BENARES TO LUCKNOW.—SIGHTS IN THE CAPITAL OF OUDE.—THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.—KAVANAGH'S STORY.
After the foregoing letter was completed our young friends devoted another day to sight-seeing in Benares in company with Doctor Bronson. They went through the narrow streets, where it is impossible for carriages to circulate, and were jostled by the sacred cattle that frequently blocked the way; the pilgrims gave them a wide berth for the reasons already stated, but the animals were not so particular. They saw temples and shrines in great number, and readily accepted the statement that Benares was wholly given to idolatry, and was the holiest city of India in the eyes of the natives. They gazed upon the devotees that thronged the streets and crowded to the bank of the river, and now and then saw a dying Hindoo who was being carried to the ghauts, that he might breathe his last with his eyes fixed on the sacred stream.
A JEWELLER OF BENARES.
Frank had heard of the fine shawls, jewellery, and beautiful brasswork of Benares, and, with the last letter of Mary and Miss Effie in his mind, he was impatient to visit the bazaars where those things were sold. But there arose a difficulty in inducing the guide to show them the shops devoted to brasswork; the hotel had a salesroom for the same material, and the proprietor naturally regarded his patrons as his particular prey, especially as his prices were much higher than those of the city merchants. The guide finally said he was not allowed to conduct strangers to any shop other than that of the hotel, and accordingly his services were dispensed with, and the Doctor undertook the office of guide with very fair success.
A PIOUS PILGRIM.
There is no part of the world where one finds a more perfect system of making money out of the patron of a hotel than in India. Only those peddlers who pay a commission to the proprietor or manager are allowed to enter it, even to deliver goods that have been bought outside; and sometimes the manager requires all payments for purchases to pass through his hands, so that he may know the proper amount of his "squeeze," and secure it on the spot. The writer constantly came in contact with this custom during his travels in India, and on several occasions it was managed so openly that a blind man could hardly fail to see it. At the hotel in Delhi the manager stood by to witness transactions between peddlers and strangers, and when he was called away for a brief period he coolly asked if anything had been bought in his absence, and how much was paid. On one occasion the commission was handed over without the least attempt at concealment, and on another the payment was made behind a screen, and so near that the chink of the coin was plainly heard. Some of the hotels farm out the privilege of selling goods under their roofs for a fixed annual sum, and allow no peddlers other than the contracting ones to enter, while others give entrance to everybody, and require a commission on the sales. The same custom prevails in other parts of the East, and it is safe to assume that all goods bought in a hotel will be from twenty to fifty per cent. dearer than if purchased in the bazaars or public shops.
Benares brass-ware is in great variety, and our young friends were so delighted with it that they bought liberally. It consists of trays, plates, cups, goblets, vases, and kindred things that are chased with various designs of scroll-work, flowers, animals, deities, and other describable and indescribable things. The trays and plates are sold usually for about three rupees a seer—two pounds avoirdupois—and the goblets, mugs, and vases have a price by the piece or pair for which no exact figure can be laid down. The cheapest mugs cost a rupee each, and the goblets five rupees a pair. Then there are many varieties of idols in brass and bronze, and the visitor to Benares is pretty likely to secure a few of them to show his friends at home what the Hindoo idol is like.
The shops for shawls and cloths embroidered with gold and silver had a good many tempting things displayed to the best advantage; Frank bought a couple of the smallest of the shawls, and reserved himself and his money for further efforts in that line at Delhi. The Doctor told him the shawls were not made in Benares, but came from other cities, many of them from Delhi, whither they were going. He further explained that the manufactures of Benares were not at all numerous, and the city derived its principal income from the hosts of pilgrims who come every year to worship at its shrines.
