[C]Woolwich.
[C]Woolwich.
We gain one little good by this war. The army cannot muster at Ferozepore till the 20th of November, and Sir G. R. wishes G. not to meet Runjeet Singh till he can escort him at the head of 10,000 men, so that gives us three more cool weeks here, and takes off three very hot weeks of the plains. The heat subsides about December. F. and I shall be the only ladies in the whole camp. All our own ladies stay up here, bored to death to be without their husbands, but they would be still more bored if they had to drag their children through another long march. Besides, there are great difficulties this time for tents, carriages, &c., and then it is to be hoped we shall make a much shorter journey, and come up here again.
It has rained without ceasing since I wrote last—an excellent thing for India, and not so unpleasant for us as it sounds.
When I say ‘without ceasing,’ it very often stops raining for half an hour in the afternoon, and then the drip and the fog do not count.
We all get on our ponies the moment it is fair, and go cantering past each other, saying, ‘How delightfulto be out again,’ and ‘I think we shall get wet’—and then that is enough exercise for two days. It is supposed the rains are breaking up now, as we have had three fine evenings, one of which we devoted to dropping in after dinnerfamiliarlyat the Commander-in-chief’s, to have tea and a rubber of whist.
Don’t you see how free-and-easy that looked? Three jonpauns—like upright coffins—rushing rapidly through the bazaar, with a long train of torch-bearers and hirkarus and three aides-de-camp, in full uniform, all ‘dropping in.’ G. and I, and Sir G. R. and Colonel U., always play at whist, and the others at a round game which is much livelier. I rather like whist, and think it will be one of the small vices of my old age.
I have been doing a quantity of drawings for the fancy sale. I wish you could buy some. There is a Mr. —— here who draws beautifully, and he is doing a picture for me of three of the fattest objects in nature—my pony, Chance, and Chance’s boy. I do not mean Chance’s own man, but his footboy, the boy who cleans his shoes and whets his razors. He was one of the skeletons whom the servants picked up in the starving districts, and, like most of those skeletons, the reaction has been frightful, and the little wretch is such an extraordinary figure, particularly seen in profile, that he makes everybody laugh. It will be a curious picture; and I never saw anything so well done as the pony.
I mentioned our fleas to you, I think, in my last letter. They are worse than ever, and bestow their liveliest attentions on W. and me. For the last threenights we have neither of us had any sleep, and the more the rooms are cleaned and worried the livelier the fleas are.
We want some new books. I am sure Mr. Wilberforce’s Life will be ‘sweet pretty reading.’ I have just re-read Mrs. Hannah More’s Life; that is a jewel of a book both for amusement and for good. I like it much better than I did the first time; and now I have taken for my morning book in bed (I always wake early) dear Madame de Sevigné for the 117th time. It is a very affecting book amongst other merits. She was such a good, warm-hearted woman, and was not loved enough. I wish she was not dead and was here! We rather want more letters about the fashions. I am quite certain, from the unmitigated hatred I feel to the tight bit at the top of my sleeves, that you have all got rid of it, and are swaggering about in the fullest of sleeves again. Indeed, if you are not, it would be only benevolent to say you are!
Letter to J. C., Esq.
Simla, Wednesday, Aug. 22.
This is to be really a short letter, for I have sent off so many that I have not the fraction of a new idea left; but I feel it my duty to encourage you in your excellent habit of writing. The letters do not come, on account of the monsoon; but still I feel confident, from my intimate knowledge of your character, that yoursisan excellent habit of writing, when the monsoon does not set itself against it.
I think it has rained incessantly since I wrote toyour mother last, and most people have passed their time in mopping up the wet in their houses, but ours has behaved like an angel, and since the first day has never had a leak. The roofs here are all flat, and made of mud beat into a stiff consistency; but when the raindoesget through, the drippings are of a muddy nature. Captain M., after moving into every corner of his house, used to write under an umbrella; and Captain B. and his companion Dr. S. have dined every day in their house with umbrellas held over their heads and their dinners. Still, I do not dislike the rain so much as most people do. There is often a fine half-hour before sunset, in which it is easy to take a canter, quite long enough for the exercise of the day; and whenever it is not actually pouring, the hills are perfectly beautiful and the evening skies are not amiss. Then it is always cool, and people should make much of that blessing. We had an arrival two days ago of a box of new books; that is, new to us. You may remember them in the early part of the reign of Victoria the First, but the pleasure of seeing them is very great. I have read all our old ones (and we have a great collection) at least three times over, even including the twenty-one volumes of St. Simon, which I read once on board ship and now again here; and it certainly is a wonderfully amusing book. I must have begun it again if the box had not appeared. To think of our only having yet received in this legal, direct manner, the eighteenth number of Pickwick! We finished it six months ago, because it is printed and reprinted at Calcutta from overland copies. Mais, je vous demande un peu—what should we have done, ifwe had waited for the lawful supply, to know Pickwick’s end? I see you are making a great fuss about copyrights, &c., which I cannot understand, as we see it only by bits and scraps; but I beg to announce that I am entirely for piracy and surreptitious and cheap editions, and an early American copy of an English novel for three rupees, instead of a late English one at twenty-two shillings. ‘Them’s my sentiments’ for the next three years at least. As it is, I am reading with deep attention ‘Lady Annabella,’ by the author of ‘Constance,’ which was, I remember, a remarkably pretty novel; and so is this, only the heroine will call her mother ‘My lady.’ I keep hoping it is a joke, and pretend to laugh every time it occurs, but it looks frightfully serious at times. Perhaps the fashion of calling one’s mother ‘My lady’ may have come in, though, since my time.
All our plans have come into shape, and rather satisfactorily. We shall not leave this till the first week in November, when the great heat of the plains will be over. We are to meet Runjeet on the 20th, or thereabouts, at Ferozepore, when also the army will be assembled under Sir G. R.
There will be a review of the army before it goes down the river; and though we talk of our interview taking only a fortnight, everybody says we shall be kept there a month. That will luckily not leave us time for a very long march, and the probability is that we shall only go to Agra, and come up here again in March.
Simla, Sunday, Sept. 2, 1838.
THISis your birthday, and an excellent reason for starting again in my Journal. I wish you a great many of them, dearest; only please to be economical, and don’t spend them lavishly, till I come home to be with you.
We have not done much since my last Journal went. We had a meeting of ladies to settle about the fancy sale, which was easily done, as before they came I wrote a paper of proposals and they all read it, and said it would do very well; and if we can only find anything to sell, I dare say we shall sell it very well. It is to be held in a very pretty valley called Annandale, and G. gives some silver prizes to be shot for by the Ghoorkas, and M. is trying to get up some pony races. The only novelty I suggested was to ask the wives of the uncovenanted service (the clerks in public offices) to send contributions. This was rather a shock to the aristocracy of Simla, and they did suggest that some of the wives were very black. That I met by the argument that the black would not come off on their works, and upon the whole it was considered that we should not lose consequence, and might be saved trouble, by sending a printed paper round to each of their houses. I have done a quantity of drawings, which Mr. C. is to sell by auction. The rainstill continues, but not so unceasing as it was, and as it lets us get out and prevents our giving balls, I think it a very nice time of year.
Wednesday, Sept. 5.
I have had Mr. D.’s June letter, which is always satisfactory, and is one of thosegentlemanlikeepistles (I don’t meangenteel, but pithy and to the point, and like a gentleman in contradistinction to a lady) that make most eligible letters in these foreign parts. G. always opens and reads Mr. D.’s letters to us before we see them, because he says he gets so much news out of them. Rather cool! What do you think I ought to do about it? Mr. D. and I might have secrets of vital importance, which G. might let out—very unpleasant!
