My Trip Around the World BY ELEONORA HUNT
AUGUST, 1895—MAY, 1896
PRIVATELY PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR
CHICAGO
1902
DEDICATED TO MY
GRANDSONS
John and Hunt Wentworth
| CHAPTER | PAGE |
| [Introduction.] | 5 |
| [My Trip Around the World] | 7 |
| [FROM JAPAN TO CHINA] | 29 |
| [INDIA.] | 57 |
| [EGYPT.] | 103 |
| [FROM EGYPT TO FRANCE] | 149 |
| [HOMEWARD BOUND] | 157 |
Introduction.
I must acknowledge that I hesitate to place this manuscript in print. It has been a struggle for me in my declining days, with impaired health and imperfect vision; but my desire is that my grandsons, John and Hunt Wentworth, to whom I dedicate this book, may glean from its leaves some knowledge and, perhaps, it may create a desire to take the same trip some day, having first gained for themselves a storehouse of knowledge with which they may be enabled to see the Orient and other foreign lands with a greater degree of appreciation. By that time, the "Problems of the Far East" may have been solved, and light divine will shine in the dark places.
If a few copies find their way into the hands of friends, those who know me well will have charity, as they know the difficulties I have had to surmount in accomplishing the work.
E. H.
July 31, 1902.
Wm. Johnston Printing Company
Chicago
My Trip Around the World
Chicago, August 19, 1895.
Have you ever had a desire so great that it became a controlling influence, and when that desire or wish was gratified and that day dream became a reality to feel an overwhelming sadness—a heart failure? If so, you can realize how on August 19, 1895, at 6:30 p. m., I left Chicago with a heavy heart for a voyage around the world in company with my brother, his wife and son, the latter just relieved from college life.
We arrived in St. Paul in time for breakfast, the train already made up that was to convey us on the Canadian Pacific Railroad to Vancouver, B. C.
Our attention was at once directed to the immense wheat fields of Minnesota and villages few and far between. Through the endless prairies of the Dakotas, with no signs of vegetation along the railway, and but little animal life. A few Indians visit the station on the arrival of trains; some to barter, others—blind or crippled—to beg. The third day out, at 1:30 p. m., we reached the Glaciers, where we remained twenty-four hours. Through Assinniboin, north of western Dakota, we had noticed deep furrowed trails of the buffalo crossing the road from north to south. Now and then, their bones were seen in white patches on the prairies, and at the stations tons were ready for shipment east to make tooth-brush handles and bone dust for soda fountains, etc. We had been advised to stop at the Glaciers instead of Banff, perhaps by some traveler who felt the inconvenience of getting up at three o'clock in the morning to take the train. We regretted it, however, when we were told that the hotel is nestled among the mountains rising over 5,000 feet above it, all of them snow capped and far down the sides of the deep gorges was still seen the same white vestment. The Glacier House, where we spent the night, is like a Swiss chalet in architecture. To sit upon its piazza and gaze on the lofty mountain peaks is a sublime sight. To watch the sun climbing its sides, rose-tinting the snows which lie like a mantle over their height, is not soon forgotten; and to listen to the mighty roar of the foaming cataract, which tumbles over the precipitous foothills, one can but exclaim: Almighty One, how great are thy works! The path leading through the forest to the glacier is most picturesque, but not easily trodden. The constant fear of encountering a wolf or bear, together with the sight of the great mountain of ice, soon cools one's ardor, and we were content to retrace our steps and to gather after dinner around an old-fashioned stove in the exchange of the Inn with a score of travelers and listen to the stories of their adventures and have for an object lesson skins of the grizzlies but lately captured, which had not a soporific effect, but less terrific than meeting their majesties face to face.
The scenery from the Glacier House to Vancouver, through the Selkirk Mountains is overpowering; around countless curves, over lofty trestles and ragged edges of fearful precipices the line of cars pursues its way. The stupendous heights are at times absolutely shrouded in smoke; the climb of twenty-seven hundred feet in thirty miles around the mountain shelves and through vast snow sheds (most expensive in their construction), to emerge again into the light for a glance down the gorges into the glaciers, over and above to the lofty summits, is all the imagination can picture, and the traveler feels like a "mighty atom" in the midst thereof.
On the fifth day out from home we arrived in the city of Vancouver. Our vessel, the "Empress of Japan," lay at anchor very near the wharf, and after securing our cabins and seats at the table we returned to the Hotel Vancouver, where we remained from Saturday till Monday morning. Owing to a delayed train, we did not sail before midnight. We had forty-seven out-going missionaries, some returning from a vacation granted once in seven years, others were about to enter on untried duties. The Rev. S. F. J. Schereschewsky, wife and daughter, were among the number. He was a paralytic—the stroke was superinduced by a sunstroke in China, where he had labored heroically in a translation of the Bible into the Chinese language. He was taken to Paris where, under Charcot's care, he recovered sufficiently to return to Cambridge, Mass., where his work was completed ready for publication. This he desired to have done in Shanghai. We were told his translation would excel all others that have ever been made.
At 10 o'clock each day, during the voyage of fourteen days the missionaries would gather together for a short service in the salon, where admittance was free to all. The ship averaged 370 miles a day; a few of the passengers found the "rocking in the cradle of the deep" rather disagreeable, but the majority of them kept their chairs and were well repaid, for the air was a tonic too good to be missed. The ship was well disciplined, the table inviting, the service entirely Chinese—whose sense of decorum was most marked.
On Sunday evening, the thirteenth day out, we expected to anchor at Yokohama, but a fearful wind arose; the captain left his seat at the dinner table in haste and ordered the ship's course changed. We were skirting a terrific typhoon. We were in sight of land, but instead of reaching it at seven-thirty in the evening we did not accomplish it until 10 o'clock Monday morning. The steamer "Belgic" was stranded that night forty-three miles from Yokohama. The captain, who had for forty years made successful trips, was destined to see his vessel wrecked; no lives were lost but the rebuke he received cost him the loss of his position—and much greater the loss of reason. He was taken to a madhouse.
The 9th of September found us in the hands of our guide, who had been engaged to meet us on board the vessel on our arrival. Jinrikishas were in waiting, we rode to the custom house and from there to the Hotel Grand, along the Bund skirting the water's edge. The sun shone brilliantly, and all Nature seemed to bid us welcome. The hotel site is unequaled; the gentle sea breezes seem to follow us; Englishmen and Americans crowded the verandas, and apparently gave us a warm welcome. Long lines of jinrikishas formed a barrier between the waters of Yeddo Bay and the hotel, each in charge of a coolie, whose dress (if any) shocked us; but to this nude condition we soon became oblivious.
A ride along the shore of the Mississippi Bay, and through the country where rice and millet grow abundantly, in a jinrikisha with a good natured coolie is a delight. The Bungalow of the native all exposed to view is a sample of neatness, while the children, most gentle with each other, play in numbers around the home.
On this drive and but a short distance from Yokohama is the English concession, homes hidden almost from view by high walls and dense foliage. In that land of sunshine, with the cool breeze from the sea, the constant influx of European and American travelers, keeping one in touch with the world and with the simplicity of the surroundings, one can imagine a tranquilizing life and a happy coterie.
The streets of Yokohama are narrow, the houses of one, sometimes two stories, all on line with the sidewalk and with apparently no privacy. The gutters are flushed with water, which seems to be used for all purposes, even to the bathing of children. The absence of horses gives ample room for the masses of men, women and children who throng the streets. No haste is manifested, save when a line of jinrikishas of heavily freighted coolies appear, and then with perfect good nature the right of way is given. No menace, no insults are heard. The perennial smile of women and the submission of the men is enough to conquer all antagonism to foreigners, if any exists. Nevertheless, a guide is indispensable to protect against intrusive curiosity, for wherever you stop, there the gaping crowd surrounds you.
The shopping fever seems to manifest itself almost immediately on arrival at Yokohama; in fact, I heard of no epidemic so fatal to visitors. Your guide, who has an eye to the commission he will receive on all your purchases, gives you his advice as to where you shall buy—to his best advantage. As truthfulness is not a Japanese virtue, it is well to consult your fellow traveler and to use your own judgment as to quality. Each city of Japan seems to have its specialty; for instance: We found the handsomest kimonas, the finest cloisonais in Yokohama: the best carving in ivory in Tokio.
As for a gentleman's outfit it would be advisable to go to Yokohama with an empty trunk, for good materials and perfect fit are guaranteed for marvelously low prices. There your duck suits, Pongees and silk underwear for the tropics are laid in with great satisfaction. The adaptation in imitation is most striking. A waist of a dress given the tailor will be so closely copied in fit and style and delivered in so brief a space of time that it makes you fairly sigh when you think of the waste of time and mistakes that our own modistes often subject us to, but there is no originality displayed by the Japanese.
The native woman is always clothed; the unmarried, known by the style of hair dressing, are neat and gayly attired in their kimonas and bright sashes, are attractive, but the absolute negligence of the mothers is revolting. The hair if not in strings, is most loosely bound up; no more pomade and bows; their teeth blackened, and their bosoms so exposed that their elongated condition becomes revolting. We were told that supply of the human dairy never ceases while the demand exists. No sooner does one child let go, than another takes hold—hence the accessibility.
To visit the temples is of daily occurrence. There, hundreds of natives are huddled together, prostrating themselves before the tinselled altars, leaving behind them in the space they have occupied a coin, of but little value, it may be, but something to denote their willingness to support their religion. These coins are gathered by the priests, and a theft is unknown.
Strangers are admitted without hesitancy to the rooms where cloisonai and bronze are manufactured, the close quarters, the simplicity of utensils, the perfection of workmanship, the untiring patience is to the nervous American the wonder of the age.
At night the streets of the city are thronged. Along and outside the curbstone are peddlers with their wares spread upon the ground with a single lamp light, around which gather the customers. The jugglers seated behind open lattice work perform their feats to admiring groups, while theatrical performances all in full blast, shut up from view from the street with but a slight screen, seem well patronized.
Many women are sold by their parents for the payment of a debt or the support of their families. The government confines these characters to their own quarters; they are not allowed on the streets of the city. We turn willingly on the following day to something more elevating and visit Enoshina, via the Imperial Railroad. The chief object of interest at Kamakura, our first stopping place, is the "Dai Butsa"—"Great Buddha." It stands alone as the highest embodiment of Japanese art; height, forty-nine feet and seven inches; circumference, ninety-seven feet and two inches; surrounded by beautiful Camphor and Echo trees. This bronze image is supposed to have been erected in 1252. The temple built over this image was destroyed in 1494. Since then it has remained exposed to the elements. Within the image is a space containing a shrine. The eyes of Buddha are of pure gold; the silver boss on the forehead weighs thirty pounds—it signifies light, or wisdom. Not far from this image of bronze stands the temple of Kovanon, the Goddess of Mercy, whose image is seen indistinctly behind folding doors. It is of brown lacquer, gilded and is thirty feet high. We enter and involuntarily lay our hand upon it for the virtue that may arise from our act of faith.
We again summon our coolies and, along the water's edge, are drawn to the hillside on whose summit is one of the most picturesque tea houses in Japan. The ascent is rather steep, but through shaded paths lined on either side with stands where attractive souvenirs may be purchased, chopsticks of fancy design, jewelry, shell ornaments, etc., etc. The view from the tea house overlooking the sea is most charming. There our guide has laid for us a tempting lunch brought from the hotel at Yokohama. Tea and service is offered us by most graceful Japanese waitresses, who have no hesitation in assisting our gentlemen change their clothing for the bathing suit, that they may follow them to the water's edge to see them sport like fish in the bright blue waters, and were it not for the pestiferous fleas, one might declare the excursion perfect.
