Simla, May 23, 1839.
ALETTERto you which is to go by the Persian Gulf only departed to-day, and I believe there will be no regular steamer for nearly six weeks. A sad interruption to our little communications. A few days after my letter to you was sealed, G. got the official accounts of the taking of Candahar, or rather how Candahar took Shah Soojah, andwould havehim for its King. There never was anything so satisfactory. I hope M. and Lord M. will have received and shown you the copies of Sir A. Burnes’s letters; it was such a picturesque description of the business. M. wrote me a very good account of it. He says:—‘Five days ago we poor politicals were assailed from all quarters, from the commander-in-chief to the lowest ensign. They were all exclaiming how we had deceived them; that we had given out that Shah Soojah would be received by the chiefs and people of his country with open arms; that the resources of the country would be laid open to the British army—instead of which, he was opposed by his own countrymen; no chiefs came near him; the army was starving in a land of milk and honey; in fact, we had deceived ourselves, and that Shah Soojah’s cause was impossible. A little patience, and the fallacy of these sentiments would be proved. The sirdars left their late capital with scarcely two hundred followers; their most confidential servants deserted them, for to the last their measures were most oppressive, and theywere heartily execrated. Every great chief with numerous followers came out to meet the Shah, and greeted him on his arrival in his own country with every demonstration of joy; the poor crowded about him, making offerings of flowers, and they strewed the road he was to pass over, with roses. Yesterday the King went to visit the city (we are encamped about two miles from it); every person, high and low, seemed to strive how they could most show their devotion to his Majesty, and their delight at the return of a Suddozie to power. The King visited the tomb of his grandfather, Ahmed Shah; and theProphet’s shirt, which is in keeping of the Mollahs in charge of the tomb, and which was brought out by the sirdars when they were trying to raise a religious war against us, was produced, and the King hugged and kissed it over and over again.
‘The populace are the finest race of Asiatics I have seen; the men tall and muscular, the women particularly fair and pretty, and all well dressed. It seems as if we had dropped into paradise.
‘The country that we have been traversing for two months is the most barren and desolate eye ever rested on; not a tree nor a blade of grass to be seen; we were constantly obliged to make marches of twenty miles to find water; the hills were only huge masses of clay. The contrast now is great; the good things of this life are abundant; luxurious crops, which will be ready for the sickle in three or four weeks; extensive plains of green sward for the cattle; endless gardens and orchards; the rose-trees grow wild, eight or ten feet high; fruits of all kinds; rivulets flow through thevalley; the birds are all song birds, and the air rings with their notes; in short, we have reached the oasis at last, and are thoroughly enjoying ourselves.
‘The people are all at their occupations as usual, and seem to have perfect confidence in us. The natives all agree in saying that Dost Mahommed, upon hearing of his brothers having fled, will follow their example, &c. I am very happy in my appointment, and I feel I have a great deal more to say to you, but this must go.’
Poor M.! In to-day’s Calcutta paper there is the death of his pretty little sister, who came out not two years ago; she very nearly died during the first hot season, and now has been carried off by a return of the same fever. Certainly this public news is very satisfactory; the whole thing done without bloodshed; and the effect on the people here is wonderful; the happiness of the wives is very great: they see, with their mind’s eye, their husbands eating apricots and drinking acid sherbet, and they are satisfied. Our ball to-morrow will be very gay, and I have just written to P. to stick up a large ‘Candahar’ opposite the other illuminations.
Saturday, May 25.
The Queen’s ball ‘came off’ yesterday with great success. We had had, the beginning of the week, three days of rain, which frightened us, because it is a rain that nothing can stand. It did us one good deed on Monday—washed away the twenty-four people who were coming to dine with us, which was lucky, as the greater part of the dinner prepared for them was also washed away by the rain breaking the skylight in thedining-room, andplumpingdown on the table. I went down by myself to Annandale on Thursday evening, to see how things were going on there, and found X., who has been encamped there for three days, walking about very conjugally with Mrs. N, to whom he is engaged. I felt ratherde tropas they stepped about with me, showing off the preparations. It was a very pretty-looking fête; we built one temporary sort of room which held fifty people, and the others dined in two large tents on the opposite side of the road, but we were all close together, and drank the Queen’s health at the same moment with much cheering. Between the two tents there was a boarded platform for dancing, roped and arched in with flowers, and then in different parts of the valley, wherever the trees would allow of it, there was ‘Victoria,’ ‘God save the Queen,’ and ‘Candahar’ in immense letters twelve feet high. There was a very old Hindu temple also prettily lit up. Vishnu, or Mahadevi, to whom I believe it really belonged, must have been affronted. The native dealers in sweetmeats came down to sell their goods to the servants and jonpaunees, and C. and X. went round and bought up all their supplies for about twenty rupees for the general good. We dined at six, then had fireworks, and coffee, and then they all danced till twelve. It was the most beautiful evening; such a moon, and the mountains looked so soft andgrave, after all the fireworks and glare.
Twenty years ago no European had ever been here, and there we were, with the band playing the ‘Puritani’ and ‘Masaniello,’ and eating salmon from Scotland, and sardines from the Mediterranean, and observing thatSt. Cloup’s potage à la Julienne was perhaps better than his other soups, and that some of the ladies’ sleeves were too tight according to the overland fashions for March, &c.; and all this in the face of those high hills, some of which have remained untrodden since the creation, and we, 105 Europeans, being surrounded by at least 3,000 mountaineers, who, wrapped up in their hill blankets, looked on at what we call our polite amusements, and bowed to the ground if a European came near them. I sometimes wonder they do not cut all our heads off, and say nothing more about it.
Sunday, May 26.
The aides-de-camp are about as much trouble to me as so many grown-up sons. That sedate Captain P. followed me to my room after breakfast, and thought it right to mention that he had proposed to Miss S. on Thursday, and had been accepted, and that the aunt was agreeable, and that he had written to the stepfather, Colonel ——, for his consent, which he had no reason to doubt, &c., and that he hoped I would not mention it to anybody but Lord A., as they were exceedingly desirous Captain L. E. should not know it, but Mrs. S. wished I should be told. If the kitchen poker or church steeple had gone and proposed, it would not have been more out of character, P. has always seemed so very indifferent and cold to ladies; though ever since we have been here, we have observed how altered he was, and what high spirits he was in; and then I met him the other day carrying a little nosegay to Stirling Castle, which looked suspicious and unnatural. Still the shock was great, and the onlything I could think of at first, was to ask with infinite and mistaken promptitude if she were a nice girl, to which P. naturally answered that of course she was—a very nice girl indeed; and I said I had had no opportunity of speaking to her when she dined here, but that now I should take pains to make her acquaintance. And then we discussed his prospects.
He cannot marry for a year at soonest, even if Colonel —— consents then; but she is only eighteen, and her father will not let the elder one marry till she is twenty. P. is going away next week on an official tour to Cashmere, a sort of scientific survey which G. wants him to make, and he is to be away four months.
