It seems probable, therefore, that the old system of punkahs will be found, for a long time to come, the most efficient and economical; but their form, construction, and mode of pulling have been the subjects of much discussion. As to the form, the committee above mentioned recommended, after a variety of experiments, that the punkah should be a rectangular framework of wood and canvas, 12 to 18 inches wide, with a heavy fringe 18 to 24 inches deep; that a system of punkahs should be rigidly connected so as to swing evenly without jerking; that the best effect was produced when they moved through an arc of 5 feet, with a velocity of 2½ feet per second; that no machine had been brought to their notice equally effective and economical with a man’s arm, but that a heavy pendulum, if properly connected with a series of punkahs, might be useful to ensure regularity of swing.
The number of machines or contrivances for pulling punkahs, of which models, drawings, or sketches were forwarded to the committee, was extraordinary. A few were ingenious, but complicated and apt to get out of order; the majority were designed by men ignorant of the first principles of mechanics, who thought that a pendulum was a prime mover, or that the weights of a clock wound themselves up.
Much of what I have said above in regard to barracks applies, of course, to other buildings as well. As Government engineers, you may have, besides barracks and their subsidiary buildings, to build or repair court-houses (commonly called kucherries), rest-houses of various kinds on roads or canals for the accommodation of the establishment, possibly a museum or a college, or a lieutenant-governor’s palace; and chapels and churches. In all these buildings the executive engineer is often called upon to prepare the original design, and if he has any architectural skill, may have an opportunity of distinguishing himself. As I have already hinted, I cannot say that we have succeeded in our attempts at Anglo-Indian architecture. The leading idea a few years back was, apparently, that a barrack was the unit, or standard, or germ of all architectural designs; that a barrack was necessarily a rectangular parallelogram with four walls and a roof; that the addition of a stuccoed Grecian portico, with a cross and green venetians to the windows, produced an excellent Roman Catholic chapel, and that if you wanted a Protestant church, you had only to omit the cross and add a tall, square tower. However, we have grown beyond that now, and produce excellent copies of Gothic churches, which would be very nice if they were not so hot; and in some of the Bombay public buildings, there has been a considerable amount of originality in the adaptation of the Gothic to Indian requirements. There is, however, still plenty of room for any young candidate for architectural honours to develop original talent in this direction. I would only say to him, for goodness’ sake try to be original, and don’t be content with slavish copies of buildings erected in Europe four or five hundred years ago for a totally different climate. If you cannot be original (and doubtless the genius of originality is given but to few), then study the noble specimens of Eastern architecture that are still left to us, both in India and other eastern countries, and strive to comprehend the meaning and intent with which that style was designed; you may then catch something of the spirit of those great builders, and produce something at least suitable to the climate and the country, and creditable to the taste, which does not form a grotesque excrescence out of harmony with everything around it.
Private houses are almost invariably one-storied in Upper India; the rooms are at least 20 feet high, with numerous doors opposite each other, and small windows above for ventilation purposes. Each bedroom has always a bath-room attached to it. A verandah runs all round the house. The roof is either flat and covered with stucco supported on beams and joists; or it is pitched and covered with thatch, which is much the cooler arrangement. The floors are of polished lime, called chunam; the doors are double; the walls are white or colour-washed—never papered, as it is difficult to get the paper put on properly, and it is apt to peel off in the rains. But there is no reason that it should do so; and I strongly recommend you to get a practical lesson in paper-hanging and wall-colouring and painting before you go out, for you will find the knowledge exceedingly useful; it is simply impossible to get that kind of work done out of the Presidency towns.
Such buildings as racket-courts and swimming baths you may also have to erect occasionally; but I don’t know that there is anything special to say about them, except that the former are always open, with white walls and black balls, and that the front wall should look to the west, so that you may be screened from the sun in the evening. Of course you can have a morning court on the other side, if the station is rich enough to afford it.
Every executive engineer is supposed to be consulting engineer and architect to the public generally, and the civil authorities of the district in particular, and if the magistrate is an energetic man (as he generally is), you may have to prepare designs for market-places, serais (or resting-places for native travellers), municipal offices, clock towers, and the like; and if you are of a mechanical turn, you may be sure that you will be consulted about the machinery employed in the jail manufactures, where you will find some mechanical appliances that will considerably astonish you.
The Water Supply of a range of barracks is, as a rule, derived from wells, which indeed is the only practicable course in the very flat plains of Upper India. The water is generally good and wholesome, and the supply sufficient. This is, indeed, the general source even for all Indian cities. In only a few have proper waterworks been as yet constructed, by which a supply can be delivered under pressure. Even in Calcutta, the works are not yet completed.
The question of a proper water supply for native towns is daily assuming more and more importance, especially since it now seems pretty clear that there is a close connection between impure drinking water and that terrible scourge the cholera. Waterworks have been designed and carried out in the case of a few important towns like Poona, but the majority of towns cannot afford to pay for expensive conduits, filtering beds, pumps, and reservoirs, while they might be able to pay for simpler schemes. In these as in other similar cases, I would impress on you the necessity of mastering principles and thinking out of a groove—I don’t mean neglecting details, but turning your attention to what is essential, and ignoring what is merely accidental.
For the privies, the dry-earth system of conservancy, common all over the East, is universal, and, if properly carried out, is no doubt the best and healthiest. Such a system, however, it is almost impossible to work properly in a large crowded city, and there is no doubt that a regular system of sewers is greatly to be desired in such cases. That of Calcutta is only partially completed. In Bombay and Madras, complete schemes have been devised, but I believe are not yet commenced. The cost of such works is again the obstacle, as well as the prejudices of caste among the people; the want of surface fall in so many cities is also a difficulty, as great expense would have to be incurred for pumping.
There are no Gas Works except at the Presidency towns, and as coal is only found in a few places in India, other cities must wait until some one can devise a mode of manufacturing gas cheaply from vegetable oils, which seem the most practicable source of supply in India. The subject is an important one.