“If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows that thou would’st forget,
If thou would’st read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills: no tears
Dim the sweet looks that Nature wears.”
LONGFELLOW
I left Ambalah early on the morning of the 31st of December. It was so cold I was glad to wrap myself in rezais; but the fresh wind reminded me pleasantly of home. Before me rose into the clear blue sky the sharply-defined Himalaya mountains. It was a glorious sight to see them, rising peak above peak, till your eye grew tired of trying to measure their wonderful height.
I arrived in the evening at one of the hotels at Kalka, where I had ordered rooms; and, after the children (one was the nurse’s) were put to bed, and arrangements made for proceeding early the next morning, I walked in the verandah and watched the sun setting behind the mass of mountains. It was truly a splendid sight to behold the hills illumined with rich crimson and golden tints, and the long shadows
gradually creeping over the flat barren plain spread below. It was soon dark. One certainly misses the twilight in India; the transition from light to darkness is so sudden. The next morning I travelled, with my retinue of about thirty natives, along the new road, planned, under Lord Dalhousie, to connect India with Thibet; it is rather longer than the old road, but better. We crossed a bridge which spanned a stream where the natives were bathing, and then began to ascend amongst the mountains. The hanging jungle near Kalka was very lovely: festoons of flowering creepers, ilexes, and rhododendrons in profusion, and lofty pines, far surpassing the dwarf-like imitations we have in Europe, presented a brilliant display of tropical vegetation. As we wound gradually higher up the zigzag path, the scenery became wilder and more rugged, and, suddenly turning sharp angles, we came to pretty little villages clustered on the terraces formed on the hills, every available nook and crevice of which was diligently cultivated. Looking down on these cottages, with their curling blue smoke, and the ravines and dingles, reminded me of parts of the Tyrol, though on a more colossal scale.
We met parties of peasants, curiously muffled up, coming down the mountains; some bearing heavy loads of wood, and others riding shaggy little mountain ponies. I liked the independent look of these children of the hills, so different from the cringing, servile aspect of their brethren in the plains. They
strode along with a vigorous tread, and looked hardy and athletic.
The air was so invigorating and delightful that I walked almost the whole day; and at noon we halted for refreshment by the side of a stream. These streams wind tortuously, “streaking the hills with a bright emerald thread.” What impressed me most, was the intense silence and solitude that reigned: the echoing of our voices, and the tramp of the bearers, were the only sounds I heard. As I walked along, gathering wild flowers, the only thing I missed in this scene of surpassing beauty was a companion to enjoy it with me; for now the brightest scene, to me, had a shadow over it.
We reached the dak bungalow at Kukkri Hutty lake, and I gave the bearers, who were very tired, plenty of “baksheesh.” It was so cold here that I had a fire all night. At daybreak we continued our journey; still ascending into wilder scenery, amongst craggy hills, thickly wooded with firs; the snowy range now appeared in sight, tinged with roseate hues by the glowing light of the rising sun.
On passing a toll-house, I asked how far it was to Simla. The native answered me in very good English; and on my asking him how he came to know English so well, he said he had learnt it in the Agra college, and told me a good deal about that institution, and the masters, whom he seemed to like.
We again halted for the night at a bungalow,
where my aunt’s servant was waiting. On resuming our journey, I was tantalised all day by seeing Simla before me, and yet not being able to reach it till night. As we approached Simla it looked very pretty, with its white houses dotted about on the hills, which sloped down to a sort of valley. We now met people riding on horseback, or in jam-pans; the ladies rolled up in furs and the gentlemen in costumes of “putto.” It was pleasant to meet Europeans with bright cheerful faces again.
My aunt’s house was on the opposite hill, in “Chota Simla,” three or four miles from the entrance of the station. After ascending a steep path, up “Jockey” the bright lights gleamed, and I was soon joyfully welcomed by my aunt and cousins. Only those who have long been separated from relations and have been leading a harassing anxious life, can know how cheering it is to meet your own kinsfolk. I was delighted to find myself in an English-looking, brightly-lighted drawing-room, and actually to go upstairs into a homelike bed-room, papered, carpeted, and curtained, warmed with a glowing fire, and having a little cot for my baby, and then to descend into a comfortable dining-room, where a Christmas dinner was spread. We soon sat down to table, and were joined by two Delhi heroes; one was Lieut. Eton of the 60th Rifles, who, having received a very severe bullet wound in the head, had his head enveloped in a cap something like an Eskimo. I had hoped to see my youngest
cousin’s husband, who had been through the siege of Delhi; but he had rejoined his regiment, and was now engaged in active service under Sir Colin Campbell.
The next morning the first thing I did was to look out of my windows. One of them looked down upon Simla: the houses are perched about on such seemingly inaccessible places, one fancied that one must fly to get to them, no road being visible. I then stepped on to the verandah, which was two stories high, and looked up at “Jacko,” its lofty peak towering sheer up into the sky. After “chota hazerai154,” I went out to explore, and was charmed with all I saw. The air was fresh, and deliciously scented by the tall pine trees, many of which are 150 feet high. I then descended the steep path from my aunt’s house on to the “Course” or “Mall.” The houses here are very pretty, and built in the Elizabethan style, or like Swiss cottages; some, too, have pretty English gardens, with rustic fences and chairs. Peaches, apricots, and cherries grow luxuriantly in these gardens, which are gay with English flowers. All the houses have names, which is very unusual in India: my aunt’s was “Closeburn,” and another “The Rookery.” Simla is the Cheltenham of India.