That business was settled, and after luncheon L. E. came, very unhappy inhismind—andthought I must have observed it. He had been on the point of proposing to Miss A. S., when he had been intercepted by the astute aunt, who said she could not but observe his attentions, and thought it as well to mention that A. was engaged. He said, so he had heard, but he did not believe it, and thereupon wrote to the aforesaid A., and brought me his letter and her answer, and his letter to the stepfather and the aunt’s letter to him, and he thought that with my knowledge of the world, I could tell him whether it did not appear that she was only sticking to her engagement because she thought it right, &c.
I could not possibly flatter him. She is a pretty-looking girl, who has evidently fretted herself into bad health because Colonel —— would not consent to her marriage with a Mr. ——, she being eighteen, and her lover the same age. As she has never heard from thelover since he joined the army of the Indus, it is very possibleheis inconstant, and that is what L. E. goes upon; he does not care how long he waits, &c. (and I think he will have to wait some time), but in the meantime perhaps I would speak to Mrs. S., and above all things Captain P. was not to know. That is always the end of all confidences; and in the meantime, as P. lives in a broad grin, and L. E. in a deep sigh, I should think their secrets will be guessed in a week. Thank goodness, now they are all engaged, except Z., who is not likely to fall in love with anybody but himself.
Wednesday, May 29.
We had a theatrical dinner yesterday, and a rehearsal of our new tableaux, which promise to be very successful. Six from the ‘Corsair,’ and five from ‘Kenilworth.’ We had them at night to try how Gulnare would look with her lamp going to visit Conrade; and I had another grand idea, of a trap-door, down which Amy Robsart is supposed to have fallen, at least four inches, so that she must have had every bone in her body smashed; and Varney with a torch looking into it, and Leicester and Trevilian in despair, made it a most awful business. The rehearsal was rather amusing; all the gentlemen in their common red coats, and a pretty Mrs. V., supposed to be Medora, was sitting with the shovel in her hand, and said in such a quiet way, ‘This is, in fact, a guitar;’ which, as she is dreadfully shy, and not given to speak at all, was one of the best jokes she ever made.
Thursday, May 30, 1839.
OURsteady doctor gave his ball last night. He was asked for one by Mrs. L., and found it an easier way of returning civilities than giving a number of dinners.
Wright and I have been down two or three times to arrange his house, and put up his curtains, and he had enclosed all his verandahs with branches of trees and flowers, so that it really looked very pretty. He is very popular from his extreme good-nature in attending anybody that wants him; he never takes any fee, and he takes a great deal of pains with his patients, and, moreover, he is a really well-informed man, and liked in society. So everybody whom he asked to his ball made a point of going, and they actually danced from eight at night till five in the morning; and they said it was one of the gayest balls ever seen.
Saturday, June 1.
We had our tableaux last night, and they were really beautiful. I am quite sorry they are over. We had each of them three times over, but still it is like looking at a very fine picture for two minutes and then seeing it torn up. Mrs. K. as Queen Elizabeth, dragging in Mrs. N. as Amy Robsart, was one of the best; and Medora lying dead, and the Corsair in his ‘helpless, hopeless brokenness of heart,’ was also beautiful, but in fact they all were so, and G. is walking up and down his room this morning, wishing they would be so good as to do it all over again. Theenthusiasm of the audience was unbounded. C. recitatived Lord Byron’s words for the Corsair, but wrote songs for Kenilworth; the last, alluding to Amy’s death, ‘He comes too late,’ was worthy of Mrs. Arkwright. After the tableaux were over, W. O. gave his first entertainment, a small supper, to Mrs. K., Mrs. L., Mrs. V., Mrs. N., and all the aides-de-camp and one or two gentlemen, and, as the ladies would not go unless F. and I were there, we went down to his bungalow at eleven, leaving G. to see our guests out. W.’s supper went off remarkably well, and his house looked very pretty. St. Cloup thought he had better give a look at the supper, and when I told him we were going, he said, ‘Oh! alors il faut que M. le Capitaine fasse un peu de dépense. Je vais pourvoir à tout cela.’ The dresses were magnificent last night, and W. O. looked very well in his corsair’s dress. Mrs. N. is not rich, so I make an excuse of her kindness in acting to send her a green satin pelisse, as Amy’s ‘sea-green mantle,’ and a very handsome lace dress with a satin slip from G.
Monday, June 3.
G. has had letters from the army up to May 7. The Shah seems to be as quietly and comfortably settled as if he had never left his kingdom, and Sir J. Keane writes most cheerfully about the army, makes very light of the loss of cattle, and says the soldiers were never so healthy. There has been on an average one-third fewer in hospital than is usual in cantonments, and very few deaths.
The followers of the sirdars were reduced to onehundred, and the sirdars so unpopular that two of our regiments were gone to fetch them in, almost more as guards than anything else. G. and I have been riding about the last three days with Mr. A., looking at the Dispensary and the Asylum and a Serai, the three charities of Simla. The Dispensary has been built from the proceeds of our fancy fair last year, and opened by Dr. D., who attends there every morning, and it does so much good that I am quite heartened up into trying another fancy fair this year, and am going to send out the circulars this blessed day. It is an odd list of patients at the Dispensary. There is a ThibetTartarwoman with a Chinese face, and a rheumatic daughter, and there are people from Ladakh, and Sikhs and mountaineers, and quantities of little black babies to be vaccinated. I have not an idea what to do for the sale. The trick of the drawings to produce such an immense sum cannot be tried again.
Wednesday, June 5.
This must go, dearest, G. says—where to, I have not an idea, but I know it will never reach you: it is like going to call upon you, when you are out, which under present circumstances would be uncommonly disagreeable. But no steamer can go for two months, so we must hazard something by that stupid, old-fashioned sailing apparatus.
We are all quite well, and the climate quite beautiful—aleetletoo hot, but not worse than an English August day. Mr. L. gave another fancy ball last night, and yesterday morning we had a deputation from the Station to ask us for a day on which they areto give us a ball. We named June 18 (Waterloo and all that), and that is to close the season, and then we are to take to the rains for three months.
Saturday, June 8.
Our play last night went off beautifully. I do not know when I have seen better acting, and Mrs. C. really acts as if she had done nothing else all her life. I suppose it is easier in a room with carpets and chairs, and doors and windows, and then she has been brought up in France, and has the quiet self-possession of a French actress, and her arms are always in the right place, and she does not seem to think about acting; then she sings very well and looked very handsome, so that altogether, to Anglo-Indians, who never see female parts acted except by artillerymen or clerks, it was a great pleasure.
