CHAPTER XXII.
On the evening of my arrival at Dinapore, I was sitting on the roof of my boat, observing thedobees, or washermen, thumping their clothes, natives cleaning their teeth with primitive tooth-brushes of stick, and other similar sights which diversify the animating scene of an Indian ghaut, when the distant and inspiring strains of a full military band broke upon my ear. “Egad!” thought I, “there’s some fun going on; a promenade, no doubt, with all the beauty and fashion of Dinapore assembled; I’ll go and see.”
I ordered Ramdial to bring out thejubba walla coortie(the laced jacket), which had never yet graced my person in any public assembly. A splendid thing it was, with a huge silver epaulet, and “tastily turned up with a brimstone-coloured lapelle;” I thought there could hardly be its fellow in all Dinapore. A neat white waistcoat, crimson sash (tied in adégagéknot under the fifth rib), coatee over all, hat a shade on one side, and flourishing a clean bandanna in my hand, with a sprinkling of lavender upon it,me voilà, an ensign of the first water.
I soon reached the scene of attraction in the principal square, and a lively scene it was. There were congregated groups of officers, chatting and laughing around belles seated in tonjons; others, three or four abreast, promenading backwards and forwards, hands behind them,and examining the structure of their legs; gigs and carriages drawn up, their occupants attentively listening; syces walking their masters’ chargers up and down; chuprassies, silver-stick men, and other native servants, mingled with the throng of sepoy orderlies and European soldiers in undress.
I mingled with the crowd, and promenaded too; but, alas! I knew no one; and who so solitary as he who, amongst a crowd, experiences the sickening reflection that there is no one of the many assembled with whom he holds the slightest community of thought or feeling!
The shades of evening were deepening—the assembly thinning—thefinale, “God save the King,” was playing—busy memory had awakened thoughts of those who did regard me, far, far away—and I was waxing thoughtful and sad, when I suddenly heard the sound of a familiar voice.
I turned, and recognized in the speaker my shipmate and brother-cadet, honest Grundy. I sprang forward to address him.
God knows—for it is hard to answer for that fickle and selfish thing, the human heart, which has rarely the courage to brave the “world’s dread laugh,” and follow its own more generous dictates—whether I should always have done it with equal promptitude, for Grundy, in a mere fashionable sense, was not an acquaintance to be proud of; but now I stood in need of sympathy, and there are seasons when anything in the shape of a friend is acceptable—when we are not fastidious, and are overjoyed to exchange greetings with aught in the shape of humanity.
“Grundy, my boy,” said I, facing him, “don’t you know me?”
Grundy stared vacantly for a moment, for I was considerably metamorphosed by my new habiliments; but soon recognizing me, his features relaxed into an expression of good-humoured delight.
“Odds life, Gernon! is that you, man?” said he,grasping my hand; “why whaur the dickens are you from?”
I soon satisfied him, and he told me he was now doing duty with a regiment at Dinapore, and lived in a bungalow not very far off.
“Are you alone, Grundy?” said I.
“Alone!” replied my friend with a sigh; “oh, no; there are six of us in the bungalow—Griff Hall, as they call it—all young hands, none of us a year in the country, and a tearing life we lead; it does not suit me at all, though, and I mean to leave them as soon as I can get another place and a quiet man to chum with.”
“Yes, I know your pacific habits, Grundy, and wonder how you got amongst such a set; who and what are they?”
“Why, there’s first, Mr. McScreechum, an assistant surgeon; three infantry ensigns, besides myself, and a Lieut. Fireworker,[43]of artillery. I think they are all mad, particularly the doctor, for such a man for mischief I never met with in all my born days. But, Gernon, lad, I hope you will stay for a day or two, at least,” said he, slapping me on the shoulder; “for it glads my heart to see you again, man.”
I accepted Grundy’s invitation, and we proceeded to Griff Hall.
We found the doctor, with two or three others, on thechabootra, or terrace, of the bungalow, all laughing and joking. The former, a huge fellow, six feet two, with a freckled face and a carroty poll, in the act of compounding a glass of brandy-and-water. Grundy presented me as his friend on the way to join my regiment.
“Glod to see ye, sir; glod to see ye,” said the doctor, presenting me his shoulder-of-mutton hand; “we’ll use you weel at Griff Hall, sir, and eeneetiate ye intoo oor Eleuseenian mesteries. What’s for dinner, Larking?” said he, turning to a slender, pale youth, in a red camletraggie; “what have ye got for a treat to-night? Nae mair of your d——d skeenny kid and tough goat mutton I hope. Ah! ye’r a braw chiel to cater for a gentleman’s mess.”
“I’ll resign my post to you with pleasure, doctor, if not satisfied with my proceedings,” replied the caterer; “but I think things will be better to-day, for I have given Rumjohn a good trouncing for palming that stuff upon us yesterday. I’ll tell you what there is, doctor, by-the-bye, a capital rooee muchee,[44]for I secured it myself this morning.”
“Weell,” said the doctor, “a rooee muchee’s nae bad thing, if it’s frash.”
At this moment, three more ensigns, inmates of Griff Hall, hove in sight, rattling up on tattooes, or galloways—tits combining some pleasant varieties of fiddle-head, goose-rump, swish-tail, &c.
In India, every one (i.e., European officer) must keep a piece of horse-flesh of some sort or other, though it must be allowed that griffins, for obvious reasons, were never remarkable for possessing superior studs. As the new-comers approached, full canter and shuffle, the doctor put forth a screech, compounded of an Indian war-whoop and a view halloo, by way of welcome: the fun was evidently beginning.
One of the ensigns on the terrace jumped down into the road, took his hat off his head, whirled it round, and hooted loudly, to make his friends’ horses bolt or shy. The doctor, too, seizing a sort of long besom which stood in an angle of the bungalow wall, darted forward with it to aid in putting the detachment to the rout.
“Doctor, what the deuce are you about, man?” shouted the immediate object of his attack; “don’t be so infernally ridiculous.”
“Stir him oop with the lang pole,” roared the doctor,nothing daunted; “stir oop the bombardier’s wonderful animal.”
And so saying, he poked the besom under the tail of the tattoo, who resented this rear attack by launching out his heels, jerked off the Lieut. Fireworker’s cap, and finally bolted, with his rider half-unseated, across the compound, amidst the shouts and laughter of his comrades, the doctor, with his wild red locks flying, and his feet in slippers, pursuing him with his besom at thepas de charge.
