The Last Voyage: To India and Australia, in the 'Sunbeam'
by Annie Brassey · English · Gutenberg #29778 · 867,299 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Last Voyage: To India and Australia, in the 'Sunbeam'
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The Last Voyage: To India and Australia, in the 'Sunbeam'
Author: Annie Brassey
Commentator: Earl Thomas Brassey Brassey
Illustrator: R. T. Pritchett
Release date: August 24, 2009 [eBook #29778]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29778
Credits: Produced by Steven Gibbs, Linda Cantoni, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. This
project is dedicated to the memory of Steven H. Gibbs,
1938-2009, who provided the scans for this and many other
Project Gutenberg eBooks.
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST VOYAGE: TO INDIA AND AUSTRALIA, IN THE 'SUNBEAM' ***
Produced by Steven Gibbs, Linda Cantoni, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. This
project is dedicated to the memory of Steven H. Gibbs,
1938-2009, who provided the scans for this and many other
Project Gutenberg eBooks.
[Transcriber's Note: Many illustration captions are missing from the
original. These have been added in as they appear in the List of
Illustrations, and all captions have been conformed to the List of
Illustrations.
The original contains a number of alternate spellings of proper nouns
(e.g., Vasco de Gama for Vasco da Gama; Tawomba for Toowomba;
Warrangarra for Wallangarra). These have been preserved as they appear
in the original. Otherwise, obvious printer errors have been
corrected; where it is not clear whether something is an error, a
Transcriber's Note has been inserted in the text.]
THE LAST VOYAGE,
TO INDIA AND AUSTRALIA,
IN THE 'SUNBEAM.'
BY THE LATE
LADY BRASSEY.
_ILLUSTRATED BY R.T. PRITCHETT AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS._
The full-page plates and the headings to the chapters are printed in
monotone by E. NISTER, of Nuremberg.
The wood engravings in the text are executed by EDWARD WHYMPER, J.D.
COOPER, and G. PEARSON.
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
[Illustration: CHART SHOWING TRACK OF THE YACHT "SUNBEAM" FROM NOV.
1886 TO DEC. 1887.]
[Illustration: 'SUNBEAM,' R.Y.S., CHRISTMAS DAY, 1886]
[Illustration: THE LAST VOYAGE
[signature] Annie Brassey
1887.]
_Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld;
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more!_
LONDON: LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET
1889
_All rights reserved_
Preface.
In giving to the reading world these pages of the last Journal of one
of the most popular writers of our day, no apology can be needed, and
but little explanation.
A word had better perhaps be said, and said here, as to my share in
its composition. It is now twelve years ago since my friend--then Mrs.
Brassey--asked my advice and assistance in arranging the Diary she had
kept during the eleven months' cruise of the 'Sunbeam.' This
assistance I gladly gave, and she and I worked together, chiefly at
reducing the mass of information gathered during the voyage. I often
felt it hard to have to do away with interesting and amusing matter in
order to reduce the book even to the size in which it appeared. It was
a very pleasant and easy task, and I think the only difference of
opinion which ever arose between us was as to the intrinsic merit of
the manuscript. No one could have been more diffident than the writer
of those charming pages; and it needed all the encouragement which
both I and her friend and publisher, Mr. T. Norton Longman, could
offer, to induce her to use many of the simple little details of her
life, literally 'on the ocean wave.'
The success of the 'Voyage of the "Sunbeam"' need not be dwelt on
here; it fully justified our opinion, surprising its writer more than
any one else by its sudden and yet lasting popularity. Other works,
also well received and well known to the public, followed during the
next few years, with which I had nothing to do. This last Journal now
comes before Lady Brassey's world-wide public, invested with a pathos
and sadness all its own.
I venture to think that no one can read these pages without admiration
and regret; admiration for the courage which sustained the writer amid
the weakness of failing health, and regret that the story of a life so
unselfish and so devoted to the welfare of others should have ended so
soon.
On his return home, in December 1887, from this last cruise, Lord
Brassey placed in my hands his wife's journals and manuscript notes,
knowing that they would be reverently and tenderly dealt with, and
believing that, on account of my previous experience with the 'Voyage
of the "Sunbeam,"' I should understand better than any one else the
writer's wishes.
My task has been a sad and in some respects a difficult one. Not only
do I keenly miss the bright intelligence which on a former occasion
made every obscure point clear to me directly, but the notes
themselves are necessarily very fragmentary in places. It astonishes
me that any diary at all should have been kept amid the enthusiasm
which greeted the arrival and departure of the 'Sunbeam' at every
port, the hurry and confusion of constant travelling, and, saddest of
all, the evidences of daily increasing weakness. Great also has been
my admiration for the indomitable spirit which lifted the frail body
above and beyond all considerations of self. I need not here call
attention to Lady Brassey's devotion to the cause of suffering shown
in her unceasing efforts to establish branches of the St. John
Ambulance Association all over the world. It will be seen that the
last words of the Journal refer to this subject, so near the writer's
heart.
I have thought it best to allow the mere rough outline diary of the
first part of the Indian journey to appear exactly as it stands,
instead of attempting to enlarge it, which could have been done from
Lord Brassey's notes. But, unhappily, the chief interest now of every
word of this volume will consist, not in any information conveyed--for
that could easily be supplied from other sources--but in the fact of
its being Lady Brassey's own impression jotted hastily down at the
moment. After reaching Hyderabad there was more leisure and an
interval of better health; consequently each day's record is fuller.
After August 29th the brief jottings of the first Indian days are
resumed, but I have not felt able to lay these notes before the
public, for they are simple records of suffering and helpless
weakness, too private and sacred for publication. They extend up to
September 10th, only four days before the end.
No one but Lord Brassey could take up the story after that date, and
it is therefore to his pen that we owe the succeeding pages. All
through the Journal I found constant references to what are called in
the family the 'Sunbeam Papers,' a journal kept by Lord Brassey and
printed for private circulation. With his permission, I have availed
myself of these notes wherever I could do so, and I believe that this
is what Lady Brassey would have wished. There were also, with the
MSS., many interesting newspaper extracts referring to public
utterances of Lord Brassey, but of these want of space compels me only
to give three, specially alluded to by his wife, which will be found
in the Appendix.
Lady Brassey had created an extraordinarily intimate and friendly
feeling between herself and her readers all over the world. It has
been felt in accordance with this mutual and affectionate
understanding to give little personal details, and even a memoir
compiled by Lord Brassey for his children during the sad days
following the 14th of September, to the friendly eyes which will read
with regret the last Journal of one who has been their pleasant
chronicler and chatty fellow-traveller for so long. It must always
seem as if Lady Brassey wrote specially for those who did not enjoy
her facilities for going about and seeing everything.
I must express my thanks to Lady Brassey's secretaries for the kind
help they have afforded me, not only in deciphering MSS., but in
verifying dates and names of places.
M.A. BROOME.
LONDON: _March_ 1888.
Contents.
CHAPTER PAGE
MEMOIR xiii
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 1
I. BOMBAY TO JUBBULPORE 9
II. HYDERABAD AND POONA 34
III. BOMBAY 56
IV. BOMBAY TO GOA 73
V. COLOMBO 97
VI. RANGOON 120
VII. LABUAN 155
VIII. ELEOPURA 175
IX. CELEBES 203
X. WESTERN AUSTRALIA 229
XI. ALBANY TO ADELAIDE 251
XII. ADELAIDE 269
XIII. VICTORIA 287
XIV. NEW SOUTH WALES 309
XV. NEW SOUTH WALES (_continued_) 325
XVI. QUEENSLAND 339
XVII. THE EAST COAST 367
XVIII. EAST COAST (_continued_) 391
XIX. PRINCE OF WALES' ISLAND 409
APPENDIX 427
INDEX 479
List of Illustrations.
_FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS._
'SUNBEAM,' R.Y.S., CHRISTMAS DAY, 1886 _Frontispiece_
PORT SAID COALING-PARTY _To face page_ 1
ELEPHANTA CAVES " 18
PESHAWUR COAL-DEPOT " 26
EN ROUTE TO HUNT BLACK-BUCK WITH CHEETAH " 40
PATIALA ELEPHANTS: THE DRIVE " 62
RELIGIOUS FESTIVAL, MALABAR POINT " 70
BENARES AND THE SACRED GANGES " 84
MOULMEIN, FROM THE RIVER " 132
SINGAPORE, ENTRANCE TO HARBOUR " 140
SARAWAK, BORNEO: OPPOSITE THE RAJAH'S FORT " 148
FISHING-STAKES, SARAWAK RIVER " 162
ENTRANCE TO BIRD'S-NEST CAVES, MADAI " 184
FORDING THE STREAM FOR MADAI " 196
KINA BALU, 13,700 FEET " 210
BAD WEATHER, WEST COAST OF AUSTRALIA " 226
TREE-FERNS, AUSTRALIA " 244
NORTH HEAD, SYDNEY HARBOUR " 306
ABORIGINES IN CAMP " 370
ANT-HILLS, QUEENSLAND, AUSTRALIA " 422
_ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT._
PAGE
TITLE-PAGE
EVENTIDE xiii
EVENING PRAYER 1
PORTSMOUTH, H.M.S. 'HERCULES' 2
TANKS AT ADEN 3
KURRACHEE HARBOUR 5
THE MIRS FALCONER 5
BOKHARA MAN 6
GOING TO DINNER 6
OUR HOME ON WHEELS 7
JUBILEE ILLUMINATIONS, BOMBAY 9
CROSSING THE INDUS 10
SHIKARPUR BAZAAR 11
SUKHUR BRIDGE, INDUS 12
OLD SUKHUR 13
TEMPLE OF THE SUN, MOOLTAN 14
RUNJEET SINGH'S TOMB, LAHORE 15
CAÑON, MURREE 16
AFGHANS AT JAMRUD 17
JAMRUD FORT 18
CAMEL-GUNS AND STANDARD 18
CABUL NATIVE, LAHORE 19
LAHORE 19
CAMEL TEAM 20
AMRITSAR 20
PATIALA ELEPHANTS 21
'CROSS-COUNTRY 22
ELEPHANTS DRINKING 22
MOUNTING 22
THE KUTUB MINAR 23
BASE OF KUTUB MINAR 24
OLD DELHI AND WEAPONS 25
ULWAR 26
PALACE IN THE ULWAR FORT 27
SAR-BAHR, GWALIOR 28
GROUP OF NATIVES 29
WATER-CARRIER, BENARES 30
NERBUDDA RIVER--MARBLE ROCKS 31
MEARI, THE LAST OF THE THUGS 31
TEMPLE AT ELLORA 32
THE FORT, POONAH 34
GUN ROCK 36
ONE-TREE HILL 37
MIR ALAM, HYDERABAD 38
CHEETAH-CART 40
DEATH OF THE BUCK 41
MOSQUE ENTRANCE 44
THE HAMYAN JUMP, DELHI 48
NO COAL 51
INTERIOR, DELHI 53
BENGAL LANCER--RAWUL PINDI 56
THE GHAUTS, BOMBAY 58
BODYGUARD AND PEON, MALABAR POINT 60
THE APOLLO BUNDER 65
BOMBAY HARBOUR 67
OMNIBUS-HORSE TOPE 68
HINDOO GIRL 69
AT THE CHILDREN'S BALL 70
THE ARCH OF THE VICEROYS, GOA 73
JINJEERA FORT 75
OFF RATNAGIRI 77
VINGORA ROCKS 79
VINGORA LIGHTHOUSE 81
PORTUGUESE ROWLOCK 82
CAPE GOA ENTRANCE 83
ST. XAVIER, GOA 87
INQUISITION STAKE, GOA 89
VIEW IN CEYLON 97
BUDDHIST PRIEST 99
TALIPOT PALM 101
SEYCHELLES PALM 103
GOVERNOR'S PEON, KANDY 104
CINGALESE WEAPONS 105
POINT DE GALLE 106
TRINCOMALEE HARBOUR 108
JUMPING FISH (_Periophthalmus Kolreuteri_) 110
SAMI ROCK 114
COCO ISLAND LIGHT 116
ENTRANCE TO CAVES AT MOULMEIN 119
MERCHANT DHOWS, INDIAN OCEAN 120
GREAT PAGODA COURT 122
ENTRANCE TO TEMPLE 123
DAGON 125
RANGOON BOAT, STERN 126
DITTO STEM 127
MOULMEIN 129
ELEPHANTS AT WORK 130
DITTO 131
MOULMEIN RIVER BOAT 132
ON THE IRRAWADDY 133
ENTRANCE TO MOULMEIN CAVES 135
FERRY AT MORCENATIN 136
POINT AMHERST, WATER TEMPLE 138
BOUND SOUTH 139
TRAVELLER'S PALM, SINGAPORE 142
JUNKS, SINGAPORE 144
NAVIGATION BOARDS, RIVER KUCHING 146
FIRE-TUBE 148
DYAK 149
KUCHING 152
THE FORT 153
LABUAN 155
MALAY VILLAGE, LABUAN 158
BRUNEI HATS 161
PANGERAN'S ARRIVAL 164
PITCHER PLANTS AND KINA BALU 169
KUDAT 171
ON THE FORE-YARD, MAKING THE LAND 173
IN THE BIRD'S-NEST CAVES, MADAI 175
MR. FLINT'S BUNGALOW 177
KAPUAN TIMBER-STATION 179
DYAK DANCE 181
BORNEO WEAPONS 184
SANDAKAN, BEARING N. 185
ENTERING RIVER, MADAI 187
COMMISSARIAT DEPARTMENT 189
RETURN OF THE HEAD-HUNTER 192
SULUS AT SILAM 198
RETURNING AT LOW WATER 199
DUTCH FORT, MACASSAR 203
THE SHOOTING PARTY 207
UNDER THE SUN 209
OUR COACHMAN, MACASSAR 211
DUTCH (NATIVE) SOLDIERS 212
MACASSAR POLICEMAN 213
FISHING-BOAT, ALLAS STRAIT 216
OUR WIND-BOB 218
MORE BAD WEATHER 220
TOPMAST STUNSAILS 223
EFFECT OF A SQUALL 225
FAUNA, W. AUSTRALIA 229
KINGIA 233
BLACK BOYS 236
A BREAKDOWN IN THE BUSH 243
BOOMERANGS OR KYLIES 249
GETTING UNDER WAY 251
AN ABORIGINAL 254
THE PORT WATCH 257
RUNNING DOWN--EASTING 260
CRACKING ON 261
PROCLAMATION-TREE, GLENELG 264
'PROTECTOR' GUNBOAT 267
SUNSET 269
ADELAIDE 272
_STYPANDRA UMBELLATA_ 275
ON THE MURRAY RIVER 278
A BUCKBOARD 280
BALLARAT 282
MINERS' CAMP 284
EXHIBITION BUILDINGS, MELBOURNE 287
VICTORIA DEFENCE FLEET 289
LANCERS AND SOUDAN CONTINGENT 292
SELECTORS 296
FERNS 302
A FOREST BRIDGE 304
SYDNEY HARBOUR 307
BANKSIAS, &C., NEW SOUTH WALES 309
SUMMER HILL CREEK 313
WATERFALL GULLY 318
KATOOMBA 320
COOK'S MONUMENT, BOTANY BAY 323
SIGNAL STATION, NEWCASTLE 325
KANGAROO-FOOT (_Arrigozanthus_) 327
CATTLE CROSSING THE DARLING RIVER 333
SHEEP CROSSING RIVER 335
OFF THE TRACK 337
ROCKHAMPTON LILIES 339
FERN FOREST 341
GERMAN WAGGON 346
TURPENTINE-TREE 348
_CRINUM ASIATICUM_ 349
TI-TREES 355
MOUNT MORGAN 357
THE FORD 363
NATIVE WEAPONS, QUEENSLAND 366
BALLOON CANVAS 367
STOWING FORETOPSAIL 371
QUEENSLAND NATIVES 373
CARDWELL SCHOOL HOUSE 375
DEAD CROCODILE ON SNAG 378
THE TRAIN IN THE BUSH 382
ZAMOA TREE 384
ON THE JOHNSTONE RIVER 387
NAVIGATORS 389
THURSDAY ISLAND 391
COOKTOWN 393
CORAL ON PEARL-OYSTER 396
DRUM FROM MURRAY ISLAND 402
HAMMER-HEADED OYSTER 404
CLAREMONT ISLAND LIGHTSHIP 406
THE LAST MILL IN AUSTRALIA 408
PORT DARWIN 409
DARNLEY ISLAND; THE SHORE 413
DITTO 416
CURIOS FROM MURRAY ISLAND 420
IN THE TORRES STRAITS 423
CHURCH ON DARNLEY ISLAND 425
ST. LOUIS, MAURITIUS 429
OFF THE CAPE 432
ST. HELENA 435
LONGWOOD, ST. HELENA 437
ASCENSION. GREEN MOUNTAIN 439
SIERRA LEONE 441
BARQUE HOVE-TO 443
PICO 444
BEARING UP FOR SHELTER 445
TAILPIECE.
* * * * *
TRACK CHART _To follow Half-title_
MAP OF INDIA _To face page_ 72
[Illustration: Eventide]
_FOR MY CHILDREN._
_A BRIEF MEMOIR OF THEIR DEAR MOTHER._
_'The greatest benefit which one friend can confer upon
another is to guard, and excite, and elevate his virtues.
This your mother will still perform if you diligently
preserve the memory of her life and of her death...._
_'There is something pleasing in the belief that our
separation from those whom we love is only corporeal...._
_'Here is one expedient by which you may, in some degree,
continue her presence. If you write down minutely what you
remember of her from your earliest years, you will read it
with great pleasure, and receive from it many hints of
soothing recollections, when time shall remove her yet
further from you, and your grief shall be matured to
veneration.'_
DR. JOHNSON.
MY DEAR CHILDREN,--In sorrow and grief I have prepared a sketch of the
life and character of your dearly loved mother, whom it has pleased
God to call to Himself. Slight and imperfect as it is, it may
hereafter help to preserve some tender recollections, which you would
not willingly let die.
I shall begin with her childhood. Her mother having died in her
infancy, for some years your dear mother lived, a solitary child, at
her grandfather's house at Clapham. Here she acquired that love of the
country, the farm, and the garden which she retained so keenly to the
last. Here she learned to ride; and here, with little guidance from
teachers, she had access to a large library, and picked up in a
desultory way an extensive knowledge of the best English, French,
German, and Italian literature.
After a few years' residence at Clapham, your grandfather moved to
Chapel Street, Grosvenor Place, and later to the house which you
remember in Charles Street. At this period your mother's education was
conducted by her attached and faithful governess, Miss Newton, whom
you all know. She attended classes, but otherwise her life must have
been even more solitary in London than at Clapham. Her evenings were
much devoted to Botany, and by assiduous application she acquired that
thorough knowledge of the science which she found so useful later, in
describing the profuse and varied vegetation of the tropics.
And now I come to my engagement to your mother. How sweet it is to
remember her as she was in those young days; in manners so frank and
unaffected, and full of that buoyant spirit which to the end of her
life never flagged. She enjoyed with a glad heart every pleasure. She
was happy at a ball, happy on her horse, happy on the grouse-moor,
devoted to her father, a favourite with all her relatives, and very,
very sweet to me. Gladness of heart, thankfulness for every pleasure,
a happy disposition to make the best of what Providence has ordered,
were her characteristics.
We were married in October 1860. After our marriage we had everything
to create--our home, our society, our occupations. We began life at
Beauport; and wonderfully did your dear mother adapt herself to wholly
unanticipated circumstances. Beauport became a country home for our
nearest relations on both sides. As a girl, your mother had been a
most loving daughter to her own father. After her marriage she was
good and kind to my parents. To my brothers, until they were old
enough to form happy homes of their own, she was an affectionate
sister.
At the date of our marriage, no definite career had opened out for me.
To follow my father's business was not considered expedient, and I had
no commanding political influence. In the endeavour to help me to
obtain a seat in Parliament, your dear mother displayed a true
wife-like devotion. She worked with an energy and earnestness all her
own, first at Birkenhead in 1861, and later at Devonport and
Sandwich--constituencies which I fought unsuccessfully--and my return
for Hastings in 1868 afforded her the more gratification. It had been
the custom in the last-named constituency to invite the active
assistance of ladies, and especially the wives of the candidates, in
canvassing the electors. Your mother readily responded to the call.
She soon became popular among the supporters of the Liberal party, and
throughout my connection with Hastings she retained the golden
opinions which she had so early won. Her nerve, high spirit, and
ability, under the fierce ordeal of the petition against my return,
have been described in his memoirs by Serjeant Ballantine, who
conducted my case. He called your mother as his first witness for the
defence, put one or two questions, and then handed her wholly
unprepared to the counsel for the petitioners--the present Lord
Chancellor. With unflinching fortitude your mother endured a
cross-examination lasting for upwards of an hour. Her admirable
bearing made a great impression upon the eminent judge (Mr. Justice
Blackburn) who tried the case, and won the sympathies of the dense
crowd of spectators. I remember how gratefully your mother
acknowledged the mercy of Heaven in that crisis of her life. 'I could
not have done it unless I had been helped,' were her simple words to
me.