We made such pretty scenery, too, with a lattice window, and some steps and a few shrubs and plenty of curtains. After the play they danced five or six quadrilles, had some supper, and went off, all pleased; and they want more of these evenings, but it is thundering and pouring to-day, and it is no use attempting to give parties in the rains. I wish my drawing paper would not begin to spoil already, but it is turning into blotting paper. Luckily I cannot find anything to draw just now. It has occurred to me that when we go home I shall not be able to show you what an Indian woman is like, and to be sure we have seen very few; but some of the Paharee women are very pretty, who go about the hills cutting grass and wood. I met some yesterday and asked them to come and besketched, and they said they would, but they have never arrived. Some of the nautch-girls in the bazaar are very pretty, and wear beautiful ornaments, but it is not lawful to look at them even for sketching purposes, and indeed, Mr. N., one of the magistrates, has removed them all from the main street, so the bazaar is highly correct, but not half so picturesque as last year. There are very few children ever to be seen in it. Natives who come to open shops, &c., never bring their families, from the impossibility of moving women in a sufficiently private manner, and I very often think that an English village with women and children walking about must be a pretty sight. They do go about, don’t they? I forget. Poor Mrs. ——, who had a shocking confinement in our camp last year, has had a worse now; for thirty-six hours Dr. D; could not leave her for a moment, and for twelve it was not possible to know whether she were alive—no pulse, and quite cold. We had made all arrangements for putting off our party yesterday, but she rallied in the afternoon, and is going on well now. I never saw Dr. D. quite overset before, nor indeed the least perturbed but he fairly burst out crying when he came to my room on his way home, and said he did not think anything could induce him to go through such horrors again; and it was very unlucky that, just as he was so thoroughly worn out, a poor Paharee was brought into the Dispensary almost crushed by a tree falling on him, and Dr. D. had to go and cut off his leg before he went home. I rather wonder how surgeons enough can be found for all the pains and aches of this world.
Wednesday, June 12.
Captain P. goes off early to-morrow on an official tour to Cashmere, and will be away five months. He and Miss S. take it very quietly, but they looked rather unhappy last night.
He had brought me in the morning some Berlin work which the two sisters had done for the fancy fair, and which they had sold to him in advance for a mere trifle, and he wanted to know if it were the right price. I thought it very right in the romantic view of the case, but very wrong as touching the interests of the poor Dispensary. I told Miss A. S. (the sister-in-law as is to be) that I should like to buy some of their work at a dearer rate, and she said there would be plenty, ‘but at present I am working a table-cover for Captain P.’ Then she asked if I wanted any polished pebbles—‘I have a great many, but I have given the best to Captain P.,’ just the sort of way in which people make a fuss with their brothers-in-law at first. It goes off, does it not, Mr. D.?
Saturday, June 15.
We have been a long time without letters, and nobody knows when we shall have any again. There are several stories lefthangingon something which ought to have been cleared up a long time ago, and never will be now—poor L. E. L.’s death! We have heard twice from you since the first account, and it never appeared whether Maclean was ‘a brute of a husband,’ or she, poor thing! very easily excited. Then, that Baily, the supposed murderer(?), we never could find the end of that story.
I went outpleasantlyyesterday evening, quite a new idea; but as we have so much to do for the little amusements of other people, I thought I might as well for once amuse myself, so I went after dinner to see Mr. and Mrs. C., and I was to lie on the sofa and they were to sing, and so they did, beautifully, all sorts of things; she sings equally well in five languages, French, English, German, Italian, and Hindustani, and Mr. C. sings anything that is played to him without having any music. Altogether it was very pleasant, which was lucky, for I meant to be at home at eleven, a very undue hour for Simla, and a violent thunderstorm came on which seemed to be splitting the hills into small shreds, so I could not get home till one, which Wright thought very shocking. I cannot imagine when we go home how we are to get back to reasonable hours.
Wednesday, June 19, 1839.
IMUSTtell you for the children’s sake such a touching trait of my flying squirrel. It is the most coaxing animal I ever saw, and lives in my room without any cage, or chain, and at night I always shut him up in a little bath-room, leaving the sitting-room and the dressing-room between him and me. I was woke two nights ago by this little wretch sitting on my pillow and licking my face. I thought it was a rat at first,and did not like it; indeed I did not like it much better when I found it was the squirrel. I called up Wright, who carried him back to his room, where she found he had broken a pane of glass, got out into the garden, where he had never been before, and come in through the window of my dressing-room. I always have it open, as the nights are very hot, and I try to expect that the air will come into the bedroom, and that the thieves will not come further than the dressing-room. Wright would not believe that he had really been so clever; however, she stopped up the broken pane and shut all the doors, and a quarter of an hour after, I heard another little scratch, and there he was again patting my ear, so then I gave it up, wrapped him in the mosquito net, and let him sleep there the rest of the night. But it must have been pretty to see him hopping through the garden and finding his own way in. We went last night to the ball given to us by the Station: it was not at all a fatiguing evening, and it is the last for some time.
Friday, June 21.
I have been carrying on a suit in Colonel ——’s very unjust court for an unfortunate native tailor, attached to our house, who cannot get a small debt paid that has been due to him for a year; and these horrid magistrates are worse, if you can conceive such a thing, than common English magistrates—worse than that Blackheath man who interfered with William the pedestrian, and whom we burnt in effigy on the lawn at Eden Farm; these men spited this poor tailor, because, finding they would not hear him, he gave a petition to G. Then the magistrates found they mustattend to him, so they made him come every day to their court, and at the end of the day said they had not time to summon the debtor, and he must come again. They did this four days running, which is ruin to a native who just lives on his day’s work. So I went to G. again, and he wrote a thundering note to them, and an hour after they sent the man his debt—but they are two extraordinary individuals. Our old khansamah said that the chief native officers of their court had threatened him that, if he would not give them twenty-five rupees apiece, they would summon his wife to appear in court, which is the greatest disgrace can befal a Mussulmaunee, and a complete loss of caste. Nobody would believe the old man’s story at first, but I sent him to Captain B., who heard his story, found he had plenty of witnesses, and took him up to the court. Mr. ——, the second magistrate, wrote word to Captain B. that ‘the case had been fully proved, and your old khansamah comes out with flying colours.’ This sounded very well, as it was always supposed that no servant from the plains could get any justice against —— and ——’s officers, and we were rather proud of it, but I bethought myself yesterday that we had never heard what became of the culprits, so I got G. to write and say that as Mr. —— had been so kind as to offer an English translation of the proceedings, I should be very much obliged to him for it; and there came such a paper—such a bit of real magistracy! ‘The court cannot deny that the case has been fully proved;’ just as if they ought to deny it; but as it was a delicate matter interfering with officers so immediately connected with themselves, they didnot know what punishment to inflict, and had taken bail of the principal offender, and there he is acting still as vakeel of the court, and extorting bribes from every wretched native that comes for justice—very few do come here. G. was in such a rage, and wrote a minute on their paper that they will not forget, and is sending the whole thing to the principal court at Delhi. It is horrible to think how this class of Europeans oppresses the natives; the great object of the Government being to teach them reliance on English justice, and the poor natives cannot readily understand that they are no longer under their own despotic chiefs. They will be a long time understanding it here.
Sunday, June 23.
