In the morning I stopped at a dak-bungalow for breakfast. The word dak means post or stage, and the bungalows are inns for the accommodation of post-travelers built by government at distances of about twenty miles apart. They are of one story, and usually contain some half dozen apartments for sitting, dining and sleeping, besides dressing- and bath-rooms. These bungalows are under the direction of a khansamah, or native butler, who hires a small corps of servants to attend the wants of travelers. If you bring provisions, the khansamah will have them cooked for you, or he will supply you with a limited bill of fare, charging for each dish according to an official scale with which every bungalow is furnished. Any traveler can obtain rooms in a dak-bungalow during twenty-four hours, for which he must pay one rupee (fifty cents), and no one can claim shelter for more than this period should the bungalow be full or should other travelers arrive.
On the afternoon of the following day we reached the foot of the hills and the terminus of the shigram travel. The Himalayas in view were bold and sharp in outline, and densely wooded to their very tops, and my route lay directly over the nearer range, which was something more than a mile in height. You may ascend the foot-hills by palanquin or pony. For the former, previous application is necessary, as relays of bearers must be arranged on the road. There are eight bearers, four of whom carry you at a time. They have two movements—a sharp trot, and a long even step as a rest from the regular gait—but neither is very enjoyable to the occupant of the palanquin after a few hours' trial. They relieve each other every half mile. The stages are about eight miles in length, at the end of each of which an entire new set of bearers is obtained. On comparatively good and level roads these bearers will average four miles an hour: in ascending or descending steep mountains the rate of speed is of course somewhat less. I chose a mountain-pony, a wiry and vicious little fellow, and engaged a coolie to carry my baggage to a village thirty miles distant for the grand recompense of one rupee.
Soon after starting I met people of both sexes who were neither Hindoos nor Mohammedans, but bore a strong resemblance to the Chinese. The men were short, stout and muscular, and their faces wore a stolid and almost stupid look, which was not at all improved by their long black hair or by their filthy garments and persons. The women, however, were rather good-looking, not concealing the face as in the plains. These people were natives of Nepaul and Bhotan, independent states of India. After a ride of five or six miles I passed a terai, a great jungle infested by tigers and elephants; so at least my companion, a devout follower of the Prophet, informed me. This terai consisted of rank grass fifteen feet in height, thick underbrush and some few huge trees; and so dense was it that a passage could only be made with an axe. It is always advisable to pass through such places during the daytime. At Kurseong there was a good hotel, the Clarendon, kept by an old New Yorker, who told me he had left America fifteen years before, and during that period had traveled all over the world, had made a great deal of money in Western Africa in the palm-oil trade, and had finally "settled down" (or rather up) in India. He started the first tea-plantation in the Himalayas, and is reported to be worth at present more than a million rupees.
The coolie, a Nepaulese, carried my baggage up the mountains at a sharp trot, and reached the hotel but two hours after my own arrival. It was a wonderful exhibition of strength and endurance. The distance was thirty miles and the weight of the burden nearly eighty pounds. The hill-tribes, breathing a cool and invigorating air, are alone equal to such displays of vigor and endurance. Some time afterward, in going to Simla in the Western Himalayas, I employed coolies who were possessed of the same wonderful stamina as these Nepaulese. They were splendid-looking men, shorty but thick-set and very muscular, with olive-brown skins, piercing black eyes, long glossy hair and regular and handsome features. One of this class of men (Hindoo hill-tribes) will carry thirty seers (sixty pounds) upon his back, or twenty-five seers upon his head, up the hills for fifty miles, without rest or food, in twenty-four hours; his charge for which is but one rupee—a special instance of the astonishingly cheap labor of all India.
The road ran the whole distance on the face of almost perpendicular hills, and for the greater part of the way was guarded by a low wall on the dangerous side. The scenery was most grand, and I already felt well repaid for the arduous journey from Calcutta. Some views were, however, rather frightful. Imagine a ride on the very brink of a precipice thirty-five hundred feet in depth, with the hills rising abruptly on the other hand twenty-five hundred feet in height above you. The tops of the distant and lofty mountains were all hidden in the clouds, but the scenery of the valleys beneath one's feet was very beautiful. The immense fields of tea planted in rectangular rows, the dark-green and dense foliage of the forests, with here a planter's dwelling or a factory glistening in the morning's sun, and there perhaps a little silvery waterfall or a bubbling brook, and great black shadows cast by the clouds, made a truly impressive picture. And yet, though already on hills more than a mile in height, I had only gained this altitude in order to obtain glimpses of much higher and grander mountains, nearly a hundred miles distant.
Just before reaching Darjeeling there is a military cantonment, where some troops are stationed for the active duty of protecting Her Majesty's northern Indian boundaries. The officers' residences and the barracks are situated on the top and upon the precipitous sides of a small hill, and bridle-paths wind between, and flower-gardens and ornamental trees are to be seen grouped about each dwelling. Darjeeling is distant about three hundred and fifty miles almost due north from Calcutta, of which it is regarded as the sanitarium, though, owing to the hardships of the journey from that city, the more distant Simla is quite as often resorted to by the invalided officials, merchants and troops of Hindostan. The feasibility of building a railroad to Darjeeling has long been discussed, and it appears that the engineering difficulties, though great, can nevertheless be overcome; but no active steps have as yet been taken toward the attainment of so desirable an object. The European residents of the town of Darjeeling number about fifty, and there are perhaps four times as many tea-planters in the surrounding country.