McScreechum soon returned, puffing and blowing, and flourishing his besom, and the Lieut. Fireworker shortly after joined the group, having disposed of his runaway Bucephalus, but with a countenance darkly portentous of mischief.
“Dr. McScreechum,” said he, “I’ll thank you, sir, not to take such liberties with me in future, for I will not put up with them.”
“Stir him oop with the lang pole,” said the doctor, still flourishing his besom.
“Others may submit to them, but I will not.”
“Stir him oop with the lang pole,” again replied McScreechum.
All joined the medico in rallying the indignant lieutenant out of his wrath. The good-humoured Scotchman brewed and presented him a glass of grog, to allay the fury of “the black dog,” as he termed it.
“A soft answer turneth away wrath,” saith the proverb, and on the same principle, even a practical joke, though ever to be avoided, may be so softened by a little tact as to allay the anger which, in nine cases out of ten, it is sure to excite.
All these wild doings at an end, and matters properly composed, we adjourned to the dining-room, being summoned by a rather dingy-looking butler, or khanseman, very much resembling the worthy who has been recorded in these pages as having so suddenly decamped with my plate-chest.
Six wall-shades with oil glasses, a long table occupying the centre of the room, and about as many chairs as guests, constituted the sum total of the furniture.
In accordance with the almost universal custom of the military circles in India, camp fashion was the order of the day—that is, each gentleman had his own plates, knives and forks, and glasses, with a brace of muffineers, containing pepper and salt, flanking the same; these last, of every variety of size and shape, of glass, silver, or pewter, with a corresponding variety of patterns in the cutlery and plates, constituted as motley a show as can well be imagined.
The servants, too, were of the Rum-Johnny order—a dissolute, dirty set of Mahomedans, whom I have before described—those usually picked up by young officers on account of their speaking the English language, a qualification which is pretty certain to insure their rejection by old Indians. The dingy attire and roguish looks of these fellows harmonized well with the style of the entertainment.
The doctor took the head of the table; the noble fraternity of Griff Hall and their guests were soon seated. The khanseman-jee appeared, staggering under a huge dish, which he deposited at the head of the table; having done so, he lifted up the cover with the air of a major-domo, and there smoked the rooee muchee already mentioned.
“Wha’s for fesh?” asked the doctor, plying the fish-knife with the vigour of an Irish bricklayer when handling his trowel. “Wha’s for fesh? Here’s a bonnie fellow; ‘a sight like this is gude for sair een,’ as my old father, the provost, used to say.”
The rooee muchee was in great request, and other viands followed, all very good of their kind, I thought, and proving the efficacy of the rattan in some cases. Great was the talking and laughing, and the dinner sped merrily. Never has it been my lot to encountera more light-hearted, thoughtless, and jovial set of fellows than the inmates of Griff Hall.
The cloth removed, hookhas bubbled; the bottle passed freely, and the conversation became animated; among other things, the scenes and flirtations at the band that evening were passed in review.
“Who noticed Miss Simper, the new spin, talking to that old fellow, MacGlashum?” said Ensign O’Toole, a young Hibernian; “sure I hope she’s not going to take that broken-winded old fellow.”
“By my saul, I don’t know,” replied Ensign MacClaymore; “but I think if she gets a major, and a gude Scotchman to boot, she could na do better.”
“Faith, I think she’d find an Irishman suit her better than an old or a young Scotchman aither: oh, an Irishman’s heart for the ladies!”
“Meaning yourself, I suppose,” retorted the Highlander, dryly; “you Paddies think there’s nought like yeer’sels in the world.”
“Faith, now, I don’t think we’ve half the consait of your Scotchmen, at all,” replied O’Toole, “though a grate dale more to be proud of. Where will you find janius like that which auld Ireland has produced—such poets, statesmen, and haroes?”
“Proud!” said the other contemptuously; “hooever may fall short in those respects, thank Gude, auld Scotland was never conquered,—never conquered, sir, as some other countries have been.”
“I’ll tell you the reason,” said the other bitterly; “the poor beggarly country was never worth the trouble and expense of conquering.”
“Eh! sir,” said the young Caledonian, his eyes flashing fire, “what’s that you say, sir? I’ll no sit here and listen to that. What do you mean, sir?”
“Mean!” retorted the other, sternly, “just what I’ve said, Ensign MacClaymore, and so just make your most of it; if you’ve more to add, let it be outside.”
Several attempts were made to check this angry dialogue,but in vain. All was now confusion; the angry patriots half arose, and darted fierce looks at each other across the table, their more peacefully disposed neighbours endeavouring to quiet and retain them in their seats. Things were fast verging towards “war, horrid war.”
Dr. McScreechum now arose, like Satan in Pandemonium, thumped the table to engage attention, and with the voice of a Stentor, proclaimed silence, and called the belligerents to order.
“Gentlemen,” said the doctor, “silence if you please, and listen to me. I am the moderator of this assembly, and by vairtue of the pooers confided to me, I proclaimpax. I’ll have na quarrelling here; doun wi’ your foolish naytionalities; aren’t we all kintramen and brithers, as my gude old father, the provost, used to say? You, Donald MacClaymore, and you, Denis O’Toole, I’ll fine you each a dozen of claret, and proclaim you baith ootlaws of Griff Hall, unless you shak hands, like sensible fellows; shak hands, ye fire-eating donnard deevils ye, and then I’ll gee ye a sang. ‘Auld lang syne, my dear, for a’ lang syne.’ Wha’s for a sang?” This seasonable interruption, in the doctors peculiar way, turned the tide of war. A furious drumming on the table followed; glasses danced and jingled, and “Auld lang syne for ever!” resounded through the hall. MacClaymore and O’Toole caught the spirit of the movement, shook hands across the table, and the glorious Scottish air broke forth splendidly, like an elegy over buried animosities.
The doctor, half-seas-over, was now completely in his element; his huge red head rolled from side to side, and one eye, half shut, leered with Bacchanalian philanthropy around the table.
Thus he stood, his arms crossed, and holding the hand of each of his right and left neighbours, as he worked them up and down with a force and energy proportioned to the varying sentiments of that celebrated ditty, which has to answer for being the proximate cause of more boozing and maudlin sentimentality than any everwritten; for oh, that potent collocation of words, “for auld lang syne,” goes direct to the exile’s heart, particularly when softened by the genial glass; touches its tenderest chords, and awakens, like the “Ranz de vaches,” the sweetest and most soul-subduing reminiscences of youth, and all its never-to-be-forgotten associations.
