In one corner of the Fort we saw a group of natives, who were being admitted in parties through a gateway, and conducted by a sepoy through a subterranean passage. Down this we went, and found ourselves in a crypt underground, quite dark, and with walls green and mouldy from the trickling damp. By the light of the sticks, laid in a brass pan of oil, we saw some hideous deformities representing gods, smeared with red paint, and many mahadeos, set up amongst the pillars of this underground temple. As we turned round one of the arches in wandering about, a weird picture appeared to us. Before a burning brazier crouched some figures, illuminated by its fitful light. The flames caught the reflection of the tinsel and gaudy decoration, lighted up the brass-headed god behind, and showed the branching trunk of a tree. This is the old banyan-tree, at least 1500 years old, and which is still worshipped by the natives. We contributed our quota to the little pile of money already spread out before the god.
During the Mutiny the Europeans took refuge in the Fort, where many of them died of cholera and privations.
Allahabad is a favourite military station, though the heat reflected from the surrounding plains is terrific in summer. Once more we explored its dreary lengths of road, of which we learnt there are no less than seventy-nine miles in the city and immediate suburbs. We passed the Memorial Hall to Lord Mayo, whose tower, with that of the Town Hall now building, are prominent landmarks in the surrounding flatness, and returned to Lawrie's Hotel to breakfast.
We left Allahabad at noon, and travelled through the rich valley of the Doab, 100 miles, to Cawnpore. Leaving Cawnpore to visit on our return journey, we changed to the Oude and Rohilkund, a miserable line of railway, and arrived at Lucknow late at night.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE SCENES OF THE INDIAN MUTINY.
Thursday, January 22nd.—Lucknow has been given by the natives the pretty name of the "City of Roses."
It is needless to say that on this our first morning in Lucknow, our steps were naturally directed to the Residency, before whose grand and grim remembrances the gimcrack beauty of the palaces, the mosques, and the tombs, pale into uninteresting insignificance.
A bright, chill October morning it was, and I say October because, added to the keenness of the air, the leafless and withered branches of the trees gave to Lucknow an autumnal look. The terrific storm of hail which passed over the city fourteen days ago, and which during its five minutes' visitation played such havoc amongst the trees, has stripped and left them leafless.
