We arrived at Gwalior at twelve o’clock on the 8th of January. I was aroused from my slumbers by the dhooly being suddenly set down before a large white house, and was surprised to see a sepoy keeping guard, and several more lying on the ground asleep. The door was opened, and a servant appeared, saying our rooms were ready, and he would prepare us some tea; which was very welcome, as we had felt the cold greatly. I had not the comfort of smoking cigars like my husband. Captain and Mrs. Campbell had retired for the night, but sent their salaam, and hoped we would make ourselves comfortable.
Early next morning I was awakened by the cackling and screaming of poultry, and jumping up to see the cause of the excitement, beheld Mrs. Campbell, who had just returned from her drive, surrounded by about a hundred hens and cocks, fifty or sixty guinea-fowls, and ducks, geese, pigeons, and turkeys in like proportion, which she was feeding. She afterwards told me that if she did not daily see all the animals
fed, the natives would steal them, or starve them by appropriating their food.
My husband went out to see what he could do about a house; but none were then vacant. There was only a chance of our getting a small house, when Major Macpherson, who then occupied it instead of the residency, left it; and a regiment was shortly expected to leave for one of the out-stations.
I was very anxious to hear what the station was like, and was relieved when my husband said he thought it a pretty one.
It surprised me to see what a nice large house the Campbells had, after the unprepossessing accounts I had heard of bungalows – that they were “low and dark, not to be compared to the pucka39 houses.” Bungalows are, however, cooler and better suited to the climate; having thick walls, thatched roofs, and sloping eaves, surrounded by a wide verandah, and a portico for carriages to drive under. Though they have not so many rooms as a pucka house, they contain a dining and drawing room, one or two small sitting-rooms, two or three bed-rooms, bath and dressing-rooms, all on the ground floor; also godowns40 and bearers’ rooms. The rooms are only separated from the roof by a piece of whitewashed calico stretched tightly across, which looks quite like a ceiling.
I was agreeably surprised when I entered the
Campbells’ large, beautifully furnished drawing-room. Most of the furniture was English; but there were some curiosities from Burmah – solid silver cups, alabaster ornaments, and a bell and kezee41, exactly like those my husband brought us to England from Burmah. Some arm-chairs looked very odd, with their arms extending out for people to rest their legs on. The most curious things were some teak-wood sofas and chairs that Captain Campbell had brought from Burmah, the elaborate carving of which would have been admired even in a medieval German town: two cabinets were carved all over with figures of Gautama (the Burmese deity). The Burmese poongie-houses42 are famous: I saw one being erected in. the Auckland Gardens at Calcutta. A description of a Burmese pagoda, taken from a diary my husband kept in Burmah, will give a good idea of the carving, &c.
“We mounted our spirited Burmese ponies, and rode up to the Dagon Pagoda; on arriving at a flight of black granite steps, we dismounted and began to ascend. The whole was covered with an arcade supported on solid teak-trees, and in many parts covered with leaf-gold, or painted red. Emerging from this, we entered upon the large enclosure which occupies the summit of the hill and surrounds the great Dagon Pagoda. The scene here was
extraordinary. In the centre rose the vast spire of the pagoda, surmounted by the golden umbrella, to the height of 320 feet, resting on a base, whose deep shadows and projecting angles and mouldings of every variety gave one the idea of the greatest strength and massiveness; while the ample court was crowded with a confused assemblage of smaller pagodas, elaborately carved and gilded poongie-houses, gigantic images resembling lions in a sitting posture, and covered with scales of silvered glass, wooden representations of the human figure upon birds, elevated on long poles; temples erected over immense bells; sacred trees, hung with all manner of decorations, some of which were long tubes of fine muslin stretched on hoops or metal pipes, or figures of elephants made of tinsel and paper: and smaller buildings of various shapes and sizes.
“Two bells there were larger than any I had before seen, and supposed to weigh between twenty and thirty tons; they were each surrounded by a carved and gilded canopy, supported on pillars made of gigantic teak-trees, and produced, when struck with a stone or brick, a very melodious sound. Mr. Bull pointed out to me a most remarkable and large sacred banyan-tree, probably a hundred feet high, from the highest branch of which a perfectly straight drop, had gradually grown downwards and taken root. Around the base of it was built a sort of altar, shaped like a crown, the interior being filled up with
earth; and it was hung with muslin tubes and paper ornaments. The elevated platform of the enclosure commanded a most beautiful view of the surrounding jungle and winding river. Altogether the scene was the most striking that I had yet witnessed, and made me feel as if I were upon a different globe, and among a different race of beings from those to which I was accustomed. The interior of the Burmese pagodas are, like some of the Egyptian pyramids, solid, containing only a few small gold and silver images embedded in the brickwork, or, as they report, ‘a tooth or lock of hair of Gautama, the object of their worship.’ Those of the Burmese who became possessed of wealth in times past, generally devoted it to the building and decoration of pagodas, and to the services of religion; and at the present time the great Dagon Pagoda is being re-covered with leaf gold by the contributions of the inhabitants of Rangoon, at a vast expense.”
But to return to Gwalior. About two o’clock I was amused, at the ringing of a bell, to see about half a dozen horses appear with their syces, to be fed; then the goats and the fowls went through the same process; about three o’clock we dined. At five we drove out in a pretty carriage and pair to see the station. My first view was a pleasing one. The cantonments consisted of a row of large thatched houses in compounds, like pretty, gay gardens, on each side of a wide road bordered with trees, and
about a mile long. The road had an English look: the people were driving and riding about, and the pretty, healthy-looking children (so different from those of Calcutta) also riding or driving in little pony-carriages. We passed the church, which looked exactly like an English one, and is very well built.
