My dear Young People,—When I last wrote to you, it was in the midst of the hot season; now it is a little cooler, but not much, and we have been through dreadful times since then. Though I don't often write to the Post-office Box, I love dearly to read all the letters the children send to it.
Our baby wasn't very well in the dreadful hot weather, and so mamma and I had to take him to the hills, where it is cool and nice. Of course we took his nurse and the khansaman (housekeeper) too; the rest of the help we get there, because we keep house just the same as here. Papa couldn't go, because the paper has to be printed, if it is hot, and they can't get it ready without him, so we went alone to Naina Tal. Mamma says Tal means lake, and Naina is the name of a goddess that people thought (in the old days, you know, when they had goddesses) presided over the lake.
All through the rainy season, which begins the last of July, it had rained much more than usual; and one night the men around were up all night, turning the course of a stream that had swollen so they were afraid it would carry away some of the houses. So mamma was a little afraid to stay, and we were going home, and had engaged our dandies (a little like a kind of chair) and men to carry them, and were going to start the next Tuesday. It began to rain Thursday afternoon. It was the 16th of September, I remember, because baby was a year old that very day, and he had a new dress and lots of toys, and was just as cunning as he could be. But it rained hard all night, and the next day it was so dark mamma had to sit close to the window to see to write to papa. I never saw it rain so hard right straight along in my life, and I asked mamma if she didn't think it must look like the flood, and she said, Perhaps. After a while I went to bed and to sleep; but some time in the night mamma came and woke us all up, and said the room was filling with water. She dressed me, and nurse dressed baby; then the other people in the house came in, and mamma was so scared she didn't know what she was doing, and rolled up all her clothes and shoes and stockings in the bedding. The windows and doors were burst in, and we had to try to get somewhere, but even mamma didn't know where to go. But one of the men carried me, and nurse took baby; and the stones hurt poor mamma's bare feet so that two of the jhampanis carried her, and in the pouring rain we went to find Mr. Buck's house. We finally reached there, and had hardly dried ourselves before it was light, and the men thought that house would go too; so we all made another trip, this time to the chapel, and still it rained as hard as it could pour. I told mother I really thought it was another flood, and we'd better try to get up higher. But she said the higher we went, the worse it would be; if we could only get off this dreadful hill, we might be safe. Then I said again something about the flood, for I couldn't get it out of my head, it all looked so like the picture in the big Bible—people going about wringing their hands, and trying to get somewhere safe, men carrying children, half-dressed women, and all the while the rain pouring down as if it never would stop. Mamma stood stock-still, and took hold of me. "I tell you, child," she said, "God has promised—promised, do you hear?—never to drown the world again." So I said no more, and really felt better; for if everybody was not drowned, there might be a chance for us. We stood on the chapel veranda watching Mr. Cheney and Mr. Fleming trying to turn the course of one stream away from Mr. Cheney's house, when a great mass of stones, sand, and water took them off their feet quick as a flash. Mr. Cheney caught hold of the low roof of his house, and Mr. Fleming caught him, and they were saved from being carried over the side of the hill. We had hardly time to catch our breath, and not time to say a word, when the trees began to tremble, and loose rocks to shake, and in another minute the whole hill-side rushed past us, and the hotel, assembly-rooms, shops, and stores were carried right into Naina Tal. More than one hundred and fifty people were carried with them—some that we knew, and had laughed and talked with only yesterday—without time for one word to anybody, rushed straight to death. Oh, it was terrible! Our fence was taken, too, and we could not stop to think, for we had to plan to go somewhere. I never cried one word. I only opened my eyes wider, and looked at mamma. She was just as pale as anything, and I heard her say, "I can't—I can't die this way!" I never thought; I only kept saying to myself, "God won't let there be a flood. He won't let it." Then Mr. Cheney came and said we must go. So we started down the Mall. Mamma took hold of my hand, but finally one of the men snatched me up and carried me; and when we came to a broad stream, I heard mamma say, "Jat Ram" (he is one of our jhampanis that carry us about the hill), "give me your hand." "Get on my back, Mem Sahib," he said; and mamma was in too much of a hurry to think, and hung on to him any way. I wanted to laugh, she looked so funny; but somehow there wasn't any laugh in me. Finally we came to a house, and went in; it was a Mr. Kelley's. We were dreadful tired—nothing to eat, and up all night. The men thought we were as safe there as anywhere we could get, so we dried ourselves. Pretty soon—about eight—we had dinner. We were so faint we would have eaten, I think, if the rain had carried us away the next minute.
It did not stop raining till Sunday night, and the next Thursday we started for home. Some of the bridges were gone, but we crossed over in boats, and Saturday morning got to Lucknow.
Wasn't papa glad to see us! The Lal Bagh mission girls had been in and trimmed the house to welcome us, and we went over to the boarding-school to breakfast. Papa said "that it just poured sixty-six hours—almost three days—and in that time thirty-three inches of rain fell—almost three feet." Then he showed me on the wall how high that would be; and you just measure yourself, and you'll see such a lot of water washing down a mountain-side must do something.
But I've been writing too long, so good-by.
Jennie Anderson.
P.S.—Mamma says I ought to say, as nearly as they know now, forty white people and one hundred and fifty natives were killed.
We would like to exchange beryl, mica crystals, and garnets from Connecticut, or shells, coral, and sea-beans from Florida or California, for fine specimens of minerals, particularly from Lake Superior or Northern New York. Our collection is a good one, and we would like good exchanges. We have also some curiosities, and could arrange exchanges for several different things.
Willie R. Corson and Charles E. Brainard,
137 Washington Street, Hartford, Conn.
The following exchanges are also desired by correspondents:
Sea-beach pebbles from New Jersey, or stamps, for ocean curiosities, minerals, foreign postage stamps, or anything suitable for a museum; or a New Zealand stamp and five kinds of English stamps, for an Indian arrow-head.
Clarence R. Williams, 4811 Hancock Street,
Germantown, Philadelphia, Penn.