Friday, Sept. 7.
There was such a beautiful plate-chest to be raffled for at the ‘Europe shop’ here—everything that life could require—silver tea-pot, cream, sugar, forks, spoons, bottle-stands, cruets, &c., and all so pretty. W. took two tickets, and I one, and there were only 26 tickets in all—5l.each—so it is a great shame we have not won; but it was thrown for yesterday, and Mr. C. has got it. I am glad, for he wanted it, and is quite delighted.
There was a second prize, of a clock, which I could haveput up with—but did not get it; and a third, of a looking-glass, which nobody wanted, and which Dr. D. won, and now he does not know what to do with it. I advise him to bring it home some dark night, and throw it into the valley behind his house. It mayamuse the monkeys, who live there in tribes, and can be of no other use.
No looking-glass in India hasmuchquicksilver, but this happens to have none at all, except a few slight streaks here and there.
Saturday, Sept. 8.
You cannot imagine how beautiful our weather is, since a storm on Wednesday, which cleared up the rains. Such nice clear air, and altogether it feels English and exhilarating; and I think of you, and Eden Farm, and the Temple Walk, and Crouch Oak Lane, and the blue butterflies, and then the gravel-pit, and your reading ‘Corinne’ to me; and then the later days of Eastcombe and our parties there, with G. V. in his wonderful spirits, with all his wit, and all the charm about him; and all this because the air is English. Ishouldlike to go back to childhood and youth again—there was great enjoyment in them.
Monday, Sept. 10.
We had a large congregation yesterday, and an excellent sermon from Mr. Y., whose health, however, does not improve. I have made such a collection of drawings for the fancy sale—reallyvery good. I am sorry to say it, for it may sound vain, perhaps is vain; but I persist in thinking them good drawings, and I cannot help thinking you would buy some of them.
Mrs. Chance, with her twins, came to visit Chancepèreto-day. He was very polite to his wife, but could not endure the young puppies. I am not surprised, for they are nearly quite black, with a little white, but no tan, and with vulgar, greasy, smoothhair. However, they are only ten days old, and babies, as you know, alter rapidly.
Thursday, Sept. 13.
We had such a nice expedition yesterday afternoon; just the sort of thing your children would have enjoyed (only you never let them come out with menow). It was to see two waterfalls, and in Simla, where water is bought at great expense, we make much of a few pailfulls that fall gratis over a rock. The valley is about 3,000 feet below our house, very Swiss, and quite different from the hills—such large cedars, and here and there a little Swiss-looking cottage, with one door and no window. I always wonderhowignorant of the ways of the world the inhabitants of these solitary valleys can be, and how such ignorance feels. No ‘crafty boys,’ no fashions, no politics, and, I suppose, a primitive religion that satisfies them. There are temples of great age in all these places. I imagine half these people must be a sort of vulgar Adams and Eves—not so refined, but nearly as innocent.
F. and I were carried down, and rode part of the way up, and when there, we clambered about some wonderful places, and I have not laughed so much for ages. There was a cave to go to, and a smooth rock to descend. G. and Captain J. got me safely to the bottom of the rock, and there we stopped to see Major U., Dr. D., and F. follow. They got half-way, clinging on, by a chain of the servants, to a tree at the top, and then they could get no further. The waterfall made such a noise, that we could not make them hear that there was nothing, in fact, to come for; and theirhesitations, and scramblings back again, very nearly killed me. Luckily there was nobody left below to laugh at my return. The jonpaunees made steps of themselves, and I ran up a flight of jonpaunee-stairs very decorously. We are all so stiff to-day, not having walked so much for three years. ‘My bones, girl, my bones!’ (see ‘Romeo and Juliet.’) I wonder whether old Mrs. Davenport has died since we left England. What an actress she was!
Monday, Sept. 17.
There! I skip three entire days, for my whole soul is in England, and this letter must go to-day. This morning there came a knock at the door at seven, and Rosina brought me your July letters, with E.’s enclosed. I had scarcely digested those, when the Calcutta dâk came in, bringing to me your June despatch, which ought to have come with the other June letters exactly one fortnight ago—but never mind! How pleasant it is to have them both! The Coronation seems to have gone off wonderfully well, and must have been a beautiful sight. I suppose we shall have our English papers in two days: I am insatiable for more details. To be sure, if that little Queen’s head were quite turned, and she became the most affected and consequential of beings, it would not be surprising. A young creature of nineteen to be the occasion of such a splendid ceremony, and to have brought together all the great people from all the great nations to do her honour, is enough to intoxicate her. She must have great good sense to be so entirely guiltless ofnonsense.
Letter to the Countess of B.
Simla, Sept. 8, 1838.
My dearest Sister,—There was no letter from you by the last overland (June). Odd! Can you account for it? Perhaps you did not write, which might be one reason (though a very insufficient one) why the letter did not come, but still it was a pity.
I say no more, being held back by the circumstance that you will have been a whole month without a line from us. Our letters of June, July, and August, all leave Bombay this blessed day—Saturday, Sept. 8. Such an accumulation of twaddle!Weare not to blame;wehave written—I wish everybody could say as much: but, however, as Falstaff says, when he had wrongfully accused Dame Quickly of picking his pocket, ‘Hostess, I forgive thee—go. Look to thy servants: cherish thy guests; thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I am pacified.’
It is such a nice day to-day. The rains ended last Wednesday. After five days of an even down-pour, there came a storm of wind that might have changed the places of some of the little hills, if they had been addicted to hopping, and which devastated my little garden, which happens to be on the windy side of the house; but since that, we have not had a drop of rain. The snowy range has appeared again after a fog of three months. The hills are all blue and green and covered with flowers, and there is a sharp, clear air that is perfectly exhilarating. I have felt nothing like it, I mean nothing so English, since I was on the terrace at Eastcombe, except perhaps the week we were at theCape. It is a shame of the storm to have twisted my one honeysuckle into a wisp of dead leaves; to have laid low our only double dahlia, and to have broken off a branch ofthelavender bush of Simla. All these treasures G. deposited in my little garden at the back of the house, and this is the result of his unguarded confidence. The dahlia was of that rhubarb and magnesia colour which makes you hear the spoongritagainst the cup as you look at it. Still it was the only double dahlia in India; but that will revive again. The honeysuckle is a mortifying business. Colonel V. has another, and he used to come crowing and stuttering here about this ‘cu-cu-cu-curious plant’ of his which suddenly took a dwarfish turn and stopped growing; whereas mine had reached the top of the house, and old V. used to call once a week to look at it. Now, I don’t mind the loss of Colonel V.’s visits, but I did like to make him envious of my honeysuckle. We are all dreadfully within sight of travelling again, but there are still six weeks of repose, so that I am as deaf as a post when the word ‘tent’ is mentioned. Still, the subject of provisions, and marches, and agents and magistrates, must be alluded to.
Don’t you think it would be worth my while to buy a pot of paint, out of my own allowance, from the Simla ‘Europe shop,’ and have the acorns and oak leaves paintedoutof the lining of my tent? The lining is buff, with sprigs of oak leaves, and there is an occasional mistake in the pattern, which distracts me; and there is such an association of dust and bore and bad health with those acorns, that I do not think Icanencounter them again. We are to leave this onNovember 5. I mention that openly, because if Guy Faux wishes to keep his ‘day,’ it would, perhaps, be better and more humane to blow up people who are going into camp, than people who live in houses.
Sept. 13.
