his lungs, and was nearly choked. Medical aid was instantly called in; he was in extreme danger during the night, and was bled three times. A hope of his recovery was scarcely entertained: never was more interest or more anxiety felt by any people than by those at Meerut for Colonel Arnold. He had just attained the object of his ambition, the command during the war of that gallant regiment the 16th Lancers; and he was beloved both by the officers and the men. At 3 A.M. he parted with the guests in his ball-room[281] in high health and spirits: at seven that evening he lay exhausted and apparently dying. When at Waterloo he was shot through the lungs, and recovered. It was one of those remarkable instances of recovery from a severe gun-shot wound, and as that had gone through the lungs, the breaking of the blood-vessel was a fearful occurrence.

18th.—The evening after the party, while Colonel Arnold was having dinner and toasting with Sir Willoughby Cotton, he burst a blood vessel in his lungs and almost choked. Medical help was called immediately; he was in serious danger throughout the night and was bled three times. There was little hope for his recovery: the people of Meerut felt more concern and interest for Colonel Arnold than anyone could imagine. He had just achieved his dream of commanding the brave 16th Lancers during the war and was loved by both the officers and the troops. At 3 A.M., he bid farewell to the guests in his ballroom[281] full of health and high spirits; by seven that evening, he was exhausted and seemingly dying. When he was shot through the lungs at Waterloo, he made an incredible recovery. That incident was a remarkable example of surviving a severe gunshot wound, so the burst blood vessel was a dire situation.

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.

21st.—Colonel Arnold is still in serious danger, but his friends remain hopeful for his recovery. Two field officers came by to say goodbye. I asked, “What’s this war really about? Are we worried that the Russians and Persians will push us into the sea?” Colonel Dennie replied, “The Government must have very strong reasons that we don’t know about; it’s ridiculous to think that could be the reason for the war. Why send us there? Let them wear themselves out trying to come to us; we can get there easily enough, but how will we get back? We might be wiped out completely.” His companion agreed, and this was the general sentiment among the military men I knew. The old 16th left Meerut on October 30th. There has never been a finer group of men. Their route is planned across a desert, where they will have to carry all the water they need for themselves and their animals in skins for three days. Why they’ve been ordered to take such a route is something only the secret and political department can explain—the soldiers wonder if it’s to show them up. There’s another road that’s said to be good, so it’s hard to understand why they're taking them across the desert to Shikarpore.

My boats being ready at Ghurmuktesur Ghāt, I started dāk to join them; on my arrival a fine breeze was blowing, a number of vessels of every description were at anchor; the scene was picturesque, and my people were all ready and willing to start. Messrs. Gibson and Co. of Meerut have furnished me with two large flat-bottomed country boats, on each of which a house is built of bamboo and mats, which is well thatched; the interior of the one in which I live is divided into two large rooms, and has two bathing-rooms; the floor is of planks, covered with a gaily-coloured sutrāengī, a cotton carpet; and the inside is fitted up with white cloth—sometimes the rooms are fitted up with the[282] coloured chintz used for tents. The other large boat contains the servants, the horses, and the dogs. The sort of boat generally used for this purpose is called a surrī, which is a patelī that draws very little water, and is generally rowed from the top of the platform above the roof, on which the dāndīs live.

My boats were ready at Ghurmuktesur Ghāt, so I set out to join them. When I arrived, a nice breeze was blowing, and there were all kinds of vessels anchored. The scene was picturesque, and my crew was all set and eager to get going. Messrs. Gibson and Co. from Meerut had provided me with two large flat-bottomed boats, each featuring a house constructed of bamboo and mats, well thatched. The interior of the boat I live in is divided into two large rooms and has two bathing areas; the floor is made of planks covered with a brightly colored sutrāengī, a cotton carpet, and the inside is decorated with white cloth—sometimes the rooms are fitted with the colored chintz used for tents. The other large boat is for the servants, horses, and dogs. The type of boat typically used for this purpose is called a surrī, which is a patelī that draws very little water and is usually rowed from the top of the platform above the roof, where 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.

23rd.—Left Ghurmuktesur Ghāt as soon as I could see the river ahead and avoid the sandbanks. At 3 PM, the thermometer read 82°, which felt really oppressive for someone just coming from the Hills. We got stuck on a sandbank and walked with the dogs until ten at night, when I went to sleep and dreamed of thieves, since this part of the Ganges is dangerous, and I have no guards on the boats. I bought enough fish from a fisherman on the bank for myself and the whole crew, making it a feast for us all, which felt like a stroke 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.”

Taking a walk with the dogs reminds me of the kennel I had in the Hills, and of Khobarah, the amazing dog from the Himalayas. His previous owner shared this story with me: “One night, while I was sitting in my tent with the dog at my feet, a drunk man stumbled in and started talking to me. His voice was loud and angry. The dog immediately grabbed him by the throat, took him down, and held him there. He didn’t hurt the man; I guess the dog thought I was in danger since it was night. He let go as soon as I told him to.”

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.”

I gave this dog to a family member when I left the Hills, asking him to keep the dog chained up until they got to know each other and became friends. A week later, my relative came to me, very amused, and said, "The moment your dog was unchained, he took over the porch of my house. He's pacing back and forth, getting more and more agitated; he's keeping us all away, and I can't get inside. Maybe when he sees you, he'll calm down and let me go in for breakfast."

In 1844, Khobarah, the Hill dog, was still in prime health, taking care of the cows at night at Cloud End, near Landowr. The fate of my dog Sancho was pitiable: he was in the Hills[283] with a small spaniel I had given my relative,—a sharp cry from the dog brought the gentleman to the door; a short distance from the house he saw the spaniel in the mouth of a leopard, who carried him down the khud. Sancho was on the ground, having had his side cut open by a blow from the paw of the wild beast; the poor dog crawled to the feet of my friend, he took him up, and tried in vain to save his life—poor Sancho died.

In 1844, Khobarah, the Hill dog, was still in great health, taking care of the cows at night at Cloud End, near Landowr. My dog Sancho had a tragic fate: he was in the Hills[283] with a small spaniel I had given to my relative—when the dog let out a sharp cry, the gentleman rushed to the door; a little way from the house, he saw the spaniel in the mouth of a leopard, which carried it down the slope. Sancho was on the ground, having been slashed open by a strike from the wild beast’s paw; the poor dog crawled to my friend’s feet. He picked 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!”

A litter of spaniel puppies once put me in a tough spot: a friend helped me decide. “It’s just as much a duty to tailor a dog’s tail to its breed as it is to remove the extra teeth of a young Christian.” This answer regarding the puppies' tails needs to be sent immediately, or else they might get too used to having a full tail, which they should lose about three-quarters of an inch from. The goal with a spaniel isn’t really to shorten the tail, but to get rid of the thin, fish-hook look of the natural tail. There’s no need to feel sad about this tough love for the pups; don’t mourn for them! At their age, pain fades right after it happens, and if, as some crying philosopher noted, “There’s no pleasure like a sudden relief from pain,” then the cutting and cauterizing will be good for the little dogs. The price of a gūnth ranges from sixty to a hundred rupees: a decent Almorah gūnth can go for a hundred sixty, or even a fancy three hundred rupees. Common gūnths are used to fetch water from the khuds, but the treacherous nature of the mountain paths often leads them to fall over cliffs and get killed. The only animals suited for this kind of work are mules, which can be bought at the Hurdwar fair for a reasonable price. The lovely gūnth Motī, whom I mentioned before, was sent for an urgent task to fetch water from the khud: on the way back with heavy water bags, he fell and was smashed in the khud below—smashed! That word isn’t my choice but rather something I picked up from others, and it sounds as shocking as a phrase I once used, “knocked over by a buffalo!”

This is too technical and gentlemanlike an expression; in[284] such cases one should sacrifice brevity in favour of the “I hope you may obtain it style,” (i.e. the feminine of “I wish you may get it,”) and say, you will be thrown down or hurt by a buffalo’s running against you. The rules of female education, both of the governess and of after life, prevent a lady’s knowing whether such an out-of-door animal as a buffalo attacks people with his head or tail, and a lady should betray no nearer acquaintance with the horrible creature than that implied in the form of speech above appointed for adoption. Our language affords a table-land of communication between lady and gentleman, where the technical difficulties on either side the hill are out of sight. If the lady is to speak of a fashion she will leave out scientific terms, as will the gentleman if he is talking of a race; and I see no objection to the language of the man and woman being exactly similar. Any affectation, such as extreme delicacy and timidity, is vulgar, and suited to novel-reading ladies’ maids and milliners’ apprentices. Every term or word turned from its common and general meaning to a particular meaning, is what I consider technical. Such are not only words employed in any art or science in a sense differing from their common acceptation, but, also, such words used in an uncommon sense by a particular set of people, schoolboys, or fashionables. To “cut over with a stone” is a school expression, which of course cannot be referred to the general meaning of the words. Any thing being in good or bad taste is a technicality of good society. Some expressions of this nature, when original, are rather to be considered as bon-mots. Such as Sydney Smith’s saying that a clergyman next him at dinner had a ten-parson power of boring. To make use of French words, unless cleverly selected, comes under my ban, but the practice of good society is against me, I believe, in this. A schoolboy’s word like that of “being knocked over,” can be used with very good effect in fun. A lady may talk to a man of having a lark, or use any such word,—but it must not be used as her own word, but as if she were to say, “as you would call it.” I will give the rest of this essay another time, for fear of knocking over the patience of the dear ones around the hearth of my childhood’s home.

This expression is too technical and overly formal; in[284] such situations, one should prioritize a softer approach over brevity, using the “I hope you can achieve this” style (i.e., the feminine version of “I wish you could get it”) and say that you might be knocked down or hurt if a buffalo runs at you. The rules of women’s education, both from governesses and throughout life, keep a lady from knowing whether a buffalo attacks people with its head or tail, and a lady should not show more familiarity with this terrifying animal than what is suggested in the recommended expression. Our language provides a common ground for communication between men and women, where the technical difficulties on either side are out of view. When a lady discusses fashion, she'll avoid technical terms, just as a man will when talking about a race; I see no issue with the language used by men and women being exactly the same. Any pretense like excessive delicacy and shyness is tacky and fits only the maids of romance-reading women and milliners' apprentices. Any term or word that's shifted from its general meaning to something more specific is what I consider technical. These include not only words used in any art or science in a way that differs from their common meaning but also words used in an unusual way by specific groups, like schoolboys or trendy people. To “cut over with a stone” is a school term that clearly can't be linked to the general meaning of the words. Anything being in good or bad taste falls under the technicalities of high society. Some expressions of this kind, when clever, can be considered bon-mots, like Sydney Smith's remark that a clergyman sitting next to him at dinner had a ten-parson ability to bore. Using French words, unless chosen wisely, is something I disapprove of, but I believe the norm in good society contradicts me here. A schoolboy’s phrase like “being knocked over” can be used effectively in a humorous way. A lady might talk to a man about having a lark or use a similar term — but it shouldn’t be presented as her own, rather as if she were saying, “as you might say.” I’ll continue with the rest of this essay later, to avoid knocking over the patience of my loved ones around my childhood home’s hearth.

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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.

25th.—There’s a nice breeze—the horse boat just went by—one of the horses looked out the window and neighed loudly. I enjoy hearing a horse neigh: the poor guy would much rather be running with me on his back across the lush racecourse than be cooped up in the boat; still, both the horses eat, drink, and lie down to sleep like seasoned 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.

Another scorching day. My health must be pretty good to handle this heat without too much hassle! Being stuck on a boat is really annoying and uncomfortable; this quiet life after so much activity is enough to make me feel sick. I wish I were once again enjoying the morning breeze, riding against it! The early breeze on the river is damp and unhealthy, so I stay lazily on my charpāī until half-past 7 AM The banks are low and unattractive, the river wide and shallow, and filled with large sandbanks, which we navigate between.

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.

There isn't much here on this part of the river to entertain; now and then, a group of wild birds takes off from the sand, and alligators lounging in the sun look like pieces 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.

26th.—Today we’ve arrived in the area managed by Mr. H⸺ S⸺, and the village leader where we’ve anchored has come on board to offer his help in getting night watchmen, food for the horses, etc. All the way down, we’ve struggled over sandbanks in remote, wild places: it’s so nice to be done with the jungle! In this area, I feel at home, and the watchmen have come to secure the boats.

27th.—Arrived at Fathīgarh, and drove to the house of my relative; the grounds were just as beautiful, as full of flowers and flowering trees, and just as fresh as ever; the house cool and pleasant. On my return to my boat in the evening, I found the heat excessive, which, added to the bites of the musquitoes, kept me awake until 4 A.M., at which time the washermen came down to the river-side and made a great noise; their method of washing is to dip a garment into the water,[286] then to lay it on a piece of flat board and soap it, after which they whirl the garment above their heads, and down it comes on the flat board with a loud sound, to which is added a most peculiar noise, like a pavior’s grunt, given by the dhobīs, when the garment strikes the board, as if the exertion exhausted them; this whirling and beating is continued for a short time, when the clothes are taken to the man’s house, put over a most simple steam apparatus, which completely cleans them, after which they are rinsed, dryed, and ironed.

27th.—I arrived at Fathīgarh and went to my relative's house; the grounds were just as beautiful, filled with flowers and flowering trees, and just as fresh as ever; the house was cool and pleasant. On my return to my boat in the evening, I found the heat overwhelming, which, combined with the mosquito bites, kept me awake until 4 AM. At that time, the washermen came down to the riverbank and made a lot of noise; their washing method involves dipping a garment into the water,[286] laying it on a flat board and soaping it up. Then, they whirl the garment over their heads, and it comes down onto the flat board with a loud thud, accompanied by a peculiar noise like a pavior’s grunt, made by the dhobīs when the garment hits the board, as if the effort exhausted them. This whirling and beating goes on for a short while, after which the clothes are taken to the man’s house, placed over a simple steam apparatus that cleans them completely, followed by rinsing, drying, and ironing.

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.

29th.—Left Fort Ghāt; after a strong run of forty miles, we anchored at Kanauj, where the locals cooked and had their dinners. After that, we let the boats float into the middle of the stream, drifting with the current as the people slept. However, their sleep was sometimes interrupted when the boat ran aground on a sandbank or the shore, waking them up to free it 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.

31st.—Arrived at Bitoor around breakfast; a big fair was taking place along the riverbank. We almost lost the horse-boat; a strong wind pushed the boats against a high bank that was crumbling away by the second. Just as the horse-boat collided with it, the bank collapsed; the chaprasī on deck quickly cut the towing-line with his sword, and the boat swerved away from the bank; it was filled with dirt and nearly capsized. The horses, feeling the violent rocking of the boat, neighed loudly several times, as if aware of the danger and eager to remind us of their presence. The boat eventually righted itself and was freed with some effort.

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.

On our arrival at Cawnpore, we were held up by the closed bridge of boats, which wouldn't open until noon the next day.

Nov. 1st.—Rose early, and went on shore to buy two toon-wood trees, and one of sāl. It is nearly noon; I wish the bridge of boats would open, and let us pass through; waiting on this hot sandbank is very tiresome, and the wind is favourable. I have had much plague with the mānjhī of the horse-boat; n’importe,—a lonely pilgrim must expect a little annoyance on the[287] road at times. At noon the bridge opened, and we passed through; anchored on the other side, to get the timber trees off the bank into the river. The sāl tree, very heavy wood, twenty-two cubits in length, and two feet six inches in diameter, was lying on a high pile of trees; with the greatest difficulty it was moved, it was so wedged in amongst the rest; about twenty men were in the river below the tree, pulling at a rope fixed to a beam as a lever; all of a sudden the tree got loose, and down it thundered, rolling over on its side into the river below. I am not a coward, but when I saw what appeared inevitable death to five or six of my own men, I covered my eyes with my hands, expecting to see them crushed to death, and lying under the tree in the water; however, the cry of “By the blessing of God and the mem Sāhiba’s good luck they have escaped,” was indeed welcome: they had all sprung aside quick as lightning, and not a man was hurt. We then proceeded down the river, taking our sāl tree, lashed to the side of my boat, which made her all on one side; therefore I purchased two toon-wood trees at another timber-yard, and lashed them on the other side, which righted the boat, the toon being lighter wood than the sāl: by the time this was over it was 8 P.M. I paid the men well who had worked so hard, and gave the crews of both boats sweetmeats enough to last for four days; all were in good humour, and I sought my couch completely fagged. But sleep was driven away by the musquitoes; I killed hundreds of the vile tormentors. Every night we drift down with the stream after the people have had their food on shore.

Nov. 1st.—I got up early and went ashore to buy two toon-wood trees and one of sāl. It’s almost noon; I wish the bridge of boats would open so we could pass through. Waiting on this hot sandbank is really tedious, and the wind is blowing in our favor. I've had a lot of trouble with the mānjhī of the horse-boat; n’importe—a lonely traveler has to expect a few annoyances on the road sometimes. At noon, the bridge opened, and we went through; we anchored on the other side to get the timber trees off the bank and into the river. The sāl tree, very heavy wood, was twenty-two cubits long and two feet six inches in diameter, lying on a high pile of trees. It was difficult to move because it was wedged among the others; about twenty men were in the river below the tree, pulling at a rope tied to a beam as a lever. Suddenly, the tree came loose, and down it crashed, rolling onto its side into the river below. I’m not a coward, but when I saw what looked like certain death for five or six of my men, I covered my eyes with my hands, expecting to see them crushed beneath 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 truly welcome: they had all leaped aside as quick as lightning, and not a single man was hurt. We then continued down the river with the sāl tree tied to the side of my boat, which made it unbalanced; so I bought two toon-wood trees at another timber yard and tied them on the other side to balance it out, since toon is lighter than sāl. By the time this was finished, it was 8 P.M. I paid the men well for their hard work and gave the crews of both boats enough sweetmeats to last four days; everyone was in a good mood, and I went to bed completely exhausted. But sleep was chased away by mosquitoes; I killed hundreds of those pesky little tormentors. Every night we drift down with the current after the people have had their food on shore.

4th.—On the top of the thatch of the house which is built on my boat, is a platform on which the people sit; when the wind is in a particular direction all that is said above is plainly heard in the cabin below. A most theological discourse has amused me for the last hour carried on between my khidmatgār, one of the Faithful, and a staunch Hindū, one of my chaprasīs. The question under consideration was, whether God made Hindūs or Musalmāns first; and whether you ought to say “By the blessing of Allah,” or “By the blessing of Vishnŭ.” These points the Musalmān undertook to explain. The questions of[288] the Hindū were simple, but most puzzling; nor could the man refrain from a laugh now and then, when some curious point of faith was explained to him by the follower of the prophet. It ended by the khidmatgār saying, “If you do not believe in Allah and the kurān, they will take you by that Hindū top-knot of yours, hold you by it whilst they fill your mouth with fire, and pitch you to Jahannam.” I laughed,—the people heard me, and being aware that their conversation was overheard, dropped the subject. The follower of Muhammad worked so hard and so earnestly to gain a convert, it was unfortunate his opponent should have been so utterly incapable of understanding what he considered the true faith.

4th.—On top of the thatch of the house built on my boat, there’s a platform where people sit; when the wind blows in a certain direction, everything said above can be clearly heard in the cabin below. I've been entertained for the last hour by a theological debate between my servant, a follower of Islam, and a devoted Hindu, one of my assistants. They were discussing whether God created Hindus or Muslims first, and whether you should say “By the blessing of Allah” or “By the blessing of Vishnu.” The Muslim took on the task of explaining. The Hindu's questions were simple but very puzzling, and he couldn't help but laugh now and then when the follower of the prophet clarified some curious point of faith. It ended with the servant saying, “If you don't believe in Allah and the Quran, they will grab you by that Hindu topknot of yours, hold you while they fill your mouth with fire, and throw you into Jahannam.” I laughed—everyone heard me, and realizing their conversation was overheard, they dropped the topic. The follower of Muhammad worked very hard and earnestly to win a convert; it was unfortunate that his opponent was so completely unable to understand what he believed to be 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 Muslims are eager for converts, while the Hindus neither try to convert others nor want to be converted themselves. Deism is the belief of well-educated Hindus; they leave idol worship to the lower classes. One evening, while talking with a woman, we heard the priest’s bell. She said, “I have to go—will you come with me?” So, we went into the small room where the idols were. They were lit up, and the Brahmins were present. The worship started, and I asked the woman, “Is it really possible for you to believe in the power of these bronze images, made by humans?” She replied, “I believe in one great and eternal God; as for those images, it's just the custom here to worship them; the lower classes believe in their power.” I asked, “Why do you participate in this puja?” She glanced at the Brahmins as if worried our conversation might be overheard and said, “Their power is significant; if I didn’t show up, it wouldn’t be long before…” She stopped talking and made a gesture across her throat with her finger that was quite telling. The conversation ended, and I noticed the Brahmins casting suspicious looks at both her and me.

The clergyman at Allahabad converted a Hindū to the Christian faith; consequently, the man became an outcast,—he could neither eat, drink, nor smoke with his own family; he complained to the clergyman, and was taken into service. His[289] attendance at church was constant. His patron died: the man was never seen afterwards at Divine Service. The newly appointed clergyman inquired the reason, and this answer was returned:—“I received eight rupees a month from your predecessor; if you will give me the same I will go to church every Sunday!”—So little did the man comprehend his adopted religion, or the kindness that induced the Clergyman to support him!

The clergyman in Allahabad converted a Hindu to Christianity; as a result, the man became an outcast—he couldn’t eat, drink, or smoke with his own family. He complained to the clergyman and was hired to work for him. His[289] attendance at church was regular. When his patron died, the man was never seen again at church. The new clergyman asked why, and the response was, “I received eight rupees a month from your predecessor; if you give me the same, I’ll come to church every Sunday!”—This showed how little the man understood his new faith or the kindness that led 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.

Passed Manucpūr with a nice breeze and a strong current in our favor; we stopped below Kurrah, where people were cooking on the shore. As soon as the moon was high, we turned the boat into the current and let it drift. The helmsman ties the rudder in the center and usually lies down to sleep beside it; if the boat runs aground, he wakes up in surprise. We drifted all night under the moonlight; at one point, I suggested we anchor, but the bank kept collapsing so dangerously that we had to leave 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.

Just as we arrived at the bank to dock, the men suddenly pushed the boat back into the water, saying, “Someone has sneezed, so we can’t anchor here right now.” A few moments later, they anchored. They are superstitious about sneezing, and by waiting a while, they think the bad luck will fade. “After sneezing, you can eat or bathe, but you shouldn’t go into anyone’s house[36]:” because it’s seen as a sign of bad 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.

A nice breeze is picking up; we're close to home, and they'll be expecting the wanderer's return. We're off Papamhow; the river is really shallow and wide. We passed the ghāt and stopped to let the people have their dinners. I thought about continuing by moonlight, but I was convinced not to by the fishermen on the banks, who warned that it would be very dangerous to go on then since the current was pretty strong and the water was shallow downstream.

6th.—Arrived at Raj-ghāt, at which place the carriage was waiting for me; but I found it impossible to reach the ghāt, the[290] force of the current drove us off; therefore, taking the crew of the horse-boat to aid our own, we dropped down into the Jumna below the Fort; in doing this, we ran against another vessel, and did our own some damage. At this moment we are making our way slowly and with difficulty up the stream against the current of the Jumna, just below the Fort; the view is interesting, and the pilgrim will reach the landing-place, below her own old peepul-tree, within an hour. I have at this moment but little energy left wherewith to pursue my homeward voyage, but my promise is yours, my beloved mother, and your child would not disappoint you for all the wealth of Ormus or of Ind. She who ventures on the waters must take patience, and await the good pleasure of the wind and tides; but there is the Fort and the great Masjid, and the old peepul-tree, and the mem sāhiba’s home, and the chabūtara[37] on the bank of the river, which is crowded with friends on the look out for the pilgrim, and ready to hail her return with the greatest pleasure.

6th.—I arrived at Raj-ghāt, where the carriage was waiting for me; however, I found it impossible to reach the ghāt because the strength of the current pushed us away. So, we took the crew of the horse-boat to help our own and drifted down the Jumna below the Fort. In the process, we collided with another vessel and damaged our own. Right now, we’re slowly and with difficulty making our way upstream against the current of the Jumna, just below the Fort. The view is captivating, and the pilgrim will reach the landing place beneath her old peepul tree within an hour. At this moment, I have very little energy left to continue my journey home, but my promise is yours, my beloved mother, and your child wouldn’t let you down for all the wealth of Ormus or Ind. She who sets out on the waters must be patient and wait for the winds and tides to be in her favor; but there’s the Fort, the grand Masjid, the old peepul tree, the mem sāhiba’s home, and the chabūtara[37] on the riverbank, which is filled with friends eagerly awaiting the pilgrim’s return and ready to greet her with joy.

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CHAPTER LVIII.
LEAVING 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.

1838, Nov.—When I first arrived in Allahabad, I thought I would never finish all the arrangements needed before my trip to England; I had so many farewell visits to make with my old friends and so many preparations for the journey. Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī was still in Allahabad, and she sent for me. Since one of the Italian greyhounds Captain Osborne had given me had died, I took the other two and gave them to the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, as the young princess had expressed a desire to have one. I also gave her a black terrier and one of King Charles’s spaniels.

One day a Mahratta lady came to my house, riding, en cavalier, on a camel, which she managed apparently with the greatest ease; she told me her Highness requested I would call immediately upon her. On my arrival in camp, after the ceremony of meeting had passed, the Bāiza Bā’ī said, “You are going to[292] England,—will you procure for me three things? The first is, a perfectly high caste Arabian mare; secondly, a very, very little dog, just like a ball, covered with long hair, perfectly white, and having red eyes; and thirdly, a mechanical figure, that, standing on a slack rope, with a pole in its hand, balances itself, and moves in time to the music that plays below it.”

One day, a Mahratta lady came to my house, riding like a knight on a camel, which she handled with apparent ease. She told me that her Highness requested that I come to see her right away. When I arrived at the camp, after the usual greeting, the Bāiza Bā’ī said, “You are going to [292] England—will you get three things for me? First, a perfectly high-caste Arabian mare; second, a very tiny dog, about the size of a ball, covered in long hair, completely white with red eyes; and third, a mechanical figure that, standing on a loose rope with a pole in its hand, balances itself and moves in time with the music playing 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 thought about fairy tales where people set off to explore the world for amazing wonders, and I felt just as confused as any old knight faced with a fairy's orders. The Bā’ī added, “You know a good Arab; I trust your judgment in choosing. They say the little dogs come from Bombay: you can bring them all back with you on the ship.”

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.

I told her Highness that there were very few Arabs in England; that in her Majesty’s collection there were some, gifts from Eastern Princes, who were unlikely to part with their most prized possessions: that I didn’t think an Arab mare was available in the country. As for the little fluffy dog with the red eyes, I would look into it: and the mechanical figure could be sourced from Paris.

A few days after this visit one of her ladies called on me, and the following conversation ensued:—

A few days after this visit, one of her friends came to see me, and the following conversation took place:—

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.”

Mahratta Lady—“You’re going to England—you’ll be gone for eighteen months or two years—have you sorted out all your household stuff? You know how much I care about your well-being; I hope you’ve made the right arrangements.”

I assured her I had.

I told her I did.

“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?”

“Yes, yes, regarding the household, that’s all fine; but what about your husband? What plans have you made? It’s customary for us Mahrattas that if a wife leaves her husband, she chooses another woman to stay with him while she’s away—have you chosen someone?”

“No,” said I, with the utmost gravity; “such an arrangement never occurred to me;—will you do me the honour to supply my place?”

“No,” I said seriously; “I never thought of that arrangement; will you do me the honor of taking my place?”

She laughed and shook her head. “I suppose you English[293] ladies would only select one wife; a Mahratta would select two to remain with her husband during her absence.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I guess you English[293] ladies would only choose one wife; a Mahratta would choose two to stay with her husband while she’s away.”

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.

I explained to her what the English thought about these topics: our ideas seemed as unusual to her as hers did to me; and she said she was saddened that I would leave out what they regarded as a responsibility.

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.

27th.—I visited the former Queen of Gwalior to say goodbye. The sweet old lady was very sad to see me go—tears streamed down her cheeks, and she hugged me repeatedly. I genuinely felt sorrow at parting with her Highness, with whom I had spent so many enjoyable hours, fascinated by the local life and traditions, as well as their religious rituals. The next day she hosted a farewell dinner for me, which is a tradition to show appreciation for a departing friend. I enjoyed some Mahratta dishes, adjusted to my taste by leaving out musk and assafœtida; the food was great. As usual, the meal ended with pān, atr, and rose-water.

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.

Those women who are kind enough to support and educate the orphan children of locals are sometimes surprised by strange events. Recently, a woman at this station married one of her orphans to a drummer in the 72nd regiment and gave twenty rupees as a dowry; the man was drunk for about a week. Two weeks later, he handed his wife over to another drummer, and a month after that, he came back to the woman, saying, “If you don’t mind, Ma’am, I’d like to get married again.” “But, John Strong, you were married just a few days ago!” “Yes, Ma’am, but I gave her to my friend.” Imagine the woman's shock and horror! John Strong then left and told his officers that he felt he had been treated very unfairly. The man was a mixed-race Christian, and the girl was a converted local.

The famine in the north-western provinces has been occasioned by the almost entire failure of the usual rains. Government has done much in giving employment to those who can work, and food and medical aid to the sick; and more than a lākh of rupees has already been raised by private subscription on our side of India, and they are subscribing for the same purpose[294] very liberally in the Bombay Presidency. Allahabad luckily has escaped, but every sort of grain is very dear, and large farm-yards like ours are somewhat costly. During the time of the famine the natives sold their children in order to save their lives; and large numbers of the unfortunate Būndelās, the natives of Būndel-khand, arrived at Allahabad, famished and dying; subscriptions were raised, and the poor wretches were supported by charity. A most excellent and religious lady at the station proposed sending to the up-country, where the famine raged the most severely, and purchasing ten young girls; these girls she undertook to bring up in the Christian religion, to teach them reading, writing, and needlework, and on their attaining a suitable age, to put them into service as ayahs to European ladies. The ladies at the station entered into her plans, and I agreed to buy and support two girls as my share. A calculation was then entered into as to the expense that would be incurred; I told her, “The other day, a Būndelā woman came to my door with twins in a basket, which she offered for sale for two rupees! I was greatly surprised; the little naked creatures sprawling in the basket were in good condition, but their mother was a skeleton. ‘Two rupees!’ said I, ‘that is a high price; I will give you one rupee for the twins, if you give me the basket into the bargain.’ The poor woman, delighted at having found a purchaser on any terms, laid her children at my feet, and making many salāms, thanked me for having saved them from death. I took them into the room where my husband was sitting, and laid them on the table as a present for him: he laughed, and gave me some money for the woman. I returned the twins, and sent her to the place where the Būndelās are supported by the contributions of the station.”

The famine in the north-western provinces has been caused by the nearly complete failure of the usual rains. The government has done a lot to provide jobs for those who can work, and food and medical aid to the sick. More than a lakh of rupees has already been raised through private donations on our side of India, and contributions are being made for the same purpose[294] very generously in the Bombay Presidency. Fortunately, Allahabad has escaped the worst, but all types of grain are very expensive, and large farms like ours are somewhat costly. During the famine, many locals sold their children to survive; large numbers of the unfortunate Būndelās, from Būndel-khand, arrived in Allahabad, starving and on the brink of death. Donations were gathered, and these poor souls were supported by charity. A very kind and religious woman at the station suggested sending help to the areas where the famine was the worst, and purchasing ten young girls. She planned to raise them in the Christian faith, teach them reading, writing, and needlework, and then, when they were old enough, help them find work as ayahs for European ladies. The women at the station embraced her idea, and I agreed to buy and support two girls as my contribution. We then calculated the expenses it would involve; I mentioned, "Recently, a Būndelā woman came to my door with twins in a basket, which she offered for sale for two rupees! I was quite surprised; the little naked babies in the basket were in decent shape, but their mother looked like a skeleton. 'Two rupees!' I said, 'that's a steep price; I'll give you one rupee for the twins, if you throw in the basket.' The poor woman, thrilled to find a buyer at all, placed her children at my feet and, bowing multiple times, thanked me for saving them from death. I took them into the room where my husband was sitting and laid them on the table as a gift 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 station’s donations.”

Having heard this history, my friend wrote to a clergyman up the country, who purchased for us ten girls, all under eleven years of age, and sent them down; the market for children was looking up; he charged us the enormous price of ten rupees apiece! They were placed in a comfortable house, with a school-mistress to instruct them; every care was taken of them, and the ladies of the station attended the school, and superintended[295] their morals. It certainly flourished to a very great degree; they studied the commandment, “increase and multiply and replenish the earth,” with so much assiduity, that in a short time all the little girls were in a fair way of becoming mammas;—a circumstance perfectly inexplicable, unless they had eaten the seeds of the peepul-tree:—a peasant girl in Hampshire declared the same effect was produced by eating water-cresses. It was an annoying failure, that experimental school of ours. Speaking to an officer in the 16th Lancers, of the care that had been taken of these girls, of the religious instruction that had been bestowed upon them, and the disheartening finale of our charitable labours, he said, “In that dreadful famine hordes of wretched famished Būndelās flocked into Cawnpore, and very liberal subscriptions were collected to feed them; great numbers, however, perished from hunger, and mothers offered their children for sale for one rupee each: several were bought by very well-intentioned persons, to be educated, and converted to Christianity. Some little time after the Būndelās had disappeared from the station, I happened to be dining with an old friend, who, in the evening, asked if I would accompany her in her drive to the bungalow where these children were being educated to form ladies’ maids, as she had a favour to ask of me, that I would that evening stand godfather to twenty-two of these children; I declined the honour, and some months afterwards heard that these children would shortly require godfathers and godmothers for their own offspring, should they bring them up as Christians.”

Having heard this story, my friend wrote to a clergyman in the countryside, who bought ten girls for us, all under eleven years old, and sent them down; the demand for children was rising; he charged us the steep price of ten rupees each! They were placed in a nice house with a schoolmistress to teach them; every care was taken of them, and the ladies in the area attended the school and oversaw their morals. It definitely thrived to a very large extent; they studied the commandment, “increase and multiply and replenish the earth,” with such dedication that soon all the little girls were on their way to becoming mothers—something completely baffling, unless they had eaten the seeds of the peepul tree: a peasant girl in Hampshire claimed the same effect was caused by eating watercress. Our experimental school was an annoying failure. Talking to an officer in the 16th Lancers about how much care had been taken of these girls, the religious education they received, and the disappointing end of our charitable efforts, he said, “During that terrible famine, crowds of starving Būndelās came to Cawnpore, and a lot of money was raised to feed them; however, many still died from hunger, and mothers offered their children for sale for one rupee each: several were bought by well-meaning people to be educated and converted to Christianity. A little while after the Būndelās had left the station, I was having dinner with an old friend, who later asked if I would join her in driving to the bungalow where these children were being trained to become ladies’ maids, as she had a favor to ask of me, that I would stand as godfather to twenty-two of these children that evening; I turned down the honor, and a few months later I heard that these kids would soon need godfathers and godmothers for their own children, in case they raised them 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.

The huge pillar lying flat near the entrance gate of the Fort at Allahabad is going to be placed on a pedestal, on a raised platform of steps, topped with a reclining lion. Colonel Edward Smith has been given the task of overseeing the work. The locals refer to it as Bhīm Singh kí lāt—which means Bhīm Singh's walking stick. The barber, whom I asked about it, says he was a great wrestler; beyond that, I don't know more.

Seneca says, “It is harder to judge and examine than to take opinions upon trust; and therefore the far greater part of the[296] world borrow from others those which they entertain concerning all the affairs of life and death.” In the present instance, like the world in general, I take my opinion of the pillar upon trust, and firmly believe in all the barber asserts; more especially, as some of the inscriptions on the lāt are in unknown characters; those of the mighty dead, who have disappeared from the earth, leaving records imperishable but incomprehensible. The Bāiza Bā’ī was very anxious to erect this pillar at her own expense, and I believe made the offer to the Lieutenant-Governor. She also wished to build a fine ghāt at the Trivenī, which, in conjunction with the magnificent one she was then building at Benares, might have carried her name to posterity.

Seneca says, “It’s harder to judge and analyze than to just accept opinions from others; and so the vast majority of the[296] world borrow the views they have on all matters of life and death.” In this case, like most people, I accept the barber’s opinion about the pillar without question, fully believing everything he claims; especially since some of the inscriptions on the lāt are in symbols I don’t understand; they belong to the great dead who have vanished from the earth, leaving behind records that last forever but are beyond comprehension. The Bāiza Bā’ī was very eager to build this pillar at her own expense, and I believe she offered to the Lieutenant-Governor. She also wanted to construct a beautiful ghāt at the Trivenī, which, together with the impressive one she was building in Benares, could have immortalized her name.

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.

28th.—My friend Mrs. B⸺ and her four kids arrived; she will join me on my trip to Calcutta, and I received a Manis 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.

Dec. 1st.—We left Allahabad and headed down the river, stopping to say goodbye to friends along the way. In Mirzapore, I was given the head of a ravine deer. Near Patna, a bunch of arwarī fish were brought over for breakfast; they were tasty. We had the rest smoked with shakar and chokar—that is, coarse sugar and wheat bran. No one should miss out on this budget-friendly treat—smoked arwarī are amazing.

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.”

17th.—Both boys were very sick with fever, so we rushed to get medical help. That night, as Mrs. B⸺ was leaving my boat to go to hers, the plank tipped over, and she fell into the river; it was waist-deep; the night was dark, and the current was strong; she was saved when a bearer caught her gown as she was sinking; luckily, the bearer was nearby, carrying a lantern. The others were on the shore having dinner, which they had just cooked. I called out to the dāndīs for help, but not one of them moved; they were only six yards away and saw her fall into the river. I scolded them angrily, and they coolly replied, “We were eating our dinner, what could we do?” Locals are indifferent to everything except money and khānā-pīnā—that is, “food and drink.”

[297]

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.

18th.—To prevent a repeat of yesterday's accident, we tied our boats together this evening. I went to check on my friend’s boat to see how the poor boys were doing; they were in a delirious state. When I returned, I didn’t notice that my boat’s hold was open. The shadows fooled me in the dim light, and thinking I could leap from my friend's railing onto my own deck, I took a small jump and ended up falling straight down into the hold. I fell sideways with my waist over a beam, and for a moment, the impact knocked the breath out of me. There I dangled, like the sign of the golden fleece. People rushed to help me and pulled me back up; it was lucky that the beam stopped me from falling further. I was drenched with hot water and thoroughly massaged with dēodar oil, which effectively relieved the pain and stiffness.

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.

19th.—We anchored at Monghir and sent to the Sītā Khūnd, where we collected a good amount of water to use on the ship. That bright, beautiful, sparkling water from Sītā’s well lasts forever; we were smart 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.

The interview between Runjeet Singh and the Governor-General took place—it must have been quite a sight; if I weren't going to England, I would have witnessed the meeting. Miss Eden gave Runjeet Singh a portrait of the Queen that she painted herself.

Extract from a letter dated December 3rd, 1838.

Extract from a letter dated December 3, 1838.

“I will endeavour to give you some idea of what is going forward in the grand army of the Indus. The day after our arrival Lord Auckland held a durbār, at which Runjeet Singh paid his visit; my squadron was on escort duty, so that I saw nothing, and was nearly crushed by the line of elephants. I heard two guns were drawn up in one of the tents to be presented to the Maharāj; between them shrapnell shot were piled so awkwardly, that Sir Henry and Runjeet stumbled over them, and very nearly pitched on their noses, and this will doubtless be considered a bad omen. On the 30th Lord Auckland returned the visit; our Regiment and the 2nd Cavalry formed the escort: we crossed the Sutlej over a bridge of boats to the Seik encampment, where 40,000 men are collected. The disposition[298] of Runjeet’s troops was most judicious; the road was first lined with his regular cavalry, tall men, but miserably mounted; these were all dressed in scarlet, and looked tawdry and ridiculous: at the termination of this line of cavalry, which extended about a quarter of a mile, was a sandbank sufficiently high to obstruct all further view, except of the Zamburuks, who were placed on the elevation, and fired a salute from their camels as the Governor-General passed. Having ascended the bank, the view was indeed magnificent, and I question if such a pageant has been seen since the decline of the Moguls. The road was now lined with infantry to the arch leading to Runjeet’s tents, and before which the Maharāj’s line of elephants was drawn up magnificently caparisoned. The infantry were dressed in scarlet, with red turbans, three deep on one side, and two deep on the other: these are the tallest body of men I ever saw. I think in the front rank there could not have been a man under six feet, and several must have been four and six inches higher; some of the standard-bearers were perfect giants in height, the officers were superbly dressed, and I saw more than one wearing pearl epaulets. Only think of that; for the life of me I could not help wishing to let the right squadron amongst them for one little half hour. In the centre of this line of infantry, extending more than a quarter of a mile, the Governor-General and Runjeet met, and, after embracing, proceeded to the durbār. Having passed through the arch, we found ourselves in an enclosure formed by khanāts of about four acres, and in this Runjeet’s body-guard were assembled, dressed in new Kincab dresses, and as magnificent as silk, and gold, and embroidery, and sumptuous arms could make them. The tents were beautiful, made of the finest fabric of Cashmere, and such as could only belong to the lord of that enchanting valley. Runjeet differed much in appearance from what I had been led to expect. He is a little man, and appeared less from being seated between two such very tall men as Lord Auckland and Sir Henry Fane; he is very dark for a Seik, his face is rather full than otherwise, his beard grey, but far from white, the expression of his countenance is that of great cunning and intelligence, and constantly varying;[299] and if you did not know his character, I think you would say there was no outward sign of determination.

“I will try to give you an idea of what’s happening in the grand army of the Indus. The day after we arrived, Lord Auckland held a durbār, during which Runjeet Singh paid a visit; my squadron was on escort duty, so I didn’t see anything and nearly got crushed by the line of elephants. I heard that two cannons were set up in one of the tents to be presented to the Maharāj; between them, shrapnel shot was piled so awkwardly that Sir Henry and Runjeet tripped over them and nearly fell flat on their faces, which will surely be seen as a bad omen. On the 30th, Lord Auckland returned the favor; our Regiment and the 2nd Cavalry formed the escort: we crossed the Sutlej over a bridge of boats to the Sikh encampment, where 40,000 men had gathered. The arrangement of Runjeet’s troops was quite clever; the road was first lined with his regular cavalry, tall men, but poorly mounted; they all wore scarlet uniforms and looked gaudy and ridiculous: at the end of this line of cavalry, which stretched about a quarter of a mile, was a sandbank high enough to block any further view, except of the Zamburuks, who were positioned on the elevation and fired a salute from their camels as the Governor-General passed. Climbing up the bank, the view was truly magnificent, and I doubt such a spectacle has been seen since the decline of the Moguls. The road was now lined with infantry leading to the arch that led to Runjeet’s tents, in front of which the Maharāj’s line of elephants was displayed most impressively adorned. The infantry wore scarlet with red turbans, three deep on one side and two deep on the other: these were the tallest men I’ve ever seen. I think there couldn't have been a man in the front rank under six feet tall, and several must have been four to six inches taller; some of the standard-bearers were towering giants, the officers were beautifully dressed, and I saw more than one wearing pearl epaulets. Just imagine that; I couldn’t help but wish to let the right squadron mingle among them for just a half hour. In the center of this line of infantry, extending over a quarter of a mile, the Governor-General and Runjeet met, and after embracing, they moved on to the durbār. After passing through the arch, we found ourselves in an area enclosed by khanāts of about four acres, where Runjeet’s bodyguard was gathered, dressed in new Kincab outfits, as splendid as silk, gold, embroidery, and exquisite arms could make them. The tents were gorgeous, made from the finest fabric of Cashmere, something only suited for the lord of that enchanting valley. Runjeet looked very different from what I had expected. He is a small man, and he seemed even smaller sitting between two such tall men as Lord Auckland and Sir Henry Fane; he is very dark for a Sikh, his face is round rather than thin, his beard is grey but not completely white, and the expression on his face shows great cunning and intelligence, constantly changing; and if you didn’t know his character, you might think 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!

“Runjeet was the only plain-dressed man in his court; he wore a dark red outfit and turban, without any jewels or ornaments, while his nobles were decked out in stunning armor and were literally sparkling with jewels, and oh! the shawls! No lady patron of Almack’s could have ever dreamed of such a collection. Among the gifts Runjeet has given to Lord Auckland is a gold bed—may he sleep on it as well 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.

“We just got back from a huge review of all the troops for Lord Auckland and Runjeet; it was impressive, I hear, and we really excelled in a charge—Shavash! Shavash! Cawnpore is just a wet field compared to this place, the clouds of dust would be unbelievable if we didn't know we were moving into Dust Mohamed’s territory."

“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.

“This time next week, it’s rumored, we’ll continue our march, but there aren’t any supplies along the way for us. Shah Sūjah’s Contingent has moved ahead, and I fully expect to see them return one morning with at least a bit of trouble. No one knows what to do; only the first division under Sir W. Cotton is moving forward, while the second stays here as backup. Nobody seems to think there will be any fighting, but we’ll march down to Shikarpore, and, I assume, after securing safe and free navigation of the Indus, we’ll go through Candahar if the ruler of Cabul doesn’t listen to our Government’s reasoning.

“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.

“The crowd at the durbār I mentioned earlier, which happened on the 30th, was overwhelming, and the bandmaster, who must have been a jokester, played ‘We met, ’twas in a crowd;’ and this was definitely the best moment of the visit from the Lion of the Punjab and the Governor-General of India.”

“On returning from the durbār, Runjeet stopped at the flank of the troops lining the road, and had Major Pew’s camel battery paraded for his inspection, and he seemed much pleased with it. Major Pew may well be proud of having first adapted[300] the powers of the camel to the artillery service, for its success has exceeded the highest expectations that were formed of it. Several of Runjeet’s parade horses were drawn up opposite my squadron, they were all large, fat, northern horses, and appeared highly broke; they were most sumptuously caparisoned.

“On returning from the durbār, Runjeet stopped by the troops lining the road and had Major Pew’s camel battery paraded for his inspection, and he seemed very pleased with it. Major Pew has every reason to be proud of being the first to adapt[300] camels for artillery service, as its success has surpassed the highest expectations set for it. Several of Runjeet’s parade horses were lined up in front of my squadron; they were all large, well-fed northern horses and appeared highly trained; they were incredibly lavishly adorned.

“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.

“I forgot to mention that Major Pew’s camel battery came with us from Delhi. Four camels are hitched to each gun, using strong and well-made harness; and there was never any delay on the road. There's no doubt that camels are better for transport than bullocks; and in this country, unless very quick movements are needed, I believe they are better than horses. A driver sits on each camel; the animal needs relatively little care or training and can thrive on minimal food. It moves along at nearly—if not quite—four miles an hour, and the team can trot with a gun at eight, maintaining that pace for as long as needed.

“The guard I before mentioned at the gate of the durbār were superbly dressed in yellow silk (the favourite colour of the Seiks), some of them in curious and delicate chain armour, and all most sumptuously armed. There was some little difficulty in persuading this magnificent guard to allow us ingress; at length, however, this was permitted, and I found myself in a square of about four acres, artificially laid out as a garden with shrubs and flowers, which must have been brought from a considerable distance. This space was enclosed with canvas walls seven feet high, and in it were collected the body-guard, all armed with sword and matchlock, the stock curiously inlaid with gold, or silver, or ivory. There was no mistaking Runjeet Singh, from the loss of his left eye; he is not emaciated, as I had been led to expect, from debauchery; and has not the hooked nose usually found among the Seiks. The Lion of the Punjab was by far the most plainly-attired man in his court; he wore the same dress he appeared in when he visited Lord Auckland; he had not decked himself in any of the jewels of immense value which he has in his possession, and I was disappointed at not getting a glimpse of the Koh-i-Nūr, which he generally[301] exhibits on his person on great occasions. I fear Shah Sūjah has little chance of ever recovering this inestimable diamond,—who knows, in a few years, in whose possession it may be found? Shah Sūjah’s ancestors plundered it from the treasure of Nadir Shah after he was assassinated, and Nadir Shah extorted it from the great Mogul after the massacre at Delhi.

“The guard I mentioned earlier at the gate of the durbār was dressed in stunning yellow silk (the favorite color of the Sikhs), some of them wearing unique and delicate chain armor, and all were lavishly armed. There was a bit of a struggle to persuade this impressive guard to let us in; eventually, they allowed us access, and I found myself in a square about four acres in size, which had been artistically arranged as a garden with shrubs and flowers that must have been brought from quite a distance. This area was surrounded by seven-foot-high canvas walls, and within it were gathered the bodyguard, all armed with swords and matchlocks, the stocks intricately inlaid with gold, silver, or ivory. It was easy to recognize Runjeet Singh from the loss of his left eye; he is not the emaciated figure I had been led to expect due to excess; and he doesn’t have the hooked nose typically seen among the Sikhs. The Lion of the Punjab was dressed far more simply than anyone else at his court; he wore the same outfit he had on when he visited Lord Auckland; he had not adorned himself with any of the immensely valuable jewels he possesses, and I was disappointed not to catch a glimpse of the Koh-i-Nūr, which he usually displays on special occasions. I fear Shah Sūjah has little chance of ever getting back this priceless diamond—who knows whose hands it will be in a few years? Shah Sūjah’s ancestors took it from Nadir Shah’s treasure after he was assassinated, and Nadir Shah had extorted it from the great Mogul following 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.”

“Those at the Seik court who were allowed into the durbār were dressed in the most extravagant outfits, some in flowing yellow or bright red silk dresses, their kummerbunds always made of valuable Cashmere shawls; some wore highly polished cuirasses, and others displayed exquisite and shiny armor; and all appeared adorned with priceless jewels. I should mention that Runjeet has taken Cashmere from the rule of Cabul and will likely restore the unmatched valley to Shah Sūjah along with the Koh-i-Nūr; however, at the Seik court, under a tent made of enormous shawls, seemed to be gathered the finest textiles from that beautiful region; while all that stunning armor, priceless jewels, the richest silks, ornaments of pure and intricately crafted gold, shawls of the finest texture and most beautiful colors and patterns, and embroidery expertly done on velvet fabric were all in view. Even those in the entourage, who were too low-ranking to gain entry to the durbār or even to get close to those who attended, wore shawls so beautiful that they would have made our wealthiest ladies envious. Right in front of the Maharaj and Lord Auckland, the customary nāch was performed; the singer was adorned with jewels and wore a dark green dress, tastefully embroidered in silver, and she adjusted her voice enough to avoid being too unpleasant. The gifts were then distributed, and we took our leave. The Seiks, being a sensible people, never shave their faces and would almost as soon cut their throats as cut their beards. I didn’t make it back to my tents until late, but I returned very pleased with the stunning spectacle I had witnessed; it would be hard to imagine a more magnificent sight.”

My correspondent here mentions, that the presents given by[302] the Seiks were handed round on trays;—a far less military style than that adopted by the Rajpūt, whose shield always forms the tray which contains his offerings.

My correspondent here mentions that the gifts given by[302] the Sikhs were passed around on trays—a much less military style than that used by the Rajputs, whose shield always serves as the tray for their 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.

20th.—While exploring the hills, I had an accident and fell: as I was coming down a rock, my long silk dress got caught on a protruding part, and I was thrown down headfirst. Because of this, I made a dress that was better suited for such adventures, a black Paharī outfit that looked a bit like Turkish clothing. My fair companion really admired it and made one for herself in the same style; we completed our look with large round straw hats that resembled sailor hats: they were comfortable dresses for being by the river. My ayha, who came with me to the bazār last night, told me that the locals asked 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 said I was a man. She replied, “They are great thieves, and if they think you’re a man, they’re less likely to try to rob the boats.” I found her strategy amusing. The things I bought were definitely not feminine; I got sixty-five bamboos and some shot, and I supervised the repairs on a musket that needed some brass work.

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.

We’re currently surrounded by a lot of boats; the people on them are singing and playing all kinds of strange instruments; what a buzz and what a noise!—it will be pointless to try to rest until these restless souls 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.

22nd.—Off Pointy, where the river is fast and treacherous, we saw two ships that had just been wrecked. The landowner (the jamīndar) was salvaging the cargo from the wrecks; he keeps half as his share, while the shipowners get the rest.

25th.—A stormy day; during a lull we attempted to cross the river; half-way over a heavy wind rendered my boat unmanageable, and we were driven by the wind upon a clump of bamboo stumps that were just above water in the middle of[303] the stream: the crew were alarmed, and shouted “Rām! rām! āh’e Khudā! āh’e Khudā!” Fortunately, the boat being strong and new, she did not split open, and after a time we got her off again; the wind then drove us up a creek, and we lugāoed on a sandbank. The gale separated me from my fair friend, whose boat was driven to the opposite side of the river; her people were calling to know if I were safe; it was impossible to rejoin her; she heard the answering shouts of my men in the distance, and was satisfied. We were like the Brahmanī ducks, the chakwā chakwī, separated by the river, and calling through the live-long night “ā’o, ā’o,” “come, come.”

25th.—It was a stormy day; during a break in the weather, we tried to cross the river. Halfway across, a strong wind made my boat unmanageable, and we were pushed into a cluster of bamboo stumps that were barely above water in the middle of[303]the stream. The crew panicked and shouted “Rām! rām! āh’e Khudā! āh’e Khudā!” Luckily, the boat was sturdy and new, so it didn’t break apart, and after a while, we managed to get it off. The wind then pushed us up a creek, and we ended up stuck on a sandbank. The strong winds separated me from my lovely friend, whose boat was blown to the other side of the river; her crew was calling out to see if I was safe. It was impossible to reach her; she heard my men’s shouts in the distance and felt reassured. We were like the Brahmanī ducks, the chakwā chakwī, separated by the river, calling out all 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.

26th.—We anchored near the village of Downapūr, which had been washed away into the river during the last rains, as the force of the current had eroded its banks. My charming friend and I strolled in the beautiful moonlight by ourselves, dressed in our Paharī outfits and straw hats, to a nearby village. The women mistook us for cadets and ran away in a panic; it took us a while to convince an ugly old hag to talk to us. Eventually, we succeeded and bought a Bengalee goat and kid; the villagers were extremely scared of us, and we had to work hard to persuade them to bring the goats to the boat. They asked my companion where her regiment was stationed and assumed my wife was parda nishīn on board the boats. We didn't correct them about 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.

On my way back, I asked the guard on my boat, “What time is it?” The guy replied, “When Honey is directly above the mast, it’s midnight; it must be around eleven now.” His Honey refers to the three stars in Orion’s belt.

27th.—Anchored below Sooty on the Bhagirathī. I was awakened from my sleep at 10 P.M. by the servants saying my cook had been missing since 7 in the evening; his age is twenty; and he had never quitted the boats before. We looked over all the boats, and searched the jāngal for miles around, and we began to fear a tiger might have taken him off, knowing that gentlemen are in the habit of coming to this part of the country tiger-shooting. My friend became uneasy, and was anxious to go to[304] the opposite side of the river; to this I objected, offering to keep a bonfire blazing before the boats all night, but refusing to quit the spot until the boy’s fate was ascertained. At last he was discovered on the top of my boat, hanging over the side as if he had fallen there; on moving him he groaned as if in severe agony, and appeared senseless; his jaw was locked, his eyes were fixed, and turned up under the lids. The poor fellow had been exposed in this state to the dews of a Bengal night for three hours. They brought him into my cabin, he fell into the most violent convulsions, and appeared dying. All the remedies for fits were applied; we placed him in a warm bath; after three hours and a half his jaw relaxed, his eyes moved as if the pressure was off them, and being better, the servants carried him, still apparently senseless, into the cook-boat. I had been up with him four hours in a damp foggy night, anxious for his recovery; his father was our cook, and this young native had been with us eleven years under his father. Mrs. B⸺ said, “I heard a native hint to another that the boy is not in a fit; and I have heard natives will sham illness, and deceive any body.” I called a servant, and asked him if it were true. The man, standing on one leg, with the palms of both hands clasped together, said, “What can I say? will you forgive me? If you were my master I would tell you; but how can I utter such words of shame to my mistress? Say you will forgive me for uttering such words, and I will tell you, if you order me to do so.” He then related what had passed, and said, the boy, hearing himself called, became alarmed, hid himself, and, on being discovered, shammed illness.

27th.—We anchored below Sooty on the Bhagirathī. I was woken from my sleep at 10 PM by the servants saying my cook had been missing since 7 in the evening; he's twenty years old and had never left the boats before. We checked all the boats and searched the jāngal for miles around, and we started to worry that a tiger might have taken him since gentlemen often come to this area for tiger hunting. My friend got anxious and wanted to go to[304] the other side of the river; I disagreed, offering to keep a bonfire burning in front of the boats all night but refusing to leave until we knew what happened to the boy. Eventually, he was found on top of my boat, hanging over the side as if he had fallen there; when we moved him, he groaned as if in severe pain and seemed unconscious; his jaw was locked, his eyes were fixed and rolled back. The poor guy had been left in this state exposed to the cool dews of a Bengal night for three hours. They brought him into my cabin, and he went into violent convulsions, looking like he was dying. We tried all kinds of remedies for seizures; we put him in a warm bath, and after three and a half hours, his jaw relaxed, his eyes moved like the pressure was finally off, and feeling better, the servants carried him, still seemingly unconscious, into the cook-boat. I had been up with him for four hours in a damp, foggy night, worried about his recovery; his father was our cook, and this young native had been with us for eleven years under his dad. Mrs. B⸺ said, “I heard a native suggest to another that the boy isn’t having a seizure; and I’ve heard that natives fake illness and can deceive anyone.” I called a servant and asked if it was true. The man, balancing on one leg with his palms together, said, “What can I say? Will you forgive me? If you were my master, I would tell you; but how can I say such shameful words to my mistress? Say you’ll forgive me for saying this, and I will tell you if you order me to.” He then explained what happened, saying the boy, hearing himself being called, got scared, hid himself, and when discovered, pretended to be ill.

I desired the chaprasī to take a little riding whip in his hand, and accompany me into the cook-boat; the boy was better, but had not recovered from his fit,—the violent convulsions had gone off. I ordered the head man to cut off his hair, and apply leeches to his head; during the operation the itching of his head made him put up his hand and scratch it. I saw from his countenance he was angry, for the shaving of the head is, I believe, the sign of complete slavery with a native, and he found it difficult to sham illness. The operation over, the khalāsī gave him a sharp cut with the whip over his hand, desired him to[305] leave off shamming, and come on deck. Finding his imposition was discovered, he got up, and in the most impudent manner said, “What fault have I committed?—what have I done that is wrong?” When I told a chaprasī to take charge of him, and take him to the nearest magistrate, the cook fell at my feet, confessed his crime, and begged I would not send him away; requesting a panchāyāt might be held on his conduct, or that I would punish him according to my pleasure. I told the people to hold a panchāyāt according to their own customs, to report the sentence to me, and it should be carried into execution. The whole of the people assembled in council under a sacred tree on the bank, and deliberated on the case: at the termination of the consultation the elders came to me saying they had decided as follows:—The cook was to receive twenty-two lashes, that he was to lose caste, and to have his hukka panī bāndh—that is, they would no longer allow him to associate with themselves, eat or smoke with them, or worship with the faithful. They requested I would turn him out of the boats, that they should be allowed to take him on shore, put him on an ass with his face to the tail of the animal, and followed by drums, and the hooting of the rabble, they should lead the donkey through the village, and then turn him off for ever. This was a severe sentence, and showed how angry the people of his own caste had become: they gave him the twenty-two lashes, he lost caste, and was not allowed to worship on deck as usual. I would not turn him out of service, knowing it would be his ruin, and I felt compassion for his pretty young wife, whom he had left at Allahabad; nor would I allow them to parade him on an ass. The panchāyāt took into consideration the conduct of the under-woman; the servants had told her if she had hidden the cook any where, if she would tell he should be released, and nothing should be said about it: that they would not awaken me; they only wanted to find him. She swore she had not seen him at all; she was present during the four hours he was pretending to be ill,—she saw how much alarmed I was,—also that during this time I was exposed to the night air; and she aided in the deception. They condemned her according to law,[306] but as the sentence was very severe, I only allowed a part of it to be put into execution. She was obliged to blacken her own face with soot and oil as she sat on deck; all the servants came round her,—they laughed, hooted, and complimented her on her beauty; she cried bitterly,—the punishment was severe enough; she was afraid she should be paraded on the donkey, and was very glad to find I would not allow it. The next day she wanted the cook to marry her, and make her a Musalmanī, saying, her husband on her return would cut off her nose, and break into the zenāna of the cook. However, she was disappointed in her wish of becoming a follower of the Prophet, it being discovered she had another lover: this extra lover also lost caste, and had his hukka panī bāndh.

I wanted the servant to grab a small riding whip and come with me to the cook's boat; the boy was better but still hadn't fully recovered from his fit—the violent convulsions had stopped. I told the head man to shave his head and put leeches on it; during this, he was itching his head and scratched it. I could see from his face that he was angry, as shaving the head usually signifies complete submission among locals, and he struggled to pretend he was still ill. Once the operation was done, the servant gave him a sharp hit on the hand with the whip, told him to stop pretending, and come on deck. When he realized his ruse was exposed, he got up and brazenly said, “What did I do wrong?” After I instructed a servant to take him to the nearest magistrate, the cook fell at my feet, admitted his fault, and pleaded not to be sent away; he asked for a community council to judge his behavior or for me to punish him as I saw fit. I told the group to hold a council according to their customs, report their decision to me, and that I would ensure it was enforced. Everyone gathered under a sacred tree on the riverbank to discuss the matter: at the end of their consultation, the elders approached me with their verdict: the cook was to receive twenty-two lashes, lose his caste, and have his social ties cut off—meaning he wouldn't be allowed to associate with others, eat or smoke with them, or worship as part of the community. They asked me to expel him from the boats, let them take him ashore, put him on a donkey facing its tail, and, with drums and the jeering of the crowd, lead the donkey through the village and then cast him out forever. This was a harsh judgment and demonstrated how furious his peers had become: they gave him the twenty-two lashes, he lost his caste, and was not permitted to worship on deck as he usually would. I refused to fire him, knowing it would ruin him and feeling sympathy for his young, attractive wife, whom he had left in Allahabad; I also wouldn’t permit them to parade him on a donkey. The council also looked into the actions of the woman involved; the servants had told her that if she had hidden the cook anywhere, he would be let go and nothing would be said about it, assuring her they wouldn’t wake me; they just wanted to find him. She swore she hadn’t seen him at all; she was present during the four hours he pretended to be sick—I saw how alarmed I was—knowing I was exposed to the night air; she had a big role in the deception. They found her guilty under the law, but since the punishment was harsh, I only allowed part of it to be executed. She had to blacken her face with soot and oil while sitting on deck; all the servants gathered around her—laughing, jeering, and praising her for her beauty—while she wept bitterly. The punishment was hard enough; she feared she would be paraded on the donkey and was relieved I didn’t allow it. The next day, she wanted the cook to marry her and convert her to Islam, claiming that her husband would cut off her nose when she returned and invade the cook’s quarters. However, her wish to follow the Prophet was thwarted when it was discovered she had another lover; this other lover also lost his caste and had his social ties cut off.

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.

Knowing that the locals might poison someone out of revenge, I told my servant about the situation and said, “I don’t mind, but if I die, you’ll be held accountable by the master.” The man bowed and replied, “It’s on me: you’ve punished him fairly; there’s nothing to worry about. If the punishment had been unfair, he might have sought revenge by poisoning your food.” “Alright,” I said, “it’s your issue, not mine;”—and I finished my dinner.

29th.—Arrived at Berhampūr, at which place a bearer of mine related the following history:—

29th.—I arrived in Berhampūr, where one of my bearers shared the following story:—

“In former times, when the English first came to Kalkut (Calcutta), a very rich merchant resided at Moorshedabad, by name Jugger Seit: this man was a great harām-zāda (rascal), never obeyed the orders of the Nawāb, was very rich, and had two hundred soldiers as a body-guard. One day he boasted that he could day by day dethrone such a Nawāb as the one at Moorshedabad, and daily place a new one on the throne: these words having been reported to the Nawāb, he sent two soldiers to seize the merchant. While the man was bathing in the river, away from his attendants, the soldiers fell upon him; and one of them having stabbed him in the side, they carried him before the Nawāb. He offered as his ransom to strew the road from Moorshedabad to Delhi with gold mohurs; but the Nawāb was[307] inflexible. The merchant was fastened into a palanquin, placed in a small boat, carried out into the river in front of the Nawāb’s house, and thrown palkī and all into the stream, where of course he was drowned.” So ends the tale of the Nawāb, the Merchant, and the Palkī.

“In the past, when the English first arrived in Kalkut (Calcutta), a wealthy merchant named Jugger Seit lived in Moorshedabad. He was quite the harām-zāda (rascal), ignored the Nawāb’s orders, and had two hundred soldiers as his personal guard. One day, he bragged that he could remove the Nawāb at Moorshedabad and replace him with a new one every day. This boast was reported to the Nawāb, who sent two soldiers to capture the merchant. While he was bathing in the river, away from his attendants, the soldiers attacked him. One of them stabbed him in the side, and they brought him before the Nawāb. He offered to line the road from Moorshedabad to Delhi with gold mohurs as his ransom, but the Nawāb was[307] unyielding. The merchant was put into a palanquin, placed in a small boat, taken out into the river in front of the Nawāb’s house, and thrown in along with the palkī, where he, of course, 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.

30th.—Stayed in Berhampūr to write letters, buy silk, and get beautifully carved figures of people and animals in ivory, as well as to get 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!

31st.—Left Berhampūr. I've experienced so much pain over the past year from losing family and friends that I now say goodbye to the previous year without any regrets. May the new one be happier than the last!

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CHAPTER LIX.
Arrival in Kolkata—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.

Cutwa—Bracelets made from Sankh shell—Making anchors at Culwa—The dying Bengali—The skull—The tides—The “Madagascar”—Seasickness—A man overboard—Mountains of Africa—Shipwrecks—Wineburgh—Constantia—A south-easter—Returning to the ship—Emancipation of slaves—Grapes—A trip into the interior—Captain Harris—St. Helena—Prices at Mr. Solomon’s shop—The tomb of the emperor—Longwood—Birds of St. Helena—Our Indian wars—General Allard—Letter from Jellalabad—Death of Colonel Arnold—The Afghans—Mausoleum of Shah Mahmoud—The Gates of Somnaut—The remains of the ancient city of Ghuznee.

1839, Jan. 1st.—We flew down the river on a powerful wind, until we reached Cutwa, where we moored, to purchase a gāgrā, a brass vessel for holding water; gāgrās and lotas are manufactured at this place, as are also churīs, bracelets made of the sankh, the conch shell which the Hindūs blow. These churīs are beautifully white, very prettily ornamented, and are worn in sets: above them, some of the women wore immense bracelets of silver or of pewter, according to the rank of the wearer; those bracelets stand up very high, and the pewter ones shine like silver, from being scrubbed with sand daily in the river. At this place a number of people were bathing; one of the Bengalī women was remarkably well formed, my attention was attracted by the beauty of her figure; her skin was of a clear dark brown, with which her ornaments of red coral well contrasted; her dress, the long white sarī, hanging in folds of graceful drapery around her; but her face was so ugly, it was[309] quite provoking;—so plain a face united to so well-formed a figure.

1839, Jan. 1st.—We zipped down the river on a strong wind until we reached Cutwa, where we docked to buy a gāgrā, a brass vessel for holding water; gāgrās and lotas are made here, along with churīs, which are bracelets made from sankh, the conch shell that Hindus blow. These churīs are beautifully white, intricately designed, and are worn in sets: above them, some women donned large bracelets made of silver or pewter, depending on their social status; those bracelets are quite high, and the pewter ones shine like silver because they are scrubbed daily with sand in the river. Many people were bathing at this spot; one Bengali woman caught my eye with her stunning figure; her skin was a clear dark brown, which contrasted beautifully with her red coral jewelry; her long white sarī draped gracefully around her. However, her face was so unattractive that it was quite frustrating—such a plain face on such a well-formed body.

2nd.—At Nuddea the tide was perceptible, and the smell of the burnt bodies on the opposite side of the river most annoying.

2nd.—At Nuddea, the tide was noticeable, and the smell of the burnt bodies on the other side of the river was really unpleasant.

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.

3rd.—We anchored at Culwa to fill the wooden anchor with mud and secure it with ropes; it was a simple and interesting process, but it took five hours to complete. We tied bamboos to the cross of the heavy wooden anchor, placed a piece of old canvas inside, and filled it with strong clay lumps. The bamboos were then pressed together and everything was wrapped in ropes; it was very basic. I had a new cable made before leaving Prāg, as a necessary precaution; if you don't take care of it ahead of time, they'll keep you at Culwa to do it since the hemp is a bit cheaper there than in the interior, and the mānjhīs don't like the hassle of a delay of three or four days. At Culwa, I witnessed a disturbing scene: a dying Bengali woman lay on a mat by the riverside, her head resting on a pillow, while another woman fanned her with a pankha. At a certain point, the body is placed in the water up to the waist, prayers are recited, and at the moment of death, holy Ganges mud is stuffed into the nose and mouth, allowing the person to die in righteousness. My companions told me that if the woman didn’t pass away by night, there was a good chance they might stuff her nose and mouth a bit too soon with the holy mud, hastening her journey to the next world! The Hindus from the interior who were with me were appalled by the Bengali customs and were very vocal in their criticism. If she recovers, she will become 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.

