“25th Jan.—I have written out a ‘draft scheme of the Deccan University,’[12] and posted it to Salar Jung with a letter for the Nizam. I am satisfied with it. Also I have written a letter to Gordon about his mission to the Soudan, which was announced in the telegrams two days ago. I consider that he will certainly come to grief if he holds to the opinion he expressed to me last year about the necessity for Egypt of retaining Khartoum. I have a letter of Eddy Hamilton’s in my possession now, saying that he, Gordon, was considered in Downing Street to be out of his mind. But time works strange revenges. All this, with about a dozen other letters, I wrote yesterday.
“My letter to Gordon is as follows:
“Delhi, 24th January, 1884.
“My Dear General,
“I feel obliged to write to you about your mission to the Soudan. I see it announced to-day by telegraph, without explanation of its object, but I cannot wait till more definite news arrives, and I desire to warn you. It may be you are going there to make peace between the Mahdi and our troops in Egypt, to acknowledge his sovereignty in the Soudan, and arrange terms for the evacuation of Khartoum. If so, I can only wish you God speed. It is a good work, and you will accomplish it. But if, as I fear it may be, from the tradition of some of those in power, the object of your mission is to divide the tribes with a view to retaining any part of the country for the Khedive, to raise men for him, and scatter money, it is bad work, and you will fail. It must be so. Neither your courage nor your honest purpose, nor the inspiration which has hitherto guided you, will bring you success. I know enough to be able to assure you that every honest Mohammedan in Egypt and North Africa and Arabia sympathizes with the Mahdi’s cause, not necessarily believing him to have a divine mission, but as representing ideas of liberty and justice and religious government, which they acknowledge to be divine. For this reason you will only have the men of Belial on your side, and these will betray you.
“I beg you be cautious. Do not trust to the old sympathy which united Englishmen with the Arabs. I fear it is a thing of the past, and that even your great name will not protect you with them. Also consider what your death will mean: the certainty of a cry for vengeance in England, and an excuse with those who ask no better than a war of conquest. I wish I could be sure that all those who are sending you on your mission do not forsee this end. Forgive me if I am wrong in my fears; and believe me yours, very gratefully, in memory of last year,
“Wilfrid Scawen Blunt.”
“To-day we spent in visiting the great monuments south of Delhi, in company with the Loharos and Prince Suliman Jah, who organized the expedition. We breakfasted at Humayum’s tomb, over whom our friends the Loharos said prayers, he being their ancestor, not Prince Suliman’s. It was touching to see this, and to notice a little offering of withered flowers on the tomb of a man so long dead. We went to the top of the monument. Prince Suliman, who is well read, or rather well learned, in history, gave us the story of Humayum and his dynasty, and pointed out to us on the Hindu fort the tower from which his great ancestor fell while looking at the stars. They brought him here and buried him, and his widow raised this pile, under which the rest of the members of his family lie. Thirty-five emperors and kings of Delhi lie buried, he told us, within sight of where we stood. Parrots were building in the chinks of stone; but there are guardians still of the tomb. It was here that later the last King of Delhi fled, and was taken by Hodson, with his two sons, while they were praying, and on the way back from here that he shot the young princes, our friends’ uncles. We asked him whether they had been brought back here to be buried, and he smiled sarcastically. They were thrown like the corpses of dogs into the street in Delhi, and none knows where they now lie. The King himself lies buried in Rangoon. From this we went across to the beautiful mosque and more beautiful tombs of other ancestors, and of a dead Persian poet, which we found decked with fresh flowers. Our friends talked all the while of these dead heroes as still living, and, when the young Loharo exclaimed ‘This country is full of poets and kings and learned men,’ I, for a moment, thought he meant at the present day. But it was of those under ground he was talking. The living people of the place are only poor guardians of the tombs who live on alms.
“With the Kottub I was less interested—though we climbed to the top—and mourned with our friends the decay around us. It is here that the bloodiest of all the battles between Hindus and Moslems was fought, 200,000 being slain. We talked of Tamerlane, and I denied he was a Moslem, but my friends warmly supported his character in this respect, and said he was a friend of the Seyyids, though they knew of his cruelty and savage conquests and his pyramids of skulls. But he, too, was their ancestor. With the Prince we talked in Arabic. He is a Shahzadeh through his mother, the daughter of the King of Delhi, and he is great grandson of the Emperor Akbar.
“Coming home, while we were changing horses, I talked to them of the university, about which they enthusiastically promised to busy themselves. It appears that Ikhram Ullah, being Seyd Ahmed’s nephew, had told them nothing of this scheme. They spoke strongly against Seyd Ahmed as a ‘nature worshipper,’ not a Moslem, and the young Loharo will get up the Committee here at Delhi. This visit took the whole day, and we only got back to our hotel at sunset.