In the afternoon, I rode on a pretty Kabul pony through the bazaar, and was much amused to see the
numbers of ladies carried in jam-pans. These resemble large arm-chairs, having a movable hood and curtains, generally lined with scarlet cloth; and the ladies, who recline inside, wrapped in furs, look very luxurious. The jam-panese, four of whom and a mate are required for each j4m-pan, are dressed in livery: my aunt’s wore black cloth tunics turned up with scarlet, and turbans, with her crest. As carriages cannot be used at Simla, nearly all the ladies, as well as gentle.. men, ride. It really required a little manoeuvring to manage a spirited pony amidst the crowd of equestrians and jam-pans on the narrow roads, which were only protected from the “khuds,” or precipices, by low wooden fences; and even this protection is only in the immediate vicinity of Simla. Accidents often happen in the season: that year two ladies had been thrown over the “khuds,” but escaped death by being caught in the bushes; their horses, however, were killed. One day my pony shied, and if a tree had not stood just on the edge of the “khud,” I should have been over.
One morning I walked nearly to the top of “Jacko” and had a splendid view of the “snowy range.” I was sorry I was not there when the rhododendrons were in bloom, for then the hill sides are a blaze of scarlet with their rich bloom.
I was much amused in my morning walks to see the jam-panese going out in parties to cut wood, which they are not allowed to do within five or six
miles of Simla, and the natives coming in from the interior: some of them hill chiefs, dressed in sheepskins, and armed with primitive-looking weapons; and women, looking very different from those of the plain, dressed in coloured trowsers and jackets, their ears and noses loaded with silver ornaments.
On Sunday we went to church, and I heard service read again in a church for the first time since the 14th of June. There were two chaplains, and the choral part of the service was beautifully performed, “Mozart’s Twelfth Mass” forming part of it. It is a very nice church, with stained glass windows and open benches. In fact, our little church at Gwalior, the beautiful new ones at Lahore and Ambalah, and this at Simla, quite put to shame many of our neglected parish churches at home.
Life at Simla must be very pleasant to some. The climate, scenery, and society are all delightful; and balls, archery meetings, and picnics follow in constant succession during the season, when the commander-in-chief, his staff, and all who can afford it, leave the burning plains for the cool mountain breezes.
After scarcely a month’s stay amongst my kind relations at this delightful place, where I received great kindness from many friends, I was again obliged to set forth on my journey. As all the boats were taken, and the invalids were not expected to reach Bombay till spring, I was advised to go by bullock train, via Lahore and Mooltan, and down the Indus
by steamer to Karachi, and on to Bombay. I left on the 19th of January, 1858, a few days earlier than I had intended; as a fall of snow was expected, which would have snowed me up. I returned to Ambalah by the old road, which is only a narrow path winding round the rocks. It is utterly vain for me to attempt to give the most faint idea of the surpassing beauty of this mountain scenery. It would require the pencil of a Turner, and the pen of Scott, to convey any idea of it. As I approached the flat dreary plain, stretching out into dim indistinctness, I parted with intense regret from the glorious hills, knowing that it was not likely I should ever again see them; but their beauty will have a lasting place in my memory. I reached Kalka on the second evening after leaving Simla, and after dining, continued travelling all night, and arrived at Ambalah at 4 o’clock next morning. At gun-fire I left the hotel and went to Major Ewart’s, he and his wife being great friends of my aunt’s. I was again troubled by my English nurse, who now gave up the idea of going to England with me as she had promised, so I was obliged to have recourse to another dhye. After great difficulty I procured one, who promised to go with me as far as Bombay, and perhaps to England.
One afternoon, Major Ewart drove me to see the new church, which was not quite finished; the mutiny having prevented its completion. The architecture seemed very good, and inside all down the aisles
were scrolls with illuminated texts of Scripture. This is principally done to gratify the native Christians; for in all the Mussulman temples, sentences from the Koran are inscribed. It was getting too dark to see much, but what I did see pleased me greatly. This church had been fortified, in case of an attack from the rebels, with mud walls and small bastions, on which cannon were placed: the defences did not look very strong, but I remembered how Mr. Boyle’s house at Arrah was defended for seven days by fourteen gentlemen, none of whom were military men, and fifty Sikhs, against 3000 rebels well armed, and provided with cannon.
I could not go on for a day or two, as Mrs. Hope Grant, Mrs. Blake, Mrs. Ricketts (Mrs. Blake’s sister-in-law, whose husband was killed in the mutiny at Shahjahanpur), and Mr. Fitzgerald, had taken all the dhoolies and bearers; but on the evening of the 27th of January, I set off for Lahore, and after travelling all night, reached Lodiana at noon. I rested and dined there, then went on to Jullundur, which seemed a nice station, with some large houses in it.