I went before breakfast yesterday with Captain L. E. and Captain Z. down to Annandale, where he had sent tents the day before. F. came in the middle of the day, and we stayed till the cool of the evening. I wanted to sketch the children sleeping under the little cascades of water which fall upon their heads. All the babies of the valley are brought up in that fashion, and some of them have great hollows at the top of their heads. It was very hot in the valley, but it was rather a nice way of passing the day, and we got home just as a great storm began.
Thursday, June 27.
I did not think of sending this for ages, but the Calcutta authorities have fitted out a Chinese clipper to go to the Persian Gulf, and seem to think the letters may be in England in three months. My Journal maybe a help to them; for if you observe, our mutual Journals go safely, so I let them have it from pure kindness. It is the only letter I send, and nobody seems to guess when we can write again, not for two months certainly, so do not fidget about us. We are all well and prosperous.
Simla, Monday, July 1.
I sent off a short Journal to you on Saturday, which you will probably never hear of, as in the dearth of Bombay steamers, the Government has been trying a new experiment of taking up a Chinese clipper which will probably be of little use, and they have sent her to Aden with our letters, and have puffed their experiment so successfully that they have actually entrapped me out of a large slice of Journal, so that portion of my life will never be heard of again—‘a blank, my lord.’
I should not care what becomes of the letters I write, if I could get any to read. This is such a tiresome time of year for that, and I get such yearnings for letters, and such fancies come over me. It seems an odd thing to say to you, but I dare say you have the same thoughts with regard to me, but I sometimes thinkifanything should have happened to you, what would become of me? and then the thought gets fairly into my head, and runs into all sorts of details, till I cannot get to sleep, and know it is very wrong, and then I ask Dr. D. for a little medicine and I get better, but in the meanwhile it is horrid to be so far off. However, of course you are very well, and so am I; only mind we keep so, because we really must meet again, we shall have so much to say. We heard of dearold Runjeet’s death on Saturday. It took place on the 27th. It is rather fine, because so unusual in the East, that even to the last moment, his slightest signs, for he had long lost his speech, were obeyed. It is almost a pity they were, only that one is glad such a master mind should have its dues to the last; but the despatch says, that on the last day the Maharajah sent for all his famous jewels, his horses with their splendid trappings, the surpêche and pearls given him by G., and ordered them to be sent to different shrines with directions that the Brahmins should pray for him; that Kurruck Singh (the heir) and the sirdars who were sitting round his bed burst into loud lamentations and said, ‘What will become of us if you give everything away?’ and the Maharajah wept, but said it must be so. Then he ordered the Koh-i-noor (the famous diamond) to be sent down to the temple of Juggernaut, but his sirdars again represented that there was not such another diamond in the world, and that the whole wealth of India could not repurchase it, and he consented to let that remain. But the distribution of jewels went on till the evening, and he is supposed, his newswriters say, to have given away the value of two crores of rupees. It is a great pity such a collection of precious stones, quite unequalled, should be dispersed to these shrines, where they will never be seen again. The Rajah Dhian Singh, the prime minister, seems at present to manage everything, and to be in as great favour with Kurruck Singh as he was with the father; and as he is a very superior man, with dominions of his own almost equal to the Punjâb, things may go on quietly if he remains in favour; butyoung Noor Mahal Singh, Kurruck’s son, is coming back from Peshawur, determined to make himself prime minister to his father, so there may be a danger of a fight. G. declares that no degree of confusion (and I am willing to make as much as possible, if it would be of any use) will keep us here another year, so it is no use blowing up the coals amongst the kings. Our poor fat friend Shere Singh has sent his chief adviser here, to ask protection and advice, and he brought me a very pretty letter from little Pertâb, and I have just been signing a Persian answer to it, and equally pretty, I am confident. I just ran my eye over it to be sure that Mr. C. had expressed my real sentiments, and I think it looked very like them. Shere Singh is in a terrible fright.
Tuesday, July 2.
The accounts from Lahore describe great dismay and real grief amongst Runjeet’s subjects. Two of his ranees have declared their determination to burn themselves with him; but as their stepson Kurruck has implored them not to do so, it is to be hoped they will give it up, if they are sure of kind treatment. I begin to think that the ‘hundred wife system’ is better than the mere one wife rule; they are more attached and faithful.
Wednesday, July 3.
There have been two dry days without fog or rain, so we took advantage of them to be ‘at home’ last night, and the people all came and danced very merrily for two hours, and in the middle of the party, the express with the overland mail arrived—rather adisappointment, as it only comes down to April 15th. I presume your letter is coming, and in the meanwhile you were well to the 15th; but I want your view of things, instead of having to pick them out of “Galignani". Those poor dear ranees whom we visited and thought so beautiful and so merry, have actually burnt themselves; but I am not going to tell you any more about Lahore for the present, as G. gets every day from his native newswriter such quaint and interesting accounts of all the intrigues, and events, and lamentations there, that I will send you the papers—I am sure they will interest you. The death of those poor women is so melancholy, they were such gay young creatures, and they died with the most obstinate courage.
August 1, 1839.
THISwill be more a letter than a Journal, as I have skipped more than a fortnight, partly because I have been obliged to give all my little leisure to drawing for the fancy fair, and then, that I have had ten days of the same ague I had in the plains, from the same reason—constant rain and fog. It is a tiresome complaint while it lasts, from the violence of the headache and pains in the bones, but I do not think it does one much real harm, at least not up here. It stopped only four days ago, and I feel quite well again. We are very quiet just now. Rains and fogs the whole day, till towards five o’clock, when it kindly holds up toallow us to go out for an hour and a half, and then it kindly rains again so as to prevent anybody coming to dinner. G. and I went yesterday to show F. a beautiful new walk we had discovered; that is, we call it a walk, though there is nothing to walk upon but a goat-path, but it leads to a beautiful hill which stands bolt upright by itself, looking down on various little villages in the valleys. The first time we went, the jonpaunees contrived to carry me most part of the way, but this time what little path there had been was washed away, and we had to walk with sticks in one hand and to cling to the rocks with the other, and the jonpaunees crept along just under the path to catch us if we slipped. I never saw anything so beautiful as it was, the ground so green with all sorts of ferns, and covered with iris and mountain geraniums, and such an amphitheatre of mountains all round, with great white clouds in the valleys, just as if the mountains had let their gowns slip off their shoulders. Our Bengalee servants, who turn out in great numbers when we walk, evidently thought it a service of great danger, particularly when one of my boys slipped down a little waterfall, and looked, as G. said, in his red and gold, like a large goldfish floundering about in the pool below. My old jemadar came and gave me a regular scolding this morning, which he had evidently got up with great care in his choicest English. ‘Soobratta tell me, my lord and my two ladies take very dangerous walk, so I just ask of ladyship’s favour to ask my lord not to order any more such walk. Ladyship not strong constitution’ (that is a long word they have picked up from the native doctor, who always tells meso), ‘and what for she walk when she can be carried, and why go on bad road? I see our bheestie’s (water-carrier) cow last week tumble down hill, and she roll over and over till she comekillat the bottom, and if ladyship see that, she never go dangerous walk again.’ He walked off quite satisfied with himself and his oratory, and I own, I think the roll and ‘come kill’ of the bheestie’s cow is pathetic and conclusive.
