Jan. 1829.—In the beginning of this month, having promised to meet Captain A. S⸺ at the races at Ghazeepore, we started by land, having sent tents and provisions by water to await our arrival. A violent headache preventing me from mounting my horse, I proceeded in a pālkee, much against medical advice, and slept half-way to Benares, in our tents.
Rising late the next day, we had a hot ride before reaching the Stanhope, where we learnt that our pitaras had been stolen. My husband rode forward in pursuit of the thieves, leaving me seated by the side of the road; the sun becoming very hot, I got into the buggy, overcome from my recent illness, the sā’īs holding the horse. I was startled from a doze by the sound of the bells of a native cart passing with flags flying; the horse alarmed sprang from the sā’īs’s hands, pulling away the reins, which fell to the ground; away galloped the horse, a strong animal fifteen hands high; he looked down the steep ditch on one side the raised road, turned round, looked over the ditch on the other side, made one more sudden turn in alarm, and upset the buggy. I was thrown head foremost through the opening in the back, my limbs remaining under the buggy-hood, which was broken to pieces; the horse fairly kicked himself out of the shafts, and galloped off; I was glad when I found he was free, and knew he could not break my legs, which were still under the hood: at length I dragged them out, with my long habit-skirt, and made an attempt to go after the horse, but was obliged to sit down—blue and yellow suns, stars, and bright objects floated before my eyes—I was unable to stand: my dressing-case having been thrown out of the buggy, I drank some sal volatile, which took off the giddiness. My husband returned at this moment, and an officer from some tents near at hand came to our assistance. The Stanhope was carried forward by coolies; we had a Calcutta buggy also with us, in which we proceeded. The road was covered with the finest sand, rendering it impossible to see the deep holes in every direction. The horse, a powerful English imported creature, was going very fast, when he put both his fore feet into a deep hole, and came down; the high Calcutta buggy swung forwards with such force I was pitched out over the wheel on my head, and remained insensible for a few seconds. My husband was not thrown out. He was unable to leave the frightened horse; it was a relief when he heard a voice from the dust, saying, “I am not hurt;” a voice he feared he should never hear again. The bruises I had before received, united with this blow on my head, which cut through my riding-hat, made me very nervous; and when at the last stage we had to drive a run-away mare, laid for us by a friend, I really sat in fear and trembling. At last we arrived at Benares. I was carried up-stairs to bed, my limbs being stiff and painful. For ten days I could scarcely move, so much was my body bruised by the iron rail and hood of the buggy, and my right arm was greatly swollen.
My recovery was brought about by having four women to shampoo me for five hours daily, and by going into a vapour-bath belonging to the Rajah of Benares. In the bath the women shampooed, and twisted, and pinched my limbs, until I could walk without assistance—that vapour-bath was a great relief.
One morning the rajah sent me a bouquet of flowers, they were beautifully made of ubruk (talc, mica) and coloured wax, the first I had seen well executed.
My husband at the billiard-table, said: “I am uncertain respecting that stroke, I wish A⸺ S⸺ was here.” “Do you not know he is dead?” said his opponent, “he died in consequence of his fall with that Arab pony at Papamhow.” We were greatly shocked.
Jan. 29th.—We quitted our kind friends at Benares to return home: ill-luck pursued us—the first stage the horse fell lame, and we reached our tent with difficulty. During the night a heavy storm came on; the tent being old was soon saturated, and the water poured in on our chārpāīs. The horses picketed outside were drenched, they neighed and shook their chains; the sā’īses crept under the corners of the rāwtī, and we had the floorcloth put over us, to protect us from the rain and cold.
The next day we galloped to our second tent, which we found soaked through from the rain of the night. There was the tent, and nothing else. One of the camels having fallen lame, the servants had made it a pretext for not continuing their march, and we were planté in the jungle without food, bedding, or warm clothing! A camel-driver caught a chicken, and drawing out a long queer crooked blade, killed it, and dressed an excellent curry in a few minutes; having had no food all day, and much exercise, we devoured it to the last grain of rice. I thought of the saying, “If you ask a hungry man how much two and two make—he answers, ‘Four loaves[42].’” The night was miserable, the wind blowing through the wet canvass; we could not even borrow a blanket from the horses, everything was drenched. A pukka ague and fever was the consequence, which lasted seven or eight days, and returned regularly once every four weeks for three months.
Nor did our misfortunes end here. Much to the surprise of my husband, his Arab Rajah, whom he had had for seven years, threw him over his right shoulder. Rajah was particularly pleased; for having looked at him, he cocked his tail and went off at his best pace towards home. Monsieur was not hurt, and received only a few bruises for his carelessness, which, considering he now weighs fourteen stone, shows that, like Cæsar, he has much respect for his person and can fall in proper form.
Another malheur! a box from England on its way up the river was stolen at Patna; it contained letters and presents for me, amongst the rest a veritable tête montée à la Giraffe, a serious loss, qui pourrait bien faire monter la tête—but I bear the misfortune bravely.
The arrival of a friend from England has pleased us greatly. What pleasure reminiscences Etonian and Harrovian give him and the sāhib! “Economy, esperanza, and 1833,” is our motto. “In five years,” says an old Harrovian, “we may hear the bell and going up—sounds worth listening to.”