I must put this up to-night. This is the first time I have had an evening quite alone, in an English fashion, since we came to India—not even a stray aide-de-camp about. They are all gone to the last of the Simla theatricals. I had seen four out of the five plays, so I excused myself, as I am drawing all day for the fancy fair, and wanted to write to you and M. and C. to-night. I was in a horrid fright. —— was going to stay with me, but with great tact he walked off to his own house; and so now, if there were but a carriage-road and a knocker, and a servant in red inexpressibles to announce you, I really should take it kindly if you would drive up, give a double knock, and be announced.
As it is, I am very comfortable. I don’t object; but the window is open to the verandah, and I see the little green Ghoorkas (the most hideous little soldiers in the world) mounting guard, with all sorts of outlandish noises. The door is, of course, open to the passage—Indian doors can’t shut—and my four hirkarus are sitting cross-legged, wrapped up in shawls, playing at a sort of draughts that they call ‘pucheese.’ There is not a human being in the house who understands a word of English: the Europeans are all gone to the play, and the head servants go to their own homes after dinner. I have a great mind to call out ‘fire!’ and ‘thieves!’ as loud as I can, to see what will come of it—it will only break up the game of pucheese; and the hirkarus will think I have gone mad, and respect me accordingly—they have a great regard for madness. I really think it awful! I wish I could speak Hindustani—I am sure I must want something, only I cannot ask for it. I will tell them to seal this letter, and if they tear it up I shall have made a sad waste of my evening.
Good-bye, dearest sister. Please always write by the overland post.
Simla, September 27, 1838.
THElast ten days have been devoted to finishing up my goods for the fancy fair, and I have not touched a pen. Yesterday the fair ‘came off,’ as they say, and to-day I am so tired I can’t do anything. Once more ‘my bones, girl, my bones.’ There never was so successful a fête. More English than anything I have seen in this country. Giles and Wright went off at seven in the morning with my goods; and at ten Mr. C. came to go down with me. Annandale is a beautiful valley, about two miles off, full of large pine trees. Colonel V. had erected a long booth for the ladies who kept stalls, and there were mottoes and devices over each of them. ‘The Bower of Eden’ was in the centre. Before we came to the booth, there was a turnpike gate with a canvas cottage and an immense board, ‘the Auckland toll bar,’ and Captain P. dressedup as an old woman who kept the gate. On one side there was the Red Cow, kept by some of the uncovenanted, who spoke excellent Irish, and whose jokes and brogue were really very good. There was a large tent opposite the booth for G., and in every part of the valley there were private tents sent by careful mothers for their ayahs and children. There were roundabouts for the natives. W. O. and three of the aides-de-camp kept a skittle-ground, with sticks to throw at, and a wheel of fortune, and a lucky bag, which had great success. G. and F. came soon after eleven, and the selling went off with great rapidity. The native servants had had great consultations whether it would be respectful to buy at my stall, and there were only two or three who arrived at that pitch of assurance; but they were all present, dressed in their finest shawls, and they all thought it very amusing. Half an hour nearly cleared off the stalls, and then Mr. C. began selling my drawings by auction, and made excellent fun of it, knowing the history of every native that I had sketched, and also of all the bidders, and he did it so like an auctioneer: ‘I have kept this gem till now—I may call it a gem, the portrait of Gholam, the faithful Persian who accompanied Major L. from Persia, from Herât! I may say this is a faithful likeness of a man who has witnessed the siege of Herât. Will that great diplomatist, Major L., who is, I know, anxious to possess this perfect picture, allow me to say eighty rupees, or seventy, or sixty?’ ‘This next picture is the Rajah of Nahun and his sons, and I think it quite unequalled for brilliancy of colouring. I shall have nothing equal to this lot to offer this morning. I bid thirty rupeesfor it myself—the surpêche in the rajah’s turban is worth the money.’ And so he went on, and, I hope, his is the sin of running up the price of the drawings, for I really was quite sorry to see the prices they went at. One group of heads, which only took me three days to do, sold for ninety-five rupees (£9 10s.), and my twenty drawings fetched 800 rupees. Considering that the whole proceeds of the sale is 3,400 rupees, that is a large proportion. My stall altogether produced nearly 1,400 rupees. W. and his allies got 160. The A.s and B.s kept an eating stall, but did not make much by it. As soon as the auction was over, we all went to luncheon with them; then the Ghoorkas shot for some beautiful prizes G. gave them, and he gave the sword for the single-stick fighters. Then we all went to W.’s games. Captain D. was dressed up like an old woman, and Captain P. exactly like a thimble-rigger at Greenwich, and they kept everybody, even Sir G. R., in roars of laughter. It was very amusing to see the grave pompous people, like R., taking three throws for a rupee, and quite delighted if they knocked off a tin snuff-box or a patent stay-lace. Then we had pony races, which ended in Colonel F. riding his old pony against a fat Captain D., and coming in conqueror with universal applause. And then, the sports having lasted from eleven to five, and everybody amused and in good humour, we all came home. It is lucky it was so very shady, for, as it is, hardly any of us can see to-day, from being unused to daylight. The best fancy sales in Calcutta never produced more than 2,000 rupees, so this is quite wonderful, considering that the whole of our European society is only 150 people, and many ofthem have not a great deal to spend. F. did not keep a stall, and I was rather afraid of it at first, for the natives are slow about that sort of novelty; but as soon as they fairly understood it was for charity, which is the only active virtue they are up to, they thought it all quite right.
We had a melancholy death last Sunday—a poor Mrs. G. She lived at Stirling Castle, just above our house, so there never was a day in which we did not meet her, with her two little boys carried after her, either going to fetch Captain G. from his office, or coming back with him. We met her on Friday evening, and stopped to tell her that Lord G. had written to enquire after her. On Saturday evening she was not at all well, and on Sunday morning Doctor W. sent for Doctor D. to consult with him. Doctor D. saw directly that she was in theblue stageof cholera, and before we came out from church she was dead; she was within a month of her confinement, but the child died too. The poor husband was in such a dreadful state, and so was the eldest boy, who is about four years old. W. says he never heard anything so shocking as the poor boy’s screams. It was necessary to bury her early on Monday morning, and as it is the custom for all acquaintances to attend a funeral, W. went up to Stirling Castle with Colonel B. None but the most degraded natives will touch an European corpse, so the doctors put her into the coffin, and Colonel B. screwed it down, and they were obliged to borrow the boys of our band to carry her to the grave. Poor Captain G. was not able to go himself, but the little boy had crept out of bed and wasclinging to his father, and trying to comfort him. We were to have had a party here in the evening, but put it off; for in such a small society ofChristians, every possible respect is to be paid to the feelings of any of them.
Wednesday, October 3.
We had our party, which had been put off on Monday, and it went off very well. It is the last meeting of Simla, so everybody came. A great many go down to the plains this week. Poor things! it is about as rational as if a slice of bread were to get off the plate and put itself on the toasting-fork. We have a month more of this place, but there are horrible signs of preparation, camel trunks and stores going off. I very often think I could have a fit of hysterics when I think we are to havefivewhole months this year of those deplorable tents, in all that dust and heat. This day three years we embarked from Portsmouth, so we have only got two years and five months more of India. That is really very satisfactory. I begin to think of what I shall say when I see you again. It really will be too great happiness; I never can think of it coolly or rationally. It gets into a medley, and I begin to breatheshortly, and to have red ears and pains in my elbows, and then I think it is presumptuous to look on so far; but still it is not so very, very far.
Saturday, Oct. 6.
