Wanderings of a pilgrim in search of the picturesque, Volume 2 (of 2)

by Fanny Parkes Parlby

JUMNOTRĪ.

Bandarponch is 23,916 feet above the sea, and the Peaks of Jumnotrī, 20,120. Jumnotrī itself, the source of the Jumna, is marked below in the map at the elevation of 10,849 feet.

At Jumnotrī the snow, which covers and conceals the stream, is about sixty yards wide, and is bounded to the right and left by mural precipices of granite; it is forty feet five and a half inches thick, and has fallen from the precipices above. In front, at the distance of about five hundred yards, part of the base of the Jumnotrī mountain rises abruptly, cased in snow and ice, and shutting up and totally terminating the head of this defile, in which the Jumna originates. Captain Hodgson says, “I was able to measure the thickness of the bed of snow over the stream very exactly, by means of a plumb-line let down through one of the holes in it, which are caused by the steam of a great number of boiling springs which are at the border of the Jumna.” The range of springs, which are extensive, are in the dark recesses, and in the snow caverns. The following is related concerning the origin of these hot springs:—“The spirits of the Rikhs, or twelve holy men, who followed Mahadēo from Lunka to the Himalaya (after the usurpation of the tyrant Rawan), inhabit this rock, and continually worship him. Here the people bathe, the Brahmān says prayers, receives his dues, and marks the pilgrims with the sacred mud of the hot springs. The people, out of respect, put off their shoes long before they reach Jangotrī, and at this place there is no shelter for them during the night. Jumna prefers simple worship at the foot of her own and natural shrine, and has forbidden the erection of temples to her honour.”

Noble rocks of varied hues and forms, crowned with luxuriantly dark foliage, and the stream foaming from rock to rock, form a foreground worthy of Jumnotrī. When Mahadēo retired from Lunka, disgusted with the rebellion of his son Rawan, the tyrant and usurper of Lunka, he formed Kylās, or the Himalaya range, for his retreat; and Soomeroo Purbat, or Roodroo Himālā, with its five peaks, rugged and inaccessible as it is, for his own dwelling. The Bhagiruttee and Alacknunda are there said to have sprung from the head of Mahadēo. Twelve holy Brahmāns, denominated the twelve Rikhs, left Lunka in search of Mahadēo, and penetrated to Bhyramghattee, where the J’hannevie meets the Bhagiruttee, but could not find him. Eleven of them, in despair, went to Cashmire, but the twelfth, named Jum-Rekhī, remained at Bhyramghattee, sitting on a huge rock in the course of the stream Bhagiruttee, which, instead of flowing on as usual, was absorbed in the body of the saint and lost, while the J’hannevie flowed on. The goddess of the stream (Bhagiruttee) herself was at Gungotrī, worshipping Mahadēo, and making her prostrations on the stone on which the present temple is founded. When she felt the course of the stream was stopped, she went in wrath to Bhyramghattee, clave Jum-Rekhī in two, and gave a free passage to the river. One-half of the Rekhī she flung to the westward, and it became the mountain Bandarponch: from his thigh sprang the Jumna, and from his skull arose the hot springs of Jumnotrī. They still show the large rock which the Rikh sat upon, and which was divided in two by the same fatal cut. It is a very large block of granite, which appears to have fallen from the cliff, above the point of union of the two rivers, and is curiously split in two.

The name of Bandarponch applies properly only to the highest peaks of this mountain. Jumnotrī has reference to the sacred spot, where worship is paid to the goddess and ablution performed.

Frazer, speaking of a glen about three days’ journey from Jumnotrī, says, “Having reached the top of the ascent, we looked down upon a very dark and deep glen, called Palia Gadh, which is the outlet to the waters of one of the most terrific and gloomy valleys I have ever seen. It would not be easy to convey by any description a just idea of the peculiarly rugged and gloomy wildness of this glen: it looks like the ruins of nature, and appears, as it is said to be, completely impracticable and impenetrable. Little is to be seen except dark rocks, wood only fringes the lower parts and the water’s edge: perhaps the spots and streaks of snow, contrasting with the general blackness of the scene, heighten the appearance of desolation. No living thing is seen; no motion but that of the waters; no sound but their roar. Such a spot is suited to engender superstition; and here it is accordingly found in full growth. Many wild traditions are preserved, and many extravagant stories related of it. On one of these ravines there are places of worship, not built by men, but natural piles of stones, which have the appearance of small temples. These are said to be the residence of the dewtas, or spirits, who here haunt and inveigle human beings away to their wild abodes. It is said that they have a particular predilection for beauty in both sexes, and remorselessly seize on any whom imprudence or accident may have placed within their power, and whose spirits become like theirs, after they are deprived of their corporeal frame. Many instances were given of these ravishments: on one occasion a young man, who had wandered near their haunts, being carried in a trance to the valley, heard the voice of his own father, who some years before had been thus spirited away, and who now recognized his son. It appears that paternal affection was stronger than the spell that bound him, and instead of rejoicing in the acquisition of a new prey, he recollected the forlorn state of his family deprived of their only support: he begged and obtained the freedom of his son, who was dismissed under the injunction of strict silence and secrecy. He, however, forgot his vow, and was immediately deprived of speech; and, as a self-punishment, he cut out his tongue with his own hand. This man was said to be yet living, and I desired that he should be brought to me; but he never came, and they afterwards informed me that he had very lately died. More than one person is said to have approached the spot, or the precincts of these spirits, and those who have returned, have generally agreed in the expression of their feelings, and have uttered some prophecy. They fall, as they say, into a swoon, and between sleeping and waking hear a conversation, or are sensible of certain impressions, as if a conversation were passing which generally relates to some future event. Indeed, the prophetic faculty is one of the chiefly remarkable attributes of these spirits, and of this place. The awe, however, which the natives feel of this place is great and remarkable. The moment that Bhisht and Kishen Sing came in sight of the place, they commenced prostrations, and the forms of worship, with many prayers and much apparent fervency, to the spirits of the glen. They assert that no man ever ascended the valley to any considerable height; and that natural, as well as supernatural, obstacles are too great to be overcome; that of the few who have attempted it, none ever returned, or ever enjoyed his reason again: and I believe that the former of these obstacles may be nearly paramount, for a survey with the glass showed the difficulty to be at least very great; and certainly, ascending the hill to the top would be altogether impossible.”

There are said to be four peaks which form the top of Bandarponch, and in a cavity, or hollow, contained between them tradition places a lake or tank of very peculiar sanctity. No one has ever seen this pool, for no one has ever attempted to ascend any of these prodigious peaks. Bandarponch signifies “monkey’s tail.” It is said that Hŭnoomān, after his conquest of Lunkā, or Ceylon, in the shape of a monkey, when he had set that island on fire by means of a quantity of combustible matter tied to his tail, being afraid of the flame reaching himself, was about to dip it in the sea (sumunder) to extinguish it; but the sea remonstrated with him, on account of the probable consequence to the inhabitants of its waters: whereupon Hŭnoomān plunged his burning tail into this lake, which has ever since retained the name. The Zemindars aver, that every year, in the month P’hagun, a single monkey comes from the plains, by way of Hurdwar, and ascends the highest peak of this mountain, where he remains twelve months, and returns to give room to another; but his entertainment must be very indifferent and inhospitable, as may be inferred from the nature of the place; for he returns in very bad plight, being not only reduced to a skeleton, but having lost his hair and a great part of his skin.

Nalāpanī and the level of the Dehra Dūn are marked in the map below the source of the Jumna.

The Cone is a most remarkable peak; the elevation of Parkyal and Kaldung is conspicuous among the lower mountains over which they tower. The Nulgoon Pass is marked below them in the map.

Extracts from the papers.

“Height of the Himalayas.—The Great Trigonometrical Survey has determined the elevations of the great peaks of the Himalaya range. The highest (supposed to be the highest spot on the surface of the globe) is Kunchinginga, West Peak, 28,176 feet; the East Peak is 27,825 feet. The following are the elevations of other peaks:—Junnoo, 25,311; Kabroo, 24,004; Chumalari (in Tibet), 23,929.”

“At a meeting of the Asiatic Society on the 6th November, a paper by Col. Waugh, surveyor-general, was read, giving the result of that officer’s operations to determine the height of several Himalayan peaks in the neighbourhood of Darjeeling. Col. Waugh appears to have satisfactorily ascertained that the western peak of Cutchinchinga was 28,176 feet high, and the eastern 27,825—thus claiming for that mountain the greatest altitude on the earth yet known. 1848.”

CHAPTER LVII.
DEPARTURE FROM THE HILLS.

“HE ONLY IS DEAD WHOSE NAME IS NOT MENTIONED WITH RESPECT[33].”

“THE DAYS OF DISTRESS ARE BLACK[34].”

Family Sorrows—The Snowy Ranges after the Rains—Hill Birds—The Park—Hill Boundaries—Stables on Fire—Opening of the Keeree Pass—Danger of passing through it—Dēobund—Return to Meerut—The Tomb of Jaffir Sāhib—Chiri-mars—Country Horses—The Theatre of the 16th Lancers—Colonel Arnold’s Farewell Ball—His Illness—Opinions respecting the War—The Lancers ordered to Afghānistan—Ghurmuktesur Ghāt—Country Boats—Khobarah, the Hill Dog—Sancho—A Dilemma—Gūnths—Knocked over by a Buffalo—Fathīgarh—Dhobīs—Cawnpore—Sāl and Teak Trees—Deism—Points of Faith—The Power of the Brahmāns—A Converted Hindū—Sneezing an Ill Omen—The Return of the Pilgrim.

1838, Sept. 8th.—I made arrangements with my relative to march across the mountains to Simla, a journey of fifteen days from Landowr, and was looking forward with delight to all the adventures we should meet with, and the crossing the river in a basket suspended on a rope fastened across the stream; but he, an old mountaineer, would not permit me to begin the journey until the khuds—which are unwholesome during the rains, and full of fever—should be fit to pass through. A friend had given me the use of a house for some months beyond Simla, and I was anxious to visit that part of the country. In the interval we formed a party to see the mountains at the back of Landowr, and I sent out my hill tents to the interior.

In the evening I was riding alone at Mussoorī, when I met Captain L⸺; there was an embarrassment and distress in his manner that surprised me: he quitted his party, and led my pony away from the walk, where the people were in crowds, and when we were alone informed me of the death of my beloved father. I had received no letters from home: this melancholy event had been known some days at Mussoorī, but no one had had the courage to tell his child. With what pain I reflected on having so long postponed my return home! Letters from Allahabad confirmed the melancholy news, and my kind husband urged my return to England instantly, to see my remaining and widowed parent.

I recalled my tents and people from the interior; and from that moment the thoughts of home, and of what time it would take from the Himalaya to Devonshire, alone filled my thoughts. It was decided I should sail from Calcutta the next cold season.

The weather had become most beautiful; the rains had passed away, and the most bracing air was over the Hills. I spent my time chiefly in solitude, roaming in the Hills at the back of Landowr; and where is the grief that is not soothed and tranquillized by the enjoyment of such scenery? The rains had passed away, and had left the air clear and transparent; the beauty of the Snowy Ranges, whose majestic heads at intervals flushed brightly with the rose-tints that summer twilight leaves upon their lofty brows,—or rising with their snowy peaks of glittering whiteness high above the clouds, was far greater than I ever beheld before the departure of the rains.

Look at the outline of the highest range of the Himalaya, and picture to yourself its grandeur and its beauty, which are not to be fully enjoyed in the society of others, in the midst of the gaiety of a party. Seek the highest point of the lone mountains, and the shade of the deep forests, whose beautiful foliage is varied by majestic pines, ever-green oaks, and brilliant rhododendrons. In solitude gaze on the magnificence of such a scene:

“Look through nature up to nature’s God:”

“Commune with thine own heart, and be still.” Let none be near to break the reverie: look on those mountains of eternal snow,—the rose-tints linger on them, the white clouds roll below, and their peaks are sharply set upon a sky of the brightest, clearest, and deepest blue. The rushing wing of the black eagle—that “winged and cloud-cleaving minister, whose happy flight is highest into heaven,”—may be heard above. The golden eagle may be seen below, poised on his wing of might, or swooping over a precipice, while his keen eye pierces downward, seeking his prey, into the depths of the narrow valley between the mountains. The sweet notes of the Hill birds are around you; and the gay butterflies, enamoured of the wild flowers, hover over their blossoms.

Who may describe the solitary loveliness, the speaking quietude, that wraps these forest scenes? Who may tell how beautiful they are? Who that loves solitude does not enjoy the

“⸺ dewy morn, and od’rous noon, and even

With sunset, and its gorgeous ministers?”

Who can look unmoved on the coronets of snow that crown the eternal Himalaya? Who can gaze without delight on the aërial mountains that pour down the Ganga and Yamuna from their snow-formed caves?

“My altars are the mountains and the ocean,

Earth, air, stars,—all that springs from the great Whole,

Who hath produced and will receive the soul.”

“I love snow, and all the forms

Of the radiant frost;

I love waves, and winds, and storms,

Every thing almost

Which is nature’s, and may be

Untainted by man’s misery.”

There, indulge in solemn vision and bright silver dream, while “every sight and sound from the vast earth and ambient air” sends to your heart its choicest impulses: gaze on those rocks and pinnacles of snow, where never foot of common mortal trod, which the departing rose-tints leave in colder grandeur, and enjoy those solemn feelings of natural piety with which the spirit of solitude imbues the soul.

“Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part

Of me and of my soul, as I of them?

Is not the love of these deep in my heart

With a pure passion?”

“On accuse l’enthousiasme d’être passager; l’existence serait trop heureuse si l’on pouvait retenir des émotions si belles; mais c’est parce qu’elles se dissipent aisément qu’il faut s’occuper de les conserver.”

“Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains,

They crown’d him long ago,

On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,

With a diadem of snow.”

Gazing on the Snowy Ranges, Mont Blanc sinks into insignificance in comparison with the elevation of the eternal Himalaya.

12th.—Anxious to attain a stock of health, to enable me to bear my homeward journey, I commenced early rising, and was daily on my gūnth at 5 A.M.; it was very cold in the early morning, so much so that I often preferred walking. Captain Sturt, who is an excellent draughtsman, promised me a sketch of the Hills ere my departure; this pleased me greatly, as, perhaps, there is no country of which it is more difficult to give a correct idea than that around Landowr. Two fine eagles were brought to me, a golden and a black one; these I added to my collection,—rather large birds to carry, but I shall have so much luggage, it matters but little, a few chests more or less; every thing belonging to the mountains is so interesting. These birds are continually seen, especially at the back of Landowr. A pair of the Loonjee, the red, or Argus pheasants of the Himalaya, have been given me: the bird has a black top-knot, and the neck below has a most peculiar skin over it; beyond which are crimson feathers, bright as gold; the breast is covered with feathers, half red, half black, and in the centre of the black, which is at the end of the feather, is a white eye. The feathers on the back are of a game brown, tipped with black, in which is also the white spot: these birds are very rare and very valuable. I also received a fine hawk, and some small birds of brilliant feather: also the heads and horns of four gooral, the small wild deer of the Hills.

20th.—First met Colonel Arnold, of the 16th Lancers; we talked of the old regiment. Nothing pleases me so much as the kindness and affection with which my relatives, who were in this gallant corps, are spoken of by the old 16th.

22nd.—Not having forgotten the Hill woman I saw on our return from the waterfall, I rode alone to Būttah, hoping to catch sight of her, but was disappointed: en route, my dog Sancho put up a nide of Kallinge pheasants; they rose with a phurr,—as the natives call the noise of a bird,—as of a partridge or quail suddenly taking wing.

23rd.—Colonel Everest has a fine estate near Bhadráj, called “The Park;” I rode over with a most agreeable party to breakfast there this morning, and to arrange respecting some boundaries, which, after all, we left as unsettled as ever; it put me in mind of the child’s play:—

“‘Here stands a post.’—‘Who put it there?’

‘A better man than you, touch it if you dare.’”