We moored at Santipūr. The water in the river at the ghat was covered with drops of oil because it was a bathing spot, and the Bengalis have a tradition of anointing their bodies with oil every day.

A chaprasī of mine, seeing a skull, struck it with a bamboo and cursed it.

A messenger of mine saw a skull, hit it with a bamboo stick, and cursed it.

[310]

“Why did you strike and curse the skull?” said I.

“Why did you hit and curse the skull?” I asked.

“It is a vile Bengalī skull; and those sons of slaves, when we ask a question, only laugh and give no answer.”

“It’s a disgusting Bengali skull; and those sons of slaves, when we ask a question, just laugh and don’t respond.”

“Perhaps they do not understand your up-country language.”

“Maybe they don't understand your country dialect.”

“Perhaps not, that may be the reason; but we hate them.”

“Maybe not, that could be the reason; but we really dislike 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.

6th.—Two miles above Calcutta:—the weather was nice, the wind was strong but favorable: the view of the ships was stunning; I enjoyed it until I remembered that my crew were from up-country, from Hurdwar, and had never seen the sea, so they didn’t understand the tides. We drifted at a terrifying speed through the ships; they dropped the anchor, but it didn’t hold; and off we went, our large, clumsy boat hitting one ship after another; eventually, a gentleman, noticing our danger as we passed his small boat, threw a rope on board, which the men grabbed, and after securing it, managed to stop the vessel. All this time, I was on deck, under a scorching sun, and we didn’t anchor until noon; as a result, I felt really sick that night, my head was pounding painfully, and I fainted three times; but it didn’t matter, I was in the care of a kind friend, and I recovered quickly.

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.

9th.—The ships are anchored close to the dock near the Fort, and visiting them is a fun way to spend the morning. I went on board the “Earl of Hardwicke,” but they couldn’t accommodate me; then I moved on to the “Madagascar” and booked one of the lower stern cabins for myself, which cost me 2500 rupees; I also got a smaller cabin for 1300 rupees for my friend’s three kids, who were going to join me on the trip to England. At the same time, I hired a European woman to look after me and the kids. Going to sea is the only opportunity for the poor boys after the bad fever they had on the river, from which they are still recovering.

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.

The left rear cabin works perfectly for me; it's quite spacious, allowing me to display a variety of curiosities; and in front of the windows, I've set up a full forest of buffalo, stag, and antelope horns.

20th.—A steamer towed the “Madagascar” down the river, and the pilot quitted us on the 22nd, from which moment we[311] reckoned the voyage actually commenced; it is not counted from Calcutta, but from the Sandheads, when the pilot gives over the vessel to the captain, and takes his departure. Suddu Khān, my old khansaman, who had accompanied me thus far, now returned with the pilot: the old man must have been half-starved, he would eat nothing on board but a little parched grain, and slept outside my cabin-door; he is an excellent servant, and says he will take the greatest care of the sāhib until my return.

20th.—A steamer pulled the “Madagascar” down the river, and the pilot left us on the 22nd, which we considered the start of the journey; it doesn’t begin from Calcutta but from the Sandheads, when the pilot hands over the ship to the captain and departs. Suddu Khān, my old servant, who had come this far with me, now went back with the pilot: the old man must have been really hungry, he only ate a little roasted grain on board and slept right outside my cabin door; he's an excellent servant, and he says he will take great care of the sāhib until I 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]?

I struggled a lot at the Sandheads from seasickness because of the rough waves; maybe no illness is more miserable—complaining doesn’t help and just makes people laugh; no one cares or talks about it. 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.

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; however, it was really hot, and the wind couldn't reach it; it was way 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.

30th.—There was barely any wind in the early morning; throughout the day, it was completely still—hot and suffocating. It's amazing how much a calm can test your patience! I can handle any storm you throw at me, but please, not 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.

31st.—The ship is rolling and pitching quite badly; there’s barely enough wind to move her; she’s rolling and pitching as if she might throw her masts overboard; the thermometer reads 87°—the heat is really uncomfortable,—no wind: caught a shark and a sucker fish.

Feb. 1st.—Thermometer 87°, the heat is distressing: a return voyage is much hotter than one from England. Captain Walker is very attentive to his passengers; he keeps an excellent table, and every thing is done to render them comfortable. We have sixty invalids on board,—wretched-looking men; one of them, when the ship was going seven knots an hour, threw himself overboard; a rope was thrown out, to which he clung, and they drew him in again; he came up sober[312] enough, which it was supposed he was not when he jumped overboard. Fortunate was it for the man that the voracious shark we afterwards caught, whose interior was full of bones, did not make his acquaintance in the water.

Feb. 1st.—Thermometer 87°, the heat is unbearable: a return trip is way hotter than one from England. Captain Walker is very attentive to his passengers; he provides excellent meals, and everything is done to keep them comfortable. We have sixty sick passengers on board—miserable-looking men; one of them, when the ship was going seven knots an hour, jumped overboard; a rope was thrown out, which he grabbed onto, and they pulled him back in; he surfaced sober[312] enough, which was surprising considering he wasn’t when he jumped. It was lucky for him that the hungry shark we caught later, whose stomach was full of bones, didn’t meet him 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.

March 4th.—The morning was nice, the sea was rough, and we approached the Cape with delight: the mountains of Africa looked gorgeous, with the foamy waves crashing and sounding at their base. The lighthouse and Green Point, with its white houses, were pleasant sights. The view as you enter the Cape is definitely stunning: the mountains didn’t seem very high to me, since I’m used to the constant snows of the Himalayas, but they are wild, bold, and picturesque, rising straight from the sea—and what a fierce, choppy, foaming, and roaring sea it is! Devil’s Peak, the Lion, and Table Mountain were all looking majestic; not a cloud was in the sky. The wreck of the “Juliana” was near the lighthouse, and the “Trafalgar” was also there, having gone down just a week before.

5th.—Breakfasted at the George Hotel; fresh bread and butter was a luxury. Drove to Wineburgh to see a friend, and not finding him at home, we consoled ourselves with making a tiffin—that is, luncheon,—on the deliciously fine white water grapes from his garden. Proceeded to Constantia, called on a Dutch lady, the owner of the vineyard, whose name I forget; she, her husband, and daughter were very civil, and offered us refreshment. We walked over the vineyard; the vines are cut down to the height of a gooseberry bush, short and stumpy; the blue grapes were hanging on them half dried up, and many people were employed picking off the vine leaves, to leave the bunches more exposed to the sun; the taste of the fruit was very luscious, and a few grapes were sufficient, they were too cloying, too sweet. They told us it took an amazing quantity of grapes to make the Constantia, so little juice being extracted, in consequence of their first allowing the bunches to become so dry upon the vine; but as that juice was of so rich a quality, it rendered the Constantia proportionably expensive. The old Dutchman took us up a ladder into an oak tree, in which benches were[313] fixed all round the trunk; he took great pride in the breadth of it, and the little verdant room formed of the branches was his favourite place for smoking. The acorns I picked up were remarkably large, much larger than English acorns. Oaks grow very quickly at the Cape, three times as fast as in England; but the wood is not so good, and they send to England for the wood for the wine-casks, which is sent out ready to be put together; they think their wine too valuable for the wood at the Cape. There was no wine-making going on at the time, but the lovers of Constantia may feel some disgust at knowing that the juice is pressed out by trampling of the grapes in a tub;—an operation performed by the naked feet of the Africanders, who are not the most cleanly animals on earth.

5th.—Had breakfast at the George Hotel; fresh bread and butter felt like a luxury. Drove to Wineburgh to see a friend, and since he wasn’t home, we made ourselves a tiffin—that is, lunch—with the deliciously fine white water grapes from his garden. We then went to Constantia, where we visited a Dutch lady who owned the vineyard, whose name I can’t recall; she, her husband, and daughter were very kind and offered us refreshments. We walked around the vineyard; the vines were cut down to the height of a gooseberry bush, short and stumpy; the blue grapes were half dried on the vines, and many people were busy picking off the vine leaves to expose the bunches more to the sun. The taste of the fruit was very sweet, and a few grapes were enough since they were overly sweet. They mentioned that it took an incredible amount of grapes to make Constantia wine due to the little juice extracted, since they let the bunches dry out so much on the vine; but because that juice was so rich, it made Constantia fairly expensive. The old Dutchman took us up a ladder into an oak tree, where benches were fixed all around the trunk; he took great pride in its width, and the little green space made by the branches was his favorite spot for smoking. The acorns I picked up were unusually large, much bigger than English acorns. Oaks grow very quickly at the Cape, three times as fast as in England; however, the wood isn’t as good, so they order wood for wine casks from England, which arrives ready to assemble; they consider their wine too valuable to use local wood. There was no winemaking happening at the time, but fans of Constantia might be a bit disgusted to know that the juice is extracted by trampling the grapes in a tub;—an operation done by the bare feet of the Africanders, who aren’t exactly the cleanest people 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.

How much I loved the freshness of the leaves and the beauty of the landscape we drove through! The wild white geraniums and myrtles were both blooming in the hedges. After coming back from the sea, we devoured the vegetables, fish, and fruit like kids let loose among treats.

Our voyage from Calcutta to the Cape had been a very fine one—forty-two days; the shortest period in which it has been accomplished was thirty-one days, by a French vessel. The mal de mer that had made me miserable from the time the pilot quitted us never left me until we were within four or five days’ sail of the Cape; then image to yourself the delight with which I found myself on shore. Eatables—such as sardines, anchovies, &c.,—are more reasonable than in Calcutta; one shilling is equivalent to a rupee. Visited a shop where there is a good collection of stuffed birds; bought a Butcher bird,—it catches its prey, sticks it upon a thorn, and devours it at leisure: small birds are one shilling each; but I know not if they are prepared with arsenical soap, like those to be purchased at Landowr. No good ostrich feathers were to be had at the Europe shops: there is a shop, kept by a Dutchwoman, near the landing-place, where the best—the uncleaned ostrich feathers—are sometimes to be bought; the price about five guineas per pound. My man-servant gave twenty shillings for[314] eighteen very fine large long feathers in the natural state, and he told me he made a great profit by selling them in town.

Our journey from Calcutta to the Cape took a solid forty-two days; the fastest anyone has done it is thirty-one days on a French ship. The sea sickness that plagued me from the moment the pilot left never really went away until we were just four or five days away from the Cape; you can only imagine the joy I felt when I finally set foot on solid ground. Food—like sardines, anchovies, etc.—is more affordable than in Calcutta; one shilling equals a rupee. I visited a shop with a good selection of stuffed birds and ended up buying a butcher bird—it catches its prey, sticks it on a thorn, and eats it at its leisure: small birds cost one shilling each, but I’m not sure if they’re treated with arsenical soap like those for sale in Landowr. There weren’t any good ostrich feathers at the European shops: there’s a store run by a Dutch woman near the landing where you can occasionally find the best—the uncleaned ostrich feathers—going for about five guineas per pound. My servant paid twenty shillings for eighteen really nice long feathers in their natural state, and he told me he made a good profit 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.

6th.—I was just about to have dinner with an old friend when I was told a southeast wind was coming, and I needed to get on board immediately; there hadn't been a southeast wind for a while, and it was likely to last three days. Table Mountain was shrouded in a white cloud that spread over the top like a tablecloth, and the wind was blowing hard. My friend rushed me away, saying there were cases of ships being blown off the shore by a southeast wind, leaving passengers stranded, and they couldn't return for them. A man offered the boatman who brought us to shore five pounds to take us to the "Madagascar," which was about three miles out; the man was reluctant because of the wind and refused to go. A boatman with a small boat said he would take six of us for thirty shillings. Once we got away from the land, the little boat rocked and tossed, and waves crashed over us, drenching us; it was a very dark evening, we headed to the wrong vessel, and as we pulled away from it, I thought we would capsize; then there was the fear of missing our own ship and being blown out to sea. I was very relieved when we reached our ship, and even more so when I stepped onto her deck—the little boat bobbed up and down violently next to the vessel. The wind howled through the rigging! The southeast wind blew all night and eased off in the morning when those who had been left on shore finally 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.

A friend came to say goodbye and brought me a big basket filled with the best grapes, pears, and apples—a really lovely gift. The three kids and I enjoyed them for ten days: how refreshing the great grapes were at breakfast! And those grapes! I’ve never had any as good as those before. From a Newfoundland ship nearby, I bought several baskets of shells.

There was a little squadron of fishermen’s boats all out together, and hundreds of birds were following the boats, resting on the water at times, and watching for the bits of bait thrown[315] away by the fishermen, which they picked up—it was a pretty sight.

There was a small group of fishing boats all out together, and hundreds of birds were following them, occasionally resting on the water and waiting for the bits of bait tossed away by the fishermen, which they picked up—it was a beautiful sight.[315]

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.

The mountains are truly wild and beautiful; there's vegetation all the way up to the top of Table Mountain, which is 3,500 feet high. Landowr, where I used to live, is 7,500 feet above sea level, and it's covered with great trees and all kinds of plants on 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.

At Constantia, at Mr. Vanrennon's vineyard, his wife complained a lot about the emancipation of the slaves: some of them didn’t want to be free, while others were happy that freedom allowed them to be idle. With high wages and cheap food, the freed people only work occasionally now. The slaves gather in Cape Town, work for a week, and the pay from those seven days will last them a while with rice and fish; they won't work again until they really have to. They’ll prepare the land, but when it’s time to harvest, they won’t do it unless you offer them a sum much higher than their normal wages; and if you don’t agree to their demands, the crops just rot in the fields. The thatching on the houses at Constantia is done beautifully, so neat and regular, and everything there looks tidy, clean, and cheerful.

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.

There are several types of grapes at the Cape: the purple and white Pontac grapes, from which Constantia wine is made; the long white sweet pod grape; the round white sweet water grape; and a round purple grape. They’re all really great. Doctors prescribe nothing to the local Indians but grapes—grapes, as many as they can eat; that’s the only medicine they recommend and the best recovery after calomel and India. The Hindoos, as they call us Indians at the Cape, really like this prescription. The Cape horses, which are great, and the cows impressed me; there were also some excellent strong mules. The joy of being on land after being stuck on a ship can only be understood by those who have been on a long voyage and experienced seasickness, or the pleasure of walking freely on the solid, calm ground, enjoying the sweet smell of the fields, no bilge water, no tar, no confinement.

A friend of mine, a Bengal civilian, gave a good account of[316] an expedition he made into the interior for about three hundred miles from the frontier with a Madras civilian. They got deer in abundance, zebra, and Guinea fowls, and saw lions in flocks. Fancy twelve of the latter gambling together near a small pool of water. They travelled in a waggon drawn by twenty bullocks, and took three Hottentot boys with them as servants, and fifteen horses, of which they lost all but one by theft or accident. He did not go, by many hundred miles, as far into the interior as Mr. Harris, not, in fact, into the hunting ground for elephants and camelopards: he spoke of Harris’s work, which is very interesting: he knew Mr. Harris, says he is a fine fellow, and from what he saw believes his accounts to be unexaggerated. What a brilliant country for sport!

A friend of mine, a civilian from Bengal, shared a great story about an expedition he took into the interior for about three hundred miles from the border with a civilian from Madras. They encountered plenty of deer, zebra, and Guinea fowls, and saw lions in groups. Imagine twelve lions playing together near a small pool of water. They traveled in a wagon pulled by twenty oxen and brought along three Hottentot boys as helpers, plus fifteen horses, of which they ended up losing all but one due to theft or accidents. He didn’t venture nearly as far into the interior as Mr. Harris, not even into the areas where elephants and giraffes roam; he mentioned Harris's work, which is really interesting: he knew Mr. Harris, calls him a great guy, and believes his accounts are accurate based on what he experienced. What an amazing country for hunting!

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?

One of the guys in this group broke his collarbone. They ran into some Italians who sought their protection; they also encountered twelve lions, which made them hurry home as quickly as possible. My story isn’t great; I’ve forgotten their adventures, but let’s assume the twelve lions didn’t eat the twenty bulls, or how could the group have made it back?

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!

7th.—Left Cape Town on a strong and steady wind; we were all in great spirits; the change had done us well, and we had gained new patience—the toughest part of the journey was behind us—for someone in poor health, that trip from Calcutta to the Cape is quite a challenge!

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.

12th.—It’s very cold outside: this ship, built like a frigate, is traveling at nine knots an hour and rolling her main chains underwater. In the evening, while I was on deck playing with the kids with oranges and lemons, we were all thrown down by the ship as it rolled heavily; both the mizzen topgallant mast and the main topgallant mast broke; one spar fell overboard, and the broken masts were tangled up in the rigging.

18th.—At 8 A.M. we arrived at St. Helena: the view of the island is very impressive; it rises abruptly from the sea—a mass of wild rocks, the heavy breakers lashing them; there appears to be no shore, the waves break directly against the rocks. The highest point is, I believe, two thousand feet; the[317] island appears bare and desolate as you approach it. A white heavy cloud hung over the highest part of the mountain; the morning was beautiful, and many vessels were at anchor. I sketched the island when off Barn’s Point. The poles of the flagstaffs still remain, on which a flag was hoisted whenever the emperor appeared, that it might tell of his whereabouts, giving him the unpleasant feeling that spies were perpetually around him. I went on shore in a bumboat that had come alongside with shells. Landing is difficult at times when the waves run high; if you were to miss your footing on the jetty from the rising and sinking of the boat, you would fall in, and there would be little chance of your being brought up again. There are only two points on the island on which it is possible to land, namely, this jetty and one place on the opposite side, both of which are strongly guarded by artillery. Batteries bristle up all over the rock like quills on a porcupine. The battery on the top of Ladder Hill may be reached by the road that winds up its side, or by the perpendicular ladder of six hundred and thirty-six steps. We went to Mr. Solomon’s Hotel, and ordered a late dinner; the prices at his shop and at the next door are very high: he asked twelve shillings for articles which I had purchased for five at the Cape.

18th.—At 8 AM, we arrived at St. Helena. The view of the island is stunning; it rises sharply from the ocean—an array of rugged rocks, with heavy waves crashing against them. There doesn't seem to be any beach, as the surf hits directly onto the rocks. The tallest point is around two thousand feet; the[317] island looks bare and desolate as we approach. A thick white cloud hovered over the highest part of the mountain; the morning was beautiful, and several ships were anchored. I sketched the island while we were off Barn’s Point. The poles for the flagstaffs still remain, used to hoist a flag whenever the emperor was present, as a way to announce his location, which gave him the uneasy feeling of always being watched. I went ashore in a small boat that had come alongside with shells. Landing can be tricky when the waves are high; if you lose your footing on the jetty due to the boat moving up and down, you could fall in, and there wouldn't be much chance of being rescued. There are only two spots on the island where you can land, this jetty and one area on the opposite side, both heavily guarded by artillery. Cannons are stationed all over the rock like quills on a porcupine. You can reach the battery on top of Ladder Hill via the winding road or by climbing the steep ladder of six hundred and thirty-six steps. We went to Mr. Solomon’s Hotel and ordered a late dinner; the prices at his place and the one next door are quite high: he charged twelve shillings for items that I had bought 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.

We got a pass for the tomb and a ticket for Longwood, which cost us three shillings each. Next, we took a carriage pulled by two strong horses that cost three pounds. We drove up the hill from James’s Hotel; at the top, the view is stunning; the town is nestled between two hills, with the ocean in front and a lot of beautiful ships at anchor. The roads are in good condition, and where they run alongside a cliff, they are protected by stone walls.

The tomb of the emperor is situated in a quiet retired spot at the foot of and between two hills. Three plain large flag-stones, taken from the kitchen at Longwood, cover the remains of Napoleon: there is no inscription, nor does there need one; the tomb is raised about four inches from the ground, and surrounded by an iron palisade formed at the top into spearheads.[318] Within the palisade is still seen a geranium, planted by one of the ladies who shared his exile. The old willow has fallen, and lies across the railing of the tomb, withered, dead, and leafless. Many young willows reared from the old tree shade the tomb, and every care is taken of the place by an old soldier, who attends to open the gate, and who offers to visitors the water from the stream which now flows out of the hill by the side of the tomb. Its course was formerly across the spot where the tomb is now placed; it was turned to the side to render it less damp: the water is remarkably pure, bright, and tasteless. It was under these willows, and by the side of this little clear stream that Buonaparte used to pass his days in reading, and this spot he selected as his burial-place.

The emperor's tomb is located in a quiet, secluded area at the base of two hills. Three large, plain flagstones, taken from the kitchen at Longwood, cover Napoleon's remains; there’s no inscription, nor is one needed. The tomb is raised about four inches off the ground and surrounded by an iron fence topped with spearheads.[318] Inside the fence, a geranium still grows, planted by one of the women who shared his exile. The old willow has fallen and lies across the railing of the tomb, withered, dead, and leafless. Several young willows that grew from the old tree provide shade over the tomb, and an old soldier takes care of the site, opening the gate and offering visitors water from the stream that now flows out of the hill next to the tomb. The stream used to flow where the tomb is now, but it was redirected to make the area less damp. The water is exceptionally pure, clear, and tasteless. This is where Buonaparte spent his days reading under the willows by this little clear stream, and he chose this spot 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.

A book is kept here where visitors write their names: many pages have been filled by the French with cries of sorrow for their emperor and curses aimed at the English. Many people have traveled from France to visit the tomb, and upon arrival, they have expressed their grief in the most intense and emotional ways.

Having pleased the old soldier who has charge of the tomb, with a present in return for some slips of the willow, we went to a small and neat cottage hard-by for grapes and refreshment. It is inhabited by a respectable widow, who, by offering refreshment to visitors, makes a good income for herself and family. We had grapes, peaches, and pears, all inferior, very inferior to the fruit at the Cape. After tiffin we proceeded to Longwood, and passed several very picturesque points on the road. Around Longwood there are more trees, and the appearance of the country is less desolate than in other parts of the island. We were first taken to the old house in which the emperor lived; it is a wretched place, and must ever have been the same. The room into which you enter was used as a billiard-room: the dining-room and the study are wretched holes. The emperor’s bed-room and bath is now a stable. In the room in which Buonaparte expired is placed a corn-mill! I remember having seen a picture of this room: the body of the emperor was lying near the window from which the light fell upon the face of the[319] corpse. The picture interested me greatly at the time, and was vividly brought to my recollection as I stood before the window, whilst in imagination the scene passed before me. How great was the power of that man! with what jealous care the English guarded him! No wonder the women used to frighten their children into quietness by the threat that Buonaparte would come and eat them up, when the men held him in such awe. Who can stand on the desolate and picturesque spot where the emperor lies buried, and not feel for him who rests beneath? How much he must have suffered during his sentry-watched rambles on that island, almost for ever within hearing of the eternal roar of the breakers, and viewing daily the vessels departing for Europe!

Having satisfied the old soldier in charge of the tomb with a gift in exchange for some willow slips, we went to a small, tidy cottage nearby for grapes and refreshments. It's run by a respectable widow who earns a decent income by providing refreshments to visitors. We had grapes, peaches, and pears, all of which were quite a bit worse than the fruit found at the Cape. After lunch, we continued to Longwood, passing several picturesque spots along the way. There are more trees around Longwood, making the area less desolate than other parts of the island. We were first taken to the old house where the emperor lived; it's a miserable place and must have always been so. The room you enter used to be a billiard room; the dining room and study feel like sad little spaces. The emperor’s bedroom and bath are now a stable. In the room where Buonaparte died, there's a corn mill! I remember seeing a picture of this room: the emperor's body was lying near the window, where the light fell on his face. That image really captured my interest at the time, and it vividly came back to me as I stood by the window, imagining the scene. How powerful that man was! How carefully the English guarded him! It's no surprise that mothers used to scare their children into behaving by threatening that Buonaparte would come and eat them, given how deeply the men feared him. Who can stand on the desolate yet beautiful spot where the emperor is buried and not feel compassion for the one resting beneath? How much he must have suffered during his lonely strolls on that island, always within earshot of the relentless roar of the waves and watching ships set sail for Europe every day!

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.

In the yard next to the house, there are some oak trees planted by him; there's also a fish pond, and nearby, there used to be a birdcage. The emperor would sit here under the fir trees, but because he found the wind too harsh, a mud wall was built to shield the area from the strong sea breezes. After Napoleon died, 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.

We left the old house and went to check out the new one, which was unfinished at the time of the emperor's death; if he had lived another week, he would have moved in. Seeing this house made me feel more positive about the English; while visiting the old one, I couldn't help but feel a strong sense of disgust and shame. The new house is beautiful and well-built; the rooms, which are spacious and comfortable, would have been a fitting home for the exiled emperor. The bath he used every day in the old place has been set up in the new one; everything else that could serve as a keepsake has been taken 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.

In the area, there were some strange-looking gum trees covered with long, shaggy moss. The heat of the day was intense; we had umbrellas, but I had never experienced such heat before, not even in India. The sea breeze was refreshing, but the sun burned my skin like a blister; it peeled off after a few days, completely scorched.

We returned to dinner at Mr. Solomon’s Hotel. Soup was[320] placed on the table. Dr. G⸺ said, “This soup has been made of putrid meat.” “Oh no, Sir,” said the waiter, “the soup is very good; the meat smelt, but the cook took it all out before it came to table!” A rib of beef was produced with a flourish; it was like the soup,—we were very glad to send it out of the room. We asked to see the landlord; the waiter said he was over at the mess: we desired him to be sent for, of course supposing he was sending up dinner to the officers of a Scotch regiment, whose bagpipe had been stunning our ears, unaccustomed to the silver sound. What was our surprise when we found the hotel and shopkeeper was dining with the officers of the regiment! King’s officers may allow of this, but it would never be permitted at the mess of a regiment of the Honourable Company; perhaps his being sheriff formed the excuse. It was too late to procure dinner from another house; the boatmen would wait no longer, and our hungry party returned on board to get refreshment from the steward.

We went back to have dinner at Mr. Solomon’s Hotel. Soup was[320] set on the table. Dr. G⸺ said, “This soup is made from rotten meat.” “Oh no, Sir,” replied the waiter, “the soup is actually very good; the meat smelled bad, but the cook took it all out before serving!” A rib of beef was presented dramatically; it was just like the soup—we were very relieved to send it back. We asked to see the landlord; the waiter said he was over at the mess: we requested him to be sent for, thinking he was delivering dinner to the officers of a Scottish regiment, whose bagpipes had been blaring in our ears, not used to that kind of music. We were surprised to find that the hotel and shopkeeper was actually dining with the regiment's officers! King's officers might allow this, but it would never be accepted at the mess of a regiment of the Honourable Company; maybe his role as sheriff was an excuse. It was too late to get dinner from another place; the boatmen wouldn’t wait any longer, and our hungry group went back on board to get food 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.

The night was incredibly beautiful—the view at the jetty under the rocks was lovely; the constant crashing of the waves that sometimes spill over the wall, combined with the memories stirred by the island, all create feelings of seriousness and sadness. There’s a cave in the rock that fills almost completely at high tide, and the waves rushing in and out of that hollow is one reason for the loud sound 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.

19th.—Birds were for sale on the street; they looked really beautiful. You could buy St. Helena red birds, avadavats, Cape sparrows, and green canaries. I’m not a fan of caged birds, even though I brought home four parrots from Calcutta, two of which died off the Cape during the rough seas. Left St. Helena at 10 A.M.

Our Indian wars, propped up by the old bugbear of a Russian invasion, and the discovery of one thing, at least, the intrigues of Russian emissaries, seem to have excited more than usual interest in England, Her Most Gracious Majesty having been[321] pleased to notice our preventive movements to the north-west in her speech on the prorogation of the House. The 16th Lancers are amongst the fortunate who are actually to return. All speak of the campaign as most distressing from climate and privation of all sorts, and the popular king, the beloved of his subjects, turns out to be as popular as Louis le Desiré. In February 1839, M. le Général Allard, that most agreeable and gentlemanlike man, died at Peshawar. How much I regretted that circumstances prevented my accepting his escort and invitation to visit Lahore! I should have enjoyed seeing the meeting between the Governor-General and the old Cyclops Runjeet Singh.

Our Indian wars, fueled by the old fear of a Russian invasion and the revelation of at least one thing—the scheming of Russian agents—seem to have sparked more interest than usual in England. Her Majesty has even mentioned our preventative actions to the northwest in her speech about the prorogation of the House. The 16th Lancers are among those fortunate enough to come back. Everyone talks about the campaign as really tough due to the climate and lack of resources, and the popular king, beloved by his people, turns out to be as popular as Louis le Désiré. In February 1839, General Allard, a really pleasant and gentlemanly man, passed away in Peshawar. I really regretted that circumstances stopped me from accepting his offer to escort me to Lahore! I would have loved to see 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.

We got a letter from a friend in the 16th Lancers; he says the temperature is 108° in the tents; that they’ve really struggled, both the soldiers and the horses, because of lack of supplies; that camp followers are on quarter rations, and the troops are on half rations, getting pay for the shortfall. The army left our provinces full of excitement, dreaming of battle, promotions, and prize money—but now every single one of them is completely tired of a campaign that brings nothing but health issues—no honor, no fighting, no prize money, no promotions.

The following are interesting extracts:—

The following are interesting excerpts:—

“Jellalabad, Oct. 28th, 1839.

Jellalabad, Oct. 28, 1839.

“Soon after the army left Shikerpūr in the end of February, our difficulties commenced; and we no sooner got on the limits of what is laid down in the maps as a marshy desert, than we suffered from a very great scarcity of water, and were obliged to make long and forced marches to get any: through the Bolan Pass we got on tolerably well; the road winds a great part of the way up the shingly bed of a river, and the halting places were like the sea-beach. But no sooner had we arrived at Quetta, in the Valley of Shawl, than the native troops and camp followers suffered in earnest; the former were placed on an allowance of half a seer, and the latter of a quarter daily; and grain was selling at two seers for a rupee.[322] In this manner, proceeding more like a beaten army than an advancing one, the cavalry not supplied with any grain, and falling by tens and twenties daily, we reached Candahar. It has always appeared to me a mercy that we had up to this point no enemy to oppose us. We remained two months in Candahar, where we recruited a good deal in the condition of our horses, but the heat was excessive, 110° in our tents, and the men became unhealthy. From Candahar to Ghuznee we got on better, and the storm and capture of that fort had a wonderful effect on our spirits. Ghuznee, naturally and by art made a very strong fortification, was most gallantly carried, and with very trifling loss; the cavalry of course had nothing to do, nor have we through the campaign, though we have been harassed and annoyed more than at any period of the Peninsular War. As to the country we have passed through from the Sir-i-Bolan to the boundary of the hot and cold countries, two marches from this nearer Cabul, there is a great sameness, with the exception of the outline of the mountain scenery, which has always been wild, rugged, and magnificent; but the total absence of trees, and almost entire want of vegetation, excepting near the towns of Quetta, Candahar, and Cabul, and some very few villages situated near a stream, give an appearance of desolation to the whole country we have passed through. It may be described, with a few excepted spots, as a howling wilderness. With the people I have been much disappointed: from what I had read in Elphinstone and Burnes, I had expected to meet a fine brave patriotic race, instead of which, to judge from what we have seen, they are a treacherous, avaricious, and cowardly set of people; even as bands of robbers and murderers they are cowardly, and in the murders of poor Inverarity of ours, and Colonel Herring, it appears they did not venture an attack, though both were unarmed, till they had knocked their victims down with stones. If these rascals had been endowed with courage and patriotism, we never should be here. I should describe the Afghāns as mean, avaricious, treacherous, cowardly, filthy, generally plunderers and thieves, and universally liars, and withal extremely religious. No one has ever visited Cabul[323] without speaking with delight of its streams, and mountains, and gardens extending for miles, and the endless quantities of delicious fruit and flowers displayed in shops through the bazārs, with a degree of taste that would be no discredit to a Covent Garden fruiterer. Cabul itself is situated in a valley, or rather a hole in a valley, surrounded on three sides by hills; the scenery in all directions is beautiful, but least so towards Hindostan. In the city there are four pakka bazārs, arched, and the interior decorated with paintings of trees and flowers so as almost to resemble fresco. The surrounding country is prodigiously fertile and excellently cultivated; the fields are divided by hedges of poplar and willow-trees; and for the first time since leaving England, I have seen the European magpie. On the 20th of August we lost Colonel Arnold, who had long remained almost in a hopeless state: his liver weighed ten pounds; I do not think he ever recovered the attack he had when you were at Meerut. At Colonel Arnold’s sale, sherry sold at the rate of 212 rupees a dozen; bottles of sauce for 24 rupees each, and of mustard for 35 rupees. At Colonel Herring’s sale, 1000 cigars, or about 1 lb., sold for upwards of one hundred guineas!—this will tell you how well we have been off for such little luxuries. We left Cabul on the 15th inst., and the following morning, passing through a defile, was as cold a one as I ever felt in my life; from the splashing of a stream the ice formed thickly on our sword scabbards and the bottoms of our cloaks; and now the heat is as great in the day as at Meerut,—such are the vicissitudes of climate in this country!

“Not long after the army left Shikerpūr at the end of February, our troubles began; as soon as we entered what the maps call a marshy desert, we faced a severe shortage of water and had to make long, forced marches just to find any. We managed fairly well through the Bolan Pass; the road winds for much of the way up the rocky riverbed, and our stops were reminiscent of the beach. But as soon as we reached Quetta, in the Valley of Shawl, the native troops and camp followers really started to struggle; the former were rationed to half a seer of grain, while the latter received only a quarter daily, and grain was selling for two seers per rupee.[322] In this way, we advanced more like a defeated army than an advancing one, with the cavalry lacking grain and losing men by the dozens every day until we reached Candahar. I’ve often thought it was a mercy we had no enemies to contend with up to this point. We stayed in Candahar for two months, where our horses improved considerably, but the heat was extreme—110° in our tents—and the men began to fall ill. The journey from Candahar to Ghuznee went better, and the storming and capturing of that fort really boosted our spirits. Ghuznee, already a strong fortress, was bravely taken with minimal losses; the cavalry, as usual, had nothing to do, like throughout the campaign, though we faced more harassment and annoyance than any time during the Peninsular War. The area we’ve traversed from the Sir-i-Bolan to the boundary between the hot and cold regions, just a couple of marches closer to Kabul, is quite uniform, aside from the distinctive mountains, which have always been wild, rugged, and stunning. However, the complete lack of trees and almost total absence of vegetation—except near the towns of Quetta, Candahar, and Kabul, and a handful of villages near streams—give the overall landscape a desolate appearance. It can be described, except for a few spots, as a howling wilderness. I’ve been really disappointed with the people here: based on what I read in Elphinstone and Burnes, I expected to find a brave, patriotic race, but from what we’ve seen, they are rather treacherous, greedy, and cowardly; even as bands of robbers and murderers, they show fear, as evidenced by the murders of our comrade Inverarity and Colonel Herring; they didn’t attack until they had knocked their victims down with stones while unarmed. If these rascals had any courage or sense of patriotism, we wouldn’t be in this situation. I would describe the Afghāns as petty, greedy, treacherous, cowardly, dirty, generally plunderers and thieves, universally liars, and yet extremely religious. No one has ever visited Kabul[323] without praising its streams, mountains, and the miles of gardens filled with delicious fruits and flowers sold in the bazaars, displayed with a taste that wouldn’t shame a Covent Garden fruit vendor. Kabul itself is situated in a valley, or rather a depression in a valley, surrounded on three sides by hills; the scenery in all directions is beautiful, except towards Hindostan. The city has four pakka bazaars, arched, with interiors adorned by paintings of trees and flowers that almost resemble frescoes. The surrounding area is extremely fertile and well-cultivated; the fields are divided by hedges of poplar and willow trees, and for the first time since leaving England, I’ve seen the European magpie. On August 20th, we lost Colonel Arnold, who had been in a nearly hopeless state for some time; his liver weighed ten pounds, and I don’t think he ever recovered from the illness he had when you were in Meerut. At Colonel Arnold’s sale, sherry went for 212 rupees a dozen; bottles of sauce sold for 24 rupees each, and mustard for 35 rupees. At Colonel Herring’s sale, 1000 cigars (or about a pound) sold for over one hundred guineas!—this gives you an idea of how well we’ve been doing with these small luxuries. We left Kabul on the 15th of this month, and the following morning, passing through a narrow pass, it was the coldest I’ve ever felt in my life; from the splashing of a stream, ice formed thickly on our sword scabbards and the bottoms of our cloaks; and now the daytime heat is just as intense as it was in Meerut—such are the climate swings in this country!”

“The Afghāns, in their own traditions, claim descent from Saul, King of Israel, and the ten tribes; they invariably allow the beard to grow, and shave a broad stripe down the centre of the head; the beard gives an appearance of gravity and respectability to the lowest of the people. The Afghāns are good horsemen, and appear to have fine hands on their bridle; and they never tie their horses’ heads down with a martingale. In this country there is a strong useful description of horse, which reins up well, and appears to go pleasantly, but the best of these are brought from Herat. Here they shoe their horses with[324] a broad plate of iron, covering the whole sole of the foot, with the exception of the frog.

“The Afghans, according to their traditions, claim to be descendants of Saul, King of Israel, and the ten tribes. They always grow their beards and shave a wide strip down the center of their heads; the beard adds a look of seriousness and respectability to even the lowest among them. The Afghans are skilled horsemen and seem to have a delicate touch with the reins; they never tie their horses’ heads down with a martingale. In this region, there is a strong and useful type of horse that responds well to the reins and appears to move smoothly, but the best of these come from Herat. Here, they shoe their horses with[324] a broad iron plate that covers the entire sole of the foot, except for 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.

“What I've said about the Afghans of Candahar applies to everything we've seen, but maybe in Cabul, the men are shorter and stockier. I've never seen a more robust, solid-looking, or muscular group of people, and their rich pomegranate complexion gives a strong, masculine look to their faces. We haven't seen anything of the women, but I hear they are beautiful; those we saw captured at Ghuznee definitely weren't. They are often seen walking around the city or riding on horseback, seated behind a man, but they are always so heavily veiled that you can't make out any features of their faces or even slightly see the shape of their bodies. It's unfortunate that Dost Muhammad wasn't chosen as our puppet king because Shah Sūjah is neither a gentleman nor a soldier, and he's extremely unpopular with his people, who—without our backing—would quickly push him off his throne."

“My squadron was on picquet near a village surrounded with gardens, with a clear rapid stream of water running through it; and in this village, between two or three miles north-east of Ghuznee, is the tomb of the great Shah Mahmoud, which has stood upwards of eight hundred years, and which is an object of particular veneration to all true believers. The entrance from the village is by a low coarse doorway, which leads to a small garden; a paved footway conducts to an arched building, undeserving of notice: on either side the footpath are hollowed figures of sphinxes in white marble, and seemingly of great antiquity, and through these sphinxes water used to flow from the mouth; above them also, there were other small fountains. From the building I have mentioned, a rudely constructed vault or passage—a kind of cloister—leads to another small garden, at the end of which stands the mausoleum of the Sultan Mahmoud, the doors of which are said to have been brought by the Sultan as a trophy from the famous Hindoo temple of Somnaut, in Guzerat, which he sacked in his last expedition to India; they are of sandal-wood, curiously carved, and, considering their very great age, in fine preservation,[325] although they have in two or three places been coarsely repaired with common wood. These doors are, I should think, about twelve feet high and fifteen feet broad; and are held in such estimation, though it is upwards of eight hundred years since they were removed from Guzerat, that, it is said, Runjeet Singh made it one of his conditions to assist Shah Sūjah in a former expedition, that he should give up the sandal-wood gates; but this was indignantly rejected. In truth, I saw nothing particular about these doors, and if I had not been told of their age, and of their being of sandal-wood, I should have passed, taking them for deal, and merely observed their carving. Over the doors are a very large pair of stag’s horns (spiral), and four knobs of mud, which are the wonder of all true Musalmāns, who firmly believe in the miracle of their having remained uninjured and unrepaired for so many centuries. The mausoleum itself can boast of no architectural beauty, and is very coarsely constructed. The tombstone is of white marble, on which are sculptured Arabic verses from the korān, and various coloured flags are suspended over it, so as to protect it from dust. Against the wall at the head of the tomb is nailed up the largest tiger’s skin I ever saw, though it had evidently been stretched lengthwise. When the picquet was relieved I rode into Ghuznee by the Cabul road, by the side of which, at some distance from each other, are two lofty minarets,—one, I should think, one hundred, and the other one hundred and twenty feet in height: these are built of variously-shaped bricks, elaborately worked in various devices: the base of both these pillars is octangular, and rises to half the height, looking as if it had been built round the pillar itself, which is circular; or as if the pillar had been stuck into this case: the easternmost pillar is the highest and most elaborately decorated. I think I before observed that these minarets at a distance look like prodigious eau-de-cologne bottles. The mausoleum of Sultan Mahmoud, and these minarets, are now the only remains of the ancient city of Ghuznee; and nothing further exists to show the magnificence of the Ghuznee kings, or to mark the former site[326] of a city which eight centuries ago was the capital of a kingdom, reaching from the Tigris to the Ganges, and from the Jaxartes to the Persian Gulf. The present town is computed to contain about six hundred miserable houses. So much for greatness!—Such in the East is the lapse of mighty empires.”

“My squad was on lookout near a village surrounded by gardens, with a clear, fast-flowing stream running through it; and in this village, two to three miles northeast of Ghuznee, is the tomb of the great Shah Mahmoud, which has stood for over eight hundred years and is especially revered by all true believers. The entrance from the village is through a low, rough doorway leading to a small garden; a paved path leads to an arched building, which isn't particularly remarkable: on either side of the path are carved figures of sphinxes in white marble, looking quite old, and water used to flow from the mouths of these sphinxes; above them are also some small fountains. From the building I mentioned, a rudely constructed vault or passage—kind of like a cloister—leads to another small garden, at the end of which stands the mausoleum of Sultan Mahmoud. The doors of this mausoleum are said to have been brought back by the Sultan as a trophy from the famous Hindu temple of Somnaut in Guzerat, which he looted during his last campaign in India; they are of sandalwood, intricately carved, and considering their age, they are in excellent condition, although they have been roughly repaired with common wood in a few places. These doors are about twelve feet high and fifteen feet wide; they are held in such high regard, even though they were taken from Guzerat over eight hundred years ago, that Runjeet Singh allegedly made it a condition of aiding Shah Sūjah in a past campaign that he would surrender the sandalwood gates, but this was indignantly refused. Honestly, I saw nothing special about these doors, and if I hadn't been told their age and that they were made of sandalwood, I would’ve thought they were made of pine, merely noting their carvings. Above the doors are a very large pair of spiral stag's horns and four mud knobs, which are a wonder to all true Muslims, who firmly believe in the miracle of their having remained intact and unaltered for so many centuries. The mausoleum itself lacks any architectural beauty and is very roughly built. The tombstone is made of white marble, inscribed with Arabic verses from the Quran, and various colored flags hang over it to keep it from getting dusty. Against the wall at the head of the tomb is the largest tiger skin I’ve ever seen, though it has clearly been stretched lengthwise. When the lookout was relieved, I rode into Ghuznee along the Kabul road, where, at some distance from each other, stand two tall minarets—one about one hundred feet tall and the other about one hundred and twenty feet: they are made of bricks of various shapes, intricately adorned with different designs. The bases of both pillars are octagonal and rise to about half their height, as if they were built around a central circular pillar; or as if the pillar had been inserted into this outer casing. The easternmost pillar is the tallest and most elaborately decorated. I think I previously remarked that these minarets, when viewed from a distance, resemble enormous cologne bottles. The mausoleum of Sultan Mahmoud and these minarets are now the only remnants of the ancient city of Ghuznee; nothing else remains to showcase the grandeur of the Ghuznee kings or to mark the former location of a city that, eight centuries ago, was the capital of a kingdom stretching from the Tigris to the Ganges and from the Jaxartes to the Persian Gulf. The current town is estimated to have about six hundred miserable houses. So much for greatness!—Such is the decline of mighty empires in the East.”

[327]

CHAPTER LX.
Leaving 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.

Quitted St. Helena—The Polar Star—Drifting Seaweed—The Parrots—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 agrees to stay 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 Rabies—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.

March 19, 1839.—A nice, favorable breeze carried the “Madagascar” away from St. Helena, and we hoped to complete the rest of the voyage as quickly as we had the first part. The only decent fruit we found in James's Town was the plantain. We baked and pickled some mackerel on board, but were advised not to eat it after the first day, as St. Helena mackerel can be dangerous if kept too long.

April 11th.—How glad I was to see the polar star, visible the first time this evening! I thought of my dear mother, and how often we had watched it together; and the uncertainty of what[328] might have occurred during my voyage to the dear ones at home rendered me nervous and very unhappy. The southern hemisphere does not please me as much as the northern; the stars appear more brilliant and larger in the north.

April 11th.—I was so happy to see the North Star, visible for the first time this evening! I thought of my dear mother and how often we used to watch it together; the uncertainty of what[328] could have happened to my loved ones at home made me anxious and really sad. I don't like the southern hemisphere as much as the northern; the stars seem brighter and bigger 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.

18th.—The ship was sailing through lots of seaweed, thought to be washed up from the Gulf of Mexico; it’s always found in this area. The kids entertained themselves by writing letters to their mom and tossing them overboard, sealed 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.

May 7th.—Polidorus, the beloved pet parrot, passed away; the rocking of the ship and the cramped space took a toll on the bird, despite the warmth of the flannel. Out of our four birds, only one is still alive; and very few are left from the twenty-four parrots that the crew brought on board. A flock of parrots in India, with their vibrant green wings and pink necks, is a stunning 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.

Training a parakeet is a long and serious task. A local person will hold their bird on their finger every day and continually repeat, for an hour or two at a time, the name of their deity or some short phrase until the bird—hearing the same sounds every day for weeks or even months—learns to remember and mimic them. If the bird is in a cage, it's covered with a cloth so it won't be distracted by anything else. Sometimes, a person will lower the bird down a well for an hour or two to keep it in the dark while they repeat the daily lesson from above.

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.

Many birds are revered by Hindus, the most important being Gurooru, whose feathers are golden, with the head and wings of a bird and the rest of his body like a human. He is the vahan (vehicle) of Vishnu, who rides on his back; sometimes, the bird god appears as a flag atop Vishnu’s chariot—the lord of the feathered creatures, the eater of snakes. When Hindus go to sleep, they say Gurooru’s name three times for protection against snakes.

The bird Jŭtayoo is the friend of Rama, and is worshipped at the same festival with him.

The bird Jŭtayoo is Rama's friend and is honored at the same festival as him.

The Shŭnkŭrŭ Chillŭ, the eagle of Coromandel, the white-headed kite, commonly called the Brahmanī kite, is considered[329] an incarnation of Dūrga, and is reverenced by the Hindūs, who bow to it whenever it passes them.

The Shŭnkŭrŭ Chillŭ, the eagle of Coromandel, the white-headed kite, often referred to as the Brahmanī kite, is seen as[329] an incarnation of Dūrga, and is respected by Hindus, who bow to it whenever it flies by.

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.

Khŭnjŭnŭ, the wagtail, is a type of Vishnŭ because of the mark on its throat, which is thought to look like the Shalgrama. The Hindus respect 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.

The peacock, the goose, and the owl are celebrated during the festivals of Kartikŭ, Brŭmha, and Lukshmēē. However, if the owl, the vulture, or any other unclean bird lands on a Hindu's house, it's considered an unlucky sign, and they must perform a cleansing ritual to counteract the bad omen.

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.

8th.—We faced a strong gale with squalls that lasted three days. We were under storm sails, with waves crashing over the guns. It was an impressive sight; the waves looked like a wall on one side of the ship, and with the wind against us, maneuvering around in such rough seas was really fascinating to me, since I hadn’t been at sea for that long. While the storm raged, I thought about all the idols in the hold—Ganesh, Ram, and Krishnjee—and felt a little worried that “Madagascar,” in a moment of destructive fury, might destroy all my curiosities. In such a storm, it was impossible to go on deck wearing the usual attire of an English lady—delicacy forbade it—so I put on my Pahārī dress and went out to enjoy the storm. As I walked to the poop deck, I overheard some remarks: “I say, Jack, is that a man or a woman?” to which the sailor replied, “No, you fool, it’s a foreigner.” When another man asked, “Who is it?” he got the answer, “That lancer in the aft cabin.” The black velvet cap, which looked a bit like a college or lancer cap, probably inspired this bright idea, since the dress itself was particularly feminine and picturesque, and only stood out because of its uniqueness.

11th.—The gale abated, leaving a strong contrary wind and a heavy sea. We passed a small vessel,—merely a large boat battened down; she was from Lisbon, bound to London; the men wore high leather boots reaching above their knees; every wave broke over her, and ran out on the other side,—it was a fearful sea for such a little vessel. Four men were on board;[330] they hailed us to know the latitude and longitude, and found their calculations erroneous. The captain invited the master on board; they threw overboard a cockle-shell of a boat, in which the master and one of the men came alongside: it was beautiful and fearful to see that little boat on the waves,—they were still so tempestuous. The two men came on deck; the master was the finest specimen of the veteran sailor I ever beheld,—a strong, fine man, weather-beaten until his face looked like leather, frank and good-humoured,—he pleased us all very much. They had been beating about where they then were for the last fortnight, and had had hard work of it. We exchanged spirits and tobacco for delicious Lisbon oranges, and all parties were pleased. The old sailor returned in the cockle-shell to the larger boat, and we all watched his progress with interest; they pulled her in, and we soon bade adieu to the orange vessel.

11th.—The storm calmed down, leaving a strong opposing wind and rough seas. We passed a small ship—just a large boat secured tightly; it came from Lisbon and was heading to London. The men on board wore tall leather boots that reached above their knees; every wave crashed over the boat and spilled out on the other side—it was a dangerous sea for such a small vessel. Four men were on board;[330] they called out to ask for the latitude and longitude and discovered their calculations were off. The captain invited the captain of the small boat on board; they tossed a tiny boat overboard, and the captain and one crew member climbed aboard: it was both beautiful and terrifying to see that tiny boat on the waves, which were still very rough. The two men came on deck; the captain was the finest example of a seasoned sailor I had ever seen—a strong, sturdy man, weathered until his face looked like leather, open and good-natured—he made a great impression on all of us. They had been struggling in those waters for the last two weeks and had worked hard. We traded some spirits and tobacco for delicious Lisbon oranges, and everyone was happy. The old sailor returned in the tiny boat to the larger vessel, and we all watched his progress with interest; they pulled her in, and we soon said goodbye to the orange ship.

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.

13th.—For a while, we had been busy getting ready to go ashore, which I planned to do if possible at Plymouth; so I packed my curiosities—at least as many as I thought I could take with me, totaling nine chests; and all the buffalo and stag horns were prepared. About thirty-five miles from Plymouth, a pilot vessel came alongside, and we estimated we would land in about four hours. At 5 PM, after saying goodbye to the captain, who had taken great care of us during the voyage, a large group of us boarded the pilot vessel: as soon as we got on, the wind shifted, it started to rain, and it got really cold; we had to go below into a smoky cabin, the kids cried, and we all endured a very miserable 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.”

14th.—We got in at 6 A.M. May flowers and sunshine were on my mind. It was freezing cold walking up from the boat—rain, wind, and sleet mixed together hit my face. I remembered the response of the French ambassador to one of the attachés, who asked why the Tower guns were firing—“My friend, maybe it’s because we see the sun.”

Every thing on landing looked so wretchedly mean, especially the houses, which are built of slate stone, and also slated down the sides; it was cold and gloomy;—no wonder on first[331] landing I felt a little disgusted. I took a post-chaise, and drove to the house of that beloved parent for whose sake I had quitted the Hills, and had come so far. The happiness of those moments must be passed over in silence: she laid back the hair from my forehead, and looking earnestly at me, said,—“My child, I should never have known you,—you look so anxious, so careworn!” No wonder,—for years and anxiety had done their work.

Everything upon landing looked so miserably shabby, especially the houses, which were made of slate stone and also covered with slate on the sides; it was cold and gloomy; no wonder I felt a bit disgusted at first[331] when I arrived. I took a post-chaise and drove to the home of that beloved parent for whom I had left the Hills and traveled so far. The joy of those moments should be left unspoken: she brushed my hair back from my forehead, and looking closely at me, said, “My child, I would never have recognized you—you look so anxious, so worn out!” No wonder—years and worry had taken their toll.

The procession from the Custom House was rather amusing; the natural curiosities passed free, and as the buffalo and stag-horns were carried through the streets, the people stopped to gaze and wonder at their size. Having left my young friends in the “Madagascar,” it was necessary to go to town to receive them. I went up in the mail from Devonport; its fine horses pleased me very much, and at every change I was on the look out for the fresh ones. We went on an average ten miles an hour. One gentleman was in the mail. I was delighted with the sides of the hedges covered with primroses, heatherbells, and wild hyacinths in full bloom; nor could I repress my admiration; “Oh! what a beautiful lane!” “A lane!” said the man with frowning astonishment, “this is the Queen’s highway.” I saw the error I had committed; but who could suppose so narrow a road between two high banks covered with primroses, was the Queen’s highway? Every thing looked on so small a scale; but every thing brought with it delight. When the gruff gentleman quitted the mail, he gathered and gave me a bunch of primroses; with them and a bouquet of lilies of the valley I was quite happy, flying along at the rate of a mile in five minutes. In the cold of the raw dark morning they took me out of the mail thirty miles from London, and placed me in a large coach, divided into six stalls, somewhat like those of a cathedral: a lamp was burning above, and in a few minutes we were going through a long, dark, dreary tunnel. It was very cold, and I felt much disgusted with the great fearful-looking monster of a thing called a train: in a short time we were at the end of the thirty miles, and I found myself once again in London. On my arrival I was exceedingly fatigued; all the way from Landowr[332] I had met with nothing so overcoming as that day and night journey from Devonport to town. To every person on a return from India, all must appear small by comparison. Devonshire, that I had always heard was so hilly, appeared but little so; and although I was charmed with a part of the drive from Devonport to Exeter, with the richness of the verdure, and the fine cows half hidden in rich high grass, and the fat sheep, still I was disappointed—Devon was not as hilly a country as I had fancied. Oh the beauty of those grass fields, filled as they were with buttercups and daisies! During seventeen years I had seen but one solitary buttercup! and that was presented to me by Colonel Everest in the Hills. The wild flowers were delightful, and the commonest objects were sources of the greatest gratification. I believe people at times thought me half mad, being unable to understand my delight.

The procession from the Custom House was quite entertaining; the natural curiosities passed through for free, and as the buffalo and stag antlers were carried through the streets, people stopped to stare and marvel at their size. Having left my young friends at the “Madagascar,” I needed to head into town to meet them. I took the mail from Devonport; its fine horses impressed me a lot, and at every change, I was eager to see the new ones. We were averaging about ten miles an hour. One gentleman was also on the mail. I was thrilled by the hedges lined with primroses, heather, and wild hyacinths in full bloom; I couldn’t hold back my admiration; “Oh! what a beautiful lane!” “A lane!” replied the man, looking at me in disbelief, “this is the Queen’s highway.” I realized I had made a mistake; but who would think that such a narrow road between two tall banks covered in primroses could be the Queen’s highway? Everything seemed so small, yet everything brought joy. When the gruff gentleman got off the mail, he gathered a bunch of primroses and gave them to me; with those and a bouquet of lilies of the valley, I felt quite happy, speeding along at a mile every five minutes. In the cold, raw dark morning, they took me out of the mail thirty miles from London and placed me in a large coach, divided into six sections, somewhat like those in a cathedral: a lamp was lit above, and in a few minutes, we were going through a long, dark, dreary tunnel. It was very cold, and I felt quite put off by the large, intimidating thing called a train: in no time, we reached the end of the thirty miles, and I found myself back in London. When I arrived, I was extremely tired; that journey from Devonport to town had been the most exhausting part of my trip. To anyone returning from India, everything must seem small by comparison. Devonshire, which I had always heard was so hilly, seemed hardly so at all; and while I enjoyed part of the drive from Devonport to Exeter, with the rich greenery and the fine cows half-hidden in tall grass, and the fat sheep, I was still a bit let down—Devon wasn't as hilly as I had imagined. Oh, the beauty of those grassy fields, filled with buttercups and daisies! In seventeen years, I had only seen one solitary buttercup! and that was given to me by Colonel Everest in the Hills. The wildflowers were wonderful, and even the most ordinary things brought immense pleasure. I think people sometimes thought I was a bit mad, unable to grasp why I was so delighted.

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.

At the time I left England, it was fashionable for women to wear red cloaks in the winter, and what a lovely trend it was: the red or scarlet seen from a distance brightened and warmed the landscape; it took away some of the dreariness of a winter’s day. The poor, who always copy the style of those above them, wore red, which maintained a cheerful and warm look no matter how old or worn out it was. Upon 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 brand new, they lacked the charming and picturesque effect of the red garments.

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.

In Wales, I was happy to see women wearing black hats, similar to what men usually wear, with a white frilled cap underneath: it was traditional, but there wasn’t a red cloak in sight.

What can be more ugly than the dress of the English? I have not seen a graceful girl in the kingdom: girls who would otherwise be graceful are so pinched and lashed up in corsets, they have all and every one the same stiff dollish appearance; and that dollish form and gait is what is considered beautiful! Look at the outline of a figure; the corset is ever before you. In former days the devil on two sticks was a favourite pastime. The figure of the European fair one is not unlike that toy. Then[333] the bustle,—what an invention to deform the shape! It is a pity there is no costume in England as on the Continent for the different grades in society. Look at the eyes of the women in church,—are they not generally turned to some titled fair one, or to some beautiful girl, anxious to catch the mode of dressing the hair, or the tye of a ribbon, that they may all and each imitate the reigning fashion, according to the wealth they may happen to possess? This paltry and wretched mimickry would be done away with if every grade had a fixed costume.

What could be uglier than English fashion? I haven't seen a graceful girl in the kingdom: those who might otherwise be graceful are so squeezed into corsets that they all have the same stiff, doll-like look; and somehow, that dollish shape and walk are considered beautiful! Just look at the outline of their figures; the corset is always front and center. In the past, the devil on two sticks was a favorite form of entertainment. The image of the European beauty is not too different from that toy. And the bustle—what a terrible invention that distorts the figure! It's a shame there isn't a distinct style in England, like on the Continent, for different social classes. Look at the women in church—aren't their eyes generally on some titled beauty or a lovely girl, eager to catch a glimpse of how to style their hair or tie a ribbon so they can all mimic the latest trend, based on whatever money they have? This pathetic and miserable imitation would go away if each class had a defined 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.

I went to Mr. Greville’s on Bond Street to check out some birds, and I took a list of his prices, which I've attached, along with those from Mr. Drew, a bird taxidermist in Plymouth[39]. My science-minded friends preferred the birds in the same condition they arrived from India, so they stay 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.

Of all the new things I've seen since I came back, the railroads are the most surprising and have really shown me what modern science is all about. The speed of a long, black, smoking train is amazing, and when one train passes another, it's truly shocking. The people at the stations are especially polite; there's no hassle, everything is pleasant and well-organized. Because of how fast you travel, everything near the side of the railroad looks like something spun quickly on a lathe—all long stripes; you can't tell the stones from the ground or see the leaves individually—all you see are lines as you zoom past. The New Police, which are now so well-regulated, also caught my attention; their tidy uniforms make them stand out—a huge improvement over the watchmen of the past. The beautiful flowers, moss roses, and nice vegetables in town were very pleasing to see. I noticed the height of the carriage horses in the Park; they are strong, impressive animals, but their necks are flat, and their heads often look quite rough. They lack the arched neck and fiery spirit of horses from India.

[334]

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.

Visited the British Museum; the new rooms they've added are beautiful and filled with Egyptian artifacts; mummies everywhere, and some very impressive ones. The Elgin marbles, displayed in a stunning hall, look amazing. My collection of Hindu idols is way better than anything in the Museum; as for Ganesha, they'll never find one like mine, not even in a dream! They don’t have any horns that can compete with my buffalo’s, or birds that can match my eagles, which are magnificent. I was in town when a fog rolled in at 10 A.M. in October, so candles or gas lights were needed; it was as thick as the yellow haze that comes before a cyclone 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.

At the gardening show in Plymouth, I was happy to see the kulga (amaranthus tricolor), which not only decorated my garden back East but was also used as spinach, sāg. How many times have we shot off the top of this plant with a pellet gun, not just for fun, but to enhance it, since all the lower buds then grew larger, became colorful, and the plant looked better. The kala datura and the datura metel were there too, along with my old friends, the oleanders, looking thin and unhealthy. I went there alone, and people expressed their surprise that I did—how ridiculous! As if I were a prisoner unless some lady could go with me—wah! wah! I hope I never get tamed by the idea 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.

Oct. 26th.—Visited Umberslade; this historic residence of the Archer family is about fifteen miles from Leamington in Warwickshire. The view of the house and grounds is nice from the obelisk; the latter leans dangerously and seems ready to fall. The mansion is an impressive old square building, made of stone, with a stone balustrade around the flat roof. We then went to the church of Tanworth and checked out the family monuments. After that, we visited “The Butts”; a farmhouse is now referred to by that name, as it was once the archery ground.

My love of beautiful scenery, the faint remembrance I retained[335] of the mountains of Wales, and the wandering propensities inherent in my nature, added to a desire to revisit Conway, because the pilgrim was born within the walls, induced me to go into Wales.

My love for beautiful landscapes, the vague memory I held[335] of the mountains in Wales, and my natural tendency to wander made me want to revisit Conway, since the pilgrim was born within its walls, which drove me to go to 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.

Dec. 4th.—The entrance to Conway looks really beautiful from afar; it has more impressive hills around it than you might think, based on the usual views of the castle. The suspension bridge is pretty and fits well with the historic building. I explored the old ruins, which brought me a lot of joy, and walked along the ancient walls that surround the town; there are fifty charming lookout spots 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.

As night fell, I sought shelter at the Castle Inn, a well-kept, cozy, and very clean place. For dinner, I had a leg of the tastiest Welsh mutton, which Conway is particularly known for, and it’s more like the grain-fed mutton from the East than anything else I’ve tried. English sheep tend to be large, fatty, and quite coarse, and their mutton is definitely not as good as what you get in India. A small trout fresh from the river was excellent; the Welsh ale was good, and the warm fire was really nice.

5th.—I discovered William Thomas, an old servant, who formerly lived with my grandmother; he keeps a small inn: the man was very glad to see one of the family, and he became my escort to the house in which I was born, which having been sold by my father, is now the property of the Castle Inn. I went over it: in the room formerly my nursery were a couple of twins, and the landlady wished me to take lodgings there, saying they would be very cheap in the winter. I could not find a harper in Conway; it being the winter season, the only one they appear to have had quitted the place; he is there during the summer, when visitors are plentiful. Nor could I even see a Welsh harp, which they tell me differs from all other instruments of the same kind. With great pleasure I revisited the old castle, admired the great hall, and the donjon keep; the pilgrim was not born in the latter, but in “the flanking walls that round it sweep,” that is, within the walls of Conway. The ivy which covers the castle walls in the richest profusion is[336] remarkably fine, the wall-flowers most fragrant. Irish ivy is however larger and finer. The well-known lines—

5th.—I found William Thomas, an old servant who used to work for my grandmother; he runs a small inn. He was really happy to see a member of the family and offered to escort me to the house I was born in, which has been sold by my father and is now owned by the Castle Inn. I checked it out: in the room that used to be my nursery, there were a couple of twins, and the landlady suggested I could rent a room there, saying it would be really cheap in the winter. I couldn't find a harper in Conway since it’s the winter season; the only one they usually have has left for the season and comes back in summer when there are more visitors. I also couldn’t find a Welsh harp, which I've been told is different from all other instruments like it. I happily revisited the old castle, admired the great hall and the donjon keep; the pilgrim wasn't born in the keep, but in “the flanking walls that round it sweep,” meaning within the walls of Conway. The ivy that covers the castle walls so abundantly is[336] remarkably beautiful, and the wall-flowers are very fragrant. However, Irish ivy is bigger 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:—

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 where the castle is built; the rock is slate, and in digging for slate some hundred years ago, the foundation of one of the old towers was undermined, causing a part to collapse; the work was stopped, and the old castle is still well-preserved. The oriel window in the Queen’s tower is impressive, and the banquet hall must have been very beautiful. Leaving the castle, I went to the church—an impressive old structure when seen from inside, and old and interesting when viewed from the outside. It contains some ancient and fascinating monuments: on a flat stone in the chancel, the name Archer caught my attention; the inscription reads:—

Here lyeth yᵉ body of
Richᵈ Hookes of Conway
Gent—who was the 41ˢᵗ child
of his father Wᵐ Hookes
Esqʳᵉ by Alice his wife
and yᵉ father of 27 children
who died yᵉ 20 day of march
1631
N.B. This stone was revived
in the year 1720

att yᵉ charge of john
Hookes Esqʳᵉ
and since by Thoˢ
Bradley and Wᵐ Archer Esqʳᵉˢ

Here lies the body of Richard Hookes of Conway Gentleman—who was the 41ˢᵗ child of his father William Hookes Esquire and his wife Alice and the father of 27 children who passed away on March 20th 1631 N.B. This stone was restored in 1720 at the expense of John Hookes Esquire and later by Thomas Bradley and William Archer Esquires

I find this Richard Hookes was a relation of the Archers, which accounts for their care in reviving this curious account of the number of his family. In the street, a little above the Hotel, is a large and handsome house, called the Plas nwyd, or[337] new palace; the arms of the family to whom it belongs are carved on the chimney-pieces, and on the ceilings. On going down to the quay I found it was high tide; several small vessels were there. The walls of Conway, and the castle, and the suspension bridge, look well from this point. Next to the gateway is a large house, the property of the Erskines: the library is in the tower of the gateway; it is now deserted, and falling to decay, but must have been a pleasant residence.

I found out that Richard Hookes was related to the Archers, which explains their effort to revive this interesting account of his family's history. Just up the street from the hotel is a large, beautiful house called the Plas Nwyd, or new palace; the family crest is carved on the fireplace mantels and ceilings. When I went down to the quay, I noticed it was high tide, and several small boats were there. From this spot, the walls of Conway, along with the castle and suspension bridge, look impressive. Next to the gateway is a large house owned by the Erskines; the library is in the gateway tower. It's currently abandoned and falling apart, but it must have been a lovely place to live.

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.

Quitted Conway on my way to Ireland. Aber Conway, as I passed through, looked very beautiful; the bridge with its single arch, the mountains ahead, the church on the left, the stream, and the trees would make 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.

The main road is great—really, it's well-maintained and winds around a tall rock near the coast, where a solid stone wall acts as a barrier, making it easy to feel safe. The scenery in North Wales really impressed me; the mountains aren't tall, but the thick atmosphere makes clouds cling to their peaks, which they don't seem tall enough to warrant. Penrith Castle looks beautiful, and the stone quarries seem big and valuable. I crossed the Menai Bridge and traveled through Anglesea in the dark. I've heard that the cute little black cattle, so common in Wales, come from Anglesea—the island's breed. There are no wild goats in Wales, and I only spotted a couple of tame ones.

6th.—Arrived in Dublin, and proceeded to Knapton. The country around Dublin is hilly, pretty, and has some trees; further inland it is flat, very flat and uninteresting. The towns swarm with beggars, who look very cold, and of an unhealthy white, as if much illness were added to their poverty: the Irish cabins appear abodes of wretchedness, some of them being without a chimney, the smoke making its exit through the door; the pigs and the naked-legged children rolling together; and the roof looking as if its original thatching of straw was turned into mud, so covered is it with green moss, and the black hue of dampness. The potatoes are piled in ridges in the fields, covered over with a few inches of earth neatly beaten down,—the[338] only specimen of neatness that I saw was in these potato ridges; they are left unguarded in the field, and the Irish say, the last thing they would think of stealing would be the potatoes. The hay-ricks are on the same small scale as the Welsh, but not put together nor thatched with Welsh neatness; but the stacks of turf looked very Irish, and they were tolerably neat. The police, who are dressed in a dark-coloured uniform, are armed, which they are not in England. The sight of a turf-fire has an odd appearance at first; the smell is oppressive, and it does not appear to send out the heat of a coal-fire. The park of Abbeyleix, with its fine trees, is a pleasing object, surrounded as it is by a flat country of bog and swamp, and the walks within it are delightful. I wish I had had some of the young rhododendron trees from Landowr to plant there; I might have brought some home in glass cases, impervious to the sea air; a great many cases of that sort, containing rare plants, came to England on the poop of the “Madagascar;” several of the plants were in bloom on board, and they were all healthy on their arrival. The hall at Abbeyleix is decorated with the skull and horns of an enormous elk, found in one of the bogs,—a great curiosity; there is also a woodcock, with a young one and an egg, which were found in the grounds, and are considered a rarity.