The houses in the Punjab are rather different to those in the N. W. provinces, and are called “kutcha bungalows,” being made of mud-bricks not coated with “chunam;” and there generally is a small room built on the roof, in which the residents sleep during the hot weather.
The variations of the thermometer in winter are very trying; at two o’clock p.m. it will be 75°, and at sunset and sunrise 30°. In the summer the heat is very oppressive; the weather at this time was very pleasant. The country round seemed very pretty and fresh, the fields all well cultivated, the crops green, and large trees shading the road; and the blue hills of Kashmir looking soft in the distance. Parties of Kashmiris were coming down to sell their wares in the plains, with shaggy camels laden with their goods.
I thought the Panjabis a finer race of men than the natives of the plain: they are more robust, with a different expression of face, and fierce-looking eyes; they were also better dressed, in quilted chogars155 and trowsers, generally of the gayest colours, and well armed with matchlocks, spears, and shields of buffalo hide studded with brass nails. We passed several villages surrounded with thick, high mud walls, which looked as though they could be easily defended. Altogether their persons, manners and villages, seemed more formidable than those in the plain.
It was very lonely to travel surrounded by natives, the only white person besides myself being my baby. At times I met officers going down the country; but ladies and etiquette are too closely allied to allow of my speaking to them: between gentlemen there is a
kind of freemasonry, which is very pleasant, and indeed needful in a wild country with no Europeans near you. At night it was particularly lonely; the darkness being so great, and the torches making it seem darker, and the stillness being only broken by the howling of jackals and pariah dogs. Then it was startling to be awoke out of a sound sleep, by the dhoolie being suddenly set down, and finding yourself surrounded by a dozen men shouting for “baksheesh,” and the torches glancing on a dozen fresh ones preparing to go on with the dhoolie. I always gave them double “baksheesh,” and thus they gave me the character of being a liberal “Mem-sahib” at the next chowki, so I got on without trouble or delay.
On the 30th, late at night, I reached Umritsur. It is the holy city of the Sikhs, and is thickly populated. In 1500, it was a great place for pilgrimages, Ramdas the fourth “Guru,” or spiritual pastor of the Sikhs, having had a fountain made here, called “Amritsir Saras,” (The Fount of Immortality). There is a large fort here, the fortress of Govindgarh, built in 1809 by Ranjit Singh, the batteries of which are very strong. During the alarms in the Punjab, and the mutiny of the native troops at Lahore, all the ladies and children were sent into this fort. It is really marvellous, when one considers the populous state of the Punjab and the immense number of native troops there, that the mutiny did not more fully develop itself in this region. We cannot sufficiently
admire the prompt, judicious, and decisive way in which Sir John Lawrence, Mr. Montgomery, and others acted. Though Sir John Lawrence had sent nearly all the European troops down to Delhi, yet he contrived with the few remaining, to keep the native troops and swarming population in check, by playing off the hatred of the Sikhs for the Hindus. As Euripides says, “One wise head is worth a great many hands.”
After leaving Umritsur, I was surprised to see a “sawar” accompanying me, who changed every time the bearers changed: though this guard, I believe, was quite necessary.
On the evening of the 31st of January, I reached Lahore, or rather Meau Meer, which is the name of the military cantonments, about three miles from the city of Lahore. I thought it a dull, dreary place, with long rows of barracks, surrounded by flat arid country. I went to the house of the chaplain, Mr. Boyle, to whom my aunt had given me a letter of introduction, and who received me most kindly, as if I were an old friend, though he had never seen me before. On Sunday I went to the church, which is a beautiful building; the walls are coated with highly polished chunam, which has the effect of white marble, and the fittings up are all green, which is soothing and agreeable to the eyes, after the glare outside. Mr. Boyle had been chaplain at Sialkot; and in the mutiny there he had a narrow escape of his life.
All the “trucks” (dhoolies on wheels, drawn by one horse, the roads being too bad for the common dak gharry) being engaged, we went to the officer who had the superintendence of the bullock-carts for bringing up troops from Mooltan, to see if I could have the use of one or two bullock-carts. These bullock-trains traverse the whole of India, and at times are very useful for conveying troops. I was rather startled when shown the carts which the officer very kindly allowed me to have, as they were common country vehicles, with a “chopper,” or thatched top.
Mr. Boyle one day drove me to see the “Pandy Camp.” But before giving a sketch of this encampment, it is necessary to explain how these rebels were kept chained, as it were, by a handful of Europeans. Lahore, being a city of great antiquity, and formerly the residence of the Mahomedan conquerors of Hindustan, it is held, in great veneration by Mussulmans on account of its mosques, tombs, and a splendid mausoleum. It is seven miles in extent, and surrounded by high walls; but it was far larger before the Sikhs devastated it: even now, however, it contains 100,000 inhabitants. In a military point of view, also, Lahore is a very important place; the fort being within the walls of the city. When news was received by telegraph of the mutiny at Meerut, Sir John Lawrence was away; but Mr. Montgomery and the other authorities at Lahore, having discovered that the native regiments, consisting of the 16th, 26th
and 49th N.I., with the 8th cavalry, were plotting to gain possession of the fort and kill all the Europeans, they formed a plan to outwit them, and this, probably, was the means of saving the Punjab.