After this bout, anchovy toasts and broiled bones were put in requisition, Ensign O’Toole insisted upon mulling a saucepanful of port, to keep the beer and claret warm. At length, some fell asleep in their chairs; others, including Grundy and myself, dropped off to bed, though abused by the peep-o’-day boys for our recreant qualities.
Away we went, heartily tired, leaving a few choice spirits to keep it up, the doctor talking in thick and almost inarticulate tone about “Sheshero’s Epeestles to Hatticus.”
“You may well be tired of such a life as this,” said I, next morning; “it would kill me in a week; how do you stand it?”
“Why,” replied Grundy, “I keep as clear of it as I can; besides, it is not very often that we have quite such a jollification as we had last night; however, the eternal racket we have does not suit me, and I shall cut it as soon as I can; it goes against my conscience, too, to witness some of the tricks they play upon one another. One day they hanged one of the lads for fun by the punkah rope till he was black in the face; and about a month ago sent a sub., a poor soft fellow, a voyage on the Ganges in an open boat; and as he did not return for a week, it was a mercy he was not starved or drowned.”
“How was this, Grundy?” said I.
“Why, the doctor and the lads were always poking fun at him, and making him aboot(butt). One night, something such another as last, they made him believe he had been insoolted, and must fight. Sawney said he would rather take an apology, but they told him it was quite impossible that the affront could ever be washed out but with the blood of one of them. They said itmust be settled immediately, and went out with lanterns to the back of the bungalow. The unfortunate lad was in a dreadful fright, but they made him fire; the pistols were loaded with powder only, but his antagonist fell; they said he had killed his man, and must fly immediately, or, if he fell into the hands of the civil power, he would inevitably be hanged. They hurried the poor young fellow off the ghaut, put him on board a fishing-canoe, telling him to row for his life till he came to some station, one hundred miles or so down the river, where he would have a better chance of a fair trial, and must give himself up. It was about a week before he was brought back to cantonments, burnt as black as a tinker. There was a terrible kick-up about it, and well there might be, for ’twas a cruel joke. The doctor and all the parties concerned were threatened with a court-martial; but, somehow or other, it all blew over.”
Pranks such as these are now, I believe, happily rare in India, as everywhere else; but those who remember the country twenty or thirty years ago will doubtless be able to recall many such manifestations of boyish folly.
It is not desirable that youth should be converted prematurely into thoughtful philosophy; care, in the ordinary course of things, will come, soon enough, and need not be hastened; but I am an advocate for its buoyancies being restrained within moderate bounds, that with it fun should not be allowed to degenerate into mischief or cruelty, wit in vulgarity, and friendly intimacy into coarse familiarity and practical joking.
We breakfasted very late, and the tenants of Griff Hall dropped in one by oneen déshabille, evincing painful symptoms of the previous night’s debauch—red eyes, trembling hand, and glued lips. One took a dose of seidlitz, another five grains of calomel, and as for appetite, there was none.
These are a few of the early effects of intemperance; its ultimate consequences are not so briefly described.
I remained but one day more at Dinapore, which waspartly devoted to reporting my arrival,en routeto join—a measure enjoined on all military voyagers, but not always attended to. I also saw the troops, European and native, at brigade exercise, &c.; and in the evening witnessed a tattoo race—officers riding their own ponies. This was a very comical affair.
It was a little before sunset when Grundy, the Lieutenant Fireworker (who had entered his pony), and I, walked down to the course, which is situated a little behind the cantonment, being separated from it by a dry nullah,[45]over which there are one or two bridges.
We found a great number of the inhabitants of the cantonment—some in gigs, some on horseback, and others on foot—assembled to witness the sport.
There was a good show of ponies, some of them certainly “rum’uns” to look at, but, as was fully proved in the sequel, “devils to go.” Long tails and swish tails, stumps, crops, and wall-eyes were there in perfection. The young officers who were to ride them, amongst whom I recognized more than one of the inmates of Griff Hall, marched about in their top boots and velvet hunting-caps, cracking their whips with countenances expressive of the full sense they entertained of the awful contest in which they were about to be engaged.
Some, too, tightened their ponies’ girths; others passed their hands down their fore-legs, as if to rub out the knots and clean the back sinews; some put their arms lovingly round their animals’ necks, or gratified their love of tormenting by pinching the flanks of their steeds, and enjoying their abortive attempts to bite.
Amongst this throng was a very remarkable character, well known at Dinapore, the clerk of the course, or whatever other name properly appertains to the master of the ceremonies on such occasions. He was a little, old, sun-dried, invalid sergeant, of a meagre form, but most determined spirit. I was greatly amused by the consequential air of the diminutive old fellow, as he stumpedabout in a rusty hunting-cap, cracking a tremendous whip, and clearing the environs of dogs, boys, and all other interlopers.
The time for the race having arrived, the young men mounted, some in red jackets, some in white, and others in full jockey attire. The clerk of the course ranged them all in proper order; eagerness was in every eye as they bent forward, impatient for the word. Ladies stood up in carriages, and many a neck was outstretched to catch a glimpse of the start: when at last a thundering “Ready,” “Off,” from the little mummified sergeant, and away flew the tattoos, “Punch,” “Cocktail,” and “Mat-o’-the-Mint,” and many a nameless steed besides. Such digging, spurring, and straining; such crossing and jostling as was there! one pushing ahead for a space, and then another passing him, and so on!
When the whole troop had got about half-way round (it was a sweepstakes, round the course), the leading pony bolted, and was followed by all the rest, entering the gates leading to a bungalow, the first of a series there commencing; there they very deliberately drew up, where doubtless they had often drawn up before, when carrying their masters on their rounds of morning visits.
Intense were the roars of laughter which issued from the spectators assembled, occasioned by this little episode. Haul, dig, pound, and spur, and they were again placed, and off—but ah! the unlucky fates! the meridian of another bungalow entrance no sooner reached, than away with them again, follow my leader, like a flock of sheep through a gap, or a string of wild geese.
I thought verily I should have died outright, and as for honest Grundy, and many of my neighbours, they stamped and roared till the tears ran down their cheeks.
