During the day, with the sun shining upon it, the City of Palaces looked somewhat imposing, especially the business quarters, alive with people of almost every nationality, and the most heterogeneous collection of conveyances, foremost among which was the indigenous “Palkee.” It was pleasant to watch—from a distance; in fact, the perfumes of Arabia did not predominate; and, as water-carts were an unknown quantity, the dust and the glare combined to produce headache and thirst, the latter being temporarily quenched by various American drinks, in which, as my head told me, rum predominated.
There was an amazing demand for these drinks; and, without wishing to enlarge on their merits or the reverse, I must say they were honest drinks, compounded of the best materials, and very unlike those that I have tasted under similar names at certain of our Exhibitions.
The most appalling thing about the Calcutta of those days was the nauseating effluvium that arose from all parts of it; this was a smell sui generis, noticeable indeed in and around “Chowringhee,” the European quarter; still more so in the neighbourhood of the best shops; and reaching its climax in the China Bazaar, a den of the most arrant thieves to be met with in any country. I imagine that it was a peculiar distillation of sewage, brought about by the action of a hot sun; and I remarked its peculiar intensity at daybreak, and just after nightfall. On one occasion, I mistook the hour for a funeral, and arrived a great deal too soon at the rendezvous, which was close to that exceedingly filthy river the Hooghly; I was, I remember, well-nigh poisoned—a dissecting-room could hardly come up to it. I had almost said that, on the part of the residents, familiarity with the odour had bred contempt; but that would be falling short of the mark, inasmuch as I believe they had positively learned to like it.
The mention of smells associated with sewers brings to my mind the “bandicoot” rat, one of which, to my considerable discomfiture, I saw making its way across my friend’s “compound.” It appeared to me quite as large as a leveret, and considerably more formidable, nor was I greatly reassured by the information, “Oh! that’s only a bandicoot; plenty of them about.” The term “bandicoot” is a corruption of the native name pandikoku, which signifies pig-rat. It is a clean feeder living on grain and roots, and is said to be as delicate eating as the porcupine. The internecine “war of the rats,” waged in our country between the black and the brown, terminated in favour of the former, those useful scavengers that, for the most part, live in our sewers; but in the East—from which they were, like most other nasty things, originally imported—they swarm everywhere, and are most destructive. For the sake of the grain, which my sheep would turn out of their troughs, each in his eagerness to obtain the lion’s share, they positively honeycombed my field. Having in vain tried extermination by means of drowning and smoking, I bethought me as a last resource of phosphorescent paste, and by spreading it on pieces of native bread and placing it near their holes, I killed heaps of them, which were buried under my vine with good effect.
I thoughtlessly tried the same experiment in my bungalow; this time, however, instead of coming out to die as they had done in the field, the rats preferred to die in retirement. I consequently had to vacate the house for six weeks, during which time it was thoroughly dismantled and purified. They not unfrequently show fight. On one occasion, going to a cupboard late at night, in search of some supper for a friend and myself, I found everything in the possession of rats. We drove them off for a time, but they returned to the charge, and even came on the table in numbers, literally fighting with us for the mastery. Carving-knives, however, gained the victory, but not until a dozen or so had been disposed of. Fortunately the bandicoot is not aggressive, otherwise not knives but swords would be necessary.
During the first few weeks at Calcutta I had occasion to make a few purchases in the way of light clothing, and boldly dived into that unsavoury locality the China Bazaar. The dealers recognized the novice by their own inherent instinct, and set to work accordingly.
No. 1 informed me that he was an honest man, the only one indeed to be found in the place; would I step inside his shop and see the wares, that were very good and ridiculously cheap; he also very kindly and emphatically warned me against dealing with the man over the way, “one d—— big thief!” No. 2 came up and vituperated No. 1: told me that the articles offered were worthless, but that his shop, &c., &c. No. 3 next arrived on the scene, and in a patronizing tone vilified Nos. 1 and 2; they were both thieves, and in league to cheat me. At length, sick at heart, I took refuge in my conveyance and drove home, sending my servant for the articles I required, a thing that I ought to have done at first.
The whole thing was on a par with the mercantile qualifications of a native who once sold a bird to a friend of mine on the Upper Congo, and who, by way of summing up all the warbler’s good qualities, exclaimed,—
“Father cock, mother cock, sing from three in the morning till late at night—so help me!”
All Calcutta was wrapt at night time in impenetrable gloom; I occasionally drove to the Barrackpore end of the town, the deserted streets only lit by the faint glimmer of an occasional oil lamp, and the stillness broken now and again by a troop of jackals yelling, and then scampering off, as if pursued by the Prince of Darkness. On such occasions one of the troop is supposed to say—and it certainly sounds remarkably like it—“I smell the body of a dead Hindoo,” when the rest join in with, “Whe-re, whe-re, whe-re!” in a very shrill voice.