Wanderings in India, and Other Sketches of Life in Hindostan

FORWARD

I was twelve days marching from Bijnore to Umballah, and, by keeping away from the high-road, I did not see during my journey a single European face. I moved entirely amongst the people, or rather the peasantry, of the Upper Provinces of India – a very poor and very ignorant peasantry, but, comparatively speaking, civil and honest. Sham made a much greater impression upon them than I did; mounted on his pony, and dressed in very gay attire – a purple velvet tunic, pyjamahs of red silk trimmed with gold lace, a turban of very gorgeous aspect, and shoes embroidered all over with silver. He had more the appearance of a young rajah or prince than a gentleman's servant. And Sham talked to his countrymen – if the wretched Hindoos could be so called – in a lofty strain which vastly amused me, though I did not approve of it. I said nothing, however. As for the camp arrangements, he had completely taken them out of my hands, and he was so much better manager than myself that I was well content that it should be so; all that was left to me was to name the hour for departing from an encampment-ground, and the next spot whereon I wished my tents pitched.

It was past six o'clock on the morning of the 20th of April, when I came within a few miles of Umballah. The mornings and the nights were still cool; but, in the day the heat was beginning to be very severe. However, after taking my coffee and making my toilet, I caused my pony to be re-saddled, and, followed by Sham mounted on his pony, rode into the cantonments, inquiring my way, as I went along, of the various servants who were moving about. I eventually found myself at the door of a bungalow, which was tenanted by a very old friend and distant connexion of mine. He was an officer in one of her Majesty's regiments of foot, then stationed at Umballah.

"You will sleep here, of course, during your stay," he said; "but you are the guest of the mess, remember. We have settled all that, and we will go up in the buggy presently to deposit your pasteboard in the mess reading room. I will point out to you where you will always find your knife and fork, and I will introduce to you all the servants – the mess-sergeant especially."

I must now digress for a brief while, in order to give the uninitiated reader some idea of Indian etiquette as it exists amongst Europeans, members of society. In other countries, or at all events in England, when a gentleman goes to take up his abode, for a long or a short period, in a strange locality, it is usual for the residents, if they desire to show him any civility, or make his acquaintance, to call upon him in the first instance. In India the reverse is the case. The stranger must make his round of calls, if he wishes to know the residents; and, what is more, he must leave his cards on the mess, "for the colonel and officers of her Majesty's – Regiment." You may leave a card on every officer in the regiment, from the senior colonel down to the junior ensign; and each of them may, and possibly will, invite you to his private board; but, if you omit to leave a card on the mess, it would be a gross breach of decorum in any member of the mess to invite you to dine at the mess-table, because you have "not left a card on the mess." And not only to the royal regiments does the rule pertain, but to every regiment in India, and to every brigade of artillery.

Having left my cards at the mess of the regiment to which my friend belonged, I was driven to the mess-house of the – Dragoons, where another expenditure of cards was incurred; then to the mess-houses of the two native infantry regiments, and the mess-house of the native cavalry regiment. I was then whisked off to the house of General Sir Doodle Dudley, G.C.B., who commanded the division. The General was very old, close upon eighty; but he was "made up" to represent a gentleman of about forty. His chestnut wig fitted him to perfection, and his whiskers were dyed so adroitly, that they were an exact imitation of their original colour. The white teeth were all false; likewise the pink colour in the cheeks and the ivory hue of the forehead. As for the General's dress, it fitted him like a glove, and his patent leather boots and his gold spurs were the neatest and prettiest I had ever seen. In early life Sir Doodle had been a rival and an acquaintance of Beau Brummell. When a Colonel in the Peninsular war, he had been what is called a very good regimental officer; but, from 1818 until his appointment to India, in 1847, as a General of Division, he had been unattached, and had never done a single day's duty. He was so hopelessly deaf, that he never even attempted to ask what was said to him; but a stranger, as I was, would scarcely have credited it; for the General talked, laughed, and rattled on as though he were perfectly unconscious of his infirmity. I ventured a casual remark touching the late dust-storm which had swept over the district, to which the General very vivaciously replied: —

"Yes, my good sir. I knew her in the zenith of her beauty and influence, when she was a lady patroness of Almack's, and the chief favourite of his Royal Highness the Prince Regent. Oh, yes! she is dead, I see by the last overland paper; but I did not think she was so old as they say she was – eighty-four. Only fancy, eighty-four!" Then darting off at a tangent, he remarked, "I see they give it out that I am to have the command-in-chief at Bombay. The fact is, I don't want Bombay, and so I have told my friends at the Horse Guards at least a dozen times. I want the governorship and the command-in-chief at the Cape; but, if they thrust Bombay upon me, I suppose I must take it. One can't always pick and choose, and I fancy it is only right to oblige now and then."