It was a shocking sight last night, to find the road littered with camel trunks, and beds, and flocks of goats, and dishes and stoves—all the camp preparations of the A.s. They are the first family who have gonedown to the plains, much, I should think, to the detriment of the two babies; for they say the heat still is dreadful, and they go into it from this nice climate, which is almost frosty now. But those camp preparations, I am happy to say, made everybody ill. Even Mrs. E., who is going to stay up here, said she went home quite affected by the recollection of the trouble of last year. I really think I can’t go.
We had such an evening of misfortunes on Thursday. We were all playing at loo, the doors open, house door and all, as is usual in India, when the most unearthly yell was set up, apparently in the passage, and this was repeated three or four times, and then all the servants seemed to be screaming. ‘A leopard carrying off Chance!’ was the first thing everybody said, and all the gentlemen ran out, when it proved to be one of Dr. D.’s jonpaunees, who was lying asleep at the door, and had had a violent nightmare; and though three others laid hold of him, he rolled himself off the verandah into the valley below. However, he was not the least hurt. But that set all our nerves on edge. Then, when we went to bed, I heard violent hysterics going on in the maids’ room, and that turned out to be Myra, F.’s ayah, whose husband lives with W. O. They are never a very happy couple, and all of a sudden he took up a stick and beat her dreadfully, and she had run off from his house, leaving her baby on the floor. We sent and redeemed the baby, but it was a long time before Myra could be pacified, and sent off to sleep at Rosina’s house. W. turned off Lewis the next morning, who immediately went and made it up with his wife, who came this morning andsaid she must go too. My poor old Rosina continues to be very ill, coughing and spitting blood, which is very often the case with the Bengalees here. I am going to send her down to Sabathoo on Tuesday, with Mrs. A. Sabathoo is a very hot place, and may very likely cure Rosina; but she does nothing but cry now, poor old thing, at the idea of going, and insists upon dying here, but I think she will get well in a warm place. One man whom we sent down to the plains, apparently in the last stage of decline, has got safe to Calcutta, and is quite well again. I suppose this is a very bad Siberia to them.
There has been great excitement and happiness in our household. Captain J. wanted to do something kind by the servants on his giving up the charge of them, and wished to have the wages of a few of his favourites raised. I thought that would raise a host of malcontents and petitioners, and suggested that a reward for length of service (as the Company will no longer pension off old servants) would be a popular and useful measure, and he took to it kindly, and by leaving two or three places vacant, we shall not entail any additional expense on our successor. There were several who had been at Government House more than thirty-five years, fifteen who had been between twenty and thirty years, and more than twenty who had served fifteen years. We made three classes of them, and gave them two rupees, and one rupee, and half a rupee per month additional pay, which measure has diffused universal satisfaction, only it occasions constant references to the house-book, for natives never know anything about time; so some of them, who had beenthere about five years, declare it must be nearly fifteen. Had you a good eclipse of the moon last night? I never saw a really handsome one before; but I dare say yours is quite another moon, and another earth altogether.
Tuesday, Oct. 9.
Poor Rosina set off to-day; she seemed very low, but the air now is so keen here that she naturally felt worse. She fancies she is only going to stay a week, but Dr. D. says she must stay there till we pick her up on our way to the plains.
We have begun doing a little bit of packing, that is, I have made a grand survey of my wardrobe, and found that I had fourteen gowns to bestow on Wright, besides three of which she is to give me the loan, till we leave this place. Then I start clear for the march, sixsuperbmorning gowns and six evening ditto, some the remains of M.’s last supply, and some G.’s French gowns. I calculate they will enable me to make a very creditable appearance till I meet your treasure of a box at Agra. Nothing can be more judgematically planned.
Friday, Oct. 12.
They say this must go to-day, which I believe is a mistake. However, it is better to run no risks. I have been writing to R. to send out ‘Nicholas Nickleby’ overland. Does not that book drive you demented? and I am sure it is all true. I remember years ago a trial about one of those Yorkshire schools, where all the boys had the ophthalmia, and one boy had his bones through his skin, and none of the boys were allowed a towel; and these atrocities put us allinto one of those frenzies in which we used to indulge in youth. I dare say Dickens was at that school. I wish he would not take to writing horrors, he realises them so painfully.
I am so busy to-day, I have hardly time to write. G. wants to give Runjeet a picture of our Queen in her coronation robes. The Sikhs are not likely to know if it is an exact likeness as far as face goes, and the dress I have made out quite correctly, from descriptions in the papers and from prints, and it really is a very pretty picture. It is to be sent to Delhi to-morrow, and it is to have a frame of gold set with turquoises, with the orders of the Garter and the Bath enamelled. In short, it will be ‘puffect, entirely puffect;’ but I think they ought to give me Runjeet’s return present, as it has cost me much trouble to invent a whole Queen, robes and all. We are all quite well. God bless you! My next letter will be from camp. ‘Mercy on us,’ as S. would say, but it is a comfort to think we shall end here again.
Saturday, Oct. 20, 1838.
ITHINKit looks ill, that I have let a whole week go by without a touch of Journal; but nothing particular has happened, and it does not mean any coldness, you know, dearest. I have spent a week more of the time I am to be away from you, so I could not be better employed.
Monday we gave a dinner, Tuesday we dined at the R.s. Met Mrs. —— and a newly-married couple, the husband being an object of much commiseration. Not but what he is very happy, probably, but he married the very first young lady that came up to the hills this season; she was ‘uncommon ordinary’ then, and nothing can look worse, somehow, than she does now. I dare say she is full of merit, but I merely wish to observe, for the benefit of any of your sons who may come out to India, that when they have been two or three years in a solitary station they should not propose to the veryfirstgirl they see. However, I dare say the ——s are very happy, as I said before.
We had such an excellent play last night, or rather two farces, acted chiefly by Captains X. and M., and Mr. C., and by Captain Y., one of Sir G.’s aides-de-camp. Captain X. is really quite as good as Liston, and I think he ought to run over a scene or two every evening for our diversion. It is supposed that R. was never seen to laugh till he cried before, which he certainly did last night. It is astonishing how refreshing a real, good laugh is. I have not had so good a one for ages.
Tuesday, Oct. 23.
The work of packing progresses, and there are no bounds to the ardour with which everybody labours to make us uncomfortable. This day fortnight we are to be in our wretched tents—that is, if we really do not find ourselves unequal to the shock at last. There was an idea that coolies enough could not be raised at last, as everybody goes away at the same time, so instead of 3,000 at once, we have 1,000 three timesover, and as soon as they have taken one set of camel trunks to the plains they come back for another, so we spread our discomfort thus over a wide surface. I have succumbed to such a temptation to-day—I wish I had not, and yet I am glad I did—a large gold chain, two yards long, of the purest Indian gold. I could not let it escape me, and yet I know I should like to have the money to spend at Lahore.
Wednesday, Oct. 24.
To-day was a day of mysteries for Simla. R. came to breakfast with us, and did half an hour’s business with G., and that put his family into a fever. News had arrived yesterday that the Persians had abandoned the siege of Herât, and so the ——s fancied that the Cabul business would be now so easy, that R. would not go in person.
G. and I were walking in the evening and met the ——s, who said they had never passed such a day of curiosity, evidently thinking, poor new-married dears, that they were not going to part for ten years. Mrs. —— said to G.: ‘Now, for once, Lord A., tell us a secret; what did R. go to you about?’ ‘Why, he came,’ G. said, ‘to ask where we bought our potatoes, they are so remarkably good.’ The other mystery was, that Captain Y. said he had been eight hours trying to prevent two gentlemen from fighting, and we cannot think of any fightable people at Simla. You never saw so lovely an ornament as a great Lucknow merchant brought yesterday. A bunch of grapes made up of twenty-seven emeralds, the smallest emerald the size of a marble, and all of such a beautifulcolour; there are large pearls between each, and it is mounted on a plain green enamel stalk. It looks like the fruit in Aladdin’s garden. We want G. to buy it for his parting present to Runjeet Singh. They were to have exchanged rings, and a ring, one single diamond without a flaw, valued at 1,600l., was to have come up from Calcutta this week, but it has been stolen from the dâk. It was insured, but still it was a pity such a good diamond should be lost.