The journey to Niko by rail is most diversified, shaded for miles by the Cryptomeria trees. The pear tree, trellised with its luscious fruit somewhat like our Russet apple or a taste akin to watermelon, is seen. The day's journey is made all the more agreeable by the luncheon of quail sandwiches, fruits and hot tea, the latter made by our guide in our compartment. At five-thirty o'clock in the evening we arrive at the Hotel Niko, the weather cold and rainy, a poor table and damp, uninviting apartments. A brazier is at the solicitation of the guests placed in the drawing room. There we barter all evening with natives for furs of the monkey, idols of ivory and objects of interest of wood and bronze. The trip to Lake Chuzendi, eight miles from Niko, is made by chairs and jinrikishas carried and drawn by the coolies. For our party of four we take two chairs and three jinrikishas and seventeen coolies—four for each chair, two to pull and one to push the jinrikishas. The third jinrikisha is for our guide and hamper of provisions. The road zigzags in many turns up the steep sides of the mountain, followed by a dashing stream issuing from Lake Chuzendi, known as "Kenon-no-taks," which falls in beautiful cascades and seethes over the dizzy heights, while our sturdy pullers keep up a tremendous pace with a continuous cry of warning to a chance pedestrian or cart of a street vender, whom we meet on the narrow ledges drawn by the same patient coolie. Baskets hung on a pole and borne by two men often contain a native woman and perhaps a child; mules with panniers so large filled with vegetables and merchandise that you can scarcely see the poor animal, slowly plodding along this highway led by a woman or more often a small boy with a rain cloak of straw and a wide brimmed hat of the same material, which are so cumbersome that you look almost in vain for the wearer. We dismount wherever a fine view is obtainable, and invariably find a tea house. Attentive waitresses, clad in their bright kimonas, regale you with small cups of tea and cake, to say nothing of the peppermint candies offered for a few pennies with a low bow and bewitching smile. Cushions to rest upon—with invisible occupants (fleas), who insist upon accompanying you during the journey, notwithstanding your efforts to shake them off. If a bright day is vouchsafed the traveler the view from the summit is glorious, the tea house commodious; fishing with nets adroitly thrown brings in an abundant supply for the table. Our curiosity led us into an apartment where the noon meal was being prepared by a wife for her liege lord. The cooking was done over a few coals in a brass brazier filled with ashes. A steel skewer placed upright in the ashes on which was suspended a fish, overhanging the coals, which by frequent turnings was most effectually dried and apparently made a savory dish. An omelet most tempting and a bowl of rice was then placed upon a low table before which the husband sat upon his haunches and ate most leisurely, while the wife retired into a corner endeavoring to satisfy a hungry infant. The great question of the Orient is: Will the day ever come when an equality of sex will be acknowledged? We put the question to our well-educated guide, who shook his head and replied, "In America women rule, but in Japan the master is man." A missionary told me that they endeavored early to marry the converted man to the Christian woman and to insist that they should sit together at their meals, but it was a hard lesson and seldom adopted.
The temples of Niko surpass all others that we saw in Japan. Broad avenues, well shaded, lead up to the hills upon which they were built. In 1617 Hidetada, the second Shogun, removed the body of his father to this spot. He was deified by an order of the Mikado, under a name signifying "The Light of the East," the great incarnation of Buddha. His grandson finished the temple erected in memory of his grandfather and was himself enshrined there. The five-story pagoda, 105 feet high, lends interest to this spot. The decorations of these temples are of carved wood in panels, painted in gorgeous coloring. Much of this carving is the handiwork of the celebrated "Hidare Jingoro," other work that of "Tunza." The group of three monkeys, blind, deaf and dumb, and the "sleeping cat," all have religious signification. The floors of these temples are covered with padded matting; in consequence, no one is allowed to enter without removing his shoes, or slipping a cotton covering over those he has on. The altars are ornamented with immense brass storks, with candelabra in their mouths, and tinselled lotus flowers with leaves of brass are much in vogue. The tombs are guarded with painted monsters representing gods of Wind and Thunder. The services are not unlike those conducted in the Catholic Church by continuous chanting. Pilgrims are coming and going, offering their prayers after first signaling the gods by ringing a bell, the rope of which is often made of human hair, a sacrifice made to appease the gods during an epidemic. Near by and in the same enclosure is the sacred horse, a stupid looking animal, guarded by an old woman, who for a trifling recompense will feed it a few beans from a small saucer.
From Niko we go to Tokio, a city of magnificent distances, the home of the Mikado. We stop at the Imperial Hotel, the best kept in Japan. Temples and tombs set apart in sequestered groves, seem to be the resort of pleasure-seekers and pilgrims. Once the ceremonial worship is over, the people clap their hands to notify their god of their duties having been performed, and turn for rice, tea or chat. Many of the petitions are written on slips of paper and are left on the gratings that protect the idols, and those frightful guardians at the entrance are frequently covered with moistened balls of paper containing their written prayers.
Thirty years of civilization has not changed the agricultural implements. The same plow that upheaved the soil one thousand years ago turns it now; the same punt that furrowed the waters is the same to-day; the style of architecture of the old Tartar order, derived from the old Tartar tents, with immense curving and overhanging roof, repeats itself in keeps and temples. Possibly this stereotype is the result of being for ages cut off from other nations. The ponderous bells, struck by great beams of wood swung from the outside, give forth mighty mysterious murmurings.
The population of the city of Tokio is a million and a half (1895) and covers a territory as large as London. The castle of the Mikado, in the center of the city, occupies a space of several miles in circumference. There are three castles, and between each a moat; the inner side of each has a wall of sixty to ninety feet high, built of huge stones of massive weight. The inner castle is surrounded by beautiful wooded grounds, miniature lakes, streams and meadows. The public buildings and those occupied by government officials are of European architecture. The streets of the city are narrow, no sidewalks, and the one-story houses serve as workshop and residence for the occupant. The inhabitants go bareheaded, carrying umbrellas. The convenience of the river that runs through Tokio and the canals that intersperse its streets is very apparent. Public education is compulsory. Japan in its whole extent, with all its islands included, covers about as much territory as North and South Dakota combined. Although it has an immense system of irrigation, only one-twelfth of its soil is under cultivation, and the rice crop entirely dependent upon it. The population of forty million of people of untiring industry is rewarded by a mere living. For centuries the cultured class of patrons of the temples have given these people work, for every rich temple adds to its wealth bronzes, lacquered work, vestments of brocades, tapestries and carvings of images, each having its fire-proof building in which its treasures are kept; they are not seen in the temples. As for the missionary work, we visited the "Mary Colby Seminary," a boarding and day school in Yokohama, Miss Grafton of Vermont being principal. At that time there were fifty native children as scholars, most of them able to pay for their own tuition. It is impossible to calculate the strength and influence of these teachings, and where the schools become self-supporting they must be strongholds. We were told that demand for teachers was much less than the number waiting to be called. At Kiota we visited the "Dobisha School," a university started in 1875, under the auspices of the American Board of Missions; connected with this institution is the girls' school and training school for nurses; also a hospital. A warm reception by Miss Benton, the principal of the girls' school, from Los Angeles, Cal., awaited us, and we were shown through the buildings, and were most astonished at the well built and commodious edifices, surrounded by well laid out grounds. There were not a half-dozen scholars. On inquiring why the accommodations were so great and the number of occupants so small, we were told cholera had kept many away. The few half-grown girls were seated around the table intent in reading a translation from Shakespeare of "King Lear," and others Walter Scott's "Lady of the Lake."
One of the girls played upon an instrument some four feet long with two wire strings. Upon the third finger of her left hand she wore an ivory ring, and with this she would strike the ivory knots placed at intervals on the instrument, producing sounds not unlike a guitar. She sat upon the floor and seemed sullen. The teacher remarked to us that many were very obstinate. We saw the table prepared for their dinner—a large bowl of rice in the center and small bowls at each plate, with a dried fish upon it and a pair of chop sticks. One of the studies most enjoyed is the arrangement of flowers, which is really a life's study. The ceremonial tea is conducted with great precision and is regarded as a graceful accomplishment. The price of tuition was 2 yen 80 sen per month, caring for their own rooms and doing their own washing. It is under the Congregational and Presbyterian auspices, and was not in a flourishing condition financially. After this we visited a dancing school which was most interesting. The teacher, a gray-headed woman, sat upon the floor with a dozen or more pupils around her. In one hand she held a wand, in the other a fan. Each child received individual instruction, the scholar standing bare-footed, with her eyes fixed upon the instructor; in her hand an oiled paper parasol, which when swaying her body to and fro she handled most gracefully, while the only music was the old woman's voice in mournful cadence, by the rhythm of which her fan seemed in sympathy. With the wand she would strike her fan when she wished an emphatic stamping of feet.
The bronze factories, open to the traveler, are well worthy of a visit. The mixture of gold, copper, tin and silver into these ornaments are regulated in price by the quantity of gold and silver used. The intaglio figures are overlaid with these precious metals, and the deft hand of cunning workmanship is perceptible in every article produced. The Rapids of Katsuragawa (a famous resort in the maple season) is fourteen miles by jinrikisha from Kiota, which takes about three hours and a half to accomplish. Our party of five required five jinrikishas and ten men, much of the road being upgrade and through tunnels. Rice fields abounded and the scenery wild and picturesque. A tea house at the end of the ride affords room for us to have our own luncheon spread, and after an hour's rest we take a boat, to which our jinrikishas and coolies are transferred. The descent of the rapids requires two hours' time. The pilot stands half clad at the helm, while three men with long ropes attached to the vessel run along the rocky shore, pulling with all their strength. The bed of the river is rocky. Artificial improvements have been made rendering the channel more navigable, but the weirdness of the scene is heightened by the flashes of lightning and the low, reverberating thunder claps that were followed by slight rain. The boat trembles and bends before the fury of the waters. We are assured that the pilot is skillful and an accident is the exception. We land at Arashizama and resume our jinrikisha ride to Kiota.
Alternate days are spent in the shops. We find jade to be an expensive article. The stone is very difficult to carve, hence its value. The pale green in color is most desirable; a cup of cornelian red, very tiny, was 145 yen; a small figure of a lion, beautifully carved, 175 yen. There is a superstition among the natives of Japan and China that anklets or bracelets of jade keep off the evil eye.
We next visit Nara, the holy city. It is not to-day a tenth of its former size, as it is no longer the imperial seat of government. Situated at the foot of a range of mountains are beautiful groves, through which wind broad avenues, shaded by the cryptomeria trees. Temples are hid away in sequestered spots; in one of these the sacred rite of an ancient dance is kept up by priestesses. For a stated fee you can have it executed. The dress worn is of ancient type and bears the Wisteria crest of the Hasaga temple. These dancers wear a white, expressionless mask; their movements, together with the doleful music furnished by the priests with kotos, pipes and drums, make you feel well satisfied with a brief performance, the tune suggesting Watts' "Hark from the tombs, the doleful sound," etc. Here we meet crowds of pilgrims enjoying the beautiful groves with old trunks of trees covered with camellias, wisterias, plum and wild ivy, which are the marvels of the place. The great bell, thirteen feet high, containing thirty-six tons of copper, an image of Buddha, fifty-three feet in height, and a museum erected and sustained by the government are the chief attractions of Nara. Together with the Temple of Taconda, with its fine wood carvings and its beautiful little lake near by, with shoals of speckled fish which are fed daily for the entertainment of visitors. Our inn was strictly Japanese. The apartment set aside for us was partitioned into rooms by mosquito netting. Imagine a room sixty feet long; at intervals of fifteen feet were hooks, placed in the cornice, upon which were hung mosquito nets with teaster-tops, forming, as it were, a square chamber. On the floor of each, beds were made, which consisted of three or four comforters or futahs, immaculately clean, placed one upon the other, while one was rolled for our head rest. Before retiring we were asked to place our valuables in the hands of the proprietor for safety, which we did in part. Our dinner consisted of soup, chicken and potatoes, beefsteak and onions. The curiosity of the waitresses of the inn is laughable; nothing escapes their eyes; even the linings of our dress skirts were investigated.
The founder of one of the temples is said to have ridden to this place in 767 on a spotted deer. Since then the animal is almost deified and is by some supposed to be a messenger from earth to heaven. The groves are full of these favorites.