Down to the latest election in which I was engaged, your dear mother,
in the same spirit of personal devotion to her husband, wrought and
laboured in the political cause. I have put her love for me as the
prime motive for her efforts in politics; but she had too much
intelligence not to form a judgment of her own on public issues. Her
sympathies were instinctively on the side of the people, in opposition
to the old-fashioned Toryism, so much more in vogue a quarter of a
century ago than it is to-day.
In helping me to hold a seat in Parliament, your dear mother was
inflicting upon herself a privation very hard to bear. Owning to the
rapid changes in all the circumstances of our lives, it was difficult
to preserve old associations. In the midst of new environments, to
make her way alone was a great strain. It is some consolation to know
what happiness I gave when, upon my release from the urgent demands of
Parliamentary and official life, I was able to spend much of my time
in her dear society. It is sad that this happy change should have come
so late.
In addition to the share which she took in my Parliamentary labours,
your mother undertook the exclusive management at home. This
responsibility was gradually concentrated in her hands, owing to my
long service in the House of Commons, combined with exceptionally
heavy extra-Parliamentary work, finally culminating in my holding
office at the Admiralty for more than five years.
How we shall miss her in everything! specially in the task of
arranging in the museum, now near completion, the combined collections
of our many journeys! She had so looked forward to being able to bring
together these collections in London; one of her objects being to
afford instruction and recreation to the members of the Working Men's
Clubs, to whom she proposed to give constant facilities of access to
the collection.
The same spirit, which made your dear mother my helpmeet in my public
life, sustained her, at the sacrifice of every personal predilection,
in constant companionship with her husband at sea. She bore the misery
of sea-sickness without a murmur or complaint. Fear in storm and
tempest she never knew. She made yachting, notwithstanding its
drawbacks, a source of pleasure. At Cowes she was always on deck, card
in hand, to see the starts in the various matches. At sea she enjoyed
the fair breezes, and took a deep interest in estimating the daily
run, in which she was generally wonderfully exact. She had a great
faculty for seamanship, and knew as well as anybody on board what
should be done and what was being done on deck.
The same eager sympathy with every interest and effort of mine led
your dear mother to help me as President of the Working Men's Club and
Institute Union. She attended the meetings, distributed the prizes,
and on one occasion entertained the members and their friends at
Normanhurst. Upwards of a thousand came down from London, and were
addressed by Lord Houghton and by M. Waddington, the French
Ambassador. She also did all she could to encourage the Naval
Artillery Volunteers. For years she attended inspections and
distributed prizes on board the 'President' and the 'Rainbow.' She was
always present at the annual service in Westminster Abbey. She
witnessed the first embarkation in a gunboat at Sheerness. She carried
through all the commissariat arrangements for the six hundred naval
volunteers who were brought together from London, Liverpool, and
Bristol for the great review at Windsor, sleeping under canvas for
three nights in our encampment, and personally and most efficiently
superintending every detail. The men were enthusiastic in their
appreciation of her efforts.
The same interest was shown in my naval work. Your dear mother
accompanied me frequently in my visits to the dockyard towns at home
and abroad, attended naval reviews, and was present at the
manoeuvres on the coast of Ireland in 1885, and in Milford Haven in
1886. At home and abroad she always aided most cordially my desire to
establish kindly relations with the naval profession, among whom she
numbered, I am sure, not a few sincere friends. The same spirit of
sympathy carried your mother with me on dreary and arduous journeys to
Ireland, where she paid several visits to the Lough Swilly estates.
She called personally on every tenant, asked them to visit the
'Sunbeam,' treated them most kindly, and won their hearts.
Her reception of the Colonial visitors to England last year, when
suffering from severe illness, and the visits to the Colonies, which
were the last acts of her life, are the most recent proofs which your
dear mother was permitted to give of her genuine sympathy with
everything that was intended for the public good. The reception which
she met with in Australia afforded gratifying assurances of the wide
appreciation of her high-minded exertions on the part of our Colonial
friends.
The last day of comparative ease in your mother's life was spent at
Darnley Island. You remember the scene: the English missionaries, the
native teacher with his congregation assembled around him, the waving
cocoa-nuts, the picturesque huts on the beach, the deep blue sea, the
glorious sunshine, the beauty and the peace. It was a combination
after your mother's heart, which she greatly enjoyed, resting
tranquilly under the trees, fanned by the refreshing trade-wind. You
will remember her marked kindness of manner in giving encouragement to
the missionaries in their work. It was another instance of her broad
sympathies.
In attempting to give a description of your dear mother's fine
character, I cannot omit her splendid courage. I have referred to it
as shown on the sea. You who have followed her with the hounds, as
long as she had strength to sit in the saddle, will never forget her
pluck and skill. Her courage never failed her. It upheld her undaunted
through many illnesses.
And now I turn to that part of the work of her life by which your dear
mother is best known to the outer world. Her books were widely read by
English-speaking people, and have been translated into the language of
nearly every civilised nation. The books grew out of a habit, early
adopted when on her travels, of sitting up in bed as soon as she awoke
in the morning, in her dressing-jacket, and writing with pencil and
paper an unpretending narrative of the previous day's proceedings, to
be sent home to her father. The written letter grew into the
lithographed journal, and the latter into the printed book, at first
prepared for private circulation, and finally, on completion of our
voyage round the world, for publication. The favourable reception of
the first book was wholly unexpected by the writer. She awoke and
found herself famous.
Her popularity as a writer has been won by means the simplest, the
purest, and most natural which can be conceived. Not a single unkind
or ungenerous thought is to be found in any book of hers. The
instruction and knowledge conveyed, if not profound, are useful and
interesting to readers of all classes. The choice of topics is always
judicious. A bright and happy spirit glows in her pages, and it is
this which makes the books attractive to all classes. They were read
with pleasure by Prince Bismarck, as he smoked his evening pipe, as
well as by girls at school. Letters of acknowledgment used to reach
your mother from the bedside of the aged and the sick, from the
prairies of America, the backwoods of Canada, and the lonely
sheep-stations of Australia. Those grateful letters were the most
valued which were received from the cottages of the poor. As old
George Herbert sings,
Scorn no man's love, though of a mean degree;
Love is a present for a mighty King.
It was natural that your mother, with her eager nature, should be
spurred on to renewed efforts by success. She set out on her last
journey full of hope and enterprise. In India, in Borneo, in
Australia, she was resolved to leave no place unvisited which could by
any possibility be reached, and where she was led to believe that
objects of interest could be found, to be described to readers who
could not share her opportunities of travel. The enlargement of our
programme of journeys within the tropics threw a heavy strain on her
constitution. In Northern India her health was better than it had been
for years, but she fell away after leaving Bombay. Rangoon and Borneo
told upon her. She did not become really ill until the day after
leaving Borneo, when she was attacked by the malarial fever which
infests the river up which she had travelled to the famous bird's-nest
caves. She suffered much until we reached the temperate climate of
South Australia.
On leaving Brisbane we found ourselves once more in the tropics.
Enfeebled by an attack of bronchitis caught at Brisbane, your mother
was again seized with malarial fever. On the northern coast of
Australia such fevers are prevalent, and our visits to Rockhampton,
the Herbert River, Mourilyan, and Thursday Island, where we were
detained ten days, were probably far from beneficial. No evil
consequence was, however, anticipated; and without undue self-reproach
we must bow with submission to the heavy blow which, in the ordering
of Providence, has befallen us.
Your dear mother died on the morning of September 14, 1887, and her
remains were committed to the deep at sunset on the same day (Lat. 15°
50´ S., Long. 110° 35´ E.) Every member of the ship's company was
present to pay the last tribute of love and respect on that sad
occasion. Your dear mother died in an effort to carry forward the work
which, as she believed, it had pleased God to assign to her.
From your mother's books let us turn to her charities; and first her
public charities. You know how she has laboured in the cause of the
St. John Ambulance Association, how she has taken every opportunity of
urging forward the work in every place which we visited, in the West
Indies, in the Shetlands, in London, at Middlesbrough, in Sussex. At
all the ports at which we touched on our last cruise she spared no
pains to interest people in the work. You heard her deliver her last
appeal in the cause at Rockhampton. She spoke under extreme physical
difficulty, but with melting pathos. As it was her last speech, so,
perhaps, it was her best.
Your mother took up ambulance work at a time when it was little in
fashion, because she believed it to be a good cause. By years of hard
work, in speech, in letter, by interview, by pamphlet, by personal
example and devotion, she spread to multitudes the knowledge of the
art of ministering first-aid to the injured. We may rest assured that
her exertions have been, under Providence, the means of saving many
precious lives. In her last cruise you have seen how, when painful
injuries have been received, she has been the first to staunch the
bleeding wound, facing trying scenes with a courage which never
faltered while there was need for it, but which, as the reaction which
followed too surely told, put a severe strain upon her feeble frame.
Many could tell, in terms of deepest gratitude, what a true angel from
heaven your dear mother had been to them in their hours of sickness.
You will readily recall some of the most striking occasions.
That your mother accomplished what she did is the more to be admired
when account is taken of the feeble condition of her health and of her
many serious illnesses. She inherited weakness of the chest from her
mother, who died of decline in early life. When on the point of first
going out into society, she was fearfully burned, and lay for six
months wrapped in cotton-wool, unable to feed herself. In the early
years of our married life we were frequently driven away in the winter
to seek a cure for severe attacks of bronchitis. In 1869 your mother
caught a malarial fever while passing through the Suez Canal. She rode
through Syria in terrible suffering. There was a temporary rally,
followed by a relapse, at Alexandria. From Alexandria we went to
Malta, where she remained for weeks in imminent danger. She never
fully recovered from this, the first of her severe illnesses, and in
1880 she had a recurrence of fever at Algiers. It was followed by
other similar attacks--at Cowes in 1882, in the West Indies in 1883,
at Gibraltar in 1886, and on her last voyage, first at Borneo, and
finally, and with the results we so bitterly lament, on the coast of
Northern Queensland. Only indomitable courage could have carried your
mother through so much illness and left her mental energies wholly
unimpaired, long after her physical frame had become permanently
enfeebled. Loss of health compelled her to withdraw in great measure
from general society. She was unequal to the demands of London life,
and from the same cause was unable to remain in England during the
winter. Thus she gradually lost touch of relatives and friends of
former years, for whom she had a genuine regard. In such society as
she was able to see at the close of her too short life, she never
failed to win regard and sympathy. There will be many sad hearts in
Australia when the tidings of your mother's death reaches the latest
friends whom she was privileged to win.
The truest testimony to your mother's worth is to be found in the
painful void created in the home circle by her death. For me the loss
must be irreparable. It would, indeed, be more than we could bear, if
we had no hope for the future. We cling to that hope; and whatever our
hand findeth to do, we must, like her, try to do it with all our
might.
Such then was your dear mother: a constant worker, working it may be
beyond her strength, yet according to the light which God had given
her, and in the noblest causes. Your mother was always doing good to
those from whom she had no hope to receive. She did not do her alms
before men: not those at least which cost her most in time and in
thought. When she prayed, she entered into her closet and shut the
door, and, without vain repetition, presented her heart's desire in
language most simple before the Father in Heaven. Her life was passed
in the spirit of the Apostle's exhortation: 'Be ye kind one to
another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another.'
In the last prayer which she was able to articulate with me, your
mother besought the blessing of Heaven upon us both, praying that she
might yet be spared to be a comfort to me and all around her. In that
prayer was embodied the central aim of her existence. Her praise to
God was sung in her work of practical good. Her psalm was the generous
sacrifice of self to works which she believed would be for the
advantage of others. This thoughtfulness was shown in the most
beautiful way, when the last sad call had come. When, in reply to her
touching inquiry, 'Is it quite hopeless?' the answer gave no
encouragement to hope, you will not forget the tenderness, the
unfaltering fortitude, with which she bestowed her blessing, and then
proceeded, until articulation was denied, to distribute to each some
token of her tender love. She died in perfect charity with all,
sweetly submissive to the Divine Will, and consoling her afflicted
husband and children to the very last.
Your mother's heart was as large as it was tender. She was devoted, as
a wife, to her husband; as a mother, to her children. She was kind to
dependents, ever thoughtful for the poor, and there was a large place
in her heart for her dumb companions. Her presence will, I am sure,
never fade from your recollection; and in all my remembrance of her I
can recall no period of her life when her face was so dear to look
upon as in the days after leaving Port Darwin. As she lay back on her
pillows, a veil of white lace thrown round her head, her eyes so
bright, her smiles so loving, not a murmur from her lips nor a shade
of unrest on her serene countenance, the peculiar sweetness of her
expression seemed a foretaste of the peace of heaven.
I do not recall these things solely as a tribute to the dear one who
has passed away from among us, but for your profit and for mine. We
have seen how your mother used her opportunities to make the world a
little better than she found it. We may each do the same service in
our own sphere, and so may best be followers of her good example. In
tenderest love may we ever cherish and bless and revere her memory.
My dear children, I might write more. I could never tell you what your
mother was to me.
Your very affectionate father,
BRASSEY.
'SUNBEAM,' R.Y.S.: _September_ 1887.
[Illustration: PORT SAID COALING-PARTY]
[Illustration: Evening Prayer]
_INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER._
When the arrangements for a contemplated cruise to the East were being
considered, towards the end of 1886, it was thought best for Lady
Brassey and her daughters to make the voyage to Bombay in a P. & O.
steamer. The 'Sunbeam' herself was to sail from Portsmouth by the
middle of November. Lord Brassey, in the first paragraph of his
'Sunbeam Papers,' thus acknowledges the help he derived at starting,
in what may be called the domestic department of the yacht, from Lady
Brassey's presence on board for even a few hours.
'We embarked at Portsmouth on Monday, November 16th. The "Sunbeam" was
in hopeless confusion, and it required no ordinary effort of
determination and organisation to clear out of harbour on the
following day. A few hours at Southampton did wonders in evolving
order out of chaos. On the afternoon of November 18th, my wife and
eldest daughter, who had come down to help in preparing for sea,
returned to the shore, and the "Sunbeam" proceeded immediately down
Channel.'
At Plymouth Lord Brassey was joined by the late Lord Dalhousie and by
Mr. Arnold Morley, M.P. The former landed at Gibraltar, and the latter
at Algiers. Through the long voyage to Bombay the gallant little yacht
held stoutly on her course, meeting first a mistral in the
Mediterranean, then strong head-winds in the Red Sea, and having the
N.E. monsoon in her teeth after leaving Aden.
[Illustration: Portsmouth, H.M.S. 'Hercules']
In the meantime Lady Brassey, her three daughters, and some friends
left England a few days after the yacht had sailed, travelling slowly,
with many interesting stopping-places, and not finally reaching
Brindisi until December 11th. Thence to Egypt was but a brief voyage,
and the one day's rest (!) at Alexandria was devoted, as usual, by
Lady Brassey to visits--so minute in their careful examination into
existing conditions as to be more an inspection than the cursory call
of a passing traveller--to the Soldiers and Sailors' Institute, and
also to the Military Hospital at Ramleh. Arrangements had next to be
made for the disposal of stores sent out by the Princess of Wales'
branch of the National Aid Society; and all this constituted what may
fairly be considered a hard day's work. Then came a well-occupied week
in Cairo, where much hospital-visiting was again got through, and
many interviews respecting the site for the new hospital at Port Said
were held with the Egyptian authorities. This pleasant but by no means
idle dawdling brought the party to Suez on December 23rd, where they
embarked at once on board the P. & O. steamer 'Thames,' Captain
Seaton, and started at midnight for Bombay.
[Illustration: Tanks at Aden]
Carefully and well had the plans for both voyages been laid, and
successfully--by grace of wind and weather--had they been carried out.
On January 3rd, 1887, Lord Brassey in the 'Sunbeam' and Lady Brassey
in the 'Thames' exchanged cordial signals of greeting off the harbour
of Bombay. The incident must be briefly described from the earlier
'Sunbeam Papers' (for of this first portion of the cruise Lady Brassey
has unhappily left no notes). 'As we were becalmed off Bombay, waiting
for the sea breeze which invariably freshens towards noon, the
Peninsular and Oriental Company's steamship "Thames," with my wife and
children on board, passed ahead of us into the harbour. We had a
delightful meeting in the afternoon at Government House, Malabar
Point, where we were greeted with a most cordial welcome from our dear
friends Lord and Lady Reay.'
We are so accustomed nowadays to the punctual keeping of appointments
made months before, with half the width of the world between the
meeting-places, that this happy and fortunate coincidence will
scarcely excite remark, even when the home journal dwells on the added
joy of the arrival, that very same evening, as planned beforehand, of
Lord Brassey's son, who had started earliest, and had been spending
some weeks of travel, sight-seeing, and sport, pleasantly combined, in
Ceylon and Southern India.
The punctuality of the P. & O. steamers might be a proverb, if in
these hurried days anyone ever paused to make a proverb; and therefore
it is not the rapid run of the 'Thames' which excites our admiration.
It is rather the capital sailing qualities, well tried and proven as
they are, of the 'Sunbeam.' Though essentially a _sailing_ vessel and
carrying very little coal, the yacht had made her way through the
intricate navigation of the Red Sea and against the strong contrary
winds of the N.E. monsoon, which blew with quite exceptional force off
the southern shores of Arabia, and had finally dropped anchor at the
appointed day, and almost hour, in Bombay Harbour.
[Illustration: Kurrachee Harbour]
[Illustration: The Mirs Falconer]
On this, her first visit, the 'Sunbeam' remained only three days at
Bombay. She sailed again for Kurrachee on January 6th, 1887, and
reached her destination early on Tuesday, the 11th. The stay in Bombay
was cut short by the desire of the travellers to join Lord and Lady
Reay, and journey with them for the first few days of an official tour
in Sindh, on which the Governor of Bombay was about to start. There
are exceptional opportunities in such an excursion for seeing great
concourses of natives, and gaining knowledge of the condition of the
country from the officials engaged in its administration. The first
point of interest noted is a native horse-fair held at Shikarpur,
where 'in the immense concourse gathered together, all the races of
these wild districts were represented. The most characteristic people
were the Beloochees--men of sturdy build, who carry themselves with a
bold and manly air. They formerly lived by raids and cattle-lifting,
swooping down from the Suleiman Mountains upon the people of the
plains, who were seldom able to offer any effectual resistance. We
have established order in these once lawless regions by our military
force, posted at Jacobabad.'
[Illustration: Bokhara Man]
From the brief notes of this earlier part of the journey, which
follow, it is evident that the travellers had semi-official receptions
of their own at nearly every large station. Addresses of cordial
welcome were presented; replies had to be made; and it is perhaps from
these causes of added fatigue and excitement that Lady Brassey was
unable to do more than jot down the events of each day.
[Illustration: Going to Dinner]
Lord and Lady Brassey and their family travelled together through
Sindh, along the north-west frontier of India to Lahore, Peshawur, and
the Khyber Pass; and Lord Brassey gratefully notes in the first number
of 'Sunbeam Papers' that his wife's health in Northern India was
better than it had been for years.
A fresh start on the return journey to Bombay was made from Lahore on
January 21st, _viâ_ Patiala, whose Maharajah, young as he is, carries
on the practice of sumptuous welcome and entertainment of English
travellers which forms part of the historic traditions of the loyal
rulers of the state. Agra was reached on January 30th, and at this
point, after a brief delay, the party separated, Lord Brassey
retracing his steps to Kurrachee to take the yacht back to Bombay. The
rest came round by Cawnpore and Lucknow, Benares, Jubbulpore, and
Poonah, and so on to Hyderabad, their farthest inland point, where
Lady Brassey's more elaborated diary commences.
[Illustration: Our Home on Wheels]
The whole of this long journey of 4,500 miles was made in thirty-six
days, and with the exception of the two nights at the Maharajah's
palace at Patiala, the railway train was the only sleeping-place of
the travellers, who were eleven in number. Halts and stoppages were
made in the day-time to admit of local sight-seeing and excursions.
Lady Brassey, in a private letter, declared this plan of travel to be
delightful and thoroughly comfortable; and it will be seen that
Hyderabad was reached not only with comfort but with renovated health,
and with the full enthusiasm of travel and ardour of enjoyment strong
in the breast of the well-known diarist, whose last journals,
faithfully kept when once commenced, are now before us.
[Illustration: Jubilee Illuminations, Bombay]
JOURNAL.
CHAPTER I.
