CHAPTER XV.THE HIMALAYAS.
AGRA—LETTER-WRITERS IN BAZAAR—A DILEMMA—THE RAJAH OF ULWAR—THE TAJ-MAHAL—DESERTED CITY OF PALACES—FUTTEHPORE SEKRI—RAILWAY TRAVELLING—THE SEWALLIC RANGE—THE HIMALAYAS—THE SNOWY RANGE—DEHRA—THE TRAINING SEASON—CHOLERA—PROCLAIMING BANNS OF MARRIAGE—PRESAGES OF A STORM.
AGRA—LETTER-WRITERS IN BAZAAR—A DILEMMA—THE RAJAH OF ULWAR—THE TAJ-MAHAL—DESERTED CITY OF PALACES—FUTTEHPORE SEKRI—RAILWAY TRAVELLING—THE SEWALLIC RANGE—THE HIMALAYAS—THE SNOWY RANGE—DEHRA—THE TRAINING SEASON—CHOLERA—PROCLAIMING BANNS OF MARRIAGE—PRESAGES OF A STORM.
CHAPTER XV.
It was the 9th of March when we reached Loodiana, having left Nowshera the last day of January, and here we were at what was then the terminus of the Indian railway. We got down to Agra in a couple of days, breaking the journey at Meerut to let the men have their rations cooked, and on the 13th of March we arrived at Agra, well pleased to have reached our final destination.
The general at Agra, having been sent home on sick leave, I got command of the brigade, which I retained till the 88th left the station on their way to England. Agra is a very pleasant quarter, and although the heat was great, yet we managed to keep our houses cooler than at Rawul Pindee during the hot weather. India is so wellknown now that I shall not minutely describe the early morning ride to welcome the only cool breeze in the twenty-four hours, which is wafted like flowers strewn in the path of the conqueror, the sun. Nor shall I dwell on the dark rooms and the kuss-kuss tatties fixed into the window-frames, and always kept wet by coolies dashing water on them. The sweet fresh perfume these scented grass shutters gave forth was quite delightful. The day passed quickly enough, and then, when the sun sank in the evening hour, the doors and windows were all opened, and we sallied forth, pale and exhausted, for a drive, to ‘eat the air’ on the Mall. The water-carts had laid the dust and created a fictitious coolness. Energetic young officers cantered past on their ponies to the tennis-court. The crows sat on the branches with their beaks wide open, and the green paroquets chattered merrily and flew past like a flash of light. On certain evenings the residents at the station met each other at the band stand, and listened to the regimental bands discoursing very good music. It was wonderful, however, how everyone plucked up as the evening went on.
We were very fortunate in our domestics, many of whom had been with me all the years I was in India. I never engaged any servant who could speak English, as those who can do so are generally the worst of their class. Our communication was necessarily limited, as I never mastered more of the Hindostanee language than was sufficient to give orders. One day I found on my dressing-table the following letter, evidently written by one of the men in the bazaar who made letter-writing a profession, and who no doubt had charged my house-bearer for the same:
‘Honoured Sir,—I humbly beg to inform your honour that my mother is so apprehended in a hard illness that she cannot sit and get, and my wife will bring forth after some days. Wherefore I most humbly beg to inform your honour that, if you kindly and graciously bestow upon me the favour of leaving, I shall ever pray for your long life and prosperity.—I am, sir, &c., &c.,Thakur, bearer.’
Taking into consideration the lamentable state of his family, I bestowed the favour, and never saw Thakur again.