The boys discovered that the holy pilgrims were not only in constant fear lest they should be contaminated by the touch of a European, but they would not even allow his shadow to fall on them or on the food they were cooking; the Doctor said that if such an accident should happen to a Hindoo's dinner it would be thrown away, and the pot in which it was being prepared would need a vigorous scouring to fit it for further use. But while they had such a dread of a white man's shadow they had no fear of his money, and would handle all he gave them without the least hesitation. They constantly saw the pilgrims begging in the streets, and were importuned by them; Frank thought some of the beggars made themselves comfortable, as they were seated in couples on a frame like a small bedstead in little nooks and corners where it was impossible to pass without going near them. Others stood against the walls under the shadow of the buildings, and others were seated at the roadside, and besought every passer-by to give them something. The boys tried them with small coins, and soon found that, while they feared pollution from everything else belonging to the European, they were not troubled about his cash.
RELIGIOUS BEGGARS AT BENARES.
From Benares our friends proceeded to Lucknow by the Oude and Rohilcund Railway; it is a distinct company from the East Indian Railway, but runs in harmony with it and serves to bring it a good deal of business. The distance is 199 miles, but so dignified is the pace of the trains that the journey from Benares to Lucknow consumes nearly twelve hours. The equipment has an appearance of antiquity, and Frank said that if the railway had been in existence in the time of Aurengzebe, he could readily believe the great conqueror had travelled in their carriage. But as the road took them through in safety he did not complain, nor did his companions, since they realized how much better the worst railway is than no railway at all.
It was evening when they reached Lucknow, so that there was no opportunity for seeing the place until the following day; the hotel where they stopped was a curious structure originally built for a wealthy native, and very badly designed for the home of Europeans. The rooms were strangely connected, that of Frank having no less than six doors, opening into as many halls and rooms; the locks were very much out of repair, and it was evident that any enterprising thief might do pretty much as he liked among heavy sleepers. The dining-room was two stories in height, and warmed by a small stove which just served to make the cold perceptible; the kitchen was a long way from the dining-room, and nearly everything was chilled through by the time it reached the table.
Bright and early the next morning the three were out of their beds and ready for a tour of the place. They drove to the most famous buildings of Lucknow, and were shown through them by the custodians or by the guide that accompanied them from the hotel, and in a little while their heads were full of palaces and Oriental gold and glitter, till Fred thought he would have a good deal of difficulty afterward in remembering "which was which."
THE IMAMBARA AT LUCKNOW.
The most gorgeous of all the edifices they saw was the Imambara, and they spent twice as much time in it as in any other. It is considered the finest of all the palaces of Lucknow, and its reputed cost is a million pounds sterling. The story is that it was begun in a time of famine to give employment to a starving population, and its construction required nearly ten years. It was not finished till 1783, so that it is quite modern by comparison with other public buildings of Lucknow. The king who built it invited architects to compete for the design, and stipulated that it should not be a copy of any existing building, and should surpass in beauty anything of the kind ever built. At the time of the capture of Lucknow the English troops destroyed a large part of the interior decorations, and since the reoccupation of the city the Imambara is used as an arsenal.
It stands on a hill overlooking a considerable extent of country, and the visitor who climbs to the top has the greater part of Lucknow at his feet. There is a large court-yard in front of it, and this yard is adorned with mosques and other Moslem structures, and also a miniature lake in the centre, with a bridge over it. There is very little wood work about the building, and it was evidently the intention of the architect and the king that the Imambara should stand unharmed for centuries.
Frank and Fred confessed their inability to describe the building in words, and wisely purchased photographs to enclose to their friends, as the easiest way out of the difficulty. "But the photograph can't show the size of the building," said one of the boys, "and so we must make a few notes." They did so with the following result:
| Length of Imambara | 303 | feet. |
| Breadth | 163 | " |
| Height | 63 | " |
"The central room," said Frank, "is 163 feet long by 53 wide, and it is 49 feet high, with walls 16 feet thick. Then there is an octagonal room 216 feet in circumference, with walls of the same thickness as the other room, and it is 53 feet high in the centre. If this doesn't take away your breath you may think of another room, 54 feet square, and the same in height, and you must remember that this whole building was finished with stone carving, as though it had been intended for ornamenting a parlor."
THE MARTINIERE.