_BOMBAY TO JUBBULPORE._
_Thursday, January 6th._--Left Bombay harbour at 2 A.M. and proceeded
to sea under steam. Rather rolly. Very busy all day unpacking and
arranging things. As nearly everybody was more or less overcome, I
felt that I must make an effort. Small party at meals. State of things
improved towards evening.
_Friday, January 7th._--On deck at 5 A.M. Shifty breeze. Tacking all
day. Busy unpacking and repacking, and trying to get things straight.
Towards evening the invalids began to pick up a little and to appear
on deck.
At noon we were off Verawal, having run 135 miles since yesterday.
Distance from Kurrachee, 310 miles.
_Saturday, January 8th._--On deck at 5 A.M. Pleasant breeze, but not
favourable. Several dhows in sight near the land. At eight o'clock a
dead calm and very hot. At noon a sea-breeze, fair; at five o'clock a
land-breeze, foul. Steam up at 11 P.M.
_Sunday, January 9th._--A flat calm at 4.30 A.M. The 'Southern Cross'
and 'Great Bear' bright in the heavens. The moon set with curious
'horse's-tail' effects. At noon we were off Kori, or Lakhpat. At 10
P.M. heavy squall from N.E. came on, accompanied by a downpour of
rain.
[Illustration: Crossing the Indus]
_Monday, January 10th._--Made Kurrachee Light soon after midnight.
Entered the harbour at daybreak, very cold on deck. Soon after we had
anchored, Mr. Dashtar, one of the Parsee cricketers, came on board
with bouquets of flowers for all of us. After much settling, and
packing, and engaging new servants, we breakfasted; and then, having
landed, proceeded to see something of Kurrachee City, the
alligator-tank, and the cantonment. Engaged additional horses for a
longer expedition, in the course of which our carriage stuck in the
sand as we tried to cross one of the many shallow mouths of the Indus.
Muriel and I refused to quit the carriage, and managed to get over.
The rest of the party waded across. Returned on board yacht, and later
on proceeded in the steam-launch with Captain Parker to the
lighthouse. Landed again at the pier in the evening, and started on
our long inland journey in the special train which had been provided
for us. Excellent dinner in train. Comfortable night.
[Illustration: Shikarpur Bazaar]
_Tuesday, January 11th._--Blue glass in carriage windows made the
landscape look as if covered with snow. Stopped for baths and
refreshments at one of the stations _en route_. Breakfasted later in
train. Passed through a dreary country, a saltpetre desert, relieved
by occasional scrubby trees. Interesting people at wayside
stations--Sindhis, Beloochees, Afghans, Persians, and others.
[Illustration: Sukhur Bridge, Indus]
Reached Shikarpur at two o'clock. Met by Colonel Mayhew, Mr. Ralli,
and Colonel Lyttelton. Drove to Commissioner's residence. Colonel
Mayhew took us to the fair, and to see the wrestling; then to the
bazaars. Wonderful concourse of people. Bought carpets and silks.
Entertained friends at tea 'on board' train. Dined with Mr. Erskine.
_Wednesday, January 12th._--Very wet night. Breakfasted early. Drove
to the Residency, where the fires were most acceptable. Lady Reay's
room partly washed away in night, being in what is appropriately
called a melting-house. To the camp of the Amir, a courteous old man
with five sons. A scene to be remembered. Saw fighting-rams, cocks,
and partridges. Lunched at station, where we met Tom and children.
Afterwards to the great Shikarpur horse-fair and prize-giving.
Interesting sight, but bitterly cold air.
_Thursday, January 13th._--Amir sent seven camels, beautifully
caparisoned, to take us to his camp. Drove through bazaars. Most
graciously received at camp, but luckily escaped refreshment. Thence
to the Commissioner's house. Deputation of judges of show and
principal Sindhi, Hindoo, Mahomedan, and other inhabitants, bringing
fruit, flowers, and sweetmeats. Left at twelve o'clock in Governor's
train for Sukhur Bridge. Proceeded in steamer up the Indus past Rohri.
Town gaily decorated. Saw canal and irrigation works. Hard work going
up stream, easy coming down again, as is often the case. It is said
that a voyage of ten days in one direction often occupies three weeks
in the other. Strolled through town of Sukhur. Picturesque
illuminations in the evening. Returned to our yacht on wheels at ten
o'clock, thoroughly tired.
[Illustration: Old Sukhur]
_Friday, January 14th._--Called at seven. Very cold. Breakfasted with
the Brackenburys. Good-bye to our dear Bombay friends. Drove round the
town, and then with Tom and Tab to Old Sukhur and the bazaars. The
Governor and Lady Reay left at noon for Sindh. We proceeded by water
to Rohri. Train crosses the river in boats; picturesque scene--camels,
boats, train, volunteers, and natives. Much plagued by flies.
Telegraphed for dinner at the station at Ritti. Very cold night
indeed. Could not sleep after two o'clock. Water froze in bottles.
_Saturday, January 15th._--Crossed Empress Bridge over Sutlej. Reached
Mooltan at 6 A.M. Breakfasted at nine. Mohamed Hyat Khan, district
judge, very kindly offered us his services as guide. He had been much
with Lord Lawrence, carried Nicholson from field of battle when the
latter was wounded, and killed the man who slew him. Called on Colonel
Barnes. Old fort, dark blue and light green tiles. To the bazaars.
Enamelled jewellery and brass foot-pans. Returned to the train, wrote
letters, and settled plans. Visited the church with Mr. Bridge (cousin
of our old friend Captain Cyprian Bridge, R.N.), the chaplain here.
Tea at the club, which resembles other clubs all the world over. Back
to station, where deputation of chiefs came to see Maude Laurence.
Left Mooltan at 7.50 P.M.
[Illustration: Temple of the Sun, Mooltan]
_Sunday, January 16th._--Shortly before eight o'clock we passed a
large cantonment, and soon afterwards caught sight of the tombs and
temples of Lahore. Train shunted into siding. Found letters
innumerable awaiting us. Went to Mr. K.'s church, and afterwards in
camel-carriage to Sultan Serai. Polo ponies, horses, and wild-looking
people. Negro ponies with curly hair.
_Monday, January 17th._--Called early. Breakfast at eight. In gharries
and camel-carriage to Government House. Thence to the jail, where we
saw the process of carpetmaking; and afterwards to the School of Art.
'Sir Roger' suddenly disappeared, to my consternation, but was
discovered, after much search, wandering about near the jail. To the
Zoological Gardens; nothing specially worthy of notice except a fierce
tiger. Then to the Lawrence Hall, where balls and concerts take place.
[Illustration: Runjeet Singh's Tomb, Lahore]
In the afternoon we rode on elephants, guided by mahouts in red and
yellow uniforms, and attended by servants in liveries of the same
colour, to the bazaars. Contents most interesting, especially the
carved woodwork, copper-work, and Persian armour. Went to Golden
Mosque and Fort, the palace, elephant-pool, and Runjeet Singh's tomb.
Wonderful sight. Great fun bargaining. Shops each more curious than
the others. Returned to station and resumed journey for Peshawur.
[Illustration: Cañon, Murree]
_Tuesday, January 18th._--Reached Rawul Pindi, where there is a large
cantonment. The views of the Indus are fine in places, but the railway
on the whole passes through a barren desolate country until Peshawur
is approached, when the soil becomes more cultivated.
On arrival at Peshawur Station we procured gharries and drove rapidly
to the house of the Commissioner, Colonel Waterfield, who was most
kind. Then in a dog-cart and three gharries to the bazaar; very quaint
and picturesque. Fine view of the Khyber Pass and the Himalayas from
top of police office. Drove to the King's Garden, which is well laid
out and contains many fine trees. The Christian church at Peshawur
contains many memorial tablets to missionaries. Colonel Waterfield
dined with us in the train, and told us much that was deeply
interesting about this part of India.
[Illustration: Afghans at Jamrud]
_Wednesday, January 19th._--Visited by traders of all kinds. Colonel
Waterfield and Major Warburton called for us, and we proceeded in
gharries and char-à-banc to the Jamrud Fort and entrance to Khyber
Pass. Saw 1st Bengal Cavalry and Skinner's Horse exercising under
Colonel Chapman. Inspected portion of the force of 650 infantry and 50
cavalry maintained for the protection of travellers through the
Khyber. Tuesday and Friday are the caravan days each week. Strong
escort for caravans necessary, owing to intermittent fighting between
tribes on either side of pass.
[Illustration: Jamrud Fort]
[Illustration: Camel-guns and Standard]
[Illustration: ELEPHANTA CAVES]
_Thursday, January 20th._--Arrived before daylight at Rawul Pindi.
Woke very early and wrote letters. General Dillon came to greet us.
Drove out to the parade-ground. Passed troops on way to be reviewed.
The strength on parade included 15th Bengal (Mooltan) Cavalry, 18th
Bengal Lancers (Punjaub), Mountain Battery, and the 14th Bengal
Infantry (Sikhs). The whole force marched past in splendid style,
quite equal to any but the Guards, and then the cavalry went by at a
gallop. Mounted gun, carried on five mules, unlimbered in sixty,
limbered in sixty-five seconds. Thukkar quoit-throwing extraordinary,
the quoits looking like flying-fish darting hither and thither. Also
tent-pegging, with and without saddles--shaking rupee off without
touching peg, digging peg out of the ground, changing horses at full
gallop, and hanging on in every conceivable attitude. Lunched at the
residence of the General. Inspected native and British hospitals,
huts, tents, and recreation-rooms. Then back to station, where we
entertained friends to tea. Resumed journey at 8.20 P.M. All very
tired.
[Illustration: Cabul Native, Lahore]
[Illustration: Lahore]
_Friday, January 21st._--Saw minarets of the Shah Dura. Arrived at
Lahore two hours and forty minutes late. Drove to Shah Dura in
camel-carriage, over Ravee River by bridge of boats. Stream nearly
dry. Inlaid marble tomb very beautiful, but surroundings disappointing
and much damaged. Saw the elephants being washed in the river. It was
most amusing to see how wonderfully they were managed by quite tiny
boys. After lunch we went to the Museum, which has only recently been
opened. Thence to the bazaar and the Lawrence and Montgomery Halls,
and afterwards to Mr. Elsmie's native party, where we met many
interesting people. Dined with the Elsmies, and met Colonel Wolseley,
Lord Wolseley's brother.
[Illustration: Camel Team]
[Illustration: Amritsar]
_Saturday, January 22nd._--Left Lahore at 5 A.M., and reached Amritsar
at seven. Noticed encampment and caravan of camels just before
arriving. Drove with Mr. Mitchell through the picturesque city to the
Golden Temple, with its gilded domes, minarets, and lamps, its
marble-terraces, and its fine garden. This temple is the headquarters
of the Sikh religion. Beautiful view of the Himalayas from roof. In
the public garden, called the Rambagh, people were playing
lawn-tennis. Left Amritsar at 8 P.M.
[Illustration: Patiala Elephants]
[Illustration: 'Cross Country]
[Illustration: Elephants Drinking]
_Sunday, January 23rd._--At 5 A.M. reached Rajpura, and were received
by a deputation of officials. Tea and fruit awaited us in the dâk
bungalow, not a hundred yards from the station, to enable us to reach
which five carriages had been provided. At 8 A.M. we reached Patiala,
where carriages and four, twenty elephants with howdahs, and an escort
of thirty horsemen were drawn up in readiness for us. At one o'clock
we drove to the Bari Durri, or Palace of the Maharajah of Patiala, a
dignified boy of fourteen, who received us most courteously. Drove
through the city to another palace called Moti Bagh, which had been
placed at our disposal, and where the Maharajah returned our visit.
[Illustration: Mounting]
_Monday, January 24th._--The gentlemen went out shooting early.
Started at 11.30 in carriages drawn by four horses, and drove through
scrub-like jungle to meet the shooting party. Rode on elephants, in
rather tumble-to-pieces howdahs. Saw many black and grey partridges,
quail, deer, and jungle-fowl, but could not shoot any on account of
the unsteadiness of the howdahs. Grand durbar at the Maharajah's
palace in the evening. Four thousand candles in glass chandeliers.
[Illustration: The Kutub Minar]
[Illustration: Base of Kutub Minar]
_Tuesday, January 25th._--We were honoured early this morning with a
visit from the three members of the council of regency. Sir Deva Sing,
the president, is a man of distinguished presence and graceful
manners. In the course of conversation we endeavoured to elicit his
views on several points. Tom questioned him as to the relations
between the Government of India and the native states, and told me
that he said, speaking for Patiala, and indeed for the native states
generally, there were no grievances of which they could complain.
Patiala sent a contingent to the last Afghan campaign. Sir Deva Sing,
referring to our policy in Afghanistan, thought it would be wise to
advance the frontier to the further limits of Afghanistan. He
advocated this step solely on the grounds of prestige. Turning to the
condition of the native army, he thought it desirable to improve the
position of native officers in the British service. They are not
dissatisfied with the actual conditions; they are prepared to fight to
the last in support of England; but they would appreciate any step
which could be taken to put them on a level with British officers.
[Illustration: Old Delhi and Weapons]
A visit to Patiala suggests some general reflections. Under native
rule, roads, sanitation, education, everything which belongs to the
higher civilisation, is neglected, while money is lavishly spent on
elephants, equipages, menageries, jewellery, palaces, and barbaric
splendours of every kind. It is a great abuse, much needing
correction, that the native states, though they have received from the
British complete guarantees against foreign invasion and internal
rebellion, maintain armed men, for the vanity of military display, to
the number of 315,000.
It would have lightened our burdens greatly if the internal government
of India could have been left under native princes. Such an
alternative, unfortunately, was not open to us. The native rulers
would have proved for the most part incapable of the task. They would
have been led on by internecine warfare to mutual destruction. The
trade with England depends on the peace which we have been
instrumental in preserving.
[Illustration: Ulwar]
The gentlemen went out shooting, and we joined them at lunch as
before. Paid some visits in the afternoon, and played lawn-tennis at
the Bari Durri with the Maharajah. Left Patiala at 8 P.M.
_Wednesday, January 26th._--Arrived at Meerut at 5 A.M., and thence
continued our journey to Delhi. Drove to dâk bungalow, and thence to
the palace, now being partially restored. Public audience-hall, Pearl
Mosque, and the entire group of buildings, within the fort at Delhi,
are noble examples of Indian architecture. Lunched at United Service
Hotel, in the garden of which is the tomb of the Emperor Hamayun.
_Thursday, January 27th._--Drove out early to the Ridge, the flagstaff
battery, and the big durbar tent. Saw the troops march by, and at
rifle practice. After breakfast went with Mr. Cannon to the Kutub
Minar, the grandest column in the world; climbed to the top, whence
there is a splendid view. Spent the rest of the day in seeing the
sights of this wonderful city. Dined at dâk bungalow, and returned to
train. Started at 10.48 for Ulwar.
[Illustration: Palace in the Ulwar Fort]
[Illustration: PESHAWUR COAL-DEPOT]
_Friday, January 28th._--Arrived at Ulwar at 7 A.M. Messenger from
Maharajah to act as our guide. Most lovely palace, not generally
shown. Exquisite lace-like marble tracery, especially in Zenana rooms.
Both the Maharajah and the Maharanee are at present away. Schinnahal
Tank at back, with cupolas, too beautiful for words. We also went to
the summer palace and the gardens attached to it, in which, among
other things, we saw some schoolboys playing cricket. Both at Ulwar
and at Jeypore there are hospitals and medical schools for male and
female students.
[Illustration: Sar-Bahr, Gwalior]
_Saturday, January 29th._--Reached Jeypore at 6 A.M. The Maharajah's
secretary and his assistant, both dressed in black, came to meet us
at seven o'clock. Drove to Amber, the ancient city of the Rajpoots,
now almost uninhabited, except by Fakirs. Lovely drive in the cool
morning air. Elephants at foot of hill, and alligators in tank. At the
temple a kid is sacrificed every morning, of which fact we saw traces.
Visited the palace--an extensive and gorgeous building, with fine
specimens of carved marble. Magnificent view from roof. Drove back to
Jeypore to breakfast, and found men with specimens of arms, and
curiosities of all kinds, awaiting us. Visited School of Art and
Museum. Lunched at excellent Kaisar-i-Hind hotel. Then to the palace,
which contains endless courts and halls-of-audience, including the
celebrated Dewani Khas, of white marble. Ascended to seventh story, by
special permission. Extensive view over city. Interview with
Maharajah. Saw his stables, trained horses, and fighting animals, and
the beautiful Ram Newas Gardens.
[Illustration: Group of Natives]
_Sunday, January 30th._--Arrived at Agra. Went to church and heard a
good sermon. Drove to the Taj, 'the glory of the world,' which was not
in the least disappointing, high as were our expectations. Dined with
Colonel Smith.
_Monday, January 31st._--Drove out to Futtehpore Sikri, the favourite
residence of the Emperor Akbar, about twenty-five miles from Agra,
where there is a lovely tomb, finer than any we have yet seen. German
photographer taking views of it. Lunched near the Jain Temple, which
contains most curious carvings. Tom says it is remarkable how well
some British regiments stand the climate of India. At Agra we saw the
Manchester Regiment. After three years at Mooltan, perhaps the hottest
station in India, the men were in rude health. They marched the whole
distance to Agra. At the time of our visit the men were playing
football and cricket, as vigorously as if they were in England. They
subscribe for newspapers; they amuse themselves with frequent
theatricals. They are fit to go anywhere and do anything.
The prison at Agra is admirably administered. Under the direction of
Dr. Tyler, the men are being instructed in trades, by which, when
released from confinement, they will be able to earn an honest living.
The manufacture of carpets in the prison has been brought to
perfection. A similar progress has been made in wood-carving in the
prison at Lahore. Throughout India the prisons have been converted,
with a wise humanity, into busy workshops.
_Tuesday, February 1st._--Left Agra by special train at 3 A.M. and
reached Gwalior at seven. Colonel Bannerman, with carriages, kindly
met us. After breakfast drove out to the fort, to reach which we had
to ride on very shaky elephants up a steep road. Barracks deserted now
that the English soldiers are gone. Saw the Jain Temple, restored by
Captain Keith. Returned to Gwalior, and lunched at the Residency.
Proceeded by 1.45 train to Dholepore. Maharajah received us at station
and entertained us with coffee. Reached Agra again at six o'clock.
[Illustration: Water-carrier, Benares]
_Wednesday, February 2nd._--Arrived at Cawnpore at 2 A.M. Drove at
6.45 through the streets to the Memorial Gardens, where a monument is
erected over the well into which so many victims of the Mutiny were
cast. Visited the site of the Assembly Rooms, where women and
children were hacked to death. Then to General Wheeler's entrenchment,
St. John's Church, and the present Memorial Church, which contains
many interesting tablets with touching inscriptions. Proceeded by
train to Lucknow. Went with General Palmer to the Residency. Lovely
gardens, full of purple bougainvillea, orange bignonia, and scarlet
poinsettias. It was difficult to realise that this spot had once been
the scene of so much horror and bloodshed. It was in the gardens of
the Secundra Bagh that two thousand mutineers were killed within two
hours by the 93rd Regiment and the 4th Punjaub Rifles, under Sir Colin
Campbell. Lunched at the Imperial Hotel, and afterwards went to the
soldiers' coffee-tavern.
[Illustration: Nerbudda River--Marble Rocks]
[Illustration: Meari, the Last of the Thugs]
_Thursday, February 3rd._--Reached Cawnpore at midnight, and Allahabad
at 7.20 A.M. Met by Mr. Adam with the Maharajah's carriages, in which
we drove to the principal places of interest, including the fort, the
arsenal, and the Sultan's serai and gardens. Returned to station and
went on by train to Benares. Drove through the narrow and dirty
streets to the Golden Temple. Not much to be seen in the shops except
London brasswork and Hindoo gods. The Temple was chiefly remarkable
for the dirt which abounded. The Cow Temple was dirtier still, with
cows and bulls tied up all round it. Monkey Temple very curious. Drove
out to the cantonments, several miles from the city. Dined at Clarke's
Hotel, and returned to the train very tired.
[Illustration: Temple at Ellora]
_Friday, February 4th._--Called at 6 A.M. Started at half-past seven
for the Ranagar Palace, where we found chairs in readiness to carry us
up the ascent. Received by the old Maharajah, his son, and grandson.
Embarked in a boat propelled by a treadmill, and proceeded down the
river, past all the ghauts and palaces belonging to various kings and
princes or to their descendants. The bathing-ghaut was a wonderful
sight. Women in brilliant colours; red palanquins and pilgrims.
Carriages met us at the bridge.
During the succeeding days the journey included visits to the Marble
Rocks, near Jubbulpore, and to the Caves of Ellora, _viâ_ Aurungabad.
[Illustration: The Fort, Poonah]
CHAPTER II.