This letter reminds me of what took place atCawnpore some years before. The young Rajah of Ulwar (since dead) arrived at Cawnpore with a large camp. The officers of the 88th wished to be civil to this young native prince, so a card was dispatched, worded in the usual form: ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Maxwell and officers 88th (Connaught Rangers) request the honour of his highness the Rajah of Ulwar’s company to dinner,’ &c., &c., &c. My feelings may be imagined when I received the following reply: ‘Moha, Rajah of Ulwar, and his company give thanks to you, and excepted the dinner this evening, but requests to distribute the rations to all men from the bazaar as Hindoo regulation, also we are meet with you this evening at seven o’clock, March 19th, 1864.’ The Rajah’s company consisted of several hundred followers, for whom I was expected to distribute rations in the bazaar! I forget how we got out of the dilemma, but we certainly did not provide food for the followers. The young noble came in a magnificent dress, covered with jewels, accompanied by about twenty of the most fierce-looking attendants, also arrayed in grand suits. His highness would eat nothing, but seemed to appreciate cherry brandy, and caused me someanxiety, as he insisted on drinking it out of a large claret-glass.
There are many interesting relics of by-gone grandeur in and near Agra. Everyone has heard of the Taj-Mahal, but no one who has not seen it can imagine the perfect beauty of this tomb. Built as it is of white marble, in a climate which does not tarnish the purity of the stone, it rises gracefully in clear lines from its surroundings of green trees against the blue sky. But night is the time to see it, and we were especially favoured when Lord Mayo paid his visit to Agra, and gave a garden-party among the flowers and fruit-trees of this most romantic spot. The guests were received in front of a temple in the gardens, from which there is a fine view of the tomb. Suddenly a flood of brightness came from blue lights lit upon the height in the background, and the Taj stood out clear and distinct in startling beauty. Every pinnacle and cornice of the exquisite marble of that most dream-like monument of love was seen for a moment, and, as the light faded away, the tomb glided back into a sepulchral gloom.
Near Agra there is a deserted city of palaces, called Futtehpore Sekri. We drove there oneevening, when the moon shone clear and bright, and the air was cool and balmy. In five hours we reached the gates of this ancient place. There was no one to receive us, for there are no inhabitants. We took possession of Miriam’s palace, so stately, yet quite deserted. The moon shone on white marble walls, and the noise our servants made getting things ready for us re-echoed through the vast and empty corridors. During the night the sound of jackals’ hideous laughter was strange and uncanny, and the scream of some wild bird startled the listener; no one but visitors like ourselves had rested there for several hundred years, Futtehpore Sekri having been abandoned for that period.
When the morning broke, we wandered about among massive ruins, and everything looked different in the glowing sunshine; but still no living being was to be seen, we were the sole inhabitants of the palaces. I cannot attempt to give more than an idea of the forsaken city.
Ackbar was the founder of Futtehpore Sekri, and he built it with the full intention of making it the seat of government. His hall of judgment is a curious erection, consisting of a singleapartment, with a massive pillar in its centre. He was throned on the summit, and on four cross beams branching out from the centre were seated his four principal ministers to administer laws to the world. There is the hide-and-seek palace, full of tortuous passages, where the ladies of the court amused themselves. In a court near this palace is Ackbar’s chess-board. The pavement is laid in squares of marble, and tradition says that the knights, bishops, and pawns were his queens. His durgah, or holy palace, is a magnificent structure, with its splendid mosque on one side, and on the other an enormous gate. In the durgah is the exquisite marble shrine of a holy man. The elephant gate, guarded by two monster elephants with intertwined trunks, has an uncommon effect. Beyond it is a tower, bristling with very good stone imitations of elephants’ tusks. From this tower Ackbar used to review his troops. We had our friend, the Assistant-Commissioner at Agra, with us, and he most kindly acted as cicerone, and told us what we were looking at. In all my wanderings I never saw anything more entrancing than this deserted city. The dry climate has not touchedthe red sandstone of which the palaces are built, and we could imagine its streets swarming with busy life, its edifices filled with the splendour of Ackbar’s magnificence. But the dream faded away, and left the reality of utter desolation.
Tradition says that Ackbar deserted his capital to satisfy the caprice of a very holy faqueer who had been in possession before Ackbar made his appearance. Certain it is that, as suddenly as they had come, kings, queens, courtiers, nobles, followers, and men of lesser degree, vanished away, taking up their quarters twenty-two miles off on the banks of the sacred Jumna, and called the place Agra.