Boundaries in the Hills are determined, not by landmarks, but by the fall of the rain; in the division of a mountain, all that land is yours down which the rain water runs on your side, and on the opposite side, all the land is your neighbour’s over which the water makes its way downwards.

Colonel Everest is making a road—a most scientific affair; the obstacles to be conquered are great,—levelling rocks, and filling up khuds. The Park is the finest estate in the Hills.

25th.—I was fortunate in being able to procure camels, and sent off my baggage from Rajpūr in time to allow the animals to return to Meerut to be in readiness to march with the army there collecting for Afghānistan.

26th.—A sā’īs cooking his dinner by accident set fire to my stables, in which were five gūnths: the privates of the Lancers and Buffs, whose barracks are a little higher up the Hill, were with us in a moment; they saved the ponies, but the stable, which was formed of bamboo, mats, and straw, was reduced to ashes. A few days afterwards our house was set on fire; the men, who were always on the alert, put it out immediately.

29th.—Having ascertained that the water in the Keeree Pass had subsided, and that it had been open for three days, we determined to quit Landowr for Meerut: accordingly a dāk and horses having been laid for us, our party went down this morning to Rajpūr. It was a beautiful ride, but when we reached the foot of the Hill the heat became most unpleasant: such a sudden change from fires and cold breezes, to the hot winds—for such it felt to us at Rajpūr—when we took refuge at Mrs. Theodore’s hotel. She has stuffed birds for sale; her Moonāl pheasants are very dear, sixteen rupees a pair; but they are not reckoned as well prepared as those of Mr. Morrow, the steward at the hospital. Our party being too large to proceed dāk in a body, it was agreed I should lead the way, with Captain L⸺ as my escort. At 4 P.M. we got into our palanquins, and commenced the journey: crossing the Deyra Dhoon it was hot, very hot, and the sides of the palanquin felt quite burning. As the sun sank we entered the Keeree Pass, where I found the air very cold; and it struck so chillily upon me that I got out of the palanquin, intending to walk some distance. The Pass is the dry bed of a mountain torrent, passing through high cliffs, covered with fine trees and climbers; a stream here and there crosses the road. During a part of the year it is impassable, but the water having subsided, the road had been open three days.

It was a beautiful night, and a beautiful scene; I enjoyed it extremely, and walked some distance, aided by my long paharī pole. Wishing my escort to partake in the pleasure to be derived from such romantic and picturesque scenery, I asked him if he would walk. He partially opened the doors of his palanquin, and looking out, expressed his astonishment at the madness of my walking in the Pass; said the malaria was so great he had shut the doors of the palkī, and lighted a cigar to secure himself from its influence, begged I would get into my palanquin, and keep the doors closed as long as I was in the Pass. I followed his advice, but the moonlight night often tempted me to open the doors, and I became completely ill at times from the chill that fell upon my chest, like the deadly chill of a vault, in spite of having wrapped myself up in a blanket. At first I was unwilling to attribute it to the effect of the air of the Keeree Pass, but having arrived at the end of it, these uncomfortable feelings instantly disappeared.

An instance of the danger of the Pass is, that Mrs. T⸺ was detained for two hours at the entrance of it, for want of bearers,—she took a fever and died. The wife of the behishti, who was with our servants, was detained at the same place,—she took the fever, and it killed her. To sleep in the Pass one night is to run the pretty certain chance of fever, perhaps death: there is something in the air that almost compels one to sleep. With the very greatest difficulty I kept my eyes open, even when in pain from a chilly sickness that had crept over me: I thought of Corinne and the Pontine Marshes, in passing which she could scarcely resist the spell that induced her to long for sleep, even when she knew that sleep would be the sleep of death. Quitting the Pass, we entered on the plains, where the sun was burningly hot—how fierce it was! We did not arrive at Dēobund, where we were to take shelter, until noon the next day; I felt sick and faint from the excessive heat, and was very glad to gain the shelter of a roof.

30th.—At 4 P.M. our palanquins were ready; getting into them was like going into an oven. We had taken the precaution of having no dinner during the heat of the day; in the cool of the evening refreshment was welcome, in the shade of the jangal by the road-side. The bearers were good, and at 2 A.M. we arrived at the spot, to which a buggy had been sent, and horses laid on the road: how gladly I left the hot palanquin for the cool air in the buggy! The roads were so bad, they were absolutely dangerous, and the moonlight so puzzling, we could not see the holes into which the buggy was continually going bump bump, to the infinite hazard of breaking the springs; nevertheless, we arrived in safety at Meerut.

Oct. 2nd.—The first thing necessary was to enjoy a good canter in the plains after having been obliged to ride a gūnth so many months in the Hills. On the well-watered course, of an evening, the band of the Lancers was an attraction; they played well, and the instruments were good. The band came out with us in the “Marchioness of Ely,” and I recognised some faces amongst them. Fearing to encounter the intense heat in a boat at this season of the year, and hearing that cholera was at some of the stations on the river, I determined to prolong my stay at Meerut.

8th.—Accompanied Colonel Arnold and Sir Willoughby Cotton to a review of the 16th Lancers; I was much pleased with the review, and the fine appearance of the men.

10th.—Revisited the tomb of Jaffir Sāhib,—one I particularly admire, because the dome is open at the top, that the dews of heaven and the sunshine may fall upon the marble sarcophagus, wherein repose the ashes of the saint. A tomb like this is preferable to weeping flowers, or votive cypress wreath; and such an one, canopied by the vault of heaven alone, would the pilgrim desire, as the lone couch of her everlasting rest. It is a ruin, but must formerly have been a beautiful building.

Returning home we saw two chiri-mārs (bird-catchers). Their game is snared in a novel fashion: they carry a sort of shield, made of light split bamboo, entwined with green boughs; they crouch to the ground, bearing this verdant shield before them, like a stalking horse, at the same time putting through it a very long thin bamboo, the end of which is covered with bird-lime; with this they touch a small bird, and then carefully drawing the bamboo back to the boughs, put a hand through the shield, and secure the game. This style of bird-catching is simple and ingenious; I never saw it before.

What vicious brutes the native horses are!—In the evening I was riding on the course with two gentlemen: Captain A⸺’s horse, a vicious, intemperate, great black animal, attacked mine, and lashed out most furiously. I threw my feet on my horse’s mane: luckily for me they were out of the way in time, for the horse’s heels cut through my habit, and would have broken my limbs had I not been sitting monkey fashion.

My companions were alarmed:—“My God, he has broken her legs!” was the first exclamation, followed by a laugh on seeing my position, and “at least if he has not kicked your habit, he has a habit of kicking.” The escape pleased me, and I refused to ride again in company with so dangerous a horse. He was a fine strong animal, and carried his gallant master nobly through all the hardships of the ensuing Afghānistan campaign. The country horses are horribly savage, and a frightful accident occurred at Allahabad. Serjeant Percival, who was riding with Serjeant Cunningham, dismounted to drink at a well, giving his horse to a cooly to hold; the horse broke from the cooly and attacked Serjeant Cunningham; tore his hand severely, broke his leg in several places, pulled him off his horse, shook him as a dog does a rat, knelt upon him, and tore him with his teeth: at length the horse was driven off, and the serjeant was carried to a hospital, where he died a few hours afterwards. When the 16th Lancers first arrived at Cawnpore, the privates as Waterloo men considered themselves superior to the 11th Dragoons, and when a man of the latter ventured to differ in opinion with the former, he was cut short by “When were you at Waterloo?” The enmity occasioned by this was done away with one day on parade. A Lancer, who was riding a vicious country horse, was thrown; the beast knelt upon the man and bit him fiercely. The Lancers looked on with astonishment; the 11th Dragoons, accustomed to such little accidents, had recourse to bamboos; they drove the horse away, and as one of them picked up the mangled Lancer, “Did you ever see the like of that at Waterloo?” said the Dragoon.—Thus was harmony established between the privates of the two regiments. The Lancers have a very good theatre: the plays are encouraged by the officers, and the privates have the whole management of it: the scenes, which are painted by the men, are very well done; their acting is good, and the band a great addition. The privates performed the “Iron Chest,” and “The Middy Ashore:” the delight of the men, and the enthusiastic manner in which they applauded their comrades, when any thing pleased them, was quite amusing. After the play, the performers came forward, and sang “God save the Queen.” By way of adding to the effect, on either side the stage was placed a Lancer in full uniform, leaning on his sword, with his lance in one hand. This was a fancy of the privates. The two men might have stood for pictures of manly beauty; their attitudes were excellent, the effect was good, and their comrades were so much delighted, they gave them a round of applause. The management of a theatre is an excellent occupation for soldiers in a hot climate.

13th.—Crossing a nālā this morning during an excursion in search of the picturesque, my horse got into a hole, and we were very nearly thrown over, both together, into the stream. I gave him his head, and let him extricate himself, waiting patiently the result of his sagacity. He carried me out completely soaked, and strained his hind leg in gaining the bank.

17th.—Colonel Arnold gave a farewell ball to his friends at Meerut. The Lancers are to march for Afghānistan on the 30th. His house is built after his own fancy: from without it has the appearance of Hindoo temples that have been added to a bungalow; nevertheless, the effect is good. The interior is very unique. The shape of the rooms is singular; the trellis work of white marble between them, and the stained glass in the windows and over the doors give it an Eastern air of beauty and novelty. Fire-balloons were sent up, fireworks displayed; the band was good, and the ball went off with great spirit.

18th.—The evening after this fête, during the time Colonel Arnold was at dinner, and in the act of taking wine with Sir Willoughby Cotton, he burst a blood-vessel on his lungs, and was nearly choked. Medical aid was instantly called in; he was in extreme danger during the night, and was bled three times. A hope of his recovery was scarcely entertained: never was more interest or more anxiety felt by any people than by those at Meerut for Colonel Arnold. He had just attained the object of his ambition, the command during the war of that gallant regiment the 16th Lancers; and he was beloved both by the officers and the men. At 3 A.M. he parted with the guests in his ball-room in high health and spirits: at seven that evening he lay exhausted and apparently dying. When at Waterloo he was shot through the lungs, and recovered. It was one of those remarkable instances of recovery from a severe gun-shot wound, and as that had gone through the lungs, the breaking of the blood-vessel was a fearful occurrence.

21st.—Colonel Arnold is still in great danger, but his friends indulge in hopes of his recovery. Two field-officers called to take leave of me. I asked, “What is this war about, the fear that the Russians and Persians will drive us into the sea?” Colonel Dennie answered, “The Government must have most powerful reasons, of which we are ignorant; it is absurd to suppose that can be the reason of the war; why send us there? let them fag themselves out by coming to us; we shall get there easily enough, but how shall we return? We may be cut up to a man.” His companion agreed with him, and this was the general opinion of the military men of my acquaintance. The old 16th marched from Meerut on the 30th October. Never was there a finer body of men under the sun. Their route is marked out across a desert, where all the water they will get for man or beast for three days they must carry with them in skins. Why they have been ordered on such a route the secret and political department alone can tell—the men ask if it be to take the shine out of them: there is another road, said to be good, therefore it is difficult to understand the motive of taking them across the desert to Shikarpore.

My boats being ready at Ghurmuktesur Ghāt, I started dāk to join them; on my arrival a fine breeze was blowing, a number of vessels of every description were at anchor; the scene was picturesque, and my people were all ready and willing to start. Messrs. Gibson and Co. of Meerut have furnished me with two large flat-bottomed country boats, on each of which a house is built of bamboo and mats, which is well thatched; the interior of the one in which I live is divided into two large rooms, and has two bathing-rooms; the floor is of planks, covered with a gaily-coloured sutrāengī, a cotton carpet; and the inside is fitted up with white cloth—sometimes the rooms are fitted up with the coloured chintz used for tents. The other large boat contains the servants, the horses, and the dogs. The sort of boat generally used for this purpose is called a surrī, which is a patelī that draws very little water, and is generally rowed from the top of the platform above the roof, on which the dāndīs live.

23rd.—Started from Ghurmuktesur Ghāt the moment it became possible to see the way down the river, and to avoid the sandbanks. At 3 P.M. the thermometer was 82°,—a most oppressive heat for one just arrived from the Hills. Lugāoed on a sandbank, and walked with the dogs until ten at night, when I went to rest and dreamed of thieves, because this part of the Ganges is dangerous, and I have no guard on board the boats. From a fisherman on the bank I have purchased fish enough for myself and all the crew, a feast for us all, and a piece of good luck.

Taking a walk with the dogs puts me in mind of the kennel I had in the Hills, and of Khobarah, the magnificent dog of the Himalaya, of whom his former master told me this anecdote:—“Sitting one night in my tent, the dog at my feet, a bearer, in a state of intoxication, entered and spoke to me; the voice of the drunken man was loud and angry: the dog seized him instantly by the throat, bore him to the ground, and held him there. He did not injure the man: it being night, I suppose the creature thought me menaced with danger. He quitted him the instant I bade him do so.”

I gave this dog on quitting the Hills to a relative, desiring him to chain him up until he had made his acquaintance and ensured his friendship. My relative came to me a week afterwards highly amused, and said,—“The moment your dog was unchained he took possession of the verandah of my house. He is walking up and down lashing himself into fury; he keeps us all at bay, and I cannot enter the house; perhaps when he sees you he will become more composed, and allow me to go in to breakfast.”

In 1844, Khobarah, the Hill dog, was still in prime health, taking care of the cows at night at Cloud End, near Landowr. The fate of my dog Sancho was pitiable: he was in the Hills with a small spaniel I had given my relative,—a sharp cry from the dog brought the gentleman to the door; a short distance from the house he saw the spaniel in the mouth of a leopard, who carried him down the khud. Sancho was on the ground, having had his side cut open by a blow from the paw of the wild beast; the poor dog crawled to the feet of my friend, he took him up, and tried in vain to save his life—poor Sancho died.

A fine litter of spaniel pups once placed me in a dilemma: a friend thus settled the point. “It is as much a duty to cut a dog’s tail according to his caste, as it is to have drawn the superfluous teeth of a young Christian. This answer to the question respecting the tails of the young pups must be sent at once, lest time and the habit of wearing a whole tail should attach them, the pups, too strongly to the final three-quarters of an inch, which I think they should lose: the object with a spaniel is not so much to reduce the length as to obviate the thin and fish-hooky appearance of the natural tail. There is no cause to mourn such severe kindness to these pups; grieve not for them! theirs is an age when pain passes with the moment of infliction, and if, as some crying philosopher has observed, ‘We know no pleasure equal to a sudden relief from pain,’ the cutting and firing will be all for the good of the little dogs.” The price of a gūnth is from sixty to a hundred rupees: a good Almorah gūnth will fetch a hundred and sixty, or a fancy price of three hundred rupees. The common gūnths are used for fetching water from the khuds, but such is the dangerous nature of the mountain paths they descend, they are often killed by a fall over a precipice. The only animals fit for such work are mules, which may be bought at the Hurdwar fair, at a reasonable price. The beautiful gūnth Motī, whom I have before mentioned, was sent on an emergency to bring water from the khud: he fell over in returning with the heavy water bags and was smashed in the khud below—smashed! that is not my word, but picked up in intercourse with men, and is as shocking as a phrase I once made use of, “knocked over by a buffalo!”

This is too technical and gentlemanlike an expression; in such cases one should sacrifice brevity in favour of the “I hope you may obtain it style,” (i.e. the feminine of “I wish you may get it,”) and say, you will be thrown down or hurt by a buffalo’s running against you. The rules of female education, both of the governess and of after life, prevent a lady’s knowing whether such an out-of-door animal as a buffalo attacks people with his head or tail, and a lady should betray no nearer acquaintance with the horrible creature than that implied in the form of speech above appointed for adoption. Our language affords a table-land of communication between lady and gentleman, where the technical difficulties on either side the hill are out of sight. If the lady is to speak of a fashion she will leave out scientific terms, as will the gentleman if he is talking of a race; and I see no objection to the language of the man and woman being exactly similar. Any affectation, such as extreme delicacy and timidity, is vulgar, and suited to novel-reading ladies’ maids and milliners’ apprentices. Every term or word turned from its common and general meaning to a particular meaning, is what I consider technical. Such are not only words employed in any art or science in a sense differing from their common acceptation, but, also, such words used in an uncommon sense by a particular set of people, schoolboys, or fashionables. To “cut over with a stone” is a school expression, which of course cannot be referred to the general meaning of the words. Any thing being in good or bad taste is a technicality of good society. Some expressions of this nature, when original, are rather to be considered as bon-mots. Such as Sydney Smith’s saying that a clergyman next him at dinner had a ten-parson power of boring. To make use of French words, unless cleverly selected, comes under my ban, but the practice of good society is against me, I believe, in this. A schoolboy’s word like that of “being knocked over,” can be used with very good effect in fun. A lady may talk to a man of having a lark, or use any such word,—but it must not be used as her own word, but as if she were to say, “as you would call it.” I will give the rest of this essay another time, for fear of knocking over the patience of the dear ones around the hearth of my childhood’s home.