All this time we could see, though the distance was considerable, that the jockeys were hard at work, getting their tattoos once more under weigh through the opposite segment of road leading from the attractive bungalow, the other horn, as it might have been termed, of the dilemma.
The course regained, away they went once more: the struggle was becoming warm; they had turned the curve, and were in a line with the winning-post; bettors were now on thequi vive—“ten to one on Cocktail”—the little sergeant squatting bands on knees, taking a judgmatical observation, when lo! no sooner had they reached a certain bridge before mentioned, leading in a rectangular direction to cantonments, than away they sidled, and at last one and all made a fair bolt of it, right before the wind, for “home, sweet home.”
“Zounds!” said the sergeant, “if they bea’nt all off agin, I’m a Dutchman.”
And off sure enough they were, amidst renewed peals of laughter. I doubt if any race ever produced half the amusement. “They are gone, they are gone, and never will return.”
This was literally the case with some; but several of the heavy sailers managed to tack, and came in amidst the half-mad shouts of unexpected winners, proving truly that “the race is not always to the swift,” and that the best-founded expectations may be unexpectedly disappointed.
Two or three races on a smaller scale followed; but all was flat after theuniquescamper I have attempted to describe; pleasure and excitement had expended themselves, and were not to be renewed immediately. Under these circumstances, Grundy and I bent our steps towards the band, accompanied by the young artillery officer, who, having proved the winner, was in high spirits.
Our dinner this evening passed off far more soberly than that of the preceding one. The doctor was evidently suffering from a reaction of the vital spirits, and on more than one occasion seemed disposed, like a certain old gentleman when he was sick, to be religious and sentimental. After a bottle or two of Hodgson, however, and a due proportion of claret, he rallied, and proposed a round game at loo, as a mode of passing theevening, which was joyfully assented to by the whole party.
The tables were consequently cleared, wine-glasses, &c., were placed on teapoys and side-tables, and to work we all proceeded, keeping it up till two in the morning, when I retiredminusa very considerable pinch of General Capsicums “snuff,” with a firm determination to cut cards from that time for evermore: a resolution which I religiously kept—till the next time temptation came in my way.
At the time to which my Memoirs refer—and I am not aware that any material change has since taken place—gambling was unfortunately too prevalent in India. I have known nearly the whole of a small station, ladies inclusive, keep it up for weeks, alternately at each other’s houses, rarely missing a day.
The party would assemble after breakfast, and having distributed fish, and set pen and ink to write I O U’s, would commence business in good earnest. Tiffin would constitute a break, and after being rather impatiently despatched, operations would be resumed, and continued till time for the evening’s drive. After this, and dinner over, another round of this absorbing amusement would close the day.
What a world of bad feeling in men, of keenness and unfeminine cupidity in women, have I seen elicited on those occasions, and what studies for the curious in physiognomy; what expressions of various kinds have I observed in the faces of the party, when the hour drew near for inditing I O U’s and settling the accounts of Dr. and Cr.; what earnest pleadings for another round on the part of the losers, and conscientiously-expressed determinations to retire to rest on the part of the winners!
Cards and dice are pests, the offspring of idleness, and the parents of vice and crime. They are the concomitants of semi-barbarism, and their gradual disappearance is one of the indices of advancing civilization andmental improvement. I began to think this one night after losing Rs. 1,100 at hazard and double-or-quits, and the impression has continued to gain strength ever since.
Next morning, after breakfast, I bade adieu to Griff Hall and honest Grundy; had my hand almost squeezed to a jelly by the good-natured son of the provost, and, repairing on board my bolio, was soon once more under weigh for the “far west.”
Very different, however, were the feelings which now attended my onward progression. I had lost my kind and pleasant Mentor, Captain Belfield, and his amiable maiden sister. There were no more social rambles, no more agreeable disquisitions, no more tours in search of the picturesque, no more chess.
I felt how insufficient my own thoughts were to supply thehiatuscaused by their absence, and mentally ejaculated, as I occupied my lonely cabin at night, with poor Alexander Selkirk,
“Oh, solitude, where are the charmsThat sages have seen in thy face?”
“Oh, solitude, where are the charmsThat sages have seen in thy face?”
“Oh, solitude, where are the charmsThat sages have seen in thy face?”
“Oh, solitude, where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?”
I cannot quit the subject of my two friends without saying a few more words regarding them. I have already stated briefly that Captain Belfield and his sister afforded a fine example of that tender attachment—that perfect love and affection which should ever subsist between persons so nearly connected. They truly lived for each other, and the imparting of mutual pleasure seemed to constitute one of the highest gratifications of their lives. It was quite refreshing to observe the warmth and cordiality with which they met in the morning, as she, the picture of neatness and refined simplicity—the very beau ideal of the real English gentlewoman—stepped from the sleeping apartment of the budgerow, whilst he, closing his ponderous Sanscrit or Persian folio, and laying it on the breakfast-table, would rise with extended hand and a cheerful smile to greet her. Then at night, too, after the short but fervent prayer to the Father ofall, which the captain himself would offer up extempore, how attentively would he light her taper, and then with a tender salute commend her to her chamber and repose.
If two or three can love in this way, I have since sometimes thought, why not all the world? but all the world, my good griffin, are not brothers and sisters. True, true; I had forgotten that. The more, alas! the pity.
Though, however, the hearts of the pair were thus united, there was not an equal accordance in all their sentiments and opinions. This, however, though productive of numerous discussions, never led to acrimonious disputes. They agreed to disagree. Nature had cast the brother and sister in the same mental mould, to borrow a phrenological term (which I do with respect); the organization was equal. The same fine sense and kindliness of disposition in both; but circumstances had favoured in different degrees the development of their respective qualities. Benevolence, veneration, and ideality must have been large in both, though the captain had evidently been at pains to curb the vagaries of the latter. He had left his home a mere boy, with his mind almost a blank sheet, on which anything might have been inscribed. Whilst others his contemporaries plunged into idleness and dissipation, he, by some chance, flew to the solace of books. In them he studied that mystery of mysteries—man, comparing, as life advanced, the living manifestations of his character with all that he found recorded of his acts; he perused the works of historians, theologians, and metaphysicians, on all sides of all questions; and arrived at one grand conclusion, which is, that truth is a very hard thing to get at, and, like the ideal good of Goldsmith’s Traveller, “allures from far, and as we follow, flies.” He certainly sought it ardently, though he could not felicitate himself, he said, exactly in having yet found the “true truth.” A self-taught genius, who thought vigorously, and expressedhimself strongly, he was, no doubt, somewhat of an Utopian; at least such I know Captain Marpeet thought him.
