Sketched on the spot by فاني پارکس
12th.—Went on board the “Wilberforce” steamer, which is going with the “Albert” and “Santon” on the Niger expedition. She has two engines, each of thirty-five horse power. The “Santon” has only one engine: the “Wilberforce” is flat-bottomed, but has a double keel, they tell me, that may be drawn up at pleasure. She is ventilated, but will be horribly hot in a warm climate—like an iron furnace. The life-buoy appeared a good invention. One of the officers showed me an absurd affair,—a small lantern to strap upon the chest of a man, to purify the air he breathes when he is exposed to a pestilential atmosphere. They showed me a number of bibles and testaments, which they said were in the Arabic character: judging from the slight glimpse I caught, it appeared to me to be beautifully printed Persian. The two Ashantee princes came on board with their tutor: they are intelligent, good-humoured, ugly Africanders, with large blubber lips and up-turned flat noses, and dressed like young Englishmen: how soon they will discard their tight trowsers and small sleeves when they get back to their own country! The crockery on board is shown to the lady visitors, who are expected to weep on beholding the appropriate design printed upon it:—a negro dancing with broken chains in his hands! It made me laugh, because there is much humbug in the whole affair—but it is the fashion. I was rather inclined to weep when I thought what would be the probable fate of the men then around, who were going out on the expedition to such a dreadful climate.
July 21st.—Having been recommended to visit the baths of Schwalbach in Germany, on account of my health, I started per steamer for Rotterdam and proceeded up the Rhine: after a most agreeable stay at Schwalbach, and my health having received benefit from its chalybeate waters, I returned to England.
Dec. 8th.—This day is over—I am once more alone—and what a day of agony it has been to me—my birthday! On this day I first beheld my beloved mother; on this day I have placed her in her grave!—have parted with her in this world for ever. My beloved mother has been placed in my father’s vault in the churchyard of that quiet and beautiful little chapel at Pennycross,—a tranquil and holy spot. O my mother! let me turn from your grave to the duties that are before me, and strive to act in a manner worthy of your child.
INDIAN NEWS.
Overland letters brought me the following intelligence:—
“1839, March 25th.—Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī sent a kharita to give me the glad tidings of the safety of the Gaja Rajā Sāhib, and the birth of a daughter; they are both very weak and thin, and her Highness is most anxious about her grand-daughter, as she can scarcely take any nourishment. They have named the child the Chimna Rajā, after the wife of Appa Sāhib.”
Holding rank by courtesy, as “Aunt of my grand-daughter the Gaja Rajā,” this newly-arrived young princess must be my great grand-niece, for which reason perhaps she honoured me by coming into the world on the anniversary of my wedding-day. It is remarkable the ladies of that family are oddly enough styled Rajā, and Rajā Sāhib.
Dec. 15th.—My relative at Landowr wrote to me, saying, “I had a very interesting letter lately from our friend Sturt, of the engineers, from Cabul: he has been appointed engineer to Shah Sūjah, and gets 1000 rupees a month: he had not heard of your being in England; but he begged to be kindly remembered to you. Here is an extract: ‘Give my best salām; I promised her a sketch of the Hills, which I have not forgotten, but never did one to my fancy; but she shall have one of Candahar, Ghuznee, and Cabul, and any thing else this place affords: would she like a lady’s dress? if so, I shall be obliged by her accepting it from me.’ I told Sturt you were at home, but would, I was sure, be delighted to get the sketches.”
How often after the death of Captain Sturt, who distinguished himself so highly, did I regret never having received the promised sketches, and concluded they were lost during the disastrous retreat from Cabul! In 1848, Mr. Hullmandel showed me the work published by General Sale, and told me the lithographs were from sketches by Captain Sturt; that the portfolio was lost during the retreat of the army, but was afterwards discovered and given to Lady Sale. With how much interest I looked over the drawings!—in all probability they were from the very sketches he had taken for me.