25th.—A fine breeze—the horse boat has just passed alongside—one of the horses looked out of the window and neighed loudly. I like to hear a horse neigh: poor boy, he would sooner be galloping with me on his back over the green sward of the race-course, than be cabined, cribbed, confined, in the boat; nevertheless, both the horses eat, drink, and lie down to sleep like old soldiers.

Another burning day. How good my health must be to stand such heat without much inconvenience! The constant confinement to a boat is very irksome and disagreeable; and this life of quietude after so much exercise is enough to make me ill. Would that I were once more enjoying the morning breeze, cantering against it! The early breeze on the river is damp and unwholesome, therefore I remain idly on my charpāī until half-past 7 A.M. The banks are low and ugly, the river broad and shallow, and full of great sandbanks, between which we glide.

There is little on this part of the river to afford amusement; here and there a flock of wild birds rises from the sands, and alligators basking in the sun have the appearance of logs of wood.

26th.—To-day we have reached the district in charge of Mr. H⸺ S⸺, and the head man of the village off which we have moored, has come on board to offer his services in procuring watchmen for the night, food for the horses, &c. All the way down we have lugāoed on sandbanks in wild out-of-the-way spots: how pleasant it is to have quitted the jangal! In this district I feel at home, and chaukidars have come to guard the boats.

27th.—Arrived at Fathīgarh, and drove to the house of my relative; the grounds were just as beautiful, as full of flowers and flowering trees, and just as fresh as ever; the house cool and pleasant. On my return to my boat in the evening, I found the heat excessive, which, added to the bites of the musquitoes, kept me awake until 4 A.M., at which time the washermen came down to the river-side and made a great noise; their method of washing is to dip a garment into the water, then to lay it on a piece of flat board and soap it, after which they whirl the garment above their heads, and down it comes on the flat board with a loud sound, to which is added a most peculiar noise, like a pavior’s grunt, given by the dhobīs, when the garment strikes the board, as if the exertion exhausted them; this whirling and beating is continued for a short time, when the clothes are taken to the man’s house, put over a most simple steam apparatus, which completely cleans them, after which they are rinsed, dryed, and ironed.

29th.—Quitted the Fort Ghāt; after a good run of forty miles anchored at Kanauj, where the people cooked and ate their dinners; after which we cast the boats off into the middle of the stream, allowing them to float down just at the pleasure of the current, whilst the people slept; but their slumbers were occasionally disturbed by the boat running aground on a sandbank or on shore, when they were roused up to get her off again.

31st.—Reached Bitoor at breakfast time; a large fair was being held on the banks of the river. Here we nearly lost the horse-boat; a strong wind carried the boats against a high bank, which was falling in every second; just as the horse-boat ran foul of it the bank fell in; the chaprasī on deck cut the towing-line with his sword, and the boat swerved off from the bank; she was filled with earth, and all but swamped. The horses, feeling the violent rocking of the vessel, neighed loudly several times, as if conscious of danger, and willing to remind us of their existence. The boat righted, and was got off with some difficulty.

On our arrival at Cawnpore we were detained by the bridge of boats, which was closed, and would not be opened until noon the next day.

Nov. 1st.—Rose early, and went on shore to buy two toon-wood trees, and one of sāl. It is nearly noon; I wish the bridge of boats would open, and let us pass through; waiting on this hot sandbank is very tiresome, and the wind is favourable. I have had much plague with the mānjhī of the horse-boat; n’importe,—a lonely pilgrim must expect a little annoyance on the road at times. At noon the bridge opened, and we passed through; anchored on the other side, to get the timber trees off the bank into the river. The sāl tree, very heavy wood, twenty-two cubits in length, and two feet six inches in diameter, was lying on a high pile of trees; with the greatest difficulty it was moved, it was so wedged in amongst the rest; about twenty men were in the river below the tree, pulling at a rope fixed to a beam as a lever; all of a sudden the tree got loose, and down it thundered, rolling over on its side into the river below. I am not a coward, but when I saw what appeared inevitable death to five or six of my own men, I covered my eyes with my hands, expecting to see them crushed to death, and lying under the tree in the water; however, the cry of “By the blessing of God and the mem Sāhiba’s good luck they have escaped,” was indeed welcome: they had all sprung aside quick as lightning, and not a man was hurt. We then proceeded down the river, taking our sāl tree, lashed to the side of my boat, which made her all on one side; therefore I purchased two toon-wood trees at another timber-yard, and lashed them on the other side, which righted the boat, the toon being lighter wood than the sāl: by the time this was over it was 8 P.M. I paid the men well who had worked so hard, and gave the crews of both boats sweetmeats enough to last for four days; all were in good humour, and I sought my couch completely fagged. But sleep was driven away by the musquitoes; I killed hundreds of the vile tormentors. Every night we drift down with the stream after the people have had their food on shore.

4th.—On the top of the thatch of the house which is built on my boat, is a platform on which the people sit; when the wind is in a particular direction all that is said above is plainly heard in the cabin below. A most theological discourse has amused me for the last hour carried on between my khidmatgār, one of the Faithful, and a staunch Hindū, one of my chaprasīs. The question under consideration was, whether God made Hindūs or Musalmāns first; and whether you ought to say “By the blessing of Allah,” or “By the blessing of Vishnŭ.” These points the Musalmān undertook to explain. The questions of the Hindū were simple, but most puzzling; nor could the man refrain from a laugh now and then, when some curious point of faith was explained to him by the follower of the prophet. It ended by the khidmatgār saying, “If you do not believe in Allah and the kurān, they will take you by that Hindū top-knot of yours, hold you by it whilst they fill your mouth with fire, and pitch you to Jahannam.” I laughed,—the people heard me, and being aware that their conversation was overheard, dropped the subject. The follower of Muhammad worked so hard and so earnestly to gain a convert, it was unfortunate his opponent should have been so utterly incapable of understanding what he considered the true faith.

The Musalmāns are anxious for converts; the Hindūs will neither make proselytes, nor be converted themselves. Deism is the religion of well-educated Hindūs, they leave idolatry to the lower orders. When conversing with a lady one evening, the priest’s bell was heard; she said, “I must attend,—will you come with me?” Accordingly we entered the small room which contained the idols; they were lighted up, and the Brahmāns in attendance. The worship proceeded: I said to the lady, “Is it possible that you can believe in the power of brazen images, the work of men’s hands?” She answered, “I believe in one great and eternal God; as for these images, it is the custom of the country to worship them; the lower orders believe in their power.” “Why do you attend such pooja?” said I. She looked at the Brahmāns as if she feared our conversation might be overheard, and answered, “Their power is great; if I were not to appear it would soon be over; they⸺” she ceased speaking, and drew her forefinger across her throat with a significant gesture. The conversation dropped; and I observed the Brahmāns “cast camel’s glances[35]” both on her and me.

The clergyman at Allahabad converted a Hindū to the Christian faith; consequently, the man became an outcast,—he could neither eat, drink, nor smoke with his own family; he complained to the clergyman, and was taken into service. His attendance at church was constant. His patron died: the man was never seen afterwards at Divine Service. The newly appointed clergyman inquired the reason, and this answer was returned:—“I received eight rupees a month from your predecessor; if you will give me the same I will go to church every Sunday!”—So little did the man comprehend his adopted religion, or the kindness that induced the Clergyman to support him!

Passed Manucpūr with a fine breeze and a powerful stream in our favour; lugāoed below Kurrah, where the people cooked on shore, and as soon as the moon was high we turned the boat into the current, and allowed her to drift; the helmsman ties the rudder up in the centre, and usually lies down to sleep by its side; if the vessel run ashore, he starts up, and marvels at the occurrence. We drifted the whole night by moonlight; at one time I told them to anchor, but the bank kept falling in in so fearful a manner we were obliged to put off again.

Just as we came to the bank to lugāo the men suddenly shoved the boat back into the stream, saying, “Some one has sneezed, we cannot anchor here at present.” A few moments afterwards they anchored. They are superstitious respecting a sneeze, and by waiting for a short time fancy the evil influence passes away. “After sneezing you may eat or bathe, but not go into any one’s house[36]:” because it is considered an omen of ill luck.

A fair breeze is springing up; we are near home, and they will be looking for the return of the wanderer. We are off Papamhow; the river is very shallow and very broad. We passed the ghāt, and moored while the people ate their dinners. I would have proceeded by moonlight, but was deterred from doing so by the advice of the fishermen on the banks, who said it would be very dangerous then to go on, as the stream was very fierce and shallow below.

6th.—Arrived at Raj-ghāt, at which place the carriage was waiting for me; but I found it impossible to reach the ghāt, the force of the current drove us off; therefore, taking the crew of the horse-boat to aid our own, we dropped down into the Jumna below the Fort; in doing this, we ran against another vessel, and did our own some damage. At this moment we are making our way slowly and with difficulty up the stream against the current of the Jumna, just below the Fort; the view is interesting, and the pilgrim will reach the landing-place, below her own old peepul-tree, within an hour. I have at this moment but little energy left wherewith to pursue my homeward voyage, but my promise is yours, my beloved mother, and your child would not disappoint you for all the wealth of Ormus or of Ind. She who ventures on the waters must take patience, and await the good pleasure of the wind and tides; but there is the Fort and the great Masjid, and the old peepul-tree, and the mem sāhiba’s home, and the chabūtara[37] on the bank of the river, which is crowded with friends on the look out for the pilgrim, and ready to hail her return with the greatest pleasure.

CHAPTER LVIII.
DEPARTURE FROM ALLAHABAD—THE THREE WISHES.

Arrival at Allahabad—Visit to the Mahratta Camp—The Three Wishes—The Ticca Wife—The Farewell of Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī—How to dispose of a Wife—The Būndelās—Price of Children—The Pillar in the Fort—Voyage down the River—Arwarī Fish—A Lady Overboard—An Accident—The Sīta Khūnd—The Army of the Indus—Meeting of the Governor-General and Runjeet Singh—The Camel Battery—Lord Auckland’s Visit to Runjeet’s Camp—The Koh-i-Nūr—The Rajpūt Tray—A Paharī Dress—The Ayha’s Stratagem—An Escape on the River—Natives afraid of Cadets—The Panchāyāt—Fear of Poison—Berhampūr—The Nawāb, the Merchant, and the Palkī—Quitted Berhampūr.

1838, Nov.—On my first arrival at Allahabad I thought I should never get through all the arrangements necessary before my departure for England; so many farewell visits were to be paid to my old friends, and so many preparations were to be made for the voyage. Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī was still at Allahabad, and she sent for me. One of the Italian greyhounds given me by Captain Osborne having died, I took the other two, and presented them to the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, the young princess having expressed a wish to have one: I gave her also a black terrier, and one of King Charles’s spaniels.

One day a Mahratta lady came to my house, riding, en cavalier, on a camel, which she managed apparently with the greatest ease; she told me her Highness requested I would call immediately upon her. On my arrival in camp, after the ceremony of meeting had passed, the Bāiza Bā’ī said, “You are going to England,—will you procure for me three things? The first is, a perfectly high caste Arabian mare; secondly, a very, very little dog, just like a ball, covered with long hair, perfectly white, and having red eyes; and thirdly, a mechanical figure, that, standing on a slack rope, with a pole in its hand, balances itself, and moves in time to the music that plays below it.”

I thought of the fairy tales, in which people are sent to roam the world in search of marvellous curiosities, and found myself as much perplexed as was ever knight of old by the commands of a fairy. The Bā’ī added, “You know a good Arab, I can trust your judgment in the selection; the little dogs, they say, come from Bombay: you can bring them all with you in the ship on your return.”

I informed her Highness that very few Arabs were in England; that in her Majesty’s stud there were some, presents from Eastern Princes, who were not likely to part with the apple of their eyes: that I did not think an Arab mare was to be had in the country. With respect to the little powder-puff dog with the red eyes, I would make enquiries: and the mechanical figure could be procured from Paris.

A few days after this visit one of her ladies called on me, and the following conversation ensued:—

Mahratta Lady—“You are going to England,—you will be absent eighteen months or two years,—have you arranged all your household affairs? You know how much interest I take in your welfare; I hope you have made proper arrangements.”

I assured her I had.

“Yes, yes, with respect to the household, that is all very well; but with respect to your husband, what arrangement have you made? It is the custom with us Mahrattas, if a wife quit her husband, for her to select and depute another lady to remain with him during her absence;—have you selected such a one?”

“No,” said I, with the utmost gravity; “such an arrangement never occurred to me;—will you do me the honour to supply my place?”

She laughed and shook her head. “I suppose you English ladies would only select one wife; a Mahratta would select two to remain with her husband during her absence.”

I explained to her the opinions of the English on such subjects: our ideas appeared as strange to her as hers were to me; and she expressed herself grieved that I should omit what they considered a duty.

27th.—I called on the ex-Queen of Gwalior, and took leave in all due form; the dear old lady was very sorry to part with me,—the tears ran down her cheeks, and she embraced me over and over again. I was sincerely grieved to part with her Highness, with whom and in whose camp I had passed so many happy hours, amused with beholding native life and customs, and witnessing their religious ceremonies. The next day she sent me the complimentary farewell dinner, which it is the custom to present to a friend on departure: I partook of some of the Mahratta dishes, in which, to suit my taste, they had omitted musk or assafœtida; the cookery was good; pān, atr, and rose-water, as usual, ended the ceremony.

Those ladies who are kind enough to support and educate the orphan children of natives, are startled at times by curious occurrences. A lady at this station lately married one of her orphans to a drummer in the 72nd regiment, and gave twenty rupees as a portion; the man was drunk for about a week; in a fortnight he made over his wife to another drummer, and in a month came to the lady, saying, “If you please, Ma’am, I should like to marry again.” “Why, John Strong, you were married a few days ago!” “Yes, Ma’am, but I made over she to my comrade.” Imagine the lady’s amazement and horror! The man John Strong went away, and told his officers he thought he had been very ill-used. The man was a half-caste Christian, the girl a converted native.

The famine in the north-western provinces has been occasioned by the almost entire failure of the usual rains. Government has done much in giving employment to those who can work, and food and medical aid to the sick; and more than a lākh of rupees has already been raised by private subscription on our side of India, and they are subscribing for the same purpose very liberally in the Bombay Presidency. Allahabad luckily has escaped, but every sort of grain is very dear, and large farm-yards like ours are somewhat costly. During the time of the famine the natives sold their children in order to save their lives; and large numbers of the unfortunate Būndelās, the natives of Būndel-khand, arrived at Allahabad, famished and dying; subscriptions were raised, and the poor wretches were supported by charity. A most excellent and religious lady at the station proposed sending to the up-country, where the famine raged the most severely, and purchasing ten young girls; these girls she undertook to bring up in the Christian religion, to teach them reading, writing, and needlework, and on their attaining a suitable age, to put them into service as ayahs to European ladies. The ladies at the station entered into her plans, and I agreed to buy and support two girls as my share. A calculation was then entered into as to the expense that would be incurred; I told her, “The other day, a Būndelā woman came to my door with twins in a basket, which she offered for sale for two rupees! I was greatly surprised; the little naked creatures sprawling in the basket were in good condition, but their mother was a skeleton. ‘Two rupees!’ said I, ‘that is a high price; I will give you one rupee for the twins, if you give me the basket into the bargain.’ The poor woman, delighted at having found a purchaser on any terms, laid her children at my feet, and making many salāms, thanked me for having saved them from death. I took them into the room where my husband was sitting, and laid them on the table as a present for him: he laughed, and gave me some money for the woman. I returned the twins, and sent her to the place where the Būndelās are supported by the contributions of the station.”

