The Sivajee dynasty had ruled that part of the country till a Rajah called Serfojee ceded his territory to the British. His granddaughter, the senior lady of his son Sevajee, was the last real Princess of the family. She was dead before the date of our visit, but some ladies of the zenana still lingered on in the Palace. Some years after our visit Lord Dufferin told me of his experiences at Tanjore. As Viceroy he was admitted to the zenana, though of course other men could not enter. He was shown into a large, dimly lighted room at the end of which was a Chair of State covered with red cloth. The attendants made signs for him to approach the chair, and he was just about to take his seat upon it when he suddenly perceived a small figure wrapped in the red cloth. He had been about to sit down on the Princess!
We did not see the ladies, but we visited the large rambling Palace, in which were three very fine halls. One was rather like a church, with a nave and two narrow side aisles, and two rows of dim windows one above the other. This appeared to be utilised as a Museum with very miscellaneous contents. There was a silver-plated canopy intended to be held over bridal pairs—and a divan on which were placed portraits of Queen Victoria and the late Ranee attended by large dolls or figures presumably representing members of the Sivajee family. All about the halls were cheap ornaments, photographs, and, carefully framed, an advertisement of Coats’ sewing cotton! Another hall contained a fine statue of Serfojee by Flaxman, a bust of Nelson, and a picture representing the head of Clive with mourners for his death.
There was also an interesting library with many Sanscrit and other manuscripts. One book in particular, full of paintings of elephants executed for Serfojee, was really amusing. Towards the beginning was a picture of angelic white elephants, and other black, red, and purple elephants all with wings. An attendant declared that elephants supported the various quarters of the globe and used to have wings, but one day in flying they fell down upon a Rishi (Saint) and disturbed his devotions, whereupon he induced the gods to deprive them of their flying powers. It is always dangerous to offend Saints.
From Tanjore a night’s journey took us to Madura, where we stayed with Mr. Turner, the Collector of the District, in an interesting and remarkable house. At the time of our visit it belonged to the Johnston family, but they let it to the Government that the rent might pay for a Scholarship at the Madras College. The principal living-room was rather like a church, having forty columns in it, and, the floor being on different levels and divided in various ways, it served for sitting-room, dining-, and billiard-room. From one corner a winding staircase led to a terrace from which opened bedrooms. Below the living-room were vaults or dungeons where wild beasts and prisoners were confined in the old days when the house was a sort of Summer Palace. In one of these vaults tradition said that a queen was starved to death.
“THE HEART OF MONTROSE”
My bedroom, a very large room, was rendered additionally attractive as having been the temporary resting-place of the heart of Montrose, enclosed in a little steel case made of the blade of his sword. Lord Napier of Merchiston, descended from Montrose’s nephew, gave this to his daughter (afterwards Mrs. Johnston) on his death-bed, 1773, in a gold filigree box of Venetian workmanship. When Mr. and Mrs. Johnston were on their way to India their ship was attacked by a French frigate and Mr. Johnston with the captain’s permission took charge of four quarter-deck guns. Mrs. Johnston refused to leave her husband and remained on deck holding her son, aged five, by one hand and in the other a large velvet reticule including, with several treasures, the gold filigree box. A shot wounded the lady’s arm, bruised the child’s hand, knocked down the father, and shattered the filigree box, but the steel case with the heart resisted the blow.
Arrived at Madura Mrs. Johnston employed a native goldsmith to make a filigree box after the pattern of that which was damaged, and also a silver urn in which it was placed and which stood on an ebony table in the then drawing-room. The natives soon started a legend that the urn contained a talisman, and that whoever possessed it could never be wounded in battle or taken prisoner. Owing to this report it was stolen, and for some time could not be traced, but at last Mrs. Johnston learnt that it had been purchased by a neighbouring chief for a large sum of money.
Mr. A. Johnston, her son, in a letter to his daughters dated 1836 and published as an appendix to Napier’s Life of Montrose, relates the particulars which he had heard from his mother, and further his own experiences, which give an impression of very familiar friendship between English and natives in days when the former were largely isolated from intercourse with home.
Young Alexander Johnston was sent each year by his father during the hunting season to stay with one or other of the neighbouring chiefs for four months together to acquire the different languages and native gymnastic exercises. On one occasion he was hunting in company with the chief who was supposed to have the urn, and distinguished himself by so wounding a wild hog that his companion was enabled to dispatch it. Complimenting the youth on his bravery, the chief asked in what way he could recognise his prowess.
Young Johnston thereupon told the history of the urn and its contents, and begged the great favour of its restoration to his mother if it were really in his friend’s possession. The chivalrous native replied that he had indeed purchased it for a large sum, not knowing that it was stolen from Mrs. Johnston, and added that one brave man should always attend to the wishes of another brave man no matter of what country or religion, and that he felt it a duty to carry out that brave man’s wish who desired that his heart should be kept by his descendants. With Oriental magnanimity he accompanied the restored heart with rich presents to the youth and his mother.