Early next morning I walked with my husband to have a good survey of the church; it was not surrounded with verandahs, nor had it windows down to the ground, or venetian, or a flat roof, like the other churches I had seen. These omissions added to the beauty, but not to the coolness, so important to an Indian church. It was small, with open benches, and the chancel paved with encaustic tiles from England. The windows – though not Waile’s or Hardman’s – were very prettily painted. The pulpit was of Caen stone, and the reading desk oak, with velvet cushions. On the communion-table was a velvet cloth, and books bound in Russian leather. There was an organ brought from England five years ago, but quite out of order. The architect was Major Vincent Eyre, of the Engineers.
On Sunday the 11th, my husband had a very kind note from one of Sir Robert Hamilton’s brothers, saying that he and his brother (also a chaplain) would be very glad to assist him in the service; so the three chaplains divided the morning and evening services between them. The church was very well filled.
On Monday, according to an Indian custom, my husband began his round of calls. The inhabitants of the station consisted of the Resident, the Brigadier, the Brigade-Major, about thirty officers and their families, some men belonging to the telegraph office, and a few sergeants and drummers, all Europeans: there were four native regiments of the Gwalior Contingent, the rest being stationed at Jhansi, Sipri, and one or two other small stations. These troops belonged to the Company, and were officered by them, but were paid by the Maharajah of Gwalior, to whom the whole of that part of the country belonged, though under the surveillance of political agents.
The ladies then all called on me, and I returned their calls.
Our first week at Gwalior was very gay, owing to the arrival of Sir Robert Hamilton, Agent to the Governor-General, on a tour; and with him General Havelock and his Staff, on their way to Persia.
We went to a large dinner given by the Gwalior officers to Sir R. Hamilton. Though I entered the room not knowing a single person in it (as Mrs. Campbell, being ill, could not go), my Scotch descent soon made me feel among friends; for every one nearly in India is Scotch or Irish: I met many of the former who knew my father’s family in Dumfriesshire. I do think there were only half a dozen genuine English in the room, including my husband.
The mess-house was a large bungalow, containing a fine dining and drawing room, a billiard and several smaller rooms.
Of course, the gentlemen outnumbered the ladies; and all the former being in uniform, there was nothing to contrast with the gay dresses of the ladies, except a few black velvet dresses which some of the ladies had wisely attired themselves in. I was struck with the youthful look of the whole party; very few had passed their “première jeunesse,” all were nice-looking, and not many unmarried; there was not one lady unmarried.
The rooms were brilliantly lighted and prettily furnished, and the dinner just like an English one, for what could not be procured in India had been brought from Europe; including hermetically-sealed fruits, fish, and meats, and preserves, with champagne, &c. The evening ended with music, silting, and games.
A few days after, my husband went to a dinner in Sir Robert Hamilton’s tent, and was introduced to General Havelock. I remember (being uninitiated into such things) asking him, on his return, “if the tent was cold,” and was told it was very luxurious, carpeted with thick Mirzapur carpets, and heated by stoves, and that the dinner reminded him somewhat of a Cambridge feast.
Then the Resident gave Sir R. Hamilton a dinner, to which we all went. My husband went
to a durbar43, held by Sir R. Hamilton and the Maharajah, in the latter’s palace. I need not give a description of the levee; such things are well known now: there was the usual amount of nautch girls, fireworks, &c., and my husband returned with a wreath of yellow jessamine, with which the natives always adorn their guests, and some packets of sweetmeats, and pawn44, and pieces of fine muslin scented with attar of roses, all of which I delighted my ayah by giving to her. My husband said he had seen many of the neighbouring chiefs, who had come to make their “salaam,” and thought them fine-looking men.
Unfortunately the Rajah was a Hindu; therefore, the cow being sacred in his eyes, we were not allowed any beef, except it was brought occasionally from Agra; but the distance and heat not being favourable, we seldom tasted any. We subscribed to “the mutton club,” however.
I wish the Rajah had known what a grudge I owed him for this troublesome prejudice. These Hindus are the most inconsistent people: I have frequently seen them starve and ill-treat their sacred animals in the most heartless and cruel manner; and have seen a poor bullock in a dying state, and in such suffering, that it would have been a mercy
to put it out of its misery; but if you dared to do such a thing they would never forgive it, or let you forget it.
I was astonished at the fine appearance of the sepoys whom I saw drilled and exercised every morning. They were tall, well-made, intelligent looking men; many of them more than six feet high. They looked a soldierly set in their gay regimentals.
Their lines45 were rows of neat small houses on each side a road, planted with trees, and kept clean by mehtas46. Each regiment had its separate lines and parade ground. They are well paid and handsomely rewarded, have a chance of promotion and of retiring on a good pension; all their fancies are humoured, and their religion and caste are attended to: even their festival days were kept, and (so far as I saw) their officers always treated them kindly; yet these very men were in a short time butchering their officers in cold blood.
Many of the Gwalior sepoys were natives of Oude, and recruits were daily coming in.
