CHAPTER XVIII.RACE FOR LIFE WITH A MAD DROVE OF BUFFALO—UNCLE SAM’S FLAG A FEATURE OF THE QUEEN’S JUBILEE CELEBRATION AT DELHI.It was our idea to see the sights of Lucknow in two days and return to Cawnpore on the evening of the second, but our plans were changed, as Messrs. Thoburn, Robinson and Mansell, of the American Methodist Mission, called upon us at the hotel and transferred us, bag and baggage, to the Mission as their guests. Under their guidance we remained in Lucknow a week. Having returned to Cawnpore, we resumed our journey on June 11, making rapid progress, principally during the nights. Ever since entering China, more than a year before, we had seen daily countless numbers of the hairless, black, water buffalo. Many Europeans fear them and consider them dangerous, but they treated us with deference until Sunday, June 20, when we encountered a herd of the fierce-looking, cumbersome beasts while pedaling our way to Delhi. I do not believe the buffalos had any premeditated intention of attacking us, but as we wheeled slowly through a drove, a calf became imbued with the idea that bicycles were dangerous. He bolted straight down the road in front of us, running like a winner for a quarter of a mile. Then he was attractedby some tempting green leaves, and halted to browse upon them. As soon as we passed him, the machines which had frightened him became an attraction, and he meekly trotted out and fell in line behind us. The mother, who had been lumbering along in the rear, became excited at the unusual conduct of her son, gave a few short snorts, and set out in pursuit. Immediately the entire drove joined in the novel race, and, with a thundering clatter of hard hoofs ringing in our ears, we realized that we were being pursued. Faster and faster we spun along, and as native pilgrims heard the uproar, they gave one glance at the avalanche of bicycle and buffalo sweeping down upon them and scattered to the right and left. We tried, by shouting and waving helmets at the calf, to drive him away, but in vain, and the affair, which had been amusing at first, settled down into a race for life. It is impossible, as readers know, to take to a tree when on a cycle, so there was nothing else to do but set a pace for a crazy calf and a drove of jealous buffalo, and for the next mile and a half we did so. How the calf came to change his mind about joining his fortune with ours I do not know, but a sudden cessation of the clatter behind us revealed on sight the calf recumbent in a pool of water, with his sympathizing friends and relatives standing by, grimly looking after us. This was the outcome of the buffalos' end of the race; ours was garments soaked with perspiration, panting breath, and ourselves so heated and flushed we were dizzy and faint.The Queen’s Jubilee, celebrated the day following our arrival in Delhi, gave us opportunity to enjoy an illumination scene in India, and, though we observed many well-lighted European and government employes' houses, I should not say that the Indian is as much a lover of British rule as the British would have others believe. The usual parade of soldiery and police was the first feature of the evening, and fireworks the final. I thoroughly enjoyed the astonishment caused by the presence of a large American flag, flying from a staff lashed to the life-sized stone elephant which stands in the yard of the government building, and was much amused at the inscriptions on the red cloth banners which the natives hung over their doorways. They read, “Welcome to India;” “Welcome to Delhi,” and a rather suggestive few read, “God bless the Prince.” It was a few moments before it dawned on me that the inscriptions were originally made to please the eye of the Prince of Wales, when that great functionary of corner-stone laying and baby christening was doing a little globe-trotting at the English public’s expense. Who did it, and why that American flag, in all its starry beauty, was flying in front of a government building, were the principal questions asked by army and police officers the next day. Delhi, as a city, was founded during the shadowy ages,which precludes the possibility of dates, but its ruins are visible to-day on an area ten miles wide and fifteen miles long. How often the city has changed its site is only limited to the victories gained by invaders of all tribes and nations. The Rome of Asia, Delhi has known its Nero; Maharrata, Hindoo, Jain, Persian, Afghan, Mohammedan, and the cold, unfeeling Britain, have in turn ruled over the Indian Empire from this ancient city, and the truth has ever been proven that whosoever held Delhi ruled India. Delhi, like many other Indian cities, offers the visitor many interesting buildings of native structure, but so often have we viewed with reverence and awe some superb building, only to learn that it was a tomb for some notable departed, that the word “tomb” has become abhorrent. India will linger in our memory chiefly as one vast group of mausoleums, set in an arid desert and scorched by the fires of a sun fierce as the furnaces of Sheol.The exposure to heat, from which the Inter Ocean cyclists were suffering daily, led to Mrs. McIlrath’s serious condition, which prevented our departure from Delhi on June 24, the day upon which we had made our arrangements to leave. With face swollen so that her eyes were half-closed, her skin was entirely covered with tiny pimples. Small-pox would not have presented a more pitiable sight, but experts pronounced the case prickly heat, and beyond advising perfect rest, cool drinks and hot baths, declared that nothing could be done to drive away or reduce the swelling. Under these conditions we were unable to proceed until July 1, but with the delightful attentions shown us by Mr. and Mrs. Aitkin of the Delhi Morning Post, and Major Mainwaring, of the Native Infantry, time did not hang heavily upon our hands. We swung into the main road at 6 o’clock one morning, taking the Grand Trunk once more, and following its course due north. Karnaul, the city which we should have reached the night before, had it not been for the stiff head winds, we entered at 8 o’clock the following morning, just in time to escape a downfall of rain which detained us until the next day. A second reminder of the plucky little Lenz we found in the register book of the Karnaul dak bungalow, which read, “F. G. Lenze, October 10, 1893, arrived six p. m. Departed six a. m., October 12, American Bicyclist.” Strange as it may seem, this was only the second instance in which we found trace of Lenz, though in China, Burmah and India we traveled in all over four thousand miles on identically the same route.
