It was a beautiful night, and a beautiful scene; I enjoyed it extremely, and walked some distance, aided by my long paharī pole. Wishing my escort to partake in the pleasure to be derived from such romantic and picturesque scenery, I asked him if he would walk. He partially opened the doors of his palanquin, and looking out, expressed his astonishment at the madness of my walking in the Pass; said the malaria was so great he had shut the doors of the palkī, and lighted a cigar to secure himself from its influence, begged I would get into my palanquin, and keep the doors closed as long as I was in the Pass. I followed his advice, but the moonlight night often tempted me to open the doors, and I became completely ill at times from the chill that fell upon my chest, like the deadly chill of a vault, in spite of having wrapped myself up in a blanket. At first I was unwilling to attribute it to the effect of the air of the Keeree Pass, but having arrived at the end of it, these uncomfortable feelings instantly disappeared.
An instance of the danger of the Pass is, that Mrs. T⸺ was detained for two hours at the entrance of it, for want of bearers,—she took a fever and died. The wife of the behishti, who was with our servants, was detained at the same place,—she took the fever, and it killed her. To sleep in the Pass one night is to run the pretty certain chance of fever, perhaps death: there is something in the air that almost compels one to sleep. With the very greatest difficulty I kept my eyes open, even when in pain from a chilly sickness that had crept over me: I thought of Corinne and the Pontine Marshes, in passing which she could scarcely resist the spell that induced her to long for sleep, even when she knew that sleep would be the sleep of death. Quitting the Pass, we entered on the plains, where the sun was burningly hot—how fierce it was! We did not arrive at Dēobund, where we were to take shelter, until noon the next day; I felt sick and faint from the excessive heat, and was very glad to gain the shelter of a roof.
30th.—At 4 P.M. our palanquins were ready; getting into them was like going into an oven. We had taken the precaution of having no dinner during the heat of the day; in the cool of the evening refreshment was welcome, in the shade of the jangal by the road-side. The bearers were good, and at 2 A.M. we arrived at the spot, to which a buggy had been sent, and horses laid on the road: how gladly I left the hot palanquin for the cool air in the buggy! The roads were so bad, they were absolutely dangerous, and the moonlight so puzzling, we could not see the holes into which the buggy was continually going bump bump, to the infinite hazard of breaking the springs; nevertheless, we arrived in safety at Meerut.
Oct. 2nd.—The first thing necessary was to enjoy a good canter in the plains after having been obliged to ride a gūnth so many months in the Hills. On the well-watered course, of an evening, the band of the Lancers was an attraction; they played well, and the instruments were good. The band came out with us in the “Marchioness of Ely,” and I recognised some faces amongst them. Fearing to encounter the intense heat in a boat at this season of the year, and hearing that cholera was at some of the stations on the river, I determined to prolong my stay at Meerut.
8th.—Accompanied Colonel Arnold and Sir Willoughby Cotton to a review of the 16th Lancers; I was much pleased with the review, and the fine appearance of the men.
10th.—Revisited the tomb of Jaffir Sāhib,—one I particularly admire, because the dome is open at the top, that the dews of heaven and the sunshine may fall upon the marble sarcophagus, wherein repose the ashes of the saint. A tomb like this is preferable to weeping flowers, or votive cypress wreath; and such an one, canopied by the vault of heaven alone, would the pilgrim desire, as the lone couch of her everlasting rest. It is a ruin, but must formerly have been a beautiful building.
Returning home we saw two chiri-mārs (bird-catchers). Their game is snared in a novel fashion: they carry a sort of shield, made of light split bamboo, entwined with green boughs; they crouch to the ground, bearing this verdant shield before them, like a stalking horse, at the same time putting through it a very long thin bamboo, the end of which is covered with bird-lime; with this they touch a small bird, and then carefully drawing the bamboo back to the boughs, put a hand through the shield, and secure the game. This style of bird-catching is simple and ingenious; I never saw it before.
What vicious brutes the native horses are!—In the evening I was riding on the course with two gentlemen: Captain A⸺’s horse, a vicious, intemperate, great black animal, attacked mine, and lashed out most furiously. I threw my feet on my horse’s mane: luckily for me they were out of the way in time, for the horse’s heels cut through my habit, and would have broken my limbs had I not been sitting monkey fashion.
My companions were alarmed:—“My God, he has broken her legs!” was the first exclamation, followed by a laugh on seeing my position, and “at least if he has not kicked your habit, he has a habit of kicking.” The escape pleased me, and I refused to ride again in company with so dangerous a horse. He was a fine strong animal, and carried his gallant master nobly through all the hardships of the ensuing Afghānistan campaign. The country horses are horribly savage, and a frightful accident occurred at Allahabad. Serjeant Percival, who was riding with Serjeant Cunningham, dismounted to drink at a well, giving his horse to a cooly to hold; the horse broke from the cooly and attacked Serjeant Cunningham; tore his hand severely, broke his leg in several places, pulled him off his horse, shook him as a dog does a rat, knelt upon him, and tore him with his teeth: at length the horse was driven off, and the serjeant was carried to a hospital, where he died a few hours afterwards. When the 16th Lancers first arrived at Cawnpore, the privates as Waterloo men considered themselves superior to the 11th Dragoons, and when a man of the latter ventured to differ in opinion with the former, he was cut short by “When were you at Waterloo?” The enmity occasioned by this was done away with one day on parade. A Lancer, who was riding a vicious country horse, was thrown; the beast knelt upon the man and bit him fiercely. The Lancers looked on with astonishment; the 11th Dragoons, accustomed to such little accidents, had recourse to bamboos; they drove the horse away, and as one of them picked up the mangled Lancer, “Did you ever see the like of that at Waterloo?” said the Dragoon.—Thus was harmony established between the privates of the two regiments. The Lancers have a very good theatre: the plays are encouraged by the officers, and the privates have the whole management of it: the scenes, which are painted by the men, are very well done; their acting is good, and the band a great addition. The privates performed the “Iron Chest,” and “The Middy Ashore:” the delight of the men, and the enthusiastic manner in which they applauded their comrades, when any thing pleased them, was quite amusing. After the play, the performers came forward, and sang “God save the Queen.” By way of adding to the effect, on either side the stage was placed a Lancer in full uniform, leaning on his sword, with his lance in one hand. This was a fancy of the privates. The two men might have stood for pictures of manly beauty; their attitudes were excellent, the effect was good, and their comrades were so much delighted, they gave them a round of applause. The management of a theatre is an excellent occupation for soldiers in a hot climate.
13th.—Crossing a nālā this morning during an excursion in search of the picturesque, my horse got into a hole, and we were very nearly thrown over, both together, into the stream. I gave him his head, and let him extricate himself, waiting patiently the result of his sagacity. He carried me out completely soaked, and strained his hind leg in gaining the bank.