Then they went to the Martiniere, a fantastic building, constructed by General Claude Martine, a French adventurer, who came to Lucknow toward the end of the last century and entered the service of the king. He had nothing when he arrived, but, by careful management of his money and his influence with the king, he was worth a million or two of dollars at the time of his death in 1800. He built this house as his own residence and in his own way, and the building is said to combine more styles of architecture than any other in all India. He was buried in the house, in a tomb under the central dome. At the time of the Mutiny the rebels opened the tomb and scattered the bones, but some of them were afterward recovered and restored to their resting-place.
DYERS AT LUCKNOW.
They drove and afterward walked through the streets of the native city, and were greatly interested in the industries of Lucknow. They passed shop after shop of the jewellers, and saw the artisans busy with their simple apparatus of blow-pipe and a few tools; they had seen the same sort of work at Benares, and were impressed with the skill of the men who need so few tools to accomplish what requires a great many in the hands of a European. Lucknow is famous for cotton cloths in various colors, and the dyers are said to display great skill in their work, and to possess several secret processes in making colors that will hold. They work with a few pots and pans, and the indelible nature of their dyes is said to show itself by giving a tint to their hands that requires weeks of washing and waiting to eradicate.
They had a letter to an American resident of Lucknow, the Rev. Mr. Craven, and in the course of their morning's drive stopped at his office to deliver it. He asked if they had visited the Residency, which was made famous during the siege of Lucknow, and on learning they had not done so he made a proposition that was received with delight by the trio.
"Postpone your visit to the Residency till to-morrow," said he, "and I will meet you there and endeavor to introduce you to Mr. Kavanagh, the man who went through the rebel lines in the disguise of a native, and piloted the army of Sir Colin Campbell to the relief of Lucknow."
A proposal like this did not require many moments for acceptance. It was arranged that Mr. Craven would meet them at the Residency at seven o'clock to show the points of interest, and, if possible, would have Mr. Kavanagh join them an hour later.
At the appointed time our friends met Mr. Craven, and were shown through the Residency, which is in very nearly the state it was found when Lucknow was captured from the rebels in 1857. There are moss-grown and ivy-twined walls, and the shattered tower rises like a beacon above the tree-tops, as it rose when watchful eyes looked day after day for the relief that finally came from Cawnpore. An artificial mound supports the monument to Sir Henry Lawrence, who fell during the siege, and there are gravelled roads and paths through the shrubbery and among the plots of grass. Small columns of brick mark the positions of the various batteries by which the approaches were defended, and a neat fence encloses the cemetery where the dead of the memorable defence are buried.
Doctor Bronson and the youths were shown the many points of interest in and around the place. Mr. Craven explained that during the siege the underground rooms of the Residency were occupied by some of the women and children; the ground floor was used as a hospital, and the upper rooms were quite untenable in consequence of the shot and shell that poured through them. An officer was always on duty at the top of the tower, or on the roof of the building, with a good telescope, to report the movements of the enemy, and, when relief was expected, to keep a sharp lookout for it. While they were standing in front of the building, a gentleman with a robust figure and a snowy mustache and whisker joined them, and was introduced as Mr. Kavanagh; after a little preliminary conversation the party sat down on the lower step of the monument to Sir Henry Lawrence, and the story of the siege was told.
THE RESIDENCY AT LUCKNOW.
The rebellion broke out in the early part of 1857, and by June of that year the English were acting on the defensive. Sir Henry Lawrence had thoughtfully gathered large quantities of ammunition and provisions in the Residency buildings, and when the English went there they were well provided with everything except the numbers necessary for the defence. The original strength of the garrison was 1692, consisting of 927 Europeans and 765 natives; there were about 200 women and children, some of them being families of the defenders and others fugitives from various parts of the province. The distance around the Residency is more than a mile—a long line to hold against a besieging force. The siege properly began on June 30th, and ended the 25th of September, when Sir Henry Havelock and Sir James Outram arrived. They added to the garrison and gave a sense of security, but in one sense their mission was a failure. They were to relieve the garrison and escort it to Cawnpore, but they suffered so terribly in cutting their way through the investing lines that it was considered injudicious to make the attempt. So they remained, and as they brought nothing with them they drew heavily upon the stock of provisions; the whole garrison was reduced to quarter rations, and relief was anxiously awaited.