6th.—I arrived in Dublin and headed to Knapton. The area around Dublin is hilly and nice, with some trees; but further inland, it’s flat—very flat and dull. The towns are full of beggars who look really cold and unhealthily pale, as if their illness is added to their poverty. The Irish cottages seem miserable, with some lacking chimneys, letting smoke escape through the doors; you can see pigs and bare-legged kids rolling around together, and the roofs look like their original straw thatching has turned to mud, completely covered in green moss and black dampness. The potatoes are arranged in ridges in the fields, covered by a few inches of soil that’s been nicely packed down—this is the only example of tidiness I noticed, in these potato ridges. They’re left unguarded in the fields, and the Irish say that the last thing they would think to steal is the potatoes. The haystacks are similar in size to those in Wales, but aren't put together or thatched with the same level of care; however, the stacks of turf look distinctly Irish, and they’re fairly neat. The police wear dark uniforms and carry weapons, which is not the case in England. The sight of a turf fire seems odd at first; the smell is heavy, and it doesn’t seem to give off the same heat as a coal fire. The park at Abbeyleix, with its beautiful trees, is a lovely sight, surrounded by flat boggy and swampy land, and the paths inside it are delightful. I wish I had brought some young rhododendron trees from Landowr to plant there; I could have transported them home in glass cases, resistant to the sea air; several such cases filled with rare plants arrived in England on the "Madagascar," and many of them were in bloom onboard, all looking healthy by the time they arrived. The hall at Abbeyleix is adorned with the skull and horns of a gigantic elk found in one of the bogs—a fascinating curiosity; there’s also a woodcock with a chick and an egg discovered on the grounds, which are considered rare.

We passed a woman who appeared to be very poor from the scantiness of her clothing; she wore her cloak over her head instead of over her shoulders,—a fashion purely Irish; but she did not ask for charity. My companion gave her some money; she threw herself on her knees to thank him, and on our asking her history, she said, “My husband is a Roman, sure it’s myself’s the bad Protestant:” she added that she had eight children, four of whom were dead, and the Lord be thanked; and she wished the Lord would take the others, for they were starving. I gave her a little money, which I made her promise to spend in potatoes and buttermilk, because she said she would lay it out in tea for the children. This new love of tea, to the abolition of potatoes and buttermilk, adds much to the starving state of the Irish poor; if you give them money, it is said, their[339] priests take one-third of it; besides which, O’Connell levies a tribute on the poor creatures.

We walked past a woman who seemed to be very poor based on her ragged clothing; she wore her cloak over her head instead of on her shoulders—a style typical of the Irish—but she didn’t ask for help. My friend gave her some money; she dropped to her knees to thank him, and when we asked her story, she said, “My husband is a Roman, and I’m the bad Protestant.” She mentioned that she had eight children, four of whom had died, and thanked the Lord for that; she wished the Lord would take the others too, since they were starving. I gave her a bit of money and made her promise to buy potatoes and buttermilk with it because she said she would spend it on tea for the kids. This new love for tea, replacing potatoes and buttermilk, contributes significantly to the starvation of the Irish poor. It’s said that if you give them money, their[339] priests take one-third of it; on top of that, O’Connell charges a fee to these poor folks.

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.

28th.—This morning, there was a nice frost on the ground, which the Irish call a black frost due to its unique whiteness and brightness. The group from Abbeyleix and Knapton headed out to shoot in the woods; the keepers beat the underbrush for woodcocks, much like we do when beating the jungle in India. During the day, I walked to the enclosed garden on Lord de Vesci’s property to see the tomb of Malichus O’More, the son of Roderick O’More. The thick ice covering it made the inscription hard to read. It used to be just a few yards from where it is now; Lord de Vesci built a hot-house in that spot and moved the coffin, which is made of stone and contains bones of enormous 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.

1840, Jan. 10th.—Today, penny postage started: a huge crowd gathered at the post office, dropping off letters—which were in massive quantities, as people had held off on writing, waiting for the launch of the penny post. A 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

13th.—Left Liverpool on the train: you start your journey through a huge tunnel, and when a train is passing through, a whistle signals at the other end. The engines puff and blow in such an aggressive way that it's hard to believe they're not alive; and when they need water, they whistle on their own to request it. Their names make me happy: the “Oberon” or the “Camilla” rush past you—puff, puff, like frustrated 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.

—road should be included, if not for the rhyme, but has to be understood.

23rd.—Rode with a friend to Clumber, the seat of the Duke of Newcastle; the grounds are fine and extensive; the house appeared an immense mass of heavy building: the interior may be handsome, but the exterior is heavy and dreary-looking.[340] I admired the lake very much, and the canter we took in the park was delightful.

23rd.—Rode with a friend to Clumber, the home of the Duke of Newcastle; the grounds are beautiful and vast; the house looked like a huge, heavy structure: the interior might be nice, but the outside is bulky and dull.[340] I really admired the lake, and the ride we had in the park was wonderful.

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.

29th.—Visited Mr. Waljambe’s museum of British birds; it is outstanding, and I was captivated by the silver firs in the grounds at Osburton—they're truly 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.”

Feb. 3rd.—The following speech made by a gentleman at lunch amused me:—“Lord Brougham says, ‘People are divided into two classes, those who have seen my house in Italy, and those who have not:’—now, I divide people 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 stunning birds I've ever seen.”

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.

11th.—A steamer collided with a merchant ship that was anchored in the river; down it went suddenly, taking all its crew with it, just like that. At low tide, four barges were brought in and secured to it with strong chains and cables. It was then left until the tide came in, at which point the pressure on the ropes increased. Hundreds of people gathered to watch it being pulled up—the tide rose higher and higher—the struggle was intense—“Now mud,”—“Now barges,” was the shout: the mud clung to it tightly, the barges pulled harder and harder—the anxiety was palpable: finally, like a cork popping out of a bottle, it broke free from the suction, surfaced, and was quickly taken to the shore: some of the crew, who were asleep when it sank, 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.

April 20, 1841.—In the small chapel of Pennycross in Devon, my dear father was laid to rest. It's on a hill surrounded by beautiful trees, offering a stunning view—just the kind of peaceful, sacred, secluded place one would choose for a final resting spot. I couldn't bring myself to visit before, but now I have a strong urge to go back again and again.

May 1st.—Revisited the chapel of Pennycross, and took a drawing of the tomb of my father.

May 1st.—I went back to the Pennycross chapel and drew my dad's tomb.

PENNYCROSS CHAPEL.
Pennycross Chapel.

Sketched on the spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched on the spot by Fanny Parks

12th.—Went on board the “Wilberforce” steamer, which is going with the “Albert” and “Santon” on the Niger expedition.[341] She has two engines, each of thirty-five horse power. The “Santon” has only one engine: the “Wilberforce” is flat-bottomed, but has a double keel, they tell me, that may be drawn up at pleasure. She is ventilated, but will be horribly hot in a warm climate—like an iron furnace. The life-buoy appeared a good invention. One of the officers showed me an absurd affair,—a small lantern to strap upon the chest of a man, to purify the air he breathes when he is exposed to a pestilential atmosphere. They showed me a number of bibles and testaments, which they said were in the Arabic character: judging from the slight glimpse I caught, it appeared to me to be beautifully printed Persian. The two Ashantee princes came on board with their tutor: they are intelligent, good-humoured, ugly Africanders, with large blubber lips and up-turned flat noses, and dressed like young Englishmen: how soon they will discard their tight trowsers and small sleeves when they get back to their own country! The crockery on board is shown to the lady visitors, who are expected to weep on beholding the appropriate design printed upon it:—a negro dancing with broken chains in his hands! It made me laugh, because there is much humbug in the whole affair—but it is the fashion. I was rather inclined to weep when I thought what would be the probable fate of the men then around, who were going out on the expedition to such a dreadful climate.

12th.—I went on board the “Wilberforce” steamer, which is heading out with the “Albert” and “Santon” on the Niger expedition.[341] She has two engines, each with thirty-five horsepower. The “Santon” has just one engine: the “Wilberforce” has a flat bottom but boasts a double keel that can be pulled up as needed. It’s ventilated, but will be really hot in a warm climate—like an iron furnace. The life buoy seems like a clever invention. One of the officers showed me a silly gadget—a small lantern that straps to a person's chest to purify the air they breathe in a disease-ridden atmosphere. They also displayed several Bibles and Testaments, claiming they were in Arabic script; from the quick look I got, it seemed to be beautifully printed Persian. The two Ashantee princes came on board with their tutor: they are smart, good-natured, unattractive Africans, with large thick lips and flat noses, dressed like young Englishmen. Just wait till they toss aside their tight trousers and small sleeves when they return home! The china on board is shown to the lady visitors, who are expected to tear up over the design printed on it:—a Black man dancing with broken chains in his hands! I found it amusing because there’s a lot of nonsense in the whole thing—but it's the trend. I felt like crying when I thought about the likely fate of the men around me who were heading out to such a brutal 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.

July 21st.—I was advised to check out the baths of Schwalbach in Germany for my health, so I set off by steamer for Rotterdam and traveled up the Rhine. After a really pleasant time at Schwalbach, where my health improved thanks to its mineral waters, I returned to England.

Dec. 8th.—This day is over—I am once more alone—and what a day of agony it has been to me—my birthday! On this day I first beheld my beloved mother; on this day I have placed her in her grave!—have parted with her in this world for ever. My beloved mother has been placed in my father’s vault in the churchyard of that quiet and beautiful little chapel at Pennycross,—a tranquil and holy spot. O my mother! let[342] me turn from your grave to the duties that are before me, and strive to act in a manner worthy of your child.

Dec. 8th.—This day is over—I am once again alone—and what a day of pain it has been for me—my birthday! On this day, I first saw my beloved mother; on this day, I have laid her to rest!—have said goodbye to her in this world forever. My beloved mother is now in my father’s vault at the churchyard of that quiet and beautiful little chapel at Pennycross—a peaceful and sacred place. O my mother! let[342] me turn away from your grave to the responsibilities ahead of me, and strive to behave in a way that makes you proud of your child.

INDIAN NEWS.

Overland letters brought me the following intelligence:—

Overland letters gave me the following information:—

“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.”

“1839, March 25th.—Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī sent a message to share the good news about the safety of the Gaja Rajā Sāhib and the birth of a daughter; both of them are very weak and frail, and her Highness is quite concerned about her granddaughter, as she can hardly eat anything. They have named the baby the Chimna Rajā, after Appa Sāhib's wife.”

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.

Holding a title out of courtesy, as “Aunt of my granddaughter the Gaja Rajā,” this newly arrived young princess must be my great-grand-niece, which is probably why she chose to be born on the anniversary of my wedding day. It's interesting that the women in that family are strangely referred to as 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.”

Dec. 15th.—My relative in Landowr wrote to me, saying, “I recently received a very interesting letter from our friend Sturt, the engineer, in Cabul: he has been appointed as the engineer for Shah Sūjah and earns 1000 rupees a month. He hadn’t heard that you were in England, but he asked me to send his best regards to you. Here’s an excerpt: ‘Please send my warmest greetings; I promised her a sketch of the Hills, which I haven’t forgotten, but I’ve never made one that I liked; however, she will get one of Candahar, Ghuznee, and Cabul, along with anything else this place offers. Would she like a lady’s dress? If so, I would be grateful if she would accept it from me.’ I told Sturt that you were home, but I was sure you would be excited to receive the sketches.”

How often after the death of Captain Sturt, who distinguished himself so highly, did I regret never having received the promised sketches, and concluded they were lost during the disastrous retreat from Cabul! In 1848, Mr. Hullmandel showed me the work published by General Sale, and told me the lithographs were from sketches by Captain Sturt; that the portfolio[343] was lost during the retreat of the army, but was afterwards discovered and given to Lady Sale. With how much interest I looked over the drawings!—in all probability they were from the very sketches he had taken for me.

How often after Captain Sturt's death, who achieved so much, did I regret not receiving the promised sketches and figured they were lost during the disastrous retreat from Cabul! In 1848, Mr. Hullmandel showed me the work published by General Sale and mentioned that the lithographs were based on sketches by Captain Sturt; that the portfolio[343] was lost during the army's retreat but was later found and given to Lady Sale. I looked over the drawings with so much interest!—they were probably from the very sketches he had created 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!

1840, Feb. 15th.—We've just heard that Lord Auckland has been made an Earl and Sir John Keane a Baron: what a unfortunate fellow Sir Henry Fane has been, to have missed out on prize money and a title, and to have nearly died from the only thing he got while he was there—a serious 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.”

“There’s no doubt about the expedition to China, and ‘Tea is rising.’ It’ll be a quick affair, a year at most; all the pressure will be on poor Governor Lin, who might lose his head along with 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.

July 1st.—The Bombay Government has agreed to let Bāiza Bā’ī live in a place called Nassuk, by the banks of the Godavery, not far from the Poona district, which is her home. She will be given four lakh a year; she is to live there under the same conditions as others of her status do in Benares or other areas within British territories; however, it is clearly understood that her followers must adhere to the local laws and regulations.

“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.’

2nd.—We’ve heard about Sir Henry Fane’s death, and we’re truly sorry for it—poor guy, his early luck didn’t follow him in his later years. During the Peninsular War, he was called ‘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.”

August.—The Bā’ī has been unfortunate, as a fire in her camp destroyed her house, shawls, etc., and property valued at four or five lakh: this was caused by a Mahratta girl accidentally setting fire to the parda.

“Dec.—The Gaja Rajā has recovered from a very severe illness, and the little princess, the Chimna Rajā, is well.

Dec.—The Gaja Rajā has bounced back from a serious illness, and the little princess, the Chimna Rajā, is doing fine.

“A subscription was circulated in 1835 at Allahabad for building a church. Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor, subscribed 1000 rupees. The building was to be done, provided the funds were sufficient, by Colonel Edward Smith, of the engineers. In February, 1841, the church was consecrated by the Bishop: it does honour to the architect, being a handsome building, and[344] well adapted to the climate. The erection of so expensive a church by so small a society shows great zeal in the cause of religion in the inhabitants of Allahabad.

A subscription was started in 1835 in Allahabad to build a church. Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor, donated 1,000 rupees. The construction was to be handled, if funds allowed, by Colonel Edward Smith from the engineering department. In February 1841, the church was consecrated by the Bishop; it reflects well on the architect, being an attractive building and[344] well-suited to the climate. The construction of such an expensive church by a relatively small community shows great enthusiasm for religion among the people 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.”

“We've just heard the news about renewed hostilities with China, and I'm glad about it. The Chinese will have to learn about the power of the enemy they've provoked. The new Commissioner, who replaces Lin, will be sent to the Board of Punishment, and the admiral has lost his rank. There's nothing new under the sun; our saying about having ‘a soul above buttons’ probably comes from the Chinese. A great man, like Admiral Kwang, stands bravely against the loss of dignity (button) and honor.”

“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.”

1841, Feb. 15th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī has crossed over to the other side of the Jumna, where she will stay until after tomorrow's eclipse. Appa Sāhib is in Sultan Khusrū’s garden and reportedly won’t leave until there’s some arrangement made for him by the Bā’ī or the Government; otherwise, he says he will become a 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.”

“May.—Captain Fitzgerald, who is responsible for the Bāiza Bā’ī, was reported to be in Nagpore along with her Highness; she didn't cause any problems but was slow to move, as the weather was extremely 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.

“1842.—A message was received from Nassuk, about forty or fifty kos from Bombay. The Brija Bā’ī, one of her Highness’s ladies, was very magrā, i.e. unhappy with the hawā pāni, ‘the air and water’ of the place, and complained that she saw no sāhib log (gentlemen), unlike when she was in 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.”

“How little a person can understand their true worth! The most recent updates from Cabul told us our friend Captain B⸺ was a prisoner, and was being sold for 200 rupees! Once the price was paid, he was freed from captivity.”

Let me record the death of a faithful servant: on quitting Calcutta, a lame shepherd applied to be taken into employ; the old man had been a sipahī, was wounded in action, and ever after remained lame. When he offered himself as bherī-wālā (shepherd) an objection arose on account of his lameness,[345] it being imagined he could never take the goats five hundred miles up the country. “I am so lame I shall never overdrive them,” said the man;—the reason was unanswerable, he was taken into service.

Let me note the death of a loyal servant: when leaving Calcutta, a limping shepherd asked to be hired. The old man had been a soldier, was injured in battle, and remained lame afterward. When he offered to work as a shepherd, there was concern about his lameness,[345] as people thought he could never drive the goats five hundred miles into the countryside. “I’m so lame I can’t overdrive them,” the man said;—his reasoning was convincing, and he was hired.

The old male goat of the flock very often upsets the shepherd; though they are always at war they are great friends.

The old male goat of the flock often annoys the shepherd; even though they are always at odds, 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!

Poor old Bulwan, our lame shepherd, was bitten by a rabid dog while trying to drive it away from one of the goats—my favorite black Bengalī, which I had specifically entrusted to his care. He passed away four days later; he was taken to the hospital, but it was too late. Cutting out the bitten area and cauterizing the wound seems to be the only effective treatment. We gave his son eight rupees to bury him, and we’ll keep him in his father's position if he proves reliable. We miss the old man a lot; we used to give him a rupee now and then to lift his spirits. Every shepherd knows their own sheep; my old man not only knew his sheep but had a name for each of his forty-five goats. Like Dandy Dinmont’s terriers, Pepper and Mustard, the old man named all his goats after one, his favorite, a beautifully spotted Delhi goat named Jūmnī—“Jūmnī’s daughter,” “Jūmnī’s grandson’s granddaughter,” “Jūmnī’s nephew’s grandchild”—every kid in the flock was somehow linked to the invaluable Jūmnī: the pedigree of a racehorse was nothing compared to the lineage of the kids!

[346]

CHAPTER LXI.
JOURNEY 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.

Family Sorrows—Leaving England—The Carnatic—A Storm—The Essence of the Storm—Sunsets—Peak of Tenerife—The Trade Wind—An Incredibly Magnificent Comet—Phosphorescent Lights—Visit from Neptune turned down—Lack of Supplies—Spray Bows—Albatross captured—Reaching the Cape of Good Hope.

1843.—I will pass over my wanderings in France, Belgium, and Germany without comment. My absence from India was prolonged far beyond the time originally allotted me, by the deep and numerous afflictions that fell upon me. One by one all those I loved had sunk into the grave: mental suffering, united to anxiety and bodily exertion, brought on severe illness, and that buoyancy of spirit which had hitherto supported me was gone. How can I express my gratitude to those dear friends who nursed me with such unwearied care and affection during a long and painful illness of nearly three months’ duration, with which I had to struggle; until, with health regained, my[347] happy spirits began to resume their empire? It is a blessed dispensation of Providence, that, “with returning health returns that energy, without which the soul were given to us in vain; and which enables us calmly to face the evils of our being, and resolutely to fulfil its objects: there is but one philosophy (though there are a thousand schools), and its name is fortitude. To bear is to conquer our fate.”

1843.—I'll skip over my travels in France, Belgium, and Germany without comment. My time away from India ended up being much longer than I initially planned due to the many deep losses I experienced. One by one, everyone I loved passed away: emotional pain, combined with worry and physical strain, led to serious illness, and the energy that had previously kept me going was gone. How can I express my gratitude to those dear friends who cared for me with such tireless dedication and love during the long and painful illness I struggled with for nearly three months; until, with my health back, my[347] spirits began to lift again? It is a wonderful gift from Providence that, “with returning health comes that energy, without which life would be meaningless; and which allows us to face life's challenges with calm and to pursue our goals: there’s only one true philosophy (even if there are many schools of thought), and it’s called fortitude. To endure is to overcome 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.

On my recovery, against the advice of my doctors, I decided to sail right away for the Cape and rejoin my husband, who had to leave India due to illness and travel to Southern Africa for his health. I booked the left rear cabin on the poop of the “Carnatic,” a ship belonging to Captain I⸺, for £110 to the Cape; and I arranged for an ayha to take care of me during the journey. I said goodbye to my friends and headed to Portsmouth to wait for the ship's arrival.

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.

Feb. 8th.—Set sail from Portsmouth at noon; it was stormy and windy, but the wind was in our favor; the temperature was 46°—extremely cold. I struggled a lot with seasickness and felt completely miserable, so 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.

10th.—In the Bay of Biscay, we faced a chaotic mix of waves, all crashing and pushing against each other; a strong tailwind propelled the ship forward quickly, with the waves thundering behind her, while, every so often, a wave hit her hard. I was feeling too sick to get off my bed.

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.

14th.—A strong storm hit, blowing constantly with terrifying force for two days and nights! The ship pitched and rolled intensely! It groaned as if all its structure was being torn apart; this would last for ten minutes, and then there would be a pause—a complete silence for a few seconds, after which the groaning of the ship would start again, followed by the same dead silence at intervals; it made me feel like the vessel beneath me was falling apart in every beam, unfit for the sea.

16th.—Foul wind and rain; even that was better than the state of the vessel during the gale, which abated a little this morning. The pitching and rolling, added to the groans of the timbers, allowed of no rest night or day; it was to me a life of[348] great suffering, added to which, the ship was badly provisioned, and the cook a very bad one.

16th.—Strong winds and rain; even that was better than how the ship was during the storm, which eased a bit this morning. The pitching and rolling, along with the creaking of the wood, allowed for no rest, night or day; it was a life of[348] great suffering for me, especially since the ship was poorly stocked, and the cook was terrible.

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.

17th.—The ship's captain told me he had never experienced such a storm before; the first officer agreed. His planned route was outside Madeira, but the strong winds and rough seas, which the captain claimed the ship couldn't survive, forced him to change and take a route inside 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.

18th.—A strong wind and rough seas hit the ship, waves crashing over it in a terrifying manner; the galley was swept away, most of the livestock under the large boat was nearly gone, and seven pigs were killed. The deck was a scene of total chaos; sailors trying to save the livestock were knocked down, and the steward, lying in the water that surged over the deck, was holding onto a pig; the pig bit his hand, he let go, and the pig was tossed overboard by the next wave. With the ship in such a mess, the passengers had to fend for themselves, and they were in quite a bad situation. At dinner time, I ventured out to find some food since my servant hadn’t been able to get anything for me from the steward all day; the captain apologized for the dinner on the table because the galley had been washed away: it was just one big cheese, and everyone got a biscuit! There were nineteen hungry cadets there; you should have seen how the boys devoured it!—the huge cheese quickly vanished. Everyone was in good spirits, happy to have biscuit and cheese, but the news of the loss of so much livestock was far from pleasant.

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.

21st.—Since we left Portsmouth until now, I've been really sick from seasickness, and on top of that, I can hardly sleep at night because the weather has been so consistently bad. As for the poor people below deck, they must be almost suffocating—the waves crashing in on one side of the deck and rushing out the other force them to keep the hatches closed.

The wind was strong and against us; in the evening I saw a beautiful meteor on the starboard bow, shooting down the sky.[349] At night I was sitting Hindūstanī fashion on my sofa, playing on the guitar, and singing—

The wind was strong and against us; in the evening I saw a beautiful meteor on the starboard bow, shooting down the sky.[349] At night I was sitting Indian-style on my sofa, playing 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 sea was really rough, and there was a bit of a hurricane; the wind suddenly shifted, and the “Carnatic” was caught off guard; she was pitching and rolling everywhere! There was chaos on deck, but I kept singing—no point in letting a storm get to me; the rhythm of the music definitely changed as the intense rocking sent me back and forth 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.”

The next morning, the chief officer said, “I was surprised last night when the ship was caught off guard. I heard you singing as quietly as you could the whole time; I didn’t like it—it sounded like the spirit of the storm.” This comment reminded me of Long Tom Coffin, who, upon hearing a midshipman singing during a fierce storm, asked the captain to call him down from the cannon he was sitting on, adding, “Because I know, from spending my whole life at sea, that singing in a storm is sure to bring down the wind on a ship even harder; for the one who controls the tempests is not pleased when man’s voice is heard while He decides to send His own breath across 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.

23rd.—A calm day, a nice evening, and the first peaceful night since I’ve been on board where I could actually get a good night's sleep; we are now sheltered by 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.

24th.—Another calm day, a beautiful evening, and a peaceful night;—what a treat! A stunning sunset: the purple clouds rose from the deep blue ocean like a wall, with two brilliant streaks of vibrant green above, other streaks of crimson surrounded by purple clouds, and above it all a sky of mottled deep ultramarine clouds, the edges glowing like polished molten gold, similar to the bright colors on the back of a mackerel. A breathtaking sunset after such wild storms and heavy rains.

25th.—A nautilus and a tortoise seen. Another sunset, less wild than that of the evening before, but the finale was[350] brilliant. The clouds drew back, and the sun—a perfect world of fire—sank in burning brilliancy into the deep blue sea, which did not appear to catch one tint from its vivid beams, but remained a deep, cold, clear blue, whilst every cloud around caught and returned the rays. In these latitudes, at sea, a sunset is indeed a glorious sight: and what, after the evening shades have fallen around, and the deck is quiet and nearly forsaken, can be more calm and refreshing than the star-light night, and the cool and delightful breeze?—luxurious hours of dreamy contemplation.

25th.—We saw a nautilus and a tortoise. The sunset was calmer than the previous evening's, but the ending was[350] spectacular. The clouds parted, and the sun—a perfect orb of fire—dipped brilliantly into the deep blue sea, which seemed untouched by its vibrant light, remaining a deep, chilly, clear blue, while every cloud around it captured and reflected the rays. In these latitudes, out at sea, a sunset is truly a breathtaking sight. And what could be more peaceful and refreshing after the evening shadows have settled, with the deck quiet and nearly empty, than a starlit night and a cool, pleasant breeze?—luxurious hours of dreamy reflection.

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.

26th.—At 6 AM I saw the Peak of Teneriffe: when the sun came out strong, the Peak became stunning—its snowy top ridged with furrows, shining like silver in the sunlight; deep shadows covered the island, the shape was visible but with an unclear effect that made it look like a fairy land; while, above the shadows, set against and highlighted by the clear blue sky, the silvery Peak was a beautiful sight. The sea was almost completely calm, and several 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.

27th.—A beautiful day, almost calm—Teneriffe and Palma look great. There are 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.

March 1st.—The trade winds are nice and steady, making us all feel happy and content: the temperature is 67°—a very pleasant temperature. My bed came down unexpectedly; the double-jointed brass screws it was hanging from had taken too much stress from the ship's pitching and rolling and broke off completely. The old-fashioned iron screws are much better; they allow for less movement than the double-jointed brass ones and won't 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[351] of the brightest green mixed with the warm glow of sunset. While the waves were still bright with the rose tints, and two crimson clouds still lingered amidst those of the darkest hue, the crescent moon arose with the old moon in her arms, and a beautiful lunar bow was brightly visible, silver-tinted like the moon. The captain of the ship remarked it was an uncommon and curious circumstance; the bow remained visible some time. The horizon darkened, meteoric lights played around the ship, illuminating the waves with flashes of silver light, and sparkling stars, the glow-worms of the deep. The trade-wind was blowing, the night was fresh and pure, and most agreeable.

A stunning scene unfolded as the sun dipped below the horizon; a brilliant rose color spread across both the sea and the sky. Clouds of deep gray contrasted beautifully with others glowing in fiery crimson, and two bright streaks[351] of vivid green blended with the warm sunset glow. As the waves still shimmered with rose hues, and two crimson clouds lingered among the darkest, the crescent moon rose, cradling the old moon, and a beautiful lunar rainbow appeared, shining silver like the moon. The captain of the ship pointed out that it was a rare and fascinating sight; the rainbow remained visible for a while. The horizon darkened, meteor-like lights flickered around the ship, illuminating the waves with flashes of silver, and the stars sparkled like glow-worms in the deep. The trade wind was blowing, the night felt fresh and clear, and it was quite pleasant.

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.

5th.—Lat. N. 15° 12′, long. W. 21° 5′.—Some beautiful flying fish were caught in the rigging; the captain harshly ordered them to be prepared for breakfast, and their taste was delicate and delicious. Religious service was conducted for the first time. A shark was spotted, 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.

6th.—Lat. 12° 43′, long. 21° 8′.—The lunar rainbow is visible at the same time, appearing brighter and longer; it looks like an incredibly long comet. The trade winds are favorable.

7th.—Lat. 11° 8′, long. 20° 40′.—Light winds; the comet or lunar bow, whichever it may be, visible as usual.

7th.—Lat. 11° 8′, long. 20° 40′.—Light winds; the comet or lunar arc, whichever it is, is 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.

8th.—Lat. 9° 21′, long. 20° 55′.—The comet looked very distinct, and with a telescope, the star at the front was visible. The comet appeared at 6:20 P.M.—disappeared at 8:00 PM The light of the tail had a bright silver color, and it was quite expanded at the end. The crescent moon was still bright, and the sea was 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.

9th.—Lat. 7° 46′, long. 20° 53′.—The comet is very clear and huge; it looked amazing tonight, was visible a bit longer than it was last night, and disappeared around the same time as before. It was a lovely night; the moon, in its third quarter, was bright; Orion stood out in the dark sky, Aldebaran, the Pleiades, and α Arietis were shining brightly, and Canopus looked stunning.

10th.—This morning two of the young men amused themselves[352] with swimming by the ship’s side during the calm into which we have gradually fallen. The captain remonstrated with them; and a shark was caught, which will prevent such folly in future. Thermometer 85°—very warm. The comet appeared about six, and set about eight P.M.—not so bright this evening as usual. A waveless ocean.

10th.—This morning, two of the young men entertained themselves[352] by swimming next to the ship during the calm we've gradually fallen into. The captain warned them; a shark was caught, which should discourage such silliness in the future. The thermometer reads 85°—very warm. The comet appeared around six and set around eight P.M.—not as bright tonight as it usually is. The ocean is perfectly still.

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.

11th.—A deep calm— the sunrise was really beautiful, suggesting a very warm day ahead. In the evening, the comet could be seen, but it was covered by clouds—a storm, and a fresh breeze 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.”

12th.—Lat. 4° 28′, long. 20° 10′.—At dawn this morning, when I looked out of the port, the beauty of the scene left me speechless with admiration. Who can capture the magnificence and stunning colors of that sunrise? The fiery crimson clouds, streaked with the darkest and richest neutral shades, hung above deep, fantastically shaped clouds rising like mountains from the sea. Above the glowing crimson, there was a bright flash of greenish-blue sky, and above that was a mix of even deeper and more radiant crimson clouds, intertwined with the darkest neutral tones, spread across a sky of the most vivid deep ultramarine—purple waves rose and swelled, glowing with the richest rose hues. To the left, dark neutral clouds towered from the sea like a dark mountain, with streams of crimson light cascading over its peak, in front of which the softest, fullest, and brightest white clouds stood out against the dark blue sea, appearing to rest on it. The person who dedicated the soft, religious gloom and crimson lights of a cathedral to the service of God must have drawn inspiration from feelings evoked by such a scene, where a stunning display of solemn colors humbles the soul before Him who has “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.

This sunrise has made all the hard work and struggles of the journey worth it: the sunsets are beautiful; but who can truly capture the splendor of the rising sun, the intensity of the shadows, the blazing light;—a sight that will always be remembered, a beauty that will never fade from memory, even to the end. Heavy rain in the evening, many clouds, the comet hidden from view.

[353]

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.

14th.—It was rainy and uncomfortable. At night, beneath the stern of the ship, the phosphorescent light was stunning. Curious to see what caused it, I asked the steward to throw out a bucket. He brought back an odd white jelly-like substance, about two and a quarter inches long and three-quarters of an inch wide at the thickest part, shaped somewhat like a finger and covered in rings of small globules that emitted a bright, transparent emerald glow. It could turn the light on and off at will. I put it in a tumbler of seawater: any movement of the water triggered a strong light. By daylight the next morning, it looked like a thinly haired dirty-white caterpillar, and its rounded shape had flattened out; in this state, it weighed one dram and one scruple. It was harmless to touch, 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.

18th.—Neptune wanted to come on board, but since his company wasn't deemed welcome, the visit was turned down, and a gift was promised to him at the end of the trip.

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.

19th.—The stars were very bright—a beautiful night in the trade winds—the comet was very high, much more vertical; the end of the tail appeared some distance beyond Rigel in Orion—the stars seemed to hide their diminished heads as it passed over them—it set at a quarter past 9 P.M.; its enormous size 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.”

22nd.—The calm lasted— the weather was really warm— eight ships around us were stuck because of the wind, just like us. To entertain the younger passengers and make the time go by, which felt long and boring, we started theater plays, held concerts, and created a weekly newspaper called “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.

23rd.—The Magellanic Clouds are visible—the Southern Cross, with its pointers shining brightly—the entire sky is dotted with stars—the moon, Vesta, and Mars look incredibly beautiful.

April 1st.—A glorious sunset over Trinidada and Martin Vas rocks.

April 1st.—A beautiful sunset over Trinidad and the Martin Vas rocks.

4th.—Lat. S. 24° 39′, long. W. 29° 24′. The comet, which has been gradually diminishing in brightness, was invisible this evening, and we never beheld it again. The stock of water is[354] very low; of the live-stock very little remains, and there appears small chance of getting on more quickly with the voyage.

4th.—Lat. S. 24° 39′, long. W. 29° 24′. The comet, which had been slowly fading, was not visible this evening, and we never saw it again. The water supply is[354] extremely low; there’s hardly any live-stock left, and it seems unlikely that we will make progress in the voyage anytime soon.

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.

9th.—Another calm: are we ever going to reach the Cape? The water is almost gone; we only have three sheep, two pigs, four chickens, and one goose left. The captain is considering getting water at Tristan da Cunha. The livestock is in pretty sad shape, and the lone, skinny goose has become a meal for 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.

14th.—There’s a rough sea, taking on a lot of water, rolling and pitching hard; a sharp wind and strong breeze. On the high, foamy waves behind us, the spray bows, as they call them, are incredibly beautiful—like small rainbows on the waves, four or five sometimes visible at once; I watched them with great enjoyment from the back 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.

15th.—The sea was calmer; eight albatrosses and many small birds were behind us. In the evening, they gathered near the ship, following us and snatching the bait off the hooks we had 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.

16th.—Three albatrosses were caught: the smaller one measured nine feet from wingtip to wingtip. A kind gentleman prepared it for me using arsenical soap, and I brought it back 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.

26th.—We dropped anchor at 10 AM in Table Bay, after a trip lasting seventy-eight days from Portsmouth and eighty-nine days from the Docks.

My arrival was unexpected, and therefore, I trust, only the more welcome.

My arrival was a surprise, and I hope that makes it even more welcome.

[355]

CHAPTER LXII.
Cape Town Residence.

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.

View from the Sea—Shipwrecks—Cape Town—Fish Market—The Seasons—Slavery—Laundry Workers on the Mountain—Target Practice—Beautiful Flowers—Cape Sheep—The Bushwoman—Green Point—Seashells—Honeybush—Ivory Bracelets—High Prices for Curiosities—Auctions—Thefts—Camp’s Bay—Stunning Aloes—Effect of the Fog on Lion Mountain—The Lion's Rump—Huge Bulbs—Botanical Gardens—Remarkable Trees and Shrubs—Hæmanthus—Poisoned Arrows—Puff Adder—Melaleuca—Interesting Trees—The Flat Stone—The Lonely 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.

May 1843.—Cape Town, as seen from the sea, is stunning and unique; the white houses sit close to the shore, surrounded by mountains. Devil’s Peak, Table Mountain, and Lion's Head create a beautiful scene, enhanced by the many boats in the bay just off the town. From the New Jetty, where you arrive on a clear morning, the Blue Mountains to the right of Robben Island on the other side of the bay look amazing. From the Old Jetty beneath Table Mountain, you can see to the right the wreck of the “Abercrombie Robertson” and the “Reform”; these two are quite close to each other. It’s also the spot where the “Waterloo” ran aground, but it was so rotted that it quickly fell apart and vanished. A little to the right, closer to the castle, are two more wrecks that are now fading away.

The castle and the barracks are close to this jetty; the latter was formerly the storehouse of the Dutch merchants. The principal street in Cape Town is the Heerengracht, which runs up from the shore: the George Hotel—the best hotel in the[356] place, is in this street: we went there, it was quite full, and the passengers from the “Carnatic” found a difficulty in procuring rooms; from its being the race-week the place was full.

The castle and the barracks are near this jetty; the latter used to be the storage site for the Dutch merchants. The main street in Cape Town is the Heerengracht, which goes up from the shore: the George Hotel— the best hotel in the[356] area—is on this street: we went there, but it was completely booked, and the passengers from the “Carnatic” had a hard time finding rooms; since it was race week, the place was crowded.

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.

I found my husband living in the home of a French lady on Roeland Street, right under Table Mountain. This house is considered one of the most respectable in its category, and its location at the edge of town is appealing because it offers peace and fresh air. If I had arrived during the summer at the Cape, I would have preferred a house in Wynberg; however, during the winter, since Wynberg is damp, people usually come into Cape Town. A boarding house has many inconveniences, but it saves you the hassle of housekeeping, which can be quite a nightmare for someone from India; so I was okay with staying there. The rate at a boarding house is seven shillings and sixpence a day for each person, which includes a bedroom, food, and wine; the food is good, but the Cape wine is drinkable only for those who are used to it, and I didn't dare try the Cape beer. Rent is very cheap here, as is food; meat costs threepence per pound, an enormous fish is two pence, a large crawfish is one penny, a fine chicken is thirteen and a half pence, and a small cart of firewood costs 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.

The reports I heard in Cape Town about house keeping in the country weren't great; they say the houses out there are usually leaky, and the landlords won’t fix them. The servants are thieves and liars, and really dirty, needing constant supervision in the kitchen. The houses in Cape Town are teeming with countless fleas—and what fleas!—total monsters! They also have a decent number of bedbugs.

10th.—I went to the fish market, a square-walled enclosure near the Old Jetty. The scene was curious and animated; Malays, Hottentots, Bushmen, and queer-looking people of all sorts, ages, and tribes, dressed out in their gayest colours, and grinning like so many monkeys, were all huddled together selling or buying fish. Cartloads of the most enormous craw-fish lay on the ground, crawling about and fighting each other; and on[357] the ground near to them were heaps of silver-fish, and quantities of Cape salmon, and fish without scales, with long thin bodies and pointed heads, which were sold for one penny each,—good when salted and smoked; and there were also a number of queer-looking fish, of all sorts and sizes, with unpronounceable names. The porters who attend the market carry the fish away in baskets slung to each end of a long pole balanced on the shoulder;—and such creatures as these porters are! I bought a gielbeck or yellow beak, for which I paid twopence; the palate of the gielbeck is yellow, whence its name. A Malay porter carried it to the house on a stick through its gills, for which his pay was also twopence,—a great price for a very short distance, compared with the price of the fish, which was a very large one. One day I met a Bush-boy dragging off a fish as long as himself; he had a great stick over his shoulder, the end of which was passed through one of the gills of the fish, whilst the tail of the creature swept the ground. The high cheek-boned little black monster laughed and grinned as I could not repress an exclamation at his exceeding and picturesque ugliness.

10th.—I went to the fish market, a square-walled area near the Old Jetty. The scene was lively and intriguing; Malays, Hottentots, Bushmen, and an assortment of unusual-looking people of all sorts, ages, and tribes, dressed in their brightest colors and grinning like monkeys, were all crammed together selling and buying fish. Cartloads of massive crawfish were on the ground, crawling around and fighting each other; and nearby were piles of silverfish, lots of Cape salmon, and fish without scales that had long, thin bodies and pointed heads, which sold for a penny each—great when salted and smoked. There were also many odd-looking fish of various shapes and sizes with unpronounceable names. The porters at the market carried the fish away in baskets hung from each end of a long pole balanced on their shoulders—what interesting characters these porters were! I bought a gielbeck or yellow beak, which I paid two pence for; the gielbeck's palate is yellow, hence its name. A Malay porter carried it to my house on a stick through its gills, and he was also paid two pence—a high fee for a very short distance, considering the fish was a very large one. One day, I saw a Bush-boy dragging a fish as long as he was; he had a huge stick over his shoulder with one end going through one of the fish's gills while the tail dragged on the ground. The little black boy with high cheekbones laughed and grinned as I couldn't help but exclaim at his remarkable and striking 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.

16th.—They say the year is split into two seasons: dry and wet—nine months of dry weather and three months of rain, with June, July, and August being the chilly and rainy months. Today, the 16th of May, it's really cold and feels like a winter month; the thermometer in my bedroom reads 58°. Since I got here on April 26th, we've had daily showers and a few days of rain. Still, in between the heavy showers, the sun breaks through, and taking a walk is lovely.

At breakfast-time a gentleman related to me an extraordinary history respecting slavery at the Cape; the particulars are as follow:—“The ‘Cleopatra’ has seized a Brazilian vessel—the ‘Progresso;’ she is a slaver. The ‘Cleopatra’ has taken from her thirteen prisoners and forty-eight slaves; with these people she has arrived at Pappendosh, a place near Cape Town, where the slaves have been landed; the rest of the slaves will follow in the ‘Progresso:’ she has not come in at present; she was taken in the Mozambique Channel. The slaves will now be examined and classed according to their ages,—the age is arbitrarily[358] settled. They generally arrive branded; and as without some distinguishing mark they cannot be known, it is supposed those who may happen to have no mark will be branded by the authorities at the Cape. Blank indentures are to be drawn out, in which the age of the slave, his marks, &c., will be shown forth. The slaves are generally young, and they, supposing the age to be about ten years, will be bound to the purchaser of the indenture until the age of twenty-one; these indentures are to be sold by auction on the Parade at Cape Town to the highest bidder. The slaves who may be more aged are to be bound for a certain term of years to the person who buys them, so that their slavery may be the same with those of earlier years. These proceedings are under the authority of the Government; the motive is to conciliate the Dutch, who are generally the purchasers of the slaves.”

At breakfast, a gentleman told me an incredible story about slavery in the Cape. Here are the details: “The ‘Cleopatra’ has seized a Brazilian ship called the ‘Progresso;’ it’s a slaver. The ‘Cleopatra’ took thirteen prisoners and forty-eight slaves from her; with these people, she has arrived at Pappendosh, a place near Cape Town, where the slaves have been unloaded. The remaining slaves will come in on the ‘Progresso,’ which hasn’t arrived yet; it was captured in the Mozambique Channel. The slaves will now be examined and categorized based on their ages—the age is decided arbitrarily[358]. They usually arrive branded, and since they cannot be identified without some distinguishing mark, it’s expected that those without a mark will be branded by the authorities in the Cape. Blank contracts will be created, showing the slave's age, their marks, etc. The slaves are generally young, and those estimated to be around ten years old will be bound to the purchaser of the contract until they turn twenty-one; these contracts will be sold at auction on the Parade in Cape Town to the highest bidder. Older slaves will be bound for a specific number of years to the person who buys them, so their slavery will be similar to that of younger slaves. These actions are authorized by the Government; the aim is to appease the Dutch, who are usually the buyers 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.

As the English proclaim that they’ve ended slavery, this situation seems strange, and I want to see if I can witness the sale of slaves at the parade. While we don’t initially capture the slaves ourselves, we seize the ships when they’re transporting them, bring them to the Cape, and sell them for our own gain for a set number of years to the highest bidder at public auction. The contracts state that the slaves are to be raised in the Christian faith. However, it’s said that the slaves typically have no religion whatsoever, and their masters keep them completely in the dark.

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.

The Table Mountain brings me constant joy; I love its changing looks: sometimes it's covered in thick white fog—when that clears, the deep clear blue of the sky, filled with bright clouds, creates a stunning backdrop for the dark mountain, and every now and then, a stormy gray cloud rolls over everything, creating a beautiful play of light and shadow.

I roamed the other day up the mountain by the side of the torrent, the bed of which is filled with large stones, over which the stream gurgles and runs with velocity. Hundreds of women and some few men were all employed washing clothes by beating them upon the stones in the stream: some of the women, with their[359] infants tied upon their backs, were washing away, and the whole side of the mountain was covered with linen drying on the grass. How many of the groups would have formed an admirable picture, in spite of the ugliness of these Malay and Hottentot animals! They ask four shillings and sixpence, or three and sixpence a dozen for washing clothes, but will generally take two shillings and sixpence, including large and small. For the ship passengers they wash very badly; for people resident in Cape Town they wash well.

I wandered up the mountain the other day next to the rushing stream, which is filled with large stones that the water flows over quickly. Hundreds of women and a few men were busy washing clothes by beating them against the rocks in the stream: some of the women, with their infants strapped to their backs, were working hard, and the whole slope of the mountain was covered with linen drying on the grass. Many of the groups would have made a beautiful scene, despite the unappealing appearance of these Malay and Hottentot individuals! They charge four shillings and sixpence, or three and sixpence per dozen for laundry services, but usually accept two shillings and sixpence for both large and small items. They do a poor job for ship passengers but a good job for people living in Cape Town.

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.

We went up the mountain with a man and his family under Devil’s Peak; he was going to teach his boys how to shoot at a target. They brought along a heavy old pair of flint pistols, and they had fun with those. I was considered a beginner; the two men were the best shooters—I ranked third. I was thrilled with my success, even though I was nervous about the pistol—the old gun was so heavy I could barely aim. A few evenings later, a pretty young French lady joined us and shot incredibly accurately.

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.

25th.—The sun during the day is really strong; in these areas, it's not wise to be out in its rays during the midday heat. At 4 P.M., we went up the mountain to practice pistol shooting; we noticed that after sunset, there was hardly any twilight, and feeling the very cold, sharp air coming from the damp ground, we left the place quickly, but not before we all caught a cold.

June 11th.—The thermometer in my room at noon 53°, the air sharp and very cold. Rambled up Table Mountain, beyond the mill, from which place the narrow pathway is surrounded by flowers, even at this early season. I gathered great branches of what is called in England the Duke of York’s geranium; it was not in flower, but the scent of the leaves was delicious; it grew there most luxuriantly; when in blossom the flower is lilac and white. The purple and white prickly heath, and the white heath, were abundant; the deep orange-coloured aromatic azalia, the bossistroph or honey-plant, the fine white arum, and the tall slender Ixia, with its pendant crimson and graceful blossom, and its small bulb, which shot up every here and there,[360] delighted me with their beauty. These plants, cultivated with so much care in England, were growing wild in every direction surrounding the little stony sheep-path I was ascending.

June 11th.—The thermometer in my room reads 53° at noon, the air is sharp and really cold. I hiked up Table Mountain, past the mill, where the narrow path is lined with flowers, even at this early time of year. I picked large branches of what is known in England as the Duke of York’s geranium; it wasn’t in bloom, but the scent of the leaves was delightful; it grew there very lushly; when it flowers, it has lilac and white blooms. The purple and white prickly heath, and the white heath, were plentiful; the deep orange aromatic azalea, the bossistroph or honey-plant, the beautiful white arum, and the tall slender Ixia, with its drooping crimson and elegant blooms, as well as its small bulbs that sprang up here and there,[360] were a delight to me with their beauty. These plants, carefully cultivated in England, were growing wild all around the little rocky sheep path I was climbing.

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.

They say mechanics use oil from the tips of the tails of Cape sheep for their machinery, and it doesn’t get dirty in the processes. Five pounds of the tips of the sheep tails costs two shillings and sixpence, which yields two and a half quarts of fine clear oil after being melted over the fire and strained through a flannel bag. Animals in southern Africa seem to be all about their tails: just look at the enormous tails of the sheep, where all the fat of the body seems to be stored. Check out the beautiful mousehunt (a type of fox), the Hottentot women in Cape Town, and the Bushwomen; they all embody the beauty of the Hottentot Venus. Some Malays, both men and women, are quite attractive: the Africanders are too widely known to need any 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 Bojesmāns, or Bushmen, are an incredibly unique group of people. During one of my solo hikes on Table Mountain, I unexpectedly encountered three of them sitting around a small fire in a rocky crevice. My curiosity made me stop and observe them; they seemed to be uncomfortable with my presence and scrutiny, and from the angry tone of their voices and their wary looks, it was clear they were relieved when I moved 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.

The speech of the Bojesmāns is a truly unique and remarkable clack clack—unlike any other language out there, almost like the sound of harsh castanets clashing together. The sketch shows a Bushwoman; it’s a portrait; she’s holding a bunch of bulbs in her hand: they mainly survive on roots and vegetables. She’s dressed in leather; there are colored beads around her neck, her earrings are made of ivory, and there's a curious ornament in front of her body, with her kraal or hut in the background.

In 1847, I saw four Bojesmāns who were exhibited at the Egyptian Hall; they were handsome specimens of their kind; the women were younger than the one represented in the[361] sketch, still the peculiarity of the figure and the style of countenance stamp them of the same race.

In 1847, I saw four Bojesmāns who were displayed at the Egyptian Hall; they were striking examples of their kind; the women were younger than the one shown in the[361] sketch, yet the unique features and expressions mark them as belonging to the same race.

A BUSHWOMAN.
A female bush guide.

On Stone by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
On Stone by Fani Parks

The following extract from Harris’s “Wild Sports of Southern Africa,” contains a most interesting description of the Bushmen:—

The following excerpt from Harris's "Wild Sports of Southern Africa" includes a really intriguing 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.

“At Kramers-fontein the next day, we were confronted with a horrifying sight: an emaciated old Bushwoman who had come down from her kraal, five miles away, to fill two ostrich eggs with water. ‘Grim misery had worn her to the bones,’ and it’s no exaggeration to say that her frail form looked like a skeleton covered with a wet cloth. The rounded shapes typical of the human body were completely absent in her. Her skin looked like wrinkled leather; I can only compare her legs and arms to straightened sticks, knobby at the joints. Her body was literally crawling with vermin, which she was constantly feeding to a little half-conscious version of herself in her 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.

We were happy to pay her off with a gift of tobacco; and the poor woman's face showed her gratitude for our generosity.

“The pigmy race, of which this woman was a characteristic specimen, usually reside in holes and crannies of rocks, and sometimes in wretched huts, incapable of protecting them from the inclemency of the seasons. These, their constant fear of discovery induces them to erect in secluded spots at a great distance from water: a precaution to which they are further prompted by a desire to leave the pools open for wild animals, which they occasionally shoot from an ambush with poisoned arrows, and devour on the spot. They possess neither flocks nor herds—are unacquainted with agriculture—and the most wealthy can boast of no property beyond his weapons and his starving dog. With no cares beyond the present moment, they[362] live almost entirely upon bulbous roots, locusts, reptiles, and the larvæ of ants, with the habitations of which latter the country is in many places thickly strewed. Not a trace of their hovels could be seen from the road; and a traveller might even pass through their country without seeing a human being, or suspecting that it was inhabited. Such is their general distrust of visitors, that the males would never willingly approach us, evincing great trepidation when forced to do so—no object being more unwelcome to their sight than a troop of horsemen on the plain.

“The pygmy race, of which this woman was a typical example, usually lives in holes and crevices in rocks, and sometimes in poorly constructed huts that do little to protect them from the harshness of the seasons. Their constant fear of being found out leads them to build their homes in secluded spots far from water: a measure they take because they want to keep the water sources open for wild animals, which they occasionally hunt from hiding with poisoned arrows and eat on the spot. They have no flocks or herds—aren’t familiar with farming—and the richest among them can only claim ownership of his weapons and his starving dog. With no worries beyond the present day, they live mainly on bulbous roots, locusts, reptiles, and ant larvae, which their land is often filled with. Not a trace of their shelters could be seen from the road, and a traveler might pass through their territory without encountering anyone or realizing it was inhabited. Their general distrust of outsiders is such that the men would never willingly approach us, showing great fear when they have to—nothing is more unwelcome to their sight than a group 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.”

“The women, who were much less shy and always followed the tracks of our wagons when they stumbled upon them, hoping to trade ostrich eggs for tobacco, are small and delicate, with hands and feet that are truly tiny. Their footprints reminded us of Gulliver's adventures and are no bigger than those of a child. When young, they have a charming look, which they enhance by decorating their flat noses and prominent cheekbones with a mix of red ochre and fat. Many take great care in their appearance, using paint enhanced by necklaces made from the fresh entrails of wild animals—along with a few cowrie shells, old bones, and buttons woven into their tangled hair; but their lifestyle, frequent long periods of hunger, and constant exposure to wind and bright light in an open, dry landscape soon lead them to keep their naturally small eyes more than half-closed. Their beauty is fleeting and rarely lasts beyond youth. The women are much more talkative and expressive in their gestures than the men; however, the sounds they make are a series of tongue clicks created by forcing that unruly member against different parts of their teeth and palate. As a result, their speech is cumbersome and full of interruptions, sounding more like the chatter of monkeys than human language.”

18th.—Thermometer at noon 52°.—Sharp and very cold: the scarlet fever in Cape Town.

18th.—Thermometer at noon 52°.—Bittingly cold and sharp: scarlet fever in Cape Town.

19th.—Walked to Green Point, and gathered shells beyond[363] the second lighthouse, which is situated on a rocky shore, where vessels are frequently wrecked, both accidentally and, it is said, intentionally. The waves break beautifully over the rocks that run out far into the sea. The sand on the shore glitters like silver, being composed of fragments of pounded shells: there are numerous shells to be found, but generally broken by the ruggedness of the coast. The people dig for them here, and procure them in great quantities out of the sand, which they sift; they are sold to burn for lime, which is made at a less cost from the shells than from the limestone quarries, as on the latter a duty is levied by the municipality.

19th.—I walked to Green Point and collected shells beyond[363] the second lighthouse, which is located on a rocky shore where ships often run aground, both by accident and, reportedly, on purpose. The waves crash beautifully over the rocks that extend far into the sea. The sand on the beach sparkles like silver, made up of tiny bits of crushed shells: there are plenty of shells to find, but they’re usually broken because of the rugged coast. People here dig for them and gather them in large quantities from the sifted sand; they're sold to be burned for lime, which is cheaper to produce from the shells than from the limestone quarries, since the latter has a tax imposed by the local government.

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.

The rocks are covered with all kinds of limpets and cockles: the big ear shells (haliotis) are common, the chiton shells are also plentiful along with other species. I've seen the big ear shells sold in Cape Town for two pence each; people think the insides are good to eat.

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.

In Camp’s Bay and other bays, I understand that you can find amazing and perfect examples of a wide variety of shells where the shore is less rocky and the sand is good. The sheer size of the seaweed is quite surprising; its main stem is so long and thick. When you pull away a clump of the seaweed, the sand is teeming with millions of woodlice, or at least that's what I think they're called. They jump around by curling up into a ball and then suddenly unrolling, the strength of their shells and the width of their tails propelling them forward at an impressive speed. It reminded me of those early days when a mouse, with its tail curled under its body and held with a bit of cobbler’s wax, was made to scamper around the room, much to my delight.

21st.—Heavy rain—thermometer 56° at noon; the rain has taken away the great sharpness of the cold, which was too cutting to be pleasant. In these slightly-built houses, when the thermometer was 52° under the mountain, the air was very cold and clear, and peculiarly sharp and crisp. I roamed as usual up the mountain; it is covered with honey bush, at present in full flower, both the red and the white; the protea, a sort of honey bush, is now also in flower. As I made my way along, myriads of small sugar birds started from the bushes,[364] where, fluttering over the flowers, they had been dipping their long slender beaks into the sweet juice below. The people collect the juice which flows in great abundance from the flower of the honey bush; they warm it, and sell it in quart bottles at three shillings a piece to the druggists, who recommend it for coughs.

21st.—It’s pouring rain—temperature 56° at noon; the rain has eased the harshness of the cold, which was too biting to be comfortable. In these poorly built houses, when the thermometer hit 52° under the mountain, the air felt very cold and clear, and unusually sharp and crisp. I wandered up the mountain as usual; it's covered in honey bush, now blooming in both red and white; the protea, a type of honey bush, is also in bloom. As I walked along, countless small sugar birds sprang from the bushes,[364] fluttering over the flowers while dipping their long, slender beaks into the sweet nectar below. People collect the nectar that flows abundantly from the flower of the honey bush; they heat it up and sell it in quart bottles for three shillings each to the chemists, 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.

23rd.—I bought four ivory rings, which the Kaffirs use as bracelets and anklets, made in a really simple way. A circle is cut from the hollow end of an elephant's tusk, where it's three-quarters of an inch thick, with the circle being one inch wide. They wear these in this rough state as decorations, usually three or four on each leg and arm. I also got a pair of well-polished bullock horns for four shillings, but the outrageous prices for similar items in Cape Town made me hesitant to buy as much as I would have liked.

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.

July 5th.—It’s pouring rain and the weather is really awful: people are dealing with colds and sore throats; they say this illness has been caused by the wind blowing in from the sea between Table Mountain and 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.

6th.—An illness, referred to by the Capers as the Sinkings, is very common; it seems to be a swelling or inflammation of the glands in 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.

7th.—The middle of winter at the Cape. Auctions are held on a strange principle, where the lowest bidder wins: it's a Dutch custom and pretty hard to understand.

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.

9th.—Walked past the hospital along the shore, where several wrecks are scattered—found some nice shells. The Malays commit robberies in Cape Town every night. This time of year, it's customary for them to give gifts to their priests: these gifts must be given, even if the men can't afford them. In such cases, they resort to robbery to meet their priests' demands—several houses have been broken into.

14th.—Walked towards Camp’s Bay over the Lion Mountain; sketched some Cape aloes which were growing most luxuriantly on the road-side, where they had been planted as a hedge—the[365] stem was of the most brilliant crimson tint—the prickly pear in full bloom, with its white and crimson flower, and its deep crimson buds mixed beautifully with the aloes in the foreground; and in the distance beyond lay the sea and the Blueberg Mountains. I found a great variety of the most beautiful heaths, also a number of bulbs. The Africander was in bloom, as well as those bulbs that give forth their scent at sunset. The Malays are extremely partial to these sweet night-scented flowers, and collect them by the handful.

14th.—I walked towards Camp's Bay over Lion Mountain; I sketched some Cape aloes that were growing incredibly well along the roadside, where they had been planted as a hedge— the[365] stems were a brilliant crimson color— the prickly pear was in full bloom, with its white and crimson flowers and deep crimson buds beautifully mixed with the aloes in the foreground; and in the distance lay the sea and the Blueberg Mountains. I found a wide variety of beautiful heaths, as well as a number of bulbs. The Africander was blooming, along with those bulbs that release their fragrance at sunset. The Malays really love these sweet-smelling night 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.

17th.—From the base of Devil’s Peak, I sketched Lion Mountain; it was shrouded in a thick, swirling fog that resembled a mane around it. The fog concealed the ships that were barely visible below, and the town appeared blurred; it was a very chilly and bleak day. But I picked some 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.

29th.—I climbed up Lion’s Rump and reached the signal post just in time to catch a stunning sunset: I sketched Lion’s Head, with Table Mountain behind it to the right and the Southern Ocean to the left. The view of the town and bay from this mountain is impressive; the layout that the Dutch used to build the town is really well done. I thoroughly enjoyed the walk this evening; my younger friends and I stopped many times to dig up the bulbs that literally cover the mountain. Some of the bulbous roots are astonishingly large; one weighed three pounds and a quarter and had a circumference of twenty and a half inches; the bulb was five and a half inches tall, and the leaves were eleven inches long. The fragrance of the night-scented bulbs was delightful as we made our way down the mountain late in the evening; it's full of beautiful grass and countless bulbs.

Aug. 4th.—Visited the Botanical Garden under the Lion’s Head; a number of trees and plants from Australia are collected there. The most brilliant African plant in blossom was the Strelitzia regina, with its orange and purple blossom, and its long wand-like leaves. The Kaffir bread-tree (Zamia horrida)[366] and the Zamia longifolia are very remarkable; grass trees from Australia were there, but they had perished from the cold. When on the Lion’s Head we saw a very curious bulb, the hæmanthus or blood-flower; the bulb is of large size, and produces only two leaves, which turn back and lie open upon the ground; they have no stalk, and lie close upon the earth, the colour a bright green; some of this class have spotted leaves. The gardener told me that the Bushmen use the juice of the spotted hæmanthus as poison for their arrows; and my young companions said, when they were on the frontier they saw a Bushman stick his arrow between the two leaves down into the bulb, and he told them, in that manner the Bushmen poisoned their weapons[40].

Aug. 4th.—I visited the Botanical Garden under Lion's Head, where they have a collection of trees and plants from Australia. The most striking African plant in bloom was the Strelitzia regina, with its orange and purple flowers and long, wand-like leaves. The Kaffir bread-tree (Zamia horrida) and the Zamia longifolia are quite impressive; there were also grass trees from Australia, but they had died from the cold. While on Lion's Head, we noticed a very interesting bulb, the hæmanthus or blood-flower; the bulb is large and produces only two leaves that curl back and lie flat on the ground. They have no stalk and rest close to the earth, the color a bright green; some of these have spotted leaves. The gardener mentioned that the Bushmen use the juice from the spotted hæmanthus as poison for their arrows. My young companions said that when they were on the frontier, they saw a Bushman stick his arrow between the two leaves down into the bulb, explaining that this is how the Bushmen poison 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.

In India, the Hillmen from Rajmal use poison on their arrows; it's extremely potent and deadly, but they refuse to reveal which plant they get it from. The Hillmen at Almorah keep the same secret. The hæmanthus toxicaria has spotted leaves; there were many of these plants in the garden, recently added, and they hadn't been there long enough to bloom.

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.

Harris, talking about African poisons, says: “The Bechuana, I’m not sure how true it is, are said to sometimes keep this impressive bird (the ostrich) for riding purposes; meanwhile, the small Bushman uses the disguise of its skin to blend in with a herd of wild animals and choose his target. At the sound of his tiny bow, the herd bolts in sheer panic, and more frightened than anyone, the impostor runs with them, firing another arrow as soon as the fear has settled. The damage caused this way is unbelievable: a slender reed, just slightly barbed with bone or iron, but laced with a potent poison, can take down even the strongest animal."

“The principal ingredient of this deadly bane is said, by[367] Pringle, to consist of the venom of the most dangerous serpents that infest the desert. In seizing and extracting the poison from beneath the fangs of the fatal puff-adder, or the cobra-di-capello, the despised African displays the most wonderful dexterity and boldness; simply placing his naked foot on the neck of the writhing reptile, and not unfrequently closing the exhibition of his intrepidity by fearlessly swallowing the contents of the bag he has extracted, as a supposed antidote, or rather as an effectual charm against the deleterious consequence of the venom, should it ever be accidentally brought into contact with his blood. Being of itself too thin and volatile to retain its powers long unimpaired, this animal poison is skilfully concocted into a black glutinous substance, by the due admixture of powerful vegetable and mineral poisons; the former being generally obtained from the root of a species of amaryllis, called by the colonists the gift-bol, or poison-bulb; whilst the latter is an unctuous or bituminous substance, which is said to exude from certain rocks and caverns that exist in particular parts of the Bushman’s country.”

“The key ingredient in this deadly poison is said, by [367] Pringle, to be the venom of the most dangerous snakes that inhabit the desert. When capturing and extracting the poison from the fangs of the deadly puff-adder or the cobra, the despised African shows remarkable skill and bravery; he simply places his bare foot on the neck of the writhing snake, and often concludes his daring act by fearlessly swallowing the contents of the pouch he has collected, believing it to be an antidote, or more accurately, an effective charm against the harmful effects of the venom, in case it ever accidentally comes into contact with his blood. Because it is too thin and volatile to remain potent for long, this animal poison is skillfully transformed into a thick, sticky substance by mixing it with powerful plant and mineral toxins; the plant toxins typically come from the root of a type of amaryllis known by colonists as the gift-bol or poison-bulb, while the mineral toxins are a greasy or tar-like material that reportedly seeps from certain rocks and caves found in specific areas 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.

On the mountain, we found a lot of ornithogalum, or star of Bethlehem; it was almost like a weed in the garden. The ferania was there with its spider-like flowers, and the oxalis (woodsorrel) had its bright pink blooms. I couldn't find out the name of the huge bulb. The Australian pine looked beautiful in the garden, and so did the melaleuca kȳápootie, with its unique bark. When you tear off a piece, you can separate it into layers as thin as gold leaf, and it’s the same color. Another type has a coarser bark that's used to cover hooqŭ snakes in India; fire-screens made from this bark in America are cleverly decorated with beads. The Zamia longifolia and the grass tree look quite strange, holding a similar place among plants as a person suffering from elephantiasis does among humans. The bottle brush tree was in full bloom. The garden is definitely worth a visit; the gardener is polite and knowledgeable.

5th.—I started to walk to the Plaat Clip, or flat stone; it is[368] half-way up Table Mountain; a favourite place of resort for parties from Cape Town. It is a beautiful spot: over the broad top of a bare rock a stream of water pours down with great velocity, and rushes down the side, forming a beautiful but small waterfall. Trees ornament the spot, and luxuriant bunches of the arum in full bloom are dotted amongst the rocks with picturesque effect. The ruin of a house stands there; its history appears unknown,—divers romantic tales were told me concerning this ruin. It is situated on a lovely and picturesque spot, very attractive to a person fond of solitude. After a long walk and much clambering among the rocks, we returned laden with flowers. Nothing can be more agreeable than spending the day at the Plaat Clip.

5th.—I started walking to the Plaat Clip, or flat stone; it is[368] halfway up Table Mountain, a popular spot for groups from Cape Town. It’s a beautiful location: water flows down a broad, bare rock at high speed, rushing down the side and creating a lovely but small waterfall. Trees surround the area, and vibrant clusters of blooming arum lilies are scattered among the rocks, making for a picturesque view. There's the ruin of a house nearby; its history seems to be unknown—various romantic stories were shared with me about this ruin. It's located in a beautiful, scenic area that appeals to anyone who enjoys solitude. After a long walk and climbing among the rocks, we returned with our arms full of flowers. Nothing is more enjoyable than spending a day at the Plaat Clip.

[369]

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—The Kaross—Vegetable Ivory—Shells—Unpredictable Weather—The Races—Dutch Beauties—Newlands—Cape Horses—The Arum—The Aloe—Servants at the Cape—Lineage 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-Donkeys—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—Deliberate 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[370] colour a good clear brown. I have heard it asserted that the Kafirs never eat salt; if it be true, it is a most remarkable singularity. The only garment worn by them is the kaross: for one made of the skin of the wild-cat, consisting of fourteen skins, they demand in Cape Town three pounds fifteen shillings; for one of the skin of the red jackal, containing sixteen skins, and very large, four pounds. A riding-whip of the rhinoceros or hippopotamus hide, called a sjambok, costs three shillings and sixpence, which, considering that the price on the frontier is fourpence halfpenny, is a tolerably good per centage. At least, this is the price demanded from Indians, who appear to be the natural prey of the people at the Cape, who are leagued together to pluck the Hindūs. There is one price for the English, one for the Dutch, and one for the Africanders.

August 1843—The portrait of the Kafir warrior in the sketch shows him with a leather shield that, when placed on the ground, reaches up to his chin. He holds his assegai, or spear, high in his hand, and we'll assume he left his kaross at home, as it is the only clothing typically worn by the Kafirs. This sketch of an African warrior may be well-received, especially since the ongoing war has generated a lot of interest in England. I heard that the dragoons were quite unhappy about being forced to ride down and shoot the Kafirs, who—despite being good fighters—if caught in flight, throw themselves on the ground and plead for their lives. They are tall, strong men, with a nice clear brown skin tone. I've also heard it said that the Kafirs never eat salt; if that's true, it's quite an unusual detail. The only clothing they wear is the kaross: one made from the skin of a wild cat, consisting of fourteen skins, goes for three pounds fifteen shillings in Cape Town; one made from the skin of a red jackal, which has sixteen skins and is quite large, costs four pounds. A riding whip made from rhinoceros or hippopotamus hide, called a sjambok, costs three shillings and sixpence, which is quite good considering the price on the frontier is fourpence halfpenny. This is the price charged to Indians, who seem to be seen as easy targets by the people at the Cape, who team up to take advantage of the Hindus. There’s one price for the English, one for the Dutch, and one for the Afrikanders.

A KAFFIR WARRIOR.
A warrior of the Kaffir.

On Stone by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
On Stone by Fanny Parks

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 way the Kafirs prepare the skins of red jackals is impressive; the skin, which starts off thick and rough, is scraped with a stone until it becomes thin, soft, and delicate. The technique used to sew the skins together to create the kaross or mantle is excellent, with neat and high-quality workmanship. During the winter, the Kafir wears the fur of this garment against his skin, while in the summer, he wears the fur on the outside for 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.

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 sample with me and showed it to people, but found it was completely 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.

13th.—It's very cold, rainy, and windy—right in the middle of Cape winter—thermometer at 53°—feels very sharp and bitter after several days of heavy rain; rheumatic and nervous issues are common.

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.

19th.—I gathered shells near the second lighthouse at Green Point; there were sea urchins in every color and the most vibrant shades, and they were abundant. The waves crashed gracefully over the rocks, and the beach was lovely.

21st.—Very much warmer weather, quite the heat of an Indian hot wind,—by far too hot to venture out in the sun.

21st.—It was way warmer today, almost like an Indian heatwave—definitely too hot to go outside in the sun.