The general commanding, having been summoned away for some reason, I got command of the division, and it became my duty—a very pleasant one—to proceed to Mussoorie and Landour, to inspect the dépôt at the latter-named station. It was no new ground to me, for I had paid a visit to Mussoorie during the hot weather of several years, and I was well acquainted with its many beauties. I was also glad to take a farewell glance at old remembered haunts. My wife accompanied me. We travelledby train as far as Seharanpore. In spite of all that has been done to make railway travelling luxurious in the hot weather, it is a terrible ordeal. The dust sifts through the closed, jalousied windows in clouds, and, swiftly as we may fly through the air, it is the atmosphere of a furnace that we breathe. Cases of heat apoplexy were so common that at all the principal stations shells were ready for the bodies of those who had succumbed, and at each stoppage a scrutiny was made of every carriage to see who required assistance. We had a huge block of ice with us to cool the atmosphere, so we arrived in safety at the end of the railway part of our journey. A dāk-gharry was waiting for us, and we rattled along the dusty high-road, past miles and miles of ripe corn-fields.
In the distance, through the haze of heat, we saw the well-remembered giant mountains of the Himalayas. Before reaching them an advance low ridge of hills, known as the Sewallic range, has to be crossed. It is a wild, jungly country. Tigers and huge snakes have their haunts in the fastnesses of the Terai. At the Mohun Pass we changed from gharry to doolies, and were borneat a steady trot by four bearers up and down, the way abounding in huge boulders and rocks. They keep up a monotonous chant as they move along, the words often applying to the burden. I was not a light weight; and ‘Oh, the elephant! oh, the elephant!’ was the refrain of their song, which changed occasionally to ‘Oh, the great man, the great prince! Backsheesh from the great king.’
Dawn was breaking as we emerged from the pass, and apparently immediately before us, though really fourteen miles distant, towered the mighty Himalayas. A rest for a bath and breakfast at the delightful, cool, and clean hotel at the foot of the mountains, prepared us thoroughly to enjoy our steep climb up to Mussoorie. As we rose higher and higher, we got, as it were, into the very heart of the hills, and to us, direct from the breathless plains, the air seemed strangely rarefied, and gave one a sensation of deafness, which passed away after a short time. We were pleasantly lodged at a private hotel not far from the club.
After the duty was performed which had brought me away from the heat to the delightfultemperature of the hills, we wandered about among many well-remembered places, not forgetting Landour, where we had passed some months a year or two before this visit. Mussoorie is the fashionable part of this hill station, but is not to be compared with Landour in purity of air and grandeur of scenery. In the early morning there is nothing to equal the view. When the sun has just risen above the mountains, and the soft breeze fans you gently, the distant sounds are heard like far-off music, and it is difficult to realize—looking down on the plains, which extend in the boundless horizon like a glistening sea—that the thermometer, which marks 70° in this mountain retreat, is registering well over 100° in the beautiful country on which you are now gazing. Then on the other side of the heights, far off in the heavens, tower the snowy range. In the world, there can be nothing more superb than the view of the snowy range as it bursts suddenly into sight, peak upon peak glittering bright and cold under the cloudless sky. There is a hitherto unknown, intense feeling of solemn awe as one gazes on the still grandeur of perpetual snow. Nearer and nearercome mountains and valleys. Down hundreds of feet below appears a silver line, so far off that it requires glasses to discover the washer-men beating the clothes with fearful energy in the stream. The mountain on whose spur Landour’s many cottages are gathered, is two thousand feet higher than the one on which Mussoorie is built, and the air is so exhilarating that one feels inclined to shout out for joy. I was grieved to say farewell to this favoured spot, and often, when a cold east wind is blowing, the remembrance of Landour and its soft, sweet breeze comes back to my memory like a dream.
