One sees in no other part of the world just such an assemblage as the passengers on an Indian-bound steamer. In the vessel that took me to Bombay the most touching object to my mind was a young married woman, who was looking anxiously out for her husband, a missionary in whose labors she was now about to share for the first time. He was weak, haggard, and spiritless, worn out, no doubt, by his combined efforts to acquire a foreign language, convince an obstinate people, and bear the enervating influence of a hot, muggy climate; all of which was enough to break down the stoutest of frames and the most hopeful of spirits that England has ever produced. A number of officers, civil and military, some in light-brown coats of China silk and wide-brimmed straw hats, others in frogged blue frocks and military caps, were seen pressing through the crowd. A young cadet just out rushed into the open arms of a handsome officer, like himself, but older by twenty or thirty years. The deck was being fast cleared of its eager crowd. Everywhere the passengers were separating amid almost sad adieux, enlivened only by the oft-repeated promises to write to each other regularly—promises which are never fulfilled. On the great continent of Asia all nations meet and hail each other as friends, only to part, perhaps never to meet again, as vessels do at sea. But we were all sincere enough at the moment, which is all that can be expected from travellers scattering over the vast unknown land of India. I remember I was very greatly troubled because I was about to part from a gentle, blue-eyed young friend, a frank, bright, innocent young Scotch girl, who had become very dear to me during the most tedious and sultry part of our voyage from Aden to Bombay.
We were thrown a good deal together, and were almost of the same age. One day, while passing through the Red Sea, we exchanged vows of eternal friendship. There was on board a sprightly young officer, Ensign W——, to whom she was already secretly betrothed. Why secretly she would not confide to me, or perhaps explain even to herself, for every one on the vessel knew it, and of her naturally tender and loving disposition, as well as of her peculiarly lonely position on board, being sent out under the charge of the captain. I only know that I shared her happiness and her anxiety, for she would have to break the news almost immediately to her father, whom she was expecting momentarily on board. She informed me that her father was a widower—that she had come out to India expressly to keep house for him in some remote inland province somewhere in Guzerat.
At last her father appeared on board, a fat, sun-burnt, frowzy-looking man, and inquired from the captain as to which was his daughter, in order to assert his ownership over her. Instead of rushing to greet a father, she shrank back and nervously clutched my arm; and it was not strange. She had not seen him for many years; in the mean time her mother had died, her little brothers and sisters had all died in their infancy; she alone had survived, and had been sent home to Scotland, where she had been educated by an aunt. Here, then, she was alone in the presence of an almost entire stranger, although he was her father; and this is not an isolated case, but the fate of the thousands of European children who are born in India.
No blood-relationship avails anything in such cases. The mysterious sanctities of a young girl's nature, be they more or less profound, interpose themselves as barriers between father and daughter at the best of times and under the happiest of circumstances. Those dim nooks and corners of her budding sentiment can only be reached by a mother, so justly called the mediator in the most ancient language of the heart.
Years after I learned that my young Scotch friend had married Ensign W——, the young officer to whom she had engaged herself on her voyage out to India. But in one short year after her sweet blue eyes were closed for ever on this world. She died in giving birth to a daughter, who sleeps side by side with her young mother in the quiet little European burial-ground at Deesa, a British station on the confines of the great province of Guzerat.
Very little was known about India until Alexander the Great led his conquering army across the Punjaub (or, more properly, "Panch jeeb," or five tongues, from the five rivers that water this portion of Northern India) to the banks of the Hydaspes and the Hyphasis. The armies of Alexander had hitherto visited no country which was so fertile, populous, and abounding in the most valuable productions of nature and art as that portion of India through which they marched. Fortunately for the Greeks, Alexander had with him a few men who were admirably qualified to observe and describe the country. At the mouth of the Indus the army and fleet of Alexander parted company. The troops proceeded by land. Nearchus took charge of the ships, sailed down the Indus, and from its mouth, round the southern coast of Asia, to the mouth of the Euphrates. The results of his observations during the voyage were taken down and preserved. This expedition, undertaken 325 B .C., furnished a vast amount of information in regard to India, its extent and wonderful resources. Rome and most of her prosperous and civilized provinces were also very familiar with the silks, brocades, fine muslins, gems of great value, spices, and many other manufactures and products of the remote East. The Latin name of rice, Oryza sativa, is derived from the country, Orissa, whence the Romans first obtained it. During the so-called Dark Ages which followed the subversion of their Western Empire the trade with India was greatly diminished, though it never entirely ceased in parts of Europe, especially as some of the productions of the East had been consecrated to the services of the Roman Catholic ritual, and have ever since continued in request with the Christian churches of Greece and Rome. Even in the remote island of Great Britain, and in the semi-barbaric Saxon period, some of the precious spices and scented woods of India had been carefully treasured by the Venerable Bede and his co-laborers in their bleak northern monastery at Jarrow. In fact, at the very dawn of European civilization, under the good and wise Alfred the Great, English missionaries are said to have found their way to the coast of Malabar.
The great seat of Eastern trade was, down to the eleventh century, the city of Constantine the Great. Amalfi, Venice, and many other enterprising Italian republics acquired about this time great commercial importance, owing to their Eastern trade, which they extended to Egypt and the Persian Gulf.
In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries some of the more adventurous Italians found their way to various parts of Hindostan. One of these, the famous Marco Paulo, has given to the world much curious information about the regions which lie between the Himalaya Mountains, the Indian Ocean, and the numerous islands bordering on the Celestial Empire and on India proper.
The first European traveller who has given us an account of the country near the island of Bombay was an Italian friar named Odoricus, who passed nearly a month at Tana—or more properly Thanah—where four of his family fell victims to the intolerant spirit of the natives, and suffered martyrdom. His narrative was published in Latin in 1330 A. D. by William de Solanga. The first Englishman who visited the western coast of India was Thomas Stephens, of New College, Oxford. He reached Goa in October, 1579, and in the year 1608 Pryard de Laval mentions him at the time as rector of a college at Salsette.
It was during the early career of the famous Zehir-ed Deen Mohammed, a descendant of the renowned Genghis-khân, and the founder of the so-called Mohgul dynasty, better known by his common name of Bâber, or "the Tiger," that the Portuguese, whose maritime discoveries were beginning to produce an important revolution in the commercial world, succeeded in accomplishing their long-desired object of finding a passage by the Cape of Good Hope to India. In the year 1498, just ten months and two days after leaving the port of Lisbon, Vasco da Gama landed on the coast of Malabar at Calicut, or more properly Kale Khoda, "City of the Black Goddess." Calicut was at that period not only a very ancient seaport, but an extensive territory, which, stretching along the western coast of Southern India, reached from Bombay and the adjacent islands to Cape Comorin. It was, at an early period, so famous for its weaving and dyeing of cotton cloth that its name became identified with the manufactured fabric, whence the name calico. The dyeing of cotton cloths seems to have been in practice in India in very remote ages. Pliny as early as the first century mentions in his Natural History that there existed in Egypt a wonderful method of dyeing white cloth. It is now generally admitted that this ingenious art originated in India, and from that country found its way into Egypt. It was not till toward the middle of the seventeenth century that calico-printing was introduced into Europe. A knowledge of the art was acquired by some of the servants in the service of the Dutch East India Company, and carried to Holland, whence it was introduced in London in the year 1676.