Friday, Oct. 26.
We rode to Mr. B.’s yesterday, knowing that otherwise that bunch of grapes would be slurred over, and not even mentioned to us. I began by saying, we thought it beautiful, and just the present for a great potentate, upon which B. said: ‘Yes, it is almost too expensive, but I was thinking of asking his lordship to let me present it to Shah Soojah.’ Luckily, that was too much even for G., and he said: ‘No, if I allow it to be bought at all, it could only be for a Governor-General to give away; besides, we are going to give Shah Soojah a kingdom, which is quite enough without any presents.’
‘A defeat,’ I thought, and Mr. B. looked as if emerald grapes were remarkably sour, and on our ride home G. said he meant to take them for Runjeet Singh.
Tuesday, Oct. 30.
G. took a fancy on Saturday to go, after dinner, to play at whist with Sir G. R., so we all jonpauned off, and very cold it is at night in those conveyances. The cold brought a bilious attack I had been brewing, to acrisis, and I had one of the worst headaches I ever had in my life, on Sunday, and could not sit up for a moment. It is the first day’s ailment I have had since the week we came to Simla, and very lucky that it came before we go into camp. This day week we start. ‘No ind to my sufferens!’ as some novel says.
Thursday, Nov. 1.
There! now I am quite well again, and in travelling condition; and perhaps, setting off in such good health, marching may not be so fatiguing as it was last year. We have had nothing but take-leave visits the last three days. Mrs. R. sets off to-morrow with her own children and those two little orphaned G.s, whom she is taking to England. The wives to be left here are becoming disconsolate and fractious.
Dear J. left us for good this morning. I do not think he cared much forus; but all the old servants, of whom he has had the care for eleven years, went with all their eastern, devoted-looking ways, and took leave of him and quite overset his nerves, and he went off in a shocking state. After taking leave of F. he quite broke down in G.’s room, and could not come to mine; and my jemadar came in with large tears running down: ‘Major Sahib so unhappy. He say he not able to speak to ladyship—he cry very much!’ I asked if they were all sorry he was going. ‘Yes, very. He very old gentleman at Government House, and know everything, and very just.’ And then, to wind it up with a fine piece of language, ‘headaptproperly well to all lordship’s poor servants.’ What that means I have not a guess, but I think it sounds comfortable;and I see now that the fault of India is that nobody ‘adapts properly well’ to my English feelings.
Sunday, Nov. 4.
After service to-day, the dining-room was given up to Giles and the Philistines, the carpets taken up, and a long country dance formed of the camel trunks and linen-presses that we leave behind; and now we dine and live in the drawing-room, which, without its curtains and draperies, and with its crude folding-doors, looks like half a ball-room at a Canterbury inn. Poor dear house! I am sorry to see it despoiled. We have had seven as good months here as it is possible to pass in India—no trouble, no heat; and if the Himalayas were only a continuation of Primrose Hill or Penge Common, I should have no objection to pass the rest of my life on them. Perhaps you would drive up to Simla on Saturday and stay till Monday.
Monday, Nov. 5.
I had much better not write to-day, only I have nothing else to do; but the September overland post is come (the August is missing), and I always have a regular fit of low spirits that lasts twenty-four hours after that. This is your Newsalls letter, and dear T.’s account of the archery and country balls, and the neighbours; and it all sounds sonaturaland easy, and I feel sounnaturaland so far off. Just as you say, we have been here very little more than half our time, and I am sure it feels and is almost a life.
It will be nearly six years altogether that we shall have been away, if we ever go home again; and that isan immense gap, and coming at a wrong time of life. Ten or fifteen years ago it would have made less difference; your children would still have been children; but now I miss alltheiryouth, andourswill be utterly over. We shall meet again——
When youth and genial years have flown,And all the life of life is gone.
When youth and genial years have flown,And all the life of life is gone.
When youth and genial years have flown,And all the life of life is gone.
I feel so very old, not merely in look, for that is not surprising at my age, and in this country, where everybody looks more than fifty; but just what Lady C. describes in her letter—the time forputting upwith discomforts has gone by. I believe what adds to my English letter lowness, is the circumstance that carpets, curtains, books, everything is gone from my room, and I am sitting in the middle of it, on a straw beehive chair, which the natives always use when theydoadmit a chair, with Chance’s own little chair for my feet, and the inkstand on the ledge of the window. I wish I was at Newsalls. There! now they want my inkstand.
Syree, Tuesday, Nov. 6.
The beginning of a second march, and so I had better put this up and send it. We left poor Simla at six this morning, and if I am to be in India I had rather be there than anywhere. We have had seven very quiet months, with good health and in a good climate, and in beautiful scenery. That is much as times go. As for this march, I cannot say what I feel about it. It began just as it left off.
We arrived to breakfast here, and the coolies have been fractious, and so, when I took off my habit, Ihad no gown to put on; the right box is not come, and I have no bonnet to put on for the afternoon’s march.
We are in the dâk bungalow, two whitewashed empty rooms, with streaks of damp and dirt all over them. We have been breakfasting in one, and all thedesertinghusbands have joined us. To be sure, St. Cloup is a jewel of a cook for this sort of thing. He came here in the night and prepared the breakfast we have had, and the luncheon we are going to have. He is now gone on to Sabathoo, where we shall find dinner, and he meant to go on again at night to the tents, half-way between Sabathoo and the camp, to arrange to-morrow’s breakfast and luncheon. God bless you, dearest M.!
There is a ship lost—‘The Protector’—just in the mouth of the river. It was bringing troops and several passengers, but none whose names we know. There is only one soldier saved out of the whole crew.
Buddee, Friday, Nov. 9, 1838.
ISENTyou my last Journal the day before yesterday, having brought our history down to the beginning of our second year’s march.
The tents look worse than ever, inasmuch as they are a year older, and the new white patches look verydiscrepant; but one week, I suppose, will make them all a generaldirty brown. The camp looks melancholywithout any ladies or children; I miss Mrs. A. particularly. Our dear friend Mr. C., of Umballa, who magistrated us last year, joined us again at the foot of the hills, and had the bright idea to station his gig at the first passable bit of the road, which, as I was shaken into small atoms by eight hours of the jonpaun, was a great relief. Moreover, after seven months of the hills, a wheeled carriage was rather a pretty sight, and I began to think of the rapid advance of science, and the curious inventions of modern times.
We are obliged to stay here, to give time for the things to come up. The old khansamah wanted another day for his arrangements, and it is impossible to refuse him anything, for he never makes a difficulty, and very seldom owns to one.
When we stopped half-way between Sabathoo and this place it was a double march, and there was not a thing come up, not even a chair; and then the dear old khansamah, with his long white beard, went fussing about, in and out of the tents and the trees, and there were fires burning amongst the grass, and tea made in a minute; and then he came with half-a-dozen fresh eggs, which he must have laid himself, and a dish of rice, and in ten minutes we had an excellent breakfast. I met my new horse on the plain: such a beautiful animal, like an Arabian in a picture book, with an arched neck and an arched tail, and he throws out his legs as if he were going to pick up a pin at a great distance. W. was riding it in a prancing sort of manner, that made me think it was the high-spirited animal its former owner described, and to which its present owner would particularly object; but I amhappy to say that is a mistake. I rode it one day alone with Captain X., and to-day with G., whose horse was enough to drive any other mad, and my beauty did not care a straw.