22nd.—What can be more suddenly changeable than the[371] weather at the Cape? yesterday a burning sun, to-day a south-east wind covering the mountain with a shroud, the wind howling and roaring round the house, a heavy gale blowing, and the street filled every minute with blinding clouds of dust and fine stones, that, whirling up, cut against your face, as with shut eyes you strive to make your way. The houses are thinly built, unfitted for the climate; the chimneys smoke, and nothing can be more disagreeable than a residence here at present. The ships in the harbour had need look well to their anchors, to prevent their being driven out to sea in such a fierce gale.

22nd.—What can change more suddenly than the[371] weather at the Cape? Yesterday it was blazing hot, and today a southeast wind is covering the mountain with clouds, the wind howling and roaring around the house. There’s a strong gale blowing, and the street is filled every moment with blinding dust and tiny stones that whip against your face as you try to make your way with your eyes shut. The houses are poorly built, unsuitable for the climate; the chimneys are smoking, and nothing could be more unpleasant than living here right now. The ships in the harbor need to secure their anchors well to avoid being driven out to sea in such a fierce gale.

26th.—A quiet day, after a south-easter that has blown for three days.

26th.—A calm day, following a southeast wind that has been blowing 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.

Sept. 28th.—I went to the races, which were held by the lighthouse at Green Point. Having heard a lot about the beauty of the Dutch girls, I decided to go to the race-ball to see them, but I was really disappointed by what I found.

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.

Oct. 7th.—We left Cape Town and moved to Newlands. This place used to be the home of Lord Charles Somerset, the Governor of the Cape: the house is surrounded by beautiful woods and impressive oak avenues; the roses and geraniums are incredibly lush. Table Mountain, seen through the avenues behind the house, is peaceful and stunning: the view in front stretches over fine woods, ending at the Blueberg Mountains. This is a lovely spot—the avenues provide constant shade, and the flowers are a delight. Newlands is well-positioned as a home; there are plenty of stunning walks nearby—I particularly enjoyed those around the back of Table Mountain, where there’s an abundance of wildflowers. On the road to Paradise, the view of the mountains across the way and Simon’s Bay to the right is quite captivating; there’s still a garden at Paradise, but the house is in ruins.

11th.—The rides are most agreeable; how happy I am to be on horseback again! I look with regret on the months I lost by spending them in Cape Town, shut up in Roeland-street; it is so delicious in the country,—we are about six or seven miles[372] from the town, an agreeable distance. Bought two handsome Cape riding horses; they carried me pleasantly at times, but were both very timid; they tell me timidity is the general fault of the horses at the Cape,—it was absurd the trouble these horses gave ere you could induce them to pass a flock of sheep. They would make a handsome pair for a carriage, and would sell well as such in Calcutta, besides paying their passage.

11th.—The rides are really enjoyable; I'm so happy to be on horseback again! I look back with regret at the months I wasted in Cape Town, stuck in Roeland Street. It feels amazing to be in the countryside—we're about six or seven miles[372] from the town, which is a nice distance. I bought two beautiful Cape riding horses; they carried me comfortably at times, but they were both very timid. I've been told that timidity is a common issue with horses in the Cape—it was ridiculous how much trouble these horses gave me just to get them to pass a flock of sheep. They would make a lovely pair for a carriage and would sell well as such in Calcutta, plus pay for 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.

Nov. 26th.—Drove to Wynberg; saw an arum in Mrs. Usher’s garden that I thought was remarkable. On the large bright green leaf were white transparent spots; the flower was thirty inches long and eight inches wide; the inside of the flower was a deep, beautiful, rich claret color. Nature is so generous with beauty in the flowers at the Cape! There was also an aloe at the same place that was so enormous, it was quite a sight—a gigantic plant. I really regret not sketching or measuring it; it was the finest aloe I’ve ever seen.

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!”

I’ve never met such terrible servants as those at the Cape—alcoholics, thieves, and liars. The constant annoyances they cause are enough to ruin the enjoyment of living in this beautiful climate and country. If it weren't for the hassle of the servants, I would have felt sad to leave Africa. One of our Malay servants, talking about his family, said, “My father was just a lieutenant, but my wife’s eldest son’s grandfather was a very important man! He was a colonel! He gave her the cottage. Even though the boy is still a kid, he has so much English spirit in him that I’m scared to hit him; don’t you think the other kids are a lot like me? Many women’s friends are just captains or lieutenants; my wife’s friend was a colonel! We’re 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].’”

In India, if a man is embarrassed by his poor relatives, it’s said about him: “The mule was asked, ‘Who is your dad?’ He replied, ‘The horse is my mom’s brother[41].’”

My Malay servant had no shame at all: “There is no physic for false ideas[42].” To have attempted to have enlightened his mind on the subject in which he took pride, would have been as[373] useless as “To pound water in a mortar[43]”—that is, it would have been labour in vain.

My Malay servant had no shame at all: “There’s no cure for false ideas[42].” Trying to enlighten him about something he took pride in would have been as[373] useless as “Pounding water in a mortar[43]”—essentially, it would have been a waste of effort.

We were supplied from Wynberg with most excellent bread, very good mutton and poultry, vegetables, and fruits.

We received top-notch bread, really great lamb and chicken, along with vegetables and fruits from Wynberg.

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.

1844, Jan. 6th.—For the past week, we've been experiencing scorching days—almost like the heat in India, with very chilly evenings after sunset; heavy rain today has cooled the air and made the atmosphere feel great. Newlands currently belongs to 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.

The workers are really laid-back at the Cape; my Malay cook came to me during Christmas week to say she wouldn't be able to cook my dinner for three days in the upcoming week because she had dinner parties to attend at the homes of some friends. I didn't want to go without dinner just to accommodate her, and in the end, I had to eat early on those days so she could leave by 4 P.M. for 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.

Two of my white muslin gowns came back from the wash with the sleeves ripped open and a really deep tuck in the skirt; I found out they had been lent or rented to a local guy, who was shorter than me and had very strong arms. The people are really into balls and celebrations, which they attend dressed in the brightest colors; and sometimes you see a nice French cambric handkerchief trimmed with deep lace in the hand of a floor-scrubbing local woman, grinning as she walks to join a dance party. The locals are pretty unkempt and they rub their bodies with a nasty-smelling oil; having a musk-rat around is just as pleasant as having one of them in a room. They seem to have a taste for music, based on how well I’ve heard the kids singing different tunes on the mountain.

I do not particularly admire the shops in Cape Town. I was taken to a store, as they call it, and bought a quantity of Irish linen; as soon as the linen was washed, after having been made into jackets, it fell into holes and was useless. At a shop in the Heerengratch I purchased two pieces of mousseline-de-laine; it was[374] quite rotten, and soon became like tinder. Perhaps the people buy damaged goods at auction, and retail them in the shops. Certainly, the Hindūs—as they here denominate gentlemen from India—meet with little mercy from the Capers of a certain class.

I don't particularly like the shops in Cape Town. I was taken to a store, as they call it, and bought some Irish linen; as soon as the linen was washed and made into jackets, it fell apart and became useless. At a shop on Heerengratch, I bought two pieces of mousseline-de-laine; it was pretty much ruined and quickly turned to ash. Maybe people buy damaged goods at auctions and sell them in the shops. Definitely, the Hindūs—as they refer to gentlemen from India here—get little sympathy 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!

8th.—The “Robarts” arrived, and we decided to board her and head to Cape Town to get ready for our departure; what a difference there was between the intense heat of the town and the shade, the tranquility, and the coolness of the countryside!

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.

11th.—After securing the back cabin below and the cabin next to it, we got on board; we were really happy with the ship, and even more so with the captain and the crew—they were eager to help us and to make things easy for us.

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.

12th.—At 5 P.M. a breeze picked up, and we left Table Bay. The view of the bay was stunning; the mountains were set against a bright sky, with the sun shining in yellow and red hues between Lion’s Head and Table Mountain, casting warm light on the hot dust covering Cape Town. The mountains appeared dark and misty, the sea was a deep blue with white-capped waves, and the houses by the water stood out in brilliant white. The wind was strong, the sun was bright, the clouds were moving quickly, and the white sheet of mist was starting to gather on the mountain.

27th.—Unpleasant weather: I cannot get over this mal-de-mer, and the attendant miserable feelings.

27th.—Bad weather: I can’t shake off this seasickness and the awful feelings that come with it.

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.

30th.—The local sailors celebrated Muharram with stick fighting, dancing, and singing; Captain Elder provided them with a large sheep and a bag of rice to enhance their meal, and handed out brightly colored handkerchiefs as prizes to the top performers. The crew consisted of Lascars, while the officers were European.

Feb. 2nd.—It is very rainy and most uncomfortable; the deep sea fog creeps into every bone; long faces are in all directions.

Feb. 2nd.—It's raining heavily and extremely uncomfortable; the deep sea fog seeps into my bones; everyone I see is looking gloomy.

3rd.—A most lovely day: a fair wind, which was also cold and bracing,—bright sunshine, good spirits, and happy looks around us.

3rd.—It was a beautiful day: a nice breeze that was also cold and refreshing—bright sunshine, good vibes, and smiling faces all around us.

4th.—Since I entered the “Robarts” I have never had cause[375] to utter one complaint; Captain Elder is most attentive and kind to all his passengers, and the officers follow his example. The servants are attentive, the dinners and breakfasts excellent, and the steward sends to any one who is inclined to remain in their cabin all and every little luxury so acceptable to a sick person at sea. All this is done willingly and cheerfully,—no pretext that the articles are in the hold, no delay, and no grumbling. The cook is excellent; he bakes the bread, which is also excellent, and in profusion; and every plate and knife is as clean and bright as on shore,—a good proof of a good steward, who will allow of no neglect in those who are under his orders. After the miserable dirtiness and half-starvation of the former vessel, the neglect when ill, and the discomfort, I cannot sufficiently admire the excellent regulations and order on board the “Robarts.”

4th.—Since I boarded the “Robarts,” I haven’t had a single complaint to make; Captain Elder is very attentive and kind to all his passengers, and the officers follow his lead. The crew is attentive, the dinners and breakfasts are excellent, and the steward brings anything to those who prefer to stay in their cabins, including all the little luxuries that are so comforting to someone sick at sea. Everything is done willingly and cheerfully—no excuses that the items are in storage, no delays, and no complaints. The cook is outstanding; he bakes excellent bread in abundance, and every plate and knife is as clean and shiny as they are on land—a clear sign of a good steward who doesn’t tolerate any negligence from his team. After the awful dirtiness and near-starvation on the previous ship, along with the neglect when I was ill and all the discomfort, I can’t help but admire the excellent organization 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.

8th.—It was calm. A crew member jumped overboard and caught an albatross that was eating some pork; the boat was lowered, and the passengers shot five impressive albatross that were plentiful around the vessel.

9th.—Passed near the islands of Amsterdam and St. Paul’s.

9th.—Passed close to the islands of Amsterdam and St. Paul.

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[376] il crusero di che Dante parlò nel principio del Purgatorio con spirito profetico, dicendo,

10th.—Lat. S. 35° 54′, long. E. 79° 28′. I was called on deck at 10 PM to see something extraordinary as the moon rose: it was very dark—a thick black cloud stretched along the horizon, in the middle of which the half-moon on the edge of the sea glowed with an ominous dark red color in the fog, and was mirrored on the waves. One lonely bird was the only thing that disrupted the darkness of the sea. Above, in the deep blue sky, the Southern Cross shone beautifully; the Pointers in Centaurus were bright, and the dark Magellan cloud was clearly visible between the stars in the Cross, resembling a hollow in the sky. Speaking of the Cross of the South:—“Una croce maravigliosa, e di tanta bellezza,” says Andrea Corsali, a Florentine, writing to Giuliano Medicis in 1515, “che non mi pare ad alcuno segno celeste doverla comparare. E sío non mi inganno credo che sia questo[376] il crusero di che Dante parlò nel principio del Purgatorio con spirito profetico, dicendo,

“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.”

It is still sacred in the eyes of the Spaniards: “A religious sentiment ties them to a constellation whose shape reminds them of the sign of faith planted by their ancestors in the deserts of the New World.”

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.

A lantern was held for me by the chief officer while I made the sketch, so I could, as he said, see the stars.

THE SOUTHERN CROSS.
Southern Cross.

Sketched on the spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched on the spot by فانی 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.

20th.—The thermometer reads 81° in my cabin and 84° in the upper stern cabin. The new moon was stunning. Venus appeared surprisingly large and cast her light over the sea like moonlight.

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.

21st.—The trade wind blows gently and pleasantly; we’re only making about 100 knots a day, and the heat is intense; but the starry nights are stunning, and the air during that time is wonderfully cool, fresh, and gentle.

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.

23rd.—Thermometer 82°—It was calm—the boats were lowered, and a prize was set up for a boat race for the local crew, which provided some entertainment—the heat at night was unbearable.

25th.—Calm again—how much patience is requisite during a voyage at sea!

25th.—It's calm again—how much patience is needed 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.

29th.—There was a dead calm—the heat was excessive, almost unbearable, way hotter than in India. A heavy rain, a waterspout was seen—a slight breeze in the evening—crossed the equator again 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.

March 1st.—The heat makes any effort, whether mental or physical, nearly impossible. A strong storm hit at noon, along with intense thunder and lightning, then it calmed down. Just as we feel refreshed by a breeze, it pours rain and the calm comes back. When will we catch the monsoon?—we're moving at a slow, exhausting pace.

[377]

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.

3rd.—The evening brought the northeast monsoon; it blew softly, the air was warm and sweet, and the ship quietly floated under the gentle moonlight; it was one of those wonderful evenings typical of 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.

4th.—It was almost completely calm—the boat was lowered, and a blue shark was caught; it measured nine and a half feet—a truly fearsome-looking creature. The shark was caught in a noose by the third mate in a rather interesting way. The captain had some bait over the side of the boat, which the shark was hesitant about, but when it saw the mate’s bare arms in the water, it quickly darted towards him and got caught in the noose he had set up. After the sailors had eaten, a man named Stewart, having had too much to drink, joined the third officer and some cadets in the boat to catch another shark. The shark took the bait, Stewart pulled on it to bring it closer to the boat, the creature made a leap, Stewart pulled harder, and the shark crashed into the bow of the boat. The cadets had shot four bullets into it, which was lucky because the creature was somewhat dazed, but Stewart was holding it with the hook in one hand, his fingers in its eye with his other hand, and the fish’s body squeezed between his legs! In this wild situation, the drunk man and the fish struggled together, with Stewart shouting, “Poor thing, don’t hurt him!” However, despite his pleas, the mate chopped off the shark's tail, which rendered it helpless, and then they threw it out of the boat and towed it back to the ship; it measured six feet. Several smaller fish fell off the shark and into the boat: I witnessed this scene from my port, as the boat was just a stone’s throw away from the ship. The thermometer read 86°—no breeze at all and dead calm—a beautiful moonlit night, and we were encouraged later by the strengthening of the monsoon.

10th.—Anchored off Madras about 11 A.M.—On approaching Madras, a range of low hills are first seen, the land lies very low; after a time the town appears at a distance. On the left the church in the fort is visible, the signal staff and the old lighthouse, beyond which is the new lighthouse, and in front of the latter is the evening drive on the beach. A post-office Masulla boat, with her flag flying, was coming off to the ship[378] for the letter bags. The sea was as calm as possible; hundreds of katmirams, or as they are usually called catamarans, were in every direction out fishing. The appearance was most singular; the catamarans sunk in the water were invisible from a distance, and the natives on them appeared to be standing or sitting on the sea—reminding me of the mahout as he appeared when swimming his elephant in the Ganges, standing erect on his back, and guiding him by the strings in his ears.

10th.—We anchored off Madras around 11 AM—As we got closer to Madras, we first noticed a range of low hills; the land is very flat. After a while, the town came into view in the distance. To the left, we could see the church in the fort, the signal mast, and the old lighthouse, with the new lighthouse beyond that. In front of the new lighthouse was the evening beach drive. A post-office Masulla boat, with its flag flying, was coming out to the ship[378] for the mail bags. The sea was as calm as could be; hundreds of katmirams, or as they’re usually called, catamarans, were scattered all around fishing. The sight was quite unusual; the catamarans were submerged in the water and looked invisible from a distance, while the people on them appeared to be standing or sitting on the sea—reminding me of the mahout as he looked while swimming with his elephant in the Ganges, standing tall on its back, guiding it by the strings in its 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.

Some of the catamarans had only one person, while others had two; their dark bodies were nearly completely bare, and their heads were decorated with a white or red cloth wrapped 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.

Three or four rough logs tied together are all that make up a catamaran: in some cases, a few pieces of wood attached at the front create a low bow—very original and simple designs. Sometimes, these unique boats carry a triangular sail mounted on a pole. You can buy good models of Masulla boats and catamarans at the shore in Madras. The Masulla boat is a large, high, and unwieldy vessel made of thin planks stitched together with coconut fibers, with the seams filled inside with the same material; they offer little resistance when brought ashore through the surf. The crew typically consists of twelve men. Rafts are used to transport carriages to the ships. The accommodation boat, a fancier type of Masulla boat, is equipped with seats in the back and an awning to shield passengers from the surf during landing as well as from the sun. The crew doesn’t wear too much clothing; their outfits are usually white with some brightly colored trim, featuring a band of red or blue. The boats are unattractive, clumsy affairs, sitting high and awkwardly 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.

The half-revolving light of the new lighthouse is stunning, flashing and twinkling, shining brightly, and then fading to a dot, only to burst back into all its glory. A light no sailor could misinterpret.

12th.—A number of boats are alongside with curiosities for sale; the deck is covered with a marvellous collection of extraordinary things, shells, monkeys, parroquets, and ill-stuffed fishes;[379] and there is a great noise created from landing horses and discharging cargo.

12th.—Several boats are alongside offering curiosities for sale; the deck is packed with an amazing assortment of unusual items, including shells, monkeys, parrots, and poorly stuffed fish;[379] and there's a lot of noise from unloading horses and 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.

13th.—Our friend Mr. R⸺ came by a small boat to take us ashore. The day was pretty calm, but the waves, even if they were small, were surprising to someone not used to them; nothing would make a better picture than landing in the surf at Madras. The Masulla boat bumped onto the beach, and once it was pulled up, the passengers were helped into chairs and carried ashore by the men. The roads are nice, and there's plenty of open space around Madras. After driving for three miles, we finally reached our destination— I was so glad to be off the ship! The house seemed to sway for a few hours after we arrived, which was strange since the ship we had just left was completely still and anchored. Here we enjoyed the luxury of fish, cucumbers, and fresh butter. In Madras, it seems like they only use the pankha during meals. The fresh sea breeze is very pleasant, but having a pankha going all the time would be quite nice.

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.

14th.—The evening drive around the island, as it's referred to, and along the seashore is enjoyable; the refreshing sea breeze washes away the fatigue from the day's heat. The statue of Sir Thomas Munro on Mount Road in the island is a striking sight: the roads in Madras are never watered, and the carriages seem less impressive than 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.

16th.—Visited the Mint and found the process of coining and assaying really interesting. We said goodbye to our friends after sunset and were skillfully taken in a Masulla boat through the three waves of surf, completely dry, to the “Robarts.” The days are really hot, but the evenings are cool and refreshing: tonight, the sea is calm without a single ripple.

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!

The cool sea breeze hitting me made me feel wonderfully sleepy, and I was free from the irritation of mosquitoes, whose bites bothered me on land. When we get to Calcutta, we will really miss the evening breeze from the sea, which is so refreshing in Madras!

17th.—Sunday,—crowds of natives on board, Sunday being the great day of business with them: they brought grapes,[380] which were delicious. I purchased a saw-fish, a sting-ray, or bat-fish, a sea-porcupine, a halfmoon-fish, and some others.

17th.—Sunday,—lots of locals on board, since Sunday is their big business day: they brought delicious grapes.[380] I bought a sawfish, a stingray, a sea urchin, a half-moon fish, and a few 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.

“Do you want some sea horses?” “What?” “Sea horses, ma’am; I have many, ma’am, I can bring them.” They turned out to be sea horses, which are quite common in Madras, along with all sorts of strange and unusual fish. A juggler on board was showcasing some of his tricks. He ended by sitting on the deck and sliding a sword down his throat, all the way to the hilt, and while the blade was inside him, he set off fireworks that were attached to the four corners of a cross made from two pieces of wood on the sword's hilt, which spun around. It was a grim sight and rather disturbing, as it sometimes leads to the juggler's death. Some passengers, upon returning to the “Robarts,” complained a lot about the heat, the mosquitoes on shore, and the poor quality of the inns, which aren’t good enough to be called hotels. The daunās or donies, as we refer to them, are plentiful in Madras; they are local vessels used for coastal trading, commanded by a sarhang, who wears the casual dress of the katmiram men; the crews are local—the vessels are short, bulky, clumsy, and incredibly unattractive.

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.

It’s fascinating to trace the family tree of Milton; his grandson served as the parish clerk of Fort St. George at a very early time. Milton’s youngest and favored daughter, Deborah, married a Mr. Clarke; she was known to be an educated woman with pleasant manners, recognized by Richardson and supported by Addison, who arranged for her to receive a permanent allowance from Queen Caroline. Her only son, Caleb Clarke, went to Madras in the early 1700s, and records from the Parish Register of Fort St. George show that he was the parish clerk there from 1717 to 1719, and he was buried there on October 26 of the latter year.

22nd.—Captain Elder, finding the wind would not answer for getting out beyond the shipping, turned the head of the “Robarts” in shore, and cut through a crowd of donies, country[381] vessels, in great style. We sailed from Madras with a delightful breeze, and were glad to resume our voyage. The captain brought me a present of a remarkably large globe-fish, a globular fish, covered with very sharp prickles; it has the beak of a parrot, and is, I understand, also called the parrot-fish.

22nd.—Captain Elder, realizing that the wind wouldn’t cooperate for getting out past the ships, steered the “Robarts” towards the shore and expertly navigated through a crowd of local vessels. We departed from Madras with a lovely breeze and were happy to continue our journey. The captain gave me a gift of an unusually large pufferfish, a round fish covered in sharp spikes; it has the beak of a parrot and, I’ve been told, is also known as the parrotfish.

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!

23rd.—The ship is going almost ten knots an hour, and it's as steady as if it were anchored: I love the sea breeze! It brings me so much health, strength, and energy!

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.

24th.—At sunset, we passed near Vizagapatam. The distant blue mountains looked stunning against the backdrop of the reddish volcanic hills by the 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.

25th.—We anchored off Pooree: the view of the station from the sea is stunning: to the left, the temple of Jaganāth stands tall and easily noticeable. The houses are built along the shore on the sands, close to the beach, where the surf crashes continuously with great force. It's a beautiful sight to watch a Masulla boat bobbing up and down as it moves over and through the waves, which appear in three distinct lines and crash harder than the surf at Madras. Few ships ever anchor at Pooree. I believe they mentioned that a ship hadn't been there for three years. The “Robarts” anchored there to drop off Colonel and Mrs. G⸺; they went ashore in a Masulla boat, while their carriage and horses were brought in 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[382] the gateway to look at the temple; the Brahmans were extremely afraid my unholy footstep might profane the place, and would scarcely allow me even to look into the interior, otherwise I would have sketched it. A number of those idle rascals were about, and they appeared annoyed when I expressed a wish to enter the enclosure, which is around the temple.

26th.—Mr. S⸺ came to the “Robarts,” and we went back with him in the Masulla boat to his house, where we had breakfast and enjoyed fresh strawberries. The sun was really strong, but I couldn’t resist taking a palanquin to see the temple of Jaganāth. It’s made of stone and surrounded by a very high stone wall, enclosing a large area, with four massive gateways. In front of the grand entrance is a tall, elegant column made from a single piece of stone. Two fierce-looking monsters stand on either side of the gateway. A wheel decorates the top of the dome, topped with a staff that has three flying flags; the staff was bent during a hurricane. I got out of the palanquin and went through the[382] gateway to look at the temple; the Brahmans were very concerned that my unholy footsteps might defile the place and barely let me peek inside; otherwise, I would have sketched it. A bunch of those lazy rascals were around, and they seemed annoyed when I said I wanted to enter the area 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.”

One of the Hindu poets, in response to the question, “Why has Vishnu taken on a wooden form?” (referring to the image of Jagannath) says, “The issues in his family have turned Vishnu into wood: first, he has two wives, one of whom (the goddess of Learning) is always talking, and the other (the goddess of Prosperity) never stays in one place. To make matters worse, he sits on a snake; his home is in the water, and he rides on a bird. All Hindus agree that it's a huge misfortune for a man to have two wives, especially if both live under the same roof.”

Krishnŭ is a descent of Vishnŭ, and the bones of Krishnŭ are Jŭgŭnat’hŭ.

Krishna is an incarnation of Vishnu, and the bones of Krishna are Jagannath.

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.

I walked around the wall and then visited the idol's swing. Once a year, Jaganāth is brought out and placed in this swing. The arch is made of black marble and looks like it's intricately carved from bronze. The ropes are held up by iron rings attached to the arch. It sits on a platform that you can reach by climbing a flight of steps, topped with two crouching monsters. After leaving the temple, I headed back for lunch, and on my way, I thought about the description of the plains filled with human skulls; so, I kept an eye out for them, but I couldn’t see a single one. The god was locked up in his temple; we weren’t lucky enough to be there during the ritual celebrations or when he is brought out once a year for the festival called Rat’-ha-jattra, or the Chariot Festival. The height of the chariot is forty-two feet, supported by sixteen wheels; the four horses in front are made of wood. Ropes are tied to the bars underneath, and the chariot, carrying the massive idol inside, is pulled by 20,000 enthusiastic devotees. During this occasion, Krishnŭ is worshipped as Jaganāth’ha, or Lord of the Universe: the Lord of the World, from jugŭt, meaning world, and nat’hu, meaning lord.

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“In some period of Hindū history he was accidentally killed by a hunter, who left the body to rot under the tree where it fell. Some pious person, however, collected the bones of Krishnŭ, and placed them in a box, where they remained: a king, who was performing religious austerities, to obtain some favour of Vishnŭ, was directed by the latter to form the image of Jŭgŭnnathŭ, and put into its belly these bones of Krishnŭ, by which means he should obtain the fruit of his religious austerities. The king inquired who should make this image; and was commanded to pray to Vishnŭ-kŭrmŭ the architect of the gods. He did so, and obtained his request; but the architect at the same time declared, that if any one disturbed him while preparing the image, he would leave it in an unfinished state. He then began, and in one night built a temple upon the blue mountain in Orissa, and proceeded to prepare the image in the temple; but the impatient king, after waiting fifteen days, went to the spot; on which the architect of the gods desisted from his work, and left the god without feet or hands. The king was very much disconcerted; but on praying to Brŭmha, he promised to make the image famous in its present shape. The king now invited all the gods to be present at the setting up of this image: Brŭmha himself acted as high priest, and gave eyes and a soul to the god, which completely established the fame of Jŭgŭnnathŭ. This image is said to lie in a pool near the present temple of Jŭgŭnnathŭ in Orissa.” After many ceremonies have been performed within the temple, the god is drawn forth in his car; at the expiration of eight days he is conveyed back to the place from which he came. The festival is intended to celebrate the diversions of Krishnŭ and the Gopīs, with whom he used to ride out in his chariot. The image of Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ the brother of Jŭgŭnnat’hŭ almost always accompanies him. Some place the image of Révŭtee by the side of her husband, Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ; she was a singular personage, that maiden lady, for at the time of her marriage she was 3,888,000 years old! Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ saw her for the first time when ploughing; notwithstanding her immense stature (which reached as high as a sound ascends in clapping the hands[384] seven times), Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ married her, and to bring down her monstrous height, he fastened a ploughshare to her shoulders.

“In a certain period of Hindu history, he was accidentally killed by a hunter, who left the body to decay under the tree where it fell. However, a pious person collected the bones of Krishna and placed them in a box, where they remained. A king, who was engaging in religious austerities to gain favor from Vishnu, was instructed by Vishnu to create the image of Jagannath and place these bones of Krishna inside the statue. This way, he would gain the benefits of his spiritual practices. The king asked who should make this image and was told to pray to Vishnu-Kurma, the architect of the gods. He did so and got his request, but the architect warned that if anyone disturbed him while working on the image, he would leave it incomplete. He began working and built a temple on the blue mountain in Orissa in just one night, then started to create the image within the temple. However, the impatient king, after waiting fifteen days, went to the location, which caused the architect of the gods to stop his work, leaving the deity without feet or hands. The king was very upset; but upon praying to Brahma, he was promised that the image would become famous in its current form. The king then invited all the gods to witness the installation of the image; Brahma himself acted as the high priest and gave the deity eyes and a soul, which established the fame of Jagannath. It is said that this image rests in a pool near the current temple of Jagannath in Orissa.” After many ceremonies have been carried out in the temple, the god is drawn out in his chariot, and after eight days, he is taken back to the place from which he came. The festival celebrates the pastimes of Krishna and the Gopis, with whom he used to ride out in his chariot. The image of Balarama, the brother of Jagannath, usually accompanies him. Some place the image of Revati beside her husband, Balarama; she was a unique individual, for at the time of her marriage, she was 3,888,000 years old! Balarama first saw her while plowing, and despite her enormous height (which reached as high as a sound ascends in clapping the hands seven times), Balarama married her, securing a ploughshare to her shoulders to lower her enormous stature.

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.

At this festival, people from all castes eat together: the pilgrims to this shrine go through extreme hardships from exhaustion, lack of food, and exposure to the elements; sometimes a devotee will throw themselves under the wheels of the cart and get crushed, believing that if they sacrifice their life out of faith in Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, the god will definitely save them. Every three years, they create a new image, during which a Brahman transfers the original bones of Krishnŭ from the old image to the new one; on this occasion, he covers his eyes, so he won’t be struck dead for looking at such sacred relics. The Rajah of Burdwan spent twelve lakh rupees on a trip to Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, including two lakh given as a bribe to the Brahmans to let him see these bones; but he died six months later because of his boldness. A number of women serve at the temple, and their job is to dance and sing before the god. Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, his brother Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ, and their sister Soobhŭdra are placed together in the cart.

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?

In the plate titled Jaganāth is a brass idol, (Fig. 5,) that I received in Pooree; it likely represents the three figures mentioned earlier. However, I can’t understand why the brother and sister have stumps instead of arms, and why they have no legs. Does this idol suggest that Jaganāth is a trinity in himself?

Fig. 1, in the same plate, is a fac-simile of a little wooden model of the god; it has no legs, and only stumps as arms; the head is very large, as are also the great circular eyes. At the festivals the Brahmans adorn Jaganāth with silver or golden hands; and an offering of a pair of golden hands to the image is considered an act of great devotion. This model was presented to me at Pooree, as was also the seal (Fig. 2), with which the priests stamp the worshipper on the breast and on the arms; it is covered with various holy emblems: the tika of bhabūt or ashes[385] is also placed on the forehead of the pilgrim by the ministering Brahman. The Uchchat tilak is the ceremony of putting a few grains of boiled rice on the forehead of an image when addressed, or of a Brahman when invited to an entertainment.

Fig. 1, in the same plate, shows a replica of a small wooden model of the god; it has no legs and only stumps for arms; the head is very large, as are the big circular eyes. During the festivals, the Brahmans dress Jaganāth with silver or golden hands; offering a pair of golden hands to the statue is considered a significant act of devotion. This model was given to me in Pooree, as was the seal (Fig. 2) that the priests use to mark the worshipper on the chest and arms; it features various holy symbols: the tika of bhabūt or ashes[385] is also placed on the forehead of the pilgrim by the attending Brahman. The Uchchat tilak is the ritual of placing a few grains of boiled rice on the forehead of a statue when addressed, or of a Brahman when invited to a feast.

JUGUNNATHU.
JUGUNNATHU.

On Stone by Major Parlby.
On Stone by Major Parlby.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Vani Parks

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.

The āsan, the sacred mat used by Hindus in worship, is made of kashŭ grass (saccharum spontaneum) and sold at various prices, ranging 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.

I saw a small model of the ruth, or car, that was decorated with flags and red fabric. In Allahabad, I wanted to check out one that was driving by, but I was discouraged from doing so because I was told it had inappropriate paintings on it.

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.

A carved stone was given to me, brought from the ruins of a large city about forty miles from Pooree; I can’t remember its name, but from what I heard, it was full of interesting things. However, few people had dared to visit the ruined city because they were worried about getting a fever from the malaria caused by the dense jungle surrounding it. The stone is white, and it has the figure of a notable person carved on it, along with an emblem of Mahadēo above. A beautiful tiger’s skin was also added to my collection. I took my treasures home with great joy, and they now decorate my museum.

In the evening our party returned on board in a Masulla boat through a very fine surf that flung the boat right on end, and carried her back many times towards the beach ere we could make our way through it; the foam dashed over the boat as every surf rolled upon her; it was a beautiful sight,—I enjoyed extremely the passing through those magnificent surfs. The countenance of the captain of the “Robarts,” who was with us, was grave and anxious; he eyed the horizon intently, and appeared not to like the look of the sky. He weighed anchor instantly on reaching the ship, and said to me afterwards, “I did not like the appearance of the weather as we came on board, and was thinking whether I should lay my bones there.” With[386] a wind on shore a ship off Pooree must be in an awkward position.

In the evening, our group got back on board a Masulla boat, navigating through some pretty impressive waves that tossed the boat upside down and pushed us back toward the beach multiple times before we finally got through. The foam crashed over the boat with each wave; it was a stunning sight—I really enjoyed going through those amazing waves. The expression on the captain of the "Robarts," who was with us, was serious and worried; he was watching the horizon closely and didn’t seem to like the look of the sky. As soon as we got to the ship, he weighed anchor and later told me, “I didn’t like how the weather looked when we boarded, and I was wondering if I’d end up buried at sea.” With a wind blowing onshore, a ship off Pooree can find itself in a tricky spot.

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.

27th.—At 8 PM we arrived at the floating light, a brig anchored at the Sandheads; it was a beautiful night—our signal lights were shining brightly, and we were guided now and then as we got closer to the vessel by the half-hour lights lit on board her. The last light we had seen was quite far away, and steering by it, we suddenly noticed the brig off our quarter, about a hundred yards away—her sails, masts, rigging, and hull shimmering in the darkness, lit by the eerie glow of her blue light; the view was strikingly ghostly. A pilot came on board right away; with a nice breeze and plenty of sail up, we made our way 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.

28th.—A nice breeze carried us along until we dropped anchor near the Bishop’s Palace, at which point a north-wester picked up, bringing 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.

29th.—We arrived at Baboo Ghāt, Calcutta, after a really pleasant voyage from the Cape, which, I think, everyone on board enjoyed.

The “Robarts” was a fine vessel, one of the old teak Indiamen. With regret we saw the following extract in a newspaper in 1847:—

The “Robarts” was a great ship, one of the classic teak Indiamen. Sadly, we came across the following excerpt in a newspaper in 1847:—

Wilful burning of an Indiaman.

Deliberate burning of an Indiaman.

“Considerable surprise has within the last day or two existed in the underwriters’ room at Lloyd’s, in consequence of the receipt of intelligence of the loss of another East India trader by fire, under circumstances that have justified the officers under whose command she was placed in apprehending the greater part of the crew on a charge of having maliciously occasioned the destruction of the ship. She was the ‘Robarts,’ of London, part the property of Messrs. Havisides and Co., of Cornhill, and was one of the old-fashioned teak-built Indiamen, of nearly 1,000 tons’ burden. She was deeply laden with cotton and other merchandize, which had been shipped at Calcutta, as well as a number of passengers, and was on the point of sailing[387] when the calamity happened. The immense losses by fire that merchants and shipowners have within the last two years sustained in that port—for we believe no fewer than five large ships have been totally destroyed during that time—have led to every precaution on their part. The cargo of the ‘Robarts’ underwent a strict scrutiny before it was taken on board, and the ship’s hold was carefully overhauled, besides which extra lookers-on were appointed to watch the conduct of the crew. With the exception of the officers, the crew were composed of Lascars, nearly seventy in number; and here it is proper to mention, that in all instances where they are engaged to navigate a vessel, whether to England or elsewhere, they are entitled by the laws of that country to six months’ pay in advance. This has led to the disasters spoken of; the Lascars firing the ships to defraud the owners of their services, all the ships being destroyed a night or so before the day of their appointed sailing. The ‘Robarts’ dropped down the river on the 28th of June, and the passengers having come on board she sailed on the following day, the 29th, for China. The succeeding night saw the destruction of the vessel in the river. The passengers and most of the officers were buried in slumber when they were startled by the cries of ‘fire,’ and on their reaching the deck were not a little alarmed at finding such to be the case, for smoke was rolling up in dense volumes from the fore part of the vessel. The captain and chief officer went down to ascertain its locality, and finding the bulk of the fire apparently behind the starboard-chain box, or locker, water in copious quantities was immediately thrown down, the pumps being also got to work; notwithstanding, however, no effect was produced, but the smoke and heat increased, and the stench clearly showed the fire had extended to the cotton in the hold. The exertions were continued, but at four o’clock, four hours after the alarm was raised, Captain Elder seeing there was not the least chance of saving the ship, ordered the boats to be lowered, and having seen all hands and the passengers safe in them abandoned her to her fate. Fortunately for them another vessel, named the ‘Fatima,’ was coming[388] down the channel, and took them on board to Kedgeree, where they were landed. It is unnecessary to observe that in a few hours the ‘Robarts’ was totally destroyed. The men who were charged with setting fire to the ship have undergone an examination, and are remanded. The result of the second day’s examination has not yet been received. The loss of the vessel and cargo is said to exceed £30,000. It is covered by insurances.”—Observer.

“Recently, there has been a lot of surprise in the underwriters’ room at Lloyd’s due to the news of another East India trader losing to fire. The circumstances have led the officers in charge to fear that most of the crew might be responsible for intentionally causing the ship's destruction. The ship was the ‘Robarts’ from London, partially owned by Messrs. Havisides and Co. of Cornhill, and it was one of the traditional teak-built Indiamen, weighing nearly 1,000 tons. It was heavily loaded with cotton and other goods shipped from Calcutta, along with several passengers, and was about to set sail[387] when the disaster struck. In the past two years, merchants and shipowners have suffered immense losses due to fire at that port, with at least five large ships completely destroyed during that period, prompting them to take every precaution. The cargo of the ‘Robarts’ was thoroughly examined before being loaded, and the ship's hold was carefully inspected. Additionally, extra watchers were appointed to monitor the crew's behavior. Except for the officers, the crew consisted of nearly seventy Lascars, and it’s important to note that whenever they are hired to navigate a ship, whether to England or elsewhere, they are entitled by law to six months’ pay in advance. This has led to the mentioned disasters, with Lascars allegedly setting fire to the ships to defraud the owners of their services, as all the ships were destroyed shortly before their scheduled departures. The ‘Robarts’ moved down the river on June 28th, and after the passengers boarded, it set sail the next day, June 29th, for China. That very night, the vessel was destroyed in the river. The passengers and most of the officers were sleeping when they were awakened by cries of ‘fire.’ When they reached the deck, they were alarmed to find it was true, with smoke billowing up from the front of the ship. The captain and chief officer went down to locate the fire, discovering that the bulk seemed to be behind the starboard chain box or locker. They quickly doused it with water and got the pumps working, but despite their efforts, the smoke and heat grew worse, and it was clear the fire had spread to the cotton in the hold. Efforts continued, but by four o’clock, four hours after the alarm was raised, Captain Elder realized there was no chance of saving the ship. He ordered the boats to be launched, ensuring all crew and passengers were safely on board before abandoning the ship to its fate. Fortunately for them, another vessel called the ‘Fatima’ was coming down the channel and rescued them, taking them to Kedgeree, where they were disembarked. It goes without saying that within a few hours, the ‘Robarts’ was completely destroyed. The men accused of setting fire to the ship have been examined and are currently in custody. The results of the second day’s examination are still pending. The loss of the vessel and cargo is reported to exceed £30,000, covered by insurance.” —Observer.

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CHAPTER LXIV.
Sketches Along 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.

Calcutta—Mango Fish—Lord Ellenborough recalled—Fall of Fish—The Hoogly—The Bore—Left Calcutta—Ishapūr—Chagdah—Joy of Dying with the Ganges in View—Left the Tropics—Cutwa—Plassey—Berhampūr—Morus Indica—Jungipūr—Left the Bhagirathī—Night Blindness—Sikrī-galī—Herd of Buffaloes—Patturgatta Hill—Rocks of Colgong—A Python—A Wild and Unique 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.

April 1, 1844.—We rented a house in Chowringhee and soon discovered that cholera and smallpox were widespread in Calcutta. The dampness and heat of the Bengal climate make me feel so unwell!—they drain all my energy. Calcutta is known for its tapsi machhī (mango fish), which are at their best this month. “Mangoes and fish go together by necessity[44];” they arrive in season at the same time, and unripe mangoes are also used in fish dishes: the dāndīs bring them in small baskets fresh from the boats in the evening, selling them twenty for a rupee, while a khansaman charges his employer one rupee for five of them. People make trips to Fulta and Budge-Budge, down the river, to enjoy mango fish—similar to white-bait parties in town; they are fantastic—smoked just like 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.

28th.—A nice rain has fallen—maybe it will freshen the air and help to push back the cholera, which is spreading rapidly right now.

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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.

May 24th.—Mango fish costs fifty per rupee. The weather is very hot, and the nights are extremely uncomfortable due to the heavy mist and intense heat. We left our horses at the Cape, which we regretted when we arrived in Calcutta; we’ve been searching for a pair of carriage horses for a while. This is the cheapest time of year to buy, but they’re still quite expensive; the ones priced at eight hundred rupees are bad quality, and those at one thousand are just okay—you can’t find a decent pair for less than fourteen or sixteen hundred rupees. It wouldn’t make sense to bring riding horses from the Cape to sell, but carriage horses would do well since there’s such high 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.

29th.—Since it rained on the Queen’s birthday, the fireworks show was postponed until today; it was a disappointment, except for one set that was good. They couldn’t compare to the jeux d’artifices I saw in Paris on the King’s celebration; I never saw colors as bright and varied as those. The final firework, a bouquet of rockets in different colors, was stunning; sometimes a composition ignited that cast a red glow over the landscape; then a burst of blue lights created a ghostly effect on the houses, the river, and the sky, followed by another shade, and the overall effect was excellent.

June 16th.—Lord Ellenborough recalled,—deposed by the Court of Directors.

June 16th.—Lord Ellenborough was recalled and removed 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.

July 18th.—I went to the horse stables to check out some new Arab horses, and I was shown a few really good ones. There wasn’t a single horse I would have chosen for my own riding that cost less than twelve to sixteen hundred rupees; for the ones that might be good racers, they were asking two to three thousand.

31st.—Lord Ellenborough quitted Calcutta, and returned to England.

31st.—Lord Ellenborough left Calcutta and went back 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.

Aug. 22nd.—A strong gale and a heavy downpour; the next day, the locals were fishing all over the area in front of the Government House; they claim the fish fell with the rain, which is now a foot deep on the ground.

Oct. 1st.—It being our intention to proceed by the river to[391] Allahabad, and the weather becoming daily cooler, we hired a pinnace budgerow for ourselves, a large olāk for the baggage, and a cook-boat, sent them to Prinsep’s Ghāt, and prepared for the voyage.

Oct. 1st.—Since we planned to travel by river to[391] Allahabad and the weather was getting cooler each day, we rented a large boat for ourselves, a bigger boat for our luggage, and one for the cook. We sent them to Prinsep’s Ghāt and got ready for the journey.

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.

That branch of the Ganges that leaves the main river at Gopalgunj and flows past Sooty to Moorshedabad is called the Bhagirathi until it reaches Nuddea, where it merges with the Jellinghy. They then continue on, passing Kolkata, to the island of Sagar, under the name Hoogly. Only the part of the Ganges that runs in a straight line from Gangotri to Sagar island is seen as sacred by Hindus and is referred to as the Ganga or Bhagirathi. Therefore, the Hoogly River, as referred to by Europeans, is considered 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.

The Bore starts at Hoogly Point, Sāgor, where the river first narrows, and can be seen just above the town of Hoogly. Its flow is so fast that it takes barely four hours to travel the nearly seventy-mile distance from one point to the other. It doesn't run on the Calcutta side, but along the opposite bank, crossing at Chitpūr, about four miles above Fort William, and moves with great force. As it approaches, boats must quickly leave the shore and head for safety into the middle of the river; in Calcutta, it can sometimes cause an instant rise of five feet. The tide can be felt all the way to Nuddea.

10th.—Quitted Calcutta with a foul wind and heavy rain,—damp, gloomy, and rheumatic weather.

10th.—Left Calcutta with a nasty wind and pouring rain,—damp, gloomy, and chilly 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.

11th.—Started with a nice breeze, bought two milk goats for thirteen rupees eight ānās—a great deal on the river. Docked the boats at Ishapūr to visit a friend who oversees the powder factory there; his house, which is big and great, is located by the riverbank; everything around it is so cool and refreshing; it's wonderful to be in the countryside again.

14th.—The fast of the Muharram ended to-day; the followers of the prophet amongst our servants, wishing to have a great feast, petitioned to be allowed to stay till noon, to worship and to stuff pillāo. Quitted Hoogly with the tide at half-past one P.M.[392]

14th.—The Muharram fast ended today; the prophet's followers among our servants wanted to have a big feast, so they asked to stay until noon to worship and prepare pillāo. Left Hoogly with the tide at 1:30 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,

15th.—We went past the village of Chagdah, on the left side of the Matabangah River, forty-six miles from Calcutta; a village of corpses, where the residents, brought by their families to the riverbank, choose to die prematurely rather than live a moral life, aligning themselves with the highest authorities. Pope’s Homer has 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.

Solomon thinks it's better to be a living dog than a dead lion; and Job, referred to by Byron as “the Respectable,” asks, “Why should a living man complain?” to which Byron adds, “For no reason that I can see, except that a dead man cannot.” In light of these serious opinions, I can’t help but feel differently: the proverb aligns with my perspective on the matter—“It is better to die with honor than live with disgrace[45].” These unfortunate individuals, cast out from their homes and families because of their unexpected recovery, after being left by their relatives to die on the riverbanks, have found refuge in this village, and are its only inhabitants.

“The Hindūs are extremely anxious to die in sight of the Ganges, that their sins may be washed away in their last moments. A person in his last agonies is frequently dragged from his bed and friends, and carried, in the coldest or in the hottest weather, from whatever distance, to the river-side, where he lies, if a poor man, without a covering day and night, until he expires. With the pains of death upon him, he is placed up to the middle in water, and drenched with it; leaves of the toolsee plant are also put into his mouth, and his relations call upon him to repeat, and repeat for him, the names of Ramŭ, Hŭree, Narayŭnŭ, Brŭmha, Gŭnga, &c. In some cases the family[393] priest repeats some incantations, and makes an offering to Voitŭrŭnēē, the river over which the soul, they say, is ferried after leaving the body. The relations of the dying man spread the sediment of the river on his forehead or breast, and afterwards, with the finger, write on this sediment the name of some deity. If a person should die in his house, and not by the river-side, it is considered as a great misfortune, as he thereby loses the help of the goddess in his dying moments. If a person choose to die at home, his memory becomes infamous.”

The Hindus are very eager to die near the Ganges so their sins can be washed away in their final moments. Often, someone in their last moments is pulled from their bed and loved ones and taken, regardless of the weather, from afar to the riverbank, where if they are poor, they lie uncovered day and night until they pass away. As death approaches, they are placed in the water up to their waist and drenched. Leaves from the tulsi plant are also placed in their mouth, while their family calls on them to say the names of Ram, Huri, Narayan, Brahma, Ganga, etc. Sometimes, the family priest performs incantations and makes offerings to Varuna, the river that is said to carry the soul after leaving the body. The relatives of the dying person sprinkle the river’s sediment on their forehead or chest, and then, using their finger, write the name of a deity in the sediment. If someone dies at home instead of by the river, it’s considered a terrible misfortune because they miss the goddess's help in their final moments. Choosing to die at home can tarnish their memory.

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.

This section of the river is flat and dull, anchored just below Culna, which is sixty-six miles by water and fifty-two by land from Calcutta. At night, the insects, drawn in by the bright light of the Silvant lamps, swarm into the cabin—like the plagues of Egypt, they drop into the wine glasses and crowd the plates; they crawl over my hands and the paper I'm writing on, and they're a total nuisance.

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.

16th.—It was very hot in the middle of the day; the thermometer read 86°. We passed the Dhobah sugar-works, which is seventy-two miles by water from Calcutta; we left the Jellingee river on our right and anchored at Nuddea, eighty-three miles by water and sixty-four miles by land. Steamers usually reach the Dhobah sugar-works in a day, but we still feel like we've made good time in the Budgerow! We didn’t stop to explore the long line of temples along the riverbank. People from Calcutta come here to enjoy the fresh 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.

At Meertulla, halfway between Nuddea and Dumdumma, we crossed the Tropic of Cancer, which made us think we were in a cooler climate, despite the extreme heat. At noon, it's almost unbearable and really oppressive, but the early mornings are cool, and the nights too; we’re anchored 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.

18th.—Lugāoed on a dry sandbank beyond Dewangunge, one hundred and eighteen miles from Calcutta; it has a large market and a great indigo factory.

19th.—Arrived early in the day off Cutwa, situated on the right bank of the Bhagirathī, five miles from Dewangunge; anchored to procure fowls, fish, and vegetables; it has a coal depôt for steamers. Cutwa is on the Adgar-nālā: found nothing[394] in the bazār but eggs and plantains, fowls and byguns (solanum melongena). Purchased twelve sticks of shola, or sola, as it is commonly called, for one paisā; the dāndīs use it as a tinder-box, and strike fire into the end of a sola stick with a flint and steel. A cooler day; the river very uninteresting; moored on a nameless sandbank.

19th.—Arrived early in the day at Cutwa, located on the right bank of the Bhagirathī, five miles from Dewangunge; anchored to get chickens, fish, and vegetables; it has a coal depot for steamers. Cutwa is on the Adgar-nālā: found nothing[394] in the market except eggs and plantains, chickens, and byguns (solanum melongena). Bought twelve sticks of shola, or sola, as it's commonly called, for one paisā; the dāndīs use it as a tinder-box and strike fire into the end of a sola stick with flint and steel. It was a cooler day; the river was quite dull; moored on an unnamed 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.

20th.—Passed the Field of Plassey, sixteen miles above Cutwa, on the left bank; famous for the defeat of Suraja Dowla by the British troops led by Colonel Clive on June 23rd, 1757. This battle determined the fate of Bengal and ultimately India. Anchored on a nice 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.

21st.—Arrived at Rangamattī, a village on the right bank with steep red cliffs; the Company used to have silk factories here. The area is known for sajjī-mattī, or fuller’s earth: it's six miles from Berhampūr, one hundred and sixty from Calcutta, and seventy-seven from Jellingee. Stayed at the civil station in Berhampūr, which looks completely deserted; nothing is happening; there are no crowds of locals along the bank selling various items, and no colorful 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.

22nd.—Sent letters to the Dāk—stocked up on chickens, bread, butter, charcoal, limes, etc., to help us get to Rajmahāl, since we can only get supplies at the bigger 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.

23rd.—We passed the palace of the Nawāb of Moorshedabad and admired the elaborate boats he uses for special occasions, along with the snake boats; the latter move incredibly fast when rowed by twenty men due to their remarkable length and slimness. The state boats are highly decorated with gold and tastefully adorned with colors; they’re incredibly light and airy. The river is quite shallow, and we have a hard time finding the deeper sections; as a result, our progress is slow, but the scenery is stunning. We moored near a small bastī (village) on the right bank.

24th.—A little fleet of small boats filled with fire-wood has[395] passed us; never was there any thing so neatly and regularly stowed away as the wood. The weather is becoming sensibly cooler and more pleasant: moored below Jungipūr on a field covered with the tūt, (morus Indica, Indian mulberry,) a shrub which is planted and cultivated in great quantities as food for the silkworms which are reared in the neighbouring villages. My goats luxuriated for some hours by moonlight in the fields of tūt, enjoying the fresh shrubs; they have been cut down, and the young sprouts are now only about a foot high.

24th.—A small fleet of boats loaded with firewood has[395] passed us; I've never seen anything so neatly and orderly packed as that wood. The weather is noticeably getting cooler and more pleasant: we are anchored below Jungipūr on a field filled with tūt (Indian mulberry), a shrub that's widely planted and cultivated as food for the silkworms raised in the nearby villages. My goats enjoyed several hours in the moonlight in the fields of tūt, munching on the fresh shrubs; they've been trimmed back, and the new 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.

25th.—We passed Jungipūr and paid the toll for keeping the entrance of the Bhagirathī open; we anchored at Kamalpūr, a charming, spread-out village. There are cows everywhere—this village is full of them; they swim herds of cows across the river to graze on the other bank and bring them back in the evening. Usually, a couple of men go with the herd, crossing the river by holding onto the tail of a cow. The cows take to the water without hesitation; when they get back to the cottages, they are tied up with food in front of them, and a smoldering fire is kept nearby all night. The cows surrounded by smoke are free from bothersome insects. Mr. Laruletta runs a large silk factory in Jungipūr; he lives in the Residency, which he bought from the Government; it’s forty-two miles above Berhampūr. The villages of Gurka and Kidderpūr are on the opposite bank.

26th.—Quitted the Bhagirathī and entered on the Ganges: stopped at a place famous for bamboos, consisting of a few huts built of mats on the river-side, where bamboos and ardent spirits are sold. My mānjhī bought nine very large newly-cut bamboos for one rupee five ānās, and complained of their being very dear! Crossed the river, and anchored above the village of Konsert, at the Luckipūr indigo factory, a most melancholy looking place, the bungalow in ruins—the owner resides on the opposite side of the river. There is a very fine banyan tree on the Ghāt, at Konsert, and two very fine silk cotton trees (bombax heptaphyllum) in front of the factory. The kajūr (phœnix dactylifera, common date palm,) flourishes here,—it[396] is remarkable for its lofty trunk, rugged on account of the persistent vestiges of the decayed leaves.

26th.—Left the Bhagirathī and entered the Ganges: stopped at a spot known for its bamboos, featuring a few huts made of mats by the riverside, where bamboos and strong drinks are sold. My boatman bought nine very large freshly cut bamboos for one rupee five ānās and complained that they were quite expensive! Crossed the river and anchored above the village of Konsert, at the Luckipūr indigo factory, which looked quite sad, with the bungalow in ruins—the owner lives on the other side of the river. There's a beautiful banyan tree at the ghat in Konsert, and two impressive silk cotton trees (bombax heptaphyllum) in front of the factory. The kajūr (phœnix dactylifera, common date palm) thrives here—it’s notable for its tall trunk, rough because of the remnants of old 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.

27th.—Passed Dulalpūr and spotted the factory at Chandnī Kotī in the distance, where I received such warm hospitality during my trip to the ruins of Gaur. I heard about Mr. Sinclair’s death, which happened about a year ago, probably due to jungle fever. After a nice sail with a good breeze, I caught the first glimpse of the Hills; anchored on a cool, clear, and fresh sandbank in the middle of the Ganges—the moon was high, and the night was calm and pleasant. I took a camera lucida on deck and was really entertained by the crew's excitement when they looked through it. They called it a Kompās and were very eager to get their own pictures 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.

28th.—The thermometer reads 82° in the cabin at noon; there's not a whisper of wind, and the river is really wide and shallow. It's barely possible to find enough water to float the budgerow. We're just passing a steamer that’s towing a flat cargo; it has run aground and is stuck in the middle of the river, burning hot, while the small pilot boats are trying to locate a channel deep enough for her. Just like the tortoise and the hare from the fable, we will reach the destination first. Picture the heat radiating off the iron steamer, the bright river reflecting the sun’s rays, appearing like smooth glass around her; the inside of the vessel must feel like a hot iron oven. Lugāoed off Husseinpūr. The woolāk (baggage-boat) arrived late; for the second time, it has collided with the budgerow, causing some damage. The mānjhī of the woolāk can't see after sunset because he suffers from what the locals call rāt andhā, or night blindness; he can see just fine during the daytime—which is quite an inconvenient issue for the captain of a ship.

29th.—Passed the steamer and flat with passengers for Calcutta—very hot and oppressive—arrived near Rajmahāl, and found a large portion of the bank of the river had fallen in;—it was a little land-slip. The palm-trees on the fallen land were in most picturesque disorder. Moored off the ancient palace of Rajmahāl: the river, which formerly washed its walls, has deserted it, and the deep current is on the opposite side, leaving[397] an almost dry bed before the ruins. Visited the old baolī (well), which is beautified by age: down the centre of it hang long pendant shoots of the banyan, and the roots of trees: thence I proceeded to the tombs of the Europeans, and to the gateway. Several cows were quietly ruminating under the black marble arches of the verandah of the palace that overlooks the river. The steamers take in their coal a mile below, and therefore do not destroy the beauty of the old ruins with their smoke, and steam, and Birmingham appearance. The Hills are distant about five miles inland. Myriads of minute insects are in great number; they fill my nose like snuff, and get into my eyes and ears, and torment me so much, I find it almost impossible to write; they fill my teacup, and absolutely are giving forth a vile odour from the numbers that have found death around the flame of the candle.

29th.—Passed a steamer and a flatboat carrying passengers to Calcutta—very hot and stuffy—arrived near Rajmahāl, and noticed that a large part of the riverbank had eroded; it was a small landslide. The palm trees on the fallen land were in a beautifully chaotic state. Moored off the ancient palace of Rajmahāl: the river, which used to wash its walls, has moved away, and the strong current is now on the opposite side, leaving[397] an almost dry riverbed in front of the ruins. I visited the old baolī (well), which has been made beautiful by age: long hanging vines of the banyan tree and tree roots dangle down its center. From there, I went to the tombs of the Europeans, and to the gateway. Several cows were calmly grazing under the black marble arches of the palace's verandah that overlooks the river. The steamers take on coal a mile downstream, so they don't spoil the beauty of the old ruins with their smoke, steam, and industrial look. The hills are about five miles inland. There are swarms of tiny insects everywhere; they fill my nose like snuff, swarm into my eyes and ears, and annoy me to the point where it's almost impossible to write; they even fill my teacup, and create a disgusting smell from the many that have perished around the candle's flame.

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.

30th.—The early morning was lovely—the weather much cooler and more pleasant. We stocked up on fresh supplies—found some really nice chickens and good yams—sailed at 4 PM, ran aground at 7, on a sandbank—here the bugs are few and don't bother me like they did last night. Crocodiles are everywhere and keep popping up, swimming just beneath the surface. We passed a village nearby where a group of people eats crocodile meat. My crew says it has a strong smell and is very tough. Twice this evening I heard a strange, high-pitched scream, and when I pointed it out to the men, they said it was the call of the crocodile. Twenty-one miles above Rajmahāl and two miles below Sikrī-galī Hill and Point, according to the “Calcutta Directory,” is the stunning Mootee Jhurna waterfall; it’s visible on the eastern side of the Hills. I didn’t see or visit 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,

31st.—We anchored at sunset at Sikrī-galī, disembarked, and walked to the bungalow. The French indigo planter had left the place; the house was empty. If he had 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[398] to recall the memory of the Hill-man and his terī (wife): saw some beautiful goats in the village, which the people refused to sell, although I bribed them high. Wood and charcoal was cheap and plentiful; nothing else was to be procured. A number of jackals were roaming and howling in the village. The point of Sikrī-galī is very picturesque from the river. The indigo factor’s bungalow would be an excellent shooting box. It is said the Jharna waterfall and the Himalaya mountains are visible at times from Rajmahāl; I have never seen either. Bears, tigers, rhinoceroses, leopards, hogs, deer of all kinds, abound here, and feathered game in the Hills. Steamers pass in ten days and a half in the dry season from Calcutta.

Walked a short distance to get a view of the Hills and[398] to remember the Hill-man and his terī (wife): saw some beautiful goats in the village that the people refused to sell, even though I offered them a good amount. Wood and charcoal were cheap and plentiful; nothing else was available. A bunch of jackals were roaming and howling in the village. The view from Sikrī-galī is very pretty from the river. The indigo factor’s bungalow would make a great shooting spot. It’s said that the Jharna waterfall and the Himalayas can sometimes be seen from Rajmahāl; I have never seen either. Bears, tigers, rhinoceroses, leopards, wild boars, deer of all kinds, and various birds are abundant here in the Hills. Steamers take about ten and a half days from Calcutta during the dry season.

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.

Nov. 1st.—Left Sikrī-galī early; the river was very fast-flowing, filled with nothing but bleak sandbanks and a distant view of the hills. There were plenty of porpoises playing around.

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°.

2nd.—Plenty of fish for sale on the bank at Kantnagar; a gloomy day; anchored on a sandbank,—nasty insects,—the thermometer at ten AM 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.

3rd.—Saw a herd of buffalo swimming across the river—about a hundred of them; the men swam alongside, each holding onto a buffalo's tail, with their clothes held up high in one hand. Some of the men had bamboo poles, which they used to prod and encourage the animals to swim. When I first spotted them, I mistook them for a reef of low black rocks, since the black heads were so numerous and so tangled together. Late in the evening, I saw the rocks of Colgong; we traveled up the left bank of the river, supported by a nice breeze; the current here is really strong, and it was a fortunate break that we had a helpful wind to assist us; we anchored in the dark about a mile below Kuhulgaon—that is, Colgong.

The “Directory” says, “Fifty-eight miles above Rajmahāl, on the left bank of the river, is the junction of the Koosie river. On the Nepaul part of the Himalaya, nearly opposite, is the Patturgatta Hill, with one or two temples, and is noted in native tradition for a cave (only a small hole), into which, it is said, a Rajah, with an immense suite, and one lakh of torch-bearers, entered, and never returned;—such is the story of the attending[399] fakīr. Hence are beautiful views of isolated hills, and the tips of the Colgong Rocks. The Southern or Patturgatta passage up to Colgong has some very dangerous rocks, where, if a boat touches, not a soul can be saved.”

The “Directory” says, “Fifty-eight miles upstream from Rajmahāl, on the left side of the river, is where the Koosie river meets. On the Nepaul side of the Himalayas, almost directly across, is Patturgatta Hill, which has one or two temples and is famous in local legend for a cave (just a small opening) that a Rajah, along with a huge entourage and one lakh of torch-bearers, entered and never came back;—such is the story of the accompanying[399] fakīr. From here, you can see beautiful views of isolated hills and the peaks of the Colgong Rocks. The southern or Patturgatta route to Colgong has some very treacherous rocks, and if a boat hits them, not a single 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.

4th.—At dawn, I got up to check out the rocks; I had the boatman take us to the Colgong side, so I could sketch from that side of the river. These rocky islands are really unique and beautiful, and there are four of them; rocks on top of rocks, covered with lush greenery, they rise straight up from the center of the river, which flows swiftly and is quite wide here. We navigated the left channel, which is passable after the rains. They say no one lives on these rocks; a holy man used to stay there, but he was eaten by a huge snake (an ajgar) that consumed humans, which frightened everyone off, and since then, no one—holy or otherwise—has made their home on these rocky islands. We bought two nice rohū fish (cyprinus denticulatus) for six ānās, but couldn’t find any of the rock fish: small boats were fishing under the rocks, and they say there are plenty of snakes around there.

“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.”

“The village of Colgong is sixty-eight miles upstream from Calcutta and eighteen miles downstream from Bhagulpūr. It's located on the right bank of the river and has a nice stream and boat shelter. It's a coal depot for steamers. The left passage should never be attempted by steamers or boats during the rainy season, as the currents and eddies between the main channel and the rocks can be disastrous for any local boats and too risky for steamers. Boats trying to navigate it must ensure they have very strong tracking lines low on their prows, plenty of trackers, and two bowlines as supports to the bank, while staying close in. You can find rock fish here, as well as chickens, kids, eggs, etc.”

I longed to have a gun fired, to awaken the echoes, and to startle the myriads of birds that inhabit these singular rocks. We have just passed a most enormous crocodile; it was basking in the sun on a sandbank, looking like the stem of a dry tree, and, but for a peculiar shine and polish, and the shade cast on the bank, you would not have supposed it a living animal:[400] some dāndīs, tracking near it, aroused the enormous beast, and it took refuge in the river; it was one of the largest I ever saw. Birds were around in innumerable flights. The river presents a singular picture; the expanse of water is very great, interspersed with low sandbanks in every direction. Three crocodiles are on the banks,—one at full length out of the river, on the top of the bank, the other two half out of the water, and lying flat upon it. One of the native charpāīs, on which a corpse has been brought down to be burned, and which, from being reckoned unclean, is always left on the spot, is on a sandbank; it is upset, the feet in the air, and seated inside is an enormous vulture, gorged from his horrible feast. Storks, with their long legs and white bodies, are numerous in the water; and some very soft-plumed birds, looking like large doves, are on the sands; whilst countless birds, in flocks, are flying in every direction. We anchored on a fine open clean sandbank, and enjoyed the coolness of the evening and the quietude around us; no human habitations were to be seen,—nothing but the expanse of the broad river, and its distant banks.

I wished for a gunshot that would echo and startle the countless birds that live among these unique rocks. We just passed a massive crocodile that was basking in the sun on a sandbank, looking like the trunk of a dry tree, and if it weren't for its shiny skin and the shadow on the bank, you wouldn't think it was alive: [400] some locals nearby disturbed the giant creature, and it slid into the river; it was one of the biggest I've ever seen. There were birds flying around in endless flocks. The river creates a striking scene; the water stretches widely, dotted with low sandbanks all around. Three crocodiles are on the banks—one fully out of the river on top of the bank, and the other two half-submerged, lying flat. One of the native charpāīs, where a body has been brought down to be cremated and is always left behind as it’s considered unclean, sits on a sandbank; it’s flipped over with its feet in the air, and inside is a huge vulture, stuffed from its grotesque meal. Storks with long legs and white bodies are plentiful in the water, and some soft-feathered birds that look like large doves are on the sand, while countless birds fly in every direction. We anchored on a nice, clean sandbank and enjoyed the cool evening air and the tranquility around us; there were no signs of human life—just the wide river and its distant banks.

[401]

CHAPTER LXV.
Sketches on the Ganges from Colgong to Dinapur.

Bhagulpūr—Rock and Temple of Janghīra—Cytisus Cajan—Force of the Current—Monghir—An Aërolite—Bairāgī Temples—Dwakanath Tagore—Rosaries—Vases—Sūraj-garha—Bar—Beggars and Swine—Benīpūr—Bankipūr—Azīmabad—Sūraj Pūja—Patna—The Golā—Deegah—Havell’s Farm—Dinapūr.

1844, Nov. 5th.—At noon we moored off the Civil station of Bhagulpūr. The river-side has been very picturesque the whole distance from Colgong. Procured mutton, fowls, yams, &c., from the bazār; and purchased some pieces of silk and some imitation Scotch plaid, that was brought for sale to the budgerow. Accompanied the Judge to see the new church, the building of which he superintends; saw the monument which was erected in honour of Mr. Cleveland, of the Civil Service, by the Zamīndars, and was told, that at the other end of the station is another monument erected to him by the Government. He brought the Hill people into subjection, by whom he was styled the “Father of their Country.” Bhagulpūr is eighteen miles above Colgong; it is two hundred and sixty-eight miles by land from Calcutta,—by water, from the same place, three hundred and forty-eight miles in the rains, and six hundred and thirty-six in the dry season,—and the dāk runs in two days and a quarter. Steamers take nine and a half or eleven days to[402] arrive here. A light kind of silk, called tasar, is sold in this bazār, also, shot silks of various colours, useful for razāīs and native wear, and a kind of cloth called bāftas. Here are a few Hill rangers and a sepahī station.

1844, Nov. 5th.—At noon, we anchored near the Civil station of Bhagulpūr. The riverside has been very picturesque the entire way from Colgong. We got mutton, chickens, yams, etc., from the market, and bought some pieces of silk and some imitation Scotch plaid that were brought for sale to the budgerow. I joined the Judge to see the new church he is overseeing; I saw the monument built in honor of Mr. Cleveland from the Civil Service by the Zamīndars and was told that at the other end of the station, there’s another monument erected to him by the Government. He brought the Hill people under control, and they called him the “Father of their Country.” Bhagulpūr is eighteen miles above Colgong; it’s two hundred and sixty-eight miles by land from Calcutta—by water, from the same place, it’s three hundred and forty-eight miles during the rains and six hundred and thirty-six miles in the dry season—and the mail runs in two days and a quarter. Steamers take nine and a half or eleven days to [402] arrive here. A lightweight silk called tasar is sold in this market, along with shot silks in various colors, useful for razāīs and traditional wear, and a type of cloth called bāftas. There are a few Hill rangers and a sepahī station here.

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.

6th.—It was a nice and cool sail, with fair winds at times; we navigated around a sandbank. But there were few insects since there were no trees nearby.

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.

7th.—Today, unfortunately, I couldn’t visit the Rock and Temple of Janghīra because the deep stream is on the other side of the river; however, I was close enough to sketch it, and its location is very pretty and picturesque. It's located twenty-five miles upstream from Bhagulpūr; the rocky point where the old ruined mosque stands, near Janghīra, along with the mountains in the background, would make a great subject for a painting. Just above the rock, we came across a large fleet of small boats, including pinnaces, budgerows, and various country boats, transporting the Buffs from Allahabad to Calcutta for their departure to England; I counted sixty-four vessels. Since they were coming down with the current, the sight wasn’t as picturesque as it would have been if they were moving upstream. All boats put up very small, low masts and hardly any sails when going with the current due to its strong speed; but when going upstream, they have very tall masts and a huge amount of sail. The last time I saw the Buffs was at a ball they hosted in Meerut—a farewell before going to Afghanistan.