Osaka, the Birmingham of Japan, is built upon canals, on either side of which are lines of storehouses containing cotton goods, chinaware and wooden utensils. The castle here was occupied by a military force, and all admittance was denied. Kobe, two hours' ride via railroad, is the point of departure for us from Japan, after sailing through the Inland sea and stopping a few hours at Nagasaki. Kobe has an English concession. Club houses, banks and good hotels gives it a European appearance. The Japanese portion has its bazaar, crematories and temples. The hour for cremating is at six o'clock in the evening, and we visited this place in time to see three bodies already placed in the furnaces; two of these were in casks, as they were in a sitting position; that of an infant in a rude box, in such as our oranges are shipped, and tied with twine. The crematory was on the summit of a hill, at the foot of which was the cemetery, where the ashes were interred. The sailing of the "Empress of China" through the Inland Sea is lovely beyond description. The sky cloudless, temperature about 72 (Oct. 1st, 1895); Americans and English crowded the deck. The harbor at Nagasaki is fine. War vessels from almost every country lie at anchor in the sparkling waters. The "Centurion" of the British line and the "Charleston," of the American, commanded by Captain Coffin, Messrs. Sharp and Littlefield, officers, gave us a courteous welcome. When the day was far spent and the last rays of the setting sun reflected its beautiful coloring on the waters, which glistened like diamonds in an emerald setting around the vessels, our own flag waved its colors and the soul-stirring strain, "Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot," aroused all the patriotism and tenderness in our hearts. As we waved a good-bye to the land of "The Rising Sun" it was with the desire that we might return to the scenes that had contributed so much to our enjoyment. The twelve guns fired from the "Centurion" in honor of the occasion seemed as echoes from the hills bidding us adieu with an au revoir.
FROM JAPAN TO CHINA
AND CEYLON.
Steamer Empress of Japan,
Yellow Sea, October 4, 1895.
Seated at the table with the first officer, who proves most loquacious and intelligent, we discuss the "Prince of Wales," the English rule in foreign lands and the works of George D. Curzon, a man of great expectations and great possibilities. He loaned me "Problems of the Far East," which I found most entertaining, clear and authentic. On my left are seated Dr. and Mrs. Ashmore. The former has been forty-five years in the missionary field in China. Mrs. Ashmore, as Mrs. Brown, was the founder of the "Mary Colby Seminary" at Yokohama, afterwards removing to China with her second husband. One of her daughters married Mr. Curtis, editor of a Kobe paper, the other, Mr. McCarty, a transportation merchant of Yokohama. Mrs. Ashmore expressed her views freely regarding the Dobisha school in Kiota. The great extravagance in building and in furnishing the university had forced it to the verge of bankruptcy. Dr. and Mrs. Ashmore labor under the Baptist auspices, and both feel that the most encouragement is offered the missionary in China rather than Japan. The conversion of the Chinese was far more permanent when once accomplished than that of the Japanese; they were more truthful and with less varnish. We have on board Isabella Bird Bishop, gray-haired and with mild blue eyes, rather below the average height of woman. She writes so much in favor of Japan that the freedom of the hotels is offered her. After the third day of smooth sailing we anchor in the Yang-tse-kiang, as one writer says, "a stream of lofty dignity of conscious might." Broken short ridges of mountains are seen from a distance, with valleys and plains interspersed. The great plain lying on the sea coast is alluvial, made so by the deposit of the Hoang-Ho and the Yang-tse-kiang (Broad River) combined. The former river often bursts its confines, causing great destruction to life and property. The mouth of the Yang-tse-kiang to-day is far removed from where it was many years ago. The Hoang-Ho is for the greater part of the year unnavigable, owing to floods during the summer months, the disasters being so great it is sometimes called the "Chinese sorrow." Fish abound and is the flesh food of the average Chinaman, although pork is his delight. The mode of fishing is varied; often men and boys dive for them, but the more entertaining method is by the cormorant. A dozen or more of these trained birds are perched on a bamboo pole across the bow of a boat, but before diving, a cord is placed around their throat to prevent them from swallowing their prey, and they rarely fail to bring up one or more fish. Their eagerness for success is most noticeable, and they are rewarded after having satisfied their owner, by being given some of the small fry. Our steamer anchored fifteen miles off of Shanghai, and our heavily freighted tender was two hours reaching land. The harbor was filled with bright colored sailing vessels, junks and sampans, stern-wheel kickaway and chop boats; also the bateaux of the "Tanka" girls who work the ferries. The form of the natural eye painted on these vessels is most apparent; the reason for so doing is, the Chinese will reply, "No eye, no see."
We at once contrast the well-built and improved bund which skirts the water's edge with the less pretentious Japanese ports. It is not until we enter the Chinese quarters, with its low dwellings and apparent squalor, that we realize what the English concessions are to the traveler. The dress of the Chinese is refreshing to the eye after our sojourn in Japan, where among the coolies little was left to the imagination.
The drive to the "Bubbling-Well," a square enclosure of stone some eight feet in dimension, reveals a spring of water whose surface was green with slime, from which issued two clear streams of pure crystal fluid. Well-dressed, painted Chinese women, guarded by eunuchs, drive in landaus along this fashionable drive, which leads to club houses and well laid out grounds. The tiny feet of the women as they peep out from under the richly embroidered gowns assured us that navigation to them on foot was almost impossible. This process of deformity is begun about the sixth year of their lives and rarely fully accomplished before the seventeenth. The suffering is said to be intense. Government has in many provinces interfered, and as civilization advances it is to be hoped this cruelty will be abolished. A missionary told me, in appealing to the Chinese, "to desist from this vain and sinful habit, they would at once retaliate by replying, 'Why do American or European women deform their waists?'" The rough, uncultivated fields attached to the homes along the drives we are told are burial places of their dead. Mere hillocks of earth, so scant as to allow the caskets to be seen plainly, and oftimes skeletons protrude. Do you wonder that epidemics prevail? The warning is constantly given the travelers to keep away from native quarters, but curiosity leads us into temptation. Warehouses, manufactories, shops, theaters, dwellings and temples are crowded together; the streets offensive and disgusting. The shops for silks in the English concession are most fascinating. Beauty of coloring and quality, with most unique designs, are offered at such low prices that one must have great control over herself to resist buying in quantities. The better class of Chinese are most elaborately gowned in these gold embroidered textures—far more costly than the simple embroidered kimonas of the Japanese. The absence of jewelry in the latter makes the love of it with the Chinese most conspicuous. Anklets, imitation of jade and silver bangles are always in evidence.
Jugglers throng the piazzas of the hotel, and for a trifling compensation will swallow a sword three feet long which he flaunts before our eyes and which disappears to all appearances down his throat with great strangling; this we do not ask him to repeat.
A charming sail of three days brought us into the harbor of Hongkong. The city is built on the mountainside; a narrow strip along the water's edge is laid out in a fine driveway, warehouses, hotels and club houses facing the water. The dwellings, with beautiful gardens attached, are built upon the terraces of the mountains, which can only be reached in sedan chairs, borne by coolies. The botanical gardens are most attractive and are within walking distance of the hotel. Alongside of these gardens is the St. John's Cathedral, in Gothic style of architecture. The clock tower is a conspicuous building from which all local distances are measured. On the summit of the mountain overlooking the city is Victoria Gap. An inclined railway, worked by means of cable to an elevation of fourteen hundred feet, leads to it. It cost the city 140,000 Mexican dollars, and pays about five per cent on the investment. The round trip is fifty cents. The views are grand in extent, but it requires considerable nerve to face the apparent danger. However, we find ourselves on the summit in an incredibly brief space of time. The ten square miles of harbor is spread out before you with its myriads of vessels and floating hospitals. The enjoyment of this scene quite repays one for the undertaking. Queen's road (the principal street of Hongkong) runs parallel with the water; from this street, running toward the mountain, the grade is uphill. We ascend stone steps, twenty to thirty in number, to reach the street beyond; consequently we do not frequent them often. Flowers are in profusion for sale and most artistically arranged. The drive to the "Happy Valley," the burial place of the European, Parsees and Mahometans, each within their own walls, is indeed aptly named. We were preceded by two sedan chairs borne by four coolies, each dressed in red kilted skirts and white turbans. The occupants were two small boys, eight and ten years of age, with their amia, or nurses, who bore quantities of lovely flowers. On alighting we followed them to two freshly made graves; from these the boys removed decayed flowers and placed most lavishly those they had brought with them. It was a touching sight. We imagined the parents had been the victims of a scourge that was still hovering over the city. It is a trying climate. The American consul, Mr. Hunt, from Tennessee, called upon us, and we returned the visit at his home, nestled among the palm trees and alongside the botanical gardens. His family were feeling the effect of their protracted sojourn here and yearned for a change.
The distance from Hongkong to Canton is ninety-five miles by the river. We were somewhat surprised to find the captain of our vessel from Prairie du Chien, Wis., whose family was still residing there. It is said that a population of 300,000 people live in boats upon these waters and have no other home. With the baby on her back the mother swings the heavy scull, while the other children act as ducks in the water, some being tethered to the vessel, apparently without any sense of danger. At the slightest indication that one of these boats are needed, fifty or more will rush to the spot, clambering in loud voices for their rights; while the wonder is that the baby's head does not roll off of its shoulders. The mother is seemingly indifferent as to its existence. Along the shores of the river are rice fields and orchards, interspersed with pagodas, which from a distance look like hanging gardens. Chance wind bears sand and seed to these overhanging roofs, and shrubs and flowers grow and bloom. Whampun and Homan, two lofty pagodas, made famous by their age and height, are seen from the steamer, and an occasional dead body of a Chinaman floats by us. As we near the landing of Canton small boats filled with lepers come alongside soliciting alms. They are most pitiful in appearance and, judging from the coins thrown them, it is the only means of their maintenance.
Guides are in waiting at the steamer's wharf, and we only feel safe when protected by them. Six chairs with four men each, made up our van. Mr. Wilder, of Honolulu, had joined us. These coolies groan as they trot along. With the thermometer about 80 and no clothing save the loin cloth, they stop only long enough to change the pole from one shoulder to the other, which are lacerated and in great welts. If it were not for the novel sights that meet the eye the sympathy aroused would be too trying for the traveler. Canton is called the "City of Rams," or the "City of the Genii." These names are derived from the supposed visit of fire-protecting spirits that came from heaven two thousand years ago. It is the chief trading city of southern China. Foreigners first visited here in the eighth century. In 1568 the Portuguese were in China, and in 1615 the Tartars invaded it. We passed through what is known as the Tartar town; it was neater and cleaner than the other quarters. Later the East India Company took possession and for a century and a half controlled the foreign trade. The British invaded the city of Canton in 1841 and took possession, but the ransom of six million was made for its redemption. Again in 1857 the allied forces of British and French captured it, and for nearly four years it was in the hands of foreigners, its government being administered by a joint commission. It has now its European concession. Canton is a typical Chinese city, the contracted streets, not exceeding six feet in width except in spaces where some official residence or temple is built. It is with great difficulty we make any headway through these narrow lanes, and are often compelled to leave our chairs and with our guide pursue our way on foot. If by chance a shop is entered a gaping crowd so surrounds you that you are not only in danger of being robbed, but of losing your guide. The foreign quarters are separated from the mainland by a stream of water connected by two bridges. A wall encircles the native quarter and the gates are closed at night and guarded; the discharge of firecrackers in the early morning announce their opening, and from the river boats another discharge, almost deafening, which is supposed to keen them from the "evil one" through the day.
The Temples of Confucius, Buddha and Shinto religions are much alike in their construction. One of the most famous of these is that of the five hundred Genii, founded in five hundred, the year of our Lord, and was rebuilt forty years ago. In the midst of these immortal five hundred images is that of "Marco Polo," who visited here in the twelfth century. The Temple of Horrors, whose tableaux in brass and wood represent the punishments meted out to those in Buddha's purgatory, boiling the culprit in oil, or grinding him in a mill, or still worse, to place him in an upright position between two planks of wood and then sawing him in pieces—all these pleasant reminders are heightened by the reincarnation against the will of a man's soul into that of a wild beast, destined to another life here on earth, which is too realistic to dwell upon.
