CHAPTER XV.
It was the 9th of March when we reached Loodiana, having left Nowshera the last day of January, and here we were at what was then the terminus of the Indian railway. We got down to Agra in a couple of days, breaking the journey at Meerut to let the men have their rations cooked, and on the 13th of March we arrived at Agra, well pleased to have reached our final destination.
The general at Agra, having been sent home on sick leave, I got command of the brigade, which I retained till the 88th left the station on their way to England. Agra is a very pleasant quarter, and although the heat was great, yet we managed to keep our houses cooler than at Rawul Pindee during the hot weather. India is so well known now that I shall not minutely describe the early morning ride to welcome the only cool breeze in the twenty-four hours, which is wafted like flowers strewn in the path of the conqueror, the sun. Nor shall I dwell on the dark rooms and the kuss-kuss tatties fixed into the window-frames, and always kept wet by coolies dashing water on them. The sweet fresh perfume these scented grass shutters gave forth was quite delightful. The day passed quickly enough, and then, when the sun sank in the evening hour, the doors and windows were all opened, and we sallied forth, pale and exhausted, for a drive, to ‘eat the air’ on the Mall. The water-carts had laid the dust and created a fictitious coolness. Energetic young officers cantered past on their ponies to the tennis-court. The crows sat on the branches with their beaks wide open, and the green paroquets chattered merrily and flew past like a flash of light. On certain evenings the residents at the station met each other at the band stand, and listened to the regimental bands discoursing very good music. It was wonderful, however, how everyone plucked up as the evening went on.
We were very fortunate in our domestics, many of whom had been with me all the years I was in India. I never engaged any servant who could speak English, as those who can do so are generally the worst of their class. Our communication was necessarily limited, as I never mastered more of the Hindostanee language than was sufficient to give orders. One day I found on my dressing-table the following letter, evidently written by one of the men in the bazaar who made letter-writing a profession, and who no doubt had charged my house-bearer for the same:
‘Honoured Sir,—I humbly beg to inform your honour that my mother is so apprehended in a hard illness that she cannot sit and get, and my wife will bring forth after some days. Wherefore I most humbly beg to inform your honour that, if you kindly and graciously bestow upon me the favour of leaving, I shall ever pray for your long life and prosperity.—I am, sir, &c., &c., Thakur, bearer.’
Taking into consideration the lamentable state of his family, I bestowed the favour, and never saw Thakur again.
This letter reminds me of what took place at Cawnpore some years before. The young Rajah of Ulwar (since dead) arrived at Cawnpore with a large camp. The officers of the 88th wished to be civil to this young native prince, so a card was dispatched, worded in the usual form: ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Maxwell and officers 88th (Connaught Rangers) request the honour of his highness the Rajah of Ulwar’s company to dinner,’ &c., &c., &c. My feelings may be imagined when I received the following reply: ‘Moha, Rajah of Ulwar, and his company give thanks to you, and excepted the dinner this evening, but requests to distribute the rations to all men from the bazaar as Hindoo regulation, also we are meet with you this evening at seven o’clock, March 19th, 1864.’ The Rajah’s company consisted of several hundred followers, for whom I was expected to distribute rations in the bazaar! I forget how we got out of the dilemma, but we certainly did not provide food for the followers. The young noble came in a magnificent dress, covered with jewels, accompanied by about twenty of the most fierce-looking attendants, also arrayed in grand suits. His highness would eat nothing, but seemed to appreciate cherry brandy, and caused me some anxiety, as he insisted on drinking it out of a large claret-glass.
There are many interesting relics of by-gone grandeur in and near Agra. Everyone has heard of the Taj-Mahal, but no one who has not seen it can imagine the perfect beauty of this tomb. Built as it is of white marble, in a climate which does not tarnish the purity of the stone, it rises gracefully in clear lines from its surroundings of green trees against the blue sky. But night is the time to see it, and we were especially favoured when Lord Mayo paid his visit to Agra, and gave a garden-party among the flowers and fruit-trees of this most romantic spot. The guests were received in front of a temple in the gardens, from which there is a fine view of the tomb. Suddenly a flood of brightness came from blue lights lit upon the height in the background, and the Taj stood out clear and distinct in startling beauty. Every pinnacle and cornice of the exquisite marble of that most dream-like monument of love was seen for a moment, and, as the light faded away, the tomb glided back into a sepulchral gloom.
Near Agra there is a deserted city of palaces, called Futtehpore Sekri. We drove there one evening, when the moon shone clear and bright, and the air was cool and balmy. In five hours we reached the gates of this ancient place. There was no one to receive us, for there are no inhabitants. We took possession of Miriam’s palace, so stately, yet quite deserted. The moon shone on white marble walls, and the noise our servants made getting things ready for us re-echoed through the vast and empty corridors. During the night the sound of jackals’ hideous laughter was strange and uncanny, and the scream of some wild bird startled the listener; no one but visitors like ourselves had rested there for several hundred years, Futtehpore Sekri having been abandoned for that period.
When the morning broke, we wandered about among massive ruins, and everything looked different in the glowing sunshine; but still no living being was to be seen, we were the sole inhabitants of the palaces. I cannot attempt to give more than an idea of the forsaken city.