Soon after our arrival at Gwalior, we went to a pic-nic at the fort; and started early in the morning, at gun-fire. I must here remark how startled I was when I first heard the gun-fire at Gwalior; it was such a loud report, and so near the Campbells’ house,
it literally shook the bed; and then commenced the moat absurd “row,” beating the tattoo, sounding the bugle, and practising the artillery. The gun is fired at sunrise, noon, and sunset. But to return to our picnic: it was bitterly cold. Captain and Mrs. Campbell rode, and we drove. We passed over the bridge; the nullah47 was nearly dry then, but during the rains it swells to quite a river. We were amused to see the quantity of dhobis48 beating the clothes in the water, or drying them on the banks. The country beyond was very ugly: nothing but low sand-hills; not a tree or blade of grass, and so dreary, it was difficult to believe we had left such blooming gardens and comfortable houses in the middle of it. Gwalior was certainly an oasis in the desert.
We saw the telegraph office and the place where the railway was to be continued to Indore from Agra.
We met parties of natives carrying gram and vegetables for sale to supply the small bazaar there. The road was very bad, not being made of kunkur49. When we reached the Lushkur50, six miles off, we found an elephant waiting, as the road was no longer fit for a carriage, and the ascent to the fort was steep. At the mahout’s51 order the creature
knelt, and we climbed its huge sides by the help of a ladder, on to a pad – a large cushion on which four people could sit dos-a-dos.
It was my first ride on an elephant, therefore the rough jolting pace was rather fatiguing, but not so bad as I expected. The animal was so intelligent, and picked its way so carefully, I felt quite at ease. The mahout talked to it just as though it understood every word (perhaps it did), calling it by endearing names, such as “my little son” and “my brother.” The road here became so narrow there was only just room for the elephant, and the steps were very long and steep. The entrance to the fort was decorated with blue and variegated tiles, which still kept their colour. The fort is in ruins, situated on the summit of a rock four miles in length, rising with perpendicular sides in the midst of a flat plain, and about two or three hundred feet high. This fort was thought impregnable till it was taken by Major Popham, in 1778; but it was afterwards ceded to the Mahrattas, and had to be retaken.
The steps we ascended were formed of immense masses of stone, much out of repair, and ran sheer up the side of the rock. They were formerly defended on the side next the city by a wall and bastions. We wandered amongst the ruins of vast masses of masonry scattered about; some part of the building was still standing, and I thought what
it must have cost to take it. As the sun was getting hot, we returned to some rooms in that part which had not been destroyed, and where the officers had lived when the fort was garrisoned. They were large and cool, and sometimes the families from the Mora52 came up and occupied them for a short time for change of air. We found here the Alexanders and their merry children, Captain and Mrs. Gilbert, Lieutenant Cockbourn, Captain Cosserat, and several others.
After breakfast we continued exploring the ruins, under the shade of large white umbrellas. There were some queer little caves cut out of the solid rocks, where the fakirs53 used to live. We had a good view of the sandy plain stretched out below, where was a Mahratta encampment, the tents looking like little white dots, so far were we above. The large white palace of the Maharajah appeared some distance off: the Lushkur looked picturesque and large. This fort is dreadfully hot in the hot season, there being nothing to break the force of the scorching winds which blow over the low sandy country. We went into some of the halls, lofty and carved in stone; and into a dungeon sort of place full of rubbish and bats, where we broke off some of the coloured glazed tiles with which the roofs and walls were covered: but “sight-seeing” in India, under
the heat of the dazzling sun, is very fatiguing, and we were soon glad to retire again to our pleasant shelter, where tiffin was preparing.
We sat on the bastions watching the children playing about as merrily as any at home, and heard the distant hum of the natives rising from the plain. I was amused to see the host of natives required to bring up the tables chairs, &c., from cantonments. Many of them were women, and they made a tremendous chattering, jabbering, and squabbling.
An Indian picnic is very different to an English one, where you can scramble about as long as you choose, and where you are not obliged to rest in the cool nearly the whole time. The breakfast and tiffin were very good; both given by some officers of the mess.
At last we commenced our return home, and again climbed our trusty elephant. The rest of the party followed, some on elephants, some in tonjons54, some of the gentlemen riding. I remember Captain Cosserat riding his sure-footed Arab (a great favourite of his) down the steep steps after us. Poor fellow he afterwards died of wounds received before Lucknow. Our descent was rather disagreeable work: though the elephant stepped very cautiously, its immense strides were rather disturbing to one’s equilibrium.
I enjoyed our picnic very much; though it was rather fatiguing to dress for a dinner party immediately after our return: but we spent a most pleasant evening at the Stuarts’. Mrs. Stuart was a most amiable person; young and very pretty, and so kind and friendly that I took quite a. fancy to her. She played very well, and promised to teach me to tune my piano when it arrived, as it would not do to depend on a piano-tuner coming from Calcutta. Captain Stuart was very clever, and my husband. enjoyed his conversation much. He played on “the musical glasses,” and their ethereal tones were very soothing. They had a little boy and girl, who came in after dinner, as is the custom in England. We met Captain and Mrs. Hawkins, both agreeable people. They had just come in with the artillery from one of the out-stations. Captain Hawkins gave my husband some good advice about visiting the outstations, and said he “should be glad to see him at Sipri; and as travelling in the cold weather was very delightful, he must bring me with him.”
We also met Dr. Kirk, a thoroughly kind, warm-hearted Scotchman, who was just going his visits into the district, being superintending surgeon. Mrs. Kirk had gone to Calcutta to see her children off on their way to Scotland.