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.

The weather is now quite pleasant, refreshingly cool—sharp, clear, and crisp air; we use a fan at dinner time, hanging from the ceiling of the cabin, but we don't need it during the rest of the day; the nights are chilly. We have anchored; and the poor goats, who have spent the last three evenings on a barren sandbank, now have a great field of urur (cytisus cajan) to graze on. The locals have cut some, so the goats will be happy tomorrow; this is technically theft, but it's acceptable along the riverbanks, as less rent is charged for land that experiences visits from thieves coming from the Ganges.

8th.—A large white house on the hill at Monghir is visible.[403] I was charmed with the scene when I went on deck at half-past seven this morning: the river in this part is extremely broad and very shallow, with a stream running like a mill-sluice; a fair wind was blowing, and we were in the midst of about five hundred vessels, which had been detained there in consequence of the force of the stream. With this fine wind, however, they all set sail; the lighter vessels with great difficulty passed the bad part of the river, the larger and heavier craft got up to a certain point, and beyond that they could not proceed, but one by one lowered their sails, and fell back on a sandbank, where they lay all in a row, like a line of soldiers. I amused myself with watching the vessels as they came up to the testing point, and went forward triumphantly, or fell back into the line of the hopeless. The cook-boat, with our assistance, was brought up with great difficulty; the budgerow bravely made way against the fierce current; the woolāk, unable to stem the stream, fell back, took some other passage, and parted company. Late at night we anchored on one of those fine, hard, cool, clean sandbanks; the sand is mixed with such a quantity of mica (talc), that at night, by the light of a candle, it shines as if sprinkled with silver-dust. We expected to have reached Monghir to-day, but the winding of the river and the force of the stream have prevented us.

8th.—A large white house on the hill at Monghir is visible.[403] I was captivated by the scene when I went on deck at 7:30 this morning: the river in this area is really wide and very shallow, with a current flowing like a millrace; a nice breeze was blowing, and we were surrounded by about five hundred boats that had been stuck here because of the strong current. With this good wind, though, they all set sail; the lighter boats struggled to pass through the rough part of the river, while the larger and heavier ones managed to go so far but couldn’t get past a certain point, lowering their sails one by one and drifting back onto a sandbank, lying in a row like soldiers. I entertained myself by watching the boats as they approached the testing point, either moving ahead triumphantly or falling back into the line of the unsuccessful. The cook-boat, with our help, was brought forward with great difficulty; the budgerow bravely pushed against the fierce current; the woolāk, unable to fight the stream, turned back, took a different route, and separated from us. Late at night, we anchored on one of those nice, hard, cool, clean sandbanks; the sand is mixed with so much mica (talc) that at night, by candlelight, it sparkles as if sprinkled with silver dust. We had hoped to reach Monghir today, but the twists of the river and the strength of the current have held us back.

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.

9th.—Arrived at Monghir. The riverside was packed with all kinds of boats, as tightly arranged as possible: the market stretches along the riverbank, and some nice houses owned by the local officials sit on the higher ground; the cemetery is beyond that, and the Old Fort is at the point. The moment we anchored, we were bombarded with hundreds of beggars; their noise and shouts were incredibly annoying, they were a complete nuisance—trying to get rid of them was pointless. The vendors selling firearms, necklaces, bathing chairs, baskets, toys, shoes, etc., created such a racket that it was disgusting; we had all the Venetian blinds shut on that side, and the people had the audacity to wade into the water and peek through them; the guards tried to chase them away, but they were back in an instant like a swarm of bees.

[404]

I may here insert a paragraph I saw in the papers:—

I can include a paragraph I saw in the newspapers:—

“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.”

“The Asiatic Society has acquired a meteorite, or a piece of meteoric iron, discovered buried in the ground at the top of the Kurruckpore Hills, near Monghyr, which the locals had dug up and revered for many years. It is a block weighing about 160 pounds, with a somewhat conical, oval, disk shape, resting on a sort of base, and slightly flat at both ends; it consists of iron, nickel, cobalt, chromium, silica, alumina, and traces of arsenic and selenium.”

10th.—The next day we started. The Fort is a good object from this side, but, on turning the corner, how much was I charmed to see the most picturesque cluster of bairāgī temples imaginable! The maths are surrounded by fine trees, the ruined bastion of the old fort juts out into the river, and has fragments of rock at its base. The high spires of the white temples seen among the trees, the slender bamboos with their bright red or white flags, and a sort of Hindū altar in front, are beautifully grouped. On a large stone in the river, just in front of the temples, shaded from the sun by an immense chatr (umbrella) made of straw, sat two Hindū priests, who were a picture in themselves; upright at their side was a very high thin bamboo, crowned with the branch of some holy tree, from which a lota was suspended in the air. The whole was reflected in the Ganges, and the vessels and distant land finished the picture. It came upon me by surprise: had I known of the temples that were hidden from my view by the bastion of the fort, I should have walked there the evening before. The “Directory” tells you of the articles in the bazār, but omits these gems of oriental beauty, which are invaluable to a lover of the picturesque. Beyond this stretch the walls of the old fort, which are of very great extent, and the view of Monghir is good from this part of the Ganges. Mr. D⸺ told us, that in coming up the river during the last rains, the current at Colgong was terrific; on the left bank was a whirlpool that set directly on the rocks, and it would have been certain destruction to any boat attempting that passage; and on the right bank was another whirlpool, of such force, that, in tracking to a certain point, the dandīs[405] jumped into the river, and fixed a hawser to prevent the vessel being carried round and round by the current, and dashed upon the rocks; with care this passage was navigable, but the other was not to be attempted. From this gentleman’s house on the hill at Monghir the view across the river was bounded by the horizon, as at sea, the waters were so high and the expanse so great.

10th.—The next day we set off. The fort looks impressive from this side, but when I turned the corner, I was amazed to see the most beautiful cluster of bairāgī temples imaginable! The maths are surrounded by beautiful trees, the ruined bastion of the old fort juts out into the river, with pieces of rock at its base. The tall spires of the white temples peeking through the trees, the slender bamboos with their bright red or white flags, and a kind of Hindu altar in front are all stunningly arranged. On a large stone in the river, right in front of the temples, two Hindu priests sat, shaded from the sun by a huge chatr (umbrella) made of straw; they looked like a picture themselves. Next to them stood a very tall, thin bamboo topped with a branch from some holy tree, from which a lota was hanging in the air. The whole scene was reflected in the Ganges, and the boats and distant land completed the picture. It caught me by surprise; if I had known about the hidden temples behind the fort's bastion, I would have gone there the evening before. The “Directory” tells you about the shops in the bazār, but misses these treasures of eastern beauty, which are priceless to someone who loves picturesque views. Beyond this stretch are the extensive walls of the old fort, and the view of Monghir from this part of the Ganges is quite nice. Mr. D⸺ informed us that while going up the river during the last rains, the current at Colgong was tremendous; there was a whirlpool on the left bank that pulled directly into the rocks, and it would have been certain disaster for any boat trying to pass that way; on the right bank was another whirlpool so strong that when they were tracking to a certain point, the dandīs[405] jumped into the river and tied a rope to keep the vessel from being spun around and smashed against the rocks; with caution, this passage could be navigated, but the other was risky. From this gentleman’s house on the hill at Monghir, the view across the river seemed endless, like being at sea, the waters were so high and the stretch so vast.

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.

Dwakanath Tagore is heading to Europe for two years and plans to visit the King of France. What draws the Wise Man of the East is the beauty of the opera dancers, and the joy he experiences at the opera in Paris, as he puts it, seeing three hundred of the most beautiful women in the world all at once; the baboo is quite excited about it.

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.

According to the steam regulations, the Civil station of Monghir is halfway from Calcutta—one hundred thirty-three miles above Rajmahāl and twenty-five miles above the rock of Janghīra. Among the products made here, the black vases for flowers, crafted from white wood and lacquered with sealing wax while on the lathe, are quite nice. The necklaces and bracelets imitating jet, priced at two or three rupees per set, are beautifully made; you can find necklaces of St. Agnes’s beads, monkeys, chameleons, and male bamboos—everything is available in the bazaar, except for ducks. The steamer’s journey takes about ten to fourteen days to reach this place—three hundred ninety-eight miles by the Bhagirathī, six hundred eighty-six by Sunderbands, and three hundred four by dāk; the latter takes two days and three-quarters. Upon arrival, the collector’s and magistrate’s book is sent on board to record all passengers’ names. Two miles S.W. by W. of Monghir, there are some rocks marked with a sign—they used to be in the steamer’s path but are now buried in a huge sandbank; steamers stop here for three or four hours to take on coal. Moored off the village of Husseingunge.

11th.—At noon passed the large village of Sūraj-garha, twenty miles above Monghir, with a small river that runs down from the hills; fowls and kids are procurable here, through the[406] jāmadār’s assistance, for boat travellers. Lugāoed off a sandbank; the weather has become very cold,—the thermometer this evening 72°, with a sharp wind.

11th.—At noon, we passed the large village of Sūraj-garha, twenty miles above Monghir, with a small river that flows down from the hills. You can get chickens and young goats here, thanks to the jāmadār's help for boat travelers. We pulled off a sandbank; the weather has turned very cold—this evening, the thermometer is at 72°, with a biting 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.

12th.—The river was pretty dull; the villages were dirty and gross, filled with pigs and loud beggars. We anchored the boats as far from a village as possible, yet we still had to shoo away the beggars, whose constant noise gave us no peace or 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.

13th.—Passed a really beautiful banyan tree, its roots exposed from the river eroding the soil; I would have stopped to sketch it, but I couldn't risk going ashore with such a crowd of noisy beggars and filthy pigs—so many of them! So skinny and long-legged, with staring bristles, all eagerly digging up the earth with their bare noses! Old, miserable beggar women, with their bony bodies and long white hair, are chasing the boat, repeating their monotonous pleas for help. There's a grove of tamarind trees that looks very inviting at Bar, and the tar or fan palms are especially impressive—the locals say they’re fifty cubits tall. Many sprawling banyan trees are nearby, and the interior scenery looks very appealing. The large town and market of Bar is on the right bank of the river, sixty miles above Monghir and fifty below Dinapūr, a supply stop for steamer coal; for twenty miles above and below, this riverbank is known for its pig farming villages and saltpetre factories. We stopped a little above Bar.

14th.—After a most uninteresting day among shallows and sandbanks, moored off Benīpūr: walked towards a light I saw at a distance, and found a police-station. At the side was a burial-ground of the Faithful; some Mahomedan saint was there entombed. The light was burning in the niche of the pillar at the head of the tomb. It was under a most magnificent old banyan-tree, growing on a bank; the river had washed away the ground from its roots, and they were starting forth in all picturesque forms. Four large suckers having fallen to the ground, had each taken root, and had attained the size of a tree—the great branches[407] spread in every direction. Next to it was a remarkably fine old tamarind-tree: two or three tombs were around under the shadow of these and other trees; the lamp in the tomb rendered them visible, and the young moon shed a bright light between the boughs, but not sufficient to dispel the deep darkness around. One of the banyan-trees to the left was so old, all its branches had fallen off, and its trunk was cleft, open, and hollow. It measured thirty feet in circumference: these ancient trees and tombs would be a beautiful subject for a picture. I asked a native at the spot to tear off a small branch of the banyan-tree: he said, “You can gather a bough yourself, if you like, but I cannot break one off from the tree that shades the tomb of a Pīr,”—a saint.

14th.—After a pretty dull day among shallows and sandbanks, we anchored off Benīpūr. I walked toward a light I saw in the distance and came across a police station. Next to it was a burial ground for the Faithful; a Muslim saint was buried there. The light was burning in a niche on the pillar at the head of the tomb. It was beneath a magnificent old banyan tree, growing on a bank; the river had washed away the ground around its roots, and they were spreading out in all sorts of picturesque shapes. Four large suckers that had fallen to the ground had each taken root and grown into the size of small trees—the large branches[407] stretched out in every direction. Next to it was a particularly impressive old tamarind tree: two or three tombs were nearby, shaded by these and other trees; the lamp in the tomb made them visible, and the young moon cast a bright light between the branches, but it wasn’t enough to lighten the surrounding darkness. One of the banyan trees to the left was so ancient that all its branches had fallen off, leaving its trunk split, open, and hollow. It measured thirty feet around: these ancient trees and tombs would make a beautiful subject for a picture. I asked a local at the site to break off a small branch from the banyan tree. He replied, “You can pick a branch yourself if you want, but I can’t break one 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.

15th.—The “Directory” states that on the right bank, eighty-seven miles above Monghir and nine miles below Patna, or rather Bankipūr station, there’s a large local town with a river at its upper or western end that flows down from the Hills. It features a solid, brick or stone bridge over it. As we passed Futwa early in the morning, some plump merchants who were bathing in the river asked if we wanted any tablecloths or towels, which the area is known for. We anchored at a sacred spot; there’s a tomb of a saint there, and both the tomb and the pillar are made of mud. It’s built on a raised platform of earth, well protected from the river by a fence made of tree trunks, with the outside covered in old wooden planks from boats. The priest proudly pointed it out and said, “It is the command that the river shall never reach this holy tomb, which has stood here for seven hundred years. You see, it’s made of mud; the river floods all the surrounding villages, but this place remains untouched. It is the command that the tomb is never to be made of stone.” When I commented on the strength of the fencing, he became quite rude and began begging with the whines and pleas of a beggar.

16th.—The first glance on the river this morning delighted me: we were off an old ruined bastion which had partly fallen into the stream; on its top was a beautiful burj (turret)—there was another bastion a little further on, and then some temples and two[408] more burūj. We had now arrived at Azīmabad, as the ancient city of Patna is called by the Muhammadans, which extends a great distance along the bank of the river, and is supposed to have been, among others, the site of the ancient Palibothra; the Hindoo appellation is Sri Nagar.

16th.—The first view of the river this morning made me happy: we passed by an old ruined bastion that had partially collapsed into the water; on top of it was a beautiful burj (turret)—there was another bastion a bit further on, and then some temples and two[408] more burūj. We had now reached Azīmabad, which is what the ancient city of Patna is called by the Muslims, stretching a long way along the riverbank, and is believed to be, among other things, the location of the ancient Palibothra; the Hindu name 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.

“The hypocrites of Bhagulpūr, the thieves of Kuhulgaon, and the broke folks of Patna are all well-known [46].” The Hindus were arriving in large groups, led by tom-toms (local drums) and various musical instruments, to bring their offerings to the river. They carried baskets filled with fruits or vegetables to the riverbank, along with large bunches of plantains, and washed them in the river. The Brahmans poured water over the offerings, recited prayers, and the people bathed before heading 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.

It was the Sun festival—the Sūraj Pūja. The people's outfits were in the brightest colors. Bright crimson flags, featuring the image of Hŭnūmān in white, were flying at the tops of tall, slim bamboos.

Advancing higher up the river, near the old fort, there are picturesque houses of all sorts, intermixed with Hindoo temples, fine trees, and distant masjids. A sandbank in the centre of the Ganges was covered with temporary huts of straw, where the devout were bathing and offering flowers and fruits; it was a beautiful scene, that animated multitude on the sandbank and in the river, with the high bank on the opposite side covered with the houses and the temples of the city. The pinnaces and vessels of all sorts were decked with flags. Large parties of women, dressed in the gayest attire and the most various colours, were doing pūja, bathing in the river, or presenting their offerings of fruit, flowers, &c., to the attendant Brahmans. “While bathing, the Hindoos repeat certain incantations, in order to bring the waters of all the holy places in the heaven of Sōōryŭ into the spot where they are standing, and thus obtain the merit of bathing, not only in Gunga, but in all the sacred rivers, &c., in the[409] heaven of the Sun-god. After bathing, too, the Hindoos make their obeisance to this god in a standing posture; the more devout draw up their joined hands to their forehead, gaze at the sun, make prostrations to him, and then turn round seven times, repeating certain forms of petition and praise. On these occasions they hold up water in their joined hands, and then pour out a drink-offering to the sun.” The number of boats off Patna is quite surprising. There is a boat-builder’s on the opposite sandbank, and a great number of vessels with large timber-trees are off the place. Passing Hadjipūr, we were not tempted to go on shore, although the fair was being held there, not requiring elephants, horses, or shawls. The bungalow and race-course are on the left bank of the Gunduk that runs from the Nepaul Hills; the large native town is on the right bank. People flock from all parts of India to its annual fair, which will last this month as long as the moon shines. We anchored on a sandbank in the middle of the river, nearly opposite the Golā or Gol-ghar. The “Directory” says, Patna, the Civil station of Bankipūr, extends about ten miles along the right bank, fourteen miles below Dinapūr. It is noted for opium, gram, and wax candles, and is a very large mart. Seventeen hundred boats of burden have been counted lying here at one time. It is the residence of a Nawāb, and a Sadr and Civil station. The Government establishments are at Bankipūr, or the upper extreme of Patna, where there are some handsome houses, also a very large and noted granary built like a dome, with two flights of steps outside, to ascend to its top, on which is a large circular hole, to admit air into the building, and to start grain into; it has only one door, and was built for a depôt in case of famine. It is a very massive building, noted for its numerous, clear, and strong echoes, and is at present used as a guardhouse.

Advancing further up the river, near the old fort, there are charming houses of all kinds, mixed in with Hindu temples, beautiful trees, and distant mosques. A sandbank in the middle of the Ganges was dotted with temporary straw huts, where worshippers were bathing and offering flowers and fruits; it created a stunning scene, with the lively crowd on the sandbank and in the river, against the backdrop of houses and temples on the high bank across the way. Boats of all kinds were adorned with flags. Large groups of women, dressed in bright, colorful clothing, were performing pūja, bathing in the river, or making offerings of fruit, flowers, etc., to the attending Brahmins. “While bathing, Hindus recite certain incantations to draw the waters of all the holy places in the heaven of Sōōryŭ to the spot where they stand, thus gaining the merit of bathing not only in the Ganges but in all the sacred rivers, etc., in the [409] heaven of the Sun-god. After bathing, Hindus also pay their respects to this god while standing; the more devout raise their joined hands to their foreheads, gaze at the sun, bow to him, and then turn around seven times, repeating forms of petition and praise. During these rituals, they hold water in their joined hands and then pour out an offering to the sun.” The number of boats near Patna is quite impressive. There’s a boat-builder’s on the opposite sandbank, and a large number of vessels with big timber logs are moored there. Passing Hadjipūr, we weren’t tempted to go ashore, even though a fair was happening there, as it didn’t involve elephants, horses, or shawls. The bungalow and racetrack are on the left bank of the Gunduk that flows from the Nepal Hills; the large native town is on the right bank. People come from all over India for its annual fair, which runs throughout the month as long as the moon shines. We anchored on a sandbank in the middle of the river, almost directly across from the Golā or Gol-ghar. The "Directory" states that Patna, the civil station of Bankipūr, stretches about ten miles along the right bank, fourteen miles below Dinapūr. It's known for opium, gram, and wax candles and is quite a large market. Seventeen hundred cargo boats have been counted moored here at one time. It’s the residence of a Nawāb and a Sadr and Civil station. The government establishments are located at Bankipūr, or the upper end of Patna, where there are some attractive houses, as well as a large and famous granary constructed like a dome. It features two flights of steps outside to reach the top, which has a large circular hole for ventilation and for filling grain; it has only one entrance and was built as a depot in case of famine. It’s a very sturdy building, known for its numerous, clear, and strong echoes, and is currently used as a guardhouse.

Steamers seldom stop here: sometimes not being able to get within a mile or two, passengers can land at the lower end and get ekhas, or hackeries, (a native one-horse conveyance,) to take them up to Bankipūr or Dinapūr, fourteen miles distant, by way of a change or novelty, where they can inspect the golā[410] or granary by the road-side. The road is very good up to the military cantonments at Dinapūr.

Steamers rarely stop here; sometimes they can't even get within a mile or two. Passengers can disembark at the lower end and catch ekhas, or hackeries (a local one-horse carriage), to take them to Bankipūr or Dinapūr, which is fourteen miles away, for a change of scenery. There, they can check out the golā[410] or granary by the roadside. The road is really good up to the military base in 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.

17th.—We landed to visit Havell’s farm at Deegah and found his widow there—a very elderly mixed-race person. The place must have been nice in the past; now the sheds are all empty, and hardly anything happens there. I ordered some beef brawn and chili vinegar, both of which were good. When we arrived at Dinapūr, my mānjhī wanted to anchor under the flagstaff, but I disagreed because of the large crowd of boats there. We had to travel about a kos to get past the Lines and reach the ghāt across from the native hospital—a very uncomfortable spot.

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.

18th.—Bought a bunch of six-inch wax candles from Kinnoo Lall, costing eighty rupees. I was really annoyed about having to get new dāndīs for the woolāk and having to send a messenger 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!

19th.—The sardar-bearer here told us he planned to leave; this was an issue. In fact, since many people live close to Dinapūr, the servants often choose this spot to quit their jobs and head home, with or without notice, depending on what works best for them. At 4 PM, the new dāndīs arrived for the woolāk; I can't wait to get away from this place!

Dinapūr is a large European and military station, where the steamers stop by the cantonment flag-staff to take in coals and passengers. It is considered as two-thirds of the passage upwards. It is on the right bank of the Ganges, distant from Calcutta by steamer’s route, viâ Bhagirathī, five hundred and eight miles; viâ Sunderbands, seven hundred and ninety-six; by land, three hundred and seventy-six. The letter dāk takes three and a half days. Mutton, beef, fowls, eggs, bread, butter, fruits of various kinds, and grapes in May and June are procurable; also tablecloths, napkins, towels, cotton handkerchiefs, sola hats, muslin and cotton cloth, shoes, harness, Patna wax candles, gram, wild fowl, &c. European shopkeepers are here. Plays are performed and auctions held. Passengers for Arrah and[411] Tirhoot land here. Quitted Dinapūr with great pleasure, and came to very agreeable moorings off Chittenniaw—a great relief after the annoyance of being near the ghāt of a large station. The people with us will now be well behaved, and give no more trouble to the end of the voyage; i.e., until we arrive at Allahabad.

Dinapūr is a large European and military base where steamers stop by the cantonment flagstaff to take on coal and passengers. It’s considered about two-thirds of the journey upstream. It’s located on the right bank of the Ganges, 508 miles from Calcutta by the steamer route via Bhagirathī, 796 miles via the Sundarbans, and 376 miles by land. The postal service takes three and a half days. You can find mutton, beef, poultry, eggs, bread, butter, a variety of fruits, and grapes in May and June; also tablecloths, napkins, towels, cotton handkerchiefs, sola hats, muslin and cotton fabric, shoes, harnesses, Patna wax candles, gram, wild fowl, etc. European shopkeepers are present here. There are plays and auctions held. Passengers heading to Arrah and Tirhoot disembark here. I left Dinapūr with great relief and reached very pleasant moorings off Chittenniaw—a welcome change after being near the ghāt of a large station. The people with us will now behave well and won't cause any more trouble for the rest of the trip; that is, until we arrive at Allahabad.

[412]

CHAPTER LXVI.
Sketches of 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.

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 Hindu Temple—Twenty-Eight 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.

1844, Nov. 20th.—Today the scenery has been really dull; there’s nothing to see but sandbanks, the river is shallow, and there's no wind. We settled on a nice open spot in the middle of the river; it’s actually a sizable island of beautiful white sand. Four miles upstream from Dinapūr is where the Soane meets the Ganges.

21st.—Sandbanks and shallows the whole day: we have advanced very little, and have moored as usual on a bank. Looking around me, I see nothing but a wilderness of sandbanks in the midst of the broad river, only terminating with the horizon—not a tree, not a house to be seen; here and there a distant sail. There is something very pleasing in this monotonous solitude; the only sound the roar of the sandbanks, as they give way and fall into the stream, with a noise like distant thunder. These high sandbanks are undermined by the strong[413] current, and fall in in great masses—very dangerous to small vessels passing near them.

21st.—We spent the whole day navigating sandbanks and shallow waters: we haven't made much progress and have anchored as usual on a bank. Looking around, all I see is a vast expanse of sandbanks in the middle of the wide river, stretching all the way to the horizon—not a tree or a house in sight; just an occasional distant sail. There's something quite soothing about this endless solitude; the only sound is the roar of the sandbanks collapsing into the water, echoing like distant thunder. These high sandbanks are eroded by the strong [413] current, crumbling in large chunks—very risky for small boats passing nearby.

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.”

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 rarely stop here, even during the rainy season. Passengers for this location should plan to disembark at Revelgunge, which is upstream and has a steam agent. The latter place, twenty-seven miles by water above Dinapūr on the left bank, is a major hub for grain and saltpetre and is known for boat-building. An annual fair takes place there. Steamers only stop to drop off passengers and a few packages for the steam agent. Beyond that, up to Ghazipūr, the villagers are said to be rude 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.

We caught a glimpse of Chuppra from a distance, then passed Revelgunge. The tents of a Rāja were set up by the Ganges, with the khanats stretching out on both sides into the river to shield the Rāja from onlookers, as he relaxed under a shamiyana (awning) in the center. His camp included several elephants, one particularly large, along with some fine horses and camels, and all the attendants of a wealthy local. Moored just above Revelgunge.

23rd.—A fair wind. Lugāoed off a small bastī (village).

23rd.—A nice breeze. Rowed off from 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.

24th.—A nice breeze. We anchored near Bulleah where a big fair was happening by the riverbank; we docked two miles away, but the noise and commotion, even from that distance, sounded like waves crashing on a far-off shore. I walked to the fair; it was late in the evening, and all I could see were thousands of people sitting in groups on the ground cooking their dinners or lying there asleep. Some groups were watching performances by dance girls, go’ālā log, and dancing boys: every man held a long, heavy bamboo stick for protection and as a walking stick.

The fakīrs had erected altars of mud, on the top of each of which was stuck a long bamboo, decorated with a flag. These holy personages, entirely naked, were sitting on the ground under some freshly-gathered boughs that were stuck up on one side. If one could but learn the real history of one of these[414] men, it would give one a curious insight into human nature. A fakīr of this description is looked upon with respect by the natives; “No one inquires his caste or tribe; he has put on the string, and is therefore a Brahman[47].”

The fakīrs had built mud altars, each topped with a long bamboo pole adorned with a flag. These holy figures, completely naked, sat on the ground beneath some freshly gathered branches that were propped up on one side. If only one could uncover the true story of one of these[414] individuals, it would provide an intriguing perspective on human nature. A fakīr like this is regarded with respect by the locals; “No one asks about his caste or tribe; he has worn the string and is therefore considered 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.

These guys sit up all night by a fire, smoking weed, a mind-altering herb, eating sweets and ghee, and drinking milk. They never wear any clothes and never sleep in shelters. They claim they don’t feel the cold, and they eat the offerings given to them. They must get really large amounts; the people passing by give them between one to four paisa, and a wealthy Hindu hands them a rupee. Groups of people were sitting together singing and playing drums; the noise was overwhelming, and the smoke was really bothersome from the countless fires along the pathway. Tomorrow 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.

25th.—From 7 AM until 11 o’clock, we were working hard to get the boats past the fair, which stretched for miles along the riverbank. Since it was early morning, thousands of people were bathing; the bank for miles was filled with moving figures going up and down the steep cliff in crowds as thick as they could manage. The river below was bustling with worshippers. Hindus from all walks of life were bathing and doing their religious rituals. The budgerow was held up for a while because of the difficulty of getting the tracking line over the tops of so many tall masts; some people cut the tracking line, and they took off with part of it, which delayed us for some time. It's interesting how a bamboo is used to carry the tracking rope to the top of a mast and throw it over.

By the side of the river I saw several fakīrs bathing; they had thick heads of hair and enormous beards. One man had his hand and arm erect: it was only partly withered, his vow must therefore have been recently made, or the arm would have been withered to the bone and immovably fixed in its position. His body was covered with ashes, and his long elf locks, matted[415] with cow-dung and yellow clay, hung down like so many rusty yellow tails. Hundreds of boats were bringing more people to the fair. The morning being cold, the people, wrapped up in great white sheets, were huddled together in the boats, as many as it was possible to cram together; and at a distance the vessels looked as if they were filled with bales of cotton.

By the river, I saw several fakīrs bathing; they had thick hair and huge beards. One man had his hand and arm raised: it was only partially withered, so he must have made his vow recently, or his arm would have been withered to the bone and stuck in place. His body was covered in ashes, and his long, tangled hair, matted with cow dung and yellow clay, hung down like rusty yellow tails. Hundreds of boats were bringing more people to the fair. Since the morning was cold, people, wrapped in large white sheets, were huddled together in the boats, crammed in as tightly as possible; from a distance, the vessels looked like they were filled with bales of cotton.[415]

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.

Cows were everywhere and were being given the usual pūja. Sometimes, a Brahman could be seen sitting on a charpāī with a chatr over his head, the charpāī supported by four bamboo poles set up in the river, and a nice triangular red flag flying from each end of the poles. The scene was quite picturesque: red and white flags were abundant, indicating the presence of a fakīr. There was a noticeable lack of beauty among the women. Some of the men had handsome features—some had almost transparent black skin, others had a dark brown complexion, and some showed a bright terra di sienna color. I didn’t see any lepers, which is surprising; it’s common to spot one of the pale pink lepers among a large crowd bathing, and since that type of leprosy isn’t contagious, people don’t shun them like they do those with 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.

I think the crowd at this fair looks bigger than any I’ve seen at Prāg; the cliff was packed for miles with countless people. Maybe the crowd stood out more on the cliffs than on the flat sands at Tribeni. A number of respectable-looking Hindu women were in boats that had awnings. This large local village of Bulleah is seventy-four miles above Dinapūr, on the left bank: it’s a dārogah station, known for the annual fair held there as well as for a grain market.

This is the most dangerous part of the Ganges for quicksands and shifting banks: the stream is very strong, boats being sometimes detained from four to six weeks, waiting for water and a favourable breeze. The people carry away the Ganges water from this place in sealed bottles, as they do from Prāg, and sell it in distant parts of the country at a high price. We had a hard day’s work tracking amidst the sandbanks against a rapid stream, and[416] did not anchor until the sun had set for an hour and a half, and the full moon was high. I was very glad to see the moon; we were in a dilemma on a bad spot in the river; however, after much labour we got off, and lugāoed on a comfortable sandbank. A large vessel belonging to a Mirzapūr merchant was wrecked here a month ago; I visited the wreck,—they have recovered all but fourteen bales of linen, which they are digging out,—they lie twelve feet under the sand. In the evening the manjhī of my boat was preparing a bamboo to use for pushing the budgerow onwards; I measured it as it lay on the ground; it was sixty feet in length, and most beautifully tapered; he said he had some spare ones on board much longer; for nine of these bamboos he only paid one rupee, and he bought them at the spot where the Bhagirathī branches off from the Ganges. At Prāg such a bamboo would have cost eight ānās. A chaukidār has erected a hut close to the wreck with her fragments; there he and his people keep guard over her; in front is an image of Mahadēo, made in mud, and ornamented with fresh green plantain trees stuck into the sand around the idol.

This is the most dangerous part of the Ganges due to quicksand and shifting banks: the current is very strong, and boats can be stuck here for four to six weeks, waiting for enough water and a favorable breeze. People take the Ganges water from this spot in sealed bottles, just like they do from Prāg, and sell it in far-off areas for a high price. We had a tough day working our way through sandbanks against a fast current, and we didn’t anchor until an hour and a half after sunset, when the full moon was high. I was really glad to see the moon; we were in a tricky situation in a bad spot in the river. After a lot of hard work, we managed to get off and settled on a comfortable sandbank. A large ship owned by a Mirzapūr merchant sank here a month ago; I checked out the wreck—they have recovered all but fourteen bales of linen, which they are digging out, lying twelve feet under the sand. In the evening, the manjhī of my boat was preparing a bamboo pole to push the budgerow forward; I measured it while it was on the ground; it was sixty feet long and beautifully tapered. He told me he had spare ones on board that were even longer; for nine of these bamboos, he only paid one rupee, bought right where the Bhagirathī branches off from the Ganges. At Prāg, such a bamboo would have cost eight ānās. A chaukidār has built a hut near the wreck with the debris; he and his people keep watch over it. In front, there’s a mud idol of Mahadēo, decorated with fresh green plantain trees stuck into the sand around it.

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.

26th.—We anchored early at Buxar, just below the fort. While walking to check out the fort, I was drawn to my left by the beauty of a stunning old peepul tree, which shades a temple dedicated to Mahadēo, whose statue is inside the building; on the outer wall, there's a statue of Hūnūmān. The temple is beautifully shaded, and the trunks of the peepul tree—since it's divided into many—are old and picturesque, and the small leaves indicate the tree's age. On the riverbank, there's also an old peepul tree—its long, branching roots are exposed, as the river has washed away the bank. Buxar is on the right, and Kuruntadee is on the left bank, eighty-eight miles above Dinapūr, and they are known as the Honourable Company’s stud establishment: there’s a small fort here where the battle took place.

27th.—Quitted Buxar early, and were forced to anchor for a time at Chounsah Beerboom, on account of a very heavy wind, which made old Gunga rise in waves, and rocked the budgerow[417] like a sea: started at 4 P.M. and arrived at the Kurum-nassa river; it is a shallow, melancholy-looking, small stream, with nothing to be seen on its banks but fishermen’s nets. Hilsā fish are here caught in great numbers, and the rahū also; I purchased one of the latter, and some quail, which were twenty-five per rupee.

27th.—Left Buxar early and had to stop for a while at Chounsah Beerboom due to very strong winds that caused the old Gunga to churn with waves, rocking the boat[417] like it was at sea: we set off at 4 PM and reached the Kurum-nassa river; it's a shallow, gloomy little stream with nothing along its banks except fishermen's nets. Hilsā fish are caught here in great quantities, as well as rahū; I bought one of the latter along with 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].

Lugāoed at Barrah, a small village on the right bank: climbed the cliff in the evening; a fisherman who lived there showed me two satī mounds on top of it—one made of stone dedicated to a Brahmin, the other of mud in honor of a Kyiatt. A kalsā is the ornament on top of a dome; there were two made of stone, without any points on the satī mound of the Brahmin; and two made 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.

I gave a small gift to the locals and took one of the clay pots as a keepsake. Several broken idols made of black stone had been unearthed and placed on the satī mound of the Brahmin. I really wanted to have two of them, so I decided to ask the fisherman to give them to me. The old man proudly told me that one of his relatives had been a satī, and that the Brahmins complained a lot because they weren't allowed to burn the widows, as these heartbroken women were willing to be cremated. He mentioned that there are many mounds on the left bank of the river, right across from Beerpūr, and some more about two miles upstream.

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.

The Brahmānī ducks are chatting with each other from opposite sides of the river—I can hear several pairs with their ā’o! ā’o! This is only the second time during this trip that I’ve heard the chakwā. The wind has calmed, there’s a soft, bright moonlight—the weather is absolutely lovely, and the moonlit nights are delightful; from the high bank by the satīs, you can see the Ganges below sparkling in its rays.

“Eight miles above Buxar, on the right bank of the river, is[418] the junction of the Kurum-nassa: the touch of its waters is considered as one of the direst mishaps that can happen to a Hindū, as it is said it debars him admittance into heaven. There is a bridge over it, built by a Rajah; this part of the country is noted for decoits.” The bridge, which is some distance up the river, is not visible from the junction.

“Eight miles above Buxar, on the right bank of the river, is[418] the junction of the Kurum-nassa: touching its waters is considered one of the worst misfortunes that can happen to a Hindu, as it’s said to prevent entry into heaven. There’s a bridge over it, built by a Rajah; this area is known for bandits.” The bridge, which is a bit further up the river, isn’t 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.

Ten P.M.; I just got back from the satī mound, with the old fisherman who brought me two of the black stone idols from the Brahmān’s mound, where there were about twenty. He handed them over to me as soon as I asked for them. I gave him a gift afterward, so he didn’t sell his gods; but he asked if he could take them to the boats during the night. He and his family are now the only ones living in a small hamlet of five houses, which he used to share with his four brothers; they’re all gone now, and their houses, which are in ruins, are near the mounds. The old man lives in the middle of the village with one young son and two daughters, and he keeps his mud house in good shape. They tell me that chickens and chakor (the red-legged partridge) are plentiful there; I wasn’t able to catch 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.

29th.—We stopped the boat for a few minutes by the ruins of the Nawāb of Ghazipūr's palace. The fortress-like bastions rise from the Ganges, with the palace built above them; the stone ghāt is wide and well-maintained. This ruined palace has been described earlier in this volume, page 66. The local town of Ghazipūr is full of picturesque charm; there are many mut’hs, but their architectural beauty is marred by whitewash and dark red paint. There's a giant mud statue covered in paint, lying on its back near the water's edge, creating a strange effect. A little further along, an old well has fallen into the river because the high cliff it was dug into eroded away; this sandy cliff is very steep and is covered with local houses, small temples, and trees from top to bottom.

THREE SATĪS and a MANDAP near GHĀZĪPŪR.
THREE SATĪS and a MANDAP near GHAZIPUR.

Sketched on the Spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched on the Spot by Fanny Parkes

[419]

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.

Lugāoed close to a small and beautiful mandap or Hindu temple. I went to check it out; the Brahmin opened the door and proudly showed me his idols. They included Seeta, Ram, and Lutchman, painted red and adorned with bits of gold and silver tinsel, along with pieces of colorful cloth. Hanuman was displayed on the wall, also painted red and dressed in red linen. The Brahmin offered me a ball of sweetmeat, which he said was the usual offering at the shrine. Two lovely peepul trees, planted together, stand on the high bank above the temple, and beneath their shade are three sati stones, built in an octagonal shape and topped with a dome. The top of the dome is decorated with a kalsā shaped like a crown, with a hole in the center, where a lit lamp is placed on its points or horns on certain days. The cenotaph is hollow below; there's a small arch through which relatives can place a small lamp and offerings of flowers in the cavity of the little structure on special days, and it's also where the two sīr are kept. The kalsās look different from those at Barrah, and the satīs are of a higher caste, made of stone and well-constructed. If the moon rises in time, I’ll sketch the spot, but I’m really tired, and my head hurts—not only from being out in the sun but also from a blow I took from the tracking rope this morning. The insects don’t bother us at night now, except for the mosquitoes, which are quite annoying.

On the rising of the moon I went on shore to take the sketch, and was attracted by what appeared to be the figure of a man watching from under a tree on a high cliff. On going up to it I found a satī, which had fallen to ruin; the remains were whitewashed, and a large kalsā had been placed on the top, which being also whitewashed, at a distance produced the deception. See fig. 2, which is a sketch of this kalsā; the satī herself, partially wrapped in her sarī, is seated upon it; it is adorned with points, and made of mud. I brought the kalsā away with me; it will be replaced by the kumhār, or potter of the village, whose duty it is to restore all kalsās. On the other side[420] of the old tree was another satī mound, and small lotās, earthen drinking vessels, were hung around the tree to receive the offerings of the devout. I had the curiosity to put my hand into one of them, and found one betel-nut which had been placed there as an offering. Peeping over a high bank, I saw an open space of ground, on which were some fine trees, and I could scarcely believe the number of mounds that met my eye were those of victimized women. By a little détour I found the entrance to this place of cenotaphs, and was shocked on counting eight-and-twenty satīs. I was alone; had a Hindū been with me, he would have made salām to each of them.

When the moon rose, I went ashore to take a sketch and was drawn to what looked like a man watching from under a tree on a high cliff. As I got closer, I found a satī that had fallen into disrepair; its remains were whitewashed, and a large kalsā had been placed on top, which was also whitewashed, creating an illusion from a distance. See fig. 2 for a sketch of this kalsā; the satī herself, partially draped in her sarī, is sitting on it; it’s decorated with dots and made of mud. I brought the kalsā with me; it will be replaced by the kumhār, or potter of the village, whose job it is to restore all kalsās. On the other side[420] of the old tree was another satī mound, and small lotās, earthen drinking vessels, were hung around the tree to collect offerings from the faithful. Out of curiosity, I reached into one and found a betel-nut that had been left there as an offering. Glancing over a high bank, I saw an open area of ground with some beautiful trees, and I could hardly believe the number of mounds I saw were those of victimized women. After a slight detour, I found the entrance to this place of memorials and was shocked to count twenty-eight satīs. I was alone; if a Hindu had been with me, he would have paid respects 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.

One was large and somewhat shaped like a grave, similar to the satī of the Brahmān at Barrah. The others varied in shape; the more elaborate ones were made of stone, had an octagonal design, and were topped with a dome. Some were so small and low that they were only about a foot above the ground, resembling a small ant hill, but adorned with a kalsā that completely covered the tiny mound. The stone ones ranged from six to eight feet tall and came in various shapes. There is a hollow space inside the satī, where offerings are placed through the small arch; this is also where the two sīr, as they are called, made of stone and resembling split cannonballs, are kept. See the plate of the kalsās, fig. 1. One very old satī tomb, now in ruins, was perched on the edge of a high cliff above the river, shaded by a cluster of bamboos. The spot fascinated me immensely. It's horrifying to see how the vulnerable are exploited; it's the same everywhere in the world, whether civilized or not—perhaps some of these young married women, aged eleven to twenty, were burned alive in the prime of their youth, possibly alongside the corpse of some decrepit, sickly old man to whom their parents had married them.

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.

The laws in England concerning married women, and the state of oppression these laws impose on them, make the lives of a few in the higher classes, and thousands in the lower classes, a continuous suffering, with no escape except death or the chance for freedom—meaning the status of a widow, and both options are a bleak comfort.

KULSAS.
KULSAS.

Sketched on the spot and on Stone by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched on the spot and on Stone by Fanny Parks

[421]

“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.”

“It’s this passive state of suffering that’s the hardest to bear, and it’s usually what women end up going through. They often get tricked into believing that because they are the gentler sex, they should also be the weakest. Unfortunately, that’s far from the truth; the soldier covered in glorious wounds, the sailor battling the elements, the scholar exhausting himself with late-night study, or the fanatic wasting away with extreme devotion to a false cause don’t need the unwavering strength, constant patience, and unyielding courage that’s 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 river has encroached so much on the cliff, and a lot of ground has fallen in, that the area where the satīs were is probably much larger than it is now; next year, it’s likely that those that are currently teetering on the edge will fall into the depths below. From there, I went back to the mandap and sketched the satīs I had first seen. Their kalsās had figures on them meant to represent the husband and wife; I took three of these ornaments with me—they’ve been honored; their foreheads have been marked with red paint, lamps have been lit and placed on top of them, and offerings have been laid out before them. Feeling pretty worn out from my moonlight adventure, I returned to the boats and slept soundly—a big blessing.

THE KALSĀS.

Fig. 1. The two sīr.

Fig. 1. The two sirs.

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.”

2. A kalsā taken from beneath an old tree by 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.

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 shown in the other plate. On both of them are interesting depictions of the husband and wife sitting next to each other.

6. This kalsā differs from the rest, being hollow at the top, and the upper part of the dome of the cenotaph passed through[422] it; on the points of its horns, the Brahmān said, lights were placed on particular days. It was taken off the top of the satī in the foreground of the sketch, over which two lotas are suspended to receive the offerings of the pious. Each of these kalsās had four horns; they were much damaged by time, and some of the horns were broken off; they were formed of coarse red pottery.

6. This kalsā is different from the others because it has a hollow top, and the upper part of the dome of the cenotaph goes through it; the Brahmān mentioned that lights were placed on the tips of its horns on specific days. It was taken from the top of the satī in the foreground of the sketch, where two lotas hang to collect the offerings from the faithful. Each of these kalsās had four horns; they were quite worn down by time, and some of the horns were broken off; they were made of rough red pottery.

9. The crescent and half-moon of the above kalsā.

9. The crescent and half-moon of the kalsā above.

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.

10. The kalsā without the points, to demonstrate how it's made. It's the responsibility of the kumhārs, or village potters, to put in new kalsās as the old ones get broken, wear out, or are removed.

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.

30th.—Left the satī ground and arrived at the Cantonment ghat just below the tomb of the Marquis Cornwallis. We are now in the north-western provinces, where my husband is appointed under the Lieutenant-Governor of Agra, and we have formally announced our arrival.

The Civil and Military station of Ghazipūr is one hundred and nineteen miles above Dinapūr, or thirty-one miles above Buxar on the left bank of the river. The native town is built on precipices; the European inhabitants reside on a large plain about the centre of the station; the cantonments form the upper part, and the European hospital is at the other extreme. Between the Civil and Military lines are the chapel and the tomb. It is noted for its opium manufactory, and Government stud establishment, where horses can be purchased, as also for its rose-water, atr of roses, and other perfumed oils. Provisions of all sorts may be purchased here, also European articles and millinery. Its distance from Calcutta, viâ Bhagirathī, is six hundred and twenty-seven miles, viâ Sunderbunds nine hundred and fifteen, and by land four hundred and thirty-one. The dāk runs in four days—steamer’s passage, from seventeen to twenty days: they remain here for passengers, cargo, and coal.[423] Passengers for Ghoruckpūr should land here. This is the lower extreme of the North-Western Provinces, or Agra Presidency, and is a great place of trade; it is also the lowest station for the Agra flat-boats. Kankarī banks, a sort of stony gravel, commence here, and run hence upwards. At this station we purchased game; a man came to our boats, and offered two wild geese and three wild ducks for sale; he carried a long native matchlock, and led a cow by a string; this cow he used as a stalking horse, the birds being so shy it would otherwise be impossible to get within shot distance.

The civil and military station of Ghazipur is one hundred and nineteen miles upstream from Dinapur, or thirty-one miles upstream from Buxar, located on the left bank of the river. The local town is built on steep cliffs, while the European residents live on a large flat area near the center of the station. The cantonments are located at the upper part, and the European hospital is at the opposite end. Between the civil and military areas are the chapel and the tomb. Ghazipur is well-known for its opium factory and government horse breeding center, where horses can be bought, as well as for its rosewater, rose oil, and other scented oils. You can find all kinds of provisions here, along with European goods and clothing. It's six hundred and twenty-seven miles from Calcutta via the Bhagirathi, nine hundred and fifteen miles via the Sundarbans, and four hundred and thirty-one miles by land. The postal service takes four days—by steamer, it takes between seventeen to twenty days; they stop here for passengers, cargo, and coal.[423] Passengers heading to Gorakhpur should disembark here. This marks the southernmost point of the North-Western Provinces, or Agra Presidency, and it's a significant trading hub; it's also the lowest point for the Agra flat-boats. The Kankari banks, a type of stony gravel, start here and extend upwards. At this station, we bought game; a man approached 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; he used the cow as a decoy since the birds were so skittish that it would have been impossible to get within shooting distance otherwise.

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.

Dec. 1st.—It was a good day with only a little unfavorable wind; I set off from Booraneepūr. At the edge of the high cliff, there was a small temple and a large peepul tree, both very picturesque, which encouraged me to climb the rough bank and make my way to the temple through an abandoned village. The village had many ruined huts and very few residents; the village dogs barked fiercely from a distance and sneaked away as I approached. It’s the season when leaves drop, and the large peepul tree was nearly bare, highlighting its long and unique branches; one branch, about eight feet off the ground, extended horizontally for sixty feet. Although it's winter for the peepul tree, in three weeks it will be covered with fresh green leaves. At the base of the tree was a large mud mound dedicated to satī; it was so neglected that no devout person had placed even a kalash on top, nor had any flowers been offered, or a lamp burned in worship. A small octagonal Hindu temple stood at the very edge of the cliff, with some broken idol fragments leaning against its side; there was no Brahmin there, and the place seemed cold and desolate. A young banyan tree provided the backdrop, while the Ganges spread its wide waters to the distant horizon.

The “Directory” says,—“Eight miles above Ghazipūr is the dangerous kankār reef that strikes directly across the river. Twenty-three miles above Ghazipūr is Chochookpore stone ghāt and temple, noted for the numerous monkeys that resort there. Two miles above Chochookpore, on the right bank of the river, is the sunken rock, opposite to a palm-tree just below[424] Sanotie.” All the difficulties and dangers, monkeys and all, we have passed to-day, without being conscious of their existence; the monkeys and temples I was sorry I did not see,—we passed without observing them. The river has been very uninteresting, nothing to look at, and very few vessels: moored on a most solitary and insulated sandbank.

The “Directory” says, “Eight miles upstream from Ghazipūr is the dangerous kankār reef that runs right across the river. Twenty-three miles upstream from Ghazipūr is Chochookpore stone ghat and temple, known for the many monkeys that hang out there. Two miles above Chochookpore, on the right bank of the river, is a sunken rock, opposite a palm tree just below[424] Sanotie.” We’ve passed all the difficulties and dangers, monkeys included, today without even realizing they were there; I regret not seeing the monkeys and temples—we passed them by without noticing. The river has been really uninteresting, not much to see, and very few boats: anchored on a lonely, isolated 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.

“Thirty miles above Ghazipūr near Kucharee, on the left bank, there's a tricky channel with a dangerous submerged reef. Six miles above that is Seydpūr, a large local town, with a tahsīldār and a dārogha: and two miles above Seydpūr is where the Goomtie River joins, which leads up to Lucnow. It's said to be a very winding and rocky stream, too shallow for even the smallest boats during the dry season. The Ganges, from above the Kucharee reef, past Seydpūr, up to the Goomtie—a distance of eight miles—is a very challenging route, with several troublesome areas of kankar rock, where local boats and budgerows easily get damaged.”

“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.

“Five miles above the Goomtie is Chandroutī, featuring a white temple. In the middle of the river, there's a very dangerous solid platform made of kankar, with the ruins of an old temple on it, and no navigable channel on its northwest or Zinhore side, which poses a significant risk for boats heading downstream, as the current flows directly towards it.” At Seydpūr, there's a beautifully carved mandap or Hindu temple with an elegant design.

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[425] you see the ceremony really performed it is very painful: nevertheless, a sort of absurdity was mixed with it in my mind, as “stir him up with the long pole” flashed across my memory. A group of relatives were sitting by the river-side, watching the ceremony; on its conclusion they will bathe and return to their homes.

As our boats floated by slowly, we had a chance to witness the funeral rites of the Hindus: a body was being cremated right at the base of the cliff by the river. The closest relative, as per custom, was poking the body and pushing it deep into the flames with a long pole. A lot of oil and ghee must have been used and poured over the wood since it burned intensely. The face of the corpse looked cold, pale, and stiff as the wind blew the flames and smoke aside, revealing a scene that shocked me: probably the son was carrying out the ceremony. We read about the Romans cremating their dead, see it through a classical lens, and think of it without disgust—but when you witness the ceremony in real life, it’s quite painful. Nevertheless, a kind of absurdity mixed in my mind when “stir him up with the long pole” flashed through my memory. A group of relatives sat by the riverside, watching the ceremony; once it was over, they would bathe and head back home.

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 kapāl-krīyā, a ritual among Hindus, involves the nearest relative breaking the skull of a nearly cremated corpse with a bamboo strike and pouring ghee (clarified butter) into the cavity. This is where the term kapāl-krīyā karna comes from, meaning to think intensely or to bang one's head against the wall in frustration.

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 charpāī that had been used to carry the body, considered unclean, had been tossed into the river, and the broken lota that had held ghī was next to it. The scene was mirrored in the Ganges. Given the amount of wood and ghī used, the deceased must have been wealthy: the families of the very poor usually only burn the body slightly and then toss it into the river, where it floats swollen and burned—a terrible sight.

“The burning of the body is one of the first ceremonies the Hindūs perform for the help of the dead in a future state. If this ceremony have not been attended to, the rites for the repose of the soul cannot be performed. If a person be unable to provide wood, cloth, clarified butter, rice, water-pans, and other things, besides the fee for the priest, he must beg among his neighbours. If the body be thrown into the river, or burnt, without the accustomed ceremonies, as is sometimes the case, the ceremonies may be performed over an image of the deceased made of kooshŭ grass. Immediately after death the attendants lay out the body on a sheet, placing two pieces of wood under the head and feet; after which they anoint the corpse with clarified butter, bathe it with the water of the Ganges, put round the loins a new garment, and another over the left shoulder, and then draw the sheet on which the body lies over the whole. The heir-at-law next bathes himself, puts on new garments, and boils some rice, a ball of which and a lighted brand he puts to the mouth of the deceased, repeating incantations. The pile[426] having been prepared he sets fire to it, and occasionally throws on it clarified butter and other combustibles. When the body is consumed he washes the ashes into the river; the attendants bathe, and presenting a drink-offering to the deceased, return home: before they enter the house, however, each one touches fire and chews some bitter leaves, to signify that parting with relations by death is an unpleasant task.”

“The cremation of the body is one of the first rituals that Hindus perform to assist the deceased in the afterlife. If this ritual is not observed, the ceremonies for the soul's peace cannot be carried out. If someone cannot provide wood, cloth, clarified butter, rice, water containers, and other necessities, along with the priest's fee, they must ask their neighbors for help. If the body is discarded in the river or burned without the proper rituals, which does happen sometimes, the ceremonies can instead be performed over an image of the deceased made from kusa grass. Right after death, the family lays the body on a sheet, placing two pieces of wood under the head and feet; then they anoint the body with clarified butter, bathe it with water from the Ganges, wrap a new garment around the waist, and cover the left shoulder with another garment, finally draping the sheet over the body. The heir then bathes, dresses in new clothes, and cooks some rice, offering a ball of it and a lit stick of wood to the mouth of the deceased while reciting incantations. Once the pyre is ready, they ignite it, adding clarified butter and other flammable items as needed. After the body has been cremated, they wash the ashes into the river; the mourners bathe and offer a drink to the deceased before heading home. However, before entering the house, each person touches fire and chews some bitter leaves to signify that saying goodbye to loved ones through death is a difficult 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 rituals for the rest of the soul, the offerings made in someone's name after their death, and the ceremonies that occur during this time are called shraddhŭ; Hindus are very eager to carry these out properly. The son who performs these rites gains significant merit; the deceased is pleased, and by making gifts to the Brahmins in their name, he earns a place in 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.

The Hindu scriptures say that after death, the soul transforms into a prétŭ, a spirit that takes on a form about the size of a person's thumb and is kept under the supervision of Yŭmŭ, the judge of the dead. When it faces punishment, the body expands and can feel suffering. Performing the rites for the soul's peace frees the deceased from this condition after a year and moves them to the heaven of the Pitrees, where they receive rewards for their good deeds. Later, in another form, they enter a state determined by their previous actions. If the shraddhŭ rites are not performed, the deceased remains in the prétŭ state and cannot take on another body.

There are three shraddhŭs for the dead: one, eleven days after the death; another, every month; and another, at the close of a year after a person’s decease. During the ten days of mourning the relatives hold a family council, and consult on the means of performing the shraddhŭ; on the last of these days, after making an offering for the dead by the side of the river, they are shaved. On the next day after the performance of numerous ceremonies, and offerings made to the priests, the son goes into the house, and placing a Brahmān and his wife on a seat, covers them with ornaments, worships them, and adding a large present of money, dismisses them. After this the son of the[427] deceased requests five Brahmāns to offer a male calf, in doing which they take two cloths each, four poitas, four betel-nuts, and some kourees, and go with the company to a spot where an altar has been prepared, one cubit high, and four cubits square. Four of the Brahmāns sit on the four sides of the altar, and there worship certain gods, and offer a burnt sacrifice. Near the altar are placed the shalgramŭ, four female calves, a male calf, and a vilwŭ post. The fifth Brahmān reads a portion of a poorană, to drive away evil spirits. The female calves are tied to four vilwŭ posts, and the male calf to a post called vrishŭ post. To the necks of the cow-calves four small slender baskets are suspended, in which are placed, among other things, a comb, and the iron instrument with which Hindū women blacken their eyelids. A sheet of metal is placed under the belly of the bull-calf,—on the back a sheet of copper: the hoofs are covered with silver, and the horns with gold, if the shraddhŭ be performed by a rich man. On the hips of the bull-calf marks of Shivŭ’s trident are impressed with a hot iron. After this the son of the deceased washes the tail of the bull-calf, and with the same water presents a drink-offering to his deceased ancestors: and afterwards marries the bull-calf to the four cow-calves, repeating many formulas, in which they are recommended to cultivate love and mutual sympathy. The son next liberates the cow-calves, forbidding any one to detain them, or partake of their milk in future. In liberating the male calf, he says, “I have given thee these four wives, live with them! Thou art the living image of Yŭmŭ; thou goest upon four legs. Devour not the corn of others, &c.” The cow-calves are generally taken by Brahmāns, the bull-calf is let loose, to go where he pleases: these bulls wander about, and are treated by the Hindūs with great respect; no one can claim any redress for the injury they do, and no Hindū dare destroy them. The English call them “Brahmanī bulls.” There are various other rites too numerous to detail, and the sums are enormous which at times are spent on the shraddhŭ.

There are three ceremonies for the deceased: one is held eleven days after death, another every month, and the last one at the end of a year after a person's passing. During the ten days of mourning, family members gather to discuss how to perform the ceremony; on the last day, after making an offering for the dead near the river, they shave their heads. The day after these various rituals and offerings to the priests, the son enters the house, seats a Brahmin and his wife, adorns them with jewelry, worships them, and gives them a generous cash gift before sending them away. After this, the son of the deceased requests five Brahmins to perform a ritual with a male calf. They take two cloths each, four rice cakes, four betel nuts, and some money, and go with the group to a designated spot where an altar has been set up, one cubit high and four cubits square. Four Brahmins sit around the altar, worship certain gods, and offer a burnt sacrifice. Near the altar, they place sacred stones, four female calves, a male calf, and a vilwa tree. The fifth Brahmin recites a portion of a scripture to ward off evil spirits. The female calves are tied to four vilwa posts, and the male calf to a post called vrisha post. Small baskets are hung from the necks of the cow-calves containing items like a comb and the iron tool that Hindu women use to darken their eyelids. A metal sheet is placed under the belly of the bull-calf, and a copper sheet on its back; its hooves are covered with silver and its horns with gold if the ceremony is performed by someone wealthy. Marks of Shiva's trident are burned into the hips of the bull-calf with a hot iron. The son then washes the tail of the bull-calf and, using that same water, offers a drink to his deceased ancestors; he later "marries" the bull-calf to the four cow-calves while reciting formulas that encourage love and harmony among them. The son then releases the cow-calves, instructing that no one should hold them or take their milk from now on. When setting the male calf free, he says, “I have given you these four wives; live with them! You are the living embodiment of Yama; you walk on four legs. Do not consume others' grain, etc.” The cow-calves are usually taken by Brahmins; the bull-calf is let go to wander where it wishes. These bulls are regarded with great respect by Hindus—no one can seek compensation for any harm they cause, and no Hindu would dare harm them. The English refer to them as "Brahmini bulls." There are many other rites too numerous to list, and sometimes significant amounts of money are spent on these ceremonies.

The funeral rites of the Romans and those of the Hindūs are not very dissimilar. The Romans paid the greatest attention to[428] them, because they believed that the souls of the unburied were not admitted into the abodes of the dead; or at least wandered a hundred years along the river Styx, before they were allowed to cross it; for which reason, if the bodies of their friends could not be found, they erected to them an empty tomb (cenotaphium), at which they performed the usual solemnities; and to want the due rites was esteemed the greatest misfortune. The nearest relation closed the eyes and mouth of the deceased, and when the eyes were closed they called upon the deceased by name several times at intervals: the corpse was then laid on the ground, bathed, and anointed with perfumes. The body, dressed in the best attire which the deceased had worn when alive, was laid on a couch in the vestibule, with the feet outwards; the couch was sometimes decked with leaves and flowers. A small coin (triens vel obolus) was put in his mouth, which he might give to Charon for his freight. The Romans at first usually interred their dead, which is the most ancient and most natural method. They early adopted the custom of burning (cremandi vel comburendi) from the Greeks, which is mentioned in the laws of Numa, and of the twelve tables, but it did not become general till towards the end of the republic. Numa forbade his own body to be burned, according to the custom of the Romans, but he ordered it to be buried near Mount Janiculum, with many of the books which he had written. Sylla was the first of the Patrician branch of the gens Cornelia that was burnt; which is supposed to have been in accordance with his wishes; for, having ordered the remains of Marius to be taken out of his grave, and thrown into the river Anio, he was apprehensive of the same insult. Sylla died A.D. 78. Pliny ascribes the first institution of burning among the Romans to their having discovered that the bodies of those who fell in distant wars were dug up by the enemy. Under the emperors it became almost universal, but was afterwards gradually dropped upon the introduction of Christianity, so that it had fallen into disuse about the end of the fourth century. On the day of the funeral, when the people were assembled, the body was carried out with the feet foremost on a couch, covered with rich cloth, and supported[429] commonly on the shoulders of the nearest relations of the deceased or of his heirs. Poor citizens were carried to the funeral pile in a plain bier or coffin, usually by four bearers: the funeral couches were sometimes open and sometimes covered. Torches were used both at funerals and marriages. The funeral procession was regulated by a person called Designator, attended by lictors, dressed in black, with their fasces inverted; sometimes, also, by the officers and troops, with their spears pointing to the ground. First, went musicians of various kinds,—then, mourning women, hired to lament and sing the funeral song; next came players and buffoons, who danced and sang; one of them, called Archimimus, supported the character of the deceased, imitating his words and actions while alive; then followed the freedmen. Before the corpse were carried images of the deceased, and of his ancestors, on long poles or frames, but not of such as had been condemned for any heinous crime, whose images were broken. Behind the corpse walked the friends of the deceased in mourning,—his sons with their heads veiled, and his daughters with their heads bare, and their hair dishevelled, contrary to the ordinary custom of both; the magistrates without their badges, the nobility without their ornaments. The nearest relations sometimes tore their garments, and covered their hair with dust, or pulled it out; the women, in particular, who attended the funeral, beat their breasts and tore their cheeks, although this was forbidden by the twelve tables. At the funeral of an illustrious citizen the corpse was carried through the forum, where the procession stopped, and a funeral oration (laudatio) was delivered in praise of the deceased from the rostra, by his son, or by some near relation or friend. The honour of a funeral oration was decreed also to women, old or young, married or unmarried. From the forum the corpse was carried to the place of burning or burial, which the law of the twelve tables ordered to be without the city,—Hominem mortuum in urbe ne sepelito, neve urito,—according to the customs of other nations; the Jews, the Athenians, and others. The Romans prohibited burning or burying in the city, both from sacred and civil considerations,[430] and that the air might not be infected. The vestal virgins were buried in the city, and some illustrious men, which right their posterity retained, but did not use.

The funeral rites of the Romans and those of the Hindus are quite similar. The Romans paid a lot of attention to them because they believed that the souls of unburied individuals weren’t allowed into the afterlife; or at least, they wandered for a hundred years along the river Styx before they could cross it. For this reason, if the bodies of their loved ones couldn't be found, they would build them an empty tomb (cenotaphium), where they performed the usual rituals. Failing to perform the proper rites was seen as the greatest misfortune. The closest relative would close the eyes and mouth of the deceased, and once the eyes were shut, they would call out the deceased’s name several times at intervals. The body would then be laid on the ground, bathed, and anointed with perfumes. Dressed in the best clothes the deceased had worn in life, the body would be placed on a couch in the entrance area, with the feet facing outward, sometimes adorned with leaves and flowers. A small coin (triens or obolus) would be placed in the mouth, which the deceased could give to Charon for passage. Initially, the Romans usually buried their dead, which is the oldest and most natural method. They soon adopted the custom of cremation (cremandi or comburendi) from the Greeks, as mentioned in the laws of Numa and the Twelve Tables, but this practice didn’t become widespread until the end of the republic. Numa forbade his body from being burned, according to Roman customs, and ordered it to be buried near Mount Janiculum, along with many of the books he had written. Sulla was the first from the Patrician branch of the gens Cornelia to be cremated, which is believed to have been his wish; after he had Marius's remains removed from his grave and thrown into the Anio river, he feared the same dishonor for himself. Sulla died CE 78. Pliny attributes the initial adoption of cremation among the Romans to their discovery that the bodies of those who fell in distant battles were being dug up by the enemy. Under the emperors, cremation became almost universal but gradually fell out of practice with the rise of Christianity, and by the end of the fourth century, it was rarely used. On the day of the funeral, when people gathered, the body was carried out feet first on a couch covered with fine cloth, typically supported on the shoulders of the closest relatives or heirs. Poor citizens were carried to the funeral pyre in a simple bier or coffin, usually by four bearers. Funeral couches were sometimes open and sometimes covered. Torches were used at both funerals and weddings. The funeral procession was organized by a person called Designator, accompanied by lictors in black attire with their fasces turned upside down; sometimes, officers and troops would march with their spears pointed downward. First, there would be musicians of various kinds, followed by mourning women hired to wail and sing the funeral song; next were performers and jesters who danced and sang, with one of them, called Archimimus, portraying the character of the deceased, mimicking their words and actions while alive; then came the freedmen. Before the corpse, images of the deceased and their ancestors were carried on long poles or frames, but not images of those condemned for serious crimes, whose images were destroyed. Behind the corpse walked the deceased’s friends in mourning—his sons with their heads covered and his daughters with their heads uncovered and their hair disheveled, breaking from their usual customs; magistrates without their insignia and nobles without their finery. Close relatives sometimes ripped their garments and covered their heads with dust, or pulled their hair out; especially women attending the funeral, who would beat their chests and scratch their cheeks, even though this was prohibited by the Twelve Tables. At the funeral of an esteemed citizen, the corpse would be carried through the forum, where the procession would halt, and a funeral oration (laudatio) praising the deceased would be delivered from the rostra by a son, or by some close relative or friend. The privilege of giving a funeral oration was also granted to women, whether they were old or young, married or single. From the forum, the corpse was taken to the place of cremation or burial, which, according to the Twelve Tables’ law, had to be outside the city—Hominem mortuum in urbe ne sepelito, neve urito—following the customs of other nations like the Jews, the Athenians, and others. The Romans prohibited cremation or burial within the city for both sacred and civil reasons,[430] to prevent the air from becoming polluted. The vestal virgins were buried within the city, along with certain illustrious men, a right their descendants retained but did not use.

The funeral pile (rogus vel pyra) was built in the form of an altar, with four equal sides; hence called ara sepulchri, funeris ara, of wood which might easily catch fire, as fir, pine, cleft oak, unpolished, according to the law of the twelve tables, rogum ascia ne polito, but not always so; also stuffed with paper and pitch, made higher or lower according to the rank of the deceased (hence rogus plebeius), with cypress-trees set around to prevent the noisome smell, and at the distance of sixty feet from any house. On the funeral pile was placed the corpse, with the couch; the eyes of the deceased were opened; the nearest relations kissed the body with tears, and then set fire to the pile with a lighted torch, turning away their faces (aversi) to show that they did it with reluctance. They prayed for a wind to assist the flames, as the Greeks did, and when that happened it was thought fortunate. They threw into the fire various perfumes (odores), incense, myrrh, cassia, &c.; also cups of oil and dishes (dapes vel fercula), with titles marking what they contained: likewise the clothes and ornaments, not only of the deceased, but their own; every thing, in short, that was supposed to be agreeable to the deceased while alive; all these were called munera vel dona. If the deceased had been a soldier, they threw on the pile his arms, rewards, and spoils. At the funeral of an illustrious commander the soldiers made a circuit (decurrebant) three times round the pile, from right to left (orbe sinistro), with their ensigns inverted, and striking their weapons on one another to the sound of the trumpet, all present accompanying them, as at the funeral of Sylla, and of Augustus, which custom seems to have been borrowed from the Greeks, was used also by the Carthaginians, and was sometimes repeated annually at the tomb. As the manes were supposed to be delighted with blood, various animals, especially such as the deceased had been fond of, were slaughtered at the pile, and thrown into it; in ancient times, also men, captives, or slaves, to which Cicero alludes. Afterwards instead of them, gladiators, called bustuarii, were made to[431] fight; so amongst the Gauls, slaves and clients were burnt on the piles of their masters; among the Indians and Thracians, wives on the piles of their husbands: thus also, among the Romans, friends testified their affection; as Plotinus to his patron, Plautius to his wife Orestilla, soldiers to Otho, Mnester, a freed-man, to Agrippina.