‘I am glad, Miss Eden,’ Webb said, ‘you did not take fright at first sight, because the horse would have found you out directly; and he is about the best horse in our stable, which is saying a good deal. I rode him all the way from Kurnaul, and I think it was as much like sitting in a good easy-chair as anything ever I felt.’ I think if the horse had a view of Webb in his travelling costume, he would not consent to be an easy-chair under him: a flannel jacket, with leathers, and leather gaiters, and an immense hat made of white feathers and lined with green, supposed to keep out the sun; and now he has set up a long beard, and he rides by the side of the carriage, either common fashion or sideways, if he is exercising one of our horses. G. says he wonders how the Sikhs will describe him in their journals. We have at last arrived at the possession of Mr. D.’s bonnets, which were packed up exactly a year ago, and have come out as fresh as if the milliner’s girl had just stepped over with them, from the shop at the corner, the blonde inside looking quiteblueand fresh, and the gauze ribbon just unrolled. It is very odd, and I am of opinion it would be clever, even now, to have ourselves put up in tin and soldered, till it is time to go home. We should alterno more. The bonnets are particularly pretty. I mean to appear in mine at Ferozepore, to give Runjeet some slight idea of what’s what in the matter of bonnets.
Mattae, Monday, Nov. 12.
We made our first march on Saturday to Nallyghur: roads bad, horse an angel. The carriage could not be used. G. drove me the last half in Mr. C.’s gig, and Mr. C. drove F. We went on the elephants to see Nallyghur on Sunday afternoon. It is a pretty place, and the old rajah has a very nice little palace on the top of a hill, looking into his village, and he is a nice gentleman-like old man, very fair, with lightish hair, which is, I believe, a disease almost amounting to leprosy, but it did not look bad—quite the contrary, ratherdistinguéand European. All the Sikh chiefs under Mr. C.’s care look comfortable; he makes them keep their roads and palaces in good order. Mrs. C. had a melancholy accident the other day. She was out riding with her children; one of her bearers touched her mule, which kicked and threw her over its head. She broke one arm in two places, and dislocated the other wrist. Mr. C. was away, and there was no doctor nearer than Sabathoo; she remained four days with these broken arms before Dr. L. could be fetched from Sabathoo, but her arms are set, and she is recovering very well. That want of a doctor must very often be a sore distress in India. A Mrs. R. at Simla, whose husband was sent as Resident to ——, where she is to join him, came in tears to see us last week, saying she had two sickly children and there was not a doctor within one hundred miles, and she wished I would mention it to G. I thought what a state you would have been in, and how you would forthwith have removed your Major R. from his residency. The doctors are all wanted for the army, so I did not thinkshe had much chance, but G. happily had one spare one at his disposal, and the poor little woman was very grateful.
We had a great storm of rain last night at Nallyghur, and brought it on here with us; and I suppose there never were such a set of miserable animals seen,sloshingabout what may be called our private apartments in overshoes, and with a parasol stuck up in particularly thin places—the servants all shivering and huddled together, palanquins wanted to take us to breakfast and dinner—in short, a mess.
Roopur, Tuesday, Nov. 13.
This is the memorable place where Lord William and Runjeet had their meeting, ‘where those sons of glory, those two lights of men, met in the vale of Roopur. You lost the view of earthly glory. Men might say, till then true pomp was single, but now was married to itself,’ &c. What is that quoted from? You don’t know—you know nothing. But as touching this scene of glory, it is a large plain—in short, a slice of India—with a ruinous fort on one side and a long narrow bazaar of mud huts on another, the Sutlej running peacefully along about a mile from our encampment. We have the same tents Lord W. had, at least facsimiles of them; therefore we are quite up to the splendid meeting. Perhaps our tents are a shade handsomer, being a very deep chocolate colour owing to the rain of yesterday. They were of course let down into the mud, and have acquired that rich brown hue. Moreover, it occurred to me that my feet were very cold to-day, and at last I discoveredthat the wet oozed out of the setringees (an Indian excuse for a floorcloth) at every step, and I had them taken up, and the tent is littered profusely and handsomely with clean straw, giving the whole the air and odour of a rickety hackney coach. G. observes every day, as he did last year, ‘Well! I wish Sir Charles Metcalfe could see us, and explain why this is a luxurious method of travelling.’ The sufferings of the cattle, as usual, make the morning’s march hateful. We have lost seven camels and two bullocks in seven days, and generally come in for a view of their dying agonies.
Wednesday, Nov. 14.
I cannot put any names to these places, but we are three marches from Loodheeana. I had such a pretty present this morning, at least rather pretty. It is a baby elephant, nine months old, caught at Saharunpore by the jemadar of the mahouts, and he has been educating it for me, and offered it by means of Captain D., his master. W. and I have been looking about for some time for a gigantic goat for Chance to ride on great occasions, but a youthful elephant is much more correct, and is the sort of thing Runjeet’s dogs will expect. It just comes up to my elbow, seems to have Chance’s own little bad temper and his love of eating, and is altogether rather like him. I had no idea such little elephants were valuable, but it appears that they are, as the baboo told me, ‘Quite a fancy article; great rajahs like them for little rajahs to ride on.’ The mahout would not take any money, so I had it valued and it is worth about forty pounds, and I got Mr. C. to present him with a pair of shawls and a pair ofbracelets to that amount, accompanied by a neat Persian speech, which C. thought was worth about an equal sum. The blue shawls would have suited my own complaint exactly. The investiture took place in my tent, and the excellent mahout was much affected, Mr. C. says by his speech,Ithink by the blueness of the shawls, and the man probably regretted his little elephant.
There has been an exchange of thirty elephants with various chiefs, in the course of the last ten days. Chance never means to part with his, and as Captain D. observed in his slowest tones, ‘In about forty years, that will be a very handsome elephant.’ Very interesting, because it would naturally be very vexatious to me if forty years hence it were to turn out a great gawky beast. Jimmund came with Chance under his arm to make a salaam, and when I asked what was the matter, he said he came to say he was very glad thathisChance had got aHotty. You are of course aware that we habitually call elephantsHotties, a name that might be safely applied to every other animal in India, but I suppose the elephants had the first choice of names and took the most appropriate.
Thursday, Nov. 15, 1838.
THEAugust mail came in to-day; a week after the September packet. Your dear, good letter has comeboth these last times without making its usual Calcutta detour, which is very clever of it. Certainly Newsalls is a very nice place; mind you don’t let it slip through your fingers till I come trotting up to the door on my elephant forty years hence.
Friday, Loodheeana.
The cavalry and the artillery and the second regiment of infantry that is to make up the escort met us this morning, and the salute was fired by the howitzers that G. has had made to present to Runjeet. They are very handsome, ornamented more than our soldiers think becoming, but just what Runjeet would like; there is the bright star of the Punjâb, with Runjeet’s profile on the gun; and Captain E. says that thousands of Sikhs have been to look at these guns, and all of them salaam to Runjeet’s picture as if it were himself.
Sunday, Nov. 18.
They have been building a small church at this station, and though it is not finished, they were very anxious Mr. Y. should try it, as it is uncertain when another clergyman may pass through Loodheeana; so all our chairs and footstools were sent down to be made into pews, and Mr. Y. preached a very good sermon. There are three American missionaries here, but they have not made any conversions.