Miss Belfield had been reared in the elegant seclusion, but subject to the somewhat contracting influences of an English country life (nature, if I may so express it, seems to have intended nations as well as individuals to be gregarious), enjoying in her father’s pretty vicarage her pets, her flowers, and the agreeable and polished society of the superior gentry of the vicinity. In the neighbouring village she dispensed her little charities, assuaged the sorrows of the poor and needy, and did all the good she could in her limited sphere; but of the sufferings of the world on a grand scale she knew not much, and as little understood, perhaps, their real causes and remedies. High as were her qualities of heart and intellect—and admirably would she write and speak on all matters on which she allowed them free scope—she was not (and who is?) without a defect; hers was one frequently to be met with amongst the most amiable and estimable of our countrywomen, a gentle intolerance and quiet assumption of infallibility on those subjects on which a very little reading and reflection ought, perhaps, to convince us that we should hold our opinions with the most trembling diffidence—I mean religion, and other kindred subjects relating to the powers and duties of mind, and the great interests of society, but particularly the former. This would evince itself in the expression of extreme pity and commiseration for the obstinacy or delusion of those who conscientiously differed from her in such matters, she, by her manner, never seeming to entertain the smallest shade of suspicion that she herself might be in error. This spirit, partially veiled by the graces of her manner, the kindness of her heart, and the evident rectitude of her intentions, did not look so ill as the ugly monster intolerance generally does; still it was her dark side, and but ill accorded with the general good sense by which shewas characterized; her reading on these points had been as exclusive as her brother’s had been general.
Equally holding to certain fundamental points, they were both anxious to regenerate mankind, but were widely opposed in respect to the means to be employed for that purpose. The captain looked primarily to schools, lectures, locomotion, and the wide diffusion of commerce and intelligence, and thought if man fell by eating of the tree of knowledge, he figuratively was destined to rise by a repetition of the act. Miss Belfield principally relied on the multiplication of churches and Sunday-schools, the extension of missionary labours, the early conversion of the Jews, and the like. He thought that religion was the first subject to which an instructed mind would direct its attention. Miss Belfield, on the contrary, considered it the very last on which, if not forced upon him, he would seek to be informed. She considered man as radically vicious, that suffering was necessary to try him, and that it was perhaps better to preach resignation to evils, than to waste time in vain attempts to diminish them materially. Her brother differed, too, in this, and thought that happiness was quite as well calculated to fit us for heaven as misery; and that it was almost a libel on the Deity to suppose that the thanks and praises of a rejoicing heart would not be as acceptable as those emanating from one bowed down by sorrow and suffering. He thought that the evils inseparably annexed to our condition, such as death, sickness, and the loss of those tenderly beloved, were trials sufficient, without our unnecessarily increasing the load by fictitious ones—clearly the result of our follies, contentions, and prejudices.
He used to compare society, as at present constituted, to a body of undisciplined troops, composed of jarring detachments, under incompetent leaders, and amongst whom the finest military qualities and powers are neutralized or impaired by want of concert and organization.
“Educate your masses,” he would say, “for without you do that no conceivable form of government will produce happiness to the governed. Construct the finest piece of mechanism you may, on the strictest principles of art, if the material is rotten and unsound, it must give at some point—the due antagonism of its springs will be destroyed, and it will not work.”
This diversity of views, which I have endeavoured to describe, used to give rise, as I have already stated, to numerous animated discussions.
I used to listen to these collisions of intellect, during the evenings we passed together, with much interest; and when I could see my way through theprosandcons, was wont sometimes to venture an opinion, to which the captain and his sister always listened with eagerness, as if anxious to know how the matter would strike on my young and unsophisticated mind.
Some of these discussions, that is, the substance of them, I still remember, and had I space, and were this the place for them, I might here be tempted to record.
Lest my reader may be inclined to think otherwise, I must here state, in justice to the good captain, now no more, that he was no leveller; he considered perfect equality as impracticable as to construct a perfect column without a base and a capital, and that the fabric of society must ever fine away to a point, but that instead of being, as at present, founded, in great part, on misery, prejudice, indigence, and ignorance, it might be made to rest on the solid basis of virtue and happiness.
His grand axiom was—and he used frequently to repeat it to his sister—“If by reading, observation, and reflection, I have learnt anything respecting my fellow-creatures, it is this: that eight-tenths of their sufferings have been and are entirely of their own creation, and that it is within the powers of the human mind to diminish the amount of moral and physical evil to an incalculable extent. The upper classes appear to govern the world, but in reality it is the ignorance and prejudice ofthe ‘tyrant majority’ which rule it. In these, the more educated find what physically Archimedes sought—the fulcrum to move the world: the head is the governing part of the body, but we all know how a disordered stomach will affect it.”
I had but little more intercourse with the good captain and his sister during my stay in India, though we met now and then, and maintained an occasional correspondence. He, poor fellow, was never destined to revisit his native land, for after saving a small competence, and just as he was preparing to return, death, by one of its most appalling agents—cholera-lodged a detainer against him, and instead of enjoying the easy evening of life he had fondly anticipated amongst the scenes of his boyhood, he was destined to fill a cold tenement, six feet by two, in St. John’s churchyard, Calcutta.
’Tis not for me to describe Miss Belfield’s feelings on this occasion; indeed, who can describe the anguish of heart, the utter desolation, which the loss of a brother or a sister, endeared by union of sentiment and every tender association of youth, necessarily occasions? I learnt that she almost sunk under the blow; and a few, very few lines, which she wrote me shortly after, told forcibly the extent of her sorrows, and indicated the gratifying fact that she considered I had a right to participate in them.
Well, years rolled away. I returned home, with a broken constitution, and alackof rupees, in the English sense of the term;[46]and some time after that event received the following letter:—
“Swines-Norton, June 10th, 18—.
“Swines-Norton, June 10th, 18—.
“Swines-Norton, June 10th, 18—.
“Swines-Norton, June 10th, 18—.