Having heard this history, my friend wrote to a clergyman up the country, who purchased for us ten girls, all under eleven years of age, and sent them down; the market for children was looking up; he charged us the enormous price of ten rupees apiece! They were placed in a comfortable house, with a school-mistress to instruct them; every care was taken of them, and the ladies of the station attended the school, and superintended their morals. It certainly flourished to a very great degree; they studied the commandment, “increase and multiply and replenish the earth,” with so much assiduity, that in a short time all the little girls were in a fair way of becoming mammas;—a circumstance perfectly inexplicable, unless they had eaten the seeds of the peepul-tree:—a peasant girl in Hampshire declared the same effect was produced by eating water-cresses. It was an annoying failure, that experimental school of ours. Speaking to an officer in the 16th Lancers, of the care that had been taken of these girls, of the religious instruction that had been bestowed upon them, and the disheartening finale of our charitable labours, he said, “In that dreadful famine hordes of wretched famished Būndelās flocked into Cawnpore, and very liberal subscriptions were collected to feed them; great numbers, however, perished from hunger, and mothers offered their children for sale for one rupee each: several were bought by very well-intentioned persons, to be educated, and converted to Christianity. Some little time after the Būndelās had disappeared from the station, I happened to be dining with an old friend, who, in the evening, asked if I would accompany her in her drive to the bungalow where these children were being educated to form ladies’ maids, as she had a favour to ask of me, that I would that evening stand godfather to twenty-two of these children; I declined the honour, and some months afterwards heard that these children would shortly require godfathers and godmothers for their own offspring, should they bring them up as Christians.”

The enormous pillar now prostrate near the entrance gate of the Fort at Allahabad is to be set up on a pedestal, on an ascent of steps, and surmounted by a lion couchant. Colonel Edward Smith is entrusted with the performance of the work. The natives call it Bhīm Singh kí lāt—that is, Bhīm Singh’s walking-stick. The hajjām (the barber), whom I consulted on the subject, says he was a great pahalwān (wrestler): further I know not.

Seneca says, “It is harder to judge and examine than to take opinions upon trust; and therefore the far greater part of the world borrow from others those which they entertain concerning all the affairs of life and death.” In the present instance, like the world in general, I take my opinion of the pillar upon trust, and firmly believe in all the barber asserts; more especially, as some of the inscriptions on the lāt are in unknown characters; those of the mighty dead, who have disappeared from the earth, leaving records imperishable but incomprehensible. The Bāiza Bā’ī was very anxious to erect this pillar at her own expense, and I believe made the offer to the Lieutenant-Governor. She also wished to build a fine ghāt at the Trivenī, which, in conjunction with the magnificent one she was then building at Benares, might have carried her name to posterity.

28th.—My friend Mrs. B⸺ and her four children arrived; she is to accompany me to Calcutta: and a Manis has been sent me to add to my collection.

Dec. 1st.—We quitted Allahabad, and proceeded down the river, calling on those friends en passant of whom I wished to take leave. At Mirzapore the head of a ravine deer was given me. Off Patna a quantity of arwarī fish were brought alongside for breakfast; they were delicious; the remainder we had smoked in shakar and chokar—that is, coarse sugar and wheat bran: let no one neglect this economical luxury,—the smoked arwarī are delicious.

17th.—Both the boys being very ill of fever, we hastened on for medical assistance. At night, as Mrs. B⸺ was quitting my boat to go to her own, passing down the plank, it upset, and she was thrown into the river; it was as deep as her waist; the night was dark, and the stream strong; she was saved by a bearer’s catching her gown as she was sinking; fortunately the bearer was in attendance, carrying a lantern. The rest of the people were on the shore eating their dinners, which they had just cooked. I called to the dāndīs to assist, not a man would stir; they were not six yards from her, and saw her fall into the river. I reprimanded them angrily, to which they coolly answered,—“We were eating our dinners, what could we do?” Natives are apathetic with respect to all things, with the exception of rupees and khānā-pīnā—that is, “meat and drink.”

18th.—To avoid the return of the accident of yesterday, this evening our vessels were lashed together; I went to my friend’s boat to see the poor boys, who were delirious; on my return I did not see that the hold of my boat was open; the shadows deceived me in the uncertain light, and meaning to jump from the railing of her vessel upon the deck of my own, I took a little spring, and went straight down the hold: falling sideways with my waist across a beam, the breath was beaten out of my body for a moment, and there I hung like the sign of the golden fleece. The people came to my assistance, and brought me up again; it was fortunate the beam stopped my further descent. I was bathed with hot water, and well rubbed with dēodar oil, which took off the pain and stiffness very effectually.

19th.—Anchored at Monghir; sent to the Sītā Khūnd, and bottled off a quantity of water for use on board ship; it keeps good for ever, that bright, beautiful, sparkling water from Sītā’s well; we had the precaution to bring corks with us.

The interview between Runjeet Singh and the Governor-General has taken place,—it must have been a fine sight; had I not been going to England I would have seen the meeting. Miss Eden presented Runjeet Singh with a picture of the Queen, painted by herself.

Extract from a letter dated December 3rd, 1838.

“I will endeavour to give you some idea of what is going forward in the grand army of the Indus. The day after our arrival Lord Auckland held a durbār, at which Runjeet Singh paid his visit; my squadron was on escort duty, so that I saw nothing, and was nearly crushed by the line of elephants. I heard two guns were drawn up in one of the tents to be presented to the Maharāj; between them shrapnell shot were piled so awkwardly, that Sir Henry and Runjeet stumbled over them, and very nearly pitched on their noses, and this will doubtless be considered a bad omen. On the 30th Lord Auckland returned the visit; our Regiment and the 2nd Cavalry formed the escort: we crossed the Sutlej over a bridge of boats to the Seik encampment, where 40,000 men are collected. The disposition of Runjeet’s troops was most judicious; the road was first lined with his regular cavalry, tall men, but miserably mounted; these were all dressed in scarlet, and looked tawdry and ridiculous: at the termination of this line of cavalry, which extended about a quarter of a mile, was a sandbank sufficiently high to obstruct all further view, except of the Zamburuks, who were placed on the elevation, and fired a salute from their camels as the Governor-General passed. Having ascended the bank, the view was indeed magnificent, and I question if such a pageant has been seen since the decline of the Moguls. The road was now lined with infantry to the arch leading to Runjeet’s tents, and before which the Maharāj’s line of elephants was drawn up magnificently caparisoned. The infantry were dressed in scarlet, with red turbans, three deep on one side, and two deep on the other: these are the tallest body of men I ever saw. I think in the front rank there could not have been a man under six feet, and several must have been four and six inches higher; some of the standard-bearers were perfect giants in height, the officers were superbly dressed, and I saw more than one wearing pearl epaulets. Only think of that; for the life of me I could not help wishing to let the right squadron amongst them for one little half hour. In the centre of this line of infantry, extending more than a quarter of a mile, the Governor-General and Runjeet met, and, after embracing, proceeded to the durbār. Having passed through the arch, we found ourselves in an enclosure formed by khanāts of about four acres, and in this Runjeet’s body-guard were assembled, dressed in new Kincab dresses, and as magnificent as silk, and gold, and embroidery, and sumptuous arms could make them. The tents were beautiful, made of the finest fabric of Cashmere, and such as could only belong to the lord of that enchanting valley. Runjeet differed much in appearance from what I had been led to expect. He is a little man, and appeared less from being seated between two such very tall men as Lord Auckland and Sir Henry Fane; he is very dark for a Seik, his face is rather full than otherwise, his beard grey, but far from white, the expression of his countenance is that of great cunning and intelligence, and constantly varying; and if you did not know his character, I think you would say there was no outward sign of determination.

“Runjeet was the only plainly-dressed man in his court; he wore a dress and turban of dark red, without jewels or ornaments of any description whatever, whilst his nobles were cased in superb cuirasses and choice armour, and were literally glittering with jewels, and oh! such shawls! no lady patroness of Almack’s in her wildest dreams ever imagined such a collection. Amongst the presents Runjeet has given to Lord Auckland is a gold bed,—may he sleep on it as sound as I do on my little charpoy!

“We have just returned from a grand review of the whole of the troops for Lord Auckland and Runjeet; all very fine, I hear, and we surpassed ourselves in a charge—Shavash! Shavash! Cawnpore is a water-meadow to this place, the clouds of dust would be incredible if we did not know we are advancing to Dust Mohamed’s country.

“This day week, it is said, we are to continue our march, but there are no supplies on the road for us. Shah Sūjah’s Contingent have advanced, and I fully expect to see them some fine morning coming back with at least a flea in their ear. Nobody knows what is to be done, only the first division under Sir W. Cotton marches forward, the second remains here as a reserve. No one seems to imagine there will be any fighting, but we shall march down to Shikarpore, and, I suppose, having secured the safe and free navigation of the Indus, march through Candahar, if the ruler of Cabul will not listen to the reasoning of our Government.

“The crowd at the durbār before mentioned, which took place on the 30th, was beyond bearing, and the band-master, who must be a wag, played ‘We met, ’twas in a crowd;’ and this was by far the best thing that transpired at the visit of the Lion of the Punjab, and the Governor-General of India.

“On returning from the durbār, Runjeet stopped at the flank of the troops lining the road, and had Major Pew’s camel battery paraded for his inspection, and he seemed much pleased with it. Major Pew may well be proud of having first adapted the powers of the camel to the artillery service, for its success has exceeded the highest expectations that were formed of it. Several of Runjeet’s parade horses were drawn up opposite my squadron, they were all large, fat, northern horses, and appeared highly broke; they were most sumptuously caparisoned.

“I forgot to mention that Major Pew’s camel battery had accompanied us from Delhi. Four camels are attached to each gun, in strong and well-constructed harness; and in no instance was there any delay on the road. There can be no doubt whatever of the camel being a better beast of draught than the bullock; and in this country, unless where very rapid manœuvres are to be effected, I think superior to the horse. A driver is seated on each camel; the animal requires comparatively little care or breaking, and thrives upon scanty food; he walks along at the rate of nearly—if not quite—four miles an hour, and the team will trot away with a gun at eight, and keep this pace up for a distance if required.

“The guard I before mentioned at the gate of the durbār were superbly dressed in yellow silk (the favourite colour of the Seiks), some of them in curious and delicate chain armour, and all most sumptuously armed. There was some little difficulty in persuading this magnificent guard to allow us ingress; at length, however, this was permitted, and I found myself in a square of about four acres, artificially laid out as a garden with shrubs and flowers, which must have been brought from a considerable distance. This space was enclosed with canvas walls seven feet high, and in it were collected the body-guard, all armed with sword and matchlock, the stock curiously inlaid with gold, or silver, or ivory. There was no mistaking Runjeet Singh, from the loss of his left eye; he is not emaciated, as I had been led to expect, from debauchery; and has not the hooked nose usually found among the Seiks. The Lion of the Punjab was by far the most plainly-attired man in his court; he wore the same dress he appeared in when he visited Lord Auckland; he had not decked himself in any of the jewels of immense value which he has in his possession, and I was disappointed at not getting a glimpse of the Koh-i-Nūr, which he generally exhibits on his person on great occasions. I fear Shah Sūjah has little chance of ever recovering this inestimable diamond,—who knows, in a few years, in whose possession it may be found? Shah Sūjah’s ancestors plundered it from the treasure of Nadir Shah after he was assassinated, and Nadir Shah extorted it from the great Mogul after the massacre at Delhi.

“Those of the Seik court who were admitted to the durbār were most superbly dressed, some in flowing yellow or bright red silk dresses, their kummerbunds always a Cashmere shawl of very great value; some in high-polished cuirasses, and others in choice and glittering armour; and all appeared decked in jewels of immense value. I should mention, Runjeet has wrested Cashmere from the rule of Cabul, and will, perhaps, restore the unequalled valley to Shah Sūjah with the Koh-i-Nūr; however, at the Seik court, under a tent, formed, as it were, of immense shawls, seemed to be collected the very choicest fabrics of that heavenly country; whilst all that superb armour, jewels of inestimable value, silks of the richest manufacture, ornaments of pure and elaborately wrought gold, shawls of the finest texture and most beautiful colours and patterns, and embroidery curiously worked on cloth of velvet, here met the eye. Even those in the retinue who were very far too inferior to gain admittance to the durbār, or hardly to the presence of those who appeared there, wore shawls of such beauty, as would have excited the envy of our richest ladies. Immediately in front of the Maharaj and Lord Auckland, the never-failing nāch was exhibited; the singer was covered with jewels, and wore a dark green dress, very tastefully embroidered in silver, and she modulated her voice sufficiently, not to make herself very disagreeable. The presents were now handed round, and we took our leave. The Seiks, like a sensible people, never shave the face, and would almost as soon cut their throats as their beards. I did not get back to my tents until late, but returned very highly gratified with the superb pageant I had witnessed; it would be difficult to picture a more magnificent spectacle.”

My correspondent here mentions, that the presents given by the Seiks were handed round on trays;—a far less military style than that adopted by the Rajpūt, whose shield always forms the tray which contains his offerings.

20th.—When in the Hills, roaming in the interior, I met with an accident, a fall: coming down a rock, my long silk gown having caught on a projecting part of it, I was thrown headlong down; therefore I made a dress more suited for such expeditions, a black Paharī dress, somewhat resembling Turkish attire. My fair companion admired it exceedingly, and made one for herself after the same fashion; large round sailor-looking straw hats completed the costume: they were comfortable dresses on the river. My ayha, who accompanied me to the bazār last night, told me the natives said to her, “Ayha, ayha, is that a man or a woman?”—“A man.” “Ayha, tell the truth, is it a man or a woman?”—“A man.” “Then why are you with him?”—“Oh, the sāhib brought me to bargain for things in the bazār.” I asked her why she had said I was a man? She replied, “They are great thieves, and if they think you a man they are less likely to attempt to rob the boats.” Her stratagem amused me. The purchases I made were certainly not feminine, consisting of sixty-five bamboos and some shot; and I superintended the fixing of some brass work on a musket that was out of repair.

We are at this moment surrounded by a great number of boats; the people belonging to them are singing and playing on all sorts of uncouth instruments; such a hum, and such a din!—it will be useless to attempt to rest until these perturbed spirits have sung themselves to sleep.

22nd.—Off Pointy, where the river is rapid and dangerous, we saw two vessels that had been just wrecked. The owner of the land (the jamīndar) was taking up the cargo from the wrecks; half becomes his share, and the owners of the vessels have only the remainder.

25th.—A stormy day; during a lull we attempted to cross the river; half-way over a heavy wind rendered my boat unmanageable, and we were driven by the wind upon a clump of bamboo stumps that were just above water in the middle of the stream: the crew were alarmed, and shouted “Rām! rām! āh’e Khudā! āh’e Khudā!” Fortunately, the boat being strong and new, she did not split open, and after a time we got her off again; the wind then drove us up a creek, and we lugāoed on a sandbank. The gale separated me from my fair friend, whose boat was driven to the opposite side of the river; her people were calling to know if I were safe; it was impossible to rejoin her; she heard the answering shouts of my men in the distance, and was satisfied. We were like the Brahmanī ducks, the chakwā chakwī, separated by the river, and calling through the live-long night “ā’o, ā’o,” “come, come.”

26th.—We anchored below the village of Downapūr, which had been washed away into the river during the last rains, by the force of the current having undermined its banks. My fair friend and I roamed in the beautiful moonlight by ourselves, attired in our Paharī dresses and straw hats, to a village at some distance. The women took us for cadets, and ran away in a great fright; nor was it for a length of time we could bring an ugly old hag to a parley; at last we succeeded, and bought a Bengalee goat and kid; the villagers were excessively afraid of us, and with great difficulty we persuaded them to bring the goats to the vessel. They asked my companion where her regiment was stationed; and imagined my wife was parda nishīn on board the boats. We did not undeceive them with respect to our manhood.