_HYDERABAD AND POONA._
We arrived at Hyderabad at half-past eleven on February 9th, and found
Major Gilchrist (military secretary to the Resident, Mr. Cordery)
waiting with the Nizam's carriages to take us to the Residency. It is
an imposing building with a flight of twenty-two granite steps, a
colossal sphinx standing on either hand, leading to the portico
through which you reach the spacious reception and dining rooms,
whilst the comfortably furnished sleeping-apartments lie beyond. An
entire wing had been appropriated to the ladies of our party; and,
luxurious as our railway-cars had been, the increased space and size
of our new quarters appeared thoroughly delightful.
In the afternoon we went for a drive through the populous Hindoo
suburb of Chadar Ghát to the celebrated 'Tombs of the Kings' at
Golkonda, which, however, must not be confounded with the celebrated
diamond mines of the same name, for they are nearly one hundred miles
apart. The road to the Tombs passes over a stony belt or plain, on
which gigantic masses of dark granite lie on all sides in picturesque
confusion. The natives have a legend that they are the fragments left
over at the completion of the Creation. About seven miles from the
city, a solitary gloomy-looking hill rises, crowned by a fort, at the
foot of which stand the Tombs. They are magnificent buildings with
grand kubbabs or domes rising above the terraces, arcades, and
minarets of the main edifice. One of the finest of the Tombs,
dedicated to the memory of a Kootub Shahi king, has unfortunately been
whitewashed within and without. The Tombs are mainly built of grey
granite. They are nearly all covered with beautiful mosaics and
enamelled tiles, mutilated, however, in too many instances by the
hands of modern relic-hunters. The buildings are surrounded by gardens
fragrant with champa and orange-blossom, and gay with many other
flowers. One can see that formerly the gardens must have been much
more lovely and luxuriant than they now are. The decay and ruin were
caused by the great siege in the days of Aurangzib. Extensive repairs
have been carried out by Sir Salar Jung. He has restored the gardens,
and saved the Tombs from the destruction which had gradually been
creeping over them.
We drove back, as we had come, in one of the Nizam's carriages--a drag
drawn by four horses, cleverly managed by the chief coachman (an
Englishman, named Ulett), who twisted his steeds about in the most
marvellous way, especially in the garden before starting, where they
might have been said to have 'turned on a sixpence.' I occupied the
box-seat coming home, and enjoyed the delicious freshness of the
evening air, among the picturesque rocks which rose up on either side.
One of these, called 'One Gun Rock,' looks exactly like a cannon
without its carriage, resting on an elevation and pointed towards the
city. There is another rock with a similar name near Secunderabad; but
the resemblance in that case is not so striking.
In the evening we dined with a native gentleman, who spoke English
fairly well, and gave us a sumptuous repast in European fashion.
Besides a multitude of chandeliers in his house, he had a
billiard-table with glass legs, and splendid red satin chairs also
with glass arms and legs. The view from the roof, to which we ascended
after dinner, over the city, bathed in the light of the full moon, was
really beautiful and quite romantic. On leaving, our host handed each
of us a little _flacon_ of most delicious attar of roses.
[Illustration: Gun Rock]
The following morning we were called at five o'clock, and by seven
were driving towards Secunderabad, five or six miles distant. On
leaving the Residency, which stands in the suburb of Chadar Ghát,
about a mile to the north-west of the city; we drove through the city
of Hyderabad, where the population is mainly Mahomedan, and afterwards
through the outlying suburbs and villages, chiefly inhabited by
Hindoos. Two miles north of Secunderabad is Trimulgherry, the
headquarters of the Hyderabad Subsidiary Force, and a very important
military station for European troops, the city of Secunderabad itself
being garrisoned by native troops. One-tree Hill is not very far from
here, called after the solitary palm-tree standing in the midst of a
mass of rocks. Passing the city, we came to the barracks of the 7th
Hussars, and then to Bolarum, where the Resident lives during the
rainy season. His house is quite charming with its handsome ball-room,
numerous lawn-tennis grounds, and well-kept gardens, in which we
gathered violets and roses. The breeze was quite invigorating, the
difference between the air here and at Hyderabad being very
remarkable, considering that this is only 200 feet higher. The view
from the top of the house, towards Byham's Monument and the quarters
of the Hyderabad Contingent, was also interesting, the landscape
resembling burnt-up, brown, breezy 'down' country, and reminding us
all of Sussex.
[Illustration: One-Tree Hill]
[Illustration: Mir Alam, Hyderabad]
We drove back to the Residency to breakfast and there sat quietly and
read all the morning in our pleasant rooms. Late in the afternoon we
drove to the tank of Mir Alam, where a brother of Sir Salar Jung was
waiting for us in a steam-launch, in which we made little voyages up
and down the so-called 'tank,' which was in fact an artificial lake
twenty miles in circumference, and covering an area of 10,000 acres.
Everybody went into raptures over the scenery, which was not unlike
the tamer parts of Loch Duich or Loch Carron, in Scotland, with the
addition of an occasional mosque or tomb perched on the rocky heights.
It was extremely pleasant, steaming slowly about; and, as the sun went
down, gorgeous effects were produced behind the rocks and hills.
Prettier still when it became dark and the lights began to twinkle on
the hillsides, and in the tents, pitched in readiness for a dinner
party to be given by Sir Salar Jung this evening. The drive home
through the densely crowded tortuous streets was most amusing; though
one never ceased wondering how the drivers, even with the aid of the
active syces, managed to avoid running over somebody, so thoroughly
careless did the throng of people appear of their own safety.
The next day, February 11th, we were again awakened at a very early
hour, and drove off to a spot in the Nizam's preserves, about six
miles distant, where we were met by elephants, bullock and
horse-tongas, and two cheetahs in carts, in readiness for the
projected black-buck hunting expedition. Our guides strongly
recommended us to select tongas instead of elephants as the mode of
conveyance, saying that the black-buck have been so frequently hunted
of late that they are alarmed at the sight of elephants. This advice
proved good, for we soon afterwards found ourselves close to four fine
animals. The cheetah which was to be first let loose, and which was
carried on one of the tongas, became much excited, though he was
blindfolded by a leathern mask and not allowed to see his prey until
quite close to it. He stood up in the cart lashing his tail, and now
and then curling it round the neck of the driver like a huge boa. When
at last he was set free he darted forward and, after crouching behind
a hillock waiting his opportunity, made a tremendous spring right on
to the back of a buck, striking the poor animal such a blow on the
side of the head that it must have been paralysed before the cruel
teeth of the cheetah seized its throat. It was a splendid exhibition
of brute strength and agility; but I carefully kept far enough away
not to see any of the painful details which are inseparable from such
sport, and which must, to me, always mar the pleasures of the chase.
[Illustration: Cheetah-cart]
[Illustration: EN ROUTE TO HUNT BLACK-BUCK WITH CHEETAH]
Proceeding in another direction, we soon came across a large herd of
black-buck; but the elephants had by this time caught us up, and the
moment the deer perceived the huge creatures they bounded away. The
elephants were therefore left behind with the horses, and we all
seated ourselves on the tongas, creeping in this way quite near a herd
of forty or fifty does, with six or eight fine bucks feeding with
them. At one of these bucks the second and smaller cheetah was let
go; but he could not make up his mind which buck to try for, whereby
he lost both his opportunity and his temper, and went off sulkily into
the jungle, from which his keeper had considerable difficulty in
recapturing him.
[Illustration: Death of the Buck]
We had in the meantime gone on with the first cheetah till we came to
a herd of about eighty black-buck, and they allowed us to approach
pretty close to them before starting off at a good round trot. The
largest buck took alarm, and was out of sight in a moment; but by
making a _détour_ we managed to get near the others, and the cheetah
was once more set free. After a moment's hesitation he fixed his
attention upon the finest of the bucks in sight, and after a short
gallop in pursuit made a tremendous spring upon his prey. This time,
however, the cheetah missed his mark, and, falling short, rolled over
ignominiously in the dust. Recovering himself in an instant, he made
another and more successful spring, and despatched the poor buck with
the usual quick, lightning-like stroke of the paw. The force with
which the cheetah strikes his victim is marvellous. I have heard that
a tiger can in the same way crush the head of a water-buffalo like an
egg-shell; and the power of the cheetah's paw must be little less in
proportion. It is, of course, well known that the tiger's retractile
claws are like those of a cat, whereas the cheetah has toe-nails
similar to those of a dog.
The drive back to the Residency seemed long and hot, and I was glad to
rest awhile after our early excursion. Later in the forenoon we drove
through the city, this time behind a team of Austrian greys, on our
way to breakfast with Sir Salar Jung at the Barah Dari Palace. Sir
Salar is Prime Minister to the present Nizam, and is the son of the
eminent Indian statesman whose spare figure, clever face, well-cut
clothes, and snowy turban were seen often during his visit to London
twelve years ago. He received us very pleasantly, and showed us over
his palace, built around a fine courtyard, with elaborately carved
marble seats at intervals. The palace itself contains quantities of
European chandeliers, musical boxes, portraits in oil of past Nizams,
Maharajahs, and Governors-General. Sir Salar has also a fine
collection of Indian arms, and we were shown the skin of an enormous
tiger killed by himself only last week.
Breakfast was served in a most delightful verandah overlooking a
courtyard with flashing fountains and green and shady trees, the table
being prettily decorated, and the meal arranged in the most approved
European fashion.
Afterwards we returned to the Residency, and the hottest hours of the
day were spent in reading and writing. At four o'clock I again drove
out with Mr. Furdonji Jamsetjee, the Minister's private secretary,
passing through the picturesque and interesting native bazaars. The
narrow whitewashed streets lined with little shops, gaily decorated
with gold and bright colours, form a fitting background to the
smartly dressed groups moving about among them. We did not pause to
make any purchases, but stopped the carriage at many points to admire
the motley crowd and the curious and beautiful mosques and temples.
We were fortunate enough to meet two processions, one literally a
'wedding march,' and the other a numerous company of Hindoo
worshippers. First came a noisy, turbulent crowd of native soldiery,
escorting a young man mounted on a very fat horse, dressed in gorgeous
kincob, with eight people holding an enormous umbrella over him. This
proved to be the bridegroom, and he was followed by many elephants and
camels. As for the unfortunate bride, she was immured in a closely
covered palanquin decorated with red velvet and gold. How she could
live and breathe and have her being in such an airless box will always
be a mystery to me, for we were gasping for breath in our open
carriage. The second procession consisted of many more elephants and
camels, with the addition of bands of brass and other noisy
instruments. The central figure of this cavalcade seemed to be an old
priest carrying on his head a bulky package wrapped in green cloth,
which, I heard, was an offering to be made in an adjacent temple.
Hyderabad is unlike any other city I have yet seen in India, and,
indeed, is said to resemble no other Eastern town. Nowhere, not even
in the seaports, is there so mixed a population. As Mr. Edwin Arnold
says, 'You see the Arab, short and square, with his silver-bound
matchlock and daggers; the black-faced Sidi; the Robilla, with blue
caftan and blunderbuss; the Pathan; the Afghan, dirty and long-haired;
the Rajput, with his shield of oiled and polished hide; Persians,
Bokhara men, Turks, Mahrattas, Madrasses, Parsees, and others.' The
people are all allowed to carry arms--a privilege of which they fully
avail themselves, evidently regarding daggers, knives, matchlocks, and
a sword or two, as fit finery for festivities and merry-makings of
every kind.
[Illustration: Mosque Entrance]
Notwithstanding their ferocious appearance, the people of Hyderabad
are not more quarrelsome or turbulent than those of other cities, and
recourse is very seldom had to these swords, daggers, or guns. The
inlaying of arms and the sale of so-called ancient weapons to
curiosity-collectors is, naturally, one of the specialities of
Hyderabad. An immense quantity were brought to the Residency this
morning for our inspection, and they made a glittering display in the
marble portico. Among them were swords with watered blades, called
johurdas, and worth several hundreds of pounds; besides innumerable
scimitars of every shape, rapiers, blunderbusses, and exquisitely
ornamented but treacherous-looking daggers and other stabbing
instruments.
It has amused us much during our stay here to watch the elephants
taking their baths. The Nizam owns three hundred of these big beasts,
and all the nobles possess elephants in proportion to their rank and
wealth. The huge creatures are driven down to the river night and
morning, and it was most curious to see the unwieldy animals lay
themselves flat down on their sides in the shallow water, so that
nothing but a small island of body, so to speak, was visible, while an
occasional lazy switch of tail or wave of trunk indicated the languid
feeling of pleasure and contentment enjoyed by the bathers. Their
keepers, helped by a small boy who clambered up their steep sides,
assisted the cleansing process by scrubbing them vigorously with a
sort of stable-broom. As soon as one side was thoroughly cleaned the
boy jumped off, and at the word of command, with a tremendous
upheaval, and amid a great displacement of water, the huge beast
flopped down again on its cleansed side, uttering a prodigious grunt
of satisfaction, and quite ready for the same process to be repeated.
Such a splashing was never seen; especially when, as chanced to be the
case whilst we were driving past, fifteen elephants were taking their
baths at the same time. I felt quite afraid that one little baby
elephant, who had timidly followed its mother, would be overwhelmed
and drowned by the wallowing and flounderings of the older animals.
_Saturday, February 12th._--Our early expeditions of the last two
mornings have been so tiring, that I determined to remain quietly at
home to-day until it was time to go to breakfast with the Nizam at
eleven o'clock. At half-past ten his Highness's beautiful coaches came
for us; and--Mr. Cordery and I leading the way--we drove through the
Chowk, one of the broadest streets of the city, to the palace. This is
reached through the stables; and the horses, evidently waiting
inspection, were standing with their heads out of the doors of their
boxes; their grooms, in yellow tunics, blue trousers, and red
waist-bands much trimmed with silver, being stationed at the animals'
heads. At one corner of the quadrangle in which the stables are built
is a passage leading to a second and larger square, crowded by numbers
of the Nizam's retainers. We passed through this to a third courtyard
(said to cover as much ground as Lincoln's Inn Fields), and there
alighted, at the bottom of a fine flight of marble steps, overlooking
a charming garden with the usual tank in the centre. The effect was,
however, rather spoilt to European eyes by a very ill-cast bronze
figure, holding in its hand a large coloured air-ball, such as are
sold in the streets of London for a penny each. The Nizam (now about
twenty-one years of age) is so delighted with these balls that he has
ordered two hundred of them, so that when one explodes it may be
replaced immediately.
From the entrance-hall, marble corridors, from which hung handsome
glass chandeliers, led into the centre room of a fine suite of
apartments, where the Nizam shortly afterwards joined us. At breakfast
I sat between his Highness and his chief aide-de-camp, neither of whom
touched anything, except a glass of iced water and a cup of tea,
during the whole of a very long meal. Subsequently the Nizam kindly
caused all his best horses and ponies to be brought to the foot of the
marble steps for us to see. There were Arabs of high degree,
thoroughbred English horses, and very good-looking Walers among them,
besides some tiny ponies, four of which, when harnessed together, drew
a real Cinderella coach of solid silver. Although I delighted in
looking at these beautiful animals, I became so tired that I had to
make my escape. Some of the party stayed and went through the
stables, harness-rooms, and coach-houses, which must, from their
account, have been well worth seeing. They were especially struck by
the perfect training of the horses, who seemed as docile as kittens,
and would jump in and out of their stalls, take a straw out of their
groom's mouth, and when told to 'go' would dash off wildly round the
garden (to the great detriment of the flowers and plants), returning
instantly to their stables at the word of command.
From the Nizam's palace I drove to see the wife of the Finance
Minister, Mehdi Ali--an intelligent lady, who speaks English
wonderfully well; in fact, she expressed herself so perfectly that it
was difficult to believe she had scarcely spoken a word of our
language for more than a year and a half. It seemed sad to hear that
she never went out, because she did not care to go 'covered up,' and
that such had been the seclusion of her existence, that she scarcely
knew any animals by sight, except from pictures, and had no pets,
except, as she said, 'pet books.' She showed me the books gained as
prizes at college by her two nephews, with evident appreciation of
their contents, one being Prescott's 'History of America,' and the
other a translation of Homer's 'Iliad.' I parted with her after
receiving the usual garland of honour on leaving, feeling grateful
that Providence had not placed _me_ behind a purdah, but had allowed
me to go about and see the world for myself instead of having to look
at it through other people's eyes.
The midday heat was so great that we gladly rested at the Residency
until it became time to go to tea with Khurseed Jah, whose house is
only a little distance off. We were received at the entrance to the
garden by our host and his son, who led us to a marble platform by the
side of a tank on which three boats were floating. One of these had
the name of 'Sunbeam' painted upon it; but the compliment must have
been paid some time ago, for both boat and paint looked decidedly
shabby. On a marble platform in the centre of the tank a band was
playing. My little girls embarked for a row in the boat, discarding
the services of the four boatmen who, apparently disliking, like
Othello, to find 'their occupation gone,' jumped into the water and
swam after them. Their black heads and copper-coloured shoulders
looked so funny following the erratic movements of the boat!
[Illustration: The Hamyan Jump, Delhi]
We were offered ices, tea, coffee, and other good things, whilst the
band played its liveliest airs. Presently old-fashioned bath-chairs
arrived to take us up by an avenue of palms to the house, where the
Nawab showed us photographs and portraits of various distinguished
people, and--with natural pride--the preparations he is making for a
Jubilee dinner on the 16th, when he will entertain 300 guests in a
spacious marquee. The whole place is now encumbered with
bullock-carts, bringing up stores, provisions, and wines for this
great occasion.
The Nawab earnestly pressed us to fix a day on which he might be
allowed to entertain us; but want of time made this hospitable plan
impossible. On parting he presented us each with a bouquet, as well as
with the usual bottles of scent, the number of which varies, I
observe, according to the position of the recipient. On these
occasions I find my number is generally eight, but occasionally only
six; while some of the party get four, and others the still more
modest allotment of two bottles apiece. The drive home, through the
cool air beneath the bright stars, amid the twinkling lights, and the
cries and 'chatterification' of birds going to bed, as well as the
flutter of flying-foxes skimming overhead as they hurried forth on
their nocturnal predatory expeditions, was really the pleasantest part
of the day.
In the evening there was a dinner party at the Residency, which
included Sir Salar Jung, his brother Mooner-ul-Mulk, and several
European guests. Sir Salar is of gigantic physical proportions, and
well merits his sobriquet of 'mountain-man.' He has been a great deal
in England, and is well acquainted with European manners and customs.
Colonel Marshall, another of the guests, who since the retirement of
the Nizam's former tutor has acted as his Highness's private political
adviser, will be a great addition to the English element in Hyderabad.
He has already occupied a similar position with the Rajah of Chumba,
and has thus gained much experience to fit him for his delicate task
here. There are many private cabals and intrigues among the nobles, as
well as among the relatives of the Nizam, and little interest is
taken in the administration of public affairs. Many amusing stories
are related of the inevitable rivalry between the nobles, and I was
told that, one of them having assumed the title of 'Glory of the Sun,'
his nearest relative and rival immediately capped it by taking upon
himself the transcendent appellation of 'Glory of the Heavens.'
On the morning of February 13th we had to get up very early in order
to start for Bombay _viâ_ Poonah, all our luggage having been sent to
the station overnight. Unfortunately our little party now comprises
two invalids, for Mr. McLean has been ill for some days past, while
Mr. des Graz is suffering from a touch of sunstroke. Before starting,
Mr. Cordery took us round the beautiful garden of the Residency to see
the preparations to celebrate the Jubilee. The outline of the house is
to be illuminated with _butties_, little earthenware or glass pots
filled with wicks floating in cocoa-nut oil, like those used at South
Kensington. The grounds are also to be lighted up with pretty arcades
formed of palms, and hung with lanterns; while beyond the garden is a
large open space, where quantities of fireworks are to be let off.
By Colonel Marshall's desire, Ulett brought the Nizam's state coach--a
huge canary-coloured, boat-shaped vehicle, hung on the most elastic of
Cee springs, with solid silver railings, trimmings, and canopy
supports--to convey us to the station. The coachman wore a
canary-coloured livery (the royal colour of Hyderabad) stiff with
silver brocade; and the eight attendants were dressed in yellow, blue,
and red costumes. There were several other state carriages, so that we
formed quite a little procession; and just as we reached the station
Afsur Jung, the Nizam's aide-de-camp, drove up to bid us farewell, in
a pretty little dog-cart drawn by four Pegu ponies. At 8.45 precisely
the train steamed off, after much hand-shaking and many good wishes
from a large group of kind friends, who had each and all brought
nosegays, so that the saloon was turned for that day into a perfect
garden.