The Examination Hall, where all males from eighteen to eighty years of age may compete for honors, is well worth a visit. Stalls are built for 12,000 students, in which are placed a table and chair. Once the man is seated there is no release for three days. A strict watch is kept to prevent any communication; even if a death occurs a hole must be knocked in the surrounding wall to transport the body, for under no circumstances are the gates opened during the trial. A subject for an essay is given, and each applicant is forced to render an example of his ability. Less than two score of these receive degrees, and from this examination they go to a higher court in Pekin and there high honors await them in official positions. No caste is observed. The water clock, built five hundred years ago, is composed of three copper vessels placed on top of each other with an indicator in the lower one. The passing of time is indicated by the raising of the water in this lower one, into which trickles the same fluid from those above. The prisons seemed crowded; the inmates were chained to stones or bars of iron, all apparently in one large hall, separated from the spectators by upright bars of iron. When we approached they made a rush toward us as well as their heavily burdened limbs would allow, and begged for money with which their freedom could be bought. The yoke some wore was most torturing. I could think only of Dante's inferno. The execution grounds was a most grewsome place, about twenty-five feet long and ten or twelve feet wide, used daily for drying and storing pottery. The prisoner was made to kneel, bowing his head, while the executioner's ax did the work. We saw a head which had been decapitated before our arrival. From the wall of Canton we could see mountainsides, which seemed to be one vast number of graves, whose entrance were in the form of a horseshoe. In the city is a building they call the "Old Man's Paradise." It is kept up by the wealthy class. The remains of the male dead can be left here for five years, incased in a huge lacquered wood coffin, costing $1,500. Under it is placed plates of lime to prevent white ants from destroying the wood. Before the coffin is a drop curtain to shield it from the gaze of the passer by, in front of which is an altar decked with tinselled flowers; beside this is an empty chair, around which are grouped wooden images supposed to be the servants of the departed master waiting his return, with rice and tea prepared and placed near by. A couch for a servant who guarded the body was occupied each night. The place was rather attractive than otherwise. We lunched upon the walls of Canton in a deserted building, but old with memories. We visited some shops where the crepe, for which the manufactory is noted, can be found in almost all colors, some beautifully embroidered, for moderate prices. The markets are disgusting with the skinned rats and bloody fish which are offered for sale, and a few days' sojourn amidst such surroundings satisfies the traveler.
On our return to Hongkong (the port from which we sailed) the sight of the French steamer "Melbourne," which was to bear us on our journey, was an agreeable vision, although on that line of steamers little is done for the pleasure of the passengers. We took on at Saigon the Governor of Siberia, his wife and secretary; also the Siberian Minister to China, with his wife, with many Russians. The ladies of the party were handsome, and often regaled us with their beautiful voices. A Japanese colonel, who had by his feats of bravery made himself famous, sat at my right at the table, and it was with great interest I listened to him telling of his trip on horseback from Russia on the Trans-Siberian line to China, which took seventeen months to accomplish, with the use of three horses. The extreme cold of Siberia, 45 degrees below zero, with those sluggish people, made the days he spent with them most memorable. He averaged twenty-five miles a day, traveling through grand forests, and, as daylight continued till midnight, he was enabled to travel much at night during the summer months. He was in the employ of the Japanese government. We afterward met him at Cairo. Two days out from Hongkong (Oct. 19, 1895) we skirted the Island of Hainan, which is separated from the mainland of China by the Gulf of Tonquin, and passing the Empire of Anan we enter the St. James River, eight degrees north of the equator—Far. 83. The river in width is about forty rods, the banks of which on either side are covered with dense jungles. The mango and banana tree were strangely intermingled with vines covered with flowers, while groups of monkeys keep up a perpetual chatter and bright plumed parrots were seen at every turn, to say nothing of the wild boar that were hid among the jungles. The low thatched huts along the shore, surrounded by the waving palm tree, looked rather attractive at a distance. The dress of the Coachin-Chinamen consists of long, loose flowing trousers, with a black or white robe falling from the shoulders, and a red or white turban on their heads. The heat at Saigon in October was oppressive, and we were advised to keep aboard the vessel till late in the evening. Our ride to the botanical gardens over smooth roads of red clay in the jinrikisha, with a bright turbaned coolie, was most picturesque amid the perfection of tropical growth of plants and trees. Convoys of storks, plumed golden pheasants, the Coachin China chickens, cages of monkeys, leopards and bears all amuse and entertain the traveler. Saigon is a French concession and has at least 100,000 inhabitants. Late in the afternoon the Governor General of Coachin China boarded the vessel with his son. Citizens in their white duck suits and pith helmets and soldiers escorted him to the steamer in their bright uniforms with great ceremony to bid him bon voyage to France to negotiate a loan in behalf of a projected railroad. The governor wore the decoration of the Legion of Honor and was most dignified in his bearing.
A smooth sea and fair breeze made the next two days and a half fairly enjoyable, but the heat was overpowering at times; the nights were spent by many on deck, where the firmament could be enjoyed, as the Southern Cross was seen in its great beauty. Singapore, the next stopping place, afforded us a fine drive in a chariot through the country. These vehicles seat comfortably four persons, a charioteer, who drove, and an outrider seated behind. Their turkey-red calico sacques, with a white cheese cloth skirt and high red turban, gave them a showy appearance, while the diminutive animal which drew us in the most submissive fashion plodded his way over the well-rolled roads of red clay. The tropical growth of trees and shrubbery almost hid from view the bungalows of the better class of people. These buildings were one story in height, surrounded by wide verandas, the roofs of which were thatched with huge palm leaves, while the bamboo split in two formed excellent gutters to convey the water to the ground. Dates hung in profusion upon the trees alongside of the road, and bananas half as long as your arm were offered you, the taste of which is very unlike ours. The palm and rubber trees grow like the forest trees in our own land. The red and white arbiscus, running wild over trees and house, with the ox-eyed daisy, almost as large as the sunflower, and the marigold, which is the flower that the Indian idolater uses in his worship, grows in profusion here. The abundant moisture from frequent showers, followed by a blazing sunshine, produces that tropical luxuriance for which this portion of the Orient is celebrated. To sit upon the steamer's deck at early dawn one sees close to the horizon in the north the Pole Star, in the south a few degrees higher the constellation of the southern cross is in full view, while on land the scene of the greatest activity is at this hour. The rude cart, drawn by cream-colored, humped-back, reversed-horn cattle, driven by a coal-black Tamil in a bright red turban and perhaps a loin cloth, lends interest to the picture, and the superb shoulders of the natives are well exhibited, as they unload from barges drawn close to the steamer's side huge sacks of coal, which they heave to one another till they reach the hold of the vessel. This is performed mostly by women with a weird chant of "heave ho" that seems to render the task less irksome.
Singapore was purchased by the British. It is the greatest tin producing country in the world. Sago is grown in quantities and shipped to every port; it is the pith of the tree trunk. Here the gum of the rubber tree is gathered and dried in chunks, placed in gunny bags and sent to all quarters of the globe in the crude state. The rattan, which is elaborately woven by the natives into chairs and other useful pieces of furniture, is light in weight and capable of great endurance. The tree grows like a palm to a great height, throwing above ground long tendrils extending a half mile. These are cut in lengths of thirty feet, soaked, scraped and ready for use. The indigo bush is cut and dried, then boiled, the sediment forming the dry substance exported. Tea is also cultivated successfully. Mangoes, yellow as pumpkins, in shape of pears, with disagreeable flavor, but most in favor with the natives, as well as the children of adoption, are the Dorean fruits, with custard-like contents, offensive to the smell, but agreeable to the taste. The business portion of the city is substantially built, but we were told that the use of opium, like the Upas tree, casts a blight on this fair country and its inhabitants. We invited a missionary to dine on the steamer with us. He conducted a boys' school of 600 pupils. The building cost $20,000, built by local contributions of the English and Chinese. They practice the Salvation Army methods in gathering audiences for Bible instruction, and those who accepted Christianity closely adhered to their vows.
We now enter the straits of Malacca, as smooth as a river, but clouds and showers render the atmosphere low and depressing. We meet on the steamer those who have spent years in this climate. A lady from Holland told me that it was so exhausting that life was almost unendurable. She spoke of the Queen of Holland, the young "Wilhelmina," and of her mother, the Dowager Queen Emma, now acting as regent. She was the second wife of King William of Holland, and had this only daughter. He had three sons by his first wife, all deceased. This present widow was a German princess, and at this time (1895) was thirty-four years old and her daughter fifteen. It was very evident from the conversation of this Holland lady that Germans were in disrepute with her people—the Holland Dutch. From the straits we run into the Indian Ocean, "with a wet sheet and a flowing sea, and a wind that follows fast." To forget the swell I take up a sensational novel, "The Old Love and the New," but that influence is not enough to drive away mal de mer, that soon gets the better of the passengers and drives us to our cabins. Four days of sailing brings us to Ceylon's shores, where we fail to catch the spicy breezes of which we have so often sung. We are on deck early to realize the descriptions given of the southern coast of this island, then turn northward and round into the harbor of Colombo. The hotels and government buildings are located along the quay. The forest of cocoanut palms and the lofty peaks of the mountain form an impressive background. Ceylon is two-thirds as large as Ireland and is in possession of the English. Some English writer has said "that in the train of England's conquests comes the broadest, wisest and most tolerant statesmanship the world has ever witnessed. To be humbled by her is to be exalted by her." There seemed a good feeling between the natives and their rulers. The Oriental Hotel swarms with people of all nations. Breakfast is served in your room, consisting of coffee, toast, fruit and sweets. Luncheon is a hasty meal, but dinner to the foreigner, served at 7 or 8 p. m., seems thoroughly enjoyable. The Englishman, dressed in black trousers, broad sash-belts of black or red silk, which seems to make more pronounced the smooth shirt bosom, with a spotless white pea-jacket, forms a refreshing costume. Ladies almost invariably are in low-neck black dresses, with a broad piece of white lace which droops gracefully as a bertha, with bright flowers in their hair, while a band of stringed instruments makes the scene enlivening. The broad arcade from which you enter the dining hall is after dinner filled to overflowing with guests seated around small tables, where brandy and coffee is served, and is the harvest time of the tradesmen, who are allowed to spread before you their embroideries, laces, jewels and baskets of curious workmanship and bright colors, together with elephants of ebony and ivory. Close to the entrance of the hotel are jugglers with their baskets of cobras, whose poisonous fangs have been extracted; together with the dwarfed trees which miraculously grow before your eyes, and divers tricks are performed to entertain the stranger and to earn for themselves a scant livelihood. The Singhalese and Tamil women, men and children, whose features seemed carved in ebony, are of the Aryan race—so different from the Mongol Malay race. It is amusing when riding to be followed by the native children crying "No papa, no mamma, no rice." And when these claims are recognized they laugh immoderately and wait for other persons to attack with the same pathetic appeal. A drive to the Cinnamon garden, in the midst of which is a fine museum with a rare collection of sea urchins; these fasten themselves to a rock, in which with their black, stiff, cigar-shaped feelers they dig a cell, resembling machine work so accurate are they in their measurement to fit their bodies. Here we are shown the original tooth of Buddha, which looks more like a small tusk of an elephant. This is placed under a glass cover; the sea-horse suckling its young, the myriads of birds, besides every wild beast of the forest are finely preserved. The bungalows of more wealthy inhabitants are built along these beautiful drives, and are almost concealed by the dense foliage, and must necessarily be damp, as the sun's rays can scarcely enter. We are offered neatly bound bunches of camphor wood and cinnamon by children on the road, but which have little aroma left. The men are athletic in appearance, erect and graceful, hair black and curly. The Singhalese wear a circular shell comb to confine their glossy curls. The men are semi-clad; the women wear low-neck corset covers with an ample strip of cloth that is pinned around the body for a skirt, which shows the ankles with their silver anklets, while the black neck and arms are adorned with gilt beads and bangles, the nose and lobes of the ear being pierced and fairly weighed down with jeweled rings. The deformity is appalling among the lower class; their only compensation is that the stranger never passes them by without bestowing some gift, denoting their sympathy. We are in Ceylon in the tail end of a monsoon (October 30). Such sheets of water, deluging alike streets and people, are scarcely heeded—so soon do the sun's rays dry up the roads. We take a cart drawn by two bullocks, goaded by a small boy, who sits on the yoke and so close to the animals that one can scarcely detect his mode of thrusting a sharp steel instrument into the body to make them move, but this is his great incentive, as he easily could outwalk them; it is the novelty that attracts, not the speed. We are landed close by the market, where all fish, fowl and vegetables are sold. We purchase a bunch of Betel leaves, neatly piled one upon the other. The nut of the same bush is cut into small pieces, mixed with a teaspoonful of slackened lime, and a little tobacco or more often opium. This mixture laid upon a leaf is rolled and we are asked to try it. We give that pleasure to our small boy or guide. One of these leaves will be material enough for two or three hours' pleasure, and the coolie is seldom seen without this delectable morsel in his mouth. He seldom expectorates but seems to swallow the fluid, which is like red ink in color; the habit is most disgusting, but assuages hunger.