On my return I asked the sentry on my boat, “What hour is it?” The man answered, “When Honey is perpendicular over the mast it is midnight; it must now be eleven.” His Honey are the three stars in Orion’s belt.

27th.—Anchored below Sooty on the Bhagirathī. I was awakened from my sleep at 10 P.M. by the servants saying my cook had been missing since 7 in the evening; his age is twenty; and he had never quitted the boats before. We looked over all the boats, and searched the jāngal for miles around, and we began to fear a tiger might have taken him off, knowing that gentlemen are in the habit of coming to this part of the country tiger-shooting. My friend became uneasy, and was anxious to go to the opposite side of the river; to this I objected, offering to keep a bonfire blazing before the boats all night, but refusing to quit the spot until the boy’s fate was ascertained. At last he was discovered on the top of my boat, hanging over the side as if he had fallen there; on moving him he groaned as if in severe agony, and appeared senseless; his jaw was locked, his eyes were fixed, and turned up under the lids. The poor fellow had been exposed in this state to the dews of a Bengal night for three hours. They brought him into my cabin, he fell into the most violent convulsions, and appeared dying. All the remedies for fits were applied; we placed him in a warm bath; after three hours and a half his jaw relaxed, his eyes moved as if the pressure was off them, and being better, the servants carried him, still apparently senseless, into the cook-boat. I had been up with him four hours in a damp foggy night, anxious for his recovery; his father was our cook, and this young native had been with us eleven years under his father. Mrs. B⸺ said, “I heard a native hint to another that the boy is not in a fit; and I have heard natives will sham illness, and deceive any body.” I called a servant, and asked him if it were true. The man, standing on one leg, with the palms of both hands clasped together, said, “What can I say? will you forgive me? If you were my master I would tell you; but how can I utter such words of shame to my mistress? Say you will forgive me for uttering such words, and I will tell you, if you order me to do so.” He then related what had passed, and said, the boy, hearing himself called, became alarmed, hid himself, and, on being discovered, shammed illness.

I desired the chaprasī to take a little riding whip in his hand, and accompany me into the cook-boat; the boy was better, but had not recovered from his fit,—the violent convulsions had gone off. I ordered the head man to cut off his hair, and apply leeches to his head; during the operation the itching of his head made him put up his hand and scratch it. I saw from his countenance he was angry, for the shaving of the head is, I believe, the sign of complete slavery with a native, and he found it difficult to sham illness. The operation over, the khalāsī gave him a sharp cut with the whip over his hand, desired him to leave off shamming, and come on deck. Finding his imposition was discovered, he got up, and in the most impudent manner said, “What fault have I committed?—what have I done that is wrong?” When I told a chaprasī to take charge of him, and take him to the nearest magistrate, the cook fell at my feet, confessed his crime, and begged I would not send him away; requesting a panchāyāt might be held on his conduct, or that I would punish him according to my pleasure. I told the people to hold a panchāyāt according to their own customs, to report the sentence to me, and it should be carried into execution. The whole of the people assembled in council under a sacred tree on the bank, and deliberated on the case: at the termination of the consultation the elders came to me saying they had decided as follows:—The cook was to receive twenty-two lashes, that he was to lose caste, and to have his hukka panī bāndh—that is, they would no longer allow him to associate with themselves, eat or smoke with them, or worship with the faithful. They requested I would turn him out of the boats, that they should be allowed to take him on shore, put him on an ass with his face to the tail of the animal, and followed by drums, and the hooting of the rabble, they should lead the donkey through the village, and then turn him off for ever. This was a severe sentence, and showed how angry the people of his own caste had become: they gave him the twenty-two lashes, he lost caste, and was not allowed to worship on deck as usual. I would not turn him out of service, knowing it would be his ruin, and I felt compassion for his pretty young wife, whom he had left at Allahabad; nor would I allow them to parade him on an ass. The panchāyāt took into consideration the conduct of the under-woman; the servants had told her if she had hidden the cook any where, if she would tell he should be released, and nothing should be said about it: that they would not awaken me; they only wanted to find him. She swore she had not seen him at all; she was present during the four hours he was pretending to be ill,—she saw how much alarmed I was,—also that during this time I was exposed to the night air; and she aided in the deception. They condemned her according to law, but as the sentence was very severe, I only allowed a part of it to be put into execution. She was obliged to blacken her own face with soot and oil as she sat on deck; all the servants came round her,—they laughed, hooted, and complimented her on her beauty; she cried bitterly,—the punishment was severe enough; she was afraid she should be paraded on the donkey, and was very glad to find I would not allow it. The next day she wanted the cook to marry her, and make her a Musalmanī, saying, her husband on her return would cut off her nose, and break into the zenāna of the cook. However, she was disappointed in her wish of becoming a follower of the Prophet, it being discovered she had another lover: this extra lover also lost caste, and had his hukka panī bāndh.

Knowing the natives are apt to administer poison in revenge, I mentioned the circumstance to my khansaman, and said, “It is immaterial to me, but, in case of my death, you will be answerable to the sāhib.” The man made his salām, saying, “On my head be it: you have punished the man justly; there is nothing to fear: had he been punished unjustly he might have revenged himself by putting poison in your food.” “Very well,” said I, “it is your concern, not mine;”—and I finished my dinner.

29th.—Arrived at Berhampūr, at which place a bearer of mine related the following history:—

“In former times, when the English first came to Kalkut (Calcutta), a very rich merchant resided at Moorshedabad, by name Jugger Seit: this man was a great harām-zāda (rascal), never obeyed the orders of the Nawāb, was very rich, and had two hundred soldiers as a body-guard. One day he boasted that he could day by day dethrone such a Nawāb as the one at Moorshedabad, and daily place a new one on the throne: these words having been reported to the Nawāb, he sent two soldiers to seize the merchant. While the man was bathing in the river, away from his attendants, the soldiers fell upon him; and one of them having stabbed him in the side, they carried him before the Nawāb. He offered as his ransom to strew the road from Moorshedabad to Delhi with gold mohurs; but the Nawāb was inflexible. The merchant was fastened into a palanquin, placed in a small boat, carried out into the river in front of the Nawāb’s house, and thrown palkī and all into the stream, where of course he was drowned.” So ends the tale of the Nawāb, the Merchant, and the Palkī.

30th.—Remained at Berhampūr, to write letters, buy silks, also figures of men and animals beautifully carved in ivory, and to procure food.

31st.—Quitted Berhampūr. I have suffered so much during the last twelvemonth from the death of relatives and friends, that I now bid adieu to the past year without regret. May the new one prove happier than the last!

CHAPTER LIX.
ARRIVAL IN CALCUTTA—THE “MADAGASCAR.”

Cutwa—Bracelets of the Sankh Shell—Anchor-making at Culwa—The Dying Bengalī—The Skull—The Tides—The “Madagascar”—Mal de Mer—A Man Overboard—Mountains of Africa—Wrecks—Wineburgh—Constantia—A South-easter—Return to the Ship—Emancipation of the Slaves—Grapes—A Trip into the Interior—Captain Harris—St. Helena—Prices at Mr. Solomon’s Shop—The Tomb of the Emperor—Longwood—St. Helena Birds—Our Indian Wars—General Allard—Letter from Jellalabad—Death of Colonel Arnold—The Afghāns—Mausoleum of Shah Mahmoud—The Gates of Somnaut—The Remains of the Ancient City of Ghuznee.

1839, Jan. 1st.—We flew down the river on a powerful wind, until we reached Cutwa, where we moored, to purchase a gāgrā, a brass vessel for holding water; gāgrās and lotas are manufactured at this place, as are also churīs, bracelets made of the sankh, the conch shell which the Hindūs blow. These churīs are beautifully white, very prettily ornamented, and are worn in sets: above them, some of the women wore immense bracelets of silver or of pewter, according to the rank of the wearer; those bracelets stand up very high, and the pewter ones shine like silver, from being scrubbed with sand daily in the river. At this place a number of people were bathing; one of the Bengalī women was remarkably well formed, my attention was attracted by the beauty of her figure; her skin was of a clear dark brown, with which her ornaments of red coral well contrasted; her dress, the long white sarī, hanging in folds of graceful drapery around her; but her face was so ugly, it was quite provoking;—so plain a face united to so well-formed a figure.

2nd.—At Nuddea the tide was perceptible, and the smell of the burnt bodies on the opposite side of the river most annoying.

3rd.—Anchored at Culwa, to get the wooden anchor filled with mud and bound up with ropes; the process was simple and curious, but it took five hours to accomplish the work. Bamboos were tied to the cross of the anchor, which was of heavy wood,—a bit of old canvas was put inside, and filled with lumps of strong clay,—the bamboos were then pressed together, and the whole bound with ropes; a very primitive affair. I had a new cable made before quitting Prāg,—a necessary precaution; for unless you have it done beforehand they will detain you at Culwa to do it, as the hemp is a little cheaper there than in the up-country, and the mānjhīs do not care for the annoyance the detention of three or four days may occasion. At Culwa I saw a shocking sight: a dying Bengalī woman was lying on a mat by the river side, her head supported by a pillow, and a woman sitting at her side was fanning her with a pankha. At a certain time the body is laid in the water up to the waist, prayers are repeated; and at the moment of dying the mud of the holy Ganges is stuffed into the nose and mouth, and the person expires in the fulness of righteousness. My people told me that, if the woman did not die by night-time, it was very likely they would stuff her nose and mouth a little too soon with the holy mud, and expedite her journey rather too quickly to another world! The Hindūs, up-country men, who were with me, were disgusted with the Bengalee customs, and violent in their abuse. Should she recover she will take refuge, an outcast in the village of Chagdah.

We anchored at Santipūr. The water of the river at the ghāt was covered with drops of oil, from its being a bathing-place, and the Bengalīs having the custom of anointing their bodies daily with oil.

A chaprasī of mine, seeing a skull, struck it with a bamboo and cursed it.

“Why did you strike and curse the skull?” said I.

“It is a vile Bengalī skull; and those sons of slaves, when we ask a question, only laugh and give no answer.”

“Perhaps they do not understand your up-country language.”

“Perhaps not, that may be the reason; but we hate them.”

6th.—Two miles above Calcutta:—the day was fine, the wind very heavy, but favourable: the view of the shipping beautiful; I enjoyed it until I remembered my crew were up-country men, from Hurdwar, who had never seen the sea, and knew not the force of the tides. We drifted with fearful velocity through the shipping; they threw the anchor overboard, but it would not hold; and away we went, our great unwieldy boat striking first one ship then another; at length a gentleman, seeing our danger as we were passing his pinnace, threw a rope on board, which the men seized, and having fastened it, brought up the vessel. All this time I was on deck, under a burning sun, and we did not anchor until 12 at noon; consequently, that night I was very ill, the beating in my head fearfully painful, and I fainted away three times; but it was of no consequence, I was in the hands of a kind friend, and soon recovered.

9th.—The ships lie close to the drive near the Fort, and visiting them is amusement for a morning. I went on board the “Earl of Hardwicke,”—she could not accommodate me; thence I proceeded to the “Madagascar,” and took one of the lower stern cabins for myself, for which I was to give 2500 rupees; and a smaller cabin, at 1300 rupees, for my friend’s three children, who were to accompany me to England. At the same time I engaged an European woman to attend upon me and the young ones. Going to sea is the only chance for the poor boys, after the severe fever they had on the river, from the effects of which they are still suffering.

The larboard stern cabin suits me remarkably well; it is very spacious, sufficient to contain a number of curiosities; and before the windows I have arranged a complete forest of the horns of the buffalo, the stag, and the antelope.

20th.—A steamer towed the “Madagascar” down the river, and the pilot quitted us on the 22nd, from which moment we reckoned the voyage actually commenced; it is not counted from Calcutta, but from the Sandheads, when the pilot gives over the vessel to the captain, and takes his departure. Suddu Khān, my old khansaman, who had accompanied me thus far, now returned with the pilot: the old man must have been half-starved, he would eat nothing on board but a little parched grain, and slept outside my cabin-door; he is an excellent servant, and says he will take the greatest care of the sāhib until my return.

I suffered severely at the Sandheads from mal de mer, on account of the heavy ground-swell; perhaps no illness is more distressing,—to complain is useless, and only excites laughter; no concern on the subject is ever felt or expressed. Why is blind man’s buff like sympathy[38]?

Let no one be tempted to take a lower stern cabin; mine was one of the largest and best, with three windows and two ports; nevertheless it was very hot, the wind could not reach it; it was much less comfortable than a smaller cabin would have been on the poop.

30th.—Very little wind in the early morning; during the day a dead calm,—very hot and oppressive. How a calm tries the temper! Give me any squall you please, but spare me a calm.

31st.—The ship rolling and pitching most unmercifully; there is scarcely wind enough to move her; she lies rolling and pitching as if she would send her masts overboard; thermometer 87°—the heat is most distressing,—no wind: caught a shark and a sucking fish.

Feb. 1st.—Thermometer 87°, the heat is distressing: a return voyage is much hotter than one from England. Captain Walker is very attentive to his passengers; he keeps an excellent table, and every thing is done to render them comfortable. We have sixty invalids on board,—wretched-looking men; one of them, when the ship was going seven knots an hour, threw himself overboard; a rope was thrown out, to which he clung, and they drew him in again; he came up sober enough, which it was supposed he was not when he jumped overboard. Fortunate was it for the man that the voracious shark we afterwards caught, whose interior was full of bones, did not make his acquaintance in the water.

March 4th.—The morning was fine, the sea heavy, and we came in delightfully towards the Cape: the mountains of Africa were beautiful, with the foaming breakers rushing and sounding at their base. The lighthouse and green point, with its white houses, were pleasing objects. The view as you enter the Cape is certainly very fine: the mountains did not appear very high to my eye, accustomed to the everlasting snows of the Himalaya, but they are wild, bold, and picturesque, rising directly from the sea,—and such a fine, unquiet, foaming, and roaring sea as it is! The Devil’s Peak, the Lion, and Table Mountain, were all in high beauty; not a cloud was over them. The wreck of the “Juliana” lay near the lighthouse; and the “Trafalgar” was also there, having been wrecked only a week before.

5th.—Breakfasted at the George Hotel; fresh bread and butter was a luxury. Drove to Wineburgh to see a friend, and not finding him at home, we consoled ourselves with making a tiffin—that is, luncheon,—on the deliciously fine white water grapes from his garden. Proceeded to Constantia, called on a Dutch lady, the owner of the vineyard, whose name I forget; she, her husband, and daughter were very civil, and offered us refreshment. We walked over the vineyard; the vines are cut down to the height of a gooseberry bush, short and stumpy; the blue grapes were hanging on them half dried up, and many people were employed picking off the vine leaves, to leave the bunches more exposed to the sun; the taste of the fruit was very luscious, and a few grapes were sufficient, they were too cloying, too sweet. They told us it took an amazing quantity of grapes to make the Constantia, so little juice being extracted, in consequence of their first allowing the bunches to become so dry upon the vine; but as that juice was of so rich a quality, it rendered the Constantia proportionably expensive. The old Dutchman took us up a ladder into an oak tree, in which benches were fixed all round the trunk; he took great pride in the breadth of it, and the little verdant room formed of the branches was his favourite place for smoking. The acorns I picked up were remarkably large, much larger than English acorns. Oaks grow very quickly at the Cape, three times as fast as in England; but the wood is not so good, and they send to England for the wood for the wine-casks, which is sent out ready to be put together; they think their wine too valuable for the wood at the Cape. There was no wine-making going on at the time, but the lovers of Constantia may feel some disgust at knowing that the juice is pressed out by trampling of the grapes in a tub;—an operation performed by the naked feet of the Africanders, who are not the most cleanly animals on earth.

How much the freshness of the foliage and the beauty of the country through which we drove delighted me! The wild white geranium and the myrtle were both in flower in the hedges. After a sea-voyage we devoured the vegetables, the fish, and the fruit, like children turned loose amongst dainties.