It is really strange to see how people meet again in such different places. One day we went to call on an officer, and I was astonished to see my husband
shaking hands in the most friendly way with a (to me) strange gentleman. I soon found out he was Dr. Christison, whom my husband had met before in Burmah, and at Cambridge.
I was much annoyed at the time; for our boxes, which we had sent off from Calcutta before we set out ourselves, had not reached Gwalior, and I had no evening dresses; all our wearing apparel being contained in two portmanteaus and some travelling cases. At last we heard they had arrived, and much disappointed we were on seeing only eleven great packing cases of books, linen, and crockery sent over by the Cape. One disadvantage to Gwalior was, it not being situated on the Grand Trunk Road, so that all our boxes and furniture had to be brought from Agra by coolies; but there was a corresponding advantage: we got our letters via Bombay, only four weeks via Marseilles, and five via Southampton.
The immense improvements that have been made within the last few years in the postal system are really surprising. Formerly a letter – that can now be sent from Calcutta to Bombay from the extreme south to the extreme part of the Afghan frontier, for the low rate of three farthings – cost one shilling; and now a letter can be sent from the centre of India to any part of Great Britain for sixpence. In former days you would not receive an answer to a letter sent by the Cape within a year; so it
was like banishment: letters from the exiled one were like “angels’ visits, few and far between.”
My husband found great amusement and occupation for a fortnight, in taking to pieces and replacing the church organ, which, as I have before mentioned, was quite out of order: a note could not be struck without the accompaniment of a ludicrous groaning kind of noise. He had studied a book on tuning, and being of a mechanical turn, and finding it hopeless to wait for the “tuner from Calcutta,” he set to work, and got on very satisfactorily; till one morning he came to me in a great state of perplexity, saying, if I did not come and help him, the organ would not be ready the next day (Sunday). I accordingly accompanied him to the church, and was very much astonished to see the different parts of the organ lying all about; however, as he had marked all the pipes and their corresponding places, I had nothing to do but hand them to him, whilst he replaced them, and soon all was accomplished to our great satisfaction. The next day one of the ladies played, and we arranged a regular practising day. Some of the ladies had been members of the Simla choir, which is a very good one. We learnt some of the very best chants and hymns, which added much to the beauty of the service, and I flatter myself that our church and service might have been compared with those of any small church in England. The officers also were very useful and kind in taking
parts and blowing the bellows. At last my husband persuaded the church bearer, by the promise of extra rupees, to undertake it; who evidently thought it was himself who played: often, when I was practising, he would stop suddenly, and peep round the corner grinning, as if to show me how helpless I was without his assistance.
At last the small house was vacated for us by Major Macpherson, who went to Calcutta with the Maharajah. For six weeks we had been lookers-on, but now we gradually became initiated into the minutia of life at a small station. Most people kept from twenty to thirty servants; those who had children kept a bearer or ayah for each child. We kept about twenty; they cost from £100. to £200. a year, even in a station (and in the large towns like Calcutta they cost more), and we were told we should require more coolies in the hot season, to pull the punkahs55. We were obliged to keep a great number, as they will do only their own particular work: it required three to cook the dinner, one to wash, one to sweep, one to attend to the rooms, one to sew, one for the bullocks, one for the fowls, one to carry water for the animals, one for the goats and cows, two for each horse. Besides those I mentioned we required in Calcutta, and a gardener, my husband had a bearer and I two ayahs:
a high-caste woman for a lady’s maid, and a low-caste one to do the under work. This is to gratify another absurd prejudice; for the natives think you are not “correct” if you employ a low-caste woman about your person: a high-caste native won’t stay in the same room with a low-caste, or touch or take anything from him. A lady told me she once sent her matrané56 with a note to a sepoy, when he commanded her to throw it down, as he would not “defile himself by taking it from her.” Many people keep chaprasis and others, to perform what one man would do in England, but in Madras and Bombay so many are not required.
We bought a share in “the Mutton Club,” which is managed by an officer and hosts of satellite& The arrangements are as follows: – A flock of sheep is kept, and separated into three divisions; No. 1 is a lot of fresh sheep to be added to the others, called jungle-wallahs57; No. 2 are grass-wallahs; No. 3 are grass and gram wallahs, or those given both grass and gram daily, ready for killing; so we had a plentiful supply of mutton – a shoulder one day, and leg the next: it was “mutton hot and mutton cold, mutton young and mutton old, mutton tough and mutton tender” every day, occasionally varied by fowls, fish, and game.
We also subscribed to the Book Club, which was a very good one considering the distance it was
from the chief emporium of civilization. We had many of the new publications, “Blackwood’s” and “Fraser’s” Magazines, and several Indian papers, via., “The Delhi Gazette,” “The Friend of India,” “The Mofussilite,” and a stupid thing called “The Delhi Punch,” a bad imitation of its witty namesake in England: but it required a more perfect knowledge of Hindustani than I possessed to understand its would-be witty sayings and pictures, which all referred to “grills” and their mistakes.
There always are plenty of funds to be subscribed to in India; one for watering the roads, another for the band, &c. My husband had the partial superintendence of a school for natives kept up by the officers, who all paid a native Christian to teach them; my husband often used to go and hear the children read: some of the mistakes they made in translating were most amusing.
The officers were getting up a band, and even were sending to England for the musical instruments, which the sepoys were to be taught to play; but the mutiny put a stop to it, and all other improvements.
It was now the middle of February, and very cool in the morning and evening, and not oppressively hot in the middle of the day; indeed, we made all our calls from 12 o’clock to three.