CHAPTER XVIII.RACE FOR LIFE WITH A MAD DROVE OF BUFFALO—UNCLE SAM’S FLAG A FEATURE OF THE QUEEN’S JUBILEE CELEBRATION AT DELHI.It was our idea to see the sights of Lucknow in two days and return to Cawnpore on the evening of the second, but our plans were changed, as Messrs. Thoburn, Robinson and Mansell, of the American Methodist Mission, called upon us at the hotel and transferred us, bag and baggage, to the Mission as their guests. Under their guidance we remained in Lucknow a week. Having returned to Cawnpore, we resumed our journey on June 11, making rapid progress, principally during the nights. Ever since entering China, more than a year before, we had seen daily countless numbers of the hairless, black, water buffalo. Many Europeans fear them and consider them dangerous, but they treated us with deference until Sunday, June 20, when we encountered a herd of the fierce-looking, cumbersome beasts while pedaling our way to Delhi. I do not believe the buffalos had any premeditated intention of attacking us, but as we wheeled slowly through a drove, a calf became imbued with the idea that bicycles were dangerous. He bolted straight down the road in front of us, running like a winner for a quarter of a mile. Then he was attractedby some tempting green leaves, and halted to browse upon them. As soon as we passed him, the machines which had frightened him became an attraction, and he meekly trotted out and fell in line behind us. The mother, who had been lumbering along in the rear, became excited at the unusual conduct of her son, gave a few short snorts, and set out in pursuit. Immediately the entire drove joined in the novel race, and, with a thundering clatter of hard hoofs ringing in our ears, we realized that we were being pursued. Faster and faster we spun along, and as native pilgrims heard the uproar, they gave one glance at the avalanche of bicycle and buffalo sweeping down upon them and scattered to the right and left. We tried, by shouting and waving helmets at the calf, to drive him away, but in vain, and the affair, which had been amusing at first, settled down into a race for life. It is impossible, as readers know, to take to a tree when on a cycle, so there was nothing else to do but set a pace for a crazy calf and a drove of jealous buffalo, and for the next mile and a half we did so. How the calf came to change his mind about joining his fortune with ours I do not know, but a sudden cessation of the clatter behind us revealed on sight the calf recumbent in a pool of water, with his sympathizing friends and relatives standing by, grimly looking after us. This was the outcome of the buffalos' end of the race; ours was garments soaked with perspiration, panting breath, and ourselves so heated and flushed we were dizzy and faint.The Queen’s Jubilee, celebrated the day following our arrival in Delhi, gave us opportunity to enjoy an illumination scene in India, and, though we observed many well-lighted European and government employes' houses, I should not say that the Indian is as much a lover of British rule as the British would have others believe. The usual parade of soldiery and police was the first feature of the evening, and fireworks the final. I thoroughly enjoyed the astonishment caused by the presence of a large American flag, flying from a staff lashed to the life-sized stone elephant which stands in the yard of the government building, and was much amused at the inscriptions on the red cloth banners which the natives hung over their doorways. They read, “Welcome to India;” “Welcome to Delhi,” and a rather suggestive few read, “God bless the Prince.” It was a few moments before it dawned on me that the inscriptions were originally made to please the eye of the Prince of Wales, when that great functionary of corner-stone laying and baby christening was doing a little globe-trotting at the English public’s expense. Who did it, and why that American flag, in all its starry beauty, was flying in front of a government building, were the principal questions asked by army and police officers the next day. Delhi, as a city, was founded during the shadowy ages,which precludes the possibility of dates, but its ruins are visible to-day on an area ten miles wide and fifteen miles long. How often the city has changed its site is only limited to the victories gained by invaders of all tribes and nations. The Rome of Asia, Delhi has known its Nero; Maharrata, Hindoo, Jain, Persian, Afghan, Mohammedan, and the cold, unfeeling Britain, have in turn ruled