The funeral pyre was constructed like an altar, with four equal sides; that's why it was called the funeral altar. It was made of wood that could catch fire easily, like fir, pine, or unpolished oak, following the old laws. However, that wasn’t always the case; it was also filled with paper and pitch, and its height varied based on the deceased’s status. Cypress trees were planted around it to mask any bad smells, and it had to be placed at least sixty feet from any house. On the pyre was the corpse, laid out on a couch; the deceased's eyes were opened. Close relatives kissed the body tearfully before lighting the pyre with a torch, turning their faces away to show their reluctance. They would pray for a breeze to help the flames, similar to the Greeks, and when it happened, it was seen as a good omen. They tossed various perfumes, incense, myrrh, cassia, and other items into the fire, along with cups of oil and dishes labeled with their contents. They also included the clothes and belongings of both the deceased and themselves—anything that they thought the deceased would have liked in life. All these offerings were called gifts. If the deceased had been a soldier, his weapons, medals, and spoils of war were added to the fire. During the funeral of a notable commander, soldiers would march around the pyre three times, from right to left, with their standards turned upside down, clashing their weapons together while a trumpet played. The attendees joined in, like at the funerals of Sylla and Augustus. This custom appeared to have been borrowed from the Greeks and was also practiced by the Carthaginians, sometimes repeated yearly at the gravesite. Since the spirits of the dead were believed to enjoy blood, various animals, especially those the deceased loved, were sacrificed at the pyre. In ancient times, people, captives, or slaves were offered, as Cicero mentioned. Later on, instead of them, gladiators known as bustuarii were made to fight; likewise, among the Gauls, slaves and clients were burned on their masters' pyres. In societies like the Indians and Thracians, wives were sacrificed on their husbands' pyres. Similarly, among the Romans, friends showed their loyalty through such acts, like Plotinus for his patron, Plautius for his wife Orestilla, soldiers for Otho, and Mnester, a freedman, for 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.

Instances are recorded of people who came back to life on the funeral pyre after it had been set on fire, making it impossible to save them; and of others who, having revived before the pyre was lit, walked home on their own. After the pyre was burned down, the fire was put out, and the ashes soaked with wine; the bones were gathered (ossa legebantur) by the closest relatives, dressed in loose robes and sometimes barefoot. We also read about the closest female relatives, known as funeræ or funereæ, collecting the bones in their arms.

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.

The bones and ashes, sprinkled with the finest perfumes, were placed into a container called urna, an urn, made of clay, brass, marble, silver, or gold. Sometimes, a small glass vial filled with tears, referred to today as a lachrymatory, was also included in the urn, which was then officially placed in the tomb.

When the body was not burnt, it was put into a coffin (arca vel loculus) with all its ornaments, usually made of stone, as that of Numa, so of Hannibal; sometimes of Assian stone, from Asses, or -us, a town in Troas or Mysia, which consumed the body in forty days, except the teeth, hence called sarcophagus, which word is also put for any coffin or tomb. The coffin was laid in the tomb on its back; in what direction among the Romans is uncertain; but among the Athenians, looking to the west. When the remains of the deceased were laid in the tomb, those present were three times sprinkled by a priest with pure water (aqua pura vel lustralis), from a branch of olive or laurel (aspergillum), to purify them. Then they were dismissed by the præfica, or some other person, pronouncing the solemn word ilicet, i.e. ire licet, you may depart. At their departure, they used to take a last farewell, by repeating several times vale, or salve æternùm; adding, nos te ordine, qua natura permiserit, cuncti sequemur. The friends, when they returned home, as a[432] further purification, after being sprinkled with water, stepped over a fire (ignem supergrediebantur), which was called suffitio. The house itself was also purified, and swept with a certain kind of broom. There were certain ceremonies for the purification of the family, when they buried a thumb, or some part cut off from the body before it was burnt, or a bone brought home from the funeral pile, on which occasion a soldier might be absent from duty. On the ninth day after the funeral, a sacrifice was performed, called novendiale, with which these solemnities were concluded.

When the body wasn’t cremated, it was placed in a coffin (arca or loculus) along with all its decorations, usually made of stone, like that of Numa or Hannibal; sometimes it was made of Assian stone, from Asses, or -us, a town in Troas or Mysia, which decomposed the body in forty days, except for the teeth, which is why it was called sarcophagus. This term is also used for any coffin or tomb. The coffin was positioned in the tomb on its back; the exact direction among the Romans is uncertain, but among the Athenians, it faced west. When the remains were placed in the tomb, those present were sprinkled three times by a priest with pure water (aqua pura or lustralis) using a branch of olive or laurel (aspergillum) for purification. Then they were dismissed by the præfica, or another individual, who pronounced the solemn phrase ilicet, meaning ire licet, or “you may depart.” As they left, they would say their last goodbyes, repeating vale or salve æternùm several times; adding, nos te ordine, qua natura permiserit, cuncti sequemur. When friends returned home, for further purification, after being sprinkled with water, they stepped over a fire (ignem supergrediebantur), known as suffitio. The house itself was also purified and swept with a special broom. Certain ceremonies were held for the purification of the family when they buried a thumb or some part cut off from the body before it was cremated, or a bone brought home from the funeral pyre, on which occasion a soldier could be excused from duty. On the ninth day after the funeral, a sacrifice called novendiale was performed, concluding these solemn rites.

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.

Oblations or sacrifices to the dead (inferiæ, or parentalia) were later offered at different times, both randomly and on specific dates, consisting of drinks, animals, and wreaths; these offerings were meant to appease them;—to take revenge, a payment was made to their spirits.

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 tomb was then covered with flowers and adorned with crowns and ribbons. In front of it was a small altar where offerings were made, incense was burned, and a caretaker was assigned to watch over the grave, which was often lit with lamps. A feast called silicernium was held for both the dead and the living. People placed certain items on the tomb, usually beans, lettuce, bread, and eggs, which were thought to be eaten by the spirits; hence cœna feralis. What remained was burned, as it was deemed inappropriate to take anything that had been consecrated or thrown onto the funeral pyre. Romans typically built their tombs while they were still alive; if they did not finish them, their heirs would complete them, often as specified in a will. The highest honors were granted to notable individuals after their deaths. Romans worshipped their founder Romulus as a god, under the name Quirinus. This led to the formal consecration of emperors by a decree from the senate, thus ranking them among the gods, as well as some empresses: temples and priests were designated for them—they were called upon in prayers—people swore oaths by their name or spirit, and offered sacrifices at their altars.

[433]

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.

The entrance to the Goomtie River is very narrow, and a bridge made of sixteen boats is set up across it. At Chandroutī, there’s a white temple that's heavily detailed—the platform in the middle of the stream rises about two feet high—a bamboo pole was stuck on it, and several birds were sitting on the stones. I assume the ruins of the temple must have fallen into the river since there are no ruins left, just a few stones: this is unfortunate. It must have been very picturesque, and it likely served to warn vessels of the dangerous area. The navigation is tricky, but we made it through without any problems, and after quite a lot of hassle, we anchored at 10 PM off a village; we usually spend four hours less lugging the boats. The Hindūs, who haven't had dinner today, must be tired and hungry; we couldn’t reach the bank due to the shallow water until this hour. The Musalmān crew of the budgerow cook and eat on board, while the crews of the woolāk and cook-boat, being Hindūs, cook and eat on the riverbank so they don't pollute 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.

If you anchor near a village, the watchmen will come down and guard your boats; if you moor on a sandbank, you look after your own boats and are usually far from thieves; however, you still need to be careful during the night, and someone should keep watch 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.

Five miles above Chandroutī is Bullooah ghāt and ferry on the right bank—the banks are made of kankar rock. Right across from the ferry, the budgerow got stuck on a submerged bank that was really deep in the water; we were stuck for over two hours before we could get it off. The rudder was removed by the manjhī, and after a lot of effort, we were afloat again, without taking on much damage. The river is very shallow, and it's hard to find the deeper parts when you're in a budgerow.

“Fifty miles above Ghazipūr, or eight above Bullooah ghāt, on the right bank of the river, is Kye, and its sunken kankar reef—scarcely avoidable in some dry seasons. Thence due west over the right bank you may observe the Benares minarets—distant nine miles.” A little wind aided us, and we lugāoed at 6 P.M. at Rāj ghāt, Benares. A number of temples and tombs,[434] with the minarets beyond, looked well in the distance as we approached; but the smoke of the evening fires on the bank, and the red glare of the setting sun, rendered all objects indistinct. I walked to see a tomb on the top of the high cliff a little below Rāj ghāt; it is enclosed by stone walls in a garden, and is a handsome monument; many tombs are on the outside by the ravine. It is a very picturesque spot. Thus closed the evening at Rāj ghāt.

“Fifty miles above Ghazipūr, or eight above Bullooah ghāt, on the right bank of the river, is Kye and its submerged kankar reef—hard to avoid in some dry seasons. From there, due west over the right bank, you can see the Benares minarets—nine miles away. A little wind helped us, and we docked at 6 P.M. at Rāj ghāt, Benares. A number of temples and tombs,[434] along with the minarets in the background, looked great as we approached; but the smoke from the evening fires on the bank and the bright glare of the setting sun made everything look hazy. I walked to see a tomb on top of the high cliff just below Rāj ghāt; it's surrounded by stone walls in a garden and is a beautiful monument; many tombs are outside by the ravine. It's a very picturesque spot. This was how the evening ended at Rāj ghāt.”

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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].”

“AT BUNARUS YOU SHOULD BE CAUTIOUS OF 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.

Benefits from living in the Holy City of Kashi—Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ—The Snake Charmers—The Huge Statue of Hanuman—Brahmanī Bulls—The Ghāts seen from the River—Bhīm Singh—Tulsi Altars—The Ruins of the Ghāt of the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A Corpse—Young Worshippers—State Prisoners—The City—Sultanpūr—Chunar—Picturesque Tree by the Ghāt—Unique Ceremonies—The Deasil—Turnbull Gunge—Mirzapur—Beautiful Ghāts and Temples—Carpet Factory—Bindachun.

1844, Dec. 5th.—A friend accompanied me this morning to view Benares, or, as it is more correctly called, Bunarus: nothing pleases me more than driving about this city,—the streets, the houses, and the people are so well worth seeing. “A little to eat, and to live at Bunarus,” is the wish of a pious Hindū; but a residence at this place is rather dangerous to any one inclined to violate the laws, as the following extract will testify:—“Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ is a naked Shivŭ, smeared with ashes; having three eyes, riding on a dog, and holding in one hand a horn, and in another a drum. In several places in Bengal this image is worshipped daily. Shivŭ, under this name, is the regent of Kāshī (Bunarus). All persons dying at Benares are entitled to a place in Shivŭ’s heaven; but if any one violate the laws of[436] the shastrŭ during his residence there, Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ at death grinds him betwixt two mill-stones.”

1844, Dec. 5th.—A friend joined me this morning to explore Benares, or more accurately, Bunarus: nothing makes me happier than driving around this city—the streets, the buildings, and the people are all so worth experiencing. “A little to eat, and to live in Bunarus,” is the wish of a devout Hindū; however, living here can be quite risky for anyone thinking of breaking the laws, as the following excerpt illustrates:—“Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ is a naked Shivŭ, covered in ashes; he has three eyes, rides on a dog, and holds a horn in one hand and a drum in the other. This image is worshipped daily in several places in Bengal. Shivŭ, under this name, is the deity of Kāshī (Bunarus). Anyone who dies in Benares is promised a spot in Shivŭ’s heaven; but if someone breaks the laws of [a id="Page_436"> the shastrŭ while living there, Kalŭ-Bhoirŭvŭ will crush them between two mill-stones at death.”

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.

6th.—Some of these people came down to the riverbank and showed off their snakes in front of the boat; they had two boa constrictors, one of which was huge. The owner wrapped it around his neck like a woman drapes a fur scarf. The other snake, which was on the ground, started to slither away, and the man pulled it back as it seemed to want to escape into the water. They had a lot of cobras, over twenty, which, when placed on the ground, lifted themselves up and spread their hoods, swaying in a way the men called dancing, accompanied by the sound of a small hand-drum. The snake charmers struck the snakes with their hands, and the snakes bit them repeatedly on their hands and arms, drawing blood with every bite; even though the venomous fangs had been carefully removed, the bites must still hurt, yet the locals seemed completely unfazed. There was no trick involved; I saw a cobra bite its handler five or six times on his hand and arm while the man provoked it intentionally, only stopping when he realized I was convinced there was no deception. At the end of the show, they caught the cobras and stuffed them all into gharās (earthen vessels), while they carried off the boas 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.

In the evening, I walked to a dhrumsāla, or alms-house, by the river, just above Rāj ghāt. It's located at the top of a long flight of steps and is really picturesque. On the steps of the stone ghāt below, there's a huge statue of Hunoomān, made of mud and painted in the traditional style. The locals were quite polite, directing me to various places, although people from Benares are often thought to have a bud nām (bad name) for being unfriendly to strangers.

On the steps of the ghāt I met a very savage Brahmanī bull; the beast was snorting and attacking the people,—he ran at me,[437] but some men drove him off; there were numbers of them in the bazār, but this was the only savage one I encountered; the rest were going quietly from gram-stall to gram-stall, apparently eating as much as they pleased. The merchants would be afraid to drive the holy bulls away with violence.

On the steps of the ghat, I came across a really ferocious Brahman bull; it was snorting and charging at people — it ran straight at me,[437] but some guys managed to scare it off. There were quite a few in the market, but this was the only aggressive one I saw; the others were calmly moving from stall to stall, seemingly eating as much as they wanted. The merchants wouldn’t dare to chase the holy bulls away with force.

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.

7th.—Left Rāj ghāt early and made my way slowly past Benares, stopping now and then to sketch those beautiful ghāts. The minarets rise tall above the city, and it’s not until you try to draw them that their height becomes obvious. You can't help but stare at them in amazement, marveling at the skill that created such tall and elegant structures and at the craftsmanship of the workers who used such durable cement for 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.

A little further along, there's a group of Hindu temples that are incredibly beautiful and intricately crafted, with a lovely ghat nearby. One of these temples has been undercut by the river and has collapsed—though it hasn’t completely fallen down; it still hangs over the stream, which is quite an unusual sight. I don't know how many temples the Ganges has swallowed; about six or seven are either deeply submerged or right by the water, and the next rains will probably cause the river to rise and undermine a couple more. A nice ghat next to these has also fallen in.

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.

Above this cluster of crumbling temples is a beautiful ghat made of white stone—I don’t know its name, but I sketched it from the boats. It remains untouched by time and is notable for the beauty of its turrets, over which a palm tree gracefully stretches its branches in a picturesque way. At the top of a small ghat, just above the river, at the bottom of a long flight of steps, two locals were sitting, shaded from the sun by a large chatr; groups of people in the water were bathing and performing their rituals—many were moving up and down the stone steps—while others, from the arched gallery above, were hanging clothes of various bright colors to dry in the sun. On the outside of some openings in the bastions, straw mats were attached to block out the heat.

Just above this fine structure, on a small ghāt, a little beyond[438] the minarets, is a gigantic figure in black stone of Bhīm Singh, a deified giant, of whom it is recorded that he built the fortress of Chunar in one day, and rendered it impregnable. The giant is represented lying at full length on his back, his head, adorned with a sort of crown, is supported on raised masonry; at his right side is erected a small altar of mud, of conical form, bearing on its top a tulsī plant; the natives water these plants, and take the greatest care of them. The tulsī had formerly the same estimation amongst the Hindūs, that the misletoe had amongst the ancient Britons, and was always worn in battle as a charm; on which account a warrior would bind a mala of tulsī beads on his person. The scene was particularly picturesque; below the ghāt, on which reposed the gigantic hero, were some native boats; and near them was a man dipping a piece of cloth embroidered in crimson and gold into the water; while, with a brilliant light and shade, the whole was reflected in the Ganges.

Just above this beautiful structure, on a small ghāt, a little beyond[438] the minarets, stands a massive black stone statue of Bhīm Singh, a deified giant. It's said that he built the fortress of Chunar in one day and made it unbeatable. The giant is depicted lying on his back, his head resting on raised masonry and adorned with a kind of crown. To his right, there's a small mud altar shaped like a cone, topped with a tulsī plant. The locals take great care of these plants and water them regularly. The tulsī was once held in high regard among the Hindūs, much like mistletoe was by the ancient Britons, and it was always worn in battle as a charm. Because of this, a warrior would wear a mala of tulsī beads. The scene was especially picturesque; below the ghāt where the giant lay were some local boats, and nearby, a man was dipping a piece of cloth embroidered in crimson and gold into the water. The whole scene, illuminated by brilliant light and shade, was beautifully 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.

A little distance away, I noticed several small steps leading down to the river, each topped with a similar conical tulsī altar. Usually, next to each altar, there was a flag belonging to a fakīr displayed from the end of a long, thin bamboo pole. A man who looked like a wandering fakīr came down to the riverbank, holding a long pole in one hand and a thick bamboo joint in the other, which served as a vessel for carrying water. He poured some of the holy Ganges water over 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.

In the midst of countless temples and ghâts, stacked one above the other on the steep cliff, or rising out of the Ganges, the mind is utterly confused; it shifts from one beautiful sight to another, eager to remember each one, and the amateur drops the pencil in frustration. Each ghāt is a masterpiece; the intricate architecture, the detailed craftsmanship, the elegance and lightness of form—an artist couldn't find a better subject for a painting than one of these ghâts. How soon Benares, or rather the splendor of Benares—its stunning beauty—will be gone! Since I traveled down the river in 1836, many temples and ghâts have collapsed, eroded by the swift current.

The Bāiza Bā’ī’s beautiful ghāt has fallen into the river,—perhaps[439] from its having been undermined, perhaps from bad cement having been used. Her Highness spared no expense; probably the masons were dishonest, and that fine structure, which cost her fifteen lākh to rear a little above the river, is now a complete ruin.

The Bāiza Bā’ī’s beautiful ghat has collapsed into the river—maybe because it was undermined or due to poor-quality cement. Her Highness didn't hold back on expenses; it's likely the masons were dishonest, and that impressive structure, which cost her fifteen lakh to build just above the river, is now totally ruined.

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.

The ghāt of Appa Sāhib is still beautiful, and a very interesting one at the far end of Benares, dedicated to Mahadēo, remains unharmed; several stone carvings of bulls are on the temple's parapet, and representations of Mahadēo can be found below, at the base 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.

We hung out in the budgerow for over six hours among the ghāts, which I guess stretch 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.

At the side of one of the ghâts by the river, a woman sat crying loudly over a pile of wood where the body of a relative was laid; friends gathered nearby, and the wood was ready to be set on fire. Yesterday, I saw a body in the city being carried on a flat board; it was covered completely with bright rose-colored muslin, stretched tightly over the face so that its shape and features were clear; red powder and silver dust were sprinkled on the face; maybe the dust was pounded talc that 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.

How quickly young Hindus start to understand idolatry! A group of kids, aged four to seven, were playing; they had shaped a figure of Hanuman out of mud on the ground, just like the ones they had seen by the river; and they created replicas of the sweet treat (pera) in mud balls to offer to their little idol.

I was at Benares eight years ago (in November, 1836); the river since that time has undermined the ghāts, and has done so much damage, that, in another ten years, if the Ganges encroach at an equal rate, but little will remain of the glory of the most holy of the Hindū cities. The force of the stream now sets full upon the most beautiful cluster of the temples on its banks; some have been engulphed, some are falling, and all will fall ere long; and of the Bāiza Bā’ī’s ghāt, which was so beautiful[440] when last I visited the place, nothing now remains but the ruins! Her Highness objected greatly to the desire of the Government, to force her to live in this holy city: poor lady! her destiny exemplifies the following saying—“He who was hurt by the bel (its large fruit falling on his head) went for refuge to the bābūl, (the prickles of which wounded his feet,) and he that was hurt by the bābūl fled to the bel[50].”

I was in Benares eight years ago (in November 1836); since then, the river has eroded the ghāts and caused so much damage that in another ten years, if the Ganges continues to encroach at this rate, not much will remain of the splendor of the most sacred of the Hindu cities. The current now strongly hits the most beautiful cluster of temples along its banks; some have been swallowed up, some are collapsing, and soon all will fall. Of the Bāiza Bā’ī’s ghāt, which was so beautiful when I last visited, only ruins remain! Her Highness strongly opposed the Government's desire to force her to live in this holy city: poor lady! her fate illustrates the saying—“He who was hurt by the bel (its large fruit falling on his head) sought refuge in the bābūl (the prickles of which hurt his feet), and he who was hurt by the bābūl ran back to the bel.”

The Rajah of Sattara resides a state prisoner at Bunarus.

The Rajah of Sattara lives as a state prisoner in 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.

A buggy can be rented at Secrole for four rupees and eight ānās a day, which is better than a palanquin. When visiting the city, it's best to get out of your buggy and take a tānjān if you want to appreciate the interesting and historical buildings properly.

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.

I’m so worn out from the excitement of the day, staring and staring again, that I can’t write anymore and will wrap up this account with a quote from the “Directory.” “Benares on the left bank is regarded as the holiest city in India and is definitely one of the most stunning when seen from a distance on the river, with its many stone ghats and temples, some of which cost seventeen lakh rupees. It’s home to some native princes, who are pensioners of the Hon. East India Company, but their residences are divided into so many small rooms or pigeonholes that the inner part of the city looks like a jumble of shabby buildings, stacked up without any sense of order or appearance, with narrow filthy lanes instead of proper streets.”

“There is a large enclosed mart, called a chauk, which opens at 5 P.M., where trinkets, toys, birds, cloth, and coarse hardware are exposed for sale. It has a large well in it, and is also a resort for native auctions. Close to the chauk is the principal alley or mart for gulbadan, a very fine silk of various patterns worn by natives as trowsers; also fine caps with tinselled crowns, and very elegant gold and silver embroidery; also scarfs and turbans, and pieces for fancy head-dresses. There is likewise a traveller’s chauk, or native inn, and a large horse mart, where very fine horses, of the Turkī, Persian, and Cabul breeds are[441] procurable,—as high as eight, ten, or fifteen thousand rupees,—that are brought here by the fruit-carriers, who bring grapes and pears from those countries. Here are several miniature painters, and also venders of miniatures on ivory, said to be likenesses of different native princes, their queens, and nāch girls; and also true likenesses of native servants in costume, tradesmen, and beggars. Delhi jewellery of the best gold is brought on board the steamers by sending for the dealers. Here is also an old observatory, and two very high and slender minarets, one of which has a slight inclination; travellers ascending them are expected to give to the keeper the fee of a rupee. From their tops is a fine view of the city, the adjacent country, and the river,—so gratifying a sight should not be passed over by any traveller. Provisions are procurable; partridges, quail, and wild ducks of all sorts, are to be obtained. Steamers remain at Rāj ghāt to take in passengers, to discharge and take in packages, and to receive coals. The civil and military station is about four miles inland, direct from Rāj ghāt, where reside the commissioner, the judge, the magistrates, the collectors, the general, and all the officers of the native regiments quartered here, and some European artillery.

There’s a large enclosed market called a chauk that opens at 5 P.M., where trinkets, toys, birds, cloth, and basic hardware are on sale. It has a big well and is also a spot for local auctions. Near the chauk is the main alley or market for gulbadan, a very fine silk with various patterns worn by locals as trousers; there are also nice caps with shiny crowns, elegant gold and silver embroidery, as well as scarves, turbans, and decorative pieces for head-dresses. There’s also a traveler’s chauk, or local inn, and a large horse market, where you can find very fine horses from the Turkī, Persian, and Cabul breeds available for as much as eight, ten, or fifteen thousand rupees, which are brought here by fruit carriers bringing grapes and pears from those regions. Here, you can find several miniature painters, and sellers of miniatures on ivory that are said to be likenesses of various local princes, their queens, and nāch girls; as well as true likenesses of local servants in their costumes, tradesmen, and beggars. The best Delhi jewelry, made of pure gold, is brought on board the steamers by contacting the dealers. There's also an old observatory and two very tall and slender minarets, one of which has a slight tilt; travelers who climb them are expected to pay the keeper a fee of a rupee. From the tops, there’s a great view of the city, the surrounding countryside, and the river—this rewarding sight shouldn’t be missed by any traveler. You can get provisions; partridges, quail, and various types of wild ducks are available. Steamers stop at Rāj ghāt to pick up passengers, unload and load packages, and take on coal. The civil and military station is about four miles inland from Rāj ghāt, where the commissioner, judge, magistrates, collectors, general, and all the officers of the local regiments, as well as some European artillery, reside.

“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.”

“Letters need to be picked up at the post office, as they aren’t forwarded, which is really inconvenient. The city is about two miles long, and the locals aren’t very polite to strangers. There are many fanatics here who drown themselves, thinking that the holy Ganga and the city of the most holy will grant them eternal happiness. Benares is 696 miles from Calcutta via Bhagirathī, 984 miles via Sunderbands, and 428 miles by land or dāk. Letters take four days to arrive, while banjhīs take seven days. You can get palanquins here, but they’re filled with disgusting 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.

So much for the “Directory,” which I don’t agree with. Contrary to the idea that a distant view of the city gives you the clearest picture of it, you only really understand the beauty of Benares when you are right in the middle of the stunning ghāts and temples just past the minārs. The best way to visit and sketch the ghāts is in a small boat with an awning.

[442]

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.

We passed the home of the Raja of Benares at Ramnagar, one and a half miles above the city; it's a beautiful traditional 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.

8th.—Passed Chhotā Kalkata, or Sultanpūr-Benares: it is a local cavalry station, seventeen miles upstream from Benares on the left bank of the river. Steamers stop here occasionally for a few minutes to let passengers off. There’s a rocky area, or kankarī, which is very tricky for local boats—and even for steamers—because of the narrow channel and strong currents; this rocky point is near the cavalry stables, which are known as 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.

On our arrival at Chunar, we docked the boats at the request of the sarhang, as the dandīs wanted to go ashore to buy and sell in the bazaar; they consistently trade at all the stops along the river and make a good profit on their lanterns from Calcutta, fans, bundles of cane, cheeses, pickles, and various other items. Chunar is known for its tobacco, and the men were eager to stock up for resale at other locations.

At a short distance from the landing-place, and to the left of it, is a fine peepul-tree (Ficus religiosa), at the foot of which are a number of idols in stone, placed in an erect position, supported by the trunk. A native woman placed some flowers upon the idols, and poured Ganges water over them from an earthen vessel (a gharā), which she carried on her head. Another was performing a religious and superstitious ceremony, called pradakshina,—that is, she was walking a certain number of times round and round the peepul-tree, with the right hand towards it, as a token of respect, with appropriate abstraction and prayers, in the hope of beautiful offspring. For this reason, also, the Ficus indica is subject to circumambulation. The same ceremony is mentioned in the “Chronicles of the Canongate:” the old sibyl, Muhme, says to Robin Oig, “So let me walk the deasil round you, that you may go safe into the far foreign land, and come safe home.” “She traced around him, with wavering steps, the propitiation, which some have thought has been derived from the Druidical mythology. It consists, as is well known, in the person who makes the deasil walking three times[443] round the person who is the object of the ceremony, taking care to move according to the course of the sun.” Near the peepul-tree was an Hindū temple built of stone, but most excessively disfigured by having been painted red; and next to it was a smaller one of white stone. The whole formed a most picturesque subject for the pencil. Thence I proceeded to the Fort of Chunar, and walked on the ramparts: the little churchyard below was as tranquil as ever, but the tombs having become dark and old, the beauty of the scene was greatly diminished. The Ganges is undermining even the rock on which the fortress is built. The birds’-nests, formed of mud, built under the projections of the black rock on which it stands, are curious; and on some parts of the rock, just above the river, small Hindū images are carved. The “Directory” gives the following account of the place:—“On the right bank, about four miles above Sultanpūr, is Chunar, an invalid station, with a fortification, on an isolated rocky hill, which projects into the river, forming a very nasty point to pass in the rains. It completely commands the river, and is used as a place of confinement for state prisoners. There are several detached rocky hills or stone quarries here. It is a very sickly place, owing to the heat arising from the stone, which causes fever and disease of the spleen. This is a great place for snakes. A little above the fort is a temple: tradition states it to contain a chest, which cannot be opened unless the party opening it lose his hand,—four thieves having so suffered once in an attempt upon it. Very fine black and red earthenware may be purchased here,—such as wine coolers, which, being filled with water after the bottle is inserted, and set out in the draft of the hot easterly winds (none other serves the purpose), in the shade, cools the confined liquor as much as iceing it: the cooler must be dried daily. Also, red sandy water-holders or suries, which keep water very cool; black butter pots, with a casing for water, very neatly finished; and large black double urns, to contain bread, and keep it moist. Steamers seldom stop here more than ten minutes.”

At a short distance from where we landed, and to the left, there's a beautiful peepul tree (Ficus religiosa), under which several stone idols are placed upright, leaning against the trunk. A local woman laid some flowers on the idols and poured Ganges water over them from an earthen pot (a gharā) that she balanced on her head. Another woman was carrying out a religious ritual called pradakshina—she was walking around the peepul tree a specific number of times, keeping her right side toward it, as a sign of respect while in deep concentration, praying for beautiful children. For this reason, the Ficus indica is also walked around. The same ritual is noted in the “Chronicles of the Canongate”: the old seer, Muhme, says to Robin Oig, “So let me walk the deasil around you, so you can safely go to the faraway land and return safely home.” “She walked around him, with unsteady steps, performing the offering, which some believe is derived from Druidic mythology. It is well known that this involves the person making the deasil walking three times[443] around the person who is the focus of the ceremony, ensuring they move in the direction of the sun.” Near the peepul tree was a Hindu temple made of stone, though it was hideously disfigured by being painted red; next to it was a smaller temple made of white stone. The whole scene was very picturesque. From there, I went to the Fort of Chunar and walked along the ramparts: the little churchyard below was as calm as ever, but the tombs had grown dark and old, diminishing the beauty of the view. The Ganges is eroding even the rock on which the fortress stands. The bird nests, made of mud and built under the overhangs of the dark rock, are interesting; and in some areas of the rock, just above the river, small Hindu figures are carved. The “Directory” gives the following description of the place:—“On the right bank, about four miles above Sultanpūr, is Chunar, a place for invalids, with a fort on a rocky hill that juts into the river, creating a dangerous point to pass during the rains. It has full control over the river and is used as a prison for state captives. There are several separate rocky hills or stone quarries here. It's a very unhealthy place due to the heat from the stone, which causes fevers and spleen diseases. This area is known for its snakes. A little above the fort is a temple; tradition says it has a chest that cannot be opened without losing a hand—four thieves suffered this fate during an attempt to open it. You can find excellent black and red pottery here—like wine coolers, which, when filled with water after the bottle is inserted and placed in the draft of hot easterly winds (no other winds work), cool the enclosed liquid just as well as ice would; the cooler must be dried each day. Also, there are red sandy water-holders, or suries, which keep water very cool; black butter pots with a water casing, finished neatly; and large black double urns to hold bread and keep it moist. Steamers rarely stop here for more than ten minutes.”

The Padshah Begam, the Queen of Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur, and Moona Jāh, are in this fortress state prisoners.

The Padshah Begam, the Queen of Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur, and Moona Jāh are prisoners in this fortress.

[444]

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.

Moored our ships off Turnbull Gunge. Of all the local villages I’ve seen, this one looks the healthiest. It has one long, wide road or street, with houses on either side, built in the traditional style but arranged in a neat layout. Along both sides of the road, a row of beautiful trees provides shade for the people as they sit selling their goods in the porches of their homes.

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.

The Gunge was built by a Mr. Turnbull, a doctor, who made a fortune in India when doctors were allowed to trade; the place is named after him and is located about two miles upstream from 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.

9th.—A little past Turnbull Gunge is a white temple on the right bank; the top of the spire has been broken off, and it stands next to a beautiful peepul tree. Just in front of it, a bank of hard red mud juts out into the river; the budgerow hit it so hard that many things in the cabin fell over; after this small scare, we continued on smoothly. The dandīs were particularly unhappy because of the rain; almost every man had put on a red jacket; they paid a rupee each for these old military jackets. They were quite proud of them and worried about getting them wet. They wore the usual native dhotī—i.e., a piece of linen instead of trousers—underneath, which made the European red coat look quite peculiar. We anchored on a lovely sandbank in the middle of the river; here we found a chaukidār under a straw roof, ready for boats.

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.”

10th.—“Seven miles above Chunar, on the right bank, is the village of Kutnac, with a rocky riverbed and hard clumps of dirt; just a bit further up is a ravine that all boats should avoid.”

“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.

“Fourteen miles above Chunar is the ferry crossing on the Benares main road, leading to Kitwa and Bhundoolee to Mirzapūr; from there to Mirzapūr, the road is well-maintained, with a distance of seven and a half miles by land and sixteen miles 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.

“Ten miles upstream from the ferry and seven miles downstream from Mirzapūr, on the left bank, is Bhajoan, featuring a white tomb and a patch of kankar in the river, which has caused many boats to sink: therefore, the cantonments of Mirzapūr are visible.”

[445]

“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.”

“Mirzapūr, a military base, is two miles south of the city and the civil station: the judge’s, magistrates’, and collector’s offices are one mile south of the city. The steamer stops at the agency ghat at the southern end of the city. This area is known for its cotton market and cotton manufacturing, as well as for shell lac, lac dye, and some hardware. Many boats are present here all year round. The city is quite cramped, dirty, and prone to illness: there are two or three impressive stone ghats, along with some small temples and minarets. You can find bread, butter, eggs, mutton, lamb, kid, veal, and poultry available. Mirzapūr is 748 miles from Calcutta via Bhagirathī; 1036 miles via Sunderbands; and 455 miles by dāk route. The dāk takes five days, while banjhī takes eight days to travel. Steamers with a lot of cargo to unload are usually held here for 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!

The river has caused us some issues today, and we've run aground several times. The white houses of the Mirzapūr cantonments stretch along the right bank on a very high cliff; the church, an elegant building, was designed by Colonel Edward Smith—the spire rises just above the ghat of the civil station. The captain of our vessel wanted to anchor there, but we decided to continue to the city, and anchored on the other side of the river, near a beautiful house that belongs to the Raja of Ramnager. We didn't want to anchor at the stone ghat of the city because of the noise, smoke, and heat from a crowd of native boats. This will be nice: I can be up top with the gun-fire tomorrow morning and sketch the ghāts. In the meantime, the sandbank where 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.

11th.—We realized we should have stopped at the ghāt near the Cantonments, where we could have gotten bread, butter, meat, etc.; but I didn't care about those comforts when I saw the ghāts in the early morning. We crossed the river, and I went out to sketch them. There are two impressive ones, made of stone, that are positioned close together, and several temples are built on them—spaced along the cliff, from the river to the top of the high bank, and they are very beautiful.

[446]

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 first sketch captured the ghāts rising from the river; on their stone steps, crowds of people, dressed in the vibrant attire of the East, were going up and down for pūja, bathing, and fetching water for household use; the scene was particularly lively. On the steps of the ghāt was a large awning made of mats and supported by bamboo poles, under which locals were sitting and chatting, while it shielded them from the sun. By the riverside, there were several square platforms raised on four bamboos, with large stones underneath for support; on top of the poles were big jhāmps—mats of straw that protected the people sitting inside from the sun's rays; these platforms served as booths, displaying sweet treats for sale. Halfway up the cliff were three small temples, set against a backdrop of beautiful trees, in front of which stretched the high bank along 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 second sketch of the same ghāt was taken halfway up the cliff; to the right are the three small temples mentioned earlier, which are part of a group that has unique beauty and diverse forms. A large shiwala or temple dedicated to Mahadēo is next to them, and a smaller one, separated only by an archway, is attached to it; on the porch of the smaller temple, a fakīr’s staff and flag were set up. Fine tree branches created a background, the cliffs were steep, and the boats on the Ganges were visible in the distance. In front of the larger temple’s doorway, the holy bull (the vehicle of Mahadēo) was lying down on a small ghāt built for that purpose.

The third sketch was taken from the top of the cliff looking up the river: it consists of a large shiwala or temple of Mahadēo, with a second in front which forms a portico, beneath which Nandi the holy bull reposes couchant; to the side is the spire of a temple that rises from below. The Ganges adds to the beauty of the scene, and some branches of large trees in the background adorn the temple. No mandāp have I ever seen so elaborately carved or so beautiful; from the basement to the pinnacle it is a mass of intricate sculpture, united with great elegance of design. It is covered with images of the gods, carved in stone.[447] A little kid, which had just been offered to the idol, was frisking about the temple, unconscious of how soon he would be served up as a feast for the Brahmāns. Kid is eaten by Hindūs at particular times, and the priests consider the offerings as holy food.

The third sketch was taken from the top of the cliff looking up the river: it features a large shiwala or temple of Mahadēo, with a second one in front that creates a portico, beneath which Nandi, the holy bull, rests couchant; to the side is the spire of another temple that rises from below. The Ganges enhances the beauty of the scene, and some branches of large trees in the background decorate the temple. I've never seen a mandāp so intricately carved or so beautiful; from the base to the top, it is a mass of detailed sculpture, combined with great elegance of design. It is adorned with images of the gods, carved in stone.[447] A little kid, which had just been offered to the idol, was playing around the temple, unaware of how soon he would be served as a feast for the Brahmāns. Hindūs eat goat at certain times, and the priests consider the offerings to be 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.

There’s another beautiful stone ghat a bit further up the river, lined with nine temples; and there are plenty of scenic spots along the banks of the Ganges. Mirzapūr is known for its carpet production, which is frequently shipped to England; and large vessels in the hundreds were anchored near the city. We continued our journey and stopped at Bindachun.

[448]

CHAPTER LXVIII.
Sketches Along 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.

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—Local Sugar-cane Mills.

1844, Dec. 11th.—We lugāoed early in the evening four miles above Mirzapūr at the far-famed Bindachun. The first remarkable object on approaching the place is the ghāt of the Devī (goddess) which stands out into the river; it is adorned with six bastions, which present a very fort-like appearance, and just above it we moored our boats. Taking an old bearer with me, whilst our people were preparing their evening meal, I hastened up to see the famous temple of Bhawānī, the place of resort of the Thugs, where they meet and take the vows. I ascended the steps of the ghāt of which there are about eighty, and very steep; from their summit you enter the bazār. This is a most curious place, and it is so narrow it can scarcely be called a street, being not more than six feet in the widest part, and in many places the breadth does not exceed three or four. It is lined on both sides with native shops, as thick as possible,[449] and paved throughout with flag-stones. The people from the shops called out to me, “Will you not buy a garland for the goddess, or a tāgah?” “Will you not buy sweetmeats for the shrine?” Garlands of fresh flowers were in profusion for sale.

1844, Dec. 11th.—We arrived early in the evening four miles upstream from Mirzapūr at the well-known Bindachun. The first notable sight as we approached was the ghāt of the Devī (goddess) that extends into the river; it has six bastions that give it a fortress-like look, and just above it, we tied up our boats. Taking an old bearer with me while our group prepared dinner, I quickly went to see the famous temple of Bhawānī, a gathering place for the Thugs, where they meet and make their vows. I climbed the roughly eighty steep steps of the ghāt, and from the top, you enter the bazār. This place is quite interesting; it is so narrow it can hardly be called a street, measuring no more than six feet at its widest and in many spots just three or four feet across. Both sides are lined with native shops as densely as possible,[449] and it’s paved with flagstones throughout. The shopkeepers called out to me, “Will you buy a garland for the goddess or a tāgah?” “Will you purchase sweet treats for the shrine?” There were plenty of fresh flower garlands for sale.

THE TEMPLE OF BHAWĀNĪ.

TEMPLE OF BHAWANI.
Bhawani Temple.

Sketched on the Spot and on stone by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched on the spot and on stone by فانی 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!

I came across a man who was a hajjām, a cupping therapist and bloodletter. In all Eastern stories, a character like this seems essential, and mine, who was also a barber and a Hindu, offered to guide me to the temple of the Devī. The path, which is straight through the narrow paved alley of the bazaar, must be at least half a mile long. Eventually, we reached the temple; three flags were waving from an old peepul tree, and the sound of the bells that the Brahmins were ringing for worship announced the presence of the goddess. The temple, built of stone, has a rectangular shape and is surrounded by a verandah, all encircled by a flight of five steps. The roof is flat, and the pillars supporting it are simple and rough. On the left is the entrance to the Hindu holy of holies. The Brahmins asked me to take off my shoes, saying that I could then enter and see the goddess's face. Thinking of the Thugs, my curiosity got the better of me, so I left my shoes at the door and stepped about three yards into the small, dark chamber. The space was so tiny that when six people were inside, it felt completely full; the walls were made of large, rough stones. The worshippers were ushered out, giving me a clear view of the Devī, the great goddess, the famous Bhagwān!

The head of the figure is of black stone with large eyes, the whites of which are formed of plates of burnished silver: these glaring eyes attract the admiration of the Hindūs:—“Look at her eyes!” said one. Thrown over the top of her head, strings of white jasmine flowers (the double sweet-scented chumpa) took the place of hair, and hung down to the shoulders. If you were to cut a woman off just at the knees, spread a red sheet over her, as if she were going to be shaved, hiding[450] her arms entirely with it, but allowing her feet to be seen at the bottom, making the figure nearly square—you would have the form of the goddess. The two little black feet rested on a black rat, at least they called it so, and a small emblem of Mahadēo stood at the side. Six or eight long chaplets of freshly-gathered flowers hung from her neck to her feet festooned in gradation,—they were formed of the blossoms of the marigold, the chumpa, or white jasmine, and the bright red pomegranate. The figure stood upon a square slab of black stone. It was about four feet in height, and looked more like a child’s toy than a redoubtable goddess. The Brahmān or the Thug, whichever he might be, (for at this shrine all castes worship,) took a white flower, and gave it to me as a present for the goddess, at the same time requesting a rupee as an offering at the shrine. I had no money, but the old bearer had five paisā (about one penny three farthings), which he gave to the Brahmān, who said, “This is not enough to buy a sweetmeat for the goddess!” I made answer,

The head of the figure is made of black stone with large eyes, the whites of which are made from shiny silver plates: these glaring eyes catch the admiration of the Hindus. “Look at her eyes!” one of them said. Draped over the top of her head, strings of white jasmine flowers (the double sweet-scented chumpa) replaced her hair and hung down to her shoulders. If you were to cut a woman off just at the knees, cover her with a red sheet as if she were about to be shaved, completely hiding her arms but leaving her feet visible at the bottom, making the figure nearly square—you would have the shape of the goddess. The two little black feet rested on a black rat, or at least that’s what they called it, and a small emblem of Mahadeo stood by her side. Six or eight long necklaces of freshly-gathered flowers hung from her neck to her feet in layers—they were made of marigold blossoms, chumpa, or white jasmine, and bright red pomegranate. The figure stood on a square slab of black stone. It was about four feet tall and looked more like a child’s toy than a formidable goddess. The Brahmin or the Thug, whichever he was (because all castes worship at this shrine), took a white flower and gave it to me as a gift for the goddess, while also asking for a rupee as an offering at the shrine. I had no money, but the old bearer had five paisa (about one penny three farthings), which he gave to the Brahmin, who said, “This is not enough to buy a sweet for the goddess!” I replied,

“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.

The man realized it was the truth and felt content. The old bearer then asked me to hold my sketchbook for a moment while he went inside to say a prayer; I obliged, and the old man came back quickly, really happy to have seen the Devī.

I sketched the goddess when before the shrine, the Brahmān holding the lamp for me. Over her head was suspended from the ceiling an ornament of white flowers, and a lamp like that in the robber’s cave in “Gil Blas” was also hanging from the roof. There was also a lamp on the black slab, which had the appearance of a Roman lamp. Ornaments worn on the wrists of Hindū women, called kangan, formed of a small hank of red, or rather flame-coloured cotton, intermixed with yellow, were offered to the Devī: the Brahmāns put them on her shoulders, as arms she had none. Why and wherefore the kangan is offered, I know not. Before a satī ascends the funeral-pile, some red cotton is tied on both wrists. This may, probably,[451] account for the kangan offered to Bhagwān, the patroness of satīs.

I sketched the goddess in front of the shrine, with the Brahmin holding the lamp for me. Above her head, an ornament made of white flowers was hanging from the ceiling, and there was also a lamp like the one in the robber’s cave in "Gil Blas" hanging from the roof. A lamp that resembled a Roman lamp sat on the black slab. Bracelets worn by Hindu women, called kangan, made from a small bunch of red or flame-colored cotton mixed with yellow, were offered to the Devī: the Brahmins placed them on her shoulders since she had no arms. I don’t know why or where the kangan is offered. Before a satī steps onto the funeral pyre, some red cotton is tied around both wrists. This might explain the kangan offered to Bhagwān, the patroness of satīs.

BHAGWĀN.
GOD.

Sketched in the Temple and on Stone by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched in the Temple and on Stone by فانی 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 thought about the Thugs but didn't say their name in the temple; it's not smart "to live by the river and be at odds with the crocodile[52]." On the temple's verandah were two large bells made of a metal that looked 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!

I can imagine the fear felt by the Hindus when they worship the terrifying black idol, Kalī Ma, at Kalī-ghāt, near Calcutta; but this poor woman, with her calm face, silver eyes, and small black feet, doesn't evoke any fear:—and yet she is Bhagwān—the feared 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.

The temple was packed with men and women rushing in and out in large crowds. The month of Aghar is when the annual gathering takes place; it starts on November 15th and ends on December 13th. So, Bindachun must be filled with troublemakers and Thugs right now, all here to plan their ritual killings 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.

This visit to Bindachun fascinated me a lot; the architecture of the temple caught me off guard; it's entirely different from any Hindu temples I've seen, and it must be very old. The pillars are made from a single stone, unadorned and rough. Some of the shops in the bazaar, like the one on the right selling sweets, have interesting designs; stone is used for all the buildings since there are plenty of quarries in this region.

The people crowded around me whilst I was sketching the exterior of the temple, but were all extremely civil: the Brahmāns and beggars clamoured for paisā (copper coins), but were civil nevertheless. It is a disreputable neighbourhood: I hope they will not rob the boats to-night, as all the rascals and murderers in India flock to this temple at the time of the annual fair, which is now being held. Having made my salām to the great goddess, I was guided by the barber to another idol, which he said was worshipped by very few people. It was a female figure,[452] very well executed in stone, with four or five figures around it, carved on the same block. I was much inclined to carry it off; it is one of the handsomest pieces of Hindū sculpture I have seen. A few flowers were lying withered before it in the hovel where it stood, placed there, it may be, by the piety of the barber. Even my husband was induced to climb the steps of the ghāt, and to walk through the bazār to the temple, but he did not enter it. A number of idols were under a peepul-tree in the bazār; they were a great temptation, but in this high place of superstition it might be dangerous to carry off a god.

The crowd gathered around me while I was sketching the outside of the temple, but everyone was quite polite. The Brahmins and beggars shouted for paisā (copper coins), but they remained courteous. This isn't a great neighborhood: I'm hoping they don't rob the boats tonight since all the troublemakers and criminals in India come to this temple during the annual fair that's happening now. After paying my respects to the great goddess, I was led by the barber to another idol that he said few people worshipped. It was a female figure,[452] beautifully carved in stone, surrounded by four or five smaller figures, all from the same block. I was tempted to take it; it’s one of the most beautiful pieces of Hindu sculpture I've seen. A few wilted flowers were lying in front of it in the small shelter where it stood, possibly placed there by the barber out of devotion. Even my husband was persuaded to climb the steps of the ghat and walk through the bazaar to the temple, but he didn't go inside. Several idols were sitting under a peepul tree in the bazaar; they were very tempting, but in such a superstitious place, it might be risky to steal 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.

This wandering life is so enjoyable; I'll never be satisfied “sitting in a parlor sewing a seam,” which the old song claims is the ultimate happiness for women! I would much rather explore a dark alley in search of idols—Apropos, by the idols under the peepul tree, there was a satī mound, broken and abandoned, not even a kālsa to receive the passing salām of the Hindū, nor a flower to mark the spot: maybe the great goddess draws worshippers away from the deified mortal, even though all satīs are especially under her protection.

THE TASHMA-BAZ THUGS.

THE TASHMA-BAZ GANG.

“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.

“Thuggee and Meypunnaism are barely dealt with when a new scheme of secret murder and theft is uncovered, confirming Colonel Sleeman’s statement that ‘India is a strange land; and no matter how long we live here or how well we interact with its people, we will always be likely to encounter new moral phenomena that capture our curiosity.’ As expected, at least one new group of players needs to be introduced to the public, and these are the Tashma-baz Thugs.”

“The Thugs formerly discovered went forth on their murderous expeditions under the protection of a goddess, the Tashmabazes have for their genius a European! Who in England would be prepared to credit that the thimble-riggers of English fairs have in India given rise to an association that, in the towns, bazārs, and highways of these provinces, employs the game of stick and garter as the lure for victims destined to[453] be robbed or murdered? Yet this is the simple fact. The British had hardly gained possession of this territory before the seeds of the flourishing system of iniquity, brought to light almost half a century afterwards, were sowed in 1802 by a private soldier in one of his majesty’s regiments stationed at Cawnpore. The name of this man was Creagh. He initiated several natives into the mysteries of the stick and garter, and these afterwards appeared as the leaders of as many gangs, who traversed the country, gambling with whomsoever they could entrap to try their luck at this game. It consists of rolling up a doubled strap, the player putting a stick between any two of its convolutions, and when the ends of the strap are pulled, it unrolls, and either comes away altogether, or is held at the double by the stick, and this decides whether the player loses or wins. A game requiring apparently no peculiar skill, and played by parties cleverly acting their parts as strangers to each other,—being even dressed in character,—readily tempted any greedy simpleton to try his luck, and show his cash. If he lost, he might go about his business; if he won, he was induced to remain with the gamblers, or was followed, and as opportunity offered was either stupified with poisonous drugs, or by any convenient method murdered. Many corpses found from time to time along the vicinity of the Grand Trunk road, without any trace of the assassins, are now believed to have been the remains of the Tashmabazes’ victims; and distinct information has been obtained from their own members of murders committed by them. The merest trifle, it seems, was sufficient inducement to them to commit the crime, there being one case of three poor grass-cutters murdered by those miscreants in a jungle, merely for the sake of their trifling personal property. Indeed, these gangs seem to have been of a more hardened character than any other yet discovered, for their sole aim was gain, however it might be secured, without the plea of religious motive which regulated the proceedings of the other fraternities. Parties of them used to visit all the chief towns and stations of the Doab and its neighbourhood, and established themselves in the thoroughfares leading to the principal cities. Under the guise[454] of gamblers, they were often brought to the notice of the authorities, and subjected to the trifling punishments due to minor offences; but this was the very thing that lulled suspicion as to their real character. They were constantly in the power of many dangerous acquaintances; but these were bribed to silence out of their abundant spoils. The police almost every where seem to have been bought over. In the city of Gwalior, the kotwal got one-fourth of their profits; and in the British territory, five rupees a day have been paid as hush-money to the neighbouring thannah. Amongst their friends was the mess khansaman of a regiment at Meerut, the brother of one of their chiefs, and an accomplice. Gold and silver coin, and ornaments of pearl and coral, formed part of the remittances that used to be sent to their head-quarters at Cawnpore. Indeed, they seem to have carried on a very safe and lucrative business, until the magistrates of Boolundshuhr and Cawnpore pounced upon them in the beginning of this year. Mr. Montgomery followed up their apprehension by a full report to Government, when the matter was taken up by the Thuggee Department, the sifting machinery of which, in the hands of Major Graham, soon brought to light all the facts necessary to establish that the gang formed a hitherto unknown class of Thugs.”—Agra Messenger, Dec. 2, 1848.

“The Thugs that were previously discovered went out on their killing sprees under the protection of a goddess, while the Tashmabazes had a European mastermind behind them! Who in England would believe that the con artists at English fairs have inspired an organization in India that uses the game of stick and garter as a trap for victims who are meant to be robbed or murdered? Yet this is the straightforward truth. The British had barely taken control of this area before the roots of the thriving system of crime, uncovered almost fifty years later, were planted in 1802 by a private soldier in one of the king’s regiments stationed at Cawnpore. This man was named Creagh. He introduced several locals to the secrets of the stick and garter, who later emerged as the leaders of various gangs that roamed the country, gambling with anyone they could lure into playing the game. The game consists of rolling up a doubled strap, with the player placing a stick between any two layers of it. When the ends of the strap are pulled, it either unrolls completely or is held at the fold by the stick, determining if the player wins or loses. It’s a game that seemingly requires no special skill, and is played by parties pretentiously acting like strangers to each other—often even dressing in character—that easily tempted any greedy fool to try their luck and show their cash. If the player lost, they would be sent on their way; if they won, they were persuaded to stay with the gamblers, or they were followed, and when the chance arose, they were either drugged with poison or killed by some convenient means. Many bodies found from time to time near the Grand Trunk road, with no trace of the killers, are now believed to belong to the Tashmabazes’ victims; and specific information has been gathered from their own members about murders they committed. Even a trivial amount was enough motivation for them to commit these crimes; there was one case of three poor grass-cutters being murdered by these miscreants in a jungle just for their meager belongings. Indeed, these gangs seem to have been more callous than any previously discovered, as their only goal was profit, no matter how it was achieved, without the cover of a religious motive that guided the actions of other groups. Groups of them would visit all the main towns and stations in the Doab and its surroundings, establishing themselves in the main roads leading to the key cities. Disguised as gamblers, they would often catch the authorities' attention and face minor punishments for petty crimes; but this was exactly what kept suspicion about their true nature at bay. They were often influenced by many dangerous acquaintances; however, these were bribed into silence with their abundant spoils. The police seemed to have been bribed almost everywhere. In the city of Gwalior, the kotwal received a quarter of their profits; and in British territory, five rupees a day were paid as hush money to the nearby thannah. Among their allies was the mess khansaman of a regiment in Meerut, the brother of one of their leaders, who was also an accomplice. Gold and silver coins, along with pearls and coral accessories, were part of the funds that were sent to their headquarters at Cawnpore. They appeared to have conducted a very safe and profitable operation, until the magistrates of Boolundshuhr and Cawnpore cracked down on them at the start of this year. Mr. Montgomery followed up their capture with a detailed report to the Government, which was then addressed by the Thuggee Department. The investigative efforts under Major Graham quickly revealed all the necessary information to show that the gang created a previously unknown category 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.

12th.—One mile above Bindachun are the hazardous granite rocks of Seebpūr. After a peaceful day with very few challenges, we anchored near the village of Bhoghwa, where the chaukidār informed us that turkeys, chickens, and birds were plentiful.

The exertion of yesterday quite fagged me; I was up and sketching from six in the morning to eleven A.M., at Mirzapūr, and again in the evening at the temple of Bhawānī,—a day of over-fatigue, but a very agreeable one. How I love this roaming life on the river, with the power of stopping at any picturesque spot!—Even tracking against the stream is most delightful to one who, like Dr. Syntax, is in search of the picturesque. My husband objects to accompanying me through the bazārs, because[455] such a crowd collect after me;—he goes along quietly, but with me it is different:—the moment I stop to sketch, a crowd collects, and the attendants are obliged to drive them off to enable me to see the object. I have a great sympathy for Dr. Syntax, and perfectly comprehend the delight he took even in a picturesque horsepond. India would have driven him wild;—it is the country of the picturesque. How I love this life in the wilderness! I shall never be content to vegetate in England in some quiet country place.

The effort from yesterday really wore me out; I was up sketching from six in the morning until eleven A.M. in Mirzapūr, and then again in the evening at the Bhawānī temple—a day that was exhausting but very enjoyable. I love this adventurous life on the river, having the freedom to stop at any scenic spot! Even paddling upstream is a joy for someone like Dr. Syntax, who seeks beauty in everything. My husband doesn’t want to go with me through the bazaars because a crowd gathers around me; he walks quietly, but when I'm there, it’s different: as soon as I pause to sketch, people flock around, and the attendants have to shoo them away so I can see what I'm drawing. I really relate to Dr. Syntax and totally understand the joy he found even in a picturesque horse pond. India would have thrilled him; it’s the land of stunning sights. I truly love this life in the wild! I will never be satisfied just settling down in some peaceful place in England.

“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.

13th.—After a dull trip with boring scenery, we docked at Poorooā, a village on the left bank. There are plenty of wild ducks, geese, and Brahmanī ducks by the river. It's really cold, and I'm looking forward to getting some rest to warm up.

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.

14th.—No wind—a warmer day, and there were no issues on the river. We anchored at a village about three miles below Sirsya. The Directory states, “Twenty-eight miles above Mirzapūr, on the left bank of the river, is Suttamaree. Passengers usually disembark during the cold season and take a walk across the two-mile-wide neck of land in a W.N.W. direction to Taila, where they rejoin the steamer, which has to make a twenty-one-mile detour around the point. Two miles above Suttamaree is Deega-kunkur Spit, with a deep bay.

“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.”

“Letchyagurree and its ravine on the left bank of the river are twenty-two miles upstream from Deega, known for its robbers, when it was part of 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.

We have now reached very close to Allahabad; I will be quite sad to finish my journey and feel a strong hesitation about going back to society.

15th.—“Sirsya is a large cotton mart on the right bank; it is sixty miles above Mirzapūr and twenty-three miles below Allahabad, to which place there is a good road. There are several pakka (brick) houses here, and two very fine tanks at the back of it, and an old mud fort; thence to Prāg, the river is very[456] intricate and shallow. Iron work in a small way can be done for boats at this place. Turkeys and guinea-fowls abound.”

15th.—“Sirsya is a big cotton market on the right bank; it's sixty miles upstream from Mirzapūr and twenty-three miles downstream from Allahabad, which has a good road connection. There are several solid (brick) houses here, along with two nice tanks behind it, and an old mud fort; from there to Prāg, the river is quite[456] complicated and shallow. Some basic ironwork can be done for boats here. Turkeys and guinea fowl are plentiful.”

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.

We passed Sirsya early and found that the Queen’s 40th regiment had just left the area. There were no chickens or supplies available—the 40th had consumed everything around them like a swarm of locusts; we could only find some hilsā fish, which turned out to be very tasty—not just when fresh, but also when cured with tamarinds and vinegar. There's a house, a few temples, and a peepul tree on the cliff that would make a great sketch if you take it from a spot looking up the river a little further down. Because the stream is so shallow, we've had a lot of trouble all day and couldn't set up camp until half-past seven PM—it was 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.

16th.—Arrived at Munyah ghāt, on the right bank, at noon,—eight miles from Prāg. The river is so winding, and the navigation so tricky, it’s going to take us a while to travel those eight miles.

The “Directory” says,—“Allahabad is eighty-three miles above Mirzapūr; its fort is at the junction of the Ganges and Jumna. The steamers put up at the Jama Masjid, half a mile inside the Jumna. The native military cantonments, and the place where most of the civilians and officers live, are from three to four miles inland. State prisoners are kept here in the fort. There is also a large stone pillar, said to have been erected by Alexander the Great to mark his conquests. This is the seat of the Sadr Dewanī, or principal court of justice; it was formerly the seat of the Presidency. Bread, butter, eggs, beef, mutton, lamb, kids, fowls, pigeons, turkeys, guinea-fowl, quail, partridge, teal, wild ducks, and wild geese, are procurable here: Europe shops are at the station, and auctions are held. About two miles from the ghāt is the chauk or market, where all sorts of cloth, European and native, are procurable. Shawl-men board the steamers, if sent for, with every kind of Cashmere shawl, waistcoating, caps, gloves, socks, and Afghanistān woollen cloths: as also Delhi jewellers, and manufacturers of cotton carpeting, of various colours, showy on rooms, and[457] rather durable. A little beyond the chauk is the native sarā’e, where beautiful horses are at times to be purchased, of the Persian, Cabul, and Tūrkī breeds. You must send for your letters to the post-office.

The “Directory” states, “Allahabad is eighty-three miles upstream from Mirzapūr; its fort is located where the Ganges and Jumna meet. The steamers dock at the Jama Masjid, which is half a mile up the Jumna. The local military camps and where most civilians and officers live are located three to four miles inland. State prisoners are held in the fort. There’s also a large stone pillar, said to have been put up by Alexander the Great to mark his conquests. This is the home of the Sadr Dewanī, the main court of justice; it used to be the center of the Presidency. You can find bread, butter, eggs, beef, mutton, lamb, kids, chickens, pigeons, turkeys, guinea fowl, quail, partridges, teal, wild ducks, and wild geese available here: European shops are at the station, and auctions take place. About two miles from the ghāt is the chauk or market, where you can buy all sorts of cloth, both European and local. Shawl sellers will board the steamers, if called for, bringing all kinds of Cashmere shawls, waistcoats, caps, gloves, socks, and Afghan woolen fabrics. Delhi jewelers and manufacturers of colorful cotton carpets, which are quite eye-catching in rooms and somewhat durable, also display their goods. A little past the chauk is the local sarā’e, where you can sometimes buy beautiful horses of the Persian, Cabul, and Tūrkī breeds. You need to send someone to the post-office to collect your letters.”

“The distance from Calcutta, viâ Bhagirathī, is 831 miles; viâ Sunderbands, 1186; and by dāk route, 504 miles.

“The distance from Kolkata, via Bhagirathi, is 831 miles; via Sundarbans, 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.”

“Steamer’s regulated distance is 800 miles. Steamers stay here for three full days before they leave to return, carrying passengers and cargo. Contact the agent there, or the captain, for a ticket downward.”

In 1844 the Sadr Board of Revenue and the Criminal and Civil Court, or Sadr Dewanī, were removed to Agra.

In 1844, the Sadr Board of Revenue and the Criminal and Civil Court, or Sadr Dewanī, were relocated 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.

At 1:30 P.M., we first spotted the fort and the telegraph. The flags were waving at the point where the rivers meet, and the road from the sands over the Mahratta Band was clearly visible. Near Arail, just below the ferry, the river is complex; and since the crossing was challenging, we pulled 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.

17th.—The Fort of Allahabad looked impressive from the river, and as we got closer, we noticed numerous flags flying at the bathing area, even though the fair hadn’t started yet. It was wonderful to see old Prāg again, the Jama Masjid, the old well topped by the temple—similar to the one of the Sibyl, where the Gossein resides—the shrine of Mahadēo a little higher up, our old friend’s bungalow nearby, and the beautiful peepul tree on the high bank of the Jumna, which nearly covers the house and chabūtara, where we spent so many years. Our old friends are gathering to welcome us back: we are once again in Allahabad, once again surrounded by 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.

The following description of the sugar mills, provided to me by Major Parlby, will clarify the attached sketch, which he drew on-site.

THE SUGAR MILLS AT BELASPORE.
The sugar mills in Belaspore.

Sketched on the spot, and on Stone by Major Parlby.
Sketched on location and on Stone by Major Parlby.

“As the sugar-cane is usually cultivated all over India, and the produce of its juice, in some form or other, is universally[458] used, and constitutes a valuable article of export from India when converted into sugar, it may not be out of place to describe the construction and use of the patriarchal and simple form of mill represented in the drawing, which is at the village of Belaspore, on the left bank of the Ganges, near Mirzapore, about thirty miles below Allahabad.

“As sugarcane is commonly grown throughout India, and its juice is used in various forms everywhere, making it an important export when processed into sugar, it seems fitting to describe the design and function of the traditional and straightforward mill shown in the drawing. This mill is located in the village of Belaspore, on the left bank of the Ganges, near Mirzapore, about thirty miles downstream from Allahabad.[458]”

“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.

“It is believed that sugar has been known and used in India and China since ancient times; historians say it wasn’t introduced to the western world until after Alexander the Great’s conquest. This type of mill is common in many parts of India; and, crude and simple as it is, it actually works better at extracting juice from the sugar cane than the basic cylinder mills found elsewhere. The villagers knew nothing more about its origin than that their ancestors had used the same mills without any changes, except for occasional repairs and renewals of the woodwork as needed.”

“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.

“Some writers—among them Colonel Sleeman—in describing this type of mill refer to it as the “Pestle and Mortar sugar mill.” However, this name is incorrect because the vertical beam doesn’t move up and down like a regular pestle; instead, it just rotates in the bed as the oxen walk in their circular path. The bed of the mill is made from a large block of stone, as hard as can be found locally, and it should be free of any limestone mix, which could potentially react negatively with the acid in the extracted cane juice.”

“The beds are cylindrical, ornamented externally with figures, emblematical or religious, which are cut in relief.

“The beds are cylindrical, decorated on the outside with figures that are symbolic or religious, which are carved 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 main support beam of the mill is usually taken from a tree that has heavy, hard, tough, and durable wood; for this reason, the trunk of the babūl, which is native to this area, is well-suited and is typically used.”

“The bark is stripped off, one end is rounded, and the other is cut to a point; the rounded end works in the hollow bed of the mill, and on the pointed end is hitched the end of a stay,[459] properly formed for the purpose, the other end of which is attached to a horizontal beam, generally formed from a strong crotched piece of wood, which is cut at the crotched end to fit into a groove cut on the outside of the bed in which it traverses round, and the bullocks are yoked to the end of this beam. The stay leading from the top of the vertical beam is generally made of two pieces, which are capable of adjustment, so that the horizontal beam to which the bullocks are yoked may be kept at a proper distance from the ground.

“The bark is removed, one end is rounded, and the other is pointed; the rounded end fits into the hollow part of the mill, and a stay, which is shaped appropriately for the task, is attached to the pointed end. The other end of the stay connects to a horizontal beam, usually made from a strong forked piece of wood, which is cut at the forked end to fit into a groove on the outside of the bed where it moves around. The bullocks are harnessed to the end of this beam. The stay coming from the top of the vertical beam is typically made of two adjustable pieces, allowing the horizontal beam to which the bullocks are harnessed to be kept at a suitable distance from the ground.[459]”

“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 short pieces of cane, provided by a local, are crushed and pressed against the inner sides of the mortar as the vertical beam turns. The juice that comes out flows through a channel cut from the bottom, leading to an earthen pan set into the ground to catch it, typically using a small piece of bamboo to connect the two.”

“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.

“The driver sits on a frame or seat at the end of the horizontal beam, with his own weight increasing the crushing power of the mill, which is also helped by adding a weight of stones if needed. Since the cane bruising process happens in the cold season, in December, the driver sometimes stays warm by placing a pan of hot embers 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).

“To each of these mills at Belaspore, there were six bullocks, organized in three shifts: they work night and day as long as the cane is being harvested, for three hours at a time; and in those three hours, about four seer or eight pounds of juice are extracted. As the pan fills up, the juice is immediately taken to the hut, where smoke can be seen escaping from the door; there, in a boiler set on a simple furnace, the juice is boiled down to concentrate it. It is reduced until it becomes a substance called goor, which is much thicker than treacle; in this form, it is taken to the nearby market of Mirzapūr, where it is sold at the rate of eighteen seer for a rupee. Sixteen seer, or thirty-two pounds of goor, can be obtained from one maund of cane (eighty pounds).”

“In the foreground of the sketch are three heaps of sugar-cane, cut into pieces of six or eight inches long, ready to be supplied to the mill. A native carries the pieces of sugar-cane in a[460] basket, and charges the mill by occasional supplies, as represented in the drawing; and he also takes out the bruised cane, from which the juice has been sufficiently expressed, and carries it to the hut, to assist, with a mixture of oplā (dried cow-dung) in making the fire for the boiling process. The sugar-cane is slightly wetted when put into the mill, about two pints of water being used to moisten about eighty pounds’ weight of it. The goor is purchased by the sugar-refiner, who dissolves and refines it again in the process of making sugar. But goor is also used for several purposes,—as in preparing tobacco for smoking, and by masons, to mix with lime in forming hard cements for floors, terraces, baths, &c., for which the Indian masons are celebrated.

“In the foreground of the sketch are three piles of sugarcane, cut into pieces about six or eight inches long, ready to be fed into the mill. A local worker carries the pieces of sugarcane in a[460] basket and supplies the mill as needed, as shown in the drawing. He also removes the crushed cane after the juice has been extracted and takes it to the hut to help create a fire for the boiling process using a mixture of oplā (dried cow dung). The sugarcane is slightly moistened before being put into the mill, using about two pints of water for approximately eighty pounds of it. The goor is bought by the sugar refiner, who dissolves and refines it again to make sugar. However, goor is also used for various purposes, such as preparing tobacco for smoking, and by masons to mix with lime for making strong cements for floors, terraces, baths, etc., for which Indian masons are well-known.”

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.”

It’s hard to look at the scene in the drawing without noticing how different it is from any mechanical process in our own country. The sketch was made from life, and there’s a calm and indifference in all the people involved that’s quite striking: even the oxen are moved at a very slow pace, barely two miles an hour, encouraged more by the driver's voice than by the occasional use of a short whip. This is typical in climates where basic necessities like shelter, food, and clothing are cheap and easy to get; in harsher climates, the costs of social living bring out more active energies in people. ‘God gives sugar to him who eats sugar[53],’—i.e. He provides for His creatures based on their needs.”

[461]

CHAPTER LXIX.
STAY IN 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.”

The Sibylline Temple—Mr. Berrill’s Hotel—A carriage pulled by camels—The Murdār-khor—A message from the Bāiza Bā’ī—Wedding of the Chimna Raja—Sultan Khusrū’s Garden—The Tombs—Tamarind Trees—The Sarā’e—The Bāolī—Tattoos for Palanquins—Reasons for the murder of a wife and child—The Lāt—A skilled swordsman—An eclipse—Tufāns—Death of Mr. James Gardner—Left Allahabad—The Ganges—A shipwreck—A storm—Indian corn—Colgong—Terīyāgalī Hills and ruins—Nuddea—Suspension Bridge—Prinsep Ghāt in Calcutta—Booked a passage on the “Essex.”