We breakfasted comfortably in the train; but later the sun began to
blaze down so fiercely upon us, that I fear our two invalids must have
found the heat and the shaking of the carriages rather trying. We
reached Wadi at three o'clock, and Hingoli about seven in the
evening--very tired. This is the junction for Bijapur, one of the most
ancient cities of India, and once the capital of the Deccan. Its walls
are of immense extent, and it is guarded by a fort six miles in
circumference. In fact, what is now called the city is only the ruins
of that portion of it which used to be enclosed within the fort. The
mosques and tombs are of great interest, and I am sorry there was not
time to visit them. The mosque and tomb of Ibrahim Rozah are said to
be unsurpassed by anything of the kind in India. They are, however,
carefully described by Mr. Fergusson in his 'History of Architecture;'
and he also gives full details about the many fine ruins of Bijapur,
including the Gol Gumbaz, or Round Dome--a mausoleum built in honour
of Sultan Muhammad VII.--the Cathedral Mosque, and the Ark, or
Citadel.
[Illustration: No Coal]
On Monday, February 14th, at 5 A.M., we reached Poonah, the capital of
the Mahratta country, 120 miles distant from Bombay. Here we were
shunted into a siding, where Dr. Hoffmeister soon joined us, bringing
good news of all on board the 'Sunbeam,' which had had a splendid
passage of fifty-two hours down from Kurrachee to Bombay, making the
shortest run on record entirely under sail. He also eased our minds by
his favourable opinion of our invalids, though his examination could
be but superficial.
Mr. Crawford, the Commissioner, appeared about eight o'clock, with
several carriages, and kindly insisted upon our spending the day at
his house, which, I need scarcely say, was a very pleasant plan. He
first took us for a drive round the city to the Government House,
called Ganesh Khind, where the Governor of Bombay lives for several
months in the year. It was delicious to stroll about the charming
grounds, but it was equally pleasant to return to breakfast at the
Commissioner's bungalow, which stands on the banks of the Mula River.
Mr. Crawford is a great horticulturist, and has surrounded his
dwelling with a beautiful garden, filled with a profusion of all sorts
of acclimatised plants, flowers, trees, and fruits. The crotons,
dracænas, and ferns seemed particularly fine, and two arcades of
bamboo trellis leading from the house to the river-bank made very
pretty features in the sylvan scene.
A poultry-yard stands next to the garden, filled at this moment by a
great many fowls, all ready for the Poultry Show next week. I had
heard of this Show a few weeks ago, and was much pleased to see some
of my own birds, which I had sent for from the yacht, holding their
own against fine specimens from all parts of the world. They had, of
course, originally been brought from England for the prosaic purpose
of forming an addition to our larder, a fate from which they have
happily escaped, as they will not now return to the 'Sunbeam.' There
was also a miniature zoological-garden, containing a numerous
collection of deer and smaller animals, including a sweet little
monkey, with which the children, of course, immediately fell in love.
[Illustration: Interior, Delhi]
At breakfast we had the unexpected pleasure of meeting our old friends
Major and Mrs. Hannay. He is now aide-de-camp to the Duke of
Connaught, and, directly our meal was over, he had to hurry off to
look after the preparations for the ball which is to be given by
H.R.H. to-night in honour of the Jubilee. The date of this ball was
only fixed twenty-four hours ago, and there is naturally a great deal
to be done, though people in India seem to take these sudden
arrangements quite as a matter of course. The Duke and Duchess of
Connaught had graciously telegraphed to Hyderabad to ask us to stay at
Poonah for the ball; so, though difficult to manage, we have decided
to remain for the earlier part at any rate, and to leave by the 11
P.M. train, which will bring us to Bombay early to-morrow morning.
After the usual siesta and five o'clock tea, I went with the
Commissioner to attend a meeting of the ladies' committee of the
Poultry Show, held in a tent on the spot where the Show is to take
place. All the arrangements seemed excellent, and there was nothing
for me to do but to express warm approval. We then went for a short
drive through the principal streets of Poonah, which includes a
picturesque native town, besides charming suburbs where the bungalows
are half buried in gardens. The well-known Bund Road, surrounded by
hills, has been so often and so well described that it would be absurd
for me to attempt to say anything about it after the hasty glimpse
caught during the pleasant drives of this morning and afternoon.
Directly after dinner we went in an open carriage to the ball at the
Gymkhana. The bright lights and lamps of a long row of carriages
waiting outside made a pretty and animated scene as we drove up. The
guests were received at the entrance to the ball-room by the Duke and
Duchess of Connaught. H.R.H. danced the first quadrille with me, and
the next two with Mabelle and Maude Laurence. We were pressed to
prolong our stay until to-morrow; this was, unfortunately, impossible,
for we are already overdue in Bombay. At a quarter to eleven I left
the ball-room, and the young ladies followed shortly afterwards. We
went straight to the station, and, re-entering the train, were again
shunted on to the main line, starting at last on the final stage of
our journey to Bombay.
[Illustration: Bengal Lancer--Rawul Pindi]
CHAPTER III.
_BOMBAY._
I looked out of the carriage window for some time upon the distant
ghauts, and the nearer and fantastically shaped rocks with their
tropical vegetation, now bathed in moonlight, until at last I happily
dropped off to sleep, and remember nothing more until we reached
Bombay at 7 A.M.
There we found Mr. Kindred and the men from the yacht waiting to meet
us. Leaving them to look after the luggage, the Doctor and I got our
two invalids into gharries, and drove at once to Malabar Point to stay
with the Governor and Lady Reay. Tom shortly afterwards appeared and
surprised us by his description of the unprecedentedly quick run of
the 'Sunbeam' from Kurrachee. Then Lady Reay and Captain Hamilton came
to welcome us, having just returned from their morning ride. Breakfast
over, the rest of the morning was busily spent in writing and in
getting things into order.
In the afternoon we drove with Captain Hamilton along the Breach Candy
road to the famous Towers of Silence, or Parsee cemetery, where we
were met by Sir Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy's secretary, who conducted us over
this most interesting place and explained fully the Parsee method of
disposing of their dead and the religious motives which led to its
adoption. Much as the explanation interested me, I will not repeat it
here; but I must notice the beauty of the view from the Prayer-rooms,
and the solemn stillness of the garden below, where the relatives of
the departed come to talk peacefully over their memories. However
admirable the arrangement may be from a sanitary point of view, I
never could get reconciled to the presence of the vultures, though
they were not at all unpicturesque, for their unwieldy copper-coloured
bodies contrasted well with the massive and brilliant foliage.
From the Towers of Silence we drove in a kind of quadruple dog-cart,
with four seats facing alternately outwards, forwards, and backwards,
and drawn by a fiery pair of horses, through the native town to the
yacht. The view from the road, cut, as it is, in the side of the
Malabar hill, was both beautiful and striking. It looks down upon a
perfect sea of palm-leaves, gently waving in the breeze, which
conceal, save where the tower of some tall building peeps forth, a
city of more than 800,000 inhabitants.
[Illustration: The Ghauts, Bombay]
Four o'clock of the morning of February 16th found me in the verandah
outside our bungalow, listening to the roaring of the cannon, which
ushered in the day on which was to be celebrated in India the Jubilee
of Victoria, its Queen and Empress. The hours are early here, and at a
quarter to eight Lady Reay, Captain Gordon, Tom, and I started to
'assist' at the grand ceremony at the Town Hall, followed later by the
Governor and his aides-de-camp. As we neared the city the crowd became
greater, everyone being dressed in holiday attire, and all apparently
in a great state of enthusiasm and excitement. It looked like a
many-tinted bed of flowers; for the Parsee ladies, unlike their
Mahomedan and Hindoo sisters, have no dislike to display their
toilettes in public, and are always clad in the gayest colours,
arranged with perfect taste. The only specially distinctive mark in
their costume is a rather unbecoming white band drawn tightly over the
brow. In many cases, however, this had been judiciously pushed back so
far as nearly to disappear under the bright-coloured silk sari which
only partly concealed their jet-black and glossy tresses. Every Parsee
has to wear the sacred shirt of cotton gauze, and the Kusti, or cord
of seventy-two woollen threads, representing, like the divisions of
the Towers of Silence, the numbers of the chapters of one of the
sacred books.
Near the Town Hall the scene became still more animated, and the
applause of the multitude, though much more subdued in tone than the
roar of an English crowd, was quite as enthusiastic. The men from
H.M.S. 'Bacchante' lined the approaches to the building, and the
Bombay Volunteers acted as a guard-of-honour. We were ushered into the
gallery, where chairs were placed for Lady Reay and myself close to
the Governor's throne. The sight from this 'coign of vantage' was
indeed imposing. Immediately in front stretched a fine flight of
steps, covered with red cloth, and crowded with European and native
officials in every variety of costume. The approach to the steps was
through a pretty garden, where the wealth of tropical vegetation was
set off by flags and gaily coloured banners. A dense crowd of natives
ringed this enclosure round, whilst lofty houses, their gaily draped
balconies and windows filled with bright and happy faces, made a
brilliant background. Presently the Governor was seen approaching,
escorted by his own bodyguard and a company of mounted volunteers (now
called the Bombay Light Horse), who looked very picturesque and
soldierlike as they dashed through the crowd. All dismounted at the
west entrance to the garden, where a procession was formed, at the
head of which the Governor advanced and, amid a flourish of trumpets,
took his stand in front of the throne to receive the addresses and
telegrams presented by, or on behalf of, various classes of the
community in the Bombay Presidency. No less than fifty-eight
congratulatory telegrams from public bodies in the Mofussil had been
received, and, after leave asked and granted, a number of deputations
were introduced, who presented their documents enclosed in handsome
caskets or in kincob bags. Almost the first telegram came from his
Highness Aga Sultan Mahomed Shah, a potentate who is regarded by his
followers with great awe and reverence. Then followed a message from
the Rao of Cutch, enclosed in a beautifully embroidered bag, succeeded
by many others. Fortunately all save two were 'taken as read,' the
exceptions being the address presented by the inhabitants of Bombay
and by the Senate of the University. The presentation of the caskets,
some of which were quite works of art, occupied a long, long time. One
casket seemed to be covered with a sort of lacework of ivory and
ebony, and was still further ornamented by wreaths studded with gold
and exquisitely modelled figures of elephants and wild beasts. Others,
again, were of ebony profusely inlaid with silver.
[Illustration: Bodyguard and Peon, Malabar Point]
The Governor's replies to the addresses were most happy, and evidently
touched the feelings of his hearers. As he uttered his final words two
young middies, perched on a dangerous-looking corner of the parapet,
scrambled on to the roof, and, at a given signal, smartly unfurled an
immense Royal Standard, amid the thunder of an imperial salute of 101
guns. The effect of the whole scene was deeply impressive, as well as
suggestive. I have seen many ceremonies both at home and abroad, but
never one more picturesque or of more thrilling interest.
From the town hall we went, still in procession, to the cathedral,
which stands close to the Elphinstone Garden, where a musical service
was held. 'God save the Queen' was magnificently rendered, and the two
specially written verses which were added to the National Anthem were
most effective.
After service the Governor and Lady Reay, with their aides-de-camp, in
one carriage, and we in another, returned to Malabar Point, where we
were only too glad to put off our finery and rest quietly indoors
until half-past four, precisely at which hour we had to resume our
war-paint and go, again in procession, to Parel, to meet their Royal
Highnesses, the Duke and Duchess of Connaught. The road lay through
the poorer part of the city, but was made gay and interesting by the
crowd of people through which we passed, and by the preparations which
all were busily making to take part in the Jubilee.
Parel is the official residence of the Governor of Bombay; much larger
than, but not nearly so agreeable as, the house at Malabar Point;
however, each successive Governor appears to entertain a different
opinion on this subject, and Lord Reay's predecessor preferred Parel.
The garden, with its fine trees and luxuriant vegetation, is pretty,
but not very private; for a Hindoo house, much used for marriages,
stands on one side of the tank which borders it, while the tramway
almost touches it on the other. The house itself, originally a
Portuguese chapel and monastery, is three-storeyed, and contains some
fine spacious rooms. The present Governor intends to give up Parel for
the use of the Victoria Technical Institute till a more suitable
building can be found.
In the adjoining bungalow a substantial tea, with all sorts of cooling
drinks, was temptingly arranged among masses of flowers and greenery.
The servants from Malabar Point seemed to have arrived by magic, and
their picturesque liveries added much to the brilliancy of the scene.
The refreshments proved not to be by any means useless, for the Duke
and Duchess of Connaught had commenced the day at Poonah by inspecting
the troops on horseback at 7 A.M.; and this was closely followed by
the opening of the Poultry Show and several other functions, to say
nothing of a railway journey of six hours in the heat of the day from
Poonah to Bombay.
In a pleasant, informal way, we were then told off to carriages from
which to see the illuminations, an escort of cavalry and of the
bodyguard being provided to prevent, as far as possible, our small
procession being broken up by the crowd. In the suburbs the
illuminations were general but simple in design. There was a more
pretentious display in front of the Veterinary Hospital, consisting of
transparent pictures of horses and cows. This hospital was established
by Sir Dinshaw Manockjee Petit, one of the largest mill-owners of
Bombay, who has received the honour of knighthood as a Jubilee gift.
[Illustration: PATIALA ELEPHANTS: THE DRIVE]
Presently the crowd became more numerous, and began to run alongside
the carriages, shouting, and carrying blue lights, a compliment with
which we could well have dispensed; for the smoke, the clouds of
powder which they occasionally threw into the air, the dust raised as
they rushed along, and the general heat and want of air in the narrow
streets, had a stifling effect. The illuminations were not only
artistically beautiful, but afforded a proof that members of every
religion and class had united to do honour to their Sovereign. Among
the most striking buildings were a Mahomedan Mosque, the lines of
which were clearly defined against the starlit sky by rows of pure
white lanterns; a Hindoo temple, where court within court was lighted
in a simple and effective manner by _butties_ filled with cocoa-nut
oil; and several Jain temples brightly illuminated with coloured
lights. In the native quarter the houses were lighted up in the
peculiar Indian fashion by chandeliers suspended from the windows or
across the streets--perhaps the most wonderful part of the scene.
After driving through the crowded streets we proceeded to the Apollo
Bunder--now officially called the Wellington Pier--to witness the
illumination of the harbour and the grand display of fireworks. The
harbour, with its thousands and thousands of twinkling lights, was a
sight to be remembered. Even the little 'Sunbeam,' though somewhat
overshadowed by the huge 'Bacchante,' displayed with good effect a row
of coloured lights from stem to stern.
As we drove home we much admired the illumination of the public
gardens on the Malabar Hill. The name 'Victoria' was written in lines
of fire on its steep slopes, and was reflected with beautiful effect
in the still waters of the bay.
Just before reaching home the horses in our carriage took to jibbing,
and after nearly being precipitated over a wall and down an embankment
we thought it better to get out and walk, which made us rather late
for dinner. We were not alone in misfortune, however, for another of
the carriages had collided with a tramcar; and a horse in yet another
vehicle, in which the A.D.C.'s were driving, severely injured itself.
The next morning (Thursday, February 17th) we were all rather
late--that is to say, for this part of the world. Personally, I began
to work between seven and eight o'clock, and consequently got through
a good deal before breakfast. Afterwards a succession of visitors
arrived, friendly, complimentary, and on business, among the latter
being many tradesmen, anxious to press their wares upon us. The
verandah was soon crowded by box-wallahs, who squatted in the midst of
their piles of brilliantly coloured silks, gauze, and muslins, or
arrived laden with specimens of heavy lacquered-work, carved ivory,
sandal-wood, Poonah inlaid work, arms, and jewels. A verandah at the
back of the chief bungalow, containing the reception-rooms, had
meanwhile been completely filled by a long table, on which was
displayed a magnificent collection of jewels belonging to a well-known
jeweller and diamond merchant. Brilliants of the size of walnuts were
there by the dozen, side by side with huge emeralds; bracelets
composed of hundreds of shining gems; a tiara of diamonds formerly
belonging to the Empress of the French; rings with precious stones of
such dimensions that none but a large finger could wear them; and
altogether such a mixture of Oriental and European splendour, and
ancient and modern fashions, as one would scarcely have imagined it
possible to collect together. We made no purchases, but the wealthy
jeweller was quite pleased to have the opportunity of displaying his
splendid wares. A compliment from the Governor seemed to satisfy him
completely; and before we had been five minutes at lunch the whole of
his valuable stock was stowed away in two or three common-looking
little boxes, tied up in cloth, and so transported back to his strong
box. I do not profess to be a judge of jewels, but those who knew more
of such things than I did estimated the value of the collection at
over a million sterling.
Early in the afternoon I had to hurry off to the yacht to receive a
large party on board. In the evening a ball was given by the Governor
at Malabar Hill. It was a brilliant entertainment in celebration of
the Jubilee.
[Illustration: The Apollo Bunder]
Everything had been well arranged: the drawing-room with its perfect
floor formed a beautiful ball-room, whilst in both verandahs stood
plenty of sofas and lounges. On each side of the house the garden
paths leading to the water's edge were illuminated, fireworks being
discharged from boats at intervals. The ships in the harbour were also
dressed with fire instead of bunting. Above all, the air felt
deliciously cool. On one side of the house bountiful supper-tables,
decorated with large baskets of flowers, had been laid out under
awnings spread beneath the trees. The band was perfect, and though the
ball was by no means over at that hour, it must have been quite three
o'clock before we all retired.
On Friday, February 18th, we had another busy morning, making various
arrangements for sea. Mr. McLean had been pronounced well enough to go
home by to-day's P. & O. steamer, which he was anxious to do, for he
is to row in the Oxford Eight. Pratt, the steward, who has been with
us during our journey through India, has been unwell for some time
past, and is therefore recommended by the Doctor to return at the same
time. We had always intended to send home my dear and clever poodle
'Sir Roger' from Bombay; his place on the steamer had been secured,
and all his little belongings sent on board. Mabelle and I went off to
the yacht in the morning. About three o'clock Tom arrived, and at once
went off with Mr. McLean and Pratt. They found 'Sir Roger' already
established on board the steamer, but looking so utterly miserable
that, knowing well how sorry we were to part with him, Tom insisted on
bringing him back again. The poor dog has seemed quite crestfallen for
some days past, and yesterday, instead of remaining quietly in my room
at Government House, as he always does when I go out without him, he
escaped and hid himself under the Governor's chair, only giving
occasional notice of his presence by a short, nervous bark.
After the departure of the steamer Mabelle and I had only just
sufficient time to reach Government House to be present at Lady Reay's
_purdah_ party, to which only ladies are admitted. The entertainment
derives its name from the _purdah_, or curtain, behind which Mahomedan
and Hindoo ladies are supposed to live, veiled from the sight of men.
Lady Reay's visitors were all dressed in their best, and seemed full
of delight at this pleasant incident in their monotonous life; but
their ways of showing enjoyment were various and amusing. Some wanted
only to look on; others were glad to talk to any English lady who
could converse with them, while others again were much taken up with
the sweetmeats and ices. The behaviour of two ladies amused me
immensely. Their servant having awkwardly upset and broken a glass,
spilling the contents on the floor, they immediately flew at her and
slapped her so hard that the sound of the blows could be plainly heard
all over the room. The woman did not seem to resent this treatment in
the least, for she only laughed and proceeded to pick up the pieces.
[Illustration: Bombay Harbour]
Several of these ladies asked me to allow them to go on board the
yacht; and when the others found that I had promised to try to make
arrangements to preserve the _purdah_ properly, they all wanted to
come. I found, therefore, there was nothing for it but to give a large
party on the only vacant day left to us before our departure from
Bombay. Mrs. H. Ali was specially interested in the matter when she
found that we intended to call, if possible, at Jinjeera on our way
to Ceylon, and to see the Nawab, who has married her youngest daughter
as his second wife.
[Illustration: Omnibus-horse Tope]
Some of the dresses were quite gorgeous, and would take long to
describe. The Parsees looked slim and graceful as Greek girls, their
_saris_ of bright satin or silk hanging in light folds and showing the
strips of delicate narrow embroidery with which they were ornamented.
The Hindoo ladies draped their _saris_ around them; while the
Mahomedans, with their bright-coloured trousers, skirts, and yashmaks,
made a vivid contrast to the other guests. The skirts of some of the
ladies were so full that they stuck out further than any crinoline
ever seen, and must, I am sure, have had more than a hundred yards of
satin in them. When it was time to leave, it was curious to see how
closely all the ladies veiled. Some of the attendants were provided
with bundles which proved to be immense veils. These they threw over
their mistresses, shrouding completely both face and figure.
When this reception was over I had to dress and hurry down to the
yacht to receive a party of my own friends, after which we all
returned to Malabar Point to dinner.
The Byculla Club Ball, at which their Royal Highnesses the Duke and
Duchess of Connaught were present, took place in the evening; a
splendid affair, held in spacious well-arranged rooms.
