LOYALTY OF NATIVE INDIANS
When we first visited India at all events the natives had implicit faith in English power and justice even when their loyalty left something to be desired. An Englishman was talking to a man suspected of pro-Russian sympathies, and pointed out to him the way in which Russians treated their own subjects. “If Russia took India,” he said, “what would you do if a Russian tried to confiscate your property?” “In that case,” was the prompt reply, “I should appeal to the High Court.” For the most part, however, they were intensely loyal to the person of the Sovereign.
When Queen Victoria’s statue was unveiled at the time of the First Jubilee the natives came in thousands to visit it, and to “do poojah,” presenting offerings of cocoa-nuts, etc. The statue was in bronze, and they expressed great pleasure in finding that their Mother was brown after all; they had hitherto imagined her to be white!
We had arranged to sail from Madras to Calcutta by a British India named the Pundua, which ought to have landed us there in good time for Christmas, but our voyage had many checks. First the hydraulic unloading machinery of that “perfidious bark” went wrong, and we were only taken on board three days later than the scheduled time for starting. Starting at all from Madras was not particularly easy in those days, for the harbour had been constructed on a somewhat doubtful principle; nature had not done much for it, and the results of science and engineering had been seriously damaged by a cyclone. As Sir Mount Stuart Grant Duff had sagely remarked, “Any plan is a good one if you stick to it,” but the damaged walls were being rebuilt somewhat tentatively and there was no conviction as to the ultimate outcome. Probably there is now a satisfactory structure, but in our time there was not much protection for the boat which carried us to the Pundua. Mr. Rees was to accompany us to Calcutta, and Lord Connemara and Lord Marsham took us on board. We had taken tender farewells of all our friends ashore and afloat—the Governor had gone back in his boat, when we heard an explosion followed by a fizzing. A few minutes later the captain came up and said, “Very sorry, but we cannot start to-day.” “What has happened?” “The top of the cylinder has blown off.” Much humiliated we had to return with our luggage to Government House, and to appear at what was called “The Dignity Ball” in the evening.
Next day (December 22nd) we really did get off; the wretched Pundua possessed three cylinders, so one was disconnected, and she arranged to proceed at two-third speed with the others. This meant something over nine knots an hour, and, after sticking on a sandbank near the mouth of the Hoogli, we ultimately reached the neighbourhood of Diamond Harbour on December 26th, and by means of a Post Office boat, and train, reached Calcutta and Government House late that evening.
PASSENGERS ON THE “PUNDUA”
When I went on board the Pundua I was shown into the good-sized “Ladies Cabin” and told that I could have that and the adjoining bathroom to myself. In reply to my inquiry as to whether the other ladies on board would not want it, I was told that there was only one other lady and she was not in the habit of using the bath! This seemed queer, till I discovered that she was the heroine of one of the tragedies which sometimes occur in the East. She was the daughter of a family of mixed European and Indian parentage. The other children were dusky but respectable. She was white, and rather handsome, and fascinated a luckless young Englishman of good family, who married her, only to discover that she was extravagant and given to flirtation. They were on their way to a post—tea-planting if I remember aright—somewhere to the North of India. When they first left England the husband was very sea-sick, and the wife carried on a violent flirtation with another passenger and was also described as swearing and drinking. When the husband recovered she insisted on his shooting her admirer, and on his declining tried to shoot her husband. The captain, however, seized the revolver and shut her up in a second-class cabin. She was only allowed to dine with the first-class passengers on Christmas evening. Poor husband! I believe that he was quite a good fellow, but I do not know their subsequent fate.
We also had on board an orchid-hunter who had given up the destination which he had originally proposed to himself, because he discovered that a rival was going to some new field for exploration, and as he could not let him have the sole chance of discovering the beautiful unknown flower of which there were rumours, he set off to hunt him. All the material for a novel, if only the lady with the revolver had formed an alliance, offensive and defensive, with the orchid-hunter. Unfortunately we did not learn the after-history of any of these fellow-passengers.
We were warmly welcomed at Government House, Calcutta, by Lord and Lady Lansdowne. Lord Lansdowne, an old school and college friend of Jersey’s, had just taken over the reins of Government from Lord Dufferin. Lord William Beresford, another old friend of my husband’s, was Military Secretary, and Colonel Ardagh Private Secretary. Sir Donald Mackenzie Wallace, who had been so eminently successful as Private Secretary to the late Viceroy, was staying on for a short time to place his experience at the service of the new rulers. The aides-de-camp were Major Rowan Hamilton, Captain Streatfeild, Captain Arthur Pakenham, Captain Harbord, and Lord Bingham.
We found that the tardy arrival of our unfortunate Pundua had not only been a disappointment to ourselves, but, alas! a great grief to many of the Calcutta ladies, as it was bringing out their new frocks for the Viceroy’s Christmas Ball. I hope that it proved a consolation to many that the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal gave a ball at Belvedere two days after the ship came in, when no doubt the dresses were unpacked. Lady Lansdowne’s pretty daughter, now Duchess of Devonshire, was just out and therefore able to attend this ball.