We frequently see on the children's naked body a cord around the loins. The placing of this is a religious ceremony, with a religious signification. The drive along the beach is grand, and the roads smooth. The crowds of English and Australians taking their evening outing, cheered by the music of the military band and stimulated by the dashing of the breakers on the sea-girt shore add to the pleasure. If you are walking you are waylaid at every step by some drummer who represents his own or the shop of some one whose jewels are displayed in the greatest profusion. Sapphires, diamonds, rubies and pearls and other stones are shown the customer until the eye fairly wearies of the sparkle. If you decide not to purchase them but to call again, woe be to you if you do not keep your word, as you are followed and the cry of "Lady, come back, you promised!" becomes a trifle wearisome.
To visit Kandy, situated eighteen hundred feet above the sea, in the mountains of the interior of Ceylon, we take passage on a railroad of marvelous engineering. To quote a traveler's words may give you some idea of the beauty of the views obtained: "As one skirts the flanks of the mountains and looks down into an enormous gorge, its sides clad with the most beautiful and varied foliage of flowers and trees, and on the level bottom lands can be seen cascades, which are formed by the artificial lakes that overflow the exquisitely delicate green of the young rice." Our attention is directed to the Tollipot tree, which flourishes for sixty years, and blooms just before it dies. The bloom is at the top of the tree and reminded me of huge bunches of pampas grass. The distance from Colombo to Kandy is seventy-eight miles. Roundabout this region live the tea planters with their families. Kandy is a resort, during the summer season, for the inhabitants of the lowlands, and is built on the shore of a charming little lake, its banks shaded by the Tamarind and royal palms. The vine-clad bungalows add to its attractiveness. Within sight of the hotel is the Malagawa Buddhist temple, the most sacred of the shrines of Buddhism. We are again shown an actual tooth of the Deity, two and one-half inches long and one inch wide.
On the evening of our arrival a great festival was held at the temple. The procession was headed by eight standard bearers, dressed in full white skirts, followed by eight more in red costumes. Their waists were uncovered. They bore aloft flaming torches, followed by the most fantastically dressed musicians beating drums and dancing in a frantic manner. Close behind these were the "Devil dancers," four in number, whose skirts of gay-colored silks were elaborately studded with jewels and turbans to match. These skirts were so full that when making their convolutions they looked like inflated balloons. The contortions of their bodies were painful to witness, and as the reflection from the torches lit up their faces one could but feel they were aptly named. Three elephants walked abreast, most gorgeously apparelled, and moved with a dignity most surprising. They wore jewelled masks, their bodies enveloped with jewelled mantles, while on the back of the center animal rested a gilded cage, in which, in a pagoda-shaped vessel, was the sacred tooth. Following the elephants were more drummers, more Devil dancers and other elephants, whose huge tusks were incased in gold. Each animal was closely guarded by his keeper, while riders sat astride in the most gorgeous-colored skirts and turbans. The chief man of the temple, representative of the old Kandy kings, rivaled Falstaff in his appearance. He wore a full white skirt, a large white hat, with a white mantle or cape thrown over his shoulders. His dignified tread was akin to that of Jumbo, and was greeted by all along the procession. We were told he was the banker of the village. During the August festival the procession is much more impressive, as three hundred elephants are in line. The festivities ended by a feast at the temple. Along each side of the entrance the poor of the village sat with their empty vessels, which were to be filled by those in authority. Buddha was most conspicuous on the altar of the temple, carved woods and ivories surrounding the image, where later a dance was performed; but we were too unholy to be permitted to remain and witness it. A description of the Paradeniza gardens would be like attempting to picture to one's imagination the Garden of Eden. The two hundred and fifty varieties of palms, the bamboo, one hundred feet high and growing in clumps one hundred and fifty feet in circumference, give some idea of the tropical growth. We see spicy cinnamon, the chinchona, the upas tree, the latter bearing to a great height its lofty head, not unlike a palm in growth, with its bark gray and spotted like a snake. It is not indigenous to the soil, but comes from Java, where its dense groves are called the "Valley and Shadow of Death," and when I stood under its shade without knowing the tree, I will confess a superstitious fear came over me when I was told by our frightened guide that I was in danger. The candle tree produces a fruit shaped like a candle, but not edible. The traveler's palm gives the thirsty traveler a refreshing drink when an incision in the stem of its leaves is made. Cocaine grows in profusion, while alongside, coffee and tea plants and nutmegs and other spices grow apace. The Jacqueminot and La France roses grow to the size of saucers, while the orchids fasten themselves like grape vines over wooden props, beautiful and varied in color, and are native to the jungles, brought therefrom and sold by coolies to the traveler for a pittance. The governor's palace is beautifully located. From its windows we gaze upon a beautiful river, while the grounds are watered from the spray of fountains. The palace was unoccupied and we were permitted to go through its spacious rooms and halls. The drives all about Kandy are fascinating, and are made more so by now and then a temple hid almost from sight, but of interest when visited, while the industrious weaver of straw mats, a yard and a half in length and a yard wide, meets us along the way, urging us to buy—a temptation we cannot resist, although we wonder what we shall do with them when we get them. But adieux must be made to Ceylon, with its spicy breezes, for the "Steamer Pekin" lies at anchor off Colombo which is to bear us over 1,300 miles to Calcutta, the voyage only broken by a short stay at Madras, where a brief visit is long enough, for the heat and dust are oppressive. We see the juggernaut car lying in disuse on the roadside under a temporary covering of a palm thatched roof. A most cumbersome vehicle, the wheels of which are so closely set together that one can imagine the poor victims over whose body it rolls, could easily be reduced to powder. Government interferes in its further usage, save in territories not easily managed. The official buildings are European, but the homes of the natives are of burnt clay, with no windows—a small open door reveals its inmates stretched out sleeping, almost devoured by flies. The filth of the quarter makes it uninviting; the botanical garden is hardly worth the ride there. We take the only small vessel in use to carry us back to the steamer awaiting us in this beautiful Bay of Bengal. The governor's house is lofty in appearance, the exterior dingy from dust and dirt, but we are told the household appointments are magnificent, the decorations partly in the oriental and some of them in European style; servants by the score, hundreds of coolies who do nothing but keep the Punkas (swinging fans) in motion in every part of the building by day and night. The natives of Madras are quite dark in color, with straight hair and regular features, diminutive in stature, slender forms, with small hands and feet, and have a pensive look and manner. The deformity among the beggars is revolting, and we fear to alight from our chariot, lest we may come in contact with these poor, unfortunate beings. We learn that the wheels of government move slowly in these oriental countries. If an audience with the governor is desired, a book is given you in which the name of the solicitor is registered. At the end of two weeks the governor gives notice that he will give a public breakfast at the palace, and those who have registered their names will be received and their requests will be heard. Time seems not to be considered of any import.
The calm waters of the Bay of Bengal, with its southern breezes, makes the journey pleasant, as the traveler seeks his extended chair on deck of the steamer, protected from the scorching sun by its broad awnings. On entrance to the Hoogly River, a native pilot comes aboard—for here the ever-moving sands render navigation uncertain and perilous—until the dangerous sand bars of the James and Mary rivers are passed; every sailor must be at his post as the steamer wends its way through the treacherous channel, and each passenger silently congratulates himself when he is assured the Rubicon is past. The bottom of these rivers is a vast quicksand. The vessel entering must await the tide. The banks are low and sandy. Straw thatched huts, shaded by clusters of date palms, gave a picturesque appearance to the shores, and the tropical growth grew richer and more dense as we approached Calcutta. The excitement on arrival of the steamer is intense; custom house officers present themselves: all baggage is ordered from the cabins on deck, even to the smallest hand-bag; search is made for fire arms: strict laws regarding them are enforced, and if you are unfortunate enough to have one in your possession, as was one of our party, you are quickly relieved of it, and only by paying as much as the original price, with much red tape, are you enabled to regain it.
INDIA.
India, in 1892, had a population of 300,000,000. The area of the land on which they live is equal to the United States, east of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. Much of it is uncultivated; other lands yield crops under irrigation. The soil in places has become exhausted by use without manure. Between monsoons (that is, periods of no rainfall), these regions cease to produce and there is a scarcity.
Regions cultivated by irrigation are enhanced in value, for the products bring better prices, but when rivers and tanks dry up from which water for irrigation is drawn, then scarcity becomes a famine, where the rain has failed. There are two annual crops in India; the former inferior grade is used for home consumption, the other for export. Of the army, seventy thousand strong, forty per cent are incapacitated by diseases. Civil servants are superannuated at fifty-five years of age and are sent home on a pension, seldom enjoying life longer than two years afterward.
Seven per cent native males read and write; only one per cent native females can read or write. The different castes will not intermarry and will not touch each other's food.
Calcutta is a city of 500,000 inhabitants, of these, 14,000 are Europeans.
