Our Moghul is mad, undoubtedly—a species of military madness, of pomp, ceremony, renown, and it is incredible to what an extent of frenzied excitement he has worked himself up. Among other acts of extraordinary folly, so at enmity with the cause of Christ and so calculated to sow discord between Hindoos and Mussulmans, is his dragging these old portals about called the Gates of Somnauth, a temple which once existed, but is now a Moslem ruin. He conjured up in his imagination that Hindoos would flock in myriads from every quarter of pagan India to sacrifice at the holy shrine of these memorable portals, whereas not a votary of Brahma ever, even out of curiosity, came to look at them, their history being obsolete among an ignorant people. Mussulmans are indignant at this attempt to degrade them in the eyes of those whom their swords subdued, and the holy Cross of Christ stands appalled, while all Christians shudder at this sacrilegious attempt to perpetuate the barbarities of Paganism by contributing towards its maintenance. The attempt has, however, been as futile as monstrous. Our course is not one to sow discord amongst those we have conquered.
Our united love to poor old Father and you all.
Harry.
Simla, June, 1843.
My dearest Alice,
The state of poor dear Father from your description is melancholy indeed. “Yet is their strength then but labour and sorrow.” Poor old man! an iron though never over-robust frame has enabled you to endure much, to struggle against difficulties, to contend with excitement, and to bear great bodily exertion. God’s will be done! All things must end, and our only prayer ought now to be, however painful the blow we must anticipate, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.” And we must add, “Almighty and most merciful Father, grant that he may receive Thy salvation.” “Beats the strong heart, the less the lips avow.” Heaven bless him!
Our m—d Moghul has started from Agra to Calcutta by order, we hear, of the Court of Directors. He therefore may be regarded as en route to Downing Street to encore his “song of triumph.” He is a fickle fellow, but has told me twenty times, “The moment I am not fully supported from home, I go.” He was always very kind to me.
Allahabad, 9th Aug. 1843.
A wish was expressed by Sir J. Nicolls, as also by Sir H. Gough, that I should proceed to meet the latter in Calcutta. In three days after the receipt of this wish, I and Juana started dâk, as it is called; that is, in a wooden box, a palanquin, somewhat like a giant sailor’s trunk, borne on the shoulders of four men by a pole projecting fore and aft, with four other men to relieve them, eight to each palanquin. The eight men are again relieved at about ten-mile stages. The pace is not rail-road; it averages three and a half miles per hour.