Our voyage from Calcutta to the Cape had been a very fine one—forty-two days; the shortest period in which it has been accomplished was thirty-one days, by a French vessel. The mal de mer that had made me miserable from the time the pilot quitted us never left me until we were within four or five days’ sail of the Cape; then image to yourself the delight with which I found myself on shore. Eatables—such as sardines, anchovies, &c.,—are more reasonable than in Calcutta; one shilling is equivalent to a rupee. Visited a shop where there is a good collection of stuffed birds; bought a Butcher bird,—it catches its prey, sticks it upon a thorn, and devours it at leisure: small birds are one shilling each; but I know not if they are prepared with arsenical soap, like those to be purchased at Landowr. No good ostrich feathers were to be had at the Europe shops: there is a shop, kept by a Dutchwoman, near the landing-place, where the best—the uncleaned ostrich feathers—are sometimes to be bought; the price about five guineas per pound. My man-servant gave twenty shillings for eighteen very fine large long feathers in the natural state, and he told me he made a great profit by selling them in town.

6th.—I was just starting to dine with an old friend, when I was told a South-easter was coming on, and I must go on board at once; there had been no South-easter for some time, and it was likely to blow three days. The Table Mountain was covered with a white cloud, spread like a table-cloth over the summit, and the wind blew very powerfully. My friend hurried me off, saying instances had been known of ships having been blown off the land during a South-easter, leaving the passengers on shore, and their not being able to return for them. A gentleman offered the boatman who brought us on shore five pounds to take us to the “Madagascar,”—she was lying three miles from land; the man did not like the wind, and would not go. A boatman with a small boat said he would take six of the party for thirty shillings. When we got fairly from land the little boat pitched and tossed, and the waves broke over her, running down our backs; it was a very dark evening, we made the wrong vessel, and as we got off from her side I thought we should have been swamped; then there was the fear of not making our own ship, and being blown out to sea. Very glad was I when we were alongside, and still more so when my feet were on her deck,—the little boat rose and sunk so violently at the side of the vessel. How the wind roared through the rigging! The South-easter blew all night, and abated in the morning, when those who had been left on shore came on board.

A friend came to say farewell, and brought me a large hamper full of the finest grapes, pears, and apples,—a most charming present. I and the three children feasted upon them for ten days: how refreshing fine grapes were at breakfast! and such grapes! I never tasted any so fine before. From a Newfoundland ship near us I purchased several baskets of shells.

There was a little squadron of fishermen’s boats all out together, and hundreds of birds were following the boats, resting on the water at times, and watching for the bits of bait thrown away by the fishermen, which they picked up—it was a pretty sight.

The mountains certainly are very wild and beautiful; there is vegetation to the top of Table Mountain, 3500 feet. Landowr, on which I formerly lived, is 7500 feet above the sea; and that is covered with fine trees, and vegetation of all kinds, all over the summit.

At Constantia, at Mr. Vanrennon’s vineyard, his wife complained greatly of the emancipation of the slaves: some of them were unwilling to be free, some of them were glad that freedom procured them idleness; their wages being high and food cheap, the emancipated people will only work now and then. The slaves collect in Cape Town, they work for a week, the wages of seven days will supply them with rice and fish for a length of time; and until forced by necessity, they will not work again. They will prepare the land, but when the harvest is to be cut, they will not cut it unless you give them a sum far beyond their wages; and if you refuse to submit to the imposition, the crops must rot on the ground. The thatching on the houses at Constantia is most beautifully done, so correct and regular, and every thing there looks neat, and clean, and happy.

There are several sorts of grapes at the Cape, the purple, and the white Pontac grape, of which the Constantia wine is made. The white sweet pod, a long grape; the sweet water, a round white grape; and a round purple grape;—they are all very fine. The medical men prescribe nothing to old Indians but grapes, grapes, as many as they can eat; that is the only medicine recommended, and the best restorative after calomel and India. The Hindoos, as they call us Indians at the Cape, approve highly of the prescription. The Cape horses, which are fine, and the cows, delighted me; there were some excellent and strong mules also. The delights of shore after having been cooped up in a ship, only those who have made a long voyage and have suffered from mal de mer can understand; or the pleasure of roaming at large on the quiet, firm earth, the sweet smell of the fields, no bilge water, no tar, no confinement.

A friend of mine, a Bengal civilian, gave a good account of an expedition he made into the interior for about three hundred miles from the frontier with a Madras civilian. They got deer in abundance, zebra, and Guinea fowls, and saw lions in flocks. Fancy twelve of the latter gambling together near a small pool of water. They travelled in a waggon drawn by twenty bullocks, and took three Hottentot boys with them as servants, and fifteen horses, of which they lost all but one by theft or accident. He did not go, by many hundred miles, as far into the interior as Mr. Harris, not, in fact, into the hunting ground for elephants and camelopards: he spoke of Harris’s work, which is very interesting: he knew Mr. Harris, says he is a fine fellow, and from what he saw believes his accounts to be unexaggerated. What a brilliant country for sport!

One of the gentlemen of this party broke his collar-bone: they met with some Italians who came to them for protection; they also met with twelve lions, upon which they made off and got home again as fast as they could. My tale is a lame one; I have forgotten their adventures, but suppose the twelve lions did not eat the twenty bullocks, or how could the party have got home again?

7th.—Quitted Cape Town on a fine and powerful wind; we were all in good spirits; the change had done us good, and we had gathered fresh patience—the worst part of the voyage was over—for a man in bad health what a trial is that voyage from Calcutta to the Cape!

12th.—Very cold weather: this frigate-built ship is going nine knots an hour, and rolling her main chains under water. In the evening, as I was playing with the children on deck at oranges and lemons, we were all thrown down from the ship having rolled heavily; her mizen-top-gallant mast and the main-top-gallant mast both broke; one spar fell overboard, and the broken masts hung in the rigging.

18th.—At 8 A.M. we arrived at St. Helena: the view of the island is very impressive; it rises abruptly from the sea—a mass of wild rocks, the heavy breakers lashing them; there appears to be no shore, the waves break directly against the rocks. The highest point is, I believe, two thousand feet; the island appears bare and desolate as you approach it. A white heavy cloud hung over the highest part of the mountain; the morning was beautiful, and many vessels were at anchor. I sketched the island when off Barn’s Point. The poles of the flagstaffs still remain, on which a flag was hoisted whenever the emperor appeared, that it might tell of his whereabouts, giving him the unpleasant feeling that spies were perpetually around him. I went on shore in a bumboat that had come alongside with shells. Landing is difficult at times when the waves run high; if you were to miss your footing on the jetty from the rising and sinking of the boat, you would fall in, and there would be little chance of your being brought up again. There are only two points on the island on which it is possible to land, namely, this jetty and one place on the opposite side, both of which are strongly guarded by artillery. Batteries bristle up all over the rock like quills on a porcupine. The battery on the top of Ladder Hill may be reached by the road that winds up its side, or by the perpendicular ladder of six hundred and thirty-six steps. We went to Mr. Solomon’s Hotel, and ordered a late dinner; the prices at his shop and at the next door are very high: he asked twelve shillings for articles which I had purchased for five at the Cape.

Procured a pass for the tomb, and a ticket for Longwood, for which we paid three shillings each. Next came a carriage drawn by two strong horses, for which they charged three pounds. We ascended the hill from James’s Hotel; from the summit, as you look down, the view is remarkably beautiful; the town lying in the space between the two hills, with the ocean in front, and a great number of fine vessels at anchor. The roads are good, and where they run by the side of a precipice, are defended by stone walls.

The tomb of the emperor is situated in a quiet retired spot at the foot of and between two hills. Three plain large flag-stones, taken from the kitchen at Longwood, cover the remains of Napoleon: there is no inscription, nor does there need one; the tomb is raised about four inches from the ground, and surrounded by an iron palisade formed at the top into spearheads. Within the palisade is still seen a geranium, planted by one of the ladies who shared his exile. The old willow has fallen, and lies across the railing of the tomb, withered, dead, and leafless. Many young willows reared from the old tree shade the tomb, and every care is taken of the place by an old soldier, who attends to open the gate, and who offers to visitors the water from the stream which now flows out of the hill by the side of the tomb. Its course was formerly across the spot where the tomb is now placed; it was turned to the side to render it less damp: the water is remarkably pure, bright, and tasteless. It was under these willows, and by the side of this little clear stream that Buonaparte used to pass his days in reading, and this spot he selected as his burial-place.

A book is here kept in which visitors insert their names: many pages were filled by the French with lamentations over their emperor, and execrations upon the English. Many people have made a pilgrimage from France to visit the tomb, and on their arrival have given way to the most frantic grief and lamentations.

Having pleased the old soldier who has charge of the tomb, with a present in return for some slips of the willow, we went to a small and neat cottage hard-by for grapes and refreshment. It is inhabited by a respectable widow, who, by offering refreshment to visitors, makes a good income for herself and family. We had grapes, peaches, and pears, all inferior, very inferior to the fruit at the Cape. After tiffin we proceeded to Longwood, and passed several very picturesque points on the road. Around Longwood there are more trees, and the appearance of the country is less desolate than in other parts of the island. We were first taken to the old house in which the emperor lived; it is a wretched place, and must ever have been the same. The room into which you enter was used as a billiard-room: the dining-room and the study are wretched holes. The emperor’s bed-room and bath is now a stable. In the room in which Buonaparte expired is placed a corn-mill! I remember having seen a picture of this room: the body of the emperor was lying near the window from which the light fell upon the face of the corpse. The picture interested me greatly at the time, and was vividly brought to my recollection as I stood before the window, whilst in imagination the scene passed before me. How great was the power of that man! with what jealous care the English guarded him! No wonder the women used to frighten their children into quietness by the threat that Buonaparte would come and eat them up, when the men held him in such awe. Who can stand on the desolate and picturesque spot where the emperor lies buried, and not feel for him who rests beneath? How much he must have suffered during his sentry-watched rambles on that island, almost for ever within hearing of the eternal roar of the breakers, and viewing daily the vessels departing for Europe!

In the grounds by the side of the house are some oak-trees planted by his own hands; there is also a fish-pond, near which was a birdcage. The emperor used to sit here under the firs, but as he found the wind very bleak, a mud wall was raised to protect the spot from the sharp gales of the sea. After the death of Napoleon the birdcage sold for £175.

We quitted the old house and went to view the new one, which was incomplete at the time of the death of the emperor; had he lived another week he would have taken possession of it. The sight of this house put me into better humour with the English; in going over the old one, I could not repress a feeling of great disgust and shame. The new house is handsome and well finished; and the apartments, which are large and comfortable, would have been a proper habitation for the exiled emperor. The bath daily used by him in the old dwelling has been fitted up in the new; every thing else that could serve as a relic has been carried away.

In the grounds were some curious looking gum-trees covered with long shaggy moss. The heat of the day was excessive; we had umbrellas, but I had never before been exposed to such heat, not even in India. The sea-breeze refreshed us, but the sun raised my skin like a blister; it peeled off after some days quite scorched.

We returned to dinner at Mr. Solomon’s Hotel. Soup was placed on the table. Dr. G⸺ said, “This soup has been made of putrid meat.” “Oh no, Sir,” said the waiter, “the soup is very good; the meat smelt, but the cook took it all out before it came to table!” A rib of beef was produced with a flourish; it was like the soup,—we were very glad to send it out of the room. We asked to see the landlord; the waiter said he was over at the mess: we desired him to be sent for, of course supposing he was sending up dinner to the officers of a Scotch regiment, whose bagpipe had been stunning our ears, unaccustomed to the silver sound. What was our surprise when we found the hotel and shopkeeper was dining with the officers of the regiment! King’s officers may allow of this, but it would never be permitted at the mess of a regiment of the Honourable Company; perhaps his being sheriff formed the excuse. It was too late to procure dinner from another house; the boatmen would wait no longer, and our hungry party returned on board to get refreshment from the steward.

The night was one of extreme beauty—the scene at the jetty under the rocks was delightful; the everlasting roar of the breakers that at times dash over the parapet wall, united with the recollections awakened by the island, all produce feelings of seriousness and melancholy. There is a cavern in the rock which is nearly full at high water, and the rush into and retreat of the waves from that hollow is one cause of the great noise of the breakers.

19th.—Birds were offered for sale in the street; they appeared very beautiful; the St. Helena red birds, the avadavats, Cape sparrows, and green canaries were to be purchased. I dislike birds in a cage, although I took home four parrots from Calcutta, two of which died off the Cape during the rolling and pitching of that uneasy sea. Quitted St. Helena at 10 A.M.

Our Indian wars, propped up by the old bugbear of a Russian invasion, and the discovery of one thing, at least, the intrigues of Russian emissaries, seem to have excited more than usual interest in England, Her Most Gracious Majesty having been pleased to notice our preventive movements to the north-west in her speech on the prorogation of the House. The 16th Lancers are amongst the fortunate who are actually to return. All speak of the campaign as most distressing from climate and privation of all sorts, and the popular king, the beloved of his subjects, turns out to be as popular as Louis le Desiré. In February 1839, M. le Général Allard, that most agreeable and gentlemanlike man, died at Peshawar. How much I regretted that circumstances prevented my accepting his escort and invitation to visit Lahore! I should have enjoyed seeing the meeting between the Governor-General and the old Cyclops Runjeet Singh.

We have received a letter from a friend in the 16th Lancers; he says, the thermometer is 108° in tents; that they have suffered greatly, both man and horse, for want of supplies; that camp followers are on quarter, and the troops on half allowance, receiving compensation for the deficit. The army set out on their march from our provinces in the highest spirits, dreaming of battle, promotion, and prize-money,—they are now to a man heartily sick of a campaign which promises nothing but loss of health—no honour, no fight, no prize-money, no promotion.

The following are interesting extracts:—

“Jellalabad, Oct. 28th, 1839.

“Soon after the army left Shikerpūr in the end of February, our difficulties commenced; and we no sooner got on the limits of what is laid down in the maps as a marshy desert, than we suffered from a very great scarcity of water, and were obliged to make long and forced marches to get any: through the Bolan Pass we got on tolerably well; the road winds a great part of the way up the shingly bed of a river, and the halting places were like the sea-beach. But no sooner had we arrived at Quetta, in the Valley of Shawl, than the native troops and camp followers suffered in earnest; the former were placed on an allowance of half a seer, and the latter of a quarter daily; and grain was selling at two seers for a rupee. In this manner, proceeding more like a beaten army than an advancing one, the cavalry not supplied with any grain, and falling by tens and twenties daily, we reached Candahar. It has always appeared to me a mercy that we had up to this point no enemy to oppose us. We remained two months in Candahar, where we recruited a good deal in the condition of our horses, but the heat was excessive, 110° in our tents, and the men became unhealthy. From Candahar to Ghuznee we got on better, and the storm and capture of that fort had a wonderful effect on our spirits. Ghuznee, naturally and by art made a very strong fortification, was most gallantly carried, and with very trifling loss; the cavalry of course had nothing to do, nor have we through the campaign, though we have been harassed and annoyed more than at any period of the Peninsular War. As to the country we have passed through from the Sir-i-Bolan to the boundary of the hot and cold countries, two marches from this nearer Cabul, there is a great sameness, with the exception of the outline of the mountain scenery, which has always been wild, rugged, and magnificent; but the total absence of trees, and almost entire want of vegetation, excepting near the towns of Quetta, Candahar, and Cabul, and some very few villages situated near a stream, give an appearance of desolation to the whole country we have passed through. It may be described, with a few excepted spots, as a howling wilderness. With the people I have been much disappointed: from what I had read in Elphinstone and Burnes, I had expected to meet a fine brave patriotic race, instead of which, to judge from what we have seen, they are a treacherous, avaricious, and cowardly set of people; even as bands of robbers and murderers they are cowardly, and in the murders of poor Inverarity of ours, and Colonel Herring, it appears they did not venture an attack, though both were unarmed, till they had knocked their victims down with stones. If these rascals had been endowed with courage and patriotism, we never should be here. I should describe the Afghāns as mean, avaricious, treacherous, cowardly, filthy, generally plunderers and thieves, and universally liars, and withal extremely religious. No one has ever visited Cabul without speaking with delight of its streams, and mountains, and gardens extending for miles, and the endless quantities of delicious fruit and flowers displayed in shops through the bazārs, with a degree of taste that would be no discredit to a Covent Garden fruiterer. Cabul itself is situated in a valley, or rather a hole in a valley, surrounded on three sides by hills; the scenery in all directions is beautiful, but least so towards Hindostan. In the city there are four pakka bazārs, arched, and the interior decorated with paintings of trees and flowers so as almost to resemble fresco. The surrounding country is prodigiously fertile and excellently cultivated; the fields are divided by hedges of poplar and willow-trees; and for the first time since leaving England, I have seen the European magpie. On the 20th of August we lost Colonel Arnold, who had long remained almost in a hopeless state: his liver weighed ten pounds; I do not think he ever recovered the attack he had when you were at Meerut. At Colonel Arnold’s sale, sherry sold at the rate of 212 rupees a dozen; bottles of sauce for 24 rupees each, and of mustard for 35 rupees. At Colonel Herring’s sale, 1000 cigars, or about 1 lb., sold for upwards of one hundred guineas!—this will tell you how well we have been off for such little luxuries. We left Cabul on the 15th inst., and the following morning, passing through a defile, was as cold a one as I ever felt in my life; from the splashing of a stream the ice formed thickly on our sword scabbards and the bottoms of our cloaks; and now the heat is as great in the day as at Meerut,—such are the vicissitudes of climate in this country!