On the 12th of May a ball was given by the officers at Mean Meer; and the 15th was said to be the day fixed for a general rising of the sepoys throughout India: the plans of the mutineers having been altered by the premature outbreak at Meerut156. The sepoys intended, when the guard was changed at the fort (for then a greater number would be together) to taken possession of the fort, treasury, and magazine; and at the kindling of a bonfire, all the native troops at cantonments were to seize the guns, let out the 2000 prisoners from the jail, and enact a tragedy if possible worse than that at Meerut. The ball went on as usual; but, unknown to the sepoys, very different proceedings were being prepared for. Instead of the usual guard of sepoys being sent down to relieve the sentries at the fort, Europeans were sent, who turned out the sepoy guards, and disarmed them: thus showing them that their plot was discovered.
Early next morning all the troops were ordered on parade, and after the Governor-General’s proclamation had been read, the whole of the native regiments
were, by a skilful manoeuvre, brought in front of the guns, and confronted by five companies of the Queen’s 81st. At a given signal, the sepoys were ordered to pile arms, and the sawars to unbuckle sabres. At first they hesitated; but grape-shot and cannon are powerful to enforce obedience, and 2500 native troops were speedily disarmed by 600 European soldiers. The disarmed regiments were encamped on the parade ground, opposite the barracks, where their women and children lived till Delhi was taken; but between the barracks and the native regiments were encamped the European soldiers; parties of whom were always under arms, having a battery of guns kept loaded, and a body of Sikh cavalry with their horses saddled. This state of guarded suspense lasted for months, until at last Sir John Lawrence telegraphed to General Wilson, to say that if Delhi were not taken directly, the Punjab would be lost.
We drove round the “Pandy camp,” Mr. Boyle giving me all the particulars as we went on. It was a most strange sight to see thousands of those powerful-looking men, most of them upwards of six feet high, thus kept under. Some were in uniform, and others in their native dress, and all were living with their wives and families in small thatched huts and tents. Many of them were going to fetch water, and I noticed the ferocious and sullen expression of their faces.
On Wednesday, the 4th February, I again started on my journey. Mr. Perkins, secretary to the Punjab Relief Fund, previously called and gave me letters to obtain a free passage down the Indus to Karachi, and also one to the committee at Bombay for a free passage to England: those who had lost their property in the mutinies having free passages given them from the money sent out from England by Alderman Finnis, then Lord Mayor of London. Mr. Boyle supplied me with plenty of provisions for the journey. It took an hour to pack the carts, as one of them was destined to be our dwelling-place for four days. I covered the straw with rezais and a mattress; but still it was uncomfortably small for myself, baby, and dhye.
Mr. Boyle told me that on the road I should find European soldiers at the serais. These serais are native hostelries, consisting of large buildings surrounded by courts, where the natives, when on a journey, keep their animals and sleep at night. They were now used by Government for the troops coming up the country; and sergeants were stationed there to supply with fresh bullocks and provisions the soldiers who rested and dined there, as these serais are a day’s journey apart.
We travelled slowly along a dusty road for a whole day, the fine dust penetrating everything till we were covered with it. The bullocks, though they went very slowly, were fine large creatures, and
clothed in coarse cloth on account of the cold. I often asked the natives we passed what time it was, but they spoke a different dialect; and, as far as I understood, always said it was twelve o’clock. The country was so desert-like I felt as if I had come to “a land where all things always seemed the same,” and “in which it seemed always afternoon.” At last, about twelve o’clock at night, arriving at a semi, where we stopped to have the wheels of the cart greased, I was aroused by the light of several torches, and found myself in the middle of a courtyard full of carts and bullocks, having a large building at one end. The drivers said that the “sahib,” meaning the sergeant, was coming, and presently the “sahib” appeared and offered me refreshments. At my request, he brought me a cup of tea, and gave the dhye a large supply. He was very kind; and as he said he had no butter, I gave him some potted meat and preserves, of which Mr. Boyle had given me a large supply.
I was much troubled with a whitlow which chose this inopportune time to torment me; and as I could get no water to bathe it in, it gave me much pain and prevented me from sleeping. I travelled on without resting more than a few minutes when the bullocks were changed, and passed parties of the 7th Fusiliers on their way to Lahore; they travelled in their fatigue uniforms, which were long white blouses like a carter’s frock. They always took a look inside my
cart, and seemed astonished to see an English lady travelling in a cart no better than a gipsy’s; some wished me “good morning,” others asked if India was all like this? the road between Mooltan and Lahore being certainly an unfavourable specimen of the beauties of India.
At the last serai I passed, on the evening of the fourth day since leaving Lahore, the sergeant was very kind; he brought me a chair to sit on and have tea, and got me some cold water from the well to bathe my finger in. As he complained of the intense dullness of the place, and said he had no books to read, I gave him “The Heart of Midlothian” and another novel which I had done with; and an officer, who afterwards passed, told me the sergeant had been so interested in Jeanie Deans that he had sat up all night to finish the end of her journey to London.
Early on Sunday morning I reached Multan, and passed the fort where ten years before poor Anderson and Agnew were so barbarously murdered. The dak bungalow being full, I went to the chaplain’s, Mr. James, and was much disappointed to hear that the steamer which was to sail next day was quite full, and that another was not expected for ten more days.