As we prepared to descend the mountain to Rajpore and Dehra, we had to pass the club, where we saw the well-dressed young officers lounging forth, on their way to the Mall, where all Mussoorie assembled to talk sense or nonsense, as suited the occasion. Some delicate ladies and children were in jampans, while others rode or walked.
At Dehra we got into our dāk carriage, and proceeded on our journey to Agra. Dehra is a green and wooded station, with bungalows, most of which have gardens round them; and, althoughsometimes fever and cholera visited the place, it was not generally unhealthy. The great attraction to many was that Dehra was the Newmarket of the north-west provinces. The stables were filled during the hot weather with horses in training for the first meeting of the season, which generally took place in October. I had a stable in charge of Henry Hackney, whose knowledge and care, added to his great honesty, made me fully appreciate his value. My stable consisted of thirteen horses, and, as the leave season began in April, I used to proceed to Dehra as early in that month as I could get away. What a pleasant time it was! Up every morning at sunrise, a light-hearted lot of fellows would meet in the stand on the race-course, and there criticise the different horses as they took their long slow gallops. When these performances were over, coffee would be discussed, and then, before the sun had dried the dew on the grass, the various members of that little coterie would disperse to their several stables to see the horses rubbed down, and to get the opinion of the different trainers. Some would then mount their hacks and gallop off up the mountain to the MussoorieClub, in time to eat the good breakfast which early rising and exercise entitled them to enjoy. I always liked the training season better than the race week, for the watchful interest was over when that week came round, although it was very satisfactory to win the rupees, which helped to pay the expenses of the stable.
For days before the races took place, Dehra assumed a very gay appearance. Tents were pitched everywhere, and the whole station was excited and merry; and, when the first day came, four-in-hands, dog-carts, carriages, and pedestrians assembled on the course. A week after the races were over, Dehra looked deserted, for not only had all the tents disappeared, but the leave season was past, and the Mussoorie Club empty.
The natives in India do not flock to a race-course the way our country-people do, nor do they take such interest in the sport as Irishmen did. When I was quartered at Boyle, a sporting squire had a horse called Harry Lorrequer, which was entered for a steeple-chase to be run near our barracks. A young, fresh-looking Englishman had just joined our dépôt as ensign, and theowner of Harry Lorrequer, having seen him ride, liked his seat, and fancied the way he managed his horse, so he asked the new-comer to ride for him. The young officer did not know what he was undertaking when he agreed to pilot the nag in the Boyle Steeple-chase. The day was fine, and a great crowd of countrymen, staunch supporters of the owner of Harry Lorrequer, were assembled near the temporary stand. They were all armed with shilelaghs, and were very vehement in their declarations ‘that niver another horse would win’ but their one. The start took place amid shouts of defiance, ‘the boys’ ran like madmen over the course, but Harry had it all his own way, and won in a canter. ‘The boys’ were frantic with delight; they crowded round the winner, seized hold of the young Englishman, roaring and cheering as if they were going to murder him, carried him on their shoulders everywhere, and at length allowed the exhausted youth to escape.
Some days after, I was driving my young friend in my dog-cart, and happened to stop at an inn on the road, when a quiet, mild-looking Paddy touched his hat and said,
‘More power to ye, captin, ye rode fine the other day, yer honour.’
‘Oh, you were at the Boyle Steeple-chase,’ was the reply.
‘Is it me, sorr?—sure I was one of the boys that carried ye round the coorse,’ said the countryman, cocking his hat, and looking surprised at not being recognised.
‘If I had lost the race, what would you have done?’ was the question then put by my friend.
‘Bedad, captin, I don’t know,’ replied the man, scratching his head; ‘but any way the other horse would never have been let to win. Yer honour was quite safe to do it.’
My young friend’s face was a picture worth seeing.