Some of the ladies walked a great deal: I knew one or two who used constantly to walk quite round
the “Course,” four miles long, either morning or evening. We all wore warm shawls and cloth dresses, and kept good fires in our rooms.
The station looked its best, and a walk down the road was very pleasant, with the fresh, fragrant gardens on each side, filled with sweet-scented flowers; the magnolia, with their rich fragrance, and the bright scarlet blossoms of the pomegranate contrasting with its glossy green leaves, the soft puffy golden-coloured flowers of the barbul (the “wax flower,” as it is called, from the waxy look of its dark green leaves and white flowers), the Indian scented jessamine, various sorts of roses, and a large flower with petals like scarlet leaves, besides mignionette, larkspur, and other English flowers. The native flowers have either an overpowering scent, or none at all. The vegetables were all kinds of melons, potatoes, yams, cucumbers, and many others, the names of which I have forgotten. The trees were the neem, different species of acacia, mango, guava, orange, and lime, a few bamboos (but no palms, as they do not grow so far north), and a tree which blossoms like a laburnum. These gardens were divided by green hedges. The bungalows were either whitewashed outside, or coloured according to the inmates’ taste; they had no doors, as at Calcutta, but gates, and gravel walks: most of them were occupied by pet animals of some kind, deer, doves, &c.
The road was a good one, made of kunkur and planted with trees; the “Course” was edged with grass, and the whole kept in order by a staff of bheesties58 and coolies. There were no natives in Mora, as our cantonments were called, except the sepoys and bazaar people; but plenty at a few villages two or three miles off, and the Lushkur was densely populated, where the Maharajah lived, about five or six miles from the Mora.
When the novelty wore off, it was very wearisome to take the same drive every day, with no change, and to meet so frequently the same people.
Having described a few of the floral beauties of Hindustan, I must say a little for its animals; but it must be a brief mention, as I was not long enough in India to make the acquaintance of all its birds, beasts, and reptiles.
I quite agree with the words of the song, “our birds have a plumage like coloured gems;” with the exception of the vulture. I often saw this monster waddling about, gorged with food, and felt a strong inclination to shoot it. What horrid feasts they have lately been making on the bodies of our unburied dead, left exposed to their mercy, in many a forsaken station I But they act the part of scavengers in a country where putrescence is poisonous. There are many kinds of doves, some just like our tame
Barbary doves at home, others bright brown, with gold burnished breasts. The parrots are pretty, lively, but sadly mischievous creatures; bright green, with red legs and beaks, and a short purple ring round the neck. The mango bird has a brilliant yellow breast; sparrows, crows, and kites abound. The natives are very fond of a small quail, which, being of a very pugnacious disposition, they amuse themselves by teaching to fight like cocks at bonne. I have often seen them carrying these birds about in cages for the air.
Many people keep a bird something like a magpie, with white wings and tail feathers, and a bulbul, or Indian nightingale; also a bird that only sings in the dark. The Brigadier kept several of these birds, and used to send them out every day to hear the other birds sing. The hoopoe is very pretty, with its yellow crest, which it can expand like a peacock’s tail.
Tigers are not so plentiful as they used to be, bat as I knew some ladies who had shot them, I suppose they are still extant. Bears and monkeys retire further into the interior, and do not frequent the stations as they used. Deer are to be found, and grey foxes; though not such fine ones as ours, with their splendid tails: but I need not recount the advantages of India as a sporting country. The squirrels are very pretty, striped grey and black, though troublesome: they squeak like guinea-pigs,
and get into the “choppers59“ of the houses. I once tried to tame a young one; but its parents and brothers made such a squealing for several days, I was obliged to restore it to them.
The howling of the jackals at night is most disagreeable: I often used to lie awake listening to their unearthly yells, while feasting on some dead animal, or the half-burnt body of a native floating down the nullah. I saw several snakes, and some were killed in the garden and near the bath-rooms, which they frequent for coolness. I never saw a cobra di wells, but I heard of some people, mostly natives, who had been bitten by them, and died. We once had a scorpion killed in our room, and immediately had the carpets taken up, and the house searched. I knew several ladies who had been severely stung by these reptiles; the best remedy is chloroform, or laudanum. Frogs croak in chorus during the rains. Small lizards, rats, large red spiders, cockroaches two or three inches long, swarm in the house, and crickets; not only “on the hearth,” but chirping in the most excited manner all over the house.
We amused ourselves during the cold weather with riding and archery. The gentlemen often went out hunting foxes and deer, and for want of nobler game, jackals and porcupines. Some of the ladies shot very well, and as my husband was very fond of archery, we intended sending for our bows, &c.,
which we had left at home, thinking such athletic sports could not be practised in India.
Every one now looked healthy, and the rosy, pretty children played and laughed as merrily as they do at home. Their attendants were most kind to them; no English nurse would have borne with them, when they were fractious and irritable, as did these natives. I have seen a tall bearer carry an infant about for hours, and sing it to sleep, handling it as tenderly as possible: they watch by the children’s beds at night, and if they awake, hush them to sleep, or fan them, and bathe their heads; tending them most carefully. The children are very fond of their own servants, and will cry to go to them; and the sepoys are very proud of their officers’ children: I have often seen a little boy riding through the lines, and all the sepoys saluting him and talking to him most pleasantly. It was a very interesting sight to see a deaf and dumb native talking on his fingers to the children, with whom he was such a favourite, it was considered quite a treat to ask him to spend the day with them.