“The Afghāns, in their own traditions, claim descent from Saul, King of Israel, and the ten tribes; they invariably allow the beard to grow, and shave a broad stripe down the centre of the head; the beard gives an appearance of gravity and respectability to the lowest of the people. The Afghāns are good horsemen, and appear to have fine hands on their bridle; and they never tie their horses’ heads down with a martingale. In this country there is a strong useful description of horse, which reins up well, and appears to go pleasantly, but the best of these are brought from Herat. Here they shoe their horses with a broad plate of iron, covering the whole sole of the foot, with the exception of the frog.

“What I have said of the Afghāns of Candahar will apply to all we have seen; but perhaps at Cabul the men may be shorter and more thickly set. I have never seen a more hardy, sturdy-looking, or more muscular race, and the deep pomegranate complexion gives a manly expression to the countenance. Of the women we have seen nothing, but hear they are beautiful; those taken at Ghuznee were certainly not so; they are frequently met walking in the city, or riding on horseback seated behind a man, but universally so closely veiled that you cannot detect a feature of the face, or in the slightest degree trace the outline of the figure. It is a pity Dost Muhammad was not selected as our puppet king, for Shah Sūjah is neither a gentleman nor a soldier, and he is highly unpopular among his subjects, who—but for our support—would soon knock him off his perch.

“My squadron was on picquet near a village surrounded with gardens, with a clear rapid stream of water running through it; and in this village, between two or three miles north-east of Ghuznee, is the tomb of the great Shah Mahmoud, which has stood upwards of eight hundred years, and which is an object of particular veneration to all true believers. The entrance from the village is by a low coarse doorway, which leads to a small garden; a paved footway conducts to an arched building, undeserving of notice: on either side the footpath are hollowed figures of sphinxes in white marble, and seemingly of great antiquity, and through these sphinxes water used to flow from the mouth; above them also, there were other small fountains. From the building I have mentioned, a rudely constructed vault or passage—a kind of cloister—leads to another small garden, at the end of which stands the mausoleum of the Sultan Mahmoud, the doors of which are said to have been brought by the Sultan as a trophy from the famous Hindoo temple of Somnaut, in Guzerat, which he sacked in his last expedition to India; they are of sandal-wood, curiously carved, and, considering their very great age, in fine preservation, although they have in two or three places been coarsely repaired with common wood. These doors are, I should think, about twelve feet high and fifteen feet broad; and are held in such estimation, though it is upwards of eight hundred years since they were removed from Guzerat, that, it is said, Runjeet Singh made it one of his conditions to assist Shah Sūjah in a former expedition, that he should give up the sandal-wood gates; but this was indignantly rejected. In truth, I saw nothing particular about these doors, and if I had not been told of their age, and of their being of sandal-wood, I should have passed, taking them for deal, and merely observed their carving. Over the doors are a very large pair of stag’s horns (spiral), and four knobs of mud, which are the wonder of all true Musalmāns, who firmly believe in the miracle of their having remained uninjured and unrepaired for so many centuries. The mausoleum itself can boast of no architectural beauty, and is very coarsely constructed. The tombstone is of white marble, on which are sculptured Arabic verses from the korān, and various coloured flags are suspended over it, so as to protect it from dust. Against the wall at the head of the tomb is nailed up the largest tiger’s skin I ever saw, though it had evidently been stretched lengthwise. When the picquet was relieved I rode into Ghuznee by the Cabul road, by the side of which, at some distance from each other, are two lofty minarets,—one, I should think, one hundred, and the other one hundred and twenty feet in height: these are built of variously-shaped bricks, elaborately worked in various devices: the base of both these pillars is octangular, and rises to half the height, looking as if it had been built round the pillar itself, which is circular; or as if the pillar had been stuck into this case: the easternmost pillar is the highest and most elaborately decorated. I think I before observed that these minarets at a distance look like prodigious eau-de-cologne bottles. The mausoleum of Sultan Mahmoud, and these minarets, are now the only remains of the ancient city of Ghuznee; and nothing further exists to show the magnificence of the Ghuznee kings, or to mark the former site of a city which eight centuries ago was the capital of a kingdom, reaching from the Tigris to the Ganges, and from the Jaxartes to the Persian Gulf. The present town is computed to contain about six hundred miserable houses. So much for greatness!—Such in the East is the lapse of mighty empires.”

CHAPTER LX.
DEPARTURE FROM ST. HELENA.

Quitted St. Helena—The Polar Star—Drifting Sea-weed—The Paroquets—Worship of Birds—A Gale—The Orange Vessel—The Pilot Schooner—Landing at Plymouth—First Impressions—A Mother’s Welcome—The Mail Coach—The Queen’s Highway—Dress of the English—Price of Prepared Birds—The Railroads—The New Police—English Horses—British Museum—Horticultural Show—Umberslade—Tanworth—Conway Castle—Welsh Mutton—Church of Conway—Tombstone of Richard Hookes, Gent.—The Menai Bridge—Dublin—Abbeyleix—Horns of the Elk—Penny Postage—Steam-Engines—Silver Firs—Moonāl Pheasants—The Barge run down—Chapel of Pennycross—The Niger Expedition—Schwalbach—Family Sorrows—Indian News—The Birth of the Chimna Rājā Sāhib—Captain Sturt’s Sketches—Governor Lin—The Bāiza Bā’ī consents to reside at Nassuk—Fire in her Camp—Death of Sir Henry Fane—Church built by Subscription at Allahabad—Governor Lin’s Button—The ex-Queen of Gwalior marches to Nassuk—Price of a Gentleman—Death of the old Shepherd from Hydrophobia—Pedigree of Jūmnī, the Invaluable.

1839, March 19th.—A fine and favourable breeze bore the “Madagascar” from St. Helena, and gave us hopes of making the remainder of the voyage in as short a space of time as that in which the first part had been accomplished. The only really good fruit we got at James’s Town was the plantain. Some mackerel was baked and pickled on board, but we were recommended not to eat it after the first day, as the St. Helena mackerel, if kept, is reckoned dangerous.

April 11th.—How glad I was to see the polar star, visible the first time this evening! I thought of my dear mother, and how often we had watched it together; and the uncertainty of what might have occurred during my voyage to the dear ones at home rendered me nervous and very unhappy. The southern hemisphere does not please me as much as the northern; the stars appear more brilliant and larger in the north.

18th.—The ship was passing through quantities of sea-weed, supposed to be drifted from the Gulf of Mexico; it is always found in this latitude. The children amused themselves with writing letters to their mother, and sending them overboard, corked up in empty bottles.

May 7th.—Polidorus, the great pet parrot, died; the pitching of the vessel and the cramp killed the bird, in spite of the warmth of flannel: of our four birds one only now survived; and very few remained of twenty-four paroquets brought on board by the crew. A flight of paroquets in India, with their bright green wings and rose-coloured necks, is a beautiful sight.

The education of a paroquet is a long and a serious affair; a native will take his bird on his finger daily, and repeat to it incessantly, for an hour or two at a time, the name of the deity he worships, or some short sentence, until the bird—hearing the same sounds every day for weeks or months together—remembers and imitates them. If in a cage, it is covered over with a cloth, that the attention of the birds may not be diverted from the sounds: sometimes a native will let the bird down a well for an hour or two, that it may be in darkness, while, lying on the top of the well, he repeats the daily lesson.

Many birds are worshipped by the Hindūs, of which the principal is Gŭroorŭ, whose feathers are of gold, with the head and wings of a bird, and the rest of his body like a man, the vahan of Vishnŭ, who rides on his back; and at times, the bird god, in the shape of a flag, sits on the top of Vishnŭ’s car,—the lord of the feathered tribe, the devourer of serpents. When the Hindūs lie down to sleep they repeat the name of Gŭroorŭ three times, to obtain protection from snakes.

The bird Jŭtayoo is the friend of Rama, and is worshipped at the same festival with him.

The Shŭnkŭrŭ Chillŭ, the eagle of Coromandel, the white-headed kite, commonly called the Brahmanī kite, is considered an incarnation of Dūrga, and is reverenced by the Hindūs, who bow to it whenever it passes them.

Khŭnjŭnŭ, the wagtail, is a form of Vishnŭ, on account of the mark on its throat, supposed to resemble the Shalgrama. The Hindūs honour it in the same way they do the eagle of Coromandel.

The peacock, the goose, and the owl, are worshipped at the festivals of Kartikŭ, Brŭmha, and Lukshmēē. If, however, the owl, the vulture, or any other unclean bird, perch upon the house of an Hindū, it is an unlucky omen, and the effect must be removed by the performance of an expiatory ceremony.

8th.—A heavy gale with squalls,—it continued three days; we were under storm-sails, the sea washing over the guns. It was a beautiful sight, the waves were like a wall on one side of the ship, the wind was contrary, and the wearing round the vessel in a heavy sea was extremely interesting to me, from not having been at sea so long. While the storm was blowing I thought of all the idols in the hold,—of Ganesh, and Ram, and Krishnjee, and felt a little alarm lest the “Madagascar” in a fit of iconoclastic fury, should destroy all my curiosities. In such a gale, to appear on deck in the attire usually worn by an English lady was impossible—delicacy forbad it; therefore I put on my Pahārī dress, and went out to enjoy the gale. As I passed on to the poop I overheard the following remarks: “I say, Jack, is that ere a man or a woman?” to which the sailor replied, “No, you fool, it’s a foreigner.” On another man’s asking “Who is it?” he received for answer, “That ere lancer in the aft-cabin.” The black velvet cap, somewhat in appearance like a college or lancer cap, perhaps inspired the bright idea, as the dress itself is particularly feminine and picturesque, and only remarkable on account of its singularity.

11th.—The gale abated, leaving a strong contrary wind and a heavy sea. We passed a small vessel,—merely a large boat battened down; she was from Lisbon, bound to London; the men wore high leather boots reaching above their knees; every wave broke over her, and ran out on the other side,—it was a fearful sea for such a little vessel. Four men were on board; they hailed us to know the latitude and longitude, and found their calculations erroneous. The captain invited the master on board; they threw overboard a cockle-shell of a boat, in which the master and one of the men came alongside: it was beautiful and fearful to see that little boat on the waves,—they were still so tempestuous. The two men came on deck; the master was the finest specimen of the veteran sailor I ever beheld,—a strong, fine man, weather-beaten until his face looked like leather, frank and good-humoured,—he pleased us all very much. They had been beating about where they then were for the last fortnight, and had had hard work of it. We exchanged spirits and tobacco for delicious Lisbon oranges, and all parties were pleased. The old sailor returned in the cockle-shell to the larger boat, and we all watched his progress with interest; they pulled her in, and we soon bade adieu to the orange vessel.

13th.—For some time we had been busy arranging for going on shore, which I determined to do if possible at Plymouth; therefore my packages of curiosities were got up,—at least as many as I thought I could take with me, being nine chests; and all the buffalo and stags’ horns were in readiness. About thirty-five miles from Plymouth a pilot vessel came alongside, and we calculated on landing in her in four hours. At 5 P.M., having taken leave of the captain, who had shown us the greatest attention during the voyage, we went—a large party—on board the pilot vessel: no sooner did we enter her than the wind changed, the rain fell, it was very cold; we were forced to go below into a smoky cabin, the children squalled, and we all passed a most wretched night.

14th.—We arrived at 6 A.M. May-flowers and sunshine were in my thoughts. It was bitterly cold walking up from the boat,—rain, wind and sleet, mingled together, beat on my face. I thought of the answer of the French ambassador to one of the attachés, who asked why the Tower guns were firing,—“Mon ami, c’est peut-être qu’on voit le soleil.”

Every thing on landing looked so wretchedly mean, especially the houses, which are built of slate stone, and also slated down the sides; it was cold and gloomy;—no wonder on first landing I felt a little disgusted. I took a post-chaise, and drove to the house of that beloved parent for whose sake I had quitted the Hills, and had come so far. The happiness of those moments must be passed over in silence: she laid back the hair from my forehead, and looking earnestly at me, said,—“My child, I should never have known you,—you look so anxious, so careworn!” No wonder,—for years and anxiety had done their work.

The procession from the Custom House was rather amusing; the natural curiosities passed free, and as the buffalo and stag-horns were carried through the streets, the people stopped to gaze and wonder at their size. Having left my young friends in the “Madagascar,” it was necessary to go to town to receive them. I went up in the mail from Devonport; its fine horses pleased me very much, and at every change I was on the look out for the fresh ones. We went on an average ten miles an hour. One gentleman was in the mail. I was delighted with the sides of the hedges covered with primroses, heatherbells, and wild hyacinths in full bloom; nor could I repress my admiration; “Oh! what a beautiful lane!” “A lane!” said the man with frowning astonishment, “this is the Queen’s highway.” I saw the error I had committed; but who could suppose so narrow a road between two high banks covered with primroses, was the Queen’s highway? Every thing looked on so small a scale; but every thing brought with it delight. When the gruff gentleman quitted the mail, he gathered and gave me a bunch of primroses; with them and a bouquet of lilies of the valley I was quite happy, flying along at the rate of a mile in five minutes. In the cold of the raw dark morning they took me out of the mail thirty miles from London, and placed me in a large coach, divided into six stalls, somewhat like those of a cathedral: a lamp was burning above, and in a few minutes we were going through a long, dark, dreary tunnel. It was very cold, and I felt much disgusted with the great fearful-looking monster of a thing called a train: in a short time we were at the end of the thirty miles, and I found myself once again in London. On my arrival I was exceedingly fatigued; all the way from Landowr I had met with nothing so overcoming as that day and night journey from Devonport to town. To every person on a return from India, all must appear small by comparison. Devonshire, that I had always heard was so hilly, appeared but little so; and although I was charmed with a part of the drive from Devonport to Exeter, with the richness of the verdure, and the fine cows half hidden in rich high grass, and the fat sheep, still I was disappointed—Devon was not as hilly a country as I had fancied. Oh the beauty of those grass fields, filled as they were with buttercups and daisies! During seventeen years I had seen but one solitary buttercup! and that was presented to me by Colonel Everest in the Hills. The wild flowers were delightful, and the commonest objects were sources of the greatest gratification. I believe people at times thought me half mad, being unable to understand my delight.

At the time I quitted England it was the fashion for ladies to wear red cloaks in the winter,—and a charming fashion it was: the red or scarlet seen at a distance lighted up and warmed the scenery;—it took from a winter’s day half its dulness. The poor people, who always imitate the dress of those above them, wore red, which to the last retained a gay and warm appearance, however old or threadbare. On my return all the women were wearing grey, or more commonly very dark blue cloaks. How ugly, dull, dingy, and dirty, the country people generally looked in them! even when perfectly new they had not the pleasant and picturesque effect of the red garment.