The next day being Sunday, and the day on which marketable supplies are brought into town for the whole week, the proprietor of my hotel took me to see the bazaar. It much resembled others visited in and near Calcutta, but I was surprised at the variety of European vegetables offered for sale: there were peas, onions, potatoes, squashes, lettuce, radishes, turnips and many kinds of grain, including that peculiarly Yankee "institooshun" pop-corn. The bazaar was held out of doors in a public square, with a few shops of dry goods around, and a most terrible din arose from the motley crowd there assembled. In one place a number of soldiers from the cantonments were bidding on some glassware offered at auction, and in another mothers of families and khansamahs were bustling about engaging their necessary household supplies. Here was a wretched beggar, with a grotesque mask on his face, dancing before some of the merchants, who gave him a few potatoes in exchange for his contortions. The people embraced Hindoos, Mohammedans, Bhoteeas, Nepaulese and Sikkimites, and presented every variety of dress and figure, having seemingly but one feature or possession in common, and that was a very prominent display of unclean skin and raiment. The Nepaulese women wore bracelets and necklaces of Indian coins, besides silver anklets, finger- and nose-rings, gold earrings and beads, and each had also suspended from her neck a silver snuff-box. These boxes were three or four inches square, made of the purest metal, and handsomely carved and embossed.
At Darjeeling I learned that my plan of traveling to Lhassa was not feasible—that the Talé Lama ("sea of wisdom") and the great palace, and a city whose three productions, according to Chinese travelers, are lamas, women and dogs—many of whose streets are lined with houses built of ox and rams' horns; and a people whose mode of salutation is by uncovering the head, thrusting out the tongue and scratching the right ear, and whose manner of disposal of their dead is by cutting the corpses in pieces and giving them to "sacred dogs," raised and nurtured in convents for the express purpose—would have to be known only through the reports of others. The Thibetan traders in Darjeeling reported that the Pugla Diwan of Sikkim had become a great man in Thibet, and had seized everything en route from Lhassa during the year, and, having stored all in huge warehouses, would allow nothing to pass into Sikkim and Bengal. Previous travelers and missionaries had all of them entered the country in the disguise of priests or of Chinese or Mogul traders, having a knowledge of the Thibetan or some allied language; and even then so greatly fearing detection as to be unable to learn very much of the condition and capabilities of the land or the habits and usages of the people. That foreigners should be so rigorously excluded from Thibet is doubtless owing to Chinese influence—to the fear and jealousy of British power and possession in the East, the southern boundaries being rigorously guarded by a cordon of Chinese garrison-stations on the highlands of the Himalayas.
I might approach nearer, or perhaps ascend the great mountain Kanchinjinga, which is about fifty miles distant from Darjeeling, though there are no roads over or around the intervening hills, and the journey would have to be undertaken on foot, and tents, provisions and a large retinue of servants would be necessary. And then, at best, but the snow-limit or a little higher could be reached (hardly two-thirds the distance to the summit), and therefore the interest of the trip would scarcely compensate for its hardships. Instead of this, the proprietor of the hotel proposed a little excursion on horseback into Sikkim, the country of the Lepchas. It is ten or twelve miles to the bottom of the valley, and the road (or rather bridle-path) winds around the hills forward and back, but constantly descending, until at length the Rungeed River is reached. Some of the precipices were frightful to look over, and I clutched the reins tightly, braced myself in the saddle, and almost held my breath as the pony trotted quietly along a path three feet in width and often lying at an angle of 45°; but there was no danger, unless it might perhaps be from the sliding away of part of the road, since the ponies are mountain-bred and very sure-footed. The views were extremely grand, and the distances from peak to peak so immense that the mind was almost lost to detail. Much of the land is cleared of forest trees and covered with tea-plants: cinchona also is cultivated, and with great success.
The Rungeed is a small mountain-torrent, a branch of the Peesta, which latter empties its waters into the great Brahmapootra ("son of Brahma"). It serves as a boundary-line between Bengal and Sikkim. Crossing this stream at a height of about thirty feet, there is a bamboo-cane suspension bridge three hundred feet in length, which was built entirely by the natives. It is intended for foot-passengers, and will safely support a dozen people at a time. It consists of sixteen bamboo canes, of the size of the finger, on either side. The bottom is formed of three very large stems of bamboo, and a sort of wickerwork extends from these upward to the supporting canes, which are about six feet from side to side, and may in crossing just be grasped by the hands. The bridge has a peculiar oscillating motion, which increases so much at the centre, together with an up-and-down movement, that, with a sight of the fiercely rushing water beneath, the traveler's head is apt to become giddy.