My first dinner at Government House appeared to me very imposing. The grand apartments were truly splendid. There was a magnificent display of plate—the countless native attendants were most brilliantly arrayed, and all the Oriental splendour round us was dazzling in the extreme. Yet with all this I sat without any dinner for some time, though every one else was being waited on by one or two of their own kitmutgars. Not one of these numerous servants offered to wait on me! At last the young lady who sat at my right asked me if I had no kitmutgar present. I told her I had not, as I was not aware that I could bring my servant to Government House. She then begged me to allow hers to wait on me, and told me that the custom was to take our kitmutgars to attend upon us, at all dinners or other parties.
CHAPTER XXV
LIFE AT CALCUTTA
Magnificent entertainments at Calcutta—Dost Mahomet—Wreck of the Ferguson—Preparations for Burmese campaign—Special favour shown to soldiers of the 50th Regiment
AT Government House the balls were really magnificent, and well worth seeing. The company, of English ladies and gentlemen and of military men in resplendent uniforms, was numerous, but scores of native princes and rajahs, and wealthy baboos in the most splendid dresses and covered with jewels, also constantly attended these brilliant assemblies and gave a wonderfully dazzling effect. The suite of dancing-halls was magnificent, with marble floors, and with dozens of punkahs constantly going to keep all cool and comfortable; and there the young and the gay danced at their ease and without the usual European exertion, from eleven until an early hour in the morning.
The most conspicuous and splendid person at all these parties was Dost Mahomet, the ex-ruler of Afghanistan, who was then a State prisoner at Calcutta. He and his numerous suite were paid the most marked and courtly attentions by the Governor-General, and always invited to every ball or dinner-party, and there, and everywhere else, he was received and treated with all the honours due to a sovereign, and he gained by his courtly manners and easy bearing the respect and goodwill of every Englishman who came near him. He always appeared amongst the crowd in his carriage, every morning and evening in the public course at Fort William, and was invariably saluted by every officer and Englishman, and all these greetings he returned with visible satisfaction. Many if not all the British officers would have gone further and called upon him to show their respect (for he was much liked by every one), but this was forbidden by a Government order, and none but natives were permitted to visit him; these visitors, however, were constant, many princes and rajahs from all parts of India coming daily.
About this time I was invited by the Governor-General to spend a few days with him at his country residence at Barrackpore, and on the first day of my visit the newspapers announced the arrival of a ship from Sydney. This was great news for me, for I made sure of a letter from my dear wife, and having said so to Lord Auckland, I begged to be allowed to take my leave. He most kindly pressed me to remain, and said he would dispatch a man at once for my letters; but I was too impatient, so after thanking them for their kindness I started in all haste for Calcutta, but on my arrival found no letter for me. This was indeed a sad disappointment, and my restless mind at once attributed this silence to the worst and most melancholy cause. After a trying suspense of six months, I received a letter from Major Serjeantson enclosing a long and cheering one from my wife, assuring me of our dear boy Acland’s recovery and perfect health, and that she and all the children were quite well and had removed to Windsor, where she had taken a comfortable house. I was again happy and most thankful, and my great desire was to write to my wife to assure her of my joy, and my gratitude to God. But there was then no prospect of any direct ship for Australia, so I was obliged to write via London.
My present letter, sent through Major Serjeantson, was written in April, three months after I had parted with my family, and it will be remembered that when we left Sydney that officer remained there with his own company and our sick then in hospital, and in expectation of receiving and bringing on to Calcutta a number of recruits for the regiment shortly expected from England. With these detachments and some young officers, Major Serjeantson embarked at Sydney on board the ship Ferguson at the end of April; but while coming through Torres Straits they were wrecked, and must have all perished, but for the fortunate chance of two other ships being in company with them. These followed the Ferguson, which took the lead through a narrow channel, and had just time to bring up and anchor when she struck, and immediately fired guns of distress. This happened before daylight, at four o’clock in the morning. The boats from the other ships were immediately sent to assist, but the sea began at once to break over the Ferguson, and for some time so violently that the boats could not and dared not approach her, and for a time they were obliged to keep at a distance, looking on only. At last, during a lull, they managed to get a rope conveyed from the Ferguson to the boats, and by that means another and another. Her long boat was then got into slings and hoisted over the side high up above water. Mrs. Serjeantson and all the women and children were put into it, and after a given signal it was lowered into the sea, the ropes from the other boats having been made fast to it, and then it was hurriedly hauled and dragged through the surf until it reached them in safety. After many cheers they were taken to the other ships and made, so far as possible, comfortable, but after that the sea became so rough that nothing more could be done that day, and in continued fear and suspense both parties remained watching each other until dark.
For the rest of that long sad night the agony and fears of both the rescued and of those more numerous ones still on the wreck may be imagined. It must have been a truly dreadful position. Happily, next morning the sea was more settled, but still too rough and dangerous for boats to go alongside, though by pluck and daring energy they managed to get in succession under the bowsprit of the Ferguson, from which man after man of the soldiers and crew were dropped into the boats without any greater accident than a heavy sea breaking occasionally over some of them. This was done from the duty muster rolls, every man in his regular turn and without any confusion, and my dear friend Major Serjeantson, and the captain, Verity, were the last who left the ill-fated Ferguson—all reaching the other two ships in safety. But they unfortunately lost nearly the whole of their baggage.
We had now been a few months in India, and some of our officers and many of our men were sick in barracks and in hospital, and a considerable number were suddenly carried off. Major Turner was the first officer who died, and was soon followed by Ensigns Kelly and Heaton. This was during the rainy season; when that passed away the regiment became more healthy.