[Illustration: Hindoo Girl]
Next morning early the children went for a ride with their father and
Captain Hamilton, and after breakfast there arrived a continuous
stream of box-wallahs and visitors until midday. The Guicowar of
Baroda called to see the Governor, while Lady Reay and I sat in the
verandah chatting with Captain Elliot, who has been till recently the
Prince's tutor. The Guicowar speaks English well, not only correctly
and fluently, but idiomatically. He is loyal to British rule, and the
object of the present visit was to obtain a further supply of arms for
his soldiers; it having been considered desirable policy to encourage
him to form a large force of cavalry, which might be found valuable as
auxiliaries. His adopted mother, too, is a remarkable woman. During
the last Russian scare she offered to equip a band of Amazons for
service in the field.
After this visit many preparations had to be made for resuming our
voyage; but they were finished in time to allow Tom and me,
accompanied by Mrs. Keating, Captain Hamilton, and the children, to
drive down early in the afternoon to see the annual race-meeting at
Byculla. The races are almost entirely in the hands of Arabs, and are
as a rule well worth seeing.
One of the most interesting sights to me was a group of horse-dealers
from Arabia and the Persian Gulf. They have handsome faces and clear
olive complexions, soft silky hair and moustache, and beautifully
trimmed beards. These picturesquely attired men import large
quantities of horses into India, and easily sell them, either singly
or in batches, to other dealers.
From the racecourse we drove to the Oval, where 15,000 schoolchildren
were to be feasted in celebration of the Jubilee. Being rather late,
we met many of them coming away singing hymns and songs.
[Illustration: At the Children's Ball]
After this short glimpse of the children's festival we hurried on
board to receive the Duke and Duchess of Connaught at dinner, and the
Governor and Lady Reay. Captain Moore kindly sent the band of the
'Bacchante' to play to us, and after dinner several middies from the
flagship joined our little party. It was truly delightful to sit on
deck in the cool evening breeze and listen to the sweet strains of the
music. At half-past ten we embarked in the steam-launch to look at
the fireworks and the illumination of the shipping.
[Illustration: RELIGIOUS FESTIVAL, MALABAR POINT]
_February 20th._--Attended the beautiful evening service in the
cathedral. The crew of the 'Sunbeam' accompanied us. The cool drive
back to charming Malabar Point was most refreshing, and we enjoyed our
quiet dinner and pleasant chat afterwards in the verandah,
notwithstanding the sad reflection that it was our last evening with
our dear and kind friends.
_February 21st._--This morning the children went out early with a
large riding party. After breakfast I had to hurry on board to make
the final arrangements for the visit of the _purdah_ ladies, and for
our start this evening. It was rather a difficult matter to get our
visitors on board the big steam-launch and other boats without visible
masculine assistance; but all was accomplished safely and
satisfactorily, and they mustered in great force. I think they all
enjoyed this little expedition, with its novel experiences, greatly.
As soon as the last lady had departed we hurried off to attend the St.
John's Ambulance Meeting at the Secretariate, at which the Governor
kindly presided. I earnestly hope it may be the means of reviving in
Bombay some interest in the rather languishing local branch of a very
useful institution. Many influential people were present, including
doctors, large mill-owners, railway and police officials, and
employers of labour generally, all of whom appeared warmly disposed to
support the movement.
Directly after this meeting, Tom, who had intended to go on board the
yacht with Lord Reay, was carried off by the bishop to see the
Sailors' Institute. I therefore returned to the 'Sunbeam' alone, to
see to various matters, and, later on, went back to Government House,
where, as is nearly always the case, we had to dress for dinner in a
desperate hurry. There was a large party assembled, among others being
Sir Lepel Griffin.
All too soon came the last parting; and, in a long procession of
barouches, phaetons, tandems, and dog-carts, we drove down to the
Bunder, descending the steps for the last time with Maude Laurence
(who is shortly returning to England), Captain Hamilton, Mr. Herbert,
Major Gilchrist, and several other friends who had come to see us off.
It was a sad business.
[Illustration: Map of India]
[Illustration: The Arch of the Viceroys, Goa]
CHAPTER IV.
_BOMBAY TO GOA._
_February 22nd._--We had been told that Jinjeera was seventy miles
distant from Bombay. Our rate of progress being rather slow, we did
not consult the chart until late in the afternoon, when we found great
difficulty in making out the place at all. At last we discovered it,
marked in the smallest of letters, close to the mouth of the Rajpoori
River; Khassia, now in ruins, being on the opposite or north side.
Instead of seventy, it proved to be only thirty-five miles from
Bombay; so that we had actually overrun it. Knowing that we were
expected, there was nothing to be done except to beat our way back
against the wind during the night. It would have been a pleasant sail
had it not been for the annoying loss of time which it involved.
Just before daybreak we saw the Rajpoori light, and the one at
Kennery, twelve miles south of Bombay. About 9.30 A.M. the Nawab's
brother came on board, and soon afterwards we proceeded to land. After
rowing more than half round a curious island-fort, we arrived at the
gateway, a small opening in the thick walls, where we were met by the
Nawab himself, dressed in European costume, but wearing a red and gold
turban, and surrounded by his native bodyguard.
The landing was rather difficult, for, owing to want of space, the
boat had to be pushed in stern foremost. When this feat had been
accomplished, some of the Nawab's followers brought chairs, and
hoisted us with great dexterity to the top of the steps, where it was
no easy matter to alight with the dignity proper to the occasion.
Having received the salaams of the Nawab and returned his hearty
welcome, we took a long walk all round the curious old fort of
Jinjeera, built five hundred years ago. It contains many narrow
passages designed for security, for they are entirely independent of
the bastions, each of which is provided with its own little water-gate
for the admission of supplies or the escape of the garrison in case of
necessity. I found the walk very fatiguing owing to the heat, and so
did many of the others.
The temperature would indeed have been unbearable but for an
occasional puff of cooler air which reached us through the embrasures.
Some of the guns were of Spanish manufacture, dated 1665, but most of
them were lying useless on the ground. In no case would they avail
much against modern ordnance; but the fort, owing to its natural
advantages, would be difficult to attack. The present Nawab is of
ancient descent, and one of his ancestors was an Admiral in the
service of the Grand Mogul. At the time of the disruption of the
Kingdom of Delhi the Nawab's State became independent, and has
remained so ever since. He has about 70,000 subjects, in whose welfare
he appears to take great interest. He has a shrewd face, is very
English in appearance, and seems quite capable of looking after his
own interests.[1]
[Footnote 1: The Nawab of Jinjeera is of Abyssinian descent, and is
popularly called the Seedee or Hubshee, generic terms applied by
natives of India to Africans. One of the Nawab's ancestors laid siege
to Bombay Castle in 1688-9, and the English, being unable to dislodge
him, were compelled to seek the intervention of the Emperor Aurungzebe
to secure the withdrawal of his forces.]
[Illustration: Jinjeera Fort]
It was delightfully refreshing to be able to rest in a spacious
bungalow after our tour of the fort was over; and still more delicious
was a curious sort of punkah, peculiar to the district, which fanned
us pleasantly. The Nawab accompanied us on our return to the yacht,
and afterwards sent us a most acceptable _Nazir_, or present, of two
huge bunches of bananas, as well as other fruits and vegetables,
besides milk and ghee.
The Nawab's second wife, whose mother we had met at Bombay, is a
pretty little girl of about thirteen. She came on board to see us, but
many precautions to preserve the _purdah_ had to be taken. It was
necessary to observe this custom in deference to the prejudices of her
people rather than to those of her husband. She had never been on
board a yacht before, and was naturally much interested in all she
saw.
Soon after twelve we resumed our voyage to the southward before a
deliciously cool breeze, which lasted for a considerable time. Further
on, the coast seems to consist of a series of plateaux, varying in
height from 200 to 600 feet, occasionally interrupted by a peak or a
narrow strip of white beach, with here and there a small straggling
town. At sunset we were off Ratnagiri, an ancient Mahratta fort
connected with the mainland only by a narrow sandy neck. Its southern
extremity is nearly 300 feet above the sea level, thus forming a
headland, surmounted by a line of fortifications and bastions of great
strength. The complete isolation of its position has doubtless caused
it to be chosen as the place of detention of King Theebaw, who can
have but little chance of escape. The entrance to the river lies to
the eastward of the fort, and the intermediate space is covered with a
luxuriant growth of cocoa-nut palms. The European station is to the
northward, for the southern shore is rugged, and ends abruptly in
cliffs and huge boulders. Small coasting steamers maintain as well as
they can communication with the fort; but the approach is always
difficult, and is almost impracticable during the south-west monsoon.
[Illustration: Off Ratnagiri]
Mr. Crawford, who was formerly Commissioner here, had kindly given
notice of our probable visit; for we had been anxious to land if
possible to see something of King Theebaw, and to inspect the
excellent industrial school established here. The district used
formerly to be the great recruiting-ground for the Bombay army; but
the young men now prefer entering the school, which, from one point of
view, seems a pity. It was with much regret that, after having made
preparations for landing, we were obliged to abandon the idea of
doing so; for it became both late and dark, thus adding too much to
the difficulties, and even dangers, of the proposed expedition. We
therefore sailed slowly past, throwing up rockets at long intervals,
to indicate that we were proceeding on our course.
As the evening wore on the breeze dropped, and during the night we
made but little progress.
_February 25th._--A calm and somewhat sultry night. Daylight brought a
delicious and welcome sea-breeze, before which we sailed rapidly on
our southward course. The morning was devoted to a general tidying up,
preparatory to settling down for our long voyage.
Over the memory of the latter portion of this day I wish that I could
draw a veil; but, sad as is the story, and little as I desire to dwell
upon it, it must be told.
Travelling, visiting, and sight-seeing had so completely occupied our
time in India, that I had found upon my return to Bombay a vast
accumulation of letters from England and elsewhere requiring
attention; and as it was far beyond my strength to deal with them
without assistance, I considered myself fortunate in securing the
services, as temporary secretary, of a gentleman whom we had met at
Bombay, and who had been strongly recommended to us. Mr. Frank White
was at that time engaged on the staff of the 'Bombay Gazette,' and, as
Special Correspondent, had accompanied the present as well as the
former Governor of Bombay upon their official tours. Now, however, he
was about to leave India in order to take up an appointment on the
staff of the 'Melbourne Argus,' and we, as a matter of mutual
convenience, offered him a passage to Australia in the 'Sunbeam,'
which he accepted, apparently, with delight. These brief facts will
account for his presence on board the 'Sunbeam.'
At luncheon to-day Mr. White was cheerful and full of conversation,
giving us an interesting description of the annual migration of the
members of the Bombay Government to Poona during the season of rains
and monsoons. We had, as usual, coffee, cigarettes, and a little
gossip on deck before recommencing our quiet occupations of reading or
writing. Mr. White strolled aft, and I soon became immersed in my
book. Suddenly I perceived a change in the vessel's movement, as if
the helmsman were neglecting his duties, and directly afterwards heard
the thrilling cry of 'Man overboard!' Of course a great commotion
ensued, the men rushing up from below, all eager to render assistance.
I ran aft, whence the cry had proceeded, seizing a life-buoy as I
passed, but found that one had already been thrown over by the man at
the helm, who exclaimed, 'That gentleman,' meaning poor Mr. White,
'has jumped overboard.' A boat was lowered, a man was sent up to the
cross-trees, another on to the deck-house to keep a look-out, and the
ship was put about in an incredibly short space of time. In the
meanwhile hasty preparation of hot bottles, blankets, and other
remedies was made on board, in case the boat should happily be
successful in her search. But although she rowed over the exact spot
many times, and picked up Mr. White's helmet and the life-buoy,
nothing more could be discovered.
[Illustration: Vingora Rocks]
The agonised interest with which that little boat was watched by all
on board will always live in my memory. Two men had jumped into her
just as they had rushed on deck, without shirts or hats to protect
them from the burning sun. Another was preparing to spring overboard
when he was forcibly restrained by Tom, who saw that it would by this
time be utterly useless. All on board worked with a will to get the
vessel round and to lower every stitch of sail; no easy matter with
every kite set, and the yacht running from ten to twelve knots before
the wind.
From letters left behind it was painfully clear that a determination
of many days past had just been accomplished. It appeared that Mr.
White had questioned the doctor--who little suspected his object--as
to how long it would take to stop the vessel when running with
studdingsails set before a strong breeze. The unhappy man had
constantly complained of inability to sleep, and he had been seen on
deck the previous night long after everyone else had gone to bed. Of
the motive for the rash act it is impossible to form an opinion. Borne
down by physical and mental suffering, he must have been overcome by a
temporary aberration of intellect, which rendered him for the moment
irresponsible for his actions. I need not dwell on the terrible shock
which the dreadful catastrophe caused to our hitherto happy little
party. The evening was a sad one, and not even the excitement of
making the lights off Goa, bringing the ship up, and anchoring for the
night, or the prospect of an interesting excursion to-morrow, could
raise our spirits or dissipate the depression caused by the sad event
of the afternoon.
_February 26th._--Orders had been given for steam to be ready in the
launch by six o'clock, so that we might get ashore soon after
daybreak, and thus avoid the heat of the midday sun, which is now
becoming quite a serious matter. But the painful duty of collecting
and packing up all poor Mr. White's things to be sent back to Bombay
had first to be performed, and it was nearly half-past seven before
we were ready to land.
[Illustration: Vingora Lighthouse]
Just as we were starting, Mr. Norman Oliver, the Assistant Delegate at
Goa, arrived alongside in his pretty little schooner yacht, of native
design and build, but of English rig. He brought with him a very kind
letter from Mr. H.D. Donaldson, the assistant engineer of the new
Portuguese Railway, now in course of construction, to connect Goa with
the English lines northward to Bombay and eastward to Madras. If only
the inhabitants of Goa will make use of the new railway, it ought to
be of the greatest value to them. Such, however, is their conservative
disposition and so great is their pleasure in obstinately creating and
maintaining, in the form of customs-duties, obstacles to commerce and
free circulation, that it is considered probable that the railway will
have to be continued some fifty miles to the southward, as far as the
British port of Carwar, before any perceptible increase in the export
of produce can be looked for. The line to Goa is now nearly completed,
and will, it is hoped, be opened after the rains. Mr. Donaldson kindly
proposed a tempting trip over it to the summit of the Sahyádri
Mountains, or Ghâts, which form the eastern boundary of the Portuguese
territory. Unfortunately we are already so much behind our time that
we shall have to press forward as quickly as wind and waves will
allow, if we mean to adhere to the original plan of our voyage with
anything like punctuality.
So many difficulties are thrown in the way of would-be visitors to the
churches of Goa, that although Mr. Oliver had kindly sent his sepoy on
to announce our arrival, and had written to the Administrador to ask
leave, we were recommended to wait for an hour or two on board, to
allow time for the necessary forms to be complied with. A refreshing
sea-breeze was blowing, and at ten o'clock we decided to brave the sun
and to proceed under the double awnings of the gig (towed by the
steam-launch) across the bar and up the river towards Old Goa.
From the sea, the Portuguese settlement looks like a series of
promontories, each crowned by a fort, with the river Mandovi in the
centre, running up into the interior between richly wooded banks. Its
coast-line is some sixty or seventy miles long from north to south,
and its greatest breadth about thirty miles. The entire territory is
hilly, and intersected by numerous rivers, of which the Mandovi is the
most important. Both the ancient and modern cities of Goa have been
built on its banks. The promontories of Bardez and Salsette protect a
fine harbour, capable of accommodating vessels of the largest tonnage
during the greater part of the year. The climate of Goa is generally
healthy, though smallpox and cholera have from time to time broken out
there with great virulence.
[Illustration: Portuguese Rowlock]
[Illustration: Cape Goa Entrance]
Never was any place so totally unlike what I had expected--in fact, it
did not in the least correspond to the idea which any of us had formed
about it. The palace of the Governor (who was for over three
centuries called the Viceroy) stands in the city of Pangim, or New
Goa, which, as I have already said, has been built on the river
Mandovi, about five miles from its mouth. Curiously enough, the
present Governor of Goa is our old friend Captain da Carvalho, who
commanded the corvette 'Affonso Albuquerque' when she brought the King
of Portugal to Plymouth last year, and lay alongside us for a
fortnight in lovely Barn Pool, under the shadow of the Mount Edgcumbe
trees. As we steamed over the bar and, aided by a strong flood-tide,
quickly ascended the river, we next came to the pretty village of
Raibandar, passing between low reedy banks fringed with cocoa-nut
palms and other vegetation. The distant Ghâts formed a fine background
to the picture, which included several white-spired English-looking
churches, perched here and there on convenient knolls. The inhabitants
of the district, however, composed as they are of descendants of the
original natives found here by the Portuguese conquerors at the
beginning of the sixteenth century, with a subsequent slight
admixture of European blood, bore no resemblance to the British type.
Those whom we saw on the river wore scarcely any clothing, and paddled
about in little canoes somewhat similar to those used in the South Sea
Islands and Ceylon. These boats are extremely narrow, and are provided
with an outrigger in the shape of an enormous rough block of wood,
connected with the canoes by bent spars some four feet long.
After a pleasant voyage of about eleven miles in tow of the
steam-launch, we were suddenly cast off at some steps leading to a
small pier, in the midst of a large grove of palm-trees, and were told
that we had reached our destination. But where was Goa? We were all
expecting to see ruined palaces, churches, and houses; whereas all
that was visible was one massive arch and gateway about a hundred
yards distant, standing, like the Irishman's 'main gate,' in the
centre of a field, with no wall on either side of it. Meaningless as
it now looked, this was the celebrated _Arco dos Vicereys_, or Arch of
the Viceroys, originally built in 1599, and composed of blocks of
black granite, now partially whitewashed. Through this gateway each
successive ruler of Goa passed on his way to the ancient capital; on
which occasions it was always splendidly decorated. A statue of St.
Catherine, patroness of the city of Goa, occupies an upper niche,
while beneath her is a figure of Vasco de Gama, with features somewhat
defaced by time. The façade used to be adorned with paintings
representing incidents of the Portuguese war in the Indies; but they
are now effaced by whitewash. The portico bears an inscription
dedicating it to the Immaculate Conception, and commemorating the
emancipation of Portugal from Spain in 1656.
[Illustration: BENARES AND THE SACRED GANGES]
By this time the heat had become so great that, finding no carriage
was forthcoming, I had almost resolved to give up the idea of visiting
the wonderful old palaces and churches which we had taken so much
trouble to come and see; but Tom and the Doctor encouraged me to make
an effort, and improvised a sort of carrying-chair for me. We
accordingly proceeded up a steep hot road, through the aforesaid arch,
to the Rua Direita, so called because it once led direct from the
Palace of the Viceroys to the Church of Misericordia. The name has
lost its meaning, for all that now remains of the splendid palace is a
portion of the chief gateway, so small in extent that when we tried to
take a photograph of it, the helmet of one of the gentlemen who
chanced to stand some distance in front of the camera completely
concealed it. Only 250 years ago the palace must have been the most
conspicuous building in the city. At that time a large square stood in
front of it to the south, surrounded by fine houses. A noble staircase
led from this square to the principal hall of the palace, in which
were hung pictures of most of the Portuguese ships which had come to
India since the time of Vasco de Gama. In an inner hall the Viceroy,
who then lived in a style of regal splendour, received ambassadors
from the Indian princes, and transacted important business. Da
Fonseca, in his historical and archæological description of the City
of Goa, states that the Viceroy rarely stirred out of his palace,
except to make a royal progress through the city. 'A day previous to
his appearance in public, drums were beaten and trumpets sounded, as a
signal to the noblesse and gentry to accompany him on the following
day. Accordingly, early in the morning about three or four hundred
hidalgos and courtiers appeared in the _Terriero do Paço_, clad in
rich attire, mounted on noble steeds with gold and silver trappings
glittering with pearls and precious stones, and followed by European
pages in rich livery.' The palace began to fall into decay when the
city was abandoned; and although from time to time there was an idea
of repairing it, the work was never seriously undertaken. In 1820 a
considerable portion of the splendid building was ordered to be
knocked down; and though the remainder stood for some time, even so
lately as up to fifty or sixty years ago, it has gradually fallen to
pieces, and its ruins are now covered with vegetation.