The streets of the English concession are broad and well laid out. Fine hotel buildings, banks and storehouses line the main thoroughfare. The hotels have broad verandas extending from the second floor, over the sidewalk, affording a cool resting place for the guests, and would be most acceptable were it not for the myriads of insects that cover you. The protection these porches afford at night to the natives who, wrapped in their cotton blankets, lie closely huddled together along the sidewalk, while scarcely leaving room enough for a pathway for the pedestrian serve to exempt them (the natives) from the dews of the night. The palace of the viceroy, centrally located, is surrounded by beautiful grounds, with magnificent shade trees. It is built upon the grand esplanade, three miles in length, and skirts the water's edge. From the hours of 5:00 till 8:00 p. m. this grand avenue presents a lively appearance, for all the elite of Calcutta seems gathered there. Handsome victorias drawn by beautiful horses, coachmen and footmen, with their bright turbans and oriental dress, lends enchantment to the view and reminded one of the display Aladdin made when he went to claim his bride. In the Garden of Eden, near by, a band of forty native musicians, well trained, discourse sweet music—the latest European airs. During the performances all vehicles must remain in one position, thus affording the scores of flower venders opportunity to move noiselessly roundabout the carriages, offering the beautiful orchids, camellias and roses, for a small pittance, to the occupants. To say nothing of toy monkeys, which one cannot resist buying. The European residence quarters lie along this beautiful, sun-baked road. The houses are large and well built, with the luxuriant surroundings of tropical growth that almost hide the homes from view. On every veranda is the tea table, with its urn or samovar; all English observe the hour of 4:00 o'clock to serve the necessary stimulant at home and abroad. The city is supplied with water from the Hoogly River, gathered into large reservoirs, and filtered. The Esplanade is sprinkled by the native coolie, who, from his well-filled goatskin, moves gracefully in a surpentine fashion over its well rolled surface; while the streets in the business portion are watered from carts managed by women. A visit to the crematory at the early dawn—the hour set apart for burning their dead—is interesting, but horrible, to witness. A building of 100 feet is located upon the bank of the river. At intervals of ten feet on its earthen floor are trenches, dug the length of a body; they do not exceed two feet in depth, if that. In this excavation is placed some clean straw and sandal wood with myrrh and sweet perfumes. Upon this is laid, first crosswise and then lengthwise, sticks of cordwood, and a fresh bed of straw, upon which the body is laid. The body of an aged woman was brought in for cremation while we stood there. It was wrapped in white cheese cloth and rested on the bed upon which she died, which is their custom to burn. It is the length of the body, made of rope interlaced; at each end are two small wooden legs which support the wooden sides and are, in height, like the old-fashioned trundle bed. The winding sheet was removed, the body anointed with oil and rubbed with saffron powder. The face, which was most emaciated and betrayed great suffering, was completely besmeared with this mixture. The body was then placed face downwards on the pile. Being somewhat longer than the bed prepared for it, the limb from the knee was bent towards the body. The cracking of the dry bones was most grewsome. The body had a fresh wrap of cheese cloth thrown over it, the face having her caste designated by lines of ashes on her forehead, made by a priest, and sticks of cordwood were placed crosswise and then lengthwise so close together that the entire body was concealed. A pitcher of water from the sacred Hoogly River, nearby, was brought and thrown over the pile. Then the nearest relative of the deceased ran violently around the body seven times, crying in a loud voice to the gods that another soul was awaiting reincarnation, while a wild-eyed, maniacal-looking priest took up a huge bunch of straw and made the circuit seven times, giving vent to the most uncanny wail, when the son or husband of the dead touched the burning torch to the straw underneath; soon all was ablaze. The mourners, a few women, withdrew, and a man, whose office it is, stood near by, and as the arms or legs or pieces of burning wood fell, would replace them with a pitch fork. Scores of bodies were brought in that morning, but seeing two cremations was all we needed to make an indelible impression not easily eradicated. It requires about two hours to reduce the body to ashes, or a granulated substance, when it is gathered and thrown into the holy river, and the excavation is made clean for another body.
The Ghats or sacred steps leading down to the waters of the Hoogly are in the same vicinity. Throngs of bathing pilgrims, of both sexes, were gathered for their morning ablutions. After wading out nearly waist deep, they would place their hands reverently together, and apparently after a prayer with great earnestness, dip themselves three times into the water, and those who had flowers (the marigold seemed the favorite), as they prayed would cast them upon the waters one by one, then scour their feet, rinse their mouth and wash their garment, filling a brass vessel which hung to their side with the holy water, and proceed to the well situated under a Boho tree at the head of a Ghat, when they would sprinkle the diminutive gods that were placed there. Priests stood in readiness with paint and ashes and made upon their foreheads the mark of their caste, for which they received a compensation. At a time during the eclipse of the moon, 100,000 pilgrims often find their way to this holy water. It seems as if half their lives are spent in making these pilgrimages in these eastern countries, and if they die far from the holy stream, they are cremated and their ashes sent to some priest, whose office is to make the consecration before sprinkling them on the sacred rivers.
We turn from this scene, not wishing to obliterate the memory, but to forget for awhile in other and perhaps no less disgusting scenes in the native quarters. We are warned to make our visits few, for contagious diseases lurk in these narrow streets and among these filthy people.
We enter narrow lanes, in these quarters, flanked on either side by tumbled-down houses. We are in pursuit of pearls. Strange surroundings for such beautiful gems. We are led into a narrow hall and up a long flight of steps of stone, so worn by the tread of time that we could scarcely keep our foothold. We reach a chamber fronting on a court. The floors are covered with padded matting over which were sheets spread. Kneeling, or rather squatting on these were natives busily employed sorting pearls. Before each were piles of different sizes. The wonderful dexterity displayed by these coolies in separating the large, medium and smaller seed pearls from each other in parcels, by or through the sense of touch of the index finger, seemed to convey to their minds weight and size.
A table or counter was in one end of this room, behind which were seated dignified patriarchal looking dealers, and evidently owners of the establishment. We were shown diamonds of such weight and brilliancy that fairly bewildered us and dazzled our eyes. Emeralds, sapphires, and pearls of different colors (black, pink and white), the former of such size that we almost doubted their genuineness. Evidently we were in a wholesale department, for while there, there came in foreign buyers collecting many of these precious stones. Prices were fixed. The dealers were in touch with the world's market, and values ruled accordingly; there seemed no chance to barter. Our address is taken when we decline to purchase, which means that we will be followed to the hotel by a native who will there unfold the wonders of India's product again to us—specimens even more tempting than those shown in the shops. Our lack of confidence in ourselves as experts and a growing distrust of the dealer makes a breach between buyer and seller. In these places where gems are kept the stock ofttimes seems meager, and we manifest our disappointment, but are at once assured that their supply is large, but at the present time the rarest and most costly have been sent to some Maha Rajah who makes regal purchases, and those he declines, perhaps from his sufficiency, are returned for sale to those whose love for gems is weighed in a balance with their purse.
An English lady artist who was solicited to paint the portrait of one of these Rajahs in his own palace, and to abide in the premises during her time of labor, told me her powers of description failed her in the attempt to portray to others what the coffers of these rulers of provinces contained, and with which they adorned themselves on state occasions, and to convey to canvas their beauties, would have been the work of the Hand that created them.
Calcutta, city of palaces, has a number of theaters, one of which we attended. The evening was warm; the audience quite large. In the gallery sat parties in groups; over each stood stalwart coolies, in whose hands were held a long-handled palm-leaf fan. Not for one moment did they falter, but with an unerring movement, gracefully and uninterruptedly handled this cumbersome article, which must have had a soothing effect. The play was not well supported; now and then was pleasure or displeasure manifested by the audience in a loud voice speaking, we were told, direct to the actors. After the play was over (by the way, it was long drawn out) the foyer rapidly filled and great hilarity prevailed. Full dress, now in evidence among the ladies, and gentlemen with their tall silk hats and boutonierres looked most like English swells, while those in Oriental dress were not eclipsed in brilliant coloring.
The insect life in Calcutta was most annoying. Before going to the theatre I had left a small flicker from the gas jet in my room and the windows open. What was my dismay on returning to find the originally whitewashed walls of my apartment of a dull grey appearance. I doubted if my steamer trunk had not been transferred in my absence to a more sombre looking chamber, but on my appeal to Brahma, my servant, who lay at my door, he assured me that it was innumerable shad flies (as we would call them) which had been caught by the glare and had lined walls and ceilings and covered my bed spread. Dust pans and brushes were in requisition, counterpane shaken, and lace mosquito netting drawn down and tucked in before I felt like retiring for the night. To attempt to read by an overhanging light was simply impossible, for the print of paper or book would be completely obscured by these pestiferous creatures, and when we sought an outside veranda that we might, in the darkness, at least, carry on a conversation, they would fly down one's throat, when we opened our mouths. Imagine what a sacrifice this was to be compelled to be dumb, when we had so much to say.
In traveling through India a body servant is indispensable. He lies at the door of your sleeping apartment, waits upon you at the table, buys your ticket, cares for your baggage and divers other attentions are rendered by the patient but most indolent Mohammedan. We are advised not to employ a Hindoo servant, as they refuse to serve flesh or fowl to you at the table; according to their religious belief, it would be pollution.
At 9:15 p. m., Nov. 18, 1895, we find ourselves in a most comfortable compartment car, with shower bath and other conveniences. Alongside, but not connected in a way that we could speak to them only by calling from the car window or door, was the apartment designated for servants. They lie down at night on the floor with an extra cotton wrap, which is used for the purpose, and I fancy they use their turban for their pillow. To our party of four we were entitled to an entire compartment, and no intrusion can be made en route, on our privacy. On either side of the car are long, cushioned seats, well upholstered and covered with dark green leather; over these are suspended corresponding ones which, if not in use, are thrown to the ceiling, where they are made secure. At the one end is a shorter seat (width of the car) and at the opposite side a door leads into a toilet room. The traveler provides his own bedding, which consists of pillows or cushions, and steamer blankets or shawls. The nights are cold, but the heat through the day, were we not in motion, would be insupportable, together with the dust that arises along the road, for lack of rain, adds nothing to our comfort. Our coolies, if called upon to roll up our bedding, whether from lack of inclination or from physical weakness we know not, would look morose, or call in, if at a station, additional help to share in the labor, and never fail at the end of the day to ask for compensation for the annas expended on their co-workers.
I could better appreciate the statement made by an English missionary from the Isle of Wight that he kept sixteen servants in his own household (and he was a bachelor); that no one coolie would perform what he himself considered to be the work of two men. I must confess to their indolence, but it appeared to me a trifle extravagant for a dependant upon the missionary board. He was a most agreeable gentleman, however, and I am under many obligations for a prescription which enabled me, when I had it filled, to accomplish my sight seeing, and travel in India, our own remedies having no effect in that country or climate. In returning to the question of manual labor: the working of the "punkas," or swinging fans, alone required many men, to keep the air in motion for the comfort of people. In the hotel dining room these fans were hung on wires, stretched at intervals the entire length and breadth of the salon, say five feet apart. The material used was a white or drab drilling (cotton cloth) made into huge box plaits; wire or rope was attached to and drawn above these punkas to holes in the wall, which separated the dining room from a corridor. There sat, or rather squatted, a dozen, more or less, coolies with these wires either in their hands or fastened to their feet, and would sway to and fro, causing a vibration in the air that was most acceptable in these warm climates, while eating.
The native coolies are neither scrupulously truthful nor honest, indolent to a degree, rather sullen, but to all appearances submissive. They are fond of stimulants, more especially opium and tobacco. In traveling you are under the surveillance of your servants, fearing you may make some purchase without their knowledge, causing them to lose a commission to which they feel themselves entitled for having directed your steps or attention to the shop of the dealer.
They receive their stipulated wages, traveling expenses defrayed by the employer, but added to this is a constant appeal to your sympathies; for instance: "I am just in receipt of news from home. My son is lying (great stress on son) very ill. My mother has no money to employ a doctor. What am I to do if the good lady will not assist me to send some help to her?" It has been proven that these same applicants have no family and have recklessly spent their allowance in riotous living on their journey. We have to provide a winter outfit if it is cold, such as a night blanket of cotton cloth, and some clothing—for during the heated term clothing is unnecessary—and pay for the return trip to their home, without we find travelers going the same route we have just taken, and if the servants have merited a recommendation we give it to them and are thus relieved ourselves. We found one of the tricks of the trade was for the coolie to secure a returning party—we will say, to make ourselves lucid, from Bombay to Calcutta—but to keep the matter secret from us so that we might give them a return ticket, which they could easily sell. In spite of our experience there must be some good and true natives, for her majesty, Queen Victoria, has for her closest body-servant the Indian, chosen for his submission and faithfulness.
Our journey to Benares was at night, because of the freedom from dust and heat. The early dawn found us awake and peeping out of shutters for a sight of the country through which we were passing. The stations are well built, and crowds of natives, men and women, flock there on arrival of trains, offering for sale flowers, sweets, fruits, the cocoanut, lemons and a sort of banana. At your desire the cocoanut, nicely scraped and clean, will be broken so that you may quaff at your leisure what must be to them a delicious cool drink—a little goes a good way with me. It is well to be supplied with plenty of their small coin, for they are so slow in making the necessary change that the car has proceeded on its way before they have accomplished the task.