The country around Multan is both sterile and ugly, and being subject to inundations of the Chenab, it is covered with low sand-hills; but water fit for drinking is only to be found at a great depth: when the inundations cover the land it is very fertile, and
rice is much cultivated. Multan, from its proximity to the Indus, must be the gateway of the northern part of India, and in time may become a flourishing station from the constant traffic.
On Monday evening we walked round the parade-ground, where the European soldiers were making preparations for games of cricket, pony-races, &c. Mr. James asked one man what they were going to do, and he replied that they were making ready for the soldiers’ games; for it was right they should have a holiday and enjoy themselves once a year: he said this in a solemn way, as if it were more a sort of duty to enjoy themselves than a pleasure. The next day Mrs. James and I drove to the parade-ground. On a flat dreary plain was collected an immense concourse of people, in the centre of which the English soldiers were commencing their sports, enlivened by a band; around them were grouped the European spectators, the ladies in carriages; and in the background a thick throng of natives, all gaily dressed in holiday attire, with bright turbans and chogars157, looking like a bed of tulips: one man was robed in a chogar of yellow chintz, dotted about with peacocks with spread tails. Cards with programmes of the games were handed round. Here I met a friend, who had come down from Simla by the mail-cart: gentlemen often travel by this conveyance, as there is a seat for one person beside the driver, and it is a
much quicker mode of travelling. I had also the pleasure to meet Mrs. Blake again, who with her party was staying with different friends till the next steamer.
I thought the military cantonments very ugly; the houses being of kutcha, and the gardens not flourishing, as it was a new station. The civil cantonments, two or three miles off, were much prettier. Here, for the first time since leaving Bengal, I saw a great many date-trees.
On the 16th of February the steamer arrived, and an order was issued that anyone who wished to go must be on board the next day at 12 o’clock. As all the carts had been engaged, I hired two camels to carry my boxes down to the steamer; but they did not like the rattling of the boxes and became unmanageable, so the bearer called them “khrab-wallahs158,” and told the man to take them away and bring donkeys in their stead. Next day I sent my baby and dhye in a dhoolie, and Mr. James drove me to the river, which was two miles off. Here I saw a small steamer towing a “flat.” These “flats’ were introduced by Lord William Bentinck, for communication between Calcutta and Allahabad: they are more comfortable and clean than the steamers. My berth was taken for me on board the steamer, by the manager of the relief fund at Multan. Everything was in confusion on board; not the least order
or method were observed. Mr. James having asked the captain to show me my cabin, he took me into what he called “the saloon,” a dark, dirty place, and apologised for its untidy appearance, by saying that troops had broken all the chairs and lamps, when coming up the river, and he had not had time even to clean it out: it certainly looked as though a company of soldiers had had the “run” of it, from its battered, defaced appearance. The captain said that all the cabins were engaged, and pointed out a bench, about two feet wide, running round part of the saloon: “This is your share,” he said, pointing to a chalk line marking out about six feet of the bench, with my name chalked on it. I must say I was taken aback, even after my experience of fort life; for this space was all the accommodation for myself, baby, and dhye. A dirty, sail-cloth kind of curtain, separated my berth, from that of another lady’s, and from the saloon; and behind this curtain we had to sleep and perform our toilettes. Mr. James, having ordered his bearer to unpack my bedding and carry down some of my smallest boxes and stow them under the bench, bade me good-bye. I thee went on deck and found Mrs. Blake, and several other friends; also Mr. Maclaine of the 3rd Europeans, who was wounded at Agra on the 10th of October. They were all, however, much to my vexation, located on the flat. I went to see their cabins, which, though small, were better than those on the steamer. The
passengers on the steamer were all strangers to me; amongst them were two chaplains, and some officers of the 7th Fusiliers, who were on their way back again to England, having only been a few weeks in India. All the gentlemen had to sleep on deck, as there was no room for them below.
As the steamer had to stop every evening to take in a fresh supply of wood, we thus got a walk before dinner; and the gentlemen sometimes went out shooting ducks, geese, teal, and other water-fowl which abounded in the neighbouring marshes. The country was so flat, that one evening a party of us, out walking, lost our way in the dusk; till at last, coming in sight of the funnel of the steamer (a conspicuous land mark in that flat region), we guided ourselves back.
We frequently met steamers coming up the Indus, and often with troops on board; and one evening, returning from our usual walk, we found a cheerful scene near the river. The soldiers from a steamer coming up, had gone on shore to amuse themselves: many of them, having just killed a bullock, were cooking their suppers over fires; this, with the wild groups of coolies running to and fro with wood, which was piled up in large quantities on the bank, formed a study fit for Rembrandt.
We halted for an hour or two at Mittun Cote, a dreadfully hot, unhealthy station, situated on the junction of the Chenab and Jhelum with the Indus.
The river is much wider here, and there are little islands on which are built heathen temples.