“My dear Captain Gernon,
“My dear Captain Gernon,
“My dear Captain Gernon,
“My dear Captain Gernon,
“I have for some time been aware of your return to your native land, having heard of you from mutualfriends. Pray, when your avocations will allow of your leaving London, endeavour to visit my retirement. I have a small room in my cottage at your service, and shall enjoy great pleasure, in some respects a sorrowful one, in meeting you again, and in reviving old recollections of those days when first we became acquainted. I will reserve all further communications till we meet; in the meantime am,
“My dear Captain Gernon,“Yours most truly,“A. Belfield.”
“My dear Captain Gernon,“Yours most truly,“A. Belfield.”
“My dear Captain Gernon,“Yours most truly,“A. Belfield.”
“My dear Captain Gernon,
“Yours most truly,
“A. Belfield.”
“To Brev. Capt. Gernon,“5, Peppercorn-buildings,“Pimlico.”
“To Brev. Capt. Gernon,“5, Peppercorn-buildings,“Pimlico.”
“To Brev. Capt. Gernon,“5, Peppercorn-buildings,“Pimlico.”
“To Brev. Capt. Gernon,
“5, Peppercorn-buildings,
“Pimlico.”
I was not long in finding out Miss Belfield’s retreat. The Highflyer coach dropped me at the Bull, a foaming, rampant fellow, the only thing evincing any signs of life and animation in the small sleepy village of Swines-Norton, in ——shire. A few smock-frocked clowns, a bandy-legged ostler, and a recruiting-sergeant, who seemed wofully out of his element, loitered in front of the little inn as I descended.
“What luggage had you, sir?”
“Nothing but a small carpet-bag.”
“Come, Bill, bear a hand, and get the gentleman’s bag out of the hind boot.”
The bandy-legged ostler soon disengaged my property; the spruce bluff coachman clutched his reins and cracked his whip, and made the over-frisky off-leader dance a saraband.
“Has Davy brought up that there black mare?” said the landlord, sauntering out with his pipe and tankard of half-and-half.
“Yes; he’s down there along o’ Tom at the Blackbird.”
All right—crack—whisp—a nod to the pretty chambermaid at the window—ya-hip! and away bowled the Highflyer,leaving me “alone in my glory,” saving and except the drowsy specimens of humanity afore-mentioned.
“Can you tell me where a lady named Miss Belfield resides?”
“Miss Bulfield—Miss Bulfield—be that she, Jem, as lives furder end o’ Tinker-pot-lane?”
“The lady, I mean,” said I, “returned from India some years ago, and resides in something cottage, but I have forgotten the name.”
“All right, sir, that’s she—now you mentions the Heast Hinjies. I knows she’ve a-got a parrotkeet—jist go on to the church, and then turn to your right hand, and keep straight on as ever you can go ’til you comes to a lane; when you be at the top o’ that, get over the stile and go across the footpath till you comes to the furder end o’ the field, and then anybody’ll tell you where Myrtle Cottage is.”
“Thank you, my man,” said I.
And I forthwith set out on my voyage of discovery. It was a sweet summer’s evening, glorious, tranquil, sad. I heard with delight the cuckoo’s voice, the tinkle of the sheep-bell, and the cry of the jackdaws, as they sported about the burnished vane of the old weather-stained steeple. I was in no hurry, but loitered in the quiet village churchyard, where naught was moving save some two or three little ragged sheep; and oh! who could describe the sensations, the sadly pleasing, confused, but undefinable sensations, which crowded upon me during the little half-hour that I spent there?
Seated on an old grey tombstone, alone, and looking up at that rustic monitor, the village clock—whilst the soft summer air played on my face, and soothing rural sounds fell on my ear—the events of my past life, the images of friends departed—all I had done and left undone—passed like visions—dissolving views—before me. Brother Indians, try sometimes, after your period of toil is o’er, the effect of a summer’s musing in a rural churchyard—’twill calm the perturbation of your spirits, placethings in their true lights before you, and act as oil on troubled waters. But, to be brief, I found Miss Belfield’s cottage—neat, modest, elegant, and retiring, just as I remembered herself. The parrot screamed in the little hall, and a very antiquated dowager of a spaniel, with an opaque eye, emitted a husky bark as I entered.
“Be pleased to take a seat, sir,” said the tidiest and modestest of little maids, “and my mistress will be with you immediately.”
I took a seat—my spirits were in a flutter, almost bordering on pain. The door opened, and the hand of Miss Belfield was locked in mine. We both started a little.
“Most truly glad to see you,” said she, with deep emphasis, her eyes full of tears. I placed my other hand over the one of hers which I held in my grasp, and answered her by a soft and earnest pressure, which told how deeply I reciprocated the feeling.
“Well,” said she, smiling, after a pause, “I suppose we must not compliment each other on looks, for I am almost afraid to think how long it is since we parted—but I hope our mutual regard has not suffered by the lapse of time.”
I assured her that my respect and esteem for her were as fresh as ever. Years and ill-health had given me a slight curve in the shoulders. The freshness of my complexion had long been converted into a delicate yellow; my hair was grey beyond the power of Macassar oil to restore, and crows’ feet had dug their ineffaceable marks at the angles and corners of my face.
Miss Belfield’s eyes I once or twice caught resting on me, as if involuntarily—for she instantly averted them on their encountering mine. She was doubtless comparing me to my former self—and exclaiming inwardly, “Oh! what a falling off is here!”
If she was struck by my changed appearance, I was no less so with hers. Time and Care, rival ploughmen, had deeply furrowed her brow—herembonpointwas gone;and the iron-grey locks peeped here and there through the muslin of her cap. Still, as of old, the ease, the urbanity, the refinement, and, at the same time, the simplicity of the gentlewoman, shone in Miss Belfield as conspicuously as ever.
As we stood near the fire, and during the pause which followed the ardour of question and answer incident to a first meeting, Miss Belfield drew my attention to a portrait over the mantelpiece; it was that of an officer, in somewhat old-fashioned regimentals.
“Do you know that?” said she, in a subdued and choked tone, pointing to it with her finger.
I did indeed; ’twas my old friend, the good, the kind, and thoughtful captain. There he sat, serenely, with his book half-opened and resting on his knee, just as he was wont to look in days of yore, when I rattled into his budgerow, after one of my shooting excursions.
“Come,” said Miss Belfield, gently withdrawing me from its contemplation, “lunch awaits us in the next room, and you must require refreshment.”
I must reserve a more detailed account of Miss Belfield for some future part of my autobiography,—that devoted to England; let it here suffice to state, that after a week’s visit to my amiable friend—one characterized by every thing that was pleasing—I returned to London, having first promised to repeat my visits from time to time, to draw and botanize, and talk of old times; and settle, over a cup of Howqua’s mixture, the great questions now agitating the world. But to proceed.