Dehra, with all its pleasant memories, has some sad ones too. That fearful scourge, cholera, lurks among green trees and dense vegetation, and suddenly declares its dreaded presence. One autumn the station was more than usually filled by owners of horses who had many stables. The hotel was very comfortable, as Mr. Williams did all he could to make the time pass pleasantly by attention to the cuisine and the arrangement ofhis hotel. It consisted of two bungalows and extensive stabling. My stables had thirteen loose boxes, and the whole of the first floor in one of the bungalows was my dwelling-place. Captain Dowdeswell, 7th Dragoon Guards, had a stable and lived in the other bungalow in the compound. One morning I went as usual to the stand on the race-course, and found those already assembled there in great wonderment at the severe pace. Dowdeswell was taking one of his horses round the course. As he passed the stand, I shouted to him that the coffee was ready; but he only waved his hand, and then we saw him soon after get on his pony and canter home. As usual, we dispersed, and I well remember going to Dowdeswell’s bungalow in great spirits, for my horses had done their gallops very well, and Hackney was confident of success. The room opened on a verandah on the ground-floor, and I called out Dowdeswell’s name, and, receiving no answer, went in, and was greatly distressed to find that he was very ill.
As the doctor lived at some distance, I ordered my trap, and went off to find Dr. Allan of the Ghoorkas, a most able man; but, although I wentto different places, I failed to meet him, so I left messages asking him to come quickly to the hotel. I returned, only to be summoned to Dowdeswell’s room; but he was dead. In less than four hours that dreadful disease had carried him off. These sudden shocks amid a gay and thoughtless party are very startling. The day before he was as well as any of us assembled there. The next morning we saw him take his last ride, and the following day he was in his grave!
It is surprising how time slips away in the quiet, drowsy atmosphere of an Indian hot weather. The punkah waves to and fro for ever; the coolie who pulls it sits outside in the verandah like a black machine wound up. Meals must be eaten, but it is difficult to know what to order; when the meat that comes in the early morning is unfit to be used in the evening, we fall back a good deal on fowls, curry, quails fattened by ourselves, and tinned provisions. What would the lady of a house in India do without tinned provisions? The salmon which looks so well at her ‘burra khana’ has journeyed from afar in hermetically sealed boxes; in some ladies’ opinion,those who have never left the shores of Hindostan, the use of these sealed dainties is quite general in the highest society at home.
‘So you dined with the Queen?’ said one of these untravelled ladies to some general officer lately returned from Britain. ‘I suppose that at Her Majesty’s table there was nothing but tinned provisions.’
It is some years since the charming lady I allude to made this remark. The constant communication between England and India must have enlightened even those who have never left the country. In the hot weather Sundays mark that the weeks are passing; there is little else to do so. Divine service was at six in the evening, and the pale congregation gathered under punkahs to follow the clergyman, who, under his special punkah, read the service and preached a sermon. How very much hotter he must have been than we, who were melting, I can answer for, as I frequently officiated as clergyman in various quarters of India, owing to the absence, from sickness or other cause, of the padré sahib.
I remember on one occasion the clerk whispering that there were banns of marriage to be proclaimed,and he only handed me the names of the pair. I utterly forgot the words of the form to do this, and could not find the place in the prayer-book; then, with startling distinctness, the old Scotch formula came to my mind, which I had often heard in the days of my boyhood: ‘There is a purpose of marriage between So-and-so, of this parish, &c.,’ announcing the same, to the considerable entertainment of some of my hearers. Occasionally, when the heat seemed to have reached its highest pitch, the bearer would appear, and ask leave to roll up the outside verandah chicks, as a storm was coming. The air felt thick and heavy, and the breathless stillness was overpowering. In a moment all was changed, and a raging tempest was upon us. A dust-storm is a terrible sight—the whole atmosphere a red mass, a whirlwind of dust, and all as dark as night around. I have stood at the window looking out into the darkness, and felt that there was some one beside me, without being able to distinguish who it was. Then the rain came down in torrents—we sallied forth always with an expectation of finding it cooler, but the sensation is that of a hot vapour bath.