On the 28th we reached the sea, and as our steamer was not strong enough to breast the waves, we had to cross on to another over a narrow plank. We lay at anchor all night at the mouth of the river, as the entrance to the harbour at Karachi is rather difficult; and at daybreak we were off again and reached Karachi about noon. Now began the bustle of landing; which gave me much trouble, for my dhye was a novice at travelling, and I had her to take care of as well as the baby and luggage.
The brigade-major, however, who came down for Mrs. Blake, kindly took me in his boat, and promised to drive me to my friend’s house. We had to wait some time at the landing-place; as a vessel which was anchored some way out was waiting for its cargo of Pandies, ready to take them to the Andaman Islands. The sepoys, chained together in couples, and manacled, were coming down the steps into the boats. They looked a wretched, miserable, dirty set, and the clanking of their chains had a dismal sound. The captain of their vessel, a Yankee, said he would “break them in.” They were to clean out their “dens” or “hutches” on board, and eat bacon or anything, regardless of caste. Some people said that few would reach their destination, as they suffer so much from sea-sickness and have such a devout horror of the “black water,” and have been known to mutiny
rather than go by sea from Calcutta to Bombay, or elsewhere.
The Andaman Islands, a group of four islands inhabited by savages, in the Bay of Bengal, arc so unhealthy, that though the English tried to form a settlement there in 1791, they were obliged to abandon them in five years. It was said that each sepoy was to be allowed a knife, to defend himself against the savages, and some food; and if he behaved well, his wife was to be sent to him in two years.
When I saw Karachi, I thought of the prophetic words of Napier. “I see plainly, Karachi will be nothing, till a mole be made from the Blander to Kamaree point: this mole will be ruinous, yet it will change Karachi from a mud-built hamlet to a large and flourishing city.” This has been done, and Karachi is now a “flourishing” town; and when the railway is finished and a direct communication with England by steamer started, it will become a place of great importance. The church here is a fine new one; the town is large, and contains several European shops. The cantonments are just like the Panjab cantonments. The “course” runs along by the side of the sea, and its termination is called “Scandal point;” as all the carriages stop there for their occupants to enjoy the sea breezes and talk. The surrounding country is bleak and unproductive. We were again too late: for the steamer going to Bombay was quite full, but I heard that another would start in a few days.
On the evening of the 6th of March, Mr. Rawlinson drove me down to the harbour, which was some distance from cantonments; and on our way he pointed out the place where the railway to Indore was being marked out. The steamer was anchored some way out, and it was not very pleasant to trust oneself to the mercy of a rough sea in a queer little boat, managed by a crew of natives, who kept furling and unfurling the sail in such an unskilful way that I thought we should be capsized every minute.
The dhye, who had never been beyond Ambalah in her life, was dreadfully frightened. Mr. Rawlinson kindly accompanied me on board, where I again met Mrs. Blake and her party, and Lady Hope Grant; her husband having lately been made a K.C.B.
We reached Bombay on the 9th of March, the day the overland steamer left; and I thought of going to the Refugees’ House; but, not knowing where it was, went to the Hope Hall Hotel. This was a most fatiguing day, from the difficulty of getting the boxes out of the hold, amongst the gesticulating and jabbering natives, and then procuring a carriage.
The harbour at Bombay is thought one of the most beautiful in the world. The entrance is between the Colabba and Caranja Islands, and there is a lofty lighthouse on the extremity of Colabba. Bombay appears to be one of the most densely and variously populated cities in the world: it is thronged with
English, French, Persians, Arabs, Jews, Portuguese; and natives from the different islands, besides the large native population of Hindus, Parsees, and Mahomedans.
This day it was particularly crowded, there being a fresh influx of people preparing to leave by the different steamers and sailing vessels. At the hotel I met Mrs. Blake, who had gone on shore earlier than I had; she was very anxious to leave that day, by the overland steamer, but found it impossible. The hotel was so crowded that the proprietress said she had not a room to spare; but she gave up her own room to Mrs. Blake, and to me a little place screened off from the hall, which was only just vacated; she said that people were even obliged to pitch tents in the “compound.” The next morning I received a large packet of home letters, which had been sent to my agents; and most welcome they were, as I had not received any since leaving the fort. I was again worried with business, having agents to see, letters to write to the “committee,” money matters to arrange, and clothes for my voyage to see after; and last, though not least, to persuade my dhye to go with me to England. Formerly people had large sums to pay before taking natives to England, as a security for their safe return; but now they are not considered so precious.
In the evening, Mrs. Blake, Mr. Maclaine, myself, and another gentleman, drove to the Botanical Gardens,
which are very beautiful, and the scent of the tropical plants is most delicious. The drive was a very pleasant one; everywhere the blue sea appeared, and date and cocoa-nut trees flourished; the sea breezes contributing much to their growth.