Some of the regiments were reviewed during the cold weather, and I used much to enjoy watching them; particularly the Irregular Cavalry, with their small red turbans, often worn over a muslin or silk skull-cap, spangled with gold, their dark blue tunics turned up with red, red cummerbunds, light yellow trowsers, large top-boots, bright arms, and well
groomed horses. The native saddle is made of cloth, the bridle of twisted cloth, and the saddle-cloth of two colours sewed in a pattern.
Captain Alexander and Lieutenant Cockbourn had much improved their regiment, and took a great deal of pains with it. Captain Alexander rode a very pretty horse, and looked very well in his gay regimentals. Some of the subahdars60 were fine-looking men, quite old and grey; they wore thick gold chains round their necks, had good-conduct stripes on their arms, and medals on their breasts. It was very amusing to see the recruits being drilled: they were not in regimentals, and “marked time” with their long bare legs and feet, which stood out in strong relief. The sawars61 were very fine-looking men, and seemed fond of their horses, and as if they liked their profession. Strange to say, these men never attempted to shoot their officers in the mutiny, but let them ride off to Agra, and even sent their baggage under a guard: indeed, but for the force of example, they might have remained faithful.
The sepoys were exercised every morning on the parade ground close to the “course;” and it was rather nervous work to drive by, with a spirited horse, as they fired with blank cartridges right across the road, at a mark.
We really had enough of soldiering at Gwalior; bugles from morning to night, sentries posted all over, a guard to each house, and all the sepoys saluting whenever you passed them.
I have dilated sufficiently on the bright side of war; the dark side has yet to come.
All this time these honoured, trusted sepoys were hiding their dread secret under the mask of submissive friendship, and lulling their unconscious victims into a fatal security; but soon they will become demons, and show their real characters, when the word is given for the slaughter I Can the massacre of Kanhpur, the struggle at Lucknow, the deaths of brave men, and women and tender children, ever be forgotten? Though India may again be a safe home, can it ever be a happy one? when the thresholds of our houses have been bathed in the blood of our friends and brothers? But enough has been said on this subject.
We had some trouble in procuring horses, and were obliged to return some sent from Agra, they were such miserable creatures; but we bought a little Arab from an officer who was leaving, and one for our buggy from another officer. The horses in India are a great trouble, being so vicious. Captain Campbell had one called “Blazes:” a very suitable nine for it. Horses are sometimes brought from England, but they don’t thrive: in the rains they suffer from a disease in the hoofs; they are
also subject to fits, falling down suddenly. I have been told a bottle of hot beer is the best restorer in such cases. They suffer much from the heat, and are not nearly so active in the hot season. You can always tell when the rains are coming, they get so skittish and play such tricks.
We heard by letters, and through the papers, of the grand “doings” of the Rajah at Calcutta; how he was enjoying himself and lavishing money, and gaining golden opinions: they said he spent a lac62 of rupees. I was much amused to see in “The Times” the following paragraph from “our own correspondent” relative to the Rajah and his proceedings:–
“The Maharajah of Gwalior, the chief of the Mahratta princes, is on a visit to Calcutta. He is an irascible, self-willed lad, very difficult to manage. He went the other day down the river to visit the Fort Gloucester mills. On his way he was particularly boastful, until he passed the house occupied by the Sing of Oude. The sight sobered him in an instant, and his zeal for civilization instantly increased. He has been well educated, but seems falling back to the true native style of thought. In England there is great sympathy for these men. In India it seems horrible that a boy of this description, without principle or restraint, should exercise, by our favour, power of life and death over some millions of people.”
How differently is he thought of now! He is called the “Saviour of India,” “the firm friend of the English,” and “the wonder of faithfulness;” but I have good cause to think otherwise of him ~ I feel certain he might have helped us more than he did in the mutiny at Gwalior, else why did he not come down and try to stop the massacre the next morning, when he knew of it the night before – not too late to save many? One reason given for his (lukewarm) adherence to us is, his previously seeing our power at Calcutta.
About this time some of our friends – the Meades and Murrays – went out to live in tents, some miles from cantonments. They seemed to enjoy it very much, as the ladies could relax from household cares, the gentlemen shoot and fish, and the children have more air and exercise. It seemed a pleasant sort of life, and though not quite under “the greenwood tree,” it was not a bad attempt at gipsying. The weather became much warmer, and we gave up fires and warm dresses.
Mrs. Alexander and her children went up to the bills, and talked of going to England next year, as she had children six and eight years old. Major Hennessey’s sons also returned to their school in the hills, and Mrs. Stuart talked of taking her children there.
We now removed to a nice large bungalow, surrounded by a broad gravel walk, as a precaution
against snakes: it stood in the middle of a very pretty compound, and’ was approached by a small avenue. The sitting-rooms were only divided by curtains hung across archways; the walls were light yellow, the mouldings picked out with white, which gave it quite a gay look. The garden was very well laid out, and filled with flowers and trees, and had a pretty walk, sheltered with an archway of vines.
We were soon settled in our new home, and had dirzies63 to make up the carpets which had been brought from Agra, where they were made by the prisoners. Our buggy and my piano arrived, and, above all, a box of German and other new books, and the remainder of my husband’s college books. Russian leather is the best binding for India, as the damp and insects spoil all other bindings.
We heard of the arrival of General Havelock and the officers of his division in Persia, and afterwards of their brilliant campaign, and General Sir James Outram’s victories.