In the latter part of November Sir Colin Campbell advanced from Cawnpore in the direction of Lucknow, and word was brought to the garrison by a native spy. Knowing how severely Havelock had suffered in his advance, those who understood the situation feared a similar fate for General Campbell. Mr. Kavanagh said the subject was constantly in his mind, and he became convinced that some one who could give intelligent information must go out to meet the advancing army. "I went," said he, "to Colonel Napier, whom I had known for twenty years, and stated my views. He agreed with me, but did not see how it could be done. He said it would be certain death to any European who undertook it, and no native could be trusted or could give the proper information to General Campbell. I told him I would go, but he laughed at the idea, and said I could never make up as a native. I thought I could, and asked him to take me to General Outram.
"He took me to General Outram," continued Mr. Kavanagh, "and the general was of Colonel Napier's opinion. But I saw he was willing I should go if I would, though he would not give his sanction, nor would he ask me. He said if any one went it must be an unmarried man, and as I had a wife and children I had better drop the idea. I answered, 'My life is endangered every hour, and if I go out and am killed it will only hasten the event. If I succeed I shall save many lives, perhaps all in the Residency, and certainly many of those of the relieving force. I shall go, and leave my family to the care of the British nation.'
"Then I went and borrowed native garments, only one in each place, to avoid suspicion, and in the evening took my bundle to the house of a man I could trust. There I dressed myself, and my friend blacked my face and hands with oil and burnt cork. Then I went to the officers' mess, entered with my shoes on, and sat down uninvited—very rude things for a native to do. The officers commented in English on my impudence and asked me in Hindostanee what I wanted. I replied in the same language that I wished to see Colonel Napier.
"He was called, and I talked to him in Hindostanee, pretending to be a friendly spy from the outside; then I asked for General Outram, and Colonel Napier went to call him. When General Outram came I talked to him in the native language, and then said in English that I thought my disguise would answer, as neither he nor Napier had recognized me.
"'Why—it's Kavanagh!' they both said together. They agreed it was a good disguise, and at my request General Outram wrote a letter to General Campbell telling who I was. I hid it in my turban, and, about eleven o'clock, started in company with a native spy."
The pair had many adventures. They forded the river near the Residency, recrossed it by the iron bridge, and entered the city. They were stopped at the head of the bridge by a native officer, who questioned them closely; Kavanagh did the talking, as his companion was greatly frightened, and his plausible story carried them through. In the city the native wanted to go through the narrow alleys and unfrequented streets, but Kavanagh insisted that the middle of the widest street was the safest; he carried his point, and it proved correct. They came to a native picket-guard, and, lest the sergeant might reconsider the matter and recall them, Kavanagh turned back after going a few steps and borrowed a man to show them a short distance on the way. They were again lost, and entered a house close to a camp, where they roused a woman, who told them in a garrulous way, which they encouraged, all about the soldiers in the vicinity, and set them in the proper direction. Again they were lost, and floundered in a marsh, where Kavanagh carried his clothes and other things on his head, and supported his companion, who could not swim. Morning was approaching, the moon was up, and he discovered that much of the blacking was washed from his face, while his hands were nearly as white as before he colored them. He was almost exhausted; had injured his foot severely, and half his clothing was wet. But on he must press to meet the advancing column, and he knew not how far away it was.
An hour before daybreak they met villagers fleeing with what property they could carry, and the spies learned, to their great but carefully concealed joy, that the English were only three miles away. As day dawned they reached one of the outposts of Sikh cavalry, and were halted by an old Sikh, who took the pair to his captain. Just as the sun rose, Mr. Kavanagh, his face streaked and spotted like a coach-dog, was at the entrance of Sir Colin Campbell's tent. The old fellow gruffly demanded who he was, and what he wanted.
"My name is Kavanagh," was the reply; "I left the Residency last night, and here is a letter from General Outram."