Bombay is a most amusing town, having much more of native character in its buildings and inhabitants than Calcutta. The streets are narrow, and thronged with motley groups of natives, amongst which the Parsees are most conspicuous, with their curious head-dresses, about which they are very fastidious; these headdresses are horizontal tubes of stiff card, covered with silk of a peculiar pattern. Besides this headgear they wear a white linen or cloth caftan, and loose, flowing silk trowsers of the brightest hues: scarlet striped with orange, and other gay varieties; with a cummerbund to match, and English boots or shoes of patent leather. The Parsees appear predominant in Bombay; and many of them hold public offices. One day I went to my agents and asked to speak to the head of the firm, when an important looking Parsee appeared, and told me that since the death of the manager, he (the Parsee) carried on business in his name. The Parsees are immensely wealthy; they drive beautiful English carriages and horses, and have splendid establishments; their houses being furnished with English and French furniture of the most costly kind: chandeliers, mirrors, velvet-covered couches, rich carpets,
marble tables, Buhl cabinets, pictures, books, pianos, and articles of vertu. Their gardens, too, are very beautiful, and kept up at a great expense. They give splendid entertainments, and are particularly fond of iced champagne. Even the humblest Parsees know English, and the rich have their children regularly instructed in it. The Parsee ladies are generally richly attired in a chudda of the finest silk or gauze, wound round them: this chudda is called a “sari” in Bombay, and is so many yards in length that it serves for a skirt as well as a veil. They wear a small bodice of velvet or silk, fastened with precious stones, and drawers of silk, or fine muslin; their arms and ankles are covered with costly bangles, and their noses and ears pierced with jewelled rings.
I was told that many of them are even richer than our merchant princes at home, and are very munificent in their charities. They say the reason Sir Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy gives such immense sums is, that he won’t be out-done even by the governor. Some of their names are very odd, and can never be mistaken; many of them terminate in jee: as, Cursetjee, Bomanjee, Ruttonjee, Luxmonjee, &c.
The Parsee religion is very curious. Zoroaster was the reformer of the ancient religion, or rather the founder of a new system, which became the dominant faith of the East, until the rise of the Mahomedan power and the conquest of Persia by the Arabs in the 7th century, compelled the Persians
to abandon their ancient religion. Those who would not, fled to the deserts of Kerman, and to Hindustan, where they still exist under the name of Parsees, a name derived from Pars or Fars, the ancient name of Persia: the Arabs call them “Guebers,” signifying unbelievers.
The system of religion founded by Zoroaster teaches them the existence of an Almighty being, who created two archangels; one of these, Ormuzd, remained faithful to his Creator, and is the source of all good and light; the other, Ahriman, rebelled against his Creator, and became the author of all the evil upon the earth. Ormuzd created man, and supplied him with all materials for happiness; but Ahriman introduced evil into the world. The Parsees adore fire, light, and the sun, as emblems of Ormuzd, and keep a fire continually burning in their temples. They have a class of priests, called Magi. They carry their dead on biers, and expose them on lofty towers, called Parsi Dakhma, or Towers of Silence, until the vultures and other birds of prey have devoured the flesh, when they throw the bones into a deep well.
It was really quite a treat to visit the shops in Bombay; the china depository was very attractive, with its carved ivory chessmen and jars, deliciously scented sandal wood boxes, inlaid and carved like the finest lace; silver work from Dacca, and large china vases and monsters. Most of the shops are in the fort,
Which is like a small fortified town: the cathedral also is within the walls of the fort. The fortifications are extensive, and would require a large garrison to defend them. Near the sea the walls are very strong; but the houses are lofty, and many of them built of wood, so that there is great danger of fire. In 1803, a fire did break out in the fort, and burnt many houses.
The fort had a money-making look; most of the people seemed mentally adding up accounts, and all looked rich and flourishing. The barbacan was guarded by some highland soldiers, who looked strange with their fair faces and picturesque costume.
We visited the famous caves of Elephants. Starting early in the morning, we drove to the “Builder,” and then had a pleasant sail of an hour and a half. The bay is surrounded by a beautiful range of well wooded hills, and contains the islands of Salsette159 and Elephanta. The blue water, dotted about with different sized vessels, and picturesque native boats with lateen sails, formed a beautiful scene. On landing, we ascended to the caves by a rude flight of steep steps embowered in trees. The caves are certainly most wonderful. The cave temple is supposed to have been excavated in the tenth century. It is 130 feet long by 110 wide,
and the roof is the solid rock, supported by four rows of columns nine feet high. On the walls are carved, in high relief, colossal figures of Shiva and his wife Parvati. The cave was agreeably cool and shady after the heat outside. Along the side are little cells, formerly inhabited by the priests.
We had some luncheon tables placed for the purpose. On our return we met a large school of girls, English and half-castes, with their teachers; they were all dressed neatly in white, but I noticed that they had no stockings on.
A few days after our arrival in Bombay, Mrs. Blake and Mrs. Shakespear went to stay with a friend of theirs, the Hon. Mr. Mallet, a Member of Council, and Mrs. Mallet most kindly invited me also, thinking I should be uncomfortable at the crowded hotel.
Their house was at Mazagon, about a mile out of town, and the drive to it lay through a bazaar and along the shore. The house is a most spacious and comfortable one, situated in a large compound sloping down to the sea, and having a pretty garden. The sound of the waves and the fresh spray added beauty to the scene. The rooms were very large, lofty, and numerous, the drawing room was fifty feet long.