The small Church of S. Cajetan was the first place we visited after
passing the entrance to the palace. It was built by some Italian
friars in 1640, and so closely adjoins the palace that some travellers
have referred to it as the Viceregal Chapel. The façade, with its
Corinthian columns, and the fine cupola rising behind them, reminds
one of St. Peter's at Rome in miniature. Outside the church, exposed
to the full heat of the burning sun, a party of half-clad natives were
scrubbing _with soap and water_ some fine full-length oil portraits of
past viceroys, governors, and archbishops, which had been removed from
the sacristy for this purpose. Among them were those of Vasco de Gama,
and of Affonso Albuquerque, the first European conqueror of Goa. The
church had not yet been opened, so we waited in a long room in the
adjacent convent, through which the sea-breeze blew with delicious
coolness. After a short rest we went out into a balcony and looked
with delight over a forest of tropical vegetation, to the blue river
running swiftly through the trees, with the paler grey of the distant
ghâts beyond. When at last we gained admittance to the church, we much
admired its graceful dome and the fine altar-piece in the principal
chapel. Close to and in striking contrast with this grand painting
stood a little group of scantily clothed natives, who had evidently
taken advantage of the opportunity of inspecting the sacred edifice
which our visit afforded. The windows of the church are made of small
panes of the thin, semi-transparent inner scale of the pearl oyster,
used in place of glass--a fashion still followed in many of the
private houses of Goa. These shell windows, the materials for which
must formerly have been very plentiful in the neighbourhood, admit a
peculiarly soft and tender light.
[Illustration: St. Xavier, Goa]
From S. Cajetan we proceeded to the Cathedral of S. Caterina, one of
the oldest buildings of Goa, and the only church in which daily
religious service on a grand scale is now held. Albuquerque was the
founder of this sacred edifice, which took seventy-five years to
build, and has been well described as 'worthy of one of the principal
cities of Europe.' Dr. Russell, visiting it with H.R.H. the Prince of
Wales, speaks of its 'vast and noble proportions.' We were amazed by
the richness of the materials, and the artistic beauty of the
elaborate carving which met the eye in every direction. The vaulted
ceiling, the mosaic covered side-chapels, and the high altar, near
which stands the Archbishop's chair, are the features most worthy of
attention. The cathedral is, indeed, a stately pile, the nave being
over 70 feet high and 140 feet long, and the total length of the
building more than 270 feet. The vestries and sacristies are full of
rich vestments and valuable plate, now seldom seen except by a few
priests, or an occasional foreign visitor like ourselves, or, at still
rarer intervals, by the general public when a grand exhibition is
held, to which the faithful flock in crowds. Even the exhibitions have
been discontinued of late years, for it was found that the gathering
together of a large concourse of people in so unhealthy a locality led
to the spread of infectious disorders. The site of Old Goa is, indeed,
terribly malarious. The Government having abandoned the city, it was
deserted by everybody else, the finest houses, after standing empty
for years, gradually falling to pieces, so that literally not one
stone remains above another. Old Goa was one of the headquarters of
the terrible Inquisition, and until comparatively recent days its most
cruel decrees were there executed with stern and heartless rigour. The
tower of the Cathedral of S. Caterina contains five bells, the largest
of which, still in daily use, is the same which was formerly tolled on
the occasion of the _auto-da-fé_. It was quite thrilling to listen to
its deep knell, and to think that those same tones must have fallen
upon the agonised ears of the poor victims of an odious tyranny.
[Illustration: Inquisition Stake, Goa]
Close to the cathedral once stood the Palace of the Inquisition, a
vast and magnificent building, the space occupied by which is now
filled with dense jungle. It is the home of venomous snakes, not to be
met with in any other part of the island. Probably some special shrub
or herb which they like grows there and nowhere else. From the
cathedral we passed across an open space to visit the Church of Bom
Jesus, containing the chapel and tomb of St. Francis Xavier, and a
fine altar, in the centre of which stands a colossal image of St.
Ignatius of Loyola. St. Francis (who died at Sanchan, in Malacca)
rests in a crystal and silver coffin within a magnificent sarcophagus.
The body, clad in the richest vestments, is said to be still, after
the lapse of three centuries, in a wonderful state of preservation--a
fact testified to by the chief surgeon of Goa in an official report
made in 1859.
Never was there a city so unlike a city, or even the remains of one,
as Old Goa, unless it were Palmyra. Goa is now, in fact, only a forest
of palm-trees with patches of jungle here and there, made gay by
tropical flowers, such as the scarlet coral-tree, the pimelia with its
bright golden convolvulus-like flowers, and scarlet and apricot-yellow
euphorbias. From this mass of vegetation the spire of a church rises
or the tower of some ancient building occasionally peeps forth. No
other traces of its bygone splendour could be seen, whether one looked
upward from the level of the earth or downward from the roof of one of
the few buildings which still remain.
On our return to the landing-place we found that the railway officials
had kindly lent us their large steam-launch, in the cosy little cabin
of which, sheltered by venetian blinds, we enjoyed our well-earned
lunch, for it was now past three o'clock, and we had breakfasted soon
after six. The sea-breeze blew refreshingly as we steamed down the
river, and once clear of the land the heat was not at all oppressive.
Pangaum, or Nova Goa, is a nice clean-looking little town, of some
15,000 inhabitants, at the foot of a hill covered with palm-trees. It
is of comparatively recent growth; for although the viceregal
residence was transferred here from Old Goa in 1759, when a terrible
epidemic broke out in that place, it was not until 1827 that any
vigorous steps were taken to reclaim the land on which it now stands.
In 1843 it was formally declared to be the capital of Portuguese
India, and the Governor, the Archbishop, and other authorities and
dignitaries now live there. The Causeway of Ribandar, which connects
Pangaum with the city of that name, is a wonderful construction,
nearly two miles in length, built in 1633 by order of the then
Viceroy.
Only the gentlemen landed during our brief stay; and they soon
returned from their stroll, having seen most of the objects of
interest in the place. I had in the meantime occupied myself in taking
some photographs--under somewhat difficult conditions, for the breeze
was stiff and strong, and the steam-launch was by no means steady. As
soon as we returned on board the 'Sunbeam' we were met by an
extortionate demand on the part of the Portuguese officials--which, I
am glad to say, was successfully resisted--for the payment of eighty
rupees, in return for the privilege of anchoring in the roads without
the aid of a pilot. Then we had to bid adieu to kind Mr. Norman
Oliver, regretting much that time would not admit of our seeing more
of him and making the acquaintance of his wife. The anchor was soon
weighed, and the 'Sunbeam' once more spread her wings to the favouring
breeze, before which we sailed so quickly, and at such an angle, that
the more sensitive members of the party began to fancy it was rough,
and would not come down to dinner. Later in the evening it was
delightful to sit on deck and watch, by the light of the young
crescent moon and the brilliant stars, the vessel racing along through
the cool evening air.
In the course of the next day we passed Carwar, about fifty miles
south of Goa, and one of the most interesting ports in India.
Adjoining it is a backwater, such as are often met with on the
south-west coast of India, along which it is possible to sail for many
miles in a native boat with great comfort and ease. Further south is
Honahwar, whence the famous Falls of Gairsoppa, in Mysore, can easily
be reached. Just now the waters of the river Kauri are rather low;
else, I think, we should have made an effort to visit the falls (which
have a drop of 1,000 feet in one place) notwithstanding the shortness
of the time and the difficulties of the journey, which can only be
performed in rough country carts.
The wind was light all day; but the old 'Sunbeam' glided gracefully
along, and made good progress through the hot air.
_February 28th._--The sun becomes perceptibly more powerful each day.
At noon we were off Mangalore, formerly a place of considerable
importance, where the British forces have stood more than one siege.
Like the rest of the ports on this coast, it has been deserted by
trade, and has now fallen more or less into a state of decay and ruin.
We have now resumed our usual life-at-sea habits. In the morning we go
on deck at a very early hour, to enjoy the exquisite freshness of the
dawn of the tropical day. Tom and the Doctor help to man the pumps,
sometimes assisted by the children, who appear to like the work of
scrubbing decks as much as they did in the old days of our first long
voyage round the world. Then we are most of us _hosed_. An open-air
salt-water bath is a luxury not to be appreciated anywhere so
thoroughly as in these tropical climates. After an early breakfast we
settle down to our several occupations--the children to lessons, till
it is time for sights to be taken and calculations made; Mr. Pritchett
elaborates the sketches which he has made on shore during our recent
wanderings; the Doctor makes himself generally useful, and has plenty
of time to devote to this benevolent work, for at present he has
hardly any patients. Later on he kindly gives the children a lesson in
arithmetic, while Mr. des Graz, assisted by Prior, spends a
considerable time in developing, printing, and toning the photographs
which we have taken. I have always plenty to do in the way of writing,
reading and general supervision. Often do I look wistfully at the many
books which I long to read, and think regretfully of the letters and
journal that ought to be written; but a good deal of time has to be
spent in less interesting, and certainly more prosaic, work. In the
afternoon there is more reading, writing, and lessons; and after tea
there is a general taking off of coats by the gentlemen, a putting on
of suitable costumes by the children, and a grand game of
hide-and-seek and romps during the short twilights until the
dressing-bell gives warning to prepare for dinner.
Landsmen can never know how delightful it is to be able to sit quietly
on deck late in the evening, in the open air, without any tiresome
wraps, and to enjoy the soft silvery light of the stars, scarcely
dimmed by the brighter rays of the young moon. It is indeed a period
of tranquil happiness. One is only agreeably fatigued by the exertions
of the day; and one feels so soothed by the beauty and peacefulness of
the scene as to be quite content to do absolutely nothing, and to rest
satisfied with the mere pleasure of existence. Indeed it is only the
recollection of the charms of early rising which induces any of us to
leave the deck at last.
_February 29th._--By noon to-day we had only run seventy-five miles.
The air is still occasionally hot and oppressive. About 3 P.M. a large
steamer was seen coming up astern, and with a glass we made her out,
by the white band round her funnel, to be one of the British India
Line. For some time we seemed to hold our own with her, even after the
breeze fell light, almost to a calm; and it was 9 P.M. before she
actually passed us, steaming ahead full speed. The 'Sunbeam' sails
like a witch in her new suit of light canvas, and we pass the little
native craft as if they were standing still, even in the lightest of
breezes, for which they are specially built.
_March 1st._--However it may mean to go out, March has come in like
the quietest of lambs, and we could well do with a little more wind to
help us on our course.
At noon we were off Calicut, a curious old town of nearly 50,000
inhabitants, to which belong many ancient stories and traditions. As
we all know, it gives its name to that useful and familiar
material--calico. This was the first point of India touched at by
Vasco de Gama nearly 400 years ago, after his long voyage from
Portugal. Not far from Calicut, near Mahé, a high rock rises--one of
the few places in India where sea-swallows build their edible nests.
Further south is Tellicherry, whence the highly appreciated cardamoms
of Waima are exported. The plant (_Amomum repens_) which produces them
is not unlike the ginger shrub in appearance, bearing small
lilac-coloured flowers. Cardamoms are so indispensable in all Indian
cookery that great pains are taken in their cultivation.
On the other side of the river lies Beypoor, one of the terminal
stations of the Southern Indian Railway, whence it is possible to
proceed by rail in almost any direction. Mysore, Bangalore, and
Seringapatam can be easily reached from here; and last, though not by
any means least, one can travel _viâ_ Pothanore and Metapalliam to
Ootacamund, that loveliest and healthiest of Southern hill stations in
the Neilgherry Mountains, familiarly called 'Ooty.' This delightful
place of refuge restores the enfeebled health of the European, and
makes it possible for husband and wife, parents and children, to be
spared the terrible separations incidental to a career in India; for
the climate of Ootacamund is as cool and invigorating as that of
England.
_March 2nd._--The distance run at noon was 106 knots, the wind during
the previous twenty-four hours having been stronger and more
favourable.
We passed Cochin in the course of the day, but not near enough to see
much of it. It must be an interesting old place, dating, like Calicut,
from the ninth century, or even earlier, with inland waterways to
Quilon and other ports on the Malabar coast, by delightfully smooth
and sheltered backwaters, always navigable for the native boats, even
in the full strength of the monsoon. Trivandaram, the capital of
Travancore, is near this. The Rajah of Travancore on the occasion of
the Great Exhibition of 1851 sent our Queen a most beautifully carved
ivory chair, made in his own dominions, which her Majesty now uses
whenever she holds a Chapter of the Order of the Garter at Windsor.
One of the bedroom stewards got a touch of sunstroke this morning, and
suffered a good deal. I was, of course, very sorry for him, but could
not help feeling rather annoyed, for it was entirely his own fault.
The men are just like children, and will not or cannot understand the
power of the sun and the danger of exposure to it. They will run up on
deck bare-headed to look at some passing object, and then are
surprised that they at once get a bad headache. They are all well
provided with pith hats, and awnings are spread everywhere, so that
one cannot feel quite as much sympathy for them as if they were
sufferers in the cause of duty.
_March 3rd._--An absolutely calm and uneventful day.
We are now getting towards Tuticorin, whence it is a short journey by
rail to the splendid temples of Madura, or to Tinnevelly, the great
missionary station of Southern India. Tanjore with its famous rock and
its wonderful history, and Trichinopoly, with its temples and caves,
are also easy of access.
We had hoped to have been able to pay a visit to the great temples on
Rameshuwaran and Manaar, two of the islands forming what is known as
Adam's Bridge, which partially connect Ceylon with the mainland; but,
to our disappointment, we find that they are unapproachable from the
westward, and we cannot get through the Pamban Passage, as its depth
is but ten feet of water, whereas we draw thirteen. In order to reach
the temples it would consequently be necessary for us to make the
circuit of Ceylon, which would take far too much time. We shaped,
therefore, as direct a course for Colombo as the light and variable
breezes would admit of.
_March 4th._--To-day was calmer and hotter than ever. At noon we had
run eighty-eight knots, from which time until 8 P.M. we were in the
midst of a flat oily calm, beneath a burning sun. We were,
consequently, all much relieved when, in the course of the evening,
fires were lighted, awnings spread, wind-sails set, and we began to
make a little air for ourselves.
Sailors are amazingly like sheep in one respect; for if one does
anything at all out of the ordinary course, it is ten to one that his
shipmates feel bound to follow his example. Yesterday morning, for
instance, after the cases of sunstroke of the day before, several of
the crew reported themselves to the Doctor as sick, though, upon
examination, he found that they were only suffering from the effects
of a too-vivid imagination. Some medicine of a nauseous but otherwise
innocent character was accordingly prescribed, with the satisfactory
result that all the _malades imaginaires_ are 'Quite well, thank you,
sir,' this morning.
[Illustration: View in Ceylon]
CHAPTER V.
_COLOMBO._
_March 5th._--At 9.30 A.M. we dropped anchor in the harbour of
Colombo, having come twelve miles under sail between noon and 11 P.M.
yesterday, and ninety-eight since we began steaming.
Colombo seems to have grown and improved since we were here ten years
ago. We were soon comfortably established in the new and splendid
Oriental Hotel, and busy with letters and newspapers.
In the afternoon we did some necessary shopping beneath the welcome
shade of the hotel arcades. Later, as soon as the air had become a
little cooler, we drove along the sea-front, called Galle Face, and
enjoyed the delicious sea-breeze. Everybody seemed to be out,
driving, riding, or walking. In one spot officers and soldiers were
playing cricket and football as energetically as if they had been on
Woolwich Common.
We passed a horse-dealer's establishment, containing, beneath a long
row of red shanties, a very decent-looking lot of ponies of various
kinds, some of which were being trotted out for the inspection of a
circle of possible purchasers. Every bungalow seemed to be provided
with one or two tennis-grounds, and all had players on them. When at
last, by a charming drive, we reached the formerly forsaken-looking
Cinnamon Gardens, we found some lawn-tennis grounds established in
their midst, as well as a fine museum surrounded by a well-kept
garden. In fact, the appearance of the whole place has been completely
changed since we last saw it.
On our way back we were overtaken by a funeral procession. First came
two of the quaint little bullock-carts peculiar to Ceylon, drawn by
the small oxen of the country, both carts being literally crammed full
of people, apparently in the highest spirits. Then followed a long,
low, open vehicle, rather like a greengrocer's van painted black. In
the rear of the procession was another bullock-cart, fuller than ever
of joyous mourners, and drawn by such a tiny animal that he seemed to
be quite unable to keep up with his larger rivals, though urged to his
utmost speed by the cries and shouts of the occupants of the cart.
Altogether, anything more cheerful and less like one's ordinary
conception of a funeral procession I never saw.
Our homeward road lay partly through jungle, the track crossing
various small streams fringed with vegetation so tropical in character
that each little river might have been a miniature Amazon. Presently
we came to the Lotus Tank, full of handsome white double water-lilies
on erect stems, with lotus-like centres, though they are not the real
lotus flower. A hundred people sat down to dinner at the hotel, among
whom were one or two old friends. When dinner was over we all
adjourned on board the 'Sunbeam,' and later Tom took them back to
their steamer, the 'Sirocco,' the largest vessel of the Messageries
Maritimes fleet.
[Illustration: Buddhist Priest]
_March 6th._--We were called at 4.30 A.M., to enable us to start by
the seven o'clock train for Kandy. After a great bustle, we found
ourselves at the station, only to be told that the time of the
departure of the train had been changed to 7.35. The beauty of the
journey by rail up to Kandy in the cool air of the early morning quite
compensated us for the inconvenience of so early a start. A
comfortable saloon carriage, with luxurious armchairs, had been
attached to the train for our use, besides a well-arranged
refreshment car, in which civil waiters served an excellently prepared
meal.
After leaving Colombo we passed through vast fields of paddy, some
covered with the stubble of the recently cut rice, while others were
being prepared for a new crop by such profuse irrigation that the
buffaloes seemed to be ploughing knee-deep through the thick, oozy
soil. It was easy to understand how unhealthy must be the task of
cultivating a rice-field, and what swampy and pestiferous odours must
arise from the brilliant vegetation. 'Green as grass' is a feeble
expression to those familiar with the dazzling verdure of a
paddy-field. Grain cultivation in Ceylon does not, however, appear to
be a very profitable occupation, and seems to be pursued by the
natives for sentimental rather than for practical reasons. Sir C.P.
Layard, who was for many years Governor of the Western Province, has
stated that 'the cultivation of paddy is the least profitable pursuit
to which a native can apply himself. It is persevered in from habit,
and because the value of time and labour never enters into his
calculation. Besides this, agriculture is, in the opinion of a
Cingalese, the most honourable of callings.' All the grain grown in
Ceylon is consumed in the island, and the supply has to be largely
supplemented by imports from India and elsewhere.
After our train had ascended, almost imperceptibly, to a considerable
height, we came to the Valley of Death, so called because of the
enormous mortality among the workmen employed upon this portion of the
railway. Thence we passed through scenes of wondrous beauty to
Rambukkana, where the train really begins to climb, and has to be
drawn and pushed by two engines--one in front and one behind. It would
be wearisome even to name the various types of tropical vegetation
which we passed; but we thought ourselves fortunate in seeing a
talipot palm in full bloom, with its magnificent spike of yellowish
flowers rising some twenty feet above a noble crown of dark green
fan-shaped leaves. This sight is uncommon, for the trees never bloom
till they are seventy or eighty years old, and then die directly.
[Illustration: Talipot Palm]
Just before arriving at Peradeniya, the new line branches off to
Nanu-oya, 128 miles from Colombo, and 5,300 feet above the sea-level.
Nuwarra-Ellia is reached in about four hours from this, the line
passing through some of the richest and best of the tea- and
quinine-growing estates--formerly covered with coffee plantations. The
horrid coffee-leaf fungus, _Hemileia vastatrix_--the local equivalent
of the phylloxera, or of the Colorado beetle--has ruined half the
planters in Ceylon, although there seems to be a fair prospect of a
good crop this year, not only of coffee but of everything else.
There are over six hundred thousand acres of ground under rice
cultivation in Ceylon, as compared with 130,000 acres of coffee,
175,000 acres of tea, 650,000 acres of palms, and 35,000 acres of
cinchona. Cinnamon and other spices, besides tobacco, cacao, and other
trees and plants, are also more or less extensively grown.
Sugar-cultivation has proved a failure, probably owing to the too
great dampness of the climate.
The Satinwood Bridge at Peradeniya, across the Mahaweliganga, seemed
quite a familiar friend; though the old Englishman who for so many
years washed the sand of the river in search of gems is dead and gone.
In the afternoon I went to keep my appointment with Dr. Trimen, the
present curator of the gardens, and successor to our friend Dr.
Thwaites. The group of india-rubber trees outside the gate, and the
palms just within the enclosure, were old acquaintances, and looked as
graceful as ever. Close by stood a magnificent _Amherstia nobilis_ in
full bloom, its great tresses of vermilion flowers spotted with
yellow, hanging in gorgeous profusion among its bright glossy leaves.
In Burmah these flowers are laid upon the altars in front of the
images of Buddha as a sacred offering. Dr. Trimen appears to feel the
greatest pride in the management of the garden, and he took much
trouble to show us all there was time to see. The principal trees,
shrubs, and plants have been labelled, so that he who runs may read. A
good deal of vegetation has also been cut down and cleared away, and
the more valuable specimens of trees stand boldly out on the grassy
lawns. The present curator has erected a charming little summer-house,
in the form of a Kandyan temple, in memory of Dr. Thwaites and his
thirty successful years of office. It stands on a small knoll,
surrounded by the fragrant bushes of the jessamine-like _Plumieria_,
which is also known as the temple-flower, and is regarded as sacred.