1844, Dec. 18th.—The whole day was employed in receiving visits from our old acquaintances at the station, the mūnshī, the ’amala of the office, and the natives whom we formerly employed. The pleasure they testified at our return was very gratifying; and the delight of Lutchman, my old Barha’ī mistree (carpenter), was so genuine, it brought tears from my eyes, as well as from his own. We have moored the boats just below an old būrj (bastion) of the ancient city of Prāg; there is a gateway below,—the water-gate, perhaps, of the old Fort: the Sibylline temple crowns it. The old gossein who lives in the temple came this evening to make salām; he reminded me of my having given him a present of sixteen rupees for having aided in recovering two hundred, that had been stolen from me; he was young, and good-looking then, now he is old and wily: he brought his son, a fine young Brahmān, to introduce to me. Many are the strange stories related respecting this old Brahmān and his solitary temple; and I have before mentioned its curious resemblance to that of the Sibyl. Having defended the truth and faithfulness of my pencil[462] in England, I was glad of an opportunity of again particularly observing the Ionic style of architecture of this little building; and while pondering on its singular appearance, Colonel Edward Smith came on board, and solved the mystery by mentioning that General Ouchterlony, finding the Jama Masjid seldom used as a place of worship, took possession of it as his dwelling-place, and formed magnificent rooms between the arches. He built the temple of the Sibyl on the top of the ancient water-gate of the old city. The Muhammadans, some years afterwards, petitioned Government not to allow the mosque to be used as a dwelling-place; it was therefore restored to them, and is now used as a masjid.

Dec. 18, 1844.—The entire day was spent greeting visits from our old friends at the station, the mūnshī, the office staff, and the locals we used to work with. Their happiness at our return was very heartwarming; the joy of Lutchman, my old carpenter, was so genuine that it brought tears to both our eyes. We've anchored the boats just below an old bastion of the ancient city of Prāg; there’s a gateway below—maybe the water-gate of the old fort—and the Sibylline temple stands above it. The old priest living in the temple came this evening to greet us; he reminded me of the sixteen rupees I had given him for helping recover two hundred that had been stolen from me. He was young and handsome back then, but now he is older and quite shrewd. He brought along his son, a handsome young Brahmān, to introduce to me. There are many strange stories about this old Brahmān and his solitary temple, and I've noted its curious resemblance to that of the Sibyl before. Having defended the accuracy and faithfulness of my sketches in England, I was pleased to have the chance to closely observe the Ionic style of architecture of this little building; while contemplating its unique look, Colonel Edward Smith came on board and cleared up the mystery by explaining that General Ouchterlony, finding the Jama Masjid rarely used for worship, turned it into his residence and created grand rooms between the arches. He built the temple of the Sibyl on top of the ancient water-gate of the old city. Years later, the Muslims petitioned the Government to stop allowing the mosque to be used as a home; it was thus 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.

A nice little modern building—a small temple dedicated to Mahadēo—is located 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.

I’m really tired of seeing the same old faces and saying nice things to the needy. To my surprise, an old woman with a basket full of yarn balls came to greet me; she looked healthy and plump—last time I saw her, she was struggling. She used to make yarn balls for my dog Nero to fetch. She earned quite a bit from Nero each month; she would toss the ball to him and then come to collect her payment. Basically, she relied on that for income. My beautiful dog has passed away, and now this old woman is thriving and still making her yarn balls as usual. She received her little gift and left feeling 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.

The dock where we are anchored has recently been created by the Steam Agency; just above it, there's a hotel that has been set up for the convenience of passengers from the steamers, and it is well managed by Mr. Berrill. This small hotel by the banks of the Jumna-jee is well depicted in the following interesting 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[463] friends, Mr. and Mrs. M⸺; they received us with all that kindness and hospitality for which India is renowned; their bungalow, a very fine one, is well situated at the other end of the station. We met a barouche drawn by two camels, harnessed like horses; they went along at a fine pace, and I envied the possessor that pair of well broken-in carriage camels: in double harness they look well; in single harness,—especially in a Stanhope, or any other sort of buggy,—the animal appears too large for the carriage.

23rd.—We left the boats and went to stay with our[463] friends, Mr. and Mrs. M⸺; they welcomed us with all the warmth and hospitality that India is famous for. Their bungalow, which is quite beautiful, is located at the far end of the station. We saw a carriage pulled by two camels, harnessed like horses; they moved along at a good pace, and I envied the owner of those well-trained carriage camels: in double harness, they look great; but in single harness—especially in a Stanhope or any other type of buggy—the camel seems too big 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.

1845, Jan. 11th.—I saw a small comet, which had a clearer nucleus than the huge comet I spotted while at sea, but its tail was so tiny that it resembled the thin 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!

18th.—Since we needed to stay in the countryside for a while, we dug a pond and built a house for the wild ducks, releasing sixty-five birds into it. It was entertaining to watch the joy with which the murghabīs splashed into the water as they were freed from the baskets they had been brought in from the forest, and the chatter among them was quite something!

I omitted to mention that during my former residence at this station, the jamadar came to tell me that a murdār-khor (an eater of carrion), who had lately arrived, was anxious to perform before us. The man did not ask for money, but requested to have a sheep given him; he said he would eat the whole at one meal, body and entrails, leaving only the horns and the skin, which he wished to carry away; the wretch said that he would kill the sheep by tearing open its throat with his teeth, and would drink the blood. This feat they told me he had performed before in the bazār. I saw the man at a distance, and was so much disgusted that I ordered him to be turned out of the compound (the grounds around the house). In Colonel Tod’s “Travels in Western India” there is a most interesting account of the murdi-khor, or man-eaters; he made an attempt to visit the shrine of Kalka, the dread mother, whose rites are performed by the hideous Aghori, whose patroness she is, as Aghoriswara Mata. At one time they existed in those regions, but were only found in the wildest retreats, in the mountain-cave, or the dark[464] recesses of the forest. Colonel Tod saw a man perform pūja at the shrine of Goraknāth, whom he had every reason to believe was one of these wretched people,—but whether he was a murdi-khor he could not determine; although, as he went off direct to the Aghori peak, said to be frequented only by his sect, it is probable that he belonged to the fraternity. It appears that the murdār-khor (the carrion-eater) is almost the same as the ādam-khor or cannibal.

I forgot to mention that during my previous time at this station, the jamadar came to tell me that a murdār-khor (a carrion-eater), who had recently arrived, was eager to perform for us. The man didn’t ask for money; instead, he requested a sheep. He said he would eat the entire thing in one sitting, including the body and entrails, leaving only the horns and skin, which he wanted to take with him. This poor guy claimed he would kill the sheep by tearing its throat open with his teeth and would drink the blood. They told me he had done this before in the bazaar. I saw the man from a distance and was so disgusted that I ordered him to be removed from the compound (the grounds around the house). In Colonel Tod’s “Travels in Western India,” there’s a really interesting account of the murdi-khor, or man-eaters; he attempted to visit the shrine of Kalka, the fearsome mother, whose rites are performed by the hideous Aghori, for whom she is the patroness, known as Aghoriswara Mata. At one time they existed in those areas but were only found in the most remote places, in mountain caves or the dark recesses of the forest. Colonel Tod saw a man performing pūja at the shrine of Goraknāth, whom he believed was one of these unfortunate individuals—but whether he was a murdi-khor, he couldn’t say; although, since he went directly to the Aghori peak, which is said to be frequented only by his sect, it’s likely he belonged to that group. It seems 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.

24th.—This life is really dull, and the only change I get is a nervous fever every 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.”

March 1st.—While visiting a friend, I received a letter from her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, and I was really happy to see the signature of the dear old lady. I also felt quite flattered that she remembered me. After I left Allahabad for England, her Highness stayed there for a while. Eventually, since she absolutely refused to live in Bunarus, it was decided that she would move to Nassuk, a holy place about one hundred miles from Bombay. She left the Upper Provinces, traveled across the country, and settled in Nassuk. After hearing from some of her people about my return to India and my arrival in Prāg, her Highness kindly wrote to me. After the usual pleasantries that start a letter in our culture, the Bāiza Bā’ī added, “I received your letter where you acknowledged mine; however, I haven't heard from you since, so please write and let me know how you and the sāhib are. Don't take so long to write again, as it makes me anxious.”

I sent in answer a letter of thanks to her Highness for her kindness in having borne me in remembrance; it was written by a mūnshī in the Persian character, and enclosed in a kharīta. At the same time I sent a bunch of the most beautiful artificial flowers to the Gaja Raja, to testify my respect; it would have been incorrect to have sent the flowers to the Bā’ī. They were Parisian, and remarkably well made; the Gaja Raja, being fond of flowers, will be pleased. I gave the letter and bouquet to one of her attendants, Bulwunt Rāo, who promised to send them across the country to Nassuk. The title of Gaja, i.e.[465] elephant, is curiously applied to the young Princess, her form being fragile, delicate, and fairy-like.

I sent a letter of thanks to her Highness for her kindness in remembering me; it was written by a mūnshī in Persian script and enclosed in a kharīta. At the same time, I sent a bouquet of the most beautiful artificial flowers to the Gaja Raja, to show my respect; it wouldn't have been appropriate to send the flowers to the Bā’ī. They were from Paris and exceptionally well-made; the Gaja Raja, who loves flowers, will be pleased. I gave the letter and bouquet to one of her attendants, Bulwunt Rāo, who promised to send them across the country to Nassuk. The title of Gaja, i.e.[465] elephant, is interestingly given to the young Princess, as her form is 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.

In 1848, I got a letter from a friend in Gwalior, saying that the Chimna Raja, the daughter of Gaja Raja Sāhib, who was born in Allahabad and was around eight years old at the time, had been engaged by her great-grandmother, Bāiza Bā’ī, to Jhankī Rāo, the Maharaj of Gwalior. After the engagement ceremony, the young bride returned to Oojein with the ex-Queen. This news made me very happy because the marriage of Dāolut Rāo Scindia's great-granddaughter with the current ruler of the Mahrattas will greatly please her Highness. Additionally, the wandering Hājī is delighted that her great-grandniece (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.”

5th.—This evening, while cantering quickly around the Mahratta Bandh, my horse stumbled and fell. My companion described the accident in a letter to his brother: “Kābul went down on his nose and knees; nineteen out of twenty women would have been thrown off. The Mem Sāhiba handled her horse impressively and brought him to a stop in the blink of an eye. That damn horse must have stepped in a hole. The evening went by with us listening to music and discussing philosophy.”

9th.—I was invited to spend the day at Sultan Khusrū’s garden, to which place a tent had been sent, which was pitched under the fine tamarind trees in a most picturesque place. The garden is a large space of ground, enclosed by a high wall, containing tombs and some very fine trees: the entrance is through a lofty gateway. There are three tombs, and a Baithak-khāna or pavilion. The first and largest monument is that of Sultan Khusrū, in which he is buried; it is a handsome building, and within it is deposited a beautifully illuminated kurān, which the dārogha showed us with great pride. Sultan Khusrū married a daughter of the Wuzeer Azim Khan; he was the son of Jahāngīr, and his mother was the daughter of the Rajpūt Prince Bagwandas of Amber. The next monument is that of the Jodh Bā’ī, but in honour of which lady of that name I know not. Akbar married a Jodh Bā’ī, the daughter of Oodi[466] Singh, of Jodpoor; she was the mother of Jahāngīr, and was buried on the Chand-maree, near Fathīpūr Sicri. Jahāngīr married a Jodh Bā’ī, the daughter of Rae Singh, of Bickaner; she was the mother of Shāhjahān, and her tomb is at Secundra. I forget to whose memory the tomb in Sultan Khusrū’s bāghīcha (garden) was erected.

9th.—I was invited to spend the day at Sultan Khusrū’s garden, where a tent had been set up beneath the beautiful tamarind trees in a stunning location. The garden is a large area surrounded by a high wall, containing tombs and some impressive trees; the entrance is through a tall gateway. There are three tombs and a Baithak-khāna or pavilion. The first and largest monument is that of Sultan Khusrū, where he is buried; it is an elegant building, and inside there's a beautifully illuminated Quran, which the dārogha showed us with great pride. Sultan Khusrū married a daughter of Wuzeer Azim Khan; he was the son of Jahāngīr, and his mother was the daughter of Rajpūt Prince Bagwandas of Amber. The next monument is that of Jodh Bā’ī, but I don't know which lady of that name it honors. Akbar married a Jodh Bā’ī, the daughter of Oodi Singh from Jodpoor; she was the mother of Jahāngīr and was buried at Chand-maree, near Fathīpūr Sicri. Jahāngīr married a Jodh Bā’ī, the daughter of Rae Singh from Bickaner; she was the mother of Shāhjahān, and her tomb is at Secundra. I can’t recall whose memory the tomb in Sultan Khusrū’s bāghīcha (garden) was built to honor.

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.

There’s also a third mausoleum, which isn’t as attractive as the first two; and the fourth structure is a pavilion, where visitors can stay for a short time during their trip to the garden. Surrounding the tombs are some of the largest tamarind trees I’ve ever seen: the imlī, as the locals call the tamarind tree, is one of the finest and most beautiful in the world; and they are often found around or providing shelter for the graves of respected or sacred figures. The sherbet made from the fruit is excellent; the leaves and fruit have medicinal uses. The locals believe it’s dangerous to sleep under a tamarind tree, especially at night; grass or any type of vegetation is rarely seen growing in those spots, and it never grows lush. During times of scarcity, the seeds are eaten by the poor; they look like 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.

Part of Sultan Khusrū’s garden has been cultivated in the English style, specifically for vegetables; seeds are given to the mālīs (gardeners), along with rewards for the best four baskets of vegetables, called dālī: this is a good idea; the top prize is fifty rupees, which is significant for the locals participating in the contest. The mālī in charge, kneeling on one knee, handed me a bouquet of flowers; it was presented without awkwardness—however, it was in poor taste to teach a man a European way of showing respect, which is far less graceful than the native salām.

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.

The sarā’e (caravansary), with its entrances, especially the beautiful one that leads to the garden, is definitely worth a visit; on the doors of that one, a bunch of horseshoes are nailed on for good luck, and the different shapes and sizes are really interesting.

Just beyond the gates of the sarā’e is a bāolī, a magnificent[467] well, with underground apartments; it is a most remarkable and curious place, and the well is a noble one. The top of the bāolī is level with the ground, from which place water can be drawn up, as also from the underground apartments, which open on the well. You descend by a long broad flight of stone steps to the water’s edge, where there is an arch, ornamented with two large fish, the arms of Oude. Half way down is a pathway of stone that juts out from the wall, and communicates with the third apartment, from which you ascend by small circular staircases to the top. A nervous person might object to the walk along the pathway, it being very narrow, and having no defence—no parapet on the inner side. Parties of natives resort here during the hot winds, and spend the hours in the coolness of the bāolī.

Just beyond the gates of the sarā’e is a bāolī, a stunning[467] well, featuring underground chambers; it’s a truly amazing and unique spot, and the well itself is impressive. The top of the bāolī is level with the ground, from which water can be drawn up, as can be accessed from the underground chambers that open into the well. You go down a long, wide flight of stone steps to the water’s edge, where there's an arch adorned with two large fish, the emblem of Oude. Halfway down, there’s a stone pathway that extends out from the wall, connecting to the third chamber, from which you can climb up small circular staircases to the top. A nervous person might find the pathway unsettling, as it's very narrow and lacks any kind of railing on the inner side. Groups of locals come here during the hot winds and spend their time relaxing 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.

March 15th.—Rented a nice bungalow from a reputable local for eighty rupees a month, garden included, and moved in.

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.

20th.—My husband got permission from the government to visit England on leave. A friend left us for the countryside in a palanquin set on a truck, pulled by a pony, with relays along the way. In the past, a palanquin was always carried by bearers—now, with this method, a dāk trip is done much more quickly than it used to be with relays of locals.

26th.—The other day a native was brought before Mr. R. M⸺, the magistrate of Allahabad, charged with the murder of his wife and daughter. The man confessed to having cut their heads off with his sword; he said he had reason to believe his wife unfaithful, therefore he killed her; and as he supposed the magistrate would murder him for the act, and, as in that case, his young daughter would have no one to marry her, and would be obliged to beg her bread, he killed her also. “But,” said he to Mr. M⸺, “beware how you murder me for having killed my wife. If the women find their husbands are hung for killing them should they be unfaithful, what man will be safe?” I know not the name of the frail fair one who fell a sacrifice to jealousy; doubtless it was soft and pleasing, for although her[468] husband did not attend to the words of the Hindū sage, who says, “Strike not even with a blossom a wife guilty of a hundred faults!” still, in all probability, her parents bestowed an harmonious name upon her, in obedience to the directions of Menu, who suggests that “the names of women should be agreeable, soft, clear, captivating the fancy, auspicious, ending in long vowels, resembling words of benediction.” He also says, “Let mutual fidelity continue to death: this, in few words, may be considered as the supreme law between husband and wife.” The conjugal duties of the Rajpūts are comprehended in that single text.

26th.—The other day, a local man was brought before Mr. R. M⸺, the magistrate of Allahabad, accused of murdering his wife and daughter. The man admitted to having decapitated them with his sword; he claimed he believed his wife was unfaithful, so he killed her. He thought that if the magistrate sentenced him to death, his young daughter would be left without anyone to marry her and would have to beg for food, so he killed her too. “But,” he warned Mr. M⸺, “be careful about punishing me for killing my wife. If women see that their husbands are hanged for killing them when they are unfaithful, what man will be safe?” I don’t know the name of the unfortunate woman who became a victim of jealousy; it was probably something sweet and lovely, because even though her husband ignored the words of the Hindū sage, who says, “Don’t even hit a wife guilty of a hundred faults with a flower!” it’s likely her parents gave her a harmonious name, following the guidance of Menu, who suggests that “women’s names should be pleasant, soft, clear, captivating, auspicious, ending in long vowels, and reminiscent of words of blessing.” He also says, “Let mutual fidelity last until death: this can be considered the ultimate rule between husband and wife.” The marital duties of the Rajpūts are summed up in that single statement.

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.

30th.—When I was in Allahabad before, Bāiza Bā’ī was eager to get permission from the government to set up a remarkable stone pillar that was lying down in the Fort near the gateway. This lāt, as mentioned earlier, is covered in inscriptions in unknown characters that confuse scholars. Her Highness's plan didn't go ahead, and the lāt was later 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 a lot, and thought it was placed with great skill: it greatly enhances the Fort's appearance. While we were looking at the pillar, the horse pulling our buggy got scared, became very unruly, knocked over five of the small stone pillars that support the chains surrounding the lāt, and broke its harness in several places. It was quite a scene.

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.

April 1st.—I accidentally fell on the stones in the verandah with a lot of force and fainted; the hit I took on my left shoulder was intense; my arm is painful and useless, just hanging by my side—I can't even 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.

The Eastern proverb that “A sharp sword will not cut raw silk[54]” doesn’t hold true for silk when it’s made. This morning, I watched a gentleman lay a silk handkerchief on his sword and with one skillful draw, he sliced it perfectly and diagonally.

27th.—Divine service was performed in the new church, that[469] has been erected at Allahabad at the expense of the inhabitants; it formerly took place in the Circuit Bungalow, or in the Fort. The church is a very handsome one, and the internal arrangements are good.

27th.—A church service was held in the new church that[469] has been built in Allahabad with funds from the local community; it used to be held in the Circuit Bungalow or in the Fort. The church is quite beautiful, and the interior setup is well done.

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.

29th.—Around 3 PM, a storm hit—heavy rain, lots of hail, and dust swirling everywhere; in just a quarter of an hour, the temperature dropped ten degrees, from 88° to 78°. It was fascinating to see such chaos. Our house was being repaired, so water was pouring into every room from every part of the roof, flooding the place; many pictures were damaged, and we had to leave and seek shelter at a friend's house.

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.

May 11th.—The ice pits opened, giving each subscriber an allowance of eight seer per day—about sixteen pounds. The temperature is 89°. There’s no wind, so the tattīs aren’t helping at all, and despite the thermantidote, the heat is overwhelming; we’re starting to really miss the fresh breezes of England. I can't wait until we're on a good ship 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.

21st.—Around 9:30 PM, the moon was nearly entirely eclipsed, and it was so dark that I couldn’t see the road while I was driving home. The locals were making offerings of rice, fruit, vegetables, etc., to bring back the light quickly and to prevent looming disasters.

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.

22nd.—A fierce dust storm blew through the night, followed the next morning by heavy rain, thunder, and lightning; the day after was uncomfortably hot—another storm cleared the air, and the air conditioning felt really nice, as it delivered a refreshing blast 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.

31st.—Went to the Bandh in the evening, but came back quickly; the air was so hot, it felt 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.

June 1st.—The heat in the church was so unbearable that I won't go back again; fans and air coolers are working hard during the service, but even with their help, the warmth is just too much.

26th.—The rains appear to have set in, accompanied with thunder and lightning. The darkness was so great to-day at[470] 4 P.M. that we were obliged to dine by lamp-light; the evening is dull and heavy, the rain is falling in torrents, and the darkness is relieved at intervals by forked lightning; the thunder is distant.

26th.—It seems the rainy season has started, bringing thunder and lightning with it. The darkness was so intense today at [470] 4 P.M. that we had to eat dinner by lamp light; the evening feels gray and oppressive, the rain is pouring down heavily, and the darkness is occasionally lit up by flashes of lightning; the thunder can be heard in the distance.

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.

30th.—It was very hot during the day and really stifling; this humid heat is harder on health than the dry heat of the hot winds. I heard with sadness about the death of Mr. James Gardner in 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.

July 8th.—Hired a fourteen-oared boat, a woolāk of 900 mŭns, a pataila of 600, and a small cooking boat, to take us 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.

20th.—We left dear old Prague at 6 AM in heavy rain and against a strong wind. I said goodbye to a place where I had spent so many happy days with a lot of sadness, and with no hope of ever returning.

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.

22nd.—Anchored at Rāj ghāt, Benares: the ghāts have lost much of their charming beauty due to the river's height, with the water covering the steps. The Hindu temples that have partly collapsed only reveal their spiral domes above the surface; and the Ganges is as muddy as any river could be; the water is quite thick and murky, and even a small amount in a glass leaves an impressive 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.

24th.—We faced a strong headwind; the waves on the Ganga were so high, and the boats rocked so violently, that the locals on deck were really struggling with seasickness, and I was also feeling seasick.

31st.—Picked up a large heavy chest afloat from some wreck. It contained fifty boxes of G. Davis’ Chinsurah cheroots, and was marked Jan Mahomed Shah, in the Persian character: the cheroots were all destroyed from having been in the water. Soon afterwards we picked up another chest of the same size and description, with the bottom stove in; also a box of cigars that was floating by the side of it, evidently from the same wreck. Lugāoed off the bāstī of Tipperiah, in the midst of an expanse of water. About 8 P.M. the strong easterly wind, which had been blowing all day, veered and sunk; a deep silence fell around—the whole canopy of heaven was covered with a pall[471] of black clouds: there was not a gleam of light excepting on the horizon in one part, where there was one low gleam of whitish pale light, in form like a bow. The muddy colour of the interminable river assumed an inky blackness, and united with the horizon all around: a few minutes afterwards the light on the horizon disappeared, and all was intense darkness,—a rushing sound then arose, and the rain fell in torrents, the drops were of great size, it more resembled the fall of sheets of water; soon afterwards the lightning blazed over the river, and some peals of thunder like the roar of cannon and the sharp discharge of fire-arms, added to the stormy scene. During this time the wind rose, and suddenly changed to the opposite quarter of the heavens. I made the dandīs look well to their moorings, as we were fastened on a wet field, covered by the river, so that there was a fear the bamboos would be torn out of the wet earth by the force of the wind acting on the vessel, and that she would be carried down the fierce stream; however, she stood it well, being in rather slack water, therefore I went to bed and slept quietly through the gale, after I had sufficiently enjoyed the first part of it.

31st.—We salvaged a large heavy chest floating from a wreck. It had fifty boxes of G. Davis’ Chinsurah cheroots inside, labeled Jan Mahomed Shah in Persian script; unfortunately, the cheroots were all ruined from being in the water. Shortly after, we found another chest of the same size and type, but with the bottom crushed in, along with a box of cigars floating beside it, clearly from the same wreck. We moved away from the bāstī of Tipperiah, surrounded by a vast stretch of water. Around 8 P.M., the strong easterly wind that had been blowing all day shifted and calmed down; a deep silence settled in—the entire sky was covered by a thick layer of black clouds, and there was no light except for a faint whitish glow on the horizon that resembled a bow. The muddy color of the endless river turned pitch black, blending with the horizon all around: just a few minutes later, the light on the horizon vanished, and everything fell into complete darkness. Then a rushing sound erupted, and the rain came down in torrents, with large drops that resembled sheets of water; soon after, lightning flashed across the river, accompanied by thunder that sounded like cannon fire and sharp gunshots, intensifying the stormy atmosphere. During this time, the wind picked up and suddenly shifted from the opposite direction. I made sure the dandīs were secure in their moorings, as we were tied to a soaked field flooded by the river, raising concerns that the bamboos would be ripped from the wet ground by the wind's force acting on the vessel, potentially carrying it down the raging stream. Fortunately, the boat held steady in the relatively calm water, so I went to bed and slept soundly through the storm after enjoying the initial excitement.

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.

August 1st.—The rock of Dolepaharry, with its temple and tall, beautiful trees standing far inland, was a stunning sight—it’s close to Janghīra—the latter rock looked insignificant and seemed very low because of how high the Ganges had risen. The entire area is flooded—the river looks like one huge sea with many fine trees in it, their trunks sticking out of the water, and the land completely submerged.

Passed Sultangunge and anchored on a wet bank, just on the entrance of that branch of the river that leads to Bhagulpūr. The Hindūs must go without their dinners to-night; they will not cook on board, and in the wet swamp they cannot make a fire: this is a wretched anchorage, and here comes the rain in torrents again. Stolen goods cannot be digested, or never thrive, and so it proved with a boy employed to pull the pankha. He stole a great quantity of Indian corn; it was not ripe, but of full size; abounding in milk, sweet, and tempting to eat when[472] raw; but when fried in butter, with pepper and salt, it is delicious. In spite of the caution given by an old havildār, to whom the field belonged, the boy ate a great quantity—his body swelled, he became in great pain, and is now ill with fever.

We passed Sultangunge and anchored on a wet bank at the entrance of the river branch that leads to Bhagulpūr. The Hindus have to go without dinner tonight; they won’t cook onboard, and in this damp swamp, they can’t start a fire. This is a terrible spot to anchor, and the rain is pouring down again. Stolen goods don’t sit well, or they don’t prosper, and that was definitely true for a boy who was tasked with operating the pankha. He stole a large amount of Indian corn; it wasn’t ripe yet, but it was fully grown, filled with milk, sweet, and tempting to eat raw. However, when fried in butter with pepper and salt, it’s delicious. Despite the warnings from an old havildār, to whom the field belonged, the boy ate way too much—his body swelled, he was in a lot of pain, and now he’s sick with a 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.

3rd.—Last night, the distant roar of the water rushing past the rocks of Colgong lulled me to sleep. This morning, around 7 AM, we reached the rocks, and the stream was racing by at an alarming speed, creating large and powerful whirlpools. Two big patailas were ahead of us; the first was caught in an eddy and pushed back into the other; they got tangled up and were both pulled back rapidly for about three hundred yards. Our pinnace was speeding along, helped by the cargo onboard and the towing of her little boat; but the strong eddy turned the vessel straight across the stream, and there we were stopped, with the eddy pulling one way and the men pulling the other—just then, an enormous pataila, about two thousand mŭns, heavily loaded with gram, came barreling down toward us. It was an unpleasant sight; it looked like the impact would sink the pinnace. Luckily, a woolāk was between us and the massive boat; it hit the woolāk with great force first, pushing it toward the pinnace. The pinnace shook from the impact, but it saved us greatly, and the large vessel, freeing itself from us, continued on, spinning our stern around with its force. I rushed on deck, not wanting to drown in the cabin, and managed to escape with just a scare. The dandīs resumed their efforts, and soon we were out of the eddies and whirlpools around the rocks, and into calm water. Colgong is very beautiful, both during the rainy season and in the colder weather, and this might be the most beautiful part of the Ganges. At 11 A.M., we passed the Terīyāgalī Hills. The dandīs say there are impressive ruins in the jungle on the largest hill, but no path to reach them; and they talk about the massive doorways—entrances; I would love to explore the area.

8th.—At 1 P.M. passed Nuddea, eighty-two and a half miles from Calcutta; at this spot the Jellingee unites with the[473] Bhagirathī, and they flow forward under the name of the Hoogly: the tide is perceptible at Nuddea, it just comes so far.

8th.—At 1 PM passed Nuddea, eighty-two and a half miles from Calcutta; at this point, the Jellingee joins the [473] Bhagirathī, and they continue on as the Hoogly: the tide is noticeable at Nuddea, it reaches this 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.

9th.—We anchored at Nyaserai to get the anchors ready for the tide, which held us up for an hour and a half. Nyaserai is at the entrance of the old Damooda River, where there's a light iron suspension bridge. A kid from the countryside who was pulling the fan told me it made his blood run cold to see people crossing such a flimsy bridge; he said his father had never been to Calcutta, nor had he, but his grandfather made the trip. He was fascinated by some Ooria singers on the bank and thought they would make a fortune if they went to Prāg. Just imagine the incredible stories he’ll have to tell when he goes back home! We moored off the residence of a friend at the powder-works in 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.

10th.—Arrived in Calcutta—anchored off Prinsep Ghat, where you can get a great view of the river and the ships; all the large vessels are moored just off the ghat. In the evening, I visited the "Madagascar" and the "Essex."

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.

19th.—We booked our passage to England on the “Essex;” the cost for the cabin on the left side at the back of the ship was 2500 rupees, for us, an attendant, and my collection of 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.

28th.—After wrapping up all our business, we boarded the ship; luckily, it won't set sail until tomorrow—I am exhausted.

[474]

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[475] week together, requiring frequent surveys. The Bore commences at Hoogly Point. The musquitoes were very troublesome; we found it cooler than on shore, but nevertheless very hot.

Sept. 1st.—At 8 AM, while we were being towed by the steamer, the “Essex” hit a sandbank. She tipped over in a very awkward way but was carried over the obstacle by the force of the tide and righted herself in deep water. The accident broke the ropes connecting the two vessels. After some difficulty and a lot of delays, we continued our journey. The pilot was quite surprised because just two weeks earlier this part of the river was clear; he said we had run onto the end of the “James and Mary” sandbank, which has grown longer, and he sent a notice about it to Calcutta. At Hoogly Point, where the Hoogly River meets the Roopnarrain, a large body of water is formed, but there are many shallow areas. Since it directly faces the sea approach while the Hoogly bends to the right, it leads to the loss of many vessels that are swept up the Roopnarrain by the tide. The eddy created by the bend of the Hoogly has formed a very dangerous sandbank called the “James and Mary,” around which the channel changes frequently and needs regular surveys. The Bore starts at Hoogly Point. The mosquitoes were really annoying; we found it cooler than on land, but still 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.

2nd.—We passed Mud Point, and I felt pretty anxious about it; the heat was extreme, and there wasn't a hint of a breeze. I kept myself busy writing farewell letters to friends in India, which were sent to Calcutta by the Saugor dāk boat. This evening, the tide was so strong that once the ship had anchored, someone had to stay at the helm. Steering an anchored ship was a strange and new experience.

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.

3rd.—The pilot left us at the Sandheads and took my husband’s official letters with him. A calm settled in, and we were getting ready to anchor again when a breeze picked up and pushed 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.

4th.—A group of local sailors (khalāsīs) traveled down the river with us to help the crew on the “Essex.” Seven of the English sailors are sick with fever; it’s no surprise considering the extra grog and hard work in such a brutal sun: the mosquitoes and prickly heat alone are enough to cause fever in this intense heat.

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.

I saw a waterspout—it started like a huge funnel hanging from a dark cloud, which was sitting below a fluffy white one. The tip of the funnel dropped about halfway down and pulled up sea water, bubbling and rising until it connected with the end of the spout. Once they joined, the spout thickened and became the same width from top to bottom. After a while, it seemed to lighten, bending with the wind and forming a slight curve. The spout kept getting thinner and eventually became so thin that the wind blew it almost horizontally. It looked like it was separating from the sea, and as it thinned out like a ribbon, it disappeared. It had a dull, rainy color—above the white cloud I mentioned earlier, there was some bright blue sky, and the whole scene had a hazy look.

8th.—The weather cooler; for the last few days we have had heavy squalls, accompanied with thunder, lightning, and rain[476] in torrents. Ill from mal de mer: I know not when I have suffered so severely; the ship has a cargo of sugar, which is packed in hides: the rain has fallen in torrents, in sheets of water, as rain only falls, I think, in the bay of Bengal, a perfect deluge:—the hatches having been closed in consequence, a horrible effluvium has ascended to the cuddy: how people can live below deck is a miracle, in the heat and steam of those sweating hides! fortunately, no passengers are below, and sailors, poor fellows, endure and shrink not. An huppoo was seen to-day making its way to the ship, but weary from its long flight, and overpowered by the strong squall, it sank in the waters screaming. A flying-fish came on board, and one of the most elegantly-formed birds I ever saw, which they called a whale-bird, was caught in the rigging; its head beautifully marked, the body slight, its slender and powerful wings very long.

8th.—The weather has gotten cooler; for the last few days, we've had heavy storms with thunder, lightning, and rain[476] pouring down. I’ve been feeling really sick from seasickness: I can't remember feeling this bad. The ship is carrying a load of sugar packed in hides, and the rain has fallen in sheets, like a deluge that you only get in the Bay of Bengal. With the hatches closed because of the rain, a terrible smell has filled the cabin: it’s a miracle how people can stay below deck in the heat and steam from those sweat-soaked hides! Luckily, there are no passengers down there, and the sailors, poor guys, just endure it without complaining. We spotted a bird today trying to reach the ship, but it was exhausted from its long flight and got overwhelmed by the strong wind, sinking into the water while screaming. A flying fish made it on board, and we caught one of the most beautifully shaped birds I’ve ever seen, which they called a whale-bird, tangled in the rigging; its head was finely patterned, the body was slender, and its long, strong wings were impressive.

11th.—Off Madras.

11th.—Near Chennai.

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.

13th.—Opposite Centinel Island in the Andamans,—very little wind. It’s striking how quietly we’ve traveled down the Bay, except for a few squalls; at this time of year, we expected to face harsh weather. The weather is still hot, though it’s quite different from before; still, any effort feels like a major struggle.

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.

14th.—The moonlit evenings on the back of the ship are stunning. There's a nice breeze, and the ship is steady; it's heavily loaded and moves along quietly and smoothly, hardly rolling at all. What a difference from that awful "Carnatic!" By the way, I heard it was deemed unseaworthy in Calcutta; so I really dodged a bullet there.

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.

15th.—We’re eager to reach the western side of the Bay, but the winds are pushing us the other way; we’re close to the Nicobars, heading along the islands. I would really like to go ashore to see Lancour and my other friends, the Carnicobar-barians, one more time.

16th.—To-day we are only fifty miles from the great Nicobar, and shall soon get away from the islands, which will be pleasant; should a squall come on their vicinity is to be avoided. The[477] “Essex” has been very unfortunate this voyage: in coming out she lost her captain at the Cape; in Calcutta she lost her third mate, the cook, and six seamen. The property of the deceased seamen will be sold by auction on deck this evening.

16th.—Today, we are just fifty miles from the great Nicobar, and we’ll soon be leaving the islands, which will be nice; it's best to avoid the area if a squall hits. The[477] “Essex” has had a tough time this voyage: she lost her captain at the Cape; in Calcutta, she lost her third mate, the cook, and six crew members. The belongings of the deceased crew will be auctioned off 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.

17th.—We've passed Great Nicobar and are now in line with Acheen Point. The ship is cruising steadily through the water at 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.

18th.—A sudden squall hit during the night and broke the flying jib-boom in half; I woke up nearly being thrown out of my sea sofa. Since this is not a great time of year for a trip to England, we only have two other passengers on board besides us—and fortunately, they are really pleasant people. We now have two cabins on the poop, the cabin on the port side at the stern and the one next to it, so we are quite comfortable.

19th.—We are creeping away to the south; there is a swell, and we are looking out for the trade wind.

19th.—We're making our way south; there's a swell, and we're on the lookout 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.

20th.—Rain and calm—what a hassle! Oh! for a strong wind to take us with double-reefed topsails across the Equator, like we had on the “Madagascar!” Anything would be better than this awful calm. Who cares if a few spars break and more sails get torn if we can just move forward! We must be right on the Equator now: the mosquitoes haven't left my cabin; they’re really bothering me. Just as I hoped, at 4 PM, a squall hit and got us over the Equator.

21st.—A fine favourable breeze,—we flatter ourselves it may be the trade.

21st.—A nice, favorable breeze—we hope it might be the trade winds.

24th.—Squalls and calms.

24th.—Windy and still.

26th.—A heavy squall, which continued with lightning and rain in torrents from noon throughout the night: we are quite dispirited.

26th.—A strong storm hit, bringing lightning and heavy rain from noon all night long: we're feeling pretty down.

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.

28th.—I was happy to see the stunsails up this morning, and a nice sun was drying the deck: I really think we've caught the trade winds.

Oct. 3rd.—Never was there so unpleasant a wind as this south-east trade. It is very strong and constant, but is a succession[478] of squalls, both night and day. The ship lies over very much, and the waves burst upon her in a very disagreeable fashion; we have made 200 or 225 miles for some days, but these constant squalls are detestable. There comes the water rushing into the cuddy at this minute!—we are now about 400 miles from Madagascar.

Oct. 3rd.—I've never experienced such an unpleasant wind as this southeast trade. It's very strong and relentless, with a series of squalls both day and night. The ship is leaning quite a bit, and the waves crash against her in a really annoying way; we've covered about 200 or 225 miles recently, but these constant squalls are unbearable. Right now, water is rushing into the cabin!—we're currently 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.

5th.—I should point out that church services were always held on Sundays—unless, of course, a storm stopped it from happening. During the night, we passed by the Island of Rodorigos to the north; I couldn't see the land, which was just seven miles away, because our port was closed due to taking on water, making the cabin cold and damp.

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.

Horsburgh notes, “Hurricanes can occur here from the beginning of November until the end of March; in some years, there are two, but usually just one, and sometimes none. They hit with great force, starting from the south and shifting to the east, northeast, and northwest, where they gradually weaken after lasting about thirty-six hours. The fish caught here in deep water with hook and line are poisonous; however, those caught by the net near shore are good and safe to eat.” The land is high and uneven, with reefs and shallows surrounding it; the harbor is called Maturin’s Bay. The notable peak serves as a landmark.

8th.—Passed the Mauritius, and were opposite Bourbon, about two hundred miles south.

8th.—Passed Mauritius and were across from Bourbon, about two hundred miles to the south.

9th.—Crossed the Tropic.

9th.—Crossed the Tropic Line.

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.

10th.—Off Madagascar we got caught around noon in the tail end of a whirlwind; luckily, it was just the tail—the sailors said if we had been caught in the center and the ship wasn't prepared, it would have swept the masts overboard. Rain poured down heavily; a waterspout was spotted for a brief moment—and the wind, which had been favorable until then, turned completely against us.

15th.—This has proved a most uninteresting voyage as far as it has gone, nothing to be seen; one solitary albatross appears now and then, and a few Cape pigeons. The other day I saw a sperm whale blowing at a distance. There is nothing to look at but the boundless ocean; even the sunsets and sunrises[479] have not been remarkably fine,—no groups of glorious tints such as I beheld from the “Carnatic” on the other side the Line.

15th.—This voyage has been really boring so far, with nothing to see; just an occasional albatross and a few Cape pigeons. The other day, I spotted a sperm whale blowing a spout in the distance. There’s nothing to look at other than the endless ocean; even the sunsets and sunrises[479] haven’t been particularly impressive—no vibrant colors like I saw from the “Carnatic” on the other side of the equator.

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.

22nd.—Cold and gloomy. I saw a fin-back whale right behind us; two beautiful albatrosses and four Cape pigeons were floating on the water; some stormy petrels were flitting around, dipping their wings in the waves every few moments; and there were also two black Cape hens. The Cape pigeon's flight is really graceful, and the albatross glides along in the most impressive way.

23rd.—Lat. S. 33° 56′, Long. E. 29° 6′. A most stormy sunset: the sun, of a burning gold colour, descended behind a heavy bank of dark clouds,—its rays were fiercely bright: shortly afterwards a few spaces of deep fiery red alone remained visible, surrounded by heavy black clouds; on every side the grey clouds rose thick and foggy from the horizon, without any break,—dull and ominous. We were off Cape Hood, Cape of Good Hope. A strong gale arose, accompanied by sharp squalls; there was an immense swell upon the sea, the heavy waves rolled up with great violence, their heads covered with foam, breaking and roaring as they dashed against the ship, and the wind blew in furious gusts. The “Essex” was about two hundred miles from the land when the gale began,—it continued all night without intermission; the dead-lights were put into the poop stern windows, and into all the ports. Early in the morning I saw that my husband had quitted his couch in the stern cabin, and was sitting in a chair, apparently unable to cross the cabin, from the violence of the pitching; he had left his couch because it had become unsafe, the lashings and the cleets having given way. I assisted him into my cabin, and he lay down on the sofa; he was quite ill,—so cold and wretched, from exposure during the night. His kindness and consideration had prevented his calling me, being unwilling to awake me, imagining I was asleep, and unconscious of the heavy gale that was raging around us. My ayha, who usually got up before daybreak, to smoke her hooqŭ in the galley, made an effort to quit the cabin; I desired her not to attempt to move, or she would be thrown down from the pitching and[480] rolling of the vessel; but the moment my eye was off her away she went: she met another ayha in the passage, who said, “Are you mad, that you want to go and smoke in such a gale as this?” My ayha, who would sell her soul for half a dozen whiffs of tobacco, persisted in going; she had not got half way through the cuddy when she fell, and I heard a violent scream. The cuddy servants ran to her assistance, and found she had broken her leg just above the ankle; the bone was through the flesh, and the wound bled very much. The medical man set her leg, and with great difficulty we had her removed into the stern cabin, where we secured her as well as we were able, but not until some time had passed, as the large heavy toon-wood couch in the stern cabin had started from its moorings, and, turning over topsy-turvy, had dashed across the cabin, breaking and throwing down the table, and carrying away the trunks. Never was there such confusion as the furniture made in the cabin, pitching from side to side with the roll of the vessel. At length the carpenter secured the frisky couch, bound up the wounds of the table, and relashed them all. By this time the sea was breaking over the stern windows, and dashing into the cabin, in spite of the dead-lights, and into the quarter-gallery; much damage was done on the poop. The medical man, knowing that leeches sold at the Cape for half-a-crown apiece, on account of there being none but those that are imported, on which a heavy duty is paid, took 10,000 of them from Calcutta, secured in large earthen pots (gharās) full of soft mud, which were all placed on the poop, in a small boat called “Little Poppet.” The water cistern gave way, and dashing against “Little Poppet,” upset her, broke all the gharās, and the sea-water killed the leeches. The cutter that hung over the quarter was turned up on one side by the force of the wind, dashed against the side of the “Essex,” was greatly injured, and rendered utterly useless; three of her oars fell into the sea, and were borne away, but the sailors secured the boat.

23rd.—Lat. S. 33° 56′, Long. E. 29° 6′. A very stormy sunset: the sun, a bright gold color, sank behind a thick bank of dark clouds, its rays shining fiercely. Shortly after, only a few patches of deep fiery red remained visible, surrounded by heavy black clouds; all around, the grey clouds rose thick and foggy from the horizon, with no break—dull and foreboding. We were off Cape Hood, Cape of Good Hope. A strong wind kicked up, accompanied by sharp squalls; there was a massive swell on the sea, with heavy waves crashing violently, their tops frothing and roaring as they slammed against the ship, while the wind blew in fierce gusts. The “Essex” was about two hundred miles from land when the storm began— it lasted all night without pause; we shut the deadlights in the poop stern windows and in all the portholes. Early in the morning, I saw that my husband had gotten out of his bed in the stern cabin and was sitting in a chair, seemingly unable to cross the cabin due to the violent pitching; he had left his bed because it became unsafe, since the lashings and cleats had come loose. I helped him into my cabin, and he lay down on the sofa; he looked quite ill—so cold and miserable from being exposed all night. His thoughtfulness prevented him from waking me, as he didn’t want to disturb my sleep, thinking I was unaware of the severe storm raging around us. My ayha, who usually got up before dawn to smoke her hookah in the galley, tried to leave the cabin; I told her not to move, or she’d be tossed around by the ship's pitching and rolling. But as soon as I looked away, she went for it: she ran into another ayha in the passage, who said, “Are you crazy, wanting to go smoke in a storm like this?” My ayha, who would do anything for a few puffs of tobacco, insisted on going; she hadn’t even made it halfway through the cuddy when she fell, and I heard a loud scream. The cuddy servants rushed to help her and found she had broken her leg just above the ankle; the bone was sticking out through the flesh, and there was a lot of bleeding. The doctor set her leg, and with great difficulty, we managed to get her into the stern cabin, where we secured her as best we could, but it took some time, as the large heavy toon-wood couch in the stern cabin had come loose and, tipping over, crashed across the cabin, breaking and toppling the table and scattering the trunks. There was never such chaos as the furniture moving from side to side with the ship’s roll. Finally, the carpenter secured the restless couch, patched up the table’s wounds, and re-tied everything. By this time, the sea was splashing over the stern windows and flooding into the cabin, despite the dead-lights, and into the quarter-gallery; a lot of damage was done on the poop. The doctor, knowing that leeches sold at the Cape for half-a-crown each due to being imported and thus heavily taxed, brought 10,000 of them from Calcutta, stored in large earthen pots (gharās) filled with soft mud, which were all placed on the poop in a small boat called “Little Poppet.” The water cistern broke, slamming against “Little Poppet,” capsizing it, breaking all the gharās, and the sea water killed the leeches. The cutter hanging over the quarter was blown over on its side by the strong wind, smashed against the side of the “Essex,” was severely damaged, and rendered completely useless; three of its oars fell into the sea and were swept away, but the sailors managed to secure the boat.

By noon on the 24th (Lat. S. 33° 45′, Long. E. 28°), the current had carried the vessel one hundred and twenty miles nearer the land, which was now only eighty miles distant; we were[481] driving almost under bare poles, the violence of the wind not allowing any sail but one small one; another, which they wished to set, was twice blown to pieces, and could not be carried. The waves were striking the vessel in the most frightful manner, roaring in concert with the gale, and jostling and rolling against the ship as if they were ready to engulf her. Nevertheless the “Essex” bore bravely on; her captain put her about, and we ran down the side of the land for some distance. To sleep—to rest, with so furious a gale blowing, was impossible; and how the time passed I hardly remember, for day and night it was the same—pitch, pitch, roll, roll,—and the same roar: all night long two seamen were baling out the water from our cabins,—the waves poured constantly into the cuddy ports on one side, and rolled out on the other. We sat down to dinner, a plate of food was brought to each person, and we held on and ate as we could; every now and then an officer came down for ten minutes, took his food as hastily as possible, and returned instantly to the poop,—it was an anxious time.

By noon on the 24th (Lat. S. 33° 45′, Long. E. 28°), the current had moved the ship a hundred and twenty miles closer to land, which was now just eighty miles away; we were[481] sailing almost without any sails up—the strong wind made it impossible to use more than one small sail. Another sail we tried to set was ripped to shreds twice and couldn’t be used. The waves were crashing against the ship terrifyingly, roaring along with the wind, jostling and rolling against her as if they were about to swallow her whole. Still, the “Essex” pressed on bravely; her captain turned her around, and we sailed down the coast for a while. Sleeping—even resting—was impossible with such a fierce storm raging, and how time passed is a blur, as it felt the same day and night—pitch, pitch, roll, roll—and the never-ending roar: all night, two crew members were bailing water out of our cabins—the waves continuously flooded into the side ports and rolled out of the other side. We sat down to dinner, a plate of food was served to each of us, and we held on while we ate as best as we could; occasionally, an officer would come down for ten minutes, grab his food as quickly as possible, and rush back to the deck—it was a tense 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[482] called to the men to hold on; they were prepared,—and well for them they were so: with a tremendous roll the vessel was pitched over almost on her beam-ends; the thing was so sudden, and the officers were so blinded by the spray and wind, that they could not tell whether the whirlwind passed by the stern or the head of the vessel. Almost as quickly as the wind struck her on the weather side it was round to the other, and the ship was taken aback, or brought by the lee.

About 4 P.M. on the second day, the thunder rolled heavily, the lightning was bright, and hail fell in heavy showers. The chief officer grabbed a handful of the large hail and handed it to me on a plate at the cuddy door, where I entertained myself by eating it and watching the scene. Around this time, the situation of the vessel became critical: the first officer asked the captain to take a look at what was coming down on the weather side; he couldn't identify what it was, having never seen anything like it before. The wind whipped up the foam of the sea, swirling it around in thick masses like smoke; it blew hard, and the spray hit the officers' faces with such force that at times they couldn’t see. Not a minute passed before the whirlwind struck the vessel on her weather side, and the blast was completely hot! The captain shouted for the men to hold on; they were ready—and good thing they were. With a tremendous roll, the vessel was pitched almost onto her side; it happened so suddenly, and the officers were so blinded by the spray and wind that they couldn't tell if the whirlwind passed by the stern or the bow of the vessel. Almost as quickly as the wind hit her on the weather side, it shifted to the other, and the ship was taken aback, or caught 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.

The big waves were crashing, breaking, and slamming against her; one massive wave hit the ship's hull, pulled out a couple of long iron bolts, and loosened the front part. The thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and every five minutes, hail pelted the decks like a shower of marbles. Finally, the horizon cleared, and the brave ship, rising over the swell, continued on her journey filled with joy. Yet the original storm kept raging, and the heavy, rolling sea was a beautiful but terrifying sight. A lesson in calmness could be learned from a small detail: while the wind howled fiercely and the waves towered with foam, on the sheltered side of the ship, I spotted a stormy petrel, such a tiny little bird, floating on the waves, rising and falling with them so peacefully and composedly. It seemed amazing that the wind didn't sweep it off the surface and pull it under. But there the little bird floated and floated, rising and sinking, and was smart enough not to spread its wings for even a second or try 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].

25th.—We sailed out to sea against the north-west wind; it was tough for both the ship and the crew. They managed to get a good distance from the shore, and we changed direction opposite Algoa Bay. The wind calmed down, the waves settled, and only a long swell remained—the heartbeat of the ocean after the storm it had just been through[55].

Unless in mountains like the Himalaya there is nothing in nature so beautifully grand as a storm at sea.

Unless in mountains like the Himalayas, there's nothing in nature as beautifully grand as a storm at sea.

[483]

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.

How much joy can be felt during a storm! How energizing and beautiful is the scene! Who can watch the fast-moving clouds or the crashing waves topped with foam without feeling pleasure? Who can inhale the fresh and invigorating air of a strong wind and not feel their spirits lift? All those feelings, often mocked as romantic, that shy away from the world's gaze and hide deep within the heart, are brought out in such moments. Memories of everything lovely in poetry, everything that delights in song, everything that perfectly matches the wild weather come flooding back: the spirits soar, and there’s probably nothing in this world that can be enjoyed more 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!

The confidence sailors have in their skills and resources, their patience, positivity, and good humor during tough times, shares some of that spirit with those around them. I felt more inclined to enjoy the storm than to fear it when I was on deck with the officers, but at night, alone in my dark cabin, with water splashing in and the dim candle flickering, I have to admit I thought about how awful it would feel to be thrown into one of those crashing waves, the cold shock, and the fear of a 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.

We were in the hands of the one who calms the raging waves; I thought of the calmness of the little bird and never let any signs of fear escape my lips or show on my face. The officers could finally get some rest; they must have been worn out since they had barely left the poop for a moment, day or night. Their eyes were red and bulging—imagine how deeply they must have slept when they finally managed to turn in! I could have enjoyed the storm, but my poor ayha worried me—having a broken leg, it was terrifying to be tossed around in such a storm, even though she received all the care and attention possible. I didn’t suffer from seasickness and was moving around 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.

26th.—This was a day of calm and rest for the tired; also a day to fix the damage caused by the storm. I believe everyone on board felt deep gratitude for the safety we were given during the storm.

[484]

27th.—Our course regained, the “Essex” sailed quietly on.

27th.—With our path set again, the “Essex” sailed smoothly 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!

28th.—At sunrise, I was urgently called to the back of the ship to see something amazing in the sky. Right above where the sun was fighting to rise from behind a layer of reddish-grey clouds, there was a long white cloud stretching across the bright blue sky, shaped exactly like an Archimedes screw. I added it, along with the sunset from the night before the storm, to my collection of “Sketches at Sea.” If I ever reach old age—or rather, get older—how nice it will be to look back on these sketches and remember the past!

[485]

CHAPTER LXXI.
SKETCHES AT SEA—AFRICAN MOUNTAINS—THE GOODBYE.

“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.

The Buffalo—The Quoin—Cape Agulhas—Hangclip—Cape of Storms—Robben Island—Table Bay—Cape Town—Green Point—Lion's Head—St. Helena—Flying Fish—Blue Fish—Ascension Island—Sea Burial—A Sailor’s Resting Place—A Chinese Calculation—Waterspouts—The Western Isles—St. Michael’s—Pico—Fayal—Christmas Eve—The good Ship “Essex”—Arrival in England—The Pilgrim’s Farewell.

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.

1845, Oct. 29th.—At 9 AM I was called on deck to see the mountains of Africa. The Buffalo, or more specifically its high peak, loomed dark and clear against the white clouds below, which covered the entire length of the mountains. Here and there, a summit could be seen, and the land and hills beneath the clouds were fairly clear. The sky was the brightest, clearest shade of cobalt blue, with white clouds streaking across it in every direction; the clouds were pushed to the right by the wind, while their tops seemed to drift back to the left, as if they were meets with an opposing air current above. Soon after I sketched the Buffalo's distinctive black peak, a mist rolled in over the mountains, the wind shifted, we drifted further out to sea, and the mountain line became too vague to be a good subject for drawing. The deep sea brought up a good number of small shells.

[486]

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.”

Nov. 1st.—The Quoin is twelve miles away from the “Essex,” E. by N., ½ N., and fifty-seven miles from Cape—Sandy Bay is located between the two points. The Gunner’s Quoin is about three or four leagues from Cape Agulhas, which it resembles. Cape Agulhas, or Lagullas, was named by its discoverers, the Portuguese, Aguilhas, or Needle’s Cape, because the magnetic needle showed no variation there at the time:—the Portuguese name has been altered by English sailors to Lagullas, or Lagullus. Hangclip was the next notable landmark. Horsburgh notes, “False Bay is bounded by the Cape of Good Hope on the west side and Cape False to the east, the latter being a steep bluff that resembles a Quoin and can be seen from eight leagues away, appearing to lean to the west when viewed from the south, which is likely why the Dutch called it Hangclip, although it’s sometimes referred to as 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.

The outline of the African Mountains looked really unusual as we got closer to the Capo-del-Tornados, or Cape of Storms, which is what the first Portuguese discoverers called the Cape of Good Hope before they changed it to Capo del Buon Esperanza. From sixteen miles away, we could see the Capo-del-Tornados itself, right next to it was the Peak; the high land in False Bay stood out, and in the distance, between these points, you could catch a glimpse of the back of Table Mountain. The scene was very captivating as we sailed along the mountain range, and the clear weather let us see them beautifully. Hout’s Bay was very picturesque; deep shadows fell around the base of the mountains, and the warm light of the setting sun highlighted their peaks.

Sunday, 2nd.—At sunrise the scene was beautiful; we gazed on the Lion Mountain opening Green Point,—the Table Mountain was of a very dark plum colour, in strong contrast with the glowing brilliancy of the rising sun, and a dark cloud hung upon the flat surface of the mountain-top. On the opposite side, as we entered Table Bay, lay Robbin or Penguin Island, with breakers to the left,—the Whale also, a sunken rock over which the[487] waves constantly break. The dark Blueberg Mountains to the right finished the picture.

Sunday, 2nd.—At sunrise, the landscape was stunning; we looked at Lion Mountain opening toward Green Point. Table Mountain showed a very dark plum color, which stood out sharply against the brilliant glow of the rising sun, and a dark cloud lingered over the flat top of the mountain. On the other side, as we entered Table Bay, we saw Robbin or Penguin Island, with breaking waves to the left—also, there was the Whale, a submerged rock that the[487] waves continuously crashed against. The dark Blueberg Mountains to the right completed the scene.

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.

Anchored in Table Bay during a thick cold fog at 10 AM—we checked into a hotel on Heerengracht. The rooms felt really hot at night and were quite uncomfortable after the fresh sea air. In the evening, we drove to a friend's house in the Camp Ground and picked a lovely 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.

My first thought when I arrived in Southern Africa was of the Mountain, and my next thought was of the flowers. A strelitzia was given to me; it's a native bulb plant in Africa, and as one flower fades, another one blooms. On our way back to the ship, I took the strelitzia on board and enjoyed watching the new flowers open up for several days. You can get a great view of Cape Town from Heerengracht, just below Messrs. Dickson and Burnie's; it includes George's Hotel, which is now run by a guy named Duke, the large trees in front, the Dutch Reform Church, and Table Mountain in the background. Another good spot is Market Square, with its fountain in the center, St. George’s Church, the Town Hall, and the Dutch and Hottentot vendors selling fruits and vegetables at their stalls in what they call the Green Market.

Mr. Robertson, a stationer in the Heerengracht, has some admirable water-colour drawings for sale, portraits of the natives of Africa.

Mr. Robertson, a stationery seller on Heerengracht, has some amazing watercolor paintings for sale, portraits of native Africans.

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.

7th.—Drove to Green Point with the captain of the “Essex” to check out the lighthouse. I climbed up to the roof through a narrow opening and was well rewarded for my effort by the stunning view. The beach was covered with shells, broken into tiny pieces by the crashing waves. The view from the rocks at the end of Green Point, overlooking Camp’s Bay, is really beautiful.

10th.—Visited my ayha, whom I had been obliged to send to the hospital on account of the accident which she met with on board, and found her quite comfortable. The poor woman was very glad to see me, and I arranged for her return to Calcutta. I bought a kaross of eighteen heads, as it is technically called,[488] the sole garment worn by the Kafirs, for four pounds; it is very large and handsome, consisting of skins of the red jackal. With the exception of the kaross the Kafir is entirely unincumbered with clothing; these skins are much sought after by officers on service, which is perhaps the reason they are so expensive in Cape Town.

10th.—I visited my ayha, who I had to send to the hospital because of the accident she had on board, and found her doing well. She was very happy to see me, and I made arrangements for her return to Calcutta. I bought a kaross, which is what it’s called, made from eighteen heads, for four pounds; it's very large and nice, made from red jackal skins. Other than the kaross, the Kafirs wear very little clothing; these skins are in high demand by officers on duty, which might explain why they are so pricey in Cape Town.[488]

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.

The “Essex” was held at the Cape because it needed repairs due to the damage it sustained during the storm; today, after being reported seaworthy, we went 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.

11th.—At 10 A.M. the “Essex” left Table Bay. It was a beautiful day—the white clouds from a south-easterly wind were rising over the Table Land—the sea was a bright, transparent green, with white waves crashing on every crest, and the sky was the color of the clearest 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.

As you pass Robbin or Penguin Island, Lion Mountain looks quite a bit like a lion resting, which is where it gets its name. The back of the lion is made up of the mountain where the telegraph stands. It would have made a great sketch, showing the back of Table Mountain with Devil's Peak to the right, the Lion in front, and Robbin Island to the side. The latter is a low, long, sandy island with a few houses, and it appears very desolate. We covered a distance of two hundred and nine miles.

18th.—Rolling down to St. Helena with a fair breeze in most agreeable style.

18th.—Cruising down to St. Helena with a pleasant breeze in a very enjoyable way.

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.

21st.—It was a gorgeous and bright day. I went on deck around 11 Morning. to catch a glimpse of St. Helena in the distance: I sketched the island from the forecastle and paid for my view. The island was located N.N.W., eight miles away: Diana’s Peak, standing at two thousand six hundred and ninety-two feet, seemed to be almost in the center: the Needles and Speery were very clear, as was Sandy Bay Point.

St. Helena was discovered by the Portuguese in 1508, on the festival of St. Helena, the mother of the Emperor Constantine the Great. It was taken from the Dutch in 1674 by Admiral[489] Munden, and presented to the East India Company by Charles II.; and it was given up by the Hon. Company to the English Government for the residence of the Emperor Buonaparte. Length of the island, ten miles and a half; breadth, six and three-quarters; circumference at the water’s edge, thirty miles; twelve hundred miles west of Africa, and eighteen hundred east of America. Whales are found off the island. It contains four thousand inhabitants, and thirty thousand acres of arable and pasture land. The air is salubrious, the valleys are fruitful, and flocks of wild goats browze on the hills.

St. Helena was discovered by the Portuguese in 1508, on the feast day of St. Helena, the mother of Emperor Constantine the Great. It was taken from the Dutch in 1674 by Admiral[489] Munden and given to the East India Company by Charles II.; it was then handed over by the Hon. Company to the English Government for the residence of Emperor Buonaparte. The island is ten and a half miles long, six and three-quarters miles wide, and has a circumference of thirty miles at the water's edge. It lies twelve hundred miles west of Africa and eighteen hundred miles east of America. Whales can be found off the island. It has four thousand residents and thirty thousand acres of farmland and pasture. The air is healthy, the valleys are fruitful, and flocks of wild goats graze 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.

The island is a pile of rocks sticking out of the sea; the only two places to land are at St. James’s Town, the capital, and Sandy Bay. When St. Helena was five miles southwest, the view was especially great: you could see George’s Island, as well as Hercules Island, the flagstaff, Barn Point, Sugarloaf Hill, and the plantation at Longwood. The sharp peaks of the rocks in the distance, which lean away from each other, are quite striking.

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.

There’s another great view of the island in front of Barn Cliff, named for its imagined resemblance to a large barn. Sugar-loaf Hill gets its name from its cone shape. I heard that Sandy Bay is definitely worth a visit, with its beautiful scenery—which I can easily picture, considering the wild shapes of the rocks surrounding it from afar.

Opening St. Helena Bay, at the base of the Sugar-loaf, are three batteries, called Buttermilk and Bank’s Upper and Lower Batteries, at a small distance from each other. We came to anchor off James’s Town, near the high perpendicular rock of Ladder Hill, surmounted by its battery and telegraph, above which, in the distance, High Knoll is to be seen. Diana’s Peak, the highest point in the island, is two thousand six hundred and ninety-two feet high; High Peak, or High Knoll, a conical hill, south-west, is about fifty feet less elevated than the former. The rock rises eight hundred feet perpendicular from the sea, with a heavy battery of guns upon it, that command the south-west entrance to the valley and anchorage. James’s Valley is also protected by a high wall and strong line of cannon close to[490] the sea. The Ladder contains six hundred and seventy steps. The flag-staff is in the Government gardens, above the battery. Munden’s Fort and Batteries command the side of James’s Valley, and Rupert’s Battery is at the bottom of a valley of that name.

Opening St. Helena Bay, at the base of Sugarloaf Mountain, are three batteries known as Buttermilk and Bank's Upper and Lower Batteries, located not too far from each other. We dropped anchor off James's Town, close to the high, steep rock of Ladder Hill, which has its own battery and telegraph. In the distance, you can see High Knoll. Diana's Peak, the highest point on the island, stands at two thousand six hundred and ninety-two feet, while High Peak, or High Knoll, a cone-shaped hill to the southwest, is about fifty feet shorter than it. The rock rises eight hundred feet straight up from the sea, topped with a heavy battery of guns that oversee the southwest entrance to the valley and anchorage. James's Valley is also protected by a high wall and a strong line of cannons near the sea. The Ladder has six hundred and seventy steps. The flagstaff is situated in the Government gardens, above the battery. Munden's Fort and Batteries oversee the side of James's Valley, and Rupert's Battery is located at the bottom of a valley by the same 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.

We dropped anchor just before 5 PM: it was really cold, with the wind whipping down the valley straight onto the anchorage. The sunset was beautiful, surrounded by dark clouds, contrasting with patches of bright crimson; and to the right, the dark cliff of St. Helena shot up from the sea. The more I look at this bleak and rocky island, the stronger my sympathy and interest in Buonaparte's fate becomes.

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.

The young officers are in great spirits, fishing off the back of the ship; they've just caught two small silver mackerel. The gun fires at 9 PM, after which no boat is allowed to leave the island, and no one is permitted to come ashore. I'm worried I won't be able to visit Sandy Bay on the other side of the island; an officer from the “Winchelsea” advised me not to miss seeing that bay under any circumstances. He mentioned it would take sixty-two days to get from the Cape to England, and eleven to reach St. Helena; we made it here in ten days and a quarter. The captain of the “Essex” came on deck just before we anchored, and he looked very, very ill—horribly so, in my opinion.

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.

22nd.—It was a rainy and cold morning; the weather cleared up around noon, so I went ashore and climbed the steps of Ladder Hill for a while—they're almost vertical; I ran out of time and couldn't reach the top of the six hundred and seventy steps. I admired the beautiful church just inside the gateway and checked out the market; beef and mutton were ten pence to one shilling per pound; grapes had just arrived, costing two shillings and sixpence per pound; the peaches were bad, the loquats were the same, and there were only a few vegetables; beetroot and cabbage were good, but everything else was quite expensive.

A good sketch of the town may be taken from the upper end of the principal street, looking towards the sea. Walked over the Government gardens, in which is a cenotaph, in memory of the officers and men who died in the “Waterwitch” off different[491] parts of the coast of Africa. In a hut near the beach I saw a dried flying-fish, sixteen or eighteen inches in length,—offered the man a shilling for it, which he refused; they are found now and then in the boats off the rocks, into which they sometimes happen to fly or fall; the largest found at St. Helena are twenty-four inches in length, and are very delicate food.

A good view of the town can be seen from the upper end of the main street, looking towards the sea. I walked through the Government gardens, which has a cenotaph in memory of the officers and men who died on the "Waterwitch" along various parts of the African coast.[491] Near the beach, I saw a dried flying fish, about sixteen or eighteen inches long. I offered the man a shilling for it, but he refused. These fish are occasionally found in boats off the rocks, where they sometimes fly or fall. The largest ones found at St. Helena can reach twenty-four inches long and are considered a 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.

I went down to the bottom of the cliff under Ladder Hill, where the waves crashed over a beautiful reef of rocks that jutted out into the sea in a really scenic way; an old anchor was resting on one of them, and beyond it lay a cannon—the sight of the anchor on the rocks was striking. Several boys were fishing there; they brought me some blue fish, which are stunning, with a rich deep purplish-blue color, mixed with crimson streaks—they're considered a real delicacy. They showed me some lovely fish, spotted with red—these are also quite good to eat. I picked up some black sea urchins, young crabs, and limpets; the French eat the latter. I returned on board, much to my dismay—I could have spent the day happily on the rocks that stick out below the great cliff where the Ladder is built. At 5 Afternoon, the “Essex” fired a gun; the anchor was raised, which looked like tough work in such deep water, and we set sail for old England once again.

23rd.—The captain dangerously ill.

23rd.—The captain is critically 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.

26th.—Since we left St. Helena, we've had great daily progress straight towards Ascension, and the ship has been so steady that we can hardly feel any movement.

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.

27th.—Passed Ascension around 6 PM: the island looks like a group of conical mountains. One small rise, Cross Hill, gets its name from the cross that sits on top of it. Green Mountain is the tallest point on the island; from certain angles, it appears to have a twin 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.

30th.—Worship service. We crossed the equator with a breeze of seven and a half knots. One of the officers reminded me that he was on the “Madagascar” with me when we crossed the line again under reefed topsails.

Dec. 1st.—A fine favourable breeze. The captain is very ill;[492] I fear he is sinking into his grave. He was in delicate health before the gale, and the exertion he underwent at that time was too much for him; there is but faint hope of his recovery.

Dec. 1st.—A nice, favorable breeze. The captain is very sick;[492] I fear he is slipping away. He was in poor health before the storm, and the effort he put in during that time was too much for him; there is little hope for his recovery.

5th.—Picked up the north-east trade. The captain’s illness increased at night, and about ten o’clock he expired.

5th.—Picked up the north-east trade. The captain's illness worsened at night, and around ten o'clock he passed away.