—— —— is gone to hunt up Runjeet, who always gives himself the airs of being missing when he is to have a meeting with any great potentate, and goes off on a hunting expedition. He is generally caught in time, but it is a matter of etiquette that neither party should appear to wait for the other, so if Runjeet goesout hunting, G. must stop to shoot or fish. It will not detain us long if we stop to eat all he can kill here.
Monday and Tuesday, Nov. 19 and 20.
We have marched ten miles each day without having seen tree or building, I believe. Chance’s elephant comes every afternoon to show himself, and his education is progressing rapidly, under the care of a splendid individual in a yellow satin dress, who has received the very responsible situation of his mahout. He has already learnt to kneel down, and the excellent joke of filling his little leech of a trunk with water and squirting it at anybody who affronts him.
Chance and he are frightfully alike in disposition—greedy and self-willed; and, barring the nose, very like in look.
Wednesday, Nov. 21.
The camp was very noisy the first two nights, and X. went round to the various commanding officers and made fresh arrangements with the sentries, who I fancy must have cut off the heads of any man, camel, or elephant, who presumed to speak or howl, for there has not been a sound since. ‘Gentlemen who cough are only to be slightly wounded,’ as the ‘Rejected Addresses’ say. It really is tempting, for the tent-pitchers with all their wives and all their children have set up their marching coughs, and as they sleep round their pitchees, there is a continual sound ofexpectorationgoing on. Rosina was robbed by her hackery driver. X. had the man up before D., and the money is restored.
I had a little domestic complaint to send to him last night.
I always think these domestic stories may amuse you in England, from their contrast to the habits of that excellent country, from which I have been inveigled. There is a servant called the sirdar-bearer, or head of all the palanquin and tonjaun-bearers, whose business it is to walk by the side of the palanquin and see that the bearers carry it rightly.
This has been rather a sinecure with us, but the man has always been a good little servant and has attached himself to me, and is supposed to be always at the door of my tent with an umbrella; he keeps the tonjaun in readiness, and in Calcutta he always slept at my door, and was in the way for everything that was wanted. In short, ‘Loton’ was a general favourite, and supposed to be remarkably active. To my surprise, he came in yesterday to say that he could not possibly go with my palanquin every morning; the roads were so bad, he found it tired him. In short, he evidently wanted a place on an elephant, which the servants who wait at table have; but bearers are a class who can walk thirty miles a day; and it was very much like your coachman asking to travelinthe carriage, as it was too much trouble to drive. I said he had better go to Captain X. when he was in difficulties, and that I did not doubt Captain X. would find one of the other bearers who would be happy to take the place of sirdar, and that Loton would then only have to carry the palanquin half-way. (At present he carries nothing.) I told Captain X. this morning, and I thought he would have had a fit. He is not yet accustomed to the notionof the number of people who are merely kept for show and even for work; there is a double set for everything. F. and I have each thirty-two bearers, where other people have eight, that there may never be a difficulty; and the idea that I was to direct my own bearers on the road struck X. as remarkably amusing.
I should think it would have been, as I have not a single Hindustani word to say to them. I left it to him to settle, and poor Loton is degraded to the ranks. He cares very much about the gold-laced livery, and still more about the two rupees a month which he loses. A bearer lives on that, and sends all the rest home. They all come from the neighbourhood of Patna, never bring their wives, but live together like a large family; in fact, sell themselves for so many years, and then, when they have earned enough to buy a bit of land, go home for life. I hope Captain X. means to allow himself to be entreated like Major J., for I shall die of it if Loton is not restored in time. He was a great favourite of Lord W.’s, and I rather think I spoilt him by raising his wages partly on that account. Captain X. has the real Indian feeling that a servant objecting to an order is a sort of depravity that cannot be put up with—in short, that cannot be believed. I said that, as it was a first offence, he should be as lenient as he could, and he said, ‘Certainly, it would be very lenient only to turn the man away. I assure you, Miss Eden, a native would have put the man to death who had refused to run by the side of his palanquin!’ I think I see myself cutting off Loton’s head with a pair of scissors. It is very awful to think of the number of petty rajahs in the country who have thepower of life and death over their followers. It must be very often abused.
Saturday, November 24.
We have had three short marches. I am not much better. Except for the march, I keep as quiet as possible, and have not been over to any meal, or out of my own tent, except to sit in an arm-chair in front of it between five and six. I always think the weather very trying in the plains. In the morning the thermometer was at 45°, and we were all shivering with shawls and cloaks on, and at twelve the glass rose to 83°, and we are now sitting under punkahs with a small allowance of clothes. That happens every day, and I cannot think it wholesome. There was an interesting arrival from Delhi this morning, my bracelet with G.’s picture, which I had sent back to have a cover fitted to the picture, and it has come back so beautifully mended—with a turquoise cross on an enamelled lid. Then Mr. B., who superintended my private bracelet, undertook on the public account a frame for my picture of the Queen, which is to be given to Runjeet, and the frame came with the bracelet. They had not time for the beautiful design of all the orders of the Garter and Bath, &c., which I wanted, and so only made the frame as massive as they could. It is solid gold, very well worked, with a sort of shell at each corner, encrusted with precious stones, and one very fine diamond in each shell.
The materials come to about £500. Forty jewellers worked at it night and day, and the head jeweller expects a khelwut, or robe of honour, with a pair of shawls, for his activity. It will be a very handsomeitem in the list of presents, and is to be given in great form.
One of Runjeet’s chief sirdars came into camp to-day, and there was a very fine durbar, as he was to be received as an ambassador. He is a great astronomer, and there was luckily at the Tosha Khanna an orrery and some astronomical instruments which G. added to his presents, and the man went away, they say, quite delighted. Every evening there is to be an arrival of one hundred jars of sweetmeats, which is a great delight to the native servants.
Camp, Ferozepore, Wednesday, Nov. 28, 1838.
IPUTup a large packet to you on Saturday, which will accompany this; but I was shy of making it thicker. Sunday, the whole camp was glad of a halt; the sandy roads tire all the people much.
There was a very large congregation at church, I was told; we have so many troops with us now, and Y.’s preaching is in great reputation. On Monday we marched eleven more miles with the same dusty result. The chief incident was, that G. was to have tried an Arabian of W. O.’s, which is a perfect lamb in a crowd, and was intended to officiate at the great review ‘as is to be;’ but the syce by mistake gave him another horse of W.’s, which pulls worse than G.’s own horse. F., who was riding with him, assured him that the Arabian had such a tender mouth that it was only chafing because he held it too tight: he loosened the bridle—away went the horse like a shot, and away went twenty-five of the body-guard after him, thinking it was his lordship’s pleasure to go at that helter-skelter pace: away went M., who is on duty; in short, nothing could be finer than the idea; but they all pulled up when they saw how it was. G.’s horse galloped on two miles for its own amusement, and then he made it go another for his, and finally changed it for his own horse, whose merits rose by comparison. I was in the carriage behind, and W. came up in the greatest fuss—having heard of the mistake—and just as he was saying the horse would run away, two of the guard came back to say it had done so; so he had the pleasure of a good prophecy.
Yesterday we came twelve miles. My health is neither better nor worse, so I came on in the carriage; all the others rode the last four miles, and were met by M. and all his staff at the town of Ferozepore. G. let me go on half a mile in advance, in order to avoid the dust, which must have shocked General R., who never lets even a little dog precede him in his march.
I passed him and his suite by the side of the road, drawn up according to the strictest rule—a very large body of cocked hats. General R. in front, alone, then a long row of general officers, then a longer row of a lower grade. It was too awful and military a moment for speech. I was not sure whether it was not irregular to kiss my hand; however, I ventured on that little movement, which was received with a benign ‘clignotement de l’œil’ signifying ‘Wrong, but I forgive it for once.’
