11th.—The second day of the races; the Auckland Cup was to be given to the winner. The cup was of silver, the design remarkable, and very beautiful. It was sketched by Miss Eden, and executed in good style by Messrs. Pittar and Co., jewellers, in Calcutta. The winning horse came in well: twenty yards beyond the post, as the jockey attempted to pull him up, the horse dropped and died instantly. The cup was awarded to the dead horse. It was a piteous sight.
15th.—Accompanied Mr. W⸺ and a party over his racing stables: the sight of the racers all ready for the contest in the morning was pleasing. We then visited a number of imported English and Cape horses that were for sale.
In the evening I drove to see the far-famed Bengālee idol, Kalī Mā’ī, to which, in former times, human sacrifices were publicly offered; and to which, in the present day, and in spite of the vigilance of the magistrate, I believe, at times, a human being is offered up;—some poor wretch who has no one likely to make inquiries about him. The temple is at Kalī Ghāt, about two miles from Calcutta. The idol is a great black stone cut into the figure of an enormous woman, with a large head and staring eyes; her tongue hangs out of her mouth, a great broad tongue, down to her breast. The figure is disgusting. I gave the attendant priests a rupee for having shown me their idol, which they offered with all reverence to Kalī Mā’ī. The instruments with which, at one stroke, the priest severs the head of the victim from the trunk are remarkable.
16th.—A cup of silver, given by a rich Bengālee, Dwarkanath Tagore, was run for: the cup was elaborately worked, and the workmanship good; but the design was in the excess of bad taste, and such as only a Baboo would have approved. It was won by Absentee, one of the horses I had seen in the stable the day before, contrary to the calculation of all the knowing ones in Calcutta.
17th.—The inhabitants of Calcutta gave a ball to the Miss Edens. I was too ill to attend.
30th.—Dined with an old friend at Alipūr, some two miles from Calcutta. The coachman being unable to see his way across the maidān (plain), stopped. The sā’īses, who were trying to find out where they were, ran directly against the walls of the hospital; the fog was so dense and white, you could not see a yard before you; it made my cough most painful, and the carriage was two hours returning two miles.
Feb. 4th.—I spent the day at the Asiatic Society. A model of the foot of a Chinese lady in the collection is a curiosity, and a most disgusting deformity. The toes are crushed up under the foot, so as to render the person perfectly lame: this is a less expensive mode of keeping a woman confined to the house, than having guards and a zenāna—the principle is the same.
Having bid adieu to my friends in Calcutta, I prepared to return to Allahabad, and took a passage in the Jellinghy flat. The servants went up the river in a large baggage boat, with the stores, wine, and furniture. I did not insure the boat, insurance being very high, and the time of the year favourable. The horses marched up the country.
March 6th.—I went on board the Jellinghy flat, established myself and my ayha in a good cabin, and found myself, for the first time, located in a steamer. She quitted Calcutta in the evening, and as we passed Garden Reach, the view of handsome houses in well-wooded grounds, which extend along the banks of the river, was beautiful. The water being too shallow at this time of the year for the passage of the steamer up the Bhaugruttī, or the Jellinghy, she was obliged to go round by the sunderbands (sindhū-bandh). The steamer herself is not the vessel in which the passengers live; attached to, and towed by her, is a vessel as large as the steamer herself, called a flat, built expressly to convey passengers and Government treasure. It is divided into cabins, with one large cabin in the centre, in which the passengers dine together.
7th.—We quitted the Hoogly and anchored in the sunderbands. The sunderbands is a large tract of low muddy land, covered with short thick jungle and dwarf trees. It is an assemblage of islands, the tides flowing between them. A more solitary desolate tract I never beheld. We anchored where three streams met, flowing in from between these low mud islands. When the tide turned in the middle of the night, the steamer swung round on the flat with a crash; several times the two vessels were entangled in this manner; the steamer drove in one of the cabin windows, and it was some time ere every thing was right again. Exposed to the power of the three streams, she was never quiet, never at rest: the children cried, the ducks did not like to be killed, and the vessels were wrestling together for hours—an unquiet night.