6th.—At 10 A.M. the funeral took place: the corpse having been sewed up in canvas was placed on the main hatch, with the colours spread over it: when the ceremony of the burial of the dead commenced, the body was placed with the feet to the open gangway, on a plank, in a sloping position; the colours had been thrown over it, but you could trace the form of the corpse through them. When the words, “We commit this body to the deep,” were pronounced, the men who stood by the corpse launched it forwards into the sea, and it sank immediately. The chief officer read the service,—he was deeply affected; the captain had been his friend, and he had attended him during his illness with the greatest solicitude; he read the service in a broken and trembling voice,—the tears rolling down his cheeks,—he could scarcely master his agony. It is a fearful sight to witness such a struggle in a firm and powerful man. He was performing the request of his departed friend: a few days before, when he informed the captain of his danger; the latter looked surprised, and said, “Well, B⸺, my good fellow, I have but one request to make,—give me a sailor’s grave.” The next day he arranged his worldly affairs, and was employed in devotion. Mr. B⸺ bore up during the life of his friend, but to part with him,—to commit his body to the deep,—to read the service over him,—must have been a bitter trial. The crew were all present, and tears ran down many a hardy sunburnt face; the captain was greatly beloved both by the officers and men. The passengers appeared in mourning at the funeral. The day was a most lovely one,—the bright waves flew by the ship as the trade wind bore her onwards, and the breeze tempered the heat of the sun. I thought of the festering and air-poisoning churchyards of London, and felt, as far as I am concerned, how much I should prefer a sailor’s grave,—the[493] bright wave dashing o’er me, and the pure air above, to the heavy sod and the crowded churchyard.

6th.—At 10 A.M. the funeral took place: the body was wrapped in canvas and placed on the main hatch, covered with the ship's colors. When the burial ceremony started, the body was positioned with its feet towards the open gangway, resting on a plank at an angle; the colors were laid over it, yet you could see the shape of the body through them. When the words, "We commit this body to the deep," were spoken, the men standing by launched it forward into the sea, where it sank immediately. The chief officer read the service, deeply affected; the captain had been his friend, and he had cared for him during his illness with great concern. He read the service in a shaking voice, tears streaming down his cheeks, barely able to control his sorrow. It was a heartbreaking sight to see such struggle in a strong and sturdy man. He was fulfilling the last request of his departed friend; just a few days earlier, when he had alerted the captain to his danger, the captain had looked surprised and said, "Well, B⸺, my good fellow, I have just one request to make—give me a sailor’s grave." The next day, he sorted out his affairs and spent time in prayer. Mr. B⸺ held it together while his friend was alive, but to say goodbye—to commit his body to the deep—to read the service over him—must have been a painful ordeal. The entire crew was present, and tears fell from many weathered, sunburnt faces; the captain was deeply loved by both the officers and the men. The passengers wore mourning attire for the funeral. The day was beautiful—the bright waves surged past the ship as the trade wind carried her forward, and the breeze softened the sun's warmth. I thought about the decaying, air-polluted graveyards of London and felt that, for my part, I would much rather have a sailor's grave—the[493] bright wave crashing over me and the fresh air above than the heavy earth and the crowded cemetery.

WATERSPOUTS.
WATERSPOUTS.

Sketched on the Spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched on the Spot by Fanny Parks

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.

7th.—And now once more for England. Saw a pod of whales—the finback; one of them was near the ship, spouting water about six feet high; the large Greenland whale sprays 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.

A Chinese calculation was shown to us in the evening, which is worth the effort to uncover: take a deck of cards—the ace counts as one, and the jack, queen, and king count as ten each; look at the top card (let’s say it’s an ace), place it face up on the table, and add cards to it to make twelve—that is, lay eleven cards on top of the ace. Next, take the next card from the deck (let’s say it’s a jack), put it face down, count it as ten, and add two cards on top of it to total twelve; then take the next card (say a four), place it in the same way, and add eight cards to it to reach twelve, counting each card as one. Do this for the entire deck; there may be some leftover cards, set them aside. The magician will then see the number of piles and the leftover cards, and will be able to calculate the total of the pips on the bottom cards, which he hasn’t seen, that are face down on the table. This calculation is clever and can be understood using 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.

14th.—The nine-knot breeze is still going strong, just like it has for the past two days; and the “SX” is swaying so much that I can hardly 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;[494] it was of considerable size, and whirled and foamed very distinctly; fortunately it passed astern until it gained the point where the first waterspout had been seen, of which a portion above was still visible. Captain B⸺ fired a cannon at it, which appeared to have little or no effect: very heavy clouds were all around the vessel, but as soon as the spouts disappeared in the south-west, the sun came out brilliant as usual. I sketched the second spout just as it came astern, and a remnant of the upper part of the former waterspout was in the distance.

17th.—Lat. N. 32° 15′, long. W. 27° 55′. At noon, there were heavy clouds surrounding us, and a waterspout appeared behind us; it was quite far away. The sea swirled and rose to meet it to a great height; this lasted for about twenty minutes, and it was too distant to cause us any harm. The trade winds were strong, and we were cruising at nine knots an hour. At the same time, another waterspout appeared about three miles off to starboard—it was approaching the ship from the southeast; it was fairly large and whirled and foamed quite noticeably; fortunately, it passed behind us until it reached the spot where the first waterspout had been spotted, with a portion of the upper part still visible. Captain B⸺ fired a cannon at it, which seemed to have little or no impact: very heavy clouds surrounded the ship, but as soon as the spouts vanished in the southwest, the sun shone as brilliantly as ever. I sketched the second spout just as it came behind us, with a remnant of the upper part of the previous waterspout visible in the distance.

21st.—Passed St. Michael’s to the westward, of which we had a distant view.

21st.—We passed St. Michael’s on the west side, where we got a glimpse of it from a distance.

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.

22nd.—At 7 AM we got a great view of the Island of Pico, with its impressive peak towering above the clouds. An hour later, we had an even clearer look at its bell-shaped summit, which rises eleven thousand feet above the sea. We could see the smoke from fires burning on the mountain.

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 10 AM, we left Fayal, and the white buildings of the town seemed to emerge from the dark water, creating a striking effect. The lookouts are on the cliff. The distant blue land we spotted behind the town is St. George’s Island. As we moved past Fayal, the Convent, located almost in the center of the island, was clearly visible; there seemed to be some artwork on the outside walls. The vineyards looked lush and green.

At the end of the Island of Fayal is a curious and insulated rock; the turbulent sea has worn a deep cavern in this rock, through which the light is visible. Above, on the main land, are steep perpendicular cliffs; some are of the colour of burnt terra di sienna, others of a bright deep reddish brown: the shadows were heavy, and a brilliant light was caught upon the cliffs—a tremendous swell from the north-east was dashing in breakers half-way up the lofty cliff. I think I never saw breakers rise so high before—on the horizon was a fog-bank—the cavern bearing east four or five miles. The day was beautiful and most favourable: I was delighted with this passing[495] view of the Western Isles, very much gratified; the air was sharp and cold, the sunshine brilliant; and I believe every one on board enjoyed the scene.

At the end of the Island of Fayal, there's a curious, isolated rock; the rough sea has carved a deep cave into this rock, through which light shines. Above, on the mainland, are steep sheer cliffs; some are the color of burnt sienna, while others are a bright, deep reddish-brown: the shadows were heavy, and bright light sparkled off the cliffs—huge waves from the northeast were crashing halfway up the tall cliff. I don't think I've ever seen waves rise so high before—there was a fog bank on the horizon—the cave was located four or five miles east. The day was beautiful and very favorable: I was thrilled with this fleeting view of the Western Isles, feeling quite pleased; the air was sharp and cold, the sunshine bright; and I believe everyone on board enjoyed the scene.

PICO.
PICO.

Sketched on the Spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎
Sketched on the Spot by فانی پارکس

23rd.—The Western Isles invisible.

23rd.—The Western Isles are hidden.

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.

24th.—The day was chilly and damp, almost still. At night, the sailors launched a tar-barrel with a fire in it, which blazed as it floated away; a seafaring way 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.

25th.—A cold, damp day with rain and fog. Worship was held in the cabin. The sea was nearly 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.

31st.—With a nice wind, we're going nine knots off the Lizard and looking forward to the end of our journey; however, I can't leave the ship without mentioning how pleased we've been with all the arrangements on board, which reflect great credit on the ship's owners. The commanding officer's attention to our needs and comfort has alleviated the frustrations that old travelers like us typically face during a sea voyage. The ship is well-staffed, the food is excellent and plentiful, every consideration is given to the passengers, and the “Essex” is a great 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.

1846, Jan. 1st.—At 6 P.M., off Portland Race, it was freezing cold, and I started to wonder if it was really possible to live 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.

2nd.—Off Folkstone, at 2 P.M.—I left the “Essex” in a Deal boat, bouncing over the waves with the biting cold wind; I arrived at Folkstone in about four hours, feeling half starved, cold, and hungry, and sought refuge at the Pavilion Hotel, where a nice dinner and the treats of local oysters and fresh butter made us forget all our hardships.

3rd.—Started per train at 7 A.M., and found ourselves once more in London.

3rd.—Caught the train at 7 AM and arrived back in London.

[496]

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.

And now the traveler puts down her staff and takes the scallop shell from her hat—her journeys are over—she has left the East, maybe for good: surrounded in the peaceful home of her homeland by the curiosities, the strange creatures, and the idols that came with her from India, she looks around and reminisces about the days that have passed.

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 resources she discovers in her memories, the joy she gets from her sketches, and the melancholic ocean waves[56], her constant companions, create a life for her that is separate from her own life.

“THE NARRATION OF PLEASURE IS BETTER THAN THE PLEASURE ITSELF[57].”

“DESCRIBING PLEASURE IS MORE ENJOYABLE 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,

And to those kind friends who encouraged her to publish the story of her travels, she offers her heartfelt thanks for the joy this process has brought her. She asks them to read her journey with understanding, while she also keeps in mind 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:

To her dear and few living relatives—and to her long-time friends—the Pilgrim says goodbye:

“THE BLESSING OF HEAVEN BE UPON THEIR HEADS[59].”

“Āp ki topīyan par salāmat rahī.”

Your caps are secure.

“THE PEN ARRIVED THUS FAR AND BROKE ITS POINT[60].”

“THE PEN GOT THIS FAR AND BROKE ITS TIP[60].”

i.e. It is finished.

It’s done.

SALĀM! SALĀM!

SALAM! SALAM!

FOOTNOTES

[3] Appendix, No. 30.

[18] Ward, on the Religion of the Hindoos.

[18] Ward, on the Religion of the Hindus.

[20] See the sketch entitled “The Spring-bow,” Vol. ii. p. 73.

[20] Check out the sketch titled “The Spring-bow,” Vol. ii. p. 73.

[24] Vide Appendix, No. 31.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Watch __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

[28] Appendix, No. 32.

[37] A terrace to sit and converse on.

[37] A terrace to sit and chat 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.

[40] Check out the two leaves of this bulb in the front of the portrait of the Bushwoman.

[48] See the Plate entitled “Kalsās,” Fig. 3.

[48] Check out the Plate called “Kalsās,” Fig. 3.

[55] Classically Mare—therefore feminine.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Classic Mare—so feminine.

[56] Written at St. Leonard’s-on-Sea.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Written in St. Leonard’s-on-Sea.

[497]

APPENDIX.

“Heu Pietas! heu prisca Fides!”

“Heu Pietas! heu old Faith!”

“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.

“Dedicated to the memory of Andrew Lord Archer, Baron of Umberslade, who passed away on April 25th, 1778, at the age of forty-one, and is buried in the family vault below. He was the last male descendant of an ancient and respected family that came with William the Conqueror and settled in Warwickshire during the reign of King Henry the Second, from whom his ancestors received land grants in that county. He married Sarah, the daughter of James West, Esquire, of Alscot, and he left behind four daughters.”

“To perpetuate his fair fame this monument is erected by her who knew and loved his virtues.”

“To honor his good name, this monument is erected by the one who knew and cherished 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.”

“This family, one of the oldest in Warwickshire, originated from Normandy, where some people with the same name and coat of arms still exist. In Stow’s Annals, published in 1615, there’s a list taken from an ancient table at Battle Abbey, which includes those who came to England with William, Duke of Normandy, and the name Archer is mentioned. Additionally, in an old roll referenced by Stow, listing the chief noblemen who accompanied William the Conqueror to England in 1066, the name Archer appears as well.”

Edward Gwynn, Esq., a learned antiquary in the reign of King James the First, demonstrates very clearly, that Fulbert l’Archer, with his son Robert, came into England with William the Conqueror; and that the said Fulbert was in England, and of eminent degree, is apparent, by his being witness to several concessions of Geffery de[498] Clinton, a Norman, who was treasurer and lord chamberlain to King Henry the First, and founder of the monastery of Kenilworth in Warwickshire.

Edward Gwynn, Esq., a knowledgeable historian during the reign of King James the First, clearly shows that Fulbert l’Archer and his son Robert arrived in England with William the Conqueror. It's evident that Fulbert was in England and held a high status, as he was a witness to several agreements made by Geffery de[498] Clinton, a Norman who served as treasurer and lord chamberlain to King Henry the First, and who founded 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.

Mr. Gwynn, in his dissertation, also mentions that Robert l’Archer accompanied his father Fulbert to England with William the Conqueror. He was so respected for his knowledge that the king appointed him to teach his son, King Henry the First (who was a prince at the time). To his tutor's credit, he was (as Gemmeticencis states) “a follower of justice and peace, a lover of religion, a passionate punisher of wrongdoers and thieves, and a triumphant victor over his enemies, not just of outstanding princes and earls, but also of the most renowned kings.” The respect and esteem he earned from the prince, and how he was rewarded when he became king, is clearly shown in the following grant: “Henricus, Dei Gratia, &c. Know that we have given and granted to Robert l’Archer, my teacher, and his heirs, &c. the Manor of Aldermanson, Fynchampsted, Coletrope, Speresholt, Chewlewe, &c. in the county of Berks.” King Henry II confirmed these manors and the lands associated with them to William l’Archer, his son. King Henry I’s regard for Robert l’Archer and the value he placed on his service can be seen in his willingness to call him his teacher, as well as through his generous gifts 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.

The freezing pail should always be made of pewter—those from England are the best. The locals make them from a mix that works well, but you need to be cautious in this regard, as some may contain lead, which can make the ice toxic when mixed with lime juice. The lid of the freezing pail should have a catch to keep it from coming off when the pail is turned in the bucket of ice. The freezing pail needs to be pewter because it prevents the contents from freezing too quickly, allowing for proper mixing. This is crucial for making good ice; if it's made of tin, the freezing happens too fast, and the ingredients don't have enough time to mix properly.

When an article is iced, it does not lose its sweetness; no additional sugar or syrup is requisite; the loss of sweetness arises from the materials not being properly mixed or worked with a bamboo or spaddle when in the freezing pail. The natives do not open the freezing pail and stir the mixture with a spaddle; on the contrary, they fasten the lid down securely by putting paste all round the edges: consequently, their[499] cream ice is as hard as real ice itself. Properly stirred it resembles hard snow, after the fashion of the Parisian ice cream.

When an article is frozen, it doesn’t lose its sweetness; no extra sugar or syrup is needed. The loss of sweetness happens because the ingredients aren’t mixed or worked properly with a bamboo stick or spatula while in the freezing bucket. The locals don’t open the freezing bucket to stir the mixture with a spatula; instead, they seal the lid tightly by applying paste around the edges. As a result, their[499] ice cream is as hard as real ice. When stirred correctly, it looks like hard snow, similar to 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.

Cream three-quarters, fresh milk one-quarter, five large tablespoons of jam; two tablespoons of fresh lime juice, one tablespoon of coloring mixture. If you find it not sweet enough, add a little syrup or melted sugar, not powdered sugar. Beat the cream, milk, and jam through a fine sieve, and mix them well; add the lime juice and the coloring mixture; stir it well, and pour it into the freezing container. The container holds about two quarts. Take a deep ice basket, lay a blanket inside, place a clean dry bucket in it, and 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.

Half a ser of sal ammoniac (known as ammonium chloride), one ser of table salt, one ser of saltpeter, and eight or ten ser of ice. The saltpeter and salt should be roughly crushed beforehand. Quickly mix everything together in a blanket; then place the mixture into the bucket until it’s almost full and surrounding the freezing pail. Rotate the freezing pail in the mixture by holding onto the handle for ten minutes, then let it sit for 15 minutes, covering the top with ice. Wrap everything inside with the blanket and put the lid on the ice basket; avoid placing it near a tattī. After ten to fifteen minutes, open the freezing pail and stir the cream with a long wooden spoon, a flat piece of bamboo, or a spatula. You’ll notice it has frozen on the sides but not in the middle; take out the spoon, put the lid back on, give the pail a quick turn, and cover it up again. Repeat this until the cream is properly frozen and ready to use. If the cream hasn't frozen properly, you can add any leftover freezing mixture or more ice into the bucket. In about an hour or a little more, the ice cream will be ready. It should only be made right before you need it.

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.

Cream ices can be made with strawberry, raspberry, or any other jam in the same way. The jam imported from France is of better quality and more affordable than the one 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[500] with ice sufficient to fill an earthenware pan, that with a broad mouth will hold two kulfīs standing erect in it. Having put your kulfīs in the jar, surround them with ice nearly to the rim; put the remainder of the ice into a napkin, and lay it over the top of the kulfīs; then cover over the whole with an earthenware cover. Open the kulfīs in a quarter of an hour, and stir the cream with a flat bamboo, which is a better thing than a spoon for the purpose; cover them up; open again in another quarter of an hour, stir, and leave them for four hours; no fresh ice need be added.

The cooks make ice in a metal container called a kulfī; it holds a quart and should have a removable lid. The bottom of the kulfī should be fixed. For two kulfīs of this size, take eight chhattaks of saltpeter, eight of salt, and four of nowshādar (sal ammoniac); mix them together after pounding each separately. Combine these ingredients[500] with enough ice to fill a wide-mouthed earthenware pan that can hold two kulfīs standing upright. Once your kulfīs are in the pan, surround them with ice nearly to the rim; put the remaining ice into a napkin and lay it over the tops of the kulfīs; then cover everything with an earthenware lid. Open the kulfīs after fifteen minutes and stir the cream with a flat bamboo stick, which works better than a spoon for this task; cover them again and open once more after another fifteen minutes, stir again, and let them sit for four hours; there's no need to add fresh ice.

For one kulfī half the quantity of the mixture, and a smaller earthenware pan.

For one kulfī, use half the amount of the mixture and a smaller earthenware pan.

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.

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.

Make your colored wax from the finest, clearest, and selected Chuppra lakh, adding only the necessary color. While the box is on the lathe and you've placed a couple of lit charcoal pieces underneath it, start the lathe and press the wax onto the box. The wax will come off and coat it; then polish and smooth it with the dried leaf of the ālū.

The cheapness and abundance of emery in Europe, and its being nearly equal to corundum in hardness, have, perhaps, prevented the Indian corundum from being brought home; but there appears every probability that the substance which has been lately sold at a high price in small quantities, under the name of diamond powder, said to be from the diamond mines of India, and applied to the purpose of sharpening razors and other cutlery, is nothing else than corundum reduced to a fine powder. The common karand patthar of India, the corundum or adamantine spar, so named from its hardness, will cut and polish all stones except the diamond. By the natives it is used with oil for removing rust from steel, after which the steel is re-polished with buffalo horn and a semicircular steel instrument.

The low cost and abundance of emery in Europe, along with its hardness being almost on par with corundum, might be why Indian corundum hasn’t been brought back home. However, it seems highly likely that the substance recently sold at a premium in small amounts, called diamond powder, which is claimed to come from the diamond mines of India and is used for sharpening razors and other cutlery, is actually just corundum ground into a fine powder. The common karand patthar from India, known for its hardness as corundum or adamantine spar, can cut and polish all stones except for diamonds. Locals use it with oil to remove rust from steel, after which the steel is re-polished with buffalo horn and a curved steel tool.

[501]

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.

A quarter of a ser of basun, the yolks of two large eggs (no whites), the juice of two or three limes; mix everything in a bowl with cold water, add some hot water, and strain it through a towel. Rub it well into the roots of your hair, and rinse it out by pouring warm water over your head until your hair is completely clean. This process is most pleasantly done in a hummām. In a bathing room, you need to have six kedgerī pots of boiling water ready, which can be mixed with cold afterward. Once your hair is thoroughly dried, apply a small amount of oil to it. Do not use soap. Basun is the pounded and sifted flour 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.

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.

Lampblack, one paisā, gond (which is the gum from the babūl tree, or gum Arabic), two chhattaks. After grinding both, dry everything on a plantain leaf. Mix two paisā of water with one part of the mixture; boil it and strain for use. If it’s not good, add one grain of salt. Lampblack made in unglazed pans is better than any other kind. Apply the ink to the seal using the tip of your finger. It should be very black and thick, but apply it very thinly. Wet the paper with water using a bit of muslin and pat it down just before pressing the seal onto it. If the paper comes off with the seal, it’s not damp enough. Use thick Chinese paper or regular writing paper.

Fill up one quarter of a pint bottle with pounded gall nuts, add spirits of wine or gin to fill the bottle. Put the letter in a plate, and cover it with the mixture; after a short time the writing will become visible.

Fill one quarter of a pint bottle with crushed gall nuts, then add wine or gin to fill the bottle. Place the letter on a plate and cover it with the mixture; after a short while, the writing will become visible.

Because a woman is a she-wālā (wālā, a fellow).

Because a woman is a she-wālā (wālā, a guy).

Our medical adviser said, he considered the best treatment was, “to give forty measured drops of laudanum in a glassful of brandy and[502] water every time the bowels are moved, which is preferable to giving a greater quantity, as that would produce drowsiness. You give opium to abate pain and stop the sickness, not to dull the senses, which are too dull already. After the first few evacuations, all that follow are like pipeclay and water,—one of the signs of cholera.”

Our medical adviser said he thought the best treatment was to “give forty measured drops of laudanum in a glassful of brandy and[502] water every time there’s a bowel movement, which is better than giving a larger amount, since that would cause drowsiness. You use opium to relieve pain and control nausea, not to make the senses duller, which are already too dull. After the first few bowel movements, 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.”

Spirits of hartshorn mixed with water proved to be very helpful for the locals. Colonel Gardner said, “I’ve seen half a wine glass of onion juice, blended with ginger, red and black pepper, and garlic, given in severe cases of cholera with great success.”

Put a quantity of the fresh and finest leaves of the peepul into a pan, containing two or three quarts of water. Leave the pan in some distant part of the garden until the water wastes away, and the green of the leaves is corrupt. In ten days’ time take up a leaf, and if the green comes off, leaving the fibres perfect, it is time to remove the leaves; but if any of the green still adhere, replace the leaf, and let the whole remain in the dirty water for another ten days; after which take them out, wash them with pure water, and with a soft toothbrush gently brush off any part of the green that may still adhere to the fibres. Leave them in clean water for some days, and brush them daily, very gently, separately, and carefully, until the skeleton is quite perfect. If not of a good colour bleach them by exposure to the sun, and pour water over them now and then during the exposure.

Put some of the freshest and best peepul leaves in a pan with two or three quarts of water. Leave the pan in a remote area of the garden until the water evaporates, and the leaves turn mushy. After ten days, pick up a leaf, and if the green comes off while leaving the fibers intact, it’s time to take the leaves out; but if any green still sticks, put the leaf back and let everything sit in the dirty water for another ten days. Then take them out, wash them with clean water, and gently brush off any remaining green with a soft toothbrush. Keep them in clean water for a few days, brushing them gently and separately every day until the skeleton is perfect. If they're not a good color, bleach them by leaving them in the sun, and pour water over them occasionally while they’re exposed.

First make your lampblack in this manner: Put a cotton wick into an earthen saucer, such as are put under flower-pots, put common oil into the saucer, light the wick, and place over it another earthen saucer, so that the flame may blacken it; in a few hours a quantity of lampblack will collect on the upper saucer, which is of the very best sort. Mix a little of this lampblack with fine linseed oil, dip your pen into it, and trace on the talk with it, having first put your talk over the drawing you wish to copy. When you take off the talk, if you put white paper beneath it, you will see if any part require to be darkened: touch the distances lightly, and the foregrounds strongly. Be careful not to put too much oil with the lampblack, or it will run, and spoil the drawing. Having finished your tracing, damp a piece of China paper with a sponge, put it on the talk while it is very damp, take care not to stir it, put another piece of paper over it, and pass your hand steadily over all, when the impression will come off good and clear. Patterns for work[503] may be copied in this manner: of course every thing is reversed. Ivory black will not answer.

First, make your lampblack like this: Place a cotton wick in an earthen saucer, like the ones used under flower pots, add regular oil to the saucer, light the wick, and cover it with another earthen saucer so the flame can blacken it. After a few hours, a good amount of lampblack will gather on the top saucer, which is top quality. Mix a little of this lampblack with fine linseed oil, dip your pen into it, and trace on the talk with it, having first laid your talk over the drawing you want to copy. When you remove the talk, if you place white paper underneath, you’ll see if any parts need to be darkened: lightly touch the background and strongly touch the foreground. Be careful not to add too much oil to the lampblack, or it will run and ruin the drawing. Once you finish tracing, dampen a piece ofChina paper with a sponge, lay it on the talk while it’s very damp, making sure not to shift it, then place another piece of paper over it, and smoothly move your hand across everything. The impression will transfer well and clearly. Patterns for work[503] can be copied this way: just remember that everything is reversed. Ivory black won’t work.

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.

Make your lampblack as directed above. Create two balls, about the size of your fist, from wool and wash-leather; insert a small stick into the center of each as a handle and tie the leather tightly around it; flatten it into the shape of a printer’s ball. The top of a long white leather glove or chamois leather works well. Using a spatula, mix some lampblack with a bit of linseed oil, apply it to the balls, and rub the two balls together until everything is smooth and even. Place a freshly-gathered leaf between the balls, pat it on both sides, then put it between two sheets of paper and gently rub your finger over the leaf. Lift the paper, and you’ll have two beautiful impressions. Stalks and flowers can be done the same way and corrected with a pen and some of the oil and lampblack. The Chinese books sold in the burā bazār, Calcutta, are excellent for this purpose.

The turban should be of fine India muslin, twenty-one yards in length, by fourteen inches and a half in breadth. Take one end, put it over your head, allowing a quarter of a yard to hang down your back; twist the muslin in front of your forehead, so that it may form a sort of skull cap on the top of your head; after which, begin to bind the turban round your head, and go on, until, in fanciful bands, you have used up the whole. Take the little end hanging down your back, turn it up, and stick it under one of the folds. This turban, when properly put on, is not at all large. Should it not set out enough, you must first bind a smaller and coarser turban around your head, and put the fine one over it. A Benares gold turban, or a Bengal muslin, spotted in gold, should be worn over a turban of this sort; they are too flimsy to set properly of their own accord. A long fine Cashmere shawl forms into a beautiful turban.

The turban should be made of fine Indian muslin, twenty-one yards long and fourteen and a half inches wide. Take one end and place it over your head, leaving a quarter of a yard to hang down your back; twist the muslin in front of your forehead so it forms a kind of skull cap on top of your head; then start wrapping the turban around your head and continue until you've used it all up in decorative bands. Take the little end hanging down your back, fold it up, and tuck it under one of the layers. This turban, when done right, isn't very large. If it doesn't have enough volume, you should first wrap a smaller and coarser turban around your head, and then wear the fine one over it. A gold Benares turban or a Bengal muslin spotted with gold should be worn over this type; they're too thin to hold their shape on their own. A long fine Cashmere shawl can also make 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.

Another method.—Turbans are usually put on this way rather than the previous method: Take the middle of the cloth, place it over the front of your head, and then bring the two ends behind you. Take one end and wrap it around your head until it's completely used up; then take the other end and wrap it around in a different way. Once you’ve used that end up, it should look right.

Almost all turbans are thus put on, with the exception of stiff turbans,[504] which are made over a bamboo frame; they are formal, and want the graceful and fanciful ease of a turban formed of a strip of muslin hastily thrown around the head.

Almost all turbans are put on this way, except for stiff turbans,[504] which are made over a bamboo frame; they are formal and lack the graceful, carefree style of a turban made from a strip of muslin quickly wrapped 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.

Some are shaped on a light wicker frame; others, made by regular turban makers in the bazaar, are shaped on blocks, and the muslin is woven and applied in a very precise and orderly way. Some turbans look like they’re made of colored rope, so tightly do they twist the muslin into a cord before wrapping it around the head.

AN EXTRACT FROM “THE TIMES,” NOV. 23, 1847.

“Our readers are aware that the Hindoos are not the aboriginal inhabitants of India. Arriving from the north-west, they first occupied that moiety of the peninsula to the north of the Nerbudda called emphatically Hindostan, and subsequently crossed that river into the Deccan, or ‘south’ portion of the country, where they dispossessed the natives as before. There are reasons for concluding that this expulsion of the early inhabitants by the Brahminical Hindoos was characterized by great ferocity on the part of the invaders. The inferior tribes, however, were by no means exterminated. Under the various denominations of Bheels, Coles, Gonds, Khonds, &c., they still exist in the peninsula, to the number, it is computed, of at the least two or three millions. Whether they are branches of the same family or not appears hardly ascertained, but they all possess features in common, and are altogether distinct, not only from the Hindoo, but also from the Thibetan varieties of native tribes near the Himalayan range. They are small, dark, and active, with a peculiarly quick and restless eye, highly barbarous, and owning only a few importations of Hindoo superstitions or civilization. They have little clothing, few arms but bows and arrows, and no ordinary food beyond berries or game. They have no repugnance to killing or eating oxen, and bury their dead instead of burning them. Their religious rites involve much greater barbarism than the Brahminical precepts; indeed, it is alleged by the advocates of Hindoo excellence that the most objectionable practices attributed to the disciples of Brahma have either been imported from these tribes at a late period, or erroneously related by writers who confused the identity of the nations. This is said to have been particularly the case with human sacrifices, which had no place in the original code of the Vedas, while they were so inveterately established among these older tribes, that the disturbances of the present day have actually originated in the defence[505] of the rite. The main retreat of these people from the persecution of the invaders was in the hills, which, under the names of the Vindhya and Santpoora ranges, rise on each bank of the Nerbudda, and form the barrier between the Deccan and Hindostan. At the eastern extremity these hills expand into a lofty mountain rampart on the confines of Orissa and Berar, forming, with the contiguous districts, the most barbarous and unreclaimed portion of the whole peninsula. Much of it, in fact, is unexplored to this day, as may be seen by a glance, in any map, along the western frontier of Orissa. Such are the actors, and such the scene of the present disturbances. A few words more will explain their origin and character.

“Our readers know that the Hindus are not the original inhabitants of India. They came from the northwest and initially settled in the northern part of the peninsula, called Hindostan, and later crossed the Nerbudda River into the Deccan, or southern part of the country, where they pushed out the native people as they had done before. There are reasons to believe that this displacement of the early inhabitants by the Brahminical Hindus was marked by significant violence from the invaders. Nevertheless, the inferior tribes weren’t completely wiped out. Known as Bheels, Coles, Gonds, Khonds, etc., they still exist in the peninsula, with estimates suggesting at least two to three million. It's unclear whether they are related or not, but they share common traits and are distinct from both Hindus and the Tibetan ethnic groups near the Himalayas. They are small, dark-skinned, and agile, with particularly keen and restless eyes, and are quite primitive, having only adopted a few aspects of Hindu beliefs or civilization. They wear little clothing, possess few weapons—mainly bows and arrows—and eat little else besides berries or game. They have no issues with killing or eating cows and prefer to bury their dead rather than cremate them. Their religious practices are much more primitive than the Brahminical teachings; in fact, proponents of Hindu superiority argue that the most criticized practices linked to the followers of Brahma were either adopted from these tribes later on or misrepresented by writers who mixed up the identities of the groups. This is especially true regarding human sacrifices, which were not part of the original Vedic texts but were so entrenched in these older tribes that current conflicts can be traced back to their defense of the rite. The primary refuge for these people from the invaders' persecution has been the hills, known as the Vindhya and Santpoora ranges, which rise on either side of the Nerbudda and separate the Deccan from Hindostan. At the eastern end, these hills widen into a high mountain barrier at the borders of Orissa and Berar, comprising, along with nearby areas, the most uncivilized and undeveloped part of the entire peninsula. In fact, much of this region remains unexplored to this day, as can be seen by looking at any map along the western border of Orissa. Such are the players, and such is the backdrop of the current unrest. A few more words will clarify their origins and nature."

“The eastern coast of India between the Delta of the Ganges and the mouths of the Kistna came into our possession by successive instalments. In 1765 the sagacity of Lord Clive demanded, and his power obtained, the cession of that maritime province known by the name of the Northern Circars, previously attached to the Government of the Deccan, but readily and cheaply yielded by the emperor to the request of the victorious general. This carried the Madras presidency along the coast nearly up to the confines of Bengal; the sole interruptions to a continuity of English territory being the Southern Sircar of Guntoor at the lower end, still depending on the Deccan, and the province of Cuttack at the upper, claimed by the Mahratta Prince of Berar. The former, after considerable turmoil on both sides, was surrendered by Nizam Ali in 1788, and the latter by Bhonslay at the end of the first great Mahratta war of 1803. The contiguous districts, forming part of the ceded territories, were restored by the policy of Sir G. Barlow, and did not finally return to us till the conclusion of the war of 1818, when the inveterate hostility of Apa Saheb was punished by the demand of these peculiar territories on the Nerbudda, solely valuable as opening a communication between Bengal and Bombay. We found the eastern country in the hands of petty Rajahs of ancient standing, and some consideration amongst their subjects, though they were not of the aboriginal race, but individual families (apparently Rajpoots) of the invading nation who had contrived to establish themselves in hereditary power amongst the savages. As long as we were content to allow these people their ancient licence, to accept a small uncertain subsidy by way of rent, and leave them to their own privileges and habits, things went well enough; but as soon as the more scrupulous civilization of later times introduced or attempted reforms, disturbances at once ensued. A settlement of a fixed, though not extortionate, rent was imposed upon the Rajahs, and when this fell seriously in arrear they were dispossessed. Police were introduced in some of the villages, and civil courts established.[506] The consequences were speedily visible. In 1816 the Goomsoor people rose in arms to demand an ejected Rajah; and though a force of 3000 men in the country repressed these outbreaks, yet they could not be prevented from aiding a similar insurrection in Cuttack immediately afterwards, nor was peace entirely restored for three long years, and then only after some conciliatory abolitions of the obnoxious institutions.

The eastern coast of India between the Ganges Delta and the Kistna rivers came into our control in stages. In 1765, Lord Clive's wisdom led him to request and secure the cession of a coastal province known as the Northern Circars, which was previously under the Deccan Government, but was easily and cheaply given up by the emperor to the victorious general. This extended the Madras presidency almost to the borders of Bengal, with the only interruptions being the Southern Sircar of Guntoor at the southern end, still relying on the Deccan, and the province of Cuttack at the northern end, claimed by the Mahratta Prince of Berar. After a lot of conflict on both sides, Nizam Ali surrendered Guntoor in 1788, and Bhonslay did the same with Cuttack at the end of the first major Mahratta war in 1803. The nearby districts, part of the ceded territories, were returned under Sir G. Barlow's policy and didn't come back to us until the end of the 1818 war, when Apa Saheb's longstanding hostility resulted in the demand for these specific territories on the Nerbudda, which were primarily valuable for connecting Bengal and Bombay. We found the eastern region ruled by minor Rajahs of long-standing heritage, with some respect among their subjects, although they were not of the original race, but families (seemingly Rajpoots) from the invading nation who managed to establish their hereditary rule among the local tribes. As long as we allowed these individuals their traditional rights, accepting a small, uncertain payment as rent, and left them to their own ways, everything was fine. However, once the more careful civilization of modern times introduced or attempted reforms, unrest immediately followed. A fixed, though not excessive, rent was imposed on the Rajahs, and when they fell significantly behind in payments, they were removed from power. Police were introduced in some villages, and civil courts were established. [506] The results were quickly apparent. In 1816, the Goomsoor people rebelled to demand the return of an ousted Rajah; although a force of 3,000 men was sent to suppress these uprisings, they couldn't stop similar revolts in Cuttack shortly afterward, and peace wasn't fully restored for three long years, occurring only after some conciliatory abolishments of the unpopular 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.

“In this case, the rebellion in Goomsoor is a result of our interference with their Meriah sacrifices, during which they annually store, fatten, butcher, and dissect several hundred children, distributing the remains as an offering to the local goddess over their fields, and the old plea for their lenient Rajahs is once again heard. The Khonds—the very tribe that caused us so much trouble in 1816—are the main insurgents again, though all their neighbors are eagerly joining in. Their fighting style involves hiding in dense thickets and shooting arrows from ambush. Recently, they traded a herd of captured bullocks for some firearms, and it's said they now possess around 700 or 800 matchlocks. This doesn’t make them any less dangerous, but their offensive tactics are just a small part of the threats we face in this campaign. The areas they roam are, without a doubt, the most deadly in India. The air of Shikarpoor feels fresh and healthy compared to the atmosphere of these lands. The malaria in their jungles is almost a guaranteed death sentence, and camping in the bush can cause more casualties in an invading force than a battery of cannons. On top of this, predators swarm in every cave and forest, numerous and hungry enough to easily take down any stragglers. The usual short duration of an Indian campaign is severely limited here, so there are very few weeks in the year when an invasion would even be attempted, and right now, fewer than 200 men from the regiment stationed 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.”

The Khonds are not at all against us, as a nation. In fact, when Sir G. Barlow gave their land back to Berao, despite our agreement and their requests, he felt obliged to offer a place in Cuttack for those who still wanted to live under English rule. This created a painful conflict between wanting to stay and the hesitation to leave their hometowns, resulting in some very tragic situations. In the west, the Bheels are serving in local forces for the Company and are doing remarkably well. The only rebellion comes from a tough, primitive, and hard-to-reach group that recognizes our authority but is resistant to adopting our way of life.

[507]

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.

Kaurīs, small white shiny shells, are used for small payments in the market. Their value increases and decreases based on demand and the available supply.

Accounts are kept in rupīs, with their subdivisions.

Accounts are maintained in rupees, along with their subdivisions.

3	pie	=	1 pāisa.
4	pāisa	=	1 ānā.
16	ānās	=	1 rupī.
16	rupīs	=	1 gold muhr.
100,000	”	=	1 lākh.
100	lākh	=	1 karor, or 100,000,000 rupīs.

Birds to the size of a pigeon may be preserved from putrefaction by an easy process, and by a method which will effectually guard them against the attacks of insects. Carefully remove the abdominal viscera at the vent, by means of a wire bent to a hook at one end; then introduce a small piece of the antiseptic paste, and afterwards as much clipped cotton or tow as may be thought sufficient, with some of the paste mixed with it; remove the eyes and fill the orbits with cotton imbued with the paste; draw out the tongue, which remove, and pass a wire from the mouth into the cavity of the cranium, merely to give the antiseptic access to the brain; bind a piece of thread round the rostrum, another piece round the body and wings; then hang it up by the legs, and pour in at the vent from half an ounce to two ounces, according to the size of the bird, of alcohol; let it be hung in an airy situation, and it will soon dry without any unpleasant smell.

Birds the size of a pigeon can be preserved from decay using a simple process that also effectively protects them from insects. Start by carefully removing the internal organs at the vent using a wire shaped like a hook. Then, insert a small amount of antiseptic paste and add enough clipped cotton or tow to saturate it, mixing in some of the paste. Remove the eyes and fill the eye sockets with cotton soaked in the paste. Pull out the tongue and take it out, then insert a wire from the mouth into the skull cavity to allow the antiseptic to reach the brain. Tie a piece of thread around the beak, and another around the body and wings. Hang the bird by its legs and pour in half an ounce to two ounces of alcohol through the vent, depending on the bird’s size. Let it hang in a well-ventilated area, and it will dry quickly without any bad odor.

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.

Antiseptic paste is created by combining eight parts of finely powdered white arsenic, four parts of Spanish soap, three parts of camphor ground in a mortar, a few drops of alcohol, and one part of soft soap. If it gets too dry, add a little bit of spirits of wine.

Powdered arsenic one pound, white Marseilles soap one pound,[508] powdered camphor three ounces; fine lime, in powder, three ounces; salt of tartar, six ounces; keep it corked in a jar. Melt the soap, and gradually mix the other ingredients. When required to be used, take a little out, mix it with water until it is of the consistence of thick cream; spread on the skin thinly with a brush. By using too much you render the skin brittle—put a little cotton wool on the part when done. Useful for the skins of quadrupeds, large birds, and also for insects, moths, and butterflies.

Powdered arsenic, 1 pound; white Marseilles soap, 1 pound; [508] powdered camphor, 3 ounces; fine lime powder, 3 ounces; salt of tartar, 6 ounces. Keep it sealed in a jar. Melt the soap and gradually mix in the other ingredients. When you need to use it, take a small amount out and mix it with water until it reaches the consistency of thick cream; apply it thinly to the skin with a brush. Using too much can make the skin brittle—place a bit of cotton wool on the area afterward. This is useful for the skin of quadrupeds, large birds, and also for insects, moths, and butterflies.

Mix one ser of large hurs (hura, ink-nut, myrobalan chebulic) with half a pāisa weight of ghī, fry them until they are quite black and split, take them out and cover them over with red-hot charcoal ashes at night. Wipe them clean, and separate the pulp, which reduce to a subtile powder in an iron mortar; add to every tolā of the above powder three-fourths of a masha of tūtiyā tā’ūsi, and half a masha of salt.

Mix one ser of large hurs (hura, ink-nut, myrobalan chebulic) with half a pāisa weight of ghī, fry them until they are completely black and split, then take them out and cover them with hot charcoal ashes overnight. Clean them up and separate the pulp, grinding it into a fine powder in an iron mortar; add three-fourths of a masha of tūtiyā tā’ūsi and half a masha of salt to every tolā of the powder.

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.

When you want to dye your hair, take some of the powder, mix it with water to make a smooth paste, and grind it very finely in an iron mortar. Apply it to your hair and wrap it up with freshly picked castor oil leaves. If the hair doesn’t dye as you want, wet both the hair and the leaves, and wrap it up again, since the dye won’t work properly if the hair isn’t kept moist with it. The mortar must be made of iron, or the mixture will be ruined.

Eight rattīs (seed of abrus precatorius) make one masha, twelve and a half mashas one tolā or sicca rupī weight.

Eight rattīs (seeds of abrus precatorius) equal one masha, and twelve and a half mashas equal one tolā or sicca rupī weight.

Boil four or five anolas (myrobalan emblic, Lin.) for a short time in water, till they impart their colour to it. Grind up indigo leaves (busmuh) on a sil (a rough slab of stone, with a stone roller), with the above decoction, and use the preparation as a dye, after having exposed it to the sun for a short time. This receipt was given me by Seyd Husain, an old peshkār at Prāg.

Boil four or five anolas (myrobalan emblic, Lin.) briefly in water until they give the water their color. Grind up indigo leaves (busmuh) on a sil (a rough stone slab, using a stone roller), along with the decoction from above, and use this mixture as a dye after letting it sit in the sun for a short period. I got this recipe from Seyd Husain, an old peshkār in 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[509] rose-water, into which it is to be broken; and in this state of solution it is sufficient to impregnate with its flavour a mŭn of tobacco. This receipt was procured from one of the attendants on her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī.

The tobacco and gour should be mixed and left in a gharā for five days. After that, the other ingredients can be added, and the whole mixture should be buried for ten days before use. One of the cakes is enough for a quart bottle of [509] rose water, into which it should be broken. In this dissolved state, it can flavor a mŭn of tobacco effectively. This recipe was obtained from one of the attendants of 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.”

“Moor’s Hindu Pantheon;” “Ward, On the Religion, etc., 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 Rajasthan,” and “Travels in Western India;” “Herklot’s Qunoon-e-islam;” “Franklin’s Shah Alum,” and “Life of George Thomas;” “The Qur’an;” “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 tomb of Imām Mirmaun is a tall structure made of red granite, located near the Kutb Minar. It's believed that this saint lived during 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.”

“The mausoleum of the ruler Altumush is about four hundred yards southwest of the Kutb Minar. The walls are made of granite, the tomb is plain marble, and the building has no dome.”

“Near this is an octagonal building, the tomb of Adam Khan, a Pathan nobleman, who was high in the confidence of Altumush.”

“Close by is an eight-sided building, the tomb of Adam Khan, a Pathan nobleman who held a prominent position in the trust 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.”

“The tomb of the saint Kutb-u-Dīn is made of white marble, and there’s a beautiful mosque nearby made of red granite. The mosque's courtyard holds the tombs of Emperor Bahadur Shah, who passed away in 1707, and Emperor Alum Shah, who died in 1807; it also contains the tomb 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.”

“Connected to these tombs is a small marble mosque, built by Aurangzeb, the father of Bahadur Shah. The marble enclosure where the body of Saint Kutb rests was constructed by Ferocksher, who was assassinated by the Syuds of Burrah in 1713. Zabtah Khan, father of the notorious Gholam Khadir Ali Bahadur, along with several other nobles and many members of the royal family, are buried in this area. It is said that three hundred thousand martyrs of the Muhammadan faith are interred nearby; this figure likely includes those who died in the eight battles fought against Raja Pittourah by Kutb-u-Dīn Abeck.”

[510]

“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.”

“Tuglukabad was built by the Patan Emperor, Yeas-u-Dīn Tugluk Shah, who died in 1324. The site is a heap of ruins; the palace was large and sprawling; four massive bastions remain. On a separate rock, linked to the palace by a causeway, is the tomb of Tugluk Shah; the rock is surrounded by a stone wall with circular bastions. To the east of Tuglukabad, there are few ruins, but from there to the west, beyond the Shalimar gardens, for about twenty-five miles, the entire landscape is filled with 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 Kutb Minar is about twelve miles southeast of Delhi, and halfway there is the mausoleum of Munsoor Alī Khan Sufdar Jung, the minister of Emperor Ahmad Shah, who died in 1753. It’s an impressive building situated 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.

“The tomb that holds Sufdar Jung's body is on the ground floor; the marble cenotaph is in the room above it. To the east, the entrance is through an impressive gateway, and to the north of that 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.”

“About two hundred yards from here is the mausoleum of the great Byram Khan, khān-khānān and guardian of Mahomed Akbar. The colors of the enamel inside the dome over Secunder Shah, who was part of the Pathan dynasty and passed away in 1275, are as vibrant as ever. This mausoleum is quite impressive; it’s located about half a mile northwest 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 tomb of the saint Nizam-u-Dīn, who lived during the reign of Secunder Shah, is located about half a mile east-southeast of Humayun’s tomb; nearby is the tomb of Princess Jahānārā, as well as that of Emperor Mahomed Shah, who died in 1748. Here you’ll also find the tomb of the famous poet Chusero, who thrived around 1280; it’s made of red granite and is small and unadorned. A Persian nobleman, Tuckee Khan, is buried here, along with his son, Azim Khan. They accompanied Humayun on his return from Persia. Azim Khan’s tomb is in the center of the building and is surrounded by others from his family. From Nizam-u-Deen’s tomb, two roads lead to modern Delhi: the upper road goes through the Pathan city, which is a pile of ruins, and the lower road runs along the riverside, passing Secunder Shah’s Fort (1297), which has a magnificent mosque. To the west, there 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 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 tall and made of red granite.

“The palaces and mosques are numerous. The palace of Sultan Dara Sheko, eldest son of Shahjahan, is now the Magazine. The palace of the minister of the late Shah Alum is now the Residency. The[511] palace of Ali Murdan Khan is near the Cashmere Gate; that of Sadut Khan is at the Cabul Gate; and in the Adjmeer street are the ruins of the palace of the Wuzeer of Mahomed Shah.

The palaces and mosques are plenty. The palace of Sultan Dara Sheko, the eldest son of Shah Jahan, is now the Magazine. The palace of the minister of the late Shah Alum is now the Residency. The[511] palace of Ali Murdan Khan is near the Cashmere Gate; that of Sadut Khan is at the Cabul Gate; and in Adjmeer Street are the remains 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.

“Linked to the palace in Delhi by a stone bridge is the Fort of Selīm Garb, built on a rock in the river: it was once 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.

“Outside the Cashmere Gate, by the riverbank, is the Koodsiya Bagh, built by Shah Jahan; it’s now in ruins. Surrounding the city is Mogul Parrah, a vast area that is also mostly in ruins. Outside the Ajmeer Gate is the tomb of Ghazi-o-dīn, and next to it are the remains of a college. Across the road are the tombs of Kummeer-u-Dīn, along with his father and daughter, which are definitely worth visiting.”

“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.

“About three miles from the city is the royal garden, called Toal ka Tourah. The famous garden of Shalimar, located about ten miles from the city on the way to Kurnaul, has no remains left.”

“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.

“Near the tomb of Zeenut-al Nissa is that of Malaka Zemanī, one of the widows of Emperor Mahomed Shah. She was involved in the rebellion of Ghoolam Khadir. A small mosque made of red granite is located nearby.”

“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.

“Leading out of a small gate south of the Lahore Gate, there’s a mosque called the Kuddum Roosool, or foot of the Prophet, in honor of the Arabian prophet, ‘Nubbee Kurreem,’ Muhammad himself—no one else holds the title of ‘the Prophet of Beneficence.’” There are several tombs of notable individuals in the area, and on the outside: this place is considered sacred, just like 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.”

“The Subzy Mundee, or vegetable market, is about three miles from the city on the way to Kurnaul. Beyond this, on both sides of the road, are the ruins of houses and gardens, stretching far past Shalimar. Several are also located to the west of Kudsīya Bagh, past the hills that rise about four miles west of the city, curving around in a semicircle and extending toward Tuglukabad in the east, creating an amphitheater entirely covered with ruins.”

No. XXXIII.—Vol. ii. p. 311.

“Because it is a fellow-feeling for a fellow-creature.”

“Because it’s an understanding for another being.”

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, 5l.; a hen do., 1l., a pair of the red Argus pheasants, 3l.; a flying squirrel, 1l. 5s.; a[512] flying fox, 5s.; a vulture, 2l. Although the price of birds for sale (not set up) is so high, he would give but little for them, and appeared to think 3l. for a pair of moonal pheasants, cock and hen, would be a very great sum. The charges for setting up are extra.

Mr. Greville, zoological artist, 85 New Bond Street, charges for specimens as follows:—A male moonal, or blue pheasant, £5; a female, £1; a pair of red Argus pheasants, £3; a flying squirrel, £1.5; a flying fox, 5s; a vulture, £2. Even though the prices for birds that are for sale (not mounted) are quite high, he wouldn't offer much for them, and he seemed to think that £3 for a pair of moonal pheasants, male and female, was an extremely high amount. The fees for mounting them are extra.

Mr. Drew, a bird-stuffer at Plymouth, charged for setting up birds as follows:—A pair of eagles, 1l.; one pair of pheasants, 10s.; one pair, ditto, smaller, 7s.; one brace of birds, still smaller, 5s.; one pair of humming birds, 4s.

Mr. Drew, a taxidermist in Plymouth, charged the following for mounting birds:—A pair of eagles, £1; one pair of pheasants, 10s; one smaller pair of pheasants, 7s; one brace of even smaller birds, 5s; one pair of hummingbirds, 4s.

[513]

INDEX.

Transcriber’s Note: Links to vol. i. will only work if you have internet access!

A.
Aboo, tomb of, vol. ii. 223.
Ali Merdan Khan, palace of, ii. 218.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, his canal of paradise, ii. 194.
⸺, garden, caravan-sarā’e, and great well at, ii. 465-467.
Alligarh, fortress of, ii. 187.
Alligators, tame, ii. 88.
Amazonian Mahratta lady, ii. 54, 55.
Anna, Purna-Devi, ii. 179.
Appa Sāhib, his six wives, ii. 9.
Architect of the gods, ii. 64.
Arrows, poisoned, ii. 73-76, 366.
⸺, Persian and Arabian, ii. 41.
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.
B.
Bāghmars, tiger-killers, ii. 130-133.
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.
Basil.—See Tulsī.
Bauhinia scandens, ii. 77, 78.
Beggars, river, ii. 102.
Ben Oge, ii. 244.
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.
Bhora, a lucky mark, ii. 9.
Bhŭgŭvŭtēē, the cow, a form of Dūrgā, ii. 174.
Biloa, or Malura, a shrub, ii. 175.
⸺, Chiri-mārs, peculiar method of snaring their game, ii. 278.
Birds, worshipped by the Hindūs, ii. 328.
⸺, Indian, ii. 232, 234.
Blundell, Major, death of, ii. 235.
Bojesmāns, ii. 360, 362.
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.
⸺ of the Hill-men, ii. 76, 77.
⸺, the spring, ii. 73.
Bracelet-bound brother and sister, ii. 117, 118.
Brahma, the creator, ii. 149-151.
⸺, the first personage of the Hindū triad, ii. 149.
Bricks, ancient, ii. 88.
Brŭmhū, or Brahm, the one god without a second, ii. 148, 149.
Buddha, history of, the ninth avatar, ii. 162-168.
Bulliah, the fair at, ii. 67, 413.
Būndelā, children, sale of, ii. 294, 295.
Burtreenath, the god, his residence, ii. 61.
Buxar, the stud at, ii. 67.
C.
Cachnár, ii. 77, 78.
Camel, how to dress a, ii. 36.
⸺, curious method of stealing a, ii. 192.
⸺ battery, Major Pew’s, ii. 299, 300.
Casowtee stone, ii. 88, 89.
Chakwā.—See Brahmanī Ducks.
Chandar-nagar, ii. 100.
Chapel at Pennycross, ii. 341.
Chinsurah, ii. 100.
Chiraghdanīs, ii. 62.
Chitpore, corn-mills at, ii. 101.
Cholera, dread of, entertained by the natives, ii. 253.
Chounsah, its murda-ghāt, or place for burning the dead, ii. 66, 67.
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.
⸺, Putlī, ii. 55, 56.
⸺ ⸺, conjectured to be Venetian, ii. 55.
Colgong, rocks of, ii. 71, 72.
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.
Cross, the Southern, ii. 375.
Cummer-o’-deen, Cawn, palace of, ii. 218.
D.
Dākait, adventures of one at Gaur, ii. 82, 83.
Darah Shekoah, palace of, ii. 218.
Delhi, first view of, very imposing, ii. 192, 193.
⸺, plan of the fort and palace of, ii. 193.
⸺, church at, ib.
Dēodar oil, ii. 253.
Devi, the goddess, an appellation applied particularly to Dūrga, ii. 177.
Dewtas, or deotās, the mountain spirits of the Himalaya, ii. 268.
Dispute, theological, between a Musalmān and a Hindū, ii. 287, 288.
Dīwān-i-am, ii. 217.
Dīwān-i-khāss, ib.
Dolīs, for carrying women, ii. 227.
Dŭkshina-rayŭ, the god, ii. 107.
E.
⸺ in the Hills, ii. 240, 244, 248.
⸺ in Assam, ii. 132.
Eclipse of the moon, horror of the natives at, ii. 112.
Egg, mundane, of the Hindoos, ii. 180.
F.
⸺’s rock at Janghira, ii. 71.
Famine at Kanauj, ii. 144, 145.
Fan palm, ii. 69.
Fane, Sir Henry, arrival of at Allahabad, ii. 60.
Fathīghar, ii. 1.
Foot of a Chinese lady, model of the, ii. 105.
Frazer, murder of Mr. Wm., ii. 50, 51.
⸺, Wm. tomb of, at Delhi, ii. 193.
G.
Gaja Rājā Sāhib, ii. 3, 4, 6.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺ performs pūja at the shrine of Mahadēo, ii. 111.
⸺, 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.
⸺ ⸺ 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.
Ghuznee, remains of the ancient city of, ii. 325, 326.
Gillespie, Gen., death of, ii. 242, 248.
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.
Gopalŭ, ii. 122.
Gopī Nat’hŭ, ib.
Govinda, songs of, ii. 116, 117.
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.
H.
Hæmanthus toxicaria, ii. 366.
Hanasa, the swan, the vahan of Brahma, ii. 174.
Hill people, ii. 75-77.
Hills on fire, ii. 246.
Himalaya mountains, elevation of, ii. 260-270.
Hindū triad, ii. 147.
Hindūs will neither make converts or be converted, ii. 288.
Hoogly river, ii. 102.
Hooqŭ cakes, ii. 8.
Horses, lucky and unlucky marks on, ii. 9-11.
⸺, native, extremely vicious, ii. 279.
Humaioon, mausoleum of, at Delhi, ii. 197, 198.
⸺, his fiery tail, ii. 269.
Hurdwar, ii. 265.
Hyat-ool-Nissa Begam, the pilgrim’s visit to, ii. 213, 214.
I. J.
Jagana’th, a form of Krishna, ii. 172.
⸺, temple of, ii. 381.
⸺, the idol, ii. 384.
⸺, the swing of, ii. 382.
⸺.—See Krishna.
Jampān, description of a, ii. 227.
Jellinghy flat, vessel so called, ii. 105.
Jerrīpānī, ii. 236.
⸺, feigned, punishment of, ii. 303.
John Strong, the drummer, presents his wife to a comrade, and desires to contract a second matrimonial alliance, ii. 293.
Jumna, storm on the, ii. 53, 54.
[518]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.
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.
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.
Kookree of the Ghoorkas, description of, ii. 243.
Korah, or bughalee, of the Ghoorka officers, ii. 243.
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.
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.
L.
⸺, the wife of Vishnŭ, ii. 176, 177.
Landowr, ii. 229.
Light, phosphoric, of the waves; description of the animal causing, ii. 353.
M.
Mach, Machchha, the Fish, or first avatar, ii. 153-155.
Magellan clouds, ii. 353, 375.
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.
Masjid Jāma, the great mosque at Delhi, ii. 220, 221.
[519]⸺ Kala, or black mosque, ii. 221, 222.
⸺ Akbārābādee, ii. 200.
⸺, the Golden, ii. 84.
Meerunke Sarā’e, ii. 143.
Metcalfe, Sir Charles, arrival of, at Allahabad, ii. 49.
Milton, descendants of, ii. 380.
Mint at Gwalior, ii. 56.
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.
Murder of two ladies in a zenāna, ii. 56.
N.
Nalāpanī, ii. 269.
Nara-Singha, or the Man-Lion, the fourth avatar, ii. 157.
Nawāb, the, the Merchant, and the Palkī, ii. 306, 307.
⸺ 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.
Nulgoon Pass, ii. 269.
Nusseer-ood-Deen-Hydur, death of, ii. 114.
O.
Obelisk at Gaur, ii. 92-94.
Observatory near Delhi, ii. 209-212.
Omens, bad, during the march of the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī, ii. 135.
One-eyed men supposed to be more knowing than others, ii. 13.
Orange, H.R.H. Prince Henry of, and the Hon. the Misses Eden visit Lucnow, ii. 140.
Oude, heir apparent of, ii. 139.
P.
Paharīs, or Hill-men, description of, ii. 227.
⸺, curious customs of the, relating to marriage, ii. 259.
Palia Gadh, glen of, ii. 267.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺, wild legends connected with the, ii. 268.
Pān and Atr, ii. 4, 5, 445.
⸺ Gardens, ii. 86.
Panchāyāt, or native court of justice, ii. 305.
Paper, sheets of, immense, ii. 201, 202.
Paradise, canal of, ii. 195.
Parda of the Mahrattas, ii. 45.
⸺, procession in, ii. 46, 47.
Parkyal, ii. 269.
Pārvutī, ii. 145, 175.
Peacock, goose, and owl, the, worshipped by the Hindoos, ii. 329.
Pedigree of the gods, ii. 147, 148.
⸺ ⸺, remarkable quality of its seeds, ii. 295.
Pheasant, red, ii. 232.
⸺, blue, of the Himalaya, ii. 232.
Pico, the island of, ii. 494.
Pilgrim, the, and another lady, are mistaken for cadets, ii. 302, 303.
⸺ the, taken for a foreigner; also for a lancer, ii. 329.
Pīr Shāh, tomb of, ii. 223.
Plague, alleged appearance of, at Palee, ii. 110.
Poison, African, and poison-bulb, ii. 366, 367.
Purānas, the sacred, ii. 179.
Q.
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.
Rākhī, or bracelet, festival of the, ii. 117, 118.
⸺ Parashu, the sixth avatar, ii. 159.
⸺ Chandra, the seventh avatar, ii. 160, 161.
⸺ Bala, the eighth avatar, ii. 161.
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.
Reeçee Khoond, warm spring at, ii. 71.
Rhododendron, white, ii. 232.
⸺ ⸺, juice of the petals of the, alleged to have an intoxicating quality, ii. 232.
Riding, style of, practised by the Mahratta ladies, ii. 5, 6.
Roasting a sirdar-bearer, charge for, ii. 30.
Runjeet Singh, meeting of Lord Auckland with, ii. 297.
S.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, baths of, ii. 218, 219.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺, palace of, ii. 218.
Saharanpūr, botanical garden at, ii. 224.
Salt-box, peculiar kind of, used by the Hill-men, ii. 89.
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.
Sarson, a species of mustard plant, ii. 88.
Sāti without a head, stolen and brought on board the pinnace, ii. 25.
⸺ at Ghazīpūr, ii. 419.
⸺ ⸺ 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.
⸺, loss of the, ii. 59.
Sefder Jung, palace of, ii. 218.
Sekunder al Sānī, ii. 25.
Serampūr, ii. 101.
Shah’ālam, tomb of, ii. 208.
Shah Burj, the royal tower, ii. 218.
Shāhjahānabad, modern city of, ii. 193.
Shalimar, gardens of, ii. 218.
⸺, Karral, ii. 239.
Shield, silver, presented to Mr. Blood by the 16th Lancers, ii. 188.
Shivŭ, the destroyer, the third personage of the Hindū triad, ii. 172, 173.
Sholā floats (com. sola), ii. 100.
Sikrī Gālī, ii. 72, 397.
Sīta Khūnd, boiling spring of, ii. 69, 70.
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.
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.
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.
Srīphul, or the flower of Srī, the poetic name of the biloa, ii. 175.
St. Helena, ii. 316-320.
Stone, flexible, ii. 256.
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.
Theatre, Artillery, at Meerut, ii. 190.
Theodore, Mrs., her collection of stuffed birds and beasts, ii. 225.
Tiger, au naturel, ii. 225.
⸺ hunting on foot, ii. 128-130.
⸺ tracks, ii. 72, 73.
⸺ claws, charms made of, ii. 12, 13.
Timber rafts, ii. 99, 100.
Title conferred on the pilgrim by her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior, ii. 7.
Travati the Elephant, the vahan of Indra, ii. 174.
Treasures, hidden, ii. 41, 42.
⸺, the Gāja Rājā and all her ladies bathe at the, ii. 48.
U.
Up-Country men, their hatred of the Bengalīs curiously exemplified, ii. 309, 310.
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.
Viasa, an Indian poet, compiler of the Vedas, ii. 179.
W.
Waterspouts, ii. 475, 493.
Widows, Hindū, the privations to which they are subjected, ii. 7, 8.
Wind raised by a sāti, ii. 25.
Women, Bengālī, ii. 97, 98.
Wood-cutters of Bengal, their peculiar mode of worshipping Kuloo-rayŭ, ii. 107.
Y.
Z.
Zamia horrida, ii. 365, 366.
Zeenut-al-Masjid, ii. 200.
⸺ of the Nāwab Hakim Menhdi, ii. 19, 20.
⸺ of Nāwab of Fathīgarh, ii. 16.
Zenāna-ghar, ii. 208.

THE END.

Gilbert & Rivington, Printers, St. John’s Square, London.

Elevation of the Himālāyā Mountains.
Elevation of the Himalayas.

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CONTENTS TO VOL. 2.

LIST OF PLATES TO VOL. II.

WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM.

CHAPTER XXXIX. The Maratha Camp and Zenana.

SUPERSTITIONS OF THE NATIVES.

CHAPTER XL. THE NAWAB HAKĪM MENHDĪ AND THE CITY OF KANNOUJ.

CHAPTER XLI. THE MAHRATTA CAMP AND SCENES IN THE ZENĀNA.

CHAPTER XLII. The Marathas in Allahabad.

CHAPTER XLIII. STORMS IN THE EAST.

CHAPTER XLIV. THE SPRING BOW.

CHAPTER XLV. GAUR RUINS.

CHAPTER XLVI. Sketches in Bengal—The Sundarbans.

CHAPTER XLVII. Radha Krishnu—Sports in Assam.

KRISHNŬ OR KANIYĀ.

GOPALŬ.

GOPĪ NAT’HŬ.

RADHA KRISHN.

SPORTING IN ASSAM.

TIGER HUNTING ON FOOT.

THE BĀGHMARS.

CHAPTER XLVIII. THE FAMINE IN KANAUJ.

ANCIENT HINDŪ RUIN.

CHAPTER XLIX. Hindu Trinity.

BRŬMHŬ.

BRAHMA, THE CREATOR.

VISHNŬ, THE PRESERVER.

SHIVŬ, THE DESTROYER.

THE TEN AVATARS.

1. MACH, MACHCHHA, OR THE FISH.

2. KURMA, OR THE TORTOISE.

3. BARĀH OR VARĀHA, THE BOAR.

4. NARA-SINGHA, OR THE MAN-LION.

5. VAMANA, OR THE DWARF.

6. PARASHU-RĀMA.

7. RĀMA-CHANDRA.

8. BALA-RĀMA.

9. BUDDHA.

10. KALKĪ, OR THE HORSE.

THE DESCENT OF VISHNŬ AS KRISHNA.

KAMA-DEVA, THE GOD OF LOVE.

JAGANA’TH, OR JAGANAT’HA.

SHIVŬ, THE DESTROYER.

MAHADÉO, OR MAHĀ-DEVA.

GANESH.

KARTIKEYA.

LACHHMĪ.

SARASWATĪ.

DŪRGA.

THE PURĀNAS.

THE VEDAS.

CHAPTER L. Good times at camp.

CHAPTER LI. Delhi Ruins.

MAUSOLEUM OF HUMAIOON.

KOTĪLA OF FEROZE SHĀH.

MASJID OF ROSHAN-OOL-DOWLA.

THE KUTAB MINĀR.

KUTAB KÍ LĀT.

CHAPTER LII. ANCIENT DELHI—THE ZENANA HOUSE.

THE OBSERVATORY.

THE ZENĀNA.

THE JĀMA MASJID.

CHAPTER LIII. Heading to the hills.—Landowr.

CHAPTER LIV. Scenic views in the hills.

VIEW FROM THE PILGRIM’S BANGLĀ.

CHAPTER LV. LIFE IN THE MOUNTAINS.

THE KHARĪTĀ

CHAPTER LVI. Himalaya Elevation.

THE GREAT PEAK OF BHADRINĀTH.

KEDARNĀTH.

GANGOUTRĪ

JUMNOTRĪ.

CHAPTER LVII. Leaving the hills.

CHAPTER LVIII. LEAVING ALLAHABAD—THE THREE WISHES.

CHAPTER LIX. Arrival in Kolkata—The “Madagascar.”

CHAPTER LX. Leaving St. Helena.

INDIAN NEWS.

CHAPTER LXI. JOURNEY TO THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.

CHAPTER LXII. Cape Town Residence.

THE BUSHWOMAN.

CHAPTER LXIII. SCENES AT THE CAPE.—THE TEMPLE OF JAGANĀTH.

CONTENTS
TO
VOL. 2.

LIST OF PLATES
TO
VOL. II.

CHAPTER XXXIX.
The Maratha Camp and Zenana.

CHAPTER XL.
THE NAWAB HAKĪM MENHDĪ AND THE CITY OF KANNOUJ.

CHAPTER XLI.
THE MAHRATTA CAMP AND SCENES IN THE ZENĀNA.

CHAPTER XLII.
The Marathas in Allahabad.

CHAPTER XLIII.
STORMS IN THE EAST.

CHAPTER XLIV.
THE SPRING BOW.

CHAPTER XLV.
GAUR RUINS.

CHAPTER XLVI.
Sketches in Bengal—The Sundarbans.

CHAPTER XLVII.
Radha Krishnu—Sports in Assam.

CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE FAMINE IN KANAUJ.

CHAPTER XLIX.
Hindu Trinity.

CHAPTER L.
Good times at camp.

CHAPTER LI.
Delhi Ruins.

CHAPTER LII.
ANCIENT DELHI—THE ZENANA HOUSE.

CHAPTER LIII.
Heading to the hills.—Landowr.

CHAPTER LIV.
Scenic views in the hills.

CHAPTER LV.
LIFE IN THE MOUNTAINS.

CHAPTER LVI.
Himalaya Elevation.

CHAPTER LVII.
Leaving the hills.

CHAPTER LVIII.
LEAVING ALLAHABAD—THE THREE WISHES.

CHAPTER LIX.
Arrival in Kolkata—The “Madagascar.”

CHAPTER LX.
Leaving St. Helena.

CHAPTER LXI.
JOURNEY TO THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.

CHAPTER LXII.
Cape Town Residence.

CHAPTER LXIII.
SCENES AT THE CAPE.—THE TEMPLE OF JAGANĀTH.

CHAPTER LXIV.
Sketches Along the River from Calcutta to Colgong.

CHAPTER LXV.
Sketches on the Ganges from Colgong to Dinapur.

CHAPTER LXVI.
Sketches of the Ganges from Dinapūr to Benares.

CHAPTER LXVII.
Sketches on the Ganges from Benares to Bindachun.

CHAPTER LXVIII.
Sketches Along the River from Bindachun to Allahabad.

CHAPTER LXIX.
STAY IN PRĀG AND RETURN TO CALCUTTA.

CHAPTER LXX.
Sketches at Sea.

CHAPTER LXXI.
SKETCHES AT SEA—AFRICAN MOUNTAINS—THE GOODBYE.