I passed the old fort and station of Buxar, where a few invalids doze out the evening of their Indian existence, and saw some European veterans, almost as black as the natives, with large mushroom hats, bobbing for fish on the banks of the river, and in due time reached Ghazepore, the station of one of H.M. regiments.
Here I found my shipmate, Ensign O’Gorman. The ensign, on whom I called, received me as an Irishman and a British officer in the royal service might be supposedto do. Could a volume say more for its warmth and cordiality? I dined with him at his mess, at which urbanity, kindness, and good cheer combined their attractions to render this one of the pleasantest evenings I had spent in India. Oar ship adventures were discussed; our fellow-passengers were passed in review, and we were supremely happy.
“By the way,” said I, rather carelessly, “have you heard what has become of Olivia Jenkins?”
“Oh, didn’t you hear she is married?”
“Married!” I exclaimed, and a mouthful of pillaw stuckin transituin my œsophagus, nearly producing a case of asphyxia.
“Good heavens! you don’t say so?”
“Oh, it’s a fact,” said O’Gorman; “but what’s the matter? you appear unwell.”
“Oh, I am quite well,” said I; “but let’s take a glass of wine.”
I tossed off a bumper, and felt relieved.
“And so—little—Olivia—Jenkins—is actually—married? Good heavens! only think of that!”
“Why, sure,” said the ensign, smiling, “there’s nothing very strange in a pretty girl getting married; but,” added he, looking hard at me, and after a pause, “I suspect you were a little touched in that quarter yourself; am I not a true diviner?”
“I acknowledge it,” said I; “I did like that girl. Good heavens! and so little Olivia Jenkins is actually married!”
The ensign pressed me to stay with him a week, but I was forced to decline his hospitality, and resumed my onward route the next morning.
In a few days I reached Benares—Kasi, the splendid—the Jerusalem or Mecca of the Hindoo world. What a treat to look upon a picture of human existence, just as it probably was when Alexander the Great was a little chap!
As I glided past the swarming ghauts, where the pure-caste damsels, the high-born Hindoo maidens, of this strange and antique land, displayed their lovely forms,and laved their raven tresses in the sacred stream; where the holy bramin and the learned pundit, seated cross-legged, marked with ashes and pigments, pattered their Veds and Purans, I felt this in all its force; whilst the blowing of the conch, or the tinkling of bells, announced the never-ending round ofPoojahand devotion!
Here and there, the sacred Bull of Siva, and theyoniandlingam, festooned with wreaths of lotus or chumbalie, met the eye; whilst crowded boats, jingling bylies (ruths or native carriages), armed natives in the varied costumes of India (here assembling in the common centre of religious hopes and duties), with an elephant or two half-immersed, would serve to complete the foreground of this interesting picture.
Behind arose, somewhat after the manner of those congregated architectural masses in Martin’s pictures, though of course inferior in the boldness of their proportions and general taste and magnificence of the outline, the closely-wedged masses of this most curious and old-world city; the continuity of buildings occasionally broken by masses of foliage, or a cuneiform temple, with its tapering bamboo and blood-red pennon.
High over all, in the centre of the city, on a natural eminence, towered the celebrated mosque of Aurungzebe, with its two lofty minarets, which command a magnificent prospect of the surrounding country. This mosque is erected, it is said, on the site of a Hindoo temple of great sanctity, which was previously desecrated by having the blood of a cow sprinkled over it.
When the Mahomedans and Hindoos have a serious flare-up, the cows and pigs are pretty sure to suffer for it. The one is held in the highest veneration by the Hindoo, the other in utter abomination by the Moslem; consequently, the killing of one in a mundil, and of the other in a mosque, in pursuance of thelex talionis, generally constitutes the crisis of a religious dispute.
Such is revenge, when passion and fanaticism are in the ascendant, and such thegustowith which, by contendingreligionists, the stab is given in the most tender and vital part.
Having nearly cleared the city, I landed, accompanied by Ramdial Sirdar, to take a peep at the interior of this strange place; and strange, indeed, I found it. Streets swarming with people, and some so narrow that one of our draymen could hardly work down them, unless edgeways. Here, in the crowded chowks, waddled the huge braminy bull, poking his nose into the bunyah’s grain basket, in disdainful exercise of his sanctified impunity; whilst byraggies, fakeers, pundits, and bawling mendicants, and much more, that I cannot here describe, made up a scene as curious in itself, as striking and interesting to me from its novelty.
In the course of my ramble, Ramdial gave me to understand that, if I was desirous of anhummaum, or bath, after the Indian fashion, I could have one at Benares for a rupee or two, which would purify my outer man, besides being wonderfully agreeable. I had heard much of such baths in the “Arabian Nights,” and in works of the like sort, and thought this a good occasion to compare facts with early impressions; in short, I determined to be parboiled, and having intimated the same to Ramdial, I departed with him and my kidmutgar, after an early dinner, to thehummaum, or Ghosul Kaneh.
This was a considerable distance from my boat, in a garden, in the outskirts of the city. We entered the building, and Ramdial having explained who I was and what I wanted, an attendant of the bath showed me a small apartment, in which I was requested to disrobe. Havingpeeled, a pair of curwah drawers, orpajammas, were given to me, which descend about half-way down the thigh, and are tied in front with a string.
All being ready, I, rather nervous, submitted myself to the guidance of an athletic native, similarly habited to myself.
We passed through a narrow dark passage, and I began to look out for adventures. The slave of thebath showed me into a little confined apartment, some ten feet by four, filled with steam, on one side of which were reservoirs of water of different temperatures, in separate compartments, about (as well as I can recollect) breast-high.
Here I found another attendant, who, after sluicing a bowl or two of water over my body, laid me out on a long board, occupying the centre of the narrow apartment, and, aided by his companion, commenced rubbing me with soap and pea-meal from head to foot.
This over, they proceeded to rub me down slowly withkeesahs, or rough gloves, bringing off flakes androuleausof cuticle and epidermis astonishing to behold. Flayed alive, they proceeded to shampoo and knead me, producing the most pleasing and grateful sensations.