over the Indian Empire from this ancient city, and the truth has ever been proven that whosoever held Delhi ruled India. Delhi, like many other Indian cities, offers the visitor many interesting buildings of native structure, but so often have we viewed with reverence and awe some superb building, only to learn that it was a tomb for some notable departed, that the word “tomb” has become abhorrent. India will linger in our memory chiefly as one vast group of mausoleums, set in an arid desert and scorched by the fires of a sun fierce as the furnaces of Sheol.The exposure to heat, from which the Inter Ocean cyclists were suffering daily, led to Mrs. McIlrath’s serious condition, which prevented our departure from Delhi on June 24, the day upon which we had made our arrangements to leave. With face swollen so that her eyes were half-closed, her skin was entirely covered with tiny pimples. Small-pox would not have presented a more pitiable sight, but experts pronounced the case prickly heat, and beyond advising perfect rest, cool drinks and hot baths, declared that nothing could be done to drive away or reduce the swelling. Under these conditions we were unable to proceed until July 1, but with the delightful attentions shown us by Mr. and Mrs. Aitkin of the Delhi Morning Post, and Major Mainwaring, of the Native Infantry, time did not hang heavily upon our hands. We swung into the main road at 6 o’clock one morning, taking the Grand Trunk once more, and following its course due north. Karnaul, the city which we should have reached the night before, had it not been for the stiff head winds, we entered at 8 o’clock the following morning, just in time to escape a downfall of rain which detained us until the next day. A second reminder of the plucky little Lenz we found in the register book of the Karnaul dak bungalow, which read, “F. G. Lenze, October 10, 1893, arrived six p. m. Departed six a. m., October 12, American Bicyclist.” Strange as it may seem, this was only the second instance in which we found trace of Lenz, though in China, Burmah and India we traveled in all over four thousand miles on identically the same route.
CHAPTER XVIII.RACE FOR LIFE WITH A MAD DROVE OF BUFFALO—UNCLE SAM’S FLAG A FEATURE OF THE QUEEN’S JUBILEE CELEBRATION AT DELHI.
RACE FOR LIFE WITH A MAD DROVE OF BUFFALO—UNCLE SAM’S FLAG A FEATURE OF THE QUEEN’S JUBILEE CELEBRATION AT DELHI.
RACE FOR LIFE WITH A MAD DROVE OF BUFFALO—UNCLE SAM’S FLAG A FEATURE OF THE QUEEN’S JUBILEE CELEBRATION AT DELHI.
It was our idea to see the sights of Lucknow in two days and return to Cawnpore on the evening of the second, but our plans were changed, as Messrs. Thoburn, Robinson and Mansell, of the American Methodist Mission, called upon us at the hotel and transferred us, bag and baggage, to the Mission as their guests. Under their guidance we remained in Lucknow a week. Having returned to Cawnpore, we resumed our journey on June 11, making rapid progress, principally during the nights. Ever since entering China, more than a year before, we had seen daily countless numbers of the hairless, black, water buffalo. Many Europeans fear them and consider them dangerous, but they treated us with deference until Sunday, June 20, when we encountered a herd of the fierce-looking, cumbersome beasts while pedaling our way to Delhi. I do not believe the buffalos had any premeditated intention of attacking us, but as we wheeled slowly through a drove, a calf became imbued with the idea that bicycles were dangerous. He bolted straight down the road in front of us, running like a winner for a quarter of a mile. Then he was attractedby some tempting green leaves, and halted to browse upon them. As soon as we passed him, the machines which had frightened him became an attraction, and he meekly trotted out and fell in line behind us. The mother, who had been lumbering along in the rear, became excited at the unusual conduct of her son, gave a few short snorts, and set out in pursuit. Immediately the entire drove joined in the novel race, and, with a thundering clatter of hard hoofs ringing in our ears, we realized that we were being pursued. Faster and faster we spun along, and as native pilgrims heard the uproar, they gave one glance at the avalanche of bicycle and buffalo sweeping down upon them and scattered to the right and left. We tried, by shouting and waving helmets at the calf, to drive him away, but in vain, and the affair, which had been amusing at first, settled down into a race for life. It is impossible, as