We scarcely got back in time to dress for dinner at the Pavilion, as
they call the Governor's residence here. The children were tired, and
went to bed. Tom, Mabelle, Mr. des Graz, and I therefore started
without them, and arrived punctually at eight o'clock. Lord and Lady
Aberdeen were of the party, which included a good many interesting
people. The table was decorated with lovely ferns, and no less than
seventy-two vases of sunflowers! The effect of the servants' liveries
was quaint and decidedly picturesque, and I believe the fashion in
which they are made is very old. The smartly cut, long swallow-tail
black coat, profusely braided with red and yellow, is worn over a
snowy white cloth wrapped round the waist and reaching to the feet,
and the smooth hair is kept in its place by a large circular comb at
the top of the head. Out of doors, a gracefully carried umbrella is
the sole protection from the sun.
[Illustration: Seychelles Palm]
_March 7th._--The morning broke misty, foggy, and decidedly cold for
our early start back to Colombo. We found this change rather trying
after the heat through which we have been voyaging. We left at eight,
relying upon breakfast in the train; but in this hope we were
disappointed, and had to content ourselves with biscuits and some
rather unripe fruit; for the breakfast-car is only attached to upward
trains, to suit travellers from Colombo who want to make the trip to
Nuwarra-Ellia or to Kandy and back in one day. The scenery was so
lovely, however, that there was plenty to occupy and distract our
minds, and we were able to do all the more justice to our good lunch
when we reached the comfortable Galle Face Hotel.
There was a great deal of business still to be done at Colombo,
including the engagement of a new under-cook, the purchase of
additional cool clothing for the crew, and the laying in of fresh
stores and provisions. It was therefore not until the evening that we
were able to start upon a little expedition, I in a jinrikisha, Tom on
foot, followed by another jinrikisha, into which, to the great
amusement of the group of lookers-on, he insisted on putting our
interpreter, or 'English-speak-man,' as he calls himself.
[Illustration: Governor's Peon, Kandy]
There is always, to my mind, something supremely ludicrous in the
sight of a half-naked individual trudging gaily along under an
umbrella in pouring rain. His clothes cannot be spoiled, for he wears
none; and one would think that his body must long ago have been
acclimatised to every degree of moisture. The natives of Ceylon get
over the difficulty very well by gathering one of the many beautifully
spotted large caladium leaves which abound in the roadside ditches.
For a time it serves its purpose, combining utility with elegance, and
when the shower is over it is thrown away. I have also seen these
leaves used as sunshades, but they do not answer so well in this
capacity, for they wither directly and become limp and drooping. We
had a pleasant stroll through the town and outskirts, exploring some
lovely little nooks and corners full of tropical foliage. Colombo
seems to be progressing, and to have benefited greatly by the railway.
[Illustration: Cingalese Weapons]
We went to the station to meet the train from Nuwarra-Ellia, by which
the children were expected to arrive, but, as the time-tables have
just been altered, we found ourselves too early. The interval was
pleasantly filled, however, by an instructive and interesting little
chat with the traffic-manager. At last the train appeared, and with it
the children, who expressed great delight at the procession of six
real Japanese jinrikishas which we had organised to convey them and
the rest of the party from the station to the hotel.
During the day we had heard that several old friends happened to be at
Colombo, so we convened them all to dinner. Their number included Mr.
Macbean and Captain Middleton, of the old 93rd, both of whom had been
married since we last met them, and Colonel Carey, a Rugby friend of
Tom's, now commanding the Engineers here.
We have had great difficulty to-day in obtaining possession of a box
sent on to us from Bombay. I left orders yesterday that it was to be
obtained from the shipping-agents this morning, but it was only after
an infinity of trouble to ourselves and to the people on shore, who
had locked up their offices and gone home, that we were able to get
hold of it this evening. At last everything and everybody were
collected on board; our usual parting gifts of books and newspapers to
barracks, hospitals, and schools were sent ashore, and we steamed
slowly out of the harbour and round the breakwater. Then 'Full speed
ahead' was the order given, and once more we left the lights and
luxuries of land behind us and sailed forth into the soft tropic
twilight.
[Illustration: Point de Galle]
_Tuesday, March 8th._--It was 1.10 A.M. as we passed the lighthouse.
I stayed on deck until the land seemed to be swallowed up in the
darkness; but when I came up again at 6 A.M. we were still running
along the coast, near enough to see some of its beauties, though not
so close as to make it possible to appreciate the exquisite loveliness
of the Bay of Galle. Once the principal port of call for all the most
important lines of steamers, the town of Galle is now comparatively
deserted, and the charms of the neighbouring country are unknown to
the modern traveller. The difficulties of landing there were always
great during the monsoon period, and more facilities having been
afforded at Colombo by the construction of Sir John Coode's great
breakwater, all the steamers now make use of that port to take in
water, coal, and provisions.
At noon we had run 95 miles, and Trincomalee was 244 miles distant. At
10 P.M. we passed inside the Great Bass Rock, and afterwards the
smaller Bass Rock.
_Wednesday, March 9th._--At noon to-day 184 miles had been made, and
Trincomalee is only now twenty miles ahead. We had passed Batticaloa,
the capital of one of the divisions of the island, and early in the
morning saw the celebrated rock called 'Westminster Abbey,' which is
curiously like that grand old pile, especially when the two pinnacles
are seen from a distance. As you pass it to the northward the
resemblance gradually becomes lost.
The sun was sinking fast when we shaped our course for the entrance to
the harbour of Trincomalee. I was on the topgallant forecastle with
Tom, and most delightful it was in that airy position. A fisherman in
a curious little catamaran boat offered his services as pilot; and
though they were not required we stopped, intending to ask him to come
on board and have a chat; but he was lazy with the oars, and before he
had come alongside our patience was exhausted. The moon now began to
show her light, while the stars twinkled overhead; and the two
lighthouses--one on either hand--sent forth rays which glistened on
the calm surface of the water. I half regretted the departure of the
daylight, for I should have liked to have seen more plainly the
entrance to this wonderful harbour, pronounced by Nelson to be one of
the finest in the world; but, on the other hand, the exquisite beauty
of the scene made up for its want of distinctness. The glorious full
moon, gaining power, shone into every creek and cranny, and beamed
brilliantly over the water as we steamed ahead, until at last we
dropped anchor off the dockyard of Trincomalee. Just previously, from
the little fort above, had come loud shouts of 'Sunbeam, ahoy!' and
then many hearty cheers burst from the throats of the artillerymen and
engineers who are quartered there.
[Illustration: Trincomalee Harbour]
After dinner Tom and I went for a row in the 'Flash,' and explored
the harbour by moonlight. There was a good deal of singing at a row of
cottages ashore, where, I suppose, the dockyard labourers live. Even
the workshops looked quite romantic, covered as their rough walls were
by palms, creepers, and other tropical vegetation. We went on towards
the Admiral's house, passing through the submarine mining flotilla,
which looked singularly out of place among these picturesque
surroundings. The night was absolutely perfect; the moonlight on the
water, the distant mountains, the near forts, and the white sandy
beach, all making up an ideal picture of tropical beauty and repose.
Shortly after we had come to an anchor, Mr. Black, the assistant naval
storekeeper, arrived on board, bringing with him kind letters from Sir
Frederick Richards, the commander-in-chief of the East India station,
offering us his house and garden whilst we remain here. The 'Jumna,'
which brought these letters, left four days ago; and the 'Bacchante,'
Sir Frederick's flagship, is not expected for a week; so that we have
just missed both, greatly to our disappointment. Mr. Black kindly
promises to meet us again to-morrow, and to pilot us to the famous hot
springs at Kanniya and to the alligator tank.
_March 10th._--At 6 A.M. we all went on shore, and were met by Mr.
Black with sundry little gharries and tum-tums, into which we soon
packed--all except Tom, who remained behind to inspect the dockyard.
The harbour looked finer in some ways, though perhaps not so poetic as
by moonlight. We could see more of the landscape; and as we drove
along a good road skirting the bay the peeps through the foliage were
lovely. After passing the Admiral's house we drove, through a
straggling village embosomed in trees, to the post-office, where we
deposited a mail which, to judge from the astonished looks of the
officials, must have been much larger than they usually receive. It
certainly was somewhat voluminous, consisting as it did of letters,
books, manuscripts, legal documents, and newspapers. It would have to
be carried some eighty miles by runners to reach the mail-coach, and
then travel another hundred miles before being deposited in the train;
so that I fear it will give some trouble. The poor letter-carriers are
bound to take any parcel weighing eleven pounds. I suppose an extra
man will have to be employed for our mail, but this cannot be a
serious matter where wages are so cheap.
[Illustration: Jumping Fish (_Periophthalmus Kolreuteri_)]
From the post-office our way lay through a dense jungle, but still
along a good road, where many birds of brilliant plumage and sweet
song flew gaily before us or perched on the telegraph wires alongside.
Jungle-cock ran in and out across the road. They are rather
good-looking birds, something like a very 'gamey' domestic fowl, with
a fine upstanding tail.
Our progress was greatly delayed by the eccentricities of Mr. Black's
pony. He always stood still when we met anything, stopping so abruptly
as almost to shoot us out of the gharry. Then, having once halted, he
refused to move on again without much urging and coaxing. Before going
down hill he planted his feet obstinately on the ground, declining to
proceed; and at the bottom of an ascent he turned short round. If a
bird flew suddenly out of the jungle he jumped over into the opposite
ditch, and many times _nearly_, though never _quite_, upset us. After
these performances, I was not surprised to hear that this pony had
never been in harness before.
At last we reached the hot springs, seven in number, where we found a
temple and other little buildings close by. The water bubbles up
through square and round holes, and was so hot (115°) that it was
almost impossible to bear one's hand in it; but we caught two little
turtles swimming gaily about. The curious 'sea-horses,' which carry
their young in their mouths, are said to live in the streams running
from the springs.
While waiting for the rest of the party to arrive I took several
photographs. We sent a native up a tree for fresh cocoa-nuts, and,
having climbed in the orthodox manner, with feet tied together, he
threw us down nuts, green and smooth, full of deliciously cool clear
milk, with a thick creamy coating inside, most grateful to the palate.
After taking more photographs, some of the party set out for the
alligator tank, where the probability of seeing any alligators seemed
so doubtful, that, as a long and fatiguing walk was much more certain,
I thought it better to undertake, instead of accompanying them, to
drive a pair of jibbing ponies back to Trincomalee.
On the way back we saw an opening made in the dense jungle by the
passage of an elephant, which had evidently crushed through into the
road since we had passed. Wild elephants are very numerous
hereabouts, and a hundred were killed not long since by one sportsman
in a comparatively short time. Another hunter made great preparations
for sport, and spent a considerable time in the neighbourhood waiting
his opportunity, but, after failing to get a single shot, determined
to return by bullock-cart and coach to Kandy. At one of the
rest-houses he was cleaning and putting away his rifle, when some
excited coolies rushed in and begged him to kill a rogue-elephant
which they had caught sight of quietly walking down the road. The
sportsman accordingly took up his position behind a tree, and killed
the huge beast quite easily. The carcase remained in the road for
several weeks, poisoning the atmosphere and rendering the rest-house
almost uninhabitable, until at last an official of rank, passing that
way, gave orders for it to be burnt, which was promptly done by the
inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who had nearly arrived at the
conclusion that the possible attacks of a live elephant were a less
serious matter than the certain ill-effects of the proximity of a dead
animal. To me, independently of the sanitary aspect of the case, it
appears a sad pity and an altogether wasteful proceeding to massacre
so powerful a beast, with such capabilities of usefulness, as an
elephant, simply for the sake of amusement; for neither hide, feet,
tail, nor bones are of much, if of any, value, and it would surely be
better to catch and tame the poor creatures if possible.
Arrived on board the yacht, I found Tom just returned from a long
examination of the dockyard and naval establishment. The remainder of
the party appeared later on, all rather exhausted, and disappointed at
not having seen any alligators. They were, however, laden with lovely
lotus-like water-lilies, collected during a pleasant little paddle on
the tank in a very leaky canoe.
During the morning we had many visitors on board, all profuse in kind
offers of hospitality, and desirous of doing everything to make our
brief stay agreeable. The children went back with the ladies to spend
the afternoon at the fort, while Tom and Mabelle landed to play
lawn-tennis.
About five o'clock Major Nash called and took us for a drive on the
heights, from which there was a fine view across the bay and harbour
beneath us. This island originally belonged to the Dutch, by whom it
was ceded to us; and it has since been used as a club and
recreation-ground for the officers. Several pleasant bungalows have
been established, and a good breakfast, lunch, or even dinner, can be
obtained at a moment's notice. The old account-books kept by those in
charge of the mess bungalow are still preserved, and many a now
celebrated name may be seen entered therein.
We went to Mr. Millett's house to see what he called a tame cheetah,
but which was really a wild panther--a handsome little beast, who
became greatly excited when the dogs appeared on the scene. We also
saw a tiny crocodile, only a month old, in an earthenware pan, which
snapped and hissed and flapped his tail, and was altogether as angry
as any creature of his diminutive size could well be, making it quite
clear that only the power--not the will--to eat us all up was wanting.
There are many crocodiles in these lakes and streams, and they
occasionally carry incautious people off, especially the women who go
to the tanks to fill their water-jars.
Mr. Millett had also quite a large collection of elephants' heads,
tails, and feet--the spoils of a recent shooting expedition. These
trophies seemed to give one a better idea of the immense size of the
elephant than the sight of the animal itself. It was most interesting
to be able to handle and to examine closely their great bones, though
I felt sad to see the remains of so many huge beasts sacrificed just
for the love of killing something. They had not even been tuskers, so
that, unless their heads and feet were used for mere decorations, I
do not see that their slaughter could have answered any useful end.
[Illustration: Sami Rock]
We next drove to the Admiral's house--a charmingly-placed dwelling,
with one end for each monsoon (south-west from April to September,
north-east from November to February). A well-cared-for garden
encircles it, full of valuable plants and flowers; and the view over
the bay is wide and lovely. We went through the barracks, and then
walked, or rather climbed, up to the signal station, below which a new
fort is being made which will carry heavy guns. Close by is a curious
old Dutch graveyard, with a few quaint English monuments in it, dating
from the beginning of the century. The way was long and the road
rough; but still we climbed on and on to reach the famous Sami Rock,
which rises sheer from the sea, and is a sacred spot for Hindoos, who
have come here by thousands to worship for many centuries. Behind the
rock stands a small monument, erected in memory of a young Portuguese
lady, who, having seen her lover's ship leave the harbour and
disappear below the horizon, threw herself in despair from the cliff.
The sun had now set, and the night was calm and brilliant; but so
powerful had been the sun's rays that the rocks burnt our feet as we
walked, and made it impossible to sit down. We returned to lower
levels much more quickly than we had ascended; but I felt very tired
before we got back to the gharries, and was only too glad to 'rest and
be thankful' until the others arrived and were ready to start. They
had had a delightful afternoon, and had caught several walking-fish (a
kind of perch), after seeing them both walk and swim; besides
gathering more lotus-flowers, and enjoying several good games at
lawn-tennis.
The drive to the boats, behind Major Nash's fast-trotting pony, was
all too short, and the time for the inevitable farewells came but too
quickly. Steam was up when we got on board, and in a few minutes we
were leaving this beautiful harbour behind us, exactly twenty-four
hours after we had entered it, and under almost precisely the same
conditions of wind and weather. Trincomalee is certainly a noble
harbour, but Tom is strongly of opinion that it would be more valuable
in the hands of the Indian Government than under the Admiralty.
_Friday, March 11th._--We had intended to go south of the Andaman
Islands, so as to be able to call at Port Blair, the convict station
where poor Lord Mayo was assassinated by the convict Shere Ali during
his official visit in 1872. The sailing-directions, however, gave such
a terrible account of the malarious climate of the whole group of
islands, the savage character of the inhabitants, and the size and
number of the many venomous reptiles, that we reluctantly decided to
continue our voyage straight to Burmah without stopping. We
accordingly passed to the northward of the Andaman group, making what
is called 'The Cocos' our first landfall.
At noon we had steamed 140 miles, and were in lat. 9° 44´ N. and long.
83° 3´ E., Great Coco being 607 miles distant.
_Saturday, March 12th._--Another calm day, busily occupied in reading
and writing. At noon we had steamed 184 miles, and were 471 miles
distant from Great Coco, in lat. 10° 49´ N. and long. 87° 1´ E.
_Sunday, March 13th._--We had the Litany at 11.30, and evening service
later, with most successful Chants, the result of much practising
yesterday and on Friday. At noon we had steamed 195 miles, and were in
lat. 12° 16´ N. and long. 88° 55´ E. Great Coco distant 278 miles.
[Illustration: Coco Island Light]
_Monday, March 14th._--There was a nice breeze in the early morning,
and sails were accordingly set. At 9 A.M. we ceased steaming, and
proceeded under sail alone. At noon we had run 181 miles, and were
distant 97 miles from Great Coco.
_Tuesday, March 15th._--Little Coco was sighted at daylight. Later on
we saw all the other islands of the Preparis group in succession, and
were able to congratulate ourselves on having made a good landfall. At
noon we had sailed 120 miles, and were in lat. 14° 5´ N. and long.
93° 29´ E., the Krisha Shoal being distant 150 miles.
In the evening we had our first nautical entertainment since we have
all been on board together. It proved a real success, and appeared to
afford great enjoyment to all, the credit being mostly due to Mabelle
and the Doctor, who took an immense deal of trouble to make everything
go off properly, and were well rewarded by the universal appreciation
of their exertions. I am sure that these amusements do good in
relieving the unavoidable tedium and monotony of a long voyage.
_Wednesday, March 16th._--Soundings were taken at frequent intervals
throughout the morning, for we were uncertain as to the strength of
the currents, and could not see far ahead, as the sky was both
overcast and misty. About noon Tom got an observation, and found that
we were in lat. 15° 28´ N. and long. 95° 40´ E., having sailed 140
miles during the past twenty-four hours. The Krisha Shoal was then
about ten miles to the N.W.
Towards five o'clock I was reading quietly on deck, when I was
startled by an appalling shriek, followed by a good deal of commotion
forward. A moment afterwards I saw poor Pitt bleeding profusely from
his right hand. Having sent for the Doctor and some ice, I got hold of
the wrist, and bound it up as best I could until the Doctor appeared,
who then proceeded with his instruments to tie the arteries properly
and to sew up the wounds. While opening some soda-water for the
children one of the bottles burst in the poor man's hand, cutting five
arteries and nearly blowing off the top of his second finger. It was a
ghastly business altogether, and although he bore it bravely he could
not help crying out occasionally. I stood it all pretty well till just
at the end, and then fainted, which was stupid; but sitting in the sun
in a cramped position, with such sights and sounds was rather trying.
It was a comfort to know that I was able to be of some use at first.
At 7.45 P.M. we made Point Baragu Light, and at 10 P.M. sail was
shortened, for by this time we were rushing along before a strong,
fair wind, and did not quite know how far it might carry us by
daylight. After dark the sea was brilliantly lit up by millions of
minute nautilidæ, and from time to time we passed through shoals of
large medusæ, increasing and decreasing the light which they emitted
as they opened or closed their feelers, to propel themselves through
the water. They looked like myriads of incandescent lamps floating
just below the surface of the water and illuminating everything as
they passed with I do not know how many thousand or million
candle-power. The effect was indeed fairy-like, and one felt reluctant
to go below so long as there was even the faintest chance of seeing
another blazing shoal.
Fortunately, the description of the China Bakeer pilot-brig given in
the sailing-directions is very precise and clear, or a wretched little
native boat, on the look-out for a job, might have imposed herself
upon us as the genuine craft, and have got us into serious trouble.
The shoals hereabouts are numerous and the water generally is shallow.
This native craft was rigged very much like an ordinary pilot-boat,
and flew a huge ensign at the main until dark, besides burning enough
blue lights, flash-lights, and flare-lights afterwards to draw any
ship from her safe course. It would therefore not have been surprising
if we had allowed ourselves to be misled by her. We heard afterwards
that only a few days ago she nearly led H.M.S. 'Jumna' on to a
dangerous shoal.
[Illustration: Entrance to Caves at Moulmein]
CHAPTER VI.
_RANGOON._
_Thursday, March 17th._--The government pilot came on board at 6 A.M.,
and we at once got up the anchor and proceeded under steam up the
branch of the Irrawaddy called the Rangoon River, leading to the town
of that name. Its banks are flat, low,
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/29778