Tuesday, August 6.
I have had such a piece ofshawlluck; everybody’s mind gets a shawl twist in India, you must understand; and moreover we are all making up our packets for England now.
This place is full of Cashmerees, and they never come further south than Delhi, so this is our last shawl opportunity. Q. came into my room with a magnificent black one, a regular fifty-guinea shawl, and said the owner had told him to show it to me. I said it was very beautiful, but I could not afford any more expensive shawls, and he said if I really fancied it, he would try and beat the price down. I said no, but at the same time asked, in a fatal fit of curiosity, what the price was, and he said, ‘Perhaps I can get it cheaper, but the man says you may have it for 240 rupees.’ (24l.) Upon which I said with infinite promptitude—‘Oh, then, run for your life and pay him directly, before anybody else sees him!’ and Q. thought it advisable himself, for he said some of the other Cashmerees were offering him more for it. The shawl has been compared with three bought by Mrs. R. and Mrs. A. for fifty guineas, and there is not ashade of difference; in fact, it is a perfect beauty, quite a catch.
August 18.
I am uncommonly unhappy in my mind. My dear little flying squirrel, that I had brought up to “man’s estate” from three days old, died yesterday of cholera. I never mean to witness the death of a pet again. To be sure, Chance has lasted so many years that I have not had much practice, but I am quite wretched about this poor little animal. He was so coaxing, and though my doors and windows are never shut, and he had no cage, he never thought of stirring out of my rooms. When I came home, he used to stick his little head out from under the pillow and hold out his paw for my hand and bite it all over; and when I was dressing, he always sat on the glass, or on Wright’s shoulder, with great black eyes like Pamela’s fixed on my hair, which he helped to arrange occasionally. When G. came in the evening, he climbed up the arm-chair and sat on his shoulder, apparently whispering to him; and though G. said the squirrel was only pulling his ear, I am convinced he had more to do with public affairs than people generally supposed. I never saw such a good little thing or such a clean pet. He never ate anything but two or three spoonfuls of tea, but yesterday he got hold of a pear the servants were taking away from luncheon, and it killed him in a very few hours. My own belief is that aspeoplein India are uncommonly dull, the surplus share of sense is “served out” to the beasts, who are therefore uncommonly clever, and their talents are developed by their owners leading such solitary lives that they areable to devote more time to the education of their animals.
Simla, Sunday, Sept 1, 1839.
ITHINKI will begin again soon this time—first, because to-morrow is your birthday, so, as there is a difference of half the world in our reckoning, I begin keeping it in time for fear of accidents. Then I am moved to write, because I was looking over, for the 180th time, Swift’s Journal, and he says, in September 1710, just 129 years ago, ‘Have I not brought myself into a fine premunire to begin writing letters on whole sheets? I cannot tell whether you like these Journal-letters. I believe they would be dull to me to read them over; but perhaps little M. D. is pleased to know how Presto passes his time.’ Now, you are clearly M. D., so I look upon that as a prophecy, and think that I am fulfilling it. Then I have an extra hour to-day. It began to pour just after we went out riding, and we all had to rush home and got wet through.
W. O. writes from Loodheeana that the thermometer is 104°, and only two degrees lower at night.
Friday, Sept 6.
I had some tents sent down to the waterfall yesterday, and Mrs. A. and G. and I went down there to breakfast. The valleys are rather hot, but we founda shady place near the great waterfall, where it was much cooler than in the tents, and she and I talked there very comfortably, while G. went out ‘exploring,’ and Chance had a vague idea that by running up and down the bank he might succeed in stopping the waterfall, but though he tried for four hours the experiment was a decided failure. Those immense purple and green butterflies called ‘Purple Emperors’ were flying about in quantities—such beautiful creatures! Mrs. A. would not bring her children, and was delighted with the noise of the waterfall, because otherwise she would have missed the noise of the children so much more.
Mrs. N. and X. came down to luncheon, and then we all went to a second waterfall, which is slightly inaccessible, but by dint of ladders and chairs and being carried by jonpaunees here and there, we arrived at it, and a very pretty sight it was—the cave so dark and the water so bright. It looked so nice that we settled to pursue the bed of the river in search of a third waterfall, which everybody talks of and nobody has seen, so we were carried and the gentlemen splashed along through the water, and Chance slipped into a deep place and was carried down and nearly drowned; but Jimmund jumped in and ‘plucked up his drowned honour by the locks,’ and after a little rubbing he soon came to. We found the third fall, but could only see it from the top, as there was, no path down the sides, and then we went back to Mrs. A. at the second fall. F. came late, and was persuaded to scramble down to the second fall, and then we all came home to dinner. That sort of day in the openair and the shade is very pleasant, and though it seems like a long excursion from the steepness of the roads, it is only three miles.
W. O. writes word that their camp has been attacked by regular thieves and twenty camels carried off, and the sentries had killed two of the thieves.
A box of books arrived yesterday, rather the worse for having travelled through the rains, and unluckily the Annuals are those that have suffered the most.
Sunday, Sept. 8.
Simla is much moved just now by the arrival of a Mrs. J.,[D]who has been talked of as a great beauty all the year, and that drives every other woman, with any pretensions in that line, quite distracted, with the exception of Mrs. N., who, I must say, makes no fuss about her own beauty, nor objects to it in other people. Mrs. J. is the daughter of a Mrs. C., who is still very handsome herself, and whose husband is deputy-adjutant-general, or some military authority of that kind. She sent this only child to be educated at home, and went home herself two years ago to see her. In the same ship was Mr. J., a poor ensign, going home on sick leave. Mrs. C. nursed him and took care of him, and took him to see her daughter, who was a girl of fifteen at school. He told her he was engaged to be married, consulted her about his prospects, and in the meantime privately married this child at school. It was enough to provoke any mother, but as it now cannot be helped, we have all been trying topersuade her for the last year to make it up, as she frets dreadfully about her only child. She has withstood it till now, but at last consented to ask them for a month, and they arrived three days ago. Therush on the roadwas remarkable, and one or two of the ladies were looking absolutely nervous. But nothing could be more unsatisfactory than the result, for Mrs. J. looked lovely, and Mrs. C. had set up for her a very grand jonpaun, with bearers in fine orange and brown liveries, and the same for herself; and J. is a sort of smart-looking man, with bright waistcoats and bright teeth, with a showy horse, and he rode along in an attitude of respectful attention to ‘ma belle mère.’ Altogether it was an imposing sight, and I cannot see any way out of it but magnanimous admiration. They all called yesterday when I was at the waterfalls, and F. thought her very pretty.
[D]Afterwards the celebrated Lola Montez.
[D]Afterwards the celebrated Lola Montez.
Tuesday, Sept. 10.