General Campbell stood for a moment astonished, and then drew the counterfeit native into his tent, embraced him like a brother, and treated him as tenderly as though he had been a child. At Kavanagh's request he was given a bed, but he was so overcome by his emotions that he could not sleep, and, after tossing uneasily for an hour or more, he rose and sat down to breakfast with the general. "I had a ravenous appetite," said he; "and they had so many good things that I could not restrain my astonishment. 'Marmalade!' I said; 'have you real marmalade?' 'Where did you get your eggs? And potted meats!—what a luxury!' I went on in this way while the general was asking about the Residency, and the rebels, and the road to Lucknow; and altogether the story was a fragmentary one. Afterward we went over it better, and the general made his plans.
MERCHANTS OF LUCKNOW.
"Officers and men wanted to see me, and I asked if I could take a stroll through the camp. 'Not without me,' said Sir Colin; 'the officers will ask all sorts of questions if you go alone, and then each one will have his plan for entering Lucknow. I propose to do my own planning, and when you go through the camp you go with me, so that no one can talk to you.' With this arrangement we went through the camp, and satisfied their curiosity to see me.
"When I left the Residency it was arranged that my wife should know nothing of my departure till it was certain that I had succeeded or was dead. Three miles out on the Cawnpore road was the Alumbagh, a fortified garden, where Havelock left his heavy baggage, with a guard of a hundred men. There was a semaphore telegraph there to communicate with the Residency, and I arranged to call at the Alumbagh and have them telegraph my arrival; but I found it so closely invested by the rebels that I could not enter, and so kept straight on to General Campbell.
AN OLD SIKH.
"When I told him about it he instantly ordered a column of Sikh cavalry to cut their way into the Alumbagh, and have them telegraph that I was safe. All the morning they had been asking from the Residency, 'Has Kavanagh arrived?' The answers were unintelligible, as they knew nothing about Kavanagh; General Outram and Colonel Napier feared I had been killed, and so did the other officers who knew about my departure. All were terribly anxious, and when about eleven o'clock the semaphore spelled out, 'Kavanagh has reached Sir Colin safely,' those strong fellows cried like children, and hugged each other with joy. One of them ran to tell my wife, who rubbed her eyes in astonishment, as she supposed all the time that I was on duty in the trenches. When she knew the story she sat down and cried too."
As he reached this point in the story his voice choked, and the tears stood in his eyes. His listeners were likewise moist in the eyelids, and did not venture to speak. Doctor Bronson kept counting the links of his watch-chain, but could not make them out twice alike, and the boys were looking vacantly at the ground, as though they were not expecting to find anything there. There was a silence of several minutes, and then the music of a military band sounded in the distance, and all raised their heads. Nearer and nearer came the band, and louder grew the sounds. At length an English regiment appeared, crossed the iron bridge over the Goomtee River, and came on and on till it passed close to the Residency. "Let us go and see it," said Kavanagh, and the party rose and walked down the lawn to the roadside.
As the soldiers marched past where they stood, the veteran's eye grew bright and the blood rose to his face; he was ten years younger in a few minutes, and his thoughts evidently carried him back to the days when the sound of the Scottish bagpipes was borne on the Indian breeze, and Havelock's army came to the relief of the beleaguered garrison. And while they silently gazed on the moving column, with its flashing rifles and waving banners, Frank was conning over in his memory the lines of Whittier, wherein is narrated the story of the Scotch girl at Lucknow, whose ears heard the music of her childhood long before it was distinguished by her companions:
"Dinna ye hear it? Dinna ye hear it?
The pipes o' Havelock sound?"
Then they strolled back to the Residency, where Kavanagh told the story of the relief; of the capture of the various rebel positions; the meeting of General Campbell with Generals Havelock and Outram; of the retirement in the night, the march to Cawnpore, the terrible revenge of the British troops on the rebels, and the return of the army in the following spring. And then, with a hearty hand-shake and farewell, he said good-bye, mounted his horse, which a native groom was holding close by, and galloped off toward the city. This was the man who ventured through the closely-drawn lines of 50,000 rebel sepoys, where discovery would have been certain death, and most probably death by torture.