The China bazaar! What Bengalee, military man in particular, who does not know that attractive resort—that repository of temptations! What a host of pleasant recollections it is calculated to revive!
This place is situated at the back of Tank Square, and is enclosed by walls, and entered by gates, at several points. The shops are in long flat-roofed ranges, generally of (I believe) two stories, intersecting each other at right angles; a margin of terrace, a foot or two from the ground, runs along the front of the several shops or stores. Sheltered here and there by an eave or thatched projection, seated in chairs, cross-legged, and in other un-English attitudes, quite at their ease, and smoking their pipes, the baboos, or shopkeepers, may be seen, each opposite his emporium, into which they invite the numerous visitors to the bazaar to enter, assuring them they will find everything they may want “chip,” and of the first quality.
As Grundy and I sauntered down one of the streets, we were struck by the appearance of one of the native shopkeepers, who, with an air of courtier-like urbanity, invited us to enter his store. In stature, he was about six feet three or four, stout in proportion; a muslin chudder or toga was thrown over his shoulders, and a piece more round his waist, but slightly concealing his brawny form; altogether he was the finest-looking Bengalee I ever beheld; indeed, I thought it a pity such thews and sinews, so well calculated for the tug of war, should be lost in the inglorious inaction of the China bazaar. This worthy I afterwards learnt was that celebrated character “Jawing Jack,” well known amongst cadets for his copia verborum and dignified address. Nature and destiny had evidently been at cross-purposes in the management of Jack; the former had clearly intended him morally for what he was physically, a great man, but his stars had thwarted the design.
Jack rose from his chair as we drew near, overshadowing us striplings with his Patagonian bulk. I, for my part (being then what is vulgarly called a “lathy chap”), felt myself disagreeably small beside him, doubly so he being a “black fellow,” and thought I was under the necessity of speaking pretty big, in order to make up for the deficiency, and to place myself more on a level with him. “Jawing Jack” had had large experience of griffs, and, though he treated us in a kind of patronising manner, he cautiously avoided anything that might lead to offence, and a consequent lowering of his own dignity.
There is a sly satire sometimes in the calm and imperturbable deportment of the Asiatic, when dealing with the rattling, blustering, overbearing European, which conveys a tacit censure well calculated to shame our boasted civilization. “Lately arrived from Europe, gentlemen, I suppose? Hope you are quite well? Will you please do me the honour to walk into my shop—shall be happy to supply anything re-qui-red, at very reasonable price. I have honour to be well known to all military gentlemen at Barrackpore, and sell best of European articles, and no ‘Niverpool[[11]] goods.’” Having rummaged “Jawing Jack’s” shop, and bought a few articles, we took our departure, promising at parting to honour him with our future custom.
The Bengalese have a wonderful deal of versatility and acuteness, certainly not naturally the mental power and energy of the European; but as they live temperately, and do not clog the intellectual wheels with beef and malt liquor, the mental machinery is generally in capital working order.
On returning to my quarters, I found a chupprassy, or messenger, with a note from General Capsicum, acknowledging the receipt of a letter I had sent him from his friend Sir Toby Tickle, and requesting my company to tiffin and dinner on the following day, at his house at Garden Reach.
A little before the appointed hour, I ordered a palankeen, and proceeded to the general’s residence, situated in a pleasant domain, some two or three miles from Calcutta. On arriving, I was shown up-stairs into the drawing room, which commanded a pleasant view of the Hoogly, with its moving scene of boats and shipping, and a distant peep of Fort William.
I was standing gazing on the prospect, admiring the boats under sail gliding from side to side, walking as it were the minuet of the waters, the shadows skimming over the river, and the milk-white villas on the opposite bank starting out from amidst the bright green of surrounding groves, when the rustle of a gown and a slight touch on the shoulder aroused me from my state of abstraction. It was the young widow of whom I have already made mention, “the softened image” of the rough old general, my Hibernian host.
“How do you do, Mr. Gernon?” said she, extending her hand with exceeding frankness and smiling cordiality; “I am so glad to see you again and not looking in any way the worse for your sojourn in Calcutta.” (Oh! that our English pride and sensitiveness, those adamantine trammels of caste, which strangle so many of our virtues, would let us have a little more of that single-hearted openness “which thinketh no evil”—it is so comfortable!) “Have you seen my father yet?” asked Mrs. Delaval, for that was her name.