The shadows of the “coming events” now began to cast a gloom over us, and our calm was slightly ruffled by hearing of some disturbances at Dumdum and Barrackpur, about the cartridges for the Enfield rifle. Government had ordered mutton fat to be supplied by the contractors; but as they used pig’s and bullock’s fat, the sepoys soon found out the cheat, and made a “row” about “caste;” however,
after a speech from the Brigadier, they quieted down, and we soon ceased to be interested in the affair, thinking it only some trifling explosion about that bugbear, caste. Then we heard of a mysterious affair about some chapatis64. It seemed that a chowkedar65 of Kanhpur gave to a chowkedar of Fatehgarh two chapatis, with an order to make ten more, and give two to each of the nearest chowkedars to distribute in like manner. In this way they spread from -village to village, and from province to province. Government was quite nonplussed. Some thought it was a ceremony to avert cholera, which had been frightfully prevalent in the North-West Provinces the year before; others said it was of superstitious origin; and some hinted at treason. But like everything connected with the natives, it was wrapped in mystery: certainly they were veiled under a marvellous cloak of caution, considering the deep and sanguinary plot they were hatching.
During April the weather became much warmer, and we were obliged to alter the hours for service on Sunday to half-past six, morning and evening; indeed we were soon obliged to vacate the church entirely in the evening, and have service in the mess-house. Many people began to complain of fever, and all to look less blooming and healthy. We rose earlier in the morning, gave up walking, and never remained
out after 7 a.m., nor ventured out till after sunset. We also had our punkahs and tatties66 hung up. The latter are made of a fragrant grass that grows in the jungles, and, as they retain water a long time, make it pleasant and cool. All began making or repairing their therm-antidotes, a thing very like a large winnowing machine; it is covered at the top and sides with a frame of wet woven grass, and the hot air passing through is cooled by evaporation. The Campbells’ were made of brick; and though they kept the thermometer in the house down to 60° when outside it was 120°, they quite spoiled the appearance of the house. These cost about £50 each; but some are made of wood, and are cheaper. These are of no use at Calcutta, as they have no hot winds there. The following passage, taken from MacFarlane’s account of the Mahratta campaign, will give the best idea of the heat in the provinces:–
“The country was everywhere swept by a burning wind, called by the natives ‘the devil’s breath.’ It sweeps over the great sandy plains of this part of the country, and imparts to the atmosphere an intensity of heat which astonishes even those who had long been accustomed to the fury of a vertical sun. Westward of the Jumna this pestiferous current, this fiery blast, finds no rivers and lakes to temper its
severity. One of the officers, who was scorched and withered by it, compares it to the extreme glow of an iron foundry, in the height of summer. Major Thorn says, though, even that is but a feeble comparison, since no idea can be formed of the causticity of the sandy particles, borne along with the wind like hot embers, peeling off the skin and raising blisters wherever they fall. The heat was so great the soldiers died by tens and fifteens daily. Young men, who went out in the morning in the full vigour of health and spirits, fell, down dead immediately on reaching the encamping ground, and many were smitten on the road by the noon-day sun, whose rays darted downward like torrents of fire.”
It was very dull to sit before the tatties all day reading; for we could do little else. Not a sound was heard after seven or nine in the morning. Even the birds seemed scared into silence; but the great heat did not commence till the end of April, and was at its worst during May and June. The first warning we had of the coming heat was a curious phenomenon in the shape of a dust-storm. Suddenly one afternoon a violent wind came on, filling the air to a great height with fine dust, rendering it almost dark, and casting a lurid light over everything. The servants said it was the “tufan67.” The trees bent and shook, and the storm came on in all its fury. It grew darker and darker, and felt quite
suffocating; everything was covered with fine sand, and the doors and windows shook and rattled. After lasting half an hour it grew lighter, and the servants opened the doors and began dusting the sand off the furniture. These storms are very frequent in India, and are said to do good by clearing the air.
Some very agreeable people passed through Gwalior, on their way to Sipri: Dr. James and his wife. They had only just been married and arrived from England. Mrs. James was admired by everyone, and thought to be very pretty and engaging. They stayed a few days with the Kirkes. Poor things! they were shortly afterwards killed in the mutiny at Sipri, in a very shocking way. I could relate many horrible things that happened to people whom I knew, and describe how they were killed; but I wish to spare the feelings of their friends at home. This I know, from authentic sources, that people were mutilated in the most frightful manner: a friend of mine saw two ladies in Calcutta who had had their noses and ears cut off. These facts are doubted by many people in England. A natural aversion from dwelling upon deeds of atrocity and human sufferings, renders sensitive persons reluctant to credit horrible facts, and disinclined to hear of the miseries of even their own countrymen. They exclaim, “Oh, how dreadful; but don’t tell me! I can’t bear it.” But the truth must come home to them at last. Death
will come, it matters not in what shape; whether as it comes to some, lying quietly on a bed of down, with kind friends around, or as it has come to others, equally tenderly brought up, who have been left by a cruel enemy slowly to gasp out life on some sandy plain, with not a drop of water to quench their agonising thirst, or a hand to close their eyes, and at the mercy of jackals and vultures; or mangled, torn, and tortured, after seeing those nearest and dearest to them put to a shameful death, from which there is no escape. We cannot always lie on a bed of roses, sipping the sweets of life, and taste not of its woes and pangs.