readers know, to take to a tree when on a cycle, so there was nothing else to do but set a pace for a crazy calf and a drove of jealous buffalo, and for the next mile and a half we did so. How the calf came to change his mind about joining his fortune with ours I do not know, but a sudden cessation of the clatter behind us revealed on sight the calf recumbent in a pool of water, with his sympathizing friends and relatives standing by, grimly looking after us. This was the outcome of the buffalos' end of the race; ours was garments soaked with perspiration, panting breath, and ourselves so heated and flushed we were dizzy and faint.The Queen’s Jubilee, celebrated the day following our arrival in Delhi, gave us opportunity to enjoy an illumination scene in India, and, though we observed many well-lighted European and government employes' houses, I should not say that the Indian is as much a lover of British rule as the British would have others believe. The usual parade of soldiery and police was the first feature of the evening, and fireworks the final. I thoroughly enjoyed the astonishment caused by the presence of a large American flag, flying from a staff lashed to the life-sized stone elephant which stands in the yard of the government building, and was much amused at the inscriptions on the red cloth banners which the natives hung over their doorways. They read, “Welcome to India;” “Welcome to Delhi,” and a rather suggestive few read, “God bless the Prince.” It was a few moments before it dawned on me that the inscriptions were originally made to please the eye of the Prince of Wales, when that great functionary of corner-stone laying and baby christening was doing a little globe-trotting at the English public’s expense. Who did it, and why that American flag, in all its starry beauty, was flying in front of a government building, were the principal questions asked by army and police officers the next day. Delhi, as a city, was founded during the shadowy ages,which precludes the possibility of dates, but its ruins are visible to-day on an area ten miles wide and fifteen miles long. How often the city has changed its site is only limited to the victories gained by invaders of all tribes and nations. The Rome of Asia, Delhi has known its Nero; Maharrata, Hindoo, Jain, Persian, Afghan, Mohammedan, and the cold, unfeeling Britain, have in turn ruled over the Indian Empire from this ancient city, and the truth has ever been proven that whosoever held Delhi ruled India. Delhi, like many other Indian cities, offers the visitor many interesting buildings of native structure, but so often have we viewed with reverence and awe some superb building, only to learn that it was a tomb for some notable departed, that the word “tomb” has become abhorrent. India will linger in our memory chiefly as one vast group of mausoleums, set in an arid desert and scorched by the fires of a sun fierce as the furnaces of Sheol.The exposure to heat, from which the Inter Ocean cyclists were suffering daily, led to Mrs. McIlrath’s serious condition, which prevented our departure from Delhi on June 24, the day upon which we had made our arrangements to leave. With face swollen so that her eyes were half-closed, her skin was entirely covered with tiny pimples. Small-pox would not have presented a more pitiable sight, but experts pronounced the case prickly heat, and beyond advising perfect rest, cool drinks and hot baths, declared that nothing could be done to drive away or reduce the swelling. Under these conditions we were unable to proceed until July 1, but with the delightful attentions shown us by Mr. and Mrs. Aitkin of the Delhi Morning Post, and Major Mainwaring, of the Native Infantry, time did not hang heavily upon our hands. We swung into the main road at 6 o’clock one morning, taking the Grand Trunk once more, and following its course due north. Karnaul, the city which we should have reached the night before, had it not been for the stiff head winds, we entered at 8 o’clock the following morning, just in time to escape a downfall of rain which detained us until the next day. A second reminder of the plucky little Lenz we found in the register book of the Karnaul dak bungalow, which read, “F. G. Lenze, October 10, 1893, arrived six p. m. Departed six a. m., October 12, American Bicyclist.” Strange as it may seem, this was only the second instance in which we found trace of Lenz, though in China, Burmah and India we traveled in all over four thousand miles on identically the same route.