"We shall be very sorry to lose you, General," said my friend, mechanically; "very sorry indeed."

"So I have told his Excellency," exclaimed the General, who presumed that my friend was now talking on an entirely different subject. "So I have told him. But he will not listen to me. He says that if the court-martial still adheres to its finding of murder, he will upset the whole of the proceedings, and order the man to return to his duty; and the court will adhere to its original finding; for the court says, and I say, that a private who deliberately loads his firelock, and deliberately fires at and wounds a serjeant, cannot properly be convicted of manslaughter only. Well, it cannot be helped, I suppose. The fact is, the commander-in-chief is now too old for his work; and he is, as he always was, very obstinate and self-willed." And the General continued, "For the command of an army or a division in India, we want men who are not above listening to the advice of the experienced officers by whom they are surrounded!"

When we were leaving the General, he mistook me for my friend and my friend for me, and respectively addressed us accordingly (his eyesight was very imperfect, and he was too vain to wear glasses). He thanked me for having brought my friend to call upon him, and assured my friend that it would afford him the greatest pleasure in the world if the acquaintance, that day made, should ripen into friendship.

"He is an imbecile," I remarked, when we were driving away from the General's door.

"Yes; and he has been for the last six or seven years," was the reply.

"But he must be labouring under some delusion with respect to being appointed to the command-in-chief of an Indian presidency?"

"Nothing of the kind. He is certain of it. He will go to Bombay before six weeks are over, you will see."

The General did go to Bombay, where he played such fantastic tricks before high heaven, that the angels could not have "wept" for laughing at them. Amongst other things, he insisted on the officers of the regiments buttoning their coats and jackets up to the throat, during the hottest time of the year. He would have nothing unmilitary, he said, "hot climate or no hot climate." He was quite childish before he relinquished his command, and was brought home just in time to die in his fatherland, and at the country-seat of his aristocratic ancestors. Although utterly unfitted, in his after life, to command troops, he was a very polished old gentleman, externally; and, having enjoyed a very intimate acquaintance with Blücher, and other celebrated commanders, he could repeat many anecdotes of them worthy of remembrance. "Blücher," he used to say, "generally turned into bed all standing, jack-boots included; and, if his valet forgot to take off his spurs, and they became entangled with the sheets, woe betide the valet. The torrent of abuse that he poured forth was something terrific." I also heard the General say that Blücher, having seen everything in London, remarked with great earnestness, "Give me Ludgate Hill!" and on being asked to explain why, replied, with reference to the number of jewellers' and silversmiths' shops which in that day decorated the locality,

"Mein Gott! what pillage!"

After leaving the General's house, we called upon some six or eight other magnates of Umballah for the time being; and on returning to the mess-house at the hour of tiffin, I was rather fatigued. The scene, however, revived me considerably. There were seated round the large table, in the centre of the lonely room, some seventy or eighty officers of all ranks, from the various regiments in the station. There was to be a meeting held that day at the mess-room, to discuss some local matter, and the majority of those present had been invited to "tiff" previously. No one was in uniform – at least, not in military uniform; all wore light shooting-coats and wide-awake hats, covered with turbans. The local question, touching the best means of watering the mall, where the residents used to take their evening ride or drive, having been discussed, the party broke up. Some went to the different billiard-rooms to play matches (for money, of course); others retired to private bungalows to play cards, or read, while reclining on a couch or a bed, or a mat upon the floor. Every one smoked and sipped some sort of liquid. It was to a room in my friend's bungalow that eleven of the party, inclusive of myself, repaired, to while away the time until sundown, by playing whist.

