I explained to her the opinions of the English on such subjects: our ideas appeared as strange to her as hers were to me; and she expressed herself grieved that I should omit what they considered a duty.
27th.—I called on the ex-Queen of Gwalior, and took leave in all due form; the dear old lady was very sorry to part with me,—the tears ran down her cheeks, and she embraced me over and over again. I was sincerely grieved to part with her Highness, with whom and in whose camp I had passed so many happy hours, amused with beholding native life and customs, and witnessing their religious ceremonies. The next day she sent me the complimentary farewell dinner, which it is the custom to present to a friend on departure: I partook of some of the Mahratta dishes, in which, to suit my taste, they had omitted musk or assafœtida; the cookery was good; pān, atr, and rose-water, as usual, ended the ceremony.
Those ladies who are kind enough to support and educate the orphan children of natives, are startled at times by curious occurrences. A lady at this station lately married one of her orphans to a drummer in the 72nd regiment, and gave twenty rupees as a portion; the man was drunk for about a week; in a fortnight he made over his wife to another drummer, and in a month came to the lady, saying, “If you please, Ma’am, I should like to marry again.” “Why, John Strong, you were married a few days ago!” “Yes, Ma’am, but I made over she to my comrade.” Imagine the lady’s amazement and horror! The man John Strong went away, and told his officers he thought he had been very ill-used. The man was a half-caste Christian, the girl a converted native.
The famine in the north-western provinces has been occasioned by the almost entire failure of the usual rains. Government has done much in giving employment to those who can work, and food and medical aid to the sick; and more than a lākh of rupees has already been raised by private subscription on our side of India, and they are subscribing for the same purpose very liberally in the Bombay Presidency. Allahabad luckily has escaped, but every sort of grain is very dear, and large farm-yards like ours are somewhat costly. During the time of the famine the natives sold their children in order to save their lives; and large numbers of the unfortunate Būndelās, the natives of Būndel-khand, arrived at Allahabad, famished and dying; subscriptions were raised, and the poor wretches were supported by charity. A most excellent and religious lady at the station proposed sending to the up-country, where the famine raged the most severely, and purchasing ten young girls; these girls she undertook to bring up in the Christian religion, to teach them reading, writing, and needlework, and on their attaining a suitable age, to put them into service as ayahs to European ladies. The ladies at the station entered into her plans, and I agreed to buy and support two girls as my share. A calculation was then entered into as to the expense that would be incurred; I told her, “The other day, a Būndelā woman came to my door with twins in a basket, which she offered for sale for two rupees! I was greatly surprised; the little naked creatures sprawling in the basket were in good condition, but their mother was a skeleton. ‘Two rupees!’ said I, ‘that is a high price; I will give you one rupee for the twins, if you give me the basket into the bargain.’ The poor woman, delighted at having found a purchaser on any terms, laid her children at my feet, and making many salāms, thanked me for having saved them from death. I took them into the room where my husband was sitting, and laid them on the table as a present for him: he laughed, and gave me some money for the woman. I returned the twins, and sent her to the place where the Būndelās are supported by the contributions of the station.”
Having heard this history, my friend wrote to a clergyman up the country, who purchased for us ten girls, all under eleven years of age, and sent them down; the market for children was looking up; he charged us the enormous price of ten rupees apiece! They were placed in a comfortable house, with a school-mistress to instruct them; every care was taken of them, and the ladies of the station attended the school, and superintended their morals. It certainly flourished to a very great degree; they studied the commandment, “increase and multiply and replenish the earth,” with so much assiduity, that in a short time all the little girls were in a fair way of becoming mammas;—a circumstance perfectly inexplicable, unless they had eaten the seeds of the peepul-tree:—a peasant girl in Hampshire declared the same effect was produced by eating water-cresses. It was an annoying failure, that experimental school of ours. Speaking to an officer in the 16th Lancers, of the care that had been taken of these girls, of the religious instruction that had been bestowed upon them, and the disheartening finale of our charitable labours, he said, “In that dreadful famine hordes of wretched famished Būndelās flocked into Cawnpore, and very liberal subscriptions were collected to feed them; great numbers, however, perished from hunger, and mothers offered their children for sale for one rupee each: several were bought by very well-intentioned persons, to be educated, and converted to Christianity. Some little time after the Būndelās had disappeared from the station, I happened to be dining with an old friend, who, in the evening, asked if I would accompany her in her drive to the bungalow where these children were being educated to form ladies’ maids, as she had a favour to ask of me, that I would that evening stand godfather to twenty-two of these children; I declined the honour, and some months afterwards heard that these children would shortly require godfathers and godmothers for their own offspring, should they bring them up as Christians.”
The enormous pillar now prostrate near the entrance gate of the Fort at Allahabad is to be set up on a pedestal, on an ascent of steps, and surmounted by a lion couchant. Colonel Edward Smith is entrusted with the performance of the work. The natives call it Bhīm Singh kí lāt—that is, Bhīm Singh’s walking-stick. The hajjām (the barber), whom I consulted on the subject, says he was a great pahalwān (wrestler): further I know not.
Seneca says, “It is harder to judge and examine than to take opinions upon trust; and therefore the far greater part of the world borrow from others those which they entertain concerning all the affairs of life and death.” In the present instance, like the world in general, I take my opinion of the pillar upon trust, and firmly believe in all the barber asserts; more especially, as some of the inscriptions on the lāt are in unknown characters; those of the mighty dead, who have disappeared from the earth, leaving records imperishable but incomprehensible. The Bāiza Bā’ī was very anxious to erect this pillar at her own expense, and I believe made the offer to the Lieutenant-Governor. She also wished to build a fine ghāt at the Trivenī, which, in conjunction with the magnificent one she was then building at Benares, might have carried her name to posterity.
28th.—My friend Mrs. B⸺ and her four children arrived; she is to accompany me to Calcutta: and a Manis has been sent me to add to my collection.
Dec. 1st.—We quitted Allahabad, and proceeded down the river, calling on those friends en passant of whom I wished to take leave. At Mirzapore the head of a ravine deer was given me. Off Patna a quantity of arwarī fish were brought alongside for breakfast; they were delicious; the remainder we had smoked in shakar and chokar—that is, coarse sugar and wheat bran: let no one neglect this economical luxury,—the smoked arwarī are delicious.
17th.—Both the boys being very ill of fever, we hastened on for medical assistance. At night, as Mrs. B⸺ was quitting my boat to go to her own, passing down the plank, it upset, and she was thrown into the river; it was as deep as her waist; the night was dark, and the stream strong; she was saved by a bearer’s catching her gown as she was sinking; fortunately the bearer was in attendance, carrying a lantern. The rest of the people were on the shore eating their dinners, which they had just cooked. I called to the dāndīs to assist, not a man would stir; they were not six yards from her, and saw her fall into the river. I reprimanded them angrily, to which they coolly answered,—“We were eating our dinners, what could we do?” Natives are apathetic with respect to all things, with the exception of rupees and khānā-pīnā—that is, “meat and drink.”