I have not mentioned a very kind friend of ours, Major Shirreff, who used often to come and see us, and lend us newspapers: he told us what he thought was the cause of the disturbances at Barrackpur and Dumdum, and explained the chapati mystery; he also gave us valuable hints about our garden and servants, and would walk in our garden, telling me the names of birds and plants strange to me. He and my husband used to have long talks about the “Overland route,” and we lent him “Murray’s Guide,” describing the route via Trieste, as he wished to get home as soon as possible. He anticipated with great delight his approaching departure for England: yet he liked the natives very much, and always had a good word to say for them.
When my husband occasionally dined at the mess
on their public nights, I joined the ladies, who always met together during the absence of their husbands, and talked about their children, books, and the news.
One evening we dined with the Meades, and met Major and Mrs. Blake, who had just returned to India. Major Blake had done much good service in Bundelcund, and received the well-merited thanks of Government; he had also raised his regiment (the 1st), which was considered the best in the Contingent. He was a kind, good man, tall and soldierly looking, with a very benevolent face, and a brave, excellent officer: he was a great favourite with his men, who, during his absence, used constantly to come to his brother officers to hear news of him; and even prayed for his safe and speedy return. Poor Major Blake! he met his death by the hands of these very men – or at least, men of the same Contingent; for, like a true officer, he fearlessly rode to the lines to see what could be done, when he was instantly shot. He was sincerely regretted by all who knew him, for his kindness of heart had attached many friends.
We went to a musical party given by Captain Pearson, one of the few unmarried officers. His house was one of the two pucka houses, built in the Elizabethan style, by the architect of the church. The evening passed very pleasantly in singing and playing the piano, concertina, violin, flute, &c. It
was the last pleasant party we had; after that, all was gloom and misery.
We heard of the shocking suicides of the Commodore of the Mary and of General Stalker. The reason we heard assigned for this, both in the papers and by people who ought to know, was that the Indian climate so upsets people’s nerves as to render them unfit for any great excitement or responsibility. Certainly, in the dreadful crisis of the mutiny much loss of life and great misery were occasioned by the incapability and vacillation of some of the superior officers: but we must not forget what we owe to others. To the living we owe an everlasting debt of gratitude – Sir John Lawrence, Mr. Montgomery, Sir Archdale Wilson, Sir James Outram, Sir Hope Grant, and many others; and to the dead a never-dying memory of their great deeds – Havelock, Neill, Nicholson, Lawrence, and Wheeler. England and Scotland have good cause to be proud of their chivalrous and noble sons. Who can forget Willoughby68, Salkeld, Home, and the other heroes of the Kashmir Gate!
We still heard very unpleasant reports; though things had been kept so quiet that we did not hear of the first disturbances at Barrackpur, which occurred on the 28th of January, till the middle of February. Then the papers began to take more
notice of the gathering’ storm. First, we heard of a special court of inquiry being assembled at Barrackpur; next, of the determination of the sepoys there to rise against their officers, proceed to Calcutta, and attempt to take Fort William; then of a general parade at Berhampur; afterwards of a native court-martial taking place at Fort William, which condemned two sepoys to fourteen years’ imprisonment for mutinous conduct; subsequently, of the mutinous behaviour of Mangal Pandi, a sepoy of the 34th Regiment; and, finally, of the disbanding of the 19th Regiment at Barrackpur, by General Hearsey.
Some time in April, the Maharajah returned with Major Macpherson, who brought with him his sister, Mrs. Ines; Lieutenant Inns having gone to Luck-now. The Rajah seemed to have enjoyed himself very much, and to be pleased with the flattering impression he had made at Calcutta.
The last grand military display we had was the blowing up of a mud fort; it was a very striking sight. Who could believe these suave, respectful sepoys were cherishing a diabolical plot I here saw, for the first time, the Rajah; he was plainly dressed, and did not look very kingly, or in any way striking. Of course, there was a large throng of natives come in to enjoy the “tomascha69.”
Shortly after his arrival, the Maharajah gave a grand fête. We were invited; but as I did not care to see this display of native parade, and as it was very hot, we declined the invitation.
39. Pucka, stone.
40. Godowns, store-rooms.
41. Kezee, Burmese musical instrument.
42. Poongie-houses, priests’-houses.
43. Durbar, a court levee.
44. Pawn, a nut wrapped in a betel leaf, and chewed by the natives.
45. Lines, where the native soldiers live in huts.
46. Mehtas, sweepers, low caste natives.
47. Nullah, brook, river.
48. Dhobis, washermen.
49. Kunkur, dried earth or lime.
50. Lushkur, native city of Gwalior, where the Maharajah lives.
51. Mahout, elephant driver.
52. Mora, place where the Europeans lived at Gwalior.
53. Faqueers, Mahommedan religious mendicants.
54. Tonjon, a chair with a hood, carried by four men.
55. Punkah, a large wooden board and curtain suspended from the ceiling, and pulled by ropes.
56. Matrané, a woman of the sweeper caste.
57. Wallahs, fellows.
58. Bheesties, water-carriers.
59. Choppers, thatched roofs.
60. Subahdars – native captains; native officers of the highest rank.
61. Sawars – troopers, horse soldier.
62. lac, ten thousand pounds.
63. Dirzies, tailors.
64. Chapatis, unleavened cakes.
65. Chowkedar, watchman.
66. Tatties, a screen of thatch kept wetted for the hot winds to pass through.
67. Tufan, probably the original of Typhoon.
68. The hero who, with his own brand, fired the Magazine at Delhi.
69. Tomascha – games, amusements.
This collection transcribed by Chris Gage