The strong man now bade me rise, and then and there began to play the castanets on my vertebral column, beginning at the topmost articulation; this he effected by placing his leg behind me, swinging my body gently backwards and forwards, and then by a sudden jerk, the very reverse of pleasant, producing the desired dislocation and its accompanying crack; having done with the spine, he rung the changes on my toes, knees, and fingers. To effect all this, he entwined his brawny limbs about me in a most gladiatorial style, which was far from agreeable.
At length, after a few more sluicings, I was given to understand that my purifications were at an end; something was then thrown over me, and I was led back to the place from whence I came. There I dressed, and never in my life experienced such a feeling of purity and buoyancy. I felt as if a new man, cleansed mentally and bodily, and ready to open a fresh account with the world.
My kitmudgar, Fyz Buccas, a worthy little fellow, had not been idle or inattentive to my comforts during my absence; for no sooner had I dressed, and was giving the last shake to a clean cambric handkerchief—thefinaleof the toilet in India—than he presented me with a cup of hot coffee, which he had prepared outside, and brought in afterwards my kalioun, which I had recently set up; taking this then in my hand, and putting the mouth-piece between my lips, I stretched out my legs, leaned my head back, and, half-closing my eyes, immediately departed for the seventh heaven, in a cloud of odoriferous incense.
The following day brought me to Sultanpore, the station of a regiment of native cavalry, about midway between Benares and Chunarghur. Here I stayed a few days with a cornet, to whom I was the bearer of a letter. There are no native cavalry lower than this in the Bengal presidency; these, consequently, with the exception of the Governor-General’s body-guard (who are differently attired), were the first I had seen of that arm.
On the whole, this body of black dragoons pleased me well; their dress was French grey, buckskin breeches, and long military boots, with high blue mitre-shaped caps, terminating at the apex with a sort of hemispherical silver knob; those of the native officers were covered with red cloth, with silver mountings.
The European officers wore helmets (since changed to shakos), but in other respects were dressed like their men. Some of the troopers were tight, well-made fellows, and the native officers large, portly gentlemen; but, if I may be allowed a pun, should say there were moreMusulmansthanmusclemenamongst them.[47]
Europeans in generalpeelmuch better than natives, though the latter, being generally taller and more equally-sized, look better, I think, in a body; nevertheless, amongst the sepoys are frequently found men, models of symmetry and muscular vigour, with whom few Europeanswould be able to cope. Their great degree of strength is, however, in general, artificially induced by the continued practice of gymnastics, themagdas, or clubs, and the use of the iron-stringed bow, &c.
I arrived at Sultanpore during the great Mahomedan festival of theMohurrum, and the cantonment, neighbouring bazaars, and villages, were resounding with firing and shouting.
This festival, as is pretty well known to all in any degree acquainted with Oriental history, is held in honour of the martyrdom of Hussain and Hosein, the sons of Ali, who fell on the fatal field of Kerbela, a catastrophe beautifully told by Gibbon, and which even he, who attaches no belief to the pretensions of Mahomed, can hardly peruse without emotion.
If such are the feelings of the infidel, what must be those of the believer? TheSunnimakes it a season of silent grief and humiliation, whilst theSheahs, or followers of Ali, abandon themselves to the wildest and most passionate demonstrations of sorrow.
Tazeahs, or representations of the shrine of Kerbela, of all sizes and shapes, more or less richly adorned with gilding, &c., are borne daily in procession for a period of many days, followed by crowds of the faithful, shouting “Hussain! Hosein!” beating their breasts, and indulging the most violent semblance of grief.
My friend, the cornet, drove me out one evening to witness thetumasha(sport). As we approached the spot where the greatest concourse was assembled, my ears were saluted by alternate shouts of what I was subsequently informed were intended for the words “Hussain, Hosein,” but uttered by the whole mass as sharply and compactly as a well-delivered platoon fire, or the fitful escapes of steam from an engine.
The English soldier, with the natural proneness of honest John Bull to effect a national assimilation whenever he can, calls these processions “Hobson, Jobson;” and it is but fair to allow, that “Hussain, Hosein,” whenshouted forth in the manner described, sound exceedingly like “Hobson, Jobson.”
On reaching the dense crowd, in the centre of which the tazeah, like a ship on a heaving sea, rocked to and fro, a wild scene of excitement met our view. Here were numbers of Mahomedan troopers, in their undress, many of them carrying tulwars[48]under their arms, with fakeers, servants, and bazaar people, all lustily lamenting the fate of Hussain and Hosein.
The tazeah had a splendidly gilded dome, and in the front of it was the figure of a strange creature, with the body of a camel, and a long tapering neck, terminating with a female face shaded by jet black ringlets; round the neck of this creature, which I take it was intended to represent Borak, on which Mahomed made his nocturnal journey to heaven, were strings of gold coins.
All this magnificence was supplied at the expense, I was told, of a devout old begum, the left-handed wife of an invalid general at Chunar, with whom, as will appear, I became subsequently acquainted.
On the seventh night of theMohurrum, it is usual to celebrate the marriage of Hussain’s daughter (nothing being perfect in this world without a little love) with her cousin, a gallant partisan of the house of Ali; Dhull Dhull too, the faithful steed of Hussain, his housings stuck full of arrows, forms a part of the pageant, and serves to create a still more lively image of the touching event which it is intended to commemorate.
The Mahomedans, when worked up to a high state of religious excitement and frenzy, on these occasions, are dangerous subjects to deal with; very little would then induce them to try the temper of their blades on the carcases of any description of infidel, Hindoo or Christian.
The relator was once at Allahabad when the great Hindoo festival of theHoolee, a sort of Saturnalia, and the MahomedanMohurrumunluckily fell together; andwas present with the judge, Mr. Chalmers, when a deputation from each of the religions waited upon him in connection with the subject of the apprehended bloodshed and disturbance, in case the processions of the two should meet.
The requests and the reasonings of the parties were highly characteristic of the genius of their respective religions. The Hindoos urged, mildly, that as their ancestors had possessed the country from time immemorial, and long before the Mahomedans came into it, they did not see why they should postpone the celebration of their religious rites, because the former chose to take offence at them; they disclaimed the slightest wish to insult or offend the Faithful, but contended for their right to parade the city in procession, with music, &c., as of old.
The Mahomedan moollahs, on their part, urged that, as the Hindoos were kaffers and idolaters, it must be (and they put the case very feelingly to Mr. Chalmers) exceedingly galling to them if they were allowed to parade their music and processions near their mosques and tazeahs: