WALLED VILLAGES.
As we travelled we saw many things which drew our attention and excited our interest. Most of the villages along our route were surrounded by high mud walls, and had only one entrance by a great strong gate, which was shut at night, reminding us of the insecurity from which this part of India had emerged when it came under British rule within the memory of men then living. Villages thus fortified, if sufficient watch was kept, were quite secure against the sudden raids of Mahratta horsemen, or the attacks of robbers, to whose unwelcome visits they were always exposed. The former state of insecurity was also suggested by the number we met armed to the teeth, by shield on the breast, sword at the side, and matchlock on the shoulder. The insecurity had to a great extent come to an end, but the habit of going armed continued.
Along the road at convenient distances there were Suras for the convenience of travellers, which people in England, when speaking of Eastern lands, call Caravanserais. These are generally open spaces, surrounded by mud walls, with sheds at their sides for people who are willing to pay a very trifling sum for the luxury of sleeping under cover, and, if they like, for having their horses near them. Carts and oxen are always in the open. Sellers of grain and wood are always there with everything native travellers require. If a bedstead—a low four-footed article with rope for its bottom and mattress—be preferred to the bare ground, it can commonly be procured for three-halfpence for the night. When in the evening we were near these places we went to them, and saw the poor weary travellers setting to the preparation of their simple meal—with most the only cooked meal of the day—with apparently as great contentedness as we have when after a fatiguing day we reach an hotel, and, having given our orders, know that speedily we shall sit down to an ample repast. Many of these Suras have been built at the expense of well-to-do natives impelled by different motives, for love of name—nam ke liye, as the natives say, a motive for which their countrymen continually give them credit—for the acquisition of religious merit, and from benevolent feeling. These places are called Dhurmsalas, places erected by righteous, good men.
"WELLS OF SALVATION."
On this our first long journey in the country, we were impressed by the amount of traffic we saw on the road; and this impression was deepened on future occasions. We seldom travelled a few miles without seeing carts drawn by bullocks and laden with goods. We saw rows of camels, walking in single file, each attached to the one before and the one behind by a string. These belonged chiefly, though not exclusively, to Afghans, and were laden to a large extent with the products of their country. Every now and then we came across elephants, sometimes with a stack of tender branches on their back, which form a large part of their food, and at other times with persons seated sometimes on a howdah, sometimes on a pad. There were many foot-passengers, not a few with heavy loads on their heads. When these came in sight of a well, how quickly did they step up to it, throw off their burden, drop into it their brass vessel attached to a string, draw it up, and take a long, deep draught of the precious water! As I have observed them I have thought of the words, "With joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation." To these poor toiling people the wells did appear wells of salvation. On some days we met bands of persons—chiefly men, with a woman here and there among them—with bamboo rods across their shoulders with a basket at each end, their travelling gear in and on one basket, and a vessel with Ganges water in the other. Thousands of these pilgrims travel every year over Northern India, going from one shrine to another, and pouring on certain images the water of the sacred river.
In our journeyings we had a singular immunity from thieves, a greater immunity than we had in our house at Benares, which was several times visited by these unwelcome intruders, though we always kept a watchman. All over the North-West, I suppose all over India, thieves abound. Whole tribes have for generations followed theft as a profession, and have betaken themselves to honest work only when compelled by finding their occupation perilous. They have had as their associates the idle and dissolute of other castes. Tents, as I have observed, are commonly pitched in shady groves, and in consequence admit of being approached unobserved, and a sharp knife in a skilful hand can easily secure an entrance on any side. Travellers have piquant stories to tell of the cleverness and impudence with which their property has been taken away. A missionary friend of ours awoke one morning to find that during the night everything in his tent had disappeared on which thieves could lay their hand. We had a large experience of tent life, but we have happily no story to tell about any similar loss. I do not remember our having had even a night alarm, though I well remember the difficulty we often had in preventing our guardians from sending forth unearthly cries, which made sleep impossible. My habit was, wherever we halted, to make my way to the headman of the adjoining village or town, and to place our encampment under his care. We were generally told there were thieves in the neighbourhood; we were sometimes told they were numerous and daring. We always stated our readiness to pay for watchmen, and we told the headman that if he did not send trustworthy men we should hold him responsible. We thus paid a sort of black-mail, but we thought the small sum paid well expended as insurance for the safety of our property. Some travellers take watchmen with them. This we never did, as we thought ourselves safer in the hands of men on the spot. Many a time as we lay down in our tent did we think how strange it was that, far away from our European brethren, in a strange land among a strange people, we could compose ourselves to sleep with as little fear, and with as strong a feeling of security, as if within locks and bars in our own country. We thought, with thankfulness, that we were under the ægis of our own government, even when we were in places where Englishmen were seldom seen, but where, notwithstanding, our prestige was fully recognized.
At all the places through which we passed on our first long tour, Allahabad, Cawnpore, Futtygurh, Mynpoorie, and Agra, we were treated with the utmost kindness by the American and English missionaries, and by other Christian brethren, some of whom have been life-long friends ever since.
THE BUILDINGS OF AGRA.
We were interested in all the places we saw on this tour; but Agra—Akbarabad, as natives always call it, the capital of Akbar, the most remarkable emperor who ever ruled over India—had for us, as for all who have visited it, peculiar attractions. When at some distance from the city we saw glistening in the sun the lofty dome and the still loftier four minarets or towers of the Taj Muhal, that wondrous mausoleum of the purest marble, built by the Emperor Shah Jehan for a favourite queen. On our arrival we lost no time in going to it. On subsequent visits to Agra we renewed our acquaintance with it, and on every new occasion its exquisite beauty and lofty grandeur enhanced our admiration. We also saw the Motee Musjid, the Pearl Mosque as it is called, built of marble, and called the Pearl Mosque, as I suppose, on account of its beauty and symmetry; the grand tomb of Akbar at Secundra, six miles from Agra; and other objects of interest. I am not to attempt a description of these world-famed buildings of Agra. They have been often described, and by none perhaps better than by Bishop Heber in his journal, which is now little read, but which gives a more graphic and accurate account of the parts of India he visited in 1825 than any I have seen elsewhere. Of the Taj and other grand structures of the Muhammadan emperors, he says they look as if "built by a giant and furnished by a jeweller."
While deeply interested in much we saw in this tour of 1842-43, on it, as well as on all subsequent tours, our great evangelistic object was kept steadily in view. On this occasion I was accompanied by a catechist. In the early afternoon, when we might hope to meet people released from the work of the day, we repaired to the neighbouring village. Often we found a large tree at the entrance to the village, with a stone seat close to its trunk, and on it we sat down. If there was no such seat a small native bedstead was often brought—such a thing as a chair was unknown—and we were asked to sit, while the people politely stood, till at our request they sat, which they can well do on their haunches. We entered into conversation with those who gathered around us. We asked if there was any pundit, any learned man in the village; and if there was we were happy to see him come, as we knew the people would look on us with less suspicion if he was present. In many places they were so unaccustomed to the sight of Europeans that they looked on us with a mingled feeling of curiosity and fear. We tried to put them at ease by speaking about something in which we knew they were deeply interested, such as their fields and crops, and as soon as we well could we made our way to the subject of religion. We read those passages from our Scriptures which we thought most fitted to arrest their attention. We aimed at setting forth the great facts and truths of revelation with all the simplicity, conciseness, and earnestness we could command. We repeated what was not understood, or was misunderstood, and endeavoured to make it plain by familiar illustrations.