The houses at Bombay do not look so imposing outside as those at Calcutta, but they are quite as lofty and spacious: they are more like bungalows with thatched roofs, and only one story high. Instead
of residing in the town, as at Calcutta, all the Europeans, and rich Parsees and natives, lire either at Mazagon, Bycullah, or Malabar Hill; and some have houses in the hills, about fifty miles from Bombay, where they spend the hot months; but the climate of Bombay is not nearly so oppressive as that of Bengal, and there is almost always a fresh breeze from the sea. The houses are most richly furnished with white marble, and a wood that grows in the neighbourhood, something like ebony; and much of the furniture is English.
On Sunday we went to a beautiful new church, at Bycullah, built of a fine white stone. The bishop preached.
The drive from the Mallets’ house to the fort was very amusing; we often stopped in the bazaar, when returning from a drive in the evening, to have the carriage lamps lighted. The gaily dressed crowds of natives and brilliant lights were very pretty.
The spirit shops are very attractive to the natives; the liquors being put in the window in beautifully coloured jars, over which gay lamps are suspended. The natives make toddy from the date trees, which abound in Bombay, and for each tree they pay a tax. They climb these trees by cutting notches in the trunk, and then hang up earthen vessels to collect the dropping juice, which they afterwards ferment; they also make an intoxicating drink from rice. The
wells at Bombay are very pretty, and being mostly surrounded by motley groups of natives bearing large jars and earthen vessels on their heads, and bheesties filling their capacious mussaks160, they look picturesque. The Esplanade before the fort runs along the shore; it is a wide and extensive green, like the Maidan at Calcutta, and affords pleasant drives. A band plays twice a week, and every evening it is thronged with people riding and driving. Here too the inhabitants turn out at a certain hour, forming a curious medley of dress, language, and nations.
The Parsees, conspicuous with their unbecoming head dresses, are dotted about in groups, sitting on small pieces of carpet, eating and chatting with one another; the richer ones, lolling back in their luxurious carriages, looking the personification of ease and self-satisfaction, drive about bowing condescendingly to the Europeans, whom they always pass with a dash.
On the Esplanade, rows of tents are pitched called the “Strangers’ Lines,” which can be hired by people who prefer this mode of life; or, as is constantly the case, when the hotels are full. These tents are very large and comfortable, and contain several compartments used as sitting, sleeping, and bath rooms. Here, too, in the season, people often erect bungalows,
which they remove when the rains begin; as the sea often overflows the coast.
The public buildings at Bombay are not so fine as at Calcutta; and the governor’s house is at Pareil, some miles out. The town hall and church at Bycullah are handsome buildings, and there is also a comfortable club house at Bycullah, and a race course.
The steamer we were to leave by was an extra one; put on in addition, on account of the great number of passengers waiting to proceed to England, many of whom had been in readiness some time. The Relief Fund gave us free passages, and a sum of money for an outfit; these passages were given by the Peninsular and Oriental Company, to the managers of the relief fund, at a reduced rate. The passage rid Bombay is not so expensive; mine, including the nurse’s, only cost £150: whereas, in coming out to Calcutta, a reserved cabin for two had cost us £300.
A few days before we left, Colonel Greathed came to dine at the Mallets. He spoke of the battle on the 10th of October, and asked us if we were not very glad when he so opportunely arrived at Agra, only just in time.
On the 18th of March the “Oriental” was to leave, so we bade good-bye to our hospitable friends, and drove down to the Apollo Bunder; when finding the steamer had not yet come round, we put off in a
boat, and were soon on board. Only those who have been on board a large vessel can know the bustle and confusion that goes on at first, and how soon people settle quietly down. We were a very pleasant party; and many who had come down the Indus with me were on board.
We sailed in the evening, and the moon which had just risen, cast a soft flood of light over the clear blue sea, and the white houses and green trees of Bombay sloping down to the water. I had soon taken my last look of India, and its myriads of people, – most of whom are black at heart, – its burning sun, and all the scenes of horror I had witnessed.
We had a prosperous voyage, but had to wait a week in Egypt; which, however, gave us the pleasure of seeing the pyramids, the bazaars, for which Cairo is celebrated, the petrified forest, Heliopolis, and other relics of this interesting land, which never can be surpassed or equalled in beauty, wonders, and grandeur.
At Alexandria, I parted with great regret from Mrs. Blake, who had been my kind friend and fellow-sufferer since the 14th of June, 1857. She was going via Marseilles to Paris.
On the 26th of April, 1858, the “Ripon” arrived at Southampton, where I was met by my father, and I again stood on the shore of dear old England; which, if I did not kiss, I embraced in my heart.
Ah! thought I, you who dwell in this land can never value enough the privilege of living in a country where freedom reigns in deed as well as in word, where Christianity is universal, and which is ruled by a sovereign, who sets to all her subjects a good and noble example.
154. Chota hazerai, little breakfast.
155. Chogar, a long loose cloak.
156. Some say, however, that both these days were premature, as the natives intended to rise in rebellion on June 23rd, being the centenary of the battle of Plassey, gained by Clive, June 23rd, 1757.
157. Chogar, a long loose cloak.
158. Khrab-wallah, cross or ugly fellow.
159. The island of Salsette, in 1739, was in the possession of the Mahrattas, and separated from Bombay; it is now united by causeways.
160. Mussak, a goatskin for carrying water.
This collection transcribed by Chris Gage