We had a dinner yesterday. Mrs. J. is undoubtedly very pretty, and such a merry unaffected girl. She is only seventeen now, and does not look so old, and when one thinks that she is married to a junior lieutenant in the Indian army, fifteen years older than herself, and that they have 160 rupees a month, and are to pass their whole lives in India, I do not wonder at Mrs. C.’s resentment at her having run away from school.
There are seventeen more officers come up to Simla on leave for a month, partly in the hope of a little gaiety at the end of the rains; and then the fancy fair has had a great reputation since last year, and as theywill all spend money, they are particularly welcome; but wehadgot through all our formal dinners, and now we must begin again.
Wednesday, Sept. 11.
W. says the heat is terrific at Lahore, 104° at night and 109° in the day; and Captain M. says none of them have closed their eyes for three nights. We had a large party last night, the largest I have seen in Simla, and it would have been a pretty ball anywhere, there were so many pretty people. The retired wives, now that their husbands are on the march back from Cabul, ventured out and got through one evening without any prejudice to their characters.
Thursday, Sept. 12.
W. is very much bored at Lahore, and Mr. C. has given him leave to come back, and he will be here in two or three days. Little Pertâb is as nice a child as ever, W. says, and remembers all the English words we taught him. They all cried and salaamed to the picture of Runjeet Singh, which W. had copied from my sketch, and he was obliged to give it to the old fakeer.
Monday, Sept. 16.
W. O. got home this morning, having ridden from Lahore in three days; about sixty miles a day, and the thermometer at 110°—enough to kill him, but he does not seem the worse for it, though he looks very thin. He says he missed one of his relays of horses and lay down under a tree to sleep while the guide rode on for a conveyance, and when he awoke, he found one of theAkalees (those wild bigots of whom even Runjeet was afraid) sitting by him and fanning him with a large fan. Touching!
We are going to a ball to-night, which the married gentlemen give us; and instead of being at the only public room, which is a broken, tumble-down place, it is to be at the C.s, who very good-naturedly give up their house for it.
Wednesday, Sept. 18.
The ball went off with the greatest success; transparencies of the taking of Ghuznee, ‘Auckland’ in all directions, arches and verandahs made up of flowers; a whist table for his lordship, which is always a great relief at these balls; and every individual at Simla was there. There was a supper-room for us, made up of velvet and gold hangings belonging to the durbar, and a standing supper all night for the company in general, at which one very fat lady was detected in eating five suppers. We came away at one, but it was kept up till five, and altogether succeeded. W., after all that journey, sat up till five.
Thursday, Sept. 19.
The July overland came in yesterday, and I have got your nicefatletter from Newsalls, and the Journal of your last month in London. I remember the pain of leaving London at the end of the second season. It was ‘such dreadful hagony,’ as the boy says, in ‘Oliver Twist,’ that I quite enter into T.’s feelings. E. is pretty well for the first year, and I expect will show stronger symptoms of the disease next year. The third year I shall be at home, to hear all about it, which will be amazingly good fun; and in themeantime you cannot imagine the treasures these Journals are. Only think how pleasant! An old Colonel Skinner, a native as black as this ink, whose life you can see in Miss Roberts’ book, writes to W. that ‘If the Miss Edens do not wish to mortify an old soldier, and bring down his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, they will accept a pair of shawls he has ordered for them in Cashmere, and which have just arrived. If they return them, he shall imagine they look upon him as a native, and not as an old British soldier.’ Nothing evidently could be more palpably indelicate than to refuse them. I am the last woman in the world to hurt anybody’s feelings by returning any shawl, to say nothing of a white one, made on purpose in Cashmere; and if he had thrown in a scarf, I should have thought his appearance and complexion only too fair for a British soldier. Do you think they will be long shawls, or square?
Simla, Friday, Sept. 27, 1839.
ITappears that our last letters will again be too late for the steamer. G. always keeps the express till it is a day too late for the steamer. In fact, if hehasa fault (I don’t think he has, butifhe has), it is a slight disposition to trifle with the English letters, just on the same principle as he always used to arrive half an hour too late for dinner at Longleat and Bowood. Henever will allow for the chance of being too late, and now, for two months running, his despatches have been left at Bombay.
We had our fancy fair on Wednesday, which went off with greatéclat, and was really a very amusing day, and moreover produced 6,500 rupees, which, for a very small society, is an immense sum. When we arrived at the ‘Auckland Gate,’ which was the same as last year, we were stopped by a gang of gipseys, who had their little tent and their donkey, and the pot boiling on three sticks, and a boy plucking a fowl and another with a hare, &c. X. and L. and a Captain C. were disguised as gipseys, and the most villanous-looking set possible; and they told our fortunes, and then came on to the fair and sang an excellent song about our poor old Colonel —— and a little hill fort that he has been taking; but after the siege was over, he found no enemy in it, otherwise it was a gallant action. X. showed me the song some days ago, and I thought it might affront the old man if it came upon him unawares, so they showed it to him first, and he adopted it as his own joke.
Then the selling at the stalls began, and everything was bought up very quickly; then there was a raffle for my two pictures, and we reduced the tickets to 3 rupees each, and would not let anybody take more than three, and yet, with that they produced 75l.Rather a shame! but I could not help it—a little single figure, which I had done in two mornings, and promised to W. O., was put up to auction when he was away, and fetched 15l., so I must do another for him. F. sent a great collection of toys she had madein the bazaar, which produced 20l.Mr. C. was an excellent auctioneer for the four things that were to be sold by auction—that small drawing of mine and three beautiful little oil paintings, sent to me for the fair by a regular artist, a Mr. Gwatkin, whose Christian names are Joshua Reynolds (he is a great-nephew of Sir Joshua), so Mr. C. began with the picture of an old, bald man:—‘Will anybody allow me to say 100 rupees for this splendid composition of the famous Sir Joshua Reynolds?—an absolute gem, a real Joshua Reynolds. I beg your pardon; I have just distinguished the surname of Gwatkin, but I was misled by the similarity of style. The original Sir Joshua would not, however, have been affronted; those flesh tints on the bald head are magnificent! Eighty rupees I think you said. But you have not noticed the mountain in the background—an exact representation of any one of the Alps, I may say of all the Alps, and valuable to any of us who are not likely to see the Alps in a hurry. Mr. ——, allow me to say 100 rupees for this beautiful delineation of a calm old age, unconscious of decay; it is worth your notice.’ Mr. —— looks about sixty, and still tries (without the least success) to be a young man. G. bought the picture for me. I went as far as eight guineas for the second myself, but was outbid by Mr. A.; and the third, which was a very inferior article, of a nun, hung on hand, so at last C. turned to the Baboo belonging to his office, who was grinning at his master’s jokes, and said, ‘I see, Baboo, you are determined to outbid everybody for this valuable specimen of English art—Seetannauth Baboo has bid thirty-five rupees forthis remarkable portrait of a nun “in maiden meditation, fancy free,” and I have great pleasure in knock-it down to him. Seetannauth Baboo, you are most fortunate.’ The Baboo clearly did not know why, but he is very rich, and the Hindus have a great idea of the saving merits of charity; so he paid his money, and I saw him all the rest of the day walking about, with his servant carrying his little nun’s picture after him.