The experience of one of our party was a lesson to us. A gentleman from California, desiring some nuts or fruit, gave in exchange a pound in gold—all he had at hand. The train started, but all in vain were his protestations; the speed increased, and what was most provoking, was to see at a safe distance the naked boy running, apparently, trying to overtake us, but laughing immoderately at the joke—he will get his reward. This reminds me of a story to the point. On one occasion in my own native land I had an appeal made for help for a poor family. Having often allowed my heart to run away with my head, I determined this time to be forearmed. So I visited the house of distress, found things clean and tidy, but cupboards empty and a man in bed, supposed to be the husband of the woman who had sought my aid. It was with apparent difficulty he spoke to me. I hurried to order from the adjacent market a full supply for several days. After exhausting my strength I felt myself unable to go farther into the city where I could replace an undershirt his loving spouse said had been stolen from the clothes line, and his need of a change was most pressing. On my way home, tired and footsore, I resolved to call on a neighboring friend where gentlemen were more plentiful than with me, and ask for cast-off underwear. On interrogating me, my friend laughed to see my distress, and informed me it was an old trick of the woman. The sick man was a perfectly strong, well man—and rarely was the same man on exhibition. Alack, for me! I had, during the day, met our pastor, Mr. Monroe Gibson, and begged that he might call at his earliest convenience, lest the dying man might go out of the world without a prayer, for his soul's salvation. In the twilight I retraced my steps to tell Mr. Gibson how, in common parlance, "I had been sold." After a sympathetic look, he in his Scotch brogue said: "Well, never mind; you remember the man who put a crown in the contribution box where he intended to put a penny and, on retiring from the church, went to the man who had charge of the alms box and told him that he had made a mistake. The pastor did not offer to refund it, but simply said: 'Brother, you will have your reward in heaven'" (for a good intention, not for the amount given).
Low mud houses, hid among the palms, afforded shelter from the sun during the noonday hours. Men, women and children, the former and latter nude or scantily clad, grouped together along the road; the faces of the women were partially veiled. The scene is rather picturesque, with the chatter of the monkeys and the singing of bright plumaged birds. They lend some animation to the otherwise barren prospects. We learn there are common schools throughout the country for the male population, but women are uneducated except in religious art and duties. Government no longer tolerates the wife sacrificing her body on the pyre of her dead husband; but death is preferable to a life of widowhood, owing to the self-denial forced upon her by his family.
The climate of India is conducive to economy in clothing, as little, if any, is needed. The diet of the native would be starvation in a cooler clime. A mud hut gives the needed shelter, and the offal of the animals, dried in cakes on the sides of their hovels, give them sufficient fuel to boil their rice and other vegetables. The masses have never known anything but oppression; they are apparently kind to man and beast. We never heard any wrangling, nor witnessed any street brawls. A native will step aside, rather than tread upon an ant, which is the pest of the country.
Benares is sixteen hours' ride from Calcutta, a distance of 450 miles. We find there Clark's Hotel patronized by tourists, on the outskirts of the city, a refreshing looking spot and most restful bungalow. We rested under the cool shades of the palm trees until a favorable hour, and then drove to the "Holiest of Holy Cities," situated on the Ganges river, once alike holy to the Buddhist as it is now to the Hindoo. The sacred, the three-fold divine river, runs, according to their religion, through Heaven, Hell and Earth. To die on its banks, and to have one's ashes thrown upon its bosom, is a through ticket to Paradise. Troops of men, women and children, tired and footsore, are met wending their way to the shrines. To bathe in the Ganges is to wash away all sins.
Crowds throng the narrow, dusty streets; the women rather gracefully attired, with a profusion of silver ornaments, ear-rings, nose-rings, bracelets and bangles; the men nude or with a scant loin cloth. The houses are built of clay, sun baked, some of brick, stuccoed, ancient as time in appearance, unfit for habitation, but are grouped among the shops and temples in close proximity. The monkey temple is especially interesting, surrounded by well wooded grounds where the monkeys frisk and frolic all day long and are fed by an admiring crowd, who regard them as sacred animals. These temples are reached by a long flight of stone steps, which I found myself slowly climbing, when, without warning, I was rudely pushed to one side. On looking around, I saw a diminutive grey cow ascending the steps with great dignity, and it was the contact with this animal that had so shocked me. I quickened my gait, and in my attempt to get out of the way. I rushed into the first opening that met my view, which proved to be the entrance to the temple grounds, set apart for these sacred cows. The animal was close beside me and I vaulted like a school boy to a neighboring ledge of rock. I became agile from fear, but the fright occasioned by the cow's triumphant entry was nothing to the brandishing of arms of the natives in charge. I was brushed aside like a fly in the sacred enclosure, where no heretic was allowed to enter. Truly, I felt far from home! Garlands of marigolds, kept fresh at wells of water, are sold to devotees to lay at the feet or to encircle the gods of brass and stone that are seen in every direction. We are not permitted to enter a Hindoo temple, but get a glimpse in passing of their tinselled gaudiness. This seething caldron, where beasts usurp the rights of men, women and children, who are all bowing down to objects of wood and stone, is a sight one may long for—but once in a lifetime is quite satisfactory, and we gladly withdraw.
The early dawn of day finds us driving through the already crowded streets on our way to the "Ghats." Boats lie in readiness to convey us along the sacred shore of the Ganges, for but one bank is consecrated; the opposite shore seems a dreary waste. For miles homes and sacred structures are reared; here and there massive ruins attest the powers of the Ganges' floods on solid masonry. From a distance it is picturesque, but on close inspection has a most dilapidated appearance. The well-built stone steps, or Ghats, are crowded at this early hour with pilgrims and devotees wrapped in their white robes. They wade out into the holy stream, bowing and drinking double hands full of water, so nauseous in appearance, and taking off from themselves garlands of marigolds, throw them on the surface of the water, then wash their mouths, and return on shore for certain ministrations that the priests stood in readiness to perform for them, which seemed to complete the purification. Their caste was manifested by certain marks made with ashes or paint on their foreheads.
From the upper deck of our small steamer we overlook the ceremony of cremation, not unlike that we had seen in Calcutta. The bodies were wrapped in crimson-colored cheese cloth and laid upon a rude bier composed of two poles, laced together with rope; so near the water were these bodies placed that the feet were completely covered. We were told that very sick persons were brought when dying, and the immersion in the holy water would bring about a reaction, and restoration to health would ensue. No mourners were around the body, and those who ministered at the cremation were ostracized socially, being considered unclean for a certain length of time, and are of the lowest caste. The sheik who has charge of the burning has the ashes thoroughly sifted to secure any jewelry that may have been on the body, and as theft is often committed by the men employed to rake up the ashes, great disputes arise in consequence.
The colossal form in stone of the "God Beem" lies prostrate on the ground, and women in peril of childbirth come in throngs on moonlight nights to pray for the safe deliverance of a son; girls are at a discount in the Orient. We saw a man stretched upon a bed of spikes, paying penance for some sin committed, or to find favor by self-abnegation with his god. When we appeared, incredulous as to the actual facts, the man arose to show the pierced flesh and the sharp points of which his bed was composed. The upholding of an arm until the flesh withers, and the limb stiffens, is most revolting. These devotees allow their finger nails to become, so extended that they look like claws, or more like the roots of a tree seen in Ceylon, which lie on top of the ground. We are privileged to visit the palace of the Maha Rajah, which is quite a distance from Benares and on the unconsecrated shore of the Ganges. Numbers of naked coolies run along the shore, pulling with all their strength on the ropes attached to the boat. When we arrive opposite the palace we are transferred to a raft, which is rowed and pushed to the landing. The gloomy structure rises before us, and the approach to it is rather intricate, through courtyards much littered up with debris. As we enter with our guide, we are informed of the Rajah's absence from home, but we are permitted to wander through rooms most inhospitable in appearance. A few pictures adorn the walls and some handsome bric-a-brac is scattered here and there. We are told that the Rajah himself is most hospitable, and much more would have been shown us had he been at home. The great attraction in making this visit is to see the hundreds of elephants and tigers he has in his possession, but "the shades of night were falling fast" and we declined any further delay.
Our trip to Benares was much more rapid on returning. We floated down the Ganges by moonlight; it was a grewsome scene. We were gathered together on the deck of our steamer, while our guide, at our feet, was beguiling the weary hours by his weird tales. Visions of crocodiles, awaiting their prey, float before our eyes; lights from the shore grew indistinct, and our little group most abject; but the landing place at length was in sight, and we had kept our carriage awaiting our return. We were driven through dark, narrow streets to the garden of a temple, where lived the holy man of Benares. We remained in our vehicle until our guide ascertained whether we could have an interview. It was 9:00 p. m., but being American tourists, we were admitted. He was a man apparently sanctified by his mode of living, not unlike that of Buddha. He was emaciated, and as we approached him, he arose from his cot not entirely nude, but a simple loin cloth was his only clothing. A canopy was above his bed, and that was his home, day and night. He is a profound Hindoo scholar, and without doubt will be canonized after death. His manner toward us was most cordial and especially towards the one of our group who hailed from Chicago. He spoke through an interpreter, saying that the governor of Chicago had called on him before the World's Fair, urging the holy man to visit him at the time of the exhibition, but he could not think of ever leaving India. He then sent for his book of registration and showed us the name registered as Carter H. Harrison. We were asked to write our names, which we did, and were then offered by an attendant fruits and given a book containing his own life to date. He was born in 1833, married at twelve years of age, and was a father at eighteen. Like Buddha, he withdrew from all natural ties and set himself apart for a religious life. When asked if he did not feel the cold night air to be injurious, his reply was in his graceful gesture pointing heavenward, and in his signal language made us understand that under a watchful eye no harm could befall him.
The country from Benares to Lucknow is but little different from what we have already passed, though the distance is 190 miles. Population, 250,000. Manufacturers of carpets, rugs, gold lace and embroideries are found here, and seemingly the natives are interested in their employment, but are poor and oppressed. The remains of mausoleums and palaces attest former grandeur before its ownership was absolutely in the hands of its conquerors. Hotel accommodations are poor. We drove to the park to "Leeundea Bagh," where during the mutiny of 1857 two thousand mutineers were killed within two hours—Sir Colin Campbell under command. The residency was built in 1800 by Sahondah Ally Kahn. During the mutiny it contained only 927 Europeans, who were besieged by the rebels. Shot and shell marks are to be seen in the walls. The Fort Mueks' Bhawan, built during the famine as relief work at great cost, is of much interest; also a museum filled with objects of curiosity. Lucknow, famous in song, ran through my mind as we looked in vain for a Lalla Rookh, the imaginary character of the poet Moore.
Cawnpoor, thirty miles further on, with 130,000 inhabitants, presents large industries of leather work, rice mills and jute manufactories. The drive to the beautiful park, which now crosses the battlefield, is most interesting. The stately monument of pure white marble, surmounted by a female figure, with widespread wings, and in each hand a palm of most exquisite workmanship, combined with gracefulness. An English officer stands near by ready to give you a brief but graphic account of the mutiny. The monument stands on the spot over the great well, into which were thrown alive 700 men, women and children, who were hurled into it in one day by the order of Nana Sahib. A beautiful memorial church not far away has been erected in memory of the loved and lost. We enter during vesper hours; such perfect peace and quiet reigns in and around this sacred spot, where many English men and women were gathered at the service. It seemed so isolated to me so far from home. The drives in the vicinity are fascinating, yet the rice fields were beginning to grow scarce and less grass was seen. We journey on. Wheat fields appear more frequently; apparently no demarcation between land of different owners. Trees are scarce, but the excrement of cattle is sun baked and used for fuel. The homes of the people are mud-walled pens, huddled together, surrounded by walls of the same material. This grouping of homes, such as they were, attracted our attention all along our journey. This is evidently for protection. No isolated farm houses, with the comforts of life, were in evidence.
The pay of the laborers who construct the railroad is three annas a day (2¼ cents); an English-speaking servant will get 34 cents a day (one rupee and four annas) for food. We do not realize how thickly settled the country is in traveling on the railroad, but by and by we see the mud-walled village again with its hundreds of inhabitants, who rush out on the approach of the train, the women and children crying piteously for backsheesh. The wealth and strength of the past ages is now seen in their morgues, mausoleums and palaces, many of them wrecks of their former beauty, but patience and long years of toil are evident in their crumbling walls.