I got in three-quarters of an hour before the rest, who came a foot’s pace, and General E. told F. they always marched that fashion—General R. first, they behind—a trot never allowed.
General R. was uncommonly affable, and came and paid me a visit in my tent, where I was lying down, all dust and fatigue, and wishing for breakfast. Sir W. C., too, came in for a moment, in the highest glee, not so fat as he was at Calcutta—we expected he would have been twice the size. I told him he was grown thin, and he went back to his favourite story of the courtiers telling George IV., when he was at his fattest, ‘Your Majesty is regaining your figure!’
We had a most interesting envoy from General A., who is employed by Runjeet in Peshawur, and who wrote to each of us his polite French regrets that he could not come here, but he sent ‘un très petit paquet’ of the shawls we had commissioned him to get worked in Cashmere, when we saw him in Calcutta, and also the Cashmere gowns he had promised. He declared that there never were such failures; that he had sent seven or eight ‘surveillants’ to Cashmere, ‘mais on m’a tout gâté.’
An hour after, there arrived, instead of the ‘petit paquet,’ a very large pillow, or rather a small ottoman, brought in by two men, and then we had such cutting and nicking and tearing away of oilcloth and muslin and shawl paper, and at last arrived at the treasures. Four shawl dresses, four magnificent square shawls, and four long scarfs to match the dresses—but the fineness and the brightness of the whole concern it is impossible to describe. One gets to value shawls only by theirfineness at last, and we have seen nothing like these. They have been a year and a half in making. We have ascertained the prices of these shawls, which are very cheap considering their beauty. The dresses were at Calcutta promised us as presents; but under the circumstances of our being in Runjeet’s country, and A. one of his generals, we want to pay for them, which Captain E. has undertaken to do. I now say once more, as I have often said before, I really don’t want any more shawls, but yet I do always when they come in my way.
In the afternoon Sir W. C., B., W., M., and two or three more, went on elephants to compliment the Maharajah, and met half-way Kurruck Singh, his son and supposed heir, Ajeet Singh, our Simla friend, and Sujeyt Singh, the greatdandyof the Punjâb, with several others coming to compliment G. The Maharajah had the best of the bargain.
Kurruck Singh is apparently an idiot; some people say he only affects it, to keep Runjeet from being jealous of him, but it looks like very unaffected and complete folly.
Runjeet kept our deputation very late. He was in the highest spirits, W. said, and laughed out loud at several jokes. Sir W. C. took the fancy of all the Sikhs. He is very jovial, besides being courteous in his manners, and talks at a great rate. Runjeet produced some of his wine, a sort of liquid fire, that none of our strongest spirits approach, and in general Europeans cannot swallow more than a drop of it.
Sir W. tossed off his glass and then asked for another, which they thought very fine. He came back of course very tipsy, but they said he was very amusing at dinner.There are always nautches at these durbars, and one of W.’s former acquaintances, called ‘the Lotus,’ who is very beautiful, looked so pretty that W. asked E. if he might give her the little bunch of pearl flowers that was given to all the gentlemen. E. said it would amuse the Maharajah, and so it did, but B. is seriously uneasy at the dreadful loss to Government of the pearl bouquet. It was worth about ten shillings, I suppose.
Friday.
Yesterday was the day of the great meeting. All the ladies (only ten with the whole army) came to breakfast at half-past seven, and so did ‘the great Panjandrum himself.’
I have not been to any meal, and hardly have seen anybody, for the last three weeks, so I did not join them till it was nearly time for Runjeet to arrive: when he was at the end of the street, G. and all the gentlemen went on their elephants to meet him.
There were such a number of elephants, that the clash at meeting was very great, and very destructive to the howdahs and hangings. G. handed the Maharajah into the first large tent, where we were all waiting; but the Sikhs are very unmanageable, and they rushed in on all sides, and the European officers were rather worse, so that the tent was full in a moment, and as the light only comes in from the bottom, the crowd made it perfectly dark, and the old man seemed confused and bothered. However, he sat down for a few minutes on the sofa between G. and me, and recovered. He is exactly like an old mouse, with grey whiskers and one eye. When they got into the inner tent, which was tohave been quite private, the English officers were just like so many bears; put aside all the sentries, absolutely refused to listen to the aides-de-camp, and filled the room; so then, finding it must be public, G. sent us word we might all come there, and we had a good view of it all.
Runjeet had no jewels on whatever, nothing but the commonest red silk dress. He had two stockings on at first, which was considered an unusual circumstance; but he very soon contrived to slip one off, that he might sit with one foot in his hand, comfortably. B. was much occupied in contriving to edge one-foot of his chair on to the carpet, in which he at last succeeded.
Next to him sat Heera Singh, a very handsome boy, who is Runjeet’s favourite, and was loaded with emeralds and pearls. Dhian Singh his father is the prime minister, and uncommonly good-looking: he was dressed in yellow satin, with a quantity of chain armour and steel cuirass. All their costumes were very picturesque. There were a little boy and girl about four and five years old, children of some of Runjeet’s sirdars who were killed in battle, and he always has these children with him, and has married them to each other. They were crawling about the floor, and running in and out between Runjeet and G., and at one time the little boy had got his arm twisted round G.’s leg. I sent to ask B. for two of the common pearl necklaces that are given as khelwuts, and sent them with a private note round to G., who gave them to the children, which delighted the old mouse.
After half an hour’s talk, Sir W. C., with some of our gentlemen, marched up the room with my pictureof the Queen on a green and gold cushion; all the English got up, and a salute of twenty-one guns was fired. Runjeet took it up in his hands, though it was a great weight, and examined it for at least five minutes with his one piercing eye, and asked B. for an explanation of the orb and sceptre, and whether the dress were correct, and if it were really like; and then said it was the most gratifying present he could have received, and that on his return to his camp, the picture would be hung in front of his tent, and a royal salute fired. When all the other presents had been given that could come in trays, 200 shells (not fish, but gunpowder shells) were presented to the Maharajah, and two magnificent howitzers, that had been cast on purpose for him (as I think I told you), which seemed to please him; and outside, there was an elephant with gold trappings, and seven horses equally bedizened. His strongest passion is still for horses: one of these hit his fancy, and he quite forgot all his state, and ran out in the sun to feel its legs and examine it. Webb (the coachman) went down in the afternoon to take the Mizzur horses to Runjeet, and gave us such an amusing account of his interview.
He talks a sort of half-Yorkshire, half-Indian dialect.
‘Why, you see, my lord, I had a long job of it. The old man was a-saying of his prayers, and all the time he was praying, he was a-looking after my horses. At last he gets up, and I was tired of waiting in all that sun. But law! Miss Eden, then comes that picture that you’ve been a-painting of; and then the old man sends for his sirdar, and that sirdar and they allgo down on their knees, a matter of sixty of them, and first one has a look and then the other, and Runjeet he asked me such a many questions, I wished the picture further. He talked about it for an hour and a half, and I telled him I never seed the Queen. How should I? I have been here with two Governor-Generals, and twelve years in India above that. So then he says, says he, “which Governor-General do you like best?" And I says, “Why, Maharajah, I haint much fault to find with neither of them.†So then we had out the horses, and there the old man was a-running about looking at ’em, more like a coolie than a king. I never see a man so pleased, and he made me ride ’em. So, when I had been there four hours a’most, all in the sun, he give me this pair of gold bracelets and this pair of shawls; and he says, says he, “Go and show yourself to the Lord Sahib, just as you are: mind you don’t take them off.†But law! I did not like to come such a figure, so here they are!’