In Wales I was pleased to see the women in black hats, such as men usually wear, with a white frilled cap underneath them: it was national, but not a red cloak was to be seen.

What can be more ugly than the dress of the English? I have not seen a graceful girl in the kingdom: girls who would otherwise be graceful are so pinched and lashed up in corsets, they have all and every one the same stiff dollish appearance; and that dollish form and gait is what is considered beautiful! Look at the outline of a figure; the corset is ever before you. In former days the devil on two sticks was a favourite pastime. The figure of the European fair one is not unlike that toy. Then the bustle,—what an invention to deform the shape! It is a pity there is no costume in England as on the Continent for the different grades in society. Look at the eyes of the women in church,—are they not generally turned to some titled fair one, or to some beautiful girl, anxious to catch the mode of dressing the hair, or the tye of a ribbon, that they may all and each imitate the reigning fashion, according to the wealth they may happen to possess? This paltry and wretched mimickry would be done away with if every grade had a fixed costume.

I went to Mr. Greville’s, Bond Street, to look at some birds, and took a list of his prices, which I have annexed, with those of Mr. Drew, a bird-stuffer at Plymouth[39]. My scientific friends preferred the birds in the state in which they came from India, therefore they remain in statu quo.

Of all the novelties I have beheld since my return, the railroads are the most surprising, and have given me the best idea of the science of the present century. The rate at which a long, black, smoking train moves is wonderful; and the passing another train is absolutely startling. The people at the stations are particularly civil; there is no annoyance, all is pleasant and well conducted. From the velocity with which you move, all near objects on the side of the railroad look like any thing turned quickly on a lathe,—all long stripes; you cannot distinguish the stones from the ground, or see the leaves separately, all run in lines from the velocity with which at full speed you pass near objects. The New Police, now so well regulated, also attracted notice; their neat uniform renders them conspicuous; a wonderful improvement on the watchmen of former days. The beautiful flowers, the moss-roses, and the fine vegetables in town were most pleasing to the eye. The height of the carriage horses in the Park attracted my attention; they are fine, powerful animals, but their necks are flat, and their heads generally appeared very coarse. They wanted the arched neck and the fire of the horses of India.

Visited the British Museum; the new rooms that have been added are handsome, and well filled with Egyptian curiosities; mummies in crowds, and very fine ones. The Elgin marbles, in a handsome hall, are also shown to great advantage. My collection of Hindoo idols is far superior to any in the Museum; and as for Gunesh, they never beheld such an one as mine, even in a dream! Nor have they any horns that will compare with those of my buffalo, or birds to vie with my eagles, which are superb. I was in town when a fog came on at 10 A.M. in the month of October, which rendered candles, or gas-lights necessary; it was as deep as the yellow haze that precedes a tūfan in the East.

At the horticultural show at Plymouth, I was glad to see the kulga (amaranthus tricolor), which not only ornamented my garden in the East, but was used as spinach, sāg. How often have we shot off the head of this plant with a pellet ball, not only for amusement, but to improve it, as all the lower heads then increased in size, became variegated, and the plant improved in beauty. The kala datura, and the datura metel, were also there; and my old friends, the oleanders, looking slender and sickly. I went to the place alone, and the people expressed their surprise at my having done so—how absurd! as if I were to be a prisoner unless some lady could accompany me—wah! wah! I shall never be tamed, I trust, to the ideas of propriety of civilized Lady Log.

Oct. 26th.—Visited Umberslade; this ancient seat of the Archer family is about fifteen miles from Leamington in Warwickshire. The view of the house and grounds is good from the obelisk; the latter leans fearfully, and totters to its fall. The mansion is a fine old handsome square building, cased in stone, and balustraded around the flat roof with the same material. We proceeded to the church of Tanworth, and inspected the monuments of the family. Thence we visited “The Butts;” a farm-house is now called by that name, of course; the place was formerly the archery ground.

My love of beautiful scenery, the faint remembrance I retained of the mountains of Wales, and the wandering propensities inherent in my nature, added to a desire to revisit Conway, because the pilgrim was born within the walls, induced me to go into Wales.

Dec. 4th.—The entrance to Conway from a distance is very beautiful; it has finer hills around it than you would be led to suppose, judging by the views generally taken of the castle; the suspension-bridge is handsome, and in keeping with the ancient building. I visited the old ruin, which afforded me the greatest pleasure, and went over the ancient walls that encompass the town; there are fifty picturesque points of view in Conway.

Darkness coming on, I took refuge at the Castle Inn, a good, comfortable, and very clean house: my dinner consisted of a leg of the most delicious Welsh mutton, for which Conway is especially famed, and which is more like our gram fed mutton in the East, than any I have tasted: the English sheep are generally large, fat, and very coarse; and the mutton is decidedly inferior to that of India. A troutlet fresh from the river was excellent; the Welsh ale good, and the cheerful fire was most agreeable.

5th.—I discovered William Thomas, an old servant, who formerly lived with my grandmother; he keeps a small inn: the man was very glad to see one of the family, and he became my escort to the house in which I was born, which having been sold by my father, is now the property of the Castle Inn. I went over it: in the room formerly my nursery were a couple of twins, and the landlady wished me to take lodgings there, saying they would be very cheap in the winter. I could not find a harper in Conway; it being the winter season, the only one they appear to have had quitted the place; he is there during the summer, when visitors are plentiful. Nor could I even see a Welsh harp, which they tell me differs from all other instruments of the same kind. With great pleasure I revisited the old castle, admired the great hall, and the donjon keep; the pilgrim was not born in the latter, but in “the flanking walls that round it sweep,” that is, within the walls of Conway. The ivy which covers the castle walls in the richest profusion is remarkably fine, the wall-flowers most fragrant. Irish ivy is however larger and finer. The well-known lines—

“On a rock whose haughty brow

Frowns o’er old Conway’s foaming flood”

present to the imagination an idea of a grandeur of rock and waterfall that you do not find near the castle. Old Conway’s “foaming flood” is a small river flowing close to the rocky site on which the castle is built; the rock is of slate stone, and in digging for slate some hundred years ago the foundation of one of the old towers was undermined, and a part fell in; the work was stopped, and the old castle is still in fine preservation. The oriel window in the Queen’s tower is to be admired, and the banquet-hall must have been very handsome. Quitting the castle I went to the church,—a very handsome old one, if viewed from within, and very old and curious if viewed externally. It contains some ancient and curious monuments: on a flat stone in the chancel the name of Archer attracted my attention; on it is this inscription:—

Here lyeth yᵉ body of
Richᵈ Hookes of Conway
Gent—who was the 41ˢᵗ child
of his father Wᵐ Hookes
Esqʳᵉ by Alice his wife
and yᵉ father of 27 children
who died yᵉ 20 day of march
1631
N.B. This stone was revived
in the year 1720

att yᵉ charge of john
Hookes Esqʳᵉ
and since by Thoˢ
Bradley and Wᵐ Archer Esqʳᵉˢ

I find this Richard Hookes was a relation of the Archers, which accounts for their care in reviving this curious account of the number of his family. In the street, a little above the Hotel, is a large and handsome house, called the Plas nwyd, or new palace; the arms of the family to whom it belongs are carved on the chimney-pieces, and on the ceilings. On going down to the quay I found it was high tide; several small vessels were there. The walls of Conway, and the castle, and the suspension bridge, look well from this point. Next to the gateway is a large house, the property of the Erskines: the library is in the tower of the gateway; it is now deserted, and falling to decay, but must have been a pleasant residence.

Quitted Conway on my road to Ireland. Aber Conway, as I passed it, appeared to me very beautiful; the bridge with its single arch, the mountains in front, the church to the left, the stream and the trees, would form a lovely subject for a sketch.

The high road is fine—excellent, it is cut through, and winds round a high rock close to the sea-shore, towards which a good stone wall forms a rampart, and prevents any one feeling nervous. The views in North Wales pleased me very much; the mountains are low, but the heaviness of the atmosphere causes clouds to hang upon their summits, to which their height appears scarcely to entitle them. Penrith Castle is handsome, and the stone quarries appear large and valuable. I passed over and admired the Menai Bridge, and crossed Anglesea in darkness. They tell me the pretty and small black cattle, so common in Wales, come from Anglesea,—the breed of the island. There are no wild goats in Wales, and I only saw two or three tame ones.

6th.—Arrived in Dublin, and proceeded to Knapton. The country around Dublin is hilly, pretty, and has some trees; further inland it is flat, very flat and uninteresting. The towns swarm with beggars, who look very cold, and of an unhealthy white, as if much illness were added to their poverty: the Irish cabins appear abodes of wretchedness, some of them being without a chimney, the smoke making its exit through the door; the pigs and the naked-legged children rolling together; and the roof looking as if its original thatching of straw was turned into mud, so covered is it with green moss, and the black hue of dampness. The potatoes are piled in ridges in the fields, covered over with a few inches of earth neatly beaten down,—the only specimen of neatness that I saw was in these potato ridges; they are left unguarded in the field, and the Irish say, the last thing they would think of stealing would be the potatoes. The hay-ricks are on the same small scale as the Welsh, but not put together nor thatched with Welsh neatness; but the stacks of turf looked very Irish, and they were tolerably neat. The police, who are dressed in a dark-coloured uniform, are armed, which they are not in England. The sight of a turf-fire has an odd appearance at first; the smell is oppressive, and it does not appear to send out the heat of a coal-fire. The park of Abbeyleix, with its fine trees, is a pleasing object, surrounded as it is by a flat country of bog and swamp, and the walks within it are delightful. I wish I had had some of the young rhododendron trees from Landowr to plant there; I might have brought some home in glass cases, impervious to the sea air; a great many cases of that sort, containing rare plants, came to England on the poop of the “Madagascar;” several of the plants were in bloom on board, and they were all healthy on their arrival. The hall at Abbeyleix is decorated with the skull and horns of an enormous elk, found in one of the bogs,—a great curiosity; there is also a woodcock, with a young one and an egg, which were found in the grounds, and are considered a rarity.

We passed a woman who appeared to be very poor from the scantiness of her clothing; she wore her cloak over her head instead of over her shoulders,—a fashion purely Irish; but she did not ask for charity. My companion gave her some money; she threw herself on her knees to thank him, and on our asking her history, she said, “My husband is a Roman, sure it’s myself’s the bad Protestant:” she added that she had eight children, four of whom were dead, and the Lord be thanked; and she wished the Lord would take the others, for they were starving. I gave her a little money, which I made her promise to spend in potatoes and buttermilk, because she said she would lay it out in tea for the children. This new love of tea, to the abolition of potatoes and buttermilk, adds much to the starving state of the Irish poor; if you give them money, it is said, their priests take one-third of it; besides which, O’Connell levies a tribute on the poor creatures.

28th.—This morning, a fine frost being on the ground, which from its peculiar whiteness and brilliancy the Irish denominate a black frost, the party at Abbeyleix and Knapton sallied forth to shoot the woods: the keepers beat the woods for woodcocks much in our Indian fashion of beating the jangal. During the day I walked to the enclosed garden in Lord de Vesci’s grounds, to see the tomb of Malichus O’More, the son of Roderick O’More; the strong ice that was upon it rendered the inscription difficult to decipher: it stood formerly within a few yards of its present situation; Lord de Vesci built a hot-house on the spot, and at the same time he removed the coffin, which is of stone, and contains bones of gigantic size.

1840, Jan. 10th.—To-day the penny postage commenced: a great crowd collected at the post-office, putting in letters,—which were in vast number, as people had refrained from writing, awaiting the opening of the penny post. The band was playing in front of the office.

13th.—Quitted Liverpool in the train: you commence your journey through an immense tunnel, and when a train is going through notice is given at the other end by a whistle. The engines puff and blow in such an angry fashion, one can scarcely fancy they are not animated; and when they want water, by a very simple contrivance, they whistle of themselves to get it. Their names delight me: the “Oberon” or the “Camilla” puff by you—puff, puff, like enraged animals. The

“⸺Swift Camilla scours the plain,

Flies o’er the unbending corn, and skims along the main:”

—road ought to be added, were it not for the rhyme, but must be understood.

23rd.—Rode with a friend to Clumber, the seat of the Duke of Newcastle; the grounds are fine and extensive; the house appeared an immense mass of heavy building: the interior may be handsome, but the exterior is heavy and dreary-looking. I admired the lake very much, and the canter we took in the park was delightful.

29th.—Visited Mr. Waljambe’s museum of British birds; it is most excellent; and I was charmed with the silver firs in the grounds at Osburton,—they are most beautiful and magnificent trees.

Feb. 3rd.—The following speech made by a gentleman at tiffin amused me:—“Lord Brougham says, ‘Mankind are divided into two classes, those who have seen my house in Italy, and those who have not:’—now, I divide mankind into those who have seen my Moonāl pheasants, and those who have not. Lady William Bentinck gave them to me, and they are the most beautiful birds I ever saw.”

11th.—A steamer ran against a merchant vessel that was at anchor in the river; down she went headlong, all her crew with her, down in a moment. At low tide four barges were brought and fixed to her with strong chains and cables. She was then left until the tide rose, at which time the pressure on the ropes increased. Hundreds of people assembled to see her drawn up—the tide rose higher and higher—the struggle was great—“Now mud,”—“Now barges,” was the cry: the mud held her tenaciously, the barges pulled more and more—the anxiety was great: at last, like a cork drawn from a bottle, she rose from the suction, came up to the surface, and was immediately taken to the shore: some of her crew, who were asleep when she went down, were found dead in their beds.

1841, April 20th.—At the little chapel of Pennycross in Devon, my beloved father was buried. It is situated on a hill covered with fine trees, and commands a beautiful view,—just such a quiet, holy, retired spot as one would select for a last resting place. I could not summon courage to go there before, but now I feel an anxiety to revisit it again and again.

May 1st.—Revisited the chapel of Pennycross, and took a drawing of the tomb of my father.

PENNYCROSS CHAPEL.

Sketched on the spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

12th.—Went on board the “Wilberforce” steamer, which is going with the “Albert” and “Santon” on the Niger expedition. She has two engines, each of thirty-five horse power. The “Santon” has only one engine: the “Wilberforce” is flat-bottomed, but has a double keel, they tell me, that may be drawn up at pleasure. She is ventilated, but will be horribly hot in a warm climate—like an iron furnace. The life-buoy appeared a good invention. One of the officers showed me an absurd affair,—a small lantern to strap upon the chest of a man, to purify the air he breathes when he is exposed to a pestilential atmosphere. They showed me a number of bibles and testaments, which they said were in the Arabic character: judging from the slight glimpse I caught, it appeared to me to be beautifully printed Persian. The two Ashantee princes came on board with their tutor: they are intelligent, good-humoured, ugly Africanders, with large blubber lips and up-turned flat noses, and dressed like young Englishmen: how soon they will discard their tight trowsers and small sleeves when they get back to their own country! The crockery on board is shown to the lady visitors, who are expected to weep on beholding the appropriate design printed upon it:—a negro dancing with broken chains in his hands! It made me laugh, because there is much humbug in the whole affair—but it is the fashion. I was rather inclined to weep when I thought what would be the probable fate of the men then around, who were going out on the expedition to such a dreadful climate.

July 21st.—Having been recommended to visit the baths of Schwalbach in Germany, on account of my health, I started per steamer for Rotterdam and proceeded up the Rhine: after a most agreeable stay at Schwalbach, and my health having received benefit from its chalybeate waters, I returned to England.

Dec. 8th.—This day is over—I am once more alone—and what a day of agony it has been to me—my birthday! On this day I first beheld my beloved mother; on this day I have placed her in her grave!—have parted with her in this world for ever. My beloved mother has been placed in my father’s vault in the churchyard of that quiet and beautiful little chapel at Pennycross,—a tranquil and holy spot. O my mother! let me turn from your grave to the duties that are before me, and strive to act in a manner worthy of your child.