We had provided luncheon at a large booth with the sign of the ‘Marquess of Granby.’ L. E. was Old Weller, and so disguised I could not guess him. X. was Sam Weller; R., Jingle; and Captain C., Mrs. Weller; Captain Z. merely a waiter, with one or two other gentlemen; but they all acted very well up to their characters, and the luncheon was very good fun, and was kept up through three relays of company, fifty at a time; and as we found all the food, the proceeds for the charity were very good. Then G. gave some prizes for the Ghoorkas to shoot for, and the afternoon ended with races; a regular racing stand, and a very tolerable course for the hills, all the gentlemen in satin jackets and jockey caps, and a weighing stand—in short, everything got up regularly. I never can care about races, but this was a popular bit of the day with most of the people, who had vague recollections of Epsom in their young days. Half the stakes went to the charity. Altogether there is money enough to keep up the hospital for four years, by which time another Governor-General will be here; but I’m afraid when Dr. D. goes, it will not be the useful establishment it has been. Everybody likesthese out-of-door amusements at this time of year, and it is a marvel to me how well X. and R. and L. E. contrive to make all their plots and disguises go on. I suppose in a very small society it is easier than it would be in England, and they have all the assistance of servants to any amount, who do all they are told, and merely think the ‘Sahib Logue’ are mad.
Friday, Oct. 4.
This has had a week’s interruption, for I was taken on Saturday with spasms, and then fever, and so on; and have been quite laid up.
The August overland arrived yesterday. Letters of August 12th here on October 3rd. Quicker than ever! By-the-bye, I beg to remind you that we left Portsmouth this day four years. There is something in that; I do not exactly know what, but something—the waste of four good years, if nothing else. Your letters from Newsalls, and all the letters, had a quiet, pleasantfamily waywith them, but very few events. It is rather shocking to see you regretting your London season so much. I am afraid, my dear M., that after ‘a youth of folly’ you will be reduced to solace yourself with ‘an old age of cards.’
With the Bombay dâk came that shawl of Colonel Skinner’s I told you we were expecting, but we were so occupied with the letters, we could not at first attend to the shawl; but now, upon investigation, we are all of opinion there never was so handsome an article seen. The dâk was, I suppose, overloaded, so that only one shawl is come. F. and I are in such a horrid fright, lest the other should be lost. We havenot the nerve to draw lots for this one; it would be almost less unpleasant to cut it in two.
One of our servants dropped down dead in the verandah three days ago. He was talking and laughing with some of the others, squatting on the ground in their usual fashion, and he just laid his head back and died. He was a young man—one we always called Shylock, from his sharp, Jewish look. There are several of his relations in the establishment, and their screams were horrible: but twelve hours after they buried him. Yesterday they gave a great feast to all the Mussulmauns, and when that is over, they always seem very comfortable again.
Think of T. putting in a letter to F. yesterday, ‘This happy result of the war will of course ensure Lord A.’selevation to the peerage; there cannot be two opinions about that.’
Curious ignorance, combined with considerable vulgarity! ‘Yet Nature might have made us such as these,’ as Autolycus says; though really I do not see how she could, with any conscience, or without a great deal of trouble. T. is anxious we should stop a few days at —— on our way down, that we may make acquaintance with ‘my dear wife and daughter,’ as he fears it will not suit his finances to go to Calcutta at present. I think I see the whole camp of 12,000 precious souls stopping a few days at a station where there are three Europeans, just to make acquaintance with Mrs. and Miss T.! But all J.’s letters are ‘du Collins tout pur.’
Tuesday, Oct. 8.
The second shawl is come to hand safe. Capt. P. writes from Cashmere that he has seen those that are in the loom there for us, and that they will not be finished for some months, but he says he never saw anything the least like them. He gives such a horrid account of the tyranny of the Sikhs over the Cashmerees, and in their own jaghires, through which he has been passing; their cruelty is dreadful. He has been through the territories belonging to the Jumnoo family, to which Dhian Singh, the prime minister, our friend Heera Singh, and an uncle of his, Gholâb Singh, belong.
The number of persons without noses, or ears, are incredible, and Gholâb Singh, who is the worst of all, actually flayed alive the other day 300 men who had offended him.
It is the practice of that family never to allow a female infant of their race to live; they marry wives from other very high Rajpoot families, but they will not give their daughters to inferior princes nor let them live unmarried, so they are all put away as soon as they are born. I wonder the wives do not get up a little rebellion of their own.
Wednesday, October 9.
Sir E. Ryan, the chief justice, has come up from Calcutta on a hurried tour to see India, and has seen more in five weeks than we have by lumbering about in a camp for two years; and, moreover, we are all aghast and rather affronted at his looks. We meant him to come up with a parboiled Calcuttaappearance, instead of which he looks younger and better than when we first saw him; he has a very good colour, and walks everybody to death. He came straight here after his journey up the hills, and met G. and me on the road, took one of our longest walks with us, and never would listen to our offer of the assistance of a pony. He is a pleasant man, a good Whig, and keeps up his English politics, and English books, and English laugh, and enjoys seeing everything, and wants a little cricket in the afternoon. He is staying with Mr. ——, but as the visit is by way of being to us, they dine here most days.
Sunday, Oct. 13.
We have the deputation from Kurruck Singh up here now, and had a very pretty durbar yesterday, to which they brought their presents. We asked a few ladies who had never seen a durbar, to come, and put them behind the crowd, and they thought it a beautiful sight. While the durbar was going on, there came an express to Mr. A., saying that Noor Mahal Singh, the heir-apparent, and Dhian Singh had gone into Kurruck’s durbar and shot at a favourite of his, Cheyt Singh, who was sitting so close to his master that some of the shot went into Kurruck’s foot; he begged them to kill him and spare his favourite, but they finished Cheyt with their sabres. We give the soldiers a ball to-morrow, and on Tuesday begin to pack up. I keep thinking it is the first step towards going home to you, dear M., but I wish you livedmore handy like.
My journey will be shorter than the others’. I leavethe camp at Agra; as G. and the rest of the party leave the camp at Gwalior, and will not be at Calcutta till the beginning of April. I shall be housed at the end of February.
Simla, Tuesday, Oct. 15, 1839.
ITis rather soon to begin again, but habit is everything, and there is a little more to say while the Sikhs are here. Our ball for them last night went off very well. I had the verandahs all closed in with branches of trees, and carpets put down and lamps put up, and the house looked a great deal larger. The chiefs were in splendid gold dresses, and certainly very gentleman-like men. They sat bolt upright on their chairs with their feet dangling, and I dare say suffered agonies from cramp. C. said we saw them amazingly divided between the necessity of listening to G. and their native feelings of notseemingsurprised, and their curiosity at men and women dancing together. I think that they learned at least two figures of the quadrilles by heart, for I saw Gholâb Singh, the commander of the Goorcherras, who has been with Europeans before, expounding the dancing to the others.