Never did the character of an officer's life in India strike me so forcibly as on that afternoon. There was an air of lassitude and satiety about every one present. The day was hot and muggy, and the atmosphere very oppressive. It was a fatiguing bore to deal the cards, take up the tricks, mark the game, or raise to one's lips the claret cup which Sham had been called upon to brew. Sham was well known to most of the officers of the regiment to which my friend belonged. He had made their acquaintance (to use his own words) when he was on the Governor-General's staff.

The three men who had not cut in at whist were lounging about, and making ineffectual attempts to keep up a conversation. The shooting-coats and the waistcoats were now discarded, and the suspenders, and the shoes, or boots; in short, each person only wore strictly necessary clothing, while the native (coolie) in the verandah was ever and anon loudly called upon to pull the punkah as strongly as possible. That room that afternoon presented a perfect picture of cantonment life in India during the summer season, between the hours of two and half-past five, p. m. The body is too much exhausted to admit of any serious mental exertion beyond that which sheer amusement can afford; and it is by no means uncommon to find your partner or yourself dropping off to sleep when called upon to lead a card, or follow suit. The three men who were sitting (or lying) out, soon yielded to the influence of the punkah, closed their eyes, and got up a snore, each holding between his fingers the cheroot he had been smoking.

Ah, yes! It is very bad to have to endure the frightful heat – to feel one's blood on the broil, even under a punkah, and with doors and windows closed, to exclude the hot air of the open day. But what must it be for the men, the privates and their wives and children? They have no punkahs, though it has been shown that they might have them at a trifling cost. They have no cold water, much less iced water to sip – though they might have it, if the authorities had the good sense (to put humanity entirely out of the question) to be economical of that invaluable commodity in India, British flesh and blood. They, the men of the ranks, and their wives and children, have no spacious apartments (with well-fitted doors and windows), to move about in, though there is no reason why they should not have them, for the land costs nothing, and labour and material is literally dirt-cheap in the Upper Provinces of India.

"But the Royal Infantry Barracks at Umballah is a fine, large building!" it may be suggested. I reply, "Not for a regiment one thousand strong" – a regiment mustering one thousand bayonets, to say nothing of the numerous women, and the more numerous children. In a cold climate, it would be ample for their accommodation; but not here, where in a room occupied by an officer, the thermometer frequently stands at ninety-three degrees, and sometimes at one hundred and five degrees. In the matter of ice, the reader must be informed how it is manufactured. During the "cold weather," (as the winter is always called,) small earthenware vessels of shallow build, resembling saucers in shape, are filled with water, and placed in an open field, upon a low bed of straw. At dawn of day there is a coating of ice upon each vessel, of about the thickness of a shilling. This is collected by men, women, and children (natives), who receive for each morning's, or hour's work, a sum of money, in cowries, equal to about half of a farthing. When collected, it is carried to an ice-pit, and there stored. The expenses are borne by a subscription, and the amount for each ticket depends entirely on the number of subscribers. In some large stations, an ice-ticket for the hot season costs only three pounds. In smaller stations it will cost six pounds. The amount of ice received by each ticket-holder is about four pounds, and is brought away each morning at daylight, in a canvas bag, enveloped in a thick blanket, by the ticket-holder's own servant. It is then deposited in a basket made expressly for the purpose. In this basket is placed the wine, beer, water, butter, and fruit. The bag of solid ice is in the centre of all these, and imparts to each an equal coldness. These four pounds of ice, if properly managed, and the air kept out of the basket, will cool an inconceivable quantity of fluids, and will last for twenty-four hours – that is to say, there will be some ice remaining when the fresh bag is brought in. If a bewildered khansamah, or khitmutghur, in his haste to bring a bottle, leaves the basket uncovered, the inevitable consequence is, that the ice melts, and there is an end of it for the day. I have scarcely known a family in which corporal punishment was not inflicted on the servant guilty of such a piece of neglect. But, great as was the privation, it was always cheerfully endured by the society, when the doctors of the various departments indented on them for their shares of ice respectively. And this occasionally happened, when the hospitals were crowded with cases of fever. Scores and scores of lives were often saved by the application of ice to the head, and the administration of cold drinks.