It was our idea to see the sights of Lucknow in two days and return to Cawnpore on the evening of the second, but our plans were changed, as Messrs. Thoburn, Robinson and Mansell, of the American Methodist Mission, called upon us at the hotel and transferred us, bag and baggage, to the Mission as their guests. Under their guidance we remained in Lucknow a week. Having returned to Cawnpore, we resumed our journey on June 11, making rapid progress, principally during the nights. Ever since entering China, more than a year before, we had seen daily countless numbers of the hairless, black, water buffalo. Many Europeans fear them and consider them dangerous, but they treated us with deference until Sunday, June 20, when we encountered a herd of the fierce-looking, cumbersome beasts while pedaling our way to Delhi. I do not believe the buffalos had any premeditated intention of attacking us, but as we wheeled slowly through a drove, a calf became imbued with the idea that bicycles were dangerous. He bolted straight down the road in front of us, running like a winner for a quarter of a mile. Then he was attractedby some tempting green leaves, and halted to browse upon them. As soon as we passed him, the machines which had frightened him became an attraction, and he meekly trotted out and fell in line behind us. The mother, who had been lumbering along in the rear, became excited at the unusual conduct of her son, gave a few short snorts, and set out in pursuit. Immediately the entire drove joined in the novel race, and, with a thundering clatter of hard hoofs ringing in our ears, we realized that we were being pursued. Faster and faster we spun along, and as native pilgrims heard the uproar, they gave one glance at the avalanche of bicycle and buffalo sweeping down upon them and scattered to the right and left. We tried, by shouting and waving helmets at the calf, to drive him away, but in vain, and the affair, which had been amusing at first, settled down into a race for life. It is impossible, as readers know, to take to a tree when on a cycle, so there was nothing else to do but set a pace for a crazy calf and a drove of jealous buffalo, and for the next mile and a half we did so. How the calf came to change his mind about joining his fortune with ours I do not know, but a sudden cessation of the clatter behind us revealed on sight the calf recumbent in a pool of water, with his sympathizing friends and relatives standing by, grimly looking after us. This was the outcome of the buffalos' end of the race; ours was garments soaked with perspiration, panting breath, and ourselves so heated and flushed we were dizzy and faint.
The Queen’s Jubilee, celebrated the day following our arrival in Delhi, gave us opportunity to enjoy an illumination scene in India, and, though we observed many well-lighted European and government employes' houses, I should not say that the Indian is as much a lover of British rule as the British would have others believe. The usual parade of soldiery and police was the first feature of the evening, and fireworks the final. I thoroughly enjoyed the astonishment caused by the presence of a large American flag, flying from a staff lashed to the life-sized stone elephant which stands in the yard of the government building, and was much amused at the inscriptions on the red cloth banners which the natives hung over their doorways. They read, “Welcome to India;” “Welcome to Delhi,” and a rather suggestive few read, “God bless the Prince.” It was a few moments before it dawned on me that the inscriptions were originally made to please the eye of the Prince of Wales, when that great functionary of corner-stone laying and baby christening was doing a little globe-trotting at the English public’s expense. Who did it, and why that American flag, in all its starry beauty, was flying in front of a government building, were the principal questions asked by army and police officers the next day. Delhi, as a city, was founded during the shadowy ages,which precludes the possibility of dates, but its ruins are visible to-day on an area ten miles wide and fifteen miles long. How often the city has changed its site is only limited to the victories gained by invaders of all tribes and nations. The Rome of Asia, Delhi has known its Nero; Maharrata, Hindoo, Jain, Persian, Afghan, Mohammedan, and the cold, unfeeling Britain, have in turn ruled over the Indian Empire from this ancient city, and the truth has ever been proven that whosoever held Delhi ruled India. Delhi, like many other Indian cities, offers the visitor many interesting buildings of native structure, but so often have we viewed with reverence and awe some superb building, only to learn that it was a tomb for some notable departed, that the word “tomb” has become abhorrent. India will linger in our memory chiefly as one vast group of mausoleums, set in an arid desert and scorched by the fires of a sun fierce as the furnaces of Sheol.
The exposure to heat, from which the Inter Ocean cyclists were suffering daily, led to Mrs. McIlrath’s serious condition, which prevented our departure from Delhi on June 24, the day upon which we had made our arrangements to leave. With face swollen so that her eyes were half-closed, her skin was entirely covered with tiny pimples. Small-pox would not have presented a more pitiable sight, but experts pronounced the case prickly heat, and beyond advising perfect rest, cool drinks and hot baths, declared that nothing could be done to drive away or reduce the swelling. Under these conditions we were unable to proceed until July 1, but with the delightful attentions shown us by Mr. and Mrs. Aitkin of the Delhi Morning Post, and Major Mainwaring, of the Native Infantry, time did not hang heavily upon our hands. We swung into the main road at 6 o’clock one morning, taking the Grand Trunk once more, and following its course due north. Karnaul, the city which we should have reached the night before, had it not been for the stiff head winds, we entered at 8 o’clock the following morning, just in time to escape a downfall of rain which detained us until the next day. A second reminder of the plucky little Lenz we found in the register book of the Karnaul dak bungalow, which read, “F. G. Lenze, October 10, 1893, arrived six p. m. Departed six a. m., October 12, American Bicyclist.” Strange as it may seem, this was only the second instance in which we found trace of Lenz, though in China, Burmah and India we traveled in all over four thousand miles on identically the same route.