The two chief sirdars were not even at Lahore when we were there. I thought they might eventually be taught to flirt, and wanted Mr. A. to try and make up a match between the old fakeer and old Miss J., who is between sixty and seventy, and something like thefakeer. Mr. A. was quite willing, but unluckily Miss J. did not come.
Thursday, Oct. 17.
The gentlemen got up some racing yesterday, to which the Sikhs came, and we all went. Racing is one of the few amusements they can enter into, and they were very much amused. G. gave a silver hookah to be run for, and the aides-de-camp a silver cheroot box, &c. The Sikhs saw us drawing a lottery for the races and enquired what it meant, and in their quick way set one up. Lehna Singh sent word to twelve of his guards to start; wrote all their names in Persian on bits of paper, and said with a complacent smile, ‘Lotteree.’
Their races were very funny. They started as fast as the horse could go—no Sikh horse can gallop 100 yards—and then they trotted on, or walked, or stopped; but towards the winning-post the first man always came in waving his whip over his head, looking in a prodigious hurry, with the others at least a quarter of a mile behind. They rode with their heavy shields and helmets on, and one man in chain-armour, which helped to break his horse’s leg. However, G. gave him a new horse, and gave the four winners a pair of shawls each, so they thought English racing quite delightful.
Friday, Oct. 18.
The Sikhs had their farewell durbar to-day. They are in such a fright, poor people! at going back to their disturbed country, that they begged for even one of the Government House hirkarus as a protection.They say they were sent by Kurruck Singh, whose power has now passed into the hands of his son and his minister, and they don’t know what may be done to them when they go back.
Noor Mahal and Dhian Singh called before them the uncle of Cheyt Singh, whose murder I mentioned to you in my last Journal, and after trying to make him confess where some pearls and jewels were hidden, killed him with their own hands, and threw his body out before the palace gate. Another chief,theysay, killed himself in prison, but others say they poisoned him. The Punjâb is fast returning to the barbarous state from which Runjeet redeemed it.
The native writer describes it all so like some of the old Jewish troubles. He says: ‘The Maharajah refused comfort, and asked if he were really king, or if the power had left him; and the Koonwur (Noor Mahal) and the Rajah answered, that he was the Lord of the World, and that they were his slaves. The Maharajah went out to take the air on his elephant, and the Koonwur sat behind him and drove the flies from him with a chowry, and the Rajah carried a chattah (an umbrella) over his head’—and then they came back and imprisoned and beat more of his servants.
We had some more ladies to see the durbar, and the secretaries have become resigned to that innovation, and think it rather improves the appearance of things.
Wednesday, Oct. 23.
P. returned from Cashmere to-day, much sooner than we expected him. He walked into my room just as I was going to dress, and I should not have knownhim the least if I had met him out of doors. He said he had spoken to several people, who had not made him out at all. His hair is quite long, hanging about his shoulders, and his beard half-way down to his waist. It is a mark of respectability in the countries he has travelled through, but it looks ruffianish here: however, it was rather becoming. P. gives such an account of the shawls that are making for us in Cashmere, and he has brought drawings of them that make one’s shawl-mouth water.
Hurripore, Wednesday, Oct. 30.
There! I have seen the last of poor, dear Simla, except a distant glimpse from the Fir Tree Bungalow, where I shall sleep to-morrow.
This place is so very low, and hot accordingly. I had always settled to make my journey to Barr last four days. More than three hours of a jonpaun knocks me up, and the last three days I have unluckily been ailing. I should not have set off yesterday afternoon, only that my bed and sofa and every atom of clothes had gone on in the morning, and three hours of any pain can be borne. So in spite of a desperate headache, I started for Syree, with Dr. D., Giles, and Wright, meaning to get into bed the moment I arrived. But I had the sad spectacle of my bed set down about half-way, and the coolies smoking and cooking their dinner round it. However, Rosina had made me up a bed on a native charpoy that did to lie and excruciate my head upon, till the bed came up, and the doctor made me up a composing draught; but such a night as I had! I had not tasted anything for thirty-sixhours, and about ten an insane desire for a sandwich seized me; so, though I had heard the cooks with all their chattels set off for this place two hours before, I called to the hirkaru who was sleeping at the door, and told him to tell Giles I wanted a sandwich. Hirkarus are good for carrying a note, or a parcel, but are never trusted with a message. After making me repeat sandwich six times, and evidently thinking it meant a friend from England, or some new medicine, I heard him repeating as he walked off round the bungalow, ‘Lady Sahib sant vich muncta’ (muncta meaning ‘wants,’ and the only word that we have all learnt, showing whatwantingcreatures we are). Giles made up a mixture of leg of chicken and dust, which was satisfying under the circumstances, but still my head raved; and having heard the jackals (which do not exist at Simla) tearing up a dog, I had a vague idea that the sandwich was made of the remains of Chance, which gave it an unpleasant flavour.
Then the Pariah dogs fought, and the A.s’ coolies arrived with all their things and insisted on bringing them into the bungalow.
Then the Paharrees, at least 500 of them, who were resting on the hill, began calling to their friends, 500 more, who were cooking in the valley. One man was calling for his friend Buddooah. ‘Oh! Buddooah! Buddoo!’ to which somebody responded, ‘Oh! Almooah!’ and it was not Almooah who had called; so then the caller began again at the top of his voice: ‘Oh! Buddooah!’ and the answer was, ‘Oh! Culloo!’ but it was not Culloo, by any manner of means; so then he called again, till he had woke every Buddooahin camp, and I don’t believe he ever found the right one at last.
However, I arrived at the conclusion that Buddooah must be Hindustani for ‘Jack,’ it seemed such a common name, and that is a great discovery; and I also settled that, if I had had a stick and no headache, I would have gone and taught that man to carry his own messages, and not stand there screaming all night.
The conclusion of the night was, that a rat ran over my bed and across my throat, and did not the least care for my trying to catch him. We came on early this morning, and my head is beginning to improve.
Fir Tree Bungalow, Friday, Nov. 1.
F. and G. and P. arrived to breakfast to-day, and this afternoon we all go down to our deplorable tents. There is a distant view of Simla from this place, and very pretty it looks. Giles is taking a sentimental farewell of it through a telescope, and lamenting over his lost garden: ‘But one comfort, ma’am, is that I have brought away my favourite gardener to look after your pheasants.’ I am trying to carry down to Calcutta some of the Himalayan pheasants, to be shipped off to your Charlie the moment we arrive.
They are such beautiful creatures, the whole bird of bronzed blue, like the breast of a peacock, except the tail and wings, which are of a reddish brown, and they have a bright green tuft on their heads. I have had some of them two months, and they have grown tame, but at first they are very apt to die of fright. Yesterday, when I took up the last new one to feed it, it fainted away and died soon after. However, I still have five,and they have a snug little house, carried by two men, and a little tent of netting, which is pitched in front of it when we halt, so that they may run in and out without being touched. Every precaution is taken, but still there will be many a slip between this pheasant cup and Charlie’s lip, I am afraid.