The Punjab country lies between the five great branches of the Indus River. The men here are magnificent specimens of physical development. The Sikh soldiers are the handsomest known. We see them acting as policemen at Hongkong, and we stop to admire their erect carriage and military tread. There is one defect, however, in the anatomy of the men of India; they have no calves to their legs. The Sikh is less servile than any other tribe, hard fighters, but attain to more or less civility in their contact with Europeans.
Our next stopping place to Benares was Aigra, so full of interest; namely, the Fort; the Pearl Mosque, the imperial palace, built by Abkur, the grandfather of Shah Jehan; the palace of wonders; its walls inlaid with agates, topaz, tagula and other more precious stones. The rooms set apart for the harem women are exquisitely beautiful. The oriental imagination must have lost itself in the construction and adornment of this palace. The apartments built for his favorite wife, with a boudoir and marble baths—the water furnished for the latter was delicately perfumed—and walls, mirrored with small pieces of glass, looked like the firmament in its brightness, but it remained for Shah Jehan to astonish the world with the mausoleum built for his (not the most correct) wife. The Tag Mahal, the tomb of his sultana, Montag Mahal, is the most beautiful creation in marble in existence. We are told she was beautiful; her devotion to Shah Jehan was proverbial, and his for her idolatrous. Her dying request was that her husband should never take for himself another wife, and in her memory should build a tomb that could have no rival, and one that all the world would admire. "Tag" is a pet name of endearment; "Mahal" means great or beautiful; "Montag Mahal," the chosen of the palace. In the words of another I will describe the Tag Mahal, as I know no more fitting words to use. "Passing through a majestic Saracenic arch, eighty feet in height, supported by two abutments of sand stone, on the panels of which are carved passages from the Koran, is a long vista of cypress trees, shading a marble paved canal, on either side of which are beds of flowers and crystal fountains. At the end of this magic avenue stands the "Tag" on a terrace; at either corner of this square is an edifice of sandstone, with a dome of the same material. The "Tag" is built of polished white marble, its oriental dome shaped like a globe, tapering up into a spire surmounted by a golden crescent. The platform upon which the "Tag" is placed is a square of 313 feet each side and eighteen feet in height. From each of the corners rise four lesser domes of the same matchless marble, forming graceful minarets. By moonlight and by sunset we gaze upon this Arabian night or day dream. "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." Italian, Sarascenic and Persian are all suggested in its architecture, and we are told that Shah Jehan expected to build for himself a tomb of black polished marble within sight, but on the other side of the River Jumna, but the depleted state of the treasury caused alarm in the mind of his son; fearing he would be impoverished, he made his father a prisoner in the imperial palace. We stood in the room wherein he had lain in his dying hours, and gazed out of the windows, as he did, upon the beautiful vision which was within his sight, his last wish was gratified, and his earthly vision failed in the view he had of Montag's tomb. He looked out beyond the Jumna, as the western sun's rays kissed the pure white marble, reflecting on its polished surface—the reflex it may have been of a heavenly vision, vouchsafed only to those who pass the portals.
Delhi, the next station en route, notwithstanding the dust and heat, has its attractions. The Bungalow Hotel is kept by an Englishwoman who, with her sons, had a number of hostelries in India and along the tourist line of travel. This one offered but few comforts. The proprietress assured me that they would soon build a good hotel, as travel demanded it. She evidently had received a telegram that we were on our way from her son's place, at whose table we had sat at Aigra. She sent her private conveyance for us to the depot, and received us herself with some cordiality, and was much gratified to learn of our pleasant memories of Aigra, with its tombs, temples, and its exquisite embroideries—the best we saw in India—woven of the finest texture and wrought upon with such delicacy that we could scarce realize that the dark, swarthy fingers of those poor native Indians could work out such marvels. We bought handsome table decorations in embroidered satin and bemoaned that we did not get more, after we were too far away to retrace our steps.
One of the attractions of Delhi is the tower of Kutah Mina, rising to a height of 240 feet, divided into five stories, built of red, buff and pink sandstone. The column, or tower, is of fluted architecture for most of the height, and decorated at intervals with layers of white marble slabs. We were told it was built for a favorite daughter of the ruling monarch, that she might, from its height, view the Holy River Jumna, which was at a great distance from her home. According to the tale told us, this tower must be ascended before she broke her morning fast. Near by stands the iron pillar, nearly a foot and a half in diameter and over forty feet high above the ground. It is a solid shaft of malleable iron, the natives claim its foundation is laid in the center of the earth. To see the tower and iron pillar necessitates a ride of eleven miles through dust and dirt and but little of any interest along the wayside. We visited the tomb of Johanara, the daughter of Shah Jehan, who shared her father's captivity. Pure in spirit and humble she chose a plain block of marble or alabaster, to cover her grave, screened by a delicately wrought white marble. The epitaph inscribed on her tomb reads:
"Place naught but one green herb above my head;
This alone befits the poor and lonely dead."
Pious monks keep fresh grass on her tomb; a slab at the head of the grave bears this inscription in Arabic: "God is life and the resurrection." The shops are attractive and we find and purchase some ivories and, if one cares for the likeness of Shah Jehan, they will be able to purchase paintings in miniature of him and his wife, done on porcelain. Whether or not true to nature, we are unable to judge. Beautiful pink pearls are shown us. How often I have regretted not buying some of them; we never found them so perfect after leaving Delhi. The enameled bracelets are shown in great variety, and yet we pass them by.
Jeypore is a typical Indian city, twelve hours by rail from Delhi. The streets are wide and well watered, the houses of stucco, gaudily painted in hieroglyphic designs, are two and three stories high. In the middle of the streets, at intervals of two or three squares, are stone wells, around which rested diminutive gods of wood and stone. In the early morning hours the natives lay an offering of flowers before these idols and wash their hands or faces in the water and go on their way rejoicing. Innumerable pigeons, regarded as sacred, swarm in the streets, where they are fed.
We spend Thanksgiving day (November, 1895) in Jeypore, sight-seeing, our hearts longing for the dear ones at home. In our wanderings we met a wedding party. The bride, we are told, was twelve years old, the groom twenty-one. They were seated in a gaudily decorated car, drawn by oxen. A scarlet canopy, with India shawl draperies, hung gracefully down and almost concealed the little veiled lady; she wore a scarlet wrap. The groom elect, sat Turkish fashion, wore a tall hat and looked most solemn. We entered a bazaar, where bronze and lacquer were for sale, together with ancient armor, kept by one Mr. Zoroaster, a man of distinction. While on the second floor of the building, overlooking a court-yard, some gaily dressed veiled women came in and began to beat their tomtoms. Mr. Zoroaster remarked: "It is only on great occasions that my sister ever leaves her home. It is she who is below, accompanied by her women in waiting, and have come to bid my family to the wedding of her daughter." He told us the bride and groom were wealthy, and that her father was to give a feast to five thousand people on this, their wedding day. He, Mr. Zoroaster, told us the dress of his sister for the occasion cost 2,000 rupees. It was crimson, embroidered in gold, a fluted skirt; many yards in width. Her bracelets and bangles were studded with jewels. The band played as the procession moved slowly through the streets.
The palace of the Maha Rajah was opened for inspection; the rugs were rolled; the furniture covered and, as the Rajah was away from home, things seemed neglected. Pigeons were stalking around and in the palace, and rare birds of bright plumage seemed to the manor born as they stood or flew in and out at their own sweet will. Hundreds of elephants were kept on these grounds and owned by the Maha Rajah. It was an imposing sight to see these clumsy but dignified animals with their oriental trappings and painted ear flaps. The coloring was most harmonious. Horses innumerable were in the stables and were with their care keepers, making ready for their daily outing. It is a scene, when elephants, horses and tigers are led through the streets and, perhaps, witnessed nowhere else in such regal splendor. Camels stalked through the highways with their burdens; panther dogs, led by their masters, strolled leisurely along; in fact, one might feel it was a gala day and a menagerie on exhibition. There are public cages here; lions and tigers can be seen within the city's limit. Around these cages, where the crowds gather, come the poor, wretched, deformed beggars, heart-rending to gaze upon—to say nothing of the loathsome lepers, which were more hideous than the wild beasts.
A school of fine arts, sustained by the rulers of Jeypore, was well equipped with men and boys, who were industriously and skillfully beating and moulding brass into useful and decorative articles. Pottery, and especially lacquer work is carried on, we were told, to a greater degree of perfection than elsewhere in the world.
It was at Jeypore we saw the Nautch girls, kept by the Maha Rajah for his own amusement. Our guide would have us believe that we were greatly favored in this, our opportunity. One hour spent with them was quite enough, and cost us six dollars, a ridiculous expenditure. However, we have started out to see the sights; this is one of them. We were taken to a house and led up to the second story back porch, we might call it, overlooking a gloomy courtyard. A white quilted rug was thrown upon the floor. Three native girls appeared, dressed gorgeously in knife-pleated skirts to the knees, embroidered in gold. On their heads were thrown beautiful grenadine scarfs, drawn gracefully over their shoulders. Coronets studded with jewels, with ear-rings, bracelets and bangles resplendent with dazzling gems. Three women stood behind these girls, advancing and retreating, keeping time with their rude musical instruments. They move their bodies in a most disgusting manner from the hip down, while they attempt to portray great intensity of feeling. In a short time they became very familiar, and disposed to be very flirtatious with the gentlemen of our party, taking off their bracelets, ear-rings and other ornaments and attempted to place them on their wrists or hang them on their ears. They, in return are anxious to secure a ring or any ornament we wear. They are repulsive and full of evil, judging from their looks and actions. They were roughly spoken to by an old, grey-headed woman, who evidently had them in charge, and, we thought, was urging them to offer us wine or refreshment, from which we could not escape before paying, but we had been forewarned and hastily withdrew, our guide settling our bill, while we hurried into our carriage. In their gyrations they would represent snake charmers, kite-flyers and divers and other mysterious movements that were anything but graceful.
Our visit to Amber, a city of ruins adjacent to Jeypore, was made partly by carriage and the ascent of the mountain by elephant to the winter palace of the Rajah. A small ladder was attached to the howdah on the back of the animal, and one by one we climbed and took our seat, two on one side and two on the other—back to back. While making this climb the huge elephant knelt, all four feet doubled under him. When we were seated he arose. The motion was not pleasant, but all fear was dispelled by the two faithful coolies who walked on either side of Jumbo and directed his footsteps with an iron probe. We reach the palace, after a tedious ride, and to alight was a feat, but we were quite repaid by the interior views. We were too late for a sacrifice that had just been made of a sheep or lamb; saw nothing but a sprinkling of blood and the dying embers, or ashes, upon which a portion of the animal sacrificed is cooked for the priests in attendance. The walls of the palace were most unique. Doubtless, while the plaster was still wet, pieces of mirror, the size of a 25-cent piece were imbedded in it, and so thickly studded were these walls and ceilings that the effect was brilliant. The rooms were large and orange trees grew apace where a spot of ground appeared. The ruins of Amber, which we overlook, seemed the haunts of fakirs, naked and covered with dirt; with their thin, long hair matted, hanging over their shoulders or on their faces. These fanatics, in their self abnegation, are looking for their reward in Nirvanna, where they think only those enter who from self-denial purify themselves. Our return down the mountain seemed perilous, but our sure-footed Jumbo forbids fears and where his instincts failed the goad of the native caretakers seemed effective. We found it a slow mode of traveling, but sure. We could but admire the oriental coloring of Jumbo's ear flaps; they were those of a superb India shawl. On the wayside we saw altars for sacrifice and to imitate blood was rude bespatterment of red paint or a like mixture. I wondered if their religion taught them that this is emblematic of the blood that cleanseth from all sin. I could not learn from inquiries made of my guide.